Chapter 5
Chapter 5
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 two remained in the War Room as Varo and Phasma joined them soon after. A large tactical display hovered between them, showcasing the sectors suspected to harbor the rogue threat.
General Hux stood at the head of the table again, hands behind his back. To his right stood (Y/n), and on the opposite end of the table stood Phasma and Varo, their expressions focused, but the tension in the room was palpable.
“We have authorization to act. Now we need to figure out a way to track them down and find them.” The general began.
Phasma followed. “They’re ghosts,” she said flatly. “Not a single trace left behind. No footprints. No blood. Just bodies.”
“That’s the Covenant for you,” Varo muttered grimly. “They know how to vanish. And they’re using it.”
“Not just vanish.” (Y/n) added. “Each strike we’ve reviewed… they’re not looking to make a statement. They’re gathering something.”
Phasma tilted her head in question. “Intel?”
“Or resources.” She replied. “They’re choosing their targets too precisely. They know our protocols. Our rotations. What we have and where. Every time they attack, they raid the location.”
“Then we bait them.” Hux suggested. He stepped forward and gestured toward a flickering system on the map. “These three supply stations are within striking distance of the last known rogue activity. We plant the idea that one of them is carrying classified tech and leak the information through a Resistance channel we know they’ve intercepted in the past.”
Phasma hummed in thought. “Risky. But controlled. I can reroute stormtroopers for concealed perimeter placements.”
“I don’t want any engagement.” Hux ordered. “Observation only. Identify, record, and pull back. The moment we can confirm their identities, we strike with the Covenant’s backing.”
“We’ll need more than scouts, sir.” Varo warned. “These aren’t just any rogues. We engage with standard units, we lose more good soldiers.”
The general nodded in agreement. “Which is why you -” He looked at Varo. “- will be embedded in the region as a liaison. You’ll move freely between units and help direct operations. No one else has the experience to recognize them for what they are.”
(Y/n) shifted and offered a warning to Varo. “If they smell you, they’ll come out. If any of them knew you before they defected…”
Her gaze sharpened.
“They might want to carry out unfinished business.”
Varo’s expression was unreadable, but something cold flickered in his eyes.
“Then let them try.” He threatened indirectly. “I’m very persuasive when it comes to traitors.”
“Trust me, I’m aware.” (Y/n) replied simply.
Hux tapped the console, confirming the initial troop deployment orders.
“Begin rotating squads to the target sectors under routine drills. Make it look mundane.”
“They’ll never know we’re watching.” Phasma consoled him.
“Good. Then it’s settled.”
“Dead rogues or silence,” Varo started. ”Either way, we’ll bring order back to the Covenant.”
Later on, as the night cycle began, the corridors with higher command personnel quarters were dimly lit, lights cycling to mimic planetary night. Most of the officers had retreated by this time. A hush blanketed the area, the kind of silence that only came during these artificial nights in the belly of a warship.
(Y/n) sat alone at a secluded alcove in the corridor, an architectural oddity tucked near the viewport wall. The viewport stretched tall and wide, revealing the swirling stars and the velvet void beyond. A built-in bench sat along one side of the wall next to the window, lit only by the glow of passing starlight.
She sat with one leg curled up beneath her, still dressed in her uniform but with the zipper of the bodysuit around her neck slightly undone for breathing room. A small blood pack, half-drained, rested beside her hip. Her datapad was forgotten in her lap, the screen dimmed. Her gaze was fixed on the stars, lost in quiet thought.
Her ears then honed in as she heard a set of footsteps further down the corridor. Measured. Familiar.
(Y/n) didn’t turn to look. She already knew who it was.
“I didn’t expect anyone to be awake in this sector.” The general commented in a quieter tone.
“Neither did I.”
There was a pause. Hux stood there, considering her. Not just the strange placement of her presence, but the rare image of her relaxed posture and unguarded expression.
“This isn’t regulation seating.” He pointed out. (Y/n) glanced over at him in a playful deadpan.
“Are you here to enforce it, General?”
He let out the faintest sound, almost a scoff. Then, unexpectedly, he stepped closer and took a seat beside her on the bench, maintaining a respectful space between them.
After a moment, the general began to speak again.
“This part of the ship was designed to house long-term High Command. They included comfort features… but few of us make time to use them.”
“It’s the only place I’ve found that doesn’t feel like war.” (Y/n) said in a more hushed tone.
A long silence fell between them. Outside the viewport, stars drifted past slowly, distant and indifferent.
The general hummed. “I find comfort in order.” (Y/n) tossed him a pointed look - as if to say ‘no, really?’ - and he clicked his tongue in minor annoyance. “It makes things… predictable. Safe.”
He paused.
(Y/n) turned her head slightly to look at him. “Why do you think it’s safe?”
He looked at her now, his expression more open than she’d ever seen. “I think predictability can keep a person alive. But it doesn’t protect you from harsh realities in life.”
The words hung between them for a moment too long.
“No… it doesn’t.” (Y/n) agreed softly.
She looked away again, fingers absently brushing her datapad.
“I thought I knew my people. What we stood for. What we bled for. But now I’m not so sure.”
“You’re referring to the rogues.”
“I’m referring to those I once trusted. Those who chose to spit on everything that kept us alive. After what the Resistance did to our kind… I can’t understand how they could turn their backs on the Covenant or First Order.”
Hux thought for a moment before he answered. “Pain doesn’t forge loyalty. Not for everyone. For some, it just festers… until all they want is to be the one holding the knife. And they won’t care who’s at the end of the blade.”
(Y/n) watched him closely now, seeing the way his jaw tensed as he said it. “You speak like someone who knows.”
“I do.” He answered flatly.
Silence again. But this time, it wasn’t cold. It was shared. Weighted, but equal.
After a beat, (Y/n) leaned back slightly against the wall, letting her head rest there as she stared up.
“I don’t regret joining the Covenant or becoming an Umbral. But some nights… I wonder who I would’ve been if I didn’t.”
“You’d still be dangerous.” Hux quipped.
A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. Just a flicker. “And you’d still be impossible.”
“That almost counts as a compliment.” His lips twitched in a smirk.
Another moment of quiet.
(Y/n)’s gaze was fixed on the stars outside, but her awareness was sharp. She could feel the general’s presence beside her as if it were its own gravitational field. And he, for all his rigid posture and measured breathing, had not moved since sitting down.
The silence lingered, no longer heavy with unspoken thoughts, but… tentative. Curious.
“You seem more yourself.” Hux suddenly pointed out.
“I thought I was always myself.” She replied curiously.
“Yes, but… you’re more calm. Not as stiff. It’s refreshing… and it suits you.”
She glanced over at him, a single brow lifting. “Well, I do expect myself to know how to separate professionalism from personal matters, if that’s what you mean. I’m just careful with who sees what side.” She then turned to face him slightly. “How would you know what suits me?”
“I pay attention. You’re not the only observant one here.”
Her lips parted slightly as they stared at one another, but whatever retort she was about to make was lost when her knee brushed lightly against his.
She stilled immediately. So did he.
The touch had been accidental. Casual contact in the narrow space of the bench, but it sparked like static, subtle and unmistakable.
Neither of them moved away.
(Y/n) shifted her gaze back to the window, face unreadable save for the faint shift in her posture. Hux pretended to return to his datapad, his grip on it just a little too firm, his jaw set with a precision that was almost… performative.
“Apologies.” (Y/n) muttered.
“Unnecessary.”
She looked down at her hands. He tapped once on the datapad, but didn’t really read whatever was on the screen.
The silence returned. Not awkward, but charged. It buzzed faintly beneath their skin.
(Y/n), sensing the tension still in his posture, allowed herself a rare act of rebellion against her instincts. She shifted just a bit closer. Not enough to touch again. Just enough to make it noticeable.
And Hux noticed. But what he noticed even more was how she became even more tranquil after she had done so.
She didn’t look at him, and if it were possible, her cheeks would’ve been tinted. The corner of her mouth twitched faintly. Barely.
“It’s strange.” She spoke.
“What is?”
“Sitting still. Doing nothing. And yet… it doesn’t feel like a waste of time.”
He studied her carefully now. “It isn’t.”
Another moment passed. A pause not meant to be filled.
And then Hux stood, smooth and precise as usual. But the movement was slower. He tucked his datapad under one arm, glancing down at her with something unreadable in his gaze.
“It’s late.”
“So is everything on this ship.” She jested.
He allowed the corner of his mouth to lift, just a ghost of a smile, and then turned.
But just before he stepped away, he hesitated.
“I’ll expect you in my office at 0600.”
“Of course.”
“Bring tea.”
She blinked.
(Y/n), feigning seriousness, replied. “Blood or sugar?”
He glanced at her, a faint glint in his eye. Amused. Surprised.
“Surprise me.”
And with that, he disappeared down the corridor, boots silent on the floor.
Left alone again, (Y/n) stared out at the stars.
Her body still remembered the brief brush of contact. And her expression softened with something akin to warmth.
The next morning, General Hux was already at his desk, filtering through whatever came in while he was asleep. He didn’t look up immediately when the door slid open with a soft hiss.
(Y/n) stepped in, punctual to the second. In one hand she carried a thermal cup. In the other, a sealed blood pack.
She approached the desk and placed the cup neatly within his reach.
“Surprise.” She greeted flatly.
Hux raised his eyes. His gaze flicked between the items. Then his brow lifted, barely.
“You brought both.”
“I like to cover contingencies… that and I’m starving.” She added as she twisted the cap and began to drink from it, the cool liquid easing down her throat.
He regarded her for a long moment, then reached for the cup. Steam rose from it as he took a measured sip.
“Sugar.” He hummed. “You didn’t risk the blood. Wise.”
“I need my commanding officer awake, not disgusted.”
He smirked faintly at that, a rare expression, short-lived but genuine. (Y/n) caught it but didn’t comment.
For the first time since she’d been there, she moved to the small seat across from his desk without his direction, posture straight with her legs crossed. Despite the cold formality of the room, the air between them was… different. Not quite relaxed, but no longer so distant.
He reviewed a few lines on the datapad before speaking again.
“I assume your quarters are adequate? I don’t believe I’ve ever asked.”
(Y/n) replied with a faint tilt of her head.
“Functional and familiar.”
“That’s what passes for comfort around here.”
“I don’t require comfort.” She teased before taking another sip.
“No. But everyone benefits from a moment to breathe in an acceptable environment.”
She blinked at that, ever so slightly surprised.
“Is that what last night was?” She smirked.
He looked up at her then, the full weight of his focus falling on her face. “Possibly.”
Something passed between them again. Unspoken. Subtle.
Then, like the snap of a soldier returning to attention, he set the datapad down and stood, brushing a hand down the front of his coat.
“Come. We’re expected on the bridge. I need to have updates on Resistance activity by 0700.”
She stood smoothly, falling into step beside him after tossing the now empty blood pack.
As they moved towards the door, (Y/n) offered an afterthought.
“Next time, I think I’ll bring both in a thermal. Tea for you, blood for me. Haven’t had it warm in a while.”
Hux glanced sideways at her. “Efficient.”
A beat.
“Thoughtful.” He added, though quieter.
The door hissed open and they stepped into the corridor in perfect contrast, moving in precise sync.
The bridge of the Finalizer was quiet in its efficiency, cloaked in the bluish-gray tones of early cycle operations. Terminals glowed softly, crew members moved with practiced rhythm, and the stars beyond the viewport were distant and still.
General Hux stood at the front, hands clasped behind his back as he analyzed data from one of the terminals. (Y/n) stood beside him, arms crossed as her eyes scanned the bridge with deliberate calmness. She was close enough to intervene if needed, yet never encroaching on his command space.
A lieutenant approached first, offering a crisp nod before handing Hux a tablet. “General, update from outpost Delta-Four. Last contact was at 0300. No response since then and no distress call was sent.”
Hux read it with a furrowed brow. “Similar to Sector Eight last week.”
“Yes, sir. Final transmission mentioned movement along the outer edge of a debris cluster. Then silence.”
“No signs of conflict?”
“None. It’s clean.”
Hux’s eyes narrowed. “They’re getting bolder.” He handed the tablet back to the lieutenant and turned back towards the terminal to key in a command. Facing the bridge again, a map of the outer sectors materialized in a wash of pale blue light. Red indicators blinked in a triangular pattern.
“Have long-range scans pulled from the Starbreaker Array. Cross-reference radiation trails, shield fluctuations. Any anomalies, no matter how faint.”
The officer gave a quick nod. “Yes, General.”
(Y/n)’s gaze flicked briefly to the glowing display, then back towards the junior officers bustling quietly.
Another officer approached. A younger systems technician with smudged gloves and a nervous gait. “General… we detected an attempted intercept on last night’s dispatch to Command. It failed, but whoever it was, it wasn’t Resistance-grade slicing.”
Hux’s hands tightened behind him. “I want the source tracked, triangulated, and dissected. Every data spike, every digital pulse logged. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
The technician nearly tripped backing away. (Y/n) didn’t react, though her eyes flicked to Hux subtly, noting the flare of tension in his expression.
He exhaled slowly before the doors to the bridge slid open with a sharp hiss.
Captain Phasma entered first, tall and commanding in her chrome armor. Her pace was deliberate, each step punctuated by the soft thud of metal boots on deck plating. Varo followed at her side, his usual grin exchanged for a more focused expression. When he spotted (Y/n) already at Hux’s side, his brow lifted in silent greeting.
Hux turned as they approached “Phasma. Drenn,” he greeted. His eyes flicked to (Y/n), then back to the others. “You’re just in time. We have a developing situation.”
(Y/n) gave a small nod in response to Varo’s glance.
Hux stepped back slightly and gestured towards the holomap still displayed. “We may be looking at a coordinated infiltration effort. Unknown parties. Skilled and precise. Possibly something more than the Resistance. This may be one of our only chances to intercept and identify them.” The general nodded his head in the direction of the doors to the bridge and walked, the group following him.
The doors to the bridge hissed open, then sealed shut again as General Hux led them down the corridor. (Y/n) walked beside him as while Varo and Phasma flanked from behind.
No words were exchanged on the walk. The tension from the short briefing still lingered in the air like static. Tightly wound, waiting for direction.
Once inside Hux’s office, the door sealed behind them with a low thrum. Hux moved to behind his desk, bringing up the latest holomap which crackled to life in front of them.
“This is where they’re projected to hit next,” Hux said without preamble, pointing to a small, seemingly insignificant relay station nestled between two inactive mining sectors. “It’s remote. Understaffed. A low-profile target. Perfect for remaining unseen.”
“And exactly what we’d expect them to go for if they’re testing our blind spots.” Phasma chimed in.
“We’ve tracked fragments of their signal spikes converging here,” Hux continued, zooming in on the relay’s coordinates. “Encrypted communications, faint enough to be overlooked if you weren’t already looking for them. But there’s a pattern.”
Varo squinted at the holomap. “It’s a bait station. Easy to infiltrate, but also easy to ambush from. If someone knew how.”
Hux’s eyes flicked towards him. “Which is why we’re going to beat them to it.” He turned slightly, addressing all three of them. “We’ll deploy a stealth team, small and silent. We observe first. Identify who they are. Confirm if this is the same force behind the outpost vanishings.”
(Y/n) stepped forward slightly, her voice level. “And if it is?”
“Then we’ll respond accordingly,” Hux said coldly. “And we won’t miss.”
Phasma nodded. “I’ll have a squad outfitted for cloaked transport and scout support. The relay can be secured quietly, with minimal presence.”
Hux tapped his fingers against his desk. “No standard stormtroopers. It’ll be too obvious.”
He turned his gaze to Varo. “I want you in position ahead of the operation. You’ll be our eyes on the ground. Blend in with the relay crew if needed. Keep comms silent unless contact is made.”
Varo gave a sharp nod. “Understood.” He folded his arms across his chest. “So we’re playing shadow games now. I always preferred being the knife in the dark over the hammer at the gate.”
“Then consider this a return to form,” Hux replied dryly, before turning back to the holomap.
A brief silence followed as each of them absorbed the mission’s stakes. Then Hux looked to (Y/n) once more, his gaze thoughtful beneath the commander’s mask.
“Umbral (L/n) and myself will have visual from here on the bridge while the operation is active. Anyone who is on ground will have a surveillance system so we can track what they are seeing and have more eyes identifying who we’re dealing with should anything happen.” Everyone nodded before the holomap disappeared. “If we’re going off of their typical patterns, the mission will be set during tomorrow’s night cycle. Phasma and Drenn, I want you to coordinate with intelligence and logistics to formulate a plan. Dismissed.”
Phasma offered a curt nod and exited with precise efficiency. Varo lingered just long enough to exchange a glance with (Y/n), a small, wordless assurance before following.
The door slid shut, leaving only the soft hum of the overhead lights and the distant thrum of the ship’s engines. General Hux remained standing, unmoving as he observed the remaining Umbral.
Her gaze was distant, as if she was looking at something far beyond the walls of the office.
“You’re quieter than usual,” Hux said without looking up.
(Y/n) blinked, shifting slightly. “Apologies, sir. I didn’t mean to appear distracted.”
“You didn’t,” he said simply, finally glancing over at her. “You appear unsettled.”
Her mask didn’t crack, not fully. But something in her eyes softened. A hesitation.
“I’m fine,” she said, too quickly.
Hux’s brow lifted ever so slightly. “Umbral?” The formality in her title made her glance at him sharply, until she realized he was watching her not with scrutiny, but something bordering on concern. Her posture eased by a hair’s breadth.
She exhaled quietly through her nose. “It’s Umbral Drenn.”
“Ah.”
“He’s the only person I have left,” she said slowly, as if peeling the words out of herself. “We’ve fought, bled, trained… Endured everything together. And now I’m stuck here. Watching him walk into a threat we still don’t fully understand.”
She didn’t pace. She didn’t fidget. But her stillness was heavy, dense with emotion she rarely permitted to surface.
“I’ve lost too much already,” she added softly. “If I lose him too…”
She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.
Hux studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable, but far from cold. He stepped away and moved towards the viewport behind his desk.
“I understand more than you think,” he said after a pause. “The burden of command is not just strategy and protocol. It’s the slow erosion of everyone who made you feel human.”
She looked at him then, some part of her surprised.
He didn’t meet her gaze, but his voice was steady.
“You will remain here,” he continued. “You’ll watch the feed with me. If anything happens to Drenn, you’ll know before anyone else does.”
(Y/n) blinked once, unsure how to respond to the weight of his words.
“Thank you,” she said finally, quieter than usual.
He turned to her now, his expression still composed, but his eyes… there was something else there.
Their eyes held for a second too long, just long enough for something to pass between them.
Then Hux turned back to his desk. The Umbral stood for a moment in thought, and for the first time in years, she found herself fidgeting slightly.
-
The lights were dimmed in the corridors, the stars outside scattered like frost across a black pane. The two Umbrals stood side by side, simply looking out at the galaxy before them in the same alcove (Y/n) had sat in with Hux.
(Y/n)’s arms were crossed, a subtle tension in her frame. She said nothing for a while, watching the distant shimmer of a nebula bleeding color into the void. Varo stood beside her, his usually relaxed posture tempered by a rare stillness.
“You’re quiet,” he said finally, his voice lower than usual.
(Y/n) didn’t glance his way. “So are you.”
A small chuckle escaped him. “Fair enough.”
They lingered in silence a moment longer.
“Do you ever think about what we signed up for?” (Y/n) asked. Her voice wasn’t cold. It carried the weight of something old, something uncertain. “What it cost us?”
Varo nodded slowly. “All the time. Just… not usually out loud.”
Now she glanced at him. “Tonight feels different.”
“It does,” he agreed, looking out at the stars again. “Walking into something none of us fully understand. And just… watching. Not fighting. It feels wrong.”
She nodded. “I know.”
His gaze flicked over to her, reading the steel behind her voice. But then it softened, and he tilted his head towards her slightly. “You think we did the right thing, choosing the path we did as Umbrals? All of this?”
She didn’t answer immediately. Her silence wasn’t uncertain. She was simply searching for truth.
“It was the only path that gave us purpose,” she said finally. “And if this faction turns out to be what we fear, then it’s our duty to stop them. No matter who they were to us.”
Varo was quiet again, but then nudged her shoulder gently. “Still. I’m glad I’m not doing this without you.”
(Y/n) looked up at him, a faint trace of a smile pulling at the edge of her mouth. “Likewise.”
For a few moments, they stood in comfortable silence again. Then Varo exhaled, brushing his hand through his hair and casting her a sideways glance.
“You know,” he added with a small smirk, “if I die tomorrow, I want you to avenge me with dramatic flair. Really make a scene. Rip someone’s spine out or something.”
She rolled her eyes, smirk deepening. “I’ll consider it.”
“Seriously,” he pressed, grinning now. “Cry. Wail. Maybe swear vengeance in front of a flaming backdrop.”
“I’ll pencil it in,” she said flatly, but there was warmth in her tone.
The weight of the night didn’t vanish, but it lessened between them. Whatever tomorrow brought, they wouldn’t face it alone. Even if apart.
More Posts from Igot-the-juice and Others
The Scarred - Chapter 10
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 woman stared at her reflection in the mirror, eyes glazed over as she glared at herself, judgment passing over her flawed body. She looked back up to meet her own gaze. Just then, a second familiar figure appeared behind her, stepping closer until the heat of their body was pressed against her.
Penelope tossed in her bed, a thin coat of sweat layered upon her skin as she panted, drowning in her own heat.
Her breath grew shaky as the figure brought a hand up to her neck, grazing his knuckles along the scarred skin. He brought his head to rest against hers, his scarred cheeks creating a soothing texture against her own. His hands slid down her figure to rest on her hips, pulling her closer to him. Her eye closed, head leaning back against his shoulder.
“Jack -“ She whispered to him.
Penelope shot up from her bed, too stunned to speak as tears streamed down her face. “Jack?” She cried to herself.
-
“This ‘Jack’ fellow. He mean anythin’ to ye?” Liam questioned as they waited on their order, sitting at a table tucked away in the corner of the small fast food joint.
Penelope thought for a moment, debating on whether or not she wanted to explain any further than she could handle. Liam patiently waited, however long it took for her. “He did…”
“Who was he?” He tried to pry further and he noticed her bite her lip, avoiding his gaze.
“Do you want the short story or the long one?”
“Whichever you prefer, lovin’.” Another pause. She took a deep breath.
“He was my boyfriend. Together for four years. He joined the Army knowing I was against it and eventually made it to Special Forces.”
Her fingers began to fidget with her jacket.
“Shortly after his training was finished, he proposed to me. Then two months before our wedding, he was deployed. I haven't heard from him since.” Penelope’s eyes glazed over. “I can’t help but think of all of the terrible things that could have happened to him.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Two years.” Liam reached out, covering her hand with his own larger one as an act of sympathy. Penelope struggled to prevent the dam of her eye from breaking.
“I’m not sure if this helps, but as a man that had me own love once? He’ll do everythin’ he can to find his way back to ye. Dead or alive. I’m not superstitious, but I think that dream was his way of findin’ ye again.”
Those last few words are what broke her. Tears silently fell, and she rushed to wipe them away, too stubborn to show them openly in public. She sniffed and looked away as their order was called, Liam going up to grab their food before guiding them out of the building and back to the apartment.
They ate in a comfortable silence, the TV humming once again in the background as Penelope was deep in thought. She couldn’t help the gut feeling that began to form in her stomach, too strong to ignore. It began to gnaw at her, eating away at whatever thoughts tried to push it away.
Once the sun had set and Liam left for the night, she looked out of the living room window, debating on whether or not she should take any chances.
She eventually sighed and gave in, throwing on her shoes and jacket before making her way to her car.
Pulling into the familiar parking lot, Penelope sat in her car, the engine off, the sound of the city distant as she stared out at the still water. The lake was calm, moonlight dancing across its surface like silver threads. The parking lot was empty, just like the night they had met. When she had been more cautious, more unsure of the man that now haunted her.
Now, though, things felt different.
The woman stepped out, leaning against the driver’s door as she breathed in the polluted air around her.
She couldn’t shake the pull she felt, the way the Joker had gotten under her skin. The thrill, the chaos, the freedom he had awakened in her. It was all still there, humming like electricity in her veins. It was an addiction. And yet, he had vanished afterward, like a phantom slipping back into Gotham’s shadows.
A flicker of movement in her peripheral vision made her stiffen. She turned her head slowly, heart racing just a little. And there he was, leaning casually against a streetlight at the edge of the lot, watching her. His purple coat was open, revealing his attire underneath, and he looked every bit as chaotic and unpredictable as he had that night. But this time, his eyes didn’t hold the same level of danger. Instead, there was something familiar. Something almost intimate.
Penelope’s breath hitched as their gazes locked.
The Joker sauntered towards her with a lazy grin, his posture relaxed yet full of that wild energy she knew too well. She couldn’t deny it. There was something there that she couldn’t explain. A tension, but not one born of fear or caution. It was something magnetic, unspoken. Something that pulled them together even when logic said they should stay apart.
“Miss me?” His voice cut through the stillness, teasing, his grin widening as he reached her car.
Her good hand rested casually in her pocket. “What if I did?” She replied, her voice softer than she intended, yet steady. She didn’t feel the need to hide her curiosity now. She wanted to understand what it was that drew her to him.
His eyes gleamed with amusement as he tilted his head. “Oh, look at you,” He mused, circling the front of her car like a predator sizing up its prey. “All calm, all… confident now.” He tapped the hood lightly as he passed, his fingers drumming an uneven rhythm. “What happened to that shaky, nervous thing you were before?”
“She grew up.” She gave him a small smile, knowing full well the Joker enjoyed the challenge.
He stopped at the driver’s side - closer than before - and leaned in, his face inches from hers as he stared at her, unblinking. She could feel the heat of his breath on her skin. Could almost hear the ticking of his erratic thoughts.
“I like this version of you,” He whispered, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “There’s a spark in ya, doll… And I’m gonna light it to hell.” His eyes gleamed, the dangerous edge still there. But now it felt personal.
She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Not this time. Instead, she leaned into the moment, thinking of that liberating feeling from that night. Letting the tension between them manifest into something real. Something tangible. “I want you to.” Penelope replied with an unwavering, honest gaze.
For a brief second, the Joker’s grin faltered, his eyes narrowing as if he was searching for something in her expression, something deeper. Then he laughed, the sound sharp and jagged in the quiet night.
“You’re not afraid anymore… that’s good,” He purred, straightening up but keeping his eyes on her. “Fear’s no fun when it’s one-sided, hm?”
Penelope felt the pull between them grow stronger. She wasn’t afraid anymore. Not of him, not of the things he brought out in her. And he could sense it. Their dynamic had shifted. They weren’t strangers playing a game of cat and mouse. They were something else entirely now.
“Come on,” He said suddenly, offering his hand. “Let’s go do something fun.”
She hesitated for only a second before slipping her hand into his, the feeling of his gloved fingers closing around hers sending a shiver up her spine. This time, it wasn’t fear. It was anticipation. She knew this path would lead to chaos, to something she couldn’t control.
But perhaps that’s what she craved for. And how would she know if she never tried?
He led her to what seemed to be just a regular black car, but she knew better. One of his men waiting by the car opened the passenger door for her, another doing the same for the driver’s side which was new to her.
“You’re driving this time?” Penelope mused once they took their seats, attempting to joke with him and poke the bear.
“I’ve driven plenty, toots.” He winked at her and started the car, his men taking their seats in the back. The car revved and his grip choked the steering wheel, then suddenly took off into the dark streets.
Penelope yelped in surprise before it turned into laughter. The car quickly sped up, the empty streets offering him leverage as he swerved in the road. He pressed down harder on the gas pedal when they reached a long stretch of road, reaching nearly ninety miles an hour that had the woman clutching her seat.
“Joker?” She questioned anxiously.
“Thought ya grew up, toots?” He began to cackle. “So grow up! Enjoy the ride!” Taking a leap of faith, she eased into it, choosing to trust the man behind the wheel. A wide smile spread across her lips once she decided to embrace it as it came, growing more comfortable. And eventually she joined his laughter.
When the car slowed down to a more decent speed, she rolled down her window and began to ease her torso outside, sitting on the door and holding onto the handle inside as leverage. Neon lights sped past as she leaned her head back, taking the wind as it came.
“There ya go, doll!” She heard the Joker encourage from below. His hand reached for her ankle when she wobbled slightly, the small act making her stomach flutter unexpectedly.
The same hand patted her calf when the car pulled into an open lot in front of a large, worn down building.
She fully climbed out and looked over at the Joker, then at the building where two men stood at the doors. Following closely behind him, she eyed the men standing guard who offered the same in turn, the other two from the car close behind her.
The warehouse was dimly lit, shadows dancing along the cracked concrete walls as a few lights flickered ominously. Different voices echoed and carried through the building as they made their way up the stairs past different floors, stopping at the uppermost level. It was an open space with little furniture, weapons of every kind littered around the room. With a single look from the Joker, the other men that were there left.
Penelope stood near an old, rusted table, her body tense, feeling out of place in the gritty environment. She ran her fingers over where the scars on the left side of her body were, feeling the uneven texture.
Across the room, the Joker leaned against a pile of crates. His scarred smile never wavered as his wild eyes observed her every move. He tilted his head, amusement playing across his face.
“Relax, toots. You’re too stiff.” The Joker said, waving his hand theatrically. “Now, the basics. Crime? Oh, it’s not just about the guns and the knives and the explosions. It’s about the art of chaos.”
Penelope’s gaze flickered to his, her curiosity fighting her hesitation. “Chaos?” She asked, her voice soft yet edged with something deeper, something he’d been coaxing out of her since they met.
Joker stepped closer, shoes scraping against the floor, and set down a blueprint on the table between them. “Soon,” He said, tapping his finger on a marked building, “We make a statement. But first, you gotta learn how to send a message. It’s not just about what you take. It’s about what they lose.”
She blinked, studying the blueprint, unsure what part of this made sense. “I’m not like you, Joker, I can’t just -“ She motioned to the table in front of her, unable to find the right words.
A low chuckle escaped the Joker’s throat, and he walked behind her, placing his gloved hands lightly on her shoulders. He leaned down, his voice a low whisper in her ear. “Oh, but you already are. You just need to let go. Stop playing by their rules and start looking at the bigger picture, hm?”
Penelope shivered, but didn’t pull away. Couldn’t pull away. There was a flicker of excitement she couldn’t deny, a part of her that wanted to let go of the fear. Of the guilt and the pain.
“Here’s the thing,” Joker continued, circling back to face her. He tossed a knife onto the table in front of her, its blade gleaming under the warehouse’s dim light. “It’s not about what you can do. It’s about how much you’re willing to risk. For control. For power. For fun.”
Penelope looked at the knife, then back at the Joker. “What do you want from me?”
His grin widened, his eyes burning with manic intensity. “I want you to embrace that spark. That little chaos inside you - and, oh, I see it, don’t you dare try and hide it.” He cocked his head. “That fire that turned you into this?” He motioned at her figure. “That took your arm, your eye? It didn’t kill you. So let it burn.”
Suddenly, the doors burst open, followed by grunts and muffled screaming and yelling from what seemed to be a man. Penelope turned to see what was going on, but Joker quickly took hold of her jaw and forced her to look at him.
Penelope exhaled slowly, her mind replaying flashes of her past. The fire, the agony. Her lost innocence. Maybe, just maybe, he was right. The chaos was already there, harnessed and held against its own will.
His gloved hand let go of her face, moving down to her waist and turning her around to face the commotion behind her.
In front of her sat a disheveled and bloodied man on his knees, gagged by a rag tied around his head. Two men stood at either side, guns in hand as they carefully watched between him and their boss.
“Know who this is?” The Joker questioned, hand still on her waist. The woman shook her head. “Remember that fire?”
Everything suddenly grew cold for Penelope. She stiffened, practically staring into the pitiful man’s very soul.
“New hire. Whaddya know?” Joker chuckled, then stopped abruptly. “Then he just had to open his mouth and - ope! Lookie here.”
He slipped past the shaky woman and snatched his jaw, squeezing at his cheeks to make him look up at his blackened stare.
“Just so happens that ya hurt this doll right here!”
He motioned to Penelope, then playfully slapped his face and made his way back to stand behind her.
“Remember that? Now you can finally put a face to it.”
He peeked over her shoulder to catch her change in expression, nose slightly flaring every other breath as she attempted to harness her emotions.
“Don’t hide it. Embrace it.” He rested a hand on her upper arm. “Pick up the knife.” The Joker urged, his tone softer but no less dangerous.
She looked over at the table, thinking for a moment before she reached for the blade, the cool metal now more familiar in her palm. But as she gripped it, something shifted. The fear that had once anchored her slipped away, leaving room for something else. Power? Defiance?
“That’s it. Now look at him.” She obeyed. “Remember that pain. Remember everything you lost because of him.”
Without another word, he watched as she took a step towards him, knuckles white as she squeezed the handle of the blade. Another step. Then another, until she was directly in front of him.
Tears welled up in her eye, images flashing across her mind at the horror he caused. The pain she endured, the pain she continued to endure. The blade slowly inched its way towards his face, the tip resting just below his left eye.
“I think I’ll start with what I lost.”
Darling (Otto Octavius x Fem!Reader)
Smut
Summary: One of Otto Octavius’ students convinces him to let her help with a small experiment, but it doesn’t go according to plan.
Word Count: 2258
Warnings: SMUT (minors DNI, 18+ only!), grinding (mild), oral (fem rec), PinV
*this is not my GIF*
“Like this?” You asked cautiously with a low voice, careful not to make any sudden movements. After weeks, maybe even months of asking Dr. Octavius if you could assist him with one of his experiments, he finally caved. The two of you now stood in his lab, the sun having set as rain lightly padded against the ceiling.
He hummed in response as he hovered over your form that stood in front of the taller table, hunched over a microscope to watch the micro chemical reaction unfold with barely contained excitement.
You had been a student of his when he still taught at the university, practically the ‘teacher’s pet’ of the class, but with a more subtle twist. Science had always been an intriguing subject for you growing up so, naturally, you paid attention to every detail during his classes, asked questions, stayed after to clarify notes if need be. While you did indeed have a genuine interest, you couldn’t deny the fact that he wasn’t a bad looking man, to say the least.
That’s how it started, rather.
Over your years in college, what you thought was a small crush had turned into a much bigger problem for you than you had hoped. The way his hand would brush your lower back from time to time, how he’d hold your gaze for longer than what was necessary, lingering touches that seemed misplaced for the moment. It all seemed innocent, unintentional. Yet a part of you still wondered. What was worse was that you couldn’t tell if it was love or just an obsession like everyone else had told you. To be completely honest, you were scared to find out. And yet you couldn't help but dig a little further every chance you had, looking for everything you didn’t want to find.
By the time you graduated, you found your answer. The unmistakable heartache of possibly never seeing or meeting with him again was a dead giveaway. The way you stood in front of each other with your eyes glazed over while everyone else greeted their families. It had been a bittersweet moment for both of you. While he was proud of the woman you had become, watching you grow as a person over the years, he was also upset knowing he wouldn’t have any more classes with you.
However, once he told you about the lab he worked in close by, he noticed the way your eyes lit up and it filled him with a small warmth in his chest. You began visiting him at least once a month, then twice, then once a week. All while asking him, or rather begging, if you could help with an experiment of his. And today you were finally victorious.
As you carefully watched the reaction through the lens of the telescope you felt a hand rest itself on your far shoulder, the heat of it burning through the fabric of your shirt. You felt a certain warmth begin to creep up your neck as you began to lose focus on the experiment, palms growing sweaty. With a feeling of hypersensitivity you were all too aware of the hand creeping down your arm in a manner so gentle that you began to question if he was really touching you.
His breath fanned at your neck as his torso began lightly pressing into your back, the softness of it only adding to the heat of your face. His hand sneakily slipped from your arm to your waist and it was then that you completely lost all focus on the reaction. Sensing that you had started to catch on he tilted his head so his nose brushed against your neck, his other hand moving to rest on the other side of your waist.
With a shaky breath you moved to straighten your back out, an ache beginning to set in with being hunched over for so long. The action didn’t go unnoticed, the hands on your waist moving up just slightly to guide you to stand up further until your entire backside was pressed against him. His left hand inched its way down to the front of your hip, the other snaking its way up to your jaw, coaxing you to turn your head towards him.
As your eyes met with his you noticed his usual chocolate brown irises take on an almost onyx shade, hooded with an uncharacteristic longing. You began to grow lightheaded the longer you stared, following his hand that drew you closer to him as if you were starving.
And in a way, you were.
Your eyes fluttered shut as your lips connected, still for a moment before slow movements began. As the two of you lost yourselves in the long-awaited kiss you made a move to turn towards him, but the hand on your hip restrained you from doing so, in turn giving friction to the growing bulge in his trousers. He let out a light exhale at the contact, the kiss growing more heated as your own need began to form itself, pulsating in your lower abdomen.
“Doctor?” You breathed out, his tongue gliding along your lip before finding its way to your own. He hummed in response, losing himself in your everything as his hands began to wander, your own grasping at the hair on the back of his head. “Doctor?” You sighed once more when the tip of his finger brushed over your throbbing clit through the fabric of your pants.
His eyes snapped open, pulling away from your face with a start as if he had just woken up. His eyes flitted between yours, face flushed and eyes blown wide with what seemed to be fear.
“I -“ He stuttered out. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t - I don’t know what -“ He paused to gather himself.
“What?” You whispered, hand cupping his jaw and your eyes looking from his lips to his own eyes.
“I don’t know what came over me.” He breathed out in disbelief, disgusted with himself as he took a step away from you. “I’m so sorry, darling, I didn’t mean to force myself on you, I just -“ He began, but soon lost himself once more when he saw the look you were giving him. The sight of you alone made him speechless, your beauty unmatched, driving him mad as you slowly made your way closer to him.
“Doctor Octavius.” He carefully watched you, about to question you when you shook your head with parted lips. Your hands found the back of his head again, bringing him down to kiss you once more. It was different than the first kiss, filled with more lust and need than you had ever felt.
He took a moment to process what was happening, then as he began to warm up to it his hands found their way to your hips to pull you impossibly closer. The pace grew faster, motions becoming more and more desperate with each passing second as years of built up pining came crashing down in that moment.
“Doctor?”
“Otto.” The man corrected. He moved from your mouth to your jaw, dragging his teeth to graze them on your earlobe.
“Otto,” You breathed out at the sensation. “Please.” You begged, his hand running along your thigh as you brought it up around his waist.
“That’s it.” He praised as he rubbed his bulge against your aching core, the both of you releasing a shaky breath at the sensation. You continued rolling your hips against him as his hands snuck under your shirt to cup your breasts. His lips assaulted your neck as he squeezed, then reached back to unclip your bra, pulling both it and your shirt off.
“Otto -“ You gasped as his mouth latched onto one of your hardened nipples, running his thumb over the other before the hand moved down further. The tickle it left behind caused you to shiver, Otto smirking at the feeling of it as he got down onto his knees.
“Are you sure about this, darling?” He asked breathlessly, looking up at you as his hands came to rest at the waistline of your pants, toying with the fabric. All you could do was nod in the moment, caressing his hair with an adoring gaze. ”I need you to say it, sweetheart.” He urged, bringing his face closer to your stomach without breaking eye contact. He then closed his eyes as he placed a loving kiss on your stomach, then another, the softness of his lips lingering.
“Yes.” You practically whined, his teeth scraping at your skin with the answer. “Yes, Otto.”
“Perfect.” He whispered, undoing your pants and pulling them down for you to step out of them, kissing further down to your pelvis in the process. He gave the same treatment to your panties, resting one of your legs over his shoulder as he caressed and kissed your thighs. You sighed when his breath lingered over where you needed him most, but it soon turned into a louder moan when he gave your clit a kitten lick, followed by his tongue giving a long lick up your soaking slit before diving in.
You threw your head back as a string of moans and slurred words fell from your lips, his groans only adding to the sensation when you gripped tighter onto his hair. The thick muscle felt cooler against you as it swirled, sinking in and out as his nose brushed against your clit.
Your hand quickly moved from his head to his shoulder, using him for stability when a finger was added into the mix, his mouth now focusing purely on your throbbing nub. Your whole body pulsated at the sensation of him, feeling him add another finger to curl them inside of you against your g-spot, a higher pitched moan alerting him of it.
Your thighs began to tremble and shake against him, his hand holding down the leg on his shoulder by your hip in an almost bruising hold as his motions grew faster. You felt your core and clit begin to throb more violently, warning you of your oncoming orgasm as you grew breathless with your panting.
“Fuck - Otto!” His eyes flicked up to you, taking in your fucked-out expression as your hips ground against him in search of your release.
“Come on.” He breathed against you. “Come on, sweetheart, cum for me.” He growled, sending you over the edge as you cried out, your grip becoming loose as you lost control, relishing in the feeling. Otto pulled away as you slowly came down from your high, standing up to keep you steady and planted sloppy kisses along your collarbone, working his way up your neck and to your lips.
Once you finally came to you made quick work of his sweater, Otto backing you into the closest wall as he ran his hands along anywhere and everywhere on your body. As you undid his belt and fly he took his time memorizing every part of your body, every blemish and impurity that you hated being cherished by him in that very moment.
He felt an overwhelming emotion as he gazed at you, chests pressed against each other and the tip of his cock brushing against your cunt. As he rocked his hips to grind against your opening he gave you a particularly sensual kiss, hands buried in your hair as you breathed against him.
“I love you.” He blurted, bringing your legs up to wrap around his larger waist. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, Otto -!” You moaned out his name as he thrusted in as you spoke, the two of you resting for a moment in disbelief. You nodded at him as you stared at each other longingly, his face glowing with a smile before it twisted into pleasure as he pulled out, only to bottom out as he pushed back in. You both moaned at the feeling of it, his pace gradually picking up speed. He then buried his face in your neck, breathing in your scent as he kissed and bit at it.
You let out a particularly loud moan when he angled his hips, hitting your now over-sensitive sweet spot. Your bodies rocked in rhythm, breathing quickened, moans turning into pants as you felt your high approaching for the second time that night.
“Otto -“ Your eyes rolled back at a particularly deep thrust, nails scratching at his back causing him to let out a longer groan. “Otto, I’m close -“
“Yes, yes, I know.” He panted, hands gripping desperately at your hips. “I know, darling. You’re doing so good.” His head lifted to meet your gaze, your eyebrows pinched in pleasure as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. It was in that intense moment of eye contact that you lost it, convulsing beneath him as your orgasm hit harder than before, mixed with the feeling of his own release filling you as he moaned.
You both stayed there for a few more minutes, tangled in each other, afraid to let go. You held each other close, taking in as much of the other person as possible. Otto then pulled out of you and gently set you back on the floor, hands on your waist in case you lost your balance. When he met your eyes he found you already gazing at him in wonder, in love.
“Did you mean it?” You whispered, afraid to break the moment. He gave a gentle smile, leaning in to give you a soft kiss.
“Of course I did.”
Chapter 2
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 steady hum of the transport ship was a constant beneath their feet, a rhythmic pulse of power that carried them through the vastness of space. Inside the dimly lit cabin, the atmosphere was subdued. Formal, disciplined, yet not entirely tense.
Hux sat with his back straight, a datapad in hand. His eyes flicked over reports and incoming transmissions from the Finalizer, processing the minutiae of fleet logistics with the same cold efficiency as always. He did not acknowledge the Umbrals beyond what was necessary. Yet, his sharp gaze lifted briefly when movement caught his attention.
(Y/n) stood a short distance away, her posture still disciplined, but there was a subtle shift in her demeanor. A small relaxation of her shoulders, the slight ease in her stance. Changes so minute that most would miss them entirely.
Except for him.
The reason soon became apparent as Varo had approached her. His expression was composed but carried a faint trace of familiarity, something that separated him from the others. She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment.
“You’re holding together well,” Varo remarked, his voice carrying the weight of an old camaraderie.
(Y/n) glanced at him, one brow lifting slightly. “Were you expecting otherwise?”
A small smirk played at the corner of his lips. “Not really. But even you have to admit this is different from what we’re used to.” He gestured vaguely around them. “The academies are one thing. Taking on an assignment? That’s something else.”
(Y/n) exhaled quietly, her gaze shifting briefly to the viewport where the stars streaked past in elongated trails of light. “We were made for this,” she said simply.
“Made for it, sure,” Varo agreed. “But I’d rather fight beside someone I know than be stuck with others who think we’re nothing more than glorified beasts on leashes.” (Y/n) caught a new frustrated glint in his eyes. “They have a hard time trusting us, but they don’t realize it goes both ways.”
Hux noted the way (Y/n)’s expression flickered. Something subtle, a trace of understanding.
“Let them think what they will,” she murmured. “It changes nothing.”
Her attempt at grounding themselves seemed to work as Varo huffed a quiet chuckle. “Still the same as ever.” He tilted his head slightly. “No regrets?”
(Y/n) finally met his gaze, and in that moment, there was something unspoken between them. Shared experiences, unspoken memories from the academy. The brutal trials, the losses, the moments of quiet survival.
“No,” she said at last, and there was no hesitation in her answer.
Varo studied her for a moment before nodding in acceptance. “Good.”
Hux, still seated and listening in on their conversation, watched them from the corner of his eye.
It was… fascinating.
The Umbral he had observed up until now had been nothing short of calculated and professional. She had spoken only when necessary, moved only with purpose. But here, in the presence of someone she trusted, she was not softer - that was the wrong word.
More settled.
There was no loss of awareness, no drop in discipline. She was still poised, still unreadable to the untrained eye. But there was a difference, one that made Hux’s fingers still briefly over his datapad.
This was an Umbral outside of direct orders. This was (Y/n) (L/n) as a person, not just as a weapon. And it was something worth noting.
Not long after, the landing sequence they experienced was smooth, the ship barely shuddering as it settled into the Finalizer’s hangar.
Inside the ship, General Hux remained composed as he stood, eyes fixed ahead as the ramp lowered with a sharp hiss. The air changed immediately. Cooler, sterile, filled with the low hum of machinery and distant orders being barked across the hangar deck.
(Y/n) followed precisely half a step behind him as he descended the ramp, boots meeting the polished black floor with measured precision as Varo followed beside her.
The hangar was alive with motion. TIE pilots making their way to their fighters, officers moving in coordinated patterns, stormtroopers standing at attention as their general passed. Hux did not acknowledge them. He expected discipline, not admiration.
A group of officers awaited him near the entrance to the main corridors. At their forefront, Captain Phasma stood in gleaming armor, a towering presence of authority. She inclined her head as Hux approached.
“General.”
“Captain.”
Her visor tilted toward (Y/n) for a brief moment, then to Varo. “Which one of you is Umbral Drenn?” The man in question stepped forward. Phasma gave a single nod in acknowledgement. “You will be shadowing me for the next five days to ensure your understanding of our operations in High Command. Further guidance will be provided to you later.” She informed before turning to the general. “Your presence was missed, sir. There are several matters requiring your attention.”
Hux nodded, already moving forward. “Walk with me.”
(Y/n) and Varo followed silently as they moved towards the turbolifts, officers and other personnel scurrying out of their way. Phasma strode beside Hux, her tone clipped and efficient.
“The Resistance has increased its scouting efforts in the Mid Rim. No direct engagements, but intelligence suggests they are probing for weaknesses.”
“Predictable.” Hux’s expression remained unreadable. “Have our patrol routes been adjusted accordingly?”
“They have. Colonel Ronn reports all security measures are holding, but vigilance is advised.”
The lift doors opened, and the group stepped inside. The moment they ascended, Phasma’s tone shifted, slightly lower.
“There was also an incident with Captain Voss.”
(Y/n) did not react outwardly, but she sharpened her focus. Hux, however, merely exhaled through his nose, a sign of mild irritation rather than surprise.
“What has he done?”
“He questioned your decision to take an Umbral as a personal guard.” A pointed glance at (Y/n). “Not publicly, but he has made his opinion known among certain circles.”
(Y/n) remained motionless, her gaze fixed ahead.
Hux’s lips curled into something that was not quite a smile. “Let him. Voss is intelligent enough to know the consequences of stepping beyond his station.”
The lift arrived at the floor of the bridge and as they neared, the doors hissed open, revealing the vast command deck of the Finalizer. A sea of officers stationed at their posts, the soft hum of control panels and distant chatter filling the air.
As the general stepped forward, the ship’s personnel immediately straightened, all eyes momentarily drawn to their returning commander. (Y/n) observed silently as they passed through, noting how conversations momentarily ceased as Hux moved to take his place at the command platform overlooking the viewport.
The stars stretched endlessly before them, vast and cold.
Hux clasped his hands behind his back, surveying his domain. “Report.”
An officer stepped forward. “All systems operational. No disturbances during your absence. We are prepared to resume standard operations under your directive.”
Hux nodded once. “Maintain course. I will review today’s logs personally. Any deviations in patrol efficiency are to be reported immediately.”
“Yes, General.”
As the officer left, Hux glanced toward (Y/n), his expression unreadable. He studied her for a moment, then turned back towards the viewport.
She had remained silent, as expected. Present, but unobtrusive. A shadow at his side.
(Y/n) remained alert as General Hux turned and faced Phasma who had not yet left, her tall frame imposing as she continued briefing him. “There is another matter. The Supreme Leader has sent a transmission requesting an update on the Starkiller project. He will expect a report.”
Hux’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Of course he will.” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Patch it through to my private terminal. I will address it personally.”
Phasma nodded before stepping away to relay the command, Varo following, leaving General Hux and (Y/n) to themselves.
(Y/n) remained silent, watching as Hux’s fingers flexed behind his back, the only outward indication of his restrained irritation.
He turned sharply, beginning to walk along the command walkway overlooking the bridge. (Y/n) followed in step.
“You will make yourself familiar with the Finalizer’s layout,” Hux stated without looking at her. “I expect you to know the ship’s schematics, primary access routes, and all possible security vulnerabilities within the next seventy-two hours.”
(Y/n) inclined her head slightly. “Understood, General.”
He stopped abruptly, turning to face her, his eyes assessing her with scrutiny.
“There will be those aboard this ship who question your presence. Some out of ignorance, others out of resentment.” His voice was level, but his meaning was clear. “I do not concern myself with their opinions, and neither should you. If any officer openly challenges your position, you are to report it to me.”
(Y/n) met his gaze evenly. “I can handle myself, sir.”
A flicker of something, amusement, perhaps, crossed his expression before vanishing behind his usual stoicism. “Of that, I have no doubt, Umbral.”
A short pause stretched between them before he resumed walking, continuing toward the exit of the bridge. (Y/n) followed, standing just behind him to his right.
Silence settled between them, but it was not uncomfortable. It was measured, weighted with unspoken understanding.
His expression was unreadable, but (Y/n) could sense the calculation behind his silence. Whatever the Supreme Leader had demanded of him, it was not a request he would take lightly.
Her steps were measured, keeping a respectful distance behind him as they moved through the corridors of High Command. The officers they passed barely spared her a glance, their attention focused solely on their returning commander.
When they reached the secured door of his office, Hux keyed in the access code. The doors hissed open, revealing the stark, meticulously organized interior. Polished black surfaces, a large desk with a holoprojector at its center, and its own expansive viewport behind it. The room was immaculate, devoid of any unnecessary personal effects.
Hux stepped inside, barely acknowledging (Y/n) as the doors slid shut behind them. He removed his gloves methodically, placing them on the desk before tapping a sequence into the holoprojector. The device flickered to life, casting an eerie blue glow as the Supreme Leader’s form materialized before them.
The air in the room seemed to shift, thick with an oppressive weight. Even through the projection, Snoke’s presence was suffocating. His towering form loomed over them, distorted slightly by the transmission’s flickering edges.
“General Hux,” Snoke’s voice rumbled, slow and deliberate. “I trust you have not wasted my time.”
Hux straightened further, hands clasped tightly behind his back. “The Starkiller project continues on schedule, Supreme Leader. Engineering reports optimal progress, and our primary test phase is nearing completion.”
Snoke’s hollow eyes studied him, his expression unreadable. “Good. You understand the consequences should you fail.”
There was no hesitation in Hux’s response. “Yes, Supreme Leader.”
A long pause followed, tension lingering in the air like a coiled viper. Then Snoke’s gaze shifted slightly.
“You have taken an Umbral into your service.”
(Y/n), who had remained silent and unmoving, felt the weight of his attention settle on her. It was as if Snoke’s gaze pierced straight through her, as though he was dissecting her presence, her worth.
Hux’s voice remained steady. “The Covenant has assigned her to myself. She is among the highest ranks of their order.”
Snoke exhaled, a low sound that was neither approval nor disapproval. “The Covenant serves its purpose.” His gaze lingered on (Y/n) a moment longer before shifting back to Hux. “Do not let her presence become a liability.”
“I won’t, Supreme Leader.” Hux assured him.
Another silence. Then, Snoke inclined his head ever so slightly.
“Proceed with the operation. I will expect another update soon.”
The transmission cut out abruptly, the hologram dissolving into nothingness.
Hux exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders slightly as if shedding an invisible weight. His fingers flexed against the polished desk before he turned towards (Y/n).
“You are dismissed,” he said simply, though his gaze lingered on her for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. “Begin your reconnaissance of the Finalizer immediately.”
(Y/n) inclined her head. “Yes, General.”
Without another word, she turned and exited his office, the doors sealing shut behind her.
As she strode down the corridor, she couldn’t shake the sensation of Snoke’s gaze still lingering in the back of her mind. It was a different kind of scrutiny compared to that of the Covenant’s Grand Master, one that was less inviting and more dangerous. But perhaps it was due to their differing species.
The halls of the Finalizer were a labyrinth of sterile steel and calculated design. But to (Y/n), they were merely another environment to master. Every corridor, every bulkhead, and every access hatch had to be committed to memory. The Covenant had trained her to adapt to unfamiliar terrain with ruthless efficiency. This ship would be no different.
She moved with purpose, weaving through the bustling corridors of High Command. Officers and troopers passed her by, some sparing glances in her direction, though none dared approach. Her presence was an anomaly, a shadow among the uniformed ranks of the First Order.
(Y/n) had no doubt that rumors of her assignment had already spread. An Umbral of The Covenant personally guarding General Hux? There would be speculation. Distrust. Resentment.
None of it mattered.
She descended towards the lower decks where the layout became more complex, hallways twisting into the maintenance sectors and security control stations.
The artificial lighting hummed faintly above, casting shadows as she turned a corner and nearly collided with a figure standing in her path.
(Y/n) stopped short, her body tensing instinctively as her gaze lifted to meet the cold, piercing eyes of Captain Voss.
His uniform was pristine, his posture rigid with military precision. There was no insignia of High Command upon his uniform, yet the authority he carried was unmistakable. He was a First Order officer through and through, one who did not believe in wasting words on pleasantries.
His eyes flickered with something unreadable as he regarded her, arms clasped behind his back. Then, after a long moment, he spoke.
“So,” he said evenly, “you’re the Umbral.”
(Y/n)’s expression remained unreadable, her posture unmoving. “Captain Voss.”
His lip curled slightly, though whether in amusement or disdain, she couldn’t tell. “You know who I am?”
“I make it a priority to recognize potential threats.”
A low, humorless chuckle left him. “Threat?” He tilted his head, scrutinizing her as though she were some curious specimen beneath his gaze. “You misunderstand, Umbral. You are the threat. An unnatural creature let loose aboard our fleet under the guise of loyalty.”
(Y/n) did not react, though his words were designed to provoke.
“Do you have a point, Captain?” she asked, her voice cool and measured.
Voss took a step closer, lowering his voice to something nearly conversational. “Only an observation,” he murmured. “You may have fooled the general into believing in your worth, but I see you for what you are.” His gaze darkened. “And I will be watching.”
They stood in silence, tension coiling in the space between them like a viper ready to strike.
Then, as if the moment had never happened, Voss stepped past her, his presence brushing against hers as he moved down the corridor.
(Y/n) remained still for a long moment, her fingers twitching at her sides. She had expected resistance. She had expected scrutiny. But Captain Voss was more than just wary. He was trouble.
The general was engaged in a discussion with one of his officers when (Y/n) stepped onto the bridge. The dull clang of her boots against the polished floor drew only the briefest of glances from the crew. Most had already grown accustomed to her presence, though unease still lingered beneath their professionalism.
Hux, however, acknowledged her arrival immediately. With a curt nod, he dismissed the officer at his side and turned his full attention to her.
“Report,” he ordered, his voice precise, leaving no room for wasted words.
(Y/n) halted before him, her posture unwavering. “The ship’s layout has been committed to memory,” she stated evenly, noting the slight raise of Hux’s eyebrows. “Critical sectors, alternative routes, access corridors, and blind spots have been accounted for. There will be no uncertainty in my movements should an incident occur.”
Hux observed her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “And?”
(Y/n)’s jaw tightened slightly. He wanted more. Not just facts. He wanted assessments.
“There are areas of vulnerability,” she continued, adjusting her stance. “Certain maintenance shafts are lacking proper security oversight. The officer quarters are positioned too closely to primary access points leading towards command sectors. An infiltration risk if not properly monitored. Additionally, there are multiple routes through the ventilation system that could allow undetected movement for someone knowledgeable enough to exploit them.”
Hux’s gaze flickered with something unreadable, though it was not dissatisfaction. If anything, there was a sharp edge of approval in his eyes.
“And what would you suggest?”
(Y/n) did not hesitate. “Increased security sweeps in blind spot regions, reallocation and brief investigation of stationed personnel in high-risk zones, and additional lockdown measures in the event of an incursion.” She tilted her head slightly. “With your approval, I can communicate this to Umbral Drenn so he can oversee these adjustments personally and I can inspect once complete.”
A slow pause. Then, Hux’s lips pressed into something almost resembling a smirk.
“Efficient,” he remarked. “As expected.”
(Y/n) inclined her head slightly, accepting the words without pride. “Was there anything else, sir?”
Hux considered her for a moment longer, as if weighing an unspoken thought.
Then, with a subtle shift in his stance, his expression cooled once more. “You encountered Captain Voss.” It was not a question.
(Y/n) met his gaze steadily. “I did.”
“And?”
“He made his position clear.”
Hux exhaled shortly, a breath that was almost amused. “I’m sure he did.” He studied her with something bordering on curiosity. “And what is your input on him?”
(Y/n) was silent for a brief moment before responding.
“Controlled in his resentment, but not without intent,” she said evenly. “He sees me as a threat. Not to the Order, but to himself.”
A flicker of something colder passed through Hux’s expression. Not anger. Not yet. Just quiet acknowledgment of what he already knew being confirmed.
“Captain Voss is an officer of the First Order,” Hux said, his tone deliberate. “But he is not your superior. He will not interfere with your duties so long as he values his position.” A pause. “However, should he become a problem… inform me.”
(Y/n) gave a curt nod. “Understood.”
Hux regarded her for a moment longer, then turned back towards the viewport, hands clasped neatly behind his back.
“Relay your findings to Umbral Drenn and see to it that these flaws are remedied immediately. Once he is informed, you are dismissed. You are quartered beside my office in room A375.”
“Will do, sir.” (Y/n) then turned and made her exit.
The cold glow of the various screens illuminated the room of the security hub, casting faint shadows across the chamber’s sleek metallic surfaces. Various officers moved with precision, their tasks carried out in controlled efficiency. The monitors along the walls displayed multiple security feeds, scanning every sector of the Star Destroyer.
(Y/n) entered without hesitation, her footsteps silent against the polished floor.
Varo was already waiting near the holotable, arms folded as he scanned the display. He glanced up when she approached, but before either could speak, Captain Phasma strode into the room.
Her chrome armor reflected the dim lighting as she moved towards them, helmet concealing whatever expression she might have worn. The imposing stormtrooper commander carried an air of quiet authority, her presence alone demanding respect.
“I assume this is regarding the vulnerabilities you reported to General Hux,” Phasma stated, her voice even but firm.
(Y/n) met her gaze without hesitation. “Yes, Captain.” She keyed in a holographic projection of the Finalizer to expand before them, highlighting weak points (Y/n) had identified. “There are significant flaws in patrol shifts around the hangar bays, particularly during rotation cycles. Lower deck patrols leave a brief window where two sectors are completely unmanned. These are weak points that could be exploited.”
Phasma studied the projection in silence for a moment. Then she turned her helmet towards Varo. “Do you agree with these findings after your own inspection?”
Varo nodded. “I do. They’re accurate.”
Phasma’s tone remained neutral, but there was no mistaking the steel beneath her words. “Then we correct them immediately. The Finalizer’s security should be absolute, not riddled with gaps that invite disaster.” She turned back to the projection. “Who is responsible for these sectors?”
(Y/n) answered without hesitation. “Captain Voss oversees the affected sections.”
There was a brief pause. Though Phasma’s helmet concealed her reaction, the air between them grew taut. “I will deal with Voss personally,” she said at last. “In the meantime, Umbral Drenn will implement corrective measures. I expect immediate results.”
(Y/n) exchanged a glance with Varo before nodding. “I recommend patrol rotations to be altered, and surveillance coverage increased in compromised areas. High Command security will receive additional reinforcement, and the bridge will have extended guard shifts.”
Phasma inclined her head slightly. “Good. I want a full update within the next cycle.” Her gaze flicked between them, then landed on Varo. “Do not fail.”
With that, she turned on her heel and left, her cape flowing behind her.
Varo let out a quiet breath. “Well. That went about as well as expected.”
(Y/n) exhaled softly, her expression unchanged. “At least we have clearance to fix the issues.”
Varo smirked. “And the added bonus of Phasma breathing down Voss’s neck.”
A rare flicker of amusement crossed (Y/n)’s face. “Consider that a victory.”
With their orders set, the two Umbrals turned back to the holomap. There was work to be done, and neither intended to leave The Finalizer vulnerable for long.
The Scarred - Prologue
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.
Tick.
“What do you think about your day to day habits?”
Screams flooded her ears, a deep, guttural rumbling playing in the background.
“Nothing of it.” A pen scratched away in a notebook.
Tick.
The older woman watched as her eye fluttered about the old wooden floor. “Nothing?”
A cold breeze suddenly reached her numbing skin, her mind unable to comprehend the sensation of an ever true freefall.
“Yes. Nothing.” A sigh reached her ears, her right arm coming up to run over the stump that used to be her left.
Tick.
An eye shifted to the clock on the wall. 5:53pm. Another sigh. The pen stopped, then the notebook closed. Hands folded over the leather cover. “I’m afraid that’s the end of our session, Miss Miller.”
“Of course.” Her eye stayed focused on the clock, yet grew more and more distant.
“Miss Miller?” With a sharp inhale and whip of a head, the woman knew she finally caught her attention. “I said that’s the end of our session.” She raised her eyebrows at the younger female whose eye shifted to the floor once again.
“Right,” Her arm pushed her off from her chair, walking - practically stumbling - to the door to grip the knob. It swung shut with a slight thud, a sign of underlying frustration.
Her hand stuffed in her pocket, she started her journey through the woeful streets of the city, her eye dancing around cautiously at those around her. The sky was clouded, gray and foreboding over the already depressive buildings and people. Her shoes softly padded against the gum and puke stained concrete, silent compared to the heels that clacked around her obnoxiously. She felt the faintest amount of joy upon seeing a familiar building, the chipping white brick a comfort.
She followed the steps up to the third floor, keys noisily being shuffled to unlock the door to what she called home. She took a deep inhale, the scent of lavender filling her senses to bring a light smile upon her face. The apartment was small, obviously run down to fit the exterior, but her choice of furniture made it seem somewhat younger. She had spent at least a week removing mold and a few stains, and by the time she had finished it seemed almost brand new. The bleach smell took a while to wear off, but it was worth it to her in the long run.
The living room was just a bit larger than the size of an average bedroom, furnished with a small kitchen, dining table and couch. It was all put together and connected through accents like curtains, family photos and knick-knacks. She quite liked that it was smaller, that everything was visible save for the bedroom and bathroom which had their own separate rooms for obvious reasons. It left little room for any intruders to hide and she knew exactly where everything was, knowing someone had come through should anything have moved in the slightest.
She hung her coat on a hook by the door, kicking off her shoes and throwing her keys on the table. She made her way to the bathroom that connected to her bedroom, clothes thrown in the hamper in the corner. Her nimble fingers grasped at the soft padding that hid the left side of her face and neck, the cotton coming off with ease as she pulled. She chewed on the side of her cheek as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. The once soft, pale skin now uneven, beginning to scar and create discolored skin even where her eye used to be. As they traveled down they seemed to fade, stopping at her mid thigh. Though her arm had received the most damage.
She snuggled under her blankets after a soothing shower, the soft warm glow of her bedside lamp illuminating the area just enough to read the book she had recently invested in, Atlas of World History. While others indulged themselves in the words of romance, fantasy and thrillers, she much preferred factual information. Knowledge. To her, even the smallest bit of information that seemed useless could possibly save a life at some point.
The Scarred - 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.
Notes - This story is set prior to the events of The Dark Knight. Some moments may feel OOC, but only because you will see sides of certain characters that weren’t represented in the movie, however I will do my best to stay true to the character and base it off of what is canon. *I do not own any of the content in this franchise other than my own characters!*
Song/Theme - “Set Fire” by Carina Round
Warnings -
Trauma
Flashbacks
Panic attacks
Anxiety
Gore/violence🩸
Aspects of torture
Sexual themes🔥
Smut (MDNI/NSFW) 🔞
Manipulation
Mature language
Chapters -
Prologue Chapter 10
Chapter 1 Chapter 11 🩸🔥🔞
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7 🔥
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Serenity - Chapter 5
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.
They didn't know how long they had been sitting on the carriage, and thankfully no one else had used the road or passed them for Mary's sake. The majority of it was spent in a pleasant silence, but there were moments of simple conversation Reuben offered that helped to ease her nerves. Mary would be lying if she said she wasn't stalling her return, it applied to both of them really.
Reuben would never admit it, but he found it relieving talking to someone outside the castle in such a civil conversation. He couldn't care less what the other villagers thought or had to say, but Mary? She had a fascinating mind. He wanted to understand the complexity of it, to discover more about her. How could someone seem so simple yet so complicated at the same time?
He looked over at her as she gazed at the sky whose bright sun prepared to set, taking in the moment of peace. Birds chirped and flew around above them, the wind gently blowing through her braided hair as the sound of a nearby creek settled in to create its own natural sense of calmness. It was moments like these she wished lasted forever. But no matter how much she wanted to stay, she knew she had to return home at some point.
"I should get going." Mary muttered with a sigh.
"Why do you insist on staying with him?" The question caught her off guard and she furrowed her brow.
"He's not the reason I insist on staying." She answered as she stepped down with the help of Reuben. "Believe me, if it wasn't for my mother, I'd be out of there quicker than a dog with a bone." Mary chuckled distastefully. "I suppose we'll run into each other again eventually."
"Under different circumstances, I hope?" He questioned with raised brows.
"Yes. Very much hopefully." She watched him for a moment, biting her lip and turning to leave before she stopped herself. "Thank you." She came to face him once more, granting him a genuine smile. "It means a lot to me." Mary then began her journey back to the shop, leaving him to stare after her disappearing figure.
It threw him off. He couldn't remember the last time someone smiled at him, or thanked him. Not the old greeting or just for manner's sake, but a real smile. Let alone directed at him. Shortly after leaving he thought about it again. And again. And many times over until he finally fell asleep.
The plaza was quiet by the time she returned. The chickens clucking and wandering aimlessly was the only noise to be heard besides the usual ambiance. What surprised her was that the doors of the shop were still wide open. She crept up to them. As she inched closer she heard the faint noise of someone sobbing, growing louder and louder until she finally peered inside.
On the floor of the shop sat her father leaning against one of the legs of the table, an empty cup tipped over beside him. The room was dark save for what was left of the sunset. It was a depressing sight, really. It's not that it was uncommon for him to behave in such a way, rather it was just never in front of Mary or her mother.
She didn't know what to do. She didn't want to alarm him, didn't want him to notice her at all. He could change on a dime at any second. But alas, fate wasn't on her side. A floorboard creaked beneath her foot and she grimaced as her father picked his head up to look at her. His sobbing suddenly grew more intense and Mary almost sympathized with him.
Almost.
"Mary," he wailed. "I'm so sorry, Mary," She began making her way upstairs as he continued, desperate to get away from him. "I'm sorry!" Was the last thing she heard before she made her way into her parents' bedroom with careful footing. As she creeped the door open her mother came into view, sitting up in their bed with her eyes closed. Mary's eyes softened as she gazed upon her a second longer.
"Liebling?" The frail woman called softly just as Mary turned to leave. She looked back at her mother who now had her eyes open, never looking weaker than in that moment. It was a sight. One that frightened Mary greatly.
She made her way over to their bed and sat on the edge next to her mother, placing a hand over her own. As they looked at each other the day's events rushed through Mary's mind. The image of her father, the yelling. Her mother lying almost lifeless. As tears began to spill they enveloped each other in a warm embrace as if it was their last time able to do so.
"I'm sorry, ma. I'm so sorry," Mary cried into her shoulder. "I left you with him, I'm sorry -" She was cut off by her mother shushing her, running her fingers over her scalp in a comforting motion.
"You did what you had to, liebling." Her mother slowly pulled away and cupped her daughter's cheeks, giving her a stern look. "If that ever happens again," the older woman swallowed. "And if I'm not so lucky -"
"Don't say that -" Mary shook her head.
"You run." Her mother gave a firm nod. "You run far away from here and do not come back, do you understand?"
"I can't just leave you here -"
"Do you understand?" Mary shut her mouth and her lip began to quiver.
She couldn't ever leave her mother to rot with such a man. Nothing would quell the amount of guilt that would follow. But most of all, she could never deny her mother. A few seconds passed before she nodded in agreement and was pulled in once more.
"I want to protect you, mein liebling. I can't do that if I'm not around." She whispered solemnly as more tears fell.
"Where would I go?" Her mother was silent as she thought for a moment.
"I don't know. But you're no good dead, now are you?" Mary heard her smile, a simple jest to lighten their spirits. "I'm sure someone out there is in need of your talent." Mary averted her eyes bashfully with a smile.
"I think someone already is." Her mother tucked a piece of hair behind her daughter's ear.
"Is that where you were all this time?" Mary nodded. "You have been visiting with him quite often recently."
"He's a customer."
"Well, you're never around your other customers this much with such a request."
"He's a picky customer?" The two of them giggled as if they were just two teenage girls.
It made her mother feel young again, made her giddy knowing her daughter possibly found someone. Even if it would be just an acquaintance, it was still someone. Would she have wanted it to be the Child Catcher? Absolutely not, but as long as her daughter was happy and he didn't hurt her, she didn't see the harm in it.
"But he seemed to love one of the designs I drew up for him. Hopefully it'll turn out."
"Knowing your work, liebling, it'll be much better than he's expecting."
"I hope so..."
The two of them stayed up later in the night talking to each other about whatever came to mind. Her mother continued asking questions about the catcher while Mary tried steering away from the topic. It was a much needed moment for the two of them after the day they had. Eventually, Mary made her way to her own bed to at least get a few hours of sleep, and it was surprisingly easier for her that night.
She repeated the same morning routine, working the shop with the usual grouchy customers when a familiar face grew closer. An old man with a slight hunch meandered his way through the plaza towards her shop, riding on a cart filled with goods he'd collected and traded along the way. "Good morning, Miss Mary!" He chirped with a friendly smile as he turned to face the pile behind him to grab a larger box.
"Good morning, Mr. Weber!" The woman returned, taking the box from him. He leaned down closer to her to keep his next words between the two of them.
"Some fancy material you got there, milady. I'd keep it in a safe spot away from prying eyes if I were you." He sat up straight with a wink. "I was finally able to find more silk, if you need it? Or some chiffon?" He continued rummaging through his cart. "Ah!" He pulled out a large bundle of sheer fabric, accented with silver. "This was a rather special find of mine. I had it in safe keeping on the way here. I knew for sure you'd have a use for it, my dear." He passed it off to her as she gawked at the beauty of it, ideas flooding.
"How much?"
"Free of charge! And there's no room for bargaining." He offered another wink and rattled the reins to take off once more. "Take care, Miss Mary!" The woman watched him disappear down the street with a smile, then moved to put away the new fabric before setting the box on the center table.
It was a rather simple brown box. No one would ever suspect it held something of importance. She supposed it was for the best. She thought about waiting to open it when she was alone, but her curiosity ended up getting the best of her and she carefully opened it. What first caught her eye was the carefully folded fabric, both yellow and orange.
She ran her fingers over the smooth texture in awe. Never had she owned a piece so elegant and made sure to handle it with great care as she took it out and set it on a nearby rack. The rest of the items consisted of the material for the more detailed designs of the coat and the typical basic necessities.
Unable to contain her excitement she giggled cheerfully, immediately putting herself to work on the design. She cleared off the center table and laid everything she needed on top of it, including her sketchbook. She switched between helping customers and her new project relentlessly, continuing to work after hours even if her hands were cramping and sore. It took her mother hollering for her to eat for her to stop herself.
She cleaned up her mess and tucked everything away out of sight, making her way upstairs to take a seat at the dining table. As they ate she noticed her mother and father casting her looks, though her mother's was more knowing and playful.
"What's got you so happy, huh?" Charles grumbled in discontent, scratching at his stubble.
"Mr. Weber stopped by today with more supplies." After a moment he hummed and went back to eating, missing the exchange of looks between the two women.
The Scarred - Chapter 1
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 bitter morning cold was relentless against her skin, encouraging her to attempt to tuck her face further into her coat. It was moments like these where she was thankful for the bandages as they kept half of her face warm. Cars and buses alike filled the streets during the rush hour, jaywalkers slipping between them when the chance presented itself to involve themselves in the madness. She shook her head to herself, hand reaching up to open the door to a petite shop with a ‘ding’. It was warmer, even somewhat humid. The smells of different flowers and herbals were dominating. She walked behind the small wooden counter to set down her shoulder bag, hearing faint rustling from the back room of the shop.
“Penny? That you?” A woman’s voice floated over. Footsteps grew louder as they entered the front of the shop until a head of brunette hair poked out. “Hey, you!” She chirped with a bright smile while the other just returned it with tight lips. She walked over to where Penelope now sat down, pencil and journal on the counter in front of her. The woman’s figure practically towered over her because of her poor posture that would surely cause problems in the near future. “Long time no see, stranger.” She jested, gently elbowing her side.
“You saw me yesterday, you goof.” Penelope practically mumbled, attempting to bite back a smile.
“Still too long.” The woman ruffled her hair, giggling as she watched her scramble to fix it once she pulled away. She disappeared to the back once more and Penelope picked up her pencil, beginning to jot down some notes as the brunette reentered with a small vase of assorted flowers. “Lunch is on me today, by the way.” She started to touch up the flowers to her liking. Penelope furrowed her brow at her, mouth moving to question her friend before she was cut off. “There’s a food truck just down the street I thought we should try. It’s mostly sandwiches, but I’m sure they have other things, too.” She looked up and smiled at the younger woman who gazed at her with a doe eye.
“Um -” She gazed nervously at the floor before looking back up at her. “Thank you?”
“You’re welcome.” The woman laughed and went around the room to reorganize other vases and pots. It was quiet for a few moments, the sounds of pencil scratching on paper and her friend’s footsteps adding to the peacefulness. The outside streets were muffled in the background and Penelope relished in the calming atmosphere, the ghost of a smile gracing her face. It was soon washed away when a thought reached out to her, buzzing in her head. She started to chew on her cheek.
“Emma?” Penelope asked softly, breaking the silence.
“Yes, hun?” The woman’s chirpiness had died down slightly, sensing the more serious tone in the woman’s voice.
“Do I -” She started, pausing to take a deep breath and collect her thoughts. She started to regret her decision of bringing it up, but decided that she now had to commit to it. “Do I have… habits?” It seemed the roles had been reversed, for now Emma was the one furrowing her eyebrows.
“I mean, everyone has habits, hun.” She looked at her friend’s face and immediately noticed the racing thoughts just from her eye, sighing once she did. “Penny, is this about your therapy?” Her voice took on a motherly tone and she slowly made her way over to Penelope who just nodded her head. “I don’t understand why you even visit her, still.” Her arm wrapped around Penelope’s shoulders, her hand rubbing the farther one in small circles. “All they do is pocket your money for hearing your life’s story and feed you bullshit.”
“I’m just too scared to stop visiting.”
“Why, because it’ll break your routine?” Emma leaned on the counter with her elbow, eyebrows raised.
“She knows the most and I’m scared to break that tie because of how much she knows.” Her large eye finally looked up to Emma, filled with desperation and fear. “What if she uses it against me somehow? Or tells someone else and then they use it against me? What -”
“Penny.” Her mouth snapped shut and her gaze cast down to the floor once more. “Not only are your conversations confidential, but - and I don’t mean this in a rude way - what would be so special about you that would make her spill your life’s story to someone?”
With candlelit faces, the two of them laughed. The younger woman’s eyes were glazed over with joy as her mother presented the cake in the dark room.
The soothing ambience of the soft music and boiling water in the background was a stark contrast compared to her raging thoughts. She made her way to the fridge, opening the freezer to pull out a bag of tortellini.
As thick smoke started to crowd the room, accompanied by distant screams, they stared at each other. Now both of their eyes were glazed, yet it held an entirely different meaning.
After having ripped the bag open with her teeth, Penelope warily poured the frozen pasta into the water, standing as far away as possible to avoid being splashed. As she waited for them to be ready she grabbed a jar of pesto from the fridge, then a larger bowl and olive oil from the cupboard.
“Penny -” She was cut off by her own coughing. “The window - open the window!”
Lightly sucking on the inside of her bleeding cheek, she brought the pot over to the strainer that had been placed in the sink. She leaned away from the steam as she poured in the pasta and water, setting the pot aside when finished. The bowl was brought over for the pasta to be transferred.
Even through the overwhelming pain, she maintained eye contact with her daughter for reassurance. She noticed the way she apprehensively glanced out of the window. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart.”
The sound of glass shattering filled the still air of the room. Having now sat down on the floor against the counter she let her head fall back with a light ‘thud’, taking shaky breaths as she tried to ground herself. Suddenly, she cried out to the nothingness in front of her, not a yell or a scream. The noise had found the perfect middleground as she trembled.
Penelope wasn’t sure how long it had been. Hours, minutes, maybe even only seconds. Her legs were laid out in front of her now, head hung low with a gentle sniff every now and then. Her dinner had been long forgotten. She had lost her appetite. She looked over to where the small bowl had been thrown, white chunks scattered below where it hit the wall. Thankfully the wall was fine save for some scratched paint.
She begrudgingly pushed herself from the floor to cover the bowl with the pasta and put it in the fridge. Exhausted, she left the glass where it was, deciding to just clean it up after work the next day. With a soft ‘click’ her bedroom glowed with warm light and she trudged over to the small bathroom. Just as she was about to start her normal routine, however, she caught something out of the corner of her eye. It was small, barely noticeable as it blended with the egg-white countertop. The lined paper had some chicken scratch on it and she strained her eye to read it, yet when she could finally make out the words her heart dropped.
Don’t forget to smile.
Little edit I made of my fav clown ☺️
Song: ^^4Я4Z^^ - Dove
More on my TikTok 💕
Serenity - Chapter 8
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.
"How long has it been?"
"Five hours, at least.”
"I'd say seven."
"I bet nine."
"Has she even eaten?"
"Hasn't left since the catcher brought her here."
"It's one thing to do your job. It's another when it's an obsession."
"You would know all about that, now, wouldn't you?" The group of women gasped and stepped away from the door they huddled in front of. Reuben made his way towards them with an irritated expression. "I wonder what his excellency would think if I were to tell him you all were harassing his new seamstress." Comically, the women all glanced at each other with fearful expressions before speeding off.
He smirked rather proudly and turned to the door, carefully opening in to prevent any disturbance. There Mary sat at a desk, hunched over a barely made dress she was working on. Eyebrows knit together as she focused, she hummed as she worked, not taking notice of the man just yet. It was quite obvious to him that she was in her true element. She was relaxed, comfortable. Dare he say at peace. It was a pleasant sight to him, especially after all she had been through in the recent weeks.
She stopped when she heard the door close lightly and turned towards it, eyes lighting up when she saw him.
"Reuben!"
"So sorry, it appears you were being eavesdropped." He spoke in a slightly agitated tone as he made his way over to her.
"Eavesdropped? By whom?"
"The other seamstresses." He rolled his eyes. "No matter, I got rid of them."
"Oh..." Her eyes downcasted in realization. "Well, thank you." She offered a smile before returning to her work.
"I must say, you work rather quickly."
"It's amazing what one can accomplish when left undisturbed." Silence followed, and only then did she realize how what she said sounded and looked up at Reuben with wide eyes. "I - I'm sorry, that's not what I meant at all."
"I know, dear." Mary sighed in relief and returned to what was in front of her. Then she felt her face warm at the new nickname. "Though, you do need rest every so often." He spoke as if he was talking down to a child, looking at her with a knowing expression.
"I'm fine, Reuben."
"You haven't eaten since you've been in here for who-knows-how-long, so I find that hard to believe." Mary avoided his gaze guiltily. "As far as I'm concerned, you haven't eaten since I brought you to the castle which, at this point, would be two days."
"I'm sorry..." Mary spoke softly. "I just got excited." Reuben sighed and removed what she held in her hands.
"Understandably so." He patted her shoulder to get her to stand up. "It's time I showed you the kitchen."
Mary's head spun with all the twists and turns it took to get to the said kitchen. The castle was large, yes, but walking through it felt like a maze more than anything. If all goes well, she wasn't sure how long it would take her to memorize what led to where.
The kitchen itself was large, naturally. Everything was pristine, clean as can be. Multiple stoves lined one side of the walls, the most she had seen in one spot probably. Men and women scrambled about, however in an organized manner. It seemed they had a routine that worked for the lot and it took her by surprise. Then she remembered where she was.
"Kochin!" Reuben raised over the chaos that was the kitchen. A short, plump man began speeding in their direction, exasperated.
"Yes, sir?" He asked hurriedly as he wiped a rag over his forehead, whipping it back over his shoulder.
"Bring a plate over for the lady." He leaned down closer. "A nice plate." The man, Kochin, then nodded hurriedly before scurrying off and yelling directions to the other cooks. "Caught them right as they were about to start cleaning up." He looked over at Mary with a quirked brow.
"Well, now I feel bad." She mumbled and wrung her hands.
"It's their job. They're used to it by now." Kochin returned quickly with a heaping plate of food, holding it out to Mary who stood with wide eyes. Reuben's eyes urged her to take it and she hesitantly did so.
Reuben nodded at the man and turned Mary towards the exit to walk them back to his room.
"I can't eat all of this!" She exclaimed as soon as they reached the bedroom. She sat down at a nearby desk and stared at the heaping pile of food.
"Then eat what you can. Meanwhile, I have to take care of a few matters. I shouldn't be long. Don't. Wander." He then shut the door behind him and she heard his footsteps fade down the hall.
The food smelt amazing, to say the least. It was the most extravagant meal she had received in her entire life. She felt awful knowing she surely wasn't going to finish it, but she would've felt even worse if she didn't eat anything from it at all. Choosing the latter she nibbled at her food piece by piece, taking her time to savor the rich flavors. But her assumptions were correct.
She was only about a quarter of the way finished by the time she was full. Either her stomach was shrinking or she hadn't realized how little she had really been eating in the village. Then the food coma hit.
She pushed the plate to the side to rest her chin in her hand, struggling to keep her eyes open. She hadn't the slightest perception of time, only following her body's instincts as her head finally came to rest on her arms to sleep. She must have been truly exhausted with how fast it hit her. Typically Mary would fight herself when it came to falling asleep, lying awake for half an hour at least before she succumbed to it.
Just minutes later Reuben walked in, stopping in his tracks when he saw Mary passed out on his desk. His eyes softened at the sight of it, knowing it was one of the few times she was truly at peace. He sighed and silently shut the door, taking off his coat and hooking it onto a rack that already held his hat before making his way over to Mary. He brushed a loose piece of hair from her eyes, debating on whether or not he wanted to move her and risk waking her up.
After a few seconds of thought he left to pull the sheets of his bed back, then hooked his arms beneath Mary, carefully lifting her to lay her on the bed. Thankfully, she didn't even flinch or move in the slightest save for incoherent mumbling at the action. He wasn't sure if he should've been concerned or not, but nevertheless he slid her shoes off of her feet and pulled the blanket over.
He was about to turn and leave, but his feet wouldn't move. He was planted by the sight of Mary's resting features. He took his time examining them, and he had to admit she had a unique facial structure. That was surely saying something considering his own.
She was rather beautiful in an original sense, in her own sense. It was a different kind of beauty that he couldn't describe. Perhaps he was around the middle-aged women of the castle too often, but even when he traveled to the village he never saw anyone that caught his eye quite like Mary.
There was a small knock on his door and he flinched when he saw Mary move the slightest bit, then he made his away over to it to see who it was.
"Apologies, sir," The maid spoke with a downcast gaze. "I was just coming to see if you needed anything else before you retired for the night?" She watched as Reuben disappeared for a moment, then returned with the unfinished plate of food and handed it to her with a sigh.
"She will need another dress for tomorrow, as well." He spoke in a hushed tone. Emilia nodded. "That will be all." Reuben confirmed dismissively, practically shutting the door in her face.
He huffed and began unbuttoning his vest, loosening the cravat around his neck as he glanced over at Mary over and over. He shook his head and folded the clothing over the back of his vanity chair.
Everything was frozen. Or rather seemed so. It all seemed so much darker than she had remembered. It was a different darkness. A darkness that lurked in the daylight where it shouldn't have been.
Mary turned in the center of the plaza, looking around at the villagers staring back at her with unreadable expressions. One stepped closer. Followed by another. Then it all happened like a domino effect, a mob crawling in her direction leaving her without an escape.
Her body betrayed her, feet frozen where she stood. Her breathing quickened, throat constricting in on itself. She clawed at her neck as her legs gave out, her knees taking the impact against the cold stone. She wheezed as they all enclosed themselves around her until they were all she saw -
Mary's eyes opened to the sunlight peeking through the curtains. She breathed in, slow and thorough. Her cheeks were cold. Wet. She sat up slowly, body drained even after her sleep. She wiped her cheeks tiredly as she sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling off the side.
She wasn't sure how long it had been before she finally stood, looking back over at the bed to see a dress laid out for her. Mary pondered for a moment on whether or not she should wait on Emilia, then decided against it and ran a bath for herself.
As much as she fancied the dresses, the tightness of them drove her up the wall. She cursed whoever thought up the idea of it as she began to tighten what she could, being sure to keep it looser for her own comfort. However, she huffed when the door opened. What she expected to be the maid turned out to be Reuben with a plate of breakfast and the huff became a sigh. "Oh, thank God."
She was taken aback at his appearance. Mary had been so used to seeing him clad in black that his undershirt on display was a sight she unexpectedly welcomed. His vest was still buttoned, encased around his more lean form accompanied by his cravat. The more dressed-down appearance seemed out of character for the man.
The catcher quirked a brow in amusement, catching her more wandering gaze.
"I feared you were the maid." Mary chuckled in an exasperated fashion.
"And why would that be?" He set down the plate and made his way over to her. "May I?" He motioned to her dress and she nodded in approval. He took the laces from her, bare fingertips grazing against her soft skin enough to set it ablaze.
"I know these dresses are supposed to be more form-fitting, but I'm certain she's trying to suffocate me." Reuben chuckled. It was light, different from the darker tone she was used to hearing while he was on the job.
He was far more gentle with his movements than Emilia was and Mary welcomed it gratefully. She couldn't explain what she felt whenever his hands brushed against her, but she was sure she was growing more and more drunk on it. Then it stopped. She stopped herself from pouting and turned to face him with a gentle smile.
"Thank you." Mary then turned to his vanity and grabbed a hair tie, quickly pulling her hair into a bun. "You didn't have to, you know." The woman sighed as she made her way over to her breakfast. She took her first bite, then looked up at him with a doe-eyed look. "Did you eat already?" The catcher nodded and leaned back against the desk beside her. She could feel his eyes on her, making her somewhat self-conscious as she ate. It was awkward for her and she began to drown in it.
She swallowed her current bite and gradually looked up at him. Reuben quickly averted his gaze elsewhere and she noticed a pink hue begin to dust his cheeks. Her chest fluttered and she took another bite in an attempt to hide her growing smile.
Later on, Mary found herself back in the sewing room after Reuben walked her, having to leave in that direction anyways. After closing the door he made his way to the throne room to the swarm of aristocrats and nobles that surrounded the barons.
"Ah, Catcher!" The Baron exclaimed, the group of sycophants parting themselves as he made his way over to Reuben who bowed deeply to the cheerful man as he approached.
"You called for me, your excellency?"
"I did, I did. Where is that lovely seamstress of yours?" Reuben faltered.
"Working on your lady's dress at this moment, my lord."
"It's coming along well, I hope?" The Baron began leading the two of them away from the crowd.
"I have no doubts."
"Good, good. Now," He stopped and faced Reuben. "I want you to bring your lady tonight to join us for dinner. You've built her quite the reputation, catcher, and I'd like to know more about this woman should she be our new seamstress."
"With respect, your excellency, she's not my lady." The Baron's eyes widened, then squinted as he drawled out a chuckle with a wink.
"Of course she isn't." It took all of Reuben's will not to roll his eyes. He was devoted, sure, but even the ever loyal catcher had his moments of irritation with the barons. Bomburst pat him on the shoulder before heading back over to his throne to mingle once more. Reuben huffed, straightened his coat with a snap and made his way back upstairs to Mary.
"Dinner?!" Panic set in Mary's eyes, putting an abrupt stop to her work. "I - I only just got here two days ago - and why would they want to have dinner with a seamstress?" Reuben, sensing her anxiety, tucked a stray hair behind her ear and rested a hand on her back.
"Being chosen to be the barons' seamstress is nothing short of a rarity. They simply wish to get to know you better to see if you're a good fit." Mary chuckled despite her current crisis.
"Was that on purpose?"
"Not in the slightest." Mary stood up and began to pace.
"What if I slip up and say something I'm not supposed to? Or do something I'm not supposed to?" She whipped around to face Reuben. "They won't put me to death, will they?" He sighed and stepped in front of her, lifting his hands to rest on the sides of her arms. Even with his gloves, she could feel the heat of it burning through, enough to soothe her almost instantly.
"You have no reason to worry." He watched as Mary's gaze remained downcast, eyes glazing over yet not a single tear falling. Timidly she reached up to hold onto one of his forearms, refusing to meet his eyes.
Then cool leather met her chin, gently coaxing her to face him. As her head turned her eyes continued to stray, and only when she sensed the smallest bit of confidence in the midst of whatever she was feeling did she meet the hazel of his eyes. It wasn't until then that she realized the little distance between them.
Everything was still in that moment. Seconds felt like minutes, where minutes felt like hours. It was all a haze, the smell of him intoxicating her, making her lightheaded. When she felt his lips on her own she froze for the smallest second, then began melding them as she reciprocated. The softness of his lips caught her off guard, but it was dearly cherished. The kiss was gentle, fervorous. Short.
They pulled back ever so slightly, eyeing the other for any sign of hesitancy or doubt, and when they found none they went in once more without a second thought.
It was more potent, held more passion. Gradually their breathing grew heavier. His fingertips ghosted over her jaw, reaching further back to cup it and draw her closer. Her hands found their way to the lapels of his coat, balling the fabric beneath.
It was awkward for him at first with his damned nose, but a few seconds in and he was almost perfect. In fact, Mary relished in the feeling of it brushing against her cheek. It brought her a sense of tranquility, and reminded her of who she was with.
When they broke away it was a slow movement, regretful. He stared at her with an intensity that left her weak, that would leave anyone weak. It made her feel as if she was all that mattered in that moment. Mary wrapped her arms around his torso, Reuben holding her close to him, head resting atop her own that nestled in the crook of his neck.
Mary wasn't sure what to think. She felt lost. Confused. Of everything that had happened over the course of the past two months, it was all blurring together and made her head spin. She tightened her grip around him in fear and puzzlement.
Mary focused on the feeling of him. The way it felt to have their bodies so close to one another, sharing the new moment of intimacy. Her lips still felt warm, tingly. Something bloomed in her chest, something she was unfamiliar with. It was indescribable to her yet it filled her with such an elation.
When they pulled away a single drop traveled down her cheek as Mary smiled at the man in front of her. He ogled with a sense of adoration, using his thumb to brush the tear away. Then a breathless chuckle escaped his lips.
"The Baron thought you were my lady when I spoke with him earlier." Mary held a curious mien.
"Oh?" Reuben's lips twitched in amusement.
"I told him you weren't, and yet here we are." It was Mary's turn to chuckle. A light giggle that made his heart flutter uncharacteristically.
"Am I, then?" Mary murmured, her expression thoughtful. Her next words were but a whisper. "Am I your lady?"
"I'm afraid so. I fear the day you soften me, and I'm even more fearful that it's already started."
Otto Octavius Fan Video
*all rights go to their original owners*
-
0chemicalwaste0 liked this · 3 weeks ago -
tsunami-13 liked this · 1 month ago -
l0calgoth liked this · 1 month ago -
igot-the-juice reblogged this · 1 month ago
