Writeblr • writer type: pantser ✧ genre: romance, erotica ✧ sub genres: post apocalyptic, dystopian, suspense, crime, new adult, paranormal ✧ rating: mature/explicit ✧ tropes & themes: plus size characters, enemies to lovers, characters finding themselves, age gap, found family, living is more than surviving ✧

History • I’ve been writing since I can remember but seriously started getting into the craft about nine years ago. In that time I have finished five significant works, between procrastination and burnout: Sid (43,397 words) ✧ The Secrets of Cranerise Valley (32,173 words) ✧ Coming of Age (100,863 words) ✧ Sweet Dreams (94,095 words) ✧ The Night We Met (181,988 words)

Goals • I don’t plan to publish. Writing is my joy and if I can continue to create worlds, characters and stories consistently, that would be my ultimate dream. I’d love to make friends in the community who share that love of creation and writing (who may also enjoy the romance genre).

I also write fanfiction for multiple fandoms when I’m not working on my original stories and love to talk about anything fandom and fanfic writing related as well.

“Miss Hawke will give you the details. I’m afraid this is all the time I have to speak until we’re in person. Goodbye, Daniel.”

“Uh, yeah, goodbye, sir.”

The line clicks off and Daniel immediately jumps out of bed, nearly throwing his phone across the room with his comforter. He pads around in his underwear, looking for his good pair of socks he’d kicked off last night. He’ll forget them if he has to. Christ, he hopes he has a clean suit. The closet thankfully provides one last hanger with the appropriate threads.

He finds his socks, sniffs them, shrugs and heads off toward the bathroom. “Siri, set a reminder for laundry tomorrow.”

The robotic voice chirps back a confirmation.

It’s been hard to keep on top of these things. He tries to stop by a laundromat every week, but every week has turned into two weeks and a new habit of acquainting air freshener with his cologne. At least he still showers regularly, that’s a sacrifice he isn’t willing to make. Besides, when you come home from work hard all the time, it’s easier to jizz down a drain than it is to have to change your sheets.

He thinks of Teresa and now he’s hard before work too.

What the hell is he reporting to her for—isn’t she, like, the person who picks up the mayor’s laundry? He laughs to himself as he steps into the hot stream of the shower. Maybe he should have her pick up his laundry too while she’s at it.

He’s gotten his routine down to a science now. Three minutes to wash himself, two and a half to brush his teeth and gargle, then five minutes to fix his hair and get dressed. By that time he’s hungry and he’ll eat whatever he can find, which is usually cold left over pizza or an apple that’s starting to go soft and gritty. Then it’s out the door to catch a cab.

Today, he finds he doesn’t have the time to cook or even eat because he took up his three minutes jerking off. He was only trying to save himself the embarrassment of a raging boner later when he has the displeasure of seeing Miss Hawke’s ass in whatever dress she’ll be teasing him in. He sighs and opens the front door.

Someone is standing there and it startles him so bad he yells, nearly slamming the door in their face.

“Jesus.” Teresa starts laughing. “That was the girliest scream I have ever heard.”

He doubles over, panting. “You—fuck me—you could have—holy shit.” He holds his chest so his heart doesn’t escape. “I think you just killed me.”

She steps inside, long bare legs stopping right in front of his face. “If that’s all it takes, I’m scared of what's gonna happen to you when I make good on my promise.”

He looks up at her, still slightly bent. “Well, you’ve stalled for so long now the anticipation has worn off. I think I’ll be fine.”

When he stands fully, she’s staring at him, clearly not thrilled with what he just said. Good. If she can make him sweat, two can play at that game. And shit, he wishes it were the truth, but nothing about the wait has changed how he feels. She’s right, if she ever finishes what she started, it’s gonna kill him. It’s gonna ruin him forever.

“Let’s go,” she says, and turns heel.

He can’t tell if it feels good or absolutely terrifying knowing he’s pissed her off. Either way, he’s a little scared of the consequences.

Once they’re in her car, the silence starts to worry him. He needs to ask about the new development in their working relationship but now all he can think about is possibly having fucked up the chance of ever getting his reward. He doesn’t deserve it anyway. Not now. Shit. He’s totally gone and done it again—opened his big fat mouth. What is the matter with him?

They both speak at the same time.

“You go first,” he says, hoping that gets him some points.

“I was going to ask if you’ve had breakfast.”

He swallows harshly. For some reason he feels ashamed to answer. “No.”

“You can’t work on an empty stomach,” she says simply and switches lanes. He starts to protest. They will be late because of him. “Fisk will understand.”

It doesn't matter whether that’s true or not, he decides to take her word for it. To trust her. Because he wants to be good for her and he’s starving, in more ways than one again.

They stop at a diner called Madge’s, close to City Hall, with a sign in the front window that shows support for Fisk in big red letters. He wonders if that’s why Teresa chose it until they’re inside and an elderly waitress by the register calls out to her by name.

“What’ll it be, hon? Table for two?”

“The bar’s fine, Madge,” Teresa says, taking Daniel’s sweaty hand and dragging him over to the red vinyl stools at the counter.

He pats his pockets before hopping onto the stool beside her. “I don’t have my wallet.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He leans against the bar, shaking a hand through his hair, suddenly stabbed by anxiety. “I’ll pay you back. Just gimme your Cash App or whatever. I’m good for it.”

Her eyes are almost gray in this lighting and it makes her look much less severe. Almost soft. She reaches over to his hand on the counter and squeezes it. “It’s okay. I got it.”

“Seriously. I’m not totally broke.”

“I believe you.” She chuckles, furrowing her brow at him. “What’s the matter? You don’t want a sugar mama?”

He goes still and feels the sweat already beading around his shirt collar. The fabric seems to tighten uncomfortably and his pulse picks up, beating rapidly against the front button.

“Take a joke, Mr. Blake.” Her eyes go wide in concern when he just gulps at her. “Look, I offered so I’m paying. You can take me out to dinner if you want.”

He relaxes a little at the flirtation in her suggestion but his nerves don’t quite settle. Why is he freaking out? Jesus, it’s fuckin’ hot in here. He feels disgusting and self conscious and pathetic. There’s no way he deserves to be here with her right now. The waitress comes over and he swears she can see how out of his league Teresa is. Hell, he probably looks like her little brother or something.

“What can I get for you two?”

“Joe’s Breakfast Platter,” Teresa answers. “And coffee.”

They both look at him. “Uh, same as her.” He waits for the waitress to leave and shrugs nervously. “I’ve never been here before.”

She smiles. “Hope you like hot sauce on your eggs.”

“I can dig hot sauce on my eggs.”

They exchange a look—one that seems like an inside joke or an expression they’ve could’ve shared a thousand times in another life. It feels theirs. The very first mundane interaction that feels purely him and her. It calms him instantly. This could be it. This could be the beginning of something more, and oddly, it soothes him more than it scares him.

Madge brings their platters a few minutes later and he inspects them. Eggs with hot sauce, as mentioned, fill most of the plate while the rest is covered with toast, bacon, avocado and a fruit cup. He’s never been as hungry as he is at this moment. He pops a bite into his mouth and closes his eyes, savoring the kick of spices. “Okay, I can really dig hot sauce on my eggs.”

Teresa fixes her coffee with two creams and three sugars. “I wonder what else I could get you to try,” she says almost entirely to herself but the meaning is loud and clear.

He wants to tell her that she could get him to do anything but thinks better of it. They’re starting to be normal outside of whatever sexual back and forth they have going on. He’d like to keep things friendly, he likes the way it feels just as much as when she’s touching him. And it excites him to think they could have both.

“Fisk called me this morning. He said I’m reporting to you now.” He decides to get to the bottom of this new development instead of focusing on how beautiful she is and how badly he’s starting to need her. “I guess I just don’t really know what that means,” he continues around a bite of toast.

“Well, I’ll be training you, so it’s not really a report. I’ll be observing how well you’re doing and then I’ll be the one reporting to Fisk.”

His heart thumps a little harder at that. “Training me how?”

“Have you ever used a gun?”

He whips his head to look at her. “What?”

“Have you?”

“No . . . I thought you were his errand girl or whatever.”

She smiles. “I’ve done a lot of jobs for the mayor, Daniel. Not just errands. Back when I was a freshman in college, my brother got me a job washing Fisk’s fancy cars. He had a garage full. I mean ten or fifteen. Way too expensive for me to have been touching. But I got really good at detailing.”

Daniel laughs softly. He likes when she tries to be funny.

“Then I was doing deliveries and other things. He likes having someone permanent he can trust, someone loyal. I loved being part of that. My brother loved it.” She looks off, an unreadable emotion in her face. “But some of it can be dangerous, you said so yourself. That’s why I’ll show you how to shoot and you won’t have to worry when it comes to protecting what you care about.”

He doesn’t quite know what he’s feeling except for this weird swelling in his chest. “Was this his idea?”

“It was a mutual agreement.”

That doesn’t answer his question but he’ll settle. She sips her coffee slowly and watches him. What is she looking for?

“I was like you once. Just starting. I’ve done every job you can think of for Fisk.”

Every job? He hates his perverted pea sized brain because it immediately goes in the gutter. There’s a bad taste in his mouth as he imagines her bent over the mayor's desk. He hopes and prays she doesn’t mean any kind of sexual job but he can’t help thinking of it. And then for whatever reason, he thinks of her and Buck, and that makes him red hot with rage.

He takes a sip of his coffee and tries to hold on to the feeling of interest it brings him to know he could get to where she is, that she’s going to help him do it. And he clings to the idea that they’re alike in some way.

“So will you let me?” she asks, smiling sweetly. “Teach you to shoot.”

“Totally. That’d be cool.”

They finish their meal and even though it makes Daniel feel like less of a man, Teresa pays. Then they leave and he has too much on his mind the rest of their ride to speak. She doesn’t seem to mind and puts the radio on softly, humming along to some song he doesn’t recognize. It soothes him, stopping him from thinking about too many questions or unknowns in this whole thing. He listens to her voice like the ticking of a metronome and almost falls asleep in her passenger seat before they arrive.

Once they’re stopped for good, he yawns and straightens to look at her. She’s so damn beautiful. How did he get so lucky? And unlucky. He has no idea how the hell he's gonna manage this. He wants to be Fisk’s guy, to succeed, and make a name for himself, but Teresa is distracting. What if he wants her more?

“Can I see your phone?” She holds out her hand as if there’s no other answer to be had than yes. He complies and hands it over after unlocking it. She does something, typing, and then stops. “Why is there porn open on your browser?”

“What!” He snatches his phone back.

“I’m kidding.” She laughs, playfully tapping his arm. “I was putting my number in, dipshit.”

She really is going to be the death of him.

Teresa can hear Fisk’s voice rising even beyond the door to his office. She stands in front of it, almost as a guard, knowing he’d hate for anyone else to be snooping on his private conversation. But he’s louder than he thinks, and anyone walking by could hear now. Luckily, it’s only her alone in the hallway.

She enters abruptly, because she’s tired of eavesdropping and would rather be in on it directly. The mayor and Buck both shoot daggers at her the second she enters unannounced.

“Sorry. I must be interrupting,” she says.

“Yes, you are,” Fisk grits, looking back out the window.

“I’ll be quick then. I wanted to be sure I wasn’t overstepping if I take Daniel to the range later. It won’t take long.”

Buck shakes his head with a quiet laugh. “This couldn’t have waited?”

Fisk stands to his full six-foot-four and adjusts his suit. “Yes, that’s fine, Teresa.”

There’s a ticking in her jaw that she can’t tame. She knows she heard the faint name dropping—Daredevil is back—and she’s being left out of the loop purposefully because of a stupid promise to her brother. One she feels pretty confident never really took place. Not that she cares about some vigilante in a red suit anyway, but it’s important to him. The great Wilson Fisk, Mayor of New York. The man she’s given up normal life for. The man she’s starting to question. The man she’s starting to loathe.

Her interests have begun to shift and now a new target of priority forms as her scope falls on herself—the only person she’s never put first. Maybe it’s time she spoke up.

“Sir, I mean no disrespect when I say this,” she starts and waits for him to look her in the eye. He does quickly, already full of anger and curiosity at how far she’s going to go. “I hope you haven’t forgotten where I stood when you first discovered the devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Because I would be by your side again if you needed me there.”

He breathes deeply for a moment, dark eyes penetrating her weakening armor. Then with no reaction he says, “You both are dismissed.”

Without another word, she turns on her heel and strides out the door. Buck follows, nearly having to jog to catch up with her. She doesn’t understand why exactly but she’s running. It’s something she hasn’t done since she was a child. She has to get as far away from Fisk as possible and fast.

Buck meets her at the elevator and his eyes bore into her as she presses the button over and over. “Don’t be upset you’ve lost your notch on the totem pole,” he says, accent increasingly irritating with every word. “You’ll always be his special little Teresa Wesley.”

The elevator doors open and she rushes inside, elbowing him out of the way so he can’t follow. All she hears is his shocked laughter and the blood pumping in her ears as the doors clang shut.

“What if I don’t want to learn to shoot?”

James stops cleaning his gun for a moment to look at her. His glasses have fallen down his nose a bit and she giggles a bit triumphantly at that. He normally looks so put together but every time she’s with him for longer than ten minutes, she wears him to shreds. It’s the one personal joy she has.

“This is how I protect you. So you can quit whining now.” He reassembles his glock and it echoes in the cement storage room. “You’re going to have to get used to how I do things. You’re my responsibility now and what I say goes.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She rolls her eyes and leans back against the metal chair. “So I’ll learn how to shoot. Doesn’t mean I have to be exactly like you.”

“Better me than our father.”

“I could go to fashion school, you know. Or art. Or music. Oh, I forgot, you don’t like music.”

He laughs tightly. “That’s what I mean. You’re too much like our father for your own good. He was a dreamer. Reckless. That’s how you got here. I’m not going to let you waste your time.”

She hates when he brings up their shared blood. Mr. Wesley was never her father, she didn’t even know him. She had a dad once and James took her away from him.

But fine. He can say whatever he wants to because she’s still going to college. And she’ll do whatever she wants. In fact, she’ll start a band. A rock band. She’ll do everything under the sun to rebel against his rigid ways. Hell, she’ll start feeding the homeless. See how he likes that.

“Teresa,” he says irritably. “Do what I’ve shown you.”

She takes the gun and snaps the pieces back together with as much efficiency as him. She will admit she’s gotten pretty good at it.

“Good. Load it.”

She does.

“Again.”

In the quiet, she does as her brother says, over and over until the callusses on her fingertips have been rubbed raw. She wants to go home but there's no home to go back to anymore. This is it. James and this horrible, stuffy room. It doesn’t matter that he gives an allowance or nice things. Nothing feels hers.

“I could just go live with my mom,” she whispers to herself but loud enough for James to hear. It’s been a while since they’ve fought. Maybe she’s asking for it. Maybe she wants to scream and cry.

He cocks his head. “Ah, yes. At the cemetery?” he mocks.

She looks up, chin quivering. She hates herself for it. This weakness, this hopelessness. “Wouldn’t it be easier for you if I was dead?”

“Likely, yes.” He adjusts his tie. “Load the gun again.”

Teresa spends the rest of the day licking her wounds. If there’s a shadowy corner of the room, she’s found it to hide in. There’s no way she can teach Daniel anything when she’s like this.

It happens every once in a while, when she’s forced to take a trip down memory lane. Her mood turns sour and there’s no fixing it until it wears itself out. James never apologized for what he said when she was sixteen and still bright eyed. She sometimes wonders if it was him who made her cold or if she’s only a byproduct of the generations before her—borderline psychopathic and unworthy of love.

She feels that degenerate trait rear its ugly head when she’s on her way to the mayor's office only to find the one and only BB Urich leaving it. There’s a ridiculous and unreasonable anger she has toward her after what she did to Daniel. For almost getting him fired or unintentionally worse. She doesn’t actually wish harm on the poor girl, she wants Daniel to have friends, even if this is the one he chooses. But that ticking in her jaw hasn’t left all day and the unbalanced side of her is seeing threats where there are none.

When their eyes meet, BB looks away, rushing to get out of there. What the hell did Fisk say to her? Another wave of anger, and now jealousy, washes through her. How can he talk to her and not me? she thinks, blindly hurt.

She pushes open the door and stomps inside, ready to finally have it out with the big man. But he’s not at all who she finds.