the red light of the camera blinked, a tiny, hungry eye in the dim hotel room. it was aimed at the bed, at the chaos of sheets and the sprawl of limbs in the center of it. at billie.
“fuck,” she breathed, the sound half-gasp, half-whine. her back was arched, a perfect, desperate bow, pushing her tits up towards the ceiling. they bounced with every sharp thrust of your hips, a mesmerizing rhythm you were capturing forever. “look at ‘em. are you gettin’ how good they look right now?”
you angled your phone down slightly, panning from her face, scrunched up in pleasure, to her chest. the screen was a perfect, glossy window to her debasement. her nipples were tight, dusky peaks, begging for a mouth that wasn’t there. “i’m getting it,” you murmured, your voice a low, steady counterpoint to her frantic whimpers. “i’m getting everything.”
she preened under the attention of the lens, even as her body was completely subject to yours. it was a delicious contradiction, the core of what made her so addictive. she’d flex her arms, a show of strength that was utterly betrayed by the way her pussy clenched around you, slick and welcoming. “you gonna watch this later?” she asked, a sly, fucked-out grin stretching her lips. “gonna watch me when you’re all alone and remember how i fuck you?”
“i’m going to watch it and remember how i fucked you,” you corrected, punctuating the statement with a particularly deep roll of your hips. the sound she made was somewhere between a sob and a moan, her head falling back against the pillows, her throat a long, vulnerable column. the chain of her necklace glittered there, catching the light.
“god, yes,” she agreed, no longer able to manage her teasing braggadocio. her hands, which had been flexing on your biceps, flew to her own breasts. she cupped them, squeezing them together for the camera, presenting them like an offering. “play with my nipples,” she demanded, but it came out a plea. “please? pinch ‘em. make it hurt.”
you set the phone on the nightstand, propping it against the lamp for a stable, wide shot. the frame was perfect: her entire body, yours moving above her, the slick sheen of sweat on your skin. freeing your hands, you leaned over her, the strap shifting inside her and drawing a fresh cry. you did as she asked, your fingers finding her sensitive peaks and rolling them, pinching hard.
her reaction was instantaneous. her whole body jolted, legs tightening around your waist, pulling you deeper. “fuck! fuck, fuck, fuck—” the chant was a prayer, a litany to the pleasure-pain you were administering. her hips began to move in earnest, meeting your thrusts with a frantic, sloppy rhythm. she was trying to take control, to set the pace, but it was a losing battle. every grind of her hips was just a plea for more, a surrender in a different form.
“you’re so fucking desperate for it,” you whispered against her jaw, your teeth scraping the skin there. her whole body shuddered, a silent acknowledgment. “look at you. putting on a show for the camera, but really, you’re just a mess for me, aren’t you?”
she couldn’t answer. she just shook her head, a denial that was a confession. her tits were still pushed up between your bodies, soft and pliant against your chest. she was trying so hard to be the one in charge, the one with the power, flexing and showing off and demanding what she wanted. but with every stroke of the strap, every cruel twist of your fingers, she was proving the opposite. her body was yours. her pleasure was yours. the video you were making was yours.
“say it,” you commanded, your hips snapping forward, hard and fast. “tell the camera who’s fucking you.”
her eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused, trying to find the little red light. she licked her swollen lips. “you are,” she breathed, the words cracking. “you are.”
“and whose tits are these?” you squeezed one for emphasis.
a whine escaped her throat, high and broken. “yours.”
“whose messy little pussy is this?”
she whimpered, grinding against you, chasing her release. “yours. god, it’s yours.”
“good girl.” you reached over, picked up the phone, and brought it in close, right to her face. “now, look at the camera,” you said, your voice soft but absolute. “and show me what it looks like when my cock makes you cum.”
her entire body locked. for a single, suspended second, she was a statue caught in the headlights of your phone’s lens. her pupils swallowed the blue of her irises, a wide, black abyss of pure sensation. the muscles in her neck stood out like cords as her head tipped back, a silent scream caught in her throat. then, the dam broke.
a choked sob wrenched its way out of her, raw and unrestrained. “gonna— gonna—” she managed to gasp before the words dissolved into a high-pitched keen. her body convulsed, a violent shudder starting in her core and radiating outwards. her thighs clamped around your waist like a vise, her heels digging into your ass, pulling you impossibly deeper as if she could fuse you into one being. her tits, still pressed between you, shook with the force of her orgasm, a frantic, final jiggle for the camera. the slick, wet sounds of the strap driving through her clenching heat were louder than her cries now, a percussive rhythm to her undoing.
you kept your phone steady, a merciless documentarian, capturing the flutter of her eyelids, the tear that escaped and tracked a path through the sheen of sweat on her temple, the way her jaw went slack with utter abandon. you didn’t stop moving, giving her no quarter, drawing out the pleasure until it was an agony.
“still looking,” you prompted, your voice a dark murmur. “give them more.”
she seemed to hear you through the fog of her orgasm, a flicker of awareness in her dazed eyes. with a monumental effort, she focused back on the lens. a fresh wave of heat washed over her face, a deep blush at being so seen, so recorded, so completely owned. her breath hitched. she tried to speak, to form one last, witty, defiant retort, but all that came out was a broken, breathy, “oh, fuck.”
her body went limp then, a complete and total surrender. she sank back into the mattress, boneless and spent, her limbs falling away from you. the only movement was the gentle rise and fall of her chest and the occasional, full-body shudder that traced the ghost of her orgasm. you held the camera on her for a long moment, capturing the aftermath: the blissed-out expression, the swollen lips, the tousled dark hair spread across the pillow like a halo. a perfect, ruined masterpiece.
finally, you stopped the recording. the red light vanished, plunging the room into a deeper, more intimate gloom. you tossed the phone onto the bed beside her, the soft thud startling a whimper from her.
she blinked slowly, turning her head to look at you. the bravado was gone, evaporated in the heat of her release. all that was left was a soft, pliant need. her tongue darted out to wet her lips again. “did you get it?” she whispered, her voice raspy.
you leaned down, pressing a soft, almost chaste kiss to her shoulder. “i got it all.”
a slow, lazy smile spread across her face. “good,” she murmured, her eyes drifting shut. “now show me.”
you didn’t move, letting the silence settle, thick and heavy as the humid air in the room. her breath was the only metric of time, a slow, even rhythm that gradually calmed from the frantic panting of moments before. after a long minute, her eyelids fluttered open, the blue of her irises soft in the gloom, hazy and unfocused like the aftermath of a storm.
“show me,” she repeated, the request a bare whisper now, stripped of all demand. it was a plea, a vulnerability she only showed you in these quiet moments after the tempest had passed.
you smiled, a slow, private curve of your lips. you reached for the phone, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. you lay down beside her, propping yourself up on an elbow, and shifted the screen so it was between you. your thumb found the playback button.
the world shrank to the six-inch rectangle. the video started with a slight jostle, your hands finding the perfect angle. and then there she was. on screen, billie’s head tipped back, a perfect column of throat presented to the camera as you entered her. a small, sharp gasp echoed from the phone’s speaker, a ghost of the sound you’d just heard live.
i have lots of recommendations such as writers or fics themselves, so let me do this right! also this will me linked in the pined post of my page, just so you can always know my new favorites!
&. VIDEO GAMES 【 heaven is a place on earth with you 】
sypnosis: gf!paige headcannons
pairing: uconn!paige x roommate!gf!reader
w.c: 0.4k
contains: tooth rotting fluff !!
kk here: first post, kinda nervous, little bit of paige fluff cuz she’s definitely a clingy gf lol, not proofread
- gf!paige who lovesss showing you off every chance she gets. Paparazzi? She'll casually sling her arm over your shoulder, purposely pulling you closer to her side.
- gf!paige who's so clingy that she has to have her hand on you at all times. Her hand on your thigh, arm wrapped around your waist, her hand clutching yours like she's afraid you'd let go.
- gf!paige who loves you so much that her ipad and phone wallpaper are you. She also has a polaroid of you and her in her wallet and the back of her clear phone case.
- gf!paige who always points at you after shooting a three in her games, mouthing "for you".
- gf!paige who is always in the same room as you. When you leave to go to another room, she follows immediately, claiming it's "just a coincidence".
- gf!paige who was terrible at hiding your relationship from the start because she had such expressive eyes, always looking at you with such overwhelming love that your teammates would roll their eyes in annoyance.
- gf!paige who has a special notification sound and ringtone for you just so she would never miss any of your texts.
- gf!paige who never fails to fall asleep while cuddling. It could be the morning, afternoon, or night, she's guaranteed to fall asleep with her leg over yours.
- gf!paige who tries to act cold when you piss her off but ultimately folds with zero pressure and crawls back into bed with you, whining until you hug her back.
- gf!paige who would annoy you until you agreed to do a stupid new TikTok trend with her.
- gf!paige who would lowkey choose you over her ipad.
- gf!paige who has been consistently trying to get your mii and her mii to fall in love in Tomodatchi Life. She's been unsuccessful and secretly crashes out about it when she thinks you're not looking
- gf!paige who gets the worse case of cuteness aggression ever whenever she sees you in her clothes, and how big they look on you. She’d hug you from behind and pepper your face with kisses after you turn around in her arms until you're both giggling.
Thank you guys so much for 145 followersss :')) I promise to make more pics and I'm already doing some of the y'all's requests! Thank you for the supportt, I love y'all so much!
SEV SEV PLZ I NEED TO KNOW WHAT DOES THE NUMBER NUMBER MEAN
YK WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT PLZ SEV I WANNA KNOWWWWW
All I can say is I guess I didn't think that through converting the story but all I could think is that reader's really popular with the number 18 somehow since her birthday was also on 18 so guess Billie took that information and carried it with her :'))
The bass pulsed through the massive arena in Paris, heavy and relentless, vibrating beneath the feet of thousands as flashing lights cut through the darkness in sharp streaks of white and electric blue while smoke curled low across the stage, creating an almost dreamlike haze around Billie Eilish as she moved with practiced ease, her voice steady and haunting, her presence commanding in a way that made the entire crowd feel like it belonged to her.
She had done this countless times before, standing under blinding lights with people screaming her name, yet tonight carried a strange tension that sat deep in her chest because she knew that somewhere out there, hidden among the sea of faces and raised phones..
was you.
The rumors had started as whispers online, playful teasing from fans and careless speculation from media outlets, but over time they had sharpened into something that resembled truth, something almost confirmed in the way Billie spoke about you in interviews and the way her demeanor shifted whenever your name was mentioned, and people began to say that Billie was courting you, not casually, not recklessly, but with intention, which was something Billie rarely gave anyone.
You were not someone who could be approached lightly because you carried a life that was already full, a past that had not fully settled, and a responsibility that changed everything, and Billie understood that even if you never said it out loud.
As Billie stepped closer to the mic with a calmer presence, her usual sharp movements slowed into something almost intimate despite the scale of everything around her. Phones lifted higher, lights dimmed into a soft glow, and the entire arena began to sway as people sang along, some too loud, some off-key, but all of them fully immersed, turning the song into something shared rather than performed.
Billie let them sing the first line, her lips barely brushing the mic as she smiled faintly, her eyes scanning the crowd out of habit, out of something deeper, and then she saw you.
You stood in that same slightly elevated space near the stairs, the same position you told Billie you'd be in, your presence calm amidst the overwhelming noise, your eyes already on Billie as if you had been waiting for that exact moment, and beside you, your son was already bouncing slightly on his feet, gripping the railing with one hand, mesmerized at the thought of how Billie could be singing infront of hundred of people and also visit him on peaceful days with his mum.
“Mi, that’s her,” the little boy said, tugging gently at your sleeve, his voice filled with excitement as his eyes stayed glued to the stage.
“I know, baby,” You replied softly, your lips curving into a fond smile as you looked down at him for a second before returning your gaze to Billie. “You can wave if you want.”
The boy didn’t need to be told twice. He stepped forward, gripping the railing as he leaned in and started waving, not hesitantly but with full, determined energy, his arm moving repeatedly as if he refused to stop until he was seen.
“Hi! Hi!” he called out, even though his voice was swallowed by the sheer volume of the crowd.
Billie’s focus shifted completely, her voice continuing on instinct as her mind stalled for just a second because the resemblance hit her all at once, the boy looked so much like you that it almost startled her, from the softness of his features to the way his expressions changed so openly, and even the way he carried himself felt familiar in a way that made Billie’s chest tighten unexpectedly.
The crowd somehow blurred. The lights dulled. The music became background noise.
She had known you had a son, she had accepted that fact with care and respect, but seeing him, watching him exist in real time rather than as a concept, made everything feel more real than she expected.
Resuming back, Billie let out the softest smile she had, walking to the edge of the stage before waving back at him once she had a very short break before resuming back to singing.
The transition was seamless to the thousands of fans screaming around you, but to you, it was an entirely private universe. Billie gripped the microphone stand with both hands, leaning in as the opening chords of Halley’s Comet began to swell, thick with melancholy and tender realization.
The crowd erupted in a collective, breathless gasp as the familiar, haunting melody floated over the speakers.
"But in my dreams I seem to be more honest.."
Billie’s voice was barely a whisper, yet it filled every corner of the massive Parisian arena. Her eyes never left yours. The vulnerability in her gaze was staggering, a raw contrast to the pop-star persona she usually wore like armor. She was singing to a stadium, but she was performing only for the two of you.
"But you're all it takes for me to break a promise..."
"Silly me to fall in love with you..."
As she sang, your son’s excitement didn’t wane; instead, he seemed completely captivated by the magic of it all, his small hands now clapping in a slow, uneven rhythm to the music. You wrapped an arm around his small shoulders, pulling him a little closer against the chill of the arena air, your heart doing a strange, heavy flip in your chest.
Billie watched the movement. She saw the fierce, protective way you held him, the quiet grace of your motherhood blending with the person she had stayed up talking to until dawn.
"I was good at feeling nothing, now I'm hopeless..."
"What a drag to love you like I do, ooh-ooh-ooh..."
Her voice cracked slightly on the word "I do", a genuine flicker of emotion that made a few fans nearby scream in sympathy, thinking it was just the intensity of the tour getting to her. But you knew better. You knew the weight behind that lyric. You knew the timing of your lives wasn't perfect. You had baggage, a child, a life already built—and she was a global icon caught in a whirlwind.
Yet, as Billie took a slow step backward, her gaze locking onto yours through the haze of the blue stage lights, the distance between the stage and the stairs seemed to evaporate.
The song shifted, building into that beautiful, jazzy crescendo, the tempo melting into something deeper, more resolved. Billie let her head drop back for a moment, letting the music wash over her, before she looked straight at your son and gave him another small, secret nod, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
""I've been in love before, but right now in this moment..."
"I feel more and more like I was made for you."
She didn't look away when she sang that final admission. The arena went completely dark, save for a single, stark white spotlight trained on her, but in her mind, the light extended all the way to the elevated steps where you stood.
As the final notes of the song faded into a roar of applause, Billie lowered the mic, her chest heaving slightly. Before the lights changed for the next track, she caught your eye one last time, mouthing three simple words that the rest of the stadium missed entirely:
"See you backstage."
note : got so inspired by this tiktok video I had to make a fic :')) SO CUTEEE
heyeyey I don’t know if you’re taking requests but if you do I have like 7 fic ideas choose a number 👀
-from, winter
Haii babyy, yup yup currently taking requests. Hmm, I'd say 5 and hope it's a good one :')) Really sorry I didn't answer you right away last time, my love
“That’s not fucking fair, you started riling me up and that damned security guard came meddling before I could do anything,” Billie whines as you dash up the staircase. “Fucking asshole.”
Billie isn’t one to enjoy being left in the dust, and so she charges up the stairs, managing to catch you when you were one foot into your bedroom, grabbing your waist and pulling you back.
“You—Billie!” You want to curse at her, but you involuntarily giggle when Billie’s fingers tickle your sides. “Stop! You’re tickling me!”
“That’ll teach you,” Billie grins as she now had you fully vulnerable. “You give me blue balls again and your sides aren’t gonna be the only thing being tickled.”
“What the fuck does that even—mean!” You squeal the last word as Billie throws you over her shoulder, carrying you into the bedroom and throwing you onto the bed, locking the door behind her.
You could feel yourself gushing when Billie turns to face you, slowly making her way to her with a borderline maniacal smile on her lips, her long fingers slowly unzipping her jeans.
“You’re not going anywhere but to poundtown, baby,” Billie husks, hovering over you, sending shivers all over your body. “Seems like you’re basically a permanent resident there, too.”
You groan at the terrible joke, feeling yourself being even more turned off yet somehow even more turned on at Billie’s horrible taste in humour and what she could only think to be her version of dirty talk.
But that somehow has her even more addicted.
“Take your pants off, princess,” Billie grins, and you nearly moan at the nickname—the one that she usually used teasingly had a whole different effect on you under these circumstances. “I wanna see you.”
You comply uncharacteristically obediently, a huge contrast from your not sex activities. You shimmy your way out of your rather tight shorts with help from Billie, who chucks it across your room.
Billie’s smirk grows wider when she sees your cute pink panties, so soaked with your arousal that it was nearly see-through. She caresses it with her fingers, making sure she was grazing over your clit, leaving you mewling.
Billie slips off your panties rather easily, licking her lips as if she hasn’t eaten in days at the sight of your bare pussy, glistening with your slick and looking oh-so-welcoming.
“Someone’s been missing me,” Billie chuckles as she whips her cock out from inside her briefs, stroking it languidly and spreading her precum all over her length as her other hand inserts a finger into you, who claws at the sheets, already feeling overwhelmed. “You’re a waterpark, and I’m an excited kid on holiday.”
Maybe Billie being normal and talking dirty normally is too much to ask.
“God, fucking—Billie, please just fuck me already,” you groan in exasperation as your hole clenches desperately around her finger, which was far from the usual girth that you’d grown accustomed to. “You’re so annoying.”
“Geez, okay, I was just trying to prep you,” Billie frowns as she pulls her finger out of your hole, drenched in fluid, putting it into her mouth and sucking. “You taste decent.”
You roll your eyes, but you find your eyes rolling far back than you’d intended when Billie’s length rammed into you at full strength, hitting the deepest part within you that none of your toys had managed to reach.
“So tight,” Billie growls, grabbing your waist and readjusting herself before moving her hips, and you whine when Billie’s length plunges in and out of you, grazing against your walls, white hot pleasure flowing through your veins.
“Fuck—Billie—ah!” You whine when Billie tugs at your ankles, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed and throwing your legs over her shoulders. “Oh my god—”
You’ve done this enough times for Billie to know you enjoyed taking it rough—you loved to have the living daylights fucked out of you, to be manhandled and dominated like the slut you were, to be marked everywhere with dark hickeys as a fond reminder of the person who has you begging and screaming every night—but Billie couldn’t know that.
Of course, Billie had her secrets too—she couldn’t deny that the only person who came to mind whenever she needed to blow off steam was you, the girl whom she resented with her whole being, her biggest weakness. Soft grunts leaving her lips as she tugged herself to the thought of that bobbed hair, those soft lips, the bratty attitude, the infuriatingly pretty face with brown doe eyes to match, the small hands that clawed at her back or grabbed desperately at her arms every time—
She’d get hard just at the memory of you under her, whimpering, writhing, begging, sobbing as you gave in and left your pride at the door, leaving the most vulnerable part of you out for Billie to bathe in—the one that screamed her name for everyone to hear; the one that grabbed tightly onto Billie, pulling her close, as if you’d die if your skin didn’t touch; the one that allowed Billie to do whatever she wanted with you.
Billie—please, I need you—
Fuck me harder, I’m yours…
“How long have you waited for this?” Billie asks, her voice huskier than usual, making you gush just a little more. “I know you must’ve been humping everything you could see while waiting for me to come back… horny little whore.”
You were shameless, anyone who knew you knew this, but Billie was privileged—or not—enough to see the most shameless side of you, the side that casually asked for her to send dickprint pics, full dick pics, and even videos of herself jerking off with the sound on so you could touch yourself when Billie was away at some interstate tournament.
Billie was more than happy to comply—it was the second-best option, unless Billie was okay with chopping her dick off and shipping it back to your house.
You reciprocated too, sending Billie the most lecherous, debauched pictures of yourself when you knew Billie had practice or was in class with a teacher that targeted specifically her for whatever reason—a picture of your bare body, porcelain skin boasting all the marks Billie had left on you previously; a mirror picture of yourself wearing Billie’s oversized shirts or hoodies that you love to steal, the both of them knowing full well that you had nothing on underneath; a selfie of yourself in the shower, soapy tits in full view with the caption ‘if only you were here’ paired with a vomiting emoji.
People don’t usually send nudes to the people they hate, but people don’t usually have sex with their enemies on a daily basis, either.
Leave it to these two to be in denial.
“N—No,” you huff, face flushed from how hard Billie was pounding into you, fingers clawing at the sheets to keep yourself grounded. “I’m—not that—ah fuck, right there, please—”
“Yeah?” Billie smirks, taking one of her hands off your hips to tug your blouse and bra up, revealing your perfect perky tits, and you couldn’t help but giggle at Billie’s expression, eyes wide open as if it was her first time seeing boobs, but for Billie, seeing your tits never got old.
Billie dips down, sucking on a nipple and drawing a loud moan from you. It’s no secret that you enjoy having your tits sucked on—especially if it was Billie Eilish (only if it was her, actually)—and you scream when Billie lightly bites, so overstimulated you could cry.
One thing you like about Billie that wasn’t her cock, was that she paid equal attention to both your tits, one of her hands massaging a boob while she sucked the other, all the while her thrusts never faltered, maintaining the same steady pace that had you writhing.
One of your hands move to tug at Billie’s hair while the other clawed at the fabric of her hoodie, which you were disappointed she hadn’t taken off. Billie looks up from sucking on your tits, and your heart flutters when you see the puppylike expression on her face, her chin wet with saliva and pupils blown wide.
You had established several unspoken rules ever since the start of this arrangement, with one of them being no kissing, for obvious reasons, but now, with Billie’s face so close and so kissable, you had to physically restrain yourself from pulling her stupid face into a stupid little kiss.
You can kiss someone without meaning!
Right.
Billie, meanwhile, was impossibly hard, and the sight of you still donning her letterman while getting pounded made her somehow harder than she already was.
There was something so arousing about seeing the bane of your existence wear something that belongs to you whilst simultaneously submitting her body for your use. With Billie’s name on her letterman, it felt as if you were branded, reduced to simply a belonging, a toy that Billie owned.
Finally opening your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure, you feel yourself become impossibly more aroused at the sight before you—Billie’s eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back, sweat pouring down her face and nails digging into the skin of your thighs as she rammed her cock into you over and over again with commendable stamina—she wasn’t the star football player for no reason, anyway.
If only you had the strength and flexibility to rip that stupid hoodie off her—which fucking loser wears a hoodie while fucking one of the hottest girls in school?
Billie Eilish, apparently.
Your back arches off the bed when Billie hits that one spot inside you that has you whimpering, and that spurs Billie on, her climax just at her fingertips. The jock grunts as she pushes your legs up to your chest for a better angle, making sure not to hurt you as she continues pounding away like nobody’s business.
“Shit,” Billie grits her teeth, breathing harshly beside your ear. “Ah fuck—”
“Gonna cum for me, baby girl?” you still manage to tease despite being in the midst of getting railed to filth, and in response, Billie just fucks you harder, making you jerk with every movement.
“Shut up,” Billie hisses, sinking her teeth into the side of your neck, earning a choked cry from you.
“Don’t—no marks, Bi—llie—shit!”
“I don’t care,” Billie borderline growls, making you feel scared and aroused at once. She continues to nip at your sensitive skin, licking over each bite to soothe. “Let people see what a slut you are—I want them to know who you belong to.”
That was the tipping point for you—you come, loud and hard, your thighs shaking from the sheer intensity of your orgasm as you scream into Billie’s neck, fingers clawing at her back when Billie continues moving her hips, sending you into overdrive.
“Fuck shit oh my god—” Billie groans as she finally reaches her climax, plunging her cock deep into your womb before unloading, hot semen splattering all over your walls.
Billie finally goes limp, flopping onto you with a whine, her heartbeat racing in her chest.
“Oh my god,” you rasp, your voice almost completely gone from all the wild fucking. You grunt, pushing Billie off of you and making her roll onto her back. “You came so much.”
Billie lifts her head just enough to see your ruined pussy, white liquid dripping out of your hole, and she smirks to herself in satisfaction.
“Please tell me you’re on the pill,” Billie groans, her limp cock sticky and uncomfortable against her stomach.
“What if I wasn’t?”
“I’d pay for plan B, I’m not about to become your baby daddy,” Billie teases, earning a weak slap on the shoulder from you.
“Also, I’ve been meaning to ask,” you turn to face Billie, who seemed to be experiencing post-nut clarity, a blank look in her eyes as she stared up at the ceiling. “What does the number on the back of your letterman mean?”
Billie flushes, and a look of panic enters her face at the unexpected question.
“It’s random,” Billie simply responds, shrugging. “It’s—a nice number. But it’s nothing. Really. I think you should go to sleep.”
You merely scoff at that—usually you’d taunt Billie ’till she gave in, but the post-fuck tiredness was creeping into your system, and it wasn’t long before you eventually give in to the shackles of slumber. You roll onto your side, inching yourself closer towards Billie before snuggling up against her chest, much to the jock's surprise.
“Um,” Billie coughs, blushing at the sudden affection—as if she wasn’t just inside you not one minute ago—but she doesn’t make a move to push you off her, oddly comforted by the gesture, albeit foreign.
“Good night, I guess.”
Billie just lies there in silence, still half naked, a million thoughts running through her mind, with at least a quarter of them being you.
Thankfully, she doesn’t have time to drown in her current crisis as the sound of a car pulling into the driveway snaps her out of her thoughts, reeling her back into reality.
It was eight in the evening, your parents were home, and their daughter was naked in bed with the daughter of their business partners.
Fuck.
Billie quietly makes her way out of bed, careful not to wake you, and begins to straighten herself up, trying her best to not make it obvious to your parents that she’d just banged their daughter. She covers you with the blanket before standing there and watching you somewhat awkwardly, the only noise filling the room being your soft breathing.
For the first time, a room was quiet while they were both in it.
Billie’s eyes trailed over your sleeping form, still draped in her letterman, the red fabric eye-catching as ever, but Billie decides to leave you be—she doesn’t have the heart to take it back.
“See you tomorrow,” Billie whispers before turning off the lights and leaving the room.
“Oh, Billie! Fancy seeing you here!” Your mother greets her as she descended the stairs. “Working on another project again, I suppose?”
“Ah, um, yes,” Billie stutters, putting on her most parent-friendly smile she could muster. “We didn’t even realise how late it was. Sorry about the disruption.”
“It’s all fine, how’s my daughter?” Your father pipes in, taking off his coat by the front door.
“She’s asleep already,” Billie replies, hoping they wouldn’t question why their eighteen-year-old was already asleep at eight in the evening.
“Wow, this early? Must’ve been a rough day, yeah?” your dad laughs, and Billie flushes. “Well, you should probably get on your way, I bet your parents must be worried.”
“Oh, for sure, see you soon Mr. and Mrs. Kim,” Billie nods, not waiting for a response as she bolts out the front door.
What a night.
Billie smiles to herself after sending the last message, but she doesn’t even get a second to come to her senses and wipe the stupid lovesick grin off her face before Zoe came slithering up to her.
“You didn’t tell me?” Zoe shrills, eyes wide open and hands gripping her shoulders.
“Tell you what?” Billie blinks, a million possibilities running through her mind. Are all her past mistakes coming back to bite her in the ass? Did the security guard snitch? Did the principal finally find out that she was the one who called him a ‘pedo wanker’?
“You and y/n are a thing?” Zoe blinks back, and Billie was equally as surprised as she was.
“What—what makes you think that?”
“She came in with your letterman!” Zoe practically screams at her face. “Your name and all—I thought we were friends, Billie. You said you’d tell me anything! But it's honestly about fucking time. Me and Ava were kinda betting on it.”
Billie doesn’t register anything past ‘letterman’, and before she could properly respond, she sees none other than you yourself strut into her line of sight, proudly sporting her letterman which was far too big for you, making heads turn for more than one reason now.
Despite being partially out of it, Billie swears she could hear the hushed gossip of the students around her—
" The star quarterback and hottest cheerleader are banging? "
" I called it! "
" They’re probably the ones who fucked on the stairs that time. "
" I mean, they look good together. "
" I thought they hated each other! "
" Plot twist? "
“Hey,” you are also donning a smirk on your lips as you approached Billie, who was looking you up and down as if she’s never seen you in her life. “Good morning.”
“Good—morning,” Billie stutters, too shocked to realise that Eunchae had scrambled away to give them ‘privacy’.
“You don’t look very happy to see me,” you frown, tilting your head and revealing the dark marks Billie had left on the left side of your neck from last night. Billie shivers at the memory, still fresh in her mind.
“My letterman,” Billie were the only words she could manage, her tongue feeling like it’s been tied into a hundred knots—she's never felt like this before, what the fuck was happening?
“You left it at my place last night,” you grin, and Billie winces at the sheer volume of your voice, as if you want everyone around them to know. “You can tell me if you want it back.”
“No,” Billie blurts out, surprising both herself and you. “Um, I mean, you can… keep it.”
“How sweet of you,” you purr, settling yourself onto Billie’s lap so naturally it’s as if you've done this a million times before (you have).
Billie’s mind is completely blank, but her cock was reacting for her, starting to harden underneath you, who could obviously feel it, your smirk widening.
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