Hey!! Just Wanted To Drop Here And Say That I Love Your Writing Style Abd How You Describe Things. Your
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! 🩷🫵🏻
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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!
🩷
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! 🪷✨
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.
🫂🌟
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.