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the-darklings · 3 years

Text

╱ eventually home.

pairing: jean & clara

verse: npfh (ase au)

word count: 1.4k+

prompt: "If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed."

notes: the irony of the first time most of you get a look at jeara in written form being set in au setting is hilarious. I hope anyone reading this enjoys it.

“What are you thinking?”

Kicking off her heels, Clara sighs. Her toes curl against the cool wood flooring, their Vienna townhouse utterly silent at an hour this late.

They’ve spent hours rubbing elbows with the elite and socialites of the city. In particular, their interest had honed in one politician who rose to power rather quickly. Too quickly. Upon further digging, it became clear quickly that he did so through malice, lies, and knavery. Not unlike the man who has inquired after her current mindset, but certainly lacking the grace Jean employs when handling such affairs.

“Don’t you usually analyse me and call it a day?” she shoots over her shoulder, a brief saccharine smile gracing her face.

“You were quiet tonight,” the rumble of his baritone echoes through the empty house, only a handful of steps behind her and, as always, Clara feels him intimately. Feels him everywhere. His eyes at the back of her head, his words kissing her skin, his shadow trailing after hers. “Don’t think it escaped my notice, vipère.”

Things rarely do. Never when it comes to her.

“So you’ve upgraded from an arrogant nuisance in my life, to an arrogant busybody in my life?” she calls out, padding towards the kitchen. Behind her, his near-silent footsteps stalk after her.

Now that they’re away from prying eyes of high society, from the Syndicate spies around every corner, she can let herself feel indolent. She can be Clara, not the Viper. Her mask was left by the door, and Clara lets herself breathe, feeling the constriction of her black dress around her chest and waist. He helped her pick it out. Helped her put it on too. But not before dragging it down her body first, not before his fingers had sunk into her hair and her mouth had bruised from his kisses.

Certainly not before he fucked her. Her body ensconced in his strong arms and her fingers tight in his dark hair. Jean’s mouth had crawled across her throat, body, a sultry gleam in his eyes when she grumbled how they’re going to be late.

In her defence, Clara was right. They were late. Fashionably late, Jean later insisted. Something about making people anticipate their arrival. Dread the presence of Augustin De La Cours generals around them. Jean found it amusing. That unease. Thanks to him and Augustin, her appetite for such displays has doubled over the years as well.

Grabbing a wine glass from the cabinet, Clara senses him close in. The broadness of his frame, the heat of his skin, the cologne she’s gifted to him years ago rich in the air between them. Jean’s breath fans over her bare neck and she shivers. Inhales when he braces his hands on either side of her, trapping her between the marble counter and his body. The glass clinks on the surface, echoing sharply.

If she pushes back, Clara knows he would move back. But she doesn’t want him to move back. She never does when it’s him, and maybe that’s the problem. With him, she just wants to burn. A need and closeness that chokes her daily, robs her of reason, and yet makes her brim with life.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Pivoting on her heels, Clara meets the piercing blue, stares at those handsome rough-hewn features.

“I didn’t realise this was an interrogation,” she points out with a small, blasé grin. She peers up at him from under her lashes, letting the flutter of her fingertips trail up his broad chest. Towards the patch of skin bared by three undone buttons of his dress shirt. “Here I thought other things would be on your mind.”

Jean’s fingers fold around her own, swallowing them in his grip. His heavy, searching stare maps her face, notes every twitch of her eyes and nose. Lips. He lingers on her mouth the longest, and Clara can feel the phantom sensation of his fingers on them. Parting them, stroking them, nibbling on them with his teeth. Her name is always an unholy orison on his tongue. He has a curious gift for making her name sound both beautiful and filthy all at once. In particular when he moans it.

“These tricks don’t work on me, chérie,” he informs her, his articulation more breathy and accent heavier despite his nonchalant words. Jean’s lips trail over her knuckles, her inner wrist. Slow, balmy breaths tingle up her senses. His stubble tickles the sensitive skin there, and Clara almost arches into the sensation, into him. Always the game of who will give in first. “Don’t forget who taught them to you.”

An ember of annoyance scintillates in her chest. No doubt reflected in her quick glare. “Prick.”

Angling closer, Jean lets his thumb flutter over her pulse, jawline, his nose nudging against hers when he shoots back a sly, low, “Snake.”

The sensation of his hot breath skitters through her entire body but before their mouths can touch, he pulls back.

“Answer the question,” he urges, his features set. Blue flame has melted the usual ice of his regard and she finds nothing but stifling focus peering back at her. “What are you thinking?”

She’s unsure what’s changed. Why is he pushing now but not before? Since when does he care?

“I’m thinking…” she trails off. It’s hard to bare herself open when it comes to this. If only because she knows how much Jean enjoys what he does, revels in how good he is at lies and manipulations. How good she’s become with his guidance. Sighing, she tugs on his collar, glancing up at him, “I’m thinking that I love this but I miss home.”

His eyes flicker. In the dim lights of the room, she can’t read his schooled expression.

“I think that I miss my greenhouse,” she continues, standing on her tiptoes to trail her lips over his jaw, her fingers sneaking up the powerful tendons of his neck and into his midnight hair. “I’m thinking that I miss the library and sitting by the fire every night. I love this, but I miss it when it was just us three, or four. If Ramona joined us. I’m thinking how much I miss her and Augustin. I savour every morsel of danger and thrill of our life. But I miss everything I know you would all warn me I shouldn’t.”

She kisses his mouth then; soft, slithering towards ravenous and hard with each slant of his warm lips on hers. Jean’s arm slides around her waist, pulling her flush against him. An eager journey of his hand follows, tugging at the pins holding her hair.

A frustrated sound rumbles inside his chest when they fail to give way, and Clara pulls back, grinning up at him widely with a laugh.

“And you say I’m impatient,” she tuts.

“I can have this job wrapped up tomorrow,” he says instead, her smile falling away with a blink of startled surprise. “Then we can go back.”

He doesn’t say home. But she glimpses it across his features, at the way his jaw clenches, and her throat closes up, the air in her lungs growing scarce.

“Is that what you’re thinking?” she wonders softly.

Jean’s arm tightens around her, holding her up while she idly plays with the hair at the back of his head. Silky and strong to the touch.

“I’m thinking,” he exhales hotly, his teeth gleaming followed by a quick kiss against the corner of her parted mouth. “That I want this back.”

His thumb traces over her bottom lip, past it. The shape of a smile she just wore. His eyes sear against her face and Clara can’t quite help her small smile.

Happy.

He makes her so stupidly, idiotically happy. Despite the bickering and the tension, despite every harsh word, every unpleasant lesson learned over the years.

“Anything else?”

He nudges her back against the counter, and Clara senses the wolfish grin his mouth shapes against hers when he leans down to devour her. “Oui, amante,” he breathes. “If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.”

“Never stopped us before,” she points out smugly, scratching her nails down the curve of his neck.

Feline smugness greets those words. A low laugh—one that settles right at the bottom of her belly, pooling desire there—and then Jean is steering her towards the bedrooms, his fingers back in her hair. “Certainly not.”

an: this was written as part of coa server one-year birthday event. more will come eventually when i'm feeling a little more alive creatively. hope you enjoyed & thank you so so much for reading it! their story is uh,,,, gonna be something, I can promise you that much. this is more so just a little flavouring because of an au setting. ASE stands against the serrated edge and is a longer story i'm working on for them (currently close to 40k) it's taking me a while to write but it's honestly my best work to date, and a story I hope to get and share with you all one day. same with the rest of the npfh universe. thank you again for your support!

#original writing #oc x oc #original prose #writing #v: npfh #s: almost love #c: clara #c: jean

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the-darklings · 3 years

Note

*kicks down your door* Can I get a whole alphabet with the psycho husband please?? (Not the sandy one thanks) 🤡

asking for lucien & trash-talking the elder? iconic behaviour. so this is for npfh!lucien/reader but the inbox still open for other characters/ships (or combos)

ADORABLE (what do they find especially endearing?)

endearing isn't a word often associated with Lucien but if there's one thing he might later down the line find somewhat amusing and kinda cute it's the willingness to oppose him, especially in a physical sense. there's little chance to win against him but deep down he might find that willingness to not back down cute/admirable, even if it's likely to come out as sardonic on his part

BARGAIN (how do they get their way?)

well, he's good at getting his way, lets just say that. towards others he's usually downright menacing but Lucien has a presence that's frightening on a good day, much less if he's actually angry. in a relationship he's def more maniable but not by much. usually if he sees something has to go one way, he's stuck in that mindset for a while, he's too individualistic for anything else which can def cause arguments/disagreements

COMMUNICATE (what is their love language?)

physical touch is a big one for him. because he allows very few lay hands on him after the kind of life he's had, so him taking pleasure from your touch is the biggest and surest way to know he cares and wants you. be it a gentle touch (rare but possible) or meaner more rough handling (careful enough not to hurt but only just), it's his secondary language of communication since he's not the talkative one especially about feelings

DEVOTED (how do they show they're serious?)

you know. just... trust me, you really know. Lucien makes no exceptions for anyone (except clara/v) so if you're his person the mere way he looks at you is different, the air around you for him is different. a massive cat that hates everyone else purring in your lap energy. there's also the fact that he actually seeks you out while he usually very much prefers to be completely alone.

ENCHANTED (what first caught their eye?)

it's unlikely the first impression was a positive either from his side or yours, or both. he doesn't really see or take note of others often. people are more background noise for him after being locked up for so long so he's still learning in that regard. but one thing you would def need with Lucien is perseverance and patience, so that dedication not to give up on him despite the prickly edges is likely the first thing he would take note of. physically you can be as beautiful as you want, he won't care about that. lust for him is nothing more than an itch. you could try and wear him down and get him to fuck you but don't expect it to mean anything to him or for him to come back for seconds, he doesn't operate that way.

FLIRTY (how do they flirt?)

his flirting is honestly more sly, mean-edged wordplay. he's not the flirty type to begin with so don't expect anything flustering (unless you're more into the rough-spoken/meaner wordplay) but you being clingy after he returns from a long period away would certainly prompt a few comments.

GENTLE (how do they provide comfort?)

again, not particularly amazing with words, and even worse with comfort. he's not the mopey type and will not sit around handing you tissues. if someone hurt you? they're dead, simple as. but if it's being upset by some outside factor, he would likely have a hard time wrapping his mind around it (more so a consequence of his lifestyle/upbringing) so the more likely course of action would be a distraction. whether this is physical or activity-based is up to you.

HOT (what is their favourite look on their partner?)

something easy for him to rip off your body, also enjoys you naked in nothing but his shirts. he's really tall (like the man is 6.1 1/5) so anything of his usually hangs down to your tighs. he also likes the easy access : )

INTIMATE (what kind of date do they like?)

he's not really the dating type. spending time together in silence or murmurs of quiet conversation is usually as close you come to a date. sometimes, if needed for a job for the pit, you might tag along if he needs to go pay a visit at a club etc. then maybe some dancing. he's not half bad at it, either. but he def enjoys watching you if you dance, his eyes are unlikely to slip away once.

JEALOUS (how jealous are they? how do they show it?)

oh, he gets jealous alright. if you're the exception, you're the exception. he won't share you with anyone except clara but that's a topic for another time. he's not about to go alpha male type but the air around him is chilling. he trusts you (if you managed to wear him down enough to be with him, he knows you're not some flimsy wet wipe who's easily swayed) but the other party can def get into trouble. also most certainly expect some rough sex that evening, he's far greedier but equally so more attentive.

KARMA (how do they apologize?)

he has a hard time apologising. not because he can't accept the fact that he's done something wrong/is prideful but mainly because things people do get upset about often seem so trivial to him. again, more so a byproduct of the life he's had opposed to any actual unwillingness to say sorry. actual words would likely only leave his lips if something major has happened.

LUST (favourite thing about their partner?)

willingness to stick by him because he knows full well he's not the easiest crayon in the box to colour your life with. physically, likely laugh and durability : )

MEMORY (what's their favourite memory together?)

likely the first kiss but for different reasons. for you, it's a victory and confirmation you're feelings are not once sided after a sizable struggle to get closer to him while for him it's likely the first time in years he's felt a physical draw that goes beyond just wanting to scratch an itch. also, first person besides clara he felt anything other than indifference or hatred towards. the memory itself is a searing thing infused with passion so it's certainly one to remember.

NORMAL (what does a normal day look like for them?)

there's no such thing as "normal" with him. Lucien isn't around often (at least not initially or for a while) so time together is savoured. Lucien tends to wake up early (he doesn't sleep much in general) and does long morning workouts to burn off the edge of violence constantly swimming in his blood. the most likely way to wake up in the mornings if he's around is to feel his mouth and hand on your or hear the shower start. he's not opposed to you joining him.

OBVIOUS (how do they show they're together?)

while Lucien is not the most PDA-friendly person, he would eventually get used to someone's presence at his side and, as such, not move away from any physical touch outright. nor does he mind - and even prefers - to touch you occasionally in public. these displays are usually only limited to when you're home at the pit of vipers, however, as there's still safety and prying eyes to consider.

PEACE (how do they relax together?)

usually in his room, regardless of the actual activity. Lucien enjoys fresh air though (old lingering unease about being trapped between walls) so expect to spend a fair amount of time upon the Pit of Viper's roof terrace and surrounded by clara's plants, flowers and herbs. there's bustling sounds of the city around you but it's like a small corner of paradise that's almost kissing the skyline.

QUIET (what can they do together without talking?)

Lucien enjoys training a fair amount to help himself focus and burn energy off, so he would be happy for you to join in or simply watch. in the same vein, he doesn't enjoy silences (despite not being very talkative himself) so he does listen to a fair amount of music; anything to fill the quiet. he would be happy to try some of your hobbies eventually too, as long as they're not too irritating.

ROMANTIC (what kind of gifts do they give?)

once more not typical boyfriend material where you can be expected to be pampered and showered with gifts. presents from lucien are few and far in between (and pretty much non-existent during initial paces of relationship) he doesn't believe loyalty can be expressed in presence, and loyalty is higher for him on the scale than love. that being said, eventually, you can def expect one or two things down the line. they're more like to be meaningful and have meaning. likely a show that though he's not the most chatty-cat out there, he always listens and nothing escapes his notice, especially when it's you.

SLEEP (how do they sleep together?)

with you likely tucked under his chin or his arm an iron band around your waist holding you to him. this does take a while to fully bloom into effect though since initially he can be a bit callous in this regard.

THOUGHTFUL (what small things do they do for each other?)

the big one Lucien appreciates more than most is the ability to recognise when he needs space because his mindset is in a dark place. for you, it's the smaller things like finding covers pulled up over your naked body although the other side of the bed is long since cool. or how despite you both knowing he needs to leave, the ever-building sense that he lingers for as long as he can each time, as if some part of him isn't happy to be leaving as it once was.

UNITY (what would their wedding be like?)

not the marrying type. just straight up. again believes loyalty is expressed in a different sense and his devotion is concrete, so he sees little reason to attach any labels or papers on what you have.

VIBRANT (what always makes them smile?)

very little does. with what he's been through his smiles are elusive and incredibly hard to come back (unless they're more insincere/sarcastic things because then they're more common) but way down the line there might be few instances when you feel his mouth stretching against one side of your head if you rush to greet him after one of his returns. they're private and tucked away from anyone's eyes, however.

WHISPER (what pet names and compliments do they use?)

"pretty girl" : )

XOXO (how do they kiss?)

except bruising and hard, very intense. lip bites. few chances to draw breath because he's on you at once. he very much enjoys it if its intensity returned. scratch those nails down his neck, rip at his hair - he welcomes all of it.

YEARN (what do they do when they're apart?)

you likely have plenty to do around the Pit even if not officially one of the Vipers, and he's away making sure no enemies can blindside the Pit which more often than not means murder. minds mutually wonder towards each other often though.

ZOOM (what's their favourite picture together?)

most likely a picture either Step or Noah managed to grab of you together in a little Pit gathering/dinner. Lucien is likely facing away from the camera, unimpressed by whatever is happening, and you're caught mid-laugh. casual at first glance until you look closer and note how you're leaning into him and his head is lowered towards you, his arm half curled around you.

#oc x reader #oc character hdcs #oc writing #ahh he #c: lucien #v: npfh #asks #eileen

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the-darklings · 3 years

Note

my curious ass needs to know who kai and basically who all of your ocs are. i am so invested in this world and your story with them

Kai is the only surviving son of Kishi of Tokyo (yeah that Kishi) and heir to one of Asia’s ruling families title.

What are ruling families, I hear you wonder. Why thank you for asking, let me tell you. In the beginning of the Syndicate’s inception, the creators of this collective approached some of the most influential families in the world at the time (biggest focus being European and Asian ruling clans with long standing histories and, well, a lot of money and influence) to join them and agree to this initiative with promises of continues support and success for all those involved. While the creators of the Syndicate (the Four) have all but faded into obscurity with many not even believing they were/are real anymore, the Ruling Families remain as shining examples of the Syndicate’s overall global rule.

Kai had an older brother who was meant to be the one to inherit the title and become family head after Kishi passed but, well, life. Growing up under his father has left very deep scars on him for many reasons I will leave up to canon to explore. 24. More reclusive, loner type than his more charismatic brother who he was actually really close with. He doesn’t want the title or the torture and pain empire that comes with it (will leave what I mean by that for canon to explain but if you’ve read COA and know Kishi you may have a few ideas).

Kai is actually the antagonist of TPoV and will be romance option for all of you villain loving selves. ASE is a novel and focuses on exploring some of the main characters in this universe like the De La Cours, Jean and Clara, and introduce the world/dynamics but TPoV is the first reader insert story where you are recruited for a mission by Clara as she gathers the pit of vipers and takes Kai on for canon reasons.

But Kat, I hear you say, how is Kai part of the pit of vipers if he’s against them and is their enemy? Well, you’ll just have to wait and see~

(for more vibes check his section ‘Kai’ [RO])

#I’m working on a dictionary for easier navigation for you guys but my ass is slow and motivated and trying to o balance ten thousand things #will be reblogging one of those OCs asks so you are SO welcome to spam me with questions when that comes around #but thank you so much for your interest. every time it makes me 🥺💕#c: kai #v: npfh #asks #anon

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the-darklings · 3 years

Note

Hey, I'm a frequent viewer of your pinterest boards and I was wondering what was the meaning of "No place for heroes universe" that I've seen in some like Pit of Vipers

hello, hello!

so sorry it took me like two calendar months to respond to this, been really hustling on ch19.

so no place for heroes is that original universe I keep mentioning post-coa conclusion. it’s a collaboration between myself and an amazing friend of mine @la-gattara-art I made through coa/coa disord server, actually.

it’s essentially a universe separate from jw, all original, with its own dynamics/relationships (criminal underworld beat tho) and a good thing to keep in mind is the title itself: this ain’t no place for no hero. lots of dark/grey characters, betrayals, etc. oc!v (clara) and the camorra four and lucien will be living in their own universe and this is that universe.

so if we go by chronological order:

FWNS: this is going to be a book I will begin writing after coa and first venture into this world. jeara is the ship I keep tagging as “almost love” on here, and I once joked that if Jean’s character existed in COA, he would be the real endgame for V.

TPoV: the pit of vipers is a little different because we’re hoping right now to make it into an interactive novel that you can read/play yourself, meaning that the story/romances develop how you want them to. and yes, there will be wlw option(s) and possibly even poly (maybe). ideas for it are still under construction but if you like found family, coming together for a mission, grey characters, this might be one for you.

Siren Song: this is actually an AU of this universe in terms of canon timeline but a twist in events. it’s an f/f, explicit story featuring clara/reader relationship. started out as a fun sprint but been writing and posting this one a lot on the coa discord server, it’s at 30k mark currently. started mainly because there is a crying lack of wlw stories that are full of sexual tension, smut, growth, and supportive relationships (aka things I love reading about).

NPFH: the main event. : )

#thank you for asking about it!#if you or anyone else has any questions about characters or relationships #feel free to ask! i would love to talk about it #and you will be seeing more of these characters on my blog one day soon anyway #v: npfh #reborn-rekall #asks

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the-darklings · 3 years

Note

Not gonna lie, Lucien grabbed me by the throat since the first attack on V and then my heart by the sewers scene ;; if you have time, could you mayhabs give us Luci stans a lil something with V? 👀

nature of doubt.

⤫ notes: so this is actually based in that original world I keep alluding to post-coa and uh,, Lucien and V actually have a very different relationship here (tho this piece isn’t considered entirely canon for them, either) and you’re getting a backseat into that relationship. Lucien/Reader is established here - more or less, considering how he is.

⤫ pairing: lucien x f!reader (+clara (oc!v)

⤫ word count: 4.4k+

“You can’t keep doing this.”

Your feet halt sharply at the sound of those words, startled into an acute silence.

The night hums around you, and you lean against the side of the greenhouse, peering through the blur of the glass. Humid heat keeps you warm from the night chill and you slow your breaths in order to hear better. You’ve come up to the terrace because you couldn’t sleep for the life of you, caught in your turbulent thoughts as you were.

Lucien being back should make you happy but something is different this time. You’ve kissed him and hugged the moment he came close enough to touch, and that might have led to a long and strenuous session in your shared bed. Bites and kisses and nails against the skin—just him, raw and passionate, and…

He always comes back from his disappearances with an appetite of a starved man—cruel, dangerous, prowling thing. Always dancing on that line of pain and pleasure. Never pushing more than you ask but there had been a strange detachment this time, a drift you know he felt as well.

Something, this time, felt emptier than usual. For both of you.

Coming up here so late has been more about getting some fresh air to clear your mind and get rid of that gnawing, traitorous whisper of soft brown hair. Hazel eyes and shoulder against yours when you replanted one of hundred plants in her greenhouse.

And it’s because of that, that you recognise the owner of that low, smooth feminine voice that speaks.

“Doing what?”

Of course, it’s him. Of course, the two most nocturnal members of the Pit of Vipers are the ones you have managed to stumble upon.

Instincts scream at once. They’re beyond dangerous individually much less together, and if they caught you spying they might be angry. Disappointed. That thought sits like curdled milk inside your stomach, tart and bitter.

Still. There is something that moves your body. Some need, a draw.

Leaning over the edge of the greenhouse, you spot the shadowed figures of Clara and Lucien. The latter stands with his back to you, his wispy blonde hair loose in the wind, a mess from your running your fingers through it earlier. Hungry. You had been just as hungry and just as needy for his touch.

Yet for some reason it…

It hadn’t been the same.

You love him so much, you do, and you think that maybe—just maybe—there is something inside his chest too. A small, fond thing you so rarely catch glimpses of but know is there.

Clara, on other hand, stands with her arms crossed over her chest, one side of her face bathed with terrace lights. It cuts a terrible, steely line—one dark, one light; and you suppose that’s only right too.

She’s tense though, her stare set as she drills holes into the side of Lucien’s pale head.

You know full well that is a terrifying position to be in. Her stare is downright chilling on a good day. Even more so when she’s angry. It’s made worse, you think, by the fact that she has a face that looks like it should be smiling. It’s a face made for kindness.

She hasn’t smiled once since you’ve met her. It stings more because you know she used to. Noah told you as much once; a sad, thoughtful expression crumpling his sharp, friendly features with sorrow.

Not since him.

The one no one speaks of openly, and certainly not Clara herself. A man with glaciers in his eyes, and tar-black heart.

“Disappearing like you do,” she says flatly, a fine lace of irritation in her voice.

Lucien clicks his tongue, shaking his head in amusement. “It’s what I’ve always done,” he returns dismissively. And you know that it’s an answer that will not go down well. He disappeared for so long you were starting to doubt he would ever return. Clara, since then, had been even more solitary and distant. You’ve always thought that Lucien needed her more than she needed him but this disappearance has proven different. “How is this time any different?”

She doesn't respond right away. It’s as if considering his question, wondering if he actually means those words and you swallow.

You shouldn't be here.

This is a private conversation and yet…

You’ve been just as disappointed by his actions. And you know that if you asked he would not answer.

He answers to no one but her—his leader, the only one he trusts and has chosen—and perhaps that’s the only way for you to get a glimpse into him as well. Find out where his head is at.

It was not so long ago that their bond used to make you jealous and insecure. A tiny part of you still has doubts—it’s hard not to, not with the looks they share, the mute acceptance between them, the way you sometimes just find them sitting together, shoulder to shoulder—but ever since Lucien’s last disappearance something has changed.

“You were gone for months,” she states briskly, her voice icy, and a shiver races down your spine hearing it. She doesn’t raise her voice. It’s smooth, controlled; a pleasant, ordinary string of words. She stands there, and simply looks at him, and it’s terrible somehow. “Even Step couldn’t find you. I couldn’t find you,” she adds after a slight pause, the tiniest of catches in her voice.

You’ve heard that catch a handful of times in the past. Mostly in the shadowed greenery of her greenhouse. Where you sometimes found the viper curled up and resting, hiding away from the world. You’ve tried sitting by her like Lucien sometimes does. It made you feel special, near euphoric the first time she allowed you to hold her hand in silent comfort. The first time she leaned her head on your shoulder.

The way she had sagged against you—atlas on her shoulders, expression fragile, soft—had stuck with you for a long time. So long, you can’t help but see it now.

This is the first fracture you’ve seen in her demeanour in weeks though. She’s so controlled for how Lucien is untamed. But demons that stir under the Viper’s skin might be worse than his and somehow…

That thought is as thrilling as it is terrifying.

The blonde doesn’t take much note of her words. Still staring out towards the twinkling New York streets. “Yes, I imagine it was rather annoying for him,” he says, deliberately avoiding her softer admission, an open fear. “Such a pity.”

It's wrong to say. Right now when every muscle in Clara’s body seems to have gone so taut with tension she bristles. Then, follows fire.

It thickens the air and even some distance away, hugged and hidden away by the shadows, you can feel something volatile bubbling in the air between them. It becomes near suffocating the longer Lucien remains impassive and disinterested in their conversation.

You’ve never seen him show fear, but perhaps, this once, he’s aiming for someone who can remind him of the feeling.

He knows it, too, you conclude when his head finally turns in her direction.

“I do it for you,” he snarls lowly, practically spitting the words, his grip on the railing tightening. “If I didn’t leave, I would skin your loyal little snakies and give you their skins as a present. By the time I came back to myself, it would already be too late, and you would hate me for taking them away from you. You would kill me for it, and maybe I would let you.”

Your heart slams into your throat at his calm, chillingly logical explanation.

You knew—to some degree—that him leaving was about protecting others as much as it was about allowing Lucien that room to roam. It’s hard to feel trapped, tied down, to something when you’ve spent years being treated as no better than an animal.

It makes you value that freedom just that much more.

Your lungs burn yet you feel too afraid to inhale lest you miss her reply.

The woman is silent for a leaden, disturbing moment and you feel your heartbeat accelerate the longer she remains quiet.

“Do you really think you mean so little to me?” comes her chilling whisper of a question and goosebumps tickle across the length of your arms. “That I would kill you?”

She laughs but it’s an unpleasant, cold thing that makes you think of a viper circling her prey and Lucien’s chin tilts at the challenge, at the mocking tilt of her inquiry. “You may act like you don’t care for them but could you really kill them? Just like that?” she demands, her tone sharpening as if she’s wielding one of her blades. “Kill her?”

Your heart thuds; once, twice.

You’re not sure what you feel more surprised at.

The fact that she’s pushing or that she sounds so furious at the mere prospect.

It’s them, you remind yourself hurriedly, ignoring the flush of heat you feel in response to the honeyed, poisonous edge you catch in her words, not what she’s saying.

Yet it feels like a weak argument even in your own mind.

Lucien pushes back from the railing, clenching his fingers experimentally, humming lightly under his breath before offering his verdict, “I won’t even hesitate.”

“You’re lying.”

It’s sharp, and immediate dismissal. So knowing that you don’t even doubt the call out because she knows him better than anyone. They’re two beasts snapping jaws and snarling and it makes for a beautiful sight. Captivating despite the danger.

The terror you should feel around them doesn’t come. That should probably concern you more. You’re not helpless but getting even more tangled with these people is a death sentence.

Lucien steps closer to the leader of the Vipers, and it’s only then that you notice that his white shirt is still unbuttoned. His skin often feels cold to the touch but he’s never once complained about it. The pale canvas of his flesh is marred by scars and faint bruises alike. You’ve tasted them, traced them with your tongue just a few hours ago—so even though you can’t see them clearly, you know they’re there.

“Funny thing. Lies. Like you lie to yourself daily, I imagine, hm?” Lucien’s voice slices through the night air, fills it, stretches it into something even tenser. “You walk around like you want to destroy everything in your path yet you still hold yourself back,” he spits knowingly, his voice slipping into harshness, and his eyes narrow, inspecting the woman before him intently. “He still clings to you and you let him. Still love him.”

He spits the word love out so hatefully you nearly flinch. Like no bigger crime could be committed against him.

His throat grows tense, tendons trembling, and in that moment he looks near feral. Livid.

Because she’s in pain, you think sadly, and he wasn’t there for her, and now she carries it.

It saddens you.

“You have no right,” it’s a warning, a hiss of a statement.

Lucien comes undone in a span of a second.

His arm snaps out, locking behind the slim curve of her neck, his fingers sinking into the nape. He doesn’t drag her forward, he drags himself to her. She lets him, and that surprises you more. She watches him from beneath her heavy, quietly furious brow, silent.

“I have every right!” he fires back, his stare brimming, and he briefly presses their foreheads together but his next words are cruel, “When we crawled out of that filth it was you and me. And then you let some fucker steal you. Do this to you.”

She rips out of his grip with speed that’s a blur, her teeth flashing, “Then maybe you shouldn’t have abandoned me!”

Pain in her voice is like a whip against your skin and heart. They rip into you, linger under your skin. Is that how she felt? All this time. Alone. With no one to turn to.

It...

“You know that’s rich, Lucien,” she continues, her voice a low growl. “You really think I don’t see how you are with (Name)? Did you really assume you could hide something like that from me?”

Your gut coils at her tone. She sounds...small.

And then her words…

Oh.

She must think…

Does she feel like Lucien is replacing her with you? It’s true that you have bonded and grown closer together but…

God, doesn’t she realise no one could come even close to her for Lucien? You’ve accepted their bond long ago though it took time and a lot of battling insecurities that still crop up to do so.

It’s startling to realise that she has even more of those. That beneath a woman who has carved her way into power with such ruthless efficiency is still, at the end of the day, just human. Capable of wounds and bleeding. Doubts and diffidence. It gives her a different light, a human light, one that makes you want to hold her hand again. Feel the fold of her long fingers around yours.

“Ah, my pretty girl,” Lucien begins, sighing softly, his voice silky with tendrils of desire, hunger. So he’s concluded the same, then. Based on his sudden change in topic. “She’s a greedy thing. I see how she watches you, too. A heart so eager and big she doesn’t know what to do with it. So eager to give...and take,” he purrs, his tongue wetting his lips, and you choke down a breath at the memory of that searing tongue on your body. “At least I can say that about her. Can you say the same about your spider?”

You suck in a breath, holding it in your lungs, wide-eyed and unsteady.

Why is he goading her like this? Does this truly get under his skin so much? No—you know it does. Lucien has a greediness of a child who never got toys or enough food growing up. Eager hands and darker eyes. Constantly clawing for more, claiming everything he touches and hoarding it, ready to bite and snarl at any hand that tries to take his things away from him.

He’s considered her his own long before he even knew you. That same silent burn of mine, mine, mine rages in his gaze every time he looks at either of you.

“Do not speak of him, Lucien,” this time her voice is soft, deceptively so, a fragment of a warning that’s the last second of stillness before a viper strikes. “This is the only warning I will give you,” she adds.

Lucien’s head shakes. “Wipe him away,” he warns in return, his voice ice. “Do it, Clara, because if he destroys you, I will scatter his remains across this Earth. He will know agony long before I grant him death. Let her in.”

This time your heart jumps straight to your throat and stays there, beating and trembling, trying to flutter away.

“She’s not a thing for you to decide what to do with.”

There’s an edge to her voice, to her stance. They’re both tense, their shoulders taut as they glare at one another.

You’ve never seen them fight before. Not once. The fact that you’re the topic of their conversation…

Lucien snorts, shaking his head back and forth. “I’m only stating what you noticed long ago,” he says knowingly. “What my pretty girl wants even if she won’t admit it to herself yet,” a pause, and he licks his lips again, his head turning to stare right into the darkness, into the spot where you’re standing, “Isn’t that right, my brave foolish girl?”

Your muscles stiffen with shock. Your flee instincts scream at you to get away but you only stare at them numbly.

Clara doesn’t look surprised by his words, either. Did she know too? This whole time? Then why let you listen to this. Why—

“Don’t be shy,” he coaxes, his voice beguiling and gentle; a dangerous purr. “Come on out.”

You shouldn’t.

They’re…

Too much, too dangerous—you called them a death sentence only minutes prior, and you know you’re right.

Yet you step onto the terrace and straight into the jaws of two awaiting snakes who watch your every step with rapt intensity.

It’s an effort to keep your steps steady and spine straight. Under their stares, you become intimately aware of every stitch of clothing on you. Namely the fact that you’re in nothing but loose V-shirt and worn sweatpants, having pulled on the first thing on hand before departing your room in restless haste.

The intensity of their regard makes you feel like you’re naked, however.

Gulping a quiet breath you try to ignore the way Lucien traces the dip of your collarbone where a love bite is still visible. He sucked on the skin relentlessly, following that with a scattering of open-mouthed kisses, soothing the twinge of the ache.

“I…” you try and sigh. “Sorry. It was rude of me to listen. I…”

Your voice fades when Lucien steps towards you, his footsteps inaudible but purposeful. Same hunched shouldered, tense prowl of a gait, his arm encircling your waist the moment he’s close enough. You lean into his touch despite your wariness, your breath tickling against his exposed skin but over his narrow shoulder, you can’t help but watch Clara.

Dark jumper, messy braid over her shoulder, and sunken cheeks. Tired smudges sit under her eyes, her stare empty, and she looks…

Sad.

There is no particular expression on her face—she’s not that obvious, and he taught her well, you suppose—but the air around her seems to be teeming with some melancholic ache.

Lucien’s mouth brushes over your ear, nipping once, and you expect a shiver of shame or embarrassment to flood through you but it doesn’t. It doesn’t feel wrong to have her witness these things, to watch Lucien’s rare show of intimacy so closely.

The argument between them seems to be forgotten, for now, all of you caught in your own spells. Lucien’s mouth drags downwards, his teeth scraping against the hollow of your throat and you gasp softly.

The sound seems to snap Clara out of her daze, and her expression tightens in a blink. You still can’t get over how pale and tired she looks. Worn. Everything about her seems to be muted today. It’s then that you also recall that you haven’t seen her the whole day. When you asked Hector he had only barked a harsh she’s busy and you had retreated after that, noting his foul mood—more so than usual.

Why?

You try to think if this day holds some sort of significance and—

Oh, oh, oh.

It must be today.

Your stomach sinks at the realisation. So hard and suddenly the sensation of Lucien’s mouth fades just for a second. Because just like that the man’s return also makes sense. He returned so he would be here just in case she needs him.

Two years since the night she was taken in Tokyo.

There must be so much turmoil in her today. No wonder you haven’t seen her out and about and now, out here, in the private space between them, her guard has worn far quicker than usual.

Lucien presses you flush against him and hums a pleased sound when you sigh at the feeling of his lips skimming over your jaw. His head tilts then, staring at Clara over his shoulder.

“You’ve made your point,” she snips the moment he does, her voice throaty.

She stalks past you both, her jaw set and lips pressed to a hard line. Your actions are instinct alone.

Your fingers wrap around her wrist, partially jerking from Lucien’s hold to catch her in your grip. Last time you’ve done something like this she flinched and yanked her arm away with a heated glare. This time she freezes, tensing, but doesn’t pull out of your hold. Her steady, strong pulse beats against your palm and you inhale at the contact.

Last time you touched her had been when she told you her real name.

Clara, Clara, Clara.

With her hands knuckle deep in a pot, a smear of dirt across the freckled nose, and near content look in her eyes. You know she never demands. Yet each member chooses to cement their loyalty to the Pit in their own time and on their own terms. Once the snake tattoo marks their skin, it’s forever. In return, Clara gives them her own name—the ultimate sign of acceptance.

You don’t have a snake tattoo. Yet she had given you her name still. She had noted your startled expression before it morphed and bloomed into a bright grin. That seemed to have startled her more.

When you had hugged her—breathing her in, absorbing her warmth, and savouring the comfort that comes with such simple affection—she had stood there, not moving. It took her several minutes to fully relax, melt into you with a sigh so gentle you barely felt it.

Now, your hand is on her skin again, even if circumstances are so different.

“Don’t go,” you say, fighting back the urge to tug her towards you. “Stay.”

Lucien shifts around you—another snake coiling—but he’s waiting and watching. Almost vibrating with energy you have no name for. Arm around your waist, hand resting lightly on your lower stomach, but you feel his stare digging into her.

He’s eager to see how she will react.

This. This feels right.

Lucien at your side and you holding onto her. A unit, a chain of energy. A thrill rushes through your hand and right to your heart at that conclusion; hot and fierce.

Those dark eyes peer at you, and there is something in her gaze—maybe longing, maybe regret—but it blows out like a candle in a stiff breeze.

Her stare goes to Lucien briefly and she tugs her wrist free. Your expression falls the moment cool night air kisses your palm instead.

Clara turns and disappears down the staircase. Her room is on this floor, just below the terrace and you listen to her fading footsteps. The disappointment you feel stings, bubbles in your chest and you pull your hand back, folding your fingers into a loose fist.

Lucien hisses under his breath, displeased, muttering something in French. His nails scratch against your stomach as he pulls his hand away.

“Why did you do that?” you demand quietly.

A soft breath and quick, hard kiss against your head, his fingers sinking into your shoulder.

“Because I will not let her run anymore,” he mutters coldly, and it carries through the night air, making you shiver.

Turning in his hold, you stare at him.

“Have you two ever…”

He reads into your meaning without you having to force the words out. You’re immensely grateful for it.

“No.”

Your throat aches but you still wonder, “Kissed?”

“Yes. Once,” blunt and straightforward as always. For once, you find yourself appreciating that. “We both thought we were going to die, and neither of us wanted our last memory to be of rotting in pain and alone. Our humanity stripped away.”

You step out of his embrace, mulling that over. You can’t even begin to imagine what that would be like. Feeling that level of desperation. That lack of hope and despair. That kiss had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with comfort, with a need to cling to something so ordinary yet human in what they perceived to be their last moments alive.

“It’s today, isn’t it?” you finally ask, your words soft, thoughtful. “When she was taken. That’s why you came back. Because you knew she would need you,” you add knowingly, staring up at him.

Lucien stares back at you wordlessly. He doesn’t need to waste his breath and verbalize it for you to know you’re right.

“She needs us both,” he concludes and there is no room for argument in that statement—for him, it's an absolute, a known fact. “She’s just too wrapped up in him to realise that.”

Him. It always comes back to him.

The seething rage lingers in Lucien’s soft words, practically spat, certainly damning. Yet you never expected him to be as accepting of this as he has been.

“Why aren’t you mad?” you wonder, watching his profile, the dips of his skin illuminated by the artificial lights. In this moment he’s a wraith, a spirit, a restless ghost. “At the thought that I might…”

Do feel something for a woman you shouldn’t. Did that make you selfish? You often felt selfish for simply wanting Lucien. For hoping that one day he will be able to make peace with his demons and stay with you.

You can’t help but wonder if the woman who reminds you of a beautiful, haunted house could ever, possibly, let her demons go too.

Could...could she feel the same?

Your blood warms at the thought, your mind cycling through every moment shared with her over these last several months. Combing them for any signs and...

“Why would I be, pretty girl?” he retorts with a tsk and a cutting glance. He reaches out, fingers caressing the length of your chin. “I have no intention of choosing, you’re capable of loving us both I know that, and she needs to learn happiness again.”

You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut, savouring the contact. There is that greediness in his hold when he drags you to him. You follow. This time there is new conflict but the energy between you seems to be back, settled. Pressing your forehead against his bare collar, you shiver at how cold he feels to the touch but feel happy at this return.

The missing piece finally has a name.

“What did he do to her?” you mumble against his skin, so desperate to understand what no one is willing to share with you.

You want Clara to tell you herself, one day, but until she’s ready, if ever...

Lucien's voice is dark and low, barely audible when he answers, “He made her love him.”

You doubt anyone can make someone love another person. Not really. But now can’t help but wonder if Lucien feels like that man stole the Clara he knew—Clara that smiled—away from him and that’s what boils his blood. Something that he considered his own was taken from him and he was powerless to stop it.

“And did he love her back?”

He was a fool if he didn’t.

Lucien is quiet for a long, long time after that question, and you feel him staring out towards the twinkling skyline.

“There is a reason why he’s still alive.”

. . .

an: yeah, little to no context and I don’t really expect anyone to read this or care but if you did and happen to enjoy it thank you very much for giving it a chance! love you guys lots. this was written a solid month back so discord gang this is familiar to you lot *wiggles eyebrows*

#oc x reader #oc writing #original writing #reader insert #c: lucien #c: clara #s: we are bound #v: npfh #i said reader is here for both and what of it? also yeah oc!v/clara is bi too so (blows kisses)#anon #asks

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the-darklings · 3 years

Note

Unity for Jeara 😌

UNITY (what would their wedding be like?)

so despite their larger-than-life personalities (especially jean's) neither would actually be jumping to the idea of marriage. their relationship, once past the hurdles, is harder and stronger than a diamond and neither sees the point of leaping headfirst into it (and indeed there's a ton of emotional beats for them both to work through, especially in terms of marriage for jean, and grow closer again).

that being said, I do see it happening one day but def not in a traditional sense or quickly. I see it more as them getting away from everything for a bit, just a brief escape, and it's one of those situations where he's just gazing at her (which he does often, he enjoys looking at her; tracking the nibble on her lower lip, flutter of her hair, fingers tracing paper or skin, and especially her mind working) and clara muttering an annoyed "what?" and him just point-blank saying, "marry me." completely unlike him because no flare, no sly words, no prior thought put into it, he doesn't even have a ring - that question crawls out of somewhere deeper, more human, a sliver only she ever gets to witness anymore.

the actual ceremony would likely just be them, completely private, because it's just for them. the witnesses would likely be some random people they met on their trip and I def see a beach wedding (for the water symbolism yo) and no fancy clothes, just a simple white lace dress for her, rustling in the wind, and a cotton white shirt for him. it would be the exact opposite of everything most would expect from them. eye contact throughout (a world and conversation just between them), his thumb tracing over her knuckles; a play, a kiss, a tease. it's raw in every sense. the most naked they've been before each other despite wearing clothes. they know every dark nook of each other but it's something deeper now. once it's done, he picks her right up, kissing her as the ocean sings in the background; a dark glacier melted, soothed, no longer alone and a girl who burned all her life finally at peace, finally home, finally happy. I don't see them telling anyone either. it's still a weapon that can be used against them with how notorious/powerful they are.

#jeara has the energy of people who've been married for five years but no one knows #and when asked why they didn't tell anyone jean 100% says 'you didn't ask.'#oc character hdcs #oc x oc #c: clara #c: jean #s: almost love #v: npfh #asks

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the-darklings · 2 years

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You've probably had this question before but how was your research involving poisons when you started writing COA? While reading it seems like the research was good good and I gotta give you props

thank you so much!!

tbh the concept itself is fascinating (and large) so it was more enjoyable to research than your average writer headache like what year some obscure item was made. that being said, I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea and toxicology/chemistry/biology (and even botany) can be less than thrilling things to read about in your average fic unless you enjoy these subjects, so I kept it tight. sprinkling details in occasionally that show just at a stream of consciousness level, V knows her stuff. but just because you’re super skilled in something doesn’t mean you’re going to be running around thinking equations 24/7.

basically I picked moments where it would make sense to add these details (like ch15 hotel scene when V is creating the drowning) and knew what information I needed to convey/what point I was trying to make, so I took it from there and just started googling and reading.

#ngl it really helps if the subject you’re researching is something you find interesting yourself #i’m by no means an expert tho (or even close) a lot more research due in npfh #mainly because with coa v jumps from novice to master with time skip with little bit inbetween with chicago/desert #clara’s buildup to mastery is more displayed/explored as is her rise to power #in npfh #asks #anon

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the-darklings · 2 years

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My man hector going from “I serve the family not an individual” to “I just remembered I hate Santino therefore I will only serve V”. I love that everywhere V goes the most dangerous person goes “ If anything happens to V I’m killing everyone then myself”

I think this is a good moment to highlight what he says the first time we meet him, which is actually very character-defining for him:

“Like her? This has nothing to do with liking her or Santino better. Frankly, I don’t give a shit about either of them. Same bullshit over and over again with those two. ‘Papi loves me best’, Papi didn’t give a shit about either of them,” he mutters tensely, and his attention swings back to you, his pale eyes cutting. He leans on his elbows, the cigarette between his fingers still smouldering. “Giovanni loved Camorra and that’s who I now serve. The family, not the individual. Besides, you of all people should know respect is earned, not demanded.”

and, even more tellingly, in chapter 19:

“I don’t need to like you to follow your command."

Hector can be rude, blunt, and often unpleasant but he's not a child. Loyalty is his defining character trait. It's at the very core of all his past actions/beliefs. The reason why he never cared for Santino or Gianna is because neither had earned his respect. V slowly has been doing so throughout the story. They may not like each other but it's because they have bad impressions of each and both are headstrong. One of V's main character traits others have brushed upon but never expanded on at length is the fact that she's very good at earning loyalty through genuine means. In npfh, this will be explored even further because in coa, while she has people who care for her and support her, they're not really 'hers' in the strict sense. While in npfh, she becomes a leader of her own group who follow her knowingly and willingly (hector is actually her second in command lol). A much deeper exploration of the 'power doesn't corrupt, it reveals' ideology I don't have time to explore at length in coa.

Their relationship is one of the key ones in this last leg of the journey without a doubt though, and one I've enjoyed writing in particular. They don't need to be besties to respect and trust each other. It's indeed why V told Hector the full truth and not anyone else. Because she knew others would be clouded by their worry about her well-being to make wise decisions. She trusts Hector would not make that mistake given their past, but guess we'll see.

#hello i'm alive. energy levels these last few weeks have been nonexistent but i'm alive #thank you for one word prompt requests i will try to do some over the weekend hopefully (that one person who sent lucien/v ily)#asks #anon #c: hector #s: my lady

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the-darklings · 3 years

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“ you’re my person. you’ll always be the one i go to. ” Jean + Clara/V 🥺

prompt: “you’re my person. you’ll always be the one i go to.”

pairing: jean x v (coa verse)

wc: 2.3k+ (aka I don't have an off button when it's them regardless of setting/verse)

notes: so while I'm obsessed with jeara in npfh verse, something about exploring them in coa where jean is almost a rogue figure in v's life and is near entirely removed from the overall dramas of her life is just so... (makes a vague, distressed sound). guess i'm just a sucker for "no matter what, life keeps drawing us back together" energy, also I just love their antagonistic, sexually charged banter : )

It’s the soft cocking of a gun behind you that alerts you to someone’s presence at your back.

It’s a split second, a whirlwind of gripping your own weapon, but it’s all too slow. Far too slow, John and Cassian and the Elder would have reprimanded you. Disappointing after years of work and training you’ve done. Sloppy at best, life-threatening at worst.

For priding yourself on speed as your greatest physical weapon, you simply react too slow. It’s not because your instincts are dull anymore — no, if anything, after the dessert you’re an even sharper version of yourself.

But there’s is a singular hole in your instinctive wall. One person who — unfailingly, and irritatingly — seems to slip behind every single one of your guards. More of a snake than you are. More deadly, more deceptively charming and coy.

"Well, well — look who the cat dragged in."

Jean’s voice is still silk. With the gentle roll of his accent, the ice in his eyes shifts and morphs — cracking at the sight of you; always, a match and a fuse — when you level your pistol on his face. Unflinching. A slight, indulgent twitch of his mouth greets your clinical action. He appears so infuriatingly unconcerned to have a fully loaded weapon trailed on him you have to bite back a snarl. Arrogant bastard.

But you’ve seen what his mouth is capable of. He would no doubt make an innuendo if you brought up the said mouth but he’s stopped entire gunfights with his wit and tongue alone in the past. Has stood beside you plenty of times, trying to weasel you both out of serious trouble.

You have a habit of running into each other every time the other needs backup the most. Neither of you would ever admit to needing one another but you’ve served each other’s self-interests plenty of times.

"What are you doing here?" you demand.

The Frenchman doesn’t move, dragging his stare over your body with curious, probing intensity. It’s near lazy, bordering on sexual perusal and instinctively your skin warms under the examination. Prick.

"Lovely to see you too, chérie,” he greets, his voice honey yet always just tantalisingly teasing the idea of more. He’s learned to present himself as the devil’s biggest temptation long ago; a temptation very few resist. His arm finally lowers with those words, followed by a click of safety coming back on but you’re not so quick to follow his lead. “You look positively alive," he adds, a touch sardonic.

Your lips twitch. "Sorry to disappoint."

Last time he saw a mess, not an assassin.

His broad frame is clad in a stitch-to-stitch perfect tailored suit. Dark and sleek. Not dark enough to be outright black but an odd, shimmering material that indeed reminds you of a devil in disguise. Prowling around and passing around favours and information but at a price — always a price, and never one you want to pay in the long run.

"Hm, yes,” he hums thoughtfully, a melody of rumbling deepness that is his voice settling in your gut as he draws closer. Strolling forward without a care in the world, as if you don’t have your pistol still raised. Still aimed at him. Your finger on the trigger. As if there isn’t a pinch to your features; a warning, venomous gleam in your eyes. “While you disappearing is no novelty. You disappearing for seven months to a point even I can't locate you certainly is."

With the sheer vastness of his web of information, you can only imagine how profoundly irritating he found it. Jean doesn’t like losing. Doesn’t like not being in control, in the know. Never has. Others dance to his tune. Losing is a language he doesn’t speak. If there is no way to get his way, he makes one. He cares little for the collateral damage left behind. His ruthlessness alone has always put you at odds though he’s always been quick to point out how hypocritical you are for your wry comments. How every enemy of yours has oftentimes been left spluttering on their own blood, robbed of life or a future.

You burn everything, chérie, he told you once, years ago now, to destroy so thoroughly is a curious talent for one so invested in life and greenery to have.

"I'm touched by the concern," you say eventually, your expression still sour and your mouth curved downwards.

Jean’s face creases at that, an eyebrow quirking, and lips stretching further back. That stupid little dimple in his left cheek appears again, and it’s a rare sight — one to always makes you wonder if this is genuine amusement or just another mask he wears.

"Actually I needed you to kill someone for me, vipère,” he rebukes, dismissive of your notations of sentimentality. A small sound whistles past his teeth, his eyes narrowing down on you when he halts in front of you, his chest bumping into the muzzle of the gun. The pearly white of his dress shirt cuts for a bleak contrast to your sleek, black pistol. “Your sneaky ways have proven to be... most useful."

His voice lowers, dripping towards a lulling, beguiling thing. He slants his head lower, near blending into the shadows of the room where you were searching for more information about your current mark just moments prior.

"Yeah, right," you huff, unimpressed.

"Does it surprise you?” he wonders curiously, his cologne tickling your nose when he slants even closer, still towering over you. And you know his cologne — so damn well, you know it in your marrow — know how it smells when it’s faded and muted. When you nudge your nose against the juncture of his throat, burying yourself in him. Greedy or not, you always stole his warmth. And for some reason he always permitted it. Perhaps he found some begrudging amusement in moments of lingering contact and intimacy between you. For a man who might as well be carved from ice, he knows exactly how to make you burn. “The idea that I think you're my person? A trustworthy contact? You'll always be the one I go to."

Your arm lowers at long last, making you peer up at him from under your lashes. Consider him. Jean’s mouth rests slightly agape, his breaths slowing, slowing, slowing — matching yours, you realise suddenly, ignoring the pinprick of desire at the base of your neck. His proximity chips at your guard and you lean closer too. Alone in this dark room, alone in this world, two solitary figures occasionally passing by each other. In these rare instances of proximity, it’s easy to forget your loneliness. Easy to pretend you’re one and the same.

Your fingers slither up his chest and towards his neck. To kiss him you would have to stretch your limbs and muscles. This you know intimately. If only because you know exactly how his body fits against yours. And what an odd thought it is — to know that where there is fear and unease with others, there’s only need to be closer with him. Every cell in your body seems to hum at the mental image; eager to agree, eager to indulge. The idea of sampling more of him, tangling yourself further in the spider’s web is too tempting. Too enticing. Jean inclines into you. Your escape, hideaway, so dissimilar to how the dessert felt. Like a gilded cage. A makebelieve. With him though it feels…

Your breaths mingle, intertwining, neither of you breaking the eye contact first. He doesn’t allow you a single inhale without devouring every micro quiver of your lips.

"Nice try,” you exhale knowingly before your mouths can touch, leaning back with a saccharine grin. Your fingertips tease over the heated skin of his neck despite the broken spell. It thrills you, the tension of strong tendons you feel there, pulled tauter by your prodding. “Now why are you really here?"

For a single instance, you think Jean will continue his pretence, his unending fictitious act. Mock you further with yet another agreeable mask he shows everyone else. But a flicker, and then his charm melts into something more cunning, crueller, yet somehow — impossibly — even hungrier and darker than before. He’s still too close, too physically there; next to you, in you, like a splinter you can’t get out. Or want to.

Unravelling of a facade packaged in a span of a second, a heartbeat.

"I need him alive, V."

His voice drips from honey to dark velvet. Teasing, seductive promise. Jean’s fingers drag against the curve of your jaw as he speaks, his touch inveigling but you’ve danced this dance before. He should know better than to expect easy prey by now.

"And I need him dead,” you snip back, cupping his cheek in return, scraping your fingers against the dark stubble against his jaw with an innocent tilt of your head. Sometimes you hate it — the way he’s able to rip out something darker in you, more chillingly untamed. Jean is a paradox, a tempest blowing against the ruleset. So often being beside him makes you recklessly want to do the same. “So if you're after something, I suggest you work quicker, Jean."

There’s a split second in which you think he might flip on you the way he’s done on so many others. A warm, inviting smile — all charisma and magnetism, toothy and wide — seconds before he plants a bullet in your body. You’ve seen him do it so many times in the past your head spins. In part from wondering if he will give you one last kiss before he pulls the trigger, or if he really believes you will not take him down with you if he attempts it.

"If I get the information I need by sunrise, have dinner with me tomorrow."

His thumb nudges against the curve of your bottom lip. Rough yet gentle, sensuous yet treacherous. He’s so used to getting his way you want to refuse him out of principle alone if nothing else. It’s rather enjoyable — in a dark, cruel way — to deny him, to see how many masks he can flip through until only his own face remains. You've yet to see such a day.

"There's a distinct lack of a question mark in that statement," you note coolly.

The tension between you sits like a physical weight. Overbearing and thick; you glimpse all the things he’s doing to you inside his mind already. His fingers digging into your hips, hoisting you into his strong arms. A hiss of searing breath against your ear, teeth against your neck, animalistic, skin against skin. Sweat and filth and passion. You’ve healed during your stay at the dessert. He can see it in you. A part of you has transformed, shed your old, torn skin — he’s certainly coaxed and encouraged this change in you prior. It had become a particular interest of his once John departed.

Bury your past, vipère, it doesn’t serve you anymore.

Glaciers of his gaze thaw and spark into a sapphire flame the longer you gaze at one another, hungry and wanting. Jean’s angular, virile features tighten with restraint but he doesn’t crack, a faint grin still lingering in place.

"I'm not going to grovel at your feet, vipère,” he says, his words ringing deeper and sultry, near gravelly. A knife’s edge, really, razor-sharp against your fragile pulse. His fingers trace the contours of your parted mouth, and you sense his breath when he nudges close. The scent of tobacco and red wine still lingers on his own lips muddying your honed senses. “It's not in my nature to do so. If I want something, I go for it."

And for some reason it’s him — him you lean into, him you don’t shun or snarl at when he touches you. So intimately. Painting you with his hands anew — bloody hands of a murderous man, a liar and a cheat.

Your lashes flutter. "And here I thought you liked games."

"Only the ones I win,” he breathes hotly, his teeth gleaming, a wolf’s jaws open for devouring. His large palm slips to cup your face, bracing against your cheek, steadying you. Your mouths are almost touching, almost kissing, almost biting. “And you... are... most certainly a game I'm happy to play every time, ma vipère.”

The last part — wanton and just a touch possessive, throaty with a heavier accent — scrapes against the shell of your ear. Hot, wet exhales of oxygen skitter against the curve of your neck and it leaves you shuddering against him. Jean grins into your skin at the small victory, his mouth flitting over your beating pulse in reward. Once, twice. He’s not touching you further, and you grind your jaw to prevent yourself from touching him in return.

Always the game of who will give in first.

When he realises you’re not about to hand him his victory as he no doubt hoped you would, he pulls back, a flash of teeth visible in the darkness. Lights from the street outside illuminate his handsome features when he moves back. His eyes drink in your form, from head to toe, his thumb swiping over his own mouth slowly. It coils your stomach when you realise it’s the same hand he touched your mouth with.

An indirect kiss to taste you. Despite your controlled expression, you feel that distant kiss as if he were smearing your mouth with his until your edges blurred with his.

“Dinner will be at 8 pm sharp. Don't be late,” he instructs, low and smooth, his voice still scratchy with hunger. He pivots to go but pauses midturn, glancing at you over his shoulder while his hand slips into his slacks. “Oh, and do wear red. You always look so fetching in that colour. And it looks ever-so pretty on my bedroom floor."

#original writing #spilled prose #original prose #oc x reader #oc writing #writing #s: almost love #c: jean #head empty - only they!!!#ngl kinda proud of how this one turned out so hope you enjoy anon!!!

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