#murdersinthemaking

[the-graves-family]

🎲 @murdersinthemaking

Just because Ace does not partake in the darker aspects of the family business, doesn't mean people don't know who he is. The force of bodyguards that accompany him everywhere surely helps with making offenders reconsider their stance in his presence.

He is a Graves, after all.

Stepping into the alley, hands folded in front of him, he gazes silently at the people harassing his boyfriend for a few moments, before tilting his head to the side. "You have five minutes."

A warning. A promise. A threat. They either leave, or he makes them. Not him, of course, never him. He does not have a single drop of blood on his hands. But the murderous bodyguards behind him, and the army of agents working for his father, have no such problems.

[lost-soul-in-time]

Long lounging days in the sun, selling off the occasional painting and channeling the murderous urges into more productive means. Murdock slowly stalks down the hall, footsteps heavy against the hardwood. The idea had been passed around before between them, of one of them being surprised by the other and dragging them into bed. He couldn’t deny Oliver his fantasies, ones that promised him an even greater escape.

Wrapping his arm around his waist, he quickly pulls Oliver away from the kitchen counter and starts carrying him to bed. Thrown over his shoulder, hands reaching down his pants already. “God…pretty boy, I’ve gotta get you.” Murdock growls, smacking his ass and finally dropping him on the bed.

@murdersinthemaking

For the first time in what's felt like a century, everything feels normal. With no demons to conquer and no victims to kill, Oliver doesn't believe he's ever felt more domestic. He spends most of his days either spending time with his love or happily cleaning around the house, which is just what he was doing upon Murdock's entry into the kitchen. Looking up from the floor with the broom in his hand, he smiles the moment he sees him, halting his movements.

"There you are, darling. How did your–" Oliver's sentence is cut off the moment he's hoisted up and over Murdock's shoulder with a yelp, the broom smacking the floor when he has to let go and holding onto the clothing beneath his hands as if that'll stop himself from being dropped, watching the world shift. "Murdock–!"

Oh.

Well... suddenly his shock is being replaced with the feeling of heat beneath his own sweater, shivering as he feels hands touch him eagerly along with the sound of Murdock's voice. He'd never get tired of it, of him. As he feels the slap come down and forces his mouth closed to suppress the sound it pulls from him, he stares up at his love expectantly as he's dropped onto the bed, warm skin sending a barely red flush to his face.

"I'm... how do you– need me?"

[the-graves-family]

Sure, it's not as nice as some of Aaron's other clients, but it's still leagues ahead of Aaron's own apartment. Much less black mold, for starters.

"Let me get ready in the bathroom," Aaron asks, because no, he wasn't about to make a long drive on a motorcycle wearing nothing but chains under leather. He smiles at Murdock, cocking his hips to the side.

"I won't be five minutes."

“Take the lead? You’re a mile ahead of me.” Aaron had been naked aside from the jewellery, but seeing him in leather was extremely intriguing. Hopefully another time. Murdock unlocks the door, leading his rent boy through the house. It wasn’t well done, the drywall cracking and lightbulbs either cracked or flickering. At least the bedroom had some effort into it, passing for an above average motel room.

“Just sit down for a bit, let me get myself organized. You’re cute, but I don’t want to let you get carried away with me. Still wearing the chains darling?”

[save-the-horse]

Was he that desperate? Yes. Donovan had been between bad relationships for so long and now he had the tiniest spark of a decent relationship. The depravity after was an accident. An older gentleman with a lovely tenor and hands that had wandered over his waist before. First dreaming of the mechanics hands on his hips, no barriers between them. Then more followed, night after night. Harlens hands slipping further down, disappearing further across his body before the dreams end. Forcing him awake with the low drawl of Harlens voice trailing out of his ears. “Just relax darlin’.”

A week had passed since brunch with his mother and the breakdown of his car. Donovan still saw him on Saturday classes, demoing each step with him and letting Harlen lead him through each motion. Heavy hands on his hips and thighs when they move into a lift low enough that he has to excuse himself half way through class and recompose his manners.

Late that night, only 8pm when he gives in. There was something he’d felt between them, Harlen willing to come to him in the middle of the night when his car broke down and meeting his mother the next day. A few unfortunate years have told him that the romantics weren’t open to him. Donovan had forgotten what it was like to be romanced and wooed, going off of what everyone else had wanted in him. Sex, body, form. A half hour of taking painstakingly angled photos later, he thinks he’s ready. Nothing too provocative, just a few shots from his thighs and a few glimpses of his ass.

[Harley: Loved having your hands on me again tonight.]

@murdersinthemaking

Harlen's barely been able to stop thinking about Donovan all week, almost obsessing over him and how sweet he is despite his best efforts not to.

Brunch had gone super well, at least he thinks so — Colette seemed to live him and they all had a pretty good time. A win is a win.

And dance classes have sprouted some interesting thoughts, mostly centred around Donovan's thighs and other contexts where he could touch them.

God, he's never been more embarrassed by his own mind before. Well, not recently.

The pictures catch Harlen very off-guard in the best way possible. He's been trying to work up the courage to ask Donovan out to dinner and he still wants to do that but holy shit. Apparently, now is not the time for romance just yet.

Harlen sends a picture back — his chest being the main thing, his shirt partly unbuttoned and pulled aside slightly by his nicer hand to display the top half of his pecs ,muscular and lightly hairy.

[Absolute sweetheart: Happy to hear it, baby.]

[skies-painted-pink]

It really was this now. Murdock random hookups and quick fixes were losing their edge. All of them wanted him on top and in charge, expecting him to let off steam in the most obvious way. The card was found from a few friends, where various services were offered to the ‘discerning gentleman’. Being neither of them didn’t disqualify him, calling up the mysterious woman and arranging a session. He’d even planned a kill the day before.

What he needed was to be controlled. Forced to break and kneel no matter what it took. Force, punishment, the whole nine yards. After being invited in and led into the room, he’s given three instructions. No clothes, wait on his knees, and use the traffic light system. Murdock kneels beside an armchair, anxiously awaiting her return.

@murdersinthemaking

Leiana had been genuinely excited about this particular client, though she can't quite explain why. Though, when she finally sees him, it all clicks into place. He's not used to this. Whether it's his very first time or if it's just been a while is unclear but this isn't a regular thing for him.

This should be interesting.

Walking slowly into the room with a white velvet back, she stops in front of Murdock, looking down at him with a smile, taking in the sight in front of her silently.

[carnivalofchaos]

🍭 (:3)

@murdersinthemaking

Wilford was needy. Was that truly a surprise to anyone? He was especially needy around Murdock especially. Not a day went by where he ask him for affection. The fact he was able to make such a cold man into a softie, oh, he adored it.

But today was a different kind of needy. Today was an especially hard day at work. One that called for a lot of forgetting, and a lot of relief.

He portaled himself straight to Murdocks place, with his collar in hand. It jingled in his hand as he walked in. "My love... Where are you?"

[wilfywarfy]

Murdocks grip to reality was nearly as shaky as Wilfords. The revelation of magic and some form of immortality felt like it could crack his skull wide open. He’s managed to adjust, let himself slowly accept the idea of something impossible. But just as his lover couldn’t truly believe in death, he couldn’t believe in magic fully.

But he’s been determined safe for a visit to that manor. A place only a little more impossible than Wilford, shifting constantly to accommodate for the equally unstable dwellers. It was for Murdocks little bit of sanity that he never let go of his partners hand the entire time they travel through that portal and arrive outside the vast expanse of the manor.

@murdersinthemaking

"Oh, you'll simply love it here! So many people to meet, so many things to see! Oh, maybe you can stay for dinner! It would be so lovely if you could!" The differences in their demeanor is stark. It wasn't that Wilford was trying to ignore how nervous Murdock was. It was just that he was so excited for him to see his home that... The rest of the world kind of clouded out.

Wilford gives Murdock hand a series of squeezes. "Aren't you excited, my love?" He asks, grinning like a kid in a candy store.

[funflirtsandfuckall]

It had taken hours to drag this vermin out of the bar he’d convinced him to meet him in. Three drinks in before Murdock managed to slip in a few sedatives. Even still, it decided to nurse that drink for almost an hour. Hauling his half conscious friend outside, he has to pull it half over his shoulder to get him through the door. Pausing in an alleyway to readjust the victim, Murdock drops him on the floor.

“You’re such a fucking rat,” he hisses, cracking his back against a dumpster while staring at his semi-conscious victim, “Can’t believe I’m the only one to ever try killing you.”

@murdersinthemaking

Target on the move, leaving the bar.

This one didn't pay much. Just your standard jackass that needed to be taken care of. A few thousand dollars at the best. But hey, it would help pay the bills. And get him a bite to eat on the way home.

Paying his tab, Curtis grabs his suit jacket and heads out. Following far enough to where there would be no suspicion, but close to where he could hit his target.

As they turn into the alley, Curtis ducks away to hide himself. One simple shot would be all it took.

[paperbackpieces-makemewhole]

His darling detective. A murderer and the investigator. They were only one bout of cannibalism from being cast in the Silence of the Lambs. Murdock loves to indulge in the idea of the chase, even if Enzo can’t run like his victims. The thrill. Building up the tension, waiting for it to snap.

And his little surprises all along the way.

A note was slipped into his lunch (because if it’s not put together by him he knows that Enzo will forget). ‘Come home early tonight. Big surprise’

All that’s left to do is flip a coin.

@murdersinthemaking

Surprises from Murdock are always a delight. They're always based on something the couple(?) have previously discussed — for example, chasing. That one had ended quite soon but it's the most fun Enzo has ever had while running. Quite the thrill, if nothing else.

He also appreciates how Murdock chooses to take care of him, especially the lunches. It's hard to forget to eat when his favourite person put it together.

Notes aren't uncommon in his lunches, usually something sweet laced with something that would scare anyone else. But today's note is exciting. A Big Surprise?

Enzo will be leaving at 4PM today.

[mariasymphony]

It’s not just fear, it’s absolute terror. They’d fallen into such a comfortable rhythm already, a night a week at each others place and a date almost three times a month. Nothing could go wrong, his off season spent blissfully with her. All until she mentions a dinner, meeting her father.

Donovan’s heart still sits uncomfortably in his throat, standing outside the door to a home he doesn’t recognize. Tailed by the ever chattering schnauzer, who he still doesn’t trust not to destroy his furniture. Little Dolly runs rings around him, wrapping him up in a luminous pink leash as he hesitates at the door. Quickly setting down the bottle of wine before knocking, swiping it back up before Dolly decides to tackle it to the ground.

@murdersinthemaking

Maria is more nervous than she is before a performance, but it has nothing to do with Donovan making a good impression. Because he is perfect. He takes such good care of her and respects her boundaries and need for independence.

Which is why she wants him to meet her father. To take that next step. The reason why she's nervous is because the last time dad met someone she was dating... it was her ex. That ex. And it went terribly.

When she hears the knock on the door, she straightens out the apron over her dress and scurries to the door to greet him. Positively beaming when she sees him. "Hello, my darling," Maria says with a grin as she kisses his cheek. Taking the wine from him, she then attempts to get Dolly unwound from his legs. "You look so handsome. I hope you didn't have trouble finding the place?"

[wilfordsbakingshop]

Winter was the best and worst of both worlds. More hours of darkness meant he could venture out a little further than usual without the constant threat of the sun coming up too soon. But the cold was horrific. Already a beast without any blood, the little left inside of him freezes into solid packs of snow. It’s why he seeks out fires, candles that burn inches from his skin for something warm.

This year..he has an assistant for once. Someone warm, more than the average human. Blood that satiated him more than anything and a person he can cuddle with. Only trouble was trying to find him the labyrinth of the manor.

@murdersinthemaking

Winter was always a messy time for him. Two sides fought for control, causing more turmoil in his already struggle-filled life. On one hand, he wished to prepare, get himself ready for the months of snow and cold, start prepping meals and a nest that would be warm enough to thaw out even the iciest of beings. And the other side... wished to rest. Sleep. Go out and play in the snow, before curling up by the fire.

So much to do. And yet, it was as if he couldn't start any of it. All he could do was sit here, by the window, watching the endlessly cloudy sky. Wishing he could just... do something. Find the ability to do something.

[the-graves-family]

He’s always angry. Murdock finds himself in alleyways most nights, trying to start some kind of fight and feel it break his body. Just to make himself more upset, make everything more agonizingly enjoyable. Last week, he finally killed someone. Smashing their skull into a garbage can and stealing twenty dollars out of their wallet. It was the happiest he’d ever been. Soon, he was looking up what more murderers and killers did to get their kicks. Kidnapping? He could do that.

For two weeks, he’s watched the house. One almost never leaves the building except twice a week. Only to the local grocery store before holing up back inside. No one visits to ever see him.

Murdock waits in the parking lot, watching his target walk over to grocery store doors. It’s time. “Hey! Hey you! Can you come over? My cars broken down, can you give me a hand?”

@murdersinthemaking

Ace does not like leaving the house. There are people outside and that's just not a good time for anyone involved. But he also feels obligated to help his moms, so he goes shopping for them twice a week. He takes their list and he goes to the store.

Today is no different. He spent all morning working on his projects in the garage and left around midday for the store, after getting dressed in something a little less revealing. Less people at this hour. He's about to go in when a voice breaks him out of his thoughts and he looks over at the stranger.

It's a man. He's not a fan of that. Ace looks at him warily for a moment, eyeing him up and down, before he hears what the stranger is saying. A car. He can help with that. It would probably even be fun for him.

Ace is also not very good at remembering that other people can lie.

He approaches the man slowly, tilting his head to the side. "I can help," he mumbles quietly. "What's wrong with it?"

[lost-soul-in-time]

Oliver makes no protest as he's pinned down onto the bed, his pants feeling more uncomfortable the longer he takes in Murdock's wanton expression. He looked untamed, disheveled as he pulled off his sweater and worked on the other pieces of clothing on him, and he's not sure what it says about his own character when he realizes he likes the sight more than he believed he would. He keeps saying he needs him, like a prayer he needs to come true, and he’d do anything to make that happen.

The dark hue of his scars has long since faded, giving way to their pale appearance against tan skin, and he tries not to get distracted as he’s grabbed feverishly, lifting his hips and aiding in pulling off his pants. “You have me. You can have whatever you want, anything...” Oliver breathes out, pulling at Murdock’s own clothing with his own growing eagerness.

Long lounging days in the sun, selling off the occasional painting and channeling the murderous urges into more productive means. Murdock slowly stalks down the hall, footsteps heavy against the hardwood. The idea had been passed around before between them, of one of them being surprised by the other and dragging them into bed. He couldn’t deny Oliver his fantasies, ones that promised him an even greater escape.

Wrapping his arm around his waist, he quickly pulls Oliver away from the kitchen counter and starts carrying him to bed. Thrown over his shoulder, hands reaching down his pants already. “God…pretty boy, I’ve gotta get you.” Murdock growls, smacking his ass and finally dropping him on the bed.

@murdersinthemaking

For the first time in what's felt like a century, everything feels normal. With no demons to conquer and no victims to kill, Oliver doesn't believe he's ever felt more domestic. He spends most of his days either spending time with his love or happily cleaning around the house, which is just what he was doing upon Murdock's entry into the kitchen. Looking up from the floor with the broom in his hand, he smiles the moment he sees him, halting his movements.

"There you are, darling. How did your–" Oliver's sentence is cut off the moment he's hoisted up and over Murdock's shoulder with a yelp, the broom smacking the floor when he has to let go and holding onto the clothing beneath his hands as if that'll stop himself from being dropped, watching the world shift. "Murdock–!"

Oh.

Well... suddenly his shock is being replaced with the feeling of heat beneath his own sweater, shivering as he feels hands touch him eagerly along with the sound of Murdock's voice. He'd never get tired of it, of him. As he feels the slap come down and forces his mouth closed to suppress the sound it pulls from him, he stares up at his love expectantly as he's dropped onto the bed, warm skin sending a barely red flush to his face.

"I'm... how do you– need me?"

[silent-giant]

Murdock falls so easily into the little traps of a routine, so consistency never fit him. In a rare occasion, he’s been invited to a party. One of the only mobs he’s done any work for more than twice. It’s an overcrowded bar, with the assassin pushed up against the counter while he tries finishing his drink. Someone else has stayed with him, both making quiet and awkward small talk over a few drinks. He looks amazing, with Murdock accidentally moving closer as more people move to and fro from the bar.

He didn’t know what to expect when Owen started moving in closer to him, a panicked sense of elation tightening his chin like a vice. “So darling, it’s such a shame that I haven’t seen you before. Almost everyone I’ve met here keep wanting to talk work. You’re an absolute darling…”

@murdersinthemaking

Owen's never liked parties. It's usually an excuse for his boss to throw him out of his comfort zone and any friend's he's made on the job to disappear and go be drunk nobs for a night. However, he does learn some pretty interesting things about others so he supposes it's mildly worth it.

He hasn't really left the bar, slowly nursing his second drink and awkwardly humming and nodding along to someone who's trying to make small talk with him about things he'd rather not think about — there seems to someone else who's in the same boat as him to his right so he decides to move a little closer to him, ever the wonderful conversationalist.

He doesn't expect the man to start talking so soon, pleasantly startled as he leans down to hear him better.

[carnivalofchaos]

Another club to celebrate in. Murdock had another decent job, cashing it all out and pocketing it for the night. He could save it, try and be responsible. But a night on the town was just what he needed. Maybe it’ll smother the other sensation boiling in his chest. To kill. Not just beat up and get the money. But torture. Drag it on and on.

Sipping at the bar, he tries to let the feeling settle. Washing it away as the stupid dance music blares through the club. God, this was fucking torture. A good fight or fuck would be enough. For now.

@murdersinthemaking

Wilford could almost smell it. The scent of someone new walking into his territory. It was like an alarm went off in his head. Fresh meat wasn't rare, but it was still so exciting when someone new came in. It meant he had the chance to meet the next cutie up for grabs.

Pushing his way through the crowd of bodies, he makes his way to the bar. He sticks out like a sore, pink thumb. Pink satin shirt, bright yellow bottoms, and even a pink afro. Even the tips of his mustache were being invaded by the color.

"You know what I like." He says, giving the tender a wink. The tender does know what he likes.

[the-graves-family]

Ace is completely unaware of what Murdock is feeling and thinking, just pleased that he has met a new human and that human likes him. This is what friends are. He thinks. He's not completely sure anymore.

Looking down at the extended finger, he's about to ask what it is about, when Murdock answer that for him. Oh. Tentatively, he locks his own pinky finger with Murdock's. "You will be cak. You promised." As if that's the most important thing in the world.

Lonely. Did the androids that sat disassembled and barely alive feel lonely? Did parts of them feel lonely, knowing that the rest of themselves no longer belong to them? Ace makes him feel unfortunate things, as if he’s coding them in with the lost puppy demeanour and quiet understandings.

“I’ll be back to see you and your fish, I promise.” Holding out his hand, Murdock extends his pinky towards Ace. “If we lock fingers, it means I will be back.”