Markiplier Imagines (completed)

//oh colors

BTS - (FAKE LOVE)

"So, you have zero dark clothes?" Mark, a man I just met, asked.

"If I do, I don't wear them. I always wear pastelish colors, like, not overly crazy, but my shirts are almost always a light, but bright color."

"And mine are always so fucking dark," Mark chuckled. "We could, uh, mix our styles in at some point?" I could tell he was attempting to flirt with me.

"I have no problem with that at all, how about tonight at eight?" I put on a smug look. "Meet me at this address," I slapped a piece of paper in his hands. "Look nice."

I walked out of the coffee shop and walked home where I would day dream about Mark, whom I just met for the first time.

0 years, 0 months, 0 days, 7 hours. I've known him for 7 hours, and been in love with him for only 7 hours. "Hey, is it okay if I'm a bit early?"

"How early?" I asked.

"Maybe a half hour from now?"

I was already wearing a nice red dress that barely went past my knees. "Um, yeah, totally."

I smiled as I opened the door to a man in a black tuxedo, with a red undershirt. "Wow, you look, amazing in the red dress."

"But your shirt, still a pretty dark color, but your shirt, we kinda match," I giggled. "Perfect to me."

Mark chuckled, "Yeah."

About a few months after meeting, I had a little too much to drink at my place. Mark came over to hang out, and as he was, he was in dark punky clothing, and I was in a wine lime green shirt. "Look at you," I smirked.

"Look at me? Look at you," Mark chuckled, looking at the TV.

My hands landed in his lap, and they acted like cars running up a mountain as I sat in his lap and my hands were planted on his shoulders. I couldn't stop myself from whatever I planned to do, considering I was more drunk than slightly sober. I could feel lust running through my body as his hands traveled to my hips, causing me to cup his face. Suddenly, his lips were on mine, by his move.

I wasn't controlling what I could have been doing, but Mark was, he could control me and himself at this point. Nipping at his neck, he pushed me away softly. "Whaaaat?" I snickered, trying to go back to what I was doing.

"You're too drunk for this," he sighed. "And for how much I'm in love with you, I would like any moment like this to be special, so please, for your own good, stop."

I took a seat next to him. "For a punk, you're awfully nice to me."

"I'm not even that much of a punk," he chuckled.

I smiled, "You're still a punk to me."

"Your punk."