#torchbearer x reader

[the-jetset-lifes-gonna-kill-me]

[ ✦ ] — ᴍᴀʀʏ ᴊᴀɴᴇ (ᴀʟʟ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ʟᴏɴɢ)…

TYLER JOSEPH X JOSH DUN X AFAB!READER

— • ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𐔌 summery: TYLER HAS BEEN FEELING A LITTLE LEFT OUT LATELY, SO HE ASKS IF HE CAN JOIN IN ON YOU AND JOSH’S SMOKE SESH. AFTER FINDING OUT WHAT YOU TWO REALLY GET UP TO WHEN HE’S NOT THERE, YOU AND JOSH NEED TO FIND A WAY TO MAKE TYLER FEEL MORE INCLUDED.

— • ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𐔌 warnings: 18+ CONTENT, MDNI, NO USE OF Y/N, AFAB!READER, PORN WITH NO PLOT, WEED, THREESOMES, SEX WHILE HIGH, DRY HUMPING, ORAL SEX (M AND F RECEIVING), PIV SEX, MULTIPLE ORGASMS, EIFFEL TOWERING, JOSH AND READER ARE KINDA FWB, FEELINGS ARE FELT ON ALL THREE SIDES, EVERYONE IS INCREDIBLY DOWN BAD.

— • ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𐔌 wc: 8137

— • ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𐔌 a/n: PLEASE IGNORE ANY REPETITION OR SPELLING MISTAKES, THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD. I NEED THESE TWO BAD BITCHES AT THE SAME DAMN TIME, IM SORRY. ENJOY!

“So… how does this work exactly?”

The question hung in the air, naive and uncertain, and it cracked something loose in you. A laugh, light and unguarded, spilled from your lips, your hands trembling ever so slightly at the sensation. You dragged your tongue slowly across the edge of the brown tobacco paper, sealing it with practiced ease. Josh’s soft, breathy chuckle followed, warm against your arm, and in your peripheral vision you caught him shaking his head, amused at Tyler’s question.

Tyler’s face shifted, subtle, but you noticed. His curiosity had left him exposed, and your laughter, unintentional as the sting might’ve been, seemed to make him shrink inward. His mouth twitched like he was swallowing down self-reproach, mentally scolding himself for asking something he thought he should’ve already known. But really, how could he? He was out of his depth.

You paused, lips forming a faux pout, and reached out to give his knee a reassuring pat. “It’s okay,” your touch said without words.

“Well,” you began, voice soft but laced with a playful edge, “you’ll hold this between your lips, and when I light it, you inhale as deep as you can, hold it for a second, then let it go.” You demonstrated with delicate precision, pinching the joint between your fingers and rolling it gently, letting him watch the ritual up close. His eyes curious, a little tense, tracked every movement. “And if your throat burns a little? That just means you’re doing it right.”

You could feel the weight of his gaze, of both their gazes, fixed on your hands as you finished rolling the joint.

Honestly, you hadn’t expected Tyler to ever ask to be part of this. You’d known both of them for years, thick as thieves, the three of you, but this? This was always a you-and-Josh thing. A small sanctuary of smoke and shared silence. Not that Tyler wasn’t welcome; you’d just figured it wasn’t his scene. He’d always seemed too clean, too careful, too focused on keeping his edges sharp.

You still remembered the first time you offered, ages ago now. He’d smiled, polite but firm, and turned you down. You hadn’t asked again.

But tonight was different. Lately you’d started to sense it, the way Tyler lingered at the edges of these moments, as though the inside jokes and hazy conversations between you and Josh had begun to form a wall he wasn’t sure how to scale. He wasn’t the kind to say it outright, but you saw it: the way he hated feeling left out. The way his laugh would falter when he didn’t understand the reference. The way he watched you both with quiet longing, wanting to be in on it.

So when he asked to join tonight, you hadn’t hesitated.

“So this is what you two do when I’m not around?” Tyler’s voice broke through, his tone light but edged with something that felt like yearning. His eyes darted between you and Josh, pointedly not looking at your hands as you worked.

You and Josh shared a glance, silent understanding passing between you.

“Mostly,” you said, the word hanging in the air, ambiguous enough to keep him guessing.

Tyler let it go, though you could see the question lingering behind his eyes.

You stole a look at him as you finished your task. His expression was a careful balance of indifference and intrigue, but you weren’t fooled. The signs were all there, the slight press of his lips, the way his fingers twirled with a loose thread on his jeans around his finger, the tension that held his back straighter than usual, like he was bracing for something.

Josh, on the other hand, was the picture of ease. He sprawled across your bed, head propped on his hand, scrolling aimlessly through his phone as he waited, patient in his own lazy way.

His eyes flicked up, probably to complain about how long you were taking, but he followed your gaze to Tyler.

“Hey,” Josh said, pushing himself up, his voice easy but touched with sincerity. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah,” you echoed, leaning over Tyler to rummage through your bedside drawer for a lighter. “No pressure. Seriously, dude. You can back out anytime.”

But Tyler shook his head, quick, almost too quick. “No- I want to. I mean, I never really had a ‘party phase,’ you know? Might as well start now.” His laugh was soft, a little forced at the edges, but it endeared you and Josh all the same.

“Yes, yes, we know. B-ball champ, singing prodigy, we’ve heard it all before.” you smirked. “Couldn’t risk damaging your pretty little lungs with smoke, right?”

“Shut up,” Tyler muttered, but he laughed for real this time, the tension slipping from his shoulders bit by bit.

You grinned and finally found the lighter, holding up your prize. “Alright, Dun,” you drawled, turning to Josh, holding out the joint and lighter like an offering. “Wanna do the honors?”

Josh tried to play it cool, but the way he sprang up betrayed him. His hand was quick, eager, snatching the joint from your palm like he’d been waiting all night for this.

“Yes Ma’am,” he said, already reaching for the light.

You watched in silence, the world seeming to narrow to just the three of you. Josh placed the blunt between his lips with an ease born of habit, his fingers steady as he cupped them around the lighter, shielding the flame from the nonexistent breeze of the room. The lighter clicked, once, twice, before the flame flared to life, a soft glow that reflected in his dark eyes for the briefest second. The tip of the joint smoldered to orange, embers blooming like a firefly in the dim room as he drew in a slow, deliberate breath.

Beside you, Tyler watched too, his posture rigid, eyes observing Josh carefully.

Josh held the smoke in his chest, deep and sure, before exhaling in a long, deliberate sigh. The smoke rolled out in thick, silvery ribbons, curling around him like mist, framing his features in a ghostly halo. The room filled with the scent of burnt paper and earth, and for a heartbeat, the world felt softer, slower.

You and Tyler both watched, caught in the quiet gravity of the moment.

Josh took another hit, his canines brushing his bottom lip in a grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth. His voice was strained as he held the smoke, eyes crinkling with amusement as he looked at Tyler. “See?” he managed between breaths, a puff of smoke escaping with the word. “Not so bad.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, your voice dry with affection as you shot him a deadpan look. “Don’t listen to him, Ty. The first time Josh smoked, he got a bit too cocky, took way too much, and greened out hard.”

Tyler’s brow arched, amusement flickering across his face like sunlight through blinds. “Greened out?” he echoed, glancing between you and Josh with growing intrigue.

Josh groaned your name, the sound stretched out with smoky exasperation. “Don’t you dare,” he warned, though the protest was weak at best.

You grinned wider, delighting in the story as much as you did the first time you told it. “It’s basically a weed overdose,” you explained, seeing the flicker of concern that darted across Tyler’s features. You hurried to add, “Not as scary as it sounds. It’s not dangerous. Just… humbling.”

Josh sighed, already bracing himself for the tale he knew too well. “Please…”

“It was a few years back. I gave Josh half of a weed gummy, right? And five minutes later, he’s pacing the room like, ‘This is shit, I can’t feel anything. Are you messing with me? Does this even have weed in it?’ I told him to wait it out, but he begged for the other half- practically on his knees.”

Josh buried his face in his hands, shaking his head as Tyler started to laugh, his shoulders bouncing.

“So I caved. And what happens next?” You could barely keep your own laughter in. “He lays on the floor for hours, hours, mumbling about how the walls were melting, asking where his mom was like he was six again. Then he passed out, slept for twelve hours straight, and puked in my laundry hamper when he finally woke up.”

Tyler doubled over, his laughter spilling out, breathless and unguarded. His head tipped back, the sound filling the room like music. “Oh my god,” he wheezed. “I don’t think I could top that if I tried.”

Josh shot you both a mock-glare, but the smile he tried to hide tugged at his lips. “Sure, laugh it up,” he grumbled, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed him.

“Aww, I’m sorry, Joshua,” you cooed, reaching out to ruffle his faded red hair, fingers tangling for a second before you deftly snatched the blunt from his lips. “Now stop hogging.”

The laughter faded into its usual comfortable hum between you three. You brought the joint to your lips, the waxy paper familiar, grounding. The burn was immediate as you inhaled, slow and deep, filling your lungs until they felt too full, the heat blooming in your chest. You held it there, savoring the ache, the way it buzzed through you. Then, with a shaky exhale, you let the smoke flow free, thick clouds streaming from your lips, your nostrils, curling toward the ceiling like small ghosts escaping your body.

A cough caught in your throat, soft and involuntary, and when you looked up, Tyler was staring at you again. His expression had shifted, no longer merely curious or amused. There was something else there now. His lips were pressed together, his head tilted just slightly, eyes darkened with an intensity you didn’t recognize. Like he was seeing you anew, the haze of smoke and the glow of the moment casting you in a light that made his breath catch.

It was the same way Josh sometimes looked at you when you weren’t paying attention.

You took a few more slow, savouring drags, the world growing fuzzier, edges softening as that familiar hum filled your veins. A lazy grin spread across your face as you leaned forward, offering the blunt to Tyler.

“Wanna give it a try, Ty?” you asked, your voice warm, inviting.

Tyler hesitated, his gaze flicking from your face to the joint, weighing invisible scales. You could almost see the thoughts running behind his eyes, what if he took too much? What if he ended up on the floor like Josh had, babbling nonsense? What if he embarrassed himself in front of you both?

But despite it all, he nodded, quick and sure. “Okay,” he said, soft but certain, fingers brushing yours as he took it from you. He shifted closer without realizing it, the three of you drawn tighter into the little circle you’d made, as if the smoke itself was weaving invisible threads between you.

Tyler’s eyes lingered on the blunt, watching as the ember at its tip faded to nothing but a cold ash, the fire snuffed out, leaving only a curl of smoke that drifted between you. His fingers twitched slightly, unsure of what came next, shoulders stiff with the weight of unfamiliarity.

“Here,” Josh murmured, his voice low, worn soft at the edges by the haze in the room. The word slipped from his chest like smoke itself. He leaned in, close enough that Tyler could feel the heat of him, close enough that his breath might’ve stirred Tyler’s hair. Personal space forgotten, irrelevant. Josh struck the lighter, the flick of the spark loud in the stillness, the flame small but sure as it touched the end of the blunt, bringing it back to life. Tyler watched him with an intensity that was almost startling, eyes fixed on Josh.

Hesitantly, Tyler mirrored what you’d shown him. He held the blunt with awkward fingers, too conscious of every move. His tongue darted across his lower lip, dampening it in a nervous tic before he brought the joint to his mouth. He inhaled, a little too hard, too fast, the musky heat of the smoke catching him off guard. It filled his throat like fire, raw and unkind, and he spluttered, coughing as the smoke burst from his lips in staccato gasps.

But neither of you laughed. Not this time. Josh’s hand reached out, steady and warm, resting on Tyler’s knee. His thumb moved in slow, grounding strokes, silent reassurance in the spaces where words weren’t needed.

Tyler swallowed hard and tried again, drawing in a smaller breath this time, holding the smoke for just a moment before releasing it in a shaky stream. He coughed once, then again, but softer, less frantic. He took another drag, and another, growing steadier, his confidence building in tiny increments as you and Josh watched him.

“You alright?” you asked, your voice low and honey-warm, leaning closer so the space between you narrowed, your grin tugging at your lips like it was second nature.

Tyler nodded, still catching his breath, but there was a flicker of triumph in his eyes. “Yeah.”

“You did good,” Josh added, his smile easy, the kind that made you feel safe. He patted Tyler’s knee before pulling his hand back, and only then did Tyler glance down, realizing it had been there all along. His gaze drifted from Josh’s hand back to his face, something unspoken passing between them.

You caught it too, and your grin widened, a knowing glint in your eye.

The joint made its lazy rounds, the three of you sinking deeper into the mattress, the weight of the world slipping off your shoulders as the room blurred at the edges. The whites of your eyes tinted pink, your limbs heavy, the laughter softer now.

“Alright, who wants the last drag?” you asked, twirling what was left of the blunt between your fingers, the ember small but stubborn, glowing faintly in the dim light.

Josh reached for it, always the opportunist. “Well, if you’re offering-”

But you pulled back, laughter bubbling up in your throat. “That was a test, and you failed.” You smirked, holding the joint out instead to Tyler. “Ty’s our guest. Don’t you think we should be good hosts and accommodate him?” You arched a brow at Josh, your expression teasing but firm.

Josh’s gaze met yours, a silent conversation flashing between you, one of those wordless exchanges built from years of knowing each other inside out. Something softened in his face, and he leaned back, a smile blooming there despite himself. “Go on, Ty. Finish it off.”

Tyler hesitated for a heartbeat, caught in the unspoken conversation between you and Josh, but then he took the joint with a small smile. “Alright,” he said quietly, and with care he burned it down to the roach, exhaling one final puff of smoke, this time smooth and easy. He stubbed it out in the ashtray at the center of your little universe.

For a moment, stillness settled over you all. Smoke hung in the air, delicate tendrils drifting lazy patterns toward the ceiling. The scent of burnt herb and paper clung to everything, your clothes, your hair, the walls themselves. The silence wasn’t awkward. It felt thick, warm, shared.

“How you feeling now, bud?” you hummed, turning your head to study him.

The sight of him made you want to laugh, though you held it in. His face was soft and open, cheeks flushed just a touch pink, that single dimple on his left cheek deepening as his smile became permanent. His brow crinkled, eyes bright, caught between dazed and delighted.

“Weird,” he admitted, the word stretching out with his slow, lazy laugh. “But, like… good weird. My brain feels like static. And warm. Everything feels warm.”

“Warm, huh?” you mused, shifting closer, closing what little distance remained. Your palm found his chest, fingers splaying gently across his ribs, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath. “Like here, right?”

Tyler’s gaze dropped to your hand, lingered, then lifted to meet your eyes. His grin never wavered, wide and unguarded. “Yeah,” he breathed.

Josh watched the exchange quietly, his teeth pressing into his lower lip, his gaze flickering between you and Tyler as though trying to read what passed in that small, charged space.

“So what made you wanna join us this time?” Josh asked, voice low, leaning in till his shoulder brushed Tyler’s, till the air between all three of you seemed to hum with closeness.

“I don’t know,” Tyler shrugged, the movement exaggerated, the haze loosening his tongue before he could stop himself. The truth tumbled out. “I guess I was feeling kinda left out.”

Josh’s brows drew together, softening. “Left out?”

Tyler rubbed at the back of his neck, his laugh sheepish. “Yeah. I mean, you guys have your thing, your inside jokes, your plans. And I’m just kinda… on the outside of it, sometimes.”

You snorted gently, tilting your head against his shoulder. “You feel left out? You two ditch me for months at a time to go tour the world. If anyone should feel left out, it’s me.”

Tyler laughed, the sound bubbling up without hesitation, his head tilting toward yours.

Josh bumped his shoulder into yours, his smile bright and easy. “You can’t play anything, and you’ve got zero rhythm. I’m afraid we’d have to leave you at every rest stop.”

“Rude. I’d have brought the vibes.” You feigned offense, laughing along with them. “I could’ve been a groupie,” you teased, grinning as Josh burst into laughter beside you. “Or your merch manager. Any excuse to tag along.”

But then your voice softened again, your grin gentling. “Seriously though, Ty. We didn’t mean to make you feel that way. This doesn’t have to just be a me and Josh thing anymore. It can be a you, me, and Josh thing, if you want it to be.”

“Remember earlier,” Tyler began, his voice soft, threaded through with a note of hesitation, “when I asked if this was what you guys did when I wasn’t around, and you said ‘mostly’?”

You stiffened, just slightly, your head resting against his shoulder but your body no longer as relaxed. The question hung there, heavier than it should’ve been, filling the space between the three of you like the lingering smoke. Your gaze shifted instinctively toward Josh, who had already met your eyes with the same flicker of tension mirrored in his own. The kind of glance that speaks volumes without a single word.

Tyler didn’t miss it. His brow creased faintly, his curiosity sharpening. “What else do you guys do?”

You lifted your head, feeling the weight of the moment press down as you searched his face. The easy grin you offered him felt sheepish, like a kid caught doing something they shouldn’t. “Did you know,” you began, voice lighter than you felt, “that some people say pot’s an aphrodisiac?”

Tyler blinked at you, his confusion genuine, his brow quirking as he echoed, “What’s an aphrodisiac?”

“Oh god, here we go again,” Josh groaned, letting himself sink back onto his elbows, head tilted toward the ceiling. The look on his face was one of pure exasperation, the kind that said he’d been down this conversational road with you more times than he could count.

You smirked, leaning into the familiar rhythm. “It’s a substance that’s supposed to increase, y’know… libido.” You watched Tyler’s expression shift, the confusion deepening, brow furrowing as he tried to piece it together. “Like oysters. They’re considered an aphrodisiac too.”

Josh let out a laugh, sudden and unrestrained. “Who decided oysters make people horny?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know!” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him. “Do I look like a scientist to you, Josh?”

“Definitely not,” he quipped, grin spreading wider, eyes glinting with mischief.

Tyler cut through your bickering, voice rising slightly in bewilderment. “What does this have to do with anything?” His gaze darted between you both, trying to keep up, trying to make sense of where this was going.

You sighed, running a hand down your face as if trying to smooth out the awkwardness along with your own nerves. “Weed can, uh, for some people anyway, increase sexual desire. That’s what I was getting at.”

Tyler opened his mouth to ask something else, but you watched as realization dawned on him mid-thought. His eyes widened, his head jerked slightly back, and his gaze snapped between you and Josh like he was trying to solve some impossible puzzle. His lips parted in shock, words failing him for a second as the pieces fell into place.

“What the fuck?” The words tumbled out, rare and raw from Tyler, who almost never swore. That alone told you how off-guard he was. “What the fuck?” he repeated, like maybe saying it twice would help him process.

“Ty-” Josh started, tone gentle, but Tyler wasn’t finished.

“So you’re telling me…” He trailed off, disbelief thick in his voice. His eyes moved between you and Josh again, searching, questioning. “You two have been… hooking up this whole time?”

You winced at the phrasing, but before you could say anything, Josh answered, watching Tyler carefully. “Well, not the whole time.”

“It first happened last year,” you said quietly, fingers fiddling absently with a loose strand of hair near your cheek. “It’s not a constant thing, Ty. It’s just… sometimes. When it feels right.”

Tyler stared at you, his expression unreadable for a moment, his thoughts clearly racing. His mouth opened, then closed again as he tried to settle on the right words. When he finally spoke, it came out in a breathy huff. “I can’t believe you guys didn’t tell me.”

You reached for him gently, fingers brushing his shoulder, soft and tentative. “You’re not mad, are you?”

He slumped a little at your touch, the tension in his frame loosening as he exhaled a long, slow breath. His eyes dropped to your hand for a second, then lifted to meet yours. “No, just-”

“Feeling left out?” Josh joked quietly, his grin small and sheepish, like he already regretted the words as they left his mouth.

Tyler’s glare cut through the haze sharper than any smoke. His eyes narrowed, and Josh’s grin faltered, vanishing altogether.

Josh wasn’t wrong. The look on Tyler’s face, the flicker of hurt, the edge of longing, said it all. He wasn’t angry. He was lonely, and this revelation only deepened that hollow space inside him.

The silence that settled between the three of you this time was different, thicker, charged, heavy with a tension that neither smoke nor laughter could soften. It clung to the air like humidity before a storm. No one spoke. No one dared to break the moment, as though the first word would shatter whatever fragile thing was holding you all together.

“Ty,” you murmured, your voice barely above a breath, coaxing him from his stunned stillness. You lifted your hand, gentle and sure, guiding his chin with a single finger so his gaze met yours. His eyes were wide, searching, waiting. “Come here,” you nearly cooed, your voice soft enough to melt through his hesitation.

You shifted, folding your legs beneath you, rising onto your knees, drawing him toward you. The distance between you closed in slow motion, as if the world had slowed to watch. Your thumb grazed his jaw as you tilted his face up, and then your lips met his, tentative at first, soft and slow.

It was exploratory, gentle. Your hand slipped from his jaw to the nape of his neck, fingers threading into his hair at the nape of his neck, drawing him deeper into you. A soft hum escaped you as Tyler, spurred by your touch, he brought his hands up to cup your face, palms warm against your cheeks. His kiss grew surer, more eager. His lips parted when your tongue darted over his bottom lip, and a low, unexpected rumble of a groan vibrated in his throat as you deepened the kiss, tasting him, pulling him under.

Curiosity tugged at you, and you peeked one eye open, glancing at Josh. What you saw made heat curl low in your belly. His pupils were wide, dark eclipses swallowing the slightly lighter shade of his irises. His lips were parted ever so slightly, breath shallow, chest rising and falling a bit quicker than before.

When you finally broke the kiss, Tyler chased after you, lips seeking yours again, but you were already turning. Your mouth found Josh’s without hesitation, and he met you there like he always had, like a dance you both knew by heart, each step perfectly matched. His kiss was hungrier, rougher, the heat of him poured into you, teeth grazing your bottom lip as he pulled at it, savoring the taste of you. You pulled away only long enough to swipe your thumb across your lip, catching his saliva, before glancing at Tyler. His awe mirrored Josh’s earlier, eyes wide, lips swollen, breathless.

Your hands found the back of their necks, fingers curling around warm skin as you tugged them both closer. The three of you met in the middle, mouths colliding in a messy, uncoordinated tangle of lips and tongues. It was frantic, needy, hot, teeth clashing, tongues seeking, not knowing or caring whose lips they found at any given moment. The taste of weed, of shared breath, of want was dizzying.

You let your hands fall, fingertips brushing down the lines of their spines as you slowly leaned back onto your elbows, chest heaving, heart pounding against your ribs like a drum. You watched them, spellbound, as they turned that same hunger on each other. Tyler’s fingers curled around Josh’s jaw; Josh’s hand slid to the back of Tyler’s neck, pulling him closer, as if closeness could erase all the space that had ever existed between them.

You bit your bottom lip, the sight almost too much to take, heat pooling low in your stomach. A soft sound escaped you, barely louder than the thrum of your pulse.

You cleared your throat, amused at the way they froze, slowly turning to look at you, lips red and swollen, eyes dazed and dark. Your grin was slow and wicked. “Don’t let me interrupt,” you murmured, pushing yourself upright, voice dripping with invitation. “Keep going.”

And they did. With a glance at each other, a silent agreement passed between them, and they closed the space again, mouths finding one another as if they’d done it a thousand times before.

You leaned in, nuzzling the curve of Josh’s neck, your breath hot against his skin as you placed soft, open-mouthed kisses there, tasting his skin. You trailed higher, leaving wet prints up to his pulse point where his heartbeat thrummed beneath your tongue. You sucked at the spot, felt the low groan tremble through him, his body taut beneath your mouth. You bit, licked, soothed, painting his throat with bruises.

Before you could move to Tyler, he broke the kiss with Josh, his eyes dark with something raw and urgent, and captured your lips again. His kiss was greedy, desperate, like he was drowning and you were the only air he had left. His hands roamed, skimming down your sides until they found your hips, fingers digging in as he pulled you closer, guided you into his lap.

You went willingly, straddling him, wrapping your arms around his neck. The kiss deepened, grew frantic, his breath mingling with yours, his lips slick against your own.

Josh pressed up behind you, his chest warm against your back, his presence surrounding you, caging you between them. His lips found the right side of your neck, his hands skimming your sides, making you shiver under his touch. He mirrored your earlier attention, kissing, biting, sucking at your neck, until your skin burned beneath his mouth.

You felt Tyler beneath you, hard and wanting, his cock twitching beneath the press of your clothed cunt. Behind you, Josh’s dick pressed firm against your back, his breath hot as he groaned into your skin.

Josh’s teeth sank gently into the junction of your neck and shoulder, his hands sliding down your frame till they met Tyler’s at your hips. His fingers wove with the others, and then he guided your hips, rocking you forward, grinding you down onto Tyler’s lap. You gasped softly, the friction sending shivers through you, your hips following the rhythm he set, slow at first, then faster, your need building, heat radiating from where you met.

Their hands were everywhere, on your hips, your thighs, your waist, as they moved you together, every breath, every touch, every tremble shared between the three of you.

“Fuck,” Tyler exhaled, the word spilling from his lips in a ragged sigh as he tore himself from your mouth, his chest heaving as he gulped down air. His gaze flicked up, catching sight of Josh behind you, and the low groan that left him made your insides twist.

A soft, desperate mewl escaped you, the sound trembling on your breath as your chest shuddered. You rocked your hips harder, faster, grinding down on Tyler’s lap, driven by the insistent tempo of Josh’s hands guiding you, his fingers digging into your hips with a grip so fierce you knew it would leave marks, imprints of this moment etched into your skin.

The heat of it all became overwhelming in the most delicious way as Tyler’s mouth found the other side of your neck, his lips searing a path over your skin. He nipped, sucked, kissed, while Josh mirrored him on the opposite side, two mouths devouring you, their touch sending shocks of pleasure down your spine. The overstimulation made your head swim, your body burning between them.

“God, fuck, that feels so good,” you gasped out, voice thick and trembling as your hips continued their slow, grinding dance. Your back arched, your ass pressing harder against Josh, dragging along the stiff line of his cock through his pants.

The sounds that came from both of them were downright filthy, guttural groans, breathy gasps, hungry, animalistic noises buried in the hollow of your throat, meant for your ears alone. The friction at your cunt was a maddening combination of too much and not enough, every roll of your hips driving you closer to the edge and yet leaving you wanting more, aching.

Without thinking, your arms lifted, surrendering to Josh as he tugged your shirt over your head and discarded it carelessly to the floor. His rough, calloused hands found the soft skin of your ribs, tracing upward, reverent and greedy all at once. When his palms cupped your breasts, you shivered beneath his touch.

You felt Tyler’s hands leave your hips, relinquishing control, letting you ride him as your body pleased. His fingers fumbled at your back, unhooking your bra with practiced ease, sliding the straps down your arms as Josh’s fingers worked one nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, coaxing soft, breathy moans from your lips.

Tyler’s hands were back on you in a heartbeat, one strong arm curling around the arch in your back, holding you flush against him. Still, your hips moved in slow, grinding circles, savoring the friction, the pressure. His other hand slid forward, bold and sure, and you felt him palm Josh through his pants, a low, heady groan rumbling out of Josh in response.

Josh buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he nipped at your throat, his fingers tweaking your nipples just enough to make you whimper. Tyler claimed your mouth again, kissing you like he couldn’t bear to be apart from you, your breaths mingling, desperate and uneven.

And then Josh’s hands returned to your hips, halting your movements with a firm grip. You blinked, dazed, lips parted, ready to ask why, but you didn’t get the chance.

“C’mere,” he rasped, his voice rough, need threaded through every syllable. He drew you back against him, settling you between his thighs, his legs bracketing yours. His hands cradled your jaw, tilting your face toward him, his lips crashing into yours with hunger that left you dizzy.

A sigh slipped from you as Tyler’s mouth began its descent, kissing a heated trail down your chest. His lips worshipped every inch of skin, pausing at your breast, his tongue circling your soft flesh before sucking it into his mouth. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, tugging them down with slow, deliberate purpose as his mouth worked you, marking you, claiming you.

You gasped as his teeth grazed your breast, not hard enough to make you bleed, just enough to leave the imprint of his teeth. Josh took advantage of your parted lips, his tongue sliding into your mouth, tasting you, deepening the kiss.

Tyler moved lower, his lips leaving a warm, wet path down your stomach, his breath ghosting over your skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He paused just above your hip bone, his eyes lifting, locking with yours, dark and molten with longing. The sight of him there, framed between your thighs, made your heart race, your breath catch.

Slowly, reverently, he pressed feather-light kisses along the inside of your legs, switching from one to the other, teasing, building the anticipation until your thighs trembled. His breath fanned over your clothed cunt, the heat of him maddening, his nose nudging against your clit through the damp cotton of your underwear, making your whole body shiver.

Then, with a look that smoldered, he hooked his arms around your legs, pulling you closer. His teeth caught the lace trim at your hip, gripping it between his canines as he dragged it down, slow, torturous, his eyes never leaving yours. When they reached your thighs, his hands took over, easing the fabric the rest of the way down.

“Fuck…” The word fell from your lips in a shaky breath, your head tipping back onto Josh’s shoulder, your mind hazy with want.

“Holy shit…” Josh husked in your ear, his voice thick, his cock twitching against your back as he watched Tyler, his breath ragged, his need just as palpable as yours.

Tyler’s tongue found your clit with a slow, deliberate stroke that stole the breath clean from your lungs. It was soft at first, agonisingly soft, and yet your entire spine arched, a silent gasp snagging in your throat. The world blurred at the edges, the only clarity in the heat pooling between your thighs.

A moan spilled from you, low and shivering, as you pushed your head off of Josh’s shoulder, then forced your heavy lidded gaze down, seeking Tyler. And there he was, looking up at you, lips already slick with you, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide with hunger. His tongue flicked out again, slower this time, more purposeful, as though he wanted you to feel every inch of him, every deliberate drag.

And then his gaze shifted, sliding past you to meet Josh’s eyes over your shoulder. There was something electric in that look, silent understanding, shared desire, and when his tongue met you again, you felt it in your bones.

Your thighs trembled, hips bucking instinctively, chasing more, chasing friction, chasing that high.

“Stay still,” Josh murmured against your ear, his teeth grazing your earlobe. His hands slid down, firm and steady, gripping your knees and spreading you wider, holding you open for Tyler’s mouth. His control made your breath hitch, made the need coil tighter in your belly.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Tyler groaned, voice wrecked, reverent. And then his tongue was moving again, soft licks that made your toes curl, flat strokes that set your nerves on fire, tiny pulses that left you gasping. Every flick, every swirl, every press of him against you was maddening, precision and passion combined.

Your thighs tried to close around him, instinct overtaking you, but Josh kept you spread, his grip unyielding. Your body shook, sweat slicking your skin as the heat between your legs built to a fever pitch. Desperate for grounding, you tangled your fingers in Tyler’s hair, the strands damp beneath your palm, tugging gently, urging him on. Your free hand reached blindly for Josh’s, threading your fingers through his, clinging as you shuddered with pleasure.

“Feels so good, don’t stop, Ty,” you managed to gasp out, the words falling from your lips like prayer. Tyler groaned, deep and feral, the sound rumbling through you as his tongue worked you, dragging slow, firm strokes through your slick folds.

Your eyes fluttered shut, head tipping back, but Josh wouldn’t have it. His fingers pinched your jaw, tilting your head down, forcing you to watch. “Eyes open, baby. Watch,” he breathed, voice thick, dark, his lips brushing your ear. And you did, you looked down at Tyler as he devoured you, as he lapped at you like a man starving. The sight of it, the sound of it, the scent of your own arousal mingling with their breath, it made your pulse thunder in your ears.

Tyler groaned again, broken and low, the vibration of it sending sparks through your spine. His hands slid up, cradling your ribcage, pulling you closer, pressing you down into him. His thumbs stroked your skin, rough and tender all at once, like he couldn’t decide if he meant to soothe you or ruin you.

You cried out, the sound raw, unfiltered, the heat between your legs unbearable, and yet you didn’t want him to stop. Couldn’t bear for him to stop. Your body was no longer your own, every nerve alight, every breath a battle. You tugged at his hair harder, your other hand squeezing Josh’s, grounding yourself in them both.

Tyler hummed against you, lips curling into a grin that you could feel more than see, pride and want tangled together. He drank in the way you trembled for him, the way your body surrendered to his mouth, the way your words dissolved into moans and incoherent babble.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, voice breaking, your back arching off Josh’s chest, stars bursting behind your eyes. Josh released your knees, but before your legs could fall, Tyler’s hands caught them, hooking them over his shoulders, locking you to him. Your hips ground against his face, chasing that friction like you needed it to breathe. A bead of sweat rolled down your throat, over your collarbone, as your vision blurred, lashes fluttering.

And then you shattered. Your whole body clenched, thighs tightening around Tyler’s head, toes curling, fingers white-knuckled where they gripped Josh’s. A cry tore from your throat, raw and beautiful, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you, leaving you breathless, boneless, burning.

But Tyler didn’t stop. Even as you trembled, as your slick coated his chin, dripping down onto the sheets, he kept going, licking, sucking, worshipping you. Your hips jerked involuntarily beneath 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 like a prayer, broken and undone.

Finally, he lifted his head, lips swollen, chin glistening, his eyes dazed and dark as he looked up at you, then at Josh.

And before you could catch your breath, before you could even think, Tyler was pulling you into a kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on him. You melted against him, weak and wanting, lost in him.

Josh’s breath was hot against your shoulder, his chest rising and falling against your back. You turned your mouth to Tyler’s neck, pressing kisses along his throat, trailing lower, your hands fumbling with his belt, trembling fingers desperate to free him.

And when Josh finally claimed Tyler’s mouth, hot and hungry, you felt the heat of them both, surrounding you, consuming you.

As Josh finally broke from Tyler’s lips, his hands found your hips, his grip ironclad, fingers sinking deep enough to leave bruises like secrets only they’d know. His breath was ragged, low in his throat as he rasped, “On your knees, sweetheart. C’mon.” The demand was rough, but laced with affection, as he guided you upward, his palms insistent and trembling with restraint.

You obeyed without hesitation, moving onto your knees, your hands bracing against the mattress, grounding yourself in the swirl of heat and hunger between you three. When you lifted your gaze, Tyler was already watching you through his lashes, teeth caught on his bottom lip, his chest rising and falling like he couldn’t quite catch his breath.

“Shit,” he exhaled, voice thin with awe, hand sliding under your chin to tilt your face up, keeping you tethered to his eyes even as your fingers deftly popped the button on his jeans, pulling the zipper down in a slow tease that made his breath hitch. Behind you, the sound of Josh rummaging through your drawer mingled with the thrum of blood in your ears.

Together, you worked Tyler’s jeans down his thighs. He tugged his shirt over his head, casting it aside, his skin flushed and tan in the dim light. You couldn’t help but trace your finger along the ink etched into his chest, pressing kisses to the warm plane of his stomach, savoring the faint salt of sweat on his skin. The tip of your nose brushed the trail of hair leading from his navel down, down, until it disappeared beneath the band of his briefs.

Both of them watched, their stares burning into your skin. Slowly, deliberately, you hooked your fingers into Tyler’s waistband, dragging his briefs down, baring him inch by aching inch. His cock sprang free, thick and hard as a lead pipe, veins running like rivers along the shaft, the tip flushed a delicate pink, glistening with a bead of precum.

A shaky sigh spilled from Tyler’s lips as your fingers wrapped around him, stroking him slow, savoring the weight of him in your hand. You met his gaze again, eyes heavy with lust, as you leaned in, your tongue flicking softly over his tip, tasting him, making him shudder. His groan, raw and desperate, made your knees weak.

Behind you, Josh watched, entranced, as if he couldn’t believe the sight before him. His hand caressed the curve of your hip, the soft flesh of your ass, as he tore open the condom with his teeth, foil falling forgotten to the floor. His hands were steady as he rolled it on, but his breath betrayed him, uneven with want.

You took Tyler deeper, your mouth sliding down his length, feeling him pulse against your tongue as you hollowed your cheeks, each movement slow, measured, driving him wild. His fingers threaded into your hair, tugging just enough to make your scalp tingle.

Then came the press of Josh behind you, his cock brushing your slick folds, his touch lighting every nerve. The head of him teased your clit, drawing a moan that vibrated around Tyler’s cock, making him groan deep, his hips twitching.

“Ready, sweetheart?” Josh asked, voice softer now, his fingertips trailing down the curve of your spine, grounding you, worshiping you. You hummed your answer, mouth full, and that was all the encouragement he needed. With care, he eased himself inside, the slide made easy by how wet you were, how ready.

“Oh fuck- don’t clamp down on me like that,” Josh half-laughed, half-moaned, voice breathless as he stilled, savoring the way you gripped him. Tyler’s head fell back, throat working as he swallowed hard, groans rumbling from his chest.

You bobbed your head faster now, your hand stroking what your mouth couldn’t take, Tyler’s grip in your hair tightening with every pass of your lips. Josh began to move, slow at first, hips rolling into you, drawing a whimper from your throat that vibrated along Tyler’s cock, making him shudder.

Josh’s pace quickened, his thrusts deep and sure, his fingers digging into your waist as you rocked between them. The heat in the room rose, the air thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and the faint musk of weed, an intoxicating blend that made your head swim.

Then Josh snapped his hips hard into you, and the force sent you down deeper onto Tyler’s cock, making you gag, throat clenching around him, sending shocks through you both. Tyler’s voice broke into curses, eyes dark with pleasure, torn between watching your mouth take him and watching Josh claim you.

Josh’s rhythm became relentless, his hips slapping against you, filling the room with obscene sounds, the wet slide of bodies, the sharp slap of skin, the chorus of your moans and their groans, tangled and raw.

“God- just like that, don’t stop,” Tyler urged, his voice frayed at the edges, his grip on your hair rough now, the burn of it making you whimper, fueling you. His hips began to move, shallow thrusts into your mouth, fucking your throat as his eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and desperate.

Tears pricked your eyes, your vision blurring as you looked up at him. And then you saw it, Tyler’s hand shooting out to Josh, pulling him down into a kiss that was all teeth and tongues, messy and needy. The sight, the sound, the sheer heat of it, shattered you.

Your climax crashed over you, violent and all-consuming. Your thighs shook, your cunt clamped down on Josh, milking him as a high, broken cry tore from your throat. Josh groaned, low and wrecked, a few more hard thrusts before his cock twitched, his release filling the condom as he buried himself to the hilt. His breath stuttered against your back, his body shuddering.

Josh’s slow, lazy thrusts pushed you forward, driving Tyler deeper into your throat, until he hissed, “Fuck- open your mouth, baby.” He pulled back, stroking himself hard and fast, his jaw tight, his body coiled. And then he came, thick and hot across your tongue, painting the wet pink flesh white.

You met his gaze as you caught your breath, mouth open, tongue coated, before you closed your lips and swallowed, slow and loud enough that they both heard it. And they stared at you, wrecked and ruined.

The three of you lay sprawled across the bed, bodies slack, limbs tangled, chests rising and falling in shallow, uneven pants. The room was heavy with the heady scent of sex, sweat, and satisfaction mingling in the thick, humid air. Your skin glistened under the soft wash of lamp, casting your forms in a warm, hazy glow. Drops of sweat traced lazy paths down your ribs, your neck, pooling where your bodies met, where heat still radiated in waves.

For a long moment, no one spoke. There was only the sound of your breathing, three heartbeats trying to slow. Tyler’s arm draped over your waist, his fingers idly tracing shapes along your side, while Josh lay half on his back, head turned toward you and Tyler, his lips parted as he tried to catch his breath.

Finally, it was Josh who broke the silence, his voice low, rough-edged with exhaustion but softened by the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You were right, Ty…” he huffed, the words curling out on a sigh as he glanced over at him, eyes warm, crinkling with the force of his smile. “We shouldn’t have left you out.”

Tyler’s breath hitched with the quiet laughter that escaped him, his eyes flickering toward you as if to see if you shared the sentiment.

“I second that,” you murmured, your voice a soft rasp, still catching on the remnants of moans and gasps. You turned your head, pressing a tender kiss to Josh’s cheek, his skin still damp and warm, then to Tyler’s, his lashes fluttering at the touch, a faint flush still painting his cheeks.

The quiet stretched again, but this time it was peaceful. The kind of silence that wraps around you like a blanket, thick with unspoken understanding. Your bodies remained tangled, Tyler’s leg hooked over yours, Josh’s hand resting across your stomach, thumb stroking down your supple skin. The world outside felt impossibly far away; here, in this moment, there was nothing but the soft press of skin, the shared warmth, the afterglow humming in your bones.

Eventually, you lifted your head, hair sticking damply to your temple, gaze lazy as it flicked between them. The corners of your lips quirked in a grin, voice low and playful as it broke the stillness. “Anyone want a smoke?”

[whatisgrief]

Makin My Way Towards You|| Chapter 1

Torchbearer x reader

Warnings: angst, slowww burn, mention of torture (vaguely), they’re both awkward asf

Chapter 1: A Car

Everything felt wrong. The air was too clean, animals too loud. Too peaceful. When she breathed in, she wasn’t choking and gasping, and coughing didn’t follow after. (Y/N)’s lungs actually felt unsoiled by the layer of soot and smog she’d grown acclimatised to, and it almost made her throat close up in unfamiliarity. All she’d ever known was the poison and rot of the inner walls, and now the vastness of Trench almost felt overwhelming. Hills and trees, valleys and streams stretched as far as the eye could see, dancing in unison with the sunbeams and clouds. It was like her dreams. Except, she thought it was only that - a fantasy for children, to ever dream of the land outside the walls of Dema. And yet, here she was. The sun practically blinded her, and the tweeting of wildlife seemed much too loud. In the cover of night, it had been less overstimulating - she was used to darkness. It was all she’d been exposed to, in fact. But now, out in the wild, she suddenly realised just how out of her element she was as she trudged through the hills.

(Y/N) didn’t quite know what she was walking toward, only what she was running from. She’d crossed a few miles since the night before, and fatigue dripped from her bones. Jesus, she needed to find somewhere to rest. She didn’t know the first thing about Trench. Did she find a tree to sleep in? A patch of grass? Were there creatures out here that she had to be careful of?

It wasn’t like Nico and the Bishops were handing out survival guides for her in Dema.

Along her route, (Y/N) found a broken log on the edge of the forest and she collapsed onto it with a heavy sigh. Fuck, she was hungry. Her eyes scanned the treeline nervously. Was there going to be something in there? Was it safe?

Being in the woods would be smart - easier for others to get lost, and easier for her to hide. Out of the open. But that also meant that it was easier for her to get lost. Her head fell to her hands as she weighed her options. Her stomach let out a loud growl, pain twisting a hiss out of her teeth. Admittedly, she hadn’t planned this far ahead.

A crunch from the woodline shot her to her feet, eyes locking on a figure hidden by the shadow. (Y/N)’s heart shot to her chest. This was the opposite direction to Dema but she didn’t put it past the bishops or any minions they seized to try and trip her up by taking the long route.

“Who’s there?” She snapped, her attempt to come across as intimidating and demanding falling short as her voice wavered. The figure stayed silent but crept forward a few steps, making (Y/N) step back in return. Her eyes narrowed in warning. If she couldn’t sound intimidating, she could at least attempt to make it look that way. Not that her torn clothes and ragged appearance were helping but.

Out of the forestline, the figure stepped into the light, slowly as if he were approaching a wild deer. He looked about her age, dark curls sitting atop his head. His face was stony, and figure imposing, dressed entirely in black but there was a certain kindness behind his eyes, behind a layer of apprehension.

If Dema had taught her anything, that was something you couldn’t fake.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” He said simply, glancing over (Y/N)’s shoulder.

“Who are you?” She demanded immediately, watching him carefully as he took another step closer. His stare was intense, as if he were assessing her. After a few long seconds of silence, his expression changed to one she couldn’t quite recognise, but the tension eased from his shoulder ever so slightly.

“Someone who can help,” The stranger replied. His voice gave nothing away, much to (Y/N)’s annoyance. As he looked over her, there was a familiarity behind his expression. Sympathy almost.

(Y/N) didn’t even know people lived in Trench.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” (Y/N) met him with a hard stare, and a heavy sigh shifted his shoulders, but there was no irritation behind it.

“Does it matter? I can explain everything, but they’re already going to be looking for you. Do you want to be here when they catch up?” He asked, voice short. Blunt. (Y/N) glanced over her shoulder, a heavy pit in her stomach at the mere thought. He was right. No one escaped Dema. Ever. That wouldn’t go unnoticed or unrectified. She glanced back at the stranger cautiously.

There was no reason to trust him. None at all. But she didn’t know how to hunt, where to sleep, hell she didn’t even know where she was.

And honestly, she’d rather get killed by this stranger than ever get dragged to that city.

So after a long few minutes of tense silence and quiet deliberation, (Y/N) turned back to the stranger with a firm “Let’s go.”

—

It had been years since that day. She thought about it often, whenever a new bandito joined the group. (Y/N) and Torchbearer had built the Banditos from the ground up, graciously tending to Trench’s people when the whispers of a revolution started to emerge. The small cramped tent they’d had to huddle in together had expanded to a massive campsite, with a mix of campfires, lunch spots, a guard rota, torches and, most importantly, her own tent.

Everything (Y/N) had learned had come from the Torchbearer. She owed him her life. He’d taught her how to hunt, how to navigate Trench, to stay hidden from the Bishops when they came hunting for her two or three times after she escaped. He’d taught her the way of the Banditos, which at the time was just the ways of Torchbearer, she supposed, and how to live off the land. He’d listened to her quiet, fearful confessions of her time in Dema, and scared away the nightmares that seemed to loom over her every day. (Y/N) would never pretend that they’d gone away, but it was easier when someone knew her inside and out to deal with it. She could just feel and be felt rather than having to translate her soul. Torchbearer had shared his story with her, a Trench citizen, born in the forest as many were. He’d taught her about his gift. That was how he had managed to find her that day.

(Y/N) couldn’t pretend to understand it, just as she failed to understand how seizing worked, nor why it was only the nine bishops who possessed the power, but it had saved her life and guided them together, and that was all that mattered.

It was that same power that had led the pair here, peering to the road into Dema. No one ever drove in or out, she questioned why it was even there. Torchbearer's eyes were hardened, face hidden by his hood and yellow bandana. (Y/N)’s camo jacket was pulled tight, frigid in the frozen air. Yellow tape made the Banditos symbol on her back, a large “||-//” stuck firmly on, with a strip across her chest, and two wrapped around her thigh and leg. A further two wrapped over the top of her boots. A shiver ran down her spine as a freezing wind swept through.

“Are you sure this is the right place, Torch? No one ever gets out of Dema,” (Y/N) whispered, turning to the man in question who, ironically, wasn't holding his torch for once. It would be too risky. He glanced across to her, eyes firm but not unkind.

“I saw it.” He responded gruffly, eyes focusing back on the road. A concentrated look wrinkled his brow. (Y/N) let out a huff, wrapping her arms over her chest in an attempt to retain the heat. It was just a waiting game then. “And you did.”

(Y/N) looked down, like a scolded child, despite there being no venom in his voice, licking her lips nervously. She had no response to that.

Minutes seemed to pass like hours when a loud engine sounded in the distance. Her eyes shot to the bending road, darting quickly between it and Torchbearer. He nodded, seemingly to nothing and took a seat on the ground, leaving (Y/N) to watch the street. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. He had to reach out and project, and she was there to watch his hide. While he was capable of functioning as normal while he projected, it took a lot of his energy, and it had taken years of (Y/N)’s worried convincing for him to agree to take the easy route if he needed it.

A sleek black car shot into her eyeline, and she jumped at how loud it was. With how quiet Trench was, she’d forgotten just how loud everything in and around Dema had been. She didn’t miss it. An uncomfortable tenseness crept into her shoulders, snaking up to her throat, which suddenly felt tight. She eyed the car with an intense gaze, a queasiness in her stomach.

This was the closest she’d been to Dema in years. Minus the recapture attempts the bishops had attempted. They’d lacked intensity in the past two years, but she seriously doubted they’d ever let her go unless the whole city fell.

Letting (Y/N) escape for good would mean they had failed. And they’d never accept that.

Because that meant that the rest of Dema would figure out that they had a chance and that Vialism is bullshit.

Two figures in the car. One front and back. The Bishops never had any reason to leave the city, so why were they out here? Nico would be the only one to maybe leave, but if ever he’d come to hunt her, it had always been on horseback. Granted, there weren’t exactly any roads in the woodlands of Trench.

Torchbearer went deathly silent, and after a short while, (Y/N) felt a pressure on her legs. In his meditation-like state, he’d leant on her, whether for comfort or balance, she wasn’t sure. A small smile stretched her lips, seeking comfort in the touch, battling the nervous pit in her stomach at the simple idea of a bishop being anywhere near her. The car continued until it was just past the duo in the trees. An ear-ringing bang rattled the air. Birds in the trees above her scattered, and her entire body tensed in surprise.

One of the car’s wheels shot off into the treeline on the opposing side of the road, and the car began skating on its base, sparks flying and spouting. (Y/N) flinched slightly at the screech of twisted metal on concrete, just as the front of the car lit up in flames, slowing to a stop not far from her and Torchbearer’s spot. A heaving breath from her feet turned her attention to the man. The sun had already begun setting, and the blaze rising from the car was the only light for her to see him. He looked exhausted already, and when he rose, he slumped into (Y/N)’s shoulder. A warmth flooded her cheeks as she instinctively wrapped an arm around his waist to support him.

“We should go,” Torchbearer whispered into her shoulder, breathy and tired and (Y/N) gave him an incredulous look in return. They’d walked all this way to come help whoever the hell they’d helped, and he wanted to leave without them.

“Torch, are you nuts? We came all this way, we need to bring them back with us,” (Y/N) replied, hushed and somewhat urgent. A figure rose from the car in the corner of her eye, stumbling slightly. He stopped to stare at the blaze, silent and unmoving.

Torchbearer set her with an intense look, narrowing his eyes. (Y/N) returned it defiantly, eyebrow raised. “There’s a bishop. I’m not risking you getting taken. We saved him from going back to Dema. If he’s going to find us, he will.”

“We’re not leaving him behind. We’re right on Dema’s doorstep, they could-” (Y/N) snipped back, but was quickly interrupted.

“Exactly. You can’t be out here.” He stressed, a serious expression on his face, from what she could see of it at least. (Y/N) hesitated, turning toward the stranger. He was opening the trunk of the car, pulling something out and slamming it shut. Her heart pounded, hands clamming up. The thought of leaving someone this close to Dema made her feel sick. She would feel guilty for the rest of her days if he never found his way back to the Banditos, even with Torchbearer’s ability to find him.

“Torch, I know you’re a guide, but this is-” (Y/N) cut herself off with a frustrated groan, pulling away from Torchbearer when he seemed to gain his footing again. “We’ve left him out in the wild. I wouldn’t have survived without you. How can you expect him to?”

“That was different. If they catch you, we might never get you out again,” Torchbearer snapped, an anger sparking behind his eyes that threw her off. She’d seen him angry before, sure, but not usually directed at her. Not like this, anyway. (Y/N) bit her lip, turning back to the stranger, but when she scanned the street, he was gone. Like a ghost in the night. Leaving only the burning wreckage behind him. This didn’t sit right. They couldn’t just leave him.

But she didn’t even know where he had gone, and these trees could be like a maze, especially at night. She looked back at Torchbearer, who was looking at her almost expectantly.

Irritation crawled up her neck at the realisation that they would have grabbed the stranger in the time it took for them to debate it. “Fine.” She said sharply.

Torchbearer felt a pang of hurt when she stormed past him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion at her sudden attitude shift, mixed with the relief of getting her away from Dema.

He’d never wanted to bring her in the first place - not this close to the walls, but it was an almost unwritten rule among Banditos that where he went, she did, and vice versa.

If they started it, they were going to end it.

Somehow.

The trip back to camp was bathed in dead, tense silence.

[howdyousleepatnight]

Out of hell (part 1)

Pairing : Josh Dun x Fem!Reader - Tyler Joseph x Fem!Reader Warning : Swearing, dystopia and oppressive government

Word count : 462

Summary : As a result of your helpfulnes within the city, you’ve been asked to go and retrieve something that had been left by Banditos outside of Dema following their escape. You were supposed to return after one day. You were supposed to…

(Be kind please, I’m new to Tumblr writing + English’s not my first langage :,) Enjoy!!)

I run. I run as fast as I can. Why do I run, you might ask? I'm running because I've only got one day to complete the task I've been given: find a bag left outside of Dema by some Banditos when they escaped. Of course, it's no ordinary bag, otherwise it'd be silly to let a banal Dema resident as me go out like that. No. The bag contains potential information about a camp where rebels may have taken refuge, and given the intentions of Dema's top leaders, it could be the occasion to find them and take them back to the prison they thought they could leave so easily…

So I run, hoping in the back of my mind that I can save time to find a way to escape, without anyone suspecting a thing. I'm very efficient and serviable in the Dema community, so how could they suspect anything? 

Anyway, let's focus on finding this bag first : I'm sure it could be helpful once I’ll be facing the unknown, all by myself. 

The sound of my walkie-talkie seeking connection startled me. As I answer the call a few seconds later, an unfamiliar voice spoke to me.

"Hello Y/N. Hope you're not too tired already, because you still seem to be far away from your goal : anyway, here's the exact location of the bag. » The person didn’t seem to be friendly just by the way they talked.

I wrote down the information on my notebook. “Okay, you got it all?”, asks me the voice in a firm tone as if the person was asking me this just out of politeness.

"Yes, thank you, it should be alright. If anything happens, I will contact you." 

"No, don’t call back. If anything happens, please activate the alarm signal on your tracker. No one will be able to come and help you in case of an incident, but we will send a replacement and finish the mission for you." The voice tells me in a cold tone. Ah. Thank you for reassuring me, I absolutely do not shit myself right now. « Oh okay… » I said, becoming aware of the situation they put me in. « Bye then. Good luck. » and right after that, she hung up. Bitch. Nevermind, why would I shit myself thinking about something that won’t happen ? Why would even something happen to me? There isn’t much outside of Dema, the majority of the land out there is lost and lifeless. 

I sigh to myself and began to walk. From now on, I’ll focus on my surroundings and find the bag as soon as possible. I don’t want to go back to this shitty place. ever. 

[p3t-ch33tah]

i know we’re so back when there’s a wave of tøp fanfiction on my for you 🙏 KEEP EM COMING CAUSE AFTER THESE RECENT EVENTS, I NEED THIS.

[oldiesstationlover11607]

You're been fed enough for tonight lmao merry christmas to everyone who celebrates, very grateful for this platform to post my works :)

[shadowsinger11]

Guys

Amongst the survivors still thriving (and rotting) on this app, would anyone be interested in Clancy fanfics? Perhaps Clancy x reader? I feel like I might be able to come up with drabbles of sorts to get me back on track

[velvetcake96]

Working on that Modern trenchler AU I was talking about last night, trying to work on it as much as possible before I go back to college! So this is me putting it out in the world to be held accountable for finishing it, this can be ignored.

(Clancy might be a bit of a mess…)

[system-to-the-madness]

First Line Game

Rules: in a new post, share the first line of your 10 most recent fics and tag 10 people to do the same.

I got tagged by the amazing @marvelstoriesepic which absolutely blew my mind bc I love her stories and it's kinda hard to believe she knows I exist, sooo.

Also I'm not sure if "recent fics" means only published fics, so I'll add three WIPs just for fun.

A Lesson in Honesty - Josh Dun x Reader (on my other account)

“No! I will not continue playing!”

Slipping through my Fingers - Viktor (Arcane) x Reader

You feel like an intruder in your own laboratory, as you quietly crank open the heavy, double winged door, peeking inside.

A Past Revisited - Bucky Barnes x Reader

It felt like a déjà-vu, like you had lived this situation before.

Still Loved - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Bucky wasn’t entirely certain why he woke up with the feeling of dread having settled deep into his stomach.

Next Time - Bucky Barnes x Reader

You weren't entirely sure what annoyed you more: your aching feet, the constant scratch in your throat or the dull, thrumming pain in your head.

Perfect - Zuko x Reader

Zuko's fingertips were grazing the surface of the pond's water, creating gentle ripples in their path.

A Fool's Confession - Sugawara Kōshi x Reader

Resignation was written all over the way you placed your pen down on the table at the call of your teacher.

Trench (Working Title) - Torchbearer/Josh Dun x Reader (WIP)

“You’ll have to run.”

Untitled - Viktor (Arcane) x Reader (WIP)

The blood in Viktor’s veins felt like fire coursing through him, reducing his whole body to glimmering ashes from within with feelings he didn’t dare acknowledge, lest the flames would break free, out in the open for everyone to see.

Four Seconds - Bucky Barnes x Reader (WIP)

Fours seconds. That’s how long it took to crumble your reality to pieces.

No pressure tags: @robinrunsfiction @thewordworrier @hy6erion @hivemuthur

[wwisteriiaa]

How soon is now?

| Torchbearer x F!reader

Warnings: None

Authors note: For some reason it won’t let me add the request to this post so ima just post it and then tag the person since it wasn’t anonymous! But I really hope you enjoy and I promise I owe you smut! I’ve had a hard day with electric going out and tornado warnings! But enjoy! @izzybean

Clancy had barely been in camp two weeks, but he already had y/n full attention.

Y/n was always at his side — guiding him through the safe zones, translating Bandito signs, explaining how to sleep without flinching every time someone coughed near the fire.

Torch didn’t say anything, Not at first.

He watched from the edge of the camp, arms folded across his chest, eyes locked on y/n the way he always had — quiet, steady, unreadable.

But inside? Inside he was burning.

-

It finally snapped one night, just before dusk, when he found y/n in the equipment tent restocking Clancy’s supplies.

“You’re really making him your new project, huh?”

Y/n turned, startled. “What?”

He didn’t move from the doorway. His voice was low but sharp. “Clancy. You’ve been glued to him since the second he got here.”

Y/n blinked. “He’s new, Torch. He doesn’t know how things work yet.”

“Oh, and you’re the only one who can teach him?” His laugh was bitter. “Funny — thought I was the one you used to come to for that.”

The words hit hard.

Y/n stepped toward him, confused and angry. “What’s your problem?”

He looked at her — really looked at her — and it wasn’t just frustration in his face. It was hurt. Deep and old.

“You don’t talk to me like you used to,” he said. “You don’t look at me like you used to.”

“Torch—”

“No. You always ran things by me. We always figured it out together. Now I can’t even get a full sentence out of you without you running off to see if Clancy remembered to eat.”

Y/n crossed her arms. “This isn’t about him. It’s about you.”

“Yeah?” he snapped. “Then maybe you should ask yourself why it feels like I lost you the second he walked into camp.”

That made her go still.

Her voice dropped. “You didn’t lose me.”

“You’re not with me,” he said. “Not the way you used to be.”

The silence swelled between the both of them, heavy and hot.

Then, Torch said something so quietly she almost missed it:

“I was yours first.”

Y/n chest tightened. “Torch…”

His voice cracked. “You were the only person I let close. You know that. And now I watch you give everything we had to someone who barely understands how to breathe outside Dema.”

She took a step closer. “I was trying to help him. You know what it’s like to come out of that place.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I do. And I wanted to tear it apart with my own hands. But I never got to fall into someone the way he’s falling into you.”

Her breath hitched.

Torch looked away, as if saying it aloud had cost him something.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way,” you said softly.

“I didn’t mean to feel this way,” he replied. “But I do. I’ve tried to ignore it, bury it, tell myself we’re just friends like we’ve always been. But watching you with him…” His voice shook. “I can’t do it anymore.”

She stepped forward again. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

He met her eyes, guarded but flickering. “Because I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” she whispered. “But you should’ve known.”

“Known what?”

“That I was always yours too.”

His breath caught.

“You think I followed you all these years just for orders?” Y/n said. “You think I stayed beside you through every raid, every night in the cold, because I had no one else? I stayed because it was you.”

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Torch stepped forward and kissed her like he’d waited years for it — like this was the fire he’d carried alone in the dark and finally let burn out loud.

When he pulled back, his forehead pressed against hers, he whispered, “Don’t follow anyone else.”

She smiled, tears in your eyes. “I never did.”

[when-worlds-end]

Clancy!Tyler Joseph x F!Reader [18+]

All the sunshine boy can ask is, "how do you navigate?" And all the sunset girl can say is, "easy, I disassociate."

MASTERLIST | INTRODUCTION | CHAPTER ONE

AUTHOR NOTES

Yep... my obsession with TOP has bled from their music into the lore of Clancy, Torchbearer, Dema, and Trench... I hope you also enjoy this contribution to the lack of TOP fanfictions we currently have!!

The lore of Trench and Dema are still shrouded in shadow... so until Tyler Joseph comes out about the true lore... I am operating under the belief that after the original Clancy commits vialism, Tyler takes on the mantle of Clancy to continue his legacy.

Updates will be slow because I've put so much time into the planning of this story and every chapter needs to be as perfect as it can be... I'll post little blurbs/sneak peeks every so often!!

If you wanna read the non-reader-insert version of this story, click the Wattpad link (I like the websites formatting) : WIP because I haven't published it yet...

[maybeovercompensate]

Am I continuing my Torchbearer X Dema escapee!reader fanfic?

Maybeeeeee

[the-jetset-lifes-gonna-kill-me]

[ ✦ ] — ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴡᴇ ᴅɪᴇ…

CLANCY X AFAB!READER

— • ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𐔌 summery: TOMORROW COULD VERY LIKELY BE YOUR LAST DAY ALIVE. YOU CAN’T SLEEP, YOUR REGRETS AND UNSPOKEN FEELINGS ARE KEEPING YOU AWAKE. IT JUST SO HAPPENS THAT THE ROOT OF YOUR INSOMNIA CAN’T SLEEP EITHER.

— • ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𐔌 warnings: 18+ CONTENT, MDNI, NO USE OF Y/N, AFAB!READER, PORN WITH BARELY ANY PLOT, CONFESSIONS, A LITTLE BIT OF ANGST IF YOU SQUINT, PIV SEX, ORAL SEX (F RECEIVING), FINGERING, CUM EATING (KINDA???), UNPROTECTED SEX, MULTIPLE ORGASMS, LOWKEY JUST PURE FIFLTH.

— • ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𐔌 wc: 9120.

— • ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𐔌 a/n: PLEASE IGNORE ANY REPETITION OR SPELLING MISTAKES, THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD. THIS IS MY FIRST POST SO THATS KINDA NERVE WRACKING AS FUCK. THIS IS JUST PURE FILTH. ENJOY!

There was something heavy in the air. 
Not a sound, not a scent, but a pressure.
Something unspoken.
Something that curled around your ribs and held tight.

The night was calm in the cruelest way.
The moon hung high, too full, too bright, almost taunting as it cast its sterile glow over the land like a searchlight from some faraway watchtower. It illuminated the world in soft silvers and shadows, a dreamscape painted in shades of ghost.

A breeze passed gently through the camp, soft as a whisper against your cheek, lifting strands of your hair into the air like marionette strings, dancing, weightless, untouchable.
Everything felt still. Everything felt final.

The only sound that dared disturb the quiet was the soft, hypnotic crackle of the fire pit before you. Flames licked upward in lazy waves, casting flickering gold across your skin like a lover tracing their fingers over your face. The embers rose and drifted like fireflies, glowing briefly before vanishing into the dark. It was dancing for you, you thought. Just you.
Everyone else had long since turned in, tucked beneath thin blankets and uneasy dreams. They had the luxury of rest. You didn’t.

You sat frozen in the silence, but inside, your body was at war. Your stomach churned violently, twisting into something sharp and unfamiliar. Your throat ached with dryness no matter how much water you swallowed. Your thoughts ran like wild dogs, howling and circling and refusing to quiet no matter how many times you begged your brain to shut up, just for a minute.

But it wouldn’t.
Because tomorrow, when the sun rises, you and the other Banditos would march toward Dema. Toward Nico. Toward the Bishops. Toward whatever end awaited you.

It wasn’t the danger that rattled you. You weren’t afraid of the violence or the chaos.
You were brave, by now, fear was just another scar you'd learned to live with.
You were prepared. If tomorrow brought death, you'd greet it with your eyes open. You could die. You might. And strangely, you’d made peace with that.

No, what twisted the knife wasn’t the dying.
It was the possibility of dying unfinished.

There were words you’d never said,
hands you never held long enough,
songs you never got the chance to sing in full.
There were people you loved too quietly, truths you swallowed whole,
dreams that still slept in your chest, waiting.

That’s what kept you awake.
Not the mission.
Not the war.

But the ache of all the things you’d leave behind if the night turned out to be your last.

Your spine curved lazily as you leaned into the fire’s warmth, shoulders slouched, arms folded loosely over your stomach like a barrier or a comfort, you weren’t sure which. The flames swayed slowly, like they had all the time in the world, their movements unbothered, drunken. They licked at the cool air with hypnotic ease, flaring up in sudden bursts, then sinking into soft orange sighs. The heat kissed your face, prickling your skin, drying your eyes, but you didn’t blink. You couldn’t look away. It was easier to stare at the fire than face the ache in your chest. Easier to pretend you weren’t unraveling.

Until you saw it: a flicker of motion at the edge of your vision, barely there, but enough to pull you back to the moment.
You didn’t startle, not yet. You let your eyes drift sideways, slow, indifferent. Just in case it was nothing. Just in case you could stay lost a little longer.

But then your entire body snapped upright. The curve in your back vanished; your spine went taut as a bowstring.
Not because of what was there. But who.

Clancy.

He moved like someone carrying too many ghosts. Quiet. Measured. Like every step had already been accounted for. His silhouette cut against the firelight, carved from the very night itself. Even before his name had formed in your mind, your body knew. Every inch of you recognised him like a half-remembered dream that never left.

You were one of Clancy’s closest confidants, had been since the beginning. You were there when the first whispers of rebellion passed through gritted teeth. You were the first he entrusted with the plan to bring Nico to his knees. He admired you, for your loyalty, for your honesty, for your courage that never once wavered when others hesitated.
But he rarely spoke to you.

Not really. Not like you wanted him to.

Aside from tactical briefings, clipped check-ins, and the occasional brittle joke when the tension got too thick, he kept his distance. Always a respectful one, always professional, always just far enough away to make you question whether the closeness you felt was real or imagined.

At first, you didn’t mind. You respected Clancy too much to expect anything more than what he gave.
But respect turned into something softer. And then sharper. It began with admiration. Then it deepened, thickened, took root somewhere quiet and desperate inside you. Admiration bloomed into devotion, bright, wild, uncontrollable. And that devotion? It curdled into craving. A craving that lived in your throat, that coiled in your gut, that kept your mind circling his name in the darkest hours of night when sleep refused to take you.

He haunted you, not like a ghost, but like a song stuck in your head, beautiful and maddening, looping again and again, never offering the release of a final note.

And now he was here. Real. Solid. Walking straight toward you.

There was so much you wanted to say, to ask, to give. But all you could do was sit there, spine straight, fingers digging into your sleeves, trying not to look like you were coming undone.

Because Clancy was the reason you couldn’t sleep.

You settled into a posture of practiced nonchalance, even as your heart betrayed you with its erratic, uneven rhythm, a staccato beat against your ribs that felt far too loud in the silence between you. You met his gaze with a firm, quiet nod as he neared the fire, the flames casting restless gold over the sharp planes of his face. His dark eyes locked onto yours, unreadable and unwavering.

“Can I sit?” he asked, voice roughened at the edges, like something brittle trying not to crack. There was a rasp behind the words, fatigue woven into the syllables like threadbare cloth. He looked exhausted. Not just tired, but worn, like a photograph left out in the sun too long. You wouldn’t be surprised if he thought the same about you.

You nodded once more, sharp, instinctual. Despite everything he stirred inside you, you knew without question: if Clancy asked to sit with you, you'd never say no.

What you didn’t expect, what hit you like a quiet tremor, was that Clancy didn’t choose one of the other empty logs surrounding the fire pit. No, he sat beside you. On your log. Close enough for the heat of his body to blend with the warmth of the fire. Close enough to feel the shift in the air as he exhaled.

You didn’t look at him. Not yet. You were afraid if you did, something would give away what was blooming too loudly beneath your skin.

The silence that followed was no longer peaceful. It was heavy now, charged. The kind of quiet that buzzes beneath your skin and makes you desperate to fill it with anything. A cough. A word. Anything. You swallowed hard and stared at the fire as if it could speak for you.

Clancy mirrored your posture, shoulders hunched slightly, elbows on his knees, gaze trained on the flames as if they held answers to questions neither of you could voice. There was a restlessness in him now, written in the way his fingers curled into his palms, the way his foot tapped once, then stopped.

You stole glances at him in the flickering light. But It was harder now to be subtle when he turned to look at you.

You felt the weight of his eyes on your profile before you heard his voice. “Why are you still awake?”

It cut through the silence like a knife through paper. Not harsh. Not even curious.

You turned to him, slowly this time, letting yourself look fully. And something in you softened without permission.

Clancy’s face, usually so composed, so unreadable, wore something different tonight. He looked uncertain. And underneath the exhaustion, he looked... open. In a way that made you ache. In a way that made you wish he’d look at you like that always.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you answered, your voice low, nearly swallowed by the gentle crackle of the fire and the whisper of the wind through the trees. Clancy didn’t move, but you could feel him watching you, studying you like you were a riddle he hadn’t quite solved.

“Why?” he asked.

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t know the answer, but because you did.
You were still deciding how much of it you were brave enough to give him.

You shrugged slightly. “Just… thinking about tomorrow.”

It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the truth, either. The truth was sitting twelve inches away from you, watching with careful eyes.

Clancy’s lips twitched, like a thought had almost made it to the surface but lost its nerve. “I didn’t take you for the nervous type,” he said finally, his tone somewhere between jest and contemplative. Like he was trying to decide whether he believed it himself.

You let out a soft laugh before you could stop it, light and breathy, barely there, but enough to break the tension between you like sunlight cracking through a cloud. You turned to him, your eyes heavy, but softer now.

“What gave you that impression?” you murmured.

For a heartbeat, he didn’t answer. He just looked at you, and the look wasn’t unreadable anymore. This time, he was almost smiling.

“You’re brave,” he said.

The words weren’t flippant. They weren’t tossed out to make you feel better. They were spoken like fact. Like something carved into stone. He said them like he meant them and not just about tomorrow. Not just about the war. And the way he said it, like he’d been holding it in for far too long, made your stomach twist and flutter all at once.

Your mouth tilted, a quiet movement like the ghost of a smile, subtle, unsure. The corners lifted just slightly, betraying something softer under your skin.

“I’m not scared of dying,” you said at last. “If that’s what you’re wondering.” The words lingered between you like smoke, curling slow and invisible into the dark.

Across from you, Clancy watched. The firelight caught in his eyes, turning them to molten amber. His brow twitched, just a fraction, just enough. “Then what is it?” he asked, quiet curiosity woven into every syllable. His voice was calm, but there was something intent beneath it, something patient and listening.

Your shoulders sagged in the silence that followed, your whole body exhaling as if the truth itself was too heavy to carry upright. You looked away again, your gaze falling to your boots, then to the glowing sticks collapsing into coal and ash in the fire pit.

You hated that.
Hated that your body recoiled when your heart wanted nothing more than to meet his gaze head-on. But your eyes flinched away, traitorous things, even as your mouth opened again.

“There’s just… so much I haven’t done,” you murmured, your voice caught somewhere between confession and surrender. “So many things I still haven’t said. Things I’ve buried because I thought I’d always have more time.”

You felt his stare pressing gently into the side of your face, and it gave you the courage to finally look back. “I need to tell someone something,” you admitted, voice roughening at the edges. “But it’s not the right time.”

There was a beat of silence.
Clancy’s expression didn’t shift right away, but then, slowly, it did. The steel in his jaw loosened. The shadow behind his eyes softened. Something inside him gave.

Understanding.

Not pity. Not confusion. But deep, quiet, aching understanding. And somehow, that was scarier than rejection.
Because Clancy saw you. And it made you feel naked.

Your gaze broke away from his like it burned. This time, your mind and body agreed, turn away, say something else,don’t let this moment grow too large to hold.

Clancy opened his mouth, something forming there, but you cut in before the words could fall.

“What about you?” you asked quickly, turning your face back toward the fire. You followed the smoke with your eyes, tracing its slow vanishing into the breeze. “Why are you still up?”

He paused. Just a flicker of surprise in the air between you, but then he adjusted, slipping back into place beside you like a river rerouting itself. His body mirrored yours again, both of you hunched toward the flames like they were keeping secrets.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, and the echo of your earlier words wasn’t lost on you.

You glanced at him sideways. “You don’t sleep much. I’ve noticed.”

Clancy turned toward you his eyes narrowing, just barely, something flickering in them. Curiosity, maybe. Caution. “You’ve been watching me?”

“You’re hard not to notice.”

He huffed a short breath through his nose, maybe a laugh, maybe disbelief. “I didn’t think I was,” he murmured.

You held his gaze this time, steady and warm. “You’re always around. Always moving. Always carrying things no one else wants to name out loud. You’re the first one up in the morning. The last one to turn in at night. You look like someone who's been running a long time and forgot where the finish line is. You look tired, Clancy. You look like you haven’t put that weight down in years.”

He didn’t answer at first. Just turned back to the fire, his features drawn in profile, shadows pooling beneath the bones of his face. You worried, for a second, that you’d been too forward. That you’d peeled too much of him back.

“Sometimes when I sleep…” he started, his voice quieter now, almost fragile. “I’m afraid I’ll wake up back there.”

He didn’t have to say the name. You knew. Dema. The place that twisted everything it touched. The place that still clung to him like ash under the skin.

You turned to him fully, your face crumpling at the edges, sympathy blooming across your expression like a bruise.

“You won’t,” you said, your voice firmer now. Not because you were sure, but because he needed someone to be. “After tomorrow, that place won’t touch you again.”

“Do you really believe that?”

You hesitated. “I need to.”

Clancy stared at you a moment longer. Then he nodded slowly, the lines in his face easing just slightly. “Thank you,” he said, and the words felt too sincere for something so small.

A quiet, bitter laugh slipped out of you. “For what? False hope?”

“For staying,” he said simply. “When you didn’t have to.”

You looked at him, and the weight of everything unspoken swelled in your throat again. “I wanted to,” you whispered.

Boldly, maybe even recklessly, you reached out.

Your fingertips hovered for a breath over the curve of Clancy’s hand, then lowered, deliberate but shaking. The contact was barely a whisper, skin brushing skin like a question asked too quietly.

He flinched.

It wasn’t violent. Just a small, reflexive shudder, like his body hadn’t been warned tenderness was coming. His hand twitched under yours, pulled back slightly as if burned, not by fear, but by surprise.

You recoiled instantly, shame rising like a flood.

“Sorry,” you said in a rush, voice breaking over the word like a wave over rocks. “I didn’t mean to-… scare you or anything.”

“It’s okay,” Clancy cut in gently, but the words felt paper-thin against the hot embarrassment curling in your stomach.

“No, I shouldn’t have,” You stood too fast, the world tilting slightly as your blood surged to your head. Panic was climbing your spine, tight and dizzying.

“I’m sure you didn’t come out here to talk to me,” you said, words tumbling out too fast, brittle and defensive. You were already stepping back, fumbling for your exit. “I’ll let you be.”

You turned on your heel, eyes stinging, ready to disappear into the dark like a coward. Your hair whipped around your shoulders, your boots kicked up dust, and you almost made it a full step before-

“Wait.”

You felt it before you saw it, the sudden, solid weight of his hand wrapping around your wrist. Not tight, not demanding. Just... present. Anchoring.

You froze.

Your name left his lips like a plea. You turned back slowly, he was still there, still seated on the log, eyes wide with something that looked dangerously close to longing.

“Don’t go,” Clancy said, voice barely above a whisper. The fire lit his features in soft, amber gold, jaw clenched, lashes low. Vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before. “Just... stay. Sit with me. Please.”

The last word shattered something in you.

You nodded before your voice could catch up. “Okay,” you breathed. “Yeah.”

You moved back toward him, slower this time, like approaching a wounded animal. You eased back onto the log beside him, the same spot you’d jumped from seconds earlier, but neither of you spoke at first. He didn’t let go of your wrist immediately.

His grip wasn’t forceful. It was hesitant. Like he was afraid letting go would undo whatever thread had been pulled taut between you both. After a few long, firelit seconds, he exhaled, eyes dropping, and finally released you. You swore you still felt the ghost of his hand around your skin.

“You should tell them.”

The words pierced through the quiet, soft but certain.

You blinked, brows pulling together like the sky before a storm. You turned your head toward Clancy slowly, searching his face for meaning, for context.

“What?” your voice came out hushed, winded, like you’d just missed a step.

Clancy’s eyes didn’t leave the fire at first. He spoke slowly, deliberately, like the thought had been sitting on his tongue for too long and now, at last, demanded air.

“You said earlier… you needed to tell someone something, but it wasn’t the right time.”

You nodded, barely.

He turned to face you then, finally, fully. His voice was softer than it had any right to be. “You should tell them.”

There was a pause, one of those full, loaded silences that stretch and strain and hang between two hearts like a thread that might snap with the wrong breath.

Your head lowered, gaze falling to the shifting glow of the coals, as if answers might be written there in ash and ember.

“We don’t know how much time we have left,” Clancy continued, his voice threaded with something aching and honest. “You shouldn’t die with that kind of regret sitting in your mouth like a stone.”

His words were heavy, too heavy, and yet they made you feel weightless. Like you could float away on them, like they mattered more than you were prepared for. You loved how they sounded. Thoughtful. Poetic. Spoken with the kind of conviction only someone like Clancy could carry.

But still, something inside you twisted. You had the distinct feeling that this was his way of asking, no, begging, for you to say what he already suspected.

Like he was trying to open the door for you so you wouldn’t have to reach for the handle yourself.

You shut your eyes tight.

Enough.

Enough hiding behind half-smiles and subtle glances. Enough swallowing the words that had been burning holes in your throat for weeks. The end was crawling closer every hour. You were done pretending time was something you had.

Your voice was quiet, breathy. Almost too soft to be real. “I think about you,” you said, “Sometimes.”

Clancy didn’t move, didn’t speak. You could feel the way he stilled beside you, utterly still, like a held breath.

“More than I should.”

The flames blurred before your eyes, but still you didn’t blink. You couldn’t risk looking at him. You couldn’t risk seeing something in his eyes that would break you.

“I want to see you more than I should,” you continued, the confession bleeding out of you in a rush now. “I like you more than I should.”

The silence after that was devastating.

The fire cracked, something popped. But Clancy said nothing. The air between you was thick and aching.

So you filled it.

“I don’t know you nearly as much as I want to,” you murmured, finally tearing your gaze away from the flames to stare down at your boots, your hands. “And you don’t know me. Not really. But I admire you, Clancy. So much. You’ve done so much, for all of us. For me.”

You ran a hand through your hair, the motion sharp, almost desperate. Your lips curved into a frown that felt too familiar, too practiced.

“But it’s too late now.”

The words cracked on your tongue like dry wood.

Your shoulders sank, your body folding in on itself. You let your head fall, eyes shutting tightly against the sting behind them. You stared at the dirt. At the soles of your worn boots. At anything but him.

Then warmth.

A touch.

You felt it first beneath your chin, a careful hand, tentative fingers guiding your face upward, like you were something fragile. Your breath hitched as your eyes opened, and there he was.

Clancy.

Closer now.

His eyes glowed gold in the firelight, deep and endless and searching. His thumb brushed against your cheek with something bordering reverence.

Your lips parted slightly, stunned into stillness. You looked up at him like he was the last beautiful thing in a world you’d already mourned.

He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against yours. “It’s not too late,” he whispered, so low you almost didn’t catch it, but you felt it like thunder in your ribs.

Then he kissed you.

It was soft at first, so soft it felt like a promise. A question with no words, a tremble of vulnerability wrapped in warmth. Clancy’s lips brushed yours with a gentleness that ached. Tentative. As if he thought any more pressure might splinter you into pieces.

So you took the leap.

Your hand rose slowly, almost reverently, to the nape of his neck, fingers sliding into the mess of hair there. You pulled him closer, deepening the kiss with every inch closed between your bodies. The shift was sudden, hungry. All the quiet yearning you’d spent days, weeks, months, silently nursing now poured out of you with desperate abandon.

Clancy responded like he’d been holding his breath. Like this was something he’d wanted longer than he could bear.

His free hand slid to your waist, splaying across your side with a careful kind of urgency, like he was grounding himself in your warmth. He kissed you back with mounting fervor, his breath hot and shallow, puffing against your mouth in rhythm with his racing heart. Yours answered in kind, thudding, wild, impossible to contain.

And then you tasted it.

Him.

Salt and smoke and something uniquely Clancy, the hum of him vibrating through your mouth, buzzing against your lips like electricity caught in your chest. His tongue skimmed your bottom lip. You gasped softly, and that small sound was all he needed. You met him eagerly, mouths melting together in a tangled, breathless rhythm.

Between kisses, he whispered against you: “I think about you too,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw. “More than I should.”

His words wrecked you.

His mouth broke away from yours only to trail down your neck, pressing a slow line of open-mouthed kisses to your throat, the underside of your chin, worshipping you in soft, devoted movements. Your head tilted back with a sigh, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers gripped at the neck hem of his shirt.

Every place his lips touched burned like starlight. Every breath you took felt shared, no longer yours alone.

When he finally pulled away, your eyes cracked open reluctantly. His face hovered inches from yours, pupils blown wide.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

You simply breathed.

Fast. Shallow. In sync.

The night air around you felt thick with unsaid things—desire, fear, maybe even hope. Then Clancy, still catching his breath, suddenly grasped your hand, interlacing your fingers like it was instinct.

“Come with me,” he said, no hesitation this time. His voice was low, raw, firm.

You didn’t ask where.

You followed.

Your legs felt strange, unsteady beneath you, your body light and thrumming with adrenaline and anticipation. He pulled you gently, yet insistently, across the darkened camp. It was the same churning, breathless energy that had twisted in your stomach all day, but now it didn’t feel like dread.

The tent flap rustled as Clancy slipped inside, holding it open for you. You stepped through the threshold without a word, and the moment the fabric fell shut behind you, the world was swallowed in black.

For a second, you could hear only the sound of rustling, the faint swish of movement. Then, a flick. The rasp of a match.

A small flame bloomed, a match cradled between Clancy’s fingers.

You exhaled softly, watching him in the glow. He was crouched low, his expression illuminated in soft amber light. The sharp lines of his face softened, eyes shadowed but still impossibly expressive. He looked up at you, not saying anything, but everything was there in that look.

You didn't know if you'd ever been seen like that before.

He brought the match to the kerosene lamp. With a low whoomph, light filled the tent, dim, golden, quiet. It cast everything in warmth. His hair gleamed like copper at dusk. The air between you glimmered with tension.

Your eyes followed him as he looked up at you, his gaze unreadable beneath the flicker of lamplight. With a slight tilt of his head and a quiet nod, he gestured to the makeshift bed at the back of the tent, a couple bunched up sheets, blankets and pillows bunched together in the corner. It wasn’t a command, but something softer. A request.

So you moved, albeit hesitantly. Your limbs felt too stiff, too aware, as you sat on the edge of the bedding. You didn’t know where to place your hands, didn’t know where to look.

He remained kneeling in front of you, still as a held breath. His eyes roamed over you with an almost clinical precision, but there was nothing cold in it, just something painfully earnest. Clancy watched you like you were the only thing anchoring him to this moment. Like if he blinked too long, you’d vanish.

It made you want to look away. To shrink under the weight of his stare.
But you didn’t.
You let him see you, every fracture, every unspoken ache.

Let him dissect you if he had to.
Let him learn your bones like a poem.

He inched closer, the air between you charged and fragile. You expected him to speak, to soothe the silence somehow. But the quiet stretched on, coiling between your ribs, making every shallow inhale feel loud, ragged.

Then his hands rose, slowly, gently, framing your face. His thumbs hovered just beneath your jaw, warm against the tremble in your throat. You thought maybe he was checking if you were real. Or maybe he just needed to feel your pulse to remind himself you were alive. That he was alive.

And in that moment, you realized something:
Words had nothing on this.

This was louder than language.

The way his gaze swept across your face, memorizing every freckle, chasing every crease, lingering on the curve of your lips. The way his mouth found your skin like it had a map etched beneath it, pressing soft kisses to your neck, pausing under your jaw, finally brushing against your lips like a whispered vow.

His hand slid to your waist, grounding you as he leaned in further. He gently guided you backward, your body sinking into the worn bedding beneath. One hand braced against the ground beside your head, the other found the hem of your shirt, hesitating for the briefest second.

His eyes met yours again, seeking permission, not possession.

His head dipped lower, soft tufts of hair brushing your collarbone, lips ghosting your skin as he started to lift your shirt, inch by inch, as though he was unwrapping something sacred.

But then, you stopped him.

Your hand curled around his wrists, gripping tight. Your whole body stilled, the air caught in your chest like a bird with clipped wings.

Clancy froze instantly.

His eyes lifted to meet yours, his expression softening into something painfully tender. From this close, you could see every fleck of amber in his irises, every crack in the armor he usually wore so well. His chin hovered just above the seam of your pants, breath warm against your stomach.

“Are you-…” you began, voice cracked and low, “are you sure about this?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, uncertain, propping yourself up on your elbows so you could see him. So he could see that this mattered.

His lips parted, and for a moment, he simply breathed.

“Yes,” he said, no tremor in his voice this time. Just truth.
He shifted up, hands moving to either side of your head, caging you in with nothing but presence. Your noses nearly touched, eyes locked so tightly you didn’t dare blink.

“I need this,” he murmured. “I need you.”

His hand slid back down your side, grazing the edge of your ribs, shirt trailing after his fingertips. His voice dropped lower, words brushing your ear like silk.

“I need you now,” he breathed, “just in case-”

A shiver ran through you as his lips grazed the curve of your ear, his voice soft and sacred.

“Just in case,” he said again, and pulled back, just enough to see you. Just enough for you to see him.

He dipped his head, and the tip of his nose traced yours, slowly, deliberately, until his lips hovered over yours again.

And then he kissed you.

Not like before. Not tentative.

This kiss was claiming. Honest.

You gasped into it, flushed and feverish, as warmth bloomed through your chest and bloomed outward, reaching your fingertips. You were burning and floating, grounded only by the weight of him pressed above you.

When he finally pulled back, barely, barely, your voice emerged in a whisper, breathless and trembling.

“In case what?”

You already knew. But you needed to hear it.

Clancy’s hands tightened around your waist. His lips lingered at your temple before he whispered the answer against your skin.

“In case I don’t get this chance again.”

You barely had time to react before his mouth was on yours again, urgent, alive.

“Let yourself live before we die,” he said into the kiss, voice rough and full of something infinite.

Your arms rose instinctively above your head, the fabric of your shirt peeling away in Clancy’s hands with a soft rustle. The cold air met your newly bare skin like a ghost, swift, biting, and your shoulders tensed, breath catching as goosebumps bloomed across your arms. But the chill wasn’t the only reason you shivered.

It was him, his hands skimming over your ribcage, warm and instant.
It was his eyes, tracing every inch of you like they were trying to memorize you.

Your bra unfastened with a tug behind your back, his fingers confident, precise. In contrast, yours trembled as they reached for him, landing unsteadily on his shoulders.

Then his lips were on yours again, grounding you.

He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, and none of it.
His mouth found the curve of your neck, that sensitive place just above your pulse. Then lower, chasing the line of your collarbone, the valley between your breasts. Each kiss a brand. A benediction.

And still, he didn’t stop. His hands roamed downward, slow and hungry, learning every dip and rise of your frame. His knuckles dragged sparks across your stomach, then lower, gripping the fabric of your pants in his fists. You arched your back wordlessly, hips lifting in silent permission.

Clancy's voice broke the silence, low and hoarse with something deeper than lust.
"You know…" he began, his knuckles grazing the inside of your thigh, "I never let myself think about you.”

Your breath stilled. He looked up at you, the firelight flickering in his eyes like something primal.

“Especially not like this.”

The muscles in your thighs clenched as his touch ghosted higher, and for a moment, he paused, pulling back to let his hand rest on your knee. He lifted your leg, cradling it gently as he guided it over to rest against his hip. His lips pressed to your knee, feather-light, a kind of admiration in every motion. His gaze darkened with longing and a hint of ache as he spoke again.

“I couldn’t let myself get attached,” he confessed, his eyes narrowing as though he was trying to see into you, through you.

“But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t imagined this…” His thumb traced a slow, deliberate path up your inner thigh, barely brushing the edges of heat. “Imagined you, like this. At my mercy.”

The confession left you breathless. You swallowed hard, lips parted in awe, in want, in disbelief.

"I will say," he continued, his voice roughened by desire, "you’re far prettier from this view than I ever dared to picture."

Your heart skipped and then stumbled, a single press of his thumb against your clothed clit jolting your entire system. Air fled your lungs, your ribs strained against it. Your eyes locked with his, mouth parted as your lips quivered on a word that never came.

His cheek brushed against your knee as he leaned closer, lips dragging along your skin.

"You're shaking," he whispered, almost to himself, eyes fixated on your trembling thighs.

And you were.

You'd seen him shattered, bloodied, cracked wide open by grief and rage. You'd seen him worn down, afraid, burning with resistance. But this?
This, being unraveled by his hands, his voice, his care, was something else entirely.

A sigh left your lips, breathier, needier this time. Your teeth caught your bottom lip as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them off with slow purpose.

His thumb returned to your clit, this time direct, circling softly, steadily. The sound you made was involuntary, needy. Your hands clawed at the ground beneath you, gathering the sheets like you were trying to ground yourself in the fabric of reality.

"Is this okay?" Clancy asked, voice hushed. His eyes never left your face, watching every twitch, every flicker of expression as his thumb continued its rhythm.

"Yes," you gasped, hips arching ever so slightly into his hand. “Please, yes.”

He gave a faint, crooked smile.

“Stay still,” he said softly, though there was command buried beneath the sweetness. His control cracked at the edges, breath heavy now, fingers trembling as he pushed further.

His middle finger dipped between your folds, pressing gently, carefully, until he was inside you, up to the knuckle. Your entire body tensed around him.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, voice shaking, your head falling back against the bedding, lashes fluttering shut.

“That’s it,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. One hand stroked your thigh as he leaned closer between your legs. “Eyes on me.”

His voice didn’t just speak, it coaxed, soft and sinful, threading itself through your nerves like smoke.
And you obeyed.
Even as your eyelids fluttered and your back curved in aching response, your gaze stayed tethered to his.

Then he slid another finger into you, slowly, deliberately, curling them inside you, and pumping in and out like he was playing a rhythm only the two of you could hear.

There was no mistaking the pleasure he took in watching you unravel. It was written in the way his breath hitched each time your body clenched around him. In the sharpened focus of his eyes, how they flicked between your face and the place where you came apart beneath his touch.
And still, he watched. Like he was studying every cause and effect, every flush of skin, every stuttered breath, every tremble.
He knew where to press, how to angle. He learned your body as if it were scripture written just for him.

And that thumb, God, that thumb.
It never stopped moving in those tight, devastating circles over your clit, pushing you closer and closer to a cliff you weren’t sure you wanted to survive.

Sweat collected at your temple. You needed to be closer, needed him, not just his hands. This was exquisite torment, but it wasn’t enough.

Your hands, unsure but aching, slid from his shoulders down to the stole that draped loosely around his neck. The fine fabric wrapped around your fingers. You clutched it, wound it around your hand, berthed yourself to it, and pulled.

The kiss you stole was urgent, messy, mouths colliding in half-breaths and heat, your desperation spilling into his lips. It was short, but it left you breathless, like you’d sprinted through a dream and woken up wanting.

Clancy's pupils dilated. His irises darkened, hardened, like a shell casing clinking inside the barrel, cold and dangerous.

He pulled back, just enough to look you in the eye, to let the weight of his words settle into your bones.

“Do you know what I enjoy more than watching you squirm?”
He asked it like a secret.
A sin he was inviting you into.

Below, his fingers pushed deeper. The wet, obscene sound of them inside you filled the space between your whimpers. He watched the way your body welcomed him, how your legs spread wider, hips lifting, silently begging him to go harder.
And he did. With pure, deliberate satisfaction.

Each thrust matched the frantic rise and fall of your chest. Your lungs couldn’t keep pace with what your body wanted.

"Making you squirm."

The words were growled into your ear, the heat of his breath chasing goosebumps across your skin. His cheek grazed yours, stubble scraping lightly. The low rumble of his voice reverberated through you as your body began to unravel.

You whimpered. You couldn’t help it. The sound tumbled from your lips, half-drowned in a moan. Your knees were faltering, your entire body teetering on the edge, frayed and undone.

Your back arched, lifting you from the makeshift bed, your chest pressed flush against his as you gasped for air. He was everywhere. Inside you. Over you. Breathing with you.

You clawed at the sheets like an animal caught in a snare, your nerves firing in frantic, directionless pulses.

“Clancy,” You exhaled his name. Tears welled, not from pain, but from pleasure sharp enough to carve you in half.

He felt it, knew it, and doubled down. His fingers pumped faster, deeper. He curled them just so, dragging across that spot again and again until your vision blurred and your voice gave out.

Then his mouth closed over your nipple.

Your hips jerked. His tongue moved in circles, sucking gently before switching sides. The wet, sudden chill against your neglected breast sent shivers across your skin. When his teeth tugged and then let go with a snap, your whole chest rippled with the shock.

Your hands flew to his back, scratching through the fabric of his shirt, up into the roots of his hair, grounding yourself in him. Giving yourself up to his torture.

And then, emptiness.

His fingers slipped out, and the loss made you sob out a breathless protest.

“What are you-”

You couldn’t even finish the sentence.

He kissed the inside of your thigh, then bit. Sharp enough to make you jolt, thighs trembling.

Everything inside you felt combustible. A slow, pulsing fire that started in your stomach and stretched out to your fingers, your toes, the sweat on your brow.

He leaned in again. This time, his face sank between your legs, and he hooked both of them over his shoulders.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he murmured, voice velvet-wrapped steel.

“Let me take care of you.”

His tongue met your clit in one soft, slow stroke. And your entire spine bowed from the feeling of it.

You choked on a cry. He smirked against you, lips already slick with you.

So he did it again. Evan slower this time, more purposeful.
Taunting.

He stared up at you, eyes narrowed in focus, as if he was memorizing every twitch your body gave in response. The predator. The artist.

One hand braced over your lower abdomen, holding you still even as you writhed under his mouth. His tongue moved with unbearable precision, soft licks, then flattened ones, then tiny pulses of pressure that made your thighs clamp around his head.

And still he didn’t stop.

You were trembling, soaked in sweat, hands buried in his hair, mouth open in a silent moan. He pulled another whimper from you, and another, and he wouldn’t let up.

You were his to break. And he was doing it so gently.

A deep rumble rolled from Clancy’s throat, feral, satisfied, and resonant, vibrating through your cunt as his tongue dragged slow strokes along your slit.
He lapped at the evidence of your undoing, savoring you like a secret he’d finally earned the right to tell. The sounds, the scent, the heat of you, he revelled in them.
He was on a mission now, his only objective: to drive you completely fucking insane.

He groaned again, low and wrecked, and it echoed against your skin, a vibration that struck sparks through your spine. His thumb found your nipple again, brushing over it with lazy affection, before his hand curled into something firmer, needier. Fingertips dragged across your flesh, digging in, releasing, grasping again, like he didn’t know if he wanted to comfort you or destroy you.

"Still with me?" he rasped, pausing only long enough to glance up. His eyes were molten. You nodded softly.

"Good girl."

You moaned something incoherent, threading your fingers deeper into his hair, tugging, urging.

Your legs spread wider without you meaning to. The plea was silent, but your body was loud, begging for relief.

And Clancy obliged.

His fingers slid back inside you, rougher now, his knuckles dragging against soaked walls that clenched at the intrusion with desperate gratitude. You gasped, a choked, high-pitched sound, as your hips lifted to meet him, seeking friction, chasing that ever-elusive peak.

Your clit throbbed against the hot press of his mouth. His tongue flicked, circled, sucked, slow at first, then faster, more merciless. He alternated between maddening pressure and featherlight strokes, keeping you teetering at the edge of ruin.

“God, Clancy,” you whimpered, your voice hoarse, eyes squeezed shut. “Please, don’t stop.”

He hummed against you, lips curling at the corners like he was smiling. He wouldn’t stop. Not until you broke again.
And again.

Your hips ground against his face, chasing friction like it was oxygen. A bead of sweat rolled down the arch of your throat, over the curve of your collarbone. Your vision blurred, lashes fluttering, blinking through stars.

Every nerve lit up. Every breath was a battle.

Clancy’s hand slid from your cunt to your face. With terrifying precision, he pinched your chin, forcing your head to tilt back. Then, without warning, two fingers, still slick from you, slipped between your lips.

“Suck,” he ordered, low and dark.

You did. You hollowed your cheeks around him and moaned as the taste of yourself bloomed on your tongue. His skin was rough, callused from a life spent surviving, but the underside of his fingers was soft, warm, familiar.

And the sound that came from him.
It was primal.
A deep, guttural groan that vibrated through the air and settled deep in your stomach.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he gritted, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

He plucked his fingers from your mouth, his digits almost immediately getting back to work, buried deep inside you, his mouth was relentless on you. It only took a matter of seconds for you to cum.

Your whole body clenched. Your thighs tightened around his head, your toes curling, nails raking down the fabric beneath you. A broken sob ripped from your throat as pleasure flooded your system in waves that left you breathless and blindingly alive.

Clancy didn’t stop.
Even as you trembled.
Even as slickness coated his chin, dripping onto the floor in a hot, glistening mess.

Your hips twitched beneath him, involuntary, as your cries softened into deep breaths. And still, he licked and sucked, until you whimpered out something half-like a plea, half-like surrender.

Only then did he pull back.

A final kiss pressed to your overstimulated clit.
The faint pop of his lips leaving you.
And then: stillness.

He exhaled hard, lifting his head with a look of feral pride carved into every line of his face. His lips were wet. His jaw was shining. And his eyes…they locked on yours with terrifying focus.

You’d never seen him look more sure of himself.

He dragged a hand slowly down his face, wiped his chin, and let his gaze linger on your dazed expression, your wrecked form, your trembling legs, your unsteady breath.

And before you could catch your breath, before you could register a thought, he surged upward.

His mouth crushed into yours, his tongue sweeping past your lips and giving you no room to protest. He tasted like you, sweet, heady, tangy, and it only made you cling tighter, your arms flinging around his neck, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

He held you close, one hand beneath your thighs, the other pressed to your lower back, anchoring you as if you might float away.

Your body folded into his as if you were made to fit there.

In a frenzy of mouths and hands, tangled in sheets and hunger, you peeled Clancy’s shirt from his body, fingers fumbling in your haste, driven by a storm beneath your skin. The fabric fluttered somewhere behind you, discarded without care, forgotten as soon as it left your hands.

Your palms mapped him like scripture, reading the ridges of his spine with worshipful reverence. Fingertips skated the trench that ran down the center of his back, dipping into valleys and dragging over belt loops like a cartographer plotting every inch of him you’d yet to discover.

His belt gave a heavy clink as the metal slipped from leather. His pants were halfway down his thighs before you could blink.

Then his lips melted into yours again, raw, unrelenting, as the weight of him drove you into the ground. You both moved in chaos, hands tripping over each other in desperation, hearts pounding like war drums, beating in synchrony for the first time.

“I can feel your heart,” he murmured into the column of your throat, voice rough with wonder. His palm pressed flat against your chest, just above your racing pulse. “I can feel you breathe.”

He drank you in like this, skin against skin, as if it proved you were real. His lips trailed lower, soft at first, whispers of kisses over your collarbone, then your breast, your ribs, then rougher, hungrier. His teeth sank gently into the curve of your shoulder. He nipped, tugged, leaving pinks and purples in his wake like you were something he could mark, could claim.

You gripped him tight, your hand wrapping around the thick length of his erection. He groaned lowly, choking on the breath that caught in his throat, and a shudder ran through him like a quake. The tip pulsed against your palm, slicked with a bead of precinct. He rocked slightly into your closed hand, his eyes squeezing shut.

“Fuck” he groaned, forehead pressing to yours.

You strokes become a little faster, and his entire body stiffened, muscles twitching under your fingers. His arms nearly gave out, his mouth falling open with a helpless sigh as he buried his face in your neck.

Then he braced himself, grabbed your hips, and aligned you with purposeful hands, fingers splayed against your skin.
He pushed himself inside you.

Slowly. Torturously.

The head of his cock parted you, the thick stretch of him sinking into you inch by inch, carving space for himself until he was fully seated, deep and hot.

Your mouth parted in a soundless cry, breath stolen.
Clancy’s head dropped between his shoulders, jaw slack, whispering some half-formed prayer against your chest.

“Shit-…you feel-” he tried, but couldn’t finish the sentence. Could only groan.

Every detail of him was etched in that moment: the way his brows knit tight in concentration. The tremble of his arms as they held him above you. The strands of damp hair falling across his forehead. The way his hips twitched once, reflexively, just to feel you squeeze around him.

He rocked out, slow, just a taste, then slammed back in, all at once.


You gasped. He groaned.

Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, ankles locking as you arched beneath him.

Clancy studied you like art in motion.

Every movement of your body was mirrored by him, a dance of pressure, adjustment, surrender. If you shifted, he shifted. If your breath hitched, he eased. When you clenched, he pressed harder.

You raked your nails down his back, leaving red streaks, and his mouth fell open in a silent snarl. He loved it.

“Again-” he panted, voice raw. “Do that again.”

You obeyed, dragging your nails again, and he snapped, rutting into you harder.

His hips ground deep, his cock pulsing inside as your walls squeezed him tight. You could feel his control falter.
He was unraveling.

But still, he watched you.

Always watching.
Like he couldn’t bear to miss a single flicker of pleasure across your face.

Like every shiver, every cry, was another proof of something sacred between you.

The slap of skin filled the tent, the scent of sex and sweat curling around your bodies like incense. Your moans mingled with his grunts, filthy, gorgeous music that no one else would ever hear.

He shifted, grinding in, finding that perfect angle, and your cry broke into a mewl. His rhythm adjusted instantly, rolling his hips against you, your cunt clamping around him tighter with each push.

He traced your jaw, tilted your chin, and kissed you again, tongue plunging into your mouth in perfect time with his thrusts, deep and desperate.

“I love making you sweat…” he whispered against your cheek. “I love feeling you release…”

His biceps flexed as he slipped an arm beneath your neck, lifting your upper body so he could watch as he sank in, slow and deep, again and again. Your mouth hung open in wordless pleasure, a sheen of sweat glistening on your chest.

“I love hearing you say my name.”

“Clancy-” It tumbled out broken, not enough, too much, all at once.

“Yes,” he groaned, eyes blazing, “Just like that.”

He slammed into you harder, one hand clutching your ass to push you into each brutal thrust, your body bouncing in his grip.

You bit into his shoulder, muffling your scream as tears burned behind your eyes. His taste, his heat, the salt of his skin, it was too much. He was too much.

“Look at me,” he gasped, almost pleading, his hand cradling your head as it lolled. “Please, I need to see you.”

He buried himself deep. His teeth gritted. His hips stuttered.

And even as you came apart beneath him, he held on, devouring every flicker of emotion on your face.

Your mind blurred. Your limbs stopped responding. Stars bled into the edges of your vision, your whole body going liquid under his unrelenting pace.

“Fuck” he groaned, voice breaking as your name tumbled from his lips like a psalm.

You felt yourself coming, again. Your body seized, your muscles clenching around him like a vice.

His name split the air, your final cry echoing through the fabric walls as he came, hard, cock twitching as he emptied himself deep into you.

He trembled. Cursed. Clutched you like you were the only thing tethering him to earth.

It wasn’t weird, the eye contact. Not with him. Not now. You wanted him to see. Wanted him to witness what he did to you, how he made you come apart in every sense of the word.

His cheeks flushed, his lips parted, and for a moment, everything stilled.

Then his body softened. His cock slowly slipped free, leaving you open, dripping, aching. His head dropped to the pillow beside you.

And for a moment, neither of you spoke. Just breathed.

Held.

Felt.

The silence settled like dust in the air, slow, weightless, unshaken.

Clancy’s chest rose and fell beside yours, still breathless, as if the echo of what you’d just done lived in the rhythm of his lungs. His arms remained tightly wound around you, his fingers twitching in the aftershocks, the pads of his thumbs tracing lazy circles along your hips.

The tent was thick with heat, air fogged by sweat and sex and skin. But neither of you moved to pull away. There was something sacred in the stillness,something neither of you dared to disturb.

You shifted just enough to see his face, flushed, damp, eyelids heavy. His lashes fanned shadows against his cheekbones, but his gaze found yours like it always did: unrelenting, soft, sure. You were both ruined. You were both whole.

He leaned in and kissed your forehead, nothing rushed, nothing ravenous. Just a tender press of lips to skin.

“No matter what happens tomorrow,” Clancy finally murmured, his voice low, steady. “I’m glad we could do this.”

Your eyes blinked open, focus sharpening on his face. Your throat tightened.

“Me too,” you whispered.

He exhaled a shaky breath through his nose, dragging the edge of the blanket over your bare bodies. The soft rustle of fabric barely cut through the thick quiet, but it felt like a balm. His hand found your waist again, slipping under the blanket like it belonged there, because it did.

He pressed his lips to your shoulder, a lazy kiss without pressure, and you felt your limbs begin to settle, like the storm had finally passed, leaving behind only warm rain and the steady sound of calm.

Outside the tent, the world remained distant. Blurred. Somewhere far off, a night bird called and was answered, and the wind passed gently through the fabric walls. But inside this small shelter of heat and breath and softness, time forgot how to move forward.

Your fingers found the back of his hand beneath the blanket, laced between his without a word. He squeezed once, and you knew he understood everything you didn’t say.

[whatisgrief]

Makin' My Way Towards You|| Chapter 4

Ship: Torchbearer x reader, Clancy x reader (platonic)

Warnings: Mentions of suicide (Vialism), Reader is mentally worn out with Dema, mentions of death

Chapter 4: Up

“A letter?” (Y/N) asked incredulously. It was early, much too early to be awake, but Torchbearer had come bursting in, as he’d taken to doing since they’d gotten their own tents. 

He insisted that it was no different to him shaking her awake early in the morning when they used to have to share the same cot, but it certainly felt different. 

The man in question stood before her, eyes wide and cautious, messily dressed, clearly done in a hurry. In his hand, a scrunched letter. Without waiting for her to give permission or even scrub the sleep from her eyes, he plopped down on the edge of her bed, leaving her to sit up beside him, still wrapped in her blanket.

She looked cute like this, sleepy and slightly dopey, hair messed up and eyes squinting at the light adjustment.

He opted to ignore it for the mystery in his hand.

“Josh delivered it this morning. Says he found it on the outskirts of camp along his guard route,” Torchbearer answered as he ripped it open. The letter was torn, burning fraying the edges. Worn. It had clearly taken a great deal to get it here. 

(Y/N) leant into Torchbearer as he pulled the letter out, chest pressed to his back as she read over his shoulder. Heat crept up his neck and to his ears, hands shaking slightly as he tried to hold the letter still. 

“I am out here and I am very alive. I’m sometimes scared, but always discovering something new, and I will not stop. Cover me!”

(Y/N)’s eyes scanned the final lines with intrigue. Someone escaped Dema. Someone was out in Trench. No one had escaped since…

This was revolutionary. They had to find him, bring him home to camp and-

Her heart came to a shuddering stop when she read the name signed beneath it. 

Clancy

She quickly snatched the letter from Torchbearer’s hands, pulling it closer to her eyes as she swept over the scraggled handwriting along the page. This was a trick. Torchbearer let out a resigned noise as she snatched it from him, leaning over her to try and peek back at the page.

“This is a trick,” (Y/N) snarled, rage filling her words and Torchbearer turned to her with confused eyes. 

Anger seemed to spill into every inch of her body, trembling her hands slightly.

This was cruel. Beyond cruel, even for Dema. Dangling this before her. She already knew that they knew she was here. 

“What? How can you be sure?” Torchbearer asked with furrowed brows, and (Y/N)’s eyes snapped to him, cold and hurt. She presented the letter to him, borderline thrusting it into his face.

“Nothing comes in or out of Dema. Ever. The bishops wouldn’t allow something like this out unless they were trying to lure us,” She snipped, words sharp. His eyes softened, something sad shifting behind them that she didn’t have the energy to unpack now “We have to move camp.” 

“Maybe this is different. You got out so surely-” Torchbearer started, trying to pull (Y/N) back as she started clambering out of her cot. She turned suddenly, almost startling him back.

“It isn’t. Clancy was my friend in Dema, and no one was under the Bishops’ thumb more than him. If anyone was gonna escape, it wouldn’t be him,” (Y/N) snapped. Torchbearer could feel the anger vibrating under her skin, but he also saw beyond it. The way her eyes scrunched slightly as she spoke and the wobble in her lip, which she hid behind a suspiciously timed mouth wipe.

“Maybe we should explore this, (Y/N). Maybe you got lucky,” He offered gently, sliding his hand to hers, and gripping firmly. Grounding.

(Y/N) scoffed “Please. Luck doesn’t exist in that place. They’re trying to trick us and trap us and I am not letting them do to you what they did to me,” Her voice wavered, and she turned away almost immediately. THis wasn’t right. She knew the Bishops were cruel. She’d experienced that first hand but this…

Without wasting another second, Torchbearer rose to his feet, wrapping his arms around her. Against her better judgement she found herself melting into his touch. He always made her feel like everything was okay somehow, even now when it felt like her world was being barricaded with a machine gun. One hand rested on the back of her head, keeping her close as he shushed her quietly when she began to sniffle.

“Don’t pursue this. Please. I can’t-” Her attempts to speak were quickly foiled, and he shushed her again, nose pressed into her hair.

“Okay. Okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

—

The walk home seemed much less grueling than it had before. Clancy trailed behind (Y/N) and Torchbearer. She and Clancy hadn’t spoken much since they’d actually left Dema. It almost felt wrong. Like she resorted back to who she had been 7 years ago, with meek conversations and brushing hands in corridors. With Torchbearer it was easy - he’d never been part of her life before Trench but Clancy…

Sure, she was glad she got him out of that hell, but the longer she sat with his company, the more she found herself unsure of her company. 

Torchbearer wasn’t oblivious to the shift.The beginning of the walk had grins, disbelieving laughter and excited squeezing of his arm, nearly knocking the torch out of his hand every time. Now it was nervous glances, biting of the cheek, and wringing hands. 

“What’s going on?” Torchbearer asked in a hushed tone, leaning close to (Y/N) as they walked, mindful to not let Clancy or the rest of the banditos overhear. She jumped, almost startled by the sound of her voice and turned to him with an unsure look.

“Not here,” She replied quietly, and Torchbearer nodded. He understood - there had been many a time where he hadn’t wanted to air his dirty laundry out in front of the rest of their group. They’d have plenty of time. He was silent for a few minutes, eyeing her in deliberation before pulling his bandana down slightly. 

“How did you know?” His question wasn’t an unfair one, but (Y/N) gave him an annoyed glance. Oh, there she was. 

She’d answered this question this morning - yesterday morning? - did she really have to answer it again? “I saw it in a dream,” she said shortly, exhaustion starting to take its toll. There were still hours left of their journey, waiting in anticipation to hear the clopping of Nico’s horse in the distance. It was no wonder she was starting to get a little cranky.

Torchbearer raised his eyebrow in that condescending way that really got her nerves. “You’ve never had visions before,” His words didn’t hold an accusation, just curiosity and a mild concern. He hadn’t seen anything. He’d received no calling, and yet (Y/N), who’d never seen snippets of the future before had not only directed them, but been right.

Her eyes narrowed at him slightly, something Torchbearer couldn’t quite place settling on her shoulders, a mix between defensive and protective. A bite of sourness settled in his chest. He hadn’t seen her react to him like that since she escaped Dema. 

“I didn’t say that,” She responded, keeping her eyes forward as they walked. Thank god the rest of the Banditos were chatting among themselves or attempting to make conversation with Clancy. Torchbearer’s head snapped to her, surprise in his eyes. 

How the hell had she missed out that little detail?”

“What?” His voice was harsh and tense, and had they not been walking back to camp, he would've tugged her to somewhere private to give her an earful. She noticed the way his knuckles whitened around the torch.

Irritation sparked in her chest, her jaw clenching slightly, “We’ll talk about this at home.”

Despite the tension in his shoulders, his heart warmed anytime she referred to camp as home. It didn’t matter what mood he was in, hearing that could make him soften, hard exterior melting slightly. Which became the exact reason he couldn’t fight her.

“You can’t just-” He began, hard words cutting off with a sudden, sharp sigh. “Okay. Fine. We’ll talk at home.”

(Y/N) huffed, glad it was getting dropped even if just temporarily. She was not in the headspace to have this conversation right now. Constantly glancing over her shoulder, waiting to find Nico right behind them.

She hadn’t failed to notice Clancy’s rising anxiety with every step away from Dema. She knew it well. The creeping, crawling feeling of non-existence eyes on her skin, heart hammering so hard she thought it would beat right out of her chest and present itself to her, the inability to sleep because of the overwhelming, all encompassing dear that if she let her guard down for even a second she’d get dragged back to Dema. But also, the sickening feeling of suspicion of everyone around her, watching every little step and movement rhey took. When the banditos had first started joining the group, (Y/N) often found herself awake for days on end, taking every guard shift because she didn’t trust anyone but herself and Torchbearer to watch her as she slept. 

Dema had that effect on people. It isolated, rooted the loneliness of the world into your very core so that you not only stopped reaching out to others inside, but made you want to do it. That’s why it was so easy for the Bishops to preach Vialism, she supposed. If she were completely alone, a life with no meaning and no real connection, why wouldn’t she end it? At least if she died, she’d join the Glorious Gone and her death would mean something. Could become something. 

That’s how she used to think, anyway.

But it was because of that isolation that neither Clancy nor (Y/N) had done much to interact with the other since their initial reunion. Neither of them knew how to interact with someone else from Dema, no matter how long ago it had been since (Y/N) had escaped. 

This was going to be a long trip.

–

Heavy eyes fell on (Y/N) when they reached camp, just before nightfall. Clancy glance around, wanting nothing more than to bolt, anywhere but here, where everyone scanned every bit of his body. He didn’t belong here and their eyes made sure he knew it. Banditos slowed their tasks, hands falling loose as they watched the crowd filter further in, eyes following Clancy as he walked by. Reaching the middle of the camp, (Y/N) turned around. She looked exhausted as she set herself in front of the loyal Banditos that had followed her to Dema and back, risked themselves inside the walls. That was more than she could have ever asked from them. 

“Get some rest. You’re all excused from your duties for two days. Me and Torchbearer will sort out rotations,” (Y/N) called to the group, and the Banditos shared tired, triumphant smiles. Every single person pulled their weight around here, unless elderly or young, with little complaint, but after the long journey to Dema, taking a few days to recover was a luxury they very rarely received. 

“Thank you all. We couldn’t have done it without you. Because of all of you, we made a mark in Dema, and managed to get someone out. Hopefully the first of many,” Torchbearers hand fell on Clancy’s shoulder, who gave an awkward nod, hands wringing where they were folded behind his back. 

The crowd dispersed soon after, parents reunited with children, friends with friends, lovers with lovers. Despite the fatigue that dripped from her bones, (Y/N) always loved coming back from a long trip. Seeing the love in the camp. Nothing could take that away, not even Dema. She was lucky enough that the most important person to her was always on her journeys. She couldn’t, and frankly didn’t want to imagine waiting in anticipation for Torchbearer to get home, not knowing anything of what had happened until he returned. Or until he didn’t.

The Banditos had only lost two people in the last 7 years, but they had weighed heavy. The first was a hunting accident. No one really was to blame for it, but she had been a mother of two children, one of which had been the one to find her. It was one of the worst days they’d ever had. The second was a Bandito who’d been protecting her. Nico had come for her, this instance about four years ago. They’d been unprepared for it. He’d come in the middle of camp, sneaking through and managed to drag her nearly two miles away from camp after using “smearing” to render her helpless. He’d chased after them, no time to wake anyone else, attacking the Bishop and his horse until he pierced his heart. It had given her enough time to sprint back to camp, screaming and shouting to wake everyone up. When they’d gone back to attack, Nico was gone, with the corpse of the Bandito in his wake. 

It was those graves they passed by as Clancy, (Y/N) and Torchbearer walked to the “Headquarters”. In reality it was just a tent that was marginally bigger than the others, with a map inside. Torchbearer and (Y/N) spent many hours here a week, trying to formulate Dema’s layout between their scouting and (Y/N)’s memory along with supply routes, hunting grounds and training areas.  A small cot was set up in the corner, put up after (Y/N) had fallen asleep at the desk more than a few times. Mostly so Torchbearer didn’t have to deal with her whining afterwards of a sore back. 

Clancy stood in the middle, awkwardly rocking on his heels. In Dema, (Y/N) had always thought he looked so cool and collected, compared to the nervous energy everyone else in that awful place carried with them. Out here though, he was lost, and the longer (Y/N) spent surrounded by her people and the smell of home, the more herself she felt. Funny how those things worked out.

Torchbearer pulled his bandana off, shrugging his overcoat off to leave him in a taped shirt. A piece of tape tugged his hair, and he tried to play it off, but (Y/N) couldn’t resist a fond grin as he tried to subtly pull it from his hair. Clancy caught it, glancing between the two with raised eyebrows. Hm. Finally freed from the shackles of yellow tape. Torchbearer leant back on the desk, muscles moving beneath his skin. Despite seeing it countless times before, (Y/N) felt her cheeks warm, looking away momentarily until he started speaking.

“We’re gonna have to set you up here,” Torchbearer stated, Clancy nodding along intently as he gestured to the cot in the corner. “Sorry it’s not more luxurious but we kinda left in a rush yesterday.” 

(Y/N) ducked her head slightly but gave Clancy a reassuring smile when he looked at her unsurely “I’ll be able to set you up with your own tent tomorrow. It’s just for the night,” She offered softly. She knew he wouldn’t get any sleep. But the comfort of his own space would do him some good. 

(Y/N) remembered the first time she’d slept in Trench. It had been the best sleep she’d gotten in her life. The tent was actually dark, unlike the neon lights in the middle of her room in Dema that never turned off. She wasn’t fighting the luminescent brightness that tried to peer its way through her eyelids.

Clancy nodded, a quiet “Thank you,” slipping from his lips, apprehensively taking a seat on the edge of the cot like a scared cat. 

“They should be serving dinner soon, it’ll be out near the campfire,” Torchbearer added, eyes fixed on Clancy with a scary intensity. He didn’t mean anything by it. While he was suspicious of everyone that came into camp when they first joined, (Y/N) could tell that this was him trying to figure Clancy out. The man in question had always been an enigma, something she was sure had grown in the seven years they’d been apart. “You can go out and help yourself. They know you’re here.”

Clancy suddenly looked nervous, leaning forward in an attempt to look out the small gap the tent’s flaps provided, before turning back to (Y/N) and Torchbearer. His mouth opened a few times before he closed it, his teeth grinding as he did so. That was a lot of people to throw at one man who had spent his whole life in a place of isolation.

So with a soft smile, (Y/N) met his eye “Or I can bring you some. You’re probably tired after a long day,” She offered. She knew that wasn’t it, but it saved his pride.

He gave a brief nod, and that was that. 

With a plan finally in place, Torchbearer pushed himself from the table, swiping up his bandana and hoodie with one hand. “If you need anything, (Y/N) and I’s tents are either side of this one. If you’ll excuse us, I think we have some things to talk about.”

Clancy shuffled his feet, nodding again just as Torchbearer began his walk out, catching (Y/N)’s wrist with his free hand as he passed.

He kept a tight grip until they reached his tent, pushing their way inside. He finally let her go when they’d reached the middle, using her wrist to push her in front so he could see her.

“So, when the hell were you going to tell me you had visions?” Torchbearer asked bluntly. The anger that had resonated in his voice earlier on their walk was gone by now, instead loaded with a mixture of hurt and confusion.

(Y/N) sighed, pushing her hair from her face. “Look, I didn’t keep it from you on purpose. I used to get visions all the time in Dema but it was minor things, like me tripping, or accidentally making noise in ceremony, getting breakfast. Until it wasn’t. One morning I woke up knowing how to get out. And once I was out I didn’t get them at all,” she explained, putting her hands out to level the conversation. 

Torchbearer tossed his clothing onto his cot, fixing her with an incredulous look “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” (Y/N) replied. He knew her well enough by now to know when she was lying. She was a terrible liar. Her voice would get high and pitchy, and she’d glance around at an invisible crowd. This wasn’t one of those times. “And you just magically had one after 7 years?” When (Y/N) nodded, a puff of breath escaped him “Do you think this has something to do with Clancy?”

(Y/N) shrugged, a troubled look on her face. Her lip pulled between her teeth, worrying it gently “I don’t know. Maybe? The Bishops used to keep us together. We shared a room, were made to pray together, taken to ceremony together.”

“It seems too big of a coincidence that the first time you’ve had a vision in seven years was something to do with Clancy,” He returned. Not accusatory or harsh. Like the two of them were working together to put puzzle pieces back in their place “Maybe you two are linked?”

(Y/N) let out a quiet laugh at that. The thought was ludicrous. They were barely above strangers despite the years they’d known each other. “That’s an awful lot of maybe. It’s too early to say.”

“What, so we just wait it out? Wait for you to wake me up in a frenzy and rush out the door not knowing what we’re walking into?” Torchbearer threw back, and (Y/N) narrowed her eyes. His voice held no venom, just concern and confusion, but it irritated her all the same.

“You mean like I do for you?” She retorted and Torchbearer quickly stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t thought of it that way. 

Damn.

He shrugged slightly, a chuckle of defeat protruding his chest “I guess so,” he said softly. “I just-”

He took a heavy sigh, stepping closer. His two hands rested on the sides of her face, threading into her hair “We can’t be too careful with Dema. Especially now that we’ve broken Clancy out. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Had (Y/N) not grown used to Torchbearer’s overly personal affection, she may have freaked out. She was close enough to count his freckles, like a constellation over his face. Small white scars lashed his face, two by his eyes, one through his eyebrow and one curving over his upper lip. She’d tended to each and every one when they were fresh. His eyes were warm, a sea she’d willingly drown in all day if he let her. Eyes that felt like home, looking at her like she just put the stars in the sky, with a tint of fear behind it.

(Y/N) had been a mess back then, stuttering words, shaking hands, all from being in the proximity of him. His breath mixed with hers. He’d made fun of her for it later and the nervous, exciting magic of it quickly died.

But, as she found when he started seeking out her touch, the comfort of it never did. 

She pressed her face into his touch, hands latching on his wrists, “I can’t promise that nothing will. But I will promise to be careful.”

Torchbearer sighed, leaning out of her space to set her with a hard stare “You better.”

Clanging and bashing sounded outside the tent, metal on metal. It would be supper soon. Jesus, she didn’t realise how ravenous she was. And how tired. 

She pulled away from him slightly, right as her stomach growled, “I-I should go take that food to Clancy,” her voice was suddenly hushed and quiet, like she was scared to divert the moment. (Y/N) gathered herself, before heading to the tent exit. Torchbearer’s hands suddenly felt incredibly empty, cold, and his room lonely despite her not being out of it yet. 

Peeking her head out of the tent, she met him with a bright smile, eyes bright, if not weary, “We’re so close to something Torch, I can feel it.”

And then she was gone, like a vulture in the wind.

There had been a lot of those around lately.

“Not close enough,” Torchbearer muttered to himself earnestly,  sitting down with a huff. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

[howdyousleepatnight]

Out of hell (part 4)

Pairing : Josh Dun x Fem!Reader - Tyler Joseph x Fem!Reader

Warning : Swearing, dystopia, violence

Word count : 2,542 words

Summary : You meet two wary strangers who are more at ease with the outside world than you are and get to know about them more, despite the tension between you. Maybe you'll also find some common ground that will allow you to start your free life...

(Remember, English’s not my first langage :) Enjoy!!!)

(And just so you know, I may use elements of the lore but I'm going to revisit most of it. I like to build on what I thought the lore would be before it became official :) hope it won't be too weird to read tho!)

“And why exactly were YOU sent on that mission?”, he questioned again, his gaze never leaving mine. He saw how I started to panic, which seemed to make him even more suspicious.

“I-… I was chosen because I was a well-behaving citizen… and also because they killed the precedent person that was chosen for this mission… she also tried to escape…”, I said, looking down a bit.

Both boys were getting more intrigued. The masked-one stayed silent for a few seconds, processing what he heard. “How many people have tried to escape from Dema like this? How many have been caught?”, he asked, his eyes still on me.

“I think they have been 12… they all have either been killed for trying to escape or just because they were dead by the time they reached back Dema… I’m the 13th one…”, I responded.

He let out a small sigh, listening to her explanation. 12 before her, all of them killed. That didn’t sound like good odds : “And you’re sure you didn’t bring any tracking devices, cameras, anything like that?”, he inquired, crossing his arms in a firm stance, his eyes hardening in my direction.

I shake my head quickly : “No! Of course not! I destroyed everything after finding the bag, I even removed the chip they'd implanted in my arm…”, I lifted my sleeve after talking, and on my upper arm there's a small gash still fresh from yesterday.

He looked at the fresh cut on my arm with calculating eyes. It was proof I was saying the truth about removing the device. He relaxed a bit, his gaze growing a bit less cold : “Good…”. His voice still holding a hint of caution. He still wasn’t sure, he didn’t trust seemed to trust me yet.

I put my sleeve back on, feeling some discomfort as the fabric touched the cut on my arm.

“How old are you, exactly?”. He was looking at me from head to toe. He probably thought I was young, around 18, given my appearance.

“I’m… I’m 21”, I said, getting up again, one hand grabbing my other one nervously.

He raised an eyebrow at my answer, surprised. ‘She doesn’t look like she’s in her early 20s’, he thought to himself. Though he wasn’t one to talk.

“You’re 21… And you’re from Dema?”, he asked, just to be sure he heard it right.

I only nodded.

He nodded too, processing the information in his mind. ‘If she’s from Dema, and 21 years old. That would mean she’s been in the city all her life’, he thought once again.

“So you were born there.”, he confirmed, keeping his gaze on me. The questions were now more like affirmations, to get as much details and information as he could about me.

“Yes… Dema’s all I’ve ever known…”.

He observed the twilight of sorrow in my voice, and something inside him stirred, but he didn't show it on his face.

“So that means you’ve never been outside the city walls”. It wasn’t a question, but he still waited for a response, just to confirm his words. He wanted to know more.

I nodded again : “It’s my first time out of the city… I don’t know if I made the right decision, but I don’t regret it for now on...”, I smiled a bit, but it didn’t reach my eyes, meaning that I was still uncomfortable.

He noticed that my smile was forced. Once again, he nodded, taking note of everything I said.

The other one talked again, after C became suddenly silent : “You made the right choice… Life outside Dema isn’t easy, but it’s not as hard as it is in this damn prison…. At least you’re free”, he said more seriously.

C looked at the his friend, silently agreeing with his words, before his friend looked up at me for the second time in a row and smiled a bit before talking again : “What’s your name ?”. C’s gaze then landed back on me, both men waiting for me to answer.

“It’s… Y/N”, I said softly, hesitantly. “I-I still don’t know who you guys are…?”, I asked, hoping they would tell me more about them.

They paused for a few seconds, their expression hardening again. C still was wary of me, and he didn’t want to give too much information, while the other one seemed to open much more easily : “We’re part of the banditos”. His reply was simple, not seeing any need to tell me more than necessary.

My eyes widen suddenly : “You’re…? So this bag is yours ?”, I stuttered.

C glanced at my widening eyes and probably knew that I had come to realize who they were. He nodded slowly, confirming my question : “Yes, it’s ours”, he stated firmly. He could practically see the gears moving inside my head, putting the pieces together.

I hold the bag to him almost immediately : “Sorry… I didn’t know-”, I suddenly remembered about the notebook : “There’s a notebook inside it, but it took on water, so I tried to dry it-”, I was cut out by C.

He didn’t expect me to hand the bag over so quickly, and he grabbed it with a firm grip. His eyes widened a bit at my mention of the notebook and cut my talking : “A notebook? ”. His voice was more urgent this time. That notebook held information that was very important, and it being wet could ruin it all.

My cheeks redden at the move, embarrassed and nervous at the same time : “Y-Yes.. It’s written ‘C’s letters’ on the front page, I don’t know what it is but-…”.

My statement caused his expression to harden even more. The notebook was his, and the fact that I knew that it was important made him even more cautious : “That notebook is mine”, he replied firmly, clutching the bag tighter to his chest.

My face went pale for a second as another piece added to the puzzle. : “Oh- sorry I didn’t-”.

“Don’t touch anything without my permission next time”, he said coldly, starting to open the bag. He needed to check on the notebook as soon as possible, to see if it was still salvageable.

I swallow nervously, looking at his every move just as his friend did.

C kept his eyes on me while he pulled the notebook out of the bag. It felt wet and dirty, but it seemed to be mostly intact. He carefully inspected it for any signs of damage, his expression stern : “You said it took on water? How did this happen?”.

I went silent for a moment, hating myself at the moment. He noticed my hesitance, and waited for an answer. His gaze was intense, and he wasn’t going to drop the subject.

“Well?”, I noticed the hint of impatience in his voice.

“I dropped it while reading it... I didn’t mean to do it- something startled me and I dropped it-”.

He raised an eyebrow at my explanation, annoyed : “And you thought it was a good idea to read my notebook as it was yours or what?”, his tone was sharp and cold.

“I-I just wanted to know why they wanted me to take this bag and its content back to Dema…”.

He listened to my reply, his expression still stern : “That still doesn’t give you the right to go through my personal possessions”. He was holding the dripping wet notebook in his hands, and the sight gave me goosebumps.

The other one interfered again: “Calm down, man. How was she supposed to ask you if it was okay…”.

C shot a glare at his friend, not appreciating the interruption. Although he knew the man was right, he was still annoyed that she had touched his belongings.

“That’s not the point. She still didn’t have the right to read my personal thoughts”.

“Yeah right, now move on. So, Y/N you said ?”, the taller one turned towards me.

I nodded nervously, not trusting my tongue anymore.

“Right, I’m the Torchbearer. I think you already heard about me, I’m the leader of the banditos”.

My eyes widen at the revelation. The Torchbearer chuckled a bit : “Yeah, I know…”.

“So you’re really real ? I thought it was like, some urban legend…”.

C couldn’t help but let out a small scoff at my question. The Torchbearer was a well-known figure in Dema, but he never imagined that the citizens would think of him as an urban legend : “You thought he was just a myth?”.

“Well, kind of, no one has ever seen him before…”.

He shook his head. Of course, the citizens of Dema were fed lies and propaganda by the Bishops. It wasn’t surprising that they thought the Torchbearer didn’t exist and was only an image : “Well, he’s very much real…”, he said as he looked over at the Torchbearer, who seemed amused by the conversation.

“And you'd be even more surprised to find out who he is... ”, replied the Torchbearer.

I tilt my head, curious.

C rolled his eyes once again at the Torchbearer’s words. He had a feeling he knew where this was going, and he didn’t like it. He knew how the Torshbearer could be, and he didn’t want him to expose his identity to the girl : “Shut up”.

“What ? You don’t want to give her your name ?”, the Torchbearer chuckled again.

C clenched his jaw, annoyed by the Torchbearer’s insistence. He knew the man was just trying to mess with him, and he didn’t want to give in to his games : “That’s not the point. You know why I don’t want to share my name”, hesaid through gritted teeth.

“Come on dude, do you really think the poor girl will tell the bishops where you’re at?”.

The masked one shot a glare at the Torchbearer, his irritation growing. He knew the man had a point, but he still didn’t seem to trust me. He didn’t know me, so he didn’t know what I would do if the Bishops captured me and tortured me.

“It’s not that simple…You know it”.

“Yeah, nevermind, don’t mind him. Just all him C, alright ?”.

I just nodded at his words.

The Torchbearer talked again, but this time to change the subject : “Seemed like you were starving, do you want any more food ?”

-Outside POV-

C watched as the Torchbearer turned his attention back to her, offering her more food. He let out a small sigh, knowing that the man was not going to let this go. He silently cursed himself for letting the Torchbearer lead the conversation.

She blushed a bit, ashamed of her answer, but nodded softly.

He could see the slight hesitation in her demeanour, and he felt something strange in his chest. He tried to ignore it and told himself that it was just irritation.

The Torchbearer went to grab something for her to eat : “Then eat up. You look like you really need it, girl”.

“Thank you…”, she said, grabbing the piece of food hesitantly.

He observed her as she accepted the food, her expression still nervous. He realized that she was still wary of him and the Torchbearer, just as they were. And he couldn’t blame her. Her whole life she’s been surrounded by the Bishops and fed with lies, it’s not difficult to guess why she was uncomfortable around them.

She was eating, slowly but surely, enjoying every bite.

He continued to watch her eat the food silently, noticing how she slowly began to relax. It was clear that she had been starving for a while, and the food was doing her some good. He couldn’t help but feel a small hint of sympathy for her, despite his suspicions.

After finishing the cereal bar, she smiled nervously to them* : “Sorry I jumped on your food earlier... ”.

The Torchbearer just shrugged, not really bothered by her eating the food : “Don’t worry about it, you looked starved. Glad it helped you a bit”.

C noticed her shifting awkwardly, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for her. She seemed so uncomfortable : She was in a new place, surrounded by strangers, and clearly out of her comfort zone.

“Do you, hum… Do you know a place I could hide..? I don’t really know where we are right now, I don't know my way around since it’s all new to me…”, she said calmly.

C crossed his arms on his chest, studying her from head to toe, the vulnerability in her eyes and the desperation in her voice clear. But he didn’t answer, letting the Torchbearer so do, because he didn’t trust his tongue.

She looked up at the Torchbearer, waiting for him to answer.

The Torchbearer looked up in thought for a moment before speaking : “Well, we have a safe place, a few hours from here, further in Trench. It’s hidden enough that not even the Bishops know about it”.

“Sounds.. good. Can I come with you, then ?”, she asked hesitantly.

C watched as she asked the question, his expression still hard and his mind tore. Should he let her come with them? Or was it too risky?

“Sorry, I know we don’t even know each other, but I really don’t know if I’m gonna make it alone and the banditos are known for being a close-knit community-”, she started to panic, not wanting to be alone again.

The masked one’s expression softened a bit as she began to panic. But it was so hard to trust her… He let out a small sigh, his grip on the notebook tightening slightly.

“I guess you could come with us. It’s dangerous to wander alone anyway”, said the Torchbearer after a few seconds.

“Thank you…”, she seemed relieved.

C kept a close eye on her. He was still unsure about letting her come with them, but he couldn’t deny that he felt guilty for her. She looked completely lost.

“I won’t be a burden, I promise-”, She was cut by C : “You’ll be responsible for yourself. We’re not going to watch over you”, he said firmly, his gaze fixed on her. He didn’t want her to think that he was going to protect her or make everything easier for her.

She nodded, her face suddenly serious, matching his : “Yes, okay… I understand…”.

He nodded back, still wary of her : “Good. Just follow us and do as we say, got it ?”.

“Okay… but we’re leaving already…?”.

“Yes. We better go quickly”, he said gruffly while picking his belongings up.

“Is it because the bishops could be after me ?”, she asked, her voice a bit shaky, reflecting her fear.

The torchbearer looked at her and nodded slightly : “That’s one of the reasons, yeah”, he said, before following C, heading for the exit of the building they were in.

“wait-”, she grabbed her tings quickly before running after them. The Torchbearer was waiting for me, while C was already out of the warehouse, leading the way.

He was looking around, trying to make sure there was no one around. He saw the Torchbearer coming out next with the girl behind him. He kept his gaze locked on her, studying her every move.

She kept a determined face, following them without a word. The road will be long, but at least she won’t be alone from now.

(Hey everyone ! I haven't posted for a while, and I'm sorry for it... I'm doing an internship for my studies and it's taking up all my time!

I've managed to write a good part of the sequel and I can tell you that the story won't be ending so soon… I'll try to make the parts longer, otherwise I'll end up with fifteen thousand parts for this story lmao….

If you have any advice or feedback of any kind, or even if you'd like to say hi in the comments section, don't hesitate :))

[fever-daydream]

Fever-Daydream Request Rules and Information

1. At this time, I will not write smut. I am okay writing more suggestive topics and may be open to writing smut in the future, but not right now.

2. Along with smut, I will not write large age gaps, extreme gore or violence, abuse of any kind, or any stories involving hateful rhetorics towards any group of people.

3. Though I will write stories about real life people, I won’t write about ships between real life people (ex. Joshler, Frerard, etc.). I am all for shipping, but it is just not something I personally am comfortable writing.

4. All “x Reader” pairings will be “x Fem! Reader” unless a gender neutral reader is explicitly asked for. I will not write “x Masc! Reader”. This is due to the fact that I am a cis female and do not feel like I can accurately do so.

5. If you request a romantic pairing between two characters, they must both be canonically legal adults (18+). In all requests that are x reader, the reader will be at least 18 years old, even if the pairing is platonic.

6. I am a graduate student. Though I will strive to get requests done as fast as possible, I have no specific timeline that can be expected. I ask that you give me grace. Constant asking about when I will fulfill a request will result in the request being denied. If this happens multiple times, you will be blocked.

7. I have the right to deny any request if I feel uncomfortable with the subject matter and/or it does not follow the above stated rules.

These rules may be updated at any time and are not all encompassing.

Who I Write For

Movies and TV Shows

Top Gun/Top Gun: Maverick

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky

Nick “Goose” Bradshaw

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

Jake “Hangman” Seresin

Robert “Bob” Floyd

Javy “Coyote” Machado

Twisters

Tyler Owens

Boone

Scott

Javi

Mission: Impossible (Movie Series)

Ethan Hunt

William Brandt

Star Wars Universe

Poe Dameron

Cassian Andor

Anakin Skywalker

Luke Skywalker

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Kylo Ren/Ben Solo

Han Solo

Finn

Bodhi Rook

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Steve Rodgers (Captain America)

Sam Wilson (Falcon/Captain America)

Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier)

Tony Stark (Iron Man)

Clint Barton (Hawkeye)

Peter Quill (Starlord)

Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver)

Scott Lang (Antman)

T’Challa (Black Panther)

Grant Ward (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D)

Howard Stark (Agent Carter/Captain America: The First Avenger)

Loki

Thor

American Satan/Paradise City

Johnny Faust

Vic Lakota

Leo Donovan

Dylan James

Bands

Twenty One Pilots

Tyler Joseph/Clancy

Josh Dun/Torchbearer

Black Veil Brides

Andy Biersack/The Prophet

CC/The Destroyer

Lonny Eagleton/The Redeemer

Jake Pitts/The Mourner

Jinxx/The Mystic

My Chemical Romance

Gerard Way/Party Poison

Mikey Way/Kobra Kid

Frank Iero/Fun Ghoul

Ray Toro/Jet Star

Palaye Royale

Remington Leith/Aldous Blackwell

Emerson Barrett/Alan Blackwell

Sebastian Danzig/Fredrick Blackwell

If you do not see a person or character on this list, feel free to message or send me an ask! I am a fan of many things!

[oldiesstationlover11607]

hey queen!!

i've been thinking of tyler x roadie!reader, where she's in charge of making sure their wardrobe is in order! lots of banter backstage and tension-filled costume fittings 😈

maybe tyler experiences some kind of malfunction on stage, causing reader to come rushing out to help him. while turned away from the audience trying to fix his outfit, reader teases tyler about the situation, which leaves his face bright red while he's trying to perform 🫣

i hope exams are treating you well!!

🕸🕸🕸🕸

Wardrobe - Tyler Joseph x Roadie!Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1144

A/N: Sorry my stuff is getting shorter :( exams went well tho! Hopefully you enjoy this one. I haven't written a tyler fic in a while so it's nice to finally get a request for my baby hehe

The hum of the crowd filtered through the backstage walls, muffled but electric, as I fidgeted with the final buttons on Tyler’s jacket. My job wasn’t glamorous, but I loved every chaotic part of it. Tour life meant being part stylist, part therapist, and part magic, but my main focus was wardrobe. And right now, Tyler was standing in front of me, arms outstretched like a mannequin, as I worked my magic.

“You’ve got two minutes, Y/N,” Tyler said, glancing toward the door that led to the stage. He looked down at me, a small smirk slapped across his face. I could tell he was trying to remain calm, but the nerves showed in the way his foot tapped against the floor.

“Relax,” I replied, tugging the hem of his jacket into place. “You’re gonna be fine. You always are.”

“Not if my pants fall off mid-song,” he quipped.

“That’s what I’m here for.” I shot him a cheeky grin, earning a chuckle. Moments like these, the banter and the easy camaraderie, were what made the job worth it. Tyler had a way of making everyone feel like they belonged, even when the pressure was sky-high.

Satisfied with his outfit, I stepped back to inspect my work. Black jacket with silver accents? Perfectly fitted. Pants? Secure. Mic pack? Discreetly clipped to his waistband. “You’re good to go,” I announced, brushing a stray thread off his shoulder. “Now get out there and do your thing.”

He flashed me a grin, his excitement palpable now. “Thanks. You know, you’re the best.”

“I know, that’s why I’m here,” I shot back, already moving to tidy up my kit. But as I turned away, I felt the warmth of his gaze linger a little longer than usual, like he wanted to say something more. It left a faint flutter in my chest, though I quickly brushed it aside. Just work, Y/N, I reminded myself.

The next thirty minutes passed in a blur of tasks. Between organizing costumes for the next set and making sure the crew had everything they needed, I barely had time to breathe. But I always kept one ear tuned to the stage. Tyler’s voice carried through the monitors, and I could picture him moving across the stage, commanding the crowd like only he could. He had this way of captivating everyone, including me, though I’d never admit it out loud.

Then, it happened.

At first, I didn’t register the commotion. The tech crew’s radios crackled with chatter, but I was busy double-checking the next costume change. It wasn’t until I heard Tyler’s voice, sharp and urgent, that I froze.

“Uh, Y/N? Can you get out here?” His tone was strained but playful, as though he was trying to mask whatever disaster had struck. My heart leapt into my throat.

Grabbing my kit, I sprinted to the stage entrance. A stagehand gestured wildly toward the center of the stage, where Tyler stood with his back to the crowd. His hand was clutching his jacket, and even from a distance, I could tell something was off.

I didn’t have time to hesitate. I ducked past the speakers and onto the stage, staying low to avoid the spotlight. Tyler half-turned, catching my eye, and muttered, “The zipper’s stuck. I can’t get it down, and I need this jacket off for the next song.”

“Of course it is,” I muttered under my breath. “Turn around.”

The crowd roared as Josh took over with an impromptu drum noise battle with them, buying us precious seconds. Tyler pivoted so his back was to the audience, shielding me as I worked. My fingers fumbled with the zipper, which had somehow snagged on the fabric. The lights were hot, the pressure immense, but I forced myself to focus.

“This is a first,” I teased, keeping my voice low. “Wardrobe malfunction in the middle of a show? Guess I’m earning my keep tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tyler muttered, but his voice wavered, and I caught the edge of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely. Nothing like a little mid-show chaos to keep things interesting.” I finally managed to free the zipper and yanked it down, freeing him from the jacket. As my hands brushed against his, his breath hitched for a fraction of a second. It was so subtle, I almost missed it.

“There. Crisis averted.”

Tyler slipped the jacket off and shot me a look over his shoulder. “Thanks.”

I smirked. “Anytime, rock star.” My tone was light, but there was a faint tension that hung in the air, an unspoken undercurrent that made the moment feel heavier than it should have. I stepped back toward the shadows, but not before catching the faintest hint of pink creeping up his neck. Tyler Joseph, unflappable frontman, blushing? I filed that away for later, already grinning as I disappeared backstage.

The rest of the show went off without a hitch, but my mind lingered on those brief moments on stage. The feel of his jacket beneath my fingers, the warmth of his skin brushing mine—it shouldn’t have stuck with me, but it did. And the blush? That was new. I couldn’t stop replaying it in my head, wondering what it meant, if anything.

Backstage after the show, Tyler found me as I was packing up my kit. He was still flushed from the performance, his hair damp with sweat, but his grin was as bright as ever.

“Nice work tonight,” he said, leaning against the doorway, his voice softer than usual.

“You too,” I replied, trying to ignore the flutter in my chest. “Even with the whole zipper fiasco.”

He laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, thanks for saving me. Apparently we do need you.”

“It’s my job,” I said, giving him a playful salute. “But you owe me. Next time, maybe don’t test the limits of your wardrobe ten minutes before showtime.”

Tyler’s smile widened, but his gaze lingered on me, unreadable. There was a beat of silence before he finally spoke. “How about I make it up to you? Dinner? My treat.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Are you asking me out, Joseph?”

“Depends. Are you saying yes?” His voice was teasing, but his eyes searched mine, as if the answer mattered more than he let on.

I considered him for a moment, my heart hammering in my chest. Then, I grinned. “Sure. But only if you promise not to make me change your outfit at the last second again.”

He laughed, a genuine, carefree sound that sent warmth spiraling through me. “Deal.”

As he walked away, I couldn’t help but smile. Tour life was chaotic, unpredictable, and exhausting. But moments like this? The way he looked at me, the way his laughter lingered in my ears—they made it all worthwhile.

//

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