#marty mumbles ;;

[nebula-lad]

I watched Back to the Future tonight because my brother chose to watch it, and I missed Marty’s silly confused face, so I drew him a bunch during the movie. He’s so out of it the entire movie, and I love that for him.

Oh, I also drew a Luke at work yesterday, and forgot to post it, so here’s that too.

[martymcflea]

Almost broke the sanctity of the timeline by reblogging something to the wrong blog. Phew. (-∧-；)

[skyburger]

marty mcfly and luke skywalker would be oomfs i know this to be true

[n0vazsq]

Alley rose | JMM21 x Reader

pairing . . . pepe marti x reader

summary . . . When you're having a bad day, Pepe comforts you and lets you know that he's there for you

request . . . yes!!

word count . . . 1.4k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . one of my fav songs with one of my fav drivers....its perfect guys <3 also didnt want to depress yall so i didnt make it angsty

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @hwalllllllelujah ,, @parkerloves ,, @paucubarsisimp (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . The corner store was quiet except for the hum of the old fluorescent lights, flickering faintly above.

Pepe sat in his car, the weight of his phone in his hand a small comfort as he scrolled aimlessly, glancing up at the door every few seconds.

His heart was restless. You’d texted him earlier asking if he could pick you up, but your message was short and vague, too vague.

The door jingled, and his head snapped up. There you were.

Pepe’s stomach dropped when he saw you. Your shoulders were hunched, and your arms clutched a plastic bag tightly to your chest. Your eyes were rimmed with red like you’d been crying, and your lips looked raw, like you’d been biting them to keep it together.

His heart twisted.

He stepped out of the car immediately, his feet moving toward you before his mind even caught up. "Hey," he called out softly, not wanting to startle you.

You looked up at him, and he froze. Your eyes were tired, and the faint tremble in your lower lip broke something inside him. "Hi," you mumbled, trying to manage a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

"What happened?" Pepe asked, his voice low, cautious. He stopped just short of reaching for you, not wanting to push too hard.

You shrugged, looking down as you handed him the bag. "It’s nothing. Just….a lot."

Pepe frowned, his eyes scanning your face. "Doesn’t look like nothing."

You sighed, brushing past him and toward the car. "I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just go."

He watched you for a moment, his chest tight with worry. But he followed, opening the car door for you. When you slid into the passenger seat, he leaned against the doorframe.

"I’m here if you want to talk," he said softly.

"I know," you whispered, your gaze fixed on your hands.

The drive back was quiet, the kind of silence that filled the car with unspoken words and thick tension. Pepe kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye, but you just stared out the window, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself like you were trying to hold yourself together.

When he pulled into your driveway, you didn’t move right away. Instead, you sat there, staring at the dashboard, your fingers picking at the hem of your shirt.

"Are you okay?" Pepe asked finally, breaking the silence.

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. "I don’t know."

His heart clenched, and before he knew it, he was unbuckling his seatbelt and turning to face you. "Hey, look at me," he said, his voice gentle but firm.

You turned slowly, your lips trembling as a tear slipped down your cheek. Pepe reached out, brushing it away with his thumb.

"You don’t have to do this alone," he said, his voice steady.

You let out a shaky laugh, more bitter than amused. "Feels like I’ve been alone for a long time."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. "You’re not alone," he said, his hand still resting on your cheek. "I’m here. I’m not going anywhere."

For a moment, you just stared at him, and then something inside you seemed to snap. You surged forward, your hands gripping the collar of his jacket as you pulled him into a kiss.

It was desperate and raw, your lips crashing against his like you were trying to drown out whatever pain was eating away at you. Pepe’s hands found your waist, steadying you as he kissed you back, his heart hammering in his chest.

But then you pulled away, your forehead resting against his as you caught your breath.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I shouldn’t have-"

"Don’t," Pepe interrupted, his hands tightening on your waist. "Don’t apologize."

Tears streamed down your face now, and you shook your head. "I’m scared, Pepe."

"Of what?" he asked softly, his fingers brushing soothing circles on your back.

"Of losing you. Of ruining this."

Pepe’s chest ached as he cupped your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You’re not going to lose me. And you’re not ruining anything."

You bit your lip, fresh tears spilling over. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know how I feel about you," he said, his voice steady and certain. "And nothing’s going to change that."

You stared at him, your breath hitching. "I’ve been such a mess, Pepe. I don’t know what you see in me."

He let out a soft, shaky laugh, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "I see everything. The good, the bad, and all the stuff you’re too scared to show anyone else. And I love all of it."

Your eyes widened slightly, and Pepe smiled, leaning his forehead against yours. "Yeah," he whispered. "I love you."

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the engine.

"Don’t leave me hanging," he said softly, his voice almost pleading. "Don’t leave me alone in this."

You shook your head quickly, your hands gripping his jacket again. "I’m not leaving," you whispered.

Pepe pulled you into another kiss, this one softer, slower. It wasn’t about desperation anymore; it was about reassurance, about holding each other in the chaos.

When you finally pulled away, you rested your head on his shoulder, your tears soaking into his jacket.

"I’m scared," you admitted again, your voice barely above a whisper.

Pepe wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly. "I know. But we’ll figure it out together, okay?"

You nodded against him, your arms slipping around his waist as you clung to him.

And for the first time that night, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t drowning anymore.

Pepe didn’t let go of you for a long time, holding you like you might slip away if he loosened his grip even a little. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable anymore; it felt safe. His fingers ran through your hair in slow, soothing strokes, grounding you in the moment.

"Do you remember when we first met?" Pepe asked softly, his voice breaking the quiet. You could feel the smile in his tone, warm and nostalgic.

You nodded against his shoulder. "At the garage. I accidentally spilled coffee on you," you mumbled, a faint laugh escaping your lips despite yourself.

Pepe laughed, the vibration rumbling against your cheek. "Yeah, and you looked at me like I was going to yell at you or something. But you didn’t even give me a chance to be mad, you just started apologizing a million times, trying to wipe it off with your sleeve."

"I was mortified," you admitted, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze.

"And I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen," he confessed, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink.

Your eyes widened slightly, the weight of his words sinking in. "You’re ridiculous," you whispered, though there was no seriousness behind the words, only a quiet warmth.

Pepe’s expression softened, and he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "I mean it. I’ve been crazy about you since that day, and every time I see you, it just gets worse."

The sincerity in his eyes made your breath catch, your heart fluttering in your chest. "Pepe…."

"I know I’m not perfect," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I mess up, and I get scared too. But I need you to know I’m all in. For you, for us. Whatever this is, I want it more than anything."

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you leaned in, your hands cupping his face as you kissed him again. This time, it was slow and deliberate, filled with all the emotions you couldn’t put into words.

When you pulled back, Pepe rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "So… does this mean you’re stuck with me now?" he teased gently.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. "I guess I don’t really have a choice, do I?"

Pepe grinned, his smile radiating brightness throughout the car. "Not a chance."

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt steady. Like the chaos of the world couldn’t touch you as long as he was by your side.

And as he wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you close, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you’d found something worth holding onto.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Dave Lizewski x fem!reader

Summary: Dave helps you when you're on your period.

Genre: Fluff, kinda hurt & comfort

Warnings: mentions of blood (obviously)

~ @lavieenvalentina I hope you like this, lovie! ~

DAVE LIZEWSKI MASTERLIST

You and Dave haven't been dating for very long. 

Sure, you'd been friends since you were in diapers, but dating is a different territory that you haven't completely explored yet—a scary unknown especially when you wake up from an afternoon nap in your boyfriend's room and realize your time of the month had snuck up on you early and you're now laying in a pool of blood that's most definitely soaking through his sheets.

Embarrassment floods your cheeks and you turn onto your side, pressing your head in Dave's chest as you muffle out a groan. Why now? Your stomach cramps as an answer (or a taunt) and frustrated tears brim at your eyelashes.

You don't want to move. You don't even want to wake up, or wake your poor boyfriend and have him help you—knowing him, he's most likely to find it gross. 

You had only a few months earlier accidentally overheard him, Marty, and Todd talking about how disgusting they found the concept of periods. You'd wanted to smack them all over the heads, the idiots. However, now that this situation has loomed over you, you feel shitty. 

Was Dave really gonna find this disgusting—like he'd said?

Shit, there is blood everywhere! 

Reluctantly, you move the blankets away from your body and stare in disbelief at the blood patch under your bum. Dave's boxers, the ones you'd borrowed to sleep, are drenched in blood as well and you wince.  

Your stirring causes your boyfriend to wake up. "Y/n?" he mumbles, sitting up and running a hand in his dark curly hair. You want to sink deeper into the mattress, your back to the wall, chest heaving as you stare at him like a deer in headlights. Dave rubs his eyes and pats his nightstand for his glasses. Once he has them on, he blinks and looks down to where the blankets are uncovering you. 

His face suddenly pales and his voice comes out high-pitched and distressed when he sees the blood. "Shit, shit, shit, baby, are you hurt?" he says and he's fully sitting up now as he shifts to cup your cheeks in his hands, looking you over with worry.

Your stomach cramps as if to say yes but you shake your head no. 

Realization dawns on Dave when he looks down at the amount of blood again and the stains on his boxers you're wearing. He panics even more. "Oh—oh! Shit, shit, what do I do?" he asks, mostly to himself, and quickly stands up from the bed as if the mattress has burnt him. 

You stare at him, your throat dry as you also sit up higher now. "I'm sorry," you mumble and avoid his gaze.

You're so embarrassed.

Dave instantly frowns at your tone and rushes back to your side, his movements hasty and clumsy as he desperately tries to reassures you. "Hey, hey, why are you sorry? It's okay! I- It happens—right? This is normal, yeah? I just don't want you to be hurt," he explains breathlessly and runs his thumb under your eyes where he wipes away your stray tears.

"I'm not mad at you, baby, it's not your fault at all. H-here do you wanna take a shower? A bath? I- I can run to the store and grab you some chocolates—Mom always said chocolate helps the pain when this happens." 

At the mention of his mom, your heart sinks and you look up at him, eyes round. Your heart feels a little warmer at how hard he's trying. "So, you don't find this all—gross?" 

Dave's nose scrunches and his glasses rest crooked on his nose. "What?"

"Todd and Marty—"

Immediately, Dave waves his hand and doesn't let you finish, "Pshh, whatever I might have said with those idiots around means absolutely nothing," he dismisses, his tone stern, "Periods aren't gross—especially when they happen to you. I could never find you gross. Promise."

You hear the honesty in his tone and you smile. Dave rarely lies to you—not that he could anyway. You knew him too well for something as trivial as a lie to work on you. Hell, you'd found out he was Kick-Ass the moment you saw him on the news, he's that bad at keeping secrets from you.

"Okay," you whisper and look down between your legs at the crimson blood that still sticks to your skin. "Can I wash up?" 

Dave nods and helps you up, his hand under your arm as he helps you walk to the bathroom like you're an injured puppy. You laugh internally at how careful he's being with you. You don't make a peep, having him dote on you like this is really nice and you don't want it to end.

"Here," he whispers and sits you on the side of the tub. He kisses your forehead and then kneels next to the sink. He starts to chaotically rummage through all the drawers in the bathroom until he finds some of his mom's old pads and tampons. "Dad hasn't cleaned this out in years—I don't think these go bad, do they?"

You chuckle and take one from him, looking it over, "It should be fine, thanks."

"Of course, baby," Dave beams and stands. As if a light bulb suddenly turns on over his head, he runs back into his room and then returns with your jeans and sweatshirt for after your shower. 

He walks to you and tilts your head with his index finger under your chin as he kisses you on the lips this time, a deep blush adorning his cheeks when he pulls away. "You can throw your bloody clothes in the laundry basket, okay? I can start a wash later. I'll wait for you in my room, take your time!" he calls and then shuts the door behind him. 

Once you're showered and clean, you return to his room to find him emptying his snack drawer onto his desk. What falls out is a bunch of stale chips, old candy, and an ungodly amount of used wrappers.

You hold in a laugh as you lean against the doorway. When Dave turns and sees you, shame seeps into his cheeks and he stutters, "I wanted to go to the store but I didn't want to leave you alone in case you came back in—I- this is all I have—I don't have any chocolate. I'm sorry."

You walk over and kiss his cheek, "Don't stress over nothing, silly. Thank you for taking care of me so well," you whisper, meaning every word. 

Although Dave thinks he's doing a shitty job at taking care of you, he takes the compliment with a bashful blush and holds you closer.

  Would he ever tell you he'd bought a bunch of teenage girl guides to womanhood for this exact reason and had been reading them periodically for around a year—even when you were both still just friends?

Never.

Because if he did, then he'd sound creepy and that wasn't his intention at all. 

Dave just wanted to be prepared so he could care for you properly when the time came—which, even with his initial panic, he hopes he did. 

[friendlyneighborhoodhottie]

───♡───────────── Let Me Help (Dave Lizewski x Reader -Hurt/Comfort-) ───♡─────────────

You're stressed out because of things at home, but Dave makes you feel better. Light language

364 Words.

♡⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹_. ༶ ⋆˙⊹⁺♡

Senior year had been kicking everyone's asses. Between finals, majors, colleges, trades, and balancing your social life, you were overwhelmed. You were so grateful for your best friends Dave, Todd, and Marty for making this time so much easier.

You all decided to spend that Friday night at Dave's in his living room studying, goofing off, and just enjoying each other's company.

Hours passed, and it was getting really late, so Marty, followed by Todd, left to go home.

It was just you and Dave now.

"I should probably get going too" you said. You slightly smiled but had a hint of sadness on your face and Dave noticed.

"Are you okay? You can stay longer if you want" he proposed, "We can catch up on more issues of Batman or watch more YouTube.". He didn't want to seem annoying and pry, but he didn't want any best friend of his to leave feeling defeated about something.

"Yeah, I just have a lot of shit going on at home. I don't want to trauma dump or anything on you." You said waving your hands. You stood up from the couch getting ready to grab your bag.

"Hey, wait, come back. Come sit next to me." He gently says in a concerned tone. He scooted over to create more room for you.

"You wouldn't be trauma dumping, you're just venting. Talk to me, that's what friends are for." he says in that soft and raspy voice of his.

You sat next to him and he turned his body toward you. You press your lips together before opening up about what's got you so down, your home life, and how stressed you feel. He nodded his head, looking at you as you spoke.

"I'm sorry." you mumble as you wipe away tears that formed with your sleeve.

He moved closer to wrap his arm around your shoulders before saying, "No, you don't have to apologize for anything. You did nothing wrong. I won't judge you for anything. And anytime you need someone, I'll always be there for you".

You nodded as more tears fell down your face.

He hugged you.

"Give me a call or come over whenever. I'll always make time for you."

[reallyromealone]

Title: visiting nana

Fandom: Wentworth

Characters: Jacs, Brayden (mentioned)

Fic type: fluff,

Pairings: -

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, child male reader, grandmother jacs

Notes: my boyfriend got me into this show

Summary: jacs grandson (reader) visits her and tells her about all the things his little three year old life experienced since the last visit

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

(Name) Was excited while being escorted by his 'uncles' to the visitors area, wearing the little outfit his grandmother had arranged for the boy to have. Only three years old and a ray of sunshine to everyone he saw with little waves and smiles.

Jac's smiled when she saw her little grandson beam at her like she hung the moon "Nana!" The boy giggled and ran towards her and hugged her legs "hello, you" jacs said to her grandson who pulled a picture out of his pocket "oh? Is this for me?" The elderly blonde asked her grandson who smiled "yeah! It's you me and mama!" He pointed to each person in the drawing and Jacs looked at it as if she were impressed.

"My... Didn't know we had an artist!" She exclaimed and (name) swayed happily "my crayon broke before I could draw uncle Brayden..." He mumbled and the woman chuckled "maybe we should upgrade you to pencil crayons" she teased and (name) giggled, crawling into the seat beside her "have you been good in preschool?" She dropped big coin to make sure her grandson had the best education and (name) nodded "we have a-a caperiller! His name's Marty!" He went into detail about the class pet that was (name)s favorite thing "mama said we can't get a caperiller but we can look at em!"

Jacs didn't care for much but she would and has murdered for her grandson.

"Our times almost up so be good for me, yeah?"

"Love you Nana!"

"Nana loves you too, bite size

[theaawalker]

The Time Travelers ⌚ [Marty Mcfly x Y/N]

Pairing: Marty McFly x Fem!Y/N Song Inspo: Marty McFly by Luke Christopher Word Count: 1,728 Summary: You, Marty, and Doc Brown formed a formidable team. You were always by Marty's side, assisting with Doc's eccentric experiments. Unbeknownst to you, Marty shared your feelings but hadn't yet found the right moment to express them. He had planned to ask you out after Doc's latest experiment, but things took a dangerous turn when adversaries of Doc attacked, forcing you both to flee for your lives. Warnings: sexual harassment, some violence (non-graphic) Masterlist: see fandoms (pc-friendly)

"Marty! They're catching up!"

"I know, (Y/N)! Damn it, I know!"

Marty pressed harder on the gas pedal, accelerating rapidly. "Marty, wait! 88 miles per hour—" Too late. The next moment, you crashed into a barn.

You groaned and checked yourself for injuries, noticing Marty struggling with a hazmat helmet.

"I'll be quick," he mumbled through the mask. You waited anxiously until Marty returned to the car, gunfire echoing in the distance.

"What's happening?!" you shouted. "Hold on!" he replied, speeding away again with shots trailing behind you.

[ TIME SKIP AKA TIME TRAVEL ]

Marty drove to your neighborhood, but something was off. The area hadn't been developed yet.

"What should we do?" You asked nervously.

"I don't kn—Wait. Doc! We need to find Doc! It's his machine, he must know what's going on!"

"Marty," you interrupted.

"Come on, (Y/N)! We have to locate his place and—"

"Marty!"

"What?!"

You sighed deeply. "How about you take a moment to calm down. Clearly, we're not at home. Let's think this through. My 'uncle' Lou is at the café. Well, he's not really my uncle. Whatever. Let's check if we can use the phone there. We'll call Doc and see what he suggests. Sound good?"

Marty's expression softened, and he nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Okay. Let's head to the cafe." He held out his hand to you, and you took it with a shy smile. Since you couldn't drive, you began walking together.

[ TIME SKIP ]

"What the heck?" Marty muttered under his breath. You shared his disbelief. This was surreal. It looked like... the 1950s.

"Marty...?"

He nervously ran his hand through his hair and scanned the town until his eyes fell on a trash can. He rushed over, picking up a newspaper. His eyes widened as he read, mumbling something you couldn't quite catch.

"What? What is it?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, nerves and excitement mingling in your tone.

"1955, (Y/N)! We're—We're in 1955... Doc's machine worked."

Your mind raced as you tried to comprehend the enormity of the situation. "Oh my God. I—I haven't even been born yet! Well... that might not be such a bad thing."

"Ouch." Marty furrowed his brows at your self-deprecation.

"No, no, no. I meant for the space-time continuum. Two of us existing in the same time period. That's be catastrophic." Marty blinked at you, clearly speechless and impressed. "What? I listen to Doc."

The two of you chuckled a bit, cut short as the memory of Doc being murdered returning. Doc was dead, or he would be... in 1985. Meanwhile, the two of you were stuck in 1955.

Marty's expression shifted to a mix of determination and concern. "Come on. We've still gotta use that phone."

With that, Marty grabbed your hand and hurried across the quiet street towards Lou's Cafe, the familiar setting from countless retellings of his adventures. As you stepped inside, the nostalgic atmosphere enveloped you—the checkerboard floor, the red vinyl booths, and the jukebox playing tunes of an era long gone.

"Did you kids jump ship or something?" the man behind the counter asked, his voice a blend of curiosity and amusement.

"Sorry?" you replied, momentarily thrown off by the unexpected question.

"Well, what's with the life preserver?" he continued, gesturing towards Marty with a quizzical expression.

You glanced at Marty, realization dawning upon you. "Oh," you chuckled softly, "I just... he likes his vests."

"I just—uh... I need to use your phone," Marty stammered, eager to distract from any further questions about his unconventional attire.

"Sure. Right over there," the man said, pointing to a booth in the back of the cafe.

Before Marty left, he turned to you with a hint of urgency in his eyes. "Stay here for me. Okay?"

"Okay," you nodded, offering him a reassuring smile despite the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind. "I swear, Marty, if it's the last thing I do, I'll get us home. I'll get you home," you added, trying to muster the courage you knew he needed.

Marty returned your smile gratefully before rushing towards the booth, leaving you to take a seat at the counter. You settled onto the stool, trying to blend in with the patrons who seemed oblivious to the temporal chaos unfolding around them.

A familiar figure caught your eye—a young man sitting just a seat away, devouring a sundae with gusto. "Hey, ice cream sounds pretty good," you mused to yourself, trying to find some semblance of normalcy in this surreal situation.

"Um, could I have a sundae?" you asked Lou, the man behind the counter, your voice wavering slightly with nerves.

"Sure thing, sweetheart," Lou replied warmly, reaching under the counter to retrieve a bowl and prepare your order.

Meanwhile, Marty trudged back from the phone booth, a sheet of phone book paper clutched tightly in his hand. "Hey, do you know where—" he began, only to be interrupted by the sudden swing of the cafe's front doors.

Your breath caught in your throat as you glanced towards Marty for confirmation. "Marty. I—Is that...?"

"Biff," he muttered under his breath, his jaw clenched with apprehension.

The cafe seemed to freeze in time as a familiar, imposing figure entered—the swaggering bully, Biff Tannen. Minions behind him, his presence filled the room with a palpable tension, drawing the gaze of everyone present, including yours and Marty's.

"Hey, McFly! McFly, I'm talkin' to you!" Biff bellowed, his voice cutting through the air like a knife.

The young man at the counter turned around, and it hit you like a lightning bolt. It was George McFly, Marty's father, a timid and awkward figure caught in Biff's shadow.

"Oh. Hi, Biff," George stammered, his voice barely audible over the din of the café.

Marty's expression mirrored your own shock as you watched the scene unfold before you, the pieces of the past falling into place with eerie precision.

"That's George McFly," Marty whispered to you, his voice tinged with disbelief. "My dad." You nodded silently, your eyes locked on George's vulnerable form as Biff continued his relentless taunting. "M-My dad was a total wimp," Marty muttered, his shoulders slumped with defeat.

"Poor guy," you whispered sympathetically, unable to tear your gaze away from the heartbreaking sight.

"Hello! McFly! Anybody home?" Biff mocked, knocking on George's head with a cruel smirk.

"I see Biff's always been an asshole," you murmured to Marty, your voice tinged with anger and empathy as you witnessed the brutal bullying unfold before your eyes. Marty remained transfixed, his expression a mix of sorrow and frustration as he watched his father endure Biff's torment.

"What're you lookin' at, butthead?!" Biff sneered, closing in on Marty with malicious intent.

Enough was enough. You couldn't stand idly by while Biff continued his reign of terror, especially not aimed at Marty.

"Hey! Why don't you back the hell off, asshole!" You snapped, your voice ringing out in defiance.

Biff's gaze snapped towards you, his expression shifting from rage to something altogether more unsettling—a predatory glint in his eyes. He licked his lips slowly, a sinister smile spreading across his face as he moved towards you, his towering frame blocking your escape.

Fear gripped your heart, but you stood your ground, refusing to let Biff intimidate you any further. Marty got up to fight but Biff's gang held him back.

"Don't you touch her, you sick son of a bitch!" Marty yelled.

"Oh shut up, dip-stick. A pretty girl like this ain't gonna like a squirt like you. She needs a real man." Biff turned his attention back to you. "Ain't that right, doll face?" He smirked.

"That's actually insulting." You spat. "I'd rather lick the mud off my shoe then be anywhere NEAR you!" The fucking nerve this guy had. You tried to push him away, escape from his grasp, anything. But his grip on you was iron.

"You better watch your mouth! Just you wait, honey. You're gonna be beggin' for a taste of me." He said, sending sickly chills down your spine. "Stop it! Leave me alone!" You protested as you squirmed with all your might. That must've set something off inside of Marty because he lost it and let loose on Biff's gang. Fists were flying and bodies were falling. Biff's head whipped to witness, loosening his grip, and you took the opportunity. The next fist you saw was yours meeting Biff's jaw and knocking him on his ass.

Before you could breath again, Marty grabbed your hand and RAN. He ran until the two of you were safe in a little shop Biff would never look. As soon as he was sure you were safe, he began checking you for any harm.

"Are you okay? Of course you aren't. I'm so sorry, (Y/N). Damn it. That just made me so mad to see him touch you like that. No one should be so damn disrespectful and- and touch you like that! I swear, (Y/N)."

"Marty."

"When I see him again I'll- I'll... I'll beat the shit out of him!"

"Marty!"

"(Y/N)! He's a total ass! He deserves to-"

You cut him off by grabbing his face and crashing your lips to his. He was a bit surprised at first but quickly returned the kiss. He rested his hands on your hips and carefully pulled you closer.

By the time you pulled apart, you were both flushed in the face. You leaned closer and nuzzled your foreheads sweetly, running your fingers through his soft hair.

"W-What was that for?" Marty stuttered.

You pursed your lips as you gently ran your fingers through his soft hair again. You wanted to confess, tell him you liked him, Like, really liked him. You started it a stutter, a huge smile spreading across his face. You could sense he knew what you were going to say...

Until you heard someone clear their throat.

It was the store owner. She stood there with her hands on her hips and a small smirk on her face. Both yours and Marty's faces were red with embarrassment.

"S-Sorry, ma'am." You stuttered.

"Yeah. Sorry." Marty seconded.

With that, you two quickly shuffled out of the shop, holding hands, and running down the block. Meanwhile, the store owner watched from the shop window, a growing smile on her face.

"What weird kids. Sweet, but weird."

• ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ •

Check out my upcoming high-fantasy series

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[kleftiko]

Request for Murasakibara oneshot where he drags his s/o along while they're wearing roller skates bc he walks too fast with his long legs? Manz could have both hands full with snacks while reader is just holding on to the back of his jacket. Also, I've really enjoyed you content ❤️

❦ ROLLER SKATES

cw: none, this is fluff, mentions of food

no because that’s such an adorable thought😭 and thank youuuuuuuuuu<3

* okay so my university campus was huge so i actually was about to get those roller skate shoes from tiktok to get between my classes😭

* if you’re dating murasakibara, you should get them cause man’s has legs that would KILL on rupauls drag race. you’re never gonna be able to keep up with him

* you two are gonna marty mcfly this situation

“atsu-kun, slow down a bit.” you ask your boyfriend. he has the annoying habit of thinking everyone is 6’11 and can keep up with his pace.

he grunts and mumbles, “‘m hungry.”

you grab onto the back of his shirt and tug. the intention is to get him to stop walking, and thank goodness he obeys because a hangry murasakibara is a mean murasakibara.

as quick as you can, holding onto him for support, you deploy the wheels on your shoes before reaching into your pocket to pull out a box of koala’s march, shaking them like you would to get the attention of a pet.

the bored eyes of your boyfriend light up for a split second before he’s snatching them away and turning back forward. you get comfortable holding onto his waist and shirt (he needs both hands for snacks after all).

“okay, let’s go.” you say and he starts walking again.

your main focus is on not tripping or bumping into atsushi’s back as you glide along. his happy munching does a good job at setting a rhythm for you anyway, so it’s only a minute before you ask him,

“where are we going?”

“convenience store.” his mouth his full.

you furrow your brows despite the fact that he can’t see you. “but i just gave you a snack.”

he shakes the empty box over his shoulder to show that he’s finished. and you’re about to say something when he whips his head to the side.

“ice cream sale!” he gasps and changes course.

the only problem with this is that roller skates can’t turn on an axis, so instead of smoothly following him, you yelp as you come crashing down onto the pavement—immense pain shooting through your butt.

“ow! fucking—”

but you can’t finish your exclamation cause your asshole boyfriend is busting out laughing at you.

“not funny.” you snap at him, but he doesn’t stop his giggling.

at least he picks you up though, dusts off your pants and offers you a piggyback instead.

[nostalgiclittlespace]

Request

Caregiver: Husk

Little: Angel

Plot: Angel regresses super duper tiny (like newborn to 6 months) and Husk takes care of him

Thanks for the ask! This turned out super fluffy, I love CG Husker. Takes place the night after Charlie and Vaggie return from their tour to Heaven+Angel’s encounter with Val at the club. I hope you enjoy!

-Marty 🕷🐈‍⬛ SFW AGE REGRESSION FIC, DNI IF NSFW, KINK, MAP, PROSHIP, ETC. DO NOT REPOST Pairing: Caregiver! Husk x Little! Angel Dust

Title: What are they, compared to you?

Word Count: 1,372

Description: The stress in Hell is starting to get to both Husk and Angel. Good thing they have each other for solace and safety. (100% fluffy 😊)

What are they, compared to you?

What a day, Husk thought, swiping his paw over his face.  

Charlie and Vaggie had returned from their visit with Heaven earlier that day.  And it had ended poorly to say the least.  Charlie’s reassurances to them all that “everything is going to be fine!  I can convince them!” had disintegrated upon the first glance at the princess’s devastated face as they were thrown through a golden portal.

Despite their best efforts, Exterminators would be arriving in a month, headed first to the Hazbin Hotel.

Not to mention the horrific experiences at the club while Charlie and Vaggie were gone…no, it’s best not to think about that, Husk shook his head.  He couldn’t do anything to stop Valentino, despite the utter fury that burned his heart as he witnessed Angel’s pain first hand.  For now, he could only supply support from the sidelines.  

Unlike Valentino, Husk wasn’t an Overlord.  Not anymore.  Powerless.

Husk sighed.  Tensions were running high, that was for sure.  The cat-demon occupied the hours since Charlie’s return with mindless bar-tending, sending discreet glances at the other Hotel patrons.  His keen eyes provided enough insight to know things didn’t look good for anyone.

Whatever.   Nothing I can do about it now, Husk thought, ready to put the issue to rest for now.  Reaching his bedroom door, he fished his key from his pocket.  He fought back a yawn as he stuck the key into the door—

Creakkkkk

Only to realize the door was already open.  

Husk’s ear perked up, training on the room.  Shuffling, quiet breathing…Someone is in there.

Husk’s wings raised defensively, and he snatched his metal-plated playing cards.  Attacks on the hotel had lost their intimidating luster—perhaps every few days vandalism or an explosion appeared at their doorstep.  But intruders?

Anything was possible, Husk reminded himself.  Though cautious, he couldn’t bring himself to be fearful of the unknown beyond the cracked door.  He, an ex-Overlord, could fight his way out of anything.  Save for his contract with Alastor.  The singular being hiding in his room posed little threat.

Prepping his steely focus, Husk shoved the door open.  His playing cards peaked between his fingers, and his fangs barred.  Perhaps one of the only perks to being a cat demon, his pupils swiftly dilated to counteract the darkness beyond.  

It wasn’t hard to spot the shuffling’s cause.  A certain, wide-eyed spider had curled up on his bed, surrounded by blankets, stuffies, and a pacifier bobbing in his mouth.  He momentarily froze as his eyes met Husk’s suspicious ones.  After a split second to process, Husk dropped his defensive demeanor. 

“Angel,” Husk sighed.  “What are you doing up late, kid?”

The spider-demon tilted his head, sending his fluffy bangs to fall before his face.   Angel mumbled something unintelligible as he patted his stuffies and fleece blanket.  Even without words, the message came clear.

“Tiny time, huh?” Husk nodded, venturing into the room.  “Couldn’t have turned any lights on?”

Angel shook his head, extending his arms out to Husk.  The bartender complied, sitting on the bed with him.  Before he could say anything else, four arms wrapped around his furry torso and Angel dragged himself into his lap–slow, uncoordinated movements that were a far cry from the spider’s usual grace.  Nonetheless, Husk took it in stride, adjusting Angel so they’d both fit comfortably while pressed so close together.

Admittedly, the position was fairly odd.  Angel, being so lanky and tall, managed to slump over, tuck in his legs, and keep his head ducked into Husk’s chest.  All while his arms kept the cat as close as possible.  Husk stayed sitting up against the headboard, trying to ensure Angel had enough room.

“Long day for you too, Angie?” Husk hummed, his paws patting Angel Dust’s floofy hair.  “Third time this week you’ve been small.”

As expected, Angel babbled something long winded but cute.  Between the pacifier that somehow stayed in his mouth and the slurred sound, Husk couldn’t decipher it.  He nodded along anyway, allowing the baby to ‘tell’ him all about his day.  A couple clearer sounds made it through, which suspiciously sounded like ‘Val’ and ‘work.’  An innocent pout often followed those words.

Husk pushed his rising anger aside.  He knew full and well that whatever had triggered Angel was Valentino’s fault, but he couldn’t do anything about that now.  For now he could only take care of the very vulnerable spider that had attached himself to his chest.

“Well, thanks for sharing all that, buddy,” Husk huffed softly, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.  “How about we get you into some comfy clothes and something to eat?”

Angel squealed happily and bounced in Husk’s hold.  I’ll take that as a yes, Husk thought, scooting them to the bed’s edge.  He adjusted his hold on the baby in his arms so he was fully supported before bringing him over to the dresser.  Digging through the messy drawers, he soon came across the pair of pajamas they had saved for occasions like these.

Husk had taken care of Angel while regressed before this.  The two had been trying to be more honest with each other after all, trying to feel less alone.  So, when Angel confided that he didn’t always feel as mature as he acted…well it was a no brainer that he would need a Caregiver.  Especially when he was this young.

Husk didn’t mind at all.  Even in a few short weeks he and Angel had bonded well.  Besides, seeing the kid comfortable, safe, and happy?  Worth any cost.

Arriving back at the bed, Husk carefully lowered Angel onto the mattress.  The baby got distracted instantly, his attention stolen by one of his stuffies.  Works for me, Husk thought, huffing affectionately as Angel reached for it.  It’s sure easier to get all his arms sorted out when he’s not wiggling.

Changing into his PJ’s (pink with a pig pattern) went smoothly as it possible could when dressing a kid with six lanky appendages.  Comfortable and prepped for the night, Angel began to fuss, waiting for his favorite part of their recently implemented routine: dinner.

“Working on it, kid,” Husk laughed as he went to snatch a bottle from another drawer.  “You sure get impatient when it’s time to eat, don’t you?”

Angel grumbled something that sounded awfully sassy, but Husk ignored him in favor of snatching the milk from the mini-fridge.  Husk couldn’t help but shake his head as he noticed that almost all his favorite drinks were gone, replaced by milk, juice, and kiddie snacks.  Geez, he was going soft wasn’t he?

A spoonful of sugar, followed by a splash of vanilla had the bottle ready to be warmed.  Angel milk, Husk mused as he waited for the bottle heater to beep, A fitting name.  

A few moments later, a conveniently timed ding, interrupted Angel’s bored and impatient huffs.  Perfect, Husk thought, feeling the temperature in his paws as he returned to his baby’s side.  He couldn’t even fully sit down before Angel scrambled into his lap.

“Alright, kiddo, alright,” he laughed, removing Angel’s paci and replacing it with the bottle.  “Well, good job waiting.  Enjoy it.”

Angel’s impending wrath was appeased as the sippy popped into his mouth.  With Husk supporting the bottle, Angel’s hands held onto the cat’s fingers or his suspender straps.  He quieted down, and Husk enjoyed the calm floating between them.

As the bottle gradually emptied, Angel’s eyes took longer and longer blinks.  His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm and his limbs went slack.  Perhaps the only thing that hadn’t gone limp was the hand keeping a grip on Husk’s clothes.  An anchor to his Caregiver.

Realizing he had fallen asleep, Husk carefully extended his feathered wings and wrapped them around Angel like a blanket. He stirred momentarily, but settled again once his paci was perturbed to his mouth.

Husk couldn’t help but smile as he watched Angel fall asleep again, the silicone soothing bobbing in his mouth.  Angel deserved this safe space…and hell if Husk hadn’t needed this too.

Bad times were coming.  Bad things had happened already.  Husk couldn’t stop any of it.  But this?  This made any other force seem meaningless in comparison.

[bullet-prooflove]

Six AM: Marty Deeks x Reader

Tagging: @football1921 @jasmine06blog  @cat-or-kitten @itswhatever06 @hotfranchise

Talk Radio - You can't sleep without the radio on.

Waiting - Marty waits up for you.

It’s 6am and Marty’s watching you sleep. He’s been doing that a lot since the accident. Instead of getting up and going surfing, he spends the hours after the sunrise curled up around you, holding you close because he’s terrified of losing you all over again.

It’s in these hours that the memories flood back. The flashing lights and the knock at the door. The sound of your sergeant’s voice as he tells him you’ve been in a road collision, that they’ve airlifted you to a Level 1 Trauma Centre because of your injuries.

It had taken you three days to wake up and Marty had never been as relieved as he was in that moment when you opened your eyes and grumbled at him about the wires that were attached to you.

Now you’re back home with him, in the bed you share together, still on this earth, still recovering.

You sigh as you turn over to face him, mumbling in your sleep. You do this sometimes, talk in your sleep, usually it’s inane shit like telling Monty the dog he’s a good boy or that he needs a bath. The second one usually sends the dog skittering from the end of the bed, where he sleeps by your feet. He’s been protective since you’ve returned home, hovering by your side as you go about your day today, barking at anyone he doesn’t recognise. He seems to sense that something happened to you, that you’re more fragile than you used to be.

You burrow even closer against his form and Marty takes this as a sign you’re feeling vulnerable. He gathers you up into his arms, drawing you into the shelter of his body and you start to settle again. This happens sometimes too, you have nightmares bad dreams. He’s always there to reassure you, to sooth you because Marty, he has them too. Ones where you don’t come back from the hospital, ones where he doesn’t make it there in time.

He closes his eyes and listens to the sound of your breathing, he feels the rise and fall of your chest and he thanks God, Buddha and all the other deities that you survived, that you made it back home to him.

Love Deeks? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[martymcflea]

Amir is showing me Back to the Future. Being called Marty now feels like an insult.

[sil-te-plait-tue-moi]

Over in no time.

Quick summary: Rust offers you a ride home.

Word count: 417 words

Warnings: N/A

A/N: YAY! Another short drabble for Rust. Listening to lots of Ethel Cain, I can assure you. Pretty much same universe as my big fic (go read if you haven't! she's my pride and joy).

***

He watched placidly as you smacked your palms against the steering wheel again, as if that might jumpstart your shitty car back to life. 

It had only been a matter of time before the engine gave out. Marty had said that to him some three weeks ago, smug in his so-called superior knowledge. From then, Rust had made it routine to observe you climbing into your worn vehicle, to listen for the sputter and jolt which never failed to startle you, apparently. He didn’t particularly care for cars, except for their ability to take a person from one place to another faster than walking or running. He didn’t care for makes; only for fast or slow, or near or far. He didn’t look down at you like some o’ the boys seemed to, who chuckled and shook their heads at you, like you were some helpless inside joke. 

You weren’t having a good night. He could tell even inside, from the way your fingers hesitated over the typewriter, stuttering through a report in irregular, clumsy bursts of productivity, interjected by periods of frustrated silence. Usually, it was your fluid, absent-minded touch-typing that lulled him into such a rare state of warmth that he sometimes closed his eyes, sinking, succumbing to that gentle clicking.

He rapped his knuckles neatly over your window. “Need a ride?”

His neck prickled as you cast your eyes upon him, as goosebumps do arise from the skin in the wake of sunlight after a cold, otherwise grey afternoon. 

“Christ, yes, please. Made a batch o’ brownies on the weekend – they’re yours, I swear.”

Rust opened the door for you, tracing the fading white lines of the parking space as you stepped out. He kept his eyes there out of routine, waiting to return to absence. He would tolerate his own physicality; his fingers would be solid just long enough to return you to your home. Often, he felt his body was some sort of spectre: real during the day, and something else at night. The self experienced sensation just long enough to permit him to do his job. Otherwise, he was void. 

Though, he felt a faint glimmer of surprise when his forearm flexed in response to your grateful, squeezing touch there. 

“No need,” he mumbled, suppressing the urge to twist and rotate his arm. There would be time for that later. Your fingers had burned into his skin. 

Once you were settled in his car, he paused outside to take his pulse.

[luna-writes-stuff]

Bliss, Robin Buckley

Song link

Fanfic, fem! reader

Mutual pining, fluff

Word count: 1720

Tw: SAPPHICS. Steve is a wingman. One (1) mention of being drugged (Robin S3). Literally, that’s it. Maybe slight homophobia because it’s the 80s, yay!

Summary: You are a regular customer at the movie rental store where Steve and Robin work, but you’ve shown an increasing interest in Robin. Both of you are too oblivious to make a move. Thankfully, Steve is there to fix it.

Buy me a coffee/force me to write more

“Everything about you is how I'd wanna be.

Your freedom comes naturally.”

You were infuriating.

Every little thing about you seemed so perfect. Even those things that could be considered inconvenient or annoying - you were fucking perfect. You were so frustrating. How could she ever focus during work when you were right there? Did you really have to keep visiting the store every two days? Did you really have to keep making conversations with her about literally anything? God, it was starting to get her worked up for no reason.

She would ramble, and it would usually cause people to start losing interest. But you embraced it. You laughed at her and indulged her in whatever she was talking about. You’d nod and add your own quips that weren’t your usual polite ‘oh yeah’ and ‘mhm’. No - you were actually listening to what she was saying. It was terrible.

Whenever you’d walk in, her heart would skip a beat and she’d head to the back, doing a stupid jump and trying to contain her gigantic smile. She’d have to ignore Steve’s stupid teasing looks. She’d have to try to not lean over the counter and just force you into her embrace. She’d have to pretend as if your gentle touch on her shoulders wasn’t the most invigorating thing ever.

“Everything about you resonates happiness.

Now I won't settle for less.

Give me all the peace and joy in your mind.”

And there you stood again. That same stupid smile on your face as you placed the used tape on the counter. She had to force her breathing down to seem like a normal person as she tried to do her job professionally.

“Was it a good movie?” She asked as she took the tape, running it through the system before checking it out under your name. “I loved it.” You answered, watching her work, her eyes shooting from the screen to your figure continuously. A nervous chuckle came from Robin as she looked at the title: “I saw this one in the theatres. When it just came out.” “Really?” You gasped. “Yup,” she laughed. “Can’t remember much of it because I was so drugged.”

Her smile immediately dropped as she spoke the words without thinking about them. Her hands stopped working as she turned to face you, an apologetic look on her face. “I’m so sorry.” “It’s okay.” You dismissed, offering her that comforting smile. It didn’t make you uncomfortable. Something about the way she spoke made it impossible to grow uncomfortable with her.

“Like,” she tried to continue. “I was drugged on glee, you know? Because the movie was so good. And Jennifer Parker was like so hot-“ Again, she stopped her sentence, recovering much quicker than she even realised: “I mean, she was so good! A great character, and she wasn’t even in the movie so much, but I would have loved to know more about her. About her character.”

A second nervous chuckle left her as she turned back to the screen stiffly. From where you were standing, you could see her head shake lightly, and you couldn’t suppress the keen grin growing on your face at the adorable sight of it.

“Everything about you, pains my envying.

Your soul can't hate anything.”

“She was cool.” You agreed absentmindedly. “Yeah,” Robin mumbled. “But Marty was attractive too.”

You frowned at her words, a gesture that went unnoticed by her, but not by Steve. Nor were the subtle words following your look.

“Not exactly my type.”

“No?” Robin mused, placing the tape in an empty basket before turning back to you. Her face seemed to light up slightly, and that familiar giddy feeling made it’s way back into the pit of your stomach. “I mean, I get it. He isn’t really mine either.” She rambled, scrambling for the receipt before handing it to you. “Uhm, here you go.”

You couldn’t stand the silence that followed. You liked hearing her talk. And you had no places to be just yet. “Any movies you can recommend?” “Uhm,” The girl hesitated, scanning the store with a quick view. Steve noticed his friend freezing. She wasn’t looking at anything - she was trying to come up with a good answer. But he wasn’t going to let this whole debacle go as quickly as Robin might have.

“Everything about you is so easy to love.

They're watching you from above.”

“Looking for a movie with people who are good on the eye? I know a bunch of handsome fellows.” He began to hint, wiggling his eyebrows in a manner that made you internally cringe at the secondhand embarrassment. You pushed the feeling down, offering him a polite smile.

You knew Steve. You actually came for Robin every so often, but she’d be busy at times and Steve tried to take over. He was really sweet and kind, but would sometimes make some comments that made you hesitant to reply. It was difficult to judge his character.

“No, thank you,” you dismissed. “Not really my thing.” “Not?” Steve returned with a smile. “What about Phoebe Cates?” Then, he pointed towards a display at the beginning of the store, decorated with Christmas bells. “Got Gremlins right there.” He then leaned over the counter, nodding as if to emphasise his point: “She’s very good on the eye.”

“Ignore him, please.” Robin interrupted, shoving her co-worker to the side. “Return To Oz?” She offered, spotting the little ad on one of the televisions in the far corner of the room. Your face lit up at her suggestion. “Oh, good choice!” “You know, if you like this one, I’ve heard a lot of good things about this new movie in town. Labyrinth, I think it was called.” She ranted. “It has David Bowie.” “Oh, I love Bowie!” “Me too!” She shared enthusiastically. “That’s so funny. I was talking with Steve about it, but he doesn’t want to see it. I think he’s threatened by Bowie.”

“Give me all the peace and joy in your mind.

I want the peace and joy in your mind.

Give me the peace and joy in your mind.”

This was your chance for a first move. Steve was difficult to place, but Robin wasn’t. Be that as it may, you were still cautious. There were plenty of people out there who’d have a lot of colourful words to exchange with you. You really liked Robin, but the last thing you wanted to do was scare her off.

But friends went to the movies all the time, right? You could always justify it in one way or the other.

“We could go together.” You spoke, no longer giving yourself more time to doubt. “Yeah,” Robin laughed, not having really understood you. When you didn’t laugh with her, her eyes widened: “Wait, really?” “Why not?” You shrugged, feigning confidence. “You’ve given me so many great recommendations. And I like our talks.”

“Yes,” she answered quickly. “I mean yes. If you want to, I’d go.” “She could go now.” Steve smirked. “Her shift’s ending.” “Really?” “No,” Robin denied, but then she saw Steve’s face. He rolled his eyes to the back, giving her a subtle nod. “Yes,” she changed. “Yes, my shift is ending soon. Will you give me five minutes?” “Sure, yes, of course!” You nodded eagerly. “I’ll wait right here.” “Great!” She called. “I’ll be right back.”

And with that, she had disappeared to the back of the store.

“Everything about you resonates happiness.

Now I won't settle for less.”

An awkward silence came as Steve stared at you, something unknown glinting in his eyes. “Phoebe Cates, huh?” He voiced. You nodded once: “You’re a big Cates fan?” “Well, she’s really hot.” He deadpanned. Without even thinking, you mumbled a brief ‘that’s true’ under your breath. You didn’t think he’d caught it. But he did.

“So, like, what’s your type?” He continued. “I’m sorry,” you chuckled uncomfortably. “I’m sure you’re really nice-“ “No, not like that,” he interrupted, wildly shaking his head before pointing to himself. “I’m seeing someone right now.” Then, he waltzed back up to the counter. “I’m not asking for me.”

You had no reason to properly answer him. You didn’t even know him that well. You just knew his name and the fact he worked with Robin. But if you were to make a move, now was the perfect moment: “Someone funny.” “Robin’s funny.” He added almost immediately.

“Yes,” you sighed, not oblivious to his innuendos. If he was making them, surely he wouldn’t mind. And something in this moment seemed to spark confidence and trust in you. Thus, you resumed: “But I don’t think a lot of people would be happy with that.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his smile only widening: “So, you’re saying there’s a chance.”

“Give me all the peace and joy in your mind.

I want the peace and joy in your mind.”

That’s it. You shouldn’t have told him. This was an awful idea. How could you have been so stupid?

“Listen, just between the two of us, you’d be cute together. Don’t tell Robin I said that.” And just like that, your train of thoughts ended. He didn’t just say what you thought he said. “She likes banana shakes. If you’re going to the cinema, get her one. She would kill for them.”

Flabbergasted, you blinked rapidly, looking at his relieved figure. “I thought you two were a thing.” You muttered. “Oh, no. No, don’t get me wrong, Robin’s cute but no,” he laughed. “No, I think you’re more her type.” You were at total loss for words when you heard his words, your mouth hanging half open as you tried to process everything. “Get her that shake and talk about something other than movies for once.” Then, he turned around, announcing Robin’s figure leaving from the back: “There she is! You two have fun!”

You awkwardly made your way out of the store, waiting for Robin to follow you. She looked at you with an unreadable expression. Somewhere between worry and sorrow. “What did he tell you?” You decided to not tell her just yet. Well, not the whole truth. “Something about you and banana shakes.” “Oh,” she sighed.

“I love banana shakes.”

“Give me the peace and joy in your mind.”

[n0vazsq]

Secret's safe with me | JMM21 x Reader

pairing . . . pepe marti x gf!reader

summary . . . You though you'd never hear your boyfriend sing a Lana Del Rey song, until you heard him humming it one afternoon

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 1.2k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . dni i love this sm <33 anyhow might publish like two more fics before i die

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . The apartment was unusually quiet that afternoon, except for the occasional soft clink of dishes from the kitchen and the faint hum of the air conditioning.

You were curled up on the couch, legs tucked under a blanket, flipping through your phone but not paying much attention to anything on the screen.

Pepe had been in the kitchen for a while, moving around in that half distracted way he always did when he was deep in thought, or hungry.

You could just barely see him over the counter, his hair falling messily over his forehead as he stared into the fridge like it might reveal some grand secret.

"You’re going to burn a hole into that yogurt carton if you keep staring at it like that," you teased, finally breaking the silence.

Pepe turned his head, raising a brow. "I’m trying to figure out if it’s expired."

"It’s yogurt, not a time bomb. Just open it and smell."

"That’s disgusting."

"Oh, I’m disgusting?" You smirked, leaning your chin on your palm as you watched him. "You’ve eaten mystery leftovers before without hesitation. Yogurt is the least of your problems."

Pepe rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the little smile tugging at his lips. He finally grabbed the yogurt and a spoon, muttering something in Spanish under his breath as he set it on the counter.

"What was that?" you asked, narrowing your eyes playfully.

"Nothing," he replied quickly, though the way his shoulders shook with a stifled laugh said otherwise.

The soft homely feeling of the moment made you smile to yourself. It was so normal, the kind of quiet afternoon you didn’t realize you loved so much until it was happening.

No chaos, no noise. Just Pepe’s soft presence, the golden sun filtering through the blinds, and the occasional sound of him muttering about questionable fridge items.

And then, out of nowhere, you heard it. The humming.

At first, you weren’t even sure you’d heard right. It was so faint that it blended into the background noise, but as the seconds ticked by, the sound became clearer.

A melody.

You paused, tilting your head slightly as your ears strained to catch it. There was no mistaking it. Pepe was humming a tune, soft and slow, almost absentminded as he grabbed a bag of chips. And the more you listened, the more familiar it became.

Lana Del Rey.

A grin spread across your face as you recognized 'Video Games', and you couldn’t help the quiet laugh that bubbled up. Pepe Marti, humming Lana? You couldn’t have made this up if you tried.

That’s when you called out to him, unable to let this moment pass.

"Pepe," you called casually, trying to keep your voice neutral.

"Hm?" he hummed absentmindedly, his back still to you.

"Are you… humming Lana Del Rey right now?"

The noise stopped immediately. You could see the exact moment he froze, the crinkle of the chip bag pausing midair. Slowly, so slowly, he turned his head to look at you, his face a mixture of confusion and guilt.

"No," he lied, far too quickly.

"Oh my god," you snorted, sitting up on the couch. "You were! You were humming Video Games! Are you a Lana fan, Pepe?"

His cheeks flushed instantly, a light pink tint crawling up to his ears as he set the chips down on the counter, avoiding your eyes. "I wasn’t humming anything," he mumbled, voice soft but defensive.

"Oh, don’t even try to deny it," you teased, already grinning as you swung your legs over the couch. "What’s next? Are you gonna admit you secretly cry to Summertime Sadness?"

Pepe groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he turned fully to face you. "You’re so dramatic," he said, though the embarrassed smile he was trying to hide gave him away.

"Me? Dramatic?" You pointed at him. "I just caught you humming one of the most iconic girly songs of all time. Pepe Marti, you have layers. I’m impressed."

He sighed, shaking his head as he walked toward you. "You’re making a big deal out of nothing," he grumbled, though you could tell he wasn’t actually upset, more flustered than anything. "It’s just catchy, okay?"

"‘It’s just catchy,’" you mimicked in an exaggerated voice, biting back another laugh. "Come on, don’t act like you don’t know all the lyrics."

"I don’t!"

"Oh, really? Then why don’t you finish the verse for me? It’s you, it’s you, it’s all for you-"

Pepe’s eyes widened in panic as you started singing dramatically, trying, and failing, not to laugh as you pointed at him. "Stop," he groaned, but his smile betrayed him.

"-everything I do," you continued, drawing out the words and watching his face redden further. "Tell you all the time…Heaven is a place on Earth with you!"

"Okay, okay!" Pepe finally caved, grabbing one of the couch pillows and lightly tossing it at you to shut you up. "Fine! I like the song, happy?"

Your laughter filled the room as you hugged the pillow to your chest triumphantly. "I knew it!" you declared, beaming at him. "Honestly, you’ve got good taste, Marti. Lana is a vibe. You’re just a little softie, huh?"

Pepe rolled his eyes, but the small, sheepish smile on his lips was undeniable. "I am not a softie."

"Sure you aren’t, pretty boy," you teased, winking at him. "Next thing I know, you’re gonna tell me you’ve got a Lana playlist saved on Spotify."

There was a pause. Pepe hesitated, his expression suddenly shifting as if he’d been caught again.

You gasped. "No way."

"I don’t!" he insisted quickly, though the crack in his voice gave him away.

"Oh my god, you totally do!" You clutched the pillow tighter, dissolving into laughter as Pepe ran a hand through his hair, looking helpless.

"Stop teasing me," he muttered, though his smile lingered as he sat on the armrest of the couch.

"But it’s so easy when you’re like this!" You grinned up at him, the playfulness in your voice softening as you noticed the warmth in his eyes; the way he looked at you, equal parts embarrassed and endeared.

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, leaning down just enough to flick your forehead lightly. "You’re the worst, you know that?"

"And yet, here you are," you shot back smugly.

He didn’t reply immediately, but he watched you with that soft, boyish look, one that made the teasing air crackle with something sweeter. His voice dropped just a bit.

"Yeah, here I am," he said quietly, his lips twitching into something softer than a smirk.

The moment lingered longer than you expected, the teasing quieting as his eyes stayed locked on yours. He looked so ridiculously fond, like he couldn’t believe you were real. It was enough to make your heart thud a little harder.

You broke the silence first, covering up the butterflies. "Your secret's safe with me." you teased, pushing his arm lightly, "Anyway, don’t start humming Young and Beautiful next or I’m never letting you live it down."

Pepe groaned, standing up to head back toward the kitchen. "Good," he muttered, though you swore you heard him quietly humming again, this time just loud enough for you to catch it.

It was 'Young and Beautiful' this time.

And you couldn’t help but smile.

[angel2el]

DONE WITH YOU (ELVIS PRESLEY) -- PART TWO -- "THE ASSAULT"

Nearly 5500 Words, in this chapter tensions grow between spouses, friends, and manager until it comes to a head and two assaults take place.

hiii everyone and thank you for all the love on my first part! for those who don't know, this is a piece about an alternate reality where in 1969 Elvis begins the process of firing the Colonel. Part one is right here.

Thank you to the lovely @atleastpleasetelephone for editing this chapter for me!

Please enjoy, and let me know what you think and if you want to be added to the taglist or anything of the sort! For those who don't remember, at the end of last chapter, Elvis collapsed on stage after his show.

--

“Mama,” Elvis whispers, leaning into his mother’s touch.

“Elvis,” she whispers.  

Elvis doesn’t know why he’s here, or how he got here, but he’s back in Tupelo, in his childhood backyard.  Before Vernon went to prison.  Back when everything was simpler.

And Gladys is here.

“Mama, why’d you leave me?” Elvis can’t help the tears that are running down his cheeks.

“I have to tell you something, Elvis,” Gladys whispers.  She lets go of him.

“Don’t stop holding me, mama.  Don’t walk away from me now.  Not again,” Elvis begs.  

“Elvis.”

“What?”

“Elvis.”

“What?”

“Elvis.  Elvis, come on.”

“Wh…”  Elvis’s eyes flutter open.  He squeezes them shut again. 

 “No.  No,” he mumbles.  Gladys is gone.  Reality has hit him and it’s cold as ice.  Jerry is rubbing his chest and Marty’s holding his head.

“Elvis, don’t try to sit up yet.  We’re gonna get you feeling better,” Marty says softly, standing up with a hand on Elvis’s back.  He turns to see Elvis looking shocked with a tear rolling down his face.

“You collapsed, E,” Jerry says softly.  “You gotta rest before the show tonight, ok?

“I..I saw my mama,” Elvis says, his voice raspy and whispering.

“No, you didn’t, Elvis.  You was dreamin’.”  

Elvis squeezes his eyes shut.  It didn’t feel like a dream.

“I…I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you was, Elvis.”  Jerry pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Your mama’s gone.”

Elvis blinks.  Breathes in and out.  

“I…I know.  I know she’s gone,” he says.

Jerry uses his thumb to wipe the tear off Elvis’s face.  “I’m sorry.  You gotta get some rest before the 9pm show.  Cilla’s just landing and she’ll come up to the room as soon as she gets here.

“Wh-what about the Colonel?” Elvis asks, his muscles visibly tensing with nervousness as he thinks of his manager.

“He tried to come over here, but Joe pushed him out.”

“Where is he?” Elvis slurs.

“Doesn’t matter.  I’m gonna carry you on my back to Joe’s room.”

“Joe’s?  Jerry, why–”

“Colonel already knows you’ve been in your room and mine.  It’ll take a while for him to find you in Joe’s.” 

“He’ll find me,” Elvis mumbles.

“We’ll deal with him if he does, ok?” Jerry says.  “I promise.  You ready to go?”

Elvis nods and pulls himself into a sitting position slowly and weakly.  Jerry turns his back to him and squats in front of him.  

“Put your arms over my shoulders.  Nice and easy, slowly.”  

Marty helps Elvis get his arms over Jerry’s shoulders.  

“Wrap your legs around me,” Jerry says, and Elvis weakly does so.

Jerry stands up as steadily as he can manage.  He feels Elvis’s full weight on him now as he leans groggily into his back.  He’s heavy, but not heavier than Jerry can manage.  Slowly, they make their way to the elevator and up to Joe’s room, which Jerry unlocks using the key Joe gave him.  All the while he can feel Elvis’s shallow and labored breath.  He gently stops at the foot of Joe’s bed and eases Elvis onto it.  Marty follows the two of them and makes his way into the bathroom, starting the water.

“Let’s get you out of that costume and into the bath.”

“...bath?”

“Yeah, Elvis.  You’ve got a fever.  Cold water will help.  It’ll also help you wake up.”  Elvis puts a hand to his forehead.

“I-I don’t know if I want a bath right now, Jerry,” he says softly, fiddling with his rings.

Jerry frowns and eases off Elvis’s shoes and socks.  “I know you don’t, buddy.”  He sighs.  “Cilla’s bringing some fever medicine, but for now this is what we got.”

Elvis sighs.  “What about…something for the nausea?” he asks.

“We’ll get you something.  Cold water will help with that, too, though.”  Jerry gently pulls off the top half of Elvis’s jumpsuit.  

“Lift,” he says, and Elvis uses his hands to push his bottom up and off the edge of the bed while Jerry pulls off the rest of his outfit.

Elvis sits back down.  “I don’t wanna–”

“We’re keeping your underwear on,” Jerry says,  “And your necklaces.  But the rings have to come off.”  

Elvis nods in understanding and holds out his hands for Jerry to remove his rings.  Jerry presses his lips together and tries to swallow the lump in his throat at this simple action.  The vulnerability Elvis reveals by not being able to take off his own rings and trusting in Jerry is unmistakably fragile.  He’s as trusting as a puppy who’s been hurt a million times but still has faith.  This type of sensitivity will not help Elvis in his fight against the Colonel.

But it’s the biggest piece of his humanity that Jerry knows.

“Jerry?” Elvis asks.

“Sorry.  Just thinking,” he says, starting to slide the rings off of Elvis’s fingers.  When he finishes, he lifts Elvis up gently, “Bath time.”

He guides Elvis to Joe’s bathroom, where Marty is waiting with a full bath that makes Elvis’s jaw clench.  

“One foot at a time,” Jerry says, slowly helping Elvis into the bath.  As soon as he’s in, he’s shivering violently and trying to get out.  But Jerry lays him down.

“Jerry, Jerry, l-let me out, I’m f-freezing,” Elvis begs as Jerry dips a washcloth in the bath.

“Just relax, Elvis.  Twenty minutes and we’ll let you out.  This’ll do wonders for you, I promise.”

Elvis grits his teeth.  “Doesn’t f-feel like it.”

There’s a knock at the door.  

“I’ll get it,” Marty says.  Jerry watches him leave the bathroom then turns back to Elvis.  His eyes are down and his right hand fiercely grips his left shoulder as his whole body shakes.  

“You’ll be feeling much better in no time, E,”  Jerry promises.  Elvis nods slightly, clenching his jaw.

Jerry turns around when he hears footsteps to see Priscilla rushing over to the two of them with Marty trailing after her.

“Elvis, honey, how you feeling?” she asks, setting her bags on the counter.

Elvis looks up and his face relaxes for the first time in days.  “Come h-here, Cilla,” he says softly.  She leans in to kiss him.

“You’re shaking like a leaf.  You didn’t give him a cold bath, did you?” she asks, looking between Marty and Jerry.

“Uh…yeah.  We did.  Something wrong with that?”

Priscilla blows out a breath.  

“Yeah.  We tried it one time when he got sick, back when I just moved in.  Cold baths don’t do anything for him.  You’re just making him more miserable,” she says, reaching into the bathtub and pulling the plug.  “Can we get him back in bed?  We can give him some of that fever medicine.  Oh, and I got a thermometer.”

“Why don’t you get him changed into clean boxers, Cilla?  Marty and I should talk.  Outside,” Jerry says, glancing between Elvis and Priscilla.

“That’s fine,” Priscilla says.  “Help me get him out the tub.”  Gently, Marty helps Priscilla lift Elvis out of the tub and put a towel over him.  He’s still shivering violently as Priscilla towels him off.

“Don’t put him in nothin’ too warm,” Jerry instructs. “We’re trying to heal the fever, ok?”

“I know what to do,” Priscilla says.  “Elvis, let’s get over to the bedroom.  I can call a maid to bring up some of your clothes.”

“Joe’s clothes will fit him just fine,” Jerry says.

Priscilla nods, putting her hand on Elvis’s back and guiding him back to the bed.  “Why don’t you two leave while I change him?”  Jerry and Marty look at each other.

“Alright.  We’ll be right outside.  Just holler if you need anything,” Jerry says.

“I won’t need anything,” Priscilla says.  “And I’m calling the Colonel.”

“Actually, Cilla…” Marty interjects.

“...we’re, uh, we’re trying to keep the Colonel out of this,” Jerry finishes.

Priscilla makes a face.  “Why’s that?  He’s Elvis’s manager, Jerry.  We need to call him.”

“We’re not doing that,” Jerry says firmly.  “Joe’s dealing with him right now, and he can get a bit of a temper around stuff like this.”

“Um…okay,” Priscilla says slowly.  “But we have to tell him eventually, right?”

“...yeah,” Jerry says, leaving the room.  Marty follows him out.

“Do you think she’s right?” Marty asks.  Jerry scoffs.

“I think she’s bein’ a pain in the ass,” Jerry huffs out a breath and scratches his brow..

“Come on, Jerry.  You know she’s got Elvis’s best interests at heart,” Marty says.

“You know what?  I’m actually starting to doubt that,” Jerry says, wiping a hand across his mouth.

Marty rolls his eyes.  “She’s the only thing keeping him sane.”

“I actually think she’s making him crazy.  You know, last April, Elvis told me she’d been cheating on him with her dance teacher.”

“They’ve obviously worked it out or they wouldn’t be together anymore,” Marty counters, shaking his head.

“That’s the thing, Marty.  He never said a word about it to her.  He just saw the signs.  And found another man’s undershirt beneath their bed after he came back from a concert.”

“He didn’t say anything?”

Jerry shakes his head.  “Not a word.  He’s always been so anxious.  Non-confrontational.  It hasn’t changed as he’s aged.  I bet you she’s still cheating on him and he still won’t say a thing.”

Jerry presses his lips together.  “So…so what?  What are you getting at?  You can’t kick her out just because you don’t like how she’s treating him, Jerry.  She’s still his wife.  He still needs her.  Cutting the Colonel doesn’t mean cutting Cilla.”

“I think it does.  Cilla loves the Colonel.”

Marty makes a sound between a laugh and a scoff.  “That-that’s absurd.  You can’t ask Elvis to divorce the love of his life–”

“--Cilla’s not the love of his life.  He cried for weeks before that wedding, you know that.  He was going to leave her for Ann Margaret in ‘67 before her father forced them to marry.”

“Jerry, you sound crazy.  They’re married.  Your feelings about Priscilla don’t…dictate the decisions Elvis makes,” Marty says firmly.  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.  You’re letting your worries about Elvis get the best of you.”

“Jerry, Marty!” Priscilla calls.

“Stop trying to meddle in his love life, Jerry.  You got no say in that,” Marty says.

Jerry throws his hands up.  “Right.  Of course.  Forgive me for being concerned about my friend whose wife has been cheating o–” “Boys, come in!” Priscilla’s voice again.  Marty pushes past Jerry and opens the door.  Elvis is curled up on his side in Joe’s grey undershirt and boxers, shivering again.

Jerry and Marty both approach the bed.  Jerry sits behind Elvis and puts a hand on his back.

“You alright?  Feeling better?” he asks softly.  Elvis’s back feels unnaturally hot but he isn’t sweating at all.

Elvis nods silently.

“He’s feeling much better, I think,” Priscilla says.  “Not perfect, but we were talking about getting him something to eat just now.”

“Good.  That’s good, Cilla.  He hasn’t eaten since dinner last night and he hasn’t kept anything down since yesterday’s lunch.  What are you hungry for, E?”

“...e-eggs and toast,” Elvis mutters.

“Marty, why don’t you go down and ask the kitchen to make him some eggs and toast?” Jerry asks, turning to Marty.  Marty silently sighs and nods before leaving the room.

“We should take your temperature, honey,” Priscilla says.  “Once you’ve eaten we can get some fever medicine in you and you can rest until the 9pm show.  How does that sound?”

“Fine, honey,” Elvis says.  “Come here.”  He reaches his arm out to Priscilla who leans down to kiss his forehead.  “Wh-what about the Colonel?  He ain’t gonna like me taking rests instead of rehearsing.”  Jerry turns to Elvis to see his eyes wide and pupils dilated.  He looks hazy, weak, scared.

“We’ll, uh, we’ll deal with the Colonel.  You don’t gotta worry about him.”

“I don’t understand it,” Priscilla mumbles, barely loud enough for either man to hear.

“What’s that, Cilla?”

“I don’t understand why you’re keeping him from Elvis.  He’s helped him his whole life.  He gave us everything.  Doesn’t make sense to me why you’re trying to kick him out now,” she says, louder.

Elvis swallows and clenches his jaw.  Jerry can see the conflict on his face, the tears beginning to form.

“Colonel’s hurting him, Cilla,” Jerry says, pointing his finger at Elvis’s crumpled frame.  “Working him too hard.  He’s sick now and he still has to work.  You don’t see nothin’ wrong with that?”

“Why are you so defensive, Jerry?” Priscilla retorts.  “He’s my husband.  I know what’s best for him, and I just think it’s wrong that you’re keeping him from his manager.”

“Right.  Well, while you’ve been in Memphis and New York and God knows where else, we were here watching Elvis getting worked to the bone.  If you’d been here instead of–”

“--stop, Jerry,” Elvis whines.  “She don’t know any better.”

“I don’t know any better?  I know—”

“--Cilla, baby, please.  I…I think…” Elvis pauses, out of breath, and puts a hand on his brow.  “I…”

“Breathe,” Jerry instructs.  Elvis draws in a slow breath, his chest rising heavily.  He blows out and breathes again, his heart stopping the pounding motion that’s been making him dizzy.

“I ain’t firing him, Cilla.  Nothing like that.  We’re just takin’ a break.”  Elvis wraps his hand around Priscilla’s waist. 

“Elvis, you were talking about firing him–”

“--I didn’t mean that.  He…he’s given me everything.  I can’t let him go.”  There’s a heavy, thick silence in the room until Jerry claps his hands together.

“Alright.  We’re taking your temperature, then you’re eating, and then you’re gonna sleep.  Cilla, get the thermometer.”

“You get it.”  Priscilla’s voice is sharp and cold.

“Fine.  I’ll get it.”  Jerry grabs the bag from the drugstore and pulls out a mercury thermometer and brings it over to Elvis.  “Open your mouth.”  Elvis follows, tilting his head up to Jerry and parting his lips.  Jerry places the thermometer under Elvis’s tongue.

“Stay like that for a bit.”  Jerry sits down on the bed next to Elvis and watches as he brings Priscilla in closer.

Jerry glances between Elvis and Priscilla for the next few seconds until he feels enough time has passed, watching Priscilla massage Elvis’s hand in her own and look at him.  He turns to Elvis.  “Open,” he instructs, and Elvis opens his mouth so Jerry can pull the thermometer out.  He holds it to the light.

“Not good.”

“What?” Priscilla asks.

“102.2.  I think it’s higher than it was last night.”  Elvis sighs.

The door opens and Marty walks in with a small plate of scrambled eggs and a piece of toast.  “Here you go,” he says, handing Elvis his plate.  “I, uh…I gotta go now.  I have a meeting.  See y’all tonight,” Marty says, wiping his hands on his pants.

“Fine.  Bye now,” Jerry says and Marty walks out without another word.

Elvis starts eating hungrily but delicately.

“Be careful.  Don’t wanna get sick again if you eat too fast,” Jerry says.  Elvis glances up at him.  Not eating fast and not eating too much has never been something that Elvis has followed.  He continues eating in silence before he’s about halfway done and starts to look tired again.

“Done?” Priscilla asks.

“I’m full,” Elvis says softly, pushing the plate away.  Jerry takes it and sets it on the side table before grabbing the bottle of fever medicine and handing two pills to Elvis.  He takes them dry and lays back down.

“Tired,” he says softly.  “Wanna sleep.”

“I need to sleep, too,” Jerry says.  “I was up all night.”

“You can have the bed,” Elvis says softly.

“I’ll take the couch.  Cilla will lay in bed with you.  How does that sound?”

“Fine,” Elvis says.  Jerry makes his way to the couch and grabs a blanket before laying down.  He’s exhausted, but he knows it’s nowhere near how awful Elvis is feeling.  Slowly, he lets his guard down and falls asleep.

—

When he wakes up and checks his watch, it’s 7pm.  They need to get Elvis some dinner and more medicine.  “Cilla?” Jerry calls.  Priscilla walks into the room.

“Yes?”

“It’s 7.  We need to get some more dinner and medicine.”

“Yes.  I think something’s really wrong with him.  His stomach is really swollen and he seems to be in a lot of pain.  I think it’s those pills.”

Jerry takes out a cigarette and lights it.  “Right.  Well, if he’s still asleep, we can go now.  Why don’t you get some shoes on?”

Priscilla nods, grabbing a pair of short heels and sliding them on her feet.  Jerry leads her to the door and shuts it behind them as they exit.  Jerry puts the cigarette in his mouth as they start walking to the elevator.  

“I think we should have a doctor come and see him before the show tonight,” Jerry says.  “I actually think he shouldn’t perform tonight.”

“What?” Priscilla asks.  “He has to perform.”

“...right,” Jerry mutters, frustrated.  “Because it’s your decision.”

Priscilla shakes her head and scoffs.

“I’m just putting in my opinion, Jerry.  I don’t see why you have such a problem with me,” Priscilla crosses her arms.

“I don’t have a problem with you, Cilla.”  Jerry takes the cigarette out of his mouth.  “I just…take issue with the way you talk about Elvis.”

“I just want what’s best for him,” Priscilla insists.

“Yeah.  Me too.”  They approach the elevator and Jerry pushes the button.  “Well, for now, let’s just focus on getting him better.”

—

When Elvis wakes up, it’s slowly and with a grunt as he lifts himself into a sitting position and holds his head.  His sleep was plagued with various nightmares of the Colonel finding him, hurting him.  The worst one…

In the worst one the Colonel had hurt his mother.  Smacked her across the face.  The image of that comes back to Elvis and suddenly he feels a great pain in his chest and stomach and stumbles to the bathroom and vomits.  He kneels in front of the toilet for at least ten minutes, barely conscious, barely able to catch his breath, and freezing cold but too weak to get up and grab a blanket.  It takes a tremendous amount of effort to keep his body upright.  Something is wrong.  His stomach is killing him, his head is pounding, and his heart won’t stop fluttering.  He falls over and lays on the cold bathroom floor, shaking and crying for an indeterminate amount of time before he hears the door open.

“Jerry…Jerry,” he calls weakly, finding the strength to pull himself up and stumble out of the bathroom.  His body freezes when he sees the Colonel with his cane and an ugly frown.

“Elvis,” the colonel says.  “It’s 8:00.  You should be rehearsing by now.”

Elvis is confused and delirious.  “Wh…J-Jerry said you wouldn’t..”

“I am here now, am I not?” The Colonel asks.  “And I am tired of being kept from you.”  Elvis shakes his head.

“St..stay away from me,” he slurs out.  The Colonel comes closer.

“I am your manager, Mr. Presley.  Staying away is not something I can do.  I am already angry enough that you have let these hooligans keep me from you.”

Elvis’s breath picks up and his throat clenches with nausea.  “You..” he gasps for air.  “You–”  Elvis whines in pain and squeezes his eyes shut.

“You are going to come with me,” The Colonel says.  “And there will be consequences for your actions.”  He steps towards Elvis, who deliriously puts his hand up as if to defend himself.

“C-consequences?  You get out..” Elvis slurs.

The Colonel only gets closer.  “Come with me now before I make you.”

Elvis looks up at the Colonel.  Anger burns in his throat.  He clenches his fists.  He can’t think straight.  He doesn’t know much, but he knows he needs the Colonel to get out.

“G-get outta here before I call the cops,” Elvis says, coughing.

“Now you apologize to me before I make you sorry,” the Colonel says, pushing Elvis.  Elvis weakly falls on the ground.  It wasn’t a hard push, but any type of force is enough to take Elvis down in this state.  He’s on the ground, pushing himself backwards with his hands and legs bent.

“Jerry!  J..Jerry!” Elvis calls.

“Be quiet!” The Colonel shouts, moving closer.  

“Jerry!”

The Colonel thrusts his cane at the lower left side of Elvis’s chest as hard as he can.  There’s a cracking sound and Elvis groans in pain before wrapping an arm around his ribcage.

“Be quiet before I shut your mouth for you!” The Colonel yells.

Elvis takes a big breath and screams.

“Jerry!”

“Shut up!” the Colonel screams and whips his cane into the side of Elvis’s face, hitting his cheek and temple.  Elvis crumples to the ground, holding his bleeding head.

He moans and blinks slowly as the Colonel moves closer.

Suddenly, the door opens and big, heavy footsteps come into the room.

“Elvis?  Colonel, what the hell do you think you’re doing here?” Jerry shouts.  “You hurt him?”  He looks at Elvis, whose face and right hand are covered in blood and who is fighting to stay conscious.

“You get the hell out, Colonel, before I kill you,” Jerry says.

“I’m not leaving until Elvis–”

“GET OUT!” Jerry screams.  Priscilla, who had come in with Jerry, approaches Elvis and puts one of Joe’s shirts from the floor over his wound.

“I said–” The Colonel starts, but Jerry shoves him.  He lands on his left arm and yells out in pain.

“Get outta here before I kill you, you fat bastard!” Jerry’s voice is so loud now that it makes Elvis start crying from the pain it causes his head.  He’s completely lost it.  He rips off his sunglasses and kicks the Colonel in the groin.  “OUT!”

The Colonel scrambles out of the hotel room and Jerry slams the door behind him before running over to Elvis and Priscilla.

“E, what happened?” Jerry frantically asks, seeing all the blood that’s accumulated on Joe’s shirt.  

“He…he…” Elvis whispers hoarsely.

“He hit you?  We need to go to the hospital, Elvis.”  Elvis shakes his head and groans.

“N-no hospital…”

“I know you hate hospitals, but this could get serious.”

“Jerry, he has to do the show tonight,” Priscilla says.

“...Screw the show.  We need to get him to a hospital.”

“I..I wanna do the show,” Elvis manages to get out.

“Are you kidding?  You wanna perform in this state?”

“Call Dr. Nick,” Elvis says.  

“Let’s at least get him into bed,” Priscilla says.  Jerry nods and helps lift Elvis up and bring him to Joe’s bed.

“I’m calling the doctor.  Then I’m calling Joe to ask him why the hell he let the Colonel come up here.”  Elvis is barely able to hold his head up as Priscilla tends to him and Jerry makes his way to the phone, dialing a number before talking in a hushed but serious tone.

“He hit you with his cane, Elvis?” Priscilla asks.  Elvis nods slowly, but the pain it causes makes tears stream down his cheeks.

“We’ll get you rested for the next hour.  The fans won’t know a thing,” she reassures him.  Elvis just makes a small noise of understanding in his throat.  He doesn’t really feel like performing.  

“Dr. Nick’s gonna be up here in one minute with some medicine.  Can you tell me what happened?”

“The Colonel hit him with his cane.  Right across the face,” Priscilla says.  “I can’t get the bleeding to stop,” she presses the shirt tighter against Elvis’s face and he whimpers.

“Right.  Well, I’m gonna talk to Joe during the show.”

“Where’s the Colonel?  I think you mighta broken his arm,” Priscilla says, her eyebrows tensing.

“I don’t give a damn where that bastard is.  Long as he stays away from Elvis.  I think we should get a restraining order on him.”

“Restraining order?” Priscilla asks.  “That’s extreme.”  Elvis makes a moaning sound of pain and she shushes him.

“What’s extreme is him hitting Elvis across the face with a metal cane.  That’s assault.  And I plan to never let it happen again.”  Jerry can feel his face getting hot with anger.

There’s a knock at the door, and Jerry opens it to find Dr. Nick with a bag, who walks over to the bed and sits on the chair next to it.

“Can you tell me what happened here?” he asks.

“Elvis got hit with the Colonel’s cane,” Priscilla tells him.  “He’s been bleeding for at least five minutes.”

Jerry scoffs.  Elvis got hit with the Colonel’s cane.  That’s the way of putting it that makes the Colonel seem a lot less guilty.

Dr. Nick puts his hand on Priscilla’s and pulls the shirt away.  Blood gushes out of a gash from the tip of the cane right above Elvis’s temple.

“Normally I would say this doesn’t need stitches, but I think we should give him some considering the show tonight,” Dr. Nick says.

“The…the show?” Jerry asks.  “He’s not doing the show.  He’s injured.  And sick.  And he’s been workin’ like a dog all season.  Sixteen shows a week with no breaks, you don’t see nothin’ wrong with that?”

“No need to get angry, Mr. Schilling,” Dr. Nick says, to which Jerry shakes his head.  He grabs a needle and sutures, then pulls out a syringe and vial.  “I’m going to inject some anesthetic around the wound to numb it for you.  Then I’ll put in the stitches.  How does that sound?”

“F-fine,” Elvis says, opening his eyes.  “Ah…”  The lights cause him pain and he shuts them again.

He feels a small pinch as Dr. Nick injects him with the anesthetic.  “I’m starting the stitches now.  You just let me know if it hurts too much, ok?”  Elvis makes a noise of agreement and tries not to move as he feels Dr. Nick starts the stitches.  It’s over quicker than he thought it would be and isn’t that painful, but it still makes him tense and nauseous.

“I’m gonna start cleaning up with a wet cloth, just getting the blood off your face,” Dr. Nick says, taking out a white cloth and dousing it with water from his bottle.  He gently presses it to Elvis’s face, which causes him to wince and whine, and Priscilla shushes him and kisses the top of his head.

“Can you tell me what happened leading up to you getting hit?”

Elvis nods.  The pain in his head is intense to say the least, fogging up his memory and making it hard to speak.  But he tries anyways.  “I…I had a bad dream.  I went to the bathroom and I got sick…then…then…the Colonel showed up.”

Dr. Nick gently wipes more blood off of Elvis’s face and neck, glancing over at the puddle of blood on the carpet by the bathroom.

“He said…to come with him.  And that he was gonna punish me.”

“And then he hit you?”

“...yeah.  I-I think so,” Elvis confirms.

“He’s having some other issues too.  Stomach issues, and he’s been feverish since the day before yesterday.”

Dr. Nick nods.  “The good news is, all those things can be cured.  Fevers, nausea, head injuries.  And they can all be cured in time for you to perform in 45 minutes.  I’ll give you some pain medication and nausea medication.  I don’t have anything for fevers, though.”

“I do,” Jerry says.  “But he really shouldn’t be performing.”  

Dr. Nick takes out a syringe and two vials.

“Well, it’s up to him.  But he has some fans waiting.”  He fills up one of the syringes and injects it into Elvis’s shoulder, then fills the next and does the same.

Then he stands up.  “Call me if he gets any worse.  I’ll be around.”  With that, he leaves the hotel room.

“You really shouldn’t perform tonight, Elvis,” Jerry says, seeing Priscilla’s jaw tighten.

“I think you need to, honey,” Priscilla counters.  Jerry sighs.  “If you don’t, the Colonel could sue you.  Plus, all those fans are waiting to see you.  You don’t wanna disappoint them, do you?”

Jerry makes a sound between a laugh and a scoff.  “Are you trying to make him feel bad for bein’ sick?  It ain’t his fault if he can’t perform.  The fans can wait.”

“I’m not making anybody feel bad but you, Jerry,” Priscilla bites back.  “Elvis, I really think you should go out there tonight.”

“I…I will,” Elvis says softly.  “Just give me ten more minutes to rest and I’ll be on my way to the dressin’ room.” 

“Why don’t you go down to the theatre and give us some time, Jerry?” Priscilla asks. 

“Yeah.  Sure.  See you in a bit, Elvis,” Jerry says.  Elvis nods. 

-

As soon as Jerry is done lecturing Joe, who’s nothing but apologetic, he rushes to watch the concert.  Priscilla is nowhere to be found and Elvis is clearly struggling.  He’s pale, shaky, delirious, and should be sweating but isn’t.  That can only mean his fever is getting higher and not breaking.  He holds his head when he can and dances slowly, messily.  Even the audience can tell something is seriously wrong.  As Can’t Help Falling In Love starts, Jerry hears footsteps behind him. “Almost done?” Priscilla asks. 

“Yeah.”  Jerry wrinkles his nose.  She smells like alcohol.  

The two watch in silence as the number finishes and the curtain starts to close.  Elvis has given everything.  Surprisingly, he doesn’t faint as soon as the curtain is down. He just curls up into a ball and sits, shivering. 

Priscilla runs over and puts a hand on his back, she goes to give him a kiss but he turns away from her, gagging.  Someone hands him a bowl and he’s sick into it, pushing Priscilla away when she tries to touch him.  

Jerry walks over to Elvis and puts a hand on his back.  It’s hotter than ever before and bone dry. “Someone get him some ice water!” Jerry calls.  When Elvis looks up from the bowl, the force of vomiting has caused his stitches to burst and his head is bleeding again. 

Jerry takes off his own blazer and holds it to Elvis’s head.  “We need to go to the hospital.  Get us a car.”

A staff member from the hotel approaches Jerry and Elvis with a bucket of ice water and a thermometer.  Jerry places it in Elvis’s mouth gently.  “Let’s get your jumpsuit off. 

“What’s he gonna wear?” Priscilla asks. Jerry turns to her.  She’s standing off to the side with her arms crossed. 

“His boxers and undershirt.  Anything else and he’ll overheat.”  Jerry takes the thermometer out and gasps. “105.4.  Is the car ready?  Tell the hospital we’re coming.”  He takes the blazer off of Elvis’s head and find that the bleeding has stopped, so he starts working the jumpsuit off as best he can.  When the jumpsuit and Elvis’s shoes and socks are off, he starts taking handfuls of ice water and pouring them on Elvis’s torso. 

“Jerry—“

“—he could get heatstroke if we don’t get this fever down.  Now.”

Joe rushes into the room. “Jerry.”

“What?”

“The car’s ready.”

Jerry doesn’t know where, maybe it’s the adrenaline, but he somehow manages to find the strength to pick up Elvis bridal-style and carry him to the hallway.  Elvis is completely out of it and his breathing is shallow.  

“Stay awake, Elvis.  Don’t fall asleep now,” Jerry says.  Elvis is in and out of consciousness as Jerry eases him into the backseat of a black car.  Priscilla gets in the other side and Jerry situates Elvis so his head is on Jerry’s lap and his legs are on Priscilla’s. Elvis instantly curls up, clearly freezing.  Jerry puts a hand over him and is about to shut the door when Joe stops him.  

“Jerry.”

“What?”

“I been on the phone with the colonel.”

“So what?”

“You broke his arm.”  Jerry swallows. 

Waits. 

“He’s pressing charges against you and Elvis.”