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tan1shere · 2 months ago

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Ugh favie posted 🥹

would u be ok writing smth where reader comes home after a rough day and billie and reader have a very playful relationship like always teasing and joking, so billie was basically teasing and joking and stuff like normal. but when billie realizesthat she was making it worse and that her girlfriend is upset and not in a teasing joking mood, then billie feels bad and comforts her from everything?

Bad Day

billie eilish x reader

summary: you have a horrible day and it takes billie a little too long to realize how tired you are

warnings: reader gets called fat as a joke, angst and then fluff😖

word count: 3k

You and Billie had never not joked around; play fighting like little kids do, screaming at each other and then cackling your asses off because neither of you could be serious for more than a minute, calling each other names that had your parents shooting you looks. You’d both guessed they just didn’t understand your shared wicked sense of humor.

That doesn’t mean it never became too much, though.

One particular day, it felt like you might never get home. A bright and early 7 a.m. photoshoot led right into interview after interview with rude directors and paparazzi nagging you every waking second. Your social battery had never been good at keeping up with your busy work schedule, but this seemed like the worst of it for whatever reason (well, it’s probably because you hadn’t gotten much sleep… maybe you should’ve thought about the consequences of staying up all night with Billie).

The absolute last straw came near the end of your last booking for the day; you’d asked someone to grab you a coffee because you’d been so dead on your feet all day that it felt like it was killing you to stand. You’d been too tired to even realize what happened, but before you knew it, hot coffee was covering the front of your body, soaking your clothes and ruining them while burning your skin in the process. You’d just smiled and waved the assistant off, mumbling something polite about having an extra shirt in your car. An absolute lie. But you were way too tired to deal with another person for one second longer than necessary.

Naturally, all you’d been dreaming about on the long drive home was curling up with Billie and falling asleep in her lap. It had been a horrible day, but you figured you could at least get a solid nap in.

When you walk in, though, Billie doesn’t seem to be in that comfy-needy-touchy-feely mood that you were in.

She’s lounging, practically man-spreading on the couch, all laid out in a way that might make you blush if you weren’t on the verge of tears. A gaming controller is being furiously clicked at in her hands as she plays some game you don’t recognize up on the TV. She’s got Kelly Clarkson blasting through the whole house, which you’d usually giggle at and belt along to, but right now, it’s just giving you a headache. It smells like something’s burnt, too, like maybe she tried to cook something but it didn’t work out. On top of all of that, Shark, her dog, is barking at something through the back door. It’s all just an overstimulating nightmare.

She doesn’t immediately look up when you come in, but she does smile and call a loud “Heyyyyy” over the music. You don’t respond, but she doesn’t really notice. Your shoes are kicked off as quickly as possible, and you make a beeline for your bedroom upstairs, but she calls out to you again; “Hey, hey, hey, wait. Come back.” It’s not demanding; moreso, it just sounds like she wants to see your face before you run off. Unfortunately, it makes you way more annoyed and upset than it should.

You trudge your way over to her, wiping away the beginnings of tears from your eyes. You plant yourself in front of her in what you assume to be a reasonable spot, but her neck cranes to see behind you, and she places a gentle, but firm hand on your hip to push you to the side. “Move over,” she murmurs, and you know she doesn’t mean to be so harsh; she’s just in the zone. In fact, she kisses your head when you flop down next to her defeatedly to make sure you know she didn’t intend to be so mean about moving you away from the television. But her tone makes you get all teary-eyed again, and she doesn’t hear you sniffle.

After a long five minutes of sitting, fiddling with your fingers, and holding back tears, she finally dies in her game, letting out a quiet string of curses. The second she turns to you, though, she’s all smiles and giggles… just not exactly in that gentle way you need her to be. Her arms reach out to wrap around your waist, and you lean into it, assuming it’s a hug. It only takes about two seconds for her fingers to jab into your sides, something that would normally make you squeal and giggle. You don’t this time. You’re absolutely not in the mood, but you know if you talk to tell her to chill out, she’ll hear the lump in your throat, and then you’ll surely end up crying your eyes out. Most of all, you don’t want to ruin her good mood by being dramatic. So instead, you squeak and shove her hands away, skipping the giggling all together. She doesn’t notice.

“I missed you,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. It’s just gentle at first, but then she nips at it, sinking her teeth into your skin before you push her head away like you always do. She just doesn’t notice that it’s not playful this time. You know she loves to bite you (gently, of course) as some form of affection, but right now, you’re too tired for anything other than sleep.

She’s obviously in a great mood, though, because she stands up abruptly and practically skips to the kitchen right as your pinky had been reaching for hers. You’re just trying to get her to notice that you need more quiet in a way that won’t make you sob, but it’s proving to be increasingly difficult. She keeps missing your signals.

Of course, the first thing she does when she prances into the kitchen is rile Shark up even more than he already is. He’s still barking at something in the backyard, and Billie decides it would be hilarious to chase him around the room until he’s barking non-stop. Every loud sound from the dog feels like it’s splitting your head in half. You love her, and you love how loud she is, but at the moment, you’re holding back sobs. Everything about this is overwhelming beyond belief to you… you just can’t figure out a way to voice that to her before you break.

And then, of course, she decides she wants to jab at you like she always does. Little jokes that would usually have you giggling and glaring playfully at her just seem like a punch to the gut right now. She grabs her phone, starting to scroll through something as she calls from the kitchen; “I’m gonna order pizza.” A very normal thing for someone who just burned the hell out of two grilled cheeses to say. Then, she adds, “I’ll have to get two for your fat ass,” and again, “Or maybe just salad. I think you need it.”

She punctuates every statement with a giggle that tells you she is 100%, absolutely kidding. There is nothing in her tone to indicate to you that she actually believes anything she just said. But for whatever reason, that’s what does you in.

Billie only looks up from her phone when she hears you sniffling, and she’s met with a sight that makes her stomach drop to her ass; you, standing in the middle of the living room, frowning so deeply that it looks like your eyes may pop out of your head. Your lips trembles violently even though you’re biting at the flesh to try to stop it. The tears are coming before you can stop them, and the worst part to her is that you don’t look mad. Not even mildly annoyed. You just look sad.

It looks like every cell in her body that had the urge to poke fun at you dies in an instant. She’s putting her phone down and padding over to you before you can even process the heavy waves of tears falling from your eyes, and you almost don’t even realize you’re crying at all until a sob shakes your shoulders.

Her hand reaches for yours, and she tugs you right into her chest, rubbing your back as your cries start to take over. Her voice sounds confused as hell, but so much softer than a moment ago, and it honestly just makes you want to cry more. “W-wait- oh, fuck. Shit, I’m sorry, baby. I was just joking. I don’t think you’re fat. I think you look great. You always look so pretty. Body goals, one might say…” she rambles on quietly, but trails off when she realizes this is much heavier than whatever she just said to you. Something’s really, deeply upsetting you, and it makes her chest ache. It fills her with this urge to make it all better. “Okay, okay… shhhh… c’mere, mama. I’ve got you,” she murmurs into your hair, picking you up by sliding her hands under your thighs and cradling you to her chest as best she can.

Your body melts all the way into hers immediately, and it only serves to strengthen her worry; you wouldn’t do that if you were annoyed at her, so it solidifies that something else is truly wrong. Her warm hand rubs your back so softly that it’s almost sickening, but in the best way possible. Just from the way you burrow into her and curl up on yourself, she can tell you’re just overstimulated, and she’s trying to find that balance between making it better and making it worse. Nothing’s helping, though. You’re at the point where you just need to cry it out.

So that’s exactly what she lets you do.

She scoops you right up and takes you upstairs where everything feels easier to process; it doesn’t smell burnt, there’s no dog barking, and no music blasting through the halls. It’s quiet. Her feet pad softly on the floor as she takes you into the bedroom, and it feels like that’s the only sound other than your quiet sniffles and hiccups.

She keeps you curled up on her chest as she plops the two of you down on the bed and sets you up with your ear right over her heart. It gives you something quiet and constant to focus on rather than spiraling. Or, that’s what she’s assuming, at least. She knows it helps her when she gets this tired and overwhelmed, so she’s praying it’ll help you, too.

It takes a long while, but eventually, your sobs quiet into soft hiccups, and then sniffles, and then quiet, shuddered breaths. She doesn’t ask for a single thing from you the entire time; just sits quietly, rubs your back, kisses your head every once in a while. She turns on the overhead fan when it gets a little too quiet. Makes sure the lights aren’t bright enough to hurt your head. Silently vows not to move until you do.

It takes even longer, but eventually, your head lifts from her chest, and she;s met with the sight of your eyes all puffy from your tears and your lip still trembling. She doesn’t want to overwhelm you, so she doesn’t move an inch. Her hands stay wrapped around your back as you murmur in your sleepy, shaky, watery voice, “I- I’m sorry f-for ruinin’ the night.”

Her chest aches so badly that she could cry. A fresh wave of tears well up in your own eyes, but before they fall, her tentative hands cup your cheeks and wipe them away. Her touch is so incredibly warm and soft, unlike the teasing from earlier. She simply shakes her head at your mumble and presses a kiss to your hairline. “Shhhh, shut up. No you didn’t,” she says, and her voice doesn’t have the same tone as earlier. It’s not teasing, or trying to rile you up. It;’s still firm, but you can tell it’s just because she wants to make sure you know how she’s feeling, That she doesn’t think you ruined the night.

She pulls back when you don’t make any additional comments, and takes a good look at you for the first time all night. You’ve got that haze in your eyes that you get when you’re overwhelmed beyond belief. There’s a very blatant coffee stain on your shirt. Your eyelids look more red than usual; not just puffy from crying, but irritated like you’ve been rubbing at them all day. You look exhausted.

Wordlessly, she scoops you back up, and you don’t question her. She has that look in her eye: the soft one. The one that tells you she knows exactly what you need, and she’s absolutely determined to make you feel better.

She carries you into the bathroom, kissing your head over and over and rubbing your back the whole way, doing everything in her power to keep you from crying again. You don’t even have to ask; the second she’s in the bathroom, she’s setting you on the counter to start running a warm bath, all one-handed (she has the other hand resting in your lap so you can hold it while she sets everything up. She’s desperate to make you feel okay).

She grabs two towels and fills the bathtub with that bath bomb of hers you always say smells nice, and then gently works your clothes off and brushes your hair out. Then she’s gently lowering you into the tub, climbing in behind you right after and tucking you back against her chest. The water’s warm. Just the right temperature to not burn your skin, but enough to relax your muscles. She really knows everything about you, including the exact temperature you like your baths at.

For a long few moments, it’s quiet. Only the sound of quiet breathing, occasional kisses to your head, and the fan from the bedroom fill the air. Billie doesn’t move much. Doesn’t try to wash your hair, or hold you too tight, or do anything she thinks might push your limits. All she does is keep her arms wrapped around your middle so you can feel her and know she’s there. She wants to give you a while to relax and get your breathing back to normal after all the crying you did. You could fall asleep right here. That is, until the quietest, softest, most caring whisper breaks the silence, “...Bad day?”

She doesn’t expect much from you, so when you carefully, sleepily twist your body to curl up further into her chest, she’s pleasantly surprised. “The worst,” your small, watery voice mumbles back, and the sound of your voice makes her heart speed up and ache at the same time. It feels good to know you feel good enough to speak a little more, but you sound so tired.

She doesn’t speak for another long moment, not wanting to overwhelm you with too much conversation at once. She can tell you’re exhausted. Once she feels you’re okay enough to keep talking, though, she asks, “Was it work? Or… me?”

She sounds timid, and it makes you frown. Timid is the last word anyone on planet earth would use to describe her, but that’s how she sounds right now. She’s afraid of your answer. You know you can’t lie; she’s all about communication, so you want to try. For her. “M-Mostly work. B-but… I think you made it w-worse,” your quiet voice sounds through the quiet, and her heart drops.

“...O-okay, okay. That… that’s good. Was it what I said?” she asks, and you can hear the hurt in her voice, but it’s quickly replaced by genuine concern. She wants to know what she did wrong so she won’t do it again.

At that, your hand weakly reaches for hers, and the feeling immediately makes her heart hurt a little less. She can tell right then that you aren’t mad at her; you’re just tired and need some TLC. You try to think genuinely about what set off your tears, and eventually mutter; “um… y-yeah, I guess. I know you were just jokin’, but I was already kind of upset from work. I-it was really loud in here, too, a-and I think you were too rough. Made everythin’ worse.”

She takes note of that immediately, and it definitely clicks for her. You hadn’t giggled when she tased you with her fingers or nipped at your neck, and you hadn’t come through the door belting to the music she had on like she’d expected. There were signs you’d been too tired to function; she just hadn’t noticed.

You can see the gears turning in her head, so you add in a quiet, but sincere voice; “I p-probably could’ve told you how I was feelin’ when I came home. M’sorry.”

She snaps out of her little thinking bubble, and smiles so softly at you that it makes your insides melt. Her lips press to your temple, and her hand squeezes yours. Her free palm runs up and down your back to remind you to keep taking deep breaths after such a long cry. “That’s okay, babygirl. Not your fault. I wasn’t listening very well in the first place… but I think it would be easier for both of us to just say it up front,” she murmurs in that soft voice, messing with your fingers the whole time.

Your lungs still feel so out of whack from so much crying, but your head and heart feel better. You let a tiny smile tug at your lips for the first time all night, and your fingers squeeze hers to tell her you understand. This is good, you think. Communication is good. You’ll both be better at this next time, whether it’s you or Billie getting overwhelmed. It’s nice to think about.

Your social battery has about run out for the day, though, so Billie makes sure to take extra good care of you. She lets you rest in the warm tub for a while, washes your hair, dries you off, even does your skincare routine. She’s memorized all the steps for times like these. And, of course, she rubs your back and kisses your head until you fall asleep on her chest, finally getting in that nap you’ve needed all day long.

a/n: this is the longest thing i've ever wrote so it's very loosely proofread please just ignore any mistakes😘

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tan1shere · 2 months ago

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My new fav thing omg.

street racer!billie tucks you and your stuffed animals in after a late race . . .ᐟ

the drive home is mostly quiet.

just the soft hum of billie's rebuilt engine and your tired breathing filling the space between you. billie's shoulders are tense, still pissed about the way her front and back left tires exploded mid-race and nearly sent her flying into a barrier. her fingers grip the steering wheel with a little too much force, causing her to wince at the pain that shoots to her knuckles. right. she also cut herself repairing the stupid tire.

you'd tried to help when she was kneeling by the car earlier, but she waved you off with a huffed, "not unless you wanna ruin those nails, doll."

now, as she helps you out of the car and up the steps to your place—arm slung low around your waist, her shirt a little damp with sweat—she's quiet. not angry at you. just... exhausted. frustrated. wound tight from a night that didn't go anywhere near as planned.

as the front door creaks open with a quiet groan, billie's arm stays firmly wrapped around your waist, guiding your sleepy self inside like she's done it a hundred times before. her hoodie sits loose around your frame, streaked with small black stains from oil and laced with the faint scent of billie's perfume.

you're hardly two steps into your apartment before your knees buckle. billie's grip around your waist tightens with a muttered, "careful, mama."

her voice is hoarse. raw and scratchy from yelling over engines and shitty announcers and that guy who tried to run her off the track.

so to say she's exhausted is quite the understatement.

but, somehow, she's still awake enough to lift you off your feet and carry you up the stairs. she helps undo the laces of your boots as you sit at the edge of your bed, your hair a mess, shorts starting to feel uncomfortable.

after getting you comfortable and relaxed, billie pads back downstairs and into the kitchen. grabs a water bottle from the fridge, then skips steps while running back upstairs.

you're under the covers by the time she comes back, sheets lazily thrown across your stomach. a small smile twitches at the corners of her lips once she sees the light look on your face—finally resting after the race that went on hours longer than it was scheduled for.

setting the bottle down on your dresser, billie tugs the sheets up further. knuckles wrapped and a little dark from blood. she presses a kiss to your forehead, turns to leave—

"wait," you call, quiet. "you forgot."

she pauses in the doorway. "...forgot what?"

you jut your lower lip out. exaggerated. sleepy. "you didn't tuck them in."

her brows knit together like she doesn't understand—until your hand weakly gestures to the stuffed animals scattered at the foot of the bed. a frog. a bunny. a small bear she won for you at her first race. that silly looking cow with a ridiculously large smile.

"they're cold," you huff. turn your head away. dramatic.

she stares. twists the rings on her fingers.

"are you kiddin' me right now?" she mutters, running a hand through her hair. "they're stuffed, princess. they don't get—"

but then she looks at you. really looks.

the way your lip's doing that little trembling thing. the way you're all curled up and tired and warm, but the corners of your eyes are glassy and tired from the long night. and suddenly, she feels like an asshole.

billie's silent for one more beat, one hand resting on the door frame, the other holding her keys and swinging them on her index finger like she's debating.

then she sighs. long, dramatic. but soft.

"...fine. alright, just—give me the damn frog already."

you watch from under the covers as she carefully—very carefully—pulls each one of them close, like they're something breakable. her fingers fumble a little, still hurt, but she makes sure all of them are tucked under the blanket. safe. snug. she makes sure to place the bear in the spot closest to your chest.

she knows that one's your favorite.

then—"you gotta apologize to 'em, too."

her head whips around. "...what?"

"you insulted them—basically said they don't have feelings."

"baby, that's 'cause they—"

the look on your face has billie shutting her mouth instantly.

so—albeit grumbling the whole time—she leans in and presses a tiny kiss to the frog's forehead. "sorry, dude."

kisses the bunny. "my fault, sam."

kisses the bear. "my apologies."

and finally, the cow. "...you too, i guess."

she turns back to you with a deep frown, but it's got no real emotion in it. "happy now?"

you're ecstatic. "very."

billie just groans, rolling her eyes and crawling onto the bed. the mattress dips under her weight, her knees digging into the sheets as she leans over you, one hand braced beside your head on the pillow, the other carefully cupping your cheek.

she presses one last kiss to your lips. soft. a bit sloppy.

"you did good today," she praises, lips lingering on yours for a few moments longer. "nice job not freaking out when i almost died."

you nudge her arm. "don't joke about that."

a small, tired chuckle emits from her throat. "right. sorry."

"but seriously," she whispers, pulling away just enough to see your face. "you've got real potential being a starter—gotta start thinkin' about applying for the real stuff."

"and leave you behind? absolutely not," you reply, defensive. after a moment, you add, "i don't wanna risk having you go all m.i.a. on me again."

her smirk fades. slightly. "you know i didn't mean to."

you hum, kissing her again. she melts into the contact, sighing softly. when you pull away, her eyes don't open for a few moments. not until you speak again. "i know. just scares me sometimes."

she nods, gaze softening the longer she stares into your eyes. when you settle back on the pillows completely, billie pushes herself off the bed, going to stand near the door. she crosses her arms, shifting her weight like she's itching to get going—though she doesn't know why. maybe it's because you got too close. maybe it's because she felt herself slipping.

whatever it is, it's making her crazy.

her fingers are still blackened with oil, and she keeps brushing them against her jeans, scrubbing at the stains harshly like it'll somehow fix the fact that her tires are shot and she has another race in less than forty-eight hours. every time her knuckles run on the rough fabric, she winces. you notice every time. when she looks over, you're staring.

and her stomach twists. warm. loving. it's scary.

"i should go," she announces quietly, eyes flicking past the door and into the hallway. "i've gotta pull the axle apart and check the suspension. it's—"

"bil..."

she tenses. doesn't even look in your direction.

"sweetheart, c'mon," she says, more to herself than you. "i don't have time to sit around and play house right now. i have to—"

"stay. please?"

just two words. soft. sleepy. pleading.

her jaw ticks. hands flex against her thighs, frustration bleeding through every inch of her.

"you don't get it," she grumbles. "i blew two tires tonight. almost killed myself. again. if i don't fix it, my car's not in accordance with the safety guidelines. and if that's the case, then i'm not racing. i'm out, and the whole damn season goes up in flames. i—"

she exhales, shaky. nervous. scared and overwhelmed about everything going on around her. you. her career. herself.

you sit up just a little. not all the way. just enough for her eyes to catch yours in the dark, enough for the sheets to slip down to your waist. billie has to grip the doorframe in order to keep herself from snuggling in next to you.

then she continues, "—i don't wanna go out because of my own stupid decisions again. i can't. not this time."

she raises her hand, dragging it down her face.

"i can help first thing in the morning, billie," you whisper, just loud enough for her to hear.

no answer.

so you try again.

"you don't have to do all this alone again."

that's what gets her.

she lowers her hand back to her side again, eyes finally snapping to you. her lips are parted just a bit. eyes softer now. shoulders dropping slowly.

"so stay," you plead again. "listen, you don't—you don't even have to stay the whole night. you... you can leave in the middle of the night if you want, just please stay until i fall asleep."

she doesn't say anything.

her eyes drop to her feet. the scuffs on the old jordan's she always wore to race nights before changing into those silly looking fire proof shoes that went along with her outfit. it's almost like she can still feel the heat. feel the crash. it makes her head throb and her stomach twist just thinking about it.

and then—like a final defense—she turns her back. starts towards the hallway with fear racing up her spine and a quiet, "i'll stop by in the morning. promise."

but you're already moving out from under the covers.

rushing quietly toward the door.

you reach out, fingers curling gently around her wrist.

just a touch. soft and tired and aching.

for her.

and that's it.

she freezes. jaw clenched again. head hanging low. already kicking off her shoes.

"...damn it," she breathes.

when she turns back around, her eyes are dark and heavy with guilt. "you always do that," she mutters, tugging her hat off and threading her fingers through her messy hair. "that little look. like you don't even know what you're doing."

you just blink at her. quiet. patient.

fingers tighten around her wrist. not harsh. just firm.

she sighs. gaze meets yours again. then locks your fingers together and drags you toward the bed. she lets you climb on first, making sure you're comfortable before she rounds the mattress and pulls the covers back so that she can get under.

"guess m'takin' your spot tonight, hm?" billie whispers to the frog, plucking him from your side and setting him on the far end.

then her body slots in beside you hesitantly, like it physically pains her to leave her car alone outside—but she does it anyway. because it's you.

and you're starting to matter more than the races.

her arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in. she nuzzles into the crook of your neck with a quiet, defeated sigh. you rake a careful hand through her hair, feeling her relax further into you.

"still helpin' me in the mornin'."

tags. @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @jvreaulcver @livvydunneness @chxhir0 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @mybluebossanova @fleurfiles @justtr @greenbttrflyy @billsbaby @bilsova @lottiepierce @northlndnisred @asterisk-eyes @dragoneyelashart @xxangelfarrlzxx @ilomiloblohshh @ma1spa @meliciousmel13 @jul3esz @rightarion @svelish @eilishssiennaa @skinnyhmhas @dragoneyelashart @thinkshespretty @cnnibalize @canthelpit0 @hailwiggly @karaeilish @bilswifee @drunkinyourbenz @aka-persephone @bitchesbrokenpromises @jayjaywetforbils @slvt4subchratt @cantlandonmyfeet @tezzzzzzzz @emi-inspace

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