#murdoc/reader

[habitabel]

Why does everyone on the internet have a fetish for their crushes smelling bad

Why would wanna fuck someone who smells like shit

First off have the balls to not be anonymous second it's not that I actively search for people who "smell like shit" I just so happen to like characters who LOOK like they smell like shit but you know what? These characters aren't real. And they never will be. So what's your problem? They might not even smell bad who knows? No one knows. Again they AREN'T REAL. you're a bully behind a screen get a life

Also you're on fucking Tumblr the freakiest website on the PLANET what did you expect LMAOOO you're gonna find some crazier shit than this so I wouldn't get butt hurt over this when there is so much worse stuff on here

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐨𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐄𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: fighting, brief mentions of injuries & alcohol. murdoc is a warning in himself to be frank

↳ song: rock the house—gorillaz

↳ notes: headcanons about murdoc & you. made to be platonic/a self insert type fic, but could be romantic too. this overall just stemmed from my infatuation and hatred for his green ass

nasterlist | commissions | carrd

• Murdoc is so self-absorbed. It's honestly beyond you how he hasn't floated away into the sun with how inflated his ego's gotten

• It doesn't help that he's regarded as the sole reason for bringing together one of the best bands ever recorded—something that he holds over the entire bands head when he feels like being an asshole

• With that giant persona of his inevitably there comes jealousy. The musician gets unreasonably grumpy if someone, especially you, is ever more excited to see a collaborator over for a recording session instead of him of all people

• "You were just gawking at 'em the entire time like an idiot! Wha', never seen a bloody live recording before?" Murdocs accent clipped his words as his gravely voice spit fire at you one afternoon. You just laughed at his annoyance, not even bothered by his attitude after years of putting up with it

• "Murdoc, it's De La Soul. Of course I'm going to be excited. It's ten times better than waking up to you rummaging around in the fridge with nothing but a thong on."

• "Get fucked you little twat." He barked, stomping off and ending the little spat. You didn't see him the rest of the day, no doubt off brooding in his Winnebago. It didn't bother you. More quiet time to hang out with Noodle for you!

• More than often, the two of you have been recorded in separate interviews talking about the other. Mostly just talking shit

• "So, what's this we've all been hearing about a certain bassist getting in a car accident?" A random reporter asked you one day from over their horn rimmed glasses. 2D, who was currently the only other person besides you that had been able to make it to the questioning, scratched his head absent-mindedly as you cackled in glee

• "Yeah yeah. I ran over Muds with my car one day. Just knocked his sorry ass right over. Pow! He recovered fine, dont worry, but the moment he did, I had to run for my life." You managed to get out through laughter. "Still have no idea how those fucking tabloids got ahold of that story."

• "Wasn't it an accident f'ough? I remember you sayin that." 2D tilted his head with a slight lisp

• You just grinned toothily and said nothing

• "It. It was an accident. Right?" He asked again, this time with more nerves

• The interview was cut off shortly after that

• On the topic of cars, Murdoc's own set of wheels was probably his only pride an joy apart from his bass. And ironically, the van was the bane of the rest of the bands existence

• The amount of times you had to bang on the Winnebago's dented door to tell him to shut up— the smell of cigarettes, sex, and too many air fresheners leaking from the cracks —should be a crime

• And each time without fail, you were always met with a shirtless Murdoc; either inviting you in for his version of a night of fun or just plain flipping you off

• You always found the latter easier to deal with

• Russel has always been the medium for any serious fights you and Murdoc would have. You both fight a lot, sure, but normally over small things like who should run out to get more booze or tune up band equipment. It was only when things got really heated that the drummer would step in

• Nine times out of ten, that just meant he'd pick you up with one arm and place you in a separate room until the two of you could stand to be around each other. It was always you he did that to, too, since the one time he'd tried that on Murdoc, Russel narrowly avoided a black eye and a week's docked pay

• It really was easy to forget that technically Murdoc is your boss. With how much shit he gives out, and vise versa from all of you, it really just felt like he was an annoying roommate. An annoying, rich, and vibrant green roomate

• At the end of the day, though, none of you really hated him. Well, the jury was still out on 2D, but you had a feeling the past few years the singer had been trying to pick himself back up

• Murdoc, however much of a prick he is, is still a key part in the band. Without him, some of the best song you'd all produced would have never happened, and some of your best drinking memories would have never happened. Hell, he even did a pretty good job raising Noodle. With plenty of help from everyone else, of course

• So no matter how many inanimate objects you all chucked at each other's head, at the end of the day you'd never trade him for another bass player

• "You lot getting soft on me now?" He grinned sharply at you, licking the outside of his teeth as you pretended to vomit at the mere thought of being nice to him

• "I'd rather die and be reincarnated as a cockroach." You grimaced dramatically. But the both of you were smiling at each other, breaking up the conversation with playful punches

[tofuxtea]

𝟕:𝟎𝟒 𝐚𝐦 | 𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — murdoc (2016) x fem!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — nsfw, explicit, reader needs something, murdoc wants something in return, oral (fem!receiving) murdoc is an asshole, hair pulling, quickie (?), face fucking, panty stealing, murdoc uses readers panties, lowkey nose kink lol, clit sucking, tongue fucking, slight overstimulation

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 — NOT PROOFREAD! literally stayed up til 7am to finish this bc i refused to not finish it. i had this idea when i watched like the second episode he was in and i couldnt get it out. also i need more david dastmalchian esp jack delroy, murdoc, johnny, and james lewis moots pleasepleaseplease

you were pissed. that much was obvious when you stormed into the prison with a slim folder between your tense fingers and a scowl etched into your typically stoic features.

you had demanded the guards get him into the interrogation room before you got there and told them to keep away from the door for the next hour. though they weren’t allowed to do so, they refused to fall into your vicious crosshairs.

they did as they were told, and the second you swung open the door to the stuffy, metal room you were met with a smug grin and taunting stare.

neither of which wavered even when you slammed the manilla folder onto the table in front of him and used that same hand to backhand him right across his cheek. your fingers closed around the collar of his plain white shirt before he could fully process the strike and you forced his body back upright. his handcuffs rattled with the motion. the proximity should have scared him.

“you sold us out?” your voice bounced off of the walls like a gunshot had rung out. but murdoc didn’t flinch. instead, his smile steadily grew until he was laughing in your hands.

honestly, you should have expected this. the consequences of trusting a sociopathic assassin like him. known for lying about any and everything, completely indifferent about who he hurts and the amount of chaos he creates.

you made the stupid mistake of placing what should have been the satisfying wrap-up to a very important mission in his hands and ended up getting double crossed, and your coworker and good friend almost killed. in whatever time murdoc had between your meeting with him and what was supposed to be a surprise confrontation, he gave away every last detail to whoever knew of your connections with him.

luckily, the phoenix foundation had never known a loss thanks to macgyver. he narrowly managed to flip the score and gain the upper hand in a heavily disadvantaged fight, giving your team just enough room to make just a few arrests. the rest were able to escape.

but despite the half victory, you knew it wouldn’t happen every time. so you had to remind your little informant who he belonged to.

your hold tightened on his shirt, and finally his cuffed wrists rose as a meek defense. “oh, come on sweetheart. i’m flattered you thought so highly of me, but i’ve told you before. my service only goes to the higher bidder now.” his voice was calm and condescending. it pisses you off.

you held him still for several seconds, debating on painting his cheekbone purple before shoving him back into his chair. it was so forceful, you heard the thin legs grit and scrape against the ground. murdoc chuckled lowly. “you’re strong for such a small thing, aren’t you?”

your eyes shot daggers into his own, but you control yourself. the team would only fall into deeper shit if you pushed him into a non-verbal state. they were relying on you, even if they had no idea you had come back here.

“you’re going to tell me who these people are, and where they might’ve gone.” you instructed, voice low and sharp. murdoc’s eyebrows twitched upwards as you flipped the folder open and spread several papers onto the table.

he glanced down at them, eyes shifting left and right like he was tracking a moving dot. “need i remind you? again?” his empty brown eyes came back up to you. his smile returned. “why should i?”

right. payment. in truth, you had shown up completely empty handed, boldly praying that you could get him to comply and the answers would merely fall out of him. maybe a punch or two. but this was murdoc. he felt nothing.

your jaw tightened when you came up with nothing. he seemed to sense that before you could say it and he scoffed out a laugh. “oh, then i’m afraid you came all this way for nothing, sweetheart.”

that was the second time he’d called you that. it felt almost dehumanizing coming from him, especially paired with the not-so-subtle observation he stole of your figure. though, it seemed to strike something in him, and the corner of his lips lifted.

“you know, i might be willing to settle for a second place offer.” murdoc held your gaze with a newfound intensity, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. dealing with many men in your profession, you knew that look all too well.

your stomach lurched. though you couldn’t tell if it was in a nauseating or interested way, seeing as your stomach suddenly tensed so badly it really could have been either. the man was attractive, there was no denying that. but still, you’d never pictured a situation like this with him before.

murdoc tsked at your shock. “i have needs.” he said matter-of-factly with a small shrug. his handcuffs clinked against his chair.

“i thought you had to be human for that.” you shot back.

every bone in your body told you to pack the file back up and leave him hanging. that was what your best judgment was screaming at you to do. not to entertain a maniac like him and put yourself at such a risk. but for some reason your feet were glued to the floor. you couldn’t move.

murdoc actually looked offended by your words, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “i can be as human as you need me to be. just say the word.” his voice dropped, suddenly teetering towards gravelly. “you need something, i want something. my prices really don’t get this low, you know.”

knowing murdoc, his idea of ‘needs’ was bound to put you in some compromising position. you shouldn’t. you really shouldn’t. but the way he was looking up at you with what could only be described as pleading eyes forced your refusal back down your throat.

then, his lips spread into a victorious grin. you noticed his sharp canine fangs for the first time. “good girl.” he breathed. he shifted to face you, reaching out to inch you closer to him with one hand. the distance between you two was already microscopic, but it got even thinner as he gently eased your legs in between his parted knees.

the chain that bound his wrists together granted him far too much leeway, you noticed when he planted his hands on either side of your waist.

your clammy palm pressed onto the table’s surface beside you to balance yourself, finding your guard was beginning to slip away. a heavy sigh escaped from your nostrils and your eyes squeezed shut while you took in your position.

you could back out now, you thought. there would be no shame in it. you’re only caught up in the moment now. he stunned you. that was all. you didn’t have to do this. you didn’t want to do this, you corrected, more loudly in your head this time.

murdoc’s fingers began to massage your hips over the skirt of your form fitting black dress, drawing you out of your meditative space. your eyes found his when they snapped open, and murdoc hummed.

“no need to worry, sweetheart. i know what i’m doing.” like that made you feel any better. he also knew what he was doing when he killed dozens of people.

you let a sigh slip past your lips when his hands traveled downward, inching towards the hem of your dress. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say there were two guards behind that door. but there isn’t, is there?” he asked lowly and knowingly, shooting a glance over to the locked door you had come in from.

your response was reluctant. if you told him he was right, he could easily use his position to overpower you and get out. but if you let him believe the guards were there doing their job, would he stop? you looked down at him, then down where his hands were gently massaging your upper thighs.

“no, they’re not.” you replied truthfully.

“good.” murdoc quickly replied. he moved you so that you stood in front of the table. your expression shifted to one of curiosity. “you can be as loud as you’d like.”

your face flushed hot at his words. how he said them so casually and cockily despite being (almost) completely at your mercy.

his fingers hooked onto the bottom of your dress and pulled it up to your waist, sighing with admiration as he took in the sight of your black panties. you gasped at the abrupt exposure, wanting to pull the bunched up fabric back down your thighs. but the sudden sensation of murdoc’s fingers rubbing at the dampened crotch of your underwear caught you off guard and you let out a whine.

“that’s it,” murdoc groaned when your thighs instinctively parted wider for him. he traced up your wet folds through the thin fabric, stopping at your clit to circle it. your chest filled with a sharp gasp and you cried out, legs going near slack. “good girl.”

your hips bucked shamelessly into his fingers, desperately trying to match his steady rhythm. “shit, shit,” you gasped, fingers curling around the edge of the table. your head fell back between your shoulders, strained whines falling from your lips.

murdoc quickly stole your building-up orgasm when he took his hand away to slide your panties down your legs and plant himself onto his knees before you. he whisked the garment away but you didn’t entirely care. the sight of him made you blink, realizing what he was about to do.

this was what he meant by wanting something? honestly, you had expected him to bend you over the table or have you straddle him on the chair.

“go on.” he gently nods towards the table behind you. hesitantly, you pull your dress down to cover your ass before hoisting yourself up onto the edge. you wince at the cold that seeped through the thin fabric meant to protect you. the rest of it bunched up at your hips.

murdoc’s hand slipped behind your thigh, holding it in place, the chain lightly digging into your skin as he brought his other one up to rub at your inner thigh. you waited for him to tend to your aching cunt again, but it never came.

you looked down at him, growing irritated. “what do you need me to do?” he asked far too sweetly for your liking. you glowered at him, but he didn’t give in. “don’t forget, you’re the one who needs something.”

bastard. he was going to make you say it out loud. humiliate you for a little bit, even if he was painfully hard in his orange jumpsuit. he had patience like no other, so he would get his way.

you swallowed what was left of your pride and responded, “please, make me come.” your words held bite and lacked the lust that coursed through you. and although murdoc looked like he was going to make you answer correctly for a moment, he shrugged.

“since you asked so nicely.” he said sardonically before he planted his mouth onto your cunt. the response was immediate, a startled cry of his name falling from your lips and your thighs tensing around him.

his tongue delves into your cunt, working you slowly and skillfully. you press a shaky hand to your mouth to try to keep yourself relatively quiet, but it’s like he knows exactly how you touch yourself at home in bed. he’s hitting every spot, and the vibrations of each of his moans make your back arch.

“murdoc—” his name sounded so strange when you weren’t cursing it to hell and back. “—fuck, don’t stop,” your hips rolled against his mouth, the tip of his nose prodding at your clit. you risked it and carded a hand through his hair, taking a handful of dark locks and tugging. he moaned, louder this time, and his knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on your thigh.

you watched as his eyes fluttered shut, practically losing himself in your pussy. he shifted to sucking on and licking at your clit, reveling in the way your cries got higher and more frequent, and how your body writhed wildly against his face. then he’d move back to devouring you, messily and loudly.

your hold on his hair went icy and you pushed him deeper into your cunt, thighs spreading impossibly wider. murdoc whined at the assertion, peering up at you through hooded eyelids.

the sight was obscene, burning itself into your vision forever. the feeling would, too. you hadn’t received anything like this in years, especially not from your silicone and rubber replacements at home.

it’s then that you notice that he’s breathing too hard — or rather, moving far too much — and that he’s slowed down significantly. and that his hands have left both of your thighs and had gone back to his lap. one still loosely held your calf, you realized, but the other worked at his stiff cock. you couldn’t see it, only the rapid up-and-down of his fist.

it wasn’t because of his jumpsuit, which he had worked open at some point, but because also in his hand was your panties. it should’ve disgusted you. watching murdoc jerk himself off and using your panties to do it.

but instead your breathing went ragged and you moaned. “fuck, fuck, murdoc!” he groaned in response, his tongue delving into your pussy in slow, deep drags. he didn’t care that you’re fucking his face now, or that he can’t breathe. he was chasing his own high, fisting his dick with your panties and listening to your relentless cries.

you cursed and cried out as the coil tightened in your gut, feeling like your body was about to explode if he didn’t stop. you didn’t want him to. so you held his mouth against your cunt, hips jerking sporadically as you finally came on his tongue. you felt murdoc’s lips curve into a smirk against you, but you didn’t have the strength to care.

instead, you let him fuck you with his tongue through your blinding orgasm, gently rolling your hips in time with his languid thrusts. you tilted your head and peered down at him, watching him get himself off with your underwear.

you wished you’d worn a sexier pair, but the stirring in your stomach was still there. just knowing they were yours.

a weak moan slipped from you when the sensitivity started to catch up with you. murdoc kept going, still licking up your first orgasm. “holy shit, murdoc,” you slurred, a second orgasm quickly building.

your head fell back and your fingers ran through murdoc’s hair, tousling it even more. but he persisted now, shifting to messily work at your clit. the noises were obscene, and the shame was beginning to set in, but once you looked down and caught his gaze, it was gone.

his nose poked at your abdomen while he sucked on your sensitive nub, and spit and cum glistened around his mouth. you held the contact for only a moment before you came for a second time on his tongue, and telling from the trembling moan he let out right after, he did too.

he pulled away after a second, both of your heavy panting filled the room. you could barely hold yourself torso up, you couldn’t even imagine standing up yet. so you stayed propped against the edge of the table while murdoc cleaned himself as best as he could.

“you can keep them.” you mumbled before he could even try to give you your panties back. but the man only blinked at you.

“i know.”

the anger from before threatened to return. god, he was such an asshole.

“that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asked with a smug smirk as he wiped your cum from his face with the back of his hand. the action made you gulp, and the way he was staring at you, still on the ground, forced you to your feet and to the other side of the table.

you had to put distance between you and him or you’d end up shoving his face right back between your legs again. and you would rather die than have murdoc know that you wanted him to tongue fuck you again.

“right, now, can you give me what i need?” you asked, hurrying to rearrange the shuffled papers on the table.

murdoc got back up into his chair, watching you compose yourself with amusement. “that depends, sweetheart.” he replied. “what do you need? names or another round?”

did this in one sitting ur welcome. god i love david dastmalchian. so much. also i might write a part 2 to this.

[mybluelonglegs]

waiting for the bell to ring on a Friday be like:

[emoxxgirl]

Here’s some of these :))

[rurivu]

that's what we call lore🚬🚬🚬

[jams-gone-bad]

Caught in the rain without an umbrella 🌂

[blueberrypancakesworld]

2D, Murdoc, Noodle , Russel - Relationship Headcanon

warning : implied drinking&smoking, fluff, hurt/comfort, no use of Y/n, reader is gender neutral

Info : I came back with Cracker Island into the lore and I love the four with all my heart so here have a little something. Have fun reading ;)

~~~~~~~~~~

Murdoc :

°The band founder himself is someone who either disappears after a one night stand or stays with you forever (of course if there's a chance of breakfast and alcohol he'll always stay anyway)

°Even if you don't believe it, he's a great romantic and love maker. Especially intimacy is a way for him to show love when it's not playing his guitar. That this closeness to his body means more to him than it seems he only feels safe with his beloved when you look at his past is a step forward.

°Because his past also haunts him from time to time, especially on bad days when everything seems hopeless, but it is the moments when he appreciates his loved one the most, when he feels the arms around him and the embrace before.

°Private concerts for his partner are a must, no matter if the other three are "forced" into it or not, his sweetheart deserves the best.

°Insists that during the cult time his hot flame is the chosen one. ,,Our Holy Pink Flame!" he had shouted through the street with a megaphone as his favorite walked beside him wrapped in pink.

°But even when he wasn't trying to escape from death, the devil, Bruce Willis or others, he tried to shed this "bad" side, to put away the alcohol, not to smoke and not to be violent, all for his darling.

°In the free time he has besides the band, he also likes to play tennis and dederball with his lover, which he is impressively good at.

~~~~~~~~~~

2-D :

°Roller skate dates are a must on a sunny day or when you are at the beach. He will hold the hand of his bunny the wide smile on his lips nothing but love and joy.

°Zombie movies even though he is always a little scared are somehow his favorite movies and on movie nights when they both have time together he loves to watch them.

°Of course, small private concerts are a must when he has given his heart to someone.

°2-D loves to watch his bunny with a gentle smile on his lips while he puts his love for them into song lyrics. Whether it's just a little insider between you or your whole being 2-D builds it in.

°But besides the lyrics the others casually perform with him, he teaches his heart to play the guitar and piano. Gently guiding his darling and rewarding them with kisses.

°But of course tea time must not be neglected and if his partner is not from England he explains the importance of tea and especially peppermint tea for breakfast.

°But even in the darker moments when he has been beaten by Murdoc, injured again or something else happens to him, he is most grateful that his bunny takes care of him.

°His heart tries to help him with his painkiller problem, stays with him, takes his hand and tries to wrestle through the pain by humming his songs.

°And trips on his motorcycle every now and then to a little cafe or music store just another outing for his love for his heart.

~~~~~~~~~~

Noodle : 

°Noodle energetic, cute and friendly a companion she met at one of her many concerts. Her cherry blossom is everything to her and a way to experience love for the first time, not love for her "family" but love for a single person.

°The guitarist, like the others in the band, insists on giving private concerts. Sometimes together with the other three to show a nice overall picture but also more often alone, the guitar mixes with traditional Japanese sounds and it becomes a special experience.

°Noodle always tried to be cheerful and cheer up her darling when things were not going well. Whether it was playing the guitar, going on a date to dance in one of the many clubs or playing chess. She knows that her partner is there for her when she is not feeling well, especially once a month, but otherwise every day.

°She just loves to ask her cherry blossom and try to teach them to play the guitar. Whether on a children's instrument or her own with the right music and Noodle's gentle instructions and songs she sings along.

°Above all, the relationship between them only grows when they travel to Japan. The country she actually came from and tried to get closer to her inner side there. They immersed themselves in the culture together and had a wonderful time.

°From trying on kimonos, the traditional Kabuki theater or eating mochi on New Year's Day. There was a lot to do together and even more love to share. In a land of endless possibilities, there were always new things to see.

°Especially when they both come back, they make soba noodles, the guitarist's favorite food, for everyone in the kitchen.

°But there are also quiet moments together cuddling and hugging and taking care of the common pet: Noodle's beloved bonsai tree.

~~~~~~~~~~

Russel :

°The band's drummer lost his heart to his cookie when he fell asleep somewhere and was woken up by the very person who stole his heart and drove away his demon.

°It was a meeting in the evening and he was talking about musk, he brought his love home just to get the number and from then on, boom, it just happened.

°A trip to an all you can eat buffet for breakfast followed by a visit to an instrument store and it was the perfect day for him and his partner.

°Because as it turned out, his cookie would love to be able to play an instrument and how could he say no. Which is why he promptly set about teaching his lover to play the drums.

°The two of them practiced together, alked, cuddled, gave each other rewarding kisses and ate cake that they had baked together.

°But even on the not-so-good days, when he thought about his dead friends, the demon or anything else that happened, he loved his sweetheart for always giving him a hug, a hand on his shoulder holding him and saying everything would be okay.

°It was a hold he needed all too often and was happy to get from his cookie, something he especially appreciated. Because no matter when, where or how, they were there for each other and that was what mattered.

°Even together or alone to help Russel, they would try to play ghost hunter and catch the demon. the main thing was that he could sleep peacefully but he usually did that without it when he was cuddling with his sweetheart.

~~~~~~~~~~

[captain-lessship]

Phase One 2D Having A Crush On Reader

- it’s a strange thing. When you are in love with someone and then another appears and you feel the love for them more than you should. That’s how 2D said it was with you.

- He would do little things that no one else really noticed. Would let you have the last of the peppermint tea, offer you biscuits, help you with anything you needed.

- No one noticed this. Except Paula. You and her did not get along due to her blatant disregard for 2D’s wellbeing and the disrespectful way that she would fawn over Murdoc while 2D was in the same room.

- You and her would often bicker but it ceased when you noticed that it made 2D upset and the other band members uncomfortable.

- When it inevitably happened, you were the first to rush to 2D to try to make him feel better. He was inconsolable for a few hours and was about to choke Murdoc the fuck out but you didn’t let him leave the room til he was calm. Russel was already… taking care of your lights work.

- When Paula left, she saw that her car had been spray painted with a derogatory term for disreputable person. You did feel bad…. That you also hadn’t slashed the tires.

- Murdoc could only await your acts of wrath. You locked him in his Winnebago until he apologized. (He made it about two weeks. But he ran out of fresh water.) and then you gave him the cold shoulder until he apologized to 2D directly.

- 2D did forgive him, which surprised you. But it was easier than it would’ve been because he had you.

- 2D was in love with you.

[how-serene]

Needing Something Sweet

Scenario - What it would be like to kiss/make out with Jack Delroy, Murdoc and Wojchek.

Warnings - kind of nsfw??

A/N - Might do this for the others.

JACK DELROY - I want to believe he's a bit of a romantic (when he has the time.) Enjoys the slow, more intimate moments, where he can take his time and unravel you. The bitter taste of nicotine that coat his tongue would somehow be addicting. On days he's more busy, his kisses quickly become heated as he tries to enjoy every bit of you before he has to leave. Can be quite handsy, trailing his hand up your thigh if you two are seated. If he has you pressed against a desk he likes the feel of your legs securely wrapped around him. He has to be on constantly, for the cameras and interviews which can be tiring, so would maybe let you take the reins during moments like these (sometimes).

MURDOC - Intense, Heated, Passionate. Loves to bite at your bottom lip, mainly just to hear you hiss against him. Gloved hands are constantly running up and down your body, trying to pull you closer. When you tug at his hair, hard enough for him to wince, he won't admit he enjoys the sensation. Wouldn't mind having a bit of a push and pull with you, constantly fighting for control and dominance during. Will leave your lips feeling bruised and your head dizzy.

WOJCHEK - He's constantly away for weeks at sea, with only the memory of you to keep him content. When he's home, and with you again his kisses are feverish and almost desperate. Wojchek will kiss you till his lungs burn. You'll usually find him in control, rough hands keeping you pressed against him as his beard scratches at your skin. He'll smell of the sea, and tobacco after being gone for so long. Your lips and touch are what he's been daydreaming about for weeks, so he'll devote himself to satisfying those daydreams when he's finally home.

[jackdelroys]

hihi!!! i’d like to request either surprise or seductive for jack delroy or murdoc please, take your pic!! (honestly ive been in a slump with my own dd fics and your prompts have been a joy to read, ty for the lovely content!! 💕)

hi!! ty for the request 🖤 im very glad to hear people are enjoying! i decided to go with murdoc for this one, because as of late hes taken over my brain entirely : (

[ surprise ] a sudden kiss to catch the partner off guard

YOU always kept the bedroom door locked at night.

nestled deep in the covers of your bed, you were already drifting off by the time the darkened figure slipped through the open window -- that was a precaution you'd forgotten to take this particularly warm evening.

you didn't hear the soft thud of boots on the carpet, nor the distress of leather as he flexed his knuckles once, twice, hand gripped tight around the handle of a sharpened blade. he brushed back his hair, it was a long journey to get here. but he'd made it.

it wasn't until he reached the far end of your bed, eyes trailed on your sleeping figure did he even remember to breathe. once in, deep, then out, exhaling the sting of exhaustion with it.

he's on you before you can even wake.

you panic at first, until you recognize the familiar scent of lavender detergent and, much more prominently, gunpowder. you barely whisper his name before he silences you with a feverish kiss, forcing his knee between your legs and pressing his weight against you. he swallows the dazed groan you let out and trails his tongue over your lip, nipping at it. he drinks in the way you shudder underneath his body with a wicked, self-satisfied grin and dark eyes grow wide in intrigue as you squirm under him. he pulls away and allows his coat to drop to the floor, followed quickly by the thick sweater he's wearing underneath, and the gloves that get in his way of removing it.

"anyone could have come through that window," he breathes, mouth still working its way down your neck, hands brushing the ragged shirt you'd worn to bed up, just enough for his fingers to trace your sides, it was a figure he'd committed to memory already, but old habits surely die hard. it was one of his favorite pastimes.

"you're lucky it was me."

"lucky?" you choke out, "you fucking scared me. and then you --" you're cut off again by his lips on yours, one hand tugging gently at your hair, tilting your neck just up enough for him to return to it.

"-- and then you do this."

he pulls away suddenly.

"i can stop, if you'd like, doll."

"god, no, don't."

that shit-eating smile is back on his face, and then it's gone, buried in your skin again. your fingers reach up to weave into his hair, pulling harshly as you feel his teeth sink into the flesh just above your collarbone.

"shit --"

"so sorry, doll. can't help it."

you hiss his name, drawing his attention once more. his head falls slightly to the left as he hovers over you.

"i love you, but i was sleeping, murdoc. i'm tired."

with an inconvenienced roll of his eyes, he's also rolled off of you, and instead into the empty space of his pillow next to yours. his arms stay wrapped around you though, and his larger figure curls in on yours, pressing you close to his chest. you wonder if he's ever really comfortable like that, or if he's just so used to sleeping that way that he can't otherwise while he's home. he's still trailing his hands across your torso, just as he always does, almost as though he was curious, eager to study each and very part of you. and perhaps he was. this idea of permanence was all very new to him too, after all.

you fascinated him. it's why he kept coming back, over and over. it's why he breathes against you and kisses your head once more, and it's why he waits for you to fall asleep again before closing his eyes himself. he looks beyond you, to the now-locked window. he can feel your pulse in your chest as you resign to slumber once more. he almost laughs, knowing how quickly you'd fallen asleep in his arms, knowing full well the capabilities he has and the things he's done. things he was willing to do.

what a curious creature you were to someone like him. perhaps he'll keep you.

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲

↳ summary: the day that landed your coworker in the hospital, and a car in the side of a building

↳ warnings: some blood, mentions of alcohol, some hurt but everyone turns out okay, and murdoc being murdoc

↳ notes: had a close friend that knows nothing about gorillaz beta read this, and they convinced me to post it. enjoy. reblogs and comments are more than appreciated

↳ song: da funk—daft punk

masterlist | commissions | carrd

Business at Uncle Norm’s Organ Emporium had been steady that day.

You remember it being around three in the afternoon when your shift rounded its end. The busted heater of the store rattled with a wheeze as it desperately tried to stay on, and you reveled in the momentary relief it brought you from the cold weather. Customers shuffled amongst isles lined with various vinyl’s and cd’s, occasionally approaching you at the front desk to ask a question or secure their purchase. Only one or two complained about the mold in the corners of the room this time—an overall win for the day, you mused. 

“‘Ello.”

The small shop filled with a tinkling noise as the glass door to the outside swung open. A burst of cold air came with it, and the customers nearest the entrance bundled up tighter for the moment. You just exchanged a polite look with the newest addition to the store, eager to get off your feet and go home.

Stuart Pot’s green eyes flitted to you for a moment as he offered a small smile to accompany his hello. He took a moment to breathe in the warm air of the shop, no longer disrupted by the draft he had let in, before shedding his coat and starting forward. No doubt preparing himself for the beginning of his shift.

Stuart was a man that seemed to be all legs and no brain. Most people upon meeting him assumed he was stupid, walking all over him until he said something to make them think otherwise about their actions. You yourself wouldn’t have made much of him if he hadn’t struck up a conversation one day. Now, he was one of the only people you talked to on a regular basis. Pretty sad, considering he was just your coworker, but not at all unexpected for having just moved here.

You knew he liked roller skating and wanted to be a storm chaser as a kid. You knew he had a girlfriend that played guitar, and spent his spare time painting. And after one unforgettable day when you decided to bring your lunch in, you now knew his lips ballooned up when he ate pickles.

Stuart really wasn’t a difficult guy to get along with. And while your job wasn’t bad, it was always nice to have something of a friend to complain about it with.

“Afternoon.” You settled for nodding at him as he rounded the corner of the desk, pushing yourself out of the leaning position you had been in to allow him space behind the register. “It’s a real nasty one out there, yeah?”

“Only if yew don’t have a car.” Stuart, who had insisted you call him Stu for the past year now, shrugged. In truth, it wasn’t that he didn’t have a car, just that he didn’t know how to drive it. But that wasn’t anything important you needed to know.

You nodded in agreement as he panned away from you to clock in. At that moment across the store, a customer opened the door Stuart had just come from only to have the wind outside blow it closed right in their face. They took a moment to struggle with it before stumbling outside, looking displeased as they did so.

You made a face.

On a nearby chair hung your own scarf and jacket that you’d brought for the walk home. And while your feet hurt something awful, the thin layers you had brought in preparation of the temperature made you hesitate. Clearly you hadn’t thought long enough about how cold it would get. You sighed in defeat before turning back to Stuart.

“So, how have you been?”

The blue haired man blinked at your form leaning on the counter, no doubt wondering why you weren’t heading out. With a huff of air, you tossed the formalities in favor of a more straightforward conversation.

“It’s freezing out there.” You scrunched up your nose. “I don’t want to walk all the way through town in that just to get to my flat and find out my landlord forgot to fix the heat again. At least here has some warmth.”

“True.” Stuart’s voice cracked in its familiar fashion. Ever a man of few words, he just stood awkwardly, biting at a stray fingernail or two as a nasty habit. Thankfully the silence didn’t linger long before someone shuffled up to purchase a new set of guitar picks.

“Have you heard the new album that we got last week yet?” You mused after he was done ringing the fellow up, pushing yourself off and jumping over the front desk to point at a collection of records. “I thought it was pretty good, and it sounded like one of those underground bands you like to talk about.”

Stuart immediately perked up when you started talking about music; as he always did. It shouldn’t have surprised you, really, to work at a music shop with someone that was passionate about the art form. But with the way Stuart rambled on every now and then you’d think that that’s all he ever thought about.

Nimble fingers picked up the artists cover as Stuart turned it over to the description on the back. When you hadn’t been looking, he’d abandoned his post in favor of the possibility of a new song track, moving surprisingly quiet for someone of his height.

“Homework?” Stuart parroted the title back at you as he read through the track names. “Sounds funny.”

“Lot’s of people think the same thing about you.” You grinned with teeth, unaffected by his suspicion. Stuart just looked at you owlishly, letting a small gap toothed smile show as he caught onto the joke.

“‘S nawt my fault I got an accent.” He placed the album under his arm for later, no doubt going to utilize the employee discount you and him were so generously offered. “If anyfing you’re the weird one.”

You would have responded. In fact, your lips had already opened— ready to rebuke his claim —when a horrible screeching noise stopped you.

The front of the store exploded into a brilliant shower of glass mere seconds later. Shards glittering in the grey light from outside threw themselves at you, covering the skin along your arms and face with a tingly feeling. You barely had time to process a slow trickle of something warm making its way down your face before your body reacted for you. 

A poorly carpeted floor felt the weight of your backside as you fell back, bumping your head on a nearby table in the process. Somewhere a few feet away from you, you heard high pitched groaning that sounded faintly like Stuart’s voice, and a gleeful cackle that incited a splitting headache.

Faint sirens wailed in the background as you wobbly stood to your feet. The sight before you was much different than it had been a few moments ago. Pianos and cases of speakers that you had spent the better part of last week propping up were now in pieces. Some made sparking noises as they lay in disarray. You stared at them as your vision swam, not yet aware of the yelling figures around you or of the  small pool of blood collecting at your feet.

But the biggest change by far you noticed, was the giant car sticking through the front of the shop.

At the wheel was the source of the maniacal laughing. In the three seconds it took to give him a once over, you observed more details about the driver than you could ever want in your life.

He had olive toned skin that was lined with sparse scars. His teeth were yellowed and pointed in an unnatural manner, and his hair fell just about halfway over his eyes; which when he opened them you saw were two different colors. One black, and the other a faded pink. It didn’t take long for his gaze to land on you.

“Oi! Did you bloody see that!” He shouted with glee, apparently ignorant to the chaos he had caused. “Brilliant! Bloody brilliant! Can’t even say I’m sorry about the cuts, love.”

His gravelly tone did nothing to snap your brain out of the haze it was floating in. With a far away look, you stared straight through the driver.

Later you wouldn’t remember the way his eyes widened as you mumbled something with a frown before collapsing forward on the hood of his car, fading into a restless realm of black.

You were fine.

Stuart Pot was fine. 

At least that’s what the tests said. 

Doctor after doctor had come in and out of your room with clipboards before they allowed you to even so much as get up. They’d given up on keeping you off your feet after you rolled out of bed as an act of defiance.

Everything was too white. Hospitals had always felt so artificial to you, so being stuck in one was nothing short of a nuisance. Beeping machines in your ear only proved to aggravate you further, testing your nerves. Thankfully, a nurse was sent in to discharge you, bringing news of only a few cuts they had disinfected, and some minor head trauma that should be okay as long as you kept an eye on it.

Now here you sat, just a few rooms over from the one you had just woken up in, sitting in a visitors chair next to your only friend.

Your only, catatonic, unresponsive friend.

Stuart’s hospital room was busier than yours. There were more machines, more i.v drips, and more nurse visits than yours had. It was to be expected, though. He had gotten hit with the car head on instead of just being near it, unlike you and the other spectators. The only thing keeping your stresses at bay was that his vitals were steady. 

Blue hair splayed itself all around his pillow like a halo as he lay almost peacefully. His chest was moving up and down at an even pace, the gap in his teeth making a whistling noise as he breathed. You would have felt more relieved about it all, if it wasn’t for his eye.

It was fucked. That was the simple way to put it. Completely and utterly fucked. Where a gaze of mossy green had been prior, there was now brilliant bloody red. The entirety of it had been consumed by an inky darkness, making it look like the appendage had just popped right on out of his face. You were unaware if Stuart could see you staring at him from time to time, but you figured if he could, all he would see was pain on your face. Pain, not at his appearance, but at the trauma that was sure to come from it when he woke up.

There had been a third party to visit Stuarts bed not too long ago, sporting sunglasses indoors and black lipstick, and proving to be a very useful distraction for you. You hadn’t recognized her at first until she rushed to Stuart’s bedside, clutching at his hand like it would somehow shock him back awake.

Paula Cracker was just as you remembered her; loud and unabashed. The one time she had come by the shop to pick up Stu on her way home hadn’t been particularly interesting, if the way she barely looked at you before screaming along to her radio said anything. Stuart had to assure you the next day that she didn’t mean any harm. She just wasn’t all for meeting new people. 

You had shaken your head at him and said nothing at the time.

But now, in the hospital, sitting by her boyfriend’s bed, Paula couldn’t seem to stop talking to you. She ran right into conversations like they were open doors, barely leaving any room for you to respond before barreling on. By the time she declared that she had to leave, no matter how much she apparently wished to stay, you had counted a total of ten words that you’d managed to get in. You offered her a short goodbye to match. She didn’t seem to notice.

You settled into a morose silence after that. Nurses stopped coming in, and you stopped waiting for something, anything at all, to happen. It was beginning to set in that Stu had been, to out it bluntly, run over, and wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon.

You had just begun to wonder if you should head home when the door knob to the room rattled, and opened harshly.

“Well this is bloody brilliant.”

The door to the hospital room, which you could have sworn Paula had just walked out of, swung open in a wide berth to reveal the very person that landed you in the hospital.

A quick glance at the clock let you know that Paula had been gone for almost two hours, leaving you to sit by yourself as Stu stayed put. 

“What are you doing here.” Your mouth moved before you could stop it, sentence slipping past your lips in a weak attempt to make sense of this unsettlingly human being.

He looked the very same as he had the last time the two of you met. Just this time with an upside down cross for a necklace, and less blood on his hands. Literally.

The stranger made his way over to you, flopping down in a visitor chair and lighting a cigarette with one very dented lighter. He smiled cruelly at you, showing off a familiar row of teeth. They were as pointed as you remembered.

“Charity.” He tacked on a weird laugh at the end through the stick in his mouth. Two fingers lifted to his lips to remove the cigarette, a thick plume of smoke coming with it. He blew it in your face, and if you hadn’t been so lost in thought, you might have hit him for it.

“You don’t seem the charitable type.” Once again, your words were getting ahead of you. But he didn’t seem to be offended at all. Rather, the man gave a bone chilling laugh that was ended with another drag of his fag.

“Court mandated.” He continued with a smirk.

“They already had you tried?”

“What can I say? The law works fast when it comes to Murdoc Niccals.” He shrugged, once again with that strange laugh of his that accompanied nearly everything he said.

You simply eyed him with a tired sort of caution, drinking in the new information like it could kill you at any second.

“What? Not going to share your name with me?” Murdoc sneered. “It’s only polite.”

“When it comes to you, I have a feeling manners don’t really apply.” You grumbled, but ended up sharing your name all the same. Murdoc nodded slowly in response. You saw his eyes flick you up and down a couple times— something that made you clench a fist —before they found their way over to Stu’s bed.

“Hafta take care of him for ten hours.” He continued to explain without a hint of regret for the individual. “Apparently knocking some scrub in the noggin’ is a crime.”

“I wonder why.” You responded dryly, scratching at the bottom of your right eye without thinking about it.

“Wish I’d hit someone better looking with my car.” Murdoc laughed with a not so subtle look to you. “Wouldn’t mind taking care of ‘em for a few hours.”

“You just crashed a car into the front of a building and nearly killed someone. I don’t think I’d trust you with as much as a dead fish, much less Stuart.” You crinkled your nose. ‘Or me,’ your brain silently added.

“Not much you or I can do ‘bout it now, love.” He took another smoke to punctuate his sentence. It left you with furrowed brows and downturned lips. Murdoc snickered at your expression.

“I mean, it wouldn’t that be hard to watch you.” 

“Didn’t know you were into that.” The man sported a shark’s grin, only dropping it when you made a fake vomiting noise.

“God no. I meant watch you while you take care of Stu. Make sure you don’t do anything to him.” 

“I’m hurt you think I’d do anything unethical to Steve.” He scoffed.

“Stuart.”

“Same thing.” He shrugged. You didn’t bother to correct him.

The two of you delved into an awkward pause that was timed by the ticking of the nearby wall clock. While you were busy thinking about what exactly you had just offered yourself up for, you could tell Murdoc was growing bored. You fell back on bouncing your leg as you analyzed him, the bottom half of your body attempting to get out all of the nervous energy you had been bottling up.

“Well—" Murdoc flicked a bit of ash off the butt of his cigarette, putting it out against the armrest of his chair. “—this was a joy, yeah? Let’s never do it again.”

You couldn’t help but mumble an agreement in his direction. He stood up with a twist of his back, letting out a satisfied sigh as it cracked.

“Guess I’ll see you soon, love.” Murdoc chuckled darkly while heading for the door. One leather clad boot was out the exit before he paused, necklace bouncing against his chest as he turned to look at you.

“Say. You don’t play any instruments, do you?” His eyes held an unreadable emotion.

“Uh, I dabble. Stu is more of the music guy than me.” You responded. “Why?”

But he was already gone, leaving you to wonder if he had never been there. But the ash on the chair next to you and the faint smell of booze in the air told you otherwise.

You let your head fall into the embrace of your hands as you groaned, massaging at your temples in an attempt to quell the pounding in your head.

“What have I gotten myself into.”

[wojcheks]

High On You — Murdoc x Reader

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: SFW, established relationship, murdoc being so sickly sweet it will rot your teeth (by his standards), suggestiveness, kissing, reader pronouns not mentioned. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.8k 𝐀/𝐍: part 1? this was supposed to be a longer story with reader and murdoc going on vacation where shenanigans ensue. it may yet happen!! special thanks to @jackdelroys for tormenting me with their murdoc analysis, it makes me deeply unwell and they're extremely talented.

There's an unpleasant churning in your stomach, your nerves, the altitude, or lack of breakfast being the possible cause. Sitting there makes you dizzy, unbearably so, the world spinning like a mockery of a kaleidoscope. You lean your forehead on the seat in front, taking deep breaths in an attempt to alleviate some of the discomfort.

The sensation of sticky sweat clinging to your skin grows more intense, heat seemingly rising within the plane. It’s not often you travel this way, monetary constraints making it unviable, the discomfort caused by being that high up in the air a secondary concern.

Usually, that is. Right now, that part of it feels pretty damn pressing.

Within peripheral vision, you notice passing clouds, white on blue, wisps and blurry shapes moving behind thick glass. They're so close, and yet so far, and you're curious what running a finger through them would feel like.

Probably nothing at all, not even pressure to make known you've hit the target.

A small touch on your wrist snaps your attention back to the present, making you acutely aware of every feeling the sensation brings forward, shattering any thought that isn't Murdoc.

It’s not often that the man next to you approaches anything near hesitant, the way he is now, an interesting mixture of tentativeness and eagerness blending in his expression. The very concept seems very far removed as confidence bows endlessly at his command, the man wielding words akin to a blade, with a sea of self-assurance in tow.

There are many uses for such a thing, and he's proven it times before. On countless occasions, he’d caught you off-guard stating unfiltered thoughts with no holds barred and not batting an eyelid, a toothy grin firmly in place as he described what he’d do to make you squirm. 

Even now, simply turning your head to give him attention causes nervous jitters and a growing warmth at the very sight of him, pulling your lips into an intuitive smile. It’s ridiculous how much of an effect a simple glance has, making the world around you grow quieter and sharpening it in certain spots, your focus entirely on Murdoc. 

Who is of course already staring. 

Unyielding, steadfast, and so fucking intense, sometimes you want to turn away from the scrutiny, feeling pinned under his gaze. But you would never actually leave when he’s holding you there, a feeling soul-deep and impossible to describe making it an unthinkable idea.

He sees you, cuts right through you like it's no hardship at all, peers to the very bottom of your being with ease, and his eyes feel like a hot red knife slashing at your most hidden corners.

It's sunrays disturbing the comfortable darkness in which all your flaws and very worst thoughts hide, illuminating the least worthy part of you and covering it in twin blackness. A reflection of what you wish could die being embraced by someone most important to you with no real judgement attached, only the comfort of understanding.

You think he might feel the same when he looks away after you call him caring, twitches when his words cause laughter to bubble out of you, when you look at him in interest as he tells a story, don’t react with disgust when he says something that would unsettle anyone else.

You know he feels the same when you press a kiss to the bottom of his jaw and he closes his eyes, looking for all the world like he’s having a revelation. 

Murdoc lets his guard down around you, allows you to see the things he’s not shown a breathing soul before, bared before you in all that he is, and you look right at him and say it's all alright, it's okay, I understand.

Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it's too much. Sometimes you grimace and it's not alright, but for him, just for him, it will have to be.

The aftermath makes it all worth living for.

You could never give it up.

Oh, and now his face shifts into something knowing, as if you’re being obvious, blatant in all your endless sentiment, and he tilts his head just so, displacing a strand of hair. It no doubt tickles him, but he doesn't show it, he never does, stone-faced bastard when he wants to be.

And you’d call his current expression smug except there’s a layer of fondness swimming in his eyes, this gentle, affectionate embrace he has you in, without ever having to move his arms.

“What are you thinking about, darling?"

It’s not obvious, the singular way he looks at you, not for everybody else to see. But you're aware of it when his body moves closer, unconsciously drifting into your space, being pulled into orbit by your gravitational pull. Aware of how deliberate he is in keeping an eye out, keeping you safe and under his protection.

You thought it would feel uncomfortable, that kind of care, his hand on the small of your back, gloves brushing over your cheek, over your wrist, over your pulse point with the practiced ease of a man trained to kill. You thought it would feel like too much, to be treated like something remarkable, something he could never replace.

But when he quietly admits, the two of you pressed together beneath satin sheets, the comforting cover of darkness making words come easier, how his hands shook when he realized he never wants to let you go, you understand it was never the enormousness of his devotion that made you terrified. It was the possibility of it ending.

You used to wonder, every time he'd leave for a job, if it'll be the last time you ever see him.

His silhouette disappearing behind a corner; doors closing with a click; the sound of a car engine growing fainter until all you could hear was the sound of your breathing. The deep breaths you took to stave off the panic.

There was no way for you to see his hands gripping the steering wheel harder as he fought the urge to turn the car around, the frown lines growing deeper whenever he left you behind.

Murdoc, heart on a shattered platter.

It's strange how easy it is to care about him now.

“Feeling alright there?” he asks, the tone of his voice underlined with a melodic quality.

He sounds relaxed, and the effect gets amplified by the more casual attire he has on, a well-fitting black turtleneck splayed over his chest, dark jeans in place of the usual leather pants.

You are back there with him, aching thoughts forgotten, and realize you never answered his previous question. Heaving a sigh, you go with honesty. “No, not really. I'm panicking already and it will only get worse–...”

The sentence trails off as his hand moves lower on your arm, warm leather tracing a tendon, then your veins, then the tender skin of your palm, until it gets to trembling fingers.

He wraps his hand around them, putting gentle pressure at first and then a little bit more, a testing sort of strain, as if he’s checking just how long it takes until you flinch. There's nothing violent about it, and you let him, dark eyes taking your face in greedily, not looking away for even a moment.

You know that he isn't trying to hurt you.

You steel your face however, knowing he's looking for a reaction and unwilling to give it.

A few more seconds pass until it’s enough for him, grip relaxing, stare drifting down as his fingers loosely envelop yours once more. He caresses the redness on your knuckles slowly, methodically, watching it disappear with a small satisfied grin at having made it appear in the first place.

A small mumble of “pretty…” escapes his lips, so quiet it seems unintentional, as though thoughts are compacted in his brain so tightly one falls through unbidden.

You’re distracted now, anxiety forgotten; you observe the way he relaxes into the seat, running his forefinger over your knuckles the entire time, rhythmically, almost like he can feel the heat of your skin even through the barrier of leather and is looking for more of it. You’re comforted by the sensation, used to it by now, seeking out his touch where you can get it. 

Murdoc’s eyes are stuck on your entwined hands, watching in avid interest bordering on fascination, as if touching you is the most important thing he could be doing at that moment.

It makes your heart ache, how enraptured he is with you, entirely taken with the smallest of things, even when all you're doing is simply existing. 

You have to let him know just how deeply you care about him.

“I... really hate you,” is what comes out.

Your fingers tighten around his, pressing your love into his body wordlessly. Murdoc's eyes light up in amusement, not letting your hand go.

"I don’t hate you, sweetheart.”

The way his voice deepens makes you want to drag him into the nearest bathroom and lock the door. Not sure the other passengers would appreciate that, but you’re also not sure you give a shit.

"Maybe you should," you jokingly add instead, trying to keep the yearning out of your voice.

“Oh, sweets, I could never," his smile grows wider as he speaks, shooting right through your attempt at humor. "What did my favorite person ever do to deserve it?"

You kick your leg out into the seat in front of you before realizing someone probably felt that. Murdoc’s fault.

"Mh, well, I can always hope," you grumble under your nose, then lean over the armrest, twisting your torso uncomfortably to make room for unwieldy elbows.

Murdoc watches with a raised eyebrow until you reach out, pressing your hand to the side of his face. It's a miniscule difference, but he stiffens, even the smallest of microexpressions freezing for a moment.

Then, within the space of a breath, whatever tension remained in his body dissipates, relaxing into it.

He hums thoughtfully, pretending to ponder your words, a sense of dulled awareness making his thoughts more sluggish, the rare sense of solace he gets around you a shock to his senses.

"Keep touching me and I might consider it," he murmurs at last, eyes half-closed. His chest rises steadily with every breath and you long to splay your fingers over the center of it, to feel the warm skin and flowing blood beneath it, every movement of his beating heart.

"Well, I think you're bluffing so I won't pull my hand away," you answer with an embarrassingly sappy smile, entirely too wrapped up in him to school your expression.

Murdoc makes an offended noise, all the while leaning closer toward you in the seat. His hand lands on your knee as he does, grasping at the material possessively, the silent ask contradicting his next words.

"When have I ever asked for affection?" His nose wrinkles unhappily. “Unthinkable.”

Examples come flooding into your mind, starting with the particularly embarrassing instance of Murdoc stumbling into your room unannounced. He's clearly delirious with exhaustion after days of travel, crusted blood in the corner of his mouth and matted down the front of his neck, every step he takes a struggle, and he collapses into bed, demanding to be held.

“Let’s say… how about that time you were practically begging me for a hug?” 

Murdoc flinches at the first few words, already knowing what you're about to say.

"And I recall you even said "pretty please", weren't you just so nice, bab—"

He presses his palm over your mouth, effectively shutting you up. "I think you have the wrong guy, sweetie. Doesn't sound like me you’re talking about, nuh-uh."

You know the teasing is getting to him by the way his fingers twitch against your cheek, an involuntary reaction to bouts of heightened emotion. They rest on flushed skin, manicured nails lightly pressing down, leaving small moon-shaped imprints behind.

For a few seconds, you glare at him, met only with a relentless pressure, and any attempts at shaking him off end in failure to the man’s visible amusement. Finally, you grumble unhappily, rolling your eyes so hard they hurt, and relax into his grip.

Some slyness returns to Murdoc’s features when you accept your fate, eyes darkening as he leans another inch closer. "Well, isn't this just way nicer, dear? Cozy, quiet, how very pleasant for me—"

Keeping deliberate eye-contact, you bite down on his middle finger, just hard enough so he feels it. He lets out a startled breath, interrupting the taunt as it was being said. There’s satisfaction in seeing him caught off-guard, no matter how little it actually affected him. You were not above admitting delight at the way his eyes widen whenever you surprise him.

“If you wanted me to let go, you could have just said so," he answers finally, the big liar that he is, moving his hand away.

Cutting the banter off, you close the gap between you, pressing a kiss into his lips.

They part immediately and move against you, softness in the motions, but with an intensity that accompanies everything Murdoc does. He shudders, clear enjoyment at having you so close and all his. His hand goes to the back of your head, long fingers grasping and caressing it, unsatisfied with only one point of contact.

He shuts his eyes tight, mind quieting into low background noise, taking in your presence, your smell, something fresh, like crisp laundry, a familiar undertone that he's grown used to. Whenever he holds you he finds it’s easy to just be and enjoy the way you move, your hand on his shoulder, your mouth chasing after him, tangible proof of how much you want him.

You squirm slightly when he bites down on your lower lip, not breaking skin, only gently teasing the flesh. 

He pulls away with a chuckle and you slap his shoulder with a disgruntled expression, stomach fluttering from the way he’s looking at you, eyes alight and eager.

Looking away to take a breath, you can’t stop a giggle. “Would you please just stop teasing?”

"Do you really want me to do that?" The tone is flat, but his eyes betray just how serious he is.

You hesitate, possibilities of wandering hands and heated kisses running through your head at a rapid pace. You can almost feel it, Murdoc's touch just where you want it.

You're in a plane, you're in a plane, you're in a plane. With a short shake of your head, you pull away.

Murdoc presses a hand to his chest and sighs loudly. “So you dish it out but can’t take it, huh? No no, I get it, I’m a lot to handle. Would you rather I shut up completely? I can shut up.”

Your silence is answer enough and he huffs out a breath, “Okay, fine, that’s not true. But why would I ever want to stop talking to my darling flower?”

“Maybe so I could have some peace?” You offer up, but he knows that’s a lie, knows how much you love to hear him speak. 

“Noooo, I don’t think that’s right,” his smile grows even wider, eyes crinkling in the corners and around his mouth, small wrinkles spattering the planes of fair skin.

It makes him look older, more his age, youthfulness of being contrasted with the marks of time.

A mosaic of miniscule scars peppers his skin, only a few standing out harshly under the overhead light, most of them faded and translucent looking. It's a map that you know the layout of intimately, vast layers upon layers of history written into his skin by means of violence.

You know what they feel like under your fingertips, having traced them again and again, your head on his shoulder after a long day at work, barely audible whispers filling the space between you two.

Then there's patching up myriads of cuts after a mission gone wrong, closing the more gaping wounds and tending to smaller abrasions with salve; afterwards it's checking his temperature when a fever wracks his body, hand pressed to burning flesh, worry shooting through you alarmingly at how bad it's gotten, not calmed down in the slightest by the man's assurances that he's peachy and ready to shoot the fucker who did this; in the end it's lips moving over them as he gasps your name out, pressing kiss after kiss into the crevices of old battle marks, giggling when you manage to tickle him.

Murdoc grins, "I think you're happy to have me."

He looks so pretty you turn away.

The truth in his words rings loud and clear, and you're defeated, entirely unwilling to argue further. Denying doesn't even feel right when all you want is to be with him.

Enveloping his hand again, you close your eyes, waiting for the plane to land.

He holds it there for the rest of the flight, not letting go even when you give into exhaustion, a small smile dancing on his lips the entire time, watching you fondly, his favourite.

You find that with him right there, you could want nothing more.

[mybluelonglegs]

my mental state

[emoxxgirl]

I made these

Feel free to use xx

[rurivu]

umm power couple match outfits 🛻