#markiplier egos imagine

[otterlyinluv]

Only Mortals Catch the Sniffles

Summary: You decided to go shopping while it was raining. But you forgot your umbrella. So of course you end up getting sick (you have a really poor immune system, don’t you?). What’s unexpected is who exactly decides to take care of you and what discoveries it leads to.

Pairing: Darkiplier x DA!Reader

Tags: sfw, the flu, argument and misunderstanding (gets resolved), proximity, tension

A/N: I have almost no time to write. (Who would’ve said I’d be reading lots in a linguistic course—) But hopefully you’ll enjoy this little thing I’ve been cooking up for quite a while now ^^

Word Count: 4.5k

——

You rummaged through the cupboard to find some of your favorite snacks but were met with empty space instead. You sighed and shook your head. Your secret stash of snacks has been disappearing at a suspiciously fast pace, so it was safe to assume someone was eating it. But eating all of it without notice? You’d have to have a stern word when you found the culprit. If at all.

This shortage has happened multiple times already. At first, you let it slide, but it was really beginning to get on your nerves. Scratch the beginning. You were mad. You were going to get your snack. Now.

Breathing slowly to clear your head a little, you decided to go for a late-night shopping run while you were at it. After all, there were some other things you wanted to buy, along with the snack. And then you’d catch whoever had been stealing them.

You walked down the corridor and noticed the time on the grandfather clock. You winced. If you wanted to go shopping you needed to get ready and fast.

You grabbed everything without thinking too much about the details. Your phone, purse, and a shopping bag and bolted for the door. You managed to faintly hear something Google was trying to say, but you had no time to listen. Off to the shop it was.

—

By the time you returned, it was pouring. And you hadn't brought an umbrella.

The door opened with a creak, and you stepped in, clothes dripping with water all over the carpet.

Out of the corner of your vision, Google raised an eyebrow before coughing silently: “I did attempt to tell you the forecast was saying it would rain.”

You pushed your wet hair out of your face. “Yeah. I don’t think that'll help now.”

“Well, if you had given me admin privileges, I would have been able to contact you even while you were away—“

You walked away irritated, not bothering to hear his ‘Giving me admin privileges is the solution to all your problems’ speech.

While sprinting to your room, you almost crashed into someone, but you were able to steady yourself and not make his suit wet. Suit. Only one man would wear a suit well into the evening.

Darkiplier eyed your very much drenched form from head to toe. Before you could say anything, he spoke, no visible emotion on his face. “Your clothes are wet.” It sounded as if he was merely making an observation.

A scoff escaped your lips. “Haven’t noticed.”

“Did Google not tell you about the weather?”

He who stayed mostly cooped up in his office most of the time had the audacity to lecture you for going out when it was raining?!

“Well, obviously I didn’t have the time to get an umbrella!” You threw your hands around, irritated, and stormed off into your room.

—

You woke up still tired. Your throat felt dry. You swallowed. Sharp stabbing pain. You groaned and turned around to check the time. You slept for 10 hours?!

The sun was already high in the sky, an unusual sight for an early bird like you. Weird, but you supposed it was better to get started for the day, you said to yourself, trying to sit up. Emphasis on trying.

You clutched the side of your head to dull the throbbing pain that emerged from your movement and flopped back onto your pillow. Well, this was a problem. Everyone would start wondering where you were sooner or later since you routinely woke up first.

The pain was almost enough for you to consider just staying in bed. And yet you couldn’t do that.

You’ve never allowed yourself to rest even while tired or under the weather. The work helped you focus on other things. Without it, your mind started to wander into territories it shouldn’t. Like those recurring dreams of a strange mansion or a poker game with people you didn't recognize… and it was doing it again. Which is exactly why you needed to get back to work.

You weren’t able to attempt to get out of bed again when your door handle swung open violently, almost slamming into the wall. There was almost no time to register the urgent steps stop as Wilford put his hands on your shoulders and began shaking you.

“Oh, my word, we thought you died!”

Wilford was a mess. Eyes shot wide, clothes untucked, hair unkempt, like he was running around and forgot to fix himself up.

“Wilford…” you said lethargically, Wilford’s shaking making your hoarse voice sound even quieter.

“Illinois said he hadn’t seen you at breakfast, so I thought you must have eaten already, but when I went to check, you weren't at your office and you’re always at your office, so we all thought you got kidnapped…” he continued ranting, almost like he was stuck in panic mode with no regards to the fact that you were actually safe and sound in your bed.

“Wilford, I’m fine!” you yelled as loudly as you could muster, which was not much but it seemed to break the loop he was in. He stopped shaking you. “I’m just not feeling well, that’s all…”

“Oh…” he said softly, slowly pulling his arms away.

His eyebrows scrunched up in almost a comical fashion. “You’re sick,” he stated, as if for some sort of confirmation.

“I’m not that sick—”

“But you never get sick.” He shook his head, looking positively baffled.

“Again, I’m not that sick. Just woke up a little later than usual, nothing to be worried about…”

“You are ill?” you heard his voice before you saw him appear. Darkiplier was standing in your doorway. Who knows for how long. His face looked neutral, except for the smallest furrow of his eyebrows.

You sighed, exasperated. This was too much to deal with in your current state. Which was not that bad, mind you. Besides, how and why was Darkiplier even in your room? Wilford, you could understand. You were acquaintances—friends even, but it was different with Darkiplier.

Sure, you had mutual respect, but your relationship had always been on the more formal side, seeing as you were one of the few people he could rely on to complete the tasks you agreed on. But he would have never struck you as a person to be worried about someone’s physical state.

“I am fine. It’s just a cold. Nothing I can’t handle—“

He interrupted you before you could finish your sentence.

“A cold? A cold that leaves you unable to get out of your room until noon? Is just a cold the reason you are left bedridden and shivering despite being underneath a duvet?” He walked until he was near your bed. There was a cold sort of fury hidden behind his eyes.

That irked you. Of course he never cared about your well-being. He only cared about how the search for Mark continued. And no matter who helped him along the way, as long as he got his revenge, nothing else mattered.

You weren’t able to yell, but your gruff voice was teeming with anger. “Well, I’m sorry I had the gall to fall ill. But not all of us have the ability to work for days on end. Some of us are human!”

You hadn’t meant to say that last sentence. Pain flashed in his eyes. You’ve always had a suspicion that he used to be human. At least at some point in time. You got your confirmation now. You would’ve regretted saying it any other time, but not now. Not now when you finally found out the thing he cared about most was your productivity.

“I think you should leave,” you said coldly.

You’ve honestly forgotten Wilford was also in the room as he hasn’t butted into your conversation like he usually did. Darkiplier’s face was stunned, maybe even regretful, but he did nothing, as Wilford took him by the shoulder and led him away from your room.

As they left, you turned to the wall and closed your eyes. Tired from the emotional exchange and your current sickness, slumber soon overtook you.

—

You woke up still tired, your mouth dry as if you hadn’t drank water in forever. Which, you hadn’t. Your stomach ached, but you highly doubted you could muster up enough strength to make yourself something. Another grumble of your stomach convinced you otherwise.

You looked around for a bathrobe to put on over your pajamas when your eyes got caught on your bedside table. There, lay a tray with a plate full of chicken noodle soup along with a spoon.

Did someone…. make you food? You have eaten along with some of them, such as breakfasts with Illinois or Yancy, and sometimes Wilford liked to join you for lunch. Then there were the late dinners in Darkiplier's office. But this? You weren't used to that. You leaned over and put the tray on your lap, careful not to spill anything.

You wondered who would do such a thoughtful thing for you. It looked homemade, so that ruled Yancy out. He approached you a few weeks ago if you could re-teach him some simple recipes since he's been in prison for so long that he's forgotten how to cook.

You were familiar with Illinois’ cooking skills, but you doubted he would find the time to make you soup. He’s always joked that he can’t give anyone special treatment or else they’d fall in love with him.

And Darkiplier… you threw that thought away before you could even start thinking about it properly. As if he’d be all nice to you after treating you no less than an expendable employee.

Wilford, you couldn’t be sure about. You’ve seen him cook occasionally, not soup, but he seemed to have both skill and like you enough to be so considerate.

Satisfied with your thought process, you set to eating the surprisingly still warm soup that you deduced Wilford had made for you.

After about twenty minutes, you already having finished your soup and cuddled up facing the wall to sleep the cold off some more, a quiet click of the door handle filled the silence of your room. Soft tentative steps tapped on the floor, seemingly so as not to wake you up.

You turned around.

“Hey Wil, thanks for the soup…” You trailed off when you realized the one who entered your room was, in fact, not Wilford but a rather startled Darkiplier. You have never seen him with that much exposed emotion. He was frozen reaching for the empty plate, his eyes slightly wide, as if he got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. It, however, didn’t last long. He promptly straightened his back, wiping imaginary dust from his jacket, his expression back to being deadpan as usual.

“Why are you taking that plate?” You eyed him warily. Was he here to chastise you for not working? Or perhaps—

“Because I made the soup. I figured you’d have finished it by now.” He moved to pick the tray up.

“You made the soup? You made me soup?” you blurted out before you could really think about what you were saying.

“You’ve seen me cook,” he said in the most matter-of-fact voice.

“Well, yes, but…” You sat up and tried to gather your thoughts. It all lead down to just one thing. “Why?”

“You are ill. You need rest and warm food. So I made you soup. Is that enough of a reason for you?” There was a hint of humor in his voice, his expression mostly unchanged, except for the faintest sparkle in his eyes.

You were absolutely baffled. He gets angry at you for getting sick and not working and then makes you soup?

He seemed to notice your irritation increasing and opened his mouth to speak. You crossed your arms and leaned on the pillow.

“Listen. I know a plate of soup isn’t enough to make up for what I had said. And I didn’t just make the soup to make amends. I want you to get better. I know what’s done is done but you need to know the truth.” He looked away momentarily as if he had to find strength to continue. “I wasn’t angry with you for not being able to work. I was angry… with myself.”

“What?”

He sighed, looking away.

“What I had said and the way that I had said it was harsh. There is no excuse for it. I was just…” He took a deep breath and shook his head absentmindedly. “I was worried. When you didn't show up in the morning. I thought something had happened. That maybe you had left or perhaps needed some time off. You work too hard all the time. And I did not want to intrude even if I was worried. A part of me was glad you finally decided to take some time for yourself. But when I was passing by and heard Wil say you were ill…” He looked off to the side for a moment.

“I have never seen you ill. Ever. So I said things without thinking them over. And for what it's worth, I am sorry.”

Your eyebrows only scrunched up more. Many emotions of increasingly more confusing variations started bubbling up in your brain. You didn’t say a thing. Just kept looking at him as if that would help you comprehend what exactly he had just said.

He sighed.

“Do with that what you will. But believe me when I say, I am being completely sincere that I truly hope you do get better.” With that, he grabbed the tray with the plate and left your room.

A part of you wanted to say something. To tell him to come back. But you couldn’t will your tongue to move. And not because you were sick.

With a closing of the door, you were left alone once again. This time, with many more things to think about.

—

Evening rolled around faster than you expected it to. You spent most of the time sleeping. You even felt good enough to make some light dinner for yourself. It seemed none of the residents were up to their usual antics of annoying you today. Lovingly, of course, but you had thought when they came to know you weren’t dying, they’d come to visit you. But that didn’t seem to be the case as no-one has been in your room since your… exchange with Darkiplier.

But as all sickness goes, it gets worse in the evening. And so you were lying in your bed, as lethargic as ever, unable to even sleep.

Your door creaked, the sound so quiet you wouldn’t have been able to hear it if you hadn’t been lying in dead silence.

Darkiplier opened the door and looked over into the room. Your eyes met. And even through your hazy state, it felt like you locked eyes just a second too long. Not like any other time.

“I... came to check up on you.” He looked away, cutting the silence.

“That's awfully nice of you.” You weren’t really thinking about what you were saying. It seemed to a side effect of your illness. Or maybe you weren’t so guarded with him anymore.

His eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. It looked oddly adorable.

“Are you feeling alright?”

You didn't know if he meant healthwise or your current state of mind, and you didn’t care.

“Absolutely.”

He walked over closer, right up to your bed. You watched him curiously, a bit more attentive even despite your heavy mood.

“No fever or anything of the sorts?”

You scoffed lightly. “No, nothing of the sort. Really, I’m fine. Never been better. See?”

You moved to sit up when he gently grabbed your shoulders and pushed you back onto the pillow.

Breathing became a foreign concept. Even your sickness existed only in the back of your mind. Your body was faintly pressed against the plush of your pillow, yet everything paled in comparison to all but one sensation.

Him.

So close.

And yet not close enough.

His hands on your shoulders were secure and just a bit insistent. But not necessarily painful.

“Don’t get up, you need to rest,” he said firmly but softly just the same.

Your eyebrows raised. He leaned closer. And closer. You closed your eyes.

The touch of his lips on your forehead was feather light.

After seconds which seemed like hours, he pulled away just a little, deep in thought. “Your forehead isn’t warm so it seems like you really don't have a fever…”

It sounded like an inner monologue or a passing thought, but your brain froze from the moment he kissed your forehead. It was so soft you weren’t sure you weren’t actually having a fever dream. Your eyes moved on their own accord, studying his face. His eyes caught yours. You have never seen him from this close. Your mouth was slightly open as a shallow shaky breath escaped it. It was as if the Earth itself stopped spinning and all you could feel were his eyes. Staring. Pensive. As if he himself was also frozen.

“You… you shouldn’t be so close to me,” you said quietly, almost indiscernibly. Your mouth was dry. A few seconds passed. Silence. Just him and you. And his eyes. Oh, those dark eyes. They went deeper than you thought. Like they were their own little galaxies. Did he even hear what you said? Did he—.

“Why?” His voice was quiet, similarly to yours, with a slight purr that you’d never heard from him. You could feel his chest rise and fall, dangerously close to your own. Your heart was beating so quickly that you wondered if he could feel it. A shiver ran up your spine. Your brain desperately searched for an excuse. But did you really want him to stop?

“I’ll get you sick,” you tried. Oddly enough, you weren’t feeling all that unwell at the moment. You were, however, feeling something else you couldn’t describe. And his closeness only heightened the tingling in your stomach.

“I’m not human. I can’t get sick,” he said without missing a beat, almost matter-of-factly.

Curses, he’s always been good at quick responses. But— Hang on. How would you know such a thing about him? You’ve spent some time together, yes but… Not enough to know an obscure detail like that.

“But you were.” The words left your lips almost by themselves. And yet, something in you knows that it’s the truth. Somehow, someway you feel he used to be something else before this.

His face darkened, his expression shifting to the all too familiar one you knew from working together late into the night.

“I… used to,” he admitted. You had to keep your mouth from falling open. This was the clearest confirmation of their past you’ve gotten out of any of the residents of this mansion. And to get it from Darkiplier first… If anybody told you a few days ago that such a thing would happen, you would’ve laughed straight into their face. But now… Him sharing something vulnerable with you felt strangely familiar. Like it happened before.

“I can see that brilliant mind of yours working. But whatever questions you want to ask, save them. There is time and place for such conversation and this is not it.” This was his way of saying no to talking about this topic. Rather tactfully from how you’ve seen him snap at Google when he is genuinely angry for a sensible reason. There was, however, something in the sentence that you could use to gauge him. You could consider yourself fairly well-versed in a few things in life but for Darkiplier to call you brilliant? And with such casualty. Like he has already said it before. But he hasn’t. There had to be something more behind it.

“’Brilliant mind’?” you repeated his words inquisitively.

His eyebrows furrowed apprehensively and you knew then you struck gold. He pulled back from leaning over you but you followed suit, sitting up on your bed.

“Forget it,” he said, his voice clipped.

“No.” You surprised yourself by how fast you replied. And it seemed to have the same effect on Darkiplier since he didn’t move from the spot. Encouraged by this, you continued: “… No. Why did you say that?”

“I…” There it was—he hesitated. You waited with bated breath for him to reveal whatever it was he kept trying to hide. You knew it was something that weighed heavy on his soul.

“It is none of your concern,” he said after a few tense seconds of your waiting. Ever the diplomat. Was he a politician in his past life or what?

“Considering the fact that you said something about me, I think it very much concerns me.”

“Look, you are ill and there are things that are beyond your understanding—”

“Then tell me something I can know.” That was it. Your last ditch effort to get to know something more. More about this man who went from only a colleague to someone who has actually, and much to your surprise, proved to care for you. As much as a man with seemingly so little external emotion such as Darkiplier was. But only seemingly. You have seen him smile before this even if it was scarce. But now you could finally admit — it did suit him.

Darkiplier looked at you, brows furrowed, seeming almost perplexed. “You truly wish to know more about me?” he asked, to which you nodded quickly before he could change his mind and decide to leave right then and there.

He sighed.

Then begrudgingly sat back down on your bed.

Bingo.

You made yourself more comfortable, propping your back on the wall behind you. It felt like a child getting ready to hear a bedtime story. Darkiplier raised an eyebrow and let out a soft breath through his nose, the corner of his mouth raising almost imperceptibly.

He looked to the side thoughtfully for a few moments before turning back to you.

“I don’t have to breathe.”

Well, that was unexpected. You thought he would talk about his life experiences or the people that he met. Then again, you should have known better than to think he would actually tell you anything about his past or elaborate on the whole “brilliant mind” comment. Nonetheless, this new information was quite intriguing.

“What do you mean you don't have to breathe?”

”It’s… more of a habit than anything physiologically needed.”

“But— your chest raises and falls so regularly...” you said, more musing out loud than actually meaning to share any information.

“Do you watch me?” he asked. If you didn’t know him well, you’d think he’s irritated, his tone slightly accusatory. But when you looked at him, there was that familiar tug of the corner of his lips. He was playing. He didn’t sport that look often but he pulled it off quite well.

Apparently, you had drifted off again because his lopsided smirk had only gotten wider and he was closer than before.

“Do I have the privilege of your presence now?”

He was close. Really close. Like when he kissed your forehead to check for a fever kind of close. Your heartbeat picked up, and you could only hope he couldn't hear it. Heartbeat... does he have one? You must have spoken out loud because a thoughtful look spread across his features.

“I’m not too sure myself. Want to check?”

Did he really mean to say that? You blinked. His expression hasn’t changed. So he did.

You placed your hand on his chest matter-of-factly. That’s all it was. A checkup. You weren’t doing anything weird. It’s not like you felt his dichromatic aura bristle slightly at your touch before returning to a faint buzz, albeit a bit louder than a few moments ago. With him wearing only a dress shirt, you could feel his skin and the lack of a heartbeat.

“You know I’m only letting you feel me up like this because you’re ill.”

“Stop being cheeky.” You clicked your tongue in irritation when he disrupted your concentration. There was a faint huff of laughter before you refocused on what lay beneath your palm.

“There’s nothing,” you said quietly.

“You won’t be able to feel it like this.” And with that, you found your hand pressed even closer to his ribcage, covered by his. You felt his chest rise and fall more deeply, almost like you’d feel a regular person breathe. That’s when you felt it. A faint heartbeat right under your fingertips.

Badump badump

Even with his palm on top of yours being extremely distracting, it was clearly discernible. Orderly. A sign of life where there really wasn’t one.

His hand lifted from yours but you kept it there, utterly entranced by the sensation of his heartbeat. He didn’t comment on it and spoke up, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard him be.

“There has to be oxygen for it to beat strongly. And that happens when I breathe more. Not that I need to per se, it’s more of a habit.”

“How is that even possible? How can you function without air?”

“There are no... rules for the amalgamation that I have become.”

That was one genuine bit of emotion you’ve seen him express. Frustration maybe? You’d have thought Darkiplier had come to terms with what he had turned into but it seems time can’t heal all wounds.

“I have been... this way for a very very long time. And yet I don’t know the constraints of myself.”

You hummed in understanding, mind racing with thoughts of what exactly he can and can’t do, absent-mindedly tracing the buttons of his shirt.

You felt his heart speed up, his chest jerking in as air hit your fingers. Your eyes flicked back up to his face.

Burning heat. Molten lava and blistering cold of his aura. His eyes searched yours for something. You weren’t sure what. Maybe he—The cracking of a mirror...

The intensity of his gaze made your hand twitch back, your whole body freezing up.

After a few seconds, he exhaled and smiled softly, bittersweet yet understanding, tender even — have you ever seen him smiling like that? — and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Rest. You need it.” He stood up and headed towards the door. Just when he was about to reach the door handle, you called out:

“Dark?”

He turned around, a look akin to hope in his eyes.

“Yes?”

“Will you… make me soup again?”

The tender smile was there again, devoid of all previous bittersweetness.

“Of course. Anytime, darling.”

It was only when he left that you realized, you called him ‘Dark’ instead of Darkiplier. And that Dark apparently resorts to pet names.

——

Fun fact I wanted to write it but could not manage to insert anywhere: Dark was the one who told the others not to disturb the reader :)) Oh and either Wilford or Yancy is stealing your snacks. Which one do you think it is?

Also, if anyone wants to be part of a taglist for future fics, let me know :)

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

Captaineer with 7..... Stronk captain.....

STRONK CAPTAIN!!!

[foxtamer113]

Lightning Bender Wilford out of Control 🫠

Avatar AU by @doctordiscord123

Inspired by this ASK!

[It's been a while since I drew a full body Wilford. ^^ ]

[kaisartdump]

Did you ever had a specific version of how you imagine dark and actor's interaction to be like ?

Heres a silly drawing that i did absentmindedly. Lmao. But honestly I feel like if these two were ever just in a room together alone, it would be on sight. But in front of others, Dark is 👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️ eyeballing this mf down and Actor feels it. He should be worried for his safety

[andaboop]

"I'm all eyes, and I'm watching you fall"

[litteredcorpses]

I don’t by any means think dark requires to sleep or do most basic human functions but I do think he overworks his body to such an extent that occasionally he just. collapses on the floor and ‘dies’ for a few days. wilford carries his body around until he wakes back up. longest period of death sleeping was at least a whole week.

[adalwolfgang]

🖤Hyperfixation Station🧡

⤷ »✵⭒ Helloo I'm Adal (Any pronouns) Certified Jervis Tetch (Benedict Samuel) enjoyer along side @jervis-tetch-my-beloved and muse to any fictional character I'm currently hyperfixated on! I'm here to write, draw, and make friends in whatever fandom I have stumbled into! - Old Ver

✵⭒Created 4/13/23

✵⭒Updated 7/22/24

✵⭒Blinkies (credit if used is appreciated but not required)

⤷ »✵⭒ I only write for reader/(y/n) or myself. Please read my pinned post because I feel bad when a request comes in and I can’t do it because you haven't read the rules.

⤷ »✵⭒ I don't write nsfw but I will on occasion talk and reblog stuff about it.

⤷ »✉ requests closed!

⤷ »✉ Inbox: 5/♾️

⤷ »✉ Drafts: 2/♾️

⤷ »⌦ nsfw blog so minors dni or atleast be aware of my content - I will sometimes talk of nsfw content and/or reblog nsfw content. Therefore I am not responsible for anyone under the age of 18 if exposed to my content.

⤷ »✵⭒ Multi-fandom; I'm hyper focused on anything related to the Halloween Horror Nights Icons but will still write for other things.

»✵⭒✵⭒✵⭒ Navigation ✵⭒✵⭒✵⭒«

⤷ »✵⭒ Rules for requesting

⤷ »✵⭒ Rp/sideblogs

⤷ »✵⭒ Fandoms/Characters I write for

»✵⭒✵⭒✵⭒ OOC Tags ✵⭒✵⭒✵⭒«

⤷ »✵⭒ #ooc post

⤷ »✵⭒ #ooc

⤷ »✵⭒ #ask me anything

[theknightmarket]

I think scripting at half 2 in the morning is my favourite hobby because your brain really just goes, ‘what is the worst situation I could put these people in’ and it magically ends up on the screen in front of me! It’s magic.

[deviatedfromtheplan]

William: Don’t go.

Damien: Why?

William: You know why.

Damien: …No. No.

William: Yes.

Damien: No, William, you’re being mean.

William: What, how am I being mean?

Damien: Stop it, stop it. I have been second to Celine my whole life in everything. And I will not be the person you settle for just because you cannot have her. I won’t, I won’t do it. I won’t- Not when I’ve spent my entire life loving you.

[manebioniclegali]

Nosy — Mafia AU

You've gotten pretty good at sticking your nose in places where certain people don't want you investigating. Unfortunately, someone's taken notice.

A/N: Gender neutral. I'M FINALLY POSTING THIS!! I've been sitting on it for monthsss. imo this works best if you don't look at the tags (unless you follow one of the character ones, in which case rip). If it wasn't for the fact I have to tag characters for this to be put out in front of people, I wouldn't've lol. It's not that much of a twist but I like the little element of (potential) surprise.

The back of your head aches, the pain intensifying into a throbbing centered around a particular point on your skull. You’re laying down; this you know. You think laying on your side is making it worse. It’s dark out.

You open your eyes. It’s still dark out.

The rope biting into your wrists and the cloth gagging you make themselves known before you register the sack over your head as the source of the darkness; you can see pinpricks of light through the weave in the fabric. You shift to get more comfortable, but find something firm and unmoving against your feet.

“They’re awake.”

A male voice cuts through the quiet, addressing someone else in a hushed tone. It’s not as silent as you once thought, the sounds of cars bleeding through. You slide a little as they take a curve too sharply. Someone leans over in the seat by your head, maybe making sure you won’t fall onto the ground. Or maybe some other reason. After all—

Wait. Am I really being kidnapped?

Last you remember, you were following a lead on another business that might have been a mob front, one that you think could have led you to a prominent member of society, and it brought you to a part of town you thought would be fine, especially in the middle of the day. But then there was that sharp pain at the base of your skull, and the world going black…

…and now this, in an automobile going who-knows-where, with who-knows-who, wanting who-knows-what.

“Make sure they stay quiet,” comes the reply. You’d roll your eyes if you weren’t still groggy. What the hell else were you supposed to do? “I don’t want to hear a single sound from them.”

The person beside you pokes your back. “You hear that? Keep your yap shut.” You huff, the sound a loud exhale through your nose. His hand reaches under the bag and checks the knot on the gag. It’s caught some of your hair, and you wince as it pulls at it.

The rest of the car ride is relatively uneventful as you lay on the cracked leather seat, save for more maneuvers that leave you progressively closer to falling to the floor. You suspect they’d just let you lay there if that happened.

When they reach their destination, it’s with a sudden halt, the brakes screeching in protest. Your seemingly-inevitable destiny of faceplanting is prevented by a hand gripping your arm, although your one foot nearly makes it there. The men in the front seat waste no time in exiting the vehicle, and next thing you know, all three are dragging you out and forcing you to your feet. You don’t have time to even think to make any sounds of protest: they quickly shuffle you in a building, a hand on both of your upper arms, stopping for a minute for some undiscernable reason; you swear it’s with baited breath. Then you move forward some more, followed by a ding and the telltale sound and sway of an elevator car ascending, your head spinning and stomach flipping.

The men holding you hostage do remarkably little talking, only giving each other directions when strictly necessary. You think there’s a hierarchy, but they’ve given you nothing more that you can glean information from. Your mind is still too fuzzy to figure out why, exactly, you might be in this predicament, despite how long this elevator ride is.

The bell is barely done ringing out and the doors are hardly open before you’re on the move down some hall, where the squeaks of your shoes are the only things cutting through the air. The sound quality changes, hardwood and then carpet dampening everything, and they slow down. You’re forced to your knees with a grunt at the impact against the ground. The burlap sack is finally pulled from your head, fresher air filling your lungs at the same time that the light blinds you. You shut your eyes and instinctively move to shade them. Quite obviously, you can’t do such a thing with your wrists tied.

Eventually, you’re able to blink and squint as your vision adjusts. The first thing you spot once your eyes are open properly is the large mahogany desk adjacent to you; then the leather chairs you’re knelt between; then the rest of the office before you—bookshelves fit to bursting, a few plants, a cabinet with its secrets obscured from you, and the carpet under your feet that reaches under the desk. You try to turn your head to look more, but one of the men behind you knees you in the back, and you hiss in pain.

“Are you being rude to our guest?”

A new voice, much more pleasant than the men who kidnapped you, draws your attention to the source of all this light—the large windows behind the desk, and the man who stands in front of them, drowned out into shadow. He turns, and you can see his face for a moment before it’s gone again. “And you’ve gagged them, too?” He sighs. “Do take that off, will you? This is no way to treat a guest.”

With a huff that could be accompanied by an eye roll, the strip of cloth is untied, albeit none too gently. You open and close your mouth a few times to exercise your jaw.

“There we are.” You think the man smiles, then he faces the windows once more. “You may leave for now. Wait outside.”

You don’t turn to watch the men leave, although you do glance when the door clicks shut. The new man doesn’t speak immediately, which you are glad for, because there is something nagging you about this one’s voice, and it gives you time to figure out why it sounds so familiar. You test your bonds: no give. You’re not sure you want to see what happens if you try and stand.

“They didn’t hurt you too much, I hope?”

His voice startles you, and you hesitate in answering. Will he even give a damn about any injuries you sustained? “Well, I was knocked out…”

He huffs in frustration. “Those fools. That wasn’t necessary.” He draws closer, and you’re able to discern details about him easier: dressed in a business suit, a bit of facial hair, coiffed hair…only now do you spot the cane. This man’s identity is at the tip of your tongue; you’re sure it should be glaringly obvious, but your damn brain— “I’m sure you would have cooperated just fine.”

You consider it for a moment. You don’t think so; they were probably smart for rendering you unconscious first. They were lucky you woke up in time, though. “Perhaps.”

He smiles easily, the kind that is hard to distinguish between genuine and practiced. “Once you realized the stakes? Of course you would.”

A pang of panic mixes with your confusion. “I’m…I’m sorry, is there a reason I’m here, sir?”

The man leans against the desk, his lips twitching. “Yes, of course. We ought to get straight the point, shouldn’t we?” His eyes flick over you, sizing you up. “I am a busy man, after all. This city can’t run itself.”

City…the cane…his visage…his voice, one you can so easily envision coming through on the radio… You blanche. “Mayor Goodwin?”

Damien grins. “I’m surprised it took you this long, considering how astute you’ve been in the past.”

“A— A bump on the head will do that to you—” Your mind is reeling. “Wait, why—”

“I’m sure you have many questions,” the mayor says, “but I’m going to answer your first one: You are here because you are a rather persistent person, and you are quickly becoming a thorn in my side.” His tone gradually loses its jovality, his frustration bleeding through. “Originally, I was going to have those fellows outside pay you a visit and that be that, but you just keep poking your nose into places too close to home for me to let you slide.” He straightens up and pops his knuckles. You notice your heartbeat louder in your chest now.

Never in a million years did you suspect the mayor of all people to be involved. You figured some councilmembers, but the youngest mayor in the city’s history? The man known for his friendliness and very much not for his apparent involvement in crime? “So why bring me here, to you?” you say, more hoarse than you want. “Why not just rough me up like everyone else who goes too far?”

“Sometimes a personal message is more effective.” He’s directly before you in mere moments, despite his measured steps. You had heard and read the mayor was taller than most, even seen it from far away, but here on your knees, you feel absurdly small in comparison. You’re not sure how you feel about it. You push it out of your mind as he continues. “Violence isn’t always the solution, my dear.”

Your cheeks warm confusingly as he brings himself down to your level, squatting slowly. “Plus,” he says, tilting his head, “you are such an incredibly fascinating case.”

“I could go to the DA,” you blurt. “I could take this story to the papers.”

A laugh bursts from him. “The DA? My dear friend since college? My right hand?” He uses one chair to help him stand again. “And good luck trying to get a story to the papers without proper evidence…and my word against yours. Besides, wouldn’t you rather enjoy a long, healthy life?” Damien winks. “I think the decision is quite clear for you.”

Honestly, it really should be. But you’re nothing if not stubborn, just in your own way. “So, what, you let me go? And that’s it? I just keep my mouth shut and everything is fine?”

He nods. “Exactly.” He retreats to his desk, pausing to think. “Well, not entirely, but you don’t need to know the details.” Damien chuckles. “That’s for me to know and you to, probably, never find out.”

The unknowns cause your stomach to knot up. “I’m not going to be found dead in a ditch tomorrow, am I?” You realize once you ask that question that you should really act and sound more brave, but it’s too late now. You start to try and stand. “I won’t go missing into the bay—?”

“Stay.”

The sternness has you following what he says, returning to your kneeling position. You don’t understand what’s happening in your chest. “No. I’m a man of my word. No violence against you…for now.”

“Man of your word…yeah right,” you mutter to yourself. The mayor turns back to you, steel in his eyes.

“Do not doubt me. Did I not promise I’d protect the city?” He frowns. “I did not lie.” He returns to the large windows, outlined in light once more. “Don’t make me regret my decision.” Loud enough for the men outside the room to hear, he calls out, “Come in.”

The door opens posthaste, and the men seem to pile in, from what you can hear. “You may take them home now.”

Your blood runs cold at the idea of a man like this knowing where you live, but being pulled to your feet jostles it from your mind. They start to remove you from the room, but Damien interjects, “Oh, one more thing.”

You’re turned back to face him. He has that politician’s smile on his face again. “I suspect that, despite this, we will meet again one day. Hopefully it is for the right reasons.” Damien grins. It has a sharpness to it you can’t place. “Have a good day, —”

He ends the farewell with your full name. You don’t have time to process what that evokes before you’re out the door and the sack is over your head once more.

[otterlyinluv]

Dark is just a little black cat.

A void with eyes if you will.

Sometimes, you see a vaguely upset shadow on your wall, and because you know the drill by now, you simply reach your arms out.

A few seconds pass.

The shadows stir.

Then, Dark is in your arms, his face in your shoulder. The only thing visible from him is the tuft of black hair and his red-blue aura. Its faint buzz is the only sound in the room as you let him rest.

With the way he's pressed against you, you can literally feel his chest rise and fall ever so slightly slower. Calmer. Maybe even relaxed.

If Dark really was a cat, he would curl up in your lap and start purring.

---

I saw a post about black cats and thought of the grumpiest one of them all

[strawberryamanita]

Darkiplier feeding me Ibuprofen from their hand like a horse, and then throwing me out of their house on the soft warm conk reet 🖤

[lounaticm]

Damien Plushie

I, too, would be this happy to have a little plush of Damien.

(And a close-up. Him and his lil button eyes~)

@kiwibubbles5

[chocolatte-and-despair]

UWU

Can I get a yandere space markiplier?

Space! Markiplier

When Mark first met you, he thought that you would be a dummy that was easily manipulated. I mean, let's be honest, Mark skipped many procedures just to speed up the building process for the ship, and he hoped you would ignore everything.

You didn't. It even shocked Mark how caring and interested in everything you where. He had never met someone as passionate about a job as you. It made him feel strange.

When the loops started, Markiplier felt even more dependent on you. You acted strong, and took problems by their horns, even if most of the time, it ended up with you or him dead.

When did his feelings change from admiration to obsession? Well, that happens when you keep dying. Your feelings twist. From admiration to hatred to kinship to addiction.

See, Mark's emotions were complex. He wholeheartedly believed that you were at fault for what was going on. For his own personal living hell, but at the same time, you were the only other person who shared his pain.

Mark didn't know if he hated you or if he loved you. He only knew one thing. You both were one of the same coin, and the moment he sees you again, you're not escaping from him that easily again.

[prem-kahanii]

Requests OPEN!!

TL;DR: I write stuff in my free time but I’ve finally decided to go public! I write mostly about the Markiplier egos, please DO NOT REQUEST NSFW! Making out is fine tho. Have a lovely day and stay awesome! ❤️✨

P.S: Along with writing fan fictions for fun, I am actually aspiring to become an author in the future! So this blog will also contain my progress updates and personal drabbles and teasers!

————————————————————————

Random urge to start a separate writing blog ⁉️

I’ve got a few friends who enjoy fics of the Mark egos so I thought it would be cool to make a blog based off requests for fics of them! No NSFW!! (This means you cannot request scenes of intercourse or inappropriate touching! Make outs are fine though!) Some of my strong suits include action/adventure, romance, and suspense. Try to make your prompt descriptive if you want specific scenes in your story. Or, if you’d like to give me a vague idea to go off of, that’s awesome too!

Here’s an example of a good prompt:

“Yancy x Reader, Y/N and Yancy are already dating, and the two of them sneak off to the rooftop during the night for some time alone together. Please include cuddles and a little kissing, thank you!”

Something like that would be a great format for a prompt! Message if you have questions, have a lovely day, and stay awesome!

[lovinglettersacrosstheverse]

Just a fluffy worm! A magic fairy worm of love, here to bring you letters from beyond the verse from those you love and whom love you!

Your letters can be romantic of course, but it's not the only kind of love! Familial and platonic included.

Fandom list - aus included!

- Undertale

- Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack

- Markiplier Cinematic Universe (not rpf)

- ~Anonymous admirers~

And if you don't see a universe you were hoping for here, feel free to make a request or suggestion.

After all, the universe is always expanding

Request a letter in the mailbox from your dearest ones, and I'll see what I can find! Requests should say who you're looking for and who it should be addressed to, along with pronouns so I can connect you to the right variation! If you don't provide one, I'll try my very best to wiggle around and get you one, but it won't have a name and use they/them when addressing you. (reader insert friendly)

Tags:

Mail time - a letter!

Special delivery - a fulfilled request