Emily Roberts

@smoothunicorn.bsky.social

481 Followers 561 Following

Writer of sweet and sexy romance. ADHD mom of ADHD grown-ups. Goddamn unicorn. Might occasionally flirt with jroberts.bsky.social. She/her https://emilyrobertswrites.wordpress.com

Lisa in a tuxedo-inspired pantsuit that is so unique and interesting and I love it so much.
Ariana Grande in a light blush pink dress the likes of which I’ve never seen and barely know how to describe. It’s structured yet flowy, sophisticated yet witty. What the fuck.
Jeff Goldblum in just the most insanely gorgeous look: black slacks and shoes, white jacket, brightly patterned vest and lilac scarf.
Bowen Yang (Wicked) in a stunning deep green leather embellished suit!
A photo of director Taika Waititi, dressed in schlubby clothes showing Cate Blanchett, dressed stunningly as Hela, Asgardian Goddess of Death, something that must be at least moderately interesting on a tablet.
A photograph of the double-yolked egg I cooked tonight.
It was a beautiful, mild, sunny May afternoon in Michigan, not too hot and not too cold; it was the perfect day to get married, and Maeve Styne felt a certain amount of pride in that, as though she herself had conjured the gorgeous weather using only the force of her will. The outdoor space where the wedding ceremony would take place in thirty scant minutes was artfully, tastefully decorated, exactly the way it needed to be, except… “These chairs are not straight,” Maeve muttered impatiently as she swept an expert gaze over the sloppy display of white folding chairs. She had advised the bride to select benches instead, to avoid this exact kind of catastrophe, but alas, budget took precedence over everything being perfect - as it always did. Consulting the list she’d been keeping on her phone, Maeve shook her head in disapproval. Late wine delivery, flowers that were not the same shade of pink that the bride had requested, and now this? Someone was getting fired today. Looking around, she was annoyed but not surprised to see no employees of Blissful Memories Weddings and Events nearby. Knowing them, they were probably around the corner of the building smoking a joint or…texting, or…TikToking, or whatever kids did these days. She’d have to do it herself. Stuffing her phone into her bra, she set about putting the chairs to rights, lining each one up perfectly next to the other and periodically taking large steps back to double check her work. She’d gotten two rows complete in this manner when someone pointedly cleared their throat behind her. She whirled, coming face to face with Andrea, the wedding planner. The actual wedding planner. “Yes?” she said, innocently. “What are you doing?” Andrea’s voice was flat, and tinged with exhaustion and stress.
A photo of me taken last week at the park. My hair is up in a top knot that shows off all my sexy, sexy grays, and I’m glaring at the camera over the top of my sunglasses.
Promotional photo from the short-lived sitcom delight Ned and Stacey, starring Debra Messing and Thomas Haden Church. What I wouldn’t give for one more season of this show.
A headshot of Geena Davis as her character Barbara Maitland from the movie Beetlejuice, looking fresh and young and smiling somewhat naively into the camera.
Text that states “Before Ted Cruz takes the debate stage, he needs to know if YOU are still with him. VERIFY:” then a link I won’t repeat. Followed by a text from me saying “Stop”
A photograph of the models from Nightmare Before Christmas of The Devil and Wolfman.
A photo of my plate of pizza in front of the opening scene of Disney’s The Nightmare Before Christmas.
A hot dog I had at the Fourth of July party I attended last week. The hot dog had queso and guacamole on it which was really delicious actually.
A screenshot of Agent Dana Scully talking to Agent Fox Mulder while he convalesces in a hospital room. Scully says, “Agent Doggett is above reproach, Mulder.”
It’s almost midnight when I finally pull the car into the hotel parking lot. This hotel is more of a bed-and-breakfast: only about a half-dozen rooms. Everyone else attending the wedding is local, so we’re the only ones who needed accommodations. Brian’s future stepmother had generously offered to pay for a room near the wedding venue. The building looks old, and it’s beautiful. I can make out the shapes of climbing vines, bursting with flowers, against the aged stone walls. While we’re right in the heart of downtown San Antonio, it feels peaceful and remote here, and I can’t wait to see it in the daytime. I reach out a hand to tentatively shake Brian’s shoulder. “Hey,” I say softly. “We’re here.” Brian wakes up with a sharp intake of breath, then looks directly at me, his pupils refocusing in the dim light. For an instant, a look passes over his face that I can’t quite decipher, but the closest I can come to describing it is…amazed. Like he’s amazed to see me.
I came into the club tonight with a new approach. One that involved gently letting something go, or at least holding it more loosely in my hand. It reminded me of a version of myself that I used to be. The version that loved sex, craved it, and took it for granted. The version of me that stayed up all night talking to attractive and fascinating men at parties, then tumbling into bed with them. The version of me that wasn’t up against a deadline, one that sometimes actually felt like death was at the end of the line. I want to find her again, let her all the way out, give her something to do that will satisfy her. I’m just afraid if I let her out, she won’t want to go back in, and I simply don’t have time to figure out how to keep my balance. My life is a tightrope, and she wants to do cartwheels.
A truly banging headshot of actress Natalie Schafer (who played Mrs. Howell in Gilligan’s Island) - black and white, featuring Ms. Schafer wearing a white button up shirt and smoldering into the camera, with an absolutely incredible 40s hairstyle.
Cover of Pestilence, The Four Horsemen Book 1 by my girl Laura Thalassa
“I’m sitting here crying in the middle of the techno room and you’re just - just - minding your own business trying to get laid!” Her voice hiccups with emotion, and her nose is turning red as the first tears escape her eyes and glisten on her lashes. “I shouldn’t have invited you over. I’m sorry.” “I asked to be invited,” I reply, rubbing small circles on her smooth shoulder. “You’re not keeping me from anything. And it’s called the Rave Room, not the techno room.” “Oh,” she moans miserably. “Debbie called it the techno room. She gave me a tour earlier.” “Debbie hates this room,” I say with a smile, and the girl’s eyes flash to mine again. “You know Debbie?” “I know Debbie. Nice lady. Sexy. Teaches middle school English.” She laughs through her tears, and the sight of it takes my breath away for a second. “I knew it.”
Work has been a particular pain in my ass all week. The paper has taken to hiring youngsters fresh out of college - which I view with no small amount of annoyance, despite my own humble origins there - and because I’m the Digital Publication Editor, and therefore considered the “young person whisperer” at work, I am responsible for approving or rejecting each of their story ideas. When I approve them, they submit their drafts to me, and let’s just say that Gen Z has a lot of opinions, and those opinions are very strong. Between my day job keeping the website running and publishing content, and my side-of-desk work re-teaching upstart journalism majors about the importance of objectivity as a pillar of journalistic integrity, I’m spending every other waking second working on my manuscript. I’m exhausted, grumpy, and on edge. The perfect time, I reason, for a little sexy retail therapy.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I offer, cocking an eyebrow at her. She releases a big breath. “I just…I think I took more than one step forward tonight.” She chews on her lip, looking almost fearful, and I drop my amusement immediately. I lean forward and reach for her hand on instinct. She slips her palm against mine without hesitation. “Did you…do something with someone?” I ask, a little weakly. My heart hiccups in my chest at the thought of her letting some dude - maybe Thomas - fuck her on that couch. “No,” she says, her voice small. “Not…with someone.” My jaw drops, and she covers her face with her free hand, groaning. “Meghan,” I drawl, grinning widely. “Did you get yourself off at the club?”
“Water, please.” As the bartender spins to grab a bottle from the cooler, I turn to get Meghan’s order. She’s looking away from me, staring thoughtfully and intently at a dick-shaped throw pillow on a nearby sofa. I don’t miss the way her thighs rub together subtly. “What do you want to drink?” She snaps her attention to me. “Tequila,” she says without hesitation. My eyebrow lifts in amusement. “You want anything with that tequila? Lime juice? Soda? A stomach pump?”
It takes ages to get the damn thing on. The crop top is ridiculous, with faux ties on the back that I’m sure are sexy, but results in the thing having too many holes. After the third time I stick my arm through the wrong opening, I finally get it settled over my bust. The necktie, luckily, slips right over my head and tightens with a simple slip knot. The skirt is a little stretchy, and bears up remarkably well as I yank it over my wide hips, and when it finally settles at my waist, I’m surprised how nicely it hugs my curves and shows off my legs (which I’m sure will look much nicer with my skyhigh heels on). As I examine myself in the mirror, I’m pleasantly surprised by the result. I look…hot. And with the right styling, I’ll look like a fucking firebrand. He won’t even know what hit him. They, I correct myself in my head. They won’t even know what hit them.
Her face turns thoughtful, and I watch, practically able to see the gears turning in her head. “I can’t…I can’t date right now.” I nod. “I know. Me neither.” It’s not entirely true, I realize with surprise as I’m saying it. I could date someone. Her, in fact. There’s nothing stopping me, other than a general distaste for dating (which is swiftly resolving itself with every breath Meghan takes in my presence). But with all the shit with my parents that I’m going to have to deal with in the coming weeks and months, I don’t think I’m going to be much fun to be with for a while. “So we’re agreed on that point,” Meghan says with a nod. “Can’t turn this into a relationship.”
I really, really do like Brian. I’m suddenly furious at the timing of all this. Why would I happen to meet the guy who could very well be The Guy at the worst possible time in my life? Am I just going to have to let him go? I can’t exactly trade in the ability to eat and keep a roof over my head for him. And I don’t want to change directions mid-stream, move away from my book and towards some other menial job that’s only remotely related to what I want, either. That’s giving up too much. The grief from the other day begins to yawn inside me again, and I taste tears in the back of my throat. It’s just not fair.
She walks over to the couch and sits down next to me, keeping a respectable distance. “Feet,” I instruct, beckoning with my hand. She lifts an eyebrow at me in amused curiosity, and slowly lifts her feet off the ground, swiveling until her still-socked feet are in my lap. I start with her ankle, delicate and fine-boned, but strong enough to keep her upright on the highest heels I’ve ever seen on a woman. I wrap my fingers and thumb around it, pressing deep into the spaces on either side of her Achilles tendon. She groans again, her head falling back, and I have to catch my breath from the sight of it. We sit in silence as I continue to massage her ankle, fighting the urge to drag my fingers up further, up her calf, behind her knee, under the skirt of her vibrant blue dress.
A passage from Good Fences: I wish so badly I could figure out who loves her, what friends have brought her joy during tough times, how she’s built a support system around herself, and I am so worried that she might not have that. But I don’t pry. She’s made herself clear on that point. At the end of the night, we stand on either side of the fence, and I wonder if she’s looking at it as intently as I am. My heart is beating a little too fast. My skin feels a little too warm. I wish I could see her.
Green background with a fence and bushes and a silhouetted couple embracing in the foreground. "Meet Jonathan and Helen!" Jonathan is described as Nerdy MC, Traumatic history, and Falls HARD. Helen is described as Mysterious past, Funny weirdo, and Afraid to trust. @emilyrobertswrites on Instagram
On my drive home, I think about how it felt to sit on his lap, cuddled up with him, his arms around me, the sweet warmth of his breath against my ear as he told me how to behave. Even just recalling it, I feel my body heat and my skin tighten. The feeling of him…reacting…to me when I teased him in that chair was overwhelmingly powerful.
After my last failed manuscript, a beautiful, perfect, patient, and kind assistant editor at Devalt and Strauss placed a call to my very own cell phone, letting me know that while the last manuscript I’d sent was not what they were looking for, he thought I might be a good fit for the publisher anyway, with the right story. When I asked what they wanted to see from me, he uttered a single word: murder. It just so happened that I had been toying with a story about a serial killer who seeks out his victims at sex clubs. I pitched it to the assistant editor right there on the phone, and he said, and I quote: “Write it and send it. I’ll make sure it lands on the right desk.”
Once all waivers have been signed and returned to her, she smiles brightly again. “It’s Lock and Key night, which is primarily for singles. There are some couples here tonight, too, in case you’re interested in joining an established pair. Ladies get a lock and gentlemen get a key. When you click with someone, pop!” She demonstrates a key turning in a lock. “The key to your heart.” She laughs, I laugh, we’re having a great time. This is fine. This is totally fine.
“All right then,” Frankie says, just as the waiter is setting down our food. “Come up with your story. You don’t have to do it now, but get it squared away before you start seeing family. They’re going to ask. They always do.” “You’re the expert,” Brian concedes, then he glances at me. “We’ll come up with the ‘how we met’ story on the last leg of the trip.”
A tattoo of a white rat holding a justice balance surrounded by an ornate arch with green cloth in the background.
Tangled in Time, Mister Romance, The Perfect Pickup, Making Waves, A Year in Love, and Our Valentine
Promotional image of The Ghoul, Lucy, and Maximus from the TV show Fallout.
Film poster for 1999’s The Talented Mr. Ripley starring Matt Damon, Jude Law, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Phillip Seymour Hoffman.
Me! Dark shoulder length hair, red glasses, a charcoal gray and pink floral t-shirt (THAT I MADE MYSELF), leaning on my hand at the end of a long long long week.
Girl with arm around guy’s shoulder, pointing and shouting into his ear, guy looks stiff and uncomfortable.
Promotional photo of the band Man Man
A photograph of an art installation on the side of a large multi-level parking garage. The installation consists of large, all capital letters lit up in lights saying “You Are Beautiful”.
A screenshot of Amy Poehler’s character in Mean Girls, winking and saying “I’m not a regular mom. I’m a cool mom.”
Friday kiss selection: This woman, this…this messy contractor was going to fight him on this. A flare of excitement erupted in his chest against his will. Nobody ever fought him on anything. He redoubled his intimidation efforts, narrowing his eyes and furrowing his brow in a way that always worked on more junior staff. She responded immediately, doing the same, creating a funhouse mirror reflection of his imposing expression. The effect was delightfully disturbing.
Just the most recent cat pic I had in my album. One of the four fully-grown male cats who are currently engaged in a timeshare situation in our backyard. This good boy is a long-haired tuxedo kitty, sitting primly on the railroad ties surrounding our fairy tree. He’s looking at the camera with his piercing green eyes. 😍
The spines of three new books I just bought: House of Flame and Shadow by Sarah J. Maas, The Only Game in Town by Lacie Waldon, and Summer Reading by Jenn McKinlay.
A scanned in physical overexposed photo my mom took of me when I was probably 21-ish. She also styled me and made me sit like that. It wasn’t even my desk. Anyway I’m sitting at a desk wearing a faux suede Hunter green shirt, dangly dragon earrings, and my hair was just past my shoulders, chestnut colored, and I had B A N G S. I distinctly remember her asking me to use my “picture smile” and not my real one.
A passage from my current fantasy romance WIP. It reads: “You are hardly ‘just’ anyone, Mathilde,” he said softly, and her heart gave a little thump that reminded her of all of her complicated feelings for the beautiful ,complex man who stood before her. Without thinking, she reached a hand up and brushed a lock of curly hair away from his forehead, and he leaned into her touch slightly, his eyes fluttering shut. He turned and planted a whisper-soft kiss to her palm.
Photo of a disk drive with a label on it that reads “works, but makes sad noises”
Four panel comic. Panel 1: a white cat and a black cat cuddling. The white cat says “I love you” and the black cat says “I love you too.” Panel 2: they cuddle happily, eyes closed. Panel 3: white car opens eyes. Panel 4: white cat rears up with a fist in the air aimed at the black cat and says “actually you know what.”
Spines of the three books I bought today: That Time I Got Drunk and Saved a Demon by Kimberly Lemming, Maggie Moves On by Lucy Score, and Funny You Should Ask by Elissa Sussman.
Promotional image of Sting, Bryan Adams, and Rod Stewart from their hit single All For Love, written and recorded for the 1993 masterpiece of film The Three Musketeers.
Cover of the book Transcendence by Shay Savage.
Cover of the book Paladin’s Strength by T. Kingfisher.
Image of the three covers for the Bonds of Magic trilogy by Jeffe Kennedy.
The cover for The Dead Romantics by Ashley Poston.
The cover for The Undertaking of Hart and Mercy by Megan Bannen
The cover of the book A Demon’s Guide to Wooing a Witch by Sarah Hawley.