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distorted-twink · 3 days

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For the lyric game…

I know you said a Papa or Ghoul, but would you make an exception for Mary Goore? 👉🏻👈🏻 Our beloved corpse needs some more loving lol. The song I had in mind was Merry-Go-Round by Mötley Crüe with the line: 🎶She waits at home just to love him through the night, thinking, he’s been gone so long now. Is he coming home?🎶 Can be both NSFW or SFW 😉

Oh, of course I can make an exception for our dear sweet Mary Goore... 😈

I don't know what's wrong with me, but I'm feeling some angst. No one fits angst quite as well as Mary, hm? Just something about it works. So I apologise if this isn't what you wanted, but this is what came into my mind...

NSFW 18+, MDNI! Mary Goore x gn!reader TW: Angst, jealousy, accusations of infidelity, domestic arguments, insecurity, angry sex, hate fucking, penetrative sex, manhandling, slight pain kink.

You stared at your phone screen, watching as if anything were going to change yet knowing it wouldn't. But you hoped; you always hoped.

"Read 19:09"

Those three little dots never appeared. No new messages. It had been hours... His set would have finished around 11, so why, at 2:47am were you still sat up, waiting for him to so much as text you back.

You were getting tired of this. The "I'll be home before 2" promises, or the "I was just grabbing a drink after the show" excuses. Each one fell short, and he avoided the topic. All you'd text him was a simple "Hope the show goes well, baby. Kill it!" and yet, nothing. He used to reply right away, even if just with an emoji when he was busy or pushed for time.

But lately, with the late nights and the ignored texts, you were beginning to wonder if there was something he was hiding. He never had a good reason for his late returns, just that he was "networking" or "having drinks with the guys". And when he did finally show, he'd just crawl into bed beside you without a word, and fall asleep while you waited for something; even just an arm draped over your waist, a kiss to the forehead.

There was only one thing circling your mind; Mary was sleeping around.

When you heard the lock of the front door click open, your heart dropped into your stomach. All night you planned what to say, how to approach this. You wanted to be strong, but the second you were confronted with the reality of Mary coming home, you backed out, and words failed you.

Sat in the dark, Mary didn't notice you at first. Being a small studio apartment, he never turned the lights on when he came in, knowing they'd wake you - which he never wanted to do. So you heard him tiptoe into the apartment, setting his guitar case down and start to make his way over to the bathroom to wash the face paints and fake blood from his face.

Before he made it there, you quietly popped a cigarette between your lips and sparked a lighter to light it. The sudden noise and flash of light halted Mary in his tracks, startling him.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, babe... Scared the shit outta me!" he laughed clutching his heart over his cut-off t-shirt. You said nothing, not bothering to turn in his direction and instead taking a drag and letting the smoke billow into the glow of street lamps streaming through the windows.

Mary stood confused for a second, his eyes adjusting to your form on the couch and waiting for you to say something else, maybe ask about the show or something. But nothing. You just took another long, deliberate drag of your cigarette, staring straight ahead.

He knew you were pissed. And if he was being honest with himself, he knew why, too. He sighed to himself and trundled over to the couch, clicking on the lamp on the side table before sitting in the empty spot beside you.

"I'm late again, I know..."

"Is that your apology?" you snapped back, flicking the ash fro your cigarette into a tiny ashtray on the coffee table. You still couldn't bring yourself to look at him.

"No... I was getting to that." his tone sounded annoyed, like he didn't appreciate the way you spoke to him. It was as if he were answering back to his mother, catching him coming back late from a party. This was far beyond that.

"Go on then. What bullshit excuse you got this time?" Any previous thoughts of diplomacy in your approach went out the window now, too pissed off to hold back.

"Jeez, so I was late. It's not a big fuckin' deal," he defended, poorly. "Where's the attitude coming from?" He sat back into the couch with a harsh slump, bouncing his knee in annoyance.

You took another drag of your cigarette, before stubbing it out in the ashtray and standing up to stomp over to the bed you shared with a mumbled, "Fuck this."

Mary's eyes followed you, watching as you angrily shed the shirt you were wearing, throwing it to the floor and rooting in your drawers for something to wear to bed. He stood up too, pushing himself from the couch and following you.

"Look I said I'm sorry," he attempted, but you spun around to face him, finally looking him in the eye.

"Actually, no you fuckin' didn't. But you 'were getting to that'. So go on, give me your sorry. We'll see if it works." Mary stared dumbly at you. This wasn't the first time you'd brought this up, but it was the first time you'd got this angry...

"The guys just wanted to get some drinks, we had a good gig. Just wanted to celebrate! I'm sorry, alright?"

You scoffed and turned back to root through your draws, trying to find a shirt that wasn't Mary's just to make a fucking point. He sighed behind you, chewing the inside of his cheek while he tried to swallow his pride.

"I should have text you," he stated plainly. You ignored him, which pissed him off more. "I will next time, I swear."

That made you spin around again, looking at him with vague disgust. "Next time? So this is just gonna keep happening, huh?"

"Drinking with my friends? Yeah, probably." His sarcasm pissed you off even more.

"Don't bullshit me, Mare... You've been doing this at every damn show, and when you come home to me, you don't even touch me!" You were yelling at him now, too hurt to let it go. "If you wanna fuck around Mary, go ahead and live that life but stop making me sit up waiting for you in the hope that you want my love instead!"

Mary was stunned, his eyebrows screwed tightly together as he stared down at you. You stood before him, rigid in your accusation and not backing down this time, angry tears in your waterline that you refused to let fall. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"...Is that what you think I've been doing?" He was livid now, offended.

"Don't fucking lie to me. Why else would you constantly get home late? Ignore my texts or calls? Climb into bed without so much as a second look my way let alone wrapping an arm around me, heaven forbid!"

"Because you're asleep, and I'm fucking tired?" he spat. You laughed, no humour in it at all. It was dry, sarcastic and venomous. You didn't believe him.

"Fuck who you want, Mare. I'm done." You started to turn away from him as the tears betrayed you, but he grabbed your wrist and span you back to face him, stepping into your personal space as rage and adrenaline pumped through his body.

"Only person I wanna fuck is you," he growled, backing you up against the open draw behind you until it slammed shut and you stumbled, the edge of the dresser hitting the bottom of your back. You'd never seen him like this, like he was possessed... His eyes were wide with anger and the threatening paints on his face did nothing to put you at ease.

"You want me to touch you, hm? All you had to do was ask..." He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss that caught you off guard for a moment, before you regained some kind of awareness and pressed both hands to his chest, pushing him off you in one hard shove. He stood there, out of breath much like you were, neither one of you knowing what to do or say now. It was as if you were in a stand-off, waiting for the other to make the first move.

Unfortunately for you, it was you who made that first move.

You pounced on him, smashing your lips against his as you grabbed onto his shirt, pulling him closer to you. Whether it was desperation to keep him close or spite to show him exactly what he'd be missing when you walked away, you weren't sure but your reaction was visceral.

Mary quickly dove back in too, his grip on your hips pulling you close to fuse your bodies together as you violently made out with him, weaving your fingers into his hair to pull it at the roots and angle his head to where you wanted it. Before long, you were tugging at his shirt and pulling it over his head, both of you now shirtless.

Then you were pushing him, manoeuvring him towards the bed to push him back onto it with all the strength you could muster. You didn't wait for him to do anything, to say anything, reaching for his jeans to pop the button and drag them down his thighs. He kicked them off without arguing, his eyes dark and trained on you as you removed everything from the waist down and climb on top of him.

Something about this had your core stirring, arousal pooling where you needed it most, where you'd craved him for the longest time. Spite was a powerful aphrodisiac it seemed, because the only word Mary could think to describe you right now was rabid.

You used all of your body weight to push him to lay back, no care taken to go slow or build anticipation. This was hate fucking. This was furious passion, building and bubbling and boiling over uncontrollably. Both of you were powerless to stop it.

You ravaged him again, kisses so brutal you'd be feeling them for days after while your hips ground down into his exposed and already solid length beneath you. You heard him groan with pleasure, and it pissed you off, spurring you to bite on his lip until he grunted in pain. His hands gripped your ass in fistfuls, nails digging into the supple flesh and he pushed and pulled to grind you harder against him.

By the time you were ready to take him inside you, he was leaking precum profusely from his tip. It only aided you in lining him up, and sinking down until he was fully sheathed inside you. You took him slowly, teasing him but frankly you were in no mood for slow and steady.

You set a savage pace, riding him while your hands held him down. Your own nails dug into his shoulders as you cried out in both pain and pleasure, a delicious mix that fuelled the pair of you.

"Oh, fuck baby, just like that..." he groaned, not expecting you to slap his chest to force his eyes back on you.

"Shut the fuck up," you roared, only riding him faster, harder. All those jealous emotions, all that bottled up insecurity was coming out now and he was letting you take it out on him. If he'd known you had this in you, he might have pissed you off a lot sooner.

But Mary couldn't let that mouth of yours slide, he couldn't let you win. He had as much to lose tonight as you did, whether that was his fault or not. And he was very aware it was his fault.

Using the adrenaline that pumped through him, he lifted you off him, forcing your off to the unoccupied side of the bed so you faceplanted in the sheets. This move was too unexpected, and before you could recover and fight back for control he was already on top of you, pinning your wrists behind your back and contorting you to raise your hips up and have you on your knees, face still buried in the sheets beneath you. He wasted no time in lining himself back up to your entrance, and pushing back in to find his own vicious rhythm.

You wanted to fight back, but you couldn't. The pleasure was building to a point of no return and you wanted to cum more than you wanted to control him. This is what you'd missed, if you were honest with yourself. When you'd first started dating Mary the sex was hot, freaky, a little weird... It was unlike anything else. And then you both got complacent, too comfortable and taking each other for granted and now here you were, after weeks of barely there mediocre sex. Both of you just needed a little spark to light the gasoline inside you.

Mary kept your wrists held tightly against your lower back in one hand, while the other snaked around your waist, using it to pleasure you even further.

"Come on, baby. Cum on my cock, hm? Just like you used to. Fucking squeeze me," he ordered, his hips slapping hard against your ass and filling the room with lewd noises. All you could do was cry out, to moan into the sheets and let go completely.

You barrelled towards your orgasm hard and fast, stimulated in every way possible, inside and out. The way your walls contracted around him made it difficult for him to keep up his pace, and damn near impossible to stave off his won orgasm. Too soon, he was filling you, his cock kicking inside you over and over until he was completely drained both of his spend and his energy.

He fell forwards, leaning over you as he held you tightly against him to ground himself. His mind felt hazy, he could barely think straight through the bliss and exhaustion. But he was in for a rude awakening, when he felt you heaving beneath him, silent sobs wracking your body over and over.

Stabbing him in the chest would have heart less. Seeing you so hurt, so broken was devastating to him. He panicked, removing himself from you and flipping you over with very little resistance. But what you did resist was eye contact, staring directly up at the ceiling as you slapped a hand over your mouth to contain the sobs.

"Hey... Shhh, it's okay. I'm here," he soothed, pushing strands of hair from your forehead and gently trailing his fingers along your cheek and jawline.

"I-I don't... want to... lose you," you sobbed. "Want to b-be enough... for you."

This was his fault. His neglect had led to this. You'd never been anything but doting, supporting, loving. And he wasn't sued to it. It scared him, the feelings he harboured for you. He'd never felt so intensely, never loved anyone like this before. He'd taken you for granted, been so selfish in focussing on himself and the band and not you.

Mary had never cheated on you. He never would. All he could do was try to tell you that, to show you that you were the only one he wanted.

"You're more than enough, you're too good for me. I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry," he cooed, pressing his forehead to yours while you cried beneath him. "I swear, there's never been anyone else. You can ask the guys, it really was just drinks with them."

You weren't sure you believed him, the insecurity so deeply rooted that talking to his bandmates might only be the start of rebuilding the trust you'd once had in him. But it was a start.

Mary lay himself down next to you, wrapping his arm around you and snuggling into your side while you let everything out. He peppered softer kisses to your temple, your cheeks, the top of your head while you held onto the arm wrapped around you for dear life. Eventually, exhaustion crept in, and you started to drift off in his arms.

He didn't let go of you all night, barely sleeping himself as he thought of all the ways he could right his wrongs, prove himself to you without it feeling insincere. Step one was to bring you to his shows, to have you around like you used to back at the start. From there, he'd work on this.

Seeing your breakdown, being so close to losing you tonight was the wake up call he'd needed to see what was at stake. He'd be damned if he let himself get complacent again.

He'd be damned if he truly lost you.

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