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aspirationalpeony · 3 months

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Dark Horse

Summary: As a cameraperson on the Abbott documentary crew, you've always had a good working relationship with Melissa Schemmenti. One flirtatious night at her home sends you spinning as you try to figure out if this is really real—not to mention how everyone at Abbott seemed to know about Melissa's crush on you, long before you ever did. (See author's note at the end for prompt credit.) Content Warnings: Lots of smut, a bit of emotional confusion, and me having absolutely no idea how filming anything works. I just faked my way through it, very horribly. Oops! :) AO3 Link

It all starts with a late shoot.

It's just you and the mic guy and one other crew, and your camera trained on Melissa Schemmenti. She talks, in a way she's done rarely so far. A season and a half and she's always conscious of the stare of the lenses, quick to dart around a corner or cut herself off if she knows the opps are listening.

She takes big sips, almost gulps, from her wine glass. She leads you back and forth across her house, reaching over tables or pointing along walls to find a photo here, another there, and talks. "Me'n Kristen-Marie... This one—" pause for more wine—"from my college graduation." It's the two of them, almost mirror images of each other at that age, with a tall man whose lean face makes you think he has to be their father; on the other side of the girls is their Nana.

There's no trick in this photo: no wedding dress, no blood, no hint of drama between the sisters at all. They just look hopeful and desperately young. This feels private, that Melissa could have been so young—something that shouldn't be content for the show—and you feel an impulse to duck the camera away, hide her secret. When you look at Melissa again, she’s watching you; there’s a glitter in her green eyes you can’t interpret: not hostile, and not the look she gets when she’s hustling someone, either. The gaze she’s giving you is strangely soft.

“Whaddaya think?” she says, to you, not to the camera.

You swallow. Nothing you say will make it to the final cut, but the editors will hear your answer, so you can’t tell her she’s beautiful in that picture. “I think I’m lucky you’re showing me this,” you say at last.

Her eyes move over your face. You feel it almost like a touch, intimate and slow, and you aren’t making it up: her gaze stops at your mouth and hovers there. She bites her lower lip before she lifts her wine glass again for another pull. “Maybe I like ya,” she says. “Maybe you’ll get luckier.”

You’re still blushing when you wrap for the night. You sit on your couch at home—you’re always insomniac after shooting at night, your brain and body still buzzing with the work—and put on Netflix on low volume and you don’t watch, just feel your cheeks still burning, thinking about her lipstick on her wine glass.

Of course, the whole crew knows the story by the next morning. When you turn up, Pedro, your best friend on the crew, says, “Look at you! Dark horse!” and it makes your face sear with heat all over again. He lowers his voice, leans in and nudges you. “C’mon, nothing in the contract about that. You deserve a little fun. Let your Italian mama take care of you.”

You cringe. “Please,” you say, “never say ‘Italian mama’ to me again. Okay?”

“Just sayin’,” he says, and leaves it alone.

Of course, it doesn’t leave you alone. You’ve learned the best way to sneak up on a conversation with Melissa and Barbara is to come at it around a corner, so you’re hovering down the kindergarten hall, camera on the two women, when you hear your name, making you stiffen.

“You said that?” Barbara’s voice is incredulous, sharp. “What did she say?”

“Nothin’, really,” Melissa says, “she was on the clock, y’know.” The smile starts in her voice before it grows on her face. It’s a Cheshire smirk bigger and deeper than you’ve ever seen. “She got all flustered. It was cute. You think she knows I was shootin’ my shot?”

“I think you could have ‘shot your shot’ with a little more dignity,” Barbara says crisply. “Like an adult does. Politely. Pleasantly.”

“Soberly,” Melissa says. “Listen, if it works, it works. I just gotta find out if it did, y’know. Work. She’s kinda shy.”

“I didn’t know you cared for that.”

"What, the quiet ones?"

You have to pull away. You're going to miss the rest of the conversation, but your face is burning again, your heart is pounding, and you're grappling with the reality that Melissa and Barbara are talking about you, that you're subject enough between them to be chatted about so casually, that all this footage is... God, are you ever going to live this down?

You'll go shoot some Janine and Gregory. That's always a crowd-pleaser; the audience loves the sweet tension between them, the way the space between their bodies turns tangible the longer their eye contact holds. You try not to think about Melissa's gaze on yours last night. You try to do your job.

That goes as well as you might expect. Fifteen minutes into some uninspiring quiz-grading ("oh, I never fail anyone," Janine says, "I just give 'em a different colored star—they like the gold ones best, so—") Pedro comes to find you.

"Hey, listen," he says, "I need you to come take care of your Calabrian chili pepper."

"What?"

"You know, your spicy linguini. Your Italian ma—"

"Stop." Your head whips toward Janine at her desk and then back to Pedro. The only thing you can think of to say, your heart thumping all over again, is "She's Sicilian, not Calabrian."

"She's giving us nothing. You got to come do her talking head. She keeps trying to square up to Kai and he doesn't wanna fight her."

"What makes you think she won't fight me?"

He gives you a look over his glasses.

The change in Melissa is instant when she sees you approach. Those folded arms, her squared shoulders, her broad, foot-planted stance—it all melts. She leans into the wall, her head tipping, one booted foot lifting for her toe to play in idle lines along the floor, and, yeah. Whether you picked her or not, this is your Sicilian chili pepper, and you swallow hard as you approach.

"Heya, hon," she says, "who's this clown they got me workin' with? Don't they know I only do this with the professionals?"

You mumble a little as Kai looks between the two of you, rolls his eyes, and backs off.

"We were talking about her Friday night plans," Pedro says. "It's school game night and she's not going."

"Yeah, the kids are too easy to hustle," she says, "it ain't even fun. What, do I look like I wanna spend all Friday winnin' their, I dunno, their Yu-Gi-Oh cards?"

Now's when Pedro should prompt her, ask a question. You glance at him; he nods his permission. "Not sure those are a thing anymore," you say.

"Their Pokemon cards," she says. "Whatever. Point is, it'd be like taking candy from a... Jacob."

You don't look at her; you focus on the camera. It's easier than holding her green gaze. "Is that where you draw the line?"

"Gotta draw it somewhere," she says.

You can't help it. Cautiously you look up, try to make your voice neutral: "So how are you going to spend Friday night?"

She lolls her head to one side and looks at you. She sticks her tongue into her cheek. "Prob'ly practicing tricks," she says.

"Tricks?"

"Yeah," she says. "With my magic wand."

You don't really remember the rest of the interview. You sure you babble some other questions, and she gives you some smirking answers, but your head is full of white noise and a singular image: Melissa Schemmenti with a vibrator between her legs.

You're sure other things happen that day. Pedro definitely ribs you some more, you and Kai go get lunch and he complains for a while, Gregory and Janine have one of their not-flirting conversations where he draws up a tightly-plotted itinerary for game night, trying to prove it's possible to run a children's event without delays (it all goes back to his father, of course), at some point you go home and numbly resume your post on the couch in front of your TV screen, trying to make sense of it all.

That picture won't leave your head. You think of the look she gave you that night at her house—intimate, caressing—and how she'd look deep in her pleasure, drunk eyes half-open, her face pink, her hair wild. Does she get naked when she touches herself? She seems too impatient—more like a jeans around her thighs kind of woman—but for a night she's planning ahead—a night she's set aside, just for her pleasure...

Your head drops back and you shut your eyes to see her more clearly. You can imagine the scattering of freckles over her shoulders and chest, the shift of her heavy breasts and the hard peaks of her pink nipples—how does she like to be touched there? Maybe she grabs one breast while she uses the vibrator, plays with a nipple, imagining the rough, confident hand of a lover. You can see the soft field of her belly, the abundance of her hips, her thighs, picturing her cunt, the head of the vibrator against her clit—she doesn't tease, can't tease herself, you imagine, not Melissa.

You can almost smell her sex, you think, until you realize it's yourself you're smelling. Your cunt throbs. You could shove a hand into your underwear now and just take care of it, but...

Your small toy collection lives in a box under your bed. It's nothing fancy, but you do have a small wand vibrator. You peel off your trousers and underwear and drop onto your bed, back against the pillows, holding the purple toy in one hand. Does Melissa have one this size? Or a big, classic one, the kind that could buzz your clit right off? You click the toy on and draw it up your thigh. As it nears the sensitive crease between your leg and your sex, your thigh twitches without meaning to, your clit aching, and you think, okay, no foreplay.

You can't help but wonder as you delve the thrumming head between your folds: does she know you're doing this? Was that the idea—plant herself in your head, grow over everything, including your common sense and your inhibitions, until your whole world flowers Melissa? Could she be doing the same—getting a head start on Friday's plans—thinking of you, right now? You're normally quiet when you do this, but that makes you groan aloud. Your clit pulses.

How does she do this, on a school night, like tonight? Back to the image of her with her trousers halfway down her legs, her hand and her toy crammed into the space between the fabric and her body. You can't help but see her in the outfit from today, that green, clinging top, the black blazer discarded somewhere, slacks caught just above her knees, her hair mussed and tangling against the pillows as she works the vibrator over her clit. No playing games for her, either; just getting the job done, hard and fast.

You come, watching her in your head, her name on your lips; you hope she comes tonight, too, thinking of you, of what she’s doing to you.

The next day, Janine, Gregory, and Jacob are in hushed conversation by the supply closet. You pick an angle from just inside the nearest classroom and train your camera on the slight crack of the open door and you can hear them, even though they think they’re being quiet—classic them.

“I don’t know, what do you think?” Janine is saying. “I think it’s kind of nice.”

“I think,” Gregory says, “it’s like…” He pauses, picking his words. “Like watching a dog shake a chew toy.”

“I think it’s very brave of Melissa,” says Jacob, and your heart drops into your stomach. “Considering the historical era in which she grew up and started her teaching career, being openly bisexual in the workplace must be a very—”

“Please don’t let her hear you call her ‘historical’,” Gregory interjects.

“It’s cute she has a crush on the camera lady,” Janine says. (“Cameraperson,” Jacob corrects.) “I just want it to turn out nice. You know, the vending machine guy didn’t work out, so. And now he doesn’t stock Gushers anymore.”

“Maybe she’ll be a little more relaxed,” Jacob says. “A little more… Open, fun—”

“She’s not going to start liking you because she’s dating somebody.” Gregory, with characteristic bluntness.

“One can hope,” Jacob says.

“The camera lady—person—is so quiet, though,” Janine muses. “Melissa is so intense.”

“Bet that’s what she likes,” Mr. Johnson says, making them all jump. He steps out from the supply closet; he’s holding a Teachers Without Borders coffee mug you know has to be Jacob’s. He takes a long, slurping sip, making sure everybody sees the logo on the cup. “Melissa gets a sweet little thang to take care of. Camera lady gets an Italian mama.” He says it eye-talian. (Where is everybody getting this phrase from?)

“Please don’t say ‘Italian mama’ again,” Gregory says, giving you a little flush of vindication.

“Why not?” Mr. Johnson says. “When I was on tour in Rome—”

That’s enough for you. You decide the rest of the conversation can go unrecorded. You check the time and it’s nearly lunch—thank God, because you don’t want to make eye contact with any of them for a while; you don’t know how to feel about them all talking about you. You know it’s not you, really, they care about. It’s Melissa, her caginess at odds with how boldly, openly she’s been flirting with you, an attraction so obvious even the younger teachers that she’d never confide in can see it.

Something light and effervescent swirls in your stomach, but there’s a leaden weight there, too. Nerves. And desire. You let Pedro know you’re taking lunch and leave your camera behind, finding Kai a block down, away from the school, hitting his vape. He passes it to you and you take a pull, letting candy-scented vapor out of your nose. You don’t really smoke anymore, but anybody would need a little comfort under these circumstances, you think.

“So what are you going to do?” he asks.

“What?” You didn’t know Kai cared about that. “I mean, I guess I’ll talk to her, maybe give her my number, then see—”

“For lunch.”

“Oh.”

You get hoagies together, eating them over a public trash can, standing up. Back at the school you scrub your hands clean in the bathroom and duck Pedro and your camera and you find your way down the second-grade hall to the classroom that's usually the noisiest. It's quiet now: the kids are at the library doing a reading circle with the librarian. Maybe it says something that you know their schedule.

She's in there, glasses low on her nose, working. You pause just on the threshold of the open door. You try to piece together everything you know about her, to make it all fit into the person you see, just a small woman with a love of pleather and a never-ending supply of high-heeled boots, a baseball bat taped under her desk (you've seen it), a guitar propped in one corner of the classroom (does she ever play?), how now she's focused and reading with scrupulous intensity, doubling back on a sentence from time to time, her manicured hand coming up to twitch away a lock of red hair.

You knock on the open door. You see her hand pass under the desk toward the bat before she realizes who's standing there. She cracks a grin, lifting her glasses up to the top of her head. Her eyes travel up and down your body in another look that feels like a touch.

"I was wonderin' when you'd stop by," she says.

You give a little hum. You cross the room to lean against a student's desk, just opposite hers.

"No camera?"

"No," you say, "I wanted it to be just us."

"Huh." She taps her pen on her paper a few times. "You here to let me down easy?" She lifts her chin. The look she gives you isn't intimate now: it's far-removed and challenging, like the gaze of a duelist across a plain. You've seen this before, the way she starts closing herself off, armoring up.

You shake your head. There's a shift in her expression, but the walls don't quite come down. "I guess I wanted to ask what you want."

"That ain't obvious?"

"I mean..." Your arms come up, folding over your chest. "You know, I was here last season, when you were dating that guy... Hulk Hogan."

It surprises a laugh out of her. "Yeah, Gary."

"You asked him out and it was... Different. I mean..." You can't think of how to say it. At last, you say, "Do you take me seriously?" No, that's not it. "I mean, are you just trying to hook up with me? Because, I..." You're starting to burn up again. You rub the back of your neck. "That's not the kind of... Listen, you're beautiful, and sexy, but that's not what it would—I mean, to me, it—"

"You're so cute when you're all shy," Melissa says, sounding equally mystified and amused. She stands. "Look... Maybe I did this all wrong." She circles the desk. "Kinda treated you like a piece of meat."

"Just a little bit," you say.

"I take you serious, hon." She doesn't cross the gap between you two, but mirrors your pose, leaning on the edge of her desk, arms crossed over her chest. "Look, Gare was a nice guy. But he didn't have, you know... He didn't make me wanna..."

You think of Gregory's metaphor. "Shake him like a chew toy?"

Another laugh. "Yeah, that. And I guess I felt... You know, I'd kinda uncorked the bottle, datin' him, when I thought all that part of my life was done, and when you were at my place the other night, you just looked so good, and I just wanted..."

You smile, eyes down. The cold uncertainty is trickling away and there's warmth pouring into the spaces it's left behind. "Okay," you say.

"Okay?"

When you look up, she's moved a little closer. You can smell her perfume again, warmed on her skin over the course of a long day. You've had the privilege of seeing her in detail, so many times: the fine, thin skin around her eyes, the creases at the corners of her mouth that forecast her smile, the tiny hint of gray growing in at her temples, the mellow warmth of her green gaze, the slope of her nose crooking slightly to her left. It's different with no lens between the two of you, when you're close enough to touch.

"Yeah, okay," she says to whatever she sees in your eyes. She lifts her chin and drops her gaze to your mouth. It's a clear request.

You answer it. You dip your head; there's a moment where your noses nearly bump, but you change your angle, catch her lips with yours. There's a tackiness from her lip gloss and an incredible softness underneath. The warmth of her almost shocks you, vivid past your imagining. Her hand pets at your jaw; you feel the other curl into the collar of your shirt. She pulls you closer by the fabric and you gasp.

You renew the kiss, lips sliding over hers. Your hand rubs down her lower back. You can feel the divot in her spine where it meets her pelvis, just above the generous curve of her ass. Before you can overthink it, your palm is gliding over that curve, your fingers digging into its lushness, Melissa gasping against your mouth as you squeeze.

"Oh," she says faintly when the kiss is over and you're catching your breath. "Huh." Her look is glazed and a little bewildered.

"I, um, I don't want to send mixed messages," you say, "but about Friday..."

"Friday?" she echoes.

"Yeah." You bite down on your smile, watching her try to remember what the hell you're talking about. "I was thinking... I know a few magic tricks of my own."

"Oh," she says again. You watch her eyes spark with understanding, her smile appear slowly, then all at once. "I guess you could come over and show me your stuff." Her hands tighten in your shirt and pull you back in for another kiss.

"Hey, gimme your phone," she says, much, much later, when you're wearing more of her lip gloss than she is. "I want to give ya my number." You don't think before you're unlocking it and passing it into her hands. She lowers her glasses from the top of her head to the bridge of her nose and thumbs her way around your phone, creating a contact for herself.

You have a flash of nerves—what if she opens your Instagram and sees all the stupid accounts you follow? A vision comes of her seeing all the dog-using-buttons-to-talk videos you've liked, her libido instantly withering... Then she's giving you back your phone and smirking at you, wiping at your lip with her thumb. "Might wanna stop in the bathroom before you get back to work, hon," she says.

When you leave her classroom, it's like floating; you've never felt so light. You stop in the bathroom and you wipe all the lip gloss off your smiling mouth. You catch yourself humming as you and Kai catch some footage of Ava pretending to organize game night, Gregory trying to involve himself, Janine admitting to a little competitive streak.

Your phone buzzes, chimes. "Sorry," you say to Janine and Pedro, who's leading the interview. You wait until you can lower the camera lens to check the notification. You always keep it silenced during the day—did Melissa turn the ringer on?

Italian Mama iMessage

Your face burns. You take a corner away from Pedro and unlock the phone.

Italian Mama You made me real happy

Your blush intensifies; something flutters in your chest. The phone vibrates in your hand as another message comes.

Italian Mama Don't know how I'm going to wait until Friday

The echo of your own thought in her words makes your heart flutter again. You bite your lower lip and type back, Me neither. An electric spark of daring moves you, makes you send her, Maybe I'll practice some magic just to make sure I'm on top of my game.

Is that too much? You hope not. You've basically made a sex appointment with her for Friday—sex appointment, you think, and wince at yourself, your own awkwardness; it's a date—and you don't—your breath hitches as three dots appear on your screen, showing that she's typing.

Italian Mama Oh yeah?

Italian Mama Better practice hard

You feel a pulse low in your belly. You're ready to type a little more flirtation when another message arrives and makes you gasp aloud, quickly clamping your hand over your mouth before Pedro or somebody else can hear you.

She's sent you a photo. It's herself pulling down the scoop neck of the hot pink blouse she's wearing today. You can see just the tip of her nose, her chin, the proud line of her soft neck, her freckled sternum, and, holy shit. She's showing you her breasts cradled in a bra made of black lace. And you stare. And you stare.

Italian Mama Little incentive for you

Your mouth is watering. You can see the rosy shadows of her nipples against the lace. You barely register yourself typing back, You're perfect.

Italian Mama Thought you'd like em

You're typing before you can stop yourself. All I'll be able to think about now is what I'm going to do to you.

Three dots appear, then disappear. Appear, then disappear. Your confidence wavers.

Italian Mama I want you to tell me

You've never imagined you'd be turned on in the halls of Abbott Elementary, but suddenly you're so aware of your cunt, you can't stand it. You're throbbing. You peer around the corner; Pedro isn't even looking your way, he's talking something over about the schedule with another producer. You have time. You glance up and down the hall; nobody except an aide going into a room at the far end.

Your fingers fly over the keys. If you stop to think, you'll psych yourself out, so you blurt out every thought, the iMessage equivalent of babbling—what you'd be doing in Melissa's ear if you could have her right now, in your arms, again...

You're so fucking sexy

I've thought about you so much

I touched myself thinking about you the other night

I'm going to kiss you until you go crazy and you're so turned on you can't take it

I'm going to undress you and I'm going to kiss every fucking inch of you

I'm going to play with you until you're begging

Do you like it rough or gentle?

Three dots.

Italian Mama Little of both

You're typing again in a flurry. You can feel your heart pounding, your breath coming in harder. You probably only have a couple minutes left to really make her feel it.

I'm going to be so gentle with you until you beg me to be rough

I want to bite you

Do you like being bitten?

Italian Mama Yeah

I know you do

On your neck, on your breasts

I'm going to bite your thighs before I eat you out

"Homie, you coming?" Pedro says, with the best and worst timing—and phrasing—he could possibly have.

"Yeah, one sec," you say, and you're proud of how your voice doesn't wobble at all. "Let me just send this. Sorry."

I have to get back to work

Italian Mama Fuck you

Italian Mama How am I supposed to teach like this

Italian Mama Come here and finish what you fuckin started

You laugh, breathless and surprised. You text her, YOU started it! If she hadn't sent you that picture... You scroll back up and look again. In the bit of her face you can see, she's smirking, because of course she is. The luscious curve of her breasts—you can almost feel them, what it would be like to drag your nose down between them, mouth at the soft skin...

Pedro's waiting. You send her a bunch of blowing-kiss emojis and put your phone away again. You're still buzzing with arousal, but you feel a strange satisfaction, knowing that Melissa is a few halls away, squirming behind her desk, thinking about all the promises you've made.

The day passes, somehow. It's a strange mixture of slow, syrupy boredom and electric, frenetic activity as more preparations are made for game night, and your phone periodically buzzes with another message from Melissa. Thankfully (for your pussy—you think it might fall off if it keeps aching like that), the two of you leave the subject of sex, and just talk.

She asks you your birthday, your favorite food. Where did you grow up? What's your favorite color? Each one makes you smile. You feel like you're on the receiving end of a Schemmenti interrogation, a mob boss with her goons behind her. You get her answers back in turn: July 19. (You respond in shock, You're a water sign??? and you can almost hear her voice when she dryly responds, I got no clue what that means, hon.) Pasta con sarde. Grew up here in South. Pink.

Your heart flutters with every new thing you learn. Even though you go home (and rub one out) alone, she's a presence with you, not just in your fantasies; you find you're texting her until you fall asleep, phone sliding out of your hand onto the bedspread. And when you wake up the next day, preceding your alarm by a bit, you find a text from her waiting for you, just a few minutes ago: Good morning, baby.

You levitate all the way through Thursday. You spot Melissa a few times that day, but it's a packed day for her two classes, so mostly it's in the hall as she marches lines of students to and fro. She gets you back for yesterday, though: pauses in the doorway of her classroom as she's filing the kids in after lunch, and gives you an up-and-down look of such searing intensity that your body heats, scalp to toes. She smirks before she vanishes into her room.

She makes you crazy. God, she's incredible. You're texting her every chance you both can get, though she's sparser while she's with the kids; it's all light stuff. Get lunch here today, she tells you, Shanae made beef patties, and when Shanae slips you a couple of golden-crusted pastries, you bite into them, smelling warm, floral curry, savory beef on your tongue, and think of how Melissa it is, feeding you from a distance.

That afternoon, just after dismissal, she calls, "Hey," to you from her classroom door. You try not to jump to attention. "I gotta do a lot of work," she says, playing with the strap of her Apple Watch, "or I'd ask you over, but..." Strangely, her eyes drop. It's a hint of shyness and it makes your heart patter, tenderness and affection for her pouring into your chest. "I was thinkin', why don't we go out and get, like, food or a drink or somethin' tomorrow? You know, before you come over."

"Okay," you say. Her eyes flick up and as soon as she sees your goofy grin, her shyness melts away, turns back into the smirking self-assuredness you're more familiar with.

"You pick the place," she says, knocking the wind out of you at once.

Oh, crap. You remember what it was like with her and Gary: he tried to take her to a shitty spot for their first date, and she flicked him away from her like a bug. She's challenging you, you think, asking to be impressed.

You can do that. Dark horse, right? "Okay," you repeat. "I'll pick."

She leans back against the doorframe. All at once she's in that lolling, casual, flirtatious posture that she assumes for you and only you, her face tilted up, gaze intimate and a little sly. "You headin' out? I get a goodbye kiss, or what?"

"Okay," you say a third time, and you can barely kiss her, you're smiling so widely. You take your fill of her, in every sense, one more time before you leave for the day, nerves and excitement and that thread of arousal all tangling together, like a knot of live wires.

You're texting her later, because of course you're texting her later. Do you want it to be a surprise?

Italian Mama I dunno

Italian Mama Surprises never seem to work out for me

That gives you a little twinge. You find yourself running the tip of your finger up and down the side of your phone, the way you'd touch her hand or her cheek, if you could. How about just this one? you ask. And if you hate it, I'll never surprise you again?

You wish you could see her face. It would help you know if she's resigned or wary or scared. You don't want her to be antsy or nervous going into tomorrow; you want her to feel like she makes you feel: like you've got balloons and not bones, like a wind could catch you and carry you off, you're so light and so happy.

Italian Mama Ok

Italian Mama I'm gonna trust ya

It makes your heart do its now-familiar flutter in your chest. It's like there's a bird in there, some delicate fledgling thing eager to start flying. It wants to soar, holding its precious cargo: Melissa Schemmenti's trust.

The next day. Friday. Friday. Somehow, the school day rockets past you. Game night preparations have gone disastrously, and it's time for a patented Ava save, with the help of Janine and Gregory.

"Wow, who could've guessed," Kai mutters to you, and fidgets in the pocket you know holds his vape.

Your hand fidgets in your own pocket, around your phone. You and Mel exchanged good morning texts, a few kiss emojis, promises to meet up before dismissal to solidify your plans, but you haven't had a chance to see her at all.

"I don't know," you say, "I think they'll get it figured out."

"I think she's probably going to use it to mine Bitcoin somehow," Kai says.

Honestly, that sounds plausible. You shake your head anyway and make an excuse and scoot past Pedro. He's not encouraging Ava to stream game night live on Instagram, per se, but everybody knows that will guarantee some Coleman-style silliness, so he needs to get her there somehow. (Can you mine Bitcoin through Instagram?)

You don't need to send any directions to your feet; they're already walking you toward the second grade classrooms. Mel doesn't have lunchroom duty today, so you know she'll probably be catching up on two classes' worth of quizzes, or restocking art supplies, or prepping the next lesson's props and tools. Her door is shut and you peek in through the window.

She's writing on the whiteboard, looking back and forth from a worksheet in her hand, glasses on her nose. You knock. When she sees you, the narrow-eyed look of interrupted concentration melts away; she gives you a smile that shows her teeth, the kind that changes her whole face, turning her girlish, almost a little goofy. It makes your heart melt.

You open the door. "Hey," you say as she puts her glasses on top of her head and caps the marker. Being in the room with her, after not seeing her all morning, feels like coming out of the cold to a blazing fire. "Uh, hi. You look beautiful today." Then, for the third time, stupidly, adoringly, "Hi."

"You missed me, huh?" she says, putting down the marker and paper. "C'mere."

As soon as you're in grabbing distance, she takes two handfuls of your ass and pulls you in for a kiss. You're lost in it for long, long seconds.

She pulls back after giving your lower lip a bite that makes you squeak. She tucks her hands squarely in the back pockets of your jeans, holding you against her. "You look beautiful today too."

"Thanks," you say, barely registering the compliment, the way you're chasing more contact, kissing the corner of her mouth, nosing at her cheek. She's so warm in your arms. She's wearing one of her tough-girl outfits, a blazer and matching top in military green, and you sneak your hand under the jacket, finding a little stripe of bare skin between her shirt and her slacks. You touch her there with a teasing trace of your fingernail.

She shivers. Is she sensitive on her lower back? You file it away to investigate later tonight. The thought of being able to have her all to yourself tonight—hours and hours—sends sparks skipping through you. You have to kiss her again.

"You think it's unprofessional, doin' this at work?" Mel asks you breathlessly when you part again.

"I don't know," you say, "but whatever Gregory and Janine have been doing is worse, kind of."

"Yeah, that's for sure," Melissa says, and gives you a third kiss; this time, the delicate muscle of her tongue laps at you, little frissons of heat that go right between your legs.

"I came to talk about dinner," you say at last, when you think you can survive without kissing her.

"Oh, yeah," Mel says, "right. What am I wearin'?"

"Uh..." You hadn't considered it. You're just going in your usual date outfit—a button-up, a nice pair of trousers. "Business casual?"

"Okay, easy. Do I get a hint where we're goin'?" One eyebrow goes up. Her gaze acquires a competitive glint, one you've seen a hundred times through your camera. "I bet I can guess it."

"Here's your hint," you say, "it's not Italian."

"Smart cookie," Melissa says, which leads you both into another kiss, and then another. "It ain't a sandwich shop, is it?"

"No," you say, "I can't beat cousin Rocco."

"Soul food," she says.

"No. I'll come pick you up, is that okay?"

"Yeah, come, like, at five. I gotta change and do my face and stuff." She leans back, giving you a squint-eyed look of scrutiny. "Tell me it ain't French."

"It ain't," you promise, and seal it with a kiss. "I have to go. I'm pretending to be in the bathroom."

"Oh, shit," she says, eyes going wide, "we gotta catch up on this freakin' math unit and I forgot, I haven't peed in, like—"

"Go, go," you say with a laugh, letting her extract her hands from your pockets.

When you return, Kai narrows his eyes at you. You shrug at him and you're ready to get back to work, when he reaches across and plucks something off your shoulder: a single red hair. Crap.

"Damn," he says. "Dark horse."

"What's up?" Pedro glances over at you two. Fuck, you don't know if you can take his teasing today—you know he'll want all the details, and you love him, but you want to just get through work and get to Melissa...

"Nothing," Kai says, and drops the hair. He gives you a nod.

You nod back, warmth and gratitude making you smile. He doesn't smile back—you don't think you've ever seen him smile, actually—but you think you see the corner of his mouth curve up, just a little, as he peers into his camera.

Dismissal, a quick goodbye kiss with Melissa, home to get ready. You're normally an all-black kind of girl—it's just easy—but you pause in your closet and find a pink button-up. It's a mellow, soft shade, the same color as a silky blouse you've seen Melissa wear.

You put on your cologne, you style your hair. You look at yourself in the mirror. It’s funny: this is the same face you’ve always had, but three days of Melissa have done something to you. Your eyes look larger, softer; there’s a smile on your lips, small but persistent, that’s been there all day.

You haven’t always been lucky with women. You have love in your heart—God, a lot of it. Sometimes it feels like the water of an ancient lake, going down almost infinitely deep, and yet somehow about to overflow. You spent years going around offering it to anyone who would take it, and once they’d drunk their fill, they just moved on, satisfied, never giving a thought to you, never thinking you might want something back, even just gratitude.

So you pulled away. You just hurt too easily: keep them at arm’s length, never close enough to bruise. The quiet one, the shy one; that’s who you became over time, knowing that if you gave out of your abundance, you’d only be depleted. No one’s ever filled your cup.

You find yourself chewing your lip, staring at yourself. You want this to be different. You want this to be something else. Can it be?

You park your car in front of Melissa’s and find yourself wondering: text, or knock? You’re starting to get out of the car when the front door opens, and a rush of surprise and pleasure comes at the thought of Melissa waiting, watching for you. Then your breath catches hard in your throat.

She’s wearing a little red dress that… “Wow,” you say, before she’s even close enough to hear. The square neck of the dress is cut lower than her usual wear, and shows an abundance of skin that makes your mouth water. There’s a princessy quality to the cap sleeves, a delicate detail that’s perfect for Melissa: blazing, challenging red, with a hint of sweetness. The hem stops just above her knees. The fabric shows her body in intimate detail, the delicate rounding of her stomach and the flare of her hips, straining across the perfect shape of her thighs.

Her hair is down. Even late in the day it has a bit of curl. Her green eyes are like gemstones in the early evening light. Her heels have got to be four inches, but she walks with the steadiness of a queen. She’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.

You circle the car to get the passenger side door. “Hey,” she says, surprised, coming closer, “it’s pink,” and touches your sleeve. It’s not even contact with your skin, barely contact, period, but it sends tingles up and down your arm. “That’s my favorite color.”

“Yeah, I know,” you say, grinning like a fool.

Her eyes drop—that hint of shyness again, that tenderness that makes your heart strain against your chest, trying to reach her—before they flick back up. “How do I look?”

“I could look at you for hours,” you tell her honestly.

"I'd kiss ya, but you'd mess up my face," she says. "Here, you get one." She turns and offers her cheek.

You're smiling as you lean down to kiss the offered skin. She's soft and warm, and you get the powdery scent of her makeup, the richness of her perfume.

"Now, c'mon, feed me," she says, and you laugh and open her door.

You drive. She's exactly the kind of passenger you expected: "Hey, check it," every time she sees a car nosing out past a stop sign, or "On your left," when you're trying to merge. "Hey," she barks when somebody cuts you off, a gesticulating, accusatory hand in the air, "cazzo, you wanna watch where you're fuckin' going?"

Melissa. Abrasive, loud, bossy, and you don't feel bulldozed at all. You feel charmed. The smile won't leave your face. You don't know if she could be more herself than right now, in your ancient Volvo, wearing the sexiest outfit you've ever seen on her, looking simultaneously bold and delicate and delicious, and hollering out the window like an angry truck driver.

She's checking her phone as you pull up outside the restaurant, and doesn't look up again until you're opening her door. "Oh," she says, surprised, looking at the place: it's a red brick building, no sign; just a single hanging red lantern beside a white door. You can see her trying to puzzle it out, glancing at you and back to the door.

"It's a bar," you explain. You open the door to your favorite izakaya. Low, golden light and warmth spill out with the Jrock playing over the speaker system.

Melissa cocks her head and looks at you curiously. You only notice that her hand's in her clutch purse when she draws it out again; you hear the rattle of her keys dropping back to the bottom. "Thought you might'a been about to take my other kidney," she says. "I was gonna fight ya."

You blink. It's one of those Melissa-isms, delivered in her dry voice, that you think might be a joke, but it might not be, either. "I wouldn't win if you did."

"You sure as hell wouldn't, baby," she says, and lets you hold the door for her as she steps inside.

You love this place. It feels a bit like your first apartment after you left home, a lot of exposed brick, shoddy white paneling creating an accent wall, and decor that's a little vintage, a little silly: a big, ornate mirror that might have once decorated a cheap theater, brass sconces for lights, Gojira posters in the style of classic ukiyo-e. There's booths on one side of the room and a mirrored bar on the other, with a wall of sake and Japanese whisky.

The hostess recognizes you, waves hi, gestures toward the room for you to seat yourself. It won't start filling up until a little later, so you have your pick of the booths; you take the side that puts your back to the door, letting Melissa have the sightline to the exit.

The low light flatters her. Any light flatters her, but there's something about the dim, intimate, golden warmth of it that makes you stare as she studies the menus, first the drinks, then the food; her eyelashes cast delicate shadows on her cheek, the curve of her lips carving lines there.

She looks up and catches you. The thoughtful twist of her mouth turns into a smirk. The question, though, isn't what you were expecting. "What made you pick here?"

Huh. "I..." You rub the back of your neck, dropping your gaze. "I really like it." That's a start, but not all of it. "I thought you might not have this kind of food all the time. I never see you eating it and I wanted you to have a nice change. And..."

"I come here alone a lot." You shrug. "I have... Good memories here." They are good memories: people-watching, trying new drinks and food, chats with the bartenders, a karaoke night where you fell in with a group of laughing, drunk women who all worked at the same office, who tried to persuade you to bar-hop with them until last call.

But it's always been you, alone; sometimes folded in with somebody else out of goodwill, sometimes noticed for your familiar face and your generous tips, spared a few more minutes of a busy mixologist's time, but always a separation, a glass wall between you and the rest of the room. No one's been on this side of it with you before.

"I wanted you to have a good memory," you say, finally. "I wanted to share it with you."

You glance at Melissa. She's watching you with a look you recognize. It's the one she gave you that night at her house—just earlier this week, but it feels like a lifetime ago. It's tender and intent. It's encouraging. Like she's watching a flower bloom.

"It's already a good memory for me, hon," Melissa says. Something nudges your ankle. It's her foot in its killer heel, gently insinuating between both of yours. You feel her knee against yours, your calves aligned together. She smiles at you. "We're here together."

Your heart does one of its aerial flips.

"You sure get shy for somebody who was talkin' about suckin' my tits before, though," she says.

You choke on nothing. Your face and ears burn. She laughs, her head dropping back, the light glinting on her saints' medals.

"Biting," you squeak, when you can get air. "We were talking about biting."

"Biting," she says, "right. How come you can say all that to me but you're nervous tellin' me you like a bar?"

It's not a bad question. You trace the grain of the wooden tabletop for a second or two, eyes down. "I'm used to giving other people what they like," you say. "I don't mean—it's not that I was lying or faking. No way. I meant it, I mean it, everything I say to you. So much, Melissa." You dart a look up to make sure she understands. "I mean, it's easy for me... For other people, I can express..."

Her hand finds yours on the table and stills it. Her manicured finger gently swipes along the curve below your thumb, down to the sensitive inner skin of your wrist, and traces slowly there, back and forth. She's giving you that look again, gentle and focused and intimate. "I get it," she says simply.

A rush of relief fills you, settling the rattle of your anxious nerves. You turn your hand over and hers settles into yours.

The server appears for your drink orders. You order the house sake, and Melissa says, "Yeah, me too." With your small glasses of sake, the two of you pore over the menu, picking a few things Melissa knows, a few things she's never had before.

The first few plates come out: shumai, hamachi, a bowl of spicy pickle. She gets pieces of toro, unagi, and salmon, and you get a roll and a plate of chashu buns. She gives those a look of pure lust.

"Take one," you say, and push the plate toward her.

She doesn't hesitate. At her first bite, she lets out a guttural moan that goes right between your thighs. You're suddenly much more aware of her ankle still caught between both of your own.

"You think I could get this recipe?" she says of the chashu after the bun has vanished.

"I think you can get whatever you want." Especially from you, especially if she keeps making those noises.

"I sure can," she says with a flirtatious bat of her eyelashes.

You've seen Melissa eat before, scraping the last bite of salad out of a tupperware or sipping from a Stanley Tucci mug, but it's different like this, sharing a meal. You love watching her small, plump hands with her chopsticks, her drinks; you love her expressive eyes, the way they widen or flutter shut at a perfect bite. Everything she tries she makes you try—insistent, "Here, you taste," like you're not the one who's had the whole menu before, and you oblige, trying to taste it for the first time, like her, letting each one blossom over your tongue, letting yourself fall under her spell.

The bar is packed by the time you're through and she's nibbled her way through a couple of frozen mochi. "We gotta come back here," she declares as the two of you leave, hand in hand. "I wanna try more. You got good taste."

"Yeah, I do," you say, looking at her. It's full dark now, but the streetlights and the moon illuminate her, outlining her red hair in silver, the shape of her hips.

"You gonna take me home now?" she says. She moves closer. "You made a lotta promises, you know."

"I know." Your hands settle on her hips. She tilts her head up; you catch her lips, tasting the plum wine you two shared. It's your first real kiss of the night, and she's mellow, soft, delicious. Still, you tell her, "We don't have to, tonight. I want to, but I don't want you to think..."

"I know," she says, and gives you another kiss. "If I thought you were buyin' dinner to make me put out, I would'a had way more food." Another kiss. "Come on, let's go. Or maybe you don't wanna get lucky?"

You drive back to Melissa's place, her hand on your thigh the whole way. Back over the welcome mat that reads GO AWAY, into the picture-lined place where it all started over a glass of wine.

Melissa takes your coat and her own and gives you her back, hanging them up in a closet by the front door. "I can get you another drink," she's saying, but all you can see is the back of her dress: the silver line of the zipper running from collar to hem, almost invisible.

You move closer and she stiffens when she feels you there, your chest to her back. You gather her hair, move it aside. Above the collar of the dress you can see the line of her nape and the muscle where her neck and her shoulder join. You lean down and kiss it.

Breathing in, you can smell her perfume again, her makeup again. Now, her skin. It's a scent you couldn't begin to describe, something living and animal and sensuous. And her hair: warm, intimate, a little bit of hairspray. You kiss the side of her neck.

"You have no idea," you say quietly. You nose against the shell of her ear. Its soft cartilage is cold from the night air outside, but warming quickly, flushing pink as you kiss it. "You have no idea how gorgeous you are. You don't know what you've been doing to me."

You lift your hands and find the tongue of the zipper. Her breath hitches. You slowly draw it down. The rasp of it is loud between your bodies.

The band of her bra. Red lace. Down her back to the luscious curvature of her hips. You're holding your breath. Her panties are red lace, too, a high-waisted thong that hugs her belly and hips but, oh, fuck: leaves her ass almost totally fucking bare. Of course, in that clinging dress. Couldn't risk panty lines.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you say, and slide the dress fully off her body. It's a puddle of red fabric on the floor. You push her chest-first against the closet door and drop to your knees.

"Oh my God," she says weakly as you hold her hips and kiss your way up the back of one thigh, then the other. The flesh here is dimpled with cellulite, a mark of her perfect abundance. You nose over the curve of her ass and bite one cheek and she squeaks and gives a weak, "Huh," afterward, like she'd surprised herself, and you bite the other cheek and her hips rock back into you.

She's still in her heels. You're starting to smell her sex. You think about having her bend over and put her hands against the door and let you eat her from behind until her knees shake and give out. Fuck, you want to, but you've been making promises; you have plans.

You straighten back up, brushing kisses up the line of her spine. "I want to see your bedroom."

"Fuck," she says dizzily. "Okay. Uh..." She starts to step away from the closet door and for the first time all night, she wobbles in her heels. She gives a little growl of frustration that's so Melissa you can't help but laugh, making her glower your way as she toes out of the shoes.

She leads you up to her bedroom. The big bed is made, but there are plenty of signs of life: the vanity against one wall, scattered with makeup; the bedside table with a dog-eared book and a pair of her glasses; there's a bra tossed over the cracked closet door.

She turns to face you, unself-conscious, and grabs you for another kiss, deep, dirty, her tongue licking into your mouth. "Can't believe you wore my favorite color," she says breathlessly, and starts fumbling with the buttons of your shirt. "God, you look so hot."

Your shirt's halfway open when you get your mouth on her neck. She groans, hands loosening on the fabric. Soft, right along the line of her jaw, under her chin, down her throat where you feel a moan vibrate through the skin. "Harder," she says.

You stay soft. The hollow of her throat, her clavicle. You nose one strap of her bra. She whines, "Harder," and grips your hair.

"I told you," you say. "I'm going to make you beg." She gasps. Your cunt pulses. You wonder if the same thing happened in her classroom that day, if she sat at her desk squirming, little hitches of her breath betraying her.

You squeeze her ass and she sways into you. Your hands shape her hips, up her sides, over her back, feeling the landscape of it, the valley of her spine. You trace the band of her bra. It's so pretty, you almost don't want to take it off.

"Where's your vibrator?" you ask.

"Huh?"

"Your vibrator," you patiently repeat, and lean back. You see in her eyes when it clicks. She leans away from you toward the nightstand, pulling open the top drawer. Inside, there's a pack of melatonin gummies, a lavender and chamomile room spray, a mini bottle of Jack Daniels, and a hot pink wand vibrator. Her sleep aid drawer, you realize.

You pick up the toy. It has a good weight, and the silicone is almost as soft as her skin. You find the power button, click it on, and cycle with a few presses through the three strength settings. You settle back on the first one and test it against the inside of your wrist, feeling the rumble against the sensitive skin there.

You look up again and Melissa's sitting on the edge of the bed. She's breathing hard, staring at you, and she's blushing.

"Lay back against the pillows for me, baby."

She scoots back, gives you a challenging look, and spreads her legs. You can really smell her, a thick, rich, saline scent that makes your mouth water. The drawer's still open and you spot a small bottle of lube; you take it out just in case, then slide the drawer shut.

"You gonna get naked?" she says as you join her on the bed.

"Not yet," you say and kiss her again. And again. The vibrator sits on the mattress, turned off, and you want to make her forget it's there. You take your time, licking at the serrated edge of her teeth, sucking on her lower lip until she's whimpering.

You couldn't have imagined that sound coming from Melissa Schemmenti. You chase it, have to have it again. Her lipstick is smeared, almost gone. She keeps tugging on your hair as you kiss her, starting to squirm beneath you, saying things like "More," and "Harder," but not please—not yet.

She slides down against the pillows, laying herself more fully under your body, and the motion makes the vibrator roll down the mattress to bump her side. Her breath speeds up all over again, and her eyes flick from it to you.

You pick up the toy and click it on. "Keep your legs spread."

"Oh, fuck yes," Melissa says, then whines aloud when you touch the vibrator not to her clothed pussy, but to the inner crease of her thigh. "Fuck, c'mon."

"C'mon, what?" You trail the vibrator up the inside of her thigh, toward her knee, and back down again.

"You know—" her breath stutters when you switch legs. "You know what I want."

"And you know what I want."

That makes her moan. Her head drops back, her chest heaving. You lean down to kiss her sternum, to finally nose against one perfect breast, the way you've hungered for it since that photo. The lace of her bra scratches your cheek. You can feel her nipple through the cup, taut against the fabric. You bring the vibrator up and tease its rumbling head over that peak, making her shudder, then replace it with your mouth, letting her feel the heat and wet, just barely, still separated from you by her bra.

"God, fuck," she says, "fuck you," and you switch breasts, teasing her other nipple to aching stiffness. You nuzzle the skin that her bra offers up, the plump perfect roundness of her breast, part your lips, drag your teeth over it. She's so soft here, so much, and it's perfect. Your hand drops with the vibrator and you trace it over her hip toward her sex, making her squirm, as you busy yourself with soft bites and sucks.

You change your angle a little, propping a hand against the pillows so you can lean over her. Your body casts a shadow and her green eyes look up at you from beneath it, somehow both pleading and mutinous. You idle the vibrator back up along the waistband of her underwear and then slowly down toward her cunt, playing it over the plumpness of her mons.

"Fuck," she says, "fucking fuck you, okay, please," and you smile. "Please, I said please, will you fucking please—"

You bring the wand down over her pussy. Her head rolls back and she groans, starting to squirm. "Pull down your bra for me," you say.

"What?" Her voice, face, are foggy and vague, but after a few seconds she understands, lifting her hands to tug down the bra's cups, showing you her perfect breasts. They're begging for your mouth, and you promised her you'd give her what she wanted when she begged, didn't you?

You drop your head. Kiss over one breast, then the other. Mouth at the flesh—so fucking soft, so good against your lips, sucked into the wetness of your mouth. The tops of her breasts have a small scattering of freckles that you have to dust in turn with adoring kisses. Her hard nipple brushes your cheek and you draw it past your lips as you trace the wand vibrator up and down, from her clit to the entrance of her cunt, back again, never letting it linger.

You switch to her other nipple, leaving her breast damp and reddened from your mouth. Her head tosses back and forth against the pillows as she whines, squirms, moans, says, "Fuck," and, voice breaking a little, "You're still fuckin' teasin' me—please, please, I said it, please—"

The words, her need, are electricity surging straight to your aching clit. Your voice is a rasp to match her own when you lift your head and breathe in her ear, "You sound so good like this, Melissa." She gives a broken whimper. "You're so perfect. I'll give you more. I promise. I'll take care of you. Take your panties off for me, sweetheart."

With a grateful sob she lifts her hips and shoves her underwear down her thighs, no further. You flash on that fantasy you had of her, getting off after a school day, slacks and panties around her knees as she fucked herself. Looks like you were right.

"You might need," she starts to say, but you're already reaching across to pick up the bottle of lube. You click off the vibrator and let her watch you drip the lube over your fingers, slicking them up. She's panting harder and harder just watching you.

With your other hand freed from the vibrator, you can pull the thong all the way off her legs, leaning back on your knees to do it. You push one thigh then the other wide apart. Her pussy is plump and gorgeous, red and swollen, her own wetness gleaming from between her spread labia. You add to it: the softest touch of your fingertips against her sex, trailing up and around the peak of her clit, not touching it directly.

She makes a noise you can barely describe, a groan of misery and arousal and desperation. Sliding your fingers back down toward the heat of her cunt, slipping one slowly inside, watching her as you do it. Her eyelashes flutter, her lips parting. Once you're sure she's wet enough, you add a second finger. The lube and her own gathering wetness makes a slick, dirty sound as you begin to stroke inside her, all delicacy, all torment.

"Oh, fuck," she says, "don't stop, Jesus Christ, please, don't stop, I need it, I, I..." Now she's babbling, the way she's made you do, one hand fisted in the bed covers, the other grabbing your wrist. "I need it so bad, I need you to fuck me, I've been waitin', please..."

"You've been waiting?" It occurs to you that this version of Melissa, already begging, might be willing to tell you some embarrassing truths. "How long?"

"Since we met," she gasps. "Since—oh, fuck..."

Since you met? That was the very first day of shooting—getting all the establishing shots, the very first moments and interviews. She intimidated you—her and Barbara both did—but Barbara, at least, gave a little, showed a bit of herself to the camera. You remember how Melissa was, arms folded over her chest, cool and hostile with Pedro as he tried to coax her out, get her to introduce herself.

Her eyes had moved from him to you, looking past the camera. "You Sicilian?" she'd asked you. She smiled at you that day and it transformed her sullen, cagey face, turned her, however momentarily, sweet. "Italian?" she'd continued, then her eyes darted from you to Pedro, over to the boom mic guy, trying to get a read on all of you. "You from South?" Her smile vanished. Her voice tightened up again: "Okay, you guys workin' with the cops? 'Cause you gotta tell me."

You reward her for the honesty with a press of your palm against her clit. Her hips jerk up. "I remember that day."

Her head drops back again, her eyes squeezing shut. The words leave her in a breathless rush: "You were so cute'n I hated the cameras but whenever you were there I would just—and you were always so, you were gentle, and—I always knew when you were lookin' at me—"

"I was looking at you every chance I got." You watch her face as you begin to ease a third finger inside her. This one has to burn a little; you can feel her body, resistant at first, starting to stretch to take it, and you don't push; you wait to see her eyes open again, their needy, yielding look. She lets go of the covers to grab one leg under her knee and pull it wider apart to help you. You add a little more lube, just in case, not wanting to hurt her.

"I was always looking at you, Melissa." She stares up at you. There's a crease between her brows, her swollen lips parted; she looks stunned, overwhelmed, face pink, as you slide that third finger inside her.

"I was always looking at you," you repeat, and begin to gently fuck her. Her cunt opens for you and desperately clenches against your fingers, grasping and irregular, trying to keep you. "You're so beautiful. I always wanted you. I thought you were the sexiest, meanest—" that surprises a panting laugh from her—"woman I'd ever seen. You were so smart, so funny—you protected everyone, and you took care of everybody—" her eyes squeeze shut. "Let me take care of you now."

You reach over and pick up the vibrator. You click it on. Her eyes open again at the sound of its buzz. You press the button again, then a third time, bringing it to its strongest setting. Melissa's eyes are huge. She's panting, staring, knowing what you're about to do, and the look of vulnerability and desire on her face, her smeared lipstick, her messy hair, she's perfect, so perfect, and you need to make her come now.

"I need it," you tell her, holding her gaze. "I need it. Let me feel it, Melissa." You bring the vibrator to her swollen, begging clit.

A moment of nothing but her breath caught in her chest and her wide-eyed gaze on yours. Her pussy clamps down around your fingers and you feel the ripples of her orgasm start before she drops her head back and gives a wounded, animal cry.

You chase the waves of her climax, fucking her through them, coaxing them toward you; you rub the head of the vibrator along her slippery clit. Her head tosses back and forth on the pillow like it's too much, but her hand still grasps your wrist, keeping you right where you are, and her hips are working, riding your fingers.

"I can't," she starts saying when she can heave a breath back into her lungs, "I can't, I can't, oh, please—" you click the vibrator off and throw it aside; it nearly rolls off the mattress. You spread the lips of her pussy wide and you lean down and bite one shaking thigh, then the other, then seal your lips over her swollen, tender clit.

Fuck the vibrator: this is your new favorite toy. You play with it and play with it and Melissa comes again, or keeps coming, you're not sure which. One leg goes over your shoulder and her hips twitch and writhe until you have to hold her down.

"Oh my G—oh my God, oh, baby," then, just chanting over and over again, like you could ever tell her no again, like you can deny her anything in the world: "Please, please, please..."

Anything she wants. The whole fucking world, if it were yours to give. You suck and lick at her cunt as her hands find your hair and yank.

How long can she go for? How many times can you make her come? You want to know. You want to fuck her until she faints. But that's not for tonight—not without planning, not without her consent—so when she starts making airy noises that are weak and almost pained, you ease off, slowing your mouth and fingers, letting her come down.

You rub her hips and thighs and her soft belly, and give light kisses to the mound of her pubis. She stops pulling on your hair, grip going slack at first; then, as she comes back into herself by slow degrees, she scratches her nails gently against your scalp.

Kisses for her stomach, her ribs. "Here, baby," you whisper, and reach under her body; she lifts up so you can unhook her bra, sticky fingers brushing her skin. You ease it off and drop it to wherever her panties went. She's nude under you now, flushed all over, body loose and relaxed against the mattress; you pet every inch of her you can reach.

You cup her cheek. Her head turns into the contact. There's sweat gleaming along her hairline and her upper lip. Her eyes, mascara and liner blurred, open to meet yours; her gaze is bleary at first, then sharpens.

You expect another fuck-you, or a joke, or even a "thanks, I needed that," but what she says is, "Now you sit on my face."

Your mind whites out. It's possible you forget the English language for a second or two. When you're back from wherever your soul departed to, she's pulling on the buttons of your shirt, brow knit and wearing an impatient little scowl, yanking the last ones open. "What?" you say weakly.

"I said," Melissa says, fully herself again, no longer the begging, needy, squirming creature of minutes ago, "now you sit on my face. C'mon. Get this off." She grabs the buckle of your belt and works the tongue out of it with a metallic clink.

"I," you say, "I," and she drags your trousers down your legs. You have to lean back off her to get them and your underwear all the way off. Your shirt still hangs open, showing your bra, your bare stomach. She leans up to kiss your sternum with an open mouth, tongue flickering hot against your skin.

"I told you," she growls against your neck, "to sit on my fuckin' face," and there's no more of anything in your world but her, you scrambling up onto your knees, spread wide, her sliding down the bed to get under your cunt.

You falter for a moment; she grabs your hips and yanks you down. There's no playing, no teasing. She drags the flat of her tongue up the folds of your pussy and takes your clit into her mouth and sucks. Her green eyes are open and staring up at you and you see your own dazed pleasure reflected in them.

It takes about five embarrassing seconds before you come in her mouth. She moans loudly against you and tries to hold you where you are, but your legs are shaking badly; imagine if you broke her nose the first night, God—you lift one knee so you can get off of her and drop onto your back.

She follows you. Clambers on top of you intently but unsteadily, still wobbling from her own orgasms, and kisses sloppily down your stomach to get back to your pussy.

"Melissa—" you're gasping, and she's putting her tongue inside you, angling her head to get it in as far as she can. She licks, sucks, wraps her arms around your hips and holds you against her as you try to buck away. The wet noises of her mouth against your cunt are obscene.

You come again, and maybe one more time, you're not sure; your mind blanks again. When you can think, feel, process again, she's giving little kitten licks to your sensitive sex that send shudders up your whole body.

"Okay," you say. Your throat hurts a little—how much noise were you making? You clear it. "Okay. You win." You tap out on the mattress like a boxer. She's wearing a look of supreme satisfaction as she lets you go, her face covered in slick wetness, her makeup a disaster, her hair a messy tangle. She's so beautiful. Your heart does a now-familiar backflip.

She crawls up your body and flops onto her side next to you, curling onto your chest. There's long minutes of just you two breathing, the sound filling the room, a tingling starting in your pussy that you know is the herald of after-sex soreness, her damp fingertips tracing idly on your skin.

You start to smooth out her hair. It'll take a shower and a comb to really fix—maybe you'll suggest it. You trail your fingers down and follow the freckled curve of her shoulder, the roll of flesh on her side along her ribs, the dip of her waist before it opens onto the perfect field of her hips and ass.

Her eyes flick up to yours. They're softer and happier than you've ever seen them; the look on her face is gentle and content. You bring your questing hand up to cup her cheek. She kisses your thumb.

"I'm hungry again," she declares.

A laugh bursts out of you, full of affection. "What?" she says, clearly about to be offended, but before she can go any further, you pull her fully into your arms, wrap around her and squeeze.

You press your face into her neck and inhale, smelling her sweat and skin and sex. "You're perfect for me," you say into that warm curve, muffled against her skin. "You're just perfect." You peck a kiss onto her jaw and lean back to touch her cheek again. "Should we make something? Do you want pasta?"

She grins at you. It's that big, Cheshire smile you saw on her face a few days ago, telling Barbara about how she shot her shot, full of preening satisfaction. She leans in and brushes your nose with hers.

"I knew I picked right," she says, simply, happily. She laces her fingers with yours. "Come on, I got a robe you could wear. You like carbonara?"

She leads you off the rumpled bed. You can see you've left a blurry pink bite mark on one cheek of her perfect ass. She brings you a fuzzy shortie robe ("I like your legs, baby, lemme see 'em") and puts on a silk one herself, and takes your hand again as she opens the bedroom door.

You feel good. You're happy. You realize as she brings you to the kitchen, to the very heart of her home, that you're not alone anymore.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Author's Note:

I received the following prompt from an anonymous reader on Tumblr:

"can you write some fluffy smut for Mel x reader where everyone thinks Mel would be in charge in the bedroom because she’s so tough and reader is so shy. but actually reader takes care of Mel."

Back when Season 2 was airing, I saw a few fan posts saying that Lisa Ann had suggested there was a cameraperson on the crew that Melissa thought was cute, which led to the rare scenes where Melissa opens up to the camera. I'm not sure if this is accurate to what she said, but that idea has stuck with me. When I received the above prompt, it went into a blender with that thought, and this is the smoothie that resulted.

I hope I've done justice to this lovely prompt!

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti #as an FYI: this is my longest fic yet and may be easiest to read on AO3 :)

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heliza24 · 3 months

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Wow, so much happened and got set up in that episode! I really liked how layers and stakes were added to each PC’s conflict, in a way that made them more complicated than we could have predicted after last week’s ep. There was really an unexpected twist for each character. Adaine’s economic conflict (and by extension, conflict around whether she trusts Aelwyn or Jawbone or neither to help) now has huge consequences for her grades, which she values highly and seemed like a thing that would never be in question. Fig now has an artistic rival, who is challenging her cool kid status and confidence. We knew she had academic trouble, but her standing as a rockstar didn’t seem in doubt— but now it is. We anticipated that Fabian would be dealing with some degree of neglect, but that he would take advantage of his empty house to party (and to maybe get some kisses in, his new crush is so cute) until his teacher specifically tells him that won’t be allowed. We anticipated Gorgug having difficulty balancing his majors, but we didn’t expect him to be barred from multiclassing at all, and possibly being forced to pick between the class gifted to him by his biological versus adopted parents. We knew Riz was going to be stressed about keeping the group together, but we didn’t know he was going to be handed a whole rival adventuring party in the form of the Rat Grinders, and that conversation with Jawbone once again highlighted how much he is refusing to be vulnerable about how difficult this year is really going to be. We knew that Kristen needed to get her academics and relationship with Cassandra sorted, but we (or at least I!) didn’t expect to see her parents and to have her brother back in her orbit at school. (I really loved that scene.)

And of course the biggest surprise, for us and the PCs I would imagine— Kalina is back! I am *fascinated* by this choice. I think it’s another example of Brennan bucking the traditional adventure story format- once you defeat a villain they’re supposed to stay dead. So I’m really interested in how he’s going to weave her in to this story. What’s her purpose when she’s no longer a big bad?

I do really like how all of the conflicts connect both the PC’s home life and school life, and raise questions about their blood and chosen families. I think the most challenging thing about this season— especially if no big bad, driving quest emerges— will be making the whole thing feel thematically cohesive. Even if each of the bad kids are on their own arc, I want to feel like their stories complement and illuminate each other. That feels like a pretty big challenge with all that’s being set up, but I think they can definitely pull it off. I’m excited to see what unfolds next!

#dimension 20 #d20 #fantasy high junior year #fantasy high #d20 fhjy #my meta #after ep story thoughts time

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demontouched · 2 months

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i've posted a lot about kristen because she and her religion are a very big, very impactful part of fantasy high, and her decisions have an immense amount of influence on where the bad kids go and what they do. that being said, my favorite character is fig. emily has somehow perfected the alt lesbian high school rock star who wears her heart on her sleeve and is unabashedly supportive of her friends and family. it's highly specific, but i feel it's a what i want to be when i grow up. but like. less of the disguise self and skateboarding away.

#fhjy #fhjy spiolers #fantasy high #d20 fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #fantasy high spoilers #fantasy high junior year spoilers

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janeyseymour · 23 days

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Bruises

for @sleep-deprived-athlete 🤍

Summary: you come into Abbott looking like absolute hell. Melissa is worried.

WC: ~2.55k

You really hadn’t meant to get all bruised up at the Rugby game on Saturday- but the sport was tough, and you were by no means a player who would give up a play because you were afraid to get a little scuffed up.

Maybe a little scuffed up was an understatement, if you’re being honest. Your jaw is a beautiful shade of purple and so is your eye thanks to a shoulder to the face, your shoulder is killing you, and the one tumble that you had taken left you with a sore ankle and a bit of a limp.

Still though, being a teacher never stops, and you find yourself dragging your bags and yourself into Abbott bright and early the next Monday.

Your sitting in the staff room, drinking your coffee and icing your shoulder as you continue to go through your lessons for the last coming months of the school year, when the rest of your friends start to make their way in as one big clump. How they all manage to pull up to the school and walk in together almost everyday without fail is beyond you… actually, you know how. They told you that they all plan to get there at exactly 7:43 to enter the building at 7:45, but you were a stickler for time and an early riser already, so you just came in before everyone else to enjoy the peace and quiet while you had the room to yourself.

“Y/N!” Janine gasps. “What happened to you?”

“Hm?” You hum as you allow yourself to take your eyes away from your paper for just one second. Only then do you realize that Janine, Gregory, Jacob, Barbara, and Melissa are all standing in front of you with their jaws dropped and looking quite concerned. “Oh, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Sweetheart, forgive me for being blunt, but you look like you went to hell and back,” Barbara states.

“It looks a lot worse than it is,” you tell her as you avert your eyes back down to the papers in front of you. “I promise you, I’m fine.” You adjust the icepack before wincing slightly at the cool sensation.

Melissa and Barbara share a look before Melissa sighs softly. She digs around in her bag for a second before pulling out her CBD oil. “Move your hair.”

You do so without looking up, not really questioning the instruction. You’re so focused on your lesson plans that you just follow the order without a second thought. You’re shocked though when you feel liquid on your shoulder. “Mel, what?”

“It’s just CBD oil… it’ll help ease the pain,” the redhead tells you. And then her hands are rubbing the oil into your shoulder, and you can’t help but let out a soft groan. Shit… maybe you really should go get your shoulder checked out.

“Hun, what happened?”

“Just got a little roughed up,” you sigh as her hands continue to massage the sore spot.

That does not help the worried looks that your coworkers are giving you.

“Guys, I’m fine,” you promise them. “I have to head down to my classroom to do a bit of prep, but I’ll see youse all at lunch.”

As you stand and start to gather your things though, you let out a small hiss in pain at the pressure on your ankle. All of their heads immediately snap in your direction.

“Hun,” Melissa frowns.

You hold up a hand, silently requesting for no further comment on the matter. You limp your way out of the staff lounge and head into your classroom. You thought that you could make it through the day without having to put your ankle brace on, but you were clearly wrong. You’re lacing it up when the redhead makes her way into your room and closes the door.

“What’s going on?” she asks you frankly.

You just continue to lace up your brace, mildly annoyed that she won’t let it go.

“Mel, I’m fine. Just a little-”

“A little roughed up,” the second grade teacher cuts you off. “I heard you the first time. You don’t get to come in here after a weekend with a shiner that competes with the one Kristen Marie had after her and I squared up after Nonna’s funeral, a bum shoulder, and an ankle brace and get to be mysterious about it. What gives?”

You take a deep breath before meeting her green eyes with your own. “I fell. I’m fine.”

“Fell?” Melissa raises a brow as she folds her arms across her chest. “You don’t get all of your injuries from a fall.”

“Well, I did,” you sigh. “I don’t know what else you want me to say. It’s the truth.”

“Did anyone help you fall?” the redhead asks. “I know you and your girlfriend broke up a couple weeks ago, and if she did this to you-”

“She didn’t do nothin’,” you tell her quickly. “Now please- I have to prep for today.”

“Hun-”

“Melissa,” you grit through your teeth. “Please. I have to prep, and I’m moving a little slower than usual, so I need all the time I can get.”

Your coworker purses her lips. “Fine. But know that I’m always here if you need to talk.” She turns on her heel and heads out towards her work wife’s room. You close your eyes as you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“She’s actin’ real weird,” the redhead states as she sits in Barbara’s rocking chair.

The kindergarten teacher nods. “Poor thing looks like she crawled out of the seventh layer of hell.”

“And she got real snippy with me when I asked her if Jen had anything to do with it… shut me down real quick and refused to talk to me anymore,” Melissa sighs. “I just want to help her if she’s in a sticky situation.”

“Melissa,” Barbara says softly. “If I do remember correctly, you were the same way when things got messy with Joe.”

“I know!” the second grade teacher huffs. “But now that I’m on the other end of it… I just want to help if I can.”

“And that is very kind of you,” the older teacher tells her friend. “But if she’s not ready to ask for help, the only way that you can help is by being kind and gentle with her.”

“I guess,” Melissa purses her lips. “Well… I suppose I should go pretend to do my job.”

“I suppose you should,” Barbara nods. “But seriously… do not go all Schemmenti over this. I’m sure Y/N is fine, and if she isn’t… we’ll be there to help pick up the pieces later.”

The redhead grabs her coffee before entering the staff lounge once more. She brews another pot of coffee and fills her own mug before grabbing a spare from the cupboard. She prepares that second cup of liquid gold the way she knows you like it before heading back down to your room.

“Hey,” she knocks on the doorframe gently. “I figured I would bring you another cup so you don’t have to limp your way down during prep.”

You smile at her gently, as much as your bruised jaw will allow you to. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Melissa says softly, so out of character for her. “I’m here to help.”

When you expect her to linger, she just gently sets the cup of coffee on your desk and makes her way back out to her own classroom.

When your kids come in, they’re immediately asking you what happened, if you’re okay.

“I’m doing just fine,” you chuckle. “But thank you for your concern. If you think I look bad, you should see the other person,” you joke, thinking none of them will care enough to repeat your words. What you’re saying is right though- the other girl got just as roughed up, if not worse. Oh how wrong you are.

Come lunch, Melissa is right at your door, asking if you want her to bring your lunch down for you from the break room.

“I can come get my lunch,” you chuckle as you wave off her offer. “I could use the movement anyway… been teaching from my chair.”

The two of you make your way into the staffroom, and she all but pushes you into a chair before grabbing your lunches out of the refrigerator for you. When you expect her to sit down next to you with her own lunch, she doesn’t. She heads for the fridge again and pulls out two ice packs. She gently tucks the first one into your bra strap to ice your shoulder, and then she’s sitting down and gesturing for you to prop your foot up on her lap.

“Melissa, I’m really okay,” you try to tell her again. She shakes her head though and all but forces your leg into her lap. She unlaces your brace before setting the icepack over the bruised area. Then, and only then, does she dive into her own lunch.

You smile softly at her. “Thank you.”

“Someone’s gotta look after you when you won’t ask for help,” she rolls her eyes. “And I’ll be damned if it isn’t me.”

The lunch period passes by quickly, but then you remember that you have recess duty. With a sigh, you reach forward to lace up your brace again.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Her hands try to stop your own.

“I have recess duty,” you tell her. “Don’t worry, I’m planning on bringing a chair out and just monitoring from there.”

She ties your brace up for you before standing with you. “I’m not letting you lug out a chair by yourself with your ankle and bum shoulder… Jesus, don’t you think you should go get your ankle checked out? It’s the size of a baseball.”

“I’ve had worse,” you sigh offhandedly as you begin to make your way outside. No more than thirty seconds later is she outside with you, two chairs under her arm. She sets them out before gesturing for you to sit down.

“Thanks,” you mutter. The two of you sit there for a bit of time before the warmth from the sun begins to become too much for you, and unconsciously you roll up a sleeve- revealing the bruises on your arms.

The redhead next to you does everything she can to not stare at them as her mind goes a mile a minute, wondering exactly how you got all of these injuries.

And then two kids run up to the two of you. One is in your class, and the other is in Melissa’s.

“Miss Y/N,” your kid says as she bounces on her toes.

“What’s up, Jayla?”

“Tell Amaya what you told us today about why you have all of your bruises,” she tells you. “She doesn’t believe me.”

“I fell?” you respond, confused as hell.

“Yeah, but what did you say after that?”

“Thank you for your concern?” you tell her, even more confused than the first time.

“But then what after that?”

You shrug.

“You told us that we should see other person that did this to you!” Jayla yells.

You purse your lips into a fine line, and you can see the way that Melissa is eying you in your peripheral view. “That’s just an expression, hun. I didn’t mean it literally.”

“You still said it,” your student smirks before turning to her friend as they walk off. “I told you she said that!”

“So,” Melissa leans in. “What was that?”

“I didn’t really mean it,” you huff. “It was a joke. I didn’t think the kids would remember it.”

“Hun,” the redhead lays a gentle hand on your shoulder. “If you need help…”

“I don’t need help,” you sigh. “I promise you. I’m just fine.”

And then the bell rings to signal the end of recess. You limp your way over to your students’ line while Melissa gathers the chairs under her arm again and takes them inside. You get the kids back inside and finish out the day teaching from your desk.

After school, as much as you would love to just go home and relax, there is a staff meeting. You slowly make your way into the library and take up your place next to Melissa. While you’re waiting for everybody else to come trickling in, the redhead reaches into her bag again and pulls out her CBD oil. Before you can stop her, it’s on your shoulder again, and she’s gently working it into your skin.

“Thank you,” you whisper softly, trying not to groan out in pain.

She just nods before lifting your injured foot into her lap again. Melissa unlaces your brace again and begins to rub the oil over your swollen ankle. At that, you grimace, but you let her continue.

And then Ava is making her way in.

“Hey y’all,” she grins as she makes her way over to your table. “Damn girl… you did a great job on Saturday.”

You chuckle lightly. “Thanks.”

“What game?” Janine asks. “And why weren’t we invited?”

“Ava wasn’t even invited,” you roll your eyes. “She was just there where I was playing rugby.”

“I was there to…” she smirks. “Check out the eye candy and go window shopping. I had no idea Y/N is the hottie that she is.”

“You play rugby?” Melissa raises an eyebrow.

You nod. “And that… is how I got the black eye, the bruises, and the shoulder and ankle injuries.”

“Why wouldn’t you just say that?” the redhead asks you.

You go to speak, but Ava decides that now is the time to start her meeting, claiming that most of the faculty was in the room and she doesn’t want to have to be here much longer. So, you aren’t able to answer.

Once the meeting is over, Melissa is helping you out to your car in silence.

“Why wouldn’t you just tell me that you got hurt playing sports?”

“I didn’t wanna seem like a wuss,” you shrug, only to wince slightly at the throbbing in your shoulder. “I didn’t want no one making a big fuss over me.”

“Hun,” Melissa rolls her eyes. “Of course we were going to make a big fuss over you when we saw you. I was out here thinking you got beat up or were getting abused… I wish you would’ve just told me that you got hurt playing a sport.”

You turn a bit sheepish. “Sorry.”

“You promise me that this was from rugby?”

“Promise,” you sigh softly. “The team I was playin’ was tough and showing no mercy… the ref called a bunch of flags, but by that point the damage was done.”

Melissa gives you a sympathetic look. “Well, why don’t you come over tonight, and I’ll help nurse you back to health? Cook you dinner, let you ice, rub some more CBD oil on your injuries.”

“Are you flirting with me?” you tease her.

The woman in front of you just shrugs. “Maybe… what do you say?”

“I’ll be there by five,” you chuckle as you hobble along to get into your car.

TAGS, and lmk if you wanna be added: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x reader #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary

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radiocrypt-id · 3 months

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The bad kids haven't really looked too closely at the Rat Grinders (meta wise I know it's a commentary on different play styles and how shitty xp farming is and how op players/parties can become by doing the bare minimum if they put in the time while everyone else plays the damn game) but I find the split perspective problems absolutely fascinating. I can't wait for the Bad Kids to look at the Rat Grinders with envy and anger that the Rat Grinders got to live a normal highschool life without all this insane danger and experience being a teenager without it being the end of the world for them. Right now they just hate the Rat Grinders energy and are matching it back (which is a very high school thing to do. To have beef with a whole other group of kids and not even know why but you'll die on this hill because they started shit first)

Because to the Rat Grinders, from a purely outside perspective, the Bad Kids are fucking monarchs of the school, right? They skipped classes, ran around town, fought people, got arrested, hung out with a big devil? Every new staff member came at their recommendation? One of them has both her dads working at the school?? The destroyed school property, got teachers killed, straight murdered the coach? These fucking kids run around and are apparently scott-free? because the principal liked their chaos enough to let it go and help them avoid the police? To the Rat Grinders, the Bad Kids are untouchable. They're exempt from the law. They're liars, cheats and need to be humbled. It's unfair. From everyone elses perspective, it really does look like the Bad Kids have been given crazy favourtism.

Meanwhile, all of the Bad Kids have died at least once. They've been irreparably changed and are in a constant state of fight or flight. They assume everything is dangerous and anyone might be an enemy because for two goddamn years that was the exact case! They couldn't trust any adult first year! Literally anyone could have been infected with Kalina second year! who knows what happened with the Night Yord but I fucking bet they had issues with Yorbies pretending to be helpful just to kill them! Everyone, for two years, has been out to get them! They can't even sleep! And now they have to grind so hard or they fail. Adaine has a seemingly full time job after school basically every day because she literally can't afford to live? Fabian has taken on the most physically strenuous classes and sport one dude could and has dreams of also being a social legend because he's fucking lonely in that big house and he just wants to fill it. If anyone in the party fails or dies Riz is shit out of luck and wont ever get into a university? He so desperately wants his friends with him so he's working over time and ignoring his limits to make up for his party members not caring about the future. Fig is going through the strangest arc I've ever seen in my life? she's hard avoidant and taking three classes, so a 250% work load, because she's desperate to fill her time so she can't think about all the other work she has to do that if she ignores too long could crush her under the debt of her band from her label, or how alone she feels without her girlfriend around. Gorgug is so desperate to prove himself that he's doing four years of school work in one, trying to play catch up and also prove himself at the same time, he's taking it all so seriously but also is so fucking tired. And Kristen. Mother fucking Kristen "hey girlie" applebees. Expected to dedicate her life to a god with no direction, with the weight of failure being her gods death, while also being in school and also at your friends insistence needing to run for student body president and getting your priorities so mixed up and being completely left behind by her peers who didn't have to rework their entire world view and understanding of life in the span of a few months every few months.

The Bad Kids are in a terrible place. They're suffering. I want them to just say it out loud, to stop pretending they have it handled and are fine. I want Riz and Adaine to yell at the party to get their shit together. I want Fabian to tell someone how alone and abandoned her feels. I want Kristen to scream at Cassandra that she agrees, that it's not fair, she's just a kid, how could she be enough all on her own with no help? It sucks a god can only rely on a child, for both the god and child! They're both suffering from this arrangement! Neither is happy! I want Gorgug to beat the shit out of Porter with his inventions and rage at the same time, to make the best shit and use it in the most stunning way anyone has ever seen. I want Fig to finally get some freaking help, to have her teachers and parents reach out in a meaningful way and stop telling her to figure it out alone because clearly the pressure is too much for her to handle and she's drowning. I want someone, anyone, to look at the Bad Kids and tell them to stop. To help them. But I know it wont be that easy. I know it'll be the Rat Grinders yelling at how unfair it is the Bad kids get everything while they're on the sidelines that'll get under the Bad Kids skin and they'll yell about how awesome they are and that they didn't ask for any of this shit to happen to them and to fuck off. I know it's gonna get so much worse before it gets better. I know they'll figure it out and that it'll be a painful road there.

#dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #dimension 20 fhjy #dimension 20 fantasy high #d20 fantasy high #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #d20 spoilers #d20 fhjy #d20 #kristen applebees #figeroth faeth #riz gukgak #gorgug thistlespring #fabian seacaster #adaine abernant #somebody help these kids man #they're being failed by the system #words

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deepmochi · 2 months

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Lilith in the 4th house 💎

Lilith in Cancer can also read it, or Lilith-moon aspects.

⚠️ Read: Mention of cheating, family dynamic and mothers!

What to learn: Emotions make you stronger, you are worthy of real love, and your family shouldn't define you.

What to avoid: Having victim mentality, blame others for your wrongdoings, and over nurturing tendencies with others.

Some celebrities: Alexa Demie, John Travolta, Donald Trump, Ozzy Osbourne, Shia Labeouf, Justin Bieber, Cameron Díaz, Brook Shields, Kristen Dunst, Margot Robbie, William Shakespeare (apparently) Cary Grant, Orlando Bloom, Jennifer Garner, and Jessica Alba.

🕯Issues with femininity and the idea of being a woman. In men, issues with being nurtured by a woman.

🕯Undeveloped Lilith attracts overprotective (toxic) people and manipulators.

🕯 They could cheat with people who are married just for the sake of feeling better (if bad aspected).

🕯 Other women admire or like them, but men like them more (male gaze).

🕯The mother could compete with them for certain reasons. These creates issues with female peers.

🕯 Can easily became a mother even thought they don't want it. Pregnancy scares could be a thing. Use protection please.

🕯They're very private about their roots and family. They will avoid posting pictures on their social networks.

🕯 Motherhood troubles them; they can come to a term if they do it willingly.

🕯 Mothers are sacred to them, but mother was also their worst nightmare. Mother was harsh and cold at times.

🕯 Emotions are not easy to read for them; sometimes, they might ignore them, creating chaos.

🕯 They prefer long-term relationships even if it is toxic. They might follow the family pattern. The must work on it.

🕯 Father was an absent figure; mother has both roles combined. They can imitate this too if bad aspected, especially men.

🕯Emotional manipulator: they can use people's feelings to their pleasure.

🕯 They use their body and feminine energy to lurk others in. "Why you feel like that?.... tell me"

🕯Undeveloped Lilith is the friend who cheats with you bf/crush and makes her innocent face..."I didn't knew you were together" (pd: she knew).

🕯 People can see them as innocent or someone who need protection.

🕯Disconnection with the body and their feminine energy, especially when something traumatic happens at home.

🕯Women has difficult relationships with mothers or mother figure during childhood. Mother was very demanding.

🕯Here, Lilith doesn't want to be consider only a "woman"; they want more than that.

🕯However, this Lilith can be highly sexualised due to their feminine energy. Men can use them as ego boost for the immature masculine energy.

🕯 Men with this placements can have big issues with their emotions. They may ignore their pain and feminine energy, producing cheating or violence outburst.

🕯Both (women and men) can be moody when they're "hurt", and use these emotions as weapons.

🕯The mother could have hurt them or used for her benefit. She may sold them metaphorically to society, or they didn't shield them when they need to.

🕯Prone to follow traumas from their childhood. If they denied their mother issues, they may repeat their pattern.

🕯 As a mother, they are afraid to be like their mother. It's highly possible that this native sees motherhood as complex. However, they are call to cut the ties with the past.

🕯 The best partner is someone who nuturues them, but this person is destructive for their home if wounded. So, they may run away from "commitment" or commit too quickly to toxic people.

🕯 Society pressures them to be a woman. To follow a certain path, they have to deal with the Madonna-whore complex.

🕯 When they are younger, they tend to be sexualized. When older, people "miss" their old self aka beauty. Here, the native must value herself in very stage. She isn't missing anything. She is worthy in every stage.

🕯 They were sexualised very young, unfortunately. Even use as profitable object, look at Justin Bieber, Brook Shield and Shia Labeouf. They were introduced very young to Hollywood.

🕯Deep down, many of them want the home and family they couldn't have. However, they must understand that marriage is more that a social contract. It's a healing process for them. Love goes a deep as they let it.

🕯 Some may have weird family dynamics, which lead to traumas.

🕯 They will very private with their families, partners and lovers. Overprotective tendencies.

🕯Like to follow traditional roles such as, marriage, couple titles (ex: bf or gf), or/ and traditional families. Also, they make like to damage them.

🕯 They can be seen as a perfect parent or as a lacking one. Society is the one that decides (is not always true).

🕯Prefer to live far away from their family. It's safer for them.

🕯 It's very protective of their love ones, especially younger children and sisters/brothers.

🕯Their home is a very private area. They save it from really close people.

🕯They prefer to have small wedding or doing something rather private. If Lilith is immature, they will be a show.

🕯 Bad aspected Lilith would like to take your bf or husband from the sake of feeling loved. They're wining him over you because "they're better than you".

🕯Home could have an abusive dynamic.

🕯Young girls and boys are prone to date older men/ women due to mommy / daddy issues. With time, they realize that nobody can heal them, only themselves will do it.

Take care, loves!

Note: just take what resonates.💚

#lilith #lilith in the 4th house #lilith in cancer #astrology #astrologynotes #cancer #4th house #lilith series #deepmochi #zodiac #astrology community #scorpio #astrologia

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roll-for-gaslight · 2 months

Text

Bad Kids + Sharing Clothes Headcanons

Fig Faeth

Steals clothes right in front of everyone’s face

Totally unashamed to be taking it but kind of lies about why

“It’s for disguises!!! In case I need to be you!!!!!”

Mostly really about having something of her friends’ to hold onto

Has talked only to Ayda about this desire

Has a constant supply of fresh girlfriend jackets

Cleans/returns them to Ayda the moment they smell even a little bit like her cloves

Fabian’s shirts!!!!!

Literally every shirt this man owns has been commandeered at some point or another

Has only kept like two

Wears some of Kristen’s shorts with big shirts and fishnet stockings

Very grunge-y

Her shorts are actually a little big!!

Fig ends up getting a kind of cool wide-legged look with it with a belt

She feels very cute!!!

Has some of Gorgug’s jackets

Probably just one for her, actually

Layers it over her cool outfits for a fun little pop of color

Perpetually half-zipped

Goes down to like her knees?????

Adaine’s t-shirts

Knows it’s off-limits to modify them in any way but has kept one and made it part of her regular wardrobe

It was Adaine’s only black shirt

Very soft

Adaine rolls her eyes every time she wears it

Riz

Steals his rings and jewelry now that he wears cool stuff!!!

Their jewelry collection is basically one big thing instead of two smaller things

Loves the sharing

One of those people who’s just get plenty to share

Actively tells her friends “don’t worry about it” when they try and give her her things back

Really loves seeing them all wearing her stuff because it feels like they’re telling everyone around that they’re her best friend and she loves that

She’s happy that they want to do that

It’s very cute and sweet

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bloodyshadow1 · 23 days

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I feel like a big problem with Kristen is that Tracker was correct, she wants to take the easy way out in most things. She (and possibly Ally) has really bad ADHD and that screws up her relationships and the things she has to do. This whole season has been about her over coming that, because not everything is about defeating the big bad, sometimes it's about being in the moment and having to force yourself to be better.

In the beginning of Junior Year, and from previous years, Kristen is a person with a lot of love and her love language seems to be epic acts of love. Getting a tattoo of Tracker to show off her love, willing to storm a monument of High Elf society to save her friend, redeeming Cassandra. These are big acts, the latter being a miracle. The problem for Kristen is that she isn't the protagonist in an epic fantasy novel, she's a pc in a live play dnd show that is an homage to high fantasy and urban fantasy. The show shows more than just the epic battles and miracles. Life is more than just the legendary battles, it's about living the quiet moments too, relationships are too.

I'm similar because I have ADHD and I would drive through the night to see my friends if they need me, but cleaning up my apartment or doing the dishes can be something I put on the back burner. Because for people like me, and Kristen, doing things big for your loved ones is exciting, doing the hard work in between isn't. For someone like Kristen, whose job it is to be an adventurer, doing the miracles is easy compared to the monotonous work that relationships take to maintain and grow stronger.

Because relating to my main point, Kristen wants to take the easy route because the boring hard work is scary. Epic acts happen to her all the time because she is an adventurer, she can perform miracles like it's her job, because it is, but being present in the moment is something she actively runs from. In the beginning of Junior Year, she is actively treating Cassandra like an annoying friend who always wants to hang out instead of a goddess she brought back and is responsible for. She performed the miracle to bring Cassandra back from the dead, but didn't want to spend any time with her or doing anything related to being a prophet of a reborn god.

That's the point she's making now, taking time for Cassandra now that she's gone because she can't change the past, but she can do better in the future

#fantasy high #fantasy high spoilers #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #kristen applebees

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schemmentis · 28 days

Text

Somethin' Stupid - Pt. 2

Part 1

Summary: Yours and Melissa's senior year.

Warnings: strong language / mild/vague depiction of sexual assault.

WC: 4.7k

Melissa doesn’t ace her midterm but she does do incredibly well. Just like you knew she would. Joey does eventually work up the balls to ask her out. You don’t even ask her what she said when she tells you he asked; you know it was yes.

You feel like you blink and midterms turn into finals, which turns into the end of the year. You spend plenty of time with Melissa through it all. Though, it is a lessening amount of time. You hadn’t thought much of it until your mom is asking where Melissa is shortly into the summer. Then, when you do go to Mel’s her mom is hugging you tight and saying she’s missed you and that you’re not supposed to move out of her house. Even once Melissa and Kristen Marie do.

I know I stand in line

You still see Melissa throughout summer but when you do it tends to be with Joey, too. You’ve learned not to mind it but you do miss your solo Melissa time. Her attention always seems halved when you do see her. Not that you blame her, really. You’d be the same if you had just started dating someone. Which, you could be. You just don’t find much interest in pursuing that like Melissa and the other girls your age seem to. It’d be nice to have a partner, of course it would. You wouldn’t deny that but it isn’t your focus. You’re more worried about college applications and setting yourself up for what comes after next school year once you graduate.

Which isn’t to say Melissa isn’t also worried about the same things. She is. You’ve spoken with her about where she’s been applying and you know she’s heart set on going into education. She just also has Joey. You don’t really know how she had the time last year to worry about him and grades and you dread how much she’s going to juggle when the new school year starts. If anyone can manage it, you know it’s Melissa.

Until you think you have the time

You see your favorite redhead a little more often when senior year starts. Her arm slung over your shoulders on the first day back as you both walked in that morning.

“You’re still gonna end up valedictorian.” Melissa teased you.

“I said that in like, fifth grade, Mel.” You rolled your eyes at her but smiled all the same. You hadn’t realized how much you missed her over the summer until that September.

It feels like the universe is righted once senior year starts. A few nights a week sees you sleeping at Melissa’s. Occasionally, Melissa will insist on a switch that week and stay at your house. Usually when Kristen Marie is on her very last nerve or the weeks of important tests. Your house is quieter, she claims. You think it’s her sly way of ensuring you’re there if she needs help. She still doesn’t outright ask for it. Instead, she’s asking you your opinion of things or how sentences she writes sound when she reads them aloud to you. It’s more rare for her to actually have you look over her work.

To spend an evening with me

Truthfully, you’re more surprised it’s never Joey having her insist on sleeping at yours instead of her house. You had expected by now some fight to have spawned between them. They are both hard headed and opinionated. You don’t love Joey, or consider him your friend, but you find yourself able to spend more time around him over senior year. He treats Melissa right and makes her smile that big genuine smile she has. You’ll give him credit for that much, and you suppose, as long as he’s treating her right and keeping that smile on her face he can’t be so bad.

You even share Melissa with him over the holidays. When it used to be a near full two weeks of just the two of you holed up in one of your houses. Emerging only for family dinners that included both your families. Your chosen spot this year is Melissa's house. Your parents are there nearly as much as you though they don't sleep over like you do. Joey isn't there the full two weeks like you are, though nearly every other day he is. He’s beginning to grate on your nerves like the brother you never had would. A flash of annoyance one moment and the next you're perfectly fine, sharing something even. You send a pointed look at Melissa when she jokes that you better not be stealing her man. For one, you'd never dream of stealing anything that made Mel happy. She knows that. For another, as you had informed Mel when she'd made the joke, “ew.”

You thought new years would be the one night of your break that Melissa would tell you was Joey’s. Even if it was still at her house with all your parents around. Most of the adults fought to stay awake until after the ball dropped if only to ensure the teenagers milling around the house were behaving. You expected she'd want to ring in the new year with him. Traditional new year kiss and all. Instead, she's snuggled at your side beneath the large comforter you've stolen from her bed as you stand on her house's back porch. Just like every other year.

Joey, and a few of your other mutual friends are somewhere in the house. Along with Kristen Marie and a few of her own, and the adults of course. Outside, it’s just you and Mel in the dark. The porch light kept off. You know when it hits midnight; the sky lights up with fireworks.

“Happy New Year, Kid.” You hear Melissa beneath the cracks of fireworks. Her arms are wrapping around your middle beneath the comforter you're holding around the two of you.

“Happy New Year, Mel.” You answer. Your arms lightly squeeze around her shoulders, your head leant against hers. The two of you, staring at the bursts of colors filling the midnight sky before they fade away until the next whistle of fireworks signals the next round.

The new year seems to go faster than the beginning of the school year. Almost like you hit senior year so now life has doubled its speed on you. Sometimes you really believe it has. It feels like last week you were meeting Melissa in second grade. Your graduation being in just a few months doesn’t sound right even to your own ears. Certainly not to your parents. Both yours and Mel’s keeps bringing up old memories and pictures of the two of you. No matter who’s house you’re at that week.

“Ya, we’ve seen those about ten times this month, Ma!” Melissa calls over her shoulder, pulling you past her mother beckoning you both for another memory lane walk. She doesn’t pause until she’s pulled the both of you into her room and shut the door. Dramatically she leans against it as if to keep her mother out. Though you both know she didn’t follow you upstairs.

“I swear, they’re getting worse everyday. Mine and yours.” She mutters before she finally pushes away from the wood. Her backpack is taken from her shoulder and tossed haphazardly onto her bed before claiming space on it herself.

“They just keep seeing us as second graders, Mel. It’s fine.”

“If I have to sit through one more flip through my baby book, I swear I’m movin’ out when I turn eighteen.”

“Sure ya are, Mel.” You tease, pointedly rolling your eyes as you flop into the space on her bed next to her.

“Let’s forget about the past, and the future of graduation.” She says, hands waving in front of her like she’s erasing both sides of time away. “More important is prom is only a couple weeks away, and you don’t have a date.”

You make a face. “Who cares if I have a date? I’m not going.”

Melissa bolts upright, looking at you with wide eyes. “What do ya mean you’re not goin’?”

“Exactly what I said, Mel.”

“You have to!” She all but yells. You scoff which only has her gripping your wrists like she’s pleading. “You skipped junior prom, you can’t skip senior prom, Y/N. Junior prom was so boring ‘cause you weren’t there. I left halfway through!”

“And snuck into my room through the window, I remember. You almost busted your ass.”

“You have to come this year.” Melissa barrels on, ignoring your recollection. “You can’t miss both proms. I didn’t kick up a fuss about last year because we still had this year. It’s senior year. You deserve to let loose and it’ll be actually fun if you come.”

You roll your eyes at Melissa’s attempts to convince you. “You know how much I hate crowds, even if it is just our class and the underclassmen. I’d have more fun pulling my hair out, Mel.”

“But you’ll be with me! You know I’ll make sure you have fun.” Melissa insists before she sing-songs the next sentence in slight tease. “Aaaand, I know a certain someone was thinkin’ ‘bout askin’ you to go with hiimm.”

You raise a very skeptical eyebrow. “Who?”

“I’m not ruining the surprise unless you promise me you’re coming!”

“That depends on who’s asking!”

Melissa looks at you for a long moment, considering if it’s worth it to spill the beans. “Okay, okay. It’s Mikey Castalucci.”

“Mikey Cast— Joey’s best friend Mikey Castalucci?” You repeat, pulling your wrists from Melissa’s grasp.

Melissa sheepishly shrugs one shoulder. “He was askin’ Joey if he thought you’d say yes if he asked ya.”

“Right, ‘cause Joey would know who I’d say yes to.” You mutter, rolling your eyes. You cross your arms before Melissa can grab your wrists again.

“Look, at least it’s not some junior, or worse, a freshie askin’ ya, right? Just come with us, please? You’ll have more fun with all of us, I know it. We don’t even have to get in the middle of everything; it can just be our little group. Please?”

You sigh heavily as Melissa begs next to you. You just know you’re going to regret it. Still, you find yourself sighing out your answer. “Fine. I’ll say yes to Mikey and we’ll all go together.”

Melissa makes a wordless, happy, noise before she’s sprawling herself across you to hug you tight. “We’re gonna have such a good time, you’ll see!”

And if we go some place to dance

Mikey does ask you to prom. Late that next week. The equivalent of last minute with all the confidence in the world as he leans against the locker next to yours. You would guess Melissa had told Joey to tell Mikey to ask because it was all but guaranteed.

You do your best to look more excited than the just grin and bear it you really feel. It isn’t that Mikey is awful, per se. He just isn’t somebody that has ever really interested you. Not that any of the boys in high school ever really did. You suppose you feel better about going with him than anyone else that may have asked. At least him being Joey’s best friend double ensures Melissa with you most of the night.

I know that there's a chance

You agree for everyone to meet at Melissa’s. It’s easier, in the end. Especially with Joey driving the four of you to school.

You do your best to keep Melissa from going overboard as the two of you get ready in her bedroom upstairs. She’s truthfully closer to freaking out about and over anything to do with you. Your dress, your hair. How Mikey is going to see you. When you point out that she could freak out over herself for maybe five seconds she scoffs. Joey has seen her before plenty. Like they’re an old married couple after only a year, if that, together.

You’re half a second away from smacking Melissa’s hands away from you when she finally steps away. Maybe because she can see you glaring a hole at her by now. Maybe because she does actually have to worry about getting ready a little bit in order to actually get ready.

Which she finishes just in time for her mom to be yelling up the stairs that the boys are there already. For as much as you have wanted to fight your best friend for the last hour as she picked over you, you’re gripping her hand tightly on the way down the staircase. You aren’t nervous, at least not about Mikey or how you look. You remind yourself of Melissa begging you to go so it would actually be fun this year. So that you won’t look back and regret not going. You still aren’t sure either points she’d tried to make would actually be true. Still, it’s enough to get you down the stairs to actually endure the next few minutes.

Your parents, actually both yours and Melissa’s snapping enough pictures to rival paparazzi through the next two minutes or so. Two minutes feels more like two hours. Mikey stabs you a couple times trying to pin the corsage onto your dress. You’re nearly poised to rip it from his hands to do it yourself when he finally gets it. His arm wrapped around you and held you tight to his side for the pictures your parents are still taking. Thankfully, Melissa has her usual tact in getting the four of you out of her house and away from two sets of parents. You’re blinking stars from your eyes once you climb into Joey’s truck from all the flash photography.

Your relief doesn’t last very long. You may have gotten away from both your parents but now you have the night ahead of you. The short ride to school in Joey’s truck doesn’t fill you with a lot of hope. Mikey not helping you out of the back seat of the cab doesn’t help you feel much better.

You’re on edge from the moment you step into the gymnasium. It’s decorated nice enough, there’s music playing. There’s also a crowd of your entire class, most of whom you just tolerate, and the underclassmen, most of whom you don’t really know at all. Add to that, Melissa is already excitedly tugging Joey to the dancefloor and you’re definitely beginning to regret agreeing to tonight.

You won't be leaving with me

You do your best to make the most of it, anyway. If Melissa was right about one thing, it’s that you do deserve to let loose and have a fun night. This might not be your ideal form of it but that doesn’t mean you can’t still have a good time.

Mikey, it turns out, isn’t a bad dancer. It turns out, too, he’s more observant than you’d have thought and actually considerate. He mentions after a dance or two that you don’t like the crowd. The fact he’s paid enough attention to notice surprises you as much as him agreeing to dancing just on the edge of the dance floor to make you more comfortable.

You dance a few more songs with Mikey. Melissa catches your eye at one point long enough to send you a wink and a smile when she sees you. You hope she isn’t getting any big ideas about setting you up with Mikey for more than tonight. You might be getting along better than you thought but you aren’t about to date him. At least, though, you can tell she’s having a nice time with Joey. So, the night is worth it.

When you stop to take a break, Melissa and Joey are still going. You don’t mind. Mikey doesn’t force conversation but he also doesn’t sit in awkward silence. It’s surprisingly companionable, standing on the sidelines of prom with him. He even convinces you to do the little picture booth set up with him.

After a while though, all you can focus on is the people. The overwhelming amount of sound in the gym between the music and the chatter of everyone. Your senses sort of short circuit as you sip at your plastic cup of punch, trying to look like you aren’t a moment or two away from snapping completely. Mikey gently taps your elbow for your attention.

“You wanna get some air?” He offers, over the bass of the song playing.

You nod before gladly following him back out the gymnasium doors. You breathe deeply the crisp night air as you lean lightly against the brick a few steps away from the door. “Thank you.” You mutter to Mikey, standing next to you. “I just need a minute or two.” You promise, trying not to be a wet blanket to the evening.

For his part, Mikey waves your assurances away. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. We can stay out here as long as you want. I don’t mind.”

Once you catch your breath, you’re surprised to find yourself and Mikey in decent conversation. A little more than the brief ones you had back inside. It’s definitely easier to hear each other out here. You don’t have much in common but you don’t mind hearing Mikey’s perspective on things all the same. He’s smarter than you thought he was. You knew he had decent enough grades to be on the varsity basketball team at least since last year but he makes some good points when you start debating with him about a few different topics.

You’re just about to say you should get back inside. It’s been more than a few minutes, and you’re feeling much better after talking with Mikey for a while. It’s then that he kisses you. You freeze for a brief moment before you think ‘fuck it’. It’s a night to let loose and have fun. Kissing Mikey doesn’t give you sparks or butterflies or whatever the hell else you’ve heard other girls talk about. Heard Melissa talk about Joey. You don’t hate it though. So, you gently tug him back in for another kiss.

He’s carefully pressing you back into the brick wall, allowing you to set the pace of the kisses between you. For a minute, at least. Suddenly, Mikey switches, kissing you a bit more roughly. His hands gripping your hips and moving down to your thighs as his body weight leans into you.

You manage to turn your head when he pulls back just a bit for breath. “What the hell are you doing?” You gasp, trying to catch your own.

“C’mon, Y/N,” Mikey says practically into your ear. His hands are on your thighs, his fingers skimming inward. “Let’s have a little fun, huh?”

You try to push him off of you but Mikey is quite a bit bigger than you. His weight has you pinned to the brick of the building.

“Get off,” You grind out through your teeth. In the next moment you feel his fingers brush against you through your underwear as he tries again to convince you it’s just fun. “Get the fuck off me, Mikey!”

“Get your hands off her before I put your ass to the fuckin’ concrete, Castalucci!”

You hadn’t even heard the doors to the gym open with everything going on. You open your eyes that you don’t remember closing when Mikey is pulling away from you. The sight of him trapping you to the wall is quickly replaced by Melissa. Her hands softly on your shoulders as Joey leads Mikey back inside.

“Are ya okay, Y/N?” Melissa checks on you softly.

Then afterwards we drop into a quiet little place

You can only manage to nod. She gently brushes the hair out of your face, guiding you to sit with her on the curb. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah,” You manage, albeit a bit shakily. “I’m fine. You came out at the right time.”

“Joey and I were takin’ a break from dancin’ and I couldn’t find you, last I saw you’d been takin’ a break with Mikey. I checked the bathroom and when I didn’t find you in there and didn’t see you back in the gym I made Joey come check with me out here. I’m damn glad I came out when I did. I’m just sorry it wasn’t sooner. He’s got some fuckin’ nerve puttin’ hands on you like that when you’re sayin’ no. I’ll bust his knees with a baseball bat, I swear. I’ll—”

You stop Melissa threatening Mikey with a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. You got me, huh? It would have been worse if you didn’t come out here.”

Melissa’s eyes close. Almost like she’s envisioning that worse. You hope she isn’t. You’re already doing that enough for the both of you. “I’m fine, Mel.”

“I shoulda never told ya to come with Mikey fuckin’ Castalucci.” She mutters.

“Stop.” You say quickly. “You didn’t know what he was gonna do or I know you wouldn’t have.”

“You’re damn right I wouldn’t have.” She agrees.

And have a drink or two

You raise your hands to wipe your eyes. You’re not crying and you refuse to start just because you’re a little shaken. When you pull your hands away you blink at Melissa holding a flask out to you. You have no clue where she even pulled it out from. Let alone how she snuck it out of the house.

“What’s in it?”

“Vodka.” Mel says with a shrug.

You sigh, taking it from her hands to take a decent swig before you pass it back. The two of you spend the next few minutes quietly trading the flask.

“You know your mom is so gonna know you took that from her liquor cabinet.” You finally say as Melissa puts an arm around you. The two of you huddling closer together against the chill wind of the night.

“Nah, Kristen Marie took some too. I saw it.”

You laugh. “You can’t just blame it on your sister, Mel.”

“And why not?”

“‘Cause your mom is used to both of you and is gonna know it was both of you takin’ her shit.”

“Maybe,” Melissa eventually agrees before she turns to you and whispers conspiratorially. “But I’m her favorite kid so I’ll be fine.”

You gasp dramatically. “Melissa Schemmenti! You tell lies! We all know I’m your mom’s favorite kid.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Y/N.” She answers half heartedly.

And then I go and spoil it all

You grin, kissing her cheek in quiet apology. “Nah, you’re right. You’re her favorite. You can probably get away with it.”

“I can definitely get away with it. What’s she gonna do? Ground me from graduatin’?”

“She could ground you from Joey, y’know.”

Melissa scoffs, taking the last sip or so from the flask. “Like that would kill me. We’d be just fine. Hell, it’d probably make the asshole actually miss me.”

You shake your head. “You call him an asshole but you loooove him.” You tease Melissa, knowing you’re right whether she agrees with you or not.

Instead, she’s suddenly sobering as she looks at you. “I’m gonna tell him to kick Mikey’s ass to the curb. He’s got no business stayin’ friends with a fuck like Castalucci. Not after tonight.”

You sigh. “You don’t have to do that, Mel.”

“No one said I had to. I’m sayin’ I’m goin’ to. Nobody messes with you like that without payin’ for it. Not while I’m breathin’.”

By saying somethin' stupid like—

“I love you.” You breathe out after her tirade on your behalf.

Her arm around you squeezes you to her side affectionately. “I love you too, kid.”

You feel a douse of cold shoot down your spine. It hits you suddenly. Melissa doesn’t mean it the way you mean it. You mean it how she would say it to Joey. You take a slow, deep breath as your ribs suddenly feel tight.

“I think I’m just gonna go home. I don’t wanna go back in there.” You mutter.

“Oh, wait here,” Melissa is quickly getting to her feet. “I’ll get Joey to take us in the truck.”

By the time you stand up, she’s halfway back to the gym doors. “No, I think I could use the walk.”

She stops short, turning back around. She takes a few steps back to you. “Then I’ll walk with ya.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t wanna miss the rest of prom. You were looking forward to it.”

“You’re more important. Ya shouldn’t be alone right now. Ya don’t have to be, y’know?”

You shake your head. “I’ll be fine, Mel. Just go have a good time with Joey.” You insist.

For good measure you take a few steps to meet her in the middle, your arms hugging her tightly. “Go have fun. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

Wordlessly, Melissa nods. She must see how little you’re likely to change your mind. You back away, silently waving her back inside when she looks back one more time at the door. You turn around before she opens the doors to go back inside. Before she can decide to chase after you.

She doesn’t. Whether because she knows better to push you or because she just doesn’t know what to do, you don’t know. You walk home. By the time you get there, you’re freezing. You really should have worn a jacket but it would have ruined the entire look.

You quietly slip inside. The house is dark. It’s late enough that your parents are already asleep. You maneuver your way to your room without turning on the lights. You peel off your dress, and everything else you’re wearing. You take a quick shower and put on clothes Mikey hasn’t tainted forever with what he’d done.

You told Melissa you’re fine. You are, as much as you can be. Still, you have a moment of reliving the moment when you try to go to sleep. Instead, you lay awake in your bed, in the dark. Until you start to see the sunrise from your window. Until you can’t keep your eyes open anymore and slip to sleep.

You force a smile at breakfast. You tell your parents all the good parts of the night and pretend the end of it didn’t happen. You lie that you went with Melissa and Joey and Mikey for burgers late the night before to keep from eating. You feel too nauseous. You force yourself to eat the rest of the weekend to keep your mom from questioning you or getting suspicious.

Monday morning, you see a figure approaching you from the side as you’re grabbing your books from your locker. You had hoped it would be Melissa that would find you first. With the lack of shoes clacking against tile, you know it isn’t. You glance to your left, quickly turning back to your locker and what you’re doing when you see Joey.

“Hey. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About Mikey. He shouldn’ta done that to ya.”

You take a breath as you grab the book you need. You just hear Melissa comin’ out of his mouth. Not anything just Joey. You look at him. You’re angry, you suddenly decide. Suddenly feel.

“You’re still friends with him though, aren’t you?”

Joey briefly looks surprised at you snapping at him. He raises his hands in front of him in a sort of half shrug. “Yeah. I mean, c’mon Y/N, he’s my best friend.”

You scoff. “I guess that’s the difference between you and me.” You mutter, turning back to your locker.

“You’re sayin’, what, you’d drop Mel if it was her?”

You turn back, staring Joey in the eye. “If she touched you when you didn’t want it, especially like that? She wouldn’t be a quarter of the person I thought she was.” You turn away just enough to slam your locker shut.

“Yeah. I’d drop her if she did that to you.” You make yourself crystal clear. You don’t bother stepping around Joey, letting your shoulder nudge him on your way past.

You storm past Melissa who had just been making her way to the two of you. She calls after you but you don’t stop. You already know she isn’t going to chase you. She’s going to turn to Joey. Still, you keep pace, slipping into your first class before either of them catch up to you for further conversation.

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #somethin stupid

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