𝓢𝓾𝓫!𝓑𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓮 𝓔𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝔁 𝓕𝓮𝓶!𝓰𝓾𝓲𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽 [+18]
AN: HEYYY, this is my first imagine, I've been writing this for days, I wasn't feeling very well these days, so it took me a long time, and I asked a friend for help with some parts, and I've lost count of how many times I've revised this, but I hope you like it 🌷 (This sucks, and it got really big, Please forgive me if there are any mistakes!)
⚠︎ Warning: Explicit language, Sensual scenes, Adult content, Explicit sexual intercourse, Domination/submission, Use of fingers and tongue, Squirt, Teasing, Jealousy, Intense kissing.
Being part of Billie Eilish's team requires more than talent. It requires nerve, rhythm, stamina, and a trained emotional frame to handle the intensity that lives behind the scenes.
You joined the band a little over a year ago. Lead guitarist. Firm posture, few words, serious gaze. With a reserved but not inaccessible style, everyone liked you. Maybe because you don't force anything. Maybe because you act with a calmness that balances the creative chaos of an international tour. Maybe because, deep down, you understand the weight of being there.
Today is just another day of rehearsal for the next show of the tour tonight. The rented studio in Miami, that giant with the high ceiling and the smell of stale coffee. Instruments everywhere, cables on the floor, speakers stacked. Abe fiddling with the synthesizers, Andrew testing a drum fill, Tom tuning the guitar, and Smith dropping an experimental riff just to piss someone off. It worked: Andrew complained.
Books and songs say love happens suddenly. That's a lie. What exists is construction. Brick by brick, detail by detail, something is born. It was like that with you and Billie.
But you would never admit it out loud.
"Okay, one-hour break! I need to eat something!" Finneas shouted from the back, getting up from the production desk.
You placed your guitar on the stand, taking a deep breath. You'd rehearsed "Oxytocin" about ten times, and Billie kept insisting on repeating it. A perfectionist to the core. But today she was strangely... restless.
"Shall we?" Jane appeared at your side, her smile easy as always. Her voice is sweet, caring, the kind of voice that makes any conversation seem intimate. Jane likes touch, hugs, the tight bonds of friendship. And it was no different with you—maybe even a little more so.
She slipped her arm through yours as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And for both of you, it was.
"I need coffee to survive," you replied, adjusting your black blouse as you grabbed your phone.
Ava, Jane's sister and another backup singer, continued talking with Smith and Andrew in the corner. No one on the team noticed the closeness between the two of you. Everyone knew you were friends from the beginning. Only one person noticed something else where no one else saw anything: Billie.
You and Jane were almost out of the room when you heard:
"Hey!" Billie appeared out of nowhere on the other side, wearing that sweatshirt and her cheeks flushed. "Where are you guys going?"
You opened your mouth to answer, but Jane beat you to it.
"Coffee shop. Nearby. Get some air before heading back into the chaos."
"Can I come with you?" Billie asked quickly, almost anxiously. She took a step toward you. "I promise I won't talk about work."
Jane took a deep breath, her smile fading slightly, and replied.
“Not today, Billie. Y/n and I need to talk about some important things. Kind of… personal. You know?”
You didn’t say anything. You didn’t deny it. You didn’t explain. You simply followed Jane toward the door. But before you left, you felt her gaze burning into your back—as if you’d just closed a door in her face.
And the truth is, maybe you had.
Billie Eilish, the woman who performed to sold-out arenas, was standing in the middle of the room looking… left out.
The coffee shop Jane had chosen looked like something out of an indie film: light wood tables, hanging plants, a low Phoebe Bridgers playlist in the background. You always thought it was strange how much she liked this kind of place, too cute for the chaos of life on the road, but eventually, you started to like it too. Maybe because it was one of the rare places where you could breathe without feeling the weight of Billie's fame weighed down on everyone.
You and Jane sat by the window, and she sat up, stretching out in the chair with a dramatic sigh.
"Seriously, I needed to get out of there for a minute before I lost my mind. I love Billie, but today she was impossible," Jane commented, fiddling with the straw in her Frappuccino.
You let out a short laugh. "Billie's always impossible. It just changes the reason."
"And you always know how to handle her," Jane countered, resting her chin on her hands. "By the way... how's it going? You and her?"
Your gaze slowly rises. "'Me and her' what?"
"Oh, for God's sake," Jane said, rolling her eyes. "Do you really think I don't notice? The whole world may be blind, but I know you."
You crossed your arms, leaning back against the bench. "Nothing's happening."
"Exactly," she said, pointing at you with her straw. "That's the problem. Nothing's happening because you two are playing this weird emotional game. Looks, giggles, closeness, tension... and silence. Then no one moves."
You were silent for a moment, staring out the window at the street. Outside, everything seemed simple. In here, it wasn't.
"I can't," you said finally. "It wouldn't be professional. I'm here to play. That's all."
Jane took another sip without taking her eyes off you. "Yeah. Sure. You're here 'just to play.' That's why your face changes every time she touches you, right?"
You laughed lightly. "Fuck you, Jane."
She clinked her glass. "I love you too."
Silence fell for a moment, but it was comfortable. You two always had this: a simple, light, effortless friendship.
"You know she misses you when you don't talk to her, right?" Jane commented, without looking up.
You frowned. "What do you mean, 'when I don't talk to her'?"
"You think you're a good escape, but Billie notices," Jane replied. "And when she does, it hurts her."
You stayed quiet. Because you knew it was true.
A few blocks away, in a completely different coffee shop—minimalist, quiet, concrete walls—Billie stirred her oat milk cappuccino without actually drinking it. Finneas sat across from her with a half-eaten vegan sandwich.
“Are you going to talk, or are you going to treat the cappuccino like it’s going to solve your problems?” he asked, without looking up from his phone.
“Nothing,” Billie replied, too quickly.
Finneas raised an eyebrow, taking a deep breath, and dropping the phone on the table.
“When you say ‘nothing’ like that, it means ‘something huge and emotionally destructive that I’m pretending doesn’t exist.’ So just say it.”
Billie crossed her arms, staring at the table, and finally spoke.
“Do you think I’m… hard to like?”
Finneas blinked. “Wow. Okay. I didn’t expect to start the afternoon with such an existential bombshell.”
He leaned forward. “Okay. What happened?”
She bit her lower lip hesitantly and said, “Y/n and Jane left together after rehearsal. Just the two of them. She didn’t even… say anything to me. Didn’t even ask if I wanted to go. Nothing.”
Finneas stared at his sister for three seconds before teasing.
“Oh my God… you’re jealous.”
“NO!” Billie snapped back too quickly.
Finneas just sipped his coffee slowly, staring at his sister.
“Okay. I just didn’t think you were that type.”
“The type who’s madly in love and can’t admit it.”
Billie froze. The atmosphere grew heavy.
“I’m not in love, Finneas.”
"Of course. And I'm not your brother."
"There's no point in hiding it, Y/n." Jane crossed her arms and stared at you in that 'I know your whole life and I can expose it all in 0.2 seconds' way. "Everyone's already noticed."
"Noticed what?" You frowned, sipping your coffee as if it were a shield against emotions.
You choked, coughing and staring at Jane, who was laughing at you.
"ME AND BIL—what???" Your eyes widened. "Are you crazy?"
Jane rolled her eyes, laughing at you.
"Okay, actress. Next time, get an Oscar for drama. Remember the last vlog from the European tour that Billie posted?"
You blinked. Of course you remember. How could you forget? That whole chaotic backstage shoot, you laughing together, her leaning on your shoulder, you combing her hair in a van at three in the morning, but that was between friends. Just friends. Right?
Jane opened her phone, searching for the video.
"The fans ate that video alive," she continued. "Want to see what they were saying? Check this out."
She turned the screen to you.
"Is it just me, or have Billie and the guitarist been flirting since Paris?"
"Y/n looks at Billie like she's written her name in a diary 87 times."
"I study chemistry, but the most tension I've ever seen is between these two."
"Billie smiling at Y/n = dopamine rush."
"I support this couple even if they only exist in my head 🫶"
You felt your soul slowly leaving your body.
"That's just fandom. They see crumbs even in impossible things," you shrug. "They thought I was with Abe last week. Last week I was dating a keyboard, apparently."
Jane laughed, giving you that look that said, 'You can't fool me.'
"Yeah, but with Abe, you don't look like the protagonist of an A24 lesbian movie."
"I DON'T look at Billie like that."
"Look," she replied quickly. "Everyone sees it, you just deny it to yourselves."
You stayed quiet. Because denying it any more would be embarrassing.
Jane finished her coffee and stood up.
"Let's go, before Finneas texts you asking if someone died. Because he always thinks someone died when you take more than 10 minutes."
When you re-entered the studio, the mood wasn't exactly... light.
Billie was sitting on the stool near the microphone, fiddling with her rings, her face grim. Short nails tapping against the silver. She had no patience.
She looked in your direction. Or rather: she looked at Jane. Then at you. And turned her face away, as if she didn't care. Pure acting. 4/10 for subtlety.
"Look, the wives are here," Finneas announced loudly, like a comedian. "Were they settling a divorce or buying an apartment together?"
You closed your eyes for a second.
"Language!" He said, placing his hand on his chest, feigning offense. "Healthy work environment!"
Jane started laughing, and so did Andrew. Ava just shook her head, thinking, "Oh my God, again." Billie remained... quiet.
The atmosphere was heavy.
"Let's work?" you said, going straight to your guitar. Professionalism above all else. Including uncontrolled emotions and possibly jealous vocalists.
Rehearsal began, "The Diner" blasting through the studio. Abe on synthesizers, Tom on acoustic guitar, Andrew shredding the drums as always. You launched into the riff with force, timing everything perfectly. Impeccable technique. Controlled breathing.
There was only one problem.
Every time you looked at Billie... she was already looking.
And she didn't look away.
It's a silent war. An exchange of glances that shouldn't say anything, but screams something no one understands except the two of you.
And worse, it seems she was even more energetic on stage after the coffee that wasn't with her.
Great. Now you have a passive-aggressive jealous Billie Eilish to deal with.
The rehearsal ended after a few more songs from the setlist were run through, leaving a trail of tired laughter, cables on the floor, and empty water bottles. You turned off your amp and stretched your back, feeling your muscles complain under the weight of the guitar. Everyone scattered around the studio: Andrew arguing with Smith about the best rock album of all time, Ava and Jane fighting over a piece of gum, Finneas playing three random keys on the piano as if composing the soundtrack to his own madness.
You went to the table in the corner to get your water bottle.
Billie stopped on the other side of the table the second you reached out. You both reached for the water together. When your fingers accidentally touched hers, you felt a shock. Or maybe it was just your paranoia. Billie pretended not to notice. But her eyes… gave it all away.
“If I’d known you were coming back,” Billie said, opening the bottle without looking at you, “I would have sent for you with a red carpet.”
“I didn’t think you’d miss me,” you replied, also not looking at her directly.
“I didn’t,” she said quickly. “I just thought it was… curious.”
You turned and drank your water slowly. Too hot for this.
Billie looked at you. That heavy, direct look that always seemed to say more than it should.
“That you left without saying anything.” She took a sip of water. “And came back without saying anything, too.”
“Did you want me to tell you where I was going?” You arched an eyebrow. “Do you want to put a tracker on my phone and my bank password, too?”
She snickered. Sarcastic. But the tension between you was growing too quickly.
“It was just weird,” she insisted, setting the bottle down on the table. “You and Jane… were really close today.”
“What was that ‘uh-huh’?”
“Nothing,” she replied, but she was lying through her teeth. “It’s just that you were kind of… attached, right?”
“Are you jealous?” you teased, without even thinking.
Her eyes flashed with a dangerous challenge.
“Not at all.” Billie crossed her arms. “I just thought it was funny.”
“That you never have time for anything, but you do have time to hang out with her.”
That hit home. Right on target. You took a deep breath and replied quietly:
“You never ask if I have time either.”
Billie’s eyes locked with yours, and for a second the silence seemed to explode. It was a spark. A fire waiting to start.
“Hey!” Jane appeared like a smiling meteor between the two of you, oblivious to the tension in the air. “Y/n, later, after the show, don’t forget about me, okay?”
“About what?” you asked, surprised by the change of subject.
“Lesson, remember?” Jane blinked. “You promised you’d teach me some guitar chords. Just a little. I don’t want to be a rockstar yet, calm down.”
“Lesson?” Billie repeated, with that light tone that clearly meant, ‘What the hell?’
“Yes, lesson,” Jane replied, too excited. “If you want to come along, Billie, you’re invited.”
“Oh, thanks, but…” Billie smiled fakely. “I don’t like to get in the way.”
Jane didn’t notice anything and had already left, pulled along by Ava, who wanted to show her a bizarre message she’d received.
You and Billie were left there, alone.
And it was impossible to ignore now: she was jealous. Really.
Billie licked her lips, as if carefully choosing her next attack.
“Yeah. Is there a problem?”
“None.” She shrugged. “I just thought it was cool to know you offer extra benefits to certain people on the team.”
You tried to hide the smile that threatened to appear.
“Don’t worry.” She stared at you with a mix of defiance and something much more dangerous. “I don’t care.”
But her eyes said: I fucking care.
The show had been perfect chaos, the kind that makes your body tremble and your soul electric. An hour and a half of sweat, screams, lights, and music burning in your chest. The Miami audience had swallowed every second as if it were the last night of their lives. Billie set the stage on fire, and you kept the entire base on their feet with your guitar, steady, dense, hypnotizing.
It was a hot show. In every sense.
Billie was completely dedicated. Her whole body, her whole heart, her whole gaze. She sought you out more often than she should have, provoked you more than necessary, and you responded, of course. Without words. With music. There was fire in the air. Anyone could feel it. Only no one knew where it was coming from.
As soon as you left the stage, the entire crew erupted in a chorus of relief and euphoria. They clapped, hugged, and shouted "AWESOME SHOW!" as always. You dropped your guitar and pulled the hair tie from your hair, letting it fall to your shoulders, still panting. It was hot in there. So hot.
"YES!" Andrew shouted, sweat dripping down his shirt. "This tour is going to kill us, but we'll be smiling!"
"At least we'll die making art," you replied sarcastically.
Jane appeared beside you, giggling and with a towel thrown over her shoulder.
"So, rockstar," she patted your arm, "have you remembered you're human, or do you want to keep pretending you never feel anything?"
"Don't start," you said, with that "screw you" smile.
"I'm just getting started," she winked. “Today, after the hotel. My room, two in the morning. Guitar lesson, remember?”
You nodded. You’d completely forgotten about that, but you weren’t going to admit it.
“Okay. Two in the morning. I’ll bring the guitar.”
Jane smiled contentedly. But before she could say anything else, you could feel it. The air shifted. Someone came close.
“What kind of chords are you guys practicing at two in the morning?”
She appeared out of nowhere, still bearing the marks of the show. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes dangerously bright, her hair messy the way it only appears after the stage. The oversized T-shirt and shorts clinging to her uniformed, dangerously shiny thighs gave her that casual post-show look that was, frankly, criminal.
She crossed her arms and stood between you and Jane, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Relax, Bills, it’s not what you think.” Jane laughed, raising her hands in surrender. “I just want to learn how to play guitar.”
“I know that, you guys told me at rehearsal, but at two in the morning?” Billie asked humorlessly.
“That’s when inspiration strikes.” Jane blinked.
Billie ignored her answer and turned to you.
“You’re going in the van with us, right?”
Before you could respond, Jane sensed the mood and backed away slowly.
“Okay, I’ll get my things. See you in the van.”
She disappeared down the hallway, and the silence between you and Billie grew heavy. Billie looked you up and down. First, your hair, loose and messy in a way that made your body tingle, then your hands, still calloused from the guitar and a small cut on one finger, then your lips. She took a deep breath, almost irritated.
“Jane? Seriously?” She let out, with a soft mockery that only she could muster.
"She just wants to learn how to play the guitar," you replied simply.
"Oh, sure. Guitar." Billie laughed incredulously. "I know that, but it's like you don't have all day tomorrow for that. It has to be this morning."
"Nothing, Y/n. I just find it curious how you have time for the right people."
You took a deep breath, already smiling. "Are you jealous again, Billie?"
She leaned a little closer. Your heart leaped in your chest just from the proximity.
"Of Jane?" Billie laughed softly, but her eyes weren't smiling. "Spare me."
"Then why are you like this?"
"Oh, I never take it out on you."
"Never?" You said sarcastically.
She gave a half smile, tilting her head. "Only when you deserve it."
And before you could respond, Abe shouted from the other side:
"THE VAN'S HERE! Let's go to the hotel!"
Everyone started walking. You and Billie walked together down the aisle. When you got into the big van, the seats were full: Andrew was laughing at some lame joke Smith made, Tom was trying to steal Ava's headphones, Finneas had an energy drink in his hand and looked like he was ready for another show.
You got in. Billie sat right next to you. On purpose.
"Everyone ready?" the driver asked.
"Before picture!" Billie declared, holding up her phone.
And no one dared contradict her.
She took several: one serious, one chaotic, one with everyone making faces. Andrew gave the peace sign, Smith did a hang loose, Tom pretended to sleep, Ava gave the middle finger, Jane made a little heart (obviously), Finneas pointed to the energy drink he was drinking like it was a trophy. Even the driver appeared smiling in the rearview mirror.
And then, of course: Billie turned the camera on the two of you. Very slowly. Very close. Her shoulder brushed against yours. She smiled. You tried to hide anything on your face.
"Perfect," she murmured. No one heard. Except you.
She opened Instagram right then and there and posted. Without even thinking. Without even telling you.
The photo was the two of you. Together. Lit by the van's light, post-show, real, too intimate.
The comments exploded in seconds:
"Definitely chemistry there"
"Billie's look, wanting to eat Y/n alive"
"Confirm this relationship already"
And so it went, thousands of them, most talking about the same thing: You and Billie.
The walk to the hotel was filled with laughter, the buzz of messages popping up in the tour group, and everyone still buzzing with adrenaline from the show. When you arrived in the crowded lobby, it was the usual chaos: backpacks, cases, laughter, people fighting over room cards, Abe making jokes with everyone, Ava and Jane quietly singing a random 2000s song like they'd just left a bad karaoke bar.
"Who's sharing with whom?" Smith asked, yawning as he grabbed his key.
"I'll stay with you tonight," Tom warned.
You'd already been paired with Abe. Again. And, of course, he loved using it to tease you.
"Oh, look, my favorite guitarist," he said dramatically when you received your key next to him. "Another night sharing a room with the walking hole in the hotel fridge."
"Stop being so dramatic, Abe," you laughed. "It's like I steal all the food from the minibar."
"It is?" He glared at you accusingly. "Last week you ate FOUR Milka chocolates and said it was 'Air Condensation.' What's that, Y/n? An Einstein theory?"
"Grow up, you little dairy criminal."
You took a deep breath and tried your best not to laugh out loud. Abe always did that. He made you laugh unintentionally.
When the elevator opened, it became a mess. Everyone talking at once, trying to get in together, the door dinging, Finneas yelling, "Guys, please, I beg you, don't pile up, it's like the subway, for God's sake!"
You got in with the others, but you felt Billie walk behind you, slowly, almost pressing her body against yours. Her breath brushed your neck.
“Y/n,” she whispered in your ear, her voice husky from the post-show. “Good luck with your… productive night.”
Before you could answer, she passed by, her shoulder brushing yours deliberately, and stepped into the elevator next door, alone. Without sharing with anyone. Without explaining anything. Just Billie being Billie.
You stood there, frozen for a second, feeling electricity run through your arms. What the hell was that?
“You look pale,” Abe commented beside you, snapping his gum irritably. “Right. What did Billie tell you? And why am I sure it was illegal in 23 countries?”
He laughed, satisfied, as if he’d just solved a mystery.
The hotel room was just like the others you’d seen on the tour: an overly comfortable bed, brown carpet, thick curtains, stuffy silence, and the smell of overpowering air conditioning. Abe dropped his things halfway and fell onto the bed as if shot.
"I'm just going to take a quick nap. Like... thirty minutes. If I snore too loud, it'll kill me," he muttered, already passing out.
You showered, put on sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. You dried your hair quickly, grabbed the guitar that was leaning against the wall, and set it aside, already thinking about that "lesson" with Jane.
That's when your phone vibrated. It was Jane.
Lovee, I can't do it today 😩
Ava and I promised to finish a series together and she almost cried when I told her I was going to skip it 💀💀💀
Forgive meeee! Can we reschedule tomorrow??
Relax, seriously. Go for it.
Show over. Class canceled. Shower taken. Abe dead in bed. What were you going to do now?
Another notification popped up.
And the name that appeared made her heart skip a beat.
You frowned. What kind of message was that?
Are you still going to teach Jane?
You stared at the screen for a few seconds. Did Billie already know the class had been canceled? Okay, weird.
It took her a full minute to respond. And you realized you were holding your breath. Ridiculous.
Then another message arrived.
So come watch a movie with me 🍿👀
You blinked twice. Alone with Billie? In her room?
Before replying, another message:
You slowly put your phone down.
"I'm going out for a second," you warned, already grabbing your phone, trying to sound casual.
Abe didn't even open his eyes.
"Go on," he grumbled. "Just don't come back with a demon chasing you. I don't have the energy for an exorcism today."
You almost laughed, almost answered. But the elevator was already in front of you, and your heart was racing as if you were about to commit a crime.
In the hallway on the 14th floor, you stopped in front of door 1406.
And on the other side, Billie opened the door with a slow, dangerous smile.
"Hi, guitarist," she said, leaning against the door as if she were the master of her fate. "Come in.”
You wanted to back away, curse her, or turn away, but you couldn't. Before you knew it, you were already being pulled into the room.
The door closed behind you with a soft click that sounded like thunder in the silence of the room. The air conditioning hummed, but it was the pounding in your ears that you really heard.
Billie's room was a reflection of herself, messy yet organized. Expensive, baggy clothes were thrown over an armchair, a laptop open on the king-size bed, and an assortment of half-empty water bottles sat on the nightstand. The light was dim, coming only from a lamp in the corner, casting dancing shadows that seemed to magnify every movement.
And Billie... Oh, Billie.
She's standing a step away from you, wearing only short shorts and a black sports bra. Her pale skin is a canvas of tattoos. Her back, half turned to you, reveals that large, intricate design that runs down her entire spine. When she turns around, your gaze lingers on the dragon tattoo that runs up her side, from her hip. It's big, it's warm, it's beautiful.
"Don't worry," she says, her voice husky, low, just for you to hear. "I won't bite you. Not yet."
She gives a small, lopsided smile and walks over to the bed. When she bends down to pick up the remote, you try not to look at the generous curve of her breasts; they look soft, and they seem to be calling to you. Billie is so hot.
"So," she begins, tossing the remote on the bed. "Class canceled, huh? Too bad." Her tone is playful, but there's a grain of truth there.
"Stop it, Billie," you reply, crossing your arms. "What do you really want?"
"I told you. To watch a movie." She picks up a bucket of popcorn you hadn't even noticed. "Sit down."
It's an order, not an invitation. And you, like a fool, sit on the edge of the bed, still far away. She's watching you like a hunter watches his prey.
Billie sits next to you. Not on the other side. Close. So close that her leg almost touches yours. The heat from her body is real. She grabs the remote and starts playing movies.
"What do you want to see?" she asks, her fingers, which would usually be covered in rings, gliding over the keys of the remote.
"You choose." Her voice is hoarse than it should be.
She stops at 'The Witch.' "That one. It's scary and sad." She looks at you, a glint in her eye. "Can you handle it?"
"I can handle you bugging me at rehearsal, Billie. A movie is a piece of cake."
She gives a genuine laugh, which makes your chest hurt in a good way. "Fair enough."
She presses play and flops down on the cushions, pulling the popcorn onto her lap. The movie begins, dark and heavy.
The first twenty minutes pass in a heavy silence. You try to pay attention to the screen, but it's impossible. Every time she moves to get the popcorn, her arm brushes against yours. Every time she giggles quietly at something, the sound vibrates in the air between you.
In a tense scene, your hands meet in the popcorn bucket.
The touch is quick, but the sensation lingers, burning inside. You pull your hand back as if you'd touched fire.
Billie doesn't pull away. She just turns her head and stares at you. The light from the TV shines in her eyes.
"You're shaking," she whispers.
"It's the movie. It's scary."
"Bullshit," she says simply. She takes the popcorn from her lap and turns her entire body to face you, crossing one leg. The movement makes her shorts ride up a little, revealing more of the dragon tattoo, right there, so close. "You're not scared of the movie, Y/n. You're scared of me."
"You are," she cuts in, soft but firm. "You've been avoiding me ever since the tour got serious. Ever since... something changed."
She reaches out and takes your hand from the mattress. Her fingers, soft, manicured, slowly run over your knuckles, over the calluses on the guitar. The fairies tattooed on her hand seem to dance.
"These hands," she whispers, "are the only ones that calm the chaos in my head. You know that?"
You wouldn't even imagine what she was thinking with her hands.
"Billie, please..." You pull your hand away, but she holds on tightly.
"No. Not today. Today you listen to me." Her gaze is serious, no joke. Just truth. "I'm a mess, Y/n. I'm intense, I'm perfectly annoying, I'm jealous of everything—and today, when I saw you looking at Jane, it was like a knife in the chest."
"She's my friend! That's all!"
"I know!" she almost screams, full of frustration. "In my head, I know! But here," she takes your hand and presses it against her chest, right over her heart, her skin warm, her heart beating wildly beneath your hand, "here it doesn't matter. Here it only matters that you were dating her and not me. Here it only matters that you smile at her in a way that... that I want to be just mine."
Your hand burns against her skin. Each beat of her heart is a scream. You pull your hand away again, the professional part of you screaming that this is wrong.
"We can't, Billie," you whisper, your voice shaking. "It's wrong. It's... it's unprofessional. I'm your guitarist. You're... you're Billie Eilish, and my boss."
She lets out a sound that's half laughter, half despair. "Unprofessional? Is that what worries you?" She leans in, her face now a hand's breadth from yours. "I spend all day being 'Billie Eilish.' Here, now, with you, I don't want to be her. I just want to be the girl who's completely in love with your beautiful, stubborn guitarist."
The confession hangs in the air between you, heavy and sweet. You feel yourself gasping for air.
"What...?" you manage breathlessly.
"You heard," she says, her eyes roaming your face. "I'm in love with you. Probably ever since that day you fixed the pedal that no one would fix and looked at me like I was an idiot for breaking it. It was the first time someone treated me like... a normal person. Not a star. Just a person."
She lets go of your hand, leaning in slightly, but only to place both hands on your face, her thumbs caressing your cheeks. The 'Hard & Soft' tattoo on her hip becomes much more visible, and you wonder how she's both at once.
"And all this dancing," she continues, her voice a silken thread, "this jealousy, these looks... it's driving me crazy. Because I see how you look at me, Y/n. It's the same way I look at you. Like I'm the only person in the world."
She's right. Absolutely right. You're trapped by the truth you've been carrying for months.
"Billie..." your whisper is a weak protest.
"Stop thinking," she urges softly. "For a second, just stop."
And then, she closes the distance.
The first touch is just a pressure, her lips on yours. They're softer than you imagined. A hesitant touch that stops time. You feel her lip gloss, her lip trembling slightly.
And then, the world falls apart.
A low moan escapes her throat, and she deepens the kiss. Her hand moves from your cheek to the nape of your neck, her fingers burying themselves in your hair, pulling you closer with desperate urgency. Her other hand runs down your arm, leaving a trail of fire on your skin, and rests on your waist, pulling your body against hers.
And you... you let yourself break.
Your arms wrap around her waist, pulling her even closer. One hand comes up and rests in her hair, your fingers lost in her dark, long, soft hair. When her tongue brushes your lips, begging for entrance, you let her go with a sigh that's almost a cry.
It's a kiss of pent-up hunger, of months of tension. Her tongue explores your mouth with desire and care, as if tasting you, taking possession. Your lips move in rhythm with hers, a music only the two of you know. You taste the salty taste of tears, mixed with her fresh breath and the taste that is only hers.
She shifts, pushing you back against the pillows without letting go of your mouth. Her body lies on top of yours, a delicious, crushing weight. Your legs curl around each other, and you feel every curve of her body against yours. The hand that was on your waist slips under your shirt, her warm palm finding the skin of your back. The touch makes you shiver, and a moan of yours fades into her mouth.
The sound of her heavy breathing and the soft moans she lets out is the only music that matters. The feel of her skin under your hands, of the tattoos you feel like light textures under your fingers, is addictive. Shit, you need to fuck her.
The kiss is unhurried. It's a slow exploration. She moves down to your chin, leaving wet kisses and light bites down to your neck, before returning to your mouth, as if she can't bear to be away. Her tongue plays with yours in an ancient dance, and you respond with the same strength, your hands gripping her hips, pulling her toward you, eliciting a low, satisfied moan from her mouth.
She finally pulls away, just enough to breathe.
Your faces are pressed together, your breathing heavy and mingled. Her lips are swollen and shiny, her eyes, dark with desire, search yours with a silent question.
You don't say anything. You don't need to. Instead, you pull her head back down, pressing your mouth against hers again. The kiss is wet, sloppy, shameless. Your tongues curl and move with a desire that leaves your mouth full of saliva, a mingled taste of both of you that is intense and dirty. You felt the heat of her breath, the low, wet sound of movement, and the saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth. It's disgusting, it's messy, and it's the best thing you've ever felt, and so has she.
In a surprising move, you reversed positions. Your hands grip Billie's shoulders with a force that makes her eyes widen, and in an instant, you're on top, pressing your body against hers on the bed. The shock in her eyes lasts a split second before being replaced by a gleam of pure surprise and... excitement.
"Wait, Y/n, I—" she tries to say, panting, trying to regain control.
But you don't give her a chance. You capture her wrists and pin them to the bed above her head, holding them with one hand. Your other hand trailed down her body, not with a caress, but with possession. Your fingers traced the outline of the dragon tattooed on her hip, feeling the muscles in her stomach contract beneath your touch.
"Enough," you whispered, your voice a low, husky growl near her ear. "No more games, Billie. You've teased me enough. Now it's my turn."
And you began. Your mouth found her neck, but it wasn't a gentle kiss. It was light, sucking bites that you knew would leave bruises, your marks. She arched, a long, raspy moan ripping from her throat. Your free hand gripped Billie's waist, your fingers digging into the soft flesh, pulling her closer to you as your mouth moved lower, kissing and nibbling the skin exposed by her bra.
"Y/n... stop... like this I... I can't think!" she cried, her fingers writhing against your hand still holding her wrists.
"Good," you replied, your tongue finding her marked collarbone, sucking, seeing red marks immediately appear, tasting the salty skin. "Don't think. Just feel."
Your hand slid down her body, past her waist, until it found the hem of her sports bra. With a swift movement, you pulled the fabric up, exposing her breasts. The breath was knocked completely from her lungs.
They're large, heavy, perfect. The skin is so pale it almost glows in the dark room, and the nipples, already hard and erect, are a dark, irresistible pink.
Billie arched her back involuntarily, a breathless "ah!" escaping her lips as the cool air, or maybe just the sight of you, touched her sensitive skin.
You didn't wait. You didn't have the patience for this anymore. You lowered your head and covered one breast with your mouth, your tongue enveloping the nipple in one go, sucking on the hard, pink tip, sucking hard and nibbling, leaving it covered in your saliva.
Billie screamed. It wasn't a moan, it was a high-pitched, genuine scream that echoed through the room. Her hands flew to your head, burying her fingers in your hair, but not to pull, but to hold you there, pinned to her.
"Holy God! Y/n! You're sensitive!" she screamed, her voice breaking.
You didn't stop. You sucked, licked, bit lightly, and each movement was met with a louder, more uncontrolled moan from her. You continued sucking, now switching nipples, capturing the other with your mouth. She moaned louder, it was sensitive, but it felt so good. You took her pink nipple between your teeth, sucking and biting. She pulled your hair, forcing your head deeper into her chest, suffocating you. Honestly, you were in heaven, and it was just the beginning. Billie was writhing beneath you, a festival of sounds. She moans, cries, begs your name, and curses between moans.
You show no mercy. Your hand closes in a firm, hard slap on the soft flesh of her breast, and the wet sound is drowned out by the loud, hoarse moan that escapes Billie's throat. "Again!" she begs, her eyes glazed. "Please, Y/n, more!"
You obey, slapping her again, a little harder, leaving her pale skin streaked with red. She arches her back, gasping, and then your own hands come up. She grips her breasts tightly, her fingers digging into the flesh, and pinches her already sensitive nipples between her thumb and forefinger, twisting with an intensity that makes you hold your breath.
"Oh... like that..." she moans, her voice choked, her face completely lost in pleasure and pain. "Don't stop... use me... please."
You bend down and capture one nipple between your teeth, nibbling and pulling lightly as your hand continues to massage and squeeze the other breast with a possession that makes her tremble.
The damage to Billie's breasts was complete. Her pale skin was streaked with red, her nipples so swollen and sensitive that she shivered just from the air hitting them. A fine sweat covered her body, and her breathing was a panting chaos.
You don't stop there. Your mouth descends, leaving a trail of wet kisses down her stomach. You stop at the dragon tattoo, running your tongue slowly over the outline of the black scales. Billie moans, her hips rising involuntarily. "Please…" she begs, but you take your time.
Your tongue finds her belly button piercing—a small diamond that catches the dim light of the room. You play with it, swirling your tongue around the cool metal, and then tug at the clasp with your teeth, gently.
"This is torture," she cries, her fingers digging into your hair, not to pull you in, but to keep you there, close.
You laugh softly against the warm skin of her stomach. "I told you you'd beg.”
Your mouth moves lower, kissing the line of her shorts, right where the 'Hard & Soft' tattoo begins. You place your mouth on the fabric and blow hotly.
Billie loses control. "Enough teasing, for God's sake!" Her trembling hands reach for the laces of her shorts, pulling with desperate force. She lifts her hips off the mattress, pushing the fabric down in a sudden movement. And then... wow.
Her black panties are completely soaked, a dark, wet circle marking the fabric, revealing just how aroused she is. The elastic is twisted, tied haphazardly, as if she'd rushed to get dressed. It's the most indecent sight you've ever seen.
You stifle a low moan. You want to bury your face in there immediately, but a perverse part of you wants more. Much more.
Instead of going down, you go up.
Your body crawls back up hers, your mouth trailing over her dragon tattoo, over her sensitive breasts, until it reaches her neck. You whisper in her ear, your breath hot against her sweaty skin.
"Look at the damage you've done... All wet for me." Your hand drops, and you press your palm hard against that heat, through the wet fabric.
Billie screamed, a high-pitched, broken sound. Her body arched, her fingers digging into your arm. "Y/n, I swear... if you don't—"
"If I don't what?" you tease, rubbing your hand in a slow, firm circle, making the fabric of her panties brush against her clit in a way that drives her wild. "You look so beautiful like this, begging."
"Stop teasing!" she moans, her hips moving against your hand, seeking more pressure, more friction, anything.
"Please, I need... I need your mouth. Now."
And then she breaks completely. Her hands grip your face, pulling you into a deep, dirty, desperate kiss, while her hips continue to move in a chaotic rhythm against your hand.
Your hand doesn't stop rubbing her clit through her panties. Through the wet fabric, you feel everything: the heat, the swelling, her body responding to your every movement. Billie turns her head to the side, burying her face in the pillow to muffle her moans, but it's no use. The sounds that come out of her are husky, guttural, animalistic.
"Y/n... for God's sake..." she pleads, her voice trailing off between gasps.
You laugh softly, a laugh of pure defiance. "For God's sake, what, Bills? Speak.”
She can't. Instead, her hand comes down and covers yours, her fingers intertwining with yours with desperate force. She guides your hand, pressing harder against her clit, covered by her soaked panties, demonstrating the frenetic rhythm she needs. It's as if she's drowning and your hand is her only air.
And then you slap her. Hard and firm, right on top of her soaked panties, making her clit sting, deliciously.
Her body jerked against the mattress. A strangled scream, half cry, half ecstasy, tore from her throat. "Again!" she begged, her eyes glazed, unfocused. "Please, again!"
Your hand, still clasped in hers, rubbed harder, and her other hand joined in, delivering another slap to the same spot, followed by a firm pressure of your palm that made her eyes roll back in her head.
"You're so beautiful like this, completely lost because of me," you whisper, as she uses your hand to rub herself, losing what little control she had left. The entire room smells of sex, sweat, and her essence. And you haven't even removed her panties yet.
Without further ado, your fingers found the waistband of those ruined panties.
The fabric was so soaked it almost stuck to her skin when you pulled. A low, wet sound escaped as you pulled them down her thighs, down past her knees, and finally tossed them off the bed.
The sight that opened before you literally took your breath away. It was paradise. A wet, swollen, pulsating, perfectly shaved paradise. Her lips were red, swollen with arousal, and glistened in the dim light of the room, fully exposed, perfectly wet, and open for you. Her scent, intense and sweet, dominated the air around you, a primal perfume that made your mouth water instantly.
Her entrance pulsed, lubrication slowly oozing out, a delicious sight.
You held your breath for a second, your eyes roaming every inch of that image. Billie moaned, a sound of pure shame and need, and tried to close her legs, but her knees were already weak.
"Let me see," you whispered, your voice husky, as your hands spread her legs wider, bringing her knees close to her chest, completely exposed to you. "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life."
The sight was so beautiful it hurt. But you weren't made for meekness now.
Your blood pounded, addicted to the power of having Billie Eilish like this, completely exposed and trembling with need.
The skin on her inner thighs trembled, and a shiver ran through her body as the air hit her sensitive skin.
And then, before she could prepare herself, his hand came up and came down with a quick, sharp slap, right in the middle of that soft, swollen flesh.
The sound was sharp, and Billie's scream was muffled by the pillow. The shock, the pain mixed with pleasure, made her eyes instantly fill with tears.
"Open," you ordered, leaving no room for argument. "Now."
Billie, her lips trembling and her face awash with a mixture of embarrassment and ecstasy, obeyed. Her trembling hands lowered, and her own fingers parted her lower lips, completely exposing her red, throbbing clitoris to you.
Billie's trembling fingers parted even further, opening herself completely to you. Every detail was exposed under the soft light of the room—her swollen, throbbing clitoris, her flushed, moist lips, everything trembling with her rapid breathing.
Seeing Billie like this, completely open and offering herself to you, was the most erotic thing you'd ever seen. Your patience was at an end.
You began stroking her clitoris in tight circles, rubbing that swollen, red bud, collecting the lubrication from the entrance to her pussy, inserting only your fingertips, making her moan softly.
Without a word, you moved your hand and thrust two fingers inside her at once, with a force that took both of your breath away.
Billie's scream echoed through the room, a hoarse, broken sound of pure shock and pleasure. She was incredibly hot and tight, and so wet that your fingers entered with a wet, messy sound. Her body arched violently off the mattress, her hands gripping the sheets with white-hot force.
You didn't give her a second to adjust. Your fingers began moving in a firm, deep rhythm, the heel of your hand slamming against her clit with each entry. The sensation was pure possession. Every inch of your hand inside her said: you're mine.
"Like this... like this... don't stop, please, don't stop!" Billie screamed, her voice cracking, her hips frantically trying to keep up with the rhythm of your fingers. Her face was flushed, her eyes rolled back, her mouth open in continuous moans. She was completely lost, a whirlwind of sensations.
You leaned over her, your mouth close to her ear. "Do you like this? Do you like how I fill you?" you whispered, your voice husky, as your fingers continued their relentless work.
The only response was a higher-pitched cry, followed by a series of "yes, yes, yes!" punctuated by moans. Your free hand gripped her breast, squeezing the soft flesh, pinching her already sensitive nipple. It was an assault on all her senses, and she loved every second of it.
Her breathing was a chaotic, gasping mess, and you could feel her inner muscles beginning to contract involuntarily around your fingers. She was getting there, and fast. You quickened your pace, your fingers curling inside her to find that spot you knew would send her over the edge.
"Y/n, I'm going... I'm going..." she cried out, her eyes wide, filled with a mix of panic and anticipation.
"Go," you commanded, your eyes fixed on hers. "Come for me, Billie. Now."
That was enough. With a long, shrill scream that seemed to come from the depths of her soul, Billie's body went into violent spasms. Her legs shook uncontrollably, her fingers dug into your arm, and a warm wave enveloped her fingers as she cried out your name, once, twice, three times, until the sound turned into a breathless cry.
She fell back onto the pillows, completely exhausted, her entire body still trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, her skin covered in a light sweat.
You finally removed your fingers slowly, bringing them to your mouth, collecting the last of her orgasm, perfect. The room fell silent, only the sound of your heavy breathing filling the air.
Billie opens her eyes, heavy with pleasure, and pulls you into a kiss before you can say anything.
It's a wild, desperate kiss. She can taste herself in his mouth, salty, sweet, intense, and it only drives her wilder. Their tongues meet without hesitation, in a familiar, dirty dance. It's more than passion, it's possession.
Billie moaned into the kiss, making you frown. You lowered your gaze to Billie's pussy, and you understood.
Billie was touching herself, stimulating herself rapidly, circling her swollen clit repeatedly with her fingers.
You moaned at the sight, unable to contain your arousal for this woman. You got on your knees on the bed and quickly grabbed Billie's hips, quickly turning her over. Billie giggled at your gesture and leaned against the bed, getting on all fours for you, looking at you over her shoulder.
You would never forget the sight: Billie on all fours, her swollen pussy dripping wet.
You smiled and moved closer to her body, bringing your hands to her ass and slapping her hard. Billie moaned and pushed her ass back, wanting more of your slaps. You bit your lip and slapped her again, seeing your handprints clearly on her skin.
You kneel behind her, facing her exposed ass, your hands running around her waist, feeling her hot, sweaty skin. She's completely open to you like this, and the sight is breathtaking. You don't wait.
First, your tongue runs down her middle, in a long, slow motion, from the base to her clit. Billie moans loudly into the pillow, her whole body shuddering. You repeat, several times, licking her all over, feeling the intense taste and the growing tremor in her thighs, then you add your fingers. Two fingers slide inside her, finding her still incredibly wet and hot. You move them in a steady rhythm, neither slow nor fast, but deep, while your tongue remains focused on her clit, pressing and circling.
"Like this... please, don't stop..." she begs, her voice muffled by the fabric. Her hips begin to thrust back, trying to find a more intense rhythm against your mouth and hand.
You feel her inner muscles begin to contract, a familiar tightness around your fingers. Your tongue quickens slightly, focusing on that sensitive spot, and your fingers curl inside her, searching for the right spot.
Billie begins to moan nonstop, a continuous, husky sound of pure need. Her back arches even further, and her hands release the pillow to grip the headboard.
"Y/n, I'm going... I'm going to come again...FUCK!" she screams, the warning a mix of warning and plea.
You don't slow down. Instead, your mouth and hand work together, bringing her even closer to the edge, your fingers pounding hard into her pussy, and your mouth on her clit, sucking hard on that sensitive pink bud. And then, with a muffled scream that seems to rip from her throat, Billie's body is wracked with violent spasms. She squirted, a clear, warm liquid running down your fingers and into your mouth as she trembled uncontrollably, her legs weak, her whole body giving in to the overwhelming pleasure. The bed was ruined, puddles of squirt on the sheets, and you didn't stop masturbating her, pounding into her tight entrance even more, making her moan. As you thrust your fingers deeper, more liquid spurted out, with obscene, delicious noises.
Billie collapsed onto her side, a deep, exhausted sigh escaping her lips. Her body was wet with sweat, her limbs heavy. But the fire inside you still wasn't satisfied.
You moved slowly, sliding down again. She moaned a weak protest as you gently but firmly spread her legs. "Y/n... I can't do it anymore... please..."
But you weren't in a hurry. You just wanted to see. Wanted to feel.
And the view was breathtaking. Her pussy was swollen. Her labia were red and full, a dark, moist pink, and her clitoris throbbed visibly, hypersensitive after all. The skin around it was so sensitive that she shivered when the air hit her.
"Shhh," you whispered, your voice incredibly soft. "I just want to admire it."
Your hands gripped her inner thighs, spreading them as wide as possible, exposing everything completely. She tried to close her legs, but she couldn't. Her eyes were closed, her breath still labored.
You then leaned down and placed your lips right at her center, but without pressure. Just a touch of skin against skin, warm and soft. Billie jumped and let out a shaky moan. "Oh my..."
You didn't lick, you didn't suck. You just kissed. You kissed every swollen, sensitive inch, light, lingering kisses. You kissed the inside of her thighs, feeling the muscles tremble beneath your lips. You kissed the outer lips, feeling the pulse racing in them.
Every touch was a shock of pure sensory pleasure for her, so intense it bordered on pain. She whimpered, her fingers digging into your hair, not to pull, but to cling to something.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered, her voice broken. "This is... it's worse than before."
You smiled against her warm skin. "It's because you're beautiful like this," you murmured, your hot breath making her shiver again. "All open and sensitive for me. All mine."
And then, finally, you gave her a long, slow lick, from beginning to end, without focusing on any specific spot. It was a caress, a possession, a worship. Billie moaned, a long, deep sound, and her body arched against the bed. Seeing her so sensitive gave you an idea. A possessive feeling, wanting to hear her scream your name again. You couldn't take any more of the caress.
You spread her legs wide and plunged your face into her pussy, your mouth and tongue going all in. There was no more gentleness, just pure desire.
Billie screamed as if scared to death. "NO! Y/N, STOP! IT'S TOO SENSITIVE!"
But you didn't stop. Your tongue went straight to her swollen, reddest spot, spreading her clit with your tongue, licking and sucking with relentless force, sucking right in the middle. Your hand held her hip firmly, preventing her from escaping. She began to moan incessantly, a loud, continuous sound, mixed with 'no, no, no' that clearly meant 'yes'. Her body thrashed, but you didn't let go. Your mouth worked relentlessly, sucking and licking, thrusting your tongue deep into her tight, wet hole, making her scream and bite the pillow beside her, the noise coming out of her wet, loud, and dirty. You could hear every movement of your tongue against her.
"Stop... stop, I'm going... I'm going to pee!" she moaned loudly, desperate, her fingers digging into your hair with the force of someone at their limit.
"Squirt, you silly girl, you're going to squirt again," you growled against her skin, panting, over and over. "Let it out. All of it. For me." You inserted three fingers into her soaked entrance, which entered with difficulty. You began to thrust your fingers deep, hitting her G-spot easily, your fingers thrusting with a speed that surprised even yourself.
"Cum for me, Billie, let it all out!"
That was what she needed to hear. With a scream that sounded like the roof of her mouth was splitting, and that you'd probably have a problem with the hotel manager tomorrow, a hot, endless stream came out. This time it was a real, clear squirt that exploded, running down your chin, wetting the entire bed again, dripping onto the floor and the rug beside you. Her body shook violently, a tremor that ran from head to toe, and she moaned your name in a final, hoarse breath before collapsing, completely wet, exhausted, and unconscious.
You lay there, between her legs, panting, your own body tired and your face still wet from hers. The room was silent, only the hum of the air conditioning and your heavy breathing.
After a long minute, Billie turned her head, struggling visibly against the pillow. She couldn't even open her eyes properly, her eyelids heavy.
"I... I want to give you back..." she whispered, her voice so worn and hoarse it was barely audible. She tried to lift an arm, but it fell back onto the mattress, limp.
Your heart melted in that instant. You crawled to her side, lying down facing her on the messy, soaked bed. "Shhh, no," you said, your voice also tired, but soft. You ran your fingertips over her sweaty face, brushing away the strands of hair that stuck to her forehead. "You don't have to reciprocate anything. Just rest."
Practical concern then kicked in. You glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 2:47 a.m. Abe could wake up at any moment to go to the bathroom and notice you weren't in bed.
"I have to go," you whispered, a pain in your chest as you said it. You started to sit up, your muscles complaining. "Abe..."
Before you could get up, Billie's hand, trembling, found yours on the sheet. She opened her eyes, just a crack, and looked at you. Her gaze was exhausted, but it held you in place.
"You're not going to leave me alone after... after everything you did to me," she said, and her voice, though weak, held a hint of defiance. "That would be... that would be very cowardly of you, Y/n."
You stopped, your body suspended mid-stand. She was right. It would be cowardly. You had turned her world upside down, and now you were just going to walk away like you were going back to rehearsal the next day?
"Okay," you relented, your heart beating faster for a completely different reason now. "But we can't sleep in this wet bed. You're going to take it so I can change the sheets."
Billie groaned, closing her eyes again. "I can't get up. I think you broke my legs."
You couldn't help but smile. "You can do it. Let's go."
With an effort, you stood up and then held out your hands to her. Billie looked at your hands as if they were an impossible obstacle, but with a dramatic sigh, she placed her hands in yours and you pulled her up.
She staggered to her feet, and you held her around the waist to keep her from falling. And that's when reality hit you full in the chest.
Billie Eilish was naked. Completely naked, in front of you. Not in the heat of the moment, not in the middle of the mess. But there, under the soft lamplight, her body marked all over, her breasts still reddened by her hands and mouth, her pale skin covered in a light sheen of sweat, her tattoos looking more vivid than ever. The dragon on her hip, the fairies on her hand, the tattoo on her back. She was exhausted, disheveled, and absolutely beautiful. You gasped for a second, just staring.
Billie seemed to notice your gaze and blushed, but didn't try to cover it. A small, tired smile played on her lips. "Can you stop looking at me like I'm a zoo animal and make this bed? It's cold."
You nodded quickly and turned to hide your own flushed face. As she sat in a chair in the corner, naked and watching you with heavy eyes, you began the task of changing the sheets. It was awkward and incredibly domestic. You pulled back the soaked sheets, revealing the mattress protector underneath (thank goodness), and tossed them into a corner in a wet puddle. As you spread the clean sheet, you felt her gaze on you, a steady heat on your back.
"You're good at this," she commented, her voice a little stronger.
"Changing sheets?" you asked, without turning around.
"Taking care of things. Me," she replied simply.
You finished making the bed, placing the clean pillows in place. The bed now felt like a sanctuary, a stark contrast to the war that had raged there minutes before.
Billie got up from the armchair and staggered to the bed, falling sideways onto it with a grunt. "I'll never be able to move again," she murmured into the pillow.
"You need to take a shower," you suggested, sitting on the edge of the bed.
She shook her head, her face still buried. "Tomorrow. I'll take two showers tomorrow. I promise. Right now I just want to sleep for a week."
You chuckled softly and lay down next to her, pulling the clean blanket over you both. The scent of laundry detergent was fresh and soothing. Immediately, Billie turned and clung to you, pressing her naked body against your side, burying her face in your neck. She was warm and soft, and a sigh of deep contentment escaped her.
"Better than the blanket," she whispered, and you felt her lips form a smile against your skin. The room was silent for a moment, only the sound of their breathing calming. The adrenaline was wearing off, and a new reality, strange and wonderful, was settling in.
"So..." Billie began, her voice low and thoughtful. "What are we now?"
The question hung in the air. You were quiet for a moment, your hand tracing slow circles on her back, feeling her ribs and the texture of the large tattoo on her spine.
"I don't know," you admitted, speaking the truth. "I think... I think it's you and me. After all this." You paused. "It's scary."
Billie snuggled closer, if that was possible. "I'm scared too," she whispered, barely audible. "But I'm happier than scared."
"Me too," you replied, and it was the purest truth you'd ever spoken.
She lifted her head enough to look you in the eye. Her eyes were heavy, but serious. "The tour... the crew... Finneas..."
"One problem at a time, Bills," you interrupted softly, using the nickname only very close people used. "Now we sleep. We'll figure out the rest tomorrow."
She seemed to consider this and then nodded, burying her head in your shoulder again. "Okay. But you're staying, right? You're not leaving at dawn."
"I'll stay," you promised, kissing the top of her head. Her scent was a mixture of sweat, her shampoo, and something that was simply... Billie.
In less than two minutes, her breathing became deep and regular, her body heavy and relaxed against yours. She had fallen asleep. You lay awake for a few more minutes, listening to her breathing, feeling her comforting weight in your arms. Your mind tried to process the night, the tension, the jealousy, the confession, the hunger, the sweet violence, and now... this peace. That frightening, perfect intimacy.
Finally, exhaustion overcame you too. Your eyes closed, and you allowed yourself to drift off to sleep, with Billie Eilish, the pop star, the woman you loved, pressed against you, safe in your arms. The rest of the world, the problems, the tour... all of it could wait until dawn.
AN: SUB BILLIE IS EVERYTHING TO MEE AGHH
