#clancy x reader

“Stay with me, no, you don’t need to run. Stay with me, my blood, you don’t need to run.”

The words spilled out into the hollow arena, swallowed by open space. The track thundered through the speakers, bass rattling the bones of the building, each note ricocheting off the farthest walls before returning distorted and doubled, like a pulse trying to find its way back to a heart.

There was something wrong with it, you thought, not bad, just… incomplete. A song like this was meant to be devoured by a crowd, screamed back. Without thousands of voices answering it, the sound felt exposed. Vulnerable. Naked.

Still, you loved it. You always had.

Sound checks were your quiet indulgence, the moments you hoarded. The novelty had dimmed long ago, the “exclusive peek behind the curtain” no longer shiny, but you never missed one. You perched in the sound booth, eyes trained on the stage, watching Tyler as if he were the only thing in the room.

He held his bass like an extension of himself, fingers gliding along the frets with practiced ease, muscle memory and instinct guiding him more than conscious thought. It was effortless. Natural. Like breathing. You found yourself leaning forward without realizing it, as though proximity alone might let you feel the vibration of the strings under your own skin.

He’d told you a hundred times you didn’t need to stay. Go explore, he’d said. See the city. Be a tourist for once.

And every time, you’d smiled and told him the same thing, that no landmark or local wonder could compete with this.

Mark sat beside you, slouched and unimpressed, thumb flicking endlessly over his phone. To him, this was routine. Repetition. Another empty room, another run-through. He’d seen it all before. The magic had long since burned out.

Not for you.

When the song finally wound down, a small, unconscious smile tugged at your lips. Your gaze darted across the stage, tracking movement the way a compass needle finds its direction. Tyler crossed to the edge, grabbed a bottle of water, took a few long swallows while trading inaudible comments with Josh, who was still perched behind the drums.

This was when Tyler looked most like himself, you thought. Loose. Unburdened. Free of the weight of thousands of eyes and expectations. No pressure to perform, just sound, just instinct.

You shifted, attention sharpening as Tyler gestured toward stage right, a small flick of his wrist toward someone out of view. A stagehand emerged moments later, struggling slightly under the weight of a red metal chair. You recognized it instantly, iconic, almost ceremonial, reserved for one specific moment in their set. Backslide, a song they had already sound checked.

Your brow furrowed.
“What are they doing?” you murmured, never taking your eyes off the stage.

“Management call,” Mark replied, barely looking up. “They’re adding the Doubt demo. It’s blowing up. Tyler wanted the chair back.”

You nodded absently, attention already gone again. Tyler was handed a microphone, then a strip of black fabric you couldn’t quite make out from this distance. He adjusted his in-ears, lifted the mic.

“Testing, testing, one, two, three.”

His voice crackled through the speakers, layered in autotune, warped just enough to make it feel unreal. It slid into your ears and settled there, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

A thumbs-up to the sound tech. Approval given.

Then Tyler turned away from the booth and pulled the fabric over his face.

Your breath caught.

He adjusted it carefully, eye holes aligned, mouth sitting just right, before strolling to the center of the stage and dropping into the chair like he owned it. He slouched back, legs spread, posture lazy and deliberate, a black mask emblazoned with a skull erasing his features while somehow amplifying everything else.

Your fingers curled into the armrests.

The lights dipped low, bleeding red in slow pulses that matched the beat. When Tyler sang again, his voice came out low and distorted, reverberating through your skull until you couldn’t tell where the sound ended and your thoughts began.

You didn’t hear the music anymore. Not really.

Your heart slammed violently against your ribs, nails biting into upholstery. Every movement he made felt intentional, every shift of his hips, every roll of his shoulders, every tilt of his head.

He looked devastating.

It wasn’t fair how easily he wielded it, how he radiated something dark and magnetic without even trying. Desire coiled hot and tight in your gut, spreading through you like wildfire. Your skin burned, cheeks flushed, body betraying you in ways you absolutely did not have the capacity to deal with in a sound booth full of professionals.

You bit down hard on your lip, certain you’d drawn blood, but it barely registered. All you could see was him, masked, reclined, voice dragging sinfully through each lyric.

When Tyler shifted again, rolling his head back against the chair, you snapped.

You shot to your feet, pulse roaring in your ears, gaze yanked away like it burned. You made a beeline for the exit.

“You good?” Mark called after you, eyebrow raised.

“Yep!” you said far too brightly, already halfway out the door.

From that day on, concentrating became a problem.

You told yourself it was about the music. About love and pride and watching the person you adored chase his dreams night after night. You wanted that to be true.

But it wasn’t. Not entirely.

You got lost in his voice, raspy and pretty and ruined in the best way. In the way his body moved with purpose. In the way sweat clung to him under stage lights, hair messy, eyes intense, like he was made for this and nothing else.

Crowds blurred. Drums faded. Thousands of screaming fans became white noise.

All that existed was him.
And the aching, desperate want curling deep in your chest.

And now, now it was worse. All because of that stupid chair. And that stupid mask.

You’d never known this was something that could undo you. The anonymity of it. The contradiction, his identity hidden, yet unmistakably him. It lit something dangerous and thrilling inside you, something you didn’t have the words, or the courage, to unpack.

You’d never tell him. God, no. You couldn’t risk the look on his face if he knew. Couldn’t bear the thought of becoming something strange or uncomfortable in his eyes.

So you carried it quietly. A secret, private and contained.

At least… you tried.

But ever since the Doubt demo found its way into the setlist, ever since that mask slipped over his face night after night, hiding him just enough to make you unravel, hiding what you felt was becoming harder by the day.

Your name, spoken softly but insistently from across the dressing room, yanked you from the spiral of your thoughts like a sharp tug on a thread. You blinked, disoriented, then turned.

Tyler was watching you. Not casually, carefully. His expression was threaded with concern, brow slightly furrowed as he pushed himself up from his chair and crossed the room toward you.
“Hey,” he said gently, voice low, grounding. “You okay?”

“Yeah- yeah,” you rushed, too fast, the words tumbling over each other as you shifted on the couch. You smoothed nonexistent wrinkles in your clothes, anything to look busy, normal. “Just… wandered off in my head, I guess.” A laugh slipped out, brittle and thin.

Tyler stopped in front of you. You felt him before you fully registered him, the warmth, the familiar gravity. His hands, smeared with black paint, settled on your shoulders, thumbs pressing in lightly, anchoring. The contact sent a quiet shiver through you that you prayed he wouldn’t notice.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at you, really looked, like he was cataloguing details you hadn’t meant to give away.

“You sure?” he asked at last, softly, like he didn’t want to spook you. His thumb brushed your shoulder blade in a slow, absent-minded circle. “You’ve been a little… off lately.”

Not accusatory. Not frustrated. Just observant.

You absolutely melted.

“I’m alright,” you insisted, even as you pushed yourself up from the couch, rising to his height. You gave him a smile that felt too tight at the corners, then slipped past him toward the vanity before he could look at you any longer.

The mirror caught everything.

You saw the way Tyler’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, the flicker of something strained crossing his face before he followed you. He came up behind you, close enough that you could feel him without touching. Your eyes met his in the reflection, his gaze steady, searching.

His arms slid around you, hands finding your hips like they belonged there, thumbs pressing gently into your sides. “If something’s bothering you,” he said quietly, voice meant only for you, “you can tell me. You know that, right?”

You did.

You leaned back into him before you could stop yourself, resting your weight against his chest. Your hands came up to cover his, grounding yourself in the familiarity of his touch as you dropped your gaze to the counter.

“No,” you sighed, a breathy, helpless sound. “No, I can’t tell you.” A laugh escaped you, soft, embarrassed, self-aware. “It’s… it’s way too embarrassing. I can’t.”

His grip tightened just slightly, reassuring. His nose brushed your temple, a tender nudge.
“I would never judge you,” he murmured, warm and earnest. “Never. You know that, sweetheart.”

You went quiet.

Your eyes followed the slow, affectionate path of his thumbs along your hips in the mirror, the intimacy of it making your chest feel too tight. You swallowed, then finally lifted your gaze to meet his.

You couldn’t hide forever. You hadn’t been nearly as subtle as you thought, and Tyler, of course, had noticed.

“Okay,” you breathed, closing your eyes as if that might help. “You’re right. I’ve been distracted. Lately. Like… really distracted.”

You opened your eyes again. Tyler’s expression was open, patient, silently urging you to continue.

You chewed your bottom lip, already feeling heat bloom across your face, up your neck, down your spine. “You know the mask,” you began hesitantly. “The one you wear during Doubt?”

His brows knit together, confused but attentive.

“Well,” you rushed on, words tangling, “I don’t know if it’s the mask, or the chair, or the way you-” You faltered, then forced yourself to finish. “Or maybe it’s just you. But for some reason, God, I don’t even know why, it just… turns me on. Like. A lot. To a very distracting degree.”

Silence fell.

Tyler stared at you in the mirror, processing, brow furrowed.

“That’s it?” he asked after a beat.

“That’s it,” you said quietly, suddenly feeling ridiculous now that it was out in the open.

Then he smiled.

Not mocking. Not surprised. Just soft, amused, fond. His eyes traced your reflection slowly. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because it’s weird,” you huffed, mortification settling deep in your bones. Your ears burned, face flushed a deep, unmistakable pink. What made it worse was how unbothered he seemed by the confession.

Tyler studied you for another moment, lips pursed in that familiar way he got when he was thinking. Then, without a word, he released you and walked away.

Your heart stuttered.

You watched him retreat in the mirror, confusion blooming until he reappeared behind you seconds later, something clutched in his hand.

The mask.

“This one?” he asked quietly.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, immediately covering your face with your hands. “You are such an asshole. I was trying to be vulnerable with you, knock it off.”

But you peeked through your fingers anyway.

Tyler lifted the mask and pulled it on with deliberate care, adjusting it until the eyes and mouth sat just right. When he looked at you again through the reflective glass, it felt like being pinned in place.

He took your wrists gently, lowering your hands from your face so he could see you properly. His lips brushed the outer shell of your ear, voice dropping into a low, teasing hum. “What?” he murmured. “I thought you liked it.”

Your breath shuddered.

His mouth trailed down to your neck, kisses slow and reverent, heat blooming everywhere he touched. Teeth grazed skin at the slope of your shoulder, just enough to make your knees weaken. All the while, his eyes stayed locked on yours in the mirror.

“You know,” he whispered, lifting his lips back to your ear, voice a deliberate taunt, “If you wanted me to fuck you while I wore the mask… all you had to do was ask.”

Your lips parted, a soft sound slipping free as you tilted your head instinctively to give him more access. “How much time do you have before you go on stage?” you murmured, barely holding the words together.

He hummed against your neck, the vibration sending a shock straight through you.
“Enough.”

And he didn’t even glance at the clock.

That was all it took.

You spun around to face him, the world narrowing down to the space between your bodies, and before he could say another word you were already there, arms sliding up around his neck, fingers curling into him as you pulled him down into a kiss that burned. His lips met yours with the same urgency, the same hunger, mouths crashing together hot and desperate, like you were both starving and had finally been handed salvation.

One hand anchored itself at your lower back, firm and possessive, while the other cupped your face, thumb brushing your cheek. You barely registered the smear of black paint it left behind, streaking your skin like a mark of ownership, because all you could feel was him, his mouth, his heat, the way his body pressed into yours.

There was no gentleness to it. No easing in. The kiss was messy and frantic, teeth clashing, breaths stolen and shared, exactly what you needed. You didn’t ask for permission. You didn’t slow down. You just opened your mouth and pushed your tongue past his lips, claiming the space, claiming him.

Tyler answered with a rough, guttural groan that vibrated straight through you, his grip tightening as he pulled you closer. His tongue met yours eagerly, matching your pace, your want, the kiss deepening into something feral and unrestrained.

Guiding you backward without breaking it, he pressed you against the vanity. Solid matter met the back of your thighs as he lifted you with practiced ease, settling you onto the desk. Your legs came up instinctively, wrapping around his waist, locking him there as if you were afraid he might disappear if you let go. The kiss never broke, not for breath, not for sense.

When he finally pulled back, it was only to look at you.

His eyes were blown wide, pupils dark and dilated, gaze heavy as it traced your face, your mouth, the way your chest rose and fell. His lips were parted, slick and swollen, shining with you. The sight of him like that made your stomach flip.

And then he was there again, mouth finding your neck, burying his face into the curve of it. His lips worked over your skin, teeth grazing, sucking, leaving dark bruises behind as his hands fumbled desperately with the button and fly of your pants. Soft moans slipped free from you despite your effort to keep quiet, your body betraying you as his teeth sank into that sensitive spot beneath your ear, sharp enough to make you gasp, careful enough to make you ache.

“Lift your ass for me, baby,” he murmured into your neck, voice low and wrecked as he tugged at your pants.

You obeyed without hesitation, lifting your hips from the desk, hands braced behind you as he dragged your pants down, your underwear following soon after. The air against your bare skin made you shiver.

Tyler didn’t hesitate.

He dropped to his knees between your legs, lifting them effortlessly and hooking them over his shoulders like they belonged there. Through the holes in the mask, his eyes found yours, dark and intent, watching your expression twist with anticipation as he pressed feather-light kisses along the inside of your thighs. There was no rush now. No desperation. Just patience, dangerous, deliberate patience.

“Please,” you whimpered, fingers flexing on top of his head as you nudged him closer, chest heaving with every breath.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he hummed, rough and amused, spreading your legs wider before he dove in.

The first stroke of his tongue against your clit stole the air straight from your lungs. Slow. Intentional. Almost cruel in how gentle it was. Your spine arched instantly, a silent gasp caught in your throat as heat bloomed and spread, blurring the world at its edges until all that existed was sensation.

A low, broken moan spilled from you as your head fell back, a dull thud echoing through the dressing room when it hit the mirror behind you.

“Eyes on me,” Tyler commanded between licks.

You forced your heavy gaze downward, and there he was, looking up at you, mouth already slick, eyes dark with hunger. His tongue flicked out again, slower this time, as if he wanted you to feel every inch of it, every deliberate drag and press.

Your thighs trembled, hips lifting on instinct, chasing more, chasing friction, chasing that edge.

“Stay still,” he murmured, hands sliding up to grip your hips, firm and unyielding as he pulled you closer to the edge of the desk. The control in his touch made your breath stutter, need coiling tighter in your stomach.

“Fuck… you’re so wet,” he groaned, voice reverent and ruined.

And then he was back at it, soft licks that made your toes curl, flat strokes that set your nerves on fire, tiny, precise movements that left you gasping. Every flick, every swirl, every press was maddening, perfect, relentless.

“Feels so good, don’t stop, Ty,” you managed, the words tumbling out like a prayer.

He answered with a deep, feral sound, tongue dragging through your slick folds with slow, punishing strokes. You watched him devour you, watched the way his grip tightened, the way he pulled you down into his mouth like he needed you there. The sight alone sent your pulse roaring in your ears.

His groan vibrated against you, sparks shooting straight up your spine. His thumbs stroked your skin, rough, tender, undecided, like he couldn’t choose between soothing you or completely undoing you.

Your moan came out raw and unfiltered, body no longer your own. Every nerve was lit up, every breath a struggle, the heat between your legs unbearable and still not enough.

Tyler hummed again, pleased, proud, drinking in the way you trembled for him, the way your body surrendered, the way your words dissolved into broken sounds.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, voice cracking as your back arched, hips grinding desperately against his face. Sweat slid down your throat, your vision blurring as your lashes fluttered.

And then it hit you.

Your whole body locked up, thighs tightening around his head, fingers white-knuckled against the edge of the desk as a cry tore from your throat. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you, leaving you shaking, breathless, undone.

Still, he didn’t stop.

Even as you trembled, as your slick coated his chin, soaking the mask, dripping down onto the collar of his shirt, he kept going, licking, sucking, worshipping you. Your hips jerked involuntarily above him, sensitive and overstimulated, and still he feasted on you, until your soft cries became pleas, until you could do nothing but whisper his name.

Finally, he lifted his head.

His lips were swollen, lips glistening, eyes dark and dazed as they met yours, slow, heated, completely unrepentant.

Before he could even catch his breath, you were already moving again.

You leaned into him, fingers curling tight in his shirt, knuckles whitening as you hauled Tyler up to his feet. The fabric bunched beneath your fist as you dragged him closer, closing the last inch of space between you before he could think to stop you. Your mouth crashed into his, hot, unrestrained, and your tongue slipped past his lips, greedy and familiar, tasting yourself on him.

Tyler softened instantly against you, like something in him gave way all at once. His hands hovered for a second before finding you, like he wasn’t sure where to touch first, breath stuttering as he kissed you back. Want poured off him in waves, thick, overwhelming, until it felt like the air itself had gone heavy.

“I need you so bad,” you breathed, the words shuddering out of you as your hands dropped between your bodies. Your fingers fumbled at his belt, tugging impatiently until it came undone. You dragged his pants down just enough by the belt loops to free him, and he hissed softly through his teeth.

He was already hard in your hand, thick, solid, unmistakably real. Veins stood out along the length of him like carved lines, the tip flushed a soft, aching pink and slick with a bead of precum that glistened in the light. Your grip tightened reflexively.

“You’re so desperate,” he murmured, head tilting as he watched you, voice rough and knowing. “You’ve been imagining this for a while now, haven’t you?”

You closed your hand around him fully.

His reaction was immediate, sharp and unguarded. A low groan tore from his chest as his breath caught, his body jolting like the sensation had punched straight through him. The head of his cock pulsed against your palm, and he rocked forward instinctively, chasing friction like he couldn’t help himself.

Your eyes met his, heavy-lidded, dark with want.

A single calloused fingertip traced along your thigh, slow and deliberate, barely there. Then his hand closed around your knee, firm, grounding, spreading you open.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” you admitted, voice low, breathless. “Ever since the first sound check you wore that.”

That was all it took.

His hands were back on you, rough and certain, gripping your hips and pulling you toward the edge of the table. He spread your legs until they hung open around him, lifted one thigh and pressed it firmly against his waist. The other hand dragged down your side, possessive, leaving heat in its wake.

And then he pushed into you.

The head of his cock parted you slowly, the stretch deep and demanding, drawing a sharp breath from your lungs. Inch by inch he sank into you, carving space, filling you until there was no empty space left, until he was buried deep, hot and overwhelming.

Your mouth opened on a soundless cry, breath stolen entirely. Tyler’s head tipped back, jaw slack as a broken groan spilled from him, his grip tightening on your hip like he needed something solid to hold onto.

“Fuck,” you gasped, the word tearing out of you as one hand clawed at his shoulder, nails dragging into the fabric of his shirt, the other bracing hard against the vanity’s desk.

He moved slowly at first, hips rolling into you with intent, drawing a soft, involuntary whimper from your throat. His eyes never left your face. Then his pace picked up, thrusts deeper, surer, his fingers digging into your waist as he snapped his hips forward harder, the vanity rattling beneath you.

Your moan came out high and strained as he fucked you into the table, your body clenching around him, pulling him deeper.

You choked on another sound as he hit that spot, sharp and unrelenting, your hips lifting to meet his without thinking. The rhythm turned rougher, almost punishing. His hand left your hip only to find your clit, thumb moving in tight, furious circles that made your vision blur. Low, wrecked sounds spilled from his throat, each one winding you tighter.

Then-…

A knock.

Sudden. Loud.

“On in ten!” a voice called through the dressing room door.

Your body froze, breath locking in your chest.

Tyler didn’t stop.

If anything, his movements grew faster, more desperate, his thumb never slowing. When a broken moan slipped from you as he bucked into that sensitive spot again, his hand flew up to cover your mouth, muffling the sound as he continued to drive into you.

“I’ll be out in a second!” he called back, voice strained and breathless.

His hand dropped from your mouth only to be replaced by his lips, kissing you rough and messy. He shifted his stance, rolling his hips, finding that angle, and your cry fractured into a helpless mewl. He felt it instantly, adjusted without missing a beat, and your body clamped down around him harder with every thrust.

You reached up, fingers catching on the mask, ripping it free from his face and tossing it blindly across the room. You took in his face for a split second, flushed, wrecked, eyes blown wide, before cupping his jaw and dragging him into another desperate kiss.

His rhythm turned relentless.

Skin slapped against skin, loud and obscene, the wet slide of your bodies echoing in the room. Your moans tangled with his groans, raw and uncontrolled, filling the space until there was no room for anything else.

Your second climax hit you like a wave breaking straight over your head.

Violent. All-consuming.

Your thighs shook as your body locked around him, a high, broken cry tearing from your throat, swallowed by his mouth. You clenched hard, and he groaned low and ruined, thrusting a few more times before his cock twitched and he spilled into you, buried deep, breath stuttering as his body shuddered.

For a moment, he stayed there.

Forehead resting against yours. Both of you breathing hard, hearts racing.

His dark eyes searched your face slowly, like he was memorising every detail. Then his hand lifted, gentler now, cupping your cheek as he leaned in to press a soft, reverent kiss to your lips.

Later that night, from backstage, you watched him sprawled in the chair at the centre of the stage, legs spread, posture lazy, mask, likely, still soaked with your arousal.

A slow smile curved your lips as a thought crossed your mind.

You were definitely going to make him wear that mask again.

(Y/N)’s body rolled to the floor, a tangled intangible mess of limbs and blankets entrapping her to the ground as her heart pounded out her mouth. Bile rose in her throat, tearing acid in her mouth. Nails clawed out the mass of nightmares. She was choking. Dying. She had to be. Her lungs didn’t work, clogged. Smog, smoke as thick as tree bark wrapped the column of her neck until she was gasping. Fingers raking the floor until she could drag herself away and into the stump behind her. It was too dark, too alone. 

She couldn’t be back here. Not again. 

As quick as she was engulfed in the darkness, a quiet “flick-whoosh” sound permeated the air, lighting up the room in soft firelight, her eyes finally settling on the oil lamp across the room. The tent. Their tent. She was in their tent. Torchbearer’s tent.

The same Torchbearer who was settling onto one knee at the end of her legs, hands up where she could see them. That sight alone made the knot in her chest ease, breathing coming all that easier even as she wheezed out. No words came out, even as her lips moved to form them. 

“I know,” Torchbearer whispered, quiet and gentle, barely breaching the air around them. Slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal, he extended his hands, offering them out to her, palms up. Wordlessly, (Y/N) gripped onto them, so tightly Torchbearer had to fight off a wince. That would only send her spiraling back. Back to that monstrous city. Back to that room. 

Instead, he took a deep breath in, until his lungs burned with the stretch, keeping her eye. (Y/N)’s head bobbled into a half-formed nod, and her chest rose shakily. A desperate, earnest attempt at following his lead. Then back out, in unison. Her fingers moved effortlessly to interlock with his, and he squeezed, hard, firm and grounding.

This was a game they’d played many nights before, and yet (Y/N) still found herself amazed at how effortlessly he dealt with it. Dealt with her. 

“Can I come closer?” Torchbearer asked softly. (Y/N)’s eyes finally focused on him, seeing him now. Really seeing him. His curls were disheveled, poking out in all directions like a bear after hibernation. Eyes crusted with barely contained sleep, slightly glazed as if he hadn’t properly woken up yet. Chest still bare, goosebumps risen on his tan skin, ripped from the cozy confines of their sleeping nest to the frigid winter air. Movements slightly sloggy and slow outside of their diligent focus on her. Like the act of her soothing was something he could do in his sleep. 

(Y/N) let out a quiet affirmation and without another second, his fingers unravelled from her fingers to wrap both his arms around her waist and tug her forward, all encompassing and devastating. Her arms moved to wrap around his neck on instinct but she found herself frozen. No matter how much she revelled in the affection, in his warmth, in the quiet reverence in the reassurances he muttered into the curve of her throat. 

Her brain couldn’t focus on any of his gentle affection when only one thought could circulate the rotation of her brain.

She was never going to end up back in that place. Even if that meant her death.

“You shouldn’t avoid her so much, y'know. She won’t bite,” Torchbearer teased lightly, throwing an apple in Clancy’s direction, which he caught with swift hands. Despite the mocking of his voice, Clancy could dissect the layer of tender care beneath it. 

Torchbearer often cared too much by Clancy’s standard. But he couldn't say it wasn’t nice to have someone in his corner for once. Even if it meant pushing him every five seconds. He only wanted what was best for him - he knew that. Even still, it sparked something personally raw in the back of his throat and he had to fight back a biting comment. 

He hid his barely contained irritation behind a small shrug, watching the girl in question from their place in the tent’s entry. It was pouring it down just beyond the shelter they’d taken, mostly to protect the maps they had been scouring over seconds before nature’s downfall. And yet, outside (Y/N) stayed, diligent in her duty on guard. Some of the children were playing, splashing and flicking mud across camp, the air filled with playful screaming and squealing, adding to the symphony of the pattering rain. A droplet would splatter onto her overcoat every so often, and the men could make out her laughter from the curve in her face, eyes squinted. 

“It’s raining,” Clancy replied simply, and Torchbearer scoffed, raising an eyebrow in his direction in such a way that Clancy couldn’t help but roll his eyes. It was a poor excuse and they both knew it.

“You ran through freezing cold water in Trench’s valley to get away from Nico,” He responded with a deadpan expression. Jesus, Clancy felt like he was getting scolded by his father. 

Clancy gave him an incredulous look, that irritation burning his throat again, “I think the circumstances were a little different, Torch.”

“Still,” Torchbearer shrugged, “The rain won’t kill you. And she looks like she could use the company.”

A small smirk pulled at Clancy’s lips and he turned to Torchbearer with a self- satisfied look on his face. Unconsciously, Torchbearer frowned, aware of the bullshit that normally came with that look, “I think we both know who’s company she’d prefer.” 

It was like a switch flipped in him. The almighty leader, collected, calm and chill turned into a stuttering teenage boy who’d never seen a woman a day in his life. His eyes widened, his entire body tensed and anxious unease rested on his shoulders like a shawl. “I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Clancy rolled his eyes, giving Torchbearer a look from the corner of his eye, the smirk never wavering even as Clancy pulled his hood over his head, “Uh-huh.”

Torchbearer scowled, leaning on the entry post as Clancy made his way out into the torrential weather, something smug and self-satisfied settling in his chest as the escapee moved to join his fellow leader despite his protest. 

A small smile formed on Torchbearer’s face as the two began to chat. (Y/N)’s expression was soft and understanding, but he could spot the turmoil buried underneath it. Clancy was guarded as ever, but there was a yearning there. Like he wanted to spill over the edges but couldn’t let himself. It was an expression he recognised well.

It was one (Y/N) used to wear every waking moment. 

(Y/N)’s eyes glided from the forest line to the approaching figure, rain droplets clinging to her eyelashes as she blinked, making her face appear tear stained despite the peace that lingered. She could barely make out his squelching footsteps over the echoing of children's squeals and giggles, but she could just identify the calculated timidness of Clancy’s walk. 

“You come to play too?” (Y/N) called over the heavy rainfall, a cocky smile on her face as Clancy fell in line beside her, eyes scanning the treeline.

Clancy rolled his eyes, a somewhat awkward smile on his face as he raised an eyebrow, fingers locked on his hood to keep it from falling. His head got a lot colder now that it was shaven. “Yeah, totally. Came to meet my friends Zach and Judy.”

The kids in question perked up, mischievous grins meeting each other, and suddenly something hit Clancy's back with a heavy, wet “thwack”.

Clancy’s shoulders tensed, knitted tightly, cheeks burning as (Y/N)’s laugh broke through the air. Raw and natural, without the pretences of leadership. Despite the discomfort of frozen, wet mud dripping down his back, he couldn’t resist a fond smile at the purity of her joy. She made it easy for him to talk to her, despite how he felt.

The apple in his hand extended to her like a fig leaf through a storm.

She took it silently, content in the quiet. Reading the moment. The last breath before a rattle. With a sigh weighing heavy on his chest, he turned to her, ignoring the evil cackles of the two children running away to focus on her grinning face, “I don’t mean to avoid you.”

(Y/N)’s eyes fell to him, eyebrows raised and eyes widened marginally, the smile on her face settling to a thin line. He never said what she thought he was going to. Thrown through a loop every time. The apple twisted in her hand, once, twice, three times before her mouth opened. Just looking at Clancy for too long forced a knot of anxiety to twist her stomach, hands trembling, words stumbling over each other. 

“I know,” She replied simply, flicking her eyes, now fixed on the darkness before her. 

Clancy's finger rolled on his pants, slipping and sliding against the peeling tape wrapped around his thigh. His eyes turned to the sky, flinching as the tears hit his face. Still, it was better to feel something, anything, than the blankness lingering in his chest. “You just…”

“Remind you of everything you ran away from,” Clancy’s shoulders loosened at her reply, his eyes snapping to her side profile at her words. 

The silence between that followed was thick and heavy. Enough for him to choke if he breathed too deep. 

“Yeah,” He found himself saying. He’d prepared a whole explanation, a spiel to justify his decreasing inability to function alongside her. And she’d just…

Maybe he wasn’t as alone as he’d tricked himself into believing he was. 

(Y/N) let out a heavy sigh, finally turning to her companion. Clancy almost stepped back at the compassion in her eyes, gentle and forgiving. But haunted just the same. He made it easy to forget that she’d faced the same world he had. 

“You’re the first person to make it out of there in seven years,” (Y/N) began, letting out a heavy breath in the gap that formed “I thought I’d be excited. Especially when I saw it was you on the other end of the call.”

She kicked a rock into the abyss of forest before them. A distant thud bristled in the trees, barely audible over the pounding of rain, but it gave a simple reprieve from the stifling conversation Clancy wanted desperately to run from.

“Every day since you’ve been here has been one of the worst days of my life,” Her words were locked between a shaking voice and unmovable indignation “Seeing you walking around camp, intertwining in my life, it’s like-”

“Like you never left,” Clancy answered, a heavy sigh breaking from his chest as one hand rose to glide over his face “Being haunted by a ghost you can’t ever get rid of.”

(Y/N)’s eyebrows furrowed, fingers twisting the apple in her hand once again, biting the inside of her lip in thought. Silence stretched between them, the moment between a firework ignition and explosion. Clancy’s pulse thrummed in his throat, fingers clenching at his sides.

Finally, her eyes met his, haunting and sunken, and suddenly, he wasn’t standing in front of one of the leaders of the Banditos. He was standing in front of the girl he’d met in Dema. 

“I wouldn’t change it, Clancy,” She said, firm and unshaking despite the flash of residual terror in her eyes. Like the weight of everything they’d seen and lived sank in all at once. A dam finally broken. A peak behind the curtain. “Any of it.”

He didn’t reply to that, meeting her with a soft look, tension in his shoulders sinking marginally. Perhaps he didn’t have to. Clancy’s eyes wandered from her face, following a path back to the forest. It was his turn to stretch the moment, weight shifting from toe to toe. His hands found the tape on the thigh of his pants again, taking a loose strand and pulling until it curled around his hand, tacky and wet. His eyes followed the raindrops that raced down the yellowed side until they crashed down to the floor. The tape twisted through his fingers, splayed from hand to hand.

“Do you think this will ever end?” His question lay heavy in the air, filling (Y/N)'s lungs with a putrid betrayal, a foul fighting comment behind her teeth.  

The gaze (Y/N) set on him was weighted, sharp, and had he been newly joined, he may have flinched, but his eyes remained unwaveringly connected to her own. “It has to. We keep trying until it does.”

Clancy was hushed into silence, tense this time rather than awkward, charged. His heart clenched in his chest, and his head ducked slightly, like a dog with his tail between his legs. Defensive irritation laced her face, and she breathed out a huff after a few minutes, fingers rising to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I’m sorry I-” (Y/N) breathed, leaning her head back so the raindrops hit her face like paint on a canvas. She sighed, trying to ignore the cold that sometimes hit her lips when the wind blew. “Torch and I have been doing this for so long, it’s just…”

She paused, reluctance intertwined in the very root of her voice,“Sometimes I wonder how much I actually do compared to him.”

Clancy’s eyebrows pinched, shoulders bunching together, bile rising in his throat at the sudden confession, widened eyes turning to her with all the fear of a feral animal. His eyes met her side profile, holding himself like a deer in headlights. And yet he somehow found himself stepping closer until their shoulders brushed. (Y/N) flinched like a bow wound too tight, face shooting back down from his tilted angle to settle on the man beside her. 

Clancy’s eyes were kinder than they used to be, she noticed. Still worn and fire-riddled, but he seemed lighter somehow. He’d started volunteering for more social work, eating lunch and dinner with the Banditos, and especially spending almost all of his free time with Torchbearer. And yet, he still avoided her like the plague.

She tried not to think about why that hurt so much. 

“I never thanked you for pulling me out of there,” Clancy said simply, keeping his eyes dutifully fixed on her, watching the pull of her eyebrows as they contorted in confusion. 

“You don’t have to-”

“I do,” Clancy’s voice was borderline biting as it cut her off, but somehow managed to lack in venom. The same tone Torchbearer sometimes used to cut through the chatter when something needed announcing. Clancy sighed, turning back to the forest as his jaw set, teeth grinding beneath the skin. “I’m not good with people. Not like you are.”

(Y/N)’s eyebrows furrowed further as she extended a hand to him, to which he pulled away slightly. (Y/N) frowned. “That’s not your fault. I’ve been out here much longer than you have.”

Clancy turned back, eyebrows narrowed slightly, as if he were offended by the frankly unneeded reassurance, “I know that.” his face settled back to a somewhat neutral expression as he pressed the tape still in his hands between his fingers mindlessly. “Part of me is scared that if I’m not good with people, then maybe…”

Clancy let out a heavy breath, looking skyward, mimicking the pose (Y/N) had been in just minutes prior. 

“Then maybe it's because I shouldn’t be around them. That I’m meant to be alone”

It was as if (Y/N)'s heart fell right to her feet, a hole punched right to her gut. Queasiness gripped her throat, and it took every ounce of self-restraint still left in her not to yank Clancy into a hug and not let go until the very thought was buried in the tight squeeze of their interlocked bodies. 

That was what she had needed, she realised, as the same situation punched her right in the face. 

Instead, (Y/N)’s pinkie finger outstretched, brushing Clancy’s as the pair stared out into the darkness of the evening wood. Droplets soaked their faces, through their clothes and into their very bones. Behind them, the sounds of the camp settling in for sleep rang through the air. And Clancy’s finger wrapped around hers. 

Energy in the camp buzzed with the announcement that Clancy was finally coming back to trench. Anxiety and excitement mingled inside you as you waited for him. He had been gone for weeks, on a mission to scout out Dema with a few other banditos.

You tried to keep your excitement off your face as you paced around camp aimlessly because no one except the Torchbearer knew about your relationship with Clancy. You had decided it would be better to keep it a secret in order to protect you in case the bishops ever came looking for something to hurt him indirectly.

Stopping near the large fire at the center of camp, you rubbed your bare shoulders, having forgotten your jacket back in the tent you were just wearing a plain white t-shirt, black cargo pants, and black boots.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of staring off into the darkness beyond the camp's border you spotted a tiny pinprick of fire moving its way towards you. It was the torchbearer leading Clancy back home. Everyone around you seemed to notice as well as they started to stir with excitement, no doubt hoping for good news from him about the rebellion. The pit that dug itself in your stomach everytime he left slowly started to fill itself in as he approached, he was safe. That’s all that really mattered to you.

As they strided into camp, loud cheers of excitement filled the air as they congratulated Clancy on another successful mission, you stood off to the side out of the way and watched, arms folded over your chest. While you wished you could run into his arms you knew that you had to keep your ruse up for a little bit longer.

“(Y/N),” you jumped when you heard your name, not realizing Clancy was now standing right in front of you, his eyes locked onto you which was all you could see apart from his mask. Scanning over you quickly before he grabbed your wrist and started pulling you away into the direction of the distant treeline on the edge of camp.

“Woah hey, is everything alright?” You said nervously as he pulled you along, he didn’t say anything but his grip tightened on you.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest with anxiety. The other banditos were definitely staring but you found yourself not caring. Once you had just made it into the cover of the trees, he released your wrist. His eyes locked onto yours with intensity as his hands started undoing with his belt Immediately your eyes widened when you realized what was about to happen, feeling a tingle between your legs as you swallowed in anticipation.

“On your knees (Y/N).” He commanded and you immediately fell, his tone leaving no room for argument as he spoke.

Your eyes locked onto his already evident bulge as he pulled his cock out of the confines of his pants, before his hand found the back of your head and pushed you forward.

You didn’t need any more encouragement than that, taking it in one hand you wrapped your lips around it, tasting the familiar tangy saltiness of him. Licking the precum off the tip and savoring the flavor.

Clancy groaned, throwing his head back against the tree, his hands wrapping themselves in your hair at the roots and tugging, making you moan around him. You worked on him with your tongue first, swirling and sucking on the sensitive tip before you felt him tug on your hair harder, urging you.

“Take my cock in your throat like the good girl I know you are, (Y/N).” He said as he pressed it deepe. Resisting the urge to gag on it, your eyes watered as you made eye contact with him.

He fucked your throat with little mercy, salvia dripping down your chin as you tried to keep

Your composure, bracing your hands on his hips as he fucked your mouth.

Pulling off him for a moment he let you catch your breath, “Touch yourself.” He commanded. Your heart stopped at his words and you felt yourself throb with need. Quickly undoing the button on your pants and slip a hand inside, pushing aside your soaked panties to find the throbbing bundle of nerves begging for attention.

“Mmm…” you moaned, feeling Clancy press his cock against your lips again impatiently, you pressed your fingers against your clit as he watched, his pupils blown out with lust.

Taking him in your mouth again you swirl your tongue in time with your fingers, Clancy's fingers knotting themselves in your hair taking full control of your mouth.

You could feel yourself building to your climax and just as you’re about to tip over the edge, Clancy snatches your wrist stopping your ministrations, and pulls his dripping cock out of your mouth as you try to catch your breath.

Kneeling on the ground, he positions himself between your legs as he yanks off your boots and unbuttones your pants before pulling everything off, baring your soaked center to him. He hooked your legs around his waist and positioned his cock against your entrance before snapping his hips into you in one quick motion, bottoming out inside of you with a guttural moan.

One hand dug into your hip and the other pressed against your clit making your writhe around him.

“Fuck, (Y/N), your cunt was made for me. Made to be fucked and filled by me.” He thrust into you at an impossible speed, making it impossible to stay quiet as you held your hand against your mouth to keep the whole camp from hearing you get your brains fucked out.

Lifting your hips up he adjusted the angle so he could thrust deeper into you, the new angle pressing deliciously against the spot that made your toes curl. With half lidded eyes you watched in a haze as he plowed into you, admiring just how gorgeous he looked even though you could only see his piercing glare through the mask.

You could feel the coil inside you tightening impossibly until it finally snapped, sending you over the edge with a mind numbing orgasm.

The feeling of you clenching around his cock was enough to send him over the edge too, gripping both legs with bruising strength and bottoming out inside of you as his cock pulsed with his release, sending hot spurts of cum deep inside you.

You fell back onto the grass with heaving breaths, Clancy untangling himself from you before standing up and readjusting himself into his pants.

He reached out a hand for you to grab and helped you stand on admittedly wobbly legs, then handing you your pile of discarded clothes to put back on.

Clancy leaned against the tree and silently watched as you redressed yourself, cringing slightly as the still soaked panties you had to put back on. You’d need to go to your tent to clean up as soon as possible.

Once you were fully dressed, Clancy stepped over to you, inspecting you closely and smoothing your hair.

You pulled him into a hug and buried your face into his chest, while he stood still, clearly surprised.

“I missed you, and I’m glad you're safe…” you said what you wanted to say before he pulled you away.

Looking up at him you met his eyes, he reached up and pulled off his mask, before capturing your lips in his for the first time in weeks.

You melted into the kiss as he held you, rubbing his hands along the bare skin of your arms.

“I missed you too, (Y/N). You’re all I could think about while I was gone… It was distracting.” He said with a small smirk. “Why aren’t you wearing a jacket?”

You hadn’t realized how much the temperature was dropping now that it was getting later in the evening.

“I just forgot it, and I didn’t want to miss you coming back.”

He smiled at you and sighed before stepping back and sliding off his black jacket, revealing his toned tattooed arms that you loved. holding it out to you, gesturing for you to let him help you put it on.

You eyed the bright red tape on the shoulders that only he had.

“Are you sure Clancy? I don’t want them to find out… you know, about us?”

“I don’t care (Y/N). If I cared I wouldn’t have pulled you away in front of everyone…” he trailed off as he slid the jacket onto you. It smelled so perfectly like him you fought the urge to take a deep whiff of it.

He smiled when he saw how you looked on his jacket. Cheeks flushed still from your encounter, he captured your mouth once more and kissed you deeply.

When you reluctantly pulled away he pressed one more soft kiss to your forehead, before he pulled his mask back on.

“Let’s get back to camp and get you warm.”

“Yes Sir.” You said a little mischievously, watching for a reaction and being satisfied when his eyes widened.

“Be careful with that mouth of yours (Y/N), you’re going to have a long night.”

——-

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Hiding the scars from his past, as they drown in the black ichor so no one would see them unless they truly looked across his body. His pain that he refused to let the bandito’s see. Only Torch knew of them.. spoke of them in soft whispered conversation.. sharing his own story and blemished skin to Clancy- a dance they did together without becoming to entangled with one another. It didn’t matter, they were tied together by the string of fate that they could never avoid, torch knew this time and time again but he always lost the connection after each failed mission.

He was losing hope but something about this one- was different.. one of the many others that have been there since the beginning of their story.. they sat by the small fire by their tent with a glazed over expression. The soft crackle of the logs in the fire were a simple but calming sound to them, their eyes drifted up as they felt eyes on them. Furrowed brow as they noticed he was watching, anxiety flooded their chest as they moved to continue working on the simple sketch of their comrades they had lost.. they had slowly started to forget their faces and they couldn’t handle letting anyone else get forgoteen.

The sun slowly setting made the cold surround them quickly as they wrapped themself up with their jacket and scarf, but as they fell back into their process with the drawing.. their eyes flickered where they had once felt eyes and saw the spot was empty.

A part of them seemed… saddened by the sight of neither man, as they stood up to put their fire out they collided with a solid chest of muscle and awkwardly dropped their sketch book. Flipping to a page with simple sketches of Clancy and the other side being of Torch, quickly they went o apologize to who it was and their body froze in place. The cold nipping at their nose and ears casing a tinge of a reddish pink, they had run straight into Torch and they realized that his eyes were cast down at the sketchbook.

Their eyes widened as they quickly picked it up and held it close to their chest and realized Clancy stood just a few inches behind Torch, that made embarrassment flood across their body as they moved to stand a bit straighter as they looked between the two.

Silence encumbered the small group as Torch glanced to their tent and gestured, they wanted to come into their tent? Oh salho- they weren’t sure if it was clean…they awkwardly moved to push it open for the two to enter but Clancy took their place with a soft tilt of his head. They rushed in to look around just seeing the flood of sketched across their desk they truly had no time to hide but the art supplies was the last of their worry as they quickly tidied up their bed and turned to stand straight and watch them as the two men walked inside.

The bite of cold was gone and they relaxed, but before they could process Clancy was stood in front of them with a hand to slowly tilted their chin up to meet his gaze as Torch stood behind him with a blank expression.

They felt his calloused fingers tilt their head up making them blink a few times in confusion, but they didn’t pull away. The feeling of physical touch was so little nowadays and this was simple but enough to feel that fluttering in their chest. The cold touch made a chill run down their spine, they looked into his brown eyes that seemed to glow with a golden color from the lanterns in their tent.

They attempted to speak but felt words fail as his head shifted to the left “You seem, nervous.” He stated quite bluntly, with a strange look in his eyes, one they haven’t had a chance to see. Use to his head strong attitude and reckless abandon in all situations. This looked almost.. entirely different, a softness that seemed to shift to a more darkened expression.

“Nervous? Well I will admit, This situation is quite- unlike anything. I assume I caused an issue- do I need to confess to something you know of?”

That made Clancy squint a bit as he took a step closer as they could feel his hot breath flood over their face “did you need me- to approach you to Come to confess your sins?”

They ignored the way their heart was racing and the small perspiration across their forehead and the beat that fell down their neck. “I don’t know how much time you got?” They asked softly truly trying to match this strange behavior

“More than you may think.” He carefully pulled his hand away as he stepped to their desk littered in sketches. They missed the feeling of his hand but before they could react they stepped forward to try and block his path “It’s more envy then-“

As they spoke Torch moved as well as his eyes met Clancy and they flickered over the scattering of sketches of the both of them on the desk. Clancy moved to carefully settle a hand on their waist as he leaned forward to pick up a piece of paper with a beautiful shaded piece of him- looked like to was from of one of the many meetings he called for.

“Envy you say?” Clancy speaks softly as he lets the paper rest between his thumb and forefinger “Envy doesn’t rely on.. making drawings of the one you feel envious of. It seems it me to be more of- an infatuation.”

His hand on their waist as he stepped into their personal space almost being chest to chest, that warmth they felt in their chest flooded to their face. Torch moved slowly to stand behind them as his other hand rested on their other free hip, the tension in the tent seemed to flood them all. They felt their mouth run dry, trying to think of a- retort or even something to make them feel in control.

“I draw the ones I fear of losing- as well as draw them so I never forget what they looked like. I find myself losing the connection I had for many-“ Torch moved to press against their backside “Nobody is forgotten, just lost to time and cause. We don’t want you carrying that burden, they may be gone but know they will be with us always.”

Clancy hums “Not envy, but fear of losing the connection you’ve made. Why lie when you simply needed to tell the truth? Or is there something else you’d like to express to us?” His hand that held the drawing letting it float down to the desk “I expect you to be truthful, I feel your eyes on the two of us. You aren’t entirely.. good at hiding your own expression when you think no one is watching.”

Torch smiled softly at Clancy “is this… where you’re honest or do we need to pull it from you another way?”

They were so lost in the moment their mouth had fallen open as Clancy carefully pressed a thumb to their bottom lip and let it press into their soft flesh. “Show us exactly what your looks truly mean.” He whispered in a soft hushed tone, the dark look in his eyes seeming to take over.

Their mouth carefully shifted as they leaned forward taking his thumb into their mouth, the warmth of their mouth a stark contrast to the coldness of his fingers. Their tongue pressing into the pad of his thumb and taking the flavor of some form of ink and salt from his skin. Flooding their mouth.

Clancy felt a soft hitch in his throat at the way they seemed to fall into line on instinct. No need to instruct them, they knew exactly what they wanted from him.. torch moved to watch them as he pressed his lips to the side of their neck with a small hum “Seems we both were right.” He muttered, his eyes flicking to Clancy.

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