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karatekels · 11 months

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Scream For Me – Chapter 2:

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.

*whistles innocently and walks away*

#thomas ian griffith #terry silver #terry silver x reader #cobra kai #dark desires october #fresh start #graphic smut #smut #extremely dark #cnc?#hard to tell with these two #i love them so much

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