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valeisaslut · 16 hours ago

Note

Ellie fucking you with her gun…👅👅👅

loaded worship ₊ ⊹

𖥠 word count: 1.9k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

𖥠 content warnings: top!ellie x sub!reader, porn w no plot, gunplay (r!receiving, consensual, unloaded, treated as a kink object), oral fixation (licking/sucking gun), AFAB!reader, cursing, pet names, spit kink, mild choking, degradation + praise, overstimulation, power dynamics, brat taming, MEN AND MINORS DNI, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖

it starts, like it always does, with you mouthing off.

ellie’s at the edge of the bed, legs spread, perched in a chair that’s more throne than furniture. the window’s cracked open behind her. the clouds blur into the moonlight.

she’s cleaning her gun again—not for protection, not for purpose, but for the meditative rhythm of it. something ancient in her hands, like a priest with a chalice.

and you—bratty, barely clothed in a paper-thin tank and those sleep shorts she loathes and loves at the same time— are sprawled across the sheets, soft skin glowing under the bedside lamp.

“gonna spend more time with that thing than me tonight?”

your voice is honey-laced venom. flirtatious, syrupy, barbed. she hears the dare in it. she always does.

ellie doesn’t answer right away. she slides the barrel back into place. presses the magazine in, safety flicks on with a soft click. there’s a smile on her lips that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. the kind that says she’s deciding whether to be sweet. or cruel.

“you jealous, baby?”

that voice. low and warm and mocking, but still so tender it hurts.

“maybe.” you stretch, belly tight, spine arching in a way that’s downright pornographic. “it’s prettier than me.”

her head lifts. one eyebrow raises. her gaze cuts you in half.

“nothing’s prettier than you.”

you roll your eyes.

and that’s it. the eye-roll, the little sigh, the careless way you flop onto your back like you’re bored. like she doesn’t have her trigger finger twitching. like she doesn’t wake up every morning already wet just from the thought of shutting you up.

she sets the gun down.

softly.

like it's not the most dangerous thing in the room.

“come here.”

there’s a change in the air. you feel it like a shift in pressure. her voice is velvet-wrapped steel—low, calm, lethal. not angry, but simmering. inevitable.

“ellie,” you murmur, but you’re already moving.

“no,” she says again. “come. here.”

she’s spread out in that chair like she owns even the air you're breathing. tattooed arm draped over her thigh. pupils blown wide. the slow smirk of someone who’s been waiting all day for an excuse.

“you got a lot to say tonight,” she murmurs when you get close. “real mouthy for someone who couldn’t stop begging ten minutes ago.”

“wasn’t begging,” you whisper, breathless. fake confident.

she tilts her head. hums low in her throat.

“nah. you were whining.”

her hand curls around your wrist and tugs you into her lap. you’re not even sure how you end up there — her fingers are hot against your skin, her thigh spreads you open instinctively. she kisses you once, deep and slow, like she’s claiming her prize. then she leans back.

“take your clothes off.”

you blink.

her voice is soft, but the command in it cuts like glass.

“why?”

she smiles.

and picks the gun back up.

“ellie—”

“relax.” her voice is velvet now, coaxing, almost sweet. “you trust me?”

you nod. instantly.

“you like being a brat, huh?” she murmurs. “you like pushing me.”

your heart’s in your throat. “maybe.”

“you want me to show you who you fucking belong to?”

a shaky breath. a nod.

and when you comply, you do it slow. ceremoniously. like you’re undressing for god — or something much, much worse. your fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties, peeling them down your thighs with shaky grace. your breath hitches at the chill in the room, the way it grazes over your freshly bare skin. you kick them aside, standing exposed from the waist down — but ellie’s still watching. still waiting.

your hands reach for the hem of your tank. soft cotton, now clinging with sweat. you pull it up, slow enough to feel her eyes follow the motion. over your ribs, your chest, your shoulders. when it finally leaves your body, you’re stripped to nothing — and that’s when it hits.

you feel it.

the weight of her stare. like a spotlight. like heat crawling over every inch of you. ellie’s not just looking, she’s devouring. the kind of look that makes you feel like prey, like art, like her favorite sin all at once. it makes your skin burn. your pulse skip. your thighs press together on instinct, already aching.

she doesn’t speak.

she just spins the gun in her hand with the ease of long practice—as if she was born with it, the ritual of cleaning and handling the only thing that steadies her. it twirls in her palm once, twice, catching the light as it flips , and then lands barrel-down in her open hand. her thumb brushes the safety. her fingers curl around the grip.

she’s still watching you.

you’re completely bare. she’s fully clothed. legs spread, eyes dark. the contrast makes you feel tiny. and impossibly turned on.

"you look like a dream,” she murmurs, her gaze pinning you in place like a knife to the throat. there’s a smirk playing on her lips — cocky, slow-burning — but her eyes are pure fire.

she spins the gun in her hand again and lets the barrel rest on her open palm.

“spit.”

“ellie—”

“spit on it.”

she doesn’t blink. and you —shaking now, lips parted— obey.

saliva hits the black metal, slick and hot. it glides down the barrel in the most obsene, wicked way imaginable.

ellie groans, quiet. pleased.

“fuck. good girl.”

she uses her thumb to smear it in. sensual, fucking indulgent.

“turn around.”

and you do. breath hitched. you straddle her lap with your back to her chest, thighs spread wide, cunt wet and aching. every inch of you is electric.

she nudges the barrel between your legs. just a tease. the steel is cold and slippery now, coated in spit and tension.

“still think she’s prettier than you?”

“n-no.”

“you gonna behave now?”

“i’ll try.”

she laughs against your neck.

“cute. too bad i don’t want ‘try.’ i want a 'yes'.”

and then she presses the barrel inside you.

your body jolts like it’s been shocked, the cold metal punching the breath from your lungs. it’s an unnatural stretch, one you've never felt before — not wide, but so precise. so smooth. it doesn’t flex. it doesn’t give. it fills you with the weight of power, the absolute certainty that you are being claimed, not fucked. your muscles clench instinctively, helplessly. the coolness burns as it warms inside you, the safety ridge dragging ever-so-slightly against your entrance, sending jolts up your spine.

ellie’s eyes are locked on your face, watching the transformation. the way your expression flickers from shock to lust to devotion.

she pushes in deeper, not rough, just deliberate. your thighs quiver around her lap. your cunt is already dripping, coating the slick metal in heat and want.

“jesus,” you gasp, nearly choking on it.

ellie grins, her voice a dark ribbon in your ear.

“nah, baby. not him.”

she begins to move. slow, sinful thrusts. the steel slides in and out, obscene and perfect. your slick is making it glide now, every drag sending aftershocks through your belly. it’s mechanical and intimate all at once. humiliating and holy. you’re spread wide on her lap, completely open, held still by her arm wrapped tight around your waist.

“this what you wanted?” she whispers. “you like being used like this?”

you moan. “yes—”

“like my little toy? like a wet fuckin’ hole?”

“yes—yes—”

your hips are rocking now, chasing it. chasing her.

“needy thing,” she breathes. “so fucking desperate. you gonna come like this? on my gun?”

“please, ellie—please—”

she lets out a groan. fucks it into you a little deeper. her free hand wraps around your throat, pulling you upright against her chest. your head falls back and your breath breaks.

“you hear yourself?” she murmurs. “you gonna remember this next time you wanna mouth off.”

she fucks you harder, a little rough now. precise. measured. like she knows every angle of your body, built it with her calloused hands just to use it like this.

you’re shaking.

“say it,” she growls.

“i’m yours,” you sob.

“again.”

“i’m yours—i’m yours—”

and then it hits you — a high so sharp it feels like lightning cracking down your spine. your body spasms. thighs clamp, back arches, a broken sob escaping your lips as you shatter. it’s not just release — it’s surrender. full-body, soul-deep, trembling surrender. you’re crying, and you don’t even realize it. your voice breaks open in a moan that borders on a whimper, like the pleasure was too much for you to carry.

ellie doesn’t stop. she fucks you through it — slow, possessive thrusts, making you feel every inch of the steel inside you, every twitch of your cunt around it, every aftershock that ripples through your core. her mouth is hot on your neck, mouthing filth against your skin like prayers.

“that’s it, baby,” she breathes. “that’s my girl. coming on my fucking gun like you were made for it.”

your body slumps against her, boneless. still twitching. still clenching around nothing when she finally eases the barrel out of you. the drag is slow —so slow— and the loss leaves you whimpering, your cunt fluttering around emptiness, dripping with slick and spit and the remnants of your orgasm.

ellie looks down at you like she’s just unearthed a masterpiece.

“fuck,” she mutters, reverent. “look at this mess.”

your thighs are soaked. your stomach rising and falling like you’ve run for your life. your cheeks are damp, lips parted, eyes barely focused.

she slides the gun slowly along your stomach, your chest, your neck, painting your release on your skin like a signature. deliberate, crude, worshipful.

then she leans in and presses a kiss to your neck — soft, warm, tender in the aftermath.

“mine,” she murmurs.

you nod, dazed. dizzy. your body’s humming. you don’t think you could move if you tried.

and then —slow as a ritual— she lifts the gun to her mouth.

you watch, hypnotized, as her tongue parts her lips. she licks a long, filthy stripe up the length of the barrel, tasting your slick like it’s a holy thing, worshipping the altar of your body even after she’s already made you come undone. her eyes flutter shut for half a second, lashes trembling. she hums low in her throat, a sound that vibrates through your chest like a second orgasm blooming.

and then she parts her lips wider — and takes the barrel into her mouth.

your breath catches. your knees almost give out.

she doesn’t break eye contact. not once.

it slides past her tongue, slow and obscene. her lips wrap around the metal like it’s your cunt she’s sucking. she moans around it, and it’s not just a show—it’s real, messy, shameless want. her spit mixes with your slick, glistening at the corners of her mouth. the sight is nothing short of devastating. your stomach twists.

her free hand slides between your legs, presses two fingers inside you without warning.

you cry out, overstimulated, needy.

“shit.” she says around the barrel, pulling it out with a soft wet pop. “sweetest fucking thing in the world.”

she sets it aside like it’s holy. it’s much more sacred now that it’s been inside you.

then she grips your chin. firm but gentle. tilts your face back so your eyes meet hers — pupils blown, lashes damp, lips trembling.

“get on the bed. gonna fuck you for real now.”

⭒ perm taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <3): @talyaisvalslutsoldier @miajooz @andiemiaswife @mayfldss @sewithinsouls @coastalwilliams @hotpinkskitties @ssijht @pleasejoel @pariiissssssss @liddy333 @beeisscaredofbees @d1catwhisperer @the-sick-habit @elliescoquettegirl @elliewilliams-wife @yueluv3rrrr @your-eternal-muse @ellies-real-wife @katherinesmirnova @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @thxtmarvelchick @natscloset @lesbiansreverywhere @2against3 @wwefan2002 @ilahrawr @harmonib @piastorys @azteriarizz @starincarnated @natssgf @ukissmyfaceinacrowdedroom @iadorefineshyt @claudiajacobs @urmomssideh0e @kingofeyeliner @womenlover0 @ferxanda @imunpunishable @elliewilliamsloverrrrrrrr @bambi-luvs @maru0uu @mikellie @gold-dustwomxn @nramv

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ PURE. FILTH. IM SHOKED WITH MYSELF. THE PARTS OF A GUN TAB IS STARING AT ME. AND JUDGING. huge HUGE HUGE love and tysm to my gorg mootie who sent this amazing request before i even started collide—you live in my brain rent free forever bby!

i might play around with a few more fics + requests before launching the next big series i’ve been outlining (👀), so stay tuned babes. ily all dearly ♡

credits for divider: @kodaswrld <3 – images from pinterest - edited by me

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shesgaymichaelscott · 21 hours ago

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maybe a fic where the whole gang is at melissa's house for a party or something and then there's a (tornado? hurricane? blizzard? idk what the region accurate natural disaster warning would be lol) and they all have to stay the night for their safety and whoops only one bed left for reader and it's melissa's

Snowed In

(mutual pining/teasing, sharing a bed trope, first kiss/smut - dirty talk, top!mel, switch!reader, 69 🤭)

Word Count: 4.5k

Taglist <3: @writerspirit @schemmentigfs @myownworriedshoes

It started innocently enough—a game night at Melissa's.

Barbara had insisted it was her turn to host, but after the last time ("How was I supposed to know Jenga could get so violent?"), everyone gently redirected the responsibility. Gregory suggested a restaurant. Janine suggested an escape room. Ava, somehow, suggested an underground poker ring and no one really recovered from that.

But Melissa? Melissa just rolled her eyes and said, "I'll make baked ziti. You bring yourselves and a bottle of something decent."

And just like that, it was settled. Everyone knew you didn't argue with Melissa Schemmenti's cooking—or her tone.

By six-thirty, her house was already buzzing. There was something about the way she hosted that made everyone feel welcome and vaguely terrified at the same time. Wine glasses clinked, someone had queued up an RnB playlist on her speakers (you were pretty sure it was Ava), and the smell of garlic, basil, and tomato was damn near erotic.

Not that you were thinking about anything erotic. Not at all.

Except for maybe when Melissa leaned over to put the casserole dish down and her low-cut sweater gave you a very unfair view of the soft curve of her chest. And maybe when she offered you a glass of wine with that look, all smirking mouth and long lashes and "What, you're not gonna thank me for letting you into my kingdom?"

You thanked her. Of course you did. Probably too eagerly.

"You're cute when you get nervous," she teased under her breath, then turned away like it was nothing. Like she hadn't just cracked your soul open like a walnut.

You'd had a crush on Melissa for longer than you'd care to admit.

It was the worst kind of crush, too—persistent. Visceral. Not going anywhere. You tried to convince yourself it was a phase. Tried to ignore the way her raspy voice made your stomach flip, or how your body always leaned closer when she laughed.

You tried to keep it friendly. Professional. Chill.

But Melissa was... Melissa.

She made eye contact when she talked to you, like she actually cared what you had to say. She roasted you affectionately in the staff lounge, helped you carry a bookshelf into your classroom like it was no big deal, and once pressed a warm hand to your lower back during an earthquake drill that had you thinking about it for weeks.

And now here you were—at her house, watching her uncork a second bottle of red, sleeves pushed up, gold bracelets clinking gently, hair wild from the humidity in her kitchen.

Lord, give me strength.

By 7:15, the games had started.

Uno was vetoed after Jacob threw a tantrum about wild cards ("They're chaotic and unfair!"). Taboo went off the rails when Ava kept making up her own words. Eventually, you landed on Pictionary, which was safe until Janine's overly detailed drawing of a "brisk walk" made everyone deeply uncomfortable.

Melissa was on your team. Of course she was. You tried to act normal about it.

She sat next to you on the floor, wine glass balanced on the edge of a throw pillow, close enough that you could feel the heat of her leg against yours. She smelled like vanilla, red wine, and whatever God-tier perfume she always wore that made your knees feel a little weak.

At one point, she leaned in to whisper, "You're not bad at this, sweetheart," after you correctly guessed her frantic scribble of Paulie Walnuts in under five seconds.

"Maybe we just share a brain," you said, attempting casual. It came out a little breathless.

She arched a brow. "You offering to be my other half?"

You choked on your sip of wine. She just smirked and nudged your foot under the table.

And then... it started snowing.

First it was a gentle flurry. But by the time the third game wrapped and you were two cookies deep into Barbara's suspiciously perfect shortbread, the flurries had turned to thick, steady snowfall.

Melissa's phone buzzed. She picked it up and grunted. "Blizzard warning. They're closing a bunch of the roads up north already."

Jacob panicked. "Wait—like, actual blizzard blizzard? Should we leave?"

"Babe, your Prius isn't making it down the street," Ava said, sipping her drink with zero sympathy.

Gregory frowned out the window. "Visibility's dropping. It might be safer to wait it out."

Melissa gave a one-shoulder shrug like it wasn't a big deal. "You're all welcome to crash here. I've got a pullout couch, the guest room, and I'm sure we can figure something out."

Her eyes flicked to you for a second too long.

Your stomach flipped.

Janine started organizing sleeping arrangements before anyone else could. Barbara claimed the guest room immediately with a firm, "I will not be waking up with a bad back, thank you very much."

Ava, of course, had already wandered into said guest room and sprawled atop the sheets like she was at the Ritz.

Gregory and Jacob begrudgingly took the pullout. Janine opted to join them on the floor, obviously not wanting to be away from her man for even one night.

Which left you standing awkwardly in the living room, wine glass nearly empty, snow thundering outside in thick waves, heart thudding in your chest.

Melissa stretched, hands above her head, back arching slightly as she turned toward you.

"Well," she said, voice low and amused, "looks like it's my bed or the floor."

You blinked. "What?"

Her smirk deepened. "Only one bed left, sweetheart. Guess you're bunkin' with me."

Melissa didn't make a big deal about it.

Just handed you a pair of clean sweatpants and a Schemmenti Family Reunion T-shirt that smelled like laundry detergent and her and said, "Bathroom's through there, doll," before disappearing into her bedroom to get ready herself.

You stared at the T-shirt like it might explode.

By the time you'd brushed your teeth and washed your face (and overthought literally everything), you padded softly into Melissa's room, heart in your throat.

It was... warm. Cozy. Lived-in. One of the bedside lamps was still on, casting a soft golden glow over the room, highlighting the deep reds and dark wood tones, the worn comforter pulled back, the little collection of rings and earrings on her nightstand. It smelled like her too—spiced, earthy, vanilla and wine and—

You stopped thinking.

Because she was standing by the window in her own pajamas—a fitted tank top and plaid sleep pants, auburn hair loose over her shoulders, looking like something out of a soft-focus dream.

She turned, caught you staring, and grinned. "Hope the shirt fits. Don't blame me if you fall in love with the family crest."

"I think that ship has sailed," you muttered, almost too quietly.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" you squeaked, absolutely nothing like a person in control of their body or emotions.

She chuckled and climbed into bed like it was nothing. Just her bed. Just her body. Just the hottest woman you've ever known pulling back the covers and patting the space next to her.

Your whole body locked up.

"C'mon," she said, eyes soft but amused. "I don't bite. Unless you want me to."

You choked again, almost dropping your phone.

She laughed, the low, teasing kind that went straight to your chest and buzzed there like a fire alarm.

Eventually—somehow—you managed to get under the covers.

You were careful. So careful. You laid stiff as a board on the very edge of the bed, one leg practically dangling off the side. The blankets were warm. Her sheets smelled like her shampoo. Your body was screaming.

Melissa reached out and flicked off the lamp, leaving you both in the kind of dark that makes everything louder.

You lay there. Breathing.

You could feel the heat of her. Hear the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest. Every time she shifted, the mattress dipped slightly and your entire nervous system lit up.

There was maybe four inches between you.

And then... she sighed. Low and comfortable.

"You good over there?" she murmured.

You stared into the dark. "Yup."

"You sure? You're lying like you're about to be embalmed."

You made a strangled noise. "Just—just trying to be respectful of space."

"I didn't invite you into my bed so you could pretend to be a corpse," she said, and you could hear the smirk.

You covered your face with your hands. "Melissa..."

"What?" she drawled, amused. "You're actin' like I asked you to share a tent in the middle of the woods."

"It's just..." Your throat felt tight. "It's a lot. Being this close to you."

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Shit.

She was quiet. For a second, you thought she hadn't heard.

Then—soft, warm, and entirely unreadable: "Yeah?"

You swallowed. "I mean. You're very. Uh. Distracting."

You could feel her turning toward you in the dark.

"Say more," she murmured, voice lower now.

"I'm trying not to," you whispered back.

Another silence, but this one felt electric. You felt her breath on your shoulder. She was so close. You hadn't even heard her move.

"Didn't know I had that kind of effect on you," she said finally, voice laced with something deeper. Curious. Dangerous. Maybe even—hopeful?

You didn't answer. Couldn't.

Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it echoed off the walls.

Melissa shifted again, and suddenly her hand brushed your forearm. A soft, casual touch—but it lit you up like fireworks.

You turned your head toward her, barely able to see her face in the dark. Just the outline of her hair, her mouth.

"I haven't been able to sleep either," she said.

You blinked. "No?"

"I think maybe..." She exhaled. "Maybe for the same reason you can't."

Your chest ached.

"...Melissa," you said again, quieter this time.

"Yeah?"

"Are you—are you teasing me? Or..."

She didn't move. "No."

You could barely breathe.

"I think I just like seeing you flustered," she admitted. "Because it means maybe I'm not the only one lying here, thinking about kissing you."

You could barely form a thought, let alone a sentence.

Because she'd just said it.

She wanted to kiss you.

Not teased. Not hinted. Not implied with some half-smile and a wink and a tilt of her head.

No. She'd said it.

And now she was watching you, even in the dark—you could feel her eyes on you, feel the weight of what she'd admitted lingering in the air between you like fog. Heavy and impossible to ignore.

You turned your head toward her, throat dry, fingers trembling where they curled in the blanket.

"You—" Your voice cracked. "You can't just say things like that to me."

Melissa didn't back off.

Didn't laugh it off or pretend she hadn't meant it.

Instead, her hand found yours beneath the covers. Just her pinky brushing yours. Barely there. But it made you flinch like she'd touched something molten.

"Why not?" she asked, voice low, calm—too calm, like she didn't realize how close you were to falling apart. Or maybe she did. Maybe she liked it.

"Because," you whispered, trying to steady your breath, "I've wanted to kiss you for months, Melissa. I've had to sit across from you every damn day and pretend like I'm fine—like I'm not aching just to touch you. Do you have any idea what it's been like?"

Silence.

Not awkward. Not stunned.

Just charged.

She let you speak, didn't interrupt, didn't pull away. And when you finally exhaled—like maybe you'd said too much, like maybe this was it, the moment you ruined everything—

She whispered, "Tell me."

You blinked. "What?"

"Tell me what it's been like," she said, voice rougher now, more intimate. "If you're gonna unravel on me, sweetheart, I wanna hear it all."

That was it.

The last thread of your resolve snapped clean in two.

"I think about you all the time," you confessed, chest heaving. "At work. At home. When I'm trying to sleep. I think about the way you talk to me, the way you laugh, the way you smell—Jesus, the way you look at me like you know. And I try to play it cool, I try to pretend like I'm not counting every second until I get to see you again, but I am."

Your voice cracked again, a little louder now. "I want you so badly it scares me. And I didn't say anything because I thought—maybe you just flirt with everyone, maybe you were being nice. But now you're lying next to me, saying you think about kissing me, and I just—I don't know what to do with that."

Melissa was silent.

For one heartbeat. Two.

Then, slowly—so slowly—her hand slid across the sheets and cupped your jaw, warm and steady and reverent.

"Look at me," she whispered.

You turned.

Her face was so close. You could make out her eyes now, adjusting to the dark. The freckles on her nose. The small tremble in her bottom lip.

"I don't flirt with everyone," she said, low and certain. "I flirt with you. Because you drive me crazy."

Your breath caught.

"I try to be chill, I try not to scare you off, but baby—I've been wanting you for so long it's starting to hurt."

You let out a soft, broken sound.

"Can I kiss you?" she asked, voice barely more than a breath. "Please."

"Yes," you gasped. "Yes, God, yes."

And when she kissed you—it was like coming home.

Like every night you'd spent dreaming of her had somehow prepared your body for this moment. Her mouth on yours, warm and soft and so sure, her hand in your hair, the other splayed across your waist, pulling you close until your chest pressed to hers.

You kissed her like you'd earned this. Like your lungs needed her more than air. Like if she pulled away now, you'd fall apart in her arms.

She kissed you back like she felt it all too.

And in between kisses, between gasps, she murmured against your lips, "God, you taste so sweet," and "I've wanted this for so long," and "You're mine now, yeah?"

You couldn't stop nodding. Couldn't stop kissing her.

Couldn't believe that somehow this wasn't a dream.

The first kiss had shattered something.

The second kiss burned the pieces.

And by the third, there was no going back.

Melissa kissed like she had something to prove—slow at first, deliberate, like she wanted to learn you by heart. But the moment your fingers curled in her tank top and pulled her closer with a whimper, something in her snapped. Her body pressed into yours, all warmth and hunger, her hand sliding down your waist to grab your hip like she'd been dying to touch you for years.

You moaned. Couldn't help it.

It slipped out—soft, needy, honest—and immediately, you felt her smile against your lips.

"Mmm," she purred, pulling back just enough to whisper, "you always sound that sweet when you're turned on, or do I just have that effect on you?"

You whimpered again, biting your lip, eyes wide in the dark.

She kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then down to the sensitive skin just under your ear. Her teeth grazed it—barely—and your hips jerked instinctively.

"God, Melissa—"

"Shh," she whispered, the word hot against your neck. "Careful, sweetheart."

You froze for half a second—until she grinned, wicked and knowing.

"Remember who else is in the house?" she murmured.

Your stomach plummeted. Then flipped. Then burned.

Oh God.

Barbara.

Janine.

Jacob.

And here you were, already flushed, panting, desperately trying to keep your thighs pressed together like it would somehow hide how undone you were for her.

"Guess you'll just have to be quiet for me," Melissa said, far too pleased with herself.

Your breath hitched.

"Can you do that?" she added, her voice like velvet and sin, hand sliding under the hem of your borrowed T-shirt to stroke your stomach. "Can you be good for me and keep all those pretty little noises right here?"

She tapped your lips with her thumb. Your lips parted.

She chuckled, low in her throat. "That's what I thought."

Before you could answer—before you could even breathe—she kissed you hard, all tongue and teeth and need. Her hand slid lower, splaying over your hip, gripping you tight as she rolled her body on top of yours, pinning you to the mattress with maddening ease.

It felt like drowning in heat. Like every cell in your body was finally awake after months of aching sleep.

You arched into her with a gasp, and she groaned—deep and guttural and desperate against your mouth.

"God, you feel so good," she rasped, voice unsteady now. "So soft. So warm."

Your hands wandered—up her back, down her waist, memorizing muscle and curve and the tiny scar at the top of her hip. You wanted to taste all of her. Devour her. Worship her.

But you were already unraveling.

You whimpered again, hips bucking instinctively, heat pooling low and fast. It was too much. Not enough. You didn't want to stop.

"Melissa," you breathed.

She kissed down your throat, voice wrecked and reverent.

"I got you," she whispered. "But you gotta be good, baby. Be quiet for me."

Your fingers tangled in her hair, tugging gently. She hissed—then grinned into your skin like she'd just won something.

"I'll make it worth your while," she promised, breath hot against your collarbone. "And maybe, if you're real good—"

Her hand slid between your thighs. Pressed.

You gasped, mouth flying open—only for Melissa to cover it with her palm immediately.

"Uh uh," she said, eyes glittering in the dark. "Not a sound, sweetheart. You don't wanna wake our coworkers, do you?"

You shook your head frantically into her hand, eyes glassy with need. You could barely breathe, barely think. All you knew was her—her heat on top of you, her mouth at your throat, her hand sliding under your waistband with maddening slowness.

"Such a good girl," Melissa whispered, like she knew how close you were to losing it. "Keep bein' good for me. Just like that."

You arched up, desperate, your body crying out for her touch—but your voice had nowhere to go. Her palm pressed firmly over your mouth, fingers splayed across your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw in a gesture that was almost tender if it weren't so hot it made your stomach twist.

Then—finally—her fingers slid between your folds.

You whimpered into her hand. Loud.

She chuckled darkly into your ear. "That loud already?" she teased, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "And I've barely even touched you."

You were soaked. Aching. Every nerve in your body lit up as she dipped lower, dragging her fingers through your slick folds, just to feel how wrecked you already were for her.

"Oh, sweetheart," she murmured, voice a breathy rasp. "You've been waiting for this, haven't you? All that pining, all that want, building up in that pretty little body..."

You tried to respond, to nod, something, but then her fingers slipped inside you—slow, steady, perfect—and everything snapped.

You cried out into her hand, voice muffled but desperate, thighs trembling as she filled you.

"That's it," she purred. "Take it. Take all of me."

She moved her fingers just right, curling them like she knew exactly what you needed—and maybe she did, maybe she'd been imagining this as long as you had, memorizing the fantasy until she could deliver it perfectly.

You gasped again, body rolling into her touch. Her hand stayed firm over your mouth, her other arm curled around your waist to keep you still, her whole body wrapped around yours like she wanted to leave her shape carved into your skin.

And God—you'd let her.

You wanted everything. All of it. Her fingers, her voice, her weight above you, the feel of her panting against your neck like she was just as wrecked as you were.

But she had control.

She fucked you slow at first, methodical, like she wanted to watch you fall apart beneath her. And you were. You were falling so fast your body was shaking.

"Look at you," she whispered. "Tryna stay quiet. Being such a good girl for me..."

You sobbed into her hand. It was too much.

"I know, baby," she soothed. "I know. You wanna cry out so bad, don't you? Wanna scream my name?"

You nodded, desperate, eyes squeezing shut, your hips rocking uncontrollably against her hand.

She fucked you deeper, harder, her fingers hitting that spot that made your toes curl, her voice now shaking too. She was falling with you.

"Next time," she groaned, her own breath ragged, "next time, you can scream. I'll make sure no one's around, and you can let it all out. You can cry and moan and beg for me, loud as you want." Her hand tightened over your mouth. "But right now? You stay quiet, sweetheart. You come for me just like this. That's it. Just for me."

You shattered.

The orgasm ripped through you like a tidal wave—silent and violent, your whole body convulsing beneath her as you clung to her with everything you had. Your moan, strangled and pleading, stayed buried beneath her palm.

She kept whispering to you, voice shaking with pride and awe. "That's it. God, that's it, you're perfect. You're so perfect for me..."

You trembled beneath her, thighs still twitching, lips soft against her hand.

Only when she felt you start to calm—your hips slowing, your muscles relaxing into the mattress—did she gently ease her hand away from your mouth.

Your lips were swollen. Your eyes dazed.

"I got you," she whispered again. "I've always got you."

You were still trembling when Melissa kissed you—slow and deep, dragging her mouth over yours like she owned you now. And maybe she did. Maybe she always had.

But as the shaking in your thighs faded and your breath slowed... something else stirred inside you.

Need. Still burning. Still hungry.

Because even though she'd just pulled you apart like it was nothing—you weren't done. Not even close. Not when she looked like that in the soft dark. Hair messy, pupils blown, lips swollen from kissing you, and her voice...

God, her voice when she growled, "You come for me just like this". That had rewired your brain.

You kissed her again, this time harder—taking something. She responded immediately, groaning low into your mouth, like she'd missed you in the thirty seconds since your orgasm.

And then, you pulled back.

"Lay down," you whispered.

Her brows lifted. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you said, climbing up and over her with intent. "I want more of you."

She smirked and obeyed, leaning back onto the pillows, her strong arms folding behind her head like she knew she was in trouble but didn't mind one bit.

"You gonna ride my face, sweetheart?" she teased, voice still husky.

"Eventually," you murmured, straddling her waist now, breath hot and unsteady. "But first..."

And then you twisted—spinning around on her lap until your knees bracketed her shoulders, until your dripping heat hovered right above her mouth, and your face hovered between her legs.

She gasped—gasped—her hands shooting to your hips to hold you steady.

"Fuck," she whispered. "You're serious?"

You looked back over your shoulder, meeting her eyes upside down.

"Thought I was supposed to return the favor," you said, voice thick with heat. "Unless you can't keep quiet for me."

Melissa growled.

"Get down here."

You didn't need to be told twice.

Her mouth found you instantly—tongue delving deep, her moan vibrating against your soaked skin like she was starving for you. And you? You cried out against her thigh, mouth pressed to her center, tasting her with the same desperation.

It was mutual destruction. Pure, messy, uncoordinated need. Months of pining crashing down in a fury of fingers gripping thighs, bodies rocking together, moans swallowed against wet skin.

You flattened your tongue against her, feeling her hips jerk beneath you, her thighs trembling.

"Oh my—fuck," she groaned into your cunt, mouth buried as deep as she could go. "You taste so fucking good."

You moaned into her in response, your lips sealing around her clit and sucking, your hand gripping her hip like you'd die if she pulled away.

And that's when she lost it.

Her hands clamped around your thighs, nails digging in, her hips bucking into your mouth as she gasped, "Shit—shit, baby—"

You pulled back just long enough to whisper, "You said I had to be quiet. What happened to that?"

She bit your inner thigh. Hard.

And then dove back in, devouring you with single-minded focus, tongue circling, lips sucking, groaning against you like she was trying to make you lose your mind again.

You rocked your hips down against her face, matching her pace, grinding against her tongue like you'd die without the friction. And all the while, you kept licking her—tasting her, loving the way she trembled under your mouth, how her thighs began to shake.

She whimpered. A real whimper.

And then, broken and hoarse—"Gonna come—fuck, don't stop—"

You didn't. Couldn't—not with the taste of her on your tongue and her scent surrounding you. You gave her everything. Fast, messy, hot and filthy, until she arched hard under you, thighs clamping around your head as she came into your mouth with a muffled cry.

You followed her a second later, your orgasm ripping through you again as she held you down on her mouth and rode it out with her tongue inside you.

Neither of you could speak for a long moment.

Just gasps. Trembles. Shaky hands gripping sweaty thighs.

And then, softly, after a long beat of silence broken only by the pounding of your hearts—

"...We're gonna have to avoid Jacob and everyone else for the rest of our lives."

Melissa huffed a laugh beneath you—still a little breathless, her voice soft and worn down to something real and tender now.

"I don't even care," she murmured, hands smoothing up and down your thighs. "Worth it."

You lifted your head slowly, body still humming, face flushed and sticky from sweat and sex and the insane position you'd just pulled off.

"Worth it?" you echoed, twisting around so you could look at her. She looked wrecked. Gorgeous and smug and completely undone, hair all over the place, mouth kiss-bitten. "You're saying that when I'm the one who can't feel her legs?"

Melissa grinned, unrepentant. "You're welcome."

You collapsed beside her with a groan, legs still shaking.

She immediately rolled onto her side to face you, hand reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear. She didn't speak for a moment—just looked at you, her touch reverent now, gentle in a way that made your throat close up.

"You okay?" she asked softly.

You nodded, still catching your breath. "Yeah. Just... overwhelmed. In a good way."

Her thumb brushed over your cheek, and she leaned in to press a slow kiss to your temple.

"I've wanted you in my bed for so long," she murmured against your skin. "I didn't expect tonight to be the night, but I'm not complaining."

You laughed softly, curling into her. "Me either. I was ready to die pining."

Melissa snorted. "You were obvious, by the way."

"Excuse me?"

"Please," she said, grinning. "You used to blush every time I said your name."

"Okay rude," you muttered, burying your face in her shoulder. "You were no better. Flirting with me at parent-teacher conferences. You're lucky I didn't combust."

Her chest shook with quiet laughter as she pulled you tighter into her.

"Still might," she said, voice lower again. "But not tonight. Tonight, you sleep. You earned it."

She pulled the blankets up over both of you, tucking them around your bodies like she'd done this a thousand times before. Her arms wrapped around you, one hand warm against your back, the other cradling your head as she settled you against her chest.

You melted into her.

Every nerve in your body finally calmed, soothed by the soft circles she traced on your spine, the rhythm of her breathing, the familiar scent of her skin and sheets.

"I could get used to this," you mumbled into her collarbone, eyes already fluttering shut.

Melissa pressed a kiss to your hair and whispered, "Good. 'Cause I already am."

You nuzzled even further into her, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips as your hand slid beneath the hem of her tank top, just to keep touching her. Just to feel her.

And with a content sigh, wrapped up in her arms and her bed and everything you'd ever wanted, you whispered, "Thank God for Philly blizzards."

Melissa chuckled softly above you, her voice the last thing you heard before sleep pulled you under.

"Damn right."

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