#mary goore fanfic

[da-rulah]

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 7]

Summary: Mary is in danger, walking into the lion's den with nothing but a pocket knife. Forrest is on his way, but will it be too late…?

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 11.2k

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, themes of abandonment, difficult childhood, threat, violence, blood

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Ladies, gents and enby darlings, I need to draw your attention to this stunning artwork I commissioned of Mary from the unbelievably talented @ghuleh-draws... I cannot believe how gorgeous he is and I could talk about it for hours. Please, go and show her and the art some love. Hopefully it might heal some of the trauma I've caused with both last chapter and this one... And once again, a big thank you to @angellayercake & @her-satanic-wiles for beta reading this!

Mary’s arms ached, and yet, he continued with his work. Mr. Rogers had started to lose some of his dexterity, his arthritic hands no longer able to do as much as they used to and so, Mary’s workload had as good as doubled. Furniture in need of a new lease of life had begun to pile up in the workshop, and school prevented him from making the dent in the work he needed to. Late evenings were becoming later and later, and yes, Mary’s grades had started to suffer.  

But it was becoming impossible to ignore the financial situation he found himself in, and – even at sixteen years old – the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. There was no choice here. If he wanted to move himself and his mother into a real home and out of the scummy little motel on the outskirts of town, they had found themselves in, he had to do what he had to do; with very little time to be the kid he still was...  

He’d stopped glancing at the clock on the wall of the workshop long ago, well aware midnight had come and gone. It wasn’t the ideal place to be on a Friday night, when all his friends were out enjoying their freedom. Still, he continued to sand down the wood of the dresser he was working on tonight despite the aching. If he could just get the sanding and the first layer of staining done tonight, it would be dry by the time he came back into the workshop on Sunday and he could spend at least Saturday evening with his friends like he’d planned. If one night a week was all the free time Mary would get, he’d just have to be grateful for that.  

Mary turned off the sander and swiped his hand across the top of the dresser, feeling how smooth it now was to the touch – no ridges, no scratches and totally even. Mr Rogers himself couldn’t do a better job, he was sure of it. And so, he pulled his dust mask from his face, letting it hang beneath his chin as he put the sander away and reached for the brushes and varnish.  

As he did, his phone began to vibrate on the tool bench, violently rattling against the metal. He stared at it for a moment, part of him wanting to ignore it and continue his work. Another 45 minutes or so, and he could head back to the motel and get some rest. But it vibrated incessantly, until he had no choice but to put down the brush and tin in his hand with a loud thud and answer the damn thing. 

“Yeah?” he spoke into the receiver, his tone dejected. He knew who was calling at this hour. He always knew. 

“Yeah, hey kid. Me again. Look, I’m sorry but you’re gonna have to come and get her. I’ve cut her off but she won’t go.” That voice belonged to Manny, the bartender at Ace’s Taproom. He sounded as exhausted as Mary did. 

Mary sighed into the phone, rubbing at his brow as if it would relieve the pressure that had built there.  

“Can you just... I don’t know, can it wait an hour?” Just enough time to get this layer of varnish done... Then he could still head out tomorrow night, his plans intact. 

“She’s already causing a bit of a scene, kid. The sooner you can get here, the better.” His tone was apologetic – even Manny knew this burden was too much for a kid to take. But who else was there? 

“Alright, I’ll be there in fifteen. Thanks, Manny,” he relented, already untying the tool belt from around his hips with his free hand.  

“I’m sorry, man. I’ll see ya soon,” Manny consoled just before he hung up. Mary dropped his phone back onto the bench with a loud slam, running his dusty fingers over his face and taking a deep, steadying breath. This was happening too often, almost every damn night. It had to stop, but what else could he do? He’d just have to keep saving her. 

When Mary pulled into the parking lot in Mr Rogers’ old van that he had kindly gifted him – for the sole purpose of collecting and delivering the pieces of furniture they worked on at the shop, since he could no longer lift them in his old age – he took a second to himself, collecting his thoughts and preparing himself for a confrontation he knew was bound to happen.  

He got out, heading towards the sign that flickered in neon red in the shape of an ace of spades. At this hour, there were very few people on the streets, much less left in the old taproom but still, he could feel the shame creeping in.  

Inside, he spotted her immediately, slouched over the bar on her usual stool nursing an empty glass with an incredibly pale drop of amber liquid in, as if the ice that had inhabited the last dregs of her scotch had melted and watered it down. Manny stood at the other end of the bar, talking to one of the other regulars but he shot Mary a sad yet appreciative smile across the room. Mary just lifted his hand in an almost-wave, and headed over to the bar. 

“Ma?” he called out gently. She barely stirred, her head laying on her arm like she was asleep. He shook her gently, pushing her hair from her face. “Ma, come on. Let’s go.”  He pulled her shoulders into an upright position, her head lolling as she came to.  

“N-no, I’m not done yet, baby,” she slurred, her tongue as drunk as her mind. 

“Yeah you are, they’re shutting up soon. We gotta get home,” he encouraged, trying to help her down from the bar stool. Her head gained its bearings, and she caught sight of Manny at the other end of the bar, as well as the other patron, watching the saddest scene unfold in front of them both.  

“Th-this prick... Said he wouldn’t serve me no more,” she rambled, pointing at Manny with an arm too weak to stay elevated. “What you starin’ at, huh?”  

“Ma, come on... Let’s just go, yeah?” Mary’s cheeks were heating up with embarrassment.  

“Don’t need your pity, dickhead!” she shouted, still slurring as if her tongue were too big for her mouth.  

“Go home,” he told her firmly, trying not to rise to her insults. She flipped him off, while Mary wrapped her other arm around his shoulders and hoisted her to her feet, slowly taking her outside.  

As soon as the door shut behind them, his mum pushed Mary from under her and tried to stand on her own two feet, stumbling a little in the process. But she found her footing, while Mary stayed close enough to catch her if she did fall.  

“Idiot boy, ruining my fun,” she mumbled. That was like a knife to the chest... 

“Either me or the cops, Ma,” he sighed. “Let’s just get home.” 

“Home? HA!” she hollered, “Where’s that then?” Mary just rolled his eyes, taking her arm gently and guiding her back in the direction of the van. Her walking reminded him of a newborn foal, so unsteady as she took one step at a time and yet she tried to get him off her the whole way, unwilling to admit she needed help.  

“Ma, this has gotta stop. This ain’t healthy...” he began, starting a losing battle. She stopped and slapped her hands down by her sides.  

“Don’t start with me, Mary,” she warned, but he was determined. 

“You’re drinking our savings, Ma! How are we ever gonna get outta that motel when you’re spending it faster than I can make it?” He raised his voice, his frustration evident.  

“You said you were working overtime!” she argued, as if that were any real argument at all. Mary was a 16 year old boy; his only job should be a few hours a week at most, if at all. Not every hour he could squeeze in, and certainly not to pay for her alcoholism.  

“Yeah, to get us a new place! But I can’t make enough if you’re just gonna spend it. Do I have to stop giving you money for you to stop? That’s for groceries, Ma. For shit you need!”  

“Don’t you curse at your mother, boy...” she practically growled. 

“Maybe if you acted like my mother-” It was a low blow, but not entirely unwarranted. His mother interrupted him with a sharp slap to his cheek, the suddenness stunning Mary into silence. His cheek stung, but his heart even more so. She’d never raised a hand to him before.  

“M-Mary...” she stuttered, her eyes beginning to fill with tears as the realisation sank in that she’d just slapped her son. Her little boy... Mary took a step back as she reached for him, letting her stumble and regain her balance again. “I’m sorry...” She tried to grab at him, to hold him and stroke his hair and desperately apologise but he shoved her off, and she stumbled to the ground in a heap. 

“I’m done. Get yourself home, Ma.” He turned quickly back to his van, his hands shaking with emotion he tried to hold back. His keys jangled in his hands as he unlocked the door with the press of a button, and he climbed into the seat with a slam of the door.  

His cheek still stung with the force of her slap, his eyes welling up as he clenched his jaw so tight his teeth could have splintered. He squeezed his eyes shut and hit his head back against the plush cushion of the headrest several times as he slapped at the edge of the steering wheel, releasing all of his hurt, his anger in an outburst he contained to the cabin of the van now that he was alone.  

Taking some deep breaths, he calmed himself to a point where he could wipe the fresh tears on his cheeks and shoved his keys into the ignition. But he paused before he turned them, the engine staying dormant, and glanced down into his wing mirror only to see his mother still in a heap on the floor. Her shoulders shook violently, her sobs audible even from here in the cab. His eyes lingered there, unable to tear them away as his chest ached. She looked so helpless, so utterly destroyed by what she’d done but more so, what had been done to her... 

“God fucking damnit,” Mary muttered, climbing back out of the van and walking back over to her with caution. Of course he did... How could he leave her? His own mother, lying on the cold tarmac of a parking lot, in this state? Mary was all she had now, their shitty little apartment snatched from them, abandoned once again by anyone and everyone. For years it had always been Mary and her, against the world – that couldn’t change now, when he was all she had left.  

Without a word, he lifted her again, her sobs quietening when she felt his hands under her arms and realised he’d come back for her. Her expression changed from anguish to surprise with an essence of gratitude and apology, allowing her broken son to pick up the pieces as he helped her back into the van. He took great care with every move, gently letting her get comfortable as he leaned over to strap the seatbelt across her, laying her head against the seat while she sobbed silently and hiccupped from time to time.  

As he drove her home, she reached for the radio to flick it on, getting comfortable in the seat and using the sound to try and distract from the situation the pair of them found themselves in. Mary stayed quiet the whole time, keeping a watchful eye on his mother as she seemed to drift between sleep and reality now she was bundled into a warm and comfy seat. 

“You used to tell me... I would hear you on there someday,” she slurred as they got closer to the edge of town, pointing weakly at the radio with a fond but weary smile. “My boy, ‘the rock star’,” she giggled. Mary looked ahead at the road, trying not to entertain the drunk rambles nor the dreams he’d squashed for himself with the weight of his responsibility. His one and only goal right now was to get them back on their feet – and even that felt unattainable. 

Back at the motel, he watched his mother struggle with her dexterity to fit the key into their room door. Eventually, he gently took the keys from her and let them both inside, guiding her as had become their routine. He let her sit on the bed – the one they now had to share under the circumstances – and crouched at her feet to take her shoes off for her, placing them one by one on the floor.  

He helped her take off her jacket, laying her down gently on the pillow while she curled in on herself in a foetal position. Mary headed into the bathroom with an empty glass, filling it with tap water and bringing it back out to his mother’s side of the bed. He crouched down next to her, urging her to drink. She did, small sips at a time. 

“Ma, please... you gotta get better. We need to get outta here,” he said softly.  

“I was getting better...” she sniffled.  

“I know, Ma. You can get better again,” he encouraged, but there was a small part of him that worried she never would. “You just gotta move on from-” 

“Stop,” she begged. “I don’t wanna hear it...” But Mary persisted. She had to hear him. 

“You can’t let this shit stop you. You’re stronger than that. We’ve been through worse,” he insisted. Her head shot up from the pillow, her gaze stoney and angry.  

“You have no idea, Mary... What it’s like to have the world promised to you and then ripped out from under you.” She spoke through gritted teeth. 

“You’re worth a lot more than that fuckin-” 

“Enough!” she yelled, rolling over onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. We could have had everything, if you had just...” 

“Me?” Mary interrupted, instantly offended at her accusation. “What the fuck did I do?” 

“Your attitude, Mary,” she shot her glare back at him. “Always fucking attitude.” 

There was no chance she was blaming him for all this... This was neither his, nor his mother’s fault. There was someone to blame, but in their absence the only person close enough to his mother was Mary, and the only person she could lash out at was him. She couldn’t possibly mean what she was saying, and yet, it still stung all the same.  

“Go to sleep,” he told her, his voice hardened and stern as if he were the adult, and she the child. “You’re just talking pure shit now. It ain’t my fault he lied to you.” 

“He didn’t lie-” 

“He did, Ma. He lied to you, and everyone else. He’s a piece of shit like everyone else in this washed up town!” Mary raised his voice, his anger at every injustice he faced from everyone around him mounting higher and higher. “I’m fucking sick of it, here! I wanna get us out, but you’re too busy drinking every dime I fucking make to notice that I’m fucking drowning!” 

Mary stood up suddenly, smacking at the shitty motel phone on the dresser beside the bed. His mother sat up, steadying herself from the headrush and the room spinning around her.  

“I’m doing my best, Mary!” she yelled.  

“Are you? Cause your best was getting clean eight months ago. Your best was no alcohol, getting yourself a job, being a normal fucking Mom! But now you’re back here, and it’s me who’s gotta look after you!”  

“I-I... I have an addiction, it’s not that easy-” 

“You’re not even trying! You’ve fucking given up, and why? Just ‘cause some fuckhead promised you the world with a cherry on top and it turns out, he was lying like every other dickhead?” Mary was going too far, but with a lack of a proper outlet, being forced to grow up quickly and fend for the both of them, every bottled up thought and emotion was spilling from him without restriction. 

His mother sat on the bed, watching her son thread his fingers through his hair in frustration and take some deep breaths to try and steady him – but they weren’t working.  

“Y’know what? Fuck this. You call me when you decide to be a mother again.”  

And with that, Mary grabbed his keys and stormed out of the motel room, slamming the door with so much force that the cheap painting on the wall fell and shattered behind him.  

Despite picking up his keys, he bypassed the van and kept walking, his legs taking him further into town without a destination in mind. He’d roam aimlessly if he needed to, but he needed to let off some damn steam, to expel some of this fucking rage that he’d imprisoned for too long.  

As he went, he found himself kicking over trashcans, the metal rattling along the sidewalk. He used his keys to scratch the sides of cars he stomped past – the expensive ones, mostly. The ones owned by people in this town with too much money, greedy fat cats with more of it than sense. On his keys, he had a swiss army knife keychain, and one particular car – a very expensive black SUV – he shoved the blade attachment into the tyre deep enough that it deflated, high pitched whistle getting quieter and quieter as he walked further into town.  

By the time he was in the town centre, he was starting to see a few people out and about, shoving shoulder to shoulder into them with a look of pure thunder on his face. Most people simply yelled out at him to watch where he was going, or called him a punk or other variations of ‘delinquent’.  

‘Yeah’, Mary thought, ‘that’s what you all fucking think of me’. A town full of people who only knew him for his namesake – a deadbeat father and a drunken mother. Why wouldn’t Mary follow suit? If people thought that of him already, maybe he should just live up to the expectations; become the stereotype and stop giving a shit about anyone and everyone around him. 

Why should he try anymore? 

But he shoved at the wrong shoulder outside a pool hall, two kids Mary knew as seniors from his high school stood outside with cigarettes in one hand and beer bottles gained with fake IDs in another. 

Corbin and Asher.  

 “Hey! Hey, fuckface!” Mary heard from behind him. He kept walking, too angry to give a fuck. But they followed. “Mary fuckin’ Goore, huh? You piece of shit, think you can slam into me and walk the fuck away?”  

Mary didn’t even look back, but they caught up...  

Corbin grabbed the back of his jacket and slammed him face first up against the shutters of a closed store, the metal rattling under the force. In an instant, he spun Mary around, slamming him again and holding him there.  

“You got a problem, kid?” he asked, cocky and ready for a fight. Mary struggled against his hold, trying to shove at his arms and kick at his shins.  

“Get the fuck off me, man,” he yelled. “You were in the way.” Corbin laughed condescendingly, looking back at Asher who stood there with both of their beers in his hands smirking the whole time.  

“This kid thinks he owns the sidewalk, Ash. From what I’ve heard, he belongs in the fucking gutter...” Corbin landed a fist to Mary’s gut, Mary folding up like a ball of paper as he coughed. “Maybe we’ll put him there.” 

He dragged Mary by his jacket and threw him to the ground, watching him roll around in pain until he tried to get up. Corbin raised his foot as if he were about to stomp on him, but Mary rolled to the side just in time to avoid it and instead reached out and pulled on his ankle, toppling him to the ground with a loud thud too.  

Corbin was older, heavier, but Mary was younger and nimble – quickly he straddled Corbin and started throwing punches, every ounce of anger inside him forcing his fists into Corbin’s face who was yelling at Asher to do something, to stop standing around like a fucking moron and get this ‘little shit’ off him before he ‘beat the crap outta him’. 

Before Asher could get close, Mary was being dragged off Corbin by someone else – someone in blue. Before he knew it he was being shoved against the hood of a car, his wrists clamped together in cold metal rings as the cop who’d stumbled on the scene slapped the handcuffs on him. His partner restrained Corbin just the same, slamming him on the other side of the hood.  

One of them called for another car, unwilling to shove both Mary and Corbin into the back of the same cop car lest they kill each other on their way to the station, but Mary was thrown in first, and taken in for processing.  

“Mary Goore, huh?” was the welcome he got when escorted inside by the Chief, sat behind the processing desk on a late shift. “Was only a matter of time,” he scoffed. Mary’s blood boiled at that. A few minutes later, as Mary was getting processed, another cop rolled in with Corbin in handcuffs. Immediately, Mary tried to lunge towards him, both of them hurling insults at each other while restrained.  

“Pembrook, get this kid in a fuckin’ cell to cool off!” the Chief yelled at the officer restraining Mary, who did as instructed and hauled him off to a solitary cell.  

“No, no wait! I get a phone call!” Mary said, running back up to the locked door as the officer shut it behind him.  

“You’ll get your phone call when you calm down, kid,” the officer shouted back through the door. It was at least another hour before Mary got his phone call...  

Not that it did him any good. He tried both his mother’s cell, and their motel phone – no answer. Perhaps he’d fucked up the phone when he smacked it off the side table, but still, his mother wasn’t answering her cell, probably passed out for the night.  

Mary was left alone, sat in a solitary cell with fresh bruises and cuts, until the sun had long since risen. He curled up on the bench at the back of the cell, cold and metal and uncomfortable, and barely got a wink of sleep. 

“Goore, let’s go,” he heard through the hatch in the door at God knows what time. He rolled over and sat upright, wiping the exhaustion from his face as the officer – a new one, only having just started his shift – opened the cell door. Behind him, was perhaps the only person Mary could really depend on at all. 

Forrest.  

“You can collect your things from the registration desk. Don’t find yourself back here again, kid. You got lucky, this time...”  

Mary just nodded meekly as the officer turned and walked off, the door wide open and Forrest stood there looking at him with an expression of nothing but worry.  

“Corbin got out last night, heard you were still in here. Got my parents to pull some strings,” he explained with a shrug. “Shit, Mare, you alright?”  

Forrest stepped into the cell and placed his hands on Mary’s shoulders, inspecting him. Mary just nodded again, both too exhausted and too somber to form actual words.  

“I’m gonna kick Corbin’s fuckin’ ass for this,” he grumbled. “I’ll set his eyebrows on fire in chem. He’s the worst fuckin’ lab partner anyway.” Mary huffed out a barely-there laugh at that, his shoulders shaking in Forrest’s hands.  

Forrest was a senior, like Corbin and Asher. He knew they had a reputation, always getting into shit like this but he never thought he’d see Mary heading down the same path. He was the only one who saw what Mary went through, the work he put in at the workshop, the nights he spent nursing his alcoholic mother. He’d taken him under his wing a little, made him one of the gang and tried to offer him some respite from the slurry of shit he found himself in.  

Getting the money from his parents to bail Mary out wasn’t difficult; they threw money at him like it was bird seed on the steps of a cathedral, but it was for that reason he knew loneliness just as much as Mary. On opposite ends of the spectrum financially but somehow, they shared a common ground in just how shitty their relationships with their parents were.  

It shouldn’t have been him who got Mary out of here. It didn’t matter to him who started the damn fight or why; Mary had been through enough as it was, and an outburst like this was simply a ticking time bomb. What bothered Forrest more than anything, was knowing it had to be him walking him out of that police station and not the one person Mary loved most in this world, the one who was supposed to love, protect and care for him. 

This wasn’t the last time he would collect Mary from a cell; there were more outbursts to come, more frustrations and stupid mistakes but if he had to, Forrest would be there for them all. He’d never abandon this kid who cared so deeply about people and the injustices they would face. Mary could have his rebellious phase, get it out of his system – hell, Forrest certainly did, and he wasn’t sure he was even out of it yet. But he needed someone to lean on, someone to reign him in when he started to go too far.  

That night was Mary’s rock bottom, but Forrest jumped down into the pit with him, armed with ropes and twigs, ready to build a ladder to get them both out.  

You were pacing outside the convenience store, desperately calling Forrest with your groceries in one hand, cell phone pressed tightly to your ear in the other. He didn’t pick up the first time, probably ignoring a number he didn’t know but you were getting more and more desperate. The second time you dialled, he picked up after a few rings. 

“Yello?” he answered, chipper and riding off the high of a show well played.  

“Forrest?! Oh my god, thank fuck for that. Listen, it’s me... Mary gave me your number,” you rushed out, barely intelligible at the speed you spoke.  

“Duchess?” he questioned, using the nickname the boys had seemed to settle on when they realised you weren’t going to castrate Jed for creating it. “What’s goin’ on?” 

“Mary’s... I don’t know, he said to call you! I’m at the store, he told me not to come back. Something’s wrong, Forrest... He said it wasn’t safe?” you panicked.  

“Shit...” he muttered. You heard scrambling on the end of the line, like he was getting up and grabbing a few things around him and stuffing them into a backpack. “Listen to me, you don’t go back to that apartment, okay? I’ll be there soon, one of us will call you when it’s safe. Just stay there.” 

“Forrest what’s going on?” Your voice had raised an octave in pitch, your cheeks burning from holding back tears.  

“Those guys at the bar... They know him, they’ve hated him for years and they threatened him. He just needs some back up, it’ll be alright. Just stay, okay? Promise me.” 

You wanted to promise that, but how could you stay there and not try to help Mary? If those guys had turned up at his apartment, he was outnumbered and if nothing else you could act as a distraction. You stayed quiet for a beat too long, and Forrest stopped rustling about his apartment needing to hear confirmation. He couldn’t be worrying about you too when his best friend was in danger. 

“Duchess?” he yelled into the phone.  

“Y-yeah, yeah... Sorry. I’ll stay,” you told him, still unsure if you were telling the truth.  

“Good, just wait for the call. He’ll be fine,” he assured, but the panic in his voice betrayed him too. He hung up without another word, leaving you stood in the street in the early hours of the morning, absolutely petrified for your boyfriend...  

Could you really stay put when he was just a few blocks away? When there was potentially something you could do to help him? You supposed you’d just have to... 

The door creaked as it slowly swung open, betraying Mary right from the start. If someone was in his apartment still, they’d have heard that... No doubt about it. And so, his grip on the swiss army knife tightened, and the steps he took became slower, steadier so he’d be able to plant his feet should he be ambushed.  

Stepping into his apartment, it was still dark. No lights had been turned on, just the orange glow from the street lamps outside streaming in through the windows. He listened out for any sign of movement, but nothing. To his left, nobody in the kitchen... But things were out of place, to put it lightly. Drawers hung open, cupboard doors almost ripped from their hinges. Cutlery, food and crockery lay strewn about the floor and countertops, like it had been ransacked.  

Mary proceeded with caution, noticing that the floor of his apartment was covered in his things... Records, clothes, blankets and pillows; even his tatty little guitar was on the ground in the middle of the floor, the neck broken and strings snapped. He wasn’t sure whether to feel rage or despair, but both hit him like a freight train.  

Slowly, he stepped a little further to peer around the corner that led to the bedroom and bathroom to his right, and then to his left, around the partition between the kitchen and living space. That’s when he noticed.  

A figure, sat on his couch with their back to him. He knew who it was immediately. 

Mary planted his feet, readjusting his grip on the blade in his hand. He was preparing himself for any sudden movement, every single one of his senses heightened. Should he be ambushed from another direction, he was ready.  

“Where is she?” The shadow asked, their voice low and eerily calm. Mary stood his ground; he was in no mood for games. 

“What are you doing in my apartment?” he asked, ignoring their question. The figure straightened up where they sat, no longer hunching forwards as they studied something on the coffee table. They took a deep breath, before answering with another question. 

“Where... is my daughter?” The shadow turned their head towards where Mary stood, between the outer wall of his bathroom and the entryway to his kitchen. The street lighting gave just enough of itself to illuminate the stark features of the man in front of him, the hardened glare pointed his way.  

The Mayor. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mary lied, without much conviction at all but he already knew there was no point. But he wasn’t giving him any information. He could go fuck himself. 

The Mayor cracked a grin; a sadistic little grin, as if he were some kind of comic book villain spoiling for a fight. “Now I know that ain’t true, so you’re gonna tell me where she is, I’m gonna go get her, and I’m gonna deal with you later.”  

“I don't know where she is,” Mary spat, his resentment and hatred for this snake barely contained. 

The Mayor sighed dramatically, slapping his hands to his knees and standing up. He turned towards Mary then, folding his arms across his chest. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, top button undone now he was technically off the clock. But he still wore his expensive suit, save for tie and blazer, as if it would intimidate Mary somehow.  

“Should have expected this from you, Mary,” he chuckled, “Defiance. Attitude. Even coming in here with a damn weapon.” He nodded towards the swiss army knife in Mary’s ever tightening grip.  

“Someone broke into my apartment. Gotta defend myself,” he stated plainly.  

“Nah,” the Mayor scoffed, “it was only a matter of time before you got yourself in trouble again. Cops of this town were always too good to you, lettin’ you off too easy.” 

As if Mary had ever done anything to hurt anybody... Sure he’d been picked up a handful of times for graffiti, or destruction of public property, that one fight with Corbin and Asher – which technically, he didn’t start... But Mary stayed quiet, staring at the threat in front of him just waiting for him to try something. 

“You know,” he started, turning back to the coffee table, “maybe I’m forgetting my manners, huh? Maybe we should catch up first?” He bent down, picking something up from the table and turning back. In his hands, was the photo frame Mary kept on his windowsill...  

The Mayor looked down at it, studying it with a smirk. “She always was a looker, huh? How’s she doing these days?” 

Mary saw red, desperately fighting every instinct in his body that wanted nothing more than to tear into this vile man, rip him limb from limb and cast him to the wolves. His already injured knuckles turned white, the wounds splitting back open as his fists balled up tighter, the handle of the blade in his right hand digging painfully into his palm. But he stayed grounded. He would not make the first move. 

“Get the fuck outta my apartment,” Mary warned. The Mayor was testing his patience, and it had already snapped once tonight.  

“I’m not leaving until you tell me where my daughter is.” His smirk dropped, along with the frame in his hands. He disregarded it without a care in the world, letting the glass crack as it hit the ground with a thud. Mary winced at the sound. 

“Wouldn’t tell you if I knew,” he lied. He was adamant he would never tell him where you were, never give you up if he beat him into a pile of broken bones. You’d been free of him for less than a week, but already you’d come out of your shell so much, found yourself. How could he ever put you back in the box they’d kept you in all those years? 

“Do you think you’re good for my daughter, hm?” the Mayor took a step closer, “You think she’d want someone like you?”  

Mary ignored him. He had to. This was just a manipulation tactic, something to throw him off and degrade him like everybody always had.  

“You’re the scum of this town, Goore. Everybody knows it.” He stepped closer again, circling Mary with slow and calculated steps like a panther on the hunt. “You, and your drunken whore of a mother, your deadbeat father... You were fucking destined for the gutter.”  

Mary watched him as he came to stand in front of him again, just a little taller than Mary but puffing his chest out as if to intimidate him. Mary stayed painfully still, grinding his teeth in rage. One wrong move, he was poised and ready to defend himself.  

“You think you know me... You don’t know shit,” he taunted, “But I know you...” 

“Oh-ho-ho," the Mayor laughed, “You do, do you? This should be good.” 

“Yeah... I know you’re a filthy letch who takes everything from good, honest people and lines his pockets with it.” Mary was getting cocky now, arching his eyebrow and tilting his chin up in defiance as a sadistic little smile crossed his split lip. “I know you used to be a good guy, once upon a time. Beautiful family, on top of the world...”  

The Mayor barely reacted, pushing his tongue into his cheek and looking down at Mary with the same arrogance he always exuded.  

“I know you trapped your perfect little wife up in your ivory fuckin’ tower while you flashed your shit about town like a damn Kennedy brother...” 

The Mayor’s eyes darkened. Now Mary was getting to him. 

“I know you trained your precious little girl like a damn puppy her whole life, only to have her grow up to resent every little fuckin’ thing about you...”  

Mary was about to cross a line. He was about to say something just to get a rise out of him, just to make him snap. He’d never talk about you like this and mean it, but for all the pain and misery this man had caused people through the years, he deserved something that cut him to the bone. 

“You repelled her so much that she crawled out of her pink, frilly cage... and spread her fuckin’ legs to the town scum...” Mary laughed, smug and satisfied when he saw the way the Mayor’s hands tightened around his biceps, his nose wrinkling in disgust.  

Mary took a step closer to him – a stupid move, but he was oozing cockiness, no longer thinking clearly and only wanting to cause as much fucking damage to this prick’s ego as he damn well could. He knew it would turn his stomach to know his daughter was friends with Mary, let alone willingly fucking him.  

Mary looked the Mayor up and down, smirking with barely contained glee as he leaned into him to deliver the final blow. 

“She calls me daddy now...” he whispered, staring directly into his eyes with an impish sparkle in his own.  

The Mayor’s eyes raked over Mary, sizing him up, looking him up and down while he chewed on his cheek, the disgust on his face twisting and morphing into a vile expression of hatred. Before Mary knew what was happening, the blade in his fist was knocked clear across the room, his balance thrown off as two large hands wrapped around his throat. He was spun around and pushed backwards into the small kitchen space, tripping over the mess left there as he tried desperately to fight the power of the much older, much bigger man attacking him.  

Soon enough his lower back was being slammed into the edge of a counter, the thumbs of the hands around his throat pressing down on his airways while Mary did what he could to fight back, clawing and scratching at the Mayor. 

It was getting harder and harder to breathe, spots starting to flicker across his vision as that murderous glare stared back at him. The thought briefly crossed Mary’s mind that he might not stop... Once he was rendered unconscious, there was nothing to stop him from taking the life he’d worked so hard to rebuild over and over again away from him. Just as he’d found a semblance of happiness, too... The Mayor was going to take it all away from him. Again. 

The Mayor’s grip adjusted to just one hand tightening around his throat, the other pulling back and coming crashing down on Mary’s cheek with a blow that reopened old wounds of the evening. Mary was going to lose this fight, there was no contest. Blow after blow landed to his face as the Mayor squeezed the life out of him... 

“Daddy!”  

The Mayor snapped out of his trance, his head whipping behind him with his fist pulled back in preparation for another strike, the other still choking Mary. You looked on in pure horror at what you’d walked into... You had expected to come back to a dangerous situation, but not one that included the attempted murder of your boyfriend at the hands of your own father.  

With the Mayor’s attention on you, however brief, Mary took advantage and lifted his foot to push at the Mayor’s hip quickly, twisting him just enough that he lost his grip on him, and Mary fell to the floor in a heap, coughing and spluttering as the oxygen rushed back into his lungs. It was all too much all at once, the sudden rush of blood back to his head and the pain of the punches hitting him at the same time and he rolled and writhed on the floor as he tried to regain control of his body. But the spasms continued, and he could barely see nor hear anything while he squirmed at the Mayor’s feet.  

You rushed into the kitchen, attempting to bypass your father and to immediately help Mary but you were stopped, a hand wrapped tightly around your bicep and attempting to drag you away. Of course, you fought back, smacking at your father’s chest and kicking at him as if it would help.  

“Let go! Get the fuck off of me! GET OFF!” you screamed over and over, hoping someone might hear from another apartment and come to your aid. 

“You forget your place, girl,” your father snarled, barely affected by you beating at him. You managed to wrench your arm free of his grip and take a step back, your father’s attention on you and you alone while Mary still coughed on the floor, almost vomiting with the way his chest heaved.  

“If you think it’s with you, you’re sorely fucking mistaken,” you growled. “What the hell are you doing?”  

“Teaching this little fucker a lesson in manners,” he spat, pointing down at Mary who spat a glob of red tinted spit to the floor – a biproduct of the hits to the face he had taken. He’d regained enough composure to sit himself upright against the cupboard, letting his head hit the wood as he glared up at your father, chest still heaving. 

Only now did your father take a good look at you, seeing how different you looked in a short denim skirt, a fishnet top, the make-up you’d chosen to wear over what you had always been told to. Once again, his expression clouded into disgust. 

“What has he done to you?” he asked, looking you up and down.  

“Him? You think I’d jump from a life where I’m controlled by a man into another one?” you shrieked. Your father pretended not to hear you, instead leaning down to quickly grab Mary by his shirt and heave him to his feet, holding him against the cabinets again. Mary didn’t fight back; he couldn’t. He was still in too much pain, his body not responding to his commands.  

“You take my daughter from me, and dress her up like one of your scummy little whores?” he screamed into Mary’s face while all he could do was wince and squeeze his eyes shut, trying to steady the swimming sensation in his head.  

You rushed towards them, pushing at your father until you could weave yourself between the two of them. Mary barely kept himself upright against the counter, but you reached a hand behind you anyway, securing it in his and holding it tightly against your back.  

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” you warned.  

“You wanna protect this little shit? Why? You think you love him?” your father mocked, scoffing at the mere thought of it. “I couldn’t quite believe it when I finally got it out of your mother... As soon as she told me she saw you get into a shitty black van, I fucking knew... I thought ‘no, no way my little girl is that fucking stupid’. Of all the decent guys in this town, you choose this?” 

The anger you felt as he berated you, insulting not only Mary but you and your intelligence too... You had no time to be angry at your mother, knowing what your father was like and how he could manipulate anybody to get what he wanted out of them. All of your energy was directed into protecting Mary, standing between him and your father and proving to them both you weren’t backing down. Gone were the days of obeying and staying in your lane. If Mary had taught you anything in your short time together, it was that you could be yourself and stand up for what you believe in unapologetically. And you believed in Mary... 

“He’s a better man than you give him credit for,” you seethed, squeezing his hand behind your back. Your father laughed maniacally at you, throwing his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose.  

“Really? This little shit? If you think he’s any good for you, you’re dumber than I ever imagined. You come from a good, respectable family. This whole fucking town knows me, loves me, and all I ever did was give you everything you ever wanted on a silver platter... But you throw it back in my face?” he argued, throwing his hands around as he yelled. But you stood your ground. “You know where he comes from, right? Deadbeat fucking dad who drank and gambled his money away. A whore of a mother who also drank herself into a permanent hospital bed?” 

“You’d... know all about that, w-wouldn't you?” Mary struggled to speak through laboured breaths from behind you, hunched over but pushing up on the counter to stand upright.  

Your father’s head snapped back to glare at Mary. “Excuse me?” 

You felt a change in the air, notably in your father’s demeanour. His eyes had widened, and he seemed to freeze in place, waiting for Mary to speak again while he caught his breath and used his strength to stand properly behind you. He kept hold of your hand, squeezing it tightly but once he stood up, he used his free hand to steady himself on your waist; both protectively and for stability.  

“You... you think you have a right to judge... my mother? After what you did?” he asked rhetorically, which only confused you. Your brow creased and you turned your head to look back at Mary.  

“What are you talking about?” you asked softly, trying to make sense of what he was saying. He tore his eyes from your father to glance at you, offering you a look of apology laced with fear as if he were apologising for what you were about to hear... When he looked back at your father, your eyes followed to see that same wide-eyed expression. “What did you do?” 

“You gonna tell her, or should I?” Mary’s voice was a warning, but still, your father remained silent. If he wasn’t going to tell you what the hell was going on, you’d just let Mary. Someone needed to say something, and quickly, before you lost your cool again.  

“Tell me,” you ordered them both, but still you directed your glare at your father.  

“Yeah why don’t we tell her, hm?” Mary’s voice had grown a little stronger, recovered from the hands that had squeezed his neck for almost too long. Adrenaline was kicking in, numbing the pain in his head from the beatings and giving him the strength to get angry, to challenge the Grand High Mayor.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he defied. Mary just scoffed.  

“You tricked my mother, and took everything from her...” he spat. You looked back at Mary, confused and shocked. Your father just stood in silence, glaring.  

“How?” you asked, “Tell me everything. Now.” 

“You won’t like this...” he warned, never breaking eye contact to look at you.  

“I don’t fucking care, Mary. Tell me.” 

He took a moment, forcing a steadying breath to calm the rising nerves. He’d never wanted you to hear this, fearing it might just devastate you to know who exactly your father was, the kind of man he could be, and what he was capable of. You hadn’t needed to find this out, but this had all gone too far. He wanted nothing more than to pull the rug from under the Mayor’s feet, to make sure he knew that Mary knew everything, that he needed to be very fucking careful this secret never got out. Mary had him in checkmate, holding the secret in until someone came along who would hear him and believe him – someone with a higher standing in the town than himself and his friends.  

“My mom got clean when I was 15,” he began, “She’d stopped drinking, got herself a job that could keep us going while I was in school, and still working for Mr. Rogers on the weekends. We were living out in the Oak Ridge apartment complexes, and we were doing alright.” 

“Then in came a man in a dapper suit with a briefcase and a fuckin’ God complex, who convinced the landlords to sell up so he could flatten the building and build office blocks instead. He fucked over all the residents, all hard-working people, by flashing compensation to the landlords who just handed out eviction notices. But my mom owned our shitty little apartment outright. She’d just managed to club together the money for the deposit, to get herself a mortgage and have a place that was just ours. She wanted stability, and she didn’t want to sell up. She was the last one who refused...”  

Your father’s eye twitched as he readjusted his stance, like suddenly he was incredibly uncomfortable. “You don’t actually believe this fucking scumbag, do you?” he asked you, interrupting Mary.  

“Shut the fuck up,” you snapped, and miraculously, he did just that.  

“So he... He charmed her. He bought her pretty things, took her to fancy places out of town, told her everything she’d ever wanted to hear... He told her he loved her,” Mary’s voice cracked at that, at the hurt of somebody lying to his mother when that had been all she’d ever wanted, “He seduced her, and told her he’d run away with her and give her the life she’d always wanted with him... if she’d just... sign on the dotted line...”  

You felt sick to your stomach. Not only had he taken advantage of Mary’s mom, their situation, all for his own gain, but he’d cheated on your mother, gone behind his own family’s back to manipulate a damaged but healing woman and ruin her life. Your head span with overwhelm, purely disgusted by what you were hearing. You knew your father wasn’t a good man, but you had no idea he was such a monster... 

“When she signed the deed over, he dropped her and left us both on the streets. He left us with nothing; no money, no home. We had to move into the Quartz motel, and she was heartbroken. She started drinking again, more and more because of what YOU did,” Mary snarled at him, pointing his finger as he raised his voice. “She was too depressed to get back up again, and I had to pick up the pieces. I had to quit school, work full time and give everything up when I was fucking 16 years old just to keep us afloat. She never recovered, and it didn’t matter when I got us this shitty little apartment and finally moved us outta the Quartz, her body gave up.” 

Mary pushed you to one side in his rage and stepped up to your father. You stumbled and caught yourself on the counter, too stunned to do or say anything about it as the truth sunk in. Mary got in his face again, pointing his finger directly at him and screamed, “It’s because of YOU she almost fuckin’ DIED. You piece of SHIT! YOU AS GOOD AS KILLED HER!” Mary slapped his hand against your father’s chest, who just stood there and took it, glaring at Mary as if he were still that same kid.  

You shook yourself from your own little trance and pulled Mary back to you by his arm, turning your back on your father and holding Mary’s cheeks to soothe him, to calm him down as he broke down at the truth. Mary stood there and sobbed, letting you wipe the tears as you shushed him, whispering apologies to him as if any of this had been your fault. But your heart broke for him...  

How could your father have ever been that callous? You thought you’d known him, that he wasn’t anywhere near as bad as it seemed he was. You were aware he leaned more towards right wing politics, and no, you didn’t agree with him. And you’d known some of his associates were bent and unethical in their ways, but you’d never known he was as corrupt as Mary was telling you. All those whiffs of under the table deals you’d gotten over the years were true. He was a crook... A liar, a cheat, and abusive fucking monster.  

“You don’t seriously believe this shit, Pumpkin?” he asked, using a damn pet name of all things to try and get you back on side. You span around to glower at him, rage bubbling up inside you. 

“Don’t you fucking ‘Pumpkin’ me, you arrogant letch!” you screamed. “That explains why you kept disappearing all the damn time, spending your evenings and weekends anywhere but at home. I guess now I fucking know where you went... You missed half of my sweet sixteen, for fuck’s sake! Sped off right after the cake and didn’t come home for two days. Is that where you went? Is that where you always went? To take advantage of a decent woman who only wanted to be loved? To give her kid the BEST FUCKING LIFE POSSIBLE!?”  

“I never went anywhere near his slut of a mother!” he yelled back. 

“Oh, please!” Mary interjected, “You fucked her, and then you fucked her over.” 

“You LIAR!” Your father lunged at Mary again but you stopped him, forcing him back with a push that took all of your strength, all of your anger. He didn’t try it again, instead focussing his anger on you now. 

“You gonna let him manipulate you like this? Lie to you? He’s just trying to come between us, Pumpkin, to keep you away from me. He'll fucking use you and dump you for the next girl who shows him any attention. You’re just some petty fucking revenge he’s taking out on me... He’s USING YOU!” 

“Sounds more like something you’d do...” you growled at him. You had made your choice already, long before tonight. Your place was at Mary’s side, now more so than ever. Fucking revenge. As if Mary would have lied to you all this time... There was no way? 

Your father straightened himself up, dusting his shirt off as if there were something on it, but it gave him a moment to collect himself, to make himself seem the prim and proper one.  

“If you choose to believe his lies and stay with him, then that’s your stupid choice,” he told you as he straightened the cuffs of his shirt sleeves, not even affording you the decency of eye contact. “But know this; you choose him, and that’s it. You will have nothing. No money, no home, no future. I’ll make sure neither of you work in this town. I will cut you off completely.”  

He thought he had the upper hand, that his words would scare you into submission and force you to come home with him. He seemed to forget the heated words you’d exchanged the night of the dinner at the Town Hall...  

“I thought I’d made myself pretty clear last time we spoke... I don’t want to live under your fucking thumb anymore. You told me to leave once before, and what, now you’ve changed your mind? You want to play happy families, and drag me back into the life you forced me to live? I want my own life, and now? I want it as far away from you as I can possibly get.”  

Your father stared at you, his jaw grinding in anger. He’d lost control of you, and he hated it. You were unravelling his perfect ‘family man’ façade that had won him all those elections, tearing down the perception the town had of him as this kind, caring man with a beautiful family.  

As you glared at each other, challenging the other to speak first, heavy footsteps got closer as if someone were running down the hallway outside the apartment and soon, Forrest ran into the apartment clutching a baseball bat and ready to swing. He stopped short at the scene in front of him, not having expected this at all... Mary, beaten and bloodied behind you, squaring up to your father, the Mayor...  

Forrest knew everything and quickly connected the dots, keeping the bat raised and ready in case your father tried anything at all. But now he was outnumbered, and his pride wounded. 

“You’re making a big fucking mistake, madam,” he warned. “You’ll end up a low life like these idiots, and laying in a hospital bed just like his mother.”  

“You need to leave,” Forrest told him firmly. “You got another witness now, sir,” he warned, sarcasm dripping from the honorific.  

Your father straightened up and turned, taking a few steps to stand at the edge of the kitchen where Forrest backed up to give him the room to leave, bat still raised. Just as he was about to leave, he turned back to see you reach for Mary’s hand, holding his cheek gently in yours as you took a good look at the bruises and blood that covered his face.  

“You should get out of town before morning,” he began. “I will pull every string at my disposal to make sure you will never find peace here. This is my town, and this?” he waved his finger around, “is a dangerous neighbourhood. Especially without a deadbolt.” He nodded towards the front door that he’d bust open. 

“Get out,” Forrest reiterated with a look that could have burst him into flames if he had the ability.  

Without another word, your father turned and left, slamming the front door that only bounced back open with nothing left to catch.  

Forrest lowered the bat with a sigh, rubbing at his forehead from the stress. You focussed all of your attention on Mary, checking he was okay. He certainly wasn’t... He’d taken two beatings in one night and was covered in a litany of injuries that needed attention.  

Without saying a word, Forrest dropped the bat on the floor with a clatter and rushed into the bathroom, pulling out an old first aid kid from under Mary’s sink and rushing back with it while you gently guided an exhausted Mary to his couch, forcing him to sit back.  

As you patched him up with band aids and gauze and fed him a glass of water, no one dared to speak another word. After everything that had happened tonight, the silence – however brief – was welcome. But eventually, one of you had to break it.  

“We should get you to a hospital, Mare. You might have a concussion, or a bust nose or something’,” Forrest reasoned. Mary shook his head. 

“I’ll be good, don’t think anything’s broken.” Neither you nor Forrest argued with him. “Fuck, what the hell are we gonna do?” he asked, sinking further down into the couch beside where you knelt on the cushion, hovering over him.  

“He’s just trying to scare you both, right? He’s pissed, just wants you both out but what the fuck can he really do?” Forrest asked from the floor, where he’d picked up the broken picture of Mary and his mom and set it on the coffee table. Mary stared at it, biting back the sting of tears.  

“Anything... he can do anything. He’ll make good on his threat, his security don’t ask questions.” You chewed on your thumbnail anxiously, trying to think of your next move.  

“I’m sorry...” Mary mumbled, looking down at the picture on the table with shame in his eyes. 

“For what?” you asked, shuffling closer to him and gently turning his chin towards you, “What could you possibly be sorry for?”  

“He’s cut you off because of me,” he sniffled, keeping the tears in his eyes at bay. “I’ve fucked your life up for you already...” 

“Don’t you dare,” you told him firmly, “you listen to me. I chose this, I needed to get away from him and I did. This is a blessing, we’ll be okay-” 

“How the hell are we gonna be okay? We can’t stay here anymore, we got nowhere to go and the money I make at the shop isn’t gonna keep us both afloat for long...” he panicked, but you hushed him with a finger to his lips. 

“We’ll figure it out. Money’s not a problem...” Mary looked confused, as did Forrest, the pair of them staring at you. “I’ve... I’ve been saving. Funnelling money away for a while. I knew someday I’d wanna get out and well... I opened a bank account as soon as I was old enough and just kept throwing my allowance into it. I got a trust fund when I was 18, he thinks I spent it. I didn’t, it’s been stashed away for years. We can get a place Mary, we just need somewhere for now.” 

Mary blinked at you dumbly, “You... You want that?” 

“What, to run away with you? Are you kidding?” You ran your fingers through his hair, avoiding the long strands that were clumped together with dried blood. “Haven’t I already done that?” you asked with a soft smile.  

Mary gawked at you, smiling a little himself before he leaned closer to you and planted his bust lips onto yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. Forrest coughed from the floor, bringing the two of you back to reality.  

“That’s great and all, but... where the hell are you gonna go for now?” he asked. Mary processed his question for a second, thinking it over. 

“Well, it’s not exactly a ‘best case scenario’, but... I have an air mattress back at the shop? It’s just a storage unit but it’s outta town. Sometimes I’d work late and be too tired to drive home so I’d crash there. No one really knows where it is, I never have clients come to the unit.” 

“It’ll do, while we look for a place in the city,” you told him. You didn’t care where you stayed or what you slept on, as long as it was safe – as long as Mary was safe. 

Forrest nodded, getting up from the floor and starting to gather some of the mess from your father’s rage. “Better get a move on then... Grab what you need, I’ll help you move it in my van too.” 

Before either of you stood up, Mary sat upright and turned to face you. “You sure about this, doll? Like... really? I can’t expect you to use that money to set us both up.” 

“Oh, shut up...”  you smirked, swatting his shoulder lightly. “You really having second thoughts about taking my dear daddy’s money and running off into the night?” 

Mary’s eyes glinted with a mischievous sparkle, and his lips curved into a smirk. “Well, when you put it like that...” He leaned in as you giggled, welcoming another slow, tender kiss that felt like a triumphant win given the events of the night.  

From across the room, Forrest rolled his eyes, picking up a small pillow and throwing it at the both of you to break you up. When you both yelped and looked up at him, he simply widened his eyes and shook his head, tapping at an imaginary watch on his wrist as if to say ‘hello? Get moving!”. You stood from the couch, reaching your hands out to Mary who used your strength as leverage to sit upright, his whole body aching and protesting after all the damn fighting tonight. Forrest was, of course, right. You needed to pack up what you could quickly, and get the hell out of town.  

So much had happened tonight, and so much had been said that couldn’t remain just a fleeting exchange in the heat of the moment. Revelations of the kind of man your father truly was had to be put to the back of your mind for now, to be dealt with and talked properly about in the coming days. For now, you couldn’t focus on it - the wound too painful to acknowledge until you were out of harm’s way. You couldn’t think about the truth, or what that meant in terms of your relationship with Mary. The thought that perhaps you were just Mary’s retribution couldn’t take root in your mind, lest it grow into genuine suspicion. There was no time to let doubts creep in. Instead, you dove into packing with Forrest, shoving clothes and essentials in whatever bags or boxes you could find to busy your mind. 

But Mary; he stayed put, fiddling anxiously with his rings. Neither you nor Forrest questioned him, figuring after two pretty rough beatings tonight he could sit this one out. But it wasn’t that that held him back...  

His own doubts were seeping in, an anxiety burning in his chest. He’d unveiled a huge part of himself tonight, something he’d never intended for you to know. He’d never wanted to hurt you with this and now that he had, he had to force down the guilt that came when he’d seen the look on your face as the truth spilled. His disdain for the Mayor hadn’t ever been as simple as hating the face of the town that hated him. There was so much more to it than that, but he’d never wanted to make that your burden.  

Part of him now was terrified. The thought had crossed his mind that perhaps – maybe not now, maybe not for a while, but someday – you might think he chose you for this, like some sick revenge on the Mayor. Even he had accused Mary of it, claiming he was using you... Taking his only daughter and defiling her, corrupting her just to get his own back. That night back in the dive bar had started as a bet, yes. The thought had indeed crossed his mind that it was ironic he’d got to fuck you after your father had fucked over his family. But you were so much more than that...  

He was in too deep now. He loved you. Now more than ever, he was afraid he might lose you over this. He prayed that you didn’t think that, that your father’s own accusation had fallen on deaf ears.  

But for now, he just needed to get you both out of town. As long as you were safe, he’d take whatever consequences came his way.  

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8 ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

[kissingghouls]

hi ghouls! so sorry you've had such a rubbish weekend. i hope this week is much brighter for you 🫂💕

for the ~cute interactions~ prompts: maybe something with mary holding hands/playing with each other's fingers? my mary heart yearns for something soft 😭 sending you love 💕

oh boy. This one got away from me more than once and now I've got several Mary WIPs in the folder. more Goore '24 continues I suppose. @sakuraspoke - you can absolutely have some soft Mary my beloved. thank you so much for the kind words 🖤🖤🖤

2 a.m. - Mary Goore x gn!Reader

established relationship, he/they Mary, darlin & babe used for Reader. a little suggestive but no real warnings. just 850-ish words of fluff and kissin' div by @gothdaddyissues 🖤🖤🖤

It’s late when Mary quietly tiptoes into your apartment and moves through the shadows. They’re trying not to make any noise, taking slow but giant steps to avoid the creaking spots in the floorboards while balancing that ridiculously heavy guitar case. But your boyfriend—sweet as his is—has always been blessed with more charm than grace and it’s a good thing you weren’t really asleep anyway.

You stir from your spot on the sofa, lit by the soft glow of some gruesome true crime story playing on the television. The sudden movement startles them and sends them stumbling over their own feet in a comical display of flailing limbs. He lands with a loud thud as one of his boots flies across the room, the other still secured to his foot.

A sheepish smiles creeps across his face as he looks up at you from the floor. “I’m sorry, babe,” he whispers, trying desperately not to laugh at his own clumsiness. “I was trying not to wake you.”

“It’s ok,” you reply sleepily. I wasn’t sleeping.”

He nods and returns to the task of taking off his other shoe. “What’re you doing out here on the couch?”

“Just watching TV.”

He grins and shakes a few messy strands of hair away from his face. “Are you waiting up for me?”

You give a noncommittal shrug as he crawls on hands and knees, dragging himself the short distance across the floor to reach you. He comes to rest with a groan, leaning against the sofa as he stretches his legs as far as he can after a ridiculously busy day.

“Ugh, I’ve been standing for like, twelve hours.”

“Poor baby,” you hum and run a hand through their hair. There’s no teasing is your statement. You know Mary hates days like this. You hate days like this, hate seeing them so exhausted they’re literally crawling on the floor. “Wanna come sit with me?”

They shake their head. “Can’t move. Plus, I kinda smell disgusting darlin.”

“I kinda don’t care, Goore.”

“Your funeral,” he grunts as he stands.

He throws himself over you, wedging his skinny hips between your back and the sofa. His skin is slightly sticky with old sweat and fake blood, shirt still damp from playing in a bar where ventilation is more of a joke. Most of that cologne you like is covered by the thick smell of smoke and beer, but you couldn’t care less now that he’s home. As he drapes an arm around your middle, you lace your fingers with his.

“Better?” you ask.

Mary tightens his grip and buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. “Mmph, you smell nice.”

“Makes one of us.”

“Hey, I tried to warn you.  Not my fault you didn’t listen.”

Across the room, the narrator of a different program begins to talk about happier things while you lose yourself in the comfort of just being next to Mary. You run your fingertips over the thick calluses on his hands, appreciating every little piece of your boyfriend—the rough spots and the sweet spots and everything in between. It doesn’t matter how late it is or how dirty his clothes currently are. You live for the little moments like this, the times where you’re the only two people in the universe and the world outside your apartment no longer exists. You’d stay here forever if you could, but reality is cruel and one of you should probably be a realist.

He groans as you press your thumbs into his palm and start to massage away the aches he’s kept quiet for the last week at least.

“Fuuuuck,” he whines quietly. “I don’t deserve you.”

“I think you deserve the world, Mary Goore.”

They laugh lightly, breath tickling your ear. “I dunno, I might just start with a shower.”

“Fine,” you grumble. “Can you just stay here a little longer first?”

“I’m never going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

He pulls you closer, turning his hand over to lock his fingers with yours. “To our graves, darlin. Then I’m gonna haunt you.”

“That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Hmm, romantic enough to get you to shower with me?”

“Yeah, I think you’ve earned it.”

“Heh. I mean it though, you know.”

“What? That you wanna take a shower together?” you tease.

“Well, yeah. But forever, I mean. You and me.”

“Mary,” you start quietly, voice shaking as you fight tears.

“I know, I know. Marshmallow Goore.”

“I love you.”

“Yeah?” they ask, and you can hear the smile in their voice.

A soft “mmhmm” is all you can manage as you nod.

“Good, because I really fuckin’ love you, darlin.”

You scramble to turn in his arms, lips crashing together in a clumsy and desperate effort to get even closer to each other. They bring their hands to your face as tongues clash and your legs begin to tangle in the ensuing rush. It’s hurried and heated, too excited to be anything else and too soul-bearingly honest for any more words. There’s barely space for breaths between each kiss, the two of you left dizzy and lightheaded all the way to your bathroom.

I just wanna add a thank you to everyone who's sent prompts & requests. I'm having fun learning how to make things in these shorter forms between my normally huge projects. I might properly open up requests in the future if anyone is interested?

[ramblingoak]

Napping With An Outlaw

~ A special edition of Naps With Copia ~

For @da-rulah 💙 who requested a special nap with cowboy!Mary Goore

Mary Goore x Reader

While obviously not Copia this is similar to the Naps With Copia series. Just a nice soft nap with the cowboy!Mary Goore from my fic The Cardinal's Bride. You do not need to read that at all to enjoy this!

Warnings: Brief descriptions of blood and stitches, Mary is a terrible patient (and a tease), sfw, 1,400 words (thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers!)

“What the hell, Goore?!”

You had finally finished with your shift in the saloon.  A long day of filling drinks and slapping hands away when they got too close.  All you wanted was to wash off and crawl into bed.  A bed that you had been daydreaming about for most of the day.  Except right now your bed was occupied with the last person you wanted to see.

Especially since they were bleeding everywhere.

“Hey there, sweetheart.”

“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me, Goore.  Why are you here?”  You took a few steps closer, your eyes widening a bit when you saw the gash on their head.  “And what the fuck happened?”

“Ran into an old friend.”  When you crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow at him Mary sighed,  “We had a little disagreement.”

“I can tell.  So, why are you here ruining my sheets?”  Mary looked a little sheepish then, picking at a tear on their pants before looking back up at you.  “The pout isn’t gonna work on me, Goore.”

“What will?”

“Nothing.  I am tired.  Too tired to deal with you bleeding all over my things.  Get out.”

“Oh come on!  You owe me!”

“Like hell I do, remember a few months ago when you came crawling back here after running into that Cardinal guy again?”  Mary winced and became very interested in the hole in his pants again.  “You’re kidding me.”

“This time wasn’t my fault.”

“Uh huh.”  You sighed and took a few steps closer, reaching out to prod at the wound on Mary’s head.  They hissed and tried to jerk away but you grabbed their chin to keep them still.  “Stop being a baby.”

“Stop poking me!”

“Do you want my help or not?”  Mary finally relented, staying still and leaning into you a little bit.  “Thank you.  Geez Mary, did you get hit by a rock or something?”

“A frying pan.”

“A fry–you know what, I don’t wanna know.  Alright, lean back ok?  I’m going to go get some clean water and the sewing kit from the Doc.”  

You ignored Mary’s groan, quickly leaving your room and heading down the hall.  The Doc would be down at the tables this time of the night so it was easy to slip into his room and grab his kit.  After getting a job here it wasn’t long before you were helping out all over the place.  While the town was relatively quiet there still was the odd bar fight or even a random shoot out from time to time.  Enough action to warrant hiring someone just in case.

When you made it back to your room Mary was still on your bed.  For a moment you were frozen, worried that they had been hurt a lot worse than you had thought.  You dropped the kit and rushed over to your bed, your hands landing on Mary’s chest and shaking him.  Mary wasn’t yours by any means, you had no doubt Mary never had trouble finding a warm bed no matter where they were.  But that didn’t stop your heart from plummeting when you thought they might be gone.

It didn’t stop you from wishing things were different.

“Ow, ow, ow!  What the shit?!”  Mary shook themselves awake, immediately swatting at your hands to get you to stop shaking him.  “I am injured here!  You’re supposed to be fixing me, not making things worse!”

Pinching their nipple wasn’t something the Doc would recommend but hearing Mary’s indignant squawk was worth it.

“Just making sure you’re alive.”  

You smiled when Mary groaned and dropped back against the bed.  They had definitely been through the ringer, whatever had happened.  You couldn’t imagine an outlaw such as The Cardinal using a frying pan of all things, but you supposed anything could be a weapon in the right hands.  Mary was thankfully still when you began cleaning the wound on their forehead.  The blood was caked in their hair so you did your best to clean it without having a tub to dunk them in.

Maybe you could talk them into a bath tomorrow.

“That feels nice.”  They were practically purring as you let your fingers rub against their scalp, trying to avoid the gash.  It would definitely need at least a few stitches.  “I knew I came to the right place.”

“I’m glad you came here too.”  That got you a lazy smile, the one that had lured you into Mary’s orbit to begin with.  “Time for the stitches.”

Mary whimpered, clenching their eyes shut as you got to work.  The gash wasn’t that bad but you knew how vain Mary could be.  It would look a lot better after this and they’d certainly whine about it a lot less.  The whole thing was over in a few minutes and after tugging Mary into a sitting position you helped them out of their shirt to clean up the rest of them as best you could.

“Mmm, I knew you’d try to get me out of my clothes.”

“You caught me, Goore.  That’s what I wanted to do the minute I saw you in my bed.”

“Anything else?”  Mary grunted when you tugged on their boots, chucking them across the room so you wouldn’t trip on them in the morning.  Their pants were next and you groaned with the effort it took to tug the stupidly tight things off their legs.  “Well, sweetheart?”

Mary was grinning at you, the only thing covering them the sheet they had pulled over their lap.  It was an attempt at modesty you weren’t used to, typically Mary spent most of their time in your room naked.  Not that you minded but it was pretty obvious by the way Mary was squinting and the yawn they just let out that Mary was in no condition for anything but a thorough cuddle.

“Actually yeah, there’s one other thing I’d like to do with you.”  Mary kept the grin as you moved closer, their hands going to your waist when you got onto the bed next to them.  You leaned forward and pressed a kiss over the stitches before dropping a few more across their face.  The strength seemed to leave Mary’s body then and you wrapped your arms around their shoulders and tugged them back down onto the bed.  “Let’s take a nap.”

“That’s not very sexy.”

“Neither is having you bleed everywhere.”

“Not bleeding any more.”

“Yeah but it’s hard to kiss you when you’re yawning constantly.”

“Other things besides my mouth you cou–ow!  Fine!  Ok, ok I’m sorry.”  Mary let out a pained groan when you pulled your fingers away.  “Pinching an injured man, does Doc do that?”

“No, but he also doesn’t kiss his patients either.”  You reached down and pulled the blanket up over you both, your eyes trailing over Mary’s body as it disappeared underneath the fabric.  They had some new scars since you saw them last and you made a note to ask about them whenever Mary was feeling better.  For right now rest was the most important thing.  “Go to sleep Mary.”

“Hmm, I guess.”  They wiggled around in your bed, wrapping their arms around you and tugging you so your back was against their chest.  Mary’s breath ruffled the hair next to your ear making you shiver.  Their arms tightened around you in response and you couldn’t help but smile, letting yourself relax and enjoy the feeling.  “Will you be here when I wake up?”

Mary’s voice was muffled against so you turned your head to try and catch their eyes.  

“What?”  

Those gorgeous green eyes of his sluggishly opened and they gave you a lazy smile before repeating themselves.

“When I wake up?  You still gonna be here?”

“Of course, Mary.”  They let out a soft hum, tugging you back against their chest.  You felt their breath evening out as they began to fall asleep and while you were tired yourself you couldn’t help but tease them one last time.  “It’s my bed anyway.”

It was Mary’s turn to pinch you, quickly followed by his fingers digging into your sides and tickling you.  After you screeched trying to get away an unfortunately aimed elbow had him groaning and demanding mercy.  You turned in Mary’s arms, humming as you brushed their hair out of their face.  

“Terrible bedside manner.”

“My sincerest apologies, Mr. Goore.”  You kissed their pouting lips, their cheeks and their forehead until Mary settled down again, their breath evening out once more.  Right when you were on the edge of sleep yourself you smiled against Mary’s chest, murmuring a promise into their skin before sleep took you,  “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

~ Naps With Copia series masterpost ~

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

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[her-satanic-wiles]

Commissions are open!

Masterlist

Words: 4.5k.

Warnings: begging, body worship, choking, corruption kink, cum eating, cunnilingus, dirty talk, dry humping, dubcon elements, fingering, hand job, humiliation kink, licking piss off a hand, making out, masturbation, mentions of dark kinks (but nothing explicit), mentions of penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, nipple play, omorashi, orgasm denial, partner worship, plus size!Reader, positive degradation, PIV sex, rough sex, salirophilia, spanking, sploshing, squirting, switch Mary & Reader, they acting like horny teenagers, under/non-negotiated kinks, unprotected sex, use of the word “bitch”, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, watersports

Taglist: @bitchywitchygardener @astro-ghoul99 @jogjosmowwdkfs @ohgoodnesswhatdo @malixxxmistress @gardenghoul22 @m0rbidmacabre @herb-welch @inkstainedrat @angellayercake @xshadyladyx @ghoulette-knell @da-rulah @th4t-em0-k1d @mae-mei-m @in-ghost-we-trust @onlyhereforghost @ultraghostproblems

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Mary didn’t look like much of a cuddler, but he was - and he was completely unashamed of it, too, he’ll have you know. He was a person who loved heavy metal, blood, guts and gore, and snuggling with you on the couch and watching movies, giving you sweet little loving pets and listening to your breathing when you’d fall asleep on him. Bright smiles, warm hugs, a kiss on the forehead and gentle touches down your back. But, there was a really, really tiny, super small, minute, little problem: his libido ran like the Duracell fucking Bunny and he had the self control of a moth when it sees light. Your genitals fit the analogy so on and so forth.

He wouldn’t have you in his lap often, as much as he loved it, because it was somewhat of a sexual trigger for him. It didn’t matter how many layers you both were wearing, if your pussy was on his cock in any capacity he could feel it. He could feel every little twitch, any movement, any heat radiating off your body like radiation seeping into the ground at Chernobyl - and it made him feral. A rabid animal rutting into you desperately needing to cum. Turned on and raring to go at you no matter what. Was it exhausting? Too fucking right. Did you enjoy every second? Absolutely.

You were both watching a horror movie on the couch and all you did was bend down to kiss him once you returned from getting you both a drink, but he scooped you into his lap, stuck his tongue down your throat then feigned surprise when he started chubbing up beneath you, playfully scolding you for capitalizing on his little problem as you rubbed your clothed cunt against him a tantalizing two times. All his chastising, however, clearly had no ground to stand on as his hands had sunk into your plush hips and pushed you further onto him, applying more pressure between you both and groaning at the impact. But there were still too many layers between you, so he began to tug at your pants and pull them from you, taking the opportunity to remove his own when you briefly climbed off him to remove yours from you. The second his ass touched back down on that couch, now only covered by his grey briefs, he pulled you into his lap again and had you rub against him.

“Doesn’t that feel better, my angel?” He muttered into your mouth.

You moaned in response, the noise being caught by his tongue as he ran it over your top lip. Your hands clutched at his sleeveless tee, the fabric practically hanging off his paper-thin body. The faster your hips moved, the tighter your grip became. All the while, Mary whimpered beneath you, fingers digging into your hips and then your thick thighs, squeezing at the fat enough to keep you comfortable but so he could still have his fill of your voluptuous body.

Mary did things to you you didn’t realise you liked - and especially when he had you pinned beneath him, bent in half with his cock driving into you. But even though he was the one ruining your body for his own pleasure, he made noises as if he were the one submitting. His mouth would utter the filthiest of dirty talk, the most profane shit, in between little bitch-boy whimpers that had your cunt clenching every time - and right now was no exception. He’d mutter things desperately in between kisses, but most of the time he would just whimper and moan while his fingers moved across the expanse of your body like they had a mind of their own. Sometimes his words would become clear, but most of the time you just died at the sound of his desperation.

“This fucking cunt, baby, shit! I can feel you through my underwear- you’re so fucking wet already.”

“I - fuck - I blame you for this.”

He also began moving his own hips as best he could from beneath you, but this position didn’t allow him much movement, so he pushed himself down the sofa just a little, allowing his ass to hang off the edge ever so slightly, and give him more room to recline and fully take in the sight of his goddess using him for her pleasure. “I know I’m always horny for you, but this just proves you’re exactly the same for me, hm?”

“Only you get me this turned on, Mare.”

He groaned. “Too fuckin’ right. So desperate for my cock got you humping me while we watch a fucking horror flick.”

“You started it.”

“I love that you get so fucking horny for just opening your legs for me. My own gorgeous, little slut, yeah?”

You whimpered for him, your clit dragging against his impossibly hard cock as your hips moved faster, gearing up for an orgasm. You felt one of his hands roam over your breasts, finding your nipple and begin playing with it through the fabric of your t-shirt. He loved that you never wore a bra at home, mostly because it gave him easy access to your tits. Sometimes he just wanted to grab and grope at you, other times he wanted to rest his head on them and hold you against him. His eyes were fixated on the way they jiggled slightly with your movement - not quite as much as when he’d ravage you, but even still they were utterly captivating to him.

“Fucking hell, Mary. I’m gonna cum!”

“Yeah, baby? You g-gonna cum in your panties for me, hm? Desperate little wh-whore can’t wait until my cock is inside her, she has to - fuck! - hump me like a bitch in heat.” His other hand that was on your thigh moved to your ass, gave you a quick squeeze before it came down hard on your flesh, making your ass cheek ripple deliciously. He was sad he couldn’t see it, but watching you take your bottom lip between your teeth and lift your shirt up to pull at your nipple, he found himself grinding against you harder. “Let go. Cum for me, angel. Please. L-let me see that perfect face a-as I make you cum.”

The sound of Mary’s whimpers and the feel of him against your cunt had you tipping over the edge in what felt like no time flat. He had a dark look in his eye, filled almost entirely of lust, with just a smidge of adoration.

“That feel good, baby?”

“So fucking good.”

He held you by your hips again to keep you steady as he gently continued rocking into you. He looked down at where you both were connected and saw that your juices had dampened his briefs just a little. If he didn’t get inside you soon, he’d simply perish. He moved down and pulled himself out of his underwear, gasping at the freedom.

But you made to move. “Hold on, Mare, gotta piss.”

“___.” He whined.

“I’ll be back.” Mary tightened his grip and refused to let you leave. “Mary, you gotta let me go.”

“You can hold it.” His bare cock was now rubbing against your panties over your clit, eyes fixated on it.

“Mare, I’m not kidding. I gotta go!” You were laughing at his ridiculousness. He could be so petulant when he wanted to be.

Mary returned your laughter, a cheeky, love-drunk smile plastered on his lips and a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m telling you, you can hold it. Move your panties to the side, baby, I want in.”

“Mary, you can fuck me any which way you choose, just let me go to the toilet! I will piss on you.”

He dared to let go of one of your hips, moving to grasp onto your wrist instead. With his other hand now free, he pulled your panties to the side exposing your cunt to him completely, then moved it to your stomach. “Please, on this couch? You wouldn’t dare.” He was now sporting a dangerous look, daring you to do the unthinkable. He knew you wouldn’t, but took great fun riling you up to annoyance. Calling your bluff for the shits and giggles.

“Mary.”

His thrusts got a little rougher, clearly taking so much pleasure out of being a nuisance. Your eyes closed, feeling of his bare cock rubbing through your folds and catching your clit so deliciously. You didn’t want to move. You wanted him to keep pleasuring you, and fuck you into the couch cushions until you couldn’t feel your legs. You also didn’t really want to piss on him, though. Your protests were still there, but weak. So weak. “Y-you have to let me go.”

“I wanna fucking bury myself so fucking deep inside you, angel. Fuck, baby, this pussy is so wet for me. So warm. Shit!”

He began pressing on your stomach over your bladder, making your need to pee much more urgent. “Mary, I’m gonna pee. I can’t hold it.”

“Yes you can.”

“I can’t. Mary, please!”

He pressed harder. What he didn’t realise was just how bad you actually needed to go, and just how much pressure he was putting on your body with his hand. You tried to hold it back, but it was just too much. What started as a small trickle turned out to be a full, broken dam bursting at the seams and flooding the valley below. The valley was your partner. At first, Mary kept thrusting, thinking that it was just your cunt providing extra cream with just how worked up you were, cock twitching at the feeling and the warmth surrounding him. But then he felt it, the unusually warm wetness that began pouring itself over his cock. He looked down, thrusts slowing, and watched as his light grey briefs became darker and darker with each drop that spilled onto him. He couldn’t believe you’d done that, but more importantly, he couldn’t believe just how hot that actually was.

“I’m so sorry!” You started, managing to cut your flow before too much damage had been done. When you spoke, and he heard the panic in your voice, he looked up at your face to see you flushed and embarrassed. Innocent. Sweet. He was the one in the wrong, but there you were, halfway drained your piss onto him and still thought that you should have tried harder to hold it.

It took Mary to find his voice again, mouth wide open in disbelief but pupils entirely blown. He looked insane. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I really tried to stop but I-”

He sat up and pressed his nose to yours, and the movement made you feel his briefs, now sopping wet with your piss. “Can you do it again?” He asked.

Now you were the one wearing disbelief. “What?”

Mary’s patience was starting to wear thin. He grabbed your chin in between is index finger and thumb, and his voice turned stern. “Don’t look at me like that. When you just fucking pissed yourself on my lap, don’t you fucking make me look like the disgusting one. The fucking innocence about it all too. Big wide eyes. The fucking audacity. Now, finish what you started.”

“Y-you liked it?”

“___, that was the hottest thing you have ever fucking done. I’m dying here. Piss on me.” He lay back to his original position and let his eyes drop to your cunt.

You nodded, and fully let yourself go this time, groaning at the feeling of finally emptying your bladder. “Fuck.” Mary whispered. He didn’t realise it was loud enough for you to hear. “Filthy bitch.”

You saw him staring, felt him desperately rutting against your cunt as your piss poured onto him, this time worse than before. His once light grey briefs were growing saturated with you, his bare cock growing wetter and wetter as his hips bucked against you, nudging against your clit and spreading the stream further and further. Every time he nudged against you felt like a jolt of electricity which merged with the relief of your bladder emptying, and you found yourself enjoying it so much more than you ever thought you would. Your hips moved, too, desperately rubbing against him as your hands moved back to your nipples to play with them.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that.” He gritted his teeth. “Just fucking like that, oh shit!”

It was hot. A stream of warm liquid splashing down his cock, seeping into his underwear and sticking to his skin. He trembled in excitement, cheeks burning. Gut twisting as it rolled down his ass cheeks and pooling on the sofa.

The look of disappointment on his face when you’d finished was so obvious, and if you weren’t quite so horny, you probably would have laughed. But Mary was in a different headspace altogether.

He couldn’t stop himself. He was rabid. He reached down and lined himself up with your entrance, shuddering as his hand grazed his briefs. His cock, now covered in your piss, was pushed all the way inside of you, burying himself to the hilt in one fell swoop. Your mouth hung open at the sensation, eyebrows furrowed in pure, unbridled pleasure. You watched as he removed his hand from between you both and ran his tongue over where his skin had touched his underwear, and you realised that it was your piss he was licking off his hand.

“And you’re calling me filthy.” You told him through a smirk.

His only response was a cheeky grin, before he planted his feet on the floor, gripped your hips so hard they might bruise, and roughly fucked into you in the way he knew you both loved. You received a hit to your cervix as punishment for your cheek, but of course, the noise you made when you felt it sounded less like a reaction to a punishment.

The faster Mary thrusted, the more noise filled the air. If it wasn’t your combined, wanton moans, then it was the sound of him fucking you. Yes, there was the usual sound of your wet pussy shlucking with each movement, but the sound was amplified by the piss and the dripping underwear that kept sticking to your thighs as they jiggled with Mary’s force.

Mary growled. “Filthy f-fucking slut pissing all over me.” He slapped your thigh. “Getting off on it. Look at that fucking face. You love it don’t you? Shit! Getting railed with your piss all over my cock, hm?” He slapped one of your tits. “God fucking help you now, baby. We’ve started this, we’re not stopping now.” He moved his hand up to your throat as he continued assaulting your cunt, revelling in the sounds your body was making on top of him. He didn’t apply any pressure to begin with, just content with the threat of it, but even still you tightened around him.

“M-maybe next time, I’ll piss down your throat.”

“Fucking hell.” He thrust into you a little deeper, causing you to scream out. “Please.”

“Yeah? You want that?”

“Fuck yeah! So fucking much, angel.”

“I will. The next time I sit on your face, I’ll - fuck -”

His fingers involuntarily tightened around your throat. “Finish that sentence. I fucking dare you.”

“I’ll open your mouth and make you drink every drop.”

“Fuck!”

There was no warning, no prior movement that prepared you for what happened next. In a rush of adrenaline, Mary pushed you off of him and lay you on the coffee table, your head hanging off of it. He forced your legs further apart, and buried his cock inside you for the second time, showing no mercy as he pounded your twitching cunt and fucked you with such a force that the coffee table began to slide across the floor, groaning under your combined weight. He reached down to the water bottle that was rattling against the wood and wrapped your fingers around it.

“Chug it.”

“What?”

“The whole thing, fucking chug it. You’re doing it at least one more time today.”

You nodded and obeyed, wrapping your lips around the straw of your bottle and sucking down the water. It was difficult to do, given the roughness of Mary’s thrusts, but you managed it, nonetheless.

A thin sheen of sweat had joined the other bodily fluids over Mary’s exposed skin, and his breath had become laboured and shallow. His voice only released grunts and groans occasionally now, too deep in his mind so talk to you, but eyes heavily focussed on your body. The way you bounced and jiggled blow him had completely enraptured him, that and the thought of you pissing on him again.

When he saw you taking in his cock and enjoying every minute of it, he growled. Your mouth was hanging open and drool was seeping out of the corners because the sensation felt so good. Your brows were furrowed, your eyes rolled back, and your body was drenched in sweat. You were soaking wet for him, slicking Mary’s dick as he caught the strings of your fluids flex and break in time with his movements. The sound of your urine, which was now dripping residually on the coffee table beneath you, was still exquisite.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” He all but screamed, backing away from you like he’d just been electrocuted and pulling out entirely, falling against the sofa. His body splayed on the cushions, chest rising and falling as he tried to bring himself back from whatever place he’d just gone to.

“You good, Mare?” You asked, sitting up.

“Almost came. Pussy so good, making me have a midlife crisis.” He finally tore his eyes away from the ceiling to look at you, legs spread and mindlessly playing with your clit. “God, baby, don’t do that.”

You giggled and dipped two fingers inside of you, only to pull them back out and suck on them, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time.

“You fucking spawn of Satan.” He pushed himself to his knees and rested your legs over his shoulders. “What happened to my angel who always did as she was told, hm?”

“You let her piss on you.”

He plunged right in, sucking and licking at your clit. He forgot to take it easy and instead let himself take whatever he wanted from you because he was so needy and desperate for you. Your half-open mouth gave a loud whimper that was good enough to rouse his desire, motivate him to carry on his wanton caresses, and cause your legs to tremble. “Right there, Mare! Just like that!” You muttered, breathing heavily from the forceful suction he applied, punctuating your words with an especially breathy moan.

His face was pushed further into your cunt as one of your hands tightened its grip on his black hair, revealing your own neediness. Your hips bucked as you used his mouth for your own pleasure. The other hand came up to pinch at your nipple. He didn’t want to cum too soon? Fine. He could give you what you exactly what you needed. He had a tendency to pull away from you right as you were about to cum, but the closer you reached, the tighter your thighs locked around his head, forcing him to stay where he was until he actively tapped out.

He traced your labia with his middle and ring fingers then pushed them between your folds, making a line from clit to the hole, but not yet pushing it in. He timed it with a particularly rough suck to your clit, causing a pornographic moan to fall from your mouth. He kept making the same pattern a few times before a little accidental push slipped the tip of his finger in. His self control slipped entirely, and he continued pushing into your tight, wet heat and tapping up. You were a squirter, and he knew your body like the back of his hand. This was a surefire way to get you to cum and squirt all over his face. Except, this time, it wasn’t just your cum he wanted to escape from your body.

“F-fuck, Mary! I know what you’re trying to do. Shit. You’re sup-supposed to be good and wait until n-next time!”

He growled and shook his head, keeping your clit between his lips as his head moved, ripping another moan from you.

“You want m-more, huh? Pissing all over your c-cock wasn’t enough for you? Greedy fucking bitch.” You could feel the pressure building in your glands, that familiar tingle returning telling you how close you were to cumming for the second time. “I’m so fucking close, Mare. You want it, yeah? You wanna drink my piss like a filthy fucking animal?”

He nodded.

“Nuh-uh. I wanna hear you.”

The whimper Mary released in response to your order had your hole clenching around his fingers. It was the kind of whimper you only ever heard him make in subspace, when he was completely pliant for you, and willing to let you do everything and anything you wanted to him.

“Oh fuck! Mary, I’m cumming!”

That was all the warning he got before your cunt trembled with your second orgasm, clenching around his fingers and pushing out the water you drank earlier. Mary let the copious amount of piss that gushed out of you fall into his mouth, wide open and waiting, his tongue playing with your clit and keeping your orgasm going. His open mouth allowed your piss to roll from his chin to his t-shirt and all the way down to stain the floor. A few drops made it passed his cock, which he gathered in one hand and lubricated to resume stroking himself, self-control be damned.

He guzzled each drop greedily, swallowing as much of it as he could as though he were dehydrated and you were a lifeline. There wasn’t as much of it as there was the first time, much to Mary’s dismay, but even still, he revelled at the salty and bitter taste, and continued to stroke himself quickly. He was so painfully hard and ready to cum, moaning wildly with each stroke and each drop swallowed. When your stream tapered off, you watched him lick his lips, pupils blown and a look of horny insanity on his face. You let him pull back and watched his Adam’s apple bob as he drank the remainder down.

“Fucking hell…” you said, breathlessly, getting on your knees and taking his length into your hand. “Was that good, baby?”

Mary nodded. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“Yeah?”

He groaned at the feel of your hand tightening around his girth, stroking just as quickly as he did to begin with. “Fucking hell, yes!”

“We need to get you to cum, huh, baby? Been holding out on me for too long now.”

“Please.”

You hesitated for a second, but still continued to stroke. You wondered why Mary loved it so much - and if you ever could. Curiosity got the better of you, as it happened, and, along with your hand, you decided to just… “Do you think you could do it, too?”

Mary’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Think you could piss, too?”

Mary’s hips bucked. He was surprised enough that you indulged him today with his newfound curiosity - but now you were actively asking him to piss on you. Pissing with an erection was difficult, something he knew from the amount of times he decided he needed to go during either sex or playing with himself, but not impossible. So, with a dumb look on his face, he nodded, and continued to lose himself in the feeling of your warm hand rubbing your piss over his length.

“Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck, baby just like that! Don’t fuckin’ stop. It’s coming.” He told you suddenly, hips bucking wildly against your body. His hands clutched onto your wrist and your shoulder, and when his face contorted in pure pleasure, you allowed your eyes to drift from his face to his cock, just in time to watch the show begin. You aimed his cock towards his already soiled shirt, and continued stroking him through it.

At first, it was a small dribble that didn’t even reach his shirt, instead coating your hand. But the more you stroked and the more he concentrated, the stronger his stream became and poured onto his abdomen, hidden beneath the shirt. The dark grey, muscle tee, soiled with your urine on the chest, now became saturated with his. He took his bottom lip in between his teeth and muffled his moans, allowing the sound of his stream to overpower everything else. His grip on your body became tighter and tighter the longer the stream went on, clearly gaining a lot of relief from the feeling of both emptying his bladder at the same time you vigorously stroked his cock, very obviously wanting the reward at the end.

You were mesmerized by it, feeling the blood rush to your clit again and tingling with desire. If it weren’t for the threat of oversensitivity, you might even touch yourself again, and go for a third orgasm. But Mary’s pleasure came first now.

Mary couldn’t keep himself to himself anymore, the hand on your shoulder moving to the back of your neck and pushing your head towards him, capturing your lips in a needy kiss, all tongue, and teeth, and desperation. You could taste the bitterness of your own piss still on his tongue, however faintly it appeared, and it caused you to whimper into his mouth. That whimper was what tipped him over the edge.

With his tongue down your throat, your piss all over his body and his on your hand, now lubricating your strokes, he came, muffled screams falling into your mouth as your hand got coated with his semen. His entire body shook with the force of his orgasm, his heartbeat racing like he’d just run a marathon and pale cheeks flushed with blood. He hissed at oversensitivity, the hand on your wrist stiffening to slow your movements down and eventually stop them altogether. “Fucking hell!” He breathed, teeth tingling from the numbness of his whole body.

“Good.”

He kissed you again with as much fervor as before. “So fucking good, baby, holy shit!” He started pressing kisses all over your face. “Thank you so much.”

“Well, you started it.”

“Would… would you be willing to do this again?”

“Absolutely.”

Mary grinned like the cat that got the cream, very clearly chuffed at what just transpired. He looked down at your hand, and saw just how messy it was. As you reached for a tissue, he stopped you, took your hand to his mouth and licked his cum off of it, tasting the two fluids together.

“I think we need a shower.” You told him, smacking his shoulder playfully when he waggled his eyebrows cheekily.

He sighed. “I think so, too. A very long… hot shower.”

[ghuleh-recs]

Some Mary Goore recs for those of us mourning the loss of Repugnant. Like to charge and reblog to cast an absolute motherfucker of a hex on Spotify.

Fics under the cut. These are filthy because Mary is filthy. 18+ mdni

Kinktober 2021 Day 12 - @copias-thrall - dew x mary x swiss

Swiss has some fun with the two resident gremlins.

First Dates and Second First Dates - @filthy-rat - mary x gn!reader

After your first date goes slightly awry, Mary insists that you have a second first date, which is completely different from a second date.

Painting Mary - @lady-necropolis - mary x f!reader

could i request a fic about the reader doing their halloween makeup/facepaint, and they want to try doing mary’s and ends up pulling the “i want to do your makeup so i have to straddle you oh noooo 👀” card.

Again - @ramblingoak - mary x virgin!reader (f!reader)

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to do something?”  Mary didn’t answer, they continued to remain still by the bed staring down at you.  You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself up onto your elbows and glaring at them.  “Haven’t you done this before?

Gotcha - @lady-jane3 - mary x gn!reader

They regained some of their cocky air and flipped the knife between their fingers, making me flinch slightly in more difficult passes between. The shot of adrenaline I felt each time the passes just slightly lagged made me start to understand it, feeling a cool cloud of relief after each burst of adrenaline. A crooked grin slowly crept across his lips as he noticed the way I was watching the flash of the blade, thinking that he caught my attention exactly the way he wanted it.

Mary Machinations - @filthy-rat - mary x f!reader

Mary's got this van. He calls it his "shaggin' wagon". As perhaps his only friend that he hasn't stuck his dick in, you have yet to be invited into the back of it, but that's about to change.

Saucy Mary Goore - @copias-thrall - mary x f!reader

“You show enough chicks Jesus, and that goes a long way to them thinking you ain’t that much of an asshole after all.” It sounds like a snappy comeback in your head, but the minute the words are out, you want to shove them back in. “So you’re saying the only way to get someone to stop thinking you’re an asshole is to let you fuck it out of them?” He bites his bottom lip and sucks the air through his teeth as he gives you an appraising look. 

⛧ now go forth and read, bookmark, kudos, comment, & add your own Mary recs to the list!!

[megachaoticstupid]

“Not a valentine” valentine

You don’t remember who exactly suggested this idea between you both, but since both, you and Mary, didn’t have a partner, you agreed to go with them on a friendly “date” in one of the pubs on Valentine day.

Word count: 3926

Trigger warnings: mostly fluff, idiots to lovers, but there are a little bit of a creepy man, blood and sexual harassment (i am sorry), and a small fight.

Author's note: Happy Valentine day if you are celebrating, and if not, then Happy Wednesday! I want once again give huge thanks to @her-satanic-wiles for being patient with me and so supportive. Thank you ❤ And a lot of thanks to @gothdaddyissues for the amazing divider. Masterlist

You don’t remember who exactly suggested this idea between you both, but since both, you and Mary, didn’t have a partner, you agreed to go with them on a friendly “date” in one of the pubs. It was their favourite – “veritas”. They loved to snicker at the name and saying that all the creativity went only on the name, for other shit imagination ran dry. And you always rolled your eyes, knowing that they will drag you or your friends here after every gig the band had.

Usually, pub was occupied with several regulars here and there and some fresh blood who came to scream into a karaoke machine and get wasted. It was fun, in times rowdy, and the wine here was fine. But, unexpectedly for you, today the pub is crowded as hell. You see it through the window not believing it at first, but as the door swings open, you are surprised to see a lot of people are either here with their partner having the time of their life or by themselves drinking and just chilling. In the small plaque near the window, you see: “Every third glass is for free”. No wonder it is crowded.

The atmosphere is slightly all over the place. You never saw the interior ever decorated. Even on Christmas it was pretty chill and you loved that Jimmy, the owner of the pub, just never gave a fuck about it. Now, it is covered with cute little hearts, paper frills and pink paper chains. But from the speakers, despite pink romantic mood, blasts “Jolene” by Dolly Parton. You both freeze in your tracks, taking in everything and look at each other slightly dumbfounded. After a moment, your friend shrug their shoulders and enter. You follow them and the door closes, trapping you in the pink world.

To you, crowds were always slightly intimidating, threatening to absolve and part you from your friends, so now you almost cling to Mary, grabbing them by the hand and their shirt. They squeeze back reassuringly, navigating through a crowded place with an ease which could have surprised you if it was someone else. And you were not surprised when they got a small table in the far corner of the pub, almost threatening two dudes to leave the seats Mary booked weeks prior. You sit down, smiling at your friend and then roll your eyes.

“Are you always this scary, Goore? Dudes almost pissed themselves.”

“Sweetheart, I had to butter up Jimmy so we can have this small corner for ourselves. And I don’t hear your praises, you know how Jimmy is. The man is a menace.”

They shake their head pretending to be offended by your lack of gratitude and you smile even wider at them. Mary are so cute when they pout, at least to you. Still smiling at them, you squeeze their hand and put your other on your chest a little bit pompously.

“Mary, even the bards of the past will never find words for your bravery and your self-sacrificing nature. And both of them you showed trying to save a table for the two of us in this smelly pub on February 14th!”

You give them a shit-eating grin and then wince when they flicker you on your forehead and roll their eyes.

“Sorry, I am really grateful for that and happy to have fun with you today”

You smile at them apologetically; your words speak truth. Anything is better than spending this day alone and thinking about your ex and how everything was fucked up from the start. And, spending time with Mary for you is better than anything else. Your small crush not helping these feelings. For you, spending any spare time with them was always fun and giggles as they always found the ways to distract you from anything, supporting and comforting you with their presence and actions. They always made you feel like home and for that only you were always grateful.

You look them in the eyes, waiting for their response, hand in their hand as you both seat in the corner of the pub, drunk people all around you and another song about broken hearts blasts from the speakers, drowning you both in the cacophony of acoustic guitar riffs and somber voice of the musician. You smile at them and they almost immediately smile back, forgetting about their “wounded” feelings, squeezing your hand.

A quick thought rushes in your head. A treacherous one, whispering to you, that this evening looks almost like a cheesy real date with Mary, and on the Valentine Day of all days. You squish it quickly, suppressing your thoughts and putting them in the box in the back of your mind. Your cheeks still blush as you remove your hand from theirs and quickly start putting away your winter jacket. If Mary were a little bit disappointed by this, they didn’t show it, puzzled look swiftly disappearing and a mischievous smile playing on their lips as they also undress.

“So, sweetheart, what do you want for our “Not valentine” valentine day?”

They ask, their eyes are glinting in the dim lights of the pub and you smile back, shrugging your shoulders and look at the bartender. Jimmy looked really down and sad, serving drinks to the customers almost with a solemn reverence, bobbing his head to the beat of the song. You sigh, looking at him and shake your head. Mary looks in the same direction

“Divorce doesn’t suit him well”

They say, also shaking their head and sighing as you looked at him quizzically, quirking a brow.

“Sure thing, Mary, no one glows up when they divorce with their loved ones. It is hurtful”

You might have added too many emotions in your answer, as you notice them looking with sympathy at you and taking your hand in theirs. It feels awkward all of a sudden, so they try to joke

“Well, his ex certainly glowed up, getting a lover, Jimmy’s car and flat”

You scoff at their tone, but it helps you to relax a little. You look again at Jimmy and nod

“Well, I hope he will get better eventually. He still has his pub”

You both quiet down. Looking at the sheet of menu, none of you need it, but still using it as you both feel slightly awkward to be together in the sea of lovesick couples. Your hand is still in Mary’s, held tight and reassuringly. You look at them as a hold your breath. Their messy black hair styled in front of their face, their make-up and fake blood and favourite tee with their favourite band – all of that make them look so comfortable and beautiful to you. But you also notice, that they tried to look presentable today: make up applied perfectly, their cologne is pleasant and overall appearance is not as crunchy and messy as they usually love to appear. At the thought that they tried, even though they didn’t have to, your heart starts beating faster. And you try to calm yourself, when they go to order, hand on your stupid tender heart, as you just try to reason with it. After all, Mary is a friend, not a potential interest. And you repeat this thought, looking at them and their hips as they walk up to the bar.

After their return, you begin to have your own fun. Alcohol always made you mushy and braver, so, after a few glasses of wine, you forget about any shyness that you feel around Mary today, fully relaxing and giggling at their stories from their different gigs and jobs. You know half of them already, but it doesn’t stop you from giggling at them, grabbing their arms and resting your head on their shoulder in the fits of laugh when they move their chair to be close to yours. Mary blush at your gestures, laughing with you and at your own stories from work, and as the evening progresses, they place their arm around your shoulders.

You feel happy, bubbly even, and drag Mary on the small dancefloor too excited to hear their protests. “No children” blasts from the speakers, as you place one hand on Mary’s shoulder and the other one in their hand. They chuckle, shake their head and finally hug you by the waist, brining you close to their body, almost squishing you in them. Your breath hitches, his cologne hitting your nose and you can almost hear their heart beating fast under the sternum.

Both of you at first sway a little bit clumsily, making strange pa’s and twirling in each other’s arms. But then you get bolder, laughing to the lyrics, singing them and imitating the lines with your silly gestures, pulling each other close and then lightly pushing away again as if you are an arguing couple. Your laughs bubble in your chest as you dramatically extend your hand to them, singing “Hand in unlovable hand” and they pull you close to them, bringing their hands to your hips and making you sway gentler, slower. You put your arms around Mary’s shoulders, face raised to theirs and your breath mixes as they lean closer.

You see that Mary’s pupils are blown, hands gripping your hips tighter and their face is so close, that you can’t help but have a tiny thought run in your head. What if they kiss you right now? You lean closer, tilting your head for them and they do the same, cupping your cheek and leaning closer as well. Your breath hitches and you flutter your eyes several times. Their thumb gently brushes your cheek and then tilts your head slightly to the side. Mary’s eyes are gentle and have a silent question in them. Words are swirling on your tongue and they all over the place: from the simple “what?” to a crushingly loud “yes!”. But before you answer Jimmy notices you both and yells:

“Mary, come over here for a sec!”

Mary roll their eyes, frustrated sigh leaving their lips

“Be in a sec, sweetheart. Be there.”

They kiss your forehead and quickly go to the bar, looking frustrated. You chuckle nervously, cheeks are burning and stupid butterflies are flying in your stomach. Your heart races in your chest like crazy and your mind is slightly dizzy. You turn around and look at Mary, unsure smile on your lips and as they lean at the bar and argue about something with Jimmy, they steal a glance at your side and smile broadly with a wink, when they see you watching.

Your smile grows, blush deepens and, as a way to calm down yourself, you sway absentmindedly to the music, waiting for Mary to return. Even if your thoughts are hectic about everything that happened and almost happened, looking at them, hell, being with them feels you with peace and comfort. They make you feel like no one else before, so you let yourself dream about several what if’s, knowing and believing, that they don’t feel the same about you.  

And then, in the moment of peace your feel someone’s hands on your hips. You freeze, mind registering everything that happens: the smell of alcohol, their grabby hands groping your hips and thighs and murmurs in your ear.

“Such a beauty and all alone?”

You blood boils, disgust feels you up. The fight-or-flight response kicking in and suddenly to your assaulter, you turn and punch them without any plan. All you want now is for them to feel pain for daring to grope you. Something crunches under your knuckles, your hand hurts and a yelp leaves the man’s lips, as he grabs his bleeding nose.

Anger courses through your veins and you want to punch him more, to rub into their pain, but you are not quick enough as Mary almost jump in front of you, shielding you and then grabbing the man by his shirt and landing another punch in his face. If looks could kill, your assaulter would be laying in a pile of bones on the floor. He stands up slowly, swaying a little bit, but then throws a punch at Mary’s face, which is caught, but he immediately throws another and manages to slit your friend’s eyebrow.

You shriek and ask people around you for help, but they only stare as Mary gets punched in the face once again. You see their own blood trickling down their face and you can’t stand it. Before you know, your feet carry you quickly to the brawl and with a scream you knee the man in the crotch. He doubles down, whining in pain. Jimmy interrupts you both immediately, bringing with him two other men to hold Marry back and kick out the pervert. Sizing you both down, the owner sighs and points at the door behind the bar.

“Go bring your idiot boyfriend to the staff room, I have a med kit here. Quick, before I kick you both out.”

He grumbles, and turns to the crowd, calming them down and drawing attention from Mary and you. You don’t even argue with that assumption, too shaken up. Grabbing Mary by the hand, you drag them to a small room and sit them down on the chair. Gently, you take their face in your hands and check the injuries. Their bottom lip is swollen and cut, their left eye is shut, covered with blood and you are sure it will bruise. The cut on Mary’s brow above the said eye, worries you the most, so you grab the med kit and carefully wash their wound, not wishing to hurt them even more. They hiss, closing their eyes and leaning back on the chair, letting you do your work, their hands on your hips, gripping you tightly for comfort.

After cleaning and sanitizing the wound, you take a better look at it. To your relief, it’s not deep, so you blow on it gently to soothe the pain and apply a bandage. You chuckle, as you look at them, the med kit has only pink ones left. Mary frown at you and wince once again in pain, but do not say anything, just watching you as you work on them.

Leaving a gentle kiss on their forehead and earning a pleased grunt from them, you carefully wipe their face from all the blood, fake or not, and inspect their eye now. It is already starting to swell and you sigh, feeling guilty. After all, if you didn’t overreact, they would have been fine. You give them an icepack to help with the swollenness and lean closer to their lip, inspecting it even thoroughly. The bottom lip is swollen and read, the right corner is cut, but Mary are still smiling at you, slightly wincing.

“Do you like my battle scars, sweetheart?”

They smile at you, trying you put your worries at ease and turn everything to a joke:

“Should have seen the other guy, heh?”

You roll your eye and want to smack the on their head for stupid jokes, but instead you clean their wound, maybe, applying a little bit too much pressure and getting another grunt from them.

“Sugar, are you trying to finish what a dickhead back then started? Or, is it a foreplay to something more-”

The don’t finish their joke as you turn their head away to the med kit and then put a small round band aid on their lip. This time with a cute pink heart. Mary wince and drag you to their lap, getting you closer to them and hugging you tightly. Their face changes from teasing to apologetic.

“I am sorry, sweetheart, Are you alright?”

You look at them and hurt swells in your chest. Now, without their make-up, Mary looks so vulnerable, so open to you. The silly band aids play to this picture and you can’t help but smile gently at them, nodding reassuringly.

“You should worry about yourself, Mary”

They roll their eyes and cup your cheek looking at your face, checking you closely and then lower their gaze to you hand. You knuckles are red from the punch you landed. Noting serious, or at least, not as serious as their case, but Mary still frown and bring your hand to their lips, kissing hurt skin gently. Knuckle by knuckle, leaving a small trace of kisses, looking at you with tenderness in their eyes. Then, they kiss your fingers, the back of your hand and finally rest their lips on your wrist, brushing against your quickening pulse as you sit in their lap too surprised to do anything, let alone apologize for the scene you caused. Mary smile happily, sighing contently, as they place your palm against their cheek, breathing in the perfume you applied earlier. They look battered up, but still happy with the situation.

“For a person, who landed the nose-crushing punch, you are so timid now.” They kiss your wrist again. “I love seeing all of your sides.”

They tease again, coaxing from you a reaction, wishing for you to calm down. Mary’s face changes when you don’t and they sigh.

“Sweetheart, are you alright? Does it hurt?”

You shake your head and finally touch them back, sliding your arms on their shoulders and hiding your face in the crook of their neck. They sigh happily, hugging you by the waist and kissing you on the cheek.

“That was for sure a “not valentine valentine”, right? Sorry, our date was ruined.”

You freeze again in his arms, eyes wide as their words register in your mind. Suddenly, you sit up straighter, almost falling from their lap.

“A date?!”

It comes out too loud for your liking, but you can’t help yourself. You are sure that the word “date” was never shared between the both of you. Hell, you never thought that they liked you more than a stupid friend to ask you out. Mary frown at your words, hurt is in their eyes.

“Well, sugar cheeks, yes, a date. Why do you think I tried so hard for it to go smoothly? And why do you think I argued for paying for you and shit?”

You see that they are hurt and covering their feeling with angry words. And you are still bewildered, now finally understanding their behavior. Their blush matches your own, frustration is visible on their face

“I… I just thought, that you were friendly with me, Mary.”

Your voice is trembling and weak, as your eyes seek theirs, but they don’t look at you, lips pressing together in a thin line.

“I was always obvious about my feelings! And I have asked you clearly about this date, so I thought…”

Your eyebrows raise as you feel a mi of emotions run through your veins. To you, they never were open about it. Now, you want to strangle them or kiss them. But you stop at the third option, which can fuck up everything nicely. You always fuck up, so why change?

“How would I know, Mary, if you never fucking tell anything?! You were telling me to go on a “non-valentine valentine”. How should I ever interpret it as a date when you themselves were shitting on Valentine!”

They look up, frustration in their eyes matching yours.

“Oh, really? Did you see me asking out D.D. or Farcas? Maybe Jimmy? Hell, you are the one who refused to accept all of my moves on you, playing them down and then being so affectionate with me again! I know that I am not good for you, way out of your league, but fuck, I wanted to…”

Mary stop themselves sighing and shaking their head. Finally, they look into your eyes and speak slightly gentler

“Never mind, I was too stupid to think that I have a chance.”

Your stomach flips at their word, blush spreading on your face further, coveting your ears. But Mary is already set on the outcome, so they try to stand up, but you press on their shoulders, palms shaking and gripping them almost desperately. In other circumstances, you would have been over the moon from Mary’s sudden confession, even if it is a little bit crude, but now you need to clear something up before celebrating.

“Mary…”

Your voice is soft and tender, your eyes are searching theirs for any hidden feelings, finally seeing in them what they always held for you and only you.

“I always thought that you were friendly with me and I never could have thought that you can feel something more than just friendship towards me.”

You place your hand on their blushing cheek, you heart beats somewhere in your throat and you let out the words you always wanted to tell them.

“I love you. I really do.”

They freeze, looking at you with disbelief, unsure smile spreading on their lips as you look in their eyes. Mary kiss the tip of your nose, breathing shakily. Their arms returning their grip on you, bringing you closer to them. But you see, that they are still full of doubt, so you act before you start overthinking everything that has been said. 

You cup their cheeks, thumbs brushing them, lean your forehead against theirs and ask Mary gently:

“May I kiss you?”

Instead of words, they use their mouth, quickly removing distance between your lips and kissing you fervently. Your teeth clank against each other, their bottom lip hurts when they apply too much pressure and you feel like a teenager, sharing their first kiss with a high school crush. You feel butterflies in your stomach and your own heart beating in your ears, as your fingers slide into their hair and tug on black locks. Mary moan into the kiss, leaning their head back, as their hands grip your hips firmly.

You feel dizzy, both from the lack of air and Mary’s kisses. Finally finding the rhythm, they seem like they can’t get enough of you. They open their mouth for you, welcoming your tongue with theirs as they let their hands roam your body. You, yourself, keep up with their greediness. Your fingers touch Mary’s firm shoulders, traveling down to their torso, reaching the edge of their jeans and then going back up again, earning grunts from them. Your hips involuntary grind on theirs, turning already heated make-out session into a much lewder one, filling up the room with whimpers and moans from the both of you.

When it gets top much for you, you break the kiss, resting your head on their shoulder. Your breath a rapid and shallow and you feel how swollen your lips are. You turn your head and glance up at Mary, noticing that they don’t look much better and that their band aid is missing. They smile at you brightly, wincing slightly from the pain and kiss you on the cheek. Mary’s chest falls quickly, as they try to return their breath back to normal and failing miserably. And, as you place your hand on their chest, you feel that they also can’t calm their heart down.

You smile back at them, feeling content, elated even as they squeeze your waist gently. Mary speak up again.

“So, I guess I should start over again”

They take a deep breathe in, holding you tight, uncertainty leaving their body as they speak.

“I love you. Would you like to go on a date with me?”

You nod and grin at them, bringing Mary for another kiss.

[fishwithtitz]

The Five Times I Hooked Up with Mary Goore (and the One Time I Couldn’t) - Chapter 4

stunning artwork of a scene from chapter 1 by @dominaarts that I've been dying to share!

Summary: A miscommunication between Thomas and Des results in a night of Dahlia and Mary dog sitting together. When a record breaking storm rolls in, Dahlia's faced with the decision on exactly how much vulnerability she wants to reveal. Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI Mary Goore x OFC / 15.4k words Warnings: language, thigh-riding, p in v sex, mentions of recreational drug use, alcohol, storms, thunder, slight angst

A/N: Thank you for your patience and support as I've taken the time to write this. This was a difficult chapter to write as it starts building the foundation for the turning point of the story and I wanted to get it just right. Leave a comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist 🥰 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

ao3 link

Hook-up #4: Thomas’ Room

Codependency was something I tried really, really hard to avoid. I’d long prided myself on my 

feral independent streak and would be damned if anyone, man or woman, made me reliant.

But I had to admit, I really missed Des. 

This was the shitty part of relationships. It seemed that when the people you love found someone that they wanted to devote themselves to, their time seemed to be sucked along with it. I understood where she was coming from. The novelty of a budding relationship is a unique and addictive feeling. I don’t blame her for chasing the high. 

While she tended the fire that she and Thomas were building, she was opting for spurts of lighter fluid rather than bits of soul-sourced kindling. And now her fire was growing and spreading, sometimes out of control, and it seemed like all of her time and resources were devoted to managing it. Which meant that some of her other relationships had to be put on the backburner until the flames could be brought to a dull roar. 

As if a sign from the universe, the stars finally aligned (or perhaps just our schedules), and Des and I were able to spend the afternoon together. It was exactly what I needed: some time with my best friend. 

After grabbing a couple of iced coffees from the boutique coffee shop downtown (at her insistence, of course, because the higher price was reflected in the quality of the roast, or something like that), we walked to one of our favorite thrift stores to pillage through the inventory. I felt a certain warmth creep through my chest as we entered the store. The smell was a bit musty, perfume-like, a permeating oxymoron of both dirt and cleanliness. It reminded me of our friendship: unlikely, brutally opposite at times, but unique and complimentary. 

The shop worker greeted us with a nod and a smile from the front counter and went back to browsing through her magazine as she sat on her high-rise stool, painted fingertips skimming over something about interior design. Des and I beelined to the back racks in the furthest room from the front of the shop. We knew that this was usually where they kept the good stuff. 

Thrifting was an exercise of equal parts skill and patience. It was best to go in with zero expectations of both finding anything or looking for a specific piece. My most successful trips had been ones where I’d happened upon things I didn’t even know I’d wanted (or like, for that matter). In fact, I’d long ago learned not to become discouraged when a trip turned out to be a bust. Busts were to be expected. The goldmines, however, outweighed the insolvencies. 

“It feels like forever since we’ve gotten to do this,” Des said as she stopped in front of a circular rack of short-sleeve knit shirts. She began sliding the hangers across the scraped metal, pausing to glance over each shirt as she did so. 

“It has been,” I replied. It wasn’t said with malice; more so, my tone conveyed a neutral honesty that I knew we’d come to appreciate about each other. Despite this, I could tell I’d struck a cord at the slight fall of her facial features. 

Des took a half-step back and turned to me with a sad smile. “I know I haven’t been around as much. I’m sorry.” 

“I understand.” And I did. She knew I did. But the morose feeling was still etched into her features in soft hatched lines and so I quickly added, “Not everyone can be a hot musician with Heraculan biceps. I’ll take my spot in line.” I gave her a wink, which seemed to soften her expression. 

I turned back to the rack and started thumbing through the medium-sized graphic tees. Quite a few were worn crewnecks of casinos or bars from around the state, though a couple school spirit shirts were peppered in. I nearly shuddered at the smiling beaver mascot that reminded me of puberty. 

Des broke my focus. “What about this one?” She held up a small white t-shirt with an image of Strawberry Shortcake on it. “Your muse!”

“One time I tell you about my obsession with Strawberry Shortcake and the Big Apple City as a child…” I mumbled, rolling my eyes as I continued culling through the rack. Des laughed and set the shirt back. 

“I don’t think your tits would fit in a small, anyway. Plus, it had a stain.” She pushed a couple more shirts to the side before turning her torso to me. “Speaking of cake, I heard you and Mary had a get together last week.”

A week had passed since I’d last seen Mary. I’d received another text a few days after our night of baking telling me that the cake was killer and his mom was impressed, but it’d been radio silence since. In any other situation with any other person, I’d probably feel irritation or some sort of anger; an inward creeping as to why this guy wasn’t at all interested in seeing me after a weirdly uncharacteristic close-knit evening. But this was Mary. He wasn’t known for punctuality or routine. On the contrary, Mary was a bit of an enigma, coming and going as he pleased, with zero rhyme or reason to his decision making. He seemed to do what felt right to him in the moment — whatever that may be. Or at least that’s how things appeared. 

The hanger I was sliding across the rack stilted, the fabric of the shirt still pinched between my fingers. My eyes widened slightly, and I failed to control the blush that crept into my cheeks. I refused to meet her stare, but knowing Des, she was giving me an all-knowing look. 

“You know, when I suggested that you make a cake for his mom’s birthday, I didn’t think that meant that you’d be doing it together,” she teased.

“Neither did I!” I said. Although I’d meant for it to come out nonchalantly, I’d sounded more defensive than intended. I tried to brush it off by swirling the iced coffee in my hand, ice cubes clinking and clashing as I brought the straw to my lips to take a sip.

“I didn’t know you and Mary were that close,” she speculated. 

I choked on the watery coffee that had been midway down my throat and brought a hand up to wipe at my mouth, coughing a little into my palm.

 Before I had a chance to respond, she cut me off, wide-eyed, a smile tugging at her mouth. “Wait, no. Doll, you didn’t!”

I looked over at her with a surprised defensiveness that completely gave away the truth. Shit. Time for damage control. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Des’ smile only widened. “Dahlia, did you sleep with him?”

I didn’t know how to answer. It wasn’t as if I was ashamed to admit it. Mary was attractive. Sure, his reputation was a bit strange and extreme, but to those in the metal scene, it wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary. But there was something that I liked about keeping Mary and I’s friendship hidden. Or were we friends with benefits?  Was it even a friendship? 

“You totally did!” Des said in response to my silent rabbit hole. I sighed and started to aimlessly shuffle through some sweaters on the next rack. Des began to laugh and looked at me coyly.

She walked over to the same rack that I was currently stationed at and rested her hand against the metal bar, leaning into it. “I swore I saw you two making out on the couch a while back at Thomas’, but he told me I was seeing shit,” she added, shaking her head in disbelief. 

I hummed a noise in response, barely audible. My fingertips traced along a loose thread of a knit sweater and I rolled it between them, trying to focus on the scratchy acrylic yarn instead of the beet red burning in my face. 

“That WAS you two! How long has this been going on?” I didn’t think it was possible for her eyes to get any bigger. They reminded me of saucers. Or satellite dishes. Maybe of the middle-aged woman at my work that thrived on office gossip and smelled like cat piss. 

I rolled my eyes and pulled a sweater off the rack to pretend to check the tag. “Nothing is going on,” I said. 80% Polyester, 20% Cotton.  “We’ve just hooked up a few times. That’s it.” 

Des cocked a curious brow. “A few? Wow, add that to my list of shit I didn’t expect.” She brought her half-drank iced coffee to her pink lips and took a slurp of the drink. I couldn’t tell if I was more annoyed at the sound or at her. 

 “So, what’s he like?” She grabbed a cardigan from the small section and pulled it up to inspect it, holding it to her thin frame to gauge the fit. “I bet he’s into some spooky, dark shit, like bloodletting or autoerotic asphyxiation or something. Oh! Or a piss kink!”

The garment I was holding was slammed back into the rack with more force than I’d meant. “Des! What the fuck?” I whispered loudly, trying to make a point that this was not something I wanted to talk about in public. Sure, no one else was in the back of the store, but that was besides the point. 

She held up a hand in defense. “Sorry! He looks like the kind of guy that’d be into that stuff.”

I brought the hand to my face that wasn’t holding the slippery, condensation-covered cup of coffee. With a sigh, I rubbed my left eye. “I am not having this conversation.”

Des brought her hands down and tilted her head with a look of disagreement. “Oh, come on! Why are you always so uptight about talking about this stuff?”

I took a step towards her and lowered my voice just slightly. “Unlike you, I don’t feel the need to advertise my sex life, thank you.”

“I don’t advertise it, I just…reflect on it. It’s what normal girlfriends do — talk about the guys they’re with.” She turned to the next rack that was uncomfortably close to the one we had been rifling through and pulled a pair of corduroys out to give them a look over. “Who else would I talk to about it?”

She had a point. I breathed out a sigh and set my cup on the display atop the circular rack. “I guess you’re right.”

I looked up at her to see her sporting her signature smirk. “I’m always right. Now tell me, what’s he got hiding in those tight jeans?” She waggled her eyebrows for emphasis and I let out a chuckle, shaking my head.

“You are the last person I need to explain the intricacies of the male anatomy to.”

“Come on, Doll. I need details!” She whined, tossing the corduroys back onto the rack. 

“Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

“Good thing cats have nine lives.” She stuck out her tongue at me and I reached over to make a swipe at grabbing it, earning me a chuckle and a shove. 

I laughed too, and if I was honest, I felt a semblance of relief that the weight of my secret had been lifted from my shoulders, even if just minutely. 

She took another annoyingly loud slurp of her iced coffee, the drink now edging the bottom line of the cup. Peering at me from above the lid, she broke contact with the straw. 

“Now, spill.”

🜏🜏🜏

It was early evening on a Friday. I’d managed to get off of work a little earlier than expected — a relief given that I’d worked overtime these past few weeks to try to save up enough money for an unexpected car repair. The extra time turned out to be just what I needed to pack some last minute items in my backpack for the weekend. 

Des had asked — practically begged — for me to “do her a solid” and pet sit for her for a couple days over the weekend. My confusion rang heavy in the air when I realized that one, she didn’t have any pets, and two, neither did Thomas. 

“It’s his parents’ dog. He’s supposed to watch it this weekend, but he was able to book a couple last minute shows out of town that would be really good for the band,” she’d explained. Then, in almost overly characteristic Des-fashion, she gave me the eyes. The fucking Puss in Boots look. 

And those damn Dreamworks eyes had me hesitantly agreeing to watch the pawned pooch at Thomas’ place.  

It didn’t sit well with me. He was supposed to be watching his parents’ dog. But instead, he was having a friend of his girlfriend stay at his place to watch a dog she’d never met. I’d just hoped the dog was nice. 

After walking my bike to the back porch to lean it against the siding hidden from view from the street, I rounded back to the front door and gave it a few cursory knocks. As if on cue, loud barks began to sound — distant at first, but louder as the seconds went on — and I could just make out the scuffle of feet and claws against the hard floor. 

The door swung open and Des was restraining a black blur of tail and tongue and teeth. He wasn’t overly big, per se, but from what I could tell from his overexcited movements, he had to be at least forty or fifty pounds. 

“Hey! Come in—” she strained, holding the excited dog back as it wagged and wiggled in her arms. 

I slipped past the dog and kicked off my shoes on the hinged side of the door as she slammed it shut. “Brutus!” Des grunted as she tried to crouch over him and use her body weight as leverage. 

I straightened up and watched with choked giggles as she tried, and nearly failed, to keep him from charging me. “He’s — umph — he loves people —” said grumbled as the dog, presumably named Brutus, broke from her grasp and hounded over to me with a tail so violently wagging that I was afraid his hips would fly right off. He knocked into me with surprising force for his size and I toppled over to the ground. A slimy, velvety tongue began to attack my face and neck and I shrieked out in laughter as we rolled around on the floor. 

“Brutie! Brutus, off!” Des yelled. I could barely hear her over my screeches and giggles. 

A couple of moments passed and the dog calmed, crawling comically into my lap before curling up and looking at me with a panting smile. I ran my hand along the top of its head, scratching behind his pointed black ears. 

“Sorry, he really, really likes people. Not much of a watchdog,” Des said.

“It’s fine. He’s cute,” I replied, moving to scratch under his chin. “What breed is he?”

Des snorted. “Fuck if I know. Thomas says he’s a mutt. I think he’s a rescue.”

“Those are always the best ones,” I countered, earning a nuzzle into my hand from the furry canine nearly falling out of my lap. 

After a while of chit chat and petting the mammoth-sized wannabe cat splayed in my lap, I peeled my backpack off and set it against the wall and stood up  to follow Des into the kitchen. She explained Brutus’ feeding schedule (“He will try to convince you that he’s starving to death. Do not fall for it.”) and his typical routine, then showed me where Thomas’ parents had left the vet info in case of emergencies. It seemed pretty straightforward (easier than I’d expected, honestly), and I felt grateful that Thomas’ backyard was fenced off. A lost dog was the last thing I needed in life right now. 

Just as Des was setting the written feeding instructions back down on the counter, the door leading to the garage opened from down the hallway, and a pair of heavy footsteps came thunking toward us. 

Thomas came into view. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the locks a little as he glanced around the kitchen and dining area, turning a bit in his spot as if running through an imaginary list in his brain. By now, I’d seen Thomas in a variety of moods: ecstatic, embarrassed, exhausted, angry, piss drunk, and of course, the moments where he was absolutely enamored with Des, but I’d never seen him look so stressed before. His eyes looked tired yet his pupils were wide, countering the lines that were settling in around the corners of his eyelids. I’m not sure that he even noticed his shirt was inside out. 

“We found the pedalboard at the guys’ apartment. Some asshole put it on top of the fridge,” he sighed and put his hands on his hips as he looked up at the ceiling as if he were trying to visualize what he needed to do next. After a beat, he looked back down and his eyes met Des’ quizzical look. 

“Don’t ask. I don’t even fucking know.” He seemed to finally register that it wasn’t just his girlfriend in front of him and his demeanor changed a little. He straightened, almost toughened, and gave me a confused quirk of the eyebrows. “…Dahlia, what are you doing here?”

I mirrored his look. “Uh, Des said you needed me to house sit?”

Thomas looked between myself and Des, his face moving from a look of confusion to a look of what could be argued as annoyance. “Really?” he asked, taking another step closer to Des. “I thought I mentioned I’d figured all that out, babe.”

Desiree looked up at him with an innocent smile and rolled her lips between her teeth. “Whoops. Must have slipped my mind.”

He sized her reaction, clearly unconvinced. “Okay. Sure.” I was certain he was going to add something, but his potential dialogue with Des was cut off when the garage door opened again and the telltale sound of clunking boots against hard flooring cut through the air. I felt my heart simultaneously drop and expand in my chest. I had come to know that sound. 

“Everything is tied and tarped. I feel like fucking Patrick Bateman sans nailgun and Huey Lewis and the News.”

I had really come to know that voice. 

Mary rounded Thomas and Des and joined the impromptu party in the dining area. I shoved my hands into my pockets and rocked back and forth on my feet as I felt his stare bore into me from feet away. It was clear there had been a mix up, and although I couldn’t be certain that Des had something to do with it, I had a pretty good idea of what had happened. 

“What’s going on?” Mary asked as he looked around the uneven circle of his friends. Brutus trotted over and began to sniff at his pant legs and Mary reached down to scratch the hound’s forehead. Mary’s long hair hung around him in strands, the ends clumped together in damp sections as it fell from around his shoulders and back. 

“Why is your hair wet?” Des asked him. I was sure it was her way of breaking the awkwardness. 

Mary looked at her with an air of obviousness. “Shower,” he replied. 

“Oh…weird,” she said, and I had to stifle a giggle by turning it into a cough. 

Thomas rolled his eyes. “He’s full of shit. It’s raining outside and he’s been helping me load and tarp equipment in the truck.” Thomas reached out and clasped a hand to Mary’s shoulder, which to be fair, was dotted with what appeared to be wet raindrop marks. “We all know you hate bathing,” he added. 

Mary scoffed and shoved Thomas. “Fuck you guys.”

The air turned uncomfortable again, bordering sour, and it was Thomas who broke the silence. 

“Well, it looks like there’s been a miscommunication on who’s looking after this asshole,” Thomas started, looking directly at Des as he spoke although it was clear he was referring to the dog. She continued flashing her innocent smile, eyes still large as if concurrently seeking forgiveness and feigning ignorance. 

I felt compelled to speak up. I hated awkward silences, and I especially hated being the butt of one. “It’s not a big deal. I can head out if Mary’s got this,” I said with a shrug. 

“—It’s pouring out there!” Des quickly countered, looking between Thomas and I. 

Her defensive quip caused me to crinkle my eyebrows in response. “Bullshit, I was just outside and it was fine.”

I looked over at the sliding glass door to my left and sure as shit, the glass was coated in fine droplets sliding down to puddle at the deck below. The sky hadn’t been much more than overcast on my ride over, but it now swirled with tones of ash and charcoal. A storm was approaching. 

I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “Shit, well…I rode my bike over here.”

I could tell that the cogs were turning in Des’ mind as she tried to decide if she’d respond with comfort and support of her best friend or her boyfriend: the ever present dilemma. I felt a pang of guilt plague my stomach. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out. You guys go,” I offered with a small smile. Forced, of course, because now I was stranded at someone else’s house with someone else’s dog and of course a particular…someone else. 

“You sure?” she asked. I could see Thomas eyeing me from behind her, his own expression mirroring her words. It was clear this was just as much of a surprise to him as it was to Mary and I. 

My gut told me to stay focused on the couple ahead of me, but my impulsiveness won over, and I glanced at Mary. He was watching with a look of amusement, arms crossed over his chest as his head batted to and fro between speakers. I swallowed lightly.

“Yeah, go. Go! It’s fine.” The voice was mine, but the words were clearly not my own.

A few uncomfortable and quick words were shared, and both Des and Thomas grabbed their overnight bags and popped them into the cab of the truck before driving off down the quiet residential street towards the gig a few towns over. And I was stuck in the ranch-style home with Mary Goore, an overexcited rescue dog, and an approaching storm. 

🜏🜏🜏

After piling into the car and sloshing down the road en route to the gig a few cities over, Des and Thomas were mid conversation about the situation that had happened just moments before. 

“Don’t tell me you’re doing what I think you’re doing.” Thomas started, fingertips tapping against the wheel as they sped down the interstate. 

Des rolled her eyes. “They’ve been fucking!” Her voice was defensive. She quickly added, “Did you know that?”

Thomas kept his eyes on the road and drummed his fingers along to the song playing in the background. “No, and I don’t—” he sighed, removing one hand from the wheel to grasp at the back of his neck, “Jesus Christ, Desiree, you can’t play matchmaker on this one.”

Des crossed her arms over her chest. “Why not? Have you seen the way they look at each other?”

Thomas briefly turned his head and gave her a serious look, sternness that nearly reminded her of her father. “Don’t stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong,” he said. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Des shot him a look that dripped in sass. Any other time it would have spurred a different set of emotions in him, but not this time. He held his ground. 

“Just — fuck, baby, I’ve known Mary for a long time and he’s not really one to settle.”

Des scoffed. “You think getting with Dahlia would be settling?”

“No, not like that.” Thomas sighed again in frustration. “He’s not big into commitment. Doesn’t like to be tied down. Mary’s…not a relationship kind of guy.”

It was quiet for a few seconds as Des pondered his response. “Well, I’m not saying they need to get married or anything,” she reasoned, “I’m just giving them a little push, is all. A weekend together, alone, no one to barge in and no expectations. It’s the perfect recipe for them to realize what they have going on.”

Another silence filled the cab of the truck. The sound of steady rain pelted against the windshield, only for the squeaky wipers to flick it off rhythmically, creating its own song and dance that counteracted the punk tune on the stereo system.  

After a moment, Thomas relented. “Don’t come crawling to me with those big, sad eyes when this ploy of yours blows up in your face.”

“What big eyes?!” Des craned her neck over and stared him down, though it was clear she couldn’t hide the smile bursting through her tough facade. 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, babe.”

Des winked in his direction and the tension seemed to melt away. She reached over to grasp at his hand — the one that had fallen to his lap after drumming on the steering wheel —  and laced their fingers together. 

He let out a long breath and relaxed into the touch before grumbling, “They better not fuck on my bed.”

🜏🜏🜏

When Des and Thomas left, it was like they sucked what little comfort there had been straight out of the room. Sure, the house was occupied by two people and a dog (which some would even consider to be too crowded; three’s company and four’s a party and all that), but there was a timidness that I felt that seemed to have grown since my other outings with Mary. Maybe it was the unexpectedness of it all. Or perhaps it was my own lack of control in the situation. Regardless, I’d planned on staying a couple of days anyway — what was so bad about waiting out the storm to ride home?

I stood there, hands in my pockets as I continued to rock on my heels, before deciding to break the tension. “I should probably pick up my stuff,” I motioned to the general area my backpack was in and then quickly turned to retrieve my things. 

Backpack in hand, I headed to the bathroom to unpack. I’d packed light (because in all honesty, who did I have to impress), but I was searching for any and all excuses to put some distance between myself and the awkward situation I’d been thrust into. I pulled a toothbrush and toothpaste out of a plastic bag I’d jammed into the front pocket of my rucksack, mirroring the action with my face wash, moisturizer, and small bag of makeup essentials. I futzed for too long with the placement of the items, moving them from sinkside to against the wall and back again, before I gave up and sat back against the wall opposite the vanity. 

A few minutes went by and I felt a low growl erupt in my stomach. It was nearly six o’clock and I’d had yet to eat anything. I pulled out my phone, deciding to order takeout, and scrolled through the suggested nearby restaurants before settling on a well-rated Chinese place down the street. 

I was ready to press send on my order, but I remembered the elephant in the room and groaned, heaving myself up and making my way out to the main area of the home. Mary was nowhere to be seen. I turned around and upon noticing the garage door was ajar, I walked the short distance down the hallway and slipped into the adjoining garage. 

Mary was sitting in a camper chair in the empty space, lit cigarette between his fingers, with Brutus at his side. He was tossing a rope toy to the dog somewhat lazily, taking drags of the lit stick every so often. The garage was partially opened, just enough to let in the cool, damp air of the storm, and raindrops pittered in at the edge of the threshold. 

As soon as I shut the door to the house, his eyes shot up to meet my own and he nodded in greeting before tossing the toy to the opposite end of the garage for Brutus. 

“I’m ordering Chinese — you want anything?” I eventually spoke, body still against the steps connecting the sunken garage to the house. 

Mary let out an exhale of smoke and tapped the cigarette into a coffee can on the ground. “Whatever’s fine. I’m easy to please.” His telltale smirk painted his lips and I could see the mischief swirling behind his eyes. “But you already know that,” he added. 

I felt my eyes nearly roll out of my head and hopped down off the step, rounding him to sit in another nearby chair. As uncomfortable as his digs were supposed to be, they had the opposite effect. I didn’t do “awkward” with Mary that well. Sexual tension was another story. 

I added a few more items to the order and typed in my card information from memory before submitting the order, quickly clicking my phone off and stashing it in my pocket. My focus was broken when Mary interrupted the silence. 

“How’d you get roped into this?” he asked, head turning to glance at me. 

I sighed and rubbed the side of my face, showing my slight annoyance. “Desiree.”

Mary laughed, a warm chuckle that I’d grown to appreciate, and he ashed the cigarette into the can below him. “You’d think they’d learn to communicate with how they fucking act around each other.”

I stretched out my legs, sinking back into the camper chair. “Oh, I’m sure it was communicated…” I remarked.

Mary looked at me quizzically, head turned towards me again to flash those phthalocyanine eyes that somehow looked brighter in the odd lighting of the garage. I brushed off his look, not wanting to get into the specifics of the conversation I had with Desiree or the fact that she knew about our history. “The dog seems to like you.”

“Brutus and I go way back,” he said. 

“Really?” I said with raised brows.

Mary laughed out again in response, that ever-present balmy giggle that pulled at the corners of his lips sending a wave of warmth through my body. “No, I’m just fucking with you. I’m good with animals,” he paused and his lips curled into a grin, ”when I’m not microwaving them, of course.”

My mind raced back to our first encounter together. The streetlights on the walk towards the abandoned warehouse. Paper bags with shaved ice and forties. Shitty gas station snacks. And our conversation about reputation. Namely, his reputation. “Oh, of course.” My tone was one of mock seriousness, and I couldn’t help but giggle at the memory.

I watched as he took another drag from the dwindling cigarette and then turned to look out at the half-closed garage door. The raindrops pelting against the shingled roof and cracked concrete driveway were the only audio that suffused the space, with the occasional exhale of pillowy smoke from the musician next to me. 

It was Mary that broke the silence again. He always seemed to be the one to do that. “Thanks again,” he started, hand waving around aimlessly as he spoke, “y’know, for the cake and shit.”

“Yeah, of course. I’m glad your mom liked it.” I spoke earnestly and my expression was one of sincerity. It felt foreign.

“She fucking loved it. She was surprised I had anything to do with making it,” he laughed and tapped his cigarette into the can. 

“Oh come on, you can’t be that bad of a cook,” I replied.

He raised an eyebrow at me as he turned to face me. “I’ve burned water.”

My jaw dropped just enough that I was sure it looked like I’d catch flies. “I…didn’t think that was possible.”

He shrugged and turned back to face forward, the cigarette now a stubby, crinkled nub between his middle and pointer fingers. “You should know by now that I’m full of impossible surprises.”

I leaned forward, turning my torso to point towards him while I pulled my legs criss-cross into the camper chair. “How on earth do you woo a woman if you can’t even cook fucking Kraft Mac n’ Cheese?”

“Women aren’t typically after my cooking skills. Or lack thereof,” he flicked the remaining ash of the cigarette down and it missed the can. He didn’t notice. “I’ve got other talents,” he paused, “Wooing isn’t really my style.”

I let his admission ring in the dampened air. It wasn’t surprising. From what I’d heard, he’d never had trouble landing women — particularly after gigs. “The life of a musician…” I trailed off. 

Another silence built as the rain colored the absence of our conversation. I could hear Brutus’ slight snores as he lay curled at Mary’s feet, seemingly tired from their earlier game of fetch. A breeze broke through the cracked garage door and swirled around us, bringing a chill into the otherwise comfortable space. I pulled my hoodie a little closer, feeling the cool air dance across my cheeks and the skin peeking through the jacket. 

“I think I’m gonna head in. I’ll let you know when the food is here.”

Mary didn’t say anything in response — merely nodding and taking out another cigarette from the worn Marlboro carton — and I made my way back inside with a heavier mind than I’d come out with. 

🜏🜏🜏

I’d puttered around the house for what had seemed like ages, but in reality was likely only a handful of minutes. As familiar as I was with some of the rooms at Thomas’, I had to admit that there were areas I’d never been to,  namely his room or the basement. As rude as it might have been, I’d given myself a self-directed tour of the place, noting the half-completed projects he seemed to be working on to fix up the house. I wasn’t sure if that was a sign of Des domesticating him or if the house really was a secret pride-and-joy. 

Eventually, I found myself in the den, sinking into the worn plaid couch that already held too many memories. I pushed them down and reached for the remote to the TV, opting just to hold it as my thoughts zoomed. I could probably put on a movie to kill some time until dinner arrived. It wouldn’t be long and it would serve as a nice distraction. 

I got up and thumbed through the impressive number of DVDs stacked next to the TV. Most of them were action or horror (no surprise there), and I settled on a film I’d never seen before: The Amityville Horror. I told myself that the fact that a young Ryan Reynolds was on the cover had absolutely nothing to do with the choice. 

After some cajoling, I figured out how Thomas’ TV and DVD player were set up and popped in the disc, pressing play on the machine before sinking back into the couch. The blue screen transformed to darkness as the credits played and I waited to be taken to the home screen. 

Mere seconds into the film, I heard a knock at the door and I paused the movie to jog up and out of the sunken den to the front door. I was met with an absolutely drenched delivery driver holding out a large brown bag in one hand and a soaked receipt and pen in the other. I shot him a look of apology and took the receipt, signing and adding on a much more generous tip than I’d originally intended, before trading him for the food. His eyes lit up when he saw the receipt and he dashed back to his clunker parked out front. 

I ended up parking the heavy bag of Chinese on the kitchen table. My thoughts were broken when I heard Mary coming in from the garage, heavy footsteps once again thunking down the hallway.  A pitter of claws trotted behind him. 

“Food’s here,” I said, already opening the bag to take out the various containers. 

We grabbed our respective containers and utensils and made our way to the den, me sitting on the couch while Mary sat on the floor, his back against the edge of the couch with his legs spread out wide. I opened up my container of sweet and sour pork and doused it in sweet and sour sauce, mixing it up with the cheap excuse for chopsticks that they provided before settling into the back corner of the couch and pressing play. 

“You’re watching this trash?” Mary said, words muffled by a mouthful of Beijing beef. 

I rolled my eyes, though he couldn’t see it from his position on the floor. “I’ve never seen it.”

“It’s a shit remake.”

I grabbed a piece of pork between my chopsticks and lathered it in sauce before popping it into my mouth. “Well,” I said while chewing, “no one’s making you watch it.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said with a hint of facetiousness. 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he all but grumbled, reaching in the container to grab a piece of beef with his fingers.“You knew what I meant.”

I shuddered as I watched him pop the piece of meat into his mouth with his fingers. “Are you…eating that with your bare hands?” I asked with a surprised chuckle. 

He shrugged his shoulders again. “Chopsticks are frustrating. Why use those when I have built in chopsticks right here?” He pinched his fingers in the air, just high enough that I could see them from my spot on the sofa. 

I paused, reaching into the takeout container to fish around for some sort of accompanying vegetable. “I…don’t know how I feel about that, to be honest.”

“You didn’t seem to mind my fingers the last time you were on that couch,” he retorted, tone dripping with cheekiness that I knew was accompanied by a smirk I couldn’t see from my vantage point. 

I sighed, trying to pay no mind to his constant coquettishness. “Well, they weren’t covered in Chinese food when that happened.”

“They could have been.”

I reached over and grabbed one of Thomas’ throw pillows from across the sofa and tossed it down directly at his head. Mary yowled and grabbed at the back of his head. 

“Hey, ow- fuck, you almost made me spill!”

I waved my chopstick dismissively. “Shh, I’m missing what’s happening.”

“Not missing much…” he grumbled, grabbing another piece of beef with his fingers. I looked down and dug into my food again, picking at some snow peas, and took a bite to keep me from my desire to respond with something sarcastic. 

I watched the screen as the beginning of the movie continued to unfold with the dreary undertone of music and darkened filter plastered over shots of the house and rainfall outside. 

I knew that in fiction, rain was often used to signal something darker, uncontrollable, and innately scary. While a gentle storm could symbolize rebirth or the washing away of something unclean to show a new beginning, a thunderstorm was different. Thunderstorms were brash, explosive, and undeniably cacophonous — a symbol of power, wrath, danger, and darkness. As the scene cut to a shot of the rainy setting, I couldn’t help but liken it to the rain pelting the windowpanes of the window behind the couch. They were both intense storms and I wondered what symbolism life could be trying to show me, if any at all. 

We watched mostly in silence, with the occasional jolt from me during a poorly timed jumpscare or a shake of the head and grumble from Mary (which after the third shove of my foot into his shoulder, he got the message that he was being obnoxious). 

Unbeknownst to me, the movie had a quick sex scene, which with anyone else would have been a non-issue watching. But with Mary, I felt oddly different. I found myself wondering what he was thinking as we watched the main characters move intimately against one another. Because, if my memory served me right, the last movie we watched together had something similar, and he had reacted in very specific—

 My thoughts were interrupted by yet another jumpscare and I squeaked in surprise, nearly dropping my empty takeout container. Mary chuckled and turned around with a smug smile.

 “Everything okay back there?” he asked. 

“Just fine. ‘Surprised me…” I grumbled, pretending to dig around in the empty container for more food. I was sure he could see right through me. I was easy to spook.

Eventually, I set my empty container on the side table and reclined back into the couch again. It felt weirdly quiet, and I noticed that Mary had gotten up at some point and left. 

“Seems he found something better to do with his time,” I thought. Not that it mattered, anyway. I hated the kind of people that talked constantly during movies, and I could tell Mary was doing his best not to criticize nearly every piece of dialogue and every scene. 

“Here.” The voice snapped me from my thoughts and my eyes refocused to the space in front of me, noticing an uncapped beer just in my line of sight. I took it with a thank you, noticing Mary had one of his own as he decided to sit opposite to me on the edge of the couch instead of on the floor. I tried not to think anything of the change and cast my eyes towards the movie. 

“Did….did she just put a whole ass bong into her purse?” I asked after watching the babysitter in the film try to hide her bong after smoking in the bathroom. I took a swig of the beer Mary gifted me and looked over at him. 

He laughed. “I’m telling you — this movie is idiotic at best.”

“I hate that I’m invested enough that I want to see how it ends,” I replied after a minute, adjusting my position on the couch to spread out a leg, my foot barely missing the side of Mary’s thigh. 

“I’m happy to tell you how it ends,” Mary countered, taking a pull from his own bottle.

I shook my head in reply. “Might as well finish it. In your words, we’ve ‘got nothing better to do,’” I grinned at him with a chuckle and set my eyes back on the screen. 

After the movie finished, we both stretched out our limbs, and I stood to collect the empty containers. 

“That’s 90 minutes of my life I’ll never get back,” Mary grunted with a sigh. 

I rolled my eyes. With how things were going, I’d be surprised if they didn’t roll straight out of my head and onto the shitty shag carpet on the floor. “Oh come on,” I began, “It wasn’t THAT bad…”

“Well, it sure as shit wasn’t good,” he chuckled sarcastically.

I let out a defeated breath. “Okay, I’ll admit that it wasn’t the best movie I’ve seen.”

“Clear from it,” he postured, lounging back a little as he took a swig from his beer “The original does a much better job of staying true to the book and creating that building suspense th—”

His words were cut off by another loud crack of lightning. This one sounded close, and by the looks of the fulmination that painted the windows, it was. 

I let out a shriek when the lightning and its ancillary crash cracked through the den and beyond. My hand flew to my mouth in surprise and I soon rubbed it over my eyes bashfully. 

“Shit, I didn’t know you could make that noise,” Mary chuckled, eyebrows raised in an expression of slight surprise. I looked over and flashed him the middle finger, a scowl on my face, which only increased his laughter. 

“How about we put on another movie,” he suggested, then added quickly “—but I pick.” I thought about it, pondering the many choices of movies that Mary could choose on a night like tonight, and shook my head. 

“Maybe music is a better idea?” I replied. I walked to the edge of the den and started up the few stairs that connected it to the hallway. “I’ll toss these while you get it set up,” I called over my shoulder. 

When I returned, Mary was finished messing with the stereo system and Sonic Youth’s Daydream Nation was playing softly through the speakers. I took a seat on the floor, copying Mary’s earlier posture with my back against the front of the plush furniture, and spread my legs out and crossed them at the ankles. 

“Didn’t take you as a Sonic Youth fan,” I said as I settled into the space. 

Mary smiled and turned his head towards me. “I told you I’m full of interesting surprises.”

I suppressed a giggle. “I was thinking of other types of surprises when you said that.”

“What kinds of things were you thinking of?” he asked, brow quirked.

I felt my cheeks flush at the coy look on his face and looked away, trying to figure out a way to change the conversation. Mary just laughed. 

“Wow, doll face, I didn’t expect to take up that much real estate in your mind. I’m flattered.” He put a hand to his chest and stared over me with a broad smile. 

“Stop it.”

He cast me a look of confusion. “Stop what?”

“That thing you do!” I began. My voice raised a little in volume and pitch. “The thing where you act all smug and ooze sex appeal!”

This seemed to intrigue him and he turned to face me from his spot in front of the entertainment system. I knew that if his shirt was off, I’d be able to see the flexion of the muscles in his abdomen. I mentally kicked myself for even thinking that. 

“Sex appeal? I didn’t know you were so pious.”

I felt myself bristle and sat up a little straighter. “What? No, it’s not about piety.” I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. “You just don’t have to make everything an innuendo!”

At this, the crusty metalhead in front of me had the audacity to laugh. “Wow,” he chuckled, “way to act like a total prude.” 

“I am not!” My eyes shot daggers at him and I’d hope they’d materialize and hit him straight in his smirking face. 

“I’m surprised you made it through that sex scene…” he looked up at me from under a raised brow.

I huffed. “You of all people should know that sex doesn’t bother m—” I cut myself off as I felt fire heat my cheeks. 

“You were saying?” he snickered. 

“Oh, fuck off Goore.”

“Sure thing. Wanna watch?”

“I’ll leave that to Brutus.”

As soon as his name was said, Brutus’ ears perked up and he let out a whine. I realized it had probably been hours since he’d been outside.

“We should probably let the dog out,” I said. As soon as he heard the word ‘out,’ Brutus sprung up and began trotting to the sliding glass door in the kitchen. I got up with a slight groan, muscles stiff from sitting on the floor, and Mary followed. 

“I can take the dog out by myself, y’know,”

“Yeah, but the view is so much better if I come with.”

I felt frustration pool in my chest at this and he seemed to sense it as well, adding, “Chill out, I was just  grabbing a couple more beers.”

After coaxing Brutus outside with some choice words said in the nicest voice I could muster (and maybe a push on the bum), I waited at the sliding glass door for him to return from doing his business. A towel was thrown by slider and I grabbed it to wipe down the dog on his re-entry. 

I watched through the window as the storm really began to rage. Fat water droplets ricocheted off the glass pane like rubber bullets and thunder rumbled a low death rattle. Mary came up behind me and put the two bottles on the kitchen table. He fished around in his pockets for his bottle opener on his key chain. 

A loud, booming sound followed by a high pitched crack and a monstrous thud rattled the foundation of the house. I let out an embarrassingly loud scream and jumped back from the sliding door. My body collided with Mary’s more solid one behind me, and immediately his hands found my upper arms to steady the both of us. I leaned back into him, not caring enough about self-restraint as my head tipped back against his shoulder. 

My chest heaved as my adrenaline dissipated, and I could feel Mary’s hands rubbing up and down the lengths of my arms. I swallowed thickly, then clenched my eyes tight. I felt his breath arm against my ear as he leaned in. 

“You good, Doll?”

His voice was smooth, oddly soothing, and the reverberations that pulsed through my ear and into my chest were much different than the shaking of the foundation from the subsonic boom moments prior. 

I nodded and looked out the window. A mature tree limb, one measuring at least 15 feet long, had fallen to the ground in the backyard from the force of the thunderstorm. My immediate thought went to Brutus and I feared for the worst, but as if on cue, his body came running towards the door like a bullet. His little black body began pawing at the door and yet, I felt frozen in my spot to Mary. His body stayed pressed against the back of mine, hands still rubbing little circles against my triceps. Neither of us moved to open the door. 

Brutus’ bark seemed to jolt us both from the haze. I slid the door open and immediately wrapped the medium-sized dog in the towel to dry him off. The little black mutt followed me as I walked back into the wood-paneled den and I sunk down on the couch next to Mary with a sigh. 

Mary handed me another beer and I graciously accepted. “You know,” he started after taking a sip of his own, “I’m not used to women screaming around me unless my name is involved somehow.”

“Is it usually preceded by ‘fuck off’ or ‘get the fuck away from me’?”

“I was thinking it comes after ‘harder’ or ‘fuck me,’ actually,” he said, pausing a beat before casting a look of cautious puzzlement. “Who pissed in your Cheerios?”

I chewed on my cheek as I picked at the label of the beer bottle. “I hate storms,” I admitted with a sigh.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

The squall of the storm caused the windows behind the weathered old sofa to vellicate. Stills from the movie of torrential downpour around the boathouse flashed into thought. I recalled the swirling blackened sky from the sliding glass door from moments before and found myself comparing the dread from the film to my stomach sinking the moment the tree limb fell heavy against the hard ground. What if it had fallen on the house, or the dog? What if it had been a consequence of a lightning strike and started a fire?

I shook myself from spiraling. “I’m not afraid of a lot of things,” I pointed out, “but storms...they freak me out. They have ever since I was little. Loud noises and all.”

Mary chuckled at this. “You listen to thrash metal,” he countered. 

“That’s different!” I ran my hand through my hair, gripping at the back of my scalp in frustration. “Storms are destructive. One minute it’s a normal day and the next - bam - people lose their homes, their jobs, their communities…decades and centuries of history even. It’s chaotic and terrible and…unpredictable. It’s fucking armageddon.”

Mary had turned to face me from his spot on the couch, one leg semi-crossed over the other. “Big bad metal chick like you afraid of some thunder and lightning? Color me surprised, dollface.”

The asshole had the audacity to smirk at me. So, I reached out and smacked him in the shoulder. 

“Ow! I was being serious!” His tone was playful as rubbed at the spot on his shoulder. “You’re not the kind of person to let a lot of emotion show.”

I felt myself bristle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “I dunno…you just don’t seem afraid of anything. Kinda just ‘go with the flow’. It’s weird to see ya all panicked and shit.”

I scoffed and clicked my tongue. “You obviously don’t know me very well.”

“Oh, I know you inside and out, dollface,” he grinned. 

My cheeks blushed garnet. “Only some of me,” I grumbled.

“Really? What else you got hiding?” he chided, sitting up a little straighter, a little closer. “Got any secret pockets in those pants?”

Now, it felt like my whole face was on fire. I remembered the cargo pants he made fun of me for on our first excursion, and the tongue-in-cheek wording was absolutely purposeful. I rolled my eyes. 

Any other time I would have had a quick quip or nonverbal response lined up to banter with him, but another crackle of thunder roared through the sky, and instead, my body physically flung itself up an inch off the cushions in a reactive jolt. My hands gripped onto whatever was near me — which in this case, was the right arm of the couch and coincidentally, the right arm of Mary. 

The sound of the thunder was replaced with the onslaught of water against the windows behind the sofa and I let out a breath I didn’t remember inhaling. I looked down at my hand gripping onto Mary’s forearm, fingers digging into the demon ink staring up at me across otherwise pale flesh, and I quickly retreated. 

I cleared my throat. “S-sorry,” I choked, “Reflex.”

Mary didn’t seem phased at all. He turned towards me, his upper torso craning to meet mine perpendicularly, and a hand came to my knee. “What helps?” he asked plainly.

“I…what?” 

“What helps?” he repeated, his tone still matter-of-fact. 

“Oh. Um…” I swallowed and looked down at his hand resting on my left knee, right over the fabric of my pants. I wracked my brain in a feeble attempt to think of something that had aided my fear in the past.

But I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even breathe properly as the heat from his hand sunk through to my covered skin. I imagined that hand six inches higher, resting on my thigh as he spread them apart on the rooftop all those weeks ago—

“Distraction!” I blurted out. I hardly even recognize my voice as I did so. I finally looked over to meet the stare I’d felt carving into my irrationally fearful form and saw those fucking eyes, green and honey and framed with brows that were pursed in a way that conveyed allure. I finished letting out my caged breath. “Something to keep my mind off things and give me another sense to focus on. My parents used to, uh, read to me. Make up stories. When I was old enough, I’d hum songs or picture scenes from movies…”

Embarrassment flooded my bones. I felt childish, weakened, exposed like a raw nerve or a root scabbing from crisp air. We didn’t talk much about our pasts and he wasn’t somewhat I typically indulged with this kind of vulnerability. But as I searched his eyes for a crinkle of amusement or a flash of judgment, I found none. Instead, I found focused pupils and a heady stare. 

He broke the pregnant pause. “Maybe I could distract you with something different.”

I rolled my lips in and stilted the air in my lungs. His hand weighed heavily on my leg. 

“We’ve tried music. And movies,” he began, briefly casting his glance towards the middle of the living room where the TV sat against the wall and we’d sat and listened to Sonic Youth. “We drank shitty beer and ate shitty Chinese—”

“—I liked the Chinese—” I interrupted in a murmur, still watching as he soaked in the visual of my legs pressed together, his hand firm and steady. 

“—so in my eyes, we’ve used sight, hearing, taste, and by association, scent. Which means, we’re missing one…”

Touch, I thought to myself. A shiver whispered down my spine. While his words trailed off, he mimicked the action with his hand. The firm hand that once sat solid on my knee began to travel up the expanse of my left leg. His fingertips ghosted my inner thigh with just enough pressure to make a point. 

I gathered up the courage to look up at him again and this time, the verdant hue of his eyes was overtaken by wide pupils that bore into me like he was clawing his way to comfort. 

I’m not exactly sure what happened next. The haze in my brain matched the low visibility from the storm outside. But before I knew it, I could feel the warmth of his proximity, the grip of his hand tightening on my leg as his other one gripped the nape of my neck, tugging and pulling me into him like a life preserver. 

His kiss was exactly as I had remembered. Soft yet slightly chapped, starting as a fervent pressing of lips on lips that moved into tilted heads and the drag of a tongue against my own parted mouth. I reveled in the feeling and gripped onto his shirt with both hands, fisting it like he’d float away if I let go.

Had I been more cognizant, I’d have laughed at the fact that his action was much more than touch. It was scent (cheap cologne and leather and musk) and it was taste (cheap beer and filmy cigarette residue that I was surprised I could crave) and sight (technicolor behind my eyelids that erupted against dark) and it was sound (of the smacking of lips on lips and the occasional clang of teeth, the rustle of fabric and the springs of the couch as we shifted to accommodate one another). 

And down we fell, my twisted torso mirroring his own as I lay plush against the flat seat of the couch. Mary moved to encapsulate my form with his own, knees brushing the worn plaid upholstery as I parted my legs to gift him space. My hands found the tops of his shoulders and as I gripped, his own hand moved from its entrapment on the nape of my neck to cup my jaw, thumb bruising against bone. I fought the urge to wrap my legs around his body and hold him in like he was to me. Touch. I didn’t care.

But before I could, he slotted one of his legs between my own, the other digging between my left thigh and the seam of the couch. I let out a groan as he pressed the meat of his thigh against my center and he smiled against my lips, nipping at the bottom one. 

Touch. I craved that movement as heat built deep within my abdomen and pooled down past my navel. Shamelessly, I rocked my hips against his leg to chase the feeling of pressure, of grazed fabric on fabric. Testing the proverbial waters. 

Again, a smirk against my lips. His free hand gripped squarely onto my hip. But instead of a teasing nip or squeeze, he pulled away just barely, breath ghosting against my face. 

“That feel good, Doll?” 

I couldn’t begin to think of how to respond. Instead, I canted my hips up again, slower this time, enjoying the friction of denim against my own clothed core. I suppose that was enough of an answer, because he held his leg firm and pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. 

He hummed. “You gonna use me to get yourself off, dollface?” he breathed in question. His voice was lust-dipped and low, barely above a whisper yet it rang so heavy in my chest that I could swear it was deeper than the thunder. 

I let out a noise in response (something like a mix between a whimper and a hum) and again rocked up into the muscle of his leg as I pressed my forehead to his, eyes squeezing shut to focus on the sensation blooming between my thighs. 

“Use your words,” Mary all but tutted, voice still low in timbre. 

“Yes,” I sputtered. Fuck dignity.

He hummed in response and captured my lips with his again, pressing hard as he kissed me with purpose. His hand on my jaw moved to grab my other hip and he let his body fall into mine as he pulled my body up into his leg in time with my own movements. “Keep going,” he murmured against my mouth. Touch. Sound.

Unabashedly, I moved my hips into his thigh with the help of his strong grasp. The friction changed as I felt my own arousal begin to dampen the fabric of my panties and I groaned into the kiss at the feel of the cotton gliding over my clit with each quickening movement. 

Mary’s mouth moved across my jaw and down to the crook of my neck and shoulder, and he began to work at the skin there, biting and sucking along the sensitive areas he’d been cataloging since our last time on this couch. My eyes fluttered open half-lidded in the darkness and I raked my hand through his long hair, gripping it against the scalp as I moved senselessly against him, chasing a release I knew he could provide me. 

“Fuck, you’re so eager,” he growled out against my skin. I swear I could feel the pounding of his pulse through our mashed chests and his words only increased a need that I’d been suppressing since he’d fucked me breathless against my kitchen countertop.

Mary’s distinct scent clouded me, wet-straw colored hair hung in my peripherals, cigarettes and cheap beer and the taste of his kiss covered my lips and tongue, fabric rubbed against fabric and wet mouths primed heated skin, and every explosion of his body rocked and pulled and ground against mine into a sensory explosion. Smell. Sight. Taste. Sound. Touch.

No more storm. No more thunder. No more rain. We made our own natural disaster. 

And I was distracted. Fully distracted in that I didn’t recognize it was my voice that let out a breathy ‘so good’. So successfully distracted that the beeping of the notification on my phone was easily discounted. In fact, the subsequent beeping that followed seconds later was also minimized. And the one after that. I could feel the fuzzy feeling building deep below my navel and I chased it with every movement of my body against Mary’s, and the feeling of his own hardness growing against my thigh made me that much more desperate. He was clearly getting something out of this, too. 

“Take what you need,” Mary’s muffled voice sounded against my clavicle. “Take whatever —fuck— take whatever you want, babydoll.”

So, I did. I ground furiously against him and reached for the peak of my climb, oblivious to the buzzing and chiming of my phone on the coffee table beside us. Except, we’d forgotten we weren’t alone, and not everyone was able to ignore the phone’s noises. 

Brutus’ deep, loud barking rang through the sunken den unexpectedly, causing both Mary and I to jump in surprise, Mary’s head knocking against the side of my jaw. He rose up on his forearms instantaneously and gripped his forehead with a loud ‘fuck’ and I matched his reaction as I cupped my jaw and let out a slew of expletives. 

The light from my screen illuminated the once sleeping dog’s face and I groaned out as I haphazardly reached an arm towards the table to feel for my phone. I unlocked the device and was met with a litany of notifications from Des. I groaned and slammed my head back against the couch cushion. For working so hard to get Mary and I alone together, Desiree sure knew how to cock block. 

I brought the phone up and with squinted eyes, I read over the text messages that had gathered over the last hour. 

Des: how’s it going over there? 

Des: i heard the storm is supposed to get even worse

Des: is brutie doing okay? He gets whiny with loud noises sometimes

Des: shit someone on instagram posted that the power is out for like 5,000 people. you still okay?

Des: wow. okay. don’t answer me. you guys must be really busy 😏

Des: there are condoms in the bedside drawer 😘 cum stains wash out best with cold water ❤

Des: you still never told me about his dick btw

By now, Mary had sat back on his haunches and the pressure of his thigh was completely gone from where I most wanted it to be. “Who is it?” he asked, rubbing at his forehead. 

“Desiree,” I replied in a neutral tone.

Mary let out a sarcastic laugh. “What does she want?” He leaned down to try to get a peek at the phone screen and I snapped it to my chest tightly. 

“Just checking in to see how we’re faring the storm!” I said a little too quickly. I cleared my throat to try to force down the nervous lump that was forming. “And wanted to see how Brutus is doing with the thunder.”

I expected Mary to eye me suspiciously, but if he had caught on to anything, he surely didn’t show it. I typed out a quick response to Des, explaining that yes, we were okay, and no, Brutus wasn’t being a handful, before adding a quick ‘fuck you’ and an eyeroll emoji to her later comments. 

I set the phone down on the table and looked up at the man currently straddling my body. My heart began to speed up again as I took in my surroundings. It was dark in the room, but the light from the storm outside and the glow of the kitchen nearby illuminated him with chiaroscuro that any Renaissance painter would envy. Judging by the bulge in his jeans, the interruption wasn’t enough to sully his erection, and he looked down at me as if he was waiting for me to say the words to continue. 

I felt my chest tighten and another crackle of lightning peppered the room in flushed white. What was I doing? This was Mary: resident bad boy, metal enthusiast, best friend of my best friend’s boyfriend, and come to think of it, a guy who never seemed to show up with the same girl at his side. I didn’t sleep around purely from the fact that it was impossible for me to avoid catching feelings. Blame it on the oxytocin release.

But nothing we had done was wrong and nothing had been the result of deeper feelings, right? We were two consenting adults, two friends that enjoyed each other’s company. Couldn’t that be enough? Sex didn’t have to equal commitment or a deeper connection. It could be loose, free, fun. It was what Des always encouraged me to explore, anyway. Right? 

Despite my reasoning, I felt a weight pressing on my sternum and threatening to rise up my throat. His stare was piercing, and all I could smell was leather and cologne and cigarettes, and the taste of him on my bottom lip, and his weight on my legs, and my breath felt like it was going to rip my lungs open and—

“We should turn in for the night,” I blurted out.

I searched his face for any sort of reaction and was met with a split second of confusion before his demeanor went calm. 

“Sure, if that’s what you want.”

Take what you want rang heavy in my ears from just moments before. 

“Y-yeah, it’s getting late and I worked today, so…”

He stood up from his position over me and I sat up against the arm of the sofa. I chewed my lip, battling the decision I’d just made for the both of us. 

“I’ll take the couch, you can have Tommy’s bed,” Mary said nonchalantly as he took a swig from the forgotten beer bottle on the coffee table. Oddly chivalrous. 

I shook my head almost immediately. “No, I’ll take the couch.” Mary opened his mouth to protest, but I held firm. “I am not sleeping in Thomas’ bed. That sounds like the 7th circle of hell. My best friend is frequently naked in that bed and who knows when those sheets were last washed.”

Mary laughed at this. A deep chuckle and a shake of his head as he motioned towards me with the beer bottle between pointer finger and thumb. 

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve never seen her naked.”

Embarrassed, flustered, and wholly unsatisfied from practically humping the metalhead in front of me, I scoffed. “Not like that and not by choice.”

Mary grinned in enjoyment of my response. “Stay up late and play with each others’ tits after a pillow fight?”

A frustrated groan breached my lips. “You’ve been watching way too much porn, Goore,” I said. I reached for one of the long discarded throw pillows and lobbed it at him, feeling a hint of disappointment when he dodged it easily.

He held up both hands, one still holding the bottle. “Suit yourself,” he began, backing up while still facing me, then adding with a smirk, “don’t get too scared with the storm.”

I watched as he turned and made his way down the hallway, beer in hand as he ventured to Thomas’ room. Leaning back into the cushions of the couch, I sighed. 

🜏🜏🜏

My fingers curled around the stiff microfiber blanket that I’d lazily thrown over myself as I’d sunk into Thomas’ well-worn plaid couch.

I tried to coat myself in the scratchy throw to avoid the feeling of the couch cushions on the exposed skin of my legs and arms. It was a touch-memory that brought me back to flying high in the same den, legs straddling the man that now slept peacefully down the hallway in the master bedroom. 

As much as I didn’t want to reconcile with the feelings of fear, I was on edge. The movie set my panic into motion, but the worsening storm was what lit the engine. It had progressed from the percussive pelting drops against the windows and siding to roars of wind and sprays of harsh rain that sounded like fire hoses. Thunder boomed every so often and I heard its fallout whip through the trees with horrid whistles — true cries of the damned. 

I let out a shaky breath and reached my hand down to pet the dog curled on the bed on the floor. Focus on the fur. Soft. Spindle it between your fingertips. Smooth. Warm. My heartbeat started to calm and my lizard brain crept back into its recesses. 

My eyes relaxed in their shut state and I nuzzled a bit harder into the pillow. I felt my exhaustion begin to take hold. And just as I began to float into the downward spiral of sleep, a boisterous crack sliced through the sky. It reminded me of the jet planes that flew at the air shows when I was little - the ones that broke the sound barrier - and my shriek that followed rivaled in volume. 

Bright white lightning strobed through the windows of the house. A quick succession of flashes flickered like a searchlight on the fritz. The house went dark again. 

The dog's ears perked as he sat up and I followed suit, blanket bunched around my knees and clutched with firm fists to my chest. Just like after a blinding camera flash, my eyes were shot. I could just barely make out the shapes of the furniture and walls. 

“You okay?” a voice asked mere feet away from me.

Startled, I let out another quick scream before slamming my palm tight against my mouth. My eyes continued to adjust and I noticed the figure turned from swirling black mass to humanoid to Mary within a split second.

“I’m fine,” I breathed out. I brought my hands down to grip onto the couch cushions. Mary stood before me in his boxers. Messy hair tousled around his shoulders and chest in waves a la 1980s glam rock (though I was certain that bedhead was a more likely culprit) and willed myself not to search through the inky black of the den to determine if he was wearing a shirt or not. 

“Do you usually scream like a banshee when you’re fine?” he quipped as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

No shirt I noted. 

I rubbed my hands against my face, pressing my fingertips into the sockets of my eyes. “Just not a fan of storms.”

“Yeah, so you said.” A moment passed. The only sound in the air was the howling wind from outside until he broke the quiet. “You sure you’re good out here?”

“I’ve got Brutie.”

“Alright,” he sighed. After a moment, I could feel he’d left again, and I willed myself back into the couch cocoon I’d built myself. 

I must have fallen asleep. Be it the adrenaline crash or the exhaustion, I wasn’t sure how I’d finally managed. It was in vain, however, when another loud burst of lightning and thunder rumbled through the house. The same strobe of light pulsated briefly, and in the distance, a booming crash. Before I knew it, I was on my feet. 

Fuck this fuck this fuck this I whispered to myself as I sped through the house. My hands reached out in front of me as bumpers to the still unfamiliar landscape, and after padding down the hallway in bare feet, I reached around for the doorknob to Thomas’ room. 

His room was better lit than the living room. The orange-y glow of the one working street lamp in the distance painted the walls with a near apocalyptic hue and illuminated Mary’s sleeping form on the bed. He was facing away from me, but I could tell he was out (shocking considering the resonance of the lightning and thunder). 

I bit my lip and crossed my arms over my shoulders as I shifted my weight from foot to foot. I didn’t even know what I was doing here. I sure as hell didn’t want to sleep in Thomas’ bed, and the thought of sleeping next to Mary made me more anxious than anything. Well, except the storm. What was I thinking? I felt like a child standing at the foot of their parents’ bed after having a nightmare, waiting with fearful eyes and too-small pajamas for them to invite me in for the night. 

Duller thunder hummed outside and I was reminded of the fear that had clenched my chest just minutes prior. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt having another person with me, could it? Clearly, the dog wasn’t enough.

I slowly sank onto the opposite edge of the bed, making myself featherlight, and lifted one leg up along the mattress as my other foot held firm against the floor. Mary didn’t move. I swung the other leg up onto the bed and pulled the covers down before sliding under, the shifting sheets whisper silent, and leaned back against the pillow. 

I lay board stiff, hand on my chest, and watched as the tree branches dappled the streetlight in whooshing patterns across the ceiling. Like dark sparkles, it lulled me into a sense of calm, and I let my eyes fall shut again. The bed shifted and I felt Mary turn over, arm flopping out towards the middle of the bed to land hand first into my arm. His eyebrows crinkled in his sleep and his eyelids fluttered wearily at the feeling of his skin against my own. 

“Doll?” he asked, eyes stained with sleep. 

I turned my head to face him, hands still clasped against my chest. “Sorry, I—” I began, taking a moment to let out a shaky breath, “ — I freaked out.”

I braced for a chuckle, eyeroll, anything that was typical of Mary, but it never came. Instead, he lifted up the blankets as if to silently beckon me over. “C’mere,” he croaked, voice clearly still lethargic. 

In any other situation, I’d take pause, but this wasn’t any situation. I scrambled over like a child. He tucked his arm around me and brought me to his bare chest. I could smell the fragrance 

of the shampoo he used as I rested my head in the crook of his neck (I guess he’d been telling the truth about that shower), and my own arms came up to curl against his skin. An arm flopped around my middle, pulling me impossibly close, and our knees brushed under the blanket. 

Surprisingly, I felt calmness wash over me. I likened it to the bear-like embrace, skin-on-skin, some sort of instinctual response to the comfort of another human. But his heartbeat pumped strongly beneath my fingertips and I could feel his steady breath floating across the top of my hair and down my neck, and in that moment, I wondered if it was a little more than just human instinct. 

A beat percussed in time. I traced my fingertips along the skin of his arm, ghost-light, dipping down the valleys and peaks of muscle that I knew flexed taut when he strummed his Epiphone SG. Goosebumps appeared under my digits and he shifted under the sheet. 

“Tickles,” he murmured atop my head.

“Sorry,” I whispered, bringing my hands back to rest against his torso. Sandwiching them between the cotton of my oversized tee and the smooth skin of his pecs would have to do. 

It was quiet — so quiet that I assumed he had fallen asleep again. But his soft breaths were broken by his even softer voice. “You’re cute when you’re scared,” he said. 

I let out a chuckle. “Gee, thanks.”

He hummed and although I couldn’t see it, I could hear his tongue wet his lips, jaw pressing against the top of my head from the movement. “It’s different from the typical Dahlia.”

My mind raced back to our earlier conversation, the one where he’d accused me of hiding my emotions. Is this what he meant? Was fear what he considered transparency? I looked up at him quizzically, breaking the connection of his chin using my crown as an actual headrest. 

His eyes were open, and despite the foreglow of the streetlights and darkness, I could better feel his stare than see it. His hair was still a step down from a rat’s nest, tangled from sleep, and strands hung down around his angular face. His cheeks were beginning to stubble with five o’clock shadow. Breaths pushed past his lips steadily, even, but beneath the pads of my fingers, I could sense his heart pumping solidly in his chest. Only a hairline fracture separated our faces. 

Outside, a whistle of strong wind thwipped against the siding of the house like a widow’s cry and my body instinctively tensed. His arm that had lethargically slung across my waist impulsively tightened and he pulled me even closer. 

“Hey…” he soothed. His brows were drawn in concern, and his hand traveled from the c-bout of my waist and up, up, up my tricep. It was less of a greeting and more of a reminder to land back in the present, to focus on my senses (touch, taste, smell, sight, sound), to remember I was right here, right in this moment, and I wasn’t alone. 

The mortar holding the bricks built around my heart began to disintegrate. Every block melded in a bond pattern to cage in my overcommitting self, to protect from obsession, from the inevitable swoon that I had felt with Brody and had ripped out from under me — they began to fall, piece by piece. 

It was the both of us that drew our mouths to meet. The kiss was lazy, sleepy, languid at first, morphing into prolonged pecks that added a harmony to the pattering rain, gusts of wind, and bouts of thunder rumbling the outside earth. His hand continued to rub against my upper arm and beat by beat, the kiss heightened, and slowly, surely, lips met tongue, and then teeth, and I was angling my neck to the right to keep him from digging into the pillow. 

Mary shifted. His fingers gripped my arm as he moved to lay halfway on top of me. Our legs tangled together, and as he slid his own against my calf, barely stilling, I was certain he’d just discovered that my nightwear consisted of only an oversized t-shirt and panties. 

I could sense his erection pressing through the thin cotton of his boxers against my thigh. My brain zapped back to hours prior when he had boxed me in on the couch and let me take pleasure from his strong quads. A fire raged within me that rivaled my hair spilling across Thomas’ pillows like a red sea.

Mary’s hand moved to skim under the hem of my shirt, tracing against my hip bone before it, too, went up, up, up, hovering just over the curve of my breast before cupping it. His finger traced the outline of my nipple. Once again, surroundings faded. Nothing else existed at this moment, here, right now. 

I exhaled shakily against him. Our lips were still passionately pendulating in a rhythm that the both of us had mastered by now. I took a leap of faith and pressed my thigh to his crotch, earning me a squeeze to my chest and his own shaky exhale. 

Releasing my breast, Mary swept his hand to the waistband of my panties. His fingers, rough and calloused from frets and strings, dipped underneath. He sat up slightly and broke the kiss. The smooth cotton was seesawed down my legs in a series of yanks from the free hand, and he quickly repeated the action on his own boxers, tossing them aside before returning his hand back to my chest. 

“Mary,” I breathed out.

“What?” he echoed. His eyes searched for something as he drank in my expression. 

I swallowed lightly. “I-” I began, not knowing exactly what I was saying.

But he did. “I’ve got you,” he said. His other hand came up to brush a strand of hair from my eyes. 

He kissed me again and fully framed my body with his own. I relaxed back into the pillow and he sat back to dip his hands underneath my shirt, pushing it up and off with a temporary break in our lips’ union. As he slotted himself between my legs, I looked up at him, body completely bare. I felt the anxiety creep into my chest and I was certain I looked visibly unsure — not at the prospect of what was to happen, no, but what would follow. How this would, or could, change things. 

“So goddamn pretty when you’re spread out like this,” he murmured as his hands roamed up and down my torso. I took the moment to soak up the image in front of me. His lean torso was flexed as he ran his hands along my breasts and stomach, and his cock stood heavy against his pelvis, bobbing with every movement of his touch.

He gripped himself with a soft moan, stroking slowly, methodically, and his eyes raked over my form. This wasn’t our first encounter, no, but I felt truly naked for the first time. 

With oddly found confidence, I reached forward to grasp at the junction of his shoulder and neck. I pulled him towards me and his other hand shot out to brace himself against the squeaking mattress. His stroking continued and I jolted when his knuckles came in contact with the ache between my legs. Without any spoken words, he lined himself up and then embraced me, hand on my shoulder as we met chest to chest, covering me like a blanket. 

His pause was obvious — an unspoken ask of consent to proceed which I answered with a soft kiss. I trusted him, and I assumed he trusted me. We both craved the connection, to complete the incomplete. 

As Mary pushed in, I melted beneath him. His tip pushed past and he groaned and buried his face in the curve of my neck. My hands darted out to grip onto his back and pull him close. I wanted to feel him take up space in my ribs. 

Inch by inch he sank before canting steadily. I could feel every bit of him as he rocked in and out, pulling and pushing as my heat gripped him, and for some reason it felt different. Not just raw, but whole. I took in every bit of him physically, but as we moved together in the nightglow, I also consumed the parts he’d been dressing up in leather and denim and metal and dissolved it into my flesh. I took him. 

And through my euphoria of connection, I barely registered my small eruptions of noises that highlighted each stroke of his cock to my core. I focused on the sensation of sprinkled electricity spreading from my cunt outwards, and his hot breath on my neck that I drank in like I was oxygen-starved. 

Mary’s hips began to stutter as he thrusted a little harder into my own and my legs moved to wrap instinctively around him. I keened out louder, and he lifted his head to look at me again. 

The eye contact was searing. Hot. It charred my retinas, but this time, I didn’t care. He must have sensed the vulnerability because his hand cupped my jaw and he ran his thumb across my cheekbone before our foreheads met together. 

“I’ve got you,” he repeated, “Fuck, I’ve got you.”

Like his own hail Mary. I believed him. He had me now — I was in his clutches, both literally and figuratively. 

His pace increased to match my ever-racing pulse. It was still steadied, sleepily focused, and I dug my fingers into the flesh of his back as I clenched down against the movement of his length, nearly trembling at the pull at my navel as each drag of him spurred fire. It was building, and I let it. My breath began to stutter and I felt tears at my waterline. The sensory overload was rhapsody and the simple, obvious connection was juxtaposed by the chaotic climax lapping at my center. I was so close it almost hurt. 

I moaned his name in a half-whimper and he must have felt my urgency and desperation and the increased slick coating our joined union because he crushed his lips to mine. His thumb dug into the side of my chin as he drove firmly into my aching need. But the jerking of his hips was almost too much and I could tell he wasn’t far behind me. 

As my thighs began to tremble at his sides, he broke the kiss. I looked at him with desperate longing. 

“Let it go, Doll,” he murmured to me. 

And unlike every other situation in life where I found myself stubbornly resisting direction, I obeyed. I followed his demand and allowed the fuzzy heat of my release to unfurl around him. I cried out in rapture and he swallowed the sound with an opened mouth kiss at the moment of impact. I tensed around him and my pussy spasmed with every lunge of his hard cock.

“Good girl,” Mary praised as gripped hard onto my shoulder and pressed his head to mine, lips separated, and I was enveloped in a curtain of golden-brown tangled strands. He began to move faster against me and I knew my orgasm had spurred something deep within him as he moaned out, “So good for me, taking me so damn well.”

His thumb brushed the breadth of my lip and dipped into my mouth, pulling down just barely against my tongue and teeth. I looked up at him with full eyes, grey hues drowned by pupils swimming from release, and I inwardly begged him to complete me as aftershocks of a violent orgasm short circuited. 

“So tight,” he grunted in response. “Fuck— feel so good around me, babydoll.” His hands moved to grip my hips and with a few more jolts of his hips, his cock twitched and he groaned, features melting as he spilled inside of me. His body jerked with each spurt and his fingers dug into the flesh covering my pelvic bone as he rode out his high.

Mary collapsed into me and I allowed my eyes to close as we savored the aftermath. I’m not sure how long it was, minutes, maybe more, but eventually he pulled his softened dick from me and I let out a long breath of satisfaction. My hand moved to rest against my chest as I digested the gnawing deep within me that questioned what this was. 

Mary fell to his side and pressed a quick peck to my lips before rolling onto his back and mimicking my sigh. A brief silence filled the sweat-scented air, and I moved my hand to grasp at his, squeezing it, only to receive a slight squeeze back.

Our ragged breaths eventually calmed and I opened my eyes to the textured plaster of the ceiling. 

“You good?” Mary asked after a minute. I rolled my lips inward as I thought about the weight of those two words. 

“Yeah, I’m…I’m good— I’m great,” I replied.  It was the truth. 

He hummed in response and pulled the flat sheet over himself. 

“Glad I could distract you,” He said as he nestled into the right side of the bed. Before turning, he added, “get some sleep.”

My eyes searched for patterns in the swirls of the painted gypsum of the ceiling as stillness settled in. Mary’s quiet breathing turned to soft snores. Despite the calm, serene relief from a shared orgasm, my chest was tight from the inward battle of how unbelievably intimate that experience was and how deeply I was freefalling into a mess of adoration for the man next to me.

I wondered how he could so easily turn to the side and fall asleep.

🜏🜏🜏

Despite the after effects of the record-breaking storm, Des and Thomas were able to make it home a couple of days after they’d left, right on schedule. 

They greeted Mary with their normal affections (a pat on the back from Thomas and a warm wave from Des), and the conversation immediately turned from a Brutus report to a play-by-play of Thomas’ shows out of town. 

Des noted there was no sign of her best friend, which wasn’t a surprise. She’d received my text the day before that I was heading home and that Mary was fine staying the additional time. And despite her prodding, I’d remained tightlipped.

Both she and Thomas were unaware of the telltale morning after where I’d woken up to sunbeams instead of lightning, choosing to pack up my belongings and head out early to check on my own pet at home. 

They were also unaware of the brief goodbye between Mary and I as I readied to leave — him, acting cool, aloof, and casual, as if nothing had changed, while I tried my best to mirror his demeanor with little success. Because as much as I tried to build the bricks back up, I’d let him in the night before, and he’d taken root inside the boundaries of my chest. 

I suppose that just like a day spent thrifting, I’d gone into every interaction with Mary with no expectations, and each time I’d come out with something I didn’t anticipate. The goldmines outweighed the insolvencies. I didn’t know if I wanted him to be aware of this.

Above all, I was happy for my momentary blissful unawareness (at least until later during a phone call with Des) of Thomas’ outburst upon entering his bedroom after Mary had left. His exclamation of “god damn it!” rang as loud as the thunder two nights previous, causing Des to dart in with a “what?” on her lips and the expectation of disaster. 

Thomas sighed, stained top sheet in hand. “They fucked on my bed.”

taglist: @soup-14 @copiasghoulfriend @thew0man @na1ven3vy @portaltothevoid @copias-juicebox @the-lisechen @anamelessfool @discountdemonwarehouse @oaksdottir

[library-ghoulette]

Under the Spell - Chapter 2/?

Pairing: Mary Goore x f!OC

Rating: Mature (mostly for language, SFW, later chapters will be NSFW)

Tags: first person POV, unnamed Sister of Sin OC, he/they Mary Goore, slowburn, banter, jealousy, stressed out overachiever, if I don't admit that I'm attracted to you then it's not really happening

Words: 1704

Summary: Mary Goore is spending the summer at the Abbey to assist with the Ghost Project when one of the Sisters of Sin catches his eye. Can they find love--or even just a place to hook up--under the wrathful gaze of Sister Imperator? (chapter one)

A/N: Sorry not sorry ghesties, but I love a slowburn. And making them fight! It's their foreplay, I promise.

ao3 link

divider by @gothdaddyissues

I spend the next week haunted by Mary Goore. They don’t appear again at the courtyard bench where I take my furtive stress-smoking breaks–not that I hope they will–but that seems like the only place in the Abbey unmarked by their presence.

Everywhere else? They seem to follow like a song I hate but can’t get out of my head. They brush past me in the hall on my way to class. They’re leaving Sister Imperator’s office right when I need to talk to her about something. They even sit on the far end of my pew during mass–which I’m sure they only attend to annoy me–leaning forward across the other worshippers to catch my eye and wave.

They talk too loudly, and they laugh too much, and I have no idea how they’re managing to get any work done for the Ghost Project when they never seem to be in the music room. Why would they do any work, when they could be following me? 

Or when he could be sitting across from me in the dining hall, surrounded by a gaggle of Sisters, all of whom are looking up at him with bright smiles, playing with their hair and giggling at remarks that I’m certain couldn’t have been that fucking funny, touching his arm and–

My roommate nearly shouts my name from across the table, and I snap my attention back to her. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

She sighs. “I was saying, that’s so annoying.”

“What is?” I realize that I’ve lost the thread of our conversation so thoroughly that she could be talking about anything from being put on extra cleaning duty to the cafeteria not having the good french fries today, and I have no idea which. 

She flaps a hand Mary’s direction. I look over just long enough for them to catch my eye and give me a wink before I turn away again. 

“See, that’s what I’m talking about. He acts like he owns the place, and everyone falls all over themselves trying to get his attention.” She adjusts the clip holding back her profusion of dark curls and says something that I don’t quite catch, because there’s another wave of giggles from Mary’s table and I look over to see him stretching his arms over his head, the hem of his shirt rising just enough to reveal a sliver of pale skin right above his studded belt–

“Huh?” I ask, when my roommate reaches out to poke my hand.

“I said, I’m glad you’re not taking part in all that nonsense.”

“Oh. Yeah, I uh… I don’t really see the appeal.”

She gives me a suspicious look, eyes narrowing and lips twisting to the side in an expression that I know too well. “You’ve been so spacey lately.”

“Yeah, I know.” I drop my eyes to my plate, dragging my fork through the remnants of my salad. “I’m just kind of stressed out about my classes and everything.”

“Well, if you want to do some extra studying together, let me know,” she says. “The summer is going to be over before we know it, and if you want Sister Imperator to approve you to take your vows this fall–”

“Yeah, that would probably be good,” I cut her off, before she can fully launch into yet another reminder of why I’m spending my summer studying instead of… whatever it is that fun people do with their summers. “I’m free tomorrow after–oh shit, what time is it?”

She checks her watch. “Uh, 1:30?”

I swear under my breath, a litany of shitshitshit as I gather my things. “I’m half an hour late for my library shift.”

“Go on,” she says, stopping me as I toss my trash onto my tray. “I’ve got this.”

I might feel annoyed with myself for eliciting the look of concerned pity she gives me, if I had the time to spare. As it is, I almost sprint out the door and across the Abbey to the library.

I stash my bag in the librarian’s office with my apologies, shrug on my cardigan to ward off the air-conditioned chill, and collect a cart of books ready to be returned to their shelves.

I love my shifts in the Ministry library, hours when  I can disappear into soothing work, cushioned by the susurrus of research happening all around me, the turning of pages and the tapping keys forming the perfect backdrop for my thoughts. 

I’m looking forward to resuming the comfort of my usual routine, to clearing my mind and maybe passively mulling over Secondo’s notes on my most recent Latin translation. But when I locate the correct range and turn down the aisle, an all-too-familiar disheveled head peeks around the next shelf, stopping me short.

“What are you doing here?” I hiss.

“Research?” Mary offers.

“Nice try, but try again.”

“Okay, fine. I saw you giving me the eye back there in the cafeteria. Thought you might want some company.”

“You followed me?” I can already feel that tell-tale blush that I hate creeping up out of my collar and across the face, the one that makes people confuse pissed off for something else.

Mary grimaces as they approach. “Followed makes it sound creepy.”

“It is”--my words come out louder than I intend, and I catch myself, because they are not going to bait me into making a scene in the middle of the library--”it is creepy. Go away.”

Of course, he doesn’t go away. 

“Are you trying to deny a humble seeker of knowledge the opportunity to improve their mind and grow in their dark faith?” he asks, voice dripping affronted piety as he plucks a book from the shelf at random. 

“Fine,” I sigh. “But be quiet. And don’t bother me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” They lean against the shelf and flip the book open with an exaggerated motion that makes me cringe for the poor book’s spine. I try to go back to my work, but I can feel their eyes on me, and it can’t be more than a minute before they’re talking again.

“Did you know that weird Cardinal has, like, a whole stash of antique porn hidden in here somewhere?” Mary asks, snaping the book shut, voice getting progressively louder. “I hear it’s the really weird stuff!”

I hear a grumble from one of the nearby study carrels as someone shoots us a glare, and I shush Mary with a light slap on the arm with the book I’m holding.

“Shut up. And go away.” I turn to shelve the book in my hand. “I’m trying to work.”

Mary doesn’t leave, just cocks their head at me mischievously and rubs the spot where I hit them, right over the devil inked into their skin. “Sure, I’ll go away. If you come meet me tonight.”

The retort is poised on the tip of my tongue, but to my surprise, what comes out of my mouth is, “Meet you? Where?”

“The cemetery.”

I shake my head. “No.”

“It’ll be fun.”

“No, Goore.”

“Ugh! So impersonal!” He clasps a hand over his heart, wounded. “Don’t you think we’re on a first-name basis, babe?”

“No. And I’ve told you not to call me that.”

I start to wheel the book cart away, rolling down the aisle to the next range of books I have to shelve, finished with this conversation. But Mary’s hand shoots out, grabbing me gently around my upper arm, their calloused touch setting off sparks inside me, sparks that I refuse to label as anything other than anger.

I’m about to say something scathing, but they lean close, and the openness of their expression stays my tongue.

“I’m sorry,” they say. “I’m an asshole, I know. But seriously. The cemetery, midnight. We’ll have a little picnic, just you and me.” A lopsided grin. “It’ll be nice.”

I bite my lip, considering, looking down at their hand where it still rests on my arm. For whatever reason, I don’t shrug it off. And they don’t take it away.

Here is the part when I say no, I think. But what I say instead is, “Maybe.”

Mary smirks like he knows, just knows, that “maybe” really means “yes,” and it makes me want to take it back now to spite him. But I can see where the conversation goes next if I say no: the way he will relish teasing me for not having the guts while I get increasingly flushed and flustered, looking every bit the good girl being pestered by the bad boy who won’t leave her alone. Worse, looking like the good girl who doesn’t want the bad boy to leave her alone.

They’re leaning in close enough now that I can smell them: clinging smoke, the salty tang of sweat, and something spicy and earthy. There is a small voice inside of me that urges me to lean in closer, to breathe in more of that oddly intoxicating scent. That small voice assures me that if I just tilt my head up ever so slightly and close my eyes, then Mary will meet me halfway. 

Stupid. What would I want that for? He’s distracting, and annoying, and–

“Midnight,” he says again, breaking my train of thought and the inexplicable spell I had fallen under. “Don’t be late.”

I roll my eyes. “Maybe,” I say again.

“I’ll take maybe.” They squeeze my arm gently, briefly, before finally releasing me, having gotten what they wanted from me. 

I should let them go, should be relieved to be left alone, left to get back to the work I’m here to do. But for reasons unknown even to me, I say, “I’ve seen it, by the way.” 

It works: they turn back, intrigued. “Seen what?”

“Cardinal Copia’s porn collection.” Nonchalant, eyes cast down as I rearrange a misfiled book on my cart.

“No shit? Was it weird?”

I shrug, leveling him with a deliberate gaze. “I’ve seen weirder.”

And just for a moment, I’m rewarded with the rarest of occurrences: Mary Goore rendered speechless. 

And then one of those smiles that says I’ve won this round, while promising that there will be another.

“See you tonight, Sister.”

[lostmoonspirit]

GUYS THIS IS A BURNER ACCT BC IM LOOKING FOR SOMETHING SO SPECIFIC AND NICHE PLEASE H E L P ME FIND THIS FANFIC LMAO

The premise was basically Mary Goore but with like almost a beetlejuice bc they accidentally summons them by saying Mary three times HELP ME FIND ITTTT

Anyways pls tag me when u find it it’s so good

EDIT!! YALL SAVED MEEE ILYY

[da-rulah]

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 6]

Summary: It was only a matter of time before you asked to see Mary's band, but he can't help the rising anxiety that you might just hate what he does… Still, he concedes, and you head to their show with him. If you thought Mary was hot before, oh boy… Now he's irresistible.

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 12.3k

Warnings: Teasing, sexual tension, cum play, sexual harassment, unwanted physical contact, use of a homophobic slur, violence, oral sex (m receiving), throat fucking, masturbation (f), cum swallowing, cum play 

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Well, look who's back... Mary's here. 😈 Thank you to all those who've waited to patiently for this next chapter. I hope you won't be disappointed... As always, thank you to me besties @her-satanic-wiles and @angellayercake for their encouragement and beta reading services - I adore you both.

AND, this one's dedicated to @kissingghouls, who had a birthday during the week and tested a little snippet of this chapter out for me 👀 I hope you love the rest of it 💕

You could have lay there all night. Truthfully, you couldn’t think of anywhere else in the world you’d rather be right now besides buried in blankets and pillows in Mary’s arms, looking out at the moon rippling across the water of the lake. The radio still played from the cab of his van, and you were content to listen to Mary singing along to his favourite songs under his breath.  

You could feel him vibrating beneath you as he sang, your back pressed to his chest and laying against him between his legs. Every so often, he’d press a kiss to the side of your head, or readjust the way his hands lay across your stomach with his fingers intertwined with yours. You were just so comfortable, never having felt so safe and wanted before.  

“Do you sing in your band, too?” you asked him, fiddling with the rings on his fingers absentmindedly. 

“Hm? Oh, uh... Yeah I guess I do.” You turned your head to look at him, suspicion creasing your brow. 

“You guess?” 

“Well, it’s kinda more... growling? Some screaming. Bit of singing,” he shrugged, a little sheepish. 

“Aw, and here’s me thinking I was the only one you growled for,” you teased, which earned you a laugh.  

“Well you’re the only one who can drag it outta me like that,” he flirted, bouncing his eyebrows and planting a lingering kiss to the top of your cheek.  

You got comfortable again, settling into his chest and wrapping his arms tighter around you. A few moments of blissful quiet passed as you thought about him on stage; what would he sound like? Look like? Was he good? You wanted to know. 

“I wanna see you play,” you said earnestly. “when are you playing next?” 

Mary clammed up a little behind you, suddenly wracked with insecurity and anxiety at the thought of you coming to one of his gigs. It’d feel pretty shitty if you didn’t like his music, and he was very aware that it wasn’t for everyone. While you never complained at the heavier stations on his van radio, you also didn’t strike him as the type to enjoy death metal. You were merely being polite, he was sure of it...  

But then, this was him stereotyping again. Consciously now, he could see it and call himself out before the words left his mouth.  

“Uh... We actually have one on Saturday.” You noticed the nervousness in his tone, the hesitation. You understood why; it must be a little scary to show someone you care about the passion that drives you as fiercely as music drove Mary. 

“I don’t have to come if that’s too soon, I get it,” you tried to reassure him, turning around and smiling sweetly at him. But even that was enough to quell some of his anxiety, just your consideration.  

“You know what?” he sat upright then, angling you a little better while the blankets wrapped around you fell to your waist, exposing you both to the colder night air. “I want you there. Even if you hate us, be nice to see a pretty face out there for me.” 

You rolled your eyes at him playfully, “You just want a groupie, huh?” 

“Hmm, maybe,” he hummed, grinning cheekily and leaning into you to press his lips to yours. You giggled against his lips, letting him curl around you as you melted into each other. It felt so easy to you now, so unbelievably natural. You had to ask yourself why you had taken so long to get here. You could have had this all long, if the pair of you weren’t so stuck in those stereotypical little bubbles of yours.  

But you were here now, and that’s what mattered. Not without its future flaws, you were sure, but it was a start.  

Mary finished off the last song of practise without issue. By now, the band knew every song inside and out, so band practise was only ever a formality, or an excuse to get together and jam. But Davey always called one just before a show, in case there were any issues to iron out and to put together a running order for the setlist. He had a unit where they practised often, all their stage equipment stored in there save for their guitars. 

“So where you been, Goore? Dropped off the face of the earth lately. Last time I saw you was days ago at the garage...” Forrest smirked with an accusation brewing behind his eyes – Mary could tell. He continued winding up the cable in his hands to avoid his eye contact, shaking his head with a smile he could barely hide no matter how hard he tried. That’s what thinking of you did to him. 

“Ah y’know, about,” he avoided. 

“Bullshit, you got a call and bolted. I remember.” 

Mary’s arms slumped by his sides in exasperation, the curled up cable flapping against his thigh.  

“Yeah, and before that last time we saw you was the bicentennial... Fuck’s up with you?” Jed was interested now, shoving his drumsticks into his beat up old backpack that had seen better days. Even Davey who was slotting his bass into its case very carefully – that thing was his baby, often reminding everyone it cost more than their rents combined – was suddenly very interested in where the elusive Mary Goore had been the last couple of weeks. 

“You can’t even hide the smile. It’s a girl, ain’t it?” he chimed in, teasing him like a kid in a playground. “You gone soft?” 

“Nah just had a lot of guitars to work on at the shop lately,” Mary shrugged, tucking the cable away into his own guitar case. 

“Your pants are scorching right now, Mare...” Jed grinned, hopping up to sit on an amp stack.  

Mary finally stood up straight and sighed, looking around at the guys who all had expectant looks on their faces. He knew he’d have to tell them eventually – they were only going to meet you in a few days anyway. He can’t hide you forever, especially when he’d been so sensitive about being hidden himself in your world... He was many things, but a hypocrite he was not. 

“Alright, fine... Yeah, there’s a girl.” The nerves were evident in his voice, quieter and a little stuttery. Of course, the guys all jumped down his throat with “ooh”s and “wheeey”s, Jed even shoving his shoulder in a weird masculine display of celebration.  

“Been holed up somewhere with some broad, ey?” he waggled his eyebrows at him. “Come on then, who is she?” 

Mary was clamming up, having no idea how they were going to react to this. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shuffled on his feet. Forrest noticed his change, and squinted at him as he observed.  

This wasn’t like him. Forrest was the most mature of the guys, had known Mary the longest – since they were kids – and he was very aware there were multiple versions of him. The front he showed the world, and the sensitive and broken guy underneath. Seeing him get nervous about a girl though... that had never happened before. 

“You wouldn’t really know her, she’s not really... from our circle...” Mary dodged the truth as long as he could, but it was inevitable.  

“Yeah no shit, between us we’ve exhausted our “circle”,” Davey laughed, making air quotes with his fingers. Mary winced at the thought of his promiscuous reputation; not a past he was all that proud of... 

“You remember back at the bar, a few weeks ago...?” he started, and Jed jumped in immediately. 

“That girl you stormed right past? You went back?” He leaned forward where he sat on the amp, excited to hear the gory details he definitely was not getting.  

“No-” 

“No fucking way,” Davey jumped in, recalling the night in question. “You’re still fucking her majesty?”  

“She’s not-” Mary tried to get a word in, but Davey and Jed were having too much fun with this, interrupting him. 

“The Mayor’s daughter? Fuckin’ hell, Mare,” he laughed with uncontained glee at the prospect. “I know she’s a hot piece of ass, but seriously? Girls like her ain’t into guys like us.” 

Mary’s fists clenched at his sides. It was becoming clear the stereotypes were not contained to just you and him, but you’d both grown up in a world perpetuated by them. Forrest watched the scene unfold quietly, observing Mary’s reactions that were so out of pocket for him. 

“Well she did fuck him in a public bathroom that night, Jed,” Davey joined Jed’s delight. “Daddy’s girl’s got a kinky side.”  

“Shut the fuck up, Davey,” Forrest interjected on Mary’s behalf. Everyone’s heads whipped toward him, including Mary’s. “Fucking neanderthals, man...” The smiles from their faces were wiped clean, their proverbial tails hanging between their legs.  

Forrest walked to stand beside Mary, folding his arms across his chest. “This could be a dangerous game to play, Mare. If her dad finds out...” 

“He already kicked her out. For... other reasons...” Mary didn’t want to divulge too much of your shit to them, that wasn’t his place. He feared he’d already said too much when he saw the looks of shock and confusion on their faces. “She’s been staying with me the last few days.”  

“Move pretty quick, don’t you?” laughed Jed, who was thrown a look of caution by Forrest and immediately shut up again with a mumbled, “sorry”.  

“So you like her then, huh?” Forrest enquired with a smug smile. Mary nodded, biting his thumb nail. “She coming to the show?” 

Jed snickered at the thought, effectively saying “yeah, as if she’d be into our music” without having to say the actual words. Mary shot him a warning glare. 

“Yeah, she is actually,” he didn’t take his eyes off Jed, just begging him to say one more shitty thing. He didn’t.  

“Nice, well I’ll train the apes up and have ‘em civilised for the lady. Don’t worry about it.” Forrest slapped a hand on Mary’s back in support, heading back over to pack up and clicking his fingers in the other’s direction to get them moving too.  

Mary was grateful for Forrest stepping in like that. There was a deeper bond with him than the others, not just on account of the longevity of their friendship, but he’d been there through all of Mary’s shit. For a long time, Forrest was the only friend he had and if anybody understood him, it was him.  

Forrest had his own shit too – neglectful parents, like Mary, but in different ways. High-powered, career driven types. They’d leave him with a nanny and swan off on business trips and fancy vacations, so he knew loneliness in his own way too.  

While his friends were always a good laugh, Davey and Jed just weren’t on quite the same wavelength. Where Forrest and Mary had matured a little, grown up with a smidge of respect, they were trailing behind. They were still young men, trapped in rebellion, angst and male bravado. They needed reigning in from time to time, usually by Mary’s or Forrest’s hand but on more than one occasion they’d had their asses kicked outside a bar for their mouth. The point is, they were learning. Slowly, but they were learning...  

Once the guys packed up their stuff – largely in silence – Davey and Jed muttered a ‘see ya later’ as they filtered out of the unit, but Forrest hung back as Mary rolled down the shutters and padlocked them shut. 

“Hey Mare, does uh... Does she know?” Forrest asked, his voice low as the others walked down the alley of other units just ahead of them. 

“Know what?” he asked, a little confused. “That you guys made a bet with me the first night? Yeah she knew that then, we laughed about it,” he shrugged.  

“No, I didn’t mean that,” Forrest scratched the back of his head awkwardly. He hated bringing this up, it was such a sore subject for Mary... “Does she know... what her dad did?” 

Mary’s eyes widened as it hit him – no, you didn’t know that. Mary hadn’t divulged that much to you, and he didn’t exactly intend to...  

“No. She doesn’t need to,” he shrugged nonchalantly, avoiding the subject. Forrest didn’t press the matter, not wanting to drag Mary down that road any more than he already had. Instead, they took a few steps in silence.  

“So go on then, tell me what she’s like...” Forrest nudged his shoulder as the two of them walked out to the parking lot. Mary smiled at the ground, babbling and singing your praises for as long as Forrest would allow him.  

Watching Mary apply his make-up was becoming one of your favourite past times. He was so particular about it, specifically tonight as he applied it in the dingy little mirror in the corner of their dressing room. Day to day, he cared a little less but tonight was important – every gig was, to him.  

It became very apparent to you very quickly that he took his shows very seriously. As much as he was there to have fun, this was more than just a hobby to him. He wanted this to go somewhere, to make something of himself. This was a dream that he’d worked his skinny little ass off for, and so everything had to be just right, his before-show rituals performed the same as always.  

But there you sat, watching him from the battered two-seater couch in the room as he added the final touches to his skull paint. He pulled back from the mirror, looking at his reflection and smirking with a nod of satisfaction. But then he caught you in that mirror behind him, watching him without an attempt to look away.  

“Lookin’ good, Goore,” you told him, leaning forward on your elbows, chin resting in your palm.  

“I guess, but it’s missing something...” He seemed unbothered, making no move to add any more paints.  

“The blood, right?” you asked, but he shrugged.  

“Wanna try something new. Get over here, doll,” he instructed, beckoning you over. You rose from your seat, closing the distance between you both. He leaned back onto the sink, folding his arms over his chest as you got a little closer than necessary, stood between his feet and leaning your hands on the edges of the sink. Mere inches separated you, and you waited for him to continue. 

“That’s a pretty shade of lipstick you got on tonight,” he flirted, pulling your bottom lip down with his thumb and inspecting the red residue that lingered on it when he pulled back.  

“You should recognise it, not the first time I’ve worn it for you.” If he remembered right, he’d know you wore it the first time he’d snuck in through your bedroom window; the same pretty shade of blood red. “You asked me back then if I thought it would look good on you, and then you kissed me.” 

“I did, didn’t I?” he mused, feigning thoughtfulness. “And it did look good on me...” You giggled at that, and it damn near sent Mary to his knees right there and then. He would never get fucking tired of that giggle. “Have you got it on you?” he asked, before he could get too distracted by that pretty little sound. 

“Of course,” you said, patting the little purse hanging from your shoulder and down by your hip. 

“Good, you might need a touch up when I’m done with you,” he smirked. “Think you can make some pretty little lipstick marks for me?” You nodded, moving in to kiss him immediately but he stopped you, his finger on your lip. You pouted, sagging your shoulders.  

He pulled his finger from your lips and pointed it to his cheek bone, where the black met the white of his thin and chalky paints. You took the initiative, and stood up on your toes to reach, planting a very deliberate kiss to the area. When you pulled back, you marvelled at your work; the prettiest lip stain sat where you’d pressed your lips against him. Mary turned his head to look sideways into the mirror behind him, smirking at the transfer.  

“Perfect, need more though,” he said, turning back to you and pointing now at his jawline on the other side of his face. You obliged eagerly, lingering just a little longer this time and pressing your body against his where he leaned on the sink. You could feel his body tense under you, like he was trying to act cool and aloof but fighting an urge rising inside him... 

“Can I choose a spot?” you teased by his ear, letting your breasts press into his chest just a little...  

“Choose wisely, doll...” he warned, with no real warning behind it whatsoever. But you already had a spot in mind...  

You tucked your head just under his chin, letting your warm breath fan over the expanse of skin around his neck before gently placing your lips directly over his Adam’s apple. You felt it bob as he swallowed with anxiety, the tension of holding back his urges to devour you becoming almost unbearable. You loved that you had this effect on him... He was supposed to be this cocky, self-assured little badass; so how come you could have him tensing and straining with just a few simple, light kisses? Because you drove him wild. 

You lifted your hands from the edges of the sink, instead settling them on his waist while you parted your lips against his neck, letting your tongue lap at the skin briefly before pulling back with a smirk just as he let out a hum of satisfaction. You saw his head thrown back, his eyes shut just before he realised you’d disappeared and snapped his gaze back to you. The look on his face was priceless, silently asking you why the hell you’d stopped.  

“Didn’t wanna smudge it,” you shrugged, smirking. 

“You fucking minx,” he chuckled.  

“One more,” you told him, digging through your purse to add another layer of red to your lips so you could leave the most definitive print this time. Then you leaned in one more time, as if you were going to kiss him on the lips – which frankly, by now, he was desperate for. But you dodged his advance and pressed your lips just to the corner of his mouth, planting a firm, red lip stain so prettily for him.  

“There,” you leaned back, still crowding his space and holding his waist, “looks good.” 

“Not fair of you to tease me like that when the guys are gonna be here any minute, and I can’t bend you over this sink and fuck you dumb,” he growled, knowing full well the effect only his words had on you. His brash vulgarity was such a turn on to you, especially now that you’d experienced Mary’s sweeter side, his tenderness and gentility. He was like Jekyll and Hyde, and knowing what a softie he could be when feelings were involved, it was all the more exciting when Hyde came out to play... 

He pinched your chin between his thumb and knuckle, angling your head to tilt up to him a little more. “I seem to remember you wanted to see how pretty this shade looked smothered all over my cock, hm?” 

Damn him. You had said that... Back in your bedroom that night, but he’d denied you in favour of being the one to taste you instead. If you had the time right now, you’d have dropped to your knees in a heartbeat, but that door would swing open at any moment, his friends and bandmates arriving to get set up and head out on stage. You hadn’t tasted Mary since the very first time you’d slept together, and frankly, your mouth watered at the thought.  

“Shame I’ll have to wait a little longer,” you whined, pouting like a spoilt brat who didn’t get her way, but it only made Mary’s grin wider as he looked down at you.  

As if Satan himself had planned the timing, the door handle to the dressing room rattled, alerting you to the presence of his bandmates arriving and startling you both to stand upright, Mary tucking you into his side with an arm around your shoulder almost protectively.  

“Goore!” Jed strolled into the dressing room with his arms wide open, followed by Davey and Forrest lugging equipment in and glaring at the back of his head for not pulling his damn weight and carrying some of this shit himself. Jed walked straight up to Mary, ignoring your presence at first and forcing Mary into a typical ‘bro hug’ with heavy slaps to each other’s backs in greeting. But then he finally turned to you, a cheeky and mischievous look in his eye. “And this must be the Dutchess...”  

Mary froze, desperately trying to think of something to say in your defence, anything to turn the attention away from Jed’s comment that he could only imagine stung so much worse with everything you’d been through lately. But he couldn’t think of anything... He’d told them to be good. To welcome you, to be fucking decent and immediately, Jed waltzed in and had to poke at an open wound.  

Davey and Forrest stopped dead too, waiting in silence, everyone aware of the tension that lay heavy in the room just from one snide little dig at your family history...  

You looked to Mary next to you and smirked, before turning back to Jed and folding your arms over your chest. You took a step towards him, looking him up and down as if inspecting him before putting on your best snooty impression, and saying, “I think you’re supposed to kneel before a Dutchess, are you not?”  

Another moment of silence passed, Jed’s face twisting from one of slight shock, to mild amusement. “Nah, I’m sure Goore kneels at your feet often enough for everyone,” he teased, winking at you. “I’m Jed,” he introduced, holding a hand out to you which you gladly took, watching as he lifted the back of your hand to kiss the back of it briefly and bow his head in mock respect.  

“I remember,” you laughed, looking back at Mary who was looking at you with concern, but also pride... You had handled that better than he could have expected, cleverly inserting yourself into the humour rather than allowing yourself to be offended by it. You took the power away from Jed, and instead, earned his respect. You didn’t miss his exhale of relief.  

“What’s with the lipstick, Mare?” Jed asked, pointing generally at his face. The others looked over too, now registering it wasn’t fake blood on his face, but lipstick – suspiciously the same colour as you were wearing. 

“Trying something new,” Mary shrugged with a smirk. 

“That your way of telling the ladies you’re taken now, eh?” Davey laughed, waggling his eyebrows. “Goore is off the market!” 

“Better be, I don’t wanna have to get the claws out,” you warned, stepping back into Mary’s side and wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You dropped your voice a little lower so only Mary could hear, “at least, not for anyone but you.”  

Mary just smirked down at you, biting his lip at the thought of your nails dragging across his flesh in the heat of passion later on tonight. You were being very distracting this evening... 

Forrest and Davey reintroduced themselves to you once they’d set the equipment they carried down, the room settling into a far less tense environment. You sat yourself back down on the small couch and let the preparation for their gig unfold before you, chiming into conversation every now and then where you saw fit. Jed would throw you a few more jabs, but you managed to bat them right back at him like it was child’s play. And with each comeback, you earned just a tad bit more respect out of not only him, but Davey and Forrest too.  

The guys went to soundcheck before the venue opened, while you hung back in the dressing room citing that you wanted to see the real show first. You’d rather see Mary in all his glory and performing than playing to an empty club for the first time. When they came back in, you could see the excitement had grown within the band, the buzz starting to build for the show now that they’d set up and were ready to go.  

The beers had started to flow, just a few to keep them coherent enough to play of course, but the atmosphere was changing, building right up until the moment the stage manager came to collect them. The guys all downed the remainder of their beers, gathering whatever little bits they needed before heading out on stage. The guys wandered out of the door without Mary, leaving the two of you alone. 

Mary pulled you to your feet from the couch, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Keep yourself safe in the crowd, yeah? Can get a bit rowdy...” he warned, a hint of anxiety present in his features. Not just at the thought of you alone in a crowd of metalheads moshing without a care in the world, but at the thought that you might just hate his music. That thought had been niggling away at him for days, ever since he first invited you.  

“I’ll be fine, gonna stick by the bar so you know where to find me when you get off stage,” you assured, pulling gently on the spike of hair he’d now styled in front of his face to sharpen the point for him. “Oh, wait!” 

You rushed out of his hold and towards his backpack, digging through it until you found his make-up kit and rushed back to him. You picked out the little vial of fake blood you knew he kept in there, dropping the kit down on the couch behind you.  

“Can’t go out there and be ‘Mary Goore’ without the ‘Goore’, hm?” you winked, uncapping the bottle and resting the nozzle on his hairline, letting it drip and dribble down his face just enough that it wouldn’t interfere with the pretty lip stains you made earlier. You screwed the cap back on and threw it back into the bag behind you. 

“Part of me is starting to think the blood turns you on a little...” he taunted, that stupid little smirk on his face again. You wanted to one-up him, to have the last damn word... And so, with a quick check to make sure the two of you were in fact alone, you grabbed his wrist and directed his hand down to hem of the short denim skirt you were wearing, pushing it up your inner thigh until you could manoeuvre his fingertips to push the edge of your panties to one side and slide over the little mess that all this damn teasing had caused, coating his fingers in it... 

You pulled his hand from under your skirt and lifted it to between the two of you, giggling in a way that had him stirring beneath his jeans. 

“I think maybe it does...” you tormented, letting go of his wrist and making your way to the doorway, leaning against it as if you were about to leave. Mary stood in awe of you, his hand still hovering in front of him as he looked between you and the shine on his fingertips a few times before snapping back to reality and realising he had a damn show to put on.  

He did the only rational thing he could think to, shoving his slick fingers into his mouth to clean them off while he held eye contact with you. You felt yourself flutter at the sight, gripping onto the doorframe a little tighter. This mother fucker really knew how to rile you up... 

“I’ll need more of that later, doll,” he told you sternly, stepping towards you. You took it as your cue to run, heading down the hall towards the club laughing almost maniacally as Mary stomped after you, his anxiety over performing for you replaced with a simmering need to get it over with so he could just fucking have you.  

It had only been ten minutes since you’d left the dressing room, but you were getting a little antsy waiting... This wasn’t your usual scene, and you’d hoped that maybe your first time in a goth club you’d have Mary at your side to make the experience a little less intimidating. The majority of the crowd were men, all metalheads, and while you were more comfortable here than at any political event or frat party you’d ever been to, you were sure you stuck out like a sore thumb.  

This club was in the city, and so you weren’t worried about anybody really knowing who you were save for Mary and his bandmates. But you were still finding yourself, figuring out your style and the wonderful thing about goth clubs is that everybody here went all out for the aesthetic. You felt boring, mundane even in the outfit you’d chosen. Sure, it was all black, but you’d thought the fishnet top over a black cami was daring... But in this scene, it wasn’t.  

You felt out of place, and without Mary at your side, you were sure you didn’t blend in nearly as much as you were hoping to. So, keeping to the edge of the club by the bar felt like a safe option. While everyone’s eyes were up front on the stage, you could stand back and watch as your boyfriend – well, you hadn’t exactly talked about a label, but you figured – owned the stage. And watch, you did. 

From the second Mary got up on that stage, you couldn’t look away. You hadn’t seen him play much, just a little here and there on that battered old acoustic of his, but never like this... He had such a command to him, this enigmatic energy that captivated you. Clearly, he was in his element. He’d told you it was his dream to perform, to be successful with his music and watching him now, you could see he put every fucking ounce of his soul into it.  

His music was heavy; you expected that. The lyrics were dark, screamed and growled into the microphone like he was possessed. You could understand why he was nervous for you to hear it, to see this dark side of Mary. Music like this wouldn’t appeal to the masses, sure, but it certainly did to you. He was starting to learn there was a dark side to you too, buried and covered up with pretty pink bows and glitter but it was in there. No wonder you were attracted to Mary like a moth to a flame...  

There was something about him on stage that just sparked something... Perhaps the way he handled his guitar, his fingers moving so deftly through the manic riffs he shredded. Perhaps it was the way he growled into the microphone; a deep, gravelly noise that made your breath catch in your lungs. Perhaps it was the way the crowd responded to him, adoring him and screaming for him and yet you knew that he was yours. 

The combination of it all was driving you wild. Riling each other up before the show certainly hadn’t helped, but you found yourself forgetting you were ever anxious to step foot in a club like this alone and focussing solely on him. With each song, you fell deeper into this almost obsessive need for him. 

Your demise finally came when a few songs into the set, his eyes landed on you. And the fucker smirked. 

With his eyes trained on you, he spoke into the mic. 

“Are you morbid?” he growled. The crowd screamed back at him, but he wasn’t talking to them. Not really.  

You bit your lip, unable to look away from him or even blink as he stared at you, as if he was waiting for you and you only to respond.  

“I said, are you morbid?” he insisted, the crowd screaming back again, louder this time. All you could do was nod pathetically, squeezing your thighs together and squirming just from the way he sounded, his stare... His smirk spread into a menacingly dark grin, his make-up and the lighting acting to enhance his devilish persona. He was turning you on, and he could see it.  

“Fuck yeah, you are,” he snarled, immediately running his fingers along the strings of his guitar to make it screech and diving into the next song. You could have sworn you felt the ghost of his touch as he did, as if his fingers were running their way up your inner thigh and not the neck of his guitar – the thought had your cheeks flushing, hidden under the dim lighting of the club.  

Watching his set was like torture. You tried to focus on the songs, to get into the music and as much as you were enjoying it you just couldn’t tear your eyes from him. When you’d first met Mary at the dive bar, he’d had this arrogance, this cocky self-confidence to him that lured you in but the more you got to know Mary, the more you knew that was a front a lot of the time. He had that softer side, that insecurity that he masked. But this version of Mary? This was where his true confidence lay, and it might just be the sexiest thing you had ever seen.  

As all good things must come to an end, so did their set. The crowd cheered and roared for them, and you found yourself fidgeting while you waited for them to come off stage, pack up their gear and for Mary to come and find you. Impatience had you leaning on the bar, beer in hand and tapping your foot to the metal playing through the club now that the show was over. When you finally felt two strong hands sliding around your waist from behind you, you let out a sigh of relief, smiling to yourself as you span in their grasp. 

“And what’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone in this dive, huh?” 

It wasn’t Mary.  

A strange faced smirked down at you, a thick and heavy beard to match the blonde hair that fell in untamed waved past his shoulders. His lip was pierced, straining from where he bit it while his eyes drank you in from head to toe as if you were some kind of prize. He reeked of cheap spirits and sweat, his forehead shining under the club lights as if he’d been in the mosh pit for the duration of the set.  

Beside him was someone you’d mistake for his twin, if it weren’t for the black hair and obvious difference in size and stature. The man holding you was tall, but solid. His friend was shorter, his body unhealthily thick. But still, he matched the description of your metalhead stereotype, and he too was dragging his eyes all over your body. 

Immediately your smile dropped and you shoved both hands into the guy’s chest. He stayed put, his solid frame too strong to waver but your push forced you back against the bar far enough to get out of his hold.  

“Waiting for my boyfriend, actually,” you snapped, laced with disgust. The blonde guy just laughed incredulously, as if he didn’t believe you.  

“I don’t see no boyfriend,” he said, looking from side to side as if that proved his point. He stepped further towards you, trapping you against the bar and holding onto your waist again. “Can pretend I am for the night if you want?” 

He leaned into you as if he were going to kiss your neck, but you leaned further back and out of the way, trying to push him away from you. All you could do was stop him just short, rather than rid your body of his hold completely. 

“Yeah, no thanks. Get off me!” you yelled.  

“Don’t play hard to get, darlin’. He’s just bein’ friendly!” his buddy chimed in, laughing as he took a swig of a drink he clutched with his sweaty little sausage fingers.  

“Said I’m waiting for my fucking boyfriend, piss off!” You gave him one final shove, and while he took a step back, he didn’t let go of you.  

“I got a better offer, baby. You could have us both if you wanted...” he smirked, glancing back at his friend who laughed with him.  

“Don’t think she wants either of you, Corbin.” Relief set in when you heard his voice materialising next to you, a hand with rings you recognised planting itself on this guy’s chest and pushing him back with enough force that he finally let go of you.  

Mary stepped between you both, squaring up to the blonde without a second thought.  

“The fuck would you know about it, Goore?” The blonde – who you now understood to be named Corbin – sneered, clearly irritated by the arrival of Mary instantly. 

“Well, ya see, that’s my girlfriend you had your grubby little paws all over. And I don’t really like it when people touch my things,” he shrugged, but his tone was far from indifferent.  

Corbin and his greasy little friend roared with laughter, as if the idea of Mary and you was the funniest joke they’d ever heard. That pissed you off... 

“As if a hot piece of ass like that’s gonna fuck you,” he roared, shoving Mary’s shoulder. You could see Mary take a deep, slow breath to collect himself. This guy was testing his damn patience. And you’d never seen Mary handle a situation like this before. But what you did know, was he was fiercely protective of the people he lo- well, people he cared for... You weren’t sure what was about to happen, but you just wanted these pricks to fuck off. 

“Watch your mouth, man,” he warned, his fists curling up at his sides until his knuckles turned white. Corbin and his buddy were still laughing.  

“Hey, hey darlin’... blink twice if you wanna ditch this fag and come hang out with some real fuckin’ men,” Corbin snorted, shoving Mary’s shoulder again. “A girl like you deserves a real dickin’ down!” 

You didn’t hesitate, hocking back a decent glob of spit and launching it in his direction. The laughter ceased immediately as it smacked him on his cheek with a wet splat, dripping into his beard as he jolted in surprise. He wiped it with his hand, flicking it to the floor and while his gaze darkened on you.  

“You little fuckin’ cunt,” he sneered, stepping towards you threateningly as if he were going to grab you but Mary got in the way without hesitation, shoving him and landing a solid punch to Corbin’s cheek with a sickening crack that had everyone within radius turning to look at the commotion.  

Within seconds Corbin retaliated, grabbing Mary’s shirt with two fists and headbutting him, shoving him back against you and in turn, the bar. Bottles knocked to the floor, smashing as Mary took a punch to the nose before getting his footing and throwing one back.  

It all happened too quickly, a brawl breaking out so fast as you got shoved to the side and landed on shards of glass cutting into your palm. You ignored the pain and the wet feeling on your hands in favour of trying to grab the collar of Corbin to drag him off, but his black-haired friend grabbed you instead, pulling your arms behind your back and holding you against him as you watched Mary trying to overpower this solid piece of shit.  

“Mary!” you shrieked at him, turning to the asshole holding you back. “Get the fuck off me, you fucking inbred bastard!” 

From the crowd, Forrest appeared next to you and dove into the fray, grabbing Corbin’s collar like you had failed to and dragging him backwards to the floor, straddling him and landing a punch or two himself to his gut. Mary leaned over the bar, catching his breath while two men in black polos and cargos charged in, one pulling Forrest from Corbin, the other pulling him up and restraining him with his arms behind his back.  

Forrest immediately backed down, holding his hands up in the air while the bouncer who’d intervened let him go, focussing his attention on the asshole still trying to claw his way to Mary. In a last ditch attempt, you kicked your heel between your captor’s legs and tucked it behind his ankle, pulling it until he fell to the floor and freed you. You ran to Mary without hesitation, pulling him to stand upright and holding his head in your bleeding hands to inspect the damage. You couldn’t tell if all this blood was yours or his. 

“You gotta keep that bitch on a fucking leash, Goore!” Corbin screamed, still struggling against the bouncer to get a few more swings in. Mary lurched towards him, but you grabbed his shirt, pulling him back to you.  

“You’re done, man!” the bouncer yelled at him, starting to drag him through the crowd of onlookers than had gathered. Corbin’s face projected a vile expression of pure hatred, smeared in blood that matted his hair and beard. 

“I’m nowhere fucking near done, you watch,” he threatened, “you’re an easy guy to track down, Goore! I’ll fuckin’ find you!” 

Mary glared at him as the bouncers dragged Corbin and his friend out of the club, kicking them to the curb. You diverted his attention back to you, gently pulling on his jawline and cupping his face to take a good look at him and remind him that you were right here and you were okay, in the hope it might dissipate the fury in him.  

Forrest stepped up to Mary, concern creasing his brow. He’d managed to avoid injury, no fresh blood on him anywhere but his knuckles. 

“You good, man? I can’t tell what’s fake and what’s real...” He waved his finger at Mary’s face. Mary smeared the back of his hand against his bust lip, scoffing at the sight of real blood on his hand. “Corbin’s a dick, you know he’s always lookin’ for trouble, man,” Forrest scolded, “You can’t rise to it!” 

“He needs to learn not to run his fuckin’ mouth,” Mary growled.  

“Hey, enough, tough guy...” you told him, lightly smacking his chest. “C’mon, let’s get you patched up.” You took his hand in yours, weaving your fingers in his despite the blood and pulling him through the crowd towards the door you’d come through earlier that lead to the green room backstage.  

The heavy music of the club quietened to a dull roar behind you as the backstage door shut, and you lead Mary down the hall to the dressing room. He was silent, stewing in his head over the things Corbin had said to him, mulling over his anger. When you got him inside, you locked the door behind you, wanting a moment of quiet to patch him up. You let go of his hand and grabbed his make-up kit that you’d chucked on the couch, heading over to the sink you’d pressed him against earlier to wash your own cut up hands and dampen some cotton pads from his bag.  

He lingered by the door, awkwardly stood in silence while you filled the sink. You hadn’t said a word to him, and frankly, Mary was terrified he’d gone too far, that you were pissed at him – or worse, disappointed. He never wanted you to see him like that, he wanted to be better, but he’d stooped to the level of a mindless thug because he couldn’t control how he reacted when it came to you. He’d have let it slide at the comments about him, but the second Corbin spoke down to you? He may as well have waved a red flag to a bull. 

“Come here,” you told him softly, holding your hand out to him. Without a word he did as he was told, standing next to you by the sink while you ran the cotton pads under the warm water. Lightly, you began to dab at a wound by his eyebrow.  

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled quietly. “Didn’t wanna fly off the handle like that.” You smiled as you dabbed at his face, replacing the bloodied pad for another fresh one.  

“Always rushing to save me,” you cooed, “my hero.” Mary chuckled at that, because of course he rushed in to save you – as if he ever wouldn’t... 

“You’re okay though, right?” he asked, tilting your chin you guide your eyes to his for a moment. He was so gentle, searching with genuine concern. You just smiled at him and nodded. “Did you at least enjoy the show?” he asked, changing the subject now he knew you were okay, and figured you weren’t mad at him. If you were, he’d know it by now.  

“I think you know that I did,” you joked, coyly. “You were incredible up there.” 

Mary smirked down at you, battling between his sense of relief that you hadn’t despised the heavy music and his smugness at the blush that was no longer hidden in the dim lights of the club. Frankly though, you had started this. You turned him on before he went on stage, and where else was he supposed to channel that energy?  

“Oh yeah? What did you like about it?” He feigned innocence, letting the smugness win. Of course he did, this was Mary after all... You thought for a moment, avoiding his watching eyes and continuing to dab at the blood that had dribbled down his face and collected around his nose and lip.  

“Well, y’know... Just the control you had of the crowd, like they were eating out of the palm of your hand for most of it.” 

“Hmm,” he hummed in thought, “You do like it when I take control, huh?” This fucking guy. The blush on your cheeks returned hotter than ever, radiating across your face.  

“Shut up, I’m cleaning you up,” you told him, desperately trying to hide the smile fighting to curl your lips.  

“What for? Thought the blood turned you on...”  

Only Mary could go from being involved in a bar fight that left him covered in blood with contusions on his face, to doing his very best to rile you up. But perhaps you were just the right amount of fucked up for him, because it was working.  

Your arms sagged to your sides and you finally made eye contact with Mary. He was staring down at you intensely, waiting in silence with that conceited little twinkle in his eye that was already starting to turn a shade of purple under the smeared remains of his make up. He leaned against the sink again, parting his knees and pulling you towards him by grabbing the belt loops on your skirt and tugging gently. You followed him too easily for your liking, only needing the gentlest of coaxing.  

“I thought... you were morbid,” he tormented, just like he had from the stage. Your chest seemed to flutter, heart stumbling over its own rhythm just as the words in your brain you thought you might use to respond did. But you were rendered speechless, hypnotised even.  

Even partially cleaned up, Mary looked rough. What you couldn’t understand, is why it seemed to excite you the way it did. Was it knowing that he’d suffered his injuries while fighting for you? Was it the thought that he’d fought a guy twice his size just to defend you? Or did the split lip and bruising just give him an even more menacing look that flooded your body with uncontrolled heat? 

You found yourself leaning into him, hesitating as your lips barely brushed his when you remembered they were injured, and a kiss would surely hurt him – especially the kind you were looking for.  

He raised his hand to pinch your bottom lip again, just as he had earlier, inspecting the colour of them once again. 

“That really is a pretty shade, doll...” His voice rumbled in his chest; you felt it, now that you were so close to him.  

“Blood red,” you whispered, slightly garbled thanks to his grip on your lip. He grinned at that, the most beautifully sadistic little grin, before he let go and pushed his battered lips against yours in a deliberate and heated kiss.  

He grunted on impact, pain shooting through his lip but it only spurred him on. Mary was no stranger to mixing pain with pleasure and for you he’d take it all. He didn’t hold back and didn’t expect you to either, your lips clashing together as you found a rhythm. Your hands – now barely bleeding, but still tender – planted themselves on his chest when he pulled you closer by your belt loops again, having you lean so far into him your hips crashed into his.  

His hands held you in place like that as he forced his tongue past your lips, lapping at yours almost grotesquely. It had been a while since you’d seen Mary’s feral side, but here he was under the dressing room’s harsh luminescent lights trying to devour you as if you were his last meal on death row. Your hands grabbed at his chest, nails scratched at him to try and grip onto him but falling short thanks to the barrier of his shirt.  

Hands grabbed at everything they could, both of you seeking the other out and feeling as if close just wasn’t close enough no matter how harshly you pressed against each other. You could feel his jeans growing solid, taught under you and just the mere thought of him hardening at this alone had you pressing your thighs together and pushing your hips into his as much as possible.  

Mary pulled his lips from yours just for a moment, pressing his forehead to yours as he groaned at the intoxicating mix of the pain that pulsed through them and the pleasure that pulsed through his growing erection. 

“Now’s your chance, doll,” he panted. You looked him in the eye, glaring intensely back and forth at one another. “Show me how pretty it looks, hm?” 

It took you a second, but then the penny dropped...  

“I seem to remember you wanted to see how pretty this shade looked smothered all over my cock, hm?” 

When that penny dropped, so did you, immediately falling to your knees between his feet and reaching for the studded belt that held his jeans up. He watched through hooded eyes, gripping the sink behind him to lean his body weight on it while you undid his jeans and pulled them down just enough to expose the trimmed hair that tapered from his stomach down past that delicious ‘v’ line of his hips.  

You reached past the hem of his boxers and fished your prize from its confines, laying heavy and thick in your palm. It was almost shameful, the way your mouth watered at just the sight of him, the feel of him in your hand but there wasn’t even the tiniest part of you that cared. 

You looked up at him through your lashes, gently stroking his length and taking in the view from below him. The lust in his eyes had your body setting itself alight from the inside out. He looked dangerous, waiting for you to do as he wanted. He had full control of you with just his stare and without a single word... What he wanted was very clear, and you were more than happy to oblige knowing that obedience would earn you a reward.  

Truthfully though, you wanted to do this for him just as much as he wanted it. Even when he was on stage, all you could think of was bending to his will, doing whatever the hell he wanted you to in order to derive his pleasure from him. You wanted him to take control of you, to channel that same darkness you saw in his eyes as he played and growled into the mic and use it on you.  

And so, as you stared up at him through those pretty lashes of yours, you opened your mouth and lay your tongue flat on your bottom lip, never breaking eye contact as you leaned in and lay the reddened tip of his cock on it. It was your turn to put on a show for him now, to prove yourself worthy of reward and worship him like you were kneeling at an altar rather than his feet. 

He inhaled sharply, hissing through clenched teeth when your tongue made contact with his head. You kept your eyes on him still, circling your lips around him and relishing in the purr that sounded from above you. How had you failed to do this for him since that very first night in the dive bar? How had you resisted? The way he’d reacted to your mouth last time should have been enough incentive – it certainly was now. 

Frankly, you were appalled by how long it had been since you’d taken him in your mouth like this... You’d more than make up for it now, slowly leaning further into him to take as much of his length into your mouth and throat as possible while still holding your gaze on him.  

The eye contact was driving Mary insane, seeing right through you and knowing you wanted him to watch, to see how good you were being for him. You were freakier than anyone would give you credit for, and only he knew that. Only he got to see it.  

“That’s my girl, huh? Fuck...” he praised, one of his hands letting go of its death grip on the sink and running through your hair as you bobbed slowly. You whimpered a little at the approval, particularly when his fingertips grazed over your scalp, nails scratching and massaging. The pleasure was nothing like what you wanted, what your body craved but you’d take any bit of praise, any kind of encouragement he was willing to give.  

When he wrapped his fingers in your hair, tugging at it gently to encourage your movements you couldn’t stop yourself from gripping his thighs, grounding yourself while he groaned above you. You relaxed your throat, swallowing more of him until your nose nuzzled against his skin and his grip on your hair tightened, holding you there.  

Mary was losing his mind, his head rolling back and eyes squeezing shut when he felt your throat constricting around him. He pulled on your hair to lift your head off him, giving you an opportunity to breathe but all you did was hollow your cheeks and breathe through your nose, using your fist to pump the half of his cock that was now exposed.  

You suckled at the tip for a moment before pulling off him completely, holding eye contact again and stroking him where you knelt. You made sure he was watching you when you began to press deliberate kisses to his shaft, leaving slightly dull lipstick stains against his pale skin. Mary grinned wildly, stroking your hair and allowing you to mark his cock in red stains like you’d promised him.  

“Dirty girl,” he keened, “You’re loving this, aren’t you?” You didn’t answer with words, only nodding as you started leaving open mouthed kisses, tongue laving wetly at the ridges of his cock where veins protruded. “Such a pretty colour...” he chuckled, starting to lose control of his hips as they rolled towards you, chasing the feeling. He so badly wanted to be buried in your mouth again, surrounded by that delicious wet warmth... 

You didn’t tease him for much longer, taking the tip past your lips again and sinking down on his length. The moan he released had arousal pooling between your legs, and your own need was becoming hard to ignore. But you would, knowing that Mary would pay you back for your patience – if not now, when he got you home... 

“So tempting to use this pretty mouth of yours, doll... See how much you can take.” That was an invitation, an open hint to ask for your consent to do just that. The thought of pulling back to give verbal consent was just not sitting right with you – a second of neglect to his now weeping cock was a second too long, and you weren’t about to neglect him at all. Instead, you gripped the hem of his jeans and pulled his hips towards you, indicating you wanted him to use his hips, to move and use you just as he’d said.  

“Oh, you want that, huh?” You nodded, pulling again. “Shit...”  he hissed, pushing himself up from leaning on the sink to stand in front of you, all the while you never let him slip from your mouth.  

With his feet firmly planted to the floor either side of you, he wrapped his hand in your hair again and began to rock his hips; slowly at first, savouring the feeling and watching intently as you sat so prettily for him, obediently taking everything he gave you. But he couldn’t help himself – the sight at his feet completely maddening – and he found himself thrusting a little faster, testing how much you could take. When you didn’t struggle at all, he amped his thrusts up again, grunting and moaning above you. It took all your willpower not to let go of his jeans and dive between your own legs for some friction, some kind of relief from the arousal overtaking your body. 

As if he read your mind, Mary used his free hand to rip yours from his jeans. “Touch yourself,” he ordered, “Until I can feel your fucking moans on my cock.” 

You had no willpower to deny him, immediately diving your hand beneath your skirt and pushing your panties to one side to circle your clit with the juices that had gathered there. You whined in satisfaction, the sound vibrating along Mary’s shaft and spurring him on to bury himself to the hilt in your throat.  

“Don’t hold back, make yourself cum.” And you didn’t, wasting no time building up to pleasure and doing everything you could do get yourself to the edge. It never took long with your own fingers, not when you knew the goal was just to cum as quickly as possible. There was nothing to savour, you were rushing not for yourself but to give Mary exactly what he wanted.  

“You fuckin’ wait, doll... I’ve been too sweet on you, hm?” he warned. Truthfully, the sex recently had taken more of a sensual turn now that feelings were involved but there was still a filthy side to Mary, and he knew you had it too. There was no harm in mixing it up a little here and there... “Wait ‘til I get you home. I’ll have you fucking screaming for me...”  

You believed him. You knew what he was capable of, and you had no problem letting him do whatever he deemed necessary to elicit those screams that you couldn’t create here. But his promise had your hips bucking against your hand, chasing the high that fast approached. Your moans echoed around his head, vibrating down his cock over and over as he used your throat.  

“Come on, doll, cum for me. I’m not letting go ‘til you do,” he groaned, tightening his grip in your hair until your roots burned but all it did was spur you on... You hollowed your cheeks for him, using your tongue to please him as he fucked your throat. Your fingers sped up, furiously circling your clit and pushing you closer and closer to the brink until you snapped... 

Your hips jolted and thrashed where you knelt, the floor harshly bruising your knees. Moans ended up as choked garbles as you came harder than you’d expected for such little build up. The only thing keeping you remotely in place was Mary’s grip on your hair, holding your head for him to continue fucking your throat with reckless abandon now, too turned on to hold off as soon as you fell over the edge of euphoria.  

“That’s it, doll... Fucking hell...” he growled, biting into his already injured lip and trying desperately to hold onto his own control. He waited, watching you as he used your mouth, getting closer and closer until you stopped squirming beneath him.  

“Where?” he panted, desperate now, “where can I finish?” He sounded frantic, panicked. Truthfully he was, because if he didn’t get some kind of answer soon, he’d be unable to hold off, and the thought of ruining his orgasm was too devastating after all the work you’d put in for him... You just pointed at your full mouth and sucked at him harder, earning you a roar of “Fucking SHIT” as he threw is head back one final time and lost all control. 

You took every drop of his spend you could like a champ, holding what you could on your tongue as his hips slowed to a shallow splutter and he whimpered and grunted above you like an animal. He looked ethereal, despite the injuries to his face as he found his pleasure in you. 

You waited patiently as he caught his breath, the last dribbles of his spend finding their way onto your tongue as you lapped at his now over-sensitive head. He leaned back against the sink again to steady himself, looking down at you sat prettily waiting for him like a puppy dog waiting on a treat. Your lipstick had smeared across your face, messed up by your kisses and his borderline brutal motions. And yet, you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. 

Even prettier when you opened your mouth for him, and showed him what you’d collected on your tongue.  

“You waitin’ for permission, or something?” he laughed, pinching your chin to tilt your head side to side and inspect you. You just waited in silence, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Lipstick’s ruined, baby. Gonna need a fresh coat...” he bent down until he was eye level with you, “Or maybe a gloss?” 

With a wink, he dipped his finger into your mouth, coating his finger in his cum and spreading it over your lips gently as if it were lip gloss. It sparkled under the lights of the room, matching that playful twinkle in your eye. 

“So pretty...” he complimented, watching as you now closed your mouth and swallowed what was left. Mary watched in awe, almost pissed off that his cock had softened and for now, he was spent. Just that act alone had him wanting to worship you like the goddess you were. But he’d have to wait until he got you home...  

But Mary being the nasty little shit he was, wanted nothing more than to do whatever he could to keep the fire going, to fan the embers and turn you on as much as you did him. And so, he took your hand in his, helping you up off the floor. Then with one hand, he wrapped his fingers around your neck and held you still, moving in to kiss his gloss from your lips. 

You knew from the first night you spent with him he had no problem with the taste of his own release, but as long as he kept finding new and ridiculously sexy ways to show you that, you’d always find it one of the hottest damn kinks of his... You melted into his kiss immediately, adoring the taste of him on your tongue mixed with the fresh blood of his split lip he’d bitten into. Was it a nice flavour? No. But it was the very essence of Mary, and it had you drifting into a world of your own as you made out with him. 

Suddenly, the doorhandle rattled, followed in quick succession by a heavy thump on the door and an “ow!” being yelped through the wood. It sounded like Jed, trying to get in without knowing you’d locked the door when you came in to clean Mary up. He’d tried shoving the door open with his shoulder, only to collide with it instead.  

“Hey, what the fuck?” he yelled through the door. Quickly Mary parted from you, tucking himself back into his jeans and doing them up. He stepped to the side and made his way slowly to the door, giving you enough time to take another cotton pad from his kit and run it under some fresh warm water, wiping away the red smears from your face to look somewhat presentable. Your hair was still wild from Mary’s grip, but you didn’t quite have time to get it back to normal before Mary let Jed into the dressing room, followed by Forrest and Davey on his heels. 

They looked around the room, flitting between the two of you who in your effort to look nonchalant looked more guilty than if they’d caught you mid-blowjob.  

“You fuckin’ animals...” Jed laughed, slapping Mary’s chest as he walked further into the room to gather up their kit. “Glad we got here in time, don’t need your ass print on our shit Mare.” 

They thought they’d caught you before anything happened... Good, you’d let them believe that. 

“You good, man?” Forrest asked, “I know he landed a few punches. You look rough.” 

“Thanks,” Mary scoffed. “Did he look worse at least?” 

“Oh yeah, think you broke his nose. Blood everywhere, looked crooked. Nice,” Davey laughed, “Bouncers shoved him out on the street while I was having a smoke, he was pissed.” 

“Bastard deserved it, has done for a while,” Mary shrugged.  

“We’re gonna load the van and head out, you two alright to get yourselves home?” Forrest asked, picking up some of the kit they’d brought in the dressing room after their set. 

“Yeah we’re good, not over the limit,” Mary turned to you then, “you ready to get outta here, doll?” You just nodded, turning to pack up Mary’s kit and drain the sink of the pink-tinted water.  

It didn’t take long to shift the gear into Forrest’s van with you and Mary helping out. Surprisingly, all the guys gave you a hug as they were leaving, citing it was nice to meet you and hopping into the van – not before Jed got in a jab about ‘going easy on Mary’ despite his new ‘bad boy look’ when you got him home. You just promised him you wouldn’t with a wink, to which he laughed.  

As they drove out of the parking lot, Mary turned back to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him.  

“Shall we?” he asked with a suggestive tone, swaying you in his arms and smirking down at you.  

“We shall...” you sang, leaning up onto your toes to plant your lips to his in a slow and delicious kiss. He hummed against your lips, his hands grabbing at your waist as you introduced your tongue to the mix – but he soon cut you off. 

“Get in that van, right now,” he ordered, earning a giggle from you. You span in his arms and felt a playful smack to your ass as you began to walk towards the passenger side of his van, Mary making his way into the driver’s side. 

The tension in the front seat was thick and heavy, anticipation for the moment he finally got you home building with each passing second. At some point, Mary reached over and placed his hand on your thigh, stroking his thumb over the bare skin and letting it slide inwards. You twisted in your seat, allowing him the room to slide a little higher, just to tease...  

Once out of the city and back on home turf, you threw caution to the wind and leaned over the centre console to kiss at Mary’s neck, nibble at his ear, anything and everything you could do while he drove – very carefully – through the streets he knew like the back of his hand.  

“You want me to total this thing, doll?” he growled. You just giggled, sucking a hickey into his neck.  

Eventually, he pulled into his apartment complex, parking up in his designated spot. As soon as he took his seatbelt off he was shoving you back over to your side and climbing over the console himself, his hands everywhere all at once as his lips engulfed you. You fucking loved riling him up like this...  

“Do you know how tempting it is just to fuck you right here?” he growled as his lips made the descent down your neck.  

“I’d let you,” you laughed, “but I gotta stop by the 7/11...”  

“Huh?” he pulled back from you, confused. “You didn’t fancy mentioning that before I dived over here?” he teased. You giggled again – and of course, had no idea what that did to him, inevitably making the unfolding situation in his jeans worse. 

“What? I’m out of birth control...” you whined. “And as much as I love the idea of you railing me until the sun rises, I really don’t fancy motherhood any time soon. Pharmacy isn’t open this late, so condoms it is. Just for tonight.” You leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the end of his nose.  

“Fine by me, condoms make me last longer anyway,” he smirked. “I’ll come with.” He started to retreat back to open his door, but you stopped him.  

“No no, it’s fine. It’s just around the corner. I’ll be like five minutes. You take your stuff upstairs, get a little rest – you're gonna need it...” Mary sighed in defeat.  

“Alright fine, you got your phone on you, yeah?” he checked, a little concern on his face.  

“Yeah yeah, I’m good. I’ll see you up there,” you leaned in to press another kiss to his lips, jumping out of the van and heading down the street in the direction of the local convenience store.  

Mary watched you walk away – absolutely nothing to do with the way your ass looked in that skirt, of course – and gave in, knowing there was no arguing with you on this. So instead, he got out and fished his guitar case from the back, along with his backpack of make-up and guitar picks and headed upstairs. He hummed to himself as he climbed the two flights of stairs up to his floor, content and happy despite the bar fight that had broken out.  

Truthfully, Mary couldn’t believe his damn luck. He’d landed a girl like you, worked at the differences and insecurities and whilst it was still a work in progress, you were his. He’d won the biggest battle, let his walls down just enough to let you in so you could take care of the rest together, brick by brick.  

Mary rounded the corner to his apartment, shoving his hand into his pocket for the keys to unlock the front door when he stopped, frozen and staring straight ahead... Something wasn’t right. 

The door to his apartment was slightly ajar, the wooden frame splintered by the lock as if it had been forced open with a crowbar. He couldn’t hear anything, only silence spilling from the crack in the door, but Mary knew better than to go charging in...  

“I’m nowhere fucking near done, you watch!” Corbin’s threat echoed around his head. “You’re an easy guy to track down, Goore! I’ll fuckin’ find you!” 

Corbin had made good on his promise. And for all Mary knew, he was still inside, waiting for him. Waiting for you.  

Quietly, Mary set his things down in the hallway, rifling through his bag for his cell phone, typing a quick message and hitting send before he fished into the hidden pocket inside and pull out a Swiss army knife. Handy little thing to own, when you own a guitar workshop and play in a band. Never know when you might need it to screw something together, or cut or saw something. He’d never needed to use it for self-defence before, and frankly, he felt sick at the thought of it. But he wasn’t going into that apartment without something. 

Slowly, and quietly, Mary stepped towards his front door. His heart pounded in his chest, sweat beginning to form on his brow as fight or flight began to kick in.  

He took a deep breath, flicked the knife attachment out of its hiding place, and slowly pushed open his front door...  

You sifted through the aisles of the 7/11, humming to yourself one of Mary’s songs that you particularly liked from the show tonight. With condoms in hand, as well as some assorted snacks, some beers and a few toiletries, you headed over to the register ready for the sluggish teen employee to ring you up.  

They took their sweet time, and you tried your best not to look impatient. It was late, after all, and this poor kid had the graveyard shift. You wouldn’t wanna be here either, in their shoes. Not that you’d worked a solid day’s work in your life, mind you... 

As the poor kid moved at the pace of a turtle scanning each of your items, your phone buzzed in your purse. Figuring Mary was asking you to pick something up for him, you checked it, only to have your heart jump into your mouth, and your stomach fall out of your ass... 

Don’t come home. Not safe. Call Forrest +1 (618) 107-1423 

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

[kissingghouls]

SOFT PROMPTS ok ok...how about "you're shivering. here, take my jacket" with Mary x Reader ORRrrrr Secondo x Reader?? I can't decide

beloved anon. you were so right about this 💖✨

Winter Chill - Mary Goore x Reader

no warnings, relatively fluffy, kinda soft Mary, he/they Mary, first kiss, 2300 words

-x-

“He’s a dick,” a familiar voice states behind you. It’s followed by the tell-tale sound of spit hitting the pavement.

You’re not exactly surprised to find the silhouette of Mary Goore appearing like a ghostly apparition in the dim light of the porch. It was in their nature to just show up like that—especially when there was something to be said about your ex—but you were surprised by the lack of singsong taunting in their tone. Mary didn’t usually hold back when it came to voicing their distaste for him.

It’s obvious from their presence that they’d seen the confrontation inside—a fact that makes you feel slightly embarrassed as he shuffles around in the dark. The rotting wood of the aptly named Chaos House creaks under his boots, the thick soles landing with a thunk! thunk! thunk! as he stomps down a few steps and drops next to you. They shoot you a crooked, toothy smile and gently nudge you with an elbow.  “But you knew that already.”

“You’re a little late for an ‘I told you so,’ Goore,” you warn with a sigh. The breakup between you and that asshole was well beyond old news. There was next to no way Mary hadn’t heard and probably celebrated by now. Gossip travels fast in small towns, even faster in small social circles like yours.

“Aw c’mon,” he groans, arching his back to stretch his long legs like a cat. He pats down the pockets of his tight jeans and produces a pack of smokes and an old lighter. With a cigarette tucked between his teeth, he draws his knees back up before turning to you. “I’m not here for that.”

“Why are you here, Mary?” you ask softly.

Inside, the party swells with sound. A cluster of people all shouting to be heard while a metal band starts their set in the basement. It’s a mix of rumbling bass and the crack of drums with the occasional scream. The noise is just as normal as the hint of stale beer and body odor that permeates the old house. It’s as natural as the stains and cigarette burns on the weirdly orange tinted carpet that covers the stairs. Neither of you bat an eye as cymbals crash under your feet.

Mary flicks the lighter over their thigh, sparking it to life and drawing the flame toward their lips. They breathe deep, inhaling the toxic burn before leaning back on their elbows and letting out a puff of smoke. “To offer you a ride home.”

Your eyebrows knit together as you turn to the metalhead sprawled on the porch next to you. Pale, bony knees jut out from the holes in his jeans. The trademark leather jacket covered in bright patches and studs hangs loose around his skinny frame as he reclines against the steps. Underneath their battle jacket the faded, well-loved t-shirt older than either of you is barely held together by more than a few threads. A shock of dark hair styled haphazardly hangs over those pretty green eyes that hadn’t moved from your face since he sat down.

It was a well-known fact that Mary couldn’t be trusted to operate a vehicle. Every time they’d tried had ended in varying degrees of disaster—one of which included a cliff.

“You can’t drive,” you remind him through a laugh.

“No, but I got you to smile.” He sounds triumphant, proud almost. “You got a good one, you know?”

“What?”

“Your smile. It’s…I dunno.” He shrugs and waves his hand through the air. “It’s…nice.”

“Goore,” you level. “Are you drunk?”

They shake their head and take a long drag. The orange glow of the embers hits just right, illuminating the places on his face painted white. The shadows are darker, the blurry edges of makeup smeared into the hollow of his cheeks look more intense in the dark like this. It’s a look you’ve appreciated once or twice before at other house parties or in the dim light of the local dive bar while you pretend not to notice how they only charge you for every other drink they slide your way.

Your heart skips as he grins up at you, dried fake blood cracking on his face.

“I’m sober as a judge, sweetheart,” they tell you as they sit up, a well-practiced smirk playing on their lips.

There’s a tightness in your chest again, a feeling so familiar around Mary. While this thing between you started a long time ago, you never took it too seriously. After all, you couldn’t take Mary seriously half the time. So, the teasing and light flirting never really meant anything and that was how the two of you had operated for as long as you could remember. It never went further than that because neither of you ever seemed to be single at the same time.

But that didn’t mean you hadn’t found yourself a little curious from time to time.

The rumor mill spun both ways when it came to Mary Goore. Some days the story was they were some delinquent hellbent on burning the entire town to the ground. Other days there were tales of kindness that extended as far as feeding the feral street cats that lived in the alley behind their apartment. He was a loyal friend to the point of violence on more than one occasion, but everyone who dated them considered them a caring partner despite their apparent fear of commitment.

In your estimation, Mary was no different than anyone else—not all good or all bad, just another human trying to get by. When it came down to it, you’d rather have Mary in your corner than not. The fact that they were out here with you now, well, that just meant they already were.

“As a judge, huh?” you ask and lean forward to pluck the burning cigarette from his fingers. His eyes follow your movements as you set the filter between your lips and take an easy drag before offering the thing right back to him.

“Careful darlin’,” he warns, fingers brushing yours as he accepts. “These things are worse for you than I am.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

They raise an eyebrow, half-expecting you to follow up with a “just kidding” or a “not like that.” When you don’t their composure slips, and they struggle to hide a look of surprise mixed with a little bit of excitement. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, soft as the stubble poking through his makeup.

Those green eyes sparkle in the moonlight, watching as you stand and stretch your arms over your head. The wind picks up, carrying the undercurrent of much colder weather slowly moving in. It should be snowing by now, but the air is just a mist of wet fog soaking into everything without the beauty or smell of rain. The lawn is soft under your feet, little more than an oversaturated lump of clover and weeds that fails to connect the muddy patches from one end of the yard to the other. It’s all still as green as Mary’s eyes somehow, still thriving and you’re standing outside in a t-shirt next to Mary Goore in December.

The end of the cigarette whips past you and lands in a shower of orange sparks near the driveway. Mary leans up, the last little bit of smoke curling from their lips as the hole in the left knee of their jeans rips loudly.

“Aw, fuck,” Mary whines helplessly, leg now exposed halfway to the calf.

“C’mon,” you offer with a soft smile and hold your hand out to a guy who might or might not be trouble.

“Where are we going?” they ask, wiping their hands on their jeans as they stand.

“No idea,” you admit with a shrug. “Somewhere else.”

“Alright then,” Mary agrees with a grin and takes your hand.

You make it to the end of the block before you realize neither of you have let go. Their hand is warm and much larger than yours, their palm an odd mix of soft in places and calloused in others. For every step he takes, you take two to keep up though there’s no real destination in sight. Maybe you should have thought it through a little better, but being around Mary always made your brain a little fuzzy. And maybe that was why you’d avoided situations like this before—because the fear of something was too great. The risk of Mary was like jumping into a body of water completely blind. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Thrilling. Incredible.

The two of you walk east toward the river, passing patrons on the main drag crawling from one bar to another. A few toss looks your way, judgements whispered under their breath as they hurry by. If Mary notices, they hide it well. Their shoulders never seem to sag with the weight of what everyone else thinks you and him should be.

At the crosswalk you wait to pass and he rather impressively digs out another cigarette, lighting it one-handed. You’re unsure of how many cars pass under the stoplight or how many times the two of you miss your chance to cross, but you’re acutely aware of the way Mary looks wrapped in a haze of smoke and the city lights.

It’s not bad.

“Do I have something on my face?” they ask with an eyebrow raised, using the hand holding yours to pull you closer.

“Yeah, actually,” you respond playfully.

He frowns and pretends to swipe at his face. “Better?”

“Eh, your face is still there,” you tease with a shrug.

He tugs you even closer. “Don’t act like you don’t like my face, sweetheart.”

“It’s ok. I guess.”

“Just ok?”

It’s a question you barely hear. It’s not the rush of traffic or the random people walking past, but your heart hammering away in your ears that nearly deafens you. Warmth radiates off Mary like he’s the fucking sun. You know because he’s so close, close enough that you catch a hint of cologne under the nicotine and leather. And god those eyes, with them fixed on you like this you spot the soft flecks of gold they hide from everyone else.

You nod carefully. “It’s a good face. Ten out of ten. Would look again.”

He breaks first, averting his eyes as he struggles not to laugh. “I guess I better stick around so you can keep looking.”

“I appreciate the effort, Goore.”

“Anything for you, darlin’.”

You shake your head and let the moment fade as you pull them across the street.

Mary leads now, their other hand placed carefully at your hip as they guide you down the wet stairs. It’s dead quiet by the water. There’s never much of a crowd on the riverfront but this time of night it’s completely deserted. Traffic roars across the bridge overhead, a stream of bright red brake lights stretching across the river. You feel like you’re in another world entirely, tucked against Mary Goore of all people. You stand still, watching the gentle current roll over the rocky shore and pretend not to notice the way he moves closer and closer.

Winter arrives and surrounds the two of you within seconds as the wind picks up again. A blast of frigid, arctic air that smells like snow bites at the exposed skin of your arms. It’s cliche but as tears sting your eyes, you can’t help the chill that seeps into your bones.

“Huh. I think it’s gonna snow.”

Mary’s voice is uncharacteristically soft, barely more than a whisper. It’s a sharp contrast to all those times you’d seen them growl their way through songs about blood and corpses, but it makes the butterflies stir in your stomach all the same. Maybe there was something behind all those free drinks and flirty words. Something different.

The thought sends a shock through your body, the electric hum of realization. You like Mary.

He shifts slightly, turning his body toward yours. “Shit, you’re shivering. Here, take my jacket.”

Before you can say anything, they’ve shrugged out of the thing and wrapped you in soft, worn leather. You hide your hands in the sleeves, but they itch to reach out, to pull him in. The lining is still warm and it’s heavier than you expect, but none of it matters as Mary’s gaze falls to your lips.

But they don’t kiss you. At least, not in the way you thought they might.

“Goore?” you ask as they pull away slightly.

“Uh-huh?”

“Did…did you just…kiss my forehead?”

“Yep.”

“Instead of like…actually kissing me. You kissed my forehead?”

“Well, I don’t know what kind of person you think I am, but I’m not just gonna put out for you because you expect me to.”

“Oh my god,” you huff with an annoyed roll of your eyes. “You—hmph!”

Mary cuts off your complaints by grabbing the lapels of the jacket and smashing his lips against yours. Your arms loop around their neck, pulling them as close as you can. There’s a warm hand pressed to the small of your back, under the jacket and under your t-shirt. Mary’s other hand tangles in your hair as they break the kiss to speak.

“Sorry darlin’,” they whisper. “You’re just so fuckin’ cute when you’re annoyed. I can’t help it.”

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me, Goore.”

It’s rough and brash when his mouth claims yours, and you think Mary kisses like he plays guitar—aggressive with a practiced ease. He nips at your bottom lip, practically melting against you when you let out a little whine in response. His tongue brushes yours and he tastes of smoke and something sugary you can’t quite place. It doesn’t matter anyway because your senses are filled with all things Mary and you’re content to keep them that way.

“Mm, I always knew you’d be trouble, sweetheart,” they groan as you press your body against theirs.

“Aw Goore, do you have a crush on me?”

“Yeah, actually. For so fucking long,” he admits freely.

You grin and lean up to kiss him again as tiny snowflakes begin to collect in his hair.

[copiousloverofcopia]

HERE IT IS FINALLY! An update I know some of you have been waiting for, the next chapter of Under the Spell with Mary Goore and OC Piper!

I am trying my best to get back to regular posting with my fics since the holidays are now over and I appreciate everyone's patience and support!

Also once again, please be nice I am SO not used to writing for Mary, so I hope its ok!

Piper and Mary have been best friends since they first met as children. When Mary and her boyfriend Sid asked her to come along on gigs, Piper thought it was a no-brainer. But as the excitement of the buzzing amps dies down, she realizes she wants more—now if only she can get him to agree.

Chapter 3: Biting the Bullet

Also available HERE on AO3! Haven't started yet? Start from the beginning HERE!

Definitely NSFW below the cut

“Wait... what?” Mary said, grimacing as he flicked the fluids from his hand. The look of utter confusion, washing over him. Tilted his head like a puppy, waiting for Piper’s response. She took in a deep breath, trying her best to calm herself back down. Pacing around the floor a moment before finally bringing herself to sit down beside him. 

“I just…” she began, closing her eyes and trying her best to not lose her nerve before she continued. Facing out into the quiet unease of the hotel room. She was unable to look Mary in the eye. As the silence between them grew, so did the anxiety. Mary, hardly able to take it much longer. Deciding inside to break the silence himself, assuring Piper he was game regardless of what she might think.

“Listen, I am only doing this cause you asked me to. I want you to be happy. If that means we do this—then we do this. But if not… it really doesn't matter to me.” he explained. Piper still appeared unconvinced, the look on her face telling Mary that she was panicking on the inside. A look he had seen many times before when Piper was on the verge of a panic attack. 

Without even thinking he placed his hand over hers. Piper, trying to breathe through it when the gesture of kindness—gentleness allowed her to relax. Touched by this side of Mary, one she had rarely seen before.

“I know you say that but—” she began when Mary cut her off. 

“But what Pipes?” he asked. Piper turned to face him head on. Pulling her hand away as she snuffled back. Unsure if she wanted him to know how truly vulnerable she felt. 

“I just don’t want this to change things between us. You mean so much to me. I don’t want you to feel like this is something you have to do. I don’t want you resenting me over this if you change your mind Mare.”she admitted, the tears that had been beading up in her eyes, falling down her face. She and Mary were like family, it would kill her to have had this child but lose Mary in the process. 

“Pff…not gonna happen.” Mary laughed, “You're stuck with me.” 

“Yeah…” Piper laughed back through her tears. Mary, wiping them away. Streaking her cheek in black mascara. The two of them, locking eyes as Mary paused. He slowly pulled her towards him. Piper’s body became languid in his arms as he pulled her close. Bringing his lips to kiss her.   

The press of them felt different than the one before. Soft and intentioned in a way Piper had never experienced. Realizing in the moment that this was truly what she wanted. A baby—a baby with her best friend.

“Now, jump on baby girl and make me a daddy.” Mary said, smiling against her lips. Lifting her up and onto his lap. Never parting as the metal from Piper’s tongue ring teased and thrilled him. Sliding across Mary’s tongue as it danced in and out of their mouths.  

He allowed himself to grip a handful of her ass. Relishing the way his touch made her squirm—urged her to rock her hips against the swell of his groin. His cock twitching with the anticipation of stretching her out around him. 

“Mmm…” Piper moaned, feeling him beneath his jeans as the friction drove her crazy. Gliding herself against him and teasing her folds. Mary ran his hands up and over her thighs. Dimpling them as he allowed her to grind against him. Hot and heavy, longing for them to take it further. 

“Mmm.. fuck yeah.” Mary purred. His encouragement heated against her lips. His hands, leaving her waist to pull off her shirt. Undoing her bra with a surprising ease before kneading her breasts in his hands. Mary unable to control the impulse to drop his head to her pert pink tinged nipple. Wrapping his tongue around it before pulling it gently into his mouth. Satisfied to hear Piper’s wanton moans that resulted. 

Her body felt like it was set on fire. Piper, moving fast while she still had the nerve to pull his  cock out from his jeans. Mary, jolting up against her as her fingers made contact with his bare skin. Piper, stroking him gently and marveling at his girth. 

“Oh Mare.” she sighed, imagining him already inside her. Mary smiled smugly as she allowed him to slip into her hand.  

“That's right baby. I’m gonna use that to stuff your needy little pussy so full of my jizz.” he groaned, licking his lips in anticipation of her.  

“Mare!” Piper called out, the words sending a heat of embarrassment across her cheeks. While she knew he talked that way before. With or without being in the middle of sex, she had never been on the receiving end of it till now. 

“Just go with it.” He said, bringing his fingers between them. Moving back her hands to slip under her panties. Massaging her wet heat over and over with his touch as she continued to work him. “Cum for me baby.” He purred, feeling her dripping for him, “Show me how much you wanna ride this cock.”

“Mmmm…ah!” Piper cried out as his thumb made its way to her clit. Mary, swirling circles over the little nub with ease. Continuing to suck and lick on her nipples. Piper's head, falling back in pleasure.   

“Mmm… that's right baby.” He moaned, bringing his fingers back inside her, fucking her more fervently with his hand. Her juices, freely dripping from within her folds as Mary found her g-spot. Pressing into the sponge sensitive tissue with fingers, wishing so badly it was his cock. Within moments Piper began clamping down on his fingers, so tightly he could barely move. Her hips rolling with his movements—sending her over the threshold and cumming hard on his hand. 

“Oh fuck Mare…take me.” Piper moaned, her body tingling all over with the crest of her orgasm. Mary quickly pulled his fingers out, sucking them dry of her fluids. 

“Gladly.” he told her. Lifting himself up off the couch just enough to wiggle out of his pants. Piper, still straddling him as he used the remaining slick on his hand and precum to fully wet his cock. Pushing Piper’s panties off to the side before nudging her folds with the head of his cock.

“Ah! Yes!” Piper yelped as she felt him begin to push inside her having gathered up a generous amount of her slick before he reached her entrance. Mary, smiling widely as he shoved his full length of his aching cock inside her. 

“Ah…Pipes… Your pussy feels so good.” he groaned as she started to move on him. Riding him slowly. Rising and falling along his length. Her breast hovering in his face as he licked and nipped at them. 

“Mmm…” Mary cooed, bringing her nipple back into his mouth. There was nothing like the feel of Piper surrounding him. Her walls, pulling against him as he tried to withdraw. Holding tightly onto her hips now to steady her. Mary closed, overwhelmed by the feeling as he pushed inside her over and over. 

Already drunk in the warmth from inside her. His cock, pressing so deliciously against her delicate flesh. It was then that Mary wondered why he had never tired to fuck Piper before. Becoming slack-jawed and starting to pant the harder he thrusted up inside her. 

Piper had found her stride, bouncing gleefully in his lap. Her hands held tightly onto his shoulders as she stared into his eyes. Fuck, he is so incredibly sexy , she thought. Asking herself if she realized before today just how handsome he was? Her crazy, handsome childhood best friend. 

She could hardly believe she was there, in this moment with him. Feeling the euphoric high from being with him like this. So perfectly feeling together as her body began to shake. Piper, knowing instantly what was happening. Though it had never happened before with Sid, it had certainly happened when she was on her own. 

“Mare… I think I'm going to….” Piper cried, feeling her insides begin to buckle down on him. Her body flooded with emotion and pleasure as her orgasm came tearing through her full force. 

“Ah fuck!” Mary growled, her cunt squeezed him tightly all around. Forcing him to burst inside her. Spilling ropes and ropes of cum. Mary filling her full of everything he had to give. 

It had felt like It was over so fast that Piper could hardly believe it had happened at all. Both of them, so blown away by the sensations between them that neither could sustain the momentum for long. Mary laid back on the couch. Pants still at his ankles and his spent cock, covered in the efforts between them, unabashedly on display. 

“Hey… what do you think about us splurging a bit more for a hotel room with a bigger bed next stop? Or at least a bigger sofa?” Mary chuckled as he slipped himself back beneath his jeans.

“I mean if you wanna spend the money, I wouldn’t say no. But It was kinda your fault we didn’t even make it back to the bed—” Piper yawned, smiling as her eyelids only grew more heavy. Curling up next to Mary on the opposite end of the couch. She was utterly exhausted. Finding herself unable to help the closing of her eyes and waking to having missed little bits of conversation between. 

Finally Piper succumbed to it, falling asleep so soundly that she had even begun to snore. Mary found it endearing. Allowing her to sleep while he went up to take a much needed shower. When he emerged from the bathroom sometime later, Piper was still sleeping away. Her face looking A gentle, relaxed look now on the most relaxed and peaceful Mary though it had ever seen. 

He smiled at her as he continued drying his hair. Grateful to see her looking so serene, even if it was in her unconscious state. They had both been through a lot in their lives. So much heartache and struggle. Mary could help but think, as he stared down at her, that if anyone deserves to get what they want it was Piper. 

Though he knew she would likely be mad, he decided against waking her. Instead, allowing her some much needed sleep. Ever the night owl and the insomniac, Piper was chronically tired and wore her raccoon-like dark circles like a badge of honor. Mary, smiling once again thinking about the future. 

If Piper had it her way, it would be many nights before she'd get a full 8-hours sleep again he thought. Mary planted himself on the recliner, opposite her in the room, and cracked open a cold one. Kicking up his feet on the coffee table and thinking about what might come of things. Watching her sleep with that smile still on his face.

“Jesus. Fucking. Christ.” Piper groaned, pissed at the abrupt loud car alarm. Blaring from somewhere outside and waking her from some incredible sleep. Reluctantly she decided to take a shower, scratching her head before trying to climb off the couch. Realizing that she was covered, unexpectedly, in the sheet from the bed. 

Mary was nowhere to be found as she scanned the room. “Mare?” she called out to him, but got nothing in response. Her eyes darted around in the darkness until she caught sight of a shining red light of an analog clock on the desk—a red 8:30pm on its face. 

“Oh fuck!” She shouted, darted upright. Running to the bedroom to get dressed. The show had more than likely already started and Piper couldn’t believe that Mary had just left her sleeping on the couch. She was angry, how could he leave her like that and not even say goodbye? Or at least come wake her up before they headed out? 

She began to wonder, if in his post nut clarity, he had regretted his decision. Sneaking out to leave her to go about his business without a second thought. Though Piper knew it was potentially too late now. Feeling the evidence of their tryst, leaking out on the inside of her thighs as he rushed around to grab her things.

Piper had left the room disheveled and upset. Rushing over to the venue without the courtesy of a shower, or even a ride over. Pissed that the rest of the band had agreed to leave her behind. Not that any of them would know what they had done—the only saving grace.

When she arrived, the smoke screen was ungodly. Piper opened the doors that led to a long walkway to the underground club. Hidden away like the dive bar that it was. The walls, covered in spray paint, remnants of band flyers, and god know what else. 

“Excuse me.” Piper said, trying to dodge through groups of half drunken clubbers who were just hanging out in the hall. Following the sound of the music, growing louder as she moved ahead.  Still fuming with Mary leaving her behind. His motive, still unclear.  

She thought, If Mary wanted to fuck and run, he could have at least done her the courtesy of telling. Explaining to her that this would be a one time thing. They weren’t in a relationship after all. It was only meant to be a favor, but damn if she wasn’t pissed that he had “wham, bam, thank you ma’am’d” her. Piper, beginning to feel silly—and stupid for having even considered it. 

By the time she had made it inside the club, Repugnant was already on stage. The whole band thrashing about as Mary howled and screamed out the lyrics. The sounds of the guitar and the bass, heavy and harsh as they rushed from the speakers and over the crowd. Patrons, moshing and headbanging with full gusto. Crowd surfers, racing high above all the heads in the pit. 

Piper doing her best to get as close as she could to the stage. Watching Mary as he played his guitar, knowing personally just how talented those fingers really were. Mary too could see her. His Piper, standing out looking a bit mad as she tried making her way closer. Stuck in the limbo of the middle of the crowd. 

Mary, gazing at her through the hair sticking to his face. HIs locks, already drenched in sweat and blood. She was trying to navigate through towards the stage. Mary, feeling a bit nervous as he watched. Wondering to himself for the first time if it was even safe for her to be there. Shaking it all off after realizing how crazy it was to be concerned about a possible crotch goblin when they had only just fucked. Continuing the show without a second thought. 

“Hey Piper! Over here!” Annie called out, catching her attention. A small spot, just before the barrier, was saved for her. Annie was great and Piper was grateful to her. Though she was relatively new to their crew, it was great just to have another woman on the road with them as far as Piper was concerned. 

Annie and Tom had only been together for a short time, but already things seemed to be moving quickly between them. Piper, wondering if they would end up married before the end of the tour dates. Feeling a bit jealous at Annie and Tom’s happiness—long before her decision to try with Mary. Their behavior around one another, opening her eyes to the serious and irreconcilable differences between Sid and herself. 

Annie was also so beautiful, which didn’t help Piper’s jealous streak. Having long blonde hair that was not natural of course, but perfectly bleached and styled on the regular. Her aesthetics, like Debbie Harry—the quintessential 80s bombshell with the perfect ruby red lips. Quite different from Piper’s style. Her goth, grunge vibes and nerdy cat eyeglasses made Piper a bit self conscious sometimes about her appearance. 

She felt at times like she couldn’t even compare. Still, despite her superficial jealousy, Piper had come to adore Annie. Hoping that nothing bad would ever tear her and Tom apart or she might really be on her own. 

“Thanks chick!” Piper yelled back so that Annie could hear her. Annie, holding up a thumbs up as Piper continued to move towards her. Finally, she was able to make it beside her, the two of them watching the band perform. Annie hollering and screaming anytime Tom went off on his drums. Normally a behavior Piper would have done the same, but tonight the mood just hadn’t hit her. Her mind was too hung up on the situation between her and Mary to think of anything else. Only the worry about unsaid things and the fear of answers to questions she hadn’t yet thought to ask. Hoping that what had happened between them wasn’t a mistake. 

[shesinshambles]

If you are taking requests I would love a story with Mary Goore involving some road head and them returning the favor. :-]

Hello anon! Sorry how long this one took, But here you are! 18+ under the cut!

“Told you we should have left earlier.” Mary grumbles something under their breath in response, the steering wheel squeaking as they tighten their grip on it, knuckles going white. “What?”

“I said you were right,” they muttered. You sigh, peering out the window. You’re barely crawling along, stuck in a tight bottleneck. The one time you and Mary have a break that lines up—you a full weekend, they no band obligations—and decide to get out of the city for a bit, of course it couldn’t go right. You’d told Mary that you ought to wake up early to pick up the car rental, get a head start on the way out the city, and of course it took them forever to get out of bed, mumbling that it would be fine. That you were worrying too much when it was supposed to be a fun weekend. Mary groaned, dropping their head against the steering wheel.

“We haven’t moved in fucking ages.”

“I know,” you sigh, offering your partner a pitiful hand on their shoulder. You feel how tense their muscle is beneath your hand, how stressed they are. Mary was never patient, never good at waiting, this would practically be torture for them.

“Babe,” they whine. “We’re gonna fuckin’ expire out here.” You roll your eyes.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m not! They’re gonna find our fuckin’ bones in this car.”

“Well, there’s nothing we can do,” you murmur, your hand sliding up to massage their neck gently. “Just try to relax.” Mary’s eyes flutter shut, and they let out a deep emptying sigh, rolling their shoulders under your ministrations.

“Yeah okay,” they mumble.

“It’s not that bad,” you muse, and they creak their eyes open and frown at you. “At least you’re stuck with me?”

“Touché.”

“Mmm,” you hum, and lean in to press a soft kiss to Mary’s lips. You feel your partner melt into it, moaning deeply against your mouth. A large hand wraps around the nape of your neck, digging into you hair, pulling you closer as Mary deepens the kiss, their tongue exploring your mouth, dancing across yours. You unbuckle your seatbelt, and as you wrap your arms around their neck, pressing yourself as close as you can get to your partner, you can’t help but feel grateful for the rental’s partially tinted windows. You break apart for breath, and Mary’s lips chase after you, your foreheads bumping softly against one another.

And then a thought pops into your head, and you offer Mary a wry smile. They furrow their brow in confusion. But your hands are already on the move, sliding down the plains of their chest, their stomach, and you get to work; unbuckling their heavy belt, unbuttoning their pants and tugging down the zipper.

“Babe—” Mary’s breath hitches as you run a hand over their growing bulge, and you press a kiss to their jaw.

“Just wanna make you feel good,” you murmur against their skin. “Don’t want you to be stressed.” You kiss down their neck, your hand sliding under the waistband of their boxers. Mary’s already hard, and they let out a long hiss, their chest heaving as you pump up and down on their length.

“Fuck.”

“Feels good?” you whisper, nuzzling the crook of their neck.

“Yeah,” Mary groans, their head falling back against the headrest.

“Good.” And then you’re pulling Mary’s leaking cock out, running your thumb over the head. Their hips jerk and you slide back in your seat, settling your knees on the floor of the car.

“Fuck yes,” Mary hisses as they realize what you’re doing, their hand finding its way to the back of your head. You bristle in delight at the slight sting as Mary’s nails dig into your scalp.

You start slowly, licking a long, languid stripe up the underside of their length, swirling your tongue around their head as your hand wraps around the base. You stay like that for a while, kitten-licking the pre-cum from Mary’s cockhead, revelling in the huffs and moans from above, until Mary’s impatience catches up to them, and with a snarl, bucks their hips, their fist tightening its grip on your hair, pushing your head down gently.

You take the hint, hollowing your cheeks and taking their length in your mouth, and start bobbing up and down in earnest. Mary groans loudly above you.

“Fuck doll, mouth so fucking good.” You suck on Mary’s head, a harsh fuck! Muttered under their breath. You let go with a pop, running your tongue down to their base, sucking at the sensitive flesh on the underside.

“Love sucking your cock Mary,” you moan, taking them all again, you fight your gag reflex, tears running down your cheeks, drool spilling down your chin as Mary ruts into your mouth.

“Fuck I’m close.” You breathe deeply through your nose, letting Mary fuck your throat as hard as they can, hollowing your cheeks, digging your fingers into their hips. “So good,” they groan. “Yes, y-yes, yes, yes, Fuck!” The salt of Mary’s cum hits your tongue and you groan, sucking on their head, licking every drop, following them through their high, their hips twitching with the aftershocks. “Fuck,” Mary sighs, running a hand over their face. You pop your mouth of their cock, wiping away your spit from your chin with a mischievous grin.

“Feel better?” Mary nods.

“yeaaah, yeah that was—fuck that was good.” You huff, laughing under your breath. “C’mere.” Mary pulls you into a deep kiss, and you moan against their lips, their hands burying themselves in your hair. And then a loud honk! Coming from behind breaks the moment, and you startle, jumping off Mary.

“Fuck! We’re moving!” Mary scrambles to tuck themselves back into their jeans and you buckle your seat. The car behind you honks again, and Mary flips them off through the rearview mirror. “Yeah I’m going, on going,” they mutter, giving you a bewildered smile. “Good fuckin’ way to kill time, babe.” You bite your lip as Mary puts the car in drive, smiling to yourself.

It’s a few hours later when you finally pull into the driveway of the rental cabin. You’re stiff and itching to get out of the car, but just as you go to open your door, Mary pushes you back into the seat.

“Mary—” You’re cut off as Mary presses their lips to you, their hands sliding down, unbuttoning your jeans.

“Think I’d let you out of the car without returning the favour?” they growl, crawling over to the passenger seat and settling down on their knees before you.

“There’s a whole bed in the cabin.”

“Nuh-uh sweetheart,” Mary answers, a devilish grin on their face, “Only when I’m through with you here.”

[frankenfaandom]

Mary fluff. Give it.

You ask, I deliver my friend!

Mary Fluff. That's it. I realized I technically did finish it, but I wanted to make it longer so it's still a wip shhh

You had finally gotten him to shower. You forced Mary Goore into the bathroom, shoving him into the tub before turning on the water. The cold water started first, and Mary is /still/ angry about it, an hour later.

He's also angry about another thing. The power outtage.

Of course, the power and water decided to vacate the premises as soon as he had lathered his hair with soap.

"This is your fault." Mary gestures towards his greasy looking hair, the soap suds slipping down his shoulder. It somehow looked greasker than before he got in the shower. You snort, throwing a small towel over his head and shaking it, attempting to dry him off like a wet dog.

"You're fine. The water will come back soon, so will the power. The news said this snow storm wouldn't be terrible like last year's." He shrugged and continued drying his soapy, dripping head with low growl. Once be was somewhat comfortably dry, he laid down in bed and put on netflix. Most likely a slasher, you didn't look as you climbed into his lap and layed on his torso.

Mary smiles, almost shyly, wrapping his arms around you to hold you closer. "Warm." He says, voice slightly scratchy and gruff. You blush, shifting to lay more comfortably with his arms resting above your butt. "It's getting cold without the heat." He shifts slightly, pulling a large blanket up above the both of you. You hadn't even known it was there.

He brings his hands above the blanket, rubbing your back before slyly bringing you up closer to his face. Mary grins before pressing a kiss to your temple, letting you hide your face in the crook of his neck.

You hum, satisfied. "Love you, mare."

"'Love you too." He mutters back, pressing a kiss to your temple again.' "Love you lots. Now pass out or you're gonna get a bunch more kisses that you cant stop commin." You grin, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"As tempting as that is, very much so, I'm tired. Goodnight mare."

"Goodnight doll."

[ghuleh-recs]

every day this month I'm going to recommend a different spooky ghost fic! today's rec is:

Epiphany - @belle--ofthebrawl 2.2k, E

"It's Christmas." "It's January sixth." What was the point of a Satanic Abbey celebrating Christmas? It defeated the whole purpose. Unfortunately, a tidbit of folklore leads a strange creature to Copia with a very odd request.

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, leave kudos and/or comments!

(browse the other rectober posts here.)

[fishwithtitz]

fishwithtitz masterlist

☁️ - fluff 💔- angst 🔥- smut ⭐- crowd favorite

mary goore masterlist

“The Five Times I Hooked Up with Mary Goore and the One Time I Couldn’t” (ongoing) 💔🔥- [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

papa emeritus iii / terzo masterlist

“Was It Worth It?” (hiatus) 💔🔥- [1] [2]

papa emeritus iv / copia masterlist

marked ☁️

a simple existence 🔥⭐