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neighbourshouse · 1 year ago

Note

HIIII! I LOVE THE FIC YOU WROTE, THE AND NOW? SINCE UHM YOU'VE DONE CASUAL AND RED WINE SUPERNOVA, DO YOU THINK YOU CAN DO ONE WITH GOOD LUCK, BABE? OF COURSE WITH A HAPPY ENDING BUT WITH LOTS OF ANGST? OH AND IF YOU CAN'T OR TOTALLY DON'T WANT TO, IT'S ALSO FINE!

truth be told

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: melissa loves you, in what way, she doesn’t want to know. based on good luck, babe! by chappell roan | 7.8k

includes: they/them used for reader (legit once), r is mean direct during the fights (within reason? up to interpretation), angst, HURT/comfort, happy ending

warnings: internalized homophobia and comphet, unhealthy relationship dynamic, swearing, verbal fighting, light kissing/making out

note: i do think melissa is bisexual, but the song is about a lesbian dealing with comphet, so for the sake of the fic, melissa is meant to be read as a lesbian. let’s go lesbians, let’s go! buncha lesbians coming thru! also u can’t tell me mel isn’t a taurus. be so fr. i know lisa’s a leo but look me in the eyes and say that a primary trait of ‘stubborn’ isn’t melissa. u can’t. ruled by venus? like come on.

I, Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti

You’re quite comfortable in this spot on the floor, curled against the couch with your head resting against Melissa’s thigh, rounded nails grazing over the stretch of your neck and exposed shoulder. Eyes numbly glued to the corner of the coffee table, the chattering of the Schemmenti family around you feels far away, not even Vinny and Annette’s arguing over God-knows-what can reach you. It’s peaceful here, even with the yelling and seemingly genetic snort-laugh they all possess. It feels like home in every way.

Something that sounds far away, underwater, that resembles your name passes your ear, but does not breach the wall of comfort around you. The light rocking of your head and grazing nails turning to gentle scratching pulls you back to shore, head shifting to look up at Melissa, eyes scanning her face. All you manage is a questioning hum as you regain your social bearings.

Melissa’s hand slides up your neck to softly hold your chin, “was asking if you’re alright. You’re awful quiet down there by yourself.”

“‘M good, Mel. Just existing, I guess,” you answer, leaning into her more.

Her thumb brushes over your cheek, just barely passing the corner of your lips, foregoing an actual response. The twitch of a smile against her skin has her heart racing, her own light smile fading. Melissa’s mind pushes the casualness to the forefront of her mind, how you are so at ease in this undoubtedly chaotic environment. A sip of her wine replaces the instinct to rip her hand away from you, cross her legs and leave you suddenly without a place to rest.

Take you, Joseph Vincent Peterson

“Why does this credentialing shit have to be so intense? I mean, seriously, didn’t I just fucking do six years of schooling and another two, two, of assisting,” Melissa loudly complains as she goes through all her notes over the counter, “that should be proof enough, but no.”

You grab her tensing hand from across the table, ceasing your organizing of notes by topic, “honey, see how confident you are though? Means you’ll kill it, won’t even be a sweat.”

“You don’t know that,” she says dejectedly, peering back down to her elementary mathematics notes.

“I do,” you say, standing from your seat to round the table and stand behind her. Slowly, you wrap your arms around her, reaching for her balled hands, and leaning to rest your chin on her shoulder, “I know these things. You got this in the bag, pretty.”

Taking a deep breath with closed eyes, Melissa relaxes against you as a lingering kiss is pressed to her cheek. Turning slightly to face you, she presses her own lips to the corner of yours in silent thanks. You suck in a tight breath, she rarely ever allows herself to be so affectionate, even a kiss on the cheek is a rare occurrence. Sure, Melissa is a hugger, with only a select few, but this is so different. Blood rushes to your cheeks, and you are grateful her eyes are back on the notebook and she can’t see the dumbfounded look on your face.

You give her another half hour to obsess over words on a page before convincing her to call it a night, not even you can bear another moment looking at any of this. Admitting defeat, she lets you guide her to the couch, melting into the plastic lining. Melissa watches as you take your place against the arm of the couch, legs crossed in front of you while you flip through channels.

It takes less than ten minutes for the redhead to slowly start scooting closer, creaking plastic making her movements unstealthy. Taking the hint, you uncross your legs to make room for her and open your arms in quiet invitation. Unlike her previous shifting, Melissa nearly pounces into your arms, taking residence against your chest. One hand goes to her hair, scratching her scalp, the other rests on her arm, massaging the muscle.

It’s hard to tell when, or even if, Melissa is asleep on you. Her lack of talking or the slightest movement leads you to believe she’s dead to the world. Only a small whisper of caution passes your mind as your lips press to her crown, lingering there longer than you should. Snuggling into you, the redhead suppresses the smile of utter peace that begs to cross her wine-stained lips.

To have and to hold

Movie nights are always some of your favorite times with Melissa, struggling on a puzzle that you swore you could do. When you were sober. Now, the border still remains incomplete as your attentions divert to the TV when dramatic music begins playing. Admittedly, you aren’t really watching the movie to begin with, but Melissa seems to be so engrossed she hasn’t realized she’s still fidgeting with the same piece.

Aiming for her hand, you flick a puzzle piece into her lap to get her attention. Peeking up over the frames of her glasses, Melissa looks at you quizzically. Gesturing to the puzzle, you look back to her in silent question. She answers in a shrug, moving in tandem with you as you sit up to sit on the couch. A little grin grows as she realizes that she’d get to take her typical spot, but she has something else in mind.

Rushing ahead, she takes your usual spot against the arm of the couch, legs open to make space for your body and arms stretched out in invitation. Without question, you take your place, tucking your face into her neck as her arms wrap around you. Melissa is so warm, so warm that you feel like a cat on a sunspot, settling into her as her breathing calms your heartbeat.

Something switches in your mind, a sense of bravery fills you, and you press your lips to Melissa’s neck gently, lingering against soft skin. You try to pull away, but a hand on the back of your head keeps you in place, and you’re quick to oblige. Lazy, wet kisses glide across blushing skin, never harsh, not one mark left, just simple adoration.

Frayed whimpers leave her as you find a particularly sensitive spot, just below a freckle on the underside of her soft jaw. You can’t help but smile against her at the sound, instantly becoming your mission in life to hear it again and again. Trailing downwards, you stop at her clavicle, allowing your teeth to graze the bone, relishing in her breath hitching. She is chrysanthemum and mirth personified.

Wanting hands pull you up to her lips, and you stay hovering, barely a space between you. Noses brush, nails dig into your neck, hearts rapid. You feel you should tell her before you go any further.

“I love you,” it’s merely a whisper into the miniscule space, but it makes her hands pull you down to her lips. All teeth, all tongue, all need, but she doesn’t match your words.

For better, or for worse

Arm-in-arm, you and Melissa brave the harsh wind of the Philly night weather. She hadn’t believed you, and now she’s proven wrong, of course she passed her credentialing exam with nearly perfect scores. You’ve always told her how you have enough faith in her for the two of you.

Whiskey sours brought you together, at this very bar, having seen each other drinking one after finals junior year, and whiskey sours were how you celebrate every occasion. Ever since then, she has stolen the maraschino cherries from your glass with a grin, always pretending she didn’t.

Three drinks in, Melissa sweet talks you on to the dancefloor. With little room from the sea of people, she stays pressed against you, hands gripping at your sides. As the music slows, she slides her hands up to your neck, looking into you with something you can’t place, but you don’t complain. She’s a heavenly being, especially under the color-shifting lights and strobes. Green irises flick from your lips to your eyes, and there’s something in them that makes you desperately need to kiss her. Fluttering lashes quicken as she catches herself, stepping back before you can think of acting.

Just as much as she seems to not notice the pattern, you pretend not to.

“I’m gonna get a beer,” she shouts over the music, refusing to make eye contact. You manage a nod, watching her disappear into the crowd of drunk dancers. Carefully, you weave through the crowd to the bathrooms, needing a moment to breathe air without sweat mixed in.

After an embarrassing amount of recovery time, and a hit off a pipe offered by a kind stranger, you make your way back out to the bar, scanning for familiar red hair. Spotting her, no longer near the bar, but off to the side with a man. Melissa’s wearing her go on, get me a free drink smile, teeth just barely digging into her bottom lip, and he seems to be perfectly happy to do so. And you let him, cozying up to the bar to order a double to nurse.

Against your better judgment, you periodically check on Melissa and this mystery man. At first, her hands are to herself, and impressively, so are his. A few sips later, and her weight rests on the hand on his leg, leaning into his space with hooded eyes. Bile rises in your throat. You want to leave, but you came together, leaving her isn’t an option, not that it ever has been. When you check again, the man’s hand is cradling her face, and Melissa’s eyes flick to yours briefly.

She wishes she didn’t see the way your lips pursed, forcibly hiding a frown. In an effort to displace this feeling she can’t describe bubbling in her chest, she lets Joe kiss her, rough and wanting. Melissa kisses him back, lets his hands roam, nods when he mumbles to ask to take her home. With an arm around her waist, she walks with him as he walks her out.

Passing by you, she asks him to wait and sidles up next to you, “I’m- uh- I’m going home with Joe. You good to get home?”

“Yeah, love walking” you reply shortly, “just text me the address, so I know the secondary location.”

Melissa gives you an unimpressed look, “not funny. If I need a ride out of there, can I count on you?”

Looking her directly in the eye, you respond, “you can always count on me.”

Joe drives her home the next morning, with a hand on her thigh that makes her skin crawl, but she lets him. When he asks if he can see her again, she tells him she’ll let him know, and he seems to take it in stride. Stepping inside, taking her shoes off, making coffee, she’s fine. But the moment Melissa sits on the couch, a dark, twisted feeling crawls up her back and into her chest at the thought of seeing you later. The inevitable conversation you’ll have makes her feel sick, almost feeling as if she has to hide it despite you knowing.

For richer, or for poorer

It almost feels too good to be real. Here in Melissa’s room, fan blowing, radio playing some classic rock station, on top of her comforter, pressed against her. Her lips dominate yours, tongue stroking yours for another taste of the cherry cola you’d been drinking when you got here, currently going flat on her nightstand. Greedy hands hold your shirt, refusing to let you move, needing you right where she has you.

Some days, she reveled in your attention so much that she would let herself turn her head when you went to kiss the corner of her lips. It always leads here, with her lips on yours, though she particularly loves it when it travels to her room. Your hands on her hips, fingers just barely dipping under her shirt, only the softest of touches. Always so gentle with her, your touch was never anything more than featherlike, especially so in moments like this.

Needing air, Melissa cups one side of your jaw and travels down your chin, to your jaw, to your neck, open mouth kisses littering your skin on the other. Shaky pants pass your lips, spurring her on further, mumbling baby as her teeth nip at the unmarked expanse of your neck. The hand in her hair only scratches her scalp, as it had before, but the slower ministrations match your deep breaths at every pass of her tongue. A thought passes her mind, one that freezes her from head to toe. Melissa needs you like this forever.

Feeling the lack of lips on you, your eyes peek down to Melissa’s paling face. Warmth leaves you as she pulls away, rolling from her side to lay on her back, face fear stricken. Taking the hint, you don’t touch her, just propping yourself up on your elbow against her pillow, “you okay, baby?”

You watch her take a few deep breaths, keeping your eyes on her saints, “I’m fine.”

“I can-” You take a breath yourself, “I can go, if that’s what you need.” Her short tone was making you squirrely, and her eyes forcibly ignoring you wasn’t helping the case.

“You don’t have to go. I said I’m fine,” she realizes her own tone, “I just… I just need a minute.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, rolling off the bed, “I’ll go put something on for dinner… you can take over when you’re done with your minute.” Melissa only looks at the door once you leave, face crumpling as she tries to push tears back.

She doesn’t need you, doesn’t want you, she doesn’t. She doesn’t, she doesn’t, she can’t. Not when you hold her hand to not lose her in crowds, not when you fix her hair before getting out of the car, not even when she caves the moment your lips brush hers. It’s hard to deny the way her heart clenches when you forgo her name, always baby or pretty. It’s easier to say she loves you when she reminds herself you’re her friend.

In sickness and in health

Joseph ‘but call me Joe’ is a major pain in your ass. After three months of having his number, of not mentioning him, she texted him to invite him to the bar with you and your friends. Not once did she mention him coming, yet here he stands in a navy auto-body shop t-shirt. Their previous, singular night together clearly gives him this gnarly confidence, arm around Melissa’s waist and a hand just above her ass.

Your fingers burn from your biting, wishing you could throw the glass in your hand at him. He dares touch her in front of you, and she dares to let him. Each forceful placement of your glass back on the table makes green eyes flick to you, but they dart away before you can look back. Melissa wishes that the permanent frown on your face didn’t make her so upset.

Instead all she feels is acid in her throat, guilt and self-disgust making her squirm under Joe’s touch. Joe. She entirely forgot his presence until his hand slid into her back pocket. Peeking up, she notices that his eyes are not on her or the people talking, but on you, a hard look in his eyes. Acid bubbles, angered that he dares to look at you with such contempt.

Melissa nudges him with her hip to get his attention, cocking her head towards you in silent question. Joe leans into her, “your friend looks at me like I’m breaking a rule touching you.”

“Doesn’t mean you need to give the ugly eye. They’re just looking out for me,” she mutters, taking a sip of the amaretto sour he ordered her. It’s God awful, but she deserves as much in her mind.

Joe just gruffs a laugh, “looking out for you or jealous?” He takes her silence as not understanding, “when you’re not getting goo-goo eyes, I’m getting death rays.”

She won’t dignify an answer, hoping he’ll just take it as processing. Melissa knows, oh, she knows how you care for her, how you do more than just that. How you love her. It makes her feel ill, when it’s so clearly swirling in your eyes. The fact that others know, both her family and not, how they push her towards you, it’s terrifying.

Her mother adores you, always asking if you’re coming to dinner, begging for your presence at every dinner after the second one you attended. Kristin Marie jokes with you, not just insults, even asks your advice on things. Annette calls you Melissa’s other half, and when she gets a stony jade glare, it’s only because you two go everywhere together.

As if she knows it’s on her, she meets your gaze from across the table. Her mouth opens to speak to you, but a hand tugs her chin to the left, and Joe presses a rough kiss to her petallike lips. It’s a dare, a dare to cross him, a dare to even look at Melissa, a dare to take what he claims as his.

Forty horrible minutes pass, and on her way back from the restroom, Melissa scans the room. Everyone was right where she left them, chatting through mouthfuls of chips, except for you. Your spot had been filled in by the others, empty glass still sitting on the coaster. Over his shoulder, Joe gives her a grin, sated, waving his hand to get her closer.

Her hands scramble through her purse the second she’s seated, digging for her phone in hopes of a text from you. A single notification sits on her screen.

To anyone else, to Joe rudely peering over her shoulder to read the message, it would seem normal. However, Melissa knows better. There’s no heart at the end, no little ‘love you,’ probably written after you’d already started your journey. Just simply got tired, walking home.

In irritation, definitely not to shovel away guilt, she lets Joe kiss her again at the end of the night, after she downed another amaretto. Even lets him take her home, though he tried taking it back to hers, but to have him in a bed you have lied in? Unthinkable.

Joe’s kisses are as rough as his hands on her, just short of hurting when he grabs at her breasts. His voice is gruff as he offers to drive her home, despite her not feeling anything close to pleasure, close to some sort of good. It’s divine punishment, it seems.

To love and cherish

Melissa misses you. You are right next to her on the couch, yet she misses you. She’s grown too used to the comfort of laying against your chest, having your arms wrapped around her as you watch whatever movie she decides on. It’s ridiculous, truly. She’s with Joe, she shouldn’t be seeking comfort from anyone else, but her ear longs to be above your beating heart.

You’re still pressed against the arm of the couch, though you stay balled up and keep unblinking attention on the screen. The thought passes her mind to simply scoot up next to you, but it’s unwise with the mood you’re in. Since she called you and said Joe officially asked her to be his girlfriend, you’ve entirely pulled back. Not so much as a kiss on her cheek in six months. Melissa feels like she’s in the thick of withdrawal.

Green eyes feel like crosshairs as you feel them scope your body, attempting to read your displeasure without asking. Truthfully, you want to be here with her, but the clock on your time goes down with each second that gets closer to Joe arriving for their date night. In effort to not cause a fight, you’ve kept away, always leaving before he gets there so as to not be forced to talk. Joseph gets a lot of joy in reminding you he’s there to see his girlfriend.

“What?” You speak into the open air, not bothering to peek at a staring Melissa.

“You’re quiet,” the redhead offers cautiously. She’s seen your bad side, but she’s never been on it. Silence from you is a sort of weapon.

You sigh, “I don’t have anything to say.” More like you don’t have anything good to say.

“You’ve got plenty, or else you wouldn’t be quiet. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Her hand comes to stroke your hair, an attempt to smother the fire, but you duck away from her touch, finally looking at her.

“Just drop it, Melissa. You don’t wanna hear it,” you look back at the TV. It’s the most honest you want to be with her.

The calm demeanor drops, “and how do you know that?”

“Because I know you.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell! Me!”

“You! You are what’s wrong!” You shout as you turn to face her, brows furrowed and nostrils flaring. “You kiss me! You touch me! You tell me you care about me! You hate every woman that gets within ten yards of me, who dares show interest in me. For what?” Melissa is in shocked silence, not answering. “Because you can’t stand that they want me, that I could want them too? Because I could maybe, just maybe, have feelings for someone that isn’t you?”

“That’s not-”

A bitter laugh leaves you, “have you ever stopped to think about what you’re doing to me when you kiss me, let me kiss you, and then just start sleeping with some guy? How do you tell me you care about me more than anything and then kiss him in front of me? I have never hidden how much I love you Melissa, not once, and you rub it in my face?”

Standing from the couch, you try to create distance as you pace with your hands on your hips. You can’t even look at her, knowing the hurt look on her face will break you. You’ll say it’s all fine when it isn’t. This dam cannot be patched. She tries to hide it, but you hear her sniffle as she stands to be level with you.

Her arms cross to create a proactive barrier, “you are the one that just assumes it’s all about you. Joe is a good guy, he cares about me, loves me. He tells me, he tells his friends.”

“And do you care about him? Love him too?”

Melissa’s eyes widen, “I… I could.”

“You could?” It’s almost a laugh. “You sound real confident in that ability. Let me know how that goes.”

The red she sees matches her hair, “and what have you done? Sit and wallow.”

“Oh, sorry, were the many times I said ‘I love you, Melissa’ not clear enough? Or were you just purposefully pretending to hear ‘you’re my bestest platonic pal’?”

“How was I supposed to know what that meant?!”

Your stills, a sudden calm coming over you as you realize the lost cause, “be so fucking rea- you know what? I’m done.” Stepping around her, you go to the door to put on your shoes, feeling like there’s glass coating the soles.

“You’re-”

“Going home,” you say standing, “I can’t do this anymore. At this point, I’m just torturing myself.” There’s no pause before opening the door.

“Please, don’t leave,” Melissa’s voice cracks.

You can’t face her, “I love you. But I can’t say I feel the same about the idea of you only loving me when others aren’t around.”

“I love you, I do. Just, please don’t go.” The door slams in Melissa’s face.

Eyes stay on the driveway as you leave, immediately pulling into your spot, Joe.

Until we death to us part

A surprise dinner for their one year anniversary might just be the most romantic thing Joe has done for Melissa the entirety of their relationship. He called her to tell her to dress to the nines, well maybe the sevens, which made her laugh, quick to hang up to start curling her hair. As she sections her hair, she wonders what kind of restaurant, which cuisine, silently praying that it’s not Italian.

Leaning against his truck, Joe lays on the horn to alert her of his presence, climbing into the cabin as Melissa steps outside. When she gets in herself, Melissa does a once over of his clothing for the evening, hoping to not find an oil stain that seems to be on every single shirt the man owned. None. Not even a mark of too-much-bleach to get rid of an old stain. Collar pressed, not a wrinkle in sight. Joseph bought a new shirt, just for tonight.

“You look handsome,” she says, leaning against the middle console to press her lip to his cheek.

Wiping her gloss from his face, through a cocky grin he says, “thought I should clean up.”

Metallica plays on the radio, no other conversation is even attempted before he pulls into the parking lot of Yamitsuki. Joe’s already a quarter of the way to the door by the time Melissa gets out of the truck, carefully dropping to the pavement in her heels. At least it’s not Italian, at least it’s not Italian.

In hopes to get and keep his attention, her arm wraps around his when he reaches him at the host stand. When the host seats them, Joe yanks his arm from Melissa’s to get in the booth across from her. The redhead sits silently, letting the man order her drink and the appetizer he wants. When he reorders his beer, wanting an American brew, she mentally steps back. Nodding and humming seems to get her through most of these conversations.

A loud laugh from the hibachi station captures both hers and Joe’s attention, though he seems more interested in the puffs of fire coming from the grill. The woman laughing grips the counter as she tries to catch her breath, her date, facing away from Melissa, is shaking with laughter as they rub the woman’s arm. Silver catches the light, and green eyes are drawn to the rings on the date’s hand. A wide silver band, only one constellation engraved into the metal. She doesn’t have to look closer. She knows it’s Taurus, she knows it’s hers.

Tempura, onigiri, even her beloved donburi, they all taste like straw as her mind rotates her constellation brushing against someone new. Melissa doesn’t even have in her to frown when Joe slams his glass on the table to get the attention of the server as they rush past with trays. Peeking away from the adult tantrum over a Budweiser, her eyes go back to the grill.

God, she wishes she hadn’t. Talking kindly to the cook, she gets a view of your profile. Warm lighting makes you glow, the easy smile on your lips makes her heart clench. You’re here, with this woman, and you’re happy. You’re without her and you’re happy. Her grip in the table cloth tightens, pulling everything her way.

“What’s wrong?” Joe asks with a mouthful of noodles. Her eyes snap to him, brows furrowed in confusion, “your face, you look upset. Is it the food?”

She finds it in herself to smile a little, “I’m fine. Just spaced out for a second.”

He doesn’t believe her, so in true Joe-fashion, he talks about everything and nothing to move her attention away from whatever’s bothering her. It would be annoying if it wasn’t a tad endearing.

A silent prayer goes to all deities above when she walks into the empty restroom, Melissa also locks the door to ensure the privacy stays. The ringed fingers gripping her lungs let go, and for the first time since she walked in the restaurant, she can finally take a deep breath. Leaning on her hands against the counter, Melissa looks at herself in the mirror. Time to put your big girl pants on, Schemmenti.

Turning on the sink, Melissa runs her hands under the cold water to cool down, the splotchy red on her chest finally dissipating. Shaking the water from her hands, she nods to herself. Turning on her heel, she forces her shoulders back, spine straight, totally fine. Stepping back into the hall, she immediately collides with another person.

“Shit, I am so sorry,” a familiar voice says as hands hold onto Melissa’s elbows to stop her sway. Long lashes flutter around wide eyes as she only stares, watching your eyes fly from where your hand rests on her arm to her face. Your eyes quickly widen as your hands pull away, though they harden swiftly, concern becoming stone. “Sorry,” is all you mumble before turning away from her, giving up on your journey to the restrooms.

What possesses her, she doesn’t know, but she follows you. Grabbing your arm, she tugs you in the restroom she had just left, locking the door behind her, she leans against it as you just stare at her. The unblinking glare you give is something she hadn’t ever been on the receiving end of, but it feels as awful as she assumed.

“Nothing?”

Your jaw drops a little, and you let out a sharp, breathy laugh, “nothing? Nothing what? Was I supposed to faint?”

“Was maybe thinking you wouldn’t just walk past me when I haven’t seen you in six months.”

“And why’s that?” At her lack of answer, your head tilts, “did you want me to stay behind glass to break in case of sudden realization?”

“Sudden realization?” It could be better to play dumb.

Biting your cheek, you look at the ceiling before you speak, “yes. Sudden realization. Maybe realize that kissing me, wanting me to kiss you, it’s pretty gay. Very gay, actually, in my professional opinion.”

“I’m not gay,” Melissa mumbles, twiddling with her fingers. Maybe playing dumb wasn’t the move.

You nod slowly, “right.”

“I’m not. I love Joe, we’re here for our anniversary. I’m not gay.”

Closing your eyes, you exhale deeply, “glad that’s settled. Can you stop holding me hostage?”

Melissa can feel the weight of your words. You’re not just a hostage of this room. You’ve been perpetually held hostage by your feelings for her, imprisoned for years and years, with never getting the love you bore in return. She tries to step closer to you, but you move at the same time, pivoting around her and unlocking the door. Your name leaving her lips in a cracked voice makes you halt, but the simmering fire in your chest refuses to let you soften.

“Let me go, Melissa. Should be easy, since, you know, you don’t love me, not really.”

“B-” The door shuts in her face again.

This is my solemn vow.

—☽—

Melissa wakes with a jolt, beads of sweat gliding down her spine. Heaving breaths constrict her chest and she drops her head into her hands in an attempt to focus and calm herself. The tight feeling in her chest dissipates as a final deep breath leaves her lungs, face cooling and heart slowing. Lifting her head from her hands, she peers to the right to make sure she hadn’t woken Joe.

Perhaps she would have, had he been there.

Joe was only ever home maybe two nights a week, always ‘working late’ and coming home well rested the next morning. Nina was getting most of his time these days, all his attention, love, and acknowledgement. It was getting hard to keep track of the times he’d almost called her Ni instead of Mel, after it hit double digits, she didn’t care anymore. It was clear now, more than ever, that she was his wife in nothing but name.

Only in her dreams does she get a level of peace, the smell of patchouli and spearmint comforting her in the haze of sleep. Oversized knit sweaters and denim brush her skin in this personal Eden, but the morning sun brings her to gasoline and another woman’s perfume.

A part of her, deep in the back of her mind, screams, and it has only gotten louder over the last ten years. The voice screams, bordering on blood-curdling, telling her how much she hates him, how much she doesn’t love him, how much she regrets him. Every morning she wakes with him gone, the more she listens to that little voice. Every time she smells Chanel on the Eagles jacket she bought for their five year anniversary, the voice gets a little louder.

The voice warps and becomes familiar as Melissa stares blankly at the empty space beside her. You could? Let me know how that goes. If you were able to see her now, you’d be giving her that raised brow, biting your inner lip to keep from saying something she probably didn’t want to hear. In this moment, she would do anything to hear what you’d say, even if she may cry, even if she doesn’t know where you are.

With her mind running a mile a minute, she was unable to will herself back into sleep, giving up to make coffee instead. As if the universe wanted to mock her, the door quietly opens and closes, careful footsteps walking through the living room before the pause in the doorway to the kitchen. Joe and Melissa just stare at each other blankly, silence permeating their existence in these four walls. Without another word, she just pours him a cup of coffee, spooning in a little sugar before sliding it towards him.

Joseph, to his credit, reads that something is wrong, terribly wrong. There’s no anger on Melissa’s face, not even a twinge of sadness. The few times she was awake when he got home, she wouldn’t even look at him, just frown, but now, nothing. Sipping his coffee, he accepts the fate that comes at him like a fastball.

Before he even fully sits down across from her, she speaks without breaking eye contact, “I want a divorce.”

Joe did not argue, he’d seen this long coming. He saw it when they told her parents they were engaged, how Annette had to purse her lips, Kristin Marie taking her sister aside to talk privately. He loved Melissa, for a time, but he knew she loved the non-existent obligation to him, and he drifted. Regrets of his behavior disappeared the less Melissa seemed to care. Their positions were identical; he is only her husband in name.

By the end of March, he was fully moved out and placing his key in the palm of her hand. Pausing his steps, he turns back to Melissa, pressing a short kiss to her cheek, “I hope you find what you need.”

July is Melissa’s favorite month. No school starting or ending, no prep days just yet, not even a single manilla folder on the coffee table. Just Melissa, Cabernet, and the sunlight. She felt content under the sun, warming her skin and making the freckles across her chest and shoulders bloom. When Barbara invited her to the beach, she almost said no, until the mention of a private beach hut and bottomless margaritas.

By the second marg, the cackles coming from the hut could be heard from the waterfront, not that the two women cared. The third, and beginning of the fourth, the conversation went from silly to serious, both women speaking in not-so-hushed voices.

“He just didn’t care. I said I wanted a divorce, and all I got was okay. Was expecting some sort of fight,” Melissa says as she plays with the pink umbrella in her drink.

Barbara’s head drops to the side, “to be fair, dear, you weren’t really in it anymore either. You can’t seriously think he couldn’t pick up on that.”

“Wasn’t expecting a screaming match or anything, just a talk. I tried making it work, he’s the one who was out and about with Nina.”

“Melissa Ann,” Barbara starts, “you have been mentally checked out of that marriage before you even walked down the aisle. I’ve known you seven years, and I’m sorry, but it’s been clear you didn’t love him anymore. If you ever did.”

The redhead stares at Barbara with a heavy look, “what do you mean by that?”

“I’d like to think I know you well. And knowing you means I see you, see you as you are. That man, any man, is not what you long for.” Putting her drink on the table, Barbara reaches over to grab Melissa’s hand, squeezing it lovingly, “you look more in love in those university photos that you do in your wedding ones.”

Melissa fiddles with her fingers, “I’ll never have that back, I’m too late. It’s too late.”

“It’s not. Not too late to give yourself the space to see yourself, to find who makes you happy,” she reassures her friend. The tears threatening to spill from Melissa’s eyes make her tug her in for a hug, “you will be okay. And you won’t be alone.”

—☽—

Elaine stands from the table slowly, avoiding Melissa’s eyes as she mumbles a bye and leaves the bar. Six months down the drain, all because Melissa wasn’t ready to move in, just barely having given the woman the code to the door so she could let herself in. She’d called Melissa scared and a child, but what hurt the most, a coward. The redhead didn’t even dignify her with a real response, just saying if you’re done, then go. I won’t stop you.

Sipping the last of her drink, Melissa pays the tab for her vodka soda and the cosmopolitan Elaine had, telling the bartender to keep the change as she leaves to walk home. Walking the three miles home wasn’t going to be fun, but she could maybe clear her head, definitely get tired enough to fall asleep on the couch.

Ten minutes into her journey, a voice from nearby was calling out, catching Melissa’s attention immediately.

“Bosco! C’mon, inside time!” The laugh that follows stops Melissa in her tracks, another call of Bosco has her walking quickly to find the source. Under a streetlight, she pauses.

Across the street, in a little fenced yard, was a Brittany spaniel doing laps around the yard, darting and dashing away from the owner. Giggles filled the yard as the dog and owner seemingly played tag, the collar jingling in tandem with the laughter. Green eyes trail away from Bosco. You.

You look the same you had the last she saw you, apart from your hair being longer, smile lines a little deeper. Melissa can’t help it, eyes going to your hands, scanning for rings she doesn’t find. No wedding band, but especially, no constellation. Had you gotten married and divorced like her? Were you just the kind to not wear your ring? She doesn’t think so. Are you happy? You look happy, she hopes you’re happy. How long have you been here? Only two miles from her? Last she knew, you left Philly to no-one-would-tell-her-where.

She watches you stop running, hands on your knees as you speak breathily, “alright, for real. Inside time, Bosco baby!” Tears spring to her eyes as your grin grows, watching your dog gallop towards you and almost knock you over. “Oh, you’re excited to watch Living Single, huh? Let’s go.” Melissa watches Bosco trot next to you as you disappear behind the door, from her.

A watery smile crosses her lips, you were still watching the show you watched together nearly every night. Melissa still remembers the nights where you would play with her hair, twirling it around your fingers as she sunk into your chest, pressing soft kisses to her head as you giggled at something Khadijah said to Max. Those nights were her only sense of comfort, and for years, the mere memory would make her heart quake.

Pressing on, she keeps on her way home. Instead of falling asleep when she finally gets to her couch, Melissa turns on Living Single and curls against the arm of the couch, nudging her nose into plastic-wrapped fabric. She can almost smell the incense and mint gum.

For the next couple of weeks, Melisa takes it upon herself to go on more walks. Walks to the deli, to the bar, to the coffee shop, even to the park. Occasionally, there are days where she takes the longer path, one that passes the fenced yard of a brick building. To her dismay, she has yet to see you. Part of her panics, thinking that you may have seen her and were avoiding being seen. The rational part reminds her that you have a life. Luck just seems to be running low.

On a chilly Thursday, however, she stares at her feet to keep the wind from making tears and smudging her eyeliner. The clacking of steps on the pavement and jingling of a collar brings her eyes up, a familiar spaniel practically tugging against the blue leash. Bosco looks at Melissa’s still form, and starts pulling harder, trying desperately to meet a new friend.

“BoBo,” you almost whine, looking up from the grocery list on your phone, “hell you doing bud-”

Stopping in your tracks, your arm jerks as your dog pulls, but you stay in place. Wide eyes meet, and all either of you can do is stare. With a huff, Bosco pulls again, forcing you closer to Melissa. Nudging her hand, he begs to be pet, forcing her hand on top of his head.

You swallow the lump in your throat, speaking quietly, “you can pet him.”

Wordlessly, without taking her eyes off of you, her nails scratch gently at the dog’s head. Your own eyes flick around her face, only quickly dipping to where her hand pets Bosco. No ring. Shaking your head, you look back up.

“Melissa,” you say with a little nod. The corner of her lips turns up at hearing her name from you. “How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good…” She clears her throat, “how are you?”

“Yeah, good. You still teaching?”

A little smile stretches across her face, “second grade, over at Abbott in West. Eleven years, almost, now.”

“That’s nice, Abbott’s nice. Micah’s daughter’s starting there next year,” you say, fidgeting with the leash in your hands.

A surprised laugh leaves her, “Micah’s got a kid? Jesus…”

“I know,” you chuckle, “the man who still ties his shoes with bunny ears.”

Bosco takes the second of silence to hop up on Melissa, front paws going to her chest as he tries to sniff and lick her face. The motion shocks Melissa, who only manages a little oof! You’re quick to move, stepping close to hold under his arms and gently pull him back towards you, still hopping and trying to get to Melissa.

“Dude, what the hell?” You say, looking down at your dog, before quickly going back to Melissa, “I’m sorry about him. New people are apparently chew toys to him.”

“It’s okay,” she replies with a smile, she’s more than okay right now. Entirely stunned by the newfound closeness, the time passing around only really hits her as a car honks at a bicycle in the street, insecurity crawling in. Clearing her throat, she adds, “I- uh- it was nice seeing you.”

The little smile falls from your lips, “oh… Okay, yeah. Nice seeing you, Mel. Sure I’ll see you around.” With a little frown, you gently tug Bosco’s leash, him immediately walking with you.

Melissa turns quickly and starts to follow you, almost running to catch up. “Wait, wait. That came out wrong. I didn’t mean go, I just- it is nice to see you,” she speaks through little pants. “Would you wanna get coffee or a drink sometime? Catch up? Only if you want to,” she rushes the last part, trying not to seem as desperate as she is.

And there it is. The little grin she loved so much, had missed so much. You try to suppress it, but it’s entirely impossible. “Whiskey sours?”

—☽—

Whiskey sours. Coffee. Meeting at Wawa for lunch. Diner pancakes for supper. It was small, and then it was damn near every day for weeks on end. Time had taken the anger she had last seen in you, replaced with sheer nerves, and now comfort once again. Melissa slowly gives in and shares little things, trying to gain your trust. The lack of any Joe-mention was telling enough, as if no ring wasn’t practically shouting. To be subtle or to not be subtle, that is the question. But this is Melissa Ann Caterna Schemmenti.

“Random question.”

“Potential random answer,” you reply through a bite of your burrito.

Melissa mulls over her words, “is six months together not stupid soon to move in with someone? My ex called me a child for saying no fucking way.”

“Personally, yeah. Knowing you, even bigger yeah. Clearly didn’t know you well enough to be moving in with you.”

Melissa nods as she wipes her lips with a napkin, “no, she clearly did not.”

The pause of your chewing only lasts a brief moment before you look up, “her loss.” There’s no hiding the blush that covers Melissa’s face.

Through lunch, and the subsequent walk to finish the never ending conversation, neither of you really want to leave the other. Every topic carries to another, nearly twelve years apart coming undone the closer you sit. You fumble through inviting her over, with the mention of thinking you have the ingredients for sours, as if you hadn’t bought everything the night before.

Late into the night, with the TV low and Bosco curled in his bed, you rest against the arm of the couch. Melissa keeps her legs tucked to her chest, chin resting on her knees as her eyes struggle to focus on the screen. Sitting here with you, it’s so hard to not want to be held by you, it feels almost second nature. The churning in her mind makes her entirely unaware of the attention on her.

Shifting, you rest your back against the arm, putting one foot down on the floor. A socked foot pokes Melissa, making her jump slightly. Prehnite eyes flick towards you, quickly scanning over your position. She bites her inner cheek, eyes meeting yours in silent question. The answer she receives is a weak attempt to reach for her, too lazy to say anything.

Lightning quick, Melissa lays on top of you, taking her place in the warmth of your neck. Your arms wrap around her snuggly, holding her as if she would disappear. She feels your nose nudge her hair, a little movement against her forehead feels like a smile, one that matches her own. Gently, with a butterfly's touch, Melissa pressing a short kiss to the column of your throat before resting again.

She loves you. She does, she does, she can.

i’ve got a doctorate in projecting

if you’re looking for a longer form of a similar concept then please, if u haven’t, read the entwined series by @lot-of-nothing it is INCREDIBLE i’m speechless

feedback appreciated as always <3

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neighbourshouse · 2 years ago

Text

Quality Time (WWDITS)

Nadja x Female Reader

Summary: Nadja wants to know more about you. (Fluff)

Warnings: Mentions of nudity, insecurity.

Authors note: Hi Hi Hi this is my first ever fanfiction.

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5:30 PM; The vampires wouldn’t be up for a while as the sun was still out and not to set for another hour.

Guillermo gets up around the same time you do, not interacting with each other as you both find solace in the quiet you two only seem to get in the daytime. Usually, you are awake around 12:30, getting ready as you wish and cleaning the house up before the vampires rise for the night. However, today you let yourself sleep in a bit later. Last night ran too long and the house was tidy(ish).

You kept your room dark- if there was one thing you did have in common with the vampires, you enjoyed the night. The room lit with warm-toned lamps, you stood in front of your mirror in a t-shirt, underwear, and socks, looking at yourself.

You have never really liked your body, a constant insecurity mainly while living with individuals who were quite attractive. You were especially bugged by your appearance today, looking at the shape of your hips and the curves of your legs. The t-shirt you wore was purposely large enough to hide your torso and release emphasis on your breasts.

You watched yourself for a few minutes, eventually turning to put on jeans and a hoodie.

“Why do you look at yourself like that? Also, why is there fabric up your ass??” Nadja was sitting on your bed, watching you. She squinted her eyes as her gaze roamed all over your body.

“HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN SITTING THERE?” you yelled, rushing over to the end of your bed where your pants lay. You quickly pulled them on, frantically zipping them up. At least now you were fully dressed.

“are you going to answer my questions?” She stated.

“NO, I’m not gonna answer actually. why are you up?? you should still be asleep!”

“I awoke early and was bored. What do you expect me to do? Clean the house?” She smirked as if the cameras were there.

“You could have at least knocked”

“ok well, I didn’t and I’m here now.”

There was a pause. You looked at her, brows slightly furrowed. For once you could see slight concern glint across her eyes. It made your gaze soften. You shouldn’t be rude, she is your Mistress after all.

You threw on your hoodie and sat next to her on the bed.

“Sooo…what’s up?” You asked, a little more care in your voice.

As Nadja and Laszlo’s familiar, they only ever really ordered you around. However, both were oddly protective over you for some unknown reason, especially Nadja. She even was the one who insisted you have a proper bedroom; Unlike Guillermo who unfortunately got the space under the stairs.

Nadja and you were the only women in the house. It was hard for you, so you could only imagine how polarizing and alone it must be for her. You know, being a vampire and all on top.

I mean, to tell the truth, you really liked Nadja, like, really liked her- but you could never say anything. You found her beautiful and her oddness was something you could connect with. At the least, you wanted to be her friend but she always seemed to stray away from you or demand things in front of the others. So this interaction was a first.

“I don’t know, I guess I just wanted to talk to you?… I feel a little bad, you’ve been with us for a while now and- I’ve not even bothered to get to know you.” Her eyes shifted downwards into her lap. You squinted and began to inspect her from afar. What the fuck is going on?

“Are you ok? Should I wake the others and get help?”

“No no, I’m fine, like I said I just….”

She looked at you. Was that a bit of sadness?

“Nadja, do you want someone to talk to?” You smiled slightly, trying to get her to look at you.

Her head lifted and she began to smile back- this still seemed too genuine for Nadja.

“I think I do. I also didn’t realise- how sort of interesting you are? I’ve never been in here.” She flicked her eyes around the room, taking in the posters on your walls and the knick-knacks and books on your shelves.

“Thank you…” you trailed off not really knowing what to say next.

Her eyes met yours again.

“y/n, I really do want to know more about you.” You blushed at her words.

“well…what exactly do you want to know?” You said slowly, she began to smile again. Gosh her smile is so pretty. She is so pretty.

“Tell me about yourself. Where are you from? Who are your parents? What was your childhood like? what is your favourite colour? What is your darkest secret?-“ She began to ramble on with different questions, you grabbed her hand to make her stop for a moment. She froze, looking down at the contact. Scared, you retracted your arm quickly as she looked at you.

‘oh shit, you done fucked it-’ you thought.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“ apologies started to spew out of you.

“No no! it’s ok! I’m just not- used to that kind of thing.” She looked focused as her brain processed what had just happened.

You felt unsure of what to do, so, you let yourself fall back onto your bed. She looked at you nervously, playing with her hands.

Finally, she laid down next to you, both staring at the ceiling on your backs.

Another moment of quiet.

“My Favourite colour is red.” You practically whispered, turning your head to look at her. She turned to you and smiled. Nadja seemed so excited yet calm in manner.

“So is mine.” Her grin was spread from ear to ear.

“Are you sure you really want to know about me?” The question seemed to dissipate into thin air as Nadja looked at you sternly.

“Of course I do.” She softened her gaze but her answer felt like an order.

With that, you began to tell her about where you were from and what life as a mortal has been like for you. You told her about your friends and the adventures you’ve been on and your family. Her sudden interest in your life made you feel good.

What felt like minutes was really 2 hours. You glanced at the clock on your nightstand. The sun had long set, it now being 7:30 PM. Nadja lay on her stomach, kicking her feet like a schoolgirl.

“Oh shit- it’s 7:30 already?? Nadja I gotta get to my chores and start helping out-” You started to get up but she pushed you back down with a firm hand.

“Nonsense! I am your Mistress and I say tonight your job is to hang out with me.” She could tell you were slightly puzzled and shocked.

“Bubs it is okkkkkk. You are mine, I get to decide what you do.” Her words made your stomach flutter and your cheeks flush.

“Ok…but what about-“

“Nuh-uh, the others are fine. Like I said, your only task tonight is to be with me.”

A bit of thought and you couldn’t deny her, you smiled, Nadja had been waiting for that. She began to smile back as well.

The thought of talking further about yourself felt exhausting, and at this, you realised you didn’t know a whole lot about Nadja. Obviously, you knew she was a vampire from Antipaxos that was 500 years old, and that she had a husband (Laszlo) and enjoyed pleasure and killing. But what else?

“Nadja?…”

“Yes my darling angel.” She was so trained on you.

“I wanna know more about you.” She stopped kicking her feet. A mixture of disbelief and sorrow crossed her face. You were unsure if you should have said that.

“What- what do you mean?” She tilted her head.

“I mean like- what are your interests? Passions? Beliefs?” As much as you would like to know her answers, you didn’t want to upset Nadja.

She went quiet for a moment.

“No one has ever asked me that before.” She looked at you with wide, sad eyes. It kind of scared you.

“I mean- if you don’t want to tell me or have the others know or just like want to end the convo here thats-“

She now cut you off by grabbing your hand and kissing the back of it. It was your turn to freeze.

“I do want you to know. I just…I just feel like it’s been hundreds of years since anyone has bothered to ask…” Your heart ached. Bits of pain felt like it trickled from her hand to yours like blood down her sleeve.

“Well, I don’t understand why they wouldn’t. You are so interesting and intelligent and cool and prett-“ You stopped yourself. Nadja raised an eyebrow at you.

“No please, go on.” She smirked now grasping your hand a little tighter.

“No, it’s ok!” You squeaked, it hurt a bit but you didn’t mind. You were more scared of her knowing what you felt.

Nadja let go of your hand.

“Well…I guess I really haven’t told anyone mu-“

Just then there is a knock at the door.

“Nadja darling, I know you’re in there. I and the boys need help wi-“

“LASZLO FUCK OFF! I’m busy with y/n tonight so you’ll have to find HELP ELSEWHERE!”

You hear Laszlo sigh on the other side of the door. He knew not to fight her on this. Walking away he calls to the others, “Welp, we are royally fucked.”

You laugh which draws Nadja’s attention back to you. She grins again.

“Do you think we should go and help them?” you questioned.

“No, they’re fineeeee. Where were we…”

And with that, Nadja talked her heart away. And you absorbed every single word.

#nadja x reader #nadja of antipaxos #what we do in the shadows #laszlo cravensworth #nandor the relentless #guillermo de la cruz #colin robinson #nadja wwdits #nandor #guillermo #the guide #laszlo #nadja doll #nadja x y/n

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