TVCHIVERSE: Where Fandoms Collide and Stories Ignite
Hello All. This is the formal landing page of an amalgam of daydreams, fantasies, and imitations brought to you in story/fanfiction form.
Few ground rules.
Please talk back! If you like anything I've written, have a few questions about what may happen next, or even have a few suggestions on what you would like to see, PLEASE LIKE, REBLOG, and COMMENT!!! Your feedback helps me write when I don't feel like it, helps me know what specifically you liked about that particular story, and it helps me get an energy boost.
Please be respectful. I don't walk into your house and open your fridge, go through your mail, or answer your phones. Don't come in here, especially in the comments, bullying, criticizing (not critiquing), or just being mean-spirited overall. I will delete your comments and block you.
Please, don't steal. Not only is stealing ugly, but it's also beneath you. I don't mind people drawing information from my work. However, taking my work and direct concepts of it and passing it off as your own is stealing. That will get you called out and then blocked. With that being said: Do not copy or repost my work. Do not use my work to train AI.
Please be mindful. This is ADULT content ONLY. Minors, new adults, and young adults may be depicted, but this content is for ADULTS ONLY. 18+. Please head the trigger warnings attached to the beginning of each post. Please do not ignore those, it's impolite. We're are very mindful, very demure around here.
Please be patient. While it is an ultimate goal of mine, writing IS NOT my day job. My job is very demanding and high-stakes, and when I'm not doing that, I love to be outside drawing from real-life experiences, reading, or watching TV/Flim. While I am open to requests, please try and respect the turnaround time I have to put these stories out as well as the other ideas I've had. I chose to create this page to showcase my work and push myself to write almost every day. This is supposed to be fun, NOT stressful. I reserve the right to refuse, deny, or allow myself ample time regarding requests. So please... Don't piss me off.
Now that that is out of the way. I definitely want to give some shout outs to people who had encouraged me to write. Again many thanks to @megamindsecretlair , @thecapodomme , and @vivalaorgasm . Love yall. I'm back writing again cuz a writer writes. But I've never felt rushed or pushed by yall. Just nothing but encouragement, good vibes, and great inspo. Also shout out to the entire #TerryRichmondFanfaction #RebelRidgeFanction for waking your girl up. Especially @megamindsecretlair , @hotgrlcece, @sweettea-and-honeybutter !!!
OK....now I don't just write. Like many of you, I have many hobbies some of which include: Reading, Music/Music History, TV/Flim, Photography, and Fashion. So some of my tags are:
#TVCHIVERSE - the universe where all of my fanfictions live. I will also be posting my short prose and poetry here as well.
#TVCHIsTunes - When I write, I usually write to music. My Spotify is riddled with so many playlists and mixes that I should honestly go to DJ school already. Anyway, I'll share tunes that I've been obsessed with here.
#TVCHIsRunway - where fashion and fashion history live. Archival posts get reblogged. Occasional showcase some of my own fits and style.
#TVCHIsLibrary - Posting and reblogging some great books that I've read as well as great Fanfics I’ve come across on here. May even do some reviews. Also will be posting some things from my TBR to see whether yall have read it or not and your thoughts about it before I read. (No spoilers, if you can avoid it)
#TVCHIsTV - I ultimately want to become a screenwriter yall. For real. I hope to learn from all forms of media, and the easiest for me to start out with is poetry, prose, and novels. However, I do want to be in the writers' rooms. So, with this tag, I'll post my favorite TV shows and films, speak about why I like them, and dissect plot, narratives, and scriptwriting.
#TVCHIsGallery - This tag will be me reblogging or posting art that I think is gorgeous regardless of the subject matter.
#JustTVCHI- Sheer randomness
Alright. Down to the goood shit!
As I continue to write, I will be updating this landing page to include all the one-off fics/stories as well as the series that I create. I'm in the process of starting two different series at the same time, resuming another, and writing one-off stories. There's A LOT going on. Be on the look out.
The Bunker: Part 1
The Bunker: Part 2
The Bunker: Part 3
The Bunker: Part 4
The Rhythm of You: Aldis
Echoes of Intrigue: Prt 1
Echoes of Intrigue: Prt 2
Veiled Intentions: The Hunt, 1
Veiled Intentions: The Hunt, 2
Veiled Intentions: The Hunt, 3
Veiled Intentions: Adrian
Veiled Intentions: The Catch, 1
The Challenge: About Loss
The Challenge: About Him
The Challenge: About a Challenge
The Three Of Us
My story is simple...
Anxiety
Fighting Flowers
Perceiving Genuine
Decoding Honesty
Take This Cup
Unititled
Instructions on how to get on the tag list
Thank you all in advance for welcoming me into fandom and holding space for me here. I hope to build community with each and every one of you. Please expect me under your content as well.
Music!Producer!Stack x Black!Fem!Singer!Reader ‧₊ ♪˚⊹
☆┇a taste of the story: You were having a hard time in the studio today. Things just weren't in your favor today, whether it was the flow or the lyrics. Something was missing, and you just couldn't figure it out..until your producer and boyfriend!Stack helps you alone in the isolated recording booth.
☆┇ingredients & calorie count: this late night sweet treat includes 3k+ word servings. has notes of mr. certifited eaterrrr, music!producer!Stack, black!fem!singer!reader, p in v, porn with a bit of plot, oral (fem receiving), unprotected smexy time. 18+ ,MINORS THIS IS NOT THE BAKERY FOR YOU! Ella’s Mai’s Song 10,000 hours!! all lyrics belong to Ella Mai
☆┇mika's notes: this is in fact a late-night sweet treat for my lovelies who are still up at 2 am!! tried my best with proofreading sorry for the wait, everyone. (this was supposeddddd to be a drabble but…here we are with 3k words) But hope y'all enjoy! dividers cred @cursed-carmine
The music has been playing in your ears for hours now. It's a familiar routine, you inside the isolated booth, headphones that rested against your ear, standing in front of the mic. Sheet music stand holds your printed, now it's not like you really needed them. You know the words by heart, but something isn't hitting the way you want it to. So maybe see the lyrics physically might help you figure out whatever the problem is.
You can't tell if it's your vocals, the beat, or the lyrics themselves, but something is completely off.
Through the double-paned glass that was in front of you, the luxurious control room, with its plush leather seats, top-notch recording equipment, and the walls that were decorated with a mix of your own plaques and favorite artists' records. Sitting on the other side of the glass are your manager, Ayesha, your assistant and close friend, Tia, and right in the middle, sat right in front of the soundboard is Elias, also known as Stack, your producer and boyfriend.
This was supposed to be a quick session, but it has dragged on for three hours now. Wearing a comfortable brown halter top and camo skirt with a double belt that laid low on your hips, with lots of thigh to show underneath, you shift on your feet, the frustration starting to cloud your mind. You hum to yourself, shaking your head murmuring, "Mmm, something ain't right." Usually, you’re entirely confident in your music, but this creative block is causing a stubborn stagnancy.
Now you being in the studio for hours wasn't something new, but you having trouble like this?? now this was something completely different.
Ayesha watched you through the glass as you hummed to yourself . She took note of how you were nodding your head to the beat, but pen in hand and scribbling on the paper that had your lyrics on them.
You were in the studio longer then expected due to something that was bothering you, and you couldn't even place what it was.
You couldn't put your finger on it.
Ayesha took a brief sip of her water as she sighed leaning back in the office chair, that made a slight screeching noise as she leans back. And Stack, oh Stack's eyes never left you, he saw the tension in your expression the uncertainty and doubt clouding your mind, as you shook your head scribbling more on the paper.
Before any of them could speak, your voice broke the silence in the room.
Turning back into the mic, you ask, "Can y'all isolate my vocals? I'll sing it real quick."
Outside the glass, Stack’s head tilts. He leans his elbows on the mixing desk, his fingers moving smoothly against the sliders to mute the backing track.
But as you begin to sing the lyrics raw, it still isn't working. It’s not what you want to hear, and you weren't…..feeling it??
"What do you think it is?" Ayesha asked aloud, to both Stack and Tia, they both knew what she was asking.
Tia shrugged her shoulders as she shook her head, completely stumped on what could be the problem, she thought the song was perfect and sounded good to her "I'm gonna keep it real i ain't got a clue in the world, i liked the song, but you know how she gets when she don't like somethin', it doesn't leave her mind until she fixes it,".
Stack hums agreeing, he knew how she gets in her head so quickly when it comes to her music, she gets like that because she cares deeply about it, he always knew that everything had a place for her and so once something seems outta place, you were the one to fix it.
He just wonders what you were thinking.
You let out a heavy groan, sucking your teeth, unaware of how intently Stack is watching you. He always catches the small things—the furrow of your eyebrows, the tension in your shoulders, the doubt in your eyes.
He twirls a pen between his fingers, his tongue rolling into his cheek as an idea forms. He knows exactly how to break through your frustration or whatever is going on in your head.
"Tia, Ayesha," Stack says, his tone low and calculated as he speaks to the room. "We haven't had our break yet." He briefly looks at you. "Looks like she needs one, and we could use one too. Why don't y'all step out for a bit so I can talk to her?"
Tia and Ayesha exchange a look, then glance back at him. "You sure?" Tia asks.
Stack nods, rubbing his hand along his goatee. "Positive. Y'all go on and grab some lunch. I know y'all were talkin about the new place on 5th, see what happenin' over there. I'll text y'all when we're finished here."
Tia looks at Stack and then you, "You want us to get y'all a lil somethin, heard they got some good fries there too," she offers.
Stacks waves her off "Nah, I'm straight, but you can probably get her something to eat,".
Ayesha gives him a warning look, "You betta make sure she's alright,"
Stacks nods without hesitation "Always,".
Ayesha sighs, pushing back her rolling chair with a slight squeak, and grabs her purse. Tia follows close behind, their distant murmurs fading as the studio door clicks shut.
Now, Stack leans back in his chair, his eyes entirely fixed on you.
You're still looking down at your lyric sheet, pen in hand, aggressively scratching out words and editing lines. The sudden sound of the heavy booth door opening snaps you out of your daze. Looking up, your shoulders instantly ease at the sight of him walking in. Elias stands there taking in your frustrated appearance, his white shirt clinging to his frame, every ridge of his muscles on display, and for a second, the stress of the track completely fades away.
You turn your head back to the sheet of lyrics.
"Elias, i don't know, how do i sound to you?" your head hangs low as you ask.
"You always sound good to me"
Stack's heart softens even more after he hears you call him 'Elias', it was a soft spot for him always. He walks up behind you, his hand on the music stand looking over your scribbles and notes you made on the paper as his hand slither around your waist.
"What's bothering you so much that it's got you writing liking chicken scratch on the lovely lyrics?" He asks with a smirk appearing on his face.
You sigh and shrug. "I don't know.. something ain't clicking, I'm just not feeling it,"
"I'm just….this never happens to me, you know?" you add.
Stack picks up the paper and looks at it, reading it as he paces the room, and he hums the beat to himself .
"How bout, you tell me what you like in the song and what you got going on in that head of yours?" he ask as he lightly taps your temple.
You look around the room, as you pull the one side of the headphones away from your ear.
"Ummm, I like the percussion on this track, also really like slow vibe on the one part that gives a little sensual vibe,". You begin to hum the song and go to the chorus that you love and sing.
"Why you always take so long to call me? Know I gotta wake up in the mornin'. You know every second adds up to a minute.
As you are singing Stack leaves the room heading back to the control room and standing right in front of the soundboard. He watches you, your eyes are closed and singing, he can see that you are easing into the music and then his finger moves against one of the sliders, slowing the tempo down just a little bit.
You like the way that sounds, so you continue.
You sing .
"Need 10,000 hours, We can be so in love, Don't stop, I'm counting them up.
Run the clock, I be counting them up.
We can be so in love.
You know every second adds up to a minute.
Need 10,000 hours
We can be so in love."
As you sing, Stack is adjusting the soundboard, so when you sing the lyrics "We could be so in love" it loops. Your voice is now a background vocal and looping. It sounds exactly what was missing .
A smile can't help but appear on your face as you sing. Before Stack walks back into the isolated room, he watches you as you finish singing and saves that track. You still sing to the music, and Stack walks up to you smiling.
“How does it sound now?" he asks, looking at you.
You smile as you take the headphones off and place them on his ears. Before he even hears the rest, his lips find yours, melting together. His hands immediately find your ass, as he listens to your voice singing to him
"Y/N, you sound so good" he pulls away breathlessly from the kiss.
He presses himself against you and you smile. Your lips dance together as his hand find the back of your head, bringing you closer to him.
"Hold on baby," he says pulling away ripping a needy moan from you. As he takes the headphones off and leaves the room.
He leaves the room and your panties are soaked, you stand there waiting and soon you hear your voice coming from the speakers of the isolated room.
The song you just sang, now playing throughout the room.
He walks back in with a erection that can't be ignored, but he caresses your cheek.
"Told you before to stop doubting yourself, ain't I?". He asks looking down at you.
"Y-Yes," you lean up to kiss him but he doesn't let you get the satisfaction just yet.
"You were stressin' and all I needed to hear was what you were fucking with and what you weren't, and I knew what to add once I heard it.” He kisses your neck, his wet lips sliding up your neck with little bites he leaves as he makes his way up to your ear and kisses it.
You can't help but let out a moan "Mmm, baby,".
Stack smiles against your ear, your hear a soft huff of air and shiver, "Now you just listen to yourself and how pretty you sound," he directs.
You take a sharp breath as he kisses your ear, and smiles.
As you kiss him, your soaked panties cling to your soppy pussy. You feel his fingers pull them to the side, toying with your sensitive clit, causing you to jolt in his arms.
He smirks something cocky as he watches you. He lives for how sensitive you are for him, how wet you are.
His hand slowly holds you, pressing you against the double glass-paned window. You kiss him before he pulls away and shows all the love to your chest, licking the part of skin that shows on your test and squeezing your nipples through your bra.
His eyes lock with yours, causing you to whimper as his other hand has remained busy on your clit. He kisses down your body, your breathing becomes heavy. He moves the material of your skirt and kisses the meat of your thighs. He then drags his tongue on your clothed pussy a couple of times. Your head leans back on the glass window pane.
" 'Lias- you ain't gotta-" you begin to say
"Shh, what i need you to do is it back and sing for me, go on and listen to your song and hit those high notes for me," Stack grins as he pushed your soaked panties to the side, giving your pussy kisses and licks before sliding your panties off.
His grabs your thigh, placing it on his shoulder as he begins to devour your pussy, full of tongue as his nose begins to rub your clit, your eyes widen and mouth agape as you hand supports the back of his head. "F-Fuck S-S-Eliass you—".
Stack smiles as his tongue delves into you. He groans as he hears you having trouble speaking, stumbling and stuttering over your words. Doesn't sound like much singing to him.
Your moans can't be helped from escaping you.
"Baby, I need more, please. I- could you please stop teasing!" you whine out, your hands caressing the back of his head.
Stack chuckles and hits your g spot one last time, leaving a drabble of spit and your juices smeared on his lips and your pussy. He slurps every bit, and he pulls away, standing to his feet as he hears your pleas.
"So damn, impatient. I ain't doing shit until I hear my pretty girl sing like I hear you on these fucking speakers. You got a voice of the angels, princess, and I wanna hear that." He rasps as his dick throbs in his pants.
You clear your throat, realizing he is serious. As he smiles, tilting his head, grabbing your hips and turning you to face the glass window, your hands immediately bracing on the cold glass and your breath panning on the window, fogging up just as you exhale.
And you begin to sing, the lyrics. Your voice oozing like honey in his ears. You are harmonizing with yourself. "I've been high and I've been low." He holds your hips, kissing your shoulder and neck as you continue. You feel the bass from the speakers in your chest, or maybe that was your heart racing because of how wet you were. You begin to find the rhythm of the music as if there wasn't a care in the world."But this time I know it's for sure." He watches you in the glass , his eyes taking in your figure, and feeling your ass, and soon his hands aren't on you. You
You hear a zzziiiipppp sound behind you. Stack fists himself behind you, tapping your leg, signaling for you to spread your legs wider . You continue singing."Cause I'm right where I belong, and we are only getting stronger. Feel's good to be down in my—!"
"Oooouuuu shiit—" You moan as your head leans on the glass, your breath fogging a spot on the window. Stack lined himself up with your soaked pussy so quickly you didn't even realize, and his thrust wasn’t so gentle; they had urgency and passion behind it.
"Fuuck!. You are everything, baby. Ain’t nobody doing it like you ain’t, that right?". He sinks into you again, causing your body to jolt to the window as Stack grips your hips. Your back arching, Stack looks down, looking down as his dick thrusts into you.
In and Out. In and Out. In and Out.
A constant pace, a relentless one.
“You’re so wet for me, baby. All for me, my pretty girl. Sing just for me." He grunts as he kisses your neck. Both of your senses were blown. Your music on a loop in the room, mic stand kicked on the floor. Hands everywhere, and Stack fucking you like there was no tomorrow as you throw your pussy back to him. Stack moaning and grunting in your ear as your head is leaned back on his shoulder, hand on the window, bracing and back arching.
"You sound really close, baby. You gonna come for me, ain't you?" Stack kisses your shoulder, the sound of your lovemaking, remixing with the music you just made in the studio.
Tears begin to prick into your eyelids as you whine. "Aaa-aa- I-I can't hold it anymore".
The wet slapping sounds coming from your pussy only grew as Stack continues, the material of your skirt flipped to your back. You cum, no longer able to hold it, as a moaning cry leaves your lips as your whole body convulses and locks. That doesn't cause Stack to pull back; in fact, it drives him even crazier.
Stack pulls your hips back as he is chasing your release with his own. His thrust pushes you forward to the glass. You use the glass as leverage, pushing your pussy back onto his dick, and you hear him moan. Stack cums with a groan , kissing your neck and sinking his teeth, leaving marks on your skin.
Stack fills you up, and some cum spurts onto the underside of your skirt, sinking into the material. You two catch your breath. As he pulls out slowly, smacking your ass, causing you to yelp, "Eliass!"
“Girl, stop all that," Stack chuckles, rubbing your ass softly and leading you to take a seat.
You both take a minute catching your breath as his arm wraps around you. You look at the glass closely. Squinting and smirking as you whisper, "Oh my god."
Stack looks at you as he is adjusting himself back into his pants, as he zipping his pants back up and catches his breath, "Oh my god, what, what are we whatin' about?" As he moves his head trying to match your eye line and see what you are seeing, a smirk that shows his dimples all too well appears on his face.
You try to stop him. "Don't start."
But you knew it was already done
Stacks smile is wide with pride, "Oh ho hoooo, I'm definitely taking a picture of this for keepsake, damn baby, I had your hand print like that.”
You roll your eyes, giggling at his foolish behavior, as he gets up and grabs his phone, snapping a picture at an angle for the lighting to be just right and.
Click. Click. Click.
A couple of shots were taken, and as he bends down, picking up the music stand and fallen lyrics, phone in hand, he can't help but smile as his eyes examine the picture closer.
"Hold up, I'm not gonna lie, this would make a dope ass cover for the album." He nods at the picture, already thinking of a way to edit it, if you agreed.
You can't help but roll your eyes, but now that you think of it, maybe you would.
A hand print of your love, where you make the music you love, isn't such a bad idea.
˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙— mika’s notes: thank you for reading lovelies, please reblog, comment and let me know what you think!! <𝟑 .ᐟ
۶ৎ if you’d like to continue to become a regular at my bakery, join my taglist to place your order! 🍮🥄 ˚₊‧
╰┈➤ ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
Here is the other baked goods you might want to taste. Check out my masterlist!
Music!Producer!Stack x Black!Fem!Singer!Reader ‧₊ ♪˚⊹
☆┇a taste of the story: You were having a hard time in the studio today. Things just weren't in your favor today, whether it was the flow or the lyrics. Something was missing, and you just couldn't figure it out..until your producer and boyfriend!Stack helps you alone in the isolated recording booth.
☆┇ingredients & calorie count: this late night sweet treat includes 3k+ word servings. has notes of mr. certifited eaterrrr, music!producer!Stack, black!fem!singer!reader, p in v, porn with a bit of plot, oral (fem receiving), unprotected smexy time. 18+ ,MINORS THIS IS NOT THE BAKERY FOR YOU! Ella’s Mai’s Song 10,000 hours!! all lyrics belong to Ella Mai
☆┇mika's notes: this is in fact a late-night sweet treat for my lovelies who are still up at 2 am!! tried my best with proofreading sorry for the wait, everyone. (this was supposeddddd to be a drabble but…here we are with 3k words) But hope y'all enjoy! dividers cred @cursed-carmine
The music has been playing in your ears for hours now. It's a familiar routine, you inside the isolated booth, headphones that rested against your ear, standing in front of the mic. Sheet music stand holds your printed, now it's not like you really needed them. You know the words by heart, but something isn't hitting the way you want it to. So maybe see the lyrics physically might help you figure out whatever the problem is.
You can't tell if it's your vocals, the beat, or the lyrics themselves, but something is completely off.
Through the double-paned glass that was in front of you, the luxurious control room, with its plush leather seats, top-notch recording equipment, and the walls that were decorated with a mix of your own plaques and favorite artists' records. Sitting on the other side of the glass are your manager, Ayesha, your assistant and close friend, Tia, and right in the middle, sat right in front of the soundboard is Elias, also known as Stack, your producer and boyfriend.
This was supposed to be a quick session, but it has dragged on for three hours now. Wearing a comfortable brown halter top and camo skirt with a double belt that laid low on your hips, with lots of thigh to show underneath, you shift on your feet, the frustration starting to cloud your mind. You hum to yourself, shaking your head murmuring, "Mmm, something ain't right." Usually, you’re entirely confident in your music, but this creative block is causing a stubborn stagnancy.
Now you being in the studio for hours wasn't something new, but you having trouble like this?? now this was something completely different.
Ayesha watched you through the glass as you hummed to yourself . She took note of how you were nodding your head to the beat, but pen in hand and scribbling on the paper that had your lyrics on them.
You were in the studio longer then expected due to something that was bothering you, and you couldn't even place what it was.
You couldn't put your finger on it.
Ayesha took a brief sip of her water as she sighed leaning back in the office chair, that made a slight screeching noise as she leans back. And Stack, oh Stack's eyes never left you, he saw the tension in your expression the uncertainty and doubt clouding your mind, as you shook your head scribbling more on the paper.
Before any of them could speak, your voice broke the silence in the room.
Turning back into the mic, you ask, "Can y'all isolate my vocals? I'll sing it real quick."
Outside the glass, Stack’s head tilts. He leans his elbows on the mixing desk, his fingers moving smoothly against the sliders to mute the backing track.
But as you begin to sing the lyrics raw, it still isn't working. It’s not what you want to hear, and you weren't…..feeling it??
"What do you think it is?" Ayesha asked aloud, to both Stack and Tia, they both knew what she was asking.
Tia shrugged her shoulders as she shook her head, completely stumped on what could be the problem, she thought the song was perfect and sounded good to her "I'm gonna keep it real i ain't got a clue in the world, i liked the song, but you know how she gets when she don't like somethin', it doesn't leave her mind until she fixes it,".
Stack hums agreeing, he knew how she gets in her head so quickly when it comes to her music, she gets like that because she cares deeply about it, he always knew that everything had a place for her and so once something seems outta place, you were the one to fix it.
He just wonders what you were thinking.
You let out a heavy groan, sucking your teeth, unaware of how intently Stack is watching you. He always catches the small things—the furrow of your eyebrows, the tension in your shoulders, the doubt in your eyes.
He twirls a pen between his fingers, his tongue rolling into his cheek as an idea forms. He knows exactly how to break through your frustration or whatever is going on in your head.
"Tia, Ayesha," Stack says, his tone low and calculated as he speaks to the room. "We haven't had our break yet." He briefly looks at you. "Looks like she needs one, and we could use one too. Why don't y'all step out for a bit so I can talk to her?"
Tia and Ayesha exchange a look, then glance back at him. "You sure?" Tia asks.
Stack nods, rubbing his hand along his goatee. "Positive. Y'all go on and grab some lunch. I know y'all were talkin about the new place on 5th, see what happenin' over there. I'll text y'all when we're finished here."
Tia looks at Stack and then you, "You want us to get y'all a lil somethin, heard they got some good fries there too," she offers.
Stacks waves her off "Nah, I'm straight, but you can probably get her something to eat,".
Ayesha gives him a warning look, "You betta make sure she's alright,"
Stacks nods without hesitation "Always,".
Ayesha sighs, pushing back her rolling chair with a slight squeak, and grabs her purse. Tia follows close behind, their distant murmurs fading as the studio door clicks shut.
Now, Stack leans back in his chair, his eyes entirely fixed on you.
You're still looking down at your lyric sheet, pen in hand, aggressively scratching out words and editing lines. The sudden sound of the heavy booth door opening snaps you out of your daze. Looking up, your shoulders instantly ease at the sight of him walking in. Elias stands there taking in your frustrated appearance, his white shirt clinging to his frame, every ridge of his muscles on display, and for a second, the stress of the track completely fades away.
You turn your head back to the sheet of lyrics.
"Elias, i don't know, how do i sound to you?" your head hangs low as you ask.
"You always sound good to me"
Stack's heart softens even more after he hears you call him 'Elias', it was a soft spot for him always. He walks up behind you, his hand on the music stand looking over your scribbles and notes you made on the paper as his hand slither around your waist.
"What's bothering you so much that it's got you writing liking chicken scratch on the lovely lyrics?" He asks with a smirk appearing on his face.
You sigh and shrug. "I don't know.. something ain't clicking, I'm just not feeling it,"
"I'm just….this never happens to me, you know?" you add.
Stack picks up the paper and looks at it, reading it as he paces the room, and he hums the beat to himself .
"How bout, you tell me what you like in the song and what you got going on in that head of yours?" he ask as he lightly taps your temple.
You look around the room, as you pull the one side of the headphones away from your ear.
"Ummm, I like the percussion on this track, also really like slow vibe on the one part that gives a little sensual vibe,". You begin to hum the song and go to the chorus that you love and sing.
"Why you always take so long to call me? Know I gotta wake up in the mornin'. You know every second adds up to a minute.
As you are singing Stack leaves the room heading back to the control room and standing right in front of the soundboard. He watches you, your eyes are closed and singing, he can see that you are easing into the music and then his finger moves against one of the sliders, slowing the tempo down just a little bit.
You like the way that sounds, so you continue.
You sing .
"Need 10,000 hours, We can be so in love, Don't stop, I'm counting them up.
Run the clock, I be counting them up.
We can be so in love.
You know every second adds up to a minute.
Need 10,000 hours
We can be so in love."
As you sing, Stack is adjusting the soundboard, so when you sing the lyrics "We could be so in love" it loops. Your voice is now a background vocal and looping. It sounds exactly what was missing .
A smile can't help but appear on your face as you sing. Before Stack walks back into the isolated room, he watches you as you finish singing and saves that track. You still sing to the music, and Stack walks up to you smiling.
“How does it sound now?" he asks, looking at you.
You smile as you take the headphones off and place them on his ears. Before he even hears the rest, his lips find yours, melting together. His hands immediately find your ass, as he listens to your voice singing to him
"Y/N, you sound so good" he pulls away breathlessly from the kiss.
He presses himself against you and you smile. Your lips dance together as his hand find the back of your head, bringing you closer to him.
"Hold on baby," he says pulling away ripping a needy moan from you. As he takes the headphones off and leaves the room.
He leaves the room and your panties are soaked, you stand there waiting and soon you hear your voice coming from the speakers of the isolated room.
The song you just sang, now playing throughout the room.
He walks back in with a erection that can't be ignored, but he caresses your cheek.
"Told you before to stop doubting yourself, ain't I?". He asks looking down at you.
"Y-Yes," you lean up to kiss him but he doesn't let you get the satisfaction just yet.
"You were stressin' and all I needed to hear was what you were fucking with and what you weren't, and I knew what to add once I heard it.” He kisses your neck, his wet lips sliding up your neck with little bites he leaves as he makes his way up to your ear and kisses it.
You can't help but let out a moan "Mmm, baby,".
Stack smiles against your ear, your hear a soft huff of air and shiver, "Now you just listen to yourself and how pretty you sound," he directs.
You take a sharp breath as he kisses your ear, and smiles.
As you kiss him, your soaked panties cling to your soppy pussy. You feel his fingers pull them to the side, toying with your sensitive clit, causing you to jolt in his arms.
He smirks something cocky as he watches you. He lives for how sensitive you are for him, how wet you are.
His hand slowly holds you, pressing you against the double glass-paned window. You kiss him before he pulls away and shows all the love to your chest, licking the part of skin that shows on your test and squeezing your nipples through your bra.
His eyes lock with yours, causing you to whimper as his other hand has remained busy on your clit. He kisses down your body, your breathing becomes heavy. He moves the material of your skirt and kisses the meat of your thighs. He then drags his tongue on your clothed pussy a couple of times. Your head leans back on the glass window pane.
" 'Lias- you ain't gotta-" you begin to say
"Shh, what i need you to do is it back and sing for me, go on and listen to your song and hit those high notes for me," Stack grins as he pushed your soaked panties to the side, giving your pussy kisses and licks before sliding your panties off.
His grabs your thigh, placing it on his shoulder as he begins to devour your pussy, full of tongue as his nose begins to rub your clit, your eyes widen and mouth agape as you hand supports the back of his head. "F-Fuck S-S-Eliass you—".
Stack smiles as his tongue delves into you. He groans as he hears you having trouble speaking, stumbling and stuttering over your words. Doesn't sound like much singing to him.
Your moans can't be helped from escaping you.
"Baby, I need more, please. I- could you please stop teasing!" you whine out, your hands caressing the back of his head.
Stack chuckles and hits your g spot one last time, leaving a drabble of spit and your juices smeared on his lips and your pussy. He slurps every bit, and he pulls away, standing to his feet as he hears your pleas.
"So damn, impatient. I ain't doing shit until I hear my pretty girl sing like I hear you on these fucking speakers. You got a voice of the angels, princess, and I wanna hear that." He rasps as his dick throbs in his pants.
You clear your throat, realizing he is serious. As he smiles, tilting his head, grabbing your hips and turning you to face the glass window, your hands immediately bracing on the cold glass and your breath panning on the window, fogging up just as you exhale.
And you begin to sing, the lyrics. Your voice oozing like honey in his ears. You are harmonizing with yourself. "I've been high and I've been low." He holds your hips, kissing your shoulder and neck as you continue. You feel the bass from the speakers in your chest, or maybe that was your heart racing because of how wet you were. You begin to find the rhythm of the music as if there wasn't a care in the world."But this time I know it's for sure." He watches you in the glass , his eyes taking in your figure, and feeling your ass, and soon his hands aren't on you. You
You hear a zzziiiipppp sound behind you. Stack fists himself behind you, tapping your leg, signaling for you to spread your legs wider . You continue singing."Cause I'm right where I belong, and we are only getting stronger. Feel's good to be down in my—!"
"Oooouuuu shiit—" You moan as your head leans on the glass, your breath fogging a spot on the window. Stack lined himself up with your soaked pussy so quickly you didn't even realize, and his thrust wasn’t so gentle; they had urgency and passion behind it.
"Fuuck!. You are everything, baby. Ain’t nobody doing it like you ain’t, that right?". He sinks into you again, causing your body to jolt to the window as Stack grips your hips. Your back arching, Stack looks down, looking down as his dick thrusts into you.
In and Out. In and Out. In and Out.
A constant pace, a relentless one.
“You’re so wet for me, baby. All for me, my pretty girl. Sing just for me." He grunts as he kisses your neck. Both of your senses were blown. Your music on a loop in the room, mic stand kicked on the floor. Hands everywhere, and Stack fucking you like there was no tomorrow as you throw your pussy back to him. Stack moaning and grunting in your ear as your head is leaned back on his shoulder, hand on the window, bracing and back arching.
"You sound really close, baby. You gonna come for me, ain't you?" Stack kisses your shoulder, the sound of your lovemaking, remixing with the music you just made in the studio.
Tears begin to prick into your eyelids as you whine. "Aaa-aa- I-I can't hold it anymore".
The wet slapping sounds coming from your pussy only grew as Stack continues, the material of your skirt flipped to your back. You cum, no longer able to hold it, as a moaning cry leaves your lips as your whole body convulses and locks. That doesn't cause Stack to pull back; in fact, it drives him even crazier.
Stack pulls your hips back as he is chasing your release with his own. His thrust pushes you forward to the glass. You use the glass as leverage, pushing your pussy back onto his dick, and you hear him moan. Stack cums with a groan , kissing your neck and sinking his teeth, leaving marks on your skin.
Stack fills you up, and some cum spurts onto the underside of your skirt, sinking into the material. You two catch your breath. As he pulls out slowly, smacking your ass, causing you to yelp, "Eliass!"
“Girl, stop all that," Stack chuckles, rubbing your ass softly and leading you to take a seat.
You both take a minute catching your breath as his arm wraps around you. You look at the glass closely. Squinting and smirking as you whisper, "Oh my god."
Stack looks at you as he is adjusting himself back into his pants, as he zipping his pants back up and catches his breath, "Oh my god, what, what are we whatin' about?" As he moves his head trying to match your eye line and see what you are seeing, a smirk that shows his dimples all too well appears on his face.
You try to stop him. "Don't start."
But you knew it was already done
Stacks smile is wide with pride, "Oh ho hoooo, I'm definitely taking a picture of this for keepsake, damn baby, I had your hand print like that.”
You roll your eyes, giggling at his foolish behavior, as he gets up and grabs his phone, snapping a picture at an angle for the lighting to be just right and.
Click. Click. Click.
A couple of shots were taken, and as he bends down, picking up the music stand and fallen lyrics, phone in hand, he can't help but smile as his eyes examine the picture closer.
"Hold up, I'm not gonna lie, this would make a dope ass cover for the album." He nods at the picture, already thinking of a way to edit it, if you agreed.
You can't help but roll your eyes, but now that you think of it, maybe you would.
A hand print of your love, where you make the music you love, isn't such a bad idea.
˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙— mika’s notes: thank you for reading lovelies, please reblog, comment and let me know what you think!! <𝟑 .ᐟ
۶ৎ if you’d like to continue to become a regular at my bakery, join my taglist to place your order! 🍮🥄 ˚₊‧
╰┈➤ ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
Here is the other baked goods you might want to taste. Check out my masterlist!
A/N: I am not going to lie, y'all; these last two months kicked my butt--- in a good way, though. Work picked up, but also I was OUTSIDE y'all. Touching grass and having a ball, I decided that I was going to live this summer and I've been doing just that. Because I was late with Episode 3, both Episodes 3 and 4 are dropping tonight. On the last night of the month. If you havent checked out Episode 1 and Episode 2, make sure you go check those out so that you're all caught up.
Summary: When a coordinated attack plunges the United States into permanent darkness, the country's wealthiest find their failsafes have failed them. Their private bunkers — built for exactly this moment — are sealed, inaccessible, dead. With nowhere else to turn, they converge on the only light visible for miles: a lone house on a hill.
The owner isn't home. Someone else is.
Casting: You: The Interviewer Sterling K Brown as Jerry Sabina Karlsson as Lenora Nicole Beharie as Beatrice Morris Chestnut as Roman Aldis Hodge as Xavier Tyler James Williams as Mark Precious Lee as Arabella Lawrence Fishbourne as Jackson Luke James as Peter ------------------------------------------------------------------------------
12/27/2025
Interviewer sits in his office, typing away at his desk
Woman: Hey, someone is at the front door asking for you
Interviewer: Do you know who it is?
Woman: He won’t say.
Interviewer: Okay, bring him in.
The woman gestures for a man to come into the room. Jackson appears withered. The creases in his forehead have deepened since we last saw him. He sits down opposite the interviewer and stares at the table.
Interviewer: How can I help you, Jackson?
Jackson: Help me? He chuckles.
Interviewer: Yes. How can I help?
Jackson: Since you insist on helping me. There is one thing you can do. I’ve been in the military for many years. I did a lot of things and saw a lot of shit. I've been through the worst of it. One thing that has kept me alive through all those times has been my gut. I’ve been asking myself why I get a sharp pain in my asshole whenever I think of you.
Interviewer: I didn’t know you thought of me, Jackson. What do you think about?
Jackson: I’m glad you asked. When you first came around, I thought you were a shit reporter looking to stir up some mess about that blackout. Everybody was covering it, and while no one would know about me, I could see how a trail of crumbs could lead from Jerry’s ass to me. But the more I thought about how you found Peter first, then kept harassing Xavier, and how you’ve been visiting Beatrice, something just didn’t feel right.
The pain in my ass increased. I’m very resourceful, and I think you know that about me. We all looked you up, and each of us ended up on the same three landing pages. I’ve never known a local reporter to have such a quiet social media presence and only three published articles. Then I thought that maybe you were a really shit reporter trying to make your big break and salvage your dismal career. I checked with some of my friends, and that paper you mentioned never heard of you. You are renting this office space on a monthly basis, and you didn’t have a secretary until two days ago. She doesn’t even have any temp skills. She was just released from holding for disorderly conduct. The third time this month. Now, how you got her to wear a respectable outfit, answer phones, and make appointments is beyond me. Well done.
The hemorrhoid in my ass is not her, but the fact that it seems like you appeared out of nowhere around the same time that all of your accounts did. No birth certificate, no previous job— I can’t even find a kid who bullied you in middle school. I always find those. Normally, when ghosts appear, they are trying to either tell you something or take you somewhere. I’ve met many ghosts. Hell, I’ve made plenty of ‘em. Either way, I always know who they are. Who are you?
Interviewer: Maybe you misspelled my name.
Jackson: Yea. He chuckles. I thought about that. We checked every possible spelling of the name and the paper you gave us. It came up empty. The thing is, that didn’t check out either. So I’ll ask you again. Who are you?
Interviewer: I am a reporter, and I am doing a story about what happened during the blackout.
Jackson: So that’s the story you’re sticking to? Okay. Fine. You seem like a smart enough guy who would at least have started an internet presence way before a month ago, just in case anyone checked. I’m not sure if you don’t know what you’re doing or if you know exactly what you’re doing. Anyhow, something about you gives me ass pain. When my ass hurts, I do everything in my power to make it go away. Everything. Let me make it plain. You aren't who you say you are. I don’t know why you’re snooping around, but I’m gonna find out. Don’t be here when I do.
As Jackson stands up to leave, he looks back at the Interviewer.
Jackson: There were a lot of people who thought that they were smarter than me. A lot of them aren’t here anymore.
With that, he turns and leaves.
Woman: What was that all about?
Interviewer: I’m not sure. I don’t think he likes me very much.
Woman: Why? You're just writing a story.
Interviewer: There are always people who don’t want you to write about what is really going on, Lacy. Remember that
Interviewer sits in his car, recording on his device.
Interviewer: I am on the corner of Placid and Meyer. Jackson Pierce and Xavier Wilson are at a diner speaking to each other. They’ve been there for about 20 minutes.
The interviewer watches them, trying to read their lips. His phone rings.
Boss: You coming in today?
Interviewer: I’ll be there later on tonight.
Boss: How many hours do you think you’re gonna do today? I’m figuring payroll right now.
Interviewer: I’ll probably do about six hours.
Boss: Shit, you can do eight hours and make it easier on me. Where are you anyway?
Interviewer: Ross’ Diner.
Boss: Best goddamn waffles in town!
Interviewer: Yea. They’re really good. I remember when it was built. The diner was a new relic in this old town some years back. There was a grand opening with a ribbon-cutting, camera, reports and the whole nine.
Boss: Well, tell Alice I asked about her and do eight today.
Interviewer: Mmhm.
Interviewer hangs up the phone and looks out of his windshield again. This time, he notices that a woman has joined the table. He grabs his device.
Interviewer: A woman has joined the table. Strawberry blond with loose curls. Back is turned, and I can’t see her face.
The three stand up and head out the door of the diner.
Interviewer: The woman is Arabella Wilcox.
Interviewer starts the engine of his car and follows them out. He drives for an hour and arrives in a secluded neighborhood. He parks farther down to avoid being spotted. He takes several pictures of the area. This is a house he’s never seen before. Different from the residences he’s been visiting. He gets out of the car and heads back the way he came, looking for any streets he can identify. He notices that the rocky base of the hill on which the obscured house sits can be climbed. He attempts to climb the base but slips on one of the rocks, losing his footing. As he stumbles, landing on the ground, he notices something shiny in between the rocks. He gets up and heads for the rocky base again. This time, he swipes the dirt away from the rocks and peers at the shiny object lodged in between.
A voice: It’s been a while since someone has tried to break in that way.
Startled, the Interviewer turns around
A voice: Hi, there. My name is Roman Ainsworth. And you are? He flashes an alarmingly wide smile.
Interviewer: Hello, Mr. Ainsworth. I wasn’t trying to break in. I was looking for something I lost in the base of the hill there, and I was trying to retrieve it.
Roman: Oh dear. Maybe my cameras got it wrong. They saw your car, then you walking back over here, then you again trying to climb the hill. I keep telling everyone that all these technologies will be the death of us one day. All of my friends insist that AI is the future. Ah well, what is it?
Interviewer: Huh?
Roman: What did you lose?
Interviewer: Oh. Right. I lost one of my headphones.
Roman: Really? How did it manage to get out of your car?
Interviewer: Well, I must confess that I am a little lost. I turned the wrong way a while back, and I walked back down here to see if there were any recognizable streets that I could type into my GPS. In doing that, they dropped, and one landed over there.
Roman: On top of the hill?
Interviewer: No. I was just fooling around. It’s probably on the ground somewhere.
Roman: Hmmmm. Well, let me help you look for them.
Interviewer: You know, on second thought, I can just buy a new pair. But if you can help me figure out what street we’re on, that would be of most help.
Roman: Are you sure? About the headphones, I mean. I could help you look. It’s no trouble at all.
Interviewer: No, I’m sure. Thank you.
Roman: Very Well. Well, this is Ainsworth Manor.
Interviewer pauses, waiting for the rest of his response.
Interviewer: Wait, this street is called Ainsworth Manor?
Roman: Yes.
Interviewer: Oh. okay. How long have you lived here?
Roman: My family has been here for quite a long time. Since the 1920s, I believe.
Interviewer: I hope your family was rather large. There aren’t any other houses for miles. Easy to get lonely that way.
Roman: It was just my parents, my two siblings, and me.
Interviewer. Oh. Well, I hope that you made out okay in that blackout. It was brutal. I don’t know how someone could survive here. Especially after everyone’s generators died.
Roman: Oh! Yes! The blackout. That was rather unfortunate. I heard the entire town came undone. Total chaos and disarray. Such a shame. I made it out all right. Good stock of supplies and such.
Interviewer: Wait, you were here?
Roman: Oh, yes.
Interviewer: Here alone?
Roman: Yes.
Interviewer: How did you manage?
Roman: As I said, this house is very equipped to handle disasters like that. I went into town and got fresh supplies, not knowing how useful they would be in just a short while.
Interviewer: Interesting.
Roman: Why is that?
Interviewer: Well, it’s just that there are some folks who have quite a bit of means, and they struggled with supplies and such through the blackout.
Roman: That is quite interesting. Maybe they managed their resources efficiently.
Interviewer: Perhaps. It’s just that they all said that they were fully stocked on supplies, but couldn’t access their bunkers. I imagine there's a bunker beneath a house as vast as this one. Were you able to access yours?
Roman: You should enter the street into your GPS now and find your way back. It’ll be dark soon. I wouldn’t want you to be stranded. A large smile stretched across his face.
Interviewer: Right. Thank you.
Roman: I’ll walk you to your car.
Interviewer: I can make it on my own.
Roman: I insist.
When they finally arrive at the vehicle, the Interviewer climbs in and offers a wave before reversing and heading down the hill.
Arabella: Please, something’s not right. You have to help me!
Interviewer: What is going on? How did you get this number?
Arabella: Please, meet me at the corner of Main and Spring Rd. There’s a small shop there.
Interviewer: Arabella, what is this about?
Arabella hangs up the phone without answering. Interviewer gets in the car and drives to the rendezvous spot. Looking around and not seeing any viable threats, Interviewer climbs out of the car and heads towards the shop. Arabella sits off in a dark corner, watching the Interviewer look around.
Arabella: I can’t sleep, you know. I try. I try every day but I just can’t. My therapist calls it survivor’s remorse. He doesn’t quite know how wrong he is.
Interviewer: Arabella, what is going on? It’s the middle of the night.
Arabella: The night terrors are one thing. I’ve gotten used to waking up in a cold sweat. It’s the insomnia that starts to weigh you down. You start seeing things. Things that aren’t there. Things that used to be there.
Interviewer walks towards her and takes a seat across from her.
Interviewer: Is this your place?
Arabella: It’s anyone’s place.
Interviewer: You’re not making much sense to me. Where are we, and why did you call me?
Arabella: I fear that only you can help me. The others won’t listen.
Interviewer: Okay. Start from the beginning.
Arabella: crazed laugh The beginning? The beginning? We don’t have time for that.
Interviewer: I need to know what has happened and what is happening so that I can help you.
Arabella: Tricey died today. I—- I don’t understand it. The doctors said that she was stable. This morning they called me to say that everything was fine. When I got there to visit her, she was cold. Gone.
Interviewer: Did they say what happened?
Arabella: They couldn’t figure it out. They are trying to do an autop—.
Arabella falls silent. She picks at her fingernails in a repetitive cadence.
Interviewer: Arabella?
Arabella: He used to hit me. All the time. I could never dress to his liking or say the right things at those God-awful dinners that I had to prepare at the last minute. I could only speak about certain things because I had no way of knowing what could set him off. I would wake up early in the mornings and iron five shirts and three slacks. I’d place different ties and cufflinks so that he would have options. One day, I forgot to place the green tie out front, and he slapped me. He threw a shoe at me because it wasn’t polished to his liking. He treated everyone who waited on us awfully. We rotated help like underwear. The lawsuits piled up, and some threatened to go to the press. Tricey saw the edge of a bruise that I didn’t conceal all the way and took me to the bathroom. She didn’t make a scene, ridicule me, or pry. She took some powder out of her purse and pressed it into my bruise. It was gentle, silent, and tender. All the things I was lacking. We became friends. Close. Friends.
One day, he found the two of us together. It has been the best day of my life, but it started out rough. We had been fighting that morning, and he choked me. Walter and Isadora were headed to school when they heard me scream and ran upstairs. I try to shelter the kids as much as possible. I couldn’t help it. They begged him to stop. In his rage, he knocked Isadora out cold. Breathless, I crawled over to her and placed my body over hers. He paused and walked out. I drove the kids over to my mother’s after that. Walter was hysterical, and so was I. I called Tricey and she picked me up. I couldn’t form the words so my mother told her everything. Everything I had managed to tell her through sobs.
We sat in the car for a bit and then she took me into the city. Her penthouse suite was there. She took my clothes off item by item while I stared off and tried to gather the mess that was my life. She bathed me. She soaped and lathered every inch of me, taking care to mind the bruises and welts. I felt it was a cruel joke that I had to come within an inch of my life to garner such compassion. I kissed her. She kissed me back. She guided me onto the bed and began to kiss my bruises. I cried silently. She parted my legs to uncover the bruise that lay within them. She kissed those too. My breath hitched as she took my essence into her mouth and gently kissed.
That day led into the next and the next and the next. We lay together for days. I would only check my phone to speak to the children. He called me incessantly but I ignored him. I was in a sanctuary of love. On the fourth day, he barged through the door while Tricey and I were on the sofa. She had me in her mouth while she caressed my breast. At the sound of his scream, I turned quickly. He stalked toward me and Tricey slowly detangled herself from my legs, wiped her lips, and retrieved a gun from under the cushion I was sitting on. He slowed his pace. Screamed insults and demanded me to get my things. I stood there looking at Tricey. The way she moved, it was almost as if she knew he was coming. Like…she expected it. I eventually left bliss and went back to my gilded cage. Tricey stopped by every day and stood outside the gate with her gun and her security, waiting. When I ran errands, she would inspect me. He eventually found other ways to hurt me but I was physically sound. She loved me and now, she’s dead.
Interviewer: I’m so sorry for your loss, Arabella.
Arabella: I think he killed her.
Interviewer: Arabella, Mark is dead.
Arabella: Not him. The voice.
Interviewer: Arabella, the blackout is over. What makes you think the same person is still after you all?
Arabella: I never answered the part of my riddle. Mark was gone and the kids were… She offered herself up for me. I was Lust.
The remaining wake up in a dense fog. One by one, everyone slowly awakens to find they are alive.
Isadora: *sobbing* Mommy, are we going to die? I don’t want to die!
Arabella: crying Where are you Izzy? I can’t see you! Can you reach me?
Isadora: They took Daddy away?! Are they going to take me away? Why did they take Daddy away?
Arabella: I don’t know, Darling. I really don’t know. I need you and your brother to find me. How far can you reach towards the sound of my voice?
Isadora: Mommy, I’m scared! Please help me!
Arabella: Mommy is trying to reach you but I can’t reach far enough. I need you to be a brave girl! Remember we talked about being brave? I need you to do a very hard thing right now and I know that it’s scary but I need you to try. Try to reach me, Izzy.
Isadora tries to wrangle herself as far as she can towards her mother’s voice. She stretches until she finds that she can in fact, move her arms and legs. She slithers as far left as she could while Arabella talks.
Arabella: Izzy! Izzy!!! Oh, Izzy is this you?
Isadora: Yes, Mommy it’s me!
Isadora leaps into her mother’s arms and hugs her tightly. After some moments, Isadora loosens her grip.
Arabella: Where’s your brother?
Isadora: I don’t know. I don’t know if he was still with me. You told me to come to you.
Xavier: How the fuck is she free?
Arabella: Izzy, I need you to be brave once more. I need you to go back and get your brother.
Isadora: No!
Arabella: Izzy, I can’t protect the both of you if your brother isn’t here too.
Isadora: Please don’t make me go back! I’m so scared. Mommy, please I just want to go home. Let’s just go home.
Arabella: Izzy, please. I need the both of you home. I don’t know where they took your father, so it’s us three for now. I’m still tied up. Can you be the brave girl you were just now?
Isadora: Mommy, I’m scared
Tabitha: Please help us, Izzy!
Peter: Izzy, none of us grown-ups are able to free ourselves. Could you tell us how you got free?
Jackson: Izzy, it’s time to sink or swim, kid. I need you to find whatever key let you out and let us all out. We don’t have any time for this!
Xavier: Isadora, how did you let yourself free? Tell us!
Isadora: I don’t know! I didn’t do anything. I was just free.
Xavier: You’ve must have done something! Everyone else is still chained.
Isadora: I don’t know! I didn’t do anything!
Jackson: Shit, kid, stop fucking around and let us loose
Isadora lets out a wail
Arabella: STOP IT! ALL OF YOU! If she says she doesn’t know, then she doesn’t know. Leave her alone!
Isadora: Mommy, I swear I didn’t do anything. You told me to come and I did. continues to sob
Arabella: I know Izzy. I know. The grown-ups are still in chains. I’m not able to hold you or your brother because my hands are tied. I can’t go with you because my feet are tied. Is there any way you can crawl back over where you were and see if you can feel for a key to get us out of these?
Isadora: Mommy, I don’t know!
Voice: The time has come again where one of you must confess or one of you must fall. It seems appears that little Isadora is free. She will remain free as long as one of you solves the riddle within twenty minutes and chooses her as the survivor. It’s only fitting that I choose the matriarch of the family to do the honors. Failure to solve this riddle will result in the demise of both children
Arabella: No! No! You will not harm a hair on their heads, you hear me?
Voice: No. I won’t harm them. You’ll be the one to harm them as you’ve always done. You will have to choose which one lives and which one dies at the sound of the alarm.
Arabella: You said one of us can confess. If we make a confession, none of them have to die, right?
Voice:
I wear no face, yet I've stolen a thousand
I live in the palace and sleep with the peasant.
I am not the wound, but I sharpen the blade,
I am not the shadow but I darken the shade.
I arrive before wanting and leave after shame,
I have no true owner yet answer when named.
The righteous have buried me, deep in the ground —
Yet here in your chest, I am already found.
What breathes without lungs and burns without flame
That saints have renounced but can never quite tame?
What am I, if not…..
Arabella: I don’t know. I’m not good with riddles. Please! Take me and leave my children alone!
Voice: You have twenty minutes.
Arabella: *looks around* One of you knows why we are all tied like hogs, and my children are being threatened. How many lives have to be lost for one of you all to just tell this miscreant what he wants to hear!! I’m begging you. None of these children deserves any of this. They are innocent! Say what you know!
Jackson: Seems like there’s something you know, too. Why did that sick fuck say that you harm those children?
Arabella: He’s deranged. How do I know? I’ve never laid a hand on their heads.
Jackson: You know something. Maybe that's what he wants.
Arabella: Jackson, excuse my language, but I think that is utter bullshit and you know it. He’s been saying this from the start. One of you is the reason we are here.
Xavier: Arabella, I think you need to focus on the riddle. We don’t know what this man is getting at but we do know that if someone doesn’t solve this riddle then someone will die. We don’t want that to happen.
Isadora: Mommy, is he going to kill me? I don’t want to die. Please help me!! Isadora screams
Arabella: Izzy, I need you to go back and get your brother. I’m trying to get us out of this. Izzy, be brave!
Isadora crawls back over to her right in search of her brother.
Isadora: Walter, are you there? Can you reach me? Walter?? Walter, say something.
Tabitha: Izzy, I don’t think that he is doing so well.
Isadora: Walter, can you touch me if you hear me?
Arabella: Walter, honey, please try to reach out for your sister so that she can lead you to me.
Isadora: Walter?
Isadora feels around in the space that used to be occupied by Walter
Isadora: Mommy, Walter is gone.
Arabella: What do you mean, he is gone? Where could he go, Izzy? Tabitha, he was beside you, wasn’t he?
Tabitha: Yes, Mrs. Alexander. But then I didn’t hear anything when we woke up this last time. I thought something had happened, like with Benji.
Arabella: Walter? Answer me honey!!! Walter!!?!?!
Xavier: Keep your voice down, Arabella. Focus on the riddle. Maybe Walter will come out after we solve the riddle.
Peter: The voice said you would have to choose. I don’t like this at all.
Arabella: Peter, please help me. You’re good with riddles. Do you know this one?
Peter: I’m not sure that I have the answer, Arabella. I don’t want to be wrong and then jeopardize everything. I’m sorry.
Arabella: *she cried* Someone please help me! You all have to help Walter and Izzy, please! I’m begging you.
Voice: Your twenty minutes will conclude in five. Do you have an answer to the riddle?
Arabella: No, please! I need more time. I don’t know the answer. Please stop this!!!
Voice: You have three minutes.
Arabella: Please! *she looks around* One of you, help me!!! Any one of you!!!
Voice: Two minutes.
Arabella: Don’t let him take my baby!
Xavier: Stop this. The kids don’t need to be involved. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.
Voice: Tell everyone why you are all here today.
Xavier: Can you be more specific?
Voice: What is the reason for the blackout?
Xavier: There was a bombing. Everyone has been talking about the war with Panama. The U.S. went overseas because they had American political hostages. Some of the tech we created was used and one of them misfired. It hit a village full of civilians and the death toll was higher than what was publicly announced. We provided aid and some funds to them in secret also.
Voice: Almost, Xavier. Almost, but not quite. Time is up, Arabella. Run little Isadora. RUN!
Fireworks erupt near the circle. A startled Isadora started running into the darkness. The fireworks continue firing towards Isadora’s direction, then a different sound emerges. A round of bullets start firing towards a frantic Isadora, desperately trying to escape until one strikes her in her back. Falling to the ground with a shriek, Isadora cries out once more for her mother until another bullet pierces her neck. The array of bullets stops then. With no time to react, Walter emerges suspended from one of the tree branches. Bound and gagged, tear stains are all that are seen to indicate his distress. Arabella screams.
Beatrice: We weren’t supposed to be there. We invaded because it was an opportune time to seize the canal. Jerry’s entire platform was used to get the American people around seeing Panama and their minute control of trade as a major threat to the economy. We told him to cry out against Panamanian refugees and citizens of Panamanian descent. Most of them were black so they were easy to otherize. There were race riots.
We spliced footage and spun peaceful protests outside the detention facilities into crimes of passion and terror. It always works. People are predictably dense. Once Jerry was in office, there would be enough votes. Enough votes to convince Congress to pass a bill meant to increase the defense budget to approve the use of Mark’s AI drones and the ultimate invasion of Panama for…
Jackson: Beatrice, STOP!
Beatrice: This has to end! How many children are you going to watch die tonight?
Voice: You forget, Beatrice, he has caused far many more deaths then he cares to admit. The riddle has still been left unsolved but some truths have been told. Little Walter lives to see another day but no good deed goes unpunished.The gas arises once more, surrounding them in their thick cloud. Visibility is low, but everyone hears a loud thud. Walter cries in pain but his cries and coughs are muffled by the gag in his mouth. Arabella screams for Walter until they all grow silent.
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Again, thanks for reading my first attempt at a suspense thriller. If you're coming across me for the first time and want to be tagged in this fic or any others, please comment and let me know you wanna be tagged!
A/N: LATE IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR!!!!! If that went over y'all's heads, don't even worry about it. I made it to the last post of the quarter by the skin of my teeth! I promised you a two-for-one, and here is the latest episode of The Last Bunker, Episode 4. In the last episode, some more people got knocked off, including another one of dem babies. RIP. If you have no clue what I'm talking about, go ahead and get caught up. Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3.
Summary: When a coordinated attack plunges the United States into permanent darkness, the country's wealthiest find their failsafes have failed them. Their private bunkers — built for exactly this moment — are sealed, inaccessible, dead. With nowhere else to turn, they converge on the only light visible for miles: a lone house on a hill.
The owner isn't home. Someone else is.
Casting: You: The Interviewer Sterling K Brown as Jerry Sabina Karlsson as Lenora Nicole Beharie as Beatrice Morris Chestnut as Roman Aldis Hodge as Xavier Tyler James Williams as Mark Precious Lee as Arabella Lawrence Fishbourne as Jackson Luke James as Peter -----------------------------------------------------------------------------
1/2/2026
Interviewer is back at the shop at his work station. In between clients, he receives an email from an address that he doesn’t know. He opens the email and scans its contents. There’s no subject, no signature, and not text but there is an attachment.
Interviewer: I hope Proofpoint was worth the money.
He opens the attachment and finds a letter that reads:
New York News
2 World Trade Center
New York, NY, 10007
Date: February 24, 2025
Dear XXX,
This letter serves as formal notification that your employment with New York News is terminated, effective immediately as of February 24, 2025.
This decision has been reached following the conclusion of a thorough internal investigation conducted by New York News’ Editorial Leadership and Human Resources Department. The investigation, which was initiated on January 5th 2025 and conducted in accordance with our established review procedures, identified conduct on your part that is wholly inconsistent with the professional standards, editorial integrity, and reputational obligations upheld by this organization.
The findings of the investigation revealed activities that constitute a serious breach of the trust this institution has placed in you as a representative of New York News. Specifically, the review process identified conduct that violates our Code of Editorial Conduct, our Standards of Professional Integrity, and our Employee Code of Ethics, each of which you acknowledged and agreed to upon the commencement of your employment. The nature of these findings is such that the continued employment relationship between yourself and New York News is no longer tenable.
Please be advised of the following, effective immediately:
Not able to read the email and longer, he closes his laptop.
Interviewer: Who had this letter and how did they find out?
Lacy: What did you say?
Interviewer: Nothing. I was talking to myself. I’m going to head to the back. Call me if you need anything.
Lacy: Alright.
Interviewer heads towards the back of the shop where there is more privacy. He retrieves a big poster board tucked behind boxes in the far left corner of the room.
Interviewer: thinks to himself No one else knows that I don’t work for the paper anymore especially no one this far West. Either Jackson made good on his threat or someone…
Interviewer runs to retrieve a bound notebook from a desk on the right side of the room and opens it on a table with the poster.
Interviewer: There has to be a bigger link between these people. Yes they may have been involved in some corruption. That’s most people in mass media, entertainment, and politics but most of them aren’t dead. I’m missing something here. Looking at his purp board Jackson is a hardass and likely had direct involvement with the military in Panama but why kill him? What was his direct involvement? Xavier is the marketing of the AI company but Mark was the true brains behind it. At least that's how it appears on the site.
Malfunctioning military drones taking out a whole village would upset a lot of people. His death makes sense. However, why were Arabella and the kids attacked? Why were any of the spouses involved? That is what I don’t understand. From Arabella’s account, she had been in an abusive marriage, fallen in love, and may have engaged in a peaceful divorce as long as she got custody of the children. Why was she almost killed? Jerry incited a race riot trying to run for political office. In his state, he detained a lot of minorities. They banned him from the neighborhood he grew up in because he turned on his own. There are a couple of people who might have been after him and Lenora. She stood by his side as the dutiful wife and so people would naturally assume that she either didn’t think or that she agreed with his ideals. Their kids would've been collateral.
Peter is a banker. Jerry, Mark, and Xavier all did business with Vanderguild Trust. They were in the news for being very lenient on their business loans for those in Congress but so is JP Morgan. There isn’t enough here to chain Peter up and kill his wife. Finally this Roman guy. I don’t like him. There is something about him that I can’t quite put my finger on. He comes from money, old money. Outside of that, no one really knows what he does. His internet presence is superficial at best. He can be seen shaking hands with the whos who but why do they know him? How do they know him? Why is he still relevant in their circles?
Interviewer sits back exasperated. The Boss walks into the room and startles him. Interviewer scrambles to collect all of the sheets of paper, the perp board, and the notebook.
Boss: Since you strolled into town looking for a job, I knew there was something about you that would start trouble. I hired you because you knew your way around a saw and my children aren’t around. I would get around with the help of my wife and Lacy but when she passed, there was an immeasurable amount of pain. She was the life of the business. I didn’t think I could go on without her. I managed to find some fight in me after all of that and kept going. In short, I needed you and you needed a job. When you asked to use the backroom, I didn’t argue or pry just as long as you did your work and kept everything in order. I thought maybe you were organizing a side hustle or something like that. What I didn’t suspect was you trying to write a story on those uppity folks across the way. Normally, I would just mind my business but anything that is gonna put me or this business in danger is my business. I think it’s best if you leave those folks alone and stop trying to dig up the evil in this town. I say this from experience, son. When you start looking for the devil, you better be prepared to wrestle with him. Those people are of the devil but parade around like gods. They’re the worst kind.
Interviewer: I’m on the verge of discovering what really happened across this country last year. I’ll be able to bring millions of people closure. The people responsible for this must pay.
Boss: You think a little article is going to bring about justice? It always amazed me how someone like you could believe in the law. Newspapers have come and gone and nothing has changed around here. Look up on that corner shelf right there and tell me what you see.
Interviewer peered up in the direction of the Boss’s finger and noticed a stack of papers that filled the shelves.
Interviewer: A stack of papers, sir.
Boss: What kind of papers?
Interviewer: Newspapers, sir
Boss: Bring one of them down and read one to me.
Interviewer: reaches up for a paper and brings one down, opens it, and reads. Victory for the Eisenhowers. After a long, grueling battle against the city for foreclosing on several properties in low income neighborhoods. Several families came together to file a class action lawsuit against the Eisenhowers and their private equity firm, stating that their loans were predatory and monthly mortgage payments drastically increased after the six month deferment period which was not stated in the beginning. Each family member presented a copy of their mortgages and the notices of increased interest rates that were sent to them in the mail every six months. Vanderguild Trust, claimed that the increase in interest rates were lawful and agreed upon when each family applied for the mortgage at their banks. Contracts were reviewed by the judge and presented in discovery sighted arbitration clauses and disclosure documents signed by the borrowers as the legal premise for which the lenders obligations were met. Twelve of the fourteen families involved in this class action lawsuit had until next week to evacuate their homes.
Boss: Look at the pictures. See anything familiar?
Interviewer stared at the picture, not noticing at first. On second glance he noticed two boys in their early twenties standing off center and behind who Interviewer presumed was Vincent Vanderguild. He recognizes one of the faces.
Interviewer: That’s. That’s … Peter.
Boss: If you look back up there, there’s hundreds of papers just like this one. Something gets done to innocent folks, people complain, protest, and go to court, after more money is gone nothing ever happens. I can’t afford to lose this shop or get run out of town by the folks you writing about. I’m not gonna tell you what to do, but I’m gonna tell you that if ya gonna do it, leave this shop out of it!
Interviewer: I didn’t mean to upset you. They know who I am. They know I’m doing this alone.
Boss: That doesn’t matter to people like them. This shop and everything close to you is collateral damage if they decide that they want to hurt you. They’ll make an example out of you like they’ve been doing all these years. I know that first hand. I’m no friend of theirs but I stay out of their way and that’s been working for me. I suggest you do the same.
Boss walks out of the room. Interviewer looks up at the newspapers, perplexed.
Interviewer: All this time and it’s been above my head. All. This. Time.
Interviewer grabs the newspapers and stuffs as many as he can into his bookbag. He tidies up the office space, rerolls his perp board, and walks out through the back entrance.
Interviewer is in his apartment, paging through the newspapers that he retrieved the night before in the backroom.
Interviewer: They’re all here. Every single one of them and their families except Xavier. They’ve been here for generations. All of them.
Interviewer moves from the table to a small desk in the living room and begins to type on his laptop. When he gets a call, he lets it ring. The phone rings twice more and he ignores it. There is a knock at the door. He walks to the door, opens it, and discovers a package on the floor. He peers out into the hall to spot who delivered the package but no one is seen exiting the hallway or entering the elevators. He carries the package inside. Retrieving a box cutter from the kitchen table, he opens the package, and discovers a black case. He goes into his room and takes a metal detector and wands the box.
Interviewer: I don’t even know what I’m doing. I shouldn’t open this. Who can I call? Who can I call? Oh shit!
Interviewer picks up the phone and dials a number. A voice response on the other end.
Interviewer: Jackie. I—-
Jackie: You always call me when you need something and just show up when you want to fuck.
Interviewer: Jackie. I just need you to.
Jackie: Do you know what time it is?
Interviewer: Jackie, listen to me this is a matter of life and death.
Jackie: So why you don’t never die? Isn’t this your fifth matter of life and death? Last time you miraculously found your way inside me bed. I’m not doing this with you.
Interviewer: Someone is threatening me and I got a box sent to my apartment with a black case inside and I don’t know what it is.
Jackie: Bullshit!
Interviewer: I’m serious. I used the wand thing you got me but you know I don’t mess with this stuff. I write the news.
Jackie: Okay, so what does the box look like?
Interviewer: It’s a black box but there’s no lock on it.
Jackie: Did the metal detector beep when you ran it over the box?
Interviewer: No it didn’t.
Jackie: Are there any weird smells coming from the box?
Interviewer: No, not that I can tell.
Jackie: Normally, I would come over, take the box, and give it to one of my guys to make sure it’s safe before opening it but I have no idea where the fuck you are and I shouldn’t care. So you have two options. Either open it or don’t.
Interviewer: Thanks. That was very helpful.
Jackie: Yup.
Interviewer: Hey Jackie, I wanted to say that I’m —
Jackie: I’m not going to lie and say another apology is going to do anything for me. Keep it.
The line goes dead. Interviewer puts the phone down and faces the box again.
Interviewer: Okay. We’re gonna do this. We’re gonna open it.
The interviewer opens the box and finds a bloodied chrome watch staring back at him. He stumbles back from the table where the box rests. It would only be a matter of time until the news caught wind of this.
Peter stands in the fourth pew wearing all black. He visibly looks shaken and pale. Interviewer walks up beside him.
Interviewer: I think you all need to start telling me everything that happened that night. It’s clear that whoever this guy is won’t stop until every last one of you is where he is.
Interviewer points to Xavier, who is in a casket dressed in a navy suit. Both arms were placed at his side. The Interviewer peers intently at his hands and notices that Xavier’s left hand is different in texture and color than his right hand. He also notices that Xavier is not donning the chrome watch he often rotated when he was anxious. Instead, there was a simple leather banded, gold plated watch. Interviewer turns to Peter. Peter remains quiet, staring at Xavier. A Pastor stands from his seat and approaches the pulpit slowly and wearily. As he approaches the microphone, the room grows quiet. Cries from an older woman can be heard from the first pew. Others around her try to console her. Interviewer looks around the room and sees Jackson in the sixth row to the left and Arabella in the fifth row to his right.
Pastor: Let us pray. Lord, settle Your Spirit in this place like a warm hand on a grieving shoulder. Comfort those who mourn, and let every word spoken today honor the man You made. Amen.
I can’t even believe that I’m standing here speaking on this today. I baptized this boy. He ate at my table countless times. I—
Xavier was a very fine member in this community. We were all so proud of him. He was the first in this family to go to college and get his master’s. And a "first" is not just an achievement. It is a door that did not exist before. It says to every child and grandchild who comes behind: this is possible. I went ahead. Follow me. He went ahead. He allowed the children in this neighborhood to shadow him, to learn from him, and pick his brain about how to get where he was. He never turned anyone down. Like I said, I knew this boy. And I do no one favors by speaking only in soft colors about a complicated life. Xavier was beloved — fiercely, loyally beloved. But there were times he was distant. And in these last days, he carried the weight of grief and sorrow on his mind that came on him without permission and without mercy.
I want to say plainly: that was not a moral failure. It was a sickness. And he bore it largely alone, the way men of his generation were taught to bear hard things. I wish he had known he could lay it down. But I will not let the storm be the last word. Because the whole story includes the things he built, the doors he opened, and the line of people in this room whose lives were shaped by the fact that he lived. Romans 8:38 says that nothing in all creation can separate us from the love of God. Not distance. Not illness. Not one hard chapter of this story.He is held. And so are you. Amen.
Interviewer: Says quietly They ruled it a suicide.
Peter: They said that he had a psychotic break and cut off his own hand.
Interviewer: Did he seem like the kind of person that would do that?
Peter: He’s been wired and he wasn’t taking his medications since the incident apparently. I didn’t even know he was on medication. His trustee came to me with the news and legal documents to withdraw some funds among other things. He also said that there was a note.
Interviewer: A note
Peter: With a riddle on it.
Interviewer: What did it say?
Peter: I didn’t ask his trustee. A few days later, his mom came to me telling me about the note and stating that Xavier would never kill himself. She asked me to help her make it out. I told her that she should speak with his attorneys and the police if she suspected foul play. I’m just a banker. She showed me the note, saying she remembered how good I was at riddles and solving problems at triathlons. I stared at the note and I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that I thought we were done. That we were free.
I can’t be seen talking to you. The others won’t like it but no one can make sense of what is going on.
Interviewer: Fine. Then let’s meet someone where we can’t be seen.
Peter hands him a square piece of paper folded in half and walks away. Interviewer steps out of sight and opens the paper and reads.
I leave no bruise, I draw no blood,
Yet dynasties dissolve in my flood.
I need no weapon, throne, or name —
I live inside another's flame.
I wear the perfume of the praised,
And smile the widest when you're gazed.
I am the chill behind the cheer,
The guest who claps but should not be here.
I am not hatred — hatred shows.
I am the silence no one knows
Is standing in the room with you,
Applauding while it poisons too.
So name the ghost that shares your skin,
That starves the more you feed it in,
That crowns itself on others' worth —
What is the oldest wound on earth?
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Yall!!!! I haven't typed and proof'd this fast in a minute. I will see y'all next month with another episode. If you're coming across me for the first time and want to be tagged in this fic or any others, please comment and let me know you wanna be tagged!
A/N: I am not going to lie, y'all; these last two months kicked my butt--- in a good way, though. Work picked up, but also I was OUTSIDE y'all. Touching grass and having a ball, I decided that I was going to live this summer and I've been doing just that. Because I was late with Episode 3, both Episodes 3 and 4 are dropping tonight. On the last night of the month. If you havent checked out Episode 1 and Episode 2, make sure you go check those out so that you're all caught up.
Summary: When a coordinated attack plunges the United States into permanent darkness, the country's wealthiest find their failsafes have failed them. Their private bunkers — built for exactly this moment — are sealed, inaccessible, dead. With nowhere else to turn, they converge on the only light visible for miles: a lone house on a hill.
The owner isn't home. Someone else is.
Casting: You: The Interviewer Sterling K Brown as Jerry Sabina Karlsson as Lenora Nicole Beharie as Beatrice Morris Chestnut as Roman Aldis Hodge as Xavier Tyler James Williams as Mark Precious Lee as Arabella Lawrence Fishbourne as Jackson Luke James as Peter ------------------------------------------------------------------------------
12/27/2025
Interviewer sits in his office, typing away at his desk
Woman: Hey, someone is at the front door asking for you
Interviewer: Do you know who it is?
Woman: He won’t say.
Interviewer: Okay, bring him in.
The woman gestures for a man to come into the room. Jackson appears withered. The creases in his forehead have deepened since we last saw him. He sits down opposite the interviewer and stares at the table.
Interviewer: How can I help you, Jackson?
Jackson: Help me? He chuckles.
Interviewer: Yes. How can I help?
Jackson: Since you insist on helping me. There is one thing you can do. I’ve been in the military for many years. I did a lot of things and saw a lot of shit. I've been through the worst of it. One thing that has kept me alive through all those times has been my gut. I’ve been asking myself why I get a sharp pain in my asshole whenever I think of you.
Interviewer: I didn’t know you thought of me, Jackson. What do you think about?
Jackson: I’m glad you asked. When you first came around, I thought you were a shit reporter looking to stir up some mess about that blackout. Everybody was covering it, and while no one would know about me, I could see how a trail of crumbs could lead from Jerry’s ass to me. But the more I thought about how you found Peter first, then kept harassing Xavier, and how you’ve been visiting Beatrice, something just didn’t feel right.
The pain in my ass increased. I’m very resourceful, and I think you know that about me. We all looked you up, and each of us ended up on the same three landing pages. I’ve never known a local reporter to have such a quiet social media presence and only three published articles. Then I thought that maybe you were a really shit reporter trying to make your big break and salvage your dismal career. I checked with some of my friends, and that paper you mentioned never heard of you. You are renting this office space on a monthly basis, and you didn’t have a secretary until two days ago. She doesn’t even have any temp skills. She was just released from holding for disorderly conduct. The third time this month. Now, how you got her to wear a respectable outfit, answer phones, and make appointments is beyond me. Well done.
The hemorrhoid in my ass is not her, but the fact that it seems like you appeared out of nowhere around the same time that all of your accounts did. No birth certificate, no previous job— I can’t even find a kid who bullied you in middle school. I always find those. Normally, when ghosts appear, they are trying to either tell you something or take you somewhere. I’ve met many ghosts. Hell, I’ve made plenty of ‘em. Either way, I always know who they are. Who are you?
Interviewer: Maybe you misspelled my name.
Jackson: Yea. He chuckles. I thought about that. We checked every possible spelling of the name and the paper you gave us. It came up empty. The thing is, that didn’t check out either. So I’ll ask you again. Who are you?
Interviewer: I am a reporter, and I am doing a story about what happened during the blackout.
Jackson: So that’s the story you’re sticking to? Okay. Fine. You seem like a smart enough guy who would at least have started an internet presence way before a month ago, just in case anyone checked. I’m not sure if you don’t know what you’re doing or if you know exactly what you’re doing. Anyhow, something about you gives me ass pain. When my ass hurts, I do everything in my power to make it go away. Everything. Let me make it plain. You aren't who you say you are. I don’t know why you’re snooping around, but I’m gonna find out. Don’t be here when I do.
As Jackson stands up to leave, he looks back at the Interviewer.
Jackson: There were a lot of people who thought that they were smarter than me. A lot of them aren’t here anymore.
With that, he turns and leaves.
Woman: What was that all about?
Interviewer: I’m not sure. I don’t think he likes me very much.
Woman: Why? You're just writing a story.
Interviewer: There are always people who don’t want you to write about what is really going on, Lacy. Remember that
Interviewer sits in his car, recording on his device.
Interviewer: I am on the corner of Placid and Meyer. Jackson Pierce and Xavier Wilson are at a diner speaking to each other. They’ve been there for about 20 minutes.
The interviewer watches them, trying to read their lips. His phone rings.
Boss: You coming in today?
Interviewer: I’ll be there later on tonight.
Boss: How many hours do you think you’re gonna do today? I’m figuring payroll right now.
Interviewer: I’ll probably do about six hours.
Boss: Shit, you can do eight hours and make it easier on me. Where are you anyway?
Interviewer: Ross’ Diner.
Boss: Best goddamn waffles in town!
Interviewer: Yea. They’re really good. I remember when it was built. The diner was a new relic in this old town some years back. There was a grand opening with a ribbon-cutting, camera, reports and the whole nine.
Boss: Well, tell Alice I asked about her and do eight today.
Interviewer: Mmhm.
Interviewer hangs up the phone and looks out of his windshield again. This time, he notices that a woman has joined the table. He grabs his device.
Interviewer: A woman has joined the table. Strawberry blond with loose curls. Back is turned, and I can’t see her face.
The three stand up and head out the door of the diner.
Interviewer: The woman is Arabella Wilcox.
Interviewer starts the engine of his car and follows them out. He drives for an hour and arrives in a secluded neighborhood. He parks farther down to avoid being spotted. He takes several pictures of the area. This is a house he’s never seen before. Different from the residences he’s been visiting. He gets out of the car and heads back the way he came, looking for any streets he can identify. He notices that the rocky base of the hill on which the obscured house sits can be climbed. He attempts to climb the base but slips on one of the rocks, losing his footing. As he stumbles, landing on the ground, he notices something shiny in between the rocks. He gets up and heads for the rocky base again. This time, he swipes the dirt away from the rocks and peers at the shiny object lodged in between.
A voice: It’s been a while since someone has tried to break in that way.
Startled, the Interviewer turns around
A voice: Hi, there. My name is Roman Ainsworth. And you are? He flashes an alarmingly wide smile.
Interviewer: Hello, Mr. Ainsworth. I wasn’t trying to break in. I was looking for something I lost in the base of the hill there, and I was trying to retrieve it.
Roman: Oh dear. Maybe my cameras got it wrong. They saw your car, then you walking back over here, then you again trying to climb the hill. I keep telling everyone that all these technologies will be the death of us one day. All of my friends insist that AI is the future. Ah well, what is it?
Interviewer: Huh?
Roman: What did you lose?
Interviewer: Oh. Right. I lost one of my headphones.
Roman: Really? How did it manage to get out of your car?
Interviewer: Well, I must confess that I am a little lost. I turned the wrong way a while back, and I walked back down here to see if there were any recognizable streets that I could type into my GPS. In doing that, they dropped, and one landed over there.
Roman: On top of the hill?
Interviewer: No. I was just fooling around. It’s probably on the ground somewhere.
Roman: Hmmmm. Well, let me help you look for them.
Interviewer: You know, on second thought, I can just buy a new pair. But if you can help me figure out what street we’re on, that would be of most help.
Roman: Are you sure? About the headphones, I mean. I could help you look. It’s no trouble at all.
Interviewer: No, I’m sure. Thank you.
Roman: Very Well. Well, this is Ainsworth Manor.
Interviewer pauses, waiting for the rest of his response.
Interviewer: Wait, this street is called Ainsworth Manor?
Roman: Yes.
Interviewer: Oh. okay. How long have you lived here?
Roman: My family has been here for quite a long time. Since the 1920s, I believe.
Interviewer: I hope your family was rather large. There aren’t any other houses for miles. Easy to get lonely that way.
Roman: It was just my parents, my two siblings, and me.
Interviewer. Oh. Well, I hope that you made out okay in that blackout. It was brutal. I don’t know how someone could survive here. Especially after everyone’s generators died.
Roman: Oh! Yes! The blackout. That was rather unfortunate. I heard the entire town came undone. Total chaos and disarray. Such a shame. I made it out all right. Good stock of supplies and such.
Interviewer: Wait, you were here?
Roman: Oh, yes.
Interviewer: Here alone?
Roman: Yes.
Interviewer: How did you manage?
Roman: As I said, this house is very equipped to handle disasters like that. I went into town and got fresh supplies, not knowing how useful they would be in just a short while.
Interviewer: Interesting.
Roman: Why is that?
Interviewer: Well, it’s just that there are some folks who have quite a bit of means, and they struggled with supplies and such through the blackout.
Roman: That is quite interesting. Maybe they managed their resources efficiently.
Interviewer: Perhaps. It’s just that they all said that they were fully stocked on supplies, but couldn’t access their bunkers. I imagine there's a bunker beneath a house as vast as this one. Were you able to access yours?
Roman: You should enter the street into your GPS now and find your way back. It’ll be dark soon. I wouldn’t want you to be stranded. A large smile stretched across his face.
Interviewer: Right. Thank you.
Roman: I’ll walk you to your car.
Interviewer: I can make it on my own.
Roman: I insist.
When they finally arrive at the vehicle, the Interviewer climbs in and offers a wave before reversing and heading down the hill.
Arabella: Please, something’s not right. You have to help me!
Interviewer: What is going on? How did you get this number?
Arabella: Please, meet me at the corner of Main and Spring Rd. There’s a small shop there.
Interviewer: Arabella, what is this about?
Arabella hangs up the phone without answering. Interviewer gets in the car and drives to the rendezvous spot. Looking around and not seeing any viable threats, Interviewer climbs out of the car and heads towards the shop. Arabella sits off in a dark corner, watching the Interviewer look around.
Arabella: I can’t sleep, you know. I try. I try every day but I just can’t. My therapist calls it survivor’s remorse. He doesn’t quite know how wrong he is.
Interviewer: Arabella, what is going on? It’s the middle of the night.
Arabella: The night terrors are one thing. I’ve gotten used to waking up in a cold sweat. It’s the insomnia that starts to weigh you down. You start seeing things. Things that aren’t there. Things that used to be there.
Interviewer walks towards her and takes a seat across from her.
Interviewer: Is this your place?
Arabella: It’s anyone’s place.
Interviewer: You’re not making much sense to me. Where are we, and why did you call me?
Arabella: I fear that only you can help me. The others won’t listen.
Interviewer: Okay. Start from the beginning.
Arabella: crazed laugh The beginning? The beginning? We don’t have time for that.
Interviewer: I need to know what has happened and what is happening so that I can help you.
Arabella: Tricey died today. I—- I don’t understand it. The doctors said that she was stable. This morning they called me to say that everything was fine. When I got there to visit her, she was cold. Gone.
Interviewer: Did they say what happened?
Arabella: They couldn’t figure it out. They are trying to do an autop—.
Arabella falls silent. She picks at her fingernails in a repetitive cadence.
Interviewer: Arabella?
Arabella: He used to hit me. All the time. I could never dress to his liking or say the right things at those God-awful dinners that I had to prepare at the last minute. I could only speak about certain things because I had no way of knowing what could set him off. I would wake up early in the mornings and iron five shirts and three slacks. I’d place different ties and cufflinks so that he would have options. One day, I forgot to place the green tie out front, and he slapped me. He threw a shoe at me because it wasn’t polished to his liking. He treated everyone who waited on us awfully. We rotated help like underwear. The lawsuits piled up, and some threatened to go to the press. Tricey saw the edge of a bruise that I didn’t conceal all the way and took me to the bathroom. She didn’t make a scene, ridicule me, or pry. She took some powder out of her purse and pressed it into my bruise. It was gentle, silent, and tender. All the things I was lacking. We became friends. Close. Friends.
One day, he found the two of us together. It has been the best day of my life, but it started out rough. We had been fighting that morning, and he choked me. Walter and Isadora were headed to school when they heard me scream and ran upstairs. I try to shelter the kids as much as possible. I couldn’t help it. They begged him to stop. In his rage, he knocked Isadora out cold. Breathless, I crawled over to her and placed my body over hers. He paused and walked out. I drove the kids over to my mother’s after that. Walter was hysterical, and so was I. I called Tricey and she picked me up. I couldn’t form the words so my mother told her everything. Everything I had managed to tell her through sobs.
We sat in the car for a bit and then she took me into the city. Her penthouse suite was there. She took my clothes off item by item while I stared off and tried to gather the mess that was my life. She bathed me. She soaped and lathered every inch of me, taking care to mind the bruises and welts. I felt it was a cruel joke that I had to come within an inch of my life to garner such compassion. I kissed her. She kissed me back. She guided me onto the bed and began to kiss my bruises. I cried silently. She parted my legs to uncover the bruise that lay within them. She kissed those too. My breath hitched as she took my essence into her mouth and gently kissed.
That day led into the next and the next and the next. We lay together for days. I would only check my phone to speak to the children. He called me incessantly but I ignored him. I was in a sanctuary of love. On the fourth day, he barged through the door while Tricey and I were on the sofa. She had me in her mouth while she caressed my breast. At the sound of his scream, I turned quickly. He stalked toward me and Tricey slowly detangled herself from my legs, wiped her lips, and retrieved a gun from under the cushion I was sitting on. He slowed his pace. Screamed insults and demanded me to get my things. I stood there looking at Tricey. The way she moved, it was almost as if she knew he was coming. Like…she expected it. I eventually left bliss and went back to my gilded cage. Tricey stopped by every day and stood outside the gate with her gun and her security, waiting. When I ran errands, she would inspect me. He eventually found other ways to hurt me but I was physically sound. She loved me and now, she’s dead.
Interviewer: I’m so sorry for your loss, Arabella.
Arabella: I think he killed her.
Interviewer: Arabella, Mark is dead.
Arabella: Not him. The voice.
Interviewer: Arabella, the blackout is over. What makes you think the same person is still after you all?
Arabella: I never answered the part of my riddle. Mark was gone and the kids were… She offered herself up for me. I was Lust.
The remaining wake up in a dense fog. One by one, everyone slowly awakens to find they are alive.
Isadora: *sobbing* Mommy, are we going to die? I don’t want to die!
Arabella: crying Where are you Izzy? I can’t see you! Can you reach me?
Isadora: They took Daddy away?! Are they going to take me away? Why did they take Daddy away?
Arabella: I don’t know, Darling. I really don’t know. I need you and your brother to find me. How far can you reach towards the sound of my voice?
Isadora: Mommy, I’m scared! Please help me!
Arabella: Mommy is trying to reach you but I can’t reach far enough. I need you to be a brave girl! Remember we talked about being brave? I need you to do a very hard thing right now and I know that it’s scary but I need you to try. Try to reach me, Izzy.
Isadora tries to wrangle herself as far as she can towards her mother’s voice. She stretches until she finds that she can in fact, move her arms and legs. She slithers as far left as she could while Arabella talks.
Arabella: Izzy! Izzy!!! Oh, Izzy is this you?
Isadora: Yes, Mommy it’s me!
Isadora leaps into her mother’s arms and hugs her tightly. After some moments, Isadora loosens her grip.
Arabella: Where’s your brother?
Isadora: I don’t know. I don’t know if he was still with me. You told me to come to you.
Xavier: How the fuck is she free?
Arabella: Izzy, I need you to be brave once more. I need you to go back and get your brother.
Isadora: No!
Arabella: Izzy, I can’t protect the both of you if your brother isn’t here too.
Isadora: Please don’t make me go back! I’m so scared. Mommy, please I just want to go home. Let’s just go home.
Arabella: Izzy, please. I need the both of you home. I don’t know where they took your father, so it’s us three for now. I’m still tied up. Can you be the brave girl you were just now?
Isadora: Mommy, I’m scared
Tabitha: Please help us, Izzy!
Peter: Izzy, none of us grown-ups are able to free ourselves. Could you tell us how you got free?
Jackson: Izzy, it’s time to sink or swim, kid. I need you to find whatever key let you out and let us all out. We don’t have any time for this!
Xavier: Isadora, how did you let yourself free? Tell us!
Isadora: I don’t know! I didn’t do anything. I was just free.
Xavier: You’ve must have done something! Everyone else is still chained.
Isadora: I don’t know! I didn’t do anything!
Jackson: Shit, kid, stop fucking around and let us loose
Isadora lets out a wail
Arabella: STOP IT! ALL OF YOU! If she says she doesn’t know, then she doesn’t know. Leave her alone!
Isadora: Mommy, I swear I didn’t do anything. You told me to come and I did. continues to sob
Arabella: I know Izzy. I know. The grown-ups are still in chains. I’m not able to hold you or your brother because my hands are tied. I can’t go with you because my feet are tied. Is there any way you can crawl back over where you were and see if you can feel for a key to get us out of these?
Isadora: Mommy, I don’t know!
Voice: The time has come again where one of you must confess or one of you must fall. It seems appears that little Isadora is free. She will remain free as long as one of you solves the riddle within twenty minutes and chooses her as the survivor. It’s only fitting that I choose the matriarch of the family to do the honors. Failure to solve this riddle will result in the demise of both children
Arabella: No! No! You will not harm a hair on their heads, you hear me?
Voice: No. I won’t harm them. You’ll be the one to harm them as you’ve always done. You will have to choose which one lives and which one dies at the sound of the alarm.
Arabella: You said one of us can confess. If we make a confession, none of them have to die, right?
Voice:
I wear no face, yet I've stolen a thousand
I live in the palace and sleep with the peasant.
I am not the wound, but I sharpen the blade,
I am not the shadow but I darken the shade.
I arrive before wanting and leave after shame,
I have no true owner yet answer when named.
The righteous have buried me, deep in the ground —
Yet here in your chest, I am already found.
What breathes without lungs and burns without flame
That saints have renounced but can never quite tame?
What am I, if not…..
Arabella: I don’t know. I’m not good with riddles. Please! Take me and leave my children alone!
Voice: You have twenty minutes.
Arabella: *looks around* One of you knows why we are all tied like hogs, and my children are being threatened. How many lives have to be lost for one of you all to just tell this miscreant what he wants to hear!! I’m begging you. None of these children deserves any of this. They are innocent! Say what you know!
Jackson: Seems like there’s something you know, too. Why did that sick fuck say that you harm those children?
Arabella: He’s deranged. How do I know? I’ve never laid a hand on their heads.
Jackson: You know something. Maybe that's what he wants.
Arabella: Jackson, excuse my language, but I think that is utter bullshit and you know it. He’s been saying this from the start. One of you is the reason we are here.
Xavier: Arabella, I think you need to focus on the riddle. We don’t know what this man is getting at but we do know that if someone doesn’t solve this riddle then someone will die. We don’t want that to happen.
Isadora: Mommy, is he going to kill me? I don’t want to die. Please help me!! Isadora screams
Arabella: Izzy, I need you to go back and get your brother. I’m trying to get us out of this. Izzy, be brave!
Isadora crawls back over to her right in search of her brother.
Isadora: Walter, are you there? Can you reach me? Walter?? Walter, say something.
Tabitha: Izzy, I don’t think that he is doing so well.
Isadora: Walter, can you touch me if you hear me?
Arabella: Walter, honey, please try to reach out for your sister so that she can lead you to me.
Isadora: Walter?
Isadora feels around in the space that used to be occupied by Walter
Isadora: Mommy, Walter is gone.
Arabella: What do you mean, he is gone? Where could he go, Izzy? Tabitha, he was beside you, wasn’t he?
Tabitha: Yes, Mrs. Alexander. But then I didn’t hear anything when we woke up this last time. I thought something had happened, like with Benji.
Arabella: Walter? Answer me honey!!! Walter!!?!?!
Xavier: Keep your voice down, Arabella. Focus on the riddle. Maybe Walter will come out after we solve the riddle.
Peter: The voice said you would have to choose. I don’t like this at all.
Arabella: Peter, please help me. You’re good with riddles. Do you know this one?
Peter: I’m not sure that I have the answer, Arabella. I don’t want to be wrong and then jeopardize everything. I’m sorry.
Arabella: *she cried* Someone please help me! You all have to help Walter and Izzy, please! I’m begging you.
Voice: Your twenty minutes will conclude in five. Do you have an answer to the riddle?
Arabella: No, please! I need more time. I don’t know the answer. Please stop this!!!
Voice: You have three minutes.
Arabella: Please! *she looks around* One of you, help me!!! Any one of you!!!
Voice: Two minutes.
Arabella: Don’t let him take my baby!
Xavier: Stop this. The kids don’t need to be involved. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.
Voice: Tell everyone why you are all here today.
Xavier: Can you be more specific?
Voice: What is the reason for the blackout?
Xavier: There was a bombing. Everyone has been talking about the war with Panama. The U.S. went overseas because they had American political hostages. Some of the tech we created was used and one of them misfired. It hit a village full of civilians and the death toll was higher than what was publicly announced. We provided aid and some funds to them in secret also.
Voice: Almost, Xavier. Almost, but not quite. Time is up, Arabella. Run little Isadora. RUN!
Fireworks erupt near the circle. A startled Isadora started running into the darkness. The fireworks continue firing towards Isadora’s direction, then a different sound emerges. A round of bullets start firing towards a frantic Isadora, desperately trying to escape until one strikes her in her back. Falling to the ground with a shriek, Isadora cries out once more for her mother until another bullet pierces her neck. The array of bullets stops then. With no time to react, Walter emerges suspended from one of the tree branches. Bound and gagged, tear stains are all that are seen to indicate his distress. Arabella screams.
Beatrice: We weren’t supposed to be there. We invaded because it was an opportune time to seize the canal. Jerry’s entire platform was used to get the American people around seeing Panama and their minute control of trade as a major threat to the economy. We told him to cry out against Panamanian refugees and citizens of Panamanian descent. Most of them were black so they were easy to otherize. There were race riots.
We spliced footage and spun peaceful protests outside the detention facilities into crimes of passion and terror. It always works. People are predictably dense. Once Jerry was in office, there would be enough votes. Enough votes to convince Congress to pass a bill meant to increase the defense budget to approve the use of Mark’s AI drones and the ultimate invasion of Panama for…
Jackson: Beatrice, STOP!
Beatrice: This has to end! How many children are you going to watch die tonight?
Voice: You forget, Beatrice, he has caused far many more deaths then he cares to admit. The riddle has still been left unsolved but some truths have been told. Little Walter lives to see another day but no good deed goes unpunished.The gas arises once more, surrounding them in their thick cloud. Visibility is low, but everyone hears a loud thud. Walter cries in pain but his cries and coughs are muffled by the gag in his mouth. Arabella screams for Walter until they all grow silent.
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Again, thanks for reading my first attempt at a suspense thriller. If you're coming across me for the first time and want to be tagged in this fic or any others, please comment and let me know you wanna be tagged!
*You may want to be careful where and when you open this. Be honest.*
Pairing: Dom!Kevin Atwater x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader
Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female receiving) teasing, fingering (female receiving), cum play, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, all consensual. D/s dynamics.
Summary: Even though it's your last day, you make the most of it by going out for breakfast with Kevin. You don't want the day to end and you get the feeling that Kevin doesn't either.
Word Count: 4,413k
AO3 Link | Part 1 | Part 2
A/N: Thank you so much for being patient with me for this chapter. I plum didn't want to let these two go. So I got a little carried away. But I hope it was well worth the wait. Ya girl was ovulating, okay?! And thank you for your asks, anons. They gave me the kick in the pants to get back to some filth. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, reblog, or unhinged ask.
You were in the middle of a dream. A handsome cop by the name of Kevin Atwater had taken you back to his lair and fucked you ten ways from Sunday. Kevin lit a fire under your skin, to the point that you never wanted to wake up.
A deep pull in your belly wrestled for attention. Oh, oh that felt good. You moaned and wasn't sure if that was in the dream or wakefulness. You did not want to wake up to your empty, cold bed with laundry calling your name and mugs in the sink.
Dream Kevin moaned and it echoed in your ears. What was going on? You roused from sleep reluctantly, suckling between your legs finally registering. You barely had time to open your eyes and see Kevin making out with your pussy with his eyes closed, like he was feasting in Valhalla.
At your movement, he glanced up and caught your eyes, giving you a wink before he returned his lips to your pussy. His tongue to your clit. Your hands flew to either side of you, gripping his sheets in a vice grip as an orgasm tore through you.
Surely, he wrangled every single one out of you by now. Surely, there couldn't be one more. But the man was too determined to keep going, moaning as fresh slick coated his beard. His wet hair slid across your thighs, dragging ragged giggles from you. The fog of the dream competed with each swipe of his tongue.
Kevin moaned, suckled, and devoured your pussy. You twitched with every slide, every lick. "Kev-plea-" you begged but it fell on deaf ears.
Tears pricked your eyes as your back bowed, your lungs burning from screaming through a potent orgasm. The type to make you question what defines life. Kevin brought you there effortlessly, endlessly. You came down with a keening whine while your body jerked and twisted.
Kevin's large hands held your thighs open, easily keeping his plate where he wanted it. "Good morning, gorgeous. See what you coulda had yesterday?"
He placed gentle kisses to your thighs, leaving giant wet spots against your skin. You shivered from the lewdness of it all. "I'm pretty sure I died," you murmured, sleep calling to you again.
Kevin chuckled, burying his nose in your pussy and taking a deep breath. His nose tickled your clit and you jerked away. You were too damn sensitive. Kevin took mercy on you, kissing up your body, leaving a trail of your essence all over your body.
This man was insane. Had to be. Was it possible to be addicted to cumming? Because as sensitive as you were, looking into Kevin's beautiful eyes and that sexy grin of his, you wanted to give him every single orgasm you possessed.
He stopped when he got to your titties, taking a moment to kiss each swell of your breasts. He teased one nipple between his teeth, the sharp tug responding with a twitch of your clit. You ran your hands over his body, kneading, pinching, and caressing. He was real. He was here. He was currently making you so damn horny, you were about to eat him alive.
He switched his attention to the other nipple, his hands coming up to pin you to the mattress. He smirked, returning to sucking on your nipples the same way he sucked on your clit.
"Kevin, please," you whispered. "Too much."
"Shh, I'm just saying hi to my girls. That's all," he said, flicking his tongue against your nipple.
Your teeth chattered and then he moved back to your left titty, teeth grazing your nipple. You arched but he settled his weight on top, careful not to crush you. "I want your whole weight on me," you said.
He smiled and dropped more of his weight on you. You sighed from the feeling of being crushed by him, his heavy body covering you and making you feel protected and safe. It was over for you. There was no more fight left in you. Why fight against this?
Who cared if was quick? Who cared if it was this intense? This connection had to mean something. It didn't happen by accident. You thanked your lucky stars to find a unicorn like him. Someone to match you in all the ways it mattered.
Kevin released your wrists and moved his kisses up, landing on your neck. You rubbed against him like a cat, moving your leg to trap him in place. You lived here now.
"You gon' let me go?" He nipped at your neck, making you hiss with pleasure and pain. You felt like you sucked on a live wire. Everywhere he touched was sensitive. Everywhere he didn't touch felt his phantom touch, like it was only a matter of time before he touched there too.
"Nope," you said, popping the 'P' and grinned at him.
"Good. I got plans for you," he said, finally bringing those sexy pink lips to yours. You tasted yourself on his lips, smelled yourself in his beard. It made your pussy clench painfully. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you.
"Mhhm. How would you feel about getting some sun? I can drive you home, you can change, we can take a walk, get some breakfast, come back so I can do nasty things to ya," he said, ticking off each activity with a kiss to your lips. With everything he rattled off, it sounded heavenly.
"Oh yeah, I'ma need that. I keep a spare bag of clothes in my car," you said.
"Oh, you come prepared?" He grinned and kissed you, his kisses lazy and slow. Yep, you definitely lived here now.
"I stay ready so I ain't gotta get ready. I never know where I'll be or when I'll need spare clothes," you corrected, not wanting him to get a big head.
"Okay, if that makes you feel better," he said.
"Shut up!" You giggled. Kevin took that personally, as he started to hunt for ticklish spots. You giggled and slapped his hands away, screaming for mercy. When you sobered, you snuggled further into him, feeling all dainty and cute in his huge presence.
"Then let's get a move on, beautiful," he said. He offered to grab your go bag from your car and you told him where to find your keys. He dressed in sweats and a tank, earning a growl from you, and he chuckled. He made quick work of grabbing your bag and dropping it in the bathroom.
He shed his clothes as he walked into the room, revealing his delicious chest and the curly hair on his belly. He grinned while he approached, dropping a kiss to your lips before he helped you out of his bed.
Once inside the bathroom, he turned on the shower and you dug through your bag for a spare shower bonnet. This bag had saved you in so many ways, it was hard to count. Bad period days, ripped pants, that time you spilled ketchup on your shirt.
You worked with Kevin on a compromise for the best temperature and then he climbed in, letting the water cascade down his hair and face. You stepped in after, the steam enveloping you.
"You are so damn beautiful," Kevin sighed, looking at you like you hung the moon. Fuck, you would never get sick of this.
"Even with this bonnet," you said with a shy grin.
"Especially with the bonnet," he promised.
You talked about nothing and everything, switching between politics, the state of the world's education, and the questionable quality of DC movies. All the while, you and Kevin lathered up washcloths and took turns washing each other.
Though it wasn't sexual in nature, Kevin couldn't help lingering around your titties, kneading the cloth and squeezing your titty with it. He bit his lip at your moan and the ways your eyes fluttered closed. You got your revenge though, wrapping the cloth around his dick.
The cloth couldn't hide that long dick of his, but you made soapy progress, stroking him and paying attention to how it pleased him. Kevin was a vocal lover, moaning in places you did well and coaching you in others.
It was wild to discuss Scream movies and how the first one was the best and only one that mattered while stroking someone's dick, but there you were. Comfortable as hell, present with a wonderful man.
You stroked harder, pulling him down for a scorching kiss that made your knees weak. Kevin moaned into your mouth and hissed with a curse under his breath as he climaxed all over your belly.
It took great effort for Kevin to open his eyes. When he did, you gave him a saucy wink and washed his cum off of your belly. His overwhelming soap filled his shower making you drown in just him.
He grinned. "Alright, I'ma get you back for that," he said. He turned the water off and helped you out of the tub, grabbing a towel to dry you off. He enveloped you in his arms, his body heat doing more work than the towel.
"Ain't nobody shook," you teased, grabbing another towel from the sink and drying him off.
You worked down to his legs, leaning into a squat that put you eye level with his dick at half mast. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, leaning out to plant a kiss on the tip of his dick.
His dick jumped and you leaned back with a giggle. You had yet to give him a blow job and you briefly wondered if you could fit all of that in your mouth. Kevin groaned and took a deep breath. "Don't get hurt, nah," he said.
You grinned. You really ought to stop. He unleashed some inner animal inside of you that just wanted him to live inside you. But technically, you only met the man Friday night so you had to chill. A smidgen.
Kevin helped you stand and looked at you like you were the first ray of sun after a long night. How could you not get carried away when he looked at you like that? Made you feel desired with just a crinkle in his eyes.
You quickly got dressed in a fresh pair of panties, navy leggings, and an olive green shirt. Kevin threw on black sweats with a matching shirt, his gold chain peeking out from beneath. Such a casual outfit and you were ready to tear it off and hop back on him.
"I know where your nasty ass mind is," he said as he held the front door open for you. You trailed your hand down his stomach as you passed and felt his belly clench beneath your fingers.
You grazed his dick and he growled low in his throat. "I'm just passing by," you said sweetly.
Kevin locked up and then took your hand, walking with you outside into the crisp late spring air. He told you about a coffee shop a few blocks down and you told him to lead the way.
Kevin kept pace with you and you were glad for the sweet gesture. Because with his lumbering gait, you'd be out of breath before you reached the end of the corner. You talked about nothing as he stayed on the street side of the sidewalk, blocking most of the wind.
"Have you ever considered moving to a different unit?" You took a deep breath of fresh air. He was right, some sun was needed.
Kevin shook his head. "Nah, I like where I'm at. Them's my folks, you know?"
You nodded. "Claire tells me about some of the wild stories she hears from Jay. I can't even imagine everything you go through."
Kevin shrugged and made a noncommittal sound. He could downplay it all he wanted, but it was still a big deal. "It's hard, that's for sure. I just wanna help. Feels like folks don't help anymore," he said.
You looked around at the surrounding houses, the way it all seemed so undisturbed. When you were younger, you couldn't toss a rock without kids playing out in the front yards. Without retirees sitting out on the porch, watching babies play in a kiddie pool in the summer.
"Yeah, you can say that again. Do you plan on being a cop for a long time?"
"Yeah, as long as they let me. Would that bother you?" Kevin glanced at you.
You took a moment to think it over. It did make you nervous to an extent. There was so much turmoil and hate out in the world. Claire was right, at any point someone could take him out.
Your chest squeezed at the thought of Kevin not being in the world. You'd known him a short time and yet it was like you'd known him forever.
You spent so long compiling the perfect checklist, building the perfect man in your mind. He had to be kind, he had to be gentle, he had to be nasty, and he had to be loyal. When confronted with such a perfect man, your mind searched for reasons not to. Afraid that it was too good to be true, that you truly did find the right man for you.
But, he was a cop, he could be shot or maimed horribly. He could be gunned down by a fellow cop who only sees a threat. He could have a weird habit like picking his teeth with his fingers.
"I want to try," you told him. "I can't say it doesn't bother me. But I know that I want to explore this."
Kevin licked his lips and gave you a sweet grin. "I like that. I want to explore this with you too," he said.
Approaching a local coffee shop, Kevin opened the door for you. You got in line, going over your different tastes in coffee. Kevin was a typical cop. He just liked it black and hot. You teased him about it while you ordered and got a blueberry muffin to go with. Kevin grabbed a breakfast sandwich and you grabbed a table towards the back, eating and talking through a small breakfast.
Kevin kept the conversation lively, talking about the happier side to being a cop. The many people he got to save by being there in the nick of time. He gushed about his siblings and you absolutely melted at the pride and love in his eyes. It made your pussy ache listening to how he stepped up so you shoved that thought out of your mind.
The morning sun turned into early afternoon and the light played off of Kevin's angles. He talked with his whole body, weaving tales as if you were really there with him. Your mind drifted though, distracted by his open face. His long eyelashes were enchanting, his lips plump and juicy while he licked them often. Oh, that bastard. He had to be doing it on purpose.
It was easy to get lost in the conversation, the flow moving so seamlessly that the coffee shop filled up and the sound didn't register at all. It didn't matter what other folks had going on. You just wanted to listen to him.
You told your own stories about work and family, different events you attended with Jay and Claire. You told him about your last vacation to Thailand and how seeing the ruins were your favorite part.
The way he listened made you feel actually heard. He asked questions where he needed and invited you to keep sharing. You never had so much damn fun sitting and talking. Eventually though, the coffee shop got too packed and it was time to head back to his place.
Back to reality.
Neither one of you brought up the subject of returning back to your normal lives. You had to get back to work and chores and trying to relax without guilt. He had to go back to being on call, ready to spring into action at any moment. The bubble would burst and yeah, you were worried that this was just a sex haze.
You hoped that wasn't the case. It didn't feel like it was, but hey, people did stranger things after a few…dozens of orgasms. Dozens. This man trained your body from the very first handshake.
The walk to his place was more somber. He held your hand and held you close, but there were no words to be said. Back at his place, you settled headed for his couch. He pulled you back, giving you a sexy grin.
"I believe there's a policy in place, beautiful," he said.
You giggled. "Oh, you can't be serious," you said.
"There are punishments for breaking the law. Do we want to play that game?" He gave you a devilish grin, begging you to disobey him.
You shivered. But the memory of his first punishment was too fresh in your mind. You couldn't survive another round of watching him cum without it in you or on you. Fuck. He turned you into a sex fiend. Shamelessly too.
You opted to be good, wanting him more than you wanted to be a minx. For now. You stripped out of your clothes, getting butterball naked while he watched with hungry elevator eyes. You felt so sexy in his presence.
"Hm, hm, hm," he muttered, biting his lip as the last of the clothes hit the floor. He took your hand and led you to the living room, sitting down on the couch and pulling you into his lap.
"It's going to be real painful going home after this," you said, wanting to rip the band-aid off. The suspense was killing you and before you went any further, you wanted to lay it all out there.
He sighed in agreement and settled into the sofa, widening his legs so that you could sit comfortably. His hands gripped your hips, rubbing his fingers in circles on your skin. "Why does it feel so damn hard? We're going to see each other again," he said.
The certainty in his tone sent shivers down your spine. Especially in that deep voice of his. You smiled at him. "That's what's frying me!"
You squeezed his arms, needing to feel him. It was insane. But at least you both were feeling it.
"It's not forever. Just for a few days when our schedules align," he said. "And you'll stay until the morning."
"Oh, I will, huh?" You giggled.
Kevin bounced you on his knee making your titties bounce with. He bit his lip and did it again and you giggled harder, gripping his forearms so you wouldn't go flying off. His hands still held you in place, not budging at all in his capable hands.
"You will. I want to wake up to that pretty face again," he said. "With my morning snack."
Your pussy clenched even as you laughed and rolled your eyes. You literally could not with him. "I can definitely get used to that."
"So, we're going to enjoy the rest of tonight. Just you and me," he said.
"I'd really like that," you said, leaning over to kiss him. He moaned and deepened the kiss, his tongue peeking out to duel with yours. He sucked on your bottom lip and then continued to kiss, his hands coming up to cup the back of your head. He pulled you every which way he wanted you to go. You were able to feel all of him, hear his breathy moans, and get lost in the kiss.
Kevin slowly broke away, grinning as you tried to steal one more. He winked at your confused pout and stood up with you in his arms. He carried you to his room, turning on the light as he went.
He deposited you on his bed and he stripped in front of you, never breaking eye contact as he did so. You looked your fill, moaning at every new piece of skin he revealed. He kept his body in shape, his muscles flexing as he moved. He grinned at you and then climbed onto the bed, pulling you beneath him.
He dropped his weight on you and you sighed in pure bliss. It was a struggle to get a full breath and you sighed again, never being able to describe the relief you felt. You greedily clung onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist.
You made out, continuing your earlier dance. Kevin's fingers traveled down your body, bringing goosebumps with it. He reached between you, rubbing your clit and you jerked, moaning into his mouth.
The break gave you both a chance to catch your breath, but his fingers worked overtime. You were wet from the moment he told you to get out of your clothes, but with his fingers working a steady beat, making your legs shake in the most delicious way, the orgasm snuck up on you and you convulsed, screaming his name as the wave rode you.
"That's right, beautiful," he moaned, moving his fingers to slide into your pussy. You clenched around two..no, three of his fingers stretching you, and playing with your G-spot like it was his personal stress relief toy.
Your hands clawed at him, trying to escape and get away. The downside to being crushed by his weight was that he effectively pinned you to the matress and prevented escape. Your body twitched and jerked as another orgasm ripped through, snatching every one of your senses.
As you came down, your body rebooted and came back online. First came your hearing, as you heard Kevin whisper filthy shit in your ear. "I'm going to fill this pussy up. Every last fuckin' drop I got," he said.
He ended his words with a kiss to your neck. Next came feeling, as his lips traveled to the spot beneath your ear, causing your thighs to tingle. Kevin pulled his fingers free of your pussy, bringing them to your lips. You opened your mouth, tasting your essence on his thick fingers.
"Clean it up, baby," he said. He pulled his fingers out and kissed you. His dick throbbed against your ass.
"Fill me up, Kev, please," you moaned. You needed him connected to you, as close as he could possibly get.
"Flip the fuck over," he grunted. He backed off of you and you gulped in fresh pulls of air. He got to his knees with renewed energy, pulling you into the position he wanted without waiting for you to comply.
You laid nearly flat on the bed with your knees putting you at a certain angle. Kevin laid behind you, lining himself up. Without a word, he thrust inside you to the hilt.
"Oh fuck!" You cried out, the sudden fullness sending your mind straight to outer space.
Kevin leaned down until his chest was on your back, his thighs pressed to the back of yours, and a possessive hand around your right hip. He kissed your ear and began to thrust, each deep stroke like a crack of thunder in the quiet room.
There was nothing but your mingled, panicked breaths echoing in the room. The smell of sex and sweat a powerful aphrodisiac. "Oh fuck, Kevin," you moaned into the bed.
"That's it, right there. Fuck you feel so good. Fuckin' made for this dick. This my pussy from now on," he moaned, his thrusts still rocking into you, pounding you into the bed as if you were a nail in the wall.
"Oh, yes, Daddy," you moaned. You never called a man that in your life. And yet Kevin earned the title. And then some. You clenched around his dick, your walls shaking from how easily you gushed for him.
"That's it, baby. Give me what Daddy deserve. Bounce on that dick. Bounce on that dick, baby," he moaned, his dick throbbing inside you.
"Shit, I'm finna—" You screamed as your orgasm rushed through you, more intense than any he's given you the past few days. Your nails dug into his covers, gripping on for dear life.
Kevin stroked a few more times, like his body was moving faster than he could keep up with. He hissed in your ear and moaned as he climaxed, filling your pussy with his cum.
"That's it. That's it, milk it out of me," he said as you bounced on it, squeezing your pussy to capture every drop.
He collapsed on top of you, his panting breaths rivaling your own. Your pussy throbbed in time with his dick, in sync in ways you didn't even know was possible. Kevin softened and gently pulled out of you, a rush of his cum leaking out of you.
Kevin sat back on his haunches and pulled your asscheeks apart to watch him slide down your pussy lips.
"So fuckin' perfect," he whispered in awe.
You yawned and Kevin chuckled, kissing both sides of your ass. He nipped one of them and you hissed at the sharp sting. He chuckled and then got off of the bed to grab a warm washcloth. You groaned while he cleaned you up and he cooed, telling you he was almost done.
You must've fallen asleep because the next thing you knew, the lights were off and Kevin was in bed. When you stirred, he pulled you into him so that he enveloped you completely. His body heat rolled off of him in waves and you shivered with a deep moan, snuggling closer. You wanted to live in the cuddle.
You layed your head on Kevin's arm, feeling so safe and secure and right. You just knew that this was the start to something grounbreaking. Men like him didn't come around often. And no, he wasn't truly perfect. There were bound to be things that irritated you.
But you had all the time in the world to explore him. And explore every drop of pleasure he wrung from you. You were a limp spaghetti noodle in his hands. Nothing but putty for him to mold and squeeze and play with.
"Prepare to be sick of me," he whispered in your ear, his breath fanning across your cheeks.
You giggled sleepily, lalaland calling your name. "You stuck with me at this point," you said.
He kissed your ear. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
The end.
A/N: I know! I know. But it's not goodbye to Kevin forever. He will pop up in a new series so stay tuned!
warnings: suggestive themes, flustered!michael, teasing, married michael, slightly possessive thoughts if you squint
a/n: this man would NOT survive hearing this information before going on stage…
The entire arena buzzed with energy.
Thousands of screaming fans filled the seats, cameras flashing constantly while the stage lights lit everything gold and electric.
Michael’s biggest solo concert yet.
And everybody who mattered to him was there.
His mother sat proudly near the front of the VIP section while his brothers laughed loudly amongst themselves nearby. Janet stood beside you holding a drink while members of Michael’s production team rushed around making last minute adjustments to outfits, lighting, and security.
Even the VIP section had been styled carefully.
Apparently Michael wanted everybody looking perfect tonight.
Especially you.
The black dress they’d put you in was gorgeous.
Tight in all the right places, shimmering under the lights every time you moved.
Only problem?
It was unbelievably thin.
You leaned closer to Janet with a quiet groan.
“I swear his stylists are trying to set me up.”
Janet laughed immediately. “Why?”
You tugged lightly at the fabric near your hip.
“Because tell me why I had to stop wearing underwear with this dress.”
Janet nearly choked.
“What?”
“I’m serious,” you whispered dramatically. “You could literally see everything through it.”
“Oh my God.”
“I had no choice!”
Janet started laughing harder while you shook your head.
“If I wore anything underneath this dress, every camera in this stadium would've picked it up.”
Neither of you noticed the figure standing a few feet away freezing completely.
Michael had only come over to say goodbye before heading backstage again.
That was it.
That had been the entire plan.
Instead, he stood there staring straight ahead while your words replayed in his brain at full volume.
No underwear.
Michael blinked once.
Then twice.
His heartbeat immediately betrayed him.
Oh no.
His eyes darted around quickly before he forced himself to look anywhere except you.
Absolutely not.
Not right now.
Not when he was about to go on stage in front of thousands of people.
Michael swallowed hard, adjusting his jacket subtly while mentally begging himself to think about literally anything else.
The setlist.
The choreography.
The lights.
His brothers suddenly appeared beside him like demons summoned specifically to make his life harder.
Jackie smirked immediately.
“You good?”
Michael answered too fast.
“Fine.”
Jermaine narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“You sure?”
Michael nodded once, avoiding eye contact completely.
“I’m perfectly fine.”
Marlon followed Michael’s line of sight toward you before slowly grinning.
“Ohhhhh.”
Michael immediately snapped his head toward him.
“Don’t start.”
“Start what?” Marlon asked innocently.
Jackie laughed quietly.
“Our baby brother’s married and STILL gets nervous.”
“I am not nervous.”
“Mhmm.”
Jermaine clapped him on the shoulder.
“Biggest solo show of your life and you’re over here fighting demons because your wife looks good.”
Michael looked horrified.
“Would y’all lower your voices?”
That only made them laugh harder.
Thankfully one of the stage coordinators called for Michael before his brothers could embarrass him any further.
“You’re on in two minutes!”
Michael exhaled slowly like he’d just survived something traumatic.
Then he looked over toward you one last time.
And immediately regretted it.
Because now you were already looking at him.
Your expression shifted the second your eyes met his.
Slow realization.
Then embarrassment.
Oh.
Oh, he heard you.
Heat rushed to your face instantly while Michael looked away so fast it almost made you laugh.
Almost.
Janet noticed immediately.
“Oh my God,” she whispered excitedly. “HE DID HEAR YOU.”
You covered your face with your hands.
“I’m actually gonna die.”
Meanwhile Michael stood near the stage entrance trying desperately to regain control of his thoughts before performing in front of thousands of people.
Which became significantly harder when he glanced back one more time and saw you smiling shyly at him from across the VIP section.
A/N: I've been writing A LOT. Between my research, Substack, and here, I feel like a good balance is to hit y'all at the end of the month with new installments just so everything doesn't feel rushed. Last time we left off and Jerry done lost his leg, chile! Poor Jerry. Anyways, I'm back with Episode 2 of this series. If you haven't tuned in to Episode 1, catch up!
Summary: When a coordinated attack plunges the United States into permanent darkness, the country's wealthiest find their failsafes have failed them. Their private bunkers — built for exactly this moment — are sealed, inaccessible, dead. With nowhere else to turn, they converge on the only light visible for miles: a lone house on a hill.
The owner isn't home. Someone else is.
Casting: You: The Interviewer Sterling K Brown as Jerry Sabina Karlsson as Lenora Nicole Beharie as Beatrice Morris Chestnut as Roman Aldis Hodge as Xavier Tyler James Williams as Mark Precious Lee as Arabella Lawrence Fishbourne as Jackson Luke James as Peter
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12/23/2025
The interviewer sits beside the house, waiting for Xavier to come outside. Xavier finally leaves the house.
Interviewer: Last time we met, you told me that you waited by the house on the hill until the lights went back on, then you left. I have a report saying that your shoes were covered in remnants of what was later discovered to be blood. Not your own, though. So how exactly did you leave?
Xavier paused for a minute, then turned to face the Interviewer.
Xavier: Which report is that?
Interviewer: The one from the police.
Xavier: Bullshit.
Interviewer: Are you saying the police got it wrong? Because it states here that —-
Xavier: I’m saying that you didn’t get that fun fact from the police. There was only one person who found me covered in blo—
Interviewer turns his head with a glimmer of satisfaction.
Interviewer: Go on
Xavier: I have somewhere to go. He fiddles and checks his watch. The chrome watch shines in the light.
Interviewer: I don’t. I’ll join you.
Xavier: You’re not exactly welcome.
Interviewer: Well, find a way to welcome me because if you don’t help me make sense of what I’m being told and what I’m seeing, I’ll start painting my own picture and I’m not sure either of you will like that.
Xavier’s jaw clenches, and his right fist tightens
Xavier: Let’s take a drive.
Interviewer and Xavier get into a silver Mazda and drive West.
Xavier: hands tighten around the steering wheel. You got from now until I reach my destination to ask me any questions you want. Once we get there, you’ll hop out of this car, and I never see you again. Understood?
Interviewer: No, I don't. What if I have follow-up questions that involve your role in that night?
Xavier: Your time started 5 minutes ago. I suggest you start asking your questions.
Interviewer: Why were you covered in blood that night?
Xavier: A few of us were. I’m guessing by now that you’ve either spoken to Peter or Arabella. So that would mean that you know that we were tied to a tree. Being tied to trees doesn’t really work for me. So I tried to get out but couldn't see much. That freak took all of our stuff.
Interviewer: So whose blood were you in?
Xavier: I don’t know! We couldn’t see shit. There was a limb right next to me. After that fuckin’ gas went off we were knocked out. Every time we woke up it was pitch black. We couldn’t see whatever or whoever chained us up.
Interviewer: Do you remember who was next to you? To your left and your right?
Xavier: When we woke up the second time, I came up with the idea for everyone to speak and kind of gauge who they were next to. I said my name and pulled on the chain on my right hand to encourage that person to speak. To my right, Arabella. I tugged at the chain on my left hand and Beatrice snapped at me to stop. It wasn’t her usual anger or annoyance. It sounded like she was in earnest pain.
Xavier sits silent for a while, then resumes speaking
Xavier: Everyone else took turns announcing their names so that the people next to them would know who they were. Dahlia was still sobbing, but we knew who she was. We were starting to talk about looking around for things that could help us get out of there. That’s when we discovered that all of our things had been taken. Jackson yelled out in frustration.
[The Night of the Blackout]
Xavier: Aye man, we gotta stay calm. We don’t know where that muthafucka is. He could be watching us right now. We can’t let him see that we’re coming undone.
Jackson: This is bullshit! What does he want from us?
Xavier: I don’t know but whatever it is, we can’t lose our shit. We’ll be playing right into his hand. Let’s just keep looking for ways to get out of here.
Mark: I think I found something!
Xavier: Describe it to us!
Mark: It looks like some time of bent metal. Like some kind of key. It’s beveled at the top and the teeth are rounded.
Xavier: Does it look like it can open the lock to our chains?
Mark: I don’t think so. It’s too big to fit the padlock on the chains of my shackles.
Dahlia: I don’t see anything.
Arabella: I don’t see anything a circle peg could fit in
Xavier: I haven’t found anything either.
Jackson: That’s because you won’t. None of us will.
Xavier: And how are you so sure?
Jackson: The only person who can get us out of this is that crazy son of a bitch. The locks around our chains are lunatic locks. They don’t take keys or number combinations. You gotta keep messing with it in order the bolt falls into the correct spaces within the lock. It takes hours to do and that madman keeps putting us until every forty-five minutes.
Xavier: How do you know this?
Jackson: Lets just say, I’ve seen these kinds of locks before. Every time I see one, things don’t end very well. I’ve been trying to fiddle with it all this time and nothing is working. Each lock would have a different combination to open it. The whole thing is a giant puzzle.
Voice: You’re not the only one who’s seen these locks before. Someone among you is familiar with them and other such locks. I would have thought that they would’ve been the ones to explain this contraption but you’ve done well, Jackson. Since you’ve done well, you will be spared this round. For the rest of you, your lives hang in peril unless you are able to answer this riddle:
I arrive uninvited, yet only when summoned
I can be born from a whisper, or for a wound never touched
I lend strength to the trembling, but steal wisdom for the wise
I am light as a breath when I enter, heavy as iron when I stay
I have no shape, yet I sculpt actions
I have no voice, yet I speak through broken peace
Name me,---
The guest who lives nowhere, but visits everywhere
You have thirty minutes.
Xavier: Wait last time we got an hour. Why is it only half an hour this time?
Silence
Xavier: Hello? Are you there?!!
Xavier: We were left to figure out the riddle. Time had already started when Jackson was explaining the locks to us. Everyone deliberated for a while, but no one said anything. I pressed Peter for any ideas since he got the riddle the last time, but he didn’t say anything. I had no idea what it meant or what clues I was supposed to be looking for, so I resigned to thinking about what would happen if I died. I was bracing myself for pain because it seemed like it was something this guy wanted to inflict on all of us.
At first, I thought that this voice was just some psycho with a vendetta against the rich. But it felt way more personal than that. I took a lot of time with all of this. Locking us outside of our bunkers, leading us to the only house with lights, poisoning us with gas, and watching us lose people one by one. I started asking myself who this guy was and how he knew all of us.
Arabella tugged on her chain and it moved my right arm closer. I knew she was scared, so I let her tug and tug until she felt some type of relief. She tried to turn her body a little closer to mine and when the speaker came on, she fully jolted to my side. A strange song came on and it seemed like the chorus was on repeat. “Time is on my side” just kept repeating over and over again. He takes his non-steering hand and fiddles with his chrome watch.
Mark: Please make it stop!
The Voice: Do you have an answer for me?
Mark: We’ll do whatever you want, just please make the music stop. I can’t think!
Voice: Do you forfeit your remaining time?
Mark: No!
Voice: Very well.
Xavier: The music blared even more through the speakers. Attempts to cover our ears are thwarted by the chains on our hands. Our ears may as well have bled. What seemed like an eternity later, everything went still. Even the night air seemed to have stilled. The music stopped. We waited to hear the voice, but there was nothing. A couple of minutes later, we heard noises coming from the surrounding woods. Like shuffling. It was difficult trying to make out what or who was making those noises. Dense fog enveloped us. The shuffling grew louder. Then growls.
The Interviewer: Growls?
Xavier: Yea man. Low, menacing growls.
The Voice: Time is up. We are here once again. Although there are some innocent among you, most of you are here tonight because the world has gone up in flames and those at the very helm are sitting among us. As the rest of the world burns, so will all of you, but not a moment before you all reveal who you really are.
Now, before I give you all a chance to answer the riddle, I must warn you of what hangs in the balance if you answer incorrectly. There are very hungry friends of mine who are in the woods. I have denied them food for two days. They are highly trained and obey my commands. At any incorrect answer, I will command them to feast at will.
Mark: You can’t do this!!! This is insane!
Voice: Just the very voice I wanted to hear. Do you have my answer?Mark: Why do I have to answer the riddle? You said anyone!
Voice: Anyone can answer for you and take your place in all this, but it is your turn to answer I’m afraid.
Mark: You’re a sick fuck! You have us all picked out and lined up to answer your fucked up riddles and if we don’t get it wrong, we die. Fine, we die! But what the hell do you get out of it? What does the world get out of it if we’re dead? Why don’t you come out here and uncuff me? Just me and you, no beasts, no other people, no riddles. Just you and me!
Voice: It seems like violence is the way with all of you, isn’t it? First, Jerry wanted to kill me. Now you want to fight me. You must think that the odds would be in your favor, don’t you?
Mark: Only cowards hide behind fake voices and animals! Show us who you are!
Voice: Only after you’ve all revealed who you are. Enough stalling. Do you have an answer for me or not?
silence
Voice: gives Mark a couple of minutes to respond. Right then. I guess you don’t have an answer. That’s a shame. You embodied it perfectly.
Mark: Oh, yea? What’s that, you sick fuck?
Xavier: He didn’t answer. Or maybe we did, and we could hear him over the barking. Before we knew what was happening, wolves or dogs surrounded us, barking in our faces. Their spittle coats us. Then the screams came. Peter cried out, then Beatrice. It was the first time I heard what her screams truly sounded like. She was in utter pain. Mark cried out until his voice was hoarse. I think both he and Beatrice were side by side in our twisted circle. We heard a pop. Or at least I heard it. Bones are being severed from their sockets. They were pulling at his legs and arms, and he had to just sit there and watch it happen to him.
Warm liquid made its way underneath me. I wasn’t sure if it was blood or urine. There was a lot of that running wild, feeding the tree. I closed my eyes, not being able to take the anticipation of my flesh being ripped open by these dogs or whatever they were. Not like all the stories I grew up hearing my grandfather tell. I pleaded with God to make this all go away. After everything I’ve done, I knew there was no use. So I just waited my turn. Waiting and listening to everyone else's screams. My turn never came. But the smell of blood, urine, and feces coated my nose. I still can’t get the stench of it out of my nostrils. Everywhere I go, I smell it. He fiddles with his chrome watch again.
Interviewer: Did the voice ever find out what the answer was?
Xavier: When we woke up from the next wave of gas, there was a beam of light. It was soft, lighting, faint. I could make out Arabella’s features. She was a mess. Her eye makeup was streaked all over her face from crying. Her eyes were bloodshot. Lipstick was no longer solely on her lips. She had a tendency to touch her face and lips when she was anxious or afraid. Mucus dripped from her nose, and tears cascaded down her cheek and onto her neck. I can’t imagine how I looked. I adjusted my eyes so I could take in more of our surroundings when a wail emerged from our right. Arabella snapped her neck to look at what was going on. That’s when she saw it.
Interviewer: Tell me what she saw.
Xavier: Mark’s arm. It was gnarled but etched with a knife where the word “Wrath” was written across the length of his arm. Arabella screamed until she passed out. We all just sat there trying to will ourselves out of this nightmare.
Interviewer: What exactly do you all do? How are you all connected in the bombing?
Xavier: We are here, and your time is up.
Xavier presses a button that opens the passenger door.
Xavier: Remember, I don’t want to see you ever again, or we are going to have to have a very different conversation.
Reluctantly, the interviewer climbs out of the car and steps onto the curb. Xavier drives off.
Interviewer: I need to finish this. I’ll just be another couple of hours.
Boss: Well, lock up when you’re done and clean up all of this mess. I like a clean shop and you know that. Flow swept, tools cleaned and put up. We have to be ready for the morning.
Interviewer: You say this every day, and every day you get here, has there ever been a mess for you to clean?
Boss: Hmmm. and make sure that I don’t find any mess either!
The Boss walks out. The Interviewer watches him until he is out of sight. He rises up out of his chair and grabs his laptop out of his bag. He opens it and types on the keys until a screen opens up. His face illuminates as images dance across his screen. He watches intently.
Hours later, Interviewer closes his laptop. He starts by slowly mopping the shop, careful to hit every inch. Once he discards the trash, he begins cleaning his specific workstation. All dust and debris were disposed of. He cleans the tools over the trash can, wiping them down. He then carefully places them in their individual places. After taking a really careful glance around the whole area, he turns out the lights. Heading out the door, he locks the shop and heads for his car.
Once he is at home, he opens his laptop once more and types Beatrice’s full name along with Jerry’s. Several articles pop up. He prints them out and arranges them neatly on his office desk.
Arabella: Tricey. How are you doing in there? She sits down beside the hospital bed after putting the fresh flowers on the small, linear table. It’s been hell over here. I can hardly eat or sleep. I’m sure you’re not feeling any better trapped in here. These hospital sheets are deplorable. I don’t know how you’ve managed not to get a rash. But that’s always been you, right? So resilient and strong. Nothing really rattles you. Oh no. Not Beatrice! I always envied that about you. You never really tolerated anyone getting in your way or pushing you around. You went for what you wanted. Been like that since we were kids. Look at us now.
Arabella eyes the door to make sure that no one is around.
Arabella: I kept thinking about those nights. About how we were trapped around that tree and what he said to us. The things he knew about us. I was so terrified. I didn’t know why he was so angry with us. I didn’t know how he could possibly know about the affair unless you told him. You were the only other person who knew. That day, I blamed you. I knew you were concerned and wanted everything to end. I just didn’t know how to do it.
Mark was starting to catch on to things and was questioning everything. I didn’t want you to get hurt, but I didn’t know how to end things. It was all just so messed up. I didn’t know why anyone besides Mark would care about what we did. Why did it matter if no one was really getting hurt? Then you told us. You told us about what you did with the media outlets and the newspapers. I didn’t think you were capable of such things, Tricey. I was shocked. I knew you were ambitious, but not like that. You swore! You swore that you wouldn’t turn out anything like your father, and there you were doing what you swore you’d never do. Despite all of that, you don’t deserve this. Look at your hands. Look at your legs, Tricey. You’ve always had the softest, most luxurious skin. Now it’s all ruined. He ruined you!
Tears begin to flow down Arabella’s cheeks
Arabella: If I knew where that son of a bitch was, I promise I would spare no expense. I’d make him pay for everything he did to us that night. It was cruel. Deranged. Meniacle. Tricey, I need you to get up. I need you to fight. I don’t have much strength without you, now do I? I can’t possibly sleep through the night knowing that you’re in here. Get up, Tricey. It’s Christmas. I have your gifts all right here, see?! Please, Tricey, get up.
The Interviewer listens intently behind the hospital room curtain. With a plant in hand, he turns back toward the direction he came.
Thanks for reading this very intricate story, and hopefully it wasn't too confusing. I've tagged everyone that I could remember, but if you're coming across me for the first time and want to be tagged in this fic or any others, please comment and let me know you wanna be tagged!
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I just know Terry's got the type of dick where he needs to force you to sit on it. You're just hovering over a few inches, baby so big you don't got the strength in you to willingly take him fully.
First, he'll tell you nicely "C'mon, sit on it baby. You got it. What you can't ride your dick?"
But he won't ask again. If you don't get it right after that, he's placing his hands on your hips and lowering you onto him. He'll go slow, though. Rest assured. If you're in reverse, he'll praise you in silent, wet kisses on you back.
He's a soul snatcher, I just know it. And until you've a little limp in your step the next morning? A random smile on your face everytime you think of him. He's doing it again, and again and again.
Shit, I need to lay of the wine. It's really gets me to thinking😭
-🌹
A/N: I can never write a drabble for this man, I fear 😪 But I appreciate your faith in me to deliver a little sumn 🥵
The Little Death
Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader
Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Fluff, cursing, smut, PIV, sweet and possessive Terry, oral (female receiving), teasing, dirty talk, established relationship, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some.
Summary: After an incredible date night out, you can no longer stick to the six-month no sex rule you have in place. Terry makes it extremely difficult to think of anything other than him and the sexy promise in those beautiful eyes of his.
Word Count: 4,287k
AO3 Link
A/N: I may have mixed feelings on the actor, but baby, I am still over the moon for Terry. Thank you for rocking with the new way of doing things. I've been missing that man so I hope a few others have been as well. I've been busy revamping this novel so it's something I'm proud of. I swear it's coming LOL. But that's where my focus has been. This will be the last regular one-shot for a while so I can dive into my 14 series.
PSA, I no longer have a taglist for Terry fics. Please follow the side blog @lost-lovers-club and turn on all notifications. The only ones still tagged are part of my permanent list. Please don't ask to be on the permanent list just to get tagged for Terry. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.
Terry Richmond would likely be the death of you.
Not for any violent reason; the rough pads of his fingers just felt heavenly against your skin as he idly rubbed them across your neck. He sat behind you on a stool and had you tucked in front of him, so that the heat of his chest seeped through your back and warmed you in all of the right places. All of them.
A soft rock band called Infinity Song was on a small stage belting out their most popular song, Hater's Anthem. The sibling quartet had a vibrancy on stage as they danced along with the music, played instruments, and engaged back and forth with the intimate audience.
When Terry suggested that you go to a distillery for a date…yeah, you had reservations. But it surprised you with the wide open patio behind the distillery's bar that had a roof so you weren't getting burnt by the setting sun, a food truck that made the most delicious pizza you'd ever had outside of Italy itself, and plenty of wooden benches, tables, and stools to linger around. Plus, the smell from the grains used to make the whiskey was absolutely divine and you wished you had a candle to capture it. The music had a folksy, almost R&B kind of feel that made you sway your shoulders.
The middle of the floor was kept open for people who wanted to dance and there were plenty of couples both young and old who took advantage. There was an older Black couple on the floor dancing, the man twirling his wife around. His wife had the biggest grin across her face, instantly making her look like she was in her twenties again. The husband only had eyes for her and you had to blink away some unexpected tears.
"You want another drink?" Even sitting down, Terry was a massive giant. His lips pressed against the top of your ear so as he spoke his lips tickled you. His breath fanned across your neck and you suppressed a shiver.
"Yes, please," you said.
"Another Sweet Potato?" He asked. You nodded so he collected the empty glasses on the small, square table and walked towards the bar. He wore light wash denim jeans, a long sleeve white thermal, and thick heavy boots. His gold chain rested on the inside of his shirt, but every now and then, it caught the light and sparkled against his almond colored skin. The bar was located inside the distillery, so he bent to clear the door and then disappeared inside.
You finally had time to breathe and collect yourself. It had been six, long months of not going further than second base. That was your decision and Terry had been nothing but a gentleman, willing to go at your own pace. You started the six month standard because these men out here were absolute dogs.
You'd never met a consistent liar who could be patient for six months and abstain from sex. If you were going to invite someone into your bed, they better have the personality to match the bass in their tone. And so far…Terry most definitely matched it. He was funny with his dry humor, sexy as sin, and was nothing but a gentle giant. Those stormy eyes and secret smirk of his promised there was a whole other side to him you weren't familiar with and you were excited to see where that took you.
But he also frightened the absolute hell out of you. Terry walked like it was heavy with big steps and a slow gait. More than a few times, you felt that monster brush up against your hand while making out or against your ass when he stood behind you. And that was him at rest. You'd never taken someone as big as him and quite frankly, you didn't know what to do with all of that.
You had better learn quick though, because you didn't know how much longer you could hold out. Terry exited the bar with two glasses and he smiled as he walked back to you. Every time you saw him, however brief the absence, he took your damn breath away. He was letting his hair grow out, so he had a neat crop of curls that made your belly flip. He handed the glass to you and you took a sip, letting the whiskey cocktail work its magic. It had a toasted marshmallow as a garnish and you took bites as you sipped the drink.
Terry returned to his seat behind you, tucking you back into his chest. One hand wrapped around your waist possessively, while the other wrapped around his own drink. You weren't typically a whiskey girlie, especially the high proof ones Terry preferred, but this had been one of the best dates you'd ever went on.
"So what did you think about my band?" Terry asked.
"Not bad, not bad," you had to turn to the side just to be heard over the music. Your shirt rode up, exposing your back. Terry adjusted your shirt without prompting, pulling it down to protect your modesty. Your heart and pussy melted even further.
One of the female members, Momo, wore a sparkly blue dress that caught the light from the bulbs around the sign proclaiming them as the headliner for the night. She was in the middle of a solo song, so it was easier to talk, but only just.
"I see why you like them. They have a vibe," you continued.
Terry nodded. "A friend introduced me to them after her wife put her on. I figured you'd like them."
"Oh, you know me like that, huh?" You asked. You grinned at him and he playfully narrowed his eyes.
"I know a lot about you," he said quietly and from the look in his eyes, you wondered just how much he knew. As if he could read your mind, his thumb absently caressed your hip.
"Yeah? Like what?" You asked.
Terry only responded with a smirk. The bastard. He took a sip of his drink and his fingers wrapped around the glass in a way that made it look tiny. His lips wrapped around the edge and you watched, mesmerized, as his throat worked to take a quick sip.
The song ended and everyone began to clap and cheer, pulling you from eye-fucking the man. The oldest band member, Abraham, started talking to the crowd, saying they were going to play one more and then end the night. He thanked everyone for coming out, sounding like he was sixty-seven with his mannerisms and proper way of speaking.
"Dance with me," Terry said.
You turned back to him and nodded. Maybe that was what you needed. Because after sitting and drinking, you were warm and fuzzy all over forgetting why you had the rule in place. You needed some movement, somewhere for all the pent-up energy to go.
Terry stood and held out his hand for you. Other couples had the same idea, getting onto the dance floor as well. You took his hand and let him lead you to a spot and then he drew you closer, pulling you by the waist so that there wasn't an inch of space left to the imagination.
Terry drew you into him and you fit like the last piece of the puzzle. He was able to hold you and make you feel wholly engulfed in him even though your hand was on his shoulder and not round his neck or he had to bend slightly to hold you. He didn't complain, didn't show an ounce of it bothering him, as he carefully maneuvered you around the other dancers flailing their partner around.
Terry's thumb rubbed circles into your back and you kind of regretted the thick, ribbed, mustard colored shirt. You felt his thumb, but you wanted to feel it skin to skin. You shook that errant thought away.
"You are so damn beautiful," Terry said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest and vibrated against yours.
You dipped your head so he wouldn't see the bashful grin on your face. "You are very good for the ego, Mr. Richmond," you giggled. "Thank you."
Terry chuckled, spun you away from him, spun you back, and dipped you slightly. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" You couldn't help but ask. This man was impossible.
Terry righted you and smirked. "Doing what?" He asked, picture of innocence.
"This…you…" You couldn't bring yourself to name it because he had it. He had a presence most people didn't. Intense but not stiff, confident without being cocky, or secure without throwing his weight around. It was honestly a miracle no one had snatched him up by now.
Hell, you were doing the same thing in a way. Keeping him at arm's length because there was no way someone like him could exist. He wasn't perfect, not by a long shot. He had a few habits that bothered you but not enough to kick him to the curb. He was a terrible dancer with any song faster than a slow dance, drank whiskey that could choke a horse, and was an early riser.
None of that lessened the impact he had on you whenever you got around him. Like all of those minor annoyances faded to the background the minute he smirked or joked. And when he gave you a full, unobstructed view of that grin…it fueled plenty of fantasies over the weeks.
It doesn't have to be a fantasy.
Terry spun you again, waiting for your response. But the only thoughts on your mind right now…was filthy and disgusting and you were tired of fighting it. You gave up, gave in, and surrendered.
When you were back against his chest, you looked him in the eye and grinned. "Take me back to your place?" You asked.
His eyebrows shot up in the most adorable way but he recovered enough with a grin. "Are you sure? There's no pressure," he said.
You pressed closer to him, your boobs resting against his chest. "I want you," you said with a low, sultry tone. It'd been long enough. You were God's strongest soldier for six months and now you were beyond denying yourself what was clearly a fun ride. You'd just have to communicate that he had to go extremely slow. Otherwise he'd split you open and you didn't want to explain that to EMT's.
Terry's eyes dipped from your titties and then to your face. Without hesitation, he grabbed your hand and dragged you off of the dance floor. Your giggles were impossible to stop as he grabbed your jacket and helped you into it. He chuckled with you, the both of you acting like you were teenagers off to do something naughty.
Terry pushed the boundaries of speeding as he drove to his place, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh. The casual way he showed his possession was one of the first things that made you fall for the man. Consent was always sexy, but sometimes you wanted to feel wanted. And he made you feel wanted each and every time you were around him.
Terry pulled into his driveway, outside of a modest one story brick house with white trimmings and a black roof. You'd been here plenty of times before over the months you'd started dating, but now practically felt like the first time.
Terry hopped out, coming round to your side to help you out of his colossal truck. Once out, it took no time at all for him to open his door and let you inside. He flipped on a few lights to illuminate the way, but once the door was closed, his lips descended upon yours.
You kissed him back, no longer restricting yourself. No longer holding yourself back. You gave yourself permission to enjoy the way his soft lips crashed to yours, as if should he stop, even for a second, you'd disappear. Your hands wrapped around his shoulders, digging your nails in.
His knee pushed your thighs apart and then he rested it against your pussy, giving you much needed pressure but it wasn't enough for any true relief. His hands grabbed and squeezed your ass, sitting you more fully on his knee. You moaned into his mouth, the whiskey on your tongue dancing with his.
Your brain needed more oxygen so you were forced to break apart to get more air into your lungs. Terry's hands went wandering, unbuttoning your shirt to reveal your brown lacy bra beneath it.
He groaned as he looked his fill. He cupped your breasts, kneading the soft flesh, and ran his thumbs across your nipples.
"Fuuuuck," you moaned.
"So fuckin' beautiful," he murmured.
The alcohol plus his comments made your cheeks turn flaming hot. Sweat beaded against your temple and your rational side fought with your irrational side. You needed to slow down, needed to get a few ground rules out of the way. But your body wanted more, more, more. Your hips canted against his knee, seeking a type of relief that only comes with either his mouth, fingers, or dick.
His juicy big lips returned to yours and he sucked on your bottom lip. You felt the answering tug in your pussy, your clit throbbing for some attention as well.
"Terry, wait," you whispered, so out of breath you were light headed.
Terry immediately stilled, his hands around your waist and he pulled back to look at you. "Talk to me," he said.
You giggled at the seriousness but he was only turning you on more. "I, uh, I should," you started but took a deep breath and started over. "I very much want to have sex with you. But I think we should go slow. You know how big your dick is, right?"
Terry chuckled, closing his eyes to laugh with his full body. He shook in your arms and you couldn't help but join in. When he sobered, he gave you a serious look. "We can go as slow as you want, I promise."
You nodded but you weren't that convinced. After all, that monster pushed against the fabric of his jeans and it looked painful. Something on your face must've given away your thoughts, because Terry retreated.
"Wait, no!" You said.
Terry chuckled and stepped closer once more. The heat of his skin was a balm to your racing heart. The woodsy scent of his soap wrapped around you until that was the only thing you could smell. One of his hands came up to cup your face. His thumb traced a pattern against your jaw and he gave you a kiss so damn tender, you gasped. "We have plenty of time to explore all of the ungodly things I want to do to you. But tonight, we'll take it as slow as you want. Deal?"
"Deal," you said with a grin.
He stepped back so he could untie his boots. You did the same, kicking off your shoes and taking off your jacket. Your shirt hung loose from when he opened it, so you let that fall to the floor as well.
Terry grabbed your hand and led you further into the house, bypassing a cozy living room with the bare essentials and dark, wooden tables and a leather sofa. His kitchen was just as clean, not a fork or cup out of place. At the end of the hallway, Terry turned on the light to his bedroom, dimming it to make it more intimate.
The curtains were drawn and his king-sized bed still looked too small for his big ass. The carpet underneath muffled your footfalls as you joined him at the foot of the bed, reaching for each other at the same time to peel off your clothes.
His shirt went first, his gold chain swinging and then settling back against his broad chest. He had a light smattering of hair dusted around and you greedily ran your hands all over him. He did the same, his hands never lingering anywhere long as if he didn't know where to start.
He opted for your jeans, unbuttoning them and stripping it and your panties in one fell swoop. You stepped out of it, taking your socks off as well. You helped Terry with his pants, giggling as you fought with the button.
"It's a little tricky," he said.
"I can handle a button," you said, tugging the damn thing free and sliding the zipper down. He hissed as your fingers brushed his erection through his boxer briefs, his long eye-lashes fanning across his cheeks as his eyes narrowed with unfiltered lust.
Fully naked, Terry backed you into the bed. Once the back of your legs hit the edge, he pushed you onto it and encouraged you to bare yourself to him. He kept his hands on your knees, looking at the very core of you.
"Terry," you squirmed from his scrutiny.
"You are so damn gorgeous," he said, looking at you like you just presented him with the best gift ever. Yup, this man would be the death of you.
"You're so fuckin' hot, it hurts," you confessed.
Terry gave you a sexy grin and then knelt on the ground. He wrapped his arms beneath your legs and then yanked until your ass half hung off the bed. Without preamble, his lips suckled your clit into his mouth and you screamed from the pressure.
Terry suckled, licked, and kissed on your pussy until his mouth was coated with your juices. Your body flailed on the bed, gripping the berry colored comforter with everything you had. Your nails dragged against the fabric as your body tried to process Terry's wicked machinations.
"Oue shit, oue shit," you moaned, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. His popcorn ceiling winked in and out of view, your mind caught between the physical plane and somewhere else entirely. Somewhere of Terry's own making because all you could hear was him moaning. All you could feel was his tongue lapping up your juices like a man starved. The scent of your essence filled the room quickly; Terry turning you on so much that you'd explode right there on the spot.
One hand kept you open for him while his other arm jerked. You had enough strength to peek and found his arm jerking furiously. You moaned and went off like a firework, building and building, until your body broke apart in a shower of sparks and light and colors.
Terry didn't slow. He kept going, tasting one orgasm with a lick of his lips and a curse and then wrung another one right behind it. "Shiiiiiit," you moaned, your thighs squeezing his head. You didn't mean to, but fuck, you couldn't help yourself. It felt too good. Too amazing. So damn good you feared you died somewhere in the middle of it and his tongue brought you back.
Terry moved both his hands to open you wider while he drowned in your pussy. Your legs shook from being too sensitive. You slapped at his head and whined. He chuckled and then moved to nibble and kiss your thighs.
"I want you to ride me. You can control the pace," he whispered against your slick thighs.
"Can't. Too dead," you panted for air.
Terry chuckled. He nipped your thigh and you jerked, ending it with a giggle. He chuckled again while he stood up. "Dead folk don't giggle."
You groaned but it was time to put your money where your mouth was. You got to your elbows and examined every delicious inch of him. His body was well-honed and chiseled from many hours spent in the gym or hiking. Corded muscle flexed with every movement he made. His dick swung heavily, tapping lightly against his thigh.
You lied. You were not prepared for how big he was. The pants he's worn around you must've been designed to hide it, because there was no way this was the same dick you felt up on earlier.
"You better stop lookin' at me like that," he said with a smirk. He turned to approach his nightstand, pulling out lube and a condom.
"Or what?" You taunted, getting onto your knees to walk across the bed to him. He sighed as you ran your hands over his shoulders, his back, and down his bubble ass. You gripped him tight and he chuckled.
"Or I'ma put you through this mattress," he said. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he turned away to uncap the lube.
"I'm on the pill," you said and kissed his back.
He stilled. "Don't play with me right now." His voice took on a darker, raspier tone that made you shiver.
"I want you. No barriers. If you're comfortable," you said. You waited long enough. You just wanted to feel him in every way you could. Anyone else, you'd tell them to double wrap it. But Terry could have you ten ways from Sunday and you were done denying yourself that.
Terry growled low in his throat. He turned and gave you a scorching kiss, hot enough to make your skin bead with sweat. He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself in the middle. He pulled you until you climbed on top of him, reverse cow girl, popping your ass in his face.
He chuckled and gave you a few quick smacks. You moaned while he grabbed the lube and rubbed his dick with it. "We go at your pace, okay?"
"Yes, sir," you said.
"Fuck me, you're perfect," he said. He helped guide you until he was lined up. Then he let you take over as you slowly took him in.
It burned deliciously but it did burn from the stretch. How the hell did women bounce on big dicks like their favorite trampoline? His tip was barely inside you and you were ready to call it quits.
"Nice and slow. There's no rush. Take your time, baby," he encouraged as you slipped further and further down. You leaned up and then slid back down on it, finding a nice, slow rhythm.
He hummed and groaned, digging his thumbs into your back. "Ouue shit," you moaned. Between his fingers and his dick, fuck cloud nine. You were on cloud five hundred.
He gave you wet kisses to your back while you rode him but you couldn't manage to fit all of him inside. It was already too much. He filled you completely, dick throbbing deep inside. You felt every last veiny inch of him sliding against your slick inner walls.
"Sit on it," he demanded.
You shook your head, though he couldn't see your face.
"No fuckin' way," you sighed with a giggle.
Terry chuckled. He gripped your arms and pulled you backwards, opening you in a way that you were able to fit more of him inside. He leaned forward and then trapped your arms when he brought his hands around to cup your breasts and squeeze your nipples.
"Oh fuck," you moaned, your pussy clenching around the length of him.
"Sit your pretty ass on this dick. To the base," he commanded, his deep voice working a spell on you.
"I can't," you whispered. You were too afraid, too nervous to take him fully. You didn't know why. Or perhaps you did and you just didn't want to face the truth. This man was going to ruin you for all others.
He already has.
You whined, but you worked with him, trying to work more of him inside. He retreated so that he could apply more lube, the sweet, sweet man making sure that you were comfortable. Then, he slammed you down in one rough thrust that immediately made you scream, curse, and go cross eyed as another orgasm tore through you. Your nails raked his thighs as the overwhelming pleasure was a little too much. Nothing made sense; you're pretty sure you could taste colors, as Terry fucked you through it.
Nonsense poured from his lips as you took him to the base. The pace was still lazy and slow, but he made you feel it all. He thrust a few more times.
"I'm finna bust," he groaned low in the back of his throat.
He bit your shoulder, fingers pinching your nipples to bring delectable pain, as he finally bust. His hot cum flooded you, gushing out, causing you to smack lewdly against his pelvis. He groaned and jerked, his dick throbbing a steady beat.
"Fuuck," you whined. You couldn't describe how otherwordly it felt while he emptied himself, but it was over too soon as he panted against your damp skin.
"You're fuckin' perfect," he said. He turned your chin so that he could kiss you. It was an awkward angle, but you were already greedy for more. He nibbled on your lower lip before he pulled away to nuzzle your neck.
"Wanna get cleaned up?" He asked.
You already felt him throb once more, his erection was only half mast but seemed to be rising. You chuckled and looked back at him. "You are so damn nasty," you said with a wide grin.
"I can be worse," he promised.
You had no doubt in your mind that he could be. It didn't stop you from following him into the shower where you got all kinds of dirty before you could get cleaned up again.
Yup, Terry Richmond would be the death of you. And that didn't matter one bit to you.
The end.
Thank you so much for reading. There's so much more!
Casting:
You: The Interviewer
Sterling K Brown as Jerry
Sabina Karlsson as Lenora
Nicole Beharie as Beatrice
Morris Chestnut as Roman
Aldis Hodge as Xavier
Tyler James Williams as Mark
Precious Lee as Arabella
Lawrence Fishbourne as Jackson
Luke James as Peter
Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK. DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.
A/N: What's Good Everyone!!! I made it! It's the last day of the first quarter, but I made it. I've been working on this one for a little minute now, and this will be interactive. I made a goal to finish this short story. Here, you are The Interviewer. By the end, I will be taking a poll to see how the story ends. If you're here for smut, I'm sorry to disappoint. There will be steamy scenes, but that isn't the purpose or the premise of the story. The purpose is survival. You do, however, have some eye candy joining you in this story.
Summary: When a coordinated attack plunges the United States into permanent darkness, the country's wealthiest find their failsafes have failed them. Their private bunkers — built for exactly this moment — are sealed, inaccessible, dead. With nowhere else to turn, they converge on the only light visible for miles: a lone house on a hill.
Peter: We didn’t think twice about him coming in and out of our houses. He was a contractor. He was there to work. After all, how many of us are used to having help coming in and out of the house, doing things, getting us ready for functions here and there?
Interviewer: So how did you come to hire him?
Peter: stares into the distance. He was referred. We often did things like that. Refer people to one another, especially people who did good work. He came highly recommended. There was this construction company he belonged to, Beams, I think. It doesn’t really matter. I don’t think it ever existed.
Interviewer: What do you mean it never existed?
Peter: When Jackson and I finally made it in for the last couple of days, we tried looking up the company he belonged to. We wanted someone to pay for what happened but when we tried to find it… it was like it never existed.
Interviewer: “Never existed,” like it was hard to find?
Peter: “Never existed” as in “never existed”. You couldn’t find a website, article, listing, title, review, social media post– Nothing! Everything was there a couple of days ago—even a company photo and tons of reviews.
Interviewer: Interesting. So back to this contractor. What work was he doing for you?
Peter: At first, he was doing some maintenance things. I was getting to know him and his work for a few months before I had him build it.
Interviewer: Build?
Peter: A bunker.
Interviewer: Is that commonplace? Hiring contractors to build bunkers?
Peter: I was the last to build one. Friends and I joked about the world ending. Some of the more skittish ones had already started building underground panic rooms and fortifying their homes with artillery and security cams. A lot of us thought that it was just paranoia. But then…
Interviewer: looks at Peter intently as he goes into a distant place, reliving those few weeks
Peter: fiddles with the cup in his hand several times before looking up
We got some information.
Interviewer: What kind of information, Peter?
Peter: Have you spoken to Jackson yet?
Interviewer: I went to the spot where you told me he would be. His tent was gone when I got there. I asked the other dwellers around asking if they’ve seen him. They all said that he had been there up until yesterday. No one has seen him since.
Peter: Oh.
He looks around nervously.
Interviewer: Peter, what information did you get back then that started all of this?
Peter: You should really speak to Jackson. It was his information. He knew it was going to happen before it happened. That’s what he was mad about I think.
Interviewer: Peter, I’m trying to make sense of what you’re telling me but I’m confused. Who was mad about what? What information did Jackson have?
Peter: He knew that we were going to get bombed before it happened. He knew it because he was the reason why it happened. The Bunker guy was mad about it. He knew Jackson knew and what he did.
Interviewer: Let's take a step back. How was Jackson involved in this national tragedy?
Peter: You should really talk to Jackson.
11/30/2025
Interviewer: You are a hard man to find. May I speak with you for a couple of minutes?
Jackson: I’m not interested.
Interviewer: You’re not interested in telling me what has you living in a tent in the middle of the woods when you own five 50-acre estates in five different states across the country?
Jackson: Fuck off
Interviewer: I will but only after you tell me why Peter is convinced that you can predict the future, especially as it pertains to the bombing.
Jackson: He freezes
He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
Interviewer: Judging by the wave of pallor that coated your skin just now, I think he knows a lot about what he’s talking about. Care to share?
Jackson: No
Interviewer: That is fine. I’ll just have to ask more questions. Someone at your company has to know why you know so much.
Jackson: He eyes the interviewer in clear contempt
I’ve already told that son a bitch what happened and he told me that if I made it out of that fuckin maze that he would leave me alone. If he sent you, tell him to ‘fuck off’. I held up my end of the bargain.
Interviewer: You made a deal with Peter?
Jackson: Don’t play dumb! I know that son-of-a-bitch sent you!
He lunges at the interviewer
Interviewer: Who sent me?
Jackson: That bastard that left us out there to starve, kill, and die!
Interviewer: You mean the man who built the bunkers? Mr. Greavesend?
Jackson: Leave me alone! I have a rifle and if you don't get out of here in the next second, I will shoot you.
Interviewer: Please. I just want to know what happened to you all.
Jackson: Turns to around and digs around for something
Interviewer: backs away a couple of steps
Jackson, that’s not necessary
Jackson: cocks a long-barreled rifle and points it at the direction of the Interviewer.
Interviewer: I’m leaving. I’m leaving!
12/03/2025
Interviewer: I just wanted to speak with you to make sense of everything. I didn’t get much from the other two gentlemen I tried talking to you. Well, just one of them was a gentleman.
Arabella: I don’t know how much help I can be. I was going in and out of panic attacks or asleep most of the time. I actually remember thinking that I was surely going to die the day everything happened. Not sure how I made it when the others didn't. She looks at the floor, then away in the distance.
Interviewer: Okay let’s start with the start of the day of the bombing. What do you remember?
Arabella: Well Mark and Jackson were all worked up about something and I heard them from all the way down the hall. I went to see what was going on and well…
Interviewer: eyes will for Arabella to continue
Arabella: Well Mark’s hands were grabbing at Jackson’s shirt. I’m not sure what would’ve happened if I didn’t come in when I did.
Interviewer: Okay so there was conflict. Did you ever find out what the argument was about?
Arabella: No. Mark and I don’t talk about his affairs. I learned from his first wife not to ask too many questions and just enjoy the life afforded to me. I guess at some point that comes to bite you in the ass.
Interviewer: Okay then what happened after that?
Arabella: Jackson stormed out. I looked at Mark, and he left the room. I went to the kitchen to tell the cook that we may need an early lunch. The parlormaid made some drinks and went to find Mark.
Interviewer: Drinks in the morning?
Arabella: Kept him from having shakes.
Interviewer: Okay what happened next?
Arabella: Nothing for a while. Then after lunch, Mark told me that I needed to pack a suitcase for the children and me because we were leaving tonight. When I tried to ask him why, he just glared at me and told me to do as he said if I wanted to survive. I figured that it had something to do with the fight he had with Jackson. I thought it would blow over after everyone had time to put their egos aside. They’ve been in business together for years. Anyway, I packed lightly.
Interviewer: Where did he take you all?
Arabella: That was the odd thing. Instead of heading to the front of the estate where the chauffeur would be waiting with the car, he headed to the back of the estate. I was about to ask why we were headed out the back when the lights started flickering. By the time we got to the back the house went completely dark. Mark was fumbling with a keypad that I’ve never seen before by the stairwell. At this point, Isadora started crying because she is scared of the dark.
She stopped speaking. Her silence draws on uncomfortably
Interviewer: Arabella, are you okay?
Arabella: It’s a funny thing how you actively have to will your mind to speak about someone in the past tense even when you body rejects it
Interviewer: Where are Mark, Walter, and Isadora?
Arabella: They were eaten.
Her eyes gloss over in despair.
12/07/2025
Interviewer: Hello. It is very nice to meet you. We spoke over the phone.
Xavier: He steps around the interviewer and peers in every direction
Hi. Come in
Interviewer: Is now still a good time?
Xavier: Yeah, now is fine. Can I get you anything?
Interviewer: No I’m fine thank you.
Xavier: leads the way into a vast living room with furniture tossed about and ripped open.
Excuse the mess
Interviewer: Should we call someone? looks of concern riddle his face
Xavier: No, it’s fine.
Interviewer: Should we stand?
Xavier: Yea actually. We should.
Interviewer: Okay. I’ll just get on with it, then. Can you tell me what happened the day of the bombing?
Xavier: If you were in the U.S., you know what happened? Everybody knows what happened.
Interviewer: Yes, I know, but I want to know what happened to you. It seemed as though a group of you had an experience that was different from mine. Different from the rest.
Xavier: There’s nothing to tell, really. Everything went dark. We all tried to get inside our bunkers and weren’t able to. We found it weird because the bunkers weren’t supposed to be hooked up to the power grinds— that’s why we paid extra. But, he shrugs, it seems like they were so we were all locked out. We went outside to wait it out like everybody else. I know some people tried to go into town to see what they could find. Those people never came back so we never got to ask what was happening. Then, after a couple days, things came back online.
Interviewer: Right, but what happened in those couple of days.
Xavier: Nothing much. We waited.
Interviewer: Waited where? Waited how?
Xavier: We went to the house far up the hill so we could get a better vintage point. That also happened to be the only house with lights on at the time and we were all wondering how that was possible. Everyone’s generators were out too.
Interviewer: So you all waited inside the house until the power lines were functional again?
Xavier: I didn’t say that.
Interviewer: So you all waited outside. Was there anybody home?
Xavier: There was someone there.
Interviewer: Xavier, this will go a lot faster if you just told me everything that happened because this doesn’t make any sense. Everyone knew what happened that day after a matter of house except those living off the grind and they would’ve had access to a radio. If you’re telling me that there was a house with lights on and someone inside but you all waited for 2 days outside that home with little water and some food, then either the person was scared of you all or he wanted to see you all die.
Xavier: looks intently at the interviewer in silence for a long while before speaking again.
Who else have you spoken with?
Interviewer: There aren’t many people who know enough and aren’t hysterical or don’t mind speaking with me.
Xavier: And who do you work for again?
Interviewer: I work for the Post, and I am doing a compilation of stories of people’s experiences that day. Just as some journalists did on 9/11 in New York.
Xavier: How did you find out about us? We are out in, practically, the middle of nowhere.
Interviewer: I have excellent sources. A lot of them started to get worried when five billionaires didn’t show up for work for weeks. People talk.
Xavier: Like I said, there’s not much to tell. We went where the lights were. We saw a figure moving, that’s how we knew at least one person was in the house. We asked to be let in and we weren’t, we waited by the house until all the power came back on and we left.
Interviewer: Then why are there only four of you left when thirteen of you went up to that house?
12/12/2025
Interviewer speaks into a cell phone
Patient Beatrice Corven is still in a coma. She has lines and tubes. Doctors have not been in yet. Nursing has been changing her dressings. There are wounds on her arms and legs. Deep vertical lacerations with exposed flesh. There are some wounds that look like… Are those bite marks?
Nurse: Excuse me, can I help you?
Interviewer: I was visiting, but I’m just now leaving.
Interviewer leaves the room.
12/21/2025
Interviewer: I haven’t gotten very far with anyone else that you’ve pointed me to. We’ve been working together for some weeks now. Tell me what happened.
Peter: What did Xavier say?
Interviewer: He lied.
Peter: How do you know he was lying?
Interviewer: Well, for one, everyone is so cagey about that night. Jackson threatened to shoot me. Two, Xavier’s house is trashed. I sat on his house for two days before going in and there were no housekeepers, groundskeepers, security, or anyone going in and out. When I finally went in, it looked like he was robbed or the Feds trashed the place. Three, Beatrice is still in a coma and has bite marks and torn flesh along her arms and legs. So I’m going to ask you again, Peter. What happened?
Peter: sits down in her chair and sighs.
I don’t think anyone has spoken about those days since the power came back on. At least I know I haven’t. It doesn’t even seem real.
Interviewer: What doesn’t seem real?
Peter: takes a long swing of the drink in his glass.
When everything happened, and the power went out, I had already tried getting into the bunker three times and couldn’t get in. I was calling the company of the Bunker guy to understand what happened but the line went dead. Before that, the number was giving a busy signal. Cell towers were down so my cell phone was useless. I told my wife Dahlia to take the car and head downtown to see if she could get help. The kids were out of town on trips with their friends. She just thought that it was a power outage in our area. I thought otherwise. I took a flashlight and trekked up until I reached Xavier’s house first. We tried to open his bunker together, but we were unsuccessful. We both went and got Jerry. He came with his two kids and wife, Lenora. Then Mark and Arabella were already making their way down with their two kids. They had suitcases. Down the road, we saw Jackson and Beatrice coming towards us, their flashlights in hand. Jackson kept a radio with him and we all heard that three bombs were launched at all three major power Interconnections. We waited for them to tell us when the fail-safes were coming on and they didn’t. They couldn’t. I knew why.
Interviewer: How did you know?
Peter: Just let me get this shit out!!!
Interviewer: Sorry. Please continue.
Peter: The fail-safes weren’t coming on. Of course, there would be some areas with light. There are so many redundancies in fiber optics that it would be impossible to knock out everything, unless you knew where to send additional bombs. They did. What they couldn’t kill were the backup generators in all locations. As long as there was diesel or gas, your generator should work. When none of ours came on, I knew something was wrong. We weren’t directly hit. As we were listening to the radio and trying to figure out a game plan, house lights up the hill came on—Roman’s house. The thing is, Roman left for France two days before everything happened with his wife and kids. I took them to the airport myself because I wanted to discuss some things with him before he left. We took two cars. I saw them off and headed home. We headed up there because we thought that maybe someone had broken into Roman’s house for shelter and supplies. It took about an hour for us all to get up there. Everyone’s cars were in their garages. All electrically operated garages. We walked for about 45 minutes. The children were all grumbling. It was chilly out. And that’s when we saw it.
Interviewer: Saw what?
Peter: The figure. We started trying to get its attention. We rang the doorbell. Knocked for a while. Shouted. We told him we could see him, and we knew he wasn’t Roman. After an hour of all that, we started threatening to knock down the doors and call the police. Xavier and Jackson tried kicking down the doors, but it didn’t help. At this point, the sun was going down. It was getting colder. The children wanted to go home. We turned and headed back down the road we'd come, since this was apparently useless, and then we heard it.
[Voice: Not all of you will survive. Some of you may have to sacrifice your own young to make it. You will have to use strength, cunning, information, and sheer will to go on. Don’t hesitate. Choose well.
Dahlia: What the hell is this? I don’t like this. We should take the children and leave!
Mark: What does he mean by “sacrifice your own young”?
Arabella: How do we know it’s a “he” up there talking?
Jackson: How do we know this isn’t Roman pulling some kind of prank?!
Peter: He isn’t even in the country, remember?
Jackson: He could be! We don’t know if he actually took off. He could’ve messaged us from anywhere.
Xavier: I’m with Dahlia, let’s just leave.]
A blanket of mist arises from the base of the house, covering everything within a 50-mile radius of the house.
Peter: We woke up, and all of us were chained together at the base of a tree in the back of the house. There was a figure watching us from the patio of the house. We were a distance away, but his presence was still felt. One by one, each one of us started to panic when we found that the chains were real and that we were covered in fluid of some kind. Beatrice cried out for help, forgiveness, anything. Her voice got hoarse, so she stopped pleading and just resorted to sobbing. There were more sobs, but one grew louder than the rest. We all looked in Lenora’s direction, and we all saw what made her scream. He falls silent as his eyes start to gloss over. Benji called me Mr. Pete. He had a broad smile that would just suck you in. We used to say that one toothy smile from Benji could cure cancer. Thing about Benji was that he was always sick. Lenora got Jerry to build a state-of-the-art medical room for him in the house. His room was better than most hospitals I grew up visiting. There was something always bothering him, he said, it was because he could make the kinda cells needed to fight infections and things. Usually with his medicine and all the gadgets he carries, his able to play with friends. Their bunker was equipped with all of that stuff. He had his backpack with him.
Interviewer: What happened to him?
Peter: We all fell asleep and woke up in the dead of night. He didn’t. Lenora kicked his lifeless body in a panic, trying to break free from the chains. She called out to Bella and got a response. She did the same for Benji. When there was no reply, she realized that the lifeless body she was trying to free herself from was …. was Benji. The intercom came back on, and the voice spoke to us again.
[Voice: It seems one of you has fallen. To prevent all 12 of you from going the same, one of you must come clean and confess to being the reason that we are all here today.
Jerry: When I find you, you are going to wish you were dead.
Voice: I welcome death. At this stage, it is better than living.
Jerry: I’ll be happy to arrange the meet, you sick fuck. Let me out of here!
Voice: If you are able to answer this riddle, I’ll let you put me out of my misery. If not, you will feel the agony I do.
I do not sleep, I do not tire, My belly burns with endless fire. Gold and glory fan my flame, But nothing sates me all the same.
The more you feed, the more I crave, From pauper’s pocket to king’s grave. I wear no face, I take no lead— Yet all are ruled by me: I’m ___."
You have one hour.]
Peter: Jerry sat there and thought for a minute before he started looking around for something sharp to cut at the chain. Bella yelled for him to think of the riddle but he refused. He was angry and didn’t feel that playing games was what would free him from this psycho’s wrath. We stood all sat chained, listening to him scrape and tug and pull at the chains on his hands and feet. Lenora was still crying out about Benji. I don’t know if it was resignation, shock, or fear that kept the majority of us silent but when the hour was over the voice appeared again asking for the answer.
[Voice: Time is up. Do you have an answer?
There is silence
Voice: I will ask again. Jerry, do you have an answer to my question?
Jerry: Fuck you!
Voice: Very well then.
Jerry: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
Lenora: screams. Stop! Stop! STOPPPP!]
Peter: Jerry screamed, and those who could turned around to see what had happened. Xavier vomited all over his shirt. Jackson screamed and cursed. Dahlia cried. Bella and Mark’s kids screamed. Mark was trying to console Arabella. There was so much commotion. So much wailing. I finally screamed that I knew the answer to stop whatever was making everyone scream.
[Voice: Your time will come.
Peter: Please! Stop this! I have the answer! Let us go!
Voice: Your time will come.
Peter: PLEASE!!!!
Voice: Note that if you answer incorrectly, your fate will be his and his yours. Do you accept?
Peter turns stiff with fear and anxiety. He hears the constant screams of those around him.
Voice: DO. YOU. ACCEPT?!
Peter: Yes!
Voice: What is your answer?
Peter: GREED!!!!]
Peter: The same mist that fell over us the first time came again. We woke up to Lenora’s screams again. The wails were deafening, and we knew then that something else had happened. We knew then that the mist would signify us waking up to horror unimagined until that sick fuck decided to let us go or kill us off one by one. We were still chained in a circle around the tree, only this time Jerry and Benji were missing. At my side, I would find a leg with the shackle attached to the ankle. In the darkness, I made out the emblem on an exposed sock. The leg belonged to Jerry.
Thanks for reading this very intricate story, and hopefully it wasn't too confusing. I've tagged everyone that I could remember, but if you're coming across me for the first time and want to be tagged in this fic or any others, please comment and let me know you wanna be tagged!
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As always, let me know what you think about this fic. Comment, Reblog, Like, Tell A Friend!
Casting:
You: The Interviewer
Sterling K Brown as Jerry
Sabina Karlsson as Lenora
Nicole Beharie as Beatrice
Morris Chestnut as Roman
Aldis Hodge as Xavier
Tyler James Williams as Mark
Precious Lee as Arabella
Lawrence Fishbourne as Jackson
Luke James as Peter
Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK. DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.
A/N: What's Good Everyone!!! I made it! It's the last day of the first quarter, but I made it. I've been working on this one for a little minute now, and this will be interactive. I made a goal to finish this short story. Here, you are The Interviewer. By the end, I will be taking a poll to see how the story ends. If you're here for smut, I'm sorry to disappoint. There will be steamy scenes, but that isn't the purpose or the premise of the story. The purpose is survival. You do, however, have some eye candy joining you in this story.
Summary: When a coordinated attack plunges the United States into permanent darkness, the country's wealthiest find their failsafes have failed them. Their private bunkers — built for exactly this moment — are sealed, inaccessible, dead. With nowhere else to turn, they converge on the only light visible for miles: a lone house on a hill.
Peter: We didn’t think twice about him coming in and out of our houses. He was a contractor. He was there to work. After all, how many of us are used to having help coming in and out of the house, doing things, getting us ready for functions here and there?
Interviewer: So how did you come to hire him?
Peter: stares into the distance. He was referred. We often did things like that. Refer people to one another, especially people who did good work. He came highly recommended. There was this construction company he belonged to, Beams, I think. It doesn’t really matter. I don’t think it ever existed.
Interviewer: What do you mean it never existed?
Peter: When Jackson and I finally made it in for the last couple of days, we tried looking up the company he belonged to. We wanted someone to pay for what happened but when we tried to find it… it was like it never existed.
Interviewer: “Never existed,” like it was hard to find?
Peter: “Never existed” as in “never existed”. You couldn’t find a website, article, listing, title, review, social media post– Nothing! Everything was there a couple of days ago—even a company photo and tons of reviews.
Interviewer: Interesting. So back to this contractor. What work was he doing for you?
Peter: At first, he was doing some maintenance things. I was getting to know him and his work for a few months before I had him build it.
Interviewer: Build?
Peter: A bunker.
Interviewer: Is that commonplace? Hiring contractors to build bunkers?
Peter: I was the last to build one. Friends and I joked about the world ending. Some of the more skittish ones had already started building underground panic rooms and fortifying their homes with artillery and security cams. A lot of us thought that it was just paranoia. But then…
Interviewer: looks at Peter intently as he goes into a distant place, reliving those few weeks
Peter: fiddles with the cup in his hand several times before looking up
We got some information.
Interviewer: What kind of information, Peter?
Peter: Have you spoken to Jackson yet?
Interviewer: I went to the spot where you told me he would be. His tent was gone when I got there. I asked the other dwellers around asking if they’ve seen him. They all said that he had been there up until yesterday. No one has seen him since.
Peter: Oh.
He looks around nervously.
Interviewer: Peter, what information did you get back then that started all of this?
Peter: You should really speak to Jackson. It was his information. He knew it was going to happen before it happened. That’s what he was mad about I think.
Interviewer: Peter, I’m trying to make sense of what you’re telling me but I’m confused. Who was mad about what? What information did Jackson have?
Peter: He knew that we were going to get bombed before it happened. He knew it because he was the reason why it happened. The Bunker guy was mad about it. He knew Jackson knew and what he did.
Interviewer: Let's take a step back. How was Jackson involved in this national tragedy?
Interviewer: You are a hard man to find. May I speak with you for a couple of minutes?
Jackson: I’m not interested.
Interviewer: You’re not interested in telling me what has you living in a tent in the middle of the woods when you own five 50-acre estates in five different states across the country?
Jackson: Fuck off
Interviewer: I will but only after you tell me why Peter is convinced that you can predict the future, especially as it pertains to the bombing.
Jackson: He freezes
He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
Interviewer: Judging by the wave of pallor that coated your skin just now, I think he knows a lot about what he’s talking about. Care to share?
Jackson: No
Interviewer: That is fine. I’ll just have to ask more questions. Someone at your company has to know why you know so much.
Jackson: He eyes the interviewer in clear contempt
I’ve already told that son a bitch what happened and he told me that if I made it out of that fuckin maze that he would leave me alone. If he sent you, tell him to ‘fuck off’. I held up my end of the bargain.
Interviewer: You made a deal with Peter?
Jackson: Don’t play dumb! I know that son-of-a-bitch sent you!
He lunges at the interviewer
Interviewer: Who sent me?
Jackson: That bastard that left us out there to starve, kill, and die!
Interviewer: You mean the man who built the bunkers? Mr. Greavesend?
Jackson: Leave me alone! I have a rifle and if you don't get out of here in the next second, I will shoot you.
Interviewer: Please. I just want to know what happened to you all.
Jackson: Turns to around and digs around for something
Interviewer: backs away a couple of steps
Jackson, that’s not necessary
Jackson: cocks a long-barreled rifle and points it at the direction of the Interviewer.
Interviewer: I just wanted to speak with you to make sense of everything. I didn’t get much from the other two gentlemen I tried talking to you. Well, just one of them was a gentleman.
Arabella: I don’t know how much help I can be. I was going in and out of panic attacks or asleep most of the time. I actually remember thinking that I was surely going to die the day everything happened. Not sure how I made it when the others didn't. She looks at the floor, then away in the distance.
Interviewer: Okay let’s start with the start of the day of the bombing. What do you remember?
Arabella: Well Mark and Jackson were all worked up about something and I heard them from all the way down the hall. I went to see what was going on and well…
Interviewer: eyes will for Arabella to continue
Arabella: Well Mark’s hands were grabbing at Jackson’s shirt. I’m not sure what would’ve happened if I didn’t come in when I did.
Interviewer: Okay so there was conflict. Did you ever find out what the argument was about?
Arabella: No. Mark and I don’t talk about his affairs. I learned from his first wife not to ask too many questions and just enjoy the life afforded to me. I guess at some point that comes to bite you in the ass.
Interviewer: Okay then what happened after that?
Arabella: Jackson stormed out. I looked at Mark, and he left the room. I went to the kitchen to tell the cook that we may need an early lunch. The parlormaid made some drinks and went to find Mark.
Interviewer: Drinks in the morning?
Arabella: Kept him from having shakes.
Interviewer: Okay what happened next?
Arabella: Nothing for a while. Then, after lunch, Mark told me that I needed to pack a suitcase for the children and me because we were leaving tonight. When I tried to ask him why, he just glared at me and told me to do as he said if I wanted to survive. I figured that it had something to do with the fight he had with Jackson. I thought it would blow over after everyone had time to put their egos aside. They’ve been in business together for years. Anyway, I packed lightly.
Interviewer: Where did he take you all?
Arabella: That was the odd thing. Instead of heading to the front of the estate where the chauffeur would be waiting with the car, he headed to the back of the estate. I was about to ask why we were headed out the back when the lights started flickering. By the time we got to the back, the house went completely dark. Mark was fumbling with a keypad that I’ve never seen before by the stairwell. At this point, Isadora started crying because she is scared of the dark.
She stopped speaking. Her silence draws on uncomfortably
Interviewer: Arabella, are you okay?
Arabella: It’s a funny thing how you actively have to will your mind to speak about someone in the past tense even when your body rejects it
Interviewer: Hello. It is very nice to meet you. We spoke over the phone.
Xavier: He steps around the interviewer and peers in every direction
Hi. Come in
Interviewer: Is now still a good time?
Xavier: Yeah, now is fine. Can I get you anything?
Interviewer: No I’m fine thank you.
Xavier: leads the way into a vast living room with furniture tossed about and ripped open.
Excuse the mess
Interviewer: Should we call someone? looks of concern riddle his face
Xavier: No, it’s fine.
Interviewer: Should we stand?
Xavier: Yea actually. We should.
Interviewer: Okay. I’ll just get on with it, then. Can you tell me what happened the day of the bombing?
Xavier: If you were in the U.S., you know what happened? Everybody knows what happened.
Interviewer: Yes, I know, but I want to know what happened to you. It seemed as though a group of you had an experience that was different from mine. Different from the rest.
Xavier: There’s nothing to tell, really. Everything went dark. We all tried to get inside our bunkers and weren’t able to. We found it weird because the bunkers weren’t supposed to be hooked up to the power grinds— that’s why we paid extra. But, he shrugs, it seems like they were so we were all locked out. We went outside to wait it out like everybody else. I know some people tried to go into town to see what they could find. Those people never came back so we never got to ask what was happening. Then, after a couple days, things came back online.
Interviewer: Right, but what happened in those couple of days.
Xavier: Nothing much. We waited.
Interviewer: Waited where? Waited how?
Xavier: We went to the house far up the hill so we could get a better vintage point. That also happened to be the only house with lights on at the time and we were all wondering how that was possible. Everyone’s generators were out too.
Interviewer: So you all waited inside the house until the power lines were functional again?
Xavier: I didn’t say that.
Interviewer: So you all waited outside. Was there anybody home?
Xavier: There was someone there.
Interviewer: Xavier, this will go a lot faster if you just told me everything that happened because this doesn’t make any sense. Everyone knew what happened that day after a matter of house except those living off the grind and they would’ve had access to a radio. If you’re telling me that there was a house with lights on and someone inside but you all waited for 2 days outside that home with little water and some food, then either the person was scared of you all or he wanted to see you all die.
Xavier: looks intently at the interviewer in silence for a long while before speaking again.
Who else have you spoken with?
Interviewer: There aren’t many people who know enough and aren’t hysterical or don’t mind speaking with me.
Xavier: And who do you work for again?
Interviewer: I work for the Post, and I am doing a compilation of stories of people’s experiences that day. Just as some journalists did on 9/11 in New York.
Xavier: How did you find out about us? We are out in, practically, the middle of nowhere.
Interviewer: I have excellent sources. A lot of them started to get worried when five billionaires didn’t show up for work for weeks. People talk.
Xavier: Like I said, there’s not much to tell. We went where the lights were. We saw a figure moving, that’s how we knew at least one person was in the house. We asked to be let in and we weren’t, we waited by the house until all the power came back on and we left.
Interviewer: Then why are there only four of you left when thirteen of you went up to that house?
Interviewer speaks into a cell phone
Patient Beatrice Corven is still in a coma. She has lines and tubes. Doctors have not been in yet. Nursing has been changing her dressings. There are wounds on her arms and legs. Deep vertical lacerations with exposed flesh. There are some wounds that look like… Are those bite marks?
Nurse: Excuse me, can I help you?
Interviewer: I was visiting, but I’m just now leaving.
Interviewer leaves the room.
Interviewer: I haven’t gotten very far with anyone else that you’ve pointed me to. We’ve been working together for some weeks now. Tell me what happened.
Peter: What did Xavier say?
Interviewer: He lied.
Peter: How do you know he was lying?
Interviewer: Well, for one, everyone is so cagey about that night. Jackson threatened to shoot me. Two, Xavier’s house is trashed. I sat on his house for two days before going in and there were no housekeepers, groundskeepers, security, or anyone going in and out. When I finally went in, it looked like he was robbed or the Feds trashed the place. Three, Beatrice is still in a coma and has bite marks and torn flesh along her arms and legs. So I’m going to ask you again, Peter. What happened?
Peter: sits down in her chair and sighs.
I don’t think anyone has spoken about those days since the power came back on. At least I know I haven’t. It doesn’t even seem real.
Interviewer: What doesn’t seem real?
Peter: takes a long swing of the drink in his glass.
When everything happened, and the power went out, I had already tried getting into the bunker three times and couldn’t get in. I was calling the company of the Bunker guy to understand what happened but the line went dead. Before that, the number was giving a busy signal. Cell towers were down so my cell phone was useless. I told my wife Dahlia to take the car and head downtown to see if she could get help. The kids were out of town on trips with their friends. She just thought that it was a power outage in our area. I thought otherwise. I took a flashlight and trekked up until I reached Xavier’s house first. We tried to open his bunker together, but we were unsuccessful. We both went and got Jerry. He came with his two kids and wife, Lenora. Then Mark and Arabella were already making their way down with their two kids. They had suitcases. Down the road, we saw Jackson and Beatrice coming towards us, their flashlights in hand. Jackson kept a radio with him and we all heard that three bombs were launched at all three major power Interconnections. We waited for them to tell us when the fail-safes were coming on and they didn’t. They couldn’t. I knew why.
Interviewer: How did you know?
Peter: Just let me get this shit out!!!
Interviewer: Sorry. Please continue.
Peter: The fail-safes weren’t coming on. Of course, there would be some areas with light. There are so many redundancies in fiber optics that it would be impossible to knock out everything, unless you knew where to send additional bombs. They did. What they couldn’t kill were the backup generators in all locations. As long as there was diesel or gas, your generator should work. When none of ours came on, I knew something was wrong. We weren’t directly hit. As we were listening to the radio and trying to figure out a game plan, house lights up the hill came on—Roman’s house. The thing is, Roman left for France two days before everything happened with his wife and kids. I took them to the airport myself because I wanted to discuss some things with him before he left. We took two cars. I saw them off and headed home. We headed up there because we thought that maybe someone had broken into Roman’s house for shelter and supplies. It took about an hour for us all to get up there. Everyone’s cars were in their garages. All electrically operated garages. We walked for about 45 minutes. The children were all grumbling. It was chilly out. And that’s when we saw it.
Interviewer: Saw what?
Peter: The figure. We started trying to get its attention. We rang the doorbell. Knocked for a while. Shouted. We told him we could see him, and we knew he wasn’t Roman. After an hour of all that, we started threatening to knock down the doors and call the police. Xavier and Jackson tried kicking down the doors, but it didn’t help. At this point, the sun was going down. It was getting colder. The children wanted to go home. We turned and headed back down the road we'd come, since this was apparently useless, and then we heard it.
The Night of the Blackout
Voice: Not all of you will survive. Some of you may have to sacrifice your own young to make it. You will have to use strength, cunning, information, and sheer will to go on. Don’t hesitate. Choose well. Dahlia: What the hell is this? I don’t like this. We should take the children and leave!Mark: What does he mean by “sacrifice your own young”?Arabella: How do we know it’s a “he” up there talking?Jackson: How do we know this isn’t Roman pulling some kind of prank?!Peter: He isn’t even in the country, remember?Jackson: He could be! We don’t know if he actually took off. He could’ve messaged us from anywhere.Xavier: I’m with Dahlia, let’s just leave.
A blanket of mist arises from the base of the house, covering everything within a 50-mile radius of the house.
Peter: We woke up, and all of us were chained together at the base of a tree in the back of the house. There was a figure watching us from the patio of the house. We were a distance away, but his presence was still felt. One by one, each one of us started to panic when we found that the chains were real and that we were covered in fluid of some kind. Beatrice cried out for help, forgiveness, anything. Her voice got hoarse, so she stopped pleading and just resorted to sobbing. There were more sobs, but one grew louder than the rest. We all looked in Lenora’s direction, and we all saw what made her scream. He falls silent as his eyes start to gloss over. Benji called me Mr. Pete. He had a broad smile that would just suck you in. We used to say that one toothy smile from Benji could cure cancer. Thing about Benji was that he was always sick. Lenora got Jerry to build a state-of-the-art medical room for him in the house. His room was better than most hospitals I grew up visiting. There was something always bothering him, he said, it was because he could make the kinda cells needed to fight infections and things. Usually with his medicine and all the gadgets he carries, he is able to play with friends. Their bunker was equipped with all of that stuff. He had his backpack with him.
Interviewer: What happened to him?
Peter: We all fell asleep and woke up in the dead of night. He didn’t. Lenora kicked his lifeless body in a panic, trying to break free from the chains. She called out to Bella and got a response. She did the same for Benji. When there was no reply, she realized that the lifeless body she was trying to free herself from was …. was Benji. The intercom came back on, and the voice spoke to us again.
Voice: It seems one of you has fallen. To prevent all 12 of you from going the same, one of you must come clean and confess to being the reason that we are all here today.
Jerry: When I find you, you are going to wish you were dead.
Voice: I welcome death. At this stage, it is better than living.
Jerry: I’ll be happy to arrange the meet, you sick fuck. Let me out of here!
Voice: If you are able to answer this riddle, I’ll let you put me out of my misery. If not, you will feel the agony I do.
I do not sleep, I do not tire,
My belly burns with endless fire.
Gold and glory fan my flame,
But nothing sates me all the same.
The more you feed, the more I crave,
From pauper’s pocket to king’s grave.
I wear no face, I take no lead—
Yet all are ruled by me: I’m ___."
You have one hour.
Peter: Jerry sat there and thought for a minute before he started looking around for something sharp to cut at the chain. Bella yelled for him to think of the riddle but he refused. He was angry and didn’t feel that playing games was what would free him from this psycho’s wrath. We stood all sat chained, listening to him scrape and tug and pull at the chains on his hands and feet. Lenora was still crying out about Benji. I don’t know if it was resignation, shock, or fear that kept the majority of us silent but when the hour was over the voice appeared again asking for the answer.
Voice: Time is up. Do you have an answer?
There is silence
Voice: I will ask again. Jerry, do you have an answer to my question?Jerry: Fuck you!Voice: Very well then.Jerry: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!Lenora: screams. Stop! Stop! STOPPPP!
Peter: Jerry screamed, and those who could turned around to see what had happened. Xavier vomited all over his shirt. Jackson screamed and cursed. Dahlia cried. Bella and Mark’s kids screamed. Mark was trying to console Arabella. There was so much commotion. So much wailing. I finally screamed that I knew the answer to stop whatever was making everyone scream.
Voice: Your time will come.Peter: Please! Stop this! I have the answer! Let us go!Voice: Your time will come. Peter: PLEASE!!!!Voice: Note that if you answer incorrectly, your fate will be his and his yours. Do you accept?Peter turns stiff with fear and anxiety. He hears the constant screams of those around him.Voice: DO. YOU. ACCEPT?!Peter: Yes!Voice: What is your answer?Peter: GREED!!!!
Peter: The same mist that fell over us the first time came again. We woke up to Lenora’s screams again. The wails were deafening, and we knew then that something else had happened. We knew then that the mist would signify us waking up to horror unimagined until that sick fuck decided to let us go or kill us off one by one. We were still chained in a circle around the tree, only this time Jerry and Benji were missing. At my side, I would find a leg with the shackle attached to the ankle. In the darkness, I made out the emblem on an exposed sock. The leg belonged to Jerry.
Thanks for reading this very intricate story, and hopefully it wasn't too confusing. I've tagged everyone that I could remember, but if you're coming across me for the first time and want to be tagged in this fic or any others, please comment and let me know you wanna be tagged!
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