Haha guys what if Nico can't deal with the crushing all consuming grief of Jason's death and then he and W*** break up kind of early and then Nico grows up never really making any close connections with anyone ever again and becomes more and more depressed as the years go on and he’s all alone and everyone moves on without him and he sleeps all day and loses a bunch of weight because what’s the point and isn’t even tortured by the nightmares and the ptsd anymore because he’s just so numb and exhausted and he's 28 where did the time go Jason's been gone for so long and it still hurts so much and he can’t use his powers anymore because he’s an empty shell of a person and Hades tries to reach out to him but he can’t and so he does the only thing he can think of to try to save his son’s life and brings Jason back
I think I'm a bad person for writing this. I do have a little epilogue in my head that involves the aftercare that we don't get to in this scene (which is very important, but it's late and I know at least SOME of you have been waiting long enough), so I might write that once DDO is over. Any-hoo, enjoy!
Also, I'd recommend having Terry Silver's theme on loop, especially while reading his POV!
Part 1 Here
TW: OH BOY... Violence, knives, threats, stalking, psychological torture, begging, bondage, gagging, spanking, graphic sex, all wrapped up in a bow that isn't really consensual non-consent (at least not in a healthy way), but hey, I'm not an expert.
---
Terry’s POV:
He watches you pick up the note through his binoculars, lurking in the shadows of the garden and giggling like a madman. He was beginning to wonder if you would ever come out of the damn bath – he had snuck into the bathroom to steal your phone almost two hours ago. With your head tipped back against the lip of the tub and your eyes closed, you had looked so serene…
He hopes you had enjoyed that feeling while you could.
The emotions on your face change from a soft sweetness to confusion and then horror, and would have made a triptych worthy of any art museum if he had had the forethought to photograph you in this moment. But no matter; this was all for him anyway, and he didn’t plan on forgetting tonight any time soon.
The cards had been a particular stroke of genius, in his opinion. Taking a symbol of the sweet, considerate Terry that you know and love and perversely twisting it into a threat was the perfect way of letting you know just what you were in for.
You throw on your silk robe – a deep purple, and a compliment to his red one – over your pyjamas and leave the bedroom, and he laughs to himself again. The game had begun.
He trails after you from outside the house, watching you through the expansive windows as you move down the hall from one room to the other in search of the staff, seeing your lips move as you called for someone’s – anyone’s – attention.
But no one was coming for you tonight – no one but him.
You start to look around you nervously, quickening your pace as you start to panic, and Terry cannot wait to get inside, to taste your fear in the air. So he does just that, slipping in silently through the one window he had left open on the property; the rest of the place, doors and windows, had been locked shut, their passcodes changed and only known to himself and Victor.
You really shouldn’t have put him in this position; he hasn’t had this much fun in far too long.
Closing the window behind him, sealing the two of you inside, he stalks down the hallway towards the staircase, hearing you descending from the third floor.
You move hesitantly to the kitchen, and he follows close behind, slipping from shadow to shadow with the ease of long practice. This isn’t something that one forgot how to do, no matter how much therapy one underwent.
You spot his second card on the kitchen counter, and look over your shoulder, clearly paranoid. He wonders if you’ll be too afraid to actually pick it up, but after a long moment you force yourself to walk over to it, reaching out with trembling fingers. He holds his breath, eagerly wanting to watch your reaction as you take in the words on his card:
You can’t hide.
He times it perfectly – right as you let out a gasp, he cuts the power to the house through the app on his phone, plunging the mansion into darkness, and you let out a startlingly arousing shriek of surprise and fear. Terry had never been one to shy away from being dramatic, but he is particularly proud of his theatrics in this instance.
“Terry?” you call out, your voice quivering and higher than usual. Terry doesn’t respond, he doesn’t even blink, drinking in your silhouette in the moonlight.
“Victor, if this is your idea of a joke, I swear –”
He interrupts you with a whistle that pierces the silence, the same tune that he always whistled, and you let out a whimper, reflexively stumbling back a few steps away from the noise.
“Terry,” you snarl his name, glaring at him in the darkness, though he sees through the show of bravado; you are too terrified to move, even knowing that it’s him.
Good.
When he still doesn’t respond, your anger disappears as quickly as it came on, and he watches you bite that spot on your lower lip with anxiety.
“T-Terry, if you l-lied about being away just to go to all this t-trouble to make yourself seem s-scary, I’m going to be so mad…” you argue with the darkness, now looking in the complete wrong direction of where he lurked, shrouded by shadows. You were going to be mad at him? How precious.
You get restless standing in the silence, and dash out of the kitchen, heading back around to the stairs at the front of the house. He follows, ghosting along behind you, keeping his distance. He wanted to watch you come apart for awhile longer before he really got things going.
You walk to the foyer and grab a pair of shoes from the front door, slipping them on while looking around you the whole time.
“I’m not scared of you, Terry Silver. I’m pissed, and I’m leaving!” you announce, moving to pull the front door open and scowling at it when it doesn’t budge. You double check the lock, grabbing the handle with both hands now and tugging with all your might. He can hear your breath coming harder and faster now, as you move to the keypad next to the door, punching in the code. It flashes red, seeming to mock you, and you whirl around in panic that you weakly attempt to disguise as fury.
“Seriously!?” you growl, stomping up the stairs and heading to his office on the second floor; it still had a landline.
He grins, the moonlight making his bared teeth glow, and sneaks up the stairs after you to find a good hiding spot with a view of the office door. He waits for a minute, smirking in the shadows, then hears you let out a scream of frustration as you realize it has been disconnected. As soon as you quiet down he starts whistling again, sending you barreling out of the room, your eyes darting from side to side as you try to pinpoint him from the sound.
“Okay, that’s enough. You’ve had your fun, now knock it off!”
Even at the beginning, your anger hadn’t exactly had him shaking in his boots, but it was downright pitiful now. Did you really think that you were going to be the one deciding when this was over?
In a way, he supposes you will; once he’s got you broken down, crying, pleading for mercy and forgiveness, he’ll come back to himself, come back to you. Lick your wounds clean if you’d let him; and you would.
Still, it couldn’t hurt to kick things up a notch.
He dashes down the hall to another alcove, making sure to pound his feet against the floor, his loud steps thundering and echoing through the halls. You back away with a strangled scream, your eyes wide with fright as you track his shadowy figure before you turn and run full tilt into the East wing of the house. Terry moves after you, quickly and silently trailing after the sound of your footsteps as you move into the room housing his weapons collection.
He takes the long way around, going through the library, hearing the scraping of metal on metal as he approaches you from behind. Slipping into the room silently, you stand facing away from him, brandishing the sword at the doorway you had entered from.
“Terry, if that’s you, you’d better come out right fucking now, or I’m going to start swinging this thing.”
‘This thing’was a centuries-old katana that you had snatched off of it’s gilded kake, each piece worth more than you could possibly imagine. You had no idea how to use it, and were in far more danger of hurting yourself than you seemed to realize. And that wouldn’t do; he was the one who would be controlling your pain – He knew how to wield pain, how to use it to stretch pleasure in ways you never even dreamed were possible. And he would show you tonight.
Unsheathing the dagger at his hip, he silently raises the blade up in the air, turning it so that it reflects the moonlight onto the wall in front of you to catch your eye. You yelp, spinning around and holding the blade out in front of you – he can see the thin metal wavering in the air – and he knows he has to get that away from you quickly before you sliced yourself accidentally.
“Careful, sweetheart. You could hurt yourself,” he warns you, his voice soft and sweet and standing in harsh contrast to the circumstances.
You look at him with wide, unblinking eyes, your face lit up by the moonlight and your body vibrating with tension. You have not lowered the katana.
“Terry, what the hell are you doing?!” you hiss at him, still trying to put on a brave (or at least angry) face.
“Showing you what I’ve been keeping from you all this time, my dear,” he purrs with a feral grin, taking a step towards you. “It’s about time you saw me for who I am, what I am.”
“W-Why?”
“Because you didn’t believe I was capable of it.”
He lunges forward with the dagger, knocking the katana safely out of your hands with one swing, and you scream, stumbling away from him.
“Terry, you could have hit me!” you exclaim while he calmly sheathes the dagger. He cocks his head at you, almost offended. You were still doubting his abilities, even now?
He takes a threatening step towards you, and you scamper backwards. He follows your movements with his own, slowly guiding you into a corner; when your back finally hits the wall, you let out a whimper, your eyes filled with pure terror.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N,” he coos, closing the distance between you. “I would never hurt you. You know that, don’t you?” he asks, his voice oh-so-innocent as he cages you in with his body.
“I-I… Yes,” you breathe, even as you press yourself further against the wall, away from him. He grins wolfishly, erasing the space between you by pushing his body flush against yours and feeling you shudder at the contact. Slowly and so gently, he reaches up with one large hand to tuck your hair behind your ear, and you let out a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering closed.
That same hand wraps around your throat, pinning you in place, and he leans down to whisper in your ear.
“But you know that I could now, don’t you?” he whispers, feeling your choked gasp through his fingertips around your neck.
“Terry, you’re scaring me,” you confess in a tiny voice, your eyes shut tight.
“Good.” He licks the shell of your ear and you shudder against him again, letting out a primal cry of fear. Suddenly, his weight is off of you and he’s pulled you by the arm, flinging you in the direction of the doorway.
“But I’m not done proving it to you yet.”
---
Reader’s POV:
This was a nightmare.
You can’t remember ever being this scared; you’ve never come close.
Your Terry, your loving, doting Terry… had this really been inside of him all along?
Looking at him now, his hair back in a messy ponytail, dark clothing that helped him blend into the night, his eyes shining brighter than the moonlight streaming through the window, he’s like a demonic creature, looming over you and waiting to strike. Your heart is pounding so loudly you can’t even think straight.
“Terry, you don’t need to prove it to me anymore, okay? I was wrong,” you say, trying to reason with him.
“Words are actions, and actions have consequences.”
“Terry, can we please stop this? I don’t want this,” you try for begging instead.
“Oh but sweetheart, you do.” The confidence with which he says it nearly has you questioning yourself.
“What? No, I –”
“Why haven’t you used our safeword?” he asks you bluntly, giving you an indulgent, mocking smile.
“I…” you start, but trail off when you couldn’t think of an excuse. Why hadn’t you?
You had known that this was Terry almost immediately; the notes had been in his handwriting, only he could empty the place of the staff, the haunting whistling was the tune he whistled.
Was it because you knew it was him and that, terrified as you were, you did believe that Terry wouldn’t actually hurt you? Even so, he was still frightening you more than you would have thought possible…
Or was it the knowledge that if you weren't you, if you didn't mean what you did to him, he could do absolutely anything to you and you would be powerless to even try stop him, and that a part of you wanted this dark, twisted side of him to have his way with you, to own you just as the rest of him did?
Arousal burns through your adrenaline at the thought. Oh.
“There she is, there’s my girl,” he purrs, sounding proud as you realize what he clearly had ages ago. Strangely, the knowledge that your life isn’t in danger doesn’t have you feeling relieved; you’re still on edge, you’re still paranoid, you’re still scared.
“I’ll give you a ten second head start this time, babygirl,” he informs you, staring at you like you’re prey, “and trust me when I say you’re going to be hurting tomorrow if I catch you.”
Your mouth goes dry, and you don’t waste any time, turning and sprinting away from him. Where could you even go? He would hear you, he would find you, he was so much faster…
But you were smaller.
You fly down the stairs to the main floor, frantically looking around you. Where could you hide that Terry wouldn’t look, or think to look? You had to hurry; your time was almost up. You hear him start to whistle the same chilling tune, a tune you’ll never be able to hear again without thinking about tonight, and start to panic as you slide into the living room.
There.
The fireplace. You think back to the other day, of Terry telling you that he had once climbed into a fireplace to hide, when he had broken into that old man’s house for information for his crazy revenge plan. It would be uncomfortable and unpleasant; and he would never suspect it.
Plus, there was a sweet sort of poetic justice to evading him using the methods he had told you about during the conversation that had started this whole debacle. You were determined to wait him out, all night if you had to. Trying not to make a sound, you drop to your knees, crawling into the pitch-black and feeling your way around. You're grateful you still have your shoes on, at least, though you’re pretty sure your favourite robe is ruined from the ashes as you manage to tuck yourself into a corner.
You hear him descend the staircase at a leisurely pace that makes a shiver run down your spine. Something about him acting as though he had all the time in the world was incredibly unsettling. You strain your ears, trying to listen for any sound of him approaching, and then you see his legs walking past you, through the living room and towards the kitchen.
You hold your breath, and don’t blink, not relaxing until long after he’s disappeared from view.
You slowly let out your breath, your head falling onto your knees. Hopefully you had some time before he came around again…
---
You have no idea what time it is, or how long you have being sitting curled up in the coals, but your whole body is cramped and aching. Maybe you could slip out just for a minute or two, just to stretch...
You would just stick your head out, just to listen for the sound of his footsteps, or that damned whistling again. Like a turtle coming out of its shell, you slowly stick your head out of the fire place, your head turned to look at the door. It seems like the coast is clear…
You go to turn back, to slowly step out of the fireplace and not get caught on the grate, but he’s there, squatting on the balls of his feet, looking down at you with a devious smirk on his face.
“Gotcha.”
You’re too startled to even scream, your mouth opening and closing wordlessly as you try to scramble back into your protective cavern like an animal. But Terry is on you immediately, one hand grabbing a fistful of your hair and the other snatching up your wrist, roughly yanking you out from under the mantle and throwing you onto the couch in a heap.
Before you can recover, there is an ominous ripping noise, and he slaps a strip of duct tape over your mouth none too gently. You can’t help but try to scream through it despite knowing it’s useless.
“Can’t have you waking the neighbours now, can we?” he jeers, laughing at you as you thrash against him as he tries to bind your hands behind your back, wrestling you into place. As he pins you down, you feel his hard cock against you, and fight back a shudder. This was really getting him off.
“You thought that you could just curl up and hide from me? Poor little thing; you never stood a chance,” he mocks as he pulls you up onto your knees, your arms now useless. Grabbing your chin from behind, Terry forces you to look at to the fireplace. There’s a half-empty glass of whiskey on the mantle. Neat, just the way he liked it.
You make a muffled, incredulous noise through the duct tape and he laughs, dark and husky, in your ear.
“You held out in your little bunker longer than I thought you would, sweet thing, but I was right out here waiting for you the whole time.”
Hot, embarrassed tears slide down your face, adding to the horror boiling up in the pit of your stomach. You’d thought you had been so cautious, so clever, and he had been watching and waiting the whole time as you sat huddled up with the ashes, terrified.
Terry grabs your upper arm, dragging you back to the fireplace and pointing down to the floor. Forcing your gaze downwards, you see charcoal residue all over the floor.
"If you were anyone else, I'd have you cleaning the dirt you just got all over my floor with your tongue. Instead, your cheek can wipe it up while I make you mine.”
A feeling of angry revulsion washes over you, and you manage to wrench your arm out of his grip and charge towards the couch, leaping over the back of it despite your body’s protests at the sudden movement. You take a couple of steps backwards, keeping the couch between you and Terry, not that you think it’ll do you any good.
He laughs delightedly, clapping his hands in front of him.
“This is why I was so captivated by you the first time we met, Y/N. You’re so fiery – no pun intended – even when you’re so obviously outmatched. You never know when to give up.”
You’re thrown off balance by the strangely-timed compliment, and it gives Terry the opportunity to hurdle the couch with ease. You turn to run but are far too late, and he kicks out at the back of your knees, grabbing hold of you before you can hit the ground and sending you sliding across the floor.
The way he does it is so measured and precise, and while you can appreciate that he doesn’t want you to be really, seriously hurt, it isn’t lost on you that he knows exactly how to do this for a reason. The same knowledge and skill he’s using to bat you around like a cat with a ball of yarn could be used to break you, and that little bit of insight is what has you giving up, curling up on the floor with your hands bound behind your back.
Terry’s booted foot wedges itself underneath your hip, lifting you up and rolling you onto your knees. He tangles a hand in your hair, keeping you facing forward while he comes to kneel behind you, and you’re not proud of the thrill of anticipation that runs through you.
His other hand comes around, slowly and gently untying your robe and pulling it open. He gropes you roughly over your pyjamas, and you let out muffled moans before he abruptly pulls his hand away.
“I thought I had taught you to not bother with pyjamas, Y/N,” he tsks as if disappointed. “Now I’ve got to ruin them.”
He brings his hand up in front of you again, this time clutching the dagger he’d had earlier. You arch away from it reflexively, and Terry’s grip tightens in your hair as he presses the cold face of the knife to your collarbone.
“Stay still, little doll. We don’t want any accidents,” he hisses in your ear, and you tilt your head back, baring your neck and trying to stay still. He slips the blade slowly between your breasts, and your breath hitches as he slices through fabric of your pyjama top with ease.
“That’s it,” Terry coos approvingly. “Head down.”
You immediately tuck your chin, and feel him brush your hair over your shoulders. He teases the knife at the nape of your neck, and you clench your thighs and your teeth, fighting to keep still as you feel him slice the back of your robe, the tip of the blade ghosting along your spine. He sets the knife against the floor, grabbing the two halves of the robe and pulling them away from your body.
You lunge forward in one last attempt at freedom, but he grabs your ankle, pulling you backwards and yanks your pyjama bottoms down to your ankles, impeding your motion.
“It’s almost like you want me to hurt you, Y/N,” he snarls, spanking you hard and making you leap forward again with a muffled groan.
“You do, don’t you?” taunts you, spanking you again. “Such a filthy fucking slut, even after all this.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head. Without the duct tape, you think you’d be drooling all over the place. Terry’s dirty talk always drove you wild, but degrading you like this while you laid on the kitchen floor, bound and gagged and covered in soot, nearly has you passing out.
“Show me how much you want it, baby,” he demands, and you don’t hesitate, immediately spreading your knees and dropping your head and shoulders to the floor, arching your back as much as you can to show him your slick entrance. Your nipples and one of your cheeks press against the cold floor and you whimper, looking back at him with pleading eyes.
Terry is staring down at you with dark eyes, his lips slightly parted and an almost feral expression on his face, curls of hair falling out of his ponytail and framing his face.
“Christ, you’re perfect,” he breathes. “I want to ruin you.”
You groan, so turned on you can feel your pussy leaking down your thighs, writhing against the floor and waggling your ass at him, desperately looking for some stimulation. His hands move to his belt and he quickly pulls his cock out, rock hard and leaking at the tip.
He moves behind you, one hand wrapping around your bound wrists, the other guiding his cock to your entrance and thrusting into you in one smooth motion, immediately setting a brutal pace that has you screaming as much as you can through the duct tape.
“I should always be buried inside you,” he growls, snapping his hips against yours at just that perfect angle to have you nearly going cross-eyed, your knees likely already bruised from the position. He uses his grip on your wrists to pull you back onto his cock as he fucks you, using your body deliciously. You can already feel yourself getting close.
“I can feel your cunt throbbing around my cock,” he groans, slowing down his hips to pound into you with hard, deep thrusts. “You’re coming so quick just from being used. Such a dirty little girl,” he hisses approvingly, and you see stars as you clench around him, coming hard with a shriek.
Terry doesn’t give you a moment’s rest; in fact, he increases his pace again, moving his hand from your wrists up to your hair, pulling your head back with a fistful and making your spine bow even more. You swear you can feel him in your heart, he’s fucking you so hard, and you let him know how good he makes you feel, screaming until you’re dizzy from the lack of oxygen.
“You know I love you gagged, but I want to enjoy every scream from that pretty throat.”
He unceremoniously rips the duct tape from your mouth, likely taking a layer or two of skin with it, and you scream in pain even as you suck in deep breaths of air.
“Terry, pleeease!” you groan out, your voice hoarse and raspy. He releases your hair, letting you slump to the floor, so he can grip your waist, his large hands nearly wrapping completely around it. Your head hits the ground hard enough to sting, but it only adds to your perverse pleasure as you sob at the overstimulation.
“My little fucktoy wants to come again, huh?” Terry snarls, using his bruising grip to pump you on his cock. You wail, unable to articulate a response; you can’t think straight, you barely have the wherewithal to remember to breathe.
“I’m gonna make that pretty pussy come on my cock again, and it’s gonna milk every drop out of my cock, isn’t that right?” You nod frantically, but that’s not enough for him.
“Dirty girls with greedy little cunts beg nicely to get pumped full.”
Fuck, he was filthy.
And you know it means he’s close.
“Please Sir, I need your come!” you beg desperately, barely hanging on. “I’m a good girl, fill me up!”
He comes with a roar and you follow after, the feeling of him coming deep inside you sending you right over the edge. You clamp down around his cock, making him hiss with pleasure that teeters right on the cusp of pain.
“Oh fuck yes, Y/N!” he pants, still thrusting erratically into you, “My good girl.”
“Thank you, Sir!” you moan, the words coming out as natural as breathing.
“Now every time I fuck you, you’ll remember exactly what I’m capable of, isn’t that right love?” Terry coos down at you once he catches his breath, kissing your sweaty shoulder as he cuts through the duct tape on your wrists.
You’re too spent to nod, let alone speak, and settle for a wordless moan of agreement, letting yourself slump to the ground, whimpering as more of your bare skin hits the cold floor.
You don’t remember how you get to bed, but it comes back in bits and pieces eventually.
“Guess you shoulda listened to Danny-Boy, huh?” Terry says, slowly circling you like a snake coiling around its prey. You turn your head, trying to keep your eyes on him, but you can’t bring yourself to move.
“What are you talking about?”
“Please don’t go see him again, Y/N! He’s not good for you; he’s not good for anyone!” he mocks in a high voice, cackling at his impression of Daniel.
But Daniel had said those exact words to you a few days ago in the park. You thought you had been alone.
He had been there? Had he been the source of that snapping branch that you’d pulled Danny away from?
“You were there?” you ask him with horror, staring at the ground. You feel dizzy; you feel sick.
He gives you a wide smile, as though he had told you wonderful news.
“I should be thanking you. LaRusso may be a naïve little shit, but he probably would’ve found me if you hadn’t pulled him back…”
Your knees go weak, and you sink to the ground.
“I’ve been asking myself what I would have done if LaRusso had spotted me the other day,” Terry continues casually, squatting down across from you, his weight on the balls of his feet like he was prepared to pounce.
“I think I would’ve snatched you up then, Danny-Boy be damned. I’ve thought about this for so long. You’ve been keeping me up at night; I just can’t get the thought of making you mine out of my head.”
You whimper in fear at this confession, and you swear you see his nostrils flare and his pupils dilate in response to the sound.
“I had hoped that having you once would be enough to get you out of my system, but having you here now… I’m not so sure.”
He slides forward suddenly, halving the distance between you, and you scurry backwards on your palms before shakily forcing yourself to your feet.
“Terry, don’t do this, please,” you sob, your focus torn between looking for a way out and never taking your eyes off of him. You’ve never been so scared before in your entire life. “Please just let me go. I won’t tell anyone about this, I promise.”
Terry slowly gets to his feet, still managing to tower over you from twenty feet away, and gives you a soft, pitying smile.
“You won’t tell anyone about this regardless,” he says with confidence, not at all worried that there may be repercussions for keeping you here against your will, threatening – no, promising to force himself on you if you didn’t offer yourself to him freely.
“Do you know why you came here, sweetheart? Even though you know better?” he coos, slowly approaching you like you were a bird about to fly away; you wish more than anything that you were. Instead, you back away from him until your back hits a cold, smooth wall. You groan, a noise of pure terror escaping you, and you see Terry lick his lips as he closes in on you.
“Because you need me. You can’t stay away, no matter how hard you try to play the innocent, good girl next door.”
He holds you in a cruel imitation of a hug, trapping you in his arms and pinning yours to your sides. You feel him bury his nose in your hair, and he inhales deeply, letting out a deep, primal groan that makes you shudder violently against him.
“I told you before – I’ve seen how you look at me. You’re so overwhelmed by your want, even though you do your best to hide it, to deny it. But I see it, doll. I see everything.”
“No, I don’t –” you try to deny him, but he silences you, pushing your head into his chest. You want to bite him, hurt him and get away, but it might just set him off and make him even more depraved at this point.
“I know, I know. You want to keep playing the sweet, innocent virgin forever, and make me get my hands dirty. That’s alright with me,” he says, pressing his body more firmly against yours and crushing you between himself and the wall. “In fact, I’m thrilled about it. Gifts can be nice, but I much prefer taking what I want.”
“But you saved me!” you protest, unable to reconcile this monster with the man that had saved you, the man you had been so drawn to. He leans away at your words to look down at you, a broad smile on his face.
“I did save you,” he agrees, stroking your cheek with his thumb, “…for myself.”
From somewhere deep within you, an angry, appalled scream bursts out of you, and you somehow manage to swing both your hands together, sending a punch right to his gut that sends him stumbling back. Turning, you run back into the office, forcing a chair underneath the doorknob. You’re not sure how long it’ll hold for, but hopefully it’s long enough for you to break the window and escape.
You drop to the ground, frantically looking for something heavy enough to throw through the glass, your heart beating a mile a minute as you hear him running to the door, throwing his weight against it with a loud bang. You find a set of dumbbells in a corner under the bed and grab one, rushing over to the window. Taking one end in both hands, you swing back, preparing to throw it through the window. You’ll probably only get one shot at this…
There’s a horrible crash behind you, and you’re knocked to the ground by the chair, pieces of the door – he had smashed right through it – and Terry himself. You cry out in pain as everything lands on top of you, but it may as well be a whisper compared to the shriek of terror you let out when Terry’s hand tangles in your hair, roughly pulling you to your feet.
“Let go of me!” you scream, your body seeming to finally lean in to the ‘Fight’ response. You swing your knee up as hard as you can, hoping to hit him in the balls and incapacitate him long enough for you to get away, but he clamps his thighs together hard around your leg, catching it in mid-swing. You let out a wail of pain as he squeezes your leg with both of his own, bending you back with a tug of your hair as you struggle to keep your balance on one leg.
“You may have been able to fight back against those pricks out there, but do you really think you stand a chance against me?” he pants, looking down at you in your awkward, trapped position. He brings your head closer to him, using his grip on your hair to tilt your head back and expose your throat. He licks a possessive trail up the side of your neck that makes you cry out in disgust, then takes your ear into his mouth and bites it just hard enough to sting. You whine, your eyes filling with tears.
“Are you ready to be a good girl for me again?” he asks, his voice husky in your ear, breath hot on your neck and making you squirm. He chuckles darkly against your skin as you react to him. “Though I have to say, I do like this fiery side of you. She should come out to play more often.”
With an inhuman screech you move to hit him in the side, but this time he expects it, turning his body to the side to dodge, the momentum of your swing sending you tumbling onto the bed as he releases your leg, shoving you to the mattress. Before you can get your bearings, he’s on top of you, his massive body pressing insistently against yours. You thrash underneath him, but he’s got you pinned, and as you feel him grinding his erection against you, you realize that you’re only egging him on.
“Fuck, you feel so good like this,” Terry groans in your ear, confirming your theory. “Trying so desperately to get away from me, Y/N, and for what? You know you can’t escape me.”
His words seem to suck the energy right out of you, and you go limp and still beneath him. He was right, wasn’t he? Trying to fight back or escape was only going to give him reason to hurt you more.
“Oh, is that it now? Do you give up?” he asks, pressing you into the mattress with his body as he leans down to whisper the mocking words in your ear. “Pathetic.”
“Terry, please,” you try begging him again, knowing it was the only option you have left. With your head turned to the side, you can see his silhouette in your peripheral vision, and try to look up at him with a pleading expression. “Please stop hurting me. This isn’t you, I know it’s not!”
All you had to do was appeal to a shred of humanity that lurked somewhere inside him, and then you’d have a chance…
“You’re right.”
You freeze at the words. Had you really gotten through to him that easily?
Slowly, he sits back, pulling you up with him until you’re both in kneeling positions. You hold your breath, your eyes clenched shut, trying not to tremble.
“I should stop hurting you,” he croons, and you feel his arms come around you in something resembling a hug. “Let’s start making you feel good.”
He grabs the hem of your shirt with both hands, trying to pull it over your head, and you instinctively fight him, throwing your head back and colliding it with his chin, hard. The impact stuns you and you slump forward, dazed and unable to move or speak.
Faintly, you feel Terry slowly, almost tenderly removing your clothes, taking advantage of your immobility.
“I don’t like you hurting, babygirl,” he coos down at you as he works your shorts and underwear down your legs. “Try to just relax and let yourself feel good.”
“Terry… no…” you groan, slowly regaining the ability to speak. You taste blood on your tongue. He clucks his tongue at you disparagingly, tugging your shirt off and quickly divesting you of your bra, leaving you naked beneath him.
“So gorgeous,” he breathes, ignoring your protests as he strokes your skin possessively. “A few bruises here and there, but nothing too bad. I hope you don’t earn any more, don’t you sweetheart?”
You don’t respond, and Terry presses his thumb down firmly on one of the large bruises on your thigh, making a hiss of pain push past your lips. “Don’t you, Y/N?” he growls, gradually increasing the pressure of his thumb.
“Yes, yes!” you cry out desperately, gasping in relief when he removes his thumb.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asks innocently, stroking your hair gently as he gazes down on your crumpled form beneath him. You shy away from his hand reflexively, and he sighs, clenching his jaw as he quickly flips you onto your back, pinning your hands against the mattress when you try to cover your chest.
“I can make this so good for you, Y/N,” he purrs, leaning down to kiss your cheek in a weak parody of affection. “Let all this resistance go, and I’ll have you begging for more,” he coaxes, stroking your wrists with his thumbs. His eyes follow the path of the few tears that leak out from the corners of your closed eyes, and he wonders what they taste like. “Whaddaya say, doll?”
“No,” you tell him firmly, your eyes blazing as they open again and lock onto his. “I don’t want this. I don’t want you.”
Terry’s eyes lose the sparkle of amusement they’ve had the whole time he’s been tormenting you, darkening to a flat black, and you know you’ve said the wrong thing. His lip curls as he lets out an animalistic snarl, and he reels back, slapping you hard, his large hand managing to strike the entire side of your face, including the bandage he had gently applied not even an hour ago.
You cry out, your head whipping to the side, but you’re unable to lift a hand to your cheek before his hands roughly flip you over onto your stomach. He pins you down with a knee on your lower back, and you hear the sound of his belt as he takes off his clothes. He shifts down, keeping you still with an elbow digging into your back now, his free hand reaching down to pull off his pants, refusing to give you even a second to try to escape. Your cries ring out loudly in the room despite being muffled, your face buried in the blankets as you sob.
Terry slides back and off of you, pulling your hips with him so that you’re on your knees before him, the rest of you still slumped onto the mattress. He squeezes the flesh of your hips hard, making you whimper, and you feel his bare, hard cock grind against your entrance. You try to lurch away, but he holds fast to your hips, digging his nails into your skin.
“I’m torn, Y/N,” he tells you, kneading your ass as he talks to you casually. “Torn between fucking you hard and rough until you’re begging for mercy, or making you come until you’re begging for more.” You shudder beneath him, and he lets out a harsh laugh.
“Yeah, you’d hate yourself for coming on my cock, wouldn’t you?” he taunts, sliding his cock against your folds. You arch your back, trying to shy away from the contact, and he lets you. You hear him spit and let out a grunt of pleasure, and when he presses his cock against you again, it’s wet with his saliva, and you shiver at the implication of what that means for you. “You know what? I can have both.”
He kneels on the soles of your feet, preventing you from escaping, and you feel him spread you open with his large hands.
“Such a pretty pussy, baby,” he hums approvingly, and your fists clench the blankets more tightly, humiliated and terrified. “And all for me.” He spits directly onto your entrance, making you feel filthy, one of his large fingers forcing its way inside you.
“Fuck me, you’re tight,” he growls through gritted teeth, pumping his finger in and out of you. “My cock’s gonna break you, sweetheart.” You can hear the patronizing pout in his voice, but are too scared about his words to care; him mocking you was the least of your worries.
“But you’re gonna take it all for me, babygirl. Just like you were meant to.”
He withdraws his finger from inside you, bringing his hand around to your face, holding out two fingers.
“Suck my fingers, baby; get them nice and wet. And if your teeth go anywhere near them, I’ll pull them out, one by one,” he warns, and you let out an audible gasp at the threat. Terry takes the opportunity to shove his fingers into your mouth, pumping them in and out and triggering your gag reflex a few times. You try to keep still, crying softly, and after a minute or so, he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, immediately sliding them back into your pussy, stretching you out.
“You’re so hot when you obey me,” Terry groans, the pace of his fingers increasing. “I knew you could be a good girl for me, Y/N. You know what good girls get?” he asks, letting out a hum of approval when you immediately shake your head. It wasn’t as good as you answering him with your words, but it was a step in the right direction. “They get rewarded.”
He presses his fingers against a certain spot inside you that makes you buck your hips and cry out in surprise. He chuckles lowly at your reaction, and you feel your cheeks burn with shame.
“You like that, baby? Did that feel good?” he asks you in a rough, teasing voice, and again you shake your head. “No? Your pretty pussy is telling me different, doll.” Sure enough, his fingers move inside you more easily. You’re getting wet, you realize with horror.
“No!” you cry, repeating the word as you sob. You don’t want this.
“I’ll prove it to you, baby; I’ll make you come before I make you mine; how’s that?” Terry says, his tone soothing but his words having the opposite effect. He turns you onto your back like a ragdoll; you’re too tired and scared to fight. You know that if you do anything that makes him feel anything close to pain that he won’t hesitate to give it back to you tenfold, and you’re already pretty beaten up.
Terry crawls up on top of you, and before you can turn your head away he’s caught your lips with his own, his hands running up and down your sides possessively. You squirm against him, trying not to move your mouth in any way that could be considered kissing him back, ignoring the way his tongue tries to coax yours to tangle with his.
Not at all deterred by your lack of response, he lets you turn your head to the side, laving kisses up and down your neck, his hands coming up to massage your breasts. He lets out a groan of pleasure as he caresses your breasts, kneading them gently; you bite your tongue, forcing yourself to remain unmoved.
“Your skin is so soft, Y/N,” he moans against your neck as you fight to keep still. In one fluid motion, he rolls both of your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, and you can’t help the whine that escapes you, even as you bite your bottom lip to try to keep it from getting out. You feel Terry grin against your neck, and hate yourself with every fibre of your being.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he coos encouragingly in your ear. “Let me make you feel good. You know I’m going to have you either way; you may as well enjoy it.”
“I don’t want to enjoy this!” you scream at him in frustration, your tears flowing freely now. He kisses them as they fall, savouring your taste, and you whimper at the sensation.
“Why?” he asks calmly, utterly unfazed by your screaming and crying. “What are you afraid of, someone finding out that you like this? I won’t tell if you won’t,” he promises coyly. “It doesn’t have to be like this, Y/N. I don’t want to hurt you more–”
“Then let me go!” you shriek, hiccupping through your sobs.
“No.”
One of his hands comes around your throat, squeezing gently in warning, and you immediately fall silent and still.
“This is happening, Y/N,” he tells you bluntly but not cruelly. “I’m making you mine tonight.”
He shrugs nonchalantly, as though he was discussing the weather and not whether or not you would be complicit in your own assault. “I’ll stop trying to make it good for you if you’re just going to fight me on it, but it’s going to make things a lot more painful for you. Is that what you want?” Terry looks straight into your eyes as he asks the question, like he’s trying to search your soul for the answer.
You take a deep, shaky breath, closing your eyes, and for once this evening Terry seems amenable to giving you a moment to yourself.
Was this even something you were capable of? Enjoying him forcing himself on you, or at least not fighting back? How could you live with yourself if you just let this happen? You would hate yourself everyday…
But at the same time, Terry was giving you the option to get through tonight without hurting you. Maybe that would be worth it, for both your body and your psyche. Before learning the truth about him, you had been attracted to him, interested in him… was there any part of that desire still within you after all this that you could cling to, just to get you through the night?
You open your eyes, forcing yourself to look at him, taking in his naked body for the first time. As your eyes roam over the pale flesh of his chest, you try to only think about the memories from before, the things he had done to make you feel like you had butterflies in your stomach.
After taking a moment to look at all of him – your face flushing despite yourself as you take in the sight of his large, hard member – you manage to bring your eyes up to his face without flinching or looking away. You try not to feel too proud of yourself for your newfound ability to dissociate.
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?” he asks, and you bite your lip. You should’ve known that he wouldn’t make this easy on you.
“I… I’ll stop r-resisting you.” You force the words out, trying to keep your breathing somewhat regular.
“You will?” he asks, sounding slightly surprised.
“You promise you won’t hurt me?” the question comes out weak and shaky. You don’t know why you’re trying to elicit a promise from him; the man was a psychopath that couldn’t be trusted for even a second.
“I can’t promise that it won’t hurt when I’m first inside you, but as long as you don’t give me a reason to, I won’t hurt you, Y/N.” Well, at least he had been upfront about something tonight.
“Then okay,” you breathe, trying not to think too hard about what you’re saying. “I’ll try to relax.”
“Relax and enjoy, beautiful,” Terry croons, his arms coming around your waist as he slowly lowers you onto your back. You don’t resist, focusing on the parts of him that don’t make you want to recoil from his touch. His body comes on top of yours, skin-on-skin, but this time he holds his weight off of you instead of trapping you against the mattress.
“Want you so bad, babygirl,” he moans against your skin, laying kisses all over your neck and across your collarbone. “Wanted you for so long.”
Against your better judgement, you slowly raise your hands to wrap them around his neck, trailing them up to his ponytail. You grip it in one hand, causing him to pause and look down at you, his blue eyes flashing a warning, but you force yourself to maintain his gaze, calmly releasing his hair from the ponytail, running your fingers through it slowly.
It helped him look like somebody else.
A pleased rumble emanates from Terry’s chest and he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your chest. He eagerly moves down your body, his hands and lips never leaving your skin as he slowly slides down to your chest. For some reason, you don’t feel self-conscious; you suppose you’re far past that point now.
He gently takes your breasts in his hands, his rough palms rubbing your nipples, and you feel them getting hard from the attention. He slowly rolls your breasts in circles, the motion surprisingly sending a warm tingling sensation low down in your belly, and you buck your hips ever-so-slightly upwards at the feeling.
Terry purrs, catching the movement; he never missed anything. Pleased, he lowers his head to take one of your nipples into his mouth, lightly teasing the sensitive bud with his tongue as his fingers toy with the other.
You let out a muffled whimper that you hide behind a hand, the other clutching the blanket beneath you. Terry releases you from his mouth, pausing his ministrations to look up at you from under his eyelashes with a lustful expression.
“Don’t hide from me, doll. Let me hear how good I make you feel,” he implores you, maintaining eye contact as he drags his tongue from the bottom of your breast to the top, laving directly over your nipple. You moan, forcing your hand away from your mouth to mirror your other, clutching the sheets with both fists now, and feel Terry grin as he takes your other nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. Sliding back up your body somewhat to watch your face, he uses his fingers to tease your nipples until you can’t help but arch up against him.
“You have such perfect, perky tits,” he whispers obscenely, taking in the way you squirm and turn red at his dirty talk with a wicked grin. “And you’re still so innocent, even for a virgin. Such a sweet, pure, good girl, aren’t you Y/N?” he asks, and you nod reluctantly, hoping desperately that he’s not going to make you say it.
No such luck.
“I want you to say it, sweetheart,” he says, watching you bite your lip with hesitation. He leans in and you flinch, worried he’s going to hurt you. Instead, he moves to speak in your ear, his fingers never ceasing to play with your breasts.
“Say it, Y/N; I bet it’ll make you wet for me.” He lightly pinches both your nipples as he whispers to you, and you cry out, feeling a throbbing in your clit.
“I’m a good girl!” you moan out shamelessly, and he tweaks your nipples again as you give in, causing another wave of arousal to wash over you.
“Mmm, yes you are,” he agrees, humming approvingly, his eyes dark with lust. He trails one hand down your body between your legs, and you tense slightly. He targets a sensitive spot on your collarbone, giving it a hot, open-mouthed kiss and sucking on the flesh there, making you relax and leaving a love bite on your skin. He runs a long finger along your slit, and while you’re still feeling tender from him roughly entering you earlier, you feel your entrance slick with your juices.
“So wet for me, aren’t you babygirl?” he asks, and this time you don’t need any instructions as his finger lightly flits across your clit.
“Yes!” you cry out, rolling your hips against his hand. “I’m so wet!”
“Good girl,” he hisses, thrilled by your response, and rewards you by slipping a finger inside of you, rubbing your clit with his thumb in a way that has you going weak in the knees. “Who made your pussy wet? Tell me.”
“Unh…oh, fuck!” you cry out as he angles his finger, hitting your G-spot again. “You did, Terry! I’m wet for you,” you moan wantonly, your face burning with humiliation. He makes that pleased rumbling in his chest again, and the sound makes your toes curl. He slips in a second finger with ease, pumping them in and out, and you’re mortified at the wet sounds he’s dragging out of your body.
“Damn right you’re wet for me,” he growls, sitting up now so he can watch how your whole body responds to him, his eyes feverishly bright. “This is mine,” he purrs, suddenly adding a third finger to your cunt that has you keening as you arch off the bed. “Gonna make this pretty pussy come and then I’m gonna make it mine,” he groans, and your eyes roll back in your head at his dirty talk. Why did someone who could make you feel like this have to be such a monster?
Terry quickens the pace of his fingers, pulling you away from that train of thought, and starts curling them against the spot that makes you see stars with every stroke, making you mewl desperately as he works you closer and closer to an orgasm.
“Come for me, Y/N,” he demands, rubbing your clit steadily even as he keeps his fingers thrusting inside your pussy, and it isn’t long before you come hard with a scream, your legs clamping down on Terry’s hand and trapping it there. He leans down, kissing you deeply, and this time you find yourself kissing him back. This clearly pleases him, and he groans into your mouth, running his hands lightly up and down your body.
“You’re gorgeous when you come apart for me.”
You blush furiously at the compliment, still feeling embarrassed and trying to stay in this safe headspace you had created for yourself.
Terry widens his stance on his knees, spreading your legs wider to either side of him, and reaches down, coating his fingers in your juices and stroking his cock as he looks down at you spread out beneath him. You immediately start trembling, trying to calm yourself down. Terry’s hands return to your sides, stroking them soothingly and helping you relax again.
You feel his erection prodding your entrance, and instinctively reach up for him as you tense up. He takes in your gesture with dark eyes, before taking the base of his cock in one hand, steadying it while pushing just the head inside you before lowering the rest of his body to be closer to you, giving you the comfort you’re craving.
“I’ve got you, doll,” he murmurs, his forehead pressed against yours, and you make a noncommittal noise, digging your nails into his back as you grip his shoulders. He hisses, thrusting himself slightly deeper inside of you reflexively. “Gonna take you, gotta make you mine,” he whispers huskily, and you’re not sure whether he’s talking to you or himself.
Without drawing it out, Terry thrusts his hips forward, filling you in one motion before stilling inside of you. You let out a soft cry as he stretches you, but it’s not nearly as bad as you had been anticipating. He peppers your face with kisses, cooing words of encouragement and comfort that have you melting against him, rocking your hips experimentally.
“That’s it,” he hisses in pleasure. “There’s my good girl, Y/N.”
He pulls back before surging forward again, immediately setting a hard and fast pace. There’s some pleasure to it, but your body isn’t used to this new and unfamiliar exercise, and it starts to feel like he’s bruising you from the inside out.
“Terry, please! Not so hard!” you whimper, but he doesn’t change his pace, thrusting into you as deep as he can get, his hands coming down to grip your bruised hips tightly.
“Relax, doll,” he says, his lip curling in a grimace as he loses himself in pleasure. “Time for me to get what I want.”
You shudder, tears coming to your eyes at the rough treatment, and your protective shield of ignorance shatters as you come face-to-face with the reality of your situation. You cry quietly as he snaps his hips against yours, chasing his own release, hoping that you won’t set him off again with your tears.
After a few minutes of him fucking you into the mattress, he slides a hand up your body, wrapping it around your throat once again.
“Say my name,” he demands in a rough voice, squeezing your neck lightly in warning.
“Terry!” you squeal in pain and terror, and with his eyes clenched shut, he seems to mistake it for a pleasured moan of his name.
Growling his approval, licks a sloppy path up the bruised side of your face, making you whimper.
“Say it again; don’t stop until I fill you up.”
You force his name from your lips as many times as you can, uncaring of how they sound. You feel strangely numb as he ruts into you like an animal, and are only brought back to earth when he comes inside you, the feeling strange and unpleasant. He moans your name with his release.
“Y/N… my girl.”
He collapses to the side of you to avoid crushing you, the tiny cot somehow big enough to fit you both and support your weight, though you’re still trapped beneath an arm and a leg. You try not to cry, waiting until Terry starts to snore before you slowly worm your way out from underneath him, crawling to the bottom of the bed to climb off, find your clothes and get the fuck out of there. You feel yourself leaking Terry’s come down your thighs, and the sensation almost has you vomiting.
A large hand closes around your ankle as you try to clamber off the bed, and you yelp in surprise.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Getting dressed. Going home?” you ask hopefully, and he laughs at the tone of your voice, pulling you back onto the bed with ease and trapping you in his arms.
“You can’t go out with your face looking like that,” he states, as though it were obvious. “People will ask too many questions. You’ll be staying with me until you’re all better.”
You wrap your arms around yourself in a hug, trying to ignore the feel of Terry’s doing the same to you.
“But, but I thought that once you… once we…” you stammer, and he laughs through a carefree yawn.
“I told you that having you once might not be enough for me,” he reminds you, shrugging before nuzzling into your hair, and you whimper, stiffening against him. Did he really just expect you to play house with him after everything that happened tonight?
“Don’t make this difficult, sweetheart,” he purrs sleepily, his arm tightening around your waist. “Even if you manage to get away from me, you can’t get out of here without a key to the door. I don’t want to have to tie you down just to get some sleep.”
You slump bonelessly in his arms, scowling. He was right, and you were too tired and sore to do anything about it.
“Good girl,” he coos in your ear, stroking your body as he feels you give up. “I’ll take you to my doctor tomorrow to get you patched up. This pretty face shouldn’t be all banged up,” he says, laying a sloppy kiss on your cheek, one hand coming up under your chin to hold your head steady. Your only form of protest is the silent tears pouring down your face.
“Try not to give me a reason to make it look like this again.”
Happy Halloween, everybody! I hope you enjoy the tricks and treats that this dark and twisty Terry provides in this chapter...
Previous Parts:
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
TW: Teasing, coercion, gaslighting, threats, violence, PTSD being triggered, dubcon, probably noncon if we're being honest, groping, fingering, graphic sex, Terry Silver being manipulative and hot about it
Terry’s POV:
Terry is over the moon with what you have allowed him to get away with tonight. He leads you out of the Hall of Mirrors gently, rubbing his thumb in reassuring circles on your skin as he holds your hand; he has to make sure you aren’t going to be overwhelmed by the experience after the fact. You seem shaky, and shy, but overall you’re glowing with satisfaction and an endearing sense of pride, like you had overcome a significant obstacle. He supposes, in a way, you have. Hopefully the mind-blowing orgasm courtesy of yours-truly has knocked away a significant chunk of your remaining anxieties and hesitation about going all the way tonight. It would make things easier for him, at any rate.
As you walk through the fair you enter a path lined by booths largely filled with other couples, the people staffing them outright heckling the men walking through with their girlfriends and intimidating them into paying for a chance to win their partner a plush toy. It’s clearly a cash grab; he can spot some of the illusions set up to trick people from here, and appreciates the hustle.
“Hey hey, Big Man! How ‘bout you come on over and try to win something for that lovely lady of yours?” a man throws out, trying to bait him.
He can appreciate a hustle, but not at his expense.
Terry immediately starts to steer you both towards the booth, but you squeeze his hand to try to stop him.
“Just ignore him, Terry. Those games are all rigged anyway,” you say with a roll of your eyes directed at the man goading them from his booth.
“It’ll only take a minute,” he tells you with confidence, pulling you into his side as he walks over. Do you really still underestimate him this much?
He hands a couple bills to the carnie in exchange for a few balls that feel like they’re from a billiards table.
“So, what? I just throw these at some bottles?” he asks skeptically.
“That’s right,” the man says with a broad grin that Terry sees right through.
“How can I be sure that the bottles aren’t attached to the table?” he asks with an innocent smile. The carnie lifts a bottle up to demonstrate, and Terry shakes his head.
“Why don’t you let me back there to see for myself?” he asks with a soft, dangerous voice that has the other man paling slightly, before his eyes turn to land on you with a slight smirk.
“No dice, buddy. I could let the lady back here with me on your behalf,” he offers, raising a challenging eyebrow. Terry is not concerned for a minute about letting you near this man. He is certain of your loyalty and devotion to him, and doesn’t think that the man is stupid enough to try to lay a finger on you in his presence.
Still, he plays up his insecurities, pulling you close and laying a kiss on your lips before releasing you.
“Whaddaya say, doll?” he asks you, giving you your favourite lopsided grin. “Want to go check that everything’s on the up-and-up for me?”
You give him a shy smile and a nod, moving away from him and slipping into the back of the booth as the carnie lifts the counter up on its hinge, closing it after you.
“You want me to lift them all?” you ask Terry, paying no mind to the man next to you, he notes with satisfaction as he nods at you.
“You can touch anything you want back here, doll,” the carnie says in a husky voice, leering at your back as he repeats one of Terry’s petnames for you.
He’ll be out of a job by this time tomorrow.
He watches you pick up all the bottles individually before you restack them, nodding with approval and nimbly hopping over the counter and back to him, tucking yourself into his side immediately. Yes, you are most assuredly his now.
“There’s no magnets or anything, but they’re all weighted at the bottom,” you report back to him, wrapping your arms around his middle as you turn to look at the carnie, your face unimpressed.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” he purrs at you with affection, kissing your cheek. Taking a step away from you, he fires off two balls in quick succession, aiming for the bottoms of the bottles that formed the base of the pyramid, sending them all toppling over. You hop up and down, clapping for him while the other man scowls.
“We’ll take the big snake,” you tell the carnie with a cheeky smile, pointing to a large red and yellow plushie that hung across the ceiling of the booth. “For Cobra Kai!” you announce to Terry, raising your fist in the air as you both watch the man struggle to take the toy off of its hooks. He kisses the top of your head, charmed as always by your sweetness. He hopes it doesn’t disappear along with the loss of your innocence after tonight.
Terry takes the gigantic toy from the man, draping it over your shoulders; it’s still close to dragging on the ground as you walk away from the games.
“Well, it’s getting late, babygirl, and I doubt that they’ll let us take your new friend with us on rides. Is there anything else you want to do before we go home?” he asks, wondering if you’ll pick up on his wording. You’ll both be going to his home tonight.
“Can we do the ferris wheel?” you ask, looking up at him with wide eyes and a hopeful smile. Of course he’ll indulge you; you’ll be doing the same for him tonight, spread out on his sheets and giving yourself to him.
“That sounds great, babygirl. Let’s go,” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist and mirroring the snake across your shoulders. With his free hand he pulls out his mobile phone, calling the chauffeur while you lead them to the line for the ride. He has a quick conversation with the man, who assures Terry that he is on his way, and hangs up as you approach the line.
“Larry is going to come and take this –” he squeezes the snake lightly with a large hand.
“Kiai,” you interrupt him, and he raises an eyebrow.
“Excuse me?”
“His name is Kiai, I’ve just decided,” you inform him seriously, and he gives you an indulgent smile.
“Alright then, Larry is coming to take Kiai back to the car while we go on the ride. Why don’t you go wait for him by the entrance while I hold our place in line?” Terry suggests, his face giving nothing away. You beam up at him, and immediately head off to give your silly toy to the driver.
The moment that your back is turned, Terry walks to the front of the line to speak to the ride’s operator, ignoring the grumbling of complaints behind him.
“Sir, you’ll need to wait at the back of the –” the man starts to tell him in an exasperated voice, but Terry wraps a friendly arm around his shoulders, leaning down to speak with him privately, a wad of bills clenched in one fist.
“I’m not here to cut the line,” Terry informs him smoothly, feeling the man tense under his arm. “I want you to keep anyone else from getting on this thing after me and my girl, and I want you to keep us at the top for… about a half hour or so.”
The man looks about to protest, so he flashes the cash in his hand at the man, whose jaw quickly snaps shut.
“Tell them the ride is broken, closed, whatever – I don’t care. But we’re on that ride alone and at the top for a half hour, got it?”
The man nods mutely at him, and Terry gives him an approving pat on the shoulder, stuffing the money into his front shirt pocket before turning and heading back to the line without another word. You rejoin him several minutes later, sans-snake, and before long the two of you are seated in the ride, which slowly makes its way around until the two of you are perched at the very top, overlooking the fair grounds.
Time to see what else he can get out of you.
Reader’s POV:
The top of the ferris wheel is the perfect time and place to tell Terry that you love him. Sure, it’s a cliché, but seeing as you feel the way people only do in cheesy romantic comedies, it seems all the more appropriate.
Just as you approach the top, the ride stops, your pod swaying slightly. What an odd coincidence… but maybe perfect for what you want to do.
“I’m sure that it’ll start moving again in a minute,” you tell Terry reassuringly, though you’re not sure why. Not wanting to miss this golden opportunity, you take a deep breath, turning sideways to face him. He cocks his head to the side, surveying you with interest, and you bite your lip.
“Is everything okay, babygirl?” he asks, his eyes bright with concern as he takes your hand in his own. He was so kind and considerate…
“Everything is wonderful, Terry,” you tell him, squeezing his hand as you slide closer to him. “These past few months have been beyond my wildest dreams; I never thought that I would ever be with someone as incredible as you. You’ve been so kind, and patient, and considerate, and I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it, but… I love you, Terry.”
There’s a brief moment of silence before Terry gives you a dazzling smile that takes your breath away, sliding towards you and pinning you against the side of the ride. You feel your heart thudding in your chest as he cradles your face in his large hands, staring down at you like you’re the only thing in the world to him. He bends down to connect his lips with yours, kissing you so passionately that you feel dizzy, your breath coming in short little gasps against his mouth as you try to stave off the feeling of a headrush.
“Y/N, my sweet girl,” he purrs against your lips, clutching you to him firmly. He’d been a lot more insistent with his need for physical touch today, not that you mind. He had been right, after all; you needed him to give you that little push outside of your comfort zone to help you realize that you were okay with all of the sexual things that had you feeling nervous.
With that in mind, you let him have his way with you, running his hands along your body beneath his jacket and kissing down your neck. You feel his tongue tracing patterns down your neck and across your collarbone, and take a deep breath, relaxing and trying to convert your anxieties into excitement. He made you feel so good…
There’s a series of loud pops, and the night sky erupts in bright colours as fireworks are set off above the funfair.
Terry completely freezes, his hands squeezing your waist tightly and not letting up for you to breathe. You try to lift his face from the crook of your neck but are unable to get him to budge as the banging continues all around you.
“Terry?” you ask quietly, your mouth dry. What is going on? “Terry?!”
He lets out a hot burst of air against your skin as he marginally comes back to himself; enough to start breathing again, at least.
“God damnit. God damnit!” he hisses, pushing away from you and sliding to the other side of the seat. He’s staring straight ahead, but you don’t get the sense that he’s seeing what’s in front of him.
“Terry, what is it? What’s wrong?” you ask, trying to keep your voice calm, though inside you’re panicking.
“The fireworks,” he says curtly, still not looking at you. “They take me back to a time and place that I don’t want to think about again.”
Your heart leaps into your throat, choking you. Of course, the war. The fireworks must be triggering his PTSD.
Cautiously, you move towards him on the bench, not wanting to spook him.
“Okay, Terry,” you say in a clear but soothing voice, slowly reaching out to place a hand over one of his – both were currently gripping the railing that surrounded them tightly. “It’s okay. I’ll try to flag someone down and see if they can get us back to the ground,” you say, moving to lean over the railing, but he pulls you back from the edge firmly.
“No,” he snarls, pulling you into him and wrapping his long limbs against you, as though to shield you from some nonexistent danger. “Don’t yell,” he orders you, and you nod, not even wanting to risk speaking for the moment, simply stroking whatever parts of him your hands can reach.
“How can I help you, Terry?” you ask quietly after a moment. “I’ll do anything I can.”
Terry is quiet for a moment, considering the question. You hope that there’s something you can do to ease his suffering…
“Distract me.” He looks directly into your eyes with a tense, pained expression on his face, and you think back to the drive over here where you had tried to distract him from looking out the window. Biting your tongue, you slip out of his jacket, leaving it on your side of the bench and slowly moving to climb onto his lap, straddling him and twining your arms around his neck. Hesitantly, you lower yourself onto him, rolling your hips against him. Was this even going to help?
Terry’s hands come around your hips to your butt, squeezing it as he guides your body into repeating the motion, so you assume that it is helping.
“Focus on me, Terry,” you whisper in his ear in a breathless voice, feeling strangely exhilarated and not nearly as nervous or self-conscious as you had anticipated. “Let me make you feel good, and focus on that.”
With his hands guiding your hips, you start to grind against him, giving him a lap dance and peppering his face his kisses, cooing sweet nothings at him and doing your best to take his mind off of everything. Gradually, Terry loosens up beneath you, looking up into your eyes with an overwhelming degree of reverence, and his hands slide up your body.
He pulls you further against his chest, getting rougher with his hands kneading your flesh, his lips claiming yours in a ferocious kiss, like he was trying to consume you.
“My Y/N, my girl, my sweet thing, all mine,” he mutters to himself in a hoarse voice as he distracts himself with your body, and you can’t say that you’re upset with the treatment, though you wish it was under better circumstances.
Another round of fireworks goes off, and he grabs the neckline of your dress, tearing it down the middle and baring your chest, with only your bra between you. He immediately buries his face between your breasts, his hands at your back keeping you in place, as though he’s trying to hide away from everything. You run your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp with your fingernails, humming something between a song and a moan as you sit perched on his lap. After an indeterminate amount of time, you conclude that the fireworks have stopped.
“I think it’s over, Terry,” you tell him softly, laying a kiss to his temple before leaning back, moving to retake your seat beside him.
“And just what do you think you’re doing?” he asks firmly, his grip tightening on your waist as you try to climb off of him. His eyes are dark and focused on yours, but they still have an odd bright sheen to them.
“I… I thought…” you stammer, unsure of exactly what to say. Did he need to be distracted after the noises had stopped? For how long? You couldn’t very well stay on his lap like this, in public no less. “I thought you were doing better,” you say carefully, not wanting to offend him.
“Oh, sweetheart, I am,” he croons up at you, his hands still locked in their grip on your waist. “But I’m not done with you yet,” he says darkly, giving you a slightly wicked smile.
You start to fidget and squirm on his lap, trying to get out of this tactfully, clutching your torn dress to your chest to cover yourself.
“We’re in public, Terry. There are children around…” you trail off weakly.
“Not up here there aren’t.”
“I’m sure the ride will be moving soon; we shouldn’t risk it,” you say with more confidence, and he chuckles, the sound cold and hollow.
“You go to all this trouble for me tonight and then act like you don’t want it?” he hisses at you, lifting you off his lap and turning you around. You think maybe he’ll resettle you between his legs in a (marginally) more appropriate position, but instead he bends you slightly over the railing keeping you in the pod. You start to feel dizzy as you look down at the world far below you, and instinctively back up into him. Without warning, Terry lightly kicks your feet out from under you, keeping you secure with an arm around your waist, the other clamped over your mouth and nose to mask your scream of terror.
“Exhilarating, isn’t it?” he purrs in your ear, keeping you tightly against him. “That’s what it’s going to feel like when I take you, Y/N, when I make you mine,” he growls, reaching a hand up under your skirt to your underwear, still damp from the orgasm he’d given you in the Hall of Mirrors. “You want to be mine, don’t you, sweetheart?”
“Y-Yes,” you gasp, still trying to worm your way out of his grip, but he’s got you just where he wants you. “But not here, not now!”
“This is what people do when they’re in love. You love me, don’t you?” he asks, seeming hurt at the mere insinuation that you don’t.
“I do, Terry, of course I do,” you tell him quickly, wanting to ease his worries, and he kisses your cheek, his hand tugging your underwear down your legs. Once they get to your knees, he tugs them, pulling you backwards with them until you’re sitting on the bench, letting him fully remove your underwear. He pockets them, giving you a wink, and you feel your face flush scarlet.
“Losing your virginity on a ferris wheel is pretty unique, just like you,” he teases, and you clamp your legs together more tightly, as though that would put an end to this discussion. “I want to make your first time something special,” he coaxes, bending down to stare into your eyes. “And then I’ll take you back to my place and treat you like a queen, like you deserve, okay?”
You don’t want to have sex for the first time in public, on a carnival ride; you’re not sure if you’re ready to have sex at all. You have done so much with Terry just in the past couple of hours that you had never done before, and it’s very overwhelming to you. Still, everything that he had pushed for tonight had you feeling amazing, and you don’t regret it… why does your brain always have to make things so muddled and complicated?
You shirk away from him reflexively as he leans down towards you, and a wounded look crosses his features.
“No, Terry, I didn’t mean to,” you say apologetically, wanting to keep him calm and happy. You always want him to be happy. “It was just a reflex, I’m sorry. I’m just nervous about all of this.”
“But you love me, you trust me, right?” he asks you fiercely, his voice hoarse, and you nod immediately.
“I do, Terry. Of course I do,” you tell him, repeating your words from earlier. He just needs reassurance, especially after his episode; the least you can do is make your feelings and devotion to him clear.
“Let me do this for you, baby,” he implores you in a desperate, needy voice. “Come sit on my lap again, and we’ll go at your pace.”
He sits down on his jacket across from you, giving you a warm smile and patting his thigh encouragingly. Timidly, you slide down the bench again and climb back on top of him. You’re standing on your knees, too nervous to fully sit on him, and he takes the opportunity to reach below you to unbuckle his belt and pull down his zipper, lifting his hips slightly to pull out his hard cock. Immediately, your breath starts coming hard and fast in your panic, and Terry shushes you softly, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your hipbones.
“Why don’t you give me another little lapdance, babygirl?” he asks, kissing your mouth firmly. “Get yourself used to the feel of me. It’ll help,” he coaxes. You start to look down, but he catches you with a finger under your chin, keeping your face up and your eyes looking into his.
“Don’t look down, sweetheart. Trust me,” he says with a slight chuckle.
“Why not?” you ask him shyly, biting your lip in concern.
“I don’t want you to panic, but let’s just say that I’m rather… proportionate,” he explains vaguely, but you get the gist. “I don’t want you to lose your nerve.”
Still nibbling your lip, you force yourself to lower your body onto his lap, jumping when you first feel him prodding your inner thigh. His cock is hard and warm, but the skin is incredibly soft, and you want to feel more. As you move your body around his length, you slowly start to map out just how large he is.
“You’re so big,” you whimper, your fingernails digging into his shoulders in your apprehension. “Terry, I… there’s no way.”
“I’ll fit, baby, I promise,” he swears, slipping his hands underneath your skirt and trailing them up your legs. “We’re meant to be together, right?” he says with a charming smile. “Let me help you,” he coos, running a hand up to your pussy and teasing your clit with a finger. You buck your hips, feeling yourself getting wetter, and he hums in approval, guiding you to lean on his shoulder.
“That’s right, just let me take care of you,” he hums encouragingly in your ear, coating two of his fingers in your slick juices before slipping one inside of you, this time as deep as he can go. You claw at his back, whining and mewling incoherently as you force yourself to stay still on his lap. He teases you with one finger, then two until you’re grinding your hips against his hand needily.
“Now, just relax baby, and let me in,” he murmurs coaxingly, removing his fingers and wrapping them around the base of his cock, lining himself up with your entrance.
“Terry wait, I –” you protest, trying to wriggle out of his grip, but he snarls, reversing your positions and pinning you against the back of the seat in one quick movement that makes you gasp.
“No,” he tells you in a soft, dangerous voice. “No, I’ve been patient for long enough. You’ve enjoyed everything that we’ve done tonight, and you want more; I know you do.” You shudder at his words and his tone, unable to close your legs as he holds them open, his hands grabbing your knees.
“And I’m going to give it to you, baby. Because you deserve it,” he says in a sweet voice that stands in stark contrast to what he just sounded like. Bending over you, he lays you on an angle along the bench, your head and most of your body on his jacket, lifting your legs up to wrap around his waist. You’re shaking like a leaf, your fingers bunched in the fabric of his jacket, and he leans over you, stroking the side of your face with the back of his hand gently.
You relax against him, and he takes the opportunity to thrust into you, the first few inches of his cock disappearing into your tight, wet heat. You feel like he’s knocked the breath out of you.
“T-Terry!” you cry out, still trying to be relatively quiet. “It’s too much!” you insist, tears leaking from your eyes.
“It gets better baby,” he promises, all bright eyes and a wide smile. He pulls out slightly before thrusting his hips forward again, moving deeper inside you, and you keen loudly. He slaps a hand over your mouth to quiet your screams, shushing you as he continues to open you up with his hard cock.
“I could be making you scream for me, so loud that the entire park would know that you’re up here getting the fucking of your life, but I wouldn’t do that to you, doll. You’re my sweet girl, and your pleasure belongs to me. Now let me have it.”
You’re not sure what Terry is feeling right now; if he’s still in the throes of a PTSD episode or if he’s angry at himself, feeling like he was weak or vulnerable because of his trigger response. Either way, you can’t exactly fault him for something so completely out of his control.
You are sure that deep down, he doesn’t want to hurt you, that he just needs to feel close and come back to himself through you. And you love him; surely this was the least you could do after everything he had done for you with your own mental health issues? It would probably feel good, if you loosen up and get into it. So that’s exactly what you try and force yourself to do, laying back obediently and digging your fingernails into your palms, trying to keep the rest of your body relaxed.
Terry fully makes his way inside of you after a minute or so, and you’re glad he told you not to look at him, because there’s no way you would’ve let this inside you if you had known what you were in for. He stills his hips, removing his hand from over top of your mouth and lightly brushing away your tears with a finger, looking down at you with an elated expression.
“You did it, babygirl. You took all of me,” he tells you in a pleased voice, stroking your cheek before moving his hand down to your chest, tugging at your bra until your breasts spill out. He licks his lips. “Now, I’m going to give you something you want in return…” he trails off, grinding his hips in a circle to help you adjust to the ache his intrusion is causing, while his hands move to distract you from the pain, just as you had done for him during the fireworks.
He first moves to your breasts, kneading them in circles, his long fingers plucking and pinching your nipples and causing little jolts of pleasure to run from them down to your belly and your clit. The sensation has you rocking your hips slightly, and you moan at the feeling. Terry looks down at you with a cocky, predatory smile, increasing the speed and intensity of his teasing, which in turn makes you move more in response.
“See, sweetheart? I know how to make you feel good, no matter what’s going on in that silly little head of yours. It’s my job to take care of you, to please you, just like you’ll do for me,” he tells you with a serene smile, and his words just make so much sense in this moment.
“Yes, Terry,” you agree, releasing one hand from his jacket beneath you to cover your mouth to muffle your cries of pleasure as one of his hands moves down your body to tease your clit insistently, his hips pumping his cock in and out in short thrusts, mostly staying buried inside of you. “You feel so good, so right…”
“That’s right, babygirl, you were made for this, made for me,” he purrs, picking up his pace and gradually pulling out further and further until every surge of his hips fills you completely, making your toes curl. It still hurts, and you’re still quite overwhelmed, tears pouring down your face as you try to stay quiet. But underneath that, you feel a bone-deep sense of satisfaction and completion, like Terry was claiming you so deeply and fully that you truly belong to him now. And now that you’re feeling this way, you realize that that’s exactly what you want.
“Mhnn, Terry! More, please!” you beg, watching Terry’s eyes darken with lust as you give yourself to him.
“You want more, baby?” he teases you, his tone almost mocking as he bends down, your legs parting for him easily. “We’re running out of time. You’ll have to come quickly if you want to come now,” he warns, his hand returning to where your hips are joined to rub your clit. “I’ll take my time with you when I get you home.”
You are arched up off the seat at this point, your shoulders and head the only things on the bench, and you’ve covered your mouth with both your hands, desperately trying to contain your moans as you start to clench against him, your legs squeezing around his hips as you orgasm. Terry is spurred on as you tighten around him, pumping into you hard and fast just a few more times before growling, coming hard inside you with a moan of your name.
He pulls out of you quickly, tucking himself back into his jeans before moving your legs to the side, giving him enough space to sit beside you. He gently gathers you into his lap, reaching onto your seat to grab his jacket and draping it over your shoulders. You’re trembling like a leaf, clearly overwhelmed by everything that had just happened. You don’t even know how to feel right now.
Terry moves to soothe as you burst into tears, burying your face into the crook of his neck.
“Ssshhh, it’s okay babygirl,” he says, stroking your hair and clutching you tighter to his chest. “I know, your first time can be a lot. This is totally normal, and I’m here with you,” he coos, and you fight through your emotions, forcing yourself to look up at him.
“Really? It’s okay?” you ask him hopefully, glad he isn’t taking offence and incorrectly assuming that you regretted what you had just done together. It had just been so, so much…
“Of course it is, sweetheart. Unless you think you regret it?” he asks after a brief pause, and your heart drops.
“No, not at all!” you exclaim, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing yourself closer. “It was wonderful, Terry, I don’t regret it at all.”
He hums in agreement, kissing your forehead. “I’m glad to hear it, doll. I feel so much closer to you now,” he confesses to you in a low voice, nuzzling into your neck, and you giggle.
Suddenly, there’s a whirring noise of the ride turning back on, and you begin your slow descent to the ground. Immediately, you tense up on his lap, looking down at yourself with horror.
“Oh no! I’m a mess, what am I going to do?!” you gasp, looking at Terry with wide eyes. Calm as can be, he fastens the jacket around you, pulling it up to your neck. Now, the only part of your dress that was visible was your skirt, and it seemed normal enough. So that was that dealt with, at least.
He reaches into one of the jacket pockets next, pulling out a spare hair tie that he always kept on him just in case, gently taming your hair and pulling it back into a half-ponytail to keep the more stubborn locks out of your eyes and relatively in place.
“There, all better,” he tells you, cupping one hand under your chin.
“But I’ve been crying, and I… I can feel…” you trail off, embarrassed, not wanting to say it out loud. Biting your lip, you force yourself to be an adult and lean over to whisper in his ear, shy even though you were the only two people on this thing. “I can feel your come starting to leak down my legs,” you tell him in a whisper, and you swear he shudders before responding.
“Well, if anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, I’ll knock their lights out,” he tells you firmly, his jaw clenched just at the thought of someone looking at you. “We’ll be out of here as soon as possible, doll. Just walk normally, and then we can get you in the car and cleaned up, alright?”
You nod, trying to calm your breathing, and Terry gives you a pleased smile, like he’s proud of you. "That's my girl," he purrs approvingly, and you return his smile.
You complete your descent and Terry immediately hops out of the ride first to shield you from onlookers, reaching one hand behind himself that you can cling to for support as you disembark.
“She got a little frightened being stuck up there for so long, that’s all,” he explains to the small crowd surrounding you once you get off the ride. Several people have taken note of your tear-stained face, and how you’re shivering from inside his leather jacket, clinging to it to make sure that nobody notices your torn clothing. You accept Terry’s arm wrapping itself around your shoulders in an affectionate embrace as he kisses the top of your head comfortingly, and the crowd seems appeased, dispersing.
Thank goodness you have Terry, you think to yourself as you take his hand, letting him lead you back to the car, trying not to stumble. He was so good at talking you both out of situations that could get you into trouble.
“Come on, sweet thing,” he purrs in your ear, tugging you along and making you quicken your pace to keep up with him. “Let’s go home.”
---
He's mean. He's so mean! HOW CAN WE LOVE THIS MAN?!
But we do.
HOO BOY, this one's a doozy. Definitely the most fucked up, depraved thing I've ever written, so please don't read this if any of the trigger warnings are upsetting to you. Speaking of which...
Somehow it’s the sound of the slap that jolts you awake before you notice the pain, but then you do feel it, a hot stinging ache that blooms across the side of your face. You shut your eyes tighter, your head swimming from the lingering drugs in your system and the force of the strike, and feel your body in a strange, unnatural position.
You feel the rough rope binding your wrists, and at the sound of a cranking noise, the ropes are pulled upwards, taking your arms with them until you’re standing on the balls of your feet. Forcing your eyes open, you look up at the squeaky pulleys and the intricate knotwork around your wrists. No surprise; Gus knew his sailors’ knots.
You try to take stock of your surroundings in the dark room, assuming that you’re in a garage or maybe a basement. There are no windows, and the ground is cold concrete that seems to permeate the air of the room, making you shiver. You’re still in your dress but your coat and shoes have been taken off, making you feel vulnerable.
The room is relatively barren, save for a nearby table covered with items. You take notice of a bucket of water, a large cooler, an assortment of knives, and something that looks suspiciously like a branding iron that has your heart racing… Before you can get a closer look, Gus steps between you and the table, taking up your entire field of vision. His rage is simmering under the surface, but you can tell that it’s very much present as he looks down at you. He’s taken off his leather jacket and shirt, leaving him in just his white vest and pants, and as you take in the size of his arms you recognize the intimidation tactic for what it is. Not that it was necessary – you didn’t need to see his muscles to know that he could pulverize you without even breaking a sweat.
“Y/N,” he says your name flatly, glaring down at you before walking around you in a slow, wide circle. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,” he repeats, tsking your name as if mightily disappointed. “What are we going to do with you?”
You don’t say anything – what could you even say? – and sense that he’s right behind you, close but not touching you, and the anticipation has you trembling as you stand on the tips of your toes, trying to give your arms the tiniest amount of slack. You know that Gus is about to start demanding answers, and you’re not sure what to tell him; you don’t know what he knows other than the name Jacob and that you were clearly not someone to be trusted. He could just be under the impression that you were seeing a man named Jacob, or he could know everything.
Suddenly your head is pulled back sharply, his fist tangled in your hair and his other hand reaching around you to grip your throat. You feel your pulse take off against his thumb and swallow thickly.
“I thought that we had something, that we were going somewhere. And we do, honey, and we are, even if you don’t see it yet,” Gus coos reassuringly, even as he tightens his grip on you.
“G-Gus–” you choke out, trying to reason with him, but he hisses in your ear for you to be quiet, releasing your hair to wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you back against him.
“Shut up,” he snarls. “You’ll speak when I tell you to.”
He shoves you forward suddenly, your body briefly swaying by your wrists as your feet try to find purchase on the floor. By the time you recover he’s standing in front of you again, looking you up and down in a way that has your hair standing on end.
“Now, you’re gonna answer all my questions, you’re gonna tell the fucking truth, and then we can start to move past this little bump in the road, got it?” You nod mutely and he gives you a pleased, toothy smile in return.
“That’s a good girl,” he purrs, a large hand cupping your cheek fondly. You try not to wince at the pressure on your tender skin; you’re certain it’s already bruised. “Now, tell me: Who’s Jacob?”
“A friend, Gus, just an old friend.” You try to speak clearly and keep your eyes locked with his, trying to convey sincerity the best you can.
“Yeah? From where?”
“From school, years ago.” You try to keep as close to the truth as possible without revealing information, and ‘school’ was close enough to ‘academy’ to help you pass off the lie. “We worked together for a little while afterwards, but that’s all.”
“Really. And why were you meeting him yesterday? Giving him a thick-looking file?”
“It was just old notes from the office, Gus!” you lie, and you can immediately tell from his expression that he knows it. He backhands you hard enough to make you sway from the ceiling by your wrists, the ropes digging into your sensitive skin.
“What did I say about lying to me, honey?” he hisses, bending over to get in your face and pulling you closer by the hair when you flinch away.
“How is this–” he pauses to reach into his back pocket with his free hand, shoving the photograph in your face, “ –‘just old notes from the office,’ huh?!”
You freeze as you take in the photograph. It’s one of the photographs you’d taken of the stolen goods in Harbour Manor. The same photograph that the waiter had picked up by accident.
“Where did you get that picture?” you ask in a quiet, hoarse voice, already bracing yourself for the answer. He had gotten to Jacob somehow; he was the only person on earth with a copy of that photograph. Gus slaps you again, but you hardly feel it; you’re too distracted about the wellbeing of your friend.
“Remember who’s who in this interrogation, Officer. I’m the one asking the questions around here,” Gus warns, before giving you a cold, mocking smile. “But I’ll humour you, just this once. It was found in Jacob’s car, which was all smashed up on an empty stretch of highway.”
You shut your eyes tightly, a grimace contorting your features. Jacob was a good cop, but a better person. He had a family. He didn’t deserve to die like this, or die at all because of you.
“I guess he wasn’t paying close enough attention to his surroundings, or maybe he just lost control,” he continues, his voice brimming with vindictive pleasure. “It’s incredible how one slip-up, one wrong move can completely destroy someone…” he trails off.
“H-He h-has a wife! He h-has k-kids!” you wail in anguish, your heart breaking for the man and his family.
You’re too wrapped up in your grief to be sure how long Gus stands there in silence, watching you cry as you mourn the loss of your friend, but you can feel his eyes on you the entire time. Your body is wracked with sobs despite your unnatural position, tears pouring down your face and dripping down your chin.
“Oh, sweetheart. I didn’t know you were such a romantic,” Gus croons, pulling you into him and off your feet and holding you against his chest, his hands at your lower back and rubbing in slow circles. “But then, I guess I don’t know much about you at all, huh?”
You don’t reply; you’re not sure you could even if you wanted to. Gus doesn’t take well to your silence, slapping you, shaking you roughly by the shoulders, screaming at you, but you’re only distantly aware of it all, feeling strangely numb and disconnected from your body.
“Look at me, Nat! Fucking look at me!” he roars, and that name has you both freezing and making eye contact with one another for the first time since things had escalated. He stares at you, silently daring you to call him out on his blunder, but you don’t acknowledge it, even though you both know what he’d said. Him referring to you by his ex-wife’s name is a very, very bad sign for you.
“I don’t like hurting you, you know,” he says with a dejected sigh, loosening his bruising grip on your shoulders. “You were becoming the most important thing in my life. You believe me, right? Right!?” he demands, shaking you around like a limp ragdoll. “But I need to let you know that you can’t do this again, honey. No more cops, no more fighting, no more lying; that’s all over. You made me fall for you, Y/N, and I’m not letting you go.”
The passionate way he speaks reveals the depth of his obsession with you just as much as his words, and both positively terrify you, shifting your focus from Jacob to your own situation for the first time. Before you have a chance to speak, he’s bowed his head down to yours, capturing your lips in a ferocious, possessive kiss that you can’t shy away from.
So instead, you kick him between the legs as hard as you can, not thinking of your bound hands or anything else to do with your situation beyond getting him off of you.
He howls into your mouth before staggering backwards and curling into himself. You frantically look up at your hands to see if there’s any way to free yourself, but you know that it’s hopeless, and when you look back at Gus he’s glaring at you with dark eyes, and you know it’s going to be bad.
“I didn’t mean to, it was just a reflex! I–” your excuses are cut off as he punches you in the stomach, pushing the air from your lungs.
“You’re going to pay for that, you bitch.”
Your body instinctively tries to move into the fetal position to protect your stomach, but you can't, dangling from the ceiling as you are, and so you settle for catching your breath and trying not to be sick instead. Once you can breathe a bit more easily you look back to Gus to see him grabbing the large cooler off the table and bringing it over. Throwing the top open, he picks up a large block of ice, setting it down just in front of you without a word and walking off behind you.
The room is silent, save for your shaky breaths. You can’t seem to move your gaze from the ice in front of you, possibilities of what he’s going to do with it, do with you, racing through your mind.
Finally, you hear the clunking noise of a crank being turned and feel the tension of the ropes start to pull you upwards by the wrists, and you close your eyes to try and brace yourself for the incoming pain. Time moves agonizingly slowly as your arms are pulled up higher and higher, your shoulders twinging as gravity fights against your bondage until you’re worried your shoulders will dislocate.
You force your eyes open, looking through your tears for Gus to beg and scream for mercy, and your eyes fall on the ice block once more. You realize now what he’s doing.
Against your mind’s wishes, your body moves to relieve itself of the pressure it’s under, and you climb onto it, the stinging cold immediate on your aching, bare feet. Gus can clearly see you from where he’s working the crank, because it continues pulling your arms up until they’re raised above your head again. The crank is locked in place and Gus casually comes back into view, leaning against the table as he watches you shifting from foot to foot, trying to give the soles of your feet some relief. The pain is a burning cold, and wordless whines escape through your clenched jaw as you grit your teeth.
“G-Gus,” you moan his name, staring at him desperately. “Gus, p-please let me down!” you beg, forcing yourself to push through the pain. You truly have no idea how long you’ve been standing on this block of ice, but it feels like eternity, and you’re not sure how much more you can take.
Gus appears unmoved, toying with one of the knives on the table as he drinks in your suffering, his eyes glittering.
“Please, Gus! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please make it stop!” you wail. “I don’t know what you want, but I’ll do it, I swear I will!” you promise, telling yourself you’ll cross that bridge when you came to it.
A slight smile plays at his lips, and he wanders behind you again, lowering the ropes enough to let you step off the ice and lower your arms to your sides with a few feet of slack; enough to move, but not to run. It hurts to stand, but at least you can – you’re surprised that you managed to convince Gus to show you even this shred of mercy. As he comes back to the table you follow his movements with your eyes, trying to get a read on him. Had he hit his limit for torture?
In one fluid motion, he picks up the bucket of water off of the table and pours it over your feet.
The pain is absolutely indescribable.
You immediately collapse to the floor, shrieking like a wounded animal and trying to keep your feet off the wet floor. The rest of your body is telling you that the water is tepid, cool even, but to the frozen and frayed nerves of your feet it feels scalding.
“You’ll do what I want?!” Gus snarls down at you as you writhe on the floor in agony, still screaming. “You promise?!” He kicks you in the ribs, turning you onto your back with the toe of his boot. “What I wanted was to be able to trust you, Y/N, but you had to go and fuck that up.”
There’s a momentary reprieve from his assault as he moves to the table, and then he reappears with a sharp knife in hand, squatting down beside you and levelling you with a crazed, heartbroken look.
“What I want now is to make you hurt the way you’ve hurt me, sweetheart. And that’s what I’m gonna do.”
He takes the knife in one hand and the hem of your dress in the other, pulling it taut as he starts to cut through the fabric. You try to shy away from him and the blade but he merely tightens his grip and presses down harder. You feel the knife cut through a few layers of skin from your bellybutton to the hollow of your throat, and as he peels your dress off you can see crimson droplets appearing in the wake of the blade.
You stop thrashing and let out a whimper that becomes a gasp as you feel his warm, wet tongue lick up the trail of blood. You shudder, repulsed by the action.
“You’re so pretty when you bleed for me, baby,” he groans against your skin, cutting away your undergarments and leaving you bare on the cold concrete floor.
“I’m gonna make sure every inch of you shows that you belong to me.”
You manage to mentally disconnect from your body – it’s nothing you’ve consciously done, just your brain’s way of protecting you from Gus’s assault. He seems intent on covering every inch of your skin in a mark; a scratch from his nails or his knife, bruises from his teeth and his fists. You distantly hear yourself screaming, feel the dull ache radiating off of every inch of you, but you’re mostly focused on the bare lightbulb above you, the image scorching itself into your retinas. It’s like he’s trying to destroy you, to mash you up with his hands as though you’re made of clay so he can remake you into the loyal girl he thought you were.
Then, suddenly, it stops.
When he kisses you, the touch is so gentle that it jolts you from the surprise; you didn’t think he was capable of such a gesture after all of this. Your body doesn’t respond in any way, just laying limply on the cold hard floor beneath him. Continuing with the gentle treatment, he lifts you into his arms – you’re not sure if you’re not in agony because he’s being careful with you, or if you just can’t feel anymore – and places you on the table, the difference in temperature welcome to your freezing body.
“By the time these heal, you won’t need them to remind you that you’re mine.” He promises, running his hands across your battered body like he’s savouring every mark on your skin. You’re shivering, you’re sweating from just enduring the torture, you’re barely able to stay awake – you’re not sure why you’re bothering to try to at all.
“And if you need a reminder, we can always try something else…” He says, his voice soft and dangerous as he lifts the branding iron into view, turning it over. You see the twisted metal is curved into his initials, G.T., and your stomach roils at the thought.
“No, please!” you whimper, your hand coming up to grab his wrist before you’ve thought about it. He looks from your hand on his wrist up to your eyes, still holding the branding iron, but doesn’t make a move to hit you or remove himself from your weak grip.
“It’ll put you at risk if anyone ever saw it,” you offer weakly, trying to think up a reason for him to not go through with it. He gives you an amused smile, humouring your attempt at persuasion. You bite your tongue, bracing yourself to speak the words that will throw your remaining dignity and self-respect out the window.
“And… I know I’m yours,” you whisper, forcing yourself to maintain his gaze as you search his eyes, trying to read his thoughts. You think you see a shred of vulnerability in those cold blue orbs, and push yourself to exploit it. “I’m all yours, Gus.”
He knows you’re lying, you know he does, but seeing you force yourself to say those words out loud is as good a form of surrender as any in his eyes.
He lowers the branding iron, and you start to breathe again.
He looks down at you, one hand over his mouth as he considers what to do with you, and you don’t even think about moving or speaking, not wanting to set him off again. Finally, he laughs quietly to himself, and the sound immediately has you on edge again.
“All mine, huh? I think we should consummate that,” he says decisively, scooping you up off the table and knocking everything else off of it with a sweep of his arm, sending the torture implements clattering to the floor. He turns you in his arms and bends you over the table, your injuries screaming in protest. You hear him unbuckling his belt and start to panic but he holds you down, leaning over you and pressing you down with his body. Oh God no.
“Did you know that the expression ‘to have somebody over a barrel’ was originally a nautical term?” he asks in your ear, his voice calm and nearly cheerful as he pins you against the table. You can feel him reach between you and start to stroke himself. You don’t speak, you can’t, instead shaking your head in response to his question, hoping that maybe if you obey the best you can he’ll reconsider what he’s about to do. Just the thought has you fighting to keep your body from trembling.
“It’s from when sailors could be disciplined by being bent over a barrel in front of their crewmates and getting flogged,” he continues casually, as though you were discussing the weather. But then a hand fists in your hair, pulling your head back until you’re looking at him upside down, your back arching well past the point of comfort.
“I thought about bringing back that tradition with you, of letting the crew take turns with you for how you tried to fuck us over. I was about ready to let them ruin you, fuck you in every hole until you didn’t know your own name. But no. You’re mine, you fucked with me, and I’m going to dole out enough punishment for everyone.”
You’re hyperventilating, the action drawing your attention to your bruised ribs, but Gus pays you no mind, instead cutting the ropes free from the pulley system to first tie your arms to your sides, and then to tie you to the table, the ropes digging into the sensitive flesh of your waist as you struggle against him. Feeling some of your injuries start to bleed again as the rough rope tears into your skin, you force yourself to stop, one swollen cheek pressed flat against the table. You try to see him through your peripheral vision, but you can’t turn yourself enough with the ropes holding you tightly how he wants you.
“Gus,” you whimper out his name, knowing that trying to talk him out of this is futile but also knowing that you have to try. “Gus, please don’t. Just give me some time, let me heal up a bit, and I – I’ll be willing. I’ll be yours, I won’t fight, but just don’t –”
“Ssshhhh…” Gus hisses, coming to stand in front of you. He pulls you up by the hair, lifting you off the table to face him. You glance down against your better judgement and glimpse his long, thick cock, and your entire body shudders in fear and revulsion. You don’t think that something that big could ever fit inside you comfortably, even if you wanted it. The mere thought of him forcing himself inside you when you were unwilling has you thrashing against your bondage again. Of all the torture you’d been exposed to tonight – the beatings, the ice, the threat of being branded – none of them come close to what this will do to you.
“I’m gonna have all of you, Y/N, you hear me?” He grips your chin roughly, tilting your head so that you’re looking up at him as he speaks. “I’ve got your body, but I want your mind, your heart, your soul… and I’ll have them eventually. For now, I’ll settle for what I’ve got, even if I have to tie you down to take it.”
“No…” you groan, your tears streaming down your cheeks and onto Gus’s hand.
“I know you’re scared, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting. But it’ll get better over time, I promise. Once you can admit you love me like I love you, this is gonna be magic.”
He holds three of his fingers in front of your face, all bundled together, and you shy away. He lets out a long, drawn-out sigh of disapproval.
“I’m offering you a chance to make this better for yourself, Y/N. Suck my fingers, get them nice and wet – it’s the only lube you’re getting.”
Looking up at him with pleading eyes, you reluctantly force your jaw to open, laying your tongue flat against the bottom of your mouth. A rumble emanates from Gus’s chest, his eyes glittering at the show of obedience.
“That’s it, that’s good. Now, no teeth, sweetheart, or you’ll regret it,” he warns, turning your head so that your gaze falls to the branding iron that he had knocked to the floor. You swallow thickly, nodding silently. All you can do is give in at this point, and hope that it makes this process remotely less traumatic.
Gus slides his fingers past your lips and deep into your mouth, making you gag as they brush against your throat. You push past the discomfort, sealing your lips around him. Your mouth is bone dry out of fear and disgust, so you wriggle your tongue along the underside of his fingers, trying to stimulate saliva production. Gradually, it begins to work, and Gus gives you a feral grin of approval.
“Oh, good girl!” he leers, pumping his fingers into your mouth. “Yeah, just like that!”
Eventually he pulls his fingers free with a ‘pop!’ before turning to position his hard cock just in front of your chin. You resist the urge to flinch.
“Spit on it,” he commands, and you obey, doing your best to force saliva out of your mouth, a string of drool connecting your lower lip to the head of his cock. He greedily gathers it with a finger, coating his cock as he moves to walk around the table. You brace yourself, but are unable to keep your body from shuddering. You feel his slippery fingers at your entrance and reflexively lurch forward, the lip of the table digging into your stomach, and force yourself to relax – you didn’t want to give him any reason to be rougher with you.
“That’s right, honey, just relax,” Gus croons, watching you fight your instinct to escape him. He enters you with two fingers abruptly, stretching you out, and you let out a cry of pain. His other hand runs down your spine, the light touch still managing to exacerbate your injuries.
“You look so good like this, Y/N,” he groans, keeping his hand at the small of your back as he withdraws his fingers from you to line his cock up at your entrance. “With every inch of you marked as mine. I’m gonna own you inside and out, so just relax and let me in.”
His hips surge forward to meet yours, his cock feeling like it’s splitting you open and you groan, your nails digging into your palms as you try to distract yourself from his intrusion. He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back so he can whisper in your ear, his hips thrusting slow and deep as they open you up. You swear you can feel every part of his cock rubbing at your inner walls, claiming you as his, and every pump of his hips makes you gasp, whiny little ‘ah, ah, ah’s that punctuate his movements within you.
“Oh fuck yes, baby, you’re so tight,” he grunts through gritted teeth, his breath hot on the back of your neck. “That’s it, just let me have you, let me make you mine. Now moan for me, like a good little whore, or I’ll give you something to moan about.”
Something about his words makes something within you snap, and you find yourself dissociating from the experience, feeling like you’re in an almost trance-like state. You moan low and loud, the sound devoid of passion, and simulate making love with him, following his instructions in your ear mechanically. You try to keep your body relaxed and close your mind off to what you’re doing, but his thrusts keep bringing you back to the present.
“Tell me who this tight little cunt belongs to,” he snarls, straightening up and gripping your bruised, bloodied hips in his large hands, kneading and pinching at your tender flesh. “Tell me that you’re mine,” he demands, punctuating every word with a thrust of his cock.
“Ahh yes, Gus! I’m yours, I’m all yours!” you scream, your eyes shut tight like you’re trying to block out your own words. Just when you start to hope against hope that this is almost at an end, Gus pulls out, coming back to stand in front of you.
“Hearing you scream for me is music to my ears, baby,” he purrs approvingly. “Arch up for me.”
You do your best, fighting the ropes and your injured body to straighten up, lifting your head and torso off the table; it’s a deeply uncomfortable position. Gus immediately reaches for you, fondling your chest with rough fingers. You fight to keep yourself upright, staring up at him through your tears. This couldn’t go on forever; you just have to hold out a little longer.
“Suck my cock, Y/N,” he murmurs, the threatening tone out of his voice, and you know that he's testing your obedience. “And you’ll want to be thorough to help you handle what’s coming next.”
Your whole body tenses up at the implication, and he gives you a patronizing smile, lightly slapping at your cheek to get you to open your mouth.
“Never taken it in the ass before, huh? At least there’s one first left for me to have.” He seems insanely thrilled at the thought of claiming any warped form of your remaining virginity, outright grinning at you now as he brings his cock to your lips. “And remember, no teeth, or I’ll change my mind about letting the crew have their turn with you.”
“Gus–” you try to cut in to plea your case, your little dissociative bubble popping at the thought of him taking you in the ass, but the moment you open your mouth he’s thrust himself inside. It’s impossible to even try to speak around his cock, so you don’t bother, saving your breath as he fucks your face.
Tears are pouring down your cheeks and mixing with the drool dripping down your chin, and he hums in approval at the depraved scene before him.
“That pretty little mouth was made to please,” he moans, his balls hitting your chin with the force of his thrusts down your throat. “Do that little thing with your tongue, like you did to my fingers.”
His request has you thinking that if you can get him off, he won’t be able to rape you anywhere else, at least for the moment. Pushing past your mangled pride and dignity, you force yourself to please him as best you can, moaning around his cock, bobbing your head and swirling your tongue around his length like you couldn't get enough.
Gus notices the change immediately, throwing his head back as you let him push past your gag reflex and take him fully into your mouth and throat, your eyes watering. He thrusts into you three more times, holding himself deep inside you before pulling out reluctantly, giving you a wicked smile.
“You almost had me, sneaky woman,” he confesses with a wry grin, tapping your nose almost affectionately. “Almost had me losing control and coming on that tongue.”
You look up at him guiltily, hating that you were caught, and that you’d just willingly sucked the bastard off for no reason. He seems to be able to read your thoughts like they’re written all over your face, and he knows just what to say to make his words sting.
“But I’ll keep in mind how eager you are to give head, my little siren. I’ll make sure you get lots of opportunity for it,” he winks at you conspiratorially, like he’s letting you in on a secret. “But not even your willing, desperate mouth is going to distract me from finishing your punishment, Y/N.”
“Gus, please!” you scream frantically as he starts to walk around the table. “Please, I can’t take anymore! I’ll be good, I’ll be yours, I’ll be anything you want, just please don’t!”
“Oh, baby girl,” he coos, pausing to spit lewdly on your puckered hole, the head of his cock immediately pressing against it. “I know you’re gonna be good, gonna be mine. This is gonna guarantee it.”
It feels like he’s using his entire body, all of his strength to hold you down and spread you open as he forces his cock inside your ass, your throat burning and raw from the force of your shrieks. You dig your nails into your thighs until they bleed as he works his way inside of you, bottoming out after what seems like an eternity.
Gus stills, panting from exertion and sweat dripping onto your battered back and making your cuts sting, though the pain is nothing compared to the sensation of having your organs rearranged from his cock inside you.
“Jesus Christ,” he hisses through gritted teeth, “and I thought your cunt was tight. Fucking hell, baby, this body was made to take my cock!” He lets out a breathless chuckle, and you feel it inside of you.
“I’m gonna pound your ass so good, princess, and I want you to beg. I want you to beg for more, beg for me to come in you until I do. And if you don’t, I’ll find something else to fuck you with until you learn to do what I say.”
This was it; you had nothing left. He had taken everything from you. Once you did this (and you would), you’d belong to him.
You don’t try to resist; instead, you fight your body’s instinct to scream and cry and instead force yourself to give him what he wants, screaming his name, begging for him to use you, your moans of pain almost sounding convincing as cries of pleasure. You’ll give Gus what he wants, you’ll do anything to keep this from ever happening again.
Finally, his hips start to stutter, his grip on you tightening, and you know he’s close.
“Guuuus,” you groan, his name one long, pained syllable. “Please come in me!”
He does with an inhuman roar, and you feel him shoot his load deep inside you, marking your insides as belonging to him. His large body pins you down as he catches his breath, and then he shoves off of you, pulling out and gathering his clothes while you lay boneless over the table. You barely notice when he cuts you loose, your body slumping to the ground. You whine, not speaking, not thinking; there’s nothing to think.
Gus comes to stand in front of you, gently wrapping his leather jacket around your mutilated form and lifting you into his arms. Your body is shutting down, your eyes closed as you try to focus on your breathing, and it takes you a moment to realize that he is kissing you, his lips and tongue claiming you as well.
“Let’s go get you cleaned up, baby,” he coos down at you sweetly. “Then we can start over.”
He carries you out of the room slowly. You’re not sure of what you're leaving behind, of where you’ve been this whole time; you pass out before you reach the door.
[No picture with good enough quality to be worth including - feel free to send one if you have it!]
Thanks for your patience, everyone! We should be done this story in the next chapter, but I've added some sexy Terry here to tide you over!
Chapter 1
TW: Teasing, coercion, dubcon, groping, fingering, Terry Silver being manipulative and hot about it
Terry’s POV:
A fair? Terry thinks to himself, watching your incessant hopping next to him while standing in line for something called the Drop Tower. Your sweet little surprise was better suited to a toddler than to him. He supposes it’s fitting for you to choose something like this; everything about you oozed a sort of childlike innocence and sense of wonder.
He isn’t sure exactly what it is about you that initially drew his attention – he had been with people far more attractive, intelligent, and powerful than you. Dozens of them, in fact, though he had long stopped bothering to keep count.
He assumes that that’s part of your appeal.
You were so inexperienced, so innocent, that the thought of getting you close enough to let him take all of that from you and keep it for himself forever has him absolutely thrilled. Bagging you required the polar opposite of his typical, more… active pursuits of someone that he wanted to fuck; a test of his patience, his self-control, and his ability to pull you into his web until you were in so deep that you would never get away of your own volition.
The loud hiss of the ride's hydraulics startles him out of his thoughts as the ride shoots another group of screaming people into the sky, making him tense up.
That was another issue altogether.
Terry had made a habit of avoiding crowds – apart from classier, quieter events – since returning from Vietnam. Being around this many people running and screaming, even if it was from happiness and excitement, has him on edge. Add that to the loud noises coming from the machines and the thought of being shot into the air, and he is already starting to fall into the dark pit of PTSD.
He digs his nails into his palms and forces himself to take deep, steadying breaths, then turns to look at you. Sweet and innocent as you are, he finds that you help ground him in a way. Something like you could never be associated with the horrors of that godforsaken jungle.
The way you act as a repellant to his dark memories and hallucinations makes him want to swallow you whole, to keep you inside of him so that he never has to worry about them rearing their ugly heads again.
Almost as if you had heard his thoughts, you turn and look up at him, flashing a dazzling smile that has something inside him purring with satisfaction. You are positively smitten with him; it’s written all over your beautiful face. You had remembered your little discussion about a funfair from months ago and decided to give him a taste of the childhood he’d never had. So sweet, so giving… and he’s so, so ready to take.
He had slowly been working you through your anxieties and nerves about being intimate, as Margaret would call it. Terry knows that your defences are crumbling, and he thinks it’s high time he pushed past them. He didn’t have a decade to let you gradually get to the point where he could bend you over wherever and whenever he wished; he isn’t a patient man, and he’s been pushed to his limits by you.
If he just took you, skipping all of the steps in between, you might be hurt, sure, but it would speed up the process greatly. Then you could both go back a few steps and he could teach you to enjoy the experience.
And enjoy it you would.
“We’re next, we’re next!” you chirp happily, and he turns to watch the ride come down and free its occupants. He looks at the lap bar and over-the-shoulder restraints with skepticism.
“Babes, I don’t think they’re gonna let me ride this with you,” he says in a low voice, keeping the optimism he feels out of his tone.
“Why not?” you ask with a frown, your forehead creasing.
“I think I’m too big,” he replies, a tad smug.
Sure enough, as he goes to take the seat on the ride next to you, the restraint that pulls over his head cannot accommodate his broad shoulders. Letting out an exaggerated sigh, he slips off the ride. You make to join him, but he puts a firm hand on the lap bar, keeping you in place.
“You should still go on the ride, doll. I’ll be waiting right here.”
“Are you sure?” you ask, kicking your feet where they hang down beneath you. “I don’t mind skipping this one.”
“Nah, are you kidding? Watching you having fun’ll be a blast! And I get to keep my feet on the ground,” he jokes.
“Scared of heights, Mr. Silver?” you tease, giggling at your little joke. He forces himself to chuckle in return. You’ll pay for that insinuation.
“We’ll see who has the last laugh when you’re done screaming your little head off.” Soon enough, he’ll have you screaming more than any damned carnival ride…
He removes himself from the proximity of the ride, moving to stand on the other side of the fence, still right across from you. He stares directly into your eyes and raises a challenging eyebrow at you. You blush, and he drinks in the sight greedily. You have a determined look on your face, but he sees the look of shock spread across it the instant you start to shoot into the air. He observes your ascent with a small, amused smile, hearing your exhilarated shrieks as they rise through the sky with you.
The ride sends you up and down repeatedly, and Terry watches not only your hair rise and fall around your head at the motion, but your skirt moving in a similar way, baring more and more of your legs to your audience below.
You’re a fucking tease, and you probably don’t even know the meaning of the word.
There’s a sudden low, appreciative whistle from off to his left, and his eyes flit to another man enjoying the view.
“Damn, she’s got legs for days!” the man leers with a laugh, and Terry immediately sees red, still on edge from all of the triggers this place was teeming with. He’s grabbed the man by the collar before he even seems to realize it, and pulls him close.
“If you want to keep your eyes in your skull, walk away,” he growls, and the guy turns white as a sheet as he takes in Terry’s infuriated expression. He throws his hands up in immediate surrender – Terry scoffs immediately at the man’s weakness; this punk really thought he was worthy of even looking at you? – and Terry roughly pushes the man in the chest, releasing his grip on his shirt and watching as the man slinks off before he turns his attention back to you, where it belonged.
The ride is coming to an end, slowly lowering you back to the ground. Your cheeks are flushed, your hair is a wild mess about your head, and your eyes are bright in your excitement.
He feels his cock twitch against his thigh, and feels a pang of jealousy. He should be the reason you look like this, not some cheap thrill ride.
Your safety restraints are removed and you come skipping over to him, giggling breathlessly and tossing yourself into his arms, burying your face in his shirt. Well, if these silly rides had you acting like this – throwing yourself at him, that is – the perhaps humoring your little idea of a date night would be worth the trouble after all.
“See? It wasn’t scary at all!” you inform him proudly, beaming up at him.
“Really? You could have fooled me, with all the screaming you were doing,” he retorts with a smirk, taking your face in one hand and relishing in how your blush deepens for him. With his free hand he smooths your hair back into place, trying to tame your wild curls. He finds he’s taking a surprising amount of pleasure in treating you like his little doll, and from the way that he can feel your pulse speed up through his grip on your lower jaw, you clearly like it too.
“Thank you,” you coo sweetly up at him, standing up on your toes to kiss him.
He purrs into your mouth, pulling you flush against him – best start pushing for more now. He keeps his lips on yours for a moment more once you start trying to squirm out of his grip; you need to remember who is in charge here. Eventually, he relents, satisfied by the dazed look in your eyes.
“So what’s next, babygirl?” he croons, pressing you to speak more – your voice took on a delicious, husky quality when you were turned on.
“The… log ride?” you say hesitantly, as though unsure of what to do with yourself in your dazed state. “The log ride!” you repeat with more conviction, once you gain a bit of your composure back.
Christ, he thinks to himself as you tug him through the throng of people. Claiming your virginity had better be worth all of this.
He’ll make sure it is.
---
While he found what was supposedly the appeal of the log ride disgusting – being splashed with treated, reused, communal water – the ride did have some benefits. You being seated between his legs had been a big one. He had snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his crotch, and used you to shield him from most of the water. You had shrieked with laughter, slapping the tops of his thighs with playful indignation, and he was able to enjoy how good you looked wet, your dress plastered to your body and emphasizing your curves.
He had been appreciating it, that is, until he once again caught more pairs of eyes on you than just his own. He had immediately taken off his jacket, wrapping it around your shoulders to conceal your body. You were clearly charmed by his chivalry, attributing the gesture to him being worried you were cold. The action also had the added benefit of revealing his arms and chest, now prominently visible in just his white T-shirt, and it resulted in other men immediately becoming wary of letting their eyes roam over you. A real win-win, in his opinion.
You had dragged him to the teacups next, and he had taken great joy in spinning the disc in the middle of your seats as firmly and quickly as possible while you begged him to stop. He had never been one to get dizzy, gleefully feeling the inertia of the ride sliding you around the seats next to him, pushing you further and further into his side until he swears your body will just absorb into his own, letting him own you fully and completely, as he should.
You are now incredibly woozy after the ride has ended, clinging to him for dear life as you stumble along beside him, and a shiver of desire moves through him as he controls you like a marionette. You’re drier after the ride, but he insists you continue wearing his jacket anyway; he doesn’t need any further exacerbations to his temper. He leaves you on a bench, keeping one eye on you the entire time as he moves to a booth selling food, buying something to settle your stomach.
Taking a seat on the bench next to you, he watches your lips close around the straw of your gingerale, sipping it gratefully. You then immediately tear into the bag of cinnamon-sugar mini-donuts that he had seen you eyeing every time you passed them since you had arrived. They are far too sweet for him, but hearing the soft moan escape your lips at your first taste has him all but demanding a taste of his own.
He leans in to kiss you, and you giggle against his lips before he takes it a step further, tracing your lips with the tip of his tongue to lick the crumbs from your flesh. You let out a whimper and he seizes the opportunity, slipping his tongue into your mouth, one arm wrapped tight around you and keeping you flush against his chest with your hands trapped between you, his other hand in your hair, holding your head in place. He can feel you trying to push against him, but he only squeezes you tighter until you relax in his grip, timidly kissing him back. Good girl.
Not wanting to make a scene (for the sake of his own reputation), he releases you for your good behaviour, and it takes you a minute to be able to bring yourself to speak.
“Terry!” you hiss at him, scandalized, but you can’t keep the sheepish smile off of your face. “We’re in public!”
He sprawls out across the bench, looking unrepentant. “Why do you think I stopped?” he asks teasingly, and you playfully shove his arm. “Why don’t we go in there next?” he asks, pointing behind you two to a small, windowless building advertising itself as the Hall of Mirrors. He doesn’t know what exactly that entails, but it looks like it would have you two away from prying eyes, so it’s worth checking out in his opinion. He wants to see what else he can pull from you willingly today, before he needs to push for it.
“Wanting to go check yourself out?” you tease with a smile, looking up at him from under your eyelashes. “Not that I’d blame you,” you add quietly, a slight blush spreading across your cheeks.
He could listen to you compliment him all day, but instead he takes your hand in his, interlacing your fingers together before guiding you to the attraction’s doorway. You walk in before him, and he smoothly hands the man staffing the building a wad of bills, demanding that he keep anyone else from entering for twenty minutes, not bothering to wait for a response. Money talked; people didn’t need to.
He follows you into the dark room, finding that the interior lives up to the name; it’s literally just a labyrinth of floor to ceiling mirrors with pale white lighting illuminating the space from above. From the way the two of you are standing, you appear surrounded by copies of him. He feels it’s an appropriate metaphor for your reality.
He approaches you slowly from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him firmly. Placing his head on your shoulder, he gazes into your reflection’s eyes, watching the blush spread across your cheeks just from his stare. Maybe he should have more mirrors installed in one of the bedrooms at home; dozens of possibilities for their use are popping into his head. He breathes deeply, not wanting you to feel him getting hard.
“Don’t we make a cute couple?” he purrs in your ear, making you giggle breathlessly. One hand slides up your body to your neck, gripping your chin in his large hand. “I have very good taste,” he adds smugly, gently taking your ear between his lips and nibbling it gently. Your gasp echoes through the room, and you jump in surprise, though he feels a shiver go down your spine.
See? You wanted this, you just needed a bit of a push; he is more than happy to provide it for you.
“Terry!” you whine, trying to squirm away, but he’s done letting you escape him.
“What?” he pouts, moving his lips down the side of your neck. “You didn’t want to let me play with you in public, so I brought us in here!”
“This – this is still public, T-Terry!” you insist, though you’re stammering as your body responds to his touch. He moves his hands up and down your sides teasingly, slipping them beneath his jacket to feel your warm skin through the thin material of your dress. “Someone could come by any minute!”
“Better give me what I want quickly then,” he quips, only half-joking. He backs you into a mirror, pinning you to it, and he can’t deny the thrill that moves through him as he watches your doppelgangers in the same position all around him.
“W-What do you want?” you ask shyly, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. Oh, the things he wants to do with you in a place like this…
Instead of any of the depraved acts that come to mind, he lifts your chin with a finger, gazing deeply into your eyes with his most piercing stare.
“I want you… to let me touch you,” he breathes, lowering his head so that his forehead touches yours, and you shudder.
“You are touching me, Terry,” you joke, but your breathless voice reveals just how nervous you are. He needs to be very, very careful here…
“You know what I mean, sweetheart,” he murmurs, coaxing compliance out of you. “I know I’m normally better at keeping my hands to myself, but you look so beautiful tonight, and you made me feel so special, bringing me here… I just want to make you feel good, baby. Please?” he begs, kissing you deeply before you can give him an answer.
He eventually lets you up for air, and as you don’t immediately protest, he tightens his grip on your waist before running his hands up your body, cupping your breasts over your clothes and playing with them gently, firmly brushing his thumb across where he knows your nipples to be. You let out a throaty moan that seems to take you by surprise, and buck your hips towards his involuntarily. Before you can get a word in, he has sealed his lips over yours again, swallowing any requests for him to stop before you can utter them.
He develops a rhythm, slowly feeling you up over your clothes and cooing his praises and words of encouragement into your ear, kissing you whenever he gets the sense that you’re going to try to put a stop to things until you’re compliant once more.
“I love feeling you like this, babygirl. You’ve been driving me crazy for so long,” he pants against your neck, his hands squeezing your butt firmly while you writhe against the mirror.
“Terry!” you cry out his name softly, with arousal rather than apprehension, and there’s never been a more beautiful sound. Eagerly, he moves his hands to the hem of your skirt, kissing you with everything in him to distract you from your thoughts as his fingers wander up your bare thighs. You’re being so deliciously submissive, letting him have his way with you, and he should tell you as much.
“Yes, Y/N,” he groans against your lips, dipping his head again and again to capture your mouth in kisses until you’re mirroring his movements back at him, bobbing your head to the rhythm he sets as though you're in a trance. “My good girl. I’m going to make you feel better than you ever have in your life; I’m going to give you everything,” he promises, ghosting his finger along the soft fabric of your underwear, and you seem to come back to yourself, your eyes flying open. You move to push him away, but he snatches your hands – gently, so as to avoid frightening you – and pins them over your head with one of his hands, his other returning under your skirt and worming its way through your clenched thighs.
“Terry, N –” you start to protest, but he interrupts you. An incomplete ‘No’ wasn’t a ‘No’ at all in his book.
“Ssshhh, babygirl, it’s okay,” he croons, kissing you once more into obedience. “You’re overwhelmed, I understand, but I know that you just need some help getting over your nerves. Trust me baby, you’ll love this,” he continues. He keeps his hand still, not removing it from between your thighs but not continuing to push his way up to his goal, and peppers your face with kisses and murmured words of encouragement until your thighs unclench around his hand.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he breathes approvingly, slipping his fingers further up your inner thigh. Your skin is so soft, and warm, and quivering beneath his fingertips, and he longs to bury his face between your legs. “Let me get you off; you deserve it,” urges, running a long finger across your slit over the material of your underwear. You are soaked, and keen loudly at the new sensations. He gently but firmly covers your mouth with his other hand, his eyes dark and glittering with amusement and arousal.
“Gotta be quiet, Y/N,” he teases, even as he starts rubbing your clit through your underwear, making you twitch and whimper against him. “You don’t want anyone to come and find you like this, do you?”
You shake your head vehemently, looking up at him with pleading eyes, and he can tell that you’re trying to stay still and quiet. Precious thing.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he purrs, his eyes bright as he watches your face, slipping a finger beneath your underwear and into your wet heat. You squeak, and your breathing comes hard and fast, though you try not to make a sound. He knows you won’t last long and sets to bring you to climax quickly, knowing that your remaining time having this place to yourself is coming to an end.
He pumps his finger inside you as deeply as he can in this position, not wanting to cause you discomfort; this first orgasm needs to be good if he wants to get you hooked on his touch. Curling the finger upwards to brush your G-spot, he rubs your clit over your underwear with his thumb, quickly bringing you to the peak of pleasure, your knees starting to give out from the stimulation. He swallows your screams of ecstasy into his mouth greedily, using the hand that had covered your mouth to help keep you upright.
“I’ve got you, Y/N,” he says soothingly, removing his hand from under your dress and wrapping it around your waist, discretely wiping his hand clean on your skirt. You shudder against him, your hands gripping fistfuls of his shirt, and fight to even your breathing. “You did so good, baby. So, so good. Thank you for letting me please you.”
He’s laying it on thick, but again, it was all about paving the way for you to let him have his way with you whenever and however he wanted you. Eventually, you manage to look up at him shyly, a timid smile on your face.
“I–I…you don’t need to thank me, Terry,” you say with a giggle, burying your face in his chest to hide your embarrassment.
“You were right,” you mumble into his shirt, but he hears every word. “You always know what’s best for me.”
And that right there makes all of this worth it. Your willingness to put yourself in his hands, in his control, is his top priority.
He wonders what else he can do with you tonight, and finds himself eager to find out, pulling you along behind him, stumbling from your still-weak knees towards the exit of the Hall of Mirrors.
[^ Terry checking himself out in the Hall of Mirrors]
