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theknightmarket · 1 year

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Okay uh...this is the first time I'm requesting any egos but I just have to. You're the best writer for them I've ever had the pleasure of reading from. So I'm thinking maybe some Yancy and reader (preferably if they're from Heist) pulling some shenanigans around Happy Trails and slowly Yancy realizing his feelings? The shenanigans can involve the guards, Yancy's friends, or even the warden!

"Came for the accent, stayed for the crisis."

In which Yancy and a convicted thief run their own April Fools' Day.

TW: cursing

Pages: 20 – Words: 8,500

[Requests: OPEN]

The sounds coming from the corridor may have made any outsider think this was a theme park, which, while not all that different in context, was incorrect - if only for the fact that the rollercoasters, ring-toss games, and Ferris wheel were swapped out for sticky tables, rusty metal bars, and subpar plumbing. These may not have been mutually exclusive, but in Happy Trails Penitentiary, you would have better luck tracking down a perfectly innocent prisoner than a waffle. Or, for that matter, someone who wanted to be free.

Happy Trails was notorious for being one of the only prisons in all of America that nobody wanted to leave. It wasn’t any different, there was still a fair amount of police brutality and a difficultly established hierarchy, but there was one thing that no other jail had that this one did.

And that was not a something, but a someone: a young man who went by the name Yancy.

Despite him having spent the majority of his life in a cell, nobody knew if that was his real name, or just a random thing someone had given him once. By the accent, he definitely wasn’t an Englishman, but that, too, was up to interpretation. Some said he was from Ohio, some said from Boston, but all agreed that it didn’t matter anymore. He was in Happy Trails Penitentiary, now, so who cared where he was born?

Thus, this became his home. Yancy spent his days and nights in the confines of the walls, and he cherished the moments he spent with his friends, hell, family. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t leave, nor that his choices were limited in a lot of things, because he was with the people that he loved doing the things that he loved. It was a difficult task to imagine life outside, and it only sweetened the deal when you arrived.

You knew next to nothing about prison-life when you first got kicked up the ass here, which, granted, was a lot more than he could say for your friend. You were a confusing pair, to say the least, but he wasn’t sure if you would adjust well. At first, admittedly, you didn’t; you picked fights and messed with the guards, and when your friend disappeared? Hell had no fury like you scorned. Yancy didn’t even know if you were still at the prison with how often you were chucked in solitary.

Eventually, though, you settled down. You seemed to realize that this was where you were, and there was no changing that. You chilled out, got better, tried making conversation. Yancy was the first to welcome you properly, because he’d been where you were. A freshly-sixteen high school dropout was like early Christmas for the prisoners, until he found his group and made the place more homely. There was no denying the stray convicts who could make your life hard if you got on their bad side, but the vast majority were small time criminals who just didn’t want to leave.

After your botched heist, you fit right in.

And, yeah, you might be asking how this whole origin story resulted in yourself and Yancy getting chased down the hallway by the prison’s Warden, himself adorned in a pink afro, sunglasses, and the loudest shirt on the market. You weren’t exactly sure, either, but that didn’t stop you from squeezing Yancy’s hand and pulling him through a doorway. Your state-issued shoes clacked against tile, squeaking giving you away in a heartbeat. The sleeve of your jacket whipped past the Warden’s hand, and yet, against the prospect of being caught, a smile dashed across your face. It matched the one on Yancy’s mouth, soon to be interrupted by an accented laugh.

You nearly let out a ‘woohoo’ in excitement, but you considered that too far, and you needed to catch your breath enough to get back to the Warden’s office. That thing was a fort right now, both of your faces were beet red from the running, amongst other reasons, and you were becoming awkwardly aware of your grip on Yancy’s hand. Getting caught was not an option, lest you wanted to face a month of solitary for this stunt – even though it was probably warranted.

It all began at the very start of this morning when the sun barely peaked past your barred window and the guards had yet to wake everyone else up. You treasured this period, because it was the only time you were given free reign of what to do. Sure, during free time you had things to do, but you had to be doing things, whereas now was the perfect time to lay in bed, staring up at the top bunk and be at peace. A yawn broke the silence from that very place, but you considered the source to be the only thing that made a shorter rest worth it.

“G’morning,” Yancy called sleepily. Even as early as this, his drawl was still present.

Your response was more chirpy than usual, “Good morning, Yancy.”

His eyebrow’s rose unwittingly as he swung his legs over the side of your bed. “What’s got youse all hyped up?” He couldn’t think what made this day special. It wasn’t visitation day, it wasn’t Christmas, and it definitely wasn’t your birthday – so what was he missing?

“Because,” you practically sang, strapping on your shoes and tying your jacket around your waist, “today is the first of April.”

Before Yancy’s feet could touch the ground, you secured your hands on his shoulders and grinned. He might have been scared had he not trusted you with his life, so he just returned the smile in appreciation of your mood and rolled up his own sleeves.

For a second, you were confused. You didn’t expect much, maybe a laugh or a little sound of realization, but Yancy didn’t seem to know anything about what you were talking about.

“April Fool’s Day,” you stated.

His expression only shifted into concern.

You, albeit overdramatically, gasped and moved your hands from his shoulders to cradle his jawline. “Yancy, have you never heard of April Fool’s?”

Not giving him time to respond, you assumed he hadn’t and knocked your forehead against his. With your eyes closed, you failed to notice the flush that exploded across his cheeks, the color blooming like a flower where your breath touched his skin.

“What are we going to do with you,” you muttered, and by this time, Yancy’s entire face was beet red. He could say the same to you because this was not entirely out of character for you. You always had been touchy with him after becoming friends, and five months was enough time for this to be habit.

He was stuck in this purgatory until you finally stepped back, not removing your hands however, and exclaimed, “You’re coming with me!”

Bluntly, he replied, “What?”

“You’re coming with me.” Although you didn’t expand on that idea, you still took Yancy by the elbow and tugged him towards your corner. A while ago, you had designated the two available corners of the room for personal belongings, and yours had stayed concealed by a blanket for the past week. It had worried him slightly, but the guards were unperturbed, so he thought it fine to not ask any questions. Coming towards it now, though, he wished he had.

“Prepare to be amazed,” you whispered, and you grabbed a corner of the fabric.

In one, fluid movement, you ripped it away and threw it back onto your bed, revealing below what could only be described as an armada of materials. Yancy was stunned, and he stood completely still with his arms hanging limp for the next few seconds while he took in the pile.

Multiple folded bedsheets made the foundation - some spotted, some plain, some covered in either blood or grenadine from the kitchen – followed by cans of neon paint and bags of fake moustaches on top. This, accompanied by a worrying number of handy tools, gave him pause and reason to ask, “Was’ all this for?”

Your grin grew manic in the short amount of time for you to remove a paint can without everything clattering to the ground. “This,” you lugged it to the desk, “is what we’ll need to enact the best pranks anyone could think of in a prison.” By the blank look on his face, Yancy still hadn’t a clue what you were talking about, so you started to explain.

“April Fool’s Day is celebrated by, uh, not a lot of people,” you admitted, “on the first of April every year. Nobody really knows where it came from, but that doesn’t stop it from being one of the most fun holidays in the year or me from going all out.” You removed a paintbrush from the stack of tools sitting next to the mismatched pile, and, after peeling the can open, dipped it in.

Yancy edged into view, slotting between the bunk bed and the desk, to ask, “Don’t you think we’re gonna get in trouble for dis?”

You laughed, looked at him, and he quickly found comfort in your reassuring smile. It was like a tender fire sparking in the dark, a campfire that he could curl up next to and fall asleep until the next day. This tended to happen a lot, and it’d picked up recently, like the wind warning of the future. He didn’t want it to be a bad sign, so he stuck with what he knew; it made him happy to see you smile, he liked being happy, so he liked you, and there was nothing more to it.

“We might.”

His smile wavered.

“But you don’t have to worry about that.” You bounced towards him and tapped his jaw. “I’m an expert at this.”

He had to trust you, it wasn’t as though he had a choice in the matter, anyway. A long time ago, he had decided that whatever you were doing, it would be fine in the end. Letting his shoulders and smile relax into a more natural one, he teased, “Like you were an expert at heists?”

“Hey—” you flicked neon paint onto his shirt, staining it a slight green, “—I am an expert at heists, I got that part down to a T, I just don’t know how to pilot a helicopter.”

“I think that’s part of the heist.”

“Nah,” you shrugged and did your best to reseal the paint can, mostly hitting it with your fist until it was in the rough shape it had been at the beginning but with a brush sticking through a hole.

Yancy let one last, boisterous laugh through his lips, before you started to delve into the plan.

You would admit that your plan seemed farfetched when you first brought it up to your cellmate and ironing out the details and getting the logistics down was a chore, but Yancy was quick to offer up his help. You appreciated it, trying to not let it slip that he lowered the risk of you getting caught a significant amount, and you reconstructed the plot to include the favors of his connections. Your improv skills had degraded since getting incarcerated, but that heist was a thing of beauty if you considered the need for thinking on your feet – which, you did. Half of that thing didn’t even have a plan, it was just ‘get in, get out, go home’. You faltered at the ‘go home’ part, of course, but you digressed. Your improvisation skills were needed now, and you had employed them well by the time of the breakfast bell.

Keeping maniacal giggles to a minimum, you were the one to pull Yancy towards his main table, where his group of friends met you. None of them had the full picture, except for yourself and the ringleader, so they were all giddy with anticipation. They asked questions about who the victim was, why you’d chosen them, and you tried your best to answer them without giving too much away. Yancy, meanwhile, was somewhere else.

Conducting the plan had been like a script – it was easy, efficient, and only needed muscle-memory from him to work fine – and that meant his mind was left to its own devices as his body helped you out. Every time you turned to him or asked him over your shoulder to pass him a screwdriver, he couldn’t take his eyes of you. He flailed his hand for the tool and handed it to you soon after grasping it, just so that he could watch you work. It was a reward for a duty he was unaware he had performed, but he must have done it well, because what a reward you were. Your company alone made his heart flutter, and he considered a doctor’s visit when your hands brushed. He ignored that they were breaking a lot of the prison’s rules, and, instead, the only thought at the front of his mind was that this, spending time with you… it was nice.

“You ready, Yancy?”

He blinked. Returning to the present, he waved away those feelings and moved his attention to his friends, including you, who were looking at him in excitement.

Not sure what he was agreeing to but placing all trust in you, he nodded.

Immediately, you pounced off the table, a tiger on the hunt, and everyone else watched on. Your shoes skidded against the tile as you carved a path to a particular guard. He stood alone, and, just as you had arranged, next to the breaker. Poor choice of the prison to put the box in the cafeteria of all places, but you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so you nodded to the man and twisted on your heel to watch the hall.

Chatter dropped, rose, and then dropped again, as if in sync with the flickering of the lights, before it flipped on its head – the fluorescent bulbs completely cut out, but a panic swirled. Guards, prisoners, even Warden Murder-Slaughter himself came out of his office and exclaimed some southern curse. It didn’t demand all of the attention, though, because that belonged rightfully to the spider-webbed convict leaning against one of the walls, helpfully, in the center of the room.

Jimmy the Pickle was your victim, and to answer Tiny’s question, he deserved your first prank of the day for punching one of your only friends through a goddamn wall. You would have done worse, but then you’d never have met Yancy and the gang, so you had some things to thank him for. Not enough to get him completely off the hook, of course, so a little neon paint was light punishment.

A myriad of doodles and names adorned his body – more befitting of a graffitied high school yearbook – but the swirly mustache, horns and ‘nerd!’ worked here, too.

From his seat atop the plastic table, Yancy could only watch the Jimmy’s reaction, mainly of confusion and then immediate rage as he stomped off to find whoever did this to him. Luckily, it was in the opposite direction to you, who was rushing over in quick step to slide next to him. Even coated in shadows, you were unabashedly red, and, when you turned to meet Yancy’s gaze, grinning ear to ear. If you weren’t in public, you’d be laughing like a maniac. The hushed chortles were evidence of this.

“That was amazing,” you sighed, once the lights crackled to life and the restless gossip of the prisoners returned to normal.

“We doing another one?”

Yancy’s eagerness caught you off guard, as did his sudden proximity to you. You didn’t know why he was so ready to pull another prank, but you decided that, if he was having fun, who were you to put a stop to that? All he was asking was to pick up the pace, and to deny the sparkle in his shimmering eyes was to deserve the death sentence.

“Sure,” you conceded, “gimme a second to grab the blankets.” With that, you sprinted off again, almost stumbling over your own feet to get back to your cell.

His eyes trailed after you, fighting back the instinct to catch you with how many times you nearly tripped. You were worryingly similar a newborn deer – no control over your feet and even less knowledge of your surroundings. It was a strange and unfamiliar impulse that pushed him to lean forward on his seat, but a well-known pressure on his shoulder kept him down.

Sparkles McGee peeked into view on his left. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, boss,” he joked, though there was the underlying tone of not joking.

“Whady’a mean?”

“I mean, your new ‘pal’.”

Having been practically raised inside the confines of a prison, Yancy wasn’t all that good at social cues. Sarcasm was difficult for him, bluntly told jokes he had a hard time figuring out, but the jumping of Sparkles’ eyebrows and the wink upon saying ‘pal’ didn’t leave much up to interpretation. That blush from earlier returned tenfold when he realized what his friend was insinuating.

“I-It ain’t like that,” he responded quickly, but he didn’t entirely believe the words coming out of his mouth.

“Uh-huh,” Bam-Bam joined in with a poorly disguised giggle, “and you don’t look at them like a love-sick puppy.”

“I don’t!” It came out much more defensive that he had meant, but it was still the truth, wasn’t it?

Tiny’s hand came to rest on his upper arm before she whispered, “Yancy, it’s okay.”

“We’re just friends, guys,” Yancy still persisted, and he took off from the surface before they could think to stop him. Standing tall in front of his group, shoulders levelled and voice as sturdy as he could get it, he wished them a good breakfast and all but fled the cafeteria, hands tucked in his pockets and a scowl on his face.

For the better half of an hour, he took to wandering around Happy Trails. He trusted his feet to take him wherever they felt he should go, while his mind relayed the conversation. He wouldn’t lie to himself, right? What point was there to convincing himself that he didn’t have feelings for someone – there wasn’t one, so, clearly, he didn’t have any to hide in the first place. To him, that made the most sense. Of course, his stomach flipped, and his heart pounded whenever you were around, he would risk ten years of solitary to stand close to you, and he was pretty sure he saw heaven in your eyes, but that didn’t mean anything special, right? Just plain old friends.

Why did it hurt to say that?

“Hey, Yancy!”

Ordinarily, he would be annoyed at someone interrupting his brooding, but tilting on his heel revealed it was you who called his name.

Yancy let a grin spread across his mouth while you bounded up to him. If anything, you’d be the puppy in the relationship – but you weren’t, because it wasn’t like that.

Skidding to a stop, you looked out of breath. A sudden fear of you running a fever toppled him, and he brought a hand to your forehead with little forethought. You weren’t too hot, but you should have gone to the medical bay, all the same.

“I’ve been looking for you,” you huffed, one half out of fatigue and the other out of annoyance.

“Ah, sorry,” he muttered. He didn’t expand on it, and you didn’t press, so you just moved on to shoving a pile of blankets into his arms. They were surprisingly soft for being in a prison, but, then again, he hadn’t a clue where you had gotten them from.

“I took them from the Warden’s office.”

Oh. Well, that was that. It explained where you got them, but it also made fear flicker about in his mind. The Warden would surely notice they were gone, what if you were caught, taken to solitary confinement, chucked out of the prison altogether? Just the thought shocked him to his core, and he stayed completely paralyzed while his thoughts ran wild.

As if you could sense his inner turmoil, you pressed your hands against his jawline – a habit you’d long since picked up to calm him down.

“Yancy, we’ll be fine,” you promised, “it’s just a bit of fun, we’re not gonna do any serious damage to the place. It’ll all be back to normal tomorrow, so the Warden won’t have anything to be mad at us for.”

Goddamn your reassuring smile, there it was again! Saving him like a knight in shining armor in his time of need.

After taking a few deep breaths, he nodded back to you, making eye contact and avoiding biting his lip.

Another laugh from you. “There you go, Yancy!” Another knocking of your foreheads. Another blush.

There was a moment in the day when everyone was on edge. For the past few hours, a group of people were protected at all times. Now, however, nobody was safe. They’d glance up at the ceiling, waiting for the tiles to give way and unleash hell – they’d train their eyes on every exit and entrance as if daring a biblical flood to rush through – they’d mutter to themselves about who they thought the next victim would be, and send pitiful looks to the poor soul.

The blindless a thief experienced was burned into his memory, his assumed death playing heavy before he had been able to throw the bedsheets off of himself. One of the guards still stared scrutinizingly at her fellows for any sign of them actually being a prisoner in disguise, and the general consensus of treating this like an infiltrated war base had been reached after the guard dogs were released on the officers’ private quarters. Any trust between each other had crumbled to the ground due to the actions of two wayward convicts. Yancy and yourself became names to fear amongst most of the occupying forces, to the point that Yancy’s gang had been separated and sent to their cells to stop them from conspiring with you. It was havoc, and there was just one more idea bouncing around that would be the end-all-be-all of the night.

“Yancy, I have a plan—” you swung yourself up to his bunk, “—and it’s gonna be amazing.”

While you made yourself comfortable, your cellmate leaned against the wall with his arms behind his head, trying his best to appear relaxed. The events of the day took a toll on his heart rate, but that wasn’t exactly a bad thing. His first attempt in April Fools’ Day had been a raging success, not only in the pranking department, but in the, well, you department. Nearly every second had been spent with you, laughing about people’s reactions, and plotting your next mission, you leaning in just close enough that he could feel your breath on his ear as you whispered the best ideas. What made it all better was the fact that, even though you both knew you could do this alone, you had chosen to do it with him. A grin stretched across his face as he thought back on how many times that you’d asked him to do the little things, like passing him items or giving him a leg up. All those times that you could have just improvised, but you didn’t; you chose him.

However, as much as he was still trying to appear relaxed, it was becoming considerably harder to do so when you found that the comfiest place to be was slotted between his legs and looking up at him from his lap. You didn’t seem to mind the proximity, going so far as to push yourself further up him, but Yancy was certainly aware of your arms resting beside his thighs and the pressure of your head on his stomach. Now, it was a harder venture not to flush.

“So,” you began, and he was suddenly reminded of why you were in this position in the first place, “this is me spit balling, feel free to chime in with stuff, but I think we should go after the Warden.”

A grimace overtook his face. He usually loved your ideas, but the Warden? Number one, it was unimaginably dangerous, and, number two, he had his own reservations over risking his relationship with the man. It was no secret that he was the closest thing Yancy had to a father figure, and, as much as he hated to admit it, he relied on the Warden as a backbone. Take away him, and all of his confidence would go down the drain in a second. On the other hand, though, this was you. Yancy could trust you, he was certain of that, and what reason did you have to put him in the line of fire?

The internal conflict must have been visible on his face because you were quick to bring your hands to his jawline and smoothen out the stubble. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you pointed out in the softest tone you could muster, “I just think it would be nice to go out with a bang. It’s your choice.”

It was at that second that - with you staring up at him, calloused hands pressing down on his jaw, the assuring twitch of your mouth, and the gleam of rigid determination in your irises – Yancy came to a revelation. It wasn’t sudden or surprising, it was more like when you zone out in a car and then notice that an hour has passed and you’re already there. Like expected clarity.

Yancy would do anything, as long as it meant being with you.

Now, he wasn’t entirely sure what that meant in relation to anything else, but this was an undeniable truth as stark as a glistening geode surrounded by rock. If that was all it was, then it was good enough for him, but if that meant something more, he wouldn’t fight it. How could he when it was someone like you?

This conclusion settled in his mind, he leaned forward barely an inch and pecked your forehead. “Youse is gonna be the death of me.”

Despite the dusting along your cheeks, you laughed. The metal of the bunk bed almost seemed to get warmer with your unadulterated joy, and Yancy found himself unable to resist giggling along with you. His shoulders bounced, you smiled wider, and you only began to calm yourself down when you realized you hadn’t even told him the plan yet.

“First of all, we’ll probably have to haggle for the stuff, but I think putting the Warden into 80s clothing would be a great time for everyone.” It was anyone’s guess as to where you came up with this stuff, but he nodded along anyway. “We could go for a wig, those stupidly curly ones that you can stick a comb in—oh, and if we can, we should try and get a pair of roller-skates on his feet, ‘cause it’d be really funny, and—”

Your mouth was moving, and sound was coming out of it, and you were making your plan up on the spot, but Yancy paid it little mind. He was focused on the way that you shifted as you talked; your hands moved centimeters at a time, like you were subconsciously acting it out as you went, your fingertips pattering along his skin as you did so. While you spoke at a normal pace, the cogs in your head visibly spun a mile a minute behind your eyes. The determined gleam had shifted into passion, a look he’d only seen once before, and yet it was a very recent occasion.

You’d been laying side-by-side in the air duct, waiting for an unsuspecting victim to walk underneath your blanket trap, when you’d filled him in on the traditions of other holidays not widely celebrated. Guy Fawkes Day, a lot of independence days, and pancake day, which was the only self-explanatory one out of the bunch you told him. All of these, you had inane knowledge on, but the look in your eye when you ranted about them had him drifting off, just like now, only to inspect the way it danced along the black and white ridges, disappeared under your eyelashes and…

He probably should have been paying attention.

He only snapped back to reality when you were interrupted by a yawn. Your hand disappeared from his cheek, a sensation he felt his eyebrows fold in at, and covered your mouth. An attempt to continue was, again, cut off, and it only succeeded at making you more annoyed.

“Youse, uh, youse sleepy?”

You shook your head, opened your mouth, and promptly yawned again. Yancy raised an eyebrow. You huffed.

“Nope,” you replied, and he waited for another sign of your tiredness.

It came, and you were forced to accept that you may have been a bit fatigued by the day’s events.

“We can go to sleep, if you want?” he offered.

“But you don’t do pranks on the day after April Fool’s. It’s tasteless.”

“Just a nap, then?”

“Yancy,” your tone was pleading but the intent wasn’t there. It dismantled seconds after he pulled those puppy-dog eyes, a tactic you were certainly familiar with after the many times you fell to it.

And now would be no exception.

Huffing, you slouched in your makeshift seat. Yancy’s striped sweatpants were surprisingly comfy for a prison uniform – or maybe that was just him. Either way, you were content to slip into a dream then and there, completely forgetting that you were still on Yancy’s bunk and him holding you up. Not that he minded; he, too, was happy to relax into the cushion, trying to avoid jolting you too much in your slept. Technically, it wasn’t lights out just yet, but your pranking had thrown everything into disarray. It would take a week to get it all back to normal, and the guards would probably stick you in solitary next year just to save themselves the pain.

He laughed to himself, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. You were pleasantly warm against the cool air of the cell. What a panic you’d made – his little imp.

He drifted off without pausing to think.

To say that you were startled awake would be an understatement; your eyes blew wide, you fumbled in surprise, and your face almost made great friends with the concrete floor. If it hadn’t been for Yancy gripping your waist before you could fully fall out, the scheme from earlier would have all been for naught. Heart racing and breath still rapid, your gaze flitted from wall to wall, checking your supplies and wondering what the hell woke you up in the first place.

Your answer came not a minute later, when an officer came strutting down the hallway with a baton that he was helpfully clacking against the bars with. The hallway was dim, and the rest of the prison was silent in your sector – it must’ve been lights out, if the guard yelling, “Lights out!” wasn’t anything to go by.

Internally, you groaned. Had you missed your chance? God, and it would’ve been so fun, too. All people had were the memories of you two vaguely terrorizing the prison, not the big blow-out you had wanted. Your hair dusted against the wall as you flopped backwards.

“It’s too late,” you muttered, disdain evident and disappointment lacing it all.

In another scenario, Yancy would have grimaced and tried to raise your spirits. He would have told you about the songs he’d practiced, or the up-and-coming movie night the prison was planning. However, this was not another scenario.

Instead of letting you wallow, Yancy dragged you with an arm around your shoulder down the ladder and onto stable ground. You moved like a fluid, as you always did when you were annoyed, and simply watched as he got to his knees and checked underneath your own bed.

“I don’t think dust bunnies will help us,” you tried to joke, but it fell on deaf ears. Instead, Yancy was fixated on bringing forward the small lockbox he had stored down there since before you had arrived. He’d never had to use it before, leading it to be shoved right at the back. Even now he was having trouble finding it with the darkness of a sheltered hiding place.

While Yancy ran his fingertips at the edge of the wall, you inspected your stash of equipment. This plan was a spur of the moment kind of thing, so none of what you had would be helpful, but the nap would have given someone time to steal what you rightfully bartered for. A quick glance over suggested nothing was off, though you didn’t remember getting pink paint, and you checked off your mental inventory as you went.

“Ah,” Yancy mumbled, pushing himself out of the space and towing a medium sized box with him. Time must have meddled with his memory, because it felt slightly bigger in his hands than it had before. Then again, people had the poor habit of growing. Brushing the thought aside, he sat back on his haunches and clicked it open.

“Uh…”

Yancy wasn’t always this unsure, as if bravado was in his blood, but this definitely knocked him off his high horse. What should have been an unassuming lockbox with nothing but a few lighters, combs, and a jagged, old key, was, instead, full to bursting with bright clothes and accessories. If that wasn’t weird enough, it was exactly as you had described during your plotting phase; a curly wig, practically doused in pink, a flamboyant, open-chested t-shirt, and roller-skates. Sweat dripped down his back when he considered the implications, but you merely dashed forward and removed the afro.

“This is great!” you exclaimed, swiveling to Yancy and wrapping your arms around him.

Yes, you were aware this meant someone had broken into your cell while you were sleeping, and, yes, you recognised someone overheard your entire plan, but did you care? Hell no! You had all the materials you needed to pull off your best prank yet, and if you found the person who provided them, you’d probably shake their hand and spare them from future endeavors. The best clue you had was the small, bright pink mustache painted on the inside wood.

A manic grin blazed across the bottom of your face, and you squeezed slightly tighter in excitement. He patted your back, less enthusiastic but happy that you were. He was more concerned with an intruder hearing last night’s – or this night’s – moment. Lips pursing and hands coming to rest on your waist as you pulled back, he wondered why he held it so close to the chest.

“Come on,” you whispered. Your hand collected his, and, with the key in your other hand, you escaped your cell to wreak even more havoc.

A ticking of a clock pricked up the hair on his arms, the slow patter of rain outside the window tapping the inside of his ear, and every other little sound sending off warning bells in his mind. Warden Murder-Slaughter stared at the front door, as if his glare alone would keep him safe. It was the only defense he had – except for the wooden planks bolted to the windows and the dozens of locks on the single entrance. He couldn’t be blamed for his paranoia, if it could even have been considered that, as he’d seen with his own two eyes the consequences of not being vigilant, and he did not like what he saw.

So, his eyes drying from not blinking, the Warden accepted having to be awake for the night, just to see himself make it to the next day. It would be the April 2nd, then, and he would be free to wander the halls of the prison like he owned the place, which he did, and it was shameful that he was forced into hiding in his own goddamn office.

The burning embarrassment wavering in his chest didn’t stop him from flinched when knocks arose on the door. His hand twitched, he fought back blinking, and with the most confidence he could muster, the Warden called out, “Who’s there?”

A pair of shadows cast from underneath the door shifted. “Uh, just me, sir.”

The Warden wasn’t stupid; he knew that when people said ‘just me’ that it probably wasn’t just them. It did sound like one of his lackeys, but he wasn’t willing to take any chances with wayward prisoners on the loose.

“And you would be?”

They made a sound of disappointment, like most of his staff did when he didn’t recall their name, though they answered all the same. “Jacob Dalt?”

“Middle name.”

Unseen, Jacob shook his head. The Warden had never been so paranoid, and yet, there he was, cornered into his office with the fear of God in his heart. "Markus."

“First pet’s name.”

“David.”

“Social security number.”

“Sir!” The handle rattled and the door shook, but Jacob stayed behind the door. “Look, sir, if you don’t want to come out, that’s fine – but it’s getting late, and we’re all worried about you. You’ve been in there for the entire day, you haven’t even shouted at the guys upstairs for the lights, yet, and we know how much you love doing that. Just,” there was a vague fist hitting the door, “are you okay?”

The Warden was pretty sure he could trust the boy, nobody could mimic the overzealous care of that guard, so he rose from his chair with a huff and dismantled all the checks and balanced he had installed to keep himself safe. It was a full minute before he swung the door open and waved him in.

“Yes, I am fine,” he replied as he re-did all of the locks, “I’m just on edge.”

“I can see that.”

Jacob flipped around with a concerned smile, while the Warden focused all of his energy on getting the door secured once more. Both of their backs were turned to the rest of the room, which meant more than a few things; the swiveling chair was unoccupied, the window was clear to the outside, and the vent above the desk was out of their view. It was flawless timing, and you didn’t even need to bribe a guard.

Encouraged by your descriptive hand gestures, Yancy dropped as subtle as he could to the worktop, hoping that his shoes wouldn’t make a sound and sprung to hide behind the fake plant in the corner. You pushed yourself out seconds after him, and, lucky for you, the clicks of metal against metal distracted the two others enough for you to hop to the ground and crouch in the leg hole. The sight of your partner was worryingly familiar to you, causing a twitch in your attention, but the spark of adrenaline burst through you in the next moment.

After gently shoving the chair further away from you, you were able to listen in to the conversation. Nothing stood out to you much – the guard was talking about the Warden’s health and that of the prisoners – until all of the security measures had been returned and the boy offered a single piece of advice. Take a nap. It was perfect, almost too perfect, really, but as said before, you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, and it appeared neither would the Warden.

The man, sighed, waved the officer away, and was forced to fiddle with the locks for a fourth time when he realized he had no way out. It only worked in your favor, because he was slowly getting more pissed off at the situation you’d worked to create. Proud was swelling in you, and you tried to remind yourself where you were so you wouldn’t get swept up in it all. You were in the middle of a mission, the chance of getting caught and Yancy’s reputation on the line.

All the pieces lining up bolstered your confidence so much so that, when the Warden came to sit back in his chair, you didn’t move. Instead, you stayed flat against the wooden panel and steadied your breath as he flopped into the comfortable hold of old leather. You were tempted to grab ahold of his feet and yank, but the sane side of you told you it was beyond stupid.

Yancy, meanwhile, was panicking. You weren’t even supposed to be out of your cell, much less the Warden’s office. If he were to find you, there would be hell to pay, and sweat dripped down his neck as he thought what would become of you. Solitary was a granted, but you might get kicked out onto the streets of normal society! He couldn’t imagine anything worse – although, he also couldn’t figure out why. He liked you, he knew that, but why did the mere possibility of being separated shake him so much? He had half a mind to rush out and distract him so you could escape, and it irked him that he didn’t know why it seemed natural, like there was no other choice for him.

“Yancy,” a voice hissed at him. Heart thudding in the chest, he glared through the leaves only to see you waving at him from the side of the desk. The Warden had fallen asleep quickly, and, based on him sleeping through frequent rehearsals late at night, would continue to be until you woke him.

Doing your best not to giggle too loudly, you withdrew the pink afro and sunglasses from your shirt, a moment for which Yancy made sure not to look. There it was again, something had changed and, for some reason, even though he’d seen you get changed plenty of times right in front of him, it was awkward to spot a single inch of your collarbone. Was he sick? Had he caught something from last night’s food? His mulling over left him dazed and delirious when you snapped your fingers to get his attention.

“You okay there, Yancy?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, squatting to get on your level, “jus’ think I’m, uh, comin’ down with somin’.”

“As soon as we get back to our cell, you are sleeping for the next day and a half.”

With tentative hands, he removed the Warden’s shoes and replaced them with the pair of roller-skates. It probably should have concerned him how well they fit, but he had learned not to ask questions by now.

“And youse’d take care of me?”

“Of course.”

Once everything had been properly settled onto the still-sleeping man, the two of you stood from the ground and stashed whatever he had been wearing before into the document cabinet. Your masterpiece was complete, and, now, it was just a matter of waiting until he woke up and left the room for the entire prison to see. You could get out the way you came in, so he wouldn’t be worried by any broken locks, and the sunglasses were the same weight and shape of his reading ones. This was perfect, this was the grand finale you had wanted, and you couldn’t have done it without Yancy’s help.

You turned to him with a grin sweeping across your face. “Thank you,” you whispered, and leaned forward to lay a kiss across his cheek.

Yancy’s heart thundered, his breath caught, and he almost felt his hands shake.

But not from the kiss.

It was from the Warden’s eyes snapping open with a look furious enough to frighten a crazed bull. It was maddened, inconsolable, and pointed straight at the both of you.

Keeping the locks unbroken was thrown out in favor of bursting through the door shoulder first and flinging yourself down the hallway. It hurt like hell, sure, but the adrenaline lighting your veins told you to ignore it and just run, so you grabbed onto Yancy’s hand and did just that.

The situation was manic, a feeding frenzy in an ocean of sharks. You tripped past the kitchen and the storage room, curbed through the washroom, and soon enough, found yourselves in your wing of the prison. It was nice to see Yancy’s friends as you ran by, Sparkless calling out your names like a commentator at a racetrack, and Tiny helpfully pointing to the man gaining on you. Bam-Bam made certain gestures towards you that Yancy caught, which both made him smile and explode in a furious red.

The cafeteria was next on your hit-list, as you skidded between benches and leapt over tables. The Warden’s enraged shouts propelled you forward, though you didn’t miss yelling back remarks that only made him more annoyed. Your partner was just along for the ride, at this point, but he tugged you out of the way of a food cart as you ran. After sending him an appreciative glance, you made it out of the hall.

A few guards peeked out of the staff room when you passed, the squeaking of your shoes making it difficult to be stealthy about this, but they preferred to exchange looks than interrupt… whatever it was that you were doing. They gathered it was something to do with the pranks, but the gleams in your eyes told a different story.

With a final burst of energy, you swung Yancy into the Warden’s office and shoved the door closed behind you. The locks were useless, now, so you settled for vaulting over the desk and maneuvering it into a barricade. Yancy jumped to help, and you were quickly safe in the make-shift bunker.

Flopping into one of the chairs, you sighed. That was… more eventful than you had expected, but it was good. Great, in fact! Reliving the glory days granted you the adventure you had been missing.

From his spot leaning against the table, Yancy chuckled lightly, which turned into small laughs and then full-blown chortles. Never in his life had he imagined he’d be getting into pranking his surrogate-father, with you, no less.

“That was…” he started, only to continue with giggles.

You nodded before letting your head fall backwards. You might just join Yancy for the day and a half nap.

After a few seconds, he regained his breath and spoke again, “I, uh, really enjoyed doin’ dat with you.”

“I enjoyed it too, Yancy.”

Your head propped up, wavering side to side, that feeling returned full throttle. It was the feeling when you’d been chased, sure, but there was something different about it. The warm wasn’t from his blood running through him, but a fuzzy, comfortable feeling – it was an emotion he wasn’t familiar with, and not being able to put a name to it was, well, annoying. He wanted to tell you how he felt, but describing it would be inefficient and, he feared, inaccurate. It was like a bunch of small emotions bundled into one, messy glob. Caring, joy, a little bit of worry. It made his heart sing and his face flush and his throat swell with all of the words he wanted to say but couldn’t.

Coughing, he spoke, “And thank youse for doing it with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I think dis’ is the best April Fools’ Day I’ve ever done, and youse didn’t have to take me along with it so, thank you.”

With a near-silent laugh, you made your way to sit next to him on the desk. The wood was kind of hard, but it made wrapping an arm around him that much easier. After the run, he was warm and stable.

“I should be the one thanking you,” you admitted, making Yancy look at you with confusion, “When I first came here, I was dead set on getting out. I thought that if I didn’t, then I’d be wasting away my life and betraying everything I’d worked for – and then I met you. You made it home, y’know. Now, eh, I’d much rather be here than in the outside world.”

Yancy blinked, though, really, he wanted to jump and dance with you around the room. You wanted to stay for him. Not for the songs, or the free healthcare, for him. It might’ve been April Fool’s, but he was pretty sure it doubled as Christmas for him.

“Really?” he mumbled, and his eyes met yours. They were practically pools of sincerity, so vivid that there was a sheen of vulnerability over your irises.

“Come on,” you pulled him close, “I came for the accent, stayed for the crisis.”

It was a happy moment, so, so happy, that Yancy was furious he couldn’t express it with words. His mouth dried up and his mind flurried about like birds’ wings. You weren’t talking anymore, and it looked like you were about to pull away for a second.

So, Yancy did the only thing he could think to do.

The bone of your jaw was firm, the strands of your hair were soft, and the skin of your lips was delicate. Kissing you was something he had never imagined, and yet he couldn’t help but wonder why he ever held back. Carding one hand across the nape of your neck and the other secured around your waist, he poured all of his attention into the feeling of you against him. You pushed forward, and he did, too. It might’ve been the pounding of his heart or the banging of the Warden against the door, but he didn’t care! This perfect moment surrounded by chaos nestled into his memory, added to by the feeling of you smiling against his own mouth. Yancy held back a chuckle himself, before once more becoming engrossed in dancing with your lips.

It was in this moment that Yancy put a name to the emotion that had been stirring in him since the morning. Love – and the admission only had him leaning further in.

You only broke apart because of the fatal flaw of human design – needing to breath, but even then, you went back in for another kiss milliseconds after catching air. Yancy was all but overjoyed to, not feeling bad about ignoring the Warden for the first time in his life. He had something better to attend to.

However, that stance was changed slightly when the boards that used to be covering the windows crashed to the ground in splinters, followed by a body. Just one look at the wig and jacket, and Yancy was jumping to his feet and onto the chair you had abandoned. Thankfully, you had neglected to refit the vent, meaning it was easy for him to grab your hand and lift you towards the ceiling. When you were securely inside, he brought himself up, and you latched onto his arm to pull him towards you, barely missing the Warden’s hand by an inch.

“So, again next year, then?” Yancy joked, to which you responded with a laugh and another short kiss on his lips, leaving the Warden’s southern curses to echo behind you.

[Again, sorry for the lateness – I still hope you enjoyed this and our cute lil’ boy being all confused about emotions. I’m still not over him losing to Dark in the poll. I mean, yeah, I get it, but c’mon, how could they do this to the Boston boy??]

#yancy #iswm yancy #yancy the prisoner #yancy x reader #markiplier #a heist with markiplier #markiplier egos x reader #markiplier egos #x reader #April fools #pranks #longreads #request #reader insert #the knight market #theknightmarket

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