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.

“Is that what you’re doing? Thought you had a more important job.”

He smiles. When another waiter passes, he grabs the glass from her hand and replaces it with a fresh one from the tray.

“It would be nice to be reminded there’s actually a person in that beautiful shell, Miss Hawke,” he says, but there doesn’t seem to be any intention behind it. More of an observation. Doesn’t he realize the same could go for him?

Before she can think of a smart reply, he takes off, turning only for a second to wink over his shoulder then disappears into the crowd.

Before the campaign, everything was different. The parts they played, the familiarity of their relationship. Now she’s Miss Hawke instead of Teresa and she’s had to get used to sirs and ma’ams and the whole script of the thing. It’s exhausting.

The room seems to shrink on her and her legs become restless, unrooted. On the opposite corner of the room there’s an exit, so she makes her way toward it quickly. It will be easy for her to slip out if she wants to but she’s not ready to make a break for it just yet. She’s still waiting on someone.

Vanessa finds her next. She’s wearing the dark green gown Teresa picked out and it looks excellent on her. There is no wonder why the mayor is head over heels for the gorgeous brunette. Vanessa is beautiful in a classic, regal way. A way that makes Teresa feel inadequate in comparison.

“I’m so happy you could come,” she says in her smooth accent. “Are the earrings too bold?”

Teresa laughs. “I’m sure you could wear a trash bag, Mrs. Fisk, and still look just as stunning.” There’s that awful, plastic script again. It’s Mrs. Fisk, when she used to be simply Vanessa.

“You flatter me.”

“It’s well deserved.”

Vanessa links her arm around Teresa’s and takes her across the room, toward the mayor. “For our next adventure to the boutique, I think you should pick something out for yourself.” She looks her up and down. Teresa’s wearing one of her work dresses. It’s black, peplum style, from Macy’s. Nothing special. “I, of course, will still want your help with my own dress. But I think you would look wonderful in something designer.”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs.

“My treat.” Vanessa looks at her under her lashes, batting them promisingly. At least someone is still treating her like old times.

Teresa laughs. “I couldn’t.”

“I’m offering!”

They reach Mayor Fisk and Vanessa trades Teresa’s arm for his. “Wilson, wouldn’t Miss Hawke look lovely in Hermés for the inaugural ball?”

“Hm? Yes, of course,” he gruffs, distracted.

Heat comes to Teresa’s cheeks, no doubt turning them pink. She hopes her makeup is truly as full coverage as advertised. Being the center of attention has never been a good feeling for her, no matter if Fisk is just agreeing to agree with his wife. She already longs to sink back into the shadowy corners and observe the party from there. But she doesn’t want to be rude, so she follows her employers through the room, smiling politely when people glance at her, but she’s purely decorative at this point, making no effort to be a salesman for Fisk’s passion project.

They’re about to make their way into another room full of money bags, as Buck called them, when the person she’s been waiting for arrives with the aforementioned right-hand man.

Daniel ruffles his hair then slicks it back as he strides toward them on a heavy step. He looks pale. Something is wrong, she can tell immediately and everything in her wants to go to him. It’s out of character, strange and wildly inappropriate but it’s consuming, eating her whole. She wants to ask if something has happened but Buck shoulder checks her as he passes, jostling her out of the way.

Mayor Fisk turns as if shocked by the hand on his shoulder. And for some odd reason, Buck looks to Daniel to provide the answer.

“There’s something you need to see,” he says, and bows his head.

Teresa’s pulse spikes. No . . . Did he do something else? Did he fuck up again so soon? Is this the mistake that unleashes what Fisk is truly capable of? Her heart leaps into her throat and she can’t breathe. Please, not him.

“Daniel,” she bursts, and they meet eyes.

Fisk puts a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll return in a moment. Keep Vanessa company, will you?”

Air expels from her lungs with the compliant answer she’s used to. “Yes, sir.”

In the shadowy cab of the SUV, Daniel flips through disturbing pictures of the crime scene for Mayor Fisk on his tablet. This sicko serial killer has been painting murals with his victims blood and now it seems his art is mocking the police. Daniel’s stomach churns as each photo reveals more detail.

Two women lie slumped against a brick, gore-graffitied wall, with their eyes gone. And for some weird reason, he thinks of the club and Teresa in that silver dress. He thinks of her being left like garbage as a message for the cops or the mayor. The image in his head is horrible—her lying there, covered in red, her beautiful glacier-blue eyes gouged out.

He looks away from the screen. The thoughts scare him. The pictures make him want to vomit. If this is part of his job then he’s starting to question it. Even more so when Fisk speaks.

“We can use this.”

Teresa follows Vanessa around until her feet start to hurt inside her heels. She forgot this pair always rubs the back of her ankle raw. Doesn’t matter either way though, her body is on high alert. Besides being overstimulated from conversation and the cheap fabric of her dress, whatever is going on with Daniel concerns her.

Thankfully it doesn’t take them hours to return to the party because she would have resorted to heavy contemplation and what-if-spirals. But it doesn’t make her feel better that when she sees him coming down the hall, Daniel is paler than before.

The mayor takes his wife back on his arm and Buck eventually minds his business so Teresa takes the moment to grab Daniel by the arm and lead him away.

“Where are we going?” he asks, but his voice is off, not excited like he might be if his head was in the place it usually is.

She doesn’t answer, dragging him down the hall until she finds a utility closet, opening the door swiftly. It isn’t only so they can talk in private, she needs the quiet to refocus. Electricity buzzes when she pulls the string for the hanging bulb light. Then she shuts them in together.

There’s a flicker in his eye beyond the questioning look he has stapled to his face. Ah, he is still thinking about their moment in her car. She has to ignore the fact that she promised him later because right now is not the time.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“Nothing.”

“Daniel.”

His shoulders slump under her demand. “You know how they’ve been finding bodies and stuff. Weird graffiti.”

She nods. “There’s a serial killer.”

“The feds sent some pictures of this guy's newest work.” He swallows hard, grimacing like he’s remembering them now. “I don’t know what it was about it. Like, I’ve seen some shit. I just . . . What if it was someone I knew, you know?”

He looks so defeated, which is an odd thing to be in this situation. She expects disgust or horror, and there's some of that too, but defeat is new. Maybe he’s thinking about whether or not he's capable of saving people. His sad brown eyes stick her straight in the heart.

There’s nothing to do then but hold him. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him against her slow and soft. It takes him a second to calibrate before his hands slide hesitantly over her hips and around her lower back.

“No one should have to see that.” She reaches up and pets the back of his head. “I’m sorry you did.”

He sighs like she let out a pin that was holding in all his tension and he relaxes against her. “I can’t imagine if something like that happened to you.”

His words honestly shake her. Because this isn’t some dumb, horny kid being sorry to see her go for the simple reason that he hasn’t had his penis in her yet. It’s different. He sounds . . . She has no idea. No one has ever said that to her before. Maybe he has the same sick worry that she does about him. That something could happen and she’d realize too late what it actually meant having him in her life.

Something is happening between them.

No. It’s too early to make that call.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says, comforting him anyway. “Promise.”

Daniel pulls away like she bit him and her arms fall to her sides. “You can’t promise something like that. I’m starting to notice this job is more dangerous than I thought it’d be. That there is way more to it, working for Fisk. And if you get in the middle of something and you . . .” He can’t say it and she doesn’t make him.

The pictures he saw must’ve really rattled him. Normally she’d tease him about it, make him feel like he’s silly for worrying, but he’s starting to catch on. And Fisk is starting to let him in on things.

“I dunno,” he continues. “Maybe I’m whipped. Maybe I care about you. Either way, if something happened to you, I’d be crushed. You know . . .”

Her body feels a thousand degrees and ice cold at the same time. She shivers, reaching back out to touch him, and until she gets ahold of his shoulders again, she isn’t sure if it’s to ground herself or to comfort him. This time he surges forward to meet her, wrapping his thick arms around her waist.

He nuzzles into her neck, lips wet against her skin. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

“We don’t have to,” she whispers, trying to control her impulses.

“I don’t wanna think.”

When he pulls away to look at her, his eyes are half-lidded. The look that signals what he’s about to do. His hand goes for her face, and before he’s even gotten there, he’s leaning in with his eyes closed.

She seizes his throat and his eyes shoot open. “Ask me nicely first.”

He gasps unevenly. “May I . . . kiss you?” She holds his stare. At least he’s proper, but she’s waiting for the word that sounds so pretty from his mouth. And like sweet perfection, he doesn’t waste a second. “Please,” he breathes out, desperately.

Hesitantly, she moves forward, allowing herself the satisfaction of feeling for the first time in a long time. Lets herself press into him, seeking warmth and the weight of another body against hers. It’s almost too much.

They move into each other slowly, arms tangling and untangling until they’re slotted together without room for a thing between them. She brushes her lips against his mouth, testing, teasing, sending tingles down her own body as well as his. She feels the way he shivers.

Her belly tightens. It’s been too damn long since she’s felt someone wanting her like this. His hips shift, seeking the juncture of her legs but the skirt of her dress restricts him and they both let out a frustrated sound at that.

“Kiss me,” she says, fingers in his hair, tugging.

Daniel moans into it, his mouth engulfing hers. It’s messy and intense and she is driven to moaning herself as his tongue slides against hers. She puts a hand around his throat again and sucks his bottom lip as she pulls away to look at him.

His sleepy eyes dart everywhere he can look, panting hard, his cheeks and ears and neck all red from how bad he wants her.

The hand around his throat seems to have a mind of his own as it travels up to grip his chin. She sticks out her tongue to lick his lips and he does the same, chasing her as she retreats. Then she drops back into another kiss, open mouthed, wet, and hard.

His thick hands travel down her back to cup her ass. He pulls her against him, squeezing, and she can feel his hard cock pressed to her abdomen. She advances into the excitement. God, she could come undone right here. Her moan is broken as she rubs against him, eagerly pursuing the friction.

This has to stop but it feels too damn good.

She has to stop.

She has to.

He breaks free of her bruising kiss and nips at her jaw, following the underside until he’s settling into the curve of her neck, licking her sweat and sucking the skin. One of his hands slips between them, sliding up her thigh to knead gently. Her hips jerk at the sensation. He’s so close to touching her and she’d be done for if he did. She’s so wet, they could do it right here in the closet without a worry in the world.

His other hand comes up and paws at her breast, stroking her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress. Thank God it’s so cheap. Her head falls back. There’s no stopping herself from letting this one weak moan go.

“Oh, fuck,” Daniel groans, his breath coming out in a steady rhythm against the slick stripe he’s made up her neck. “Can I touch you? Please. Christ, I need to touch you.”

Damn it.

They have to stop. She really has to. She has to stop him now because if she doesn’t she’s going to let him do exactly what he’s asking.

“We can’t do this here,” she says, out of breath, and already hating herself for it. For once she’d like to be reckless, to let him slip his fingers inside her and get her off.

He laughs awkwardly as he pulls back. “I didn’t think so.” His cheeks are still cute and pink from kissing and his slight humiliation. “Not that I wasn’t wishing,” he adds quietly.

She can’t hide her smile. “Next time we’re alone and in private, I swear I will give you what I’ve been promising. How about that?”

He gives her a hopeful look.

Her brain seems to turn back on and she realizes she’s making it too easy on him. “On one condition.”

He shakes his head, still dazed. “Totally.”

The stipulation is born of pure dominance and a ridiculous, baseless jealousy that she cannot let go on further. If it wasn’t enough dragging him into the closet, if it wasn’t enough showing him a different side of her, or putting her hands on him in that cab, then let it be known now that she is staking her claim.

“You have to stop letting Miss Urich take advantage of you,” she says in a whisper, in a voice he’s only heard when her hand is around his erection. Only she gets to take advantage.

He swallows. “Yeah. Yes. Already past that.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods, almost too eagerly. He wants his reward but that’s about the only motivation. She doesn’t expect he’ll drop contact altogether with BB, in fact she doesn’t want him to. He needs a friend his age. He needs someone outside of this circle he’s quickly falling into with Fisk. Teresa wants him to have that. But she wants to be sure that she’s the only place he comes when he wants . . . a reward.

“I want you to succeed,” she coos, combing his hair back and caressing his flushed face. “I want to see you become the man that Mayor Fisk thinks you can be. I already see it, Daniel. You’re gonna move up and it’ll be all because you owned your shit and because you’re so loyal.”

He listens intently, nodding like he’s claiming the words as subliminal affirmations.

She embraces him fully and his weight presses against her, heavy and warm, as if he’s sinking into the feeling. He sighs, lips on her throat. And the praise comes out of her unfiltered and raw. “You’re such a good boy.”

With a groan, he nuzzles into her neck. “I don’t wanna leave this closet.”

Neither does she. But she doesn’t give either of them the satisfaction of saying so. Instead, she pulls away and straightens his clothes like a mother would her son's first prom suit.

He chews his inner cheek. “I could come to your place later.”

She chuckles. He will have to take care of that tempting arousal all by himself. “You will go home, eat something moderately healthy, take a shower, and then get some sleep. Alright?”

He raises a brow. “Is that an order?”

“Yes, Daniel. That’s an order.”

Gracie Mansion is dark when Teresa finds Mayor Fisk in the dining room. He’d asked her to meet him and said they needed to talk after she got back to the party with Daniel. She worries that someone saw them leave the closet after their moment, there are eyes everywhere after all. And some of those eyes are set out to destroy what Fisk is building.

“You wanted to see me,” she says, hands clasped in front of her as she makes her way down alongside the table toward him at the head.

“Yes,” he says, no indication of what about.

She’s unable to read him and it scares her. Maybe she’s losing her touch, living on borrowed rest since the campaign began. Or maybe, more likely, she’s been distracted. Which is concerning. Normally she’s in tune with Fisk, she has been for a time longer than she can measure. Only recently has that connection started to slip.

“Have a seat.” He gestures to the chair and waits for her, folding his arms. Once she’s seated, he smiles gently but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Vanessa told me earlier that she talked to you about a new wardrobe.”

This is what he wanted to see her about? The fact that he’s out growing his clothes? Vanessa was vague about it but with this newly assigned stylist gig, she supposes it's in the job description to dress him too. “Uh, yes, sir. I’ll look around and bring some catalogues for you to look at. Would you prefer I bring them here or the office?”

“Here,” he says simply.

“Of course.”

“And if you could schedule an appointment with a tailor . . . Someone we’ve worked with before.”

“Yes. I’ll check with Sheila first thing tomorrow to see when will be a good time.”

“Thank you, Teresa,” he says with a heavy sigh.

It turns out the fundraiser hadn’t gone as well as they’d all hoped. It seems Fisk is getting tired and a bit in over his head. It would be a lot for anybody but it’s a whole other world for someone like him. He isn’t used to not getting what he wants in his preferred time frame. Though, he’s never been one to back down. Neither has Teresa.

It’s felt lately that she’s been demoted entirely to the errand girl for clothing rather than an actual asset to Fisk’s empire. She’s been many things for him over the years but this has reduced her to near nothing. It pains her to feel so useless. “Sir,” she starts, cautiously. “I want to know what Daniel and Buck came to see you about.”

“It was nothing.”

“Wilson,” she says, using his name because she’s tired of the charades. It’s almost insulting having to call him sir or Mayor or even Fisk, when Wilson is what she called him for years before she worked for him, when she was a girl. “Please don’t edge me out.”

He softens only slightly. “It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

“It’s about the killer. Muse.” She doesn’t miss the way he almost snarls, thinking someone has told her when they weren’t supposed to. And she supposes they did but she keeps Daniel’s name out of her mouth. “It’s the only thing I can think of that would make Buck so tense. And the poor Blake kid looked sick. I don’t understand why you don’t talk to me about these things anymore.”

He frowns. “Your brother would want you to be kept free from the burden of these things now that you can be.”

She almost laughs. That was never a problem when he tried to turn her into her brother after he died. So why start now? “I’m capable of handling things myself and you know that.”

When things had gone badly for Wilson, when he’d been imprisoned, Teresa was the one to follow Vanessa to Europe. It was thought that no one would suspect a female bodyguard—they could pose as friends on a trip and no one would bat an eye. Except Vanessa was never friendly then. She was hurt and lonely and they both missed Wilson so it wasn’t hard for Teresa to understand and let it go.

At one time or another, she’d been a friend to him. A confidant. She’d left an entire life behind to fill a hole the great James Wesley created when he got himself shot to death. He kept her to replace her brother, someone she could never live up to. There were others too but they always fell through. She was the only one who stayed. And maybe part of that was because Wilson was all she had left of James and she all Wilson had left. Their only true connection now is the grief her brother left behind.

“Your brother would want to see you safe. I have to honor that,” he says but it feels hollow. And untrue. “In this new life endeavor, I can secure that as a promise. You do not have to see the ugly side of things anymore.”

Her throat is tight but before she lets herself get emotional, she swallows it down and says, “It’s too hard for me. I can’t be nothing.”

“You are not nothing, Teresa. Not to me.” He reaches out and places a hand over hers where they’re clasped and resting on her knees. He seems to understand exactly what she means. Whether it’s because he knows her or because he himself misses the thrill of his old life. Yet she gets the strange urge to pull away. “What position would you have me put you in?”

It doesn’t seem like he wants her anywhere near fixing level, so she leaves that to Buck. Although there isn’t much else for her to do, that doesn’t involve some kind of risk. That’s when she thinks of the only thing that she’s been thinking about for days.

“I could mentor. I could mentor Daniel Blake. Make sure he’s not going off script.”

Her heart pounds and she hopes Fisk doesn’t question it. It’s much more than just her budding need to direct Daniel in every sense, to conquer, and attract or arouse him. It’s also the attachment forming, the one that has her scared of losing him to the ugly side of this job. If she can coach him, be his master for all intents and purposes, then she can stop what happened to her brother from happening to him. Which in many ways would be worse. Daniel is innocent.

“Mentoring someone is . . . not as easy as it seems.” Fisk leans back in his chair and sighs. “But I see the boy means something to you.” Of course he can tell. She waits with bated breath. “So . . . you want him?”

Her ability to read what he means by that is gone. She has no idea what he’s truly asking and the question feels loaded, like a gun, her answer being the thing that does or doesn’t pull his trigger. Maybe the answer is yes regardless of the meaning, but she decides to play things safe and reiterate where her loyalties lie. She knows better. “I can make him ours, sir.”

“Then you have my permission.”