#( V; you guard against pain‚ you guard against joy. ┊ SHADOW & BONE. ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-darklings · 3 years

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Heyyy, I honestly love your writing and was wondering can we have more Clara x reader, please??

what if I told you I have an entire E-rated mini-series half done for clara x reader set in an original world???

but yes, always, always yes for her.

pairing: clara (v) x f!reader

wc: 1.3k+

verse: coa; post the hunt, pre-john's wedding

notes: reader is part of the continental staff

“You’re back.”

Words slip past your lips without you meaning to say them; more of a strained exclamation of surprise than a casual greeting.

The woman halts in her tracks (is she limping?) and rotates her neck. Lips pressed in a bloodless line, the Vipress’ wan expression slices into you like a dull knife. Her chestnut hair hangs limp and soggy with water around her face. Her jaw rigid and her body tense.

Dark eyes squint at you, scanning, and you note the way her deft fingers twitch against her thigh, fighting back an impulse to reach for a weapon. You heard about the Hunt. Heard about all the awful things she was put through before eventually settling with Camorra. There were rumours about their protection being extended towards her. Some say she slept her way into it, namely through Santino D’Antonio who you have to admit has an intense interest in her. Others say she agreed to be Giovanni’s spy, others believed it was all a ploy by Viggo Tarasov to unleash a snake inside the Italian ranks.

Truth is you don’t believe any rumours you’ve heard about her. You recall a woman who used to shadow John Wick with a grin sharper than her blades. But she never struck you as conniving or cruel. She’d been… kind. Kinder than most people you’ve dealt with. In such subtle, unexpected ways. Gratitude few extend for those beneath them, inquiring about your day, or idle conversation. You often wondered if she was lonely. As lonely as you. If that’s why she was so kind.

Everyone wears a mask, but the Vipress always allowed you to see more. Or used to.

A permanent cloud of restless misery seems to hang over her since her ill-fated trip to Tokyo—another pool of rumours swirling around that particular event—and you can’t recall seeing a single smile since.

You miss it. Crinkled eyes and scrunched nose. Rare but potent joy. Infectious in its intensity. She…

Swallowing, you venture closer, risking a soft, “Are you injured?”

Her black clothes drip with water but you don’t comment on the steadily growing pool of water beneath her feet. Her expression doesn’t so much as shift. Stony and untrusting.

“Is Winston in?”

Rough words, her voice scratchy with tension. Her eyes scan briefly behind you, anticipating a danger she shouldn’t. You doubt Winston would ever allow anyone to disobey the Continental rules, much less when in relation to her.

“No, he…” you trail off, still staring at her. “He has your room key. I’m afraid you can’t get in until he returns. You need a change of clothes. I have some spares if you like? You’ll catch a cold otherwise. You’re soaked to the bone.”

A mirthless, half-smile crosses her face, twisting her expression into a pained grimace you hate. She doesn’t suit it. When was she bled of her fiery, snarky humour you always admired? Found secretly hilarious?

“Figures,” she mutters under her breath, glancing behind herself. An empty hallway greets her but you note how her shoulders loosen slightly, forcing a soft sigh out of her lungs. “Sure. I appreciate it.”

Giving her a weak smile, you gesture for her to follow after you. You count to five before her light footsteps register behind you. Your skin tingles as you walk, feeling her intent stare at the back of your neck. Your heels make it even harder to keep an even gait but you succeed. Charon taught you better than that.

Spine straight, you walk proudly ahead, one of the deadliest women in this city trailing after you. Questions bubble in your chest, tingling your tongue but you bite your cheek to keep them locked away. Vipress looks no better than a caged animal right now—the last thing you want to do is add to her troubled, exhausted state.

It’s not long before you reach the staff wing, unlocking the spare laundry room connecting with your new office. Your heels click while you move across the space, pulling out a new pair of jeans, a jumper and undergarments. Simple, standard clothes Continental provides free of charge to its patrons in case their previous clothes are destroyed beyond repair.

You can’t hear her while you shuffle around, but you certainly feel her presence. Prey is always aware of predators even if they can’t see them.

“You’re no longer working in housekeeping,” she speaks suddenly, a question there.

You nearly jump out of your skin, tightening your hold on the bundle of garments in your hands. Inhaling deeply, you turn to her with a slight smile, a little frail around the edges but present all the same.

The assassin leans against the wall opposite to you, bright fluorescent illuminating her features, giving her a near gaunt appearance. When did she lose so much weight? Her usually soft freckles stand stark against her too pale skin.

“I got a raise,” you tell her, pride colouring your voice and you move in her direction with a shy smile. “Just last week.”

Her eyebrows quirk, searching over your new attire of tailored dress pants, white shirt and polished heels.

“I told you, didn’t I?” she says after a pause, and you falter under her piercing stare.

Yes. Yes, she did. She told you repeatedly it’s only a matter of time before you get a raise. She thought you were a great worker and oftentimes joked about putting in a good word to Winston about you. You always wrote off her words as nothing more than jokes, meaningless conversations you have with someone when you want to be polite. John Wick certainly never got involved in your banter. His dark eyes unfailingly trailed after her smiles and laughs instead.

You could understand his appreciation, his secret hoarding of those rare instances. He wanted something—someone—he couldn’t afford to have. Couldn’t permit himself to reach for.

Staring at the Vipress you think you understand him better than you would care to admit.

She’s beautiful in a way a wild flame is beautiful. Get too close and you know you will suffer for it. But you want to.

God, you really do. Crave her in secret because… well. What are you? What can you give to a woman like her? When she holds the interest of so many above your stature. The things they say she did during the Hunt. People who are dead because of her.

She’s one of the most horrible people alive.

Yet her smiles are more blinding than the sun, and you selfishly want every single one of them.

“Yes, you did,” you agree weakly, holding out the bundle of clothes to her.

Her hands are cold when they touch yours but a tingle rushes up your spine all the same. Electric current hums under your skin when her guarded eyes do another searching sweep over your expression.

“You know my sizes?”

Your heart quivers in your chest, unsure how to proceed. Does she think you stranger, wrong, to have remembered such a thing?

“I… your laundry,” you splutter, then exhale, calming yourself to give her a steadier, “When you lived here. The dry cleaner. I… sorry, I realise this might be uncomfortable for you.”

Her hazel eyes drag over you again, hard and unyielding. Your breaths slow when she takes a few steps closer—close enough for you to scent the flowers, herbs and soil that forever seem to cling to her smooth skin. You’ve never wanted to nuzzle into someone’s neck more, feel their warmth beneath your lips. Taste and savour the exquisite familiarity of someone’s very being.

“My sizes have changed,” she says and you tell yourself you imagined the slight smile you glimpse for a split second. “But you’re welcome to learn them again.”

She brushes past you—flowers and poison and death—and you force yourself to breath, ignoring the heat crawling up your neck.

an: she. that's it - that's the message. but thank you so much for asking for her!!! I think Clara deserves a soft sapphic romance, as a treat.

#oc x you #oc x character #oc x reader #original character x reader #c: clara #john wick oc #wlw writing #fic: children of ares

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unholyempirerptest · 6 years

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C A I U S ♔ THE VIPER

You are gloriously unpredictable & afraid of no one but yourself.

age: unknown

coven: tsarov

blood status: pureblood

gift: inflicts searing pain by will, rendering opponents obselete

notes: the head of the great covens, the founder of the dynasty of black sun

B I O G R A P H Y HELL IS EMPTY

In the beginning, there was darkness.

Like all profoundly beautiful things, he was born into the midst of terror. He saw the start of the world, as Hell overtook the skies and swallowed Heaven whole; a sea of sin devouring all light. He saw the universe burgeon from nothingness, and ripple across the horizon before him, forming galaxies and dust. He saw the creation of Man, those impotent creatures who would someday shudder in terror at the mere murmur of his name; and saw them rise from the feeble dust like clay. He saw mountains erect themselves and the valleys run red; he saw lightning cleave oceans and thunder shake continents. He saw war; he saw chaos; he saw the very face of the endless void. Caius and Giulia. They were the very first of their kind, a brother and sister born from the infinite beyond; favoured by death and beloved by darkness. But he was always the one who would come to conquer the world, he was always the prodigal son, who would achieve greatness at all costs.

In those first millennia, when the world was still young; he was a commander, striking down all who came against him, fighting with a fury as cold and graceful as night. With brigades of shadows at his back, he claimed glory for the dark, and beneath his leadership the universe was swathed in a black veil of stars and moons, which would forevermore remain. Perhaps history would have unfolded differently if the other side had won; and it was very close indeed - but in the end, it was he who emerged triumphant. There was no sun, no warmth -- and so he and Giulia grew accustomed to the dead-black of violent conquest, the everlasting power of victory. When that First War ended, he emerged from the massacre with blood in his mouth. It wasn’t his; but he tasted it and it was good.

He and Giulia were the writers of history. She built the East, and he the West. First, there was wilderness, then from the ground there emerged civilization. Caius stood at Eden’s gates and saw it crumble to dust; he witnessed the scattering of beasts across the face of the earth; and then beneath his jurisdiction, there was the toppling of Babel, the splendor of Babylon’s hanging gardens; and later the beginnings of Egypt, Greece, Rome. Ah, Rome --- that Golden Empire which he would come to hold so dear to his heart. Rome was when it all began - it was the first truly great civilization which bloomed beneath his hand; and it was where he learnt how to mimic humanity.

You see, he and Giulia were creatures of sheer terror, chaos amassed into flesh and bone. They were created for destruction, reared for greatness, and gifted with enormous power. But they lacked what their enemy possessed: the power to create, to bring forth life from nothingness; and he coveted such ability beyond all else. Heaven had collapsed within itself, but their creations remained. It gave him convoluted joy, to make the Lord’s beloved children his feeding ground. He was insatiable. There was never enough, and so he took and he took; for he had no master, no teacher, no limit. He had enormous beauty, he had infallible splendor: hair the color of gold, a jawline that could cut -- but in the days before Rome, he was nothing. There was an endless boredom; a laissez-faire investment in humankind and their design, for they would never understand the complexities of his war games, and he would never consider them worthy of accompanying him through the passage of time. In hindsight, those days would be what he could consider his childhood. The craving, the hunt, the frenzy. Centuries upon centuries of weakness, apathy, chaos. And then, r e v e l a t i o n .

He created her, and it was in that moment when she woke that he felt full. He created her; and it was in that moment when she opened her eyes that he became complete. Together, they built empires and dynasties and splendor beyond all else. Together, they were unstoppable.

& ALL THE DEVILS ARE HERE

A viper of a thousand names, a thousand identities - but they always knew him by one epithet: the ruler of an Unholy Empire, the sharp, graceful head of the cobra which had come to conquer the world. With Ariadne by his side, he was unstoppable. He learnt to appreciate the race which Heaven had left behind; and he almost grew fond of them, humans. They were, after all, the template from which he fashioned his own creations, the clay which he dipped into gold and breathed new life into. Of course, his methods were far darker; but they were also beautiful in a convoluted, extraordinary way. Ariadne was his great love, as was Rome which had given her to him. Brutus came, and then there was Helen and Paris and Lucretia - his sycophants, his protegees, his imperial coven. And so from the dust there came terror; and from the dust he drew forth sin. And with each passing century his creations dispersed further from their creator, and with each passing century the complexity of his kingdom grew.

There came rebellion, and he silenced it without mercy. There was bloodshed, and he sent executioners. There was autonomy and ambition, and he either demolished it or gathered it close to him to be used for his own purposes. If he had the play the part of cold, cold king; then Ariadne was his ice-sculpted queen, his brazen compliment, his mate, the one being in all of existence who could make him fall on his knees and beg. When Raoul, the second vampire who he had brought to life; waged war against him during the Age of Golden Suns, it was Ariadne who entered the battlefield besides him, bathed in blood and glory.

He doesn’t know what happened. It was impossible. It was impossible. It broke him.

He would become the most powerful creature in the world, and

In the end, there was darkness.

C O N N E C T I O N S ♔ SINNERS & SAINTS

THE FATHER (aka The Commander): Caius feels a deep and infinite loyalty the one who granted him an existence and purpose. Once, he existed merely to carry out the Father’s will upon earth. He was a weapon and a servant; but as the First War drew to a close and history began to unfurl itself, he tasted what it was to be a god - and nothing was the same ever again. As the Father’s commands became more faint with the passing centuries, Caius grew more bold in his ambitions -- and perhaps he is in danger, now that there is nothing above him to leash his limits.

ARIADNE:

GIULIA

It’s casual, it always is with Adrian. No stranger to the pleasures of the flesh, Antonin had been with other boys before; but none quite like Adrian. “Don’t catch feelings,” Evadne said to him once. “I have none to catch,” he had replied. But there’s something different about Nott. Perhaps its the intensity of their rendezvous, or the sheer power which ripples between them during those secret times: but Antonin more and more often finds himself at a loss. He wouldn’t claim to be in love; no. Far from it. But he’d also be lying if he said he was entirely detached. Besides, Adrian was one of the first to welcome him (like a true comrade, with a hard smack to the back) when he arrived at Hogwarts. And a Dolohov does not forget warmth. It’s natural, then, to like Adrian. Natural — and dangerous. Guard yourself, little volk. There are those who wish to eat you alive.

HELEN & PARIS

He had thought it ironic and amusing, to name them after the infamous lovers.

NARI

They were good friends, once. Very good friends; perhaps even best. What else can a bond built on shared supremacy and cold domination be called? For a time, Corban had attended Durmstrang alongside Antonin, but in the middle of fourth year, all of the sudden thjey were withdrawn from the school. Antonin hasn’t seen them since. And it angers him, that someone had turned their back on him so abruptly, that he can be forgotten about in the blink of an eye. Bitterly, he taunts Corban’s relative, Leo; instead. For all those lonely nights when he was alone and without council, for all the times he was in need of a confidant, and found himself lacking.

ANTONIN IS PORTRAYED BY JEREMY DUFOUR & IS TAKEN

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gaydreamz1 · 7 years

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The Rivalry

My breath was still hot from practice, beads of sweat still forming on my forehead. I blinked repeatedly, my mouth open as I gasped for air, my hand silently grazing the edge of the locker. I glared into the open space, grabbing the designer clothing from the shelf and slamming the metal door closed. I sighed as I turned, spinning on my bare heels. With a slight sense of hesitation, I stepped forward, my muscular arms dangling wearily at my sides. I toyed with the slightly frayed edge of my jersey, the soft texture of spandex rubbing against my thumbs. The fabric was damp with sweat, the passion of my the game having perspired from my tan skin. With a quick glance, I turned towards the rest of my teammates, their toned bodies coated with a similar layer of sweat. The locker room as a whole was sweltering, the combined heat of our presence adding to the already humid conditions. I finally pulled the jersey from my skin, peeling it from my toned skin with precision and care. I casually slipped it over my head, balling in my thick hand and placing it in my bag. My arms and chest radiated with a familiar post-exercise glow, my bulging muscles teeming with new potential. I rubbed my shoulder, which ached with a new soreness, before sliding my hand over my rippling abs and down to the thick elastic of my lacrosse shorts. My thumbs hooked underneath the polyester cloth, dragging the thin shorts down over my muscular thighs. The black fabric hit my bare feet, and I kicked it to the side, now standing only in my tight, white Calvin Klein boxer briefs. I silently glanced up, leaning backwards against the cool metal lockers as I allowed my teammate to walk by. His bare shoulder grazed my large chest, his well-built figure disappearing behind a group of other bare bodies. I turned back to my clothes, grabbing the heather gray v-neck t-shirt from the top of the folded pile, and yanking it over my head and onto my warm figure. My destroyed jeans were next, the dark wash of the denim covering my hairy legs and my bulging boxer briefs. I hesitantly grabbed at a dark blue button-down shirt, pulling the light fabric over my large shoulder blades with a gentle force. My arm stretched as I reached to the floor, my fingers grasping the leathery surface of my dark gray Nike sneakers. Now fully clothed, I grabbed my faded leather backpack, throwing it over my shoulder and continuing out of the darkening locker room. Before I could fully step into the hallway, there was a commotion behind me. I turned in a sudden hast, the world spinning around me for a mere moment. The explosion of noise amplified, yells screeching through the air. My eyes widened as my senses grew lucid, my breath growing quick with shock and frustration. Huge figures were entering the locker room from the far entrance, enormous pads covering their shoulders and chest. Their white jerseys swayed as they ran forward, pushing past each other and approaching the members of my team with growing enthusiasm. I rushed back into the tiled room, my thighs throbbing as I bounded back towards my fellow varsity lacrosse players. I met them at about the same time that the spring football players did, their helmets clenched tightly in their enormous hands. With a sudden punch of adrenaline, I stepped forward, my chest expanding proudly against the fabric of my tight tee. I heard Luke, one of our starting defenders, grunt as he grabbed my bicep. "You don't have to do this, Kellan," he whispered, but I tore my arm from his grasp. "Yeah, I do, Luke. I'm the captain," I said with responsibility, stepping dangerously close to the football team. They seemed surprised at my extensive effort, but their expressions of shock shifted to those of arrogance and blind pride. "What, do you want, Aaron?" gesturing at the monster of a player in front of me. His towering build grew nearer, his white smile glinting with the faint light of the locker room. His pointed nose protruded from his perfectly structured face, his attractiveness hindered by my brewing hatred of him and his team. He slid his damp hair to the side of his forehead, glaring at me with a smug look. "We wanted to show you how to a well-run team works," he said, his deep voice rolling off of his tongue. I sighed with disbelief, rolling my eyes slightly at the comment. "You're pathetic," I responded dryly, and he clenched his fist. The next few moments were unexpected, and caught my entire team completely off guard. Aaron's face went from one of calm composure to one of sudden action, his throat bellowing out orders to his teammates. The others fanned out across the room, their cleats clattering against the tiled flooring. Everything slowed to a point of dismal, inexplicable helplessness. A wall of pure force was pumping toward us with undeniable power, a ghastly shadow forming over our fearful faces as they neared. My body shuddered backwards into the lockers, the impact of a tremendous blow. My voice croaked from the sudden pain, and I collapsed onto the floor. My eyesight faded, my senses numbed with the agony, my lungs quivering for air. I clawed at the ground, trying to block out the pain. Suddenly, Aaron's voice rang out above me, the stentorian howl penetrating every corner of the room. "Strip them!" he cried out, and I felt a hand grab at the back of jeans. I was yanked upwards in the air, the ground growing farther from me. I was paralyzed by fear and pain as hands ran over my body, the clothing being removed at a painfully slow pace. My shirts were the first to be removed, torn forcefully from my bare skin. I felt fingers grabbing at the button of my jeans, and I growled, reaching out with my hands. My designer denim pants slipped down to my ankles, and I cried out in anticipation as I felt the warm air directly against my hairy thighs. I could make out Aaron's overjoyed face as he recognized the appearance of my underwear, and I closed my eyes in embarrassment. He shoved me away from his body, and I stumbled backwards, the white material of my boxer briefs being the only thing keeping me covered. The other members of my team were thrown next to me, dressed only in their tight underwear as well. "Yeah, Kellan. We're the pathetic ones," he said loudly, tapping the chest of his friend in conceit. The mob closed in around us, sealing our unfortunate fate. I couldn't help but feel that I was disappointment; that I had let everyone down. However, the most pressing concern at that moment was whether or not I would make it out with some semblance of a decent reputation. I was one of the strongest people in this school, and yet I was on the ground, nearly naked? It couldn't be. I could feel the warmth of the football players' breath against my cool skin and I shivered as their hands reached down at my team. The rivalry had come down to this; we were done. We were each yanked up to our feet, pinned against the wall, all while the other team howled with laughter. Their hands slipped over our nearly naked bodies, forcefully pressing us against the cold lockers. I cried out with anguish and frustration, my eyes closed with desperation. I could feel the heaviness of their pads against my skin, their baggy jerseys spilling over my now useless muscles. The next few moments blended into a rush of color and sound. I felt fingertips on my back, quickly tracing down my spine and to the waistband of my tight boxer briefs. I squirmed slightly against the lockers, the side of my cheek pressed uncomfortably on the wall, the hand on my lower back slowly curling under the elastic. I could feel his breath on my back, his knuckles just barely above my buttocks as he clenched the fabric tightly. The boxer briefs were yanked up over my tan skin, the cloth that encased my bulge tightening with immense force. I could feel as the back of my underwear lengthened up to the back of my neck, the fabric stretching with undeniable power. My lips quivered with new pain, the agony spreading through my body. My muscles tensed, my eyes opened with new energy, and I cried out in hatred. With a rush of uncontrollable spite, I shot my elbow backwards, the bone connecting with Aaron's chin. He growled in shock as he stumbled on the tile, his eyes already intent with my destruction. I turned to face his enormous figure, my arms outstretched, my chest pumping. Without further hesitation, I rushed forward, tackling the him until he hit the ground. My teammates watched in surprise as I escaped the assailant, and a similar energy rushed through their minds. I grabbed Aaron's jersey and tore it from his writhing body, continuing to pull the pads from over his shoulders. He struggled below me, a white tee shirt caked in drying sweat, a pair of white football tights covering his knee pads. Keeping my arm against his chest, I reached down, yanking the spandex off of his legs, and tossing it across the locker room. He tried to pull himself out from underneath me, but his attempts proved to be dismal failures as I succeeded in holding him down. I was surprised to see a pair of heather gray briefs over his crotch, and I made this clear with a loud gasp. He blushed, obviously caught in an embarrassing predicament, and I laughed. With a silent yank, I flipped him over, pulling my knees so they rested on either side of his tan body. He trembled with anticipation and uncertainty, goosebumps forming on his large, muscular back. I quickly reached down, locking the waistband of his briefs between my excited fingers. With a slow, cruel yank, I pulled the underwear up, gradually applying more and more force. He groaned, his fingernails digging into the grout between the tiles of the floor as he did so. A smile formed across my face, my cheeks reddening with joy. Aaron Cooper was writhing beneath me, his helpless body squirming like that of an uncomfortable school girl. His voice had transformed to something of a pitch much higher, his genitals condensing with every one of my violent tugs. His sweaty brown hair shook as he tried to cope with the unbearable and searing pain, his white teeth biting his bottom lip and his eyes bulging slightly. I finally released my grip, letting the now limp underwear fall onto his grateful presence. I slowly got up, chuckling at a pair of completely visible buttocks and the stretched fabric that was his briefs. He groaned and rolled over, revealing a tightened crotch below his overworked abdominal muscles. I bent down for a moment, grinning at his jaded expression and patting his head as if he were a child. He sighed with hatred, and I walked away, remembering my teammates. To my general surprise, they had taken an initiative similar to that of myself and continued to defeat our attackers. Several of the football players had escaped, but a decent population of the team was still in the locker room, suffering from extreme pain. A majority of the remaining victims were stripped of their regular clothes, and had their underwear stretched out far more than anyone decent should ever have to experience. I glanced at Luke, who stood proudly over his target, whose small trunks were now extended over his arched head. Several others, mainly the freshman, were dangling from the lockers by the backs of their assorted undergarments, crying out softly with agony and desperation. I waved to my teammates, grabbing Luke by the shoulder and pulling him out of the locker room with pleasure. He happily followed, practically skipping along beside me as I walked. "That was amazing," he said to me, his goofy yet strangely attractive smile over at me. "Yeah. Yeah, it was," I responded, and I couldn't help but smile. We continued out of the school, pushing through the large double doors at the end of the tastefully painted hallway. A warm breeze greeted us, the heat having succumbed to the darkening sky of night. I was about to say something to Luke when I spotted my ride across the parking lot. I said farewell to my good friend, waving as I started across the lot. I grinned excitedly as the pretty face of my girlfriend came into view, her silk blond hair cascading over her shoulders in the driver's seat. I silently crept around the car, throwing my lacrosse stick and my bag into the back seat and climbing in the front. She smiled at me, quietly reaching over at me with an expression of joy, placing her hand on mine. "Today was a good day," I told her softly, my white teeth reflecting her's. She swept her hair to the side and leaned closer, the scent of her minty gum drifting into my nose. I closed my eyes, the image of her face still completely lucid in my mind, and leaned in the rest of the way. Our lips met, the kiss escalating into a truly passionate embrace. My nose pressed against her cheek, her hair spilling next to my ear, my hand tracing over her lean figure. Before things could move any further, a voice rang from outside the car. "Get a room, asshole!" yelled Aaron, who was once again clothed, but had his hand stuck down the back of his jeans. He shot me one last angry look, still rearranging his briefs as he walked away. "What was that about?" "Don't ask," I said, and she started the car.

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