#how many times has he told people what happened in kk3 and how many times has he been treated as he is exaggerating | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

karatekels · 9 months

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Songbird

Original prompt: (from dioswry on Ao3)

this time ck Terry pls. reader who’s younger, got to know him years later after kk3 happened where he was at his lowest point in life. with time he told her about everything he’s done but she never judged him for it and continued to help him through that tough time cause she’s too good-hearted. years later and married, kreese visits them and she has to watch her husband who’s been living a happy and healthy life with her, turn into someone she doesn’t recognize anymore. wouldn’t mind some darker smut there at the end. maybe with choking? 👀

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Okay, I *love* this request! I hope I do it justice for you – the flashbacks at the beginning are my favourite things I’ve written, I think!

I can’t remember who it was on Tumblr who pointed out that “Time of the Season” is a perfect song for Terry, but that’s why I’ve used it, so thank you, person I can’t remember!

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SO MANY (mostly choking, dubcon/noncon or at least some questionable bdsm)

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// 1998 //

Knocking back his drink without a second thought, Terry Silver raises his hand, snapping to get the attention of the waiter who scurried off to get him another bottle. Taking another puff of his cigar and deeply wishing that it was something stronger, he stares blankly out in the dark lounge, tuning out the sights and sounds of everyone around him. How exactly had things come to this?

Everything around him had fallen to shit.

Dynatox had not done well in the 90s, environmentalists constantly on his ass with lawsuits, whining about their treatment of some shithole country or another. When had everybody gotten so damn sensitive? The company was still getting by, trying to shift into information technology, but with the company name in the mud, competitors weren’t exactly interested in a merger.

He wonders what Margaret would think of him now, sighing heavily as he recalled his favourite employee’s passing two years prior. She had been the closest thing he’d had to a confidante, and he hadn’t found anyone to fill her shoes. He didn’t have anyone anymore…

He shakes his head, quickly taking another large drink the instant the waiter returned with a new bottle. He would not think of John. After more than a decade of trying to hunt down the man following the disastrous events of the late eighties, Cobra Kai shutting down for good, Terry had resigned himself to the idea that Kreese was as good as dead to him.

In short, he had no one, nothing, and no idea of where to go from here. Was there even a point in trying anymore? He was pushing forty…

The band strikes up a sultry tune, and Terry stands to leave, the thought of having to endure people around him enjoying themselves making him want to hit something. Throwing some bills on the table, he turns, making for the door.

It’s the time of the season When love runs high…

Terry freezes where he stands, feeling like the air had been torn from his lungs. That voice…

In this time, give it to me easy And let me try with pleasured hands To take you in the sun to promised lands To show you every one It’s the time of the season for loving…

He turns, going back to his table as if pulled by a magnetic force, his eyes tracking down the source of the singing. Her voice was hauntingly beautiful, like a siren’s song, and incredibly seductive. Looking over to the stage, he sees her: a gorgeous young woman in a slinky, glittering dress, her eyes closed as though she was in a trance as she croons into the old-fashioned microphone. Terry finds himself incredibly moved, feeling emotions stirring within him that he hasn’t felt in years; and some that he’s never experienced.

He remains in his seat until you finish your set.

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“You’re here again,” comes a voice from behind him, sounding amused. Terry turns, irritated that someone was interrupting his brooding – he had come for his songbird, only to find out she wasn’t performing tonight, and was quite put out.

It’s her.

You manage to look ethereal even without the stage lights and costume, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, a leather jacket over your arm. Terry is briefly flabbergasted, giving you enough time to pull out one of the empty seats at his table, making yourself comfortable.

“You’re here a lot,” you continue, surveying the handsome man before you and trying to get a read on him. You had noticed him over the past few weeks, always at the same table, always looking lost, and couldn’t help yourself any longer; you needed to know his story.

“You’re very good,” he replies, looking at you with a slightly bewildered expression. You get the sense that he isn’t used to feeling anything but confident, and decide to pull back a bit.

“Thanks,” you say, smiling at him. He would open up in time.

“Tyler, get me a gin and tonic,” you call over to your friend the bartender, not taking your eyes off of the man. He gives you a curious expression.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?”

Tyler brings your drink over, and you take a long sip before answering him. You don’t get the sense that he’s upset that you’ve joined him, quite the contrary, but you could tell that he was a bit unsettled by your unpredictability. You lean forward with an elbow on the table, resting your chin on your palm as you look over at him.

“Making a friend.”

You see the man try to bite back a smile, but he isn’t entirely successful, the expression breaking across his face and taking your breath away. You hold your hand out towards him.

“I’m Y/N L/N, nice to meet you.”

“I’m Terry Silver,” he replies, shaking your hand. You must be imagining the little sparks of electricity that seem to flow between your clasped hands, but find yourself scooting your chair closer to him anyway.

“So, what brings you here so often? You’ve become a real, brooding regular,” you ask, curious about the man. He dressed like money but seemed to show up at all times of the day, making a regular job seem unlikely. He looks at you over his drink, seeming nervous as he considers how to reply. Was he about to tell you he was in the mob, or something?

He looks at the floor briefly, as if gathering his resolve, and when his eyes meet yours again, there’s a strange mixture of confidence and vulnerability in them that has your heart skipping a beat.

“To be perfectly honest, Y/N, listening to you sing has become just about the only good thing in my life.”

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// 2003 //

“He just comes out and says that to her, within minutes of her sitting down at the table!” Tyler exclaims, laughing along with the rest of your guests. “If she hadn’t snuck up on him and introduced herself first, I think he might still be at that table, pining over her! But instead, she made the first move and turned Terry’s life around over a few gin and tonics, which you still haven’t paid for, by the way,” he says teasingly, turning to point a finger at you accusingly.

“But that was the story of how we all came to be here today, celebrating these two and the love they share, and I’m glad they’ve gotten their fairytale ending. To Y/N and Terry!” he cries, raising his glass, and the toast is echoed around the reception hall by your friends and family.

Your wedding wasn’t the elaborate ceremony that you knew Terry had initially plotted; it was still large, and very luxurious, of course, but didn’t quite constitute a spectacle, for which you were grateful. The engagement photos that had been plastered all over the tabloids for the past eight months had been more than enough public insight into your private life, thank you very much.

Terry had apparently understood that he had pushed the publicity a bit too much, and had settled for a more intimate, secluded ceremony by way of apology. You knew that he meant well by it; he absolutely adored you, and he hadn’t been able to resist his urge to show you off to the world at any point over the past four and a half years of your relationship.

You had fallen for one another so quickly; you had quickly become friends with the tall, handsome stranger that came to the lounge night after night to hear you sing, trying to figure out what made him tick. He’d opened up to you quickly, seemingly unable to control the urge to tell you everything about himself, and you found yourself looking forward to seeing him seated at your table when you walked on stage.

You started out talking with him after your set, often staying until the bar closed and Tyler kicked the two of you out, but as you had gotten closer you started meeting him outside of the lounge as well. He had been struggling when you’d first met, and he often came to you for your opinion or advice, seeking you out like you had all the answers. You were happy to be there for him, and had started opening up to him as well, the two of you flourishing in each other’s presence.

You were the first person he came to when he successfully merged his company with several small IT firms, wrapping you up in a hug and kissing you soundly, the kiss that began your romantic relationship. You had celebrated subsequent successes as Dynatox reclaimed its status as a leading company in the country, as well as your own career milestones: selling your first song to a top recording artist and watching it reach number one on the charts, buying the lounge with Tyler with your own hard-earned money… you had been there for all of your greatest successes, and your moments of struggle and heartbreak, and you couldn’t have imagined a better partner.

“I can’t wait to get you alone, Mrs. Silver,” Terry purrs in your ear. You shiver in delight, blushing as you think about the bridal lingerie you had in your suitcase for your wedding night together. Terry would go crazy for the white garter belt, the fasteners for your garter monogrammed with T.S. in, of course, silver.

Turning to look at your man – your husband, you correct yourself with a smile – you take a moment to appreciate how gorgeous he looks in his tuxedo, the violets decorating your table bringing out the blue in his eyes even more. You give him a look of pure adoration, trying to convey all the emotions you felt for him in a single look, and he gives you your favourite lopsided grin in return.

“I love you, Terrance,” you whisper breathlessly, your voice thick with emotion. “I can’t believe I’m your wife,” you say, feeling the comforting weight of your new wedding band on your finger. Terry strokes your cheek with a knuckle, cupping your face in his large hand and staring at you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“I’ll be happy to remind you any time you need, Y/N,” he promises, leaning forward to kiss you passionately.

---

// 2019 //

You sigh, watching the sun set over the horizon, the end to another day. Standing, you move to clear the dishes, Terry’s plate untouched next to the vase of violets that you had placed in the center of the table, hoping it would maybe trigger a memory for him.

But he hadn’t shown at all, not even today, your anniversary. You had been together for twenty years now, and married for sixteen, and somehow you feel like you knew your husband less now than the first night that you’d spoken at the lounge, all those years ago.

For almost two decades, you had had a picture perfect relationship, then marriage. More than picture perfect, your love for each other when far beyond surface appearances. Your bond had only strengthened over the years; you had long been one of the Valley’s “It” couples, turning your respectable careers into dozens of philanthropic ventures, doing your part to help improve the community that had brought the two of you together.

But then, last year, there was a knock at your door, and if you had known who had been on the other side, and what they would end up doing to your life, to your marriage, to the love of your life, you would’ve barricaded the door with everything you had. Instead, you had opened it, leading John Kreese right to Terry, his poison infecting your husband’s mind almost immediately. You had heard the name before, long ago, but Terry had categorized the man as being firmly in the past – which usually meant the war – and you hadn’t thought that you’d need to remember it.

Almost overnight, you’d watched your warm, trusting Terry become ruthless, paranoid, conniving. He had taken up a leadership position in his old dojo, Cobra Kai, at Kreese’s request, but this wasn’t like the kata that you had seen him practice for fitness or mindfulness. This was violent, and that was only what you’d seen of it; he’d been keeping you in the dark as much as possible.

He had started coming home later and later, skipping meals, cancelling obligations you’d made with charities months in advance at a moment’s notice, and more recently had just stopped coming home at all some nights. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a conversation that had gone beyond him telling you that he was leaving for the day, and the realization makes your heart ache.

You sit back in your chair, dishes forgotten, trying not to sob. You were just so lonely now that Terry was gone. It wasn’t just that you had lost a husband; you had lost your best friend, the person you had looked forward to waking up beside every day for years. He was your other half, and without him you felt like a shell of yourself.

You hear a faint crash from somewhere in the house and choose to investigate, looking for anything to distract you from your misery. You find Terry, stumbling around one of the wine cellars, muttering to himself. You lean against the doorframe, your arms crossed, wondering how long it will take him to even notice you were there. Eventually, he turns around, and you see how disheveled he truly is, his eyes out of focus.

“You’re drunk?” you ask, appalled.

“Johnny bought beer,” he slurs by way of explanation. You wrinkle your nose in distaste.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you say, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “Do you know what day it is?”

“Two weeks until the All Valley!” he cries, his eyes shining brightly. “There’s so much to do!”

“It’s our twentieth anniversary, Terrance.”

Terry is quiet for a moment, considering this, his lips pursed. Finally, he sighs, shrugging slightly.

“Sorry, love. Duty calls.”

“Duty? You mean John?” you snap, unable to keep the venom from your voice. You truly hated the man. He gives you a cold, strangely blank stare.

“I owe John everything,” he retorts firmly, his voice devoid of any emotion.

You know that this is the wrong time for this conversation; you’re upset, he’s drunk, but what choice did you have? He was never around anymore.

“How can that possibly be, Terry? We’ve been together for twenty years, and you maybe mentioned him three times before he came and knocked on our door. He never visited, you hated talking about him – he never even came to our wedding! How can someone you’ve fought so hard to forget suddenly come in and ruin everything?” you finally bring yourself to ask the questions that have been plaguing you for weeks now, tears falling down your face.

He takes in your shaking form with a confused expression, like he doesn’t understand what you’re saying, or why.

“I have to do this. Cobra Kai is our legacy, my legacy.”

“This isn’t you, Terry! I swear, I don’t even recognize you anymore! Where is my Terry?” you ask desperately, looking for any trace of the man that you fell in love with. He gives you a hard look.

“That was what you made me. What I made myself, for you. This is what I am.”

“That’s not true!” you choke out, your legs feeling wobbly underneath you, threatening to give out. Never, in all your years together, not even in these past few rocky months, would you have expected Terry to be capable of hurting you this way. He turns away from you dismissively, going back to looking for, presumably, wine, and you lean back against the wall for support, feeling hopeless.

On a whim, and unsure if you’re doing it more to soothe yourself or in some last ditch effort to reach out to Terry, you start to quietly sing to yourself, the lyrics from the song you first danced to on your wedding day coming to mind.

What day is it And in what month? This clock never seemed so alive…

You see Terry freeze, his spine stiffening as he hears you singing, keeping his back to you.

I can’t keep up, and I can’t back down I’ve been losing so much time…

“That’s enough, Y/N,” he growls out over your voice, turning to look at you with frustration. Stubbornly, you continue, seeing enough of your Terry still somewhere in there and determined to bring him out.

‘Cause it’s you and me And all of the people with nothing to do Nothing to lose…

“Stop it, right now,” he demands, his voice getting louder as he walks over to you, closing the distance between you in a few long strides. You glare up at him through your tears, ignoring his request.

And it’s you and me And all of the people And I don’t know wh–

“I said stop!” he roars, slamming his palms on the wall to either side of you. Your jaw snaps shut, staring up at him with wide eyes. His own eyes close, and he breathes heavily for a moment.

“You can’t do this, Y/N,” he murmurs, frustration in his voice. “I don’t need this right now.”

“But I need you, Terry!” you cry out, reaching up to clutch his face, trying to pull him down to look at you. “I need my husband! I can’t stand seeing you pull away from me anymore!”

“I can’t have you close to this, Y/N,” he admits desperately.

“Why? We’ve told each other everything for years, Terry! When have I ever given you reason to think that I won’t support you through…whatever this is?”

“You’ll get hurt, Y/N. I’ll hurt you.”

“I’m not scared of you, Terry. Try me,” you insist, nearly growling at him. His eyes flash, and between one blink and the next he’s pinning you against the wall with a hand around your neck, squeezing.

“Is that so, love? You think that you can handle this? Think you can handle me?” You nod frantically the best you can with his hand around your throat, trying not to panic. He kisses your cheek sloppily, seemingly overtaken by the alcohol in his system once more.

“Silly songbird,” he clucks drunkenly, using his old pet name for you, and the sound of it makes your heart ache. “Spent all your time in the bright lights; you don’t even know what can be in the shadows…”

He slowly releases his grip on your neck, and in a brazen moment, you grab his hand with your own, keeping it in place. He looks into your eyes for what feels like the first time in forever, and you think you can see your love somewhere in those blue eyes.

“Show me,” is all you say. You’d promised to stay by him in sickness and in health, ‘til death do you part, and if that meant sinking down to the depths of depravity with him in order to stay by his side, then so be it. His eyes glitter at you briefly, and then he’s kissing you fiercely, his lips and tongue and teeth claiming dominance over your body, lifting you clean off the ground and pinning you against the wall.

You whimper, trying to wrap yourself around him to keep from falling, clinging to him desperately as he ravages you.

“You’re going to regret saying that,” he promises, and you nod vigorously, wanting to have him any way you could get him at this point, after having gone so long without feeling connected to him at all.

“I need you, Terry, please. Let me be what you need,” you beg, squirming out of his grip and dropping to your knees on the hard floor, reaching up to free his cock from his pants. He makes a noise of approval, tangling his hand in your hair roughly and tugging you to take him in your mouth. He is anything but gentle, fucking your face hard and fast until you’re choking around him, gasping for breath.

“So pretty, crying for more of my cock,” he purrs, patting your wet cheek fondly as he thrusts his hips forward. You’re a sniffling mess around him, but you continue to bob your head back and forth, sucking him off like your life depended on it. It did, in a way; your life was nothing without him.

He grunts in exertion from how he’s using your mouth, pulling you off his dick with a ‘pop!’ of your lips and all but throwing you over to a tasting table. How oddly appropriate.

Hopping up onto it, Terry stalks over to you, unceremoniously reaching under your skirt and tearing off your underwear. Pulling you to him in one fluid motion, he spears you on his cock, sliding you back and forth along the table, his grip punishing on your hips. You reach your arms over your head, gripping the far edge of the table and holding on for dear life as Terry fucks you harder than you would have thought possible; you feel like you’re going to break in half, and yet all you want is more.

It’s like you’re making up for weeks of lost time, concentrating every bit of lust and need you’ve felt into this moment, worried you won’t know when you’ll get another opportunity to be with him again. He pulls out briefly to turn you over, flipping up your skirt before entering you again, kneading your ass roughly.

“You’ve screamed this pretty throat raw, haven’t you, my little songbird?” he growls, his hand coming around you to squeeze your neck again. You hadn’t even registered that you’d been screaming up to this point, but feel the burn in your throat suddenly as Terry’s hand comes around you. Nodding frantically, you try to hold still as he pounds into you from behind, the hard wood of the table pressing into your hips in a way that you know would leave bruises.

“I want to hear you sing, little bird,” he hisses, pulling you up by your neck to arch against him, and you keen as the new angle stretches you. He laughs under his breath at the sound, sounding slightly delirious. “I should keep you in your cage, and you’ll stay mine forever.”

He wasn’t making any sense; he was making perfect sense.

“I’m yours, baby, I’m here for you!” you cry out, tears rolling down your face, and this seems to be the confirmation he needed as he thrusts deep inside you, coming hard with a roar. He collapses on top of you, still with a hand around your neck, though he’s not squeezing anymore, letting you both get your breath back.

“I don’t care if you drag yourself all the way to hell, Terrance” you tell him breathlessly, panting heavily beneath him. “Just as long as you drag me down with you.”

“Fair play, Mrs. Silver,” he concedes, his face sweaty, hair mussed. “I’ve missed you.”

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I don’t even know what this is but I’m screaming at it.

#terry silver #terry silver x reader #thomas ian griffith #cobra kai #smut #kk3 #karate kid #the karate kid 3 #i'm going to hell #dubcon #dubious consent #choking

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