#Abbott elementary

[sodiumfreak]

[janinegregory]

requested by anonymous

[lezbeanxo]

Sottovoce (under her breath)

previous req where reader is a new teacher at Abbott, Melissa keeps saying things in Italian thinking the reader doesn't understand, but she's actually fluent 😙

(Angst, pining, smut)

Word Count: 3k

~

The first time Melissa muttered something in Italian, you pretended not to notice.

It was your second day, and you were juggling a coffee, your attendance clipboard, and a half-taped "Welcome!" banner that had already fallen twice from your classroom door. Melissa had been walking by at the exact moment you accidentally whacked yourself in the face with it.

You heard her grumble—low and smooth under her breath: "Siamo fregati se questa è la nuova insegnante."

We're screwed if this is the new teacher.

You blinked. Smiled. And didn't say a word.

At first, you thought maybe you'd misheard. Maybe she was on the phone. Maybe she was just one of those teachers who hated change and hadn't warmed up to you yet.

But then it happened again. And again. And again.

The next time was in the lounge when you asked if anyone had a stapler. Janine had one. Barbara offered hers too. Melissa? Melissa sipped her coffee and mumbled without looking up:

"Dio mio, ha bisogno di un manuale per stare in piedi."

My God, she needs a manual just to stand upright.

You knew better than to take it personally. Or at least you tried to. Melissa didn't seem outright cruel—just guarded. Sardonic. Brick-walled with enough sarcasm to keep you three hallways away emotionally. She was nice to Barbara. Teased Janine with something resembling affection. But with you?

You were the rookie. The outsider. The glitter-slinging, fresh-pressed-button-up-wearing stranger who still called the copier "the printer thing."

You were just supposed to be the new 1st grade teacher.

But apparently, to Melissa Schemmenti, you were a walking punchline in need of a translator.

You lasted a week before you started keeping mental tallies. Not out of spite—okay, maybe a little. But mostly out of the same stubborn instinct that made you label everything in your classroom bins and master the Philly public transit map in a weekend. If Melissa was going to sling snark in Italian, the least you could do was start ranking them.

The best so far had been:

"Troppa energia, troppo profumo, troppa speranza. Deve essere nuova."

Too much energy, too much perfume, too much hope. She has to be new.

And your personal favorite:

"Guarda come ride. Beata ingenuità."

Look at her smile. Blessed naïveté.

That one had almost made you laugh out loud.

It was strange—how quickly the comments turned from irritating to... interesting. They still stung, yes. But they also challenged you. Poked at something in you that didn't want to be underestimated. That almost liked having something to push back against. And God help you, it was kind of exhilarating knowing Melissa had no idea you understood every word.

By the third week, you started to look forward to the little barbs. Her voice was husky and clipped when she mumbled, always smooth on the vowels, pointed on the consonants. The rhythm of it curled at the edges of your spine.

You weren't supposed to like her voice. Or the way she looked in those pinstripe pants. Or how her arms folded tightly over her chest like she was daring you to try and be her friend.

But maybe, deep down, you wanted to win her over. Or at least surprise her. Just once.

Maybe you were getting a little reckless.

Maybe you were waiting for the perfect moment.

It came on a Thursday morning. The copier was down again, Janine was talking to herself while reorganizing the supply closet, and you were elbow-deep in a broken hole punch when Melissa strolled into the lounge.

You clocked her instantly—red hair pulled back today, a little more curled at the ends, her black blazer fitted a little too well.

You didn't look directly at her. You didn't have to.

Because when she saw you, she stopped in the doorway, glanced at the mess of paper and desk clutter around you, and sighed—loudly.

Then came the mutter:

"Sembra una studentessa travestita da insegnante. Cristo, non può nemmeno tenere in ordine un buco."

She looks like a student playing dress-up as a teacher. Christ, she can't even handle a hole punch.

You smiled.

That was it.

Three weeks. Eighteen comments. Six hallway glares. One hole punch insult too far.

You turned, slow and sweet, facing her fully for the first time since you'd arrived.

"E tu sembri una donna che ha paura che qualcun'altra possa farlo altrettanto bene."

And you look like a woman who's afraid someone else might be just as good at this.

Melissa stopped mid-sip.

Her eyes flicked up. Met yours.

Froze.

The silence that followed was nothing short of delicious.

You didn't smirk. You didn't gloat. You just tilted your head slightly and added, with a sugar-sweetness she couldn't possibly miss:

"Have a lovely morning, Melissa."

And you walked right past her.

You could feel the heat of her stare all the way down the hallway.

Melissa didn't say a word to you for the rest of that day.

But she also didn't stop hovering.

She lingered in doorways longer than usual. Passed your classroom more than once during recess duty. You even caught her pretending to look at the lunch schedule outside the lounge while clearly side-eying you from the corner of her eye.

You said nothing. You didn't need to.

She was flustered.

It was subtle—she was Melissa, after all—but you knew what to look for now. The way her lips tightened when she saw you laughing with Janine. How she rolled her shoulder like she was brushing something off whenever you walked past.

You were halfway through a stack of spelling tests in your room after dismissal when there was a knock on your doorframe.

You looked up. There she was.

Melissa Schemmenti. Looking like she'd rather chew glass than do what she was about to do.

"Hey," she said, voice gruff.

You blinked. "Hey."

She stepped in, crossing her arms over her chest like armor.

"I just... I gotta ask." She hesitated. "How much Italian do you actually speak?"

You leaned back in your chair and tilted your head. "Fluently."

Melissa's eyebrows shot up.

"Fluently," she repeated, like the word tasted funny in her mouth.

"Mmhmm. My nonna practically raised me. Naples-born. Very opinionated. Taught me everything she knew—language included."

Melissa blinked. "You let me talk shit about you for weeks."

"I did."

"Why?"

You grinned. "Honestly? At first I wasn't sure it was intentional. Then it got kind of entertaining. Then I started wondering how long you'd keep going."

She stared at you. "You were entertained."

You shrugged. "You're creative."

That earned you a snort—sharp and involuntary. She covered it with a cough.

"I wasn't trying to be—okay, maybe I was—but it's not like you made it easy. You come in all shiny and chipper, with your color-coded seating charts and... laminated desk labels."

"I like being organized."

"It was threatening."

You bit your lip. "Are you saying I intimidated you?"

Melissa narrowed her eyes. "Watch it."

But there was no heat behind it. In fact... she was smiling. Just barely. You caught the corner of it before she dropped her gaze to the floor.

"...I didn't know you were that sharp," she muttered.

You raised a brow. "Is that a compliment?"

She huffed. "Don't get used to it."

After that, something shifted.

The insults stopped. At least, the mean ones.

Instead, Melissa started tossing out muttered phrases that—while still sarcastic—were suddenly more flirt than fight.

When you passed her in the hallway wearing your bright green sweater, she muttered, "Sembra un evidenziatore carino, però."

Looks like a highlighter... a cute one, though.

When you dropped your pen and it skittered under the table, she handed it back with a deadpan, "Sei sempre così disordinata, o solo quando io guardo?"

Are you always this messy, or just when I'm watching?

You choked on a laugh that time. And she winked.

You started eating lunch in the lounge more often.

Melissa sat near you. Not next to you. But near.

Sometimes she'd lean over and say something in Italian under her breath, and Janine or Gregory or Jacob would blink in confusion while you tried not to grin.

You didn't know when she'd stopped being an obstacle and started being the highlight of your day.

But you caught yourself watching her more. How her smile curled differently when it was real. How she adjusted her rings when she was thinking. How, when Ava was annoying her, she'd mutter "Signore, dammi la forza" like a prayer she didn't mean to say out loud.

You caught her watching you, too.

It was a Thursday—again—when she finally said something that knocked the wind out of you.

You were both in the copy room, the printer miraculously functioning. You'd been fiddling with a jammed tray when Melissa walked in with a ream of paper tucked under her arm and a smirk already loaded.

You didn't look at her.

You heard the rustle of the paper. Her low sigh.

Then—

"Sei proprio una sorpresa, lo sai?"

You paused. Turned.

"What was that?" you asked, already knowing.

Melissa looked at you, mouth twitching. "I said you're full of surprises."

You raised a brow. "Good ones?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "I haven't decided."

You leaned against the table, a smile playing at your lips. "You sure seem to be spending a lot of time near them, then."

She huffed. "Don't flatter yourself."

You took one step closer. "Don't mumble sweet nothings if you don't want me to hear them."

Melissa's eyes flicked to your mouth. Then back up.

Her voice was lower this time. Rougher.

"Non è un problema se ti piacciono."

It's not a problem if you like them.

Your pulse kicked.

So did hers. You saw it in the way her throat moved when she swallowed, in the way her fingers tightened around the ream of paper.

You wanted to say something clever. Something biting and fun.

But instead, you just stared at her. Smiled.

"Maybe I do," you murmured.

It started with her standing outside the staff lounge, coat slung over one shoulder, watching you wrestle with your overstuffed bag and a broken umbrella.

It was raining hard—hard enough that the parking lot looked like a small lake.

"Need a walk buddy?" Melissa asked, casual. Too casual.

You blinked. "You offering?"

She shrugged. "It's dark. And wet. And you look like you're about to lose a shoe."

You laughed, a soft breath of warmth in the chill. "Chivalrous."

"Don't get used to it."

You didn't. But you also didn't say no.

So you walked together. She held the umbrella, close enough that her arm brushed yours. Close enough that you could smell the faint scent of espresso and her perfume—something woodsy and warm and utterly unfair. You tried not to lean in. She didn't seem to mind when you did.

At your car, you hesitated.

"Thanks," you said.

Melissa nodded. "Anytime."

She didn't move.

Neither did you.

The rain pattered above you in a quiet rhythm, broken only by the low hum of far-off traffic and your racing pulse. Melissa glanced at you once, then again. Then finally stepped back.

"Don't make me regret being nice," she muttered.

You smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it."

The next invitation came via Janine, who bounded into your classroom with a grin.

"Melissa's making dinner at her place Saturday. Italian, obviously. You're coming."

"I am?"

"Oh yeah. She said to tell you." Janine paused. "I think she's starting to like you."

That made something flutter in your chest. Dangerous. Delighted.

You'd barely stopped smiling by the time Saturday rolled around.

Melissa's house was exactly what you'd expect—cozy, full of deep colors, family photos, and furniture that looked like it had stories. It smelled like garlic and tomato and slow-cooked perfection.

The table was full: Janine, Jacob, Barbara (who brought wine), and even Gregory, who Melissa claimed to "barely tolerate" but served a second helping anyway.

You offered to help with dishes, and for once, she didn't brush you off.

Instead, you found yourself beside her in the warm, bustling kitchen, drying plates while she rinsed.

Her voice was lower now, private, as if the language itself created a little cocoon just for the two of you.

"Ti sei ambientata bene," she said.

You've settled in well.

You smiled, soft. "Non è difficile quando ci sei tu."

It's not hard with you around.

She turned to you at that. Briefly. Her hands paused in the water.

"Attenta con quelle parole."

Careful with those words.

You tilted your head. "Perché?"

Why?

Her eyes met yours, and the air felt like it stopped moving.

"Perché potrei crederti."

Because I might believe you.

You didn't answer. Not out loud.

Not when her gaze lingered like that.

By the time the others left, your heart was already doing laps behind your ribs. Melissa closed the door, locked it, leaned against it with a sigh.

Then she turned to find you still standing in the kitchen, wineglass in hand, nerves sparking in your fingertips.

She didn't ask why you hadn't left yet.

You didn't offer.

Instead, you stepped closer.

Her expression didn't change, but something in her shifted. Tension crackled between you like static.

"Good dinner," you said quietly.

She shrugged. "It was alright."

You smiled. "You're a terrible liar."

She stepped closer. One inch. Maybe two.

"Am I?"

Her voice was lower now. Unsteady in a way she tried to hide.

Your chest rose. Fell. You looked at her mouth. She looked at yours.

And then—just to test the waters—you leaned in close enough for your lips to brush her ear.

Your voice was barely above a whisper, "Mi piace quando sei cattiva con tutti ma gentile con me."

I like when you're mean to everyone but sweet to me.

Melissa froze.

You felt her breath catch. Her shoulders stiffen.

You didn't stop.

You let your next words fall softer, silkier, right into the shell of her ear:

"Mi piace pensare a quanto bene potresti farmi sentire se volessi davvero."

I like to think about how good you could make me feel... if you really wanted to.

A sharp inhale. Her jaw clenched.

You leaned back just enough to meet her eyes—those dark, wide, flickering eyes that had never looked so undone.

She stared at you like she didn't know what to do next.

And maybe she didn't.

Because this wasn't hallway jabs or playful mutters.

This was intention.

This was invitation.

And you had absolutely meant every word.

You didn't make it to the bedroom right away. Melissa's kitchen was suddenly very familiar—your back against the counter, her blazer pushed off her shoulders, blouse unbuttoned as you kissed a path down her neck, tasting her pulse as it fluttered.

"Tell me to stop," you murmured, even as your fingers popped open the last button over her stomach.

She didn't. She just grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you into another kiss, hips rocking forward against yours.

That was permission enough.

You finally led her back to the bedroom—her grip on your wrist tight, impatient. She kicked off her heels without looking and reached for your shirt like it had offended her.

"You're smug," she muttered, peeling it off. "You planned this."

"I hoped," you breathed against her collarbone. "I wanted."

"You're gonna make me lose my mind."

"You already have."

You shoved her gently onto the bed. She landed with a low grunt and a flushed smirk that screamed try me.

So you did.

You crawled over her slowly, mouth trailing heat along her chest, your hands pushing her bra aside to suck a mark right above her heart. She arched into you, breath catching, fingers tangling in your hair.

"Dio..." she hissed when your teeth grazed her nipple, hips jerking beneath you.

You grinned into her skin. "Thought you liked using that name in vain."

Melissa's only answer was a moan—soft and ragged and real.

You kissed your way down her body, tugging her skirt up around her hips. When you slid her panties off, you heard the catch in her throat. Saw the tension in her thighs as they tried not to shake.

She was soaked.

You looked up and found her already watching you, pupils blown wide, jaw slack.

"You want this?" you asked, thumb teasing along the inside of her thigh.

Melissa nodded fast. Too fast.

"No," you murmured. "Words."

"Sì," she gasped. "Ti voglio, ti voglio tanto—"

You cut her off with your mouth.

You licked a slow stripe up her center, tongue circling before plunging in deep—and Melissa choked on a cry, hand slapping over her own mouth before it could escape.

You reached up and pulled it away.

"No hiding," you said.

She shook her head, breathless. "Everyone's gone. Right?"

"They're long gone, baby."

That earned you a full-body shiver.

You took your time. Let her unravel under you, coaxing filthy, gorgeous sounds from her with your tongue and fingers, with a low stream of whispered Italian filth between kisses to her thighs.

"Guarda come tremi per me."

Look how you shake for me.

"Voglio sentirti gridare il mio nome."

I want to hear you scream my name.

Melissa whimpered—high and broken—when you added your fingers, curling them just right while your tongue kept flicking over her clit, relentless and sure.

Her thighs clamped around you and she came hard, gasping your name like a confession, hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping the sheets like she might fall through the bed.

You didn't stop until she begged.

And even then, you kissed her thighs again, slow and reverent, before crawling up to lie beside her, your body flush against hers.

She was breathing fast. Eyes still closed. Face flushed and hair wild.

"...Cristo Onnipotente," she whispered. "What the hell was that?"

You grinned and brushed your fingers along her cheek. "The beginning."

Melissa opened one eye, gave you a warning glare that melted instantly into a crooked, dazed smile.

"You keep talking like that in Italian," she muttered, "and I'm gonna fall in love with you."

You kissed her, sweet and slow this time.

"Then I guess I better keep going."

[schemmentisimpasours]

Don't Tell My Mom-I'm Too Drunk For This-Melissa Schemmenti Edition

Summary: Mom! Melissa Schemmenti & College Age! Reader. Melissa has shown you a life of love and compassion, but when you get to college, all of her life lessons go out the door. You are drunk... and suffering till Melissa comes to save you.

Warning: Talks of heavy drinking, Academic Probation, Disappointed Mom! Schemmenti, Some time jumps

A/N: As a reminder, this will be a series of one-shots with different mom characters and college-age readers. As voted on, Melissa Schemmenti was first. Masterlist will have the other pairs as well.

Masterlist

3.1k

-~-

Melissa Schemmenti had always been the “cool mom” when you were growing up. She was the mom who made extravagant goodies to bring into class for your birthday. Everyone wanted to spend the night so they could eat her home-cooked meals and watch the latest scary movie. She taught most of your friends how to drive in the school parking lot long after everyone should have been in bed. When you were in High School, she was the mom who (with parental permission) let your friends drink as long as she was home to supervise. Melissa’s rule of thumb was that she wanted you to experience life to the fullest (with some limitations) so that when you went off to college, you didn't repeat her same mistakes. The ones that had her drunk every night, missing classes, and barely scraping enough money together to finish school after she lost her scholarship.��

To her credit, she had been able to pull it together and graduate in the top 20 of her class. Shortly after, she went to get her Master's Degree in Elementary Education and got pregnant with you. Even with the blatant lack of support from your sperm donor, Melissa never slowed, only loved you with everything that she had. She became a teacher and then took odd jobs to make sure you never went without. You had no shame when people asked who your best friend was, and you responded with your mom. You wanted to be exactly like her- she was your hero.

Yet in your second year of college, you were struggling more than you wanted to admit. You knew that it wasn’t your major that was the problem. You had wanted to be a teacher from the moment you entered Kindergarten in Aunt Barbara’s classroom and hadn’t given up the dream since. Having the two strongest women in your life on the front lines of the Philly Public School system was all you needed to keep moving forward, even though you knew the pay was shit and the dangers of teaching were only increasing. It was your friends who were becoming a problem— well, your lack of being able to set boundaries with them.

Free from the watchful eyes of their parents and their restrictions, they had gone wild. They were partying every night, always had the invite to a frat party, and often attended class the next day still drunk. It had never been your style, and you had been good at dodging their invites for a while, but soon it didn’t work anymore. They teased you, made fun of you, and even used your name sake against you. You could still hear their voices in your head from the first time they tricked you into going out: I can’t believe you call yourself a Schemmenti when all you do is sit and read. Your mom used to tell us all about her wild college days, and all you do is sit here wasting your time and money. She would be disappointed. 

Now, six months later, you couldn’t remember the last time you had studied for anything. Hell, you couldn’t even remember the last time that a drink hadn’t been pressed against your lips. You showed up to classes still half in the bag, took exams with a water bottle full of vodka, and often missed your work study. You couldn’t find the will to care, though, because finally your friends were looking at you in awe, like you were a goddess walking among them, and it felt good to be loved when the one person who loved you unconditionally was over four hours away. 

However, the consequences of your actions were now staring at you in the form of an academic probation letter: 

Dear Y/N Schemmenti,

We regret to inform you that you have lost your scholastic scholarship due to your GPA falling below the required 3.0 GPA. This means you will also be terminated from your position at the campus childcare center. You no longer meet the satisfactory requirements for a work study on this campus. 

 It has also come to our attention that you have failed six classes over the last two semesters. We have made the decision to place you on academic probation with the following stipulation. If you are to receive a grade below a C average for this semester, you will fail out of your program and be asked to leave campus. If you have any further questions on how to appeal this decision, please reach out to your respective guidance counselor. 

Penn State University.

The letter was splotched with tears that had made the ink run, but you no longer needed to read the words; you had your humiliation memorized. You were already failing classes, and you had no idea how you were going to turn it around in time to meet the requirements. You were drowning, and all you wanted was your mom to hold you and tell you it was going to be okay. However, that meant admitting to her that you had a problem, admitting that you were following in a path she had spent her whole life steering you away from, admitting that you were an epic failure. So instead, you sent her a text message two days before you were supposed to return home for winter break. 

Hey Mamma, Susie invited me to Christmas with her this year before she transfers to Yale… it could be the last real time we spend together. Would it be okay if I went? I know it ruins our traditional Christmas plans, but I really want to see her before she has to leave.

It was all a lie, everything but the part about your best friend Susie going to Yale, and it broke your heart when your mom’s response was instant. 

Of course, my principessa. You know Susie is like my bonus daughter. Give her lots of love from me. I shall see you soon, mi amore. 

You cried yourself to sleep that night after slamming a half pint of Jack Daniel's. You had never lied to your mom before, and now you were hiding the biggest secret of all. 

-~-

Two days later, Melissa arrives at Susie’s house. She thought she could do Christmas without you, but she was wrong. She misses you more than anything, and on the drive over, she rationalizes that she will just take you out for lunch and then be on her way. 

When she knocks on the door, Susie answers. “Mamma Schemmenti, I missed you! What are you doing here?”

Melissa smiles, taking your best friend since middle school into a tight hug. “I missed ya too, hun. I was coming to check on my principessa. She mentioned she was spending Christmas with ya, and I wanted to take her out for lunch.”

A look of confusion passes over Susie’s face, and Melissa’s heart instantly drops. “She isn’t here, Mamma. She stayed on campus to figure out how to get out of academic probation…one more failed class and they are kicking her out. I told her to start handling her liquor better, but I guess some people never learn.”

Melissa’s face contorts into anger, a fist clenching by her side. There is so much information being thrown at her, she doesn’t know where to start. “Has my daughter been drinkin?”

Susie rolls her eyes as if the answer should be obvious, “Well, duh, we are in college Ma…”

“Don’t call me that,” Melissa grits out. “Y/N told me she was gonna focus on her studies when she went to college. Not get caught up in drinkin and partyin.”

Your best friend looks offended, but only for a moment, “It was making her boring. All she did was stay in our dorm reading, studying, and planning. No one wanted to hang out with me because of my ‘prude of a roommate’.  I thought you would be proud of her for living it up like you did in college.”

Melissa goes to speak, but she knows nothing she says now will do any good. All she wants right now is to get to you, to see you, to tell you everything was going to be okay. She storms away, peeling out of the driveway faster than she should. Within an hour, she is pounding on the door to your dorm. 

You throw open the door, using it to keep yourself upright as the world spins around you. Melissa knows you're drunk without you even saying a word. The smell of whiskey rolls off of you, making your mother cringe. She wants to be angry- she is absolutely furious, but she instantly melts when she sees you crying.

“Mamma,” you choke out, falling into her arms. 

You don’t know how or why she is here, but right now it doesn’t matter. You cling to her like her hug alone might fix everything wrong in the world. Your mother wraps her arms around you, kissing your forehead before she slides her fingers through your hair. 

“I’m here mi amore. Mamma’s here. We are going to figure it out,” she whispers into your hairline. 

She doesn’t yell at you that night, only holds your hair back when you throw up. When you are done and she has forced some food and water into your system, she takes you to bed. It is a tight fit in your twin-size bed, but you curl around her, and she holds you close while you fall asleep. 

When you wake the next morning, she is already up, sitting at your desk with two hot coffees and a bag of food from the local diner. You cringe when you realize she is reading over your academic probation letter. The truth is out there now, and there is no stopping what happens next. You sigh, gathering courage before speaking. 

“Mamma…I’m in trouble,” you whisper.

“I can see that,” Melissa says, holding up the letter. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I…I…didn't want to disappoint you.”

Melissa sighs at this, “Mi amore, nothing you do could ever make me disappointed in you. We all make mistakes, we all fuck up, but you gotta let me know so I can help.”

You are crying now, and Melissa stands to cup your face gently in her hands. She wipes away the tears running down your cheeks, placing a kiss on your forehead. There is no anger in her movements or expression, only concern for her daughter, and you are flooded with relief. Melissa climbs on the bed next to you and asks how you got here. Her face contorts with anger at the way your friends bullied you into a life you worked so hard to stay away from. But her heart also breaks when you admit your part in it, that you were sad and lonely, so you used alcohol to fill a void.

“I wanna come home Mamma,” you admit, wiping at the tears that don't seem to stop.

Melissa wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to her, “You can come home, but you ain’t giving up on your dreams, not when I know how badly you have wanted this, we are gonna work to fix this.”

-~-

Melissa doesn’t make it easy on you. You work double time to make up for the mistakes that you have made, but she is there to support you every step of the way. After you eat and you shower to get the smell of whiskey off your skin, your dorm is packed up. You move home and never talk to Susie again, not that she was ever going to talk to you anyway; she had gotten what she needed from you. 

Melissa pulled some strings, and you started over fresh at Temple University as a commuter student. They may have let you start your program over, but you were on academic probation till you received all As in two consecutive semesters, totalling eight classes in all. Anything below an A, and you would be asked to leave the program permanently. Your financial aid was abysmal during this time, so Melissa co-signed every loan to make it possible for you to continue to go to school, but it came with a catch. You had to work, which you did by tutoring and babysitting children from Abbott after classes. 

It was a lot to juggle, but Melissa was there every step of the way, supporting you as much as she could. She helped you study for tests, went over notes with you, helped coordinate your schedule, and always made sure to find you moments to rest and unwind. You never picked up a drink again, and alcohol seemingly disappeared from around the house when you weren’t watching. By the time the third semester of school came around, you weren’t on academic probation and had been offered a dean’s scholarship for your scholastic standing, plus outstanding assistance in the tutoring office. It relieved you to be able to take the scholarship and rely less heavily on loans, but you didn’t stop working. Melissa taught you how to budget with 50% of your paycheck going to savings for loan payments, 25% went towards regular savings, and the final 25% you were able to spend as you pleased. 

Melissa’s rule was that if you were going to school, you didn’t pay her rent, but you helped in other ways around the house. She taught you how to cook, you learned how to do simple maintenance, and you had made it your personal mission to make the outside of the house a landscaping masterpiece. If your mom were honest, she loved having you home, but she wanted you to still experience a college life, so she encouraged you to make friends. Which came in the form of another student in the same program as you- a beautiful woman named Veronica that you fell for instantly. You two hit it off immediately, and soon she was around every day after class. Your mom was cautious at first, worried that you were in too deep, but piece by piece, she fell for Veronica, too. She ended up calling you mi cuore and Veronica mi anima… her heart and her soul. 

When it came time for student teaching, Veronica was able to obtain a spot with Jacob to let their nerdy sides flow together. You ended up with Barbara letting your dreams come full circle as you sat in her classroom and learned everything you could from her. When the whole Abbott crew watched you walk across the stage for graduation, you were the top of your class and already planning to take over Barbara’s classroom the following school year so that she could finally slide into retirement. Veronica replaced Morton to teach science, and everything seemed to be falling into place. 

Which was only amplified when Melissa revealed your and Veronica’s graduation gift. Teaching was hard, didn’t pay much, and student debt was still very much weighing down on you even after all the money you had saved. To ease some of your worries, Melissa had entirely transformed the detached garage into a studio apartment for you and Veronica. There was a large bathroom with a tub deep enough for Veronica’s bubble baths, a full kitchen to allow you to continue cooking, and even a little study area for you and Veronica to share.

Melissa looked nervous as she explained, “You will have to pay rent, help out with some of the utilities, and I expect help around the yard… but I wanted y’all close.”

You grinned at Veronica, who was beaming, and you knew there was no other place you would rather be. You grabbed Melissa into a tight hug, causing her to laugh. “This is perfect Mamma, we love it.”

That little apartment became your home, where Melissa always respected your boundaries, texting before she came over or calling if she needed something, but her house…that was free range. You and Veronica moved through your childhood home whenever you wanted and could often be found curled up on the couch watching a movie while you waited for Melissa to get back from girls’ night with Barb. 

After a handful of years of being together, you married Veronica. Melissa walked you down the aisle, crying tears of joy even though she despised the fact that you were letting Mr. Johnson, of all people, officiate the wedding. For you, though, it felt right to be surrounded by the family Melissa had grown for you brick by brick. You couldn’t believe how much your life had changed from the moment your mother had shown up at your dorm room door, and you didn’t regret a single moment of it. 

Your mom was your guardian angel, which didn’t change when Veronica got pregnant, and she offered to let you both move into your childhood home. She moved her stuff into the studio apartment, changing the space to fit her, and watched in awe as you made the house into a home where you could raise your own family. When your baby girl came on the first day of summer, bright-eyed and ready to take on the world, Melissa knew what she had to do. She retired and became the best Nonna the world had seen. She took her granddaughter everywhere with her, always meeting up with Barbara and her two grandkids to explore all things Philly. Then, as the grandkids got older, Barbara and Melissa bought a camper and traveled around the world with the kids in tow to give them the life they never had growing up. 

Years later, on the same day that you sat with your academic probation letter, you knocked on the apartment door. Melissa opened it with an easy smile, like she had been waiting for you. 

“Mi amore, come in.”

You sat next to her on the couch, curling into her automatically. She wrapped an arm around your shoulder, placing a tender kiss on your hairline.

“Mamma, I don’t think I ever tell you enough…but thank you for saving me that day. Thank you for showing me that even in my darkest times, I am still worthy of being loved. Thank you for showing me what true love was from the first time I opened my eyes. Thank you… for everything. I love you.”

Melissa wiped away a stray tear, squeezing you. “Oh, principessa, it should be me thanking you. You have given me everything and then some. The biggest accomplishment in my life has been being your mom. I love you forever and always

-

Taglist

@writerspirit // @casualfoxwitch // @babytakeittothehead // @milfjuulpod // @yoyo-w // @cupldscntrl // @milfslvr // @liliapleasesteponme // @marvel210 // @derpyavocado // @morgana-larkin // @tsuki-brujita // @senatormellies // @janeyseymour // @schemmentisbaby

[byulharangforlife]

"Mostly straight woman" ;)

To be clear, in this hypothetical, I’m a bear. The animal.

[tvuniverse]

#the dream social interaction

ABBOTT ELEMENTARY Gregory Eddie and Caleb Hill -> 4x07 Winter Show

[barillapasta]

I’m????

[addictedtostorytelling]

ABBOTT ELEMENTARY Ava Coleman episode 02x09 “sick day”

[babytakeittothehead]

Lisa in Philly is always an event

[eloiscbridgerton]

ABBOTT ELEMENTARY 1.11 – Desking // 4.17 – Karaoke

[nessa007]

THAT’S MY FAMILY

[charmac]

This is genuinely so endearing like they really sat him down in a kindergarten class and taught him to read...and picked out the book based on his special interest ... <3

[lezbeanxo]

MY MUTUALSSS COME BACK TO ME !!! 🥹🥹🩷

i love you all 🥹

my ao3 will be back up next week, but wattpad is back up!! also hi new tumblr!

@babytakeittothehead @melissaschemmentisbranzino @myownworriedshoes @schemmentigfs @hopelesslesb0 @kdt124 @derpyavocado @milfjuulpod @mrtroi @duckduckgoob @cowtownz

[blorbobingus]

“oh yes, i am very reasonable and normal about this subject!!”

*proceeds to mass reblog any related content*

[bob-belcher]

Abbott Elementary, Volunteers (S04E09)