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goosedoes-fics · 10 months

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Quiet

Wilford Warfstache x nonverbal!Reader

Content warnings: Gender neutral reader, use of y/n, boss and employee relationship, what the fuck is a slow burn

Notes: this is another re-upload. errrmmmm wilford the silly

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"[Y/n]!"

A loud voice jolted you out of your imagination. It was a very slow day, the kind that you'd spend curled up in a blanket by the fireplace, but of course you had to spend it at work. Typical.

You turned expectantly to your jovial sounding co-worker. What you had assumed was correct, as usual. The boss himself, Mr. Warfstache.

To call Wilford a "friend" would be an odd choice of words. You preferred to think of your relationship as strictly professional, but Mr. Warfstache seemed to consider you as a close pal.

Wilford plopped himself unceremoniously next to your seat at the sound booth. A wide grin was present on his face, as usual.

"So! The day's almost over, yeah? You ready to head home?"

You shrugged slightly, hoping he would leave you alone. It's not that you disliked him exactly, but more that he didn't really understand your aversion to conversating. As usual, he paid no mind to your wordless response.

"Me and a few a' the guys are headed over to a fancy li'l resteraunt in the area. And y'know of course I had t' see if you wanted to come along!" The eccentric man grinned wider, maintaining eery eye contact with you.

Naturally, you didn't respond verbally. Honestly, you didn't respond at all. You gave Wilford a strange look, turning your head towards the soundboard and flicking off the power switch for the night.

Wilford leaned forward, trying to catch your eye again. "But, hey, if you don't want a crowd, we can just go by ourselves! The two of us!" he piped up hopefully, his odd voice taking on an even odder tone.

That... actually didn't sound too bad to you. You turned to face him once more, hesitating for a moment before giving him a small nod. His face immediately lit up.

Wilford jumped out of his chair, running a hand through his hair to adjust it. "Well! Let's go now, then!"

With a small sigh, you lifted yourself from the chair, stretching a bit before gathering your belongings and heading for the studio door. Wilford trailed close behind you, locking the door as you exited the building.

The walk was about how you expected it. Wilford chattered away, nearly talking your ear off, but thankfully stayed away from anything that required you to speak. The sun was starting to go down now, painting the sky with a lovely gradient from blue to pink. You took a moment to admire the beauty of the scenery.

It was a little while before you began to realize the two of you had been walking for quite some time. Wilford had piped down a bit, and was glancing around in confusion as he scanned the streets.

"...coulda sworn the damn thing was this way," he muttered, seemingly embarrassed. "Yeah there was... that big ol' sign? And further down was the restaurant, right?"

The odd man seemed quite nervous now. Bits of sunlight filtered through the buildings on the horizon, but the streets were dimly lit as the lamps littering the sidewalks had yet to turn on.

After a moment, Wilford sighed heavily, turning swiftly on his heels. "I don't want us to get lost. Let's just head back." He hung his head sadly. Something told you he had been looking forward to this for a while.

You reassuringly pat his shoulder, making Wilford jump slightly, as if he had forgotten you were there. He looked back at you, giving you a small smile. "Don't you worry, I know where the studio is from here."

The walk back was much quieter than before. Your boss was so uncharacteristically quiet that it startled you half to death when he protectively wrapped an arm around your waist. You didn't protest. The closeness was quite comforting.

Eventually, the two of you managed to return to the studio. It was dark out now, and Wilford dejectedly retracted his arm as he turned to look at you.

"I'm sorry this turned out so boring, [Y/n]," he commented sadly.

You patted his arm again, this time letting the touch linger a bit more than you realized. You swiftly brought your arm back to your side, gazing at the sidewalk with embarrassment.

When you looked back up, Wilford was a bit closer. You felt your face heat up immediately as he drew you into a strong hug. After a moment of shock, you put your arms around him and hugged back.

Wilford pulled away with a deep breath. "Ta be honest, I was really looking forward to spendin' time with you. I didn't mean to get all lost like that."

You blinked in confusion. Wilford was talkative, sure, but he never tried to "spend time" with you outside of work.

"Actually, I'm really sorry for a lot a' things. I know I talk a lot an', I mean, you don't." His words began speeding up as he started to ramble. "You always seem so... uncomfy when I talk to ya. Did it feel like I was pushin' the whole outin' on ya? Gosh, I'm sorry, I didn't think about that, of course it must've felt like that. I'm your boss and you're always so quiet. I wish you had told me, not that this is your fault, but I mean-"

You put a finger over Wilford's lips to stop his rambling, and he cut off quickly. He stared at you for a moment, and as you realized what you had done, you quickly pulled away. You gazed at him and shook your head to indicate his worries were incorrect.

You both stared at each other for a moment. You felt your face heat up in embarrassment once again.

Wilford gently placed a hand on your waist. "Is it okay if I kiss you?" he asked cautiously.

Your face was now evidently reddened. After a moment of processing his words, you nodded slowly.

Wilford brought his face closer to yours, eyes narrowing slightly as he slowly planted his lips on yours. For how rough his hands were, his lips were comfortably soft. The way he kissed you made it seem as if he'd been waiting to for quite some time.

Slowly, he pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours in a caring gesture.

The warmth of the embrace lasted some time before you stepped back, earning a sad whine from Wilford. You smiled slightly.

"It's dark out now. Can I walk you home?" he asked hopefully.

You nodded, grasping his hand firmly as you began leading the way.

The quiet of the night gave you some time to reflect. You realized how easy it was to communicate with Wilford, as you didn't have to say a single word. That was very comforting to you.

Maybe one day you'd even be confident enough to speak in front of him. You smiled at the thought.

Maybe the talkative man wasn't so bad after all.

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theknightmarket · 2 months

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"Who wouldn't be angry?"

In which Wilford's return has less fanfare than what he hoped for. TW: cursing, slight sexual references Pages: 13 - Words: 5,000

[Requests: OPEN]

Closing up the bar was the best part of the night. After everyone had gone home, either willingly or under attack from your broom, and the only sound left was the quiet tap, tap, tap of a faucet someone forgot to turn off – that was when you felt perfectly at peace. The adrenaline of work was fun, of course, but reaping the rewards of a 20-dollar tip and pair of earphones made the 2 o’clock chime all the more satisfying.

You unwrapped the apron from your waist and tossed it over your bag. A wayward sex on the beach meant it would need washing before you could wear it again, not that you minded it too much. It was, after all, where that tip came from, and the man who spilt it was almost too apologetic. You’d had worse.

Dimly, as you wiped down the tables for the last time, you lamented the loss of your winter-holiday themed apron.

You preferred the Halloween one anyway, so it wasn’t a weight on your conscience that drew you to breaking into your bar late at night. The work kept you busy enough that you didn’t, and couldn’t, despair over small things. The taxes, the patrons, the staff – they were all great, but sometimes you did wish you had time for yourself. A Sunday off, once a month, that would be enough. But, as you said, no time to despair. There was still work to do.

That night, the work entailed taking the cash out of the register and tip jar, counting it, and stuffing it into the safe, locking all the interior doors and windows, and, finally, flicking the light switch. The neon pink sign blinked once, twice, and died out at its third breath, while you brought out your keys to officially lock the front door. The little hole-in-the-wall that the bar was, it didn’t run the risk of getting broken into too strongly, but there was no reason not to take precautions. You’d heard your neighbors tell you that it was so much a safe town that you needn’t bother locking everything. You told them that you quite liked having money, thank you very much, and there was no way in hell that you were going to pay any more for insurance.

The night’s air nipped at your face, reminding you that you were still standing outside. Your brain, meanwhile, reminded you that you weren’t on your couch, wrapped in a blanket, and watching random nature documentaries. It might have also said something about paying your rent, but you decided to ignore that part.

So, your frigid breath fading away in front of you, you waltzed down the four blocks between you and your apartment, watching the few other folk out and about make their own ways home. A group of teens scuttled across the road, technically jay walking but you weren’t going to say anything, while a ruffled office worker took off in a hurry in the other direction. Probably wanting to get into a safe place with the baggy of drugs stuffed into his suit pocket.

The town you lived in wasn’t a well-off one. It was two steps up from rock bottom, and only because the local deli hadn’t been closed down due to health hazards yet. You liked to think your bar made it better, but there were going to be people who didn’t agree. Those teens, for instance, who always threw crude remarks when you denied them a beer. You didn’t hold it against them. How could you, when you had done the same thing once or twice when you were a kid. It didn’t bother you anymore, so why not wait until they reached 21, or found good enough fake IDs.

You fished your keys out of your bag when you were at the stairs inside your apartment building. The little, pink bear was the only thing that distinguished it from any others, and you ran your fingers over the dimples and nicks as your legs moved for you. Fourth floor, second door on the left. Whistling the few beats of a song you could still remember from the radio, you spun the plastic toy around in the air, caught it with your other hand, and pushed it into your door.

The entry was cold. That wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but you were always reminded of the difference between the welcoming warmth of your bar and your home’s casual wave of air. Bringing a jacket with you was a moot point since you only needed it when you were actually inside. No, you just had to put up with it until you could get out of your work clothes and surround yourself with the fluffiest blankets you could find. You had this down to a fine art at that point, there was no reason why you couldn’t do it from muscle memory alone.

Your keys clattered to the wooden floorboards.

No anticipated reason. None at all. You should have been moving into your bedroom by now. You should have been leaving the line of sight of your kitchen and heading to your dresser. You should have been doing anything except staring right at the man who had settled himself against your countertop with a bowl and spoon in his hands.

You weren’t certain if you’d have preferred a complete stranger, maybe someone with a mallet ready to bash in your head. Something told you it would have been better that the mallet he had poised to bash in your heart with.

Your mouth dropped open and you forgot about the keys on the ground. Eyes scanning his figure, you begged to find any reason that this wasn’t him, but, if there was, you were too shocked to see it. First, came the slow, creeping sensation of confusion, then a dismal sadness washed through your veins, followed within the second by a tidal wave of anger.

In a single movement, you’d scooped up your keys, singled the sharpest one out, and lunged for Wilford.

The fucker was lucky he had those teleporting, magic, screw-the-laws-of-physics powers that let him appear behind you before you cut through his arm. That didn’t stop you from whirling around and trying to get at his shoulder, though, but you missed again. And again. And again.

“Stop moving!” you yelled, skidding into the fridge. It was a poorly choreographed dance that involved the two of you going around in circles, neither graceful nor calculated. The most math Wilford was doing was making sure he didn’t end up on your stove-top, and you were barely thinking, regardless of how many times the counter drove itself into your stomach.

His response of a stern, “No!” went ignored while you flung yourself towards him for a sixth time. You were considering just chucking the keychain at him and hoping you struck gold, but luck always seemed to be on his side – if not for his evading of your attacks, then for the fact that his bowl hadn’t spiled whatever was inside it. Although, just as you cursed him for it and a bunch of other irrelevant things, he placed it near the sink and watched you fumble with the keys. Your hands were sweaty against the frigidness of the apartment, the exercise was wearing you out quickly, but you didn’t let up. He’d always liked that about you, but he was getting tired, more of the repetitiveness of the situation than the exertion.

So, what else could he do but twist your arm behind your back, hold your other hand down onto the countertop, and ignore the suggestive position it put you both in to disarm you? You didn’t stop struggling, to which he tutted and wrenched your shoulder back further. Nothing to hurt you, too much, he just needed you to calm down. If there was one thing he’d learned in your past encounters, it was that you didn’t react well to simply being verbally ordered around.

“Now, why are you so angry?” Wilford asked.

For a second, you stilled. He couldn’t be serious, but, then again, when was he ever? This was the norm for him. Both the prudent ignorance and the method of disarmament. After jostling for moment more, you let out a breath that gave you more wiggle room against the countertop.

“Who wouldn’t be angry? You ate all my cereal and faked your death for three years.”

Wilford apparently deemed you pacified enough to let you go, and you fell forward slightly. God, your arms hurt. You turned to face him as you rolled the shoulder that he had pulled behind you. Military man. You hated when he actually used what he was taught.

“I didn’t fake my death,” he scoffed.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you ate all my cereal and abandoned me for three years. That better?”

“I didn’t abandon you.”

You finally met his eyes. Six feet between you, far out of arm’s reach, you hated that they didn’t betray any lies. More often than not, his emotions were masked by a haze of insanity, but the genuineness was crystal clear, like the spark of lighting across a night sky. It was the kind of purity that meant he fully believed he hadn’t abandoned you, but that just made it worse.

You forced yourself to look away.

“You still ate all my cereal.”

“For that, I am sorry.”

You believed him there, and you hated that you did. But that was the same Wilford who left all those nights ago, wasn’t it? No reason to anything, not leaving, not coming back, not a single thing.

Huffing, you gave up. It wasn’t worth arguing about, and you now had one more chore to do before you could settle down for the night. “What do you want?” you asked as you dumped the remainder of the cereal from Wil’s bowl.

“Can’t a man check in on an old friend out of the kindness of his heart?”

You levelled him with a blank stare. His grin cracked for just a second, but it was enough for you to spot, not that you changed your expression any.

“I- well, I thought we could catch up. What have you been up to for the last… what did you say, three years?”

You took a moment to try and figure him out again. Even if it would get you nowhere in the long run, you weren’t going to entertain him if he was there out of boredom. The little voice in the back of your mind reminded you that you didn’t have to play along with him, it reminded you that you had a job and a home and a life outside of whatever Wilford was swept up in. You didn’t have to jingle around the room like a court jester playing it up for laughs.

But you still sighed, ran a hand down your face, and vaguely gestured to the kitchen counter. “Go on, then.”

Wilford waltzed over to one of the stools as though that was just what he expected you to say, and, ashamed as you were, it likely was; it was some kind of routine you used to have, albeit without the giant gap in between. When you got home from working the bar, he would be there at the stove, cooking whatever it was caught his fancy in the books lately. You’d talk about your day and ask him about his, pouring both of you a drink. You couldn’t drink on the job, but your shift ended the minute you stepped through the apartment door.

Then, of course, after solid months of strange domesticity, Wilford up and vanished in the blink of an eye. Magic.

And, what, he appeared in just the same manner, and you fell into the habit, just like that? God, you really were weak.

“So, how’s the family?” was Wilford’s first question. You didn’t answer until you got the bottles out of the fridge and laid them on the countertop in front of him.

“Fine. Youngest brother graduated; parents adopted another dog.”

You turned away from grabbing the glasses only to see your guest wedging the top off the bottle of gin with his teeth. The cork pressed to the side of his mouth a clear danger, you swiped it from him, tossed it to your other hand and grabbed a corkscrew from the drawer in one swift motion.

“You’ll crack a tooth,” you muttered, knowing damn-well he wouldn’t heed your warning as you watched him shrug and remove the cap of the vermouth as well.

You didn’t bother to be surprised when the martini glass you’d seen on a shelf disappeared and reappeared in Wilford’s hand. That little voice, whispering again, reminded you that the magic trick was old hat to you now. You didn’t have to be shocked at the casual manipulation of time and space.

“I didn’t think Danny-boy was still in schooling. What’s he going to be, eh?”

Ignoring the sudden pressure in your chest, you replied, “A pilot.”

“Oh, a ladies’ man, then!” His laugh was more suited to a world war general than the pink-moustached maniac sipping straight from the vermouth in front of you. “I wish him the best of luck.” To which he raised the bottle, and, with a final wink, chugged the thing until half of it remained.

You almost didn’t want to risk finishing the martini you were making for him. You were well aware of how high Wilford’s alcohol tolerance was, but that didn’t make it any healthier. Still, when you had taken back the vermouth and poured it into the glass, you slid it over to him, warily eyeing the rest of the bottles to see if they’d been opened in the meantime. The sight of them all the same as before didn’t bring you much comfort regardless.

“And how’s the bar doing?”

You nodded slightly, your brow still furrowed and avoiding looking directly at him. “It’s doing well. We got a new bartender, she’s… she’s good.”

“Maybe you’ll finally take some time off, then,” he thought for a moment and then snapped his fingers, “there’s a new roller rink opening up on Alto Street. We could go there on your next day off!”

That pressure tightened into a vice grip. “We?”

“Yes, we. I wouldn’t recommend it if I didn’t think it’s good.”

“But you want to go together.”

“Is that a problem?”

Avoiding looking at him didn’t help, but making eye contact wasn’t any good, either. You only got an expression of confusion. Nothing betrayed an ulterior motive. You squinted but found only that. Surprise, maybe. You tilted your head one way and then the other, as though an angle would let you see something you couldn’t before. It was all the same.

“What are you doing, Wilford?”

Only more surprise. He laid down the martini glass, a mere sliver of alcohol left in the bottom, before placing his head in his hand. “What do you mean?”

“What is this? What- what do you want?”

A tut broke the tension for a second until it rose again tenfold.

“You’ve already asked that one.”

“Yeah, and we’ve caught up. You can leave now.”

“Well, you haven’t asked me what I’ve been up to.”

“Oh, yeah? What have you been up to, then?”

Wilford opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again with a hum. Go figure, he couldn’t tell you. Whether it was because he was bound by some contract, or couldn’t remember, or just plain hadn’t done a thing, you didn’t know, and you never had.

“Look, it was nice catching up with you, but I have to work in the morning—”

“Hold on, hold on!” Your moving away from the counter was blocked by Wilford rushing to stand and securing his hands on your shoulders. He held you in place, a new emotion appearing on his face. Desperation. The smallest amount, but it was there, and it had you changing your mind about shoving him away.

“How do I make it up to you?”

“I don’t think you can.”

You weren’t about to beat around the bush with this, even if it made you the bad guy – the kicked puppy look certainly made you think you were, but you stayed your course; you couldn’t give in so easily.

“I just… how do I know you aren’t going to disappear again?”

“I won’t!”

“How do I know, though? You don’t have the best track record.”

When he moved his hands from your shoulders, you thought he was going to leave, walk straight out the door into the night. It took only a second longer for you to realise he was grabbing your own hands. “This time I promise I’m telling the truth.”

Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Damn him and damn yourself and damn it all. You were weak, of course, but you were weak for the man in front of you with the stars in his eyes and sugar on his lips. And if that man was asking for a second chance – for a third time – who were you to deny him?

“Fine. Okay. Sure,” you spoke slowly, coming to grips with everything that had happened in the last half an hour.

You felt Wilford’s grip tighten at your hands and then release, and that was all that you expected, but you were talking about the time-travelling maniac in front of you. His arms were wrapped around you before you knew it, warmth and his moustache tapping at your skin. You supposed this was some kind of thanks, which you still appreciated. Gently, you lifted your hands to pat his back, causing him to squeeze slightly more, until he pulled away a few seconds later.

“Alright,” you mumbled, barely getting the word out in time for a yawn to overtake you, “I’m heading to bed.”

“Goodnight! Sleep well.”

You returned the pleasantry with obvious tiredness in both your tone and your body. Dragging your feet, you made your way to your room while Wilford cleared up, the clinking of glasses and bottles only making you slightly worried about how much you’d have left come morning. It wasn’t enough to stop you from conking out the very instance that you touched your comforter, ready and poised to forget the last half hour’s shenanigans.

You woke up in the morning. Not surprising. It happened a lot. What didn’t happen a lot, though, was the smell of pancakes stirring you from your sleep instead of the blinding sun through your windows. You cracked your eyes open, only to see complete darkness. Immediately, you jumped from your bed and scrambled to stand up straight. Nothing. You couldn’t see anything. A creeping sense of dread curled in your stomach, wrapped around you heart, and pulled. Where was Wilford? Did he do something, was he okay, why did it still smell like pancakes—

You hand made contact with something covering your eyes. Oh. Pulling it off, you were slowly greeted with the light of the day, as you expected, and an unfamiliar piece of fabric in your palm. It was silky when you ran your thumb over it, something you didn’t think you’d ever touched, let alone owned.

You left the sleeping mask on your chaotic mess of sheets. Overwhelmed by the haze of adrenaline and sleep, you stumbled to get ready – which, given that you still had to figure out that smell, consisted of swapping out the uniform that you’d passed out in for a tank top and shorts. You weren’t fully awake when you got to the door, but you had nothing else to do but get to the kitchen and hope it was nothing you’d have to call emergency services about.

All three of your panic-questions were answered when you stopped at the archway between the mini hallway and the kitchen. The scene of Wilford at the stove, his back to you but clearly flipping something in a pan, quickly greeted you. Sizzling filled the air and disguised your footfalls on the wooden floorboards. They were nearly silent anyway, and yet you were caught as you got close to the countertop’s stools.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” Wilford sang, turning to wink at you so that you could see the ‘kiss-the-cook’ apron he now sported. Something panged in your chest, like a string cut loose; you’d bought that for him years ago, back when he was cooking dinner for the two of you. The face of the cashier stuck in your mind, somewhere between amused and sickened, but you didn’t care. The only time he hadn’t worn it when cooking was after you’d wrestled it away from him to wash. And then, obviously, after he disappeared, it was stashed in the back of the drawer, piled onto by old cloths and semi-broken utensils. You wondered how he found it again.

“Did you put a sleeping mask on me?” You collapsed onto a seat and rested your arms on the laminate surface.

“I did, yes.” He went back to peeling the sides of a pancake off the edge and said nothing else on the matter.

“…why?”

Wilford flipped the pancake once, twice, a third time, then pressed it down in a ritual you had seen many times before. The crack of batter shocked the air around it. “Given how tired you were last night – too tired to change out of your clothes, at least – I didn’t want the sun to wake you up too early.”

“And the curtains weren’t enough?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” he tutted, “I’ve seen how much gets through those flimsy things. It’s a wonder how the stars themselves don’t keep you awake.”

He wasn’t wrong. It happened often that you would wake up in the middle of the night, drowsy and blinking, only to realise that it was ten hours earlier than when you needed to be out of bed by. It happened now, and it happened three years ago. You just never put in the effort to fix it.

So, you just sighed, giving up the debate as fast as you’d started it, and dragged your hands down your face. According to the clock on the wall opposite you, there was still six more hours until the bar opened – you didn’t like encouraging day-drinking and four o’clock was the lowest you would go – and, frankly, you didn’t know how to spend them. A routine of stupid conspiracy theories and paperwork was offset with Wilford’s presence, leaving you with the shambles of a normal morning.

You blinked back to life when he set out two plates of pancakes on the countertop, one of them in front of you and the other just to your right at the next stool over. As he rounded the jutted-out edge, he brushed the small of your back with his hand, still warm from being near the stove. You couldn’t help but tense up, entirely focused on that point of contact like you’d been called to attention by a drill sergeant.

Wilford dropped into the seat and handed you a pair of cutlery. You didn’t notice the toppings spread along the edge until you blinked some more times to rid the blur of your vision. Half of them had been pushed to the very back of the cupboard while the other half you weren’t certain you had ever bought in the first place.

Something stopped you from reaching for any of them. Something stopped you from doing anything.

It was a shared feeling between the pit of your stomach and your throat. Like you wanted to scream and cry and laugh at the same time. Manic, you guessed was the best word for it, but even that felt wrong. Your heart thundered in your chest and raged against your ribcage, as though it were the only thing stopping it from telling you just what was wrong with you. Maybe this was just what happened what Wilford was around you, or maybe this was just what happened when he left. You didn’t think you were sure of anything anymore.

“Is this it?”

“What do you mean?”

The words struggled against the rush of blood in your veins. You weren’t angry. You understood that you should have been, but you weren’t, and you weren’t bitter, and you weren’t resentful. It was another feeling on the tip of your tongue. But you held onto that feeling because it was undeniably there. You would have bashed your head against the counter if you weren’t paralyzed with…

You were scared. That was it. You were downright terrified.

“Are you,” you swallowed thickly, “are you here now?”

“Honey, whatever are you talking about?” Wilford asked, facing you with that sugar-coated grin you’d always gotten so hung up over. “I’ve been here since last night.”

Just those words made you break into an internal panic. The only way that it shone through was in the frantic movements of your pupils, darting back and forth, searching desperately for the truth in his own. Meeker than he had ever heard you before, you asked, “Are you staying?”

And, just like that, he realized what you were asking, what you were going through. The eyes were the windows to the soul, after all, and, as he secured his hands on your shoulders, he saw your soul shattered into pieces. He had left, and the memory of stepping out of that front door was seared into his mind. He couldn’t forget, not even under the cover of discos and murder-mysteries, the way that the click of the lock echoed down the hallway and the stairwell, chasing after him when he was out of the building and seeping into the cracks of the pavement. It was karmic justice that the thought of you prevented him from entering any bar from that day onward. He didn’t want to risk it, and, well, he’d already forgotten so much. The few sane memories that remained were ones he didn’t want to taint with similar experiences and get them muddled up in his mind.

Now that he was back, Wilford couldn’t imagine leaving again, not when you were staring at him, panicked and desperate for a response.

Slowly, gently, he brought you closer until your chest was pressed against his. The embrace was tight but comfortable. Supportive. A promise he couldn’t yet put into words. He shushed you as you tucked your head into the crook of his neck, your own arms tugging him even closer than that, as if you expected him to disappear at any moment – not that it was unjustified. His grip on your shoulder blades tensed alongside yours.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to. On your part, you were too preoccupied with holding back the floods of tears that threatened to spill over at any second. A few had already escaped and dampened his dress shirt. On Wilford’s, he understood already.

The pair of you sat there for five minutes more. It felt like longer, but the clock was barely passing half ten. The most concrete thought that dragged through your head was that the hug was nice. You hadn’t been held like that since the last time Wilford was there. Sure, you’d been close to other people, but the complete relaxation of your body was a sensation you could see yourself chasing like an addict’s high.

It was practically painful to pull away, though you kept your hands secured around his waist.

“Shit,” you laughed quietly, voice clogged with tears, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spring that on you.”

“Pish posh! I think we both needed that, and I’m more than welcome for another in the future. For now,” he rose from his seat and gathered your plates, “I’m going to make some more pancakes.”

As Wilford passed behind you, he leaned around and pecked your cheek with his lips. It must have been an unconscious decision because his eyebrows raised, and he sounded apologetic as he spoke.

“Was that too much?”

Truth be told, you weren’t expecting it, but that didn’t make it any less appreciated. You had gone from trying to stab his with your keys to crying in his embrace in less than a day, you imagined you could handle a little kiss. And, as it happened, a larger one, too.

Wilford watched as you got up from your own stool and took a step closer to him. He was almost worried you would shove him out of the door, but you did something different. Very different.

In one swift motion, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him forward. For a second, he was focused on keeping the plates steady in his hands, before he felt the oh-so-familiar warmth of your lips on his, and, had he forgotten, this was a pleasant reminder. He sighed into your mouth as his shoulders fell from their tensed position and he tilted his head for a better angle. A lopsided grin spread over his lips, only somewhat messing up the kiss, but you continued.

You lifted a hand up to cup his jawline, smoothing a thumb over the texture of his skin; the other you used to card through his tousled hair. Your reward? A light groan so quiet that you nearly missed it. Luckily, you didn’t, even as he tried to twist it into a hum. He’d missed this, and so had you. And besides, who were you to ignore the order on his apron?

Eventually, you had to separate. Time-travelers and bartenders both had to breath, after all.

“Oh, honey,” Wilford muttered, slowly but not subtly moving closer again.

You accepted another kiss, and then another when you parted, and then another after that. Each of them was slow and sweet, only half like him in that regard.

“Still making those pancakes, are you?” you managed to get out in the interim.

His chuckle was just as carefree as his other sounds, but he did step back to put the plates by the sink. You moved to start cleaning them as he prepared the next pancakes. The splash of water against the sizzle of batter warmed your chest, and the glimpse of Wilford standing next to you had you grinning ear to ear.

This was good. Making breakfast in a tiny apartment, not yet dressed for the day but content to stay like this for the rest of it – you were happy with this life.

You were certain of it.

[It's weird that this blog has been open for over a year and yet this is the first Wilford one-shot I've done. Side note: this was inspired by @valentivy-makes so you should go and check out their amazing art of Wilford, because, um, you should. Thanks for reading <3]

#theknightmarket #fanfiction #writing #markiplier egos #markiplier #markiplier egos x reader #one shots #x reader #wilfordmotherlovingwarfstache #markiplier wilford #wkm wilford #wilford warfstache #Wilford x reader #bartender reader #angst/comfort #somewhat similar to the Dark one I did

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intolerable-sushi · 2 months

Text

Loving madness

Wilford x reader

Hello folks!!! I am currently sick with the flu, so I have had time to go through my drafts and work on things!!! This is an wilford x gn reader story that I may or may not continue depending on how I feel. Let me know if yall like it, enjoy!!!

Your friends had dragged you to a new club on your birthday to celebrate despite you begging for a small party. Instead of a couple of drinks with your friends inside your perfectly temperate house, you were now sweating like a pig in the corner of the club. Your friends were having a good time at least, with each finding a random guy to grind on. You could barely hold the panic that threatened to spill out of your throat as the club became more crowded. You hated this. You needed to get some air. You could barely make your way through the crowd as you searched for some sort of sanctuary. As your panic began to overflow and tears started to cloud your eyes, you bumped into a man as he turned around, spilling your drink all over him. You began to apologize profusely afraid that he would be angry with you, as he had every right to be.

____________________________________________

Loving Wilford had been a mistake. A mistake that you could have easily avoided if you hadn’t been so short-sighted and naive. It had all been going so well when you had first met.

“Now, now, it's alright darling. A little spill never hurt anyone. These things happen all the time! Now, are you alright?” The man was tall , wearing a yellow shirt and khakis. His smile was warm under his mustache and his eyes had this spark in them. You froze, he was beautiful. “Miss I understand that I am quite a catch if I do say so myself, but I do believe that you need to breathe.” You need to breathe? Oh shit you had stopped breathing. You took in a quick gasp before apologizing again. His eyes appeared to soften as he looked at you.

“You look like you are having a rough night. Why don’t we get you outside for some air?” He placed his hand on the small of your back as he guided you towards the door. Once the two of you were outside he sat you down on a chair that you were sure wasn’t there when you had walked out. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s gotten someone as stunning as you all frazzled.” You explained that today was your birthday, and that your friends had dragged you to this new club despite you wanting a small get together. Everyone else was having fun, but the atmosphere was overwhelming to you. You didn’t want to ruin everyone’s fun so you just stayed quiet. The tears that had been collecting in your eyes began to fall. You just wanted to go home now.

The man had listened silently to your explanation before letting out a huff. “ Those don’t sound like very good friends. Today is YOUR birthday not theirs. You should be doing what you want to do today!” You stated you would rather not cause any problems. The man huffed again, “Wanting to be celebrated in a way you enjoy is not causing problems.” The man appeared to be almost steaming as he began to pace in front of you muttering to himself.

You stood up from your chair and said you would rather just head back to your apartment now. The man stopped his pacing and turned to you, “Alright, but may I walk you home to ensure your safety.” You thought about it for a second. This definitely was not the safest part of town, so walking by yourself was risky but at the same time, you didn’t know this man. You couldn’t help but eye him suspiciously. Was he really safe or did he have another motive?

The man seemed to realize what you were thinking and he cleared his throat. “ My apologies, where are my manners? My name is Willia- I mean, Wilford Warfstache at your service.” He said while taking a deep bow with his hand to his chest. You couldn’t help but to giggle at the name. Warfstache, what an interesting name. You decided that he seemed kind enough and told him he could walk you home.

The two of you talked the entire way there. Wilford was kind, passionate, and funny. He had so many stories to tell and you felt like you could listen to him for hours. He made you smile and you couldn’t help the feelings of butterflies forming in your stomach. Before you parted ways that night you gifted Wilford with your number and a kiss on the check.

The two of you began to see each other regularly and talked almost nonstop. Being with Wilford felt like a dream. He was a gentleman in all things, but he helped push you out of your comfort zone. The two of you had gone on skating dates, picnic dates, and you even went to a dance club at some point. Wilford had kept you close to make sure you were safe and comfortable.

You were so happy and naive that you had ignored the problems and red flags. Wilford rarely talked about his past, with the only people he ever brought up being his childhood friends Mark and Damien. Sometimes he would mention a past love, but he didn’t seem to remember her name. Which brought up another concern; his memory. He struggled with simple things like the date, or even where he was. Which explained why he didn’t talk about his past. You suggested he go see a doctor multiple times, but he would refuse with a kind smile every time.

Other issues were harder to ignore, like when he started to just appear in places. In the apartment he could be in the bedroom one minute, and then in the kitchen the next. You explained it away with you just not paying attention, but that excuse didn’t work when he did it outside the house. Walking away to go to the bathroom only to appear in front of you when you turn back around. You should have started asking questions then. You should have payed attention as the light slowly left his eyes, when his face began to have random twitches, or when his mustache started to turn fucking pink. You ignored it all, explaining it all away in your head like a naive fool. Maybe you could have saved him. It’s too late to know now.

Eventually his descent went from a trickle of odd occurrence to a waterfall of concerns. You would come home to him sitting at the table with a drink in hand staring at the wall muttering to himself. You could only catch the words “I did” from him. He would snap out of it when you would call him, and go back to being regular old Wilford, but over time even that stopped working. He would avoid the topic every time you brought it up, saying, “I’m fine love, I promise.” As this went on you could no longer ignore the fact that he started to randomly appear in your house when you knew he wasn’t there. You had screamed at him the first time he walked into the kitchen from your room. The two of you started to argue. He refused to talk to you about anything, and you were begging him to get help. You could see him slipping further and further from you, but he was just being so stubborn.

Everything came to a head when you had been watching the news one night. There had been a massacre, two men and three women had been shot and killed. “The killer is still at large.” The news reporter stated, “ It is suggested that everyone stay in their homes until further notice. Talks of city wide curfew are currently in the works”

Your front door suddenly slammed open! You turned to see Wilford staggering inside before slamming the door closed behind him.“Darling are you home?” He called, “You would not believe the night I’ve had!” You felt relief wash over you seeing your love, but that feeling stopped when something shun in his hand. A gun. Your blood froze for a second as you stared at the weapon. You were no longer listening to Wilford as questions flooded your head. Did he kill those people? Wilford would never hurt anyone!! He’s been so kind!! But why is he holding it right now? Why is it not holstered? Is that smoke?

“Darling?” Wilford had noticed you staring at his gun. He looked behind you to see the news broadcast. “Oh that? That was just a little accident, my love, no need to worry! It’ll work itself out!” An accident? It had been an accident? So why did he run? You looked into his eyes and your body couldn’t help but stiffen. There was no regret or sadness for the lives he had taken. The madness that you had been ignoring had taken over his eyes. Even the love he had for you was hard to find. You couldn’t help but be afraid for a moment.

His smile began to falter as he stared at you. “My love? What’s wrong? You know I would never hurt you right? It was just an accident I swear.” He slowly began to approach you with his hands up, but the gun was still in hand. You scrambled off the couch to get away from him. His face fell at that moment. He backed towards the kitchen before slumping onto the table, “I’ve lost it haven’t I,” He whispered almost to himself, “ I thought I had more time, but it’s really slipped away, hasn’t it.” He finally looked back up at you, and for a moment you saw the Wilford you had met that night.

You begged him to let you help him. The two of you could fix this! You can’t lose him! You were sobbing now. You began to slowly make your way around the couch towards him.

“STAY”

You froze as he snapped at you. He looked back down at the floor. “I’m too far gone love. I’m gonna forget everything eventually. Even you…” He began to grip the edge of the table, “ You don’t deserve this. You are so sweet, and caring. I wish I could give you the world,” the table began to crack under his grip, “ I don’t deserve you. I can’t keep you safe. Not when I’m the thing putting you in danger.”

Wilford rose up from the table and looked at you with a sad smile. “ I can’t be with you love. It was selfish of me to think otherwise. I can’t destroy your life like I destroyed theirs. I have to go, but if you ever need me just call for me, and I’ll come. Even if I don’t remember you, I promise I’ll protect you.” You didn’t understand, you begged him to explain. He only shook his head. “Goodbye my love,” With that he disappeared in front of your eyes.

You haven’t seen Wilford since, and you’ve been a wreck. You loved that man. You shouldn’t but you did anyway. You just couldn’t understand any of this. What was he? Why did he kill those people? You’ve been crying yourself to sleep trying to think of the answers, but none ever came.

One night things took another turn.

You were crying in your room as you had done for many nights when suddenly, “Poor, sweet thing. All teary eyed over a lost love. Confused with no answers,” A voice called out to you from the darkness of your room. You reached to turn on the lamp on your night stand, but the light barely even reached the edge of your bed. What’s happening? “ Relax little one, I am here to help you. I have some information that could be of use to you. I don’t ask for much in return. Just a simple favor,” From the shadows stepped a man in a suit. He stood tall and proud, with gray skin like a thunder cloud. His form seemed to break and strain, with the man appearing to scream in pain for one second then be back to his standing posture the next. “Why don’t we talk about this over ice cream?”

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sardonic-the-writer · 2 years

Note

Falling asleep with your head on their shoulder, you babble about how much you love them and how cute they are...how do the egos react?

━MARKIPLIER ☆

You're too tired to open your eyes, but if you could you'd see Mark absolutely melting

Hes the human equivalent of a pile of simp soup at this point. With stary eyes, fuzzy feelings and all. Can't belive he managed to get you as a s/o

━DARKIPLIER ☆

He just shushed you, telling you to get some sleep. Don't get me wrong. Your declaration of undying love thawed away at his otherwise cold heart, but Dark would rather you get some rest <3

━ANTISEPTICEYE ☆

He almost pushed you off him when he sees you falling asleep. But once Anti hears his name come out of your mouth, he pauses.

"-an I jus' love you sooooo much Antiii."

"Damn right ye do. Nowh get offa meh-"

Yeah he loves you

━WILFORD ☆

He leaned his head on top of yours, curling up and chuckling occasionally at your words that were slurred with exhaustion. You eventually drifted off on Wilfords shoulder, not noticing the tickle of his mustache when he kissed you goodnight.

━YANCY ☆

Recuperates the compliments and loving comments with his own about you. If any inmates had passed your cell at that moment, all they would have seen was two sleepy lovebirds enjoying each other presence

━ENGINEER ☆

He mostly likey has to move you back to you room on the ship. Probably becuase you fell asleep with a soft "I love you" while he was working on a loud prodject

Tucks you in awwww :))

━ACTOR ☆

Unless you're stroking his ego with yout sleepy words, Actor will shake you awake harshly

"Don't you dare drool on this robe! It's made of the finest silk from china!"

You gather enough energy to blow him a tired raspberry

━ILLINOIS ☆

"I jus' love you so muchhh Illyyy. You're so sweeeet an, uh, prettyyy."

"That's mighty kind of you darlin. But try to sleep okay? We have a big adventure to continue tomorrow"

"Mk Illyyyy."

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weirdlyhornyforegos · 2 years

Text

Wilford Warfstache x gn!reader

Anon: Could I please request a fic featuring Wilford and the Captain (reader), specifically set during ISWM Part 2? Maybe Wil knows that the Captain needs some stress relief and offers some “support” when their paths cross outside of the WMLW room ;)

MINORS DNI!!!! Writing block has been hitting hard, leave it to Wilford to make me write again ;P

Wordcount: 1.7k+

Tags/warnings: handjobs, brief oral (reader reciving), biting/marking

You stare at the man, not sure you actually heard him right.

“Excuse me?!?” It’s the first words you have uttered in what feels like forever, and you can’t help but sound incredulous, but the man in front of you just grins.

“Didn’t think your hearing would be affected Captain, but I guess you never know how your adventures might affect you, huh. I said, you look stressed, I’m free to use.” He spreads his arms wide, and you only look in disbelief.

He can’t be quite right in the head. The pink afro that slips a little as he tilts his head doesn’t help matters.

“No.” The word is firm, and that does get a frown from the pink man, but it’s quickly gone as he lowers his arms and takes a few steps closer. On instinct you take a few steps backwards, mindful that the hallway behind you isn’t endless.

“Oh come on old champ, I know it’s been a while since you saw lil’ old Wilford, but we can have some fun can’t we?” You narrow your eyes at him, but the grin doesn’t falter.

“Aren’t you tired of running? A little tired of just going where everyone else decides you to go? Don’t you want to carve out some of your own time and space?” Wilford has slowly been moving forward as he spoke, but now you stood your ground, which means at his last question he stands only inches away from you.

Which would indeed make it very easy to drag him into a kiss.

Fuck, where did that thought come from???

Your eyes flutter all over his face, and he watches you with what almost seems like mild amusement on his face as you think it over.

He was, in some infuriating way, (though you’re not sure why it gets to you so much), right. You have been on such a constant move, and you realize this is the longest time you’ve been in one place.

No doubt because of him, since he popped that blue swirling portal you had become so annoyingly familiar with.

And for now, you find you actually want to stay put for a moment.

Reaching up to your neck, the man watches with rapt interest as you unclasp your helmet, taking it off and setting down on the ground next to you.

“There’s that beautiful and or handsome face.” Grin very much in place, he sets down his martini before cupping your cheeks. You expect him to kiss you then, but instead he just hold your face.

Seeming to wait for something.

Waiting for you.

He truly was going to hold up to his word of letting you use him.

So you drag him closer by his hips and lean in so you can kiss him. His lips are firm against yours, warm and slightly chapped as your tongue comes out to give light kitten licks against them.

With the gentlest of prodding he opens his mouth, letting your tongue start to explore his mouth.

Moving backwards, you pull Wilford with you so you find yourself pinned against the wall, dragging his hips against your own, heat quickly pooling in your stomach. He must be much the same, as you can feel him start to fill out his pants.

And from what you can feel, he fills it out his pants rather well.

But that’s not what you are going to focus on now. He did after all, say he was free to use, and oh, you will use him.

You only let go of his waist so you can guide his hands to the zipper of your flight suit. He has nimble fingers, so they make quick work of it and slip inside, pushing their way into your underwear, firm fingers dancing over your arousal, pressing against you so you buck up against him.

“There you go Captain, chase those wonderful feelings.” Wilford stops the kiss to say, moving to mouth along your neck.

And though it feels nice, it’s not what you want right now.

No.

You want to be in control, and you will take that.

So, instead of letting him keep kissing your neck, you knock that stupid fake pink afro off and get a hand on his hair. You take a firm hold, and yank his head back. It makes him groan, and when he feels your teeth on his neck before your lips, he chuckles.

“Ohh, fiery!” He teases, and you roll your eyes, biting down hard, earning yourself a grunt. You remind him to keep moving his hand with a buck of your hips, and the hand inside of your flight suit soon starts moving again. His other hand comes to rest against the bottom of your spine, warm and oddly familiar.

He pants and groans as you keep littering bites all over his neck, the attention every so often broken by kisses placed over the rather harsh bites.

His hips move too, but that only seems like a second nature, like every bite of your teeth, and movement of his hand on you makes him want to chase his own pleasure even though he said you were the one that could use him.

So, deciding to take a risk (not really a big one), you whisper into his ear.

“You’re not allowed to cum before I say.” He laughs, though it mixes into his moans as your hand not in his hair drags him forward and against you.

“Aye aye Captain.” You don’t know he’s mocking you or just having fun.

Not that you really care, not with how good his hand works over your arousal, and how pretty his groans with every bite sounds.

Though he isn’t allowed to cum, you certainly are.

So as you feel yourself getting warmer and warmer, and closer and closer, you chase that high.

Grinding against his hand, purposefully moaning low right next to his ear, making him shiver as you get closer and closer to cumming.

Your thighs start to shake, and the movement of his hands gets almost desperate, the one on the bottom of your spine now pushing and urging you to move.

So, you do, not because of his eagerness to make you cum, but because you can, because you can use him as you please.

And what you please now is cumming over his hand.

In only a few minutes you do, not caring about your own volume, the music from the other room drowning out the possibility for anyone else other than him to hear you.

Wilford keeps moving his hands and hips against you, keeping you riding that high for a little extra while. You have to grab his wrist to make him still, fishing out his hand of your flight suit. You hold it up in front of his mouth, and without a word, like he knows you so well, he takes his fingers into his mouth, cleaning you off his fingers.

He puts on a show of it, licking each digit with careful attention, keeping eye contact with you the whole time as his tongue cleans off every digit.

When he’s done, he lets the hand fall, shifting so both of his hands gently hold your hips. Your thighs feel sticky, so you get an idea.

A hand on Wilford’s shoulder, pushing at him gives clear instructions without needing words.

He sinks to his knees, and doesn’t hesitate to lean forward to start cleaning you off.

It’s so too soon for you to cum again just yet, but his mouth and tongue on your thighs and most sensitive area feels so good, making your thighs shake again.

He looks up and winks at you, not moving away from you for a second.

“Touch yourself.” His eyes widen, but his hand moves fast with his button and zipper. In seconds he has himself in hand, stroking over his cock. He’s far from small, and for a moment you wonder how it would feel to touch.

And though it’s tempting, you want Wilford to cum by his own hand.

“You can cum like this, but you better give me a show.” Wilford nods, and you put a hand in his hair again, pulling his head backwards so his neck arches so pretty for you.

He groans low in his throat, closing his eyes as he works his hand over himself, his leaking cock making sure you know how close he is to cumming already.

He makes a rather pretty picture like this.

Knees spread wide, panting as his hand turns to a blur over his cock, head held back, his neck covered in your bitemarks.

Though some look to be healing already.

Odd.

But you don’t mind, it’s far from the weirdest thing you’ve seen today.

“Fuucckkk.” He groans, shaking as his hands stills, his own cum now covering it almost just like your did earlier.

You watch as he takes a few deep breaths, opening his eyes, catching your gaze again. Once more he brings his hand up to his lips, licking it clean with a grin, eyes almost twinkling.

“Feeling a little better Captain?” He teases, trying to move his head, but your firm grasp keeps him in a place for a few moments.

“Wanting another round so soon Cap?” You snort, letting go of his hair. On slightly unsteady legs, he gets up, making sure to zip up his pants. He helps you do the same, and with minimal effort, you look presentable again, and not like you just came over his hand. Wilford too looks like before, other than his shirt which has somehow gotten more unbuttoned.

You see more than just a little peek of a firm chest, and for a moment you think about asking for that second round.

But no, you have to get back to.... Whatever the universe has planned for you.

For now.

You put your helmet back on while Wilford pulls out an ancient looking phone from somewhere, and a pink portal appears.

Wilford pulls you close for a moment, at first you think it’s to say something, but he just kisses the forehead of your helmet before pushing you towards the swirling pink that hangs in the air. You absentmindedly notice that all your bite marks are gone, except one just under his jaw.

You wonder how long it will last.

#wilford warfstache x reader #wilford x reader #Wilford Warfstache #wilford #wilford warfstache smut #wilford smut #wilford warfstache fic #wilford warfstache fanfiction #gn! reader #gn reader #my writing #lemon #smut #wilford fanfiction #wilford fic

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leighsartworks216 · 7 months

Text

Markiplier Egos Masterlist

I have too many links on my main masterlist lol

Main Masterlist

AO3

Request Rules

Tag List Form

The Host

Please Stay - The Host x gn!reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, lots of blood, wound descriptions, implied self-h*rm, awkwardness, just sorta the beginning stages of a crush so it's really cute

Help - The Host x gn!reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, depression, intrusive thoughts

Friendship - The Host x gn!reader

Warnings: none

Cuddles - The Host x gn!reader (platonic)

Warnings: swearing, anxiety, awkwardness

“Did you sleep well?” Headcanons - The Host x gn!reader

Warnings: none

Wilford Warfstache

Blanket Thief - Wilford x gn!reader

Warnings: none, just pure fluff

Scary Movie Night - Wilford x gn!reader

Warnings: broken glass, panic attack, swearing, hurt/comfort but mostly fluff

Wilf Welcoming You Back Home Headcanons - Wilford x gn!reader

Warnings: mentions of food and drink

Yancy

Pet - Yancy x gn!reader

Warnings: swearing, reader is angy, bad accents

Parole - Yancy x gn!reader

Warnings: cat

My Handsome Guy - trans!Yancy x transmasc!reader

Warnings: dysphoria (not explicit), Yancy calls you “doll” in a gender neutral way, period stuff

Breakfast - Yancy x gn!reader

Warnings: swearing, slight paranoia (?), slight abandonment issues

Star-gazing - Yancy x gn!reader x Illinois

Warnings: none

Solitary - Yancy x gn!reader

Warnings: panic attack, claustrophobia, swearing, hurt/comfort

Hyperfixations - Yancy x autistic!gn!reader x Illinois

Warnings: slight swearing???, fluff

Darkiplier

Just a Little Dark Drabble - Dark x gn!reader

Warnings: none

A Thousand Awful Days - Dark x transmasc!reader

Warnings: dysphoria, swearing, fluff

Overwhelmed - Part 2 - Dark x (implied) autistic!gn!reader

Warnings: overstimulation/sensory overload, being nonverbal, zoning out, swearing, can be read as platonic

Damien and Dark ramble - Damien x gn!reader, Dark x gn!reader

Warnings: none

Grief - Dark x gn!reader

Warnings: grieving, depression, loss of a pet

Period Pains - Dark x AFAB!reader

Warnings: talk of period stuff that may cause dysphoria

Trauma (Songfic) - Dark x DA!reader, Damien x DA!reader

Warnings: angst

Birthday Wishes - Dark x DA!reader

Warnings: mentions of purgatory, fire/matches and a knife

Dark Drabble - Dark x DA!reader

Warnings: none

Just A Child - Dark & teenage!gn!reader (platonic)

Warnings: Actor is a creep (implied), hurt/comfort themes

Panic Attack Comfort Headcanons - Dark x gn!reader

Warnings: panic attack (obvi), mostly fluff

Pretty Boy - King!Dark x masc!reader

Warnings: things get a little spicy 😳

Gone, I’m Gone (Songfic) - Dark/Damien x DA!reader

Warnings: explicit descriptions of blood, broken bones, starvation and dehydration, swearing, manipulation, extreme angst

Papers (Songfic) - Dark/Damien x DA!reader

Warnings: Actor is an asshole, angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of some events from WKM

Illinois

Of Cowboys, Cave Ins, and Crushes - Illinois x gn!reader

Warnings: being trapped in a small area, death, minor injuries that are not explicitly described

Partner - Illinois x gn!reader

Warnings: none

Free of Charge - Illinois x gn!reader

Warnings: illness, swearing, hurt/comfort

Reckless - Illinois x gn!reader

Warnings: death, blood, injury, swearing, ANGST

Family Reunion - Illinois, no reader

Warnings: none

Stay Safe - Illinois x gn!reader

Warnings: swearing

Star-gazing - Illinois x gn!reader x Yancy

Warnings: none

Careful Not To Fall In Love - Illinois & Indiana Jones

Warnings: none

Hyperfixations - Illinois x autistic!gn!reader x Yancy

Warnings, slight swearing??, fluff

Damien

Midnight, The Stars and You (Songfic Kinda) - Damien x fem!reader

Warnings: none

Damien and Dark ramble - Damien x gn!reader, Dark x gn!reader

Warnings: none

Trauma (Songfic) - Dark x DA!reader, Damien x DA!reader

Warnings: angst

Gone, I’m Gone (Songfic) - Damien/Dark x DA!reader

Warnings: explicit descriptions of blood, broken bones, starvation and dehydration, swearing, manipulation, extreme angst

Sodomy - Damien x male!DA!reader

Warnings: internalized homophobia, religious trauma, hinted emotionally abusive parents, sodomy laws

Papers (Songfic) - Damien/Dark x DA!reader

Warnings: Actor is an asshole, angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of some events from WKM

Googleplier

Hug - Google x gn!reader

Warnings: none

Reader Who Can’t Spell Headcanons - Google x gn!reader

Warnings: none

First Kiss Headcanons - Google x gn!reader

Warnings: none

ISWM

You’re Not The Captain AU

One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven - Eight - Ficlet

You’re Another Engineer AU

One

Captain’s Log - Ficlet - Addition

Dogs in Space Headcanons - ISWM Crew + Captain!reader (Slight Captaineer)

Engineer Mark

Kiss It Better - Engineer Mark x gn!reader

Warnings: minor injury, but mostly just fluff

Captain, My Captain - Engineer Mark x AFAB!reader

Warnings: period fic, cramps, swearing

In My Solitude (Songfic) - Engineer Mark x gn!reader

Warnings: loneliness, depression, possible su*c*dal thought (written in red text just in case), death, heavy angst, maybe a little fluffy at the end but like a sad fluffy

I Missed You - Engineer Mark x transmasc!reader

Warnings: being (unintentionally) misgendered

#1 Captain - Engineer Mark x gn!reader

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort

Your Captain - Engineer Mark x gn!reader

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, loss of identity, overworking

#fanfic #fanfiction #markiplier #markiplier egos #markiplier egos x reader #mayor damien x reader #damien x reader #wilford warfstache x reader #wilford x reader #darkiplier x reader #host x reader #illinois x reader #yancy x reader #engineer mark x reader #googleplier x reader

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cheeryraccoon · 2 years

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Wholesome Ego Headcannons

Hey look! I'm not dead! Sorry I haven't posted in a while, I'm back at school and have been pretty busy. Anyway, I hope you enjoy these headcannons! -------------------------------------------------------

Mark -

• I see this man being very cuddley. At home if he's not working, he'll just cuddle up to you on the couch. Or if you're busy at your desk he'll just slip his arms around you and hug you. When you're out in public he'll usually just be holding your hand.

• He asked for your opinion on what color he should dye his hair every time he did so.

• Loves to bring you snacks if/when you stream.

• His favorite picture of you is of you and Chica laying in the grass on a sunny day (it's his phone's wallpaper).

• When either of you go on long trips he FaceTimes you to talk about both of your days.

Dark -

• You and Wilford are besties and will often try to get Dark to do something fun with you (sometimes it starts to become Wilford third wheeling but he doesn't mind).

• He uses rose petal cologne... I do not take criticism.

• He teases you sometimes just so he can see you flustered.

• He loves when you hang out in his office when he's working to keep him company.

• He will never admit it but he likes watching cheesy romance movies with you.

Wilford -

• If you ever get mad at him he'll leave and come back with food and puppy eyes.

• He'll randomly take your hand and slow dance with you in the living room.

• He loves nuzzling your noses.

• He loves to buy you clothes and when he sees you wear them he gets excited.

• Sometimes when he is reminded of Damien, Celine, and Actor, he has panic attacks. He'll lock himself in his room and curl up in the corner on the floor, sobbing. When this happens you knock a small jingle (to let him know it's you and he can let you in when he's ready) on the door and sit outside to wait. When he lets you in you'll hug him, tell him that everything is okay and that it wasn't his fault, and give him kisses to make him feel better. He doesn't know what he would do if he didn't have you at those times.

Yancy -

• In prison there's not much you can do for dates... but since you're with the man who knows every nook and cranny of the place he figures things out. At night he'll sneak you outside to stargaze and he can scare all the other prisoners out of the cafeteria at meal time and get the chefs to make you a nice dinner, he'll make sure you can be as happy with him as possible.

• If you share a cell he'll cuddle you when you're cold... or just because.

• He brags about you to everyone else, that includes the guards and the warden.

• He loves pet names, his favorite ones for you being 'buttercup' and 'doll'

• If he's ever insecure about his accent, you reassure him that you love it and that it's amazing the way it is. He appreciates you a lot for that.

Illinois -

• After a long day of adventuring, he loves relaxing with you in his arms as he reads a good book.

• When you steal his hat, or he puts it on your head, he takes a second to stare and take it how much he really loves you.

• If he ever finds out you had a crush on Indiana Jones at some point he'll implode... aka he'll get really flustered and probably get you in a bear hug the next time he sees you.

• This man loves plushies and you can't prove me wrong. If you give him a plush he will have it sitting on his bed and sometimes cuddle it when he goes to sleep. (+10 points if you spray it with your perfume)

• He likes to call you 'peach'.

Engineer Mark -

• He's a puppy. If you give him head pats he will do anything and everything to get more. You called him a good boy once as a joke and he wouldn't stop talking about it for a month. (His newest nickname from you is 'puppy')

• He loves hugs and physical affection and will constantly try to get hugs from you all the time.

• Celci doesn't understand why you want to date him but will admit that you look cute together.

• Whenever you need him to show you how to do something he'll place his hands on top of yours to show you. He doesn't really think about it but, once he sees you blushing a little, he'll blush and get all smiley.

• If you ever get hurt on the ship, even if its just a tiny paper cut, he'll panic and rush you to the medical room to make sure you're okay.

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lailakotori · 1 year

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Hey i was wondering if you could write headcanons for Wilford with a reader whos shy and dosnt talk much? gender neutral pronouns please :}

Headcanons Shy and talk least reader | Wilford x GN!Reader

Omg, my first request- *Exciting Scream*

Ok ok, calm down myself. These headcanons make my brain work fast like a car and make me excited, I love to imagine how this dynamic couple being cute asf . Enjoy my first headcanons on Tumblr! :DD

Summary: Wilford and SHY!GN!reader some headcanons

TW: fluff, Just fluff, English not my first language so- I’m sorry for how bad I am T.T

Your first meet is in the disco club. You go with your close friend because they want to hook up with someone. They let you alone in a loud place. Drink some water and wait for the bestie to come back. You wait so long, I could say you are so boring and want to go home right now. Until you meet Wilford who drinks a margarita next seat of you, When he saw you he tries to talk with you like. Of course, you so nervous because you too shy to talk stranger like him.

But damn... You are so comfortable to listen his speech. Don’t have to answer the question all the time, just listen. Sometimes he asks about you and you answer but not much or long like his, And he neverminds about that. (Such an angle *sod*)

Then your friends come back from hook-up, You and Wilford say goodbye. he got your number and said “I’ll call you later, Honey!” that make you blush hard and run to your friends.

That night change your life.

He calls you every day, every night. Sometimes talk about other egos, Sometimes talk about his TV shows. He loves to tell all the things to you.

Both of you always meet in the disco club and take the time together like talk or dance on the floor.

Wilford loves to call you ‘Honeybun’ because you’re shy like a bunny and act sweet like Honey.

And yeah...he calls that cuz he has a crush on you.

He flirts with you with a joke to make you giggle. He loves to see you smile, It’s like a precious for him.

One day, he invited to meet another ego, Especially Darkiplier his BFF.

When you meet all of ego first time, It’s got your nerves so much. Wilford holds your hand and try to make you calm, Speak to you with gentle voice.

Every ego adores you like sister. They treat you well but that make Wilford jealous them cuz you talk more than before but not with him.

After that, he hugs you in the living room. Not let you go anywhere, you try to but it's didn't change.

“...W- Wilford”

“Mhm...” He mumbles on your head.

“Can you let me go? I- I’m thirsty”

“No honeybun, we’ll stay at this forever” he tight his arm

“Then how to M- make you let me go” you ask, lay eyes see him sulk.

“Talk to me, more than everyone”

“Huh-”

“No ‘Huh’ honeybun”

You try your best not to make it awkward, and he satisfied them so lets you go and peek at your cheeks. That's make you embarrassing.

Illinois knows Wilford is in love with you, So he tries to help his own best to make both of you date together. Yancy suggest music to make them dance together.

Of course, Dark knows too but he didn't seem to care that much. He just saw two idiots trying their own best.

Wilford is the person who asks you to date with him, and you say yes :))

You and him fully being partners, Not as besties but as Lover.

Now now, SIMP TIME BITCHES

He always thinks about you and talk about you like how cute you are. And it's make Dr.iplier annoying asf. (LMAO I CAN’T-)

Every time he saw you, He kiss you everywhere and tell how adore you are.

At every celebration, Wilford would invite you to dance together.

He loves a hugs! <3

He always tells you about a day he is, You listen carefully and braid his little hair.

Sometimes he teaches you to learn how to talk more but if you are uncomfortable, he decided to stop right now.

But you know what? Maybe he will not teach that thing because he learns something from you.

‘Talk less, Smile more’ that’s what he learns, And he prefers to let you be like that.

Of course, you’re shy and talk less but didn’t mean don’t have your own love language. Your love language is time quality. And Wilford is physical touch as l said he loves to kiss and hug you.

He love to see you were a pink color match with him.

He dreams that one day, you and he will marry and have a family.

#wkm wilford #ahwm wilford #wilfordmotherlovingwarfstache #wilford my beloved #wilford warfstache #markiplier fanfiction #lailakotori #markiplier fandom #markiplier egos x reader #iswm wilford #wilford x reader #canon x reader #canon x y/n #self insert x canon

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peachyloveswriting · 1 year

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Smol request for Damien and The Host {Seperate} Reader asking for comfort due to the anniversary of a loved one kinda sneaking up on them and they just aren't prepared mentally on the day? (fanfic/imagines or headcanons. up to you.)

ANNIVERSARY FOR DEATH --- (Host & Damien x reader)

SUMMARY: while visiting an old friend you realize that today is you sister's birthday, thing is, she passed away a few years ago and this year it hits you hard. But Damien is here to comfort you.

While at home cleaning the kitchen your phone buzzes with a reminder of your father's recent passing. Unexpected, you break down into tears. Host appears to help you.

CONTENT: angst, mentioned death, grief, soft Damien, Wilford content, host is baby, he protecc

TAGLIST: @batty-the-red-koolaid-man @abbzzzzz @dragonangel201 @crustydustycowboi @crazy-obsessed-enby

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

DAMIEN --- hurt/comfort

Today you're visiting the Iplier Manor. It's not a special occasion, just a simple visit to see Damien. It's been a while since you last saw him and you owed him a visit.

Walking up to the door you grab the handle and push it open. Thankfully you don't need to knock anymore. Everyone's known you for so long that they know when it's you coming in. Wilford is the first to greet you.

"It's about time you came to see us." He says as he twirls in front of your path. He's not wearing the bright pink wig he likes to wear on occasion, his hair is just combed gently in the top of his head while he's dressed in his shiny pink shirt.

You smile kindly and shut the door behind you. "I know it's been awhile. I've been busy and all." You explain as you begin to press further into the house with Wilford right on your trail. As you climb up the stairs Wilford speaks behind you.

"You're going to see him again aren't you?" Pausing on the steps you turn to look at him. There's a twinkle in his eyes as he smiles up at you.

"Yes. Is that so wrong?" You retort.

Wilford shakes his head. "No. Not at all. You just spend a lot of time with him."

You turn and shrug him off. "I'll hang out with you soon Will. I swear by it." He watches as you make your way down the hall before disappearing from sight. Reaching Damien's door and lifting you hand to knock you hear him call out.

"Come in dear. You know you don't have to knock." He says. Damien does this a lot. He knows what you're about to do or what you think without even realizing it. It's like a strange sense he has. You've come to enjoy it over the time you've known one another.

Grasping the door handle and twisting, you push the door open to reveal Damien sitting in the chair beside the window. His jet black hair is slicked back as usual and his suit is ironed out across his body. He sits with his hand under his chin and his eyes looking out over the mansion grounds. He seems contemplative.

"Hey." You hum as you walk over to his bed, closest to where he sits.

As you settle he finally looks over at you, his dark brown eyes softening as he smiles. "Hello dear." He purrs. It's a nickname you very quickly adopted a few months ago. All the Ego's have their own names for you but his is the most significant. "How have you been keeping?" He asks.

As you open your mouth to speak your phone buzzes against your leg. The alarm starts playing and you hastily fish it out of your pocket.

"I'm sorry." You mumble as you flip the screen over to read the words at the top of your screen. Watching you carefully, Damien notices your face falls as you dismiss it. He quirks a brow, curious, but stays quiet.

"I was fine." You finally say as you toss your phone down beside you. It was a reminder for your sister's birthday. She would have been eighteen today. Raising your hands to you face, you wide at your now wet eyes.

"I'm sorry, I just realized it's my sister's birthday today." You tell Damien. He leans forward with his elbows now resting on his knees.

"Why be upset about it?" His words only hurt you more, with the tears beginning to slip down your face. He doesn't know about it, you never said anything. Now just so happened to be the wrong time.

"She's not exactly...here." Looking up at him through blurry eyes you sniffle. "She passed away a few years ago."

The curiosity in Damien eyes fades and he frowns, sadness swirls in his eyes. Lifting his hand he reaches out to rest it on your knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Oh. Love. I'm so sorry." Standing from his chair Damien quickly settles next to you on the bed and pulls you into a hug. His hands rub your back to soothe you as your cry into his shoulder.

"Sh...it's okay. I'm here." He whispers as he moves a hand up to the back of your head, this thumb gently rubbing back and forth.

Pulling back with soaked cheeks and a red nose you look down to see a wet spot on his suit. Reaching for it you swipe at it with you hand. "I messed up your suit." You say shakily. Damien looks down to observe it before smiling sweetly.

"No worries, I have others. You can use is as a tissue for all I care. What ever makes you feel better."

Wiping the tears from your eyes you let out a small laugh. "I'm not going to blow my nose in it."

Damien rests his hands on your shoulders. "I know. But I'm getting my point across. Aren't I?"

You nod before pulling him into another hug. "I'm going to have to go buy her flowers and visit her soon. Can you come with me?" You ask.

Pulling back again, you sniffle. He nods softly, his hands grabbing yours. "Of course dear."

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

HOST --- hurt/comfort

Music plays from your TV as you move around the kitchen, wiping off counters and placing dirty dishes in the sink to be washed later. As you do this your phone begins to go off from it's spot in the livingroom. Confused, you make your way over to check the lit up screen.

As you come closer you can see that it's an alarm buzzing your phone. The words on the screen reads very clearly: 1 YEAR SINCE DAD PASSED.

Picking the phone up you stare at the screen your eyes burning as tears begin to well. Taking in a breath to keep composure, you crumble. Your tears spill over as ugly sobs leave your mouth, the thought of not even being able to say goodbye hits you hard and you hobble your way into the couch. As you reach it and shakily dismiss the alarm, you curl into yourself; your knees against your chest and your arms holding them tight.

At a really young age you mother divorced you father, custody battles were fought and eventually he won. Soon after he married your step mother, Miranda. She was sweet when he was around but she despised you for not being her own. Though she never treated you unjustly. After you moved out, she made everyone on your dad's side of the family cut contact with you, no one helped, called, or visited. Except for your dad.

He called you every night, sent you flowers on your birthday, and wrote you letters on the holidays. He was the only man you could love more than your boyfriend: Host. Now he was gone, passed away from stage four brain cancer.

It's all you can do to stop yourself from screaming. Screaming until your voice gives out.

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

At the Iplier Manor.

Strolling down the up stairs hallway towards the stairs, Wilford begins to hear a shout from the small library downstairs. Curious, he stalks down the steps. As he does the voice calling throughout becomes clearer. Someone's calling his name and they sound distressed.

Jogging at a light pace he pushes the door to the library open to find host hurrying towards him.

"Take me to her." He begs.

Wilford is confused. Host is babbling incoherently under his breath as he reaches out for him, his hand grasping his shirt sleeve. "Take you to who exactly?" Wilford asks.

Host mumbles under his breath before he finally speaks coherently again. "Y/n." He says. "Take me to her. Wilford's foggy mind clears once he realizes who the Host is talking about. He wonders why." His furious narration worries Wilford who gives in to the Host's request.

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

Minutes have passed yet nothing has eased your mind, the tears just keep coming. Every thought of him the crosses your mind sends you into a babbling mess. Knowing you're alone makes this worse, just the thought alone making you realize just how much of a sob story you really are.

Lowering you head and covering your eyes you sob into your hands. Suddenly, hurried footsteps pull you from yourself. Looking up you're tacked into a hug. Wilford frowns from where he stands in your kitchen before disappearing from sight. Mumbling in your ear is the familiar voice of Host. Precariously he sits beside you, holding you against his chest and you cry.

The hand on your back holds you in place while his other holds your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your cold knuckles.

His narration continues on above you as he comforts you. Not once does he offer words of reassurance or words of anything other than his slowing narration.

Turning your head to the side you gaze at his hand holding yours and sniffle. There's no need to ask Host how he knew you were upset, you already understood that. Hence why he didn't need to say anything to you once he arrived.

Taking a deep, Shakey breath you pull away from his grasp. Looking up at him you squeeze his hand. "She wants to say thank you but Host already knows this. He wishes to caress her face."

Smiling lightly, you lift his hand to your cheek. He's gentle as he wipes away your tears.

"I am sorry I was not here sooner my Love." He says. Leaning into his touch you close your eyes.

"It's okay. I didn't mean to make you rush. I would have been okay eventually. I'm just glad you're here now." Reopening your eyes you spot a glimmer of red falling from the fabric over his eyes. Frowning, you rub the blood away with your hand.

"You're bleeding again."

He sighs. "Worry about that later. Let's go buy him flowers."

ENDING NOTE ---

Honestly you can tell who my favorite is but I head cannon that Host talks two different ways depending on what's happening. Sometimes he'll talk in third person and others he'll talk normally, I love that idea.

#the host x reader #markiplier egos x reader #damien x reader #damien the mayor #markiplier cinematic universe #ahwm x reader #iswm x reader #hurt/comfort #markiplier x reader #wilford x reader #if you squint

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