ella

i could eat that girl for lunch

[verysweetly]

you should totes make a pt. 4 to the greatest series ykyk if you want do ofc.. 🤔 not that i like.. desperately need it tho just a recommendation

i forgot i even wrote that

[ellae1l1sh]

hmmm where is this energy now hmmm @verysweetly

[verysweetly]

delete this.

[ellae1l1sh]

i fear i cant do that.

[verysweetly]

you should totes make a pt. 4 to the greatest series ykyk if you want do ofc.. 🤔 not that i like.. desperately need it tho just a recommendation

i forgot i even wrote that

[ellae1l1sh]

hmmm where is this energy now hmmm @verysweetly

[graceywritess]

could you write maybe like a pornstar billie??

ride it like a pornstar ۶ৎ fem!billie x intersex!reader

contains: oral sex, hair pulling, spanking, overstimulation, nipple play, squirting, rough sex, fingerfucking, 18+ smut ۶ৎ

you step into the luxurious studio set, heart racing under the soft pink lights that make everything feel dreamy and filthy at the same time. the air is thick with vanilla candles and the faint scent of arousal already hanging heavy. billie eilish, the ultimate pornstar fantasy, lounges on the massive silk-covered bed like she owns every inch of it. her body is perfect — soft, full tits barely contained in a tiny black lace bra, matching thong riding high on her hips, black hair messy and sexy. her blue eyes lock on you the second you walk closer, a sly little smirk playing on her cherry lips.

“hey you,” her voice low and raspy, already dripping with that signature billie confidence mixed with hunger. “they told me you’d be my scene partner today. been thinking about this since they sent your pics. come here and show me what you got.”

you climb onto the bed, robe slipping open. billie sits up on her knees, hands reaching for you instantly, pulling you into a deep tongue kiss that steals your breath. her mouth is hot and sweet, tongue sliding against yours in wet, passionate strokes. she moans softly into you as your hands roam her waist. she tastes like cherry gloss and sin, pressing her body flush against yours so you can feel her hard nipples through the lace.

“mm fuck,” she gasps between kisses, nipping at your bottom lip. “your mouth feels so good already.”

you push her back gently onto the pillows, taking control. billie turns submissive tonight, eyes glazing over as you peel her bra off, exposing those perfect tits. you lean down, sucking one nipple into your mouth hard, tongue swirling around the stiff peak while your hand pinches and rolls the other. billie arches with a loud whimper, fingers threading into your hair.

“yes, suck harder baby, please,” she begs, voice breaking already. you oblige, biting gently then soothing with your tongue, making her squirm and moan louder. your free hand slides down her stomach, pushing her thong aside to find her soaked pussy. she is dripping, folds slick and swollen. you rub her clit in slow circles first, then dip two fingers inside her tight heat, curling them just right.

billie gasps, hips bucking up. “oh god, your fingers feel so thick. fuck me with them.”

you pump faster, adding a third finger, stretching her while your mouth switches to her other nipple, sucking and licking until she is panting. the wet sounds of your fingers plunging in and out fill the room, her juices coating your hand. you kiss her again, tongues tangling messily as you finger-fuck her harder, thumb pressing firm on her clit.

“you’re so wet for me,” you murmur against her lips. “gonna make you squirt all over my hand first.”

billie nods frantically. “yes please, make me cum. i’m your good girl tonight.”

you curl your fingers faster, hitting that spongy spot inside her over and over. her walls clench tight, moans turning into desperate cries. her body tenses, thighs shaking, and then she explodes, squirting hard around your fingers. clear fluid gushes out onto your hand and the sheets. she screams your name, back arching off the bed, trembling through the intense orgasm.

you don’t stop fingering her through it until she is whimpering. billie recovers just enough to push you back, crawling between your legs. “my turn to taste you.” she wraps her soft lips around the head of your cock first, tongue swirling, then takes you deeper into her warm, wet mouth. the suction is perfect. her head bobs as she sucks you off sloppily, spit dripping down your shaft. at the same time her fingers tease lower, rubbing your slick pussy and dipping inside.

“fuck billie, your mouth is heaven,” you groan, hand fisting in her green hair, guiding her pace. she moans around your cock, taking you to the back of her throat, gagging softly but pushing further. her eyes water but stay locked on yours, submissive and eager to please. she pulls off with a gasp, strings of spit connecting her lips to your throbbing cock. “you taste so good. i want more.”

you eat her pussy next, spreading her legs wide and burying your face between her thighs. your tongue licks broad stripes from her entrance to her clit, savoring her sweet taste. billie cries out, hands gripping the sheets as you suck her clit hard, tongue flicking rapidly. you push two fingers back inside her, pumping while eating her out like you are starving. she tastes even better after squirting — slick and addictive.

“oh my god yes, eat my pussy just like that,” she moans, hips grinding against your face. you add a third finger, stretching her, curling relentlessly against her g-spot. her second orgasm hits fast. she squirts again, flooding your mouth as her body convulses, thighs clamping around your head. you keep licking through it, drawing out every shudder until she is a whimpering mess.

“please, need you inside me,” she begs, voice hoarse and desperate. “fuck me rough.”

you position behind her for backshots, gripping her hips hard. her ass is perfect, round and soft. you rub your cock through her soaked folds before thrusting in deep in one stroke. billie moans loud, pushing back against you. you start pounding her rough, skin slapping loudly, one hand yanking her hair to arch her back more.

“yes, pull my hair harder,” she gasps, completely submissive, letting you use her. you fuck her deep and fast, cock slamming into her tight pussy over and over. your free hand reaches around to rub her clit, making her squirt a little with every few thrusts. the sensations are overwhelming, her walls fluttering around you, your own pussy throbbing and leaking from the friction and pleasure.

“you’re taking me so well,” you growl, tugging her hair and spanking her ass. billie cries out in pleasure, pushing back to meet every thrust. you rail her like that for long minutes, passionate and rough, until she cums again hard around your cock, squirting down her thighs.

you flip her onto her back for missionary, wanting to see her face. billie looks wrecked — cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes glassy with lust. you push her legs back toward her chest, sliding your cock back inside her soaked heat. the new angle lets you hit even deeper. you kiss her passionately, tongues dancing as you fuck her slow and deep at first, then building to rough thrusts.

“look at me while i fuck you,” you demand, hair pulling again as you pound her. billie obeys, moaning into your mouth, nails digging into your back. her tits bounce with every thrust, nipples hard. you suck one into your mouth again, biting gently while slamming into her. the pleasure builds for both of you, your cock throbbing inside her, your pussy grinding against her with every movement.

“i’m gonna cum again,” she whimpers. you rub her clit fast, fucking her harder. billie screams, body shaking through her fourth orgasm, pussy gushing around you, squirting between your bodies.

but the heat is not done. billie pushes you back with a needy look, climbing on top, straddling your hips. she grabs your hard cock, rubbing the thick head through her soaked folds before sinking down slowly, taking every inch until she bottoms out with a broken moan. “fuck, you’re so deep like this.”

she starts riding you, hips rolling in filthy circles at first, then bouncing harder. her tits jiggle with every movement. the pleasure hits you like a wave. her tight wet pussy clenches around your cock, the slick sounds of her cream coating you, her moans filling the air. you reach up, grabbing her soft boobs, squeezing and playing with them roughly, thumbs flicking her nipples.

“yes, touch them,” billie gasps, riding faster. you pull her down, sucking one nipple hard into your mouth, teeth grazing as you leave dark hickeys on her pale skin. she cries out in pleasure, bouncing harder, her pussy creaming all over your dick. “oh god i’m cumming.”

her first orgasm on top hits hard, walls pulsing as she squirts around your cock, hot fluid soaking your hips and the sheets. she keeps riding through it, tears of pleasure slipping down her cheeks. you are overwhelmed, pleasure shooting up your spine from both your cock buried deep and your own pussy throbbing against her with every grind. you suck her other nipple harder, leaving more hickeys, hands kneading her tits possessively.

billie does not stop, chasing another high. “again, fuck it feels too good.” she rides you desperately, creaming and squirting a second time, body shaking as she cries harder in pleasure. her moans turn into sobs of ecstasy, pussy fluttering wildly around you. you thrust up to meet her, gripping her hips, completely lost in the sensation of her falling apart on top.

she cums a third time like that, squirting messily, tears streaming, voice hoarse. “i can’t stop cumming. you’re making me lose it.”

you flip her suddenly, pinning her down, pressing her into the mattress. you slam into her pussy with slow but hard, deep strokes that make her eyes roll back. billie starts babbling incoherent things, overstimulated and crying. “too much… ahh please… i can’t baby… slow… fuck it’s so deep.”

you continue thrusting slow and powerful, grinding against her g-spot. billie moans so loud it echoes, crying and cumming at the same time, fresh squirt mixing with her cream as her body convulses under you. “no more… yes… oh god i’m cumming again.”

her pussy clenches rhythmically, milking you as she falls apart completely. incoherent pleas mix with loud sobs of pleasure. you pin her wrists above her head, slamming harder now, passionate and rough, drawing out every last orgasm until she is a trembling, squirting, creaming mess beneath you. multiple orgasms leave her voice broken and body glowing with sweat and marks.

after the intense scene, the director calls cut, but billie pulls you close in the trailer later, whispering, “again. just like that. no cameras.” the night continues with more rounds, her submissive cries and your overwhelming pleasure blending into pure bliss. you hold her close afterward, kissing the hickeys you left as she curls into you, spent and satisfied.

this connection is everything — rough, passionate, and addictive. billie had never been fucked like this, and you both crave more. the studio lights fade but the heat between you burns even brighter in private. the end, or just the beginning of many more nights filled with her moans, your touch, and endless pleasure.

billie would text you late at night begging for another private session where she could ride you again until she cried from how good it felt, or let you pin her down and ruin her pussy with those slow hard thrusts that made her squirt uncontrollably. her submissive side only comes out for you, the famous pornstar melting under your hands and cock every single time. the sensory details stick with you — the taste of her skin, the sound of her desperate cries, the way her body trembles and gushes when you push her over the edge again and again. you are addicted and so is she, ready for whatever comes next in this passionate, filthy journey together.

you replay the scenes in your head: the way her pussy felt creaming on you during those rides, the hickeys blooming on her tits, the tears of overwhelming pleasure on her cheeks. it is raw, real, and hotter than any camera could capture. billie eilish, the pornstar who submitted so beautifully to you and only you.

[verysweetly]

- 𝒫ink letters [b.e]

˒˒ masterlist.

𑅞 chapter ten : 𝔀hat comes after sorry. 𑅕

nobody tells you that love doesn’t always teach the same lesson to the people inside it.

sometimes, it teaches you completely opposite lessons. by the time the snow started melting into dirty slush along the campus curbs, billie had finally learned how to love someone properly. but she only figured it out after she completely lost them. and you? you had finally learned exactly why people are so terrified of loving anyone in the first place, but you only learned it by being betrayed. you were both being educated by the very same tragedy, just standing on completely opposite sides of the classroom.

when winter break finally rolled around, the entire campus emptied out in forty eight hours flat. the silence that settled over the brick buildings wasn’t like the heavy, suffocating kind from november.. it was just empty.

you went home. you packed your tote bag, boarded the train, and went back to your family, back to the smell of homemade cookies and the comforting, loud chaos of a house that didn't have billie’s ghost hiding in every corner. you spent your days trying to remember who you were before you ever met a girl with blue eyes and a loud laugh.

but billie stayed behind. or well, she didn’t exactly stay on campus, but her presence followed you through a screen, exactly once a day.

every single evening, at exactly 7:00 pm, your phone would buzz on your nightstand. it didn’t matter whether you were sitting at the dinner table, watching tv with your family, or just staring at the ceiling.

billie : it’s snowing really bad here today. the quad looks entirely white.

there were no paragraphs. there were no emotional paragraphs begging for you to come back, no desperate "i miss you" texts, and absolutely no double texting. if you didn’t reply, the conversation just ended right there until the exact same time the next day.

billie : checking in :)

billie : still here.

sometimes you would open them immediately, watching the little gray text sit there on your screen. sometimes you would leave them unread for hours, letting the notification just linger while you went about your day. billie never pushed. she never asked where you were or who you were with. it was just a steady, quiet pulse. a daily reminder that she was still there, completely unbothered by your silence.

billie : i hope your grandma’s cookies are still better than the ones from the dining hall.

you stared at that one for a long time. the kitchen was quiet, the smell of actual cinnamon baking in the oven filling the air. your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a few seconds, your heart doing a strange, slow thud.

you : they are. the dining hall ones are still terrible.

across the country, billie probably stared at her phone for five straight minutes without breathing. the typing bubbles appeared, vanished, appeared again, and then finally stopped altogether.

billie : good. eat a lot of them.

that was it. no victory lap, no pushing for more. just a tiny, fragile crack in the wall.

by the time the buffer of break was officially over and everyone returned to campus, winter had quietly slipped away. the brutal, bone chilling ice had melted into soft spring rain, and the quad was suddenly alive with patches of fresh green grass and students shedding their heavy wool coats for light jackets. the university came alive again in the warmth of early spring, and you had to face the reality of being back in the exact same square mile as her.

this was the part where you expected billie to immediately corner you. you figured that since you had replied to a text, she would take it as a green light to start showing up at your door or waiting outside your classes with some massive, dramatic apology.

but she didn't.

instead, you were the one who accidentally kept running into her. because when a campus is this small, you can't actually avoid someone forever, no matter how hard you try.

the difference now was that billie didn't run away anymore. she didn’t awkwardly flee the lecture hall with a muttered apology, and she didn't duck her head to avoid you. she also didn't approach you. she just... existed.

you’d see her standing by the student center, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of a light black zip up, her hair was entirely dark now, messy and pulled back away from her face, catching the bright spring sunlight. she’d be listening to miller talk, completely quiet, totally stripped of that loud, cocky persona that used to dominate the entire quad. when her eyes accidentally met yours across the lawn, she didn’t smile or wave. she just gave you a small, respectful nod, letting you know she saw you, and then she’d look right back down at the ground.

it was infuriatingly consistent. she was giving you exactly what you asked for. space, but without the disappearing act. she was just letting you see her, day after day, showing up and doing the work of simply being there.

then things finally changed a little bit on a random tuesday night near the end of the month. the library was about to close, and the third floor was completely deserted except for you. you were packing your notebooks into your tote bag, the barely warm remnants of your coffee sitting in a ceramic mug by your elbow, while a gentle spring breeze drifted through the cracked window.

you could hear her heavy boots coming before you even looked up.

billie stopped at the edge of your wooden table. she didn't sit down. she didn't even take her hands out of her pockets. she just stood there, looking at you with those wide, incredibly vulnerable blue eyes. she looked exhausted, the dark circles under her eyes looking permanent at this point, but her posture was entirely steady.

"y/n?," she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

you froze, holding a textbook halfway inside your bag. "yeah?"

billie swallowed hard, her jaw tightening slightly as she looked at the cautious, guarded look that immediately came over your face. "can i have five minutes? just five. i won’t take up any more of your time, i promise."

you looked at the clock on the library wall, then back at her. your heart was beating fast, but it wasn't that violent, sick feeling from november anymore. it was just a heavy, aching weight.

"five minutes," you said quietly.

she nodded, looking visibly relieved. "can we... can we go to the roof? it's way too quiet in here. i feel like everyone's staring at us.”

you hesitated for a second, then nodded. you slung your bag over your shoulder, picked up your empty mug, and followed her up the narrow concrete stairs that led to the library’s rooftop terrace.

billie shoved the heavy metal door open, and the cool outside air hit you right away. the campus below was completely dark, and you could see the streetlights reflecting off the damp sidewalks where the ice had finally melted. she walked over to the brick edge and just leaned against it, looking straight at you.

"i'm not asking for another chance," billie said, the breeze catching the loose strands of her dark hair and whipping them across her face. "i know that's what people do. they write a letter, they wait a month, and then they ask for everything to go back to normal. but i know things can't go back to normal. i'm not asking you to take me back."

you blinked, a little caught off guard by the sheer honesty in her voice. "then what are you doing here, billie?"

"i’m asking for the chance to earn it," she said, her voice completely raw, totally stripped of any frat-house armor. "there's a huge difference. i know you don’t like me the way you used to. i know the person you liked before is completely dead to you."

you looked away, your eyes tracking a car driving slowly on the street below. "i never said i stopped liking you."

it went completely silent after that, so quiet that it actually felt loud. billie just stared at you, freezing up completely as her breath hitched. her eyes went wide and filled up with tears, but she blinked them back fast because she didn't want to make a scene right there.

"i know why you liked me," billie continued softly, her voice trembling slightly but staying focused.

you looked back at her, confused. "what?"

"you liked me because you thought i made you feel safe," she said. she took one hand out of her pocket and gestured vaguely between the two of you. "in a world that always felt too loud and too fast for you, you thought i was the one place where nothing could hurt you. and i know that's completely gone now. i know that the second i walked into that basement and let those guys turn you into a joke, i destroyed that safety."

you took a step closer to the ledge, the cool air blowing past your cheeks, but your voice remained entirely level. there was no anger left in you, just a profound, empty clarity.

"it wasn't just the safety, billie," you said quietly.

she paused, locking her eyes onto yours.

"everyone thinks the worst part about what happened is that you embarrassed me," you said, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

you let out a soft, shuddering breath. "but it isn't. it's what happened inside my own head afterward. it's the fact that you made me question my own judgment about people. i thought i knew how to read someone, thought i could look at a person and tell if they were safe or if they were just playing a part. but you completely shattered that intuition. now, i spend every single day second-guessing my own thoughts, wondering if the people around me actually mean what they say or if they’re just waiting for a punchline. you left me stranded in this constant state of paranoia where i can't even trust my own mind anymore."

as the words left your mouth, you watched billie visibly break.

she looked like the ground had disappeared beneath her. her shoulders dropped and she went entirely pale, letting out this sharp gasp like the air had been knocked right out of her. her jaw was shaking, and her eyes were wide with this sudden, awful realization. she obviously knew she had messed up, but she never actually realized how badly she broke your ability to trust anything good. hearing that she had genuinely ruined parts of who you were. it completely crushed her, way worse than you just saying no ever could.

"god im sorry," billie choked out, her voice cracking as a heavy tear finally spilled over her lower lash line, tracking down her pale cheek. "i swear to god, i never wanted to change you. i'm so sorry. i'm so, so sorry—"

"billie, stop," you said softly, extending a hand to gently cut her off.

she froze, her lips parted, a desperate apology still hanging in the air.

"i know you're sorry," you told her, your voice steady and remarkably tender. "i read the three pages. i see you standing out here right now. i know the apology is entirely sincere. but it’s just... apologies aren’t the missing piece anymore. they can't un-write what happened in that basement, and they can't make me forget how quickly a safe space can turn into a joke for a bunch of guys in a frat basement. they can't erase the fact that you turned my genuine feelings into a game to win a bet."

billie swallowed the dry sob in her throat, looking down at the concrete floor. she took a slow, agonizing breath, trying to steady herself.

"i don’t expect you to believe me when i say i can become that person again," billie said, looking back up into your eyes with an unedited sincerity that made your chest ache. "honestly, if i were you, i wouldn't believe me either. words don't mean anything anymore. i just... i want the chance to show you. i want the chance to become someone you’d actually feel safe standing next to again. not because i said so, but because you watched me do it."

you leaned your back against the cold brick wall, crossing your arms against the cool breeze. you looked at the sheer, unyielding determination in her posture. the way she was standing out here just to give you the absolute truth without trying to make any excuses for herself.

"why now?" you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. "why did it take all of this for you to realize?"

billie let out a dry, humorless laugh that sounded more like a choked sob.

"because i finally realized that apologizing isn’t fixing anything," she said, her jaw clenched tight. "letters aren’t fixing it. crying in my room isn’t fixing it. missing you until my chest feels like it’s collapsing isn’t fixing it. the only thing that actually fixes anything... is changing. it’s showing up every single day and being a better version of myself, even if you never see it. even if you never come back to me."

that line hit you harder than any emotional apology ever could have. it wasn't a promise she was making to get a reward. it was just a fact. she was changing because she hated the person she had been, and she wanted to be better, regardless of the outcome.

you swallowed the lump in your throat, staring down at your shoes. "how do i know you won’t just hurt me again, billie? how do i know that next semester, or next year, you won't just find another frat house full of people and decide that winning some stupid bet matters more than my feelings?"

billie didn't answer immediately. the silence stretched out between you for a long, unbearable minute, the only sound being the distant hum of the campus heating vents.

"you don’t," billie said honestly.

you froze, your eyes snapping up to meet hers.

"you didn’t know the first time either," billie continued, her blue eyes wide and completely steady. "trust doesn’t come with guarantees. i could stand here and swear on my life that i’ll never make you cry again, but we both know that doesn't mean anything. i'm an idiot who screwed up the best thing she ever had. all i can actually do—the only real promise i can make—is to spend every single day giving you fewer reasons to doubt me. that's it."

you stood there for a long time, the five minutes she asked for having long since passed. you didn't say yes. you didn't say no. your mind was a chaotic blur of everything that had happened over the last few months.

"i don't know," you whispered, the truth hanging heavy in the cool air between your faces.

billie nodded quickly, a faint, incredibly small smile breaking through the exhaustion on her face. it wasn't a cocky grin, and it wasn't a victory lap. it was just a quiet, fragile expression of pure relief because you hadn't walked away.

"i know," billie said softly, tucking her hand back into her pocket. "you don't have to know right now. i have all the time in the world."

she stood up straight, stepping away from the brick ledge, and started walking toward the heavy metal door to go back inside. she wasn't lingering or trying to force a physical goodbye. she was just letting the moment end exactly where you set the boundary.

funny, you thought. the last time the two of you stood on this rooftop, everything had been just beginning. now, somehow, it felt like you were standing in the exact same place, only this time with the chance to build something entirely different.

"billie?" you called out quietly.

she stopped instantly, her hand hovering over the metal handle of the door. she turned her head back around, her blue eyes looking at you through the dark. "yeah?"

you took a slow breath, slung your tote bag securely over your shoulder, and walked toward her.

"will you walk me home?" you asked.

taglist : @ellae1l1sh @billiebobasia @byeilish @mscomet @malefantasy23 @billiesf4v @yurihxlic @angelbloodedd @deardariaa @hornierthanever0 @emyscc @evieeilishh @sophlavasbillie

© verysweetly | all rights reserved.

[chqrrysturns]

i love it when people misspell lesbian as lesbain because yes, being a lesbian is the bane of my existence.

[batty4billz]

TEXTS W GF!BILLS (red roots) pt.2

cw: suggestive language, and themes

pairings: gf!billie x gf!reader

a/n: I've been on the grind lately huh? I genuinely needs start proofreading my shi though

TAGLIST✶⋆.˚➛@jusdolls @ilomilobabyy @cookispark @maybelu7 @bilsluvbird @emecstlk @mars245ix @etherealdiva69 @amoravelee @nessaxbills @saintofdecayyy @bunnyxslutt @wildflwrrz @hellsofhearts02 @ellae1l1sh (comment if u wanna be added!)

[williamssbabydoll]

⌖ — (re) introducing BILLIE EILISH .ᐟ

BILLIE EILISH . DECEMBER 18TH, 2001. LEAD GUITARIST. KNOWN FOR HER UNPREDICTABLE STAGE PRESENCE, SHARP INSTINCTS, AND EFFORTLESS CHARISMA. THE FIRST TO ARRIVE AT REHEARSAL, THE LAST TO LEAVE. EVERY PERFORMANCE FEELS LIKE CONTROLLED CHAOS IN THE BEST WAY. HER GUITAR IS NEVER FAR FROM REACH, AND NEITHER IS A NEW MELODY.

billie eilish. 24. lead guitarist. naturally reserved. observant. effortlessly cool. oversized hoodies. vintage band tees. worn leather jackets. silver rings on every other finger. messy dark hair. headphones always around her neck. black nail polish, chipped more often than not. coffee before anything else. late-night writing sessions. notebooks filled with half-finished lyrics. records stacked against the walls. old guitars she refuses to throw away. always humming something under her breath. prefers rainy days. sarcastic sense of humor. loyal to the people she trusts. protective without making it obvious. perfectionist when it comes to music. turns every sound into inspiration. quiet confidence. soft smile. lives for sold-out crowds, but finds peace in empty studios. never misses a beat. music first, everything else later.

READER . LEAD GUITARIST. BILLIE EILISH'S BIGGEST RIVAL. EVERY AWARD SHOW, FESTIVAL, AND HEADLINE TURNS INTO AN UNSPOKEN COMPETITION THE SECOND THEY'RE IN THE SAME ROOM. THEIR NAMES ARE CONSTANTLY COMPARED, THEIR PERFORMANCES PICKED APART, THEIR TALENT MEASURED AGAINST ONE ANOTHER. THEY'D NEVER ADMIT IT, BUT THEY PUSH EACH OTHER TO BE BETTER. EVERY SHOW IS A BATTLE. EVERY SONG IS A CHALLENGE.

reader. 24. lead guitarist. effortlessly composed. masculine energy. sharp jawline. quiet confidence. black leather jackets. vintage denim. rings. chain necklaces. calloused hands from years of playing. always carrying a guitar pick in their pocket. calm under pressure. intensely competitive. rarely smiles onstage. piercing eye contact. dry humor. impossible to read. perfectionist. never misses a note. stays long after rehearsals end. writes riffs at three in the morning. thrives on proving people wrong. doesn't chase attention—it follows them anyway. respected by everyone. feared by the competition. every interview somehow circles back to billie. every performance becomes another comparison. neither willing to admit the other might actually be their favorite guitarist to watch.

[verysweetly]

- 𝒫ink letters [b.e]

˒˒ masterlist.

𑅞 chapter nine : 𝓖host town. 𑅕

the thing nobody tells you about a massive, life altering breakup is how loud the silence gets afterward. when you pull a thread out of your life, you expect a little rip, but you don't expect the whole fabric to just start unraveling at the edges.

for the first two weeks after the door clicked shut, the campus felt entirely different. it was like looking at a map you thought you knew by heart, only someone had changed all the street names overnight.

you started noticing things. or really, you started noticing the absence of things.

the university didn't stop moving, obviously. the semester kept rolling forward with its usual exhausting rhythm, but billie eilish completely vanished from the places she used to occupy. and the weirdest part was that she was still physically there, but the version of her everyone knew, the loud, effortless, cocky girl who seemed to own every room she walked into was just gone.

it started with small things that you’d catch out of the corner of your eye while walking across the quad.

you’d see her lacrosse team hanging out by the student center after practice, laughing and throwing a ball around in the freezing air, but billie wouldn't be in the middle of the circle anymore. she didn't stay behind to joke around or talk trash with the guys. the second practice ended, she’d have her gear bag slung over one shoulder, her head down, walking straight toward the dorms alone.

then the rumors started filtering through the campus grapevine, the way they always do. you’d be standing in line for a bagel or sitting in the back of the dining hall, and you’d hear people talking.

“did you see billie at the house party friday?”

“she wasn’t even there.”

“no way, it’s a frat house party, she’s always there.”

“i’m telling you, she hasn’t been to a single party in three weeks. someone said she stays locked in her room.”

it was weird hearing people talk about her like she was some kind of mystery, when just a month ago, she was the loudest constant in your life. you found out she had stopped flirting entirely. the easy, lazy grins she used to give random girls in the hallways? gone. the loud, booming laugh that used to bounce off the walls of the campus coffee shop? you hadn't heard it once. she had just… quieted down. like someone had turned her volume knob all the way to the left.

the first time you actually had to be in the same room with her for more than a passing second was a tuesday morning. the weather was already turning into that miserable, bone chilling cold that makes your joints ache.

you walked into the large, tiered lecture hall for your morning class, balancing your notebook and a travel mug. usually, you’d walk in and your eyes would automatically scan the rows to see where she was sitting, mostly because back then, she’d already be slouched in a seat, waving you over with a massive, ridiculous grin, saving the spot next to her like a kid on a school bus.

but this morning, you walked in late. there were only about five minutes before the professor started speaking, and the room was packed with the heavy scent of damp coats and wet umbrellas.

as you scanned the room for an open spot, you noticed it. there was an empty seat right at the end of the third row. and right next to it was billie.

months ago, she would have just flopped into that seat without even asking, or she would have caught your eye and patted the plastic chair until you walked down. your stomach did that familiar, violent little flip the one you hated because you couldn't control it. for a split second, the air in the lecture hall felt incredibly thin.

but billie didn't look up to catch your eye. she actually did the exact opposite.

she noticed you walking down the steps, you could tell by the way her entire body stiffened up, her shoulders dropping an inch. but instead of saying anything, or even looking at you, she just picked up her heavy black backpack from the floor, set it on the empty seat next to her, and looked straight down at her desk. she didn't try to lock eyes. she didn't give you a pathetic, pleading look. she just made herself completely unavailable, intentionally filling the space so you wouldn't have to make the awkward choice of sitting near her.

she waited a beat, and then she quietly stood up. she packed her laptop into her bag, moved past the people in her row with a quiet muttered apology, and walked all the way to the very back of the lecture hall. she took a seat six rows higher, right in the corner, completely isolated from everyone else.

you sat down a few rows below, staring at the green chalkboard. you felt this weird, complicated wave of emotion hit you. you were relieved, because the thought of sitting next to her made your chest tight. but at the exact same time, you felt this heavy, hollow disappointment that you couldn't quite shake. it was the first real boundary you had given her, and she was keeping it perfectly. it was infuriating how much it hurt.

a week after that, the first real snow of the winter hit the campus. it wasn't the beautiful, fluffy kind of snow you see in movies. it was that heavy, wet, freezing slush that turns the sidewalks into a slick mess.

you were walking back from the science building, your woolen scarf pulled all the way up over your nose to protect your face from the stinging wind. the path was narrow, cleared only by a single pass of a campus snowplow, leaving high banks of dirty, ankle deep snow on either side of the concrete walk.

you were looking down at your boots, trying not to slip, when you saw another pair of heavy boots coming from the opposite direction.

you looked up. billie was walking toward you.

she was bundled up in a plain black hoodie under a heavy denim jacket, her hands buried so deep in her pockets that her arms were pinned straight against her sides. her dark hair was damp from the falling snow, a few wet strands sticking to her forehead.

your heart did that sudden, miserable drop again. on a path this narrow, there was no way to avoid each other. you’d have to pass within inches of her. your muscles tensed up, your throat going completely dry as the distance between you closed. for one horrible, frantic second, it looked like she might look up, like she might say your name, like she might try to force a conversation on a freezing sidewalk just to hear you speak.

but she didn't.

the moment she recognized your colorful scarf from ten feet away, billie didn't hesitate. she didn't try to hold your gaze or give you a sad smile. instead, she quietly stepped right off the cleared concrete path.

she plunged her heavy boots straight into the ankle deep, freezing slush on the side of the walkway. she didn't look at you as she did it. she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the ground a few feet ahead of her, her jaw clenched tight against the cold. she walked all the way around you through the deep, wet snow, leaving a wide, respectful three foot bubble of space between the two of you.

there was no dialogue. there was no dramatic confrontation. there was just the loud, crisp crunch of her boots breaking through the icy crust of the snow, the sound of her heavy, uneven breathing in the quiet winter air, and then she was past you. she stepped back onto the concrete path several feet later, never once turning around to see if you were looking back.

she’d rather walk through freezing slush and ruin her shoes than make you feel trapped for even five seconds.

walking away, your chest felt incredibly heavy. you realized that she had never once tried to force another conversation after that night in the hallway. not a single text. not a dm. no "accidental” run ins where she tried to corner you. she was just entirely, quietly gone, giving you exactly what you asked for, even if it meant she had to fade into the background of her own life to do it.

the weather had gotten completely miserable, matching the suffocating quiet that had settled into the campus library. for days, the only sound on the third floor had been the low, steady hum of the heating vents and the occasional, crisp scrape of a turning page.

you were sitting at your usual corner table on the third floor. it was your safe haven, tucked away between the old history texts and the high windows that looked out over the frozen quad. a fresh cup of rose tea sat by your elbow, the steam rising in thin, twisting ribbons into the cold air, smelling faintly of sweet floral warmth. you hadn't looked up from your textbook in over an hour, but your eyes hadn't actually processed a single line of text. you were just staring at the black ink until it blurred.

then, a heavy, familiar shadow fell over the dark wood of your table.

you didn't look up immediately. your fingers simply tightened against the edge of your notebook, your heart doing that sudden, violent drop into your stomach before your brain could even register the heavy, rhythmic sound of familiar boots stopping right beside your chair.

"hey."

the voice was barely a whisper. it didn't have any of that old, effortless confidence or the lazy, low drawl that used to fill your apartment on weekend nights. it sounded rough, worn down by weeks of absolute silence, and completely stripped of any armor.

slowly, you lifted your head.

billie looked like a ghost of the person she used to be. she was buried in a plain, faded black zip-up hoodie that looked like it was swallowing her whole. her dark hair was pulled back loosely, the bright red roots grown out a lot, framing a face that looked completely hollowed out. there were deep, dark purple bruises of exhaustion permanently etched under her blue eyes, which were wide, wet, and staring down at you with a terrifying amount of vulnerability.

"i'm not going to stay," billie rushed out, her jaw trembling slightly as she saw the cautious, guarded flatness return to your eyes. "i promise. i'm not going to make a scene or ruin your space.. again. i just... i needed to give you this."

slowly, she pulled her right hand out of her pocket.

resting in her open palm was the original pink envelope. it was the first letter you had ever handed her. the one filled with your neat, loopy handwriting, the one that detailed exactly how safe she had made you feel in a world that always felt too loud.

but it didn't look perfect anymore. the crisp edges of the pink paper were heavily frayed, the corners completely softened and rounded from being held too many times. the pastel surface was creased with deep, spidery lines where the paper had been folded and unfolded over and over again, until the fiber itself looked thin and fragile.

"it shouldn't belong to me," billie said, her voice dropping so low it was almost swallowed by the hum of the library heaters. she gently set the envelope down on the very edge of the wooden table, right next to your textbook, her fingers lingering for a fraction of a second before pulling back sharply. "i don't... i don't have the right to keep something so good when i treated it like trash. it belongs with you. even if you throw it away."

you looked at the faded pink paper, then back up at her. the intense, physical wave of sickness that usually accompanied the thought of her didn't hit you this time. instead, you just felt that same, deep exhaustion that you couldn't shake off.

"okay," you whispered neutrally.

billie’s throat bobbed as she swallowed back a dry sob. she nodded quickly, tucking her hands right back into her pockets, her shoulders hunching inward as she took a step away from the table.

"the first page was the hardest to look at," she breathed, a single, heavy tear finally spilling over her lower lash line and tracking down her pale cheek. "that's all. i'm sorry for interrupting your studying."

she turned around and walked away. she didn't look back once. her boots made a soft, heavy sound against the carpeted floor as she disappeared into the maze of book stacks, leaving the third floor entirely silent once again.

you didn't touch the letter for the rest of the afternoon. it sat there on the edge of the dark wood, a bright, painful splash of pastel against the dull textbooks, looking like a tiny reminder to a month of your life that you were desperately trying to forget.

it wasn't until the library lights began to flicker at 8:00 pm, signaling closing time, that you finally reached out and slid the envelope into your tote bag.

the walk back to your apartment was freezing. the november wind had fully turned into a december gale, biting through your scarf and making your ears sting. by the time you unlocked your front door and stepped into the quiet warmth of your living room, your fingers were completely numb.

you threw your bag on the couch, walked into the kitchen, and set a fresh pot of rose tea on the stove. while you waited for the water to heat, you walked back to the living room, retrieved the pink envelope, and sat down at the small wooden kitchen table. the exact spot where you had sat weeks ago while the world broke apart.

you turned the envelope over in your hands, intending to just slide your original letter out and read through your own words, to see if you could still recognize the person who had written them.

but when you flipped the pastel paper over, your heart stopped completely.

the back of the envelope was completely covered in dark, black ink. it wasn't your neat, loopy script. it was a messy, chaotic, jagged handwriting that looked like it had been scrawled in a desperate hurry, the letters tilting sharply to the right.

your fingers shook as you unfolded the flap. inside, wrapped neatly around your original letter, were three full pages of notebook paper. completely packed from top to bottom with the same desperate, black ink.

you slid the pages out onto the table, the steam from the teapot beginning to whistle in the background, but you couldn't move to turn it off. your eyes were already locked onto the first line.

i don't even know if you're going to read this. you'll probably throw the whole envelope into the trash the second you get home and i wouldn't blame you. i'd blame myself. i do blame myself. every single second of every day.

i still make tea the way you liked it even though i hate tea. i still sleep on the side of the bed you used. i can’t throw away your grocery receipt. i still catch myself reaching for my phone every time something funny happens.

i read your letter so many times the fold started tearing. i'm sorry it looks so messy now. i kept taking it out in the middle of the night because your handwriting was the only thing that could stop my chest from feeling like it was collapsing. i would sit on the floor of my room and trace the loops of your letters until the sun came up, just trying to remember what it felt like when you didn't hate me. i destroyed the paper just like i destroyed everything else.

you flipped to the second page, your breath hitching in your throat. the ink here was heavier, some words written over twice as if she was pressing down on the pen with everything she had.

the stuffed frog still sits on my bed. the guys came into my room last week to clean up some stuff and miller tried to throw it in the closet as a joke and i almost broke his nose. i yelled at them until they left the house. they don't come into my room anymore. nobody does. it's just me and that stupid frog and the absolute silence of what i did to us. i haven't moved it an inch from where you left it.

i still have the receipt from the grocery store. the one from the 24 hour place when we went to get midnight snacks and you made me laugh so hard in the chip aisle because i almost dropped the hot sauce. it's tucked inside my phone case. the ink is completely fading but i can still see the date. november 14th. it was the best night of my entire semester and i didn't even realize it until i was looking at it through a screen while everyone else was laughing.

the third page was where the crossed out lines became overwhelming. whole sentences were completely blacked out with aggressive, thick horizontal strokes, as if she had started to write something defensive and then violently hated herself for it.

underneath the largest blacked out section, the handwriting grew incredibly small, almost illegible, the ink slightly warped in places as if the paper had gotten wet before she finished writing.

i wish i could go back to the roof.

i wish i never drank that night.

i know i don’t deserve another chance. i'm not writing this to ask for one. i know what i am. i'm the idiot who took the rarest, most beautiful thing that ever happened to her and used it to buy two minutes of popularity from people she doesn't even like. i see the look in your eyes every time i look in the mirror. i see how tired you are. i see how small i made you feel and it makes me want to claw my own skin off.

i kept crossing out the next sentence because every time i wrote it, it felt selfish. you don’t owe me those words anymore. but they’re still true. i love you.

i love you, and i think that’s the worst punishment i’ve ever gotten. because every time i close my eyes, i see you standing in the rain, looking at me like i was something safe. and then i have to wake up and remember that the person who destroyed your safety was me.

you don't have to forgive me. just please don't let me take away the good parts of you. keep writing. keep reading. don't let my stupidity make your world any smaller.

— b.

the kitchen was entirely quiet now, save for the wild, frantic whistling of the kettle on the stove.

you sat perfectly still, the three pages of lined paper spread out across the table before you. the ink seemed to stare back at you, raw and bleeding, completely stripped of the untouchable, effortless cool that billie usually projected to the rest of the world.

you reached over and turned off the burner, the sudden drop in noise making the apartment feel incredibly vast. you looked down at your hands, then at the faded pink paper of your original envelope.

the physical sickness was gone, replaced by something much heavier, something that pulled at the very center of your chest. she hadn't lied on the paper. you could see the truth in the jagged lines of her writing, the coffee stains, and the places where the pen had nearly ripped through the notebook paper from how hard she was pressing down.

the pages stayed spread across the kitchen table. you couldn’t bring yourself to fold them. because folding them meant deciding where they belonged. with the rest of your memories. or in the trash.

and for the first time since the night everything fell apart… you didn’t know which one hurt more.

taglist : @ellae1l1sh @billiebobasia @byeilish @mscomet @malefantasy23 @billiesf4v @yurihxlic @angelbloodedd @deardariaa @hornierthanever0 @emyscc @evieeilishh @sophlavasbillie

© verysweetly | all rights reserved.

[batty4billz]

TEXTS W GF!BILLS(red roots)

gf!billie x gf!reader

cw: suggestive topics, dirty talk, & a lot of flirting

a/n: lemme know if y'all liked this I've never done a text fic before.

TAGLIST✶⋆.˚➛@jusdolls @ilomilobabyy @cookispark @maybelu7 @bilsluvbird @emecstlk @mars245ix @etherealdiva69 @amoravelee @nessaxbills @saintofdecayyy @bunnyxslutt @wildflwrrz @hellsofhearts02 @ellae1l1sh (comment if u wanna be added!)

[verysweetly]

- 𝒫ink letters [b.e]

˒˒ masterlist.

𑅞 chapter eight : 𝓝othing left. 𑅕

the ringing in billie’s ears didn’t stop when she got into her truck. it didn't stop when she threw the vehicle into reverse, spraying wet gravel against the frat house foundation, or when she tore down the dark campus streets, completely blind to the speed limit.

the drive to your apartment was a blur of streetlights and freezing sweat. her hands were shaking so violently against the steering wheel that the plastic creaked under her grip. through the thick fabric of her jacket, she could feel the faint, stiff edges of the pink envelopes pressing against her ribs.

the same letters that made her feel like the luckiest person alive twenty four hours ago.

now feeling heavier than bricks.

when she reached your building, she didn’t use the elevator. she took the stairs two at a time, her heavy boots slamming against the concrete, her lungs burning from the cold air she’d swallowed on the way in. by the time she stood in front of your door, the frantic adrenaline had begun to curdle into a sick, hollow dread.

she knocked. once. twice.

the silence that followed was louder than the music she had just left behind.

then, the lock clicked.

the door swung open, but only halfway. you were standing there in a faded, oversized t-shirt and flannel pajama pants, looking like you had just been drifting off to sleep. your hair was slightly messy, the way it always got when you spent too long leaning your head against your hand while reading. but your face was entirely empty. your phone was face down on the small console table behind you.

billie’s throat locked up. all the rehearsed explanations, the desperate lies, the frantic apologies she had practiced during the three minute drive? they all evaporated.

you looked at her for a long, agonizing moment. your eyes didn't look angry. they just looked tired.

"did you laugh when you read it?"

the question was quiet. it didn't have the sharp edge of an accusation. it was just a soft, devastating inquiry.

billie froze. the air in her chest turned to absolute ice. she wanted to scream no, she wanted to pull the letters out of her inner pocket and force you to see how safely they were tucked away next to her heart.

but she couldn't speak. her lips parted, but no sound came out. and in that microsecond of hesitation, the truth hung between them like a physical weight. you watched the panic skip across her features, watched the way her jaw trembled, and you saw the answer she couldn't bring herself to voice.

you quietly said, "okay."

"no—wait, please," billie choked out, the sudden use of her voice sounding foreign and unrefined in the quiet hallway. she took a half step forward, her hand reaching out instinctively before dropping back to her side. "it wasn't like that. i swear to god, it wasn't like that."

"then what was it like?"

your voice remained steady, flat, and entirely devoid of heat.

billie opened her mouth to answer, but the words died on her tongue. she realized, with a sickening lurch of her stomach, that she was digging herself into a hole she couldn't climb out of. because how could she explain it? how could she tell you that the bet was real? that she had accepted it? that she had kept the game going even after she started falling for you?

how could she explain that she had held your most vulnerable thoughts up in the air like a trophy for five seconds, just because a drunk guy in a sideways snapback had wounded her pride?

there was no defense. there was no misunderstanding. the absence of your anger was worse than any screaming match she had ever prepared for. it felt like being systematically dismantled in a soundproof room.

as the silence stretched, the memory of the words inside her pocket began to curdle. they became unbearable. every line she had memorized on that porch started sounding like a direct accusation echoing in her head.

‧₊ i trust you. ࣪ ˖

a sharp, physical twist in her gut.

‧₊ you make me feel safe. ࣪ ˖

worse. a sickening realization of exactly what she had broken.

‧₊ i like who i am around you. ࣪ ˖

a total, devastating nuclear strike to whatever shred of pride she had left.

"i just..." billie’s voice cracked, her tough exterior completely shattering, leaving her looking small despite her large frame. "i was drunk, i didn't mean—"

"i spent three hours writing those."

the sentence cut through her clumsy explanation with the clean, quiet precision of a blade.

billie stopped breathing. her chest felt tight, the vintage jersey suddenly suffocating her. the memory of the pink paper, the loopy handwriting, and the soft smell of vanilla that clung to the envelopes flashed through her mind. three hours. you had sat in your room, thinking about her, carefully choosing the words to tell her she made the noise in your head go away.

"you did?" billie whispered.

it was the weakest, most pathetic thing she had ever said. it carried the weight of a total collapse.

you didn't answer. you didn't need to. you just looked at her, and for the first time, a small flick of grief passed through your eyes before your face settled back into that terrifyingly calm mask.

"i think you should go home," you said softly.

"please, just let me—" billie begged, her eyes stinging as the first hot tear finally spilled over her lower lash line, cutting a path through the cold sweat on her cheek. "i didn’t even take the money, let me explain. i'll do whatever you want, just don't—"

"goodnight, billie."

you didn't slam the door.

a slammed door would have meant there was still passion left to burn. it would have meant there was a fight to be had, an argument to win, a reaction to react to.

instead, you just stepped back. the door moved slowly, smoothly, guided by your hand until it clicked softly into the frame.

the lock turned.

and billie was left standing alone in the dimly lit hallway, staring at the cold, unyielding wood of the door, listening to the quiet fade of your footsteps on the other side until there was nothing left but her own uneven breathing.

taglist : @ellae1l1sh @billiebobasia @byeilish @mscomet @malefantasy23 @billiesf4v @yurihxlic @angelbloodedd @deardariaa @hornierthanever0 @emyscc @evieeilishh @sophlavasbillie

© verysweetly | all rights reserved.

[verysweetly]

- 𝒫ink letters [b.e]

˒˒ masterlist.

𑅞 chapter seven : 𝓒onsequences. 𑅕

the problem with having the best day of your life is that eventually the day ends.

billie eilish should have gone home. that was probably her first mistake.

when she pulled her truck back into the muddy gravel driveway of the frat house, the sun had already dipped completely below the horizon, leaving the november sky a bruised, freezing shade of purple. the house was already vibrating. bass from a set of blown out speakers in the basement was rattling the windowpanes, and the front porch was a revolving door of cheap winter coats, red solo cups, and the unmistakable, sharp stench of stale beer.

by all logic, billie should have walked through the back door, bypassed the kitchen entirely, gone straight up the creaking stairs to her room, locked the door, and spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out how her heart was still beating at a normal rhythm after what had happened on that parking garage roof.

but she didn't. because for the first time in weeks, billie eilish wasn't terrified.

the roof had changed everything. the desperate, cold lipped collision of that kiss had burned away every ounce of calculation left in her brain. she wasn’t trying to win anymore. she wasn’t trying to spin a clever line, or manage the external exterior. she wasn't even thinking about the two hundred dollars sitting on the kitchen counter like a toxic, radioactive curse.

she was just entirely, stupidly, completely in love. and that kind of happiness makes a person reckless. it makes you feel like you're wearing a suit of armor when you're actually just walking around stark naked in a snowstorm.

"yo! look who finally decided to grace us with her presence!"

the moment billie slid through the heavy wooden front door, she was swallowed by the heat and the noise. miller was standing by the beer pong table, his snapback turned sideways, a half empty bottle of cheap vodka gripped in his hand. a handful of other guys from the house immediately yelled her name, throwing their arms up in drunken greeting.

normally, billie would have slipped into her usual skin. the low, casual drawl, the slight slouch, the carefully manufactured air of a girl who couldn't be bothered to care about anything.

but tonight, she couldn't. she walked into the living room with her heavy vintage sports jersey hanging off her frame, her hands jammed into her pockets, and she was smiling. not a smirk. not the cocky, one sided tilt of her lips she used to guard herself. a genuine, massive, eye crinkling smile that she couldn't have wiped off her face with a sandblaster.

she walked over to the kitchen, entirely on autopilot, grabbing a warm can of beer from an open 24-pack on the counter just to have something to do with her hands. the alcohol hit her fast because she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. her stomach had been too busy tying itself into knots over a girl in a cream colored knitted scarf. two sips in, and the warm, buzzy blur of the beer began to intermingle with the pure, unadulterated high of the afternoon.

she was so drunk on the memory of your mouth that the actual alcohol just felt like an accelerator. she didn't join the beer pong game. she just leaned against the greasy kitchen doorframe, watching the smoke swirl around the ceiling lights, completely lost in her own head.

miller stopped mid sentence in the living room, his brow furrowing as he stared at her through the kitchen doorway. he set his bottle down on the sticky folding table and nudged jax with his elbow.

"look at eilish," miller muttered, a nasty, knowing grin spreading across his face. he walked into the kitchen, letting out a loud, mocking sigh that immediately drew the attention of three other guys. "man, it is tragic. look at her. just completely spaced out."

billie blinked, the warm fog in her brain shifting as she looked up. "what?"

"bro, we saw you sprinting out of the student union earlier like your pants were on fire," miller said, leaning against the counter and folding his arms. he exchanged a look with jax. "and now you're sitting here staring at a wall. what happened? library girl finally realize you've been wearing the same jersey for three days and ghost your ass?"

"yeah, she didn't even let you sit down, did she?" jax chimed in, laughing as he cracked open a seltzer. "miller said you looked like you were about to barf when you left. she shut it down, didn't she? took one look at the snapback and said 'absolutely not'."

the warm, soft high in billie's chest suddenly experienced a sharp, toxic curdling.

the alcohol was doing its damage now. when billie was sober, she could shrug off their teasing because she knew exactly where she stood. but drunk? combined with the fiercely protective, possessive rush of adrenaline from the afternoon? her old, defensive defense mechanism didn't just glitch. it mutated back into its worst form. her pride. the sharp, ugly frat boy bravado she had used as a shield for years flared up instantly. they thought she lost? they thought she got ghosted?

"shut the fuck up," billie said, a low, gravelly laugh ripping from her throat, though the smile on her face shifted from something soft to something sharp and dangerous. she leaned back against the fridge, tossing her empty can into the recycling bin with a loud clunk. "you guys don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"oh, come on, eilish," miller baited her, stepping closer, his voice dripping with condescension. "it's fine. we knew it was a long shot anyway. two hundred bucks was always a lot of money for a girl who spends her time in the poetry section. you don't have to lie to us. we won't kick you out of the house for taking an L."

"an L?" billie's eyes darkened, her jaw clenching as she stepped away from the fridge. she loomed over miller, the sheer size of her frame making the kitchen feel suddenly very small. the toxic need to win, to completely obliterate their mocking expressions, completely took the wheel. "bro, she literally gave me handwritten love letters this morning."

the kitchen fell dead silent for three full seconds.

then, miller let out a massive, mocking screech. "you’re lying!"

"i'm not," billie sneered, a cocky, arrogant tilt returning to her lips as she watched their faces change.

"you are absolutely lying!" jax shouted, pointing a finger at her chest. "love letters? what is this, the nineties? nobody writes love letters. you're trying to save face because she probably gave you her notes for the econ midterm and you're trying to turn it into a win so you don't look like a loser."

"i'm literally not," billie said, her voice rising against the noise of the house, entirely fueled by the bait. they didn't believe her. they thought she was weak. they thought she couldn't pull it off. "she bought vintage stationery and everything, bro. crisp pink paper. two of them. handed them right to me over my laptop."

"show us," miller dared, his eyes gleaming with drunken mischief as he stepped right into her space. "show us, or you're capping. you got rejected and now you're making up a fanfiction to save your reputation."

"they do exist," billie insisted, her voice getting louder, the competitive venom completely overriding her common sense.

"then show us! prove it's not a grocery list, eilish!"

drunk people think they can play with fire and never get burned. and billie was so desperate to slam the truth in their faces, so high on the validation of your loopy handwriting, that she snapped.

she laughed, a loud, reckless sound, and reached into her jacket pocket.

she pulled out one of the pale pink envelopes.

the kitchen literally exploded. miller let out a sound that wasn't even human, jumping in the air and slapping the drywall. jax’s jaw dropped.

"holy shit!"

"no way, let me see!" miller reached his hand out, his fingers clawing at the air toward the paper.

the guys were howling now, crowded into the small kitchen space, pushing against each other. the noise from the living room seemed to swell, more people turning their heads to see what the football players and frat boys were screaming about in the kitchen.

"hold them up!" miller yelled, pulling his phone out of his front pocket. "hold them up, eilish! let me get a photo for the chat! prove to the whole house you actually did it!"

"yeah, line 'em up!"

it happened in the span of five seconds. a blink and you miss it moment. the kind of tiny, insignificant decision that sets a landslide into motion.

billie didn't think. there was no conscious thought of the consequences, no calculation of how this would look to anyone else. she was just a kid at a party, cornered by a bunch of loud, drunk guys, completely consumed by the toxic need to establish her dominance in the room.

she held the two pink envelopes up in both hands, framing her face like trophies. she stuck her tongue out in a classic, cocky rockstar pose. a big, dumb, unfiltered grin split her face.

flash

the bright light of miller's phone camera illuminated the greasy kitchen for a microsecond.

"got it!" miller yelled, laughing as he looked down at his screen.

the second the photo was taken, billie forgot about it. the adrenaline spike receded as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by a sudden wave of exhaustion from the noise. she immediately shoved both envelopes back into her secure inner zipper pocket, patting her chest twice to ensure they were safe. she didn't ask to see the photo. she didn't care. it was just another stupid, fleeting moment in a house full of them.

"alright, i'm out," billie mumbled, turning away from the chaos of the kitchen. "don't touch my beer."

she wandered out of the house, needing a break from the aggressive bass that was starting to make her head throb. she pushed open the back door and stepped out onto the concrete steps of the back porch.

the air out here was biting, a brutal reminder that winter was officially arriving. a few stray, frozen flakes of snow were starting to drift down through the yellow glow of the porch light, melting the second they hit the wet wood.

billie sat down on the top step, pulling her heavy jersey tighter around herself. she pulled her phone out of her pocket. her thumb hovered over your contact name.

billie : just left the union a bit ago. still thinking about the parking garage.

billie : you're dangerous with a pen, bro.

she stared at the screen, a soft, dopey smile returning to her lips as she waited for the three little dots to appear. you were probably still studying, or maybe you were brushing your teeth, or getting ready for bed, entirely unaware that a girl in a massive sports jersey was sitting on a freezing porch in the middle of november, completely ruined by you.

she tucked her phone into her lap and pulled the first letter out again. just a little bit. just enough to read the last few lines by the dim yellow light of the porch bulb.

‧₊˚ i like the way you turn normal moments into something i end up remembering later without meaning to.

and i really like that, with you, everything feels a little less loud in my head. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

inside the house, the music was still roaring. someone dropped a glass cup on the linoleum, followed by a chorus of drunken groans and laughter. the party was moving at its usual, unstoppable pace.

and then, billie’s phone buzzed in her lap.

once.

twice.

three times.

then ten times in rapid succession.

billie frowned, her brows knitting together as the screen lit up repeatedly, casting a harsh blue glow against her face. she slid the pink letter back into her pocket, zipping it securely before picking up the device.

it wasn't a text from you.

it was the house group chat. thirty seven unread messages.

miller tagged you.

jax : no wayyyyyy

miller : bro you’re famous.

sam : lmaoooooooo.

lucas : eilish actually did it??

billie’s stomach gave a slight, uneasy twitch. the warm, fuzzy weight of the alcohol suddenly felt a little heavier, a little less comfortable. she clicked on the notification.

the photo miller had taken in the kitchen filled her entire screen.

underneath the photo, miller had captioned it : eilish really got the love letters 😭😭😭 the two hundred is hersss

billie froze. the phone felt suddenly heavy in her hand.

she started scrolling down, her thumb moving automatically as her eyes scanned the comments.

“bro no shot she actually pulled the library girl.”

“i thought she was capping when she said she had a bet on it.”

“the tongue out is crazy 💀💀”

“eilish is cold for this one.”

“wait, did she actually read them to the house??”

at first, a sharp spark of annoyance flared in her chest. she wanted to go inside and punch miller square in the jaw. she had told them not to touch them. she had told them it was private.

but as she kept scrolling, the annoyance didn't stay. it dissolved, rapidly, into something else.

something cold.

really cold.

it felt like someone had quietly opened a door inside her chest and let the freezing november wind blow straight through her ribs. the alcohol in her system didn't feel warm anymore. it felt like lead in her veins. her breathing hitched.

the comments were multiplying. the photo hadn't just stayed in the house group chat. someone had screenshotted it. someone had posted it to their public story. it was spreading through the campus ecosystem with the quiet, devastating speed of a wildfire.

people knew. not the whole story. not the depth of what had happened on that roof. they didn't know about the warmth, or the tears, or the way billie's hands had trembled when she held your face.

but they knew enough. they knew about the bet. they knew about the pink letters.

and then, billie’s eyes locked onto one comment at the very bottom of a secondary thread. just one. one stupid, throwaway comment from a girl in an upperclassman sorority.

“wait thats the girl from the library? the one who always wears that thick cream scarf?”

the music inside the frat house didn't sound loud anymore. the bass was just a distant, hollow thud against the back of her skull. the porch wasn't warm. the snow falling on her sneakers didn't look pretty.

for the first time all night, the fog completely cleared from billie's brain, leaving behind a single, sharp, horrifyingly clear thought.

.. what if she sees this?

taglist : @ellae1l1sh @billiebobasia @byeilish @mscomet @malefantasy23 @billiesf4v @yurihxlic @angelbloodedd @deardariaa @hornierthanever0 @emyscc @evieeilishh @sophlavasbillie

© verysweetly | all rights reserved.

[ellae1l1sh]

fire shit never stop writing @verysweetly

[verysweetly]

the only thing keeping me writing is not wanting to end up on your hitlist 😊 #healthyrelationship

[ellae1l1sh]

iktr #healthiestrelationship

[verysweetly]

- 𝒫ink letters [b.e]

˒˒ masterlist.

𑅞 chapter seven : 𝓒onsequences. 𑅕

the problem with having the best day of your life is that eventually the day ends.

billie eilish should have gone home. that was probably her first mistake.

when she pulled her truck back into the muddy gravel driveway of the frat house, the sun had already dipped completely below the horizon, leaving the november sky a bruised, freezing shade of purple. the house was already vibrating. bass from a set of blown out speakers in the basement was rattling the windowpanes, and the front porch was a revolving door of cheap winter coats, red solo cups, and the unmistakable, sharp stench of stale beer.

by all logic, billie should have walked through the back door, bypassed the kitchen entirely, gone straight up the creaking stairs to her room, locked the door, and spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out how her heart was still beating at a normal rhythm after what had happened on that parking garage roof.

but she didn't. because for the first time in weeks, billie eilish wasn't terrified.

the roof had changed everything. the desperate, cold lipped collision of that kiss had burned away every ounce of calculation left in her brain. she wasn’t trying to win anymore. she wasn’t trying to spin a clever line, or manage the external exterior. she wasn't even thinking about the two hundred dollars sitting on the kitchen counter like a toxic, radioactive curse.

she was just entirely, stupidly, completely in love. and that kind of happiness makes a person reckless. it makes you feel like you're wearing a suit of armor when you're actually just walking around stark naked in a snowstorm.

"yo! look who finally decided to grace us with her presence!"

the moment billie slid through the heavy wooden front door, she was swallowed by the heat and the noise. miller was standing by the beer pong table, his snapback turned sideways, a half empty bottle of cheap vodka gripped in his hand. a handful of other guys from the house immediately yelled her name, throwing their arms up in drunken greeting.

normally, billie would have slipped into her usual skin. the low, casual drawl, the slight slouch, the carefully manufactured air of a girl who couldn't be bothered to care about anything.

but tonight, she couldn't. she walked into the living room with her heavy vintage sports jersey hanging off her frame, her hands jammed into her pockets, and she was smiling. not a smirk. not the cocky, one sided tilt of her lips she used to guard herself. a genuine, massive, eye crinkling smile that she couldn't have wiped off her face with a sandblaster.

she walked over to the kitchen, entirely on autopilot, grabbing a warm can of beer from an open 24-pack on the counter just to have something to do with her hands. the alcohol hit her fast because she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. her stomach had been too busy tying itself into knots over a girl in a cream colored knitted scarf. two sips in, and the warm, buzzy blur of the beer began to intermingle with the pure, unadulterated high of the afternoon.

she was so drunk on the memory of your mouth that the actual alcohol just felt like an accelerator. she didn't join the beer pong game. she just leaned against the greasy kitchen doorframe, watching the smoke swirl around the ceiling lights, completely lost in her own head.

miller stopped mid sentence in the living room, his brow furrowing as he stared at her through the kitchen doorway. he set his bottle down on the sticky folding table and nudged jax with his elbow.

"look at eilish," miller muttered, a nasty, knowing grin spreading across his face. he walked into the kitchen, letting out a loud, mocking sigh that immediately drew the attention of three other guys. "man, it is tragic. look at her. just completely spaced out."

billie blinked, the warm fog in her brain shifting as she looked up. "what?"

"bro, we saw you sprinting out of the student union earlier like your pants were on fire," miller said, leaning against the counter and folding his arms. he exchanged a look with jax. "and now you're sitting here staring at a wall. what happened? library girl finally realize you've been wearing the same jersey for three days and ghost your ass?"

"yeah, she didn't even let you sit down, did she?" jax chimed in, laughing as he cracked open a seltzer. "miller said you looked like you were about to barf when you left. she shut it down, didn't she? took one look at the snapback and said 'absolutely not'."

the warm, soft high in billie's chest suddenly experienced a sharp, toxic curdling.

the alcohol was doing its damage now. when billie was sober, she could shrug off their teasing because she knew exactly where she stood. but drunk? combined with the fiercely protective, possessive rush of adrenaline from the afternoon? her old, defensive defense mechanism didn't just glitch. it mutated back into its worst form. her pride. the sharp, ugly frat boy bravado she had used as a shield for years flared up instantly. they thought she lost? they thought she got ghosted?

"shut the fuck up," billie said, a low, gravelly laugh ripping from her throat, though the smile on her face shifted from something soft to something sharp and dangerous. she leaned back against the fridge, tossing her empty can into the recycling bin with a loud clunk. "you guys don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"oh, come on, eilish," miller baited her, stepping closer, his voice dripping with condescension. "it's fine. we knew it was a long shot anyway. two hundred bucks was always a lot of money for a girl who spends her time in the poetry section. you don't have to lie to us. we won't kick you out of the house for taking an L."

"an L?" billie's eyes darkened, her jaw clenching as she stepped away from the fridge. she loomed over miller, the sheer size of her frame making the kitchen feel suddenly very small. the toxic need to win, to completely obliterate their mocking expressions, completely took the wheel. "bro, she literally gave me handwritten love letters this morning."

the kitchen fell dead silent for three full seconds.

then, miller let out a massive, mocking screech. "you’re lying!"

"i'm not," billie sneered, a cocky, arrogant tilt returning to her lips as she watched their faces change.

"you are absolutely lying!" jax shouted, pointing a finger at her chest. "love letters? what is this, the nineties? nobody writes love letters. you're trying to save face because she probably gave you her notes for the econ midterm and you're trying to turn it into a win so you don't look like a loser."

"i'm literally not," billie said, her voice rising against the noise of the house, entirely fueled by the bait. they didn't believe her. they thought she was weak. they thought she couldn't pull it off. "she bought vintage stationery and everything, bro. crisp pink paper. two of them. handed them right to me over my laptop."

"show us," miller dared, his eyes gleaming with drunken mischief as he stepped right into her space. "show us, or you're capping. you got rejected and now you're making up a fanfiction to save your reputation."

"they do exist," billie insisted, her voice getting louder, the competitive venom completely overriding her common sense.

"then show us! prove it's not a grocery list, eilish!"

drunk people think they can play with fire and never get burned. and billie was so desperate to slam the truth in their faces, so high on the validation of your loopy handwriting, that she snapped.

she laughed, a loud, reckless sound, and reached into her jacket pocket.

she pulled out one of the pale pink envelopes.

the kitchen literally exploded. miller let out a sound that wasn't even human, jumping in the air and slapping the drywall. jax’s jaw dropped.

"holy shit!"

"no way, let me see!" miller reached his hand out, his fingers clawing at the air toward the paper.

the guys were howling now, crowded into the small kitchen space, pushing against each other. the noise from the living room seemed to swell, more people turning their heads to see what the football players and frat boys were screaming about in the kitchen.

"hold them up!" miller yelled, pulling his phone out of his front pocket. "hold them up, eilish! let me get a photo for the chat! prove to the whole house you actually did it!"

"yeah, line 'em up!"

it happened in the span of five seconds. a blink and you miss it moment. the kind of tiny, insignificant decision that sets a landslide into motion.

billie didn't think. there was no conscious thought of the consequences, no calculation of how this would look to anyone else. she was just a kid at a party, cornered by a bunch of loud, drunk guys, completely consumed by the toxic need to establish her dominance in the room.

she held the two pink envelopes up in both hands, framing her face like trophies. she stuck her tongue out in a classic, cocky rockstar pose. a big, dumb, unfiltered grin split her face.

flash

the bright light of miller's phone camera illuminated the greasy kitchen for a microsecond.

"got it!" miller yelled, laughing as he looked down at his screen.

the second the photo was taken, billie forgot about it. the adrenaline spike receded as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by a sudden wave of exhaustion from the noise. she immediately shoved both envelopes back into her secure inner zipper pocket, patting her chest twice to ensure they were safe. she didn't ask to see the photo. she didn't care. it was just another stupid, fleeting moment in a house full of them.

"alright, i'm out," billie mumbled, turning away from the chaos of the kitchen. "don't touch my beer."

she wandered out of the house, needing a break from the aggressive bass that was starting to make her head throb. she pushed open the back door and stepped out onto the concrete steps of the back porch.

the air out here was biting, a brutal reminder that winter was officially arriving. a few stray, frozen flakes of snow were starting to drift down through the yellow glow of the porch light, melting the second they hit the wet wood.

billie sat down on the top step, pulling her heavy jersey tighter around herself. she pulled her phone out of her pocket. her thumb hovered over your contact name.

billie : just left the union a bit ago. still thinking about the parking garage.

billie : you're dangerous with a pen, bro.

she stared at the screen, a soft, dopey smile returning to her lips as she waited for the three little dots to appear. you were probably still studying, or maybe you were brushing your teeth, or getting ready for bed, entirely unaware that a girl in a massive sports jersey was sitting on a freezing porch in the middle of november, completely ruined by you.

she tucked her phone into her lap and pulled the first letter out again. just a little bit. just enough to read the last few lines by the dim yellow light of the porch bulb.

‧₊˚ i like the way you turn normal moments into something i end up remembering later without meaning to.

and i really like that, with you, everything feels a little less loud in my head. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

inside the house, the music was still roaring. someone dropped a glass cup on the linoleum, followed by a chorus of drunken groans and laughter. the party was moving at its usual, unstoppable pace.

and then, billie’s phone buzzed in her lap.

once.

twice.

three times.

then ten times in rapid succession.

billie frowned, her brows knitting together as the screen lit up repeatedly, casting a harsh blue glow against her face. she slid the pink letter back into her pocket, zipping it securely before picking up the device.

it wasn't a text from you.

it was the house group chat. thirty seven unread messages.

miller tagged you.

jax : no wayyyyyy

miller : bro you’re famous.

sam : lmaoooooooo.

lucas : eilish actually did it??

billie’s stomach gave a slight, uneasy twitch. the warm, fuzzy weight of the alcohol suddenly felt a little heavier, a little less comfortable. she clicked on the notification.

the photo miller had taken in the kitchen filled her entire screen.

underneath the photo, miller had captioned it : eilish really got the love letters 😭😭😭 the two hundred is hersss

billie froze. the phone felt suddenly heavy in her hand.

she started scrolling down, her thumb moving automatically as her eyes scanned the comments.

“bro no shot she actually pulled the library girl.”

“i thought she was capping when she said she had a bet on it.”

“the tongue out is crazy 💀💀”

“eilish is cold for this one.”

“wait, did she actually read them to the house??”

at first, a sharp spark of annoyance flared in her chest. she wanted to go inside and punch miller square in the jaw. she had told them not to touch them. she had told them it was private.

but as she kept scrolling, the annoyance didn't stay. it dissolved, rapidly, into something else.

something cold.

really cold.

it felt like someone had quietly opened a door inside her chest and let the freezing november wind blow straight through her ribs. the alcohol in her system didn't feel warm anymore. it felt like lead in her veins. her breathing hitched.

the comments were multiplying. the photo hadn't just stayed in the house group chat. someone had screenshotted it. someone had posted it to their public story. it was spreading through the campus ecosystem with the quiet, devastating speed of a wildfire.

people knew. not the whole story. not the depth of what had happened on that roof. they didn't know about the warmth, or the tears, or the way billie's hands had trembled when she held your face.

but they knew enough. they knew about the bet. they knew about the pink letters.

and then, billie’s eyes locked onto one comment at the very bottom of a secondary thread. just one. one stupid, throwaway comment from a girl in an upperclassman sorority.

“wait thats the girl from the library? the one who always wears that thick cream scarf?”

the music inside the frat house didn't sound loud anymore. the bass was just a distant, hollow thud against the back of her skull. the porch wasn't warm. the snow falling on her sneakers didn't look pretty.

for the first time all night, the fog completely cleared from billie's brain, leaving behind a single, sharp, horrifyingly clear thought.

.. what if she sees this?

taglist : @ellae1l1sh @billiebobasia @byeilish @mscomet @malefantasy23 @billiesf4v @yurihxlic @angelbloodedd @deardariaa @hornierthanever0 @emyscc @evieeilishh @sophlavasbillie

© verysweetly | all rights reserved.

[ellae1l1sh]

fire shit never stop writing @verysweetly

[verysweetly]

- 𝒫ink letters [b.e]

˒˒ masterlist.

𑅞 chapter seven : 𝓒onsequences. 𑅕

the problem with having the best day of your life is that eventually the day ends.

billie eilish should have gone home. that was probably her first mistake.

when she pulled her truck back into the muddy gravel driveway of the frat house, the sun had already dipped completely below the horizon, leaving the november sky a bruised, freezing shade of purple. the house was already vibrating. bass from a set of blown out speakers in the basement was rattling the windowpanes, and the front porch was a revolving door of cheap winter coats, red solo cups, and the unmistakable, sharp stench of stale beer.

by all logic, billie should have walked through the back door, bypassed the kitchen entirely, gone straight up the creaking stairs to her room, locked the door, and spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out how her heart was still beating at a normal rhythm after what had happened on that parking garage roof.

but she didn't. because for the first time in weeks, billie eilish wasn't terrified.

the roof had changed everything. the desperate, cold lipped collision of that kiss had burned away every ounce of calculation left in her brain. she wasn’t trying to win anymore. she wasn’t trying to spin a clever line, or manage the external exterior. she wasn't even thinking about the two hundred dollars sitting on the kitchen counter like a toxic, radioactive curse.

she was just entirely, stupidly, completely in love. and that kind of happiness makes a person reckless. it makes you feel like you're wearing a suit of armor when you're actually just walking around stark naked in a snowstorm.

"yo! look who finally decided to grace us with her presence!"

the moment billie slid through the heavy wooden front door, she was swallowed by the heat and the noise. miller was standing by the beer pong table, his snapback turned sideways, a half empty bottle of cheap vodka gripped in his hand. a handful of other guys from the house immediately yelled her name, throwing their arms up in drunken greeting.

normally, billie would have slipped into her usual skin. the low, casual drawl, the slight slouch, the carefully manufactured air of a girl who couldn't be bothered to care about anything.

but tonight, she couldn't. she walked into the living room with her heavy vintage sports jersey hanging off her frame, her hands jammed into her pockets, and she was smiling. not a smirk. not the cocky, one sided tilt of her lips she used to guard herself. a genuine, massive, eye crinkling smile that she couldn't have wiped off her face with a sandblaster.

she walked over to the kitchen, entirely on autopilot, grabbing a warm can of beer from an open 24-pack on the counter just to have something to do with her hands. the alcohol hit her fast because she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. her stomach had been too busy tying itself into knots over a girl in a cream colored knitted scarf. two sips in, and the warm, buzzy blur of the beer began to intermingle with the pure, unadulterated high of the afternoon.

she was so drunk on the memory of your mouth that the actual alcohol just felt like an accelerator. she didn't join the beer pong game. she just leaned against the greasy kitchen doorframe, watching the smoke swirl around the ceiling lights, completely lost in her own head.

miller stopped mid sentence in the living room, his brow furrowing as he stared at her through the kitchen doorway. he set his bottle down on the sticky folding table and nudged jax with his elbow.

"look at eilish," miller muttered, a nasty, knowing grin spreading across his face. he walked into the kitchen, letting out a loud, mocking sigh that immediately drew the attention of three other guys. "man, it is tragic. look at her. just completely spaced out."

billie blinked, the warm fog in her brain shifting as she looked up. "what?"

"bro, we saw you sprinting out of the student union earlier like your pants were on fire," miller said, leaning against the counter and folding his arms. he exchanged a look with jax. "and now you're sitting here staring at a wall. what happened? library girl finally realize you've been wearing the same jersey for three days and ghost your ass?"

"yeah, she didn't even let you sit down, did she?" jax chimed in, laughing as he cracked open a seltzer. "miller said you looked like you were about to barf when you left. she shut it down, didn't she? took one look at the snapback and said 'absolutely not'."

the warm, soft high in billie's chest suddenly experienced a sharp, toxic curdling.

the alcohol was doing its damage now. when billie was sober, she could shrug off their teasing because she knew exactly where she stood. but drunk? combined with the fiercely protective, possessive rush of adrenaline from the afternoon? her old, defensive defense mechanism didn't just glitch. it mutated back into its worst form. her pride. the sharp, ugly frat boy bravado she had used as a shield for years flared up instantly. they thought she lost? they thought she got ghosted?

"shut the fuck up," billie said, a low, gravelly laugh ripping from her throat, though the smile on her face shifted from something soft to something sharp and dangerous. she leaned back against the fridge, tossing her empty can into the recycling bin with a loud clunk. "you guys don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"oh, come on, eilish," miller baited her, stepping closer, his voice dripping with condescension. "it's fine. we knew it was a long shot anyway. two hundred bucks was always a lot of money for a girl who spends her time in the poetry section. you don't have to lie to us. we won't kick you out of the house for taking an L."

"an L?" billie's eyes darkened, her jaw clenching as she stepped away from the fridge. she loomed over miller, the sheer size of her frame making the kitchen feel suddenly very small. the toxic need to win, to completely obliterate their mocking expressions, completely took the wheel. "bro, she literally gave me handwritten love letters this morning."

the kitchen fell dead silent for three full seconds.

then, miller let out a massive, mocking screech. "you’re lying!"

"i'm not," billie sneered, a cocky, arrogant tilt returning to her lips as she watched their faces change.

"you are absolutely lying!" jax shouted, pointing a finger at her chest. "love letters? what is this, the nineties? nobody writes love letters. you're trying to save face because she probably gave you her notes for the econ midterm and you're trying to turn it into a win so you don't look like a loser."

"i'm literally not," billie said, her voice rising against the noise of the house, entirely fueled by the bait. they didn't believe her. they thought she was weak. they thought she couldn't pull it off. "she bought vintage stationery and everything, bro. crisp pink paper. two of them. handed them right to me over my laptop."

"show us," miller dared, his eyes gleaming with drunken mischief as he stepped right into her space. "show us, or you're capping. you got rejected and now you're making up a fanfiction to save your reputation."

"they do exist," billie insisted, her voice getting louder, the competitive venom completely overriding her common sense.

"then show us! prove it's not a grocery list, eilish!"

drunk people think they can play with fire and never get burned. and billie was so desperate to slam the truth in their faces, so high on the validation of your loopy handwriting, that she snapped.

she laughed, a loud, reckless sound, and reached into her jacket pocket.

she pulled out one of the pale pink envelopes.

the kitchen literally exploded. miller let out a sound that wasn't even human, jumping in the air and slapping the drywall. jax’s jaw dropped.

"holy shit!"

"no way, let me see!" miller reached his hand out, his fingers clawing at the air toward the paper.

the guys were howling now, crowded into the small kitchen space, pushing against each other. the noise from the living room seemed to swell, more people turning their heads to see what the football players and frat boys were screaming about in the kitchen.

"hold them up!" miller yelled, pulling his phone out of his front pocket. "hold them up, eilish! let me get a photo for the chat! prove to the whole house you actually did it!"

"yeah, line 'em up!"

it happened in the span of five seconds. a blink and you miss it moment. the kind of tiny, insignificant decision that sets a landslide into motion.

billie didn't think. there was no conscious thought of the consequences, no calculation of how this would look to anyone else. she was just a kid at a party, cornered by a bunch of loud, drunk guys, completely consumed by the toxic need to establish her dominance in the room.

she held the two pink envelopes up in both hands, framing her face like trophies. she stuck her tongue out in a classic, cocky rockstar pose. a big, dumb, unfiltered grin split her face.

flash

the bright light of miller's phone camera illuminated the greasy kitchen for a microsecond.

"got it!" miller yelled, laughing as he looked down at his screen.

the second the photo was taken, billie forgot about it. the adrenaline spike receded as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by a sudden wave of exhaustion from the noise. she immediately shoved both envelopes back into her secure inner zipper pocket, patting her chest twice to ensure they were safe. she didn't ask to see the photo. she didn't care. it was just another stupid, fleeting moment in a house full of them.

"alright, i'm out," billie mumbled, turning away from the chaos of the kitchen. "don't touch my beer."

she wandered out of the house, needing a break from the aggressive bass that was starting to make her head throb. she pushed open the back door and stepped out onto the concrete steps of the back porch.

the air out here was biting, a brutal reminder that winter was officially arriving. a few stray, frozen flakes of snow were starting to drift down through the yellow glow of the porch light, melting the second they hit the wet wood.

billie sat down on the top step, pulling her heavy jersey tighter around herself. she pulled her phone out of her pocket. her thumb hovered over your contact name.

billie : just left the union a bit ago. still thinking about the parking garage.

billie : you're dangerous with a pen, bro.

she stared at the screen, a soft, dopey smile returning to her lips as she waited for the three little dots to appear. you were probably still studying, or maybe you were brushing your teeth, or getting ready for bed, entirely unaware that a girl in a massive sports jersey was sitting on a freezing porch in the middle of november, completely ruined by you.

she tucked her phone into her lap and pulled the first letter out again. just a little bit. just enough to read the last few lines by the dim yellow light of the porch bulb.

‧₊˚ i like the way you turn normal moments into something i end up remembering later without meaning to.

and i really like that, with you, everything feels a little less loud in my head. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

inside the house, the music was still roaring. someone dropped a glass cup on the linoleum, followed by a chorus of drunken groans and laughter. the party was moving at its usual, unstoppable pace.

and then, billie’s phone buzzed in her lap.

once.

twice.

three times.

then ten times in rapid succession.

billie frowned, her brows knitting together as the screen lit up repeatedly, casting a harsh blue glow against her face. she slid the pink letter back into her pocket, zipping it securely before picking up the device.

it wasn't a text from you.

it was the house group chat. thirty seven unread messages.

miller tagged you.

jax : no wayyyyyy

miller : bro you’re famous.

sam : lmaoooooooo.

lucas : eilish actually did it??

billie’s stomach gave a slight, uneasy twitch. the warm, fuzzy weight of the alcohol suddenly felt a little heavier, a little less comfortable. she clicked on the notification.

the photo miller had taken in the kitchen filled her entire screen.

underneath the photo, miller had captioned it : eilish really got the love letters 😭😭😭 the two hundred is hersss

billie froze. the phone felt suddenly heavy in her hand.

she started scrolling down, her thumb moving automatically as her eyes scanned the comments.

“bro no shot she actually pulled the library girl.”

“i thought she was capping when she said she had a bet on it.”

“the tongue out is crazy 💀💀”

“eilish is cold for this one.”

“wait, did she actually read them to the house??”

at first, a sharp spark of annoyance flared in her chest. she wanted to go inside and punch miller square in the jaw. she had told them not to touch them. she had told them it was private.

but as she kept scrolling, the annoyance didn't stay. it dissolved, rapidly, into something else.

something cold.

really cold.

it felt like someone had quietly opened a door inside her chest and let the freezing november wind blow straight through her ribs. the alcohol in her system didn't feel warm anymore. it felt like lead in her veins. her breathing hitched.

the comments were multiplying. the photo hadn't just stayed in the house group chat. someone had screenshotted it. someone had posted it to their public story. it was spreading through the campus ecosystem with the quiet, devastating speed of a wildfire.

people knew. not the whole story. not the depth of what had happened on that roof. they didn't know about the warmth, or the tears, or the way billie's hands had trembled when she held your face.

but they knew enough. they knew about the bet. they knew about the pink letters.

and then, billie’s eyes locked onto one comment at the very bottom of a secondary thread. just one. one stupid, throwaway comment from a girl in an upperclassman sorority.

“wait thats the girl from the library? the one who always wears that thick cream scarf?”

the music inside the frat house didn't sound loud anymore. the bass was just a distant, hollow thud against the back of her skull. the porch wasn't warm. the snow falling on her sneakers didn't look pretty.

for the first time all night, the fog completely cleared from billie's brain, leaving behind a single, sharp, horrifyingly clear thought.

.. what if she sees this?

taglist : @ellae1l1sh @billiebobasia @byeilish @mscomet @malefantasy23 @billiesf4v @yurihxlic @angelbloodedd @deardariaa @hornierthanever0 @emyscc @evieeilishh @sophlavasbillie

© verysweetly | all rights reserved.

[verysweetly]

- 𝒫ink letters [b.e]

˒˒ masterlist.

𑅞 chapter six : 𝓣oo far gone. 𑅕

the problem with a slow burn is that by the time you realize you’re on fire, there’s absolutely no way to put it out.

by the late weeks of november, billie eilish’s brain had officially been compromised. the external exterior. the heavy vintage sports jerseys, the backwards snapbacks, the sluggish, the casual drawl was still entirely intact, but it was functioning on pure autopilot. underneath the uniform, she was entirely unhinged. her notes app was a disaster zone of unpunctuated thoughts about the specific way your eyes crinkled when you were laughing at her bad driving, and she spent an embarrassing amount of time deliberately keeping her left shoulder completely still whenever you sat next to her, just in case you decided to lean against it again.

she was so deep in the loop that she had completely stopped calculating her moves. the two hundred dollar bet sitting on the frat house kitchen counter hadn’t just become irrelevant. it felt like a radioactive secret from an entirely different lifetime.

and then, on a completely unremarkable tuesday afternoon, you blew her entire world to pieces without even trying.

the campus student union was a chaotic mess of heavy winter coats, freezing slush being tracked across the linoleum, and the aggressive hiss of the espresso machine. billie was sitting at a corner table, her massive frame hunched over a laptop screen displaying a macroeconomics syllabus she had been actively staring at for twenty minutes without reading a single word.

"hey," a soft voice murmured from behind her.

billie blinked, turning her head so fast her backwards cap nearly slipped. you were standing right there, looking ridiculously cozy in a thick, knitted cream scarf that swallowed the lower half of your face. your cheeks were bright pink from the freezing november wind outside, and you were holding two separate, beautifully matching pale pink envelopes in your hands.

the envelopes were distinct crisp, elegant pastel paper where the top flap folded downward into a wide, clean rectangle, looking exactly like a vintage stationery set.

"yo," billie breathed, her voice a low, morning-thick rasp. a slow, cocky smirk automatically tried to form on her lips. "look at you, all bundled up like a marshmallow. what's the play, bro? you got class?"

"i have a seminar in exactly four minutes," you smiled, your voice muffled slightly by the wool of your scarf. you didn't sit down. instead, you casually dropped the two pink envelopes right onto her keyboard, directly over her unfinished essay prompt. "these are for you. don't open them right now, okay? read them later when you actually have a second to breathe. i'll text you when my professor stops talking."

billie stared down at the crisp pink paper resting against her plastic keys. her heart did a sudden, violent, entirely uncoordinated flip against her ribs. "wait, what is this? did i get evicted from the blanket fort?"

"just read them later, eilish," you laughed, leaning down just enough to lightly tap the tip of your gloved finger against the brim of her backwards cap. "see you."

before she could even untangle her hands from the pockets of her oversized jersey, you had already turned around, your boots clicking softly against the floor as you vanished through the heavy glass double doors into the gray afternoon rain.

billie sat entirely paralyzed for three seconds. she looked to the left. she looked to the right. nobody was paying attention to her. with fingers that were suddenly trembling a fraction of an inch, she snatched the two pink envelopes off her keyboard. she wasn't going to wait. there was absolutely zero percent chance she was waiting until later.

she slammed her laptop shut, shoved it into her backpack without even zipping it, and practically bolted out of the student union.

she didn't want to read them in the crowded cafeteria, and she definitely couldn't read them back at the frat house where someone might shout over a solo cup. her legs just moved on pure muscle memory, carrying her across the slick, wet brick paths until she reached the concrete stairwell of the old parking garage behind the athletic complex.

it was her spot. the top floor was completely open to the elements, entirely deserted on a freezing tuesday afternoon. the wind up there was ruthless, whistling through the concrete pillars and carrying the smell of oncoming snow, but billie didn't even notice the cold.

she walked straight to the edge of the concrete ledge, the entire gray, misty campus layout spreading out below her. she dropped her heavy backpack onto the wet ground and pulled the first pale pink envelope from her pocket.

she popped the flap open. inside, the paper was thick and white, covered from top to bottom in your messy, loopy handwriting. there was no fancy intro or anything. it just dove straight into it, and the absolute warmth of it made her throat tight before she even finished the first line.

billie,

you said the other night in the fort that nobody really writes things down for you. i’ve been thinking about that more than i probably should’ve, because it didn’t feel like a random thing to say. it felt like something you’ve just gotten used to believing.

so i guess this is me disagreeing with you.

because you make days feel different. not in a loud way. in a quiet, background way that i only notice when i’m alone again and everything suddenly feels too still. like the world got turned down a notch the moment you leave.

before you showed up, everything was just… schedules. deadlines. noise i could organize. and now even the boring parts don’t feel boring anymore, because i keep catching myself remembering something you said, or something you did, or the way you laugh at your own jokes like you’re in on something the rest of us aren’t.

i don’t think you realize how easy you are to be around. like, actually easy. no effort, no performance, no weird guessing games. just you. and somehow that makes everything else feel lighter.

i like the way you show up to things like you’ve already decided you belong there. i like the way you act like nothing is a big deal, even when you care more than you let on. i like the way you turn normal moments into something i end up remembering later without meaning to.

and i really like that, with you, everything feels a little less loud in my head. like i can just exist without overthinking it for once.

i love the way you exist. and i think you're my favorite person. like every single version of you.

that’s all this is, i guess. just something i wanted you to have, instead of me just thinking it and letting it disappear like i usually do.

also you’re still terrible at driving.

— y/n

billie stood completely frozen against the concrete ledge, the freezing november wind whipping her dark hair across her face, but her skin felt like it was sitting directly in front of a furnace. her lungs completely refused to expand. her eyes ran over the words again and again. i love the way you exist. i think you're my favorite person. like every single version of you.

it was pure, unadulterated. it was so sweet it made her ribs physically ache. it was a level of sincere, gentle adoration that she had never, in her entire eighteen years of life, been handed by another human being.

and then the guilt hit her like a physical brick straight to the sternum.

a sick, heavy wave of nausea twisted her stomach. you wrote this beautiful, heartbreakingly honest letter to the girl who shared her jacket in the rain. you didn't know about the patio. you didn't know about the two hundred dollars. you didn't know that the entire reason she had even approached you in the first place was because of a toxic, stupid joke made over a crushed aluminum cup in a greasy kitchen.

she felt like a literal monster. she was standing on a roof holding your heart in her hands, completely aware that the entire foundation of the structure was built on a lie you had no idea existed.

her phone buzzed violently against her thigh. with shaking fingers, billie pulled it out.

you : professor ended the seminar twenty minutes early because the projector broke!! where are you? are you still at the union?

billie swallowed hard, her jaw clenching as she looked from the screen back to the pink paper. she couldn't go back to the union. she needed to look at you right now, in the open air, away from the static of the campus.

billie : top floor of the athletic parking garage. come up.

ten minutes later, the heavy metal door of the stairwell groaned open.

you stepped out onto the windy, open-air roof, your cream scarf pulled all the way up to your nose, your eyes scanning the empty rows of parking spaces until you spotted her massive, dark silhouette leaning against the ledge.

"billie?" you called out, your voice carrying over the roar of the wind. "why are we up here? it’s literally going to snow in like five minutes, you psycho."

billie turned around slowly. she had already tucked the pink envelopes into the secure, inner zipper pocket of her denim jacket. right over her chest, where she could feel the literal weight of the paper pressing against her skin. she didn't have her usual smug smirk. her blue eyes were incredibly wide, completely dark, and fixed on your face with an intensity that made you stop walking about two feet away from her.

"you read it," you stated softly, a small, sudden flush of nerves hitting your cheeks as you noticed how quiet she was. "was the syntax too bad?"

"y/n," billie said, her voice completely cracking on your name. it was entirely gravelly, stripped bare of any frat boy bravado or casual slang. she stepped forward, closing the remaining distance between you in one heavy stride, her fingers reaching out to instantly grab the edges of your knitted scarf. "are you... are you real? like, actually?"

you blinked, surprised by the raw emotion in her face. "what? yeah, billie, i'm real. i just wanted to write you something nice because you said—"

"shut up," billie whispered, but there was a breathy, completely helpless laugh caught in her throat. "just... stop talking for a second."

she didn't give you a choice. in one fluid, desperate motion, billie leaned down, her hands moving from your scarf to cup the sides of your face, her rings ice cold against your warm skin as she pulled you up into her.

when her lips hit yours, it wasn't like the gentle, cautious shifts of the blanket fort. this was a total, undisguised collision. it was heavy, deep, and completely desperate, her lips moving against yours with a fierce, burning hunger that felt like she was trying to physically memorize the texture of your mouth. she pulled you flush against her chest, her fingers tangling into the back of your hair, her grip so tight you could feel the sharp edges of her silver bands pressing into your scalp.

the wind was howling around the concrete pillars, casting freezing drops of rain across your faces, but the center of the roof was pure heat. you let out a soft, surprised gasp against her mouth, your hands instantly coming up to grip the fabric of her heavy jacket, pulling yourself up on your tiptoes to meet the pressure. billie groaned softly into the kiss, her head tilting to lock her lips deeper against yours, her thumbs tracing violent, adoring lines across your cheekbones.

it was messy, it was breathless, and it tasted faintly of the sweet rose tea and the sharp winter air. there was no timeline, no commitment spoken out loud, no official label dropped onto the concrete floor. it was just a total, uncoordinated surrender to the fact that she was completely, hopelessly down bad.

when she finally pulled back, just an inch, her forehead dropped heavily against yours. her chest was heaving, her blue eyes wide as she stared directly into yours, her breath coming out in ragged, white plumes between your faces. her cheeks were bright, hot pink.

"you're a menace," billie breathed, her voice completely wrecked as she kept her hands securely tangled in your hair. "you write a letter like that and then just walk away to a seminar? i was literally about to have a medical emergency in the union."

you let out a bright, genuine laugh, your hands still resting on her chest, right over the exact pocket where the pink paper was hidden. "i told you to read it later! it's not my fault your impulse control is completely broken, billie."

"my impulse control is fine," billie mumbled, though a small, incredibly soft version of her cocky smirk finally returned to her lips as she leaned down to press a quick, hard kiss to the tip of your cold nose. "a pretty girl gave me a letter, what was i supposed to do? not read it?”

"you're ridiculous," you smiled, burying your face into the front of her jersey to block out the freezing wind.

"yeah, well," billie murmured, her arms wrapping securely around your waist, pulling you into her side as she looked back out over the gray campus layout, her chin resting on the top of your head. "you're the one who wrote the letter to a lawnmower owner, bro. that’s on you."

you chuckled against her chest, completely content, entirely safe under the heavy weight of her arms.

but as billie looked down at the slick brick paths below, her hand unconsciously pressed flat against her jacket pocket, feeling the stiff outline of the pale pink envelopes hidden inside. the warmth of your body against hers felt like the best thing that had ever happened to her, and the absolute certainty that she was going to have to keep this secret forever turned the freezing air around them completely suffocating.

taglist : @ellae1l1sh @billiebobasia @byeilish @mscomet @malefantasy23 @billiesf4v @yurihxlic @angelbloodedd @deardariaa @hornierthanever0 @emyscc @evieeilishh @sophlavasbillie

© verysweetly | all rights reserved.

[verysweetly]

- 𝒫ink letters [b.e]

˒˒ masterlist.

𑅞 chapter five : 𝓖etting worse. 𑅕

the thing about falling in love in secret was that it turned completely mundane things into high stakes operations.

by the time the third week of november rolled around, billie’s phone was practically a shrine to you. her camera roll was a chaotic mess of blurry screenshots, videos of you trying to explain plot holes in classic literature while aggressively gesturing with a fry, and notes app drafts of things she wanted to tell you but didn’t have the balls to say out loud.

so, when you casually texted her on a friday afternoon asking if she wanted to come over to your apartment for a movie marathon because your roommate was gone for the weekend, billie had spent a solid twenty minutes standing in front of her closet trying to find an outfit that looked completely effortless but still made it impossible for you to look away.

she settled on her most ridiculously oversized vintage jersey, a fresh black cap worn backwards, and a bag containing three different types of spicy snacks, two bottles of rose tea she knew you liked, and the lime green deformed frog she still claimed she was using as a doorstop.

your apartment was exactly like you: warm, smelled faintly of vanilla and cinnamon, and completely filled with that cozy, lived in warmth that billie’s brain had officially coded as home. there were string lights taped along the ceiling molding, casting a soft, amber glow over the small living room, and a stack of old paperbacks piled neatly by the windowsill.

"you're late, eilish," you said the second you opened the door, a small, knowing smile pulling at your lips. you were already wearing a pair of soft gray sweatpants and a thick knitted sweater that swallowed your hands.

"i was securing the assets," billie said smoothly, shoving the bag of snacks and the rose tea into your chest as she stepped inside, kicking her heavy boots off by the door. she reached into her bag and pulled out the deformed frog, placing it carefully on your kitchen counter. "brought the security detail too."

"you still have him?" you laughed, leaning your hip against the counter as you looked at the lopsided green toy. "i thought you said he was a dog toy."

"he's a premium artifact, don't disrespect his journey," billie mumbled, her face warming up instantly as she walked over to the living room floor.

you hadn't just cleared off the couch. you had completely dismantled the entire living room. every single pillow from your bedroom, three different fuzzy blankets, and a massive, heavy duvet were spread across the carpet, framed by the low coffee table to create a massive, structural blanket fort.

"did you... engineer a fortress?" billie asked, her blue eyes wide as she looked down at the setup.

"i was stressed," you admitted, walking over and dropping cross legged into the center of the blankets. "and the architecture of a blanket fort is a proven stress reliever. now sit down. we have six hours of cinematic garbage to get through."

billie slid into the fort next to you, her giant frame taking up a significant amount of the space. the ceiling of the fort was low, made of a white sheet draped over the couch cushions, creating an incredibly small, suffocatingly intimate pocket of reality. the ambient string lights shone through the thin fabric, illuminating your face in a way that made billie forget how to form coherent sentences for a solid ten seconds.

"word," billie choked out, leaning her back against the base of the couch. "this is... cozy, bro. very elite."

by 10:00 pm, the empty cardboard box of a greasy pepperoni pizza was pushed against the coffee table, and the third terrible horror movie of the night was playing at a low volume on the tv screen. neither of you were actually watching it.

instead, you were lying flat on your stomachs, your elbows propped up on a giant pillow, barely three inches apart as you played a stupid, improvised game to pass the time.

"okay, my turn," you said, licking a bit of grease from your thumb before sticking a square pink post it note directly onto billie’s forehead. you had written a word on it, and she had to guess what it was. "go. ask your questions."

billie squinted, her eyes straining to look upward at the pink paper stuck to her skin, making her look entirely ridiculous. her backwards cap was tossed to the corner of the fort, her dark hair messy and falling into her face.

"am i a person?" billie asked, her voice dropping into that low, lazy drawl.

"no," you grinned, leaning your chin on your folded hands, your eyes tracking the way her forehead crinkled.

"am i an animal?"

"technically, yes."

"am i smooth? elite? a five star experience?" billie smirked, tilting her head lower, her blue eyes locking onto yours with that familiar, cocky intensity she used to protect herself.

"you are none of those things," you deadpan, a mischievous spark in your eyes. "in fact, you sound like a metal trash can full of wrenches being kicked down a flight of stairs."

billie gasped, her jaw dropping as she reached up to yank the post it note off her forehead. she looked at the paper. in neat, looping handwriting, you had written: lawnmower.

"the disrespect is actually criminal," billie groaned, rolling over onto her back, covering her face with her hands as that genuine, uncontrollable fit of giggles took over her chest. "i am a beautiful creature, y/n. my car has character. it has a soul."

"your car needs an exorcism," you wheezed, rolling over onto your side to face her, your shoulder pressing against her arm. your laughter was soft, filling the quiet space of the blanket fort like warmth.

billie dropped her hands from her face, turning her head sideways to look at you.

the laughter slowly died down between you, replaced by a sudden, heavy silence that felt entirely different from the awkwardness of the campus quad. it was thick, sweet, and terrifyingly close. you were looking at her with an expression that wasn't guarded or polite anymore. it was soft, your eyes scanning her face under the amber lights, your breathing even and calm.

billie felt her heart thump a heavy, painful rhythm against her ribs. she could see the tiny freckles on the bridge of your nose. she could see the exact shade of your eyes. she wanted, with a desperation that physically ached in her throat, to reach out and pull you into her chest. she wanted to tell you everything. she wanted to tell you about the stupid two hundred dollars, about how much she hated her friends' voices in the kitchen, about how she hadn't slept a full night since the patio incident because her brain was too busy looping your laugh.

instead, she just reached out, her fingers catching the edge of the blanket between you, pulling it up slightly.

"you're getting cold," billie murmured, her voice entirely gravelly, stripped of any frat boy bravado.

"i'm fine," you whispered, but you didn't move away. you shifted just a fraction closer, your hand settling on the carpet right next to her fingers, your knuckles barely brushing against her silver rings.

the silence between you was thick, the kind of quiet that felt safe enough to drop all guards.

"my brother wrote a song about a girl once," billie said suddenly, her deep voice a low, raspy rumble in the quiet room. she didn't turn her head, her gaze still fixed on the ceiling. "like, a proper, heavy track. everyone heard it. the whole world knew exactly how he felt about her."

"that sounds intense," you murmured, shifting your head to look at her sharp profile in the dim light. "did you like it?"

"it was cool, i guess," billie shrugged, her fingers twitching slightly inside her pockets. she went quiet for a moment, her jaw clenching slightly before she let out a slow, breathy exhale. "i don't know. i just... nobody ever did that for me. not like that. it’s always just been lazy texts or people trying to be smooth at parties because they think it works. i’ve never... i’ve never actually gotten a love letter. like, a real, physical piece of paper where someone took the time to write things down."

you looked at her for a long second, noting the slight, uncharacteristic vulnerability in her tone. it was a rare glimpse behind the curtain of the untouchable campus skater boy.

"maybe you just haven't given anyone a reason to write one yet," you teased softly, nudging her side with your knee.

"probably," billie muttered, a familiar, faint smirk returning to her lips as she pulled the blanket higher around your shoulders. "i'm a tough critic, bro. its gotta be perfect."

by 2:00 am, the tv had gone black, the only light remaining coming from the string lights outside the fort.

you had finally lost the battle with exhaustion. your head had dropped onto the giant pillow, your eyes closed, your breathing slowing into the deep, rhythmic pattern of deep sleep. you had curled into a tiny ball under the heavy duvet, your hands tucked beneath your chin.

billie didn't move. she lay flat on her back next to you, her hands shoved into the front pocket of her jersey, staring up at the white sheet ceiling of the fort.

the quiet of the apartment was deafening. every few minutes, the low hum of the refrigerator would kick on, or a car would drive past the street outside, its headlights casting long, moving shadows through the windows.

slowly, billie turned her head to look at you.

you looked so peaceful. completely defenseless, trusting her enough to fall asleep right next to her in an empty apartment. the realization hit billie like a physical blow to the stomach, a sick, heavy wave of guilt and adoration mixing together until she felt like she couldn't breathe.

i'm so fucked, she thought, her jaw clenching as she reached out, her hand hovering over your shoulder before dropping uselessly back to the blanket. i am so completely, utterly fucked.

she thought about the guys at the house. she thought about the smug looks, the betting pool, the toxic, stupid game she had agreed to play because her ego was too big for her own good. if you ever found out, if someone dropped it at a party, if one of her nameless friends let it slip over a solo cup you would look at her with those cold, ice queen eyes again. but it wouldn't be because you were detached. it would be because she broke something real.

billie reached out, her fingers trembling just a fraction as she carefully took her giant, heavy gray thrasher hoodie -the one she had managed to sneak into her bag- and gently spread it over your shivering shoulders, tucking the soft fabric around your neck like a second blanket.

she lay back down, her eyes fixed on the tiny amber lights above her, her heart heavy as she listened to the slow, steady sound of your breathing until the sky outside the window began to turn a pale, dusty blue.

the smell of coffee and the bright, unforgiving morning sun cutting through the living room blinds woke you up at 9:00 am.

you blinked against the light, shifting your weight, and instantly noticed how heavy and warm you felt. you looked down. you weren't just under the duvet anymore. you were completely engulfed in a massive, gray cotton hoodie that smelled intensely of cedarwood, old fabric softener, and billie.

you sat up, the fabric pooling around your waist, and peeked out of the blanket fort.

billie was standing by your small kitchen counter, her backwards cap back on her head, aggressively trying to untangle the cord of your coffee pot. she looked completely exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, but she was forcing an unbothered, nonchalant posture as she heard the blankets rustle.

she turned around, a slow, cocky smirk instantly sliding onto her face, though it didn't quite reach her tired blue eyes.

"morning, sleepyhead," billie chuckled, leaning her hip against the counter, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. "look at you. waking up in the premium merch. i see how it is."

you pulled the collar of the heavy gray hoodie up over your nose, looking at her over the rim of the fabric with an amused, suspicious expression. "billie. how did i get into this? i remember falling asleep under the duvet."

billie didn't even blink. she shrugged one shoulder, looking away toward the coffee pot with absolute, unearned confidence.

"i don't know what to tell you, bro," billie said smoothly, her voice a low morning rasp. "the hoodie works in mysterious ways. it’s a sentient entity. it probably just crawled over to you because it recognized a beautiful creature in need of insulation. don't question the magic."

you let out a loud, morning thick laugh, the sound bright and real as you crawled out of the fort, "you are such a liar,"

"i'm a scientist," she corrected automatically, turning back to the counter to hide the sudden, massive blush that was spreading across her cheeks. "now sit down. i'm making you the premium masterclass coffee. it’s probably gonna taste like dirt, but it’s the thought that counts."

you sat at the small kitchen table, the heavy gray sleeves resting on the wood, watching her back as she moved around your kitchen. the lopsided green frog was still sitting on the counter, its bulging eyes staring blankly at the wall, and for the first time since the patio night, the silence in the room felt entirely, beautifully safe.

but as billie handed you a mug, her rings clinking against the ceramic, her eyes caught yours for a split second. the quiet, heavy intensity in her gaze told you everything you needed to know.. whatever this was between you now, it was getting terrifyingly real.

taglist : @ellae1l1sh @billiebobasia @byeilish @mscomet @malefantasy23 @billiesf4v @yurihxlic @angelbloodedd @deardariaa @hornierthanever0 @emyscc @evieeilishh @sophlavasbillie

© verysweetly | all rights reserved.

[verysweetly]

- 𝒫ink letters [b.e]

˒˒ masterlist.

𑅞 chapter four : 𝓓own bad. 𑅕

the problem with accidents was that you never saw them coming until you were already spinning out of control.

by the time midterms arrived, billie eilish had completely stopped checking the calendar. the two hundred dollars sitting on her friends' kitchen counter had ceased to exist. instead, her entire reality had shrunk down to the specific, unpredictable rhythm of your presence. she was no longer orchestrating encounters. she was just showing up wherever you were, pulled along by a thread she didn’t know how to cut.

and it was dangerous, because you were letting her.

it started with a torrential downpour that caught them completely off guard outside the campus library. the sky had turned a heavy, bruised purple before opening up, dumping buckets of freezing water onto the concrete path within seconds.

"get under here, bro! fast!" billie yelled over the roar of the rain, grabbing your wrist and dragging you toward the narrow awning of the bike racks.

you stumbled under the metal roof, shaking your head like a wet dog. your hair was already damp, clinging to your forehead, and your thin jacket was soaked through to the shoulders. you were shivering, your teeth clicking together as you wrapped your arms tightly around your chest.

billie didn't even hesitate. in one fluid motion, she crossed her arms, grabbed the hem of her giant, worn out thrasher hoodie, and pulled it over her head. she was left standing in a white tank top, her skin instantly breaking into goosebumps as the damp wind hit her. she shoved the heavy, warm fabric into your chest.

"here. put it on," she ordered, her voice dropping into that gruff, unbothered tone. "you're literally vibrating."

you looked from the gray hoodie down to billie’s bare shoulders, shaking your head immediately. you pushed it back toward her. "no. billie, absolutely not. you’re wearing a tank top, you’re going to freeze to death."

"i don't freeze, i’m built different," billie lied, her jaw twitching slightly from the cold. she shoved it back into your hands, stepping closer until her chest practically brushed yours. "just take it. don't make it weird."

"i'm not making it weird, you're trying to be a martyr," you argued, a stubborn frown pulling at your lips as you pushed the hoodie back against her stomach. "i have a house five minutes away. you have to walk all the way across the quad to the athletic dorms. put your clothes back on."

"y/n, i swear to god, put the fucking hoodie on or i will literally hold it over your head myself," billie snapped, her annoyingly cocky smirk flashing despite her shivering. "i’m trying to do a nice thing here. stop resisting the vision."

"the vision is hypothermia!" you yelled back, but a breathless, wet laugh escaped you.

you grabbed one sleeve of the hoodie, and billie gripped the other, both of you tugging on the damp fabric in the middle of the bike shelter like two toddlers fighting over a toy. you were staring at each other, fiercely stubborn, your faces barely inches apart. billie’s blue eyes locked onto yours, and for a second, the rain faded into static. you looked so pretty when you were mad at her.

"fine," you exhaled, breaking the tension. you pulled the hoodie closer, but instead of putting it on, you draped it over both of your shoulders, stepping directly into her personal space so you were huddled together under the wide fabric. "we share. shut up."

billie’s brain completely flatlined. she stood entirely frozen under the makeshift blanket, her bare shoulder pressed firmly against yours, the scent of the rain mixed with the sweet, clean smell of your shampoo filling her nose.

"right," billie muttered, her voice cracking slightly. "teamwork. word."

by the time the rain let up, both of them were half soaked anyway, but billie’s face was so hot she felt like she’d been sitting next to a furnace.

two days later, it was a grocery run at the 24-hour meijer down the street from campus. it was 11:45 pm, the fluorescent lights were blindingly bright, and you had dragged billie along to help you pick up "the essentials," which mostly consisted of laundry detergent and cereal.

billie, however, treated the shopping cart like an open world video game.

"we need these," billie said deadpan, dropping a giant, family sized tub of neon blue cotton candy into the wire basket.

you didn't even stop walking. you reached down, picked up the tub, and tossed it back onto the shelf as you passed. "no, you don't."

"you're suppressing my inner child," billie grumbled, lagging half a step behind you.

the moment your back was turned to inspect the bread options, billie’s eyes darted around. with lightning speed, she snatched a box of dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets from the freezer and slid them under your tote bag at the bottom of the cart.

you spun around, your eyes narrowing as you spotted the corner of the box peeking out. you pulled them out, holding them up to her face. "billie. you don't even have an air fryer in your dorm."

"i'll eat them raw," she insisted, her expression completely smug, her arms crossed over her jersey. "they're shaped like a t rex, y/n. it enhances the flavor profile. put them back."

"no," you chuckled, walking back to the freezer to return them.

this went on for twenty minutes. every time you looked away, billie would sneak something entirely unhinged into the cart. a jar of pickled quail eggs. a giant, generic brand jug of chocolate syrup. a literal five pound bag of shredded mozzarella cheese.

"i'm watching you," you warned, walking backwards down the chip aisle, pointing two fingers at your eyes and then at hers.

billie just offered a slow, incredibly self assured grin, her hands deep in her pockets as she rocked on her heels. the second you turned around to grab a bag of spicy chips, she subtly used her foot to kick a box of strawberry pop tarts from the bottom shelf straight into the lower rack of the cart.

"did you just kick breakfast food into my cart?" you asked, looking over your shoulder with an amused, exhausted expression.

"i don't know what you're talking about," billie said smoothly, looking up at the ceiling lights like she was inspecting the architecture. "the universe provides, bro. don't question the magic."

you let out that bright, genuine laugh that always made billie’s ribs ache. you didn't take the pop tarts out. billie noticed, and she had to look down at her shoes to hide the massive, stupid smile that was taking over her face.

fast forward to the weekend, and the campus main lawn had turned into a loud, chaotic mess of cheap string lights, smoking food trucks, and rigged carnival games. billie’s friends were somewhere near the beer tent, but she had abandoned them the second you texted her saying you were near the ferris wheel.

"look at this," you said, pointing toward a booth where a miserable looking sophomore was overseeing a game that involved throwing darts at balloons. perched on the top shelf was a lime green, horribly stuffed frog with mismatched bulging eyes and a lopsided smile. it looked entirely deformed."it looks like you when you're trying to do your smooth voice."

billie gasped, clutching her chest. "the disrespect is out of hand today. i am a beautiful creature. that frog looks like it’s seen a murder."

"let me get it for you. i’m a sniper with the darts, watch this."

billie handed over a five dollar bill, gripped the plastic dart like a professional athlete, locked her eyes onto a red balloon, and threw it with absolute, terrifying confidence.

the dart missed the entire board, hitting the wooden background with a dull thud.

"bruh," billie muttered, her jaw dropping.

"elite," you teased, stepping up to the counter. "unstoppable. someone stop her."

"the wind caught it," billie defended weakly, her cheeks flushing pink as she adjusted her cap. "the physics were off."

you paid your own five dollars, took three darts, and with absolute, unbothered precision, popped three balloons in a row. the sophomore worker didn't even look up as he grabbed the ugly green frog and dropped it into your arms.

you turned to billie, a proud, radiant smirk on your face, and slammed the stuffed animal into her chest. "there. for you. since your physics were broken."

billie caught it, staring down at the deformed frog. her friends would have roasted her into oblivion if they saw her holding it. it was stupid, it was cheap, and it didn't fit her ‘untouchable skater boy’ aesthetic at all.

"wow. thanks," billie said, forcing a gruff, casual shrug, tossing the frog lightly in one hand like it was nothing. "it’s whatever. i’ll probably give it to my dog or use it as a doorstop."

"sure you will, eilish," you smiled.

that night, back in her dorm room, billie carefully placed the frog right next to her pillow. she fell asleep with her arm wrapped securely around its lumpy green body, her nose pressed into the cheap synthetic fur because it faintly smelled like the festival popcorn and your perfume. she didn't let her roommate into the room for three days because she refused to explain why the ‘ice queen's frog’ was currently sleeping in her bed.

next tuesday, the week before midterms, and the stress on campus was thick enough to taste. billie had been staring at her bedroom ceiling for three hours, her brain racing with economic formulas and the constant, nagging thought of your face.

her phone buzzed against her stomach.

you : are you awake? my roommate is snoring so loud the walls are vibrating and i think my brain is melting from studying.

billie’s fingers flew across the screen before she could even think.

billie : courtyard in five. don't get murdered by the raccoon.

five minutes later, she was stepping out into the chilly, silent courtyard. the campus was completely dead, lit only by the orange glow of the tall lampposts and the misty fog rolling off the lawn. you were already there, sitting on the concrete steps, your knees pulled into your chest, wrapped in a giant dark blanket you’d dragged from your bed.

"yo," billie said softly, her heavy boots clicking quietly against the stone as she walked over.

you looked up, your eyes tired but soft as she sat down next to you. the cold air hit billie’s face, but sitting this close to you, she could feel the literal warmth radiating from your blanket.

without a word, you reached into your pocket, pulled out your wired earphones, and handed one side to her. billie took it, sliding the plastic into her ear, her movements slow, almost careful.

a quiet acoustic track started playing, the soft chords filling the silence between you. it felt like a scene out of a movie. completely cinematic, slow, and effortless.

neither of you spoke for a long time. you just watched the fog drift across the grass, the music playing softly in your ears.

then, slowly, your head tilted. billie felt the sudden, light pressure of your skull settling against her shoulder. your soft hair brushed against her neck, and you let out a long, shuddering sigh, relaxing completely against her side, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.

billie instantly froze.

her lungs completely stopped working. her brain, usually full of quick comebacks and cocky pick up lines, entirely emptied out. language as a concept vanished from her head. she sat perfectly rigid, terrified that if she breathed too hard, you’d pull away.

slowly, carefully, billie tilted her head down, resting her cheek against the top of your head. you smelled so clean, like vanilla and old paper. the bass of the music vibrated through the wire between you, matching the frantic, heavy thudding of her heart.

"billie?" you whispered into the dark, your voice muffled against her jersey.

"yeah?" she breathed, her voice completely gravelly, entirely stripped of any ego.

"your heart is beating really fast."

billie closed her eyes, her hand clenching inside her pocket as she let out a breathy, helpless laugh. "yeah. well. the economics exam is really stressful, bro."

"right," you murmured, shifting closer into her side, your hand finding the edge of her sleeve and holding onto it. "the economics exam."

the absolute tipping point happened on a thursday afternoon in the basement of the university library. the quietest, most secluded corner of campus, surrounded by towering rows of dusty, old fiction books.

you had been aggressively typing away on a twenty page research paper for seven hours straight. billie had been sitting across from you, ostensibly reading, but mostly just watching you unravel. your hair was thrown into a messy knot, three empty celsius cans formed a small aluminum graveyard by your elbow, and you were currently muttering curses under your breath at a corrupted citation page.

"if this formatting doesn't fix itself in the next thirty seconds, i am throwing this laptop into the campus river," you threatened, your voice a cracked, exhausted whisper as you aggressively clicked your mouse.

"whoa, easy there, john wick," billie chuckled quietly, leaning forward on her forearms. "the laptop didn't do anything to you. let me see."

before you could protest, billie reached across the narrow table. instead of taking the computer, her hand brushed against yours on the mouse pad. she didn't pull away. her fingers slid over your knuckles, surprisingly warm against your cold skin, guiding your hand to click a different drop down menu on the screen.

"there," she murmured, her voice dropping into that low, gravelly register. "fixed it. see? teamwork."

you looked up from the screen, entirely caught off guard by how close she suddenly was. the distance between your faces had shrunk to a matter of inches across the small wooden table. in the dim, flickering light of the library basement, her blue eyes were intensely sharp, locking onto yours with a heavy, unblinking focus that made the breath catch in your throat.

for a long, suspended second, neither of you moved. you were too exhausted to mask the vulnerability in your face, and billie was too mesmerized to maintain her usual cool, guarded exterior. she wasn't smirking. she wasn't making a joke. she was just looking at you, her thumb tracing a slow, completely unconscious circle against the back of your hand.

the sheer gravity of the moment seemed to pull the air right out of the room. your chest rose and fell in a shallow breath, your eyes dropping down to her lips for a split second before darting back up to meet her gaze.

billie's pupils dilated, her grip on your hand tightening just a fraction as she felt the sudden, electric shift in the air.

"y/n," she whispered, her voice completely stripped of its usual bravado, sounding genuinely breathless.

"yeah?" you breathed back.

she opened her mouth to say something .anything. but the sudden, loud clunk of an old radiator pipe bursting to life down the hall shattered the silence.

the spell broke. billie pulled her hand back as if she’d just been burned, clearing her throat quickly and looking down at her own lap. her blue eyes were wide, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs, and her chest heaved with a sudden, suffocating panic.

oh no, she thought, the realization hitting her like a concrete block straight to the chest. oh, fucking hell.

this wasn't a bet anymore. it hadn't been a bet for weeks. she didn't want the two hundred dollars. she didn't want to brag to the guys in the sweaty frat kitchen. she wanted to sit in this dusty library basement forever. she wanted to dry your notebooks with a lighter, she wanted to buy you radioactive pesto, she wanted to freeze in the rain just to see you wear her clothes.

she was completely, utterly, hopelessly down bad.

taglist : @ellae1l1sh @billiebobasia @byeilish @mscomet @malefantasy23 @billiesf4v @yurihxlic @angelbloodedd @deardariaa @hornierthanever0 @emyscc

© verysweetly | all rights reserved.

[verysweetly]

- 𝒫ink letters [b.e]

˒˒ masterlist.

𑅞 chapter three : 𝓣otally fine 𑅕

it took exactly four days, three mutual friends, two frantic group chats, and a sketchy freshman lacrosse player who happened to share a chemistry lab with your roommate for billie to finally get the digits.

when the text finally came through on her phone. a contact card labeled simply with your name and a single snowflake emoji her friend had added as a joke. billie had stared at her screen for a full five minutes, a victorious, incredibly smug grin slowly spreading across her face.

"told you," billie had bragged, tossing her phone onto the mattress of her messy dorm room, looking at her friend who was currently playing video games on the floor. "undefeated. i always get the number."

"bro, you had to perform an entire fbi investigation to get ten digits," the friend countered without looking away from the tv screen. "that’s not smooth, that’s desperate. two hundred bucks says she blocks you on the first text."

"she’s not gonna block me," billie scoffed, snatching the phone back up.

she didn't text you right away. that would look desperate. instead, she waited until 11:30 pm, calculating the exact time you’d likely be winding down, probably staring at your laptop screen analyzing more institutional corruption.

she opened the chat, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. she couldn't do a regular 'hey.' it had to be effortlessly witty, very her.

billie : guess who obtained the forbidden ancient text (your phone number)

billie : don't look behind you i'm not a stalker i promise

she locked her screen and held her breath. two minutes passed. then five. then ten. billie fell asleep with her phone clutching her chest, waking up at 8:00 am to a single notification.

you : if you went through that much trouble just to text like a total weirdo, i’m genuinely concerned for your welfare.

you : who gave you this? i’m firing my roommate.

billie literally sat up so fast she nearly rolled off her bed. a breathless, half shocked laugh escaped her lips. you hadn't blocked her. more importantly, you had text banter.

the real shift, the moment the entire trajectory of the bet completely detailed into dangerous territory, happened on a rainy thursday afternoon.

billie had been sitting in the campus coffee shop, completely miserable. the rain was coming down in sheets, her vintage windbreaker was damp, and she had spent the last hour trying to understand a macroeconomics article that felt like it was written in ancient hieroglyphics.

she heard the little bell above the coffee shop door chime, and when she looked up, there you were. you were struggling with a dripping wet umbrella, trying to shake the water off your boots, looking thoroughly annoyed by the weather. your hair was a little messy from the wind, and you were wearing that same giant cardigan from the patio night.

before her brain could even process the self preservation of acting ‘cool’ billie waved her arm dramatically. "yo! y/n! over here!"

you paused, wiping a stray drop of rain from your forehead, and spotted her. for a second, billie thought you were gonna do the usual routine. the polite nod, the natural sidestep, the quick escape. but you looked too tired to run. you dragged your feet over to her table, dropping your tote bag onto the empty chair opposite her with a heavy sigh.

"please tell me you're not about to use a pickup line about the rain," you mumbled, collapsing into the chair and burying your face in your hands. "i am so wet and tired, billie. if you say something about us making a splash, i might actually burst into tears."

billie, who had literally just been forming a line about 'getting caught in a storm together,' shut her mouth so fast her teeth clicked. she let out a defensive chuckle, leaning back.

"i wasn't gonna say that," billie lied smoothly, crossing her arms. "i’m a gentleman. i was gonna offer you half of my muffin." she pointed to the sad, slightly mangled blueberry muffin sitting on a napkin between them.

you peeked through your fingers, eyeing the muffin suspiciously. "did you already bite it?"

"only a little bit," billie grinned, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "its the premium experience, bro. don't disrespect the hustle."

you let out a soft, breathy sound that was dangerously close to a laugh, sitting up and pulling your wet notebook out of your bag. "you are deeply weird, eilish."

"i'm a delight," she corrected automatically.

for the next ten minutes, an unexpected quiet settled over the table. it wasn't the agonizing, heavy awkwardness from the courtyard or the patio. it was just... peaceful. billie pretended to read her economics paper, but her eyes kept drifting up. you were frowning at your wet notebook, trying to peel the damp pages apart with absolute precision, your tongue poking out the side of your mouth just a fraction.

"fucking paper tracking," you muttered under your breath, totally exasperated. "this syllabus is literally dissolving in my hands. my professor is going to think i threw it in a lake."

"let me see," billie said, reaching across the table.

she took the damp packet from you, her fingers accidentally brushing against yours. your hands were freezing from the rain. billie didn't say anything about it, but she felt a weird, sudden spike of heat in her chest. she took a tiny portable heater. a lighter she kept in her pocket for absolutely no reason, and lit it, holding the flame a safe distance under the edge of the paper to dry it out.

"look at that. engineering," billie smirked, moving the flame carefully. "i'm basically a scientist."

"billie, you're going to set the campus café on fire," you said, but there was a genuine, warm smile on your face now. you leaned your chin on your palm, watching her hands work. "you really think you're the main character of a coming of age movie, don't you?"

"i am the main character," billie said, looking up to lock eyes with you. she dropped her voice into that familiar, cocky drawl. "you're just the pretty love interest who's currently falling for my undeniable charm."

you didn't roll your eyes this time. instead, you looked at the tiny flame, then back to her face, your expression shifting into something deeply amused.

"you know," you said softly, your voice carrying a playful, dry weight, "for someone who drives a car that sounds like a lawnmower with an identity crisis, you carry a lot of confidence."

billie froze. the lighter flickered.

"my car... does not sound like a lawnmower," she said, genuinely offended but mostly caught off guard.

"it literally does," you insisted, a mischievous spark in your eyes. "i heard you pull into the lot yesterday. it sounds like a metal trash can full of wrenches being kicked down a flight of stairs. i thought the campus security was invading."

a sound built up in billie’s throat. it wasn't the cool, low chuckle she practiced in the mirror. it wasn't the loud, performative bro laugh she used at the frat house to make sure everyone was looking at her.

it was a sharp, uncontrollable snort.

billie quickly clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening in absolute horror. she had just snorted. in public. in front of the girl she was supposed to be seducing for a two hundred dollar bet.

you blinked, completely startled by the sound, before a massive, radiant smile broke across your face. you let out a loud, genuine laugh, the sound bright and musical against the backdrop of the rainy café.

"oh my god," you laughed, leaning forward, pointing a finger at her. "did you just snort? the campus legend just snorted because of a lawnmower joke?"

"shut up!" billie groaned, her entire face turning a violent shade of pink. she hid her face in her oversized jersey sleeves, her shoulders shaking as a real, unbridled fit of giggles took over her body. "shut the fuck up, y/n. it’s not funny. my car is a classic."

"your car is a hazard to the community," you wheezed, still laughing, your eyes crinkling in a way that made billie’s heart do a violent, terrifying backflip.

when billie finally pulled her face out of her sleeves, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes watery from laughing so hard. she looked at you. really looked at you, and felt a sudden, heavy weight sink into her stomach.

you were funny. like, genuinely funny. you weren't just a pretty target from a lit department anymore. you were a person who could make her completely forget about her carefully constructed, arrogant persona with a single sentence.

and right then and there, billie realized she was in serious trouble.

the snort changed everything.

suddenly, billie didn't care about the two hundred bucks. she didn't care about the smug looks her friends gave her when she walked out of the house. in fact, she stopped looking for you just to win the bet. she started looking for you because her brain had officially become addicted to the way you looked when you were trying not to smile at her.

her texting habits went from calculated, cringe smooth gen-z pickup lines to absolute, unhinged chaos. she started texting you every single random thought that crossed her mind, treating your chat like a private tumblr dashboard.

at 2:00 am on a saturday, she sent a blurry, low-quality photo of a stray dog she found sitting outside a convenience store.

billie : look at him. he knows the secrets of the universe. i think he wants to bite my ankle.

you : billie, please go home. it is freezing and that is a raccoon.

billie : he has a beautiful soul don't insult my son like this

on monday, she started sending terrible, deep fried memes she found on pinterest at 4:00 am, completely unprompted.

billie : this is literally me waiting for you to reply to my texts. my brain cells are deteriorating.

you : you texted me three minutes ago. i was in the shower.

billie : three minutes is an eternity in eilish time. you're breaking my heart.

the absolute peak of her unhinged behavior happened on a tuesday night. billie had attempted to cook dinner in the communal dorm kitchen. a decision fueled entirely by a tiktok tutorial and a severe lack of groceries. the result was a horrific, unrecognizable mass of canned spaghettios and sketchy meatballs that looked less like food and more like an alien organism.

naturally, her first instinct was to open snapchat, take a high-angle, flash photography photo of the disaster, and send it straight to you.

billie : chef eilish in the kitchen. rate the eats. 🥶🔥

you : why does it look radioactive?

billie : fuck you.

you : are those spaghettios? are you twelve?

billie : fuck you.

you : no seriously, billie. are those mystery meat chunks or dog treats? why is the sauce so orange?

billie : i said fuck you. it’s an artisanal tomato reduction with protein. it’s gourmet.

you : i’m calling health and safety. please don’t eat that, i don’t want to read about your untimely demise in the campus newsletter.

billie : so you care about my survival? you want me alive?

you : i want you alive so you can fix your lawnmower car. the noise pollution is getting out of hand.

billie stared at her phone, lying flat on her back on her bed, a giant, stupid smile glued to her face. she kicked her legs slightly against the mattress, her stomach flipping over. she didn't even care that you were making fun of her. she loved it. she loved how easy it was.

"you're doing it again," a voice groaned from across the room.

billie snapped out of her trance, quickly locking her phone and shoving it under her pillow. she looked up to see three of her friends from the frat house standing in her doorway, holding a half empty case of beer.

"doing what?" billie asked, her voice dropping back into that tough, unbothered tone.

"the smile, bro," one of the guys said, walking in and dropping heavily onto her desk chair. "you’ve been staring at your phone with that dumbass, goofy look for twenty minutes. who are you texting? did you finally find a new girl to replace the ice queen?"

billie’s heart did a weird, guilty twitch. she adjusted her backward cap, sitting up and clearing her throat. "nah. just... looking at memes. what do you guys want?"

"we came to check on the bet," the friend who started the whole thing said, leaning against her doorframe with a smug grin. "midterms are next week, eilish. the end of the semester is creeping up. we saw you in the courtyard last week getting absolutely murdered with that attendance record line. have you even spoken to her since then, or are you ready to hand over the two hundred?"

billie looked at her pillow, where her phone was hidden. she thought about the radioactive pesto text. she thought about the snort in the coffee shop. she thought about how you looked when you laughed.

if she told them she had your number, they’d want to see the texts. they’d read through the unhinged dog photos, the radioactive pasta, the skater banter. they’d laugh at her. they’d realize that billie wasn't playing her usual smooth, heartbreaker game. they’d realize she was actually trying. they’d realize she was soft.

worse, they’d look at you like a target again. and for some reason, the thought of her friends talking about you in that sweaty, disgusting frat kitchen made billie’s stomach turn with genuine disgust.

she swallowed down the truth, forcing a lazy, entirely fake smirk back onto her face as she looked up at her friends.

"please," billie scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "i told you, hard mode takes time. i’m playing the long game. i've got her right where i want her."

"oh yeah? you got a name yet?" the friend challenged.

"i have everything," billie lied smoothly, her jaw clenching as she forced the cocky persona to stay intact. "stage three, bro. it’s fine. it’s totally fine. just have my money ready by finals."

the friends cheered, throwing a beer can into her lap before walking back down the hall, their loud, obnoxious voices echoing through the dorm corridor.

the second the door clicked shut, billie’s smirk instantly vanished. her shoulders slumped, a heavy, exhausted sigh escaping her lips. she pulled her phone out from under the pillow, unlocking it to see a new message from you.

you : seriously though, don’t eat the radioactive pasta. eat a piece of bread or something. goodnight, billie.

taglist : @ellae1l1sh @billiebobasia @byeilish @mscomet @malefantasy23 @billiesf4v @yurihxlic @angelbloodedd

© verysweetly | all rights reserved.