Markiplier Ego Oneshots

Familial Type- Yancy/Reader

Above image by caustic-synishade on Tumblr. Seriously, check their stuff out if you like ego art. They also are insanely fast at making them, which is awesome. Also, this image works SO well with this fic!

Could be seen as platonic or romantic Yancy/gender-neutral reader. You're welcome Yancy stans :) I hear you're one A_door_bat ?

Warnings: second person guilt tripping, mentions of death, your typical hurt/comfort thing.

Prison life was surprisingly not bad.

There was a nice group of people that you would probably (kill) die  for and a new best friend that you would have never met if you actually knew how to fly helicopter. The homey interior decorating of your cell was a plus too.

You relax on the bottom bunk of your room. It reminds you of Headquarters after a long day of planning for the heist, where you and Mark would finally be able to relax and talk. Those were your favorite times.

"Hey Mark?" You ask, getting answered by shuffling from the bunk above. You momentarily forgot that Mark was dead. "Sorry Yancy, forget I said anything".

A pair of legs with long socks and shiny black shoes dangle from above you. Yancy nimbly leaps down. You sit up. How does he do that without falling or shattering his ankles? His brows furrow in contemplation.

"Wasn't Mark the guy youse came in with?" Yancy asks hesitantly. You shuffle to the side to let Yancy sit beside you. He does, the bed dipping slightly under him. You are surprised that he remembers such a random detail from when you and Mark first got to prison. Mark didn't even survive the first five minutes. Yancy must have had an eye on you since the very beginning, you muse.

"Yeah, he was," you say, glancing at Yancy's concerned expression. His warm chocolate-brown eyes were the same as Mark: kind, inviting, and full of life. "You... remind me of him".

Yancy is silent for a moment. "Y'wanna talk about it? Youse don' have to if ya don't wanna though", he says, giving you an easy out. You trusted Yancy more than anyone else. Hell, he was probably the only friend you had left. You take a deep breath.

"Mark was like a brother to me. We were partners in crime: literally. He never let me down or left me behind: not too much anyway. After we robbed a museum, we got caught and ended up here." You look down at your lap, clasping your hands together. Mark died so suddenly and he was your only friend for a long time. Your chest tightens involuntarily. You didn't even know what happened to his body. After his death, you didn't feel much of anything. You were too busy getting used to prison life and appeasing the warden and becoming friends with Yancy. Or at least, you kept yourself busy thus far.

"I'm sorry 'bout Mark. He must'a meant a lot to you. He sounds like a nice guy."

You smile in an attempt to ease Yancy's worry, but it ends up looking wistful. "You would have liked him. Both of you are into theatrics too; I bet he'd love seeing your musical number".

"Was Mark the one that got a good person like youse in 'ere?"

You scoff. "I wouldn't say I'm necessarily a 'good' person. I robbed museums, stole some priceless artifacts, and committed a ton of petty crime. I  was the one that got Mark in here, I  made the wrong choice". You knew you should have chosen the car. Who knew that Mark didn't know how to fly a helicopter?

"I still think you're a good person. Look at me, I killed ma' mom and dad. 'S why I'm here. But youse- youse never hurt anybody. I'd say that's pretty good".

"But I hurt Mark."

Your hands clench into tight fists. Mark was dead because of you. Mark always made you make the major decisions, even when it went against his own. He was the more meticulous out of the two of you. For the heist, he had a backup plan for every letter of the alphabet and he still gave you the ability to choose where to go. You trusted your instincts thus far, and it has served you well. But your last decision ended up leading Mark to his death.

Yancy puts a hand on yours. "Hey Y/N, it ain't your fault. Youse didn't know that'd happen. The past ain't somethin' to be trifled with... but nor is it somethin' youse could change".

Tears start filling up your eyes. The pain of losing Mark, the survivors guilt you feel, and the empty void of loneliness with him gone hit you all at once: an overwhelming flood of emotion threatening to drown you. You didn't want to cry in front of Yancy.

You were going to apologize when you felt a pair of big, strong arms slowly wrap around your torso. Yancy holds you firmly in a warm embrace, pinning your arms together against his chest. You felt like a baby being rocked to sleep by their mother: comfortable, warm, and loved.

"It's okay, Y/N. Youse could trust me".

You cry for the first time in a long time.

—————————–

You and Yancy continue holding each other, neither of you wanting to let go. Yancy soothingly rubs your back as you continue clutching the white fabric of his T-shirt. You are admittedly calmer now, and the steady rhythm of his breathing and heartbeat lulls you into an almost meditative state.

"You really are one'a those familial types," Yancy mutters, his voice a deep rumble in his chest. You smile a little, thinking about how domestic you and Yancy are. If the guard were to walk by right now, you imagine that he would have a nosebleed at how adorable you both must look.

"You too".

Yancy pauses, pulling you closer towards him. He hums contently with an exhale. You can't see his face, but the smile in his voice is evident as he whispers, almost too quiet for you to hear.

"'Guess I am".