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cinnamongirlblogsworld · 3 days ago

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the bravo forum

melissa schemmenti x reader

a/n: the people have spoken— here is my contribution to the melissa schemmenti x reader community based on a crack idea from my notes app. bare with me, this is not edited and probably pretty bad-- but fuck it we ball ig. i also couldn't think of a name for this like at all. my tiktok fyp sort of throttled me into all things reality tv and that sparked this idea. also if you liked this feel free to check out my lisa ann walter masterlist for some of my older stuff.

”So now no one knows if they’re coming back or if they’re gonna pull a New York Housewives and just start over.” Melissa huffed over her shoulder to Barbara.

“Girlfriend, I told you, I don’t know these people, and I don’t care.”

Melissa watched as Barb entered the school ahead of her and shook her head. She really shouldn’t be surprised. Her work wife had always been very clear about her feelings when it came to the Housewives. And Melissa had tried to get her hooked. They’d tried every franchise and all she got from Barb was a disgruntled scolding for caring so much about these random women and their woes. Melissa can even recall Barbara advising her to pick up the Bible if she wanted to follow the trials and tribulations of someone she would talk about.

Melissa wasn’t normally someone who participated in any discussions about the things she enjoyed. She liked what she liked and anyone who didn’t agree with her could kick rocks. But letting Jacob move in had really changed the way she consumed media. She and the history teacher would come home from work, crack open a bottle, and go to town judging the various players in their programs. With him around, discussion became the norm. And now that he’s moved out, she’s sorta missing that community. Not that she’d admit it to anyone.

She bound into the teacher’s lounge, putting her lunch away and settling in her seat for the news like she did every morning. Jim Gardner was the only man she wanted to start her morning with. Midway through the program, excited voices floated through the swinging door.

“I’m telling you— they’re married. She won’t say anything but there’s no way they’re just girlfriends.” Both veteran teachers turned their heads at the newcomers with frowns in place. Y/n, the newest edition to the Abbott staff, winced almost instantly under both Barbara and Melissa’s gaze and quickly mimed a zipper over her lips. Barb smiled gratefully and turned back to the television, but Melissa’s eyes lingered a bit longer as they always seemed to do when the younger woman entered the room. And hard as she tried to keep her glare in place— once the teacher went back to her conversation quietly the frown melted into something softer. Almost curious.

Y/n Y/ln was something of a hot-button topic for Melissa. She’d started at the beginning of the school year, taking on the higher-grade English duties upstairs. And everyone seemed to love her. She’d flown in the week before classes started with a bright smile and brownies for the teachers. She’d spent her first month covering recesses and lunch duties for absolutely anyone who asked. And had even worked her way into some after-school clubs. She was everywhere. And after five months at Abbott, she still carried herself with the same level of joy and excitement she’d started with. It was infuriating if you asked Melissa. And Barb had asked her before. It seemed the reasons everyone else gravitated toward the new teacher were the exact reasons Melissa claimed made her dislike her. She was a kiss-ass, a pushover, and far too happy in the morning to not be doing some kind of drug. But every time Barb grilled her about it she never mentioned how distractingly shiny her hair was. Or how expressive her eyes were when she spoke about literally anything. And she all but refused to even think about how her eyes seemed almost glued to her figure whenever they passed each other in the hall during the day. She just couldn’t allow it. And she definitely wasn’t watching this morning as Y/n filled her cup of coffee and then exited the lounge with another teacher to continue her conversation.

Once she’d left the room, Melissa’s attention turned back to the television as if nothing happened. But there was Barbara, lips pursed knowingly and eyebrows set in a challenge.

“What?” Melissa asked, fighting the blush wanting to crawl up her neck. All Barb gave her in response was a pointed hum that told Melissa all she needed to know. She wasn’t fooling anybody.

“I can’t believe this is how you spend your free time. Here I was thinking you were reading Shakespearean Sonnets from three to eight when you actually just cyberbully Housewife fans.” Jacob laughed in disbelief as he leaned against the corner of Y/n’s desk.

“Okay first of all— Eileen Davidson’s delivery of ‘How dare you?’ after being called a Beast by Kim Richards was very Shakespearean. And secondly, cyberbully is a very strong word. I’m simply engaging in dialogue with my fellow Real Housewives fans. It’s not my fault I’m good at reasoning and evidence. Argumentation was my jam in college.” Y/n explained with a smile.

“So you’re saying you use your intelligence to cyberbully gay men and old ladies.”

“How rude, the Bravo-verse is not just for gay men and old ladies. It’s for everyone. I don’t discriminate on the forums— I’m an equal opportunity bully.”

“Huh, who knew there was such a sinister side to such a sweet woman.”

Y/n shrugged, “I’m multi-dimensional. Anyway, I brought all this up to run my lesson idea by you. We’re doing a unit on dialogue and I really think with some appropriately placed censors we can make it work.”

“Oh, That’s so engaging! And with so many franchises you can pull from quite a few scenes.” Jacob affirmed excitedly.

“Exactly. And it gives me an excuse to talk about my favorite show on the job.”

Lunch time came and the teachers found themselves in the lounge chatting idly at their assigned tables. Melissa’s glasses were perched on her nose as she scrolled through an article recounting the last episode. Jacob having leaned back in his chair, caught sight of the headline and instantly brightened.

“Oh Mel Mel, have I got an opportunity for community for you!”

Melissa slowly looked at the young man, unimpressed, “No thanks, I got more than enough community already.”

Jacob sighed at the woman’s lack of enthusiasm but trudged on, sure this opportunity would be up her alley. “Well, I just thought you’d take to the idea of arguing with people anonymously about the Real Housewives. There’s apparently a whole world of people discussing your programs online and from what I’ve heard they need some strong opinions to balance out the nonsense. I just think it might be nice for you to have a space to freely share your questionable takes about these extremely vapid women every week. A community is waiting for you.”

“Questionable takes? All of my takes are gold like my hatred for Eileen Davidson. That’s a very valid and based take. I’m always right. I don’t need no internet dummies telling me otherwise.”

“Well, when you realize I’m right and you start bullying randos online– I’ll be expecting a thank you.”

Melissa scoffed and watched as Jacob wrote the website down on a sticky note for her. “Huh, I’m sure you will be.”

She really wasn’t planning on looking at the website. She had no reason to. She was completely content to live with her Housewives thoughts. But then the Real Housewives of New York reboot episode was absolutely insane. And she needed to know if she was the only one in complete disbelief at this Puerto Rico trip. She pulled the sticky note from her purse and cautiously typed it in. She would only look at what was being discussed. Just a little peek.

MisterBravo: Am I the only one who HATES Meredith and Heather this season? #RHOSLC

4:00 PM in Real Housewives Board

↳20 Replies to this post

MeredithApologist: YES! YOU ARE.

HeathersReciepts: how can you hate the woman who brought us receipts, proof, timelines, screenshots?

Melissa chuckled quietly to herself as she read through the comments on the post. She hated to give Jacob any credit but this might actually be interesting. She continued to scroll until she found a recent post addressing the latest episode of RHONY.

Bravoholic: Deciding to play devil’s advocate tonight after tonight’s most recent episode. What are our thoughts on the RHONY reboot cast so far?

11:00 PM in Real Housewives Board

↳250 Replies to this post

She tapped into the replies and started skimming reactions. Lots of which she thought were stupid but not stupid enough to warrant a response of some kind. That was until she came across a crazy reply.

RepudiatedHousewives: Honestly, the trips just started and Brynn is already acting insane. Talk about a producer plant, am I right?

Now Melissa wasn’t a fan of Brynn but she also was smart enough to acknowledge Erin as a problem as well. Brynn didn’t stir things up all on her own. And also what kind of username is RepudiatedHousewives? Talk about pretentiousness. She couldn’t resist. She just had to respond.

RedHotPhilly11: repudiatedhousewives , you must be as pretentious and stupid as your username if you think Brynn is the only one producing this season. Erin is right there?

Y/n sat up immediately seeing the new reply flash across her screen. Pretentious and stupid? What the hell was this person’s beef? Brynn is a problematic producer plant, that’s just facts. So what if Erin gets wrapped up in her bullshit– she’s still better than Brynn.

RepudiatedHousewives: RedHotPhilly11– i’m assuming you’ve got your looks going for you if you’re pulling Erin into Brynn’s evil. Erin’s not perfect but Brynn is obviously the bigger issue here.

RedHotPhilly11: Yes, I’m hot. But that’s all you’re right about.

The forum shortly became Melissa’s most visited website. And she and this RepudiatedHousewives character loved going at it.

RHOAAddict: Rumor has it Phaedra Parks will be returning this season…thoughts on cast dynamics?

8:00 AM in Real Housewives Board

↳100 Replies to this post

RedHotPhilly11: Good! She’s kept Atlanta fun!

↳ RepudiatedHousewives: Incorrect– Bravo needs to make up with NeNe is they think they can save RHOA. Phaedra is actually a lawsuit waiting to happen. And she’d know, as a lawyer.

↳ RedHotPhilly11: Of course, you have so much to say.

↳ RepudiatedHousewives: Careful RedHotPhilly11, if you keep this up I’ll start thinkin you like me

RHONYLover: Calling all historians, Who’s the biggest villain in RHONY History?

10:00 PM in Real Housewives Board

↳100 Replies to this post

RedHotPhilly11: Aviva Drescher. Only right answer.

↳ RepudiatedHousewives: Wrong. It’s Brynn Whitfield.

↳ RedHotPhilly11: What are you, captain of the Brynn hate club?

↳ RepudiatedHousewives: Hell yeah! She won’t win in my lifetime.

↳ RedHotPhilly11: I feel like I have to admire your persistence but that feels to nice.

The morning after the finale episode of the season was a doozy. Both Melissa and Y/n had spent the evening going back and forth on the forum dissecting the drama that unfolded on screen. Other users had tried chiming into their conversation but both RedHotPhilly11 and RepudiatedHousewives refused to engage with anyone other than each other. And that energy seemed to carry into the teacher’s lounge that morning. Melissa was at her seat as usual, nursing her second cup of coffee as the news came to an end. And Y/n burst through the door with a sigh heading straight for the coffee machine. Her entrance obviously caught the attention of the other teachers but she was too busy mentally urging the coffee machine to brew faster to care.

“Woah, Shakespeare what’s up with you?” Jacob asked, sliding up next to the woman with a frown. “You’re never down here this late.”

“I had a rather late night so I decided to sleep in for a bit,” Y/n answered pulling the coffee to her chest with a sigh.

“Oh yes, too busy cyberbullying to get a proper night’s sleep?” The history teacher poked. At his jovial tease, the other teachers seemed to tune in. All eager to learn more about the English teacher.

“You cyberbully?” Janine asked incredulously from her spot next to Gregory. “That’s so mean, why would you do that?”

Y/n rolled her eyes and glared at Jacob pointedly before addressing Janine, “I do not cyberbully. I merely chat about television online. If people have bad opinions, I feel obligated to correct them.”

“Oh right, season finale for RHONY was last night. I’m sure you were lighting that little forum up, huh?”

“You know it. Although I’ve got this one person on the forum who replies to everything I post and we were going back and forth all night. They just know every button to push. Like last night, I was going off about the way Brynn was keke-ing with the producers after causing all that chaos the night before. A literal production plant! And then that RedHotPhilly11 comes in my replies arguing with me about facts! So we were going at it for quite a bit.” At Y/n’s words, Jacob’s eyes turned to Melissa curiously with a smile. Maybe the redhead had taken him up on his recommendation. And at her arched eyebrows and startled expression he was right.

“Wait a minute, you’re Repugnant Housewives?” Melissa’s hard voice piped in.

Y/n’s eyes widened in confusion, “Um no, I’m Repudiatedhousewives. How do you even know that?”

“Cause I’m the one pushing your buttons.”

”You’re RedHotPhilly11?” Y/n tilted her head in shock but that didn’t last long before a knowing smirk settled on her face. “Huh, now that I’m saying that out loud I’m not that surprised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Melissa challenged, ready for another fight. Offline.

“You are hot.” Y/n shrugged easily. Everyone in the room seemed to freeze at her admission but she stood tall in her words and leveled Melissa with a knowing gaze. “What? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten our very first argument. Where you very boldly called my username pretentious and stupid.”

“Right right, and you said the only thing I had going for me was my looks,” Melissa smirked.

“And your only reply was that you’re hot. Again, can’t argue with facts.” Y/n snickered. “Wow, I can’t believe that of all the people on that forum we’ve been sparing with each other for the last 5 weeks. I didn’t even know you watched the housewives.”

“Who are you kidding, I’ve been watching longer than you’ve been alive kid.”

“Doubtful, I think I came out of the womb watching that franchise.” Y/n pushed up from her place at the counter to walk closer to Melissa’s table.

“Ah what do you know? You probably can’t even remember the original RHONY cast before this godawful reboot.” Melissa goaded, rising from her chair to look Y/n in the eyes.

“Wanna bet?” Y/n said and just as the women were closing the charged distance between them, Barbara reached up to pull Melissa back.

“Alright ladies, I think that’s enough fun for the morning. Why don’t we save this energy for your little chatroom, hm?”

Melissa shrugged and took her seat again working to push her irritation down. But as assessed her body– it wasn’t irritation she found. And Y/n found herself fighting the unexpected but familiar heat that a bossy beautiful woman could inspire within her. They both slinked back to their corners and everyone in the lounge exchanged curious looks over their heads. Not much later the school bell rang, and almost everyone dispersed. Except Y/n and Melissa. They eyed each other cautiously before Melissa broke the silence.

“Reunion part one, next week, my place. Bring wine.”

“Roger that, Red. Maybe we can tag team some poor souls while we’re at it.”

Melissa grinned at the prospect and nodded before heading out the door, “Now you’re speaking my language.”

Let’s just assume they’re still trying to get out of Bravo Forum jail.

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cinnamongirlblogsworld · 4 days ago

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“We hope this email finds you well” babe, the only emails I hope find me well are the ones from Archive of Our Own

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cinnamongirlblogsworld · 4 days ago

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Crash

Summary: An accident pulls you and Melissa further into each other’s orbit.

Chapter: 4/4

Warnings: Smut with major feelings

Chapter 4

At some point on the drive, you realized Melissa was taking you in the opposite direction of your apartment. It didn’t occur to you to argue with her. She pulled into the driveway of her house and cut the engine.

“How does chicken piccata sound for dinner?” she asked. “You gotta be hungry.”

“You don’t have to cook,” you started to say, feeling guilty for all the fuss. But you were interrupted by the rumbling of your stomach. Melissa laughed.

“You were sayin’?”

Inside, she settled you on the sofa and got busy cooking. Watching her in the kitchen was a treat. She ran on pure instinct and confidence. Everything was second nature. The process was nether hurried nor slow, each step progressing in measured course. An aroma of garlic, butter, lemon, and oil marrying in a warm pan wafted around the house, lulling you into a comfortable haze. At some point, music started spilling out of the other room and you felt each muscle in your body relaxing.

You imagined for a moment a world in which you came home to this every night, to the sight of Melissa, hips swaying gently as she chopped some fresh parsley, pausing to sip from a glass of wine, popping a cherry tomato in her mouth, absently adjusting the burners on the stove. A world in which you wrapped your arms around her waist, planting a trail of kisses down her neck, driving her to distraction until she swatted you with a kitchen towel and chased you out of her domain. A world in which you sometimes obeyed, and sometimes did not, pinning her against the counter, sinking to your knees to worship her, devour her, dragging your tongue across soft creamy skin, through hot slick folds, until she said your name again and again and—

“Earth to Freud,” Melissa repeated, and you realized she had actually been calling your name. “Where’d ya go?”

“Sorry,” you said, clearing your throat. “Daydreaming.”

She held your gaze for a moment, seeming to deliberate about whether this behavior was cause for concern.

“Well snap out of it. Food’s almost ready.”

You helped set the table and even convinced Melissa to pour you a small glass of wine. She lit some candles. The domestic scene made you smile.

“What are youse grinnin’ at?”

“A gorgeous woman just cooked me a home-made meal,” you said. “I should have started playing in traffic years ago.”

You waggled your eyebrows as you lowered yourself into the chair beside her, only wincing a tiny bit at the movement. She rolled her eyes, unfurling a linen napkin and tucking it gently down the front of your shirt.

“Bon appetit.”

You placed the first bite in your mouth and made an obscene noise, oblivious to the way the other woman stilled, the way the fingers gripping her wine glass imperceptibly tightened. You moaned her name, closing your eyes to block out any other sensory distraction as you chewed.

“Yeah?” A proud little smile worked its way across her face.

“It’s incredible. You’re incredible.” A swell of immense gratitude for the other woman threatened to capsize you in that moment. She must have seen it in your eyes, heard it in your voice, because she withdrew slightly, wriggling away from the compliment.

“Alright, Casanova, keep it in your pants,” she said.

“I’m not the one who lit candles,” you pointed out.

“Yeah well,” she muttered, taking a sip of her wine.

Gregory’s words from your conversation in the staff room echoed in your head. She likes you. And a flicker of something warm filled your chest as she rolled her eyes, buttering a piece of bread and adding it to your plate.

“Eat your dinner,” she instructed.

“Yes ma’am.” You turned back to the meal. A voracious hunger had settled over you, and you cleaned your plate in no time.

Wiping your mouth, you looked up to find that she had barely touched her own food. In fact, her attention was entirely focused on you, the fine muscles in your hands and jaw, the soft noises of appreciation you made as you satisfied yourself at her table.

“Someone was hungry,” she said.

You shrugged sheepishly. In the candlelight, her normally bright green eyes were the color of a dusky forest canopy.

“Not my fault you’re such a great cook.”

“You got nothin’ to be embarrassed about, hon,” she said. “I love a girl with an appetite.”

It occurred to her that maybe she shouldn’t start, not after the day you’d both had. But there was something so delectable about the look on your face when she caught you off guard, flustered you, riled you up. It was like she couldn’t help herself. And the memory of your earlier slip in the bathroom (I’ll be a good girl, mommy) was still seared into her brain.

“Well, I was always taught it’s bad manners to leave food on your plate.” Your words were innocent enough, but the undertone was clear. As much as Melissa might enjoy kicking the game off, you loved to play as well.

The air seemed to tighten and crackle with electricity, as it always did when you traveled down this heady path together. She took a sip of wine, considering her next move. After a moment, she pointed to your face.

“You made a mess,” she observed.

You felt a blush creeping around the back of your neck and immediately reached for your napkin, raising it to the corner of your mouth. Then you paused, licked your lips. Excitement and uncertainty coiled in your stomach. For months you had been circling something dangerous and irresistible with this woman, getting closer and closer to the center, to the eye of the storm.

“Clean me up?” you asked.

Your words were a crack of lightning through hot summer air. Her eyes darkened thunderously, a feral glint in the pupils.

“Ask nicely,” she instructed, breathless and awed at the control she had over you. You shifted in your seat, pride and desperation warring within you.

“Please?”

Leaning forward slowly, she reached out her hand and swiped a finger across your bottom lip, toward the corner of your mouth. Your lips parted reflexively, an open invitation.

“Please, what?” she asked, voice shaking slightly, eyes almost black with desire.

“Please, mommy.”

“Good girl,” she breathed.

Melissa rocked toward you, unable to resist the slack look of desire on your face any longer. She ghosted her lips over yours, barely there and teasing, until you surged forward and met her mouth in a desperate kiss. She opened herself to you then, swiping her tongue against yours experimentally. You moaned and it was a helpless, jagged sound. Melissa licked deeper into your mouth, biting your bottom lip.

“See? You can be so good, can’t ya?”

“For you I can,” you whined, bucking a little in your seat.

“You gotta show me,” she sighed, threading a hand through your hair and tugging so your neck was exposed. “Because I wasn’t very happy with you this morning.”

You apologized. Every fiber of your body was tuned to Melissa, like a weather vane before a tornado. Your head felt staticky, overwhelmed with want. A flood of hot, slick desire pooled in the pit of your stomach as she gripped your jaw and turned your head to one side.

“Scared me outta my mind,” she scolded. Melissa dragged her teeth along your pulse point and sucked hard, making you cry out.

“Not to mention what a brat you were later,” she added in between kisses, soothing the bruise she’d just made. “Not following my instructions. Then teasin’ me in the break room. Come to think of it, you got a lot to make up for.”

“I’ll be so good, I swear,” you promised. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

“Aw,” she cooed mockingly, pulling back to stare at the wrecked expression on your face. “I know ya will, kitten.”

You squeezed your thighs together at the nickname. She brushed another kiss against your mouth, suddenly tender and cautious.

“Is this ok?” she asked softly. “I don’t wanna hurt ya.”

You knew she meant physically, that she was worried about the bruises and scrapes beneath your shirt. But the statement seemed loaded with double meaning as you both careened over the edge of a cliff you’d been skating for so long. Now you were free falling, but there was still time to pull the rip chord if you wanted.

Before you could think how to respond, the phone rang. She rocked back, looking startled and a little guilty. Her lipstick was smeared and her cheeks were flushed.

“We’re not done here,” she warned, standing up to answer the call.

She cradled the phone on her shoulder, eyes fixed on you from across the room. Based on the one-sided snatches of conversation you caught, it sounded like she was talking to family. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, until the caller said something that made her go still.

The minute she turned her attention away from the table, you stood up and slipped away, down the hall and into the guest bedroom. It was small but comfortable. On the dresser, you spotted a framed picture of Melissa and her grandmother. Melissa was younger in the picture, probably not much older than you now. Her hair was windswept, she looked like she had just come inside from a cold winter’s day. Rosy cheeks, alabaster skin, bright green eyes. She had always been gorgeous, and she’d only gotten better with age.

You collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the low murmur of Melissa’s voice in the other room. A few minutes later, she hung up and said your name. The sound sent a shiver through you.

“In here,” you said.

There was the soft padding of bare feet as she came looking for you, followed by a knock on the frame of the open door.

“Room service,” she said. Her lips were still swollen and pink from kissing you. “Can I come in?”

You patted the bed and she laid down beside you, curling one arm under her head and fixing you with an uncharacteristically nervous look. “Let me guess,” she said. “You think that was a bad idea and we should forget it ever happened.”

“No,” you said, then paused. “But is that how you feel?”

She rolled her eyes. “Your generation loves to psychoanalyze everything,” she grumbled. “In my day, we just did what felt good and dealt with the consequences later.”

Inwardly, you preened at the confirmation that she had liked kissing you. Outwardly, you schooled your face into a dubious expression, pushing back on her invitation to bypass the difficult conversation about what it meant.

“And how’s that working out for you?”

“Fine,” she grumbled, petulantly burying her face in your shoulder. “Really great, actually. You should try it sometime.”

You played with her hair absently, still staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out the best way to proceed. You didn’t even know if Melissa had ever been with another woman before. Much less a coworker. Much less a coworker 20 years her junior. There were so many treacherous aspects to this. One wrong move and you could hurt her, or lose her.

“I just want to make sure we’re on the same page,” you said eventually. “Today has been emotional for both of us, and I don’t want you to have any regrets or feel obligated to do anything you aren’t sure about.”

“Do you have this conversation with all your hook-ups?”she complained, still hiding in the crook of your neck. “Bit of a boner-killer.”

“No,” you sighed. “I don��t actually.”

“Then why can’t we just —“

“Because,” you bit out, exasperated enough to interrupt her. “You’re not just some random hook-up! This would…mean something…to me.”

For a few moments, there was only the sound of your shallow breathing and the ticking of an alarm clock on the bedside table. Then Melissa looked up shyly, almost lamb-like from her hiding spot on your shoulder.

“I care about ya, too, hon.”

She laid a hand on your hip, stoking her thumb back and forth.

“And what we did earlier, at the table…” you pressed on, needing to lay it all out there. “I don’t do that with people I don’t…have feelings for.”

She stared at you in the gathering twilight, admiring the splash of freckles across your nose, the plump pillow of your lips, the stubborn set of your jaw that meant you were determined to do the right thing. It dawned on her how lucky she was, to be the object of your careful affection. Especially at the end of a long day where selfish or short-sighted behavior could easily have been excused.

“I take back what I said,” she murmured, feeling contrite. “Turns out, psychoanalyzing ain’t always a boner killer.”

A smile hooked across your face, and not for the first time, it occurred to Melissa what a beautiful smile it was. “Helps when the therapist is hot,” she added, snuggling even closer against your side.

You kissed the top of her head gently, inhaling the familiar smell of her shampoo, enjoying the feel of her body in your arms, all curves and heat.

“You always like it like that?” she asked, tracing her fingers above the waistband of your pants. “Gettin bossed around, I mean.”

You inhaled sharply, goosebumps erupting on the skin of your hips and lower back. “I like getting bossed around by you.”

“So you never—with anybody else?“

“Only in my dreams,” you said, looking at her carefully. “Only for you.”

“And it turns you on?” she asked.

“You turn me on,” you confessed. “So much.”

She looked ridiculously beautiful lying next to you, one thigh slung over your hips, a wonderstruck expression on her face.

“Wish you could feel how much,” you whispered, hips bucking forward involuntarily, grinding against her leg.

Melissa swallowed. “So let me feel.”

The air seemed to thicken again, slowing everything down, shrinking your entire existence to the surface of the bed, the pressure points where Melissa’s body connected to yours. With your free hand, you unfastened your belt. Her eyes snapped to your waist, watching as you handled the soft leather, the heavy metal buckle. Then you reached over, grabbing her hand and guiding it down the front of your pants. She gasped softly at the slick heat, at the way you arched into her touch.

“All for me?”

You didn’t think you could speak, so you nodded. She circled your clit with one finger and you choked back a sob, static flooding your brain, whiting out everything around you. She stilled.

“I don’t wanna hurt ya,” she whispered.

“Well then you better stop teasing me,” you said through gritted teeth, desperate for more but not sure what would happen when you broke open for her. “Because I’m about to fall apart here.”

She inhaled sharply. “Poor baby, so needy.”

Melissa withdrew and you felt the loss immediately, so close to getting what you wanted, so close to taking her inside you. But she chased her denial with a reward. Pushing her fingers into your mouth, she smeared your own arousal across your lips and began fucking your face. You moaned brokenly around her hand, eyes rolling back in your head.

“Why don’t you tell me about your dream?” she asked, moving her digits lazily in and out. “Earlier, in your office, you said my name.”

You nodded, eyes glazed over with pleasure. She removed her fingers from your mouth with a gentle pop.

“We were at a bar playing pool,” you said. “I went to the bathroom, and you followed me in there, locked the door behind us. Told me to get on my knees. So I did.”

She blinked slowly, eyes darting down to your mouth like your words were a spell, a prayer, something powerful and sacred.

“You unzipped your pants, and you were wearing a strap. You told me to suck you off. So I did.”

“Such a good girl,” she whispered reverently.

“And I was looking up at you the whole time. You were being rough, hitting the back of my throat, making me gag, using me. I had tears in my eyes, I was so turned on. You said, God I love being right. I didn’t know what you meant. Then you said, I knew you’d look so pretty choking on my cock.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Melissa groaned, her voice ragged with lust. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Wanna touch you,” you whined, trying to prop yourself up. Melissa placed a gentle but firm hand on your chest, restraining you.

“There will be plenty of time for that. Tonight, let me take care of both of us.” She helped you settle back on the pillows, then laid down beside you.

“I’m gonna tell you about a little fantasy of mine,” she whispered, unzipping her pants. “And you’re gonna listen very carefully. Consider this a private tutoring session, so ya know exactly what I like next time.”

Next time. You moaned as she slipped a hand under her own shirt, palming her tit roughly. You caught a glimpse of a lacy purple bra and pale pink nipples.

“In the fantasy, I’m gradin’ papers in my classroom, right?” Melissa said. “It’s late, I think everybody else has gone home for the night. But then you knock on my door and walk in lookin’…” she trailed off, glancing hungrily down at your body. “Fuck, how ya always look.”

You whined, basking in the glow of her lecherous attention. You had caught Melissa staring at you on a few occasions, had seen the way her lips parted hungrily when you mounted your motorcycle, the way her eyes lingered when you stripped down to a tank top in the summer heat wave. But it was absolute torture to hear her say those words out loud while she touched herself.

“You start tellin’ me about some blind date you have that night, babbling on. But I’m not in the mood to hear that. I’ve had a rough day. I need to release some tension. Luckily, I’m wearing a dress, easy access, and I spread my legs.”

As she talked, Melissa’s body moved in sync with the fantasy. Her legs fell open and she plunged a hand down the front of her pants, eyes fluttering closed. You watched her, transfixed, almost forgetting to breathe.

“I tell you to make me feel better. Let me use ya. You get this sort of glazed look on your face, like it’s what you were made for. You get down on your knees for me, lookin so hot, like a perfect slut.”

You felt sticky arousal dripping down the inside of your thighs as Melissa worked herself up at the thought of you.

“You hike my dress up, start kissing the inside of my legs, but I don’t wanna be teased. So I pull your hair, push your face right where I need it most.”

She canted her hips forward, chasing her pleasure.

“Then we hear someone in the hall. I tell ya to get under my desk, and you slide out of sight just as the door opens. It’s one of the nighttime security guards, just makin’ the rounds. He decides he wants to chit chat with me, I think he’s got a little crush.”

A wave of jealousy surged through you, palpable and vicious. Melissa cut her eyes toward you, smirking like she could feel it.

“But you don’t like that, do ya? Brat that you are. So you pull my panties to the side and push three fingers in me, start fuckin’ me so rough, just how I need it.”

Melissa’s breath caught as she did just that, riding her hand.

“I can barely hold it together, I’m so wet I’m sure Mr. Security Guard can hear. Then I feel your tongue right on my clit. I try to close my legs, but you won’t let me, so naughty, because you’re too caught up in making mommy feel good.”

Melissa groaned out the last word as she came around her own fingers. You reached into your pants then, finding an absolute mess. Melissa urged you on with a growl as pleasure crashed through her body.

“Show me,” she moaned.

You were already touching yourself, applying the faintest pressure, but it was Melissa’s command, her powder keg stare that pushed you over the edge.

Afterwards, you lay side by side, catching your breath. Your hand sought out Melissa’s leg, dipping toward the inside of her thigh. You gave the plump flesh there a possessive squeeze. Mine, you were saying.

It was dark out now, and quiet. Night had finally arrived, cloaking the house in shadow, sealing the edges of the day closed. Melissa rolled onto her hip, facing you.

“How’s the invalid?” Her voice was low and husky with satisfaction. She reached out a hand, running the back of her knuckles from the apple of your cheek to your jawline. You could smell her arousal on her fingers, a sweet familiar musk.

“Determined to make a miraculous recovery,” you replied, shifting your weight delicately on the pillows so you could look at her. “So that I can really have my way with you.”

She laughed affectionately, fisting a hand into your shirt. “That’s my girl.”

Melissa closed the gap between you, brushing a kiss to your lips, then tucked her head into the crook of your shoulder.

“Ya like pancakes?” Her words were slurry with the beginnings of sleep.

“Yeah,” you whispered back. “Why?”

“So’s I know for breakfast,” she murmured, as if this were obvious.

You smiled into the top of her head. “Full-service operation you run here.”

“Bet your ass.” Her breathing gradually evened out and you felt your eyelids getting heavy.

“Night, Melissa,” you said softly.

But she was already asleep in your arms.

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cinnamongirlblogsworld · 5 days ago

Text

Spare Me (College!AU)

Summary: Attending college was supposed to be a breeze; you got your bowling scholarship and was working your way up the pro bowling ladder. It was fairly simple. Outshine every bowler you played against and keep your place as team anchor.How will you manage to hold your ground when it comes to Coach Calderu?

Warnings: none yet...

A/N: Imma be honest....idfk what tf this is. I started out confident and then the rest happened. If I looked at this longer I would've kms...kidding! (kinda) ANYWAYS- read if you'd like to? It's gonna be a multi-chapter fic...hopefully

It was the first day of practice. You were ecstatic but nervous as hell.

You already met the head of the athletic department when you were scouted at your local Pepsi tournament. Only picking up bowling as a sport your sophomore year of High School, you quickly became one of the top girl bowlers in the state. You qualified for States your junior and senior year of high school and got named team captain for both years.

You’ve made friends and enemies of both bowlers and coaches but you kept your head high and pushed through it. Bowling could be a toxic sport to play. The coaches and parents of bowlers could be harsh but there were people who could make it worthwhile. Your best friend, Sam, was one of those people.

She was there when you bowled your highest score (it wasn’t a 300 sadly), she was there when you were voted in as team captain, and she was there when you bowled first place at states (even though she didn’t qualify herself). Sam, thank God, was scouted by the same person as you and you two were given the chance to dorm together and bowl on the same team again.

Getting to the designated practicing lanes, both you and Sam started stretching,

“So, are you ready to meet the infamous Calderu?”

“Dude, shut up! I’ve heard it's like she-who-shall-not-be-named!”

You rolled your eyes. You knew your coach had a reputation. She could be strict as hell but also a bit eccentric in her coaching methods. You knew for sure that Coach Calderu had many enemies within the local bowling community, your previous bowling coach being one of them.

More girls made their way to your lanes; Sam and you making small talk and getting to know them. One of the girls, however, you knew on a personal level.

“Well well, look at you, superstar.”

You tensed as you heard her voice behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to see that stupid smirk on her face. You could feel her eyes raking over your form,

“Look, Harkness, let’s just get through practice, hm?”

Agatha Harkness. Your high school ex who broke up with you over your local fame.

It was stupid really, you loved her with all of your heart only for you to find out she was using you to get ahead herself. You caught her sexting a college coach, who you were close with, to find promises of her getting the best scholarships she could imagine. After that came to light, you immediately broke it off with her right before states during your senior year. Although now, you're questioning why Agatha had chosen the same college you were at. The college wasn’t well-known and definitely not the most chosen school bowlers flocked to.

You were still facing the lanes, trying to keep Agatha out of your sight, when you heard another voice behind you.

“Welcome girls, I’m Lilia Calderu, and I will be your coach this season.”

As the girls turned their attention behind you, you steeled yourself. Your anxiety of seeing your coach in person was off the charts. Turning around, you took a deep inhale.

It was THE Lilia Calderu and though her name should’ve struck fear in you, her presence pulled you in. You didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. You guessed she was in her early 50’s, her hair a beautiful brunette, and her lips…dear God her lips were a shade of red– no, it was maroon.

You were so focused on her lips when you felt a nudge to your ribs.

The lips you were so focused on were now tight-lipped. Your eyes snapped up to take in the rest of your coach’s face to see her studying you with amusement in her eyes..

“We’re doing introductions, what’s your name and your favorite hobby” Sam whispered to you.

“Uh– hi, I’m Y/N, some people call me Y/N/N and I listen to music any chance I get.”

Thankfully, your coach’s attention moved to the next girl and you felt yourself deflate in relief. You did your hardest to pay attention now, even though you knew some of the girl’s names already, but you also did your best to try and not ogle your coach. It was highly inappropriate, right? She probably has a family; kids and a loving husband. You discreetly shook your head to get your thoughts together.

“I saw you girls were stretching before we began. Good job. Today will be a feeler day so I can see what you girls can and can’t do. I expect everyone to hit their usual marks and pick up simple spares even if they’re splits. We have four lanes to practice on. Enter your names on whatever lane you’d like and then line up for warm-ups.”

During the 10 minute warm-up before the games started, you were able to find your line on the lane fairly quickly. The oil pattern was a standard house shot and since you’ve practiced before the season, you were used to it. Sam was set up on the same pair of lanes as you and the two of you had a little wager going on– whoever got more closed frames would buy takeout for the night. You sure as hell weren’t gonna say no to some tacos tonight.

Agatha bowled on the other pair of lanes next to you guys. You were making your approach when you heard a thud behind you and a little ‘oops’ but you didn’t let it break your concentration. Your first ever bowling coach made sure of that. He would purposely drop his bowling ball or talk loudly while making your approach so you could learn to focus. You could also hear giggles behind you but paid no mind to them as you released your ball. It looked good, the release felt good, and you weren’t surprised when you got a strike.

As you made your way back to the settee area, you pointedly ignored Agatha’s glare and accepted a high-five from Sam. The girls who were giggling looked on in shock but made a point to not underestimate you again.

– – – – – – – – – –

The first set of games went fairly well. You got over your average for all three games and were the girl with the highest scratch game and series of the practice. That also meant you won your little wager against Sam.

Even after your little stunt with Agatha, you kept your concentration, adjusting to whenever you had to spare the 7 or 10 pin and never getting a split. However, despite feeling two pairs of eyes on you, you could definitely feel her gaze on you.

You felt her sizing you up, whether it was to throw you off or if she was genuinely intrigued you didn’t know cause you didn’t dare look at her. You kept your eyes to the girls bowling on your lanes and Sam.

As you were sitting down and waiting for your turn, you felt someone lay their hands on your shoulders, giving them a little squeeze.

“So, superstar–” you felt her breath against your ear.

You sighed and tried shrugging her hands off of you, “Agatha please, not now…”

Looking over at Sam, you noticed her tense jaw before her eyes widened and she turned to face the lanes. At the same time, you felt Agatha’s hands move away as if she’d been burnt.

“So, you’re the famous Y/N L/N…”

Your own eyes widened at the cool voice behind you. You turned to see coach Calderu looking at you with amused eyes. You quickly shot up out of your seat as a sign of respect. It was only then that you noticed she was a few inches shorter than you but her heels gave her a few more inches to her height.

“I-I wouldn’t say famous, coach…” you nervously chuckled as you scratched the back of your head.

The older woman raised an eyebrow, “Oh? So being the top local woman bowler in the state isn’t a big deal? Or maybe placing 9th in the USBC Queens at only 23 isn’t a big deal either?”

Her words just made you flush even more. You didn’t think your accomplishments were a big deal in all honesty. You just wanted to keep doing what you love to do which just happened to make you better at the sport than most people.

“Don’t take your accomplishments for granted Y/N/N– can I call you that? Or would you prefer Y/N?”

The way your name fell from her lips made your knees almost buckle but you had to play it cool. You were in public and she’s your coach. This little nagging feeling you felt in her presence needed to stop. You needed to crush it under your foot and use the gunk to slide into your release form.

Bowling. Focus on bowling.

“Uh.. either or is fine coach. I don’t mind.”

“Y/N it is then….”

You didn’t know how to respond and so you just smiled and nodded your head.

“There was something I would like to discuss with you. You definitely have a great form although I can tell you haven’t had much coaching since high school. I’d like to offer you and a few of the other girls some more coaching after practices. Just those who would be the team leads and anchors of the team.”

Anchors? You were so glad she was already thinking of you as an anchor even though she had said team leads as well. You really hoped it was the former.

She laughed softly at the excitement in your eyes, “Yes, I have heard you’ve usually held the spot as team anchor and it makes sense. I’d just like to see if you’d do well with Agatha as well.”

Wait what?

You knew Agatha was an anchor in high school for a bit until you joined the team but she never seemed to have a preference until now you guessed. Was this her way of getting under your skin? Maybe she was just fucking with you. She had to be. Working alongside her would be a handful. Since you two weren’t together anymore, you were now an outlet for her snarky remarks and underhanded compliments.

“Sounds like a plan coach.”

“Good girl” she said with a smile and nod before moving to the other set of lanes.

Good girl

Good God how were you supposed to not think of her after that.

In your peripherals, you can see her talking to Agatha and that girl, Alice, maybe? You could just imagine Agatha’s sickly sweet smile and her fake demeanor. Spending more time with her after practice was not on your bingo card today.

– – – – – – – – – –

The first day of practice went pretty well, aside from the few girls who left during the second half of practice. You highly doubted they quit, so you assumed that coach kicked them to the curb. Sam wasn’t chosen to stay late to practice so she was putting all of her gear away while you sipped on a monster energy drink.

“I wish you could stay, I hate having to be around Agatha when I don’t need to be.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that? I thought she didn’t usually go for lead or anchor?”

“Honestly? I got no clue dude…”

You felt her presence before you felt her arm around your shoulder, “Sorry Sammy, looks like superstar here is mine for the next hour or so. Why don’t you run along now?”

“Now listen here you little shi–”

“Girls!”

Once again, Agatha removed her touch from you as if you burned her. Good, you thought to yourself as you rolled your eyes before turning around to face your coach.

“It’s only the first day of practice, let’s save the drama, alright?”

All three of you responded with a ‘yes coach’ before moving. Sam got all her things packed and left but not without a short hug of comfort.

You honestly didn’t despise Agatha, if you were being completely honest, you weren’t even over her completely. It was like a tug-of-war with your head and heart. Yes, she was flirting with another and she told you herself that nothing was going to come from it. On the other hand, it hurt to see someone you loved throw themselves to anyone who would give her what she wanted.

“C’mon superstar, let’s get set up before Claderu has our heads,” Agatha said with a hesitant smile.

You rolled your eyes again and shouldered past her to get to the approach where the other girls and coach were waiting.

Coach Calderu clapped her hands in front of her and smiled towards you all, “Congratulations on being selected for leads and anchors girls! We’ll be doing four games, all of you switching positions each game, and I’ll be fixing forms and releases while seeing how well you start off the game and how well you close up the turn, are we clear on what we’re doing?”

You all answered with a ‘yes coach’ before you started the games.

The first lead was a girl named Jen, then next in turn was Alice, then Agatha, and then you.

As the games went on, you appreciated that Jen and Alice could actually keep up with you and you with them. You had an easier time bowling when you had someone who could keep up with your scores. You liked knowing that you had a team who could actually keep up with the pressure of getting a clean game– no open frames and picking up splits.

Coach Calderu encouraged all of you to take your time bowling and to not rush through these four games. She was going around to each of you and just tweaking some release forms and approaches.

When she got to Agatha, the younger brunette didn’t hold back on her subtle flirtations with the older woman; looking at your coach with big doe eyes as coach held her wrist, over exaggerating replies as if she didn’t understand what coach said in the first place, touching coach’s bicep in thanks, biting her lip…it was annoying to you in all honesty.

You didn’t know why you were so annoyed but you couldn’t dwell on the fact for too long because it was your turn with coach Calderu. Agatha had been walking towards you to tell you so, but you were already looking past her to see your coach beckoning you over with her finger and decided to ignore the younger brunette’s pout as you moved past her.

You were surprised, however, when coach Calderu handed you a bowling pin.

“I’m sure you know what this drill is about, but I want you to practice. I’ve noticed you power the ball more than letting it come off your hand smoothly.”

The older woman moved to stand behind you as you held the neck of the bowling pin in your right hand, “I want you to feel the weight of the pin in your hand. Use the weight of it to guide how your hand should fall down.”

You tensed as you felt her hand on your left shoulder and her other hand cupping your wrist.

“Relax Y/N, it’s an easy drill, just focus,” she chuckled as she patted your shoulder and tapped your wrist.

‘JuSt FoCus Y/N, It’S aN eAsY dRiLl Y/N’...it was harder than it should’ve been, whether you didn’t want to fuck up such an easy drill in front of your gorgeous coach or whether you were gay panicking, you didn’t know.

You took a deep, steadying breath– bowling, just think of bowling– you felt the weight of the bowling pin in your hand, letting it fall to your side with a practiced ease.

As you went to bring your arm up in your upswing, you felt coach Calderu stop your movement as she grabbed your right forearm, “There! That’s what I’m talking about, you’re starting to twist your shoulder.”

The brunette moved to stand in front of you and placed her hands on your shoulders, “Keep your shoulders straight, once you start twisting, you’ll throw off your whole stance which means–”

“-twisting my hips as well.”

Coach Calderu smirked, “Good girl, now–” she moved behind you again and surprised you as you felt her hands hold your hips and pushed down on them slightly.

You took the hint and bent your knees into your approach stance, letting a shaky exhale as her touch lingered for a bit longer than necessary.

“-remember to stay low, let the weight of the ball guide you, keep your shoulders straight, and follow through on your release, I want to see you pat your shoulder afterwards.”

As you were already on the approach and in your beginning stance, the older woman switched out the pin in your hand for your bowling ball to which she huffed as she picked it up, “Jesus Y/N, what weight do you use?”

“15 pounds for my strike ball, 12 for my spare ball,” you blushed.

You did bowl with a heavier ball, you liked it though. It carried through the pins better and it gave you extra muscle, why would you complain?

Apparently coach Calderu didn’t complain– she just hummed after she handed you your ball, squeezing your bicep as she passed.

You shook off your nerves and did your best to stop mentally screaming and crying from the lingering touches of your coach. Exhaling, you made your approach making sure to keep low and loose. As you let go of the ball, you let your left foot slide forward, your right foot flaring out behind your left, and following through the motion of your release, making sure you pat yourself on your shoulder.

You let your arm come down and swing for a bit as you watched the ball go down the lane. You threw fairly straight but your ball curved to the left and you watched as it hooked into the pocket and knocked down all the pins in a big wave.

Straightening up, you turned to see coach Calderu with a proud smirk, “Atta girl…”

– – – – – – – – – –

As you all finished the last game, coach Calderu gathered you guys into a huddle.

“I think I’ve made my decision. Congratulations to Alice and Jennifer, you two will be the team leads for the season. Agatha and Y/N, you two will be the team anchors. Now…”

You mentally fist bumped yourself. You were so fucking happy things were going your way for bowling. It’s not like you didn’t mind being a team leader, but you didn’t trust anyone else to pull through at the last second of the game like you usually do. Anchors of the team make the most impressions in games, it’s usually up to the anchor to see if your team won or not. You loved the pressure and having eyes on you as you bowled. It did make you a tad nervous but you loved proving people wrong most of all.

The group scattered, leaving only you and Agatha. She nudged you back into reality and you looked at her with a raised brow, “Is there a reason you’re so touchy?”

“Y/N–”

“No. I don’t want to hear it, Agatha.”

You started to put your sneakers on and put away your bowling gear but Agatha just couldn’t leave you alone. The young brunette sat in front of you, her chair facing backwards as she leaned against the backrest.

“I know you don’t but I’d really like to talk to you…please?”

“I have plans with–”

“-with Sammy, what do you even see in her?”

You whipped your head up to look into ocean eyes, “What?”

“I’m not stupid,” Agatha hissed, “You and Sammy were always close, its no wonder you two would go to the same college and even dorm together. What are you thinking?”

You inhaled sharply before standing, “I don’t even know what you’re implying but I know for sure that she wouldn’t sabotage a friendship to sell herself out just for a scholarship.”

Gathering your things, you left Agatha to stew while you glanced towards your coach.

She was in mid-conversation with the owner of the alley when she caught your eye. The older woman sent you a smile and gave you a small nod before returning to her conversation.

You smiled back and waved in response before sighing and taking your cue to leave.

Sam was definitely going to get the tea from you today. As long as she had those tacos ready for you, there shouldn’t be a problem for the rest of the day.

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cinnamongirlblogsworld · 6 days ago

Text

Crash

Summary: An accident pulls you and Melissa further into each other’s orbit.

Chapter: 2/4

Chapter 2

By the time you got to the assembly hall, most of the staff had already gathered in fold-out chairs near the stage. A few heads turned as you trailed in behind Melissa, moving a little slower and more gingerly with each step. You sank gratefully into a seat that Gregory had saved you. Melissa stood nearby, one foot propped against the bleachers, arms folded across her chest.

“You good?” he asked in a low voice. “You’re pale…well, paler than usual.”

You gave him a mocking smile. “Gee, thanks.”

Melissa, overhearing the exchange, narrowed her eyes and carefully scrutinized your face. A light sheen of sweat had broken out on your forehead during the walk. Add it to the growing list of things she didn’t like about this whole situation.

“Had a little fender bender this morning,” you said. “Just shook me up a bit.”

He cast a doubtful glance toward the cut on your forehead. “Fender-bender?”

“She means attempted homicide,” Melissa said loudly.

Barbara turned to see what the commotion was all about. “Homicide? Good Lord! Are you all right, dear?”

Before you could answer, Ava came waltzing out to the podium and tapped the mic aggressively. “Is this thing on?”

There was a collective wince from the gathered teachers as feedback echoed loudly throughout the auditorium. She gave the crowd one of her dazzling, impish smiles and started reading out the litany of announcements for the upcoming quarter.

You shifted in your seat, trying to find a comfortable position. You could feel Melissa’s eyes on you, hawk-like, cataloguing every movement. By the time Ava wrapped things up about an hour later, your breathing was shallow, pain radiating throughout your entire body.

Some of the teachers began drifting off to their classrooms to finalize lessons plans and restock supplies. Melissa started toward you, but got pulled into a negotiation about timetables for library access with Mr. Hammond. You watched her cracking her knuckles, casting furtive glances in your direction. She was jittery, anxious, and itching for a fight. Hammond, known for condescending and long-winded diatribes, had picked the wrong day to go toe-to-toe with her. His fleshy, weak-chinned face wobbled with indignity as she laid into him.

Normally you would have wanted a ringside seat, but the noise in the cavernous room was making your head throb. You rolled your shoulders experimentally to see if you could relieve the building pressure.

“I’m going to grab some coffee,” Gregory said. “Want to sneak out?”

“Yes, please,” you replied instantly.

Gregory watched you struggle to your feet for a few seconds, finally taking pity on you and hooking an arm under your elbow.

“Fender-bender?” he repeated drily.

“Don’t start,” you groaned.

Together you slipped out of the auditorium and made your way down the hall, chit-chatting about politics and sports and weather. Gregory was always easy to talk to; you liked his mellow energy and calm presence.

Reaching the empty teacher’s lounge, you suddenly realized what was missing. “Hey, where’s Janine?”

“She had a doctor’s appointment this morning,” Gregory said, glancing at his wristwatch. “Should be here soon.”

He took two mugs from the cabinet, filled them with coffee, then fixed you with a pointed look. “You gonna tell me why Melissa looks ready to murder somebody?”

You scoffed, rubbing your temples. “She always looks like that.”

He inclined his head slightly, conceding your point.

Back in the assembly hall, the very subject of your discussion had just noticed your absence. As Hammond slunk off to lick his wounds, Melissa’s eyes flickered reflexively over to check on you and widened when she found your chair empty. She scanned the room, muttering a string of colorful curses under her breath. Barbara’s ears perked up, organically attuned to Melissa after so many years of working together.

“You’re tense this morning,” she observed. “What’s the matter?”

Melissa scrubbed a hand over her face. “She’s trying to put me in an early grave, Barb.”

The other woman nodded sympathetically. No need to ask who “she” was. There was only one person at Abbott Elementary who could drive Melissa this crazy.

Over the years, Barbara had had occasion to observe Melissa in several relationships. Most with men lacking in some combination of character, decency, romance, or tenderness—all qualities her friend keenly deserved, all qualities that you possessed. Yet when Barbara had dared to imagine a potential suitor that might come close to being good enough for Melissa Schemmenti, you were not remotely what she had envisioned. You were younger, for starters. And quiet. And not a Philadelphia native. Three strikes, or so she’d thought.

But then Barbara had noticed the way Melissa found excuses to appear in your office, the way you seemed to always end up on the playground during her class recess, the way you made each other laugh, the way your breath caught when she leaned against you, touched you. Most of all, Barbara noticed the way you looked at Melissa when you thought no one else could see you. To Barbara, it looked a little like love. She supposed the old saying was true—it really was the quiet ones you had to watch out for.

“I think I saw her slip out with Mr. Eddie,” she confided, feeling a surge of affection for Melissa as she stormed away and a twinge of concern for Gregory who had no idea he’d just entered the Schemmenti crosshairs.

In the staff lounge, Gregory slowly stirred his coffee with a small spoon, an infuriatingly patient expression on his face.

“Is that cup for me?” you asked eventually.

Turning on one heel, he reached across the counter for a protein bar. “It could be,” he observed. “If you tell me what’s going on.”

“That’s coercion.”

“Bribery,” he corrected, handing you the mug. “Technically, more of a quid pro quo arrangement.”

“Wow,” you said, taking a sip. “This tastes like whatever you pour on your yard when the weedkiller isn’t strong enough.”

“Mmm,” he agreed. “The notes of battery acid are particularly aggressive this morning.”

You braced yourself against the refrigerator, trying to find some relief from the deep ache that had settled in your sides, and finally gave Gregory what he wanted. As you quickly outlined everything (the truck, the aggressive cutoff, the swerve, the crunch of metal meeting pavement, the surreal glow of ambulance light) his eyes widened.

“Shit,” he said. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” you assured him. “It scared me, but I think it scared Melissa more. And it pissed her off. You know how she is.”

“Of course,” he said, giving you a significant look.

“Crazy,” you both said in unison, nodding.

“And she likes you,” he added.

You felt your cheeks pinken. “Yeah.”

He watched you over the rim of his mug, a smug smile spreading across his face. “Yeah,” he repeated.

“So anyway,” you said, plowing ahead. “Long story short—I have a couple cracked ribs and a gorgeous, deranged redhead vowing to avenge me.”

“Don’t forget the concussion,” he added. You stared at him blankly.

Gregory pointed at his own eyes. “Your pupils are like, hella dilated.”

Before you could respond, a small tornado-shaped woman came flying into the faculty lounge. First she rocketed into Gregory, squeezing him affectionately.

“Good morning, boyfriend!” Janine beamed, preparing to launch herself at you next. “And Happy New Year, treasured colleague!”

As you braced for impact, two things happened. Gregory reached out a hand to restrain Janine, and a furious voice from behind you bellowed, “Hands off the shrink!”

Janine paused mid-lunge. You all turned to see Melissa, arm outstretched and hair in a fiery mane around her shoulders. The look on her face was murderous.

“I gave ya one rule,” she seethed. “And ya broke it in an hour.”

Gregory set his coffee cup on the table diplomatically and placed a hand at the small of Janine’s back. “Ms. Teagues,” he announced, sounding overly formal even for him. “I need some help rearranging those desks in my classroom.”

“But what about —“ Janine objected, wide eyes bouncing back and forth between you and Melissa, a look of desperate curiosity on her face. Gregory just shook his head, guiding her out of the room. Rather than moving aside, Melissa roughly checked his shoulder with her own as he passed.

“You’re on my shit list,” she growled.

He massaged his shoulder. “Noted.”

Once they had disappeared, Melissa stalked over to where you stood leaning against the refrigerator. “You’re worse than my third graders. I turn my head for 5 minutes and you’re gone?”

“Maybe you should put me on a leash,” you said sweetly. Melissa’s lips parted slightly in an “oh” of surprise. For the second time in as many hours, you’d managed to put an absolutely mouth-watering thought into her head.

“Maybe I will,” she nodded, glassy eyes lingering on your throat. “Maybe that will help you learn to behave like a good girl.”

Now it was your turn to squirm in delicious agony as she threw your own words back in your face. She grinned at reclaiming the upper hand. Before she could press her advantage, however, Jacob wandered into the lounge.

“Oh there you are,” he said to Melissa, clearly relieved. “There’s a meeting happening in five minutes about computer…”

He trailed off, glancing between you. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

Melissa shook her head. “Not at all,” she said smoothly. “Just chatting with Dr. Freud here about her thoughts on discipline.”

Unfortunately, you had just taken a sip of coffee and your choked reaction gave way to a fit of coughing. Turning toward the kitchen counter, you leaned over the sink as eye-watering pain exploded around your ribs.

“Discipline?” Jacob frowned, oblivious to the innuendo. “Any students in particular?”

Melissa waved him off. “Just tell everyone I’ll be there in a minute.”

He bobbed his head in agreement and wandered back the way he had come. Melissa stepped forward and rubbed small circles on your back as you shuddered, tried to catch your breath. She murmured soothing words, a steady mantra of “It’s okay, you’re okay” over and over again, as if saying it enough times would make it true.

“Fuck,” you croaked when the coughing finally subsided. You wrapped one arm around your stomach and stood up stiffly. Melissa crowded you, running her hands along your back, your arms, as if to confirm firsthand that you were alright.

“I shouldn’t be teasing ya like that,” she said, a disquieted look on her face. “I dunno what’s wrong with me.”

“Pretty sure I started it,” you reminded her, a wave of exhaustion settling over you. You placed an arm around her shoulders, putting your weight on her. “Come on, Ms. Shemmenti. Walk me to my office.”

When she started to protest, you silenced her with a pointed look. “You can come right back when your meeting is over. I promise, this time I’ll be exactly where you left me.”

A few moments later, Melissa was depositing you on the sofa beside your desk. When she flicked on the overhead light, pain ricocheted around the inside of your head. You immediately covered your eyes. “Too bright,” you mumbled.

“You need painkillers,” she said, switching it back off and turning to rummage in a drawer.

You reclined a bit, resting your head on the cushion. “It’s a shame I left my horse tranquilizer at home,” you murmured. She snorted, grabbing a bottle of Tylenol.

Once she was satisfied you had everything you needed (laptop, glass of water, pillow) and that you’d taken something for the pain, she reluctantly backed out of the room with a promise to return soon. You waved her off.

“I’ll be right here, updating my student files.”

Melissa hummed, giving you one last hard look. Then she turned and stalked down the hallway.

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cinnamongirlblogsworld · 6 days ago

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Crash

Summary: An accident pulls you and Melissa further into each other’s orbit.

Word Count: 11K+

Chapter 1

Melissa passed the crash on her way to school. By then, road cleanup services were removing shattered glass and twisted hunks of metal from the street. As traffic slowed and she maneuvered around the remains of the accident, she saw a bike that looked just like yours being loaded onto a tow truck. A sick feeling washed over her. She floored it the last few blocks of her commute, tires squealing as she turned into the parking lot of Abbott Elementary.

Classes hadn’t officially started back yet. Today was a designated teacher planning day at the end of winter break. Most of the staff would trickle in later, enjoying the relaxed pace of a morning with no students. But Melissa had left the house early. She wanted to grab a cup of coffee, gab with Barbara, ease into the new year. And alright, yeah, maybe she was also hoping to see you, swap a few family holiday horror stories (“trauma” as you preferred to call it), and make fun of whatever godawful healthy thing you brought in for breakfast. She didn’t usually trust school shrinks—any shrinks for that matter—but everybody knew she had a soft spot for you.

Melissa scanned the parking lot anxiously, praying to see your motorcycle tucked safely into its usual spot. You had been so protective of that stupid bike when you first got hired, she almost wrote you off as a ginzaloon gear-head. But once you realized how gah gah the kids went over it, you started parking right next to the playground—even occasionally caving to the demands of her excited second graders, revving the engine during recess as they cheered you on.

She had rolled her eyes at the time, but she didn’t mind the theatrics. She also didn’t mind the sight of your long legs straddling that leather seat. Had even indulged in a brief fantasy of what it would feel like to join you there, slipping her arms around your waist, nuzzling her face into the middle of your shoulders. That was before this morning, before she’d seen the mangled leftovers in the road. Before she decided she hated motorcycles.

Melissa locked her car and hustled into the school, past your ominously empty parking spot. As the school psychologist, you worked in a private office near the front of the building. It even had an en-suite bathroom, a fact which caught you major shit with the other faculty. Especially from Melissa, who had given you endless grief at the start of your first semester.

She pulled out her cell phone, trying not to panic as she made a beeline for your office. A dozen terrible images flashed through her mind. You crumpled on the side of the road; you being lifted into an ambulance; you lifeless on a cold slab in some distant part of the city. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

The redhead rounded the corner at breakneck speed in her high-heels, starting to dial your number with shaky hands. But the door to your office was slightly ajar and a dim light was spilling out into the hallway. She breathed an instant sigh of relief, calling your name as she booted her way into the room. “Jesus Christ, you almost gave me a heart attack—“

Melissa froze in her tracks. A bloody white t-shirt had been discarded on the coffee table, and your helmet sat on the little sofa beside your desk. Its visor was shattered and there were long, ugly scratches on the side. “Melissa?” Your voice sounded strange and faint from inside the bathroom.

She dropped her bags and sprang toward the door, jiggling the handle. “Open this door right now or I swear to god I’ll break it down.”

She heard the familiar huff of your laugh, cut short by a grunt of pain that made her heart clench. “Gimme a sec,” you said softly.

“Right. Now.” Patience had never been one of her virtues.

She shifted back and forth, willed herself to be calm. There was some shuffling, a few more agonizing seconds, and finally the click of the lock. Melissa pushed the door open carefully and you stepped back until your hips hit the sink.

Her hands were on you in an instant, insistent but soft, surveying the damage. You gripped the edge of the porcelain for support, blinking hard through an unpleasant wave of dizziness.

“You should see the other guy,” you said, hoping to ease the tension rolling off the other woman in waves. She ignored you, gently running her hands over your body as she made a thorough inventory of every bump, bruise, and bloody scrape. You swallowed thickly, unsure what to say. Finding yourself half-naked in front of Melissa Schemmenti had not been on this morning’s bingo card. Your heart hammered in your chest.

“I’ve been trying to put on a clean shirt for the past 10 minutes,” you explained lamely, gesturing to the oversized Abbott Elementary Field Day tee folded on the vanity. “But I’m moving a little slow.”

That was an understatement, especially now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off. The EMTs had diagnosed you with one or two cracked ribs, some gnarly abrasions, and plenty of bruising where your bike had slammed into the median. But mostly they had diagnosed you as lucky. Very, very lucky.

“What’s broken?” Her tone was clipped, still tight with fear.

“Nothing.”

She gave you a “cut-the-bullshit” look and you folded instantly.

“Maybe some cracked ribs,” you amended, trying to make this sound as breezy as possible. “It’s ok, really. It looks worse than it is.”

You sucked in a shallow breath as her fingers ghosted over the bandages on your side. Green eyes flashed up at you in outrage.

“It looks worse than it is?” she repeated softly. You shivered as she rested her hand on your hip. “Well, it looks pretty fucking bad. It looks like that tonto bike almost got you killed.”

You swallowed nervously, caught off guard by the absolute iciness of her voice. “It wasn’t my fault,” you tried to explain. “Actually, it was—“

“I don’t want to hear it!”

You flinched as she practically spat the words at you, splotches of red rising in the ivory column of her throat. Her legendary temper was something you’d seen in action plenty of times. But this went beyond angry.

“There’s no excuse for putting yourself in danger, capisce? It’s unacceptable to me!” She was shouting by now, eyes brimming, chest heaving.

You placed a tentative hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off and turned away, pinching the bridge of her nose. This was a gesture you’d seen her make only a handful of times—during the always-tense active shooter drills and, on one frightening occasion, when they’d briefly lost track of a student during a field trip. Seeing it now, and being the cause of it, made you feel miserable.

Melissa had barreled into your life about a year ago when you first started working at Abbott. You liked her immediately. Leather pants, mischievous smirk, loud as hell. She was all rough edges and no apologies. More than anything, she was complicated. Guarded but generous, tough but tender. A dozen fiery contradictions that made your heart race.

She teased you from the first moment she laid eyes on you—for being the new kid on the block, for being a “touchy-feely” therapist, for being a millennial. Rather than making you feel ostracized, the attention lit you up. At first you’d worked your ass off just to impress her, to earn her respect. Then you saw what a dedicated teacher she was. You started seeking her out for advice about some of the more troubled kids in your care, going for drinks with her on Fridays, getting her to open up to you. By the time she realized what was happening, you’d slipped straight past her defenses.

“Sorry,” Melissa said gruffly, wiping at her eye makeup. “I shouldn’t’a yelled.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you said, shifting off the sink and limping toward her. “Why don’t you head down to the teacher’s lounge and get a cup of coffee? I can clean up here and meet you in a bit, you don’t have to deal with all this.”

She looked up at you defiantly. For the first time, she noticed a cut near your hairline. There were small butterfly stitches pinching the skin together. All the fight went out of her at once.

“You think a little blood is gonna scare off a Schemmenti?” She reached up and cupped your jawline. Tender.

“I ain’t lettin’ you out of my sight,” Melissa added with a growl. Tough.

She took a moment to drink in the full miracle of you, alive and mostly in one piece. And what a piece it was. Her gaze drifted down to your sports bra, your low-slung riding pants, the band of your boxer-briefs just visible on your waist. Melissa shook her head, withdrawing her hand.

“Need some help gettin’ dressed?”

You blinked, refocusing on her with considerable effort.

“Bet you say that to all the girls,” you said.

Again you felt a little ripple of shyness, exposed and disheveled in front of Melissa who looked good enough to eat—as always. Thick red hair cascading over her shoulders, clothes that hugged her figure in all the right places, gold necklaces with pendants of the saints cradled in the valley of her creamy cleavage. She smirked, unfolding the fresh t-shirt and giving you an appreciative once-over.

“You been working out?” she asked.

You chuckled. “Glad someone finally noticed.”

Melissa pursed her full lips and tilted her head to the side. “Not bad.”

You knew this was just a game to her. She was a flirt by nature and she loved to make you squirm, make you blush. Still, your stomach twisted pleasantly at the compliment.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she continued, noting your obviously pleased expression. “It’s a little dramatic as far as cries for attention go.”

“What do you mean?” you asked as Melissa guided your head carefully through the neck of the shirt, tucking a few flyaway strands of hair back into place. You shivered at the featherlight feel of her fingertips around the shell of your ear.

“Playin’ evil knievel,” she clarified. “Just for an excuse to take your top off in front of me.”

“Look who’s talking!” you fired back. “For all I know, you hired that guy to run me off the road so you could get me alone in a state of undress.”

Melissa, who had been grinning at you from under her long eyelashes and fussing with the hem of your shirt, stilled. The smile slid off her face.

“What’d ya say?”

You frowned, backpedaling. “Sorry, bad joke—“

“No, not that part.” She waved her hand, gold bangles clattering. “The part about someone ran ya off the road? On purpose?”

You nodded your head.

Her voice dipped back into a decidedly frosty register. “And you’re just now tellin’ me this?”

“Well, I tried to mention it a second ago but then there was all the yelling,” you explained. “And you know how I feel about yelling.”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “You feel that it ain’t productive,” she said, applying heavy air quotes around the last word.

“But I appreciate that it’s a cultural norm in many families,” you said. “I know Italian-American households—“

“Jesus fucking Christ!” she exploded. “Someone tried to fucking kill you! Do you appreciate that?”

You winced at the volume of the outburst, headache lurking in the base of your skull. “Yeah, I reported it to the cops who came to the scene, okay? They’re looking for the guy.“

Melissa placed a red lacquered fingernail under your chin.

“You’re never riding that death trap again, you hear me, kid?”

Her green eyes, challenging and possessive, bored into yours. You wondered what would happen if you defied her, told her no, refused outright. The only problem was…you so desperately wanted to give her exactly what she wanted. Not just today, but every day. Trying to please Melissa Schemmenti had become a kind of obsession, a thrill you chased at your own risk.

“Well you don’t have to worry,” you said, mouth suddenly dry. “The bike is totaled.”

She gripped your chin, intent on eliciting a promise. “I mean it.”

A shiver went through you at her low, commanding tone.

“Ok, ok,” you groaned. “I’ll be a good girl, mommy.”

It was supposed to be a joke but the words came out as a desperate whine. You felt a flush of color rising in your cheeks as Melissa quirked an eyebrow at you—half scandalized, half delighted. Just as she opened her mouth to say something, the intercom crackled to life. The sudden noise made you both spring apart.

“All faculty please report to the assembly hall in 15 minutes.”

You hissed at the sudden movement, curling over slightly. Melissa’s hands shot out to steady you.

“You alright?” she asked. All traces of teasing laughter had vanished from her face. “What am I, an idiota? Of course you’re not alright. I should drive ya home!”

“No,” you said, waving the suggestion off wearily. “I don’t wanna be by myself all day. I’ll go crazy.”

“Look at youse,” she argued, concern clouding her eyes. “You can barely stand upright. Your helmet looks like it was in a blender, for chrissakes. You came this close to…to—“

She made a small choked noise, unable to finish the sentence. Her hand flew up to her mouth and she squeezed her eyes shut, clearly trying to block out some unwanted mental image. You intertwined your fingers with hers carefully, sweetly, and brought her hand away from her face.

“Nothing happened,” you said evenly. “I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re fine.”

“Don’t use your therapy voice on me,” she warned, dabbing at her eyes again. She looked down at your hands loosely joined together and brushed a finger over the back of your knuckles. When she spoke she sounded uncertain, none of her usual cocksure confidence.

“You swear you’re alright to stay for the day? You won’t…make yourself worse?”

“I’m fine,” you repeated. “Just hurts when I…”

“Move? Breathe? Blink?” she guessed, tone sarcastic once more. “Am I gettin’ warmer?”

You winked. “You’re red hot.”

A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “And don’t you forget it, baby.”

Melissa considered you for a moment. She didn’t like the way the skin around your eyes was pinched, or the protective way you held yourself. But she also didn’t like the idea of you being on your own all day. Better to keep you close.

“Alright, alright,” she said. “You can stay, but on one condition—you don’t overdo it.”

You rolled your eyes. “We work in an elementary school, not the ThunderDome.”

“No jokes,” she insisted. “I mean it, say you swear.”

It was a rare display of vulnerability from Melissa, who walked through life making demands rather than requests. You schooled your face into a serious expression. Looping your little finger around hers, you brought your fist to your mouth.

“I pinky promise,” you said. “Seal it with a kiss?”

Her eyes flickered down to your lips and lingered for a fraction of a second too long. Even a year into this dangerous dance with Melissa, you weren’t quite sure where the line was, or what would happen if (when?) you found it, crossed it.

“Millennials,” she said, but her voice was husky. “What’s next, gonna ask me to join your polycule?”

Slowly, you both leaned in. You were close enough to smell her shampoo and the bright citrusy lotion she used on her face. It made you swoon. Her eyes closed as you both planted chaste kisses on your fists, faces only inches apart.

The tacky sound of Melissa’s lip gloss making contact with the inside of her own hand sent an unexpected jolt of arousal right to the pit of your stomach. Suddenly, you found yourself lost in a little fantasy, wondering what it would be like to pull her close, to drag your fingers through her hair, to feel the inside of her soft mouth with your tongue. A familiar and ferocious longing—one that you worked very hard to neutralize during working hours—seized you, painful and roaring and undeniable. A longing for more of Melissa, for whatever she would give you.

The other woman cleared her throat suddenly, breaking the spell.

“You ready, hon?” She was gazing at you cautiously, like you might break apart. You shook your head, hoping you didn’t look as strung out as you felt.

“Sorry,” you said. “Let’s head down to the auditorium.”

She smirked, looping an arm around your waist and helping you out of the bathroom. “I’ll say this for ya,” she said, flicking the lights out and closing the door behind her. “You sure know how to start the new year with a bang.”

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cinnamongirlblogsworld · 6 days ago

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the games we play (melissa schemmenti)

PAIRING: melissa schemmenti & fem reader DESCRIPTION: you and melissa play this game where you constantly mess with each until one day you take it too far CAUTION: flirting, lingering touches, thigh riding, oral, teasing, sex in the classroom, swearing WORD COUNT: 4.2k AUTHOR'S NOTE: SHE'S SO DAMN FINE MASTERLIST

The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead, the air thick with the familiar scent of burnt coffee and old textbooks. From the hallway, the distant chatter of students leaks through the walls, mingling with the occasional squeak of sneakers against linoleum. But none of that really matters.

Because she’s here.

Melissa Schemmenti.

Leaning against the counter, one hip cocked, stirring sugar into her coffee like she’s got all the time in the world. The steam curls lazily from her cup, and for a second, you just watch her - how the sleeves of her blouse are pushed up to her elbows, how her hair catches the light in deep, warm waves. You should say something. Tease her, like always. But for once, you’re caught up in looking.

Then, like she can feel your gaze, she glances up. A smirk already tugs at her lips.

“Morning,” she says, her voice rough in that way that makes your stomach tighten. Like she’s been laughing, yelling, like she’s alive.

You step into the room, closing the distance with easy confidence. Closer than usual. She notices. You can tell by the slight raise of her brow, the way she doesn’t move away.

“Morning, gorgeous,” you reply, voice smooth as honey.

She snorts, shaking her head, but you don’t miss the way her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile. You reach for the coffee pot, making sure your fingers brush against hers, slow and deliberate. The touch lingers, warm and fleeting all at once.

She gives you a look over the rim of her cup. “You’re real handsy today.”

You grin, leaning against the counter beside her. “What, am I usually not?”

Melissa tilts her head, considering. “Oh, you are. But today? You’re layin’ it on thick.”

Good. That’s exactly what you wanted.

You take a slow sip of your coffee, watching her over the rim of your cup. “Maybe I’m just feeling extra affectionate.” Your voice dips lower, lazy, teasing. “Maybe I just can’t help myself around you.”

Her fingers tighten slightly around her cup, but her expression doesn’t waver. Still, you catch it, that flicker of something in her eyes.

She hums, taking another sip of coffee. “That so?”

You set your cup down, reaching out like it’s second nature. Your fingers graze the fabric of her sleeve, slow and deliberate. “You got somethin’ on your shirt,” you murmur, dragging your fingers along her arm under the excuse of brushing it off.

Melissa exhales sharply through her nose, setting her coffee down with a soft thunk. “Uh-huh,” she mutters, giving you an unimpressed look. “That even real, or you just lookin’ for excuses to touch me?”

“Can’t it be both?” you ask, tilting your head.

She huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You clutch your chest in mock offense. “Lucky? Melissa, sweetheart, I’m devastated. I thought you liked the attention.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s no real exasperation there - just something warm, something familiar. And maybe, just maybe, something else, too.

You decide to push just a little further. You shift, stepping into her space, close enough that the scent of her perfume, something warm and subtly spiced, mixes with the coffee in the air.

“If I’m layin’ it on too thick, tell me to stop.” Your voice is softer now, the teasing still there, but edged with something real.

Her eyes flick to yours. She doesn’t step back.

She doesn’t tell you to stop.

And damn if that doesn’t make you want to push even more.

The late afternoon sun slants through the half-closed blinds in Melissa’s classroom, painting long golden streaks across the desks. The air is thick with that familiar end-of-the-day warmth. The scent of dry-erase markers, old textbooks, and the lingering traces of coffee. Outside, the distant sounds of students laughing and teachers chatting in the hallway weave through the quiet hum of the school winding down.

But in here? It’s just you and her.

Melissa sits at her desk, red pen in hand, flipping through a stack of papers with a look of mild disapproval, almost like the answers offend her personally. She doesn’t acknowledge you right away, though you know she clocked you the second you walked in.

You lean against the edge of her desk, deliberately encroaching on her space. Close enough to see the crease in her brow, the way her fingers tap idly against the paper.

“Don’t you got your own classroom to loiter in?” she mutters, eyes still on the page.

You smirk. “I could say the same about you in the lounge this morning.”

That gets her attention. She glances up, one brow arching. “Yeah? And what exactly was I doin’?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” You stretch, letting the silence stretch with it, like you’re savoring this. “Looking at me like you were real interested in something.”

Melissa snorts, shaking her head. “You’re full of it.”

You lean in just slightly, lowering your voice. “C’mon, just admit it. You like when I flirt with you.”

That makes her pause. Not long - just a second, just enough to tell you that you’ve hit the mark. But then she exhales, shaking her head as she flips to the next page in her stack.

“I tolerate it,” she corrects. But her voice is a little too even, too practiced.

You tap a finger against your chin, pretending to consider. “Hmm. Tolerate is a step up from ‘quit it’ and ‘go be annoying somewhere else,’ so I’ll take it.”

Melissa huffs, setting her pen down. Her gaze flicks to you, sharp and assessing, like she’s trying to figure out your angle. But you don’t give her the chance.

You reach out, slow and deliberate, and flick a stray piece of lint from her sleeve. Your fingers linger just a little longer than necessary, your thumb grazing the fabric.

Her eyes flicker down to where you touched her.

And then, in a move so casual it almost feels calculated, she reaches out and flicks the collar of your shirt.

You blink, caught just slightly off guard. “Did you just --”

“You had somethin’ on it.” She shrugs, looking back down at her work, like she didn’t just turn the tables on you.

Oh. Oh, she’s playing now.

A slow grin spreads across your lips. “You know,” you murmur, shifting just a little closer, just enough that your thigh brushes against hers under the desk. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re the one getting a little handsy now.”

Her fingers tighten slightly around her pen, but she doesn’t move away. Doesn’t shove you off. Instead, she lets the silence stretch between you, heavy with something neither of you are quite naming yet.

Finally, she exhales, shaking her head like she’s washing the moment away. “You’re a real pain in my ass, you know that?”

You smirk, drumming your fingers against her desk. “Yeah, but you’d miss me if I stopped.”

You push off the desk, turning toward the door, feeling her gaze still on you. You should leave it at that. Let her sit with whatever that was, let the moment hang between you like a loose thread just waiting to be pulled.

But just as you reach the doorway, she speaks.

“You shouldn’t start something you’re not ready to finish.”

You pause.

Slowly, you turn your head, catching the way she’s watching you—like she’s daring you to push further. Like she wants you to.

Your smirk deepens.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you murmur, voice dripping with promise. “You have no idea what I’m ready for.”

And with that, you walk out, already planning how you’re going to push her even further tomorrow.

You don’t know what kind of game you’re playing anymore.

Maybe you started this just to get under Melissa’s skin, to push her buttons and watch that sharp, knowing smirk tug at her lips. But this morning? This morning, as you stand in front of the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of your dress - your choice very, very deliberate - you realize something.

This isn’t just about teasing anymore.

It’s about seeing how far you can go before she cracks.

So, you leave your panties in your dresser drawer. Just to see if she’ll notice. And God, you hope she does.

The school day drags, but your nerves stay electric, humming under your skin. You go about your lessons, smiling at students, making small talk in the halls, but there’s a constant awareness beneath it all. A slow, simmering heat between your legs and not just because of what you’ve done, but because of the possibility of Melissa finding out.

When the lunch bell rings, you don’t go straight to the lounge. No - she’s expecting that. You make her wait. Let her find you.

And sure enough, not ten minutes later, she does.

You’re in your classroom, leaning against your desk, flipping through a stack of papers you don’t care about. The second she steps in, you feel her before you even see her, before her voice, thick with amusement, rolls over you.

“You avoidin’ me?”

You glance up, and there she is, hip cocked, arms crossed, watching you like she’s already figured out that you’re up to something.

You smile, slow and lazy. “Now, why would I do that?”

Melissa takes a few steps closer, eyes scanning you, assessing. She doesn’t answer right away, and the tension tightens just slightly, like a rope being pulled taut.

You lean back on your hands, letting your dress ride up just a little. Not obvious - just enough that if she were looking (and she always is), she’d see the way your thighs press together.

She tilts her head. “You’re actin’ different.”

You shrug, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Melissa scoffs, stepping into your space... close. Closer than she normally does. She plants a hand on the desk beside you, gaze dropping for just a fraction of a second.

You hold your breath.

She looks back up, and her smirk is dangerous.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice just low enough to send a shiver down your spine. “You think I don’t know when you’re playin’ a game with me?”

Your pulse kicks up. Does she know?

She watches you, waiting—like she’s daring you to admit it.

You swallow. Try to keep your voice steady. “And if I am?”

Her smirk deepens. And then, before you can process what’s happening, her hand brushes just against the hem of your dress - barely there, but enough to make your breath hitch.

Enough to tell you that she knows.

Melissa hums, like she’s enjoying your reaction. “Careful, sweetheart,” she murmurs, fingers ghosting over your knee, the barest tease of touch. “You keep this up, and you’re gonna get yourself in trouble.”

Your breath comes a little quicker now, anticipation thrumming through you. Maybe I want to.

You open your mouth - maybe to challenge her, maybe to see just how much further she’ll take this but then she pulls back.

Just like that.

She steps away, leaving you breathless, aching, and wanting.

“Lunch is almost over,” she says casually, like she didn’t just unravel you in the span of thirty seconds. “Better get back to work.”

And then she walks out.

Leaving you sitting there, heart racing, thighs pressed together, knowing damn well this game is nowhere near over.

The school day crawls by, every second stretching unbearably long. Your body is still humming from lunch, from the way Melissa had looked at you - like she knew exactly what you’d done, like she was daring you to see how far you’d take it.

And you? You’re desperate now.

The anticipation has simmered all day, winding tighter and tighter in your belly. Every time you caught her looking at you from across the teachers’ lounge, in the hallway, or - even during a staff meeting where she sat across from you, all calm and unaffected - you felt the heat lick higher, pooling low between your legs.

By the time the final bell rings and the last of the students trickle out, you’re aching.

You’re packing up, trying so hard to focus on something—anything—when you hear it.

“Let’s go.”

Melissa’s voice. Low, firm.

You turn, and there she is, standing in your doorway, looking dangerous. Arms crossed, smirk playing at her lips.

Your stomach flips.

You should ask where? You should play dumb, tease her, keep up this little game. But instead, you just swallow and follow.

Because you know where this is going.

And God, you want it to.

Her classroom is empty. The lights are dim, the last golden streaks of sunlight slipping through the blinds. The second the door clicks shut behind you, she moves.

You barely have time to react before she presses you back against the desk, her hands firm on your waist. You gasp, heart hammering, heat flooding you instantly at the closeness, at the sudden shift in her.

She’s not teasing anymore.

Melissa leans in, her breath warm against your ear. “Tell me somethin’,” she murmurs, voice dripping with amusement. “You really thought I wouldn’t notice?”

A shiver rolls down your spine.

“I—”

Her hands tighten, fingers digging into your hips. “All day,” she continues, dragging her mouth just barely over the shell of your ear, “walkin’ around like that. Like you wanted me to find out.”

You swallow hard, thighs pressing together. “Maybe I did.”

That does something to her.

She exhales, sharp and controlled, and then she’s pulling you closer, slotting one of her thighs between your legs. The pressure is sudden, delicious, and you gasp, hands flying to her shoulders to steady yourself.

Melissa smirks. “Uh-huh. That what you wanted, sweetheart?”

You nod, dizzy with need, fingers tightening against the fabric of her blouse.

She hums, hands sliding to your waist. “Then go on.”

You barely process the command before she guides you forward, pressing you down against the solid muscle of her thigh. The friction is instant, perfect - the heat of her, the strength beneath you and your breath catches, hips rocking before you can stop yourself.

Melissa watches you, eyes dark, smirk lazy. “That’s it,” she murmurs, voice rougher now. “Take what you need.”

You whimper, grip tightening as you move. Slow at first, testing, feeling her beneath you. She lets you set the pace, lets you grind down against her, the pressure hitting just right.

And God, it’s so good.

The tension that’s been coiling inside you all day snaps tighter, heat building low in your belly with every slow, aching drag of your body against hers. Melissa’s hands stay firm on your waist, guiding, steadying.

Her voice is low, wrecked. “You’re soaked, aren’t you?”

You nod frantically, barely able to breathe, pleasure winding so tight now.

She chuckles, breath hot against your jaw. “Of course you are. You’ve been needy all damn day.”

Her words send a fresh wave of arousal through you, your movements becoming faster, more desperate. The fabric of her slacks is damp beneath you, slick with how wrecked you are for her.

“Melissa—” you gasp, hands fisting against her shoulders. You’re close, so close it’s unbearable.

She tightens her grip, pulling you down harder, pressing her thigh up into you just right. “C’mon, sweetheart,” she rasps. “Cum for me.”

That’s all it takes.

The tension snaps, pleasure slamming through you as you break, thighs shaking, head tipping back. Your body trembles against hers, grinding down through the aftershocks as heat floods through every inch of you.

Melissa watches, completely enraptured. She doesn’t move, just lets you fall apart against her, her grip steady and sure.

When you finally still, boneless and panting, she smirks.

“Told you you’d get yourself in trouble.”

You let out a breathless laugh, forehead dropping to her shoulder.

Your body still trembles from the aftershocks of your orgasm, your thighs sticky and aching from where you rode her, your dress still bunched up around your waist, Melissa’s strong hands gripping your hips like she’s not quite ready to let you go. You should be satisfied, should be sated from the way she unraveled you so easily, but you’re not. You can still feel the heat pooling between your legs, the need pulsing low in your belly, the craving to push her past that same edge; to watch her come apart beneath you.

And you’re not about to waste this opportunity.

Before she can smirk and pull away, before she can regain that careful, controlled composure, you crash your lips against hers, pouring every ounce of hunger into the kiss. She lets out a muffled sound of surprise against your mouth, but it melts into a groan when you slide your fingers into her hair, tugging just enough to tilt her head back, deepening the kiss. She tastes like coffee and something darker, richer, something entirely her, and it only fuels the fire burning in your veins.

You don’t let her take control.

Not this time.

Your hands move with purpose, gripping her waist as you press forward, pushing her back step by step until her spine collides with the nearest wall. A sharp breath escapes her, her fingers twitching against your hips, but she doesn’t fight it. If anything, you can feel the tension rolling off her, coiling like a spring beneath her skin, as if she’s waiting - daring - to see just how far you’ll take this.

You intend to take it all the way.

Your lips leave hers only to trail down the column of her throat, slow and deliberate, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the freckled skin, savoring the way she exhales sharply when you nip just below her jaw. Her pulse thrums beneath your tongue, quick and unsteady, betraying just how much she’s feeling this, no matter how composed she tries to seem.

Sliding your hands down, you make quick work of the buttons of her blouse, shoving it open with a flick of your wrists, exposing smooth skin and the curve of lace beneath. You don’t stop to admire - not yet. Instead, you drop to your knees, your mouth never leaving her body as you kiss lower, dragging your lips over her stomach, inhaling the lingering traces of her perfume, something musky and warm that only adds to the heat already simmering between you.

Melissa watches you, her breathing uneven now, her hands twitching like she wants to touch you, to thread her fingers through your hair and guide you where she needs you, but she doesn’t. Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s restraint. Either way, you’re determined to break it.

Your hands find the waistband of her slacks, and with a wicked grin, you hook your fingers into both her pants and panties in one swift motion, yanking them down with no hesitation, letting them pool around her ankles. The sound she makes is quiet but sharp, a tiny hitch in her breath that sends a jolt of satisfaction through you.

And then you see just how wet she is.

Your mouth goes dry, heat coiling in your stomach at the sight of slick glistening between her thighs, proof of just how much she’s been affected by your teasing all day. You glance up, meeting her gaze, and you swear her pupils are blown wide, dark with arousal, her breath coming a little quicker now.

For once, she doesn’t have some cocky remark, doesn’t have some teasing quip. She just watches, waiting, anticipation rolling off her in waves.

You take your time, dragging your fingers along the inside of her thigh, tracing slow, lazy circles that get closer and closer but never quite touching where she needs it. Her muscles tense beneath your fingertips, her thighs twitching ever so slightly.

She exhales sharply, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk behind her. “You keep teasing like that, sweetheart,” she mutters, voice rougher now, “and you’re gonna regret it.”

You smirk against her skin, pressing a lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh before finally, finally running your tongue through her folds, slow and deliberate, collecting every bit of wetness before swirling the tip around her clit.

Melissa gasps, sharp and sudden, her whole body tensing as her fingers snap up to grip your hair, holding you in place, like she needs you there, like she can’t even pretend to be unaffected anymore.

That sound alone sends a rush of arousal through you, a deep, aching need to see her fall apart completely. You repeat the motion, dragging your tongue over her again, this time flicking against her clit just a little faster, a little harder, watching the way her stomach tenses at the sensation.

“Fuck,” she hisses, her grip in your hair tightening, her hips shifting forward almost involuntarily, chasing more friction.

You hum against her, the vibration making her shudder, and then you do it again, circling her clit with the flat of your tongue before dipping lower, teasing her entrance with slow, shallow strokes.

Her breath catches.

She’s struggling—you can feel it. The way she wants to stay in control, to act unaffected, but her body betrays her with every quiet moan, every twitch of her hips, every time she curses under her breath like she’s mad at herself for giving in.

Good.

You grip her thighs, holding her steady as you press your tongue inside her, slow at first, savoring the way she clenches around you, then deeper, faster.

“Jesus --” she chokes out, her fingers tightening, tugging at your hair, her body pressing closer, needing more. “Fuck --”

Her thighs tremble around your head, her breaths coming faster now, sharper, like she’s trying to hold herself together but knows she won’t last much longer. Her control is slipping. You can feel it.

“God, don’t stop,” she groans, her voice strained, desperate, and that’s all you need.

You press deeper, tongue fucking her in perfect rhythm, drinking down every moan, every shaky breath, until

“Oh, fuck—”

Melissa shatters against your mouth.

Her body jerks, her breath catching in a strangled moan, fingers tightening almost painfully in your hair as her orgasm rips through her. You feel every tremor, every pulse of pleasure that rolls through her, her slick coating your tongue as she rides out the high.

You don’t pull away - not yet.

Instead, you keep your tongue moving in slow, lazy strokes, savoring the way she twitches, the way her thighs shake around your head, the way her hips give one last desperate roll before her body finally sags against the wall.

Only then do you ease back, letting your lips drag along her inner thigh, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses against her skin as she trembles, her breath still ragged, uneven.

When you finally lift your gaze, Melissa is wrecked.

Her head is tipped back against the wall, eyes heavy-lidded, lips slightly parted as she struggles to catch her breath. Her freckles stand out stark against the deep flush staining her cheeks, and her blouse hangs loose around her shoulders, collar askew, one strap of her bra slipping down her arm. She looks completely undone, like she’s barely holding herself together, and God, if that isn’t the most satisfying sight you’ve ever seen.

You smirk, licking your lips, the taste of her still thick on your tongue. “Cat got your tongue, Schemmenti?”

Her eyes snap open, hazy but sharp, and suddenly, her fingers are tugging at your hair, pulling you up, her grip just firm enough to make your scalp sting in the best way.

You barely have time to register it before her lips crash against yours, hungry, desperate, her tongue sweeping into your mouth like she wants to claim back every single ounce of control you just stripped from her. She groans softly when she tastes herself on your lips, her grip shifting from your hair to your jaw, thumb pressing against your chin, tilting your head just enough to let her deepen the kiss.

It’s dizzying, the way she kisses you now, like she’s making up for the fact that you had the upper hand for once, like she needs to remind you exactly who you’re dealing with.

When she finally pulls back, she exhales a rough, breathless chuckle, her forehead pressing lightly against yours. “You think you’re real cute, don’t you?”

You grin, your hands smoothing over her waist, feeling the slight tremor still running through her. “I know I am.”

Melissa huffs, but there’s no real bite behind it. If anything, there’s something softer in her gaze now, something warm flickering beneath all the post-orgasm haze and lingering cockiness.

For a moment, neither of you move. The only sounds in the room are your uneven breaths, the distant hum of the school’s ventilation, the occasional creak of the building settling. The sun has dipped lower now, casting a deep orange glow through the blinds, painting the room in long, slanted shadows.

It’s quiet. Intimate.

And then...

“You’re gonna regret that,” Melissa murmurs, her voice lower now, rough with the promise of something dark and dangerous lurking just beneath the surface.

A shiver rolls down your spine, anticipation sparking like electricity beneath your skin.

You grin.

“Oh, I hope so.”

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