Billie Eilish X Fem!reader: I'm Your Ilo, Will You Milo?

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: I'm your Ilo, will you Milo?

A/n: Preferring the original source in the person of Billie herself, you ask her a question one day about one of her old songs.

"Wait, what did you just say...?"

Eilish's face is a continuous bewilderment, woven from many details. By asking just one question, you were able to hit the best possible jackpot in LA: soft lips parted in surprise (you even manage to catch a silver glint of grillz), eyebrows that shot almost to the ceiling of your parents' house and dumbfounded eyes that resemble white jade in the light of the sun with their translucency. You, on the other hand, are a total embarrassment - a smile that rides on a slope, a nervous chuckle you let out more by reflex than consciously and, the cherry on the cake - a hand rubbing your neck in slight embarrassment.

"Can you explain to me what ilomilo is, please?", - you duplicate again, and Billie almost has an Internet connection loss icon on her forehead from the ridiculousness of the question, so you tactfully clarify, - "I just decided to ask you right away, as the author of your own song, and not to prowl in on the Internet."

A couple of seconds of immutability, and then Eilish bursts into laughter, reminding you of a geyser with its suddenness and loudness. Whether you feel even more interested after this "maneuver" or a little more embarrassed is still unclear. Billie stops talking, returning to her former state of harmony, and gestures for you to sit down next to her. She crosses her legs and rests the elbow of her left arm on the soft back of the sofa, propping her head on the same arm. Being as close to you as possible, Eilish now looks like she wants to tell you her most important secret.

"It's more correct to call them separatly" - Billie chuckles, her right hand stroking your knee lightly, - "The song itself is about a man losing someone he loves and trying to find them again. We wrote it with Finn, based on the game of the same name."

Even though Billie was wiggling her foot unobtrusively and lazily to the beat of the music coming from the kitchen, the dreamy smile on her face suggested that she was slowly drifting into a special nostalgia. Blue eyes looks at you affectionately and trustingly - she certainly likes your interest. You smile, conspiratorially moving even a little closer. Billie's hand on your knee begins to lovingly "draw" spirals. A lover of tactile contact, what can you do.

"I used to play ilomilo a lot. I loved ilomilo, it was my favorite game in the world. It's the kind of game where there are these two little creatures - one called Ilo and the other called Milo. It's kind of an anti-gravity world where there are all these little blocks, and they start off separate from each other. The idea is that you just make your way towards each other, and when they get close to each other, they just hug and there's no prize. The whole idea of the game is to just lose a loved one and then find them again."

Billie stops using your knee as a canvas, a small silver sparkle in her eyes. Gently cupping her palms around your face, she whispers childishly and mysteriously into your ear with a sly grin:

"You didn't play ilomilo, did you?"

Just one negative nod and you're already securely grabbed by the arm for a speedy trip up the stairs to the second floor, straight to her former room.

×××

Thinking in six planes at once is difficult. Two-colored sweet couple sticks to steep surfaces, crawls on the ceiling and walls, and the whole stage at such moments is turned upside down and back. The first few levels are all kind of simple and without nerves, there are almost no problems with finding the right path, but further on the real brainteaser begins.

While your blue Ilo hangs upside down on the plush cube waiting for you, you furtively glance at Eilish: extremely focused face and neat glasses slowly sliding down to the tip of her nose (the effect of a long night sitting in front of the screen). Milo quickly shuffles his short, plush legs, changed planes, and along with him puffs O'Connell herself, but not tiredly, but irritated. At stake for the singer is not the conquest of the world, but something more serious - to show how good she is at the game of her childhood.

"That's fucking impossible!" - The Xbox joystick slumps to the soft carpet, and Billie throws her head up and growls in anger at the "failure" that had befallen her.

"Do you give up, Eilish?" - Not teasing her verbally now equals the truest crime, and you're a law-abiding girl, aren't you?

The two whipping blue lightning bolts that flickered from her eyes toward you and a raised middle finger are more eloquent than any possible words. Trying to hold back, you only chuckle even louder, and Billie gets angrier and angrier.

"Fuck you, bitch!"

She deftly snatches the second joystick out of your hands, shoving you in the side, which is already sore from laughing. A couple of movements of the stick and your little blue Ilo dies, returning to the same checkpoint from tothe finish line, at which you spent a good half an hour. Eilish pouts and retreats to the old bed with a red curtain from Louis Vuitton (of course, she demonstratively loudly drapes it), and you only gasp from a new attack of laughter, your back falling on the carpet from helplessness.

When you can finally take a full and free breath of air, your gaze lazily moves from the white ceiling of the room to the window - the sun is slowly beginning to roll over the horizon, taking its warm and blinding orange rays with it. The dark blue curtain, stretched halfway out, sways in the flow of the wind, as if anticipating its imminent uselessness with the appearance of darkness. Dark blue... A sudden idea shoots into your head.

"Billie?" - you quickly roll over from back to stomach, gazing expectantly into her hiding place. Except to no avail. The queen of the scarlet "fort" maintains her surprisingly deafening silence. Well, it looks like you'll have to go it alone.

The plastic hinges on the curtain rod barely audibly knock against each other while you remove the thick fabric from them, you stubbornly standing on toes. A chair standing in the opposite corner of the room is unnecessary attention and noise, you don't need it now. A minute, and the cherished fabric is already in your hands, a few more seconds and it is already on your shoulders. It seems that now you are ready to try to talk to your Queen again.

"Billie-e-e!" - You stretch your vowels deliberately, a playful smile on your lips. Getting into the 'fort' doesn't quite work yet - Eilish is on the other side with her hands holding onto the edges of the red canopy, blocking the passage you're creating. - "Please, my love."

The last word seemed to be some sort of magic spell that made the canopy immediately freeze, losing all tension. You easily scramble onto the bed, dragging the blue curtain dragging across the floor with you. Success! Her lips immediately twitch into a smile when she sees your homely, disheveled appearance and your blue "outfit". The only thing that helps her hold it together is the experience of many red carpets. Her smile immediately fades to indifference and her blue eyes catch up with the blizzard.

"Why do you need a curtain?" - coldly and indifferently. It's as fake and unnatural as possible, which both of you admit. If she wasn't interested, Eilish wouldn't have asked at all.

"So that you and I can win," - scratch your nose on purpose, grabbing a corner of the fabric for comicality. The lips opposite are trembling again in a restrained smile.

"And how will Mom's dusty curtain help us with this?"

"You... Will you be my Milo?

And no matter how much Billie bites her lip, she eventually bursts into laughter, looking at you with a gaze so trusting and loving that your heart flutters in your chest. The blue eyes are the calmest lake in the world, devoid of any resentment. You help her remove half of the canopy from its fasteners and she hurriedly wraps herself in it, "dressed" in red.

"Are you ready to complete this last level?"

"Where did you go? I should know, but it's cold..." - instead of answering, you hum, looking expectantly at your Milo. Billie is a raking scarlet embrace that immediately envelops you.

"And I don't wanna be lonely, was hoping you'd come home." - her soft soprano response. All you have to do is smile and bury your nose in her collarbone, breathing in her favorite scent. No words are needed now.

Ilo and Milo embrace. The level is passed.

was I've never read an spicy story as well written as yours, what the hell? beautiful to read

I'm about to start embarrassing myself dude, thank you so much! Your words make me incredibly happy :D

All the best to you!

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I loved Billie's story!! I need more of this🦋🦋

Thank you very much! I have at least two more ideas I want to write, so I'll rush to create something new soon

Thanks again :>

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Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: But I already have love in LA

A/n: 5,692 miles is the distance between calm nighttime Paris and sweltering Los Angeles, which almost makes Eilish howl like a wolf. A Paris promo in honor of the album mercilessly separates the two of you on an important date, but you find a way out.

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: Little dreams

A/n: Billie hadn't had time to carve pumpkin jack-o-lanterns last Halloween, making this unclosed gestalt her little dream. So you buy her a pumpkin out of the blue. You don't know how to play any musical instrument, but a ukulele is your humble dream. So Billie teaches you.

Just one comfortable July evening spent together.

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: Red light

A/n: she just sees you with your abusive ex-partner.

Eilish has millions of red exclamation points flashing in her head blinking barely every second, and blue eyes fixed on you like the frighteningly mighty and cold glaciers of the Arctic. The only thing that seems to calm her down even a little is Finneas' presence nearby and the feeling of weight on her own knees. It wasn't just the charming bouquet wrapped in scarlet kraft paper: Shark, sensing his mistress's excitement, rested his massive bulldog face on her legs for support.

"What fucking right does he have to approach her?" - the look of concern centered in her concern is replaced with a sizzling one, the moment she shifts her focus of attention to the male silhouette standing across from you. - "After everything he fucking did!"

Finneas exhales tensely, clasping his palms tighter on the steering wheel of his red Tesla: the eco-leather creaks slightly from the tension. Eilish, frankly, envies him, because the desire is now behind the wheel, and not in the passenger seat, is off the scale, reaching maximum values. Several scenarios of how she presses the gas pedal to the floor, heading for your ex, flash through her head. And no, she's not ashamed, none of you three are ashamed of it.

Billie is a small nuclear suitcase with enormous destructive power, and you're the only one who can handle her. As the O'Connells pull into a quiet residential neighborhood to pick you up and go to Claudia's house together, the figure of your ex looms around the corner, heading toward you. Billie was ready to jump out of the car almost as she goes, and she doesn't give a damn about the pavement or the passenger seat she's strapped into. She'll rip that seat right out of the car and put it on her back, just so she can run up to you as fast as she can and become your shield. He's a whole head taller than you and two heads taller than her? She don't care! Your gesture is the only thing that stops her: your open palm, held out in front of her for a quarter of a second, and your gaze, which resembles in its seriousness the sharp metal plate against which Eilish scratches his wrists in his sacrificial desire to protect you.

"I want to run him over, Finn."

"I know." - Her brother touches her shoulder, squeezing her slightly while Shark whines. Wise blue waters, concentrated in his eyes, are also watching you closely. - "Just let her figure it out for herself, and if something goes wrong, we'll step in right away."

"His fucking presence here is already something that's going wrong." - A deep exhale squeezes her chest, and a dark bandana squeezes head. She sees you ball your palms into fists, and he smirks cheekily. Fuck!

Your lips move, dropping the scalding words she's trying so hard to read onto the pavement, and your opponent winds up waving his arms in anger and poking you in the shoulder with his finger. Forcefully and sharply. Eilish genuinely enjoys, imagining his phalanges crunching under her hands from the exertion.

"I'm going to fuck him up!" - her blue eyes burst with stinging lightning, and her hand instantly touches the metal handle on the door. Shark, feeling the muscles in his mistress' legs contract, immediately retracts his muzzle, brave at her. His deep eyes look childishly trusting, waiting for any instructions.

Finneas unbuckled his seat belt, fumbling for the button with his long, musical fingers (the beige strip immediately slides into place by the mechanism), and then grabs his little sister around the waist with both hands, pinning her to the chair. The door of the red Tesla slams close.

"Fuck, Finn, that's just impossible!", - Eilish was boiling like a teapot.

"Don't, Billie! Chill out!"

"Why do I have to sit here when some asshole is harassing my girlfriend?" - she throws his hands off her but stays where she is. Elemental brotherly-sisterly respect. Finn pokes at the display in front of him and all four doors click shut, locking. Billie takes offense and that's still putting it mildly, but both are well aware of how impulsive Eilish is when differentiated into the merciless, unforgiving garb of anger.

Your posture is calm, but also tense: she can see how strain your back is and how the tendons play under the skin of your neck. The man is almost spitting in your face, loudly spewing all the bile he has accumulated. Billie can hear the word "whore!" blowing through the windshield with the warm breeze. She turned her head expectantly, and saw Finneas instantly mirror her own gaze: blue eyes filled with a gray sheen, reminiscent of geysers. Him excellent upbringing is making itself felt, and Billie clings to it with both hands, bowling her brother's cold mind.

"Would you put up with such a thing if it involved Claudia...?"

Finneas is silent, and his nostrils flare: sometimes too good a creative imagination becomes a punishment.

"No." - Coldly, and with a note of impending anger.

"So let me out, be a good brother." - The voice drops to a trance-inducing muffled wheezing.

He exhales, filling the silence hanging over them in the moment. A chest heaves the floor of his white t-shirt, and his hands while face covers exhaustedly, when he weighing his options. Eilish knows he'll never let her down, so she watches calmly, even though everything in her stomach turns over with burning tension. The soles of her high jordans tap out a rhythm, trying to tame the impatience.

"Just don't make a mess of things, please, Bils." - His earnest, confiding plea.

The doors click muffled again. It's open. Kindred blueness meets for a second: her mute and sincere 'thank you', confirming his expectations, is legitimized by his nod. The red hair ravels beautifully in the sun.

And as soon as Billie has one foot on the sun-hot asphalt, you turn your head in her direction: the steel of your gaze meets her anxious seas. She freezes, clinging to the open door as Shark comes down with an amused tinkle of his claws. "Paparazzi," she reads from the curve of your lips before your nose meets head-on with the man's fist.

Eilish's mind was blown, and she seemed to forget for a moment how to breathe, even though she'd been doing it for twenty-two years without a break. Her eyes gleam a deadly murky sapphire, and her eyebrows converge on the bridge of her nose in a torn, streaky stroke of ink on paper, heralding infernal retribution. Now your words of warning carry no weight with her. Finneas is like a tall, graceful pillar, leaping out of the parlor in one merged motion. Running toward you with clenched fists, driven by a sense of righteous anger.

"Protect!" - Eilish's loud voice shakes the heat of the street and the pit bull snaps out of his seat, growling menacingly. - "Protect!"

She runs towards you and the pendants make a silvery clinking noise around her neck. She outruns everyone: her brother, her thoughts of consequences and reputation. It's now completely colorless and unimportant, the only thing ahead of her is the faithful gray dog that lives up to its name. The gray powerful back flickers, cutting through the air like a shark through the water. You only clumsily dodge another powerful blow, falling to the asphalt by inertia: the palm of your hand burns with the lingering pain of contact with the ground, revealing a thin bloody web, and your nose buzzes disgustingly. The dripping blood settles on your lips with a metallic taste as you squint, either from the pain or from the blinding sun, shielding yourself with healthy hand from another incoming blow.

You're the lord of the whole little army. Billie immediately snuggles you in his arms, diving almost bare-kneed onto the pavement with the ease of a phoenix; Finneas stands immovably across from you, covering you both with his broad back, looking like a vengeful archangel in his white T-shirt; Shark, like the devil from the snuffbox, who has caught hold of your ex-boyfriend's long pant and pulls the hard material toward him with a growl. The man shrieks, and all this three pairs of blue eyes give him a punishing coldness that gives him no hint of mercy.

"With me." - her strong voice excites you, giving you an adrenaline rush. The gray pit bull abruptly lets go of the cloth (causing the guy to almost lose his balance) and obediently sits down next to her, snorting.

"You Hollywood rich guys sticking up for that slu..."

"You shut your damn mouth now!" - Finneas stiffly cuts him off halfheartedly.

Billie rises slowly and strides toward them with such haughty superiority and a smirk that somewhere a whole cast of movie villains are weeping at their insignificance. Small, but so majestic. She abruptly grabs the guy by the collar of his solid-colored shirt, bending him almost in half: now she looks him straight in the eyes without raising her head a millimeter. The cold splinters in her eyes make a warning noise like a rattle on a rattlesnake's tail, making her "victim" almost whimper like a Yorkshire terrier.

"You come near her again, I'll wipe you out. Knuckle by knuckle, you understand?"

"You have no proof, I can turn it against you!" - his voice reminds you of the pathetic bleating of a lousy sheep.

And you laugh, literally sink into laughing, smearing the blood on your face with your fist. Everyone turns to look at you, but all you do is throw your head up in a fit of laughter. A smirk smeared with blood is your best accessory.

"You've remained a complete idiot! Did it never occur to you that you started to sort things out right in front of a lot of video cameras?"

You nod your head at the wooden courtyards one by one, and the man's confidence shatters. Finneas smiles contentedly, Billie immediately realizes the source of your confidence, immediately comparing the details of your scheme. And how sweet revenge becomes! Eilish pulls him back on top of him, regaining eye contact. The blue maelstrom halves him, spitting him out instantly. Her uber-confident smirk is the final chord on his microscopic dignity

"So I repeat - get out of here, you pathetic puppy!"

Shark barked contentedly.

×××

The four of you arrive at Claudia's house right after your visit to the hospital. Once they're all in the living room together, Billie doesn't let go of you for a second, hugging you defensively from behind and just sucking in your scent with her nose, nuzzling into your shoulder, neck, hair, whatever.

"I was so worried about you, underdog..." - the whisper burns the curl of your ear as you try to gently touch your slightly swollen nose with your fingers, oohing. A bruise, and that's glorious. Much better than a possible fracture. - "I'm not going anywhere from you now, ever."

"Billie," - you turn to face her, kissing the chiseled line of her jaw. The tip of your nose touches her neck, and you squeeze your eyes shut, multicolored sparks of pain scattering before your eyes. She immediately pulls away from you slightly, gently touching her palms to your face. - "You, Finn, and Shark are my best protectors."

"Careful, my girl."

You feel warmth and a slight tickle as she strokes your cheekbones with her thumbs. The previously restless blue eyes are now like a calm marina.

You giggle, and you're not entirely sure why, whether it's because of a silly thought or because Shark, who's lying next to you on the couch, grunted loudly in his sleep.

"Did I look like you in the 'bad guy' music video? You know, with all that blood on my face..."

Eilish chuckles, brings your healthy hand to her lips and bestows a flock of little kisses on each knuckle. You want to purr.

"Very similar."

And you smack her on the lips, rewarding her for every second she spent tense, watching you. You don't care if your nose hurts. It'll heal.

heyy prettyy, I need your updates like crazy, this is some kind of torture fr

Helloooo! I'm literally finalizing the work right now, expect it in the next hour.

Thanks for waiting and reading, sweetie! 〜⁠(⁠꒪⁠꒳⁠꒪⁠)⁠〜

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