#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]

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

[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.

[fallenprophets]

televangelism

Rust Cohle x reader

summary : lying in bed with rust, you allow yourself some good ol' self-indulgent staring. featuring some very (un)scandalous physical contact

no use of y/n, gender neutral reader, 1.3K words (she's short but hopefully sweet)

warnings : n/a

A/N : she's not proofread, she's short, she's so self-indulgent, but that's kind of on brand for me at this point. listened to ethel cain while writing this (obviously). title is just a song that fits, has nothing to do with anything LMFAO. if insanely ooc, blame it on the boogey i had nothing to do with it

⭐︎

Rust Cohle doesn’t sleep. 

At least, that’s what I’ve been lead to believe- through Marty’s rants in the car on the way to crime scenes, through the whispers of coworkers in the precinct; hell, Rust himself has said it more than once, eyes glazed over, the words mumbled around the cigarette trapped between his teeth. Those words- Rust don’t sleep- had become, over time, something I knew rather than thought- words whispered in my mind every time I looked at him, took in how tired he looked. 

At this point, though, I’ve seen him asleep enough to know that that’s bullshit. Hell, I’ve seen him asleep enough to know when he’s pretendin’, eyes shut but aware of everything around him. He did it a lot, when I started staying over at his or he at mine; I’d close my eyes and feel him shift, and I just knew he was watchin’ me, thinking all his lonely thoughts. I remember wishing I could reach through his eyes, sift through his mind. 

He started trusting to me, I like to think. Took time; months of me watching him pretend, him watching me doze. Finally, though, he slept, and now, we’re at a point where I know when it’s real, when it’s faking. 

He doesn’t exactly look at peace, when he’s really asleep. That’s what you expect from people (although, at this point, I should know not to compare Rust Cohle to the others I’ve known); the lines of their face soften, the hardness of their eyes hidden. I remember watching my daddy sleep; was the only time I saw him lookin’ relatively normal. 

But no, Rust doesn’t sleep like that. 

His brow is furrowed, as when he is awake, as if he’s in perpetual thought. His mouth is pressed into a thin line; even the tic in his jaw is still there, appearing occasionally. He has a hand pressed to my leg, fingers curled around the inside of my knee. It is the only part of him touching me; I don’t blame him for wanting a little space in this heat. 

When he’s asleep, he looks like he’s fighting. Like he’s gripping onto something, and it’s slipping; like he’s Sisyphus pushing that damn rock in the underworld, always returning to the beginning. Or Orpheus, walking blind towards the light, watching his Eurydice slip away from him at the last moment when he succumbs to his love for her, turns to see her one last time. 

When I was a kid, we had a dog; my ma always told us to stay away from him if he was in a deep sleep, ‘cause we’d startle him and bite our noses off. 

Now, I feel the same longing mixed with caution swirl in my stomach. My fingers twitch where they’re curled against my stomach, aching to reach out and touch his face. I shuffle a little closer; his grip on my leg shifts, thumb dragging against my skin softly. He doesn’t seem to have been woken. I swallow. I’m close enough to feel his warm breath fan across my face, my neck; close enough to see every minute detail of his face, even in the semi-darkness of my room. 

This is one of the rare moments where I’m just able to look. To trace the line of his nose, his eyelids, the way his eyelashes look when his eyes are shut. The curve of his mouth, the tired, slightly haunted look that follows him into sleep. His hair is shorter; he let me cut it, suggested it out of nowhere the other day. I hardly said a word as I did it; he told me about whatever his latest thought was, the words thick as he smoked. I listened, threaded my fingers through his hair; kissed him when I was done, tasted the smoke on his tongue. 

I give in to the want choking me and raise my hand, reaching out to touch his cheekbone with my fingertips. I’m careful not to wake him; keep my touch light as I brush down, stopping at his mouth. It makes me feel almost physically sick; the thought that I’ve kissed him, that he’s asleep in my bed, after so much time spent haunting the precinct, trying to catch glimpses of him at his desk, ducking away when his eyes met mine. I was always too ashamed to look; and now, here I am, and here he is. 

I rest my hand where his jawline meets his ear, his pulse against my palm, fingers in his hair. The sun has almost set completely outside, but I know he’s still there, skin hot against mine. I close my eyes and still see him, burned into my eyelids; reminds me of staring at the sun too long when I was a kid, eyes stinging. Only this don’t hurt as much. 

I think he wakes while I doze. He doesn’t move, doesn’t pull my hand away from where it rests against his pulse. He watches me, like he always does; I can picture him, his gaze unfiltered and thick through his eyelashes. I wait, not wanting to break the spell of silence.

But the waiting, as always, becomes unbearable, and I open my eyes. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him, despite how I have grown so used to being near him. I shift my hand to trace my fingertips down, dragging them across his collarbone, pressing my palm over his heart. His eyes stay fixed on my face, assessing, admiring, examining. 

He pulls his hand from my leg, and my skin tingles, aching for the warmth of it. Wordlessly, he nudges the hem of my too-big t-shirt up, to settle his hand again on my bare skin, fingers curling at my back. It’s so strangely intimate; the way he touches me without breaking eye contact, the way his jaw clenches and unclenches as he does so. I wonder if he feels guilty, for allowing himself this pleasure (and I am assuming that’s what this is- not just a thoughtless stunt of his, but something he wants to do, just as much as I do)- wonder if later, when he sits in his truck with a cigarette clamped between his teeth, he’ll let the regret wash over him, and never look me in the eyes again. Does he regret this? It’s hard to tell, with the way he watches me, heavy-lidded, his thumb tracing circles on my waist. 

I think of the way he kisses me. The first time, he was taught, every muscle alert, like an animal ready to bolt. But when I smoothed a hand over the tick in his jaw, he seemed to let go, to give in all at once. Now, when we kiss, he’s always almost greedy, brow furrowed, cursing himself and yet, and yet, and yet. I almost smile at the thought. 

I don’t think he regrets this, because he’s lying in my bed in his wifebeater and an old pair of my sweats, and the smell of his cigarettes linger on my skin and in my walls, and because of the things he whispers to himself when he thinks I’m asleep. I don’t think he regrets this, because although he never outright says I love you the way most people might, he shows it in other ways, in his strange, Rust Cohle way. 

And that’s enough for me. 

I shuffle closer, press my forehead to his, and he closes his eyes. I watch the furrow in his brow fade, his jaw clenching and unclenching still, the palm of his hand on my bare waist, his fingers rough and warm against my skin. He lets out a long breath, a release of something that I don’t understand. 

I suppose I must love him- not the way I’ve loved past boyfriends; certainly not the way I loved my fiancé, before he ran off with someone from California. But his heart beats against the palm of my hand, and I know he'll be right here in the morning.

[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."

[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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[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

[gingerteafairy]

𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

Favorite hero? The Flash—no doubt. He sees him as a role model: optimistic, charismatic, and stupidly smart. Todd totally thinks he could be that cool someday.

His favorite Spider-Man is Tobey Maguire’s. Broke, awkward, and kinda dumb-funny. (Sound familiar? Yeah, Todd might be projecting a little.)

Has a ridiculously good GPA. But he’d rather die than admit it. If someone found out, he’d just mumble, “Nah, I just got lucky,” while dying inside.

He definitely planned a Superman and Batman duo costume with Dave for Halloween… until Marty found out and threatened to send pics to the whole school. Instant cancellation.

He really wanted to try smoking because it looks badass… but the moment he read about lung cancer, he was like, “Nope, I’d rather live.”

Listens to Radiohead, The Strokes, Gorillaz and Blur (huge Damon Albarn fan, he messes with Marty for being an Oasis guy.)

He also listens to cheesy artists like Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, Justin Timberlake or even Lana del Rey (mostly unreleased songs, they're the best for fantasizing.)

Constantly trying to learn japanese for drawing tutorials purposes, he wants to make his own comics one day

Doesn't believe in horoscopes and law of attraction, but he never wants to mess with luck. That's shit is strong.

french fries obsession

Allergies? Oh yeah. Raging hay fever. One whiff of pollen, and he’s sneezing like it’s an Olympic event.

Android or iPhone? Android, no question. He likes having actual customization instead of selling his soul to Apple.

Type: “Uh… alive. And maybe into me? (Optional.)” But let’s be real—he has a massive soft spot for nerds, especially ones with glasses.

Career goals? Get a job at Atomic Comics, make bank, and finally afford every single comic book he’s ever wanted. That’s the dream.

Favorite school subject? Biology. Something about learning how the universe works just clicks for him. But, plot twist—he’s also a lowkey math genius and a chemistry hater (it's messy)

Dream job: Scientist. if the Flash can be smart, then dammit, so can he.

[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.

[martymcflea]

Stable? I thought those were for kaithes.

[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

[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.

[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.

[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.