Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was another of those late nights. Billie, left in the studio, empty of inspiration. The room was silent, save for the mindless strumming she did on the guitar and the faint track demo playing on the studio speakers. She was halfway deep into one of those 'is-sleep-really-worth-it' spirals when a soft knock on the door snapped her back to reality.

"Yeah?" Billie called out, turning more towards the door.

"Can I come in?" You asked, voice quiet, as if you were trying to avoid killing the singer's motivation—which she didn't even have right now.

"Go ahead."

You slid inside, clicking the door shut with your elbow. In one hand, you held a plate of homemade pita pockets—free of gluten and animal products for Billie. "brought you dinner so you don't starve yourself."

"Damn. Okay, chef," she grinned and took the plate, setting the guitar down on the nest of pillows and blankets she had built on the floor.

"Are you hibernating, or what?" You teased, plopping down on the couch.

Billie rolled her eyes while munching on the pita, but her eyes were too lit-up to actually feign annoyance. The dinner was good. Really good.

"These taste so good," she mumbled between bites.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm." she hummed, dragging out the noise and earning a wider grin from you.

"Sooo," you started, "progress?"

"I've got an instrumental down... mostly. And now there's no more dopamine to motivate my body."

"Seems like it," you muttered quietly, just to tease.

"Now what does that mean?"

You, in response, only gave her a slow smirk.

"What does that mean?"

She giggled and shrugged.

"You're so annoying," Billie whined, finishing up her meal. Meanwhile, the drumset in the corner caught your eye, and you slowly stood up from the couch. You took a seat at the set, lifting the sticks rested across the hi-tom. Mindlessly, you gently stomped the bass pedal with a rythym, following it with snares and some beats to the floor tom.

Billie looked up and admired you—brows furrowed in focus, hands using the sticks to form a solid beat, adding in crashes occasionally. You finished it off with a build-up and a final crash, quiet as the cymbal rang out.

"You're good at that," she praised quietly after a few seconds of silence.

"It's literally my job," you deadpanned and gestured like it was obvious—which it was.

"Okay, fair. Doesn't mean I can't compliment you." she huffed and crossed the room, stopping beside you on the stool. "teach me to play like that."

"Only if you teach me to play guitar," you flashed her a grin, leaning back on your hands, which curled into the edge of the stool.

"That's so much harder though," she whined, her bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout.

"Better get on that, then," you hummed. Billie let out a long groan and dragged you back to the makeshift pillow nest.

sitting down and lifting the instrument, she patted the spot between her legs. You took a seat, back pressed against the singer's chest. She positioned the guitar in your grasp, guiding your fingers over the frets and teaching you some basic chords and patterns.

"Okay... now put your index on the first fret, 3rd string. And then middle and ring on the 2nd fret, 2nd and 3rd string... now strum."

she steadied your fingers on the strings while you used the guitar pick to do as Billie instructed.

"And that's an E."

"I don't know how you do this," you muttered, letting Billie guide your fingers towards an F.

"Like you're not a professional drummer," she scoffed playfully.

"I can play bass too."

"Proving my point."

and so you both sat there together, immersing yourselves in finger blisters and Billie's soothing, low voice as she went over chords and the first few songs she learned. But you weren't just learning guitar—you were learning about Billie. And... maybe also about yourself, too.

-

"This is so boring," you whined playfully while Billie taught you a simple guitar riff.

"Oh, quit complaining. I'm teaching you a valuable life lesson here." Billie rolled her eyes, resting her chin on your shoulder. Her breath ghosted over your neck, causing you to nearly shiver at the feeling. "Plus, you were the one who was begging for me to teach you."

"I was not begging."

"Maybe you weren't, but you would've if I asked you too," Billie grinned as she spoke, knowing she wasn't wrong.

"I don't beg," you muttered, fingers still practicing the riff.

"You do for me."

"Since when?" You quipped, looking over your shoulder at Billie—who's eyebrows were raised and lips curled into a knowing smirk.

"What?"

"You say that like last night you weren't-" Billie was cut off by you shoving her back with your elbow.

"Ow!" She hissed, but couldn't stop a little giggle from escaping her lips as she held a hand over her abdomen, where she was nudged violently. She tried to glare at you, but failed miserably. She couldn't ever be mad at you; couldn't even fake it.

"That was homophobic," Billie grumbled and wrapped her arms around your waist from behind as you set the guitar down.

"I'm literally gay."

"I've met at least 3 homophobic gays. You never know." Billie shrugged, resting her chin on your shoulder.

"...am I two of them? 'Cause it feels like that's what you're implying here."

"Maybe," Billie hummed, dragging out the vowels.

"I hate you," you huffed.

"You love me soooo much," Billie teased. You were about to turn around and shove her again, when you felt Billie's lips trailing down the nape of your neck.

"Bil..." you protested weakly, but the words came out strained.

"I'm not doing anything," Billie murmured, planting soft, open-mouthed kisses along the supple skin. She left them starting behind your ear and made her way down to the point where your neck meets the shoulder.

"C'mon, pretty..." Billie purred, kissing along the points of your jawline that she could reach from her current angle. Between the soft kisses, she'd gently suck faint marks of pink. The faded hickeys left were more tender than possessive, as if Billie made them to wordlessly say 'I'm yours'. To show that she was there. To prove it to herself rather than the world.

You sighed, though it sounded more like a shaky breath being released, and allowed yourself to melt into Billie's little worshipping in a way that felt natural. Instinctive.

"There it is."

Chapter Text

⭑Tokyo, Japan

We had been exploring a department store for the past hour. Billie's hand constantly remained entertained with mine as she dragged me to different stores. I had insisted that she didn't splurge on me as much as she currently was, but she managed to convince me to let her spoil me. Just a little.

-

"Baby, look!" She gasped while pulling me eagerly towards a display stand full of merchandise and decorative pieces customized for Spirited Away. She was a decibel away from outing her identity every two seconds—the only thing keeping her hidden being the baggy, bland clothes and a mask she covered herself in. "They have a No-Face cup," she lifted it to show me—it was, in fact, a cup with No-face's design on it.

"Cute," I grinned, feeling my heart melt at her enthusiasm.

We purchased an assortment of items from either the same franchise or any other interests she found in products.

Next, she found her way into a store that had a similar collection as to what you'd find in the average thrift store—basically exactly her thing, and mine too. I stuck to her side as she skimmed through hangers of designer brands and graphic tees. With a stack of band t-shirts piled on her shoulder (the one that wasn't occupied by a bag or two), she led me over to another section of the store. I followed without question, and stood by a rack. My eyes ran over options of intricate tops and bras that I doubt could even cover a thing.

A playful call of my name brought me back to reality. I turned to find Billie lightly waving a pair of underwear in front of me, her smirk giving away just how amused with an idea she was.

"These would look good on you, wouldn't they?" She purred.

My gaze traveled over the fabric—a lacy black thong with little black bows at the thin waistband. Definitely not something she picked out for me often, but I surely wasn't complaining.

"I feel like you're implying you want something to happen tonight," I stated, returning her playful smile as I took the pair into my hands and brushed over it with my fingers.

"Not tonight... I mean, unless you want to," she shrugged a little. "But I've got plans."

"I figured," I hummed. "They're cute, though. So... sure."

She grinned, and we moved to the register to buy them.

-

A party.

Billie was bringing me along to party. Some casual celebrity get-together I didn't care much for—those environments usually stressed me out. But after dating a singer for a year, I adjusted. Mostly after the occasions were spent with Billie's reassurance, whether it was silent or spoken. Either way, I'd be joining Billie.

The problem wasn't necessarily the party itself at this point; I had no fucking idea what to wear. But my eyes lingered on the drawer, the drawer where I stored lingerie or nice pairs of undergarments. So, yeah, maybe I didn't have a clue what to put on. But I knew what I was wearing under.

Eventually, I got it figured out—just something casual, a loose off-shoulder graphic tee with a black tank top underneath. I put on some low-rise baggy jeans with it that folded over itself and pooled at my converse. I stacked some jewelry on my wrists and around my neck and wherever it worked, and checked over myself in the mirror. Maybe not my best work, but it got the job done.

I joined hands with Billie at the front door and we drove to the place it was held at in her Audi.

Immediately stepping through the door, I was hit with the tangy scent of alcohol and the more faint but not exactly disguised scent of weed. I stuck close to Billie as she conversed with industry insiders and was sweet with anyone who came up to her. Watching her eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiled whenever she was approached by a close friend was enough for me to stay sane.

God, I love this woman.

At some point during the event, we both took a seat at the couch. Unbeknownst to myself, My shirt had ridden up and Billie got a glimpse of black lace dipping into my pants from my hips. I was in the middle of a conversation with one of the few people I was even acquainted with at the party when I turned around. Billie's eyes had significantly darkened, and her gaze trailed back up to meet mine only once she realized I caught her staring. I didn't mind, obviously. So I returned to my conversation.

But out of the corner of my eye, I caught her giving me that look. A slow, languid stare that was nearly devouring me like a buffet. Her tongue darting out, sliding over her bottom lip to wet it.

Once most people started heading out and the remainder of the rented-out club's population was clearly not sober, Billie's fingers linked with mine and I took that as a wordless plead to leave (which usually I'd be doing). I bid my farewells and followed after her.

-

Home was a nice breath of fresh air—but it was cut short when Billie instantly pressed me against the kitchen counter after flicking the lights on. Her hands curled into the counter on either side of me, trapping me in.

"Jesus," I breathed out, caught off guard.

She relaxed visibly, her body losing its tension as she took a breath.

"Sorry, I've just been..." she trailed off, hooking an ivory finger into the beltloop of my jeans.

"You've been driving me crazy all night," she murmured, tone low, borderline a growl.

"Yeah?" That gave me a little pride. I knew what it was about, but I couldn't help but tease.

"Don't play with me right now."

Yes ma'am.

"That fuckin' thong... it's all I've been thinking about," she grumbled, though not unpleasant.

"You're the one who picked it out," I murmured.

"Yeah," she breathed out a laugh. "And I pride myself on that."

I hummed in acknowledgement, my eyes mostly locked on her inked hand, her thumb grazing under the hem of my shirt. The fabric lifted slightly, revealing part of that familiar lace.

"Can I just..." she trailed off once more, from a little sense of shame or the inability to put her request into words, I had no idea. Instead of finishing her thought, her pale finger hooked into the waistband of my g-string and lightly tugged at it. Her eyes lifted to meet mine— pupils dilated with pure need.

I nodded, my voice delayed to come out of my mouth; coming out breathless too. "Yeah."

She didn't hesitate. Her hands seemed to work on their own, undoing the button, followed by the zipper of my jeans. She guided them down my thighs, releasing a shaky breath once they pooled at my feet. I stepped out of them. I watched the way her eyes raked all over my body when I crossed my arms over themselves to pull off my shirt and tank top all together.

"God, the things you do to me," she muttered. I shivered as her cool silver rings adorning her fingers grazed my waist. Her hands rested naturally on my hips, and she pressed against me to crash her lips against mine. It was a haze of pleasure and passion as her lips moved belligerently over mine. Her tongue brushed between my lips, which parted instinctively to let her in.

When she pulled back for air, I took in her dazed appearance. Chest heaving, lips swollen, face flushed, eyes dark with desire. She looked like she was either going to pounce on me or drop to her knees.

It was the latter.

I watched her lower herself in front of me, now seated on her knees. She looked up at me in a way that made my blood rush low in my body. Her fingers toyed with the waistband of the thong. I leaned back against the counter, letting her hands part my legs far enough to accommodate for her. I was too overwhelmed with need to feel embarrassed by how soaked I was when she pulled my panties to the side.

Then, her tongue met my heat, dragging over my clit and every spot that made my legs stiffen. My hand tangled in her dark locks, my head tilted back with a strained moan.

I purred out every little praise I could think of while she devoured me like a woman starved. Her tongue flicked and traced shapes over the bundle of nerves, causing me to teeter slightly.

Her hands adjusted to steady me by my thighs, and I had put up a valiant effort to stay balanced. But one testy, light nibble to my bud caused my knees to buckle and go limp. She gripped my legs to stabilize me once more.

"Fuck," I breathed out. My chest fell and rose unevenly, my mouth fallen open as I breathed heavily.

Then, two fingers dipped in. I nearly cried out, growing obsessed with the sensation of both the ministrations from her tongue and the digits she pumped inside of me. I crooned and whimpered, the sounds escaping my lips turning to a chorus of moans as she pulled me closer to the edge.

Her pace quickened to an unforgiving pattern, her fingers pistoning, her low hums that sent vibrations through my whole body.

"Fucking god," she groaned when she pulled back just a bit, watching my face contort in pleasure and my hips jerk involuntarily. "So pretty for me."

A few more pumps, and I fell over the edge. My thighs quivered, face distorted. I let out a broken moan through my release. Barely able to process the low praises Billie murmured to me as she guided me through my high.

A few seconds later, her fingers eased out and I leaned back against the counter again, catching my breath. The sensation of a damp washcloth between my legs brought me back to reality, though I was still a little dazed.

"You did so good for me, baby," Billie hummed, affectionately running her hand over my thigh. "You okay?"

I managed a frail nod, and slumped against her once she stood up and pulled me close with caring hands. "Shower?"

Though my head was rested in the crook of her neck, I nodded softly. "Yeah... jus' gimme a second," I mumbled.

"Take your time, love. I've got you." She murmured, and planted a loving kiss to my head.

Chapter Text

Steam permeated throughout the hotel suite bathroom, fogging up the mirror and glass shower door. Warm water sprinkled from the shower head, dripping down my body. This was my quiet time- the time where I let my thoughts run and ramble on nothing while the warmth of the water draped over my body.

I looked up at the sound of a soft knock on the door- and the lack of 'can I come in?'

Billie slid inside, the steam engulfing her senses and seemingly relaxing her automatically.

"Hi, pretty," I hummed, leaning back on the shower wall as she undressed. She mumbled a tired greeting in response and sauntered into the shower. She immediately slumped against me under the water, droplets falling down her pale skin while she rested her head in the crook of my neck.

Showering together had become nearly a ritual of the sorts for both of us. Late nights after an exhausting day of press interviews, half-an-hour after a concert, or when either of our brains had been melted from hours of photoshoot takes- we'd join in the shower. The steam and saturation to my skin had a way of soothing both of our bodies.

And so, here I was, one arm wrapped around a sleepy Billie while my free hand washed her hair, pulling soft sighs from her lips.

"Tired?" I asked softly, even if it was obvious.

"Mhm..." she hummed in affirmation, burying her face into my neck. Her body pressed lazily against mine, skin glistening with water. Her body was warm—from either the the shower water or the long hours she had spent on the move, I wasn't sure.

I remained quiet after that, save for the soft humming of a familiar melody I soothed her ears with. I lathered her scalp with shampoo and the ends of her dark hair with conditioner, letting her cling to me under the water.

She slumped further against me, practically boneless against my body while I glided my soapy hands over her slick body and through her dark locks.

"Close your eyes," I murmured, cupping her chin and gently tilting her head back under the consistent spray of water. I planted a soft kiss to her jawline and began rinsing out her hair.

For Billie, the feeling of my fingers carding through her hair was almost therapeutic, and she was already having trouble staying awake.

After the soap was gone from her hair, I let her chin rest on my shoulder again. My hands gently ran over her back, and I felt her sleepy smile against my neck.

"Don't pass out in the shower," I quipped, though my tone was soft.

"I won't," she mumbled, nearly incoherently.

"Uh-huh?"

"N'yeah..."

I sighed and reached back to shut off the shower water. She whined at the sudden drop in temperature, so I pulled her closer. After practically dragging her out of the shower, I wrapped her in a towel and did the same for myself.

"C'mon," I helped wring out some of the excess water from her dark locks and guided her to the bedroom. Wordlessly, we changed into sleeping clothes and I joined her in bed.

After settling into a comfortable position together, she clung closer to me, her head rested on my chest and a leg thrown over mine. I kept my arms wrapped around her and placed a gentle kiss to her head.

Assuming she was much too tired, I didn't think much of it when I felt her body shifting almost rythymically against mine.

But then I heard her breathing quicken and get heavier.

"Baby..." I whispered, my fingers sliding up to thread in her hair.

She replied with a quiet call of my name, her hips rolling with my thigh between her legs.

I stilled her hips, earning a noise of protest from her. But that ended quickly when I flipped us over and sat her against the pillows, my body between her legs.

"What happened to being all sleepy?" I teased, gliding the pads of my fingers up the outside of her thighs.

She pursed her lips— her expression exaggerated— and simply looked up at me with those pretty blue-hued eyes.

I gently squeezed her thighs, the touch both encouraging and teasing. "Use your words. Tell me what you want, love."

"You," she whispered.

"Yeah? How?" I purred, leaning in closer. Our faces were inches apart, and I could recognize a hint of frustration pinching at her eyebrows— more than likely from my teasing.

She whined my name, tugging at my forearm

I hushed her softly and pulled back my arm to take her hand in mine. "I've got you." My words were a quiet, playful murmur. With my free hand, I pulled her panties down her hips. I clicked my tongue at the sight of her core— flushed and dripping.

"Look at you," I hummed, running my finger through her folds. Her arousal coated the tip of my digit, and I prided myself for earning a whimper from her lips. "So pretty."

Her hips bucked closer, desperate for the contact we both knew she needed. I decided against teasing her further, and slipped my already wet finger inside of her needy hole.

She moaned instantly, the sound just as beautiful and rewarding as it always was.

"That feel good, baby?" She choked out another noise in response, managing a frantic nod despite her approaching bliss. I plunged a second finger, my ring finger joining my middle. I pumped the two inside of her, watching the way her face contorted each time I hit her spot.

"Baby—fuck, you—you feel so good," she whimpered, legs jerking. I hummed smugly in response. I dipped a third finger inside of her cunt, pulling a chorus of moans from her mouth. Her head fell back against the pillows, body convulsing on that familiar way as she approached the edge.

Her fingers dug into my back, but the slight pain only spurred me on more. My pace picked up, fingers thrusting in and out of her at a rapid rate. The noises from my fingers fucking her pussy were borderline pornographic.

She gasped out my name, back arching. "I'm gonna—"

"Let go for me, love. You did so good," I praised lowly, planting a soft kiss to her lips. Her breathlessness caused her to be unable to return the kiss, but I couldn't ever be disappointed. Not with the way she cried out my name when her climax washed over her.

My fingers slowed inside of her, still moving as she rode out her high. Once her shaking ceased and settled, my ministrations came to a stop and I eased out of her.

As she caught her breath, I brought my fingers to my mouth and sucked her juices off of them, humming at the taste.

I admired her post-orgasm state— all blissed-out with her chest heaving. As if it was muscle memory, my legs brought me off of the bed and I grabbed a towel from the bathroom. I dampened it with warm water from the bathroom sink and returned to Billie. Soon after cleaning her up and replacing the sheets, she fell right asleep in my arms. Head back on my chest, completely enveloped in blankets, and visibly satisfied.

And I really loved making her feel good.

Chapter Text

I stood in my closet, scanning through my clothes, searching for anything to wear tonight. Some event that Billie, with her celebrity status, got invited to. Obviously, I wasn't going to have her alone after she invited me as well. So... here I am.

The event was pretty casual- I'd assume so, at least. After mumbling to myself in frustration, I lay out a few options for myself to wear. I settled on a nice-but not too formal-dress. I added a few pieces of jewelry with it, and slid out of the closet.

"Billie?" I called out, wanting to get her feedback on the outfit.

"Mhm?" She hummed, soon after stepping in from the doorway. She paused when her eyes found me.

"I'm not really sure what to wear," I mumbled, walking over to the full-length mirror in our room. "Do you think this is okay?" I asked her, glancing over at her when she stood behind me in the mirror.

Her hands rested gently on my hips from behind, and she admired me for a moment before nodding softly. "Yeah."

"It's cute," she murmured afterwards. Her tone was innocent, but as her hands glided up my body, I noticed her eyes darkening.

"So you're all ready?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady with the way her warm hands felt on me.

"Mhm..." she hummed, but her mind seemed elsewhere, eyes locked on my reflection.

"You okay?" I gently rested a hand atop of hers before it could reach my chest.

She mumbled a quiet "yeah," and rested her chin on my shoulder. "You look so pretty," she murmured in a soft yet high voice.

I let a grin cross my face, and she returned it, though her expression was still a little distracted. After a few more seconds, she stepped back and plopped down on the bed so I could do my makeup.

After about 20 minutes, I noticed how intently focused her eyes seemed on me and my reflection as I applied.

"You're staring," I said, my voice soft yet holding an undertone of playfulness.

"Don't pretend like you don't like it," she quipped, now smirking.

"I'm not saying I don't," I set my cosmetics back onto the vanity and checked myself in the mirror again. "You're just acting weird."

She paused, then slowly stood up. Her steps were slow, but held an almost cautious form before she stopped behind me again. "Yeah? How so?"

I shrugged, watching our reflections as she wrapped her arms around my waist from behind once more. "You're kinda quiet. Distracted. Like you've got something to say."

"Hm," her fingers trailed over the fabric of my dress. "Is that right?"

I nodded, slow, my eyebrows knitted together as I tried to piece together her behavior. "Or... maybe I'm what's got you distracted."

Her lips curved into a small smirk, and her hands slid lower. "So perceptive," she teased, but a faint blush dusted her cheeks.

"You like this dress, huh?" I matched her tone, stilling her hands on my hips. I didn't miss her slight pout.

A shy smile pulled at the corners of her lips, and she nodded into the back of my neck. Before I could tease her further, her lips were trailing down the nape of my neck, leaving gentle, open-mouthed kisses over my skin.

I gasped at the contact at first, but instinctively melted into her. She smirked as she continued to plant soft kisses, as if she'd won something.

"God, you look so good," she muttered, voice low and sensual. Her tone alone was enough to send shivers down my spine. "Are you trying to drive me crazy?"

I opened my mouth to respond-with what? No idea. Either way, that action cut short when her kisses became suckling. Faint marks along my shoulder. I was too drunk on pleasure to realize how obvious the marks would be if anyone saw them. Much too late, I realized just that.

"Baby," I whined, my voice breathless. "We can't..." I trailed off when I noticed her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. Her pupils were blown, and I could practically see the thoughts forming in her brain with what she planned to do with me.

"Hm?" She hummed, as if she hadn't heard me. And I wouldn't doubt that she hadn't. Her mind was very clearly set on anything but the event.

"The party," I breathed out, but my chest tightened at my own words. I didn't want her to stop. Definitely not.

Her fingers tightened on my hips. "Fuck the party," she muttered, voice rough.

"You can't just-"

Her hand clamped over my mouth, and I instantly shut up.

"We're not going. This is more important. You're more important." Her tone was clipped, words laced with an unyielding determination. Like ruining me was some mission she'd risk her life for. She left no room for argument, and I wasn't about to ccomplain.

"Understood?"

I nodded against her palm, and she dropped it. Her hand returned to my waist. "Good."

Before I could process, she was leading me over to the bed. She tilted my chin up, and our lips met. Soft, loving at first. But quickly, it grew feverish, our lips smacking against each other's, tongues and heavy breathing sliding between.

Both of us grew impatient. Her hands ran down my thighs, toying with the hem of my dress. Between heated kisses, she slid it higher up my hips. My breath hitches when her fingers slipped under the sleek fabric and teased the edge of my underwear.

My hips jumped when her fingertips brushed my clit over the thin pair, my core already embarrassingly wet and soaking through. Our eyes met, hers full of desire, mine hazed and half-lidded.

"Tell me to stop." She challenged, but her tone was soft enough to be classified as a search for my permission to keep going.

"Never," I whispered, my fingers curling into her top. I tugged her impossibly closer. Helplessly.

She pulled me into another deep kiss before turning me around and sitting me on the plush mattress of the bed, my back to her. Her hands guided my waist, and I positioned myself on my hands and knees. Her palm pressed my back down, arching my back.

"Fuck, you look so perfect like this," she groaned at the sight, her thumbs digging lightly into the curve of my hips.

Her fingers slid under my dress again and hooked into my panties to pull them down. Carelessly, she tossed them aside. A needy gasp left my lips as her fingers glided through my slit.

"You're so wet," she hummed, her fingertips teasingly circling my entrance.

"Please," I gasped out, my voice strained. "In— inside."

Her fingers slid inside with ease, pumping in and out of my sopping heat.

"That feel good, angel?" I could only let out a broken moan in response. Her fingers trusted faster, picking up a pace which soon became relentless. "Say it."

"Feels—fuck—so good," I managed, my words practically a blabbering whine.

"There you go," she praised lowly, a third finger joining her others, stretching me perfectly. A chorus of moans escaped my lips as she pounded her fingers into me. "You're doing so good, baby. Taking it so well."

"Oh my god," I gasped out as a familiar tightening coiled low in my belly. "Bil— I'm gonna—"

"I know, pretty. Come for me." She purred, her other hand reaching around to relieve my clit. Neither set of fingers let up as my climax ripped through me, soaking her palm and the bed. She murmured quiet praises as aftershocks of ecstasy washed over me. She slowed and eventually guided her fingers out of me and to her lips.

While trailing kisses up my spine, she guided my dress over and off of my body. She left a few more kisses at the back of my neck before murmuring into my ear, her voice a low rasp.

"I'm not done with you yet," is all she said, gently squeezing my hip before stepping back. When I felt the warmth of her hands return to my hips, I recognized the feel of silicone pressed to my ass. Just the idea of it inside of me got me wetter than I was before, and I barely hesitated to get back on my hands and knees.

She hummed in satisfaction at my eagerness, the sound sending chills over my body.

Carefully, she positioned herself at Mt entrance and slowly slid inside. The stretch pulled a shaky whimper from my lips. Billie stopped once our hips met, patiently waiting for me to adjust. While my face was buried in a pillow—which would most definitely be ruined by my makeup soon enough— she gently stroked along my back.

"Please," I choked out, moving back into her, desperate. Slowly at first, her hips moved. Her thrusts always started gentle, making sure she didn't push me too far. But as my moans grew louder, needier, her pace quickened and the strap delved deeper.

"You like that?" She purred, lust practically spilling from her voice.

Before I could answer, she pulled back—nearly out of me—and slammed back in. The sudden contrast to fullness caused a cry to fall from my lips, which turned to croons and gasps of her name.

"You love this, don't you? Gettin' all filled up by me." Her voice, a provocative growl evoked a groan from myself. The only words that I could make were a blend of expletives and her name as I was pulled closer to the edge.

My clenching around the thick silicone turned to uncontrollable fluttering, and she definitely noticed. Her pace turned merciless, now pounding into me. I couldn't even manage words anymore.

"Come for me. I wanna hear you," she muttered, grip tightening around my hips to the point where her fingers might leave bruises.

As my climax hit me—harder than I'd ever felt before—I nearly screamed out her name. I buried my face in the pillows, the pleasure so overwhelming I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. Only when my shaking ceased and whimpers died down, did she stop. With just as much care that she had when entering, she slid out.

She left a gentle kiss to my shoulder when I collapsed onto the bed. I caught my breath while she removed the harness and set it aside. I felt the bed sink beside me, and her hands pulling me over her lap.

"You did so well, love..." she whispered, fingers carding through my hair.

"We definitely aren't making it to that party," I mumbled playfully once I could actually speak—and even then, my voice was strained from the exertion of making the sounds she drawed from me. I looked up at her, trying to appear teasing but with the flush on my cheeks and glisten of sweat that had formed, I probably only looked satisfied and spent.

"Couldn't help myself. Sorry, baby." She shrugged and leaned down to kiss the top of my head. She clearly felt no guilt, and the grin on her face proved it further.

"You're not sorry," I matched her grin, but it was a lot brighter than her playful one—mostly due to the little kisses she was now peppering over my face.

"I'm not."

We sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, mostly just her hands grazing my skin, before her quiet voice interrupted it.

"We should probably get cleaned up..." she suggested, voice soft as her hand ran over my back.

I nodded in response, but neither of us made a move to get up.

Chapter Text

You had never been one to enjoy physical contact. You weren't unappreciative of affection, only always felt a sense of discomfort or awkwardness about the idea of someone touching you.

Hugs, when offered, were often returned by you with a sense of awkwardness and a wish to pull away. You didn't like the way it felt when someone's warm palm brushed your back.

Holding hands? You'd rather not. And what you hated most was when anyone—joking or not—placed a hand on your thigh. You hated that. Hated all contact.

Until you met Billie.

You had met through friends, both invited to a Café. Billie had introduced herself to you, blue eyes so impossibly beautiful it felt like a privilege to be under her gaze. She had offered her hand to you, who hesitated, but—not wanting to make things awkward—took it.

Instead of what you expected—that unwelcome, intrusive feeling you got from touch—Billie's palm was soothing on your own.

Since that day, the only one you accepted affection from was Billie. She was the only person who felt right.

-

One evening, you came home from an especially tiring day to find Billie in your kitchen. If it were a few months ago, you probably would have had a heart attack, forgetting that Billie had your spare key. But her presence was basically routine by now.

Billie hummed along to the music playing low from a speaker. Noticing you, her head lifted from the kitchen counter. Her smile did more than just easing the stress you had.

"Hi, love," she greeted, rinsing off her hands before offering them to you. You stepped into Billie's arms and melted into her instantly. You mumbled a greeting in return, muffled against Billie's hoodie.

"Tired?"

You nodded against her, fingers fidgeting with the hem of the hoodie.

"Too tired to try my gourmet baking?" Billie grinned, tone playful but still holding that underlying gentleness.

"You mean vegan cookies?" You deadpanned, pulling back slightly to meet Billie's eyes.

"They're still good," Billie shrugged, glancing behind her at the tray lined with baking sheets and a few balls of cookie dough placed precisely.

You mumbled something inchorenet to both Billie and yourself.

"What?" Billie laughed softly, fingers threading through your hair.

You shrugged against her, but your breath caught in your throat when Billie lifted you into her arms. The raven-haired only giggled in response, seemingly effortlessly carrying you towards your bedroom.

You didn't protest, didn't squirm. You didn't even have to let it happen while that sick feeling twisted low in your stomach—because it didn't exist. Not with Billie.

With Billie, the feeling was warm. Every brush of her fingers on your skin—you would feel it. Every nerve ignited on contact. Not in a sudden, jumpy way. Just comfortable. Quiet. Like Billie's touch was the piece missing that you so desperately needed.

So you only clung closer to Billie. And there was no shame in the way your legs wrapped loosely around Billie's waist. No shame as your arms tightened around Billie just enough to keep them pressed together. No shame in the way you rested her head against Billie's.

Gentle but strong hands set you down onto the familiar plush mattress of your own bed, blankets still unmade from the morning.

As you adjusted yourself and the pillows behind you like they personally offended you by shifting ever so slightly, Billie sat down beside you. She watched her, eyes easy but clearly amused.

Once you were settled, Billie scooted in beside you and pulled the blankets over your legs. The ravenette's arm wordlessly wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. She didn't ask—didn't need to.

Billie was good at that, being observant.

She'd be able to tell if you weren't comfortable, or weren't in the mood for touch at the moment. She'd practically memorized you after the years she had known you, noticed things you still couldn't. When you tensed a few seconds too long, Billie knew not to pull you closer. But, most days—which included this one—you'd melt right into Billie.

So you sat in silence, your head on Billie's shoulder, phone on low volume as you scrolled. Billie's eyes were on the screen. Mostly.

More times than she'd like to admit, her ocean-hued eyes would flick over to you. Gaze trailing over you like you were a treasure. And you were. To Billie. The person who ran her mind, always lingering. The person who snuck their way into the sweet lyrics Billie wrote, whether they were revealed to the public or not. Her first priority when it came to anything. Her person.

-

Billie was your everything.

More than a shoulder to cry on. When time's were rough and your misfortune seemed never-ending, Billie was there. Always. She'd drop anything as soon as she got the text from you; "I need you." She was already on her way.

The raven-haired would pull you close, hold you tighter, closer, every time your body shook with sobs. Rub your back in hopes to ease the unshaky heaves of your chest. Wipe your tears wordlessly. Give you the best comfort she could possibly think of, even if at times that may be silence. She'd sing a soft melody if you asked. Give you space if you asked.

Her friends would point it out—that she's whipped. Down bad. She never denied it; she couldn't. She only gave a shy, guilty smile in response and aimed for a new topic.

She couldn't deny it because every time you would smile at her, look at her, give Billie even a fragment of your attention, she knew she was falling. Her friends could joke about it all they wanted, but they didn't know just how much you reciprocated.

Didn't know the way you looked at Billie like she'd hung the moon and every damn star in the solar system. Didn't know the way you whispered "I love you," like it was natural. And maybe, by now, it was.

Yeah, she was wrecked, down on her knees for you.i

But so were you—wrecked. Wrecked when you fell apart in Billie's arms, gasping and crying out her name like a prayer.

When Billie's hands traveled every dip, every plane, curve, inch of skin she could touch. When her lips trailed from your lips, down your neck, chest, thighs, until they kissed the spot you needed Billie most. When her pale fingers drummed playfully—almost mindlessly—along your thighs, threaded into your hair, teased your peaks until they hardened, slid between your legs like routine, and pulled whines and cries you didn't even know you could make.

When she worshipped every piece of your body like you were a masterpiece—a delicate, gorgeous piece of art that she handled with more tenderness and care than anything you had ever felt before.

-

You laid on your back, arm rested over your face as you caught your breath. Your chest heaved, slowly steadying. A thin sheen of sweat had formed over your skin. Lips swollen, neck and chest marked ubiquitously.

Billie sat beside you, eyes locked on you, searching as if she was afraid that she had drained you far too much. She didn't—but the thought still crossed her mind. Stopping herself from entertaining the thought, she rested a gentle hand on your thigh. Gentle strokes along your skin soothed you while you came down from your high.

Billie smiled softly. She couldn't help it. Something about post-orgasm glows—or just you—pulled at the corners of her lips.

"You still with me, pretty?" Billie teased, voice a rasp though still just as melodic as ever. Always sweet and soothing, like honey blended into a warm cup of tea.

You managed a nod, rolling onto your side. Your arm rested over Billie's stomach, palm rested at the curve of her waist. Billie's playful grin morphed into something softer, and she tugged you into her lap.

You slumped against her instantly, head resting on the swell of her chest. Billie's fingers automatically wove into your hair, as if on instinct.

"I love you," you murmured, sleepy and quiet, but still so much more than meaningful. Even now, the things that those three words do to Billie. They still feel surreal, and she almost asked you to say it again. Instead, she settled for:

"I love you more."

Chapter Text

Another late night. Another one spent alone until late.

You glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. 11:26pm. You sighed, and squeezed the pillow she was holding tighter.

More than often as of lately, you would wait until late at night for Billie to come home from the studio. It wasn't a problem at first, you still claim it isn't. But when your final resort is cuddling a human-sized pillow like the warmth could be anything like Billie's, you can't help but feel a little dissapointed.

You're not mad—It's not Billie's fault that she's a worldwide sensation with hundreds of millions expecting a new album. Whether it be too early for one or not, she can't afford a break—not at the peak of her fame.

You've had to grow accustomed to Billie's late night appearances and early morning departures; and it's as hard as it sounds.

The rare hours when Billie is home, she's in the at-home studio. Headphones on, engrossed in beats and lyrics. You wouldn't dare to interrupt the singer's inspiration, so you keep it inside.

But day by day, the bottle You've been filling has started to overflow. You find yourself at night, unable to handle the sense of loneliness that lingers in your shared bedroom. When the moon seems closer than Billie, outside of the window by the bed. When your thoughts are louder than music, louder than Billie's ever-so-soothing voice. It's hard for tears not to spill. It's humiliating. Even in the privacy of your own home, crying over your girlfriend, who's only a few miles away.

The soft thuds of footsteps down the hall liberated you from the sting of tears at the corners of your eyes. The door creaked open. It wasn't loud at all, barely audible if you weren't paying attention. Billie's entrance was louder. In the darkness of the room, her silhouette was barely distinguishable. Your mouth opened, but it took a beat longer for words to come out.

"Hi," is all you whispered.

"You're still awake?" Billie asked, voice just as quiet as yours. Hushed, but enough to mute out the spiral of thoughts.

"Yeah..." you murmured, blinking when Billie flicked the lights on—not bright, just enough to see. You watched the singer as she undressed, changing into the first t-shirt she could find and pulling it over her head.

"Were you waiting for me?" Billie asked, softer. Not the playful tone she'd usually use when her girlfriend implied to have missed her.

You didn't reply, but your silence said enough. Billie sighed, moving to stand just beside the bed, her eyes trailing over you. Feeling almost self-conscious under her gaze, you loosened your grip around the pillow, pushing it aside.

"You look tired," Billie mused, tone hushed.

You laughed quietly, the sound more empty than you meant for it to be. Billie didn't flinch, but her eyebrows knitted together in a soft, silent concern.

You let out a breath, fingers trailing mindlessly over the pillow you were previously clung to as if it could ease your nerves.

"Can't sleep without you," you mumbled, eyes averted. More literally than you let on, you couldn't. Over the years, you had grown pretty dependent on Billie's comfort to sleep. But that wasn't what you needed now. You just needed to see her. Hear her. Feel her. Anything to make your consciousness believe that Billie is still there.

"I'm sorry," Billie whispered, words so muted they almost broke.

You looked up only after a second, your chest tightening already, taking in the the sight of Billie so resentful of her own lack of appearance.

Billie's eyes dropped, as if searching for her next words themselves. They met yours again, just as her hand reached out to cup your jaw. "I haven't been present, I know that. I hate it just as much as you do."

"I miss you, you know?" You whispered.

"I know."

"It's hard, eating alone," you continued, hand raising to rest atop of Billie's on your cheek. The warmth of her touch was refreshing—too refreshing. Like it hadn't been there recently enough. Often enough.

"I know."

"I don't need all of your time, just you. I just need to know that you're still with me."

Billie remained quiet after that, silence stretching between them. Billie stll there, chewing on her lip mindlessly. Nervously. Guilt written all over her face as she weighed her next words.

Slowly, she slid into bed. Her hand slid down to your waist, the other hand intertwining with yours.

"I promise I'm still with you. On everything. I've been so wrapped up in work, I haven't paid enough mind to how you've been feeling," she started, low and cautious. Thumb rubbing your knuckles in slow, repetitive motions. "Listen, I—I'll work on it. I'll take tomorrow off, a week if you need me to. Cut the hours shorter. Make it up to you. Anything you need. I promise, angel." Her words broke between others, eyes softened so tremendously it could've ruined you.

"Baby..." you sighed, placing a hand above one of Billie's when they held your face again, eyes searching. She cupped your face with so much tenderness, it was sickening.

"Take a break, okay? Not just for me. You need it too. I just want some more time with you during the day. I feel like I never see you anymore," you murmured, giving Billie a warm, reassuring smile.

The singer nodded quickly. "Of course. I'm so fucking sorry, baby."

"B, it's okay," you aughed softly, planting a gentle kiss to Billie's forehead.

"I feel so bad. God— I-I've left you with a fucking body pillow to sleep with," Billie huffed, her face buried in the crook of her girlfriend's neck. A laugh slipped from your lips. Easy, warm. A sound that made Billie's stomach flip.

Billie pulled back just to admire you, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. As your laughter faded, a comfortable silence replaced it. Gazes flicked between eachother's before your lips met. It wasn't sudden or heated. Tentative, at first. Billie's lips brushing yours as if testing if she still had the right. When you returned the kiss, tension quickly left her body.

Having Billie's lips on yours again was intoxicating, and you couldn't help the small groan that slipped, swallowed by the ravenette. Billie's lips curved into a smile against yours, almost helplessly. Soft giggles and quiet sighs were exchanged from the two of you between gentle kisses. The night felt easier, lighter with the way Billie peppered kisses over every inch of skin she could find.

"Missed this," the singer muttered, pulling tiny, soft noises from your mouth while her lips traveled, gently suckling on the spot that she knew made your breath hitch.

With a few more kisses to the shoulder, you both broke apart, smiling like idiots. Before she got too mesmerized, Billie's hands moved on their own to pull you closer. With you laying above her, head cushioned by the ravenette's chest, she pulled up the blankets.

"I love you so much," Billie murmured, leaving one last kiss to your head head. Your fingers curled into the singer's shirt, and you couldn't stop the smile pulling at your lips.

"I love you too."

Chapter Text

The sound of the front door unlocking stirred you from your sleep. Your eyes fluttered open, blinking away the sleep-which still lingered even after. The soft, distant thuds of footsteps could be heard from the living room. Billie was home.

The footsteps approached, sounding strangely uneven. You looked up as the door creaked open. The silhouette of Billie's figure was barely distinguishable from the darkness of the room. What was, though, was the way she stumbled slightly walking in. She couldn't be drunk.

"Billie?" You spoke up softly, voice still heavy with sleep, trying to keep your voice quiet so you wouldn't startle her girlfriend.

Billie didn't respond. Just paused. You couldn't see them, but you felt the ravenette's eyes trail over you. It felt... unsettling, for some reason. Just the tiredness, you decided.

"Are you okay, baby?" You asked, voice still hushed, but a little unsteady now. Still no response.

Slowly, almost cautiously, Billie slid under the blankets in bed. Her eyes still locked on you.

"Bil?"

Nothing.

What the fuck?

Billie's eyes finally tore from yours, and she rolled onto her side. Facing away from you, she settled into bed, pulled the covers up high. Her fingers curled into the blankets, trembled.

Your brows pulled together. You'd never seen Billie like this. The woman had looked you in the eyes—whether it was pitch dark or not. But she didn't say anything. Barely acknowledged you.

Carefully, you scooted closer. Your hand hovered above Billie's arm under the blankets, before gently resting there. Billie tensed. It took her a few seconds to relax—but she never did completely. Under your palm, the ravenette trembled. Faint, but noticeable. She never leaned in to your touch. Didn't melt like she usually would. But she didn't pull away.

Progress—maybe, you thought—but for what? You didn't even know if Billie was mad. You couldn't tell; she hadn't said a word.

So instead, you let your hand remain there, and tried to sleep.

-

In the morning, sunlight didn't slip in through the window blinds like it would usually. Once you actually processed it was morning, your eyes fluttered open. Your eyes immediately darted to the window.

Blinds shut.

They were open last night.

Last night.

The memories of Billie's weird behavior flooded right back to your mind. What was up with that?

You rolled onto your side, and instead of easing you like it usually did, the familiar sight of Billie felt... off.

She sat upright in bed, picking at her own fingers like they owed her something. Her dark locks were mussed from sleep. That was normal. What wasn't was the small bandaid on the side of her neck. And her abnormally pale skin. Billie always was pale—it had came to be an occasional joke between her and her friends that she was practically a vampire. But now... the lack of color in her skin was concerning.

"Baby?" You forced out, eyes still locked on the bandage.

Billie didn't jump, but her head lifted almost instinctively. She hesitated, as if scared of what came next, before finally turning her head to face you. Immediately, your eyes flicked over your girlfriend.

Very pale. Eyes empty. A sharp glint in her teeth. She looked like she hadn't slept, but didn't look sleepy. Just in the way she seemed restless. Like she needed something to pull her from her thoughts. Something to fill the silence she couldn't break.

"You okay, love?" You asked, soft yet deliberate, concern written across her face. Sitting up slowly, you scooted closer to Billie.

The ravenette's mouth opened, but it took her a second to get words out. "Yeah," was all she managed. Her voice was rough in the way you'd assume was from a lack of sleep. Looking at her now, it seemed worse.

"You don't sound it. Or look it," you replied, trying to keep her tone light.

Billie didn't laugh. Didn't smile.

Her eyes stayed locked with yours. Piercing. Searching.

You cleared your throat to stop the chills that ran over your body. Your gaze moved to the bandage on Billie's neck. Your hand lifted, fingers hovering the gauze strip. "What happened here?"

"No-" the ravenette nudged your hand away quickly. Too quickly. "Don't touch."

"...are you hurt?"

No response.

"Billie, what is up with you?" You demanded, voice raising. Not angry, just desperate.

"Y/N, I-"

"You've been all weird since last night."

Billie paused, brows knitted together in worry. Her eyes darted over your face, searching for something. Maybe anything sharper than concern; anger? But she only found worry.

"I'm sorry," she choked out. "It's... it's weird."

Your brows furrowed, a noise of confusion escaping your lips.

Billie sighed. "Promise you won't run?"

"Why would I—"

"Just promise me," she insisted. "Please."

You paused, before nodding slowly, certain. You brought one of Billie's hands into your own. "I promise. You can tell me anything."

The ravenette's eyes dropped to your intertwined hands. The throb of your pulse in her grasp made her chest tighten and her jaw ache in an unfamiliar way. Even she didn't know what was happening to her. Or maybe she did. But saying it out loud—let alone thinking it—would make it real. Realer than she could handle.

You didn't rush her, didn't speak, just kept your eyes glued to her as she thought of how to word the seemingly impossible. "I just..." she started, still barely understanding how she was going to continue.

"I need to feel you," she decided, but the words seemed wrong on her tongue, didn't take the weight off of her chest. She knew they didn't describe the strange urges prodding at her.

You could've teased. Cooed. Anything. But you stayed silent, only tilted your head slightly in confusion. Because Billie's words didn't come out needy. They came out shaky, like the 'need' she had went further than feeling. It was something she needed to survive.

"Feel?" You quizzed, wordlessly requesting Billie to elaborate.

Billie went quiet again, fingers grazing your knuckles.

"Taste. I need to taste you."

You blinked. That wasn't what you were expecting.

"I'm right here," you offered.

"No, not—not like that. I'm... I'm not explaining myself well," she huffed.

"Okay, well... I'm still here," You gave a small shrug, opening your arms as if offering yourself. "Show me what you mean."

Billie's head lifted. "Are you sure?"

"More than sure."

Billie hesitated. She seemed unsure, but the pain pulsing in her teeth was too overwhelming to resist anymore.

She shifted forward, movements cagey. Slowly, delicately, her hands lifted to rest on you. One hand on your shoulder, the other cupping your cheek.

Billie remained vigilant while leaning in, her lips tracing the curve of your neck until she found what she seemed to be searching for. The throbbing pulse beneath your soft skin. The rhythmic pounding that rang in Billie's ears. That quickened as her lips met soft skin.

She suckled at first, leaving a faint mark that made your breath hitch. Then her teeth dug in. Just barely. Just playful pressure, not enough to break skin.

Then, she murmured. Barely above a whisper, shaky, like the words were painful. "I'm sorry."

Then her teeth sunk in. Breaking skin. You felt a yelp be torn involuntarily from your throat. The pain was sharp. It burned like hell itself. Before it didn't.

The pain eased. Softened into something else entirely. Something warm, bubbling low in your belly, causing your thighs to press together. Your heavy breathing turned to tiny, pained whimpers as Billie lapped the scarlet from the wound. The pain was faint now, more pleasant.

The coppery tang of your crimson was addicting. Intoxicating. Something Billie knew from that moment onwards, she'd never be able to let go of. After what felt like an eternity, Billie pulled back. Tongue cleaned the blood that spilled from the wound, soothing it and sealing it.

Her hand remained steady on your cheek. Tentatively, Billie pulled back, already wincing in preparation of her your response.

"What the hell was that?" Was all you asked, voice wavering. Pupils blown out, face flushed, chest heaving, only bliss evident on her face.

"I don't know," Billie choked out. "I'm sorry. I had to. It—it was primal. I think."

"...what are you, a vampire?"

Billie paused, eyes flicked to the side before dropping.

"Billie."

She didn't look up.

"What happened last night? Before you came home?"

A shaky breath is all that escaped the ravenette's lips. Slowly, still trembling, she peeled the adhesive gauze from her neck. Beneath it, throbbed a deep, slowly healing puncture. Impossibly sharp fangs had left marks in a vibrant maroon. You and Billie both winced for different reasons.

"You're... you were..."

"Yeah."

"Jesus christ."

"I know," Billie breathed, an awkward, nervous laugh following.

"That's so hot," you blurted out without much prior thought.

"What?" Billie's eyes snapped back up to you.

"Not the wound, I mean. That needs medical attention." You gestured vaguely at Billie's neck, a light smirk tugging at your lips. "The you-being-a-vampire, though..."

"You're so weird."

"You bit me!" You defended, raising your hands.

"And you're into that apparently," the ravenette scoffed.

"And you aren't, as the perpetrator?"

Billie blinked, before her smile crept back up to her, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "Touché."

Silence stretched between the two of you, both still processing. The rich taste of your scarlet still lingered in Billie's mouth. Licking away the excess from her teeth, another sharp ache shot through her fangs.

"You okay?" You asked instantly, hands already on Billie's waist.

"Yeah, just..." she grimaced, fingers curling into your shirt.

"Take more," you insisted, words steady. The raven-haired's face lit up in concern, anxious thoughts stirring in her mind.

"I don't want to hurt you," she whispered, words breaking.

"You won't." You pressed closer, brushing your hair back to reveal more of your neck.. "Drink."

The ocean-eyed girl's gaze darted from your neck, across your face, eyes searching as if your face could give a better idea.

"Okay—okay, yeah," she breathed, her inked hand bracing your cheek. Once more, her lips traveled along your neck before settling at a vein. Billie left a small kiss there, apologetic and gentle, before piercing her teeth in. The sanguine hue stained her teeth as she drew from your veins.

Quickly, the same pleasure replaced the sharp sting from the wound. With ecstasy flowing through your body, you couldn't hold back another noise—something between a gasp and whimper. A few more dropped from your lips, each one echoing through Billie's body and causing heat to pool between her thighs.

"Billie," you crooned, eyes fluttering.

Carefully, Billie withdrew and soothed the wound with her tongue routinely. She held you as you both caught your breath, your core still throbbing.

"Need you," you murmured, guiding Billie's face to your neck again.

"Yeah?" She hummed, though it sounded more like a confirmation, surprise lacing her tone. She wiped the excess scarlet from the corners of her mouth—the action infuriatingly hot.

"Please."

"I've got you, pretty." The ravenette murmured, already guiding you to straddle her lap. Hooking her pale fingers into the waistband of your lounge pants, she looked up to meet your eyes. "This what you want?"

You nodded.

"Say it," the raven-haired demanded.

"Please, baby—I need you."

"How?"

"Fingers, a—anything." You choked out, growing restless and impatient by the second.

"Good girl," Billie purred, sliding the fabric down your hips. She hummed at the revealed skin. Wasted no time in sliding your underwear down as well.

Your legs buckled when cold fingers slid between your folds, the sharp contrast to your heat causing you to shudder.

"M'sorry, love. Gonna be a little cold," Billie murmured, dipping her fingers into your wet warmth. Her digits slid in with ease, the foreign temperature causing your walls to flutter. "You're so wet, baby."

You couldn't respond with actual words—only a whimper—before Billie began pumping her fingers. Her pace quickened, her strokes curling to hit your sweet spot each thrust.

At the same time, Billie’s canines intruded skin once more. The pleasure pulsed through you in waves, bringing you towards a climax that coiled heavy in your core.

"Fuck, Billie—feels so good—Please," you blabbered, legs teetering while the pleasure grew overwhelming.

Teeth still impaled in skin, Billie could only pick up her pace. Her fingers slammed rapidly inside of your embrace. Obscene, wet sounds filled the room. The precipice passed over you so hard you swore you saw white.

Billie didn't let up until you were shaking against her. She extracted her teeth, ran her tongue over the wound to relieve it. Her fingers slowed and eventually stilled inside of you. Once your shaking halted, the ravenette eased her digits from your pussy and sucked them clean.

"You did so good, love," Billie murmured, peppering soft kisses to your forehead—lined with a thin glisten of sweat—as you came back down to earth. "Feeling okay?"

"So good," you breathed out. "...kinda stings, though."

"The bites? God—I'm so sorry, baby. We'll treat them, okay?"

"Relax, B. I'm the one who begged for it," you laughed breathlessly, pressing a sweet kiss to Billie's lips. The ravenette pulled back quickly, but before you could protest, she spoke up.

"You really wanna taste your own blood?"

"Not necessarily..." you muttered, resting your head on Billie's shoulder instead. She threaded her fingers into your hair gently, giving you more time to breathe.

"Mhm. That's what I thought."

Chapter Text

When she steps into a room, most people usually first notice the way she carries herself, the way she enters like she owns the place—and maybe she does. Maybe it's the shirts that hang low, past her hips—or the ones that rarely don't. Or her eyes; iridescent to the point you could call them mesmerizing.

You notice it all. The eyes, the clothes. Maybe you're just drawn to the way her lips move when she's talking, or the way she always has a finger pressed just between them as if she can't bare the emptiness of her own mouth. Maybe it's the way her eyes stay locked on you, either challenging or begging you to keep talking. You tend to recognize those little mindless motions she does whenever she's focused or lost in thought.

No matter what you notice first, there's no denying the way your heart races as soon as she's in view. The way your chest tightens whenever her laugh rings in your ears. Her smile keeps you up at night. You'd never admit that her voice might appear in your dreams; and you'd never admit that you recognize it immediately.

Instead of telling her that she drives you insane, you'd rather keep it inside. Ignore the way your heart stutters when she says your name. Tell yourself it's not okay to feel jealous when she's laughing with someone else; she's not yours. And you tell yourself it's fine that way.

It's fine.

Rather than confessing, you prefer to take any opportunity to observe her—whether you mean to or not. When you've got the chance, you'll keep the little photos you take of her. Let them fill up your camera roll just to admire them later. Sometimes you won't even notice when you're doing it; admiring her. Watching her lips curve at the corners between words, zoning out as you watch her face.

It's innocent, it's quiet, it's comfortable. It's what you're used to. You crave more. But you'd never act on it.

That's what you thought—until that night.

A quiet, lazy night, after one of her performances. You'd come along with her on tour, watch from the sidelines as she laughed with her closest friends.

She pretended not to notice how your eyes never left her, admiring her silently.

But that night, something felt different. Maybe you were just imagining it, but you swear her eyes flicked up to yours more often than usual. Something in the air was tighter. Warmer. Buzzing with something more than laughter.

Later in the night, when everyone filtered out from the bus and chatter faded out, she sat down beside you as you gathered your things.

"You feeling okay?" She asked, hand sliding onto your thigh as if wordlessly asking you to sit back down. Her touch set off nerves like wildfire, and you nearly jumped. It was embarrassing how much of an effect she had on you.

You nodded, lips parting and words leaving a second later. "Yeah." And it managed to come out steady even with her thumb brushing the outside of your thigh.

She laughed softly, shaking her head.

"What?" You asked, earning a squeak to your thigh.

"You're so obvious," she teased, those ocean-hued eyes locking with yours. You paused, stumbling over words that seemed so simple to say.

"Relax," she giggled. "I like your eyes on me."

You didn't know how to respond to that. Or maybe you were just afraid you'd admit just how obsessed you really were with her.

"Hello?" She called, waving her free hand in front of your face with a playful smile pulling at her lips.

"Sorry, I just..." you glanced down at her hand on your thigh. "I didn't mean to stare."

"You think I don't notice it?" Her lips quriked into a wider smirk. "The staring?"

"I didn't think I was that obvious," you huffed, looking off to the side because just looking at her face would make your heart race faster than healthy.

She let out a little hum, her fingers sliding to your chin to turn your face back to her.

"Look at me," she murmured, voice melodic, dripping with honey, a slight pout on her plump lips.

You did. You couldn't tear your eyes off of her even if you tried now. Your stare flicked across her face. You felt like you were losing your mind, having her this close, her hands on you—even in the slightest. A tight feeling pulsed under your skin.

Her voice—so sultry—almost distracted you from the fact she was moving to your lap now. Almost distracted you. Until her weight settled and her hand rested on your waist.

"You've been wanting this?" She asked, voice low, just as hushed as you've been keeping your thoughts.

"Yeah," you breathed out, nodding helplessly. Her fingers sliding over your hips, your thighs clamped between hers—it was all driving you insane.

And then—she leaned in.

Her lips grazed yours. Gentle, tentative, testing the waters. Your breath caught. It only took you a second to process and return the kiss. It was soft, nervous and full of unspoken feelings—not exactly neat but definitely careful. She tasted like cherry from the lollipop lodged between her lips earlier and mint.

Your breath stuttered between kisses, your heart nearly slammed out of your chest when her tongue brushed between your lips. Her fingers splayed gingerly over your waist, under your shirt. Enough to leave your body thrumming.

When it broke, you were left breathless. And she seemed almost proud of how ruined you already were. But there was something softer glinting in her eyes, despite the teasing tone that carried with her voice. "You still on earth?"

"You—you can't just do that," your words broke between eachother.

"Do what?" Her grin returned, smug now. She leaned in again, breath skimming your lips. "Give you what you've wanted for so long? What you're too scared to ask for?"

"I'm not scared."

"Then what?"

"I just..." you trailed off, her eyes softened. Her hand, originally under your chin, moved to smooth over your cheek. The warmth from her palm made your pulse stumble, but you managed to look up at her. "I don't wanna lose you."

She paused this time, only for a few seconds. A small silence stretched between you two, before she whispered—muted and low, as if the words were meant only for your ears. "You have me now. I'm yours. If you want me to be."

"Please," you choked out, not even caring how desperate you sounded now. You wanted—no, needed to touch her.

She smiled—not teasing like before, just fond. Like you told her exactly what she wanted to hear.

"Good."

Her lips returned to yours, still slow. But this time more deliberate. More tongue,which brushed between your lips—and would have made your knees buckle if you weren't below her. A quiet whimper even escaped your throat, and she smiled against your mouth when it slipped.

When your hands slipped under her shirt, she broke the kiss just enough to look at you completely. Your nerves raced again, but you managed to speak.

"I wanna see you," you whispered. "Please."

"Using your words now, huh?" She purred, but helped you remove her shirt anyways. You took a second to admire her newly revealed skin—pale and milky, breasts cupped comfortably in her sports bra. She let you. She wasn't impatient; she knew you wanted this.

"You're so pretty," you murmured, burying your face in her chest because staring for too long made your heart pound.

"You're not too bad yourself, baby," she chuckled softly at your action-the sound just as silky as her voice. Her fingers ran slowly through your hair.

"I like that," you admitted, hushed.

"Hm?" She prompted, fingers slowing.

"'Baby.'"

"I'll keep that in mind," she laughed softly, leaving a little kiss to your head.

After a few seconds, you pulled back, reaching behind her to undo the clasp of her bra. She nodded when you looked up for permission. You nearly lost your mind when her breasts spilled from the cups of the bra.

"You're enjoying this too much," she murmured, tilting your chin up again.

"Sorry," you mumbled.

"And you're apologizing too much."

Her hands closed gently around your wrists, guiding them to her chest. You gave a small squeeze, ran your fingers over her peaks in loose circles.

"God," she groaned, head falling back.

"Look at me," you whispered, coming out more of a plea than a command.

She did. Her eyes—half-lidded—locked with yours once more.

Carefully, you flipped her and yourself over so that you were above her now, seated between her legs.

Your lips traveled everywhere with newfound confidence; her throat, collarbone, neck. All marked with damp heat and faint marks that drew addictive noises from her lips. You craved more. Needed more.

Between your bodies, her fingers slid her own shorts down her thighs, tossing them onto the floor carelessly.

"I—woah..." you breathed while rubbing at her newly-bared skin. Your head was buzzing by now, a little dizzy.

"You okay, baby?" She giggled, fingers returning to your hair. The touch grounded you, brought you more safety you'd ever felt in your life.

"Yeah, just... you're driving me crazy," you managed, hazy eyes flickering over her.

"Take your time, okay? We can take things slow. I'm still yours." Her voice remained steady—reassuring but somehow still sensual.

You nodded, fingers thoughtlessly tracing the fine lines of her tattoos.

"You're so beautiful," you mumbled, mostly to yourself.

She didn't reply, just gave you a smile that made your heart do flips.

Your fingers hooked into her panties, eyes returning to hers and searching. "Can I?"

"Yeah," she breathed, parting her legs further. Once they were discarded, your fingers slipped between her soaked folds and rubbed at her core. Moans escaped her lips instantly, her hips rutting into your digits. With your fingers never leaving her bud, you slid off of the couch and replaced them with your tongue.

Those same perfect sounds increased in volume, pulsing in your whole body. They were intoxicating, and you decided that you wanted nothing but to draw as many of them as possible from her. You relished in her taste, burying your face deeper.

Your lips sucked her clit between them, tongue flicking perfectly over the nerves. Her fingers curled into your hair, the other digging into the plush cushions of the couch. Groans spilling from low in her throat, cutting into whimpers that made your veins burn.

She approached the edge so impressively quickly, your name falling from her lips like a prayer, the only thing filling her mind.

When her climax washed over her, and the waves of aftershocks subsided, you sat down beside her again, curling against her as her breathing returned to normal.

"Was that okay?" You asked, more fragile than intended.

"Yeah," she breathed out. "More than okay."

She pulled you into her lap again, arms wrapping around you. Comfortable silence filled the room, accompanied by both of your soft breathing.

"How long have you known?" You blurted out, voice low.

"That you're absolutely obsessed with me?" She teased, a smile playing on her lips once more.

"Shut up. But—yeah."

"You're not exactly discrete," she hummed, tilting your chin up to pull you into another kiss. "I was waiting for you to say it, but..."

"I know. I was scared. I'm sorry," you sighed, fingers tracing her tattoos once more.

"We're here now, aren't we?" Her palm slid onto your cheek again, easing your tension.

You nodded, a shy smile tugging at your lips as you looked up at her. The smile grew when she peppered kisses to your forehead.

"Now it's my turn to be all obsessed with you."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

"God," you groaned as your body lost its tension, fading into a warm, full buzzing. Even if her touch was still humming against your skin, everything had rounded into something softer. Her head lifted from your bare chest just enough to look at you—still flushed, lips parted around heavy breaths, still recovering from the two rounds you shared in bed.

"Feeling okay?" She tilted her head a little, chin pressing lightly into your sweaty skin. Her hand reached up to brush some stray hairs that clung to your face.

"Yeah," you breathed, giving what you hoped was a nod. "More than okay."

"Shower?" She offered, already grinning wider.

You nodded before you could even think about it. A shower sounded like heaven at the moment. Soon enough, gentle, warm hands were guiding you up and towards the bathroom, right under a steady stream of warm water.

A sigh escaped your lips instantly, resting limp against her body under the fall of water.

"Really drained you, huh?" She teased, fingers combing through your dampened hair. Soon enough, your hair was turned sudsy with the shampoo she had poured between her pale fingers, working through your locks.

You mumbled what she could only assume to be an agreement, voice still hoarse from the sounds she pulled from your lips.

But as the water seeped into your hair and skin, and her hands slid soap over the smoothness of it, your mind drifted elsewhere. Your eyes found hers—hypnotic and blue as ever, but softened. That look only you got. Only you deserved. And it sparked something low inside of you.

Your hands found her hips, smoothing down her sides in loosely circular shapes.

Then they dropped lower, cupping her ass into two greedy handfuls. She paused, eyes flickering with faint surprise before blurring into arousal.

"y/n..." she warned, voice low and a little breathless. Your lips quirked into a sharper smile, something hungrier. And your hands squeezed her lightly.

"Wanna repay you," you murmured, already sinking to your knees, water raining into your soapy hair and dripping down. Her fingers—already latched between stands of your hair—found their way to that familiar spot she grabbed when your head was between her thighs. "You're always treating me so well," you continued, voice dropping into something more suitable to your gaze.

"Baby..." she breathed, but her legs were already parting habitually for your mouth. For you.

"Yeah?" Your eyes lifted, locked on hers again. Your hands rested on her thighs, bracing them.

"Please," she panted, spreading a little wider for you.

Your tongue parted her folds like nature, sliding between them until her legs buckled from that one spot. She was soaked—and not from just the water cascading down her body; even further proven when she let out a breathless whimper.

You worked her with patience, easing through her and every erogenous zone you had memorized too many times to count.

"Shit," she gasped when your lips captured her clit, suckling with the perfect force to make her tremble.

"You're—fuck, you're so good. Doin' so good," she whined, body teetering. You gripped her thighs a little tighter and pressed her back against the cool shower tiles. Involuntarily, her head followed. And so did a chorus of broken mewls.

"Ma'—I'm gonna... holy shit," her legs shook a little more, and would be unsteady without your grasp. You ate her with more precision now, face buried deep between her thighs and leaving her blabbering and gasping like she couldn't help it—and she couldn't. Because your mouth was on her core, sucking, licking, focused solely on making her feel good.

Then, the ministrations from your tongue turned desperate and intense, merely a wordless plea for her to cum. And she did. Hard. Sudden. And it left her gasping out every expletive her mind could capture, and the only name in her head—yours.

And god, was it intoxicating.

Her body fell apart on your lips, trembling and jolting in your firm grasp. But her tension loosened from your sweet murmurs, guiding her back to earth.

"Jesus, baby," she laughed—mostly breath.

"Too much?" You quizzed, rising to your feet, hands already sliding back to her waist.

"No. No, never." That same smile tugged at her and slipped right back on as she pulled you in. Then her lips followed—soft and perfect against your own.

They trailed down, joined briefly by her tongue.

"Love you," she murmured, punctuated by her soft kisses. "So much."

Her words earned a smile from your lips instantly. And it always seemed to. No matter how long you had been together, you couldn't get tired of those words. Of her lips. Of her.

"I love you too," you hummed, lifting her chin to steal one more kiss from her lips.

Chapter Text

After the first time that Billie got a taste, a shift had already sparked between you both.

It wasn't a sharp change—not to anyone besides the two of you—but it was definitely there.

She hid it behind not-so-definitive smiles and laughs that rang out a little too loudly. But she wasn't doing a great job at keeping it disguised.

Her feelings became more obvious with stares that lingered, words that never seemed to form, and restless fidgeting. Your eyes caught everything.

"You feeling alright?" You asked once, mostly unserious.

Her gaze flicked up. Too fast. "Yeah," she responded promptly.

You raised a brow, but didn't push.

Until that night.

Nothing huge, only a dinner with her family and a few friends.

She dressed in a button-up top with a crisp collar, worn atop a pair of nice black jeans and one too many pieces of jewelry. The dinner wasn't especially fancy, but her outfit looked bland compared to yours. Compared to you.

A black dress clung perfectly to your skin-almost too perfectly. It flared just enough skin to draw her eyes back every time.

She found herself distracted mid-conversation, irises tied to you every time you passed by. Her chest ached to feel you—or at least talk to you. But her legs wouldn't budge.

Her heart hammered, pleading for her to approach, but she sat still. Tense. Thighs pulled tight together, but never tight enough.

She was too nervous to talk to you, which wasn't like her at all. The whole thing was new, borderline insane.

By the time the night faded into a blur of chatter and star-peppered skies, she was already moving to head home. But her name was called in an all-too familiar voice. Followed by an all-too-familiar pair of eyes.

"You're leaving?" You asked, coming to a stop just a few feet from her.

"Yeah, it's... getting late," she mumbled, too low to be natural.

"Let me drive you home," you offered insisted. Her mind was too clouded by the proximity to think, so she nodded.

Even when you set the car into park in her driveway, she didn't move. Her mouth opened to speak, but as usual, she couldn't make the words work.

So you did instead.

"Want me to walk you in?"

She nodded despite the flash of worry that flickered in her mind—the fear of seeming dependent. Too needy. Too obsessed.

But every label that she feared seemed to match how she felt for you.

That dull ache in her chest only seemed to deepen as she walked alongside you, fingers twitching as if she was biting back the urge to touch.

As her jacket was shed in the entryway, you took a seat on her couch, eyes crossing the expanse of her house, which you'd already memorized long ago.

She stood awkwardly in the foyer, feeling out of place in her own home.

You noticed—of course you did—and lifted your chin towards her. "Come here," you called, deliberate but not exactly loud enough to understand the tone of.

Nonetheless, her legs moved on their own, stopping a few inches too close to your own. She almost stepped back, but your fingers caught her wrist in a swift motion.

"I said, Come here," you repeated, eyes flicking down to your lap.

Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second, words actually forming despite her shock. "You mean—"

"Sit."

And so she did, almost mindlessly. By that point, she knew she was screwed.

Her thighs cradled yours, body still taut even when met with what she had been craving for weeks.

"Relax," you chuckled. "I'm not gonna bite."

As she settled more comfortably on your lap, your hand found her chin.

"But you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"...what?" She breathed, eyes not wide but surprise still laced her voice.

"You heard me."

She didn't reply, but her face told a whole different, louder story.

"You've been needy all day, haven't you? Maybe even longer."

She nodded, shame causing a flush to bloom on her cheeks.

"But I want you to tell me—what do you need?"

"You," she whispered, not loud enough to satisfy.

"Yeah?"

Her eyes cast low, mostly focused on her hands. "Wanna taste you."

"There it is," you hummed, lifting her chin. "Why don't you lie back, hm?"

Her body once again scrambled under your instructions, already following exactly as you told her. Her eagerness earned a low hum from your lips that pulsed through her whole body and settled low in her belly.

Every inch of her melted as your lips met hers, moving against hers with quiet smacks.

Her breath caught in her throat when your dress was being slipped off by your hands.

She didn't dare lift her own hands to reach out yet, though it took a great force to hold back the urges.

But as soon as you caught on and gave permission—which took the form of a murmured, "you can touch,"—she found your skin immediately.

Her palms settled low on the dip between your waist and hips, easing the pang in her chest to something fuller. Something warmer.

"You... you looked so good tonight," she whispered, eyes mapping over every inch of you.

"Mhm?" You hummed, mostly to tease, mostly just to hear it again.

"Yeah."

"You're insatiable," you chuckled breathlessly as a small pout tugged at her lips.

"Want you," she mumbled, hands urging you closer. "Please."

"I know, baby." Your thighs straddled her face, fingers already laced into her hair. She whined and tugged you down, core settling on her tongue.

You gasped at the contact, her tongue, hot and already ravaging at you with slow desperation. The dynamic shifted quickly, melting you into a mess of whimpers and strained praises. Meanwhile, her hands gripped your ass and steadied you as she ate you like her last meal.

But the noises that came from her were almost needier; quiet, tiny hums and whines against your heat that sent vibrations through your every nerve.

"Billie—oh my god," you breathed, thighs jittery as she lifted you closer to the edge. "S-so good—you're so—" you blabbered as her lips caught your clit and suckled gratefully. That and the flicks of her tongue were enough to make you see white.

Your climax crashed over you in sharp waves, her mouth lapping you up slowly through it. Her touch was chaste, soft—a heavy contrast to the way her tongue was on you earlier.

"So perfect," she whispered, mostly to herself, as she guided you to lie atop of her instead. "You're so beautiful."

You didn't have the effort to reply, only curled into her and let the words settle under your skin. Your head rested on her chest, which heaved slightly with the buzz of everything that had happened.

And in that moment, she knew she'd never be able to get enough of you.

Chapter Text

The warm air of the house settled against your skin and inside of your lungs as you pushed the door open. Tossing your keys into the catch-all dish set on the entry table, you glanced up at the kitchen. 

Clean, washed dishes put away nicely into the slots of the drying rack. Not the most common behavior from Billie, but definitely not what felt off in the house. 

Assuming Billie would be asleep, you didn't call out. Instead, you set your things down and made your way through the hallway quietly. Instead of shut like it would be usually at that late hour, the ivory door was left slightly ajar, only a slim line of the room behind it visible. A soft slit of the light inside peered in through the gap, dim enough to pass as purposeful. 

But as you stepped closer, your chest tightened at the familiar sound you caught—a whimper. Quiet, but unmistakable. 

You propped the door open slightly further, just enough to look inside. The lights were set low, barely enough to brighten her figure—but there she was. Your breath caught as soon as your eyes found her. She sat before the mirror, legs spread and her hand between them, head rested back against the side of the bed. 

Her lips were parted, spilling needy, desperate sounds that left your body hotter. Eyebrows pulled together, hips moving with her fingers. Her eyes, screwed tight, hadn't caught you behind the door yet. 

You let her continue, watched silently as her bottom lip slid between her teeth to hold back her beautiful noises. 

"Baby," you cooed, breaking the not-so-quiet silence of words. She froze immediately, a half-gasp half-whimper jumping from her throat as she scrambled to sit up. 

"I-didn't hear you come in," she mumbled, still catching her breath, heart still pounding, hand shaking. 

You only smirked, slipping inside and undressing wordlessly. As you tossed your shirt into the hamper across the room, she scooted awkwardly onto the bed, reaching for a shirt of her own. 

"No," you cut in before her arms had even slipped into the sleeves. She paused, but set the shirt aside. When she looked up, you had already settled beside her on the edge of the bed, half-dressed. "You wanna tell me what you were doing, love?" 

Her face flushed instantly, thighs still slick and left bare. Before her eyes could bow, you lifted her chin towards yourself. "C'mon," you hummed. 

"Jus'... missed you," she mumbled, barely audible, eyes anywhere but yours. 

"Is that right?" 

She nodded, face burning—but the ache between her thighs was worse. She pulled them tighter together, scooted closer despite herself. 

Your eyes softened watching her curl against you, sleep evident in her eyes—but her need was more obvious by a mile. "You want some privacy?" 

She shook her head quickly, a hand sliding onto your thigh as if physically needing to keep you there. "Stay." 

"Okay. Do you... need some help with your little mess?" Your head tilted slightly, half-teasing, more a genuine question with how softened she was by now. 

That same color rushed up to her face again, but she nodded into your shoulder after less than a few seconds.

"Come here," rolled smoothly from your lips with ease, your hand warm as it rested atop of hers. 

Her bare leg draped over yours, hips cradling one thigh.

"There you go... good girl," you breathed, hands settling on the swell of her thighs and guiding her to start a grinding motion on your leg. 

She did so with a little hesitation at first, but quickly found a mostly steady pattern. Her hips rutted slowly against your skin, those same soft whimpers louder now-mostly due to feeling your warmth against her core.

"Take what you need. Make a mess, baby," you murmured, lips trailing down her neck and leaving open-mouthed kisses in their wake. 

Her grinding soon became less controlled, more desperate for release than making her rocking even. The dark ink of the tatto on her lower abdomen warped with her movements. Her face was now hidden in the crook of your neck with a mix of embarrassment and overwhelm. 

"That's it, pretty. You're doing so well. You gonna come for me?" You asked, low and sultry, seeping under her skin. She gave a feeble, helpless nod against your warm skin, fingers curling into your sides and leaving crescent makes form her nails.

Her body shook as she came, your words hushed and sensual and just enough to bring her over the edge. By the time her body collapsed against yours, she was already drained. Your hand raked over her spine soothingly, lulling her to sleep after a barely audible "I love you," shared between the two of you.

That night, she had slept better than she had the entire week. 

Chapter Text

She noticed before you even remembered to hide it. The tension, the way you always walked, guarded as if preparing for an attack. The fidgeting with your sleeve, necklaces, bracelets, or anything you could get your hands on, discreetly. The way your arms stayed close to your stomach whenever you sat down.

That morning, you had stared at the mirror much longer than necessary—like a moth to a flame, begging to get burned. Your eyes swallowed every inch, and not gratefully.

You tried on each shirt with a repetitive routine: smooth down the sides, turn, smooth it down again. Again with the shorts, folding the hems and adjusting them over, and over, and over again.

Billie-who sat on the edge of the bed just behind you--didn't say anything, only watched the frustration grow in your eyes after each outfit. Watched as it shifted to something more solemn when you surrendered and decided on something more loose-fitted, shapeless.

"Everything okay?" She asked during the car ride, palm finding its place on your thigh.

Your shoulders lost a bit of their rigid posture, but your tone still carried that hint of insecurity. "Yeah," you mumbled. "Just thinking."

She didn't press--not yet, at least. But it stuck with her throughout the day.

Everything was obvious to her, and she made that clear the moment you got home. You trudged into the bedroom, brain deteriorated and half-asleep, but awake enough to fear your own appearance.

With that same self-destructive habit, you checked over yourself in the mirror; turned, adjusted your shirt relentlessly, leveled your shorts.

Her hand clamped around your wrist before it could feel up what your shame-filled eyes bored into the most.

"What's going on?" She prompted, free hand snaking around your waist, her front pressing lightly to your back.

"Nothing, I just..." Her eyes locked with your reflection, tinted with concern.

"Tell me anyways," she insisted, hand loosening around yours and instead joining her other in wrapping around you from behind.

"I don't know what's wrong with me--just... nothing fits right anymore." You swallowed, eyes set low on your own body in the mirror.

Her eyes softened with the weight of your words, embrace tightening just enough to keep you grounded.

"I-I hate that I can't be pretty like you.
I hate that I'm jealous of someone that I love," you sputtered, words falling out after one another. Each sentence you uttered made her chest tighten and ache. But the last thing you said hit her the hardest. "I just want you to have someone who's on your level."

"No--baby, no. Absolutely not," she shook her head firmly, arms pulling you flush against her from behind. "You're perfect for me. It kills me to know that you can't see that, that you can't see what I see."

You went quiet, eyes following the outlines of your body in the mirror, the distaste of your gaze stabbing into your thighs.

"Here... take this off for me, love," she whispered, thumb sliding under the hem of your wide-set shirt.

"I-I can't," you choked, eyes screwing tight as if bracing for the impact of yourself.

"You can. I'm here. You're safe," she murmured, pecking a soft kiss to the nape of your neck.

A shaky breath spilled from your half-parted lips, eyes swimming with that same wary look, like your body was grisly and something you couldn't bear to look at. Nonetheless, you pulled the shirt over your head with tentative fingers.

Her eyes swallowed the sight of you with gratitude--quite the opposite of how you felt at the moment. "God, you're mesmerizing."

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to, okay? Just stay with me. Can you do that?" She spoke softly, fingers scaling over your skin, resting warm on your ribs. You nodded, the most you could manage.

Her arms lifted, folded over your shoulder, fingers grazing your collarbone, a silent comfort. "I love your eyes," she started, voice soft and warm, soothing like a perfect, easy melody. "I love how they watch mine when you're talking. I love how they light up when someone brings up something you nerd-out over." A smile tugged at her lips, admiring how your eyes slowly filled with something new at her confessions.

"And your smile? My favorite thing to come home to. My favorite thing to kiss." Her hands traveled down, parting ways to slide over the range of your arms.

Your heart stuttered.

"I love these. How they hold me at night, or when I'm crying in between them. They're one of the strongest parts of you-even when you don't think that they are physically." Her lips planted a quick kiss to your shoulder.

Your breath caught as her palms made way over your waist. "This too. It's perfect, no matter what you tell yourself. It's what I get the privilege to hold, and I'd never want it to look or be any other way." Her hands mapped lower, curving over your stomach.

"God, I love this. You try to hide it--from me, from everyone. But I love it. I love how you feel. Every inch of it--of you." Your lips trembled, eyes widened slightly with each revelation.

The touch drifted, grasping the outside of your thighs with aching reverence. "These--" she hummed, thumbs grazing your skin, "--are everything to me. I don't care what anyone sees. They hug me when I'm between them. I love how they lock up when you're close. How they tremble when you come. How soft--and yet strong--they are on top of me, around me, and in every other way."

The sting of tears welled in your eyes, one trickling down with the intensity of her worshipful gaze and devoted touch.

Her lips caught it in a soft peck, fingers sliding around to the clasp of your bra. "Can I?" And you could only give another nod.

Your bra was discarded promptly, followed by the permitted loss of your baggy pants. Your body was unveiled before her, her eyes ate you up like she physically thrived on the sight of you like oxygen.

"And these," she breathed, as her hands palmed your breasts. Her voice lowered now, approaching sultry-but nevertheless unshielded and tender. "Jesus Christ, you don't know what they do to me. What you do to me, standing here, looking at me like this." Her thumbs brushed your nipples, circling them into tight peaks until you gasped.

Her hands dropped, settling at the waistband of your panties, fingers grazing the thin fabric while you ached. "Here," she continued, "is my favorite place in the world. Not only because it's perfect, and squeezes me just right-but because it's a part of you. A part that I get to taste, and feel, and take care of."

You whimpered as her index brushed your clit over the article, hips jumping slightly.

"Let me show you just how much I love you," she purred, fingers drumming over the barrier that divided her from your core. She dropped to her knees behind you, guiding you down to the floor with her.

Her gentle hands parted your legs with care, fingers setting your underwear aside once you whispered a meek "please," and leaned back into her.

Her fingers glided through your folds with aching tenderness, circling your clit with such care that it seemed like an act of devotion rather than just pleasure.

"Just look, baby," she murmured, free hand stroking your thigh. You whined in response, eyes screwed tight with embarrassment, to which she tutted you for. "Eyes open, love. I want you to see how beautiful you are."

After some brief hesitation, your eyes fluttered open to watch yourself. Your hips jumped as thick fingers dipped inside of you, exposing you further as she spread you wider.

Your eyes could only remain glued to her movements between your legs, lips spilling soft sounds between the curls of her digits and the rhythmic strokes to your clit.

The smile on her lips was lethal--but not in the way that it was dark. Her soft lips were curved in the sweetest, purest way it could be with the way her fingers were thrusting inside you. Her eyes admired you like you were sacred, the dual motion of her ring and middle finger handled you with nothing but delicate, slow pumps.

"My perfect girl," she whispered, open hand exploring every centimeter of your skin, curving over the dips and grooves, easing over the most erogenous zones.

Another noise fell from your lips; half-sob, half-whimper. "Billie--" you gasped, hips lifting with her gentle thrusts.

"Shh," she hushed softly, clean fingers trailing your chest. "Let it all out for me. You did so well."

And you did. You gave her everything. Your back arched, lips parting in a choked cry. Tears literally slipped with the immense relief--both physical and emotional.

Words spilled from her lips as you rode the aftershocks, soft and soothing, but so deliberate you could process them even despite the waves of pleasure still rolling through your limbs.

"I love you more than anything. You're more than just your body--but I love it almost as much as I do for you. I hate that you look at yourself and think you're everything but someone who I'd kill and die for. I love you. More than you'll ever know."

"I love you," you whimpered--not sensual this time, but one between sobs. Tears fell down your cheeks, both a release and something heavy. "I don't--I don't know why I'm crying."

She hushed you once more, voice lowered to something disgustingly sweet as she pulled you against her. "I told you to let it all out, didn't I?"

You laughed against her, broken and softened--but full of something warmer, rounder now with the release.

You repeated those same three words--"I love you,"--once more, and so did she. Her fingers raked easily over your back, ceasing the tremble and filling you with a warmth no fire could ever match.

The night ended with a warm, homemade meal made by the hands of your wonderful girlfriend, a hot shower shared between the two of you, and your limbs tangled comfortably under the blankets.

Chapter Text

The room is vast—complicated with people, but wide. Something between alcohol, sweat, and mingled perfume hums around the walls, wrapping you in a humid embrace of scents. The lights are dim, crossing with very Halloween-y pulses of red, orange, and little beats of purple.

You're seated somewhere in the corner, half-focused on the words spouting from your friend's lips. Mostly, though, you're focused on the beautiful girl dancing—the one you have the pleasure of calling your girlfriend—who's jumbled between people and has her fingers laced with her friend's.

She's a spark in the room, someone you can't help but be drawn to even when the room is as loud as it is now. The low buzz of bass thumps in your chest: a fresh song—something people drunkenly sway to.

But Billie? Her eyes lift immediately—still barely blue in the gaudily ambient lighting and artificial fog. They land on you, which causes something already forming in your whole body to thump louder. She smiles, all playful and mischievous, and then she's maneuvering through the tightly-woven crowd.

Your name leaves her lips so perfectly that it could be a sin. Your friend gives you a look like she already knows Billie's plotting something (which she probably does, it's not hard to notice).

And she is. Billie, even when dressed in the most 'spooky' costume she could get on (mostly last-minute), is more than obvious. She's got that glint in her eyes that tells you she wants something—specifically you. She offers her hands, palms up, invitingly level to your collarbones. "Dance with me," she says, voice higher than usual.

"TMZ would love that, yeah?" You quip, leaning in nonetheless—but not yet taking her hands.

"C'moooonnn," she drags out, hands moving closer like emphasis, "You're so lame."

You glance at your friend like they can save you, and they only shrug with a smirk. "She's not wrong. Live a little."

"See?" Billie hums, grinning wider.

"I don't give in to peer pressure," you huff dramatically.

"And my arms are getting sore waiting for you," she teases, now pouting. "Please?" If it were anyone else, you'd say no immediately; save yourself the embarrassment AND the privilege of being eye-candy for paparazzi. But this is Billie, and she's looking at you like she might drop to her knees just for a dance.

So you stand, giving one last glare at your friend when they take out their phone. "What? It's memorabilia!" They defend, palms raising.

"I hate you, both of you," you grumble, but you're already turning towards a giggling Billie and following her through the knitted heap of people.

As if it were fate, the song blends into something slower, borderline sensual—and definitely not the cheap, Halloween-y vibe the party was accidentally leaning towards.

Her palm, electric against your skin, settles on your waist. Her free hand guides yours to her own hip, and then she's leading you in a slow dance.

"I can't dance for shit, Bils," you breathe out, eyes focused mostly on her shoes.

"Look at me," she murmurs, one hand sliding onto your cheek as she guides you through a messily done waltz of left, back, right, forward. "You're doing great. Just focus on me."

You let out a shaky noise and she laughs—not direct, just something soft and warm and so real it makes your chest shake a little.

She hums absent-mindedly to the lyrics of the song, eyes shimmering under the lights. She looks ethereal—absolutely unfairly gorgeous.

"You look like you're gonna pass out," she snorts, brushing some stray strands of hair from your face.

"I might as well," you mumble, barely above a whisper in the energy of the room.

"So dramatic," she sighs. "It's just dancing—and me." And she smiles in a way that makes everything lighter. You let yourself fall into the routine; the dance, the music, the lights, her. Everything feels a little floaty, maybe the few sips of alcohol you had, maybe just the weight of Billie's presence, maybe the vampire costume coating your body.

Either way, you're with her, she looks criminally beautiful, and her hands are on you like they fit perfectly. And for one of the few times in your life, you feel like you could die and rest happy.

Chapter Text

Sunlight crosses Billie's face and body in slits, her skin glowing beneath it. Your hair weaves between her fingers, slightly mussed with the way she's been running them through it.

On your stomach, you lay, humming softly to the song cued on the record player in the corner of the room. The Queen Is Dead spins easy on the player, filling the room with something deeper than just music. Comfort, maybe.

You're between Billie's thighs, elbows propped up from the plushness of the sofa. A Nintendo Switch sits in her grasp, a hobby she hasn't really had the spare time for with the weight of tour and press. Her fingers flick over the buttons and joy-stick, grumbles of frustration leaving her lips occasionally.

A marker is in your hold, cap tossed somewhere you don't care enough to check. The blue shade runs surprisingly smoothly between the lines of her tattoo. You had to say the words 'non-toxic' at least three times to convince her to let you color in her tattoos.

The dragon--Haku--is your first target, inked with blues and greens and anything else that fit. Not exactly accurate, but definitely pretty.

"Cute," she murmurs when you pull back a little to admire your handiwork, fingers returning right back to your hair. "Am I your new coloring book?" She teases, icy eyes unfairly gorgeous in the light.

You hum lazily in return, "mhm," reaching over the couch to grab the cap to the marker--launched carelessly onto the floor. Once the pen clicks, you set it aside and roll over between the pale thighs that cradle you. The back of your head rests comfortably on her chest, eyes loosely scanning her gameplay.

Mostly, though, you're just relishing the quiet of the evening--one of those rare, cozy moments when Billie's schedule is clear and the morning decides to run slow and uninterrupted.

A break. A breath of fresh air, for both of you.

Chapter Text

the world around her seemed to fade out—noise drifting into muffled background noise—as soon as billie’s eyes landed on her. she could recognize that face anywhere, the hair cascading down her back in silky, loose waves—honeyed just enough to blur the lines between barely copper and light brown, bangs swept aside into soft curtains to frame the face. her skin, always dusted with color over her cheeks, naturally milky, smooth, and peppered with freckles.

her, who looks identical to her last love to an uncanny extent—a girl with one too many responsibilities and not enough time for billie's flirty and senseless distractions.

a girl whom billie pried her way into after months of attempting to speak with over the fence dividing their properties. who she finally managed to pull a laugh from—a real one—and nearly cheered when it escaped her pretty lips.

a girl who she found the true side of in the best way possible. whose smile ran her mind into overdrive and left her gawking with a stupid grin on her lips.

a girl whom she loved more than anything.

a girl who passed away nearly a century ago. and the girl whom she spent years mourning, vowing to never fall for anyone again.

so how is she here, at a club, dancing to the heavy pulse of bass, hair mussed and clinging to her neck from sweat like glue?

she doesn't know. she might never know the answer. but her legs seek it anyway, and move on their own when the brunette takes a break from the party girl persona to slide over into a booth in the far corner.

between greetings, introductions, and small, vaguely flirty comments, the two fall into easy conversation. soon, how it started is long forgotten.

the back-and-forth is familiar. real. almost too much for billie to handle.

her eyes are that same emerald shade she has burned into her mind, with that faint glint of a golden hue that could cause anyone to get distracted. even when she's hazed out of her mind, she's got that same look in her eyes. the one billie spent countless hours memorizing and gazing into like she was weaving through the shrubs of her gaze.

her lips, lined and glossed, look just as soft as billie remembers. the same number of freckles she counted on sleepless nights—36—are speckled across her face. with that one most prominent next to her nose.

it makes billie dizzy, but she keeps a warm smile and pretends like she's not on the verge of tears.

but when she's sitting closer, still rambling on about her latest interest, she furrows her brows and mumbles, "I feel like I've met you before," and billie has to pretend like her pulse doesn't shudder. like her chest doesn't clench. like her heart isn't pounding and begging to hold her again after what felt like an eternity apart.

"yeah," billie murmurs with a smile that couldn't nearly describe the warmth of the memories flooding her whole body. "i do too."

and the memories aren't distant anymore. they're close enough to reach out and thread right back into her skin.

by the time the sky fades into an inky black and the music turns to a low, distant hum, billie’s body is covered by the weight of her body. the skin under her touch burns in the most pleasant way possible. billie’s body holds taut with tension beneath her, even after each shaky breath that trembles in her chest. everything around her blurs, suffocating and tight—but she's not even close to complaining. because she’s still here. close. alive.

Chapter Text

Without really knowing how or why, you ended up backstage. Somewhere between soundchecks and performance, the first night of tour after a month long break. Your guitar is tilted comfortably in hand, chords and patterns following each other like second nature. 

You hum along to the progressions you've already memorized, eyes occasionally flicking up to the notes app entry where you keep the guitar tabs. They're not really there because you need them, just because they're familiar. Something that can ground you in the heavy flow of pre-concert preparations. 

The lights are dim, the echo of sound tech and stage crew heavier when you've only got a few hours before showtime. 

The energy in the room dips--something magnetic pulling your eyes to her habitually. Billie. Her hair is what you could technically call neat, makeup light, eyes swimming with electricity and adrenaline. 

That gaze meets yours in an instant, and then she's heading towards you. She calls your name at a volume a little too sharp of contrast to the previous silence; luckily no one else is in the room to turn heads.

She plops down on the couch with barely any space between you both, her body turned towards yours. Your heart is already betraying you before she speaks. "I was looking for you," she breathes, "You've gotta be hiding on purpose at this point." 

"Can't say I am," you mumble in return, eyes finding comfort in avoiding hers, preferring to remain on the frets as you strum thoughtlessly.

"Jane said you looked tired," she says, the words settling in the air. You don't reply because you know it's true--and so does she. "Do you ever take a break?" She comments after the lack of response, hand stilling yours on the strings. 

You finally lift your eyes to look at her--finding that kind of unreadable gaze that can only be decoded by yours. "This is my break." 

"Doesn't seem like you're feeling it, though," she hums, giving you a once-over that's slow, deliberate enough to make your heart race.

"So now you decide what my 'breaks' entail?" 

"I'm not saying that," she grumbles, standing up with a dramatic huff. "You're just... tense."

Your eyes trail after her as she rounds the couch to take a seat at the spare keyboard just behind it, slipping onto the bench like she was made to. 

"Maybe that's just because of you," you attempt to bicker, but it comes out more of a confession. Her eyes rise to lock with yours, fingers hovering over the keys just out of your view. The room remains silent for a second--not awkward, just full, buzzing with unspoken feelings. 

"What?" She blurts out, voice low in comparison to the volume just a few seconds prior.

"What?" You echo, like you're not on the verge of passing out from the way she's looking at you alone.

She smirks at that, letting out a chuckle that's more a breath than anything else, and lets her eyes fall back to the keyboard. "Just play with me."

She starts the chords to one of the songs rarely placed on the setlist--TV. They're slow, a simple progression, no more than 6 chords, one after another. You follow after her, the exact same progression. It's nothing special, just a little denser with your light strums.

She smiles as you run with her, and then her voice fills the room. It's light, airy, borderline angelic. And even after nearly a hundred shows with her, it still takes your breath away. The lyrics hit something deeper when you hear them in person, as if she's seeing right through you when she sings them.

Luckily, your urge to look up and at her is restrained by the need to keep watch on the frets and strings so that you don't butcher the whole song. But while you're trying hard not to miss a single note, you feel her eyes on you. 

It's a significant dip, the way her irises sit heavy on your face, only disappearing to glance at her fingers. 

That goes in for the next two minutes; her voice, devastatingly gorgeous--maybe even ethereal--and the power chords from your guitar carrying out consistently with her playing. When the last note of her voice rings out and so does your instruments', you sit in silence. Still processing the planet you traveled to while hearing her voice.

When you look up, she's already got her eyes on you, a small, grateful smile spread across her lips.

"How was that?" She asks--much softer after the moment that she seems to have felt too. 

"...nice," you settle on, since saying anything else might come out a little too honestly. And you'd rather not say "I'd drop to my knees before you just to experience that again," in front of her. 

She laughs softly, moving to take a seat beside you again. "Feel better?" She quizzes as her hand finds purchase on your thigh.

"Yeah, better."

"Good."

Chapter Text

Christmas had caught up to you both like a storm. A storm of colorful lights, ornaments, and matching sweaters that you only wore because they made Billie smile at you like you were the only person in the world.

Just the night before Christmas, you had spent all day double, triple, quadruple-checking the presents you had wrapped for Billie. You adjusted any uneven folds, re-tied the ribbons until they were perfect, and lined up wrapping paper next to each other just to find what looked perfect with the carefully arranged gifts you had picked for her. Everything needed to be perfect.

Once that stress and restlessness had finally faded, you waited until late Christmas Eve night to sneak out from Billie's arms. She noticed, of course—damn her and her light sleeper tendencies—and whined quietly. You pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before whispering, “I'll be right back, baby. Santa's on his way, I think.” That earned a sleepy smile from her lips, and the release of your wrist.

With your chance scored, you slipped out and stealthily grabbed each precisely wrapped present, setting each one under the tree. After glancing over your handiwork once again, you made your way back up the stairs and climbed back into bed, back into her arms. The last thing you remembered before drifting off was warmth, the faint scent of her shampoo under your nose, and her limbs wrapped around yours.

Waking up left none of that. Your eyes fluttered open—all while adjusting to the early morning light unwillingly—only to find the other side of the bed empty. Blankets and sheets were left unmade, proof of both her appearance and departure—but it didn't make the air around you any less cold.

With a pout tugging at your lips, you forced yourself out of the tangled comforter and pulled a tight-knit, red-and-cream-colored sweater over your head. You trudged down the stairs, palm grazing the polished wood of the banister as you did.

Passing the entryway dividing you from the living room, you expected a few things: presents under the decorated tree, cookies gone probably due to Billie, and hopefully Billie herself. Never—in a century—though, did you expect to find her, dressed in practically nothing other than heaps of red ribbon and matching lingerie, seated right in front of the tree.

Her head—topped with a shiny rosette bow—
lifts while she's fiddling with the ends of the satin ribbons. Surprise coats her face, probably not expecting you to come down so early, before it fades into amusement. Her eyes take in your reaction: lips parted in shock, eyes wide, flush blooming on your cheeks.

Her lips curve into a smirk as she speaks, tone light as if she's not half-naked, on the floor in front of you. “Hi, baby! Merry Christmas,” she sings, smile widening.

“What—when did you—” you stammer, face flushing a deeper shade of pink as your eyes dart involuntarily over her bare skin. “Holy shit,” you decide on, the words coming out in a shaky breath.

“Thought I'd be your present this morning,” she flashes a grin, her voice full of mischief. “You like it?” Without your permission at all, your eyes wander again, scanning pale skin tangled in cherry red, shiny ribbons, and the similarly-colored bralette and panties set beneath them.

You can't speak—your throat won't fucking work. She smiles like she's won a trophy. “I'll take that as a yes.”

A beat later, she pipes up, a little softer. “I am genuinely stuck, though, so I'd appreciate some help.”

Finally, words form, and you manage to respond (breathlessly), “Oh—okay, yeah.” Your legs work before your brain does, and you sink down in front of her to undo the tight binds of the ribbons. Your fingers brush her skin too often, and with every shaky breath she somehow hears, you're given a little smirk. When the satin falls to the floor, pooling around her, her hands find your waist and pull you close.

“There we go… now I can actually hold you,” she hums, lips already forming a pathway along your neck. You shiver against her, and certainly not because of the cold air outside.

“Billie… the presents,” you try to reason with the last bit of your self-control. It's a stupid excuse and you both know it.

“You're worried about the presents right now?” She pulls back, face deadpan. “When your girlfriend is wearing almost nothing right in front of you? Really?” She sighs and shakes her head, smiling fondly anyways.

That same self-control is gone as soon as it comes. You reach around her to undo the lacy scarlet cupping her chest, pausing when you're there. Your eyes lock and she nods without hesitation. The fabric drops to the floor, completely forgotten as your hands replace the bra.

She arches into you instantly, a pleasant moan slipping free. Your palms knead her breasts with reverence, fingers rolling her already pebbling nipples. She presses closer, legs wrapping around your waist. Without missing a beat, you reach down and hook your fingers into the waistband of her thong. “Please—I've been waiting since midnight, baby,” she begs, breathing ragged and tickling your neck.

You glide the pair off without hesitation, fingers following. “So wet,” you purr, her arousal coating your fingertips. “You really have been waiting, haven't you?” She nods weakly, hips already bucking towards your hand.

Eyes darkening, you lift the discarded ribbons and pull her palms behind her back. She lets out a soft gasp as you tie them around her wrists. Once her hands are trapped behind her and secured with a simple bow, your fingers return to her core. Your fingertips brush at her clit only barely with every teasing circle around it.

A whimper breaks out of her lips at the growing, unfulfilled ache between her thighs, and you reward her by sliding your fingers inside. Her face contorts in pleasure, breaths hitching after every slow, deep thrust. Her walls flutter around your digits, aching for more. Her thighs attempt to close around your hand, overwhelmed with pleasure, but you only spread her wider with a click of your tongue. A staggered whine escapes her when you reach deeper.

A third finger joins your other two, strokes quickening to a relentless pace. She chokes on curses, your name falling from her lips like a prayer.

“That's it, baby… let me hear you,” you whisper, low and playful in her ear as her legs stiffen and jolt, a tell of her approaching end.

You curl your fingers to reach her sweet spot once, twice, three times—and she breaks. The orgasm hits her like a truck, the knot in her stomach tightening before it breaks, and she cries out your name. Her body rushes with heat, cunt clamping down on your fingers. A string of whines follows her climax, every noise a cadence of her pleasure.

The whimpers fade, turning to heavy breaths as she falls limp in your arms. Her trembling subsides soon after your fingers do. Your lips take hers in a gentle kiss, one that makes her heart slow to savor every second.

“Merry Christmas,” you murmur teasingly against her lips when the kiss breaks. A smile tugs on her lips, even when she tries to hide it.

“Perfect gift,” she returns with one last kiss. “I love you—so much, baby.” Her eyes soften profoundly, and it makes your stomach churn with butterflies.

“Right back at you,” you joke. She shoves your chest lightly, rolling her eyes even when the smirk on her face gives her amusement away. “I'm kidding, I'm kidding!” You pull her back into your arms, wrapping her in the nearest blanket as her body goes limp against yours. The presents are long forgotten as the embrace of her arms swallows you in warmth. As her cheek rests on your chest, you whisper softly, “I love you more.”