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ALF KNOWS BEST ˚｡⋆୨୧˚
✧ a/n: For the 400 anons I got about pervy bsf Alfie, hope this lives up to everyone’s expectations x ✧ pairing: alfie buttle x reader ✧ cw: pervy bestfriend alfie, innocent reader, dubcon, corruption kink, fingering, p in v, reverse cowgirl ✧ summary: Alfie’s made sure you save yourself for him in every way. Finally, he claims you.
alfie masterlist
ALFIE HAD ALWAYS told you to be careful who you got close to. Always told you boys wanted something from you that you absolutely couldn’t give them — you never really knew what that meant, you just listened to him. Of course, you were friends with boys anyway, Alfie an obvious example, but he pinky promised you he was a gooden and that no one else would be as nice to you as he was. Your parents hadn’t really helped this ideal either, having been very wary of what the world could do to their poor, sweet, innocent daughter. Unfortunately, teenage girls are mean, and teenage boys are…worse; there was nothing pushing back on what he’d made you believe, so nothing changed.
You always had a certain naivety about you ever since you were little, and Alfie picked up on it very quickly. He was just trying to protect you, obviously. You couldn’t have known better. Thus, you ended up quite sheltered, clueless. There were no secret chats under the covers at girls' sleepovers about boys or steamy movies you’d hide from your parents. Just you and Alfie. The way he touched you, talked to you, treated you — it was all you knew. And to be honest, you had no complaints.
Not making plans together when you were both free was a rare occurrence, to say the least. But with the recent heatwave, you were both content to stay home and sit still in front of a fan. Or so you thought. You were lying on your bed in just your knickers, because yes, it was that serious, not even the telly on to not risk heating the room even more and a Lana Del Rey CD playing in the background. Fan on blast and blinds closed to stop the stream of sunlight burning you alive, you were finally content after ages of sweating through clothes while you cleaned. Trying to wear anything was a lost cause. Brainlessly, you scrolled through your phone; any other activity would mean exerting too much energy for comfort — so you were completely oblivious to your surroundings and the sound of a car pulling into your drive. And the front door opening. And your bedroom door.
“I got bored, figured you wouldn’t mind me…”
Alfie stops in his tracks, eyes locking onto your almost bare form; he starts laughing, then. You jump out of your skin at the sight of him in front of you, quickly reaching for the duvet to cover yourself up, despite how hot it is. He’s definitely seen you naked before, sure: always comes in the bathroom while you’re showering, and you’ve never had any qualms about changing in front of him. But lying there practically naked for all his eyes to see was a little….much.
“My bad girl, caught you playin’ with your daffodil”
You tip your head slightly like a dog with confusion.
“What daffodil?”
Alfie can’t help but laugh at you again, much to your dismay.
“I meant touching yourself, what else could I have meant?”
A pause.
“Oh, you sweet thing”
You really don’t know what he means, and the condescending tone wasn’t helping. You grip onto the duvet and hold it against yourself tighter in protection as the embarrassment creeps in, because he’s looking at you in that way he always does when he confuses you. It’s almost like he enjoys it. After finally putting his bag down beside your desk and putting his can of now warm Monster down on a coaster, he walks over and reaches for the top of the blanket, pulling it away from your body; for some reason, even unknown to you, your hands drop and let him unveil you. Your cheeks are rosy red, and Alfie’s not sure if it’s the heat or his effect on you making you blush; either way, it’s making his belly warm. He loves getting you like this: squirmy and confused and embarrassed. He can’t help laying it on thick as usual.
“You reallyyyy don’t know what I’m talking about?”
You shake your head. Your hands come up to cover your chest as his gaze intensifies on you, feeling smaller and smaller beneath him the longer he stares.
“Your hands weren’t down…here?”
His fingers graze over your inner thigh, sending goosebumps across your skin and a spark between your legs you’ve become familiar with around him. You’ve never told him about it, way too nervous, and you can already hear the laugh he’ll let out and that venomous tone he puts on when you try to explain it. It’s not worth it.
“Why would they? Alf, don’t be silly, it’s too hot for games”
You test a light laugh, trying to brush over whatever he’s attempting to do to mess with you. Alfie doesn’t say anything this time, just puts on that boyish grin again and climbs his way onto the bed, shoving you over to make space for his large frame. He coaxes you into his lap before you can reach for the t-shirt you’d flung off earlier, slapping your hands away and holding you down tight when you try to grab it.
You sit like that for a while, back to chest, and his thick, muscly arms wrapped around your waist securely — you almost feel comfortable. The heat hasn’t changed, though, and the sweat gathering on your back, making his t-shirt stick to your skin is irritating at best. You can feel he’s sweating too, perspiration dripping down his temple and landing on your shoulder. Neither of you choose to move, though. After a while, you become acutely aware of how bare you are again and attempt to break out of his arms to at least put a bra on; he was not happy about it.
“I don’t remember telling you to get up, do you?”
Alfie’s never taken a tone like that with you before; it scares you enough to still completely in his hold. Suddenly his grip loosens, and his hands start wandering around your body, stuttering over the sticky skin and mapping out every crease, curve and bone. One hand dips low, stopping to caress your hip before gliding over your middle and down your thigh.
“You’ve never touched down here before, have you?”
His fingertips brush the inside of your thighs again and that fire in your belly ignites like all those times before. You’re noticeably nervous the more his hands explore you: he may have been a very physically affectionate guy and has held you and seen things no one else has but this is definitely new. No one has touched you down there, in fact, not yourself, and certainly not another boy (Alfie would kill you to say the least). You didn’t know that was an option, to be quite frank. You’d heard about boys doing stuff like that, and you’d caught him doing weird things a couple of times while you were sleeping, but not this. You inhale a shaky breath, and he takes that opportunity to slide his hand down and cup your clothed pussy in his palm.
“So sweet aren’t you, waiting for me to teach you like always, hm?”
You want to say you didn’t do a thing, but you keep quiet. There’s a tension in the air so strong you almost can’t breathe through it, let alone understand what it’s for. It’s always like this when Alfie touches you, leaving you afraid to move or say the wrong thing because sure he knows what he’s doing all the time, so far ahead of you there’s no hope of catching up. You don’t, though.
He pats over your clothed middle a couple of times with his fingers, gentle and light before bringing his hand down hard. Just once, to scare you or see what you do, he doesn’t even know. Despite the cushioning of your knickers it still stung, a zap of something you can’t identify hitting your belly and making your head swim. Your breath catches in your throat and the way he growls in your ear tells you it’s all he wanted.
“Get these off darlin”
He pings the band of your pants against your skin before you shuffle around until they’re at your ankles, now completely bare; the fact that your back is to him is your saving grace. Alfie’s big hand is immediately back between your legs, index finger tracing patterns over the supple skin of your thighs trailing all the way back to your slit. He simply taps between your lips right where he expects your clit to be and hits the bullseye, chuckling at how you flinch. Untouched and unexplored: there’s nothing more sensitive than that.
His middle finger glides through your lips with ease, gathering the slick that has no choice but to spill out and make a mess, smearing it all over your thighs and leaving you dirty. It itches as it starts to dry from the heat but you daren’t move to scratch it. You can’t understand why he’s doing this to you in the first place, yet you let him anyway as you always do. Can't help but let him run wild around you like you’re still kids and he’s throwing sand at you knowing you won’t retaliate.
When he eventually moves to swipe over your clit, once, twice, and then a third, you push yourself so far back into him there’s no way you don’t wind him. It’s such a small touch in reality, but his thick, rough fingers and the fact you’ve never done this before tunes the pleasure so high you can’t help but try and scramble away. Obviously you don’t get very far. You’re noticeably a little distressed, so he decides to have mercy on you.
“Hey hey, just let it happen, I’m right here. It’ll feel good I promise you just have to let me”
He retracts his hand for a brief second to smother you in a hug, rubbing his hands over your ribs and shushing you in an attempt to soothe; to his credit, it does a lot.
“Just let me do this alright?”
Before you can truly catch your breath, he’s already back rubbing at that little nub with two fingers instead of one. You really can’t help how your legs thrash and the noises that fly from your mouth, your body not understanding what to do with itself with all this much concentrated sensation. Secretly, Alfie’s loving this: having to hold you down and listening to you whine, because he knows only he can do this to you. Only he will ever do this to you.
After a while, you calm down. Although you’re still whining breathily and you’re clawing at his bicep like a stray cat he doesn’t seem to mind. There’s a strange pull building in the pit of your belly and your legs are all tingly, but it’s weirdly nice.
His fingers then slide lower, and you start to panic again, because what possibly could he be doing now? Alfie has no choice but to stuff you full in one smooth movement, for he feared you might never let him. His fingers hook into your hole with an ease made only by how fucking wet you are despite the tightness of your virgin hole. It’s a miracle one even breached your slit. All the air is sucked out of your lungs as you feel his fingers ram inside a part of you you didn’t even know existed.
The warm feeling that had blanketed over you when he was playing with your bundle of nerves was now suffocating, hot all over and your blood fizzing in a way it’s never done before; every thought you might’ve had inside your head now punched right out. Alfie gives you a moment to adjust to having something inside you, knowing this was so so much for such a little thing — he can’t help the pity he has specifically reserved for you.
He gets impatient before you know it, even though you’re not ready. In reality, there wasn’t enough time in the world to get used to whatever he’s doing to you: you don’t know much, but you do know he probably shouldn’t have done that. But he does know best, right?
You feel him press against the front of your walls gently, over and over before combining that with a slow thrust up, seemingly finding that perfect spot inside you inhumanly quickly. This feeling is not quite like what touching your clit was, much deeper inside you and all-consuming. Every thrust inside you punched the air out of your lungs again and sent a spark rushing up your spine, your eyes rolling back into your head involuntarily and your jaw hanging open. It feels unexpectedly good, and you start to wonder why you’ve never felt this way before if it’s so good. Why were you missing out?
And then it was all gone again. You whine out at the loss, already missing all that good feeling in your belly and the way your head swam — as soon as you felt a gush of wind from your fan on your clit it was like abruptly coming up for air after drowning for hours. Alfie simply shushes you.
“You just gotta trust me sweetheart”
You’re shoved forwards out of his lap and instead between his legs on the bed, grool dripping on the mattress and leaving a stain immediately. He’s moving around behind you and you can hear fabric being pulled, but he doesn’t let you look. Every time you try to turn your head he immediately turns it back to facing forward. It makes you a little upset, because even though none of this makes any sense, you don’t like being kept in the dark too much.
“Alf what’re you doing?”
He starts pulling you back into his lap, manoeuvring your legs so you’re kneeling over him instead of sitting. As you settle onto your knees, you’re tickled by his leg hair, which is when you realise his shorts are gone. Alfie grabs your wrists together in one hand so you can’t get away, already anticipating the kind of fight you might put up when he gets to the real deal because if two of his fingers had you like that, his cock will surely kill you.
“Just let me darlin’, I know what’s best for you, don’t I?”
He plants a sweet kiss on your shoulder that you didn’t expect, marking the end of his kindness. With your hands in his grip and arm wrapped you, he pulls you back until your ass is hovering over his cock in his other hand, and strokes himself over a couple of times. Never needs much to get him worked up around you; the sight of you is enough foreplay to last him a century. He pulls you further until the tip of his member is sucked between your folds, and glides it over your clit and back again, lubing himself up with your wetness. It’s a little hard to get a smooth hump through your lips though because as soon as it makes contact with your pussy you start thrashing around.
“Alfie what on earth are you doing?”
He tries his best to hold you still with one hand, but you’re so desperate to get away and scared he’s somehow losing to you. Really, he doesn’t have a choice but to spank you.
“Calm the fuck down, I know what I’m doing”
When you’ve stopped moving, he slides the tip until it’s aligned with your hole and starts gently pulling you down on it; immediately you’re trying to get away again.
“Alf it hurts it’s too much”
Alfie ignores you, continuing to pull you down on his cock, although with great effort considering your movements. He gets just the tip in before the waterworks set off, a pitiful little sob escaping your lips and tears streaking your face matching the sweat on your forehead. He knows he’s way too big for you, should’ve sorted you out properly beforehand but how can he have any impulse control when you’re sat around like that?
“Alf I can’t take it out…please”
He pulls you down until he’s nestled so deep inside you that you can’t bear to move. Your walls are sucking him in like a vice; he’s never felt anything so dizzying in his life.
“God, can’t believe I kept you waiting sweetheart, always knew this was what we needed”
You can’t think, you can’t breathe, let alone understand what he’s slurring into the back of your head. The pain of your muscles stretching around him is hot and heavy, but there’s a certain pleasure deep inside that you almost want to chase. You clench your pelvic muscles involuntarily and Alfie grunts loudly from behind — you kind of want to hear it again, but you don’t know why.
“Gonna fuck you, show you what a nice girl gets when they’re good”
Good at what? You’ll never know. With a hand wrapped around your hip now his cock is steady inside you, he lifts your hips until the tip just barely catches on the rim and slams you back down. The sizzle in your belly as his tip hits somewhere deep inside is like fireworks exploding all over, and as he pulls you up and down again and again, those same fireworks reignite with it. It’s all so much that you almost don’t want it.
“Alfie, Alfie you gotta stop I feel weird”
You can’t see the smirk that stretches across his face, but it’s there. Knowing he’s got you right there on the edge that quickly is an unnecessary ego boost he’ll take gladly. Just further proves how untainted you are, really. You’re struggling to get out of his grip again, convinced something's wrong but you have no idea if you’re going to pee, pass out or be sick. Maybe all three.
“Let it happen sweetheart, just means you’re happy, yeah?”
What choice do you have but to follow his orders and believe him? He continues slamming you down on him, bucking his hips up and meeting in the middle when you start to properly panic, sobs getting caught in your throat again and pleading with him to stop. But he’s relentless, knows you’re about to gush all over him and it’s all he’s ever wanted. Something snaps inside you, and this zap of lightning floods your body and every inch of your skin, throbbing intensely between your legs and drool dripping down your chin.
“That’s it, good girl”
His words send an extra flash of pleasure through your cunt, muscles clenching on him once again and oh there is that beautiful groan from his mouth.
“Got you to cum for me darlin’, felt good didn’t it”
With nothing left in you to speak, you hum into the air.
“Told you, just have to listen to Alfie don’t you?”
Alfie doesn’t wait for an answer before returning to that vicious pace he had you in, having only slowed down to let you really feel what an orgasm was like. The moans you let out gave him a fresh need to fuck you harder, cum deep inside you and claim you as his. He couldn’t let another man ever hear you like that.
You don’t think he’ll keep going after everything you’ve just experienced. It felt like the finish line, that that’s what you’ve been chasing this whole time — but maybe you’re wrong about that. After a couple of seconds though, you realise you can’t just take it. You’re ever so sensitive from an orgasm and all this thrusting inside you the pleasure quickly faded to pain.
Alfie’s kissing over your shoulder again, all up your neck and even planting one on your cheek but the first ‘ow’ that slips your lips stops him in his tracks. You thought you could maybe just put up with it, let him do it because you believe he’s doing the right thing and you shouldn’t stop him, but it gets too much and you can’t stop yourself from expressing it.
“Sorry, sorry…don’t mean to hurt you darlin’”
Yet he keeps going.
“Just have to, yeah? Just have to let me”
His voice is strained as he nears his orgasm, struggling to form words himself but he does love you. Really doesn’t want to hurt you and even though he takes pleasure in how stupid you are, he’d hate to upset you.
Somehow, someway, the ever-increasing pain between your legs and the ache in your stomach had snapped back to the beginnings of those fireworks, the inklings of it just out of reach. When Alfie brings the hand holding your hip up to hold your throat and lay your head back on his shoulder, the band snaps.
“Fuck Alfie it’s... It’s happening again oh my god”
That’s what does it for him. Your walls clenching around him as you tumble into an orgasm for a second time, all from him, it’s really not his fault how he immediately heads straight into orgasm. His cum poured out in thick ropes right up against your cervix, painting the inside of you and tainting you for anyone else.
“Fuck you’re so good sweetheart, the absolute best…so good for letting me fuck you”
As soon as he stops thrusting into you, you collapse back into his chest breathless and a mess of limbs, head empty, weirdly grateful for whatever you’ve done to get here.
He’s never been so proud of a decision in his life.
FOUR TIMES YOUR DAUGHTER. . .
authors note: first ever dad!ab fic! first ever real fic! i hope i did him justice as i have never written dad!anyone ever. if dad!ab becomes it’s own thing then we need a name for her asap!! <3
warnings: none
four times your daughter got exactly what she wanted ─ ꫂ᭪݁˚꩜⋆₊ alfie buttle !
one, it started at half past five, which was exactly twenty-three minutes before dinner and therefore the worst possible time for your daughter to decide she wanted ice cream.
she’d wandered into the kitchen with her favourite stuffed rabbit tucked beneath one arm and immediately spotted the tub sitting in the freezer drawer while you were looking for peas.
her eyes had widened with the sort of excitement only a five-year-old could manage, like she’d just uncovered buried treasure instead of vanilla ice cream.
before you could even shut the freezer, she was already tugging at your sleeve.
“can i have some?”
you didn’t even look up from what you were doing. “no, sweetheart. dinner’s nearly ready.”
she frowned as though she’d never heard anything so unreasonable in her entire life. “but i really want some.”
“after dinner.”
the answer clearly wasn’t acceptable because she stood there for another moment, staring at you as if you might suddenly change your mind.
when you didn’t, she let out the world’s most dramatic sigh and shuffled out of the kitchen.
unfortunately for you, alfie chose that exact moment to walk in.
your daughter’s head snapped up the second she spotted him.
“daddy.”
alfie stopped mid-step. “yeah, angel?”
“mummy said i can’t have ice cream.”
you watched him glance between the two of you before immediately realising he’d walked straight into a trap.
"well" he started carefully.
"because dinner is soon," you interrupted.
"because dinner is soon," alfie repeated quickly.
your daughter looked horrified.
"you said no?"
"yes."
"oh."
she sounded genuinely devastated.
for a second neither of you said anything. then she slowly nodded, hugged her rabbit closer to her chest and wandered off down the hallway.
alfie frowned.
"i feel bad."
you pointed a wooden spoon at him. "don't."
"i'm just saying."
"don't."
the house remained suspiciously quiet for around thirty seconds.
then came the sound of tiny feet racing back towards the kitchen.
your daughter reappeared in the doorway looking significantly different than she had before.
somehow she'd managed to brush her hair back, put on the pink cardigan she only ever wore when she wanted compliments and was clutching her rabbit like she'd just survived a terrible ordeal.
she stood there silently for a moment, blinking up at the two of you with enormous sad eyes.
you immediately knew what she was doing.
alfie, meanwhile, looked seconds away from folding.
"daddy?" she asked softly.
"yeah, baby?"
"can i have just a little bit of ice cream?"
you closed your eyes. there it was. the voice.
the one she only used when she wanted something.
alfie physically melted before your eyes. "well..."
"no."
"i was just thinking maybe-"
"no."
your daughter looked at him hopefully.
"i'm very hungry."
"you're hungry because it's nearly dinner."
she considered this and nodded softly.
you felt victorious for approximately two seconds.
"but ice cream would help."
alfie turned away to hide a laugh.
you pointed at him again.
"don't encourage her."
"i'm not."
he absolutely was.
your daughter must have realised she was making progress because she abandoned you entirely and shuffled closer to alfie.
after a moment she wrapped her arms around one of his legs and rested her cheek against his knee. “please, daddy”
you watched alfie's soul leave his body.
"alfie."
"i know."
"don't."
"i know."
your daughter blinked up at him, "daddy?"
"yeah?"
"i think i'm getting sad."
you nearly laughed. alfie looked like he was going to break.
"you're not getting sad, baby, you’re just not getting your own way.", you whispered gently to her as you crouched down.
"a little bit sad", she gestured the amount with her fingers
"you're really not."
"a tiny bit."
she held her fingers a centimetre apart to demonstrate.
alfie sighed.
"how much ice cream are we talking?"
your jaw dropped. "alf.", you scolded.
"what?"
"what happened to no?"
he looked genuinely confused. "this is still no, girl, chill out”.
"how?"
"we're discussing it."
your daughter grinned. she actually grinned.
the little traitor girl knew she'd won.
within three minutes the two of them were somehow standing at the kitchen counter negotiating quantities like business partners finalising a contract.
your daughter wanted three scoops. alfie suggested two. she countered with three and a half. he settled on two and a half.
you had never seen anything so ridiculous in your life.
"why are you negotiating with her?" you asked.
"because she's negotiating with me."
"she's four.”
your daughter nodded seriously.
"i know numbers."
"she knows numbers, angel" alfie agreed as he leant over and placed a sloppy dramatic kiss on your cheek.
you stared at both of them.
eventually, despite your best efforts, a bowl of ice cream appeared on the counter.
it was not a little tiny bit. it wasn't even close.
your daughter climbed onto a chair and immediately started eating while kicking her legs happily beneath the table. alfie sat beside her looking far too pleased with himself for someone who'd completely abandoned the original plan.
you shook your head.
"honestly, you're worse than she is."
"that's not true."
your daughter looked up from her spoon.
"is true.", she giggled
alfie gasped.
"whose side are you on?"
she thought about it for all of two seconds, "mummy’s ."
"after i got you ice cream?", alfie had a disappointed look on his face while she just nodded with a smile on her face
"thanks for that, angel."
your daughter giggled so hard she nearly dropped her spoon.
twenty minutes later she announced she was completely full and couldn't possibly eat another bite of dinner.
you slowly turned your head towards alfie.
he stared at his plate.
"it wasn't that much ice cream, don’t get stroppy on me, girl”, he started.
two, your daughter appeared in the living room long after she’d supposedly gone to bed, clutching her rabbit under one arm and dragging her blanket behind her.
she’d clearly been asleep at some point because half her hair was sticking up in different directions.
you looked up from where you were sitting beside alfie on the sofa.
“why are you out of bed, baby?”, you asked quietly.
she shrugged, “hard to sleep.”
“you were asleep twenty minutes ago.”
another shrug, “not now.”, she explained.
alfie tried to hide his smile, “come here then.”
she immediately climbed onto the sofa and squeezed herself between the two of you. somehow, despite being tiny, she managed to take up an unreasonable amount of space.
within seconds she was tucked against alfie’s side while still leaning half her weight against you.
“better?” alfie asked.
she nodded.
you already knew where this was heading. “you’re still sleeping in your own bed, you’re a big girl now”, you stroked her hair softly.
her head snapped up.
“what?”
“nice try.”
“i didn’t do anything, mummy!”
“you didn’t need to.”
your daughter frowned as if she genuinely couldn’t understand why you weren’t falling for this.
for the next few minutes she sat there quietly, which honestly should’ve been another warning sign. eventually she started playing with one of the sleeves on alfie’s hoodie.
“daddy.”
“hmm?”
“if i was a little bit scared.”
you immediately looked over and alfie laughed.
“a little bit scared?”
she nodded.
“yeah.”
“of what?”
she thought about it. “the dark.”
“you’ve got a nightlight.”
“oh.”
she thought about that too. “the window then.”
“the window?”
“yeah.”
“what’s wrong with the window?”. she didn’t reply, instead she shrugged and rested her head back on alfie.
alfie snorted and you buried your face in your hands.
your daughter ignored you completely and climbed further into alfie’s lap.
“daddy?”
“yeah, angel?”
“can i have a sleepover with you and mummy?”
there it was.
“no,” you both said.
your daughter’s mouth fell open. “both of you?”
“yes.”
“that’s not nice!”, she stropped angrily.
“you have your own room, baby .”
after another five minutes of unsuccessful begging, she was eventually returned to bed. there were complaints. there was dramatic sighing. there was one final attempt involving promises to be “the best sleeper ever.”
none of it worked. or so you thought.
because at three in the morning you woke up and immediately realised something was wrong.
the bed felt smaller. much smaller.
confused, you opened your eyes and looked down.
your daughter was there, curled up, her face resting on your stomach and her legs thrown over alfie’s.
you slowly turned your head. alfie was already awake.
you stared at your daughter. you couldn’t move her, not when she was sound asleep. “go back to bed angel”, alfie whispered and pecked your lips.
three, you were halfway through helping your daughter get dressed when you realised something was very wrong.
normally getting a five-year-old ready to leave the house involved at least three outfit changes, one argument over socks and a complete refusal to wear a coat.
today, however, she’d been suspiciously cooperative. she’d sat on her bed the entire time, humming to herself while you brushed her hair and chatting away about absolutely nothing important.
it wasn’t until you reached into her wardrobe for a t-shirt that she suddenly jumped up.
“no!”
you blinked, “what’s wrong, baby?”.
she scrambled across the room and pulled out a bright pink princess dress from the back of her wardrobe.
“this one.”
you looked at the dress.
“for tesco?”
she nodded enthusiastically, “yeah!”
you couldn’t help laughing.
honestly, there were worse battles to fight, “if that’s what you want.”
your daughter gasped dramatically, “really?”
“really.”
she immediately launched herself at you.
five minutes later she was fully dressed and absolutely delighted with herself. the dress practically swallowed her whole, the skirt puffing out around her legs as she spun in circles across her bedroom.
you’d just managed to fix her tiara for the third time when alfie’s voice drifted upstairs.
“are you two ready yet?”
“coming!”
you took your daughter’s hand and headed downstairs.
the second you stepped into the hallway, alfie looked up.
“what’s she wearing?”, he laughed to himself.
your daughter grinned. “a princess dress.”
“i can see that, girl”
he looked at you and you just shrugged, “she wanted to wear it.”
“to tesco?”
“yeah.”
alfie stared at the two of you like you’d completely lost your minds.
your daughter gave the skirt another twirl.
“pretty.”
“angel,” he said carefully, “you know we’re just going shopping, right?”
“i know.”
“for food.”
“yeah.”
“not a princess party.”
she frowned, “you can buy food at a princess party.”
you immediately looked away before he saw you smiling.
“don’t laugh.”
your daughter grabbed your hand.
“mummy likes my dress.”
“of course she does.”
“and i like my dress.”
“i can tell.”
she looked up at him expectantly.
“do you like my dress?”
alfie lasted about three seconds, “yeah, you look amazing, angel”, he kissed her forhead.
her face lit up.
“yay!”
“fine. but if you complain about being uncomfortable, i’m not listening.”, he said sternly.
“okay!”
“and if the tiara falls off every five minutes-”
“okay!”
“and if-”.
“okay!”
your daughter was already halfway to the front door.
alfie sighed.
you smiled sweetly, “love you.”
“yeah, yeah, love you too, girl.”
twenty minutes later, you and your daughter were wandering through tesco together while alfie pushed the trolley behind you. honestly, it was impossible not to smile watching her.
she looked absurd. the giant pink dress swished around her ankles every time she walked, the tiara kept slipping sideways and every reflective surface became an opportunity to admire herself.
“mummy!”
“yeah?”
“look.”
she pointed at her reflection in one of the fridge doors.
“i’m beautiful.”
four, bedtime in your apartment was supposed to be simple. bath, pyjamas, story, bed. unfortunately, your daughter had discovered that the “one story” rule wasn’t nearly as strict as it sounded, especially when you left alfie in charge of reading.
it started innocently enough. you’d tucked her in, kissed her forehead and reminded both of them that it was one story before heading downstairs to tidy the kitchen.
alfie had nodded and promised he’d only be ten minutes. your daughter had nodded too, although the mischievous look on her face suggested she already had other plans.
when you came back upstairs twenty minutes later, you could still hear alfie’s voice through the bedroom door.
you paused, “alf?”
the reading stopped immediately.
when you pushed the door open, your daughter was sitting up in bed looking suspiciously awake while alfie sat beside her with a book in his hands.
“i thought you were reading one story.”
“i did.”
you looked at the pile of books beside him, “that doesn’t look like one story.”
your daughter pointed at him immediately.
“put me in the dog house!”, he laughed while looking offended that his own daughter had snitched on him.
“you asked for another one.”
“and you said yes.”, you replied for your daughter.
“that’s not the point.”
your daughter grinned.
you already knew exactly what had happened. she’d asked for one more. alfie had agreed. then she’d asked for another one after that. and another. and another.
“how many have you read?” you asked and he had went quiet.
“alfie.”
“four.”
“four!”
“in my defence, they’re bare short.”
you stared at him.
your daughter buried her face in her blanket, trying to supress a laugh.
“bed. now.”
she immediately dropped back onto her pillow.
“okay.”
you narrowed your eyes.
“and no more stories.”
“okay.”
then she turned to alfie.
“daddy?”
“yeah, girl?”
“just one little one?”
I wanna start saying you are one of my favorite writers. I have a prompt for you if you like it.
The reader has a daughter and they are in some kind of social risk and they suddenly don’t have a home anymore. Mel likes both of them very much, invites them to her spare room and finds herself falling in love for the reader because the reader is a better partner than Joe or Gary ever were. Buuuut she knows she can’t fall for the reader ‘cause she doesn’t want to take advantage of her.
I thought of you for this prompt because I’m obsessed with you longer stories. And thank you ❤️
~The Practical Thing~ Part 1
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
Pairing:Melissa Schemmenti x Reader
Gender:Fluff, Fluff and more fluff
Warnings:none, (Smut on the future)
Summary:on the request
AN:thank you for the sweet request and comment. I hope you are still here to see it. Life has been kicking my butt lately and I had lost my desire to do anything, but I'm back and I loved doing this request!
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Melissa Schemmenti had always considered herself a practical person. Practical meant buying generic cereal even when the box looked depressing. Practical meant keeping the plastic covers on the couch to make it last longer. Practical meant pretending she did not care when her students’ parents forgot conferences because she knew most of them were working two jobs and barely sleeping. Practical meant never mixing business with her personal life.
Which was exactly why, standing in her classroom doorway at six-thirty on a Thursday evening, staring at one of her student’s mothers trying very hard not to cry while helping her daughter zip a too-small winter coat, Melissa knew she was about to do something profoundly impractical.
-“I'm sorry...”-Melissa said carefully trying to get your attention. You looked up too fast, as if you had been startled out of thought. You were beautiful in the quiet kind of way people often missed at first glance. Not polished or deliberate, just warm. Your hair pinned up messily, tired eyes, soft mouth. The sort of face that looked made for smiling even when it was strained with worry.
-“Yes Miss Schemmenti?”-You looked up, Melissa hesitated.
Her house had an extra room, and for the last year it had become a graveyard for old exercise equipment and things she swore she would donate someday. It was empty enough.
And your daughter, Gaia, was sitting cross-legged by the cubbies drawing flowers on the back of a math worksheet because she was too patient to complain that her mom had spent the whole pickup quietly arguing with someone over the phone in rapid-fire Spanish.
Melissa had caught enough to understand.
Rent. Late again.
Please, just one more week.
-"Are you okey?" - she asked and you nodded rubbing your eyes.
-"What?" - you were not used to have someone caring how you were, so it took you by surprise - "Oh yes... I know I'm late to pick her up and that I haven't been coming to the last few meetings... I'm just working some extra hours, but I will be here the next one, I promise..."-you didn't wanted to say that you had lost your job and that you won't be busy the next days because you were not able to do extra hours anymore. But you limited your answer to a promise.
-"Look... I don't mean to pry but I heard..."-before she could gather the courage to say what she was planning to say, your phone rang and you opened your eyes like remembering something.
-"I'm sorry Melissa, Gaia has a dentist appointment and we are getting late...Can we talk another time?..."-you were calling your daughter with hand gestures. Your baby girl grabbed her color pencils and ran to you holding your hand and looking at the redhead with a bright smile
-"Yes... Don't worry...I will see you another day..."-the redhead said grabbing her bag and seeing how you picked up your daughter
-"Bye Miss Schemmenti" - you said hurried
-"Bye bye miss Schemmenti, see you tomorrow!" - Your little kid waved her gloved hand and you left, disappearing behind the green doors into the cold day
A couple more days passed, and Melissa could not stop thinking about you. About the strain in your voice during that phone call. About the way your fingers had trembled while buttoning Gaia’s coat. About the way you had smiled anyway, as if warmth could be forced into existence through sheer determination.
She noticed things after that. Little things.
The way Gaia always arrived clean and neatly dressed, even if her shoes were beginning to pinch at the toes. The careful way her lunches were packed, always homemade, always portioned with precision. Sometimes just a sandwich cut into perfect little triangles, an apple sliced so it looked abundant, a few crackers tucked carefully into a napkin.
And every morning, Melissa made sure there were snacks waiting in her desk drawer.
-“Miss Schemmenti, can I have one of the strawberry bars?”-Gaia asked one morning, peeking up at her with wide brown eyes.
-“Absolutely not"-Melissa clicked her tongue dramatically. Gaia’s little face fell.
Then Melissa reached into the drawer and placed two bars in front of her-“One is clearly for quality control"- Gaia giggled.
-“Thank you"-she said saving one in her pocket-"One for mama, this are her favorite ones too" - that squeezed the redhead's heart
-“Don’t tell the other kids”-Melissa warned-“I have a reputation to maintain”-she joked. Gaia nodded solemnly, as though entrusted with state secrets.
Melissa watched her skip back to her desk and felt something twist in her chest.
The kid was bright. Sweet. Too observant for her age.
She couldn't ignore the innocent conversations that your daughter had with other children, who although they were not rich, had gone out on weekends to nice places and your daughter was excited to say that on her weekend you had enough to buy you a ice cream to share with her.
And one Friday afternoon, while the class colored quietly, one kid was teasing Gaia about her lack of color pencils. Melissa immediately came to help
-"Hey, that's no nice, I will talk to your parents about your behavior by the end of the day when they come pick you up" - she said frowning and crossing her arms. The kid immediately went quiet and resumed his coloring lesson.
-"Gaia, if you want I have colors on my desk" - she offered and your daughter denied with her head
-"I like mine, I don't have the big box of coloring pencils but this works..."-she said and looked up to the redhead - “My mom cries in the bathroom so I won’t hear”-Melissa’s stomach dropped. She crouched beside her desk carefully.
-“Gaia…”-The little girl shrugged, still drawing.
-“It’s okay. She thinks I don’t know"-Melissa swallowed hard.
-“She loves you very much"-the teacher stated
-“I know"-Gaia finally looked at her, serious beyond her years-“She just gets sad because money makes grown-ups weird"-Melissa blinked.
Then, despite herself, she laughed softly.
-“That is… disturbingly accurate"-Gaia smiled. Then she leaned closer and whispered
-“I think she likes you"-Melissa nearly choked on air.
-“What?”-she blinked a few times. Gaia returned to coloring as if she had not just detonated Melissa’s nervous system.
-“She smiles when she says your name and she likes the strawberry bars that you send"-Melissa stared at the top of her dark little head, speechless. Children were terrifying.
That evening, pickup ran late again.
The classroom had emptied, the halls gone quiet except for distant janitors and squeaking wheels from someone’s cleaning cart.
Gaia sat by the window, drawing little stars on fogged glass. And then you appeared.
Hair damp from melted snow, cheeks pink from the cold, breathless and apologizing before the door had even fully opened.
-“I’m so sorry, our car broke and I had to take two buses and one was delayed and...-you were gasping for air trying to speak
-“You’re fine"- Melissa said quickly. You stopped. Actually stopped. As if the words had stunned you. Most people accepted your apologies because they expected them. They treated your lateness like proof of failure. But Melissa said it like she meant it. Like your being late did not make you lesser.
Your shoulders softened.
-"Thank you," - you said quietly. Gaia launched herself at your legs, and you bent to gather her close, kissing the top of her head. The tenderness of it hit Melissa square in the ribs.
Before she could lose her nerve, she blurted
-“I have a room"-You looked up, confused, you frowned
-“What?”-you looked scared, like she was offering something that shouldn't be offered in front of a child
-“In my house-” Melissa clarified, immediately flustered-“Not like a weird serial killer thing. Jesus, why did I phrase it like that?”-she scratched her head nervously. A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. Melissa’s face flushed brighter-“There’s an extra room"-she rushed on-“It’s mostly old junk and a treadmill nobody has respected since 2019, but it’s yours if you need it"-she offered. You froze. The air shifted. Melissa’s pulse thundered-“I overheard enough the other day"-she said more gently now-“And before you get embarrassed, don’t. Life is expensive, Philly landlords are criminals, and sometimes people need help"-she whispered with soft eyes.
Your mouth parted, but no sound came. You looked down at Gaia, who was already half-asleep against your coat. Then back at Melissa. Your eyes shimmered.
-“You barely know me"-you whispered, Melissa gave a small shrug.
-“I know your daughter says please and thank you without being reminded. I know she shares her crayons when other kids forget theirs. I know she talks about you like you hung the moon"-Your breath caught-“And I know good people sometimes get hit with bad luck"- Melissa finished softly.
Silence. Then your face crumpled. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just the quiet collapse of someone who had been carrying too much for too long. Melissa moved before thinking. Her arms wrapped around you instinctively, awkward at first, hesitant. Then you broke.
A trembling breath left your chest as you leaned into her, your free hand clutching the front of her coat. Melissa held on tighter. Her heart hammered wildly. You were warm despite the cold. Smaller than she had imagined. Real.
-“It’s okay"-she murmured, surprising herself with how much she meant it-“You’re okay"
For the first time in months, standing there in an empty classroom with your daughter half-asleep between you and the scent of snow still clinging to your coat, you believed it.
-"We got kicked out today" - Your voice came out weaker than you expected, trembling as you pulled back just enough to wipe at your tears with the sleeve of your coat. The words tasted humiliating. You hated how small they made you feel. Melissa stayed still in front of you, her hands hovering at your waist for half a second as if she wanted to pull you close again but was not sure she was allowed to. You took a shaky breath-“I lost my job because the restaurant closed. I was trying to gather money for rent cooking meals for some hospitals, but…”-Your voice broke, and you swallowed hard before continuing-“They didn’t give me more time. When I got back after dropping Gaia off here, all our things were outside the apartment"-Melissa’s face changed. Not pity. Something sharper. Anger, hot and immediate, on your behalf. You looked down, unable to bear the kindness in her eyes-“I put everything in our car, and then the car broke down halfway to the repair shop"-You let out a hollow little laugh that sounded nothing like amusement-“It’s still there, full of our stuff. And on the bus ride here, all I could think about was where Gaia and I were going to sleep tonight"-The shame hit harder saying it aloud.Your throat tightened -“I don’t want to impose. I know having a kid in your home is… a lot. A huge change. And I know this is insane, but…”-You laughed weakly through fresh tears-“I don’t exactly have the luxury of saying no"-Your voice cracked completely. You pressed your lips together, trying and failing to hold yourself together-“I… I don’t know what to say"-
Melissa’s expression softened. Her own hands shook slightly at her sides, and for some reason that steadied you. Then she gave that tiny crooked smile of hers, the one she always wore when she was trying to sound cooler than she felt.
-“Say yes before I overthink it and become a coward"-A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. Small and watery, but real. Melissa’s shoulders loosened at the sound, and something in her face brightened.
For the first time in what felt like forever, your chest loosened enough to breathe.
-“Yes, Miss Schemmenti”-you nodded, the words came out soft. Your cheeks warmed under her gaze-“Thank you"-
The way she looked at you then made your pulse stumble. Not polite concern. Not obligation. Something gentler. Something that made your skin feel suddenly too warm inside your coat.
Melissa cleared her throat and looked away first, her own cheeks pinking.
-“Please"-she said, grabbing her purse from her desk- “if we’re going to live together, you should call me Melissa"- The name felt strange and intimate sitting on your tongue.
-“Melissa"-you repeated quietly. Her breath caught. Just for a second. Then she recovered quickly, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear and forcing a practical little nod.
-“Right. Good. Great. Cool.”-You smiled despite yourself. She looked adorably flustered-“Now"-she said briskly, slipping back into her usual sharp efficiency-"tell me where the shop is. We’ll grab your stuff from the car, and then we’ll go home" - Home. The word hit unexpectedly hard. Your eyes stung again. Melissa noticed immediately and groaned dramatically-“Nope. Absolutely not"-You blinked-“No more crying. I’ve hit my emotional support quota for the week, and Barbara says if I absorb any more feelings I’ll become a guidance counselor"-she said looking for her car keys. A startled laugh burst from your chest. Melissa looked deeply pleased with herself-“Better"- she said.
Gaia, who had been half-asleep against your side through most of the conversation, suddenly lifted her head and blinked up at Melissa.
-“Does your house have snacks?”-Melissa gasped in mock offense.
-“Excuse you. My house is basically seventy percent snacks"-Gaia’s face lit up. You laughed, really laughed this time, and Melissa felt the sound settle somewhere dangerous beneath her ribs, but she tried not to pay attention to it.
Two weeks later, Melissa was learning that living with another person was like suddenly discovering your house had acoustics.
You hummed while making coffee in the mornings, old Spanish songs Melissa didn’t know but found herself replaying in her head all day.
Gaia left tiny glittering trails of crayons and stickers wherever she went, as if she shed art supplies instead of skin cells. And Melissa, who had spent years coming home to silence, found herself lingering after work just to hear them.
At first some things were "difficult", not necessarily problematic, but yes funny encounters of getting used to live with someone else. The first month settled into domestic collisions.
For example:
1-Melissa likes the house warm enough to survive Philadelphia winter.
You grew up with “put on another sweater, heating is expensive.”
You keep secretly turning it down. Melissa keeps turning it back up. This escalates into sticky notes on the thermostat: “Stop touching this. We are not reenacting the Ice Age.”
Your reply: “We are not funding PECO’s CEO’s yacht.”
2-Melissa had a system. You reorganize the kitchen logically for cooking. Now she can’t find anything. She opens a drawer.
-“Why are the spatulas with the measuring cups?”-she frowns
-“Because they are both cooking tools?”-you reply
-“That is psychotic"-
Gaia picks sides like it’s a custody battle-“Mom’s right, Miss Melissa"-Absolute betrayal.
3-Melissa Accidentally Becomes “Mom Mode” without realizing when Gaia spills juice.
-“Okay, no panic, paper towels, blot don’t rub, we can fix this"-Melissa says immediately. Then freezes because why did that come out so naturally?
You just stare at her, weirdly touched.
Later Gaia casually tells someone at school - “Miss Melissa knows mom stuff"-and Melissa short-circuits for a week.
4-Melissa does her laundry. You do yours. One day they get mixed.
She unfolds a very lacy bra that is aggressively not hers. You walk in making eye contact. Silence so loud it deserves its own soundtrack.
-“This is structurally impressive"-she murmurs and you laugh so hard you cry.
5-One night you got up at 2 AM for water because your thermos was empty. Everything was pitch black and you were not using your glasses, clumsy you slammed against something soft, very soft, Melissa's chest, was like a clowdy pillow. Her smell was very nice and she was warm, you were still half asleep, not processing that you should separate. Melissa turns on the light and you blush, separating and going without saying nothing else to get your water.
During the next couple months, those interactions kept progressing, the awkwardness becoming something familiar and confortable now.
1-One Saturday morning she wakes up to music drifting from downstairs. You’re cleaning the kitchen, singing softly in Spanish, hair messy, wearing one of her oversized old t-shirts because your laundry is still drying.
Melissa comes downstairs for coffee and just… stops. Completely frozen. You notice and smile.
-“Good morning"-you whispered. Melissa forgets how language works
-“Yep. That is… statistically morning"-Then she walks directly into the fridge door while your eyes followed her.
Gaia witnesses everything.
-“Miss Melissa has a crush"-she declared and Melissa nearly dies on the spot.
2-The Accidental Matching Outfits. You both come downstairs wearing black sweaters and jeans. Same silhouette. Same shoes. Gaia gasps like she has witnessed prophecy.
-“You match! That means you’re married in cartoons"-she claps and Melissa chokes on her coffee.
You turn bright red. Gaia spends the rest of the day introducing Melissa as “my almost-stepmom.”
3-Melissa has been thinking about her leftover lasagna all day at work. She comes home. Opens the fridge to find it gone. Absolute betrayal. She storms into the kitchen.
-“Who ate my lasagna?”-Gaia points at you immediately. No loyalty. No hesitation. You freeze mid-bite. Melissa stares, scandalized-“That was labeled"-she frowns
-“It said ‘don’t touch.’ I thought it was sarcasm"-you looked at her with your cheeks full
-“I'm Italian. That’s how we express seriousness"-You laugh so hard you snort. Melissa is doomed because she finds it adorable and she can't keep her mad face up.
-"I made more lasagna, don't cry" - you said pointing to the warm one on the oven
4-Melissa Learns You’re Touchy Without Realizing. You’re naturally affectionate. A hand on her shoulder when passing. Fixing her collar absentmindedly. Brushing lint off her blazer
5-Melissa gets sick and insists she’s fine. She is clearly not fine. Still trying to grade papers while looking like Victorian tuberculosis. You take one look and confiscate everything.
-“Bed"-you point to the stairs
-“Absolutely not"-she frowns like a little kid
-“Melissa"-you raised an eyebrow like you did with your daughter
-“…That tone feels illegal"-she murmurs getting up the stairs to her bed. You tuck blankets around her and make soup. She’s so unused to being cared for she gets weirdly emotional about it.
Later Gaia whispers to you while you cook
-“She likes when you boss her around"-you look at Melissa and she just pretends to be asleep but the blush on her cheeks betrays her.
And after a little more time, things change from familiar to family.
1-Melissa hears you defending her at pickup
-“Miss Schemmenti is kind of intense"-another parent complains
You immediately smile politely stepping into the conversation
-“She’s dedicated, smart, and she cares more about these children than anyone in this building. Some people mistake competence for intensity"-nobody dears to fight you, Melissa overhear from her car. No one has ever defended her like that. That night she stares at the ceiling until 3 a.m. Catastrophic feelings unlocked.
2-Grocery shopping. Melissa hated grocery shopping on Sundays.
Not because of the store itself. She liked lists. She liked organization. She liked crossing things off with aggressive efficiency and silently judging people who blocked entire aisles while contemplating yogurt. What she did not like was crowds.
And she especially did not like crowds when Gaia had somehow convinced you both to come along, which meant Melissa was currently navigating the produce section while your daughter zigzagged ahead in her little pink coat like a caffeinated hummingbird.
-“Gaia”- you called, steering the cart with one hand-“lento bebe"
-“I am slow!”-she yelled
-“You are literally running"-you replied
-“That’s just fast walking"-she always had an answer to everything, Melissa snorted before she could stop herself.
-“See? Miss Melissa agrees with me"-Gaia whipped around triumphantly.
-“I absolutely do not"-if the redhead learned something on the time living together was that Gaia didn't needed someone on her side to win
-“Traitor"- Gaia informed her solemnly narrowing her eyes. Melissa placed a hand over her chest.
-“After everything I’ve done for this family"-The word slipped out before she could catch it. This family. You heard it too. She knew because your hands paused on the shopping cart handle for half a second, your knuckles tightening slightly before you looked down to hide the little smile tugging at your mouth. Melissa’s stomach flipped. She immediately redirected her attention to a pyramid of oranges as though citrus had become critically important
-“Those are definitely overpriced"-she muttered. You laughed softly beside her. God, that laugh, it was becoming a problem, a dangerous, daily sort of problem.
Family...You had settled into her house with alarming ease over the last months. There were little signs of you everywhere now. Gaia’s drawings taped to the fridge. Your cardigan hanging over the kitchen chair. The scent of your perfume and whatever impossible magic you did to plain rice lingering in the walls.
Melissa had spent years cultivating her solitude into something neat and controlled. And now your shampoo was in her shower. And somehow that felt less like intrusion and more like something her home had been waiting for.
-“Melissa?"-Your voice pulled her back. She turned too quickly. You were holding up two jars of pasta sauce.
-“This one or this one?”-Melissa stared blankly. Not at the sauce. At you. At the tiny crease between your brows while you concentrated. At the way your hair had escaped its clip in soft strands around your face. At the domestic normalcy of this exact moment. Like this was just what the two of you did. Like there was nothing strange about standing here together deciding between basic tomato and roasted garlic while your daughter attempted to climb into the lower rack of the cart behind you. Her chest tightened.
-“Melissa?”-You tilted your head-“Are you okay?”-She blinked. Right, words.
-“The left one"- she blurted. You frowned at the labels.
-“The plain tomato one"-you frowned
-“You love garlic"-you whispered confused
-“I have evolved"-she replied. You smiled, warm and amused.
-“Sure"-you left the sauce, then, before she could process what was happening, your free hand reached up and brushed lightly at her cheek. Melissa froze. You held up your fingers, showing a faint streak of red.
-“Gaia got marker on you this morning"-The touch had lasted barely a second. It still sent heat rushing all the way down Melissa’s spine.
-“Oh"-Very articulate Melissa. A+ response.
You smiled, clearly oblivious to the fact that your casual tenderness had just short-circuited her entire nervous system, and dropped the sauce into the cart.
Behind you, Gaia popped up dramatically-“Can we get cookies?”-she looked at you
-“No"-both of you said instantly. Gaia gasped. Then narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
-“You sound married when you do that"-Melissa nearly aspirated. You turned bright red. Gaia grinned like she had personally orchestrated this.
-“Interesting"- she sang, and disappeared toward the cereal aisle before either of you could recover. For one long second, neither of you moved. Then your eyes met. And to Melissa’s horror, you both started laughing. Real laughter. The kind that made your shoulders shake and left your cheeks aching. By the time it faded, you were both standing a little closer than before. Not touching. But close enough for Melissa to feel your warmth through her coat. Close enough that if either of you leaned in even slightly, everything would change. Neither of you moved. Then Gaia’s voice echoed from three aisles over.
-“Mom! Miss Melissa! There’s a man licking the avocados!"-The moment shattered instantly. Melissa closed her eyes
-“Why is that a sentence I have to hear?”-You were still smiling as you started toward your daughter
-“Welcome to parenthood" - And Melissa, following close behind with the cart and a smile she could not seem to suppress, realized something terrifying. That the word no longer scared her quite as much as it should have.
3-Melissa starts to gets jealous of literally nothing
You thank the mechanic fixing your car and smile politely. Melissa, standing beside you:
Why is she smiling at him?
Does he deserve that smile?
She is immediately disgusted with herself.
4-A rude cashier dismisses you when your card declines. Before you can even react, Melissa appears. Sharp posture. Dangerous calm.
-“Try that attitude again and I’ll explain customer service to you using very small words"-she said, you stare. Cashier folds instantly. Later, outside, you smile at her.
-“You defended me"-you smiled, Melissa shrugs, suddenly shy.
-“Well. You’re… here"-That tiny sentence absolutely wrecks you.
5-The moments that your daughter decided to play Cupid.
You’re reaching for something on a high shelf. Melissa reaches too. She plants one hand against the wall to steady herself. Now she’s accidentally caging you in. Faces inches apart. Breathing catches. Nobody moves. Then Gaia walks in.
-“Are you guys kissing?”-You both leap apart like the house is on fire. Gaia sighs dramatically-“Okay. Later then"-Walks away.
Melissa had dated enough terrible men to know the warning signs by heart. It was almost impressive, really. If there had been an Olympic event for consistently choosing emotionally unavailable men with mediocre opinions and deeply unnecessary confidence, she would have qualified for nationals.
There had been Chris, who called her “intimidating” every time she disagreed with him, as if her having thoughts of her own was an aggressive act.
And then there was Ethan, who had once looked genuinely inconvenienced when she got the flu. She remembered shivering under three blankets, feverish and miserable, while he stood in her bedroom doorway holding his phone and asking if she really needed him to cancel poker night. Melissa had broken up with him two weeks later.
Then Joe, cheating husband.
Gary that didn't listen to what she wanted.
And then Rob, who the only thing that she saw attractive on him, was his job. And he thought that his work was way more important than hers and his relationship.
The thought drifted through her mind now as she stood in her own kitchen, staring at you. It was almost midnight. She had gotten home late after parent conferences, exhausted and already bracing herself for the usual ritual of silently microwaving leftovers and grading papers until her eyes crossed.
Instead, the kitchen light had been on. You were standing barefoot by the stove in one of those soft oversized sweaters that always made Melissa’s brain briefly lose signal.
Your hair was half-down, loose around your shoulders. And you were making soup. Not because she had asked, not because you expected anything. Just because, apparently, you had noticed she looked tired that morning.
-“There you are"-you said softly when she stepped inside, whispering because Gaia was already asleep. The smile that spread across your face was immediate and unguarded, like seeing her had genuinely improved your night. It did something strange to Melissa’s chest.
-“There’s soup"-you said, nodding toward the stove-"And before you protest, yes, you’re eating.”
Melissa automatically opened her mouth to argue. You gave her a look. Not annoyed, not impatient, just calmly certain and somehow that was worse. She obeyed, which was humiliating.
She sat at the kitchen table while you poured a bowl and set it in front of her, along with a spoon and the good crackers Melissa pretended she was saving for special occasions.
-“You didn’t have to do this"-she said. You shrugged, like the answer was obvious.
-“You work hard"-That was it. No grand performance. No expectation of praise, just a simple statement of fact. You work hard. Melissa stared down at the steam curling from the bowl. Something about it made her throat tighten unexpectedly. Her exes had always made care feel transactional. If they remembered something she liked, it was because they wanted credit for remembering. If they did something kind, it arrived with an invisible invoice. Later, there would always be some moment where the cost was collected.
A favor expected, a guilt trip, a reminder that she owed them for basic decency.
But with you, kindness just… existed. It moved through your hands as naturally as breath.
You packed her lunches if she forgot. Folded the blanket over her if she fell asleep on the couch. Left sticky notes on the coffee maker when she had stressful mornings.
"Good luck today. You’ll do great."
"Don’t forget your scarf. It’s freezing."
"Gaia says your eyeliner is 'slay.' I was told this is a compliment."
You gave without keeping score. The realization hit her so suddenly it stole her breath. This was what comfort was supposed to feel like, not anxious, not performative, not the constant, exhausting work of making herself smaller so someone else could feel bigger. Just this. Warm soup. Soft kitchen light. Your sleepy smile as you leaned against the counter, watching to make sure she ate.
Melissa looked up before she could stop herself.
You blinked.
-“What?”-you asked. She had been staring. A lot, apparently. Her face heated instantly.
-“Nothing"-Your eyes narrowed slightly, amused.
-“You’re doing the thing"-you pointed to her face
-“What thing?”-she narrowed her eyes this time
-“The one where your brain is clearly spiraling but you’re pretending it isn’t"-you already knew every face that she made
-“I do not spiral"-You smiled. Melissa’s stomach flipped.
-“You alphabetize your spice rack when you’re stressed"-you state
-“That is called efficiency"-she replied
-“That is called distress-organizing"-you retorted. She opened her mouth to defend herself and then stopped when you laughed. God. That laugh. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t polished or practiced. It was warm and breathy and real, and it filled her kitchen like it had always belonged there. And just like that, Melissa understood something terrifying.
Every relationship she’d ever had had felt like trying to squeeze herself into clothes that didn’t fit. Too tight in the wrong places. Always aware of the discomfort. Always waiting to breathe again. But this? This felt like finally coming home and changing into something soft. And that was infinitely more dangerous.
Because Melissa Schemmenti had spent years learning how to survive discomfort. She had absolutely no idea what to do with peace.
Melissa didn't wanted to accept that any kind of feelings, besides appreciation were involved, she wasn't scared of loving you because she doubts her feelings. She was scared because she respects you too much to ever want you wondering if her kindness came with strings attached. That guilt would eat her alive.
Melissa did not tell Barbara. That alone should have been enough to alarm her.
Barbara Howard had somehow become the unwilling keeper of every emotional disaster Melissa had ever stumbled into. Usually because Barbara possessed the deeply irritating ability to look at Melissa for three seconds and immediately know when something was wrong.
Which was exactly why Melissa had spent the last three weeks avoiding being alone with her.
No lunch breaks in the teacher’s lounge alone, no lingering after meetings, no going out together, no opportunities for Barbara to narrow those knowing eyes and gently dismantle every carefully constructed lie Melissa had prepared.
Because if Barbara asked, Melissa would tell her.
And if she told Barbara, then it would become real. And Melissa could not afford real. It was easier this way.
If she kept the feelings quiet enough, buried deep enough beneath routine and practicality and carefully timed exits from shared rooms, maybe they would shrink. Maybe they would dissolve into something manageable. A harmless crush. Temporary. Controllable.
That was what she told herself, anyway.
It was what she told herself every morning when she heard your soft footsteps downstairs and had to physically stop herself from smiling before she even saw you. What she told herself every time you laughed at one of her dry little comments and looked at her like she’d said something genuinely brilliant. What she told herself every time Gaia casually called her Miss Melissa in that affectionate little voice that somehow made her chest ache.This was temporary. It had to be. Because the alternative was unbearable.
Her plan worked, for a few days at least, until one night Gaia slept at a friend’s house.
Melissa had never considered herself the jealous type. Possessive, maybe. Judgmental, certainly. Selective with her affection to the point of emotional constipation, absolutely.
But jealous? No.
Jealous implied irrational attachment. And irrational attachment required first admitting she had some kind of attachment to begin with, which was obviously absurd and deeply inconvenient.
So when she came home Thursday evening, juggling two overstuffed grocery bags and mentally composing tomorrow’s lesson plan, she was entirely unprepared for the sight waiting in her living room.
You were standing by the hallway mirror, adjusting a small silver earring. And you looked…
Melissa’s thoughts stopped functioning.
You were wearing a dark green dress she had never seen before. Nothing flashy, nothing dramatic. Just soft fabric that skimmed your body perfectly, elegant in that quiet effortless way that always seemed to follow you.
Your hair was down, falling in waves around your shoulders. A little makeup, just enough to catch the warm apartment light. You looked beautiful.
Not the tired, practical kind of beautiful Melissa had memorized over the past months. Not your messy-morning-hair, oversized-sweater, flour-on-your-cheek kind of beautiful.
This was deliberate. Intentional. Date beautiful.
Melissa’s stomach dropped so suddenly it almost felt physical.
You turned and smiled when you noticed her.
-“There you are"-Your smile was warm, distracted, a little nervous. Not for her. For whoever was waiting for you.
Something sharp twisted under Melissa’s ribs.
-“Hi"-she managed. Her voice came out weirdly flat. You tilted your head.
-“Everything okay?”-you asked
-“Why wouldn’t it be?”-Too fast. Too sharp. Your brow furrowed slightly. Melissa immediately wanted to throw herself down the stairs. She set the grocery bags on the counter with more force than necessary.
-“You look…”-she started. Good. Beautiful. Impossible. Like whoever was taking you out tonight had better appreciate exactly how lucky they were-“…different"- Excellent recovery.
You blinked. Then smiled softly, smoothing your hands down the dress.
-“Oh. Thank you.”-That tiny smile wrecked her. You looked nervous. Excited nervous. Melissa hated this mysterious person instantly. She opened cabinets aggressively, putting groceries away with enough force to suggest she was personally punishing the canned goods.
-“So"-she said casually, which would have sounded casual if she hadn’t just nearly decapitated a box of pasta against the shelf-“big plans?”-There was a pause behind her
-“Sort of"-you replied
Sort of? Not a denial. Her stomach sank lower. You hesitated.
-“I don't want to say anything yet, until it's something sure...”-That somehow made it worse.
Because of course you wouldn’t tell her. Why would you? You were roommates. Friends, maybe, if Melissa was being wildly optimistic. You didn’t owe her explanations about your love life. The thought hit with surprising force. A hot, ugly little ache she was deeply embarrassed to feel.
-“Oh"-She kept her back to you-“Cool"-Silence. The kind that stretched too long. Then your voice came, softer, your leg was bouncing on the floor, the hill of your shoe making it sound louder, you were nervous.
-“Melissa"-She turned before she could stop herself. You were watching her carefully now, reading her. You’d gotten annoyingly good at that.
-“What?”-her question was sharp. You studied her face for a long moment, and she had the terrible feeling you could see every stupid, yearning thought written there. Then your expression gentled.
-“It’s not what you think"-you whispered. Her heart gave one humiliating leap. Dangerous. Hopeful. She shut it down immediately.
-“I’m not thinking anything"-she almost pouted
-“Melissa"-your voice came more serious this time
-“I’m not"-she repeated and you stepped closer.
Just enough to make her pulse kick.
-“It’s a job interview"-you confessed. The words landed so suddenly Melissa actually blinked.
-“…What?”-she asked lost. You let out a tiny breath of laughter, nervous and relieved all at once.
-“It’s dinner with the director of a new pediatric rehabilitation center. They’re opening next month, and one of the nurses I used to cook for recommended me for their in-house meal program"-you blushed lightly because of the nerves. Melissa stared. Your smile turned shy-“If it goes well, it could be full-time. Benefits. Real stability"-For one suspended second, all she felt was relief. Bright and dizzying and immediate. Not a date. Not someone else.
Then guilt followed close behind. Because the strength of that relief told her exactly how badly she’d wanted it to be true. And that was… information she absolutely did not know what to do with, a stable job maybe would mean that you would move out, and she didn't wanted you to leave.
-“That’s amazing"- she said, and this time her smile was real. Your whole face softened.
-“You think so?”-you played with your rings nervously
-“Obviously"-Melissa stepped forward without thinking and fixed the collar of your coat where it had folded awkwardly. The motion was automatic. Domestic. Her fingers brushed your neck. Both of you froze. The apartment suddenly felt very quiet. You looked up at her. Too close.
Close enough for Melissa to notice the tiny hitch in your breathing.
Close enough to smell your perfume, soft and warm and dizzyingly familiar underneath.
Her hand lingered for half a second too long. Then she jerked back like she’d touched fire.
-“There"-she said, voice thinner than usual-“Professional"
You smiled, but your cheeks had turned pink.
-“Thank you"-You bit the inside of your cheek,her closeness making you feel more nervous that the interview itself. Neither of you moved.
Then Gaia’s voice crackled suddenly from your phone where she was on speaker with her friend’s mom, you forgot you had called her.
-“MAMA?”-You jumped.
-“What?”-you asked, your heart hammering on your chest
-“Miss Melissa says you look nice"-Melissa nearly died.There was delighted cackling from Gaia and her friend in the background.
-“Oh my God"-Melissa muttered.
Your laughter spilled out bright and helpless, filling the room. And just like that, the tension broke.
You reached for your purse, still smiling.
-“I should go"-You pointed the door, Melissa nodded.
-“Yeah"-she replied, you hesitated at the door.
-“Would you wait up?”-you asked. Her heart stuttered-“For interview updates"- you added quickly, though your smile turned a little shy.
Not entirely innocent. Melissa swallowed.
-“Yeah"- she said softly-“I’ll wait up"-And after the door clicked shut behind you, Melissa stood alone in the quiet apartment.
𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭 𝓒𝓾𝓹 𝓓𝓲𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽
Summary - You and Alfie spend six weeks in the US for the world cup.
Pairing - Alfie Buttle x Scottish!Reader (I can't write supporting England, I'm sorry. I love my English boys and girls though 🩷)
Part 1 - Boston.
Part 2 - New York
Part 3 - Texas (1)
Part 4 - Texas (2)
Anabella Carrasco
wink wink
ab x fem!reader
summary: you try to convince your former fling that you've changed. (gone wrong, gone sexual)
content: smut 18+, unprotected p in v (be safe), slapping, fwb, multiple positions.
note: who's excited for the new charli album? also i missed writing for ab🤭
it had been a while since you’d been to the bar.
you’d been avoiding it for a while. partly because you’d changed, mostly because you didn’t want to see him again.
not that things had ended badly or anything. you’d just… matured. you didn’t want to be someone’s hook up anymore.
you wanted something serious, something he couldn’t offer you.
but now you were back. just like he knew you would be.
you were sitting at a table with your friends when you spotted him.
he made eye contact with you from across the room. a smirk played up on his lips.
your friend noticed that look on your face.
“not tonight.” she stares at you.
“i’m not going to. i’ve changed.” you take a sip from your drink.
“sure you have.” she rolls her eyes. “and if he’s in your bed again don’t come crying to me.”
“i’m serious. i don’t know why you don’t believe me.” you say, but you can’t take your eyes off of him. “you just don’t get me.”
“yeah whatever.” she laughs, getting up to get another drink.
as she walks away to get another drink, and you see him coming closer.
you decide you need to nip it in the bud, so you get up, excusing yourself from the table.
“alfie.” you say, standing in front of him.
“where’d you get that outfit from?” he looks down at you. “a.p.c.?”
“i’ve gotta be honest with you.” the floor suddenly becoming very interesting.
“go on then.” his arms are folded in front of his chest.
“i’m not a bad girl anymore. i promise.” but when you say it, you look up at him, licking you lips.
“oh yeah?” he raises an eyebrow.
“mhm.” you reach out with your hand, stroking his bicep. “but no one thinks i could be an angel girl.”
“really?” he steps closer to you.
“yeah.”
“why don’t you prove it?” he says in your ear, bending down.
you may have changed on the outside. but he knew deep down that you were the same girl.
the same bad girl.
“how do you suggest i do that?” your chest is pressed up against him
“get on your knees for me.” his lips brush up against your skin.
he pulls away from your ear, making eye contact with you.
your noises brush up against each other, and you knew it was over.
“people can change alfie.” your lips are millimetres away from him.
“yeah. but you can’t.” he says, hands moving to grab your waist.
you close the gap, taking his lips in your own.
it lasts a couple of seconds before you realise what you’re doing.
you break it up before throwing a glance over your shoulder.
your friend is shaking her head at you, smiling sarcastically.
you pout at her, and she waves you off before signalling with her hand to call you after.
you just nod before turning back to alfie.
“so we’re leaving then?” alfie smirks, eyes moving up and down your body.
you just nod at him, letting him take your hand.
he guides you out of the bar, navigating towards the door.
he takes a moment before crossing the street, taking you with him.
you walk about five minutes before reaching your flat.
alfie knew the way well, although it had been a while since he’d taken the route.
that’s why you started going to that bar in the first place, because of its location.
you unlock the door, alfie following you inside.
before you even make it up the stairs to your unit he starts to kiss your neck.
“hold on.” you say before starting to take the stairs.
he just follows you up, hands on your waist.
it felt good to have his hands on you again. touching you like you were his.
you unlock the door and he pushes you inside, his big hands on your body.
his front is pushed up against your back as he starts to kiss your neck. his hand travels up your body, grabbing your breast.
“alfie.” you breath out, leaning into his touch.
“c’mon. show me how good you can be.” he says in your ear, sucking on your earlobe.
he guides you into your bedroom, already knowing the way very well.
he pulls your shirt over your head, exposing your entire back to him, including your tramp stamp.
“always earnest,” he chuckles. his fingers running along the ink.
your nipples start to harden in the cool air of your bedroom, alfie’s fingers brushing against them.
he hooks his fingers into your skirt, dropping it to the floor.
he lands a smack to your ass, making you squeal at the contact.
“bend over.” he says, taking his shirt off over his head.
you do as he asks, bending over your bed so that your ass is in the air.
you can hear his belt unbuckle before he drops his jeans to the floor. his boxers weren’t far behind.
he inserts a finger into your cunt. you’re not quite as wet as he’d want you to be, but with you bent over like that, he didn’t know how much longer he could wait.
he applies pressure to your clit, creating tight circles against your skin.
with his other hand he spits on his palm, giving himself a few short strokes.
without warning he pushes into you, stretching you around him.
his hands move to your hips, fingers digging into your skin.
“fuck me.” he couldn’t help himself, you just looked too good, under him like that.
he builds up a steady pace, thrusting in and out of you again and again.
he knew deep down you were still so bad, your back arched and you face in the mattress.
his hips snap against you and he watches as your body trembles under him.
he lands another smack on your ass, your screams muffled by the comforter.
“you like that?” he says, manhandling your hips. pulling them towards him as he pushes into you.
the way he fucks you is almost animalistic.
he hits hard, treating you rough.
but that’s exactly how you wanted it.
it had been so long, you needed something rough, something needy.
alfie spits on your back. his thumb running over your ink again.
if there was one thing that you were, it was ernest.
as much as alfie wanted to finish all over your back, he needed to look at your face.
without warning he pulls out, hoisting you up my your hips.
“on your back.” he directs, helping you turn around.
you do as he says, lying down before opening your legs.
alfie slots himself between them, quickly inserting himself into you again.
it doesn’t take him long to work back up to his pace, thrusting into you hard.
you run your nails along his back, definitely leaving a mark.
alfie holds himself above you, his toned biceps supporting him.
he leans down to kiss you, swallowing your moans.
he kisses your neck, sucking on your pulse point as your eyes roll back.
“oh god alfie.” you whine as he leans down to suck on your breast.
one of his hands snakes in between you, applying pressure to your clit.
he creates tight circles as he feels himself getting closer.
you take a fist full of his curls before coming undone, finishing around him.
he quickly follows suit, thick spurts of cum spilling into you.
“shit.” he grunts, emptying himself inside of you.
“mmm alf.” you whine, bringing him in for a kiss.
he slowly pulls out of you, his cum dripping out.
“guess you are a good girl.” he says, lying down next to you before pulling you into his chest.
“told ya.” you respond, accepting his body heat.
your sweaty bodies sticking together as you feel yourself start to drift off.
he kisses your temple, stroking your hair.
maybe you had changed, but he really hoped that some thin
Victor Vasarely (French, Hungarian, 1906-1997)
GYK K2, 1974
Oil on canvas, 97 × 97 × 3,5 cm
Vienna, Austria, Albertina