#david dastmalchian murdoc

[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.

[jackdelroys]

🤫

[polkadotjohnson]

Beautiful man geeks out about monsters (and gets too real at times) with like-minded individuals (x)

[wojcheks]

Stuck — Murdoc x F!Reader

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: NSFW, enemies to fucking, unhealthy relationships, undercover mission gone wrong, reader works for an unspecified organization, sexual tension, rough treatment, tied up, dub!con (?) (reader wants it but physically can't leave), choking, biting, fingering (f!receiving), PIV, unprotected sex, blood, possessiveness, murdoc is his own warning. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.1k 𝐀/𝐍: first smut i've ever posted!! the david dastmalchian obsession finally got me y'all. while looking for fics of his characters i decided to write my own. i only watched two episodes with this man so i'm pretty sure he's incredibly ooc. hope it's enjoyable regardless! ❤

You were told you’d be working with a wild card during this mission.

They assured you it wouldn’t affect the overall difficulty of the job. In fact, your partner had excellent skills in all the areas useful for achieving your objective. Weapons expert, proficient in hand-to-hand combat, knowledgeable, and calculated in his actions. All good things in your line of work.

What you didn't know was that they assigned you Murdoc.

And that was information that one needed to know prior to running face first into the aforementioned man. Especially during a job that would undoubtedly involve violence. For fuck’s sake, you would tear your handler a new one after this was over and done with.

Your first instinct was to put a fist through the hitman’s face.

A fair assumption was that he was here to derail you or, at the very least, complicate things. It wouldn’t be the first time he showed up simply to cause mayhem and be a thorn in your side.

Snarling, you threw his body against the wall and the assassin’s head hit the concrete with a sickening thud. With a forearm over his throat, you pressed down, immobilizing him.

You could admit that you were being a little too aggressive than necessary about it.

His dark eyes sparked with an unsettling light, something so unthreatened and unalterable about him it made your hair raise. He wasn't intimidated, you could tell. He treated you more like a nuisance to wave away, not an equal.

You felt his throat move against your skin when he swallowed, and it made you wanna press down harder.

“Calm down, sweetheart. The night's just getting started,” Murdoc murmured while leering at you from behind a wall of long eyelashes. They were so pronounced you wondered if he was wearing mascara.

His eyes suddenly grew wider in a mockery of fear, tone climbing to a falsetto, "Oh, dear god, what did I ever do to deserve this treatment?"

His voice grated on your nerves on the best of days, and this was a pretty bad one. A scoff rose up in your throat, but you crushed it before it could escape. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

The clear irritation that lowered your tone into a harsh whisper, however, was unmistakable. A small twitch of his cheek indicated that the hitman found your reaction highly amusing. He made a move as if to raise his hands towards you, but you clamped down on his trachea harder, and he stopped. And as the meaning of your words sunk in, you could almost see the gears start turning behind that smug facade of his.

“Murdoc. Stop thinking of ways to make this more difficult for me, and tell me plainly. What’s going on?” 

A shade of disappointment marred his face before disappearing as quickly as it showed. “Come on, agent, you know me. Where would be the fun in that?”

“Don’t talk to me like we’re friends,” the reprimand barely left your mouth before Murdoc’s fingers wrapped around your elbow and painfully bent it at an angle, removing it from his windpipe with a sharp tug. 

Wide-eyed indignation contorted your face as your places suddenly reversed and Murdoc crushed you into the wall, not holding back either.

You weren’t some dainty, fragile damsel in need of rescue–there was hardened muscle hidden under your evening attire. And yet, Murdoc still overpowered you, both in terms of height and sheer strength.

Your nostrils flared in anger, and you threw your body weight against his grip to dislodge it. 

He made a disapproving sound and let his weight fall on the point of contact between the two of you, driving the sharp parts of his slender fingers into the softness of your neck. You tried to suck in a breath and rasped instead.

“Now, now, you’ll either continue to throw your little tantrum, which won't end well, or start being useful by helping me,” as his words caught up to him, a displeased crease appeared between his brows.

“Although, using the term ‘help’ would be a dire exaggeration. I could be finished here long before you pick yourself up off the floor.”

You knew he was aiming to hurt your ego and rile you up, throwing you off balance around him seemed to be the primary goal. If you lost control and started lashing out against his mockery, the man would undoubtedly win.

He usually attempted it when the two of you ran into each other; it was a path well trodden, with various results.

Admitting it never even crossed your mind, but you were aware, deep down, that he was damn good at it. The words he used were one thing, and as cutting and shrewd in his judgements as he was, sometimes all it took for you to lose it was the damned look on his face. Always so superior and above it all. Like he wasn’t even human.

It drove you nuts.

You geared up for another round of verbal sparring before parsing his meaning. You hissed out the next words; the pressure exerted on your throat proved to be a pretty good deterrent from speaking. “Y-you’re the partner, the informant, that I’m... I’m supposed to be working with?”

Something in your face must have betrayed the distaste stirred up by the idea because Murdoc chuckled and then finally let go of your neck to bow with a flourish. 

You coughed loudly, to get rid of the intrusive feeling of somebody being in control of your breathing. You massaged the bruised flesh where Murdoc’s gloves likely left indentation marks in their wake, then rolled your eyes at his theatrics.

“I don’t think letting your guard down around me is a good idea,” you said dryly when he finally straightened up from the exaggerated pose.

“Oh, sure it is,” another wide grin split his mouth, and you gritted your teeth in muted frustration. “And oh so thrilling, I assure you.”

You didn’t grace that with an answer.

Ten minutes and one barely civil conversation with your HQ later, you and Murdoc walked arm in arm into the towering building.

With only a few minutes to spare, you didn’t even find time to touch up your make-up. Or double check your gun. And as luck would have it, what you were infiltrating was a ball. With dancing included.

You'd groan out loud, but you knew your companion had a biting comment prepared if you so much as blinked wrong. Murdoc seemed thoroughly entertained by the whole debacle and made no effort to hide it, strutting along with all the subtlety of a battering ram.

It was supposed to be his strong suit, being a shadow or whatever, but driving you up the wall must haven taken priority.

In fact, there seemed to exist nothing that made him giddier than getting a reaction out of you, for whatever accursed reason.

“Now, wife,” his lip twitched at the word, “how about we get this party started?”

“How about you never call me that again?”

“And blow our cover? I would never do that to you.”

You glanced towards him. He caught you instantly, his dark piercing gaze dedicated to not letting you get away with anything.

Those dilated pupils peering from beneath half-open eyelids were anything but easy to withstand, but you held your ground. That is, until he gave you a slow once-over, complete with a too-long pause focusing on your cleavage.

“You are infuriating,” you snapped and whipped your head away in the other direction, barely managing not to raise your hand to cover the gap in your clothing.

The man only drew closer and raised his own arm towards you in an inviting (taunting, something inside you whispered) gesture.

“I have my charm. Shall we?”

—

“Would you let go of me, you animal?” While you tried to keep the hissing to a minimum, he wasn't making it easy.

And Murdoc’s hold on you didn’t release, obviously, the words entirely ignored. You expected nothing less.

The leather of his gloves was smooth and firm against your skin, colder than expected, artificial feeling. The sensation was unsettling, a barrier between you that you'd normally welcome with open arms, but something felt different tonight. Instead, you wished he’d take them off, bare skin on bare skin.

The visual had its… appeal.

Even if the man it centered on did not.

You stopped pulling away to not attract more attention from the surrounding people. A couple on your left already began to whisper while unsubtly pointing towards you. Making everyone think that they were witnessing a domestic dispute was a terrible way of staying unnoticed, even Murdoc had to know that. 

He didn’t seem to care about it at all. 

He pulled harder until you had no choice but to step closer towards him. Your palm fell on his chest, breath catching in your throat.

You never really noticed just how much he towered over you when in close quarters, and you wished you still hadn't. Sticking out your chin was a childish move, but having no control over your present movements brought that out in you. 

Where you stood wasn’t a ballroom exactly, but the lofty ceilings and ornate columns lining the walls gave a strong impression of one. Grandiose was one word for it. Over-the-top was another.

Massive mirrors adorned the sides, and you caught a glimpse of your silhouette, partially obscured by the imposing shape of the man gripping your side. You shivered and turned away, oblivious to Murdoc's curious gaze following.

You skimmed the crowd in an attempt to locate the person you were after. It wasn't just to distract from the heat that image caused. Obviously.

“Enjoying yourself?” The singsong lilt of Murdoc’s voice coming from above drew your attention. You reluctantly looked up, ready to chastise him for his pestering; there were things at stake here more important than his pathological need to feel superior.

With languid steps, he swirled you softly to the side, and then pressed you into his chest, his grasp the very opposite of gentle. His fingers were demanding, leaving no room for physical distance.

It felt like a display.

Like he was showing you off.

He had to bend over to reach properly, the tips of his fingers running over the gap in your dress, moving the red material to the side, exposing more skin. You grabbed onto a lapel of his coat, feeling shaken from it.

Some strange stupor fell over you. Staring up at the length of Murdoc’s neck, watching him breathe in and out, the rhythm was almost hypnotic.

You had to dispel it, needed to focus. There was a tremor in your voice, one you hoped he'd take for anger.

“Did you forget why we’re here? It isn’t some fun little outing concocted for your amusement–”

“–I’d beg to differ–”

“–but a mission of significant importance to the security of–”

“–I thought this was a date–”

“–individuals invaluable to not only my organization but society as a whole–”

Murdoc abruptly leaned forward, cutting you off. “Do you even listen to yourself anymore? You’re really starting to sound like a talking head for your little agency, sweetheart, and that’s not very attractive.”

Biting down on a “go fuck yourself”, you turned, lips touching his cheek as you answered. “I don’t recall ever asking for your opinion, Murdoc. I think it’s better if you refrain from sharing it in the future.”

He caught your eyes with an empty smile, a shark showing his teeth. “Zero promises.”

—

You didn’t end up dancing for long before everything went to shit. 

Splitting off from your partner for the night gave you some room to breathe. It also provided a unique opportunity for an assailant to knock you out cold in a deserted hallway.

Later you’d curse yourself for making such a rookie mistake—never split up without letting the other person know—but at the time you weren’t thinking clearly, a little preoccupied with things. You weren’t prepared for it, was the point, and you paid for that mistake dearly.

A sharp acute pain in the back of your skull jolted you awake. There was a building pressure behind your eyes and a pounding headache that turned your stomach.

You felt sick, and that wasn’t a good sign.

One failed attempt to open your eyes later, you realized what must have happened. Your previously done up hair was tangled with a makeshift blindfold, the cloth covering your line of sight. A twin piece wedged into your mouth stopped you from screaming for help.

Trying to push it out with your tongue brought only frustration, alongside a coughing fit.

Too much time couldn’t have passed, right?

You truly loathed the idea, but still dearly hoped that Murdoc was on his way to get you.

If someone told you a few hours ago that you’d ever count on Murdoc for back-up however, you would have laughed at them.

But life has a funny way of fucking with people, and this must've been karma for all the times you talked back to your boss. That's what he'd say, at least.

And with your shitty luck, the hitman was already gone, sporting a martini in some luxurious hotel suite, ogling strippers, or whatever men like him did to relax. Shooting innocents for fun was more likely.

That measly hope was dashed when a small groan reached your ears. A familiar chuckle followed, close nearby.

There was a hand wrapping around your wrist and you scrambled backwards, heart-rate skyrocketing. Trying to get away from the touch proved unsuccessful–your hands were connected to a chain, which was connected to a wall, keeping you firmly in place. 

Deep breaths.

Looking for information was your first priority in a crisis, so you moved a hand over the ground, searching for anything to use. It was smooth but with loose gravel in places, like the coating of an underground parking lot, or more likely, a basement. 

Attempting to calm down the thundering beating of your heart, you leaned back against the firmness, letting long fingers caress the inside of your wrist.

“M–uh–rdoc?” Your attempt at words was muffled and barely audible, but distinct enough.

“The one and only,” the assassin's response came back loud and clear–no obstruction in its way, a luxury you weren't afforded.

For a split second, you entertained the idea that he knocked you out cold and dragged your unconscious body down here to do god knows what. It didn't seem beyond him.

Fingers clamped down on your pulse point, forcefully grabbing your attention. "You're tied up, agent, and I can help you with that, but you'll have to push that ego aside for a moment."

A protest rose in your throat.

“Be a good girl and do as I say, got it?”

With a swallow, you stopped. The near silence of the room made it impossible to tell if the assassin noticed your reaction or not.

You weren't sure how close he was. How much attention he was paying. Dealing with this strange thing that's been chasing you all night was the last thing you wanted to do.

Murdoc's voice was calm and in control, a tone that inspired confidence and trust—emotions you were, as a rule, reluctant to feel towards him. But you had no choice. This was the fastest way to get out of your restraints, so, keeping your worries in check, you nodded assent.

Seemingly able to both move around and see, he hummed his acknowledgement.

“Good girl.”

“Now, scoot over to the right, yeah, just like that, use your legs. Keep going until you hit my side, you're almost there,” he directed, clearly aiming for something.

A stream of soft murmurs of apology filled the air at the pained noises you made when dragging your ankle. Someone clearly bent it at a shitty angle when they were attaching the chain, and you weren't sure if it was twisted or fractured. It fucking hurt though.

The pain must've made you delirious, because Murdoc was not the sort of man to know what an apology even was.

“Now put your leg up, the right one, try to sit up and then turn your body around. God, sweetie, it's been a while since I've seen good old-fashioned chains… not even handcuffs, they have us in chains,” Murdoc's voice ended in a high-pitched giggle, disbelief mixing with mirth at the absurdity of it.

You successfully followed directions and suddenly found yourself sitting on his propped up leg, balancing on it; your dress riding up on either side of your hips from the clumsy movements. Goosebumps rose in the cold air's wake.

Your face heated at the image you must have made, all wobbly and sweaty, desperate for guidance, barely covered up by the torn dress. Everything on display for Murdoc.

It became hard to breathe.

“That's right, just scoot closer, so I can reach you,” the tone of his voice was lower now, not quite a whisper, but close enough to make you shiver.

Keeping balance with arms bent behind you and wrists tied together was not easy. More soft pained noises, more maneuvering into position and you slid down, your ass landing directly on the hitman's lap.

Was that a gun in his pocket–?

“That's perfect, baby, just a little bit closer, so I can get rid of that pesky gag,” he grunted, sounding momentarily caught off-guard. “You do look good in it, though, I have to admit.”

Incapable of hitting him square in the jaw, you resigned yourself to leaning forward instead.

Curious fingers ran through your tangled hair, fingernails catching against your skin in exploratory touches, until finally making their way lower, towards the gag. Moments of fiddling later, the gag was gone and you could speak.

So you did. “What the fuck, Murdoc, are your hands free?”

“Shhh, agent, what if they hear us?” The way his voice caught on a snigger, bereft of any actual worry, threw a gallon of gasoline under the low level rage that's been burning in your chest the whole evening.

“Are you fucking kidding me, you fucker?"

It hurt, just how much he didn't care.

“We could die here, in this stupid basement, surrounded by nothing but trash and bound in some medieval ass chains, because you’d rather play around than do something useful for once!” Your voice grew louder and louder, and being unable to see his no doubt self-satisfied expression made it significantly worse.

“I’m asking you to help me, just once, just this one single time, you asshole. To put my well-being over your own, think of someone else but yourself! And take this stupid blindfold off me–Please–” You were on the verge of begging now, voice breaking on a plea.

A long stretch of nothing followed, disturbed only by your heavy breathing. Then, a light trace of fingertips over your cheekbone. “I didn’t know you trusted me so much, agent.”

“What–?” 

Wet lips crashed into yours and Murdoc grabbed a fistful of your hair, pressing you against him. His smell filled your senses, something sharp and spicy, with an undercurrent of leather. The sound that left you was embarassing.

His palm was so big it encircled the back of your head effortlessly, fingers unkind in their urgency. He jostled your wound and you struggled within his grasp, trying to pull away with a distressed whine. Unable to see, unable to move, your body overcompensated for the lack of senses, making it feel like he was pressing into an exposed nerve. "Mu–urdoc–”

The groan made him pull away, sticky red smeared all over his hand now. He looked at it and chuckled. "Ah, they got you good, sweetheart. Let me make it worse.”

He didn't sound apologetic at all, and stuck his mouth to the underside of your jaw, sucking on the sensitive flesh. Tongue lapping up the saltiness of your skin, he let out a satisfied groan, hand wrapping around your neck to keep you from moving.

You let out another stifled whimper, part of you wanting to pull away from his possessive grip. The other part knew it would leave a mark and craved it more than anything.

Head falling back, your chest rose with laboured breaths, small sounds of exhilaration falling from your mouth. “Fucking hell–Ah–”

His other palm grabbed your breast, kneading it forcefully, wringing more gasps out of you. You felt his lips turn up in gratification against your tender flesh.

“Does that feel good?” His usually airy tone was raspy now, the gruff whisper making you shudder against his torso. “Tell me.”

You couldn't stop it; your hips ground down onto his own, dragging against the growing hardness beneath you. The emptiness inside you was infuriating, and you couldn't even reach down to relieve the pressure. You needed him now.

A loud cry left you when Murdoc bit down punishingly on your throat and gripped your chin between his fingers. He pressed his lips against yours before speaking, as if he couldn't stop himself.

“Fucking tell me, agent. Tell me what I should do with you. So powerless, all tied up, mine to control. I could do anything, so what will it be?”

“Murdoc, please–”

“Please what?” Cold air hit your skin as he pulled the dress up and slapped the back of your thigh, then snapped his fingers twice. “Focus, agent, right here, focus on me.”

This was all wrong; the way his gloved hand rubbed the stinging spot afterwards, his demanding tone, just how wet you could feel yourself becoming the more he touched you. The more he made you his.

“Touch me, please,” the words came out as a whisper, and were met with another chuckle.

“No no no no, sweet girl, that's not good enough. You gotta work for it.”

You couldn't escape, so you lowered your head into his shoulder, hoping to somehow disappear.

“Don't hide.” He yanked the blindfold off and threw it to the side, moving your head up so he could catch your gaze.

Despite everything happening between you, the mercenary looked near unbothered. His hand on your face felt steady, his breathing only slightly elevated, an expression on his face that you could only call triumphant.

It made you burn.

Your lipstick was smeared over his mouth, the red streaks physical proof of the way he crushed your lips together. You wanted to sink your teeth into his flesh and tear, a visceral representation of what he made you feel.

If your hands weren't bound, you'd be shoving them against his chest and running your fingernails down, marking him as yours too.

As it was, you only had your words left.

"Just fuck me, Murdoc, or do you need written instructions?"

The smug smile he sent your way was answer enough.

He grabbed the dark red material of your dress and tore the bottom part in half, a sharp exhale leaving your chest at the action. Then he stroked your ass, roughly stretched it and parted your legs, toying with the muscle.

You felt beyond exposed, a butterfly pinned to a board. Hair in disarray, flimsy panties not enough cover against forceful fingers and the hitman’s searing gaze. Naked planes of skin kept growing more and more red from the pleasure he wrung out of you. His hand reached between your thighs, and you closed your eyes.

He openly stared, drinking you in. Sharp canines peeked from behind his lips, mouth half open in captivation, and the black strands of hair fell over his eyes.

"What a sight you are," Murdoc murmured and palmed you over the thin material, fingers gathering moisture that soaked through it already.

You bit down on your lip and moved against his broad fingers, your muscles straining from keeping upright for so long.

He kept looking at your face and cataloging every little expression that passed over it, his eyes ablaze with a frenzy, an expression that in any other situation would make you shudder in fear.

Hell, it still did.

Impatiently, he pulled the material to the side and easily sank two fingers inside you, moving them in and out with a beckoning movement, rubbing against your clit until you let out a sob.

His wrist grew still for a moment, watching you grow frustrated in his lap, twisted satisfaction burning in his gaze. Then he added another finger, plunging all three as deep as they would go.

“Fuck, Murdoc, you shit–!”

He giggled and shushed you, "Stay still."

"Fucking bastard–"

"You telling me you don’t like this? You're not a whore who gets off on getting finger-fucked by her enemy?"

You wailed as he hit a spot inside you. “Shut the f-fuck–up–” 

“Aw, but you don’t want me to, do you?” He shot forward, pressing his face to yours, hot breath hitting your lips as he continued, “I’m gonna make you cum on my fingers, agent, and then I’m gonna force them down your throat. Would you like that?”

Keening growing louder at the words, you moved your hips faster, panting against him, already nodding your head before realizing.

“I thought so,” the thrusting of his fingers grew quicker and you writhed in his lap, unbothered by what you looked like, only chasing your release with a single-minded determination.

Every once in a while your ass moved over Murdoc’s still clothed cock and he let out a pained-sounding hiss, his grip on your throat growing tighter.

You’d feel victorious if you weren’t so out of it.

Murdoc wrenched his fingers out of you and licked the moisture off, closing his eyes in pleasure. "God, you taste so good. How am I ever supposed to let you go?"

The sudden emptiness made you panic, and you caught his mouth in a kiss, urging him to continue. You could taste the slight saltiness from his fingers, your own flavour.

He pulled away from you with a laugh, then hissed again when you licked the side of his throat.

“Patience, agent, patience.” The grip on your neck disappeared and you heard his zipper open, a relieved exhale following.

The flicking of his wrist kept going for a few more seconds before he pulled out and ripped the flimsy fabric of your underwear off entirely. With an arm around your waist, he steadied you, before pressing the head of his cock forward.

At first, there was a dull sensation of resistance, Murdoc being bigger than you expected. But before you could protest, your cunt gave way, and he slipped in, the fullness and drag on your insides making you tighten around him.

The man rocked into you, his arm pressing your bodies so close together you could feel every laboured breath he took. You wanted to rip off the coat he was wearing, taste the naked skin over his ribs on your tongue.

You barely even noticed the changing gravity as you got pushed into the ground, your back painfully dragging against the rubble.

“I wanna spread your legs and eat you out until all you can think of is getting filled up to the brim,” Murdoc sounded almost delirious now, his hips speeding up, “wanna bury myself in you and keep going until you’re screaming–”

You encircled his waist with your legs, the pain of moving your ankle getting lost in the white noise that filled your head. You wanted him closer, you needed him closer.

Every time he pushed back in you squeezed him harder, wanting the stretch, urging him to thrust faster, squirming when he hit that spot inside you. It was almost too much, waves of pleasure twisting your insides, breathing near impossible.

"You'll feel me for days, agent, won't be able to look in the mirror without remembering my cock deep inside you," he groaned loudly, pulling you up into his lap without stopping the movement of his hips.

He bit down on your collarbone, leaving a red imprint of his teeth behind.

"Wanna mark you, scar you, make it so no one will ever touch you again–"

Your fingernails bit into the palm of your hand, his rasping voice pushing you over the edge. Knowing that you made him sound that way, that you brought out something desperate and reckless, a frenzied stream of litanies, from a man like Murdoc.

That was what did it.

Your legs tensed and clamped over his thighs, and you let out a string of curses. “FuckfuCKFUCK! Please–M-Murdoc, I–!” 

He covered your mouth with his own and swallowed the shrill sounds, kisses turning brutal as you trembled in his arms. First his tongue ran over your teeth, then he bit down on your lower lip until the skin broke, a small stream of red immediately smudging between your lips. The sting sent a pulse down to your cunt, sucking Murdoc's cock in deeper.

He kept thrusting even as you stiffened, insides clenching around him like a vice, and with a short bark of your name he spilled himself on your inner walls.

Your exhausted body was pressed against his chest and you were empty for a moment. No worries, no thoughts. The aftershocks wiped your head clean of everything.

Your torn dress fell off your shoulders, but you didn't notice.

When you came to, your wrists were free, and the two of you were laying side by side on the floor.

Murdoc was staring at you like the cat that swallowed the canary; strands of hair were sticking out of place and a thin sheen of sweat covered his face, making his skin look glossy. It made him look so young, but you knew better.

His fingers kept running over the red imprint on your chest, eyes occasionally glancing at your scratched up wrists. He seemed... content. Some of that ever-present frantic energy looked to be gone.

You exhaled softly, the man's lips grabbing your attention. There was a redness there, lipstick or blood, and you weren’t sure which option was more appealing. Either way, you couldn’t take your eyes off it.

With an unsteady hand, you ran a finger through it, captivated by the sight, and the feeling of warm, malleable flesh.

Murdoc almost seemed human like this.

In a deliberately slow move, he ran his tongue over the tip of your finger and licked the ruddiness off. Grinned again.

God, you wanted to punch that smug look off his face, and you wanted to kiss him until he couldn't breathe.

What a fucking day.

[indieboysarehot]

anybody still a david dastmalchian fan ??? would anyone want fics of/for him ? i have brainrot over this man

[blackleatherjacketz]

Happy birthday to my favorite weird, sexy, spooky vampire boyfriend, David Dastmalchian!

[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.

[capondi]

An updated version of my David Dastmalchian characters + “I want a baby” meme post

[mmurdocc]

POV: Murdoc is on a hit and facetimes you to let you know how it’s going 🥰

[buttstrawberry]

Found out yesterday that Murdoc's first name is Dennis?????

Dennis????? This man????

DENNIS???????

[tenderhungering]

looking for more mutuals ! hello ! i go by juno, im twenty-one years old + use they/she pronouns and i post film rambles and other desperate little yearnings !

some stuff i will most likely post about:

• 1960s-1990s films

• the violent deconstruction of female characters

• paul dano, david dastmalchian, harold lloyd and zach woods !

• succession, mad men, veep, the thick of it (current interest in terms of shows!)

• horror films

• fic ideas,,, i have so many little ones !

• scattered roleplay posts ! i enjoy creating characters and writing for them !

please like for a follow ! also feel so free to message me about anything you see here ! i’d been looking for more people to chat with ! i’ll make a more cohesive list of things later on (maybe a carrd?) !

[jackdelroys]

murdoc + the red jumpsuit

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

Tear You Apart - A Dastmalchian Villains Thirst Trap

[polkadotjohnson]

Mur

Doc

[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.

[krillposting]

Four characters who make you yell "MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN".

Thank you for tagging me, @capondi!!

With apologies that 3 out of 4 are Dastmalchian characters...

1) Abner Krill

The man who launched my account, my darling Abner Krill. His depressive, brooding affect paired with his vibrant powers, social disinhibition and trauma captivated me instantly. Truly as a character he is a hyperfixation like no other. I can fix him? I really can't. But he can fix me.

2) Piter de Vries.

Abner's opposite in many ways, but my type is fucked up little guy and Piter is the supreme. When I found out Dastmalchian was playing him in the Villeneuve Dune, I immediately became invested. But in process, came to adore every iteration of Piter: book version, Brad Dourif, and every fan art incarnation. They are all my murder husband.

3) Dennis Murdoc

Oh look, another sociopath! To be honest, I have watched every MacGyver episode which features Murdoc, and none of the others. As far as I'm concerned, Murdoc is the main character of that show. I love that he's a cold blooded killer with a sense of humour, and you can tell Dastmalchian had a blast playing him. His gloves are also a borderline kink tbh.

4) Floki Vilgerðarson

A character I've never posted about on here, but he is just as much My Man as the Dast boys. The top recommended Google search under Floki's name is "what mental illness does he have?" He's a master craftsman. He's a religious zealot. He's high on hallucinogens. He rocks a smoky eye. He discovered Iceland by mistake. I'm in love with him even though he'd want to kill me with an axe.

I tag @kyber-infinitygems @practically-an-x-man @aesdi and @cadavergraves if any of you are up for playing - and whomever else too!!