Steve_xio
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This reality felt like a cruel illusion, his mind had become a labyrinth of disorientation desperately trying to comprehend how and why he was back inside this hellhole. In hopes of keeping himself stabilized, his fingers held firm against the weathered rebar despite the profound sensation of vertigo crippling his nerves.
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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ The fat in Marcus’ thighs sculpted around the Mayor's hips with a desperate grip, plump flesh that curved with perfection as if Damien was made to be between those legs. Occasionally, Marcus’ tightened clasp of limbs would slither off from their boned perch due to Damien's sporadic pace. The mayor knew how much the actor craved routine, especially within their most intimate moments — despised the unpredictable, his entire life was built on stage cues and strategic direction . . . and Damien used this known fact to his own advantage.
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Subtle Glances by Steve_xio
Fandoms: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), Markiplier Cinematic Universe, markiplier - Fandom
03 May 2026
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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Throwing parties is something Markus was typically exceptional at, he was a famous actor after all. To many, he had changed the definition of motion-picture feature films in more ways than one, he was handed countless awards – grand ceremonies of constant praise, a luxurious manor he could call his and the title of being an “Actor.” To the many individuals who read about Mr. Iplier's rising fame through the papers, a lot of them believed that he had everything, a successful career — a charming personality where girls gawked over him whenever he entered a room, and having the ability to even host parties during these treacherous moments of history. Yes, on the outside he did appear to have everything . . . except . . . he didn’t. it was extremely evident when he was in a “sour” mood — snobby, bratty, prickish — any negative trait could be associated with the actor when he was having a moment. He wasn’t the best at keeping his temper at bay in these. . . types of situations. Soon his nostrils flared toward the man, a warning sign he was about to pounce, mock and shoo — anything to be left alone until. . . his gaze fell onto him.