#damien x district attorney

[fictionalsownme]

The fact that Damien canonically carried us to bed because we were too drunk to stand lives rent free in my bisexual head aghshhshshnsls 🥲💞

THEY WERE UNIVERSITY-MATES, YOUR HONOR (ft. my self-insert DA to illustrate the concept 😌💞)

You saying that got me thinking that Damien is so bisexual coded idek how to explain it okay. Obviously the fact that the DA is all of us, aka any gender, aka all genders, makes him queer if you believe he has feelings for us (which like HOW COULD YOU NOT) but it doesn't even matter your gender okay... boy is yearning this hard in the 1920s as the MAYOR?? for his DISTRICT ATTORNEY?? Closeted behavior, I feel. Hehehe ANYWAY--

I'm making a Markiplier Ego Discord!! Idk how interested people are but I thought it'd be fun to try! For now, just let me know if you want to join a taglist for when it's ready (soon!!) and give me name suggestions (please ;;-;;)! 🥰

[westanthewaterman]

Tomorrow, Tonight - Damien x F!DA/Reader

Rating: NSFW

Word count: 1700+

Contents: public sex, semi-public sex, fingering, drunk sex, drinking, brief mention of a gunshot, dubious consent (sexual acts in front of others who are unaware the acts are taking place [Marc probably knows though]), porn with plot

AN: I hecking love plot. This fic was inspired by my Kinktober #8 entry which you can find here.

This fic is a prequel to 'Feel You' but can be read standalone.

Fic Masterlist - Find it on AO3

The manors’ residents have all retired after a bodacious night of reverie. Drink and merriment were shared freely among old friends as they celebrated their reunion. Years of tension and grudges melted away as the night went on, momentarily forgotten by all but one.

The house is quiet, or rather,  almost quiet. Faint noises can be heard; soft groans, whispered words, and the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin. Two of the manors’ inhabitants remain wide awake. Downstairs in the lounge, the city’s Mayor and the newly elected District Attorney find themselves lost in the throes of passion.

You’re not sure how you got into this situation, bent over the poker table while Damien drives his cock into you over and over again with fervor. The night had gone well; you’d mingled with old friends, catching up over Poker and drinking games. It was just like old times, before everything went wrong. And just like old times, you'd felt Damien’s eyes on you since the moment you'd stepped foot in the manor.

~

“It’s good to see you, old friend. I must congratulate you on your new position.”

He took your hand, kissing it and giving you that dashing smile of his, the one you knew all too well.

“You look beautiful.”

It was easy at first to ignore his flirtation, to smile and roll your eyes as if he was just teasing you. But there had been a magnetic attraction between the two of you since you’d met back in college, and you felt its pull grow stronger as the night went on. You’d tried to ignore it, to remind yourself why the two of you could never work, why you had left, but every drink softened your usually sharp mind.

Damien fared no better, the alcohol loosening his lips and dulling his sensibilities. The two of you slowly navigated towards each other, always within arm’s reach, steadily moving closer and closer.

Your resolve, hung by a thread,  finally snapped late in the night. It was after the third or fourth round of shots. Damien and Marc sat out for the round (Although you couldn’t recall seeing Marc have a single drink the entire night), leaving you, Abe, and William. With the edge of the shot glass between your teeth, you tipped your head back too hastily, rivulets of tequila spilling down your front, dripping over your collarbones and into the hint of cleavage peeking out of your dress. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and set the glass down, meeting Damien’s gaze from across the room.

His deep brown eyes were almost black with how blown wide his pupils were, and the hungry look on his face sent electricity zipping up your spine. He raised an eyebrow at you, tongue swiping over his bottom lip, and you threw caution to the wind.

It didn’t take long after that for you to end up in Damien’s lap for the next round of Poker. Abe cracked a joke, and William teasingly offered the detective a place on his lap, to which Abe threatened to shoot the Colonel. Marc gave you a knowing smirk, but there was something in his eyes, a twinge of emotion you were too inebriated to decipher.

Damien’s hand slipped under your dress while the five of you played, inching higher and higher up your leg. He dug his fingers into the soft skin of your thigh, pinky tracing over the heat between your legs and you yelped, drawing all attention to you. Your addled brain came up with some excuse to satisfy the others. All the while, Damien smirked against the back of your head and slipped his fingers into your underwear to rub lazy circles over your clit.

You had your first orgasm of the night like that, hiding your face behind your hand of cards while Damien worked you open on his fingers. When the game ended, the other three men made an excursion to the kitchen for more hors d’oeuvres.

“It’s been too long, my love.” Damien whispered in your ear. “So desperate for release, you’d have me fuck you open with my fingers in front of our dear friends. Who knew the District Attorney could be so obscene?”

Before you could respond, Damien slipped his fingers into your mouth, forcing you to suck your release off them. You burned with shame, but god if it didn’t get you hot.

The rest of the night went by in a flurry of music and laughter. Damien continued to tease you until you felt about ready to explode. Just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Marc announced he would be retiring for the night and the other two men followed suit. You and Damien waved them off as they went up the stairs, explaining you were going to catch up a little before heading to bed yourselves.  

It took all of two seconds for you to end up straddled across Damien’s thick thighs. One of his hands was in your hair while the other was planted firmly on your hip as he licked a broad stripe up over your collarbones and to your neck where he started nibbling a mark into your skin.

“I never stopped wanting you, dear heart, never.”

“Damien-“

“Tomorrow, I want to prove to you that I’ve changed, that I can be the man you married, but tonight I need to feel you.”

~

“Damien,” you mewl softly, scraping your nails over the poker table’s felted surface.

“That’s it, my love, let me hear how good I make you feel.”

“Someone’s going to hear us and come downstairs.”

You can feel the way he smirks against your shoulder, never stopping the frantic thrusts of his hips.

“Funny, you didn’t seem to mind an audience earlier.”

“That was diff-”

Damien’s fingers rub harsh circles over your clit, and you cut yourself off with a moan.

“Fuck.”

“What foul language. Are you already so far gone, dear heart?”

“D-Damien.”

He moans at the way you clench around him. “Oh, my darling, how I’ve missed this. You were made to take my cock. Did you miss this? Did you miss me?”

Groaning, you nod the best you can. It’s been five years since the two of you separated, five years without feeling him fill you.

“Please Damien.”

“Please what, dear heart? Tell me what you want.”

“I want,” You gasp at a particularly rough thrust of his hips. “I want to cum, I’m so close.”

“I want nothing more than to feel you cum around me. But I need something from you first, my love.”

You whine helplessly.

“Shh, there’s no need to fret. I ask only one thing of you.” Damien pauses his thrusts, cupping the side of your face and turning your head towards him. “Say you’ll be mine.”

“Damien, I…you know I can’t do that. I-It’s been so long.”

“Then tell me you don’t love me anymore. Tell me and tomorrow we’ll act like this never happened.”

You open your mouth to respond, but you’re silent. Staring into his deep brown eyes, feeling his warmth pressed against you, filling you, you can’t find the words. You’re overcome with emotions, grief, fear, anger, hope…love. You love him. God, you’ve never stopped loving him, even after all this time, despite all that you’d been through.

“I-I can’t.”

Damien kisses you with a ferocity and a passion that is unmatched by anything you’ve ever felt. You grab his hair, giving as good as you get, moaning when he snakes his tongue into your mouth. Damien resumes his pace, slamming his cock into you, frantically chasing your release.

“Please, dear heart.”

The sound of his deep voice moaning in your ear sends you closer and closer to your release. You nod frantically.

“I’m yours, Damien. I’ve never stopped being yours. My heart belongs to you.”

He groans. “God, I’ve ached to hear you say that.”

“Do you…still love me?”

“Yes, dear heart. I love you more than words could ever express, nothing could ever change that, not time, not distance, not even death. You are mine and I am yours.”

Tears sting at your eyes and you don’t know what’s causing them, whether it’s the flood of emotions or the frantic pulse of your orgasm as it draws closer.

“Damien, I’m-”

“I know, so am I. I want you to cum with me, dear heart.”

His fingers returning to rub over your clit sends you careening over the edge. You arch your back, resting your head back against his chest and digging your nails into his shoulders. Damien grins down at you, his thrusts never faltering.

“That’s it. Cum for me, darling, say my name. I want the whole world to know you’re mine.”

You moan his name, not even attempting to remain quiet as waves of pleasure wash over you. Damien follows close behind, hips stilling inside you as he groans your name low in your ear. You feel the warmth as he finishes inside you, drawing out your orgasm.

As the two of you come down from your high, Damien tucks himself back into his pants. He scoops you up into his arms and heads upstairs. You rest your head on his shoulder and trace your fingers over the buttons of his dress shirt.

“I missed you.”

He pets your hair. “I missed you too.”

“We have a lot to talk about”

“I know, dear heart, but there’ll be plenty of time to discuss it all tomorrow. Tonight, just let me feel you.”

The two of you climb into bed, curling up in each other’s arms. Being with him like this feels like coming home after a long time away. You don’t know how you went so long without him beside you, and you can’t imagine ever being apart again. Upstairs in one of the guest bedrooms, the Mayor and the District Attorney drift off to sleep.

The house is quiet, or rather almost quiet. Outside lightning flashes across the sky and thunder cracks like a whip. Two of the manor’s inhabitants remain wide awake. Downstairs in the wine cellar, the Actor and the Colonel play a little game. A gunshot rings out, masked by another boom of thunder.

One of the manor’s inhabitants remain wide awake.

[elenavr13]

Echoes of Old Friends

Darkiplier x DA

Warnings: swearing

After the events of WKM, the DA attempts to move on & create a life for themselves despite being trapped in the mirror. Against their hopes & wishes, their past seeks them out in the form of a familiar face.

*What Could Have Been- Sting*

*I may expand this & turn it into a complete story in the future.*

--------------

            Daylight filters through the cracked glass reflecting the main entrance of the decrepit, forgotten manor. Mindlessly flipping through the pages of one of the books I have read a thousand times, I suddenly feel a chill crawl down my spine. What the hell? The physical feeling startles me back to reality because I haven’t felt anything like that in years. Immediately, I close the book & scan the room, nothing not even in the outside world. Faint tapping screams through the silence-drowned manor. Probably just the weather. After a few seconds, it occurs again. This time I realize the odd sound is coming from inside the house. My mind starts spinning with ideas of what type of animal has climbed through a broken window or one of the rotting walls. Maybe it’s another raccoon coming to search through the rubble or maybe the squirrel I saw the other day has come back. Excited to see a living creature, I get up to find it. Before I can even travel to the next reflection, a voice freezes me in place.

            “Y/n, I know you’re in there. Come out.” There’s people here!

            “Y/n?” I whisper to myself. Something about that name tugs at my heart. Then again that voice is also eerily familiar. I jump from reflection to reflection searching for any sign of the people with no luck. Suddenly, the realization hits me. Y/n, that was- is my name. My name is Y/n. I haven’t heard that name in years. The last time I…that voice…Damien?  Appearing in the mirror that holds my soul hostage, I see the man who used me & shattered my heart. Sorrow in addition to hope consumes me upon seeing him but it quickly gets replaced by bubbling rage.

            “Why are you back?” I seethe.

            “You don’t seem very pleased to see me.” His smooth voice provokes me.

            “& why should I be? You’re the last person I ever want to see.”

            His jaw clenches but he continues. “I can get you out of there.”

            “I don’t want your help.”

            He smirks. “Stubborn as always but I can give you what you want. All I’m asking is that you…”

            “I want you to leave.” He appears taken back.

            “Even after all these years you still blame me. We were happy before that night & we can still be happy if you will only listen to me.” Anger emanates from his voice as it increases in volume.

            Unfazed by his temper, I snap back. “We? There is no ‘we’ not after what you did, Damien.”

            “It’s Dark now.” He sneers

            “Oh, I apologize, Dark.”

            “That snake took everything away from me! I was merely protecting you from him. It was for the best.”

            “You know what would have been ‘for the best’? If I had never agreed to your fucking deal. I trusted you & you betrayed me. Mark may have been the cause of all this but he never did anything to me. You on the other hand took everything away from me! I don’t want anything to do with you anymore. Just leave me alone! Leave me alone like you have for the past however many years it’s been.”

            “91” My anger immediately dissolves from his simple answer. 91? It’s been 91 years since that night? I’ve been trapped in a reflection utterly alone for nearly a century?

            “You just expect me to agree to your plan after you abandoned me for a century? I’ve managed to make some semblance of a life without you- without anyone for that matter. I Don’t Need You. Why do you even want to ‘help’ me? I don’t have anything anymore. I am just a reflection of a person because of you. So tell me, what are you going to gain from ‘helping’ me? ”

            He continues to stare back with a blank expression which only ticks me off more. Before I do anything irrational –like I could– I begin to leave to another reflection in the manor. “I miss you.” His baritone voice stops me.

            Without turning back around to face him, I say, “Little late for that, Damien.”

            A deep growl keeps me in place. “I tried to play nice & you still view me as the bad guy. I thought you were better than that.” This time I spin on my heels to face the man I used to believe was my friend.

            “& I thought you were better than to destroy what we had.”

            “I didn’t destroy…”

            “Go ahead, keep blaming Mark for your actions.” Suddenly he takes a hold of the frame surrounding my vision of the outside world & rips the mirror off the wall.

            “I have heard enough of your insolence.”

            “Put Me Back! Damien, put…”

            “Stop calling me that name!” I glare daggers at him but he seems to be amused by it. “How are you even going to stop me, doll?”

            “I’m not your doll.” Rage gets the best of me I throw a punch which would have made contact with his smug face if not for the glass separating us. Instead of flinching, his smirk just grows as he leaves the manor with me in tow. I attempt to jump to another reflection but some force keeps me tethered to the single, wretched, glass prison. Knowing there is nothing I can do, I fall silent, exhausted from my outburst. Why can’t I just be happy? I was just starting to get better & move on. Now Damie- Dark is back to remind me of the life that was stolen from me. What did I do to deserve this endless suffering?

[theknightmarket]

um i really wanna see a fic where damian takes care and looks after da. idk maybe da is sick but came to work anyways. maybe they were overwoking themself and eventually collapse. maybe they get injured somehow. just our dear mayor being concerned for them and looking after them

"You're too stubborn to die."

In which Damien helps the DA in a compromised state.

TW: angst, injury, blood

Pages: 15 - Words: 6,000

[Requests: OPEN]

A regular Sunday for the mayor of Los Angeles was, surprisingly, incredibly similar to that of any other thirty-year-old working man. It was one of Damien’s only days off in the month, and he treasured them like the holy grail; if his job was to hold endless amounts of paperwork, incessant meetings with countless people, and public speeches to bore the masses and himself, then his day off would be filled with as many relaxing activities as possible. 

Damien wandered around the apartment, a watering can in one hand and his cane in the other. The doctor had long since said that he didn’t need it anymore, and that his insistence that he did was only psychosomatic, but it was more than that. To him, it was a grounding tool. If things got rough, and, in his profession, it was more of a when, he could grip tightly onto the stick and find comfort in the stability of it. Metal is not an easy material to break, and he much preferred it to messing with his jacket’s edges or cuffs. That meant, no matter how many of his veins popped through paled skin, it would always be there for him. 

Now, though, he was content. The sun was shining, the windows let a blissful breeze flow through, and there was the distant hum of the radio from the kitchen. It couldn’t be more perfect. Sundays were always this way, like entering another dimension where famine had been decimated, all wars ended with the flick of a pen, greed, pride, envy wiped off the map. Even the air he breathed felt lighter. 

There was a bounce in Damien’s step as he moved around, singing quietly along to the tune and thinking about his next projects. Getting all of the plants watered was number seven on his checklist – and, yes, it was in his back pocket while he went through the motions – but with only nine left to go, he thought he could get some recreation in. Maybe pick up a new book, you were raving on about ‘The Mysterious Rider’ yesterday, or he could swing by Celine’s place. Though, that place always did give him the creeps…

And you were going to be back in an hour. 

The memory still made him smile, how could it not? He had been so excited but so nervous to ask you on a date, he’d double-checked and triple-checked and one more check for good measure. Hell, he’d planned the day out to a T, given that you’d even say yes. But Celine had convinced him you would, so he prepared flowers, reservations, outfits, all so that nothing could go wrong. 

Then everything went wrong. He didn’t like focusing on that aspect of the story, it only made him wonder how he ever got you to go out with him again, but it all ended in a pretty fun evening, if he did say so himself. You’d assured him that it wasn’t all for naught, and that you’d had a good time, going so far as to ask if he was free a couple nights after. That one night turned into three nights, and then nights turned into days, and then, after a good few months, you’d gone right ahead and moved in together. 

This was your apartment, too, it was where you came back to every evening with a tired smile and ready to have dinner together – and this night was to be no different. 

Or Damien thought, until that hour passed, and he remained the only person in the room. But that was fine! He could hold out, and you probably only got caught in traffic or something. It just gave him time to get started on that book. It was absolutely nothing to worry about. 

After taking it gently from the shelf, he settled onto the couch, a pillow behind his head and comfortable in evening clothes. The first sentence crossed his eyes, and he took in all the information he could as he read through the first chapter. It left him with questions, but that was fine, because you still weren’t back. Another half hour passed, and when he looked back up from the pages, he noticed that he had unconsciously shifted to be angled towards the front door. He tried to tell himself that everything was alright, he didn’t have to worry, work was probably just getting the best of you. Lord knows he wasn’t one to talk.

So, Damien kept reading, and when his eyes started to strain and holding up the book was too large of a chore, he went and made a cup of coffee. This was the first time you’d been late home, and what kind of partner would he be if he was asleep when you, surely, came back. 

Minutes later, he was sipping idly at the kitchen island. The window across from him showed shimmers of orange and red, the cityscape of Los Angeles almost teasing him where he stood. You were out there somewhere, and he felt lousy not knowing where that was. 

He took another sip. 

The wall-mounted clock ticked by. Seconds felt like hours, and every one that dropped into the bucket pushed him closer to the edge. His jacket swayed on the hook, his shoes just below them. It would be so easy to get a cab over to your building and check how you’re getting on – you’d be hunched over your desk, taking a call from precinct cops who couldn’t do their jobs right, and then you’d see him, and you’d apologize for not getting back. He’d be fine with it, of course, and he’d end up helping you in the case that had its claws in you. 

Oh, but he knew that he couldn’t do that. His heart thudded in his chest, his hands shook, but he respected your boundaries. It’d only been a month since you moved in, after all, and he didn’t want to overstep anything that quickly. Heaving a not-so-relaxing sigh, he vowed that he would stay right there in the apartment until you got back, no matter how long it took you. 

By the third hour, he was starting to reconsider that. 

The soles of his shoes were burned into the wooden flooring, his pacing surely annoying the neighbors below, but he could care less. Show him that you were alive and well, and he’d stop, but he had yet to see any clue as to your wellbeing, so they’d have to deal with it. He hated this, he hated this so much. Pointless waiting and irreverent, troublesome thoughts. They had no use to him, but he didn’t know how to get rid of them. They burrowed into his mind like an infestation of roaches or disease. 

Tick, tock, tick, tock. He was going to throw that clock out of the window if he didn’t get ahold of himself. But what else was there to do? He’d completed all of his chores, even the ones he promised to leave for the next day, and he found himself waiting like a puppy at the front door. His eyes wavered over it, hoping for it to open just an inch to show he wasn’t stuck in purgatory. 

Whatever higher power there was seemed to take pity on Damien, because not two seconds later, the creak of old wood broke the ticking of the clock. He almost sprung to his feet and launched himself at you when you entered, but he held himself back, if not for decorum, then for the sight of you. You were the most gorgeous person he had ever laid eyes upon, but he was not one to lie to himself; right now, you looked terrible. Your skin tone had lightened so much that you appeared ill, and your chest was rising quicker than before. Were you sick or had working three hours after your shift finally got to you? Damien didn’t know, and he didn’t care. Taking care of these symptoms was his top priority. 

“Darling?” he called out, still restraining himself from rushing to your side. 

You didn’t answer. Instead, you lugged yourself towards the bedroom, completely dismissing hunger. You were far too tired to think about that, the bed, comfy cushions, and a warm blanket calling to you. 

Damien caught your arm before you could get too far, though, with a concerned grimace playing on his lips. “Are you alright?” 

He sounded worried, and that was the last thing you wanted – never mind the fact that it was well-warranted – so you heaved a tiny smile and muttered, “I’m fine, love, just tired.” 

He still wasn’t satisfied, that was obvious, but you weren’t paying attention to that. A kiss on his forehead from you, a noise of discontentment from him, and you were on your way to the bedroom, trying to focus on your feet as to not trip over warping wood. Everything was slowly fading away at the edges of your vision, consumed by blackness and turning the rest fuzzy. 

You knew exactly why this was happening, you knew it was bad, but no way in hell would you let Damien know. You loved him more than anything on the earth, but he was bound to worry about you more than necessary. You’d be fine, you silently promised him. You had to be. 

Nearly six hours later, the moon was high in the sky, casting a shimmer of gray dust across the landscape. Light reflected off of windows, night walkers stumbled over rocks, and dogs howled in the alleyways. Patters of rain caressed against the city, warning of a dreary but calm morning. 

Even with that promise, Damien couldn’t sleep. He had work in the morning, his day off having ended at the stroke of midnight, and yet the thought of leaving you in the apartment was horrifying. You had knocked out the second your head hit the pillow, leaving him to his thoughts, and they centered around just one thing: were you alright? He couldn’t believe you were just tired, since you’d woken up bright and early the morning before. He was almost insulted you thought he’d fall for that, but he was too worried to mind. 

He dragged a hand through his hair. It tickled at the nape of his neck, though he hardly cared. What if something was wrong? Really wrong? His heart thrummed against his ribcage, like if it hit hard enough, you’d wake up and tell him what was wrong. But his ribs didn’t crack, and you didn’t wake up, and Damien was left sitting in the armchair by the window with tired eyes. This wasn’t doing any good, and the sun was due to rise in a few hours; he figured he might as well make you both some breakfast. 

Damien shuffled out of the bedroom, a dark robe swaying across the floor and his cane stepping beside him. He held it tight while he made his way to the kitchen, where he noticed blurry chatter. He started confused, which quickly morphed into fear, and then his cheeks brightened in silent embarrassment. What he had thought was a robber was just the radio he had forgotten to shut off. He was glad you weren’t awake to see him creep around the corner, stick raised to thwack however was in there. 

He turned the volume down and went to work. After so many times missing breakfast, Damien wasn’t sure what to make, so he decided on the only thing he knew how to decently cook – waffles, and even then, there was a chance they would come out burnt. 

The crack of eggs and dust of flour was comforting in a way to him that only a childhood meal could be. In the earliest hours of the day, there would be no consequence to adding a gram more sugar than needed or cooking them for a second too long. The waffle iron steamed and sizzed in front of him once the batter was poured on, almost making him laugh. He let himself smile for the first time that day, the sense of warmth and lightness filling him. 

“It has come to our attention that – last night, at the Dimmock Public Health Centre – the district attorney of Los Angeles was shot in an attempted assassination—”

Damien’s smile collapsed. 

“—The D.A was rushed back to a car that was seen heading away from the scene, while police were contacted to find the assassin. We have not heard back from our sources about their wellbeing, but we have been assured that they are no longer in danger. Despite this, there has been speculation as to their current location and the reaction of federal agents��” 

His own heartbeat cut off the radio, pounding against his head like an overzealous drummer. The smell of burnt food wafted into his nose, his vision toppled over the edge, his hands sweat, his feet moved before his mind could catch up. You weren’t ill, you weren’t overworked, you were shot. And he didn’t realize, and you didn’t tell him, and you weren’t waking up. 

You weren’t waking up. 

His cane slammed against the footboard, but you didn’t stir, not even a huff. He would have begged for you to groan or berate him or say anything, but you didn’t. You stayed quiet, and Damien’s breathing grew louder. 

He tossed himself to your side, strew the bedsheets across the floor and saw, red as a rose, blood. It seeped into the fabric, like bacteria overcoming a wound. God, your wound. Normally, he would ask your permission to lift your shirt, but this was urgent, so he disregarded the crimson staining his hands and pulled the hem up. 

Tears flooded his eyes as fear flooded his heart. A lazy medical patch had been slapped onto the entry hole, half of it having peeled off already and the other bled through. Damien had never trusted the medical professionals present during speeches, and this only deepened his distaste for them – but he’d deal with them later. For now, he had to wake you up. 

First, he whispered shakily, “Come on, wake up, dear.” 

No response. He tried again. 

“Dear, please.”

No response. 

“C’mon, you have to wake up, please.” 

No response—

A cough. 

You were alive, you were panicked, but you were alive. Eyes shot open and limbs rushing to get you out of bed, but you were stopped short by your own hiss. It felt like you had been shot again, more tissue and muscle ripped through with no regard for the nerves there – it made you think the bullet had been laced with something, hellfire, poison, but no. Dismally, you remembered the paramedics removing the metal as quick as they could, but speed was favored over kindness. The hole pricked again in response. 

Coming down from the small adrenaline high, your eyes focused back in on Damien, who kneeled in front of you. He looked worse for wear, and you wondered if he had been injured, too. This wasn’t true, of course, and the drop of his shoulders gave you some relief, though the slight wet patches dripping onto his cheeks had you furrowing your brows. 

“A-are you okay?” you mumbled, tentatively grasping his hand. 

A weak chuckle tumbled out of him, fading like the whizz of a stone dropped down a cavern. He squeezed your hand tighter, remaining wary of your state, and asked, “Are you?”

Your attempt to nod was interrupted by a rack of coughs shaking your very body. They didn’t stop, not even when pain splintered away from your wound and all breath vacated your lungs. You weren’t fine, that much was obvious, but, when you’d calmed down from the fit, you settled on staying quiet. 

Damien had been your friend for the majority of your life, but, after a year at the very most, it was obvious how much he worried. If you told him there was a crack in the pavement, he’d cross the street to avoid tripping – and if you told him that you were at risk of passing out from pain, you’d be suffocated from his fear. He was such a mother hen; the thought nearly made you laugh but you stopped yourself before you could be overwhelmed by coughs again. 

The man sighed at your silence. Unbeknownst to you, not giving him an answer was making him more scared as the seconds ticked by. He pushed away stray hairs that had fallen into your face, trying to see the truth in your eyes. Comforting, obviously masking injury, you stared right back. 

“We have to get you to the hospital.”

If it were Damien in your place, you’d agree in a heartbeat, but you were the one lying in bed, blood sticking clothes to your side. Your partner, however, was the mayor of Los Angeles, they could barely go a day without him. You didn’t want to risk taking up his precious time, when some disaster could strike that he’d have to report on. In your mind, it made the most sense for you to go about your daily lives and for you to just deal with it throughout the day. The shot wasn’t that bad, and you’d seen bills for a paper cut before.

Considering this, you found it in yourself to clear your throat and reply, “No, we don’t, I’ll be fine.” 

“We have to get your wound checked out, I mean,” he gestured vaguely to the stained area, “those medics were clearly frauds- they didn’t even dress it right, and it’s coming off already, and you’re bleeding—” 

You pulled his hands closer to you, fingers curling around his own in a silent reminder to calm down. His volume was steadily rising, which meant his heart rate was, too, and you knew how he got when he was overwhelmed. These past hours had already put more strain on him than you had wanted. 

“I’ll be fine,” you repeated, offering a smile. He responded in kind, but his was more placating than agreeable, “if it was anything to worry about, I’d be in the hospital, now, wouldn’t I?”

Damien mulled this over in his mind. On one hand, your logic was sound, as always, and arguing with you had long since proved a fruitless venture. On the other, he didn’t like the thought of leaving you to your devices, as if you’d never been injured in the first place. What if something happened to you and you didn’t notice? With nothing else to do, he decided on a compromise.

“Okay,” he conceded, and, for a second, you thought yourself safe – you might have even gotten down to the offices for some paperwork – but Damien’s hands darted to the discarded sheets and re-tucked them around you. 

Damien was going to look after you himself.

He was scarily efficient in how he moved around the room, gathering spare pillows, blankets, anything that would make you feel more comfortable in the bed. By the end of his little escapade, you looked more like a bird in a nest than a human. You couldn’t deny how proud he looked, though, and it would be easy to let your eyelids slip down for a few more minutes…

But you snapped to your senses and summonsed your will to talk. “Don’t you have to go into work today?”

He paused, back turned to you, at his position drawing the blinds. “…Not necessarily.”

“Damien,” you drawled.

The hairs on the nape of his neck pricked up and his face felt the power of a furnace. “Well,” spinning around, he did poorly at hiding his blush, “technically, yes, I do – but the office can handle work without me, just for today.” He slid into place beside you, resting a hand onto your shoulder. “You are more important.”

Normally, you’d jump at the opportunity to spend more time with your partner. Your schedules weren’t exactly kind in allowing you to be together, and moments with him were treasured more than those without. However, at this second, your eyebrows furrowed, and your lips pouted. Most of the time, you’d be forced to get rest, confined to bed while Damien ran errands to ease your weary soul. That was the last thing you wanted, and the only way to convince him to hold back would be to get him out of the apartment entirely. Besides, this wasn’t as big a deal as he was making it out to be, you were sure.

As if he could sense your resistance, Damien whispered, “I still have three hours until I go. I’ll take care of you, and then we’ll assess the situation.”  

Sneaky. Damien might have been reserved and shy in public, but you have seen you’ve seen your fair share of his mischievous, sly side. Despite hardly ever getting practice, he was worryingly good at getting what he wanted via cunning means. You both respected and feared that aspect of him. 

He left a kiss on your forehead, now, and rose from the bed to restart his preparations. If he had the time, he would’ve crafted some kind of checklist, but getting you a glass of water and medical equipment was top priority. That, and salvaging what he could from those burning waffles. 

When he was back at your side again, your eyes having slipped closed once or twice, skin being tugged away from muscle caught your attention. The patch had been badly applied, but adhesive remained against the wound that meddled with blood slowly spurting out of the cracks. Divots sprang red and raised flesh curled around the hole like a mountain range. It made Damien’s stomach squirm and flip, but he focused his expression to clean the area.

As you looked down at the man, ruffled dark hair a mess from stressing and still in his robe, your heart swelled with love. He was your partner, and it was crazy to think you were his. Even after four months, everything felt like a haze, a dream you were scared to wake up from, because you knew nothing would come close to this. Carefully, you shifted your arm to caress Damien’s cheek.

He glanced back up at you quizzically, a look you only returned with a smile. Shaking his head, he returned to his work slightly more comforted than he was before. 

Nearly half an hour passed in this fashion; Damien patted off the dried blood, replaced that medical path with a bandage around your waist, and managed to get your mind off of the wound with excerpts from ‘The Mysterious Rider’. You appreciated everything he was doing, down to the way he’d pause when he noticed your eyes drooping. Most of the time, you would shake yourself awake again with a yawn, but there were the odd times when you felt yourself drift off for seconds at a time. These bouts of fatigue never lasted long, and, while you were thankful for the brief rest, the expression on Damien’s face had you staying awake longer. 

Every time the curtains closed even slightly, a mix of emotions spurred in him, melting over his eyes, and giving you a first-row seat to his thoughts. Half of him was glad to see you comfortable enough in this nest, it liked seeing you warm and sappy – but the other half was always scared that it might have been the last time you’d close your eyes, as if he hadn’t done a good enough job to keep you alive, and it would be all his fault that you… slipped. But that all wiped away when they opened again, revealing your familiar and welcoming irises. Full of life. 

Even though you both knew how he felt, he prefaced the start of the next chapter with, “You can fall asleep, you know.” 

You couldn’t deny the fact that you were tired – getting shot would do that to you – but worrying Damien any more than he already was, was at the bottom of your bucket list. So, you lightly shook your head and replied, “Nope, I’m so awake, I could—” 

You were, helpfully, cut off by a yawn. Damien looked at you from his armchair, unimpressed, but you continued, nevertheless, “—I could finish a case. Maybe go back to work, in fact.” 

At this, he became alert, the sharp spike of fear prodding him in the side. “No, not yet.” 

“Damien,” you pleaded.

“I said ‘no’.” As he stood, his cane felt like an earthquake against the wooden flooring. Inwardly, you sighed; you’ve never liked getting into arguments with him, mostly because he was normally the one in the right, but it was unavoidable. Damien had work in two hours, and getting there was a quarter of that, and, before that, there was changing into his uniform. He was neglecting doing any of these to take care of you, and you found it hard not voicing your opinion about that. 

“Look,” you started, sitting up straighter in the bed, “how about we do a test run?”

Damien stopped himself from getting through the doorway to listen to what you had to say. Still, he was thinking through getting a cold rag in case of a fever, but most of his attention was directed towards your proposition.

You continued, tentatively, “You go on a walk, alright?” Disagreement stirred inside him the second ‘go’ came out of your mouth, which you could see and began battling immediately, “And we’ll see how I get on alone.” 

He thought over the scenario, practically moving his head to the direction of his thoughts, until he rushed to your side and kneeled down. Your hand was soon encapsulated in his fingers, warm and worried. “What if something goes wrong?”

“It won’t,” you promised, leaning forward to peck at his lips. Really, you couldn’t be sure it would be alright, but it was worth trying just to see the blissful and hope-ridden look on Damien’s face. “It’s not like I’m going to die if you’re away for two seconds, love.”

With one more sigh and a slightly longer kiss for good luck, he began to get ready for a walk outside.

Five minutes in, Damien was spiraling. 

His tolerance for being away from you had plummeted since the day before, and the glum of the streets was getting to him. It was indeed raining, turning his polished boots gritty from dust swept through the pathways, and it was difficult to discern what were droplets from the sky or from his skin. Despite the cold brushing against him, the worry he was experiencing was sending him into overdrive. He couldn’t tell if he was warm or cool if he was still walking or if he had made it past the first few steps to your apartment. It felt like he was having withdrawals, but there was no way he’d go back. Not only would he still be scared for you, but the disappointment you’d feel seeing him was something he’d do anything to avoid. 

So, he took in a deep breath and tried to steady his beating heart. It was horrible, but he put himself through it. For you. He hoped you’d be proud, but he also hoped you’d be asleep when he returned. 

The day was… nice, he supposed. Not many people were out this early, a few older gentlemen he passed with a wave, but the most popular of the species were stray dogs. One in particular he saw often when he was heading to or from work. The street had a nickname for the poor thing, and they’d elected to keep it there with spare scraps from the table or chew toys out of old pig’s ears. Benjie, if he remembered correctly, a golden lab that had been around for the last three years. 

Fondly, Damien thought back on when you and the dog first interacted. He knew you loved pets, especially the over-active, wholesome ones. You’d requested him stay with you as soon as you saw him, even wagered you’d get him groomed and trained into a proper house dog. He rolled his eyes, you patted on his arm and vowed that, one day, he’d be the most pampered pup in all of Los Angeles. 

But that had yet to come to fruition. Benjie was still out on the street, taking leftovers of roast dinners and maintaining a rough coat. Maybe, when this whole ideal was over, Damien would bring him home. 

It was with that thought that a whole new cavalcade of bad ideas flooded his mind. They stopped him dead in his tracks, and – following that them – paled him beyond recognition. He flopped against a brick house, steadied his cane in the ridges of cobblestone and thought back on the very reason why you were in this position to begin with. 

There was an attempted assassination. Someone had attempted to assassinate you. It hadn’t settled with him, until now, that someone powerful had hired a killer to end your life. And they had nearly succeeded, and you had nearly died, and—

And if they weren’t able to do it the first time, who was to say they wouldn’t try again? 

Damien’s vision blurred together, buildings crumbling together and horses in the distance clicking like the trigger of a gun. He had to get back home, to you. God knows what could’ve happened to you in the time he was gone. You’d said you’d be fine, sure, but you were suffering from massive amounts of blood loss, and he loved you, but you were never the most logical person in the first place. 

His feet were moving regardless of thought or will to. His eyes were clouded with possibilities and his mind overtaken by sorrow. If you weren’t okay when he got back, it would be all his fault. Why did he have to be such an idiot? He should have stayed with you, and he didn’t, and now you were suffering the consequences of his stupid choices. 

He stumbled across the stones, plucked his cane from holes and brushing off the coattails of early risers. They were confused, but he didn’t care; all that mattered was getting back to you as quick as possible. Tears pricked up in the corners of his eyes, those wide windows scanning the street for your front door, and when he came to it, he all but ripped it off its hinges in order to get in. 

Going two steps at a time was too slow for him but falling back down the stairs would be of no use to anyone. Still, he pushed himself to get to your apartment at a record pace. One mantra echoed through his mind while he struggled to your front door. Please, be alright. It was wish, to you, to any higher power, to anything that could better the chances. 

His heart plummeted in his chest when he saw you lying on the ground.

Damien’s eyes whirled around, inspecting, for a second, for any hint as to what happened. Your arms were flattened out in front of, appearing to have cushioned your fall, and the only blood visible was what had leaked through your bandage. 

Nevertheless, he fell to his knees next you, tilted your head up and looked for any other sign of injury. Hope overcoming horror, you seemed okay. Passed out, but okay, so he took his time in carefully drawing a hand up and down your body. Your heartbeat was steady and fine, your skin was barren of unexpected blemishes, and your eyelids were just beginning to flutter open again. 

“Damien…?”

The second that he heard your voice, Damien captured you in a tight hug. Of course, at a hiss of pain from you, he pulled back, but you were going nowhere. The strict shift in temperature from the outside had him in whiplash and waking up with your back against the floor was doing you no better. He buried his head in your neck, both to keep you as close as possible and hide the tears beginning to flow. Not entirely sure of what was happening, you pat his back with one hand and cradled his head with another.

You shushed him and pecked at where you could, in the midst of whispering, “Hey, it’s all okay. I told you I wouldn’t die.” 

Damien sobbed. 

You held him tighter, an embrace solid enough to assure him you were really and truly there. 

Exhale shivering in the air, he mumbled against you, “N-no, you’re… oh, you’re too stubborn to die.”

You smiled, ignoring the situation and thanking you lucky stars that you’d landed such a loving man. 

“I’m here, love, everything’s okay.” Another kiss, and he lifted his head up to stare at you. Despite you being the one to have been shot, have passed out cold on the ground, you were comforting him. How had he ever gotten such a kind soul? He didn’t know, but he knew he was grateful, and that he’d do anything to keep you. 

Shakily, he muttered, “Come on.” He secured his arm underneath your shoulder and lifted you to stand, against the twitching of his cane. The weight of two people was forgiven when you were up fully, and he gently sat you down at the island while he gathered your shoes and coat. “We are getting you to the hospital,” he announced, and that was that.

Being the mayor of Los Angeles had some drawbacks; long working days, the eyes of the press, social obligations – but there were definitely some advantages, not least of all being able to order anything with impunity, whether that was a public car, table at a restaurant, or being to stay in the room while nurses flittered around your partner. At this point, leaving your side felt more hellish than he expected hell to be, and, though he hated abusing his power, he was not about to wait in the hallway for the next hour. 

So, by your side Damien stayed. The nurses poked and prodded at you, uncaringly prescribing you unlabeled medication, and redoing the bandages. He wasn’t ashamed to say he relaxed when they left you along, finally. At least he understood when enough was enough – or, he thought so, because if he told you that, you’d probably regard him unimpressed.

He caught your hand – noticeably less pale than it was before – in his own, and cradled it against his chest, as if fearing you’d disappear when let go. But, with you safely inside a hospital and treated by professionals, he could finally calm down. His nerves had been going haywire ever since you’d been late to dinner, but they found no reason to not settle down under his skin. 

“You know, I love you.”

Damien perked up before sending a confused glance your way. Why were you telling him now? Was there something that he didn’t know? Had you been shot, had someone tried to kill you again—

“I nearly died yesterday, and,” you laughed awkwardly, as if you were telling a crude joke, “I kept thinking, what if I never get to tell you again?” 

Now, he was fully turned to you, and it was then that he saw you were started to cry. He’d never seen you look like this before, wet cheeks and red eyes. His eyebrows involuntarily bent, and he squeezed your hand tighter. 

You continued on, “I don’t want you to forget how I feel, and I think that if I had to live without you, I—” You cut yourself off with a sob. 

Without a second thought, Damien moved to sit next to you on the bed, bringing you into his chest and cradling you as you cried. He peppered some kisses along your ear, neck, anywhere that could comfort you. He thanked his reputation for getting you a private room, lest you have to deal with people looking in to see the mayor and the district attorney communicating affection. 

“I love you, too,” he responded, tone having never been more sincere. 

You stayed like that until the nurses came back in, singing praises of Damien’s handiwork and pointing out your conditions. You would have to stay for a while longer, and you didn’t miss the proud smirk on your partner’s face when they told you that you should’ve come in sooner. Still, you laughed, rolled your eyes, and kissed him on the cheek. That normally shut him up, and this time was no exception. 

Sighing, he sat back in his own chair, hand still caressing yours. “Do you still want me to go back to work?” he teased.

You brought Damien’s hand to you face, planted a well-intentioned kiss on the upper part of his hand, and winked. “Never.”

He felt himself lucky for being in a hospital; he was sure he could have died from a heart attack right there and then. 

[Thank you so much for requesting - I'm sorry this took so long, but I'm glad that I got it out in the end! Gotta say, when I saw that I was allowed to injure the DA, I was already scheming. It did suck that I couldn't put a heart-rate monitor joke in though, since they hadn't been invented yet, but eh, the trade off is that we get nervous Damien waiting for you to come home. Again, thanks for requesting]

[bloodgreyhare]

Uhm..

(the 2nd pic, I just woke up earlier and drew that.. because I'm..I DON'T KNOW MAN-)

(The ship is stuck in my head.. help-💀)

[zee-stars]

*slams open the drawer I've been hiding in*

Some dude just found your blog!

I'm thinking, dark, yes, but DAMIEN. MY MAN IS WAY TOO HOT.

So Damien/dark whatever, with a DA who gets killed instead of like actor mark, they die instead in the events of WKM.

If you can GN reader :)

-out of pocket anon

OMG yes!!!! This is an amazing idea!! Sorry I took so long to answer lmaoo

Anyways, I was gonna wait until I wrote the fic to post this but I'm so bad at actually writting so I'm just gonna make a small blurb for now but probably making something bigger later!

Okay so like I'm thinking the night of the party you and will sneak off to play a little game.

Will told you there wasnt any bullets in it, you dont remember where he got it but you remember Mark had given him something thing earlier so you assumed it was from Mark.

So you play a few rounds, both you and Will laughing each time you hold the gun to your heads and pull the trigger. Nothing happens.

Except one time you feel a sharp pain in your head, and Will stops laughing. Your vision goes blurry and you feel really dizzy.

All you remember is you falling to the ground and Will sits above you crying asking you to stay awake.

You wake up again, as a ghost, you watch the events go on of WKM and here's a really cool thing,

One time Damien falls asleep out of exhaustion and in his dream he sees Mark loading a gun with one bullet, giving it to Will, you guys playing the game and you dying. He has put it all together.

Next thing you know he's going after Mark saying he killed them and all that.

That's all I can think of rn but again I will probably make this into a bigger fic.

Thank you so much for requesting!!

[missxfaithc]

Can anyone recommend me some good DarkiplierxReader fics?

[thatchaoscreator]

Nightmares

(Word Count: 385)

DA x Darkiplier

TW!! Mentions of death, brief mention of rituals, Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attack

Reader discretion advised

_________________________________________

I woke up with a start, a bead of sweat on my brow. I could only hear my heart pounding in my ears. It was another nightmare about that night.

I feel the bed shift before his arms wrap around me. I must have woken him up. I was still gulping breaths like I had just nearly drowned. I was surrounded by his cologne helping to ground me from the terror that shook my bones and sent electricity through my veins. I took a deep breath letting the smell of pine and peppermint fill my nose.

"Morning, Damien."

"Good morning. Are you alright?"

I turned to get a look at his expression. His dark raven hair draped around his face framing it like a portrait, his eyes a heterochromic red and blue, his appearance tainted from the cruel events that still torment my mind.

"...yeah, I'm okay. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

He pulled me closer, resting his chin in my hair.

"You're still getting those nightmares, aren't you?"

I fall silent. It seems even after all these years he can still read me like a book.

"Yeah…"

"How far did it get this time?"

"It started with the ritual…" I pause. The next part was always the hardest. I always wake up shortly before or after my death. "I woke up when I landed." My voice died in my throat as I held him close. My stomach was still recovering from dropping to my feet after having been forced to relieve my death again. You never forget the feeling of falling to your death.

He didn't speak, merely nodding as he stroked my hair comfortingly as I rode out the final tremors of anxiety and adrenaline. Once my body deemed it safe to relax again, I slumped against him releasing the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. He still didn't speak much to my surprise. Then again, there were times where his voice alone was able to throw me into a panic. I appreciate his caution and consideration.

"Damien?"

I got a hum in response.

"hmm?"

"Thank you… for staying with me…"

"Of course."

The rest of the night was spent holding each other tightly as we ward off any more lingering memories of the night that tore us apart.

At least we have each other now.

[fgfluidity]

nye

Summary: The attorney’s got a new hyperfixation, and Damien’s along for the ride.

Pairing: Damien/DA

Warnings: Damien is a chronic overthinker; alcohol; a bit of suggestiveness

i did a lot of research for this one and it’s late but yknow

i have a ko-fi here

@opprose @statictay @volbeast @mirrorslament @otterlyinluv

Damien impatiently taps his cane at the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for a pause in traffic. He has a call to make, and the wait in the late-December chill makes his leg ache something fierce— something that only worsens his mood.

Finally, thanks to the traffic cop, the torrent slows; with a short nod to the man— who isn’t looking, but it feels impolite not to acknowledge him— Damien crosses the street as quickly as his leg can carry him.

The last storefronts before the city gives way to more residential zoning are pulling down their Christmas decor, red and green replaced by gold and silver, bells and tinsel in place with noisemakers and bottles of sparkling juice.

At least some of those are actual alcohol, but Damien isn’t the sort of mayor to tell on his constituency. He’s not innocent of sending along a few bottles, himself.

All this to say, Christmas is gone, and now it’s New Year’s Eve.

He grimaces, though not entirely due to the twinge in his leg.

The New Year has always been a bit of a double-edged sword in Damien’s mind.

There’s a certain excitement in preparing for the calendar to shift, celebrating with loved ones as the world passes from December into January. He’s always loved the idea of new beginnings, fresh opportunities; God knows he always dreamt of it, with his family.

There’s privilege in wealth and status, but such loneliness, such severe detachment, that he never could help wishing for something different.

As a child, he and Celine would be ushered off to bed no later than 9 o’clock; any later would make for miserable children, as his father always said, and would disrupt their strict scheduling. No breaks for holidays in his father’s book— though it never stopped him or his sister from sneaking down to take canapés, desserts, and a single glass of champagne a time or two.

It was never as fun as Christmas, but at the very least they could be left to their own devices.

Adulthood is a similar story. He works hard to ensure the city is protected and working smoothly, that his people want for nothing. It takes work all year round, work he’s happy to do.

The last week of December, though, feels as lawless as the Old West.

Between Christmas and the New Year, even his motivation begins to lag, and it’s difficult to stay on task when so many relax in the holiday haze of food and merriment. When no one else is willing, his work suffers, and a Damien who can’t work…

He’s been called relentless and obsessed, but he can’t help the irritation that creeps in with each passing day of leisure. Like a particular sort of dog, if he can’t work, his environment suffers for it.

Perhaps it won’t be all bad, though. The invitation in his pocket, cream stock and elegant inking, promises a wonderful night with close friends— something he hasn’t had since his election.

“You’re coming to this one,” Celine had said to him that morning, fluffing up her fur wrap to protect from the chill in the doorway. “I’m not taking any arguments.”

“Huh,” Damien had replied— mostly because she hadn’t even phoned about her coming. “Coming to..? Celine, come in, it’s cool out.”

“I would, but I can’t stay. Socialite business.” She gave him a wry smile, and a creamy envelope to go along with it. No— two, one carefully tied with his with a satiny red ribbon. “We’re hosting for the New Year, and I’ve about had it with you dodging our invitations. You used to love parties, Damien, and at the very least you should be at this one.”

Damien huffed, though lightly, as he pulled at the ribbon. “I still love parties,” he protested. “Not all of us can take off at a moments’ notice to have a night out— and a hell of a morning afterward.”

“As if you ever had a hangover in your life,” Celine commented, and he chose to ignore it. “The office is closed for New Year’s Day, I know it is, and you’ll want to be there for this. I’ll be there, and Mark, of course. And…”

She trailed off as he flipped over the second invitation. Not his name, not a plus one, but the attorney.

He looked up sharply, only to be met with her smug smile, a note of triumph in her eyes. “They’re coming.”

“Of course,” she replied. “They need their invitation if they’re going to make it on time. If you’d be a dear?”

In lieu of wrinkling the invitation, he briefly tensed his jaw, thinking over what might be a legal way to get one over on his meddling sister. “Why couldn’t you? Since you’ve decided to be a messenger, and all.”

“Only for you, baby brother. Besides, I think they’ll take the invitation from you much more favorably.” She fluffed up her coat again. “Be sure not to be late. You could even come together, if that would help. Best clothes, Damien.”

His aching hand pulls him out of the reverie; it still rankles him so that he stops to work the blood back into his knuckles.

At least mistletoe won’t be involved at New Year’s, he assures himself. God knows his sister and brother in law would concoct some sort of scheme to get him to admit… something.

Something he refuses to acknowledge, at that. He pointedly puts it out of his mind the last few blocks to the attorney’s abode, striding purposefully down the sidewalk.

It’s the same as ever, with the climate’s lack of change with the seasons, but it’s still a comforting sight; small, yes, and a bit unassuming, but the inside is where the real treasure lies.

Like his friend— and the thought is immediately catalogued away into Things Not To Think About.

The closer Damien draws, though, he notes something a bit strange— namely, that one of their windows are open, and every now and then, something flies out to join the small pile amassing underneath it.

It’s decidedly unlike his friend to be so cavalier about their possessions, and the confusion and worry spurs him on faster. A burglar? A collections officer?

All— or, rather, most— of his worries seem unfounded as he draws up to the window. The attorney is indeed the one tossing out old papers and broken pieces of furniture, sleeves rolled up and a bit of sweat on their forehead.

“I don’t think it’s time for spring cleaning just yet,” he calls through the window. “What on Earth are you doing?”

They pop their head up, confused, but a bright smile crosses their face as they lay eyes on him. “It’s you,” they say, and then quickly, “I mean— hello! I’m doing a cleaning for the new year. You know it’s tradition in some places?”

Damien raises an eyebrow. “It’s tradition to throw things out of your bedroom window?”

“In some places,” they repeat excitedly. “Most places have a tradition of just cleaning, but throwing things out the window is a way to get rid of bad luck without darkening your doorway.”

They must have been on some sort of research kick to know that— he could even guess from the bright look in their eye, how their words tumble over each other.

It’s been that way since they met, long nights over books and his friend regaling him with all the new knowledge they’d managed to gather. He was never interested overmuch in the intricacies of animal social behaviors, but God if he didn’t soak in every word.

He’ll admit— it’s quite the endearing trait.

“Well, if you don’t mind something else darkening your doorway,” he jokes, “I have a letter for you. Special delivery.”

“A letter?” They set down some large box of things, tilting their head. “I can’t imagine why you’d have mail for me, but— sure, come in. It’s a walk from your house, you need a sit.”

Damien could protest, but they’re already hurrying away from the window and into the depths of their home. Besides, they’re more careful with his bad leg than he is— any opportunity to host or tend him is one they’ll jump at the chance to take.

Without them, he might be worse off than a cane.

He rounds the side of the house, but he’s only just begun to ascend the stairs when the front door swings open. The attorney is a touch less disheveled than they were in their bedroom, sweat dabbed away and sleeves rolled back down, but they’re still in comfortable housework clothes.

“Come on, get in from the chill,” they urge, sweeping him in with one arm. “I put water on, but I can’t say I have any of your particular beans. You’ll have to settle for tea.”

Damien heaves a long-suffering sigh as he sheds his jacket, allowing his friend to help him hang it. “I guess so. If I must, to avoid being a rude guest, I’ll drink your tea. You know…”

They raise an eyebrow, pausing mid-shuffle of a foot stool.

“If I’d known you were doing housework, I may not have worn my suit. I feel a touch overdressed.”

His friend snorts and pushes the foot stool the rest of the way to him. “I wouldn’t expect you to go back to our college days for me. Get your shoes off and come in for tea; I’m curious about that letter.”

He’d like to go back to the college days, really. Simple and easy, running around with his closest friend with little regard for propriety or image— he regularly aches with nostalgia, but especially being in their presence. More doors seemed open wide, then, more futures at hand where they weren’t quite so locked into place.

Now he’s bound by duty, and the use of a shoehorn. It’s not how he’d have liked his future to go, much less predicted, but…

In the midst of yanking his foot free of shining leather, he hears a small clatter, followed by a muffled, “Oh, nuts.” He can’t help but smile, lining his shoes up alongside theirs; regardless of other twists and turns, they still have each other.

“Are you—“

“I’m fine! Just a bit of a butterfingers today.” More clattering, boxes and bags and cups rifled through before the solid thump of a cabinet. “Which is why we’re both having a snack with our tea and news.”

“Both?” Damien courteously returns the foot stool to its previous location. Once it’s comfortable, he follows suit on the attorney’s squashy couch, easing into the cushions with a pleased sigh. “I haven’t been throwing things out all morning.”

“You always forget to eat something when you’re buzzing.” The attorney aims a pointed look at him over a tray loaded up with mugs and various foods. “You’re out of sorts and you probably only had your coffee, so you’re eating with me.”

Damien meets their gaze, doing his best impersonation of a clueless stone wall. “You think I’ve been buzzing?”

The attorney sits right next to him on the couch, not bothering with the polite distance they give him in public, and reach for their plate. “Your cane is smudged, which means you’ve been wringing it all day.”

“Not necessarily.” He takes a sip of tea. Black, tannin-rich— just how he prefers. “Perhaps I’ve just been too busy to clean up.”

He gets a nudge at that— the warm, solid line of their thigh pressing harder into his. “I’d believe that if you didn’t match your tie to your scarf— which is mine, by the way.”

“I won it fair and square, if you recall.” Certainly hard-won, at that— he had to have used up every last scrap of luck to beat them at poker. “You know I like to keep up appearances.”

“Don’t you just.” They take a long sip from their mug in lieu of explaining themself, though the tired, far-off look in their eye gives him an inkling, along with a smidgen of guilt. “But that would include polishing your cane. You did that on the way over, after you put effort in.

“Which means,” they continue, a note of triumph coming into their voice, “that something frazzled you enough to still be on your mind, something related to the news you bring. The only person who can get you that out of shape is Celine. What’d she say?”

Damien blinks at them, then huffs a laugh. “Quite sharp. Are you sure you don’t want to swap careers to be on the police force? They’d kill for a detective like you.”

Their nose wrinkles a little over their mug. “No, thank you. Besides, the same skill set works wonders in the courtroom— and I could read you like an open book, we’ve known each other so long.”

Hopefully not too open. Damien clears his throat and digs in his pockets for the invitation. “Ah— here. She asked I hand-deliver it, though she’s perfectly capable of doing that, herself.”

“Sure, but I prefer a visit from you. You’re far less intimidating.” Paying little heed to his offense, played up as it may be, they open up the envelope. Their bright eyes scan the creamy card stock, then again.

Damien tilts his head to see their face better, but it’s irritatingly blank. Damn their poker face, for all the good it’s done them. “Is something the matter?”

“Hm? Oh— no, there’s nothing wrong, sorry.” They laugh a little, sliding the card back into the envelope. “Just— personalized, and you know how he is.”

God, does he ever. The ripped off section with detailed instructions on how to woo the attorney is presently in his trash bin under coffee grounds. “And what did he say?”

“Typical Mark teasing.” Again, that unreadable expression as they shrug, and he burns to know what they wouldn’t share with him.

As they reach for the tray, grabbing up a handful of plump grapes, he asks, “Are you coming?”

“Of course I am.” They give him a little smile. “We might be busier these days, but it’s a holiday, and I haven’t seen everyone in some time, besides.”

The knot in his chest loosens slightly, and he breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. We may all be friends, but it’s nice to have you along.”

“Would you miss me, otherwise?”

Their eyes shine even brighter, and he’s thankful a blush can’t show on his skin.

“Eat your grapes. Aren’t they good luck?”

“Yes. Which is why you should eat them if you want to keep that scarf tonight.”

—

If it weren’t for his sister and brother-in-law’s machinations, he’d have been happy to stick around all day long, basking in company that demands so little; alas, after their lunch, he excuses himself.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join me in another tradition?”

It isn’t fair to play that sort of card when he’s already thin on resolve. “What kind of tradition, exactly?”

They stop stretching their left arm over their chest, swapping over to their right. “I was thinking of going for a spin around the house, actually, but I also have some more things to toss out if you’d find it easier.”

They’re grinning, eyes shining, but he still can’t tell if this one is a joke or not. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to pass up both. My leg, for one, and for the other… well, they aren’t my things. Maybe that’s bad luck.”

“Very possible,” they muse, nodding. “You’d probably want as much strength as possible, anyway, party animal.”

“You’re one to talk, little monster.” It’s too fond to be much of a comeback, but it’s worth it for how they smile afterward. “Shall I meet you there?”

They pause in stretching, mouth open as if to say something, but they must think better of it; instead, they bend a bit to help stretch out their feet. “Sure thing.”

So… it stays on his mind a while.

Could they have wanted to join him? It’d save on a drive, yes, but surely they know the whispers that would follow.

Not that he’d give a damn, really. He’s been doing this for too long to care quite that much, and his reputation could probably do with a scandal— however false— to keep things interesting.

Celine’s words, not his, though he’s begun to see the appeal.

He should have said something. Should have offered, at the very least, to be kind.

What if that wasn’t their intention, though? What if it was a different train of thought entirely, their brilliant mind going a mile a minute, and any such offer would make things tense?

He looks down to the mild ache in his knuckles; just as earlier that morning, they’re white with tension, the gleaming wood and metal of his cane once more marred by oily fingerprints.

Damn it. With a sigh, he whips the pocket square out of his jacket to polish the worst of the smudges away. It might be a more intimate party, but he’d still like to keep tidy.

A few moments later, the black wood is about as good as it’s going to get without proper polish. Hopefully no one will look too terribly closely.

(No one ever does, but he worries.)

The handle hooked over a forearm, he goes about refolding the pocket square; only a few folds in, however, the back of his neck prickles. It’s the odd feeling of being observed, and not passively, either.

There’s no attorney when he looks up, but there is his sister, dark eyes sharp and keen as flint. Her intense stare would be bad enough for him, but after a moment, the corner of her moth lifts, and her eyes turn to the foyer.

“Oh, our esteemed guest, welcome! It’s been some time, you know,” Benjamin says, overdone accent and all muffled by the distance and din. “We’ve missed you at the tables, Mx.—“

Oh.

Before whatever Celine has in mind for him comes to pass, he needs a good drink.

A strong one.

—

Several strong ones later, he’s feeling light as a feather.

At the very least, Damien’s in good company; nearly everyone else in the ballroom is in a similar state, leaning into arms or lounges or walls. They’re merry, though, laughter and snippets of song joining in with the blaring radio at the far wall.

Even Mark and Celine look a bit bright-eyed, which is a sight. He hasn’t seen that sort of inebriation with them in years.

He can’t say the same for the attorney, for better or for worse.

A notorious lightweight, despite their absolute best efforts, he could estimate they’re as sloppy as he feels; they slump into his side, eyes glassy, though their slur can’t stop their mile-a-minute chatter.

“There’s so many, Day,” they enthuse, one hand clenching his suit jacket tight. “Everyone everywhere has a tradition, how amazing is that? Everyone does something different and new! There are ones even I don’t know!”

“I don’t know about that one, little monster,” he laughs. “You really seem to have done your research.”

“Research… that’s it!” They look up at him, as if they’ve found the discovery of the century. “Damien… what if I researched it? And wrote a book?”

If he’s honest, he’s surprised they haven’t by now, in some discipline. “You could, but it’d be a lot of work. Might take you years.”

“I have years,” they insist, “or, I could. If I wasn’t an attorney.”

“You’d give that up?” He frowns. “I thought you always wanted to be one.”

They shrug. “It comes and goes. I wouldn’t be upset, really. I could do whatever I want, then— and I’d still have you.”

They would. They’re always going to, no matter what, but if politics wasn’t in the way…

He’s pretty sick of it.

They’re here and soft and lovely, and everyone’s counting down, and he may not have done the research but he’s damn certain of one important tradition.

He pulls them in and kisses them.

It’s a little off-center, but it’s wonderful. They’re soft, warm, tasting like the dessert course and champagne, bubbles of sugar and alcohol coursing through him, enough to nearly make him take flight.

They… aren’t moving, though. Just in place, not pulling away but not leaning in.

Panicked, he pulls back, but the look of awe on their face halts any words before he can begin to say them.

“O-oh,” they say, so soft, and then they giggle. Not a laugh, but a giggle. “Um— yes, that… that could go in the book. And…”

“And..?” His breath catches, heart pounding.

“Well.” They smile a little, shy but under hooded eyes, and lean in a little towards him. “There’s another tradition. You’re supposed to wear red for luck.”

He eyes them. Not a drop to be seen. “Aren’t you worried about bad luck?”

Their sly grin grows. “No. You can check for yourself, if you want?”

Thanks to the alcohol, it takes him a good minute, but by then…

Well, they aren’t too worried about clothes, anymore.

[alaroweq]

Back on my markiplier universe songs bullshit. Going under by Evanescence but it's DA and Dark. That's it that's the post.

[fictionalsownme]

the feminine urge to write damien x district attorney from their days back at university (silent yearning, a drunken kiss they both pretend to not remember, confiding in each other & taking care of each other in small ways no one else would notice) but knowing it would all end in tragedy anyway

[westanthewaterman]

Feel You - Dark x GN!DA!Reader

Rating: NSFW

Word Count: 1700+

Summary: Reunited after a century apart, Dark and the District Attorney spend some quality time together. Or more simply put, love sick Dark -> feral Dark.

Contents: handjobs, penetrative sex, no pronouns or body parts used for reader, standard Dark pet names (dear heart, pet, etc.), mild voice kink, blink and you miss it references to Dark's mind powers

AN: Idk where this came from, but it was fun to write. I'll post to AO3 and add all my usual links later, I should've been in bed an hour ago. If you're still here despite my hiatus, I appreciate you.

This fic is a sequel to 'Tomorrow, Tonight' but can be read as a standalone.

Fic Masterlist - Find it on AO3

         Dark hikes your leg up onto his hip. He relishes in the softness of your skin beneath his fingers, a concrete reminder that you’re here, that you’re together again after everything.

         The new position allows him more space to roll his hips, grinding down against the heat between your legs. You shudder beneath him. He repeats the motion once, twice, and you throw your head back against the pillows.  His hungry, grey eyes follow the column of your throat upwards until they land on your mouth. Your lips part around a whimper and he can’t stop himself from pressing a kiss against them.

“I’ll never tire of hearing you sing for me, dear heart.”

“Damien,” You whine before hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“I think it’s a little late to hide from me now.” He chuckles. “What’s gotten you so shy, darling?”

“You never talked this much before.”

         Dark tenses, a familiar, far-away look in his eyes, one he always gets when the two of you discuss the past. You cup the side of his face, gently guiding his gaze back to yours. He blinks. A melancholy smile settles on his face. You pull his head down so that you can press your forehead against his.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, my love. There are bad memories, yes, but also good ones. In fact, I can recall quite a few memories of us just as we are now, bare in each other’s arms, locked in the throes of passion.”

There’s a wry smile on his face, one that reminds you of evenings spent tucked away between bookshelves, sneaking out of dormitories at the crack of dawn, a rendezvous in the storage closet of a crowded chapel. Your heart aches for all the two of you have lost and can never get back. But despite everything you had been through, the two of you were together again.

Dark presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I can feel how your mind races. I think about it too, even now. Almost a century without you and I never stopped feeling your absence. I ached to hold you in my arms, to have you beneath me, to feel you tight as a vice as you come apart around me.”

A thought creeps into your mind and turns your stomach to lead. He had been by himself for so long, sure you were gone forever. You couldn’t blame him or be angry, but still the thought makes you sick.

“Was,” you pause a moment, steeling yourself for his answer. “Was there ever anyone else? In your heart, or your bed?”

He looks at you as if your words have burned him. When he speaks, his voice is firm, unwavering.

“No. My dear heart, there could never be another. I vowed to love you in sickness and in health, in love and in death. There could only ever be you.”

“Oh.” You blush.

The intensity of his answer makes you feel foolish for even suggesting such a thing. You drop your gaze, absently picking at the sheets beneath you. It’s Dark’s turn to take your face in his hand and bring your gaze back to him.

“I loved you deeply, but I know my actions did not always convey that. At times, I allowed my responsibilities and ambitions to blind me to how I was neglecting you. You deserved a better man than I knew how to be back then, and I have spent a century regretting it. But now, despite terrible circumstances and the battles still to be fought, we have a second chance, and I intend to use it to do right by you.”

“Damien, I…I don’t know what to say.”

“There is no need to say anything, dear heart. I know you feel as strongly as I do; I feel it through our bond, and soon I’ll feel it here as well.”

Dark presses a finger against your entrance, pressing it into you slowly. You cry out, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him flush against you

“You said earlier that I never used to talk very much when we were intimate, and you were right.” His voice drips with venom as he continues. “The prim and proper mayor, so worried about civility and manners. Too obsessed with his image and what was ‘acceptable’ to truly speak his mind.”

You want to argue, to defend Dark’s former self against his own harsh criticism, instead a moan rips its way out of your throat when two more fingers fill you. Dark’s grin is wicked. He ducks down to press his lips to your ear, taking your earlobe between his teeth and giving it a quick tug. You clench around his fingers, earning an amused chuckle.

“I have no such worries. My only concern is pleasing you and, by the way your body responds for me, I can tell I’m doing just that. This little hole of yours is so hot and tight around my fingers, and it’s all for me, isn’t it?”

A shudder wracks your body and you moan, digging your nails into his shoulders.

“Oh,” Dark purrs. “Now what got that reaction? You like when I talk to you like this, don’t you, pet?”

“Y-Yes.”

“But what is it that has you so responsive? Is it my voice in your ear? The things that I’m saying to you? Or maybe none of that matters. Perhaps I could say anything, and you would respond just as wantonly, so long as I have you filled with my fingers or my cock.”

“All of it, it’s all of it. Damien, fuck.”

“Dear heart, such foul language. Have I already wrecked you so thoroughly?”

You scowl at him but you both know there’s no mirth behind it. “Fuck you.”

         There’s a wicked glint in his eyes as Dark grabs a handful of your hair, pulling just enough to force your head back and bare your throat to him. Sharp canines scratch playfully against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You should be careful what you ask for, my love. I am a changed man with a century of pent-up sexual frustration. I could take you over and over and over again, never tiring until I have given you every drop of my spend and the only word you know is my name.”

Dark sets a languid pace thrusting his fingers in and out of you.

“You want it now, just as much as you did back then, isn’t that right? You wanted the serious, respectable mayor to break. You craved to be taken passionately, for him to make love to you like a man starved.”

“Yes, yes.” You nod frantically, bucking your hips against his hand.

“I have hungered for you for so long, dear heart; I feel almost ravenous with it.”

Dark removes his fingers from you and fists his leaking cock, stroking himself slowly. You find yourself mesmerized by the motion and the way his stomach muscles tense and flex with every stroke of his hand. Your eyes follow a drop of his arousal as it drips down the underside of his cock. You lick your lips. Knocking his hand out of the way, you take him in your own, his length hot and heavy in your palm.

         He groans appreciatively as you stroke him from base to tip, occasionally rubbing your thumb over the head of his cock. You guide his hand to rest over your heart.

 “You’ve spent all this time talking about what I want and how you can please me. What do you want?”

“I want to make up for lost time. I want to give you everything I could not before.”

“But that’s still about me. Damien, what do you want?

He falters. “I…I just want you. I want to feel you. I want to know that you are real, and not just some illusion he made to torment me.”

“I want to feel you too.” You guide the head of his cock to your entrance. “I’m here, my love. I’m real. This is real.”

Dark presses into you in one long, slow thrust that has him buried to the hilt. Both of you moan at the sensation. You wrap your legs around his waist and urge him forward, forcing his cock deeper inside.

“Fuck, my love, I never thought I would feel you like this again.”

You smirk. “Such foul language, Damien. Now who’s wrecked who?”

Instead of a response, Dark grabs your face and presses your lips together in a passionate kiss. So much is shared between you in this single moment of contact, decades of sorrow and grief, an emptiness immeasurable by time. But there is also hope and joy, lust and elation. Most importantly, there is love; a love that has weathered the test of time and survived even the most unthinkable circumstances.

The two of you pull apart, both crying and holding each other like your lives depend on it.

“I love you, dear heart. Thank you for coming back to me.”

“I love you too, Damien. Thank you for finding me.”

Dark speeds up the pace of his thrusts, breathing heavily in your ear.

“I am afraid it has been too long, my love. I have spent a century waiting to feel you like this again and now I find myself unable to hold back my release.”

“I’m close too. You feel so good.”

“I want you to cum with me now. Let me feel you.”

         He grabs your thighs and presses them back so that he can rut into you, ruthlessly. You cry out at the way the new angle causes the head of his cock to brush against a sweet spot deep inside that has you seeing stars. Your orgasm washes over you and you finish with a cry of his name. The tight heat of you bares down around him and the dam holding back Dark’s climax breaks. Waves of pleasure crash over him as he stills inside you, filling you with his release.

         The two of you lay together in silence, collecting your bearings. You think you might fall asleep until Dark gives a shallow thrust, his cock still hard inside you.

“How-”

He gives you a wicked grin and presses his lips to your ear.

“I told you I was a changed man, dear heart, and we have quite a lot of lost time to make up for.”

[bebackthen]

MCU art and roleplay call??? mayhaps...

———

recently i had a big wave of nostalgia and ended up rewatching ISWM part one.. and because im crazy i decided to remake my old viewer-insert character and redraw my favorite ego(s). firstly- warfstache.. which shouldnt be a surprise.

secondly!! head engineer mark! i cry every time i replay ISWM, it brings up so many emotions in me- same as WKM did back when i was a wee thirteen year old..

i need to draw more of the egos too.. i want to draw some more WKM stuff too, mostly colonel/damien centric,, but for now!! have my viewer-insert! i was so young when WKM came out, and i think of it so so so fondly.. it was probably my first introduction to reader-insert things,, and the only fandom i could willingly read reader x character fanfiction and not be completely weirded out that it didnt fit the story. ANYWAY!! this is "Y/N"-iplier!! my viewer insert character. or, otherwise called, "whyin-iplier"!! (name courtesy of my friend! @thelesbianjeffthekiller). our intrepid hero- the district attorney!! their timeline is.. nonlinear, much like warfstache- they exist in multiple timelines at once as one. "starting" in WKM, they after the events of the story, possess actor!marks body and "escape" the manor. going on to adapt and take on the name "calamity" next- "paradox" existing simultaneously to WKM, they both are and arenot aware of the events of the past! having aged in the time passing since WKM despite not having lived it.

their nametag in the ISWM design is "M2017" in reference to when WKM originally came out !!

calamity is as old as WKM- with their original design being EXTREMELY different from their current one- though, im much to embarrassed to post the single image i have of it online... (most of his old art got lost after i got locked out of my old gmail..)

whyway i think about them a normal amount.

man.. i didnt have Tumblr back in the height of the markiplier fandom.. i would've gone insane. i was an animo kid, sadly..

when/if i find any of my old warfstache art ill definitely redraw it. that being said... id love to do a roleplay featuring the MCU (markiplier cinematic universe) if anyone was interested... i have played as warfstache the most, but i wouldnt be opposed to playing other egos (actor, damien/dark, jim)

[mothgodofchaos]

Tense

Good ol' fluff.

Damien x GN!Reader, TW: none Words: 614

The click of his cane against the marble flooring sends a sense of relief down your spine, looking up to meet his eye as he enters the threshold.

“Hello, my dear. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine, Damien.”

His gaze washes over you, his lips curling into a frown. As he approaches, you feel your shoulders finally relax as you sit back in your office chair.

“Considering that you looked incredibly tense when I first walked in here, I sincerely doubt that. Tell me what’s on your mind, dearest.”

Damien leans against your desk, a hand on your shoulder gently applying pressure while the other stabilizes him with his cane. As he tries to work out the knots in your shoulders, you ramble to him about the pressures of work, the responsibilities you’ve had to take on, and how tired you are at the end of the day. Speaking to him about these sorts of things is easy, it feels less natural to try and hide it from him. Not that you haven’t tried, but his sweet words and soft encouragements to lay out what is on your mind makes those walls you put up crumble down.

As you finish, he wipes tears of frustration from your eyes and holds your cheek.

“Thank you for telling me. Is there something I can do for you? Beverage? Take you out for food for a while to clear your head? I don’t see much evidence that you’ve left your office at all, dearest.”

A quick glance around the room makes it obvious that you’ve been holed up here for quite a while. Papers strewn across the table and some on the floor, a blackboard behind you with words that only the greatest of linguists would be able to decipher as English. And the long cold pot of tea that you had barely touched before getting engulfed in your work. You take his hand, offering you a way out. Your knuckles are raised to his lips before he pulls you closer to him, prompting you to take his arm as he leads you out of your office.

Damien takes you to a little café around the corner, one you used to frequent more often with him when your working hours lined up better. Since his retirement from his mayoral position, he’s taken up a lesser position with the parks and recreation division. When he took the job, he mentioned how at peace he feels in nature. And you can tell it’s done nothing but wonders for him. The date is charming, full of laughter as he tries to get you to ease up and relax. A look in his eyes and you see the man you married on your wedding day all over again.

“Shall I escort you back to your office? Or could the greatest district attorney possibly grace their husband with their presence on the drive home~?”

No matter how many times he calls you that, it never fails to bring a dusting of blush to your cheeks. He takes your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles, and then your palm, and then your wrist. You know he’s trying to seduce you into coming home, and you hate that it’s working.

“Alright Dames, I’m coming.”

You’re scooped off your feet and into his arms as he carries you back to the car. Slowly, as the balance from his cane is not there. But you’re placed in the car with a kiss to your temple before he rounds the vehicle and gets in the driver side.

“You know I can never say no to you when you do that.”

“I’m aware.”

“Sly devil~”

“Sweet angel~”

[seaofghouls]

Iplier Falls

Authors Note: 

Hello hello and welcome back! ( Or if you’re here for the first time, I’m glad you chose to check this fic out! Welcome! ) Never thought you’d see a rewrite of Gravity Falls x Iplier Inc in 2024, huh? The ALTRVerse comic has given me the motivation to get back into Markiplier Lore and hence I’m here!

This is the prologue and hence it's just a test to see how people react to it. If people react well, I'll put the story up on AO3 and make more chapters!

Some things to note about this fic: 

It’s an X Reader and the reader is indeed the District Attorney from Who Killed Markiplier! ( So, obviously, WKM spoilers ahead! ) 

This is a Dark x Reader specifically. 

This fic is in the second person and the reader is gender neutral! 

Genderfluid Dark is canon in this fic, so I’ll be using He/She/They for Dark. 

In Space With Markiplier will also be incorporated, so spoilers for that as well. 

This story will follow the Gravity Falls story, but there’ll be added story for episodes revolving around the Pines family specifically. 

This story contains things like profanity, blood, near death experiences, talk of mortality/death, and angst! 

Tag List: @a-frozen-bag-of-corn @crazy-obsessed-enby @lunariasilver ( Not sure if any of you remember this series, but I figured I’d keep up the tag list! ) 

Without further adieu, I hope you enjoy it! 

—-------------------------------------------------------

“What has he done to you?” 

They looked so familiar. Like a far away dream. 

“Captain, you can’t possibly listen to this monster! You can’t trust him!” Mark yelled.

“My little monster, I beg of you. Open your eyes. He takes away all that you love.” She begged. 

That name.. It was like a puzzle piece. Everything snapped back into place in an instant. You weren’t a captain! You went to school for law, not to be the captain of a spaceship. 

“.. Damien?” You whispered. 

“Ugh, you’re just impossible!” Mark snapped, “How am I supposed to make the perfect story if all you do is mess it up!” 

You couldn’t help but tense up at the sudden change in tone. That was right, this wasn’t your trusted second in command. This was a man long gone, a man permanently warped by the manor. 

He twirled his cane in a clean and swift motion, aiming it towards you. 

“I’ll just have to make sure you don’t remember any of this.” He threatened. 

Dark intercepted Mark’s attempt with his sword, pushing Mark back a few feet. 

“Not on my watch. Never again.” 

Mark simply laughed, “The hero always wins. It’s the only way the story can go.” 

Dark simply grit their teeth in response, slashing the sword against Mark’s chest. Although it barely grazed, it was enough to catch him off guard. 

You watched as the two went head to head, being able to do nothing to stop either side. Even if you were willing to get in the way of the two, you had no weapon or no powers to do anything. 

Actor sputtered as Dark tore open a gash across his chest. His blood was red, but not the usual type of red. Bright red, instead of crimson. Actor was caught off guard for just a second until he scrambled back, unsheathing his cane. 

You’re sorry. Unsheathing his cane? That was insane! What was even more insane was the fact that the bottom of the cane was a dark red double sided axe. Dark seemed just as caught off guard as you were, as Mark obtained a window to slash her in the chest.

“Dark!” You called out. 

He only spared a moment to look your way, with a look in their eyes signaling that they were alright before attacking Mark once again. SImilar to Mark, her blood was an inky black. Something inspired Dark to go full force, you weren’t sure if it was you or the entire revenge pledge. 

He pierced Mark in the heart with their sword as Mark sputtered, that sickly red spilling out of his chest. He didn’t say anything after that, only heavy and labored breathing being heard from the previously lively body. 

“We best be going. The Snake never stays dead for long.” Dark said. 

You didn’t say anything as she opened a portal similar to the ones you’d seen as the captain of The Invincible. Except, it looked a bit like the Noir universe. A combination of black, white, and grey. You simply followed him inside the portal. What other choice did you have? Stay in this void until Mark’s body inevitably rose from the dead? The old Homo Necrosis didn’t sound like a fun route to go down. 

Which led you to where you are now. A sleepy town named Gravity Falls. Dark had said that the laws of the town would cover up the tracks of you two, making it harder for Mark to find you again. You still had quite a few strong words for Dark, considering he trapped you in a mirror for decades, but that was the thing. It had been decades. You didn’t know what else to do other than follow them. Mark was obviously a no-go. 

“Please, call me Dark.” He had said, “Damien and Celine are both.. Long dead. I have an apartment set up in the town, we can stay there until we know how to deal with The Snake properly.” 

“Okay.” You said, “In that case, call me Captain. The person I used to be died in that house.”

She simply nodded, “As you wish.” 

The two of you had been wandering around the town when you spotted a hiring sign for a tourist attraction. 

“We could work here.” You said, “We need some way of paying rent, right?” 

Dark hummed in thought, “It couldn’t hurt, I suppose.” 

You strolled into the attraction with Dark following close behind. You spotted an older man shuffling money while standing at the cash register. He was probably the owner, right?

“Excuse me, are you the owner?” You asked. 

He nodded, “What’s it to ya? You’re not the government, are you?” 

“No, no, nothing like that.” You said. A little like that, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

“My friend and I heard you were hiring.” 

“Great! You’re hired. Call me Mr. Pines.” He said, “You start tomorrow.”

“We’ll be there!” You smiled, as you walked back outside to talk to Dark in semi private. 

“Have you learned nothing from your district attorney days?” He teased, “Truly, though, that man was a bit too eager.” 

“Hey, it’s a job, isn’t it?” You shrugged, “Times have changed.”

“That they have.” She nodded, “Would you like to get some champagne? As a little celebration.”

“Really? Just like we used to? Even after everything that’s happened?” You raised an eyebrow. 

“Especially after everything that’s happened.” Dark said. 

You simply smiled in response as the two of you walked down the road to a nearby bar. You weren’t sure if he had said anything else to you, you were too consumed in your own thoughts. This seemed too easy, after everything that had happened. 

You were a district attorney. One that got shot at a party held by Mark himself. You didn’t blame William. Mark set everything up. A bitter man who fell victim to insanity. You had considered resenting Dark for what they did, but at the same time.. 

You knew deep down that this was a best scenario, as shitty as it was. You wouldn’t have survived. Of course Damien would pick his sister over you, even if you were close. You would’ve done the same. You did die, after all. Your time was up. 

Mark just couldn’t let you stay dead, could he? Pulling you into his games, forcing you to be his partner, his love interest. That was the thing. Dark had tried to reach you so many times, but you never remembered. Until now. What was different? Was the space adventure a finale of sorts? Was Mark’s grasp on you finally slipping? You didn’t know. 

“... Captain..”

“Captain.”

“Captain!”

You snapped back into reality, as Dark held you by the shoulders, attempting to ground you.

“Are you alright?” She asked, eyebrows knitted together.

“Yeah.. Yeah, I’m okay.” You sighed, “Just.. thinking.”

“Yeah? About what?” They raised an eyebrow. 

“He.. He really did take away everything from us. What’s the point of it all?” You asked.

He didn’t respond at first, hugging you tightly. 

“Making sure that bastard stays dead.”

[mayordamienisthesoftestbean]

Dark/Damien: *smashes a vase of flowers over Actor!Mark's head*

DA: *walks by*

Dark/Damien: *rushes to pick up the scattered flowers and chases after DA*