Markiplier Ego Oneshots

Charm the Guards (But Mostly Yancy)- Yancy/Mute!Reader

Another Yancy x Reader. This one has a mute gender neutral reader (like the Viewer for AHWM) wearing a dress. If this makes you uncomfortable, you seriously don't have to read it. Art is by artist-in-space on Tumblr. They're currently doing a Good Omens and Markiplier ego crossover comic on there and it's really good.

Warnings: mild language, blood, bloody nose, prison, mild innuendo, Reader is mute and wears a dress, Yancy calls Reader a "doll" (because of the dress) and "sweetheart".

Very long author's note after the fic.

You were planning a heist. Again. The last time you were part of a heist it landed you in prison, which is where you were now. The box that you and Mark worked so hard to steal landed itself on top of the Warden's desk like an ornate paperweight. And you were going to steal it back.

Here was your plan: 1. Charm the guards and get them to trust you enough to give you a job. 2. Rise in the ranks until you're able to secure a cleaning job in the Warden's office. And 3. Steal the box back from under the Warden's nose and get the hell out of prison before you got caught (Mark could save himself, probably). You already got the first step down. Other than Mr. Murder-Slaughter, most of the guards seemed to like you, some of them maybe a little too much. Step 2 was also complete after you were hired in quick succession from kitchen worker, laundry aide, and finally to a cleaner. You didn't think you were that charismatic; it was almost as if you were in one of those otome games and you were the protagonist. But hey, you were a step closer to your goal and step 3 was finally in motion.

You were issued (more like aggressively thrown in your face) the standard uniform of the room cleaning industry: a pinafore. Apparently all the cleaning people of the prison wore it, regardless of gender, class, or creed. It wasn't uncommon to see brawny 7 foot tall men in dress smocks having Febreze spray bottle duels while "cleaning". The number of prisoners sent to the infirmary because of these battles was astounding.

You don the pinafore in your cell, wishing there was a full length mirror to see how it looked. It feels a bit small, the layered skirt barely covering your ass and the fabric constricting your torso. The French maid dress was difficult to shimmy into, but it wasn't tight enough to cause discomfort. You strongly regret not wearing long pants under it because your exposed legs were cold.

You do a little half spin, admiring the floof of the skirt ruffling around your legs. You debate on asking for a larger one that would at least cover your chilly legs a bit more. But then again, you weren't planning on staying long after you secured the box back. You attempt to do a pirouette and the room starts spinning around you.

"'Ay Y/N! What's that?"

You abruptly stop twirling to face the direction of the voice, trying not to fall over from dizziness. It takes a second or two before your vison focuses enough to see Yancy standing in the doorway with an unreadable expression on his face. You awkwardly jazz hands to negate the terrible execution of your spin (you didn't want to offend the dancer) and signaled a thumbs up or down to ask Yancy his opinion on your uniform.

Yancy looks askance, his expression carefully neutral. "Youse... youse look like a real doll. But why the getup?"

You hold up a feather duster and a canister of Febreze sarcastic look. Yancy's arms unconsciously cross in front of his chest and his brows knit in suspicion. "Why'd you want a job for?"

You mime the outline of a rectangular box, roughly the same dimensions of the one you were trying to steal back. Yancy was your friend and you didn't want to lie to him. Not too much anyway. You still didn't have the heart to tell him the second part of step 3 and your plans to leave. Yancy smirks a bit, a knowing glint in his eyes.