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da-rulah · 10 months ago

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The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 4]

Summary: Mary can't think straight; at least, not about anything but you. He's angry, and he's hurt - rightly so - but he can't help the feeling that he's missing something. His spider senses are tingling, and his saviour complex is nagging in his head...

Meanwhile, you're dragged to a formal dinner at the Town Hall with your father's sleazy political associates. What could possibly go wrong?

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Angst, childhood memories/trauma, alcoholism, addiction, minor drug use, creepy men being creepy, unwanted physical touch/harassment, abandonment, panic attacks

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Once again, a huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles & @angellayercake for workshopping and beta reading this fic with me! I live for their reactions every time I sent them an idea or a draft... 🤭 This chapter got away from me, as so many do, and ending up pretty damn long... Enjoy!

He had to be quick. Any longer, and he might be chased out. But he couldn’t help himself... he wanted to look, to touch...

“HEY!” A gruff male voice shouted from somewhere behind him. Mary startled, stumbling back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “These are for people who know what they’re doing, not little hooligans!”

The store clerk came rushing over, coming in between Mary and the beautiful Gibson Les Paul on display, hung up on the wall amongst the others. The body shone in a stunning hue of deep red wood, orange bursting from the fret board. He’d always dreamt of owning a guitar like this – or any at all. He just wanted to pick one up, to learn, to play.

“S-sorry mister... I didn’t mean to-”

“Go on, out with you! Comin’ in here every damn day, gettin’ in the way of my customers. Go on, get!” The old man shooed a 10-year-old Mary out of the store, shutting the door in his face and folding his arms behind the glass, watching until Mary finally sagged his little shoulders and sighed to himself, trudging down the sidewalk with his head hung low.

Other people were allowed in to look at the guitars, to touch them, test them; why wasn’t he? Sure, he knew he was a kid but he wasn’t a bad kid... He knew he could never afford a guitar like that Les Paul, but oh how he dreamed of owning his own guitar. Just a little acoustic thing to practise on. He'd put in the work, he’d swear it. He just wanted to learn.

Still, Mary headed home with his hands in his pockets and his head hung low, avoiding the eyes of the adults around town who looked down on him with looks of either disgust or pity; he was never sure which was worse.

“Mom?” he called out as he walked into the small and run-down little apartment block on the edge of town. They’d had to move in here almost a six months ago after his father left, unable to afford much else on his mother’s salary; her job at the local diner didn’t pay well.

Music from the radio filtered through the hall, along with the smell of yesterday’s spaghetti being reheated on the stove. “In here, baby,” a weak shout came from the kitchen. She sounded weaker with each week that passed, barely eating and drinking far too much to be considered healthy at all. Mary had spotted that, not totally understanding the ramifications of it at his tender age but he was wiser beyond most 10-year-old’s years. That’s the thing about a shitty childhood; you grow up quick.

Still, he was grateful his father was out of the picture now. Honestly? The lesser of two evils. It was better him gone than be here still, hurting everybody around him.

Mary headed into the kitchen, sitting down at the small table for the two of them and waiting patiently as his mum stirred the pot over the stove, her back to him. He watched as her left hand lifted a glass from beside the stove; a wine glass, half-filled with the cheapest red on the market.

“Good day?” she asked, looking briefly over her shoulder. Mary just shrugged; he hadn’t paid much attention in school, and he didn’t want to tell her about being chased out of the music store. Although he wasn’t sure what he’d done to get kicked out, he still lived under the assumption it was somehow his fault.

His mother hummed along to the radio as she heated their food, taking gulps of the wine to her left and refilling it before plating up two small bowls of food – hers noticeably smaller – and sitting opposite Mary as she placed them down.

“Thank you,” he smiled at her shyly, never forgetting his manners as he tucked into his meal. His mother smiled fondly at her boy, twirling her fork in the pasta noodles as she sipped her wine. The radio played to fill the silence, songs from another decade that had his mother reminiscing over happier years.

As he chewed, he thought back to that guitar, how he’d do anything to have one like that. But he’d settle for a smaller, cheaper, second-hand one. He’d be delighted with one. He just wanted to learn how to play, and then maybe one day, his mom could hum along to his songs on her radio.

“Ma, I think I know what I want for my birthday...”

“Oh? Well good! I was wondering when you’d give me some ideas,” she smiled. Mary hesitated, chewing his lip. Was he asking for too much? Perhaps, but he had to try at least. “Come on, baby, what is it?”

“Well... can I get a guitar? Not like, an expensive one or anything... Just second-hand or something. I wanna learn to play, Ma. I think I’d get real good at it!” he rambled, his excitement barely contained as he thought about how people might change how they saw him if he could prove he was good at something, that he could work hard and prove himself.

His mother’s smile faltered, fading as she dropped her fork against her bowl and grabbed her wine glass, finishing the rest of it off and pouring herself another hefty glass.

“Baby, guitars aren’t cheap, even the second-hand ones...” she began, her voice quiet and full of regret.

“No, I know, but I thought, maybe if I could get a job somewhere, I could mow lawns or something, maybe help Mr Rogers at the carpenters or get a paper route, then maybe I could-”

“Baby you’re ten years old, you should just be a kid as long as you can,” she smiled sadly, her eyes betraying her as they glassed over with tears. It broke her heart to see her little boy so desperate to be a man, to help her, to help pay for his own damn birthday present.

“I... I can still be a kid, I just thought I could help?” he questioned.

“I just don’t think I can afford it baby...” Mary’s shoulders slumped, his own fork dropping into his bowl as he sat back against the chair in defeat.

“Could you stop buying wine for a little, Ma? I just really want a guitar... And then you can get more again. Just for a bit, I promise!”

If her heart wasn’t already breaking for her little boy, it did then. The guilt rose like bile in her throat, her eyes staring at the bottle on the table, her glass emptied again and the taste lingering on her tongue. She’d had her own selfishness reflected back at her, a mirror held up to the truth; the truth being that her lips were stained with the red of her addiction, paired with her sunken eyes, bearing the weight of her sorrow.

She should try, she thought to herself. For him, for her little Mary. He never asked her for anything, and the one thing he wants in the world for his birthday was a crummy little second-hand guitar? She should be able to give him that; as a mother, she wanted to give him the world. He certainly deserved it after all he’d been through.

“I-I’ll... I’ll try, Mary. I’ll really try,” her voice cracked, swallowing the guilt down and forcing the tears to recede. Mary nodded to himself, looking down into his bowl and back to hers that even untouched, still had less in than his half-eaten leftovers.

He stood up, the bowl in his hands and placed it down in front of her. She needed to eat more, he thought.

“Oh, baby no, it’s okay. You should ea-”

“I’m not that hungry, Ma. Please take it.”

She stopped protesting, nodding as she held a shaking hand out to hold his cheek, stroking her thumb over the pudge he was yet to grow out of with a gentle smile.

“Thank you, angel,” she told him, pressing a wine-stained kiss to his forehead. “I promise, I’ll try harder.”

Deft fingers plucked at the strings of a battered old acoustic guitar. The wood was splintering where the neck met the body, the varnish worn down in places that hands would dance over as it had been played to within an inch of its life. Stickers littered the body, hiding nicks and damages from over the years but they too were beginning to wear down to white patches of nothing.

Still, she sang like a dream the way she always had. Mary’s skilled hands worked her strings mindlessly, drifting from riffs he’d learned of his favourite bands over the years to riffs of his own he’d written – the most recent sounding much more melancholy than he’d anticipated.

Sitting in his dimly lit studio apartment, he reclined against the wall at the head of his bed with his first guitar in his lap. His intention had been to drift off into his own world, to write some riffs for songs he could present to the guys and form into tracks for upcoming shows, but he’d been unable to focus, his fingers working on muscle memory alone as his head drifted to the same thing he’d thought of for the last few days.

He’d had time to calm down, for the fog of anger to dissipate and now he’d entered the reflection stage. The anger morphed into hurt, reminded once again that no matter if you wanted him or not, you still were ashamed to be seen with him. He didn’t fit your image, his mere existence in your life was inconvenient and a black stain on your pristine white image.

He wondered if cleaning himself up was an option for a brief moment. What if he didn’t paint his face? What if he wore a shirt instead of his cut off band tees? What if he styled his hair different? All the ‘what if’s swam around his head, but they’d be lies. Mary was many things, but never a phony. He refused to bow down to public opinion and become one of the masses if it meant sacrificing everything that was genuinely him.

He decided he’d rather be hated for who he was, than adored for something he wasn’t. Which is exactly the life you were living.

You’d chosen a world where people loved you, fell at your feet to be known by you and yet somewhere along the way, you’d sacrificed whoever you truly were, covered it up with bows and frills and shiny trinkets. He almost felt sorry for you.

Still, he couldn’t swallow the nagging feeling that he’d done something wrong, that he was letting you slip through his fingers. He wasn’t dumb; Mary knew there was more to you than this image. He’d seen glimpses of it, this vulnerable yet feisty woman clawing at you from inside. Frankly, you drove him crazy. He'd never wanted anything for himself so badly in his life, except maybe the guitar in his hands. He couldn’t lay his eyes on you without wanting you; perhaps up until recently, he thought that was simply physical attraction, a need to take you and have you both coming undone together.

But the way you plagued his mind, how he thought of you during the smallest moments of peace to himself... he was beginning to understand he’d formed a kind of connection with you he couldn’t begin to explain. But he was starting to recognise a feeling within himself that stung like rubbing alcohol on a wound, a feeling that shot him right back to his childhood, to a place so painful he’d shoved it down and ignored it for years.

Before he could go down that route, his shook his head to rid the memories and lay his guitar gently beside him, reaching for his smokes on his nightstand. Lighting one up with his zippo lighter, he rested himself back against the wall, swiping a hand down his face in exasperation. He’d spent too long on this, too many moments infiltrated by thoughts of you.

If Mary was being honest with himself, he only had to ask himself one simple question; were you worth compromising everything he knew about himself? Were you worth him changing himself, becoming something he wasn’t so he could be ‘acceptable’ in your world?

No.

Because that was a world that would only ever see him as a delinquent. They had when he was a child, a teenager and now into adulthood. The second they’d known who his father was, who his mother was, they’d judged him. That would never change, so why should he?

The town hall ballroom was the last fucking place you wanted to be at any given moment, let alone when it was filled with governors, police chiefs, politicians and seedy businessmen. If you’d had your way, you’d have stayed tucked up in bed, like you’d spent most of your spare time in the last week or so since the Bicentennial fair. Facing reality was something you’d tried to avoid, but that wasn’t going to be possible for Daddy’s big dinner party for all the town’s biggest officials.

No, you were to be paraded like a shiny trophy daughter tonight, mingling with the rich and seedy underbelly of your father’s political career. These people made your stomach turn and your skin crawl. You observed them from the corner of the room, a glass of prosecco in a hand covered by white satin gloves to the elbow, in a fancy, floor-length, glittered evening dress of the same pale peach colouring as the bubbly. Your mother had picked the outfit, “elegance with a touch of sparkle” she had said.

Watching them mingle and chatter away, you could barely help the expression on your face turning to one of vague disgust. Your father made his way around the room, shaking hands and rubbing shoulders with the elite while your mother followed in tow, laughing at all the jokes she must have heard a thousand times over the years and nattering with the wives in the room about the latest gossip.

Shallow; all of this was so fucking shallow. But the worst part? This was your future. Your mother... her life was the future your father had paved for you, expected you to walk. You couldn’t think of anything worse.

“Pumpkin! Come and say hello to Mr. Nelson,” you father flagged you down from your inner monologue of disapproval, notably stood with an old man you recognised as the town’s previous Mayor. Mr. Nelson had handed the title over to your dad when you were little, staying a consistent advisor in the governing of the town’s affairs ever since his retirement six years ago.

You’d never liked him. There was something untoward about him, sleazy and manipulative; but that’s politicians for you.

You knocked back the rest of your prosecco glass for a bit of liquid encouragement and walked towards them with your prettiest fake smile on.

“Good evening, Mr. Nelson,” you said, taking his outstretched hand to shake.

“Good evening, my dear!” He didn’t let go of your hand like you’d expected, instead tightening his grip and pulling you to lean forwards so he could press a whiskered kiss to your cheek – or what was actually closer to the corner of your lips. When he leaned back, he winked at you, still keeping hold of your hand to lift it, unashamedly scanning his eyes over your body in your dress and twirling you like a doll on a music box. “My, my... how you’ve grown, hm?”

Your eyes locked onto your father, who was smiling at you fondly as if there wasn’t a problem. You, however, were exceedingly uncomfortable. You looked back to Mr. Nelson, smiling and acting the part. Honestly, you’d always wondered if acting would be a good career for you; you did it often enough.

“Quite the beautiful young lady these days,” Mr. Nelson commented, letting go of your hand and coming to stand beside you, a hand resting on the small of your back as he turned to speak to your father.

“She gets all that from her mother, of course,” he smiled proudly, squeezing the shoulders of your mother beside him, who swatted him with her own gloved hand.

“Oh, stop it, you charmer,” she laughed. You recoiled from the interaction, uncomfortable that there was still a hand on you at all, let alone on the small of your back.

“Your father was telling us about your college days; quite impressive, my dear!” Mr. Nelson said, his hand patting just above the curve of your behind.

“Y-yeah... I mean, thank you, sir,” you smiled graciously. How could you get out of this?

“Now, if only we could find her a nice man to settle down with,” your father joked, your mother smiling along with him as Mr. Nelson chuckled.

“I’m sure that won’t be difficult, hm? Plenty of fine men about town. Any catch your eye?” he asked, looking down at you with a raised white eyebrow.

Instantly, your mind flew to Mary. Certainly, he was not the kind of ‘fine man’ Mr. Nelson or your father would envision for you; in fact, you’re sure they would recoil in horror, but you couldn’t help but think of him. Any opportunity for your brain to remind you of how painfully you’d fucked that up, it would take.

You took too long to answer, head full of Mary as it so often was.

“Pumpkin, Mr. Nelson asked you a question,” he insisted with an expectant nod of his head.

“Oh, not to worry. She clearly has somebody in mind, if the mere mention of a man has her daydreaming about him, hm?” he chortled, his hand now slipping lower to pat at the curve of your backside. Instinctively you jumped forward half a step to get away from the unwanted contact, head whipping to your father in the hope he’d seen that, that he’d step in and defend you. But of course, he didn’t.

“Pumpkin? What’s gotten into you, hm?” His glare was disapproving, his eyebrow quirking as he waited for your answer, but an awkward silence fell on the four of you instead.

“I, um... I’m so sorry, I think I lost my balance. These, uh, damn heels, that’s all,” you laughed nervously, averting the eyes of everyone around you.

“Perhaps a little too much bubbly,” Mr. Nelson accused, tipping his head towards your empty flute in your hand.

“Y-yes, maybe... Perhaps I need some air. Would you excuse me?”

You were turning and leaving before your father could stop you, shoving the glass in your hand onto the tray of a waiter on your way to the door, ignoring the calls of “pumpkin!” behind you, sounding aggravated and embarrassed. Heads turned to watch you leave but you couldn’t look at them, overwhelmed and uncomfortable. You just had to get out.

You headed directly for your father’s office, a small and private space to collect yourself before inevitably having to go back to the ballroom sooner rather than later, lest your father come looking for you.

Finally alone and in a quiet spot, you slumped into your father’s chair behind his desk, spinning absentmindedly from side to side guided by your stiletto on the ground. You focussed on breathing, helping to subside the panic that had risen in you. Bad enough you’d been forced to come to this thing, let alone subjected to the wandering hands of a man who’d known you since you were barely out of diapers. This evening was the nightmare you’d expected it to be.

Looking around your father’s office, it hadn’t changed much. The American flag stuck in his pen cup, the portrait of President George Washington on the wall, the photo frame on his desk that housed a very official looking family portrait taken when you were still in middle school.

This was your life. This façade of pomp and circumstance, governed by sleazy men and dodgy business deals... this was all you could see for yourself. No wonder you were clinging onto Mary by your perfectly manicured fingernails, allowing him back in so easily whenever there was room in your mind. He was the antithesis of that horrendous life already mapped out for you. He was the embodiment of freedom to you, someone that lived their life governed by them and them alone.

He liked dark things, heavy music, grungy clothes. He didn’t restrict himself, lived freely, chasing the dreams he so obviously strived for. He didn’t care what people thought of him, he lived his truth.

You wished you could live like that.

Lost to your musings and memories of brief encounters with Mary, you startled at the sound of the door to your father’s office slamming shut, with him stood before it. He’d come alone, his arms folded over his chest in his crisp tuxedo, and a hardened look of fury in his features.

Your stomach dropped and you sat upright immediately; this wasn’t going to be pretty.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper and yet spat through clenched teeth.

“Daddy, I just... Mr. Nelson, he-”

“Don’t you ‘daddy’ me. Do you realise how embarrassing that was for your mother and I?” he scolded. You swallowed your words, thrown right back to being told off as a child. “Mr. Nelson thinks you were drunk. Are you?”

“No, daddy, I swear!” you protested, having only drank two glasses... on an empty stomach and faster than a shot of your favourite flavour schnapps.

“Then explain why you were so damn rude to him, hm?” he raised his voice, stepping towards you and leaning down on his own desk by his palms.

“He put his hands on me! He’s a creep, dad!” you matched his volume, defending yourself. Your dad just scoffed at you, shaking his head in disbelief.

“He’s a respected member of this community. One bad word from him, and this could all be over for us. My career, our way of life, everything! Do you understand that?” he shouted. How silly of you to think your own father might take your side when one of his creep associates lay a finger on you.

“It was a knee-jerk reaction, he touched my ass dad, like some fucking pervert!” you yelled back, standing from his chair and finding the guts to finally answer back, to fight for what was right instead of pander to him. Mary would be proud.

“You watch your mouth, young lady. I am your father-”

“YES! YOU ARE! And as my father, I thought you might stand up for me, oh, I don’t know, maybe be disgusted when some old man lays a hand on your daughter’s ass!”

Your father lifted an accusatory finger at you, wagging it in your face as if scolding a bad dog. “He was talking to you about your future. A future that he can take away with a snap of his fingers.” He demonstrated with the hand he waved wildly in front of you. “You’re lucky your mother has such a way with words...”

“You mean she’s a good liar,” you laughed humourlessly. “Suppose you have to be in this kind of life...” His face paled, his eyes darkening and appearing to sink further into his skull as he stood up straight, his brow furrowing.

“I have worked for over two decades to build us ‘this life’,” his voice deepened, darkening considerably as he loomed over you. “Look around you. Do you think this just happens? I have done nothing but provide for you, you ungrateful little girl.”

“This is the problem... I’m not a little girl anymore, and you still treat me like I can’t think for myself. I’ve got my own mind, things that I want to do. Do you give a shit about that at all?” The anger inside you you’d caged up for too long was surfacing, the heat on that simmering pot turning up with every word out of your father’s mouth. Already you were too far gone to reel it back in. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to hear this.

“I give a shit about this family!” he screamed. “I will not allow you to tear it all down in some childish tantrum!”

“Tear what down?!” you protested, “I just want to be able to do something for myself for a change, to start my life! It’s got nothing to do with your prestige as Mayor, I just want to be able to finally crawl out from under your shadow!"

Your father ignored you completely, still only seeing the pigtailed little girl from the portrait on his desk standing in front of him. He had no idea she’d grown up before his very eyes. He’d blinked and missed it, too damn focussed on his own career and image to notice.

“You selfish little brat. You don’t get it, do you?” he sneered, “This is MY TOWN! MY LEGACY! You will live by MY RULES!”

And truthfully, that was all it was ever going to boil down to. His fucking legacy.

You sagged your shoulders in defeat, tears begging to fall out of anger. Everything you thought your dad still believed, he’d proven to you in just a few minutes; you were still a child to him, and his legacy was more important than your own happiness. Nothing you could say would win this fight. Nothing would make him see how badly he was hurting you.

You took a deep breath, composing yourself to speak a little calmer, more collected. With emotions heightened, it was easy to yell and scream back at him, to get carried away but you were determined to show him this was not some ‘tantrum’. You meant this.

“What if I don’t want to do that anymore?” you asked, staring him straight in the eye. The air seemed to thicken around you as you waited for it to soak in, for him to hear you, process, and respond. The silence was suffocating.

“I’m sorry?” he asked, turning his head to present his ear as if he hadn’t heard you, but he most certainly had. He just wanted you to repeat yourself, testing you, warning you; did you have the balls to say it again?

“What if... I don’t want to live by your rules anymore?” You spoke calmly, methodically. You will listen, you thought to yourself.

Your father straightened up again, his head twitching as he tidied up his cuff links, straightened his bow tie and slicked back his hair before he gave you the time of day. This was just a part of his intimidation, his macho technique, reminding you he was a distinguished man, one with power. When he finally looked you in the eye again, his face was set in stone.

“Then you can get the hell out of my office.”

Like a punch to the gut, it knocked the wind right out of you. He wanted you to leave.

“F-fine...” you stuttered, walking around the desk as if to head for the door, pulling your cell phone out of your clutch, “I’ll get one of your lap dogs to take me home, and we’ll talk about this in the morning,” you told him, trying to keep a modicum of dignity, prove to him you were an adult and taking the moral high ground. But your father laughed...

“I don’t think you heard me. Perhaps you didn’t understand...” he turned around to face you, now stood by the door to his office. “This is my town, Pumpkin. This whole town is my office.”

The weight of what he was saying fell like a barrel of hot tar over you, the scorching, searing pain radiating through you. You stared in disbelief, waiting for him to laugh, to tell you he was kidding, just pushing your buttons to see your reaction but nothing... He just stared at you, as you stared at him, like a deer in headlights.

“Y-you’re not serious...?” you dared to whisper, shaking your head in denial.

“Deadly. Get out,” he growled, “or do I have to call security?”

Those angry tears turned into streams now falling down your cheeks silently while you were unable to blink, processing his command until your body moved of its own accord, reaching for the doorknob and opening it behind you.

“I’m sure your precious town will love to hear about this,” you threatened, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand. He just smirked and folded his arms over his chest again.

“Careful, Pumpkin. Daddy’s got one hell of a legal team; and they’re all eating out of his palm in that ballroom tonight.”

He had you beat. Checkmate. Every credible lawyer – and the seedy ones – were on his damn payroll. You couldn’t win this no matter what you did. You just had to walk away...

And so, you did. Quietly, you slipped out from the opulent town hall and found yourself stood on a street corner a couple of blocks away, out of the sight of not only your father and his invitees behind the huge windows of the ballroom, but out of sight of his cronies, already given the instruction to make sure you left quietly, and didn’t attempt to come back in.

You were alone, as you had become so accustomed to being.

Every riff felt wrong. For over a week now, Mary tried to write something new, something fresh that he’d never heard before, that excited him and inspired him but... nothing. He was beginning to think he’d lost his touch. He knew he couldn’t force inspiration to come, but this was a longer, drier spell than even he was used to...

He reached for his pack of smokes on the nightstand where they usually sat, only to discover he was fresh out – that last cigarette had truly been his last.

“Shit,” he cursed to himself, crushing the empty box in his palm and throwing it in the general direction of the trash can, hitting the rim and bouncing off to the floor beside two or three other crumpled cigarette boxes from the last few days.

Whew, he thought to himself, smokin’ more now, too. Awesome. Still, ignoring the mess he’d neglected to tidy, he stood up from his bed with a stretch, abandoning his tattered acoustic on his bed. His leather jacket that he’d slung over the back of his couch still held his keys, wallet and cell phone from his last outing to the gas station, and so he slithered his arms into the sleeves and headed for the door.

He knew he didn’t need to take the van to travel the four blocks to the gas station on the edge of town just for cigarettes, but there was something about a late-night drive that calmed Mary. It always felt like one of those rare moments where he got to be himself; a decent band on the stereo and some open road to clear his head.

He also knew he didn’t need to go all the way to the gas station for smokes; the convenience store on the corner would do just fine. Except, Forrest usually worked the late-night shifts at the gas station, and he’d get to take advantage of his staff discount.

“Hey man!” Mary called out as he walked into the store, the bell dinging above his head. Forrest looked up from the magazine he was reading, slumped over the counter.

“Well, look what the dogs dragged in...” Forrest smirked, “where’d you fuck off to the other night?”

Ah. He’d never explained where he’d disappeared to the night of the fair, nor had he seen any of his friends since. He hadn’t realised he’d shut himself off for that long, but seemingly, he had.

“Oh, uh...” he stammered, thinking up an excuse.

“Some chick got your attention, huh?” he stood upright and folded his arms, leaning against the edge of the counter. “I don’t know how you do it, man. You got ‘em lining up out the door. You shoot strawberry milkshake outta that dick, or what?” Mary relaxed instantly, his alibi already created for him.

“Why, you wanna taste?” he mocked, shooting a flying kiss at him as he stepped up to the counter in an overly camp, seductive walk to make the other laugh.

“I’ll stick to the slurpie machine, thanks,” he joked, pretending to gag at the thought of Mary’s strawberry milkshake. “You need somethin’, or you just here to entertain me?”

“Outta smokes,” Mary shrugged. “I’ll grab the usual.”

Forrest nodded, turning his back to fish through the cigarettes that lined the wall behind the counter, coming to the brand Mary would usually purchase. Mary looked to his left, seeing a special offer on party size bags of Takis and an array of candy bars. He chucked a bag up on the counter with some candy and fished inside his jacket for his wallet as Forrest rung him up.

“Big plans tonight, huh?”

“Oh yeah, big night in with my favourite girl, Mary Jane,” Mary waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Explains the snacks, you always did get munchies worse than any of us...” he laughed, punching his employee code into the register to add his discount; something he did without thinking these days. Mary was always grateful. “$15.75”

“Thanks, man,” Mary handed over a twenty, shoving the change back in his wallet just as his phone started to buzz in his other pocket. He whipped it from his jacket, checking the caller ID when his chest tightened.

You.

Mary sneered at the phone in his hand, shoving it back into his pocket with a scowl on his face. If Forrest noticed, he didn’t question it, probably assuming it were a telemarketing scam.

“We should get a practise in before Saturday,” Forrest suggested, “I think Davey’s free on Tuesday? And I'm off too.” Mary hadn’t forgotten; they had a show to play in the city, some new goth club were having a metal night, and word of Mary’s band was starting to spread beyond the scene they’d been playing for the last two years.

“Uh yeah.” His phone stopped buzzing in his pocket. He ignored the feeling of disappointment in him, that gnawing voice in the back of his head that told him he should have answered it. “Yeah, I think I’m free. You wanna see if Jed’s about?”

Forrest made a noise that sounded vaguely like an affirmative as Mary picked up the bag with his purchases inside.

“Alright, uh...” Mary’s phone began vibrating in his pocket again, barely any respite since the last call. He ignored it, trying to claw himself back to reality instead of letting his mind drift to whatever you could possibly be calling him for. He was sure it was only one thing, anyway. “Let me know, man!”

“Yeah, see ya!” Forrest grinned, shutting the register with a ping and picking up his discarded magazine as Mary turned and left, the bell dinging above the door again. He stood outside for a moment, fishing his phone out of his pocket and seeing that it was indeed your name that flashed on his screen.

Once again, he ignored it, shoving it this time into the back pocket of his jeans and skulking back over to his van, parked in a bay near the door. It stopped just as he wrenched the door open with a rusty creak, throwing his bag into the passenger seat. He climbed in behind it, slamming the door shut and settling into the seat as he shoved the keys into the ignition. As he turned them and the engine roared to life with his stereo, he took a deep breath, leaning back against the head rest and desperately willing the thoughts of you to leave him be.

He’d wasted too much time on you already, and he meant what he’d said last time. He was tired of being everybody’s dirty little secret, and he wasn’t about to answer your fucking booty call. Not again.

Reaching into the plastic bag beside him, he pulled out his carton of cigarettes and ravaged the packaging until he could pry one from the box and shove it between his lips, pushing the lighter button in on his dashboard and waiting patiently for it to heat. Closing his eyes, he waited for the telltale click, reclining into his seat, when his phone began to buzz in his back pocket once again.

Mary’s eyes shot open, anger coursing through his veins. Were you that desperate to get laid? It wasn’t fair. He thought he’d made it clear where he stood, that he wasn’t interested in being picked up and dropped whenever someone felt like it anymore. He had to start thinking less with his dick and more with his head – and his heart.

But you were not getting the message – ignoring your calls wasn’t working. Maye he just needed to say it in black and fucking white.

Muttering curses to himself, he fished his phone from his back pocket where he sat, seeing that the caller ID did indeed read “Doll” again. He turned the volume of his stereo way down, took a deep breath, and answered the call.

“Look, I’m really not interested in being your booty call, Barbie,” he spat down the microphone, “so you might wanna just give it up now before you embarrass yourself.”

He was met with silence. He almost wanted to laugh, picturing the look of sheer shock on your face as you sat surrounded by your pink frills and stuffed animals in that ivory tower of yours. But instead, he waited. Would you dare speak? Argue with him? He’d managed to rile himself up enough by this point that maybe a fight was exactly what he needed to expel the rage.

The silence continued for a beat too long, and confusion set in. His brow furrowed, checking his phone screen to see if you’d hung up but no, you were still connected. He lifted the phone to his ear again, waiting... and then he heard it.

A sob.

A sob so small and timid, he thought maybe he wasn’t supposed to have heard it. But instantly, his face paled, and his chest hollowed. Every muscle in his shoulders that had tensed in his anger when he picked up the phone instantly turned to jelly. He’d expected resistance, maybe a “fuck you, Goore” or something to that effect. He’d expected an argument, rage, denial or defence.

He waited again, clicking the side button on his phone to turn the volume up in case he’d missed it. Now, he heard the sniffles too, along with the shuddering breath from an inhale that sounded uncontrollable. And then another small, suppressed sob.

He panicked, sitting bolt upright in his seat and pulling the cigarette from his lips as he looked around his surroundings as if there was something, someone who could help. Of course, there was nothing.

He didn’t expect you to react that way... Perhaps he’d been too harsh, maybe yelling at you wasn’t the right way to go about this, to cut his ties with you before they were truly bonded, but he hadn’t even thought it through. Mary just thought severing it with a quick, clean blow would do the trick...

“I-I... d-didn't... know who... to call,” you wept down the phone, breathing irregular as if you were suffering a panic attack. “I’m s-s... sorry.”

Instantly, Mary knew he’d fucked up. You weren’t calling him for a hook up, this was something different. Something had happened. You had already been in this state. And you’d turned to him for help. Mary swallowed a gulp of nothing, now realising his mouth and throat had gone dry whilst his jaw had hung open in bewilderment and panic.

“What’s going on?” he asked, frenzied. He waited for a response, only hearing more sobs; ones that you clearly were unable to hold back as you tried to speak, to tell him what had happened. Whatever it was, it was bad enough that you couldn’t say it without losing the small semblance of composure you had. You were in no fit state to talk about this on the phone.

The hand holding the phone dropped to his lap for a moment as he muttered a “shit” to himself, slamming his head back against the headrest. He was really going to do this, wasn’t he? He was going to run right to you, to go and fucking save you with some twisted sense of duty towards you. But then, yes, of course he was; Mary’s saviour complex had kicked in the second he heard that first tiny, frail sob.

He held the phone to his ear again.

“Look just... fuck, just breathe alright? Slowly, if you can. I’m coming, just make sure your window’s unlocked,” he instructed you, pressing his foot down on the clutch and shoving the gear stick into reverse.

“’m not... home...” you sobbed. Mary paused, confused.

“Well... where are you?” he asked, now more concerned as to what the hell had happened. If someone had laid a fucking finger on you...

“R-Raynor... street...”

Dead centre of town; anything could have happened, anybody could have been around.

“Alone?” he asked, incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of you being alone at this hour in the middle of town.

“M-mhm...” Mary cursed to himself again, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he used both hands to spin the wheel of his van, quickly looking in his mirrors to reverse out of his parking spot before he could speed off into the night to come and find you.

“I’m coming, alright? Stay there. Keep your phone close, stay on the line. You keep off the street ‘til you hear me coming, you understand?” His instructions were clear, almost military-like. He needed you to hear him plainly.

“Oh...kay,” you sobbed, trying to quieten your sobs and regain control.

“Keep breathing, I’m on my way.”

Mary picked the phone from between his ear and shoulder and hit the loud-speaker button, throwing it onto his dash so he could drive easier through the streets as he headed into town. Thankfully the roads had been somewhat empty, most traffic lights turning green on the approach and no one to get in his way or flag him down for speeding at this hour. He just needed to get to you, as fast as possible.

Turning onto Raynor street, he slowed right down and got a good look; you were nowhere to be seen. He prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d just followed his advice, hiding down an alleyway off the main street to keep out of sight of any passersby with bad intentions. He turned his stereo back up, a clear indication that it was him who was driving slowly down the street, watching and waiting for you to pop your head out of somewhere.

“C’mon, doll... where are you?” he muttered anxiously to himself, looking down every nook and cranny between buildings.

The music you heard edging closer down the street echoed what you could hear from your phone speaker, telling you that the vehicle approaching was him. A wave of relief washed over you, and you stepped out from between a hair salon and an apartment block near the end of the street. Mary's headlights caught on your dress, the sparkle catching his eye immediately and he sped up until he could break suddenly right next to you, jumping out of his van and running around it to get to you as quickly as he could.

His hands gripped onto your biceps and he held you out at arm's reach to get a good look at you; carefully placed make up had streaked from your tears, black rings forming around your eyes where your mascara had run. Your eyes themselves were bloodshot; how long had you been out here like this before you’d called him? You shivered in his hands, the cold of the night getting to you in this dress that left your arms and shoulders exposed, doing nothing to warm you at this late hour. He didn’t even think, shucking himself out of his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders where his body heat had already warmed it.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, cupping your face in his hands and swiping the tear tracks away with his thumbs. You shook your head no, another sob rising in your throat now that he was here. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, his initial reaction to your phone call clearly indicating he was still very much mad at you; not that you could blame him. But it didn’t escape your notice that he had come anyway, and the expression on his face was almost one of terror before his eyes had fallen on you, and softened considerably.

Something in him cared.

“Alright, come on... get in,” he settled a hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you gently and quickly to the passenger side of his van where he opened the door for you, helping you up. You settled into the seat, curling in on yourself and hugging Mary’s jacket closer to you for the warmth the night had stripped from you as he climbed in the driver’s side. He turned the stereo right down, the music now only to fill a silence rather than to alert you to his arrival.

“Is there... somewhere you want me to take you?” he asked, an awkwardness coming over him. He had no idea how to react in this situation, no clue what had happened or why you’d called him of all people when you had an entire security team on your side.

You seemed to think about it for a moment, a fresh wave of tears trickling from your eyes and dripping to your lap when you looked down in an attempt to hide your face.

“I... don’t have anywhere...” you sobbed, your fists tightening around the edges of Mary’s jacket to have something to ground you while your shoulders shook.

Mary watched on helplessly, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to reach over, to pull you into him and hold you so you could let out the much more violent sobs you were so obviously holding back. He was so used to the feistier side of you; your smart mouth, your confidence... It’s what drew him in, what attracted him to you like a moth to a flame. This wasn’t you.

It stirred up a need in him to help, to sacrifice his own discomfort in favour of your comfort. Instantly, he put you first, forgetting any resignations he had about ever seeing you again. That anger he harboured at how out-of-touch he thought you were? It dissipated the second he’d heard the first sob. He’d been triggered like a sleeper cell, instantly needing to patch up whatever wound you’d suffered.

“You don’t wanna go home?” he asked, figuring he already knew the answer. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. When you shook your head violently, he got the confirmation he needed. “Alright, well...” He was going to regret this, wasn’t he? But he’d said it before he could stop himself. “You could stop at my place for a bit.” Yep, he regretted it. “If it’s not too weird, or anything... I mean, I live alone, if you’re worried about my friends being ther-”

“Okay...” you sniffled.

Mary stopped rambling, instead reaching for the cigarette he’d never lit and thrown on his dash with his phone. Once again, he pushed the cigarette lighter in to heat up, adjusting the heating in the van to a warmer temperature too to warm you up.

“Alright um, sure...” He held the cigarette between his lips, shoving the van into gear and continuing down the street. “There’s a carton of cigs in the bag by your feet, if you want one,” he offered – more to fill the silence between you than anything. The quiet stereo could only do so much.

You sniffled and reached down to the bag, fishing through the plastic until you found the carton he’d mentioned and pulling one out for yourself hoping it might help to calm you. With a pop, the lighter signalled it was ready, and Mary held it out to you first as he focussed on the road. You lit it carefully with a small ‘thank you’ and settled back into your seat. The first drag helped settle your nerves, the heating in the van calming the shakes you’d had too, although you weren’t sure if that had been the panic or the cold of the night.

A few streets into the journey back to his place, you couldn’t take the quiet any longer. The awkward air between you felt so stale, icy in comparison to the warmth the van generated. As much as you wanted to relax in his presence – as he up until now had always been able to make you do – you just couldn’t. Not with the elephant in the back of the van, so to speak...

“I’m sorry... for calling,” you mumbled, still too full of shame to be able to look at him directly, only stealing a glance from the corner of your eye. Mary took a long drag of his cigarette, flicking the ash out of the crack he’d opened in his window. He looked between you and the road, as if thinking through his response a few times.

“You don’t have to apologise for that. I’m not one to leave a lady out in the cold...” he shrugged. He certainly wasn’t; literally or metaphorically.

“Thank you for coming, Mary. I didn’t know where to go...” Every time you thought back to the fight with your father, fresh and hot tears would well up in your eyes. It didn’t escape Mary’s notice, and he wanted nothing more than to reach over and squeeze your hand with reassurance. Instead, he settled on trying to lighten the mood a little. Comedy always had been his defence mechanism, after all...

“Dressed like that? I’d have said... Cinderella’s ball?”

You scoffed, the first genuine smile he’d seen from you as you shook your head. “Shut up,” you told him.

“You couldn’t call on the creatures of the forest to come help?” he continued, smirking when he saw your shoulders shaking in silent laughter, elbow propped up on the edge of your window. “Tinkerbell not got any pixie dust left for ya?”

You reached over and playfully slapped his chest, earning you an ‘ouch’ and an act of feigned pain as he recoiled. But you giggled to yourself, the absurdity of it all finally hitting you. Here you were sat in your sparkly peach gown with your satin elbow gloves, high heels and fancy hairdo, cradled by Mary’s leather jacket in a beat-up van that was old enough to still have a damn cigarette lighter in the dash. Perhaps you were Cinderella... Did that make Mary your Prince Charming, or your fairy God mother?

Now he’d heard you giggle – something he always loved hearing out of you – Mary could relax a little. There was still an awkwardness between you both, neither one of you could deny that, but the first layer of ice had been broken. For now, that would be enough. If you wanted to talk to him about what had happened when you got to his, then fine. If not, he figured that was okay too. At least he’d know you were safe and had someone by your side who cared about you; and yes, Mary could admit to himself now that he did care about you...

Just, maybe not to you – not yet. But it wasn’t something he could exactly deny either, when he’d dropped his ‘big plans’ of getting high and demolishing a bag of snacks alone with his guitar the second he’d heard your despair. And all of that in spite of his lingering anger towards you. How quickly he’d flipped that, from wanting nothing to do with you to racing to your rescue.

Mary’s apartment was small, as you’d expected. As you followed him inside, you looked around. The kitchen sat directly to your left cut off by a half wall to corner it in, a couch that looked like it had seen better days backed up against that half wall and pointed at an old television. Mary’s bed was unmade and pushed up against the far-right corner, facing the bathroom that took up as much space as his kitchen did but was the only room closed off. In the way of bedroom furniture, all he had was a small nightstand and a chest of drawers that had been knocked about some...

It seemed cosy, lived in. It wasn’t particularly tidy; a blanket strewn over the tatty couch, vinyls laying on top of his little coffee table and around his record player in the corner of his living space, guitars laying up against the wall here and there, an acoustic on his bed, pots and pans stacked up on the draining board in his kitchen – clean, but not yet put away.

Had Mary known he was having royalty stop by, he might have tidied up a little, but this was how it looked most of the time. He didn’t spend much time at home, especially now that his band were starting to take off a little. But truthfully, he avoided being alone at all costs. He got too much thinking done alone, hence why he had his distraction methods of weed and song-writing.

Mary scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and went to flick on a lamp by the couch. He quickly whipped around the space, picking up the strewn vinyls, straightening up the blankets. “Sorry about the mess,” he set as he jetted past you towards his bed to pick up his guitar and straighten out the blankets and pillows. You stood awkwardly in the entryway, his jacket still hanging off your shoulders as you picked at your gloves.

“No, it’s fine, it’s not that bad,” you told him, noting the few personal belongings Mary had too; most notably the little picture frame on a windowsill by the couch. A strikingly beautiful woman, and a goofy little boy snuggled tightly in her lap. Both were grinning into the camera, the boy’s front teeth missing. You guessed that was Mary, and the woman, his mother.

“Can I get you anything? I don’t know, a drink maybe? Or, uh...” He stood awkwardly, nervously wringing his hands and fiddling with his rings. It was so out of character for him, usually cocky and confident in everything he said or did. In a way, it was quite endearing...

“Maybe some water, if you don’t mind...” You winced at your own request, feeling like you’d already asked for too much tonight.

“Yeah... yeah, sure!” He jumped into action, rushing into the kitchen to fetch a clean glass from the cabinet. “Make yourself at home,” he told you, nodding towards the couch he’d just tidied. You walked towards it, draping his jacket over the arm and sitting on the edge of it, playing with your gloves until he came and sat opposite you, handing you a cold glass of water.

You took it with a thank you, downing a third of the glass once the water hit your tongue – you hadn’t realised just how thirsty the tears and panic had made you.

“So, um... you wanna tell me why you’re dressed like that?” Mary nodded at your dress, getting himself comfortable and ready to listen. You looked down at yourself, feeling utterly ridiculous now. This was your world... glitter, glam, sparkles; and you despised it.

“Fancy dinner at the town hall – pompous twats and vile politicians. Mom picked this out,” you scoffed.

“Huh,” he mused, “I mean, if it helps, you do look pretty...” he shrugged. A warmth rose to your cheeks at his compliment. “The mascara smudges are a nice touch, I think.” You laughed at that, wiping your fingertips along the underneath of your eyes and seeing the black collecting on the white satin. “So... what happened?”

He asked you so gently, and instantly you felt safe. His gaze wasn’t judgemental, just soft. In fact, it had taken you this long to mentally note that Mary wasn’t made up with his usual faded skull paint and fake blood. His face was clean, you could see every detail. You could see every emotive line, every twitch of his expressions and a vulnerability in him that the face paint usually masked. He had a kinder face than people gave him credit for. Suddenly, you got it. He was putting on a mask every day, just like you.

And so, you told him. You told him how you’d felt in that ballroom, looking around and seeing the real scumbags of this town. You told him about Mr. Nelson; what he’d said, what he’d done. Mary’s face hardened at that, an anger and protectiveness washing over him that had his fists balling up tightly. You told him how you’d excused yourself, and how your father had followed you to his office. Throughout, he stayed quiet, letting you speak and listening to everything you said. He’d react every so often, fetched you some tissues when the tears had started again. You told him everything, including how your father had screamed at you to follow his rules to not damage his “legacy”.

“And I told him I didn’t want to do that anymore... I wanted to do my own thing and live for me.”

Mary’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Shit... What did he say?” he asked, obviously knowing it hadn’t ended well.

“Told me to get out of his office,” the tears came again, your voice raising in pitch as you tried to hold back the sobs, “that this whole town was his office. Threatened me with lawyers if I tried anything. So... I just left.”

“He kicked you out into the street, alone, dressed like that, in the middle of the fucking night?” Mary’s anger was clear, spitting venom between clenched teeth. He couldn’t understand the nerve of your father, how he could be so damn stupid putting you in danger like that. “Fucking arrogant asshole...”

It was clearer to him more now than ever that he’d been so wrong about you...

He shuffled closer to you on the couch, cautiously wrapping an arm around your shoulders to comfort you in some way. Truthfully, he wanted to completely envelope you, to hold you and rock you and let you cry and sob and scream if you needed it. But it wasn’t until you lay your head on his shoulder that he felt okay to do so, finally pulling you into him to wrap his arms around you and let you cry into his chest.

He felt so warm beneath you, his heart rate a little elevated but the thumping kept you grounded as you held onto his shirt, curling into a sparkly little ball in his side. Mary cradled your head to him, stroking your hair and whispering to you about letting go, that you were safe here.

If he was being honest with himself, he knew how shitty he’d been to you. He’d become far too defensive too quickly, unable to see past his own injustices in his world to understand that your world came with them too. There had been signs of your confinement, of the tight leash you were kept on, but he’d wilfully ignored them, striking them off as privilege. Your bedroom alone should have been a giant red flag; how was a grown woman still sleeping in a child’s bedroom?

“I’m sorry, doll...” he told you, muttering into your hair as his lips gently pressed to the top of your head.

“Not on you, Mare. This has been coming for a while...” you sniffled, wiping your tears with your gloves as you snuggled into him a little further, utterly comfortable in his hold.

“No, I mean...” Mary sighed to himself, “I’ve been an asshole. I got too defensive, thought you were just being a brat or something, y’know? I judged you and I shouldn’t have.”

Slowly, you sat upright, turning to look at him as his arms fell to his sides.

“You don’t have to apologise, I get it... I wasn’t exactly good to you either,” you admitted, looking down at his shirt now stained with tears to avoid his eyes. “You were right, I was treating you like I was ashamed of you.”

Mary sat up straight, clasping his hands together as he nodded in understanding. “We’ve all got our shit, doll.” His eyes drifted to the picture on his windowsill, and you couldn’t help but follow his gaze. You saw how he clenched his jaw, fiddling with the rings on his fingers as sadness crept into his eyes.

“Who was she?” The question slipped out before you got the chance to stop yourself. From the way Mary tensed up beside you, you could tell it was a sore spot.

“That’s my mom,” he looked back to you, a sad smile on his face.

“Is she...?”

“Dead? No...” he laughed awkwardly. “But she is in a care facility. That’s just the only photo of us I’ve got.”

You nodded in understanding, not wanting to push the matter. But Mary felt like sharing... You’d been vulnerable with him, shared your shit. Maybe he should share his too, or at least some of it. Maybe you were the only person he could be honest with. You were certainly the only person he’d wanted to get to know him in a long time.

“She was a drinker. It got worse when my dad left, but he was a waste of fucking space anyway. We, uh, didn’t have a lot...” his eyes flickered to the battered old guitar that now leaned against the wall by his bed, “but eventually her liver kind of gave up, so she’s on dialysis for the rest of her life. She needs constant care, but she’s still with us.”

“I’m so sorry... no wonder you thought I was just being a brat,” you laughed awkwardly, feeling a little pathetic now.

“Like I said, we all got our shit. It's not a contest, I just... realised I wanted you to know something real about me.”

Silence descended over you along with the weight of what he’d just admitted. Mary wanted you to know him. He wasn’t running or hiding himself from you. He’d shared something so personal to him, and you felt that it was something not a lot of people might know about him, if any. Something about you made him feel just as safe as a part of him did for you.

You looked at him; really looked at him. There was a sadness in his eyes, something you could notice now that you were sat merely inches apart from him with his mask firmly ripped away and laying in pieces on the floor. Whatever wall he usually put up, he’d let down just for you. You felt close to him, unbelievably so. You felt an urge to protect him, defend him. You felt a pull towards him, undistinguished in its meaning but so strong you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

And as Mary stared back at you, his wounds exposed, he too felt that same pull. Who was he kidding? He’d felt it for a while. How else would he explain being unable to go barely minutes without thinking of you over the last few weeks?

His eyes flicked down to your lips, heart racing and mind spinning out of control. He’d never felt so exposed. He wanted to kiss you, to show you what he felt in that moment, but it scared him. He already had shared so much, feeling just as vulnerable as he had as a child.

In your corner, the silence got heavier with every second that passed. If he was going to kiss you, you would let him. You couldn't think of a better way to show him just how much you cared, how close you felt to him; that you truly wanted him.

Just as you thought he might lean in, he snapped out of his trance, sucking in a breath between his teeth.

“Well, hey... you can stop here tonight. I can find you something to wear, I’m pretty sure I got something in the back,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows, “I can take you from riches to rags!”

He slapped his thighs and stood up from the couch, marching over to the dresser by his bed and rifling through his drawers. You stayed put, thrown off by his sudden escape. From such an emotional, tender moment to him throwing that wall back up, closing up shop... You almost got whiplash from the speed at which he put the brakes on. Disappointment lay heavy in your chest.

He came back over with a folded t-shirt and some plaid pyjama pants you could tie up to keep them on. “There’s clean cloths in the bathroom under the sink if you wanna wash up, towels if you wanna shower,” he handed you the clothes where you sat. “I’ll take the couch, you got the bed and we’ll figure out a plan in the morning.”

“O-okay...” you stammered, standing up with the folded clothes. Frankly, you felt a little dazed from his shift in demeanour, but you could hardly blame him either. Sharing that had to have been harder than you first thought.

You walked past him into the bathroom, locking the door and pulling on the string light to awaken the fluorescent bulb above you. Now catching a glimpse of yourself in his mirrored medicine cabinet, you saw the state of yourself. Make up smeared all over your face, streaks of black running from your eyes to halfway down your neck. They looked bloodshot and tired, staring lifelessly back at you. Your hair had fallen out of place from its fancy updo, and you looked as if you’d been dragged through a cornfield by your ankles.

Deciding against a shower, you settled for wiping the make-up from your face and taking your hair down, attempting to detangle it with the comb you found in the medicine cabinet. You’d found a bottle of cologne in there too, which when you sniffed, smelled exactly like Mary had smelled the night he’d climbed through your bedroom window. You smiled fondly at the memory, noting how the bottle was largely untouched, still having the price tag on it which only confirmed that he’d bought it and worn it just for you.

By the time you were done and changed into the clothes Mary had found you, Mary had made himself a makeshift bed from the blanket he’d previously folded on the couch and one of the pillows from his bed. He was already laying under it, having changed into some old shorts and removed his shirt.

“You can put your dress on the dresser, and I can run out and grab you something to wear tomorrow so you’ve got something other than this to wear,” he called from the couch, sitting up so he could speak directly to you.

“Thank you. I’ll get out of your hair tomorrow, I’m sure my dad just needs to calm down...” you told him. Mary couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, but also, protective. He wasn’t about to send you home to that, and he didn’t want you to feel like a burden on him either.

“Sure, if that’s what you wanna do...” he muttered, his lips straightening into a line as he nodded. “Well... get some rest.”

“Yeah, I will... thank you, Mary,” you told him.

“Don’t sweat it,” he smiled, laying down on the couch and pulling the blanket over his bare shoulders. Without another word, you placed your clothes on the dresser and crawled into his bed, notably cold without him in it. Mary flicked off the lamp by the couch, plunging the apartment into mostly darkness save for the moonlight and the nearest streetlamp shining through his window.

The same window where the picture of him and his mother sat.

He could see it where he lay. In fact, he couldn’t look away. That smile on both of their faces reminded him of a time that was so rare. He could still hear her laughter mixing with his giggles as she’d hugged and tickled him, his grandmother who was long since gone snapping the picture on a whim.

That little boy didn’t have many memories like that to come. He’d grown up far too soon, knowing how desperately his mother needed the help. His childhood was the two of them stuck out at sea, a hole in their boat – and Mary was the only one fishing the water out with a bucket. Eventually, it was bound to go under, so he worked harder, did everything he could to keep them afloat and yet... it wasn’t enough.

The world had got him all wrong. When they thought he was bunking off school, he was working for a dollar an hour. When he’d been caught shoplifting, it was for a gift for his mother’s birthday. When he’d dropped out of school, it was to work every hour God sent to keep them from going hungry. When he finally did go off the rails in his late teens, it was after his mother’s liver failed. This poor, grown-up little boy had no one to look after anymore, and he’d spiralled. He was his only responsibility, but he’d never learned to care for himself – just the people around him. He always had to save them.

Mary wiped the stray tear from his cheek, rolling over to face the back of the couch and will himself to sleep. He couldn’t tell if it was an hour or mere minutes that passed as he lay there, huddled under his old blanket on a couch that poked at his ribs under the cushions.

“Mary...?” you whispered into the night, testing and hoping that he’d still been awake enough to hear. When he looked up, he saw you sat up in his bed, surrounded by emptiness, hugging your knees to your chest. In the dim streetlight, tear tracks sparkled on your face just like your dress.

Before he knew what he was doing, his feet had carried him across the room. Tentatively, he sat at the edge of his bed, close enough that he could reach out and tuck your fallen hair behind your ear. Neither of you spoke; there was no need. It was obvious you needed the proximity, both vulnerable and in need of comfort.

Mary’s eyes flicked between yours and your lips again, hesitating as his mind raced with conflicting arguments for and against giving in. He still wasn’t sure you truly wanted him. Maybe all you wanted in him was a friend, the sex having been a distraction or way to rebel. All Mary knew for sure was that you’d trusted him enough to be the one you called when you were in trouble. He didn’t want to break that trust now...

But it was like you could see the cogs turning in his brain, the inner argument going on inside him. The battle wouldn’t be won by him alone; you were going to have to prove to him that you wanted him, that he wasn’t just your dirty little secret or some booty call.

Slowly, you shuffled yourself closer to him, unwrapping your arms from around yourself and instead, pushing his floppy hair from in front of his face, getting a good look at him. That gorgeous face of his sat bathed in the dim light, caught between distant sadness and childlike wonder. With one last flicker down to your lips and back up to your eyes, he caught you smiling softly at him, your fingertips dancing across his jawline.

And then finally, you leaned into him and pressed your lips gently to his. His eyes fluttered shut just as yours did, and he relaxed under your touch as if his limbs had melted. Mary, now feeling marginally more confident in where he stood, tilted his head to better sculpt his lips against yours. He was so gentle with you, his hands lifting to hold yours against his cheeks by the wrists. As the seconds passed, your lips moved together in tandem, both of you leaning into each other until he was able to wrap a hand around your waist and hold you against him, cradling each other in such a tender moment.

This was undeniably different to any other kiss you’d shared. There was no move to advance, no desperation, no frantic arousal or rushed passion. This time, you simply held each other, seeking comfort in the affection you had for each other.

As you parted, you rested your forehead against his, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he held you still so close to him, not yet willing to let go.

“Stay with me tonight...?” you requested, hoping he’d have no problem with the idea. Mary just nodded dumbly, overcome with a warm desire to never let you sleep alone again. You reached around you, pulling the blankets off of your lap to welcome him into them. He climbed in beside you, resting his head on the pillows as you, without a second thought, curled into his chest and let his arms envelope you. Neither one of you wanted to be alone tonight after sharing pieces of your soul with one another.

Exhausted from the outpouring of emotion, you were soon lulled into a deep sleep by his rhythmic heartbeat and natural warmth. Mary, although exhausted himself, was still barely awake when he felt your body go limp against him. He smiled to himself, satisfied in the knowledge that he’d given up a part of himself he was sure he’d never trust anybody with.

And yet, the wound was still open; spinning with memories, his mind lingered on one in particular, triggered when his tired eyes had fallen on that battered and beat up old guitar against the wall. That thing served as a reminder that Mary had only ever had Mary looking out for him, and that given a choice between himself and somebody else, he would always save anybody but himself...

Mary waited patiently on the couch, his attention span null and void as the after-school cartoons blared on the TV set in front of him. He sat on the edge of his seat, quite literally, his feet kicking back and forth as he watched the clock.

With the big hand on the 2, and the little hand on the 6, she’d be home any minute now. So, Mary waited as patiently as he could.

Except, it wasn’t until the big hand had done a full circle, and the little hand was on the 7, that he heard the keys fumbling in the lock of the front door, followed by a telltale creak, and the slam of it behind footsteps.

Mary jumped up, already on edge and over-excited. He ran into the hallway, to find his mother leaning against the wall with her eyes shut, head back against the plaster. She looked sick, her skin paled more than usual and her lips tainted with a familiar red stain.

“Ma?” he asked, placing his little hand on her arm. Her eyes shot open, and she looked down at Mary next to her.

“There’s my boy!” she slurred, leaning down to smother a sloppy kiss to his cheek. He wiped his cheek in childlike disgust, giggling to himself. “Happy birthday, baby!”

She stood as upright as she could manage, bringing her purse with her while she stumbled into the living room, into the armchair Mary’s dad used to occupy that faced the TV set. Mary followed, bouncing on his feet with excitement. He’d waited all day for his mom to come home, hadn’t been able to focus in school for even a second. He stood and waited in front of her as she settled into the chair, dropping her purse in her lap.

“Would you like your present baby?” she asked, smiling through hooded eyes that could barely focus. Mary nodded frantically, his heart pounding in his chest.

It had been weeks since he’d spoken to his mother about the guitar he so desperately wanted. He’d spent most of his weekends at Mr. Rogers’ workshop, sweeping up wood shavings and running errands for a little bit of pocket money to help his mother save for this exact moment. He couldn’t wait any longer...

His mother giggled, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small, square-shaped gift wrapped in balloon wrapping paper.

For a moment, Mary was confused... But this had to be just a decoy. He remembered seeing these CDs in the music store; ‘Guitar Basics for Beginners’, audio instructive lessons that would be far cheaper than real in-person lessons.

He tore into the paper, throwing the trash to the side and flipped the CD around to look at the front. It was an album; State of Euphoria by Anthrax. Mary’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, surprised to find it wasn’t what he’d thought.

“That’s the band you like, right? Or... One of them,” his mother hiccupped, leaning on her elbows with a grin.

“Y-yeah... thanks, ma.” His tone was unmistakably disappointed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, swiping her thumb across his cheek and pinching it lightly. Mary chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should say anything. He wasn’t one to be ungrateful, this was still a pretty great gift. Anthrax were one of the bands he had found he really loved recently.

“No it’s great, ma, really. Thank you... It’s just,” he paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “could I get my guitar now? I read this book that teaches you about the frets and the notes of the strings, and stuff!” His words were rushed in that way over-excited children speed up the longer their sentence becomes.

If his mother’s skin could pale any more, it did then.

“Well, I... I couldn’t get the guitar, baby,” she told him, trying to let him down gently.

“But... I helped Mr. Rogers? I thought we had enough?” he asked, his cheeks heating as if he were about to cry, but he didn’t want to make his mother feel bad by letting them spill.

“I-I’m sorry, Mary... I needed to use that money...” she shrank back within herself, shame and guilt weighing on her shoulders.

“For what?” he asked, genuinely confused, his tears building in his eyes. He was devastated... He worked so hard to get the guitar, to prove his mind was made up and he wouldn’t give up on learning it. But his mother just stared at him, her lip trembling as she saw her little boy so heartbroken.

She knew exactly what she had spent it on; the very thing she promised she’d try and give up.

“I... I’m s-sorry, b-baby,” she sobbed, tears spilling down her pale cheeks and her chest tightening around her breaths. She broke down, sobbing into her hands and hiding her face from the son she’d just disappointed so tragically.

Mary wanted to be angry. It wasn’t fair... It was him who worked for that money, him who had tried so hard to help her. She was supposed to be the one adult he could count on, they were a team, weren’t they? He never asked for anything, ever. But just once, he wanted this. But she’d put her wine and God only knows what other alcohol before him again.

He wanted to be angry. He tried to be. But his mother was hurting, she was crying, sobbing in front of him. She needed help. She was broken. She hadn’t meant to do this... right?

Of course not. Her alcoholism had just gotten out of control, and unfortunately, addiction is a lonely and selfish ailment. Sober, her mind wouldn’t even think of doing something so selfish. But these days, she was rarely sober.

Mary looked at his mother, crumpled up and sickly looking, weeping into her palms, and he just wanted to save her. He always wanted to save her.

“Ma, it’s okay...” he told her, trying too hard for an 11-year-old not to cry. “Ma, don’t cry... I can keep working for one, it’s okay. I like the CD, I really do.” he squished himself between her and the arm of the chair, wrapping his arms around her and cuddling into her. She was inconsolable, sobbing so loudly she drowned out the cartoons on the TV set. She’d lost control of herself, and Mary was the only one around to pick up the pieces.

“Shh, ma, it’s okay. It’ll be okay!” he told her, squeezing her as tightly as he could. “I’m here, don’t cry.”

She’d screwed up big time, and whether Mary had chosen to forgive her or not, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for this. If she wasn’t already buried up to the neck in a pit of self-loathing, this was the last shovel full of cement to trap her in.

But Mary had already decided that he’d do what he could to dig her out. She was his mother, she did everything for him that she could... why wouldn’t he help her too?

A guitar could wait a little while longer. For now, his mother needed him – and he’d work as hard as he needed to save her.

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#mary goore x reader smut #mary goore fanfiction #mary goore fanfic #mary goore x reader #mary goore #repugnant fan fiction #repugnant fanfiction #repugnant #repugnant band #ghost bc #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost #ghost band #ghost #ghost the band #mary goore smut #the mayor's daughter #da rulah fics

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jessicafangirl · 2 months ago

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It wasn’t long after the dead started popping back into life before the live ones realized how easy money could be made. There was an entire work force now that really didn’t have a say in what happened to them. They would work for food. Blood. Meat. They didn’t complain or the ones who could talk knew their choices were few.

It was a whole new world for the dead and the living and those who found themselves in between.

And for Mary Goore, when the guitar was placed back into their cold, pale hands it was a little like coming back to life for another song or two. But Mary was never one to follow orders for too long.

#mary goore #tobias forge #possible fic somewhere down the line #repugnant #undead Mary you so scary #ghost #ghost bc

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the-impossible-bird · 1 year ago

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I don't listen to Repugnant but that does not stop me from simping for Mary Goore

#it's the name choice #and the emo nonbinary swag #one day the 200k fic about them being the antichrist raised by the clergy good omens style will exist outside my head #but that day is not today #mary goore #repugnant #tobias forge #tender father #ghost #ghost bc #ghumblr #ghost band #the band ghost #ellis.png

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kissingghouls · 8 months ago

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Couple Skate (Mary Goore x f!Reader)

Summary: Another date with Mary has them trying something for the first and leads the two of you into uncharted territory (aka your bedroom.) (3200 words)

TAGS: NSFW 18+ MDNI, FLUFF, SMUT, slight character injury but nothing serious, he/they Mary.

[This goes along with the other More Goore '24 stories or can be read alone. Choose your own adventure, it's what Mary would want. Or read on AO3.]

“Does that feel good?” you ask, eyes wide as you look up from between Mary’s legs. For a moment all they do is blink at you, but then a sly grin creeps across their face followed by a low chuckle. They cock their head to the side, pulling their lip between their teeth as they adjust in their seat.

“You have no idea, do you darlin’?”

“Wha?” you ask, still staring at him. It was a perfectly normal thing to ask, especially since Mary had never done this before. You still weren’t sure exactly how this whole thing even happened, but it was bound to be an experience for both of you.

It wasn’t until you heard harsh whispers and tsking from several feet away that it dawned on you what he meant.

“The skates you perv!” you huff, giving them a quick slap on the thigh. You’d spent the last few minutes with your knees on a grubby carpet trying to help Mary tighten the laces on a pair of rented ice skates. A couple of uppity moms had covered their kids’ eyes at the sight of the two of you, like you were really planning on sucking his dick in public like that. But you couldn’t care less what those moms thought if it meant Mary wasn’t going to get hurt on your watch. You give the laces another tug before asking again if they felt ok.

“I dunno,” they reply, stretching a skinny leg out past you. They twist their ankle around, flexing their foot against the boot. “Am I supposed to be able to feel my feet?”

“Normally yes, but I wouldn’t be surprised if all your blood rushed somewhere else.”

Mary gives you an easy shrug and leans forward. “Do you really want me to apologize for thinking you’re hot?”

“I want to know if the skates feel ok,” you respond flatly.

“They feel like boots with knives on the bottom, so…metal as fuck?”

“You are so lucky you’re cute, Goore.”

“Pretty sure you’re the cute one, sweetheart.”

You smile softly and climb into the seat next to them. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Darlin.” He places a hand under your chin, angling your face toward his. “We can’t just keep going to the bar.”

“Why not?”

Mary looks down, finding a particularly interesting thread on the ripped knee of his jeans. “I don’t…I don’t want you to get bored with me.”

“Goore, you’re like the furthest thing from boring I could imagine.”

“But like…in a good way, right?” they ask cautiously.

“Would I be hanging out with you if it wasn’t in a good way?”

“Hmm,” he hums pretending to think. “I don’t know. You’ve dated some questionable people in the past.”

“Oh and you haven’t?” you challenge, leaning over to pinch their side.

“What can I say?” they ask with a laugh. “I was a fool until now.”

“I’m gonna leave your ass here,” you grumble.

“No, you won’t. You like me too much.”

“You’re ok, I guess. Pretty good at building a fort.”

“You want me to make you another? A two bedroom, two bath dream house— “

“I want you to do what you want to do.”

“Hey,” he says softly. “I am doing what I want to do. You think I would be in a place like this if I didn’t want to be here with you?”

You look up, taking in the scene around you. Obnoxious, loud pop music blasts overhead—a song neither one of you know—while the happy shouts of children and other couples cut through the sound of blades scraping across the ice. It’s a wholesome swirl of rosy cheeks, colorful fabric, and bright lights; a pleasant little afternoon of family fun with you and Mary looking completely out of place like a couple of ghostly apparitions.

“Honestly? I’m not sure how we ended up here in the first place,” you admit. “But no, I don’t think you make a habit of doing anything you don’t want to.”

“Exactly! Now, help me broaden my horizons or whatever other motivational shit people say. Teach me to skate!”

“I’ll try my best, Goore. What are you going to teach me after this?” you ask as you help them to their feet.

“I’m sure I could think of a couple things,” he replies lowly, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

You roll your eyes.

Helping Mary to their feet is one thing but getting them to the ice is far more complicated. They’d never skated in their life and they’d clearly never walked in skates before. You try your best to correct the stiff and rigid movements that made them look about as graceful as Frankenstein’s Monster, but there was only so much you could do until they felt comfortable enough.

It isn’t any easier on the ice, but at least there’s a wall to help keep him upright.

Still, you’re impressed by the fact that Mary is willing trying something new at all, just because it was something you thought was fun. Most of the people you dated weren’t as interested in anything you cared about and they certainly going to try it. But Mary’s different in more ways than you can count, so much so that it keeps you awake some nights. You’ve worried yourself sick thinking about how you might like them too much, but there’s no one else you’d rather be sharing these things with.

He flinches as a tiny kid whizzes past, his hold on your hand tightening even more. He is a giant ball of nerves wrapped in leather and spikes, all sweaty palms and calloused fingers locked in a death grip as you slowly pull him around the rink. You’re sure it’s an entertaining sight to see, something like an eldritch terror helping a zombified baby deer in corpse paint waddle across a frozen pond. But right now, no one else matters. It’s just you and Mary on the ice.

After a couple of laps they start to get the hang of it, remembering to bend their knees to keep their balance. They smile brightly at you as they make a full pass without wobbling.

“Darlin’, look!” Mary shouts excitedly. They start to push off, slowly picking up speed as the blades slide over the ice. The first little stumble fills their face with panic, but they quickly recover and gain enough confidence to skate a little ahead of you. “Look! I did it!”

You trail behind them, watching in wonder as your spooky, metalhead boyfriend continues skating on his own…

…for about 30 seconds before he hits a bad patch in the ice and completely wipes out. He drops like a stone, limbs going everywhere as his body lands hard. The momentum he’d built up keeps him sliding across the ice until he comes to rest with a solid thud against the wall.

“Mary!” you shout and take off. You hate how scared you sound, heart pounding hard as you wonder if he’s hurt or worse. You skate hard, nearly taking out a hoard of laughing children in your rush to reach him. As you approach, Mary lets out a loud groan and rolls onto their back, staring up at you.

“Darlin’, there are much easier ways to get me on my back,” he groans, wincing as he shifts. “Less painful ones too, unless that’s what you’re into.”

You shake your head and kneel next to him, quickly swiping at the tears forming in your eyes. “Mary, are you ok?”

“I think I broke my ass,” he informs you through gritted teeth. “Is it ok if I don’t wanna do this anymore?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” you agree with a nod.

As a single tear slides down your cheek, Mary cracks a cocky smile. He reaches up, wiping the tear away with his thumb. “You worried about me, sweetheart?”

“Yes, idiot!”

“Told you. You like me too much.”

“Yeah, I do. Now, let’s get you off the ice, ok?”

Mary sticks their arms in the air, waving their hands wildly. “Drag me around like a corpse, baby!”

You lean down to kiss him instead, unbothered by the ice now soaking cold, wet splotches into your jeans.

He hums, grinning back at you as you pulled away. “I gotta fall down in front of you more often.”

“Please don’t. Pretty sure my heart stopped.”

Slowly he presses a cold hand to your chest, fingertips searching out the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat. His touch only elevates things, your heart now kicking like bpm of Mary’s songs. Your eyes close as he shifts to his knees and brings a hand to your neck to feel your pulse, counting along in his head. He didn’t know fuck all about math or blood pressure, but he knows now that he made your heart race.

It wasn’t not the first time Mary kisses you like that—a soft, slow press of their lips to yours that meant more than either of you were willing to say. But it is the first time either of you had attempted to do so on ice. You shiver—from the cold or Mary’s touch you weren’t sure, but you knew you needed to get out of there fast.

“Mm, Mary?” you ask, lips still brushing his. “My place?”

“Fuck yeah,” they agree with a nod.

-x-

The front door slams into the wall and bounces back as you and Mary spill through. There’s probably a mark you will have to pay for later, but for now the two of you are too busy stumbling over each other’s feet to be concerned. He kicks the door shut and tries to shake off his jacket without moving away from you, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. You’re so focused on trying to undo at least one of his belts that it doesn’t even phase you when you catch the corner of the coffee table with your leg.

The jacket hits the floor with a soft thump. Mary’s hands move to your face, pulling you closer and closer as he licks into your mouth. A belt follows, free falling from around Mary’s hips because the stupid thing wasn’t functional—it was just in your way. Your jacket is next, worked away from your shoulders by his impatient hands. You find success with the other belt and manage to get his shirt over his head while he pulls at yours. Clothes and boots litter the hallway like breadcrumbs—a trail that leads straight to your dimly lit bedroom.

You land on the bed and pull Mary on top of you, legs tangling as you fight to slot your mouths back together. It’s a frenzied mess of hands and lips and tongues and teeth on skin that feels feverish, so hot you think you might combust. But you don’t want to stop, you can’t stop—not when his chest heaves like that.

“Fuck,” they groan, low and loud as they move to kiss your neck. They know that space below your ear drives you fucking crazy and they waste no time leaving an angry mark on your throat before moving down to mouth along your collarbone.

You draw a finger over the lines and obscure symbols etched into their arms. Up their biceps and across their shoulder where the ink spills onto their chest and disappears into the soft patch of light hair. You imagine Mary in their little bathroom with a shitty box dye and—Satan help you—you only want them more.

His breath hitches as your hands travel down their ribs, fingertips itching to touch the rest of him. He kisses you hard, almost desperate, but his own hands remain at an infuriatingly polite distance. A simple “please, Mary” whispered against his lips is all it takes to get Mary’s hands everywhere, those calloused fingers tracing over your tits. He’s rough in a way that feels perfect, pinching one nipple while biting the other to make you whine for him.

“C’mere,” he hums, urging your leg around his hip. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed tight as you brush against his length. “Fuck, darlin’.”

“Well, yeah, that’s the idea,” you tease and grind against them for emphasis.

“You’re trouble,” Mary quips, shaking their head. He moves to kiss your neck, trailing up to your ear to whisper, “ask me again.”

The words go straight to your center and Mary doesn’t miss the way you tremble against him. “Please, Mary,” you repeat softly. “Please touch me.”

When you see that devilish grin you know you’re probably going to regret giving him that kind of power, but as his hand slips between your legs, you stop caring about anything that isn’t the way Mary feels. His hand dips into your panties, fingers curving up to press against your entrance. Slowly, he pumps them in and out, carefully memorizing whatever actions pull the most sounds from you as he works you open. It’s all you can do to even the score and as you palm him over his boxers, the sound he makes has you feeling victorious already.

He withdraws his fingers and pushes his boxers down to coat his thick length with your slick. You never really had a chance at winning this game against him, but you’re happy to keep playing if it means getting fucked by Mary Goore.

“You’re so fucking good for me, darlin’,” he purrs, stroking his cock as he looks at you. He edges backward, trailing kisses over your stomach and inner thighs as he makes his way down. He moans loudly as he tastes you for the first time. The sound and the feeling has your thighs trying to press together, but Mary holds you in place as he draws his tongue over your swollen clit.

Your hands find his hair and he moans again as you tug roughly at the soft strands. His fingers push into your entrance, working at the same rhythm as his mouth. It’s too much and not enough, but fuck he feels too good. You barely manage the words before your hips raise to meet his touch. All you can do is let it wash over you, crying out his name as the world crashes down in the best way. He watches you shake, giving you just enough time to form a coherent thought before his mouth is on yours, the taste of yourself still on his tongue.

“Fuck, Mary,” you mutter against his lips and wrap your arms around his neck to keep him close.

“Is this what you want, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice low as he drags the tip of his cock through your folds. “You want me to fuck you?”

It’s so hot you want to strangle them, but you’re not about to fuck this up so you bite your lip and nod instead. It’s all the confirmation Mary needs. He captures you in a bruising kiss and swallows your moans as he guides himself to your entrance. His cock is so thick the stretch of him has you keening and clawing at his arms until he’s finally fully seated inside you. He stills himself, letting you get used to the feeling, but you kind of hope you never do. There’s soft kisses and words while they’re checking in with you, making sure you’re ok before they start to slowly pull out. A quick snap of his hips has you begging for more and that cocky smile of his returns. The whole thing is so unbelievably Mary that you really shouldn’t be surprised that he’s as skilled with his cock as he is with his hands or his mouth. But you’re more than happy to find out this way.

You’re just as surprised when Mary pushes your knees apart and hits an angle that nearly sends you over the edge way too quickly. It doesn’t stop him from trying again and again and again with that fucking grin on his face as you try desperately not to wake up everyone in the building. He pins your wrists to the bed and pounds into you a little harder each time you moan for him with your lip between your teeth, trying so hard to stay quiet.

With a few more thrusts of his hips and some filthy words, you’re coming undone beneath him, too fucked out on Mary Goore to know which way is up. It hits you hard, another white-hot wave sparking through your entire body and the only thing you can do is hold onto him as you ride it out. He groans as you tense around him, waiting for you to stop shaking before teasingly asking if you’re ok. Instead of replying you raise your hips, using your leverage to push Mary onto their back. You lock eyes with him as you lower yourself onto his length, mouth falling open as he fills you again. Before they can make some smartass remark, you move your hips, finding a pace that has both of your eyes rolling back. It’s all too much as Mary fucks you harder, his fingers working at your sensitive clit while asking you—begging you—to come for him again. It doesn’t take much, not with the way he asks and the way he thrusts into you like he already knows exactly how to fuck you. The third orgasm hits even harder, tears slipping from your eyes as overstimulation sets in.

“Oh fuck, darlin’, I’m gonna cum,” he warns as his grip tightens, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. He tips you onto your back, groaning as he slowly pulls out. He pumps his cock in his fist, eyes locked with yours as he spills across your stomach and marks you once more.

“Fuck. You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he confesses, blissed-out and breathless as he looks at you covered in sweat, cum, and those little marks he’d sucked into your skin.

“You think so?”

“Yeah,” he says with a grin, biting his lip. “Might even be a little bit obsessed with you, darlin’…but in a like… not totally creepy way.”

“Mary Goore? Not creepy?”

He laughs. “Well…ok I’m not going to try to wear your skin, sweetheart. But I think about you an absolutely unhealthy amount.”

“Your post-orgasm honesty is fucking adorable, Goore,” you admit with a smile.

“Ah, well, I guess we will have to keep talking like this.”

“I guess we will.”

Mary sighs and rest on his side, hair softly falling over his eyes. He gives you a shy smile you don’t often see from him, before burying his face in the pillow.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he mumbles. “It’s stupid. Forget it.”

“C’mon Goore. Tell me.”

“I’m just…” They pause to cringe. “I’m just, ugh I dunno…happy?”

You snort out a laugh. “Well, I would hope so.”

“No, like, not… I mean, yes, happy about that but like…this. You and me.”

“Me and you, huh? Is this your way of asking if I want to be an ‘us?’”

“Kinda thought we were?”

“Yes, but now we’ve said it. That’s like…official official.”

“Officially us, then?” Mary asks and reaches over to tap your nose. “Is that cool with you?”

“Very much.”

He grins brightly. “Well, if that’s settled. Think you can walk ok? Or should I carry you to the shower?”

#my fics #my writing #More Goore '24 #mary goore x reader #mary goore smut #mary goore fanfic #mary goore fic #x reader #reader insert #mdni #repugnant fanfiction #mary goore

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ghuleh-recs · 1 year ago

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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!!

#fic rec friday #my fic recs #mary goore #repugnant #mary goore x reader #dew x mary goore x swiss #mary goore fanfiction #repugnant fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fanfic #mary goore fanfic #repugnant fanfic #fic rec!!#the band ghost fic rec #reader insert #spicy tag

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fishwithtitz · 10 months ago

Text

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

#mary goore #mary goore x oc #mary goore x ofc #repugnant #repugnant fanfiction #repugnant band #repugnant fanfic #mary goore smut #mary goore fanfic #mary goore fanfiction #the band ghost fanfic #ghost band fanfic #ghost bc fanfic #ghost fandom #my writing #5 times with mary goore #5+1 things #5 + 1 fic

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nonbinarymarygoore · 29 days ago

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Feral Cats Mary Goore is a huge inspo for how I write Mary. I love a needy, subby bad boy (or whatever Mary’s identifying with that day, we stan a genderqueer icon).

#Mary Goore #Feral Cats #repugnant band #honestly go read that fic I love it

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eff-plays · 1 year ago

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Sometimes I read fic and I'm like ... did we play the same game

#this is beyond 'he would not do that'#this is 'his entire storyline is about him not doing that' type shit #listen i know it hurts that astarion doesn't ACTUALLY want to fuck your pc the moment he sees them but it's the truth!!! sorry!! sorry!!#(doesn't hurt me though i am strong and powerful and have written original slow burn 200k+ fic and my meat is huge)#but come on #at least appreciate a slow burn #will you melt if confronted with the idea that he finds your PC repugnant at first #will you die if you have to wait for that emotional and physical FICTIONAL catharsis #anyway

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copiousloverofcopia · 6 months ago

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Better late than never with some content for the Goore Whores!!!!!

Here is the next chapter of Under the Spell with Mary Goore and OC Piper!

Thank you to everyone who is patient with me. I recently got a promotion at work, and it comes with a lot of new training and responsibility... so I am doing my best to bring you all some content. I really appreciate all the love, support, and the patience from you all!

Also once again, please be nice I am SO not used to writing for Mary, so I hope its ok!

Also thank you to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more for the awesome dividers.

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 5: REPUGNANT

Also available HERE on AO3! Haven’t started yet? Start from the beginning HERE!

Definitely NSFW below the cut

The hum of the amp sent shivers down his spine. Mary, feeling the thrill as he heard the crowd roaring. Walking out on stage for the second half of their show. His eyes were only able to make out a vague suggestion of bodies, hidden within the sea of light that shone on the stage. He felt amazing, ready, and most importantly—alive.

Though he lived for the stage, he found himself distracted. Absentmindedly biting his lip and occasionally forgetting the lyrics, though no one seemed to care. His mind was too obsessed with the memories of the night before. Fixated on the feel of Piper’s mouth, crashing into his. The warmth from her tears, felt as they dripped down over her cheeks.

The two of them, coming completely undone in each other’s arms until sunrise. Enraptured by the way they felt for one another. The physical attraction and the unspoken emotions between them tighter and tighter. Binding them together as they managed to fuck the night away.

He could still feel her hands on the top of his head. Running her fingers through his hair as he held open her thighs. Devouring her, tasting the blood so sweet on his lips. Listening to the click of her tongue ring as he glided across her teeth.

Though Piper had tried her best to stay quiet in the bathroom, she couldn’t help but moan and mewl with his touch. Mary, finding even more arousing that others at the party might hear them. Hear how good he was making her feel as he drenched his face in her juices and blood. Mercilessly eating her out until she came for him—over and over again.

By the time Mary had had his fill, Piper was barely able to stand. Bent her over the sink as he slid his desperate cock inside her. Thrusting away—fucking her senseless as their eyes lingered on one another’s face in the mirror. Mary felt his mouth watering even now at the memory of it—how tight her cunt was as he came. Spilling himself inside her—kissing and biting her along her neck. Leaving splotches of blood in his wake. Both of them, looking like a pair of satisfied vampiric lovers, spattered and spent, as the sun met the horizon of the sky.

Not many people had wondered where they’d run off too. The two of them stumbling, out of Tom’s friend's bathroom in the wee hours of the morning. Long after everyone else had left, making their way back to the hotel before ultimately passing out. Both of them woke up, hours later, in their separate rooms. Neither one of them, giving away to the other’s what had really happened the night before.

Piper had woken up that next day, covered in her own blood. Wondering to herself how things had gone so far. Sure she was already having sex with him, but that was different. For a purpose. Wasn’t it? Thinking to herself that despite how much she may want it, there was nothing real between them.

By the time the band’s gig was on that night, neither had spoken a word to one another. Both, however, stealing a number of glances during rehearsal. Each of them explaining it away as coincidence—something other than what it was. Mary and Piper were falling in love, like it or not things had changed forever between them and there was nothing that could be done.

For Mary it was perfect madness. While he started off a bit apprehensive, now he wanted more than ever to be with her. To give her everything she wanted—especially the baby. Finding himself more and more excited to be a part of the family they were desperately trying to create. He didn’t want to be just a friend, some sperm with a bit of time on his hands, to help her own. No he, to his surprise, was ready to be a real father.

The thought of them creating a little Pipes or a mini him filled Mary with a sense of content he’d never felt before. Imagining them, running around and causing chaos, in between him teaching them to play guitar. All of it filled his soul with renewed purpose. Finding himself warmth watching Piper smile, wondering if their child would share it. That same smile that managed to rip his heart right out of his chest. What a beautiful, bloody mess they had made between them.

Mary knew that they’d try again as long as Piper would have him. Though he doubted she’d turn him down now. He started to wonder when they should tell the rest of the guys in the band. After all, it would only be a short time before Piper would get pregnant if he had anything to say about it. Something that couldn’t be held secret for very long. Mary deciding that now he was ready to move forward—to tell Piper how he truly felt.

When the show was done, Piper was sitting alone as she waited for Mary. Her legs, hanging over the stage while she wrapped up some cords to keep herself looking busy. Hoping to seem unbothered, though her mind was absolutely spinning. Completely unaware that Mary had been watching her from behind the stage.

“Hey, you all almost done?” Yulan, the old headbanger of a manager, asked as he came towards her. The bar, now completely empty and quiet—everyone else having long gone. Before Piper could respond, Mary chimed in. Surprising her as he manifested from within the shadows to meet with them out on the stage.

“Yeah, we’re good. Be out in a few. Ok?” Mary said, coming up to stand beside Piper. She looked up at him, his face and body still covered in sweat and smears of paint as he held out his hand for her to take.

“Yeah, we are...pretty much done.” Piper agreed, without glancing away from him.

“Alright… well I’m locking up in front. So you got 20 minutes before I lock the two of you inside.” the old man chuckled. Piper finally took Mary’s hand and got pulled up onto her feet. The two of them, staring at one another for a moment before Mary spoke.

“You know what's funny?” he asked, Piper looking confused at the question. Still a bit embarrassed as she recalled what had occurred the night before.

“What’s that?”

“The last time you waited for me on stage, you asked me to put a baby in you.” he laughed, Piper’s face turning blood red.

“I–-who said I was waiting for you?” she asked, giving him a swat to the chest. Mary couldn’t help himself from laughing as he brought his hand up and placed it where she struck him. Finding it funny as he felt the sting, just how much she excited him.

“Ouch.”

“You big baby.” Piper said, shrugging him off as Mary’s face changed. The goofy smile turned more serious. His eyes softening towards her again as she felt her heart beating faster in her chest as she waited for what it was he would say.

“...baby…Pipes…ah when…when is the next time we can—-” Mary asked, choosing to not finish the sentence when he caught sight of Sid and Tom heading out the front door. Hoping they wouldn’t be overheard.

“Oh…oh. Not for a couple of weeks.” Piper blushed. Mary was unable to hold back his look of disappointment. Piper instantly on edge as she looked at him. Why that face, is he…is he really upset , Piper asked herself. “Is that ok?” she asked him.

“That's fine…heh…heh…Just trying to plan ahead.” Mary laughed, scratching the back of his head and pretending to be casual about it.

“Mare, you have never planned ahead in your life.” Piper said, laughing back at him.

“Well. I’m planning for this.” he assured her, closing the space between them. Piper found herself blinking. Wondering if she had imagined the change in him. The change in the way he looked at her. Hints of longing—or mistaken lust for love. Wishing she could know what he was really thinking.

Mary felt breathless. Taking in Piper’s beauty, her dark circles and smeared eyeliner from the night, only adding to her appeal. He wanted so badly to kiss her, to tell her that regardless of how things might turn out with agreement between them, she was now his. He couldn’t help but bite at his lower lip, ready now to confess how he truly felt.

Ready to tell her how he’d give her the world or burn it down—whichever she’d desire. Bringing his hand up to caress her face. Cradling her jawline as he inched towards a kiss. Both of their eyes closed, ready to give way.

“Hey you two coming?” Tom yelled from the doorway. Thrilled he’d managed to find the two of them before they left for the hotel. Mary and Piper both, looking over at him in surprise, wondering how much he had heard—or seen.

“Be right there!” Mary called back, smiling at Piper before grabbing what was left of the equipment. Both of them heading out the door without saying another word.

The hotel bed sheets felt too cold, Piper thought to herself as she laid wide awake. Her eyes fixed on the empty spot beside her. Wishing that Mary had come back with her to the room. Cursing Tom for having the nerve to show himself and interrupting the moment. Hoping there was something more going on—something still left unsaid.

She tossed and turned for what seemed like hours before deciding to give up. Throwing on an oversized Repugnant tee and some jeans before walking to a nearby coffee shop. Forgoing the free sludge they had in the hotel lobby, in favor of something that tasted rich and bold. Feeling she deserved to treat herself while trying her best to stay awake for the day. Hoping to find a moment of solace to think.

When she walked inside, she saw the shop was rather full. Piper, smiling once the woman at the front nodded at her. Acknowledging that she’d seen her come in before pointing to the small set of stairs that led up to an additional seating area. Ascending the steps until, to her surprise, she saw Tom and Annie sitting towards the back.

Before Piper could sneak off, she saw Annie waving her at her. Calling her over to join them when all Piper wanted to do was be alone. Feigning a smile as she forced herself to approach them. Taking a seat beside Annie, rubbing her tired eyes beneath her glasses and brushing back her unwashed mess of hair.

As usual, Annie was put together. Her hair swooped up into a ponytail, donning a mini skirt and an off the shoulder white top. Her makeup, already done even at that early hour. Tom was his usual self—long scraggly blonde locks draped down under a baseball cap and wearing his favorite jean vest.

The two of them, looking a bit out of place together. Tom however, despite his appearance, was the more mature of the two. Annie rested her head on Piper’s shoulders, letting out a sigh as she rejoiced in seeing her. Tom on the other hand seemed to be avoiding eye contact.

“Something wrong, Bones?” Piper asked him, watching him take a sip from his cup of coffee.

“Not really.” he said his tone quite as the waitress came to take Piper’s order. Her mouthwatering with anticipation of the French vanilla blend. Piper knew something was up, Annie was acting a bit nervous once Tom spoke and the air between them had changed from how it was just the night before.

“Unlikely…seriously, what is it?” Piper asked. Tom set his cup down, taking in a deep breath. The act of which set Piper on edge. Something serious was about to come out of his mouth.

“I think you’re making a huge mistake.” he blurted out. Annie’s face, looking as if it had been set on fire. It was clear that she had told Tom everything.

“I see.” was all Piper could say. Tom, looking over to her with his eyebrows furred and a glint of anger in his eyes.

“Is that all you can say?”

“I don’t know what it is you think I am supposed to say Tom.” Piper barked back, Annie watching them in stark silence.

“You can’t have a kid with Mary.”

“Why not?” Piper growled.

“What about Sid?” he asked her, hoping to avoid saying what he really wanted.

“Sid is no longer in the picture. I don’t intend on making the same mistake twice.”

“Oh but you’ll do this?” Tom snapped.

“Tom, baby please…” Annie began before he cut her off. Annie mouthing an “I’m sorry” at Piper.

“No, she needs to know.”

“Know what?” Piper asked him. Tom’s anger turned to sadness.

“If you and him have a kid…what do you think is going to happen to Repugnant?” he asked her. The words hit like a scorching flame—burning her ears and heart.

“Nothing is going to happen to it. I am not part of the band Tom. I’m just a glorified roadie. Mare will go on being with you all, I’m the one who will be taking off when the time comes.” Piper began when Tom began having a chuckle. Amused at her ignorance.

“You really think that’s how it’s gonna go don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The second that baby is inside you, the man will NEVER leave your side. Don’t you get it Piper?” he asked, Piper felt as if her lungs wouldn’t fill with air.

“Tom…” Annie tried once more when he continued, Piper staring down at the table. Trying her best not to cry in front of them.

“Piper, he had feelings for you.” Tom explained, the words making Piper gasp. Looking over to him in shock.

“No… that’s not true. We are just friends, that’s it. He’s doing this to help me. I want this baby Tom. It was my idea… not Mary’s. He is just along for the ride.

“Piper don’t be stupid. The rest of the band might not see it but I do. The way he looks at you gives it away every time. What do you think he will do when you get pregnant? Just let you run off with his child and be content to see you on the off weeks or months of time passing between visits? You gotta be outta your fucking mind if you think that’s what will happen.

“You’re wrong.” Piper cried, no longer able to hold back how she was feeling. Cursing her hormones for making her even more emotional and sensitive to Tom’s harsh—yet honest comments.

“You get pregnant and he will have to choose between his dream. Touring with the band, making records, becoming famous—all of it and you. Choose between making something of himself and getting what he has always wanted and giving you a baby. You’re being selfish.” Tom continued, realizing that his last statement had taken things a bit too far.

Piper swallowed back the tears. Wiping harshly at her eyes, leaving them red and sore as she stood up from her chair. She clenched her teeth, wanting to scream and holler at him. Not caring at all that they were in public.

Stopping herself only because deep down she felt he was right. Sniffling back as she looked over to Annie and then back to Tom. Ready to leave the shop and never look back. Tears began to stream down her face as the two of them locked eyes.

“Fuck you.” she told him, her voice trembling and low. Tom and Annie left alone at the table as Piper made her way back out onto the street. The pain inside her heart, unbearable.

Mary had gone looking for Tom, wanting to get some advice on how to move things forward with Piper. A smile spread wide across his face as he left the hotel and headed to the little coffee shop Tom asked to meet that morning. Stopping only when he saw Piper coming from the front door. Her face, sullen and eyes shot red.

She looked upset, more upset than he could ever recall seeing her. Running across the street with no regard for traffic. Heading the opposite direction of the hotel before Tom and Annie came running out after her. Piper, having disappeared around the corner as they caught sight of Mary across the street.

“What is going on?” Mary asked them as they met with him on the sidewalk, “His eyes fixed on the corner from where he last saw Piper.

“It’s what I wanted to talk to you about…I know about this thing between you.” Tom confessed, Annie almost hiding behind him. Ashamed she’d said anything now seeing what her slip of the tongue had caused.

“Thing?” Mary asked, almost aloof to Tom at all as he pondered chasing after Piper.

“The baby thing, Mary, I told her that it was a bad idea. You don’t need all that shit looming over you. If Piper wants to be a mom, I told her she needed to find better options than trying to take you down with her.

“You did what?” Mary hissed, turning back to face Tom with fury burning in his eyes. His heart pounding and his fist clenching up as he wanted so badly to punch him. Only seconds later, deciding to forgo the confrontation and find Piper.

“Forget it Tom, think what you want but I’m outta here.” Mary told him, running down the street. Hoping that it wasn’t too late to undo the damage. Hoping to confess to Piper how he really felt.

#Mary Goore x Piper #Mary Goore x OC Piper #mary goore x female oc #repugnant fic #Mary Goore #Repugnant #not ghost but like kinda ghost #mary goore fic #Repugnant fanfic #Mary Goore fanfic #Mary goore x female oc #Repugnant fanfiction #Mary Goore fanfiction #Mary goore smut #Repugnant smut #Ren Writes

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cowboyemeritus · 2 years ago

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The Good Lord Would Want It That Way (Mary Goore/Reader)

You want to give yourself to Mary, but you know it's wrong. He comes up with a clever solution to your predicament. (18+)

Read on AO3

Just a note: this is going to look a little icky at first but I PROMISE it's entirely consensual. Obviously I don't want to spoil anything, but I figured I ought to be somewhat transparent about it.

You cross your legs shyly and try to avoid making eye contact with Mary at all costs. He’s sitting next to you on the edge of the bed, running his hand up and down your thigh absentmindedly.

“What’s wrong, babycakes?” They ask through kiss-swollen lips. Despite the obvious tent in his jeans, there is genuine concern in his voice. The hand stops moving, coming to rest dangerously close to the apex of your legs. Their touch makes you shudder.

“It’s just…” You sigh, making a desperate attempt to gather your thoughts. “I like you a lot, Mare. You make me really happy, and I want you to be happy, too. I want to… do things with you, but…” You nervously fiddle with the small silver cross hanging from your neck. “But it’s wrong to want that. My faith is very important to me and I made a promise to not… you know, until I get married.” Mentally, you’re bracing yourself for their response. What sort of insults will Mary hurl at you? Will he call you a prude? A Bible-thumper? A stuck-up bitch? The possibilities are endless, really.

To your surprise, Mary takes your hand in theirs. His long fingers, molded by years of guitar playing, are cold against your skin. And yet the gesture is warm, so full of tenderness that it makes you want to cry.

“I’m not gonna pretend like I actually get this whole virginity thing,” they start, “but it wouldn’t be cool if I pressured you. That’d be pretty fucked up.” You lean into him, resting your head on his bony shoulder. The two of you sit there in silence for what feels like millennia. This is end of your relationship, it has to be. There’s no way Mary would tie himself to you just to get laid. You could never ask that of him, anyway. They have such a prickly exterior but deep down you know they’re really sweet and you don’t want to have to say goodbye so soon-

“You know, there is one thing we could try.”

You flush instantly. There’s no way. He couldn’t possibly… That’s only something that’s whispered about at youth groups and bible camps. It’s just a myth; at least, that’s what your youth pastor always told you. You swallow hard, turning to see if Mary is kidding or not. Even without the face-paint and fake blood they look dead serious.

“Oh… Uh, I don’t know, Mary. I’ve never-“

“Forget it,” they say, immediately scooting away from you. “I shouldn’t push.” The earth has opened up between the two of you, the chasm swallowing you whole when Mary eventually gets up from the bed to go check the time on his phone. “It’s getting kinda late, babe. Want me to walk you home soon?” Suddenly, you’ll do anything if they let you stay.

“Wait,” you blurt out before you can think better of it. “I- I want to try it. I want to do it with you.” Mary gives you a look.

“Are you sure? You don’t sound too enthusiastic.” He makes to leave the room and you shoot up, grabbing his wrist.

“I’m sure! Really. I want to. Please, can we?” You’ll get down on your knees if you have to. Anything to make him happy. They give you a once over and smile, although you can’t help the cold snap that runs down your spine at the sight. For a second, there is something smug, malicious even, in the way Mary regards you.

“Whatever you say, princess.” Before you can react, he’s pulling you in and kissing you hungrily. His tongue prods forcefully at your lips, demanding access. You gasp when Mary roughly grabs your ass, using the opportunity to fully claim your mouth. The sensation of their tongue in your throat is uncomfortable at first, but eventually, you relax into the embrace. Reflexively, you wrap your arms around Mary as you two shuffle back to the bed. He gives you a playful little push and you flop clumsily onto the mattress, worrying your lip between your teeth while he liberates himself from the confines of his jacket and t-shirt. Seeing you laying there like a dead fish, they quirk their head.

“Wanna let me see you?” You can’t meet their eyes and fidget with the hem of your sweater nervously.

“I… I think I’d be more comfortable if I kept this on? I don’t know why, I just…” Mary chuckles, and though it’s full of pity, it sounds genuine.

“That’s a-okay, babe. We can do this however you like. This is about you, not me.” You have to bite back a laugh at that, hiding your face in your hands so he can’t see your struggle. Yeah right, Goore.

You lean back onto the bed as Mary drapes himself over you. One of their hands comes up to pin your wrists above your head while the other rests on your hip. He kisses you once, twice, before his fingers are hooking under the waistband of both your skirt and underwear. You shiver and instinctively try to flee from their cold touch.

“At least me take these off,” he purrs, warm breath tickling your neck. Once you nod in assent they make quick work of sliding the garments down your legs, flinging them unceremoniously onto the bedroom floor. The rush of cool air on your sex makes you whine and press your thighs together, but it’s not long before Mary is wrenching them apart again. He lays a kiss to your neck, just slightly nipping at the skin, then starts to move down your body. You gasp, utterly scandalized, when they give your breasts a squeeze through the wool of your sweater.

“Mare!”

“What?” He huffs. “Bible doesn’t say anything about that. At least I don’t think.” They continue downward until they’re face to face with your core. “I do remember something about worshipping false idols, though. But unlike you, I have no problem with blasphemy.” For emphasis, Mary’s tongue descends on your clit. You’d roll your eyes if they weren’t already at the back of your head. At least they know how to put that filthy mouth to good use. He keeps licking and sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves, snickering as you desperately try to stifle your moans. Eventually, you feel fingers at your entrance, gathering up your slick. You’re about to protest when, instead of sliding into your pussy, Mary’s fingers move further down.

You tense when you feel the caress of skin against the tight ring of muscle. Mary doesn’t breach your opening just yet, opting to draw one of his fingers in slow circles around it with varying degrees of pressure. They suddenly press against your hole and you flinch. Laughing, he detaches from your clit and flashes a cocky smile.

“Just kidding,” he teases, withdrawing completely and ushering you to lay at the head of the bed. Mary rummages through his nightstand for a moment and finally, to your relief, produces a thing of lube. You look away shyly as they uncap the bottle and coat their fingers with what you hope is a generous amount. Setting it back down, he climbs on top of you once again and kisses you with a surprising tenderness.

“You’re still sure?” It’s all but a whisper. You nod, feeling legitimate eagerness bubble up in your chest, and place one of your hands on the back of their head to pull them in for another kiss. This time, you proactively give them access to your mouth, parting your lips ever so slightly. He smiles into the kiss, sensing your excitement, before you feel the coldness of a slick finger against your asshole. You want it so bad you think you might die.

Ever so slowly, Mary’s index finger teases its way inside and you shudder, moaning into their mouth. He breaks away from the kiss and studies your expression once the digit is about halfway in.

“How does it feel, baby?” They ask, testing the waters. It takes you a second to pull the right string of words together.

“It’s… Oh, Mary. I’ve never felt anything like this before.” He gives you a sympathetic look before burying his face in the crook of your neck. Your ear is practically in their mouth as they whisper to you teasingly.

“Of course you haven’t. You poor, innocent little thing.” Their tongue darts out to lick your earlobe while they slowly begin to pump their finger in and out, reaching deeper and deeper inside you. Mary smirks at the moans he pulls out of you. When he speaks again, it’s with the same rumble he uses on stage.

“You act all high and mighty with your Bible quotes and shit, but we both know there’s a filthy fucking whore underneath all that.” You feel a second finger prodding at your ass and you whine pathetically.

“Lucky for you, I corrupt good little Christian girls for a living.” Mary’s middle finger slides home and you practically wail at the stretch. They give you a moment to adjust and it’s just unbearable. You’re already craving more of the unfamiliar sensation, bucking your hips ever so slightly to encourage him to keep going. Mary kisses you as he gives in to your silent plea, his tongue immediately delving into your mouth. You wrap your arms around their torso and pull them down onto you, relishing in the weight of their body on yours.

Mary moans into your mouth, deep and guttural, as he grinds his clothed cock into your clit. Undoubtedly, your juices are getting all over the front of their pants, but you’re both so lost in the feel of each other’s bodies that neither of you really care. Besides, you know that Mary would wear your slick stains with pride, the disgusting fucking creature they are. The image has you clenching around their fingers.

“You like that, babe?” Mary jeers. “You like my fingers in your tight, little ass?” You nod frantically.

“Fu- Mmm. I like it, Mare! It’s so wrong but it feels so good!” You figure he’ll get a kick out of that and he does, groaning and grinding himself into you just a bit harder. Once you relax into their touch, they start scissoring their fingers, gently stretching the muscle. Suddenly, you’re right on the edge of what you know is going to be a powerful orgasm and you’re almost in disbelief; it’s never snuck up on you that fast before. It’s enough to break you completely, and the facade finally drops.

“Oh, fuck. Mary, I’m gonna cum! Mare!” They crash their mouth into yours as your climax washes over you and - Good Lord - it’s like nothing else. You cling onto him for dear life, nails digging into his back, as your insides spasm and pulse with energy. The sounds you’re making, you’re sure, are utterly pornographic, but you’re so lost in your release you’re practically deaf.

You come back down already wanting more. Any notion of continuing the game obliterated, you push Mary off of you and rise to your knees on the bed. In one smooth motion, you’re pulling the stuffy sweater over your head, exposing the rest of your body. The silly cross necklace falls to dangle between your breasts, the cool silver almost a shock against the still-healing tattoo on your sternum. Knowing there’s been a shift, Mary is already sliding down and pulling off their boxers as you lean over to grab the lube. You can’t help but shiver with anticipation when their cock springs free and smacks against their stomach. Tossing him the bottle, you plop down on the bed next to Mary and kiss him feverishly. They uncap it in a hurry and you hold out a hand. After he squirts a good amount into your palm you reach down to stroke his neglected length.

“Want more already?” They ask, trailing off into a moan as you thoroughly coat their shaft with the cool gel. You nod, letting out a reciprocal noise when you feel fingers pinch and tease your nipples. “Think you can take my cock?” You can’t help but laugh.

“Who the fuck do you think I am?” Once you’re certain Mary is sufficiently lubed up, you flip onto your stomach before rising to your hands and knees.

“I thought you were supposed to be ‘waiting until marriage’ tonight,” they say, shuffling up behind you on the bed. You roll your eyes, although you can’t help but laugh at his insistence that you stay in character.

“Ah, fuck! You’re right. Hold on a sec.” You clear your throat and muster up the most cliche porn-voice you can. “Oh, Mary,” you cry, wiggling your backside at him. “Won’t you please come and make love to my sweet virgin ass? It’s what God would want.” They shoot you a playful glare and lightly swat at one of your cheeks. Lining himself up with your entrance, his tip just barely puts pressure on your hole and yet you’re already mewling for him. You feel a hand on your upper back, gently massaging the flesh.

“You gotta relax for me, baby,” Mary breathes, starting to push himself inside you. It’s a challenge to do as they ask; every inch you take feels like ten and the pleasure is so intense it burns. The feeling of fullness when they finally bottom out is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. They’re completely rigid above you, and you know it’s taking them everything they have to not immediately start pounding into your ass. After what feels like an eternity of getting your bearings, you lean back onto Mary’s cock, silently begging him to start moving.

Who would they be if they didn’t immediately oblige? His thrusts start off slow, experimental, as if anticipating your discomfort. The friction against your inner walls makes you hiss, and for a moment, they halt entirely.

“Fuck,” you whine. “Don’t stop. It’s so fucking good.” Recognizing you’re not in (literally) gut wrenching pain, Mary picks back up. His pace is still slow, but that’s likely for his own sake rather than your comfort. Looking over your shoulder, you can’t help but moan when you see the way their face is scrunched up, teeth digging into their bottom lip as they fuck into you. A grin spreads across your face at the sight.

“Feel good? You- ah, fuck! You like breaking me in like this?” He nods, reaching around to start stroking your clit once again.

“You fucking bet. You’re so fucking tight. Holy shit, baby, I’m not gonna last like this.” You start rocking back into them, encouraging them to chase their release. They happily comply, swiping at your bud a little faster, and that pool of energy is already building up inside you again.

“Take it, slyna. Jag vet att du älskar den här kuken.” You haven’t a fucking clue what Mary is saying, but you’ve been with him long enough to know this means he’s barely holding on. At this rate, you’re not far behind.

“I bet you wish you could defile this pussy, too, Mare,” you taunt. They growl in response, thrusting into you hard.

“You have no fucking idea. If I ever meet the son of bitch who got that honor…”

“You’ll what? Kill him?” They huff out a laugh.

“I’ll shake his hand and buy him a beer.” The declaration has you falling over the edge; Mary doesn’t buy things for anyone unless he has to.

The fire in your belly has expanded to critical mass and you scream as your second orgasm of the evening tears through you. Wailing, your arms give out from under you and you collapse onto your chest. Mary groans as you clench around their cock, the last of their self control slipping away. They begin to pound into you wildly, working you through your climax as they come to the peak of their own pleasure.

“Fuck, that’s it, älskling. You take it so fucking good. Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum- ah!” True to his word, you shiver as Mary finally finds purchase in the tightness of your ass, flooding you with his release. The two of you are in suspended animation for a moment after they finally come down, panting, shaking, and covered in sweat. When Mary pulls out of you, flopping down by your side on the bed, you slide down onto your stomach.

“I think I deserve an award for that performance,” you mumble into the pillow. You reach behind with one hand and fiddle with the clasp of the necklace. With Mary’s assistance, you’re eventually shoving it into the abyss of the bedside drawer where it belongs.

“I’ll let the Academy know,” they say with a laugh. After a bit of rummaging through the shit on the nightstand, you produce the remainder of a joint and a lighter. With well practiced precision, you light up and take a few hits before passing it to your lounging partner. The smell of smoke fills the small bedroom as you lie back down, this time on top of him. Now face to face, Mary takes a long drag and presses his open mouth to your lips. You inhale what they have to offer greedily, already relishing in the fuzziness that creeps into your mind. The two of you stay like this until only the roach remains, prompting you to roll off of Mary, landing on your back. It’s like the stretch of their cock is permanently seared into your muscles, and you groan as the added pressure, combined with the sensitivity of your high, serves as a reminder.

“Happy you got to destroy my ass, Goore?” They hum contentedly, turning onto their side and draping and arm across your body.

“You know I did,” he murmurs. “Kinda sad you don’t have any more holes for me to deflower, though.” The admission has you convulsing with laughter until your stomach hurts.

“Then maybe next time it’ll be your turn.”

#my writing #mary goore x reader #mary goore fic #repugnant band #honestly i have no explanation for this... just take it yall #mary goore

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