#markiplier x reader fluff

[fuck-i-burnt-the-tea]

𝑬𝒖𝒅𝒂𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒂 - 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝒈𝒏! 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

Scenario: You're the significant other (and editor) of Markiplier, and he notices that you've been overworking yourself

Warnings: none, just Mark being a cutie patootie <3 no gendered pronouns used, reader is referred to as "you"

Eudaemonia: the state of being lucky

You were currently working on editting a video for your boyfriend, Markiplier. You had gotten the bulk of it done, but there was just a little more to do. You knew it was getting late, but what's the harm in wanted to finish your project?

Your boyfriend apparently, that was the harm. He gently knocked on the door before letting himself in, and when he saw that you were still working? Oh boy, he was not pleased.

"It's late, love", he said, cocking an eyebrow as he folded his arms across his muscular chest.

You sheepishly looked up from your laptop, before playing a small smile on your lips. "I know baby, I'm almost done, I promise" You said softly, rubbing your eyes and blinking.

However, he did not take that for an answer, simply walking over to you, closing your laptop, taking your headphones off, and picking you up like it was no big deal. "Well, you're done now. Take a break, will ya, doll?" He chuckled, carrying you to your shared bedroom.

And honestly, you were tired, so you didn't protest, just letting him place you on the soft mattress, pulling the blanket over you.

Eyes half closed, you felt his weight on the opposite side of the bed, and his arms were quickly around you. "You overwork yourself sometimes, just let yourself breathe once in a while. The work is gonna be there, but you know you don't perform your best when you're tired, or stressed. Just get some rest love, I promise you'll have time to edit that video, just not right now" He murmured in your ear, placing gently kisses on your cheek and jawline.

And you knew he was right, the video would be there tomorrow, and right now, it was important that your mind and body were well rested.

A/N: sorry it's short!! I have a bunch of ideas to write but I figured that I'd just get this one out first 😭😭

As always, likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🫶 As school starts back up, remember to take breaks and remember that your mental health is more important! Take care of yourself, physically and emotionally. Your body does a lot for you, so treat it nicely 💋

☆ like what you've read? masterlist

[samantha-rae-velcher]

"I'm sorry, honey."

Markiplier x youtuber!Fem!reader

Warnings: not really any warnings, Mark raises his voice, swearing.

Requested by: None

A/n: I'm just laying in bed watching Mark raging while playing Getting over it, I had to make this.

Summary: Mark is playing Getting over it, y/n steps in while he's in a moment and he raises his voice with her.....DUN DUN DUN! WAS IT A MISTAKE!? DOES HE NEED TO GET HIS ASS IN GEAR!? Im kidding I love Mark❤️

____________________________________

Y/n was downstairs editing one of her videos on the couch, when she heard her boyfriend, Mark, screaming upstairs.

"What the fuck? Is he okay?" She asked herself.

"Nooooo! You son of a bitch! AHHHHH! I FUCKIN HATE YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!" He yelled.

Y/n looked up at the ceiling, she didn't have the slightest idea who he was saying that to, why he was so angry, and if she wanted to go upstairs to find out.

She closed her laptop, took a deep breath and headed up. As Y/n made her way up the stairs she could hear objects being thrown around in his office, she cringed when she heard a loud bang.

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT!" He yelled once again.

Y/n gripped the knob and slowly opened the door, Mark was standing in the middle of the room out of breath with his hands in his hair. She looked around the room to see he had thrown his mouse and his chair.

"Mark?" She asked in a quiet tone.

"What the hell is it!?" He responded in a harsher one.

Once he saw her flinch and the look of fear and hurt in her face he immediately regretted it. Tears threatened to fall and she nodded.

"I can see your having a moment, I'll leave you to it. Just calm down and d-don't break anymore things."

He took notice to how her voice broke, he felt terrible but yet still so angry. He didn't mean to say it like that, his heart sank when she closed the door with a loud slam, and he heard quiet sobs moving away from his office.

Mark grabbed up his chair and set it in front of his desk, he took a seat and slammed his hand down on the wooden surface.

"Shit....fuckin shit, I messed up. Holy fuck, guys....I messed up. I'm gonna go apologize, this game is a fuckin nightmare." He cursed.

Mark stood and left his office, walking down the stairs he saw Y/n standing in the kitchen crying. He walked over hesitant to touch her, Mark slowly pulled her into a gentle hug.

"Shh shh shh, I'm so sorry." He whispered. "I didn't mean to raise my voice with you, the game just pissed me off and I wasn't thinking."

Y/n rested her head on his chest, Mark stroked her hair as he rubbed her back. He shushed her and kisses her head trying to calm her down.

"I'm sorry, honey. It'll be okay, I won't do it again."

Y/n wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into an even deeper hug.

"I know, your anger wasn't towards me it was towards the game." She said.

"Do you forgive me?" Mark asked.

"I might forgive you if you use some of that dominant energy up in the room."

He smiled and connected his lips with hers...

"Well then, little one. Fallow me."

THE END ❤️

[creat0r-cat]

Markiplier x Teen!Daughter! Reader - Memories

requested by: @azullluna

_______________________

Definition key:

Bold: Answering a question (both Mark and (Y/n))

Normal: Talking or remembering something

(M/n): Mom's name

(Y/n): Your Name

(YT/n): YouTube Name

_______________________

"Wait! You don't want to do this! Don't do it! No! NO!!" The Fischbach household was filled with laughter as a screaming Markiplier was hit with a blue shell by his daughter, (Y/n). "Get wrecked, Dad!" 

Her Yoshi raced past his struggling Mario, gaining the first place spot. They were only halfway through the course, but the last lap was always a battlefield, no matter what place you were in. 

They were streaming Mario Kart 8 deluxe and having a Q/A on YouTube. "Alright, question time." Spoke Amy, Mark's girlfriend, after both Fischbachs finally crossed the finish line. Mark nodded, voting for a new course. 

"FandomGirl386 asks: Mark, what's it like raising (Y/n) as a single father?" 

The YouTuber looked to his right, seeing (Y/n) who was watching the screen with interest as the votes were being counted. She was a rising sophomore in highschool, (15-16) years old. It nearly brought tears to his eyes to realize how much she had grown. 

Actually, it was surprising to think about how much the two of them had grown together. 

Mark could still remember when, during his own sophomore year in highschool, his ex had stopped coming to school and refused to talk to him. Nine months later, Mark was doing homework when there was a knock at the door. His mom and dad weren't home so he went downstairs and answered the door.

When he opened it, no one was there, but there was a box on the doorstep. Mark had been confused. Had his parents ordered something online? As he had picked up the box he almost dropped it when the sound of a crying child filled the air. 

He had quickly brought the box inside and opened it up. Indeed, there was a human child in the box crying with a note beside them. Mark focused on calming them down first, holding the child close and whispering softly, lulling them to sleep. 

When he opened the note, his eyebrows furrowed with every word he read. 

"Mark,

My parents wanted me to tell you this kid is your daughter. I was planning on just putting her up for adoption so you wouldn't know but whatever.

Her name is (Y/n) and her birthday's (birth month / day / 2005) So, yeah. You got me pregnant. The kid is your responsibility now. I'm breaking up with you. Goodbye.

(M/n)"

Mark remembered being shocked and heartbroken, and looking at the sleeping baby in disbelief. She had features similar to him and his family, now that he was searching for them. Slightly darker skin, brown eyes from what he had seen earlier, and she had (h/c) hair, something he knew was in his father's side of the family. 

How was he going to explain to his family that he was a dad? Mark remembered asking himself this as he sat down on a nearby chair, careful not to wake (Y/n). It was a beautiful name, something that fit her well. Mark already had fallen in love with his new child, but how could he care for her? 

Hours later, his parents returned and he had been about to ask them to be quiet when (Y/n) had woken up. He could still remember the shocked looks on their faces when they noticed the wailing baby in his arms as he tried to calm her down. "It's okay.. it's okay. Please stop crying, (Y/n).." 

"Mark," his father's girlfriend, Dee, had asked, her head tilted in confusion. "Who's child is this?" The amount of panick he had felt then was off the charts as he shakily explained that she was his own. His father's eyes had widened and Mark hurriedly added that he had no idea before today that he had a kid and wasn't trying to hide her from them. 

"It was tough. I mean, it's tough for all single parents to raise a kid by themselves, but I was a teenager in a poor family when I found out I was a dad, so you can imagine what that was like. But, things got easier over time. My family helped me out a bit while I was still in school so that was nice."

As a highschool student by day and a father by night, life was difficult for the new parent. The first few months had been the worst, (Y/n) waking up in the middle of the night and Mark having to go sooth her. However, she got over it and slept quietly after the fourth month, much to her father's delight.

Dee, while a little disappointed in Mark, agreed to help raise (Y/n) while he was still in school. After all, she quickly fell in love with her and had admittedly always wanted a little girl to take care of. His father took a bit more time to be swayed but also agreed to help out. 

After her first birthday, (Y/n) took her first steps, Mark being the one she walked to. He remembered crying proud tears while Dee clapped in the background. Two months later, (Y/n) unexpectedly spoke her first words. Mark had called for his father and (Y/n) who sat nearby on a playmat shouted "Dada!" a few moments later.

Mark had looked toward her in shock, as his father who had walked in just as she said it. 

When Mark left for college, he had to get an apartment and hire a babysitter. Then his father passed away around a year later. It was an incredibly hard time for Mark. Keeping up with school and his crappy job, all while raising (Y/n) who was now in Kindergarden and trying to mend the relationship between himself and his biological mother. It was incredibly tough and it worked him to the bone. 

Then Mark got put in the hospital. While he was recovering, his mother visited him and informed him that if things didn't start looking up for him financially then she would have to take (Y/n) away and raise her instead, even willing to bring the matter to court. This scared Mark quite a lot. He loved his daughter and didn't want to lose her, but knew that his mom was right in that he wasn't making enough to properly support a family.

That's when he found YouTube and started his channel. It took some time, but money started coming in and everything was looking up. Mark was in love with his new job, he was able to take care of (Y/n), and his financial troubles slowly but surely melted away. 

"And yes, there were some ups and downs in our lives after I had moved away from my family,"

Mark ended up in the hospital a few times, had low points not only in his career but in his life (friends and family dying), and still had to be there as a father for his daughter who also had her moments. However, (Y/n) was there for him just as he was for her, helping him through every bump in the road with a smile. Even now, Mark still didn't know what he would do without her. 

"But we made it out okay. And we're still here so that's hopefully a sign that I'm doing something right."

Amy smiled and read off another question. "BloodyStar420 asked: (Y/n), what is your fondest memory of you and Mark and what's your worst memory?"

A new race started and (Y/n) answered.

"My least favorite memory, which I'm still trying to forget because I feel really guilty about it, is when he and I fought after I asked him about my mom. He didn't want to talk about it because it's a painful topic and I was being really pushy so we started arguing and things got to the point where I was sent to my room. I don't think we talked to each other for a few hours."

Mark still remembered that argument. It was an ugly part of their history. She was a curious fith grader and he didn't want to talk about his ex. How could he tell his daughter that he had no idea where her mom was and frankly didn't want to know either? But she wouldn't take no for an answer and, just as she said, things didn't end well for the both of them.

"On a happier note," she continued, "I think my fondest memory of the two of us is him teaching a younger me how to play video games. I wasn't very good when I started, I mean, I was like seven or eight years old, but dad was always with me nearby, showing me the controls and congratulating me when I was able to pass a level or defeat a boss on my own. It really made me happy and still does when I think of it."

That brought a smile to Mark's face. He had been, and still was, delighted that she took an interest in video games. They would spend a few hours together, playing Mario games or other simple things so she could get the hang of handling a controller. Fortunately she was a quick learner and they were able to play more difficult things sooner than he had expected.

When (Y/n) was in fourth grade, she was introduced to YouTube after he filmed a father/daughter play-through video of FNAF. Everyone loved her, even asking to see more of her on the channel. She was like him in multiple ways. Goofy, imaginative, and an all around fun person which boosted her popularity both online and in real life.

Mark was proud of her and tried his best to be a good father. His friends also adored her, making sure that she was happy (but not spoiled). Amy loved (Y/n) like a daughter which helped motivate Mark to ask her her out, thus giving his daughter a mom figure in her life.

During eighth grade, (Y/n) started her own YouTube channel, (YT/n), which quickly became popular. Much to her delight, it gave her a new name other than "Markiplier's daughter". It also gave her even more time to delve into her interests and helped her and Mark bond when they both loved and played a game together. 

Amy once again spoke, "FurBabyKitty asked: You two act more like best friends than father and daughter. Does that bother either of you in any way?"

Mark shook his head. "Not at all. If anything, That's a good thing." (Y/n) shrugged, "If you think about it, we did grow up together so it kinda makes sense that we would act like this."

Mark looked over at her with a smirk and nudged her shoulder, making her slip up her driving and her Yoshi fall off the road allowing him to gain the lead. "Oh, you wanna play like that huh?" She laughed, speeding up to his Mario and tossing a red shell and a bomb into his path. He screamed and laughed as she once again passed him. 

"DarkShoelace asked: Mark, if you had the opportunity to go back and prevent yourself from dating (Y/n)'s mom, would you do it?"

The race concluded with Mark in second and (Y/n) in first. Mark shook his head, hugging his daughter with one arm. "No," He said fondly as he looked down at her smiling face, "I don't think I would. Everything turned out just fine."

[heaven-with-mark]

hey, i was just seeing if your requests were open? and if they are, i have a request. i’ll tell you now tho so it’s not a huge long thing- pretty much just a fluffy moment with mark where he’s laying his body between his s/o’s thighs with his head pressed to their chest. maybe sweet talk happens, i’m not sure. i just want more mark worship of thighs 😭 thanks lovely!!

"𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨"

Unwinding from a long day, dinner ate and leftovers stored in the fridge. Tired, minds slowing, limbs aching. TV humming, lights soft, house warm. 

Beyond thankful you urged Mark to buy a couch with larger cushions, because it allowed for moments like this. Thighs spread, knees hiked up, Mark on his own between them. Your ankles locked behind his legs, keeping him from leaving; as if he even dared to move. While your lovely boyfriend was focused on some bogus TV show thrown on, his hands roamed your bare thighs, slow and idle on their own accord. There was high chance he didn't even notice the movement his own body was doing, just for the fact alone it was a normal occurrence.

More often than not, your evenings were spent downstairs, on the couch finding shows or movies of interest for the night. Mark liked to swap off dinner duty every other night, though in the end the other always butts in to help just minutes in. Cleaning was also done as a duo because it was easily over within maybe twenty minutes. 

Entranced by the show yourself, you barely register the movement of Mark's hands until they both stop mid-thigh to squeeze, gentle but reminding of his touch. That makes you turn, eyes flit from hands to face as you notice how alike he was to a child zoned into an iPad; you mocked him as a child for being on his every time without fail. His hands don't relent, his attention doesn't waver, not until you twitch a leg and he looks down to where his palms sit. "Why are you so warm?" Mark huffs, not at all upset but feigning jealousy. Your body tended to run hot, leaving you to deal with a very clingy boyfriend under the blankets, leeching your body heat and stealing kisses.

"What if I'm not warm and you're just cold?" You purr, quiet, almost drowned out by the TV. Mark squints at you as his hands continue their path, dragging softly up and around your thighs in random tracks. The moment he trails across inner upper thighs, he hesitates before squeezing. He's no longer watching your face, instead staring down at the way his fingers sink into the doughiness, the way it looks squished under his broad palms. The moment you turn to look away, face flushed a little warm, Mark is nudging your thighs apart a little further to make space as he ungracefully drops his body between them. Head to your chest, turning the same way your attention is, one hand making its way behind your back just in case you think of getting up. After a moment of contemplation, His other hand reaches to hook under your thigh and grasp at your calf. Thumb strokes soft skin, not a word spoken. "I love you," Mark croons, drawing little hearts into your back. "I love you more!" You laugh, turning to press a quick kiss to his hairline.

[selfindulgentramblings]

"In His Eyes"

| markiplier x fem!reader

warnings: none

rating: fluff

word count: 711

notes: this is just a silly cliché scenario but its cute af so i wrote it anyways. i’m super happy with it and i hope it makes you smile :)

☆⭑✦⭑☆

Mark ran his hands through his hair, exhaling as he leaned back in his desk chair. He closed down the game he had just finished playing and shut off his computer. He had finished his work early, which doesn't happen often. Striding down the hall, he huffed as he shook his hair out of his eyes unsuccessfully. He tried to remember what you’d told him you were doing today. Something about errands, but he wasn’t exactly sure. He was really hoping to spend some extra time with you.

His thoughts were quickly interrupted as he reached the top of the stairs, music floating into his ears. He stilled, as he listened carefully to the sounds coming from below; you were singing. Loudly. A smile crept onto his face, and he walked slowly down the stairs, being mindful to not make a single noise, in fear of disrupting the moment.

His smile turned into a grin as he took in the sight in front of him. There you were, in all your glory, dancing around the kitchen. You had headphones over your ears, and your eyes were shut. You were still singing along, and he was now sure it was a Taylor Swift song, or something of that sort. You knew every word. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing at the adorable the scene in front of him. You spun around, lost in the moment. He could've sworn you were an angel, or maybe a deity of some kind. You were perfect. He was truly mesmerized by you, glued in place, staring as your energy lit up the room. After years, you still somehow managed to set butterflies loose in his stomach and cause his heart to want to jump out of his chest and into your arms.

You were really getting into it now, jumping up and down and holding your invisible microphone. He nearly melted right there, just seeing your sweet, blissful smile. You whipped around, and in a big showy fashion, belted out the finale; opening your eyes to find yourself face-to-face with your boyfriend, who was leaning against the doorframe, laughing softly to himself. You all but threw your headphones off of your ears, gaping at Mark as he continues to smile at your antics. Your face grew hot, crimson creeping its way across your cheeks and down your neck.

"How long have you been, uh... here?" you asked sheepishly, cringing as you felt your already red face turn a deeper shade.

"Cruel Summer, right?" he teased, chuckling softly and shaking his head. "Your performance was pretty amazing. Maybe you should ask Taylor if you can join the tour."

"Oh, fuck off."

"You could probably start your own tour, actually. Give her a run for her money," he continued, a smug grin plastered on his face.

"I can't believe you saw that," you said, a nervous smile landing on your pink cheeks. You just as quickly covered it up, burying your head in your hands. "I can't believe that just happened."

"You're adorable," he mused.

"And you're impossible," you shot, trying (and failing) to cover up the extreme amount of embarrassment that had sank into your gut.

"I'm serious, you are! You never fail to make me smile, even when you don't know it. I'm the luckiest guy in the world," he said softly, moving to gently hold your shoulders.

"You're just saying that to make me feel better," you said, staring at the ground, a smile making its way onto your face all the same. Mark tilted your chin up with his index finger, gazing lovingly down at you.

"Is it working?" he crooned.

"Maybe," you mumbled, leaning into his touch.

"Good, you'll need your confidence back when you're on that world tour," he said, dodging as you went to playfully hit his shoulder.

"You are truly unbelievable, Mark," you laughed. Abruptly, he swooped down and kissed you, catching you off guard. But before you could react, he pulled away just as swiftly.

"I know," he said smugly, turning on his heel and disappearing up the stairs. You heard him snickering to himself, not bothering to be quiet about it.

You couldn't do anything but smile and shake your head. You were so in love with him, it was ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as him.

[blvzily]

✧*̥˚ Dating Mark Would Include

You being in Mark’s videos from time to time

His fans absolutely adoring you

You being used to him screaming at random times

Him teaching you how to play some games. (Mainly Fnaf)

Being good friends with bob, wade, ethan, and tyler

Pillow fights and play wrestling

Make out sessions that end up in having sex

Cute pet names. “Babe” “Baby”

Or a cute nickname from your childhood

Catching him staring at you

Lazy bed days

Taking care of each other when one of you are sick

Him making your bad days, better

Making you laugh when you’re crying

Always wearing his clothes (especially his sweaters)

He’s extremely thoughtful. He always remember any important dates

He’s always buying you flowers, taking you out on dates, and going on trips

 Always traveling

Mainly to Cincinnati or Korea

His family adoring you especially Momiplier

Speaking of Momiplier. You two are really close. She’s constantly asking Mark how you are. Being the daughter she never had. Always asking when are gonna get married or gonna have kids

Also speaking of kids. Mark absolutely wants to become a dad; but he’ll wait until your ready. But for now Chica and Henry are your kids

Him trying to cook for you but it completely backfires

You ending up ordering Chicken and Dumplings and watching a movie

Being the best couple on YT

Could never be mine relationship’s 🫠

[emocxnteddie]

Markiplier x non-binary reader fluff? Like they have a sibling kind of relationship! Platonic obviously<3

!! Siblings From Different Mothers !!

Pair; Markiplier x NB!Reader. [They/Them Pronouns]

Genre; Platonic Fluff.

Warnings; Swearing.

A/N; BTW I decided to make the reader also a streamer in this.

Y/N was streaming on their Twitch, playing the Last of Us games. Y/N had gotten into streaming and YouTube because of their friend Mark who is very popular.

They had known each other for years and were close. They usually joked about being siblings from different mothers. Nothing could break their bond

That was when Y/N noticed their phone go off, they saw Mark was calling them. "Hold on chat, a phone call from the big guy is incoming," Y/N said into their mic, and answered the call, putting Mark on speaker.

"You on speaker, Mark," Y/N informed Mark on the other end of the phone. "Okay, hi Y/N's stream," Mark said, and Y/N laughed. "What did you need? Anything important?" Y/n asked. "Yes, well, no, actually, you think you'd be up to play phasmophobia?" Mark said through the phone, and Y/N could tell that Mark was grinning on the other end.

"Sure, I assume Bob & Wade are gonna be with us?" Y/N asked, and Mark chuckled. "Yup!" Mark said, then cleared his throat. "I'll inform the boys, see you on discord!" Mark said, and hung up.

Ed was chuckling, then turned off their phone. They logged off last of us, and paused the stream.

They soon got added into a groupchat on discord with Mark, Bob & Wade. "Hey N/N! You ready to scream on stream!" Bob said into his mic while using voice changers. "I just played the last of us so i think i can handle some more." Y/N said, and got onto phasmophobia, starting stream again.

The group had been playing phasmophobia for about two hours now, screaming, laughing and dying. "OH FUCK OFF! THIS GHOST ISN'T BEING FAIR!" Wade yelled into his microphone, groaning and frustrated. The others were laughing at his death.

"Bye Wade!" the others said in halfly-done synch as they left in the phasmophobia van. The four were just laughing and complaining, having a good time.

"Wade, how do you have the most levels yet you died the most?" Y/N snickered and looked at Wade's character. "That's a good question, but I will not answer it because I don't fucking know!" Wade exclaimed, and the others giggled.

"Hey you guys up to playing phasmophobia tomorrow?" Bob asked, and the others nodded. "Yeah, sounds good!" Wade said. "How late is it even?" Mark asked, and Y/N reached to grab their phone. "It is.. 3 am, holy shit!" Y/N laughed, and Mark groaned. "Damn, we had fun, well, goodnight my dudes!" Mark said, and the others said goodnight.

Everyone left the call, and Y/N ended the stream. They loved playing with Mark & his friends, it felt like family bonding.

[coff33notforme]

hihi my birthday is coming up soon! i was wondering if you could write how darkiplier, damien, or even engineer mark would react of them not knowing and finding out the day of that it’s my b-day! i hope it’s not too confusing…

A/n: HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY ANON!! I hope you have a great one! ^^, I hope you don't mind that I just did Engineer Mark, I was having trouble writing for the other two, but enjoy none the less!

Would feel incredibly bad if he found out it was your birthday and didn’t know

Especially since the whole crew knew and had been wishing you well and presenting you with gifts throughout the whole day, much to Marks confusion 

He’s on his hands and knees for forgiveness right now

He’ll do absolutely everything to make it up to you no matter how much you reassure him he’ll insist, so there's no real point in arguing with him

There's not that much you can do in space, and even if there was there's certainly not enough time when your the Captain

But Mark is determined to make your birthday a great one, anything you want or need he’ll do it for you

Hungary, but don’t have enough time to make something? Marks got you, Necks cramped but you don’t have time to take a nap? No problem

He’ll try to whip something up for you the day of, but it probably doesn’t go as planned, it was a nice thought though

And even when the days done, Mark hasn’t finished everything he set out to do

Before you settle down getting ready for sleep Mark knocks on your door

Confused you open it, immediately skeptical as to what could have possibly brought Mark here at this time of night 

He’ll simply hush your questions and concerns as he leads you to a distant room in the ship

But as soon as he reveals what he was planning to you, you gasp in delight

In the room Mark set up a small picnic blanket, covered with your favorite snacks and homemade desserts, you don’t know how he managed to acquire all of the sweets but frankly you didn’t really care

Marks eyes twinkled as he watched the excitement spread across your face, Mark let out a surprised yelp when you threw your arms around him, before he chuckled, hugging you back with the same intensity, smiling as you held each-other

“Happy Birthday Cap.” 

SPACE BIRTHDAY WOWOWWO

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

between unsteady fingers and stuttering heart

Heist!Mark x reader | Words: 959 | Read on AO3

You are peeling potatoes in the kitchen while Mark runs through plans for the next heist, and you mentally make a note of everything you'll need to pack as he does so.

The date of the job is set for next week and in all honesty, was a rather abrupt decision, but sometimes you just have to take the windows of opportunity when they arise. Money has been tight as of late; this is essentially your equivalent of a quick cash-grab.

This particular heist required minimal planning and effort, but the location is some ways away, so the pair of you would be staying somewhere to lay low overnight once you get away with the goods, before making your way back home the following day.

‘— so we'll have a couple possible exits to work with, but we should be able to make a clean getaway no problem.’

‘That's good.’

‘Oh, and I managed to book a room for the night but since the whole thing was kind of last minute, they were pretty limited on what they could offer us, especially with our current budget. Bed's pretty big though. We can share.’

Your eyes widen at that, mind briefly unfocused just long enough for the blade to slip too far.

‘Ah–! Shit—’

Mark's head shoots up at your pained exclaim, rushing to the counter where you are standing as soon as he catches a glimpse of the blood trailing down your hand.

‘Oh shit, how'd you manage that?’ he asks, voice littered with concern.

He grabs and hands you some tissues to soak up the blood, and you cradle them around the cut on your thumb.

Moving to the sink, you run it under the water.

‘It's not too deep but the bleeding isn't stopping…’ you say, turning off the tap.

‘You're gonna need to wait a couple minutes for it to clot. Here, let me see.’

He holds out his hand and you instinctively give him your injured one to inspect the damage. It's minimal, really. More of an inconvenience than anything.

Mark hums with a concerned frown. ‘Better take care of it.’

He reaches out to flip open the door to one of the kitchen cabinets, rifling through various shelves.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Looking for the first-aid, duh.’

‘Mark. I don't need first aid, it's not a big deal.’

‘At least put a Band-Aid on it.’

You sigh. ‘Fine.’

He takes out an antiseptic wipe and a plaster and once again holds out a hand expectantly.

‘I can do it myself,’ you say blankly.

‘Well clearly not,’ he retorts. ‘You can't even handle a knife without hurting yourself right now, apparently.’

‘Oh, please, I was just… distracted.’

‘Oh yeah? What was so distracting?’

You sigh in frustration, not having a response (or at least no truth you care to give) and give him your hand defeatedly.

He guides you to sit down opposite him, resting your arm on the table, and you keep your hand steady as he wipes the surface of the cut.

‘You're being extra.’

‘I'm being safe, do you want it to get infected?’

It stings a little, making you wince slightly, and he mutters a small ‘sorry’.

You can't help but take note of how gentle and calm he is as he handles you. Mindful and delicate. Your eyes drift from your connected hands up to his concentrated gaze, where they stay for a moment, watching the slow movement of his dark eyes.

You know for sure he would try to play down his own, actually serious injuries; it's happened before — and in the midst of your worry you didn't hesitate to give him a mouthful for his recklessness.

This is such a simple task in comparison, and yet the care with which he patches up the small, insignificant cut makes your stomach flip.

He finishes wrapping the plaster around your thumb, smoothing down the end.

‘All done! That wasn't so hard, was it?’

You mumble your thanks, looking down at your hand still in his.

‘Y'know, for someone so good with knots, grappling guns and all that jazz, it amazes me how clumsy you can be sometimes.’

‘...I told you, I just wasn't paying attention for a second,’ you say with a huff.

‘Mhm. You can't even use my distractingly handsome face as an excuse, you were facing the other way!’

You roll your eyes indignantly and he chuckles, tracing the smallest circle into your palm.

With a small quirk of a smile, he suddenly brings your hand up in front of him so his lips just barely brush your thumb over the plaster.

‘Need me to kiss it better?’ he teases, gaze flicking upwards to meet your own.

Your breath catches. There are a solid few seconds of you staring: eyes, lips, hands, before you quickly pull your hand away to your chest, flustered.

‘I– I'm good,’ you utter, vision averted to anywhere other than his smirking face.

‘Alright then. Do you need me to take over, or…?’ he asks, gesturing to the half-peeled potato on the counter.

‘Oh! Thanks, but I've got it now, don't worry,’ you reassure, with a small, appreciative pat on his arm as you get up to make your way over to the counter.

Your skin still tingles ever so slightly with the warmth from his palms. You spare a moment to wonder whether he realises the effect he has on you, before quickly shaking those thoughts from your head.

Mark goes back to his plans, marking out paths and points on his diagram and listing off escape routes, when it occurs to you what had sidetracked your attention in the first place.

Oh no.

It is going to be a long couple of days.

[theknightmarket]

"I'm glad it was you."

In which Dark and the district attorney finally unite, for good. Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - AO3 TW: cursing Pages: 20 - Words: 8,000

[Requests: OPEN]

Your return to the manor was not marked with fireworks or cheering or parades. Nobody met you at the door and welcomed you in with fruit baskets and wine. The place was just as drab and cold as it always had been, but that was fine by you. You radiated your own heat now, with a living, physical body that you could walk with, talk with, control to your beating heart’s content. The grin stretched across your face was your own slice of heaven. You hadn’t been able to keep your hands still since you left Mark’s house – the bastard that you beat, so you weren’t afraid to say his name anymore. Your fingers brushed against the curve of your cheek and danced along your sides. 

Even the rotting wooden handle of the manor’s front door was welcoming. A rough texture to remind you it was there as you pushed the creaking thing open. The empty foyer failed to dissuade you while you strutted in. 

You were confident. You were excited. You were so goddamn happy to be alive. 

“Dark!” you called, hearing the sound of your very own voice echo. It echoed! You could barely believe it. All of this felt like a dream, but you refused to accept that. You deserved this after so long, you wouldn’t let a little doubt creep in to spoil your fun. 

The air flexed around you alongside the arrival of someone new in the room. He peered round the corner of the kitchen archway at first, but within seconds he was in front of you. The ribbons of red and blue danced around his figure, the same you had seen through the barrier of a screen for weeks before and was now standing in front of you. 

Dark spoke simply, “Hello.”

And you replied, “Hello.”

You tried to hold back; you really did. The records would show that you restrained yourself for a full five seconds before you lunged forward and wrapped your arms around his waist. You savored the smoothness of fabric beneath your fingertips, but you cherished the squeeze of Dark’s own arms around your shoulders more. There were no tears, not this time, because you reminded yourself that you weren’t going to lose this. Should he let you, you would gladly spend another century in this position. 

But you were sure there were other important matters to tend to. It didn’t make you pull away, but you were aware.

“You’re very cold.” Words muffled by the jacket collar against your mouth, you gladly forfeited the joke for the comforting pressure he provided. 

“Does that bother you?”

“Nope.” 

His laughter was music to your ears. Deep, genuine, dare you say, dark. You were slightly mad that you weren’t strong enough to swing him around, but you settled for a comical squeeze.

“You are warm,” he muttered, a coat of confusion on his statement, as though he expected you to be as cold as he was. Unbeknownst to you, he did.

“Does that bother you?”

“Of course not.”

You stayed like that for another ten seconds without shifting. This was good. You liked this. You pushed the idea of moving away back like it was an incessant dog. The normality of your old life was long lost to you, but it reminded you of knowing you had to get to work but wanting to stay under the blankets for that much longer. The height of winter, the sun not yet risen. 

You sighed, “My legs are getting tired.” And, while they were, the dull pressure rising from your knees, neither of you made any attempt to cut the contact. This wasn’t how it had gone when you first escaped the mirror. You were springy and enthusiastic back then, so this ache was likely psychosomatic, a possibility you relied on in order to stay right where you were. 

“Are you,” Dark started, then he stopped to swallow. Being this close didn’t make you a mind reader, but his nervousness was obvious either way. “Do you feel like you can talk about what happened, because I have many questions.” 

Did you? You supposed after effectively beating the hell out of Mark, you had calmed down enough to go through some of it. It was the best you would get from him; you weren’t about to get a written and signed apology. 

Gently, you pulled yourself away from Dark, but you thought it best to keep your hands on his shoulders when you saw a spark of guilt in his eyes. 

“Yeah, I think so. I mean, I have a lot of questions, too, but I’ll answer what I can.”

Dark nodded.

A second passed.

And then another. 

Dark cleared his throat. 

“Oh, you mean now.” He nodded again. “Sorry, I forgot what we were doing.” 

The chuckle you drew from him was worth the slight embarrassment. 

“That’s perfectly alright. I expected nothing else.”

When you had left the manor, you had been in a haze of bloodlust. You were prepared to burn the house down with Mark in it. Now, with your mind clear, you noticed that the few things had changed since your disappearance. The foyer that you walked through, towards the staircase, was full of more rubble than furniture. The most obvious was the pile of wood that had presumably fallen down from the landing above, but you were well aware of the splintering support beams and steps that you took to the second floor. It was almost disappointing to see the damage the place had sustained. From your perspective in the mirror, despite only being able to see a small portion of the rooms, you never saw any real effects of time. It was as though it was frozen, just as you had been, but everything caught up to it at once, leaving you to see a ruined temple instead of a magnificent manor.

When you reached the last step, you glanced along the hallway. “Is Wilford around?”

Dark hummed. Not even he could keep track of that man. “Possibly,” he answered, similarly vague as the topic was. “You’re back, that’s something interesting to lure him in, but then again, it is Wilford that we’re talking about.”

The one consistent thing about Wilford was his inconsistency, no rhyme or reason to his appearances. You thought about asking after Benjamin for a second, but spite had gotten you this far, so both the comments about your outfit were ones you decided to carry with you.

Beside the peeling wallpaper and the shattered console tables, the door to Dark’s study looked completely untouched. You couldn’t say that you weren’t surprised. It had seemed a focal point in the recent events, sweeping in and out, pushing and pulling the handle, and yet it was as good as new. Time barely touched it. 

Dark sidled up next to you and opened the door to the room. Just as it was before. The sight of it alone, outlined by sunrays streaking through, instilled a tiredness in you, though the added relaxation made it feel like getting into a warm bed instead of forewarned fatigue. You felt comfortable before you set foot across the doorway.

There was already one chair parked by the window you were facing, so Dark moved the one from his desk into place next to it. A simple gesture towards the pair made you lightly comment, “How gentlemanly.”

“I do try.” 

You enjoyed seeing him like this. When you were in the mirror, it was rare for you to see him smiling, and even rarer for it to be in your direction. You’d seen the perk of the corner of his lips when he reached whatever paragraph of the book that he enjoyed – you were always tempted to tell him to just laugh, it was obvious he was holding back the smallest chuckles. You never found out why, but, now, he was being unabashed with his happiness. 

While you were enjoying the moment yourself, a worry gnawed at your heart. You weren’t here to stare at Dark, you were here to answer questions, and hopefully, get some answers to your own. Still, you felt guilty, knowing that the peace had to be broken, and the hammer rested between the two of you.

Dark was the first to pick it up.

“Ah, well, to business,” he spoke calmly, a guise he was proud of. In truth, he was just as disappointed as you were to move on. You were smiling, too, though he wasn’t sure if you knew it. It was all the better for him because there wasn’t a barrier between you, glass or distance or memory; he could see the way your smile bent into your cheeks as clear as day. He could reach out and cup your face if he wanted to.

To business.

“I have to ask,” he began, settling back in his chair, “how did Mark get you out of the mirror?” 

Your reaction was immediate and volatile. That smile turned into a grimace at the mere mention of that man, so Dark was quick to continue.

“I know the circumstances on your end, but I had only just found a way to take down the mirror’s barrier, let alone get you out, and that was with Celine’s help.”

You sighed. It felt good to breath, as weird as it was to say, in a confined space. You drew as much comfort from that as you could.

“I’ll be honest, I don’t know specifically how he got me out, but, when he did, he just snapped his fingers—” You copied this action, and the click reverberated against the walls and molded with the small rings of light emanating from Dark, “—and I was gone.”

That was what he had feared. Mark hadn’t needed a book; he hadn’t needed anything but the experience of the void in order to bend it to his will. He could do anything, and had done something, on a whim. Having been a part of the void was not the same as practice, it seemed. That thought scared him.

“Do you know why Mark did this?”

Your simple answer was, “Bragging rights.”

Dark knew that. When Mark had appeared in his office, he told him. Flaunting, he had called it, and teased him with the fact that taking you didn’t matter to him while it meant everything to Dark. Despite all the proof, there was still something inside him that hoped it wasn’t true. He didn’t want you to just be a pawn on the chessboard, caught in the middle and then captured because it was convenient – because that meant that if he had not talked to you on that fateful night, you wouldn’t have gone through any of that.

The undertone of pleading was hidden by a groan. “Anything else?”

“Why would there be.”

You sat in silence for the rest of that moment, thoughts overcoming you in a way that got on your nerves. Against your will, they latched to the image of Mark beaten to the ground. What was he doing now? Was he planning? Was he recovering? Or was he doing what you largely suspected; getting ready for his next scene in a makeup chair to cover up the cuts and bruises, not a goddamn care in the world. Because the villains always lost and the heroes always won, and it wasn’t a mystery which role he saw himself in. He would find solace in thinking – knowing – it would turn out right for him in the end.

You felt a pressure on your hand. The one that lay on the arm of the chair was now covered by a gray one. Just yesterday, that might have seemed unnatural, but, this time, it reminded you to take a deep breath and look at Dark. He was calm, so you should have been, too. In and out.

You nodded with a small, tired smile for him to continue.

“You’re warm.”

“Yeah, we’ve established that.”

“No,” he laughed lightly, “as in you’re not cold.” His fingers curled around yours, as though having more contact would help him to figure out this confusing aspect. “Whose body is that?”

You hadn’t considered that. Getting you out of the mirror was one thing, but your old body was, well,occupied. But, after a second of thought, you were pretty sure you had an answer. You brought your legs up and your hands to your eyes, not enough force to drive the balls of your thumbs into your sockets, but enough that you could ground yourself.

“Well, it’s not mine, that’s for sure. Someone Mark deemed unimportant, which, in his eyes, could be anyone.” You felt Dark coaxing your hands away. You let him, until they were in your lap again, and he was holding them tighter than before. “But he wasn’t caught, so it can’t have been anyone socially important, either. I-I don’t know.” 

His thumb brushed yours. You put one foot on the ground and tucked the other under your knee.

“And you have needs?”

That hit you like a freight train. 

“I’m sorry?”

Dark didn’t look phased. He had the slightest tilt to his head and his hands stayed right where they were. Given his thought process, it made sense.

“You need to eat, drink, sleep?”

“Oh!” You weren’t given enough time to fluster, taken from one to one hundred and back to one, so you wasted no time in confirming, “Yeah, yeah, I do, and so does Mark.” 

This was the most perplexing part of you to Dark. The whole pseudo-dying and resurrection, he understood that, he had gone through it himself. However, you were much more human than he was. The taste of food in his mouth was lost to time for him, and yet you needed exactly what anybody on the street needed. You fit in well enough with them, while he was confined to the manor. The entity that made him who he was kept back everything else. His humanity. Earlier in his life, he would have appreciated it.

The patter of rain drew his attention to the window. A gloomy day to suit the topic of conversation and the moods you had both been moved into. It was difficult to confront it all, but you had to, and you knew that. You had to move forward with everything, but the concept was warred over in your mind.

“It’s a pity Celine doesn’t have any books on necromancy,” Dark said, “I wish I could be of more help to you.”

Whether it was the time spent in the modern world or the century since you’d used your manners, you found yourself barely stifling a laugh and eyeroll. “Are you serious?” A glance towards him told you he was. “I’m the one who was missing a batch of their memories, you can’t be the one to forget our conversation.”

He didn’t respond in the pause you gave him, so you sat forward further to look him directly in the eye.

“The self-loathing, Dark, it’s not good for you. You’re also just wrong.”

You held your clasped hands higher between you. “Without you, this wouldn’t be happening. I’d be locked behind glass or trailing after Mark like a puppy. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the one who got me out, even if you don’t believe it.”

All it took was lifting his hands slightly for you to lean down and kiss them. On your end, it was an appreciative gesture that occurred to you from somewhere unknown. On Dark’s end, he froze, meaning you were the only force to lower his hands to where they originally were. His eyes flitted around your face, like a bee searching for a flower. He never found the confusion or regret that he assumed he was going to find, only honesty, and he didn’t know how he should react. It was no secret that he wasn’t the best with social cues, and neither were you and neither were any of the others in the manor. The only thing that he felt right doing was letting slip the little smile that danced at the corners of his mouth. So, he did.

The emotion behind it changed when you asked, “But, uh, do… do you think Mark’s able to put me back?”

You were scared, and that smile softened to a comfort, as best as he could.

“After the state you left him in, I don’t think he’ll be able to put himself back.”

That image flashed in your mind again, your eyes losing focus and your jaw clenching.

Dark rushed to continue, “It doesn’t matter. He’s not going to get the chance. Now when you’re here.”

Albeit unspoken, he hoped you understood; not when you were with him.

“You’re right, it doesn’t matter. Look, this is my first real day of being out, and I think I’d rather do anything than keep talking about Mark, so could we…?”

“Whatever you want.” He hadn’t expected to get even this far with his questioning, and there wasn’t much else he thought you would know. At least, nothing worth drudging up the experience again. “Though I can’t promise a sunny stroll through the gardens.”

The raindrops were pelting the glass even faster now, a group of storm clouds swept in with it. Weather like this didn’t worry you, but you wanted to spend some time with Dark, and he wasn’t about to go dancing in the rain with you for himself. So, you sat and thought for a few seconds, and then an idea struck you.

“I know what we can do.”

Despite you keeping the plan to yourself, Dark got up when you did and followed you into the hallway again. It didn’t take long for you to wind up at the door to the library, and his hesitance catching up with him was just as quick. You had already seen the carnage he left behind in there – why you would want to get close to the room, he didn’t know, but you gladly strutted in regardless with your arms spready out wide.

Did you think things would be different? No. You knew fully well that it was going to be as bad as it was when you had searched for some memories. Dark’s frown made it obvious he wasn’t going to repair anything, and the thing about being dead was that you couldn’t touch anything, so that ruled out Benjamin. Wilford wasn’t around enough to devote any time to a project, if he was able to stay focused long enough, anyway. And who did that leave?

You spun around, back against the wall and hands settled on your hips, and announced, “Cleanup duty.”

Grabbing one of the more intact books that was within your reach, you stepped forward and threw it to Dark. He caught it without a second thought, though not yet done processing the situation.

“Can’t make a new start without fixing the old one, right?” you said as you moved towards the first bookshelf that needed de-toppling.

Your companion watched you, hands clutching the book. The leather binding was bent away from the pages, and some of those were shedding from the glue. The knicks and gouges were a feature of every book that he saw, but this one had three sizeable dents in the sides, and, when he opened it, the first paper was labelled at the twenty-seventh. 

And yet, he couldn’t help but concede, “If this is what you want to do.”

Your bright smile was all the push he needed to place that book to the side and help you to reset the room.

It was an endeavor, to say the least. The shelves and cases were heavy, but it was harder to avoid stepping on the remains of encyclopedias and journals. Paper was strewn on every inch of the floorboards, and you were not proud to say that you almost slipped over once or twice. A side-table had to be made right, and, underneath, you found the missing pages of the book you had thrown to Dark. With them all in one place, you safely moved the copy to the salvageable pile. Somewhere along the way, roughly half an hour in, you had developed a system. The utterly destroyed books were packed in one corner, ready for an unknown future. Dark felt the rush of guilt whenever he added to the steadily growing mound. 

Then, there was the stacks of the aforementioned salvageables. The only important thing was that they had most of their pages together; the covers could be remade, but the contents were what mattered. They were in the first corner you had cleared, as though a protective ring were summoned around them. And that was another positive of the inhuman inhabitants of the manor! There was no dust for you to clean up beneath the papers.

Nevertheless, it was only right that the survivors, the very few books that might have sustained a scratch or tear, were placed in the hallway on a console table. Only the ones that had been stashed far into the bookshelves were of that nature, but you still felt prideful when you fished one out.

Your merry pair of cleaners was an hour in by the time that Dark picked up a book that was very literally hanging by a thread. He shifted it carefully in his arms to avoid agitating the binding, barely moving in a centimeter, but it didn’t work. The connection snapped and the bound pages drifted to the floor in a heap, like feathers after a bird was shot. Dark kneeled next to the remains and, with a gentler hand, he picked one of them up.

“Unfortunate, really,” he spoke, noticing you begin to crouch at his side, “I rather liked that one.”

It was true. In all of his years in the manor, he had the option of doing two things; either he could follow the trail after Mark that was undoubtably going to run cold, or he could read. When things got too much, or Wilford forced him out of his office, he would end up scouring the shelves of the library. His library, technically, because Celine was the only one to ever use it. All her early occult guides were on one side, while the other held the recreational books. Non-fiction, mystery, horror… The Lady in the Lake had come from one of those shelves, and so had the one that Dark looked down at.

He was only drawn out of his regret by your shifting. You glanced at the first few lines, then to the mess of papers that joined the rest of the graveyard, and finally to the door. Dark looked at you when you got up and left, barely processing what you were doing without an idea of what you were going to do. 

Luckily, he only worried for a minute at most, before you were back in the library with a picture frame in your hands, and his worry melted to confusion. It had lay in the hallway, empty now, as it had once held a distasteful photo of Mark and Celine. Dark sat tight while you popped out the back and handed him the glass and wood.

He blinked.

You nodded.

Restraining whatever strength might have torn the page more, he placed it facing into the frame and reattached the back, slotting the clasps into place. Your hands moved it out of his own grip as you got to your feet. Dark followed suit so that he could see you setting it onto one of the upright shelves in the neater corner.

And, just like that, you went back to inspecting more books and readjusting the furniture.

Dark didn’t know what to do. That seemed to be happening a lot today, but he was getting no more use to it. Maybe it was because the last century hadn’t been action-packed, but he was being surprised and confused and simply flustered recently, all by the same source.

You were a variable in his life that he hadn’t planned to plan for. Getting you back was the goal, and, when he passed that goal, it was done. End of the story. Except it obviously wasn’t because there you were, fixing the mess he’d made of the library, surprising him with every movement you made and every emotion you made him feel, even when it wasn’t an emotion he could name. The warmth you exuded, body and soul, he had never felt it before. Normally, he would immediately distance himself from any kind of uncertainty, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Leaving you again, when you spooked away ennui like a nightlight in blackness, was impossible for him. He wasn’t going to deny that he needed you – though, it might have been harder for him to accept that he wanted you. This situation was one fate had plotted since you had first stepped across the threshold of the manor.

“I don’t suppose you know what’s happened while I’ve been gone?”

Dark snapped his head towards you.

“How do you mean?”

Your back was turned to him, eyes focused on stabilizing the wooden plank in front of you. “People aren’t wearing suits and smoking everywhere anymore. How have times changed?”

Dark huffed a slight laugh as he rearranged the paper of another book. “To be quite fair, I’m not all that up to date either,” he forewarns, separating one of his favorite pages from the rest of the brutalized chapters. “From what Wilford has told me, a lot is different. I was… unaware of the earlier years—” You didn’t need to know the explicit, dehumanizing, jarringly goopy details of his first ten years, when he was barely holding himself together as a creature instead of a person, “—but there were more wars, some hot, some cold. We got to the brink of annihilation at one point, but Wilford glossed over that fact. He was more focused on the disco in the 70s and 80s, he still is.” You shared a breathier chuckle with him. “If I may ask, what have you seen in the last month?”

This was where he had you caught. You had asked what was different solely to get a grasp on where you were. Wilford’s time travel talk was going to need to be backdropped with the current events, after all. However, in your time with Mark, you had seen some things, and being asked about them pushed your preparation to the back of your mind.

“Hollywood got big,” you stated immediately, “I saw a lot of movies, for obvious reasons, and every single one was,” you took in a breath, spending it on another giddy laugh, “they were beautiful. They had these special effects and computer-generated imagery and, Dark, they could take people’s voices and replay them over and over again, and they’d never run out. They put normal people in space or in Ancient Greece.” You abandoned your current task to bounce towards your friend. “They even put people in the 1920s, and you could see the color of their clothes! Everything was bright and expressive; I’d love to show you.”

Dark hadn’t seen many, or any, movies. You would expect that to just be during his time in the manor, but that did include all of his time as him. He had vague memories from Damien and Celine’s theatre experiences, but all of them were clouded over with time and fatigue. The way you described these new ones, though, had him joining your smile regardless, and helpfully disregarding how your proximity to him and your hands on his upper arm made his breath labor. 

“I’d love to be shown.”

And ignore that, when your smile spread further, his did, too, and his eyes darted around your face from your sparkling eyes to your grinning lips to your cheeks flushed with excitement.

Meanwhile you fully accepted the rapid beating of your heart with open arms, not only because you now had a heart to beat. Dark cared, no matter how much he tried to hide it, he cared. He did things with you that he wouldn’t do alone in a million years. He paid attention to you when nobody else did and he made up for the time that he didn’t, twice-over. He saved you because he cared. How could you not love him?

Was that the right word for it? You hadn’t felt like this in so long, you never had to put a name to the foreign feeling. But when you looked at Dark, saw him smiling back at you, face to face with nothing but the smallest gap of air between you, you couldn’t think of anything else to call it.

In total, repairing and cleaning the library had taken three hours. The shelves were straightened, the curtains were replaced, and the books were sorted. All you needed to do now was wait for the next day to get out into town, so that you could go on your hunt for supplies and a manual on how to actually fix the books.

While you stood next to Dark in front of the door, staring at your project so close to its finish, your heart ached at the thought of waiting. The hands on your hips clenched and you inwardly groaned. In your humble opinion, you had done enough waiting for multiple lifetimes. 

You spun on your heel to face Dark, who looked pretty happy with himself. Good.

“What else needs fixing up?”

He glanced at you like he hadn’t expected you to say anything. “My dear, I do think you should take a break.”

“You’re one to talk.”

As hypocritical as he may have been, even Dark could see what state you were in. Your breathing was fast, blood rushed to your face, you jumped from one task to another.

“I’m not the one who has needs.”

“Y’know, I’d love for you to not call them that.”

“You have to eat,” he stressed, not letting you deflect another time.

You took a step towards him and reassured, “And I will.” You appreciated the concern but the idea of slowing down at all make your stomach churn. “I don’t want to waste all this energy.”

“You won’t lose it, I can assure you.”

Thinking of a last resort, you huffed, opened your mouth to retort, and then stopped. Had you not just said this was why you loved him? Because he cared? And who were you to ignore him, a man whom you trusted with your very life? Being out of that mirror was bringing you back into some bad habits, it seemed.

In the end, you nodded and pulled open the library’s door.

“Fine,” you groaned with no real annoyance, “but I am coming straight back.”

“Where are you going?”

“No offence, but anything that’s been left in the kitchen is going to be well past its expiration date, if they even have them. I’ll drive down to a fast-food place, pick something up and be back by eight.” 

Your promise was exchanged for Dark’s confused expression, making you chuckle to yourself as you moved halfway out. That confusion shifting to blunt worry stopped you.

He didn’t know what two of those things you mentioned were, but he knew that it meant you were leaving the manor. An hour at most, but leaving, nonetheless, into the outside world, where he could not go.

“I don’t have to go, I could—”

“No, no, you should,” Dark cut you off, steeling his emotions for however long it would take to convince you and himself. “Go, just stay safe.”

A smile and a squeeze of his hand.

“Straight back,” you reminded softly. 

And he repeated, impossibly more so, “Straight back.”

He watched you leave into the hallway and then walk down the staircase in his line of sight. This was okay. He watched you make it to the foyer and open the door. This was fine. He watched you shoot him one last look before closing the creaking wood behind you.

He lasted all of thirty seconds until fear seeped in through the floorboards and window cracks. The pacing started at the forty-five mark, as though his legs had decided that, if he couldn’t go with you in person, he would in spirit. But you said that you would be straight back, and he had to trust you. It wouldn’t do to start this relationship off with assuming the worst. You were able to take care of yourself. The best he could do was patiently wait for you to get back, safe and sound, like you’d promised.

That thought did little in of itself to get him to calm down. Regretfully, Dark was never good at convincing himself of the bright side, and, yes, he understood the joke. What helped him was catching a glimpse of that frame again, all of the backboard now plastered with pages from the best of the collection. He trotted up to the shelf until it was within arm’s reach, but he didn’t take it off just yet. He simply looked at it.

Was this too much? Did this domesticity suit him? It felt good to slow down for once and take a breath. Mark was on the backfoot, you were safe in the manor, there wasn’t anything else to do. Dark had forced you out because you were so keen to keep working, but there he was, clenching and unclenching his jaw. It felt good, but that itself felt wrong. He wasn’t built for this. He hadn’t been brought into the world as an innocent child, he was the amalgamation of three different beings that shambled around in the rough approximation of a man in order to carry out the singular shared goal of vengeance. 

The wooden frame was smooth against his fingers.

It didn’t matter if he was destined for this peace, he was choosing to enjoy it. The slow moments, with you, were better than the volatile decades of constant hypervigilance.

If he had to guess, he would think that the affinity was coming from Damien’s side of the family, but he also liked to think that this was just himself.

The frame in hand, Dark walked from the library down to his office, the lack of surfaces giving him few options – the desk or the windowsill, really – but that was obvious enough to give him only one. He secured it next to the lamp on the left side, the light igniting the ink with a white sheen.

He left the room within the next minute, barely a glance over his shoulder. He didn’t need to; he knew it was right, and he would be seeing it every time he sat down to work. He would be reminded of when he read those books, and of who gave those books back to him, and of why he couldn’t wait to find more copies so he could share them with you.

That went further than he thought it would.

Benjamin wasn’t in the kitchen when Dark entered. He’d made himself quite scarce since you got out of the mirror, but the comments you had exchanged with each other didn’t leave you on the best of terms, so perhaps it was the wisest move. Nevertheless, the smell of baked goods helped relax him to the point that he didn’t look any different from your departure when the front door opened again.

Sitting at the island gave Dark a good view of your approach, a white, plastic bag of presumably food in one hand and twirling your keys with the other. A few questions popped into his mind – what a fast-food place actually was and whether you really had a valid driver’s license – but he brushed them aside when you waltzed through the kitchen’s archway.

“I made it through that lawless wasteland,” you joked. He thought you would go straight to grabbing a plate, but, after placing the bag on the counter, you casually ducked down and kissed Dark on the cheek. That was the first surprise, though not unappreciated, while the second was you finding two plates. “And I know you don’t eat, but I picked something up for you, just in case.” 

You were smooth, apparently. One hundred years in a mirror didn’t disadvantage you any. He was immeasurably grateful that your back was turned so that you didn’t see the warbling of the red and blue lines. They stretched and thinned like waves in the ocean, breaking upon the counter and only normalizing when he redirected his attention to the bag. You said you’d gotten him something. That was more important than the completely unexplainable and extremely unnatural effect your simple actions had on him.

You dished out what you bought, two identical meals, onto those plates before pushing one towards Dark. You sat side by side on the stools by the island, thinking less about how much of a change from the status quo of the 1920s this was and more about how hungry you were. 

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” you heard Dark reply, sounding surprisingly dazed, not that you paid attention to it when you were eating food and conscious of it for the first time in decades.

You missed this. You readily admitted that this kind of scene was something you had imagined many times while you were in the mirror. The food, the freedom… the only addition – which surfaced during the latter days – was the man who sat beside you. You were always alone in your fantasies. Call you a love-struck idiot, but you were so happy with this outcome, even if it took kidnapping and near-murder. This was good. You were good. Dark was good.

The patter of rain developed into a downpour as you made your way through your food. Dark was lagging behind, if only because he had trouble figuring out how to eat at the beginning. The first bite he swallowed entirely whole and somehow avoided choking, but he got the hang of it in time. You were finished when he was halfway through, giving you time to watch the patio doors. It was completely dark outside, illuminated by the few rays of moonlight that dodged the tree line. They hit the surface in specific places, one bouncing off the water feature, another the stone walkway, and a third breaking into the manor itself. All of them were interspersed with the pelt of rain, as if someone had flicked a paint brush onto a gray canvas.

A wistful sigh bullied its way out of your throat.

“Go on.”

Your gaze flashed to Dark, who stared right at you. Surely, he didn’t mean what you thought he meant. If not for the water damage the old house would sustain, he definitely wouldn’t want to risk getting it all over his suit.

But he saw the way you looked outside. He wasn’t about to stop you from fulfilling a whim, especially after so long. Briefly, he wondered how many times you thought about the weather. Such an unimportant thing, a problem in some cases, but he knew you relished it.

So, Dark nodded again. “I don’t control what you do.”

Like firing a bullet from a gun, you were off, shoving back from the island, almost foregoing remembering to open the door, and slipping out on the stones. Immediately, you were drenched. Your clothes stuck to your skin and made everything flash in the light of the moon. You looked like something he would find in the pagan books Celine had. A nymph or fae. Given that he had eaten your food, he supposed he was never allowed to leave. What a poor, unfortunate, regretful fate for him.

Regardless of the dramatics, he didn’t think he was against that thought, as long as you stayed with him, of course. He imagined he could do anything at your side, and he would do anything to stay at your side. He wasn’t going to fool himself. He wouldn’t be able to handle losing you again. He had only just gotten you back; your return pulled him out of the pit of misery, and, were you to leave for good, he was sure he would fall again, further than he had before, than he had thought possible.

Dark dropped his head into his hands, elbows rested on the island.

He wished he had someone to ask. He usually kept his own council, both figuratively and literally, and reaching out was a skill he’d long since abandoned. It would be so much easier to find an answer to this feeling if he had someone else, who could explain why his breath quickened, his waves flickered, his smile widen like he had received the best news he could ever hope to hear. Nothing made sense, and yet everything did. The logic was thrown out of the window and replaced by emotions that he never relied on, but it felt right, and he didn’t know why, and nobody was telling him what to do or what was going on. A being that couldn’t feel was feeling. He had never made a plan for this kind of situation, leaving him high and dry. Benjamin was less social than he was at this point, he had seen how Wilford’s situation had turned out, and obviously you weren’t an option, because you were the person Dark loved!

Oh.

Well, that certainly solved that dilemma.

There was really only one choice he could make here. 

Dark got up from his seat and made his way to the linen closet, where he pulled out the softest towel he could find. None had been used, so it didn’t take long to get back down to the kitchen with it in his hands. Slow and steady. He split his attention between walking forwards, keeping his aura in check, and the growing headache at the back of his mind. He knew exactly what that was, he was just electing to ignore it, despite that very specific third of him trying to veto his decision. Slow. And. Steady.

You, meanwhile, were trying not to trip on the wet cobblestone. The grooves and divots of the stone made perfect targets for your feet as you danced around. The rain was a great thing, wasn’t it? Droplets ricocheted off your clothes when you spun and slid down your skin when you stilled. Your impromptu performance was a mix of graceful twirls and jagged strikes of your body. Not a care in the world for the inevitable squish of the fabric when you stopped, you embraced the adrenaline and continued to go about your business until the patio door slid open in the corner of your eye.

The infectious smile you sported as you dashed to the cover where Dark now stood spread to him. You slid to a stop in front of him, dripping head to toe.

The towel he wrapped around your shoulders had you grinning even more.

“We don’t want you to catch a cold, now, do we?”

That little joke – which wasn’t really a joke – was the end of it, leaving you both to watch the rain fall. It lightened and strengthened at a gust of the wind. You leaned against a wooden support beam, face barely peaking below the edge of the cover, and Dark stood next to you with his arms behind his back.

“I don’t remember it raining before,” you muttered. In the weeks you’d spent with Mark, every day was blasted by sun.

“It has been quite a while.”

The silence enveloped you again. It was comfortable, knowing that you could move around without limit, that Dark was right next to you.

His quiet admittance broke the quiet. “I don’t think you’ve stopped smiling this entire night.”

“Why would I?” You shifted to look at him, softness breaching your eyes and his when they met. “Look,” you gestured to the gardens of the manor, “look at all of this.” You hand made contact with the wooden beam; one side was wet from the spray of rain. “And this, this, I can— look.”

Your other hand darted forward without your thinking and grabbed Dark’s before raising it between you, much like how you had done earlier. He briefly thought you might kiss it again, and you the same, but then you stopped and swallowed the words you had meant to say. Something about how it felt, surely, but then another train of thought came to mind.

“I didn’t think I was going to get the chance to do this, ever,” you whispered, “I thought that I was going to stay in the void, watching the world go on without me until somebody broke every mirror in the manor.” What a purgatory that would be. You hated that you could easily imagine it. “But I was wrong. I’ve never been happier, and you know how much I hate being wrong.”

You clasped your other hand around Dark’s remaining one. Earlier that day, when you had pledged to admit your feelings, you didn’t think it would be this difficult. You had been running on adrenaline and fumes. Now, your mind was catching up to you and made you fear the consequences if all of this went wrong.

But you could ignore it all for a moment longer. You had to, or you would never get this out.

“And if anybody was going to talk to me in those weeks,” you continued, a shake in your voice that you tried to breathe through, “I’m glad it was you. I don’t think I could take time-travelling talk or another insult to my outfit.”

Dark was still smiling, that was good. Nothing to stop you now. You had to take the plunge.

“And I meant to say this earlier, but—” no going back now, “—I love you.”

Dark froze. You felt him freeze. He stopped like you’d knocked the life out of him.

So, you rushed to speak, words flooding out of you to rival the onslaught of rain that battered the ground. 

“I understand if you don’t love me, or have any feelings for me, I just had to say it or else I’d lose my mind about it, and I did not like it when I was close before, so—” 

Your rambling stopped. Not only because you physically couldn’t speak, but because your fears were abandoned in a second. Even as Dark had stepped closer, even as his lips melded against yours, you were both smiling. His coldness and your warmth meshed together, like steam rising from dousing a fire, calming the initial thunder of your heart that made up for Dark’s lack. Despite that, you felt the waves of red and blue clash against your skin, absorbing at some points and bouncing at others. You sighed into the kiss as your hold on his hands severed, only to let you grip at his waist. It was significantly dryer than yours, half the reason why you felt the pressure of Dark’s hands at your jaw and cheek. The other half was so that he could lean further in without pushing into the rain. The touch grounded you in reality, as much as it the entire situation made you believe you were dreaming, and so you kept your position, although your lips parted.

Barely an inch from your, Dark whispered, “I reciprocate your feelings.” It took a moment for him to recognize the hoops he was jumping through, and he amended, “I love you, just the same, if not more.”

“I’ve seen this before; we’re not doing that.” The whole I-love-you-more-no-I-love-you-more was overplayed and tiresome. You were happy with your shared confession.

The inch was covered, and your lips met again, moving in tandem like waves breaking on a sandy beach. A rhythm took over as you stood at the back of the manor. Everything that had happened, stretching back to that century, seemed worth it. You were certain in that fact.

You separated again, not for the last time, for Dark to ask, “What are we doing, then?” “Well, as you keep saying, I have needs.”

The alarmed expression on Dark’s face was all the entertainment you needed, though, inwardly, he was certainly not opposed to any suggestions you might have had. He felt your breath on his lips as you reprimanded quietly, “I’m talking about sleeping, Dark.”

Your spark hadn’t been lost, that was for sure. He doubted that were possible. Your amused laughter chimed in his head, chasing out any possible worries about you, about himself, about the future you would share together.

One hand in his, you tugged him forward and captured him in another kiss, the rain returned to a comforting song in the background. 

[And there we go! The final part to what was originally a single chapter! Thank you, everyone, for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the ride. Of course, this was meant to just be a fluffy chapter, but, this is me, so I had to put some angst in it, and that final joke was a literal flip of the coin of whether I should include it. Nevertheless, again, I hope you've enjoyed reading &lt;3 ]

[pinkiepie20000]

i love how im posting with 0 likes constantly gotta stay on the grind

[sardonic-the-writer]

━"Guest Appearance"

━Tw: None

━Notes: A very cute idea I had reminiscing about the time Unus Annus did a wax video with Sean

━Song: "Twin Sized Matress" By The Front Bottoms

Ethan and Mark were staring to regret their choice in friends.

Or at least the kind of ideas they came up for this goddamn channels videos.

It was fucking loud. I mean, honestly what did they expect when offering two of the goofiest people they knew to fly out for a video and shutting them in a room with a camera. There wasn’t going to be a bit of content without yelling after all. Especially when it came down to the four idiots playing around right now with how tightly knit they were.

Maybe it was the full on wax war that wasn’t predicted.

The rapidly cooling substance was flinging nearly everywhere, clinging to the surface of the walls like sticky soda and some even being propelled on the ceiling fan above (which in turn splattered it every which way like a modern age art project).

Paintbrushes with cream colored bristles—that had previously been used for spreading wax across bare skin—were now being dipped in the milky white substance. Before the wax could harden completely it was launched at a respective person, who got a face full of it to enjoy.

Honestly (Y/n) was having the time of their fucking life.

They didn’t give a shit whether or not the camera couldn’t even see them properly right now. All they were focused on was ducking up and down between the protection of a scrappy desk, trying their best not to get smacked in the mouth with the slimy wax as they fired their own ammo at Sean.

Ethan was on the other side of them, the team of two having mischievously grabbed half a bucket of hot wax halfway through the scheduled video and attacking the other people in the room.

The war had only been officially waged after Mark had grabbed a handful from his own bucket without a second thought, nailing Ethan directly in the scalp with it as a ‘thank you’ gift.

”Surrender losers!” A girlish squeal came from Ethan as he narrowly avoided another fire ball of wax, sticking his tongue out at Mark. His brown hair was plastered to the front of his forehead with a mix of sweat and wax, mimicking the look of everyone else. He had even almost knocked their cover over as he squatted down.

”Nhever!” Determination poked its head through Sean’s thick Irish accent. (Y/n) paused to clutch at their rib cage in a fit of laughter as they witnessed the man stand up and pose like a superhero, only to slip on a puddle of wax and land straight on his ass.

”Oh ye think tha’s funny (Y/n)?” He said quickly getting back up and making devilish eye contact. They let out a sudden yell as Sean grew closer and fully left the protection of his pathetic looking plastic table, formerly having hid behind it with Marks bulky figure.

They attempted to scramble up and out of the room, a complete disregard for the camera recording all of this as this point. All that they were worried about right now was escaping the ghoulish grin and bucket of wax coming their way.

”Wait no please!”

Their pleas were met with a tirade of evil laughter, managing to just barely close their eyes before warm wax slid down every available surface of their face.

Even Ethan and Mark had stopped in their ferocious battle to watch the buckets contents get emptied onto their head. Now instead of (Y/n) rolling on the ground belly laughing it was them, completely ignoring the mess sticking to their clothes like wallpaper in exchange for playfully howling at the fellow content creator.

”You guys fucking suck!” They spat, already feeling their face start to freeze up with the wax. While their words might be venomous their tone was not, breaking up with an amused wheeze halfway through.

“I’m telling Amy and Gab that you three were pushing me around!”

”Oooooh I’m so scared of Sean and Marks girlfriends!”

”Dont think I forgot about you either Mr. Crankgameplays. You act like I won’t go get your mother on the phone right this second.”

The other boys made oohing sounds at Ethan like a fifth grader who just watched their classmate get in trouble. He simply blew a raspberry at them in response.

It was only then that Sean backed up slightly, bumping into the forgotten camera and startling himself

(Y/n) laughed as much as they could with a temporarily paralyzed face, watching as the boys discussed jokingly in front of the camera if attacking each other with discolored crayon wax was enough content to satiate their gremlin viewers. Spoiler alert: They determined it was.

”Not exactly the normal content of Unus Annus. But then again we wouldn’t have invited you and Sean if we had wanted that. Congrats on being the first and last special guest to hijack our original plan for a video.” Mark grinned with teeth, now holding an arm out so (Y/n) could help themself up. They took it with as much of a smile they could manage, attempting to mumble a jovial ‘thank you dumbass’ back at him.

”Mark wipe their face off I can’t understand jack shit coming out of their mouth.”

”Awhh bu’ I was enjoyin ta silence.”

(Y/n) simply made a slitting gesture across their throat at Sean, cussing him out with their eyes. The motion just received more snickers.

“You know what? Sure. Let’s get Chica in here to wipe that wax off their face.” Mark rubbed his hand together in a comically evil motion. “Or should I say lick it off?”

Their eyes widened as they chased after the laughing boys, yelling from the back of their throat desperately with a smile.

Totally worth the trip.

[creat0r-cat]

Markiplier x Teen!Daughter!Reader - Not the Same

Requested by: Anonymous

—------

“Dad! The doll is right there! What are you doing??” Laughed (Y/n) as her father almost left his hiding space. “I have to get the mold thing up there!” He exclaimed, moving Rose out from beneath the table and trying to run passed the enemy. His attempt was unsuccessful as it started laughing like a maniac and he started losing HP. “I tried to tell you earlier, there’s another way there, you just have to go the other way!” 

“Agh, dang it. Fine, we’ll do it your way.” Mark grumbled as he moved Rose away. Chaos ensued as after he got around the doll, the giant mannequin burst through the door. “AGH NO!!!” Cried the older YouTuber as he had the girl hide under a table.

(Y/n) was laughing, Mark jokingly telling her to be quiet. She only shook her head and decided to look at chat. There were a few people commenting how Rose reminded them a bit of (Y/n). The girl was confused but opted to ignore them, turning back to watch the game. 

Mark finally got out of the room, shouting at the dolls to stop their insulting yammering, and looked over at his daughter. “You okay?” She nodded her head, smiling reassuringly at him. “Yup, I’m fine, just thinking about something. Oh look! Michael’s back!” Indeed he was, writing glowing, worried words on the wall for Rose to read. 

As they walked through the house of memories, the two players started to put pieces together. “Okay, I’m pretty sure at this point that Michael is actually Ethan.” Commented Mark and (Y/n) nodded again. “I would be shocked if he wasn’t.” After defeating the crazy ghost girl, they fell even deeper into the world after being pushed away from harm by a male figure. 

Both father and daughter were shaking with excitement and the girl pointed at the screen. “THAT’S ETHAN!! WE CALLED IT!! THAT’S ETHAN!!” Mark, after calming down a bit, made his way through the familiar territory, (Y/n) once again looked at the chat. She frowned as there were multiple comments saying similar things to the previous one, but with a little more added on. 

“CraZGurl: Awww Mark and (Y/n) are so cute around each other! Their bond is like Rose and Ethan’s relationship!” 

“MuddBoi: @CraZGurl FR! They do give off those vibes, don't they?” 

“MyMain6Channel: It’s like watching real life versions of Rose and Ethan! <3”

“BuddiBuddy: Adorable (OwO)”

(Y/n) wondered what made them think that and spoke up. “Chat, as flattering as it is that you think Dad and I act cute around each other, I can guarantee that we aren’t like Rose and her dad in the game so stop saying that.” Mark didn’t really understand what she was talking about, but decided to keep quiet. 

As the coded father and daughter ran through a mold infested cavern and away from the final boss, the comments continued to grow with the same relative message. However, these words fell upon distracted ears as the real life duo were off in their own little worlds. Mark’s mind was in auto pilot during the big fight and he just let his mind wonder. 

“What would my life have been like if I never had a daughter?”

(Y/n) pointed out small details and provided some help while a question of her own floated around in her head. ‘What would my life be like if Dad just disappeared from my life? What if my story really was like Rose’s? Dad has been to the hospital many times for things, but what if something finally killed him? What would happen to me?’ She shook her head. ‘No, you idiot, don’t think that way. He’s tough, and even if something did happen to him, his friends have always been willing to help him out so I’d be fine.’

Mark and (Y/n) both watched as Miranda was defeated, and Rose held her dying father. It was a very emotional moment, and both Fischbachs were sad. “I’m so very proud of you. I love you, Rose.” spoke Ethan and (Y/n) felt her own dad’s arm wrap around her, bringing her closer into a partial hug. 

“I love you too, dad.”

(Y/n) subconsciously read those words out loud, her voice barely a whisper as the screen faded to white. She looked over to her right to see her dad was looking at her with a smile. He hugged her tight, and while sharing that moment with him, she looked over once again at the comment stream. With a sigh, she spoke loud enough to be heard while her face was basically pressed against Mark’s chest. 

“Don’t say that chat. I don’t want to think about losing my dad.” Mark, hearing this, looked over and read the messages. So that’s what she had been thinking about. He gave his daughter a protective squeeze and glared goofily at the camera. “Yeah, guys. As you can see I’m perfectly fine. Unless I’m not and I’m a ghost. Oooooohhhhh~” He rebukingly teased before tickling (Y/n) and smiling when she burst into laughter.

Mark knew that if something happened to him, his friends or his mom would take care of his daughter. Yes, his body was a little messed up at times, but it had been a while since anything major happened, so he wasn’t too worried about it. For the time being however, while he was still relatively healthy, he’d happily spend as much time with his little girl as possible. 

As the final cut scene played through and the credits rolled, the two Fischbachs talked about their favorite parts of the game. “I think there were a few aspects I would’ve liked to have been included in, but overall it was a good game.” Said Mark with a shrug and (Y/n) laughed.

“Yeah, you’re just disappointed that Big Waifu Lady Dimitrescu didn’t make an appearance and instead we were stuck with Smelly Mold Lady Miranda.” He playfully shoved her which made her giggle. “How dare you make such bold claims! I feel rather insulted!” 

The previous comments had been almost forgotten as the father and daughter messed around both on and then off stream. They managed to score a good story for themselves in the real world, unlike their compared counterparts in the game, and that made them happy. Sure, worried thoughts lingered in the back of their minds, but at that moment, they didn’t matter. Mark and (Y/n) were a happy family, and to them that was all they could really ask for.

[heaven-with-mark]

"𝙙𝙧𝙪𝙣𝙠 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣."

The now empty Truly can slams against the counter, tinny and empty. "Better get drinkin, Eef!" You yell, triumphant and two seltzers ahead of your opponent. Mark looks a tad disappointed, back against the counter and arms crossed. You and Ethan sat at the island on barstools, having a competition to see who could drink more before getting shitfaced.

Ethan was lagging behind. You were feeling tipsy yourself but he was getting a little woozy. The way his body would tip to one side until he noticed and righted himself told you a lot. Mark cleared his throat, and both you and Ethan turned to look at him. Your smile dropped the moment the empty Truly box left the olders' hand and tumbled to the floor. "Automatic win." He says, nodding towards you.

The smile returns as you slide from your seat, a little stumble to your step as you saunter up to the fridge. Out comes an unopened twelve pack of Coors, your least favorite alcohol. "You hate beer." Mark comments, pushing himself off the counter to stand at the island. You slide it to Ethan and stand next to Mark as the drinks are opened. Ethan passes you a Coors and next thing you know, you've had five.

"Uh. Fuck." You giggle, swaying in the middle of the kitchen. Ethan was... laying on the floor next to you. Hands over his eyes, face flushed, stupid drunk smile. Mark now sat at the island, chin in the palm of his hand. He found you and Ethan amusing to watch.

Until now. Your stomach churned, your heart sinking. You were absolutely terrified to puke. It was a childhood fear for no real reason. "Mark," you whispered, hands out to steady your rocking, "Mark I think I'm gonna throw up."

He'd known you long enough to understand why it was a problem. He sighs, "alright. Fun over. You're both cut off." Ethan cries, but you don't catch whatever he said. You're no longer a happy drunk, you're scared to move in fear of emptying your stomach. Mark is gentle in the way he presses a hand to your back, slowly guiding you over to the couch. Some animated movie plays and you're barely aware of it as you're helped into laying down.

"Mark, I need water. I'm gonna go get water." You slur, and immediately sit up. Your head hits the couch pillow a second later, feeling like you'll upchuck if you try to do a single thing. "I'll get you water, just chill for a second." Mark murmurs, smoothing the hair stuck to your forehead. Your heavy eyes shut, and you buzz in and out of consciousness as you vaguely hear Ethan get ushered down the hall to his room.

When Mark returns, it's with water and blankets. He hands you the drink first, keeping a hand on the cup as yours cradles it just to make sure it doesn't spill all over. "Are you okay now?" He asks softly, setting your beverage down on the coffee table. You're only now aware of being in tears, very disorientated and drunk. He's leaning over you, using the back of the couch to brace himself. Unable to think right, your hands come up and do the grabby hand motion.

After some very slurred convincing, the footrest of all three couch cushions are kicked out so Mark can squeeze onto the couch behind you. You're warm, content, and very tired now watching whatever movie played on TV, Mark pressed to your back and holding you close. Still both in jeans and not in comfortable clothes, you're comfy how you are. And scared if you move, it'll break the peaceful atmosphere.

"I hope you know I'm not dealing with your hangover." Mark whispers, patting your hip. You giggle and turn in his arms, face shoved to his chest. Unashamed you take in the scent of his cologne, listening to the rumble of his chuckle. "Alright Tipsy, go to sleep." He says, and your mind shuts off almost immediately. Tomorrow was gonna be one hell of a day full of headache and nausea but Mark was gonna help you, even though he said he wouldn't. He's got a little bit of a soft spot for you.

"At least I beat Ethan. Momma ain't raise no quitter." You slur, having to have the last word.

[selfindulgentramblings]

"Late Nights"

| markiplier x fem!reader

warnings: none

rating: tooth rotting fluff

word count: 356

notes: this is my first story on tumblr! i've been writing for a while but i've never posted anything i've written before, so i hope you like it :)

☆⭑✦⭑☆

Sometimes, you wondered if Mark ever got any sleep before you moved in with him. That man could sit in his office and work nonstop, only noticing that time had passed when the sun came up, and then do it all over again the following night. You knew it was his passion that drove him to be this way, but that doesn't mean you would let him do that to himself. Besides, you couldn't really sleep without him.

Tonight was one of those nights. You rolled over for what felt like the millionth time, sighing as you heard the distant clicking of Mark's computer down the hall. This had been going on for hours, and at this rate, neither of you were going to be getting any sleep tonight. You sat up slowly, wondering what in the world is keeping him up this time. You walked quietly out of your shared bedroom, not bothering to shut the door behind you.

"Baby?" you called softly, cracking his office door open halfway. The clacking of his keyboard stopped abruptly as he turned to look at you. His face was lit by only the harsh light of computer screen, the rest of the room shrouded in darkness. "Come to bed?"

He glanced back to his computer for a moment, reading the time at the bottom of his screen; 3:27 AM. Rubbing his hands over his face, signing quietly. "I really have to finish this," he says gently, tiredness creeping into his voice. He finds your eyes again, almost melting when he saw how tired you looked. "C'mere."

He opened his arms for you to crawl into, which you happily did. You sat on his lap, tightly hugging his torso and pressing your face into him. Kissing the top of your head, he started to hum quietly to you, his chest rumbling against you. His hands found their way to your hair, softly carding through the locks and massaging your scalp. Drowsiness tugged on your eyelids, dragging you into a blissful sleep before you knew it.

"G'night, my special girl," Mark whispered upon hearing your soft snores. "I love you."

[leighsartworks216]

Pretty Boy

King!Darkiplier x masc!reader

Requested by @thecosmosstuff:

"Royal AU Dark x Reader 👀"

"Whenever you get in the right brain I wanna see your version of Dark calling reader a pretty boy brbrbr”

UHM OKAY SO I COMBINED THESE TWO AND UHM WELL IT GOT A LITTLE SPICY THATS ALL IM GONNA SAY

Warnings: things get a little heated 😳

Word Count: 708

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This meeting was getting old fast. The babbling nonsense of his most trusted courtier was grating on his nerves. Perhaps it was the long, drawn out syllables, or the bombastic gestures he performed; dancing around the throne like a peacock on parade.

Dark sighed, rubbing his temples to push away the on-coming headache. All the effort it took to become a king, and this was it? Certainly having all this power was overrated.

And then he saw it. His dark eyes landed on a familiar figure hiding behind a pillar. Salvation.

His lips curled devilishly around his words, his eyes never leaving you. “Leave.”

Wilford stopped in his tracks, peeking over the back of the throne. “I beg your pardon?”

Dark’s hand waved lazily in the air. “You’re dismissed. We’ll discuss…”

“Cape fabrics?” Wilford supplied.

The king couldn’t believe they were discussing such a dull topic. He sighed. “Yes, we’ll discuss it later.”

The courtier pouted, but Dark paid him no mind as he stomped out of the throne room. He sat back in his chair, relaxing into the plush, velvet cushions, legs spreading languidly as he pat his thigh - an offering you couldn’t refuse.

You tried to casually saunter over, to draw out the time between you, make him feel the same longing for touch as you did, but it was practically an eager skip to his trained eyes. You’d been together too long, and he knew how to read you like an open book.

“Thank you for saving me from that hell, darling,” he purred. Large hands grabbed your waist the moment you were within reach to pull you into his lap. “I’ll be sure to make my gratitude well known.”

You brushed back loose strands of dark hair from his face. He looked dashing in a crown - the polished gold metal, and glimmering blue and red jewels brought out his powerful aura. “Such high praise for such a small kindness.” You leaned down, nearly pressing your forehead to his, but not quite. Noses brushed, lips a mere inch away. He couldn’t tear his eyes from yours.

“Deserved praise.” His voice came as a low growl from the back of his throat. A hand resting over his chest sent the vibrations of his assertions up your arm in the form of goosebumps. “You should interrupt more often, dear heart.”

“And get in between you and your fabric choices?” you teased. His eyes darkened for a moment just thinking about Wilford’s obsession with always having the perfect material for every scrap of fabric that may come in contact with his body. “What kind of lover would I be then?”

Unable to bear the distance any longer, he pressed his forehead to yours, sighing at the contact. To touch you was a wonder he never wished to take for granted. “My dear,” he cooed, “to have you come between me and Wilford’s endless nonsensical droning is an honor of the highest order.”

A short, longing kiss graced your lips. You could feel the hidden desire for more behind his movements as he pulled away with great reluctance, as his hands tensed at your sides, as he breathed you in like this was the last time you would ever see each other. Your hand wrapped around his neck, fingers tangling in the long hair at his nape. He groaned as you tugged him in for another kiss, and another, and one more. He would devour you in this chair if he could.

Oh.

Oh.

What a brilliant idea.

A sinful grin split his lips as he wrapped an arm around your waist and held your thigh with a strong hand. In one strong movement, he was kneeling before you and you were sitting in his throne. Warm, wet kisses were trailed down your throat. Sharp teeth found your jugular and nipped ever so softly at the skin separating him from your lifeblood. He reveled in the shaky breath his actions pulled from your throat.

“Oh, my dear, gorgeous, pretty boy,” he nearly moaned into your skin. “I believe we have a meeting.”

Warm hands ran over your thighs, pressing them apart as a smirk pressed kisses into your jaw. “And I do believe it shall run a little long.”

---

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@writeawaythepain

@hyperfixat