#terry the terrific fanfic

[sunday-bug]

Terry the Terrific - The Magic of Yearning

Part 2

Click here for Part 1.

Terry walked back into his mom��s kitchen to find Howard making a snack plate of ants on a log. 

“Hey, buddy, where ya been?” Howard asked while popping a raisin into his mouth.

“Next door,” Terry replied, keeping it vague.

“Ah, with Maggie?” Howard wiggled his eyebrows toward Terry.

“How’d you know she’s back?” Terry asked, exasperated with his old friend.

“Les mentioned that she’s coming to dinner tonight. I’m grilling ribeyes,” he answered, “you want some?” Howard gestured to the celery and peanut butter concoction.

Terry shook his head, “Let’s raincheck dinner tonight, ok?” 

“Oh, ok. You got a gig tonight?” 

“No, I’m just going out. Need some solo time,” Terry replied.

“When do you think you’ll be home?” Howard asked.

“Why?” Terry asked, staring daggers at his friend.

“Just wonderin’, ya know, I might leave a sock on the front door if you know what I mean.” He crunched into a celery stalk, peanut butter getting stuck in his mustache.

Terry stood up suddenly and spit out, “Ah, fuck. Don’t choke on a raisin, Howard. That would be a shame.” He rushed out of the room up to his childhood bedroom and laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling covered in plastic stars. A soft knock came to his door and he heard his mom’s withered voice. 

“Come in, Mom,” he replied to her. She rolled in slowly, a soft smile on her face. “Hey,” he said softly.

She rolled up next to his twin-sized bed and placed her wrinkled hand on his. “I’m glad you’re happy, Mom. If that’s with Howard, I’ll learn to deal.” She placed the brass picture frame she was holding into Terry’s hands and pointed to it. It was a photo of him and his mom when he was around twelve. She had taken him to see Penn & Teller in the city. She pointed again to the photo and then to her heart.

“I love you, too, Mom,” Terry replied quietly, wrapping her in a hug. “Hey, I asked Maggie about dinner tonight, but she’s busy, so we’ll have to try another night, ok?” His mom nodded and gave him a cheeky smile before rolling back out of his room. He laid back on his bed and looked at the ancient alarm clock on the bedside table. Nearly 4:00. He had time to take a quick nap before getting ready for the night. He wanted to shower and reapply his makeup so it stayed fresh during karaoke.

At the neighboring Victorian home, Maggie was in her makeshift bedroom, getting ready for the evening. She glanced up at the clock. 6:15. She couldn’t quite calm her pulse as she pulled the white silk gloves up her arms. She decided to call her roommate turned best friend, Ruby, to try to settle her nerves. The line rang twice before she picked up.

“Hey, Mags, how’s it going?” Her familiar voice instantly put Maggie at ease.

“Good, how are you?” She replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Fine… you good? Is Chaplin ok? You sound weird,” Ruby pressed.

“Oh, yeah, Chaplin’s fine,” she said too quickly. “Hey, can you check my nightstand and see if I left my good perfume there?” 

Maggie heard the rustling sound of Ruby walking to her apartment bedroom. 

“Yeah, it’s here,” Ruby replied. “Wait-”

“No, Ruby,” Maggie chided.

“Why do you want your sexy perfume? Did you meet someone?!” Ruby squealed on the other line.

“Um, not exactly,” Maggie replied, not able to keep the smile from reaching her voice.

“Tell me, tell me!” Her friend begged.

“Okay, remember when you and I got drunk off that cheap champagne last year and sat on the kitchen floor spilling our guts?” Maggie asked.

“A cornerstone of our friendship. How could I forget?” Ruby asked with a laugh. “I was so sick the next morning.”

“Remember me telling you-” Maggie started before Ruby stopped her short.

“TERRY! Oh my God, it’s Terry isn’t it?! ‘The one that got away’, as you put it,” Ruby shouted through the phone.

“It’s Terry,” Maggie confirmed.

“How did this happen?” Ruby prodded.

“He’s home visiting his mom. I didn’t even know if she still lived there, but yeah, she does. So, anyway, he helped me move a box today, and then I made us drinks, and long story short we’re going to a bar tonight,” Maggie admitted, the excitement rising back in her chest at the thought.

“Get it, Margaret!” Ruby exclaimed. “You HAVE to call me tomorrow and tell me how it goes.”

“You know I will,” Maggie replied, “Love you, Rube. And don’t call me Margaret.”

“Love you too, byeee!” Ruby ended the call, and Maggie laid her phone down on the vanity top. 

Terry finished the last perfect swipe of his left eyebrow and looked intently into the mirror. He had to admit, he was looking forward to his evening with Maggie, but he still had so many questions for her about why they drifted apart. Sure, they were kids, but he found it hard to set aside years of her basically pretending that she didn’t know him, and then there was the night before she left for college. Peer pressure is a hell of a drug, and he knew he didn’t fit in with her crowd back then, but they were adults now. Maybe she’d had a change of heart. He was determined to find out more tonight. Straightening his bow tie, he headed to go pick her up.

Maggie tried sitting on the couch, but she couldn’t relax, so she just started pacing around the first level of the house. She caught a glimpse of herself in the foyer mirror and checked her teeth for lipstick. All clear. As she looked down at her watch, noting the time, 6:59pm, the doorbell rang. She didn’t want to seem too eager so she just stood there like a frozen Sim for 10 seconds before answering the door.

Terry felt his breath catch in his chest at the sight of Maggie’s costume. He swallowed, doing his best to keep his eyes somewhere respectful - anywhere but on her upper thighs encased in black fishnets.

“Ta-da! I’m Zatanna!” She said cheerily, waving her hand from her tophat to her leather boots.

The sides of Terry’s lips turned up in recognition and he snapped his fingers, “Ah, that’s it. Zatanna. I get why you said we’d match now. Very clever. You look great. You ready?” He pointed over his shoulder. “My mom’s letting me borrow her car.”

Maggie saw the 90’s Buick complete with wood paneling idling in the street. “My chariot awaits,” she giggled.

The drive to Birdie’s Lounge was short, and they were able to find a parking spot quickly. Maggie pulled her jacket closer to her body, warding off the slight chill in the early October air. Terry opened the door to the bar for her, and she walked in, enjoying the warmer atmosphere. 

“I’ll get us drinks if you want to find a booth,” he said, gesturing to the wall of dark wooden nooks complete with dark red velvet cushions. 

“Sure, um, I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Maggie replied, and started making her way to the nook closest to the karaoke stage. She’d never been in here before, and wondered if Terry had. After high school, she left for college in Boston, and hadn’t been back since. 

Terry walked back to their booth, two old-fashioneds in hand. Maggie noticed the veins in his hands for the first time and wondered if they’d always looked like that, and if so, how she’d ignored them before. Watching him set her drink down made her neck flush.

“Thank you,” she said, taking a sip. 

The bartender walked over with a small bowl of cherries and placed them on the table.

“Thanks,” Terry smiled at him.

“Ooh, I love cherries,” Maggie exclaimed, picking one up by the stem. Terry’s eyes widened slightly as she put the cherry in her mouth and bit it off the stem. He shifted slightly in his seat and cleared his throat.

“It should fill up here soon,” he gestured to the half-empty karaoke lounge.

“Have you been here before?” Maggie inquired, popping one more cherry into her mouth. Terry noticed how it was nearly the same shade as her lipstick.

“Um, yeah, a few times with Howard. We did karaoke once, and I actually had fun with it.”

“You could always sing,” Maggie replied, smiling at him. “Do you have a go-to song?” 

“Nah, I just pick whatever feels right at the moment,” he says. “Do you know what you’re going to sing?” 

Maggie scoffed, “I’m not going to sing anything! I’m here for moral support and the costume contest.” 

“Oooh, that’s where you’re wrong, Maggie Jean,” he said, lightly chuckling, “I already signed you up at the bar.” He shrugged sarcastically. “No take-backs, darlin’, sorry.”

“You middle-named me, you punk!” she huffed out. 

“I know you can sing. I’ve heard you sing before. You have a nice voice,” Terry replied, trying to cushion the surprise.

Maggie smiled at him devilishly, “Okay, Terry, you want me to sing? I’ll sing. Just remember that you asked for it.” 

They had another round of drinks to build up their liquid courage. Terry was right, the lounge was almost completely full. 

“Maggie, can I ask you something?” Terry traced a finger through the sweat dripping down his glass.

“Yes,” she muttered, noticing his serious gaze.

“Why-” His question was cut off by feedback from the microphone.

One of the bar staff spoke to the room, “Okay, folks, we’re going to get started with karaoke! There is a list in the corner of the screen here of who is on deck, so be ready and have fun! Looks like our first up is Gene W. Also, if you’re participating in the costume contest, go see Sam at the bar for a ticket.”

Terry pulled two tickets from what looked like thin air, “Already done.”

“Like a true magician,” Maggie replied, impressed.

The first singer stepped onstage, and the familiar tune of Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen began to play. Maggie looked at Terry, realizing that is exactly how she would describe his current gaze as she put another cherry between her lips. “Do you want one?” She asked, offering the tiny fruit to him. 

“Sure,” he replied, reaching up to grab it from her, but her arm moved past his to his mouth. “Open,” she said in a sultry tone. He obeyed and let her put the cherry between his teeth, her thumb brushing his bottom lip.

“So, you were going to ask me something?” Maggie pressed, putting her arms on the tabletop, safely away from Terry’s mouth.

Terry chewed the cherry thoughtfully, considering whether or not now was a good time to breach the topic of the past after all. They were clearly having fun and flirting a bit, and he didn’t want to harsh their buzz. He made up a new question on the fly, “Oh, I just wanted to know why you decided to steal my lipstick shade. It’s my signature.” Terry gestured to his painted lips and laughed.

“MAC D for Danger?!” Maggie exclaimed. “I’m so sorry, Terry. How could I?!” She pretended to feel awful.

“Oh, it’s not the same anyway,” he replied, shrugging it off. “I think mine is called Sin.”

“Oh, hey, I actually have that one,” Maggie giggled. “It probably looks similar to this shade on me because your lips are pinker than mine.” 

Terry looked down and smiled secretly, wondering how many times she’s looked at his lips to memorize the color.

Maggie started cheering for the singer onstage that just finished Hungry Eyes before looking at the on-deck list. Her eyes widened. “Terry, after this next singer it’s me. Not only did you sign me up, but you’re making me go first. You little shit!” 

“Ladies first,” he chuckled, finishing the rest of his drink.

“Ever the gentleman,” Maggied rolled her eyes playfully. “Well, if I’m almost up, I need a shot. You want one? I think I’m getting tequila.”

Terry leaned back into the booth and stretched his arms out to the sides, “Yes, but-”

“No lime, I got you,” Maggie winked at him and hurried off to the bar to order their shots.

While Maggie was waiting at the bar, Terry checked his phone and noticed a text from Howard.

[Sorry about the sock joke earlier. Have a good night man.]

He shook his head, blowing out a long breath. When he looked up from his phone, a clearly inebriated man sat across from him dressed in a Captain America costume. Terry could smell the beer on his breath from across the table.

“Hey, bro, is the magician chick your girl?” Captain America gestured to where Maggie was leaning over the bar, talking to the bartender. Terry contemplated telling him the truth, and saying no, that she wasn’t more than a friend, but the way this frat douche was looking at her made Terry’s jaw clench and his hands ball into fists.

Terry started, “Um-”

“Um means no, dude,” the drunken male replied lazily with a chuckle.

Terry snapped internally, “Get out of our booth. Don’t look at her. She is mine, has been for years. Now go.” 

“Woah, bro, alright. She’s hot. You’re lucky. I’ll let you two be,” Captain America removed himself sloppily from the booth and headed back over to his friends. Terry glared daggers at him until he was fully seated and stopped staring at Maggie across the way. She was making her way back to him with two tiny shot glasses of clear liquid, one without lime. She set that one in front of Terry, and the other on her side.

“Cheers?” She said, picking up her glass and knocking it against his. They both downed the burning liquid, her sucking on the lime after. “Ooh, tequila makes me warm.” She wriggled her body animatedly, and Terry laughed.

“You should have some water after you sing,” Terry suggested. “I don’t want you to feel sick in the morning.” 

“Are you going to come take care of me if I’m hungover?” Maggie asked, sliding her shot glass to the edge of the table. Terry copied her, lining up their empty glasses.

“I’m trying to make sure you don’t have a hangover, smartass. Also, I think you should head backstage to get ready. You’re up,” Terry pointed to the on-deck board, where Maggie saw her name flashing. She stood up from the booth quickly, “Oh, I’m starting to feel it.”

“Be careful in those heels, Mags,” Terry said, putting his hands on her waist to steady her. “You sure you’re good?” She put her hands over his.

“I like your hands,” she said breathily, staring down at where he held her. “I’m gonna go sing for you now.” She sauntered off toward the stage, leaving Terry staring down at his own hands, feeling the goosebumps where she’d touched him. The last karaoker walked off stage, and Terry saw Maggie peek through the curtain. The bar staff announced, “Next up, Maggie!”

Maggie emerged from the curtains, and cradled the microphone stand between her hands. A simple drum beat that Terry didn’t recognize started through the speakers, and Maggie began to sing, “Drowning in the Blue Nile, he sent me ‘Downtown Lights’…” Her voice sounded so breathy, and more mature that Terry remembered from the last time he’d heard her sing. It was… sexy, quite frankly. Maggie moved her hips with the beat of the music and continued singing. He wished he knew the song, but couldn’t place it. Maggie was looking around the crowd while she sang, and Captain America’s table seemed extra into her performance. Terry huffed out a breath and trained his focus back to Maggie as she looked right at him and sang, “What if he’s written mine on my upper thigh only in my mind?” She grazed her upper thigh as she sang the lyrics, and Terry felt his legs heat up.

Maggie continued with the Taylor Swift song, swaying with the music, looking around at the rapt audience, and occasionally making eyes at Terry when she wanted him to feel a particular lyric. Sure, she was tipsy, but she picked this song for a reason. Sometimes music can say the hard stuff for you. She closed her eyes as she sang, “These fatal fantasies, giving way to labored breath,” before opening them and gazing at Terry again, “Taking all of me, we’ve already done it in my head.” 

Terry adjusted his sitting position at the last lyric, one eyebrow raised in shock. She did say she was going to sing for him, he remembered. His heart rate was slowly increasing with each lyric and sway of Maggie’s hips, fishnets coating her perfect thighs. He wanted to tear into them. As he was fantasizing about that, the music came to an end, and Maggie took a bow before exiting the stage. Captain America and all his friends were cheering and whistling after her.

Maggie came around the corner of the booth and took a seat across from Terry, “I told you… You asked for it.” 

“That was, uh, that was…” Terry tried to find the right words.

“It’s your turn, T,” she said, putting him out of his misery. She knew she’d had an effect on him.

Terry got up and started toward the stage. Confused about what to sing, he ran his hands through his hair, trying to think. If she wanted to play games, he could play them right back. He told the bar staff what he wanted and thankfully they had it. “Okay, everyone, here’s Terry!” 

The announcer walked off the stage, and the music began. Maggie could tell Terry was nervous, which surprised her because he performed for people for a living. She tried to catch his eye in an attempt to calm his nerves, but he wouldn’t look at her. He began to sing, “Do you think I care about your new job and your new hair? Do you think I cry ‘bout your new friends and your new guy? Well I do.” The music picked up with some guitar. Maggie swallowed, relishing the sound of gravel in his voice. He sounded older and sexier than she remembered. Everything about him was like a fine wine. As he kept singing, she could hear something in his voice that sounded like pain, and listened more closely to the lyrics, “Wait, in line, ‘cause you’re not alone, no, you’re mine. I bet you never take your time, all you do is scratch and bite. Was I just a waste of time?” The last lyric hit her right in the chest. This was to her. He was singing to her. He was pouring his heart out to her. She felt a small wave of nausea at the fact that he ever thought that she thought he was a waste of her time.

Terry takes a small bow and exits the stage, heading back to the booth.

“Terry, can we go somewhere and talk?” Maggie asked softly as he sat back down. She could feel tears starting to well in her eyes.

“Sure,” he replied. “Let’s go.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Click here for Part 3.

Maggie’s song:

Terry’s song:

[jawbonejoe]

2024 Reading Round Up

A lot of good books this year! Technically broke my record from last year because I read a pulp not listed, an NA book not listed and it should be noted I read the first half of Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude and then had to pause it. So technically 22.5 altogether for the year.

Stand outs of the year are in bold.

The Haunting of Alma Feilding by Kate Summerscale. A very interesting dive into the case of a purported medium. While Summerscale comes off as too credulous at times the conclusion of the piece dispels that tone and the research into the human drama of this ‘haunting’ is a terrific read.

The Prince by Niccolò Machiavelli, translated by Harvey C. Mansfield. A classic and a standard. This was my first read through and while it was interesting I came away knowing I hadn’t been able to digest it as I had not discussed it with fellow readers. The supplementary letters from Machiavelli gave a dimension to him that was very touching.

A Coney Island of the Mind by Lawrence Ferlinghetti. I can’t speak to all of my influences’ influences but as a Tom Waits lover I figured I’d give Ferlinghetti a try. He was alright. I don’t read a lot of poetry so it was a case of sitting there going ‘is this good or bad? Am I stupid or is he?’

First, Become Ashes by K M Szpara. A sexy romp by a local Bmore writer. Reading the voice of another queer writer was interesting, especially since this book makes it clear we have a few of the same cultural reference points.

The Black Count by Tom Reiss. A biography of the half-Haitian Revolutionary French General Alex Dumas, father of novelist Alexandre Dumas and widely believed to be the real life template for his son’s character The Count of Monte Cristo. While not a lot of the man’s personality comes through the page (due in part to a lack of access to his letters and other first person accounts) this book splendidly constructs the world Dumas grew up in, the revolutionary nation he served, and the caprice of one Napoleon Bonaparte whose disdain and poor leadership ultimately sent General Dumas into a fatal decline. Highly recommend this for history buffs who want to learn more about race in the 1700’s!

Guards! Guards! by Terry Pratchett. First and only Pratchett I’ve read! Very fun and buoyant, I would recommend this as a starting point for anyone who wants to get into Uncle Terry’s work.

1491 by Charles C. Mann. Indisputably my pick for Nonfiction of the Year. A digest of thousands of years of history in the Western Hemisphere, detailing what we’ve learned about live in the Americas pre-Columbus. The book endeavors to center the pre-Columbian ages but also gives a number of illuminating accounts about post-Columbian life in the Western Hemisphere. Absolutely incredible. If you care at all about history this is a must read, it will challenge or altogether evaporate the misinformation still taught about Native American history and it tells a powerful story of how fragile the lives of whole empires can be.

Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller. And disputably the Fiction of the Year! I had heard about this book and delayed in reading it until I cracked it on vacation. As of the first sentence I was locked in. This book MAKES you read it. Its rapid pace, lyrical prose and the deep respect and love for the ancient epics make it an incredible read. Is this Trojan War fanfic? Yes. Is it its own masterwork? Absolutely. It tells the story of Achilles from the perspective of Patroclus, the human who loves him. The parts of Troy that are updated for the modern audience all serve to breathe new life into the ancient story. Highly, highly recommend!

Jesus and John Wayne: How White Evangelicals Corrupted a Faith and Fractured a Nation, by Kristen Kobes Du Mez. A tough read. Some months after reading someone mentioned ‘oh, this must’ve been someone’s dissertation.’ which I’m inclined to agree with here. This book asks ‘how did 80% of white evangelicals end up voting for Trump in 2016?’ and details how shifting social tides spurred evangelicals further and further right. It answers this question by detailing the theological and cultural waters of the evangelical space from the 1920’s to 2016, including such troubling things as the evangelical and Catholic push against women’s lib, the privatizing of schools to avoid federal desegregation and the hollowing out of the Southern Baptist Church to make it a biblical literalist arm of the larger American Protestant and evangelical movement. The author focuses on the theological disrespect of women more than anything, a drum that should beat but undercuts similar hatred based on race as well. If you want to be that picture of Rust Cohle smoking a cigarette read this book.

Tell the Wolves I’m Home, by Carol Rifka Brunt. A novel about a girl coming of age in the 80’s whose uncle dies of AIDS. She struggles with the grief and love she feels for him and his boyfriend, who is estranged from their family but becomes a ballast for her and her sister as they grieve. If I’d read this book as a young sprog I know it would’ve reshaped my brain.

The Art Thief, by Mark Finkel. The true story of a couple who stole BILLIONS in paintings, statuary, weaponry and other art objects from the 90’s to the 10’s. And I know what you’re thinking ‘oh, but Helen you love thieves!’ I do but the damage and destruction caused and the loss of cultural icons that came from these crimes is truly unconscionable. Very fun read that’ll make you want to steal reproducible objects even more.

When Darkness Loves Us, by Elizabeth Engstrom. WOOO BOY. A TERRIFYING short story that will sit with you ever after. The companion story in this collection is always wonderful but the horror and blackness of When Darkness is the stand out of the two.

The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde. Somehow I’d gotten this far as a turn of the century fag without reading Wilde. No longer! A great read, very enriching and while Wilde’s voice is a little pithy for my tastes (Pratchett too) it is undeniably a terrific story. Looking forward to reading the original magazine edition, recommended to me as a closer version of what Wilde always intended the story to be.

Vision of Heaven and Hell Before Dante, by Eileen Gardiner. Research for my DnD game set in Hell. I’ve yet to read the Inferno but this was a great way to get a sense of how the early modern period viewed Hell and its various explorers.

‘Salem’s Lot by Stephen King. Very fun romp, the only King I’ve read but I thoroughly enjoyed it. The schmoe parts of him are clearly heard in his writing but in no way detract from the book. That post about him looking like a cartoon rat seem very true after reading this book, not in a bad way.

Cursed Bread by Sophie Mackintosh. Interesting read I picked up, telling a fictitious version of the real life mass ergot poisoning in the French town of Pont-Saint-Esprit. A baker’s wife struggles with her sexless marriage and her attraction to a socialite couple who move into town just before the town descends into madness. Interesting, glad I read it, still not sure quite what I think of it.

Benjamin ‘Bugsy’ Siegel: The Gangster, The Flamingo and The Making of Modern Las Vegas by Larry Gragg. A somehow spellbindingly boring biography of this famously flash mobster. Also read for research and while I did learn a bit this book is now mostly a bibliography I use to find more interesting books about the same people.

How to Change Your Mind by Michael Polland. A close close close! runner up for Best Nonfiction. This book investigates the science of psychedelic medicine, starting with LSD’s original distillation in the 30’s up to new psychedelic therapy in the 10’s. A wonderful book, highly interesting, personal and full of enlightening information. Highly recommend!

The Annotated Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler with editing and annotations by Owen Hill, Pamela Jackson and Anthony Dean Rizzuto. The return of the old favorite. I just love Chandler and the BS, y’all know this. Recommend this for second time readers and those who want to know more about the context of LA in the 30s and Chandler and his influences. For first time readers I still recommend just grabbing a regular paperback and letting the story read itself to you.

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒏

🍓the strawberry shack masterlist🍓

summary - terry is frustrated, having to deal with the news of his friend and mother, he decides to go to his favourite place.

warning - smut, gloryhole, swearing.

18+ only please, the gif and headers I use aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

Terry was depressed and pissed. He couldn’t believe what he had come home to, couldn’t believe his friend was fucking his mother, having to hear it whilst trying to sleep wasn’t something he really wanted to hear either. But it just added to the fire building inside him, and he had to get out of there before he snapped and did something he would regret. Terry walked inside a well-known building, too busy with his thoughts to admire the pretty sign. 

He storms in, placing cash on the front desk before he walks down the hall and into the room he’s looking for. Walking past many of the bare women and toward you, his favourite woman. He licks his lips as he stalks closer, softly touching your thighs and pressing his clothed bulge against your bare cunt. “I ain’t going soft today, sugar. So, I hope you're prepared.” You hum in response, feeling your walls slicken at the sound of him unzipping his pants and pulling out his long, thick member. Terry grips his throbbing base in his hands, rubbing his leaking tip through your folds before he slowly begins to push through your tight walls. His head falls back, eyes closing as a grunt falls from his lips. “Always so tight for me, sugar.” He buries himself deep inside you, relishing in the feel of your walls pulsating around him for a second before he slowly pulls back, only to slam harder into you. 

Your hands curl into the bed you are lying on, clinging hard as Terry slams into you. Soft whines and moans fall from your lips as he continues to pound into you. Fucking out his frustrations, his pace picks up, large hands gripping your thighs and pulling you closer. Terry stares down where the two of you connect, groaning as he watches his cock stretch your tight cunt, your white cream around his base every time he pulls out. “Feel so good, sugar. Doing so good for me!” He growls, gripping your hips as he slams deeper into you. He brings his hand down and locates your swollen clit, rubbing it. Your walls tighten, squeezing around him as he brings you pleasure. 

He lifts your hips slightly, allowing him to pound deeper into you, fucking into your sweet spot. He bites his lip, burying himself deep inside you as he feels your orgasm rip through you, causing his cock to twitch wildly as ropes of cum shoot out of him. “Fuck…” He stays inside you momentarily, catching his breath before slowly pulling out and tucking himself back into his pants. “Thanks, sugar.” Terry gives you a soft pinch before he leaves. 

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[navybrat817]

Oh, we know he can fuck. 😏

"Are you fucking my mom?" "A little close to the head, buddy. Am I fucking your mom? Terry-" "Are you fucking kidding me?" "Don't do this. She's a lovely woman."

[sunday-bug]

Hi, I love how you write for Terry! Could you write something for him? Anything goes! I like surprises :)

Of course! Terry is my fave!!! Written from Terry’s POV 🪡📍🧵

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

I waltz into the fabric store, sketches in hand. The owner, Betty, always helps me pick the right fabric and materials to make my vision come alive. I head to the silk and satin sections, searching for my signature black, however this time I want to add a dark purple fabric on the inside for a pop. I pick out a few different bolts before walking to the back counter to have Betty help me narrow things down and cut the fabric.

I walk up, but she isn’t back here. I wait a few moments before ringing the service bell. A pretty young woman walks out of the back room, tape measure laced around her neck and a pincushion secured to her wrist. Her hair is a bit frazzled, and she pushes it out of her face with her hand. “Sorry, sorry! I’m coming! I’m in a personal fight with a denim-,” the woman looks up at me and stops, “Hi.”

“Hi,” I chuckle quietly. She’s quite pretty. “I just-uh…” I hold up the bolts of fabric.

Her bright eyes flit from mine to the fabric then back to mine, “Right! Sorry!” She grabs the first bolt of black satin and starts to unroll it, “What dimensions do you need?”

“Uh, actually… is Betty here?” I ask, smiling at the woman’s quirkiness.

“No. She’s recovering from knee surgery. I’m her granddaughter. I’m helping her with the shop for the next few weeks, but I promise I know what I’m doing. I-I make clothes…” She looks at me again, assessing my face thoroughly.

I clear my throat, feeling my cheeks heat a bit at her blatant staring.

She smiles knowingly as I clear my throat, “Are you Terry?”

“Yeah, how did you-,”

She cuts me off, “Grandma Betty’s told me about you. The magician, right?”

“Yeah,” I answer bashfully. “That’s me.”

She introduces herself before saying, “You’re different than I pictured.”

“Different? Like weird?” I ask, feeling anxious.

“No, different like… handsome,” she says as she looks down. “Grandma Betty always calls me after you come in and talks you up. Says how kind you are, how you value her professional opinion, but she never mentioned… ya know,” she uses her pointer finger to wave it in a circle at my face.

“Oh, um, thank you. You’re… really pretty too. I-I didn’t know Betty had a granddaughter.”

“In the flesh,” she says as she waves to herself up and down. “You have sketches, right? Grandma B said you always bring these amazing drawings of what you want to make.”

I pat my pocket, pulling out the sketches, “Yeah, here.” I pass them to her and our fingers brush, sending a shiver up my arm.

She looks them over, eyes widening, “These are amazing. The purple? That’s going to look rad.” She pulls a pencil from behind her ear and starts sketching on a pad on the table, recreating my drawing with ease, adding a few new details.

“What do you think of this?” She pushes it towards me.

“This is funky,” I admit, picking up the sketch. “Can you do this? I mean, I can’t sew those details, just a basic cape.”

“Of course I can,” she says. “Why don’t I give you my card and I’ll get to work on it later today? It won’t take me long.”

“Wow, really? What are your prices?”

She looks up at me and smiles, “No charge. Why don’t you take me out tonight instead?”

I swallow and grin, “I think that’s a pretty sweet deal for me.”

She giggles and leans over the counter, looking at me, “It looks like Grandma Betty was holding out on me.”

I blush again and feel my stomach flutter. She was gorgeous, wanted to make me a cape, and go out with me tonight? “Yeah, she sure was.”

THE END

Request all the Terry, I would die for him 🥹

[sunday-bug]

Terry the Terrific - The Magic of Yearning

Part 1

DISCLAIMER: I haven't written in 2 years, but this is SO FUN! This is just the beginning. Stay tuned if you like pining, yearning, smut (that lipstick HAS to go somewhere), etc. Also, I named the FMC because it's how I prefer to write fanfics, but I don't mention her appearance much. Self-insert as you wish, lovelies.

Terry stormed out the front door of his mom’s Victorian home, black cape billowing in the breeze behind him. He rushed to the curb and sat down, trying to calm his breathing. His childhood best friend, Howard, was sleeping with his mom. Not just sleeping, but doing freaky shit. Normally he wasn’t one to kink-shame, but it was his mom, for Christ’s sake. No one wants to picture their mom with a ball gag in her mouth. A few teardrops ran down Terry’s face, his frustration manifesting physically. He gently wiped at his cheeks, careful not to smudge his makeup. A screen door slammed nearby, and the sounds of leaves crunched underfoot. In his peripheral vision, he saw a pair of red ballet flats walking to the mailbox next door.

“Terry?” he heard a soft-spoken voice ask. He looked up at the owner of the red ballet flats, taking a few seconds to recognize her face.

“Maggie? Hi,” he smiled bashfully, hoping she couldn’t tell that he’d been crying.

“Yeah, hey. Everything ok?” She asked, collecting the mail from the mailbox.

“Oh, uh, yeah…” he shrugged his shoulders, and stood up from the curb, “What are you doing home?”

“My folks went to check out a retirement cult in Florida, so I’m house sitting and cleaning for the season while they’re gone,” she responded. “I actually didn’t know if your mom still lived here or not,” she said, pointing to his mom’s place. “I haven’t been back in years. I was waiting to get a glimpse of who walked out, but you sitting here kinda answered that question.”

“Yeah, she’s still here,” Terry replied. 

“Well, tell her I say hello. I don’t know if she’ll remember me,” Maggie said.

“Oh, she’ll remember,” he said, eyes raking over her face. 

Maggie smiled, examining Terry’s face. He looked older, more mature. The years that had passed showed up in flashes across his face: a few crow’s feet here, a couple forehead wrinkles there. He’d gotten better at his makeup, especially his eyebrows. She cleared her throat before taking a step back toward her parent’s house, “I should head back inside. I’m working through some of their clutter and don’t want to break my momentum.” 

“Ah, sure,” he said, gesturing back to his mom’s house. “I should head back in, too.”

They both started walking up the paths to their respective childhood homes. As Maggie’s hand wrapped around the doorknob, she stopped, and looked over at the neighboring porch. Terry’s eyes met hers, and she felt her chest jilt. She rushed inside and shut the door quickly behind her, resting her body on the heavy oak frame and sighing. She heard a tinkling noise approaching her, the bell from her cat’s collar the culprit. “Hey, Chaplin, c’mere, boy,” she said, scooping him up into her arms. She carried him to the well-worn couch and plopped down, turning on the TV. She needed to distract herself. The Prestige was playing on cable. She groaned audibly. She turned the channel. The Rocky Horror Picture Show was playing on this one. Dr. Frank-n-Furter was gyrating in his fishnets. Maggie watched intently, analyzing Tim Curry’s makeup. Dr. Frank-n-Furter was one of her first crushes as a child, a fact she has never shared with anyone. Standing up and swaying around the coffee table, Chaplin still in her arms, she started singing along with the movie, “I see you shiver with antici-”

Before she could get the last line out, the doorbell rang, startling her. Chaplin leapt out of her arms and headed for the door. She quickly turned down the volume on the TV and made for the door as well, picking up Chaplin so he didn’t try to escape. She opened the door to find Terry again.

“Hello again,” she said, opening the screen door to him.

“Long time no see,” he replied with a slight smile. “I told my mom you’re back, and she wanted me to ask you to have dinner with us tonight if you don’t have plans. You know Leslie,” he said sheepishly. 

Chaplin meowed and batted playfully at Terry. “Hello,” he said, reaching to pat his head. “What’s his name?” 

Maggie swallowed subtly, “Chaplin.” 

Terry smiled again, “So? Dinner?”

“Yes. Dinner. Leslie, your mom. Um… I just have a bit of work I have to do, and then I think I can make it over.” 

“Housework or work-work?” Terry asked.

Maggie chuckled, “Both, I guess. There’s a guest room I’m nearly done cleaning, but I also have some work-work that I need to finish up. There’s this heavy wooden chest in the guest room I’m in a personal fight with.”

“Want me to take a look?” Terry offered.

“Oh, um, sure,” Maggie replied, “but fair warning: it’s a bit of a mess in here. My parents have accumulated a lot of junk over the years.” She moved to the side to let him walk in. 

Terry glanced around, taking in the space he somewhat remembered as a child. They weren’t best friends, but he and Maggie spent some time together in middle school and early junior high. They were both only children that were into magic tricks and other slightly nerdy hobbies, so they gravitated toward each other like geeky little prepubescent magnets. He spied the muted TV playing Rocky Horror in the living room and smiled to himself. She’s still a weirdo.

“It’s just this way,” she said, traipsing up the old wooden staircase, much like the one in his mom’s house. Family photos lined the walls, starting with baby Maggie at the foot of the stairs. Terry watched her grow up as they ascended to the second floor. The last photo was one of Maggie in a cap and gown, presumably from a college graduation. Terry and Maggie lost touch after junior high, so he filled in the blanks with the photos. 

“Did you study theater like you wanted to when we were kids?” Terry asked, pointing to the graduation photo.

Maggie made a retching noise, “No, I wish. My folks convinced me to go for something more practical, so I got a business degree. Now I work a soul-sucking data analysis job, but I still do improv on the weekends and volunteer at the children’s theater when I can.” 

“You were great at theater,” Terry said, reminiscing on productions long past. 

Maggie walked toward the room on the left, “So, you are obviously doing the magician thing.” She waved a hand at Terry’s painted face. “How’s that going?” 

He shrugged, “Although I love it, it doesn’t pay the bills, so I do freelance work as well. Writing, mostly,” he waved the chit chat away with a hand, “Anyway, where’s this ominous wooden chest?”

Maggie hurried over to the closet, and pointed to the floor, “He’s a thick boy.”

Terry walked over, and picked up the chest with ease, hefting it onto the spare bed. 

“Well, okay… thanks,” Maggie said, slightly exasperated that he made it look so easy.

“What’s in there? Rocks?” Terry asked, pretending to wipe sweat from his painted brow.

“I’m not sure,” Maggie mused. “Let’s find out.” She popped open the trunk more easily than she expected to. “Oh, it looks like more photos of me when I was little. My mom loves taking pictures. She rifled through a handful before gasping.

“TERRY! Oh, my goodness, look how little we were!” She flipped a photo toward Terry, and he saw their 9 year-old faces staring back at him. Maggie is missing two front teeth, and he has a slight tan from spending too much time outside in the sun. Their arms are around each other, and they are both wearing cheap, black polyester magician’s capes and holding wands. Terry is tipping a black tophat toward the camera.

“That was our first day of magic camp. Do you remember?” He asked, looking up at Maggie.

“Of course I do,” she replied. “How could I forget magic camp? I kissed you behind the stage curtain on the last day.” She kept his gaze, and let out a lilting giggle. “The other boys made fun of you because you couldn’t stop blushing when we walked back to our group.” 

Terry ran his hands through his hair nervously, “I was nine… and you were pretty,” he cleared his throat, “ARE pretty.”

Maggie smiled, “Well, thank you. You’re still quite dashing yourself. And you’ve gotten way better at drawing on your eyebrows.” She chuckled.

He raised said eyebrows and let out a laugh. “Lots of YouTube tutorials,” he admitted. 

“So, what time is dinner?” Maggie asked.

“Mom and Howard usually eat around 6:30, so I guess then,” he said with disdain.

“Howard? Like Howie, Howard?” Maggie questioned, one eyebrow raised curiously.

“It’s a long, horrifying story,” Terry said, a small shiver running down his spine.

“Well, it’s only-”, Maggie looked down at her vintage Mickey Mouse watch, “3:00, so I think you have time to tell me.” 

“Oh, uh, I thought you had work to do?” He asked.

Maggie shrugged, “Yeah, but it can wait. Terry the Terrific is here, and I heard he charges by the hour, so I want to get my money’s worth.” She beamed at him, lightly punching his arm.

“You make me sound like a stripper,” he replied, his forehead wrinkling ever so slightly.

Maggie laughed, and linked her arm through his, dragging him back down the stairs. 

“You want a drink, Terry?” Maggie asked, heading toward the kitchen.

“Yes, that would be great, actually,” he admitted, pulling a chair out and taking a seat at the small eat-in dining table. "It's been a weird couple of days. Whatever you’re having is fine.”

Maggie grabbed the gin from the cabinet above the refrigerator, along with a bottle of tonic water. “I’m outta limes, hope you don’t mind.”

“Not a lime guy anyway,” Terry replied.

Maggie finished up making their drinks and sat at the chair opposite Terry. “So, what’s this horrific story you have to tell me?”

Terry wrapped his fingers around his drink and downed it in one go, “Howard is fucking my mom.”

Maggie choked on the sip she had just taken, “Oh fuck, I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.”

“Yep, there’s even BDSM shit in ‘their’ bedroom. I was processing that information earlier on the curb. My best friend has carnal knowledge of my mother. I mean, I heard them through the wall the other night,” Terry shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, messing up the product a bit.

“I think you need another,” Maggie said, gesturing to his empty glass.

“Sure, thanks,” he replied.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep a straight face at dinner later,” Maggie said over her shoulder, stirring his drink. “I’ll do my best for you though.”

“Thanks,” Terry replied, grabbing the drink from her. Their fingers brushed, and he felt goosebumps go up his arm. 

Suddenly, a cell phone started ringing in the living room. Maggie jumped up, “Oh, I’m sorry. That’s probably my parents. They check in once a day to see how it’s going. I’ll be right back.”

Terry nodded and sipped his drink, staring at the chipped Formica tabletop. He could hear Maggie in the other room talking about humidity and dolphins. He glanced at the refrigerator, and spotted several more pictures of her stuck to the surface with homemade magnets. One from junior high with her girl friends, one with her parents on a trip to Virginia Beach, and one of her in her cheerleading uniform from high school. Terry stopped short at that last picture and his chest sank. How did they go from being little magical weirdos together to completely drifting apart as the years went on? He wondered this more than he cared to admit. There was just something so enigmatic about her. She was hard to forget. Terry took the photo off of the refrigerator and examined it more closely. 

“Sorry about that! They went on a dolphin cruise today! Oh-” Maggie stopped short, seeing the picture in Terry’s hand. “Jeez, I can’t believe I tried out for cheerleading. If I could have high school to do over again, I’d do so many things differently! I definitely wouldn’t have been a cheerleader, or taken P.E. first period, or, uh, cut my bangs myself sophomore year! Would you change anything if you could go back?” 

Maybe it was the slight buzz from the drinks or the courage that comes with age, but Terry looked right at her and said, “I would have asked you out.”

Without skipping a beat, Maggie’s eyes widened slightly and she replied, “I would have said yes.”

“Liar. Maggie, we lived on two different planets in high school.”

“I’m not lying, Terry,” she replied. “I’ll prove it to you. Skip dinner tonight. I’ll make it up to Leslie another night.”

“Prove what to me?” Terry asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

“That I would have said yes to you back then," she swallows, "that I’d say yes to you now,” she said the last part quietly, eyes shifting to Terry’s to gauge his response. 

Terry felt his breath quicken, but maintained his composure. “Do you want to go out with me tonight, Maggie?”

“Yes, Terry, I’d love to,” she answered with a shy smile.

“Well, you know how I love costumes. There’s a costume karaoke thing at Birdie’s tonight. Is that up your alley? It could be fun. Wait, do you have a costume? I know Halloween isn’t for a few weeks… and we’re both adults. So maybe you don’t have one, and that’s fine-”

Maggie cut him off, “I have a costume.”

Terry’s eyebrows shot up and an excited grin spread across his dark red lips, “Perfect!” 

“What’s your costume?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m just wearing this,” he gestured to his magician’s outfit.

“Oh, good,” she replied, “we’ll kind of match.” 

“Match? What’s your costume?” he asked.

She shook her head, “Nope, uh-uh, you can’t see until tonight.”

“Let’s do this right. I’ll pick you up at 7:00.” He said, heading toward the front door.

“You know where I live,” she replied, escorting him back to the front porch, “I’ll see you later.”

Maggie shut the door behind her and let out a ginormous, shaky sigh. Holy fuck.

“Holy fuck,” Terry mouthed from her front porch, punching the air like he just won an Oscar.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Click here for Part 2.

[sunday-bug]

brb going to write a Terry the Terrific fanfic bc I am

DOWN BAD

for Seb in makeup and that character in general

p.s. there’s going to be a cute kitty named Chaplin in the story 🥺