#markiplier fanfics

[queen-of-nightmare-16]

WHY DOES HE, OF ALL PEOPLE, GET A F*CKING HAPPY ENDING?!?!?!?!?!?! 🤬

[thefanficmonster]

Do you do NSFW? If so, may I request a Markiplier NSFW alphabet?

Hi dear! Usually I struggle greatly when writing anything NSFW for RPF but I shall do my best. Baby steps lol Hope you enjoy <3

Pairing: Markiplier x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: !!NSFW content below the cut!!

A= Aftercare (What they're like after the act)

Mark is the absolute sweetest and most attentive lover before, during and after the act.

After he's made sure you're alright, he'd go grab you a bottle of water, a snack and a towel to clean you up. You can bet on a long cuddle sesh after the act, filled with intimacy and romance, periodically interrupted by jokes he'd crack to make you laugh.

B= Body Part (Favorite body part of their own or on their lover)

He's pretty damn proud of his hands. Years of gaming have made them particularly skillful in many ways and he knows how to utilize them just right *wink* *wink*

Oh, and also his back. He's been influenced to love it by you more so than on his own accord but still.

On you, he loves your legs and thighs. Count on him constantly having his hands all over them in both innocent and explicit instances. And when you wrap your legs around his waist....consider him a goner.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

Inside, no questions asked.

Before you got to the point of being comfortable enough for that, however, he found just as much pleasure in painting either your chest, thighs or face.

D= Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory)

Nothing helps him excel at a game quite like under-the-desk head while recording. Bonus points if it's a live stream.

E= Experience (do they know what they're doing)

Mark has had decent amount of experience, enough to be versed into how things work textbook-wise. Every skill he exhibits, however, is something he improvised at some point. But don't take that the wrong way - this man knows exactly what he's doing

F= Favorite Position

Mark is simple man and his favorite position reflects that - Doggy style (closely followed by cowgirl)

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

Oh this man is a majore league goof in general and during sex. That's not to say he can't get into character and dawn a serious and attractively intimidating front when the atmosphere of the night calls for it.

He's a perfect balance between goofy and serious, occasionally leaning far left or far right depending on the moment.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

He takes care of his hygiene rather meticulously. He keeps everything neat, trimmed and clean.

I= Intimacy (how are they in the moment)

There's never a shortage of intimacy between you and Mark during the act. Regardless of if the night calls for making love or having rough sex, there's never a lack of intimacy and closeness between you two.

That being said, I'd again say it's perfectly balanced. Whatever the night calls for is how Mark responds - be it slow, romantic lovemaking or rough and dirty sex.

J= Jerk-off (do they masturbate and how often)

He used to do it a lot more frequently before you started dating. Now, nothing can compare to the real thing. He can't find much satisfaction in masturbating but he still turns to it as a resort of release when either of you is away on a trip

K= Kink (kinks they might have)

Dear God, please forgive me for this...

Choking, spanking, hair-pulling, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, light bondage, praising/degrading (depending on what the situation calls for). Feel free to share your thoughts on this topic in the comments

L= Location (where they're down to get it on)

Every single surface in the house is game in Mark's eyes. Especially the kitchen counter and the nicely spacious shower

M= Motivation (what gets them going)

You, in any context you can think of. You don't even need to be dressed provocatively in any way shape or form. This man is just so head over heels for you, he can't help it.

Apart from that, a good ol' rage game will raise his blood pressure just right and he'll proceed to blow off some steam with you. The same works the other way around - when he's high on the success of completing a game and he celebrates with you

N= No (what they're strictly against and wouldn't try)

Anything with violent and hostile connotations that could bring you harm in any way, be it physical or emotional. He loves you more than words can describe and just the thought of hurting you fills him with dread. You both like dabbling into the occasional impact play but nothing more than that, and never without a safe word.

O= Oral (are they more of a giver or receiver)

Mark is a big fan of receiving but he enjoys giving so much more. He does it for his own pleasure just as much as he does it to bring you satisfaction. He loves every aspect of it - your taste, the tangling of your hands in his hair, the sounds you make, the bucking of your hips. It's his own personal high. He could do it for hours if you'd let him.

P= Pace (what's their pace during the act)

Again, the speed setting Mark operates on depends on the atmosphere of the night. On the regular, he likes to take it slow, prolong the experience and uphold this bubble of intimacy around the two of you for as long as he can.

Q= Quickie (are they a fan of quickies)

Nope.

The Devil is into details and so is Mark. And it's difficult to appreciate the details when working with a small time frame. He likes to take his time, worshipping you the way you deserve in the most meticulous and intimate manner.

R= Risk (how risky are they/do they like trying new things)

Oh he loves a good unconventional and borderline public location where there's a chance at getting caught. Although he prefers the comfort of your shared house it doesn't cancel out his love for the thrill of some public fun.

As for trying new things, he's down to try everything at least once - unless it falls in the No criteria I mentioned earlier. All you have to do is bring it up and you can automatically consider him signed up and strapped in, ready to try it.

S= Stamina (how long they last in bed)

The speed may or may not directly relate to how long he lasts. He can get at least two rounds - a solid hour/hour and a half - under his belt before breaking a sweat.

T= Toys (do they own and and are they down to experiment with them)

I have a feeling there is a box, hidden in a dark corner of a closer or under his bed, containing a small collection of sex toys. If you're game to use him, he'd love nothing more than take them out to play.

U= Unfair (are they a tease)

To an infuriating degree. He'd even mock you when you whine, beg or get frustrated with his teasing.

It's music to his ears.

V= Volume (how loud are they during sex)

Mark is vocal but not loud.

He exhibits his satisfaction and pleasure with mainly sighs and groans, all at a pretty low volume. But he's also very expressive during sex - praising/degrading you accordingly or dirty talking you over the edge. All in a whispered or hushed tone that makes it all the hotter.

W= Wild Card

Remember how I said he's not a big fan of masterbating? Well, when he has to resort to it he has a certain way of making it much more pleasurable...

Photos and videos you two have taken during the act or right afterwards in your disheveled states.

It's his personal collection, safely tucked away in a dark hidden corner of his computer memory.

X= X-Ray (what are they packing)

I'm sorry, I can't. I just can't. I've sinned enough tonight LMAOO

Y= Yearning (sex drive level)

Name: Mark

Status: Permanently horny

Z= Zzzz (*yawn*)

I already mentioned a cuddle sesh earlier and I will now add onto it to say that, although he tries his best not to, he does fall asleep rather quickly and deeply. How could he not when he feels so much comfort with his arms wrapped around you. When he falls asleep to the sound of your breathing and heartbeat, it's the most peaceful slumber he's ever had.

[miketheme]

SHATTER - Part 1

Next Part

Pheeeew, part one took longer than I thought it would! But it‘s worth it, it’s been ages since I’ve last made a graphic fanfic, I was a little out of practice! The storyline is finished, I will just need to draw and post it part by part :)

I’ll edit the posts to add links everytime the next part airs, to make it easier for people who find this later. Anyways, hopefully my motivation will stay up and high for the rest of this lil angsty fic!

[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

[quillpenartistz]

・❥・ Headcanon time ・❥・

╰┈➤ Here’s only a few headcanons I’ve made throughout my whole ego phase [my life basically]. Some that I have are already pretty popular amongst the community, so that must mean I’m doing something right!!!

.·:*¨༺╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗༻¨*:·.

╭┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╯

・❥・ Wilford Headcanons

╰┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╮

•⌇⌦ Can shift fragments of reality intentionally and unintentionally [he can’t necessarily manipulate all of reality itself. But he is aware of his existence and its purpose - he knows he is a character meant to play in a story and he simply goes along with it, all while manipulating and shifting the story in some ways.] His reality shifting power is similar to Wanda’s [marvel] reality manipulating powers in a way, though watered down. He can sneeze confetti, take out balloons out of thin air, spawn bubbles in his hands, teleport, and defy the laws of physics.

•⌇⌦ With his reality shifting abilities, he can turn into AU [alternate universe] versions of himself. Maybe there’s a universe where he’s a cartoon? Chibi? Horror eldritch creature? He can turn into those versions of himself in the physical world whenever he wants! The laws of those universes will then apply to the world he is in [such as onomatopoeia words appearing in physical text midair.]

•⌇⌦ He is easily distracted and can never sit still. He always tries to actively distract himself from the darker parts of his mind.

•⌇⌦ His body ‘desaturates’ similar to pinkie pie from my little pony whenever he is in a ‘dull mood’ or when someone drives him to the point of being sad.

•⌇⌦ He loves stickers a lot, he can never stop collecting them. Mischievously, he also likes to splash glitter onto anything he deems necessary [to torture people to clean it up, but he claims that it’s just to ‘liven things up’ a bit.]

•⌇⌦ Too much creamer in coffee kind of guy [“Can I have coffee with my vanilla creamer please?”]

•⌇⌦ Constantly eats and smells like fruit candies.

╰───────────

.·:*¨༺╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗༻¨*:·.

╭┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╯

・❥・ Dark Headcanons

╰┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╮

•⌇⌦ More monster than human. [Yes, Dark is all the mansion, Celine, and Damien in one walking corpse. However, overtime, as Damien fell into the role of the villain, he may have embraced it a bit much. He still cares about his sister very dearly… so much so that he made sure she’s in a permanent sleep. Celine, even in her sleep, knows about this, and parts of herself influences Damien - thus influencing Dark as a whole. He is completely merciless, sadistic, manipulative, and couldn’t care less about the consequences of his actions as long as it benefits himself and his plan. Besides, he is immensely powerful, so if he is met with his consequences, he simply destroys them.

•⌇⌦ He is also very aware he is nothing more than a character, but, he knows he’s much more than this. Because he knows he’s a character, you often see him staring at the fourth wall but never necessarily addressing it [unlike Wilford.]

•⌇⌦ Can read minds and telepathically speak to people, conceal his presence, move through shadows, mimic voices, shift shadows and blend into them, and can turn himself into a Raven. Ravens hold a lot of symbolism, but for Dark specifically, The Raven means ‘Death, bad omen, bringer of chaos, transformation & metamorphosis, and the duality of existence’. He often stalks, observes, and travels within this form of himself.

•⌇⌦ Camera’s, no matter what kind, CANNOT pick up him as a whole. Whenever a picture is taken, a video, or anything of that sort is taken of him, he will always appear as a sporadic blur of blue, red, and black. He can never be caught on any footage.

•⌇⌦ Whenever he is present in a room, depending on his mood, the ringing sound that emits from him can completely shatter ANY kind of surface. Glass, wood, stone, etc. His surroundings also turn a bit desaturated/monotone whenever he’s around.

•⌇⌦ EXTREMELY tall, eerily tall, to the point it is very obviously inhuman.

•⌇⌦ Can take form of people’s fears and/or desires [used for manipulation tactics.]

•⌇⌦ Loves being praised for any reason. In fact, he could get distracted by it… likely because he’s slightly egotistical.

•⌇⌦ His body, to the touch, is always ice cold. Just being around him gives off cold chills and makes rooms colder.

•⌇⌦ Neck twitches constantly.

•⌇⌦ He’s highly patient.

•⌇⌦ Smells like smoke and old candles.

•⌇⌦ He is constantly tired, yet he never sleeps.

•⌇⌦ He can be referred to as Damien only by Wilford as he knows it’s a comfort for Wilford rather than anything else.

•⌇⌦ Dark wisps, like smoke, often emits from his hair and leaves a feint trail wherever he walks.

╰───────────

.·:*¨༺╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗༻¨*:·.

・❥・ Bonus Short-Story ・❥・

.·:*¨༺╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗༻¨*:·.

A fuchsia haired man sat on a weathered wooden bench, the crisp autumn air swirling around him, carrying with it the scent of fallen leaves and the hint of change. The trees stood tall and dark, their skeletal branches reaching out like gnarled fingers against the dark sky. Beneath the rolling clouds of black was a light shower of cold rain, paired with occasional deep bellows of thunder. Wilford, unbothered by the weather, wore a bright yellow coat that bore a striking contrast to the muted colors of the dark day, yet he felt oddly muted himself, as if the world around him had absorbed all the vibrancy he once possessed just moments ago. He stared at the trees, his curled mustache twitching as he was lost in thought. The shadows cast by the branches danced around him, triggering a flood of memories that flickered in his mind like fading autumn light. This time of year always made him contemplative how everything seemed to prepare for a long slumber, how decay and beauty coexisted in a delicate balance. Just as a gust of wind dragged him out of his thoughts and rippled up his spine, a dark figure swooped down from the sky. It landed gracefully next to him, perching on the back of the bench; its form a sleek raven whose feathers shimmered black as the void. The raven’s eyes glowed with an otherworldly stygian energy, deep pools of darkness that could drag anything into them.

Wilford turned to the raven, raising an eyebrow. “Well, aren’t you a striking little creature?” he quipped, a grin tugging at his lips. “What brings you to my little corner of the world? Here to steal my bread?” The raven tilted its head, regarding him with an unsettling calm, remaining silent but observant. Fragments of its being would fall out of place and come back together, as if reality itself fought against the creatures existence. Wilford leaned back against the bench, hearing it creak from his weight while his expression shifted. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the roles we play, the expectations we uphold… it’s exhausting.” He glanced at the raven, as if seeking validation. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m still just a part of the show. One of the many characters in this unending, chaotic play. Am I the hero, the jester, or maybe even the villain? It’s hard to tell when the lines blur! As if I would use any scripted lines… but you know what I mean.” The raven hopped a bit closer, its gaze cold. Wilford felt a familiar chill run through him from the stare. “And then there’s the bigger picture. All those choices we make, the paths we tread. Are they truly ours? Or are we really just puppets on strings, guided by forces beyond our understanding? It’s like we’re all just fragments of a larger story, one even I can never understand, lost in a labyrinth of our own making.”

The raven remained silent, but its intensity seemed to deepen, as if it understood. Wilford sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I guess what I’m really trying to say is… I’m not sure where I fit into all of this. Sometimes I want to scream, to break free from agonizing expectation. But then I think—what if in doing so, I lose everything that makes me… me? Do I even have the power to break this? If I do, what would happen?” He would ask, hoping for an answer. With a rustle of feathers, the raven leaned in slightly, almost as if offering comfort. “You will never know until you try, William. Every great discovery begins with a leap of faith.” The raven spoke without its beak moving an inch. The raven studied the man in the yellow coat for a moment longer, and then, with a powerful flap, it took to the air, soaring high above the trees. As it ascended, Wilford felt an odd sense of clarity settle over him. He smiled softly to himself, the weight of the world feeling a little lighter as he returned his gaze to the autumn trees. In the depths of uncertainty, there was hope. A chance to steer his path towards an unforeseeable future. And it was all only a leap of faith away.

.·:*¨༺╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗༻¨*:·.

・❥Thank you for reading! If you wish to see more, request some ideas. What are you curious about the most?❥・

[jacksepticeye-simp]

Maybe a little werewolf Dark? Maybe helping him through what he can’t tell is either a chronic pain flare or a full moon coming soon? Either way, his body doesn’t like him and he is ouch. Scritches for the wolf man to make him feel better.

Pains

(I LOOOVE WRITING FOR THESE TYPES OF CREATURES! Tysm to @mothgodofchaos for helping me out with some details)

Dark entered your shared room, looking moody and incredibly exhausted. His hair was unkempt and all over the place, Despite how incredibly hot it looked on him, something was up. Dark would never let his hair get that messed up. Dark approached your shared bed and just face planted down onto a pillow. "Hi honey, you doing good?" You asked, putting your phone away and looking down at your boyfriend. "..No. I appreciate you asking though." You ran your fingers through his hair. "You wanna talk about what's bothering you, or are you going to just lay there like the edgelord you are?" A small sound akin to purring reverberated from him in response.

Dark then turned his gaze to you, he looked incredibly tired and his eyeliner was smudged. "It's merely a bit of pain, nothing big." He then moved himself closer to you, putting his head on your lap. "Is it werewolf related or just the normal flare up?" You asked, continuing to play with his hair. "I'm unsure." He replied before re-adjusting himself to have you leaning against him instead of the other way around. "Do you need anything? Where does it hurt?"

"My bad leg and my neck, but it's fine dearest. Your presence is enough to make me feel better." He said, picking up your hand and kissing the back of it. "If you need anything at all, I want you to tell me. I don't want to find you on the floor in pain again." You told him, combing your fingers through his disheveled hair. "I'm fine my love, as long as you're with me I have nothing to worry about." You just sighed and kissed him on the cheek. "I love you so much, Damien."

"I love you so much more, my little monster."

[ghiertor-the-gigapeen]

[strawberryamanita]

YES he made the unofficial trailer

EDIT: Yeah, this is wayyyyyy more unnerving than the official trailer. Mark is an expert at setting a mood/gen

[fictionalsownme]

More Than A Woman | wilford warfstache x gn!viewer / reader |

chapter one - "I've known you very well"

A/N: hi everyone!! I'm so excited to post this! Usually I spend a long time on the stuff I write but I wrote a good chunk of this in a feverish burst haha, I've been wanting to write for Wil and had such a clear idea of how I see him in my head for so long :)) This fic will probably be around 10 chapters~ish and progress will probably be a little slow but I'm also trying to get faster at my writing so I guess we'll see! Getting it down is always the hardest, then you spend a bit of time hating it, then the fixing can start! Anyway, I hope you guys like this, I love this dorky weirdo a lot for whatever reason, and I'd love to write for other egos too :) ((there might be a guest appearance or two in here in the last few chapters if plans don't change 👀)) hope you guys enjoy the first chapter at least! lmk 🥰! word count: 2.9k notes: reader is gender-neutral, similar to all of mark's stuff :) -- the title is just after the song! no pronouns or descriptors are used other than the occasional they/them. reader is the viewer (& district attorney) from wkm, adwm, ahwm, iswm, etc, but that won't come up until later. wmlw wilford. story will be mostly fluff, some hurt/comfort & angst, lots of romance and flirting! story is adapted from an idea I had for my self insert. we will get into some lore stuff (or at least my understanding of the lore 👀) and filling in gaps with headcannons, but it's mostly about wilford & reader and I'll try to explain as we go so don't worry about it too much if you don't know all of it. especially since I don't know if my understanding is always 100% accurate 👉👈 let's have fun yall! 💞

masterlist | AO3

The music playing softly over the convenience store speakers was pleasant, if slightly boring. Like elevator music— there only to help ease the passing of time. Your night shift would end soon, and the sky could be seen as it lightened more every minute through the windowed front of the building.

Other than that, the old store was quiet. Dusty. Pink and orange neon strips lined the walls near the ceiling. They overpowered the dated fluorescent lights, casting everything in a slightly peach haze. Like a dream. 

Different sections of the store were marked with neon too, the letters glowed against the wall denoting the drinks, the snacks, the hot food… You liked your little store. Even if the unyielding isolation of your work made you a bit… complacent. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d truly talked with someone.

The ice creams chilled your fingers through the wrappers as you pulled them from their box and slotted them into place. Even with the cold air of the freezer wafting over you, you could smell the cool summer air coming in the sliding front doors.

You liked to prop them open on dawns like these. The convenience store lights did draw in the occasional pestering bug, but they usually found their way out again before long. You did get a bat once. Albeit a little crazed and frantic, you were surprised to find it harmless. Maybe a little lost. Now that thing seemed like it would never leave. 

Refocusing on your task, you brushed your condensation-soaked fingers on your work apron, tied tight behind your neck and around your back, and shut the freezer door. 

The motion alert chimed a pleasant tune through the staticky old speakers as a customer entered the open doors from the street.

You called an automatic, “Welcome in~,” and went about straightening a shelf of snack bars and chocolate. You didn’t bother to look in their direction as you heard them make their way through the aisles.

“Pardon me,” said their strange, nearly British accent from beside you now. You turned to the source of the voice, the man who’d just walked in, and your eyes went to his outfit first. 

A silky-- almost sparkly in how it caught the light-- lavender shirt with mismatched buttons revealed expanses of his bare chest. It was paired with white bell-bottoms and a fake pink afro hanging half-off his head, about to fall off. He had olive skin and dark hair-- nearly black--, fluffy and sticking up every which way like hands had been running through it. Scruffy facial hair framed a thick mustache that tinted slightly pink where it turned up at the ends.

He looked… honestly, he looked ridiculous. But the 70s getup was fun, you supposed. And his eyes-- dark brown and monolid-- were handsome. Underneath all the… extra mess. You blinked, slowly, in a way that felt like waking up.

“Uh, hi. Are you coming from a costume party or something?” It was August, but you supposed it was never too early to start the spooky season. 

“Oh! Do you know of one? I do love a good costume. But no. Just the regular-sort. Just woke up from one.” He scanned the products near his head, grabbed a protein bar, sniffed the wrapper, guffawed, and put it back.

“You just woke up? Are you alright?”

“Oh, worry not, friend, this is normal for my level of reverie! I’m not even hungover!” He laughed, his hands going to his hips.

You stared at him.

“I was just looking for something to gnaw on! To nourish myself before I’m on my way.” His eyes were still traveling all over, not really seeing you.

Now in theory, a strange man coming in at this hour, acting even stranger, with his clothes disheveled? You knew you should be on your way to your safe space behind the counter to get him checked out and exiting the store as fast as possible. But there was something about him… 

Something you couldn’t place…

Instead you raised your eyebrows and relaxed against the cooler door. “Uh, I guess that depends on what kind of food you like,” You offered. After a moment, his gaze landed on you and he seemed to finally take you in. Your uniform, your crossed arms, your patient expression, your features. His face scrunched into confusion.

A moment passed, staring at each other like that. “Your shirt’s looking a little rough, you know.”

“Have we met, friend?” He asked as he began to fix his buttons. 

You watched passively as more of his chest came into view. He either didn’t notice or didn’t mind your blatant staring. You weren’t sure why you were staring, or what you were feeling as you did so. 

You weren’t gawking at his abs or anything-- well,-- not that he didn’t have abs. He did, sort of. The expanse of his chest and abdomen were tight with toned muscle. He definitely wasn’t lacking abs, anyway. Either way… this was about something different. 

You wondered for a moment if a vague familiarity was what you were picking up on, but quickly dismissed it.

“I feel like I’d remember meeting you.” 

You realized with a start that your comment could be seen as flirtatious, and added quickly, “Just, you know-- generally.”

But he just hummed and spun on his heels, turning away. You sighed and found yourself in-step behind him, hands in your uniform pockets. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Well, either way!” He started, his energy returning tenfold. “Let's see what this cute little shop has to eat!” 

For some reason, you asked, “Do you have money?” 

He froze. “Er, no~. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind what?”

“Well, spotting me of course! Let’s just say I owe you one, eh friend?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “Thought so.” 

Thought so? Maybe you did know him… 

It was your turn to squint in displaced confusion. “What’s your name?”

His voice came from behind you and you spun around, your shoes squeaking on the tile floor. When did he sneak around you? 

He bent over and twirled his hand, a flamboyant bow finally knocking the afro off his head. “Wilford Warfstache, at your service.”

“That’s your name?” 

He righted himself. “For now.” It suited him well enough, but for some reason it sounded misplaced.

… But no, either way, you definitely hadn’t met him before. You didn’t know many people in the first place, let alone someone so eccentric.

Still, you were curious about him. Curious about his personality and who he was. He felt sort of like a puzzle waiting to be solved. And so far, despite his quirks, despite how admittedly weird you’d also been acting, he’d been friendly. You couldn’t say the staring and prodding questions were too in-character for you. At least not when it came to customers. 

His hair looked softer without the wig to weigh it down-- parted at his brow and long enough to fluff over the tips of his ears and end where his neck met his spine. You reached down to scoop the curly mop of synthetic hair up off the floor.

“Where did you get this thing?”

He hummed something like ‘I don’t know’, his eyes sort of wide like a clueless puppy’s. 

“What, you just kind of have it?”

“Yea’p.”

You squinted at him, a smirk forming on your lips. “How about I do you a favor and throw this away?”

He shrugged, hummed an ‘alright’ sound, and turned away. 

“Oh no, I was kidding! God, here--!” You had to grab his wrist to stop him from wandering off further and placed the pink afro in his hand.

You had just been trying to tease him, but now you just felt bad. “Look, Wilford, you want something to eat? We have to throw the hot food out every night. You can have a taquito or a slice of pizza or something if you want.”

Then he was frozen again-- staring down at where your fingers wrapped around his wrist. Your eyes followed his gaze down and then you were staring too.

A moment passed. Then two. Finally, you let go and crossed your arms again, tucking your hands away where they couldn’t embarrass you again.

“... Fuck, I’m sorry. I-I don’t know why I did that.” You did your best to clear your throat.

But he was still stuck there. He blinked a few times and his gaze met your eyes, his brows gathering together. 

“Wh-What did you say your name was, friend?” He seemed so… serious all of sudden. So dire.

You hadn’t mentioned it yet, but told him with a hesitant voice. 

His expression blanked, eyes widening. He brought his arm, the offending afro in tow, to his chest, touching his wrist where you’d held it.

“Oh…” 

You raised your brows and asked softly, “Sorry, do you know me, then?”

“Hm?” And he blinked like his mind was clearing, like he’d forgotten you were there. 

He cleared his throat, smiled-- ear to ear-- his mustache lopsided like a cartoon. “Oh-- nevermind about that! Some food would be lovely, if you don’t mind.”

His eyes were sparkling. 

“Sure. I mean, it’s nothing fancy. Here,” And you walked over towards the front counter. Wilford trailed close behind you-- holding onto the wig in his hands like a school kid holding a lunch box-- his gaze wandering over the store again like he hadn’t seen it the first time.

You arrived at the hot foods section, a glassed-off section of day-old food over heated rods. You shrugged. “If you have a sensitive stomach, maybe don’t,” you started, “but it’s mostly fine to be honest. I eat it if I’m in a pinch, you know.”

You hopped up to sit on the counter, your legs facing Wilford, and leaned back to reach around and grab the tongs waiting there. You straightened and clapped them together twice. You offered him a smile. “What’ll it be, Mr. Warfstache?” Then a quieter, “--that was your last name right?”

“Do you gravitate towards anything yourself?”

“Can’t go wrong with a slice of pizza, I guess. Even here.”

His smile grew sort of soft. “Then that. If you please.”

“You got it.”

You leaned over again and served up the slice of moderately warm and slightly greasy pizza on a brown napkin and passed it off to him. 

“Much obliged.”

You got one for yourself too, and when you righted and your eyes found Wilford again, he was sitting in a retro-style diner chair you’d never seen before-- his feet against the edge of the counter beside you.

You couldn’t help the surprised laughter that choked out of you. “Wha-- where did you even find that?”

The chair teetered on its two legs as he leaned precariously back, tilting his head at your question. The pink wig sat in his lap and you couldn’t help thinking it looked like some weird dog.

“Well, there’s no need to worry! I’m only borrowing it, I’m not a barbarian.”

And you just knew you weren’t getting more of an answer than that.

“So who even are you?” You asked as he took a bite of the pizza, somehow pulling all the cheese right off the top in one piece. He pouted down at the offending mozzarella, slurping it into his mouth and swallowing it. “Do you live around here?”

“Mm. I don’t really live anywhere. Much more the exploring-- ever on the move-- type.”

He was so expressive. It really felt like talking to an old cartoon come-to-life or something. You turned to lean against the side of the glass cover, swinging your legs so your feet rested on the counter, not far from his still against the edge. You weren’t touching at all, but you were surprised at how quickly the two of you fell into a casual-- albeit timidly curious-- rhythm. 

“So what do you do?” And you began to eat too.

He beamed, his smile reaching all the way to his eyes. “I’m an interviewer! Warfstache Tonight, that’s what my show is called! It’s quite a professional endeavor!”

You smiled and hummed around your bite of pizza, impressed. That actually explained a lot. And it suited him nicely enough. “Sounds pretty glamorous.”

“And what about you? You can’t just be a convenience store clerk!” He seemed so affronted by the idea. Crinkling his nose, dropping his voice an octave. “How dreadfully boring.”

You winced. “‘Just a convenience store clerk?’ Ouch, Wilford…” You couldn’t help frowning down at your slice. 

 “Oh! No no, pardon me!” He let the chair fall back to four legs, waving the idea way with a panicked hand. “I only meant that… this isn't what truly stirs your passions, is it? Do you do anything at your leisure? For work or just… something you enjoy?”

You squinted at him. But you didn’t really think he was trying to insult you. And he wasn’t wrong. It just… wasn’t always the most fun when someone pointed it out. Especially like that. 

You sighed, fidgeting as you considered his question. “Not right now… This job keeps me pretty occupied. But you know, it’s not too bad. It keeps me, I don’t know, grounded I guess.”

He thought for a moment, then nodded, taking another bite. “I do hope you get more opportunities soon, then.” He said, surprisingly grounded.

You looked at him. “... Thanks.” And you meant it.

“And… my apologies for the earlier, uh, miswording.”

 “That’s fine… I’d be curious to hear more about your show, though! Have you interviewed anyone interesting or anything?”

A beat. A sort of tiredness settled into his shoulders and he peered up at you. “The odd gold-star guest did wander in from time to time. I’m not sure if my skills were quite deserving of them at the time.”

Was that… shame?

“The truth is, I couldn’t quite live up to the role. I--” He laughed, pained. He cleared his throat. “I’m taking a bit of a break from show business for the moment.”

Ah. So that’s what happened. You offered him a sympathetic smile. “To party? That’s probably why you don’t have any money, Wilford. And why you have to rely on shitty convenience store food?” You held up your greasy napkin like it was evidence.

“Now don’t underestimate the power of a good party! And this food is fine, I’m grateful for it,” He crumpled the now empty napkin and gestured wildly with it. “The truth is I get by just fine. I’m just not sure what else I should be doing.”

You looked out the front windows. The sky was getting lighter. The timer marking the end of your shift would go off any minute.

So maybe that’s why he’d been asking you about your passions. You felt bad for him. He was strange, to be sure. And a little hard to follow. But he was also… sweet. He had a softness about him.

And still… there was that feeling that hadn’t disappeared since meeting him. Like… like your soul recognized him. Maybe not deeply. But distantly. Like you’d met him in a dream. It was a ridiculous notion. Ridiculous didn’t seem beyond his territory.

You turned, legs coming down from the counter once again. You leaned forward, your hand landing at the junction of his shoulder and neck. His silk shirt was soft under your fingers. His eyes jumped up to yours and you looked down at him with a smile. 

“You liked doing your show right? You want to be an interviewer?”

He nodded slowly. His lashes fluttered. 

“Then that’s what you should be doing! You just have to try again!” You shrugged with one shoulder. “It might suck a lot. And you might fail again. But pick yourself back up. Keep going. I’m sure you can do it if you keep at it and think outside the box, you know. Failing only means failing if you stop.”

You leaned back, your hand sliding away. He stared at you.

“That’s what the rest of us do, anyway. Honestly, maybe you should do your show online! You know, livestream it or something. I’m sure you’d find your own way to it.”

Slowly, a smile crept back in, the corners of his eyes creasing. 

“What a wonderful idea…” 

God, his eyes… 

You looked down at your own napkin, laughing a little at yourself. “Wilford, I promise, the advice I just gave you was nothing crazy.”

“Well, perhaps it’s just a little too rare that I get a pick-me-up.”

You hopped down from the counter. “Swing by whenever, I’ll hand them out for free. Though, if you’re always on the move, I guess you’re probably not in town for long, huh?”

He quickly followed your lead and stood, his chair nearly falling in his haste. “Uh— w-well I, I don’t know, I could always… linger for a day or two. Hard to say really.” 

“Uh huh.” You smirked at him, raising your brows. “Well, if that constant partying you have going on brings you back here, feel free stop in, okay? … It’d be nice to have someone in here every once in a while. Well, someone friendly, anyway.” 

“Right. Will do. Of course.”

You gave him two solid pats on the chest and turned to throw the napkins away behind the counter. When you turned to face him again, he was gone.  Only slightly confused, you quickly recovered and yelled a quick, “bye~!” to the now empty store.

[i-am-true-believer]

A small reminder as you traverse this silly little website that we use to post and converse and visit our comfort characters: please be kind to each other. You don’t know what anyone else here is going through, what they're here to escape from. Remember, fandom, fanfictions, silly blogs, and comfort characters are usually someone's escape. We have that in common at least ❤️

I hope tomorrow is better than today, you are loved, you are important and you matter.

❤️💛True💛❤️

[districtattorney404]

why do I have to see this...

[egotisticaleverything]

madpat smut fic plssss (just go wild atp)

Great To Be A Liar

WARNINGS: Violence, descriptions of dead bodies, mental manipulation, gaslighting, kinda/not rlly dub-con, P in V, unprotected sex, praise kink, degrading kink, oral sex (f receives), Heathers references, sex next to a dead body, in the words of an AO3 author DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

A/N: I was so glad to get this because oml I need to make more egos content lmaooo hope you enjoy.

Word count: 1.5k

"You’ve ever taken German?" Your boyfriend perked up, still holding the gun, loose in his hand as he waved it around almost carelessly.

"No, French." You responded quickly, shooting your attention in his direction, worried by his sloppy grip on the firearm.

"Okay well, these are Ich Lüge bullets," He continued, "My grandfather snagged a shitload of em' back in WW-Two." He carried on as you listened intently, "They're like tranquilisers. Except they break the surface if the skin, enough to cause a little blood but no real damage."

"So it looks like the person's been shot and killed, but really they're just lying there unconscious and bleeding?" You ask, assuming the rest from his explanation.

"Right." He confirms, sitting back down on your bed, "See, we shoot Nate and Mark, make it look like they shot each other and by the time they regain consciousness, they'll be the laughingstock of the whole town."

"Are you sure about this?" You ask one last time, running a hand through your hair still slightly shaky.

"I've never been so sure."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You stood there shaking, unsure of how to proceed. You were stood over the body of your former colleague as blood pooled out from the wound on his neck, the shot you took wasn't pretty, It was a violent one. It was point-blank. In addition to the bullet itself causing damage, the exhaust gases trailed behind and caused additional harm. It looked like something out of a horror film, but no. No this was real. You did this. Not just you but-

"Sweetheart!" Your boyfriend called out in a sing-song voice, "I caught the runner." He smiled, dragging Mark by the collar of his uniform and practically tossing him onto the tiles.

Another wave of shock washed over you as the second man's body collapsed.

"You lied." You finally spoke, voice hoarse and weak, pathetic.

"Pardon my dear?" He asked in the same chipper tone, unsettlingly happy.

"You lied!" You practically screamed, bolting towards him and punching him in his chest. It was a fruitless effort, yet you continued punching him, repeating those two words like a prayer as if it would undo what you've done. After about a minute your punches fell weaker and your knees buckled as you collapsed into him with a soft sob. "You lied..." A final shaky whimper left your lips as his arms curled around your waist, settling with a loose grip.

"You only believed me because you wanted to Darling." He looks down at your weaker stature, "You've wanted them gone for months, you knew I was lying. You lied to yourself, even if you didn't know." his usual psychotic smirk returned to his face as you looked up, finally looking him in the eyes.

"I- No, I didn't." You retorted as you attempted to shove him off you as his grip on you tightened.

"You don't have to lie, Dear, it's me." He smiled, bringing up one of his hands to stroke your hair, "I know you, you know me." his tone made a shiver run down your spine as he continued, "You don't need to hide yourself from me."

The more he spoke the more unsure you felt, did you want this? You weren't quite sure anymore, the more words he fed you the more you believed you wanted it. The more you believed he was right. Just like he wanted, almost as much as you secretly deep down wanted them dead. Even if you never knew it until he told you, you did. you always did. As his words lulled you back into a sense of twisted security he continued to stroke your hair, loosening his grip on your waist again he stepped back slightly.

“See? Everything is alright,” He moved his hand from your hair to place it under your chin, tilting your head to look up at him as he spoke, “That’s it… Good girl.” He coaxed, rubbing his thumb along your jaw, spreading the still warm blood that covered his gloves as he leaned down and pulled you in, kissing you softly.

A weak moan escaped your lips as he moved his hand from your waist to cup your ass, placing you up on the desk as his kisses grew more frantic and hungry. Your arms reached up and wrapped around the back of his neck as he slowly made his way down, your jawline to your collar and eventually just above your shirts neckline.

“May I?” He asked, as if it was even a question at this point. He had you wrapped around his finger like the pathetic shell of a woman you were.

You frantically nodded, causing him to practically tear open your shirts buttons, leaving small bites and kisses as he went. The cooling sensation of his saliva trailing down your abdomen sent shivers through your entire body, every hair felt as if it was standing on edge. He soon found himself kneeling between your legs as they dangled off the edge of the table, he looked up once more for approval causing you to instantly undo your pants for him, granting him access.

“You’re eager aren’t you?” He teased, pulling down your pants tantalisingly slow. You impatiently whined as he did so, before being met with his hot breath against your wet pussy as he looked up at you. “So wet for me eh? Or did all that murder turn you on?” That smug look still displayed before he suddenly buried his face in your cunt not dating to give you time to think about what he said. He mercilessly lapped at your pussy, nose bumping into your clit as he did. The mixture of sensations sending waves of pleasure through your body, the low vibrations of his groans added an extra layer of energy causing you to let out an ear ripping moan. You buried your hands in his hair, pushing his head deeper between your wetness as you gridded up against him. No coherent sentences were anywhere near being formed in that brain of yours, you were practically short-circuiting as he ravaged you. Soon a tightness in your core began to build and you felt your movements gaining franticness as you approached your climax. Your thighs wrapped around your boyfriend’s head, so hard you were surprised he didn’t burst. A wave of bliss washed over you as you reached your high, cum drenching his face as you rode it out. The only thing leaving your mouth was an unintelligible string of curses and blubbering as Mad finally detached himself from you, face drenched and chest heaving.

He stood up and slowly undid his belt, “We aren’t even close to finishing.” He breathed, still slightly puffed out. His pants soon hit the floor accompanied by the metal clash of his belt, as he stepped back between your legs he loomed over you. Slowly he pulled down his boxers letting his cock free, leaking pre-cum like a faucet as it lay flush against your thigh. “Ready?” He asked one last time, a hand travelling to your hip as he spoke.

“Yesyes-Fuck yes.” You sputtered as he lined himself up before slamming into you without warning. The sudden sensation and fullness sent a shockwave of sensations through your body as he began to thrust causing you to release a loud high pitched scream from the mix of pain and pleasure.

“C’mon Doll, you can take it.” He mutters to you, pushing you back down on the table, “Atta girl, fuck you’re tight…” he continues to thrust, unapologetically hard and fast, absolutely destroying your g-spot as his sweat covered upper body wains over you like a giant, one hand on your waist and one holding him up on the table as he fucks into you. “God you’re such a slut eh’?” He teases sensually, “Letting me fuck you next to two dead bodies. Sick fuck.” He’s degradation causes you to let out another ear-ripping moan. He was right. You’re so dirty, letting a man who tricked you into killing your colleagues fuck you next to their dead bodies? How much of a slut were you?

Soon you felt the same sensation as before, you were coming close to your climax. And by the now franticness of Mad’s thrusts, he was too. As his thrusts grew more sporadic the knot in your stomach tightened before your back arched up, letting out a high pitched groan as you hit your second orgasm. Soon your boyfriends thrusts sped up even more, as he worked you through your orgasm the sudden tightness of your pussy caused his to crash through him, letting out a low groan as he slumped over on top of you.

The room fell silent, the only noise heard was heavy breathing. Soon enough Mad pulled out, quickly tucking himself away with a simple, “we’ve got to go.”

[thefanficmonster]

hiii could u do some markiplier x reader cuddle / affection headcanons? thank u :^)

Of course darling! Hope you enjoy 💕

~ Lots of love, Vy 💌

Softy Mark Headcanons:

Mark is such a cuddly teddy bear there is no doubt about it

Especially when he's tired

When he's away for any sort of trip the main hardship for him is having to sleep alone without you

The thought of coming home to you, sleeping in your shared bed with you in his arms is what keeps him going all throughout the trip and the way back

You can barely convince him to at least take a shower or maybe eat something before he dives in bed, requesting your company by his side so he can sleep soundly

Even when you two have an argument, which is a rather rare occasion, neither of you can sleep without the other's presence beside you

Chances are, come morning, you'd find yourself entangled in each other's embrace and the fight will be far off your mind

Good luck remembering what started the squabble or even holding a grudge

That in and of itself is a task and a half for you

It's impossible to hold a grunge against Mark

He'll kiss and tickle you into dropping the frown and replacing it with a smile

His way of apologizing always successfully provokes a laugh out of you which is basically your white flag of surrender

Mark, unlike you, is not ticklish so you can't even use that weapon against him

To be frank, it's his best bet at getting a giggle or a laugh from you no matter what is troubling you

'Good morning', 'Good night', 'Bye', 'You're home finally' kisses are mandatory

All others are a surprise attack

You'd be sitting around reading a book or maybe you're doing chores around the house

Good luck finishing whatever task you have at hand in a timely manner if Mark is home

He'd sneak up behind you stealthily and before you know it you've been enveloped in his arms and you feel the warmth of his lips on your neck

You too have developed your own surprise/sneak attacks

You'd sometimes make your way into his recording room if he hasn't left it for hours to steal him away from his work

You've seen first-hand how much he tends to get lost in it and forget about his basic needs

Luckily, you could never forget

You bring him snacks and drinks

You send the fluff duo Chica and Henry to distract him and give him a break when he refuses to do it himself

And past hour 5 you just straight up go in there to drag him out, convincing him that he is allowed to take a break and even postpone his work

Usually that break consists of takeout and a movie you two enjoy cuddled up on the couch where you eventually fall asleep

Work, chores, outside world - all but forgotten

[neenthebean11]

a lesson in darkiplier's fucked up moral code

dark doesn't like lying (or at least he says he doesn't) but does it a lot more than he means to. He's as honest as much as politeness will allow with most things while talking to the other egos. However, he is very manipulative in other settings if it gets him what he wants. And with the other egos, he'll lie to:

pretend he's within tolerable parameters

keep the egos from massive amounts of despair or worrying (no he doesn't care about them where'd you get that idea)

put them in check if they step too far out of line

Dark will do a looot to get what he wants. Information about Actor, about some secret he believes someone is hiding from him, and- okay, well, it's mostly intel about Actor's whereabouts. He's not above doing anything. Kidnapping, stealing, threatening, manipulating, gaslighting; though he does see murder as a last resort. It's an option, sure, but only to be used when all other ones have been exhausted. Senseless, cold-blooded killing is baffling to him as he can see no reason why a sane sapient being would kill for fun. (Yes, this has caused tension between him and Wilford. and anti but thats a different story)

Legality in general means nothing to him. He does, however, refuse to jaywalk.

Because jaywalking is stupid.

[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 :)

[jazz-fics]

Trying to write as someone with ADHD:

Goes on Pinterest to find House MD pics for my House MD fic…

Looks at Markiplier memes instead.