Summery~ Murphy MacManus notices you at the bar of McGinty’s and
promises himself that he will look after you when he sees a man taking
your photo. Without telling you who he is, without telling Conner about
you, Murphy goes on to live two completely different lives–that is until
they have to merge in order to save you.
Fandom; Boondock Saints
Murphy MacManus x Reader
Warnings: It’s a Boondock Saints story, prepare for cursing and violence
Your bed smells of drift wood and…beer. No, whiskey.
The sun shines through the window in your room, warming your
naked leg as you lay on top of your blanket. It’s comfortable, relaxing. Add in
the sound of the water running in the bathroom and you start to feel yourself
drifting back into a deep sleep.
You sit up quickly, realizing that the shower was on in your
bathroom. You can hear singing, low and rough. For a second, you’re paralyzed at
the thought of someone in your shower—and then you remember Murphy. Sweet, little
Murphy. You calm down and lay your head back in your pillow.
Murphy spent the night, wanting to make sure you would be
okay during the night. Nothing happened, except a lot of holding. Murphy held
you close all night long, combing your hair with his fingers. At some point,
you asked him about the scars on his wrists which he replied with, “’Tis
nothing, lass. Go to sleep.”
The shower stops and you hear some rustling as Murphy gets
dressed. When he walks out, he’s wearing a shirt of yours that was far too big
and you only kept to sleep in on cold nights. The long sleeves on you just
hardly came to Murphy’s hands and when it looks like a dress on you, it fits
A little smile slips on your face as he walks over and links
his fingers together, looking at you from under his eyelashes. “I have ta go.”
You sit up and criss-cross your legs. “This early?” You
couldn’t mask the disappointment in your voice.
Murphy bits at his lower lip and nods his head, his eyes
avoiding yours for the minute. “Aye. Me brother needs me.”
“Oh. I suppose you shouldn’t keep him waiting then.” You
think Murphy wants to leave, maybe he had enough. Maybe his thing isn’t hooking
up but it’s having a place to crash after drinking.
Murphy looks down at you, his fingers wiggling away as they
stay linked. He picks up on your thoughts, it seems. “Can I come back tonight?”
His question takes you by surprise. “If-if you want to.”
“Take you out, maybe. On a date.” He offers.
Again, something you didn’t expect. The air around you
changes and suddenly you can’t have enough of him, just like last night. “I
think I can pencil you in.” You tease him and kiss his cheek.
Murphy’s eyebrows shoot up and he looks back at you, his
whole face stiff and emotionless. Your eyes lock onto each other’s and it was
like you knew what he was about to do, because you feel it, too.
He attacks you, crashing his lips against yours and causing
you to fall backward, hitting your head against the pillow. His body crushes
yours, though you don’t care. You love the feeling, wanting him closer if that
were possible, and he tries.
He grabs your cheeks and his hair is tangled between your
fingers as you two figure each other out. At first, he was rough, wet even. He
wasn’t sure how to start, but he learns quickly and his tongue glides over your
lip, asking for entry.
Denying him for fun, he grows impatient and grinds into you.
You let out a moan in response and he smirks into the kiss, grinding into you a
“Murphy…” You moan, giving him the confidence he needs. He
runs his hands down your sides, stopping at your exposed thighs. You don’t
remember when your pants came off last night, or if you were the one that took
them off. All you know is that you were glad they were off. It felt much better
as he grabbed at your skin, as if he knew you will bruise easy later.
His touch feels amazing. The way he holds onto you, clamps
his fingers around your legs and pulls them over his waist. He grinds down
again. His jeans rub against you, the fabric feeling nice, but not as nice as
his skin would.
Murphy pulls back and ducks his head down, kissing on your
chest and your neck, biting down here and there to try and make you moan again.
You’re refusing to give him the satisfaction.
“Your brother…” You remind him as he kisses your collar
bones. “I thought he needed you.”
In response, Murphy bucks his hips into yours, causing you to
moan yet again. He smirks against your skin in triumph. Your fingers that were
at work in his hair, give a tug, he growls.
“He does. T’at arse can wait.” He goes to kiss you.
You turn your head so he kisses your cheek instead, giggling
a little as he groans in frustration. “Murphy, go see your brother. I’ll be
here when you’re done and we can postpone the date.”
“Fuck.” Murphy whines and stands up. You can still see that
he’s excited as he moves to adjust the zipper on his jeans. “You’re mine
tonight.” Murphy insists.
“I’m yours now.” You sit up and playfully rub the front of
his jeans. He throws his head back and a moan slips. “Have a good day.” After
lifting his shirt and kissing his happy trail, you let him go,
“Oh, it’s gon’ be a fuckin’ long one.” He pecks your lips
and grabs his coat, slipping it on as he walks to the door with a bit of a hard
time. You snicker to yourself when he stops, hand on the handle, and takes a
few deep breathes.
The door closes and it was like reality hit you all at once.
The clock blinks 10am, meaning you were very, very late for work. Which didn’t
matter now, you were already fired for not calling in. But the thing was, you
didn’t mind. The night spent with Murphy was great, and this morning was even
better. You couldn’t wait to find out how tonight’s date was going to go.
“Men build things; then we die. It’s in our fuckin’ DNA! That’s what we do! And when it all falls down? We build it right back up again! But this time bigger, better! Look! Look what we can do. Look how fuckin’ beautiful we are. You think the men that built all of this had it easy? Hard men… Doin’ hard shit… And that gives me a hard on! - But not in a gay way or anything. No, no, ‘course not. Yeah, goes wit'out sayin’. - I am so sick of this self-help, twelve-step, leftover, hippie generation bullshit! Now dey don’t want ye ta do anyt'in’, right? Just sit dere. Don’t drink! Don’t smoke, don’t drive fast! Kiss my ass! Fuck it! Do it all, I say. Do you think Duke Wayne spent all his time talkin’ about his feelings with a fuckin’ therapist? Dere’s no fuckin’ way he did! John Wayne died with five pounds of undigested red meat in his ass; now that’s a man! Real men hide their feelings. Why? Because it’s none of yer fuckin’ business! Men do not cry, men do not pout, men catch you in the fuckin’ jaw and say… Thanks for comin’ out.”