Markiplier Ego Oneshots

Visitation- Yancy/Reader (Part 2)

Cover by the-moon-pal on Tumblr. The beginnning is a bit angsty, but it gets better, I promise. If you're wondering why the fanart feature is always from Tumblr, it's because that's the only social media I have.
Do y'alls like it when I always put art/give credit on every page? Or is it distracting?

When the door slot opened later that day there were some papers poorly hidden by the tray of food. There was a coloring book (featuring some guy called "Markiplier", who Yancy thought looked like a douche) with your photograph tucked inside. For some reason there was also a tastefully nude calendar with the same Markiplier guy plastered all over it. The guard didn't seem like the type to have a nude calendar, but it wasn't really Yancy's place to judge. He didn't want to think about what the implications were.

The stack of papers tucked under the food tray was obvious. The colorful pages stuck out the sides and made it a beacon for security to see. It wouldn't be surprising if the many hallway cameras spotted the incriminating evidence while the guard delivered the meal. Yancy hoped he was okay.

He flipped the calendar to its current month and circled in red crayon when he got out of solitary. Then he went further and circled the next visitation day and wrote "Y/N??" on it. Yancy knew you were technically still on the run and probably wouldn't be able to visit next third Sunday, but he kept his hopes up. Yancy had faith in you, more faith than himself and anyone else for that matter. You could wear a clever disguise and get away with virtually anything, so he was sure that you would definitely visit if you really wanted to. Because who could say no to a handsome and/or beautiful face like yours?

The thing that Yancy hated the most about solitary was the oppressive quiet that filled the room. At least with the gang around, he was surrounded by noise and conversation and other signs of life. But now he was forced to be alone with his thoughts. To cope he made his own noise: humming ditties, singing all the showtunes he knew, and talking aloud to himself and "You" (your photo, more like) until his throat was sore. He was sure it was the only thing keeping him from going insane from loneliness and claustrophobia.

He stared at your mug shot photo before lights out, wondering what you were thinking at that moment. Where were you now, out there? How were you doing now that you were free? Did you think about him as much as he thought about you?

The picture reminded Yancy of the photo of your family that you showed him on the first day you met. He imagined how it would be like to be a familial type again, but for some reason every time he did so he immediately thought of you.

When the lights did turn off, Yancy didn't move, still staring at your image. Even in pitch black he already had your face memorized and engrained in his brain.

"'Night, Y/N," he whispered, gently placing his lips to the paper. It felt right. Yancy briefly debated on whether or not it was creepy, but hey, what you didn't know can't hurt you. He tucked the photo under his pillow and hoped that he would get a peaceful night of sleep for once.

It was the worst at night.

He tried to put off sleeping for as long as he could, sitting awake in a darkness so heavy and thick that it felt impossible to breathe. No one would hear him if he cried or screamed: a tree falling in a forest with nobody around. Nightmares plagued Yancy every night, and with them the crushing feeling of guilt. His hands would be wrapped around his parents' necks or gripping a knife above their chest or covered in their blood. But recently it was you: your neck, your chest, your blood. Yancy would see your face full of shock and horror and worse, betrayal. You'd scramble away from him but he was always able to catch up and deliver the final blow. He watched himself kill you over and over again, unable to control his movements in the dream no matter how much he yelled for him to stop.