Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Pairing - General Armitage Hux x Reader
*Set prior to The Force Awakens*
Summary -
Forged in blood. Bound by duty. Broken by desire.
(Y/n) (L/n) is a deadly Umbral of the Covenant - an elite order of vampires sworn to the First Order. Her assignment: serve as General Hux's personal guard. But as buried secrets surface and a rogue vampire faction rises, (Y/n) is forced to confront a past she can't outrun - and feelings she was never meant to have.
In a war of blood, betrayal, and duty, the deadliest threat may be the one that lies still in her chest.
Series contains - Blood, violence, battles/war, betrayal/angst, eventual smut, slow burn
The torches lining the Grand Hall flickered, casting elongated shadows against the obsidian walls. The air was thick with the scent of smoldering incense, a tradition as ancient as the Covenant itself. At the center of the chamber, six figures stood rigidly in a line, cloaked in the dark, combat-hardened suits of the Umbral. Their faces remained impassive, their postures drilled to perfection. They were not just soldiers. They were the executioners of the Covenant’s will.
At the head of the hall, a raised dais loomed, adorned with banners of crimson and black. One bore the emblem of the Covenant, the other of the First Order. And standing just behind the Altar of Ascension, watching with calculating interest, was General Hux.
His uniform was pristine, his gloved hands tucked behind himself. Unlike the other High Lord elders draped in ceremonial robes or Covenant Duskborns standing at attention, he was an outsider. A reminder of the alliance between the Covenant and the First Order, a bond forged from necessity rather than trust.
Standing at the altar, the Wraith Commander of the academy spoke, his voice like steel scraping against stone.
“You stand here today as the few who have survived.” His gaze swept over the graduates, lingering on each of them. “Of the many who entered, you are the only ones who endured. The trials have burned away weakness, stripped you of fear, and reforged you into something greater.”
One woman remained motionless as the commander’s piercing gaze settled on her. She could still feel the phantom aches of the trials. The grueling endurance tests, the relentless combat drills, the nights spent standing motionless under the open sky, waiting for an attack that could come at any moment. The academy had demanded everything from them. And they had given it.
One by one, their names were called. Each stepped forward to receive the insignia of the Umbral, a symbol of their rank and purpose. When the woman’s name was spoken, she moved with perfect precision to stand before both the altar and the commander to have the insignia fastened onto the top left of her chest. It was heavier than she expected. Not in weight, but in meaning.
Once it was securely fastened, her gaze briefly flickered to General Hux. He studied her with a carefully measured expression, his sharp eyes betraying nothing.
As the Umbrals stood back in line, the commander gave them a single nod and stepped away from the altar. The Umbrals then synchronously pulled out one of their daggers harnessed to their thighs and - in accordance with the Covenant’s oldest tradition - dragged the blade across their palm. enough to draw blood but not enough to drip. As they all looked up at the Covenant’s emblem, they put away their blades with their arms back at their sides. Their expressions were overcome with fierce determination before they all spoke.
“In darkness, I was forged. In blood, I am bound.” The Umbrals felt the palms of their hands begin to heal and close up. “ In shadow, I rise.”
The audience watched intently as their voices spoke with an intense unnamed emotion. The memories of their history settled in their hearts as the Umbrals continued.
“I am the blade unseen, the wrath unyielding. My will is iron, my duty eternal. I forsake the light, for it is not my path. I swear my loyalty to the Covenant, to my kin, to the Order that raised me from the ashes of the weak. My blade is theirs to command. I will not falter. I will not fail. I am an Umbral, and an Umbral does not kneel.”
As they finished their oath, there was a moment of silence before the hall erupted in a resounding chorus of acknowledgement, their success etched into the annals of the Covenant’s legacy.
But before the new Umbrals could disperse, the Wraith Commander stepped forward.
“Duty awaits, Umbrals.” His voice echoed with finality. “Your placements have been decided.”
A datapad was produced, and the assignments were read aloud.
“Varo Drenn, stationed aboard the Finalizer. Assigned to High Command security detail.” Applause sounded from behind them.
The list went on, and then -
“(Y/n) (L/n).”
She barely shifted, but inside, her senses sharpened.
“You will be stationed aboard the Finalizer. You are assigned directly to General Hux.”
The hall remained silent, but a subtle tension threaded through the air before the applause started. Few Umbral were assigned to personal protection roles, particularly to someone of a higher ranking. But it was not unheard of.
She turned her head just slightly towards the general. His expression did not change, but there was the faintest flicker of something in his gaze. Approval? Interest?
Or perhaps just calculation.
(Y/n) simply bowed her head in acknowledgment. She did not question her orders. She did not hesitate. Her assignment had been set. And she would see it done.
“That is all from me, Umbrals. I wish you all the best of luck in your careers moving forward.” The commander eyed them carefully. “Honor in Loyalty!”
“ Strength in Silence!” The Umbrals viciously responded, their voices powerful as they carried through the chamber.
The ceremony had ended, but the weight of it lingered in the vast expanse of the great hall. The gathered elders had dispersed, along with the spectators from the Covenant and the First Order. Now, only the newly anointed Umbrals remained, standing in their familiar groups and murmuring in hushed voices.
(Y/n) exhaled slowly, flexing her palm where the ceremonial cut had already healed. She had known this moment was coming for years, yet the finality of it settled in her chest like a weight.
A voice broke through the silence beside her.
“Didn’t think we’d actually live long enough to make it to this point.”
She turned, already recognizing the low, dry tone before meeting the sharp gaze of Varo.
Dressed in the same black ceremonial attire as her, he looked every bit the Umbral he now was. Tall, imposing, his features carved from sharp lines and quiet intensity. But there was an ease to his posture, an irreverence in his stance that had always set him apart from the others. While many of their kind held themselves with rigid discipline, Varo carried his authority like a cloak draped loosely over his shoulders, rather than armor strapped too tightly to his skin.
(Y/n) arched a brow. “You doubted?”
Varo let out a short, amused breath. “Not about myself. You, though? Definitely.”
She gave him a pointed look, unimpressed.
He smirked. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who kept getting thrown into the pits every time you challenged the instructors.”
“They were wrong,” she said simply.
“They were stronger,” he corrected. “At least at the time.” He studied her for a moment before nodding. “But I guess you proved your point.”
(Y/n) rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.
There was a brief lull in the conversation as the murmurs of their fellow Umbrals filled the space around them. Some had already begun filtering out of the hall, moving toward their new lives, their new assignments. It was a strange thing. To spend years side by side, only to be scattered the moment they were forged into weapons.
Varo broke the silence first. “So you’re being sent off with the general?” (Y/n) stiffened slightly. Of course, he would have questioned it already.
She nodded. “I suppose so.”
Varo let out a low whistle. “Not bad. High-profile assignment. Though I can’t say I envy you. General Hux looks like he hasn’t slept about as much as ourselves.”
(Y/n) didn’t respond, but she could see the curiosity in his expression. “And what about you?” she asked instead. “High Command security?”
“High Command security.” he nodded, crossing his arms. “Captain Phasma’s command, I’m assuming. We’re stationed together, but I doubt we’ll see much of each other. At least, not as much as we’re used to.”
She considered that. They had trained together for years, watching each other’s backs, surviving what others couldn’t. Now, they were being pulled into separate orbits. She knew it was inevitable, but that didn’t make it any less strange.
“You’ll be safer there,” she remarked.
Varo scoffed. “I’m not sure safer is the right word when it comes to guarding a bunch of ambitious officers with knives hidden behind their backs.” His smirk faded slightly, something more thoughtful settling in his expression. “But I’ll manage.”
(Y/n) studied him. There was an understanding between them, one that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. They had survived the trials, endured the blood, the pain, the sacrifice. They were Umbrals now. Their lives weren’t their own anymore.
But that didn’t mean they weren’t still themselves.
“Be careful, (Y/n),” he said, quieter now. “Not just with the general. With the Covenant, too.”
She tilted her head. “You sound like you don’t trust them.”
Varo shrugged. “I trust that they’ll use us as long as we’re valuable. And if we stop being valuable?” He gestured vaguely. “Well. You know how it works.”
She did. All too well.
“But we aren’t Umbrals for no reason. We know our value.”
She didn’t let the thought linger. Instead, she extended her hand toward him, palm up.
Varo looked at it, then smirked slightly before gripping her forearm in a firm clasp.
“We survived,” he murmured.
“For now,” she replied.
Their hands fell away, and with one last glance, Varo turned and disappeared into the departing crowd.
(Y/n) stood in the dimming light of the Grand Hall, silent for a moment longer before finally stepping forward.
She walked with the same precise step, her boots striking the stone floor in measured intervals. The weight of her new insignia pressed against her chest, a tangible reminder of what she had become.
As she stepped past the towering doors of the chamber, she immediately noticed the presence of General Hux waiting in the adjacent corridor.
He stood with his hands clasped neatly behind his back, his long black coat pristine, every inch of him composed and controlled. Two First Order officers flanked him at a distance, but his attention was entirely on her.
She approached with unerring confidence, stopping precisely at the required distance. With a practiced motion, she placed her hand over her heart and bowed her head slightly. The formal gesture of acknowledgment within the Covenant.
“General Hux,” she said, her voice smooth and measured.
The man regarded her with the same critical gaze he had maintained throughout the ceremony. Up close, his presence was even more exacting. Sharp angles, unwavering posture. An air of authority that demanded nothing less than absolute obedience.
“Umbral (L/n),” he greeted in return, his tone clipped but devoid of disdain. “It seems we are to be in close quarters from now on.”
She straightened, her expression impassive. “I will carry out my duties as assigned.”
Hux’s lips pressed together slightly, as if amused by her strict adherence to protocol. “I would expect nothing less.” His gaze flickered over her with analytical precision. “You are younger than I anticipated.”
“My age is irrelevant, sir,” she replied without hesitation. “I would not be standing before you if I were not capable.”
Hux tilted his head slightly, considering her words. “Indeed. The Umbral training is known for its… unforgiving nature. And yet, you emerged among the few who completed it.”
There was an edge of something in his voice. Not admiration, but acknowledgment.
“My survival is a testament to the Covenant’s teachings,” she said simply.
He nodded, accepting the response before shifting slightly. “Your role with myself will differ from standard Umbral assignments, as I’m sure you are aware. You will report directly to me. No other officer aboard the Finalizer holds authority over you unless I say otherwise.” His gaze sharpened slightly. “Is that understood?”
“Perfectly, General.”
There was a moment of silence, something unsaid hanging in the air between them. Hux studied her, and she, in turn, did the same. She had learned to read people, to dissect their intentions, their weaknesses. General Hux was not a man who wore his emotions plainly.
But there was something in his eyes that told her he was doing the same to her.
Finally, he gave a curt nod. “Very well. You will accompany me back to the Finalizer. Your belongings have already been arranged for transport.” He turned sharply, beginning to walk, (Y/n) moving in perfect sync beside him.
As they walked, the halls of the academy fortress loomed around them, dark stone and towering spires casting jagged shadows under the dim glow of the perimeter lights.
They walked outside into the cooler night air towards their awaiting transport, their boots echoing against the stone path leading to the landing platform.
From the ceremony, she had observed him in sharp detail. The cold, precise way he carried himself, the calculating glint in his eyes. He was an enigma to her, even now, as they moved in unspoken synchrony towards their shared destination.
For a time, neither of them spoke. It was not uncomfortable, only measured. (Y/n) had been trained in the weight of silence, in the power of withholding words until they served a purpose.
Hux was the one to break it.
“You’re not what I expected.”
She turned her head slightly, studying him from the corner of her vision. His gaze remained fixed ahead, his expression unreadable.
“Explain,” she said simply.
His brow arched faintly, as if noting her directness. “I expected a mindless weapon after all I’ve heard. A blunt instrument honed by the Covenant to serve without thought or hesitation.” A pause. “Instead, I find someone who holds herself like a dedicated soldier rather than a puppet.”
She considered that. “I am a soldier,” she affirmed. “And I was trained to be a weapon. But the two are not mutually exclusive.”
“Hm.” He didn’t argue the point.
The wind picked up as they neared the platform, the hum of its idle engines filling the space between them. The platform was quiet, and only a handful of the Covenant’s attendants and a few First Order officers stood waiting for them, Varo amongst them.
“A few key points to remember when under my supervision,” Hux began.
“Yes, General?”
“I do not tolerate insubordination.” The two of them ignored the bystanders they passed as they boarded the ship, focused in conversation.
“I do not tolerate incompetence,” (Y/n) returned evenly.
That earned her a brief glance, though his expression remained carefully schooled. “My interests, demands, and safety are your first priority.”
“Naturally, sir.” Another look from the general.
“Your orders come from myself and myself alone. Not from Captain Phasma, not other officers. No one. If anyone urges otherwise, you are to report it to me. Am I clear?”
“Crystal, sir.” She spoke with an unwavering gaze.
“Good,” he said after a moment. “Then we won’t have a problem.” He turned to take a seat, (Y/n) moving to lean against the wall beside him, yet alert. “I don’t expect blind loyalty from you, Umbral,” he said, his voice measured. “Only obedience.”
(Y/n) met his gaze quickly. “Obedience is earned, not demanded.”
A flicker of something passed through his expression. Perhaps intrigue, perhaps amusement. It was gone before she could decipher it.
“Then I suggest you learn quickly.” He caught a shadow of amusement in her expression, but it quickly faded.
More Posts from Igot-the-juice and Others
Chapter 7
Pairing - General Armitage Hux x Reader
*Set prior to The Force Awakens*
Summary -
Forged in blood. Bound by duty. Broken by desire.
(Y/n) (L/n) is a deadly Umbral of the Covenant - an elite order of vampires sworn to the First Order. Her assignment: serve as General Hux's personal guard. But as buried secrets surface and a rogue vampire faction rises, (Y/n) is forced to confront a past she can't outrun - and feelings she was never meant to have.
In a war of blood, betrayal, and duty, the deadliest threat may be the one that lies still in her chest.
Series contains - Blood, violence, battles/war, betrayal/angst, eventual smut, slow burn
The hiss of the door was nearly silent as it slid open. The general stepped inside with purposeful strides, datapad in hand, the pale lights of the corridor casting shadows along the walls. He paused just inside the threshold, eyes landing on the figure ahead.
(Y/n) stood motionless at the far end of the room, back to the door, arms stiff at her sides and head hung low. Her entire silhouette coiled like a wire pulled taut.
Hux froze.
She wasn’t speaking. She wasn’t moving. But the air felt heavier. Thicker.
Like a storm about to break.
He watched her in silence for a long second before speaking, voice cautious and measured.
“Their shuttle is approaching. They’ll be docking within the next few minutes.”
She didn’t respond at first. Then slowly, deliberately, she turned.
Her eyes met his. Ice-cold. Still. Controlled. And somehow far more dangerous.
Her face was a mask of serenity, but it was the kind of calm that lived just before a strike. The kind of silence that waited before violence.
Hux swallowed. Just once. His pulse kicked against his collar despite himself.
“(L/n)?”
(Y/n)’s lips twitched, just slightly.
“Ready.”
Her voice is calm. Measured. Controlled.
Too controlled.
Hux stared at her, his own expression unreadable for a moment before he gave a slow nod, stepping aside.
“Then let’s not keep our guests waiting.”
She moved towards the door, walking past him with silent purpose. He watched her go, jaw set tight as he followed.
He couldn’t help but wonder what it was that waited behind that eerily perfect composure. Wondered how close she was to unraveling… and what would happen if she did.
The massive expanse of the hangar was clouded with tension. The transport ship settled into place, steam hissing as the ramp descended with a mechanical whine.
Troopers and techs held back, keeping a wide berth as Varo emerged first before turning to the Covenant flanking the detained rogues.
Their uniforms were similar to that of the Umbral, however instead of black, the uniform was more of a grey, along with their cloak. Though, unlike the Umbrals, they wore sleek, black Eva helmets, adding to their intimidation. Yet also kept them from any individual distinction.
“Restrained and on their knees.” Varo ordered.
The Duskborns moved with practiced precision, grabbing each of the five rogues and forcing them forward. The detainees were bloodied but breathing, their mouths bound, hands cuffed with reinforced mag-restraints. They struggled. Some were defiant, some afraid.
Then their eyes landed on two figures quickly approaching with determination in their long strides as they were shoved to their knees in a line.
(Y/n) stood beside the general, her gaze sharp and fixed on them like a predator tracking prey. Her expression was unreadable, but her posture was tight with restrained fury.
One of them, a woman with faded dark hair and hollow eyes, faltered as she saw (Y/n).
Her eyes widened.
She didn’t speak. Couldn’t with the gag in place. But her stare was laced with recognition, disbelief, and something sharp and uncomfortable.
(Y/n) didn’t blink as they came to a stop in front of them. Her eyes were locked on her mother like twin blades.
The general’s presence was cold and commanding as he addressed the kneeling rogues with both disdain and sadistic satisfaction in their capture.
“Your brood of vipers have made this an interesting couple of weeks, I must say. But all good things must come to an end, unfortunately.” His lips stretched into an evil smile as he slowly stepped closer. “Oh, we’re going to have fun breaking you.” He gestured to the squad behind him. “Take them to the holding cells.”
The Troopers moved to comply, accompanied by a few Duskborns. (Y/n) then spoke. Low, calm, and without looking away from her mother.
“That one.” Her head lowered in the direction of the older woman. “She’ll be the first interrogated.”
Hux looked at her briefly but said nothing. There was no question in his mind that she wouldn’t falter on her decision.
He nodded once, silently giving the order. A pair of troopers roughly yanked (Y/n)’s mother to her feet, separating her from the others as they began escorting the prisoners away.
The remaining rogues were dragged down the corridor, their footsteps echoing in the hangar, accompanied by the growls of the Duskborns.
Varo watched them go, his expression grave. But once they were out of sight, he stepped up to (Y/n), his voice low and careful.
“(Y/n).” It was his first time using her first name in the presence of others on the ship, let alone the general. But with the look in her eyes that was present since she entered the hangar, he couldn’t care less about titles and formality.
She didn’t answer.
“You doin’ alright?” He tried again, more gentle as Hux carefully watched the exchange, equally invested.
Her eyes finally flicked to Varo’s. And though she didn’t say a word, her expression was enough. An expression Varo had seen only a few times before.
The look of a wild animal held in a cage.
He didn’t press her. He just stood beside her, silent in his support.
Hux’s gaze bounced between the two of them, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
There would be much to discuss. But first, there would be blood.
The air remained heavy with the aftershock of what happened before (Y/n) turned slowly from where her mother was dragged away. Her eyes cut across the hangar to the remaining Covenant who awaited her orders in a neat, disciplined formation.
She didn’t hesitate as she stepped towards them.
“Captain.” She called. A man quickly rushed forward with unnatural speed, stopping directly in front of her at attention. His darker cloak marked his distinction as the squad leader for their group.
“Yes, Umbral?” He spoke, voice slightly distorted by his helmet.
“Secure perimeter patrols around the detention wing. No shifts longer than four hours. You will rotate in pairs only, no one guards alone. We don’t know if they are capable of anything outside of Covenant training.”
The captain nodded, taking her words with strict obedience.
“I want you and one other Duskborn to reinforce engineering access points as well as bioscans at every bulkhead and atmospheric control gate. If they’re smart, they’ll try to sabotage next.”
“Yes, Umbral. Understood.”
“If anyone on this ship attempts to prevent you from doing any of these tasks, you report it to me immediately and I will personally handle it.”
“As you command, Umbral.”
“Dismissed.” With a snap of his heels, the captain spun around and began barking orders to the Duskborns. They broke off in precise movements, scattering to carry out their directives.
The general, still standing behind her, watched the exchange with sharp focus. Hands clasped behind his back, lips drawn into a contemplative line. There was no cold detachment in his gaze this time.
There was something else.
Admiration. A hint of surprise. And buried somewhere deeper… a flicker of desire.
She hadn’t just taken control. She commanded. Cool, composed, and utterly lethal in presence. A weapon shaped into a leader.
Beside him was Varo, arms casually crossed and expression unbothered as he leaned slightly towards Hux.
“She always gets like this when she’s pissed.”
Hux’s brow lifts slightly, attention still fixed on (Y/n).
Varo continued with a grin. “I’ve been taking notes. Someday I’m gonna give orders like that and people’ll actually listen instead of laugh.”
“Doubtful.” Hux deadpanned.
“Fair.”
(Y/n) finally turned towards them, her features carefully neutral once again, though Hux caught the sharp edge still hiding in her eyes.
Hux gave her a single nod, though his gaze lingered longer than it should.
“Excellent work, (L/n).” He paused, then spoke lower, almost thoughtful. “Impressive.”
She tilted her head, the faintest flicker of acknowledgment in her expression, but it was hard to tell if it was from the praise or the unspoken tension hanging between them.
“You make the rest of us look like amateurs.” Varo teased. “It’s honestly infuriating.”
“You do that all on your own, Drenn.” She replied flatly.
Varo mocked being offended and pointed at her. “That was uncalled for. Accurate, but uncalled for.”
Despite everything, the prisoners, the tension, the weight of what was coming. There was a breath of ease between them. A fragile but welcome reprieve.
Hux exhaled quietly, eyes trailing (Y/n) again.
“We need to begin preparing for the interrogations. And then you’ll be able to…” he thought for a moment. “Handle… your subject.”
(Y/n) nodded before her and Varo followed behind the general as they made their way to his office. Varo gave (Y/n) a sly look, voice pitched low.
“He was staring.” He spoke bluntly. “Like, full-on ‘I’m going to write poetry about her in my quarters’ staring.”
(Y/n) grit her teeth as Varo grinned. “Varo.”
“Just saying.” He put his hands up in surrender. “You’re terrifying when you take command, but I’m pretty sure he thought you were something else. Might wanna warn him next time before he -“ Varo was cut off by a harsh slap on his arm.
But as she looked at Hux in front of them, there was something else flickering in her expression.
The office carried a heavy silence save for the soft clicks of data being organized. Hux stood beside his desk, reviewing the preliminary files of the detainees, his posture rigid, focused. (Y/n) remained near the far wall, her back partially turned, arms folded tightly across her chest.
The silence between them stretched until Hux finally broke it.
“First interrogation is scheduled to begin in 15 minutes.”
(Y/n) didn’t respond immediately.
“I’m sure you have questions,” she spoke quietly. “Elira (L/n).” Hux’s gaze snapped to her at the mention of the same last name. “My mother.”
Hux’s fingers froze above the datapad. His expression was unreadable, though something in his eyes softened slightly.
“I see,” he said carefully.
Telling herself that it was necessary information prior to the interrogation, she continued, her voice steady but subdued. “I thought I’d never see her again. The last time I did, she disowned me.”
She inhaled slowly through her nose, grounding herself as her gaze lowered to the floor.
“My parents supported the Resistance, so naturally I followed. Growing up, they told me that the stories of what happened to our people were fabricated lies. That the Covenant was just another form of control used by the First Order.”
Her voice grew quieter.
“When I told them I enlisted in the Covenant, that I’d met Varo - who told me the truth - they were furious.”
Hux took a few steps toward her, listening.
“She told me I was brainwashed. That the Resistance was the only path forward for people like us. I told her I didn’t want to forget what they did to our people. I wanted justice. She said if I walked out that door, I would no longer be her daughter.” (Y/n) swallowed the tightness in her throat, eyes flicking up to meet Hux’s. “I left anyway.”
He watched her for a moment longer, taking in the weight of her words. The rare vulnerability threading through the calm composure she wore like armor. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.
“You made the right choice.”
“I don’t need reassurance,” she said, turning away slightly.
“No,” Hux said, “but you deserve it.”
(Y/n) let out a breath, shaky despite her effort to control it. “I don’t know how I’ll feel when I see her. I want to be cold. I want to act like she’s just another prisoner. But…”
“But she’s not,” he finished for her.
“She looked surprised,” (Y/n) murmured with partial amusement. “When our eyes met in the hangar. I don’t know if she was ashamed… or just didn’t expect to see me.”
Hux stepped closer, careful not to invade her space, but close enough that his voice dropped into something more human.
“You’ve turned out loyal. Capable and unshakably devoted to your cause. She should be grateful you didn’t let their cowardice define you.”
(Y/n)’s lips parted as if to speak, but she stopped herself, nodding once instead. The silence returned, heavy but less suffocating now.
Finally, Hux spoke again.
“I’ll attend the interrogation with you. You won’t go in there alone.”
(Y/n) turned to him, surprised. “You don’t have to -”
“I want to.” He replied firmly.
She met his gaze, and this time, there was no veneer of command or control in either of them. Only something quietly understanding. A long, steadying moment passed between them.
Then (Y/n) nodded.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Hux didn’t respond with words. Just a quiet nod… and the comfort of silence shared with someone who understood what it meant to be abandoned.
And to keep going anyway.
The metallic corridor outside of the detention wing was chilled, dimly lit with harsh overhead fluorescents that buzzed faintly, casting pale light across polished black floors. Two Duskborns stood stationed on either side of the sealed blast doors of the interrogation room, their heads locked forward in unblinking silence. A pair of stormtroopers flanked them, weapons held steady against their armor.
Varo stood waiting nearby, his posture alert but relaxed in that uniquely casual way of his. At the sound of approaching footsteps, he turned to see (Y/n) and General Hux striding towards them together.
(Y/n)’s expression was unreadable, her eyes cold, her jaw clenched. She moved with unwavering purpose, every step measured and silent. But Varo knew her too well to miss the tension simmering just beneath the surface.
He stepped forward, glancing at Hux with a short nod before turning his attention to her.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said quietly.
(Y/n) blinked, her lips twitching as if caught between a grimace and a smile. “Am I pretending?”
Varo shrugged. “You’re walking like you’re about to go into battle. And I’d say you’ve got that ‘vengeful spirit of the ancestors’ look in your eyes again.”
Her shoulders tensed slightly before she forced a breath through her nose.
“I’m fine,” she muttered.
“No, you’re angry. And hurt. And about to go talk to the person who did that to you.” Varo’s voice softened. “You don’t have to be fine, (Y/n). You just have to be in control.”
There was a brief pause.
She looked up at him, expression guarded but grateful beneath the steel.
“I don’t know what I’m going to say to her,” she admitted, barely above a whisper.
“Start with what you want her to hear,” he said. “Then say what you need to say.”
He placed a hand lightly on her shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze. “You’ve faced worse. You’ve survived worse. She won’t break you.”
From behind them, the general waited silently, allowing the moment between them to settle. His hands were folded behind his back, his gaze unreadable but sharp as ever. But there was no judgment in his eyes, only a rare flicker of something quieter.
(Y/n) turned to Hux, nodding once.
His gaze lingered on her for a heartbeat longer than usual before he offered a nod in return.
The blast doors hissed as they began to part, the light beyond flickering on with a sterile, clinical chill.
Together, (Y/n) and Hux stepped through - side by side - into the chamber where the ghost of her past waited to speak.
The room was black steel and held a sense of brutality. Devoid of comfort, drenched in sterilized silence. A single spotlight poured down from above onto the table bolted to the floor in the center of the room. Restraints clamped down on the prisoner’s wrists and ankles, tight and unmoving as the table was inclined for her to lay upright.
On that table sat her ghost. (Y/n)’s mother.
Still sharp-featured and graceful despite the grime of capture, but aged in a way that had nothing to do with time. Her clothes, though stripped of insignia, still held the vague air of Resistance sympathies. Her gold eyes burned with a smug, knowing light, even now.
(Y/n) stood before her. Unmoving. Focused.
Her cloak was gone, boots echoing across the metal as she paced in measured steps around the chair. The sharp hiss of the sealed blast door sounded behind them, where Hux now stood silently in the shadows. He said nothing. Observed everything.
“(Y/n),” her mother purred, voice far too casual for the weight in the air. “My daughter, standing like a First Order dog. I always imagined you’d outgrow your rebellion against us. But look at you. Still clinging to the leash someone else put around your neck.”
(Y/n) ignored the bait. She circled again, cool and collected.
“You were found in the company of known ex-Covenant fugitives. Now Resistance operatives.” Her tone was flat, clinical. “You will give us names, contacts, safehouses, and supply lines. Do this, and perhaps you’ll be granted leniency.”
Her mother tilted her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “The Covenant must’ve broken you more than I thought. They told you a new history, gave you new fangs, and now look. You’re snarling at your own blood.”
(Y/n) stopped walking. Her arms stayed at her sides, her posture impeccable, but the line of her jaw was sharp now, locked tight.
“I’m snarling at traitors.”
Her mother’s expression twisted.
“To our people?” she hissed. “Or to the family you discarded for the sake of your friend’s myth? You think they care for you? You think that man behind you,” Her gaze flicked to Hux. “Would even look your way if it weren’t for how useful you are? How obedient you are?”
That landed.
(Y/n) didn’t flinch, but her breath hitched. Subtle. Small. But there.
“My loyalty is to my assignment. And to the Covenant and First Order.” She replied tightly, her voice lower.
Her mother’s lips curled. “That’s not what I see in your eyes when you glance at him.”
From the back of the room, Hux shifted slightly. He remained composed, unreadable. But his gaze sharpened with interest.
(Y/n)’s eyes darkened, fangs just barely visible behind a clenched jaw.
“You know nothing about me,” she said, voice steady but low with restrained threat.
“I know you,” her mother pressed, eyes glowing. “I see the girl who wanted to belong so badly she let herself be molded into a weapon. And now you’re falling for your handler. How poetic.”
(Y/n) stepped forward too fast. Her hand gripped the edge of the table, close to her mother’s throat, but not touching.
“I said you know nothing about me,” she seethed. “You forfeited that right when you threw me out.”
The words rang sharper than anything that had come before. Her mother’s smugness wavered just slightly.
Behind her, Hux took a single step forward, voice cutting cleanly through the silence.
“Where were your orders coming from?” He redirected.
His voice cut cleanly across the air. Calm, precise, commanding.
Her mother blinked, pulled abruptly from the rising tension between her and her daughter. She turned toward Hux with a subtle sneer, clearly displeased with the shift in control.
“We intercepted coded transmissions routed through an old Resistance frequency,” Hux continued, stepping forward into the light with quiet authority. “You’re going to tell us where the next operation is planned, and how long you’ve been in contact with the rogue faction”
A beat passed.
Then another.
The silence gave (Y/n) time to steel herself again. She folded her arms, lips drawn in a firm line, and resumed her position at Hux’s side, this time more guarded, more resolved.
Her mother looked between the two of them. That smug gleam in her eyes had dulled slightly.
“You two really do make quite the team,” she said, colder now.
Hux said nothing. (Y/n) stared through her like she was already ash.
And somewhere, deep beneath the chill in her voice, something cracked in (Y/n)’s chest that she refused to look at too closely.
A long, dragging silence lingered in the room. (Y/n)’s mother didn’t speak for a moment. Her eyes flicked between him and (Y/n), no longer filled with smugness, but calculation. Weighing.
Then she exhaled, slow and bitter.
“You think I’ll sell them out? That I’ll betray everything for you?” she said, turning her gaze fully back to (Y/n). “You’re a child playing war. You have no idea what we’ve sacrificed to keep the truth buried. What the Resistance gave us in exchange for silence. You think you’re righteous now because the Covenant gave you a uniform and purpose -”
“I think,” (Y/n) interrupted, her voice eerily calm, “that you’re wasting my time. And I don’t like when people waste my time.”
She stepped forward slowly, her boots clicking softly against the metal floor. Hux remained just behind her, a silent force of support, eyes sharp and watching.
Her mother sneered. “You’re going to try to frighten me, is that it? You forget that I raised you. You were always too soft to do what needed to be done.”
(Y/n) stopped directly beside her.
“I was,” she admitted. “But I’m not her anymore.”
Then her eyes darkened. The golden glow in her irises sharpened, deepening into something ancient, something primal. She let her hand rest on the edge of the interrogation table, not threatening, but suggestive. The air changed, subtle and slow, like the pressure before a storm.
Her mother’s composure wavered just slightly.
“You may be working with ex-Covenants who simply studied Umbral technique,” (Y/n) said quietly. “But I’m the Umbral. While your little faction can barely attempt to reach our frequencies, I can reach nerves you weren’t even aware that you had. And unlike them,” she nodded toward the security panel, “I won’t need a droid to do it.”
Hux said nothing, merely backed away to allow her space as he sensed an urge of bloodlust in her tone. His silence was approval, his gaze intense as he watched the scene unfold.
Her mother scoffed, but it was weaker this time. “You’re bluffing.”
(Y/n) smirked sadistically.
She extended her hand with slow, deliberate precision, brushing her fingertips near the side of her mother’s neck, just close enough for her mother to feel the tips of the preternatural sharpness of her nails, the way her presence seemed to sink into the skin.
Her mother stiffened.
Still, (Y/n) didn’t touch her besides the tickling sensation. Not yet. She let the words work their way under her mother’s skin.
“You can talk,” she said softly. “Or I can peel the truth out of you. Slowly .”
It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.
Her mother’s jaw tensed. Her eyes betrayed her as she tried to maintain her pride. Her hands tugged slightly against the restraints.
“You wouldn’t -” she began.
(Y/n) interrupted, her voice hollow and cold. “You gave me nothing. You lied to me. Disowned me. I have no remorse for your pain.”
That, more than anything, made her mother flinch.
And for the first time since entering the chamber, the woman’s eyes shifted. Not with defiance, but with recognition.
A crack.
Hux observed it all silently, his hands still folded neatly behind his back. But there was a look in his eyes now. Measured pride, and something else deeper, more personal. Watching (Y/n) become who she needed to be. Commanding. Ruthless. Unshaken.
But he could see the strain beneath the resolve, beneath the fury, the remnants of a daughter still buried under years of betrayal.
Her mother finally exhaled. But no information followed.
(Y/n) leaned in closer, nails beginning to press into her neck with trained precision. Even with barely any pressure, her mother’s eyes widened enough to reveal the amount of pain she was experiencing.
“I would rethink your analysis of what you think I’m capable of. This isn’t just loyalty to the Covenant or the First Order.” Her nails pressed further and the older woman’s mouth gaped, veins beginning to swell on her skull from strain. “This is the wrath of a daughter long forgotten.”
Suddenly, her nails pierced through her skin and dug through directly to her nerves.
Varo stood just outside the reinforced blast doors, arms folded, leaning against the wall like he was waiting for a caf refill instead of an interrogation to end. For a while, it was quiet.
Then -
A muffled scream erupted from within the interrogation chamber. Sharp. Definitely pained.
One of the stormtroopers stiffened. The other glanced nervously at Varo.
Varo didn’t even flinch. He just raised a brow, cocked his head towards the door with a smirk, and muttered, “There it is.”
The Duskborns didn’t so much as blink.
“About time,” Varo added. “Thought (L/n) might actually try diplomacy for a second there… A brief, terrifying second.”
The stormtroopers exchanged an awkward glance.
“Is that standard?” one of them asked, as another muffled cry echoed from behind the doors.
Varo shrugged. “Depends on your definition of standard. She’s doing the thing where she doesn’t blink, right?” He looked to the Duskborn on the left who held a datapad with surveillance of the interrogation. They gave a subtle nod.
“Yeah,” Varo continued. “That’s her ‘I’m gonna extract your soul through your teeth’ face. Totally fine.”
Another scream. One that sounded like it came with tears.
One of the troopers cleared his throat. “Should we, uh, alert medical, sir?”
Varo snorted. “To have them walk into that room and spontaneously combust? No thanks. Anyways, if it gets too quiet in there, then you should worry.”
The Duskborn beside him let out a low, approving hum. Close to a laugh.
Varo grinned. “Best seat in the house, boys. You’re witnessing a master at work. And by ‘witnessing’ I mean ‘listening to a war crime in real time.’”
He glanced back toward the chamber doors, tone softening slightly beneath the bravado.
“She’ll be alright,” he added quietly, more to himself than anyone else.
Then another muffled scream rang out - panicked this time - and Varo clapped his hands together once.
“Welp. That’s the sound of truth. Sounds like we got what we need.”
After a few minutes of silence, the door hissed open with a hydraulic groan, leaving behind only a faint echo of the storm it had followed.
General Hux stepped out first, composed as ever, though his jaw was tight and his gloves slightly askew. Subtle signs that he’d been more involved than he liked to appear. Behind him, (Y/n) emerged in silence.
Her posture was upright, but her steps were heavy. Her eyes, dark and unreadable, bore none of their usual sharp focus an afterglow of restraint barely kept in check.
Varo stood straighter as they appeared, arms unfolding from where they’d been crossed.
“Ah,” he said with a short nod. “So… good news or do I prep another cell?”
(Y/n) didn’t answer. She brushed past him like a shadow, her expression carved from stone. For a second, it looked like she might keep walking. But then she paused.
Without turning, she said lowly, “She broke.”
Varo raised his brows. “No kidding?”
“She gave us a name,” Hux confirmed, stepping to stand beside (Y/n). “And a destination. We’ll be debriefing shortly.”
The two Duskborns exchanged glances, subtle but meaningful. The troopers remained silent, uncertain whether to feel relieved or unnerved.
Varo leaned in slightly, his voice pitched just for (Y/n). “You alright?”
“I’m fine,” she replied, her tone clipped and automatic.
Hux watched her carefully, noting the stiff line of her shoulders and the way her fingers flexed slightly. Telltale signs of unrest.
“She did quite well, I must say,” Hux added evenly, still watching her. “Admirably.”
(Y/n) didn’t thank him. She just gave a short nod and said, “Excuse me,” before striding off down the hall.
Varo let out a breath and looked over at Hux. “You sure she’s alright?”
“No,” Hux replied without missing a beat. “But she will be.”
Varo gave a short chuckle. “You always say that like it’s a fact.”
Hux adjusted his gloves slowly. “Because with her, it is.”
Reposting cause my boo is back ♥️🤍🖤
“Terrifier” - Art the Clown
“Terrifier” - Art the Clown
Complete Series Masterlist
Masterlist
Pairing - The Child Catcher x OC
Summary - Vulgaria was a remote country, held its own beauty quite unlike others. Everything about it was peculiar. The village, the castle, the people. In the village sat a rather famed tailor shop, and the recluse that was its head seamstress unknowingly caught the eye of a notorious henchman of the barbaric Baron Bomburst. Accepting a tempting offer, what was supposed to be a simple project began to meddle with her already disorganized family, and little did she know her sanity would soon follow.
Masterlist
Pairing - The Joker x OC
Summary - Penelope Miller works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by trauma and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.
Masterlist
Pairing - General Armitage Hux x Reader
Summary -
Forged in blood. Bound by duty. Broken by desire.
(Y/n) (L/n) is a deadly Umbral of the Covenant - an elite order of vampires sworn to the First Order. Her assignment: serve as General Hux's personal guard. But as buried secrets surface and a rogue vampire faction rises, (Y/n) is forced to confront a past she can't outrun - and feelings she was never meant to have.
In a war of blood, betrayal, and duty, the deadliest threat may be the one that lies still in her chest.
Thank you all for the lovely comments! I have many more ideas and one-shots to come! Some are a bit more lengthy than others, be warned!🥰
(P.S: Ideas/asks are most definitely welcome 😘)
Serenity - Chapter 6
Masterlist
Summary - Vulgaria was a remote country, held its own beauty quite unlike others. Everything about it was peculiar. The village, the castle, the people. In the village sat a rather famed tailor shop, and the recluse that was its head seamstress unknowingly caught the eye of a notorious henchman of the barbaric Baron Bomburst. Accepting a tempting offer, what was supposed to be a simple project began to meddle with her already disorganized family, and little did she know her sanity would soon follow.
As days passed along Mary's work began to pay off, her project progressing gracefully. But it wasn't until it was finished that she was able to truly see the beauty of it. It didn't look exactly how she sketched and imagined it as she made improvisations along the way, but it surpassed her expectations by far. It almost had her dress beat, and that was something she never would've thought could happen.
As she gazed at her work through her small candlelight she heard a tap on the doors of the shop, whipping her head around to see who it was. It was in vain, however, as the dark of the night cloaked whatever it was. She set down the candle and quietly stepped over to the doors, carefully opening one and peeking out. Over to the left? Nothing. Over to the right -
"Reuben!" She exclaimed in a whisper with excitement. She took a closer look around the plaza before stepping outside completely, leaving the door ajar behind her. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me." She teased through a rush of courage the recently completed assignment gave her. He offered a mischievous smile in return.
"How could I ever forget the so-lovely seamstress of Vulgaria?" He flattered with a small bow and the wave of his hand. Mary's cheeks warmed and she bashfully turned away, something he relished in. "How is it coming along?" He watched as she faced him again with a deepening smile, motioning for him to follow her into the shop. Looking back at him she placed a finger over her lips to signal for him to keep quiet, then leading him towards the back of the shop where the mannequin sat.
His eyes widened, mouth agape as he caught sight of the coat. Even under the dim light it was a sight to behold. Sure, it was just another one of his disguises, but he knew full well he could never toss such a thing. The attention to detail, careful stitching. None of the workers at the castle could provide anything that articulate. And Mary eagerly watched his every expression, proud to be able to pull such a reaction from the fearsome Child Catcher.
"There's still loose strands and bits that need to be touched up, but other than that it's finished." She carefully pulled the coat off of the mannequin and handed it to him, watching as he slid it on with a smirk. He held his arms out at his sides in a silent question with a cock of his head. Mary slowly eyed him up and down, then met his eyes with a nod. However, she stepped closer and reached up to remove his hat.
"I have an idea." She stated simply and turned to set it on the table.
She grabbed some ribbon and loose pieces of leftover fabric, tying and twisting and knotting with her back to him. He furrowed his brow in curiosity until she turned around. The ribbon had been tied around his hat, the front decorated with a small bundle of flowers to complement the coat. She replaced the hat atop his head and stood back with a child-like smile.
"It's not much, but it sure does bring it all together." Reuben looked around, finding a standing mirror in a nearby corner. He made his way over and began twisting and turning, testing it out with some fluid motions he liked to use. "I tried my best to keep it lightweight for you."
"Well, it certainly is."
"How does it look?" Mary stood next to him, gazing at him through the mirror.
"Fit for a candy man." He watched as Mary suddenly tensed, about to question her when he heard a creak sound from upstairs. They stood still as a statue, waiting for another noise. Just as they thought they were in the clear another creak sounded and Mary's eyes began to glaze over in fear.
"Reuben?" They looked at each other and he noticed her jump at another creak before she began nudging him to the doors of the shop, rushing themselves outside.
As the door shut behind them Mary moved outside the view of the window and leaned against the wall. Reuben, having already taken off the coat, folded it neatly to rest over his arm as Mary took his hat once more to untie the ribbon, laying the same way.
"Just tie that around whenever you need to use it," She spoke hurriedly, glancing behind her every few seconds. "I'm sorry, but he - he can't know, Reuben, he just can't -" A gloved hand rested lightly over her mouth.
"You don't have to explain yourself to me." He, too, glanced behind her. "Go back inside before he sees." Mary nodded, whispering a quiet 'okay' to herself and casting him one last look before entering.
Just as the door shut Mary's father began stepping down into the shop. She began snipping at some nearby fabric to make it seem like she was busy while her father eyed her with a squint.
"What do you think you're doin'?" Mary stopped, keeping her head down as he creeped closer to where she was. She could feel his breath on her neck as his body heat radiated behind her. Nausea began setting in, bile making its way up into the back of her throat.
"I'm - I'm just -"
"You think I'm stupid or somethin'?"
"No, Pa." She whispered as her heart began skipping beats.
"You ain't fiddlin around, you ain't workin on nothin." He caught her chin in a harsh grip, yanking her head to face him. "I thought I told you never to be around him." She held her breath as the heavy smell of alcohol waved off of his own.
"I didn't -"
"Don't lie to me!" He suddenly yelled as he slammed his other fist onto the table. "I don't give second chances, so next time I see you whoring around with that sadist it'll be your last." He shoved her face away and she stumbled back, watching as he stomped his way back upstairs.
The next morning was cold. Quiet. No bird sang. Not a single word was spoken amongst the small family. Charles took his usual seat in the corner while her mother continued to tidy up the shop between fixings.
"Liebling?" Mary turned to face her mother. "Would you mind going into the market for me today?"
"What about the shop?" The younger woman paused her stitching and set it down.
"I'll take care of it."
"Are you sure, Ma?" Her mother gave her a pointed look and Mary took the hint. She grabbed a shawl and threw it over her shoulders before taking the basket to head out.
Thankfully the plaza wasn't as packed as it was the last time they visited. She felt eyes on her back as she passed by other villagers, however. Mary paid them no mind, used to the judgemental stares as she went about her merry way. Stand after stand, shop after shop, the basket was growing heavier than she had expected, and she still had the journey back to the shop. She didn't even realize how far she had ventured until she began to make her way back.
Just as she passed an alleyway she yelped when something pulled her into it. A gloved hand motioned for her to be quiet and she smiled, then worriedly glanced around.
"What are you doing here?" He reached into his coat pocket and she heard a small jingle as he fished out a handful of coins.
"Thought I'd pay you before I forgot." Mary slowly began to shake her head in disagreement.
"I never asked you to."
"What you made doesn't come free." He reached down to take her hand and placed the coins in it, closing her fingers on top of it. Mary looked up at Reuben and was startled at how close their faces were. Should either of them move the slightest bit, their noses would touch.
And yet neither of them moved.
They continued staring at one another as their eyes danced over the other's face, taking in the smallest features they never noticed before. Every line, wrinkle, mole and freckle.
When her eyes met with his she couldn't help but be mesmerized. They were a unique hazel that one could easily get lost in, one that she was already lost in. His nose was what captivated her the most. It was a disturbing feature to most, but to Mary he wouldn't be the same without it. She thought if anyone would be able to pull it off it would be him, and he did it well to say the least.
"I -" She breathed, but couldn't quite find the right words. She noticed his eyes flick down to her lips, causing her to follow suit. Time seemed to slow as they inched closer, Reuben maneuvering his head to keep his nose out of the way. Despite the effort, she felt it lightly brush against her cheek and it sent a shiver down her spine. She felt his breath fan over her lips, just beginning to brush over when a shout sounded in the distance.
Their heads snapped to the street and Mary's heart sank. The shout mixed with a scream coming from a second person. She began to set off in the direction of it when Reuben snatched her wrist, eyeing her warily when she looked back at him. She gently pulled away from his grip and continued backing into the street.
As Mary reached it her pace turned into a brisk walk, face contorted into one of worry as she bypassed villagers who looked on with a similar expression. As she looked at those around her on her way to the shop she grew more and more concerned, breathing growing shallow.
For the umpteenth time that week she crept into the shop, taking a deep breath before facing the small room to find it empty. Her eyes turned up to the floor above, losing her own sense of time as she practically crawled to the stairs. With each step the seconds slowed further and further. She held onto the floor of the living area as she peeked over it from the stairs, eyes widening at the sight of her father hunched over her mother's body.
"Ma..." Mary whispered, gathering her skirt as she trotted up the last few steps to make her way over to them. "Ma!" She rushed as her father began to sob. She was about to kneel down with him when he suddenly grew quiet, enraged as he twisted to face her.
"You -"
"Pa..."
"Bitch!" Mary lept to the side with a shriek as a vase was launched her way, crashing and shattering as it hit the wall. In a flash her father's hands were latched onto her braid and used it as leverage to ram her head into the wall.
Everything became a blur as she collapsed. Her hearing was muffled. As much as she tried to move, the pounding in her head refused to let her.
You run. Her mother's words repeated themselves to Mary. You run far away from here and never come back.
She whimpered as she struggled to push herself off of the floor, stumbling into the wall as dizziness hit her next. Her eyes wandered the room in search of her father and found him distracted by her mother again, so she took the chance to make her way back down the stairs as fast as she could in her current state.
At first Mary took her time as she gradually regained her senses, but the harsh sound of Charles' footsteps flooded her with anxiety and she bolted. Weaving and stumbling through the crowds of villagers, her run turned into a sprint when her father began catching up to her.
Just as he was about to reach her she knocked over a shelf, and him along with it. As he struggled to get out from under it she stared for a second before setting off once more.
"Giddyap!" The catcher's cage sped down the street towards the frightened woman, followed by a group of soldiers on their horses.
She stilled and thought about her choices, that is however straight she could think in the first place. Her body set itself to flight as she caught sight of her father again and took Reuben's hand that was outstretched to her, pulling her up to sit next to him before cracking his whip and turning his horse around.
"Foolish girl, you should've never gone after them." He looked over at her to see her face completely drained of its color.
Blood ran down from the side of her forehead, vibrant against her skin. The area around the wound had already begun to bruise and continued to pound, taking on a migraine. She had no energy to cry. No energy to mourn, to talk, to panic. She felt drained, tired. She wasn't sure if it was because of her head or what had just happened. Mary simply groaned and leaned her head back against the cage, eyes screwed shut in pain.
Serenity - Chapter 11 (Final)
Masterlist
Summary - Vulgaria was a remote country, held its own beauty quite unlike others. Everything about it was peculiar. The village, the castle, the people. In the village sat a rather famed tailor shop, and the recluse that was its head seamstress unknowingly caught the eye of a notorious henchman of the barbaric Baron Bomburst. Accepting a tempting offer, what was supposed to be a simple project began to meddle with her already disorganized family, and little did she know her sanity would soon follow.
Mary wasn't quite sure when she awoke the next day, but by the time she did she could feel it would've been the latest she'd done so. She flinched when she felt the bed dip next to her, fingers combing through her hair, not completely aware of her surroundings in her sleepy state. A calming voice quickly soothed it.
"It's just me." Her demeanor quickly changed and she relaxed once more, blindly finding Reuben to cling on to during such a rarity. He was hardly ever in the room when she woke up. She only ever really woke up on her own or from Emilia.
She knew he was dressed by the layers of fabric she felt and fiddled with lazily, humming in content with an equally lazy smile. The man hummed his own, a light laugh at her early morning state. Even he could tell she wasn't completely awake yet.
"Best to enjoy it now before it's gone." He advised, piquing her curiosity.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means this is the calm before the storm." Mary turned over onto her back and blinked her eyes open to look at him, appreciating the curtains that remained closed.
"What're you going on about? What storm?" Mary was practically begging now, quickly awakening from his antics as she sat up on her forearms.
"Why, my dear, it's the Baron's birthday today." He gasped as if he was offended she'd forgotten, but Mary could tell it was but a simple jest. She swatted at his chest and fell back down onto his thighs, using them as her own pillow as she giggled, Reuben soon joining.
"You gave me quite a fright, I hope you know." She said through their little fit. Reuben wiggled a finger at her cheek teasingly and she scrunched her nose.
"That was the point." He leaned back against the headboard as she gave a large stretch, groaning at the relief of it before sitting up.
"I didn't get up too late, did I?"
"It's only ten." He shrugged as if it was nothing, but his smirk said otherwise.
"Only ten?!" Mary gasped in shock and shot up from the bed, peeking out the window then whipping around towards Reuben again. "Why did no one wake me up sooner?" The catcher stood and stepped towards Mary, brushing her hair behind her shoulder.
"You needed sleep." He placed a kiss on her forehead before moving to the wardrobe. "But nevertheless, you're awake now. And we need to get you ready for the party." A knock sounded from the door and he went to open it, Emilia stepping inside after an exchange of words with the catcher. He eyed Mary, then left the two of them to their own devices. The maid
looked over at Mary and offered a cheery smile.
"Would you like to see your dress, Miss?" Mary nodded eagerly, Emilia disappearing only for a moment to return with her said dress.
Her jaw dropped at the sight of it.
The atmosphere changed rapidly in the room, a thick silence filling it. She didn't know what to think. How to feel. She was frozen in place as her eyes watered, overwhelmed.
In front of her hung the very dress she made for herself. The very dress she never thought she would have the chance to wear. The very dress that was her mother's favorite.
She sniffed as she stepped closer to it, reaching out to run her fingers along the chiffon fabric, memories flooding her now busy head. Everything hit her all at once, it seemed. Grief, excitement, happiness. Guilt. Images of her and her mother flashed by, along with her father occasionally. Then the sight of her mother's body lying in their dining room.
She could still feel her lifeless eyes boring into her very being, not at all like the mother she knew. How she was denied her own time to mourn beside her body, to weep as her father had before she arrived.
The maid called for Mary, but in vain as it was muffled to her. She felt it harder to breathe, holding onto the bed post for support as she gasped for breath. She moved to sit on the bed and clutched at her throat as she wailed desperately.
Emilia rushed to her side, soothing her as best as she could in her own panicked state.
"Miss Mary?" The blonde moved to kneel in front of her hunched over form, taking hold of her hands to stop them from almost choking herself. "Miss Mary!" The seamstress finally reached Emilia's eyes, the latter motioning for her to breathe with her, guiding her through the motion.
"Miss Mary, focus on me. Only me, okay? How my hands feel, what I look like - every detail, okay?"
Mary nodded as she began grounding herself, following the maid's orders as best she could. Emilia continued to breathe with her until they were in sync, and then some. She made sure not to move from her spot on the floor until absolutely positive that Mary had recovered. When she had, the maid moved to sit beside her once more, resting a hand on her far shoulder to rub it in small circles.
"Thank you..." Mary whispered, not quite meeting Emilia's eyes in embarrassment.
"Not a problem at all, I assure you." The two of them stayed that way for a few more moments, then Mary stood to retrieve her dress and quietly made her way to the bathroom to change. Emilia made quick work of it when she stepped out, Mary staring at her reflection. The cut on her head remained, however more faint than before. Her eyes were bloodshot and began to swell from her previous attack, she just hoped it would go down by the time the party started.
Emilia fussed and took her time with the seamstress' appearance more than she would've for anything else. However, as it being Baron Bomburst's birthday, she took great care.
Mary wasn't sure what to expect. How many people would be there? How extravagant would the party even be? Even though she trusted Emilia's judgment she couldn't help but wonder.
Mary hoped she wouldn't have to sit and wait for the festivities to start, but with how long it took for her to get ready she supposed she didn't have to worry about it at all. She failed to notice the time, and it was only when Reuben visited her room to escort her that she noticed.
He stood in awe at her appearance. She had cleaned up quite nicely before, but somehow he was stunned time and time again. In that moment she was nothing short of ethereal. Mary could only avoid his stare, cheeks growing rosy with his blatant gawking.
"Reuben?" The man closed his mouth, stepping towards her while in his own trance. As he stopped in front of her with his gloved hands lifted, hovering over her waist before finally easing them onto her. His hold was gentle, as if she was made of porcelain. Being the very first time he was truly dumbfounded, a grin reached her lips.
"I'm afraid the baroness herself would be envious."
"You could be beheaded for such talk." Mary teased. Reuben simply clicked his tongue and offered his arm to her to which she gladly accepted.
"No matter. We have a birthday to celebrate."
As they neared the throne room the music from the orchestra grew into a crescendo, followed by occasional clapping from what sounded like a larger crowd. When they stepped around and through the archway leading them into it Mary first noticed the vibrancy of colors in the room, or moreso a singular color.
A multitudinous flurry of different shades of purple spun around the room, others remaining seated at the tables along the sides. Some were as joyful as can be while the rest held quite the exact opposite. Streamers and balloons dawning the Vulgarian colors were placed around the room for all to see, along with table coverings and other miscellaneous accessories.
A look of shock spread over her face at first, but the longer she took everything in, the quicker it transformed into a bright smile. Reuben walked her down the stairs, delicately taking hold of her hand as he did so. She was led around the crowd of waltzers and to an open bench at the table, coincidentally where the two females Mary spoke with earlier were sitting with their own partners.
"Oh, my! Is that you Miss Mary?" Mildred, she recalled, chirped almost as soon as they sat down.
"Well I'll be, it most definitely is!" Aundrea responded. If she didn't know any better, Mary would think they were sisters. "And is that the notorious catcher I see at your hip?" The older woman winked, causing Mary to blush.
"You have a keen eye for the obvious, Miss Bauer." The minor insult easily slipped off of his tongue, but it seemed to be quickly brushed off.
"You should've seen them when they walked in!" Mildred whispered excitedly. "Everyone's heads turned!" Mary felt a swell of pride in her chest, adjusting her posture to sit up more straight while they began to plate their food.
"Yes, everyone will be asking for dresses now!"
"And insight -" Mildred's whisper was cut off by Aundrea shushing her aggressively with a giggle, giving her arm a light smack. Reuben simply rolled his eyes and poured Mary and himself a glass of champagne.
"Thank you." The small group continued with their giggle-filled small talk as the men looked on at the crowd, the bunch nibbling on their food while doing so.
As annoying as they could be, Mary found the two ladies to be quite humorous and enjoyable, save for all of the useless gossip. It came as a distraction for her, to feel as if she had even a chance at fitting in somewhere at last. Soon all of the voices, music and hustle and bustle of the room became muffled, tuned out and she took a moment to relish in the feeling of that moment and appreciated all that she had. With her mother in mind she let a gentle smile reach her lips, water beginning to pool against her waterline.
A hand then moved to her thigh cautiously. Mary looked over at Reuben as she held that same smile.
"I just wish Mother could be here to see it." She whispered. Reuben reached up and brushed away a stray tear that had unknowingly slipped.
"She can, I'm sure. And she's more than proud." He glanced over at the main floor. "None of those today. We celebrate." He stood up and held out his hand to her with a slight bow. "My lady?" Mildred and Aundrea awed and nudged Mary.
"Go on!" They both whispered hurriedly in unison.
Mary's smile widened and she gladly took his hand, allowing herself to be dragged to the mass of bodies waltzing. As before, they placed their hands properly and began their steps, Mary feeling more confident thanks to Reuben and the champagne.
At that moment all that existed was the music and the two of them. Mary's stomach tingled with excitement as they spun, giggling to herself while he smiled on in amusement.
"You know what I'm going to say, don't you?" Mary asked out of the blue.
"I may have a feeling."
"I don't want this moment to -" Mary gasped as the large castle doors burst open suddenly. The music screeched to a halt along with the people. Multiple footsteps echoed as they entered the throne room, Mary peering around the bodies trying to see what was happening.
When she could finally see her eyes widened. Her body froze on the spot, her head the only thing that moved as it followed the disruptors. Three guards, one man with an all-too-familiar grumble. Two practically dragged his body as dead weight while the third led from the front, everyone parting to let them through to the barons.
Mary's breath was shallow and Reuben felt as her hands grew sweaty, quickly grabbing at his wrist and arm and stepping closer to him. As they passed the two of them she noticed her father glance at her with a prideful smirk that made her nauseous. The catcher instinctively pulled her away to stand a bit behind him.
"Why've they brought him here?" Mary whispered frantically.
"I'm afraid I don't know."
Once they reached the bottom of the steps the two guards dragging the man forced him to his knees, hands bound behind him. The third stepped up a few and gave a deep bow.
"Your excellency."
"What is this?!" The Baron belted in an outrage.
"A disturbance. He was found sneaking into the courtyard and attacked a guard there."
"Who are you, what brought you here?!"
"Charles... Elise." He drawled out. The barons scanned the crowd, sharp gazes landing on Mary who let out a shaky breath.
"Mary Elise?" The baroness called out to her. For a moment she didn't move, then reality struck and she stepped closer to the stairs, Reuben a few feet behind.
"Yes, your excellency?" Mary's voice quivered in response, hardly above a whisper.
"Who is he to you?" Without looking at him she replied.
"My father."
"The one who...?" Her silence gave her the answer. The baroness cleared her throat and turned to Bomburst, mumbling something into his ear with a side eye.
"Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho." The Baron chuckled deeply, and it was without amusement. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have this fine lady with us today." He motioned towards Mary. "But be that as it may, with such a disturbance not only on my birthday!" He paused. "But with the entire village no doubt. Let alone one of my hardest workers. Mary," Bomburst gave her a frightening look. "What say you?"
All of a sudden she felt all eyes on her. But at that moment, she couldn't have cared less. Her original fear turned into adrenaline, then anger. Everything he had done to her and her mother flooded her mind and fed into it. The silence in the room grew heavy, She lacked expression, heavy lidded eyes turning towards the sorry man that knelt before her. She then took a breath.
"He doesn't deserve beheading." Mary watched as her father's eyes widened, followed by a spark of hope as he began to smile.
"Oh, thank you -!" The woman held up a hand and he silenced. She torturously stepped closer, stopping to think. Everyone held their breath, some leaning forward in anticipation.
"Feed him to the rats." All color drained from his face as his smile turned to a look of horror. Gasps echoed, some even applauded and cheered and the man was dragged out of the room, kicking and screaming seamless apologies.
Mary just stared at the floor where he had been, thoughtless and vacant. A hand on her back brought her to, her head turning to its owner to see Reuben with an expression she couldn't read. He gave her a firm nod. However, what he least expected was the smile that began to form that was genuine in the worst way. Nonetheless, he welcomed it and answered with his own.
"Resume the festivities!" The Baron cheered.
Waking Dreams
Otto Octavius x F!Reader
Rated E - 1.8k words
Tags: lots of fluff, consensual somno, gentle teasing, fingering, jerking off, oral (f receiving)
Summary:
“Oh fuck, I missed you.”
He hums a low, one-note sound of approval, “Missed you too, darling. All I could think about tonight was coming home, and burying my face between your thighs.”
“Don’t let me deprive you, then.”
A/N: It’s impossible to write this fic without thinking of this incredible art by @themaydecemberist or this gifset 💕(Can also be read as a sequel to Sunburst!)
You feel something coaxing you from a deep-set dream, a warm hand smoothing over your shoulder as you lie curled in the blankets - trying to tug you towards the surface - though you stay firmly under.
Lips touch softly down to your temple, the apple of your cheek, the hand lifting from shoulder to trace patterns on your arm.
You stir, the words tumbling out like a sigh, “Is it morning?”
“No,” It’s little more than a whisper against your skin, “It’s still early, love.”
Eyes drift shut again as the bed dips, and you roll with the weight, shifting from your side to your back, legs stretching out and flexing against soft, cool sheets after being tucked up so long in sleep.
Otto’s fingers brush the hollow of your throat, dropping to loosen one button, and then another, inches of your soft skin coming into view.
The sleepwear you’re wearing is intimately familiar, an old shirt of his - the starch long washed-out, the pattern faded and soft under your fingertips.
“Vintage.” You had teased when you found it buried in his closet, slipping it over bare shoulders, rolling the sleeves up to your wrists.
His smile had been slow at your joke, lost in the word and a thought, until you had made room for yourself on his lap. His palm going flat on a bare thigh as your legs parted to straddle him, the dark lace of your bra peeking out of the deep, low v. Otto had melted under your touch, and after that - you had started sleeping in it when you missed him.
The path of his hand moves, gliding from skin to shirt, smoothing down from the collar to cup a breast as he mouths at your neck. A soft moan comes then, a thumb brushing against the pebbled bit of fabric, circling slowly and gently as you arch into his palm.
Eyes flutter open as he shifts to fill the soft valley between your breasts, fingers oh so gently pinching and kneading, his breath hot on sleep-warmed skin as he works his way downward.
With heavy limbs you stir, the space between your thighs feeling warm and neglected - your legs pressing together in an attempt for some friction, but he’s already there, shifting between spread knees. Deftly undoing the last two buttons until your shirt parts like chiffon curtains, exposing a bare strip of skin from thigh to neck.
Your hips lift lazily as you blink down at him, watching as his mouth leaves invisible marks - your skin prickling as his grey-flecked beard scrapes over sensitive skin. The heat in your belly curls as his face tilts up so his eyes can meet yours, dark and hungry in the late evening light.
The look he gives you is worshipful, his eyes so soft and deep you could fall into them, and you buck again, only for a wide hand to push down against your hip, pressing you against the mattress.
“Patience, my dear girl.” Otto’s voice is gravely, but it’s hard to be patient when he’s teasing - his mouth passing the soft curve of your stomach, down, down to your mound, lips dragging softly against skin so close but so far from where you need him.
You’re fully awake now, though your voice is still low in its own way, the whimpers from your throat coming with each long breath as other hand traces the curve of your knee. Fingers sink into the flesh as he moves back upward, slowly following with his mouth to press a kiss against your inner thigh.
It seems cruel he would rouse you from such a sweet dream only to tease, and when you voice that complaint he laughs, the sound a low rumble.
“Could your dream do this, darling?”
A knuckle brushes against your seam, dragging and pressing, parting your folds to feel how you’re drenched for him. Your moan catches in your throat, thighs clenching as a thumb brushes slick, arousal-swollen flesh, nudging at the sensitive bud of your clit.
There’s the prickle of coarse hair on your thigh as his lips brush another kiss, the knuckle on his finger straightening, the tip just starting to press into you.
Otto slides into your heat, and you’re clenching around him already as his thumb works in tight circles. He starts slow, barely a movement, working small flexes of his hand until he’s thrusting into you.
“Oh fuck, I missed you,” Your eyes close, brow scrunching as he presses in deep, the words sliding out with a moan.
He hums a low, one-note sound of approval, “Missed you too, darling. All I could think about tonight was coming home, and burying my face between your thighs.”
The hand on your hip tightens when you flex again at his words with a low groan - you had been content with his touches, his fingers. But now that you he’s voiced his thoughts, you ached for more.
“Don’t let me deprive you, then.” You mean it as a tease, but the need in your voice softens the words, betrays you.
His eyes pull from his fingers to your face, they’d be severe-looking under his cut of his eyebrows if not for the way they burn, unspoken promises flickering in them. A second finger presses its way in, stretching, and you can hear the way he fills you, the wet squelch of each thrust.
And he hears it too, his lip lifting in a smile to show teeth, “Could say the same to you, darling. Let me ask - was it those little dreams that have you this wet?”
His fingers curl and drag against your inner walls and your thighs jerk, your lips parting in a rough moan. The thumb circling your clit dips down to your damp lips, dragging through your arousal on its way back up.
“Or is this all for me?”
“You,” You gaze into those expectant eyes, your word coming in a low rush.
Another gasp of breath as you inhale, “Always you.”
There’s a whirring as his actuator arms move, slipping smoothly between sheets and skin, worming their way under your thighs. The cool metal against flushed skin is soothing, but then you’re yelping as they suddenly tilt your hips up a few inches - his fingers withdrawing so his mouth can meet the sweet offering placed before him.
The sudden drag of his tongue against your cunt sends searing pleasure down your spine - your fingers twisting in the blankets by your head, searching for something to anchor yourself with.
He eats you like a man starved, tasting all of you, a low groan in his throat when his tongue presses in where his fingers were, dipping inside you. Wide hands palm your ass, though his mechanical arms have you positioned just right, fingers sinking into flesh as he hold you to him.
Otto’s name is on your tongue as you cry out, clenching down around nothing as he moves up to your clit, soft and messy and fueling the spark igniting in your core.
His nose bumps against soft, slick skin, tongue and then lips are wrapping around your clit, stealing the air from your lungs with a groan that seems to come from deep within you.
Then there’s the press of thick fingers as they return to your heat, pushing deep and then dragging until they bump into something that makes you whimper, finding that spot again and again.
It shouldn’t be a surprise that a mouth so clever could make you feel this way - but you’re still shocked at the way his tongue moves, lapping at your clit, making your muscles tighten deliciously in anticipation.
A silver tongue gilded with promises of devotion and something deeper, something hidden in those dark eyes when you catch him looking at you.
It’s in the way he’s looking at you now, an intense devotion as he catalogs every breath and movements, the gasping of your lips and the way a hand moves to curl around a breast.
Your breath feel shallow in your lungs as his fingers continue to pump, each gasp of breath a soft “oh” as he drags you closer to the edge. Lost in those eyes, you can only grasp feebly as he brings along to the peak he’s created.
A shuffling sound pricks at your attention, your head tilting as his eyes slide shut and he groans against you. One of his palms leaves your ass to unclasp his belt, working down the zipper until he’s pulling himself free.
You watch his hand close around the flushed, swollen tip, unable to resist the urge to take a bit of the edge off - and the thought that you’ve done this to him, without even touching him, has you aching and tightening around him.
“God, don’t stop,” you rasp, and you’re not sure if you’re talking about his mouth or the jerk of his fist, but it’s all building and swirling and it’s too much-
It hits you hard, the last bit of air ripped from your lungs with your cry as your walls clench down around and flutter around his fingers. You’re not sure if you’re shouting or if it’s all in your head - his lips staying suctioned around your clit as his fingers continue to curl.
The dark room seems to white out as your eyes shut, your hips rocking against his mouth as you ride the undulating waves of pleasure out - until your legs finally unclench, and his arms are tilting your hips back down to rest on the mattress.
You lay there for a long moment, your brain content and fuzzy with your release, small aftershocks pricking at your core. Then, with shaking arms you push yourself up, meeting the man hovering over you half-way, your hand cupping around Otto’s neck to pull him down to you.
His beard is damp and he tastes like you, your tongue brushing into his mouth as he opens for you. Otto moans when you suck on his lip, trapping it between teeth as his body rolls against yours, his cock rutting against the curve of your hip.
Your kiss turns lazy but he arches into you, the broad expanse of his chest and curve of his stomach a welcome weight as he fits again between your spread thighs.
“Was it like you imagined?” You ask when the kiss breaks - one hand cupping his face, the other snaking down between him, until your hand is wrapping around his weeping cock.
He groans as your fist pumps, traveling up his length as you gently squeeze. It was still early after all, and there was plenty of time to return the favor.
“No.” He word catches you off guard, until his hips thrust against your hand, until he’s bending down to kiss you again.
“It was even better.”
The Scarred - Chapter 6
Masterlist
Summary - Penelope Miller works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by trauma and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.
The night air was gentle, forgiving as she walked the path upstairs. Her tired eye grew heavier with each step as she fiddled with the bunched up fabric of her turtleneck in an effort to keep herself awake. By the time she reached her floor she was practically sleepwalking, her feet almost sliding against the floor with what little energy she had left. When she reached the door she noticed that it was ajar and she huffed, lightly pushing it open.
“Liam, how many times -“
“Ah, there she is!” Penelope stilled after having slammed the door shut. Her head slowly turned to the direction of the unknown voice, face paling at the sight before her. “Just the girl I’m lookin’ for!” The green-haired criminal stood at her counter, setting down one of her few glass jars a little too roughly for her liking.
“For a while now.” Her voice was as even as she could make it, unwilling to let him know how terrified she truly was. The man knocked over a salt shaker with a gloved finger. He watched as she stared at him with a blank expression, however he caught a light glimmer behind it and it brought a wide grin to his face.
“You are an oddball, aren’t cha?” He began taking slow steps in her direction.
“You’re one to talk.” The Joker cackled, but it was far from genuine. He stopped just a few feet in front of her.
“It’s the scars, yeah?” He motioned to his mouth with a flailing wrist, but her eye stayed locked on his.
“Why are you toying with me?” Another cackle.
“Because you’re fun!” His laughter suddenly stopped and she pressed herself further against the door, trying to make it as subtle as possible. “I like fun.” The Joker’s tone had been deeper, sending a chill down her spine. “Everyone else is so,” He paused, motioning with his hands with a gaze cast upwards as he tried to find his words. “Boring.” His blackened gaze met with hers once more and he stepped closer, forcing her to crane her neck to look up at him. “They’re all the same. Begging for their lives, strikin’ a bargain, but you,'' He poked at her shoulder. “You haven’t even bat an eye.”
“I suppose I’ve been expecting you.”
“Kept ya on your toes, hm?” He leaned closer, growing intrigued.
“You could say that.”
“After all those nights and here I am, still keeping ya on those toes.”
“The whole city is on their toes.”
“Oh, they should be. But you’ve had your little - ah - friend to lean on.” Anger flashed in her eyes and he swayed on his feet in excitement.
“There ya are!” He turned away to walk further into her apartment. “For a moment there I thought you were, like, a sociopath or somethin’!”
“Like yourself?”
“Oh, no no no no no, exactly the opposite.” The Joker turned around to face her again. He pulled out a switchblade from his trench coat and flipped it open. “But I prefer creative.” He reached her faster than she could comprehend, cold metal held against her throat with just enough pressure as to not break the skin, but enough to where if she moved it surely would. His other hand pushed her into the door, placed against the top of her rib cage to have some form of control over her breathing. But she remained still. Patient. She looked him in the eye, daring him to do something. A challenge.
Her phone ‘ding’ed and her eye snapped to where her bag sat on the floor, the painted man’s own eyes never leaving her form. When she looked back at him he held a mischievous glint in his eyes that no one would be able to miss, hummed, then he suddenly removed the blade.
“Now, uh, I’m gonna leave so you can get back to your dear friend - uh - what was his name? Oh! Right, Liam,” The name was spat out in a mocking manner. Her eye widened ever so slightly and he backed away from her towards her window. “Very busy tonight! Hope you enjoyed your little - ah - birthday party.” He laughed as he crawled out onto the fire escape, the sound echoing in her ears.
She decided to wait a few minutes to ensure he had left to bolt towards Liam’s apartment, quickly yet quietly knocking on his door with a sense of urgency. It wasn’t until that moment that everything started to catch up to her, that her entire being started to shake and tremble, growing numb with fear. The door swung open and Liam’s eyes shot wide like saucers at the sight before him.
“Christ almighty!” He immediately grabbed her and pulled her inside, walking her in to close the door. He held her firmly by her shoulders as she tried to catch her breath, her hand limply fanning her face in a poor attempt to calm herself.
“Liam, he c - he came -!”
“Penny.” Her friend tried to get her to focus.
“He - he was there, he -!”
“Penny!” She stopped babbling and looked up at him, a tear making its way down her cheek. “Who came?” Her breathing stilled for a moment.
“The Joker.” The woman immediately noticed the panic in his eyes, but he remained calm for her sake. Liam walked her over to the couch and sat her down, leaving to get a cup of water for her. She shook her head in refusal and he set it on an end table nearby. She squeezed his torso for comfort, tears streaming down her face as she continued to shake. He looked down at the carpet of the living room as she cried, hands wrapped protectively around her. When it all started to fade Liam decided to speak, voice gentle.
“‘Ow did he get inside?” He heard her take a shaky breath before giving him a muffled reply.
“My door was cracked open… I thought it was you.” He sighed.
“Penelope,” The Irishman felt her tense. “Wha’ did he do to ye?”
“He -“ She swallowed. “He put a knife to my throat.” Liam took a deep breath to compose himself while she pulled away and looked up at him. “And yet here I am.”
“I’m assumin’ tha’s not all?” Penelope sighed and laid her head back on his chest. She listened to his heartbeat to calm herself, regulating her breathing.
“I asked him why he was doing all of this.”
“And?”
“He said that I was fun. That everyone else was boring because they all say the same thing when he pays them a visit, I’m guessing.” Liam rubbed her shoulder.
“Well, now ye know yer juss really lucky.”
“Until he gets bored of me.”
“There’s too much to ye to get bored of ye, I’m afraid.” The woman lightly punched him in the gut and he chuckled.
“I’m serious, Liam.”
“So am I.” The man looked down at her with a look of adoration. “‘E’s right, ye know?” Penelope slowly sat up from his chest to look at him. “‘Bout erryone bein’ borin’. There’s so much I ‘ave yet to learn ‘bout ye, an’ I know I’ll never know errythin’ ‘cause there’s always gon’ be somethin’ new wit’ ye. Erryone else I’ve met?” Liam scoffed. “Gimme a week wit’ em’ an’ I’ll know errythin’ there is to know. There’s no secrets, no adventure, no thrill. Ey!” Penelope made a noise and he gave her a warning look to show he was being serious. “Yer unpredictable. An’ tha’s exactly wha’ ‘e thrives fer. Tha’s why ‘e said yer fun.” Liam pointed a finger at her. “If I were ye, I wouldn’t be worryin’ ‘bout ‘im sayin’ yer fun. I’d be worryin’ ‘bout why he’s worried ‘bout ye bein’ fun.” Her brow twitched in both confusion and curiosity, lips parted.
“Penny?” The woman cast her eyes from her journal towards Emma, noticing her concerned expression.
“Hm?” Penelope sucked on her lip.
“You okay?” Emma noticed her eye glance off to the side. “You seem bothered.” Holding the same expression, she replied.
“I’m fine.” Her tight lipped smile was of no consolation to her friend. The brunette gently placed a hand over Penelope’s that gripped a pencil.
“Penny.” The woman in question gave a quick sniff.
“Just thinkin’ about that customer.” Emma sighed and took a seat on the stool beside her.
“He’s not going to bother you again, hun. He got what he came for. What’s done is done. Okay?” She gave Penelope an encouraging smile, but she wouldn’t take it.
“How are you so sure? How -“ She took a breath and fidgeted in her seat. “How do you know he won’t do anything?” Emma sighed again, but it had been more solemn.
“Truthfully?” She leaned back a little and folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t. But if he tries anything, then I’ll settle for smashing a vase over that bald head of his.” Emma then stood up and headed to the back room leaving Penelope to herself. She closed her journal and began to chew on her cheek in thought, tapping her pencil against the leather cover.
The woman sat in the waiting room of an average office, heart pounding against her chest as her leg bounced. Her eye burned into the carpet, lost in thought. She heard a door creak open and peaked to see her therapist waving her inside.
“Miss Miller.” The older woman greeted as they both took their seats. “Last time I saw you we talked about your habits, correct?” She watched her patient nod her head. “Have you reflected on that at all?” She was met with silence as Penelope met her eyes.
“You never asked me to reflect.” She mumbled.
“Well, I assumed you would after I mentioned them to you.” The therapist’s tone had grown passive aggressive and it hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Perhaps I should use a more direct approach this time.” She opened the notebook on her desk and began jotting down some notes. “Can you think of any off the top of your head, then? Maybe we can branch off from that?”
You keep biting your cheek like that, you won’t have one to bite on.
“I bite my cheek.” The pen scribbled down her words.
“And what do you think is the reason?” Penelope took a long, shaky inhale and begrudgingly looked at the grey haired woman. She couldn’t explain why, but when she met her eyes she felt frustration, pain. So, as her patient, she decided to let her know.
“Ms. May, if I’m not mistaken, you’re supposed to provide resources to help me, not make me question my own behaviors and feel bad about them.” The woman moved to speak, but Penelope continued. “You’re supposed to be a shoulder for me to cry on, someone I can trust. Someone who cares for me.” Water pooled along Penelope’s water line, leaning forward in her seat. “I’m trying not to think about my problems and yet you expect me to assume that you want me to ‘reflect’ on my habits outside of therapy knowing it would make me think even more about what the hell is wrong with me?” She watched as her therapist continued writing down notes and a wave of rage hit her. “Stop writing and listen to me!” Penelope cried out, tears finally falling.
Everything in the room stilled as the atmosphere thickened, and once Penelope was sure she had her attention she continued.
“I dread these sessions because I know you don’t care. Because I know I won’t get anything out of it. I’m just here to answer your questions so you can write your notes. But please. Give me something. Help me.” They held eye contact for a few moments and Penelope could see the hesitation in Ms. May’s eyes. Then she sighed.
“I can prescribe you medication. That’s the quickest way.” Penelope let out a breathless laugh in disbelief, looking away in disappointment. She quickly wiped off her cheek and stood up.
“I’ll schedule another appointment when I’m ready.”
Chapter 10
Pairing - General Armitage Hux x Reader
*Set prior to The Force Awakens*
Summary -
Forged in blood. Bound by duty. Broken by desire.
(Y/n) (L/n) is a deadly Umbral of the Covenant - an elite order of vampires sworn to the First Order. Her assignment: serve as General Hux's personal guard. But as buried secrets surface and a rogue vampire faction rises, (Y/n) is forced to confront a past she can't outrun - and feelings she was never meant to have.
In a war of blood, betrayal, and duty, the deadliest threat may be the one that lies still in her chest.
Series contains - Blood, violence, battles/war, betrayal/angst, eventual smut, slow burn
The hangar was bustling with activity as personnel of all kinds scrambled to prepare for their mission. Orders were being barked, soldiers made their way in and out of different ships, carrying and dropping off various items. Some held a level of stress in their posture and expressions, others seemed as if it was just another day to them.
The air was thick with the sound of machinery, clanking metal, and low murmurings of troopers and Duskborns checking supplies. Rows of sleek First Order transports lined the hangar floor, receiving final diagnostics. Weapon crates were stacked, gear was being distributed, and squads gathered in tight clusters for final briefings.
Varo, however, was an outlier.
(Y/n) walked beside the general, black cloak trailing behind her, her expression sharp and focused. Hux surveyed the hangar with his usual critical eye, his gloved hands clasped neatly nearly behind him as he took in the organized chaos.
“Everything seems to be running on time,” Hux said coolly. “More or less.”
“More or less usually means less,” (Y/n) muttered under her breath.
Before he could reply, a familiar voice cut through the clamor.
“Now this ,” a familiar voice started. “ This is what I’ve missed,” Varo said from across the hangar as he made his way over to meet them, grinning as he slid a throwing knife into the sheath on his wrist. “The anticipation. The gear checks. The nervous pacing.” He took a deep, dramatic inhale through his nose. “The subtle aroma of blood and fuel in the air. Beautiful .”
(Y/n) arched a brow at the sight of him practically glowing with excitement. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Hey, we’ve been stuck in recon mode for days. I’m starving for a real fight,” he said, clearly savoring the energy in the room. “You don’t get to judge me for being excited.”
“You’re excited the way a hound is excited to chase a transport.”
“Exactly. But smarter. And with better hair.”
(Y/n) shook her head, but the corners of her mouth curled in spite of herself.
“Come on, (Y/n),” Varo added. “This beats standing around the bridge pretending to understand General Hux’s complicated holomaps.”
“I understand them fine,” she said. “It’s his smug commentary that’s unbearable.” She teased harmlessly.
“Right! That little ‘hmm’ he does when someone misses a tactical cue,” Varo added.
“I am standing right here,” Hux interjected, deadpanned.
(Y/n) smirked, clearly trying to keep her composure.
Then she made the mistake of looking at Varo again, just as he gave the general a silly expression in the following silence between them.
She let out a sharp, unexpected laugh. It started small as she tried to hide it, but it quickly spilled into full-bodied laughter, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. She bent forward slightly, shoulders shaking, her eyes gleaming with mirth.
Varo raised his hands in mock victory. “Yes!”
Hux stared at her, momentarily caught off guard. He had never seen her laugh like that, never heard her sound so unburdened, so alive. The sight of it held him still.
When she straightened again, brushing her hair back and shaking her head, she was still smiling.
“You’re the worst,” she said, voice still thick with amusement.
“But you love me anyway.”
She turned to fire back some quip, but her gaze flicked to Hux and the moment lingered. For a heartbeat, she just looked at him. He met her eyes, something warm and unfamiliar settling in his chest.
“I think I’ve just witnessed a miracle,” Hux said with hinted amusement.
“Don’t make it weird,” she replied, her tone flat but eyes betraying her amusement.
“No promises,” Varo added, already wandering off to harass another squad about the angle of their blade holsters.
(Y/n) composed herself with a soft exhale and straightened her cloak. She glanced sideways at Hux who was still watching her with something unreadable in his gaze.
“What?” she asked, arching a brow.
“Nothing,” he replied, tone measured. “It’s just… enlightening to see you interact with your counterpart.”
“Varo’s an idiot,” she muttered fondly.
“And yet, you laugh more with him than you do with anyone else on this ship,” he noted.
“I laugh at him,” she clarified.
“Of course.” Sensing his sarcasm, she snapped her head with narrowed eyes in question, but he simply cocked his head as a challenge to her defiance.
With a dissatisfied hum, she turned for them to resume their walk along the hangar floor, stepping past squads of troopers checking their weapons and finalizing loadouts. A technician approached with a datapad, offering a quick salute to the general before giving a rundown of shuttle assignments, fuel levels, and emergency fallback protocols.
Hux nodded through the information, signing off with a flick of a stylus. When the officer stepped away, (Y/n) glanced towards a row of heavy transports being loaded with Covenant units.
“They seem like they’re ready,” she said. “I recognize the itch when I see it.”
“Exactly what I’d expect from your forces,” Hux said, his tone quietly respectful.
She turned her head slightly, her voice lower. “They’re not mine. Not really.”
“You lead them. They follow you. That makes them yours in all the ways that matter.”
The words lingered in her mind as they reached the final row of transports. Captain Phasma was there already, her gleaming chrome armor catching the overhead lights as she reviewed the final squad configurations. She gave a curt nod to the general and (Y/n) as they approached.
“Preparations are on schedule,” Phasma said. “All squads are at combat readiness. Final systems checks will be complete in twenty minutes.”
“Good,” Hux replied. “Ensure nothing is left to chance.”
Phasma turned and walked with one of her lieutenants as (Y/n) drifted closer to where the command ship was, gazing up at the cockpit.
“Hopefully this will be our last time dealing with this damned faction.” She murmured.
“Are you nervous?” Hux asked, stepping up beside her.
“Not for myself,” she admitted. “For the ones I’m responsible for. We lose even one, and it stays with us.”
Hux’s eyes flicked over her face, noting the calm resolve beneath her words. “You’re ready, (Y/n).”
She looked at him then, and for a moment there was no rank, no orders. Just two people on the edge of something dangerous and defining.
“I know,” she said. “I just need them to be.”
He watched as she turned to look back at her Covenant troops again.
As final prep commands echoed across the vast hangar, one of them - tall, but clearly younger than the rest - stood just slightly apart, fumbling with the thick straps of his tactical harness. The rest of his squad was nearly ready, their posture straight and unreadable, but the younger Duskborn’s jaw was clenched in frustration.
Without a word, (Y/n) veered away from Hux’s side.
The clinking of metal buckles and the rustling of his uniform greeted her as she approached. The Duskborn noticed her too late to compose himself fully, and when he looked up, his expression shifted from surprise to embarrassment.
“Umbral (L/n),” he said quickly, bowing his head.
“At ease,” she murmured. Her voice was low, but not cold. Calm and steady. “What’s the issue?”
“My harness, ma’am,” he admitted, fidgeting. “I can’t get the spine guards to stay centered. I’ve adjusted it twice already, but it keeps shifting to the right.”
“Hold still.” She offered assistance without hesitation.
She stepped in close and began adjusting the straps herself. Her movements were swift, practiced. Each pull and buckle done with silent precision. The Duskborn stood rigid but didn’t flinch under her touch. She could feel the tension radiating off of him, the anxious buzz of youth beneath the discipline.
“You’re new,” she said quietly, her eyes on the harness. “First field deployment?”
“Yes, ma’am. I transferred from the Sanghollow garrison two months ago.”
(Y/n) gave one last tug on the strap, locking it into place. “This gear is heavier than what you’re used to. You’ll adjust in the drop. Trust it and it’ll take care of you.”
He looked at her, hesitating. “I’ve studied your academic campaigns. What you did during the Tarsyn Rebellion - how you held the shield line when everyone else had fallen back. We were told you shouldn’t have survived.”
(Y/n)’s brow twitched slightly, but she said nothing.
“You did,” he added. “I just wanted you to know that leadership like you is the reason I’m proud to be where I am.”
(Y/n)’s gaze softened just a touch. “Well, people like us don’t survive for the legacy. We survive so the next ones don’t make the same mistakes that we did.”
He nodded solemnly, the nervousness in his expression fading to something steadier.
“You’ll do well,” she said, stepping back. “Keep your head up, follow your orders, and don’t try to be the hero. It gets people killed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
(Y/n) gave his shoulder a small, almost imperceptible squeeze before moving down the line. She stopped at each Duskborn, checking gauntlets, securing weapons, quietly giving a nod or muttering something only they could hear. None of them questioned her presence. They welcomed it, a silent reverence in the way they stood taller when she passed.
From a distance, Hux observed.
He remained still, eyes tracking her movements as she moved through her people. He’d seen her command before. He’d seen her fight, train, nearly kill - but this was something different.
There was strength in her gentleness. The way the Duskborns looked at her - like she was a myth walking among them - it told him everything he needed to know about the kind of leader she truly was.
When she finally returned to him - pace unhurried, expression composed - he spoke softly.
“You have their loyalty.”
“They have mine,” she replied. “A good leader doesn’t expect the loyalty of their people. They earn it.”
He held her gaze for a second longer before offering a small nod of admiration and approval.
Before he could speak, a comms officer approached at a brisk pace, datapad in hand.
“General, Umbral,” the officer said, stopping short. “We intercepted a short-range coded signal from the target location. We believe it’s a call for extraction.”
(Y/n)’s eyes narrowed. “How long ago?”
“Less than five minutes. They’re trying to get the target off-world.”
Hux took the datapad, reading the decoded line. “They’re aware of our planning. We’ll lose our chance if we delay.”
(Y/n) looked towards the transports, her mind already racing.
“We’ll advance the timeline,” Hux said, handing the datapad back. “Move the infiltration squads out immediately. Inform Captain Phasma - she coordinates deployment from the ground with Umbral Drenn.”
“Yes, sir.” The officer nodded and sprinted off.
Just then, Varo appeared beside them, already geared up.
“We launching early?” he asked, breathless with excitement.
“Resistance extraction attempt,” (Y/n) said, watching another squad load up. “Mission’s starting now.”
Varo gave a wide grin. “Perfect. I love when plans get interrupted. It makes things interesting.”
She arched a brow at him. “Only you would enjoy last-minute chaos.”
“It builds character.”
He turned to go, but gave her a nod.
“See you on the other side, Umbral.”
As he vanished into the transport line, (Y/n)’s eyes lingered on the group of Duskborns. Hux moved beside her, letting her know that they needed to leave.
Their own vessel awaited nearby. Sleek, reinforced, and fully equipped for high-level command operations. A small crew of officers and pilots stood ready at the base of the ramp.
“We stay close,” he started as they made their way towards the ship. “Just outside of striking range. If the mission goes awry, we’ll intervene.”
(Y/n) gave one last look towards the hangar before following him up the ramp.
The hum of the command vessel was steady as it powered on, its interior as sleek as the outside and minimal compared to the Finalizer’s grand design. It wasn’t built for intimidation, it was built for precision.
Hux and (Y/n) stood side-by-side at the front, displays illuminating their faces with scrolling readouts, tactical data, and live-feed visuals as the pilots flipped various switches and managed the central console.
The two of them watched as others in the hangar ran into their appropriate ships before the ramps lifted shut, TIE fighters and transport ships turning to zip out towards the large expanse of space and down to their targeted coordinates.
(Y/n) held onto the chair of the pilot in front of her to steady herself as their ship lifted just as the last TIE fighter left, signaling for them to follow.
Her heart raced with adrenaline as the ship sped, her grip tightening and the general looked over at her with an expression of mild concern.
Catching his movements, she glanced over at him with the ghost of a smirk. “I may be a little more excited than I’d like to admit.” She said quietly. Hux simply shook his head before looking forward again.
As the surface of the dark planet closed in, the ships slowed and initiated their cloaking.
The silence was deafening, the only sound being the engine of the ship and occasional beeping from the controls. In the distance, they could see faint movement of either the faction or Resistance personnel scrambling to prepare for extraction.
“ TIE fighters on standby. ” A voice came through the comms quietly, as if afraid to speak.
“ Delta team preparing to deploy. Standby.”
Everyone on the command ship held their breath as the other squads reported the same.
“ Stealth teams have deployed .” One of the pilots of a transport ship reported in finality.
“Signal confirms no Resistance sensors have picked them up yet.” An officer on the command ship notified Hux and (Y/n) who nodded in acknowledgement.
“Maintain course,” Hux instructed coolly.
(Y/n) stood tall beside him, arms folded, her eyes locked on one of the overhead monitors. Through the helmet cam of a Duskborn operative, she could see the darkened corridors of the relay station, every movement silent and efficient.
“No signs of Resistance forces yet,” another officer said. “Interior heat signatures are minimal.”
“They’re hidden,” (Y/n) murmured. “Classic misdirection. If the call for extraction was real, the Resistance should be inbound soon.”
“Well, we’ll just have to greet them properly, then, won’t we?” Hux voiced. “Bring up the orbital pathways.”
An officer nodded, transferring a new map to the main display. The orbital path of the planet appeared, layered with potential hyperspace exit points.
“If they attempt to jump from low orbit as expected, they’ll come out here or here.” Hux tapped two coordinates. “I want TIE fighters repositioned in those coordinates to cut them off.”
As the officers relayed commands, (Y/n) leaned in closer to one of the screens, watching the team advance. She could see Varo at the front, weaving between shadows like a phantom.
“He’s enjoying himself,” she muttered dryly.
Hux glanced towards her, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “He always does in controlled chaos.”
The console flickered, red light briefly sweeping across the interface.
“ Enemy movement detected ,” Came a quiet voice through the comms.
“We’ve got an incoming ship, likely their extraction team.”
Hux straightened. “Identify and engage. I want their escape paths closed before they make contact.”
“Yes, sir.”
(Y/n)’s gaze didn’t leave the screens, but her stance shifted, more alert now. “Once the target’s secured, they’ll try to punch through us.”
“They won’t,” Hux said firmly. “Not with the Covenant in play.”
On the ground, the station corridors were cold and metallic, barely lit, the humming of machinery providing a low thrum beneath the silence. Varo stalked at the front of the formation, hand raised to signal a stop. Behind him, the Duskborns and stealth troopers fanned out along the corridor, weapons drawn, silent as wraiths.
The quiet didn’t last.
From around the corner, bootfalls echoed, rushed and uneven.
The Resistance had come early.
Varo barely had time to signal before the firefight erupted.
Blaster bolts tore through the corridor, lighting up the shadows with rapid flashes of red and blue. Varo evaded and sped to cover, firing off a precise volley that dropped two advancing soldiers. The Duskborns engaged with frightening coordination, some vanishing into the shadows before reappearing behind them, blades drawn.
A scream echoed, and then another - followed by a thundering sound from above.
Above them, TIE fighters screamed through the void, engaging the Resistance X-wings in a high-speed dogfight above the station. Laser fire lit the space in a chaotic dance, illuminating the planet below. One TIE spiraled down in flames, colliding with a wing of the station in a burst of debris.
“We’ve got incoming on both sides!” Varo shouted over the chaos, ducking behind a steel pillar as another blast hit too close. “Push them back! Don’t let them bottleneck us!”
A Duskborn soldier leapt across the corridor, spinning mid-air with an unnatural grace and hurling a dagger into a Resistance soldier’s chest before disappearing into the shadows again.
“We’re too exposed here,” one Duskborn warned. “We need to move now!”
“Negative,” Varo snapped, eyes tracking the Resistance squad leader through the chaos. “We hold position until the area is cleared. If they break through, they’ll manage to escape.”
He stepped from cover, dual daggers drawn, and engaged a pair of soldiers in close quarters, moving like water. Sharp, fast and lethal. One went down with a slash to the throat, the other disarmed and stunned with a punch to the jaw.
A nearby Duskborn called out, “Umbral! They’re flanking left!”
“I see them!” he replied, pivoting and launching a throwing knife across the hall. It struck true, dropping another enemy.
Just then, the comms crackled to life.
“ Umbral Drenn, this is Command. Resistance fleet has arrived. We’ve repositioned to cut them off. What’s your status? ” General Hux alerted them.
He ducked behind cover again, breathing shallow, adrenaline high. “Messy. But we’ve got it under control for now. Tell (L/n) she owes me a drink.”
There was a pause on the other end.
“ Duly noted .” (Y/n). “ Hold the line. Reinforcements are on standby if necessary. ”
As the comms went silent, Varo grinned despite the madness. “She better make it the expensive stuff.”
Behind him, the Duskborns surged forward once more, pressing the advantage. And above them, the skies continued to burn.
“Bravo and Charlie team,” Varo addressed the First Order soldiers through their comms. “Hold position and guard the entrance, Delta will push through.”
The air grew colder the deeper they pushed. Not the kind of chill that came from faulty temperature controls. It was something older, more primal. The shadows stretched longer, the lights flickering in a way that set every instinct of theirs on edge.
Varo led the squad with calculated precision, blood from the last encounter still smeared across his neck guard. His eyes narrowed as he held up a clenched fist, signaling silence.
“We’re getting close,” he said, voice barely audible. “They’ve gone quiet, but they’re here.”
The atmosphere had changed. There was no longer the frantic resistance of panicked soldiers. They were entering territory claimed by something more dangerous.
Kin.
A sharp hiss echoed down the corridor and, in an instant, three shadows dropped from the ceiling, landing with unnatural grace. The corridor exploded in movement.
Rogue Covenant.
One launched towards Varo with feral speed, but he caught the attack, bracing with a grunt as he was shoved back. The rogue’s eyes were glowing with bloodlust, fangs bared.
“Careful!” Varo shouted. “Remember, they used to be Covenant!”
The Duskborns split into formation. Blades clashed in a flurry of strikes too fast for the human eye to follow. One Duskborn was hurled into a wall with a sickening crack. Another managed to impale a rogue through the ribs, but the vampire hissed and yanked the blade deeper to get close enough to bite before he was finally thrown off.
Varo ducked a wild slash and countered with a dagger to the thigh, pivoting behind his opponent and grabbing them in a chokehold. “You’ve fallen far,” he snarled into their ear, “but I know you remember how this ends.”
The rogue thrashed, eyes flashing with fury before Varo twisted the silver blade up and under their sternum, dusting them in a shimmer of gray ash.
“Hold formation!” he ordered, breath heavy. “Push forward - we’re close.”
Back aboard the command ship, (Y/n) and Hux stood before the central display, watching the real-time updates unfold. Red markers pulsed where resistance forces were concentrated - handled by First Order troopers - but now faint gray sigils were beginning to appear deeper in the structure, identifiers to denote vampire presences.
“They’ve engaged the faction,” (Y/n) said quietly, recognizing the marks. Her jaw clenched. “It won’t be a clean fight.”
“They’ll hold,” Hux replied firmly.
The Covenant forces continued down the dark passage, slower now, watching every shadow. The silence returned, but it was heavier, like it was waiting.
As they rounded the next corridor where a large set of doors stood, they came to a stop and looked on, preparing themselves for what was behind them.
Then they suddenly opened and more shapes emerged from the dark. More vampires stood in their path, cloaked and still.
One stepped forward. Tall, severe. Her eyes focused on Varo with chilling familiarity.
“Nice to see you again, Varo,” she said softly.
Varo’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “Zera?”
“I’ll admit, I didn’t expect to run into you again.”
“I wish I could say the same, but I had a hunch.” Zera’s head tilted in amusement. “It’d explain the attempt at Umbral tactics. Decided to train yourself instead?” He asked cautiously.
He hit a nerve.
She growled and suddenly the rogues engaged, and they quickly found that they outnumbered the Duskborns.
Varo didn’t have time to shout before three Duskborns were tackled to the ground in a screech of blade and claw.
“Hold the line!” he roared, drawing both knives, back pressed to a pillar. “They’re trying to cut us down before we can reach her!”
Steel clanged, sparks flew, and bodies slammed into walls. The Duskborns fought fiercely, but they were short in numbers.
One of the rogues struck with dual blades, spinning into the formation and wounding two of the Duskborns with equally expert slashes. Another lunged at Varo from above, and he barely managed to intercept the strike, the impact sending him skidding across the floor.
“Command, this is Drenn,” Varo hissed into his comm, teeth bared as he parried another blow. “Confirmed visual on the leader but we’re outnumbered - we need immediate reinforcements!”
Static buzzed and he panicked for a brief second.
Then a reply came through.
“ Copy.” (Y/n) responded.
(Y/n) stood at the center of the ship, already halfway to the exit when the call came through. Her eyes gleamed under the dim red lighting.
She didn’t wait for Hux to say anything.
“I’m going,” she said flatly. Hux looked at her with mixed emotions, torn between duty and the pull in his chest that told him she couldn’t go.
Never before had his personal affiliations affected his work. But as he stared at (Y/n) for what felt like precious minutes, he knew that what was between them was far more than simple romantics.
After seeing the determined, almost begging look in her eyes, he nodded firmly in approval.
The Covenant ship descended through the clouds like a blade falling from the heavens, engines flaring bright against the bleak terrain.
The moment it touched down, the ramp hissed open. But just before she stepped off, Hux stopped her with a hand on her chest.
“Umbral.” He addressed firmly, her face hardened as she looked at him.
The gaze they shared spoke more than words ever could - promises of return and safety.
“No mercy.” Hux commanded her with finality.
A sadistic smile stretched on her lips.
Finally, she descended the ramp and from the smoke and light, (Y/n) emerged.
She didn’t run. She walked with measured calmness, cloak flowing, blades strapped to either side of her thighs, eyes burning with focus.
Rogue scouts now stationed on the roof barely had time to signal before (Y/n) blurred into motion, scaling the structure with preternatural speed. Two guards moved to intercept -
She ducked under the first strike, came up hard, and drove her dagger through the rogue’s chin. The second turned to flee, only to be caught by the back of his uniform and hurled from the rooftop with a deadly twist of his neck.
The battle inside turned desperate. One Duskborn was on his knees, bleeding from a gash in his thigh. Another was pinned against the wall, fangs bared just inches from her throat as the others struggled in their own personal battles.
Then a door flew open inward with a loud bang , sending everyone scattering.
(Y/n) stepped through and the entire room shifted.
The rogues froze mid-strike, eyes going wide as recognition dawned. One even backed up instinctively.
“(Y/n),” Varo breathed, blood on his brow, chest heaving. “You took your time.”
She didn’t answer. Just lifted one blade, spinning it once in hand.
“I prefer ‘fashionably late’.” She took another step forward and practically snarled her next words. “I’ve always hated parties.”
The tension cracked like lightning.
She launched herself into the nearest rogue like a storm given form. Her strikes were precise, brutal. Honed from years of restraint. In a blur, she cut one down, pivoted, and disarmed a second, finishing them with a silver dagger through his spine.
The battlefield tipped violently in their favor.
With (Y/n) at the front and Varo at her side, the Covenant surged forward.
The rogue vampires felt it. An oppressive weight in the air, as if the very presence of the Umbral disrupted the natural order.
One rogue lunged at her, shrieking with clawed hands outstretched. (Y/n) met him without hesitation. She stepped inside his guard in a flash, parried his strike with her forearm, and stabbed upward into his ribs. The blade buried deep, and as he shrieked in pain, she twisted it, then shoved him aside.
Another rogue tried to flank her, drawing a hooked dagger. (Y/n) turned on him just in time, ducked under his swing, and struck his knee with a brutal kick that collapsed him sideways.
To her right, two Duskborns struggled to hold off a pair of rogues who moved with feral, reckless speed. (Y/n) was already in motion, sliding between them in a blur. She grabbed one rogue’s shoulder mid-strike and yanked him back, slamming him hard into the wall. Her dagger found his heart with surgical precision.
The second rogue turned on her, blade spinning, teeth bared.
(Y/n) blocked his strike with a quick upward sweep, twisted around him with fluid grace, and landed a crushing elbow into his throat. As he staggered back choking, she drove her knee into his gut and finished him with a heart-piercing thrust.
Varo shouted from across the chamber, throwing a blade to one of the wounded Duskborns. “Keep pushing! We’re clearing a path!”
(Y/n)’s focus never wavered. Blood splattered across her armor and skin, but she moved with calm brutality. She was calculating every step, strike, and movement as if it were second nature.
One of the older rogue vampires, more disciplined than the rest, snarled and darted towards her with dual blades, flipping through the air to close the distance.
He landed in front of her with a crash and swept his daggers toward her neck.
(Y/n) ducked, blocked, and countered. The exchange between them was fast, nearly imperceptible. Flashes of silver, the clash of bone and blade, the hiss of air being carved by movement. But she read him.
He overextended. And she punished him for it.
With one hand, she disarmed him. With the other, she grabbed the back of his head and slammed it into her rising knee. Bone cracked. He dropped.
Silence began to settle, broken only by ragged breathing and the groans of the wounded.
She looked over at one rogue who still stood, clutching a broken weapon. He looked at (Y/n), eyes wide - not with rage, but fear.
She stared back, her voice low and cold as her eyes drifted over the other disabled rogues.
“Yield.” She commanded as a threat.
They didn’t move. But the defeat in their eyes was enough and the Duskborns quickly closed in to detain them.
Varo approached from behind, sheathing his blades with a sharp exhale. “I don’t know whether to be proud or terrified right now.”
(Y/n) didn’t answer at first. She looked down at the blood-soaked floor, her breathing steady. Then finally turned to him.
“Both are acceptable.”
A flicker of a smirk touched her lips, just for a second.
Behind them, the reinforced door loomed, and Varo looked to her.
“Ready?”
She nodded once, eyes sharp, blades still steady in her grip.
The door groaned open, hinges straining as (Y/n) and Varo stepped inside. The space beyond was dimly lit, the stale air thick with dust and tension.
Zera stood alone in the center, arms loosely at her sides, a single blade sheathed at her back. But she made no move to draw it. Her eyes lifted as the pair entered, slowly landing on (Y/n).
There was no surprise in her expression.
“I heard the screaming,” Zera said with solemn defeat. “Knew it had to be you.”
(Y/n) didn’t respond with words. She approached without hesitation, her boots echoing off of the metal floor. Varo followed close behind, tense but steady. When they stopped in front of Zera, the silence was heavy.
“You came all this way,” Zera said, gaze flicking between them. “To kill me?”
(Y/n)’s voice was flat. “No. Not yet.” She stepped towards her old friend turned enemy, a shift in her gaze showing something new. Something different than burning rage and vengeance.
It was disappointment.
“You studied our techniques and implemented them yourself.” (Y/n) stated with a saddened voice. She looked down for a moment to collect herself before she met Zera’s gaze once more. “You would’ve made a fine Umbral.”
The hatred instantly left Zera’s eyes, now sorrowful and conflicted.
Before Zera could respond, Varo stepped forward and grabbed her arm in one swift movement. She didn’t resist. But there was a flicker of something in her expression as he twisted her arm behind her back.
“Move,” Varo ordered.
Zera hesitated, then took a step. Then another.
They dragged her out through the corridor, back through the chaos of the relay station. And then into the heart of what remained.
The carnage was undeniable. Rogue vampires lay dead in dusty piles, blood smeared across the walls and floor. A few survivors knelt in manacles, guarded closely by Duskborns who still bore fresh wounds. Their eyes followed Zera as she was led into view.
The moment her boots hit the blood-slick floor, her shoulders tensed.
Varo shoved her down to her knees.
Her gaze swept across the bodies. The failure, the betrayal, the loss. Then finally landed back on (Y/n), who stood above her like judgment incarnate.
A younger Duskborn approached and placed manacles around Zera’s wrists, the sharp clink of metal a grim punctuation.
Zera didn’t fight it. But her jaw clenched.
“You lost them,” (Y/n) said coldly. “All of them.”
Zera lifted her eyes, defiance flickering under the weight of shame. “We were fighting for something better.”
“You were fighting for yourself,” Varo snapped. “And you killed your own to do it.”
He turned away, raising a hand to activate his comm.
“Command, this is Umbral Drenn. We’ve secured the objective. Target Zera Veyne is in custody.”
“ Copy that, Umbral. Stand by for extraction coordinates. ” The pilot responded.
As the transmission ended, (Y/n) crouched slightly, lowering herself to Zera’s level. Not in empathy, but so her words struck closer.
“You wanted to burn it all down. Now look at what’s left.”
Zera said nothing.
But (Y/n) could see it. In her silence. In her posture. The reality had finally caught up with her.
(Y/n) stood again, walking away without another word.
Behind her, the other Duskborns moved in to lift Zera and the other rogues from the ground.
The battered survivors, led by their defeated leader, were marched out of the relay station, each of them exhausted, bloody, and broken. The full weight of their loss was evident in their gait, and the air around them hummed with a heavy tension.
At the far end of the landing zone, the command ship loomed, large and imposing. The ship’s engines hummed softly, its silhouette a shadow.
The Duskborns who had captured Zera and the rogues kept their grip firm, but they moved with a silent precision, ensuring that none of their captives could escape. Zera’s eyes were fixed ahead, her face a mask of calculated defiance, but the flicker of doubt in her gaze betrayed her true emotions.
They were brought to their knees before the waiting group of Storm Troopers, stealth troopers and Captain Phasma. Behind them, General Hux descended the ramp and made his way over to them.
Standing at the front with (Y/n) joining, he observed the scene with the cool detachment of someone who had seen it all before, his sharp eyes gleaming with a sadistic satisfaction as he surveyed the group of detainees.
(Y/n)’s expression was as cold and unforgiving as his, but with a sharper edge. Her eyes flicked briefly to Zera, lingering with a mixture of disdain and something harder to pinpoint, almost… sympathetic, though it was quickly masked.
Hux finally spoke, his voice a smooth, venomous drawl.
“Well… it seems the great leader of the rogue faction has finally been captured. Tell me, did you truly think this would end any differently?”
Zera’s eyes locked with his, unflinching. There was no fear in her expression. Only a stubborn defiance.
“The Order will fall.”
Hux smirked. “Perhaps. But not under my command.”
He took a step closer to her, slowly, deliberately, his gaze never leaving hers.
“I have to admit, I was expecting more of a challenge. You disappointed me. You were the leader of a faction that promised so much… but in the end, you couldn’t even keep your own soldiers in line.”
Zera’s jaw clenched, but she kept silent. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a retort.
Hux turned to (Y/n), his gaze lingering on her for just a moment before he continued.
“And you, my dear… you proved your worth yet again.”
(Y/n) didn’t respond immediately. She only nodded once, her cold eyes scanning the remaining detainees with a steady, calculating gaze. But beneath the surface, her heart fluttered at the new term of endearment, let alone at the fact that it was used in front of the others.
“I did my duty, General. Nothing more.”
Hux smirked again, clearly enjoying the small exchange of power between them. Then, he nodded at her.
“Do as you wish with them, Umbral.”
(Y/n) turned to the rogues, stepping forward. “By order of the Blood Accord, punishment for treason is beheading.”
As (Y/n) continued, Zera looked up at her slowly, menacingly. Meeting her with an unwavering gaze. And then, without warning, she shouted.
“By the blood of our kind and the law of The Covenant!”
The words echoed across the landing zone, surprising those in the vicinity, and the Duskborns who had captured her stiffened, knowing what was to come.
(Y/n)’s eyes widened, lips parting in disbelief as Varo stepped forward to express the same.
“I, Zera Veyne, call forth the Rite of Severance!”
The Challenger’s Oath was an ancient rite, a final means of demonstrating dominance and honor among the Covenant’s warriors. To challenge someone to a duel meant that one was not just testing skill. It was a fight to the death.
It was a ritual, a declaration that the challenger did not accept defeat, would never accept submission. A challenge only for the truly desperate or the fiercely prideful.
“Let honor and strength determine our fate, for only one shall walk away from this trial.”
Hux watched as the air exponentially tensed, everyone looking at each other as if to ask if what was occurring was real, and what they should do. He stepped forward next to Varo who explained.
“It’s a sacred challenge in the Covenant. To the death.”
Hux’s gaze immediately flew to look at (Y/n) who simply stared at the ground in front of Zera.
He stepped up to her to speak with her quietly.
“(Y/n). You’ve already captured her. It is done. Do not give into pride.” He attempted to turn her away from the idea.
He was met with silence. Varo was next.
“You have no right! You forfeited the second you turned your back on us!” He backfired to Zera.
(Y/n) then held up her hand, causing silence.
“The Covenant does not abide traitors.” She started solemnly. Then, she looked up at Zera, a darkness in her eyes. “But by my blade and my will, I accept your challenge.” She stepped forward threateningly. “And by the law of our order, I will see this ended.”
(Y/n) took a steady breath, the anger in her chest simmering but contained.
Varo stepped to Hux to convince him to order her to change her mind, uncharacteristically panicked. “Sir, it’s not too late. We can execute Zera without the duel. (Y/n)’s bound by her assignment to listen to you.”
“No!” (Y/n) finally shouted, a fiery gaze settled on her comrade. “Varo, you will witness. I’ve made up my mind.”
Varo looked at Hux one last time, stomach dropping when the general nodded. “Trust her.”
Varo looked back at (Y/n) with his eyebrows furrowed in concern and fear. He swallowed before sighing and nodding.
“Unbind her.” He ordered the Duskborns with Zera.
They followed his order hesitantly, quickly removing her manacles and stepping away.
Like two tigers in a cage, (Y/n) and Zera made their way to stand in front of each other, their gazes heavy. Varo stood off to the side, centered between the two.
“The Rite of Severance is called.” His gaze faltered. “By the will of the Covenant, this battle shall be fought to its rightful conclusion. Only the victor shall remain.” Varo begrudgingly confirmed the rite.
He took a deep breath before continuing.
“Interference and ranged weapons are forbidden. This duel is to be fought at close range only .” He looked at Zera. “There is no retreat once engaged. To turn away is to forfeit and face immediate execution.” He looked to (Y/n), then motioned to the two of them and took a step back. “At the ready.”
Zera’s lip curled in distaste as she slowly unsheathed her blade, a sword of the Covenant.
(Y/n) held an even expression, but her eyes burned with the adrenaline of what was to come. Her hand lifted to her neck, unclipping her cloak and letting it fall to the ground. Her hands moved to the harnesses on her thighs, pulling out her daggers.
A heavy silence gripped the air as the combatants began to circle each other, the gathered First Order and Covenant members watching from a wide berth. The wind stirred the dust and ash beneath their boots, swirling the tension tighter.
(Y/n) moved with calculated precision, every step grounded in years of brutal Umbral training. Zera’s stance, though, was raw and furious - less refined, more instinctive. Dangerous.
They struck first at the same moment.
Silver blurred through the air. Clashed.
Zera came in with a heavy downward arc, forcing (Y/n) to dart to the side and deflect with both blades, the force jarring up her arms. (Y/n) retaliated with a flurry of swift, shallow strikes meant to wear Zera down, but Zera’s strength was unrelenting. She tanked the hits and shoved forward, nearly knocking (Y/n) off balance with a powerful sweep.
The duel dragged across the landing zone. One moment elegant and deadly, the next, savage and visceral. Neither held back. Fangs flashed. Sparks erupted as blades scraped. There were no words now, only breathless grunts and metal on metal.
Zera slammed her shoulder into (Y/n)’s chest, knocking her back several feet. Before (Y/n) could recover, Zera charged, blade high.
(Y/n) ducked just in time, Zera’s sword barely missing her neck. She spun and carved her daggers upward in a cross slash, scoring deep across Zera’s ribs. But Zera didn’t falter - she pivoted into a punishing backhand that flung (Y/n) to the ground.
“She’s pushing too hard…” Varo muttered anxiously.
Hux responded with a tightened jaw. “She knows what she’s doing. She has to.”
(Y/n) scrambled back to her feet just as Zera swung again. She blocked with both daggers, the force rattling her bones. Their blades locked, and - for a split second - their eyes met. Zera bared her fangs in a hiss.
“You don’t deserve their loyalty.” A flash of vulnerability made its way into (Y/n)’s expression and Zera took the chance, kneeing (Y/n) in the stomach and knocking one dagger loose.
(Y/n) staggered, her breath gone and barely able to react in time. Zera kicked her back again, and the silver sword came down hard. (Y/n) rolled, but not fast enough. The blade carved across her upper arm, searing pain flaring hot and immediate.
She hissed at the pain and quickly looked back up at Zera who advanced, towering over her.
“Isn’t this what you wanted, (Y/n)?” She raised her sword high, but (Y/n) quickly spun and her legs kicked Zera off of her feet with a thud.
As she recovered from the fall, (Y/n) quickly grabbed her lost dagger and readied herself once more.
“I never wanted this.” She replied to Zera bitterly.
Zera stood once more, sword readied as she glared. “You wanted to fight together in Umbral academy, no?” She spat, stepping forward. “So let’s fight then!”
They crashed into each other with a flurry of strikes, each blow more desperate than the last. (Y/n) slipped behind Zera mid-strike and elbowed her between the shoulder blades, but Zera twisted and slashed backward, catching (Y/n) across the upper thigh. Blood spattered the dirt.
(Y/n) staggered.
Zera capitalized, tackling her to the ground. Sword pressed against (Y/n)’s throat, only her daggers wedged between them kept her alive. They struggled, locked in a deadly stalemate, blades trembling under the pressure.
“You were always the better fighter. But you hesitated.” Zera spoke through gritted teeth.
“Not anymore.” (Y/n) snarled.
With a surge of strength, (Y/n) twisted her hips, throwing Zera off balance. They rolled, (Y/n) now atop her, and she plunged her dagger downward. Zera caught her wrist just in time and both women grunted.
A sudden headbutt from Zera dazed (Y/n), knocking her back. The sword sliced upward, grazing her ribs. (Y/n) gasped but recovered, leaping back to her feet.
Blood dripped from both of them now. Uniforms torn. Movements slower. But their eyes never wavered.
Suddenly, Zera lunged with a thrust aimed straight for (Y/n)’s heart.
(Y/n) parried it with her left dagger, spun, and used the momentum to dodge around the slash that followed - flipping her grip and stabbing one dagger into Zera’s side. Zera cried out, twisting in pain.
And (Y/n) used that moment.
She brought her daggers up, crossed them at Zera’s throat, and in a single, swift motion, sliced outward.
Zera’s eyes widened, breath caught.
The silver sword fell from her hand.
Her body collapsed to her knees. Then, slowly, it slumped forward. Lifeless.
The head rolled to the side a moment later, cleanly severed.
(Y/n) stood above the body, covered in sweat and blood, chest heaving. She held her daggers loosely, her eyes fixed on the now crumbling, dust riddled body of someone who had once been her closest friend.
The landing zone had fallen silent.
Dust and blood still hung in the air, the remnants of a fight that had gripped everyone in its thrall. The rogue vampires were now fully subdued, forced to kneel and witness the fall of their leader.
(Y/n) stood near the center of it all, her daggers still in hand, arms trembling faintly from exhaustion and adrenaline. Her clothes were torn, streaked in blood - both hers and Zera’s - but her posture remained firm. Stoic. Victorious.
Then she heard the familiar crunch of polished boots against gravel.
She didn’t have to turn to know it was him.
General Hux crossed the field with brisk, purposeful strides, but his composure was fraying at the edges.
His usual expression of poise was shadowed by barely contained emotion. Relief, fear, something deeper. He halted just a breath away from her, eyes scanning her face and then flicking briefly down her frame, checking for injuries.
He didn’t reach for her - not here, not in front of the soldiers - but his voice softened in a way that only she would hear.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m alive.” She replied hoarsely.
Her tone was matter-of-fact, but there was a quiet edge to it. The fight had left more than physical marks.
He exhaled slowly, tension bleeding out of his shoulders, but his hands still clenched at his sides. Every inch of him screamed to hold her. To check every wound. To say something more. But they weren’t alone.
So instead, he met her gaze and gave the smallest, subtlest nod, a wordless exchange between them. Later , it said.
A respectful beat passed, and then Varo approached, still high on the tail end of the fight. His uniform was dusted with ash, and there was a cut above one brow, but his grin was unmistakable as he broke into their silent moment.
“Well, I guess we know who won’t be challenging (Y/n) anytime soon.”
(Y/n) let out a low, tired huff of amusement. Her mouth twitched upward, almost a smile. Varo clapped a hand gently on her shoulder.
“You did good, (Y/n). She was clearly stronger than we remembered. That wasn’t an easy win.”
“It was never going to be.” She replied quietly.
She finally sheathed her daggers and wiped the blood from her brow. Hux remained nearby, his presence quiet but unwavering. He didn’t speak, but his eyes never left her.
Varo smirked. “Now for the fun part.” He leaned his head towards the detained rogues and (Y/n) nodded, walking past both him and Hux to stand before the detainees. Her hands were clasped behind her back, head held high as she glared down each rogue.
“By order of the Blood Accord,” she said for the second time. “Punishment for treason is execution by beheading.”
Immediately and in perfect synchronicity, each Duskborn standing next to a rogue stepped forward, unsheathing their swords at the same time with a spin of the blade. They each stood in front of the rogues, awaiting their command.
“Execute!”
A harmonious slash sounded and the rogue’s heads rolled.
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