After years of friendship and unspoken feelings, Y/N and Billie find themselves alone on a moving tour bus. Fueled by tequila, late-night honesty, and a shared history, a confession sparks a long-awaited connection—and the tension between them finally ignites.

This is fluff. Word count: 1.4k

They were friends. Just friends, from a while back. They had met on a night out six years ago and somehow, almost by accident, became best friends. Late-night drives to grab fast food, coffee hangouts, catching up on life together—it had become their rhythm.

In that time, Billie had become famous, but their friendship never changed. Billie was someone Y/N could trust completely, someone she could tell anything to.

If we’re being completely honest, Y/N had developed feelings for Billie about two years into their friendship, and by now she was fully in love with her. She wasn’t going to say anything—she knew how busy Billie was, didn’t want to complicate things, and was terrified of losing Billie as a friend. So she stayed quiet.

When Billie invited Y/N to her concert and then to ride with her on a tour bus to another city, it didn’t feel strange at all. They were supposed to leave Los Angeles that night and drive to San Jose.

The concert, of course, was spectacular. Y/N had been given good seats so she could see Billie clearly. The energy in the concert hall was incredible—everyone was singing along, and so was Y/N. She laughed, cheered, and let herself fully enjoy the night.

Afterward, Billie met her backstage. She was sweaty, but somehow still smelled amazing. She gave Y/N a big hug, pulling her close for just a moment. “I’m so glad you came,” she said, her voice warm and tired.

Y/N smiled, feeling the cozy, familiar comfort of being around someone she trusted completely. For a moment, it felt like it was just the two of them in the world, riding that wave of excitement together.

After the hug, they lingered for a moment, looking at each other. Y/N could have sworn she saw Billie’s pupils grow slightly, but she quickly shook the thought away, trying to focus on the moment.

“Billie, the concert was amazing! I had such a great time,” Y/N said, her voice bright with excitement.

Billie smiled, tired but glowing. “Thanks! It really was incredible, wasn’t it? I’m exhausted… but I can’t wait to take a shower and just hang out with you. I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Tour Bus, 11:35 PM

Billie had taken a shower on the moving tour bus. Most of the crew had gone to bed.

The living area of the bus was a mess. A couch and a small table were buried under bottles, trash, and scattered clothing.

Y/N decided to sit on the floor next to the sofa. The dim, swaying lights above cast a warm, uneven glow over the room.

A moment later, Billie walked in, hair wet and dripping slightly onto her oversized Iron Maiden T-shirt. Grey sweatpants hung loosely over her legs, and her hands were hidden behind her back. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” Billie said, her voice raspy and warm.

“Don’t worry about it. Come, sit.”

Billie pulled a bottle of tequila from behind her back. “I have something for us.”

“Tequila! Dangerous. You know how chatty I get after tequila,” Y/N said, smiling.

“That’s what I’m hoping for.”

Billie sat down next to Y/N, their thighs brushing briefly before Billie shifted slightly away.

“How are you feeling?” Y/N asked, concern threading her voice. “That was a huge crowd… the way they love you…”

“Oh, I’m tired,” Billie admitted softly, “but the fans never fail to take my breath away.”

Billie fell quiet, lost in thought for a moment, before shaking it off.

“How are you feeling, Y/N?” she asked, casual but intimate. Y/N felt butterflies stir in her stomach.

“Me? I’m good… excited to spend the night with you,” she said, trying to sound casual, though the butterflies made it harder than expected.

“Awww, me too! Let’s start drinking.” Billie stood and grabbed a shot glass from the cupboard. When she returned, the air seemed to hum with anticipation.

“You first,” Billie said, pouring a shot of tequila.

Y/N downed it, letting the burning liquid slide down her throat.

“Wow… strong. Your turn,” she said, refilling the shot glass and handing it to Billie.

Their fingers brushed for a fleeting second, and Y/N noticed it. Billie noticed everything.

“Cheers,” Billie whispered.

“To… finally hanging out again,” she added after a pause.

Y/N smiled. “I’ll drink to that.”

Billie tipped her shot back, wincing slightly. “God, that’s awful.”

“You bought it,” Y/N teased.

Billie laughed softly, leaning back against the couch. “Yeah, well… I thought it might help.”

“Help with what?”

“With talking,” Billie said finally.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Talking? Since when do you need help with that?”

Billie chuckled. “Not talking. Talking honestly.”

Y/N felt her stomach tighten again. “Oh… that kind of talking.”

They traded shots and conversation, each round of tequila loosening their nerves. Eventually, Billie slid a glass toward Y/N. "Tell me something I don't know" said Billie. "Uhhmm, I have a huge crush on this girl." Y/N said without thinking.

“Tell me about her,” Billie said, voice steady but low.

Y/N’s chest tightened. “Why?”

“I don’t know… I’m interested.”

Y/N turned the empty glass between her fingers, buying herself time.

“Well… she’s kind of impossible,” she said softly.

Billie’s laugh was quiet, but sharp. “Impossible?”

“She’s busy all the time,” Y/N continued. “Always running somewhere, doing something important. But when she’s actually there… it feels like she’s really there. Like the rest of the world just fades out.”

Billie shifted closer, caught in Y/N’s gaze.

“She’s funny too. Annoyingly funny. The kind of person who makes everyone feel comfortable without even trying. And she… she notices everything. Every little thing.”

The words hung in the air. Billie’s voice was quiet when she finally spoke.

“Sounds like you like her a lot.”

Y/N swallowed. “Yeah… that would be the problem.”

Billie frowned slightly. “Problem?”

“Because if she ever found out… it might ruin everything.”

The bus hummed softly beneath them, shadows shifting with the motion. Y/N poured herself another shot, downing it in one go.

“It’s your turn, Billie, tell me something I don't know.”

“Right… something honest.” Billie stared at the glass. Alcohol buzzed in her head, reckless and intoxicating. She wanted to stop it. She really did.

But the words escaped before she could think.

“I like you.”

The sentence dropped between them, heavy and electric. The bus seemed to hold its breath.

Y/N blinked. “What?” she whispered.

“I like you,” Billie repeated, quieter this time.

“Billie… what?” Y/N said, sitting up straighter. “Are you being serious right now?”

Billie nodded slightly, heart racing, fingers fidgeting with the empty shot glass.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Y/N admitted.

Billie’s voice shook. “I’m sorry… I know you like some other girl, and I was scared to say anything because I didn’t want to ruin our friends-”

Y/N cut her off. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to Billie’s.

For a heartbeat, Billie froze. Then the hesitation melted away.

Her hand came up, gripping Y/N’s shirt as she leaned closer. The kiss deepened, messy and warm, faintly tasting of tequila.

The tension that had been building all night finally broke.

When they pulled back slightly, foreheads nearly touching, Billie breathed, “Wait… I thought—you said you had a crush on some girl.”

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. “You idiot.”

“I was talking about you.”

The bus hummed around them, but for that moment, nothing else existed.

Y/N giggled and kissed Billie again.

Y/N’s laugh softened against Billie’s lips, and the kiss deepened again. Their bodies shifted closer, knees brushing, breaths mingling. The tequila haze made everything feel warmer, more immediate, more daring.

Billie’s hands slid from Y/N’s shirt to rest on her hips, tugging her slightly closer. Y/N responded instinctively, tilting her head so Billie’s lips could roam a little lower, nipping gently along her jaw.

“God, I’ve wanted this,” Billie murmured, voice husky, against Y/N’s ear. The warmth of her words sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in Billie’s damp hair, pulling her closer. She pressed her lips against Billie’s neck, inhaling the faint scent of shampoo and something uniquely Billie. Billie let out a soft groan, tilting her head so Y/N could reach more of her skin.

Their hearts were racing, the dim lights swaying around them, the gentle hum of the road below a steady rhythm to their rising heat. Every brush of lips and whisper against skin made the air between them electric, taut with something that had been simmering for years.

Billie’s hands drifted up to cradle Y/N’s face, thumbs brushing her cheeks as her lips found Y/N’s again, soft at first, then hungrier, more claiming. Y/N responded in kind, letting herself melt into the sensation, every worry, every fear, every hesitation slipping away with the night.

TW: Explicit sexual content / Smut, NSFW, Oral sex, Strap-on sex, strong language

Y/N finds Billie’s old hoodie buried in the back of her closet—and suddenly every memory of their breakup comes rushing back. When Billie shows up, the distance that broke them feels a lot smaller than it used to.

This is smut.

Word count: 7.3k

Y/N wasn’t looking for it.

That was the thing—if she’d gone digging for it on purpose, if she’d pulled boxes from the back of her closet like she was searching for proof that she still cared, she could’ve prepared. She could’ve braced herself. She could’ve told herself she was doing it for practical reasons.

But she wasn’t.

She was cleaning.

A normal, boring, adult thing. A Sunday afternoon with grey skies pressed against the windows, a mug of tea going cold on the coffee table, and the quiet kind of music playing in the background that didn’t ask too much of her. The kind of day that was supposed to feel safe.

Her apartment looked like it had been caught mid-exhale—half-folded laundry on the couch, hangers scattered on the floor, a tote bag of clothes she’d been meaning to donate for weeks sitting by the door.

Y/N had one foot on a chair, reaching for the highest shelf in her closet, when she felt her fingers brush something soft.

Fabric.

Thick. Heavy. Familiar.

She paused.

Her hand curled around it, and she tugged it forward, expecting an old sweater or a hoodie she’d forgotten about.

But the second it slid out of the shadowed shelf and into the light, her stomach dropped so fast it felt like a physical thing.

A hoodie.

Black, oversized, worn at the cuffs.

There was a tiny bleach mark near the pocket. A faint, faded graphic on the back. The hood strings were uneven because one of them had always been slightly longer and Billie had always said she’d fix it but never did.

Y/N just stared.

Her throat tightened like her body had recognized it before her mind did.

Because it wasn’t just a hoodie.

It was Billie’s hoodie.

The one she’d left behind the last time she’d been here.

The last time they’d been them.

Y/N lowered her foot from the chair slowly, like sudden movement might make the memory sharper. She held the hoodie in both hands, the fabric heavier than it had any right to be.

For a long moment, she didn’t move at all.

The apartment was quiet.

The rain outside ticked softly against the window.

And Y/N could feel herself slipping backwards in time, like her brain had found a trapdoor.

Her fingers tightened around the hoodie.

She lifted it to her face without even thinking.

The scent hit her immediately.

Not as strong as it used to be—time had taken most of it—but it was still there, stubborn in the fabric like it had refused to leave.

Billie.

That mix of clean laundry and perfume and something warm that Y/N had never been able to name, only recognize.

It didn’t feel like nostalgia.

It felt like being punched gently in the ribs.

Y/N’s eyes stung.

And she hated that, because it had been months. Because she’d been doing better. Because she’d told herself she was past the part where small things could undo her.

But the hoodie was a doorway, and the second she held it, everything came rushing in.

_

The first time Billie had given it to her, it hadn’t been romantic.

Not officially.

They’d been sitting on Y/N’s couch, legs tangled together in that casual way people do when they’re already comfortable with each other. A movie was playing, but neither of them was watching. Billie had been half-asleep, her head tilted against Y/N’s shoulder, the hood of her sweatshirt up like armor.

Y/N had teased her.

“You look like you’re hiding.”

Billie had mumbled, eyes closed, “I am.”

“Hiding from what?”

Billie had shrugged, the motion small and tired. “Everything.”

Y/N hadn’t pushed. She’d just adjusted the blanket and let Billie breathe.

Later, when Billie got up to leave, she’d stood by the door, looking suddenly uncertain, like she didn’t want to go but didn’t know how to stay.

Y/N had crossed her arms and said, “You could just… come back tomorrow.”

Billie had looked at her then.

Really looked.

Like she was trying to memorize her face.

And then she’d pulled off her hoodie and tossed it at Y/N like it was nothing.

“Keep it,” Billie had said.

Y/N had blinked. “What?”

Billie had smirked, but her eyes had been softer than her mouth. “So you’ll think about me.”

Y/N’s cheeks had gone hot. “That’s arrogant.”

Billie had shrugged. “Yeah. But it’ll work.”

And it had.

It had worked so well it was almost embarrassing.

_

The hoodie had lived in Y/N’s apartment after that.

At first, it had been a joke—something she’d wear when Billie wasn’t around, something Billie would steal back and then immediately hand over again.

But then it became a habit.

Y/N wore it when she was tired. When she was sick. When she missed Billie. When she didn’t know she missed Billie yet but her body did.

And Billie had loved that.

Not in a loud way.

In the way she’d tug the sleeve down over Y/N’s hand and kiss her knuckles like it was normal.

In the way she’d murmur, “You look better in my clothes than I do.”

In the way she’d hold Y/N from behind while she made tea, chin resting on her shoulder, voice low and sleepy.

In the way she’d whisper, “I could stay like this forever.”

Forever.

Y/N swallowed hard, standing in the middle of her bedroom with the hoodie in her hands like it was something fragile.

Forever had been the problem.

The breakup hadn’t been dramatic either.

That was the worst part.

There had been no screaming. No cheating. No betrayal.

Just… distance.

Tour.

Cities that changed every night.

A schedule so packed it didn’t leave room for breathing, let alone love.

At first, they’d tried.

They’d FaceTimed in hotel rooms. They’d sent voice notes at 3 a.m. They’d texted through time zones like they were building a bridge out of pixels and hope.

Billie would call from a dressing room, hair damp from sweat, eyes exhausted but bright when she saw Y/N’s face.

“Hey,” she’d say, like it was the only word that mattered.

And Y/N would smile and pretend she didn’t feel the ache in her chest.

“Hey.”

Sometimes Billie would talk for twenty minutes straight, fast and excited, telling Y/N about the crowd, about the new song she wanted to try, about the weird thing someone had thrown on stage.

And Y/N would listen.

She always listened.

But sometimes, Billie would call and barely speak.

Just sit there, eyes heavy, breathing slow, and Y/N would realize Billie was calling not to talk, but because she needed someone to exist with her.

Those calls were the hardest.

Because Y/N would be sitting in her own apartment, in Billie’s hoodie, surrounded by Billie’s absence.

And Billie would be sitting somewhere across the world, surrounded by thousands of people, still somehow lonely.

Eventually, the cracks started showing.

Small things first.

Missed calls.

Texts that went unanswered for hours, then days.

Y/N telling herself not to be needy.

Billie telling herself not to be guilty.

The worst part was that they both kept trying to protect each other, and in doing so, they started lying.

Not big lies.

Just the quiet ones.

I’m fine. I’m not upset. I’m not lonely. I’m not scared you’ll forget me.

The last fight happened over nothing.

A stupid thing.

Billie had promised she’d call after the show.

Y/N had waited.

Ten minutes. Thirty. An hour.

Two.

She’d fallen asleep on the couch with her phone in her hand.

When she woke up at 4 a.m., there was one text.

Billie: Sorry. I couldn’t. I’m exhausted. I love you.

Y/N stared at it for a long time.

And something in her chest just… broke.

Not because Billie was tired.

But because Y/N had started to feel like she was always waiting.

Waiting for Billie to have time.

Waiting for Billie to be less overwhelmed.

Waiting for the tour to end.

Waiting for their relationship to feel like a relationship again.

She typed back:

Y/N: It’s okay.

But it wasn’t.

When Billie finally came home, it didn’t feel like relief.

It felt like pressure.

Like all the time apart had stacked up behind them, and now they were supposed to fix it in one night.

They were supposed to be normal.

They weren’t.

Billie walked into Y/N’s apartment and looked around like she didn’t belong there anymore.

Y/N tried to hug her and Billie held her too tight, like she was afraid she’d disappear.

They kissed, but it felt like reaching for something underwater.

They ate dinner, but Billie barely touched her food.

They got into bed, and Billie lay awake staring at the ceiling.

Y/N rolled onto her side, heart thudding.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

Billie’s voice was quiet. “I don’t know.”

Y/N swallowed. “Do you still… want this?”

Silence.

Too long.

Billie turned her head slowly, eyes glassy in the dark.

“I want you,” she said. “I just… don’t know how to be yours like this.”

Y/N’s chest tightened. “Like what?”

Billie exhaled shakily. “Like I’m always leaving. Like you’re always waiting. Like I’m ruining your life and calling it love.”

Y/N sat up, the sheets sliding down her waist.

“You’re not ruining my life.”

Billie’s laugh was soft and broken. “I am, though.”

“No,” Y/N insisted. “You’re—Billie, you’re—”

Billie sat up too, turning toward her.

Her eyes were wet.

“I’m tired,” Billie whispered. “I’m so fucking tired. And I miss you all the time. And when I’m with you, I feel it even more because it reminds me of what I can’t keep.”

Y/N stared at her, heart cracking open.

“Billie…”

Billie shook her head, swallowing hard.

“I can’t keep asking you to do this,” she said. “I can’t keep asking you to love me from a distance. It’s not fair.”

Y/N’s throat burned.

“So what are you saying?” she whispered, even though she already knew.

Billie’s voice was barely audible.

“I think we’re breaking each other.”

_

The breakup was quiet.

Painfully quiet.

Billie packed her bag the next morning, hands shaking.

Y/N stood in the doorway and watched her, feeling like she was watching someone walk out of her life in slow motion.

When Billie reached the door, she paused.

Looked back.

Her eyes flicked to the hoodie draped over the back of the chair.

The one she’d worn last night.

The one Y/N wore when Billie was gone.

Billie’s throat bobbed.

“You can keep it,” she said, voice rough.

Y/N didn’t answer.

Because if she did, she might’ve begged.

Billie nodded like she understood.

Then she left.

_

Now, months later, Y/N stood in her closet holding that same hoodie.

Her hands were cold.

Her heart was loud.

And the worst part was that she didn’t know what to do with it.

Because returning it would mean reopening a door she’d spent months trying to seal shut.

But keeping it felt like admitting she still wasn’t over her.

Y/N sank down onto the edge of her bed, hoodie in her lap.

She stared at it for a long time.

Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she grabbed her phone.

She still had Billie’s number.

Of course she did.

She told herself it was just in case.

Just in case Billie ever needed something.

Just in case there was an emergency.

Just in case Y/N needed to hurt herself a little bit.

Her thumb hovered over the screen.

Then she typed:

Y/N: Found something of yours.

She stared at the message.

Her stomach twisted.

She hit send.

The phone sat in her palm like a live wire.

Five seconds passed.

Ten.

Twenty.

Then—

Billie: What?

Y/N’s breath caught.

Y/N: Your hoodie. The black one.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Billie: You still have that?

Y/N swallowed.

Y/N: Yeah.

A pause.

Then:

Billie: Does it still smell like me?

Y/N’s throat tightened.

She looked down at the hoodie.

At the fabric worn soft by time and memory.

At the thing that had lived in her apartment like a ghost.

Y/N typed:

Y/N: A little.

Another pause.

Longer this time.

Then:

Billie: Can I come get it?

Y/N’s heart slammed.

Y/N stared at the screen, pulse pounding so hard she could feel it in her fingertips.

She could say no.

She should say no.

But her fingers moved anyway.

Y/N: Yeah.

Billie: Tonight?

Y/N stared.

It was already late.

The sky outside was dark.

The rain had turned into something softer, more steady.

Y/N’s hands shook as she typed.

Y/N: Okay.

Billie: I’ll be there in twenty.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes until Billie was standing in her doorway again.

Twenty minutes until the past walked back into her apartment like it had never left.

Y/N looked down at the hoodie in her lap.

Then, slowly, she lifted it and held it tighter.

Y/N spent the next twenty minutes doing everything except what she actually needed to do.

She rinsed her mug even though it was already clean. She smoothed the throw blanket on the couch until it looked unnaturally perfect. She checked her reflection in the hallway mirror and immediately regretted it.

She looked… like someone who’d been cleaning on a Sunday. Hair slightly messy, comfy clothes, bare face. Not ugly. Just real.

And somehow, that felt worse.

Because Billie had seen her dressed up. Billie had seen her glowing at parties, laughing with friends, looking like someone who had it all together.

But Billie had also seen her like this—soft, unguarded, at home. Billie had kissed her forehead like this. Had held her in the kitchen like this. Had pulled her into bed like this.

Y/N exhaled and clutched the hoodie in her hands.

The black fabric looked darker under the warm apartment lighting, almost swallowing the light around it. It still felt like Billie. Like her hands. Like her arms. Like the space she used to take up.

Her phone buzzed.

Billie: Here.

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

She stood so quickly she almost tripped over the corner of the rug.

For a second, she just stared at her front door, like she expected it to open on its own.

Then she walked over and unlocked it.

Her fingers hesitated on the handle.

And then she pulled.

Billie stood in the hallway like she’d been placed there.

Not leaning. Not fidgeting. Just standing still, hands shoved into the pockets of a dark jacket, her shoulders slightly hunched like she was bracing for impact.

She looked tired.

Not the glamorous kind of tired people posted about—real tired. The kind that lived behind her eyes, in the way she blinked a little slower than usual.

Her hair was messier than it used to be on red carpets. Her face was bare. Her expression was… careful.

But the second her eyes landed on Y/N—

Something in them softened.

“Hey,” Billie said quietly.

Y/N swallowed. “Hey.”

Neither of them moved.

The hallway light buzzed faintly overhead. Somewhere downstairs, a door opened and closed. A neighbor’s footsteps echoed briefly and then faded away.

Billie’s gaze flicked to the hoodie in Y/N’s hands.

Her throat moved.

“You really still have it,” Billie murmured.

Y/N forced a small laugh that didn’t feel like laughter. “I didn’t throw it out.”

Billie’s mouth twitched. “Yeah. I can see that.”

Another pause.

Then Billie’s eyes lifted back to Y/N’s face, and the air changed.

Because this wasn’t a casual reunion.

This wasn’t “two exes being mature.”

This was the kind of silence that carried months inside it.

Billie cleared her throat. “Can I come in?”

Y/N’s heart thudded.

She stepped aside.

“Yeah.”

Billie walked past her slowly, and Y/N caught it—caught the faint scent of her shampoo, the soft warmth of her body as she passed.

And it hit her like a flash.

A memory.

Billie pressing her face into Y/N’s neck in the kitchen. Billie murmuring, You smell good. Billie stealing a sip of Y/N’s tea and making a face. Billie laughing.

Y/N closed the door behind her.

The sound was too final.

Billie stood in the middle of the living room like she didn’t know where to put herself. Like she’d been here a thousand times and yet didn’t feel allowed to act like it.

Y/N held the hoodie out.

“Here.”

Billie didn’t take it right away.

She just stared at it for a second.

Then she stepped closer.

Billie reached out and took the hoodie gently, like it was fragile.

Her fingers brushed Y/N’s.

A tiny, electric touch.

Billie’s hand stilled.

So did Y/N’s.

Neither of them pulled away.

Billie looked at her like she was trying to read something written behind her eyes.

“Did you… wear it?” Billie asked.

Y/N’s throat tightened. “Sometimes.”

Billie’s gaze dropped briefly to Y/N’s mouth.

Then back to her eyes.

“Why?” Billie asked, like she genuinely didn’t know.

Y/N laughed again, softer this time, bitter around the edges.

“You want the honest answer?”

Billie nodded.

Y/N swallowed hard. “Because I missed you.”

Billie’s face shifted.

Something sharp flickered there—pain, maybe. Or guilt.

Or both.

“Y/N…” Billie whispered.

Y/N shook her head quickly, like she needed to stop herself from saying more. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. You came to get it.”

Billie’s hands tightened around the hoodie.

“It matters,” Billie said, voice firmer.

Y/N looked at her.

Billie’s jaw clenched slightly. “It matters because I missed you too.”

Y/N’s heart stuttered.

She stared at Billie like she didn’t trust her own ears.

Billie stepped closer.

The space between them shrank to almost nothing.

“I missed you so much,” Billie said quietly. “And I hated it.”

Y/N’s voice trembled. “Then why did you leave?”

Billie flinched like the question hurt.

She looked down for a second.

Then she looked back up, eyes shining.

“Because I couldn’t breathe,” Billie admitted. “Because every time I called you, I could hear how much you were trying to be okay. And it made me feel like the worst person alive.”

Y/N’s lips parted.

Billie continued, the words spilling now, like she’d been holding them back for too long.

“I was on tour and I was exhausted and I was drowning, and you were at home trying to hold everything together, and I started feeling like I was taking you with me every time I left.”

Y/N’s throat burned.

Billie’s voice cracked slightly. “I didn’t want you to hate me.”

Y/N stared at her, eyes stinging.

“I never hated you,” she whispered.

Billie let out a shaky breath. “I know. That’s why it was unbearable.”

The room felt too small.

The air felt thick.

Y/N hugged her arms around herself, suddenly cold.

“You hurt me,” she said, voice quiet but steady.

Billie nodded immediately.

“I know.”

Y/N swallowed. “You didn’t do anything wrong, exactly. But you still hurt me.”

Billie’s eyes filled more.

“I know,” she repeated. “I’m sorry.”

Y/N blinked hard.

The apology didn’t fix anything. It didn’t undo the nights Y/N had cried quietly in bed, clutching her phone like it might light up. It didn’t erase the feeling of being left behind.

But hearing Billie say it—hearing it without excuses—made something in Y/N’s chest loosen.

Billie’s hands, still holding the hoodie, dropped slowly to her side.

She looked… smaller now.

Not the global superstar.

Just Billie.

Just a girl standing in her ex’s apartment, looking like she didn’t know where she belonged.

“Are you okay?” Y/N asked, softer.

Billie laughed weakly. “No.”

Y/N’s heart clenched.

Billie took a breath, then said quietly, “I tried to move on.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

Billie’s eyes flicked up quickly. “Not like… seriously. Not in a real way. But I tried to be normal. I tried to do what everyone says you’re supposed to do.”

Y/N nodded slowly, even though it hurt.

Billie’s voice went lower.

“And I couldn’t. Because every time I laughed with someone else, I thought about you. Every time I got into bed, I thought about you. Every time I put on a hoodie, I thought about you.”

Y/N’s eyes stung again.

Billie’s gaze sharpened.

“And then you texted me,” she said. “And I swear to God, I felt my whole body—” she pressed a hand to her chest “—like it woke up.”

Y/N didn’t move.

She couldn’t.

Billie took another step.

Now they were close enough that Y/N could feel her breath.

“I didn’t come here just for the hoodie,” Billie admitted.

Y/N’s pulse slammed.

“Then why did you come?” she whispered.

Billie stared at her for a long second.

And then she said the words like she’d been terrified of them.

“Because I needed to see if you still felt like home.”

Y/N’s throat tightened.

She stared at Billie.

At her eyes.

At her mouth.

At the familiar shape of her.

At the girl who had once held her like she was something precious.

Y/N’s voice came out barely audible.

“You can’t just come back and—”

“I know,” Billie cut in quickly, almost desperate. “I know. I’m not asking you to forgive me in five minutes. I’m not asking you to pretend nothing happened.”

She swallowed.

“I just… I needed to see you.”

“And now that you have,” she whispered, “what?”

Billie’s gaze dropped again to Y/N’s mouth.

Then back to her eyes.

Billie’s voice went softer.

“Now I’m trying really hard not to kiss you.”

Y/N froze.

The words hit her like a spark to gasoline.

Because she’d been trying not to kiss Billie since the second she opened the door.

Y/N’s lips parted.

Her voice was shaky. “Billie…”

Billie’s eyes were dark now.

Not angry.

Not cold.

Just… intense.

“I know it’s a bad idea,” Billie murmured. “But I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Y/N swallowed hard.

She could feel the tension between them like a physical thing.

The quiet.

The rain.

The warm apartment light.

The hoodie hanging limp in Billie’s hand like a symbol.

Y/N took a step forward.

Billie didn’t move.

Y/N lifted her hand slowly and touched Billie’s wrist.

Billie’s breath hitched.

Y/N’s fingers curled around her gently.

“You’re shaking,” Y/N whispered.

Billie laughed under her breath, but it sounded broken. “Yeah.”

Y/N looked up at her.

“Do you want to kiss me?” she asked.

Billie’s eyes flashed.

“Yes,” she said immediately. “Yes.”

Y/N’s chest tightened.

“Why?” she whispered.

Billie’s voice softened, like a confession.

“Because I never stopped.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

And that was it.

That was the moment.

Y/N’s hand slid up Billie’s arm to her shoulder, and she leaned in—

Billie met her halfway.

The kiss was not gentle.

It wasn’t slow.

It was the kind of kiss that carried months of silence inside it.

Billie’s hand came up fast, cupping Y/N’s jaw, pulling her closer like she was afraid she’d disappear again. Y/N’s fingers twisted into Billie’s jacket, gripping hard.

The kiss deepened instantly.

Hot.

Desperate.

Familiar in a way that made Y/N’s heart ache.

Billie’s mouth moved against hers like she’d been starving, like she’d been holding back for too long. Y/N kissed her back just as hard, just as desperately, like she’d been waiting all this time and didn’t want to admit it.

They broke apart for half a second, breathing hard.

Billie’s forehead pressed against Y/N’s.

“Fuck,” Billie whispered.

Y/N’s eyes were half-lidded.

“Yeah,” she breathed.

Billie kissed her again.

And again.

Short, intense kisses—like Billie couldn’t decide whether she wanted to savor it or devour it.

Y/N’s hands slid under Billie’s jacket, palms against her waist.

Billie shuddered slightly.

Her grip tightened on Y/N’s face.

The hoodie fell from Billie’s hand to the floor without either of them noticing.

Billie kissed Y/N like she was making a promise.

Like she was trying to rewrite the ending.

Y/N kissed her like she was terrified it would hurt again.

But she couldn’t stop.

She didn’t want to.

Billie’s hand slid down to Y/N’s neck, thumb brushing her pulse like she was feeling how fast it was racing.

“You’re still mine,” Billie murmured against her lips.

Y/N’s breath caught.

She should’ve corrected her.

She should’ve said you don’t get to say that.

But instead, Y/N whispered back—

“I never stopped being.”

Billie made a soft sound, almost a whimper, and kissed her harder.

Y/N stumbled back a step, and Billie followed immediately, crowding her gently, guiding her until Y/N’s back hit the wall near the hallway.

Billie’s body pressed close.

Warm.

Real.

Y/N’s hands slid up Billie’s shoulders, gripping, pulling her in.

Billie’s kisses turned slower, deeper—like she was finally letting herself feel it.

The way she used to.

The way she hadn’t let herself feel in months.

Y/N’s heart pounded.

Billie’s breath was hot against her cheek.

“Tell me to stop,” Billie whispered.

Y/N shook her head instantly.

Billie’s eyes searched hers.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” Billie said, voice rough.

Y/N’s voice was barely there.

“I want you.”

Billie’s expression cracked open.

Relief.

Need.

Love.

She kissed Y/N again, softer this time, like she couldn’t help it.

Like she’d been holding her breath for months and finally exhaled.

Eventually, they broke apart, both of them breathing hard.

Billie’s hands stayed on Y/N’s waist.

Y/N’s hands stayed on Billie’s shoulders.

Neither moved away.

Billie’s eyes were glassy.

“God,” she whispered. “I missed you.”

Y/N swallowed, voice shaking. “I missed you too”

Y/N let out a shaky breath.

She exhaled shakily, then kissed Y/N again—slow, grateful, trembling.

Not desperate this time.

Just… real.

Billie’s kiss slows, but it doesn’t soften.

If anything, it gets worse—deeper, heavier, like she’s trying to pour every single month of missing Y/N into her mouth.

Y/N’s hands are still fisted in Billie’s jacket when she finally pulls back just enough to breathe, her lips swollen, her chest rising too fast.

Billie’s eyes are dark.

Not playful.

Not teasing.

Just… hungry.

“You’re shaking,” Y/N whispers again, but this time it sounds like she’s accusing her.

Billie lets out a quiet laugh, breathless and wrecked. “Yeah,” she admits. “Because I’m trying not to—”

She cuts herself off, jaw tightening.

Y/N swallows. “Trying not to what?”

Billie’s gaze flicks to her mouth.

Then down her neck.

Then back to her eyes.

“Touch you,” Billie says, voice low. “The way I want to.”

The words hit Y/N straight in the stomach.

She should say something smart. Something careful.

Instead, she reaches up, fingers sliding into Billie’s hair, and tugs—just enough to make Billie’s breath catch.

“Then don’t,” Y/N whispers.

Billie’s eyes flash.

“Don’t say things like that,” Billie murmurs, like it’s a warning.

Y/N tilts her head. “Why?”

Billie steps closer, crowding her gently, and the heat of her body presses right into Y/N’s.

“Because I’ll listen,” Billie says. “And you know I will.”

Y/N’s lips part.

Her pulse is everywhere.

Billie’s hand slides to Y/N’s waist again—slow, careful, like she’s giving her time to stop it.

Y/N doesn’t.

Billie’s fingers curl into her shirt, gripping.

And then Billie kisses her again—harder.

Y/N makes a soft sound into the kiss, the kind she didn’t mean to let out, and Billie reacts instantly, like something inside her snaps.

She pulls Y/N away from the wall and guides her backward.

Y/N barely has time to stumble before the back of her knees hit the couch.

Billie follows her down.

Y/N sits, breathless.

Billie stays standing for half a second, looking down at her like she’s trying to decide whether she’s allowed.

Y/N looks up at her, chest heaving, hair messy, lips swollen.

Billie’s gaze drops to Y/N’s mouth again.

Then she climbs onto the couch, straddling Y/N’s lap.

Y/N freezes for a second at the feeling of Billie’s weight settling on her—warm, real, pressing close.

Billie’s hands slide up Y/N’s shoulders and into her hair, tilting her face up.

“You have no idea,” Billie murmurs, voice rough, “how many nights I thought about this.”

Y/N’s breath catches.

“Billie…”

Billie kisses her again.

Slow at first.

Then deeper.

Y/N’s hands move automatically—one on Billie’s waist, the other sliding up her back, fingers pressing into her like she needs to prove she’s here.

Billie’s hips shift, just slightly, like she’s getting comfortable.

Like she’s forgetting how to behave.

Y/N feels it.

The pressure.

The closeness.

The way Billie’s body fits against hers like it never forgot.

Y/N’s fingers tighten on her waist.

Billie breaks the kiss for half a second, breathing hard, and her forehead drops to Y/N’s.

Billie’s mouth curves—barely.

Then she kisses down Y/N’s jaw.

To her neck.

Slow.

Intentional.

Y/N’s head tips back against the couch, exposing more of her throat without even thinking.

Billie’s lips press there—soft, then firmer.

And when she sucks lightly, Y/N’s whole body reacts.

A sharp inhale.

A quiet moan.

Billie pauses like she’s listening.

Like she’s memorizing the sound.

“Fuck,” Billie whispers against her skin, and her hands grip Y/N’s hips like she’s holding herself in place.

Y/N’s hands slide up Billie’s back under her jacket, feeling her warmth through layers.

Billie shudders.

“Take it off,” Y/N breathes.

Billie lifts her head, eyes locked on hers.

Billie sits back just enough to pull her jacket off, tossing it somewhere on the floor without looking.

Her shirt follows—fast, impatient.

Y/N stares for a second, chest tightening.

Billie catches her looking and smirks faintly, but it’s not cocky.

It’s the kind of smirk that says I know you. I know what you like.

“You’re staring,” Billie murmurs.

Y/N’s voice is barely there. “Can you blame me?”

Billie leans down again, kissing her like she’s trying to shut her up.

Y/N’s hands slide over Billie’s skin now—her shoulders, her arms, her back.

She’s warm.

Smooth.

Real.

Billie’s breath stutters when Y/N’s fingers drag slowly down her spine.

“Jesus,” Billie whispers, like she can’t take it.

Y/N’s mouth finds her neck this time.

A kiss.

Then another.

Billie’s hips shift again, pressing closer, and Y/N’s entire body sparks.

Billie makes a small, helpless sound—half moan, half laugh—and her hands fly to Y/N’s face.

“Look at me,” Billie says softly.

Y/N opens her eyes.

Billie’s expression is wrecked.

Like she’s trying to hold herself together and failing.

“You still feel like mine,” Billie whispers.

Y/N’s heart slams.

She should correct her again.

But the way Billie says it—like she’s terrified to even admit it—makes Y/N’s chest ache.

So Y/N slides her hands up Billie’s ribs, pulls her closer, and whispers back—

“Then prove it.”

Billie’s eyes flash.

And then she kisses Y/N like she’s been given permission.

It turns messy fast.

Hot.

Open-mouthed.

Y/N’s hands are everywhere now, and Billie’s too—gripping, sliding, tugging.

Billie’s mouth moves down again, kissing Y/N’s neck, her collarbone, the top of her chest.

Y/N gasps when Billie’s teeth graze her skin.

“Billie—”

Billie lifts her head slightly.

“What?” she murmurs, breath hot.

Y/N swallows.

“Don’t—” she starts, but she can’t even finish.

Billie smiles faintly, almost cruel.

“Don’t what?” she teases.

Y/N’s cheeks burn.

Billie’s eyes soften immediately, like she realizes she’s pushing.

She leans in and kisses Y/N’s mouth again—slower this time.

Then she whispers against her lips:

“I missed you,” Billie says quietly. “I missed you so bad I couldn’t stand it.”

Y/N’s throat tightens.

Billie’s voice drops lower.

“I missed your mouth. I missed your hands. I missed the way you look at me like I’m not a… fucking brand.”

Y/N exhales shakily.

Billie kisses her again, softer, like she’s trying to say sorry without words.

Y/N’s fingers slide into Billie’s hair again.

And when she tugs, Billie lets out a sound that makes Y/N’s stomach twist.

Billie’s forehead drops to hers.

“This is a terrible idea,” Billie whispers.

Y/N’s lips brush hers.

“Then why are you still on my lap?”

Billie laughs quietly.

Then she kisses her again.

And again.

And again.

Until Y/N forgets how to think.

Until the room feels too warm.

Until the couch creaks softly under them, and Billie’s hands grip her like she’s afraid she’ll vanish.

And when Billie finally pulls back, her eyes are blown wide and her breathing is uneven.

She looks at Y/N like she’s starving.

Like she’s been starving.

“Come here,” Billie whispers.

Y/N blinks. “Where?”

Billie’s gaze flicks down the hallway.

Then back to her.

Her mouth curves slowly.

“To bed.”

They both got up from the couch, fingers still tangled together, and walked to the bedroom like they were being pulled by something neither of them wanted to fight anymore. The apartment was quiet, the only sound the soft padding of their steps and the faint rush of their breathing. Every second felt charged—like the air itself was holding its breath.

In the doorway, Billie stopped for half a beat, eyes flicking over Y/N’s face like she was memorizing her again.

Then she pushed her gently onto the bed.

Y/N landed with a small laugh that didn’t have any humor in it—just nerves, warmth, and the rush of knowing exactly where this was going. Billie climbed onto the mattress after her, settling above her with familiar ease, like her body already remembered the shape of Y/N’s.

And then Billie kissed her.

Not soft. Not careful.

Passionate, hungry, like she’d been waiting too long.

Her hands moved over Y/N’s body like she couldn’t help it—palms warm, fingers splayed, gripping her waist and sliding up her sides. Y/N’s breath caught as Billie’s mouth moved lower, her lips dragging slowly along her jaw before finding her neck.

The first kiss there pulled a moan from Y/N so instinctive it startled her.

It sounded… familiar.

Billie froze for the smallest second, like she’d heard it too.

Then she exhaled against Y/N’s skin and kept going, kissing her throat, her collarbone—biting gently, just enough to make Y/N’s stomach twist. Billie’s hands tugged at Y/N’s shirt, lifting it over her head and tossing it somewhere without looking. She unclasped Y/N’s bra with the kind of practiced ease that made Y/N’s heart stutter, because it wasn’t just skill.

It was memory.

Like she’d done it a hundred times before.

“Billie…” Y/N breathed, voice shaky, half warning, half plea.

Billie didn’t answer. She just lowered herself, her hair brushing Y/N’s skin, and kissed down to her breasts. Her mouth moved slowly at first, reverent—kissing all over, like she was rediscovering something she’d missed for too long. When she closed her lips around Y/N’s nipple and suckled, Y/N’s back arched off the bed, a muffled moan spilling into the quiet room.

Billie hummed softly against her, like she liked the sound she was pulling out of her.

Y/N’s hands found Billie’s back, fingers pressing into her skin, pulling her closer. Her chest was rising too fast now, heat spreading everywhere, the past and the present blurring until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

Y/N reached for Billie’s bra with clumsy urgency, fingers slipping once before finding the clasp. She undid it and Billie’s big breasts spilled free, and Y/N’s hands were on her immediately—like instinct, like hunger, like I’ve missed you made physical.

“God, these…” Y/N panted, her voice wrecked. “How I’ve missed these.”

Billie’s lips curved into a slow smile as she lifted her head, eyes dark and shining under the soft bedside light. For a moment, she just watched Y/N—watched her hands, watched her expression—like she was letting herself enjoy the sight.

Like she was letting Y/N have this.

“Yeah?” Billie murmured, voice low, teasing, but not unkind. Her fingers slid up Y/N’s wrist, guiding her touch like she wanted to feel it too. “You missed me that much?”

Y/N swallowed, staring up at her. “You have no idea.”

Something in Billie’s face softened—only for a second—before it turned into something heavier.

“Good,” she whispered.

And then she kissed Y/N again, deeper this time, messier, like she was done pretending she had any control left.

Billie kissed down Y/N’s neck, slow and familiar, like she was tracing a path she already knew by heart. Her lips lingered at her collarbone, warm and deliberate, and Y/N’s breath hitched when Billie pressed a kiss there—right on that spot she always liked.

It was impossible not to remember.

Not the breakup. Not the months apart.

Just this.

Billie’s mouth moved lower, down her chest and stomach, her hair brushing against Y/N’s skin in soft sweeps. Every kiss felt like a quiet claim. Like she was reminding Y/N exactly what she’d been missing.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in the sheets, her whole body already buzzing, already too sensitive.

Billie’s hands slid to the waistband of Y/N’s sweatpants.

She looked up once—eyes dark, steady—like she wanted to see Y/N’s face when she did it.

Then she pulled them down.

The fabric dragged slowly over Y/N’s hips, over her thighs, until Billie tossed them aside like they didn’t matter. Y/N was left in nothing but a black pair of panties, and the second Billie saw them, her expression shifted.

Her mouth curled into a small, satisfied smirk.

“Of course,” Billie murmured, voice low. “Black.”

Y/N’s cheeks heated. “Shut up.”

Billie’s smile widened like she loved that she could still make her flustered so easily.

She hooked her fingers into the waistband and tugged, slow at first, teasing—like she was making Y/N feel every second of it. When she finally slid them down, Billie paused just long enough to see what she’d already guessed.

They were soaked.

Billie let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, and her eyes flicked up to Y/N’s face.

“Seriously?” she murmured, tone half amused, half wrecked.

Y/N swallowed, breath shaky. “Don’t act like you’re surprised.”

Billie’s smirk deepened. “Oh, I’m not surprised.”

She moved closer, spreading Y/N’s legs with calm confidence, her hands firm but gentle. Y/N’s knees fell apart without resistance, like her body had been waiting for permission.

Billie leaned in, her voice dropping even lower.

“Show me,” she said, eyes locked on Y/N’s, “that wet pussy of yours.”

Her stomach tightened. Her thighs trembled.

Billie spread her legs a little further, and the room felt smaller suddenly—like all the air had been pulled into the space between them. The bedside light cast a soft glow across Billie’s face, catching in her lashes, making her look almost unreal.

Then Billie lowered herself between Y/N’s thighs.

Her breath was warm.

Close.

Y/N’s whole body tensed as Billie hovered there for a second, like she was savoring it—like she was savoring her.

And when Billie finally pressed her mouth to Y/N—

Y/N jolted so hard her hands gripped the sheets, a broken sound tearing out of her before she could stop it.

“Billie—”

Billie didn’t answer with words.

She answered with intent. Billie swirled her tongue against Y/N’s clit, slow and deliberate, like she had all the time in the world.

And then—she stopped.

Y/N let out a frustrated, breathless sound, lifting her head slightly like she was about to protest, but Billie was already pulling back, eyes sharp like something had just crossed her mind.

She rose from the bed and moved to the nightstand beside Y/N, sliding open the drawer with the kind of familiarity that made Y/N’s stomach flip.

“Is it still here?” Billie asked, almost casually—except her voice wasn’t casual at all.

It was low.

Hungry.

Like she already knew the answer.

Y/N watched, heart pounding, as Billie’s fingers searched through the drawer for a second… and then paused.

When Billie pulled something out, she held it up between them with a slow, crooked smile.

Y/N’s breath caught instantly.

Billie tilted her head. “Wanna do this the right way?”

The way she said it—like it was a challenge, like it was a promise—sent a rush of heat straight through Y/N’s body.

Y/N smiled, unable to stop herself, and nodded eagerly.

That was what did it.

Something in Billie’s expression changed—her eyes darkening again, her jaw tightening like she’d just snapped into a different version of herself. A version that was all control, all confidence, all intention.

She moved quickly now, like she couldn’t stand the distance between them for another second. She took off her jeans quickly and put the strap on.

And when Billie climbed back onto the bed, hovering over Y/N with that look in her eyes, Y/N felt her whole body go still—anticipation so sharp it almost hurt. Billie coated the strap with lube carefully, her movements slow and deliberate, like she wasn’t in a rush at all—like she wanted Y/N to feel every second of what was coming.

Then she spread Y/N’s legs again, firm but gentle, her hands warm against her thighs as she positioned herself between them.

Billie entered her slowly, letting only the tip push in at first.

Y/N’s breath hitched instantly, her fingers curling into the sheets as her body reacted on instinct—shock, heat, need, all at once.

Billie’s hands slid to Y/N’s waist, steadying her, guiding her through it with a control that made Y/N’s stomach twist.

The stretch was intense, but not painful.

Just full.

So full it made her head go light.

Billie eased in inch by inch, unhurried, watching Y/N’s face the entire time—watching every flicker of emotion, every tremble, every tiny shift in her expression. She only moved when Y/N whispered, “More,”, like she couldn’t hold it back anymore.

Billie’s jaw tightened.

“Yeah?” she murmured, low. “You want more?”

And then she pushed in deeper, slow enough to make it almost unbearable, her grip tightening at Y/N’s waist as if she wasn’t letting her go anywhere. When Y/N was ready, Billie started to add a little movement, pulling out half-way and pushing it back in. Slowly, Y/N got used to the feeling, her body relaxing around it—only for the need to build even stronger.

“Harder, baby,” she moaned, breathless and needy.

Billie did.

The rhythm turned relentless, the room filling with the sound of both of them—broken breaths, soft gasps, quiet, helpless moans that only grew louder as Y/N got closer. Her voice climbed higher, more desperate, like she couldn’t keep it inside anymore.

Billie was breathing hard now too, focused, determined to keep the pace, her grip steady as she worked harder and harder—driven by every sound Y/N made, by the way her body reacted beneath her.

Y/N’s body tensed, every muscle coiling as the pleasure built impossibly higher. Her back arched, fingers digging into the sheets, and a sharp, high-pitched moan tore from her lips. Heat and sensation exploded through her, waves crashing over her all at once, and she

couldn’t hold back the tremors that shook her from head to toe.

Billie didn’t stop, just held her steady, matching her movements perfectly, letting Y/N ride out every pulse and shudder. Y/N cried out again, louder this time, body quivering uncontrollably as the orgasm washed through her in long, shuddering waves, leaving her breathless and utterly spent on the bed.

Her head fell back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut, and all she could feel was the warmth, the intensity, and the steady rhythm of Billie keeping her completely undone. Billie stopped and slowly pulled out the strap out of Y/N’s pussy. Then collapsed on the bed beside her. Billie’s lips pressed against Y/N’s with a fiery intensity, a hunger that matched the heat still lingering between them. Their breaths mingled, quick and uneven, as hands roamed over each other, gripping, holding, needing. The kiss deepened, slow and relentless, tongues dancing together, testing, teasing, exploring.

Y/N moaned softly into Billie’s mouth, melting against her, feeling the electricity of every touch and every heartbeat. The room seemed to shrink around them—the dim light casting shadows that flickered across skin glistening with sweat, the quiet hum of the city outside unnoticed.

Time blurred. Every brush of lips, every sigh, every tremble built on the tension until all that existed was each other. When they finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, both were breathless, hearts pounding in sync.

“You’ve missed me,” Y/N whispered, voice trembling with need.

At a party, a gorgeous girl flirts with Y/N right in front of Billie — and Billie tries to act normal… until she can’t anymore.

This is fluff. Word count: 2.9k

The party was already loud when they arrived.

Not the chaotic kind where people spilled drinks and screamed over the music—more like the kind that felt expensive without trying. Warm light. Dim corners. A playlist that drifted between slow R&B and upbeat pop. The smell of citrus and alcohol mixing with perfume and cologne. Someone had lit candles in glass jars along the windowsills, and the soft glow made everything look a little softer, a little more romantic than it had any right to.

Y/N stepped inside and immediately felt the buzz of it in her bones.

Billie followed behind her, hand briefly resting at the small of Y/N’s back as they moved through the doorway. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t possessive. It was just… Billie.

That gentle, grounding touch that always made Y/N feel like she belonged somewhere.

“Okay,” Y/N murmured, looking around. “This is nicer than I expected.”

Billie hummed, eyes scanning the room with casual familiarity. She looked effortless—oversized jacket, rings, messy-soft hair, that calm expression that made her seem like she’d never once felt awkward in her life.

Y/N knew better.

Billie was social, sure. She was charming. She could work a room like it was a stage. But Y/N had learned, slowly, in the quiet moments, that Billie didn’t always love it. Not the way people assumed she did. Sometimes she was brilliant at being seen, but still didn’t want to be watched.

Tonight, though, she looked relaxed.

Her shoulder brushed Y/N’s as they moved deeper into the party, and Y/N felt that little spark that had been following them around for weeks now—something steady, something bright.

Not official.

Not labeled.

But not nothing, either.

They’d been hovering in that space where everything was loaded. Where every glance felt like a question. Where every touch felt like it could turn into something else if either of them just stopped pretending.

Y/N had told herself she was fine with it.

But the truth was, she was tired of pretending.

Someone spotted Billie almost immediately.

A couple of people turned their heads. A ripple moved through the room like a quiet wave—nothing aggressive, nothing overwhelming, just that subtle shift that always happened when Billie entered a space. Like the air adjusted itself around her.

Billie’s expression didn’t change.

She leaned closer to Y/N, lips near her ear. “You okay?”

Y/N smiled. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because you’re making that face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you’re about to disappear into your own head.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smile stayed. “I’m fine.”

Billie’s gaze lingered on her for a second. Then she nodded, as if satisfied, and gently nudged her forward.

“Come on,” Billie said. “Let’s get a drink.”

They ended up near the kitchen, where the lighting was brighter and the music was slightly muffled. People were clustered around the counter, laughing and leaning into each other. Someone had set out snacks—fancy chips, fruit, something that looked like it belonged on a Pinterest board.

Y/N grabbed a cup and poured herself something light, while Billie leaned against the counter beside her.

Billie didn’t pour anything.

She just watched.

And that was a thing Billie did sometimes—like she was always absorbing, always noticing. Like she was taking mental snapshots of the world and filing them away.

Y/N could feel Billie’s eyes on her, warm and steady, and it made her cheeks heat.

“You’re staring,” Y/N said, trying to sound casual.

Billie didn’t even blink. “I’m looking.”

“That’s the same thing.”

Billie’s mouth curved slightly. “No.”

Y/N turned her head to look at her properly. Billie’s eyes were soft, almost amused.

“What?” Y/N asked.

Billie shrugged. “Nothing.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re lying.”

Billie’s smile widened a fraction. “Maybe.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing under her breath. She took a sip of her drink, letting the cold sweetness settle her nerves.

It was ridiculous.

They’d been around each other so much lately. They’d had late-night conversations, stolen touches, private jokes. Billie had looked at her like she mattered in a way Y/N wasn’t used to.

And still—

A party could make everything feel strange again.

Like the world was too loud, and the air was too thick, and every moment was a little too public.

Y/N took another sip, then leaned her hip against the counter.

“So,” she said, “are you going to socialize? Or are you going to hide with me in the kitchen all night?”

Billie tilted her head. “Is hiding with you an option?”

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

She tried to act normal. “Maybe.”

Billie hummed, satisfied. “Then I’m good.”

They stayed there for a while—talking, laughing, letting the night unfold around them. Billie told Y/N something stupid she’d seen online, and Y/N laughed so hard she nearly choked on her drink.

Billie looked pleased about it.

Almost proud.

And for a while, it felt easy.

Until it didn’t.

It happened slowly, like a shift in the air.

Y/N was laughing at something someone said—some friend of a friend who’d wandered into the kitchen and started talking about music. Billie was beside her, quiet, listening.

Then the person’s attention shifted.

To Y/N.

Not in a casual way.

In a deliberate way.

Y/N felt it immediately.

That slight narrowing of focus. That change in tone. That little lean closer, like the conversation suddenly mattered more than it had two seconds ago.

The girl—tall, confident, gorgeous in that effortless way that made people stare without realizing they were staring—smiled at Y/N like she’d just discovered something worth keeping.

She had glossy lips and sharp eyes, the kind of face that looked like it belonged in a perfume ad. Her dress hugged her like it was sewn onto her, and she smelled like something expensive—warm vanilla and something floral underneath.

“You’re funny,” she said, voice low and smooth. “Like… actually funny.”

Y/N blinked. “Uh. Thanks.”

“No, I mean it.” The girl’s gaze lingered, slow and bold. “Most people here are just trying to look cool.”

Y/N laughed awkwardly. “Maybe I’m trying too.”

She shook her head. “You’re not. You’re… different.”

Y/N felt her face heat. She glanced briefly toward Billie without thinking.

Billie was still leaning against the counter.

Still calm.

Still quiet.

But something in her eyes had changed.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even obvious unless you knew her.

But Y/N did know her.

Billie’s expression was neutral, almost relaxed, but her gaze was sharp—locked on the girl speaking to Y/N like she was trying to decide whether she should smile politely or set something on fire.

Y/N swallowed.

The girl kept talking, like she had no idea she was walking straight into something dangerous.

“So,” she said, tilting her head slightly, voice dripping with interest, “are you here with anyone? Or are you just… surviving alone?”

Y/N opened her mouth, ready to answer.

Then Billie moved.

She didn’t rush.

She didn’t interrupt.

She just pushed off the counter and stepped closer until she was standing behind Y/N, close enough that their bodies almost touched.

Then Billie leaned in slightly, voice soft.

“Hey,” Billie said, as if she’d just found her. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Her hand landed on Y/N’s waist.

Light.

Casual.

But the effect was immediate.

Y/N’s breath caught.

The girl’s eyes flicked down to Billie’s hand, then back up.

Y/N felt the heat of Billie’s palm through the fabric of her top, like a quiet claim that wasn’t loud enough for anyone to call out—but was clear enough for Y/N to feel it in her bones.

“Oh,” the girl said, smile faltering just slightly. “You two…?”

Billie’s fingers tightened, barely.

Y/N’s heart started pounding.

She should’ve corrected it.

Should’ve laughed and said, “We’re just friends.”

But Billie’s hand was warm.

And Billie was close.

And Billie’s eyes were on her, steady and unreadable, like she was waiting to see what Y/N would do.

Y/N swallowed.

Then she smiled.

Not big.

Not dramatic.

Just enough.

“I’m here with her,” Y/N said simply.

Billie didn’t move.

But something in her face softened—like a muscle she’d been holding tight finally let go.

The girl nodded, recovering quickly. “Got it. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Y/N said, polite.

The girl offered a quick goodbye and drifted away, leaving the kitchen with a little less confidence than she’d entered with.

The moment she was gone, Y/N turned slightly, looking up at Billie.

Billie’s hand was still on her waist.

Her thumb moved once, slow.

Y/N’s breath caught again.

“You okay?” Y/N asked quietly.

Billie’s eyes held hers for a second too long.

Then Billie let go.

“Yeah,” Billie said, too fast. “I’m fine.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re lying.”

Billie scoffed lightly. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

Billie stared at her for a beat.

Then she leaned in, voice low, almost teasing.

“Do you want to do this in the kitchen?” Billie asked.

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

Not because of the words.

Because of the tone.

Because Billie’s voice had gone soft in that way that always made Y/N’s brain short-circuit.

Y/N swallowed. “No.”

Billie nodded. “Good.”

Then she stepped closer again, just slightly.

“Come with me,” Billie said.

It wasn’t a request.

It was quiet, but it carried weight.

Y/N followed without thinking.

They moved through the party like they had their own gravity. Billie didn’t hold her hand. She didn’t need to. She just walked ahead, and Y/N stayed close, pulled along by something stronger than music or alcohol or curiosity.

Billie led her toward a hallway near the back of the house, where the sound was dimmer and the lighting was softer. A few doors lined the corridor. One was slightly open, warm light spilling out.

Billie pushed it open further.

It was a small room—maybe an office. A desk. A lamp. A shelf of books. A window cracked open to let in cold air.

Billie stepped inside and closed the door behind them.

The silence hit immediately.

Not uncomfortable.

Just heavy.

Like the party had been holding its breath, and now it had finally exhaled.

Y/N stood near the door, heart pounding.

Billie stood in the middle of the room, shoulders slightly tense, hands in her pockets like she didn’t know what to do with them.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Y/N broke first.

“Okay,” she said softly. “What was that?”

Billie’s jaw tightened.

“What was what?” Billie asked, too casual.

Y/N let out a small laugh. “Billie.”

Billie finally looked at her.

Her eyes were darker now. Not angry. Not cold.

Just intense.

“Someone was flirting with you,” Billie said, voice flat.

Y/N blinked. “Yeah.”

“And you were flirting back.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” Y/N said quickly. “I was just being polite.”

Billie’s gaze sharpened. “You smiled.”

Y/N stared at her. “I smile at people. That’s normal.”

Billie’s nostrils flared slightly.

Y/N watched her closely.

Billie wasn’t usually like this. Not openly. Billie could be possessive in small ways—subtle touches, lingering looks, little comments that made Y/N’s stomach flip—but this?

This was different.

This was raw.

Billie looked like she was trying to keep herself under control.

Y/N stepped closer.

“Billie,” Y/N said gently, “what’s going on?”

Billie swallowed.

Her throat moved.

Then she looked away, like she couldn’t stand to hold Y/N’s gaze while saying what she was about to say.

“I don’t like it,” Billie said quietly.

Y/N’s breath caught. “You don’t like what?”

Billie’s voice dropped even lower.

“I don’t like seeing you with someone else.”

The words landed hard.

Y/N froze.

Not because she didn’t want to hear them.

Because she did.

Because she’d been waiting for something like this without even realizing it.

Y/N took another step forward, slow.

“Billie,” she whispered, “are you… jealous?”

Billie’s laugh was short and humorless.

“Yeah,” Billie admitted. “I am.”

Y/N’s heart started pounding even harder.

Billie finally looked at her again.

Her eyes were glossy, not quite tears—just emotion. Something tight and vulnerable.

“I tried to be normal,” Billie said, voice rough. “I tried to just… be cool. Be chill. Let you talk to whoever. Because you can. You’re allowed.”

Y/N’s throat tightened.

“But I hated it,” Billie continued. “I hated watching them look at you like you were something they could just… take.”

Y/N’s breath trembled.

Billie stepped closer now, voice quieter, like she was confessing a crime.

“And the worst part is…” Billie swallowed. “You didn’t even do anything wrong.”

Y/N stared at her.

Billie’s hands finally left her pockets.

They hovered at her sides, restless.

“I just…” Billie shook her head, frustrated. “I don’t know what we are. And I don’t want to pressure you. But I also don’t want to sit there and pretend it doesn’t kill me when someone else makes you laugh.”

Y/N’s chest ached.

She stepped closer again, until they were only inches apart.

“Billie,” Y/N whispered, “you could’ve just told me.”

Billie’s eyes flicked down to Y/N’s mouth, then back up.

“I am telling you,” Billie said.

Y/N’s breath caught.

The room felt warmer suddenly. Like the air had thickened.

Y/N lifted her hand slowly, touching Billie’s wrist.

Billie didn’t pull away.

Her skin was warm.

“Do you want me?” Y/N asked quietly.

Billie’s eyes snapped back to hers.

The honesty in her face was almost painful.

“Yes,” Billie said, voice rough. “I want you.”

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

“And I’m trying not to,” Billie admitted, like it was the most humiliating thing she’d ever said. “Because you make me feel insane.”

Y/N’s lips parted.

“Billie…” she whispered.

Billie stepped closer.

So close their breaths mixed.

“I don’t like being like this,” Billie murmured. “I don’t like being jealous. I don’t like feeling like I’m about to lose something I don’t even have.”

Y/N’s hand tightened around Billie’s wrist.

“You’re not going to lose me,” Y/N said softly.

Billie’s breath hitched.

Y/N’s eyes softened. “You already have me.”

Billie stared at her.

For one second, Billie looked like she couldn’t believe it.

Then Billie’s face changed—like something broke open.

And she kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t slow.

It was immediate, desperate, full of everything Billie had been holding back.

Y/N gasped into it, fingers gripping Billie’s jacket, pulling her closer like she’d been starving too.

Billie’s hands found Y/N’s waist again, this time firm, pulling her in until there was no space left between them.

Y/N kissed her back just as hard, heart racing, body buzzing.

The kiss was messy in the best way.

Real.

Hungry.

Like Billie had been thinking about it all night and finally snapped.

Billie pulled back for half a second, breathing hard.

Her forehead pressed against Y/N’s.

“Tell me to stop,” Billie whispered.

Y/N’s lips brushed hers as she spoke.

“I’m not going to.”

Billie let out a shaky breath—half laugh, half relief.

Then she kissed her again.

Slower this time.

Deeper.

Y/N’s hands slid up Billie’s chest, fingers curling at the collar of her jacket.

Billie’s mouth moved against hers like she was learning her. Like she was memorizing.

Y/N felt Billie’s hand slide up her side, thumb brushing her ribs.

It sent a shiver through her.

Y/N broke the kiss briefly, breathless.

Billie’s eyes stayed on her lips.

“You’re shaking,” Billie murmured.

Y/N laughed softly, voice trembling. “So are you.”

Billie smiled, but it wasn’t cocky.

It was soft.

Relieved.

Like she’d finally stopped holding her breath.

“I wanted to do that the second I walked into the party,” Billie admitted.

Y/N’s heart flipped. “Then why didn’t you?”

Billie’s eyes darkened again.

“Because I didn’t know if I was allowed.”

Y/N’s chest tightened.

She reached up, cupping Billie’s jaw gently.

“You’re allowed,” Y/N whispered.

Billie’s breath hitched.

Then Billie kissed her again, slower, more controlled—but no less intense.

Y/N’s back hit the wall without her realizing she’d been guided there.

Billie’s hands braced on either side of her, caging her in without trapping her.

Y/N’s body lit up.

Billie’s mouth moved down, kissing the corner of Y/N’s jaw, then her cheek, then her neck.

Y/N’s breath caught.

“Billie…” she whispered, voice barely there.

Billie’s lips brushed her skin.

“Yeah?” Billie murmured.

Y/N swallowed, pulse racing. “We’re at a party.”

Billie’s laugh was low, against her neck.

“I know.”

Y/N’s fingers curled in Billie’s hair, tugging slightly.

Billie inhaled sharply.

Y/N felt Billie smile against her skin.

“Still want me to stop?” Billie asked, voice rough.

Y/N shook her head, eyes half-lidded.

“No.”

Billie kissed her again, and Y/N melted.

The world outside the room didn’t exist.

Not the music.

Not the voices.

Not the party.

Just Billie, warm and close and finally honest.

Billie pulled back, breathing hard.

Her eyes searched Y/N’s face like she needed to make sure.

Y/N smiled softly, brushing her thumb across Billie’s cheek.

“I like you,” Y/N whispered.

Billie’s eyes softened.

“I like you too,” Billie said, voice quieter now. “Too much.”

Y/N’s heart squeezed.

Billie leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips—softer than the others, like a promise.

Then she rested her forehead against Y/N’s.

“We should go,” Billie murmured.

Y/N blinked. “Go?”

Billie’s mouth curved slightly.

“Before I do something that gets us banned from this house,” Billie said.

Y/N laughed, breathless.

Billie kissed her one more time—quick, warm.

Then she took Y/N’s hand.

And this time, she didn’t hide it.

They left the room together.

Walked back through the party like they didn’t care who saw.

Billie’s fingers were laced with Y/N’s, firm and steady.

And Billie’s eyes?

Still calm.

Still Billie.

But now there was something else there too.

Something satisfied.

Something claimed.

And Y/N realized, as they stepped out into the cool night air together, that the confession hadn’t just changed the night.

It had changed everything.

Because Billie didn’t just want her.

Billie had finally said it.

tw: Explicit sexual content / Smut, NSFW, Oral sex, Strong language

Y/N thought she was just interviewing a global superstar. Billie thought she was just doing press. Neither of them expected sparks, late-night texts, and a studio visit that changes everything. This is smut.

Word count: 1.9k

Billie’s hands slid down Y/N’s body, finally reaching her jeans. She unbuttoned them and eased them off in one smooth motion, like she already knew exactly what she wanted.

Billie’s gaze dipped, and her smile turned slow when she saw Y/N’s black lace panties.

“Those look so sexy on you,” Billie said, her voice low and rough. “Such a shame I have to take them off.”

She hooked her fingers into the waistband and tugged them down, unhurried, letting the moment stretch—letting Y/N feel every second of it. Then she spread Y/N’s legs apart, her touch firm but careful.

“Look at that,” Billie murmured, eyes dark as she looked up. “You’re all wet for me, baby.”

Billie slid one finger through Y/N’s folds, slow and deliberate, just to feel her reaction—just to hear it.

Billie lowered herself to Y/N’s pussy, keeping eye contact with her.

Y/N’s breath hitched as Billie leaned in, the couch creaking softly beneath them. Billie’s hair fell forward slightly, shadowing her face, but her eyes stayed locked on Y/N’s—steady, dark, almost hungry.

The moment Billie put her mouth on her, Y/N flinched, and a small moan escaped her lips.

The sound felt too loud in the quiet studio, like it echoed off the walls. The room suddenly felt smaller, warmer, like all the oxygen had been pulled closer around them.

Billie’s tongue moved over Y/N’s clit slowly, like she was taking in every single moment.

Like she wasn’t in a rush. Like she had all the time in the world, and she planned to use it.

Y/N’s fingers tightened in the fabric beneath her, knuckles going white as her body reacted on instinct. Her chest rose and fell faster now, her pulse thundering in her ears. The lights from the soundboard flickered faintly, reflecting on Billie’s cheekbones every time she shifted, making her look almost unreal—like she belonged in this room, in this moment, like she’d created it.

“Fuck, Billie… go faster,” Y/N pleaded.

Her voice came out breathless and broken, like she couldn’t hold it steady even if she tried. The words hung in the air between them, mixing with the hum of the studio equipment and the quiet, impatient rhythm of their breathing.

But to her shock, Billie stopped completely and lifted her head.

For a second, everything froze.

Billie’s lips glistened, her expression calm, but her eyes were anything but. They were sharp, amused, full of control—and Y/N felt it hit her all at once. The shift. The power. The way Billie could take her apart without even moving.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Billie teased, her voice low. “I thought you were a good little girl?”

Y/N’s stomach twisted in the best way at being called a good girl.

The words landed heavy, sinking into her skin like heat. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She could feel Billie’s presence above her like gravity—close enough that Y/N could catch the faint scent of her perfume mixed with something softer, something that felt like Billie herself.

“Please,” Y/N finally whispered.

The studio lights blinked behind Billie’s silhouette, and for a moment she looked like she was carved out of shadow and neon. She held Y/N’s gaze, like she wanted to see the exact second Y/N gave in.

Billie nodded, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips.

“That’s my good girl.”    

Billie went back to eating Y/N out, her tongue moving softly—quicker this time.

Y/N’s breath came out shaky as she stared up at the ceiling, the shadows above her blurring. The couch creaked slightly beneath them, the leather warm from their bodies. The air smelled like coffee, clean electronics, and something sharper—like heat.

Billie didn’t look rushed. She looked focused.

Y/N moaned louder, losing control as Billie found the spot that made her whole body jolt. Her hips rose instinctively, then fell, then rose again—chasing Billie’s mouth without even thinking. The movement made the couch shift, and the faint light from the studio equipment flickered over their skin in soft, broken patterns.

Billie moaned against Y/N’s pussy, low and satisfied, and the vibration sent Y/N even further.

Her fingers curled into the couch cushion, knuckles tight, her chest rising fast. Every breath sounded too loud in the quiet studio, swallowed only by the distant hum of machines and the soft, wet rhythm Billie kept like she had all the time in the world.

And Billie—still so close, still so steady—kept going like she wanted Y/N to feel every second of it.

Y/N was getting close now, moaning more frequently—louder, less controlled. Billie could tell she was right there, so she didn’t change a thing. She kept the same rhythm, steady and relentless, refusing to let Y/N slip away from it.

The sounds filled the studio, bouncing softly off the walls and mixing with the low hum of the equipment, until Y/N finally broke—her whole body tightening as the orgasm rolled through her, leaving her trembling and breathless beneath Billie.

Billie stopped after a few seconds and looked up at Y/N, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across her face—like she already knew exactly what she’d just done to her (and, to be fair, she did).

“You’re such a good girl,” Billie murmured, her voice low and warm.

Then she shifted and lay down beside her, close enough that their thighs brushed, her presence still heavy and comforting in the quiet.

“Wow,” Y/N breathed, chest rising and falling, eyes still glimmering from the intensity of the moment. “You’re really good at that, Billie.”

Billie smiled, a slow, satisfied curve of her lips. The dim studio lights cast long, warm shadows across her face, making her look almost otherworldly in the glow of the equipment lights still humming softly in the background. “Thanks,” she said, wrapping her arm around Y/N’s shoulders and pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. The faint scent of Billie’s perfume mingled with the lingering notes of the night, grounding Y/N in the warm, intimate space.

“I didn’t think tonight would play out like this,” Y/N admitted, voice still husky, her fingers brushing absentmindedly over Billie’s skin.

Billie leaned back slightly, propping herself on one elbow, her eyes catching the subtle reflections of the studio meters and monitors. “What did you think was gonna happen after you came here so late at night?” she teased, the playful lilt in her voice cutting through the hum of the studio like a secret shared between them.

Y/N exhaled, the soft glow of the ambient lights making her cheeks appear warmer, her hair catching hints of gold and copper. “You’re right… I knew what was going to happen,” she murmured, a small, shy smile tugging at her lips as she sank a little closer into Billie’s side, the heat between them lingering in the dim, electric studio air.

The space around them felt suspended, intimate and private, the soft blinking lights and distant hum of electronics creating a cocoon for just the two of them. Every breath, every whispered word, every subtle touch seemed amplified, echoing in the warm, quiet studio.

Suddenly, the door buzzed.

“Fuck! It’s probably Finneas,” Billie cursed, springing up and hastily tossing Y/N’s jeans toward her.

Y/N scrambled, fumbling with the denim, trying to get it on without looking like a complete mess. Billie was equally chaotic, trying to grab the stray clothes and shove them into some semblance of order—her hands awkwardly clutching Y/N’s black lace underwear for a second too long.

The studio, which had just felt warm and intimate, now seemed smaller, lit only by the soft glow of the equipment, the blinking meters, and the faint reflection of the city lights coming through the window. Shadows danced across the walls as they moved, creating a surreal, almost cinematic chaos.

The door swung open, and in walked Finneas. His eyes immediately took in the scene: messy hair, flushed faces, a shirt on backward.

“Shit, dude, I didn’t know you had company,” he said, raising his eyebrows, half amused, half stunned.

Y/N froze mid-button, cheeks heating as she tried to pull the shirt around the right way, muttering a small, embarrassed laugh. Billie scrambled to hide the underwear behind her back, failing miserably.

“And it’s Y/N—from the interview corner! With Y/N!” Finneas added, grinning like he’d just stumbled into a sitcom. He extended his hand toward Y/N, who hesitated for only a second before shaking it.

“Nice to meet you, Finneas,” Y/N said, trying to keep her voice steady while her heart still raced from the aftermath of earlier.

Billie gave Y/N a quick, teasing smirk, like a silent apology and a shared joke all at once, before finally managing to get the clothes out of sight. The hum of the studio equipment and the blinking red lights contrasted hilariously with the awkward tension, making the whole scene feel like it was suspended in a strange, intimate bubble of embarrassment and relief.

Finneas laughed lightly, shrugging. “Well… I’ll leave you two to, uh… catch your breath, then. I’ll go for a smoke”

Y/N and Billie shared a glance, a mixture of relief, amusement, and lingering heat, before bursting into quiet laughter as the door clicked shut.

“Shit, I better go… although there are some things I wanted to do to you,” Y/N said, her voice low and suggestive, a teasing glint in her eyes.

Billie’s crooked smile widened, her gaze darkening with playful anticipation. “I guess we’ll have to meet again… uhhh, rain check?”

Without waiting for an answer, Y/N leaned in and kissed her—passionate, urgent, and full of heat. Billie responded instantly, deepening the kiss, hands tracing familiar curves.

Pulling back just slightly, Y/N rested her forehead against Billie’s. “There better be a next time,” she whispered, a playful warning laced with desire.

Billie laughed softly, warm and low. “There definitely will be,” she promised, her eyes sparkling with mischief and something deeper.

Y/N grabbed her black lace underwear from Billie’s hand, a small smirk playing on her lips, and stepped toward the door. She paused for a second, glancing back. Their eyes met, and in that silent, charged moment, both knew this was far from over.

Then she left the studio, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving Billie smiling to herself amidst the dim glow of the recording equipment, still feeling the heat of the night linger in the air.

As Y/N stepped out of the studio, the cool night air wrapped around her like a soft blanket. The faint hum of the city felt distant compared to the chaos—and heat—inside. She almost stumbled into Finneas in the hall, the lingering scent of his cigarette hitting her first.

“Hope you had fun with my sister tonight,” he said, grinning widely, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Oh, I definitely did,” Y/N replied, letting a small smirk tug at her lips. “I’ll be back for more.” She winked, and Finneas laughed, shaking his head as she slipped past him.

Y/N sank into the driver’s seat, still flushed, still smiling. The cool leather against her skin was a grounding contrast to the warmth lingering in her chest. The car ride felt like a gentle comedown, the adrenaline of the night mingling with the quiet of the city.

Once inside her apartment, she set her bag and checked her phone.

4:16 a.m.

Billie: text me when you’re home safe.

4:38 a.m.

Y/N: I’m home safe

The response came almost immediately.

Billie: good, can’t wait to see you again

A warmth spread through Y/N’s chest. She typed back quickly.

Y/N: me too, goodnight

Billie: goodnight, babygirl

TW: Explicit sexual content, strong language Y/N thought she was just interviewing a global superstar. Billie thought she was just doing press. Neither of them expected sparks, late-night texts, and a studio visit that changes everything. This is fluff with a little hint of smut

Word count: 2.6k

Y/N was early. She always was.

The studio was quiet in that specific pre-interview way—lights dimmed just enough to feel intimate, equipment humming softly as it warmed up, the faint smell of coffee lingering in the air, slightly stale. A clipboard rested on the table in front of her, notes neatly arranged, corners aligned just right. She’d rewritten the opening question twice already—not because it wasn’t good, but because tonight felt… different.

Billie Eilish.

Global name. Global face. Global expectations.

Y/N had interviewed actors, musicians, directors—people whose faces were everywhere—but she prided herself on one thing: she didn’t get starstruck. Preparation mattered more than awe. Listening mattered more than praise.

Still, she’d replayed Billie’s newest album on the drive over, not as background noise, but intentionally. Lyrics. Transitions. The way silence was used like punctuation. There was something raw in it. Something honest.

She tapped her pen against the clipboard once, then stilled it.

Focus.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Ten minutes,” a producer said, poking her head in. “She just arrived.”

Y/N nodded. “Thanks.”

The door closed, leaving silence behind. Y/N inhaled slowly, rolled her shoulders back, and straightened in her chair. Professional. Calm. Grounded.

Then the door opened again.

And Billie walked in.

No spectacle. No entourage. Just Billie—hands in her pockets, dressed in something effortlessly cool that looked both intentional and careless. Her hair framed her face softly, eyes sharp and curious as they scanned the room.

Then they landed on Y/N.

And stayed there.

For half a second too long.

“Oh,” Billie said, lips curling into a small smile. “Hey.”

Y/N stood without thinking. “Hi. Billie. I’m Y/N.”

“I know,” Billie said easily. “I Googled you.”

Y/N blinked. “You… what?”

Billie shrugged, clearly amused. “I like to know who I’m talking to.”

Something warm curled low in Y/N’s stomach before she could stop it. “Well,” she said, forcing steadiness into her voice, “I promise I’m much less interesting in person.”

Billie’s smile widened—slow, deliberate. “I doubt that.”

A quiet beat passed, heavy with something unspoken.

Behind them, the producer cleared her throat. “We’re rolling in ten.”

Billie nodded, eyes still on Y/N. “Guess that’s my cue.”

They sat across from each other at the small table. Microphones were clipped on. Cameras adjusted. The red light blinked on.

Live.

Y/N glanced at her notes, then back up. “So, Billie. The new album—it’s… different.”

Billie leaned back slightly. “Different how?”

“Quieter in some places. Louder in others. It feels like you let more silence exist. Like you’re not afraid of it.”

Billie tilted her head, studying her more openly now. “Most people don’t notice that.”

“I listen,” Y/N said simply.

That did it.

Something shifted in Billie’s expression—interest sharpening, posture changing as she leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees.

“Yeah?” she said softly. “What else did you hear?”

Y/N held her gaze. “I’m not sure I can explain it properly. But I liked all of it.”

Billie smiled then—genuine, warm—and nodded once, like that answer mattered more than any polished critique.

“I heard you and Finneas are already working on the next album,” Y/N continued. “Still in the studio?”

“Yeah,” Billie said. “Finneas is there during the day. I can’t sleep much, so I end up there at night.”

“All alone?” The question slipped out before Y/N could stop it.

Billie’s lips twitched. “Yeah. All alone.” A pause. Then, lighter—but intentional: “Why? You wanna keep me company sometime?”

Y/N felt heat creep up her neck. “That… sounds fun, Billie.”

The interview flowed after that—too easily.

Y/N asked thoughtful questions, the kind that didn’t feel rehearsed. Billie answered honestly, sometimes pausing, sometimes smiling like she was surprised by herself. She spoke less to the cameras and more to Y/N, eyes lingering, voice dropping softer than necessary.

At one point, Billie laughed under her breath. “You’re not like other interviewers.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Should I be offended or flattered?”

“Flattered,” Billie said immediately. “Definitely flattered.”

Behind the cameras, the crew exchanged looks.

Y/N shifted slightly. “You write a lot about vulnerability. Do you ever feel exposed?”

Billie considered her carefully. “Only when people actually understand what I’m saying.”

Y/N didn’t look away. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” Billie said quietly. “It’s just… rare.”

The red light blinked off.

“Cut,” the producer called. “That was great.”

The room filled with movement and voices, but the space between Y/N and Billie stayed intact. Billie remained seated, fingers tapping lightly against her knee.

“That,” she said, “was fun.”

Y/N smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

The room slowly emptied until it was just the two of them—and the quiet.

Billie glanced at the clipboard in Y/N’s lap. “You had more questions.”

“I did,” Y/N admitted.

Billie stood, stepping closer. “Ask me one.”

Y/N hesitated. “Off the record?”

Billie’s voice dropped. “Off the record.”

Y/N met her gaze. “Are you always this charming… or am I special?”

Billie laughed softly. “You’re special.”

The word landed heavier than it should have.

Billie picked up a pen, scribbled something on the back of Y/N’s notes, and slid it toward her.

A phone number.

“For when you want to finish the conversation,” Billie said, casual tone, anything-but-casual eyes. “No pressure.”

She reached the door, paused. “Text me.”

Then she was gone.

Y/N didn’t text immediately.

She went home. Changed. Made tea she didn’t drink. Stared at her phone like it might judge her.

At 11:47 p.m., she finally typed:

Y/N: This is extremely unprofessional.

Three dots appeared instantly.

Billie: And yet here you are.

Y/N smiled.

Y/N: You flirt with all your interviewers?

Billie: Only the ones who actually see me.

Y/N: And you think I see you?

Billie: Yeah. I felt seen during the interview.

How about you—do you always flirt with the people you interview?

Y/N: First time, actually.

Billie: I see.

At 2:13 a.m.:

Billie: Can I see you again?

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

Y/N: Yes.

Billie: Wanna come to my studio?

Y/N: Right now?!

Billie: You’re not sleeping anyway, are you?

Y/N smiled at the screen.

Y/N: Send me the address.

The address led Y/N to a quiet street washed in amber light, the city asleep in that way it only ever was after midnight. The studio door buzzed before she could even knock.

Billie opened it like she’d been waiting right there.

“Hey,” she said, voice low, softer than it had been earlier.

“Hey,” Y/N replied, suddenly aware of everything—her heartbeat, the quiet, the way Billie’s eyes flicked over her like she was memorizing her.

The door shut behind them with a solid click.

The studio felt even quieter once the door shut behind them, the sound sealing in with a soft, airtight thump. The low glow of LEDs traced the edges of the mixing console, casting pale blues and greens across the room. The screens were still awake, waveforms frozen mid-thought, like the music itself was holding its breath.

Billie didn’t go to the couch this time.

She walked straight to the console, fingers brushing over the faders out of habit, like muscle memory. “This is where I get stuck,” she said, half to herself. “Right before I decide whether to ruin something or make it better.”

Y/N stepped closer, drawn in by the intimacy of the space. “Which one are you leaning toward tonight?”

Billie glanced over her shoulder, eyes catching Y/N’s in the reflection of the dark screen. “Depends who’s listening.”

She pressed play.

A track filled the room—unfinished, stripped back. Vocals low and close, like Billie had been standing right against the mic when she recorded them. Y/N felt it immediately, the way the sound wrapped around her chest instead of just her ears.

“It’s… intimate,” Y/N said quietly.

Billie turned fully now, resting her hip against the console. “That’s the word everyone avoids.”

Y/N smiled. “I don’t mind it.”

They stood close enough now that Y/N could feel the warmth radiating off Billie, could hear the faint sound of her breathing beneath the music. Billie reached out, adjusting a knob absently, but her eyes never left Y/N.

“You know,” Billie said, lowering the volume until the track faded into background noise, “most people come in here and talk. You actually listen.”

Y/N’s fingers brushed the edge of the console beside Billie’s hand. “You make it easy.”

The air between them tightened.

Billie’s hand stilled. Slowly, deliberately, she turned it palm-up on the console—an invitation more than a move.

Y/N placed her hand in it.

Billie’s fingers closed around hers, grounding and warm. She stepped closer, backing Y/N gently until her hips brushed the edge of the console. The equipment hummed around them, indifferent witnesses.

“You sure this is okay?” Billie asked softly.

Y/N nodded, breath already uneven. “Yeah.”

Billie leaned in—not all the way—close enough that their noses almost touched. Close enough that Y/N could feel Billie’s breath on her lips.

The kiss didn’t happen immediately.

It hovered.

Then Billie closed the distance.

The first kiss was slow, controlled, like she was still in producer mode—testing, adjusting. Her hand stayed anchored at Y/N’s waist, thumb pressing lightly as if checking that she was really there.

Y/N kissed her back, just as steady, just as intentional.

The second kiss was deeper.

Billie shifted her weight, pressing Y/N more firmly against the console, the edge cool against her lower back. The kiss grew fuller, mouths moving together in a rhythm that matched the low hum of the studio.

A soft sound slipped from Billie’s throat, barely audible—but it changed everything.

Her free hand came up, fingers tangling briefly in Y/N’s hair as if she needed something to hold onto. Y/N responded instinctively, hands sliding up Billie’s arms, pulling her closer.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, breaths tangled, the studio lights flickering quietly around them.

Billie laughed under her breath. “Guess this counts as collaborating.”

Y/N smiled, still dizzy. “Best session I’ve ever been in.”

Billie leaned in again, this time without hesitation—kissing her with certainty, with heat, like the decision had already been made.

And somewhere behind them, the studio screens continued to glow, patiently recording nothing at all.

The kiss didn’t stop.

It deepened—slow at first, then hungry, like neither of them wanted to be the one to pull away. Billie shifted again, her body pressing closer, the solid edge of the console grounding Y/N as Billie’s hands slid from her waist to her hips, thumbs tracing slow, deliberate arcs like she was learning the shape of her.

The studio felt smaller now.

Warmer.

Billie broke the kiss just long enough to breathe, her lips brushing Y/N’s cheek, her jaw, her throat. “You’re quiet,” she murmured, voice low, teasing. “I can’t tell if I’m doing this right.”

Y/N swallowed. “You are.”

That was all it took.

Billie smiled against her skin and kissed her again, harder this time. More confident. Her hand slipped up Y/N’s side, fingers splaying over her ribs, lingering like she was memorizing the way Y/N reacted to every touch.

A soft sound escaped Y/N before she could stop it.

Billie froze—just for a second—then her grip tightened slightly, satisfied. “There you are,” she whispered.

She guided Y/N away from the console, steps slow and intentional, until Y/N’s back met the cool glass of the recording booth window. Billie followed, closing the space between them completely now. The contrast—cool glass, warm body—sent a shiver straight through Y/N.

Billie rested her forehead against Y/N’s, breathing her in. “Tell me to stop,” she said quietly. Not a challenge. A promise.

Y/N shook her head.

Billie kissed her again—deep, unrestrained. Her hands roamed higher now, still respectful, still careful, but undeniably intimate. Y/N’s hands slid under Billie’s jacket, fingertips brushing her waist, pulling her impossibly closer.

They moved together instinctively, bodies syncing without words, the studio humming softly around them. Somewhere, a monitor light blinked. Somewhere else, a clock ticked past an hour neither of them cared about.

Billie’s lips lingered at the corner of Y/N’s mouth, then her ear. “I’ve wanted to do this since you asked me about silence,” she admitted, breath warm. “I just didn’t know if you felt it too.”

Y/N smiled against her skin. “I did.”

Billie laughed quietly, relieved—and then kissed her again, slower this time, deeper. Like she wasn’t rushing anywhere. Like the night was theirs.

Eventually, they pulled back just enough to breathe, foreheads touching, hands still tangled together. Billie rested her thumb against Y/N’s cheek, eyes softer now.

“We should probably…,” Billie started, then trailed off.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Probably what?”

Billie smiled, that familiar crooked grin. “Get to the couch.”

She leaned in one last time, kissing Y/N, and they stumbled over to the couch together—Billie’s hand firm at Y/N’s waist, guiding her like she already knew exactly what she wanted. Y/N barely had time to breathe before Billie was above her, straddling her with that effortless confidence that made Y/N’s head spin.

The making out turns heavy fast.

Billie kisses her like she’s starving—slow at first, teasing, then suddenly deeper, messier. Her mouth moves against Y/N’s with a kind of impatience that makes Y/N’s stomach flip. When Billie bites her lip, just hard enough to sting, Y/N lets out a breathy moan she can’t hold back.

That sound does something to Billie.

Her whole expression changes—eyes darker, jaw tightening like she’s trying to keep control and failing. “Yeah?” she murmurs against Y/N’s mouth, voice low and wrecked. “That’s what you sound like?”

Y/N doesn’t even get the chance to answer.

Billie’s hands move quickly, urgently. She grips the hem of Y/N’s top and pulls it up and off in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere behind them without looking. The cool air hits Y/N’s skin for a second before Billie’s mouth replaces it—hot, open kisses along her jaw, down her neck, lingering at her pulse.

Y/N tilts her head back instinctively, giving Billie more room, fingers tightening in Billie’s hair.

Billie kisses her throat like she’s marking her. Like she wants Y/N to feel it later.

Then Billie’s hands slide behind Y/N’s back, unclasping her bra with practiced ease. She doesn’t rush—she pulls it away slowly, like she wants Y/N to feel every second of being exposed under her gaze.

Billie looks down at her, eyes flicking over her chest with something hungry and reverent all at once.

“Fuck,” Billie breathes, almost to herself.

Then she leans down and kisses all over Y/N’s boobs—soft at first, then deeper, mouth warmer, tongue dragging in slow strokes that make Y/N’s breath break. She sucks gently, then harder, and Y/N arches up into her without even thinking.

“Billie—” Y/N gasps, voice shaking.

Billie hums like she likes hearing her name like that, then lifts her head just enough to smirk. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” she murmurs.

Y/N’s hands find Billie’s jacket, tugging insistently.

Billie laughs softly—breathless, almost smug—and shrugs it off in a hurry, like she can’t stand anything between them. Her shirt follows just as fast, thrown aside without care. Billie’s skin is warm, smooth, and Y/N’s hands slide over her like she can’t get enough—over her shoulders, down her back, pulling her closer until their bodies press together fully.

Y/N reaches for Billie’s bra, fingers clumsy from how hard she’s shaking, and Billie helps—lifting just enough to make it easier, eyes locked on Y/N’s like she wants to watch her do it.

The clasp gives.

And Billie’s big breasts fall free.

Y/N’s breath catches. She looks up at Billie, stunned for a second—like her brain can’t keep up with how real this is.

Billie notices.

Her expression softens, just for a heartbeat. “What?” she whispers.

Y/N swallows. “You’re… insane.”

Billie grins, slow and wicked. “Yeah,” she says, leaning down until her lips brush Y/N’s ear. “And you’re still here.”

Then she kisses Y/N again—deep, filthy, relentless—while her hands slide down Y/N’s body like she’s claiming her, like she’s already decided she’s not letting this end anytime soon.