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I am homesick for a place I am not sure even exists. One where my heart is full. My body loved. And my soul understood.
Melissa Cox
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in the darkness (open your eyes)
melissa schemmenti x fem!reader
summary: melissa and reader are angry with each other over reader's dating life. who will break first? or will someone need to intervene to get them to pull their heads out their asses and make up? inspired by prompt 31 “Let’s just say that if I saw you bleeding out on my kitchen floor, I’d act like I hadn’t seen you.”
word count: 4.6k
warnings: arguments, swearing, hurt/comfort, insecure!melissa, age gap, reader is referenced as being under 30.
a/n: hello friends, this has been a long time coming. i've wanted to write for this queen for ages and when i finally sat down to do it the words didn't stop spilling out of me. i haven't been able to write like this in years, so i think i've found my passion again in melissa <3 it's good to be back. it's a long one and i hope i managed to capture her correctly. enjoy :)
For twenty years Barbara Howard has arrived at Abbott Elementary at 5.50am on the dot, just in time for her to park her car, take a stroll to the staffroom and make herself a coffee before Action News started at 6 sharp. Now, the walls of Abbott were never calm, but for 30 minutes every morning, while she sipped her coffee and listened to the soothing tones of Jim Gardner, everyone around her seemed to be able to keep themselves together. Even in her first year of teaching Janine had never tried to disturb her, maybe for once able to sense the importance of these moments for a successful teaching day.
Barbara can tell it will not be a normal day in Abbott the moment she pushes past the green doors into the building. The energy is high in the air and she fears if she touches anything an electric shock might meet her. Still, she sends a prayer to God and pushes her way through the building.
No one was stopping her from getting her 30 minutes of peace.
She finds the culprit for the upsetting energy the moment she crosses the threshold of the staff room and is not slightly surprised. Melissa sits in her usual chair, her face murderous, eye’s dark and tongue in cheek as she stares pointedly at the wall with her arms crossed tightly against her chest. Jacob sits on the couch, eyes on his phone and leg bouncing anxiously, he shoots a look around the room and when his eyes land on Barbara his body sags in relief, thinking he’s found safety.
Whilst Barbara’s got no idea what has happened, she also notes that the room is empty apart from the three of them and although Melissa’s anger making people scram is not an uncommon occurrence, it has never, in the last two years since you joined Abbott, made you flee a room. In fact, Barbara had watched you calm Melissa down with a simple touch to her arm, something she has never been able to do.
You did not fear Melissa, which means this anger was likely related to you. These moments were normally quick and fleeting and yet Melissa was so upset it was going to disrupt Action News. Definitely not a regular morning.
“Would you like a coffee, Melissa?” Barbara asks, starting simple as she enters the room and makes her way to the coffee machine, barely sparing Melissa a glance.
Melissa stands and takes the coffee mug from the table beside her and throws it on the floor, shattering it into tiny pieces, making Jacob yelp. She stalks from the room, muttering angrily under her breath something about ‘betrayal’.
Barbara sighs tiredly, pressing her fingers to her temples. Today was going to be a long day.
She considers going after the redhead but as a simple question had produced such a ferocious reaction, she decides it is best to let her cool off before work starts and sits down with Jacob to catch the reminder of Action News.
She was determined to not let today become a complete lost cause.
Later, on her way to her classroom to set up for the day, she finds Melissa with her head buried in grading, probably a good idea and a way to calm herself down after this morning's fiasco. However, you’re completely missing from your classroom, very unusual.
A complete disruption to your routine this morning it seems, Miss L/N.
Barbara lays eyes on you for the first time that day when she’s walking her class to their music lesson. You offer a smile and “Good Morning, Miss Howard,” but the bags are obvious under your eyes. You did not sleep well last night.
“Good Morning. Your class is in an excellent mood this morning. Gym class?” She asks, looking behind you to the excited third-graders who stand in lines of two, well-behaved but talking in a low excited chatter.
You chuckle, “I’ve never known a class to love it more.”
Barbara hums, waving goodbye as you turn off down the corridor towards the gym. She drops her class off with the music teacher, making sure to remind them to be well behaved before she heads back down the corridor, stopping at your classroom.
You look up from your desk, surprised. “Can I help you, Barbara?”
She’s never seen the point beating around the bush, and she was not about to start now. “I ran into a very angry Melissa this morning. Do you know something about that?”
Your entire body tenses, your smile going rigid and tight on your face. Barbara can see the anger simmering behind the surface. Unusual. You were always more calm, more open to reason. “I’d be more surprised if you’d said she was in a good mood. Now I’ve actually got work to be doing, if you don’t mind.”
“Y/N,” Barbara sighs, giving you the pointed look that always works on students and teachers alike.
You shake your head, “I really respect you a lot Barb, but you’re not gonna be able to fix this one. Please just leave it alone.”
Barbara stands there for a long moment, staring at you, before she releases a sigh. “Fine. But one of you needs to fix this because Abbott barely has enough mugs as it is.”
She gives you one last pointed look before leaving the room. You sink into your desk, hands capturing your head to stop your head from slamming against the desk and adding to your already growing headache.
Fuck Melissa Schemmenti.
Fuck everything about her.
She had no right to be angry. You’d done nothing wrong. You felt bad for blowing off Barbara, you knew she was just trying to help. And usually a pointed look from her had you confessing your darkest sins, but not this time you couldn’t. She couldn’t fix it. Melissa was the one in the wrong and you were gonna keep a wide berth until she bloody well realised that.
Although knowing Melissa, you’ll be on your deathbed before that happens and maybe even then she’ll find something scalding to say. It’s what you get for trying to have an honest conversation with a red-headed cancer.
She was more ill behaved than your worst students.
——
You dismiss your students for lunch minutes before the bell rings, hoping you’ll be able to run to the staff room and grab your lunch and run back without facing the redhead. It’s not that you’re scared of her, you simply don’t have the energy to deal with her attitude so eating in your classroom was the best option.
However, your plans are foiled when Ava stops your pathway talking about a new tiktok challenge that she wants you involved in. “You’re the only teacher that won’t embarrass me and show off that this place has at least some fit, young teachers.”
“Sure, whatever. I need to go.” You say, not really listening as you put an end to the conversation and move past her.
“Rude!” She yells back at you, “But do your thing, girl!”
By the time you make it to the staff room everyone is already there. Jacob is telling an over the top story about something uninteresting to Janine and Gregory. And Barbara and Melissa are talking quietly at their usual table, where you usually join them. Melissa looks calmer than when you’d spoken to her this morning, she even smiles at Barbara, however the moment you step into the room it all fades away. Her eyes land on you and her eyes harden and her shoulder tense. She jabs the salad in her tupperware harshly.
You can’t contain your eye roll and don’t bother to say hello to anyone as you make your way through the room to the fridge.
Janine picks up on the tension in the room, drawing her away from Jacob’s rambling that appears to have gotten more anxious. “Woah, what’s going on guys?”
“Nothing.” You say.
“Y/N’s a snake.” Melissa gruffs at the same time.
You slam the door to the fridge before you can grab your lunch, swinging around to glare at her as Barbara releases a horrified, “Melissa!”
“You’re a child. Just grow up!” You growl.
“Rich comin’ from the girl that isn’t even thirty yet.”
“Well that wasn’t a problem for your sister when I went on a date with her last night!”
The gasps in the room are instant. Even Gregory breaks out into a coughing fit as he struggles for breath. And okay, yeah. So you went on a date with Melissa’s sister, but in your defence you hadn’t known she was her sister until half way through the date and then you’d fucking ended it because you knew Melissa would get her panties in a twist.
And you thought you were being a good friend coming clean, that it would be a funny story. But no, classic Melissa flipped her shit talking about betrayal and schemes.
“Kristen Marie?” You hear Jacob mutter horrified under his breath. You don’t bother to correct him but no, her you knew. It had been Toni, Melissa’s youngest sister. You’d matched on Tinder and apart from both having green eyes there was nothing on her profile that gave away they were siblings. Toni was tall with short brown hair. You hadn’t even known she was from Philly until you showed up.
Melissa pushes herself up from her chair, her eyes dark and murderous as she stalks over to you. “I want nothin’ to do with ya.”
The hurt you’re feeling is shoved down. There’s no place for it when she’s angry. “Fine by me. If you’re this upset over one date I left early then maybe it’s a good call to bring this friendship to an end.”
“Guys-” Janine tries to interrupt.
“No,” You state hardly, eyes never straying from Melissa’s cold ones, “Schemmenti finally knows what she wants.”
“Yeah I do, and it’s you far away from me. In fact, so it’s clear for everyone just how I feel about this traitor, let’s say that if I saw you bleedin’ out on my kitchen floor, I’d act like I hadn’t seen ya.”
More horrified gasps. The words hit you in the chest but you barrel forward, your words scalding as you see red. “Wow, Schemmenti. It’s real no wonder you’re alone, is it? Determined to run anyone out your life that shows you any kindness. I’m surprised Joe lasted so long.”
Barbara shoots up, lips pursed and hands signalling a sharp line. “Enough! That is enough!”
Your shoulders slump, tired and drained. Everyone looks on edge, Janine close to tears although the words hadn’t been directed anywhere near her. Barbara was right.
You sigh, turn around and grab your lunch from the fridge while Melissa storms back to her chair.
“I’m sorry for the disruption. Enjoy your lunch.” You say to the group as you head for the door.
“Yeah, and don’t come back.” Melissa grunts.
“Oh, fuck off.” You snip, sending her one last glare before you storm back to your classroom where you close the door with perhaps too much force behind you. Which works in your favour because it’s a great deterrent in case anyone gets any unwise decisions to follow you, luckily they don’t.
Over the course of the next week you try every mindfulness trick in the book but still end up going home most evenings and screaming into a pillow. Everyone for the obvious reason that they weren’t shit scared of you had started coming to you begging you to fix the relationship between you and Melissa, like she wasn’t the one to burn it down in flames in the first place!
You don’t care how many times Janine comes to you crying about Abbott peace needing to be restored, or Jacob complains that he’s running out of crockery because Melissa keeps smashing it, or even Barbara’s pointed looks (which you know Melissa will be receiving as well) you refuse to give in. Not this time.
Ava’s pointed, “Fix this because I’m not starting doomsday with a fighting crew so I will have to pick, and it’s not looking good for you.” definitely hurts a little because you thought you were friends.
“This is the end of the world, Y/N. Friends get you killed! I need a crew with skills to make sure I survive.”
You walk away from that conversation and miss Melissa not for the first time that week. She’d say something kind to cheer you up like, “Doomsday ain’t happening, but if it does I’m not anyone’s patsy. Me, you, Barb and her family are all headin’ up to my timeshare and I’m keeping youse safe.”
As you walk the hallways of Abbott you hear her voice through the open door of her classroom. You pause, leaning against the wall where she can’t see you, and listen to her teach. You haven’t heard her voice void of hate all week and it was draining you. For a woman set on wanting nothing to do with you, she seemed to be around every corner shooting you a glare or scorching remark.
You melt into the wall, and listen to her lead her class through a grammar lesson, her voice gentle as she praises and encourages students. You miss the days you could drop in to her class on your free periods and bring her a cup of coffee just to see her eyes light up and receive a warm smile before leaving her to teach. You miss sharing food over lunch, you hate not having anyone to try your new recipe’s on. You miss every little soft touch she’d give you throughout the day, a hand on your arm, on your upper back, on your shoulder. You didn’t realise how much you relied on those moments to keep you steady until they were pulled away and suddenly you didn’t feel safe in your own body anymore. Ridiculous. You lived many years before Melissa Schemmenti your body and brain just needed to get the memo that it was happening again.
You needed to get over yourself because your friendship with Melissa Schemmenti was dead. Those kind comments weren’t coming and you needed to stop yearning for them if you wanted to survive at Abbott. First things first, maybe stop wistfully waiting outside her classroom.
You’re back in your classroom at the end of the day, packing up after dismissing your kids, when Ava’s voice rings through the intercom, “Miss Schemmenti and Miss L/N report to Miss Howard’s classroom immediately.”
What the hell?
You frown and place the books in your hands down before you head towards the kindergarten's teacher’s room, curiosity getting the better of you.
Melissa runs into you in the corridor, her brows drawn together in confusion. “You know what this is about?” She asks gruffly.
“Not a clue.” You sigh.
You let her lead the way into the classroom. Her walk signalling her preparation for battle. The protective streak in her simmering under the surface, you’d be dumb to think it had anything to do with you.
The kindergarten classroom is empty and in perfect order. Barbara Howard stands poised perfectly beside her desk, her head held high. “I’d like both of you to sit down please.” She says in her sickly sweet voice. The one you know means danger if you don’t comply so you perch on a desk near the front of her class.
StIll, Melissa doesn’t follow orders. Instead, hovering by the door. “Barb, what’s going on?”
Barbara holds her gaze, eyes flashing, even as her voice drips with honey, “Melisssa, dear. Sit down.”
She grumbles but this time complies, choosing the desk on the other side of the aisle to you. “Happy?”
“Wonderful.” Barbara clasps her hands together and starts making her way to the door. “Now, you two are going to fix what’s happened between you-”
“I’m not talking to that-”
“Barbara-”
“I do not want to hear it!” She cuts you both off. “I’ve had enough of the temper tantrums and sulking. You’re worse than the teenagers. So pull it together and admit you miss each other so people can stop walking on eggshells and poor Janine’s hair stops falling out.”
Thoroughly told, you slump further in on yourself as Barbara strides out of the room. The door shutting behind her and the unmistakable sound of a lock clicking into place.
You chance a glimpse of Melissa from the corner of your eye. Surprised she wasn’t up, ready to kick the door down to escape you. It’s then you notice just how tired she looks. Her makeup has begun to fade, revealing the dark circles under her eyes, her face was drawn and pale, her eyes lacking their usual sparkle. She looks exhausted.
“Melissa, what’s it going to take for you to forgive me?” You ask plainly.
She shoots you a glare, eyes full of fire again. The tiredness hidden and slammed up behind shields. “You know this ain’t a forgive and forget sorta situation.”
You push yourself off the desk and walk closer to the woman of your torment, “What so we don’t listen to Barbara and Abbott continues to be an awful place to work because everyone is uncomfortable whenever we’re in the same room.”
She shrugs, “I’ve worked with enemies before.”
“I’m an enemy now? Come on! It was one lousy date! You wanna throw away years of good friendship for that? I’ve apologised multiple times and I’ll do it again. I’m sorry Melissa. I wouldn’t have gone on the date if I’d known. You must know that.” You say incredulously, watching the hard-headed woman in front of you. “Why would I wanna jeopardise my closest relationship here? You really think you mean that little to me?”
She wavers, the words touching her, but she doesn’t soften. Instead, she pushes herself off the desk, making herself taller.
“You talk the talk. But if that’s all true,” she jabs a finger in your direction, “why’d you send goddamn’ nudes to my sister, Y/N!”
Your eyes widen, jaw dropping in shock. “What the hell are you talking about? We went on half a date. Why would I have sent her nudes? Do you really think I’m that sort of person?”
She crosses her arms against her chest, “I saw her last Sunday, before your date. She told me about this ‘young thing’ she was messagin’ and receivin’ risky photos from. You tellin’ me that weren’t you?”
“Firstly, ‘young thing’ is disgusting.” You protest, and Melissa winces in agreement. “But more to the point, no it was not me. Not that it would be any of your business if I did decide to send those types of photos to someone because I’m an adult and it’s my choice, Melissa. I get she’s your sister but I told you I left the date when I found out and that I had no interest in seeing her again. So I just don’t understand what the problem is.”
She sighs, and takes a step back. “You really tellin’ the truth?”
“Yes!”
“Fuckin’ hell,” She grumbles.
Her gaze drops from yours as she kicks her shoe into the ground, a frustrated grunt leaving her lips. When she looks at you again, her gaze softens, the anger melting away leaving her vulnerability exposed. “Look, I hated the thought of her seeing youse like that, alright? I love my sister but she’s not got the best track record of treatin’ women the way they ought to be treated and I didn’t want you messed up in that. If you were sharin’ those photos it should be with someone that respected ‘em, respected you. Not someone that treated you like her latest play thing.”
“So you took it out on me.”
“Well you still went on a date with my sister,” She says with an eye roll, “but I guess I got a second wind of anger when I connected the dots and It was easier to blame you. I’m sorry.” She shrugs.
You smile tenderly. The calm good, hope settling in your stomach that everything might actually be okay. She cared about you being treated right, that was something, at least.
“I’m sorry too. For everything I said in the staff room. I didn’t mean it.” You respond genuinely. You’d regretted the words as soon as your anger had faded.
“All’s good.” She shrugs again, with a smile. And you know you’re forgiven, even if you don’t feel like you quite deserve it.
She tilts her head, fingers tugging on the belt straps of her jeans - which doesn’t make your heart skip a beat at all. “Let me ask one thing ‘nd then we can move on for good.”
You clear your throat, “S-Sure.”
“Why her?”
“Mel-” You shake your head.
“Come on, there’s gotta be loads of women on those apps, but ya choose to meet with Toni, why?” She asks, watching you closely, eyes guarded, like she’s scared of your answer.
You sigh and contemplate lying or refusing to answer, especially with how new the calm is and how quick she can be set off again. But you also don’t want to refuse her and you can see the vulnerability she’s desperately trying to hide.
“Honestly?” You shrug, unable to hold her gaze, “I liked her eyes.”
“Seriously?” She chokes, eyes widening in surprise. She ducks her head and shifts on her feet, “People have always said we got the same eyes.”
“Similar. Yours are lighter, bigger, prettier.” The words are out your mouth before you can stop them and you kind of want the ground to swallow you up whole.
Melissa smiles, her cheeks dusting pink, as she laughs and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, okay, hon.”
The compliment hadn’t been intended and leaves you feeling exposed, but still you hate her immediate refusal. A trend since you started at Abbott. Apart from compliments on her teaching, which she accepts, she’s always quick to dismiss the kind words that come from your mouth. Any compliments on her hair, her outfits, her personality are all quickly laughed off. You hate it, and what’s worse, you really don’t understand it. She accepts everyone else’s nice words, you know she’s so confident in herself, so it doesn’t make any sense.
“Why do you do that?” You ask, sighing.
She furrows her brows, “Do what?”
“Always reject the compliments I give you.”
She huffs, eyes averting yours. “I don’t.”
“Oh, come on,” You chuckle, “You’re gonna have to do better than that.”
She crosses her arms against her chest, shrugging, “You’re a kid, whats it matter if I accept your compliments or not?” She challenges
“I’ve told you not to call me that.” You say firmly, eyes narrowing.
You had this conversation a few months after you started working together and she promised she’d stop calling you that. You were aware of the age gap, but that doesn’t mean you need to be patronisingly called ‘kid’, especially by Melissa. She knew better.
Her eyes narrow as her hand comes out to wave at you, “But you are, alright? Ain’t even thirty. Why are we kiddin’ ourselves with nice conversations and stupid compliments that mean nothin’.”
“You don’t honestly believe that,” You breathe, voice calm even as your heart beats rapidly.
“You should be hangin’ out with kids your own age, not me.”
“I do, you know this. I have out of school friends and I’ve got Ava and I join the after school crew sometimes.”
She stares at you, her eyes hard even as her hands shake. You reach out and place a gentle hand over hers and watch as her whole body relaxes.
Her eyes squeeze shut and she drops her head, a deep sigh escaping her lips.
“Mel, this is me.” You whisper. “My favourite part of the day is sneaking into your classroom and giving you a coffee because it makes you smile. You have no idea how much I’ve missed it this last week. It just so happens that out of everyone you're still my favourite person to be with. What’s so wrong about that?”
Shining green eyes meet yours, “I ain’t good for ya.”
Your brows draw together, heart aching as you step closer to her. “That’s not true.”
She’s so close you can see the brown specks in her green eyes. You want to reach out and cup her cheek, hold her close and help somehow.
“Isn’t my opinion what matters?” You prompt.
Her eyes gaze back into yours, pained and tormented.
“You’re a terrible idea.” She breathes, voice so quiet you barely hear it over the sound of your thumping heart.
“Mel,” Your heart thuds, your voice shaking as you're guided closer by an invisible force. Your hand rests on her upper arm, hers perching on your waist and all your thoughts disappear in an instant as your eyes squeeze shut and you try to remember how to breathe.
Her eyes track your face, memorising every detail now she has you so close. The slight furrow of your brow, your delicate eyelashes, your open mouth.
“Fuck it,” She sighs, her hand coming up to cup your cheek, fingers cool against your overheated skin. Your eyes open and Melissa’s darkened ones stare back at you. Your teeth dig into your lip and her eyes follow the movement.
You can’t find your breath as Melissa guides you towards her, her mouth slowly moving closer to yours. Your fingers grip into the cotton of her t-shirt the moment her lips tenderly brush against yours. You melt into the kiss, a mew escaping your mouth as you kiss her back. All thoughts gone as you give into the sensation of her lips against yours.
It doesn’t last long but you still can’t find your breath when Melissa pulls back, a nervous smile on her lips.
“Wow,” You breathe.
She chuckles affectionately, her eyes warm as she watches you. “That’s all you’ve gotta say?”
“Uh…Kiss me again, please?” You offer
She chuckles again, her smirk victorious as she rolls her eyes. “Come on, tell me what you’re feelin’”
“Oh, isn’t that obvious?” You squint, “I’m obsessed with you. I have been for ages. You’re the one that was keeping it all close to the chest, Schemmenti.”
She shrugs, “Dunno. I might’ve suspected you had a thing. Wasn’t sure though, and with those dates you’ve been going on. I was gettin’ mixed signals.” She rolls her eyes.
She’s been going on dates as well but it seems pointless to point that out. “Melissa, I’m crazy about you.”
She grins, “I kinda have a thing for ya too.”
Your heart thumps at her words, like the kiss wasn’t enough confirmation. Her smile and warm eyes, matching your own goofy smile. “That’s good to know. How about you let me take you out for dinner?”
She rolls her eyes, “What the same place you took my sister? No hun, I’m takin’ you out.”
Your teeth dig into your lips as you try and fail to suppress your smirk, “Oh, was that the real issue? Jealous that your sister got to go out with me first?”
“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” She grumbles.
“Oh yeah, is that so?” You tease, leaning in close.
Melissa’s eyes darken, “I’d watch it if I were you.”
“Why’s that?” You ask, excitement rippling down your spine.
“‘Cause you’ve got no idea what I’m capable of.”
“Is that a threat?”
“A promise.”
Your body heats up. All the air leaving your lungs as Melissa laughs.
“This is gonna be fun.” She grins.
She pats your hip, “Come on, hon, let's find a way out of this room and then I’ll take you on a proper date.”
You nod, unable to form words as you follow her blindly.
But with Melissa Schemmenti, you know you’ll always be okay, even if she does have a dangerous impact on your ability to regulate your breath.
You think it’s worth it.
For a woman that beautiful, just about anything is.
#melissa schemmenti x reader#melissa schemmenti#abbott elementary#barbara howard#fem!reader#kt writes#fanfiction#fanfic#in the darkness (open your eyes)#abbott elementary fanfic#my gif#aeedit#ae#abbott#i'm nervous omg please enjoy
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𝓭ay 𝓮ight.
daryl dixon and forced proximity.
staring at the single bed in the middle of the small room, you can’t help but stifle a laugh. it’s the last thing you expected when you and daryl rolled up to the abandoned cabin, both exhausted and hoping for a bit of rest after a long day of scavenging.
“just one bed,” you murmur, glancing over at daryl, who’s already crossing his arms and scowling.
“you take it,” he grunts, turning away to rummage through his pack for a blanket. “i’ll sleep on the floor.”
“what?” you blurt out, shaking your head. “no way, daryl. you’ve been running yourself ragged all week - you need a good night’s sleep.”
“don’t need it that bad,” he mutters, tossing the blanket down on the wooden floor as if that’s the end of the discussion. “ain’t no big deal.”
but there’s a stubbornness in you that matches his, and you don’t budge. “come on,” you plead, “the bed’s big enough for both of us. i’ll even stay on my side.”
he snorts, still not looking at you. “not sharin’ a damn bed. i’ll be fine.”
with a sigh, you step closer, your voice softening as you look at the tension in his shoulders, the lines of exhaustion etched on his face. “please, daryl,” you say, “i can’t just let you sleep on the floor.”
he finally meets your gaze, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. “why’s it matter so much to you?”
you hesitate for a moment, then shrug, giving him a small, tentative smile. “because you’re always looking out for everyone else, and… i don’t know. maybe i just wanna look out for you, too, for once.”
there’s a beat of silence, and something flickers in his expression - almost like surprise, though he quickly masks it with a gruff huff. “ain’t like i’m gonna drop dead from one night on a floor,” he grumbles, but his tone is softer now, less resistant.
“i know,” you reply, taking a step closer. “but wouldn’t it be better to be comfortable? i mean, come on, daryl. we’ve both slept in way worse places than this.”
he runs a hand through his hair, his jaw working as he looks from the bed to you and back again. finally, he lets out a low sigh. “fine,” he mutters, sounding almost reluctant. “but you better stay on your side.”
“deal,” you say quickly, unable to hide the small triumphant smile that creeps across your face. “promise i won’t hog the blankets.”
the bed creaks under his weight as he lies down, and you settle on the other side, making sure there’s enough space between you. the silence stretches out, filled only by the sound of your breathing and the faint rustle of leaves outside the cabin window.
you stare up at the ceiling, feeling the warmth of his body not far from yours, even though you’re not touching. you hadn’t realized just how tired you were until now, the day’s exhaustion catching up with you.
“this ain’t awkward or nothin’,” daryl mutters after a long stretch of quiet, his voice gruff but edged with a touch of humor.
you can’t help but smile, turning your head slightly to glance at him. “could be worse,” you say, your tone light. “at least we’re not stuck outside in the cold.”
“s’pose,” he grunts, shifting a bit like he’s trying to get comfortable but doesn’t quite know how.
you watch him out of the corner of your eye, the way his brow furrows as he stares up at the ceiling, the tension that still lingers in his body despite being in a warm bed. there’s something about his restlessness that tugs at you, and before you can stop yourself, you reach out and place a gentle hand on his arm.
“hey,” you say softly, “it’s okay to relax, you know.”
his gaze snaps to you, eyes narrowing as if he’s about to brush you off, but the words seem to get stuck in his throat. he swallows, his jaw clenching and unclenching before he finally looks away. “ain’t used to this,” he mutters, almost like an admission.
“i know,” you reply, keeping your hand where it is, the touch light but steady. “but maybe it’s okay to let your guard down. just for a night.”
he doesn’t say anything for a long moment, then lets out a low breath. “you’re a stubborn one, ain’t ya?”
“takes one to know one,” you shoot back, your voice teasing but gentle.
the corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s fighting a smile, and then he shifts a bit closer, just enough that your hand slips from his arm to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.
“fine,” he murmurs, his voice low, “but if you start snorin’, i’m kickin’ you outta the bed.”
you laugh softly, the sound easing some of the tension between you. “guess i’ll have to sleep real quiet, then.”
for a moment, there’s nothing but the quiet, shared warmth of the bed, and you let your eyes close, feeling the heaviness of sleep start to creep in.
but then, daryl’s voice breaks the silence once more, softer this time, almost hesitant. “thanks,” he says, like the word doesn’t come easy to him.
you open your eyes, glancing up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “anytime.”
he doesn’t respond, just lets out a low hum as his arm moves ever so slightly, shifting to rest around you, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“you don’t gotta be this nice, y’know,” he mumbles, his thumb brushing absently over your shoulder. “most people just… don’t bother.”
“well, i’m not most people,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper as you settle closer, the warmth of his body chasing away the last chill of the night. “i bother because i want to.”
daryl’s grip tightens a fraction, like he’s holding onto the weight of your words. he lets out a long exhale, and you can feel the tension slowly seeping out of him, his posture finally relaxing as he leans into the comfort of the moment.
“guess i don’t mind it so much,” he admits after a beat, his tone softer than usual, almost vulnerable.
your smile widens, and you nestle your head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong beneath your cheek. “good,” you murmur, “because i’m not planning on stopping anytime soon,” you utter, your grin evident in your happy tone.
he doesn’t say anything else, just lets his hand drift up to rest in your hair, his fingers gently threading through the strands as you both sink into the warmth of the shared bed. for the first time in what feels like ages, there’s a sense of peace, the kind that doesn’t come often.
as you settle closer, your head resting against his chest, you can feel daryl’s heartbeat gradually slowing under your touch. there’s a quiet comfort in the shared warmth, something you hadn't realized you’d both been craving.
daryl shifts slightly, his arm tightening around your waist as his fingers continue to comb through your hair. you glance up at him, your gaze meeting his, and there's something there - an unspoken pull, a quiet understanding passing between you.
“you really don’t gotta be this nice,” he murmurs, his voice rougher, lower, like he’s struggling to keep it steady.
“i told you,” you whisper back, your hand resting against his chest, “i bother because i want to.”
the corner of his mouth twitches, and he lowers his head just a fraction, his breath warm against your cheek. “reckon you’re gonna keep on botherin’ me, then?”
“guess i will,” you reply, your voice soft but edged with something bolder as you tilt your chin up, closing the small space between you.
and then, before you can second-guess yourself, you press your lips to his, the kiss gentle at first, a question in the way you touch him. daryl’s breath catches, and for a heartbeat, he stays still - almost like he doesn’t know how to respond.
but then he lets out a low, rough sound from the back of his throat, and his hand slides to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss, the roughness in his touch betraying how much he’s holding back. there’s an urgency to the way his mouth moves against yours, a hunger that simmers just beneath the surface, and you can feel it in the way his fingers tighten in your hair, the way his other hand settles at the small of your back, keeping you pressed close.
when you finally break apart, breathless and flushed, he rests his forehead against yours, his eyes dark and half-lidded as he studies your expression. “damn,” he mutters, his voice low and a little hoarse, “you really don’t let up, do ya?”
you smile, your hand slipping up to cup his jaw, your thumb brushing over the stubble there. “not when it comes to you,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.
daryl lets out a quiet chuckle, and before you know it, he’s leaning in again, capturing your mouth in another kiss - this one deeper, slower, as if savoring every moment. the warmth of his lips, the roughness of his touch, it all makes your head spin, and you can’t help but melt into him, letting yourself get lost in the way he’s finally letting down his guard.
when he finally pulls back, there’s a new warmth in his gaze, something softer but just as intense. “reckon i could get used to this,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing lightly over your cheek.
“good,” you reply, your voice a little breathless, “because i’m still not planning on stopping anytime soon,” you giggle out, repeating your words from earlier.
he doesn’t answer, he just smiles and pulls you closer, his lips brushing yours again in a promise that lingers long after the kiss ends, leaving you both a little less guarded, a little more open to whatever this might become.
general taglist : @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @icurushasfallen, @eddxemxnson, @nickiinator, @cable-kenobi
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@cloudcandyala, @v3lv3tf0x, @california-boys-and-sun, @lemoanaid
@notacleangirl, @jabberwokee, @aetherthetrashpanda, @schrodingersjigsaw, @sylaswrites
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@thugbiscuits, @rosiahills22, @cassehtwah, @whxtewolf, @mystcrium,
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#jay’s 500 event!#jay writes!#daryl dixon🎀#daryl x reader#daryl dixon#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon smut#twd#the book of carol#twd daryl dixon#the walking dead#norman reedus#norman reedus edit#daryldixon#norman reedus fanfiction#norman reedus x reader#norman reedus x you#norman reedus smut#melissa mcbride#daryl fanfiction#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon imagine
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I am homesick for a place I am not sure even exists. One where my heart is full. My body loved. And my soul understood.
Melissa Cox
#Melissa Cox#motivation#quotes#poetry#literature#relationship quotes#writing#original#words#love#relationship#thoughts#lit#prose#spilled ink#inspiring quotes#life quotes#quoteoftheday#love quotes#poem#aesthetic
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A Broccoli, a Baseball Bat, and a Guinea Pig.
Summary: the night in your cozy home is disrupted when your daughter Bianca wakes Melissa, in a panic. Unable to sleep, she confesses her fear of broccoli leaving your wife, well...confused.
based on this adorable video.
tags: @lifeismomentsyoucannotunderstand @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @kukikatt @dopenightmaretyphoon @schmentisgf @pitstopsapphic @jeridandridge @aliensuperst4rr
ps: sweetening the deal fucked me with writer’s block so i will probably focus on other prompts rn, hope that’s ok :)
It was past midnight. The hour when the world seemed to hold its breath, suspended in a delicate balance between today and tomorrow. Also known as the time when the Philadelphian city’s noise had long faded into a faint whisper, leaving the streets bathed in the spark of streetlights. In the Schemmenti household, serenity had settled like a heavy, comforting piece of fabric. The kind of silence that only arrived when every chore had been completed, every light turned off, and the rest of the world was tucked away into its own corners of slumber.
The house, though modest, held an air of quiet resilience. Shadows danced across the walls, illuminated faintly by the moonlight that filtered through the curtains. The familiar creaks of the old wood floors were absent now, the rhythmic hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen the only sound breaking the stillness. It was the hour when thoughts ran deep, when the burdens of the day—work deadlines, unpaid bills, and never-ending responsibilities—felt momentarily distant, softened by the promise of rest.
This was Melissa Schemmenti’s favorite time. The time when she could breathe, uninterrupted, and forget—if only for a few hours—that the chaos of life would resume with the morning light at her work at Abbott Elementary or the challenges of being a mom and wife.
Right now you lay sound asleep, your body nestled comfortably against Melissa’s, her steady presence like a balm in the quiet night. Your wife, dead to the world at your side, held you with the unconscious tenderness that came naturally to her, even in sleep. Her right arm was draped protectively over you, her delicate hand resting on the gentle curve of your four-months-pregnant belly, where the two of you eagerly awaited the arrival of your second baby. The touch was tender, instinctively maternal, as though even in sleep, she sought to guard you and the baby growing inside you.
Her legs were tangled messily with yours, one hooked firmly around your calf in her usual possessive, almost instinctive way, as though her body refused to let go of you, even in the deepest depths of sleep. It was a gesture so quintessentially Melissa Schemmenti—equal parts stubborn and caring. Her grip was neither tight nor restrictive but grounding, a silent declaration that she wanted you near, always. Forever.
And how not to mention her breaths, deep and steady, who filled the quiet space with a rhythm that might have been soothing if not for the occasional annoying snore escaping her slightly parted lips. It was a faint, almost endearing rasp—just loud enough to remind you of her presence but not so disruptive as to pull you from the comforting haze of rest. Each snore seemed to echo her personality: unfiltered, unapologetic, and somehow still charming?
Well that’s one way to put it.
The warmth radiating from her body wrapped around you like a second blanket, cocooning you both in an embrace that made the world outside the bedroom feel distant and insignificant. Her skin, soft against yours, carried the lingering scent of her lavender body lotion combined with faint traces of coffee from earlier in the day. Each rise and fall of her chest pressed gently into you, lulling you with its quiet reassurance, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how effortlessly her presence made you feel safe.
The snoring paused briefly as Melissa shifted, her leg tightening slightly against yours before her arm, still draped over your middle, unconsciously adjusted to rest more firmly on your belly. Then, the snoring resumed—steady, rhythmic, familiar. It was just another part of her, another piece of the life you’d built together, and as the sound blended with the comforting heat of her body, it became impossible to imagine the night without it.
To contribute with the peace, the bedroom around you was comfortingly illuminated by the pale glow of a nightlight in the corner, casting amber hues across the environment. The walls, painted a soothing sage green, were adorned with framed photographs of family moments: a candid shot of Melissa laughing, one of your daughter giving a gummy grin after spitting mashed bananas on you and the redhead, another of the two of you on your wedding day. And a small ultrasound image taped to the mirror. The fresh air carried a faint hint of honey from the diffuser on the dresser, blending with the scent of your wife’s perfume lingering on her pillow.
On the bedside table, a well-worn copy of a parenting book sat atop a stack of crossword puzzles the second grade teacher liked to solve before bed, along with an empty mug that had once held her nightly chamomile tea. The bed itself, a queen-sized sanctuary dressed in soft, cream-colored sheets, was rumpled from the night’s movements, but the disarray only added to its lived-in comfort.
Everything was perfect and peaceful.
Then came a small but noticeable noise—soft, tiny footsteps padding across the floor, almost five minutes later. You silently moved your head to the side but didn’t wake up.
“Ma,” came the tiniest whisper, breaking the stillness. “No sleep.”
Melissa groaned, the sound of small, shuffling feet reaching her ears even as she clung to the heavy warmth of sleep. She didn’t stir much, her body too weary to fully wake. Instead, she tightened her hold on you, her arm draped protectively over your belly, and buried her face deeper into the pillow. The soft scent of your shampoo lingered on the sheets, coaxing her to stay in this bubble of peace for just a little longer.
“Not now, sweet pea,” she sighed quietly, hoping that the almost four year old would settle back into sleep. “Ma is asleep. And she wants to rest before dealing with some Janine Teagues bullshit tomorrow.”
The words rolled out lazily, her filter dulled by exhaustion. She hoped your daughter standing at the side of the bed would take the hint and shuffle back to her room. Melissa didn’t even open her green eyes, clinging to the last thread of sleep while keeping her arm anchored over you. The long day had taken its toll—between keeping up with your toddler’s endless energy and taking care of you as the worst of your pregnancy nausea kept you bedridden, she had barely sat down all day.
It had been one thing after another: wiping sticky hands, answering endless “why?” or “what?” questions, and trying to coax a picky eater to finish her dinner while periodically checking on you. She’d done it without complaint—well, almost. A few muttered curses under her breath didn’t count, right? But the truth was your wife was drained, and the rare quiet moments at night with you in her arms were the only thing keeping her sane.
What Melissa didn’t account for, however, was how you’d feel about her careless words if you’d been awake to hear them. She could already imagine the glare you’d shoot her for cursing in front of Bianca, the way your brows would knit together in that disapproving yet somehow adorable way that never failed to make her feel a little guilty.
“Melissa Ann,” you’d say in that firm tone of yours. That sounded just like Teresa Schemmenti scolding her on her childhood. “I don’t care how tired you are; you don’t talk like that in front of our kid!” And she’d know you were right, of course. But right now, as she drifted on the edge of sleep, Melissa was too tired to care, muttering an unintelligible noise of acknowledgement as she felt the soft tug of tiny hands on the blanket. In the back of her mind, she knew she’d have to apologize in the morning—both to you and to her daughter. But for now, all she wanted was a few more minutes of quiet before the day started all over again.
Still the voice persisted, growing closer and more insistent to her dislikeness. “Ma! Ma!”
The redhead’s eyes fluttered open, complaining as she sat up and glanced down at you to make sure you were still asleep. She carefully removed her arm from around you, untangling herself from the blankets. “Bianca? Why are you awake?” she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
At the edge of the bed stood your daughter, clutching her well-loved Barney & Friends stuffed animal to her chest. The purple dinosaur’s plush fur was worn from countless hugs, its smile as unrelenting as ever. Her expression was frightened, almost like something had horrified her.
“Ma… I ‘fraid,” it was all she simply spoke.
Melissa exhaled a quiet sigh, already feeling the pull of motherly duty despite the leaden weight of exhaustion in her limbs. The sight of Barney—Barney, of all things—in Bianca’s tiny hands sparked an automatic flicker of irritation. That stuffed dinosaur had been at the center of far too many sleepless nights. Between her demands to watch the show on repeat and her insistence on singing the same cheerful, saccharine songs at the top of her lungs, Melissa had developed a deep-seated loathing for the overly jolly purple menace. Every time the theme song played—I love you, you love me…—she swore it shortened her lifespan by at least a year.
That damn purple dinosaur! He could simply go to hell. Along with Kristen Marie who introduced him to her daughter.
But tonight, this wasn’t one of those Barney-induced interruptions. The girl’s frightened expression and the tight clutch of her stuffed animal told Melissa this was something different. The irritation dissolved for a second.
She sighed, her heart softening despite her exhaustion. She knelt down to look at the tiny redhead with pigtails in the eyes. “Afraid of what? Un incubo? se è così, la mamma può cantarti una canzone per aiutarti a dormire di nuovo, tesoro.”
“No bad dream. B-Bockli...” Bianca whimpered, her lips quivering in genuine fear.
The mother frowns, confusion twisting her exhausted features. “Broccoli? What—baby, it’s... it’s just broccoli!” she protests, already turning back over, trying to sink under the covers. “It’s... it's a vegetable. You eat it.”
But the little girl wasn’t convinced and shook her head fervently, her fear not swayed by this logic. “They big an’ green an’ dey make my tummy go yucky!”
Melissa pinched the bridge of her nose, glancing toward the clock on the nightstand. The red numbers glared back at her: 3:27 a.m. Green eyes scanned the time, doing a quick mental calculation of how many hours of sleep she could still squeeze in before the alarm would drag her out of bed for another grueling day. Your wife’s sweet patience, already worn thin from a day spent juggling your pregnancy symptoms, was hanging by a thread.
“Piccola, It’s broccoli. It’s not a monster. It’s not going to hurt you. Now, please, go back to bed,” the second grade teacher shuffled back toward the bed, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders and muttering. “I can’t believe I’m losing sleep over a stupid vegetable.”
“But, Ma—” she started, pleading.
“No,” your wife cut her off, her tone sharper now as she rolled over, burrowing her face into the pillow. Her messy ponytail fell across her face, and she blew an irritated puff of air to move it aside. “I need to sleep. I’ve got work tomorrow, and Mommy’s pregnant—she needs to rest, too. And I’m not sleeping on the couch again because of pickles or whatever!”
The memory of the infamous pickle incident from weeks earlier flashed through Melissa’s mind. That night, after you’d insisted on an emergency run for pickles at midnight, the two of you had gotten into a heated argument. It ended with the redheaded woman stomping off to sleep on the plastic covered couch in the den while you sulked in bed. The couch had left her back aching for days, and she was determined not to let a repeat happen—especially not over broccoli.
“Ma, help me,” your almost four year old tried again, clutching Barney closer, her tone insistent.
“Nope. No more arguments. Go. Back. To. Bed,” Melissa grumbled, pulling the blankets over her head. She let out a deep sigh, nestling into the mattress as the comforting pull of sleep began to take hold again. Her body relaxed, her breathing evened out, and for a moment, it felt like she might actually drift off.
That is, until a sharp jolt shot through her side.
“OW!” The older woman yelped, bolting upright as a small foot jabbed her sharply in the side, she instinctively clutched her ribs. The comforting warmth of the covers fell away, replaced by the sharp sting of the unexpected kick. Her olive eyes widened in shock, and she turned to see her daughter standing there, her tiny foot poised for another kick if necessary.
“Mama!” Bianca wailed, her tiny face scrunched up in determination now. Before she could say anything else, Melissa’s expression turned into an outrageous one and she snapped.
“Bianca Francesca Schemmenti!” she barked, with disbelief and irritation. “Did you just kick me?!”
Wide unapologetic eyes stared up at her mother. “I told you me ‘fraid.”
The second grade teacher groaned, rubbing her side where the tiny foot had made contact.“Unbelievable,” she muttered, slumping back against the headboard. She had handled unruly second graders, parents at school meetings, and even Janine Teagues and Jacob Hill on their first days as inexperienced teachers but this? This was a new level of chaos.
“Ma,” your little girl tried again in a hushed but insistent whisper. “You check kitchen. The bad bockli’s home!”
The stillness of the house was disrupted only by the creak of the bed as Melissa sat up, running a manicure hand through her tangled auburn hair and releasing a groan that practically dripped with frustration. Bianca stood near the nightstand, her wide, teary green eyes unwavering in their plea, the kind of stubborn determination she recognized all too well—because it came straight from her. Like they say, like mom, like daughter. Even though all the poor mother desperately wanted was to just sink back into her bed with you and forget this ridiculous conversation about broccoli, she couldn’t.
“Fine!” she hissed, cutting through the silence as she threw her hands up in surrender. “Let’s go see what’s so terrifying about this stupid broccoli, huh?” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet meeting the cold hardwood floor with a sharp contrast to the warmth of her comforter. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to will away the pounding headache forming behind her eyes. “But I swear, bambina, if it’s just leftovers in the fridge, you’re grounded. No TV for a week. You hear me?”
Your daughter’s face transformed instantly, lighting up with an excitement that completely ignored her mother’s grumbling tone. “Ma, can’t just go! Need a plan first!” Her tiny voice bubbled with an urgency that made it sound like she was planning a military operation, not a trip to the fridge.
Green eyes blinked, the weight of regret settling firmly on her shoulders. “A plan?” she echoed, her tone incredulous. She rubbed a hand down her face, glancing toward the clock on her nightstand—it was nearly midnight. “Hun, it’s broccoli, not some rabid dog. We don’t need a plan.”
“Yes, we do!” the toddler insisted, tugging on her mother’s hand with a strength that belied her tiny frame. “And we need Edith!”
Melissa froze mid-motion, her sharp eyes narrowing suspiciously as she crouched down to Bianca’s level. Her tone dropped an octave, now edged with suspicion. “How do you know about Edith Houghton?”
She shifted her weight, looking at the floor as she clutched her well-loved Barney plush tighter. Her little voice softened into a sheepish whisper. “I saw you put her under the bed when you thought I was napping…”
The teacher groaned audibly, leaning back on her heels and pressing her palm against her forehead. Of course Bianca knew. Edith Houghton wasn’t some magical object; she was Melissa’s old, trusty baseball bat, kept stashed under the bed (or couch) as a holdover from her fight or fight days—and an added layer of security in case of emergencies.
“Look, kid, Houghton is for grown-up stuff. Real emergencies. Not your imaginary broccoli monsters.”
“But Ma!” Bianca whined, practically bouncing on her feet as she tugged Melissa’s arm harder. “We need her! C’mon, let’s go get ready!”
Before your wife could argue further, the mini Schemmenti had already taken the lead, dragging her reluctant mother out of the bedroom and into her own brightly decorated space. The pastel walls were covered in crayon scribbles that you and Melissa had long since given up trying to clean, and toys were scattered across the floor like a minefield.
“Alright, what now?” the redheaded woman asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe, watching as Bianca dove headfirst into her toy chest.
The toddler emerged moments later, holding an assortment of mismatched items: a toy soldier helmet, a small plastic flashlight, and—was that finger paint?
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Melissa muttered under her breath, her lips twitching into an exasperated smirk.
Her daughter climbed onto her bed, her movements purposeful as she began assembling her gear. She gestured dramatically toward the edge of the mattress. “Sit, Ma!”
An eyebrow was raised but Melissa complied, plopping herself down with a heavy sigh. The springs creaked under her weight as she watched Bianca with amusement and disbelief.
She approached her with the toy helmet, the cheap plastic strap barely holding it together. Before her mother could protest, Bianca jammed it onto her head, the strap cutting awkwardly into her chin.
“Piccola, I look ridiculous,” Melissa deadpanned, shooting her daughter a mock glare.
“No, look ready,” the troublemaker corrected, her tone serious. She grabbed the black finger paint and dipped a tiny finger into it, smearing two uneven streaks across her mother’s freckled cheeks with the kind of concentration that made Melissa both proud and concerned.
The older woman groaned, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “This is really what we’re doing, huh?”
“We’re soldiers, Ma. We have to be brave.”
Despite herself, Melissa felt a reluctant smile tug at the corners of her lips. “Alright, soldier,” she said, adjusting the helmet so it didn’t press directly into her scalp. “What’s the plan, Rambo?”
“First, we go to the kitchen. Then, you fight the broccoli while I hold the flashlight!”
Your wife smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, so I’m the muscle and you’re the brains, huh?”
The little one nodded solemnly, completely missing the sarcasm.
“Got it,” Melissa replied, rolling her eyes before standing. “Lead the way, General Bianca.”
She marched out of the room, Barney tucked under one arm and the flashlight held high in the other, her steps brimming with exaggerated confidence. The mother followed close behind, the toy helmet slipping awkwardly over her eyes as she ducked under the low hallway light.
By the time they reached the kitchen, Melissa was barely holding back a laugh at the absurdity of it all. “Alright, baby,” she announced, grabbing the fridge handle with exaggerated flair. “Let’s see this broccoli monster you’re so scared of.”
“Wait!” Bianca shouted, grabbing her mother’s arm. Her wide eyes were serious, her voice urgent. “We need Edith!”
Melissa sighed deeply, bending down to pull the baseball bat out from its new hiding place under the couch. She gave it a few test swings, the weight familiar and comforting in her hands. “Got it, you happy now?”
The girl nodded. “Ready!”
She yanked the fridge open with a dramatic flourish, her green eyes scanning the shelves. “Alright, broccoli,” she muttered, stepping forward with the bat raised. “Let’s see what you’ve got—”
Before your wife could finish her sentence, something darted across her field of vision.
“What the hell was that?!” Melissa yelped, instinctively jumping back and gripping the bat tighter.
Bianca let out a high-pitched shriek, pointing wildly at the fridge. “Ma, it moved!”
The teacher squinted into the fridge, her pulse quickening. There it was again—a small shadow scurrying behind a container of leftovers. Without thinking, she swung the bat wildly, hitting nothing but air. “Stay back, sweetie!” she barked, her tone shaky despite her attempt at sounding authoritative.
The shadow darted out of the fridge and onto the floor, revealing its true form under the kitchen illumination.
Melissa froze, her bat still raised.
It wasn’t a broccoli monster.
It was Sweet Cheeks, your family’s perpetually escaping guinea pig.
Your daughter gasped, dropping Barney as she ran to scoop up the tiny animal. “Cheeks!” she cried, cradling the guinea pig in her arms.
Melissa lowered the bat, her shoulders slumping as the realization hit her. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she complained, leaning against the counter. “Sweet Cheeks escaped again?”
Bianca giggled, lifting the guinea pig to nuzzle its furry face. “He was fighting the bockli, Ma!”
The fifty year old groaned, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, well, Sweet Cheeks can fight my battles from now on,” she settled the bat aside.
Reaching into the fridge, Melissa grabbed the container of broccoli and held it up for the toddler to see. “Look, kid,” she said, popping the lid open and holding it under her daughter’s nose. “It’s not scary. See? Just food.”
Bianca scrunched her nose and turned away. “It still looks yucky!”
Olive eyes rolled in amusement, shoving the container back into the fridge. “You’re a huge rascal, just like your Mommy.”
Just as she closed the fridge door, Sweet Cheeks scurried across her foot, causing Melissa to jump back with a startled yelp. In her panic, she tripped over the edge of the kitchen mat, landing flat on her backside.
Bianca’s laughter echoed through the kitchen as she pointed at her mother. “Ma, you’re scared of Cheeks!”
Melissa groaned, rubbing her sore tailbone as her cheeks flushed red. “I am not scared of him!”
The almost four year old giggled harder, her laughter infectious as your wife let out a resigned sigh.
“Next time, you’re on broccoli duty,” Melissa muttered, a small smile creeping onto her lips despite her embarrassment.
She couldn’t help but feel the corners of her frustration soften. Sure, the night had been ridiculous but seeing her daughter’s joy made it all worth it.
#melissa schemmenti x reader#melissa schemmenti x you#melissa schemmenti x y/n#melissa schemmenti#lisa ann walter#abbott elementary#abbott elementary fanfiction#i love mama Mel content 🥹#writing this made my anxiety pass a bit 🥲🥲
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this kara and this lena let me tell you—
#i have thoughts#so#many#thoughts#melissa benoist#katie mcgrath#supercorp#can i even tag this as supercorp?#this isnt even a top picture of her but still#may this lead to someone being inspired to write a fic about these two#(mine)
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I am homesick for a place I am not sure even exists. One where my heart is full. My body loved. And my soul understood.
Melissa Cox
#Melissa Cox#motivation#quotes#poetry#literature#relationship quotes#writing#original#words#love#relationship#thoughts#lit#prose#spilled ink#inspiring quotes#life quotes#quoteoftheday#love quotes#poem#aesthetic
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ever read a fic and get the sudden urge to comment in all caps about how much you love it?? but you don’t want the writer to think you’re absolutely crazy..
#i swear im normal#i can totally be chill#it’s the adhd#fanfiction#fanfic#writing#writers on tumblr#natasha romanoff x reader#dean winchester x reader#spencer reid x reader#melissa schemmenti x reader#kaz brekker x reader
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I am homesick for a place I am not sure even exists. One where my heart is full. My body loved. And my soul understood.
Melissa Cox
#Melissa Cox#motivation#quotes#poetry#literature#relationship quotes#writing#original#words#love#relationship#thoughts#lit#prose#spilled ink#inspiring quotes#life quotes#quoteoftheday#love quotes#poem#aesthetic
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Choosing to be kind is not choosing to be passive. It’s choosing to end the cycle of abuse.
Melissa Grey
#Melissa Grey#motivation#quotes#poetry#literature#relationship quotes#writing#original#words#love#relationship#thoughts#lit#prose#spilled ink#inspiring quotes#life quotes#quoteoftheday#love quotes#poem#aesthetic
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Choosing to be kind is not choosing to be passive. It’s choosing to end the cycle of abuse.
Melissa Grey
#Melissa Grey#motivation#quotes#poetry#literature#relationship quotes#writing#original#words#love#relationship#thoughts#lit#prose#spilled ink#inspiring quotes#life quotes#quoteoftheday#love quotes#poem#aesthetic
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just go with it
melissa schemmenti x fem!reader
summary: reader runs into an old frenemy at the bar and enlists melissa to play her date. hidden feelings are revealed. inspired by the movie just go with it.
word count: 3.8k
warnings: alcohol (beer), swearing, old bully.
a/n: this was so much fun to write! i hope you enjoy <3 i think i included all the warnings but as always pls let me know if i missed anything! if u wanna be added to my taglist just lmk or fill out my form on my masterlist!
The night hadn’t exactly gone to plan, not that you were complaining. The Abbot family were supposed to be celebrating reaching the end of another quarter, even going as far as to select a bar up to Ava’s standards with extravagant cocktails and comfortable booths (but still with a generic enough dart board that Melissa would turn up). Ava had shoot down your usual place saying, “Girl, I’ve got a reputation to uphold and even entering that place would lose me 1K on Instagram,”
However things had immediately started to splinter when Gregory and Janine failed to turn up, still very much in the honeymoon phase of their relationship. And then Barbara had ordered two cocktails which had immediately gone to her head and called Gerald to come and pick her up. Jacob got a text for Avi and ducked out apologetically, Mr Johnson disappeared somewhere, and then Ava declared she couldn’t be seen dead out in only a group of three so she ditched, which meant less than two hours into the night only you and Melissa remained at the bar.
You’d initially been irritated, having looked forward to a family night out all week. But when Melissa dragged you to the dart board saying “We don’t need ‘em.”, her hand warm in yours and her smile bright. You’d suddenly forgotten every thought you’d ever had.
“Another bullseye for me!” Melissa smirks victorious, dancing as she turns around to face you. “I think that means ya owe me a drink, hon.”
You roll your eyes, but can’t bring yourself to care that deeply at the sight of the redheads joy. She seems to be having a great time, despite everyone leaving. And you’re determined to soak up every moment of this additional out-of-school Melissa time until she decides to call it a night.
It feels like a blessing, and the sight of her in a strappy leopard print top with enough cleavage to cause your brain to short circuit when she‘d first arrived definitely didn’t hurt. She looked beautiful with her red curls down past her neck, and her brown leather jacket and red high heels on. Any day now you were gonna get this raging crush under control and not look at Melissa Schemmenti and see the sun, any day…
…just not today if your traitorous heart had any say.
“Another of the same?” You ask, nodding towards her beer with a grin on your lips.
“You betcha.” She shimmies closer to you, her teeth biting into her lip. “And when youse get back we’ll have another game. If you can take the heat.”
Your face heats up and you force out a laugh to cover up how wildly attractive you find her. You push yourself off the barstool and side step her. “Uh yeah, another game sounds good. I’ll be right back.” You step back, giving her a slightly too tight smile before you run away to the bar.
So chill Y/N. Wow, excellent game. If she didn’t want you before, I bet she does now.
You groan as you approach the bar, resisting every bone in your body that wants you to slam your head very hard against the bartop to hopefully knock some sense into yourself because that was just plain embarrassing. Instead, you settle on waving down the bartender and ordering two yuengling's.
They make quick work of your order and you pay and mutter a polite, “Thanks,” before turning away with your drinks, ready to head back to Melissa. Determined to not make a complete fool of yourself this evening.
“Y/N L/N!” A shrill voice calls and your blood runs cold, “Oh my god, is that really you?”
Your eyes fall close as you blow out a breath and send a hail mary that maybe, just maybe, that voice won’t be connected to the woman you believe it to be.
Of course, life doesn’t work like that and when you open your eyes you come face to face with your old college ‘friend’. If a friend meant someone who constantly put you down and had to be better than you at all times. Suddenly the last day of college doesn’t seem long enough ago, god you could’ve gone the rest of your life without seeing this woman and that still wouldn’t have made up for the torment of the three years of friendship with her.
“Alisha, Hi.” You grimace. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“I know!” She cackles, “I’d never expect you to be somewhere this close to classy. I remember the dives you loved in college.”
Your smile tightens and you force a humourless laugh. “Well, great to see you Alisha, but I really should be getting back to-”
“No, no, no, come on we must catch up!” She interrupts. She shakes her hair performatively and presents her hand, showing off an obnoxious diamond, “I, of course, got married. My husband is here actually and you must meet him.”
“Congrats, but I really should be getting back to my-”
“I’m sure your friend won’t mind.” Alisha waves a hand.
She grabs the hand not holding the two bottles of beer, her face etched with pity. “I noticed you don’t have a wedding band. It’s okay, your time will come.”
You try to shake your hand free, but Alisha’s grip tightens. “Seriously, Y/N, not everyone can be as lucky as-”
“Hey hon, everythin’ alright?” Melissa interrupts, an obvious edge to her voice. Her hand perches on the small of your back as she gives Alisha a once over, and despite the other woman being four inches taller than her, you know Melissa could take her effortlessly.
Alisha’s eyes widen before melting into a smirk as she extends her hand, “Alisha, Y/N’s closest friend from college.”
Melissa looks at you before looking back at Alisha and scoffing, “Right.”
Alisha drops her hand, but doesn’t look disturbed, in fact she looks more excited than you’ve ever seen her, if you exclude that one house party she threw where she got the entire football team to attend and ended up sleeping with the quarterback.
More than slightly disturbed, you push the beer in Melissa’s direction, “Here, sorry.”
“Thanks, hon.” She accepts the drink, her fingers brushing yours as she does.
You watch Alisha hungrily eat up the action, and you know what’s gonna happen next before she even opens her mouth. “So, you’re Y/N’s girlfriend?”
The redhead’s eyes widen, her drink pausing on its way to her mouth. And before she can reject it, and Alisha’s face grows even more victorious in your pathetic aloneness, you jump in and answer.
“Fiancée, actually.”
You should be awarded an Emmy for the way you keep your face straight and don’t cringe as both Melissa and Alisha swing around to face you.
“I left my ring at home,” You roll your eyes. “She only popped the question recently. Haven’t quite got used to wearing it yet.”
“Really?” Alisha questions, eyes narrowing. “Well now you must join my husband and I for drinks. We can toast to the newlyweds and newly-engaged.”
She grabs your hand, pulling you away before you can protest again. You look back at Melissa, silently begging for help, but she just watches you with an arched brow and smirk before she takes a long sip from her beer and saunters after you.
Alisha doesn’t release her grip until you reach the booth in the corner of the bar. Her husband, an even taller man, presumably quite handsome if you’re into that sort of thing - but in your opinion quite boring looking - sits scrolling on his phone and nursing what looks like a whiskey sour.
“Honey, I found some friends.” She says, sitting down beside her husband. “This is my best friend from college Y/N, and her fiancée…oh,” Alisha tips her head, smiling widely “In all that excitement I didn’t get your name.”
Melissa doesn’t respond, instead signalling you to slide in the booth first so she can be on the end.
“It’s Melissa,” You respond, ignoring the redhead’s dark look for sharing her personal information.
“Traitor,” She mumbles quietly into your ear, her breath hot.
You roll your eyes, even as you struggle to breath properly. If she’d saved you when she had the chance you wouldn’t be in this situation.
“What a lovely name,” Alisha gushes, and you don’t need to turn to see Melissa’s glare.
Alisha drops her head to her husband's shoulder, who wraps his arm around her back with a boy-ish grin, “And this is my husband, Victor.”
“Ladies, nice to meet you.”
You force a smile and take a long sip from your beer.
“I was just saying to Y/N how funny it is running into her.” Alisha laughs, “We’re only in Philadelphia because the jet needed to refuel. It was not part of our plan,” She rolls her eyes, “Honestly, can you imagine living here?”
“What’s wrong with Philly?” Melissa challenges, eyes narrowing
“I’m just saying it wouldn’t be my first choice.” She waves her hand, like she hasn’t said anything offensive. “Victor and I live in California, but we’re heading to Paris because this one’s talking at a convention for dentists.”
“Wow, impressive.” You nod politely.
“You ended up here?” She asks, pity evident in her tone.
“I chose here. I love Philly. I’ve got an amazing teaching job and an amazing group of friends. It’s a really good community.” You say seriously. There were some things Alisha could make you feel insecure about, but Philly was never going to be one of them. You were happy with your life.
“And your fiancée, right?” She challenges, “How long have you been together?”
Melissa’s arm wraps around your waist and she tugs you tightly into her side. You try not to let the surprise at the action show on your face.
“Two years. Known each other for three through. She swooped in and saved me when the kids were drivin’ me mad and kinda hasn’t stopped since.”
Your heart flutters as you stare at Melissa from beneath your lashes, warmth settling in your chest. You know the exact moment she’s talking about, it’s the first time you properly met, about a month into teaching at Abbott. You’d heard the commotion coming from her classroom while your first-graders were in music class, and had popped your head next door - just to check - and found a clearly stressed out redhead trying to control a large class of second and third graders.
You’d made your way in, with a calm “How can I help?”. Melissa had just thrusted worksheets at you and pointed towards the third-graders. From then on you popped in to help whenever you had a free lesson, and if it meant staying later to catch up on lesson planning you decided it was worth it, especially as it led to one of your favourite friendships.
“You have kids?” Victor asks. “I love kids.”
“No, teacher. We work together.”
“Oh, that makes sense. Y/N was never one to have much of a social life outside of her work.” Alisha rolls her eyes, “Of course she’d have to meet her partner at her place of work too. She never had much luck when it came to dating, always so alone.” She juts out her bottom lip patronisingly.
“I dated.” You defend, “I just happened to put my studies first, which was the whole point of being at college.”
Alisha nods and takes a sip from her drink. Your eyes narrow at her. You don’t realise your hand has tightened into a fist until Melissa pulls it into her lap and begins gently caressing your knuckles, slowly coaxing it open again.
Victor’s phone rings, an obnoxious beeping sound that shocks you enough that your hand pulls away from Melissa’s. You miss the touch instantly, wanting to reach back but knowing you shouldn’t.
“Oh sorry girls, I should take this.”
“He gets lots of important calls.” Alisha supplies proudly, as she slides out of the booth to let her husband out. Melissa lifts her brows, shooting you a look of disbelief and you struggle not to laugh.
They stand together beside the table. Victor drops his forehead to Alisha’s and inhales deeply. “Your beauty, your drive, your wit.” He breathes dramatically.
Alisha hums, “Your intelligence, your thirst, your strength.”
Their nose’s rub together, and you swear your soul leaves your body as you watch them open mouthed in disbelief. You turn to Melissa whose face is screwed up in outright disgust.
Alisha sits back down, a content smile on her face. “It’s something we do whenever the other person leaves. Say what we love most about each other.”
“You really ain’t from Philly, huh?” Melissa laughs, taking a long sip from her beer.
“You guys should try it.”
“I ain’t doing-”
“I don’t think-” Melissa and you both start to say at the same time.
“Not everyone can do it.” Alisha waves.
Your eyes narrow and Melissa puts down her beer.
“You know what, we’ll do it now.” You say, determined.
Melissa smirks, eyes bright with challenge as she looks between you and Alisha. “Sure thing, hon.”
“Okay, just look into each other’s eyes and say three things you love most about each other.”
You turn to face Melissa, knee’s brushing against hers. You blow out a breath, suddenly nervous looking at her this closely. Her green eyes hold your gaze, a reassuring smile on her face and it helps you steel yourself.
“Okay. Uh, I love how much you care about the kids.” You start, easy, honest, tame. “You do so much for them, more than anyone even realises. But they love you so much. You’re a phenomenal teacher. You’ve got such a beautiful heart, even if you do try to keep it hidden.”
Melissa listens to you with soft eyes, a wet chuckle breaking from her lips.
“It’s not even just the kids. The things you do for Barbara, Janine, Me. You are extraordinary. I see how much you care, I see your kindness.” The words flow from your lips, the truth that you should probably keep hidden.
She scoffs, shaking her head, “I ain’t that soft.”
“I love how safe you make me feel.” Your breath shakes as Melissa’s eyes widen. God too much, too honest, but maybe she’ll just think you’re selling the lie and won’t know just how true every word coming from your lips is.
“Whenever something happens you’re the person I want to find. And you just know how to make it better. Before you, I never needed someone else, but now I literally…I just, I don’t know, I gravitate towards you. When I’m with you I just know everything is going to be okay. I feel safe, like together we could take on anything.”
“I wouldn’t let anythin’ happen to you.” She smiles gently.
Your heart stutters, “And your smile, god that smile.” It makes you soar, you can’t breath as words spill from your lips, “I love it. I look forward to lunch everyday because I know I get to see that smile. Your smile starts my day, and everytime I get to see it I feel like I’m doing something right.”
She stares at you and you clear your throat, breaking your gaze. “And that's three.”
Melissa grabs your hands, her fingers stroking your knuckles, prompting your eyes to return back to hers. “My turn.”
You nod silently, unable to speak as you watch the women in front of you. Heart pounding.
“I love your company. No matter my mood, it’s good. You’re just nice to have around. Whether I’m cookin’ for you, we’re drinkin’, or we’re stressin’ out over work. It’s fun with you.” She shrugs with a shy smile.
You grin. God your heart can’t take this. It still pounds and you can’t differentiate between truth and lie. She sounds so honest, eyes so gentle and you desperately want to fall in and believe every single word leaving her lips.
“You’re stupidly generous too and I love you for it, even if it makes me wanna hit ya sometimes.”
She rolls her eyes and you both chuckle.
“You say I have a good heart, but I watch the way you keep giving to everyone around you without expecting anythin’ in return. You’re always offering to cover a lesson or lunch shift, even though I know it means you’re staying at school later to catch up on lesson plans.”
You shift, you really hadn’t thought she’d noticed. “It’s nothing really.”
“It’s somethin’. You’re good. Like, actual good, and you don’t find that often.”
Your eyes soften, tears threatening to pool as you itch to reach out and pull her in, kiss her.
“And you know what else I love? Your eyes.” She nods, with a shining smile. “When they catch the light? Stunnin’. They are so expressive, always shining, sayin’ things even if you don’t.”
You draw in a sharp breath, eyes locked with hers. Wondering maybe if-
“I won a competition for the most beautiful eyes.” Alisha’s piercing voice interrupts. You jolt away from Melissa, having entirely forgotten about the other women’s presence.
“I’m pretty sure I’d still win if you entered. No offence, Y/N.” She laughs shrilly.
You drain the last of your beer, your chest still tight and your bearings off.
Melissa snaps. “Alright, I’m done. I dunno if your parents were too nice to you as a kid or didn’t tell you they loved you enough but either way I don’t care. You ain’t speaking to my girl like that anymore, especially if you think your ugly ass fake contacts in any way compare to her stunnin’ fuckin’ eyes.”
Alisha’s face finally falls.
“So goodbye, we’re leavin’. And you and your guy can get the hell out of Philly fast before I find someone to jack your dang car.” She grabs your hand, fingers entwined with yours and tugs you from the booth with her.
You laugh, feeling lighter the further away you get from the gobsmacked women you left behind. Melissa weaves you between people and out the bar, not letting go of your hand until you're safely outside and the door has shut behind you.
“That was…” You look at the redhead, shaking your head and grinning, your entire body buzzing. “God, I just…”
She chuckles, her hand landing on your waist. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” Her other hand digs into her back pocket pulling out her phone, “I’ll call a cab.”
Your heart thunders. Your hand reaching for her chin bringing her face back to yours. She’s so close…. “You are extraordinary.”
Her cheeks pink as she tries to shrug off your touch, “Y/N,”
“No.” You breathe, bringing her back to look at you. Your gaze falls to her red painted lips, your chest tightens. And you know you could let go, step back and you’d both pretend this moment had never happened, but you don’t want to.
You want to lean in and kiss those pretty lips. Finally say fuck the point of no return. Because all the fears and risks that were keeping you from plunging in all seemed irrelevant when your body felt this alive.
It’s like you’d finally woken you and you knew you didn’t want to go another day without kissing Melissa Schemmenti.
You lean in. Melissa’s shaky breath expelling against your lips before she meets yours. Tentative at first, once, twice, three times, before her hand fists into your shirt and yours moves to her hair, and then a moan is pulled from her lips and your gone. Frantic and heated you devour each other. Her phone is roughly shoved into your back pocket so she can paw at your ass and then she’s walking you back into the wall. Her body is finally flush against yours and you gasp in delight as you drown in the sensation, unable to think clearly as you passionately kiss her.
When you finally separate, you’re both breathing heavily, foreheads resting against each other. Melissa’s lipstick is a mess, her lips swollen, and you think she’s never looked more beautiful.
“Ya mess.” She tuts affectionately, breathing still broken as she reaches out to wipe her lipstick from your lips.
“And who’s fault is that?” You chuckle, grinning like a fool.
She rolls her eyes and you want to kiss the expression off her face. You lean in to do just that, but she steps back, her eyes shifting away from you.
“Hon,” She shakes her head, finally wiping the lipstick off from around her own mouth.
A pit lands in your stomach, panic coursing through your body. No. You’ve come this close. You weren’t losing her now.
“You can’t tell me you don’t feel this too.”
She looks at you, eyes soft and pained, “‘Nd you can’t want this.”
“Did you not hear a word I said in there?” You ask incredulously. “God, Mel, all of that. Every single word. I meant that.”
“You meant it?” She questions, unsure.
You shrug, vulnerable, exposed. “Of course. How could I not? You’re the best person I've ever met.”
She scoffs, wet, stumbling forward back into your arms. “Fuck you.” She murmurs and captures your lip. You expect it to be harsh and heated, but she’s so gentle and slow, her lips tenderly moving against yours like you’re something to be treasured and if she pushes too hard you might break.
You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek lovingly when you separate. She watches you in awe, eyes so gentle and you’ve never felt so content in your life.
“I meant everythin’ too.” She confesses.
You grin and press a quick peck to her lips. “I had my suspicions.”
She rolls her eyes, “Whatever. You wanna actually get out of ‘ere?”
You laugh, “Yes, please.”
“Leftovers and beers at mine?”
You hum in delight, not missing the way Melissa’s eyes darken, her eyes dropping to your lips. “That sounds perfect. And watch something on Netflix?”
“Whatever you want, hon.” She responds, dragging her gaze away. “I’ll call a cab now.”
She takes a couple steps away, to make the call and you unashamedly watch her the entire time. Your eyes taking in her figure and lingering on her ass. Because, hey, who can blame a girl.
It was Melissa goddamn Schemmenti.
Your teeth pulling at your bottom lip, do nothing to suppress your grin.
I guess you really might have to thank everyone in Abbott for leaving tonight if this was the result.
You weren’t quite a big enough person to thank Alisha.
You would have gotten there without her.
Eventually.
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𝓭ay 𝓯ive.
daryl dixon + unexpected compliment.
your sitting on the front steps of the prison when daryl comes up, bow slung over his shoulder and a fresh kill in his hands. you offer him a bright smile, as you always do, and he glances at you in that way he does - like he’s not quite sure how to handle your cheerfulness.
“hey, daryl,” you chirp, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “how’d it go out there?”
he grunts, a typical non-answer, but his gaze lingers on you a beat longer than usual. “was fine,” he mumbles, shifting his weight as if suddenly uncomfortable. he hesitates before his eyes flick up to meet yours, and his voice comes out a bit gruffer than intended. “y’look… pretty today.”
it’s so quiet, almost lost in the space between you, but you hear it. the compliment catches you off guard, and you blink, processing it before a wide, beaming smile spreads across your face. “really?” you ask, the excitement bubbling up in your tone.
daryl’s already regretting it, the tips of his ears flushing red as he averts his gaze. “yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” he mutters, kicking at a loose rock on the ground. “i mean… y’look pretty every day, or… whatever.” he stumbles over the words, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to hide behind his own hand.
your smile only grows, lighting up your whole face, and you can’t help the little laugh that escapes. “you think i’m pretty every day?” there’s a teasing lilt to your voice, but the genuine happiness is impossible to miss.
daryl scowls, more at himself than at you, and his eyes dart away, finding the ground far more interesting than your delighted expression. “stop grinnin’ like that,” he grumbles, his voice gruff and low. “ain’t no big deal.”
but the way you’re practically glowing, like that little comment meant the world to you, sends a flutter of something unfamiliar through him. he’s used to your sunshine demeanor, the way you always seem to find the bright side, even in the middle of all this mess. but now, he’s realizing just how much weight his words can hold for you, and it leaves him… flustered.
“i can’t help it,” you reply, the joy unmistakable in your tone as you practically bounce on the spot. “that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” you’re not poking fun; there’s only warmth in your voice, and it leaves daryl with that strange, fluttery feeling again.
“yeah, well,” he huffs, trying to shrug it off, “don’t let it get to your head, alright?” but there’s no real bite to his words, and the corners of his mouth twitch, almost like he’s fighting a smile of his own. it’s maddening, the way your happiness is infectious, like he’s catching the edges of it despite himself.
you notice the faint pink still dusting his cheeks, and it’s hard not to giggle at how he’s trying to act annoyed. “it’s just… it means a lot,” you say more quietly, your gaze softening as it meets his. “you don’t… y’know, say things like that often.”
“yeah, well, maybe i should just keep my mouth shut,” he retorts, but his voice is unsteady, and there’s no hiding the way your reaction flusters him. he shifts his weight from foot to foot, fidgeting like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
you bite your lip, then take a bold step forward, leaning up to press a quick, gentle kiss to his cheek. “thanks, daryl,” you murmur, your lips brushing against the scruff of his jaw before you pull back, still smiling that bright, genuine smile. “you’re sweet, even if you won’t admit it.”
daryl freezes at the touch, his cheeks burning hot under the sudden, unexpected warmth of your lips. “ain’t sweet,” he grumbles, but the way his voice cracks and the flush that spreads down his neck say otherwise.
he turns away sharply, muttering something under his breath, but it’s clear from the way he fumbles to sling his bow back over his shoulder that the little kiss has him more rattled than he’s willing to let on. “c’mon,” he says, voice a little gruffer than usual. “we got work to do.”
as he starts heading toward the fence, you swear you catch him rubbing at the spot on his cheek where your lips had touched, his expression flustered in a way that makes your heart skip. you follow, your grin wide and unshakeable as you fall into step beside him.
you think you see a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, too, but he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the path ahead, like he can’t risk letting you see just how much your happiness - and that simple touch - meant to him.
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Entwined (Ch. 1)
Melissa Schemmenti x Reader
Since your youth, the relationship between Melissa and you has been complicated. In all of your years knowing her, she just can't admit that she isn't as straight as she thinks.
Warnings: Toxic Melissa, smut, and very veiled internalized homophobia
Authors Note: If ya like it, let me know and I'll write more.
On and off.
That’s how you would describe your relationship with Melissa to your closest friends. They would inevitably roll their eyes and make a face, annoyed with how Melissa had you wrapped around her finger.
It started in high school. She would start dating a new guy, he would leave her unsatisfied in more ways than one, and then she would find those missing pieces of her relationship in you.
You were best friends after all…. and best friends would do anything for each other, right?
The first night you spent together was always vivid in your memories. Her green eyes flashing with mischief before she took your hand and pulled it to her thigh. Mel told you how badly she was aching, how it was almost painful. That she needed her best friend to help resolve what her boyfriend couldn’t.
She knew about your sexual orientation. She knew how hard it was for you to date. When you hesitated, Mel said it was like practicing for when you had a girlfriend. Only if she knew how beautiful you found her to be… that she was only making things harder for you.
Young and naive, you gladly accepted her offer - desire flooding your senses as soon as she drew your hands to her body. She guided you through every motion and step, telling you exactly what she liked. Like a sponge, you soaked up every word and memorized every fraction of her body. Never wanting to forget a thing.
Little did you know the knowledge would come in handy again… and again… and again.
—
“I should probably get going.” Mel breathed as she pushed herself into an upright position. You had been bathing in the afterglow of your sexual dalliance when you must have looked at her too yearningly. She didn’t want you getting too attached.
“I wouldn’t mind if you stayed. It’s no big deal.” You tried to shrug off her wanting to leave so soon. It was best if you played it cool rather than let her know how much you really wanted her after all these years.
It was clear she didn’t give much thought to your statement. Slipping out from under your sheets, Melissa snatched up her underwear and bra from the floor. She was always in such a rush after you were finished, “I don’t want the neighbors gettin’ the wrong idea.”
That's what she had always told you - ‘I’m not gay.’
For years, you always had a biting remark in return.
‘Yeah. It’s not like you just spent a half hour between my legs or anything.’
“What? Worried they might think you’re gay?” Your words were twinged with venom. Now, rather than wait for her to make the excuse, you threw it back in her face. It always irked you that she could say such a thing to you given all you had experienced with one another.
“A woman can enjoy the company of women and not be gay.”
You scoffed, unable to contain yourself, “You’re delusional.”
Melissa’s lip curled and her brow furrowed. She always hated when you would get pissy with her, so she decided to snap back at you as she clipped her bra in the back, “I don’t need your shit, okay? I came here for a good time after my shitty date.”
You faked a smile and let the sarcasm drip from your tongue. “Glad to help.”
—
You knew the relationship wasn’t healthy, but this is how it always went.
She would call. She would come over. You would fuck. She would want to leave right after. You would get pissed. Then you wouldn’t speak until she wanted back in your bed.
—
You gathered saliva in your mouth and then pushed your tongue between her folds, drenching Melissa’s sweet cunt in your spit.
After the last sexual dalliance, you told yourself you wouldn’t end up on your knees for her again. But 45 minutes ago you received a partial nude from the redhead, and she had you reeled back in once more. It was a scandalous picture of her standing in front of her bedroom mirror with her hand between her legs. The caption she sent with the photo was ‘Missing you.’
While it was infuriating she could send a picture at random like that, you were in your car minutes later ready to drive over to her house.
Your hands gripped behind her knees, keeping a gentle pressure to make sure she was spread wide for you. Her hands were buried in your hair to prevent you from lifting your face away from her swollen heat. But in all honesty, you weren’t planning on going anywhere until she came all over your tongue.
“Oh, fuck!” Mel whined, pushing her hips up to grind against your face. Her enjoyment made you smile, and sadly, a small ounce of hope lingered in the back of your mind that maybe you could fuck her good enough that she would want to be with you.
“Yesyesyesyes… God, you are incredible.” Melissa hissed out, chasing her orgasm through rough bucks of her hips.
You pulled back, fighting against the grip for her hands. You provided her with a singular lick to her cunt and then paused, teasing her, “You want to come?”
“Yes~”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, please.”
“Good girl…” You hummed, pulling away entirely to retrieve the strap.
—
She had barely recovered from taking a pseudo-rage filled fucking when she crawled from bed. Her legs wobbled underneath herself as she wrapped herself in a robe, trying to make it clear a third round wouldn’t be an option. “I guess you better be goin’.”
“Sounds good.” You took the hint with grace, choosing to let her statement roll off your back rather than stewing on it. You slipped from the bed, unclasped Melissa’s strap (that she kept around just for you), and tossed the sex toy on the bed. You then proceeded to get ready in silence, not offering anything to Melissa that might display your displeasure.
The redhead was slowly unnerved by your silence as you zipped up your trousers and pulled your shirt over your head. She stared at her nail beds, trying to start casual conversation, “Gary proposed.”
You glanced up at her quickly, brow furrowed in angry questioning. While you were not proud of how easily Mel could reel you in, you wouldn’t have come if she was still in a relationship let alone engaged.
Melissa noticed your incredulous look and finished explaining, “I said no.”
You breathed out a scoff as you tucked your phone in your back pocket and scooped up your sweater off the floor. “That sounds about right.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Melissa was clearly unhappy with your tone, but you refused to glance her way - slightly enraging her further.
Swiping your wallet and car keys from the bedside table you finally glanced over to where Mel sat on the edge of the bed. It was difficult to tell if she was more angry or embarrassed by your criticism, “I’ve learned the hard way, Mel. You’re hardly one to be tied down by something as trivial as love.”
Melissa was left speechless by your blatant honesty, and she could only stare as you gave her a curt nod, “I’ll see you around.”
—
She wasn’t gone for a half hour when you received a text from her - ‘Again tomorrow night? ;)’
It immediately forced you to roll your eyes. How you loved and hated that she was like this. One moment she would be so oppositional to any form of attachment, and then the moment someone ‘played hard to get’ with her, she would be fiending for their attention.
What was worse is that you were no better than her. You replied almost automatically - ‘I am off at 4. Come over whenever.’
Link to Chapter 2
#melissa schemmenti#melissa schemmenti x reader#lisa ann walter#abbott elementary#toxic relationship#if you like the fic then let me know. it was fun to write :)
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Memories and Mourning.
Summary: After your tragic and sudden passing, your wife Melissa tries to deal with the painful process of grief.
Warnings: mentions of s*icide, death, alcoholism, angst.
tags: @lifeismomentsyoucannotunderstand @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @kukikatt @dopenightmaretyphoon @schmentisgf @pitstopsapphic @jeridandridge @aliensuperst4rr
Melissa Schemmenti’s house stood as though trapped in a moment of decay, its walls sagging under the weight of too many memories, too much grief. The silence here wasn’t peaceful or comforting, but a heavy, pressing silence, a quietness that whispered of loss, of shattered dreams. It was a silence steeped in pain, a cruel reminder of what was no longer present. One filled with angst, sadness and guilt. That the fifty one year old woman never imagined that would cross her life.
The redheaded woman’s life, once defined by routine and the familiar sensation of a steady existence, had been upended in a single, heart-wrenching moment. The days before were woven with a simplicity she had taken for granted: early mornings with the scent of fresh coffee filling the air, your son’s laughter echoing through the house, and the warmth of your presence by her side. She never once thought that the gentle rhythm of those mornings, the way the sunlight would catch in your hair as you made breakfast for the family, would suddenly be lost.
Now, there was only the ghost of those days, lingering like an unwanted shadow. Each room in the house, each familiar object, was a cruel reminder of what she had lost. The kitchen was the worst—she found herself drawn to it, staring at the worn countertops, the disarrayed stack of dishes, the empty spaces where you used to be. The stove, which she had once only briefly used to heat up leftovers, now sat unused and cold. The empty chair at the table where you had once sat, teasing her with a smile over breakfast or catching her up on your thoughts, was just a hollow space.
Some toys were half-forgotten, lay strewn across the floor, forgotten by time. The dishes piled up in the sink, their edges yellowing with neglect. The upstairs bedroom, where you used to wake up together, lay untouched, the bed unmade as if waiting for a presence that would never return. Melissa’s heart ached at the sight, the house mirroring the chaos within her soul, a reflection of her battle to keep going after everything had fallen apart.
Melissa had always prided herself on being strong. She had been a pillar for everyone around her—her students, her colleagues, her family. Yet now, in the solitude of this house, she felt weak. The strong walls, once study, seemed to be closing in on her, reminding her of the fragility of everything. She had tried, in the beginning, to maintain normalcy for Giovanni. She had pushed through each day, pretending that everything was fine, if only for the little boy who didn’t yet understand what was happening, who couldn’t fathom that his mother’s world was crumbling.
But the truth was, she couldn’t even remember what it felt like to breathe easily anymore. Her chest tightened with every thought of you, every fleeting memory of the life they had once shared. Grief had become a constant weight on her shoulders, a cloak she couldn’t shrug off. The mornings, once filled with light, were now heavy with a kind of emptiness she couldn’t escape. She missed your presence in ways she couldn’t put into words, a quiet ache that wrapped around her heart, suffocating her with its intensity.
She had tried to move through the motions, to put one foot in front of the other, but everything felt like it was slipping through her fingers. The house, once a place of warmth and comfort, was now just a shell—empty, hollow. Each creak of the floorboards, each soft gust of wind that rattled the windows, felt like it was mocking her. She was trapped in a world that continued to spin, a world where everything had changed and yet nothing could be undone.
Days could bled into one another, but Melissa always struggled. She struggled to keep it together for Giovanni. She struggled to navigate the silence. She struggled to let go of the anger, the resentment, the guilt that gnawed at her insides.
How could she have missed the signs?
How could she have not seen what was happening to you before it was too late?
She was your wife for god’s sake! She could have done something to save you.
In the quiet moments, when the space seemed to exhale around her, your widow wondered if the person she used to be—the strong, confident, capable woman—was still somewhere inside her. But every day, she felt herself slipping further from who she was, drifting farther away from the life she had known. The woman she had been seemed like a distant memory, fading as quickly as the fleeting moments she had shared with you. She could still hear your voice in the stillness, feel the warmth of your touch in the air, but it wasn’t real. It wasn’t enough.
The residence, like Melissa Schemmenti herself, was in a constant state of disrepair, a reflection of her internal struggle. No matter how much she tried to piece things together, no matter how many times she tried to restore the balance, there was always something missing. The clutter in every corner were all too much like the fragments of her heart who was currently broken and scattered, impossible to mend. She felt like she was suffocating under the weight of it all. The emptiness, the grief, the loneliness—all of it threatened to pull her under, to drown her in a sea of doubts and “what-ifs.”
The second grade teacher had never imagined her life would be like this. She had never imagined she would be the one left behind. She had always thought it would be you. You, with your quiet strength and your soft smile, the one who held everything together while she let the world slip by. But now, she was the one who had to carry on. She was the one who had to figure out how to live without you. And every day felt like a battle, each moment a reminder that she was fighting a losing war.
Outside, the world seemed unaffected by any tragedy—children’s laughter filtered through the open window, car horns honked, and somewhere, the sound of a neighbor trimming hedges drifted through the air. But inside, it was as if the world had stopped. Her own world had come to a grinding halt. It had been one month—one month since she had kissed you goodbye, not knowing it would be the last time.
“Bullshit,” Melissa hissed, staring blankly at the cold mug of coffee in front of her. The steam had long since dissipated, leaving behind only the bitter taste of something once comforting. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten properly. The last time she had even bothered.
“Mama?” Giovanni’s delicate voice brought her out of her thoughts. He appeared in the kitchen doorway, his gaze innocent and curious, holding his favorite stuffed Bluey plushie. The sight made her almost throw up. He was a combination of both of you, but those bright eyes were just like yours. Hell, almost his entire features were just like yours.
“Hey, bambino,” she managed to whisper, trying to muster a smile that didn’t quite reach her green eyes. The smile was a lie—a mask she wore every day to hide the sorrow gnawing at her heart.
“Where’s Mommy?” he prompted, his voice low, as if he knew the answer would be difficult and painful.
Melissa’s breath got into her throat and her heart twisted panifully. How could she explain to a child so young that the woman he loved most was never coming home?
“Mommy... Mommy isn’t coming back,” she choked, trembling. “She’s in heaven now with Nonna and Nonno.”
Her son’s tiny face scrunched up in confusion, her eyes searching the eldest’s ones for the truth, a truth that no kid should have to face so soon.
“I want Mommy!” Giovanni cried, completely distressed. He shook her head, as though trying to deny the reality of it all. He walked over, grabbing Bluey tightly. As if this was just a silly joke that he was too young to understand. “Now!”
How could she make it better? How could she protect her boy from this pain?
The green eyed woman closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tears. She crouched down to his level and hugged him. “I want it too, bud. I miss her too.” The smell of his hair, still scented with baby shampoo, was a small consolation, but the pain of your absence was overwhelming.
The tiny redhead’s little arms wrapped around her neck, and Melissa buried her face in his soft curls. The familiar scent of the baby perfume grounded her, even as the pain of loss threatened to pull her under. She held him tightly, as if the sheer force of her love could somehow shield him from the hurt they were both feeling.
“Ma,” Giovanni whimpered, his lips quivering. “Mommy promised to play hide and seek, but she is not here..”
She wanted to scream. No, Melissa Schemmenti needed to scream before she collapsed.
“I know baby, I know,” she sighed quitely.
They stayed like that for a long time with Melissa on her knees, holding her son, trying to find some comfort in his warmth.
When he finally pulled away, the second grade teacher wiped her eyes quickly before her son could see the endless tears. “How about we get some breakfast, honey?”
The youngest nodded, but his gaze still lingered on her face, as if he could sense the sadness she was trying to hide. She ruffled Giovanni’s hair and stood up, turning to the counter where she kept his favorite cereals.
As Melissa poured the milk over the colorful loops, her mind wandered back again to the routine she used to share with you. The playful arguments over who made better coffee, the quiet moments when you’d steal a kiss before Giovanni came bounding in.
Stop. She is gone.
“Okay, prince. Here we go! Fruity Loops so my boy can be nice and strong like Bluey.”
The sicilian set the little one’s bowl in front of him and watched as he dug in, his small hands awkwardly gripping the spoon. He was growing so fast, and Melissa was terrified of missing it—terrified that her grief would swallow her whole and leave her unable to be the mom he needed.
As the three-year old ate, olive eyes drifted to the fridge. There, taped to the door, was a photo of the three of you. It was taken last summer at the beach. You had been holding Giovanni in your arms, both of you showing your tounges at the camera while Melissa stood beside you, her arm wrapped around your waist and chin resting on your shoulder. You had been so happy, so full of love and life. It felt like a lifetime ago.
But now that is gone, prematurely and permanently.
As a clue to the redhead’s pain. The boy looked up from the bowl, catching her gaze. “Mommy,” she said, pointing to the picture. “With Ma ‘n’ Gigi.”
The woman’s throat tightened almost immediately. “Yeah, that’s Mommy and us.”
The toddler smiled, a soft giggle escaping his lips. “She’s pretty,” he said with the innocence only a child could have.
“She was.”
Hours passed, the evening creeping in as the house settled into an uneasy quiet once more. The murmur of the people outside had long faded, leaving only the distant hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rustling of the wind against the windowpanes.
Melissa moved methodically through the motions of the evening, though everything felt like a blur. She had to be strong for Giovanni, as much as she felt like crumbling herself. The little boy, dressed in his soft pajamas, had grown more solemn as the seconds passed, his shiny eyes now shadowed with confusion and a sadness too big for his tiny heart to carry. He had said it again earlier, clinging to his mama as though his tiny hands could somehow hold her world together. “I want Mommy’s goodnight hug,” he’d whispered, and the plea unlocked something inside her, something broken, fragile.
Minutes ago, Melissa sat in her recliner, the glow of a forgotten television program illuminating her tired face. Giovanni had fallen asleep in her arms, his tiny body curled against her chest. She hesitated before standing—she hated the thought of letting go of her son, the only part of you she still had.
“Don’t worry, Schemmenti. It’s just a nap,” she reassured her own doubts. “He is safe.”
With careful steps, she carried him upstairs.
Now, as the night wrapped itself around them, the redheaded woman stood in the doorway of Giovanni’s room, watching her son, her baby, nestle herself into the blue blankets. The soft sound of his breathing was the only thing that filled the bedroom, the rhythmic rise and fall a small comfort, but one that seemed so distant, so insignificant in the face of everything else. Melissa leaned over her crib, brushing a lock of hair from her son’s face, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.
“I love you, sleep tight, piccolo,” she whispered, trembling, though she willed it to sound calm, steady.
He didn’t stir, lost in a world of dreams where his mother’s absence wasn’t so painfully felt. She lingered, gazing down at her child’s innocent face, wishing she could erase the sorrow from it, could somehow make it all better, but knowing deep down that there was no way to fix this.
Giovanni didn’t yet fully understand the loss. But he would. One day, he would.
As she stepped into the bathroom, the light was harsh and unkind, illuminating every crack in the mirror, every line on Melissa’s face. She turned the shower on, the hiss of water filling the room as steam began to rise. Standing there, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—her auburn hair limp and disheveled, dark circles carved under her sharp eyes, and her skin pale, almost lifeless.
The teacher lifted her arm to scratch her shoulder and caught a faint, sour smell. Realization hit her: she hadn’t showered in days. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken care of herself beyond the bare essentials. The reflection staring back at her in the mirror was a stranger—a shadow of the person she used to be.
Stepping under the stream of water, she closed her eyes as the heat cascaded over her. She let it soak her hair and wash away the grime that clung to her skin, but it couldn’t touch the heaviness in her chest.
And then, like a cruel trick, the memory of your last night together surfaced.
You had been lying in bed, her body still warm from lovemaking. Your head rested on her chest, and she’d run her fingers lazily through your long, tangled hair. The scent of your sex lingered in the air along your favorite lotion and the faint, salty tang of sweat.
“I love you so much,” you had murmured, your voice soft but steady, as if saying it for the first time.
Melissa had chuckled, brushing it off with a teasing smirk. “Yeah, yeah. I love you too, dumbass.” She hadn’t noticed the weight behind your words, the way your tone had trembled ever so slightly.
You’d pressed on, your hand tracing small circles on her arm. “No, I mean it, Lis. I really love you. You’re my everything.”
She had kissed you then, silencing you with a playful grin. “Don’t get all mushy on me now. You’re stuck with me, kid. Forever.”
But the next morning, you had seemed… different. Clingy. Your hands lingered on her shoulders as she got ready for work. You’d kissed her goodbye with a desperation that now haunted her.
“Don’t forget how much I love you!” you had shouted as your wife walked out the door.
And Melissa had laughed, patting your cheek. “How could I forget, mi amore?”
She was at Abbott Elementary when she got the call.
“Chi é?” she’d answered, distracted, her eyes scanning the hall for Jacob, who had promised to help her with a class project.
“Is this Melissa Schemmenti’s number?”
“Yeah, who’s askin’?”
“This is Saint Joseph’s Hospital. We need you to come in right away. It’s about your wife, Y/N.”
Her blood ran cold. The phone nearly slipped from her hand. “What? What happened?”
I’m sorry, ma’am. We can’t disclose details over the phone. Please come to the ER as soon as possible.”
Panic gripped her chest as she grabbed her coat, running to Ava’s office explaining the situation and asking if a substitute could take care of her second graders. Barbara and Jacob had found her in the hallway, her face pale, her hands shaking. They drove her to the hospital, their attempts at comforting her barely registering.
Something was wrong. Horribly, irreparably wrong.
Melissa hadn’t even taken time to think. She left Giovanni with Seamus that morning—who, thank God, was probably distracting him. While Barb was driving and Jacob was holding her left hand on the backseat, her mind raced with a million of possibilities.
What happened? Were you hurt? Were you sick?
Nothing could have prepared her for what she found when she arrived.
Your wife had barely stepped into the sterile, fluorescent-lit hallway when a nurse approached her, looking grim. “Mrs. Schemmenti?”
Her stomach churned. “It’s me. Where’s my wife?! What’s goin’ on?”
The professional hesitated, and that moment of hesitation would stay with her forever. It was like the air left the room, and Melissa suddenly felt cold all over.
“I’m so sorry,” the nurse said softly. “Your wife was brought in earlier today. She...she took her own life.”
It didn’t make sense at first. The words felt gibberish, like a language she didn’t understand. “What...what the fuck are you talkin’ about!?” she demanded, her voice rising. “Y/N wouldn’t. She wouldn’t do that to me!”
The kind nurse placed a gentle hand on her arm, but the green eyed woman jerked away.
“Do not fuckin’ touch me! No. No, you’ve got it wrong! She’s not gone, she’s not gone. She’s not!” Her legs threatened to give out beneath her as the reality began to sink in.
Jacob appeared from somewhere down the hall, his face pale and stricken. Barb was with him, holding his arm tightly, her expression one of shock and sorrow. Melissa’s knees buckled, and the social studies teacher was there in an instant, catching her before she could fall.
“Mel Mel, stop! You are going to hurt yourself!” the curly hair man sobbed.
“No! No, my baby!” She wailed, her voice raw and broken. “My baby, my baby!” The sound of her hysterical cries echoed through the hallway, drawing sympathetic glances from hospital staff. Her work wife knelt beside her, her own eyes brimming with tears, and wrapped her arms around her friend, holding her tightly.
“It’s okay to feel angry, sweetheart,” Barb whispered. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”
But it wasn’t okay. Nothing would ever be okay again.
The memory of the funeral haunted Melissa, playing out in her mind like a tragic song she could never silence. It had been a gray morning, the sky cloaked in a somber veil of clouds that seemed to mourn alongside them. The church was full—too full for her comfort. Faces blurred together in her mind: colleagues, family, neighbors, friends, and the Abbott crew, all gathered to pay their respects. Yet the weight of their collective sorrow was nothing compared to the crushing grief that lived in her chest.
Your wife stood stiffly at the gravesite, her body trembling despite her best efforts to appear strong. Her black coat hung loose on her frame, as though even her clothes could no longer fit properly, just like her life. Around her, the group crew formed a tight circle of support, but their presence only deepened her isolation. Barb stood closest, her hand firm and steady on Melissa’s shoulder. Gregory was solemn, hands clasped in front of him, his usually composed face etched with sadness. Janine hovered nervously, her big brown eyes welling with tears she tried to blink away.
Jacob, ever the optimist, had tried to fill the silence with kind words and memories of you, but his voice cracked halfway through, and he quickly sat down, covering his face with his hands. Mr. Johnson, with his usual gruff wisdom, had been the only one to keep his composure entirely, standing near the back of the church and nodding solemnly as if to say. We’ve got you. We’ll hold you up when you can’t stand.
And then there was Ava, holding Giovanni tightly. The little boy had been restless, tugging on his funeral suit and repeatedly asking for you, his voice growing increasingly impatient as if he simply couldn’t comprehend why you weren’t there. The principal, in her own peculiar way, had tried to soothe him, bouncing him gently and whispering words of comfort. But he wasn’t having it. He squirmed and reached out toward the closed casket.
“Mommy! Mommy!” his cries pierced the heavy silence, shattering the fragile control Melissa had managed to maintain.
Her chest heaved as if someone had plunged a knife into it. She wanted to go to her son, to comfort him, to hold him as tightly as she could, but she couldn’t move. She was paralyzed, her feet rooted to the frozen ground, her olive eyes fixed on the casket that held the one person she thought she could never lose.
His godmother stepped in, scooping Giovanni into her arms and holding him close. “It’s okay, baby,” Barb whispered. “Mommy loves you. She’s always with you.”
But Giovanni didn’t understand. How could he? He wriggled in the kindergarten teacher’s embrace, his small hands outstretched, his tear-streaked face twisted in confusion and desperation. “No! I want Mommy! I want Mommy!”
Melissa clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms. She wanted to scream, to cry, to rip the world apart for what it had taken from her. Instead, she stood frozen, a statue of grief, as the minister’s voice droned on, hollow and meaningless.
When the service ended and the others began to leave, the redheaded woman stayed behind. She couldn’t bring herself to walk away, to leave you here, alone in the cold earth. The group hesitated, lingering by the cars, unsure if they should intervene. But Barb, ever the matriarch, placed a hand on Gregory’s arm and nodded. They left her to her silence.
Hours passed, or maybe it was minutes—time had become meaningless. Finally, when the emptiness became too much to bear, Melissa found herself driving. She didn’t know where she was going until she arrived: the lake where you used to take Giovanni on warm summer evenings. The water was still, a mirror reflecting the bruised sky. She got out of the red car and walked to the edge, her breath visible in the chilly air.
Her knees gave out, and she sank to the muddy ground, her face tilting up toward the heavens. “Why?” she screamed. “Why would you take her? What did I do? What did she do?”
The wind carried her cries, scattering them across the water, but no answer came. Melissa Schemmenti pounded the ground with her fists, the cold seeping through her skin, until her strength gave way and she collapsed, sobbing and gasping. She cursed God, cursed fate, cursed herself for not saving you.
And then, the drinking started.
At first, it was just a glass of wine to get through the evenings, to dull the sharp edges of her grief. But one glass turned into two, then three, then bottles. The nights blurred together, and she found herself seeking solace at the bottom of every glass, hoping to drown the pain that refused to let her go.
The house, already in disarray, descended further into chaos. Empty bottles piled up in the corners, forgotten among the clutter of a life unraveling. Giovanni, too young to understand, would tug on her sleeve, his wide eyes filled with worry. “Ma? Do you have boo-boos?”
“I’m fine, champ,” Melissa would slur, forcing a laugh. But she wasn’t fine. She was falling apart.
One night, after too many drinks and too little food, the older woman collapsed on the living room floor. The room spun violently, and her chest ached on a annoying pain. She thought, for a moment, that this might be it—that she might join you, finally escaping the unbearable weight of living without you.
But then she saw you.
“Y/N?”
You appeared before her, radiant and whole, just as you had been in life. Your eyes, full of love and concern, met hers, and she could feel the warmth of your presence. “Lis,” you said softly, kneeling beside her. “What are you doing, mi amore? This isn’t you.”
Tears streamed down her face as she reached for you, her fingers passing through air. “I can’t do this without you,” she revealed. “I don’t know how.”
“Yes, you can,” you reforced. “Giovanni needs you. He’s counting on you.”
Melissa shook her head, her sobs wracking her form. “I’m not strong enough.”
“You are,” you said, leaning closer, your ghostly hand brushing against her cheek. “You’ve always been strong. But you don’t have to do it alone. Let them help you, honey. Let them love you the way I loved you.”
When she woke the next morning, the sunlight streaming through the curtains felt like an accusation, but also like a lifeline. She dragged herself to the bathroom, emptied the bottles into the sink, and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was pale, her eyes bloodshot, but she saw something there—a glimmer of accepting.
She felt hope. For Giovanni. For you. She had to try.
#melissa schemmenti x reader#melissa schemmenti x you#melissa schemmenti x y/n#melissa schemmenti#abbott elementary#lisa ann walter#wlw#i promise that I am writing some happy prompts
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Kelly Green
Melissa Schemmenti x reader
Genre: fluff, some VERY suggestive language, alludes heavily to smut
Word Count: 2.3k
Prompt: "mel x reader where they’re dating and the r keeps stealing mel’s eagles sweatshirt and one day mel finds the reader all curled up on the couch sleeping with the sweater on.."
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“Honey?” You hear Melissa call in your shared bedroom from where you sit at the bathroom vanity that was once just hers. The products that litter the surface are a mix of both of yours; Melissa’s various pens and bottles sitting on one side, neatly tucked into a makeup back, your own strewn across the surface as you try to prepare yourself for the day ahead, “Have you seen my lucky sweatshirt anywhere?”
You know exactly the one she’s talking about. It’s game day so there is only one item of clothing she will wear and it’s her relic of a sweatshirt. The heather grey material is a little discolored and frayed around the edges from years of constant use and the green print that displays the Eagles logo across the front is cracked beyond belief, making it nearly impossible to read the Kelly green font.
“Babe?” She calls again, “Are you even listening?” The slight panic in her voice is evident as you realize you haven’t actually answered her yet. You stare back at your reflection in the mirror from the padded stool on which you sit, hair curled and makeup half-applied after your shower, Melissa’s silk robe you grabbed from its hook on the back of the door currently resting on your shoulders and tied loosely around your waist.
You sigh as you realize you should probably go and help the redhead and rise from your seat, anticipating the level of stress you’ll no doubt find her in.
When you cross the threshold from cold tiled flooring to the soft carpet of the bedroom, you immediately find Melissa torso deep in the chest of drawers that holds most of her clothing. She hasn’t even noticed you yet, the entire top half of her body nearly submerged in the sea of shirts as she rummages through them frantically. You can hear her mumbling something about “that goddamn sweater” as she digs through the drawer, your presence unnoticed.
You don’t want to get too close to the scene, knowing that you could get hit by one of the sweater-turned-projectiles that your dear wife is currently throwing halfway across the room, not bothering to look back and see where they land. Instead, you choose to lean back against the doorway from which you just entered and admire the view of Melissa bending over in the tightest pair of leather pants she owns. Game day has its advantages, and every single one of them are those pants. You decide to finally put her out of her misery and break the silence.
“You know it’s not going to be in there, right?” The sound of your voice immediately catches her attention, and she jumps, caught off guard by the intrusion and nearly hitting her head on the drawer above her head that sits ajar above the current focus of her attention. “The last game day was literally a week ago, so it’s probably folded up by the dryer somewhere downstairs.”
In reality you know it’s not anywhere near the dryer; it’s in your own chest of drawers that Melissa doesn’t dare to touch. She can’t know that you’ve taken it, especially not now when she’s this far into what is coming close to a nervous breakdown.
You didn’t even mean for it to take up residence among the rest of your clothing. It just happened last weekend when Melissa was out shopping and lunching with Barbara and you quite simply missed her, choosing to curl up in the sweater that she’s worn since long before you met. It just never found its way back to its rightful home and is now tucked away safely among your countless band t-shirts on the other side of the bedroom.
After what feels like an eternity of watching your wife rifling through her own clothing, she finally stands from her crouched position, grumbling about her knees and gripping the edge of the cabinet, and turns to meet you.
“How about I check the dryer for you, hm?” You ask as she turns slowly, her stiff muscles making it difficult to do so quickly. The stress in her features is evident, the crease between her eyebrows prominent from her furrowed brow. Her face softens as she meets your eye-line from where you rest against the door from, arms folded and head leaning against the wood.
“I’ve already checked, it’s definitely not there,” she replied, taking a few steps closer to where you stand. As she moves you can’t help but notice her eyes dipping down your frame, taking in your form. Her expression has gone from stressed, soft, to starving in seconds. “You know, I never even noticed that this is what you looked like right now.”
She’s crossed the room already and stands in front of you, arms reaching out to wrap around your waist and bring you away from the door frame, toward her. Your own arms unfold and lace themselves around her neck, her red curls brushing against your wrists as you move. You scratch at the nape of her neck lightly, knowing that it calms her even in her most tumultuous of moments.
“I haven’t even put my eyelashes on yet,” you huff. “I’m literally nowhere near ready.”
Her eyes dip down again, your own following her gaze to see exactly what she finds so interesting. She wraps her arms tighter around you, bringing your body impossibly closer to her own. Her hands dip lower, brushing against the small of your back, bunching your robe and holding you in place.
“You know, that isn’t a bad thing at all.” You can hear the smirk in her voice and your suspicions are confirmed when you look up and see that all too familiar expression laced across her features. Her dimples are deepened by the quirk of her lip, her eyebrow raised almost as if in a challenge. Your eyes dip down to her lips just as her tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip, coated with sticky pink shimmering gloss. When you look back up again you know you’ve been caught.
You feel the heat rise up your neck, covering your chest in a pink blush. Even after all this time, Melissa’s flirting still makes you feel like a teenager. You can feel her subtly maneuver your body so that your back rests against the painted wall and not the sharp doorframe, narrowly missing the large wooden picture frame that protects an image of the Philly skyline.
You know she’s proud of herself and the flustered state she’s got you in. Her lips haven’t even touched your own yet and you’re already putty in her hands, the task at hand completely forgotten. You feel her press into you, pushing you further into the wall, her leg coming to rest between your own.
Her hands still hold your waist, keeping you in place and precisely where she wants you. The contact burns through your robe, the same way her eyes burn holes into your skin. When her eyes meet yours, you can see how dark they’ve become, the emerald green almost unrecognizable from the blown nature of her pupils. Her one hand leaves the comfort of your waist and instead trails up your body to rest at your jaw, her thumb coming to rest on your bottom lip.
“You know, we’ve still got some time,” she says lowly, her eyebrow arched again. She knows you can never say no to her, especially when she looks as delicious as she does right now. The combination of her tight pants and buttoned plaid shirt makes your head spin, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and buttons undone slightly so you can see the smooth expanse of milky skin beneath. Her gaze runs down your body again and you feel yourself shiver under her scrutiny, goosebumps instantly appearing where her eyes follow. She leans closer, pressing her lips to your rosy cheek. “What do you say, pretty girl?”
“My eyes are up here,” you whisper, the words catching in your throat as she presses her lips to your neck, using the hand on your jaw to keep you still and precisely where she wants you. You can feel the tackiness of her lips as they press into your skin, moving their way up toward your ear. Melissa’s breathing has gotten heavier, and you know there must be a trail of pink across your skin from the redhead’s attack.
“I know,” she breathes into your ear, her deepened voice making your knees weaken. “Can’t I admire my beautiful wife?” She asks. You can hear the smirk in her voice and feel it where her lips press into your jaw, immediately giving her intentions away, as if the thigh pressing into the heat between your legs and the fist she has burrowed into the back of your robe doesn’t already. That same hand snakes its way around your waist, your wife pulling you impossibly closer as she continues to melt your hard exterior and quickly make use of what little time you have left.
She uses the positioning to her advantage by sliding her hand around your thigh and lifting, bringing her even closer to your core. The sudden movement causes you to gasp, and her smirk only intensifies against your neck, turning into a full-blown shit-eating grin. You wrap your leg around her waist from where you stand, not letting her move away any time soon.
She pulls her head back to look into your eyes, the green entirely replaced by her black pupils. Her lipgloss has smudged past the edge of her lips, almost matching the rosy hue of her cheeks, and her hair is mussed from where your hands have been buried within her red locks. This is one of your favourite versions of Melissa. She’s clearly hungry for whatever you can give.
“How long do ya think we’ve got before Janine panics over us not being at the bar?” she asks, eyes trained on the pink glittery trail she’s left across your jaw. She’ll have to help you reapply your make-up later.
“Probably an hour?” You respond, following her eyeliner as she admires her work, “But it’s never going to take that long, let’s be real.”
Your words cause her eyes to snap up to meet yours, her mouth breaking into an instant grin, the lines around her eyes growing deeper at her joy.
“I say we test your theory,” she says seconds before she spins you, leading you backward toward your bed.
That was three weeks ago and she had all but forgotten about her sweater, her thoughts preoccupied with the other more important issues at hand. That was until she had walked back into your home one evening after her usual Saturday afternoon lunch with her Nonna. You would usually attend these lunches, finding the older Sicilian woman’s takes on the world incredibly entertaining but a week of testing means that you were far too behind on grading.
When Melissa closes the heavy wooden door to your home, her belly and heart full, she can’t help but notice the eerie quietness. The usual music is playing from the radio on the kitchen counter, but instead of blasting some cheesy pop song that Melissa loves to pretend to hate she’s greeted by the dulcet tones of Carly Simon’s subdued crooning.
She makes her way across the wooden floor, stepping carefully so her high-heeled boots can’t make the usual cracking noise with each step. When she rounds the corner into the living room, she is greeted by the dim light of a candle that has nearly reached the end of its wick, the sickly sweet scent of vanilla filling the room. She can see where you sit on the couch, the top of your head where a hastily thrown up bun sits giving away your location. You clearly haven’t noticed her presence yet, not moving at the noise of her walking closer.
When she rounds the side of the sofa, Melissa can see that you’re not in fact hard at work but have evidently fallen asleep mid-grading. Your legs are a tangled mess where they rest along the length of the sofa, the plastic that protected the material had been removed long ago when you moved in with the red head, your relationship still fairly new but clearly thriving.
Your head rests against the cushion of the sofa behind you, pen still in hand and paper discarded where it lays in your lap. Melissa can’t help but laugh lightly, thinking about just how many times she’s managed to find you in this exact position over the years. Your fluffy socks and bright red plaid pyjama pants are the image of comfort, she thinks, as she takes in the sight of you- wait a second, is that her Eagles sweater? The sight makes her jaw fall open in disbelief and everything clicks into place.
The subject changes whenever it was brought up in conversation suddenly make so much sense to her now. She can’t help but chuckle and shake her head slightly, impressed that you had managed to misdirect her for so long but so enamoured that you could do all that just for a sweater. She would have let you wear it if you had asked, but she thinks it’s probably better to make you feel the achievement of swindling her out of her favourite item of clothing.
Her heart feels impossibly full as she looks down at you where you rest, glass askew on your face and soft snores filling the room. Even if the losing streak the Eagles endured at the end of the season are a result of Melissa not wearing her sweater on game days, she would take the losses a million times over if it meant she could come home to this sight every evening.
#writing#lisa ann walter#abbott elementary#fluff#reader fanfic#reader fic#self insert#wlw#abbott elementary fanfic#melissa schemmenti#melissa schemmenti x reader#melissa schemmenti fic#melissa schemmenti x you#melissa schemmenti self insert#melissa schemmenti x y/n#lisa ann walter fic#lisa ann walter x reader
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