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five requests?? that's a lot god!! you are going to be feeding us I can't wait anymore, its going insanee that you are backk❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

Thank you, lovely, I'm so pleased to read this!

Five requests, quite weighty, it's true, and will have to wait for a while - it's possible to combine writing with studies, but sometimes it's too difficult, and I don't want to rush and put out ragged text.

Thanks again for your support, you are incredible! 🪷✨

Okay guys, I've collected five requests with your help and will now be working on them all, so for now the order table will be closed until next time. Thanks to everyone who submitted a request, know you guys are incredible! 🫂🌟

Hey pretty, do you still have the requests open?

Yep, my friend, the requisitions are still open.

I think I may take two more before I write all the others.

🫂🌟

lot I just saw about the requests!! How exciting, I can't think of anything compared to your imagination... I can only think of one in which we live Billie's figure with her... you already know the photo sessions, her meetings with fans, the first concert and its celebration. !!..

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: I'm to follow with your soul

A/n: What about text without dialogs?.. It was quite entertaining, and yes, I've strayed quite a bit from the request, but I hope you enjoy it, anon. Please let me know when you get a chance.

Hidden by a cloth mask and a soft hoodie, Eilish enters the room carefully, trying to be inconspicuous in her black, not at all flashy clothes, and everyone is almost immediately swept off their feet, as if it were the fault of a hurricane suddenly raging in the middle of the huge waiting room. You smile from across the room, completely used to it. You lean your back relaxed against the concrete wall painted a calm milky white while Billie arms every her fans with tact and friendliness, being herself surrounded by a crowd of people hungry for her attention. Eager for her. They're having a blast, and you smile so calmly, as if you're on a desert island, somewhere so far away and out of reach of everything in the world. Eilish is like a chess king - in the very epicenter of the field, under the reliable guardianship of the guards, who are like brave pawns and rooks pushing back the especially insistent, who breaking the boundaries of her propriety and privacy, but you still feel a light, tickling under your ribs bright blue feather of excitement, even though outwardly it's not visible. Outwardly, you put on your face the most elegant, partly truthful mask, behind which no one can see this pile and confusion inside you, so eager to break out. And everyone believes it. Everyone except her.

The metronome of thoughts clicking from side to side and stops only when she gently, gently takes your hand, intertwining your fingers securely as you sit in the cabin of an airplane flying to another continent. Eilish's blue eyes, entering into open rivalry with the blueness of the celestial horizon in the porthole to your right - piercing, sensitive to your experiences, which you hold behind seven chains, tightly, tightly. The lips outlining your knuckles, by contrast, are soft, hot, soothing. Like velvet. She says everything is fine, and you have a series of flashes and phones in front of your eyes so detailed that you think for a second that it was you, not her, who was at this epicenter of glory. Your nagging occasional worry about her and her emotional state is parried by her familiarity with such a life, which rustles on Billie's lips with a light laugh.. She pulls you out of the stream of thoughts that drags you down like the Styx: kisses you directly on the lips, catches your quiet, downed exhalation, slides the very tip of her tongue across your slightly bitten lips. She whispers that she needs you, your shared serenity, and you let go of the handrail of excitement. Again. The smile on your lips is deftly mirrored on her face before Billie rests his head cozily on your shoulder, falling quietly into slumber for the rest of the flight. O'Connell considers you her safest, most secure haven, one she's willing to nurture day after day, nurturing the blossoms of peace and confidence in your soul, and you don't mind, you're all for it. Ready to shelter her from everything in the world, giving her that rare, so humanly necessary mutual love and serenity.

You softly murmur three words of love into her ear, and Billie just snuggles even closer to you, as close as the seat and the flatness of the seatbelt will allow. Her true-coral lips hotly drop a scattering of words that make your heart flutter so high, so high that the sky doesn't even have such boundaries.

×××

Eilish is staring into the camera, and you're almost devouring yourself, wanting to become that damn, expensive lens with the green glass. Or better yet, right now you want to bite through the case of the tablet on which you're proofreading the next block of text from the interview, and lock your jaws together so that you can slice went right through, to a fine grid of chips on the display and a characteristic crunch. Because with Billie, motherfucker, Eilish, it's just impossible to be at a photo shoot, no matter how much you get used to it.. Impossibly hard burns a hole in you carnal lust and sublime aesthetic pleasure, which, by definition, and together should not be in any way, but inside you, on the contrary, mixed into the most scraggly and fiery Molotov. Eilish is the matchstick, you are so obedient and begging for the makeshift fabric "wick" that sticks out of the narrowest neck of the murky, amber-yellow bottle.

Billie puts both palms of her hands, practically fingertips to the plaid cap that covers her head in a skater's swagger, a hard visor to her right side, and you feel your lungs shudder, wanting to squeeze together in a scream like a pressurized balloon. You mutely swallow your own scream, staring back at the black, printed letters dancing in nonsense, only to stare at her again five seconds later, just for the last time. Just to feel like an elegant woodland deer running blindly into the headlights. And then she looks right at you.

She looks at you, and she doesn't even hide that assertive, confident grin of her, just raising the degree, while you stare at her like a statue. Because it's too beautiful, too hot, too natural. It's so O'Connell way alluring and trance-inducing, some kind of hypnosis of its own. Billie catches your embarrassment in a split second, when you barely a glance, not to fall, but to literally collapse into your proofreading and editing screen like an angel fallen from heaven. She waves her palm to the photographer, and therefore to the entire set crew, demanding a break, and she doesn't give a damn what they might think of her, what they already think. She walks toward you with a swift, imperious gait and she doesn't care. She grabs you by the waist in a bossy way, not forgetting the some tenderness inherent in her nature, and sneaks you into her dressing room, slamming the door shut, seemingly too loudly, but she's really indifferent. She tosses your clipboard, which you're prayerfully clutching, to her dressing table, and clutches you right in front of the same mirror, whispering fervently and seductively into your neck, her hands going under your shirt. Because she doesn't give a fuck. She wants you and you want her. And this reciprocity, this your unique gaze no one else, ready to stare at her forever, is more than enough. Her hoarse soprano whispers velvet "I want you" interspersed with "I love you" and it's enough for you, too.

Billie touches the fly of your dark jeans with her impatient fingers, "burns" the skin of your thighs with the silver of her rings, and you allow her everything, because you want it too. Because you love her.

×××

There is something particularly intimate about your life with Billie - your emotions, which you often hide from everyone, covering yourself with a safe smile like "lock", the "key" to which only she has, and the fact that she "steals" your clothes, often wearing them not only when you two are alone, but also when she go out in public. The second one works both for you and for you, because her closet - a priori completely yours, and your things forever smelled her warm, woody-vanilla scent, especially sharply imprinted on the collars, and it only soothes, protects, reminds of her. And one day these moments clash into one, the most special for you two.

You walk around your office in a restless whirlwind, unable to find such a necessary lunchtime calm, blazing with selective anger, absolutely uninhibited and unconstrained by the limits of censored and uncensored language, swing so much that the thin fabric of your paper-white, and like ink-stained shirt, so amusingly resembling a newspaper (a clever gift from Billie) swells up, rises up over and over again, almost extending beyond the line of your sturdy belt and the ridge of the waistband of your darkness pants. The censor clutches the magazine with sweaty palms, rustling the colorful gloss, shaking like a leaf, and you seem ready to kill. The veins in your neck are roiling from the flames of aggression, so conspicuous by the lack of the first buttoned button of your collar, and the poor guy swallows tightly as you repeatedly hissing "compliments" for him through your teeth. The mistake he rudely overlooked in print has given you headaches for days and provided the cell phone company with the lion's share of the profits - you're hanging on to several international calls at once, hopping from one line to another. And not even her perfume deposited on your collar calms your frantic thoughts, which is rare.

A knock on the door almost makes you hard slam your phone into the table you're leaning your hips against, eliciting a dragon-like loud, growling "request" that you not be disturbed. A second - and the coffee-dark door immediately opens fearlessly, revealing Billie. In her (your) black, space-glittering designer suit, at the ready with her serious, stinging cold endlessly permafrost blue gaze. The pearl necklace around her neck snaps tantalizingly as she points to the door with a nod to the intern, and he turns white as a sheet, shakes nervously, and tumbles, almost crawls out of the office on his knees - if only he would.

You close your fingers on the wooden surface of the desk hard and strong, trying to get your breathing back to a steady rhythm, but Billie only turns the locking mechanism on the door, disconnecting you from the rest of the world with a click, before he takes a few steps toward you and touches your face with his soft, delicate palms with slightly rough musical fingertips.

Her languid perfume hits your nose immediately, and like a concentrated dose of sedative, it travels through your blood vessels, reaching your heart, making it so warm-warm. Eilish catches the remnants of strong anger in the depths of your eyes and smiles so softly-softly, making them disappear quickly, like salt crystals in hot water. She, so specially beautiful, right off the carpet, styled and in your clothes, with sparkling silver sequins on her face and massive earrings that catch the glare of the white lamp. So beautiful and expensive. And you - so disheveled in your own fading aggression, panting. You whisper a million apologies about the defect of the upcoming issue of the magazine, and she just kisses you fervently - hotter, sweet, like the most delicious caramel. She bites your lip, demanding access, and then whispers into your mouth so swaggeringly about your sexy, hot-in-evil appearance that she get away with her ridiculous joke when she assures you that she "only wants to be on this front page", running her palms over your "newspaper" collarbones. Oh, and she gets on it! Her hickeys on your collarbones sting with fire, reminding you of themselves even under the thin fabric, and Eilish only laughs softly-softly, before settling into the chair across from you with her legs crossed in the lotus position. It's only an hour until the end of your workday, and she's here to pick you up. And to calm down, of course (but also to inflame you at home again).

×××

Billie sings and it is truly the most enchanting thing you've ever seen. Taking a place of honor backstage, you feel the waves of basses vibrating in your chest, rumbling all over the concert stage, and Billie shouts the words of new melodies into the crowd in a childish way, or musically pulls the notes, reminding the nymph herself by her charming sound, and you understand that you melt, melt from this whole contrast, from her energy, from herself. You like the way Eilish jumps, runs around the stage like an eagle, which makes her perfect earlier styling become outrageously careless, but so beloved and charismatic. I like how she languidly bends on the very floor of the stage, languidly whispering words into the microphone, than tears off the voices of thousands of spectators, and you every time become grateful to the red illumination as never before - Maggie behind it does not see your embarrassed blush, though she smiles understandingly, in a kindly sly way. But you favorite part is catching her at the end of the performances, when Billie rushes toward you, nearly leaping up a series of treacherous steps covered for a few moments by semi-darkness. She flies into your open arms with a force like a triumphant cannonball, and all you do is kiss the top of her shaggy head, clasping her in your arms, one hand holding a full, unopened bottle of water - especially for her. She laughs out loud, all sweaty and disheveled and wound up, with eyes that shine like footlights and you realize.

How much you want to follow her soul, protecting her.

I feel like it's been an eternity since you wrote, we miss you!!❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

Duuude! ♪⁠ ⁠\⁠(⁠^⁠ω⁠^⁠\⁠ ⁠)

I am so in awe of your message! ❤️‍🩹

Hey!! Just wanted to drop here and say that I love your writing style abd how you describe things. Your fics are one of my favourites to read on here. Thank you so much for writing them 💗💗

You make me purr like a contented cat, thank you for such warming words.

All the best! 🩷🫵🏻

There's a hundred of you guys here, and it's pure insanity. In the summer I would never have thought I would have so many, because the fact that you like my intricate texts, which I write in my native language (Russian) and then painstakingly translate into English, is amazing, a kind of nonsense. Thank you all for reading. You are all amazing!

And yes, I realize that I started to post something rarely, due to the beginning of my studies at the institute, but know that I already write something. I always do.

Thanks again for everything and have a great day! 🩷🪷

Okay guys, I've tried long enough to sketch something solid, but I'm so unhappy with what I'm getting with each attempt. I think I really need to pick up some ideas in my own head, but in the meantime I really want to hear a couple of your requests to refresh myself and find inspiration again.

Come on, ladies and gentlemen, the time for requests is now more than ever! 🍾🤭

baby when will we have another update??your last fic was heavenly 🙏🙏

Oooh, you flatter me, buddy :>

I've already started work on something special.

All the best for you!✌️

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: But now I'm underwater

A/n: Because of tight deadlines at work, you're stressed out, critically sleep deprived and overly addicted to coffee. Billie suggests that you distract yourself by watching a horror film, and you agree good-naturedly, unable to refuse her. What you haven't considered is the fact that stress, coffee and imagination are a potent mix. Billie finds an ingenious way to calm you down and unload the thoughts from your head.

Inspired by "WHEN I WAS OLDER".

The coffee, to put it as honestly as possible, makes you sick and nauseous to the point of godlessness, but you bring your lips to the ceramic edge of the beige mug once again, gulping down this dark concoction, drenched in milk for salvation. Over the past three days, it's become frankly unclear what your goals are: to finish the unfortunate paperwork, where the stack of documents resembles the world-famous Tower of Pisa? Or to completely eradicate the countless red blood cells in your body by forcing your heart to pump not blood but tart caffeine through your arteries? Too complicated a question to answer honestly, especially considering the almost three days where you slept a maximum of four hours at most, if not less.

You rest your elbows on the surface of the desk, buried in a makeshift fan of papers, and put your palms against your weary face, as if hiding from the letters. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out... You try not to go crazy in this stream of meaningless bureaucracy, and the phone under the pile of papers so treacherously pinging and you instantly want to start sobbing. Is it really again this annoying bosses?.. With your hands as if you were wiping off the accumulated fatigue from your face, getting out from under the saving "curtain" of your own fingers, but it's a sincere self-deception: the circles under your eyes as blue, and continue to blue, approaching the shade of indigo, and your fingers shake a little when you fish the phone out of the snow-white ocean of ink letters. A relaxed exhale rolls through the office and you allow yourself a slight smile, the very corner of your lips. It's just Billie. Although, considering that she's lowered your anxiety level with just one message, it's silly to use such a crude phrase as "just" in reference to her. Except you've been a little tight lately under the weight of circumstances, so you're forgiven.

"Hey."

Just like that, in three letters and without much meaning. You snort with a chuckle, interlocking the bridge of your nose with your fingers. The best you can come up with is to mirror her own message:

"Hey."

The dots under her avatar bounce around, revealing a response so fast that you don't even have time to think about blissfully covering your work-weary eyes for a moment.

"Oh, you haven't died over that nonsense yet, my workaholic."

"I swear I'd slap you a couple times if you were here, Eilish..."

Three dots bounce harmlessly, and with the appearance of a gray text border, hit you squarely in the solar plexus:

"I hope you'll slap my ass, Mommy? :)"

You are confused in words and thoughts that replace each other in your head with the third cosmic speed. You squint hard to stare stupidly at the display. Have I mentioned yet that your relationship with Billie is a highly ambiguous thing? No? Well, don't be surprised that you often have to deftly balance on the sharp edge of under-friendship and under-relationship as a couple. It's all too confusing, and you two just don't have time to deal with it: Eilish is flying to the other side of the world, or you're swamped with paperwork and frequent business trips. But with all this chaos you feel a strange comfort, that's why you don't hurry to change something, even if your heart beats much faster in the presence of her, it's don't care. Why touch something that already works, albeit with a kind of "crutch"?

"Yes, exclusively the your delightful ass. So sorry you're not here, such a moment gone."

Underneath the blue frame of your message, little gray letters and one thin check mark instantly pop up: 'read'. Billie's status changes to offline, but the phone in the palm of your hand immediately announces itself by ringing loudly. The screen offers two buttons as standard and snidely glares with letters and a pink emoji: "talented runt🩷". Okay, this is something you really didn't expect. You squeeze the green icon and your heart is already doing backflips right in your sternum, hitting your trachea just as you take a breath and lick your momentarily parched lips.

"Come out, dumbass, I'm waiting." - Eilish shoots out the words confidently, with a smirk audible even on the wire.

"What do you mean?" - you get up from your chair instantly, either feeling some sudden surge of long-abandoned strength or obeying her words unknowingly. You walk over to the window, and with both hands clasping the phone between your ear and shoulder, you wrap both hands around the rope hanging from the side of the blinds. The wide, vertical strips of lamellae rustle to become sideways, revealing a view of your front patio, and you ooze in surprise. - "Are you serious?.."

"That's the only way with you," - you see Billie leave the cabin, palm running her hand over the dark side of her Dodge, warmed by the verdant sun. - "I'm taking you to my place for a few days, no refusals are accepted."

"Why so royal, O'Connell?" - Sticking your gaze to the window, you frown, running your palm through your hair and ruffling it. - "What are you, my asshole boss?"

"With the way you're about to die at that fucking desk of yours if you don't have at least one distraction a night." - Eilish gales of giggles into the tube and turns around on the heels exactly to the window from which you stare at her, a word from the watchtower. She waves her hand at you, catching your stare and you can't contain the smile that blossoms on your face. - "And I'm deeply offended that you're comparing me to that old turd, know that!"

"And how do I make it up to you?" - you squint slyly, and Billie tsks so theatrically that it looks like some kind of acting sin.

"Going to see a horror movie with me right now, naturally."

"I'll be fired if I don't turn in my report today, Eilish." - you sigh heavily, turning your head toward your desk: the paper tower is momentarily overtaken by a wave of doom hidden in your gaze.

"It's high time you got the fuck out of there, and we both know it." - the voice from the phone has a seductively truthful huskiness and wind noise. - "And I just... I genuinely hate it when you're not appreciated, Y/n."

You sigh again, it seemingly heavier by another seventy and a half ounces than before, shifting your gaze back and forth to the ginormous stack, then to the window. A silence hangs on the wire and neither of you two are in a hurry to break it, only the occasional breeze walking down the street. A new deep breath makes the tired gears in your head finally stop, giving birth to the long awaited answer.

"Give me a couple minutes, I'll put on some decent clothes."

"I don't mind if you come out completely naked to me." - The huskiness in her voice immediately became more draughty, like the sweetest and most desirable molasses.

"Shut up, O'Connell," - you jump with a laugh without malice, covering your eyes with your hand and your newly leaping heart with a silly joke. With Eilish, sometimes it's just impossible. In every sense of the word.

×××

The shark cuts through the murky ocean surface with its sharp fin as easily and effortlessly as a sharp pair of scissors cuts through paper. Because of its nimbleness, you can't tell at once that it is a multi-pound killing machine created by the most peace-loving Mother Nature. The guy on the screen staggers away from the edge of the shoreline, landing with a thud on the loose sand on his ass covered in red pants. He crawls farther and farther away from the water, his feet digging into the sand, and the shark snaps its two rows of sharp teeth several times, not so much to get the poor guy as to laugh at him. You cover your eyes for a second, thinking about the fact that the shark is still too big even for the category of a giant, and then you are immediately and imperceptibly pulled into the darkness of the stubborn waves of sleep. Waves... Just like on a big TV screen: dark blue, in their foamy restlessness.

"Well, that's just downright idiotic, isn't it?" - Eilish chuckles softly, mingling annoyance with irony, and you open your eyes lazily, once again slipping back into tired reality. Lying on her soft thighs with your head overdone is lulling. - "Why don't you just wait for the rescuers?"

"Because it's a second-rate movie, Eilish," - you cover your lips with the palm of your hand, nimbly catching a bursting yawn. - "And in mainstream movies like this, the characters are, properly, genre stupid."

"I was betting on high internet ratings." - Billie mutters resentfully, swinging both arms out to the sides in a way so amusing that you chuckle quietly. Your eyes inadvertently cling to the line of her jaw so perfect in its perfection, sliding down her neck and next - her collarbones mostly exposed because of her tank top. Shit...

"A collapse of hope?" - Your voice is uncharacteristically husky, causing Billie to tilt her head down, leisurely examining every feature of your face. Blue irises immediately draw in the blue light from the TV, hypnotizing you into darkness. It seems that another minute of this gaze and you will drown. In her seas, however, it's only honor and out-of-this-world joy.

"You're sleepy, hey," - Eilish smiles that warm, motherly tinged smile and strokes your cheekbone with her thumb. You give in closer, almost falling apart in a purring sound like a petted cat, but you immediately pull yourself back. It seems unnecessary. Billie seems to have read you by your body language, because the calm blue of her eyes is broken by a prehensile whitish light of excitement. - "Relax, I'm all for it."

You smile softly, inhaling, and Billie looks with a mute question directly at you, stopping the rhythmic stroking. You squint slyly, mirroring her same line, only now live:

"Relax, I'm all for it..."

You cover your eyes again, blissfully letting go of your inner handrail of total control and anxiety. Should you grasp it so tightly when you two are happy with everything right now? Absolutely not. Eilish, who had previously been exploring your face with her gaze, now traces your features with her fingers, as if reading you like a kind of Braille script. The tips of her fingers feel so weightless, so pleasantly warm.

"Why didn't you tell me you wanted to sleep?" - her fingers touch the thin skin beneath your eyes, and you snort to yourself barely audible: her fingertips 'waltzing' on your blueness, mentally estimating how many mugs of coffee are now inside you. Oh, you don't even doubt it. - "Four?"

"Five." - you challenge her guess, receiving a sensual poke in the shoulder. - "The mug was always half milk, don't get mad."

"Knock it off, dumbass." - she touches your cheeks with her palms and you open your eyes, feeling the dreamy velvet of her skin. - "Your heart's going to pop out."

"Afraid someone will pick it up faster than you, Eilish?"

Billie is silent at first, flashing her eyes somehow unreadable to you, and then also smirking with that cheeky stroke of hers, smearing over any perception of her true emotions, but it doesn't all feel cloying, just hidden beneath a thin smoky veil.

"I don't like to lose my treasures, you know that."

"So I won't get lost." - you gently catch her wrist, entwining your fingers in a unique mutual symmetry, and Eilish leans a little lower and her well-groomed dark hair falls down over her face, hiding you both. - "And... I didn't tell you because I really enjoy spending time with you, even when I look more like the semblance of a walking corpse."

Also because I'm slowly falling in love with you, but I can't admit it.

"Stupid, I love you, you know?" - a white twinkle flickers again in the water's surface, reminiscent of the light of a saving beacon in the midst of a silent abyss. It seems to you that Billie leans even a little closer, even though in the semi-darkness it can really be written off as a work-weary mind. - "Go to sleep, I can't watch you torture yourself for me."

"Not until after the lullaby, Mom," - you twist your voice deliberately, making it sound childish and quiet. You rest your head comfortably on her delightful hips and stare expectantly, caressed by the intimacy of her gaze and strands of soft hair: like a single boat in a vast ocean, guarded reverently by sea nymphs and noisy sea foam, you are hidden in the darkness of a starless night from everyone and everything. - "Please."

Billie only smiles and takes the first note quietly, stroking your head leisurely and lovingly.

"Hmm..."

×××

"I'm on my back again."

You slam your shoulder blades into the boardwalk of the flimsy raft, and you really don't know if it's the cracking of the tall strips of wood or your own weary bones. You squint hard, echoing the hissing of the waves, and they immediately pelt you from head to toe, tearing you down and showering you with dead, salty cold. Your clothes, soaked to the skin, have long ago stuck to your body like a second skin, giving you no chance of even one fahrenheit of warmth, but only echoing the angry, howling owl-like wind and the ravenous, dark murk of the ocean water. You surface, it seems, for the seventh time, and with trembling hands you grasp again the edge of the raft, like a poor priest in exile for the Bible: desperately, with the last grains of faith falling through your fingers.

"Dreaming of a time and place, where you and I remain the best of friends. Even after all this ends..."

The waves are raging, whipping at your eyes fiercely, wanting to blind you and to penetrate your throat with their scalding drops. You are paddling with your legs with all your might, struggling, pulling yourself up on your weakened arms, and still nothing comes out. A new clap and you're off completely, the merciless waves press you with their thickness, drowning you. You twitch, wanting to dive out, and with your hands and feet you push the dark sea maelstrom away, but something seems to pull you to the deepest bottom, closing around your waist.

"Can we pretend?" - her voice, melded with the sound of the water, fills your ears and for a second you feel the warmth and softness of her palm, which grips you lifesavingly, closing your fingers gently. Your lungs burn from the lack of oxygen and you scream silently, releasing bubbles glistening under the faint rays into the blue darkness: you want to just drown, die and to stop this exhausting uraboros forever. But not with her.

"I'm on my, I'm on my back again."

A new pop shoots into the air as you touch your back to the raft again with force, as if falling from somewhere in the frowning, impenetrable black cloud-covered sky. A ragged exhalation leaves your sea-worn body, making your lungs rattle and tear streaks run down your pale, thin skin. With each such fall, you become more and more like a ghost. And you hear her more and more clearly.

"It's seeming more and more like all we ever do is see how far it bends," - your cold-blue lips move, releasing a white cloud of vapor into the aspic space of the sky, the only thing still warm here besides Eilish's palms. - "Before it breaks in half and then..."

"We bend it back again," - her whisper rustles in the storm as the sea picks up your raft like a feather. Her whisper is the only thing keeping you here. - "You'd really like it in the limelight, you'd sympathize with all the bad guys?"

"I'm still a victim in my own right," - you grin with a grin at the menacing clouds, and hungry water crawls onto your murdered raft, heralding a new upheaval. Intuition alarms the back of your head, telling you it could be fatal. - "But I'm the villain in my own eyes, yeah."

Clap! And you're underwater again, staring helplessly at your ungodly pale palms, stretched upward by the pressure of the water, to its very surface. Eilish is no longer whispering, and you see no point in fighting, accepting your own bitter lot that you have been hiding. No, not from her. From yourself.

"I love you, Eilish," - your lips are ajar, releasing small bubbles as your lungs slowly fill with water, burning through your ribs from lack. You stare after the bubbles, watching mortally as they float upwards and then burst. It's the only thing you have left. Now you slam your back against the side again and everything will be started again.... But only this time an incomprehensible dark spot is coming towards you like a torpedo from a submarine, cutting through the infinity of space around you with its powerful body. You catch the glint of sharp teeth bared in two aligned rows and forcefully push the oxygen out of your chest, shaking the abyss in a scream that finally sounds.

×××

"Shark!" - You jump up startled from the couch, spinning the soft plaid over you in an awkward whirlwind. Your heel steps on the very edge of the fabric and you fall thunderously to the floor, driving your back on the gray armrest of the sofa, causing a lump of deja vu to stick in your throat, preventing you from breathing properly. It's almost like being on that damn raft. You hear something in the hallway quickly tsk in your direction and just stare, shivering in the imaginary cold. Have you lost your mind already?

A gray pit bull snorts, appearing in the doorway, expressing concern. His blue eyes stare at you unblinkingly before he runs up to you and sits his full weight on your legs. The dog whines, licking you on the line of your chin, his muzzle pulling higher and higher as if It's like he feels and wants to figure out what you're scared of. Just like his mistress. It's just Shark's goody-goody in front of you, which means it was just a dream. You take your first steady, almost relaxed breath.

"Thanks, buddy." - you gently stroke Shark's stately muzzle, to which he squints his eyes contentedly, snuggling closer and you feel warm. - "Don't worry, just a mine bad dream."

A new stomp disrupts your little idyll, making look into the doorway with not one, but two pairs of eyes anymore. You both know who it is, but you stare mesmerized anyway, until the inky head and piercing ocean blue of the gaze emerge from the darkness.

"Hey, are you okay?" - Billie crosses the space of the room so quickly, ending up next to you, that you have to blink in disbelief. She sits down next to you, leaning side by side, and burrows her fingers into the short gray fur on Shark's sturdy side, scratching. The pit bull grunts, summarizing contentment with the whole situation. - "I heard a shriek, and then this little brat ran toward you. Bad dream?"

"There is such a thing." - you smile, feeling the warmth around you crawl almost into your very heart, nesting there as a brightly colored bird. - "I guess you could say I dreamt about you."

"You gonna tell me?" - Billie spreads her legs a little to the side, bumping her knee against yours unobtrusively, but you sense something in that small movement, as you do in her attentive gaze.

You draw in a breath to start arranging your words properly in the air, and Eilish immediately puts her index finger to your lips.

"Wait, I have a weird idea." - her warm chuckle purrs pleasantly in the semi-darkness before drowning out in the rustle of clothes as Billie rises to her feet, giving you a hand. - "Take the plaid and come with me, please."

And now you are here - sitting together in the cabin of her car, wrapped in a home-made plaid, and through the open door looking at the quietly splashing ocean of a deserted night beach, while she embraces you from behind securely, firmly. Shark scurries along the sandy edge of the shore, trying to bite the playful sea foam with his teeth, but immediately sticks out his tongue in frustration: it's too salty. You chuckle as Billie remains philosophically silent, digesting your story. Indeed, she was right: the view of the calm seascape is soothing, even with your nightmare fresh in your mind. What can I say, Billie's embrace is the perfect lifeline.

"So... How did the sensation of my presence make you feel?" - her hot fingers nervously rub the edge of your voluminous T-shirt as if waiting for a command or a starting shot. - "Were you afraid of the sea?"

"I wanted to fight to the end, as long as I could hear you," - you smile, watching Shark stride toward you, awkwardly shaking her hind paws off the wet sand. - "Even though the sea was insanely cold."

You cover her palms with yours, deftly ducking under the hem of your t-shirt with her, deliberately slow, giving her a chance to pull back if she wants to. The skin-to-skin contract makes you both flinch (you can literally feel Eilish's anxiety in your backs), but Billie pauses for a second, then rises a little higher, reaching her palms to the center of your waist. Her palms, devoid of any of the silver bands of the rings now feel especially trembling, hot. You are both defenseless against each other.

"But why?" - Her husky voice excitement, tickles touching the curl of your ear.

"I just... realized something back there in the dream," - The dog flops to your feet, spinning playfully in the sand and you parenthetically groan. - "While I was underwater."

Eilish so deftly turns you around to face her, ignoring the height difference, and palms your face. In the white light of the salon, her blue eyes sparkle with intense blue luminescence, dissected by a white light of hope. Everything confusing instantly becomes so clear and readable when she finally allows you to peer into her soul straight through her captivating oceanic abysses.

"Nobody lonely like I'm lonely and I don't know whether," - the thumb of her right hand gently strokes the very corner of your lips as she clings to your soul with her eyes, as if afraid to let herself off the hook of her own conjecture into the wading cold waters of despair. - "But really, why? Tell me the truth."

"I could drown, but now I'm under the water of only your stupid and unforgettable beautiful eyes, Eilish. It's simply impossible to drown twice." - you hide your hands behind your back in embarrassment, but you don't take your eyes off her an inch. - "And I love you, it's just that simple."

Billie stares at you in silence, and then in one movement she touches your cold lips with her heated ones so leisurely and tastefully that you cover your eyes in pleasure, realizing that she is smiling right in the middle of a kiss. Her hands, having been on your cheeks all this time, slide slowly back to your waist, stroking your shoulders with pressure and very lightly, as if in counterbalance, your breasts. She bites your lip, asking for more and dropping a lot "I love you" with an excited gasp, like a precious sea pearl.

"Please let me be your personal sea for life, my brave sailor."

And you only manage to nod in agreement, tearing breaths before she pulls you into another kiss, knocking your pulse racing. Just like the sea. Your own private sea.

Hey baby, I miss the polls like crazy to choose your next writing, when are you coming baack?

Literally a couple of hours later, I had almost finished this closest-to-my-heart textual goodie. And yes, I am so madly waiting for your wish, I remember about you don't worry.

All the best to you, you've made my writing heart happy!

🩷

dudeeI had missed your posts, that was incredible

You're incredible, heh. Thanks for the support dude, it really means a lot to me.

All the best! 🩷🫂

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: Three nine five six

A/n: Eilish plunges headfirst into the maelstrom of the downside of his popularity when a crazed fan kidnaps you.

Inspired by "THE DINER".

Warning: blood, kidnapping, moral suasion!

"Relax, Eilish, it's okay!" - is a kind of mantra that you say for nearly the hundredth time that day. Billie is frantic with worry, having been on alert all day, not realizing the truth of the reason herself, but her gut is churning and choking in panic attacks, causing you to repeat it again and again, scattering the letters in the air as many times as she needs.

"Really sure you don't need security? I still want to put some trustworthy guys on you."

Billie's voice twitches slightly on the other side of the tube, and you only let a slight, almost audible chuckle pass through your lips. Security? You're just her girlfriend, not a Hollywood celebrity like her or her brother, why would you want that? You hum to yourself and grip the steering wheel a little tighter with your hand, steering a little to the right along the highway markings.

"Is it just me, or did something happen?" - You glance in the rearview mirror, making sure there's no one behind you, and level off in the lane. Your eyes cling one last time to the red numbers on the dashboard before they stick to the windshield again. It's almost midnight. No wonder you're alone.

"No, it's just..." - Billie stumbles over the letters in confusion, hovering in silence for a couple seconds as you drive into the sprawling tunnel in front of you. - "Just some kind of bad feeling."

"Relax, Eilish," - you chant for the hundred and first time, which makes your phone exhaling heavily in your ear. You smile, imagining her rolling her blue skies slightly in a characteristic gesture. - "Yeah, yeah, I know I've been telling you that all day, honey."

"Where are you now?" - you hear the rustle of sheets in the background, which in the darkness of the tunnel seems very seductively intimate, making you want to cover your eyes in the moment and give in to your not-so-decent daydreams, but you can't. - "How much farther?"

"No, not much left," you reply, clasping the phone tighter in your left hand. - "About twelve and a half miles, I think."

"Call me as you pull up, I'll meet you," Billie purrs huskily, and pleasant goosebumps run up the back of your neck in a sly flock. - "And please be careful on the road."

You nod, but then you're immediately catching yourself, realizing she can't see you. You say yes with a warm tenderness under your heart, and then she's resets the call, leaving you alone with the silence of the salon car. You are too lazy to touch the media panel to let the music flow through the cabin, too well in the flow of your thoughts, from which you surface periodically, without losing sight of the rapid asphalt ribbon, located under the four wheels. And only a huge white SUV, suddenly appearing on your left side, makes you deafeningly confused, especially if you take into account the fact that it is stubbornly following you, not missing a single turn for ten minutes already. Maybe you're just getting yourself worked up for nothing. Is there any chance it's just Billie's mood transferring to you? You fumble for your cell phone in your jacket pocket, unmistakably dialing the numbers from memory: three one zero-eight zero seven-three nine five six. The green call button is like the final cherry on the creamy top of a cupcake of worry and suspicion.

You nod, but then you're immediately catching yourself, realizing she can't see you. You say yes with a warm tenderness under your heart, and then she's resets the call, leaving you alone with the silence of the salon car. You are too lazy to touch the media panel to let the music flow through the cabin, too well in the flow of your thoughts, from which you surface periodically, without losing sight of the rapid asphalt ribbon, located under the four wheels. And only a huge white SUV, suddenly appearing on your left side, makes you deafeningly confused, especially if you take into account the fact that it is stubbornly following you, not missing a single turn for ten minutes already. Maybe you're just getting yourself worked up for nothing. Is there any chance it's just Billie's mood transferring to you? You fumble for your cell phone in your jacket pocket, unmistakably dialing the numbers from memory: three one zero-eight zero seven-three nine five six. The green call button is like the final cherry on the creamy top of a cupcake of worry and suspicion.

"Wow, you're here already?" - Billie grins softly at you through the tube, and your heart, stuck in your very windpipe, settles a little, lulled by her voice. - "That was quick, I wasn't expecting that."

"I suspect I'm in a bind," you frown, running your eyes over the white metallic of the car in your rearview mirror again. Damn, you going to have to bother her after all. - "Your bad felling may have turned out to be extremely correct, Eilish."

Silence spreads through the tube like a spider cunningly weaving a beautiful web of webs. Eilish exhales raggedly and scowls seriously, like a proud eagle. You can't see her, but you're absolutely certain it is.

"What do you mean?"

"Some car has been following me for about ten minutes now," - you cling reflexively with your fingers to the metal knob of the lever from the gearbox, as if to fit all the experiences of three seconds in there. - "And he almost bumps his bumper into my ass from his own eagerness."

"Where are you now?" - you hear the stomping and rustling of fabric dissected by the seriousness of her voice. - "I'm on my way to meet you right now!"

"Chill out, Bils, this just might be you and I sharing a little paranoia," - you push the gas pedal a little harder, tilting it to the floor with the very tip of it. No one's going to ban you in an attempted breakaway, right? - "Just... memorize this asshole's number just in case, okay?"

And you dictate the number from the iron plate of the next car, and Billie obediently swallows digit after digit, drinking the rattling mixture with her own rushing excitement, which is like a hot geyser. She asks you to stay in touch and her voice is jarring, and she's not even going to hide it, because you're far more important than her own sense of cool and cool.

"I have something to tell you about, so don't you dare disappear now," - the chains around her neck jingle threateningly. - "Otherwise I'll go crazy."

You only have to open your lips in response, as everything blends into a continuous lump of actions, pictures and sounds: the engine of the Japanese SUV rumbles at the very exit of the tunnel, in a couple of seconds equal to you side by side, and you in one sharp movement find yourself as if between a hammer and anvil, when the car wiggles in your direction, clamping uncompromisingly your sedan between the concrete wall of the tunnel that knows no mercy and themself. By virtue of inertia, shards of left door glass fly loudly into the cabin, the word shrapnel, predatorily scratching your face and hands, and the body sags in an arc to the left. You smack the back of your head against the back of the seat and the world blurs a little, it is only nausea that comes from the very bowels to your throat. You feel the heat in your rib area and yelp, immediately placing your palm there.

"Y/n!" - Billie yells, wheezing with her marvelous vocal cords, and you squint, trying to piece together what happened. - "What happened? Don't be quiet!"

"Call the police," - you sluggishly move your tongue as the imaginary hoop closes around your head, manifesting as a throbbing pain. Your ears begin to buzz as if you were leaning expectantly against a shell, wanting to hear the sound of waves raging near the shore. Eilish is shouting something again uncontrollably, and you can't make it out behind the veil of sounds anymore. - "I'm sorry."

The light ahead of you cuts your eyes so hard that you cover your eyelids, exhaling, albeit with a dull ache, as blissfully as after confession. Your consciousness drifts somewhere through the darkness and the only thing you can make out in the cacophony of noise is the slamming of a Japanese car door.

×××

Billie is like a mentally ill person, shackled in a straitjacket. She sits in the back seat of one of the police cars, stiff and hunched over like an old woman, although inside she is tearing up and rushing, pulling out her own hair with her fingers. Maggie hugs her daughter as best she can because of the tension in her seatbelt, strokes her parentally on the shoulder, and Eilish sinks into the maelstrom of tics that has long since subsided in the last few years. She throws her head up, twitching as if she were a broken puppet in the hands of a puppeteer, her hands digging into her own knees: she wants to howl, like a devil rejected even by hell itself. From the understanding of her own guilt, tears flow stream after stream, outlining the salty "rivers" of tears that have just dried up and wiped away by the hurried hand again. She dials your number again, and in response only silent beeps and nothing more. Nothing that will calm her down even a little.

She'd noticed the tape recorder and note threateningly planted in the kitchen of her country house through the window a week ago and hadn't done a damn thing about it, writing you off as It's all up to chance. Without revealing anything so as not to scare you, she became extremely insistent on offering you a security escort, to which you responded with a clear refusal every time. She listened to you, believed like a foolish heretic your arguments about your relative obscurity to the public and is now paying the price. At that time the proceedings of an entire police force yielded no results and no answers, and now she's riding in that damned police car accompanied by three more.

"It's my fault, Mom," - her voice is hoarse and her gaze is like a solid blue abyss, so dead cold. - "It's my fault to her, so fucking guilty..."

Eilish babbled like a lunatic, but Maggie only snuggled closer to her, hugging her in a head-to-toe embrace. The seat belt has long since been sent to hell, and she frankly doesn't care when her child suffers. She says something comforting, and Billie doesn't hear much, because there's only one thing in her head, round and round, like expensive vinyl: "Relax, Eilish, it's okay."

"Relax, Eilish, it's okay," - the younger O'Connell sniffles, howling like a wolf cub, snuggling into her mother's neck and nose drawing out the pleasant scent of vintage floral perfume, as she used to do as a child. - "That's what she used to tell me, Mom."

When they arrive, Eilish's legs are shaky and she almost tends to collapse to the pavement like a downed bird in flight, if it weren't for her father's timely arrival. Maggie looks down at the side of the sedan and sighs, holding both her palms to her mouth, Finn's arms around her. The cops are quick and efficient in fencing off the car, stretching yellow ribbons around the perimeter, a color that makes Eilish grind her teeth, but they ask them to stay close, and the four of them walk on: Billie on her stiff legs, Meggie dropping tears quietly, and Finneas and Patrick, silent and as focused as they've ever been. The tall, like stern cane-wielding investigator asks for a statement, and Eilish notices the small specks of blood on the steering wheel, wanders with eyes maddened in their mute scream at the dents on the left side of the hull and wants to just disappear, to fall through the cold asphalt. Straight to where you are now, and she doesn't care what hell she's in. The man steps back and Billie - shaking hands in her pockets, an icy stare and not a hint of a smile. She doesn't cry anymore, just stares at the crumpled car for half an hour and waits. She has nothing else to do but berate herself every second, putting weights on her innocent heart, conscience and soul.

"She's alive, I can feel it." - Billie babbles as the small black van moves in their direction, and Finn throws the plaid over her fragile shoulders, and with it a new exorbitant weight that makes her heart nearly rip into scarlet shreds in her sternum from the excess weight.

The phone in her hand vibrates and hums a familiar tune that makes you forget how to breathe at all: your contact is flashing on the display. The officer standing next to the O'Connells immediately shouts loudly, summoning an equipment specialist before Eilish can even pick up the phone.

"Hello?"

×××

You close your eyelids over and over again, and the result is the same, no matter how much effort and faith you put into it - the coldness of the concrete walls of a small garage painted a hideous deep blue, the psychedelically blinding light from a light bulb hanging from above that lives only on a thin wire. Tied with a strong knot of rope, your hands become numb behind your back with the approach of time, which adds to the apathy of your position. You try one more time, shaking the possible nightmare from your tired eyes, but to no avail. This is reality.

"Fuck..." - You swallow tightly, kneading at least your shoulders as best you can. In other respects you're hindered by the chair you're also firmly tied to. It's just like the cliched, low-budget Hollywood movies you hate so much. - "Oh, shit."

The words in your head are still confused, while you are so mercilessly sick for the hundredth time. On the plus side, it's like your head hurts a little less, and you can finally hear something other than the maddening noise, and on the minus side, you can feel your rib flare off with every breath you take, sending swirls of pain through your body. You also hear footsteps clawing purposefully towards you. Fuck.

"Hey, you," - the wooden door slams shut, and you squeeze your eyes shut, unable to cover your ears with your palms. Immediately, however, you looking around full dazedly, feeling the guy roughly put your own cell phone to your ear. - "Say 'hi' to my girl!"

He smiles, and you frown your eyebrows, defensively hiding the burning fear burning through your insides behind the supposed steel in your gaze. He squeezes out that nasty grin, and you want to either spit in his face or laugh, babbling madly and throwing back your head as high as you can.

"Hello?" - you hear Eilish's infinitely nervous voice and all the steel falls to the floor, leaving you completely defenseless and helpless. - "Please tell me it's really you..."

"I'm sorry," it's so stupid and inappropriate, but you don't really know what else to say when silver rivers start to come to your eyes, stoically lodged in the very corners of your eyes. A frozen desperation that you will only show to her and no one else. - "I... yes, my dear, it's me."

And you are immediately struck on the cheek by a wiry palm, painful and whiplashing. You pull the steel mask back on, as if picking up the remnants of the metal from the floor with your hands. It doesn't matter if your palms trembling feverishly.

"Shut up! Don't call her that!" - A shout right in your face chips a spray of spit, and you frown your eyebrows again, remaining silent. The guy takes the phone back and the smile on his face returns, calm and dreamy enough to turn any notion of surrealism into sharp shards. You catch the rumbling notes of lingering madness in his eyes and you twitch. A chair leg creaks. - "I've done everything you asked, my love, now it's your turn."

"I'll be there, love." - Billie's voice echoes on the speakerphone, contributing to the illusion of your madness, which makes you almost jumping up in a chair, but all the fervor fades as soon as you catch the glint of a revolver across the room. - "I keep my promises, don't I, baby?"

"I saw you on the screens," the guy's hands lock on the massive grip, releasing the revolver from its holster, and you swallow your anxiety in barely cisterns. The smile on his smooth-shaven face is a schizophrenic spasm, a grimace of pure terror. - "I know we're meant to be, but please don't call the cops, they'll make me stop and I just wanna talk."

"Never." - Billie's voice is sweet and cloying enough that a other man would smell a catch a hundred thousand miles away, but your captor doesn't care so much, he's completely oblivious to it, stumbling into another raking wave of madness in his head. The pictures of events in your head add up, probing her idea: they take time to track the signal of your phone. - "Only if you promise not to do anything with my... toy, right?"

"You could be my wife..." - The skinny madman pulls the trigger, pacing back and forth from you, and you just stare, ducking your head to the floor like an innocent lamb. As long as you don't provoke him, you give police the time what it's needs. - "Could get into a fight I'll say you're right and you'll kiss me goodnight."

"Bet I could-"

The shot is an aggressive clapper bouncing off the walls with a pop. Billie fractures every unspoken letters and screams into the throat like a gargoyle offended by the fire of the Inquisition: nettlesome and hoarse, until his ligaments burst. Only then do you feel the heat in your knee, and the growing pain with every millisecond that paralyzes you almost entirely. You look down and gasp: a scarlet bud is blooming on your light-colored pant leg, spreading rapidly across the fabric. You sigh too loudly, biting your lower lip until it bleeds, and the pain irrodes copper-hot through your leg.

"Three nine five six." - The guy laughs gleefully, cranking the hot drum of his revolver with his thumb, and you howl wolfishly as you naively try to straighten your leg before everything turns back into a jumble of indistinct images: the door flies off its hinges, practically splintering into splinters, and like confetti for a show, reveals not a celebrity but a five-man SWAT team in full communication. One second, and your kidnapper is face-impressed into the floor to the measured murmur of men's voices. Another, and you realize that one of them is cutting the ropes knots restraining you with a knife.

"All clear, over."

×××

The paramedics carefully transfer you to the stretcher, and you only watch as space is blurred ahead by a swift, low figure. Eilish runs, no, practically flies, having previously sent any yells flying at her back far away.

"Alive, alive... My girl..." - And her arms wrapped gently around your shoulders are such hot, sensory-enhancing amulets.

And you cry, dropping silver snakes of fear on the sleeves of her voluminous sweater, bumping your nose with a howl of despair, but she only moves closer, giving you a breath puffed up in a hurry and hoarseness settled in the most secret place of your heart:

"Alive..."

Baby, I was checking your account and I have to say, what the fuck? God, everything is written so beautifully, but I have a small question, do you accept requests? Because of all your work, none of it is a request, how do you have so much imagination!!?? I admire you for that

〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜

Yes, that emoji above is literally me right now. Thank you sincerely for such nice words!

Yes, I'm taking requests because I really still want to keep trying my hand at this, BUT, before I really have to finish those two pieces of mine that I promised a long time ago (I'm already a little embarrassed with myself, heh)

So dude, I'm waiting for your request, go for it.

Have a good day! 🐉

dudee we miss your updates 🫶🫶

Oooh, touched to the core :>

Patience my dear friend, I want to create something really delicious for my second idea.

Have a nice day! 🫂❤️

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: The Countess's carriage

A/n: You get your driver's license, and Billie just likes to mess around sometimes.

Billie's point of view. Small references to "Oxytocin".

"Okay guys, we're done, you're packing up the equipment! You all did a great job!" - The photographer gives the command and his booming voice shaking the bright studio like a fairy-tale giant easily lifting a log cabin into the air, and for a second it seems that even the huge vertical plane of the cyclorama behind me is swaying, absorbing his powerful, bassy voice. Something reminiscent of huge stage speakers, quite amusing. - "Thank you more for such a pleasant cooperation, Ms. O'Connell."

The stocky man smiles as kindly as if he were a boy of five, making his truly French mustache bounce upward in curls. And he himself is a living embodiment of Parisian chic, making an impression of some incompatible between windiness and seriousness. Chinos pants in gray plaid, expensive white shirt that is deliberately not buttoned up on the first button, black classic Vans slip-ons, brown jacket, and his majesty - yellow scarf. It's like I never left Paris, a really wonderful photographer.

"Just Billie," - I sank blissfully into the blue pouffe with my foot on the leg, - "and thank you, it's mutual."

The good-natured uncle walks away, looking at the camera screen with incredible satisfaction as he walks (perhaps even calculating the profits from the magazine covers, as evidenced by his dreamy feline smile), and I can finally exhale, relaxed. When I lean my head back and close my eyes for a few seconds, the studio around me is as noisy as a forest: someone removes the nozzle from the softboxes with a characteristic rustle like the sound of leaves, or heared alternating clicks that make the studio lights go out, reminiscent of a woodpecker's knocking on wood. And it's all mixed in with the rushing of people stomping around, muffled speech that I'm not really trying to make out. With an exhalation I open my eyes leisurely, and while long-legged tripods and reflectors, so similar to buds opened under the sun, are "flying by", I fumble for my phone in the pocket of baggy jeans. Even in this consonance of work noise, I hear most sensitively the sound of the notification from you. Or maybe I don't hear it, but already feel it in my heart, who knows? A light swipe up and our chat window obediently pops up. Emoji of a burning heart in place of name and your photo in the profile circle, where you deliberately playfully shine your sharpened bare collarbones, which for me is the most delicious cherry that I want to savor on my tongue.

"Hey, guess who can surpass you on the road now? 〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜"

A warm smile spreads on my lips: your efforts have really paid off despite the itchy worries in your soul. So proud of you, though I can't help but tease jokingly - the newfound opportunity is too sweet, since you and I can have such an unconditionally good time.

"Debatable about surpassing me, my girl..." - And immediately followed by a new blue cloud of a message that slipped right out from under my fingers. - "But I'm eternally proud of you, you're incredible."

"Then why does it look like you want to take me on as a bet, Eilish?"

Bingo. As soon as I slyly cast my rod, you immediately swallow the bait, even knowing full well what's involved. Your deliberate submissiveness is so enticing, it makes me bite my lower lip, automatically stoking the hungry flames of my obscene thoughts. The false fang scratches my lip from the excessive pressure. Shit... Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a tall, thin shadow looming over me, causing me to raise my head, reflexively blocking my screen.

"Billie, ready to go yet?" - Laura smiles, holding the thick day planner in one hand and holding it out to me with the other like a caring fairy godmother. I nod and immediately brag to get up from the blue ottoman in one motion. - "You look a little tired, dear, but luckily that was the last activity for today."

"And this is coming from a person who should be on a well-deserved vacation twice already, but has been putting it off for about six months now," - I chuckle, and Laura playfully folds her fingers pistol-wise, tucking her "sacred" texts under her armpit. A few impromptu shots, and I play along like an unlikely Hollywood movie actor, grabbing dramatically at the heart. - "Okey, my lip zipped."

"That's right!" - Ramsey, with a cheeky grin, alternately blows imaginary smoke off her fatal "weapon" before she get back in the same mood. - "Should I call a driver to give you a ride home?"

"No, that's okay,"- I sluggishly wave her off as the two of us weave our way toward the exit of the room, keeping our course toward the intricate weave of several dark corridors and dressing rooms. - "Better tell me, can I keep those awesome fangs?".

"I think, for a small fee, it's quite possible."

"Great!" - I dip my hand into my pocket again, unintentionally blinding myself with the display in the unfamiliar darkness at first. My fingers immediately touch the necessary letters, as if in a sharp and passionate tango. - "Simply marvelous."

One can now tread on this fragile ice far more confidently than before.

"It is, I want." - The blue cloudlet goes to you, losing the final "you" along the way, which I did, after all, erase as soon as I typed it. Not because it's not true, but because it's too boring and stupid to open all the cards at once. - "Will you pick me up?"

Two thin, white checkmarks appear almost immediately in the corner, notifying me that it's been read. The three dots at the top of the screen bounce meditatively as I say goodbye to Laura, who's walking further down the maze of narrow corridors, and I'm touch the handle of the dressing room with the palm of my hand as I make mine way inside.

"Yeah, only if you're want ride on a bicycle." - The words skillfully build into your traditional irony, and I can hold back a burst of laughter. - "I don't have a car yet, and I don't think you're so dreamy about having all of LA running after us when they recognize you."

"Take my Dragon, and show me what you can do. I'll be waiting."

I write the address and set the phone back down on the table contentedly, settling into the high chair in front of the mirror: I smile languidly, and a pair of snow-white fangs and silver grillz catch the glow of light from the warm backlighting running along the mirror frame. The silver star shining especially brightly. I notice the playful blue sparks in my gaze that flicker with the stirring dirty thoughts already running rampant in my head. Well, this is going to be fun!

×××

As soon as I leave the building through the back door, under the usual escort of two trustworthy guards and the responsible Laura, I hear the familiar, soft rumble of the engine and my favorite rustle of wheels in the deep dark blue twilight: you pull into the parking lot like a careful panther, so as not to attract unnecessary attention. Although I know how much you want to make noise for the whole block and press the gas pedal to the floor. I like to do that. And I think I like to see you driving my car, which I'm just now finding out.

"You're too sexy against the obsidian black metallic, you know that?" - I dive into the passenger seat, which feels a little unfamiliar, and you almost drop your jaw to the floor of the cabin in surprise when I look at you defiantly from under my dark glasses and smile. I bite my lip deliberately, setting the stage. - "You like it?"

"Insanely." - You look adoringly into my blue waters, so beloved of you, and I can't hold back a slight blush, immediately covering myself with a smirk. - "You seem to have surpassed even Carmilla herself, Countess."

"I hope the first vampire in the history of literature doesn't take too much offense at me." - I grab to my seatbelt, letting a chuckle pass through my lips.

"She will. It's impossible to be offended by you."

As we pull out of the parking lot, the right to stare elegantly becomes my authority, which you've unknowingly handed over to me, as if you've performed a gothic sacrament in the semi-darkness of the cabin by your mere appearance and demeanor. The massive gold chain that weighs so seductively on your neat neck is worth it. And the long coffee-colored jacket that accentuates your sculpted shoulders? My gaze falls on the thin strap threaded into the laces of your casual pants - the belt plaque is gold-plated, too. You lower your right hand, gently touching the gearshift knob, and I stare so dumbly, hungrily outlining each phalanx and the line of rings playing on your beautiful fingers. Oh my God... You're doing absolutely nothing obscene, and I'm practically dying already.

"Is everything okay?" - you ask, not taking your eyes off the road. Your face is so unaccustomedly focused, though I catch some concern in your gaze.

"Just admiring you," - I take off my sunglasses, clinging them with one earpiece on the collar of my T-shirt. - "And... I wanted to offer you something."

"Listening attentively, my Countess." - You look at me expectantly, just as we slow down at the stoplight waiting for the signal, a purring chuckle on your lips. - "Anything for your gothic majesty, the finest carriage at your service."

"Is it really the best? It's not like I'm driving right now." - A smirk shoots up on its own, causing you to do nothing but tsk tsk and roll your eyes theatrically. You're my flawless opera.

"Stop taunting and tormenting me and tell me what you're up to, slick."

The air sticks in my throat barely in time to form meaningful words, or at least syllables: a red Audi comes nose to nose, honking softly. My hands reach for mine glasses, clawing them back onto my face as a kind of reflex. And you're instantly taut, like a string twisted in the right direction by a peg on top of the fingerboard. Hands on the handlebars in perfect position, for all the flashy high marks. Again another slight honk of a car suddenly appearing nearby breaks the silence of the night.

"Did I do something wrong?" - You ask perplexedly, arching your eyebrows slightly in a frown and turning your head toward the window, just in time for the expensive source of the rich scarlet-colored sound. The Audi immediately winks playfully at you a couple times with its high beam lights, making you squint more and more with the question hovering right above your head.

"No, relax." - I run my hand down your thigh, which immediately tenses under my palm. You turn your gaze back to me, still as questioning, but you spread your leg closer to me without further ado. You're so obedient, it's a miracle. - "It's just that you're being called to a stoplight race."

"Uh, just like in the movies?"

"Uh-huh." - I slide my hand thigh , down to your knee to come back up and rest on the border of my inner thigh. The look is attentive, eye to eye, you're not even looking down yet. - "When two or more drivers in expensive cars meet randomly on the road and try to prove who is 'cooler' by overtaking each other, flashing high beams, playing 'checkers' usually with significant speeding."

"And... How do I win?" - My palm dives down, and you start breathing a little confused, which someone else wouldn't even notice unless you knew you properly. But I do know, and that brings a satisfied smile as if on cue. - "Eilish..."

"I'll tell you if you promise to grant my wish," I return back, squeezing your thigh through the fabric of your pants. - "Whatever it is."

"I promise." - You nod confidently, even without any pause. A small spark of excitement shines in the depths of your pupils. Wonderful.

"Usually this sort of thing ends with one heavily outmaneuvering the 'opponent', like while he's stopped at a stoplight, bumping into slow traffic, and stuff like that." - I lower my glasses a little, peeking over the edge of the frame. Your gaze drifts momentarily to the rich blue of my lashes, and then you're back at the mercy of my calculating eyes. - "Racing from stoplight to stoplight, usually starting on green, then rapid acceleration, 'checkers' and braking before the next stoplight.

"Well, there's no other cars here now, obviously."

"In our case, all we have to do is run a green light to get our opponent 'stuck' into a red light." - feeling the coolness of the gearbox knob with the palm of my hand is nice, even sitting in the passenger seat, even if it feels completely different. - "Roar if you want to compete."

You pause for a second, arching your back into the seat, staring appraisingly at the distant traffic light in front of you, and then place your hands on the steering wheel. Seeing the blue ribbons of your veins on your tense wrists is pure sex. You squeeze the gas pedal, shaking the silence of the intersection with a powerful roar - and that's sex multiplied by x-two. You really know how to make the Dragon sound. And I know how to make you sound. The scarlet Audi responds immediately, making noise and "shooting" the engine in a cocky, open and brazen challenge.

"I dibs pay on the fines, Eilish." - you exhale tensely with a chuckle, staring at the red light as if someone's life depends on it. Oh, you're nervous as if you're on your deathbed, waiting with your hand clasped on the handle.

"The Countess is betting all her treasure on you, my coachman." - I lean back in my chair with too much wimpy pathos on my tongue, and as I smile my teeth catch the glow of the streetlights again, which is especially visible in the side mirror. Red changes to yellow, to which the Audi growls again, and you don't make a single extra move, just wait. - "Prove it to me what you better."

Five seconds of silence - the yellow cycles to green. And you sharply push the knob on the box forward in a split second, at the same time pressing the pedal to the floor. The wheels grind to a devilish speed, and I'm immediately sealed into the seat. It's pure madness, but I like it. The Audi pathetically "shooting" the exhaust pipe, being bumper to bumper with you again. At the last decisive meters, when the green circle blinks, as if saying goodbye for a while, and the "Dragon" on half a bumper rushes forward, you confidently pull the handle a little on itself, including the second gear, then - clutch, smooth wheel spin, gas. With a whistle of tires, you fly sideways behind the traffic light hanging from above, immediately leveling off to the proper lane and driving away, kicking up dust. The red Audi stays behind the red light, a little further away.

With the realization of the outcome, we yell something unintelligible to each other, me nearly bouncing out of my seat even though I'm buckled in, you, a five-finger running through your hair disbelievingly while the road is still empty.

"Wow, I definitely have one of the best carriages of all," I whisper half hoarsely, feeling the tight ligaments in my throat peppering.

"And yet not the best?" - you pout playfully, biting down on the bottom one so your smile doesn't give you away. Still too flighty and excited from the dose of adrenaline shooting through your bloodstream. - "I won, hey!"

"You won, but you didn't win against me," - I show you my tongue, sticking it exactly in the gap between my fangs, and you laugh childishly. There's no hint of resentment or anything like that on your face.

"So be it, Eilish." - You look distractedly at the rearview mirror, as if convincing yourself that this isn't all a figment of your imagination. - "So what about your wish?"

And here comes the prize for audience sympathy! Personal and unique, so long awaited.

"Remember my apartment in the apartments near the center?" - I place my hand back on your thigh, stroking extremely close, making you almost hiss, "Head over there, right into the underground parking lot."

×××

Passing the security checkpoint without the slightest problem, and pulling into the parking lot just out of camera range - good idea, great even. Unbuckling the seatbelts on both of us and getting my lips on yours before your mechanism hit the car wall with its metal detail was great. Ordering you, so panting and disheveled from my hands and lips, to move into the back seats right out of the front seats, following me is stunning in its uniqueness. You are sprinted by me to the back seat without any mercy or excuse, with your lips slightly swollen and reddened from biting. And I deeply don't care that we're somewhat cramped right now, perhaps that only plays to our advantage. I don't care because it's my wish, and you promised to fulfill it.

"You're crazy, you know that?" - Your gaze is so serious - pure surgical steel, but you're breathing intermittently and without noticing it you're fawning your body only closer to me, your legs in expensive pants spread wider, giving more space. - "Why don't you back off and pick something safer?"

Sitting on you in the small interior of Dodge: pure insanity. Hovering over you again and tongue leaving a lust-hot stroke on your neck, pulling back the collar of your thin white turtleneck: a complete breakdown of brakes and decency. But can't I be bad sometimes? Oh, yes, I can! Especially when there's a hot girl like you in my car.

"Can't take it back once it's been set in motion," - I clutch that most fucking licentious gold and massive chain in my fist, pulling you closer by it so you're sure to hear every word crystal clear in my whisper. - "Cause I like to do things God doesn't approve of if she saw us."

"Eilish, fuck...," - I rest my knee so shamelessly between your thighs, deliberately creating friction, and you melting, letting go of any moral guardrails, your face hidden behind your Artemis palm: fingers so thin and chiseled and beautiful, like you're a perfect portrait descended from the paintings of antiquity. Mine. So excited and almost swaggering.

"Girl, I'm going to drive you crazy," - I run the very tip of a fang along the curl of your ear, and you pant in heat, swallowing your own moan so obediently that my own thighs shake from the tension. Gently I wrap my fingers around your hand, moving my hand away from your face. - "Wanna see what you can take, take you right in the my car, such a deadly hot girl. Will you be obedient for me?"

"Yes," - you wheeze, clinging to my lips, and I allow it, only biting lightly. It seems like you're about to have bloody scratchy cracks on your lips as it is, my weakness. I leave a few hickeys on your neck, and I almost laugh as you purr a muffled moan: I think I'm getting too into the vampire role, don't you think?

I touch you just everywhere, every precious cell of your body, and you still don't beg: you endure and only occasionally look away from me, wishing you could find some respite to save your soul in this four-wheeled Purgatory that is more sinful than hell itself.

"You couldn't look away, look away, look away..." - I hum mockingly right in your face, grabbing your chin, but you only roll your eyes with the new thrust of my knee. You're so interesting to 'break', my dear, so unadulterated and interesting to me.

"She'd wanna get involved, involved, involved..." - you deftly parry my own sentence. A slight smirk flashes across your lips, and then I'm nearly folded in half when you thoughtfully shut my mouth with your hand and wedge your knee into the very point of infernal heat in my body. There, between my thighs.

"Slut..." - I feel the sweat begin to trickle down my forehead, and a bitchy smile spreads across my lips. You don't look away, staring straight into my irises, wanting to swim in those seas, to stay there forever. But I won't let you - I just can't do it without you. Your parched lips fold silently into "yours," and so hard tightens the knot of heat in my lower abdomen as if all five letters were belladonna petals.

Deftly I unbuckle your belt, pull the zipper tongue down and you instantly break down, no longer having any strength to continue this teenage game we're playing.

"I'm begging, Billie, please..."

Click! And you broke, just seconds before I would have lost all patience myself, pounding into you with fingers so frantic and selfless that you never dreamed. Good girl. And good girls should be encouraged, shouldn't they?

Already half-naked, you crawl back to the narrow window with your back to the max distance, and I slide down the seat to the opposite side with my feet on the floor. I run my hands over your absolutely uncovered thighs, touching them smoothly with my lips as if they were expensive velvet. You want to grab my hair with your hands, speeding up the process, but you stopped yourself so obediently that I personally place your hand on the back of my head-you deserve it.

I run my tongue between the hot petals, and you nearly bang your head on the roof, wanting to arch your body in a beautiful arc of pleasure. Your hands are tangled in my dark hair, and I'm just trying not to scratch you with my two snow-white "gothic blade", stolen from the photo shoot so successfully. The star-shaped grillz are so contrastly, it's so cold on your aroused clit at first, isn't it?

You cum even without fingers, too taken to extremes in foreplay. All I do is suck in the pot of your clit with my lips, and you do fly into the low ceiling of the car with your forehead, jerking from your orgasm too sharply. You squeeze your eyes shut in pain, barely able to recover again from the new wave of small shudders.

"Hey, hey, hey," - I'm settling in just as you do, pulling you closer to me, resting your head on my chest. Your feet dangle to the floor, but you don't seem to care. You only squint, trying to calm the mottled galaxy before your eyes, and poke your lips against my neck. - "Gently, be accurate, my girl."

You open your eyes, and you look at me so wildly, the word Fallen Angel on Alexander Cabanel's canvas. Madly, with burning eyes, with unknown power. You don't say a word only kiss endlessly, and with one hand you manage the thin Gucci belt and the zipper on my jeans. You enter with two fingers so unexpectedly and precisely that I would have left a hole in the roof with my head if you hadn't put your hand there in time.

"The Grammy Academy still needs some talented twists, careful," - you chuckle, but I'm just feverishly thrusting against your tense fingers, eager for release. I bite my lip until it's bloody, and the star-shaped grillz blinks silver. - "Nah, that won't do..."

You pull your fingers out, and I feel like crying or biting "vampire-style."

You slide down between my thighs, throwing my legs over your back as best you can by virtue of the space, and then you say, looking into my eyes with Edenic pleasure like you've tasted forbidden fruit:

"Beg me, Billie Eilish."

Click! And I break under you in my own car, burning with excitement.

babee, what about the survey ideas?

Hellooooo! Literally now I'm struggling with a particularly harmful technique today in order to lay out the first of the three. I will try to solve this within an hour.

Thanks for reading! All the best! 🍾✨

Almost finished write and text was deleted when the power chopped. Ready to scream loudly and try to save it.

⚡

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: Vroom Vroom

A/n: Billie brings you along for the shoot, but in the end she's suddenly jealous you not so much of Charli as of your attention to her as a celebrity. Charli playfully teases at her, but no doubt Eilish finds an original way to remind you about herself.

Their music video for "Guess" is a sudden bomb for my inspiration! And it doesn't have much to do with the text, but I do want to point out that Charlotte is an icon of my teenage years, lol.

Talking to Charlotte Aitchison, or more popularly Charli XCX, is definitely an exciting moment for you, given your strong fascination with her as a teenager. You're extremely visibly shaken from exactly the moment she gives you a welcoming hug and you're still in that excited mood. You've fainted about forty times in your mind, and you'd probably have realized one of those dramatic falls if it weren't for Billie's hand on your waist, which is clasping your side a little tighter than usual by the minute, or beating out some nervous rhythm of its own.

"It's very nice to meet you, Y/n!" - Charlotte smiles incredibly warmly, and for a second it seems to you that you are going to kiss the asphalt fantastically with your lips. Well, and with the whole face as a whole. - "Billie told me that you're an old fan of mine, you know, I'm really pleased."

"Gosh, uh... thank you!" - you touch the back of your head with the palm of your hand in burning awkwardness, only to then bring that hand back down sharply, as if spurring yourself on and sobering up. - "I just momentarily lost all the words I wanted to say to you, I'm sorry."

You're feeling incredibly uncomfortable with your surroundings under the weight of your own excitement and trepidation, even though Charli is looking at you as relaxed and friendly as possible-what's more, her dark brown eyes remind you of two mugs of hot tea, which with each sip envelope you with comfortable warmth, dispersing the delicious boiling water through your arteries.

Eilish, who has been gallantly silent all this time, understands you without any words, simply by reading your broken body language. In one deft but at the same time masterfully hidden in her persistence movement, she pulls you closer to her, right to her side, as if she were a mother duck and you were her obedient but confused duckling.

"Relax, my girl." - Eilish throws a slight smile on her lips, and puts her hand possessively much lower than your back, or rather, right on your ass. Just for a few moments, but you also instantly feel your ears light up like warning lights. - "Charlotte is exactly the same person as you, remember?"

Charli chuckles playfully as you nod and exhale slightly, gathering all the words and thoughts into the formerly organized piles in your head.

"Okay, let's start with something simple to bring you to your senses, hot chick." - you side-eye Eilish's eyebrows almost twitch, wanting to come together at the bridge of her nose, and that little silver snake rattling the tip of the tail foreshadowingly in her blue eyes. But the smile doesn't leave her face a quarter of an inch, so chalk it up to your nervous imagination: good idea, right? - "Name me your favorite song from my recent album."

And you babble inspirationally, like a renaissance poet who has met a sacred and previously unattainable muse: you note the meaning of your favorite lyrics, or the beat that comes into your soul, like was as if someone had unceremoniously opened the door with his hit foot. You praise almost every track on the album, unable to decide what you like best, and Charlotte laughs loudly, touching your shoulder lightly with a little pressure. And Billie sees how shocked you look at the singer, being doused head over heels in euphoria. She sees your gaze, with a million stars floating in it, sees your quivering smile. She sees it, and almost sending sparks of pure current straight into the asphalt. You don't admire her, but someone else, even if it is well extremely deserved for Charli. And the realization of your admiration definitely stings her painfully, like an angry wasp out of the blue. Sure, you're her girlfriend, but aren't you her fan anymore?..

When she notices this dazzling spark in your eyes, which ran through the moment when Charlotte offered to personally give you her autograph, O'Connell frankly breaks the first lock of self-control out of a possible three. She doesn't even have time to think properly, almost leans on you with her whole body, throwing her arm over your shoulder, hanging on you in mute demand. You immediately shift your gaze worriedly, shifting all your attention to her. For Eilish, holding back a satisfied smile, which is coming out of her cunning interior, is now a difficult task to heaven, but doable.

"Tired, dear?" - you ask sensitively, deftly reversing roles: your hand now firmly and securely on her waist. - "Do you want me to get you some water?"

"Or you can take a break in the dressing room," Charlotte gently advises, while devils dance invitingly in her eyes, as if her irises are bursting with the heat of inquisition bonfires. Oh, she definitely got it. That's why Eilish stabs her in response with her zealous blue blizzard, wrinkling her nose. Just a second, so that only she can see, but in no case not you.

As Billie opens her lips for a made-up answer, a thin female voice cuts through the air beside you:

"Ms. O'Connell, I'm sorry, but can I talk to you for a minute?

You all three of you look at the girl at once, as if the request wasn't addressed to Billie alone, which makes the petite blond stew, clutching the clipboard with neat palms to her chest, but then she finds the necessary composure.

"Your presence is required at the site to clarify a working point."

"Sure, no problem." - she moves out from under your palm ever so unwelcome, swaying slightly from side to side to prolong her contact with you for a few moments. Turning on her heel and shouting to you, she's already following the fast-paced assistant director. - "I'm fine!"

She feels your gaze on her with the back of her head, mixed with misunderstanding and slight excitement, and she almost choke on her own pride, finally allowing herself a cheeky smile. Suddenly, the tingle from the back of her neck is gone, and behind her your hear your loud laughter and Charlotte's azartic shout: "I'm going to steal your loyal groupie to show her the set, Billie! I can't promise I'll get her back!"

Eilish turns around, and Charli smiles at her like a cat contented under the heat of the sun. No, it won't work like that!

×××

"Really? I never thought you'd still love «Vroom Vroom» more than anything."

Stepping over millions of wires and stage markings, you survey location after location, noting how your excitement is gently shifting into confidence, and confidence into a slight premonition of anxiety warming at your fingertips and deep in your heart. Talking to your living dream in the world of Hollywood is extremely comfortable and desirable, but still you feel in your gut that something is wrong with Eilish, even if you can't explain what it is.

"This is my loudest baby, if I may say so," - Charlotte smirks, gently putting her hand out in front of you in a warning gesture, - "careful, there's another one here."

You step over the thick camera cord, suddenly feeling the ground beneath your feet shake slightly, or should I say vibrate. Far behind the two of you, you hear a mechanical, rumbling noise reminiscent of a construction site. Charli puts her tanned palm on your shoulder, instantly stopping you in your tracks.

"Turn around," - she smiles at you extremely contentedly, meeting a catchy sketch of misunderstanding on your face, - "I'm sure you'll like it."

One hundred and eighty degree turn around your own axis and you don't know what's deafeningly louder right now - the gushing laughter of Charli seeing your bulging eyes in amazement, or the helling murmur of the damn construction excavator that's coming your way slowly, led by her majesty Eilish, sitting regally behind the wheel.

"What the fuck, O'Connell?!" - you announce, folding your palms in a report-like fashion and bringing it to your lips: the only thing that helps a bit to overcome this sonic behemoth with a multi-ton bucket.

"Get ready to jump in!" - Eilish's eyes are burning a confident blue enough that you don't even need to squint to see it, and about a smile would be needless to say. - "I'm taking my loved groupie back, Charlotte!"

"I give up!" - Aitchison shouts, mixing the echo of his own voice with the roar of the engine, raising both hands in a surrendering gesture, grinning good-naturedly.

The excavator clanks, sliding at first a little to the left side of the wide area, and then leveling off again, still on course with the two of you, except now it's traveling at a safe distance from you instead of straight ahead.

"I wouldn't keep her waiting if I were you, or she'll burn with jealousy," - Charli puts her palm to your ear conspiratorially, except instead of the classic whisper: a shout. - "Come by my dressing room afterward, I promised you an autograph after all."

Something clicks shrewdly in your head as you smile, hugging the star briefly: you barely touch her waist and she pats you on the shoulders in return, and the excavator seems to make an even louder noise, like an iron bull spewing anger in the heat of a bullfight. The only one subduing him is Eilish. Charli hurriedly steps aside, watching with undisguised interest, and you only catch Eilish's outstretched left palm as you climb up the step. Her fingers grip you so tightly and securely that even the tattooed three of winged fairies embossed on her skin seems to be pulling at you with their little hands.

"You're crazy, Eilish!" - you shout with an outburst of laughter, wrapping both hands around the iron handrail.

"I'm your crazy!" - Billie returns both hands to the steering wheel, confident that you have a firm grip these.

"When did you even learn to drive this multi-ton monster?"

"Exactly half an hour ago," - an undisguised contentment plays on her lips as her gaze drifts forward. - "Not much different from a normal car, though there are nuances."

Glancing in the rearview mirror, you notice not only the surprised set workers, but also Charli waving at you. A grin spreads across your face.

"As nuanced as your jealousy of Charli?"

"I'm not jealous," - O'Connell lets a chuckle pass through her lips, and even drowned in the rumble of the car it doesn't seem sincere.

"Oh, what are you saying?" - you raise an eyebrow, and Eilish casts a quick glance at you-the blue sea is completely draped in eloquent silver serpents, to see which: an honor purely for you and no one else.

"Okay, yeah. I'm jealous." - Eilish exhales in astonishment, jerking the long clutch lever with her hand, to which the iron hulk rumbles, going leisurely to the right on its powerful tires. You see parking lot markings in the distance and a small silhouette waving two neon-orange flags: obviously the parking attendant himself. - "I don't like it when your attention and admiration isn't on me."

"My, you're greedy," - Billie tsked, rolling her eyes, but you only smiled affectionately. - "Would a kissing session make up for my shortcoming?"

Billie hesitates for a moment, rubbing her chin with one hand, then playfully pouts her lips in an olfactory pink bow like a child.

"If you also stand behind the cameras with the cameramen, catching my every glance, then quite possibly yes."

"Okay, I agree!" - You laugh, throwing your head back, and Eilish doesn't hold back in her supposed seriousness, drowning in laughter following you.

"Now get ready to get off. We'll walk from here. I have to see what kind of wall I have to break down."

You are silent, choking on air in a flash. Well, this is going to be an interesting shoot, though it's always just that way with Billie.

Girll Did you see Billie's new video with Charli from Guess? You are deeefinitely the right person to turn such music into some writing!!

Damn, you anticipated my moves, dude. I'm start sketching something that caused me to postpone work on the recently promised writing. It's not my fault, it's Billie's «fault» :D

But I will still need some time, even though I will try to do it as soon as possible. Strike while the iron is hot, heh.

Thank you so much for the feedback, you amazing 🍃🌙

I loveeee your writing style sm!!!!

Thank you! You give me pleasure and appreciation!

Have a nice day ✌️🌿

Anyone besides me want to talk about the fact that Eilish literally broke a WALL while driving a backhoe with the most mischievous face in the world? No one? Hotter than hell itself. I want to go on such a crazy ride with her now, lol

I have three awesome ideas fluttering at my very fingertips, so it's business as usual, ladies and gentlemen! Where do I start? (The works will be written in order of votes, but as always I will complete all of them, don't worry).

1. Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: Three nine five six

A/n: Eilish plunges headfirst into the maelstrom of the downside of his popularity when a crazed fan kidnaps you.

Inspired by "THE DINER".

Warning: blood, kidnapping, moral suasion!

2. Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: The Countess's carriage

A/n: You get your driver's license, and Billie just likes to mess around sometimes.

3. Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: But now I'm underwater

A/n: Because of tight deadlines at work, you're stressed out, critically sleep deprived and overly addicted to coffee. Billie suggests that you distract yourself by watching a horror film, and you agree good-naturedly, unable to refuse her. What you haven't considered is the fact that stress, coffee and imagination are a potent mix. Billie finds an ingenious way to calm you down and unload the thoughts from your head.

what the fuck dude the way I cried at your last post, it was worth the wait that was so heartbreaking, beautiful

And I'm about to cry at your gorgeous words 🥹

You are incredible, thank you for reading and giving feedback!

❤️🌿