★bluehair!teen!billie x teen!reader
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Saturday arrives like a threat.
The whole morning feels wrong- too bright, too quiet, too filled with the kind of nervous energy that makes my stomach tighten. I wake up early, even though I barely slept, and immediately start mentally inventorying my closet.
Or at least it feels that way.
Billie Eilish invited me to a party.
Not as a group thing, not as a "see you there", but as an actual... together.
And suddenly every article of clothing I've ever owned looks like it belongs to a twelve-year- old who can't do laundry properly.
I stand in front of my mirror, pulling shirts over my head, tossing them on the bed, trying again, repeating the cycle like some sort of panicked fashion robot. Iris wanders in halfway through and stands in the doorway with her juice box.
"You look weird," she announces.
I choke so hard I nearly swallow my tongue. Iris raises an eyebrow at me, unbothered.
"It's not a date," I wheeze. "It's just a p-party. Billie's going. I'm just... also going with her."
She leaves the room humming, clearly satisfied with the emotional damaged she's caused.
I turn back to the mirror.
Too "why would Billie even look twice at you."
Leggings- too "I'm going to the gym even though I've never willingly exercised."
A skirt- absolutely not, I don't hate myself.
After almost an hour, I flop face- first onto my bed, muffling a scream into my pillow.
And that's when I smell it.
Still draped over the back of my desk chair, like she left it there on purpose. Like she wanted me to keep a piece of her.
I sit up slowly, staring at it.
A little worn at the cuffs.
Smells like her- mint gum and shampoo and something almost sweet.
The mirror doesn't laugh at me this time.
I still look like me- quiet, nerdy- but there's something else there too. Something that makes my cheeks warm.
Maybe the idea that Billie wanted me to have this.
She said she'd text me when she was on her way.
My phone buzzes like it heard my thoughts.
My heart tries to escape through my ribs.
I take one last look in the mirror and take a deep breath.
My reflection stares back at me, wearing Billie's hoodie like a confession I'm not ready to say out loud.
And then there's a knock at the door.
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My stomach drops in that annoying fluttery way it does whenever her name pops up on my screen. I grab my jacket, yell a quick goodbye to my mum, and nearly trip over my own shoes getting to the door.
When I step outside, the late afternoon sun hits my eyes, and then-
Billie's leaning against her beat-up black Wrangler, one boot propped on the bumper, hair messy from the wind, chewing a piece of gum like she owns my entire street. She's wearing an oversized dark blue hoodie with the sleeves pushed up and a chain around her neck, and she looks like trouble. Ridiculously pretty trouble.
She looks up at me, smirks.
"FInally," she says. "Though you'd died in there."
"I-I was getting my stuff," I say, sounding exactly as pathetic as I feared.
"Yeah, yeah." She waves a dismissive hand, then opens the passenger door. "Get in, shy girl."
My face heats instantly. "Don't call me that."
"Why not?" she asks, leaning closer with that teasing glint in her eyes. "It suits you."
I swallow the lump in my throat and climb into the seat before she can see me combust. Billie circles around the front and hops into the driver's seat, tossing her phone into the console.
She smells like peppermint gum and whatever expensive perfume she steals from her brother.
The engine starts with a low growl. I shoot her a nervous look.
"So um... what exactly is this party?"
Billie grins, tapping the steering wheel. "Not far. It's at Mason's place."
My heart stutters. Mason's house is legendary. Loud. Crowded. Super not my scene.
Billie must see the panic on my face, because she laughs quietly- not mean this time, more like she finds me weirdly cute.
"Relax, nerd," she says. "I'm not throwing you into the mosh pit. You're with me."
She pulls away from the curb, one hand on the wheel, the other hanging out the window as the wind whips through the car. Music blasts- something bass- heavy and chaotic- and Billie taps the beat on the steering wheel like she can't hold still.
I fiddle with my sleeves, trying to keep my heart from falling out of my chest.
"Why'd you even invite me?" I ask, barely above a whisper.
Billie glances at me, eyes flicking down my face before turning back to the road.
"Because," she says slowly, "you're interesting."
She smirks. "Don't make it weird."
"No," she says confidently, "I made it honest."
My breath catches. BIllie has this way of saying things like she doesn't care, like they mean nothing to her- but they end up meaning everything to me.
The sky outside is pink and orange, the evening settling softly over the neighborhood. Billie drums her fingers on her knee.
"You're not scared, right?" she asks, teasing but also almost... checking.
Billie bumps her shoulder into mine as she merges onto the main road.
"Good," she says. "Because once we walk in, people are gonna stare."
"Oh," I squeak. "That's great."
She laughs, shaking her head. "Relax. They're only staring because you'll be with me."
Billie interrupts, looking over at me with a smirk that could melt concrete.
"It means," she says, voice low, "that you're safe tonight."
My heart doesn't know what to do with that.
The sky darkens, the music pulses, and Billie speeds up just slightly, hair glowing faintly in the streetlights. She looks reckless and bright and a little dangerous.
And she's coming to a party...
When we turn onto Mason's street, cars line both sides, lights flashing from inside the house, bass shaking the pavement.
Billie throws the car in park, then looks at me, a smug but strangely soft smile pulling at her lips.
But Billie- Billie is waiting for me.
"Yeah," I whisper. "I'm ready."
Billie reaches out, grabs my chin between her thumb and index finger, tilting my face up just slightly.
"Good girl," she murmurs, smiling wider when I freeze completely. "C'mon."
She hops out, jogs around, and opens my door for me like it's nothing.
And when I step out, she places her hand on the small of my back- light, warm, possessive.
"Stay close," she says in my ear.
And I do.
I don't think I could do anything else.
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People are everywhere- spilling off the porch, leaning against cars, laughing too loudly, music vibrating the entire street. I've never been to a party like this. I've actually never been to a party unless you count Iris's fifth birthday.
This is... the opposite of that.
Billie walks like she owns the pavement, chin up, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, boots heavy with each step. Everyone looks at her as she passes. Some nod, some whisper, some give her these looks like they're deciding whether to flirt or run.
But Billie keeps her hand on me. And everyone's eyes flick down to where she touches me.
"Hey, Eilish!" someone calls from the porch. "You finally showed up!"
Billie lifts her chin in a lazy acknowledgment but doesn't stop. "Yeah, yeah. Move."
The guy actually steps aside for her.
Then he spots me trailing beside her and he does a double take, eyebrows raised like I'm a stray cat Billie decided to adopt on the way.
Billie notices, snaps her fingers at him, then points at me.
He immediately nods and disappears into the house.
I blink. "What- what was that?"
Billie smirks. "People are nosy. Sometimes they need... direction."
I have no idea what that means, but I nod anyway.
Inside the house, the living room is full. Music so loud it vibrates my chest, bodies packed wall-to-wall, flashing lights, spilled drinks, someone yelling about losing a shoe. I flinch as a couple makes out aggressively against the fridge.
Billie glances at me, reading everything on my face with terrifying accuracy.
"Hey." She nudges me. "You good?"
"I- uh - I don't know," I admit.
She grins softly, leaning close so her lips graze my ear. "Stick with me, yeah?"
I nod, my whole body buzzing from that tiny bit of contact.
Billie threads her fingers through mine like it's the most casual thing in the world and pulls me through the crowd. My brain short-circuits immediately. Her rings are cool against my skin, her hand warm, her grip firm like she's making sure I don't get pulled away.
To try catch Billie's attention.
But she ignores every single one of them.
When we reach the back patio—mercifully quieter—Billie finally lets go of my hand. My fingers feel strangely cold without her.
She leans against the railing, pulling her hoodie sleeves up, eyes shining under the string lights. “Better?”
“Good.” She grins. “You survived the first thirty seconds of hell. Proud of you.”
I look down, embarrassed but flattered. “Thanks… I think.”
Billie’s gaze drags over my face slowly, like she’s taking in a secret only she’s allowed to know.
She taps her nail on the railing. “So. Why’d you say yes?”
My eyebrows knit. “To what?”
“To this.” She gestures vaguely to the party. “The noise. The chaos. The chance someone might puke near you.”
I shiver. “I didn’t think about that.”
Billie laughs—really laughs—throwing her head back a little. It’s warm and unexpected and kind of addictive.
“You’re so innocent,” she says, shaking her head.
“Baby,” she interrupts, “you’re terrified of Mason’s shoe collection.”
“You gasped when we walked past a vape.”
I turn red instantly. “I didn’t know it smelled like that!”
Billie’s smile softens, eyes lowering to my hands. “You’re cute, you know.”
I swear my organs stop functioning.
She doesn’t give me a second to recover. “You trust me?”
I look up. Billie’s face is half-lit by the string lights, hair messy from the wind, mouth curved in that smirk she hides real feelings behind.
“Yes,” I say before I can stop myself. “I do.”
Her expression changes—briefly, quietly, like she wasn’t expecting that.
She looks away, chewing her gum slower, jaw tight. When she speaks again, her voice is lower.
A beat of silence hangs in the air. Billie kicks off the wall and steps closer—close enough that I can see the faint smudge of eyeliner under her lashes.
“Wanna explore?” she asks.
She shrugs. “Who knows. It’s a party. People are doing stupid things everywhere.”
“That doesn’t help,” I whisper.
Billie grins. “Relax. I’ll take care of you.”
My heart does something illegal.
She reaches out, casually looping her pinky around mine, tugging me toward the house again.
But before we step back inside, someone sticks their head out the sliding door.
“Billie! Mason wants you in the kitchen!”
Billie sighs dramatically. “Of course he does.”
The guy glances at me. “Uh… who’s she?”
Before I can shrink into a bush, Billie cuts in sharply.
Those three words hit me like a punch of adrenaline.
The guy blinks, nods quickly, and disappears.
Billie looks at me, a mischievous tilt to her lips. “Come on, shy girl. Let’s make this interesting.”
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Billie’s hand is warm around mine as we step back into the noise. The kitchen is somehow even louder than the living room—music blasting from a speaker on top of the fridge, people shouting, someone standing on a counter for no reason at all.
Parker Hernandez is in the middle of it, shirt already half unbuttoned like he’s been partying for hours instead of forty minutes. When he sees Billie, he brightens.
“EILISH! Finally!” he yells, arms open like he’s greeting royalty.
Billie groans. “What do you want?”
“Come take a shot with us!”
“I don’t drink,” Billie says flatly, “and you know that.”
Parker waves her off. “Then watch us! Or judge us! I don’t know, you’re fun.”
I’m standing behind Billie, trying to shrink into the wallpaper.
Parker notices me. His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh. Didn’t know you brought a friend.”
“She’s not a—” Billie starts.
But Parker steps toward me, blocking Billie’s view for a second. “Y/N, right? You’re in my English class.”
My heart jumps. I didn’t think he even knew my name.
“You’re the one who writes, like, perfect essays,” he says, smiling in a way that makes my stomach twist. “I always read yours when Miller posts examples.”
“Oh,” I whisper. “I didn’t know that.”
“They’re good.” He leans a little closer. “You’re good.”
Billie moves so fast I don’t even see it happen—suddenly she’s between us, pushing Parker back with a hand to his chest.
“Back up,” she says, voice low and edged.
Parker throws his hands up. “What? I’m just talking.”
“You’re flirting,” Billie snaps.
Billie’s jaw clenches so hard I hear it.
“I’m annoyed,” she says slowly, “because you can’t flirt without ruining someone’s night.”
Parker raises an eyebrow. “Her night? Or yours?”
Billie steps forward like she might actually start something, so I quickly touch her sleeve.
She glances at me, and her expression shifts—just barely, but enough for me to see she’s actually irritated. Protective. Possessive.
She pulls me behind her again, like I’m a wallet she’s guarding.
But Parker keeps going, like he doesn’t know how to shut up. “I mean, if she wants to talk to me, that’s up to her. Right, Y/N?”
He smiles at me, waiting.
Before I can form a single word, Billie scoffs. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“How do you know?” Parker challenges.
Billie turns, looks at me with this intensity that makes my knees weak.
“Because she’s here with me.”
The room goes quiet—for like three seconds, but still. My face burns, and I’m pretty sure everyone can hear my pulse.
Parker lifts his hands again. “Alright, alright. Didn’t realize you two were a thing.”
But Billie cuts in quickly.
“Doesn’t matter,” she says. “She’s with me tonight.”
Parker shrugs and turns back to the counter, already bored. Crisis over.
Except I’m the one having the crisis.
When the kitchen noise rises again, Billie grabs my wrist and pulls me out into the hallway. She doesn’t stop until we’re in some empty dining room with a flickering light and a couch that definitely belonged to someone’s grandma.
She lets go of my wrist but stays close—too close—eyes sharp and stormy.
“What was that?” I ask quietly.
Billie runs a hand through her hair, frustrated. “He’s a creep. He does that with every girl he sees. I wasn’t letting him try it with you.”
“I can handle myself,” I say, even though I’m not totally sure that’s true.
Billie scoffs. “Yeah? You could barely walk through the living room without apologizing to the furniture.”
“It wasn’t even plugged in, Y/N.”
I cross my arms, embarrassed. “You didn’t have to jump in like that.”
Billie steps closer, expression softening slightly. “I did.”
She hesitates. For the first time tonight, she hesitates.
Her fingers twitch like she wants to touch me again but isn’t sure she should.
Finally she mutters, “Because you’re mine.”
Billie’s eyes widen very slightly, like she didn’t mean to say it out loud. She swallows.
“I mean—you’re not mine mine, you’re just—” She sighs aggressively. “I don’t like when other people try to—whatever. It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters a little,” I whisper.
Billie meets my eyes, jaw tight. “I didn’t like how he looked at you.”
“I do,” Billie shoots back immediately.
She realizes what she said and looks away quickly, cheeks a little pink.
Before I can respond, someone bursts into the room yelling about beer pong, and we instinctively step closer together to avoid being trampled.
Billie’s hand finds my waist like it belongs there.
My heartbeat pounds back into life. Billie looks down at me, then at her hand, then back at me again—like she’s trying to decide if pulling away would make it better or worse.
“Come on,” she murmurs, voice low and warm. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”
And I follow her.
Of course I do.
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Billie leads me up the stairs like she already knows the layout- shoulder brushing mine, hand still loosely holding the fabric of my sleeve like she's making sure I don't get swallowed by the house again.
The upstairs hallway is dim, lit only by a couple LED strips and one flickering lamp that's definitely seen trauma. The noise from downstairs is muffled now- like the party is happening underwater.
Billie stops at the last door on the right.
"This one's usually empty," she says.
She grins. "We'll risk it."
She pushes the door open with her foot. It's a small guest bedroom, the kind people only use when their relatives show up invited. The bed is neatly made, the air slightly stale, the window cracked open.
She steps inside, tugging me in gently with her before closing the door shut behind us.
The sudden silence is loud.
Billie exhales, sagging a little like she was holding tension I didn't notice until it left.
"God," she mutters, "people are so annoying."
I laugh softly. "You dragged me here."
"Exactly," she says, flopping onto the bed without hesitation, "and away from them."
She pats the spot beside her.
Her eyes flick up, narrowing. "Don't make me say please. I don't do that."
Not too close, but close enough that the mattress shifts under us both.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The quiet is strange- charged, almost heavy. Billie leans back on her elbows, watching me like she's studying something she hasn't decided if she's allowed to touch again.
"So," she says, "you really like parties?"
“That’s what I thought.” She nudges my knee with hers. “Next time I’ll just kidnap you directly.”
I roll my eyes. “Please don’t.”
I’m about to throw some comeback when she suddenly shifts—sitting upright, turning toward me fully.
Her expression is different now. Open. A little nervous. A little dangerous.
“You okay?” she asks quietly.
“You look like you’re about to run.”
Her knee presses gently against mine. I feel the warmth all the way up my spine.
She watches my face like she’s verifying the truth.
Then she smiles—soft, crooked, private.
Not fast. Not reckless. Not like she grabbed me earlier in my kitchen, acting on instinct or adrenaline.
This is slow. A question.
Her hand lifts, thumb grazing my cheekbone like she’s brushing off something invisible.
“Still jumpy?” she murmurs.
My heart trips over itself. My whole body feels too aware—like every nerve is holding its breath.
Billie whispers, “If you don’t want me to, tell me.”
It’s soft. Softer than the first one. Gentle but confident, warm but careful—like she’s trying to kiss me without scaring me.
I melt. It’s embarrassing how fast I do.
Her hand slides to the back of my neck, not pulling, just resting there, grounding. Her lips move with mine in slow, cautious patterns that feel too good, too much, too everything.
When she finally pulls back, I’m breathless.
She laughs—quiet and delighted. “You’re red.”
“I’m—shut up,” I mutter, hiding my face in my hands.
Billie's forehead is still pressed to mine, her breath warm, her smile infuriating and adorable when-
Both of us snap our heads toward it.
Standing in the doorway is some guy from Billie's friend group- Evan. He's holding a half-finished rink and wearing a stupid smirk.
He freezes when he sees us on the bed.
"Ohhhhh shit," he grins, pointing between us. "Billie, you're about five seconds away from fu-"
He doesn't finish the sentence.
Because Billie is off the bed so fast the mattress bounces.
"What the fuck did you just say?" she snaps, stepping toward him like she's about to throw him into a wall.
His smirks falters. "I-I was just joking-"
"Yeah? Well it wasn't funny." Billie's voice is low, sharp, dangerous. "Don't talk about her like that."
He holds up his hands. "Relax dude. It was a compliment-"
"No, it was disrespectful as hell," she bites back. "You don't speak about her like that. Ever."
He blinks at her, startled. "Billie, what's the big deal? Since when do you care-"
"Since always," she snaps. "Just get the hell out."
He scoffs, backing into the hall. "Whatever man. You're loosing it."
The door slams shut behind him.
Billie stands there, breathing hard, fists clenched at her sides.
I’m still on the bed, wide-eyed, pulse racing—but for a completely different reason than a minute ago.
Her face softens immediately.
“Hey,” she says quietly, walking back over. “Sorry. I didn’t want him talking about you like that.”
“It’s not.” She sits beside me, jaw still tight. “You don’t deserve that shit. Not from him, not from anyone.”
She sighs, running a hand through her hair, calming down.
“People think they can talk however they want because I don’t care.” She looks at me then—really looks. “But I care about you.”
She looks almost embarrassed she said it. She covers it quickly with a half-shrug.
“So… yeah. Sorry if that was intense.”
“It wasn’t,” I say, shaking my head. “It was… nice. That you stood up for me.”
Billie huffs a short, quiet laugh.
“Good,” she murmurs, eyes dropping to my lips for one fleeting second before she looks away again. “Because nobody gets to talk about you like that while I’m in the room.”
She bumps her knee gently against mine, softer now.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Are you?”
And just like that, the warmth returns to the room—slowly, like a curtain lifting after a storm.
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A/N: sorry that this is so long lmao
