Lidocaine
Murdoc x Reader (Oneshot!!)
wordcount: 5000+
contains/tw: fem!reader, lots of swearing, Murdoc has a soft spot on reader somehow, mention and use of drugs, reader is a dealer, Murdoc is alcoholic and also a doctor (lmao), blood, unprofessional medical procedure, suggestive and nsfw, mention of SA from the past, hurt/comfort, praise kink, fem! receiving oral pleasure, fingering, missionary sex with h*nd-holding (why is this list feels never ending–)
English is not my first language so sorry for the mistakes in advance!<3
song recommendations while reading: Stylo, Spitting out the Demons, Every Planet We Reach Is Dead, El Mañana, On Melancholy Hill
Minors DNI!
A familiar, loud car noise hit your ears as you were literally running for your life because of some guys who weren’t very satisfied with your company. Now and then, it happens that people are trying to kill you. That’s how life was for someone who was dealing with the expensive kind of pills. The sight of Murdoc Niccals’s black Chevrolet Camaro lit up your face, as the mentioned vehicle just drifted in right in front of you. The wheels screeched as a window pulled down from the driver’s side.
“Get in, you fuckin’ bastard!” Murdoc yelled at you; his raspy voice was even more annoying when he was totally mad. And he was, in fact, totally mad at you right now. You sprinted to the door and jumped in his car, leaving the door open as he began to drive. Gunshots hit the car’s already bullet-hole-patterned side as you were trying to protect yourself from getting hit.
“Fuckin’ hell! You’re fuckin’ insane! An insane, dumb bitch you are!” He continued to swear at you, stepping into the gas to the scene as fast as possible. His speed reached over fifty miles an hour, and the door was still open. You sat up, gripped the driver’s seat back to reach out for the knob so you wouldn’t fly out of the car, and closed the door with a relieved sigh as you noticed that the guys chasing you slowly got left out of sight.
“Fuck! I didn’t think I would make it this time!” You took a deep breath. In the meantime, you began to crawl between the two front seats to sit beside Murdoc. It seemed obvious he didn’t like your maneuver.
“The fuck are you doin’?! Stop squirmin’!” He barked, and you mocked him by repeating his words with a forced raspy voice. At last, you successfully moved to the front seat. The sight of you making yourself comfortable just so easily made Murdoc go fucking nuts, leaving him groaning something ugly under his nose.
“Would you die if you were just a little bit nice to me?!” You complained, squeezing your side. It hurt like hell. You weren’t certain that a bullet got you, but you sure as hell bled a lot. Your clothes were soaked with your dark red fluids, no matter how much you tried to put pressure on them.
“Nice to you?! Ain’t no bloody soul woul’ be nice to you after ‘is!” He spat while he was still driving at high speed. He tried to take a look at you from the corner of his eye. He may not seem like it, but his worry was genuine. That was the reason he came for you in the first place.
He fiddled with something in his door pocket until you saw him picking out a cigarette, and lit it up with the car’s built-in lighter. He took a deep inhale from the nicotine-filled stick by holding it in between his thumb and index finger, keeping his other hand on the steering wheel. There was something damn hot about him smoking, especially when he was even frowning while doing so. At that moment you didn’t risk asking for a cigarette yourself. It was almost like bringing up McDonald’s to your mama right after you got three F’s at school. Only the turned-on radio made a sound in your atmosphere and kept you awake. Even silence with Murdoc Niccals sounded like a scolding. He took another look at you, and this time he noticed the spreading red stain on your shirt that you were desperately squeezing. He bit into his cigarette hard, letting out a muffled swearing, and he stepped on the gas to go even faster. He had a flat a few miles away, and you had to keep your consciousness somehow. You searched in your pocket to get your phone, to start a round of the snake game you always played when you were bored. Now, it was because you had to keep your mind busy instead of dying in your weird situationship’s car. Your legs were shaking and your teeth shivering from the anxiety, due to the fear of death. Only then you did feel Murdoc’s hand over your knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He didn’t say a word for the rest of the ride.
You arrived at Murdoc’s flat somewhere in London, which you’ve rarely been to before. The small apartment was somewhat familiar; perhaps that was because you were over once or twice while being totally drunk or high on drugs to just have a good shag and leave. You couldn’t navigate yourself through the house alone; you had to wait until he locked the front door. You kicked down your shoes by the door and took off your jacket to just drop it somewhere. It wasn’t a tidy place, but surely better than the places you were hiding around the past few days. The bloodstains on your shirt didn’t spread much more, which was promising. Maybe you’re not dying after all.
“Kitchen.” Murdoc tilted his head in the direction of the mentioned place, meaning for you to follow him there. Still pressing down on your side, you made your way to the kitchen, where he patted the top of the small dining table. “Sit on.”
Your mouth curled up into a smirk even though you never felt more dizzy in your entire life.
“Fuck, Murdoc, get a hold of yourself.”
“Shut your goddamn mouth, and pull up your shirt!” He demanded as he opened the fridge’s door to get some stuff out. Alcohol for medical use and painkillers that 2D took most of the time. Then he searched for some things on the shelves. He had an impressively huge medical box. God knows what he kept in there. You did what he told you, even so, not like you had any choice in this situation. You rolled up your blood-covered shirt, took it off and tossed it on the floor. There was dry blood on your side and a slightly open wound. It was still questionable if a bullet was still inside you. That’s when you remembered Murdoc had earned a medical degree once in prison. You weren’t sure if you became relieved or even more worried about yourself.
He gave you pills that you took without a word, while he washed his hands in the kitchen sink with a bottle of cheap vodka as a matter of sanitizing. That is definitely not the way a doctor would get ready for a procedure. At this point, it was so whatever if you’d die from blood loss or because of your crazy situationship after all, so you just tried to get along with the thought. He took a better look at you and your wound. It was strange to feel his hand on you so carefully, though it still hurt like hell. Does it always have to hurt when he touches you, even if he’s gentle? It was like the universe wanted it like this. Everything he did hurt, at least a little.
“Good news: No bullet. Bad news: I’ll stitch you up.” He announced, with a devilish smile on his face, sticking out his tongue for a second to lick through his pointy teeth. You took a deep breath. You almost cried when he was just examining your wound; you couldn’t imagine the pain you would feel when he started poking you with weirdly shaped needles. Especially if he’s smiling so sadistically like he did just now.
Before he started the procedure, he cleaned the area around your wound. Sometimes he looked up at you, seeking a reaction, any sign that you’re going to pass out or worse. But when your eyes met, you just gave him a somewhat grateful smile. He saved your life, and not even his annoying frown or asshole behavior could change that. Your hands wandered to his hips, pulling him closer in between your legs, leaning forward with your mouth so you could kiss him. You bit into his lower lip, inviting him to get passionate, and he gave in for a short while. It was untamed as always, your tongues rolling against each other angrily, as if you were trying to choke the other. His hand ran up to your cheek; the cotton ball he was cleaning you with was still in his palm. You could smell the sanitizer from his fingers for a slight moment, until he pulled himself away from you.
“You stupid cunt.” He groaned, keeping his touch on your cheek, giving it a small stroke with his thumb.
“I know.” You agreed, nodding at his mean accusations against you. You truly agreed with him. This time, you went too far, and your life will be in constant danger from now on. Maybe this is the last night you would ever see him, and maybe there’s no point for him tending to your injury. You were as good as dead.
He rolled up the sleeves of his black turtleneck to his elbows as he prepared to stitch your wound, but just before that, he gave you lidocaine through injection around the exposed skin of your waist, ensuring you wouldn’t feel a thing. A few sharp picks from the needle made you hiss in response.
“You ain’t a baby,” he mocked you, and you groaned a silent shut up, while you pressed your grip on the edge of the table. He relented, allowing you to clutch his shirt at his waist, on the condition only if you could hold still while he worked. You focused on staying steady, your eyes glued to his hands as he deftly closed the wound. The sight wasn’t pretty, yet you managed not to feel nauseous. He didn’t seem like that kind of person, but he executed each stitch with care. It might sound absurd, but you trusted him completely. You couldn’t help but wonder how hot he was in the role of a doctor.
“You’re fucking sexy like that.” You purred your words, eyes meeting his again. His frown softened as he looked at you now. He was just finished with your care, and he gave you a smirk before he cut the monofilament he stitched you up with. You asked so many times in your head how he got all this medical stuff from, but you weren’t sure if you actually wanted to know that.
“Tell me somethin’ new. Like how are you plannin’ to pay me back all of this?” Murdoc’s raspy voice stung your ears. He finished just a few seconds ago with your treatment, but a cigarette was already hanging out of his mouth. His eyes narrowed, and he blew out the smoke, waiting for your answer.
“What do you need?” You asked. Most of the time, when Murdoc did a favor for you, it wasn’t for free. You always had a pack of something for him. Pills, weed or other synthetic stuff, but not now. Not after you lost everything from a big mistake.
“There’s no use in tryin’ to force somethin’ out of nothin’. When I feel like it, I’ll kindly ask for somethin’ in return. I just wanted to let you know that you owe me your ass in advance.” He pressed the cigarette down against the ashtray on the table before he left you. “Wash yourself and go to sleep.”
–
Murdoc let you stay in his flat for a few days. It helped you with the faster recovery, since it was somewhat safe for you there. No clients of yours knew about this place, nor about him. Finally, you could sleep without your eyes being open, keeping your body and mind on high-alert constantly. Murdoc wasn’t at home all the time. He usually left early in the morning by the sounds of it, and only took short checks on you daily if you’re still alive and he doesn’t have to bury you without getting the police attention. That would cause some unpleasant explanations. On the sixth day, your wound was more itchy than hurt. Murdoc swore that if you kept touching it, he would put a cone over your head like they do for a fucking dog.
You stood in front of the standing mirror in the bedroom where your sleeping place was, pulling the long-sleeved shirt you found in Murdoc’s wardrobe up to your chest, checking out the stitched-up wound. It was healing neatly, but you couldn’t exactly be truly glad about it. Days have passed, and you still couldn’t help but wonder about paying your debt to Murdoc. The suspicious part was that he never even mentioned it anymore. Not even when he brought you food or gave you painkillers to be able to sleep. Not a word, and you started to become anxious about it.
He had a room functioning as a kind of studio. You often heard him do experiments on instruments, working out something new. It happened so when you opened the door on him, having a check on him instead of him taking a look at you. You stood by the door, your shoulder resting against the doorframe, crossing your arms. His striped black and purple shirt fits your body well. You didn’t have any shorts on, and the shirt barely hid anything of your bottom that was covered with simple black panties. The start of your thighs peeked out of the clothes. He couldn’t just ignore you when you looked like that, but in the meantime, he couldn’t ignore you bothering him while he was making music.
“The fuck’ do you want? “His finger movements stopped on the bass, as he frowned at you. Though that was only for a short time, until he saw you in that outworn shirt. Somewhat of a sinful light appeared in his eyes. The use of his words changed as well, as he continued: “Only appreciating my girls in the studio naked.”
You rolled your eyes as you stepped in and dropped yourself on the leather couch. In that moment, he decided to take a break, and he pulled out a cigarette out of pure routine, offering you one as well. It’s been a week since you barely smoked anything, and it felt like bliss when you felt the bitter taste of tobacco on your tongue. Murdoc drank scotch from a whiskey glass; you were sure it wasn’t his first round of it today.
“What were you playing?”
“Nothin’ important.” He shrugged his shoulders, sinking into the couch beside you. You both looked forward for a while, he took a big sip from his glass, consuming all the golden colored whiskey he poured for himself. You were the one who tilted your head towards him first, but wouldn’t say a word. He was opening his mouth to say something, like what are you looking at or some shit, but you preceded him with quickly crawling onto his lap, grabbing both of his shoulders. You caught him off-guard with this one, but his smirk just grew wider on his face.
“Can’t take long breaks from your addictions, eh?” His greenish hands moved to your waist, rolling up your shirt just barely a bit, so he could see your stomach and the curve of your body. He was constantly mocking you, but to say the truth, he was just obsessed with you as you were with him. His long fingernails traced lines over your side, running beside your healing wound. You leaned in, tilting his chin up with your fingers to capture his lips in a kiss. The flavors of nicotine and alcohol danced between your tongues. Murdoc drew you onto his lap, your bodies pressed together, electric and alive. You could feel his trousers tighten, his erection growing under the fabric. He moved to the couch to lie on his back, keeping you on top of him. The glass slipped from his grip, and was dropped to the floor. Your hands fiddled with his pants button and zipper, until it deftly slid down to his thighs. You leaned down to kiss him again, this time harder. As your palm rubbed against his hard manhood, he groaned in between your lips.
His thin but still rough fingers squeezed your ass, encouraging you to rub yourself against him. Your already wet cunt covered with your panties pushed to his hardening cock slowly, teasing.
“Fuck yeah, baby…Jus’ like that.” His voice was even raspier when he tried to whisper, and you loved it. But there was something that bothered you, since you sat on his lap; A foreign feeling of disgust. It was as if your hands were shackled and you could barely move them on your own. You felt your body as an empty shell, moving only by strings like a puppet, and you had no idea who was in charge of controlling you. Your stomach turned, and that is where you decided to give up, to just storm out of the small studio room, with the statement that you’re gonna go out to puke.
Murdoc watched you leave the room, sitting on the couch, with an extremely confused expression. All he did was raise an arm and take a whiff on his armpit. He was sure he had worse days with you, but you never threw up or anything. That was weird.
You were already brushing your tongue and teeth with toothpaste on your finger, because you wouldn’t use any of the toothbrushes in that bathroom, not even if they paid you money. That was when Murdoc finally came to check on you. His trousers were still unbuttoned and slightly down on his thighs.
“Wha’? Did you ge’ knocked up aside from being shot?” He asked with an evil grin as you turned off the tap. “I ain’t do free abortions jus’ to be clear.”
“For fuck’s sake, Murdoc, I’m not pregnant!” You raised your voice at him, trying to leave the bathroom, but he was still in your way, standing by the door.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, then? I don’t know what you did out there, but ever since I saved your ass from your junkie zombies, you’re worse than 2D. You acted like a fuckin’ injured baby kitten or somethin’ and in the next minute you were simply an asshole again. I know you as an asshole, you ain’t a baby kitten.”
He was right. You were a hundred times more independent and confident than you are now. Your head was a mess, you were terrified, alone and disgusted by yourself. You don’t think there was a time when you were this low.
“Just what in the bloody hell happened to you?” He asked you again, keeping himself at the door so you wouldn’t leave. No words slipped out of your mouth; only your eyes met his, it stung into his mind. He recognized the fury that your gaze held. The same anger he had carried in his eyes for a very long time. He was merely a child when it happened, but he could never forget it. Not ever.
“I had no other options.” Your lips curled into a tense smile, shrugging your shoulders. There you were. Smiling through it, even if it hurts your ego more than anything. You had no other choice but to use everything you had to survive, and you were damned ashamed of being humiliated like that. You would rather die than relive those moments.
Murdoc never hugged you sober, and perhaps he was not fully sober either right now. But still, he took you into his embrace, strangely gentle and caring. Even if it sounded ridiculous, no person in your world could share that pain with you, other than him. You knew about what happened to Murdoc back then, when he was just a boy. He confessed it to you years ago on a high night, and you weren't even sure if he remembered telling you at all. But the warmth, the usual smell of nicotine and cologne on his shirt, comforted you. You remembered how he smelled the same when he tended to your wound days ago. Everything he does hurts, at least a little, but not now. It’s an anesthetic, like lidocaine. You couldn’t help it; your hands ran up to his back, squeezing him desperately, afraid that he might pull away from you earlier when you needed him so much. Damn it, you really act like a wounded kitten. Maybe you needed this more than anything. More than that damn stitch on your side.
“You can have this flat. They won’t find you here.” He said, and you shook your head.
“Too many favors. I’m not an idiot to trust you.” The paradox between your words and actions was funny. You still nestled in his arms after all.
“Do what you wanna, die if you’d rather.” He would never admit that he wants you to be around. No amount of alcohol could manage to make him say it.
You took a moment to gather your thoughts, but like a flickering flame of a lighter, the traumatic response that gripped you was gone just as swiftly. Deep down, you were confident to pick up where you left off in the studio. You wanted him, him alone. While trust had always been a complicated word between you, it didn’t matter when it was about sex. With him, it was always fun, and it always felt right.
You went out in the kitchen, agreeing to have a few drinks together. You’ve found an old card game on one of the shelves, and it sounds fun to play just a few games. Each time someone lost a round, you had to drink from the same shitty brand of vodka that Murdoc used to sanitize his hand with. You both got a little drunk due to your unfortunate game losses. When the night reached the bedroom you slept in, your back hit the mattress. He crawled on top of you, you didn’t even notice that he didn’t even have his shirt on for a while now. The upside-down cross around his neck swung lowly, and you couldn’t resist taking it off him to drape it around your own. That playful act of yours started something wicked inside him. He leaned down, trailing soft kisses along your cheek, down your jaw, and to the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a warm shiver through you.
“Wanna make you feel good, baby,” He groaned into your ear, giving it a pinch with his messy teeth. “Do you wan' it?”
You nodded desperately at his question.
“Fuck, yes-“ You barely manage to keep your breathing steady, as he put his knee between your thighs, making sure they are spread apart nicely. Your fingers ran up to his short, black tufts, giving them a gentle squeeze as his mouth reached your collarbones, giving your exposed skin a few pecks of kisses. He sucked deep red marks around your neck, and he was careful enough not to hurt you this time. The warmth of his mouth was already enough to make you feel aroused.
“Will keep you safe n’ sound… You jus’ tell me if it’s bad.”
One of his hands cupped your breast through the clothes, while the other softly moved to your stomach. His pointy nails strokes tickled on your skin, making your tummy flinch a little each time he touched you. The yearning feeling inside you grew, making your breathing shaky. You caressed his hair with your fingers, encouraging him for more.
He understood what your wishes were. Most of the time, he would be a prick and just keep edging you until you beg, but not today; Just as he said before, he wanted to make you feel good. His mouth slowly reached down to your stomach, adjusting himself to lie on his chest against the mattress, between your legs. His hands wandered up to each of your thighs, keeping them in just the perfect spread.
“Murdoc-“ You sighed his name. Oh, it was torture not to just eat you right up now. You smiled teasingly. “Will you give me oral pleasure?”
“Will you kiss it?” He caught the Pulp Fiction reference you quoted, and you chuckled when he responded with the right answer. You nodded as you helped him pull down your panties by raising your feet upwards.
“But you first…”
“Okay.” He finished the quote and leaned forward to bury his face between your legs, finally getting a taste of you. His long tongue was insanely powerful, yet he wasn’t too rough with it. The tip of his wet muscle moved in circles around your clit, making you gasp.
“Fuck- Murdoc…” You called out his name again, music to his ears. One of your hands still held into his hair, while the other moved to the cross that hung around your neck. He watched you grab it, and hell knows why it was so sexy to turn him on this hard within a second.
The feeling of your orgasm’s edging arrived too soon. You didn’t want to finish just yet.
“I want you inside.” You sighed, and he pressed a wet kiss on your clit before he leaned away. Fucking hell, that was close. But Murdoc didn’t just do something you wanted that easily. He kneeled up, left hand still on your thighs, while the right found its way to your wet cunt, pushing his middle and ring finger into your warmth. His fingers curled inside you just in the perfect rhythm that made your hips arch. He grinned at you teasingly. “Can’t take it without squirmin’, can you?”
“Shut up–“ You bit your lower lip as you gasped. His fingers put the right pressure on the perfect spot. It was torture not to touch yourself, but in the meantime, you knew if you did it, you would cum in no time. Both of your hands gripped the sheets under you, eyes closed, and chest rising along with your moans. Murdoc’s eyes were filled with the beauty that your sight gave, making him pull his fingers out of you so he could help himself out of his boxer, and adjust his massive length to your entrance, giving your core some wet rubs with his tip. “Still on pills, love?”
You nodded, and you couldn’t help but feel a little flushed now. It was rare for you to hear him call you love, but sometimes he did when he was drunk and felt like appreciating you. Ain’t no way he’s not going to come inside you tonight. You wanted to feel his warm cum filling you up; it was as if you wanted to be his, to be marked by. So no one could ever touch you again besides him.
He rubbed himself against your clit with turning movements, and then he pressed himself down to your hole. His hips moved slowly at first, letting you get comfortable and have no problem with letting him in. He leaned forward, reclining his arms on each side of your shoulders, gripping the sheets. Your faces were barely an inch away from each other. Your lower lips touched for a minute as he pushed himself in further.
He let out a moany groan as he praised you: “Good girl. Ain’t hurt?”
Your moans were filled with satisfaction as you moved one of your hands to his arm, your fingers wrapped around his wrist as he began to move at a slow pace, keeping up a steady rhythm. The hand you held moved so he could take yours and chain your fingers against the sheets. Murdoc's lips finally met yours once again, filling the room with the sloppy sounds of your kisses. His tongue still tasted like you, and he wanted you to feel it closely. His hip movements became rougher and faster when you told him to do so. He wanted to keep it hidden that he actually liked it when you told him what to do under the sheets. He simply couldn’t take back from his ego. “Fucking hell, baby. You’re damn beautiful in my shirt, y’know?”
You squeezed his hand within your fingers lock, while your other hand slowly wandered to his mouth.
“Make it wet for me.” You commanded gently, and he looked at you with so much lust and annoyance at the same time. How dare you tell him what to do… Do it again, call his name with it. His ridiculously long tongue slid out of his mouth, moistening up your fingers just right. He even took your fingers into his mouth, imitating it as if he sucked on a dick. What a slutty way to imply how he wants to get pegged by you. You slowly pulled your fingers out of his mouth and made your way to your hungry clit. You circled your sensitive spot in the perfect way to build up your orgasm. Murdoc slowed down; he wanted to wait for you, with the idea of finishing together.
“ ‘Wanna cum to your voice. You gettin’ close, aren’t you?” His warm, groany whisper tickled your ear, and he pressed a kiss on your cheek before he attacked your lips with his mouth again. Your muffled moans made him know that you are indeed on the edge. The thrusts of his hips were confident and hard now, making your ass clap with the rhythm. A shiver ran down your whole body when you felt your orgasm reaching the top, while his seeds spread through inside you. You both moaned into each other's mouths with deep satisfaction.
“Fuck–“ You breathed heavily, and so did he, pressing his bangs-covered forehead against your shoulder. His exhaled air warmed your skin.
“You okay?” He asked.
“Yeah…I was craving this ever since you saved my ass…” You panted with a smile on your face. Your fingers were still chained together, resting on the sheets.
A few minutes later, you were in a cuddling position, smoking a joint together in bed. Your head rested against Murdoc’s lightly hairy chest. The ashtray was on his lap, and whenever you wanted to take a drag from it, he pressed the joint to your mouth.
“I think my wound split open.” You murmured drowsily. He ran his free hand down your side, tugging at the striped shirt you had on to reveal your stitched-up wound. It looked fine.
“You’ll live.” He said, letting the fabric fall back but keeping his palm resting on your waist.
“Whatever you say, Mur-doc.” You teased with a terrible joke.
“Shut the fuck up.” He had to intervene before you started cracking those terrible jokes that came with being high, so he put the joint’s end into your mouth. You laughed as you took another drag from it, now holding it in between your fingers.
“You’ve compared me to 2D in the bathroom, you asshole. I have every right to annoy you now.”
At that moment, he went silent for a second, and then jumped straight out of bed. What the hell is he doing right now? You watched him pull his pants up with a confused and slightly concerned expression. He can't exactly run away from a situationship, since it's his flat after all.
“Where the hell are you going?” You asked.
“It’s 2D.” He explained in a hurry. “I think I left him in the car’s trunk in the morning.”
It seems like you have to postpone that ‘kiss it’ for later. What a prick.