murdersinthemaking

[murdersinthemaking]

"Hi, baby. Thanks for joining me today." The voice is smooth and comforting like a warm blanket, and you're sure that if his pitch was any lower, it would rumble in your chest. If it wasn't already.

And yet, as Yance continues to speak, there's an undercurrent of warmth that sinks deep into your system, traveling ever lower. "Hopefully, as you are listening to me, you're giving me your... undivided attention. But if you're out and about and just needed to hear my voice..." A chuckle, deep and rumbly. "That's fine, too. You can always listen again later and let Daddy take care of you."

"Now... if you can... why don't you be a good pet, and... lay back for me."

#sitting normally

[murdersinthemaking]

Sliding out of the car, he half glances at the package while trying to look back at the car. Cody knew his address, but the idea of a present makes him nervous. It’ll be something benign, only slightly concerning to find at his doorstep so late at night. An ugly teddy bear or a box of chocolates already opened for him. “Just a present from Cody, he mentioned that he wanted to give me something. I’m sorry Yancy, but would you mind helping me out with my bags?” A quicker and more comfortable topic is pivoted to, Donovan begins unlocking the front door and picking up the package.

It’s heavy in his hands, even though he only needs one hand to lift it. He can’t look at it nor the garish card. Cutting away the corner of the paper, Donovan peers inside. In the darkness of the kitchen, he slides an unfortunate finger in to feel out the present. Pulling away from the sensation, he begins carrying it out and dumps it into the garbage. “Goodness, he’s gone and wrapped a box without a present inside! What a waste!” That touch, the familiar silicone and slicked up tip. Filthy,

Agreeable. Donovan was endlessly agreeable to everything around him. Never a no out of his mouth, perfectly ok to be strung along by half a dozen men and broken by all of them. A giving tree harvested into a stump. He doesn’t mind saying yes to Yancy when the option for no dangles in front of him. Almost ok. “That’s fine with me. You can have my number if you’d like, arrange any meetings if you wanted to.”

A few buzzes from his phone draw him out from the trance of gazing at the window and his driver. A message from Cody and missed calls. Come back baby, it’s ok. You don’t have to go with a man you don’t know. Gross. “Next left up here.”

#a stab at it #absolute torture #at last #handsome hunter

[murdersinthemaking]

NOT ME WANTING TO MAKE YET ANOTHER AU WHERE BIG BOY IS A VOICE ACTOR THAT DOES AUDIO EROTICA 😭😭🥴🥴

[murdersinthemaking]

A nightmare scenario quickly flashes through his head. Something his exes would all have done at one point, where the drivers seat is pushed back and the back of his head is pulled down. A awful form of appreciation he accidentally offered to Yancy. Nothing happens and he receives what can only be assumed to be genuine care. Donovan begins taking off his jacket, trying to fold it back up while staying in the seat.

“I really appreciate this all, but I’m sure it’ll be ok. Cody is just having trouble understanding what I need, that we aren’t a thing anymore. I’ll think about it. It must just be this season that’s got him like this, showcase and all.” Enough excuses make him feel better, that Donovan doesn’t have to think about what happens next. “Thanks for driving me again, I hope that you do consider the offer. It’s just me working there most of the time. A hand or two would be nice.” Opening the car door, he leans out and catches sight of the gift on his doorstep. The same wrapping paper Cody used back at the end of the Christmas season.

Agreeable. Donovan was endlessly agreeable to everything around him. Never a no out of his mouth, perfectly ok to be strung along by half a dozen men and broken by all of them. A giving tree harvested into a stump. He doesn’t mind saying yes to Yancy when the option for no dangles in front of him. Almost ok. “That’s fine with me. You can have my number if you’d like, arrange any meetings if you wanted to.”

A few buzzes from his phone draw him out from the trance of gazing at the window and his driver. A message from Cody and missed calls. Come back baby, it’s ok. You don’t have to go with a man you don’t know. Gross. “Next left up here.”

#a stab at it #absolute torture #at last #handsome hunter

[murdersinthemaking]

After another call that goes unanswered, Donovan hesitates on replying once he’s safely in the house. Maybe he could try and explain it for the fifth time and he’d be left alone. A package sits outside his door, wrapped up in oddly festive packaging. He doesn’t notice it yet, looking over at Yancy for the last moments of the drive. Admiring his posture again, feeling absolutely fine about it.

Offering his number to him, he switches off his phone and ignores the influx of calls from Cody. “Is there anything I can do for you?” Should he offer something to him? Gas money still stands on the table, wondering if he should actually offer it.

Agreeable. Donovan was endlessly agreeable to everything around him. Never a no out of his mouth, perfectly ok to be strung along by half a dozen men and broken by all of them. A giving tree harvested into a stump. He doesn’t mind saying yes to Yancy when the option for no dangles in front of him. Almost ok. “That’s fine with me. You can have my number if you’d like, arrange any meetings if you wanted to.”

A few buzzes from his phone draw him out from the trance of gazing at the window and his driver. A message from Cody and missed calls. Come back baby, it’s ok. You don’t have to go with a man you don’t know. Gross. “Next left up here.”

#a stab at it #absolute torture #at last #handsome hunter

[murdersinthemaking]

“If anything happens, if we ever, and I don’t care what causes it, have to go into that basement..I’m not going. I’m never going down there, you never let me down there. Darling, I will die before that.” Murdock can’t bare to see it, the faint images of what once was burning back into his eyes. Too far into his head, buried and dug up in one stay down there. No more. He was a murderer, an assassin. Nothing will make him soft again.

Hugging him to his chest, arms wrapped around him and clutching and his lovers back. Shivering, trying not to keep shaking and sobbing like a child. Murdock doesn’t know who’s meant to be after Yancy, but if someone was looking for him enough to make him frightened, both of them had to be.

Someone had to have found her, a body chucked into the ditch of a highway and forgotten about. The tiniest bit of hope that she could’ve been buried, laid to semi-rest was something to chase. When Yancy finally turns back to him, Murdocks scream become stifled cries and sniffles. “You don’t leave, you don’t get to leave me!” Sinking down to his partners level, falling beside him and throwing his arms over his shoulders. “I can’t make you do it, just don’t leave me. Not now, not ever.”

Murdock trembles, body convulsing in his silenced cries. Cleaning off his partners face with the side of his palm, trying to offer him the time to be clean again. “Who else is here? Are you safe here?”

#a stab at it #absolute torture #criminally adored

[murdersinthemaking]

OOO BOY HANK I AM AVAILABLE PLEASE USE MY HOLES LIKE FREE REAL ESTATE

I mean I am a willing participant

"Well, what do we have here..."

Hank is dressed down for the evening, meaning the suit jacket and tie are long gone, leaving a few buttons on his shirt undone and sleeves rolled up. Some tattoos are visible, including a scorpion on the side of his neck. Letting out a gravelly chuckle, he takes another drag from his cigarette and slowly blows the smoke out as he eyes you curiously.

"Eager little thing, aren't we, sugar? While I'm very appreciative of your impeccable manners... I may need a little more convincing from you." Leaning back in his chair, a smirk slowly forms on his face. "Why don't you go ahead and tell me just how 'willing' you are... you can be good for me, right?"

#it’s not me but-

[murdersinthemaking]

He lights a candle.

He would’ve been 31.

#Harper #Harper pleade

[murdersinthemaking]

'Mobby' isn't as interesting as you think he is

...okay? What am I even supposed to do with this?

I enjoy writing him, and I know there are a few people who enjoy interacting with him. That's all I need, dude. I'm here purely for self-indulgence and torturing my friends. /aff

#bro imagine being so sad and shit that you send this #do they not know the beauty of happiness ?

[murdersinthemaking]

I... may have a problem lol

#no problem here

[murdersinthemaking]

NOOO

The lights go out. One stays awake.

Two unwelcome guests sneak in.

[murdersinthemaking]

Agreeable. Donovan was endlessly agreeable to everything around him. Never a no out of his mouth, perfectly ok to be strung along by half a dozen men and broken by all of them. A giving tree harvested into a stump. He doesn’t mind saying yes to Yancy when the option for no dangles in front of him. Almost ok. “That’s fine with me. You can have my number if you’d like, arrange any meetings if you wanted to.”

A few buzzes from his phone draw him out from the trance of gazing at the window and his driver. A message from Cody and missed calls. Come back baby, it’s ok. You don’t have to go with a man you don’t know. Gross. “Next left up here.”

In order to keep the lights on and pay for the various renovations of the theatre, numerous performances were packed into one showcase to fundraise for the rest of the year. Every two years, the wooden boards of the stage had to be replaced from the constant movement, along with half a dozen more things that managers were never too clear on. All they said was to make a good show and thank the patrons like they were heaven sent.

Donovan is still in the fae costume after the show, fake horns pinned into his hair and sheer clothing wrapped around his body. L’Après-midi d’un Faune was a riskier dance, a quick enough performance to keep the show short enough and interesting enough for the audience to keep looking. As long as they weren’t too interested in all the interpretation.

In the after party, a theatre manager keeps finding Donovan amidst his small talk. A hand keeps running over his spin, pulling at the fake deer tail and slipping his fingertips just below the seam of his tights. Shaking him away to find the bar, he hesitates over the tray of shot glasses before settling on the weakest cocktail he can get.

@murdersinthemaking

Yancy didn't attend the ballet very often. He was more inclined to go and see a musical than anything else. Regardless, he would always have a soft spot for the arts and had no trouble making sizeable donations to keep them running. Music and theater quite literally saved his life in high school, an escape he would always appreciate.

Someone told him about the slightly more risqué nature of the performance he's attending tonight, and he couldn't lie; it piqued his interest. And by the time the performance is over, he's glad he decided to show up.

He doesn't think he's ever seen someone move as gracefully as the faun. Lithe yet strong in a way that had his vision tunneling. Yancy has had countless models in shibari, and he can't help but imagine what he would look like...

But he's getting ahead of himself, surely.

He attends the after party, and while he's polite and amicable, his eyes are searching for the star performer. Finally, spotting him at the bar, he excuses himself and approaches. It's difficult not to let his gaze sweep over him in the costume, but he manages as he keeps about a foot of distance between them. "Excuse me," he rumbles to get his attention. "I just wanted to tell you that yer performance was extraordinary. Yer incredibly talented."

#a stab at it #absolute torture #at last #handsome hunter

[murdersinthemaking]

Hey hey what’s this why is it pinned hey what

three graves, one gun.

[murdersinthemaking]

It was mostly posture that he noticed, but some things are difficult to ignore in close proximity. There was a change of sorts when Yancy no longer had his jacket on, revealing a new manner in how he walked and carried himself. Neither of them were to blame for where that posture could be seen in. “It’s like diction and elocution, different ways and mannerisms.” Donovan doesn’t look back at the theatre, no wistful thoughts of what was behind and what’ll be missed. A dreaming for younger dancers.

“Nervous? Not you personally. I’m taking a ride from a stranger who’s about to have my address, and I’m lucky neither of us are serial killers.,” he awkwardly laughs, fingers wrapped around the lapel of Yancy’s jacket. Maybe in another life he’d have the stomach for blood. “Do you intend to make me nervous Yancy?”

In order to keep the lights on and pay for the various renovations of the theatre, numerous performances were packed into one showcase to fundraise for the rest of the year. Every two years, the wooden boards of the stage had to be replaced from the constant movement, along with half a dozen more things that managers were never too clear on. All they said was to make a good show and thank the patrons like they were heaven sent.

Donovan is still in the fae costume after the show, fake horns pinned into his hair and sheer clothing wrapped around his body. L’Après-midi d’un Faune was a riskier dance, a quick enough performance to keep the show short enough and interesting enough for the audience to keep looking. As long as they weren’t too interested in all the interpretation.

In the after party, a theatre manager keeps finding Donovan amidst his small talk. A hand keeps running over his spin, pulling at the fake deer tail and slipping his fingertips just below the seam of his tights. Shaking him away to find the bar, he hesitates over the tray of shot glasses before settling on the weakest cocktail he can get.

@murdersinthemaking

Yancy didn't attend the ballet very often. He was more inclined to go and see a musical than anything else. Regardless, he would always have a soft spot for the arts and had no trouble making sizeable donations to keep them running. Music and theater quite literally saved his life in high school, an escape he would always appreciate.

Someone told him about the slightly more risqué nature of the performance he's attending tonight, and he couldn't lie; it piqued his interest. And by the time the performance is over, he's glad he decided to show up.

He doesn't think he's ever seen someone move as gracefully as the faun. Lithe yet strong in a way that had his vision tunneling. Yancy has had countless models in shibari, and he can't help but imagine what he would look like...

But he's getting ahead of himself, surely.

He attends the after party, and while he's polite and amicable, his eyes are searching for the star performer. Finally, spotting him at the bar, he excuses himself and approaches. It's difficult not to let his gaze sweep over him in the costume, but he manages as he keeps about a foot of distance between them. "Excuse me," he rumbles to get his attention. "I just wanted to tell you that yer performance was extraordinary. Yer incredibly talented."

#a stab at it #absolute torture #handsome hunter #at last

[murdersinthemaking]

If he was lucky enough to have a safe ride home, he could enjoy the idea of seeing Yancy again. Impossible probably, with most of the offers probably being just made out of politeness. Donovan isn’t a tense as before, able to look over at Yancy without worrying over him trying to touch him. “Posture. Most of the time, people have their shoulders back to have good posture. Your chest is out as well, your head doesn’t move up and down when you walk.”

Most of the dancers walk like that, level with every move. “I’m not too far from here, so I hope it’s not out of the way for you.” Donovan keeps touching the coat around him, dragging his hand over the inner lining. Gripping it, wrapping it around his hands.

In order to keep the lights on and pay for the various renovations of the theatre, numerous performances were packed into one showcase to fundraise for the rest of the year. Every two years, the wooden boards of the stage had to be replaced from the constant movement, along with half a dozen more things that managers were never too clear on. All they said was to make a good show and thank the patrons like they were heaven sent.

Donovan is still in the fae costume after the show, fake horns pinned into his hair and sheer clothing wrapped around his body. L’Après-midi d’un Faune was a riskier dance, a quick enough performance to keep the show short enough and interesting enough for the audience to keep looking. As long as they weren’t too interested in all the interpretation.

In the after party, a theatre manager keeps finding Donovan amidst his small talk. A hand keeps running over his spin, pulling at the fake deer tail and slipping his fingertips just below the seam of his tights. Shaking him away to find the bar, he hesitates over the tray of shot glasses before settling on the weakest cocktail he can get.

@murdersinthemaking

Yancy didn't attend the ballet very often. He was more inclined to go and see a musical than anything else. Regardless, he would always have a soft spot for the arts and had no trouble making sizeable donations to keep them running. Music and theater quite literally saved his life in high school, an escape he would always appreciate.

Someone told him about the slightly more risqué nature of the performance he's attending tonight, and he couldn't lie; it piqued his interest. And by the time the performance is over, he's glad he decided to show up.

He doesn't think he's ever seen someone move as gracefully as the faun. Lithe yet strong in a way that had his vision tunneling. Yancy has had countless models in shibari, and he can't help but imagine what he would look like...

But he's getting ahead of himself, surely.

He attends the after party, and while he's polite and amicable, his eyes are searching for the star performer. Finally, spotting him at the bar, he excuses himself and approaches. It's difficult not to let his gaze sweep over him in the costume, but he manages as he keeps about a foot of distance between them. "Excuse me," he rumbles to get his attention. "I just wanted to tell you that yer performance was extraordinary. Yer incredibly talented."

#a stab at it #absolute torture #at last #handsome hunter

[murdersinthemaking]

Someone had to have found her, a body chucked into the ditch of a highway and forgotten about. The tiniest bit of hope that she could’ve been buried, laid to semi-rest was something to chase. When Yancy finally turns back to him, Murdocks scream become stifled cries and sniffles. “You don’t leave, you don’t get to leave me!” Sinking down to his partners level, falling beside him and throwing his arms over his shoulders. “I can’t make you do it, just don’t leave me. Not now, not ever.”

Murdock trembles, body convulsing in his silenced cries. Cleaning off his partners face with the side of his palm, trying to offer him the time to be clean again. “Who else is here? Are you safe here?”

Yancy is supposed to meet Murdock for dinner tonight.

One last piece of business for the day, and they would have an honest to God date night together. Of course, life can never go to fucking plan.

He's already a half hour late, pinned down in a bullet-proof SUV with Hank and an unconscious Jimmy, waiting for backup. Hopefully, backup that didn't pull the same shit as Da... the dead motherfucker in the driver's seat.

He has to talk to him, even if Yancy is a chicken shit and sends an audio message.

"Hey, sweetheart... fuck, I am so sorry I'm late. Ah, somethin's come up." His voice is strained with pain, and distant popping in the background sounds suspiciously like bullets. "Listen, I need you to go to the house, alright? Only me, you, Hank, and Jimmy know about it, I swear. Don't tell anyone where yer goin', not even my own guys. And you gotta turn off yer phone, toss it if you can. I don't... I dunno what's gonna happen, but I do know that I love you. And that I will see you soon, understa-"

A handsome salary from a handsome man buys him a lot of things. Repairs to his home, an exterminator, and all the little extras he couldn’t afford before. Murdock had learned to somewhat accept these luxuries, though he insisted on being sensible with it all. Yancys tastes were higher than his own, he couldn’t let himself get too comfortable after all. The universe also wouldn’t let them get too content either.

Sat in the restaurant, Murdock switches between almost dialling the number and sending waiters back who asked for an order. In a place completely out of his league, looking like a gangly spider in a sweater in the middle of the restaurant. Caught up in his own web of thought, wondering if this was how Yancy ended the relationship. A humiliating meal on his own. Comforted by some form of response, he puts the phone to his ear in order to here the message. As comfortable as a sweater made of wire wool.

Dashing out and getting into his car, locking both doors before he tries calling Yancy again. Driving along the highway, desperately redialing the number. “Darling, what the fuck is going on? I’m not understanding shit right now, being left sitting there like a lame duck. Where are you?”

#a stab at it #absolute torture #criminally adored

[murdersinthemaking]

While a little better than other encounters, Donovan can’t stop the momentary shut down of his body. One second of blinding nothingness, every muscle tense and frozen in place before he’s back. Relaxed in the seat, wrapped up in Yancys coat as the car slowly begins to move. “You don’t have to do anything, just some tired nonsense. I’ll grab myself some dinner when I get in and I’ll think straight-ish.” About as straight-ish as he was.

Holding his breath, Donovan watches as the arm reaches past him. Just past his head, probably strong enough to completely crush it if he accidentally pushed towards him. “You look like a ballroom dancer.”

In order to keep the lights on and pay for the various renovations of the theatre, numerous performances were packed into one showcase to fundraise for the rest of the year. Every two years, the wooden boards of the stage had to be replaced from the constant movement, along with half a dozen more things that managers were never too clear on. All they said was to make a good show and thank the patrons like they were heaven sent.

Donovan is still in the fae costume after the show, fake horns pinned into his hair and sheer clothing wrapped around his body. L’Après-midi d’un Faune was a riskier dance, a quick enough performance to keep the show short enough and interesting enough for the audience to keep looking. As long as they weren’t too interested in all the interpretation.

In the after party, a theatre manager keeps finding Donovan amidst his small talk. A hand keeps running over his spin, pulling at the fake deer tail and slipping his fingertips just below the seam of his tights. Shaking him away to find the bar, he hesitates over the tray of shot glasses before settling on the weakest cocktail he can get.

@murdersinthemaking

Yancy didn't attend the ballet very often. He was more inclined to go and see a musical than anything else. Regardless, he would always have a soft spot for the arts and had no trouble making sizeable donations to keep them running. Music and theater quite literally saved his life in high school, an escape he would always appreciate.

Someone told him about the slightly more risqué nature of the performance he's attending tonight, and he couldn't lie; it piqued his interest. And by the time the performance is over, he's glad he decided to show up.

He doesn't think he's ever seen someone move as gracefully as the faun. Lithe yet strong in a way that had his vision tunneling. Yancy has had countless models in shibari, and he can't help but imagine what he would look like...

But he's getting ahead of himself, surely.

He attends the after party, and while he's polite and amicable, his eyes are searching for the star performer. Finally, spotting him at the bar, he excuses himself and approaches. It's difficult not to let his gaze sweep over him in the costume, but he manages as he keeps about a foot of distance between them. "Excuse me," he rumbles to get his attention. "I just wanted to tell you that yer performance was extraordinary. Yer incredibly talented."

#a stab at it #absolute torture #at last #handsome hunter