Teamiplier Imagines

A Sarcastic Super

Could this day get any worse?! First your alarm didn't go off, so you were late for work. Then were nearly found out by one of your coworkers when they saw you crash-land into a pile of garbage (luckily they were flying just about as high as you were—figuratively for them, not so much for you), and now you're here, trying to climb through a series of air ducts in the second skin of a super-suit your "best friend" Collin-the-Costume-Man just insisted you wear to save the one and only Markiplier.

You couldn't believe this was happening. Only moments away from meeting your hero (HA. puns) and, of course, he was taken hostage by some jerks who wanted their fifteen minutes of fame. And, said jerks weren't as stupid you hoped they'd be. Why now, of all times, did you have to put up with decent criminals? Couldn't they just be clueless and unprepared like all the others? They had reinforcement at every exit and room in the arena to ensure that no one would be leaving until they got what they wanted; $50,000. Like you're going to let that happen... Not. A. Chance.

After minutes of crawling through the uncomfortably small space you were in, you, at long last, reach the vent above the room where he was being held captive. Looking down you see Mark tied to a chair, a blindfold over his eyes and a gag in his mouth, two guards flanking the door, and one standing by the captive YouTuber. You consider different strategies, knowing that this would be an easier victory than most, but that didn't mean you should be careless.

Once you have everything planned out in your head, you take action. With you being in an air duct, there was no way for you to go in quietly, so you start with a bang. Literally. You slam your hand down on the vent, causing it to clatter to ground loudly. Then, you throw yourself down the same path as your metal distraction headfirst, making sure you land directly on top of one of the captors; more specifically, the one guarding Mark.

Of course, when planning possible rescue missions made by police, they weren't planning a 5′4 23-year-old (just go with it... I don't know what I'm writing; it's two in the morning, okay? give me a break) to fly down from the ceiling, so all of their weapons were in the far corner of the room. Ha. Schmucks.

With the one taken out so quickly you were able to stop the other to before they could attack. Two short kicks to the groin can really do a man in; especially when it's coming from a young woman with super strength. Knowing you didn't have much longer before they recovered, you untie Mark's hands and legs.

While you're doing so, you say to him, "Mark, I'm here to help you, but for right now, the rest can wait; we need to get out of here. And if you don't want to lose any important extremities, I'd suggest holding on." He nods quickly and wraps his arm around your torso. As soon as you knew he was secure, you fly out of the conveniently open window and to an empty street, afraid if you got any closer you would have to repeat the whole saving-any-big-shot-who-is-taken-captive process again—strangely enough, it happens more often than you would think. Most just don't know about it because it's kept under wraps to minimize panic.

Finally, now that you know you're both safe, you help him untie his blindfold and remove the piece of cloth that was shoved in his mouth. He blinks a few times, allowing his eyes to adjust to the sun glaring above you. Then, he looks at you, awe apparent in his face.

"I, uh... I don't know how to thank you for what, uh... What you just did back there, but thank you..." Mark stumbles on his words—as most do when they were just saved from a near-death situation—and trails off on his words slowly, trying to ask for your name without actually asking.

"Y/N," you fill in for him.

"Y/N-Girl? Woman? Sorry, I don't quite know the structure of real superhero names."

"Not quite, though I wish I did have a cool superhero name, it's just Y/N," you sigh.

"Well, Y/N, is there anything I can do to thank you? I truly owe you my life."

"I mean, you could take me out to dinner? Most of my dates have to wait until the fifth date for me to untie them, so I'd say we've already skipped ahead a bit," you answer, jokingly. (Did I just slip an innuendo in here? Yes. Do I hate myself for doing it? Yeah. Am I going to take it back? No.)

He looks mortified for a split, but then, for the first time in hours, you see him dissolve into a fit of giggles. "Sounds only fair."

"Awesome. Eight sound good?"

"Of course."

"Should I pick you up or you me?"

"Unless you have a car, I think I've had enough flying for one day, so I'll get you. Where are you staying"

"A—" Before you could even get out a single syllable, your answer is cut off by the approaching sirens of police cars and an ambulance. You raise your voice a bit so he can hear you better, "At that hotel over there. I'll meet you in the lobby." You point to a hotel across the street. Then, before law enforcement can spot you, you shoot up, leaving Mark behind until your date later, knowing he would be in good hands.