Markiplier Imagines (Mark X Reader)

•Tough Guy•

"I heard he fired four people last month alone. He's ruthless when someone he deems as unfit messes up. It's been too long since he's come here, he's here to fire someone, I just know it, " Y/N shrugs, turning away from their coworker.

"I just don't believe he's that scary. He's doing his job I think- a little intimidating but most people in higher positions are, " They defend, shrugging. "But I don't know frankly- I have no right to an opinion because I've never truly gotten to know him. I know I've worked for and with him the longest technically but he just seems- rough around the edges. He's sort of-" They cut themselves off as the door clicks open, staring at their pen in their hand, the entire atmosphere changing as the man himself walks in. Y/N's heart stops as they steal a glance up to him as he pulls his chair back, quickly looking away. I don't care what anyone thinks. He's probably the most attractive man I've ever seen.

"Why the hell hasn't anyone spoken yet?" He snaps right out of the gate, Y/N only realizing they looked back up at him as he makes eye contact with them, making them turn away. "Someone better explain to me why we just lost Chicago for no damn good reason, " Mr.Fischbach smacks his hand onto the table, making nearly everyone jump, people scrambling to explain to him what he asked. It was a slur of numbers and excuses and names dropped, Y/N staying mostly silent besides their occasional input, not once speaking to him directly. More than once, however, Y/N happened to glance at or past him, their eyes catching in those moments, Y/N looking down at the table nervously.

Why does Mr.Fischbach seem different today? Is it just coincidence that we keep holding each others stare? Surely he keeps looking around the room and I just happen to be looking up then too, right? Why am I overthinking this when he could literally-

"You're fired, " Their heart drops, snapping their eyes back up. Calming a bit, they look to where he was glaring, seeing one of the marketing men's face change. He couldn't say anything, just glancing away, Y/N's heart breaking for him as he nods.

"Yes sir. Good day, " The man leaves with that, Y/N feeling their palms grow sweaty, hands trying their best not to tremble. If he could so easily fire him, surely I must be the obvious next choice. Shit. Y/N cringes slightly, scribbling notes down, now determined to stay on track, setting aside their attraction for him for another time.

Although Y/N had worked with him for years now, they never truly talked to Mr.Fischbach, always just spewing a few numbers or facts for him and then excusing themselves. But word got around at this company, so they knew a few things about him. His full name was Mark Edward Fischbach, his mother was apparently the sweetest woman on earth, and his father passed away when he was 18. He was widely regarded as a scary and sometimes coarse man, doing what he wanted whenever he wanted and firing whoever tried to tell him otherwise. Yet, something about him always seemed to be dented to Y/N; something frail and weak and vulnerable about him, that if someone were to really get to know him, they would see this dent and understand why he was the way he was. And Y/N found themselves desperately wanting to be that someone.

"Chicago's off the damn table- what's next? The entirety of California?" He snaps, Y/N seeing him take off his glasses as he leans back, pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes shut. They steal that moment, drinking him in.

He was wearing his normal black slacks and white button-down with a tie, the sleeves rolled to the elbows. He was more muscular than Y/N had ever truly noticed, eyes tracing. His hair was a little bit of a mess, and there, as he lifts his eyes, they see the dent for a moment. Vulnerability flashes in his face, his features softening as he seems to stare into their very soul, Y/N seeing him gulp before forcing themselves to look away, cursing themselves internally. Just like that, the dent was gone, the softness concealed, shifting a glare to an accountant.