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pebblesandclouds · 2 days

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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.

#murdoc x reader #murdoc #david dastmalchian #macgyver 2016 #murdoc macgyver #dennis murdoc #smut #how do i tag this #macgyver show me this guy's balls #for those curious: it WAS a gun in his pocket #murdoc shot the only guard when you were unconscious so you were free to go the entire time >:)#is this even hot or am i deranged

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petra-dot-png · 1 year

Photo

i was wearing an outfit and decided 2-D can wear it. as a treat!

#petra's doodles #sorry for the inactivity lol ive been drawing buzzo from lisa x murdoc niccals. i cant explain it to you (the internet)#but its very good i assure you that #i refuse to post it. i wont post it.#anyways. 2d!#fanart tag #gorillaz fanart #2-D gorillaz #2D gorillaz #stuart pot #stu pot #gorillaz

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snobgoblin · 2 years

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Murdoc can hardly figure out the fucking internet but made a Cyborg

HE CALLED INTERNET EXPLORER A WIZARDS PORTAL BUT HE PIONEERED ROBOTICS?? YEAH OKAY

#to be fair this is exactly how i am in math #you ask me to do sm complicated shit i fuckin can bro #but you ask me what 12 x 6 is and i short circuit #gorillaz #murdoc niccals #murdoc gorillaz

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we-dont-talk-about-potato-nonono · 1 year

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hello! I see your art requests are still opened and I wanted to know if you’d be interested on doing a request 4 me? (It’s okay if you don’t want to) <3

I want an oc x canon drawing of my oc x Murdoc Niccals from Gorillaz, if you can do it that’d be great! (Photos are my oc)

#my request rules remain the same! pls read the rules before sending a request thank you 🫶#murdoc niccals #gorillaz #other people’s ocs #not my oc #oc x canon #self shipper #my art #art by me #ibispaintx #req #✏️ request ✏️#ask #murdocniccalsspouse

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charliesinfern0 · 1 year

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Gorillaz Oc song Drabble time!11!!!

Note: I personally think you should listen to the song blue hair from tv girl before you read the bottom bc I think there could be more meaning of the song w/ ur oc.

Okay so I feel like blue hair from tv girl is like 2d makes a song about Charlie and how she used to have long hair in early phase 1. And when it sings "And she cried over nothing." I feel like she had a argument with murdoc and later felt ashamed when mudoc calls her too girly, then next it sings "So there was nothing I could do to stop Her from cutting Her beautiful blue hair off." It then cuts off to Charlie cutting her long hair quietly sobbing while 2d is watching her slowly cutting her hair behind the door witnessing it. But personally I feel like 2d comforts Charlie saying that he likes the short haircut of Charlie and it fits her :)

ABWBBEBWEBWEW???? :O thank you so much for this!! the ending is so sweet :')

i listened to the song beforehand, and when i saw the lyrics "What seemed so blue in the sunlight / By the night was a pale green", I had a feeling Murdoc would be mentioned because of the whole color symbolism the song has going on hehe. In my mind, the roles are sort of reversed and its more like a song Charlie is writing/singing about 2D, not just because hes the one that has blue hair but also because of the lyrics "There's really no way of winning / If in their eyes you'll always be a dumb blonde", because 2D is just perceived as the "no-brained, pretty boy front man" by everybody (especially Murdoc). I have Plastic Beach on the mind at all times, so the lyrics referencing cutting off the blue hair (and also the lyrics "It looked like cotton candy / And just as quick to get licked away") make me think more of how stressful 2D's situation was on Plastic Beach, and that his hair mightve started to fall out. (also the lyrics i mentioned at the beginning make me think of these two covers of the plastic beach album, the one during the day with the blue sky, and the one at dusk with the greenish sky)

And during this time, Charlie was lost at sea until she ends up on Plastic Beach and they see each other again (i have a whole lore reason as to how she ends up getting lost at sea and how she gets to plastic beach but this is already getting really long lol XP). They are huge sources of comfort for each other, and things get a bit better until the events of the Rhinestone Eyes music video and afterwards when they get separated (2D gets eaten by the whale, Charlie falling into the ocean and living on the sea floor for a while). Then they finally reunite and live with the rest of the band in the house on Wobble Street in the DoYaThing music video, and 2D's hair starts to grow back, and while theyre all healing from what they went through on Plastic Beach, things dont just go back to normal (And I guess I'll just miss her / Even though she isn't really gone / But things are just different / Ever since she cut her blue hair off). I guess then its more like a duet between 2D and Charlie, like theyre both singing about each other bc they both really care about each other :)

but yeah thats just my idea, i really appreciate you writing for me! (and thanks for the song recommendation :D)

#seriously thank you so much reading your drabble made my morning so much better <3 #so nice and cool and awesome!!!! :D #gorillaz #gorillaz oc #oc x canon #gorillaz 2d #gorillaz murdoc

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sardonic-the-writer · 2 months

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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.”

#gorillaz #gorillaz x reader #gorillaz x you #gorillaz x y/n #murdoc niccals #murdoc x reader #murdoc x you #murdoc x y/n #stuart pot #2d #2d x reader #2d x you #2d x y/n #paula cracker #russel hobbs #noodle #x reader #one shot

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selfindulgentfandomstuff · 2 months

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Gustav Klimt’s, “The Kiss” but make it selfship 😎

Anyways.. I redrew my take on this with Murdoc and Emmett. If anyone remembers the first version of this I posted a long time ago, no you don’t <3

———

Murdoc (left): he/him

Emmett Becker (right): they/he

———

Proshippers DNI

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chemical-x-ask-blog · 2 years

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*Grubber finds lightning McQueen 2010 light-up wellies on the beach and harasses murdoc with them*

#chemical x #chemical x ask #murdoc niccals #murdoc gorillaz #grubber ppg #cyborg noodle #plastic beach #i appreciate you paying attention to the times 😭

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decentgarbage · 1 year

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(F/o art, don’t like then ignore)

I’m bored

🧠: just post self ship art your self insert & Murdoc

you sure?

🧠: ya

(Kill me nowwwwww)

#🥒: Murdoc my beloved #self ship #f/o #f/o comfort #f/o x s/i #s/i #f/o art #self ship community #self ship art #murdoc niccals #If you see this I deeply apologize to you #ignore!! <3333 #murdoc x oc #oc x canon

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infernalmachine · 1 year

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DISCORD JOKE TURNED INTO AN ACTUAL MASTERPIECE LMAO

#dusty x murdoc #g oc #oc x murdoc niccals #Murdoc niccals #murdoc gorillaz #my art #🫁#I cannot tell you how fun this was to draw #I DID IT WITH MY FINGER TOO….. YEOUCH

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sharpezart · 2 years

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Character Backstory: Gorillaz OC

Please meet my very complicated Gorillaz character: Rio, who's ridiculously eventful backstory I think really sells her as calculated in her unpredictable actions, a bit villainous but with the ... right intentions? and fiercely loyal to her loved ones.

Name: Rio Teagan

Age: 49 (October 13, 1973) - Libra Sun, Taurus Moon, Aries Rising

Height: 5'8"

Pronouns & Orientation: She/Her, Pansexual

Occupation: Roadie, formerly a Tattoo Artist

Natural Hair Colour: Black

Likes: Punk, Metal, Rock, Alt, R&B, 90s Hip Hop & Rap, Prog Rock, some 80s pop bc its funny. Organised clutter, maximalized/chaotic decor, breaking rules, doing what she wants, living recklessly, working out, exercising, dancing, noise, busy-bodies, fire, confidence, things being fair to her or people she cares about

Dislikes: drama, naivety, being the centre of attention, being worried about, not doing something herself, being taken care of, pop music, bubblegum pop, country, people who worry about aging ("just take care of yourself."), prudes, the 1%, and everything anyone should hate like bigotry.

Faceclaim(s): Debbie Harry mostly but I also use Kim Alexis, Madonna, Pam Anderson, Doro Pesch. anyone with cheekbones and doll eyes.

Voiceclaim(s): Angelina Jolie, Ann Wilson, Aimee Mann.

♡♡ Early Years ♡♡

Rio's household was always chaotic, and not in the fun way. Her mother went missing when she was 9, and her father couldn't cope. He had problems before, too, but that sent him over the edge.

Her father was the cause of two scars: one across her ribs, and another across her face. After receiving these wounds at age 12, Rio grabbed what valuable items she had and left. Her little brother Hayes followed her down the street until she took him to his friend's house, then carried on her way alone. Her younger half sister, Persephone, was living with her mother and had no idea of the situation.

After successfully running away, Rio had made her way to the abandoned motel at the other side of town. She wasn't afraid of a lot of things even then, because no matter what she faced outside of her family home, she could always think of something scarier.

Rio took discarded packaged foods from the grocery and convenience store dumpsters and would do small jobs for people in the neighbourhood in exchange for chore pay. She wasn't above stealing as well, but often preferred to pay. One elderly woman whom she helped in the garden would often let her in to eat and allowed her to bathe, because the girl was always filthy. There was no water to be had at the old motel.

A man named Emile would give her free food whenever he encountered her doing chores for his neighbours, and often packed little bagged lunches for her. He encouraged her to go to school, which she would do eventually. At his insistence as well, Rio began to save up her chore money.

Emile also gave her blankets and more clothes, which she took back to her motel hideout.

♡♡ Teens ♡♡

Emile gave her a more regular job of taking deliveries to people across town for him. Because she had known him for a few years, he offered she stay in his girlfriend's place (but not his, because it had a lot of shady traffic.) Rio agreed. Marita, Emile's girlfriend, was slightly older than Emile and a bit more strict, but still got along very well with Rio.

In highschool, Rio was extraordinarily rebellious. She ignored homework and paid no attention in class, despite her teachers trying to keep her interested. Her Science and Math teachers believed she had the potential, but no patience.

Rio got into fights at school sometimes over very small things. She was known as pretty isolated despite having solid acquaintances. No one could seem to get very close. Well, except for the seniors, and some football players, and when she was (miraculously) a senior, it was the learning assistant.

As a teen, Rio was something of a fire-starter. Minor events of arson included setting fire to unused sheds or crumbling garages, which were always saved before any *really* serious damage was done. She usually only set fire to something if she knew it belonged to someone that she believed to be a royal and utter prick, or if it couldnt be used anymore.

You should know that she always slept excellently after setting some old arsehole's stuff ablaze.

♡♡ Early Adulthood ♡♡

Rio got into the habit of *favours*. She found out Marita managed a gentleman's club in the town over. Rio started working for Marita, doubling as a waitress and an entertainer. She also made friends with a fellow entertainer, Alisha. Rio also happened to continue to do Emile's dirty work...which was usually illegal, she had realised. She didn't mind, though, because he would give her a higher pay cut as she was an adult and he had always treated her fairly and decently.

Emile noticed Rio drawing on napkins one day when she was on her break. Emile asked if Rio could tattoo the drawing onto Emile's back. Rio declined, but said if she ever got into the business then she would.

Emile talked with the other people that worked at the club who had grown close to Rio. For her birthday, the group bought her a tattoo gun. She started giving them all simple tattoos and practicing on fruits to build her skill. She showed a lot of promise, which did not go unnoticed to her friends.

After a few months of Rio working 3 jobs at the club, Emile called in his friend Ace, the cousin of Alisha, to ask him for a few favours (notably, bringing in more business). Ace brought in his gang and some other people he knew and then met Rio. Rio gave him a tattoo and they would talk every night he came in. He started inviting her to parties where she would completely avoid alcohol, but simply couldnt say No to a few choice psychoactives.

The small group that Rio was close with pooled their tips until they had enough to give to Rio to open her own parlour. She went to community college for 2 years for business.

Ace, Alisha, and Emile went with Rio when she paid for a little place on the corner and helped her get her first few clients. She was 21.

♡♡ 20s....wild, wild 20s ♡♡

One day at her shop a man came in to get a tattoo. Nothing special, not really...but he and Rio really hit it off. His name was Tex, which they thought was funny because they both had place-names. Tex had also encountered Rio briefly at Marita's club.

Tex only really laughed in front of her that one time. However, she moved in with him early in the relationship. It was better than the rotting apartment she had been surviving in..or it seemed that way, at first.

As it turns out, Tex was made of the same stuff her rotted father was made of.

Emile drove to check on her when she hadn't shown up to either of her jobs for months and wouldn't answer phone calls. He found her on the living room floor totally spaced out watching They Live. Emile takes Rio to Alisha's place, where she stays for one year. She was 23.

Tex relentlessly threatens Rio until she moves back in with him. He essentially holds her hostage for three years. Rio broke down, and with the help of Emile, she contacted Ace and his gang.

They came over quickly and brought the gang. Emile and Alisha packed Rio's things and filled Emile's car with them while Ace and the gang waited for Tex to get home.

After nightfall, Tex came home where Rio confronted him. He didn't take to her suggestion of splitting up and attacked her. She fought back, all that working out paying off, but Ace and the gang ultimately tore Tex away from her and finished the job themselves. Rio yelled at them, saying they were all too young to be doing this. Especially Ace, who had been getting protective of her despite her being older than him. She apologised for being irresponsible, for letting them get involved, and..for yelling. She took an ice pack and left with Emile, who even in his sixties, said he would never get tired of wasting a prick like Tex.

Ace called Rio at Emile's and insisted she stay at the gang's hideout. She would be safer and surrounded by noise (which she liked). She declined, saying she couldn't let Ace take care of her like that, because she was the one who had usually protected him. She loathed the fact that she let herself slip so far. Ace was like her brother. She had to laugh, though. If Hayes ever had to look out for her this way, she would really be in trouble.

About four years later, Rio went to her tattoo parlour one day and fell apart. While she was having a nervous breakdown, the other artists were at a total loss. One of them quit on the spot. The clients all felt awkward, and the receptionist was ready to call police. Rio apologised and left before he had the chance. She was 31.

After that event, Rio moved to New York to start over. She isolated herself and spent most of her time working out, fucking around on guitar, listening to music, and watching MTV. But to make money, she once again took a few odd jobs and worked as a waitress in a cafe across the street from her apartment. She purchases a ball python and names her JeepersCreepers, but calls her Jeep for short.

While working for an old man, she noticed he had been harassing and being inappropriate with young girls that would walk by his house on their way to school. She saved a girl walking home from becoming another victim to him, and took her home safely through the city. Her family thanked Rio, and Rio promised to look out for the family, who were struggling.

Rio set up a fire that would surely look like an accident, and set it in the evening before she left his house.

She was caught and questioned, and sentenced to prison for 7 years. 4 for manslaughter, and 3 for arson. The girl and her father visit Rio in prison every visitation day.

Rio gets out of prison at 38.

♡♡ Forties...could it get any worse? ♡♡

Working for Emile again once she was out of prison, Rio had saved up a good amount of money and bought Ace and his gang a new hideout. She took up a job through Emile's connections working as a roadie for Dethklok. With this money, she bailed one of their friends out of prison, and gave her some money to pay rent.

Rio was working mostly to pay back everything she owed anyone, even if they gave it to her without looking for her to eventually give it back. She helped out the girl and her father where she could, and was slowly paying Emile and the group back for buying her shop. She got another job as a tattoo artist in a parlour a street over from her apartment.

Things were going very well for Rio! She had a steady job, good friends, and decent money. She had her freedom and her music, and was relatively happy. (We'll just pretend she doesn't have a slew of psychological issues).

However, while on a late shift at the cafe she and the band had stopped at, a small group of men tried to start a fight with each other. She got in the middle trying to calm everybody down, but a brawl broke out anyways. Caught in the middle, she ended up fighting back.

Rio was sent to prison for assault charges for another 5 years.

When she got out at 45, she moves back home and in with Emile, who is only getting older. She takes up a job at her old parlour, reuniting with the owner who was once her emplyee. Emile and Rio spend every day together when she isn't at work. He had passed on leadership of his little "business" to his second in command, and was happy to live a technically retired life.

Rio does also spend time with Alisha, who often drags her along to hangout with Ace and the gang. They all become a relatively tight knit group, even closer than they were before Rio had moved.

Alisha and Ace insist that Rio move in with them at the hideout she had paid for, which they had all moved out of. Rio declines at first, wishing to stay with Emile, but Emile tells her to go and keep living a young life.

Rio reluctantly moves, but visits Emile every day.

During her time living with Alisha and Ace, she meets Noodle, Russel, and 2D. Their friend Murdoc was apparently in prison.

When Ace and Alisha showed no real signs of slowing down their shenanigans, Russel offered for Rio to stay with them while things were calm. Having become very fast friends with Russel, Rio agreed. Rio was 46.

Shortly after Rio settles in, Noodle leaves to find Murdoc.

Rio and Russel take a trip together to relax and explore. Russel suggests that Rio work for the band for a greater sense of job security. They discuss the full details of this, and she becomes a roadie doubling as security for the band members safety. This is similar to her previous and brief employment under the band Dethklok. Noodle, while away, informs them that Murdoc is alive.

Russel finds he needs to go to Mexico, so Rio returns to her own home. She then goes to visit her brother, Hayes, who she had not seen since she was a child. She discovers through Hayes that their mother had been murdered, and her remains were found years ago. Hayes offers some of the items from their mother that he had managed to get his hands on. Rio takes the keychain with her mothers maiden name on it, a coffee mug with a cat and a fox playing printed on the side, and a knitted blanket made by their grandmother. Hayes insisted she take more, because he did have quite a lot, but Rio declined. She left in the middle of the night, calling Emile, Alisha, and Russel to talk about what she found out.

Rio returns to her house and puts her mothers belongings in her spare room. She returns to the bands' HQ to be around her friends for a while.

Rio meets Murdoc. She is a bit wary of him and is extraordinarily distant. She finds him funny and charming even though her expression of that is... limited, to say the least. Their interactions are often a bit awkward and snarky, sometimes they clash. He tries to be friendly, she is standoffish. She tries to talk with him, and he avoids many serious questions, gets his story mixed up, or lies, which she notices.

They have a strange magnetic friendship though, and find themselves becoming very balanced when around each other. They begin to spend a lot of time together, especially when Noodle, Russel, and 2D have their own plans without Murdoc.

They have a nearly identical sense of humour, some similar life experiences, and nearly opposite energies. He is generally chaotic, while she is pretty neutral. (unless of course, you piss her off or she is going through something mentally.)

Murdoc finds that Rio listens, understands, and very casually enjoys just being near him. The more excited he is about this, the more he seeks her out. The more he finds her to talk with her or show her something, the more Rio feels it's the best part of her day.

Russel, Noodle, 2D, and even Ace are very aware of Murdoc's obvious interest, and sometimes get annoyed by his obnoxious flirting with Rio, despite Rio seemingly not being here nor there about it. Murdoc catches the hint of their disapproval, and decided to be even more obvious and flirtatious as a result. That, or he loudly defends himself against comments that nobody had even made yet.

The two of them have an....encounter, and then Murdoc becomes slightly distant. Rio acknowledges that it was a possibility, and is relatively unfazed. Murdoc however is going through a million thoughts a minute, and equally cant stand being with or without her.

Rio spends more of her time with Russel again, who expresses a bit of worry for how close she's getting with the bassist. She realises then that it may be a bit more than she thought, and admits this to Russel, but assures him that it won't go any further.

Murdoc and Rio's relationship continues through this bizarre distance until Rio confronts him about his behaviour, because he's starting to be, well...Murdoc, but just a bit more of a dick. She thought he had started doing things just to spite her, or to hurt her. It was starting to piss her off. He insists he had only ever done those things to get her off his mind, never to hurt her, and indeed he never even knew she noticed.

During that confrontation, Murdoc FINALLY accepts that he cares for her, and when his answers start becoming shorter, Rio realises this as well. She asks him, and he wants to lie, but tells her the truth anyway.

After Rio's admittance that she considers Murdoc as something special but not wanting him to hold back from the rest of his life, Murdoc declared that they would be in a seriously exclusive relationship (if she wanted to be, of course), no fine print and no funny business...except the sort of funny business that could occur between only the two of them.

Rio accepted, but still told him he had freedom if he wanted it. She expressed that she no problem with any endeavours he might want to experience with other people. In response, he said it wouldnt be necessary, he already was free and experiencing quite a lot of endeavours with her already, but he appreciated the gesture anyway.

Rio and Murdoc kept their relationship a secret to not upset the band, or even potentially some fans.

♡♡...Now?♡♡

Rio and Murdoc have a partially secret relationship. Those who know are deeply trusted. Really, the band has their suspicions. Noodle is especially aware of the way Rio and Murdoc's interactions have changed. Noodle informs the others, and they confront Murdoc about it. Rio walks in on the confrontation and tells them the truth. While they are reluctant for a while, they still support Rio and figure that she can make decisions for herself.

Everyone outside of their inner circle is still out of the loop entirely...but it's hard to ignore all their photos together, the sharing of clothes, Murdoc's random yammering about Rio the Roadie, and Rio's uncharacteristic happiness.

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