>> Time of writing this! 5 Feb 2026 evening
Thought process I have from watching “Damien loves the Viewer” and “Colonel/Wilford loves the Viewer” by RogueSorceress on YT, in my return to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe. Refer to those two videos and WKM.
I don’t think there will be enough Quotev fanfics —or perhaps, there aren’t any to begin with— that correctly displays the friendship between the District Attorney and Mayor Damien, without the romantic aspects everybody desires in any x Reader fanfic, on top of the newfound squish the Colonel has for the DA. [Squish (n.) defined as a desire for friendship towards someone, a platonic crush.] The video of the Colonel opened up a newfound reality for me, or shattered my reality. How on theme of him. It made me rewatch and I cried inside, because you are so right. The Colonel and the District Attorney would have been the bestest of friends. Imagine the new trio that could’ve been born that night: Damien, Y/N, and William. Old friends and new friends. Then I got to editing a fun video and cried some more.
Spoilers and/or sneak peak to my upcoming video. The Colonel first introduces himself to the DA, “My friends call me the Colonel. You’re welcome to do the same should it please you.” Then fast forward to the altercation between him and the Detective in the final chapter. He shouts, “Only my friends get to call me [the Colonel] and you, sir, are no friend of mine.” This is what broke me. The Colonel had a squish for the DA upon first sight, and we will never have that. That is the doomed yaoi, doomed yuri, doomed friendship, doomed all of the above. >> have cross-posted onto my Quotev feed
Warnings: mentions of cancer (fake), anxiety, being overwhelmed, panic attacks, ignoring problems. But Warf is here to comfort you!!
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Your lungs burned as your feet carried you up the spiral staircase, the breeze seemed to shake all the trees just off the grounds but none of it reached you. The same moderate temperature of around 75 degrees that the house was always at, also existed up here on the roof, unfortunately. You sat on the hard ground, your tear filled eyes looking up at the sky trying to find peace. You knew everyone in the house cared for you, but sometimes it was too much. You just wanted to be sad alone so you blocked most of them out from your mind so you could cry alone without Dark’s voice in the back of your head asking where you were and what was wrong.
They just wanted to help you, but some of them were too overbearing. Google always tried to find your symptoms and it always ended up being some form of cancer, which Dr. Iplier agreed and confirmed your death, which made you feel worse. The Jim’s, bless their weird hearts, would just try to film your misery as one of them narrated ‘yep, they're still sad, back to you Jim!’. Actor would just laugh at you like the big asshole he was, offering little to no sympathy until Dark would cut in and threaten him. Dark would then bring you to his study or wherever the house deemed you needed to be.
You were sick of the house thinking it knew what you wanted, so you learned how to shut yourself off from its power. So now you sat on the roof, hot angry tears rolling down your face as you tried to put yourself back together.
Wilford however, walked at a brisk pace throughout the house trying desperately to find Dark. He popped in and out of rooms, before finding him in the kitchen preparing dinner.
“Dark.” He popped up too close behind him, causing Dark to jump a bit before regaining his indifferent appearance.
“What is it Wilford.” he responded shortly.
“Have you talked to y/n? They're upset.” Wilford frowned, his moustache drooping with it.
“I haven’t seen them in hours and I haven’t felt them either." Dark returned his attention to the mac and cheese he was making. “they most likely blocked me out. I guess you’ll have to comfort them.”
“Poppycock! They don't want to see me.” Wilford’s heart hammered against his ribs. Certainly you despised him! He was always the most kind to you because he could see into your heart and saw all of the things that you hid, and he knew you needed that kindness. But it was almost never returned. It really seemed like you hated him.
“Wilford.” Dark’s eyes met his. “They either forgot to block you out or theyre intentionally leaving themselves open so you will find them. Please make sure theyre alright, if not for you then do it for me old friend.” Dark placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as Wilford took in his words.
“Why didn’t you say so, you rascal.” Wilford was scared, but he tried to put on a huge smile for Dark, who merely rolled his eyes at him. Instead of popping himself up to the roof as swiftly as he could, he settled for the slower route. Taking his time for once and thinking about what he would say once he found you. Why had you left yourself open to him? It must be a mistake. He sighed as he opened the back door and trudged up the metal steps, trying to make a bit of noise as to alert you to his presence. He expected you would hear him and tell him to fuck off or something of the sorts but it never came. He found you curled up, your knees to your chest as you sobbed almost mutely.
“Sweetche-” He stopped himself from using that nickname. “Excuse me, my dear friend, but are you okay? Dark asked me to check on you…” He trailed off as you looked up at him, trying to wipe away the tears. “Oh dear…” He frowned and squatted down to your level, his hand reaching out to touch you, but he kept his distance just in case. You outstretched your hand and grabbed his hand, pulling him closer, but he lost his balance, falling on top of you. Both of your faces heated up immediately, Wilford’s entire being froze with fear as he caught himself above you.
“I-I… my friend, im so sorry I never intended….” He stuttered before moving himself to a criss cross applesauce position across from you.
“You’re fine, it was my fault anyway.” You sighed, also fixing yourself. “Sorry you had to see me like this.” You scratched your arms nervously.
“Are you quite alright? I think you accidentally shut out Darky instead of myself.” He asked, trying not to read your mind as he desperately wanted to. He wanted you to trust him enough to tell him yourself. He wanted to hold you and tell you everything was going to be alright, but he was nothing but a nuisance to You. He didn’t even know why he agreed to check on you in the first place.
“I just wanted to be alone, but whether I wanted it or not, my dumb brain needed you, so I couldn't block you out.” You laughed in spite of yourself.
“You need me? Whatever for?” Wilford’s cheeks burned again and he tried to will it away but it stayed.
“Comfort.” You sighed. “Can I… this is gonna sound stupid because you probably think I hate you, but can I hug you?” Your eyes met his, and he could see how nervous you were before he scooted over closer and gently patted his lap.
“If you’d like I could hold you and tell you about the stars? Back in the old days, when I was in the war, we would sit and tell stories but, most importantly, try to map out the constellations. I could do that… if you wish?” His voice came across filled with uncertainty, but you settled into his lap, letting his arms encircle your waist. He was glad for a moment of clarity, wanting to stay in this moment with you. You leaned your head back against his chest and looked up at him.
“Thank you.” You reached up and kissed his cheek, Wilford thought he was going to combust on spot. "I don't hate you, I just have a big crush on you and I don't know how to handle it, so I bully you. I'm sorry, Wilford." You added softly.
“Glad to hear it, but shall we shelve that conversation for later? I believe I promised you stars.” He chuckled and laced your fingers together before looking back up at the sky. “Now Orion's belt is one of my favorite’s....”
---
The next morning, Dark could finally sense where you were again and was very surprised to find you on the roof, curled into Wilford’s side fast asleep. He wasn’t sure how they got there or how the blankets and pillows appeared as well, but he knew better than to ask questions. He smiled softly at them for a moment before heading back off down the stairs to give them privacy.
He's definitely a gentleman 🎩. He will hold doors open for you, pull out your chair, etc.
Always holding your hand. Not just because he likes the casual intimacy, but because if he's not physically attached to you, he'll wander off like a toddler.
Smells like cotton candy 🍭 and gun powder 🔫.
I hope you like pink💕. A lot of his belongings are pink. His car🚘, his coffee maker☕, his shower curtain🚿, etc.
He wears high heels 👠👠a lot, (like.. a LOT), and wants to show off to you. Your home turns into a fashion show 👗📿📸 runway at least once a month. He will also encourage you to walk the runway while he narrates.
He doesn't sleep as much as a normal human, but will cuddle you while you sleep 😴 if you want.
His kisses tickle because of his mustache. He kisses 💋 you all over to hear you giggle.
*cough* he's a switch *cough* 😉
This all being said, if you are uncomfortable with pda, or have an issue with people touching you, you're sex repulsed ace, etc, he will respectfully back off. He wants you to be as comfortable and happy as possible.
His favorite dates involve adventures like a cute scavenger hunt 📜he made, amusement parks/carnivals 🎢🎡 so he can go on rides, eat fun food 🌭, and win you cute prizes 🧸.
He also loves to have casual dates with take out 🥡, a movie 🎞📺or some games🎮🕹🧩♟, just being with you.
Whatever you do, he is your biggest fan 📣🎉! Before you go to your job, he gives you a pep talk. You have a hobby 🎨🎾🤸♂️? He cheers for you and loves watching you do it.
He loves to have you on his shows📽📺. You're the only one who doesn't have to worry about being shot or tickled with a knife🔪.
If he ever accidentally hurts you, you get nicked with his knife, he steps on your foot, he apologizes profusely until you hold his face, look in his eyes, and tell him you're okay. He will patch you up if you need 🤕, or if a more severe accident occurs, drive you to the hospital 🏥.
He doesn't remember his past very well, but will occasionally have an episode where he will remember the infamous night, or how his first love left him for his best friend.
If he is still aware of his surroundings, he will either go to the shooting range to get his anger out, or come to you for hugs and comfort. When he's better, he might tell you what he remembered. Don't ask though. He will open up if he's ready.
If he dissociates however, you need to get out of there. Wait until you stop hearing sobs, delirious laughs, and gunshots to peek back in and ask if he's okay, and if he needs anything.
Because of his past, sometimes he needs extra reassurance that you love him and he's not a psychotic monster, but he loves you with his whole heart 💘.
number 17 from your prompt list with Wilford Warfstache?
Faith, Trust, and a Lack of Pants | Wilford Warfstache x Fem!Reader
Sorry it took so long to get to your request! But I hope you enjoy! Requests are still open for all you wonderful people.
Prompts:
17. "Do you trust me?" | "No, but I'll follow your dumb ass to the ends of the earth anyway."
—————
When [Y/n] had first come to know Markiplier and his egos, it hadn’t been through the man himself. Rather, she had been introduced to them via an infamous, pink-mustached, gun-slinging reporter. Their meeting, however, was by no means conventional. It was quite messy and explosive. [Y/n] had been attempting to nail down a job as a graphic designer at a large company for some time. She had believed her resume was good and that her interview had gone well. Unfortunately, she had been waiting over two weeks for a phone call or email, but there had been nothing. The silence was enough to make her doubt her skills.
Not wanting to let her disappointment overwhelm her, [Y/n] had gone to her favorite bakery to treat herself. A good cookie or tasty slice of cake always made her feel better. However, she never expected to bump into Wilford. It wasn’t a casual “oh, sorry and excuse me,” it was a full-on collision. Coffee went flying, pastries splattered against clothes, and limbs were bruised. While [Y/n] was recovering, a heavily accented voice rang out from above her.
“Oh, dear! I do apologize, darling. I must watch where I am going. Everything gets jumbled up here, ya know?” A deep chuckle followed, causing the woman to look up.
A man with a flamboyant pink mustache offered his hand and pulled [Y/n] to her feet. Brushing off the remains of her treat from her shirt, she looked up at him. “Uh… You… don’t have to apologize, sir. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” She replied, offering a tight-lipped smile.
“Nonsense! As reparation for my lack of hindsight, I shall repay you. How does an interview sound?” He asked, causing [Y/n]’s features to furrow.
“An… interview…? Wait, for like a job or…? Who are you, exactly?”
Smacking his forehead, the man groaned. “Oh! I keep forgetting my manners. The name is Warfstache. Wilford Warfstache, reporter extraordinaire! Surely, you’ve heard of my show: Warfstache Tonight?”
Unfortunately, [Y/n] had not heard of the reporter or his show. “I’m sorry, Mr. Warfstache. I don’t watch much TV—Netflix is more my style.” She admitted.
Wilford frowned, his pink mustache drooping. Was that even possible? [Y/n] had no time to ponder on it further as the man grabbed her wrist. “Oh, come now! Now I have to interview you. It’s only fair.”
[Y/n] had no further say on the matter. Wilford scheduled an interview on his show and wouldn’t hear otherwise. Fast forward to about a week later, [Y/n] found herself on the set of Warfstache Tonight, answering quite comical and ludicrous questions. It was an interesting experience, and [Y/n] found herself laughing and enjoying it all. Wilford was quite a character, easily shown through all of his exuberant gestures and outbursts. Though the fact he carried a pistol was a little concerning, [Y/n] found she didn’t mind it much. When she told Wilford about her job issue, the man gasped and asked her what she did.
“Graphic design.”
“Good golly! It seems our meeting was more than just bad luck, my dear! I’ve been looking for a graphic designer for months, but any candidates seem to just… disappear!” Wilford replied, frowning and appearing deep in thought. [Y/n] didn’t know what to think about the “disappearing” workers.
“That sounds unfortunate.”
“It is! Say, would you like to work for me? Your skills could definitely be put to good use.” He offered.
[Y/n]’s heart skipped a beat. “R… Really? You’d hire me?”
“Of course, dear! This interview has allowed me to learn more about you than any old work interview.”
[Y/n] accepted Wilford’s job offer, and has been working for him ever since. Through their work relationship, the woman met his brothers. Some were oddballs like Wilford, while others were more serious and refined. Dark, for example, still gave her the heebie jeebies sometimes, even after several months of knowing each other. Nevertheless, [Y/n] and Wilford continued the expand and nurture their friendship. While Wilford could be a loose cannon, the woman was there to counter his insanity. She was able to calm him down when Kathryn couldn’t. And while she’d only known him for less than a year, she had come to expect the unexpected when it came to Warfstache. So when Wilford came bursting into her office, his yellow shirt splattered with blood, she was hardly fazed.
“Oh! [Y/n], my dear. I seem to have run into some trouble. I assure you, it’s all a simple misunderstanding, but I would really appreciate it if you could—”
“Where’s the car?” [Y/n] asked, her tone almost bored. She had lost track of the number of “misunderstandings” Wilford had caused in the past seven months. It was somewhere in the fifties, she was sure of that. That was quite lax compared to about a year ago.
“O… Out on the curb.” Wilford stuttered, surprised that [Y/n] was being so calm about this. He was used to the woman freaking out whenever he even mentioned doing something illegal. But it seems this time was different.
Grabbing her keys, [Y/n] dragged Wilford out by his collar. Wilford spluttered, but didn’t put up much more of a fight. He knew it was useless against the woman, seeing as she could be pretty stern. When they reached the car, [Y/n] started the engine, which roared to life. Pulling out onto the main road outside the building, she began driving towards the Iplier mansion. It was the only place the cops wouldn’t be able to track him to. It was hidden from anyone the egos didn’t want around.
Wilford was unusually quiet during the drive. Yes, he could deal with the consequences of his actions by himself, but having [Y/n] there made it easier. She never asked any questions—not anymore, at least—and she was always willing to go the extra mile to help. But her silence and uncanny compliance concerned the pink-mustached man a little. Had she become numb to his problems? Was she fed up with his mistakes? Wilford didn’t know.
“[Y/n].” A small hum was the only response the reporter received. “I… Do… Do you trust me?”
A long period of silence passed between them. [Y/n] sighed heavily as she glanced over at her friend. Did she trust him? It was hard to expect anything from him as his behavior fluctuated so wildly. “I… No, but I’ll follow your dumb ass to the ends of the earth anyway.”
Wilford chuckled at her response. He hadn’t expected anything less. [Y/n] looked over at him. She had expected him to be angry at her reply, but here he was, laughing? She couldn’t help but smile and return his chortle.
“Now, my dear, would you indulge me in your reasons why you don’t trust me?”
“Well, if I’m to honest, Wilford, you’re not exactly the most stable or predictable of characters. You do know we are running from the cops because of something you did, right?” She teased, earning an eye roll. “But I do trust you. I trust you to be somewhat responsible around me and your brothers.”
Wilford smiled. “Oh, trust you me, my dear, I can be trustworthy. From time to time. Perhaps I can earn your trust while on a date?”
[Y/n] nearly slammed on the brakes in surprise. “Are… are you asking me out on a date while we’re currently running from the cops? Are you serious, Wilford?” The woman was quite astonished that the reporter would even think about asking her out. He never seemed like the person to want to pursue romantic relationships with anyone. Much less a coworker!
“Why, yes! It adds to the ambiance, don’t you think? A high speed chase, no where to escape to… Sounds wonderful.” He replied with his classic carefree attitude. [Y/n] laughed and rolled her eyes.
“Classic Warfstache. I should have expected this from you.” She replied. “But alright. I guess since we’re stuck in the car, I’ll take you up on that offer. Once you’re not on the to-kill list for the FBI. And this is not a high-speed car chase, Wilford.” She reminded.
Wilford raised his hands, sticking out his bottom lip in mock innocence. “Alrighty, my dear. Does next week sound alright?” Cue more giggles, witty quips, and eye rolls from both parties as they continued on their way to the Iplier mansion.
One week later, Wilford did well on his promise. After lowering his notoriety level in record time, he took [Y/n] out on a date. It wasn’t extravagant, but it also wasn’t impromptu, either. Though [Y/n] was nervous to be going out with her boss, she was quickly soothed by her date. Wilford had planned out a simple and flexible itinerary. Take a walk in the park, converse, buy some ice cream and cookies at the bakery they had met at so many months ago. Simple and easy to change.
Trembling with excitement, [Y/n] waited on her porch for Wilford. The man was only a few minutes late and slightly out of breath. “I do apologize, [Y/n]. Yan and the twins wouldn’t stop fussing over what I was supposed to wear and do. It took Host and Dark to get them off.” He chuckled, causing the woman to giggle.
“Yes… I can see why the great and powerful Warfstache would need help with his wardrobe.”
Wilford had forgotten his pants.
Cue the blushing, stuttering mess of a man apologizing and making excuses. [Y/n] only laughed. “Don’t worry, Wilford. Besides, who needs to go out for a date, anyway?” She took his hand and dragged the reporter into her home. “Unfortunately, I don’t really have any clothes your size as I’m not willing to sacrifice my favorite pajama pants for you. Even if you are my boss.”
Wilford chuckled, his cheeks still retaining their bright red hue. “I… I honestly thought I would have remembered to put on some pants, [Y/n]. I am so sorry.” He stated, looking down at the floor.
“Eh. It gives me an excuse to have a movie night.”
Perking up at the idea of an at-home movie night, Wilford was eager to help prepare the snacks. Popcorn, candy, ice cream, you name it. It was no secret that the reporter had a major sweet tooth. [Y/n] eagerly indulged their shared tastes. The movie they ended up watching—rather, the movies—was the entire Marvel franchise, all in chronological order. They were up late laughing and doing impressions of their favorite characters. Dawn was quickly approaching by the time [Y/n] clonked out. Being a timeless, immortal being, Wilford didn’t necessarily need sleep. But seeing how cozy and warm [Y/n] looked, he couldn’t help but give in and fall asleep, too.
It was only hours later that they awoke to Dark looming over them. “You’re late for another meeting, Warfstache. And do stop by the house to pick up some pants from Yan. He tried to warn you.”
With a puff of dark grey smoke, the entity was gone, leaving the embarrassed pair to themselves. [Y/n] insisted that Wilford take some left over cookies to share with his brothers at their meeting; heavily emphasis on the word share.
“I make no promises, darling!” Wilford cooed as he kissed her cheek and disappeared into thin air, leaving [Y/n] very much confused and a blushing mess.
“If he could teleport, why didn’t he just get some pants earlier…?” She questioned, but received no answer from the emptiness. Some questions didn’t have viable answers, it seems.
—————
I hope you enjoyed this one-shot! I had a fun time writing it. Again, requests are open, so head on over to my prompt lists and see if anything appeals to you. Or just send in your own ideas!
Requested: Yes. Anon asks, “Bonjour! Would you mind doing a one-shot (fluff all the way, my dude) between transguy!reader (male pronouns please and thank ya) and Wilford? platonic is completely fine (I was thinking either roommates or just best buds or something, up to you with what you're comfortable writing about) where he comforts the reader about his dysphoria/his period if you're okay with it? thank you vvv much friend!!”
Fandom: Markipler
Pairing: FTM!Reader/Wilford
Pronouns: He/Him
Warnings: Experiencing Dysphoria, Period Talk, Blood
A/N: Please forgive me in advance. I am not an expert on what others feel, nor am I experienced in feeling dysphoria, gender-wise at least. I did reasearch a bit, but still, if anything is inacurate, please tell me... Enjoy!
It had started early in the morning, the feeling of dread settled into the pit of your stomach. Not only was there dread, but there was pain. A familiar pain that made the feeling of dread grow into despair, sadness.
You pushed yourself up off the bed, fingers curling tightly on the blankets as you pulled them back. With a great sigh, you realized there was no blood on the bed, but you definately felt the pressure of it. Thus, you clenched your thighs together and ‘waddled’ to the bathroom.
You worked on cleaning yourself up, taking a quick shower. This was your least favorite part, having to acknowledge that, despite being a man, your bodily functions were that of a woman. It sucked and you felt gross, like someone placed a permanent skin over top of your own. You felt stuck in a propetual motion, doing everthing that you can to keep going while not being in your own body.
You stepped from the shower, realizing you only had a few period products left. You sighed, shaking your head as you got dressed, putting said period product in place. You didn’t have much energy to do anything, taking a couple of pain killers before pulling one of Wilford’s shirts on, one that he gave you as a gift. He always made you feel better, and unfortunately he should have been gone for the day.
You gathered your dirty clothes, eyes on the floor as you walked past the mirror. When you felt like this, it only made things worse to stare and pick out your flaws.
“Sugarplum! Are you awake,” speak of the devil and he shall appear. You quickly threw your clothes into the hamper and looked up. Your eyes caught a distorted reflection in the metal of the towel rack. You frowned, noticing the flush of embarrasment of your cheeks. “Are you in the bathroom?”
“Ye-ah.” you called back, cursing the crack in your voice. It was only then that you felt the first tear fall, feeling childish as you quickly wiped it away. You didn’t want to cry, especially in front of Wilford.
“Sugarplum, open the door.” Wilford’s voice was softer, soothing. Despite asking him to call you something else, this was Wilford. Wilford did whatever he pleased. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, and he knew just what you needed.
You sighed to yourself, once more, before pulling the door open. Wilford’s mustache was curled to perfection, a huge smile on his face despite the state that you were in. You scoffed a pity laugh, “Stop staring at me.”
“How can I stop that? My best friend is just the handsomest sugarplum out of the whole lot,” Wilford grinned, perking a bit at seeing a small smile on your face. “Why, I have to memorize what you look like so I know how to get swole at the gym.”
That pulled an honest laugh from you and Wilford perked up fully when you punched his arm. He threw an arm over your shoulder and pulled you towards the living room. There was all kinds of foods and drinks laid out on the couch, “Wait... Don’t you have work?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Wilford waved you off, plopping you down onto the couch. “I took a personal day.”
“But how did yo-”
“Call it best friend’s intuition.” Wilford smirked, ruffling your hair as he sat next to you. Wilford grabbed a Wii controller, handing it to you before he picked up the other one. “Now, press play so I can kick your butt at Mario Cart.” Those words made you gasp, quickly distracting you from all feelings of sadness.
“You are gonna eat those words, Wilford Warfstache!”
“I told you specifically not to do this (y/n)!” Your mom shrieked as you walked into the house. You had just walked into your overly religious house with your hair dyed your a bright bubble gum pink. You rolled your eyes at your mother, she wasn’t too much of a saint, anything she didn’t agree with was a sin- which was religiously incorrect.
You walked upstairs purposefully flaunting your new hair by tossing over your shoulder as you headed up. When you got to your room, you slung your already packed bookbag over your shoulder and began to walk down the stairs. Your mother looked up from her magazine confused as you traveled down the stairs.
“Where do you think you are going young lady?!” she smacked her magazine down on the couch.
“I’m leaving.” you stormed out the front door not bothering to close it behind you. Your mom began to chase you outside, but you jumped onto your motorcycle and quickly revved it, your mom jumping back at the loud sound.
“Don’t you leave me!” She screamed over the noise. You pulled your helmet on, it was almost a perfect match to your pink hair. You pulled out of the driveway, your mom looked at you exasperated. You gave her a smile.
“Don’t worry too much, I’ll be okay.” Then, you drove away. At the time, it seemed like a crazy idea. But now? It was totally worth it!
~~Time skip of 2 Months~~
You had gotten a one room apartment near the downtown area. You were close enough to your work place to walk there. Everything was going alright. You had decided you wanted to further your education by going to college, but it seemed better to take a year off to just settle into your new surroundings. So that’s what you did, and it was almost luxurious.
“Okay, you got your MP3, you have your phone, and keys…I think you’re ready to go.” You said to yourself cheerfully. You went on a walk every Sunday and Wednesday at about 9:00. Not too early to wake up, not too late enough to affect your work schedule. You walked out of your door and shut it carefully behind you. You had maintained your bright pink hair. It looked especially sharp today, as you had just had it professionally re-dyed a day ago.
You walked around the large downtown area, taking in the now familiar sights. You stopped in front of one of your favorite cafe’s. You pushed the door open and made your way to the back of the line. You were thinking about getting a peach tea when suddenly, the hairs on the back of your neck where standing up. Your heart fluttered a bit. You could literally feel that someone was staring at you.
You looked around, your eyes meeting with a man’s. He had bright pink hair, and a bright pink mustache, the color was similar to your own. It took you a second to recognize his cheeks had dusted over with a light pink color. You felt your face heat up. You quickly looked away, but not before taking in the rest of his being. He was wearing a red and white pinstriped suit. You began to stare intensely at the woman in front of you. Her shirt became extremely interesting as you noticed the frilly patterns. She suddenly moved out of the way, leaving you to order your drink. You looked up in surprise. Your cheeks were still pink.
“Ah-erm-” You stuttered. The cashier gently smiled,
“That cutie over there with the stache keeps eyeing you~” The cashiers voice immediately screamed ‘Gay’. Your face heated up a bit more, you turned and looked over at him catching his eye again. His face seemed to suddenly light up realizing you were looking back his way. You looked over at the cashier and said
“I’ll have a Peach-tea.” He winked and smiled at you quickly glancing back at the guy at the table. He quickly made the drink and pushed it over to your side of the counter. You paid the appropriate amount and picked up the drink.
“Go get em’ girl!” He whooped as you turned away. Your face had gone from pink to a bright red, and you came to a halt in your tracks. You looked over at the guy with the stache, he gave a big smile. You bit your bottom lip and quickly made your way over to the table. You sat down across from him and took a quick sip from your tea.
“Hi,” You said. It was already an awkward start.
“Why hello there bubblegum~.” He responded his accent odd and his mustache moving with each syllable. He laughed a little and so did you.
“My oh my, what beautiful hair you have!” he complimented you.
“Nice mustache.” You said with a bright smile. You nervously sipped your drink again.
“I prefer to call it a Warfstache,” he exaggerated the last word.
“A warfstache?” you questioned. He nodded. You smiled.
“That sounds cool.” He smiled at your compliment.
“Oh, Where are my manners? My name is (Y/n).” You stuck out your hand for a handshake. He took your hand into his and laid a kiss on the back of yours.
“My name is Wilford.” His eyes captured yours like no other. You almost seemed entranced.
“Would you like to get out of here?” He asked. You gave a nod still looking into his chocolate brown eyes. He got up and you followed him out of the coffee shop. Meanwhile, the Cashier was staring off into space watching the two of you as you chatted. He had blushed too when Wilford kissed your hand and it took everything he had not to scream out in joy. When the two of you walked out though, he let loose.
“OH MY GOSH THAT WAS SO CUUUUUTE!” He immediately got wacked in the head with a magazine by his manager.
Prompt number 2 from list number 2 with Wilford Warfstache x gender neutral reader? -💜
Just a Scratch | Wilford Warfstache x Reader
I really loved writing this one. It's not exactly my best writing, but I hope you guys enjoy it!
Just a Scratch pt. 2
Prompts:
2. "I'm perfectly fine!" | "Bull! You're bleeding out on my carpet, you idiot!"
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“Did you receive the files I sent you, Dr. Iplier?” You asked as you walked into the break room. The dark-haired man sat at a table, nursing a cup of coffee. Dark rings decorated his eyes and he was staring off into space as he stirred his drink.
Looking up at you, he offered a tired nod. “Yes. They were extensive.”
You chuckled. “That’s what I’m paid for, remember?” You reminded, taking a seat next to him. “Another coffee, Doc? That has to be what, your fifth cup?”
“Make it my seventh.” He replied, causing you to roll your eyes.
“And I thought you were an esteemed doctor who knew the consequences of drinking so much of that stuff.”
Dr. Iplier narrowed his eyes at you and sent you a playful glare. “Oh, hush. When you finally get to my level of exhaustion, I promise that you’ll be injecting this ‘stuff’ into your veins like liquid cocaine.” He replied before downing the rest of the coffee.
You couldn’t help but laugh. Over the few years you had known the doctor, he never ceased to surprise you with his words. Then again, working 15 plus hour shifts can cause you to tap into some primal sort of energy and unleash hell. The two of you continued to chat—or at least you did, seeing as Dr. Iplier was a bit too tired to make coherent sentences—for a little while. That is, until the doctor was called in for an emergency surgery and you were whisked away by your other duties. You shadowed a few other doctors and delivered various files and medicine throughout the rest of your shift.
A few hours later, you finally bid your goodbyes to your co-workers and drove home. You were relieved to trade your scrubs for a comfortable hoodie and sweatpants. Working for nearly 12 hours at the hospital should have been water off a duck’s back for you, but today it wore you out more than usual. Yawning as you set the kettle to boil, you turned on your TV and started browsing Netflix for anything good. You were about to settle in for another episode of your favorite show when you heard banging on your front door.
Furrowing your eyebrows, you stood. You were accustomed to Dr. Iplier or one of the other egos arriving at your home unannounced, but only a few of them dared to knock so rudely. Hopping over the couch, you walked over to the door.
You opened it and found Wilford standing on your porch. You almost immediately noticed something was off. His usually lively skin had paled, his eyes were unfocused, and he swayed in place. “Wil?” You asked, concern creeping into your voice.
“[Y/n], darling… heh… I may have… have…”
You looked down and gasped, seeing crimson stain his yellow button-up. Wilford took a shaky step forward and collapsed in your arms. “Wilford!” You exclaimed before you half-carried, half-dragged the ego into your home.
Blood followed you as you took him into your living room. You knew that the egos could get hurt and could even die if the right circumstances arose. Laying him down, you rushed to grab your first aid kit. Wilford was slipping in and out of consciousness when you returned. Cutting away his shirt, you wiped away the sticky red liquid before cleaning it with antiseptic. Your eyes widened as you took in the severity of the wound. It was a deep cut below his ribs and if you guessed right, it was around his liver. You couldn’t tell if the weapon used had damaged any internal organs, but you couldn’t take him to the hospital until he was stabilized.
Your hands shook as your mind blanked. Working at the hospital for nearly a decade should have prepared you for anything that came your way. You had seen a wide variety of injuries and far too much blood for your liking, but yet here you were, frozen as you knelt over your friend. Should you stitch him up, or should you bandage the wound and rush him to the hospital? You felt helpless as you knelt over Wilford.
Wilford’s dark eyes flitted over to you and his vision continued to come and go. He felt worry flare up in his chest. The wound was severe, yes, but he had never seen you freeze up this bad. Especially not when it came to injuries and healing; you were a doctor, for Pete’s sake! You were always so calm and collected so it concerned the pink-haired reporter to see you this way.
Reaching for you, Wilford groaned as the movement aggravated his wound. “Don’t worry, doc… I’m… I’m perfectly fine… It’s just a scratch…” He muttered, as if that would make the wound and your elevated emotions disappear.
Your head snapped over to him. “‘Just a scratch?’” You exclaimed. “Bull! You’re bleeding out on my carpet, you idiot!”
Wilford flinched at your sharp tone. It was rare for you to lose your cool and over him, no less! Yes, he had taken many risks that had earned him scoldings from both Dark and you over the years, but nothing compared to the anger and worry burning in your eyes. Finally snapping out of your stupor, you set to stitching Wilford’s wound closed. It would have to do until you got to the hospital. Dr. Iplier would still be working his shift, so he could help you. Egos healed differently than humans and it wouldn’t be wise to alert the whole world to their existence. The fans didn’t know they were actually real, and it was both Mark and Dark’s wishes to keep them in the dark. Except for you, of course.
You had met them all through Dr. Iplier when you moved to L.A. and it was purely an accident. He wasn’t very friendly towards you, going on and on about how you were dying and such, but eventually you got through to him. The only reason you learned about the other egos was because of Wilford. He had come prancing into the hospital and sporting a nasty bullet wound. Seeing as the doctor wasn’t on duty that day, you took it upon yourself to tackle the injury. You were shocked to see how quickly he healed afterwards. Once everything was stitched up, it only took about a day for the injury to disappear completely. Wilford definitely received an earful from both Dr. Iplier and Dark for revealing himself to a human, but Dr. Iplier vouched for you when Dark wanted to erase your memory. Thus your relationship with the egos began.
Biting your lip as you continued to stitch up the wound, you shook your head in an attempt to get the nostalgia and memories to stop interrupting you. You couldn’t be distracted. Wilford managed to distract himself from the pain by focusing on your ceiling. Despite being basically immortal and insusceptible to injury, the pink-mustached reporter could still feel incredible pain when he slips up.
“[Y/n]…” He tried, only to receive a harsh glare.
“Don’t. Just… don’t.” You worried enough for him. Wilford had a reputation for being careless and this was a prime example of his tomfoolery. You wrapped his abdomen in gauze and bandages before helping him to his feet. “We’re going to the hospital. Dr. Iplier can help you more than I can.”
Wilford resisted. “No! Please, [Y/n]… I don’t want to get in trouble again…” You could hear the fear and anxiety in his voice.
Turning to face him with your eyebrows furrowed, you wondered what Dark did to him the last time he got in trouble. Dark was the farthest thing from a physical abuser, but his lectures could get personal and hurtful real fast. You frowned. Not taking him to the hospital to receive better care went against everything in your body, but you hated hearing and seeing his pure fear. You cared for him deeply and never wanted to see him in pain.
You sighed. “Fine. We won’t go to the hospital. But you are on bed rest until I say otherwise. And no, I won’t mention anything to Dark.” You promised, which soothed him.
Laying him down on your couch, you went and grabbed some hydrogen peroxide and started to clean up the blood stains on your carpet. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” You asked, glancing over at him.
Wilford grimaced as he shifted on the couch. “I… It was an accident.”
“I could glean that much. Who goes and gets stabbed on purpose?”
The ego couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I guess you’ve got a point there, sweetheart.” You felt heat rush to your cheeks. Wilford had a habit of giving his friends and family pet names, but you had never really adjusted to it. “It’s a long story, so I’ll keep it short. Basically, I… messed up. I didn’t pay attention and Anti decided to get revenge on me for humiliating him in front of his brothers.”
“You know not to mess with Anti, Wil. He’s dangerous and unpredictable—even Dark thinks so and they hang out all the time.” You stated with a knowing look. Wilford sighed.
“I know, I know… I just couldn’t help it. He’s so easy to mess with.”
Once you were done cleaning the carpet, you came and knelt by the couch, resting your chin on the arm. “Maybe now you’ll know to keep from annoying a murderous glitch demon?” You asked. Wilford never listened to anyone—besides Dark of course—and learned only through experience. Even that didn’t work 100% of the time.
Fluffing a pillow, you set it behind his head. “But all that aside, how are you feeling? I know typical pain medicine doesn’t work very well with you, but if you need anything to help dull the pain, I think I’ve got some morphine somewhere. The perks of being a doctor, I suppose.”
Wilford shook his head. “No… It’s manageable for right now. As long as I don’t move, anyway.”
You chuckled. “Well, before you came barging through my door, I was about to start an episode of my favorite show. Did you want to watch it with me?” You offered.
The reporter offered a smile. “Sure. Maybe you’ll finally hook me on it.” He teased, causing you to roll your eyes.
Deciding to let Wilford keep the couch, you sat down on the floor, leaning back against the piece of furniture. The two of you watched several episodes before you finally nodded off. Wilford, despite not requiring sleep, also let himself relax and fall into the waiting arms of the dreamscape.
The next morning, you awoke to a silent house. The only sound was that of Wilford’s steady breathing. Standing and stretching, you checked his bandages and stitches. Everything held up well, and you changed the gauze and coverings quickly and quietly. From what Dr. Iplier told you, resting helps the healing process for the egos. Once you were done, you went into the kitchen to start breakfast. You had another shift at nine and you didn’t want to be late.
The smell of pancakes and eggs filled the air, as well as the sweet caress of coffee. Or liquid cocaine as Dr. Iplier called it. You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself as you remembered yesterday’s interaction. Humming as you cooked, you didn’t notice Wilford limping into the kitchen and seating himself at the large island.
“What’s cooking, darling? It smells heavenly.”
You startled and whirled around. “Wil! You shouldn’t be moving around. Even with your accelerated healing, a wound like that will take some time to heal. Don’t make me smack you or revoke your gun privileges.”
Wilford chuckled. “Alright, alright. I’ll do what my lovely doctor tells me to do~” He purred, giving you a seductive wink. You blushed.
“Oh, you’re lucky you’re cute.” You muttered, but the reporter heard you.
“You think I’m cute?” He asked, a sly smirk tugging at his lips.
An embarrassed flush took over your cheeks, causing them to heat up. “N… No… Shut… Shut up…” You stuttered. Wil didn’t let the subject go and kept prodding until you finally gave in. “Fine! Yes! I think you’re cute!” You admitted.
The pink-mustached man grinned. “I knew it. Now Yancy owes me thirty bucks.”
“Wait, you bet on whether or not I thought you were cute? With Yancy? Isn’t he still in prison?” You asked, putting your hands on your hips.
“Yes, yes, and yes. And besides, he started it after… after…” Wilford mumbled something under his breath, causing you to raise an eyebrow in interest.
“After what, Wil?”
“Nothing.”
“Mhmm.” You replied, an unbelieving tone in your voice. “I may not have an all-seeing eye or knowledge, but I can smell a lie a mile away.” What was Wilford so embarrassed about that his explosive personality softened?
“After he found out about my crush on you…” He replied, his voice quiet and meek. You felt your heart skip a beat. Wilford liked you? As in romantically? It didn’t seem possible. He never even implicated that he was interested in anyone. Not after what happened at the manor. Yes, you knew about that. Only fragments of the story, though. Neither Dark or Wilford would tell you anything; it was mostly from slip-ups that you gleaned anything about their dark and twisted past.
Leaving the stove for a second, you leaned over the island, a small grin lighting up your features. “If it makes you feel better, Wilfie, I might have a crush on you, too.” You said slyly. Wilford’s mustache shot up along with his eyebrows.
“You do?”
“I never said that.” You corrected, a smirk tugging on your lips. Wilford whined and pouted.
“But you did! Come on, [Y/n]! You gotta tell me if you like me back!” He begged, but when that didn’t solicit any answers, he turned to flirtation and flattery. “Darling, honey bun, sweetums, sweetheart, sugar—” You pressed your index finger against his lips to shut him up.
“Sorry, Wil. That information is on a strict need to know basis, and frankly, you don’t need to know~” You purred before returning to your breakfast, ignoring Wilford’s pleas for the truth. Turning on your heel with two plates in hand, you slid his plate over to him. “Cinnamon banana pancakes. Your favorite.”
“Oh, no. Don’t think food will get you out of this one, darling. Even if it smells… absolutely delicious…” Wilford was basically drooling and he couldn’t resist the temptation of his favorite pancakes and a cup of vanilla bean flavored coffee. He was a sucker for sweetly flavored things.
With a few bites, you finished your breakfast. “Sorry to cut things short, but I’ve got work in forty-five minutes. Dr. Iplier is expecting me.” With that, you slipped out of the kitchen. Luckily, your scrubs were where you left them the night before and you easily left for work. Wilford watched with a child-like pout as you blew him a kiss before pulling out of your driveway. He was stuck at your house and had no confirmation if you liked him back. Looks like he’d have to wait until you got home that evening to learn the truth…
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Should I do a part 2? I'd love to hear your guy's opinions and thoughts!
