warnings. slight smut, not proof read. (sorry for poor language in some places.)
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One moonlit night, your best friend took you out to go on a ride, as you often did. it was 3AM, dark outside, only the yellowish soft, street lights coating the cars interior through the windows. some quiet music coming from the radio.
billie had one of her hands on the gear panel, and the other gripping the steering wheel. the watch on her wrist glistening a little, as she looked over at you from the passenger seat. the windows were slightly down, as the cool air breezes through your hair, as she watched you, her eyes sparkling. you were so pretty.
billie always been attracted to you, of course- you were gorgeous, but to add to it, you had the sweetest personality ever. and she knew and saw it from the first time she laid her eyes on you, even if unfortunately, that day, 2 years ago, she got to know about your boyfriend, she still couldn’t help but fall in love. she didn’t care about your stupid boyfriend.. she could treat you so much better.
and now her soft fingers gripping your thigh, going just slightly under your skirt, didn’t help at all.. she was nervous, scared to push too much, even if you two had always been touchy. but you never seemed to mind one bit. slightly spreading your legs for her hand.
billie looked at the empty road in front of them again, that shit-eating grin on her pretty face.. as she slowly moved her hand higher up your thigh. she was toying with the fabric of your skirt, so nonchalantly, if she isn’t already shaking herself.
she hit the brakes, speeding up. exactly like your heart. you loved when she went fast. you would go anywhere she takes you..
one moment, and you felt her hand reach the lace of your panties, her fingertips against your heat, as you let out that soft whimper. it was over for her. next thing you know, the car was stopped, and her leaning over to you.
“Backseat.” she whispered, her tone laced with desire, like she couldn’t wait to have you. the look in her eyes told you everything you needed to know.
warnings: older!billie x younger!reader, slowslowslow burn, eventual smut, college life, hella tension
summary: you never expected your literature professor to be young, sharp-tongued, and devastatingly captivating - but professor eilish is all that and more. between tense lectures, stolen glances, and secrets that linger after class, you find yourself tangled in a dangerous game of curiosity and control. how long can you keep it professional when the air between you burns with something more?
masterlist
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the hallway smelled like coffee and printer ink. lockers lined the walls even though no one really used them, and the sound of someone's sneakers squeaking across the linoleum echoed faintly. it was too early for anything to feel real, and liora was still half-dreaming when she pushed open the classroom door.
the light was soft inside, filtered through high windows that caught the morning haze. students filled the back rows first—classic. liora drifted somewhere near the middle, dropped her canvas bag beside the chair, and sank into the seat like she'd been holding her breath all morning.
she barely glanced at the front of the room at first, too busy unzipping her hoodie and smoothing out her notebook. then a voice—low, even, and almost too smooth—cut through the sleepy chatter.
"morning, everyone."
liora looked up.
and froze.
the woman at the front of the class wasn't what she expected. not even close.
tall, loose-fitted shirt hanging just right, her dark hair pulled back under a knit beanie like she hadn't tried at all and still managed to look—cool. cool in a way that made your chest tighten. her eyes, pale and unreadable, swept the room with a kind of calm confidence that didn't ask for attention but got it anyway.
professor o'connell.
liora didn't breathe until billie looked away.
billie set her laptop down on the desk and clicked something open on the screen. the soft tap of keys echoed, then stopped. she glanced up.
"so," she said, voice light but clear, "i'm professor o'connell. billie's fine, too, if that's more comfortable. i teach this course in creative composition and lyrical analysis—basically, it's english lit, but with more music and fewer essays you'll want to set on fire."
a few people chuckled, sleep still hanging off their voices. liora's stomach twisted. she didn't laugh, but her mouth tugged at the corner like it wanted to.
billie's eyes drifted back to the roster on her screen.
"let me just get a sense of who's here," she murmured, then started reading names.
"elliot abram?"
"here."
"cassidy baines?"
"present."
"liora... rai?"
"i'm here"
billie nodded slowly, her gaze lingering just a moment too long. "beautiful name," she said, like it meant something. "thank you."
liora stared down at her notebook. the top of the page blurred slightly before she forced herself to breathe again.
billie continued reading names, but the heat in liora's cheeks didn't go away. her full name never rolled off anyone's tongue like that—never without hesitation, never with intention.
when roll was done, billie leaned against the desk, her arms folded. "okay. i don't like icebreakers. they're awkward and fake and you all secretly hate them."
a few students laughed—this time, liora included.
"but i do want to know who you are. not in the cheesy way. in the why-are-you-here way."
she pushed her hair behind one ear and nodded toward the board.
"your first assignment's simple. it's not graded. i just want you to write a page about this question—what does music say that words can't?"
the room quieted.
billie continued, soft and serious now. "i don't care if you've never written anything in your life. this isn't about being good. it's about being honest."
someone raised their hand in the back. "can we write lyrics?"
"you can write in blood, for all i care," billie said, and a few students laughed again. "just don't be boring. if you're boring, i'll know."
her eyes flicked back to liora—quick, but unmistakable.
liora swallowed.
the lecture started slow.
not boring, just... soft. like billie was setting a mood more than teaching. she talked about metaphor, about musical phrasing as narrative structure, about the way a repeated lyric could punch harder than a paragraph. her voice never rushed, never cracked. she didn't fidget, didn't pace. she just leaned her hip against the desk, fingers tracing the edge of her water bottle like she was thinking out loud to a room full of ghosts.
liora watched her the way someone might watch a fire—entranced without realizing it.
she was used to professors being either stiff or overcompensating. too many tried too hard to prove they had authority. billie didn't do that. she just was. and it did something to the room. made everyone quieter. made the air feel heavier.
"there's something music can do," billie said, tapping the board with a dry erase marker, "that essays can't. it cuts through memory. not around it. through it. the right song doesn't remind you of a moment—it puts you in it. like time travel, but with better lighting."
liora didn't write that down, but she knew she'd remember it anyway.
the girl next to her had started doodling in the margins of her notebook. someone behind her was chewing gum too loudly. the boy by the window kept checking his phone. but liora didn't move. her pencil rested against the page, unmoving.
billie walked to the board and wrote:
"when language fails, music answers."
the chalk squeaked slightly. her handwriting was slanted, imperfect. under the lights, the ink on her exposed wrist caught liora's eye—lyrics tattooed in a fine line script she couldn't read from this far away.
"that's the quote we'll work from next week," billie said. "write it down. argue with it. prove it wrong if you want. just don't ignore it."
liora lowered her gaze. her fingers gripped the pencil. write it down, billie said. like it was just another sentence. like it didn't already live inside her ribs.
billie glanced toward the back row where a group of boys had started whispering. one of them smirked and said something too low for liora to hear, but she caught enough—something about billie's age, the word hot, the phrase bet she's not even a real professor.
billie didn't flinch. she let the silence stretch. then she walked slowly back to her desk, closed her laptop, and looked out across the room.
"if anyone's confused about whether i belong here," she said evenly, "you're welcome to drop this class. i promise your refund window is still open."
quiet.
no one moved.
liora felt something tighten in her chest. not pity. not admiration, either. something in between. like respect, but more personal. she hated the way billie had to defend herself for being young. for being her.
billie's gaze swept the room again, slower this time.
when it landed on liora, it didn't move away.
chairs scraped against tile as the clock hit the hour. papers rustled, bags zipped. the usual chaos of everyone rushing to leave—except for liora.
she moved slower. not on purpose, but something in her refused to follow the current. she tucked her notebook carefully into her bag, slung it over one shoulder, then pretended to fumble with the zipper a second longer than necessary.
billie was still at her desk, sliding her laptop into a worn leather sleeve, fingers moving with practiced ease. her head was tilted slightly, earbuds resting around her neck, a lazy kind of calm on her face that made it impossible to look away.
most of the room had cleared when billie glanced up—and caught her.
"you good?"
liora blinked. "oh—yeah. i just..." she hesitated, then stepped forward. "i had a question. about the assignment."
billie nodded once and leaned her elbow on the desk, fully facing her. "shoot."
liora hated how loud her heart sounded. she tried to ignore it.
"when you said we could write in any form... did you mean, like, lyrics? or poetry? or just... freewriting?"
"any form," billie said. "i meant it."
her voice was gentler now. less classroom, more personal. and now that they were this close—no rows of desks, no audience—liora could see the pale freckles scattered across her cheeks, the faint smudge of eyeliner just barely under her lashes. her eyes weren't just blue. they were gray, soft and stormy, with something behind them liora couldn't name.
"so if it's a poem that doesn't really make sense," liora said slowly, "that's still okay?"
billie tilted her head. "does it make you feel something?"
liora nodded before she could stop herself. "yeah."
"then it makes sense."
the words settled between them like warmth. not cheesy, not condescending—just simple. true.
liora looked down, letting her fingers curl around the strap of her bag.
"what do you usually write?" billie asked.
liora hesitated, then answered honestly. "stuff i never show anyone."
billie smiled—just barely. "those are usually the best kind."
she stepped around the desk then, close enough that liora caught the faint scent of something warm and clean—like sandalwood and fresh laundry. she reached for a printed syllabus on the edge of the table and handed it to her.
their fingers touched. just for a second. but it was enough to send a pulse through liora's spine.
"just in case you didn't grab one," billie said, casual again, but her voice had dipped lower. "i keep forgetting people actually read these."
liora took it with both hands, as if it were heavier than paper.
"thanks," she murmured.
billie gave a nod, slow and deliberate. "see you thursday, rai."
the way she said her name made liora's stomach flip. it wasn't just the pronunciation. it was the intention. like she wanted to say it again. like she liked saying it.
liora turned and walked out, heart pounding behind her ribs like it was trying to outrun her.
can you write a fic based on billie wanting to film r and her having sex (but like with sub!top!billie pleassee)
i love ur work and i'm sooo happy ur backkkk
kind of not proofread sorry!
"but baby what am i gonna do so far away from you!" billie says in front of you. the both of you were both lying in bed while billie brushed her fingers through your hair. billie had just brought up the fact that the two of you were going to go without sex for 2 months on her first leg of tour.
you laughed at how much she needed you but brushed off the topic. the topic changed, and the two of you talked about random things before it got quiet. you could hear billie's breathing getting heavier.
"what's wrong pretty? what's got your head thinking so hard?" you ask
billie smiled softly, "i want to record us, make a video. something to keep me company when i'm missing you." her eyes sparkled with joy and you could see how much she wanted it. " a video, hm?"
your voice was quiet as you whispered in her ear softly running your fingers down her back. "what kind of video do you want to film sweet girl?"
billie whined burying her head in your neck, "you know what i mean baby" she mumbled.
"do i? can you remind me baby?" you tease.
"wanna film us having sex," billie whispers clawing at your clothes.
you laugh quietly and nod at her to go set up the camera. she shot up quickly running to set it up.
she propped the phone up on the bedside table, angling it to capture the entire bed, ensuring everything would be captured. the camera lens stared back at them, a silent witness to the scene about to unfold.
"gonna show you what a good girl i am for you" billie says excitedly. "yeah? gonna be good for me?" you breathe out in anticipation.
your breath caught as billie's lips brushed against your core. the feeling of billie's tongue sending shivers through your body. your back arched, pushing your hips upwards, as she ate you out. billie's mouth was relentless, her tongue flicking and probing, driving you to the brink of ecstasy.
"fuck baby" you gasped, your hands gripping the sheets tightly. "doing so good f'me, making me feel so good, pretty."
billie's moaned at the praise, the vibrations adding to the pleasure. she could get drunk off the taste of you and bathed your continuous praise.
as your moans grew louder, billie slipped two fingers inside curling them to find that sweet spot that would send you over the edge. your body tensed, muscles clenching around billie's fingers as you cried out in release.
"yesss baby. so good for me always. always been my good girl" your voice echoed through the room, pushing billie to continue, savoring the taste of your orgasm.
billie crawled up your body, leaving a trail of kisses along your chest. before kissing your lips passionately.
you laughed, a playful glint in your eyes. "can't wait to watch it back. maybe we should make a few more, just to be sure."
tags: updating my tag list let me know if you want to be added!
authors note: sorry to twist the knife twice, i looove angst
warnings: angst, love for someone in a relationship
you think about her more than you'd ever admit.
not in the obvious ways, not in the blushing, giggly, teenage-daydream kind of way. no—your love for billie sits deeper. it’s tucked into the corners of your bones, resting beneath your ribs, pressed tight and hidden like something shameful. like something sacred.
every time you text her “i love you,” you mean it like a scream underwater. muffled. desperate. never loud enough to breach the surface. never meant to be heard in the way your heart intends it. she always texts it back—"love you more 💕"—like it’s easy. like it doesn’t tear anything open.
you wonder what she’d do if she knew. if she saw the way your hands shake when her name lights up your phone. if she knew how many nights you’ve fallen asleep picturing what her mouth might taste like between i love you and goodnight.
today is one of those days where you’re trying to forget. you’re doing errands. folding laundry. pretending you’re fine. and then her text comes through:
billie 💕: come over?
your heart drops.
you don’t even hesitate. everything else evaporates.
you: "rn? ok give me 5"
you throw on the first hoodie you find, barely register the color. it's hers—she lent it to you months ago and never asked for it back. it still smells like her. you don’t let yourself think about that too long. you just grab your keys, tell someone in your house you’ll be back soon, and leave. you don’t know what you’re going over for, but it doesn’t matter. it never matters. when it’s billie, it’s always yes. always.
the drive feels like nothing and forever all at once. your fingers tremble on the wheel. you’re trying to calm your breathing, trying not to imagine her answering the door in a tank top and sleepy eyes, the way she always does. you try not to imagine what it would be like if she pulled you in by the collar, whispered something soft and wrecking against your cheek.
you hate yourself a little for it. for wanting more. for being so goddamn pathetic about her.
you pull into her driveway, and your stomach sinks.
her girlfriend’s car is already there.
you swallow it down. no. you don’t get to be upset. she’s allowed to be happy. she’s allowed to love someone. it’s not your place. it’s never been your place.
you put your best smile on—it feels like pressing broken glass into your cheeks.
billie opens the door with that same grin, the one that used to make you feel like the world was okay. like maybe she was your safe place. she’s barefoot, hair in a messy bun, skin glowing. “hey!” she beams. “you got here so fast.”
“you said come over.” you shrug, try to laugh it off. “you know i’d drop anything.”
her girlfriend’s on the couch. you recognize her—pretty, sharp-jawed, the kind of girl who always knows what to say in a group. she waves politely and offers a tight smile.
you smile back, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.
they're watching some show, talking about nothing, laughing in the way couples do. you sit off to the side, legs tucked under you, trying not to shrink into yourself.
billie tosses a blanket at you like she always does, like she knows you're cold even when you don't say it out loud. it should feel like home. instead, it burns.
at some point, her girlfriend gets up to use the bathroom. billie turns to you immediately, eyes narrowing.
“okay,” she says quietly. “spill.”
your heart jumps. “what?”
“don’t play dumb. i’ve known you my whole life, y/n. something’s up. you’re breathing weird. are you okay?”
you almost say it.
you almost say, i can’t stand watching you love someone else.
you almost say, i’m in love with you and it’s killing me.
instead, you shake your head. “nothing’s wrong.”
“bullshit.” she leans in closer. you can feel the heat of her next to you, the way your body reacts on instinct, like you’re drawn to her by gravity alone. “you always get this look when you’re upset. like your heart's too heavy for your chest.”
you want to cry.
you want to grab her by the shoulders and scream. tell her that she’s everything. that she’s the reason you get out of bed some mornings. that no one’s ever made you feel more like yourself and less like enough all at once.
but instead, you say, “i’m just tired.”
she stares at you for a second too long. like she’s trying to read between the cracks. like she’s waiting for something.
“you sure?” she whispers.
you nod.
you think your lungs might collapse.
she reaches out and squeezes your hand. just a second. just a flicker of touch. but it wrecks you.
you look down at your knees, suddenly too aware of how your hoodie smells like her. how it still feels like something sacred and stolen.
her girlfriend comes back and billie pulls her hand away, just like that. like it never meant anything.
because to her, it didn’t.
the three of you sit there for another twenty minutes. laughing. making dumb jokes. pretending this isn’t hell. and when you finally stand up to leave, your legs barely hold you.
“text me when you get home,” billie says. “you know i worry.”
you nod again. you can’t speak. if you open your mouth, something might come out that you’ll never be able to take back.
you get to the door. her girlfriend’s in the kitchen. billie follows you, just for a second, hand brushing your wrist.
“hey,” she says softly. “you know i love you, right?”
it hits you like a truck. she doesn’t mean it the way you do. she never has.
you force a smile. it feels like something’s breaking.
“yeah,” you whisper. “i know.”
you turn to go, and she says it behind you—
"thank you, y/n. you're such a good friend to me."
you don’t remember walking to your car.
your feet move but you’re not in them. your body goes through the motions—unlock, slide in, start the engine—but your head is somewhere else. still on the doorstep. still in her eyes. still in the echo of that fucking sentence.
“thank you, y/n. you’re such a good friend to me.”
you’ve heard her say i love you a hundred times. sometimes in texts. sometimes whispered during late-night phone calls. sometimes at sleepovers when you were half-asleep and warm under the same blanket. it always meant something.
but tonight—it meant nothing.
or maybe it meant everything.
just not the kind of everything you wanted it to.
you pull out of her driveway too fast. you’re shaking. the streetlights blur. your vision goes glassy. you blink hard, but it’s no use.
you’re crying before you’ve even turned the first corner.
not the loud kind. not the sobs that shake your whole body. this is different. it’s quiet. it’s shameful. it’s all your ribs caving in at once. it’s your throat closing up like it’s trying to save you from speaking the truth out loud.
you drive in silence.
no music.
no noise.
just the sound of your own breath stuttering in the dark.
you don’t go home. not yet. you can’t. you wouldn’t know how to walk into your house and pretend you’re okay. not like this. not when everything inside you feels like it’s splintered.
you pull into the parking lot of some random grocery store. leave your engine running. sit there in the dim orange glow of a flickering streetlight, clutching the sleeves of the hoodie like it’s a lifeline.
her hoodie.
her scent.
her warmth.
her name pounding in your chest.
you press your forehead to the steering wheel and finally let it all go.
the tears come harder now. like your body’s been waiting. like your heart’s had enough of holding everything in. you sob into the silence, mouth open, breath hitching, hands trembling.
why did you have to love her like this?
why couldn’t it just be enough to be her friend?
you would’ve done anything for her.
anything.
but you never stood a chance. not against someone like her girlfriend. someone beautiful. someone bold. someone who could touch her in all the ways you weren’t allowed to. someone who didn’t flinch when billie leaned in close. someone who didn’t fall apart every time she said i love you like a knife disguised as kindness.
you squeeze your eyes shut and try to rewind it all. try to pretend you never came over. that you stayed home. that you never saw the way billie’s hand fit into her girlfriend’s so easily. that you didn’t hear the words that finally killed the last stupid hope you were clinging to.
“you’re such a good friend to me.”
you’ve been her friend your whole life.
and now, it feels like a prison you built yourself.
you want to hate her. god, it would be so much easier if you could. if she were cruel. if she strung you along on purpose. but she didn’t. she just… loved you the only way she knew how.
and it wasn’t the way you needed.
your phone buzzes beside you. you already know who it is.
billie 💕: did you make it home safe?
you stare at the message for a long time. thumbs hovering over the screen. there’s a pressure building in your chest like a scream you’re not allowed to let out.
you type.
you: yeah. thanks.
you don’t say i love you. not this time.
you just toss your phone onto the passenger seat and let your head fall back against the headrest. your eyes are still wet. your heart’s still breaking. your hands are clenched into fists around the fabric of her hoodie like maybe, if you hold on tight enough, you won’t completely come undone.
taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @iamnicoke @jayjaywetforbils @bittersuitekim @bxllxebxtch @ifnot-foryou @giannaeilish @ijustlovemaths @ilovealiceosemann @bilssturns | send me an ask or comment if you want to be added or removed from my taglist!
summary: during your serving shift you deal with an unruly customer... little did you know you would be walking away with something that made it all worth it?
a/n: hellooo it feels like it has been forever since i've written, but here we are! thinking about another part????
you were almost halfway through your serving shift, which was telling due to your slightly smudged mascara. the server pouch that clung to your right side is slightly flapping due to you hurrying through the pathways of the restaurant with multiple plates in your hands. you've had many sweet customers throughout the day, throwing tips at you like you were a wishing well. you spin around checking on your tables another time as you had some free time. as you are checking in with one of your tables, you look up to see a woman in your section waving her hand in the air. as you finish your conversation, you head over to her to see what you could help her with. "hi, is there anything I can help you wit-" "um yes obviously, that is why I was waving you down" she snaps, as she rolls her eyes. you already felt your blood pressure rising as you took a deep breath, knowing if you didn't calm down it would not end well for anyone. "mhm... what seems to be the problem?" you ask, as a fake smile spreads across your face. "This steak is absolutely disgusting. It is literal rubber. I asked for medium well... not well done! seems to me that you need to start listening better" she sneers, with venom in her tone. you were completely taken back by what she said, but you are not unfamiliar with this behavior. "i'm so sorry, ma'am. I must have misheard. I will get you what you asked fo-" "no bother. I am not paying for this. you know, it seems like you may need some extra training if you cannot keep up with a simple order" she snarls, as she throws her used napkin on the plate. her voice begins to raise, which leads to surrounding eyes diverting their attention to you. you take a deep shaky breath "Is there anything else I can get for you?" "yeah, a new server" she states in an antagonizing tone. you nod your head as you go to alert your manager of what happened, and how she is demanding a new server. as you are walking back, your nerves are evident as your fingers start wiggling by your side. as you come back out, you walk to your next table and check in with them since their food is on the way out.
since you work in Los Angeles, it is not uncommon for celebrities to dine in. you walk up to your table, which sat billie eilish and her friend group. you notice their sympathetic expressions as you smile faintly. "oh my god i am so sorry that just happened" billie says, as her eyes soften. "oh I deal with this all the time" your laugh coming across hollow. "some people just don't know how to act in public, it's a shame" you state, as you slightly shake your head looking down. "also you guys I'm so sorry for the wait. we only have one chef tonight so it's been a little hectic. it should be out before you know it" you smile a little nervous about their response due to what just happened. "oh no don't worry about that, love. we have all the time in the world" billie responds with a gentle smile. her friends join in with "yeah girl, you're completely fine" "it's okay" "you're all good" to which you respond with a sigh of relief. "thank you guys so much for understanding" you state, as you turn to go back to the kitchen. you quickly look towards the table that sat the unhappy woman and saw there was indeed a new server. much stress was then lifted from your shoulders. coincidentally, the food for your table was done as you walk into the kitchen. you grab the serving trays that displayed various orders ranging from vegan to vegetarian dishes. you get to billie's table and hand out each individual plate to everyone. 'thank yous' bouncing off each other as you finish up, and say "you guys enjoy and just let me know if you need anything" with a genuine smile now.
you check in multiple times, and as they finish their meal it is all put on one check. billie gives you her card, and as you walk back you glance at the bill quickly seeing it was over $1,500. you brought the bill back for tip, and tell them to have a good night and thank them for being understanding for the wait. as you are at your other table, you notice billie motioning for the friends to leave as she picks up the pen to write. you go to pick up the slip after she is done where you are met with an almost italicized $1000 written on the thin line. billie has turned to walk towards the door, but hasn't gotten that far. you run up to her and turn her around "you realize this is over half the bill?" you say as you look back into her eyes. "you have really great customer service" she expresses shrugging, giggling a little. "i also had to make up for that lady not paying for her meal" she says, almost reminding you. "you know this is like if you bought twenty-five plates of her order, right?" you say, returning the giggle. "well i think you deserve it" she says, her now leaning back a little with her hands tucked in her back pockets. "I cannot accept all this. you can just tip me twenty percent and that's all I need" you offer as you look into her eyes. "i think you might just have to accept it because i'm not changing it" she asserts, crossing her arms slightly. "this is very appreciated, but no offense it is complete overkill. i do not need all this money from one bill" you say tilting your head up a little. "why are you so against this?" she asks with genuine confusion. "because i can take care of myself. i don't need any pity tips i deal with people like that every single say" you say with your voice raising the slightest bit. "it is not out of pity. i genuinely just want to give you that because it seems to me that you work very hard and deserve to be paid accordingly" she says, getting closer again. "also you should let someone take care of you every once in a while" she whispers into your ear, slightly pushing the little slip against your chest. she then smiles and says "i'll see you around" turning to open the door. you stood there for a second processing what just happened...
Her towel hangs by the sink, a ghost that won’t leave.
You’re sitting on the edge of Billie’s hotel bed, hair still damp, watching the city blur through the window.
She’s behind you, half-dressed, scrolling through her phone — pretending the silence between you isn’t heavy enough to crush both of you.
“You can tell me you don’t love her,” you start. Your voice is soft, but the shake in it gives you away.
Billie looks up, startled.
You turn to face her, forcing a bitter smile. “But you should probably tell her too.”
She sighs, runs a hand through her hair. “Y/N—”
“I can’t keep sleeping undercover,” you interrupt. “It’s like she’s always in the room. She’s on that towel, that note on your mirror… the one I shouldn’t have read.”
Billie freezes.
You laugh without humor. “No, it’s not fair. ’Cause if it’s you and I, then—” your eyes lift to hers— “why is she still here?”
She takes a step closer, words dying on her lips.
You back up. “Say you want me, Billie. Say it like you mean it. Say it like—” your voice cracks— “like she’s not still here.”
Her jaw tightens. She drops the phone, walks until she’s right in front of you.
“I introduced you as my friend,” she says quietly.
“Yeah,” you answer, crossing your arms. “And I didn’t say shit. But don’t you ever do that again.”
Her eyes flash up, guilt and fire tangled together.
“It’s funny,” you whisper, “’cause it didn’t feel like friends on your kitchen floor.”
You take a step closer now, breath hot against her neck.
“And you don’t take friends to the back of your tour bus.”
Billie’s breath catches.
Her lips part like she’s about to speak, but you don’t give her the chance.
“I’d always give when you wanted more,” you murmur, fingertips brushing her ribs, “but God forbid I draw attention to the questions you never answer…”
You pull back, just enough to meet her eyes. “Except for who’s fucking you better.”
That one hits her.
Her face hardens, then crumbles.
“You got me lowering standards, Billie.”
You laugh, but your throat burns. “She’s still there. So tell me now—why am I still here?”
Billie swallows hard, eyes flickering between your mouth and your tears.
“Say you want me,” you breathe. “Say it. Like—‘Why’s she still here?’”
Silence.
Then Billie moves.
She grips your jaw, kisses you so deep it knocks the air from your lungs.
The kind of kiss that feels like both an apology and a confession.
You gasp against her mouth. “I need you to myself tonight.”
She whispers, “You have me.” But you both know that’s not true.
Her hands slide up under your shirt, desperate, like she’s trying to erase the other girl off your skin.
“What else more do you need,” you whisper, trembling, “when you got me right here?”
Billie’s forehead presses to yours. Her voice is barely a breath.
“I want you.”
“Then tell her,” you say. “Tell her it’s done.”
She nods, but her eyes say maybe later.
And that’s the moment your heart cracks.
Because “later” is never really later with Billie — it’s always almost.
You pull away, lips swollen, mascara smudged across her cheek.
“You can tell me you don’t love her,” you whisper again, softer this time, like a promise you’re done believing.
“But you should probably tell her too.”
You grab your jacket. Billie doesn’t stop you.
The towel stays hanging by the mirror.
Her phone buzzes once — and you don’t have to look to know who it is.
At the door, you glance back at her — standing there in silence, guilt painted across her collarbone.
“If I’m your girl,” you whisper,
“then why is she still here?”
The door closes behind you.
Billie just stands there — phone still buzzing — with the ghost of you and her and her all bleeding together in the same room.
