Dec 28, 2025
SuperWhoLock for horny freaks that like synth music
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SuperWhoLock for horny freaks that like synth music
⭐️⭐️⭐️
marty supreme
𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬
𝙈𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙮 𝙈𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳—𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦. 𝘈 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵.
𝐚/𝐧: 𝘏𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘕𝘦𝘸 𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦! 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘔𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘐 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘴! 𝘈𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘐’𝘮 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘴 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘰𝘶𝘵.
𝐰𝐜: 2.4k
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝙢𝙙𝙣𝙞, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵, 𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘷, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘦, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘥𝘰𝘮-𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺, 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘥, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥
Marty called you, late, midnight or so. It wasn’t unusual but still uncalled for. He told you to meet at the hotel that he was staying at for the night. Something not too far out of where you were. New York City was vibrant and loud. Always thriving with energy. Never serene, nor still.
It was a bit of a rainy night, nothing extreme. The lights flickered in the puddles on the ground, creating a reflection. A slight chill in the air with a soft breeze. The hotel wasn’t far enough that you had to take a cab so you walked. It was kind of nice—despite what Marty might’ve had planned awaiting, always something messy and disorderly—the free feeling of all the liveliness in the city, all the people, the whole atmosphere. It was enchanting.
Stepping through the hotel doors, the air conditioning hit you with a kind of hotel smell that was always memorable. Your hair was damp from the small drizzling outside, sticking to your skin from the sappy-like humidity. Brushing and situating yourself to feel a little more together, you stepped into the lobby. It was big and quite empty but still had some people, a little more than you’d imagine considering the hour.
About to ask for the room number of Marty Mauser, you spotted him in the further back corner area right next to the elevators. You smiled softly. He waved, not frantically but just enough to grab your attention. Walking over to you, he seemed eager for something, moving with efficiency.
His hand grabs yours when close enough, pulling you in front of him, pushing you gently back to the elevators. You didn’t resist. Didn’t respond either. Just followed his lead. His face got close to your ear, his cheek touching your hair. “You always look like that this late, or am I just lucky?” He whispered, cockiness thickening in his voice.
With a final small slightly rougher push, you were in the elevator and you saw that smug smirk on his face as he joined you in the elevator right next to you, pushing floor five in all one motion. “Thanks for coming on short notice.” He said notably, almost like it wasn’t really sincere.
Ding!
The elevator doors open, “Ladies first,” Marty says in his witty tone. You walk out as he follows behind, soon running past you and down the hall, his excitement taking over. Seeming a little too pleased with himself. There’s already a familiar buzz in the air, the kind that only shows up at this time of night.
Marty always had this childlike persona to him, something you both loved and hated. He always kept his head up and never let many things get to him but that was somewhat part of the problem. In real world situations, you need to let things get to you in a way. A way that shows they matter and mean something. Something important.
Although aside from the obvious problems, it was never a dull moment with Marty. He always seemed very alive and energetic, for the most part. You saw some parts of him most people never do, but that’s what you liked about your guy’s relationship. It felt like he could be real with you at times. His true self.
No act.
No nothing.
Just raw authenticity.
But that’s what scared Marty. He couldn’t bear the silence that crept in. The kind that pleaded thought, feeling, energy. Once a feeling becomes real, too real, it becomes impossible to escape. To let go. And that was the last thing he wanted. Or needed.
Finally arriving at Marty’s room, he opens the door, taking your hand again and pulling you in. This time a little gentler. “Go sit down for me.” He whispered, jerking his head in the direction of the bed as he shut the door. You did as he said. Glancing around the place. It was quite fancy. Very well put together. A little cluttered, not surprising.
The room feels suspended in time. Marty entered the bathroom that was located right by the door. You watched him through the small sighting of the mirror in the bathroom. Rolling up his sleeves, he runs the water. Running it over his hands, he drags his hands over his face, up into his hair.
His eyes are low at that moment, indicating he’s tired. But he surely doesn't act like it. Turning the faucet off, he steps out, catching a glimpse of you. Immediately your first intention would be to look away, but you don’t. You let him know you're watching. Noticing. Observing. And he can’t hide for long.
He takes his time crossing the room, “What’s all this about?” he asks—not confused, just waiting for you to say it out loud. “Ain’t no harm in looking, is there?” You say unfazed. He smiles, just a little. Huffing a quiet laugh, “No.” His voice drops. “But you’ve never struck me as the careful type.”
Neither of you break eye contact as he consistently walks over to you. Closer and closer, until at the very ends of your knees, almost touching. His eyes linger on you. Your eyes. Your lips. Your figure as you sit before him. You feel the heat of his gaze on you, lingering on every part of you. Taking you in. Considering you.
Before you could wait another second, his lips found yours in a heated kiss—as they always did. His hands find the curve of your jawline. You stood up slowly, lips still locked hungrily onto one another’s. Your purse rolled off your shoulder as you removed your coat in one slick motion. Hands now finding his face as well, caught up in the moment.
The comforter of the bed hit your back before you felt yourself even fall. Marty pulled his shirt off in a quick motion, tossing it to a corner of the room that you didn’t care to notice. As you unbuttoned your blouse, he helped with assisting. Your bra now visible, he looked over your chest as if he’d been in awe and for all you knew, maybe he was.
He immediately unclipped your bra in one swift gesture, your bare chest now shown before him. “Fuck.” His voice echoed. His mouth instantly found yours again, migrating down your neck, sucking at the skin. The wetness of his mouth then working at your breasts, suckling at your nipple.
Your back arches slightly as a moan flows out your mouth as he covers it with his free hand. His digits enter your mouth, now sucking at the harsh dermis of his fingers. Marty lets out a noise—something between a moan and low groan. His mouth fixated and muffled by the soft flesh of your breasts.
With a pop sound, his mouth leaves your breast, the cold air hitting the wet skin. Your nipple hardens as Marty notices, not helping his current state. He moans obscurely, his head falling to your stomach, glancing down at the hard on in his pants.
He slowly drags his head back up, the damp looking hair falling in his eyes. He whispers something to himself that isn’t auditable for you to hear. But you don’t pay any mind to it. Trailing kisses down your stomach, he pulls off your skirt with ease as well as your panties. You gasp softly at the feeling.
Sucking at the skin, he continues to trail his kisses down your inner thighs, stopping at the hem of your soaking entrance. He doesn’t give you a look, doesn’t ask, and he doesn’t need to. With no second thought, he goes straight in. Your back arches wildly, hips rutting upward without control.
Licking at your slick, tongue delving through your folds, you spread your legs wider like it's natural to you. As your hands find his hair, softly gripping at the curls, he wraps his arms around your thighs and brings you closer into him. Grounding you. Making squirming less accessible.
Lapping at your core, you continue to wince at each feel of his tongue on your heat. Dripping continuously with every lick of his tongue as he devours you. “You taste just like the first time I ever tasted you.” He mumbles into you, a low grin appearing across his face. You felt it against your cunt.
Marty licked up some more, stopping at your clit, circling the bud with the tip of his tongue. Now sucking hard at the bundle of nerves which was all you needed to bring you over the edge. Your legs began to shake as you gripped his hair now roughly. “Fuck, right there Mart.” You let out faintly, voice caught off by a moan.
The nickname catches him off guard, something only you ever really call him. He doesn’t always like it, but it was always what you called him. Although he can’t get thrown off now, he takes it as an encouragement to finish through. And strong—like always.
He quickens his movements and with one final loud moan from you as your back arches as far as possible, you come undone. Right there, right then and Marty watches. Smiling softly to himself as he does so. Murmuring feebly, “Good girl.”
You exhale hard repeatedly, trying to catch your breath. Light sweat drips down your forehead. Marty begins to unzip his pants, and your eyes almost widen without realizing. His fingers fidget shakily as he does so, breathing hard as well.
Your legs ache, feeling the weak soreness of it already kicking in. Marty finally fully unzips himself, his hard cock springing free as he lets out a deep exhale. Tilting his head back, the reddened tip leaking of precum. And as tired as you felt, you also felt yourself become wet again from the sight of his hardened dick dripping in front of you.
Your legs quivered from the sight, remembering how he always felt. Once again without asking or any sort of look, he lined himself up with your entrance. Sliding the tip of his cock up and down, mixing his precum with your slick. A shaky breath left your lips. Finally he pushed fully inside of you, almost bottoming out as you let out a moan, biting your lip to muffle it from being too loud.
Marty titled his head back once more. “God. I missed this so much,” he muttered. Slowly, he pushed in and out of you, beginning to pick up the pace as he always did. Your juices covering his entire shaft by now. He rubbed your clit with his thumb as he shifted in and out of you.
It wasn’t long before both of you’d finish, despite the fact it all just started. Marty paced in and out of you faster than you could keep up with, wincing with each push of his burrowing cock. The rubbing sensation together with his dick began to make you see stars. The mix of the two became overwhelming, “I’m close..” you breathed in between soft moans.
“Me too,” Marty responded, also breathy. That knot in your stomach grew quickly, becoming unbearable. Right as it reached its peak, Marty let out a few more harsh blows. And as you both moaned loudly, filling the room with sweat and loud clatter, the knot snapped. A wave rushing over your body, Marty fully bottoming out. It was unlike him, usually using his helpful “method”, pulling out.
You felt him release all of himself inside you, but you didn’t care enough to argue or make a fuss. Both your breaths were in sync, trying to catch up as sweat fell from your bodies. Slowly, Marty pulled out of you and he watched as his seed leaked out of you. A small smug grin appeared on his face—partly from being proud of himself and partly from being a bit aroused by the sight.
Marty fell onto the bed right beside you, still panting from moments before. He turns his head, glancing over as you pant too. You catch him looking at you abnormally. “You good?” He asks unexpectedly, voice easy, like the question doesn’t matter much.
“Mhm,” you hum softly. He nods, but doesn’t get up. Not like he usually would. Doesn’t reach for his jacket, or anything. Instead, he glances over at you, eyes lingering a second too long before he catches himself.
“We should probably stop doing this.” He says plainly. A moment of silence settles in the air before you respond. “Why don’t we then?” He smirks, turning his head away. “Late night,” he says. “Bad decisions.”
You let that sit in the air for a little while longer, not feeling the need to ruin anything with something that doesn’t need to be said. But for a second—just one—it feels like he might say something real. His mouth opens, agape for a second, then closes again. He exhales through his nose, the moment dissolving before it can take shape.
“Don’t read into it,” he adds lightly, already shifting, already putting that familiar distance back in place. You sit up leisurely, still coming down from the overstimulating high. You grab your clothes, putting them on gradually, not in a hurry. Marty’s eyes loiter on you as you do so. Like he still wants to say something and it’s caught in his throat.
Marty gets up and does the same as well before you’re fully clothed, sitting on the edge of the bed as you finish up. Walking into the bathroom, you zoom into your eyes and face making sure nothing is alarming looking. Marty watches you through the small spotting of the mirror, like you both switched places from beforehand.
Seeing you’re decent, you walk out back into the room where Marty’s sitting at the edge of the bed. You tenderly kiss his cheek, grabbing your shoes, heading towards the door. As you open the door, you hesitate before walking out. Looking back halfway, you see Marty sitting there mindless.
“You’re impossible, y’know that? Pretty boy.” And with that, you left. No lingering look. No final breaths. Nothing. Just that, and it left a heavy feeling in Marty’s chest. Heavier than before. He replayed the words, ‘Pretty boy’ in his head a few times, echoing throughout him. Like it rattled him out of his typical cocky high-on-himself act.
He almost wanted to run out that door, chase after you, finally face his one true fear and say what he really meant to. But he didn’t. Instead, he sat there and did nothing. Letting those words, that last very moment of you, eat him away.
For now.
New outtakes of Timothée Chalamet as Marty Mauser in ‘Marty Supreme’.
Twitter credit to timotheenation and timotheeupdates
writers need to lock in and write a fanfic about marty mauser now. NOW NOW NOW.
marty + his slvtty little tank top
Highest bet
✦. ── Masterlist ⭑.ᐟ
Pairing: Marty Mauser x Gn!Reader
Synopsis: Marty needed money. And unfortunately, you were the best person he knew to achieve such a thing. Tags: Silly stuff that I took too seriously, if you even consider this as an established relationship, kissing, partners in crime, questionable vision on romance (by me), Moses the dog, Marty is a fucking bitch, but also incredibly hot. Warnings!!: Movie spoilers! Word Count: 4.6k
a/n: Chugged down half a liter of energetic last night, watched the movie with a 130bpm, chugged another half, wrote this. I'll revise and proof read this in the morning, I promise! I just really wanted to get the feelings out
“1500 dollars? Are you absolutely insane? That’s what I make in a year!” You snapped at him from across the phone. It wasn’t uncommon for Marty to disappear for god knows how long and then come back asking for money. But vanishing for eight months, never calling you, and coming back asking for more than either of you could possibly have was absolutely insane.
“No, that’s what we made in two days on the bowling alley last year.” Marty corrected. His voice was rushed, breathless, as if he were running before talking to you. Currently, in the back of a random store that he begged to use the telephone, he had called you as a last resort on everything going wrong in his life. Which was, at least, three times a year. “You’re so good at that, I’m sure we can find a way together, just like before. Come on, you’re smart, I’m nothing without you right now.”
“That’s a pretty funny thing to say when you seemed fine on your own for the last eight months.” You shouted back at him, voice rising for a second before you lowered it again, afraid someone else could hear you. “Not a single call or letter. Do you have any idea how worried I was?”
“I was busy, for god’s fucking sake. I would’ve called you more if I had the time.” He hissed, hands tightly curled against the wall he was holding for dear life.
“If you had the time, or when you needed money again?” You asked.
“Don’t say that.” He warned.
“You’re an asshole, Marty. That’s what you fucking are. In what planet do you live to think that I would possibly want to help you with anything right now?”
“Can you meet me somewhere?” He coaxed, the tiny hint of despair and hope in his voice simultaneously audible. “Let’s talk. Let me see you again, please.”
You knew eight months weren’t enough for a person to change. Especially someone like Marty Mauser, and yet, you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed in seeing that his first resort was always the sweet talk of his. The one he knew that would eventually convince you. “No, I can’t.” You explained. “I’m working, Marty. You should try that sometimes, then you’d have the money you need.”
On the other side of the line, Marty’s eyes lit up. “Working? Are you at the store? Perfect, I’m going there right now.”
“What? No, no, don’t fucking come in here-” You tried to argue, but Marty had already ended the call and was very likely going to arrive at the door in less than ten minutes, depending on where he was. Placing the phone back into the base with a little more strength than necessary, you tiredly looked around the state of the store you worked at. Some older people looking at the shelves, two kids placing candy in their pockets as if neither you nor the cashier could see them. Fortunately for them, you weren’t paid enough to care.
Waiting by the back door, you fully expected Marty to turn the corner at the alley and arrive, just like he did any other time. Instead, you looked up to see a bag being thrown from the other side of the wall that separated the place you worked and the Chinese restaurant by its side, followed up by a Marty jumping alongside it.
You weren’t even sure if you should be surprised anymore. After so many months away, he changed absolutely nothing, running to you with the same asshole of a grin on his face and those glasses you had no idea how he didn’t break yet.
“Motherfucker-” Seeing him grab his bag and coming your way, you didn't hesitate to curse him out, but Marty, in a desperate attempt to shut you up, quickly grabbed a fistful of the jacket you were wearing and pulled you closer to him, crashing both your mouths in a weak effort that, maybe, you could forget your wish for him to die just for a second.
Just like everything that came with Marty Mauser, the kiss was quick and intense, his hands dropping the bag by his side just to hold onto you properly, one hand tightly gripped at your waist, and the other on the back of your head. You cursed yourself and the lack of desire to push him away, because, after everything, part of you was terrifyingly glad that he was alive and there with you. The young man’s desperate open-mouth kisses with murmured “I missed you” and “I love you”’s in between, making you melt in a way that pissed you off.
When both of you finally separated, the passion of the moment quickly went away, your own justifiable anger creeping back.
“Son of a-” You were about to speak again, but Marty shut you up again with yet another quick and lighter kiss, something that was starting to get on your nerves.
“I know, I’m a bitch, I missed you too, I also thought I died.” He pulled away abruptly, coming inside the shop and almost running past you. “Gotta use the phone.”
Scoffing, you cleaned your mouth on the back of your hand, closing the left open door of your shop and turning around to go after Marty, who was already at the telephone dialing some number and waiting for it to ring.
“Care to explain?” You asked, observing the man with the phone to his ear and his foot tapping nervously against the ground. “The whole looking like I just ran a marathon thing, maybe?”
“Armed robbery, the police is after me.” He answered so casually that the desire inside you to punch him in the face only grew.
After a long second of silence, where you questioned your own kindness and mercy for not calling the police yourself right now, you just sighed and passed a hand through your face. “Amazing.” You murmured.
The phone continued ringing for more time than it was supposed to be, with Marty’s nervous tapping becoming more aggressive until he eventually gave up and threw the phone back in the base with more force than necessary. You were sure the thing would break if it depended on you both. “Fuck.” He cursed, passing a hand through his hair before turning to you. “Lend me your car.”
“Absolutely the fuck not. You said you wanted to talk to me. That’s your definition of talking?” You questioned, still looking over at the store to see if your coworker at the register even cared about what you were doing in there. Gladly, twenty-year-old guys with a job they hated didn’t usually care if someone else was currently fighting or making out on the back of the store you wished to quit from. “At least explain what is happening.”
Marty groaned in frustration, taking off his glasses and squeezing his eyes shut, hand pinching the bridge of his nose. “I need to pay a 1500 dollar fine to play the next tournament.” He spoke at once, finally opening his eyes and placing his glasses back on to look properly at you. “Can you please help me? I am desperate. I am begging you.”
“Tournament?” The words registered in your mind, and the moment they made sense, it was like a punch directly to your guts. “Ping-pong, Mauser? Are you fucking kidding me?”
It wasn’t like you didn’t support him in the whole ping-pong dream he had. You saw him playing before, and you knew he was good. Very good, in fact. You just weren’t exactly in favor of witnessing Marty throw away his life for something he wasn’t sure would even pay in the end.
“I’ll pay you later.” He reassured you, lowering his voice and trying to take hold of your hands. “Anything we manage to get, I’ll pay you ten times later, I swear.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about, and you know it.” You said, voice more worried than you’d like to sound to him. “You’re gonna get yourself killed like that. It’s what you want?”
“You know I’ll be fine. I always end up fine.”
“By god’s sake…” You cursed under your breath.
“Listen, listen. After I win, I’ll take you out to a nice dinner.” He whispered sweetly, smile back at his face as he brought one of your hands to his mouth and kissed your knuckles. “We stay at a good hotel, with a nice room service, and we have sex on a giant bed against silk sheets. What do you think, huh?”
“Stop talking.” You pulled your hands back, thinking about the worst that could happen if you happened to indulge in whatever scheme he was planning to do that day. And unfortunately, the idea that the worst case might be Marty spending some months in jail didn’t seem so bad.
Marty Mauser was the biggest regret you had in life. He was lucky to be so convincing at times, at least enough for you to lose your morals for the day.
You reached a hand to the side of his face, resisting the urge to punch him right there or to kiss him senseless. “Okay.” You admitted defeat, thumb brushing against his cheek. “I’ll help you out.”
And for a moment, just for a moment, the suffering seemed to pay off when a more genuine smile appeared on Marty’s face. “Thanks.” He said. “I love you.”
Marty still wanted your car, and you'd rather cut off your own hand than have him even touch the key to it. Maybe it wasn't the best car to ever exist, but it was everything you had. That being said, now one of the parts in Marty's plan seemed to include you being his personal chauffeur.
“Bowling alley again? I think going to another city is safer this time, the usual place might have someone who wants to beat you up.” You discussed, remembering the very aggressive and very real death threat Marty received the last time he set foot there. If it wasn't for you going with him, he surely wouldn't have left in one piece.
“No, we have to get the dog first.” He spoke without thinking.
You blinked. Once, twice. “The dog?” You asked. “What dog?”
Just now knowing what he said, Marty cursed himself. “Yeah, so…” He wondered how to explain it simply. “A rich guy lost his dog not too far from here. And I know where the dog is. We can take a lot of reward money from that man if we get it back to him.” Marty told, omitting the fact that he practically robbed the old man, stole the dog, lost the dog, and was almost shot trying to get it back.
“Doesn’t seem that bad.” Were words you immediately regretted, because it was, in fact, the shittiest and worst situation you could have ever been in.
The supposed place that the dog was in, according to Marty, was a house in the middle of nowhere, in the sketchiest part of the road, right after a gas station you never seen before. It was the type of place people died in horror movies, the ones you’re sure a serial killer would drag you just so he could hear and get off from your screams without anyone noticing, before he skinned you alive.
“Oh, god.” You immediately regret everything you have ever done in your life. Especially that exact moment you first exchanged a word with Marty when you both were 12 years old. Now, looking at the house, you weren’t sure if a nice dinner and silk sheets were enough to justify whatever you two were about to do. “Are you sure this dog is here?”
“Of course I’m sure, I saw him here.” He reassured, completely confident of his answer. As soon as you stopped the car, Marty went out, heading straight to the house’s door. “I won’t take long, I promise.”
Watching Marty go away, you couldn’t help but feel nervous, as if this was meant to go very, very wrong on one way or another.
“Marty.” You called, and he immediately turned around again. “Come here for a moment, please.”
At the request, he immediately went closer to the car again, talking to you through the now open window. “Yeah?” He questioned, observing as you said nothing, but opened the glove compartment and took out a gun from it, handing it to him.
“Give me peace of mind, just take this.” You spoke, hand lingering a bit too much against Marty’s.
Marty, who didn’t even notice the fact that your hand was in his, considering a gun was also right there. “Where you get that?” He asked, a little surprised.
“What do you mean by ‘where you get that’? It’s my gun.”
“Hell you mean ‘My gun’? Since when did you get a gun?”
“Since you decided to enter a place where you’ll likely die without one. Stop asking questions and just go.”
Marty felt the need to question a little more on why you, of all people, owned a gun, but he really thought that should be one of his smallest problems at hand.
Nodding, he finally took the gun and started heading to the side of the house, where you could see him looking through a window before turning to you and giving a thumbs up, which you reciprocated.
The next moments reminded you why you considered Marty the biggest source of your anxiety since you were younger, as the scene unfolding was horrifying. A few barks started to be heard, something you could only imagine was the dog he said was there. After that, Marty somehow managed to open one of the seemingly rusty windows, carefully going inside.
A heavy silence filled the place for almost two long minutes before the worst sound possible could be heard from inside. A shot. And then more silence after.
“Oh god, he died.” The thoughts inevitably went through your head before you could stop them. But before you could make the logical decision of going away as fast as possible, you saw a very alive Marty banging the door open and running towards the car.
“Start the fucking car!” He spoke, something you didn’t need to be told twice right now.
You opened the passenger seat’s door for Marty, and when you looked in his direction, you saw a smaller thing running behind him. For god sakes, there was a dog.
Although right after the dog, a person also stepped out of the house. A man. A man with a shotgun pointing at both of you. One that shot not too far from Marty’s feet, which not just made him run faster, but also made the dog start barking again.
“Marty, the gun. Where’s my gun?!” You questioned.
“I lost it when I heard the shot!” He explained, finally entering the car as you stepped on the gas and turned around before another shot managed to get one of the tires.
“You what-” You almost choked on your own anger. “Oh, you fucking coward.”
“Moses!”
“Who?!”
“The dog!” “He exclaimed, door still open, even if you were starting to accelerate onto the road so that you two could get away from the maniac with a shotgun. “Slow down!” He shouted, looking through the open door as he tried to coax Moses to run faster and enter. “Come on, boy, come on!”
“There’s a maniac shooting us, leave the damn dog!” You argued, thinking that both of their lives should have a little more value than some old rich man’s dog and whatever reward he might give. Something that Marty seemed to be disagreeing a lot right now.
“Slow the fuck down!” Marty would scream again, and, in the moment of anger, you stepped so hard on the brake that the tires made a god-awful noise. Still, it was enough for Moses to reach the car and Marty to push him inside and pass the dog on top of him, placing the animal on the back seat. Meanwhile, you started the car again, trying not to be distracted by the other shot that managed to hit the side view mirror.
“I’ll pay for that.” Almost in reflex, Marty spoke, but both of you knew this was just for the sake of saying it.
“You fucking won’t.” You felt the need to argue, even if it was far from the best moment to do that.
Even if you couldn’t make out exactly what the old man was screaming at both of you, it seemed a lot like a bunch of slurs mixed with words that weren’t even in your vocabulary. Meaning it wasn’t very different from anything you or Marty hadn’t been called before on the street at some point in life for one reason or another.
“Are you sure you remember how to do that?” Marty teased, opening the door of the car and stepping out. The bowling alley was a familiar place now, with happy and yet terrible memories at the same time.
“Oh, shut up.” You scoffed, opening your own door and locking the car when you closed it.
Maybe you couldn’t play ping-pong. Not as good as Marty, at least. But if there was one thing both of you had in common, was the annoyingly good capacity to lie. And in this country, lying was such a good way of making money.
Lies and smooth talk could take one really far. Marty’s plan usually consisted of riling up people enough for them to start betting higher and higher. And unfortunately, he was convinced you had a natural talent for making men put more and more money on the table for the simple fact that it was you telling them to do so. It was awful, but it worked like a charm every time.
The epitome of this method was the 19 to 21 game he won 150 dollars from three different people. The same one that you managed to make a guy put 70 more dollars on the table against Marty, who won the game and got the money fair and square.
Fair and square, until they got angry enough to blame you for their terrible choices at betting, or until they started threatening to kill Marty with the ping-pong rackets.
That was the part both of you had to run.
And tonight, it wasn’t so different.
That ping-pong table was Marty’s playground, and you gave him five hours and twenty dollars to have the most fun he could. And, preferably, get enough money so that he could go to Japan play, and you’d be able to search for another job when you got back, because you were sure that one was over by now, considering your lunch hour ended a long time ago.
The car was left by the back door of the alley, windows open, and Moses still lying on the back seat. You knew Marty wouldn’t do it, so, during the time he was playing, you’d go to see how the dog was and give him some water.
You weren’t proud to say that the next few hours went by like a blur. The first time Marty took hold of the racket and a place on the table, and no one could take him out of there anymore, you lost yourself going around the ones watching and betting, always convincing them to put money against Marty because “That guy can’t be so good. It’s luck. He’ll surely lose right now.” and all you received was a “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” and there went five more dollars to both of your pockets.
At least it was fun. To see Marty winning, and how the pile of money by his side only grew with each passing game.
14 to 21.
6 to 21.
17 to 21.
2 to 21.
You could complain that winning the games only made his ego grow even more, which was starting to become a problem, but you often reached a point where you didn’t care anymore. The money you’d win was a good incentive to be quiet.
Both of you had fun. Maybe a little too much. Somehow, enough for you to forget the small detail that Marty was still being searched by the police. The police, who were currently entering the place and looking directly at him.
“Hey. Hey, Marty, come on, let’s go.” You called, tapping on his shoulder, eyes desperately switching between the man and the three armed policemen coming on your way. “The fucking cops are here, and we need to leave right now.”
“Wait, wait, I’m- I’m counting this, calm down.” He dismissed you, continuing to count the bills at the table with a large smile on his face.
“Marty, let’s fucking go.” You quickly grabbed the biggest amount of money you could from the pile he was counting, shoving it into your pockets and dashing out to the back of the place, knowing that Marty would follow you up when his brain finally managed to comprehend the situation.
“What the fuck was that for!?” He yelled, before he finally seemed to get his brain out of his dazed state, looking in the direction of the main door to see a police officer with a gun in his hand running towards him. “Oh, fuck.” He mumbled, hands clumsily grasping at the major amount of remaining money on the table he could before sprinting away to where you went.
“Hey! Stop right there, Mauser!” He heard one of the cops screaming at him, but that only made him run even faster.
By the time he was out of the back door and onto the street, you were already at the car, honking loudly while screaming for him to get in.
Marty ran to the passenger’s seat, opening and entering the car so fast that he almost managed to hit his head. “Go, go, go!” He shouted, noise that wasn’t going well alongside the braking from Moses in the back seat.
“Stop rushing me.” You yelled back, stepping on the gas pedal as Marty closed his own door right before you two turned into the corner and began driving away.
For a single second, things seemed fine, or seemed they were going to be fine. Until you heard a shot from one of the cops, a shot that certainly managed to hit the back of the car and startle you, who instinctively turned into the first street you saw to try and lose them.
Looking at the back of the car, Marty tried to tranquilize you when he couldn’t see the police anymore. “It’s fine, it’s fine, we lost them.” He wasn’t completely sure, but was afraid that if you got any more nervous than now, they would straight up crash the car.
Moses continued barking, which you couldn’t exactly blame him for doing, considering the situation you two placed him in. With an accelerated heartbeat, you only managed to loosen the grip on the steering wheel when you reached the road about ten minutes later.
For once, Marty was quiet for a while. Maybe afraid that, if he dared to speak a single word, you’d take the gun from the car’s panel and use it against him. Even if he was sure you wouldn’t want to kill him, perhaps you’d still consider shooting him in the leg. The silence was calm for once, if not considering the almost shallow breath coming from the dog behind you both.
“Where are we staying tonight?” Marty carefully tried to ask, voice strangely quiet so as not to anger you more.
“Motel.”
“Okay.” He accepted, turning around to see how Moses was. The dog, currently without the collar, seemed to be breathing a lot better and lying down across the seat. Marty turned to his front again, looking at you by the corner of his eye. After a while, with the intention of testing the waters, he placed a hand on your thigh, little brushing his thumb against the cloth that covered them.
You sighed. “I’m not angry.”
“You are.” He corrected.
“Yeah, I am.” You sighed, taking a glance towards him before focusing on the empty street again. Anger was far too little for what you felt, but right now, you felt more stupid than angry. Stupid because, after everything, you were still allowing Marty to be in the car, and not making him walk alone in the dark. “You did… good today.” You hestatntly spoke, placing your free hand on top of his. “Very good.”
Marty smiled at the praise. For once, not one of his asshole grins or smirks, but a brief and genuine one, the same when you agreed to help him in the first place.
“I handle the paying. Don’t talk to anyone.” You warned Marty, who raised his hands in a mocking surrender and went over to pace around the entrance of the motel, knowing better than to go against what you ordered him to do.
Moses couldn’t stay in the room with both of you, but there was a small dog space outside, which was just all the guests’ dogs tied to some trees, where he would have to stay. At least you went to ensure he would have some water, promising you’d find some treats for him when morning arrived.
Paying two more dollars just to use the shower was painful, but you really didn’t want to sleep in the same room as a man who was stinking like desperation and frustrated dreams. At least now you were clean, and using one of Marty’s shirts because he was the only one with a bag with clean clothing there, and your work clothes were disgusting after using them the whole day.
He bathed first, and by the time you came out of yours, he was already sitting in his bed, counting the money both of you managed to grab before running off.
“How much?” You asked, sitting by his side.
Marty placed the last bill on top of the pile, a triumphant smile on his face. “620 dollars. Not bad for a first day.” He laughed, reaching over to a separate pile and handing you. “310, your part.”
You took hold of the money, and knew you would have to count it later to see if Marty was telling the truth about how much there was. But maybe this could wait a little; you were far too tired for this. “Thanks.” You spoke, sincerity and calmness finally present in your tone. “Try to rest a little, alright? We decide what to do tomorrow.” You tapped friendly on his back, standing up with the intention of passing out on your bed.
Instead, the moment you were going away, Marty grabbed onto your hand, not letting you go.
“Sleep with me, come on.” He proposed, trying to lightly pull you back closer to him. “After everything that happened today, let me make up to you.”
“In those cheap beds?” You let out a laugh. “Those things are rotting, they’ll crumble at the weight of two adults for long.”
“No, they won’t.” Marty denied, just for the sake of disagreeing with you, probably one of his favorite pastimes since forever. “You’ll have your silk sheets later, and until then, you have the best part of the deal right here.”
“Awful beds?” You amused.
“Me.” He said back, attempting again to pull you closer.
This time, the growing smile on your face betrayed your attempt to continue mad at Marty for giving you the worst day of your life. One that, after being almost shot two times, running away from the police and a crazy man, and taking care of a stolen dog, you surely deserved to have a handsome man on top of you just to decrease the amount of stress you were in.
Some things I think I'll change, but I'm just too tired for that rn. Honestly will do a smut drabble of the end later this week. Thank you so much for reading!
Guys, the smut is probably not happening I'm so sorry. I'm far too asexual for that, it doesn't end up good.