Writer Spirit

ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪs ᴄʜᴀᴏs T • 22 • Fanfiction Writer Admirer of Middle-Aged Women

[ghostwritingnightmares]

It's My Little Sister's BIRTHDAY! HAPPY BIRTHDAY T! @writerspirit

Of course I had to celebrate you with pictures of our woman Gloria "No Bra" Mendoza. I'm so happy Abbott Elementary brought us together (and we have stayed together long after my hyperfixations fade). I bounce every story idea off your beautiful brain and you encourage me to write and peruse my dreams every day. You are my favorite person to body double with (and the only way I get shit done most days). Traveling with you was the highlight of my year. And there is no one else I would rather Overwatch duo with. (You will forever be my Soldier 76 to my Moira). You make me laugh even want to cry and there is no one else I would rather sit in the darkness with. You are so smart, hilarious, beautiful, handsome, and caring. You deserve the absolute world and I can't wait to watch it unfold in front of you. We are locked in for life buddie. Cause 22 years ago one of my Top 3 favorite humans was born. I love you so much.

Now come here and let me lick your forehead.

[writerspirit]

🥹🥹

it’s my birthday. i don’t know how to feel about 22 yet, but this has been the highlight of my day so far! i wuv you 🩵

[writerspirit]

I didn't ask for angst. I wanted light and fluffy

-🦦

whoops

[writerspirit]

Hi

👋🏽

[writerspirit]

Patiently waiting for part 3 of Ava. However if it is sad I may cry. 🥹 Thank youu.

-🦦

IT’S COMING, I SWEAR IT!!!

angst coming!!!!!!!!!

[writerspirit]

Would you ever consider writing a part three to A Love Unexpected?

hello!! i plan on writing quite a bit for r x ava in this story/universe. right now, words fail to type on this google doc. thank you for the support and there will definitely be an update in their relationship… soon (??)

[ghostwritingnightmares]

SchemmentiSimpasours Kinktober Masterlist

Welcome Ghouls, Goblins, and Gals! I am hosting Kinktober this year! Open to any fandom and any ship! If you would like to participate please tag me @schemmentisimpasours and use the #DemsKinks so I can collect a masterlist of fics for people to read.

For a personal list of who and what I am already writing please follow my ongoing list.

Rules: Must be 18+ to interact and participate. Absolutely no: non-con, age play, adult/minor age gap. Writers are allowed to decline any request without explanation.

This is supposed to be fun. Smut isn't for everyone and that okay. This is for the people who want to read/write it. There is no judgement here. Just a fun way to write.

Tagging a couple of friends who may be inspired/ want to write with me.

@writerspirit // @milfjuulpod // @justanotherboundlesssoul // @schemmentisbaby // @storiesofsvu //

[dunsbar]

last night we let the jingle jangle talk

[writerspirit]

A Love Unexpected: Chapter 2

Pairing: Ava Coleman x Fem!Reader

Themes/Warnings: pregnancy, fluff, angst, shitty dad, protective janine (?)

Synopsis: Nearly four months in, and pregnancy has everyone anticipating the baby's arrival. The science fair has everyone on edge as the teachers compete against each other alongside their student partners. Abbott and Ava get an unexpected visitor.

A/N: This is the second part of 'A Love Unexpected', which was supposed to only be a one-shot. Your requests for more preg reader x Ava have been answered. Now, this might be my new hyper fixation. Again, I yell from the tallest rooftop, "Ava Coleman deserves more fics!" Okay, enjoy!

WC: ~2.6k

Parts: Chapter 1

Taglist: @schemmentigfs @fandominstability @schemmentisimpasours @derpyavocado

The teachers lounge is quiet in its usual beginning of the week gloom. A hand snakes around your waist as your morning routine takes way. A sultry voice smoothly hums through your ear, “Hey, sexy mama.”

“Good morning, my love.”

“It is a good morning. You’re starting to show.” She can’t hide her big smile as she looks over your growing stomach. “You took your vitamins?”

You look around sheepishly at the room, avoiding her eyes. She sighs, “Baby you know what Dr. Warner said about being on top of them.” She reaches in her pocket, taking out a pill planner. She pops open the tab that reads the day, handing you the pills.

“You just carry that around?”

“For mornings like this? Definitely.”

In walks Melissa, a pep in her step heading to her seat. “Mornin’ mama.” She places her belongings down on her chair. She goes near the counter where you and Ava are standing, and makes an effort to look at you. “Jeet?”

Again, you shake your head. “Nausea was an ass kicker this morning. Couldn’t get through a banana.”

She takes out a breakfast sandwich from the deli you showed her a while ago. “Is thatー?”

“ーthe best breakfast sandwich in all of Philly.” She offers it to you. “Take it.” You start to protest, raising your hands. “I chugged like three meals worth of water this mornin’. I’m sure I’m gonna be in the bathroom more than my own classroom today. You’re good. Plus, I’d hate for good food to go to waste. Now take it, before I yell at you for not gettin’ any breakfast in."

You hesitantly take it, the smell of eggs and cheese making your heart swell with anticipation. Your mouth salivates with eagerness. “Thank you, Melissa. I owe ya one.”

“Nah, on me. Enjoy it.”

She looks at Ava, who mouths a thank you. Melissa sends her a gentle nod and walks back to her seat.

— — — —

Coming up on lunch, your phone buzzes with an almost alarming amount of articles and social media posts regarding pregnancy: The Top Ten Baby Names for Gen Beta Babies; Pregnancy Week by Week; Popular Baby Names; and more.

Ava: what are we feelin for names? i’m thinkin, and here me out, huda

You: we are not naming our baby after a woman on love island

Ava: below deck?

You: …

Ava: survivor. last option.

You: Ava.

As much as you admire her excitement, it begins to feel overwhelming. The way everyone stares at you when you walk into the teachers lounge. The way everyone accommodates your needs wherever you go. Like Melissa this morning with the breakfast sandwich.

The way Ava can’t seem to keep her eyes off of you. Okay, Ava has always done that. Only now, it doesn’t feel as much out of admiration as it used to. When you’d walk into the building, she'd rush to the front desk and take you in.

“Mornin’ babygirl. Lookin’ like a gift that needs unwrapping.”

Now, it’s more out of precaution, which is understandable. You’d probably be the same way if the roles were reversed. But with pregnancy and still getting used to the biggest change in your life, it has taken a toll on you.

— — — —

Lunch comes by sooner than later. Again, the stares find you as you walk into the room. And the exhaustion hits with a sigh. Here we go again, you think. The conversations are the same:

Melissa asks if you brought something good to eat. Janine asks if you’ve gotten any ideas for names yet. Barbara asks if you’ve been sleeping well since the morning nausea has started up again. Jacob brings you a list of baby books he believes is caught up with the times. All is the updated routine for every lunch break. That you can handle, but the final straw is when Ava asks you about the messages she sent earlier.

Everyone is gone now, for the most part, until Gregory walks into the room again after leaving his water bottle at the table. Unfortunately, he soon regrets returning to the room.

“Yes, Ava, I read the articles! Why are you so up my ass about everything? I’m going at my pace and you hovering over my shoulder all the time doesn’t make this any easier.” You turn around and zoom past Gregory, his eyebrows raised and eyes widened in shock.

“Everything good?”

Ava huffs. “No, it isn’t.”

He treads lightly, walking further inside the room. “What’s going on? Everybody sees you’re on edge and it’s not in a new parent kinda way. It’s somethin’ else and it’s kinda freakin’ everyone out."

“On edge,” she asks, a defensiveness in her tone. “I’m everything but that. I’m cool, collected. I’m—”

She stops herself before the lies continue. “I know I’m doin’ a lot. But I can’t help it.”

He nods, gesturing to her to continue. “Fine. I didn’t have the best parents growing up. When I needed a support system, they failed in every way possible. My dad left, and my mom was more of a babysitter than a parent. I just… I don’t want Y/n to feel like I’m not committed to her and the baby.”

“Okay,” he mumbles, finding a way to help her. “Well, I don’t wanna overstep…”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m giving you a chance. Take it before I start knockin’ on your real estate agent sweater and old man shoes that Janine obviously picked out for you.”

“Alright,” he drawls out. “Well, in what everyone has noticed, we can all see that you are nothing but committed to Y/n. Just the other day, when Jacob offered her one of his carrot cookies—”

“—and I whacked them outta his hand?”

“Yeah,” he continues. “You might’ve overdone it, but the thought was there.”

“Nobody needs to be eatin’ those. Let alone my girlfriend and my baby.”

“Anyway, you knew they were nasty, and you were protecting Y/n. That is already more than enough for them. You love them and you care.”

“But Y/n thinks I’m like suffocating her. I don’t mean to, but I need her to know I’m here.”

“Then be here. Talk to Y/n. Nothing is gonna help you until you talk to her.”

“Ugh,” she grumbles, “I hate when you’re right.”

— — — —

The science fair has everyone on edge. With the teachers at each other’s throats—out of love…ish—the competition has everyone walking on eggshells around each other. Melissa, trying to make Eric the next Thomas Edison. Ava, trying to execute a new and improved water filtration system to add to her doomsday preparation set. Mr. Johnson, trying to engineer a portable mop so he doesn't have to anymore. And Janine, designing a working volcano model that’s more her project than her student’s. Luckily, you were able to get out of participating on account of Ava disapproving of you being on your feet for so much as twenty minutes.

“Ava, I should be up and walking.”

“You should listen to your girlfriend, before she reports you for not listening to your principal. You see how that works?”

Walking down the hallway, Ava carries a box of supplies to help for Tyree’s water filtration project. You walk next to her, listening to her go on about it. Janine waltzes up next to Ava, a confidence in her demeanor that wasn’t there when Ava first declared her participation in the fair.

“Just headed to my mailbox to get my volcano parts. Just wait till you see the size of my hose,” she says.

“Your hose doesn’t scare me,” Ava says, now looking down at her. “But your mouth annoys me. So close it.”

“Ooh, you seem scared. You’re scared aren’t you?”

Listening to Ava go on and on about how confident she is in beating the competition, your heart swells with her commitment to the project. Distant images of her helping your child’s future school homework fill your heart with more love than you thought possible to feel for anyone. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices your growing smile.

“What’s got you smilin’ like that?” She slows down in her steps, drawing you out of your daze.

“Nothin’, just thinking about you getting this nerdy for the baby’s school projects.”

“Nerdy? Girl,” she scoffs, “we about to get millions off this Ava-ian.”

You catch a giggle that falls from your lips. She smiles at you, a small chuckle heard from her like she does whenever she makes you laugh. With your smile, she gains the urge to continue, “You might as well forfeit. But when you do it, you should call it ‘four-feet.’ ‘Cause you’re short.”

“Nice burn,” a low voice says, taking you all from the conversation.

She looks up again, stopping abruptly in her tracks. Your curiosity now on alert, you look in the direction the voice comes from. Met with an older man, you try to piece together who he could be to earn such a reaction from her. No, you think. Can’t be.

“Ava,” you utter. “Baby.”

“Can you take this to my office?” She offers you the box of supplies, which Janine accepts.

“Yeah, why don’t we go to her office to drop this off,” Janine asks you.

You nod, but not before you peer at the man once again. This time, he makes an effort to take you in, eyes landing on your stomach. He flashes Ava a smile, one that you and Janine can easily read through.

Janine gently taps against your arm with her shoulder. “Come on. It’ll only be a minute.”

So you start for her office, a rush of stress running up your body. You feel the sweat start at your hands, and try to shake it off. To no avail, you say the one thing that manages to creep through your mouth. “Janine,” you start, but can’t seem to find the words to explain what’s happening.

“I understand. But I don’t think she wanted you there to see him.” An argument catches in your throat, but you decide to bite your tongue because even though you hate leaving Ava, you know Janine is right. Damn, why is she right? “Maybe it was the other way around.”

“So you think that’s her dad too?” Your voice cracks with the word that has haunted your girlfriend her whole life.

Janine nods her head, her eyes closing in on yours. “I’ve never seen her like that before. Like she’s—”

“—panicked,” you finish for her. “Ava doesn’t do well when she panics.”

Janine notices the sudden heft in your breathing. The unsteady sound of your inhales. She takes slow steps toward you, her arms stretching in front of her. Her hand on your arm pulls you back to focus on her. The hair that falls over her shoulders; the pin that she has had clipped to her dress from the minute she stepped foot into the building this morning; the necklace that reads kindness, which she gifted herself after her breakup with Tariq; the patterned inhale and exhale which you realize she means for you to mirror.

So, you do. No arguments; no excuses. You follow her lead as she shows you to steady your breathing. Once you’re calm, you force a little smile. “Thank you, Janine.”

“Of course. You know what they say about stress and a pregnant woman.” You recognize the playful tone in her voice when she tries to cool down a situation. As much as you want to be frustrated by it, you can’t help but find it endearing.

“Why don’t you stay here and I’ll go check on her?” It’s more of a statement than a question. She leaves before you can protest.

Janine catches part of the conversation unfold. “I see you’re happy,” the man says.

“You don’t see nothin’,” Ava says. “But yes, I am.”

“Well, I have tried to reach out before.”

“Frank, what are we doin’? I have a school to run and a science fair to win.”

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he leans in, “and cut someone else’s.”

“That wasn’t funny.”

“Come on, Ava.” He goes to reach for her arm, which she retracts. Taking the hint, he turns away and leaves the building.

Janine grabs the hose she’d ordered from a suspicious website for her volcano project. The hose wraps around her, making her look like Britney Spears with the python… only if the snake was an anaconda and Janine was… Janine. She rushes up to Ava, a worry in her brow and a quiver in her voice. “Ava, I’m so sorry. He seems like he’s trying.”

“It’s just,” her voice cracks. “The hole in my heart is so big.”

“Oh, Ava. I’m sor–” Janine reaches in for a hug, but Ava playfully pushes her back.

She laughs it off, saying, “Get your little feelin’s out of here, girl. I’m fine.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass tomorrow.”

“Please, you couldn’t reach my ass to kick it.” She walks back to her office—where she sees you sitting—bouncing your leg waiting for her return.

Once her perfume hits you, you stand, almost too fast, to which Ava reaches for a hold on your waist. “Careful, baby.”

You notice the tight grip she has on you. Her eyes avoid yours, looking down at her hands on your body. “Ava,” you whisper. “Was that…”

“Frank,” she says, an absolution in her tone. Like she doesn’t want to talk about him. Like even saying his name is wrong. “My…”

You grab onto her arm that holds your body close to hers. “Oh,” you whisper. “Okay. Uh…”

“He saw you. He knows.”

You slightly grip onto her arm, against your accord. “Sorry,” you say and let go.

“He knows and now he’s probably gonna tell everyone at his barber shop that he’s gonna be a ‘grandfather’ and that his daughter is having a baby and it’s all just—”

“He knows,” you repeat. “Honey.”

“This is my family. Not his.”

“I never said it wasn’t,” your voice is low, merely a whisper.

“Now here he comes, tryin’ to be all ‘dad’ and what not.”

“Ava—”

“—I will never be the parent he was.”

Her words send you for a loop, hitting you where you feel her most in your heart. Your features soften, your eyes dim with a sudden sullenness you can’t shake. “So that’s what it is. Baby, you don’t really think you’ll be like him, right?”

“I’m gonna be better. I will do better.”

“I know you will.”

Her eyes gloss over, her waterline brim with tears she refuses to let fall. “He’s been trying to get in touch with me since I started at Abbott. Some of his friends recognized me walkin’ outside the building and told him I’m here.”

“And you really don’t want him here.”

“He’s not gonna stop trying until I cave.”

“Then get him to stop,” you say. “Tell him how you feel. Maybe it won’t repair anything, but at least you can have that closure. If not for yourself then for them.” You place your hand on your bump. “I’m not gonna force you into a relationship with him. But at least tell him where he stands.”

She sighs. Her hand comes over yours, your fingers interlocking with each other over your bump. “I think I can do that.”

“Okay,” you give her a kiss. “Why don’t we go home and eat? We’re starving.”

She chuckles, allowing for you to guide her out of the building and to her car. She opens the passenger’s door for you, shutting it back once you’re seated. Before she gets in the car, she lets herself relax knowing the only serenity she’ll find is going home with you.

[writerspirit]

Hey Jealousy

Pairing(s): Avis Amberg x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Avis Amberg is a woman who thrives in situations where she is in control. What happens when something happens that isn’t in her control?

Themes/Warnings: 18+, jealous Avis/reader, angst, sad Avis/reader, fluff

A/N: Avis Amberg can rail me and spit in my mouth! Thank you @retinolserums for your patience. This took literally months to finish. As always, I hope you enjoy Avis in her glory.

WC: ~ 3.3k

Avis drives up to a gas pump at the Golden Tip Gasoline with a wide grin, ready for the afternoon with you. Although, her smile quickly fades when her eyes set on you, lent over the driver’s side of a Pontiac, talking with a young woman. Your hair displayed as a little bit looser than the usual tightly up-do, she understands that you were with the woman. A longer, lingering stare forces her eyes to scan over your features. A spot of bruised skin along your neck glares back at her. 

How could you? How dare you? Servicing another client when she thought she’d made it clear that you’re hers and hers alone. 

— — — —

He hears her before he sees her — the distinct tapping of expensive heels against the tiled floor. 

“Ernie, what the hell is this?” 

“Avis, my dear,” Ernie says. His eyes don’t look up from the stack of papers set on his desk. “What has you this delighted today?” 

“That!” Her finger points through the glass window. His eyes follow her direction, and they land on you. 

“We’re short today, Avis. We needed someone fast.” 

“So you let her go? We had a deal, Ernie. If you can’t respect that—” 

“Avis, my darling…”

“What the hell?” Avis’s voice booms through the station. Her voice makes Ernie look up at the angry woman, who hasn’t strayed her focus from you. He lets out a sigh as he catches the interaction between you and the client. You grab the woman’s hand, leaving a gentle peck on the back of it. 

“See you soon, sweets?” The woman’s voice sends a sigh through you as you think of Avis. It shouldn’t make you feel guilty, but it does. It’s just work, right? 

“Come by again and we’ll see,” you tease.

Avis sees the woman place something in your hand before her car drives off the lot.

“Before you do something you’ll regret—”

Avis shoots him a warning glare.

“Send me a new server,” her tone is stern, leaving Ernie no room to argue.

“Avis, you’ll crush her heart.”

“Well I need someone fast, and she doesn’t look to be in the Avis mood today.” Her voice nearly cracks, but she covers it with a cough. “Do it, Ernie, or I will take my money elsewhere.”

Ernie contemplates the idea, and as stubborn as Avis is, he knows she’ll make good on her word. And like he always says, money is money. So he calls for the second best of the crew:  Jack Castello.

The young man looks at Ernie in shock. Eyes widen at his seemingly defiant stance, unmoving and stoic. 

“Ernie, I was made to believe Y/n was exclusive to Mrs. Amberg.”

“Business calls for change in schedule.” He playfully taps his shoulder. “Money makes the world go round, kid. Y/n knows that. And word to the wise, Avis is a good one. Take good care of her.”

You see Jack walk to the car you’ve been driven in almost everyday for the past three months. Mind scrambling to find a good reason why Ernie sent him, you lose focus on the conversation with your client. 

“Maybe I’ll make an effort to stop by again tomorrow. Maybe I’ll see your face again?” 

“Maybe you will.” You meet her eyes once more. “I’d put money on it.” 

“Oh good.” The woman’s soft voice rings through your ears.

She drives off in a hurry, and your eyes catch Avis and Jack driving off in her car.

— — — —

It has been weeks since you’ve felt Avis’ lips against your burning flesh. Days of missing the woman turn into endless nights of touching yourself with the search of satisfaction only she can give you. 

Your night gets interrupted when you hear a constant pounding on your door. Without checking for any sign of danger – despite Avis’s warning you to start taking those kinds of precautions – you lightly twist the doorknob and pull it open to a disheveled Jack Castello. You pull the door open more, giving you a better look at him. Hair in disarray; eyes bloodshot, as if he hadn’t slept in days; the usual tension is his shoulders loosen as they slump over. 

“Jack,” your voice wavers with a sudden nervousness. 

He tries to avoid eye contact, worrying you more. “Can I stay here for the night?” 

You nod, stepping aside for him to enter. He takes the welcoming, and steps into your living room. The area is the tidiest you’ve seen it, considering you’ve been the only person in the space as of late. You let him get acquainted with the space, looking around and finding small aspects that scream your aesthetic.

“What’s wrong?” 

“I left her. Or she left me. It’s all still messy.” 

Avis? She’d leave him? Why? 

“Who, Jack?” 

“My wife. The twins… they aren’t—” He drops onto the couch, hands finding the sides of his head and threading through his hair. 

“Oh,” your hand rubs gentle circles on his back, “I’m so sorry, Jack. Why don’t I make you some tea? Or maybe coffee?” 

“Is a glass of water too much to ask?” 

“Not at all.” 

You walk to your kitchen, dimly lit by way of a candle on your table. The water falls into the cup you grabbed from the countertop. 

“You have a nice place here. Roomy yet comfortable.” 

“Thank you,” you walk towards him, glass placed on the coffee table. “Avis actually helped with a lot of the decorating.” 

There is an awkward silence that draws out the unspoken tension that has built up between you since the day he serviced Avis. Your Avis.

“If it’s not too much to handle, how is Avis?” 

“Oh,” he says with a clearing of his throat. “Mrs. Amberg actually talks about you a lot. Doesn’t say your name much, but once someone brings you up, there’s no changing the subject. And if someone tries to change the conversation, she’ll keep going on anyway.” 

A blush reaches your cheeks. “She does?”

He nods. A few sniffles make him clear his throat. “If you’re wondering, nothing happened. Nothing intimate, anyway. We started slowly, me pulling at her robe and kissing her skin, but once I leaned in to kiss her, she pulled away. Said she couldn’t go through with it.”

“Oh, wow.” 

“Excuse me for intruding, but we’ve both been working for a while. We know it’s a quick job and getting money. But Mrs. Amberg,” he pauses, “there’s something I can’t quite make out. She really cares for you. I gather in ways that go beyond a client-and-worker relationship.” 

A beat. Your eyes avert to anything you can find focus on. 

“Nothing happened?” 

He shakes his head. “She calls for me to accompany her to events. Told me she doesn’t like to feel alone.” You take a deep breath. “I hold her hand. I walk beside her as people stare. And I know she can’t feel any less wrong than I do.” He breaks for a moment. “Because both of us know that if anyone deserves to be beside her and make her feel seen, it’s you.”

Your eyes don’t seem to leave him. They can’t. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything better than the couch for you. I’ll give you a few extra pillows to make up for it.” 

He pats the cushions a few times. “This is better than I could’ve imagined after the day I’ve had. Thank you, Y/n.” 

You smile. One that says everything will be okay. For him or yourself, that isn’t distinct enough to make out. You start for your bedroom, making sure to give him the outline of the rooms, and the directions for the restroom and your bedroom. 

Your bedroom – adorned with different styles set by Avis – feels different walking into it. Safe. Unlike the past few weeks without her, the room feels like her again. The faint scent of her perfume looming over you like a hug from her after a long day. Closing your eyes, you can almost hear her loosely humming to your favorite songs. The ones she’d called ‘voiceless’ and ‘too modern’ for her, but can’t shake the habit of listening to them as though you were the muse behind the lyrics. 

The image of her clogs your mind, making sleep far from possible. The sheets, frigid as Avis is missing from the bed, reminds you of the countless times she has accompanied you. Hours pass without any idea of what time it could be. Thoughts of the older woman touching your body with her soft caress. Her warm breath against your neck as you sleep through the night, limbs tangled. 

— — — —

The next morning, you are greeted by a note Jack left behind. 

Morning Y/n,

Set out early for the station. Thank you for the hospitality. Your kindness is greatly appreciated.

Jack

You place the note on the table, smiling at the sentiment. Another day at the station, you thought. 

— — — —

“Boys,” Ernie started. “And lady. Tonight everyone is on the clock. We’re set for a party at Vivien’s house again. Remember the rules; remember the protocols. And dress… your best.” 

You mumble a curse when a few heads turn to you. “Sorry,” you mumble. 

Ernie comes over to you. “What’s with the low face, babydoll?” 

“Nothin’, Ernie.” 

“No long faces tonight. We need your million dollar smile to get that pretty penny. I’m counting on you.” 

“Of course.” 

— — — —

Avis spots you from the front of the line. A few glares are sent your way — both from the men and a few women sitting at the table. Each glare feels like wealth ripping through you, seeing if you were worth the risk of taking you. Hers, however, is the eyes that you’d recognize from any distance. The way she’d stare at you like you were nude, modeling your body for her eyes only. Like you belonged to her. 

She hasn’t averted her eyes for a second as you converse with a few people sitting around you. The two people sitting on either side of you are getting your attention. Anyone who didn’t know you would mistake your contribution to the conversation as interest. Avis, ever the observant and knowing woman, recognizes the discomfort in your demeanor. The slouch of your shoulders, when she’d taught you that every lady should sit with confidence, shoulders upright and straight. Or the pauses of silence between your subtle laughs and their quips they’d consider jokes. 

Then, there was the sudden moment of one of the men leaning into your space. His lips mere inches from your ears, whispering anything he wasn’t confident enough to say aloud. And the slight, yet noticeable bite of your lower lip. Your soft smile soon follows. The smile she came to melt for when she looked at you, whispering sweet words against your neck to fluster you. 

Your eyes moved around the table after the man whispered a promise of a good time if you let him take you to his hotel room. Not that the opportunity was worth any of your interest, but the idea of this man–who you could clearly tell wouldn’t be able to find a woman's pleasure with a magnifying glass and curiosity–taking you in ways you’d rather not imagine. The thought of Avis’s rebuttal if she’d been able to hear what he offered you just moments ago. 

That’s when you look up to find her, already burning holes into your eyes. The way she’d always looked at you with unmistakable possession, no words necessary to make her intentions clear. Then, with the small softening of your eyes, you can see the crack in her expression. The almost unnoticed gloss to her eyes. The slight rouge creeping to her cheeks, and the way she breaks her gaze by averting to her glass of red that’s seemingly glued to her hand. 

She takes a sip, her tongue darting out before her lips rest against the glass rim. She gulps quietly as the liquid runs smoothly down her throat. Passing glances are exchanged between her and you. You can feel the burn of her gaze under your reactions to the man’s words. Pleads from her eyes hit your heart like Cupid with his bow and arrow. Or like a huntsman with his dagger. 

You missed her. You do miss her. 

Then his hand lands on your wrist. Avis can he has crossed the line. People begin excusing themselves from the table, finally making way for their ventures outside. Avis finds her way through the remaining bodies in the room, making her way to you. 

“Is everything alright here?” Her voice is stern and pointed. 

“Yes, Avis. We’re—” 

She turns towards you, her hand holding onto the man’s, firmly grabbing it and pulling it from your wrist. “I was talking to the lady.” 

A sigh brushed past your lips at the relief of her rescue. “Fine, thank you, missus—” 

“—Avis, dear. Avis is fine.” 

Your heart swells at the correction. Never being able to speak with Avis in such a public manner and without the respectful formalities, her vulnerability reaches your heart. Not anymore being seen as a service girl, but as a woman who has earned the proper respect. Being seen as a person, and not a ticket for pleasure. 

You nod at the older woman, finally able to see up close what words wanted to say for weeks. She searched the man’s eyes, looking for any hint of genuine interest beyond your services. Being met with nothing but palpable lust, her senses sharpened. Her eyes drew a piercing gaze to the man, her voice unwavering as she spoke. “The young lady is with me. You are excused.” 

“Avis, she’s a service girl. She was about to give me a nighttime special.” His voice was low, warning her to stand down. 

“Her services are of no use to a man of the likes of you. Now might I suggest you excuse yourself from her proximity while you still have a name in this industry.” 

He takes the hint, taking a final sip of his scotch. He slowly backs out of the room, not wanting anyone to witness the interaction. 

Avis turns to you, straightening out her blazer. “You shouldn’t let them talk to you that way.”

“The money is worth the crude words from a drunk customer.” 

“No it  isn't. No amount of money is worth disrespecting you.” 

“I’m sorry, Avis.” 

Her eyes look at you, searching for the light that has dimmed over the time separated from each other. “You shouldn’t tolerate that kind of behavior. Ever. Client or not.” 

“Understood.” Your eyes searched her own now, for any sense of desperation like yours. “I miss you.” 

“You miss me?” 

“But when I saw you with Jack… I felt… wrong. Forgotten.” 

“You were with someone else. Another woman. Another client.” 

“Avis—” 

“—I drove up to the station on a Wednesday afternoon, ready to see my girl. But you were there, leaning against the door of her car, your hair tousled like I used to make it. And you… you were glowing.” You could see the gloss behind her eyes, but don’t decide to mention it. Rather, you admire the woman who stands in front of you, a vulnerability that you haven’t seen from her before. 

“Avis, the woman was a client. One Ernie was depending on for a big pay. Said it was me or nothin’ else.” 

“I don’t like the idea of other people having their way with my girl. When I made the deal with Ernie, that was my way of making sure no one else could get their hands on you.” Her lips purse as she forces herself to continue. “As for Jack, nothing happened. Nothing intimate anyway. He was just arm candy. A distraction from what I truly wanted. Who I truly wanted.” 

“Me?” 

“Yes.” 

You can’t help but feel the rush of heat to your cheeks. The tingling at your fingertips pulling you towards her like gravity. The only thing stopping you being the guilt of your own actions. 

“I should’ve called,” you mumbled. Your head lowers and your eyes meet the floor, tracing each pattern of every tile around you. “I wanted to call.”

“I could have called. I foolishly thought that you’d be better off without my pestering you.”

“So you decided to shut me out instead? Avis,” you reach for her hands, taking hers in yours. A light gasp leaves her lips. “All due respect, I’m not Mister Amberg. I’m not one to shut you down because of an issue. Someone once taught me to speak up for myself, lest I want things to stay the same. It is—”

“—it is with man’s hands that kingdoms are built. It is a woman’s voice of power that rules said kingdoms.”

A light air encircles the room. A sharp cut through the aforementioned tension bringing a light you’d strayed from in the time spent apart from each other. A shared understanding of said time wasted away from each other all leading to the point of realization: she was jealous, yes. But more than that, she was hurt. Hurt because the care that she had provided you for the last few months was put at risk at another woman’s hands on you. 

You reach for Avis’s face, pulling her towards you and resting her forehead on yours. You hear a sniffle come from the woman. A soft sob alerts you from the moment, bringing your focus on her. The woman who you’ve gotten to know as strong and confident–never showing anything but dignified poise–now showing an unfamiliar vulnerability. 

“Avis,” you breathe out her name in a whisper. Like a prayer finally being answered and seen for everything presented to you. “Darling.” Your hands–ever so gently–cup her cheeks. Her eyes glossed over, tears spilling over as she let go of the wall she’d held up for so long. For Hollywood, the industry that never gave her the opportunity she deserved. For her husband who couldn’t give a damn to understand her for who she was behind the actress. For the daughter who grew up resenting her for the structure Ace set up for them. 

But for you, as your eyes stare into each other’s, each brick held up around her falls over. Every tear that falls from her eyes, another part of her liberated from a force that has held her back. In your eyes, she sees the freedom she’s yearned for her whole life. And as your thumbs come up to wipe away the remaining tears, she breaks. Her breath hitches, a gasp falling from her lips. 

“Avis,” you whisper.

Her arms wrap around your waist, her grip tight on the back of your dress. Not pulling, but holding you so as to not push you away. Her eyes travel down your face, locking onto your lips. A longing in her brown orbs speaking to you in a silent understanding Avis hasn’t allowed before. With a gentle softness to your eyes, you focus on her lips, now softer and begging for permission. A soft nod of your head sends Avis the one thing she’s yearned for.

With her hand still firmly grasping your dress, she pulls you closer, bodies now touching with no more space between you. A sudden gasp makes Avis giggle as she’s surprised you. Your hands fall to her arms for stability, while her arms still hold you close. Suddenly, the room spins, and Avis’s lips meet yours. Not hungry or desperate. Not claiming dominance, as she normally does. Your lips move in a rhythmic dance of passion. 

It isn’t until you are both breathless that you pull apart. Both still clinging to each other, you can’t help the giggles and laughter that leave you. Avis pulls an arm from around you, moving a few stray hairs behind your ear. She loosens her hold on you, but still keeps you close. Her eyes meet yours again, now lit with joy. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” she mutters. 

“Like what?”

“Like you see me.”

“I’ve always seen you,” you reply. “And who I see is absolutely breathtaking.”

[writerspirit]

Chapter 1

Pairing(s): Platonic - Too many to keep track.

Series: A Teenager In Love

Setting: High School AU

Themes/Warnings: angst, fluff, if there are others... i apologize for not adding them

Chapter Synopsis: Melissa has been weary of you in the years you’ve been a friend of the Schemmenti family.

WC: 2.67k

A/N: This project has taken more of my willpower than any of my other work. First chapters are bleh to write. I’d like to thank every single person who was open to hearing my rants, venting sessions, drafts, and ideas. Thank you to @schemmentigfs, who listened to me when this baby was born. And thank you to @schemmentisimpasours, who actually pushed me to get off my ass and post it before it never sees the light of day.

Taglist: @sapphicandgraphic @milfjuulpod @janeyseymour @maisconkiana @cupldsctrl @beccaweltonz

— — — —

The hallways filled with the usual rustle and bustle high schools were known for. Cheerleaders in a corner, whispering about which jocks were worth their time; jocks ogling the cheerleaders; teachers directing students to their classes while trying to hold it together. 

The lockers are color coded according to the grade. Freshmen lockers are green, sophomores are yellow, juniors are blue, and seniors are red. All that is unimportant, however, as most of the lockers are adorned with rusting and scratches that came with age and unkempt marks. 

Leaning against a red-ish locker is Melissa Schemmenti. Also known as the spokesperson for the school’s athletic department, whether it be the teams or the coaches. She is surrounded by a circle of her friends, talking about the basketball match that South Philly High demolished against North Philly, the school’s known number one enemy on their shit list when it comes to the sport. 

Her eyes are lit with passion. Her words, falling from her lips at a million miles a minute, spewing support for the “best team Philly could have asked  for. Her friends smile and egg her on as the rambling continues. 

Before you get too distracted by the fiery Schemmenti, you hear your name called from across the hall. Almost as loud as her sister, Toni waves to you with her usual beat up water bottle in hand. Antoinette Schemmenti is loud, as most Schemmenti’s are. Her coffee brown hair is, as always, tied up in a high loose ponytail. Accentuated with her pulled out strands of hair falling at the sides of her face, which she insists helps frame her facial features. “I’m not just a loud mouth, Y/n. I’m these big browns too. Gotta show ‘em off.”

You can’t help but admire the brunette’s confidence. Where others see cocky arrogance, you've always seen a young woman ready to conquer the world, one hair tie at a time. She has on her signature all white Chuck Taylor’s, which she begged and begged her folks for three birthdays in a row. Her shirt, a faded AC/DC tank top. On top of that, a worn-in hoodie handed down to her by her uncle. Her baggy jeans fold at the ankles, as they’re too long for her. 

“About time you showed up. I was worried we’d miss the junior prissy fest over there.” She points towards the group of cheerleaders, who are fussing about the school’s newly added rules about the upcoming homecoming dance. “Blondie over there has been on for ten minutes about how she can’t rock her slutty mini dress.” 

You lean in, “The only reason she’s upset is because she has to find another way to get good old Mr. Smith’s attention.” You both follow the man’s slender figure and land on the very well-noticeable bulge in his pants. “I guess he won’t have a problem with that.” 

You turn to walk—arms linked—to your “yellow” locker. “Fuckin’ chump. How much you wanna bet he’ll be on his ass in front of campus by the end of the month?” 

You snort. “Or as long as she can hide the way they both fall out just lookin’ at each other.” You both laugh. “Where’s—” 

“South Philly High pulls another one, boys! One more victory to glory!” Marie’s voice is heard from down the way. She walks with pride. The kind that people with power walk with. And being a Schemmenti in Philadelphia, she does hold power. Her high fives are given to people she considers worthy of a Schemmenti touch — being the jocks she respects, the teachers she tolerates, and the team’s coach, who is more often on her bad side than good. “Billy, more elevation on those jumps! Jeremy, you crushed the last shot. Don’t let it get to your head.” 

She reaches you both at your locker. Her backpack, as always, is not with her. Probably resting in someone’s classroom, or left in John Anthony’s car, no matter how many times he has told her to stop leaving it there. “Morning, loser!” 

You press a finger to your ear. “It’s seven in the morning. How can you possibly be this loud?” 

“Schemmenti!” The principal yells. From their respective places, each of them looks towards the end of the hallway, where the principal’s voice calls from. 

“Right,” you mumble to yourself. “That’s how.” 

“Miss Schemmenti,” Principal Hughes says. His voice is stern, his shoulders tense as he stands firm in front of you and the sisters. “A word, please?” 

Marie stands tall, unmoving in her spot next to you. Her eyes, giving the man a once over up and down she scoffs. “I haven't done anything yet! The day just started, man.” 

Principal Hughes just stiffens, taking a moment to calculate his words in a way that won’t get the group of sisters worked up. Especially so early in the morning. “If you would like to speak with me during another detention, we can work that arrangement out.” 

Marie scoffs and follows the man to his office. She makes an effort to look back at you both, sending a glance to follow them. Toni leans into your side, mumbling softly. “I knew after the game that it was gonna be either her or Melissa.”

“I would’ve put money on Melissa. Wondering why she didn’t get a— oh, nevermind.” She points quickly before turning her focus back on where you’re following Marie and the principal. “Looks like Miss Jackson got to her.” Toni leans into your ear. “I told both of them not to try anything. Didn’t listen.”

You stifle a laugh. Behind you, Melissa’s voice is heard. Not unlike Marie, her voice is loud enough that the intercoms wouldn’t be heard over hers. 

Stopping in front of Mr. Hughes’ office, you hear footsteps getting closer and closer. “You can step inside with your sister. I’m sure Principal Hughes wouldn’t want to give the same speech twice.”

She scoffs, pushing the door open before letting it slam behind her. Behind the clear doors, you can see and hear almost everything their muffled voices say. Defending themselves against their accusations.

Mr. Hughes opens the door. “Miss Y/l/n. Miss Schemmenti. Would you please come in?”

You both look at each other before you walk into the office. The room is a clear reflection of him—no decor, nothing but a few framed diplomas on the wall. When you see Marie, she is mouthing something to Toni that you can’t quite understand. Toni, however, gives both of her sisters a quick nod and you take that as a sign to follow her lead. Something you’ve become accustomed to doing with them. Melissa, unbeknownst to you, had her eyes on you, searching your eyes for any chance of disloyalty.

Shaken from the principal’s question, you double take to him. His eyes stuck on you, and like Melissa, searching for any falter in your eyes. “Miss Y/l/n?”

You quickly look at Toni, who gives you a smile and a slight nod. You look back up at him, your shoulder slightly tensed as you move to straighten your posture. “Yes, sir.”

“Hm…” he takes a moment to clear his throat, looking again at each face in the room. Each Schemmenti’s face firm against his gaze. “Alright, well, then my apologies for the confusion. I wish you all a good day.”

You smile, and meet Marie’s hand as she practically drags you out of there. Sure to be far enough away from prying eyes and ears, she lands a playful nudge in your side. “Nice one, kid. Almost getting convincing at this lying thing.”

You chuckle. “Thanks… I guess.”

Melissa turns to you in the hallway. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”

You’d admit that although you’d gotten along with almost all the Schemmenti siblings, Melissa was the exception. For no particular reason, you’d both always butted heads. Since the day Toni first brought you along for the weekly Schemmenti dinner, you’d been a target of her coldness and sly remarks.

The bell rings signaling the first period—English Lit. The only class you take with Toni. This class, as all the others you’ve had together, goes by with Toni at your side, sending you notes and whispering jokes about the teacher when he is writing something on the board. More often than not, he’ll recognize your low chuckle and call you both out.

– – –

The smell of freshly made pasta sauce hits you as the front door to the Schemmenti house opens. A welcome familiarity washes over you. Although this isn’t your first time in the house—far from it, actually—there is a relief that comes over you each time you spend time with the family.

Toni immediately sighs, taking off her backpack and tossing it to the plastic wrapped couch. Something you’re sure the house’s matriarch will scold her for later. Marie comes in seconds later, already eager to get to the weekend, her phone up to her ear, already in conversation with one of the many people she hangs out with, but refuses to call them friends. “Tonight? Yeah, I’ll have my sister cover for me.” She hangs up. 

Toni sends her a glare, her eyebrow raised. “Don’t tell me you’re going to see him.” Marie scoffs and walks past her to make her way to her room. “Marie, not again. No way! Not a chance!”

“Come on! I just need you to cover for me tonight. I’ll pay you back. I swear!” She hurries through her dresser, searching for a shirt to go with her signature blue leather jacket. She pulls out a faded grey shirt. “Does this go with the jacket?”

Toni rolls her eyes, looking back at you, who stands in the hallway, right outside Marie’s door. She mumbles, “Are you serious right now?”

Marie scoffs. “Y/n?”

You look between the two, struggling to fight against either. “Yeah, it does.”

“Seriously?” Toni yells at you.

You mouth a ‘sorry’. She storms off to her room. “I don’t know what her problem is. I told her I’ll get her back.”

You sigh, leaving her to get ready for her plans. Toni’s sitting on her bed, neatly made with pillows covering most of it. Her arms cross, and her lips pout. 

“Let it go, Toni.” 

“She does this all the time! We make plans for sister stuff, he calls, and she’s gone.” she scoffs. “You can’t tell me it hasn’t bothered you. I see how you look at her when she brings him up. I see how you look at me when she brings him up.” 

“I know, but what are we gonna do? We’ve already told her time and time again that he’s an asshole. She’s not gonna listen to us.” 

“She listens to Melissa,” she says more to herself than you. 

“And if you tell Melissa, she’ll put Marie and you on your asses. Not to mention me. No, thank you.” 

— — —

The first movie of the night ends with Toni in a laughing fit. “You can never go wrong with Grown Ups. Comedy gold!”

You chuckle. “Gold.” You grab your cup, quickly inspecting it and putting it back down when you realize it’s now empty.

“Can you get us more?” Toni asks.

“Fine, but it’s still my turn to pick a movie.”

“Not some cheesy romance movie again. If I have to sit through another one of your chick flicks, I’m gonna chuck this tv through my window.”

You chuckle. “We both know you liked Pretty Woman. And that you’d rather die than anything happen to that tv. When I get back, Ghost better be on.”

“At least I get Swayze,” she mumbles.

When you get to the kitchen, there’s an unusual quiet. On any other day, there’d be the loud voices of the sports channel heard from the living room television. In the quiet, the sudden sound of a grumble and groans spark your curiosity. You make your way to the living room, where the redhead is noticeably frustrated on the couch. Papers are spread out on the coffee table. 

Melissa scrunches her nose with a furrow of her brows. A slew of curses are grumbled to herself, as she crumples up the paper in her hand. She throws the ball on the floor, before a louder grunt follows. Your steps are light as you get closer to the redhead. You pick up the paper ball, carefully straightening it as well as possible. Reading the words, you see it’s an essay. 

Looking at her surroundings, you see the highlighter opened, cap unattached somewhere you’re guessing she threw it out of frustration. A pencil with the eraser near finished sitting against the table. 

“Give it back,” she yanks it out of your hand, leaving a paper cut to your finger.

“Fine, fine.”

She sighs, slouching over the paper, her hand in her hair as she focuses on the paper. You notice the tight grasp she has on her loose curls. Tight enough you wouldn’t be surprised if she’d pull out a handful of locks when her hand loosens. The words across the sheet of paper distorts as the letters jumble around seeming illegible.

“Is it the letters?” Your voice is low enough that only she can hear.

She groans to herself. “Are you everywhere in this damn house? Shouldn’t you be in one of their rooms annoying them?”

You scoff, giving a smirk to help brush off the redhead’s comments. “Sorry for trying to help.” 

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” 

You wave towards the paper. “What makes it difficult for you? The letters?” 

She just glares at you. Like daggers to your own eyes, but making it hard to divert your gaze. 

“Nobody told me. Your mom’s voice really carries. Like she’s talkin’ to the whole neighborhood. Doesn’t really make it hard to overhear most of her conversations.” You give a small smile, hoping the quip would soften a little of the tension in the room. “I can try to help.” 

“From my sister’s little shadow?” She scoffs. “No thanks.” 

You get up, about to go back to the room. She speaks up. “I see the words. I know they’re words. But when I try to read, it’s like my brain skips over some of them. Like my brain can’t process them.” 

You nod. “Is there anything you can do to help?” 

She shakes her head. “If there were, don’t you think I’d be doing that right now?” She sighs. “Sorry. It’s just really pissing me off.” 

“When is this due?” 

“End of next week.” 

“Okay.” You take a minute to think. “What if I help you? Just you and me. You can come over on Tuesday.” 

“No way!” 

“Toni has cheerleading and Marie has student gov. Neither of them will know I’m helping you. And at school, you can act like I’m your sister's annoying shadow.” 

She looks you over, her eyes never leaving yours. A slight squint to her eyes and the crinkle of her nose lets you know she’s analyzing you. More so, she is searching for a hint of insincerity. Lies. Her face softens, her eyes turning glossy for a moment before she looks down at the paper. “Tuesday. For how long?” 

Your eyes involuntarily widened, shocked by her agreement. “Oh, you’re actually going with it. Okay, we can start with an hour. Sometimes Marie flakes on student gov when one of them pisses her off.” 

“Y/n!” Marie yells. 

“I swear she’s part dolphin when someone mentions her name.” You sigh. “Come by around three. Gives me enough time to get the house together.” 

“Y/n!” 

“I’m coming!” You yell back. Your voice comes out more squeaky and high pitched than you’re used to, making you clear your throat. 

Melissa hides a chuckle, a snort coming out and filling your ears like music. “Nice laugh,” you say, a smile softly forming across your lips. “Not very expected for the tough Melissa Schemmenti.” 

“Shut up,” she quips back. “You’re still my sister’s annoying friend.”

[writerspirit]

rereading fics i love is the equivalent of rewatching my comfort movies

[oliviambensons]

Family photos of Mariska Hargitay featured in My Mom Jayne

[writerspirit]

so beautiful 🩵

[bibliologophilee]

When Y/N says some fuck ass Y/N shit so now I just gotta sit there and ponder.

[killianjones]

[writerspirit]

my horoscope calling this one of the luckiest days of my year is a literal slap in the face bro

[wideeyed-wonders]

"If my book is not perfect then-"

Then what? People will actually discuss it? fill your plotholes with fanfiction and headcanons?

People dont care about perfection. perfection is boring. if your story is perfect people will forget about it. its how we are wired. we remember the strange, the weird and all things left open.

Perfection isnt the goal, interesting is

[delicatelymorbid]

sleepy and needy for slow finger fucking while they talk me through it and make fun of me for not speaking but just moaning