Markiplier Imagines

114 | everything's alright.

here we are, a story finally. i know i waited like a week, but i've started school again and it's kinda killing me, kinda not. so take this piece i've had in the back for awhile, free of charge.

word count | 622

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He looked himself over in the mirror, from the scruff decorating his face, to the brown of his eyes, to the black fluff of hair atop his head. He looked down at his bare chest, down at his arms, his abs, the small, fading scar just below his navel.

The white of the bathroom walls were the only thing he could see, as his own body was so close to the mirror it was blocking the doorway to his bedroom. The countertop was cold against his abdomen, the feeling of smooth and cool marble a slight foreign feeling against his fingertips. He was being careful not to lay completely on top of the counter, seeing as he didn't want a burning cold sensation filling up his torso.

Sighing out, he looked down at his own two hands. His ring finger had a bandage on it, the side of his hand was healing from a couple cuts, but the other hand, the left hand, was completely fine. Nothing had happened to it, at least, not that Mark could feel. But his hands weren't necessarily the problem here.

In fact, he didn't think there was a problem. Not with him, anyway. His life was pretty freakin' nice.

He had the job of his dreams, he was never bored and left to think and potentially fall into the deep hole of depression that had once taken him, he had a big house, an amazing dog to call his own.

But, most of all, he had one of the most gorgeous, most beautiful, breathtaking women to call the love of his life. The true love of his life. There weren't any past girlfriends that could match up to the way this girl made him feel, there was no way any close friends could make him as happy as he was when with her.

A soft movement from his bedroom tugged him from his thoughts, and he smiled fondly because he knew who it was. Glancing over himself one more time and sighing from happiness, he rubbed his hand just underneath his collar bone and he walked out into the bedroom. There lay said beautiful girl, all tangled up in his grey covers.

He quietly padded to the bed, grabbing the tossed comforter from his side of the bed and pulling it back. Lying down on his side and looking over her sleeping face, he smiled. Her lips were quirked up at the edges and her eyes danced behind their lids.

Scooting closer, Mark softly kissed her forehead and draped his arm around her body, pulling both her and himself closer together. She let out a breath against his chest, shifting around a bit. Her big (e/c) eyes looked up, and for one singular moment, nothing but pure, pure love crossed those beautiful irises.

Instead of saying anything, Mark merely stared down at the love of his life. She looked beautiful, even with a bed head and sleep-ridden eyes, she looked beautiful, even with puffy skin. She just looked beautiful. If Mark were slightly more awake, he was sure he would've been able to come up with an entire thesaurus filled with synonyms to beautiful, just so he didn't have to repeat himself. But, see, he couldn't. Even though he was tired, he knew that not even beautiful could match the magnificence of the love of his life.

She looked away for a moment, down at his chest and kissed it softly. Then, with one last sigh, she closed her eyes and fell asleep against him once more. Mark smiled, eyelids suddenly heavy with exhaustion. Placing a small kiss on her temple, he nestled against her and let the embrace of sleep slowly take him in.