pairing: dom! billie x reader
warnings: smut, rough sex, smoking, dom!billie, jealousy, tension, possesive behavior
description: at a rooftop party billie gets a little too jealous. she then claims you and watches you fall apart for her — again and again.
the rooftop is sleek and expensive, hosted by someone who knows someone. the kind of place where industry people pretend they’re not watching each other. everything is buzzing in that slow, static kind of way. like everyone’s a little too high, a little too drunk, and too afraid to call it a night. there’s music coming from somewhere—a speaker tucked by the bar, low and bassy. the air smells like smoke, sweat, and rich perfume, and from up here, the whole city glows like it’s trying to impress you.
you’re perched at the edge of one of the long, low tables—legs crossed, skirt riding up just enough to be noticed. he’s in front of you, some guy in a tight black suit, talking like he’s trying to sell you something you’ll never want.
“you’d be great on a podcast, seriously. you’ve got that kind of voice, y’know? like, it cuts through noise. memorable.”
you twirl a strand of hair around your finger, let out a soft hum. your drink’s empty. your patience is, too.
“mm,” you murmur, eyes drifting past his shoulder.
billie’s still at the bar — same spot she’s been in all night. she’s wearing a stupid pair of dark shades even though the sun set hours ago. but she looks good. too good. her rings catch the string lights as she downs another shot, jaw tight, eyes locked on you like she might bite through glass.
she hasn’t said a word to you. hasn’t had to. you’ve felt her watching — every step, every glance, every laugh that wasn’t meant for her.
you’re not exactly friends, but you’re not strangers either. there’s something in the way she watches you, like she knows something you don’t. and even in silence, she makes it clear: you’re not hers, but you’re sure as hell not anyone else’s.
and you’re giving her a show.
you lean in closer to the guy—what’s-his-name, who cares—and laugh softly at something that isn’t funny. your knee brushes his thigh. your hand lingers too long on his arm. it’s all hollow, all for her.
he’s still talking. something about content creation now. you’re nodding, lips pursed, but your eyes keep slipping to the bar.
and then you get up without a word. leave your empty glass, leave his voice mid-sentence, leave the heat of billie’s stare clinging to your bare legs as you cross the rooftop.
you head to the far side, where it’s quiet—just the hum of the city below and the wind brushing your skin. you pull a cigarette from your clutch, tap it against your fingers, and lift it to your lips. there’s a second where your hands shake, barely, just enough to notice. because you know what’s coming. you’ve been waiting for it all night.
you don’t even get to light it.
a hand slips past your shoulder. slow, deliberate. her fingers pluck the cigarette from your lips, and you freeze.
billie’s behind you now, so close you feel the heat of her breath on your neck. she doesn’t say a word. just brings the cigarette to her own mouth, lights it with a flick of her silver zippo, takes a long, dragging inhale.
you turn slightly, heart thudding in your chest, and watch the glow of it light her face. her lips close around the filter, soft and pink and mean. smoke curls from her nose as she exhales, then she places the cigarette back between your lips like it’s hers to give.
“you looked like you needed a break,” she says, voice rough and low, just above a whisper.
you blink up at her. your mouth feels dry. “was it that obvious?” you say around a breathy laugh.
her eyes drop to your mouth. she doesn’t answer right away. her fingers stay near your face, brushing your jaw like she’s still deciding what to do with you.
“you’ve been driving me fucking insane,” she says finally. her voice is sharper now, like she’s holding back more than she wants to.
you raise a brow, lean a little against the railing behind you. flick ash over the edge like it’s nothing.
“me?” you tease. “i’ve just been minding my business.”
you smile, slow and lazy, pretending your heart isn’t hammering against your ribs. “you jealous?”
she leans in until her chest grazes yours and her hand is braced next to you.
your breath catches. you meet her eyes and the air between you goes tight. like a thread pulled too far. your fingers twitch where they rest against the ledge. the cigarette’s burning down to the filter but neither of you care.
“you flirt with guys you don’t even like,” she says. “you wear that little skirt and sit there letting them look at you like they’ve got a chance.”
you tilt your head. “so what if i do?”
her hand moves to your waist—light, but possessive. “you knew i was watching.”
your stomach flips. but still, you push her. “so?”
she leans in closer now, her mouth just at your ear.
“say it,” she murmurs. “you liked being stared at.”
your lips part, but no sound comes out. her thumb drags lightly along your lower lip, and your breath catches.
“i…” you swallow hard. “i wanted you to look.”
her eyes darken. you watch her jaw flex, her hand tightening where it rests on your side.
and that’s it. that’s the last thread snapped.
her hand moves fast, sharp — curling around your waist and spinning you, not toward the wall but toward the edge. the railing presses cold against your lower back as she crowds in, her mouth crashing into yours with a low, hungry sound. the cigarette hits the ground and dies beside your feet.
she tastes like tequila and smoke, the bitterness sharp on her tongue, but underneath it — her perfume: musky, slightly masculine, a little dangerous. unmistakably her. it turns you on.
her kiss is rough, greedy, like she’s starved. she bites your bottom lip and doesn’t apologize. her hands are everywhere — up your sides, under your shirt, fingertips dragging up your ribs like she needs proof that you’re real, that you’re here. your head’s spinning, lips already swollen, but she doesn’t stop.
“fuck,” she mutters against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you. "you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” she breathes against your mouth, voice wrecked. “always are.”
you barely manage a sound — just a soft, shaky, “bils…” — but it’s all she needs to hear.
“mm, i know, mama. you don’t have to say a thing.”
her fingers trail down your front now, slow and deliberate. her thumbs hook into your waistband, tugging you flush against her, grinding her thigh between yours. you whimper and she grins, low and feral. your whole body tenses, breath caught in your throat. she moves lower, knuckles grazing sensitive skin until her fingertips just barely brush over your folds — featherlight, maddening.
“fuck,” she mutters. “there she is. you’re so wet for me.”
your knees nearly buckle. she doesn’t go further. doesn’t even press. just one slow pass over your lips and then she pulls her hand away like she never touched you at all. your body screams at the loss.
you’re shaking now, trying so hard to stay composed, but she’s everywhere — her mouth at your neck, teeth scraping along your pulse; her hands roaming again, gripping your ass, sliding up your back, curling into your hair. she’s kissing you like she wants to drown in it. biting, sucking, dragging moans from your throat.
you cling to her shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. “billie… please—”
“shh.” she licks into your mouth like it’s hers. “i know what you want.”
and then, like it’s nothing, like you aren’t about to fall apart, she pulls back. smooths down her shirt. fixes her rings. her lips are swollen, flushed, eyes glassy — but her smirk is steady.
“stay right here,” she says, low and firm. “i want you like this.”
“like what?” you whisper, breathless.
she steps back, eyes dropping to your parted lips, your flushed chest, the way you’re still clenching the edge of the railing like it might hold you together.
and just like that — she walks away.
you don’t know how long you stay there, slumped against the railing, lips swollen, breath short, thighs still trembling with need.
everything’s spinning — the rooftop lights blur like stars, voices buzzing somewhere in the background, but none of it reaches you. your body’s still wired, trembling from the taste of her, from the way she touched you like a warning and left you empty.
your underwear sticks uncomfortably between your legs. your chest rises and falls like you’ve just run miles. tequila hums through your bloodstream, blurring the edges of everything except her.
you blink hard, force yourself upright. force your legs to move. you need air. or water. or her.
you spot her before you’re even halfway across the rooftop — standing near a high-top table, a drink in her hand, head tilted slightly as some girl laughs too loud at something she didn’t say. she’s not even really listening. you can tell by the way her eyes flick sideways, the way her fingers tap idly against the rim of her glass.
her rings are still warm from your skin.
when she sees you, she smiles — slow, knowing, fucking smug. like she’s been waiting for this.
you stop a few steps away. she doesn’t look at you, but she leans in toward the other girl and murmurs something low. and then, without even glancing your way, she shifts just enough to whisper, so only you hear:
“i knew you couldn’t resist me.”
your jaw clenches. everything burns.
you pull her away from the table, through the crowd, into the shadows just past the string lights where the rooftop curves around behind the bar. it’s darker here, quieter, the music muffled — but your pulse is deafening.
she follows like she’s in no rush, smirking like she owns every second of this.
“are you done playing games now?” she murmurs, her voice thick, lazy. “or are you ready to finish this off?”
you don’t answer. your back hits the wall this time, but it’s different now — because you’re the one who moved first. your hands find the collar of her shirt, pulling her in, and she slams her mouth onto yours like she’s been holding back all night.
her kiss is brutal. all the hunger she pretended wasn’t there is clashing down. her hands are everywhere again — pushing your shirt up, squeezing your thighs, dragging along your waist. her fingers dip beneath the waistband of your panties like she owns you.
“fuck, mama…” she growls against your skin. “you kept me waitin’.”
you whimper, hips arching toward her.
“so needy,” she pants, sliding two fingers through your wetness now. not teasing this time. not pretending. “this what you wanted?”
she curls her fingers into you without warning, dragging a broken moan from your lips. your head falls back against the wall, your hands fisting into her shirt like you’re afraid she might vanish again. she pumps slow at first — cruel, deep strokes that make your knees shake.
you look at her — flushed and wild and perfect under the low rooftop light — and something snaps in you too.
your hand curls tight in the front of her shirt, yanking her closer, your lips right against her ear. “you’re mine too,” you whisper, voice shaking. “i don’t give a fuck who’s watching. don’t even look at anyone else.”
she groans low in her throat, like your words physically hit her. her fingers push deeper. her other hand grabs your jaw, forcing your gaze to stay locked on hers.
“mm, god, you don’t even know what that does to me,” she breathes.
you moan, louder now, and she kisses you again to shut you up — messy and hard, biting your bottom lip as she fucks you through it. your hips roll into her hand, every muscle tightening. her name stumbles out of your mouth over and over.
“that’s it, baby,” she pants. “take it for me. takin’ me so good…”
her thumb brushes over your clit now, finally, and your whole body jerks.
you nod, eyes wide, lips trembling.
her fingers stay inside, but she stills completely — her mouth hovering over yours, eyes dark and steady like she’s reading your every thought.
“not yet,” she whispers. “i want you begging.”
your mouth falls open — disbelief, fury, heat crashing all at once.
“oh, you’re not doing this to me.”
she barely has time to react before you grab her again — both hands curling in the front of her shirt, dragging her back into your space, your body. you slam her into you like you’ve had enough, like you need to remind her what she started.
you guide her hand, fast, pressing it right to your chest — your breasts flushed and sensitive beneath your top, your nipples hard beneath the thin fabric. her palm lands flat and she groans at the heat of you.
“feel that?” you hiss against her ear. “this is what you do to me. you gonna leave that?”
she exhales like you punched the air out of her lungs. “fuck.”
you don’t stop. your hand slides down her wrist, bringing her other hand between your legs again, pushing your panties to the side for her. “you’re gonna make me cum, billie.”
something shifts in her expression — that smug restraint breaking open into full hunger, like she finally fucking feels it too.
“yeah?” she mutters into your mouth, voice gone rough. “you want it that bad, mama?”
you moan into her neck, arms clinging around her shoulders as your hips roll down against her hand. she sets a punishing rhythm, no teasing now — just raw, slick, fast thrusts, fingers curling inside you while her thumb works your clit with perfect pressure.
you can’t breathe. can’t think. the world tilts.
“that’s it,” she pants, biting down on your shoulder, sucking hard enough to bruise. “you’re doin’ so good, baby. fuck, you feel so good.”
your entire body locks up — your stomach tightens, legs shaking, your moans falling apart in her mouth.
“i got you,” she whispers. “let it go. come for me. come all over my fuckin’ hand.”
it rips through you in waves, your body convulsing, jaw slack, thighs trembling. and billie loses it. she moans loudly into your neck, her eyes rolling back. "my god."
she keeps her fingers inside you just a moment longer — gentle now, pulling back slightly just to look at you.
your breath stutters in your chest as you lock eyes with her. her lips are parted, pupils dilated, that smirk long gone. replaced by something closer to reverence.
you’re both flushed, wrecked. her hand is still wet between your thighs. your bodies are pressed so tight together you can barely tell where one ends and the other starts.
and then she leans in, her mouth brushing the corner of yours:
“never run from me again.”
your eyes flutter shut. you don’t answer.
the rooftop spins around you — lights flickering above, bass thrumming under your feet, the taste of her still on your tongue — and for a second, everything is quiet. still.
then she steps back, her eyes dragging over your body one last time like she’s memorizing it, and disappears into the shadows with the scent of smoke and musk trailing behind her.
you’re left there against the wall, aching, dazed, smiling like a secret.
and she knows you’ll follow.
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