Damaged (Markiplier X Reader)

Sharing is Caring

After Mark's "grand tour", which ended up just being him showing me where the bathroom and kitchen was, he offered to help me unpack. I politely declined and scurried back to my room as fast as I could to hide.

I couldn't be around him for more than ten seconds without my face turning into a cherry and rising twenty degrees. The endless amount of times that my mom would tease me about Mark as a kid was finally coming true.

Okay. Just breath. You are going to have to get used to this (Y/n). You can do it, he is just a person.... A really hot person you want to feel up.
WAIT, WHAT?! NO!
Clean thoughts (L/n), clean thoughts. Just unpack and think about something else, ANYTHING ELSE.

But unfortunately for me, the image stuck in my head was Mark's toned, shirtless body.

~~~

The nagging growl of my stomach was the only thing powerful enough to get me out of my room. Notebook in hand, I carefully and quietly snuck down the stairs, hoping to grab some food without being noticed. But the gods had a much different plan in mind for me. Towards the bottom of the steps, I started to hear muffled voices coming from the kitchen.

Is there someone here?

As I stepped closer, the voices became more distinct. One was definitely Mark and the other was someone with a very dopey voice.

"Keep your voice down!" Mark whisper-yelled.

"I just think you should act upon your thoughts, my dear Mark. Cause if you don't, I will."

The screwy voice said. Who is he talking to? And what are they talking about?

"Don't even think about it!" Mark hissed.

I leaned in closer to the door, trying to hear better, but I ended up nudging it ever so slightly. The door hinges squeaked and panic began to settle inside of me.

Do something! Do anything that will make it look like you weren't listening!

Apparently to my brain, that meant walking straight into the kitchen.

The now clothed Mark turn from the counter and smiled at me. He didn't seem suspicious of me.

"Hey! What brings you down here?"

Before I could answer, my stomach let out a loud, inhuman lament. I covered my stomach and laughed nervously.

Mark smiled and held up his hand, "I guess that answers my question."

Blushing would have been no problem, but what I did was go as red as a beetroot and radiate heat like a hot pan. You could have cooked a three-course meal on my face. I would have eaten that meal if given the opportunity; I could start to feel my stomach eat at my insides. 

Mark turned back to what he was doing and grabbed it, turning back to me with a plate that held a huge and delicious looking sandwich. My mouth watered at the sight of it, I could have probably eaten the whole thing if I tried. 

"Do you want half of this?" Mark offered, gesturing the plate to me, "there is enough for two."

Not wanting to impose, I shook my head. "No, it's okay, I can make my own food."