#vampires in houston

[vampfairywitch]

There is an uptick once again about real vampires. Multiple videos about the New Orleans vampire community have drawn interest to vampire groups in the United States.

As a gentle reminder, The Coven of Ash and Rose is a vampire coven, based in the Greater Houston Metoplex area, that welcomes members around the world to join with us to celebrate the darker, sensual side of spirituality.

We welcome witches, therians, and otherkin here, and many living vampires are also witches, therians, or otherkin.

The Coven is founded by Michael Vachmiel and Sonia Spaw While we retian ownership and management of the group, we are not a structured court. Meaning there are no ranks and no one has authority over another.

On occasion people were refer to me as Vampire King of Houston. I was elected to that title years ago by the existing elders of the city at that time.

Since the last two gentlement who held that title were removed from the Vampire community some of the old guard have defaulted back to that honorific.

I do not expect anyone to call me a honorific.

www.linktree.com/darqkrafts

A man demanding to be called a king is not.

So with all that said.

Hi, welcome to Houston Metroplex's Vampire Community, The Coven of Ash and Rose.

[srchiiz]

thought id put all of my dcst vampire drawings together!

[aaazade]

HOUSTON WE HAVE A PROBLEM ── EPISODE ONE 𖤐

⤷ 𝄞⨾ 𝟎𝟎𝟏. 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒

AUTHOR'S NOTE : i do not own any of these characters except my own. minors, please do not interact as this is mature content with dark and sexual themes. all of my characters are black women so please respect that as you read! all lowercase is intended in this writing. PAIRING: rockstar!sukuna x tourmanager!blackreader RATING: 18+, again mdni WARNINGS: yandere-ish moments, rock band, reader is black, usage of being held hostage, dírty talk, vampire!sukuna, dubcon, biting, drinking blood, slowburn, eventual smut, sort of angsty, stalker!sukuna, set in mostly southern cities, attempted mind control, secret society, royalty, masked men, usage of foul language, assault and battery (not on reader)

𝐬𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: when tour manager!reader gets sucked into the rock world after big time group ‘dark curse’ seeks her out to plan and arrange their tour in the us. heinous secrets unfold about the group as she gets closer to the pink haired lead singer in the ‘bone demon’ mask. does she run for the hills or does she play cat and mouse? find out in "houston, we have a problem!"

deep wine velvety curtains creaked under your grip, anxious irises brimming over the surface of the masses roaring below the stage. backstage, the thrum of the bass vibrated the walls with a resonance that pounded through the protective ear buds you and the crew wore. the wind lapped through the humid open arena, like lashes from the deep currents of waves rushing against jagged edges of rocky cliffs.

dark curses, the japanese band you and your sister were hired to be tour managers for, succeeded in finishing their first tour stop in houston, texas. 

“sis? everything’s alright? we got to make sure the boys end up at the hotel.”

your head swiveled to meet the sweet gaze of your older sister, hayden, who’s deep red manicure stroked your shoulder in typical, concerned sibling fashion. 

“i’m fine, just making sure that everything is wrapping up soundly out there. i’ll call the hotel and you’ll have the tour bus come to the back right? like usual?” you maintained with a graceful simper, something in between grateful and awkward. 

“you know it, girl! call me when you’re done so we can walk to our car together!” and with a dapple of a kiss to your cheek, hayden was off, heels clicking into the distance. 

set to do your own job in hopes that the night will be over sooner than later, your feet pick up the pace, only settling down once you reach the dressing room area. no chances of a bad call when the service is best where the band resides before and after their concert. booking the best of the best is mandatory in this career field, nobody likes a cheap tour manager. so, you diligently do your job acknowledging the price and qualities is up to standards of the band’s liking. 

but… when chills travel down your spine like electricity cracked down with the following boom, you immediately stop in your tracks. it almost feels.. predatory. like the gaze of an animal hiding in verdant bushes in the stocky forest waiting. watching. hoping that something sweet and delightful prances by to slaughter. 

whipping around ready to high-tail it, you surveyed your surroundings, close to a gazelle when a mountain lion roar is heard nearby. a curious scarlet gaze examined the soft dips and curves you presented from the silhouette of your metallic jumpsuit. sharp, angular features, a full set of bitten, red lips that looked as if he had just previously enriched in a pomegranate, and thick strands of sakura-colored hair pulled into a low braid cascading down past his ribs. dark ink trailed from the highs of his cheekbones past under the collar of his onyx leather jacket. he was undeniably ethereal, like those old stories mama used to tell about fallen angels. how they were once mystic angels, but had been casted down onto earth to walk with the rest of the sinners.

ryomen sukuna. lead singer of ‘dark curses’.  you weren’t quite familiar with the group out of their professional pretense, however, something swirled in the pit of your stomach at the lilt in his husky somber. 

“somebody’s all jumpy.. i like that. much more alert than our last manager.” maybe there was a teasing tone in his voice. maybe the way his fangs that gleamed in the dark trenches of the backstage were all just a prop. maybe something isn’t rig-.

“what happened.. to your last manager?” you didn’t mean to vomit those words out, your anxiety clutching the beating tremors of your heart and shocking your nerves. but, your natural instinct to fight or flight was starting to zero in. eyebrows furrowing as your feet began to back up to create more distance. 

and to that.. he snickered in delight, heavy laced boots stalking close just enough to be arms distance away from you. your eyes held a hardened resolve but your body shuttered, reacting involuntarily to his scent of deep umber and smoke. 

“so what? are you perchance riding in the bus with us? there’s more than enough-”

“no, we have a chauffeur to make sure you guys have as much comfortability as possible. i… appreciate the offer though.” a small, forced grimace tilted the corners of your mouth along with the narrowing of your eyes before moving to step side him. the melodic chime of your sister calling out to you rung much louder as your heels click farther and farther away from him. 

but under his breath, you swore you heard a faint mumble that strung your shoulders tighter. 

“you won’t always be able to avoid me, [...].”

“are you sure it’s him, hayden? there’s no fucking way it can be, right?”

you and your sister sprawled out of the expensive cotton sheets of the hotel’s king sized bed. orange hues from old tiffany lamps ablaze the white plaster walls, creating a soft glow away from the moonlit path shining from the balcony window. It had been three days since the last time you both had seen the group, recuperating to be ready to venture out on the road to the next city, atlanta.

but, tragedy had struck in the deep city of houston. hayden broke through the door late in the chilled evening to announce the news. your driver, an older man named clark, was brutally assaulted in what seemed to be a mob attack that led him to be unconscious in a hospital bed. this wasn't like clark to get in situations that would incur violence in the first place.  something’s in the water.. and you had a feeling that it’s closer than you think. 

“it’s him, [..]. i’m for certain that it’s him, i already paid his hospital bills and sent our condolences. i mean-.. he has a family. grandchildren. i can’t imagine how they feel right now.” 

your older sisters’s breath trembled, eyes perspirating with wet unshed tears as she stumbled over her words. your reflection matched hers, an unmistakable sorrow simmering between the both of you. 

 “I’m thankful for ryomen offering us to ride in their tour bus. that was kind of him. ” she softly wept, dapping her salty tears with the silk sleeve of her pajamas, a brand that you were sure she had no idea the name of. 

wait.. what? 

your gaze whipped towards hers, questions spiraling in your mind as if someone blew a house of cards down. how did he know? was he told by hayden? why would he go out of his way to offer up the tour bus that was presented to them? so many question, yet an extreme lack of answers. 

swirling like lightening through the depths of a tornado was the tone of his voice that day when you left his side. those words.. the words she was so sure she had mistakenly heard.

 ‘tomorrow,’ you settled in your mind with a harden resolve. tommorow, you would observe and keep your distance. 

the sky painted plum and raspberry delight in brush-like strokes in the eerily early morning in houston, texas. morning dew dipped in the sage beauty of the long stems of grass as they ventured past the parking lot in the journey towards the tour bus. the city was quiet, like it was holding its breath. waiting for something to arise. 

outside , near the broad doors of the bus, a man with smoky brown hair wrapped into two loose ponytails on the top of his head tipped them an angled smile. not forced, but not genuine either. his chestnut eyes sunk in with purple hues decorating the bags under his fair  skin as if it has been decades since he last felt a soft pillow support his head. 

in his broad hands, sparked what looked like an old rusted lighter burning the orange end of his cigarette to life. as you two soared past him, offering small hellos, he stood in silence only blowing out puffs of smoke from his lungs. 

choso, you recalled his name from the research that you and you sister conducted on the group. he was the drummer, preferring not to speak unless spoken to. an odd one, you heard rumors he prefers to write their pieces in the cemetery with the two guitarist. 

“okay then..” you muttered, already feeling a bit weary of your surroundings. 

stepping up into the tour bus, the air thickened with invisible smog, constructing around your throat and squeezing like a vice. again, the damn feeling of being watched surfaced, but this time you neglected the carnivorous examination.

instead, your eyes scampered over towards the interaction between your sister and the two guitarists, satoru gojo and suguru geto. they both stood at staggering heights, so far up that both of them had to sulk under the overheads of storage trunks right above their seats. 

it almost felt intentional to you. the starking extreme differences.

platinum white strands against long obsidian locks. icy blue like an alaskan spring against a deep hazy violet, a winter’s bloom. boyish charm versus a sly fox’s seduction. so similar, yet the distinctive differences flow with each of their complexities. 

oh, one more thing. 

both of their gazes turned a little darker at the sight of your sister. while satoru grinned and hopped up from his seat to usher hayden between the two, suguru placed his arm around her waist and tugged her closer. between the three of them, no space was required. they breathed in each other’s air. lost in the world of three.

clearly, this has been ongoing, and once your sister peeked over her massive playthings to lock eyes with you, it confirmed all you needed to know. 

“later..” you mouthed, narrowing your gaze at her. she is grown indeed… and older, but you were sisters. And she damn sure would have been riding your ass if you kept any parts of your love life from her. 

not that you had any-

“ooh, i was wondering where your claws went, tiger.” damn him and his chilling baritone voice. you didn’t have to turn in his direction to pick guesses on who had a thing for frightening you. his slender fingers gestured to the spot next to him.

“ryomen.” you huffed, eyes simmering with defiance. you plopped arrogantly across from him, which only made the amusement dancing in his scarlet orbs all much more fiery. 

he played with the darker ends of his pale pink hair, down and in pristine condition. He wore black on black, opting for something comfortable on the drive then the leather ensemble you saw him in the days before. 

“i see you ended up here, just like i knew you would.”

silence simmered in the air, your brows furrowing with time as his words sunk into your chest, falling deeper into the rhythmic beats. how? how did he fucking know? the more and more you questioned his behavior, the more it starts to sound like a sick horror movie. 

he leans closer, hand closing in on the soft curve of your jawline. his calloused hand tilted your face just a bit closer.. noses nearly touching in earnest. You sucked in a breath, heat flickering in the depths of your stomach as your brain tries it hardest to catch up with the change. 

attempts were fruitful, that blazing expression of his mirroring the crackling allure to yours. 

you hadn’t noticed that your sister watched, that choso climbed back on the bus, or that wheels began to roll. no. it was almost like he had you hypnotize with that flicker of a scarlet glow in his irises-

“mmm, go to sleep, tiger. the road ahead will be long.”

there was no room to question him and his strange behavior. your eyelids fluttered with strange obedience, darkness creeping in from the corner of your vision. haziness wooed you into a pair of strong, cold arms before you dipped into an abyss of sleep. 

all work belongs to to @aaazade please do not copy, translate without permission, or post my work! let me know if anyone would like to be apart of my taglist as i post each episode. hope you enjoyed episode one!

[creativelycomplex]

Which 90’s diva does Lestat prefer, Celine or Whitney? My money is on Celine cause she’s French and he cannot be impartial.

[sk8vv1tch]

They are me. I am them.

[natimiles]

“Wilst thou join me upon the stage, my muse?”

William Shakespeare — moodboard

Masterlists

[geistverrse]

💔 for Shoki, 🚨 for Gene, 🎒 for Angel, 🥩for Juno, ❗️ for Julius.

💔 (broken heart) - Who has your character hurt most? Physically or emotionally? How did it feel? Do they regret it?

Shoki's a Garou wrestler who had her First Change while wrestling. She was training in the indies with her father, Shepherd, who is also a Garou - when the going went too tough and her trainer was far too abusive, she finally broke through the Veil and First Changed. If you're aware of what happens when a Garou First Changes, they go berserk, especially Shoki who went defensive mode as an Ahroun. Unfortunately, that turned on the people in the room, and it's something she does not talk about unless she has to.

🚨 (siren) - What’s your character’s relationship with the law? Have they ever been arrested? What for? What are their opinions on law enforcement?

HAHA, you must know this already from my Blusky post about her. Gene's relationship with the law is bad - also a Garou (who's in a Pack with Shoki) and a Glass Walker to boot, Gene's first interaction with the law was her First Change. She was in college for computer programming and coding. After pulling a deadly 48-hour all-nighter to complete a project, she got sidetracked (as she always did through class) and was hacking into databases to test her cyberteeth. In a freak accident, she finds a Pentex database belonging to Endron. She's in there for all of two seconds because she's shut out. 5 hours later, unable to sleep from the stress of what she might've just stumbled into and worrying about if she broke into a government database, she's SWATed. Breaking into her dorm, the Pentex-paid feds attack her and cause her to First Change. She slaughters the Endron hired guns and escapes into the woods.

🎒 (backpack) - What items does your oc usually carry? Do they have a bag or just keep everything in their pockets? Do they carry a lot or a little?

At ALL TIMES Angel is inseparable from her sunglasses with built-in HUD, the big pearl earrings she wears (contain microphones), and her Trinary supercomputer which lives in a metal briefcase she carries with her. It's usually with her on duty. Off-duty, she still covets her sunglasses and pearl earrings, never being too sure. Other than that, probably her phone and wallet which contains a photo of her and her father... which has now been put behind a photo of her and her lover, Charlie Indigo.

🥩 (steak) - Does your oc have any coping mechanisms? Healthy or unhealthy?

Juno is a Tzimisce, I'm sure almost everything she does is unhealthy! I don't think Juno has 'coping mechanisms', however - Juno is a headstrong unstoppable force, if she has issues, she'll deal with them headfirst rather than cope with them. The thing she needed to cope with most is dead, and she's happy about it.

❗️(exclamation point) - What was the scariest moment of your character’s life? Does it still affect them?

The day he realized he wasn't a person, he was a god. It affects him and will affect him until his unlife comes to an end.

[philossworld]

D

Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust

[ccgscans]

Praxis Seizure: Houston - Vampire: The Eternal Struggle

[vampfairywitch]

Vampires raising money for puppies and kitties!

10% of all sales on eBay will go to Friends for Life no-kill shelter. How do you know it will go to the shelter? It's an automatic function of eBay! The company sends it to the charity from my sales!

[srchiiz]

happy halloween!!!

[sbev-e]

first artfight attack of the year! character belongs to @lucabite :]

[mariswxts]

kindred

“DON’T STAY AWAKE FOR TOO LONG, DON’T GO TO BED”

A/N: a little angst piece cause I felt like it, heavily inspired by Carry On but it happens before so tEcHnIcAlLy Carry On is inspired by this :)

God, Dean should have never taken his eye off the ball, the ball being you. Sure, you were such a damn good hunter — one of the best he’d ever seen — but even the best had their drawbacks, even the best had their moments, even those moments couldn’t be afforded. You and Dean had been casing a possible group of vampires in Houston while Sam hunted a werewolf down in Wichita, and you two determined that it could only be a few. You could take ‘em, you were good enough.

Wrong.

It was a whole nest, a whole ass nest, which you two had been able to mostly clear with some machetes and bullets laced with dead man’s blood. Until one son of a bitch had snuck up behind you when Dean thought the worst was over and shoved a thin wooden stake right through your stomach and yanked it back out

How fucking ironic.

Dean couldn’t hear the yell of your name that left his mouth as you crumpled to the floor, couldn’t feel when his hand holding the machete lashed out and took the thing out, dropping to his knees in front of you as you propped yourself against a wall.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart.” His voice was frantic, looking at the gigantic fucking hole in your stomach that was leaking hot blood— shit, shit. “Keep your eyes open, yeah? Don’t take ‘em off me, don’t you dare. You’re fine, you’re—” He had to cut himself off before his voice broke into a million pieces. His heart was racing, head spinning, hands frantically taking off his flannel to press against your stomach to stem the blood flow— you were a fighter, right? You fought everything, you never backed down, you wouldn’t this time, right?

“Dean,” You rasped out, in shock, looking down at the gash that was in your stomach, then back at him. “Dean.” It was like you were a broken record in your head, your head lolling forward, to which his hands flew up to keep your head up. Your body was fighting, he could see it in your eyes. “D—Dean.”

Your voice was strangled, and that was one of the worst sounds he’d ever heard in his life. Hearing it hurt his heart almost as much as seeing the wound did. You were pale, clammy — you were bleeding.

“Eyes on me,” Dean repeated, holding your face tighter in his hands, his eyes flitting to the wound every other two seconds. “Eyes on me, princess, c’mon, stay with me. Please.”

The panic was clear as hell in his eyes, like a storm tearing through a calm night. The sight of all that blood, your blood, staining your clothes and the ground beneath you tore his heart open and just left him raw.

He gently kept your head in place, not letting you slump, not letting you give up. “Stay with me. No falling asleep, sweetheart. Stay awake.” Just keep your eyes open, keep looking at him. He needed to see the light in your eyes.

You could feel it. You could, the pain stabbed through your stomach, making you let out a sort of strangled cry, breathing heavily. “I’m not— I’m not ok, am I?” You couldn’t even recognise your own voice, it was hoarse, it was raspy. Oh, God, oh, God.

The cry punched Dean in the gut, and he held back an almost strangled sound from himself, the way your voice was so quiet and broken making his heart shatter. He didn’t answer your question, because if he knew you weren’t ok, he’d lose it. He’d go insane with worry.

He shook his head, refusing to believe it, refusing to accept it— you were fine, goddamn it, you were gonna fight. “It’s gonna be ok. You’re gonna be fine.” He repeated those words like a mantra, both for your benefit and his.

“I can’t— just tell me.” You begged, your eyelashes fluttering, but you kept them open, wanting to hear it. “Tell me you’ll be ok, Dean, please.” You reached for his hand on your cheek, gripping it. “You an’ I both know I ain’t makin’— makin’ it outta here.”

“Stop it. Stop it.” Dean’s voice was a broken whisper, his chest heaving. He couldn’t lose you, he would not. “You’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine because I won’t let you die on me, do you understand?”

He wanted to break, he wanted to scream at the world, he wanted to cry and sob. But if he did, he’d fall apart. You needed him to stay strong, to keep you alive.

“Then tell me something good.” You whispered, hot tears rolling down your grimed cheeks, eyes becoming more vacant by the second and he saw it. “Tell me something good, talk t’ me.”

Talking, he could do that — talking was a distraction, yeah, distraction for the both of you. What was something good, though? What could he say to you that would be any reassurance when you were literally bleeding out in his arms?

“You know what’s good?” He spoke, his voice strained but still a little gruff. “You are. You’re so goddamn good. And when we get out of here— because we will get out of here, got it — I am gonna tell you that every day.”

You grinned weakly, losing control over your breathing, gripping his hand as fear struck through in the form of pain in your lower abdomen. “I love you.” You blurted, laughing a little in relief — a weak, barely there laugh — that you’d finally said it. You finally did it. “Never told you that, but god, I’m crazy for you, Dean. Just— just remember that.”

For once in his life, his heart soared and plummeted at the same time. You were saying this now? You had to say it now? Not when you were safe, when he could celebrate getting your love and devotion in words and actions.

“You’re a goddamn idiot, you know that?” The scoff he let out sounded wrecked, but his thumb was a gentle caress against your face, trying to sooth you, wipe away the tears. “Why say it now?”

“You know I don’t know how feelings work.” You scoffed, unable to stop a watery laugh, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth as you coughed, some more dribbling down. “But I’m glad I— that I said it. You love me back, right? You…” You looked to him for some confirmation. Any at all.

He ached at the sound of that laugh, and he almost winced at the sight of the blood dribbling from your mouth. You were losing it too fast for his liking, but you were staying awake, and that was something he wanted to cling to.

“Of course I fucking love you back.” The admission was instant, like he had no time to be coy or hide it. Hell, what was the point of hiding anything at this rate? “Been crazy about your stubborn, beautiful ass for years. Thought it was plain to see, sweetheart.”

“Do I have to remind you that I ain’t a psychic?” You coughed again, gripping his hand tight, eyes dropping to his lips. “C’mere. Please, c’mere, Dean. Just— I’m losin’ it fast, don’t leave me hangin’.”

“Not leaving you, sweetheart.” He assured you, his voice quiet as he gently lifted you and manoeuvred you so you were laying properly in his arms. All the while, one hand kept firm and hard against your stomach, while the other gently touched your face, the curve of your cheek, your hair — anything he could get his hands on.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, trying not to think about how much his heart was screaming at the idea of losing you.

Your hand left his, cupping his own cheek, even if you knew you tasted copper and he probably could too. The kiss was simple, sweet, slightly desperate and one hell of a goodbye, not wanting to let it go, salt from your tears staining your lips as well.

The taste of your tears and your blood was something he didn’t want on his tongue, not one damn bit. It felt like a goodbye, like you were giving up, and he couldn’t have that. You were too damn good to give up, too good for him to say goodbye to.

“Please.” He mumbled against your lips, desperately kissing you, like they could keep you here, like a kiss from him would keep you alive.

“I don’t wanna go.” You whispered, losing grip fast, desperately holding on to talk to him. “Just— just don’t blame yourself, ok? It was my— my dumbass that got us here. Ok? So— so just tell me it’s ok, tell me you’ll be ok.”

“I don’t blame ya, god, I don’t." He didn’t even stop to think, he didn’t know how he’d keep going in a world without you. “Stop taking responsibility, you stupid—“

He cut himself off, hating how you were trying to act like your own death wouldn’t shatter him. All he wanted was to be able to fix this — fix you — and keep you alive.

He grabbed your hand and pressed it to his chest, wanting you to feel his heart, feeling your hand curl into his undershirt.

“Dean, please, tell me I can go.” You begged, feeling the tears fully roll down your face now, giving him a brave smile. “Tell me it’s ok, please, I can’t— I can’t hold on anymore.”

He didn’t want you to go, he couldn’t let you go, but he could see it in your eyes that your grip on the world was slipping. You were so damn brave, but he was selfish, he would do anything to keep you here, even just for a second longer.

“Go where?” He knew what you meant, but he wanted to hear it one more time, he wanted a few more seconds hearing your voice. “Please, sweetheart, fight for me.”

“I love you.” You murmured, voice weak, low, head tipping forward so your forehead rested against his cheek. “I love you… I can’t…” Your breathing was slowing, grip loosening on his hand. “Tell… me.” He had to, right? He had to say it’s ok.

“Don’t you dare.” He hated the weakening tone in your voice, the way your hand slackened; hated how you were making your peace because that wasn’t allowed, not now.

He wanted to stay strong. He didn’t want to break, but hearing your voice like that, so weak and soft, broke something in his chest. Dean pulled you as close as possible, burying his face into the crook of your neck, letting the first sob free from his throat.

He gave in. “Course it’s ok. I’ll be ok, sweet girl, I’ll be ok.”

He felt you let out a breath, but you didn’t take in another one. Your head fell limp against his shoulder, but you didn’t pick it back up. Your hand released his shirt, slid down like it was weighted and never got back up.

Your eyelashes fluttered, closed, but you didn’t open them again.

His whole damn world stopped. He had felt everything, even heard the moment your breath left you, and then nothing. Every good thing, every sweet moment, every stupid laugh and smile and sarcastic comment — it all just stopped.

Dean sat there for a long moment, refusing to believe it, refusing to believe you were gone. He gently laid you as best he could, not letting go as he put his fingers against your throat, trying to find your pulse.

There was nothing, he found nothing, just your cheeks paling, head limply falling sideways, lips parted — stained with blood — one final tear rolling down your cheek.

You were cold.

“No. No.” He couldn’t stop himself from pulling you back into his lap, cradling you to his chest like a broken doll. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted to tear apart the world and everyone in it for letting this happen.

He let out a wretched sob, burying his face into your hair, wanting to feel you just one more time, praying to a god he was never sure existed to bring you, his pretty girl, back to him.

“Come back.” He whispered, his voice cracking, begging. “Please, please, come back to me, just breathe again, give me something— anything.”

He gently gripped your chin, lifting your head up so he could see your face one more time, ignoring the fact that you were so damn still. Just a breath, that’s all he needed, just one damn sign you were still with him, even if it was just for a few seconds.

“I’ll do anything.” He choked out, pressing messy kisses to your face and hair, not caring about the blood — he’d never care less about it, he’d take every damn drop you had left in you. “Sweetheart, just open your eyes, just move for me, please?”

Nothing.

“Please?”

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[ch33z3grits]

Crimson Obsessions | A Terry Richmond Vampire Series

pairing: Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond x Justine Skye as Camille DeWaterson

summary: Camille tries to push away her feelings as she navigates her hesitation surrounding her engagement. Terry lays the foundation for the most important part of his plan so far.

warnings: 18+ mdni, dark romance, manipulation, obsessiveness/possessiveness, stalking, angst, mentions of blood and violence, fluff

word count: 7700

a/n: as promised, posted a day early 🙂‍↕️ (only roughly edited tho lolll) lmk what y'all think of the new POV 👀

Camille’s song: You Right-Doja Cat | Terry’s song: I Luv Your Girl-The Dream

Pt. Four

Camille

Camille woke up feeling refreshed, an undeniable excitement flowing through her. It had been about a two months since she started rotating between Aston and Terry, and the difference in her energy and happiness was stark. And it was all thanks to Terry, the man who made every week vibrant for her. He had a way of making each day feel full of purpose—whether it was high-energy and spontaneous, or laid-back and easygoing. He knew how to balance it all, and Camille found herself eagerly anticipating whatever he had in store next. One day, he was patiently showing her how to swing a golf club as they entertained his clients at Top Golf. The next, they were hunched over case files, dissecting old archives over a quiet lunch. He had a way of seamlessly blending work and play, of making everything feel interesting and engaging.

On other days, he would take her to community events, like mentoring young Black men eager to get into law. Or they would spend hours tracking down secondary sources to support a particularly tricky case. With Terry, even the most mundane tasks became something she looked forward to.

And with each passing rotation, Camille could feel herself slipping further into the pull of her crush on him, which she still refused to fully acknowledge. It wasn’t just his gorgeous face, his sharp intellect, or his easy confidence that captivated her. It was the way he made her feel valued and understood. She felt safe in his presence. And, there was an almost cherished feeling that washed over her when he looked at her, as if she were more than just a colleague to him.

Now, of course, she knew that wasn’t the case. He had plenty of people fawning over him in the office. Especially Stephanie, who hovered around him, doing whatever she could for his attention. Stephanie’s beauty and sex appeal was unmatched in the office. So Camille knew that she didn’t stand a chance. Besides, she couldn’t be with Terry anyway. She needed to finally get her father’s acceptance and protect her family’s financial security. A one-sided crush couldn’t get in the way of that. 

The best part of finally feeling rested was that Camille had the energy to dive back into the things she truly loved. The first thing on her list was the early morning yoga sessions led by her best friend, Kali, every Saturday. The classes were always a space where they could reconnect. 

Camille and Kali had met during their freshman year at a Black Student Union meeting. They quickly became inseparable, their bond growing stronger with every shared experience, every late-night conversation, and every laugh that made their sides ache.

When Camille moved to Houston three years ago, she was gripped by a crushing homesickness that left her feeling isolated and making friends seemed impossible. It didn’t help that her job at the time was draining her spirit. Each day felt like a struggle to just get through.

She poured her heart out to Kali about how difficult it had been to adjust. Without hesitation, Kali packed up her life and moved to Houston a month later. When Kali’s father, who raised her by himself, passed away the following summer after a battle with lung cancer, Camille became Kali’s rock. She stayed at her apartment for weeks, helping her with chores, managing her commitments, and comforting her through the grief overall. 

Through all the highs and lows of their twenties, they had always been there for each other, whether it was celebrating achievements or pulling each other out of the darkest moments. But as time passed, life got busier. Camille’s career demands intensified, and the frequency of their interactions dwindled. Weekends that used to be filled with laughter and long talks now felt like rare treasures.

So, Camille had been counting down the days to this Saturday, eagerly anticipating the chance to spend time with her best friend again. It had been too long, and she was ready to pick up where they left off, to feel that comforting sense of sisterhood again.

Camille got to the studio right at 7 AM, jumping into Kali’s arms as soon as they saw each other. “Bitch, I’ve missed you soooo much,” Kali shouted as Camille pulled away. “We have so much to catch up on. Especially whatever this tea is you could only tell me in person.”

Camille hadn’t yet told her, or anyone for that matter, about Terry working at her firm and the feelings it brought about for her. It was the kind of thing that she was too afraid to discuss over the phone, just in case Aston was in earshot. Since they hadn’t seen each other since Chloe’s wedding, she had nearly three months of stuff to tell her about. 

She buzzed with anticipation as the class came to a close. As she wrapped up her yoga mat, Kali waved bye to her last client before turning back to Camille. They squealed, hugging each other once more. 

“Cammie, I’m just so happy to see you! It’s about fucking time that Aston gave you a damn break,” Kali scoffed. Camille sighed. Kali had witnessed the entirety of Aston and Camille’s relationship. She was there for her when Camille first found out about him cheating. She was her shoulder to cry on when she went through the heartbreak. When they got back together, she was very vocal about her dislike for him. And she still can’t stand him, even all these years later. It’s gotten to the point that Aston and Kali aren’t allowed to be in the same room, due to Kali throwing a drink on him at Camille’s graduation party. Camille had to beg him not to press charges and Kali had to promise to skip future functions that included him, unless it was their wedding.

But it worked out for Camille in the end. She never had to worry about Aston tagging along to their outings, so she could be as unfiltered as she wanted to be around Kali. No code switching. No tone policing. Just her being herself.

They chatted about minor things as they walked to a nearby coffee shop. They wanted to have their matcha lattes in hand and start their walk in the park before getting into the juiciest updates in their life. Once they got to the park, Kali immediately got down to business.

“Alright, Cam,” Kali said, sipping her drink. “What’s got you glowing?” 

Camille smiled shyly. “I kinda have a new boss now. Working with him has been such a relief. I still get cases from Aston, but I don’t work with him as much–”

“Thank. God,” Kali cheered, making Camille playfully roll her eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Camille started again. “But that’s kinda the problem. My new boss has been…somewhat of a distraction for me. You remember the guy I danced with at that last club we went to for Chloe’s bachelorette party?” 

Kali’s eyes lit up. “That fine ass nigga with the braids? Who looked like he was gonna fuck you in front of everybody?” 

Camille’s cheeks heated up. “Yes, him,” she nodded. Kali gave her a look. “What about him?” 

Camille sucked in a breath, “He’s my new boss.”

Kali’s jaw dropped, stopping in her tracks. “That man who owned the club? He works with you?!” Camille nodded, biting her lip. Kali slapped a hand over her mouth, bursting into a fit of laughter.

“Omgggg, Camille! I fucking love this for you!” she shouted, prompting other park goers to look their way. Kali calmed down a bit before grabbing Camille’s hand, pulling her close. “Please, Camille. Please tell me you’re fucking him,” Kali whispered excitedly. 

Camille's eyes widened with a mix of disbelief and shock. "Kali! Don't say that! I'm in a relationship," she protested, her eyes scanning the park for anyone who might know them.

Kali wasn’t deterred by Camille’s protesting. Instead, a sly grin played on her lips. “Yeah, and I absolutely hate the relationship. But that nigga from the club?! I’d support that ‘til the day I die.” 

Camille groaned, her fingers running through her hair. “I really wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” she muttered.

“Too late, I already did," Kali shot back with a shrug, clearly unbothered. “Now tell me more. Are you at least going to try to take him to bed? Has he tried to make a move on you?”

Camille shook her head quickly. “Not at all. He’s been very sweet about the situation. He pulled me aside to tell me he would keep everything between us. He’s been nothing but professional.” She tried to keep her voice even, despite her cheeks warming from Kali’s lewd suggestions. 

Kali’s shoulders slumped, a disappointed frown curling on her lips. “So he hasn’t given you any hints? Nothing?!” She raised an eyebrow.

Camille chuckled softly, shaking her head again. “No, Kali. He’s just been a perfect boss. I’ve been working on some of his cases for over a month now, and honestly, it’s been amazing. Everything’s interesting, there’s no pressure, just the best balance.” She smiled, the words coming from a place of genuine satisfaction. Camille’s stomach dropped as an amused, knowing look crossed Kali’s face.

She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with a teasing glint. “And how do you really feel about him, Cam?”

Camille shifted awkwardly, looking down at her hands, and mumbled, “I think… I think I have a crush on him.” She couldn’t help but shrink into herself, afraid of what she had just confessed.

Kali’s laughter rang out loudly. “So there’s still hope! Y’all are gonna fuck, I just know it!”

“Kali–”

“Yeah he’s just frontin’ ‘cause y’all are at work, but that man was all over you at his club. You give him the green light and I’m sure he’ll have you folded like a pretzel in no time.”

“Kali…please. I’m engaged. Can we please respect that?” Camille’s voice trembled slightly, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her cup. Kali rolled her eyes in the dramatic way only she could. “Camille, it’s never too late to back out of that arrangement. I want you happy more than anything. And I don’t know… maybe your new boss is like a wake-up call or something? I mean, a stranger you had so much chemistry with coming into your life again? That could be your way out. Or at least a little opportunity to get back at Aston?” Her eyes searched Camille’s face for a reaction.

Camille’s fingers froze on the cup, her heartbeat thumping in her ears. She stared back at Kali, unsure of how to respond.

Kali’s eyes softened, though her voice still held a firm edge. “I get it, okay? You’ve made a commitment to your family, and I respect that. But an arranged marriage is a big deal, Camille. You have one life. You can’t just walk down the aisle because it’s expected of you.”

The silence between them stretched out as Camille struggled to find her words. 

“I’m not saying you should act on whatever you’re feeling, or that it's all about getting back at Aston,” Kali continued, her voice lowering. “But maybe it’s time you started thinking about what you want, and not just what Mr. DeWaterson wants. His world won’t end if you don’t go through with it. And if it does… I don’t give a fuck. You’re my friend, not him.” 

After a few beats, Camille spoke, her voice low. “I don’t know if I can just walk away from it, Kali. It’s been planned for so long... My family, his family, everything... I’ve spent years trying to make this work in my head.” She shook her head, her voice cracking slightly. “But when I’m with my boss—his name is Terry by the way—it’s like... I’m able to escape reality and hope for something different. Something more loving, more passionate…,” Her eyes met her friend’s. “But like I said, he’s only been professional. There’s no chance of us getting together. I mean, he’s already sleeping with someone at the office. I can’t–”

“Wait, what?!” Kali nearly choked on her sip of matcha. “He’s that out in the open with it?”

Camille paused, thinking over the interactions he’s seen between Stephanie and Terry. There really wasn’t anything sexual about them. Stephanie definitely liked him and flirted with him all the time. But he just reacted with a cool amusement, nothing that really hinted at something going on outside of that.

“Well…no. I haven’t seen him do anything that hints at that. But Aston said he saw–”

“Fuck him, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s probably jealous of him and doesn’t want you to get too comfortable with him,” Kali stated with a definitive nod.

Camille’s heart began to race again. Was Aston just making things up? Was he lying to make sure I keep Terry at arms-length?

“Kali, I don’t think he would do that–”

“Camille? That you?”

The deep, familiar voice called out, washing over Camille like a wave. She froze in place as her mind scrambled to determine where it was coming from.

A tall, muscular figure jogged towards them. Though his face was momentarily obscured by the distance, the deep baritone of his voice, the bronze sheen of his skin, and the way his perfectly sculpted six-pack glistened in the sun made it unmistakably clear. It was Terry.

Camille’s gaze swept over him as he got closer, everything seeming to move in slow motion. Sweat trickled down his torso and his ocean-blue eyes crinkled at the corners. His full lips parted, a flash of white teeth widening with recognition. The sight of it all sent an unexpected flood of heat to Camille’s core.

Terry came to a stop right in front of her and Kali. His presence seemed to fill the space between them, his masculine scent drifting into the air. Camille snapped out of her daze, blinking rapidly.

“Hey, Camille,” he said, licking his lips.

Camille cleared her throat, fighting to regain composure. “Terry,” she managed to say. “How are you?”

“I’m doing fine. How ‘bout you?” Terry’s voice was smooth, his words rolling off his tongue with effortless ease. His eyes traced every curve and line of her figure in a way that made her skin hot. She suddenly felt aware of every inch of her skin, regretting the choice of just biker shorts, a sports bra, and an open hoodie.

She shifted, feeling self-conscious under his gaze. “I’m pretty good,” Camille replied, her voice catching slightly, betraying the flutter of nerves she felt.

They stood there, locked in a moment that stretched on too long. Their eyes held each other’s, the air thickening between them with an unspoken charge. The silence grew heavier, each second stretching taut like a wire ready to snap. Just as Camille opened her mouth to speak, the sound of a throat clearing beside her shattered the bubble between them.

Both Camille and Terry’s eyes snapped to Kali, who stood there with a smirk on her lips, clearly amused by the tension in the air. Camille's cheeks burned with embarrassment, but a part of her couldn’t help but feel relieved. The moment had been too electric and she was grateful for the interruption.

"My fault," Terry chuckled, the rich sound of his laugh wrapping around Camile like a blanket. He extended his hand toward Kali. "I’m Terry. You look familiar."

Kali, smirked and took his hand, giving it a firm shake. “I’m Kali! Yeah, I was at that club with Camille that one time,” she said with a playful gaze that flicked to Camille, her lips curling into a bright, teasing smile. Camille felt a chill of dread settle in her stomach. Please don’t embarrass me, she silently pleaded.

Terry’s eyes lit up, a flicker of recognition crossing his features. His grin spread wider. “Oh shit, that’s right! I’m sorry y’all’s night had to end like that," he said, his tone laced with playfulness and a touch of sincere remorse.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Kali replied breezily. "I think something amazing came out of that night. Right, Camille?" She glanced at Camille, her eyes twinkling mischievously. 

Terry’s attention shifted back to Camille, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, word?" he chuckled. "You’ll have to tell me about that." His eyes locked with hers, making her gulp.

Kali continued with a sly grin. "Are you visiting from New Orleans?"

Terry shook his head with a light chuckle. "Nah, I only check on that place sometimes. But I don’t live in New Orleans. I work here now, with Camille."

Kali’s smile broadened. “Really?! What a lovely coincidence—”

“Right,” Camille quickly interrupted, her voice almost too sharp. “It’s just crazy how small the world is.” She shot Kali a glance, her eyes filled with an unspoken warning. Kali merely smirked, unfazed by the stare. “But don’t let us hold you up from your run,” Camille added, eager to wrap up the conversation that she knew her friend would take too far.

“Nah, y’all not holding me up,” Terry said with a relaxed shrug. "But I’ll let y’all get back to y’all’s girl talk. It was nice meeting you, Kali." He flashed them both a grin before turning, jogging past them to continue on the trail.

Both Camille and Kali stood in silence for a moment, their eyes following his retreating form. Kali was the first to break the stillness, her teasing smile returning in full force as she glanced sideways at Camille. “That little moment y’all had? Oooo, bitch! I thought he was about to turn you every way but loose.” She let out a mock swoon, dramatically fanning herself.

“Kaliiii,” Camille whined as she resumed her walk, trying to brush off the flurry of emotions that had hit her all at once. Kali, unrelenting, fell into step beside her.

“Did you see how he looked at you?” Kali’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial tone. "Girl, he would devour you if you let him." "Ughh, not this again," Camille groaned, her mind spinning. But, was he looking at me like that? Or was Kali just being funny? She couldn’t quite shake the image of his gaze locked on hers, how it had made her feel exposed, yet... alive.

"Okay, okay, I’ll give it a rest," Kali sighed dramatically, making a show of looking away. But her smile didn’t fade. “But... I think you should try to entertain Mr. Terry. Who knows? The universe might be giving you an out from becoming Mrs. McCoy.”

They continued their walk, abandoning any discussion of Terry for other updates in their life. But in the back of her mind, Kali’s suggestion echoed. Was Terry’s sudden reappearance a sign? A chance at real love? Her mind kept circling back to Terry, the way he’d looked at her, the tension between them. Was she making a mistake, choosing to put her family’s expectations and her fiancé’s needs above her own desires? Her chest tightened with uncertainty, the thought of her impending wedding now feeling more like a weight she wasn’t sure she could bear.

Terry

Terry sat in the parking deck of Watkins & Glen, patiently waiting for the arrival of a particular colleague. Terry knew if he came to the office at the early hour of 6 AM on a Monday, only two people would be there: him and Aston. Terry couldn’t believe he showed up at that time every day. No wonder he wasn’t moving up the ladder. His ass-kissing was too obvious. 

To keep his mind occupied, Terry thought about how getting closer to Camille these past two months had been absolute bliss. Each moment alone with her was intoxicating, as though it was just the two of them, suspended in their own little universe. She captivated him so effortlessly. Her curiosity, the way she dove into everything with passion, it was all alluring. He found himself lost in the grace with which she moved, always so composed and beautiful, yet there was an unspoken vulnerability that made her even more magnetic.

Her shyness had slowly dissolved, giving way to a new, playful side of her, one that seemed to emerge more and more as they spent time together. It was in the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, in the subtle teasing that had become a part of their easy rhythm. Every time Camille smiled at him, his heart stumbled, driving him further into his obsession. 

And Camille, she was falling for him too. He knew it by the way her breath would catch when he was close. Sometimes, when she thought he wasn’t looking, he would catch her staring at him, her eyes soft with affection. And her voice—oh, her voice. It took on that sweet, innocent tone when she spoke to him, like she couldn’t help but let the warmth slip through.

But beyond all of that, what made his heart swell the most was the happiness that seemed to radiate from her more and more each time they were together. He had become her quiet gardener, nurturing her little by little, seeing her blossom with every passing rotation. A flower he was allowed to water, watching her unfold more beautifully with each moment they shared. And for Terry, that was everything.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he caught a glimpse of a familiar Porsche Cayenne rounding the corner of the deck. It reversed into a spot right next to the elevators. Terry’s jaw clenched as he saw Aston open the door of the car.

He had often thought about just killing him to speed up his plan. Tear out his throat or rip out his lungs. Let dogs feast on his remains. It would save Terry a lot of time and energy. But he had no idea how Camille would react to Aston’s death. Terry didn’t think she loved Aston. At least…not in that way. But he couldn’t risk her slipping into a depressive episode. Especially if he wouldn’t be able to properly comfort her. So he refrained from causing him any physical harm. But, Terry was more than willing to cause psychological harm. 

He got out of the car, shutting the door softly so Aston wouldn’t notice him yet. He quickly approached the elevator, Aston’s back still turned. Quietly, he peered over his shoulder as Aston looked at his phone. He was already checking betting apps. Terry smirked.

“Morning,” he spoke. Aston’s body jerked, turning to face him with wide eyes. Genuine surprise flickered across his face before quickly being replaced by that fake ass smile he always pulled. “Terry, morning…I didn’t even hear you.” The elevator softly dinged and Terry smoothly stepped past him, making his way inside. “Yeah your head was pretty stuck in your phone so I’m not surprised,” Terry returned, barely containing the smugness in his voice. He didn’t miss how Aston’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly with irritation. God I just want to knock his fucking head off, Terry thought as the elevator doors closed. “I get it though! I used to be on the apps all the time.” 

Aston blinked, confused and a tad bit embarrassed as he looked at Terry. “What do you mean?” Terry just smiled and gestured to his phone. “The betting apps. I used to be on those all the time. But now…” Terry paused, letting the silence stretch to add to Aston’s anticipation. “Now, I prefer the stuff that gets you real money.” Aston tapped his finger lightly against his phone, trying to interpret what he was saying. Terry could almost see the gears turning in his head. “Well, the parlays I’ve hit are pretty huge,” Aston stated arrogantly. Terry nearly rolled his eyes. But instead he just shook his head with a chuckle. “Nah, man. I’m not talking about the $2000 here, $6000 there. I’m talking about the shit that could be a down payment for a house.”

Aston laughed in disbelief, “What kind of stuff gets you that kind of money?” Got him, Terry thought, fighting a smirk. “Between you and me,” he lowered his voice, leaning in just enough to make Aston feel like he was getting an exclusive secret. “I host some underground poker shit on the side.” Terry watched his eyes widen, his mouth opening subtly. “Woah…really? Terry, you just don’t seem like that kind of guy.” Terry shrugged nonchalantly. “That makes it even easier for me.” Terry took a few steps back to lean against the elevator's walls. “But, you should see some of the stuff I’ve walked away with. One night, I made three hundred grand.” Aston’s pupils widened. He tried to find words to react, but the elevator dinged. Terry would make sure he had the last word. “But like I said, I host. So let me know if you ever want to play.” He smiled, patting Aston’s arm before stepping out of the elevator.

Terry knew he had him. Aston was a man choked by his addiction, and it was only a matter of time before he took the bait. And take it, he did. A little over an hour later, with the office still empty for the most part, Aston came knocking. A soft, hesitant tap at the door. Terry’s lips curled into a sly smile as he greeted him, his eyes glinting with a mix of satisfaction and cold calculation. I’ll let him bring it up, Terry thought. Let him think he's still in control.

Aston awkwardly coughed, swinging his arms nervously as he approached Terry’s desk. His eyes were shifty, and just the slightest bead of sweat slid down his forehead. He was nervous, desperate. Damn, he must need this money more than I thought. He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous tick that only deepened Terry’s amusement. The guy was unraveling right in front of him.

“So, uh…” Aston’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke, betraying his nerves. “About those games you were talking about? How do they really work?”

Terry leaned forward, folding his arms across his chest, his eyes narrowing just a bit as he studied Aston. 

“It's pretty simple,” Terry said, his tone casual but low. “I host them every Thursday night, just me and a few other guys. You send a deposit to lock in your spot, and you’re in for four games. All winnings remain confidential. No IRS. No paperwork. Everything under the radar. Real simple.”

He paused, letting the words sink in, watching Aston’s eyes flicker with a mix of curiosity and unease.

Terry’s voice dropped an octave, darker, heavier.

“But—” He began, fixing Aston with an intense stare. “Anything that goes on there, stays in there. Understand?”

Aston shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, his eyes flicking away to the floor. The words settled in the air, adding to his unease.

“Yeah,” Aston muttered, his voice tight. “Yeah, seems straightforward enough…how much is the deposit?”

Terry let out a soft, humorless sigh, his eyes never leaving Aston’s face. “$30,000,” he said flatly. “And you gotta put up another $50,000, at least, to play.”

Aston’s face drained of color. His eyes went wide, as if the numbers hadn’t fully registered. He took an audible breath, his hand coming up to tug at the collar of his shirt.

“That’s…that’s a lot man…” Aston trailed off. He was visibly rattled now, his composure slipping away. Terry smirked, watching the man squirm.

“Yeah, bruh, no pressure. I know it might be out of the budget for an associate.” Terry’s tone dripped with sarcastic sympathy. Aston’s expression visibly changed. His jaw tightened, his nostrils flared slightly, his gaze hardened. There it was. The envy, the bitterness. Terry could see it clearly. 

Terry leaned back in his chair, letting the silence stretch for a few moments, savoring the tension. He had him.

“No,” Aston said, his voice more relaxed, but with a razor-sharp edge. “That’s not a problem. I’ve got more than enough to cover that. I’ll even send it today.” The words came out through gritted teeth, a mixture of pride and barely-contained frustration.

Terry’s smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Perfect.

“That’s great, man!” Terry said, his tone suddenly light and jovial. He slid a notepad and pen across the desk. “Just write down your number, and I’ll send you all the details.”

Aston paused for a fraction of a second, but he wrote his number down anyway. As Aston slid the notepad back, Terry’s eyes caught the brief flicker of hesitation in his gaze. But it was fleeting, gone before it could become a problem.

Aston turned to leave, his body language still tense. But just before he opened the door, he paused to look over his shoulder back at Terry. “And Camille… she won’t find out about this, right?”

Terry froze, the name making his heart beat just a touch faster, but his face never betrayed him. He kept his expression casual, his voice smooth.

“Nope, not at all,” Terry said, his words dripping with casual assurance. “Not from me. Not from you.” Aston nodded, his lips pressed thin as he stepped out the door.

Camille

Camille took her time walking through Watkins & Grant. Not only was it Monday, it was the start of a two-day rotation with Aston. She was ready to dive into the day’s work, but if she were honest, she’d much rather be working with Terry. Despite her newfound enthusiasm for the job, working with Aston was still…draining. His demeanor had softened since her rotations began. He was less snippy and wasn’t as strict with deadlines. But his animosity towards Terry had only grown, a simmering resentment that Camille couldn’t ignore. Initially, she’d thought his sharp comments and tense glances were the result of him still grieving over not making partner, a bitter disappointment he hadn’t quite come to terms with. 

But as the weeks passed, she realized his feelings had shifted into an intense, unrelenting jealousy. Aston’s eyes would narrow into icy daggers whenever Terry entered a room. Whenever the team celebrated one of Terry’s achievements, Aston’s hands remained firmly by his sides. It was as if his pride couldn’t bear to acknowledge Terry’s success. And every time Camille spoke about him, even in passing, Aston couldn’t help but drop snarky comments. His disdain was impossible to miss, and though Camille was determined to focus on work, she couldn't shake the discomfort it caused her. But outside of that, Aston was still pretty pleasant. So she just let the whole envy thing roll off her back.

Camille pushed open the door to Aston’s office, expecting to greet him with a simple “good morning.” But as soon as she stepped inside, her words caught in her throat. Aston was sitting at his desk, but he looked nothing like the put-together man she was used to. His usually sharp appearance was now disheveled, as though he’d been awake for far too long. His eyes were unnaturally dilated, the pupils wide and unblinking, while his leg bounced erratically beneath the desk. His hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat, and he was completely unaware of her presence.

A wave of concern washed over Camille as she took in the scene. “Aston?” she called out gently, her voice tinged with worry. “Are you doing alright?”

His head snapped up in an instant, his gaze locking onto hers in a way that startled her. He had a frantic, almost fearful look. But he quickly wiped his hand across his face, as if trying to reset his expression.

"Morning, Millie," he said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat and forced a strained, dry laugh. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Camille didn't buy the forced cheerfulness. She took a step closer, setting her bag down on her desk slowly. "Are you okay? You don’t look so good," she asked, her concern deepening.

Aston waved off her concern with a flick of his hand, his smile stretched thin. “Me? Oh, I’m doing great!” he said too quickly, too brightly. “I mean, my stocks went down a little, but it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

She nodded slowly, but her suspicion lingered. Aston was obsessed with his stocks, always checking the market, always fretting over numbers. But there was always something that told her that there was more to it than stocks. Something more risky that had him far too invested and far too tense. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was hiding something.

At that moment, their finances remained separate. Camille paid her half of the rent, her share of the groceries, and contributed to other household bills, but there was no blending of accounts, no pooling of resources. She never had the intention of opening a joint account with him. There was something about the idea that didn't sit right with her. Whatever financial turbulence he was navigating, she hoped it would be sorted before their wedding day. 

Aston, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere, cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "You ready to get started, babe?" he asked, his tone brisk as he passed her a thick stack of papers. Camille glanced down at the pile, already estimating that it was at least 150 pages. She nodded as he continued. “Great. I need you to proofread these contracts. Can you do that by COB?”

Camille flicked through the papers, her brows furrowing as she flipped page after page. She could feel the weight of the task sinking in. Who could possibly get through all of this in a single day?

“That’s a pretty tight deadline...,” she breathed. Aston’s face fell for a moment, a brief flash of disappointment. But he quickly masked it, offering a small, almost apologetic smile.

“You know what, don’t even worry about it,” he said. “Just do the best you can.”

Camille returned a small smile, but her mind lingered on the sheer volume of work. She let out a quiet sigh before sinking into her chair.

“Oh, by the way," Aston’s tone shifted, a strained undertone creeping back into his voice. "I can’t go to lunch with you today. I’ve got a meeting across town that’ll run from 11:00 to 3:00." His words were casual, but there was a subtle edge to them, as if he were trying to brush off a reason he didn’t want to share.

A cold knot twisted in Camille’s stomach at the change in his voice, but she pushed it aside, choosing not to press. "Okay," she murmured, her eyes focusing on the highlighter in her hand. 

Around 10:40, Aston sprang from his chair with urgency, his movements frantic. She couldn’t help but watch, her eyes following him as he muttered a hurried “bye” under his breath, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

Something’s not right, she thought, the feeling settling into her gut. The thought crossed her mind before she could even stop it: follow him. Her eyes narrowed as she mulled over the possibility. But that would be crazy, she reasoned. What good would it do to sneak after him? Whatever she found out wouldn’t change anything anyway. And yet, the nagging curiosity to uncover just a sliver more about this mysterious meeting gnawed at her.

But before she could dwell on it further, the blare of her phone ringing pulled her from her thoughts. She glanced down, surprised to be getting a call so early on a workday. Terry’s name flashed across the screen, making her heart skip a beat. A smile instantly tugged at her lips as she scrambled to answer the call, her fingers fumbling with the screen in her haste.

“Hello,” she said, doing her best to sound casual, though her voice betrayed the excitement bubbling inside her.

“Hey, Camille, sorry to call right now. You got a minute?” Terry’s voice washed over her, rich and smooth. She felt an instant flutter in her stomach.

“Yeah, sure! What can I do for you?” she replied, her voice coming out girlier than she intended.

“I left a file I need for this presentation I’ve got in the top drawer of my desk. I won’t be able to make it there and back in time. You think you could drop it off?” he asked.

Camille hesitated, torn between her professional obligations and her personal desire to see him. Helping Terry would mean taking time away from her assignment, something that would surely upset Aston. But the thought of seeing Terry, especially after missing their usual morning exchange, was hard to resist.

“Of course! Just send me the location,” she breathed, her voice catching slightly, a soft smile creeping onto her lips as a deep chuckle echoed in her ear.

“Thanks, Camille. I appreciate it. I’ll send a pin now.”

“Okay, see you soon!” she said, her voice practically bubbling with excitement. Slightly embarrassed at how eager she sounded, she quickly hung up the phone, grabbing her bag with haste. She made her way toward Terry’s office, the joy of hearing his voice still hanging in the air.

But before she could reach the door, Camille was stopped in her tracks. Stephanie appeared out of nowhere, stepping directly into her path with a forced smile plastered on her face.

"Hey, Camille. You know Terry’s not in the office now, right?" Stephanie’s voice came out with an odd, strained edge. Camille blinked, taken aback by the abrupt question. 

“Oh, yeah. He just called me! He left something in his office and wants me to bring it to him,” Camille replied, keeping her voice polite. She moved to step around Stephanie, but Stephanie sidestepped, once again blocking her path.

“Really?” Stephanie said, her tone dripping with a sickening sweetness. “I can do it for you if you’d like. Aston mentioned that you had a lot of work to do.” The suggestion hung in the air, as if she were doing Camille a favor. Camille’s brow furrowed, her confusion deepening. Why would Aston mention that to her? 

Camille let out a weak giggle to break the tension. “That’s alright, he’s already expecting me,” she said, her voice firm but laced with the tiniest edge of irritation.

Stephanie’s smile faltered just a fraction, the expression slipping for a moment as she frowned slightly, her eyes flickering with something Camille couldn’t quite place. But after a beat, she stepped aside, finally allowing Camille to pass.

Weirded out by the whole interaction, Camille quickly walked through Terry’s office, grabbed the file and made her way towards the elevator. The feeling of Stephanie’s unblinking stare burning into her back the entire time.

That was odd, Camille thought, as she slid into her car. She grabbed her phone, pulling up the directions Terry had sent her. The map loaded slowly, and she took a deep breath, letting it steady her as she clicked her seatbelt into place. Once the directions finally pulled up, she reversed out of her parking spot and navigated the car out of the parking deck, her thoughts drifting as she hit the road.

Twenty minutes later, Camille pulled into a packed parking lot, her eyes scanning the area until they landed on the only figure outside. Terry stood near the entrance, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the morning sun. He wore a deep purple shirt and well-tailored black slacks, and for a moment, Camille was entranced by the way the colors seemed to highlight the goldeness of his skin. She sighed softly, a wistful smile tugging at her lips as she gazed at him from a distance, glad she made the drive.

I can’t have him, she thought, her heart aching slightly, but it doesn’t hurt to look. To admire. She pulled into a parking spot adjacent to him and watched as he turned toward her car, his smile confident and inviting. She didn’t want to acknowledge her feelings for him, but in moments like this, it was impossible not to.

“Hey,” he greeted as she stepped out of the car and made her way over to him. She gave him a bright smile. “Hey!” she replied, passing him the file. “This is the one, right?”

 He smiled down at her, grabbing the file.

“Yes ma’am. Thanks for taking the time to come down here,” he spoke. “I owe you.” Camille’s heart fluttered at the sincerity in his voice. “Don’t mention it, happy to help,” she replied softly, trying her best to not giggle like a schoolgirl. “Have a great presentation,” she said, turning back towards her car. 

“Hold up,” he called. Camille brought her attention back to him. “McCoy got you that busy? I was thinking I could treat you to lunch after this? It’ll only take an hour.” 

Camille hesitated, chewing on her lip. She really had to get back to work. Terry fake pouted, tilting his head. “Please, Camille,” he pleaded softly. “Like I said, I owe you one.”

Her chest tightened. He really wants me to stay! She thought. And Aston would still be gone by the time I got back…

“Okay,” she said, “Since you asked so nicely.” It’s just a harmless lunch. “I’ll just grab my phone out of the car.

She reached down into her purse as she walked back towards her car, her fingers brushing through the clutter in search of her keys. As she rummaged, her hand brushed something sharp. An unexpected jolt of pain shot through her, forcing her to yank her hand back. It felt like a scalpel had sliced her skin. A deep gash ran across the pad of her index finger, and bright red blood began to bead up, dripping down in fast, heavy drops onto the dark asphalt below. She stared down at the wound in confusion, the sharp sting still pulsing through her hand. 

“Huh,” she muttered softly to herself, not fully processing what had just happened. “I must’ve cut myself on my key–” 

Suddenly, a new, much sharper pain pierced through her neck, cutting off her train of thought. It sank deep, the sensation burning through her like fire, making her yelp. A split second of agony. Then, as quickly as it had come, the pain was replaced by an overwhelming, mind-numbing euphoria. Her senses were flooded with a pleasure and delight that seemed to drown out everything else. Every nerve in her body seemed to hum with a strange, fulfilling electricity she couldn’t comprehend.

Her vision blurred, the world around her tilting to the side. Her legs felt weak, and she stumbled, her body swaying like a leaf caught in a breeze. She had to fight to keep her balance, but it was a losing battle.

Although her strength faltered, firm arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, steadying her body. The warmth of the figure against her sent another strange thrill through her, though she couldn’t focus enough to make sense of it. She could feel the strength of the mystery person, his body solid and real against hers, but the haze of pleasure and confusion made it hard to think.

"T-Terry?" she whispered, her voice coming out weak and shaky, her boss’ name the only thing slipping through the fog in her mind. She reached up, her trembling hand brushing against the chest she was pulled into in a futile attempt to ground herself in something familiar. But the world was slipping from her grasp too quickly, her vision swimming in and out of focus. Before she could say another word, everything went black. The strange sensation she was feeling was her only comfort as darkness consumed her.

Stephanie’s song: Streets-Doja Cat

Stephanie

From the concealed safety of her car, Stephanie watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as the scene unfolded before her. Terry, the man who had her completely under his spell, suddenly and violently sank his teeth into Camille’s neck. The act was so swift, so shockingly predatory, that it left Stephanie frozen. Camille, with a look of confusion, had pulled her bloodied hand from her bag. Then, moving with unnerving speed, Terry was behind her. His teeth punctured her skin with an animalistic precision. Camille yelped in pain, but the sound quickly faded as her eyes fluttered and began to droop. Her body swayed as if she was in slow motion, and she crumpled in Terry’s grasp.

When Stephanie had first decided to follow Camille nearly thirty minutes ago, she had envisioned a confrontation, a way to make her intentions clear. She could see how Camille had developed a crush on Terry. The way she always looked at him coyly. How she would act so clueless to get him to treat her like some fragile puppy. It was a constant reminder that he didn’t belong to Stephanie, even though he's what she craved most. Terry and Stephanie weren’t a couple, but that would change. She would make sure of it. Stephanie could admit it without shame: she would do anything to have him. And that included scaring off the paralegal who had feelings for him. She had to mark her territory, to make Camille understand that she had no place in his world.

But this… this was beyond anything she had ever anticipated. The man she lusted after, the man she wanted with a ferocity she couldn’t control, was something more than human. Some sort of… supernatural creature. Stephanie’s pulse quickened, her chest tightening, but instead of revulsion, an overwhelming wave of attraction surged through her. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the way Terry’s strong arms wrapped around Camille’s collapsing body, how his mouth moved with such raw intensity against her neck. The sight stirred something dark and primal inside her, making her pussy throb.

God, that’s so hot, she thought, her breath catching. That should be me. The raw power, the dominance in the way he held Camille, it wasn’t terrifying—it was an erotic fantasy come to life.

In a daze, she reached for her phone, her fingers trembling with excitement. She quickly pressed record, capturing the moment as Terry’s fangs withdrew from Camille’s skin, leaving behind two circular wounds. He blinked down at her in shock, his eyes flashing with panic. In a frenzy, he licked the blood from the puncture, as if to somehow erase the evidence, before he swept Camille up in his arms, cradling her against him.

Stephanie’s lips curled into a sinister smile, her heart racing. She stopped recording and sank lower into her seat, knowing that the shadows of the car would keep her hidden. The weight of the discovery settled over her darkly.

I know your secret, Mr. Richmond, she thought, her mind spinning with possibilities. Let’s see how I can use it to my advantage.

------------------

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[fans4wga]

'Why creatives are seeking residuals' - thread by Stefanie Williams

[Tweet thread by Stefanie Williams @/StefWilliams25

TRANSCRIPT:

Why creatives are seeking residuals vs. "do you pay the mattress maker every time you sleep on a mattress?" A thread. I keep hearing over and over again that writers/actors/creatives don't deserve residuals for the work they create. "If I build a bathroom in a house, I don't get paid every time someone uses the toilet."

TRUE! However, your bathroom build has a set market value. Art does not. No one knows what makes one TV show an overnight success, and another a flop. No one knows what makes one song a hit, and the other a dud. If they did, trust me when I say record companies would be churning out Taylor Swifts over and over again. Studios would be making nothing but Stranger Things.

But that isn't the case. No one could predict Stranger Things would be a massive, billion dollar hit. No one could predict Taylor Swift was going to be a world wide phenomenon who literally could record herself reading Aesop's Fables and make millions of dollars. Which is why residuals are important. The pay structure protects both the creators and the publishers/distributors.

The easiest way to explain it is by referencing an author writing a book. Sure, an author might get a very modest up front fee, but the author is banking on royalties to really make money on the book — for every book sold, the author gets a piece of the pie. This protects both the author and the publisher—because if the book is a flop, the publisher doesn't go broke on a financial promise they made to the author that didn't pan out, and if the book is a mega-hit, the author didn't give away a massive, million-dollar book for 20k.

It's a sliding scale that is required for a product that has no set market value. What makes an actor's work on a hit show more valuable than an actor's work on a show that gets canned after five episodes? The market value for art almost always comes after the fact, so residuals account for that reality. They make sure the creator get compensated at a fair market rate. A person who builds a bathroom knows, upfront, what the market rate for a bathroom is. That bathroom won't suddenly be worth 1000 times more than you built it for in six months. It doesn't have the potential to be built for 20k and generate 20 million.

Residuals are a pay structure that simply account for an unsure market value. Trust me, we all wish we could quantify art in terms of dollars. But art is unpredictable. So studios and streamers -- which literally REQUIRE content to stay viable -- have to account for that unpredictability. And for studios (or record labels, or book publishers) it's always trial and error. The only way to get a hit, is to go through a few flops.

For every Whitney Houston, there was a singer you never heard of. For every Sopranos, there was a show that got scrapped mid season. For every Titanic, there was a movie that bombed. For every Twilight, there was a book about vampires that went nowhere. Residuals are kind of a reverse market valuation. They pay a fair wage for a product than can only have a set value once it's been created and effectively consumed.

And even then, shit changes. Anyone think Kate Bush would spend weeks on the top of the charts in 2022? Residuals account for unpredictable markets. And in order to have accurate residuals, streamers and studios need to be transparent and open about their data, which is one of the MANY things the WGA and SAG are both fighting for.