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prettyboykatsuki-moved · 1 year ago

Text

✮ tags ; fingering, gn + afab!reader, pro-hero katsuki, dirty talk from both parties, semi-public sex (they're in a dressing room), finger-sucking, 18+

✮ wc ; 1.5k

✮ a/n ; it feels like i just got hit over the head with a fucking mallet. i swear im still on hiatus. its seven in the morning. im going to go crazy. the literal spike of adrenaline i got looking at him.

"No way," He snorts, his voice clipped—cocky against the shell of your ear as his hands sneaks against your waist. "This is what gets you?"

A reflexive part of you doesn't want to give Katsuki the satisfaction of a yes. You know how he is. You'd go as far as saying you like it - almost as much as you like him when he's not acting like the center of the universe. But it's undeniable that part of what draws you to Katsuki is the very thing that causing you strife now.

He's complicated. Underlined all that dripping egoism is a real sense of uncertainty - and that part of him is sexy too. The awkward, lovesick gentle man he can be when he wants.

But. But.

Other times, it's his magnetism. Such raw, enigmatic confidence built on experience. Prowess. No amount of complicated can erase or overshadow just how much Katsuki is a pure fire. You normally get boyfriend Katsuki, and he's catty and affectionate with nothing to prove. Soggy and loveable and approachable.

You forget, often, what he can be like when the cameras flash. What the public likes of him. Which is raw sex appeal and sultry eyes and a wicked little grin, wolfish and wanting.

You're not ashamed to admit seeing that turns you on. And it's only worsened to see him bask in it - getting off on the sudden attention

(Your attention, specifically - considering he had been all but indifferent to the awing of studio, only minutes prior.)

"Yeah, it is," You groan, pressing your forehead against his shoulder. Your body shudders responsively to his touch.

There's something rushed about the whole ordeal. Your back is pressed up against the mirror in his dressing room - legs spread with your pants barely unbuttoned. Katsuki is no better, borrowed pants snug on thick, muscular thighs. He laughs a little breathlessly. No less affected than you if the tent in his pants is any measure.

"Aw, what?" He presses, his lips pulled. All canines as he rests his palm over your waistband and doesn't move an inch. "Seeing me in front of all those cameras turn you on?"

You pull away to stare at him and he's grinning. Unusual playfulness steeped and soaked between layers of lust. Your hand reaches for his length, hand cupped around as you grip. He closes his eyes, swears under his breath.

"You look good," You tell him, and you mean it - much more than you've meant anything in the last twenty minutes. He's taken aback by the candor despite asking for it. "You looked so fucking good."

His eyes go lidded as he presses his mouth to yours. He stops teasing, breaching past your pants into your underwear. Your spine curls at the sudden sensation. Brief and unmoving. You can feel how wet you are, feel the way your arousal burns in your core and makes your whole body tight with want.

"You mean that," He says more than asks. His breathing goes shaky and you can feel him pulse in your hands. "Say it. Tell me you want it."

You laugh a little "Want you, Katsuki. Make me feel good, baby."

He groans, once again loosing all composure. You hold onto Katsuki's shoulder as he takes your words like a challenge—the way he takes most things. Everything about the experience is both too much and not enough. You both know it. The energy in the room electric, it's almost harder not to take it all off and fuck him in the middle of his work-day. He has to be back out there in god knows how soon but you can barely keep your legs together without the friction driving you crazy.

He breathes slow trying to maintain his composure- huffs as his fingers press along the folds of your cunt. "You're so wet, fuck," He drops his chin against your shoulder "Never seen you like this"

"You look good when you're all in front of the camera, my love," You huff, an arm around his middle as you draw him close. Your voice is close next to his ear, speaking soft. "A waste you can't fuck me right now,"

There's something like a low growl in his throat when he finally gives you what you. Katsuki knows your body like the back of his hand - every inch of you memorized. Precise, angular movements. He circles your clit a few times before moving down further. You can feel the tight space get tighter, the heel of his hands pressing against your clit as his fingers push past your entrance.

You bite back a moan so broken it's pitiful and he groans with you. He goes slowly at first, tries to ease you into the sensation of his fingers. His are so much thicker and so much longer, noticeable as you feel him stretch your pussy out. He presses the heel of his hand up a little more to give you everything.

"How the hell am I supposed to go out there?" He grits. "Talking to me like that like I'm not about to go back out there."

"I'll let you fuck me as much as you want as a sorry, I promise."

He scoffs at you, makes a point of it as both of his fingers slide into you. He always starts with his middle - feels around for the sweet spot until you're gripping at him harder. After he finds it, he adds his ring finger. He stiffens when you moan, his own arousal starting to show in his face. Red eyes all clouded with desire so deep it could drown.

A honeyed feeling blooms in your core. Burns hot like sugar as you spread your legs to give him more room to you. Your body is so hot, so molten - you give up on everything else. On thinking, on breathing, on keeping quiet. You slump into the mirror behind you as he sets a motion. His fingers curl towards him over and over, rubbing and pushing and grinding against your pulsing core. Against your g-spot, throbbing insides trembling with each gesture.

Your voice breaks out. A deep, needy moan punched from your lungs. He stares at you before ducking into your space. His teeth scrape against the skin near your jaw, kissing and biting and licking. He pays attention to the sweet spot underneath your ear.

"Look at you," He says, like he's gloating. You think he is. If you weren't so aroused you might be able to pay it some mind. "Gonna cum on my fucking fingers, huh?"

"Fuck, Katsuki. Fuck me, fuck."

"I'll make good on that promise, damn tease." He says with a laugh. Biting and cocky and egotistical. Unbearably sexy at the worst of times. It's effecting you more than you care to admit, but you don't have the capacity to pull away from him. "Makin' me do this to you in the middle of my work day like some kinda freak."

"Like it doesn't turn you on,"

He laughs, deep and low. "That's the problem, dumbass."

"Kat," You shudder, your back arching - eyes fluttering closed as you grip his arm. You can feel the way his muscle flexes under your nail, digging into your arm. You groan and whine, cunt clenching around his fingers. It's dripping, noisy as he draws the mess out of you. "Gonna cum."

"Make a mess. Show it to me."

The sound of his voice, gravel coarse and low - is what ends up pushing you over the edge you're sure. Your orgasm crashes into so quickly and with so much force. You barely keep yourself from screaming. Your boyfriend kisses you to swallow whatever other noises you make - seemingly eager to do it. He puts his tongue into your mouth, stifling any other remaining noise.

Your body is pulses, pussy fluttering as shocks of euphoric flit through your whole body and leave you in complete and utter wreckage. Katsuki fucks you through it like the overachiever he tends to be, his fingers highlighting the soft sticky noises of your orgasm as you finish.

Your whole body shakes as a result of your lust. Not entirely gone but at least somewhat tamped down. You let your eyes flutter open as Katsuki pulls his hand away.

Before he can wipe his fingers down, you grab his wrist and pull them up to your mouth. He looks at you startled at first before he realizes, a look of pure lust settling on his features. Carmine red eyes stare down at you hard as you lick your cum off of his hand with a tired smile.

"Take more pictures for me to get off on and come fuck me before we go, okay?"

"Fucking evil little brat." He hisses, kissing you. He moans when he tastes you on him. "Don't think about anything but me while I'm gone."

You shake your head, trying to make sense of anything. "Don't think I could."

He laughs good-naturedly, kissing you again. "Damn right,"

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou smut #bnha smut #writing tag #I CANT BELIEVE THIDFHGKJSLDJJGN #what goes on. its 8am

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azullumi · 1 year ago

Note

trying different types of kissing with scaramouche?💔 like forehead, neck kisses, hand or anything at all....

“say yes to heaven” ; wanderer/scaramouche

summary — ultimately, he really does just want to be loved, behind the many layers of him to hide all that yearning and longing. but how can he say it when love, for him, was a synonym to forgiveness; alternatively, different kisses with him, with each one signifying a progressing relationship.

pairing — scaramouche/wanderer (w/ gender-neutral reader) ; could imagine this with either but i wrote this with wanderer in mind

tags — established relationship, fluff, a little bit of angst, not proofread, 1.1k ; ficlet

note — i needed an excuse to write a fic that is just all about kissing him and also comforting him (but still, i hope u like this nonnieee!!)

i. hand

You hold his hand and press small kisses on his knuckles, a little bit ticklish it was for him but he doesn’t retract. The feeling of it makes something in his chest ache with an unfamiliar sensation, and he knows it’s not his heart because he never had any.

You kiss the back of his hand, an intimate gesture, like devotion, like he was something—or someone—that should be adored.

“I am no god.” He was no deity to be worshiped so why are you so gentle to him? He wasn’t made of glass nor is he fragile; he was born from ashes of a burned home, he was carved out of war and winter storms and everything that you could ever pray against, he was a symphony composed of nothing but bad luck and conflicting melodies—he was not the kind people would choose to be around, much less adore.

And as if you bear a part of him in your mind, you understood what he was trying to say, could hear the questions that tormented him, could see the conflicted look on him as he looks at you with a gaze that seems to scrutinize your being when only he is looking for an answer. He tries to look for a crack, a gap in your expression, so that he can look through it and see what you’re really thinking.

“You don’t have to be one to be loved.” You press one last kiss on his hand just as you finished speaking, looking up to him. Indigo blue orbs met yours in a gentle gaze, eyes filled with affection only for the other to drown in. If he could put all that he was feeling, all that he was asking and seeking an answer to, into a simple word, it all condenses to: why?

“Do you still have doubts?” You ask, despite knowing the answer. He opens his mouth only to close it again, looking for the words that he should say but chose to be silent instead. And you smile—not a beaming grin nor a subtle paint on your features, but something gentle and comforting as if you’re assuring him: it’s okay, I understand you. I know you.

“You’re not unloveable.”

Loving him wasn’t the hardest thing to do, it came to you naturally as if breathing but the man thinks otherwise. A burnt child who loves the fire will only hear the fact that he is loveable, people just choose not to.

“How do you know that?” You know him well enough to hear the way his voice trembles at the effort to allow himself to be vulnerable. Long was the fall of the tall and formidable walls that he built around him.

“You’re not unloveable.” You repeat, taking hold of his fingers to kiss his hand once more. “Am I not enough proof of that?”

ii. forehead and cheeks

You cupped his cheeks and kissed his forehead, an unspoken language of tenderness in which he took a long time to understand. When love and affection has finally been given to him after decades of yearning, he’s unsure of how to hold it in his hands—does he gently hold it with both? Every bit overwhelms him to the bone, the gratifying yet intense feeling seeps through his being and settles inside of him in a way that it slowly consumes the crevices of his mind, until all that is left of him is nothing but a starved man who only longs for the feeling of your skin against his own.

There was a flicker of warmth in his expression and he closed his eyes as he relished in your kindness, your hands cradling his cheeks with warmth that coaxed his entire existence, your lips pressing against his forehead softly. Then, you started to pepper his face with small kisses and the man could only surrender to your touch, a dance of vulnerability and intimacy as he crumbled into your hold.

No one has ever come this close to him (a closeness that was a stranger to the pages of his past, a tender note composed solely for him), no one and nothing.

You spoke, murmuring against his skin and close to his lips: “Sunshine.” Humor weaves through your tone, teasing the absurdity of the mismatched title and the man who wears it with subtle grace.

“Don’t call me that.” He snarks yet no bite. It’s ironically funny how you use that nickname on him despite him being the complete contrast of it; he stands as the living paradox of the word itself.

The sound of laughter bubbles up in your throat and you answer, “Why not? It suits you perfectly, don’t you think?”

What else should you call the man who grasps the warmth and tender light in his chest only the sun could give? To be with him was to sit in the autumn sunlight, to sleep in the comfort of your sheets when the rain patters against your window, to walk barefoot on the sand even if it feels like shards of glasses against your sole, to be with him was to simply exist; you’ve never met anyone who had the sun for a soul and he has never met anyone who had the stars in their eyes, and while you had the universe etched on the palm of your hands, he has your name engraved on his.

iii. lips

Your lips ghost against his own, albeit in a tantalizing manner, teasing and quite slow—but he wasn’t a patient man.

“Are you going to kiss me or what?” He whispers and you don't waver at his straightforwardness, having been used to this note. There was no hostility in his tone, just pure and raw desperation and desire to feel you.

You could imagine the eye roll he would give you had he not had his eyes closed at the moment, could imagine the frown on his expression while he spoke and could imagine it faltering soon when you finally kissed him, slow as if to savor the softness of his lips and how it reminds you of spring; he could not properly express the warmth on his chest at the thought of how you love him when he still tasted of heartache and war.

You part from him but remained close, foreheads pressed against one another, breathing heavily, and looking into each other’s eyes. You wanted to tell him that you will find him in every lifetime, but the silence between you two was enough to convey such strong affections that you could hear him respond: And I will love you in each one.

(And he somehow finds himself thinking at the same, this is what he deserves. He’d do these, these vulnerable moments where he lays himself bare for you to touch and hold even if you’ll see the scars and cracks on his skin, the falling and getting hurt despite the fear, the burning and constant searching for something, he’ll do it all over again—if it’s you.)

If someone were to ask him what forgiveness tastes like, he would utter your name—everything that he has ever longed for came in the form of you. And he fears that this longing will last forever even while you’re here, that this longing will grow even when he crumbles to dust, that this longing will outlive this body and weave life into the earth that swallows your existence.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #genshin #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x you #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche imagines #scaramouche x reader #wanderer scaramouche #genshin wanderer #genshin impact wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer fluff #wanderer genshin #azul.writes

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catiuskaa · 7 months ago

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SAUVAGE.

jupiter, you’re hard (to get).

sum. jupiter may not smell like woody ambery trails or smoky accents, and he may seem like just a really big planet who’s really far away, but juno will always find him.

wc. 3.2k

cw. spacecrafts, stars, and planets, roman mythology, kudos to sabrina carpenter’s juno, producer!reader x idol!han, friends2lovers, a beer (if i must content warn you, i will) smut! car! heavy on kisses with a side of unprotected piv sex (don’t!) switch!jisung x switch!reader (undefined tbh)

scent. (♡) the perfume saga.

[🔺☆ 🚀 ☆🔺]

Jupiter is the fifth planet from the Sun and the largest in the Solar System.

It is a gas giant with a mass more than two times that of all the other planets in the Solar System combined, and slightly less than one-thousandth the mass of the Sun. Its diameter is eleven times that of Earth, and a tenth that of the Sun. Its name derives from that of Jupiter, the chief deity of ancient Roman religion. Jupiter orbits the Sun at a distance of 5.20 AU (778.5 Gm), with an orbital period of 11.86 years.

However, Han Jisung isn’t quite as big or gaseous. He likes to believe he isn’t made up of metallic hydrogen, but rather stardust, he had said once —and you remembered, of course, because how couldn’t you—. He isn’t the oldest planet in the Solar System. He doesn’t run hotter than the Sun. He doesn’t have many many moons (95!) that spend ages to rotate around him.

Well. Not moons, anyways.

Juno is a NASA space probe orbiting the planet Jupiter.

It was built by Lockheed Martin and is operated by NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory. Juno entered a polar orbit of Jupiter in 2016 to begin a scientific investigation of the planet. After completing its mission, Juno was originally planned to be intentionally deorbited into Jupiter's atmosphere, but has since been approved to continue orbiting until contact is lost with the spacecraft.

Thing is. You’re not a spacecraft either. You weren’t built by whoever Lockheed Martin is. You can’t orbit around planets. And most definitely, you don’t keep in contact with NASA. Nevertheless, a part of you can’t help but relate, because, somehow, even after your mission was ultimately done, you couldn’t stop orbiting around Jupiter.

Well. Not Jupiter, anyways.

you: let’s do some cardio next day

jisungie🎀💫: cardio, you say? 😏

jisungie🎀💫: not even a coffee before taking me to your place? 🤨📸

Jupiter couldn’t even reach to make you feel the giddiness that Han somehow could trigger and make it overcome you. You kicked your feet, but when you entered and found your reflection in the elevator mirror, you clicked your tongue.

“Don’t be such a schoolgirl”, you mumbled to yourself, pressing the button, and heading up back home.

you: tsk tsk, you’re always thinking about food

And you’re always thinking about him, a mean voice in your head snapped back at you. You cursed, damning your own mind for betraying you. But, to spare you, it wasn’t that serious, you thought. You two interacted just the right amount.

He was an idol, for god’s sake. You weren’t catching feelings. That would be dumb on your side, the least.

So of course, when your phone chimes in the specific ringtone that, of course, you hadn’t set just for his contact, of course, you didn’t almost drop your purse when you read what he replied.

jisungie🎀💫: as if, silly

jisungie🎀💫: i ain’t eating no one for free

The text made you dizzy, so you forced yourself to back off from replying the first thing that came to mind.

Hungry? Eat me.

“Think straight for once,” you cursed out loud, passing your hands through your hair. Closing the door to your apartment and knocking your shoes off while your mind went off to other, far more interesting places and memories.

You clearly remembered the moment you met quirky, loveable Han Jisung. How inevitable it had been to just start orbiting around him with the excuse of your mission— producing one of his solos for an upcoming skz-record.

Headphones. It had been such a silly first encounter, yet so fitting for you two that you couldn’t help but cherish it dearly.

Lost in thought, you hadn’t been paying attention to where you were headed. Neither had he, and, which had ended with a little crash against each other. A meteor, not quite as devastating as so to kill a couple dinosaurs, but to leave a crater in your heart and create a small moon out of the pieces that scattered away shyly.

“Sorry!” You bowed your head, then stared at him.

“Hi,” he had said in a sheepish tone, hints of panting that you attributed to how he must’ve run back in hopes of catching you. “Guess you like wave to Earth too?”

And while he giggled, you told yourself you weren’t going to fall, but both Jupiter and Juno knew.

They had said the same thing about Rome.

jisungie🎀💫: entering jyp

you: at 21:43? jeez

jisungie🎀💫: what? i ain’t afraid of success bbg 💪

jisungie🎀💫: come over if you want

What would happen with any other person was that they’d smile and turn off their phone.

Well. Not Juno.

Not you, no.

[🔺☆ 🚀 ☆🔺]

The studio smelled like bubble tea, and that’s how you knew he was still there.

“Oh, hey! I wasn’t sure if you were coming in.” Han smiled.

Sleepiness oozed off of him, and you grinned, cleaning the table from leftover crumbles as you set your bag down. Your heart twirled imaginary hairs when Jisung’s hands —hands with several rings, something that could sometimes be a lot to manage— left the keyboard and settled on his thighs, softly stroking them as he turned the chair to face you.

“Yeah. Wanted to work on a demo I owe to the girls,” you mentioned, taking your jacket and your mask off.

“Actually,” he started, and your hands tingled with the feeling that you’d help him in whatever he needed. Damnit, hands. Damn you, heart. “Could you help me with this demo? Jeonginnie asked me to go over it.”

You sipped from your own drink, as if to fake giving it a bit of a thought. You were going to say yes, of course. But instead, you scratched your arm, frowning lightly.

“Innie asked you?”

“It’s for his solo stage.” He clarified, turning back to face the computer. “We all have them for our tour.”

The way he entered the recording booth seemed distant, and a part of you couldn’t help but wonder why as you fidgeted with your necklace and settled everything on the desk comfortably. Ji turned the light off, something slightly weird. He never did that with you, after all these years, and considering you two were the only ones there, you asked.

“Is it a high register?” You wondered, pressing the button on your left so he could hear you in his headphones. You blinked when you saw his figure slightly jolt in something like surprise.

“Uh, no. It’s just the… style of the song,” he giggled, putting his beanie on and tucking in the hairs that fell over his eyes.

Oh. That’s the one you gifted him.

“Sure. Mind if I give it a listen first?”

“Go ahead,” he replied without looking at you through the window.

Helping him came off naturally. The track for the girls was an excuse, one you had already forgotten. And as he started singing, you weren’t sure you’d remember any time soon.

“T-those are some bold lyrics, huh?”

Hallucination.

Jisung covered his eyes with his beanie, giggling.

“It’s Innie’s fault. He gets it from Chan.”

“What’s Chan’s solo about?” You asked with a laugh.

You didn’t expect Jisung to stare at you and swallow dry.

“He says it’s about trains.” He shrugged, as if he had remembered suddenly that he was supposed to answer your question.

When you both were done, it was late. Really late. He insisted you two grabbed a beer in the convenience store nearby, but you took a juice, claiming you had to drive.

“I’ll uh, I’ll get the bus, seriously,” he raised his hands as you both exited the store, beer in hand.

“Ji,” you deadpanned, finishing your juice. Thank God you liked him, because sometimes you wanted to hit him. Softly. With a pillow. “Shut up. I’m taking you.”

[🔺☆ 🚀 ☆🔺]

“How come I didn’t remember you have a driver's license?” Han smiles sheepishly.

The drive to his apartment is silent, as if you two were submerged in a no-conversation. No words, no nothing, just the sound of the tires against the asphalt and the yellow lights from the streetlights that lightened your way.

It’s late enough that there are little to no cars on the driveway. But weirdly, Jisung sips from his beer and sighs.

“Actually, could to take a left here?” He says softly, his voice surprisingly low.

“That’s not the way to your apartment, is it?” You ask, as softly as him, turning anyways.

“Nah, it’s this place I found and I wanted to show you.”

Alcohol doesn’t get easy to him —not from a beer, at least—, but he’s smiling like silly, and you can’t help but smile too.

You park where he tells you, and surely enough, there’s no one there. It’s a secluded, empty area, far from the center and high enough so that the city can be seen clearly.

“Think I left my jacket here last time I came.” He snickers, and you can’t help but chuckle. His hand travels to your knee and he squeezes it gently. “I’ll come back in just a second.”

One blink. Two blinks.

Hot fucking damn.

Your head falls against the steering wheel as soon as he closes the door.

Get your shit together.

Looking up, the car tells you it’s way past midnight. Your head tells you you’re crazy, your heart giggles at the fact, guilty as charged. Sighing, you raise your face enough to look at the stars. Only to find Jisung’s silhouette, now with a dark jacket on, waving at you as he stands in front of the car.

You’re blushing, but you wave haphazardly, smiling, and still frown when instead of getting back to his seat, Jisung goes and opens your door instead.

“Hey,” he giggles, and your grin matches with his.

“What are you doing?”

Jupiter can sometimes be seen from Earth, when the Sun’s light hits it just right and the night is dark. Still, its shimmer doesn’t compare to that of Jisung’s eyes when he rests his forearms on the car’s roof and bends down to your height. You haven’t moved, your own eyes fixated on how he licks his lips.

“I think I’m being stupid,” he chuckles. You’re a goner, not even noticing how his hand slides in for a moment and turns the headlights off, leaving you two only illuminated by the shy light in the car that indicates that the door is open and by the moonlight, who cheekily shines at the both of you.

Instead, you blink. Normally you just get him, just as he gets you, but you’re almost as lost as how you feel when you stare into his dark brown eyes.

“Stupid?” You smile lightly. “Why?”

At your tender tone, Jisung lets his head fall down, shyness getting the best of him. And yet the little alcohol he’s had boosts him back.

“I, uh, had a dream. Been having these dreams for like, a bit over a month,” he swallows dry, much like he did at the studio, and his eyes suddenly feel darker than before, maybe because his gaze stops avoiding yours for longer than a minute.

A meteor shower threatens to fall over your heart.

“You were there. And I was there, too.”

For someone who composes and uses words for a living, he was struggling a lot to piece together what he wanted to say.

“This… there was… this… feeling, like, inside of me. Here.”

Not only does he not use his hand, but he takes yours from the steering wheel and settles it over his chest. His heart.

You’re frozen. Completely out of it. Is it possible that maybe you fell asleep in the studio and that none of this is real? Could that be it, you wonder, until Jisung groans and leans his forehead against the roof of the car with a thud.

“I’m being an idiot, am I?” He snickers, with an undertone that lingers in something that resembles resignation. “I just- I saw you the other day, and I was… you were with Hyunjin, and I…” he clenches his fist, and he tries to back off, rubbing his face and passing them through his hair.

“No, Ji, wait.”

He chuckles breathlessly. “I made it awkward, right?”

“Ji.”

Your hand pulls him back closer by the zipper of his jacket, and only the crunchy-like sound of the gravel beneath him as he walks echoes through the night and follows how you move your hands toward his wrists. Towards his own hands, stopping him from picking on his nails further.

“Tell me, Ji,” you mumble. “What were you saying?”

His voice threatens to tremble before he speaks. His eyes don’t move from yours, and you think you’re completely out of your mind, just as much as he thinks of himself too.

“I keep having these dreams where I see you and the ache of wanting you swells up in me, like I’m on a raft that’s sinking and I just can’t even escape thinking about you when I sleep because I-”

He’s rambling, but with a sudden move from your side, he’s not anymore.

The cold of November doesn’t hit you when you stand up bluntly and you link your arms behind his neck and kiss him like you have been wanting to do for years.

His lips crash against yours like the sea crashes against the sharp rocks against the shore, even if the coast is much further away than you think, but you don’t mind, because you can’t think.

You’re kissing him. Finally.

You’re kissing Han Jisung.

And then, just a beat after what you’ve done —what you’re doing— sinks in, he reacts. His hands travel underneath your jacket and in the blink of an eye, he’s letting you push him against the car. No words, no nothing, only the scent of his cologne that suddenly fills you.

You tremble beneath him, and he pants.

He’s not blinking, his eyes glued to you. He can’t think either.

You should say something. What should you say? ‘Me too’? That’s lame. How come your brain can’t work when you most need it?

As if to answer your question, Han kisses you this time. Of course you can’t think, not when his hands travel underneath your clothes and he twists you in a way that somehow it’s your back against the car now. He’s not breathing, and neither are you, because you’re not kissing anymore, not when your lips can feel the teasing dent of his teeth nibbling on them and when the only thing you can taste is his tongue.

You’re not against the car anymore, because he closes the driver’s door with a kick and he opens the one to the backseats while he keeps kissing you.

Crazy. You’ve gotta be, because dreaming something as wild as this and for it to feel real, as real as it gets, as real as it could ever be, it has to mean you’re crazy. And you’d die on that hill if it means you get to keep dreaming how Jisung takes his newly-found jacket off and throws it to the front seat, in the same foreign path as where he throws his shirt, or how you two barely fit in the car and so he settles his knee between your legs to help you move back enough so that he can close the door.

And now you’re there. Alone together.

He gasps against your neck, as if he remembered that he had to keep breathing to live, and you don’t lose your opportunity, taking your sweater off and throwing it towards the trunk.

You lean your head back, the car feeling heavy with only the sounds of both him and you panting.

“I… fuck, I need you to tell me you want this.” Han swallows dry. “I need you to say it. Please. I want this too much.”

A meteor shower? Scratch that. This is a meteor storm.

“I think this is a dream, but still, I want you. Please.”

No words, no nothing, just the sound of the leather against your sweaty skin when you sit up straight and kiss Jisung like you mean it. It’s all nasty, teeth and tongue and a string of saliva that lingers when you break the kiss to fumble with his zipper.

“What if it is a dream,” you gasp, out of breath, out of control, completely and irrevocably out of it as your eyes stare at his. “I want you. Even if I wake up right now.”

Your shirt is discarded as fast —if not faster— than the rest of your clothes before.

“So if it is a dream, let’s keep going until we wake up.” You swallow dry too. “Until the stars can’t be seen.”

The kiss is like a heroin kick, although it is one that seems familiar. Or maybe it’s that your lips have become used to kissing his, considering that breathing has become a second priority with how raw is the need to consume him. A wave of pleasure takes claim inside of you with each caress of his tongue, with every touch of his fingers on your back, with every eager breath next to your jaw. He pulls you closer and moans with his mouth buried in your skin unfinished phrases that drive you crazy little by little —more than you already were.

“It may end right away,” Jisung says in a hoarse voice, clinging to one of the headrests that are closest to him. “But I’ll make it up to you. With my mouth. Or with my fingers. Or both. Yes, fuck...”

It’s a mix of quick and ruthless kisses, mouths open. Wet and urgent, almost in bites, as if you’d want to eat the other alive as he takes his pants off and helps you with yours, going down to kiss your neck.

“You’re so... f-fuck, ah...” he mumbles while he runs his tongue down your throat and to your collarbone. “I never want to wake up.”

His lips taste like the feeling that overcomes you when you look at the sky on a starry night. Emotion. Ecstasy. You want to drink it whole until there’s not a single drop left. Drink him.

Jisunh squeezes your ass, while your mouths are a mess, while he bites your lip and pulls it, smiling like a cheeky bitch, while your mouths fight for the control of the kiss and your tongue caresses his, and before you can piece together that the windows are foggy because of the two of you, he’s sliding inside, his hand lacing with yours.

God, you want to moan. Moan so loud. And so you do, because there’s nothing in this dream that could stop you.

And he moans, too, because you are like a dream come true.

Juno and Jupiter.

[🔺☆ 🚀 ☆🔺]

~kats, who accidentaly went full autism, space and mythology on the meaning of ‘juno’ by Sabrina Carpenter.

catiuskaa, november 2024 ©

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saylor-twift · 11 months ago

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“he loves you, but he would never say that to your face.”

“-but he would never admit that.”

“-but he would never tell you.”

???

Are you sure? I am an avid tumblr stalker, and I’ve read so many things on silly little hat man in my time. I’ve seen things that tore my heart to pieces, that patched it up, that made me want to rip my guts out and throw up, that made me feel on top of the world.

And yet this is the one thing that bothers me so very much. I know, everyone has their own interpretations and opinions on different characters. So let me share my own.

The Wanderer is such a deeply written and intricate character, strung together with deep fears and insecurities, tragic backstories, and a beautiful story of change, healing, and moving forward. (I hate hate hate it when he is forced down to the level of nothing but oversexualization and “uwu sexy anime boy”, but that’s a conversation for another time.)

I’m sure if you’re reading this, you’re probably acquainted with Wanderer’s backstory, so I’m not going to explain. A lot of shit happened that made him who he is, and ever since the events of Irminsul, he has taken on a new path that he cannot go back on. Not like he’d ever want to. He said it himself, he never had any intention of returning to the Fatui. (And also- why choose to go backwards when you’ve got such a nice path set ahead of you?)

Anyways, point is, he’s changing. Notice how I said changing. He’s not changed, he’s just starting to. He’s getting there. Which brings me back to my argument. In the case that Wanderer ends up with a partner, things are certainly not going to be like a normal relationship. (He’s got plenty of red flags, don’t even try to deny it. But he’s a fictional character, so I suppose we can let this one slide.) Is he going to make the first move? That depends on if you make him desperate enough. Otherwise, it’s all on you, babe.

He’s not going to take it well. He’s going to deny it as hard as he can. You don’t love him, how can you? He is the furthest thing from loveable as you can get on this godforsaken planet. (His thoughts, not mine) But he certainly loves you, and, albeit with some likely pressuring assistance from Nahida, he’s come to terms with that terrifying knowledge.

“But he wouldn’t admit that to you.”

STOP. STOP RIGHT THERE.

Here is where my controversial opinion comes in. Most people tend to portray Wanderer as this cold, cut-off, aloof and irritable man, even in a relationship. And before you say anything, no, I absolutely do not think he would be the lovey-dovey, sappy, overly caring and romantic type. He’s not on either end of the spectrum, but I do think he’s somewhere in the middle (but probably leaning towards the former side).

Love is so, so very scary to him. And downright unknown. He’s traversing into uncharted waters here, give him some space to figure things out. That being said, he’s testing these waters. He’s not going to say he loves you at the beginning of a relationship. He has to make sure this thing is going to work. Your relationship is a newly built bridge, and those three words are the heavy cargo passing through. Without a strong foundation, the bridge is going to collapse, no questions asked. The only problem is, it’s going to take a long, long time to build that bridge. It’s going to be more expensive, more time consuming, and cost more materials than you had originally bargained for.

But that cargo can’t sit on one side of the bridge forever, can it? No, it has to get to the other side at some point. So if you have the patience to give your time to this bridge, the cargo will find its way to the other side. The foundation may wobble, the planks may shake, but the bridge isn’t going down.

He loves you, and he would admit it out loud. He would say it to your face. Just maybe not as soon as you want it. It’s going to hurt, and you’re going to wonder if he actually cares for you or not. Fear not, because if you pay attention to those little things he does when you’re not looking, it will feed you those little crumbs you need till you can finally be satiated when the full meal is done cooking. He mends things for you, things you had given up on because you’d never have the time nor energy to do it yourself. He cooks, and surprisingly, it’s always your preferences. He collects things that remind him of you, some he keeps out of embarrassment, and some he leaves on your bedsheets whenever you’re not home.

He’s been hurt, abandoned, and betrayed far too many times to immediately let himself fall into something as complicated as a relationship. He’s going to be distant, you’re going to disagree, probably fight a bit. He’s just seeing how far he can bend the lines, how much you really want him. (red flag maybe!! but he’s working on it, it’s going to be okay. mayyyybe you can look past just this one…) If you won’t leave even if he does this, then he thinks, maybe you’re the one. Maybe fate decides to treat him benevolently for once.

And when you finally, finally get to that point, he’s going to drown you so deep you can never get out. He’ll say he loves you, does everything in his power to make sure you never forget it. (no, he’s not going to read you love poems in the moonlight and call you darling. sorry if that’s your thing, that’s not who he is.)

This relationship will never be perfect, but relationships never are. Just as long as the two of you are willing to be patient with the other and get through your differences and clashing personalities, you are going to mold together perfectly. And even if he doesn’t say it often, (which he probably won’t. he’s certain you know it. why repeat something already ingrained into your mind? he doesn’t use those words lightly), it’s not like he’ll never say it. He won’t leave you in the dark for too long. He loves you, don’t worry. He’ll say it, but he prefers to show it.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #saylor’s thoughts #wanderer #wanderer x reader #hoyoverse #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #he’s so mean lowkey but i love him #i mean #he really would try to be better for you #why would he want to be the cause of your suffering #it’s hard for him to say sorry tho #but i think he could do it with time

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directdogman · 2 months ago

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Finished Roger route. HOOOLYYY SHIT. First of all, you really REALLY are outdoing yourself with the comedy. I've been thinking of gnomes since the first one popped up. Second, HOLY SHIT AGAIN. THE WAY HE TALKS ABOUT HIS EX, AND HOW HE'S BEEN CONDITIONED?? the way he's literally the best abuse victim rep I've seen ever and he is oh so autistic and he is equal parts "makes bad decisions and takes things at face value"/"has deep and complex feelings and experiences and an ability to express them when he needs to". Genuinely HEALED me. Also I love the side characters. Omair? Have been thinking of him all day. Fabron? Never thought I'd like a French person but here we are. I could go on and gush about everything I love about DT but I'd be going on for hours. Just know Dialtown has changed my life and is one of my biggest special interests. Dialtown is so creative and loveable and u can see the love and effort and time and personality put into every single bit. I don't see myself ever NOT loving DT. Thank you, hound.

Thank you! I'm glad to hear you really liked Roger's route!

Roger's character was something Hollister (his VA/route cowriter) and I brainstormed for quite a long time. We really wanted to get a good balance with the character and not ruin his complexity by amplifying any one trait to the point it'd override the others. He's silly, whimsical, tragic, relatable and absurd all at once. He's an instant recipe for chaos/conversational disorder if you had him to any conversation, but also has enough depth to carry solo scenes and a narrative built around him!

As long as the script for his route is (96k or so words, not counting what was cut?) both of us were still not 100% happy with the ground we'd covered and choosing to actually finish the DLC itself was really tough. His route is already the largest in the game, but we STILL wanted to keep going, even though the route had been in production for so long and I had other projects to move onto.

I think that love for the character does show in the route, though! It's fair to say this won't be Roger's last appearance :)

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ptej1980 · 3 months ago

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Any thoughts on this? On Saturday, Nic liked the Netflix post, “Can Colin fight?” And JVNs quote following the London trip a day later that included The lyrics to the Lily Allen song 😭. That essentially said name her, asking us to look up those lyrics. Do you think it’s a subtle way of saying… Luke made a choice with A, it hurt Nicola, she turned to her friends over the summer, and now he’s coming back to her with regrets?

Just thoughts, though I do like to believe Luke and Nic are together. The SAG awards showed him being so enamored with her especially.. it’s just hard to believe if they are together they wouldn’t just come out and be done with it..

Hmmm….Firstly after everything we have seen and know I don’t think we need to look into the above IG activity too hard and over analyse.

I can understand why you may think 🤔 and wonder if it has some greater meaning and honestly if that is your thoughts then I don’t hold it against you as you have been incredibly polite and questions are always welcome.

Nic has put some very obvious signs out there, chaos week in August and then again in October with coordinated posts. IMO, liking a post of herself where she looks smoking hot. 🔥 yes it refers to Colin, however if you go through the IG post it also refers to real life couples. So I think it was just a like from our loveable chronically online Nic

JVN is always a little cryptic we know he likes to serve the tea and he has in the past actually been quite obvious in his posts and suggestions. This song I feel could be in reference to any number of people or situations and because I am confident in my ship this does not bother me.

I like to remind myself of every morsel and crumb that we have been given. And 3 things

1. Polaroid 2 rings 3 proximity, heart eyes soulmate energy.

Polaroid is a grid post, she is also wearing her rings in a Grid Post.

Your main question was “If they are together why do they not come out and just say do”.

Ok so I will first pose the question for the other side of the coin, if Nic or Luke with there adjacent (especially Luke). Why would his PR team work so hard to remove traces of her off his SM, ask her to remove her tags of him, and shut down and remove editable feature on wikerpedia delete all that says he was in a relationship with her? Why is she nowhere on his SM not a story, or a tag for either event he took her to. Why did look miserable at those events and we heard him say “let’s get this done”. If he was in a relationship with her why would he interact with his costar like he does. You know who is in his IG grid a lot ….Nic. Vice versa Luke is the main feature in hers.

There are many theories as to why they may not have gone public. I am a firm ring Truther hard core Lukola shipper who has never jumped so many things have puzzled me.

1. NDA/PR is the most common reason that fandom has speculated. I feel that this plays a big part in why they may not have launched. They are following the stipulations of a contract and keeping the personal lives private.

2. Professional credibility. There love is literally art imitating life. Luke and Nic built a solid friendship both admitting they are best friends that have a great love for each other. The delay in launch may be simply because they want to be taken seriously as actors.

I think it may be a combination of the two. They both have worked so hard and to have it judged as just besties falling in love would be hard, they also seem to have to overcome some hurdles and navigate this new chapter of their life with their family. The hurdle might be annoying but it is providing privacy.

I hope this helps alleviate any concerns or confusion. Thanks 🙏 for the ask 💛🐝

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kaycapo · 6 months ago

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AvA 11 spoilers

That

That was so

Holy shit?? That was AMAZING!!

The beginning was just- my jaw was on the ground. Victim wasn't just unsaved, he was reincarnated constantly into new bodies, over and over for almost an entire year.

That would've been absolute hell. More than just hell. I don't know how I could describe it. He was brutally tortured in varies ways. Killed with so much horrible pain. He was literally slowly erased from existence at some point. That pain must've been excruciating.

Only for him to be revived again and again. Back to the torturous hell he was forced in.

And when he escaped? He was left with so much trauma. He would've been totally terrified. Probably terrified that Alan would come back, and he'd be trapped in that PC again. Tortured over and over with no escape. Alan and his team did an amazing execution of that. Because even years after his escape, it still affected him, for obvious reasons. Yeah, he slowly started overcome that trauma, but it never truly went away.

And Mitsi? Oh, I love her! She's amazing!! There's something about her that just makes her so loveable! Although, personally, I'm quite disappointed she had been reduced to the love interest that was killed. Perfect for angst - disappointing for her as a character. I would've prefered it if she wasn't a love interest for Victim honestly. I think a best friends or sibling dynamic for them would've been better. But regardless, I still love their dynamic! They're adorable!!

Too bad she fucking died.

Another thing I'm disappointed about is the fact that Chosen was the one to kill her. I didn't like the thought of Cho being the one responsible for his torture, but, whatever. I am also very disappointed to not have seen more of Dark, but again whatever.

What Cho and Dark did, however, is perfect for Victim's trauma and angst. Bringing up all those horrible memories again. Sending him spiralling into a depressive, angry, revengeful state. And looking at those pictures on the walls, (where Vic is sitting on a chair in the scene) it seems like his mental state took a total dive to insanity.

Mitsi's death took a massive hit on him. No wonder he was so sadistic towards Chosen. Everything he had built, years of creating to give himself a happy life after so much despair and torture - destroyed within minutes.

Man, poor Victim.

Alan was fucking evil back then.

#alan becker #ava11 #alan was so evil and I'm living for it #I adore victim's angst so much #I LOVE THIS EPISODE #ava #animation vs animator #animation vs minecraft #avm #ava victim #ava chosen #ava dark #ava alan

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unicornachos2 · 2 months ago

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After finishing ROTE I'm trying to sort out my feelings about Robin Hobb as an author and it's sO hard. I've never had such a complicated relationship with an author while reading a series I don't think.

I think it comes down to her being... Kind of erratic and very contradictory in her work?

Like, she often seems to have amnesia about what she's built up in a character and then writes them differently like... Fitz learns and says things and then a book later he's back flipped or forgotten completely (perhaps bc RH herself forgets how he feels or what he's said in previous books? Which leads to inconsistent characterisation?) Some of how Beloved is written at the end of Ass Fate.... Idk if it's just BC it's from Bee's perspective, but there's stuff there narratively that makes no sense... Or maybe it does after all the trauma Beloved experienced? The way she wrote Nettle in tawny man vs how differently she's written in F&F....the way characters are inconsistently written bc the plot needs them to do certain things at certain moments.....

The way she has Beloved seriously question comphet gender stereotyping in ass quest and then.... Proceeds to nonstop write comphet gender stereotyping nonsense everywhere you look throughout the entire fucking series

Her writing of women and the way she pairs up any two cis characters of opposite sex who will stand next to each other just to make them reproduce as if she's Burrich forcing two horses together pisses me the fuck off, and I've already talked about that. P.S. on this. wHY did we need Lant/Spark? Insane.

Ass apprentice and royal assassin were absolute slogs for me, where I wasn't actually enjoying what I was reading and actively did not enjoy most of those books, but felt a very strong need to keep reading just to see what would happen?

Killing Chade offscreen after being with him for 16 entire books, never seeing Mercor again, Wintrow's weird fade-out in the series despite having so much focus in liveships

The way she wrote about ableism and disability with the dragons and rain Wilders was suuuuper flawed and I wish she hadn't gone there bc of how badly it was done. Thick could have literally been called anything else and nothing would have changed in the story

The way the story tries to be realistic in some areas and wildly unrealistic in others and how often it feels like whiplash

The way so many important things just go unfinished or skimmed over at the end of her books BC she seems to run into her word limit or something

And the magic systems just straight up make zero sense if you think about any of it too hard- whatever happens happens bc it serves the plot

And I think finally, this weird idea that I've never come across in any other series, about needing to choose between the people you love that permeates throughout ROTE. The way the author fabricates this false choice, where you have to choose who you love most and stay with them and them only. Burrich's "a horse can't wear two saddles". How Robin Hobb underscores the beauty of the stone wolf scene by needing to have Fitz remark to Bee that she lied well (indicating that he does in fact love Bee more than Beloved). How Molly would have spurned Nighteyes. How Burrich for some reason had to choose between Patience and Chivalry. Fitz, and countless other characters are always made to clarify or choose between who of their loved ones they "love the most". Again, absolute nonsense.

And then like. Somehow she manages to write the most beautiful prose and the most insane fucking queerbait of all time? (With a big No Homo stamped over all of it). And develops such loveable, flawed, interesting characters, and such engaging world building. Patience's entire existence, and the humour in the series and how insanely funny some moments are. Fitz's friendships with Riddle and Thick. Nighteyes. Bee and Fitz coming to know one another. The edge of your seat moments when you have to keep reading despite the horrible hour just so you can find out what happens. How Beloved and Fitz ultimately do change the world for the better. The life lessons given, and some of the clearest insights into trauma I've ever read. The tiny details that keep you fed to allow you to theorise and speculate. The way she's able to thread one theme throughout narrative, character, and dialogue.

I've never been so conflicted tbh. Like. I can understand why people are obsessed with this series (clearly I'm here in this camp), but I can also totally understand why people would never be able to get into this series, too. Like. I don't think I can ever rec it to anyone I know, just purely based on the final 10 chapters of Ship of Destiny. The fucking weird shit Verity did to Fitz and Kettricken. Like I think there are so many valid reasons why this series isn't as popular as other fantasy series, why it's never been turned into some big GOT style tv show (not that that is in any way a marker of quality, I'm just saying), etc. Like I love it, and I will always love it and I'm going to be thinking about it for the rest of my life, but I also. Did not enjoy or like a lot of ROTE, too. Anyway, two things can simultaneously be true and exist!

So I'm just. I'm processing. Anyway FitzLoved forever peace out

#rach reads rote #rote spoilers

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davenporttf · 2 years ago

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Bear Trap

Jake was a total dick and he was fine admitting it. He had the body to compensate for his short temper and overall unlikeable personality. He liked to think of himself as a real tradie through and through. He didn't care what the other guys thought of him because he knew he could do the job of three men by himself. When it came to the ladies, he was fine cutting things off after they started getting feelings. "Who hurt you?" the last one said when he broke it off. He smiled and replied "That'd be you for having to listen to you."

The crew had been working on a new apartment complex for a few weeks. The days were long and the middle of summer brought some very hot afternoons. Jake was working on installing a new water pipeline to the complex and removing the debris from all the jackhammering. They had been going at it since 7am and with the sun now beaming over him, he was feeling dehydrated. He forgot to bring his own water and was starting to regret it. He signaled over to the other guys that he was going to take a quick 15, and started walking towards the next door apartments.

Typically the neighbors next to their projects hated seeing them because of all the noise. He would see the dirty looks from the balconies but he would just wave at them to piss them off. Today he was going to play nice though, and beg for some water with a smile and an arm flex.

He went up to the first door and rang the doorbell. A few moments later, a loveable bear named Greg answered the door. He filled the door with his sturdy frame, and smiled at Jake. "Can I help you?"

"Hey man, sorry to bother you but I forgot my water today. Could I trouble you for some?" Jake said with the most charming smile he could manage.

"Yeah, of course! Why don't you come in and cool off and I'll grab you some water. I have the AC on." Greg offered kindly.

Jake was not about to pass up some free AC despite his reservations. "Yeah sure. Thanks, man." He entered the studio apartment looking around at Greg's very tidy apartment. "Have a seat on the couch, I'll grab you something to drink" Greg said as he walked to his kitchen.

Jake continued to look around and noticed some of the pride flags posted around the living room. "Awe fuck, a fag. Just great." he thought to himself as he took a seat on the sofa. He didn't like how all the gay guys looked him up and down. He worked hard to look good for the ladies, and felt uncomfortable when men shot glances his way. He had the urge to leave but the AC was feeling great against his skin, so he shoved his disdain to the side.

Greg could sense the hatred from Jake, and his overall douchebag demeanor. He had seen him for a few days now arguing with his coworkers and catcalling the women walking by. He didn't like the ripped guys, and tended to go for bears like himself. He had been living alone for a few years and with the rent about to go up due to the complex being built nextdoor, he was struggling. He didn't have an extra room to split with a roommate, and he wasn't having much luck in the boyfriend department. In the kitchen, Greg came up with an idea to fix his problem. He pulled out a bottle of water from the back of the fridge that he bought from a specialty store he frequented.

Greg walked back into the room and handed Jake the bottle of water. "Here ya go! Feel free to enjoy the air for a bit. You guys really seem to be working hard out there." Jake didn't waste a moment, and started chugging the water. The water tickled going down his throat and the water tasted so refreshing. He continued to chug the water as a bubbly feeling developed in his abdomen. Gurgles began to become audible as his stomach started to expand outward. Jake could feel his waistline pushing out against his jeans becoming more uncomfortable by the second. The water was too refreshing to stop so with his other hand he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down to make room. Jake's pecs softened and inflated, losing definition. His arms became heavier with his biceps growing more doughy. His face rounded and lost it's definition with his chinstrap widening to a full beard.

With one hand on his belly rubbing it for comfort, Jake finished the bottle and looked around at his new form. He wanted to be disgusted with himself but his grip on his prior life was slipping away. He was liking the way he felt more powerful by his size and ran his hands all over. He looked around at the apartment feeling more at home.

"You look good handsome." Greg complimented as Jake looked up at him. Jake could feel himself growing attracted to Greg, especially his handsome features. Memories of them meeting out by the construction yard surfaced. He was always on the heavier side and the crew loved how strong he was moving around the debris. Greg had walked by one day and he couldn't help but catcall him. Luckily, Greg was flattered and found Jake extremely attractive sweating in the hot sun. Moving in together was the greatest thing to happen to him, and it helped that they could split the rent.

Jake started to paw at the bulge in his briefs, thinking of how sexy his boyfriend was. "What's say we cool off more in the shower?" Jake said devilishly. He got up and walked over to Greg adjusting to his newfound size. He took Greg by the hand and lead him into the bathroom for some much needed fun.

#gay tf #mental change #straight to gay #gay bear #male transformation #daddy bear #tradie #blue collar #construction worker #belly gainer #gay gainer

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mlqueen89 · 1 month ago

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pairing: glen powell x f!writer oc (aimee)

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

warnings/triggers: smut in overall series

word count: 5,610

summary: introducing aimee, her hectic life and the phone call that sets her on the path to change.

A/N: the response to this story has already been amazing from just the snippets released. i'm so excited to share this story with you.

aimee (pronounced amy) is a character very close to my heart. probably the realest character i've ever written. she’s a mix of all my favourite real-life people. my smallest hope is that you find a part of yourself in this loveable goof of a woman and realize that things do get better.

endless love goes out to my beautiful beta readers, jess and @marrianena

♥ playlist ♥ taglist ♥ masterlist ♥ next chapter

Victoria, British Columbia, Canada – April 2025

Mornings in the Wright household always started in much the same way: chaotic, loud, too early (so incredibly early for a night owl) and somehow, always with the faint smell of something burning.

Aimee swore under her breath as she swapped out the carafe in one hand to unspool an obscene amount of paper towel to mop up the pool of coffee which she’d somehow managed to not pour into her waiting travel mug. Turning her back on the pan sizzling with the poor attempt at happy face shaped pancakes, she caught the thin wisps of dark smoke curling from the toaster. She stretched to jam the eject button, saving the once whole wheat coloured slices of bread just a fraction of a second before they could turn to absolute, inedible charcoal. When they rocketed up, they still looked like they would serve to coat her stomach with a slight, possibly carcinogenic layer of soot. Maybe she could scrape it off and disguise it with peanut butter. So much for not ruining breakfast today.

“Mom, where’s my other sock? The one with the bears on the unicycles!”

Noah’s voice rang from down the hall, full of the dramatic urgency only a ten-year-old (going on thirty-year-old, Aimee swore) could muster.

“Wherever you left it,” Aimee called back, shaking her head as she hot-potatoed the char-bread and scraped peanut butter over the salvageable half of the toast. Maybe she could just fold it in half? “It’ll be in the last place you look.”

Aimee heard his clomping footsteps on the stairs before Noah appeared in the kitchen a second later as she leaned over to pry a window open to let out the miasma of lingering toaster smoke.

He was pajama-clad, one unicycle brown bear sock in hand, eyes squinting in sleepy frustration. “That’s not helpful.”

Aimee gathered her mug off the counter when she was satisfied the smoke would (eventually) exit through the open window and shot him a look, which she held over her coffee cup as she took a steady sip of the somehow already cold drink. “Neither is losing your sock.”

He huffed but didn’t argue, shoving the piece of toast she handed him into his mouth as he trudged back down the hall, presumably to tear his room apart in search of the missing sock.

This house was much larger than the apartment they’d moved from almost four months ago, but the still packed, vaguely labelled boxes scattered around the house evading organization, created a hoarder-chic vibe as Allie called it.

Well, it’s very you— she’d commented once when Aimee attempted to gamify unpacking while Noah spent the weekend with his dad, a bottle of wine open between them. Very on brand. Allie created a frame with her fingers, a lens through which she viewed the room with a squinted gaze.

Aimee was climbing on a half-collapsed box in front of built-in bookshelves in the room she’d snagged for her home office, a stack of hardcover books tucked under her arm. Open, bright, happy?

I was going to say tornado meets monsoon season— Allie paused to take two deep gulps of the Portuguese Red from the glass in her grip, — but sure, we can go with whatever you just said.

Aimee huffed as the box collapsed under her just as she pushed the books onto a shelf.

They’d only managed to unpack Aimee’s notebooks and her poor, abused laptop before calling it quits for a 90 Day Fiancé marathon.

The laptop had managed to travel down to the kitchen counter where it remained abandoned for the next two weeks.

The theme of Aimee’s life was “never enough time”.

Between making sure Noah had everything he needed (unicycling bear socks, included), blowing past editor deadlines with poorly constructed, barely believable excuses and keeping her life in some semblance of order, Aimee always felt like she coasted to the end of each day on fumes.

Tomorrow is another day was a well-used, if tired mantra.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow she’d sit down and organize her life. Tomorrow she’d figure out her next move. Tomorrow she’d talk to her therapist about why she felt stuck even though time seemed to whiz past her at an unintelligible rate, a rolodex of blurred colour and changing seasons.

Or maybe this was it. Maybe this was all her life was. One book. One failed marriage. One beautiful son.

The ding of her phone pulled her back from the edge of the pending existential spiral.

Best Bitch: Coffee today? You’re doing that weird hermit thing again.

Aimee rolled her eyes though she knew Allie wouldn’t see it, shaking her head as she tapped out a response.

Fine. But only because I need an excuse to change out of these sweats.

Before she could set her phone down, Noah came barreling back into the kitchen, now fully dressed, backpack slung over one shoulder, a triumphant grin on his face.

“Found the sock!” he announced, pointing to his toes, wiggling them.

“Where was it?”

He hesitated, then muttered, “freezer in the garage.”

Aimee opened her mouth, then closed it. She’d learned some things were better left unquestioned. At least she’d never need to question whether he was a Wright, easy going and just a little bit chaotic.

Instead, she handed him his lunchbox and pressed a kiss to the top of his head as she ushered him toward the door. “Let’s go, freezer boy. We’re already late.”

The morning rush was its usual chaotic symphony in the drop-off line—kids spilling out of minivans, the occasional forgotten lunch being waved frantically by a parent out of a half-rolled down window, and the sharp whistle of the crossing guard keeping everything in check.

“Be good. Pay attention in science class—don’t think I haven’t noticed the note in your agenda from Mr. Sutton about horseplay,” Aimee had half swiveled to watch Noah throwing his seatbelt off, wrestling his backpack out of the tangle of reusable grocery bags beside him.

“What does that even mean, anyway? Horseplay?” He echoed the word like it was made up by Tolkein in a fever dream while hanging out with C.S. Lewis.

“I mean, if you’re looking for the origin of the word—”

“Bye, mom!” Noah was already out the SUV, his words punctuated by the slam of the door.

“We’re not done with this conversation, Noah David!” Aimee called after him out the open window as he threaded his arms through his backpack straps, already halfway up the steps when he gave a wave without looking back.

She was moving for the window button when a flurry of sharp click-clacking caught her attention.

Amanda Hollis, PTA queen and self-appointed social coordinator/social media brand manager for the middle school squealed, giddy outside the half-rolled window as she vibrated a flapping wave. She tapped against the glass with perfectly manicured nails in a way that reminded Aimee of the makeup tutorials made by influencers who were not constantly exhausted and clinging to iced coffee out of survival, but choice. I’m using my organic shea butter on my undereye bags.

She was already talking up a category four storm when Aimee rolled down the window, schooling her expression into something neutral.

“Aimee! Oh my God, I’ve been meaning to catch you!” Amanda’s voice was syrupy, stretched with the forced enthusiasm of someone who’d had too much coffee and not enough self-awareness.

“Morning, Amanda,” Aimee could feel that her smile didn’t reach her eyes, her tone carefully corralled into a form of polite.

“Do you know, I was sitting around with my husband, Michael, the other night,” Amanda waved her hand, the one with the wedding band and engagement ring, it clacked on the edge of Aimee’s open window, “and I thought to myself, I should see what all the fuss about my little Ms. Aimee’s book is about and read it!”

Aimee opened her mouth but shut it just as quickly as Amanda continued, a steamroller on a deadline.

“—well, listen to it, because, you know, I have no time to actually sit down and read. Between Ann-Marie’s ballet, swimming and piano lessons and Theo’s karate, married single mom, you know how that is—"

She paused just long enough to toss out the title, like it was the name of a juice cleanse. “Beneath the Surface, right? So dramatic. So raw.”

Aimee often wondered if anyone needed to be present for an Amanda conversation, other than Amanda, of course. All she needed was an echo chamber or a good cavernous hallway.

“—and you wrote all that while going through your divorce? Now a movie too! Those Netflix people are really chomping at the bit to pick up anything these days. I mean, if you could do it, I should totally just go for it myself. Writing a book that is; I have so many ideas stored up here in this ol’ noggin’!”

Amanda gave a tap at her temple with her pink manicured nails.

Aimee’s response was a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah, I mean, that’s great. My advice is—”

Amanda tutted loudly, drawing a hand across her throat exaggeratedly before she leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Actually, I’m having a little dinner party on Saturday—just a small thing, a few couples, some wine, some talk about, you know, creative pursuits. You should come! I’d love to pick your brain. And maybe introduce you to a few people.”

Aimee knew exactly what that meant. Couples. Matchmaking. Conversations about writing that would somehow turn into Amanda’s unsolicited ideas for a novel about a misunderstood suburban mom who just happened to look like her and had it all.

She forced another smile. “That’s really nice of you. I’ll definitely think about it.”

“Great! I’ll text you the details.” Amanda beamed, as if she’d already won. “Bring some of those little cookies you make!”

Aimee rolled up the window as soon as Amanda took a step back. She pulled out of the school lot, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel, exhaling slowly.

She could see it now: sitting at some massive dining table, surrounded by people who looked like they felt sorry for her, politely sipping wine from Moldova or Siciliy while being talked at about a “book idea” that would never see the inside of a Word document.

They’d ask about her agent to which Aimee would tell them that Adrienne currently wasn’t taking on any new clients, but that Aimee would let her know about Amanda and her book that wasn’t a book.

Adrienne had once made Aimee swear on pain of snapping all her favourite pens in half, she would never give Amanda Hollis any contact information, not an email, not the business name of her firm, not a mailing address or even a postal code. On threat of violence against her stationary, Aimee didn’t feel the need to bring up that Adrienne’s LinkedIn was, in fact, public.

After rebuffing the questions about Adrienne, Aimee would sip the wine, smile occasionally, but play a mental game of how she might blend into the farmhouse decor and slip out the back door, into the night, unnoticed.

Maybe this was just how things were going to be.

Maybe she was meant to be alone.

If alone meant no more bad set ups masquerading as insufferable PTA dinners where she had to pretend to be interested in another finance bro’s crypto investments, while Amanda loudly praised the overpriced charcuterie board, she’d “designed” from The Market Garden maybe—just maybe—that was okay.

Honestly? She’d take a quiet night in with a book over that any day.

“You need to get back out there,” Allie announced, stirring her matcha tea latte with an unnecessary force. “It’s getting worse by the day. It reminds me of the end of the Titanic...”

Allie Ng had always been Allie—loud, loyal, and impossible to embarrass.

She’d stood beside Aimee in a bridesmaid dress and a feather boa, depending on which chapter of life required more champagne.

A second-generation Chinese Canadian with a spine of steel and a heart made of chewy center, she could slice someone’s ego in half with a single look—and then insist you take home leftovers in a labeled Tupperware container.

Aimee adored her.

They’d met in eighth grade, when Aimee, a natural-born hugger, had impulsively thrown her arms around Allie after she’d crushed a class presentation on the structure of an atom.

Allie had frozen like a cat encountering a cucumber. “Do I look like someone who enjoys physical contact?” she’d deadpanned, visibly horrified.

Aimee had just grinned and hugged harder. Somehow, that was it. The weird, unshakeable glue of their friendship had dried fast and permanent.

Allie had been Aimee’s maid of honour and the host of her “re-birthday” party when the divorce had been finalized last year. The theme: All Dicks Are Temporary.

Still Allie. Always Allie.

Aimee was already rolling her eyes.

To Allie’s credit, it was a new record. She’d waited 4 minutes and 37 seconds before she mentioned Aimee’s “incurable aloneness” this time, compared to her last record of almost 2 minutes.

The coffee shop was comfortably bustling, a low hum of conversation blending with the occasional hiss of the espresso machine and clatter of cups against tables. Low, in the background, a baseline song hummed over hidden speakers, something that sounded like Jack Johnson and Enya had a music prodigy baby.

“Please, enlighten me,” Aimee encouraged, chin propped up in her hand when Allie had gone quiet, “how does the dating scene compare to the boxed-set masterpiece that made me weep uncontrollably as a nine-year-old?”

Nine? Allie mouthed, “holy shit, Susan Wright. Way to bend the rules...”

Aimee shrugged. “Imagine how awkward it was for me to watch my first on screen sex scene with my mom in a dark theatre....”

Allie made a face that teetered between disgust and cringe and Aimee just nodded, quietly.

“Ok, well, aside from your mom’s questionable movie choices for a nine-year-old,” Allie continued, “basically it’s this: you know the end, with the boats. How they wait too long to go back? And by the time they do, they’re rowing around, looking for survivors, and it’s just... bodies everywhere.” She gestured wildly, pulling out her phone. “That’s us. That’s this. We waited too long, and now we’re out here, paddling through the wreckage, hoping to find one guy who isn’t frozen stiff or covered in red flags.”

Allie tapped away for a minute, grimacing before she turned the phone around, a profile pulled up on one of the dating apps: Doug, 52, Entrepreneur (but ask me what I really do ;)) “Doug” posed next to a fish half his size.

“Why do they always have fish?” Allie demanded, locking the phone and dropping it face down on the table like it personally offended her. “Did I miss the memo where holding a dead trout, or whatever that is, was the ultimate aphrodisiac? Like, you fish and then hold up the corpses and I’m automatically inviting you to go down on me?” Aimee snorted. “Maybe they think it proves they can provide for us?” “Provide what? Mercury poisoning? I can go to the Old Farm Market and ask for their most questionable cut of salmon on my own. I am my own provider of food borne illness,” Allie shook her head. “This is bleak, Aimee. Bleak.” She took a sip of her latte before setting it down with a dramatic sigh.

“I take it Kent forgot Olive’s birthday again?”

“I mean, I don’t know why I’m still shocked,” Allie huffed, shaking her head. “Like, sir, you are literally the father of these children. Plural. Be shitty to me all you want, but not our kids. Your mother wound is not my problem. Or Olive’s. Or Grace’s. Ya know?”

Aimee quietly reached across the table, her fingers brushing Allie’s until Allie extended her pinky and curled it around hers. Aimee knew, of course she did.

They stayed like this, pinky fingers quietly linked for a moment more, before Allie was already buzzing onto the next commentary.

“Do you know what the Gen Zers are saying about us? I watched a TikTok that described us as geriatric in the dating world.” Allie shuddered; her gaze was a thousand mile stare out the window into the downtown Victoria spring afternoon as if she were lost in the horror of the thought.

Aimee swore she heard Allie hiss the word geriatric again under her breath, glowering at a planter just outside the window.

Wrapping her hands around her Americano, Aimee inhaled the rich scent of the roast, as she rolled her eyes. Mostly playful, partly exhausted. Allie had her best interests at heart... or at least that’s what she told herself every time Allie (read: every other week) asked if she could get Aimee set up on the apps. Despite the Titanic reference and the commentary about fish pictures.

Allie was already pointing her finger across the table. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me—do you really want to wait until you’re in orthopedic shoes with nagging back pain before you see some action again?”

Aimee snorted before taking a sip of her drink. “Oh yeah, because nothing says hot like a single mom perpetually wearing yoga pants and hoodies, running on caffeine and four hours of sleep. Truly, the dating scene is clamoring for me.”

As she put her cup down, Aimee’s gaze briefly wandered past Allie’s shoulder—catching a flicker of something familiar. By the window at the far corner of the cafe, a woman, mid-thirties maybe, sipped a cappuccino, a well-loved copy of Beneath the Surface balanced in her hand. The deep teal cover, and the soft silver lettering of Aimee’s name, peeked out from under her thumb.

Aimee blinked, surprised. It was always surreal. No matter how many times it happened, the sight of someone reading her book in the wild felt like spotting a unicorn doing its taxes. She quickly looked away before she could spiral into a rabbit hole of wondering if her male lead, Ben, had confessed his love for her wayward yet still hopelessly romantic protagonist, Ivy. If she kept looking, she’d try to interpret facial cues and wonder if they liked it or thought it was overhyped and fall into an existential dread spiral.

Allie’s I don’t get paid enough for this shit groan pulled her back in time to see the eye roll that accompanied it. “Jesus, Aimee. You’re so oblivious. Please tell me you do realize you're hot, right? Like, actually hot?”

“Hot mess or like a number out of 10, hot?”

“No, you idiot.” Allie leaned in, tapping the oak tabletop between them, as if she were explaining a math problem to a particularly dense child. “You’ve got the whole sultry, writer-y, dark-haired, piercing-green-eyes thing going on. Your whole vibe screams ‘mysterious, sexy woman who drinks, but knows things.’ And guys eat that shit up.”

Aimee barely bit her tongue on the, probably, most likely, accidental, Tyrion Lannister reference. Instead, she waved her hand dismissively.

“Okay, sure. Let’s say I believe you: I'll just waltz back into the dating world and—what? Start flirting with twenty-five-year-olds who still think ‘what’s your sign?’ is an acceptable opening line?”

Allie’s smirk widened as if she’d been waiting for the opening. A grin that had Aimee backtracking to see if she’d said anything that could be used against her.

But Allie had already started again before she could pinpoint anything.

“Sure. You could do that, or and hear me out—” she gestured subtly toward the front counter with wide, flicking eyes, “—you could maybe start by noticing the guy who’s been trying to ask you out for the last two weeks. You know, baby steps.”

Aimee frowned, wordless, puzzled.

Allie tilted her head toward the counter then, less subtly, where James, the owner, was ringing up a customer.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and effortlessly handsome in a ‘hot for teacher’ kind of way, he had the kind of charm that made people linger just a little too long at the counter. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing strong forearms inked with a few tattoos, and when he glanced over, he caught Aimee’s gaze and flashed a warm, easy smile.

“That guy,” Allie whispered, barely containing her glee as she sipped her latte. “James. Like Chris Evans in Knives Out but with a beard like that guy who chops wood shirtless on Instagram. The guy who gives you an extra shot in your latte every time you're here. Who remembers your order by heart. Who practically bends over backwards to chat with you whenever he gets the chance.”

Aimee blinked. Once. Twice. “He’s just friendly.”

Allie groaned deeply, tossing her spoon to the table with a clatter, exasperated. If she could dishonor Aimee (and her cow), Aimee was sure she would, with gusto.

Aimee’s responding shift to lower herself in her seat and partially hide her warming cheeks behind her coffee cup was knee-jerk.

“Oh my god. Aimee. He’s flirting. He has been flirting. For weeks.” She paused, eyes narrowing. “Have you seriously not noticed?”

Aimee fumbled for a response, but Allie, in typical Allie fashion, wasn’t done.

“This is what I mean! You’re walking around like a hot, oblivious idiot while men are lining up to shoot their shot. And you? You’re completely missing it!”

Aimee made a face at her friend across the table; one Allie had called her weirdly cute smiling animal that was on that Instagram reel once face.

Quokka! Aimee had yelled a bit too loudly when she connected the dots the first time, ten minutes after the initial reference. Eureka. Good job, brain.

“I highly doubt men are lining up for me. Lining up suggests there’s more than one or any.”

“Mm-hmm. Fascinating, all this non-confident vibe you got going,” Allie waved a hand, encompassing Aimee, “Maybe you should discuss that with James, who is definitely coming over here right now,” Allie sing-songed, not even trying to hide her grin.

When Aimee looked up, James was making his way around the counter, a plate balanced in his hand, two fresh pastries placed neatly there.

“Hey, Aimee," he said, setting the plate down in the middle of the table. He nodded at Allie, a smile for her too as he rested his hand on the back of Aimee’s chair. “Thought you ladies might like this—on the house. It’s a new recipe we’re trying out. Raspberry and dark chocolate pain au chocolat.”

The pointed toe of Allie’s flat bounced off Aimee’s shin under the table and Aimee harnessed every patient mom molecule in her being to not quickly aim a kick back. Instead, she glanced from the pastries, up to James. “Oh, wow. Thank you.”

His smile softened in response. “Yeah, no problem. Anything for my favourite regular.” He tapped the back of Aimee’s chair and glanced back at the counter where a small line had formed. He was already heading back to the counter when he turned, mid-step, “just let me know what you think later?”

“Ooo, later, Aimee. Did you hear that?” Allie waggled her eyebrows., quickly dodging the crumpled napkin Aimee tossed at her.

“That was flirting, my dear, geriatric friend.”

Aimee exhaled sharply and slid the plate toward herself, breaking off a piece of the pastry as she tried to ignore the very real possibility that her best friend might actually have a point.

Allie watched her for a beat with an all-too-smug expression, propping her chin in her hand. Then, as if the conversation needed to get any worse, after tapping her nails on the edge of the table, she casually dropped, “So, when’s the last time you had sex?”

Aimee almost choked on her pastry. Coughed. Grabbed her coffee to wash down the remains of the would-be assassin.

“Jesus, Allie.”

“I’ll count sloppy road head, as like, an underhand toss. You just gotta hold the bat straight.”

“Why are you like this?”

Allie, as always, shrugged, unfazed. “It’s a valid question.”

“It’s an invasive question.”

“You say invasive like I don’t already know the answer.” Allie held up a hand. “No, no, because here’s the thing. If you don’t use it, it dries up like a desert.”

Aimee paused. Just a beat. She kept her gaze fixed on her coffee, the rim of the mug pressed to her bottom lip like armour. Her fingers curled tighter around the handle.

Not because she was embarrassed—but because she hated that part of her still didn’t feel safe letting anyone close again.

Then she blinked, shook it off, and gave Allie a flat look. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Allie said, sipping her coffee like she hadn’t just made the most insane claim of all time. She reached out to drag the pastry plate toward herself. “It’s like a muscle, babe. If you don’t exercise it, things stop working right.”

“Okay,” Aimee started, taking a moment to pinch the bridge of her nose, hard, before she found the strength in her to continue, “first of all, no. Second of all, what the hell are you watching on TikTok? Where are you even getting these things?”

“I’m just looking out for you. And your vagina.”

“Please stop saying ‘vagina’ in public.”

“Saying what? Vagina?” Allie repeated slowly, raising an eyebrow.

Aimee’s eyes widened, not unlike a warning she’d throw Noah across the dinner table at a family gathering, but it was too late.

Allie was already running with it, a dog off-leash chasing a squirrel.

“Vagina?” Allie said, a little louder, testing the waters.

Aimee groaned. “Allie—”

“VA-GI-NA,” Allie declared syllabic, triumphant.

There was a slight pause as Aimee braced for impact, but nothing happened. No heads turned. No one gasped in horror. An old man at the counter continued stirring his coffee like he hadn’t just heard the word vagina shouted at full volume.

Allie gestured around the café, at all the heads that hadn’t turned. “See? Nobody cares.”

Aimee slumped back in her chair. “I cannot believe I am friends with you.”

Allie smirked, completely unbothered. “Anyhow, all that to say... James is obviously into you, it’s actually kind of painful. You could kill two birds with one very sexy stone.”

Aimee scoffed. “Right, because my top priority right now is making sure my vagina doesn’t enter its dust bowl era.”

“I’m glad we’re finally on the same page.”

Aimee shook her head, biting back a laugh despite herself. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Allie leaned over to rip off a piece of pastry, popping it into her mouth. “We’ve just got some serious work to do to leverage you out of survival mode.”

She didn’t bother arguing, mostly because Allie wasn’t wrong. But that didn’t mean she was about to take dating advice from the woman who had just conducted a public soundcheck for the word vagina.

Aimee juggled her keys and the leftover coffee as she nudged the front door open with her hip, letting out a relieved sigh as she stepped inside.

The house was quiet—blissfully, miraculously quiet. Noah was still at school, which meant she had at least a couple of hours of uninterrupted writing time.

She set her coffee down, shrugging off her coat as she headed upstairs toward her office. Today was the day. She was going to be productive. She was finally going to crack that opening line and—

Her phone rang.

Aimee groaned, already regretting answering when she saw Adrienne flashing across the screen.

“Tell me you’re not calling with bad news,” Aimee said by way of greeting, tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear as she started sifting through the mess of papers on her desk.

“Why do you always say that?” Adrienne huffed on the other end of the phone. “Have I ever called with bad news this early in the morning?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, fine.” There was a beep of a car and a muffled scolding from Adrienne’s end of the line. “But it was really just that one time... with the misprint mishap on the Oceania publication. Entirely not my fault that we’re in wildly different time zones than our Aussie friends.”

“So, is it bad news then?”

Adrienne sighed deeply, paused for a beat. “That depends on how you define bad news.”

Aimee stopped shuffling papers. “Oh, great. That’s always a promising start.”

“You know I don’t want to pressure you, right?”

Aimee immediately stiffened. “Adrienne.”

“—it’s just the publishers are asking for something. Anything Aimee. Just a few pages, a vague concept, literally any sign of life that you are, in fact, writing book two of the three-book deal I brokered for you.”

Right. How could she forget?

When Beneath the Surface debuted at #1 on the New York Times Bestseller list and held its spot for weeks, everything had happened fast. The publisher scrambled to lock her in for more. Netflix swooped in with an adaptation deal. Casting got underway within weeks. It was a whirlwind—and Aimee had met it with a polite nod and then strategically peaced the fuck out.

Her entire world had imploded and reformed in the space of a season. She was a single mom with a kid who needed her, an ex who weaponized parenting, and a house that didn’t clean itself.

So, she’d delegated. Adrienne became her filter, fielding casting announcements, script meetings, fan buzz, and production updates unless it was something Aimee absolutely had to weigh in on.

She needed space. She needed to breathe.

Aimee let out a slow breath, pressing her fingers to her temple. “I am writing.”

Adrienne hesitated. “Are we, though?”

Aimee opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. She hated when Adrienne spoke in the collective ‘we’. It made her feel like a kid; hand caught in a cookie jar before dinner.

Damn her.

Sometimes it was a blessing to have an agent who knew her well enough, and other times, well....

“Look, I get it,” Adrienne continued, her voice softening. “You’ve had a lot going on. With the move and that fancy European asshole you’re forced to co-parent with. But maybe you just need to shake things up a little, get out of your own head a bit.”

Aimee sighed, tipping her chin up so that she was staring at flecks of paint on the ceiling that looked like a moon and stars. She made a mental note to paint over it soon-ish. “And let me guess—you have a plan for that.”

Adrienne’s voice perked up immediately. That should have been Aimee’s first red flag. “Actually, I do! I got you some time on set.”

The last part was rushed, words expressed on one long exhale of breath. Aimee still caught it.

“You what?” She blinked, squinted at the bookshelf in the far corner of the room with the hardcovers balanced precariously on the top shelf, as if clearing her vision would somehow help her to uncomprehend what knew she had just heard.

“The director—Isla Rodriguez, which is huge by the way—wants you there. She thinks it’ll help to have you involved in rewrites, line edits and honestly? I think she’s right.”

Aimee flopped heavily into her desk chair, letting it spin a bit. “Adrienne, I don’t know…”

“Just try it,” Adrienne urged as gently as Aimee knew she was able. “It might help with the brain block or writers wobble or whatever it is that you have or want to call it. Maybe being around the world you created, seeing it come to life, will shake something loose.”

Aimee chewed the inside of her cheek as the chair spun lazily past the large window she’d set her desk up in front of.

Being on a movie set meant being surrounded by people. It meant watching actors say words she had written. It meant possibly getting cornered by some overeager interviewer asking about her next book, which she currently had nothing for.

On the other hand, she was stuck. Had been for the last few months now.

Painfully, frustratingly stuck.

Where her first book felt like an exorcism on the painful parts of her life (complete with a young priest and an old priest), anything after it felt... hollowed out, boneless.

Every time she opened her Word document, the cursor blinked at the top of the blank page on a document named only “WIP”.

And Isla Rodriguez was no small name. If she wanted Aimee there, it was an opportunity she’d be stupid to ignore.

“Aimee?”

Aimee exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose, eyes closed. “Okay. I’ll go.”

Aimee could swear she heard Adrienne clapping her hands and she pictured her Literary Agent doing her ‘happy dance’. “Amazing! I’ll send over the details.”

“Wait,” Aimee said suddenly, a creeping suspicion settling in as her eyes flashed open. “When do I start?”

Adrienne cleared her throat, shuffled some papers. “…Tomorrow morning?”

Aimee nearly fell out of her chair as she made to stand while it still spun lazily. She caught herself on the edge of the desk, shoulder hitting the bookshelf closest. “Are you kidding? Adrienne, I—”

“Gotta go! Love you! Sending you the details!” Adrienne hung up before Aimee could figure out a way to strangle her through the phone.

Aimee stared at the screen as the beep signaled the call had ended.

A beat later, it pinged again with the email from Adrienne: On Set Details – April 11, 2025

Suddenly, Aimee wasn’t sure what she had just agreed to.

a/n: aaaand there we have it folks! the stage is set for glennnnn.

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