Chapter 8
Chapter 8
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 door slid shut behind General Hux as he entered his office, footsteps light yet heavy with unspoken thoughts. The atmosphere in the room was thick, weighed down by the events of the interrogation, and (Y/n)’s presence only seemed to intensify that tension. She stood by the viewport behind his desk, her back turned to Hux as she gazed out at the stars. It was hard to tell if she was looking for answers from the vastness of space or simply trying to avoid the thoughts swirling in her mind.
Hux lingered near his desk, watching her carefully. He hadn’t missed the shift in her demeanor since the interrogation. There was something different about her now, something subtle but undeniable. He knew that what had transpired in that room had left a mark on her.
“(L/n),” Hux began, his voice steady but tinged with curiosity, “You’re quiet.”
(Y/n) remained silent, her fingers tightening on her arms where they were crossed in front of her. It was as if she were weighing something inside herself, something she didn’t know how to voice. After a moment, she exhaled slowly, but didn’t turn to face him.
“What she said,” she murmured. “About us.”
Hux responded plainly, but his averted gaze showed otherwise. “She seemed to think it was significant.”
(Y/n) finally turned, her expression guarded. But there was a flicker of something in her eyes, something vulnerable. “Is it?”
The question hung in the air, leaving no space for games or half-truths. Hux felt a strange twist in his chest, a tightening he wasn’t accustomed to. He studied her as (Y/n)’s gaze faltered, her shoulders tense as if she were bracing herself for an answer she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear.
“Do you think…” She paused and took a deep breath. “Do you think she was right?”
Hux slowly rounded the table closer to her, his expression softening as he drew closer to her. “Well, that depends,” he began, his voice more earnest now, “If I think she was, then it would mean something. Wouldn’t it?”
She swallowed, the words lodged in her throat. She had expected him to brush it off, to dismiss it like so many other things she had been told to suppress. But his response wasn’t what she had imagined. It made her heart beat a little faster, her pulse quickening at the thought of facing the truth of what was building between them.
“You know, I didn’t expect you to humor talking about it,” she admitted, her voice softer now. “But… I can’t stop thinking about it. Especially after what she said.”
Hux studied her carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly as he searched her face for any trace of the controlled stoicism that had defined her for so long. But it wasn’t there. Not now. Instead, there was something raw, something that made him feel exposed, as if the walls they had both kept between them were slowly crumbling.
“You’re not the only one trying to make sense of it.” Hux admitted, much to their surprise.
(Y/n)’s breath caught at his words. It was disorienting, in a way, to hear him say what had been silently understood between them. And yet, it was the first time in what felt like forever that something real, something genuine, was spoken aloud.
“My focus has always been on the mission. I’ve tried to justify it as my loyalty to my assignment, but this…?” She paused. “It’s different.”
Hux took another step closer, now barely a foot away from her as his expression grew more tender than she had ever seen it before. “It is different. But we don’t have to figure it all out right now. Not everything has an immediate answer.”
(Y/n)’s gaze flickered to the floor for a moment, but slowly lifted to look at him again once she felt the brush of his gloved fingers against her arm. She knew there was so much they couldn’t say, not yet. The words were all tangled up inside of her, but she felt a shift in the air, an understanding that neither of them had ever truly acknowledged until now.
“We can’t pretend this is nothing,” (Y/n) said, her voice a little firmer now. “ I can’t pretend it.”
Hux studied her for a long moment, his gaze softening. “Then we won’t.”
(Y/n) glanced up at him, her eyes searching his face, looking for some sign that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment of honesty. It was as if they were both testing the waters, unsure of how deep they were willing to go. But for once, she didn’t want to pull back.
And they didn’t.
The silence between them grew thick with the weight of unspoken words and shared realizations. (Y/n) stood there, the distance between them closing, yet neither one made a move. The tension was palpable, the quiet stretching out in a way that felt almost unbearable, like they were both standing on the edge of something they didn’t fully understand, but wanted to.
Hux’s eyes never left hers, his expression still soft but full of intent, even hesitation. There was a moment of vulnerability there that (Y/n) had never seen in him before, a rawness that made her breath catch. It was clear now that they were both standing on the precipice of something new, and though neither of them could predict where it would lead, neither of them seemed ready to walk away from it, either.
Slowly, (Y/n) stepped forward, closing the space between them and causing the hand on her arm to shift higher. She’d never been this close to him before. Not like this. It felt like every breath she took was shared with him, every beat of his heart hers to share. She could feel the heat of his body, his scent. And it made her feel as if everything else had melted away.
For a brief second, she hesitated, unsure whether to continue or pull back. But then, she saw something in his eyes. An openness that mirrored her own. It was in that fleeting moment that she realized she didn’t have to be afraid of what they were becoming. She didn’t have to hide from this. From him.
His hand reached up, fingers brushing lightly against her jaw, testing the boundaries between them. Her own hand came up to rest on top of his chest, feeling the thrumming of his heartbeat beneath her palm. It was an intimate sensation, one she never had the luxury of feeling.
Hux didn’t flinch, didn’t pull back. He remained still, waiting, letting her make the decision.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still. She was acutely aware of how close they were now, of the electricity crackling between them, urging them forward. She could feel his breath warm against her face, his gaze steady and searching. Everything in her screamed to lean in, to finally bridge the gap that had always been there.
And then, without thinking, without words, she closed the distance.
Her lips met his, tentative at first. Testing, unsure. But when he responded, both of them moved together as if they had always known how. It was slow at first, tentative, as if they were both discovering this new part of themselves.
(Y/n)’s hand slid up to his neck, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer, and Hux’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her into him. The intensity of the kiss deepened, and for the first time in a long while, (Y/n) felt a sense of peace, as if everything had come full circle.
She had always been so guarded, so controlled. But now, with him, she didn’t have to hide anymore. There were no expectations, no pressures. Just them, in this moment, finding something real.
They finally pulled apart, breathless, both of them looking at each other as if they were seeing one another for the first time.
Hux’s fingers gently brushed her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray piece of hair that was out of place from its usually perfected style. “We should’ve done this sooner,” he whispered, his voice low and full of meaning.
(Y/n) let out a breathless laugh, the sound soft and genuine. “Maybe. But I’m glad we didn’t rush it.”
Hux hummed in agreement.
The room was still, and for once, the weight of the war, the orders, and the missions didn’t seem so heavy. It was just the two of them.
“I don’t know exactly what this means, but I’m not as afraid of it as I think I should be.”
(Y/n) felt a knot in her chest loosen at his words. It wasn’t a declaration of love, not yet, but it was something. It was enough for now.
“Neither am I,” she said, almost to herself, before looking up at him with a softer expression. “I don’t know what happens next, but I’m not afraid either.”
Hux gave her a small nod, his lips curling into the faintest of smiles. “We’ll find our way.”
Neither of them had all the answers, but they knew one thing for certain - they were no longer pretending. And that, in itself, felt like the first step forward for them.
(Y/n)’s voice broke the stillness first, soft and almost hesitant. “(Y/n),” she said, her voice a little unsure as she spoke her own name. It was an offering, an invitation. It felt almost too personal, too intimate to say aloud.
Her gaze dropped for a moment, mind racing as she tried to gauge his reaction. It felt like she was crossing an invisible line, one that might make everything feel different. But she didn’t regret it.
Hux’s eyes softened, his expression unreadable for a moment as he looked at her. It wasn’t the name of an officer or a superior. it was something else entirely. It was personal.
“I -” He stopped himself, the words getting caught in his throat. “Armitage.” He nearly choked out, his heart racing uncharacteristically. But the gentle smile she gave him made it worth it.
“Armitage.” His heart skipped. He wasn’t used to hearing his name spoken with such sincerity, but somehow, hearing it from her felt natural.
Hux’s lips twitched upward, and he couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, as if a weight had been lifted. He hadn’t expected it, hadn’t even realized he wanted it, but hearing his name from her own lips felt like a bond. A commitment, maybe, even if they both didn’t fully understand it yet.
Her gaze softened as she looked at him, and for a moment, it seemed like the weight of their shared experiences had brought them to a place of understanding. They both knew that this wasn’t just about the mission anymore. There was something here, something that was no longer hidden beneath their armor.
“I suppose we should prepare to brief Drenn and Phasma.” Armitage reluctantly reminded both himself and (Y/n), not wanting to ruin their moment. The latter sighed and nodded before they slowly peeled away from each other and turned towards his desk.
Once the two others arrived, Hux was standing behind his desk with (Y/n) to his left, the others on the other side. They all knew the nature of what had transpired, the importance of the information that had been gathered. But the air still held some form of thickness with the remnants of the intense interrogation.
“I’m pleased to say that the interrogation was successful. But now it is imperative that we act quickly from what we received. (L/n), if you will.” The general began.
(Y/n) straightened slightly, acknowledging the order. She had become used to this dynamic, this balance of trust and command between them. Her gaze shifted from Hux to Varo and Phasma as she spoke.
“It was confirmed that the rogue faction is still in contact with Resistance forces, but their next location is still not clear enough for us to target,” (Y/n) began, her voice steady but tinged with something colder now, something sharp. “However, Elira,” She paused, just for a moment, to steady herself. “Made it clear that there is a larger play at hand.”
There was a brief flicker of recognition in Varo’s eyes, and Captain Phasma’s unreadable expression didn’t change, though the air seemed to tighten. The information had clearly shaken them both, but none of them dared to show it.
“It seems the Resistance has a heavier involvement with the faction than what was originally assumed.” Hux added, his tone darkening. “They’ve been providing the rogues with supplies and safehouses. Coordinating and assisting each other to perform these recurring strikes on First Order establishments.”
Varo frowned, his eyes narrowing. “And they’re preparing a larger strike?” he asked, his voice full of masked concern.
(Y/n) nodded. “They wanted to regroup, build momentum, and meet the others at the next location. What they failed to consider was the Covenant’s involvement. That’s what ultimately led to their capture.”
Hux didn’t let his gaze falter. “But the remaining rogues are more elusive, believe it or not.” He commented with a hint of annoyance.
Phasma spoke up, her voice as calm and measured as ever. “What’s our next move?”
(Y/n)’s eyes were cold now, her focus entirely on the task at hand. “We still have the other four prisoners to pull information from so we’ll be able to finalize a more stable plan once that’s taken care of. We need names, contacts, any possible location. They have to know something if they were planning to meet the others.”
Hux glanced at her, a flicker of admiration in his eyes before he turned back to the others. “Once all information is extracted, we must act swiftly, and with precision. This isn’t about eliminating the rogues anymore. This is about stopping a much larger operation.”
Varo looked to (Y/n), a slight smirk tugging at his lips before turning back to the general.
(Y/n) gave a nod, her expression firm. “More than stop them. We’ll send a message. Make sure this never happens again.”
Captain Phasma stepped forward. “Then it’s settled. I’ll have droids assigned to interrogations during the scheduled timeframes.”
Hux nodded in approval. “That is all for now. I will notify you after information is collected from the interrogations and ready to brief. Dismissed.”
Phasma and Varo nodded, the latter casting her a final, knowing look before turning to leave.
Following the brief, Hux and (Y/n) reached the entrance to the bridge, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent corridor. The doors slid open and they stepped in with purpose. The crew worked in near silence, their movements efficient and synchronized, the controlled hum of the ship’s engines providing a constant backdrop.
“Report?” Hux asked immediately, his gaze sweeping across the room as he approached the control console where a subordinate officer stood.
The lieutenant snapped to attention. “General Hux, Umbral (L/n). No significant updates since the last transmission. However, we’ve managed to locate a few more traces of rogue activity. It’s a small, hidden network. It seems we’re closing in on one of their projected targets based on the patterns we are seeing.”
Hux’s eyes narrowed slightly, a dangerous edge to his voice. “Are they still active or attempting to relocate?”
The officer’s fingers flew over the console, bringing up new data “We have a rough location, but there are no confirmed movements yet.”
(Y/n) stepped forward, her eyes scanning the information that flashed across the screen.
Her hand rested on the console, her fingers brushing lightly against it as she leaned in closer, and inevitably closer to the lieutenant who hadn’t moved away. He held his breath at her proximity, frozen in place by the intimidation of her presence. And he had a sinking feeling as he looked at her that he even found her slightly attractive.
Hux looked between the two of them, blood simmering beneath his skin. He would never admit it, but his glare towards the subordinate was more than enough to express what he was feeling.
The lieutenant finally looked up at the general and his eyes widened slightly, immediately taking a step away from her.
“Set a course to the location,” she finally said, her tone firm. “We can’t afford to take any chances of losing them.”
The officer hesitantly glanced at the general who gave a node of approval. “Yes, Umbral.”
Hux stepped back, his gaze shifting to (Y/n), watching her as she took charge. There was an intensity about her now that matched his own, and it stirred something in him that he had to push down. He couldn’t afford to let distractions cloud his focus. Not now.
“Good,” Hux said, his voice was particularly hardened, but still carrying authority. “Keep me updated if anything changes.”
“Yes, General.” The officer acknowledged before the two of them left the bridge once more.
Later on, (Y/n) found herself within the alcove where she and Armitage had their first moment together, a quiet stillness settled in the later hours of the night cycle. (Y/n) sat on the bench just the same, her back against the wall, her dark uniform replaced by simple black attire. The issued sleepwear was comfortable, yet still representative of the Covenant. The lights were dim, casting long shadows over the space. She wasn’t used to this kind of quiet as of late, but tonight, it was a welcome change.
Her thoughts were a tangled mess, the events of the day and the intensity of her feelings for Hux weighing on her in ways she didn’t know how to process.
The kiss. The words they hadn’t fully said. The subtle shift between them that she couldn’t ignore.
She had spent enough time thinking about it, enough to start overanalyzing every single moment, trying to understand it all.
She was lost in thought when the soft sound of footsteps echoed from the corridor. She glanced up, finding Varo rounding the corner. His ever-present smirk was softened tonight, though. A far cry from the playful taunts he usually threw her way.
“Thought I’d find you here,” Varo said with a casual shrug, his eyes scanning the space before landing on her.
(Y/n) didn’t respond immediately, her eyes flicking towards the corner of the alcove.
“Yeah,” she said quietly, her voice betraying a trace of emotion she couldn’t quite hide. She quickly cleared her throat. “It’s been a long day.”
Varo took a seat beside her, his posture relaxed, his arms casually resting on his knees. “You know, for someone who’s usually an uptight prick, you’re not as composed as you usually are. What’s going on?”
(Y/n) remained silent for a moment, her eyes focused on a distant point in the alcove, not wanting to meet his gaze. She could feel the weight of his expectant stare, the way Varo seemed to have this uncanny ability to know when something was off.
Varo grinned, sensing her hesitation. “I’m guessing this isn’t about your mother or the rogue vampires. You’ve had plenty of that already. So, what is it?”
(Y/n) hesitated, taking a deep breath. “It’s… about the general.” she admitted, her tone softer than she intended.
Varo raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Ah. That explains a lot.”
She shot him a quick, almost defensive look, but Varo’s expression remained calm, casual. He clearly wasn’t going to push. At least, not too much. He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms and waiting, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
(Y/n) sighed, finally meeting his gaze, her eyes guarded but honest. “It’s not as simple as I thought it would be, Varo. I -” She paused, unsure of how to continue. “I didn’t expect this to happen the way it did. It was completely unexpected.”
Varo didn’t interrupt. He just let her speak, waiting for her to continue at her own pace. He knew better than to press, especially when (Y/n)’s walls were this high.
“I’ve been focused on duty. On my assignment. I’ve kept myself guarded for so long, and now… now there’s this.” Her voice trailed off, a mixture of uncertainty and something else she couldn’t place.
“Sounds like you’ve got some feelings there,” Varo said lightly, his tone teasing but not unkind.
(Y/n) didn’t laugh at his joke. Instead, she nodded, her eyes distant. “I do. We both do. But it’s more than that. It’s… I don’t even know how to explain it.” She took a moment, glancing down at her hands, her fingers twitching nervously. “He’s… different. I’ve never allowed anyone to tear me apart so quickly. To leave me so open and vulnerable. I don’t know what to do with it.”
Varo watched her closely, his gaze softening for a moment. “You don’t need to figure it all out at once, you know. You gotta understand that we were trained to be soldiers. We’ve never had the luxury of dwelling on things like this.”
(Y/n)’s lips tightened into a thin line. “I know. But this isn’t about the mission anymore. Not entirely.”
“And yet,” Varo said, leaning forward slightly, “You’re still thinking like a soldier. Even with him. You’re afraid, (Y/n). You’re afraid that if you give in to this, it’ll distract you. But it won’t. It’ll just change things. And sometimes… that’s the best kind of change.”
(Y/n) let out a slow breath, her eyes lowering again as the weight of his words sank in. “You think so?”
Varo didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back against the wall again, crossing his arms and looking at her with a thoughtful expression.
“Don’t think too hard about it. You don’t have to be the perfect soldier all the time. Hell, if you ask me, Hux needs someone like you.”
(Y/n) looked at him sharply, a little surprised. “What do you mean?”
Varo shrugged casually. “Hux… he doesn’t always know what to do with himself. But with you?” He chuckled lightly. “He’s definitely got someone to keep him on track if something happens. Emotionally and professionally.”
(Y/n) shook her head slightly, the smallest of smiles tugging at her lips. “You think so?”
“Trust me. I’ve been watching.” Varo’s smirk widened. “But, more importantly - you two? There’s something there.”
(Y/n) glanced at him, her smile turning into a soft laugh. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never done this before.”
Varo grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, there’s only one way to figure it out.”
(Y/n) rolled her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders seemed to ease just a little. “You’re right.”
“I know,” Varo said with a knowing smile. “I’m just here to remind you that you don’t have to have everything figured out. Sometimes, you just need to… let it happen.” Her eyed her for a moment. “You wanna know something else?”
She glanced at him curiously, encouraging him to continue.
“I’ve heard that relationships with personal assignments are actually encouraged by High Lords.”
(Y/n)’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
“It creates a deeper sense of loyalty. Which, in turn, would mean a more successful assignment.”
(Y/n) sat in silence for a moment, her thoughts swirling as she took in what Varo had said. For once, she allowed herself to relax, to let the uncertainty sit without trying to fix it. There was a strange comfort in that, even if it didn’t feel entirely natural.
“Thanks, Varo,” she said softly, turning to face him.
He winked at her. “Anytime.”
(Y/n) and Varo remained seated in comfortable silence. She leaned back against the wall with her arms loosely folded, her thoughts still lingering on the kiss, on the shift between herself and Armitage.
That shift seemed to arrive in person only moments later as footsteps approached.
Varo lifted his head first, eyebrows raising with amusement as the tall, unmistakable figure of General Hux rounded the corner into the alcove.
Hux paused when he saw them, his expression unreadable but his gaze lingering on (Y/n) a fraction longer than protocol might have allowed. He wore his uniform still - sharp, pristine, and composed - though there was something faintly softer in his eyes as they flicked between the two.
“Drenn,” Hux greeted stiffly, polite but distant as ever in tone.
Varo rose to his feet smoothly, flashing a smile that didn’t quite hide the glint of mischief in his eyes. “General,” he replied with mock formality, brushing nonexistent dust from his jacket. “I was just keeping her company, but I think she’s in good hands now.”
(Y/n) gave him a mildly exasperated look.
“I’ll take the hint,” Varo added under his breath as he passed her. Then more loudly, to both, “I’ll be in my quarters if you need me.”
As he walked off, he gave (Y/n) one last, knowing glance. She rolled her eyes at him behind Hux’s back.
Once he was gone, a quiet settled again. Armitage stood a few feet away, his hands folded behind his back. There was a pause, the kind that stretched just long enough to hint that he hadn’t come here by accident.
“I was looking for you,” He said finally. “I stopped by your quarters.”
(Y/n) glanced over at him, still seated, her expression open but cautious. “Is everything alright?”
He hesitated, then took a few steps closer. “I thought you might want company. After everything today.”
Her eyes flicked downward, then back up to him. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know.” He looked down for a moment, then met her gaze again.
There was something in his voice. Tentative, unfamiliar. Like the footing beneath him was uncertain and he didn’t quite know how to steady himself in this territory. She understood the feeling.
(Y/n) pushed herself up from the bench slowly, now standing beside him in the soft lighting of the alcove. Her hair was down, and the shift from her usual rigid posture made her seem more human, more vulnerable. Armitage saw it and found it hard to look away.
“It’s strange,” she murmured, “How everything’s changed so quickly.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Armitage paused. “But sometimes change can be good.”
She met his gaze, studying him. “You’re right, that’s very strange coming from you.”
Armitage threw her a side glance of disapproval. “I have my moments. Just that no one ever sees them.”
(Y/n) gazed at him a moment longer, her sharpness dulled by weariness and something far more tender.
Then her voice, quiet but sure, made a simple offer.
“I suppose I should have my dinner now.” A faint curve tugged at one corner of her lips. “Would you like to join me?”
Armitage blinked once, as if surprised. Not by the invitation itself, but by how much he wanted to accept it. His expression gave away little, save for the slight lowering of his shoulders and the flicker of something softer behind his eyes.
“I would, actually.”
(Y/n) inclined her head in a simple nod. “Come on, then.”
She turned and began walking without ceremony, confident that he would follow.
He did.
His stride falling in just behind hers, his hands still clasped behind his back in a subconscious effort to maintain composure. But as he walked, he realized with a strange sense of peace that for the first time in longer than he could remember… he didn’t feel the need to be composed.
Not with her.
And in that silence, he let himself fall into step beside (Y/n), hands slowly unclasping themselves from behind him. He walked beside her not as the General of the Finalizer, but simply as the man she had invited in.
The door shut behind them with a soft hiss.
(Y/n)’s quarters were sparse but lived-in, dimly lit with the gentle glow of low lumen panels. There were few personal touches. Just a few old Covenant relics lining the shelf near her desk, and folded training attire draped neatly across the back of a chair. Still, it was warmer than most quarters on a First Order vessel. Warmer than his.
(Y/n) moved first, her posture more relaxed than usual, her movements quieter.
“Sit wherever you like,” she said, brushing past him to a compact kitchenette where she retrieved two mugs. “The lighting’s adjustable if it’s too dim. I just keep it darker for obvious reasons.”
Armitage glanced around, then chose the loveseat built into the wall across from her bed. He sat back with his hands resting in his lap, posture still perfect.
(Y/n) then brought over both mugs. She handed him his - a pale amber tea with a faint herbal scent - and kept the dark crimson one for herself.
Armitage nodded to her as a thank you before she settled in beside him without a word.
For a moment, they just sat in silence. Sipping slowly, the quiet stretching comfortably between them.
Then Armitage spoke, low and thoughtful.
“I think I could get used to seeing you this relaxed.”
(Y/n)’s brow rose as she took another sip. “Why’s that?”
“It’s oddly comforting, I think. Even reminds me of myself outside of working hours.”
She set the mug down on the coffee table in front of them. “Well, no one stays sharp forever. Not even me.”
Hux gave a short, amused huff. “Don’t let the others hear you admit that. It would shatter their entire perception of you.”
(Y/n) turned slightly towards him, resting one elbow against the back of the couch and leaning her head on her hand. “Let them believe what they want. Fear has its uses.” There was a pause. Then she added, quieter, “Except with you, of course.”
He turned his head slowly to look at her, and found her already watching him.
Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes.
Those eyes .
They were open. Clear. Trusting.
“I’ve spent most of my life hiding what I feel,” (Y/n) said softly. “From my parents, from the Covenant, from the Order. But I somehow find myself not wanting to have to hide from you.”
Hux set his mug aside, his fingers accidentally brushing her hand that rested on her thigh. It wasn’t intentional - not exactly. But he didn’t move away either.
“I’m not used to this,” he admitted. “Any of this. But I can’t deny that I find myself wanting it.”
A beat.
“Wanting you.”
Her breath hitched just slightly, but her hand cautiously turned beneath his, palm to palm, fingers threading together in a tentative hold. She thought about Varo’s words before Armitage arrived.
“Then have me,” she practically pleaded quietly.
His thumb brushed the edge of her knuckles. For all his control, he still looked like a man trying not to fall too fast. But in her presence, he was already halfway there.
They leaned towards each other - not a rush. But a slow, inevitable draw. When their lips touched, it wasn’t urgent. It was grounding.
(Y/n)’s hands instinctively reached for him, her fingers tangling in his short, gelled hair as she pulled him closer. His arms wrapped around her waist, his touch firm yet gentle, as if he was afraid she might shatter.
The kiss deepened, entwining in a dance that spoke of pent-up desire and unspoken longing. (Y/n) could taste the remnants of the tea he drank, the warmth of his breath mingling with her own.
As they broke apart, breathless, Armitage rested his forehead against hers, his hands sliding down to her hips. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.
(Y/n) asked, her gold eyes glinting. “And what is it you want?”
“You.” He nearly growled. “ All of you.”
Her hands traced the contours of his uniform, her touch deliberate with barely contained desire. “Then take it.”
Armitage’s eyes darkened as he suddenly pulled her on top of him, relishing the light gasp that slipped past her lips which he quickly captured once more. Their hands began to wander over one another as their tongues mingled and danced.
Armitage’s fingers then began to tease the hem of her shirt, slipping up beneath it to let the unnaturally cold temperature of her skin meet his warmth. He broke apart from her lips to wander down her neck as she sighed at the feeling of his warmth, eagerly welcoming the foreign sensation.
As his hands continued to caress higher, his fingertips carefully brushed the underside of her breasts, following the curvature to their outer edges. (Y/n) let out a particularly loud sigh as his thumbs ghosted over her erect nipples, hips growing restless as she squirmed on top of him.
He hummed against her neck at the feeling of her brushing against the growing tent in his uniform and grabbed her hips, pulling her down onto him to elicit a low groan. Her own vocal satisfaction mixed with his at the feeling of him pressed against her now throbbing core, head tilting back with her mouth agape.
“Armitage,” The man hummed at the sound of his name. “Please.” (Y/n) begged and he pulled away to look up at her.
They breathed heavily for a small moment. Then Armitage stood, taking (Y/n) with him who wrapped her legs around his waist. He brought them over to her bed, delicately laying her on top of it.
His frame leaned over her to capture her lips once more. The kiss was messier, filled with more passion that had been built up from them pining over each other for too long.
He began to grind himself into her, their voices mingling with pleasure as her hands pulled him into her.
Armitage clung to her, hands wandering and caressing every dip and curve, committing it to memory. He gripped the hem of her shirt and began to pull it up, (Y/n) lifting her torso enough to slide it off.
He sighed as he looked down at her bare torso, not knowing where to start until he felt her hand pull him down to her neck.
His mouth grazed over her skin, kissing and sliding over it until he reached one of her breasts. His lips wrapped around its nipple, tongue tickling and circling it as her other breast was massaged by his still gloved hands.
She looked down at him when he growled and pulled away, watching as he peeled his gloves off with his teeth before continuing his ministrations.
Slowly, he trailed his way down her abdomen, his mouth tickling the surface along its path until he reached the waistband of her pants and underwear.
He kissed along the edge of it, fingers hooking under the seam as he looked up at her for approval.
When she slightly lifted her hips for him to pull them down, he did so without hesitation. They slid off of her legs and he kissed around her pelvis, her sighs of pleasure egging him on.
He turned to her inner thighs - biting, nipping and sucking as he grew closer to her femininity. His warm breath fanned over it, practically panting as he took it in.
Then, without warning, his mouth gently attached itself to her.
(Y/n) threw her head back as a moan escaped her lips, hand latched into his fiery locks. Armitage hummed at her pull, tongue lapping at her center as his hands left momentarily to undo his uniform top.
As it slipped off of his form, he pulled away from her. She felt his fingers replace his mouth as she looked down at him in question, watching as he crawled his way up to loom over her as the digits teased.
His face settled barely an inch away from her own, gazing intently into her golden irises as he eased two fingers into her. He watched as her eyebrows furrowed, a soft gasp slipping past her lips before her eyes closed.
He slowly began to pump his fingers, curling them to pull different reactions from her, testing to see what was more effective. At a particular angle, she let out a particularly sharp moan and he smirked to himself, feeling her nails carefully claw at his back.
As his pace quickened along with her moans, he leaned down just next to her ear and whispered.
“ Don’t you dare hold back from me. ”
The burning coil in her pelvis suddenly snapped and she nearly screamed, back arching as Armitage felt her juices thickening around his fingers. He groaned when her nails finally dug into him, no doubt drawing blood.
He pulled back slightly to work his uniform trousers as she recovered. (Y/n) gazed at him with hooded eyes as he pulled them off along with his boots, dropping them to the floor with a soft thud.
He drew close to her once more, one hand rubbing over his stiffened cock while the other supported his weight.
Their breaths shook as he teased at her entrance, already drawing another soft moan from her as the head teased over her sensitive clit.
“Armitage -“ She pressed, cut off by him pushing into her. They both sighed at the foreign sensation, eyeing each other with unmatched intensity.
(Y/n) pulled him closer so they were chest-to-chest before he rolled his hips, groaning with his lips pressed together in barely contained pleasure.
She pulled him down by the back of his head into a kiss, moaning into each other as his pace gradually quickened. Her hands gripped at his arms and shoulders, feeling them tense and his muscles shift as he now pounded into her.
Her moans were no longer quiet, and she prayed that the walls were sound proof. But they couldn’t care less in that moment as she felt his warm body against her, her cold skin keeping him cool as he nearly broke into a sweat.
His hair fell out of place as pieces hung over his forehead, face buried in her neck as he groaned and huffed. Her sounds flooded his ears, filling his head as his cock throbbed from inside of her, feeling her tighten around him as he angled himself in the same way his fingers angled to bring her over the edge.
His pace grew hasty, chasing his own release and desperate to hear her lose herself once more as her hands tightened their grip on him.
At last, she cried out and practically sobbed at her second orgasm. She felt weightless. Dizzy and absent as her voice no longer felt like her own in that moment as he continued to push through her release.
Just as she began to feel overstimulated, he quickly pulled out and pumped his cock over her stomach, watching as he groaned as strings of cum landed on her skin.
Everything seemed to slow as he breathed heavily, searching her face for anything negative.
When he found nothing but peace and content, he leaned down and pressed a kiss onto her cheek, landing one on her lips before he stood and disappeared into the washroom.
She heard the sink run as he most likely cleaned himself, throwing an arm over her eyes as she replayed the intimate moment in her head.
Armitage emerged from the room, pausing to admire what he considered was an ethereal beauty laying across the bed.
How he was ever able to turn one of the most intimidating forces in the First Order into a delicate flower beneath his hands, he would never understand. But he knew he would never take it for granted.
Silently, with a rag in hand, he made his way over to her and cleaned up the mess he made of her, surprisingly gentle compared to his more strict persona that everyone else knew him for.
After it was discarded, he returned to the bed, placing a delicate hand on her waist to coax her into getting under the covers.
She complied mindlessly, brain still fuzzy as she sighed with pure satisfaction. (Y/n) watched as he moved to his uniform on the floor, picking it up piece by piece.
Just as he was about to begin dressing himself, she called out to him softly.
(Y/n) watched as his head snapped to her with a mix of concern and newfound fondness, a smile nearly showing on her lips.
“Do you think you could stay tonight?”
His shoulders barely dropped, undetectable to anyone who was not familiar with his character. But to her it said everything she needed to know.
Surprise. Hesitation. Disbelief.
A long moment passed between them before he finally responded.
“I believe I could.” He answered, a corner of his lip upturning ever so slightly in endearment.
More Posts from Igot-the-juice and Others
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.”
The Scarred - Chapter 9
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.
“You okay, Penny?” Emma questioned, seeing the woman in question begin to nod off. She quickly sat up and rapidly blinked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just didn’t get much sleep, that's all.” She responded, which wasn’t really a lie at all. Liam had tried to convince her to call in to take the day off, but Penelope couldn’t do that to Emma. That and she worried it would come off as suspicious since she rarely ever does it, and even more so given recent events that have been occurring at the shop itself.
“Is something bothering you, hun?” Emma asked gently, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“No, I’m okay,” She turned to face her. “Promise.” She smiled, and thankfully it was returned before the older woman walked away. Penelope let out a sigh of relief, massaging her temple.
They received more customers than usual that day, thankfully. It helped to both keep her awake and distract her from her thoughts, which grew to be a harder task as of late. By the time the work day drew to a close, Penny was practically sleepwalking. Zombified and depleted of energy, she waved off Emma in a goodbye before she turned to leave.
As she passed an alleyway, thinking all was well and would finally return home to relax, she gasped when something snatched her jacket and pulled her in.
“I did some thinking - y’know?” A familiar voice tossed up her stomach with nerves. She turned to look up at the painted face that greeted her - however much of a greeting it was.
“You scared the hell out of me!” She whisper-yelled in exasperation, her adrenaline throwing all caution to the wind regardless of who was in front of her.
“I think you oughtta have these than myself.” He continued on, completely ignoring what she said. She looked down and saw the handgun and knives from last night.
“You couldn’t have done that last night rather than snatching me and giving me a heart attack?”
“You’re alive, aren’t cha?” The Joker dismissed as if it was the most simple thing. Penelope couldn’t help but roll her eyes to his amusement and he hummed.
“Gettin’ a little bold after last night, don’t cha think?” His voice was flat, yet somehow still held a joking undertone. Penelope grew fidgety, mentally slapping herself for forgetting who she was talking to.
“I’m sorry, it’s been a long day.” She nearly whispered with a downcast gaze.
“Ah, I’m just messing with ya, doll!” The Joker cackled. “But seriously, take these, I don’t want em.” She greatly hesitated before gently taking them from his hands, looking at them for a moment and putting them in her satchel.
“Thank you -“
“I’m going to give a wild guess and say you don’t have a single gun at your place?”
“I mean, I don’t, but -“
“Ah-ta-ta-ta.” He cut her off, placing a finger over her lips.
“Don’t got time for chit-chat, toots, but uh -“ He looked around for a second before leaning in closer to her as if he was telling a secret. “We can save that for later, hm?” He winked with a click of his tongue and gave her a couple of small pats on her head before turning to leave. “Don’t wait up for me!” He hollered over his shoulder and disappeared off to who knew where with a skip.
Penelope just stood in the alleyway confused as ever for the umpteenth time. If she wasn’t awake before, she definitely was now. She turned to make her way back to the main sidewalk, this time bumping into someone else.
“Oi, there ye are!”
“For fuck’s sake!” She gasped once again, hand over her chest. Liam frowned and steadied her.
“First of all, that’s my line. Second, the hell were ye doin in an alley?” He gently coaxed her to start their walk back to their apartment complex.
“Too tired to explain right now.”
“Alright, fair enough. Guess it’s not a good time to say ‘I told you so’ then?” Penelope gave him a side eye and he held up his hands in defense. “Okay, okay. Quiet time it is.”
When the two of them reached her apartment and stepped inside, they were quick to get comfortable and relax on the couch. The TV hummed in the background at a low volume, soothing the two of them as Penelope began to fall asleep in Liam’s lap, the latter playing a game on his phone mindlessly.
No matter how close the woman was to sleep, though,, her body fought back. Her mind raced with scattered thoughts, a heavy sigh leaving her lips catching Liam’s attention.
“What’s on yer mind, lovin?”
“Too much.” She answered simply. Liam took his turn to sigh.
“Still too tired to talk about it?”
“The Joker is supposed to be dangerous…” She whispered mindlessly. Liam tensed at first and put down his phone. She continued once he began to caress her hair. “And yet I can’t shake that I feel safe with him.” Penelope turned in his lap, head facing up at him as she stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know how else to describe it. But something about him just feels so familiar, Liam. Like a reminder of something I can’t remember.”
“Aye. I know the feelin’, believe me.” He shifted as he thought. “If he wanted ye dead, he would’ve done so already. It’s a gruesome thought, but I believe it’s the truth.” He looked down at Penelope who met his gaze of understanding.
“But what if he has an ulterior motive? What if he’s just using me?” She watched as Liam began to shake his head.
“He doesn’t seem the type. Not patient enough from what we’ve seen on the news. Seems to me that if he wants something, he just goes fer it. The man won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” There was a moment of silence, the two of them sitting in contemplation, coming up with scenario after scenario where something could go wrong. But none of them seemed realistic in comparison to what had happened so far.
Days passed with no contact from the Joker or his men, much to her surprise. Days turned into a couple of weeks. Penelope just assumed that he was either too busy or got bored of her. She wasn’t sure which would have been a better explanation.
In a way, she missed his odd encounters. Before him, her life was boring, for lack of a better word. It was the same routine over and over and over. Granted, Liam tossed things up from time to time. But she eventually grew used to that, as well.
Penelope decided to switch things up herself after some days. She found a target range not too far away where she could continue her practice with the knives and handgun, Liam joining her from time to time.
It wasn’t until a while after that he came up with an idea.
“Come on.” The Irishman dragged the woman by her wrist to what looked like a gym of sorts.
“Liam, what’re we doing here -“
“You’ll see, ye twat, just come on.” As they entered the building, he scanned them in and took her upstairs, the smell making her nose twitch in discomfort. Once they reached the top, she was welcomed to an empty matted room. Her eye widened in surprise, unsure of what Liam was getting themselves into.
“The hell is this about?” He clicked his tongue in disapproval.
“Take off her shoes and coat and you’ll see. Stop asking questions, dammit!” He chuckled as he got ready himself and walked onto the mat.
Soon after she followed, giggling at the feeling of the mat beneath them like a child on a trampoline.
“Oi!” She snapped her head up to where he was and stood in front of him. “I figured since ye got them fancy knives and gun, we teach ye some real self defense, yeah?” Penelope’s eye shot wide open.
“Self defe -? You do realize I only have one arm, right?” Liam shrugged.
“All the more reason ye need it.” Penelope sighed and glanced away for a second, then took a deep breath.
“Okay fine, I’ll play.” He nodded with a reassuring grin.
“Right, Penny. First rule: self-defense isn’t about strength. It’s about leverage. Ye don’t need two arms er perfect vision fer this. It’s all about knowin’ how to use what ye’ve got.”
Penelope nodded, her single eye narrowing as she focused on him. Her missing left arm had made her hesitant, and the burns that marked her left side were a constant reminder of her limitations. But she needed to do this.
Liam stepped closer and motioned for her to raise her remaining arm. “Let’s start with balance. No matter what situation yer in, ye need a strong foundation. Feet shoulder-width apart. Right foot slightly behind, heel up. Keep that center of gravity low, but don’t lock yer knees.”
Penelope followed his instructions, her movements stiff but determined. She felt a slight shift in her body as she adjusted her stance. Liam circled her slowly, nodding his approval.
“Good. Now, if someone comes at ye from the front, yer not going to overpower em, but ye can use their own momentum against em. Grab my wrist with yer right hand.”
Penelope hesitated for a moment before grasping his wrist. Liam, much taller and stronger than her, didn’t resist at first, but then slowly applied pressure, mimicking an attacker’s force.
“When someone grabs ye, ye won’t have the leverage to just pull away,” He explained. “But what ye can do is use yer entire body to redirect the attack.” He gently guided her to pivot her hips and pull him off balance. “See? Ye use yer hips and shoulders to create force. That’s what keeps ye grounded and throws em off.”
Penelope felt the shift in weight and how Liam’s body tilted slightly as she pulled him off-center. Her eyes widened in surprise, a spark of confidence growing inside of her.
“Now, what if someone tries to take ye down?” Liam asked, stepping back and raising his hands as if to simulate a grab for her. “Yer instinct might be to pull away, but that just puts ye at a disadvantage. Instead, ye drop yer weight. Lower yer center of gravity, and they won’t be able to lift ye.”
He demonstrated, lunging toward her in slow motion. Penelope took a deep breath and bent her knees, dropping her weight as Liam had instructed. She felt him try to lift her, but she remained planted, like a rooted tree.
Liam grinned. “That’s it! Perfect. And while they’re strugglin’ to get a grip, that’s when ye go fer yer next move. Elbows, knees—anything hard and sharp. It’s not about bein’ clean. It’s about surviving.”
Penelope smirked slightly at that. “So… you want me to fight dirty?”
Liam’s eyes twinkled. “In Gotham? There’s no other way.”
He motioned for her to step back, giving her space. “Now, let’s try it with a punch. Someone’s swingin’ at ye from the right. What do ye do?”
Penelope tensed. Her left eye was no longer, and her missing arm meant her range of vision was limited. But Liam had thought of that.
“Ye can’t block with yer left, so ye have to move. Slip to the outside of their swing, stay low, and use yer shoulder to knock em off balance. That’s where yer right arm comes in.”
He swung at her slowly, exaggerating the motion so she could practice. Penelope sidestepped, dipping her head and bringing her right shoulder up to mimic the block.
Liam nodded in approval. “Good! Now follow up with yer right elbow—hard to their face er throat.”
Penelope did as he instructed, bringing her elbow up in a quick motion, though she hesitated at the last second. Liam chuckled. “Don’t hold back next time. You’ll need that speed and precision.”
They spent the next hour going over similar moves: how to throw a knee into an attacker’s gut, how to pivot and drive her elbow into someone’s ribs, how to avoid attacks from angles she couldn’t see. With each move, Penelope grew more confident, her hesitation slowly melting away.
Finally, Liam held up a hand, signaling for a break. “Yer gettin’ there, Penny. Ye’ve got the instincts. Now ye just need to trust yerself.”
Penelope wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, breathing heavily but feeling more grounded than she had in a long time. “It’s… a lot to take in. But I want to keep practicing.”
Liam clapped her on the shoulder. “And ye will. Just remember, yer not as vulnerable as you think. Ye’ve been through hell and came out the other side. That’s more strength than any move I can teach ye.”
Penelope gave him a small, hearing him say something so endearing a rarity coming from him. Her eye glimmered, practically glazed over with emotion. “Thank you, Liam.”
More days passed. And more. But it wasn’t boring anymore, no. Liam and Penelope had been practicing her self-defense as often as they could without straining themselves, and eventually he decided to teach her offensive attacks as well should they be necessary.
It was obvious to her that he genuinely cared for her and her safety, understanding that he wouldn’t always be there to protect her. That much was clear. Though it was a welcomed respite, the Joker still lingered in the back of her mind.
No matter how long it had been since he visited, she couldn’t help but think that their encounters were far from over.
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.”
Blood of A Rose - Part 2 (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)
Masterlist
Summary - Following the events of their night together, (y/n) and Art explore their dynamics together to form a perfect duet of blood and beauty.
Notes - Was requested to expand on the relationship between Art and the reader and will happily oblige! It’s honestly so fun to write Art’s character, I hate how little there is out there for him. My man needs attention.
P.S - Might branch this into a series of one shots showing their relationship more and whatnot either from my own ideas or requests from you guys for what you’d like to see with them. Hell, might even make a whole blog based on them. Thoughts?
Word Count - 4,091
Warning(s) - Blood, gore, violence, morally ambiguous reader
Song Inspiration -
Cody Frost - Process
Screams were heard all around them, piercing and agonizing. Everything was set ablaze, yet she felt no heat. She felt no pain. Even as the smoke clouded, she could breathe without struggle. (Y/n) craned her neck to look up at the clown before her, eyes wide with wonder, with trust. Her life was in the hands of a murderer and yet she felt safe. She felt protected.
His usual grin did not show, yet he didn’t frown. His face remained neutral while his eyes said it all, filled with an untamed obsession, possessiveness and dare she say adoration. His gloved hands rose to her jaw, cupping it delicately as he guided her to train her eyes on him, to ignore all that happened around them. As she stared up at him, her hands came to rest over his own, and with a look of his eyes she was told -
He would be her past, present and future.
(Y/n)’s eyes fluttered open, greeted by the soft light of the moon that peaked through the boards of the window. The colder air bit at her skin through her sweater and she shivered.
She sat up and looked around curiously, seeing that she was now in the makeshift bedroom from before. She then looked down and saw that she was on the mattress, however a tattered blanket now lay on top of it beneath her, shielding her from whatever mold and rot had been on it.
Her legs closed when she felt a light breeze brush against the tear in her pantyhose, heightening the chill. (Y/n) stretched her arms out and stood, then heard what sounded like someone hammering from a different room. Her mind raced with the events of what she assumed was still the same night. Her face burned, stomach fluttering as the ghost of Art’s caress tickled her skin.
She took a deep breath and left the room, quietly making her way to where the sound came from. Mindful of the debris on the floor as she grew near, she entered the room with the workbench, Art hunched over it on the stool as he hammered away at something.
When (y/n) stepped closer he paused. Her breath stilled as his head slowly turned to the side, yet not over his shoulder to look at her, letting her know that he knew she was there.
Once he returned to work she released the breath she held and made her way over to him, seeing as he hammered a screw-eye hook of sorts into the end of a chair leg.
His face was focused, not smiling or putting on his usual dramatics as he worked. It felt strange to her, seeing him this way. It reminded her that even if he was a murderer he wasn’t excused from putting in the work to make it happen, whether it was a hobby of his or not. It reminded her that he still had interests and needs just as everyone else. It was oddly humanizing and she couldn’t help but feel privileged to see him in such a state.
He motioned to a nearby corner and (y/n) turned to see another stool placed there, then moved to bring it over and sat on top of it to continue to watch him. He then motioned to her - conversing as he worked - then symbolized sleep as if to ask how she slept, then proceeded to pick up an average sized chain.
“It was actually quite nice. Best sleep I’ve had in a while.”
With chain in hand, he clapped excitedly, happy with her response. He hooked it to the screw, bending and twisting the metal to make sure it was secure as (y/n) watched casually, as if it was just another day.
“Is it… Is it still the same night?”
He shook his head and her eyes widened. Art turned to see it and began to laugh to himself.
“How long has it been?”
He held up a finger after his laughing fit died down, going back to his work.
“One day…? But how?”
He nodded and glanced over at her, watching as she looked down, growing more and more confused. He patted her shoulder and she looked up at him, seeing him point to himself, then her.
“Because of you?” Her brow furrowed, then her expression changed as she chuckled. “Are you saying I slept for so long because of what we did?”
Art shrugged and made a cheeky expression, but she became confused again when he then shook his head. He motioned to himself again, then pointed to her head.
“You… forced me to stay asleep?” He eagerly nodded, smiling and pointing at her to say she got it. “But how? Did you knock me out?” His head shook. “Did you drug me?”
His head shook again and he rolled his eyes, arms falling to his sides in exasperation. He then motioned to his entire body, pointed to his head with both fingers, then to her head again.
“You were in my head…?” He nodded and clapped. “How is that even possible?”
Art shrugged dramatically with a mischievous smile. (Y/n) paused and slowly met his eyes.
“The dream…?” She asked, and in the back of her head she already knew the answer.
The clown only solidified it with a raise of his eyebrows, mouth forming an ‘o’ and shrugging as an ‘oops’. (Y/n) could only laugh, not knowing how exactly to react to someone with such supposed supernatural abilities.
She wasn’t sure if she had finally grown to become insane or if it was all a hallucination, all in her head. But as she thought to the night before she found that it all felt too real, too vivid to be fake.
(Y/n) suddenly felt exposed and crossed one leg over the other, tugging down the skirt of her dress as her face grew warm. Art looked over at her, face twisting into mischief as his eyes squinted with his smile. He wiggled his eyebrows when she looked at him and she turned her face away bashfully.
He reached over to grasp her chin, coaxing her to look back at him. He nudged his head in her direction, grinning to encourage her to do the same. Once her smile returned and she giggled, he playfully booped her nose and turned back to his workbench, his smile now remaining on his dramatized face as he worked.
The minutes seemed to drag on as he worked, but not once was she bored. She watched eagerly, fixated as his hands toyed and shaped the weapon he was creating. His actions were all well thought out and deliberate, masculine yet graceful as his fingers caressed the wood and metal.
Deeming the weapon satisfactory, he raised it by the handle - the chair leg - and examined it carefully. Three chains hung from the screw-eye, knife tips, nails and spikes decorating the length of them.
“Is that a flail?” (Y/n) gasped.
Art’s head whipped over to look at her and patted her thigh, the hand holding the weapon shaking excitedly as he nodded. He watched as she eyed his new creation, then an idea formed in his head. His gaze shifted to look over at her, now smiling sadistically. She caught the change in his expression and she began to smile, catching on to what he was thinking.
“I’ll get the camera!” She hopped off of the stool.
-
After some convincing from her end, they stopped by her house for her to quickly change into something more comfortable. It wasn’t until she began to beg sweetly that he finally agreed, unable to say no to her more innocent nature, regardless of her interests.
Not a person was in sight as they were shielded by the dark of the night, hardly any street lamps in the area they currently wandered.
“Does the bag ever get heavy for you?” (Y/n) asked as they walked through the ghosted roads.
Art shook his head, using his other arm to exaggerate flexing his muscles and she laughed.
“I bet that bag is the reason you’re so strong, lugging it around everywhere and all.” He waved her off at the compliment and tickled her ear with his finger. “I’m serious! You make it look like it weighs nothing.”
As they walked, they began to see the edge of the town ahead of them. Or rather, Art saw it. (Y/n) was too focused on the clown beside her, taking in all of his features under the starry night, the moon perfectly accentuating every curvature and jagged edge, every -
She was suddenly yanked to the side of the sidewalk he walked on and she gasped, looking over to see a pole that she nearly walked straight into. She looked back over at Art who had a hand on his hip with a frown. He pointed at her, his eyes, then the direction they were walking in.
“Sorry…” She giggled as she blushed, nervously fiddling with the camera hanging around her neck.
He pulled back his arm and reached for her, pulling her to stand on the opposite side where he was previously walking to prevent it from happening again. He motioned for her to continue walking, rolling his eyes from behind her before he set his pace next to her again.
As they reached the town, Art began to look around carefully, more alert in the brighter area while (y/n) had a mind of her own. While he kept an eye out for his next victim, she focused on finding her next inspiration. She supposed they went hand in hand, but she was never one to strive for the bare minimum.
He then paused, holding his arm out for her to do the same, knowing she very well would’ve kept on walking. Hearing the voices of what seemed to be a couple arguing, he listened carefully to find where they came from.
Then he spotted them.
A man and woman arguing next to a car. The man was halfway in the driver’s seat while the woman stood next to it, flailing her arms.
Art then heard a shutter sound from beside him, slowly looking over to see (y/n) holding her camera up, taking photos of the argument before them. She looked over at him and shrugged innocently.
She put down the camera and the two of them watched the pursuing argument, equally invested in the exchange. The man then slammed the car door shut.
“They just broke up for sure.” (Y/n) whispered to Art and he looked down at her with a widespread grin, wiggling his eyebrows then nodding towards the woman who was now making her way into what seemed to be her villa.
Art crossed the street, making his way over with (y/n) in tow and walking up the small set of stairs leading to the front door. He looked down at her, then turned to the door in front of them and tested the door knob, unsurprisingly finding it locked.
He gave (y/n) a ‘wait’ signal and set down his bag, cracking his neck and stretching his arms out in front of him with linked fingers. Art then gave her a side smile, then suddenly kicked the door open. She froze with wide eyes, yet her stomach betrayed her as it flipped at his show of masked strength.
He picked up his bag again and grabbed her wrist to pull her inside with him, closing the door behind them. Footsteps quickly descended the staircase in front of them and they looked up to see the same woman from before, chest heaving in fear at the sight before her.
While (y/n) quickly snapped a photo of her expression, Art dropped his bag again and wiggled his fingers at her in a wave with a menacing smile. He then held up a finger to her and began to look through his bag as the woman remained frozen like a deer in the headlights, watching as he pulled out a scalpel and the new flail. He turned to (y/n) and raised his eyebrows, then bolted upstairs after the woman who fled.
As they thumped around upstairs, she began to explore the villa, looking for things to use in her next piece. The woman’s screams and shrieks were muffled behind the door of the room they were in and were drowned out, inevitably useless.
(Y/n) eyed a smaller box TV that sat on an entertainment stand in the living room, an idea popping into her head. She walked over to it and unplugged it in preparation, resuming her wandering when the noise above her suddenly stopped.
She heard a door open upstairs followed by footsteps descending the staircase. (Y/n) looked towards it, seeing a now bloodied Art giving her the ‘ok’ to go upstairs when she was ready.
“Could you do me a huge favor?” She asked as he made his way over to her, shaking off the blood on his hands and nodding. “Could you help take the TV upstairs for me? I want to use it as the head.”
Art made a surprised expression, clapping his hands giddily at the idea. He then paused with a finger up, making a sawing motion and asked for her to wait a moment, disappearing upstairs. Not long after, he returned with his saw and put it back in his bag, happily walking over to the TV and tipping his hat at (y/n) when he walked by. He then picked it up as if it was nothing but a feather and made his way back upstairs, (y/n) following closely behind as she giggled.
They entered the woman’s bedroom, her body splayed out on the bed with small to large chunks of her skin and fat missing, head nowhere to be found.
As he placed the TV where the woman’s head used to be, (y/n) admired the slashes left from the flail. Some were rather deep, others shallow. Their marks tore at the dress that the woman wore, some simulating claw marks while other areas were simply shredded.
“Could you move the arms to look like this?” (Y/n) posed her own arms to grab the sides of her head. Art carefully took note of the angle and position, then moved the victim’s arms to reflect it. “Perfect.” (Y/n) smiled, looking up at the ceiling to see LED lights lined along the edge.
Art watched as she wandered to find the remote, smiling to herself once she found it and changed the color to red and turned off the main light. She looked around the floor, watching for anything she could trip on before lifting a foot onto the bed.
Art’s face twisted into panic and his hands shook, stepping next to her and helping her up onto the bed.
“Thank you.” She responded softly, one of his hands still holding her waist to help steady her as she readied her camera. He followed her as she captured different angles, some standing while others she crouched.
(Y/n) took his hand to help herself down, smiling up at him as he grinned at her excitedly. Just as the night before, she flipped through the pictures she took, and just the same, she felt his closeness.
The only difference was rather than nerves, she felt relaxed. She felt calm and comfortable despite the mess around them that he caused. His hand that rested on her far shoulder radiated heat through her layers of clothing and she subconsciously leaned into him, head pressed against his chest while he pointed at the photos he favored.
His silent presence, twisted grin plastered on his painted face, drew her in like a moth to flame. (Y/n) found herself unable to refuse, an invisible pull guiding her to him.
At first, their following encounters were just a few hours in the night together. Art would appear when (y/n) least expected, showing up at odd hours, his silent insistence drawing her out into the dark. However, she began to notice her sleeping pattern slowly change. She grew more tired sooner, falling asleep earlier and earlier, waking up in a strange nocturnal rhythm.
At night, she would wake to find him waiting, patient but always silent, eager to lead her deeper into his world. (Y/n), feeling a strange sense of peace in his presence, began to follow him without question. And after only a few weeks of their odd relationship, she began to grow used to it. Comfortable with it. Comfortable with him.
“Hey, Art.” (Y/n) greeted him as she yawned, fresh out of bed to find him rummaging through her kitchen.
He looked up at her and waved, a widespread grin bringing out her own smile in her vulnerable, post-dream state. He gushed at the sight, elbows resting on the countertop with his chin in his hands, blinking dreamily at her as she walked over to him with her arms out.
Art popped up, engulfing her in his arms as she sighed happily at the feeling. He rocked the two of them slowly, the rhythm almost putting her back to sleep.
Slowly, (Y/n)’s life became consumed by Art. The gruesome art pieces she crafted from his handiwork grew bolder, more disturbing, as if the dark side of her creativity was being unleashed by his influence.
In her dreams, she would see him. His painted face looming over her, silent but omnipresent. At first, the dreams were disorienting. But over time, they became comforting. She would wake, feeling a strange longing for him, for the connection they shared in the darkest corners of her mind, weaving its way to the forefront.
As the days bled into nights, (y/n) found herself thinking of Art constantly. He was always there, even when he wasn’t physically present; a haunting figure in her thoughts. His silence, once goofy, became a form of comfort. She began to crave his presence, yearning for their time together.
And so (y/n) found herself growing dependent on him. Whether it was for her art or simply her attachment to him, how safe she felt with him. He understood her in a way no other person could, and she reciprocated.
The way he was so brutal and aggressive with others, yet gentle and thoughtful with herself only drew her closer to him. He treated others as nuisances, problems to deal with and get rid of while he treated her as delicately as the rose that brought them together. The contrast was endearing to her, and she couldn’t help but be entranced.
Though such treatment came with an undisclosed amount of protection and possessiveness, to which she learned rather quickly.
“It just came out wrong, I’m sorry!” (Y/n) giggled. Art mocked her, rolling his eyes as his mouth and hand mocked her talking. The culprit of such a fit?
She called his nose cute.
“Your nose is attractive, is what I meant. Believe me, you’re still as frightening as ever.”
He threw her a side eye, then dramatically sighed and waved it all off.
“Hey!” She stopped them in the middle of the sidewalk, a lit street lamp looming over them as they faced each other. “I’m sorry.” She gave him her best doe eyes, then stood up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
His grin slowly returned, hand coming over the top of where she kissed him and she giggled. He then took her hand in his own, continuing their nightly walk.
Later on, they heard slurred conversation ahead of them, seemingly male in nature. (Y/n) tried to slow their walk, but Art looked back at her and encouraged her to keep up with him. As they grew closer, they passed an alleyway that held a small group of drunks, hearing a whistle of a cat call.
The clown immediately stilled, and (y/n) quickly grew worried.
“Hey, where ya goin’ babes?” One of the men called, stepping out of the alleyway with a bottle in hand. “Not with the mime, I hope.”
Art and (y/n) slowly turned to face the man, their hands still interlocked as she gripped his tighter and stepped closer to him, practically hiding behind him like a scared child.
“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you actually wanna be with the guy!”
“Ey, c’mon man, stop messin’ with them, she’s not worth it.” Another man stepped out, followed by a third to watch the scene play out. Art’s eyebrows furrowed in anger, twisted grin remaining as he set down his bag and quickly reached into it.
“Obviously not if -“ Two shots suddenly pierced through the night air, the second and third men collapsing to the ground while Art aimed a handgun at the first who initiated.
(Y/n)’s hold on his hand moved to his arm, clutching onto it as the bodies began to puddle with blood beneath them. She looked up at Art, his grin replaced with a frown and it sent a chill down her spine. She had only seen him genuinely angry maybe once or twice, and whatever followed was far from pleasant, to say the least.
“H-hey, I was just jokin’ man, I was just jokin’!” The drunk held up his hands in surrender, but the clown wasn’t buying it.
As he continued to ramble and apologize, begging for his life, Art kept the gun pointed at his head. He watched as the man slowly broke in front of him, growing increasingly desperate. Art’s grin then slowly reappeared, giving the man a glimmer of hope.
Then Art suddenly aimed at the man’s thigh and fired, doing the same to his other until he fell to his knees. Art tossed the gun into his bag and rummaged through it further, his face twisting into a sadistic expression when he pulled out a box cutter flashing it to the man as a tease before stalking over to him.
(Y/n) turned around, facing away from the chaos and gore as she plugged her ears to drown out the noise. Even still, the sound seeped through as the man struggled and cried out helplessly. His fight was futile compared to Art’s strength, and the latter simply ragdolled him as if the man was just a child.
When the noise stopped, she unplugged her ears and felt a hand pat her waist, turning to see Art wipe off his now bloodied hands. She turned to see his mess, and his face suddenly grew concerned when she pouted.
“I don’t have my camera.” (Y/n) nearly whined, and Art mimicked her frown.
At first, (y/n) resisted the growing dependency, confused by her attachment. But he began to seep into her thoughts with concerning frequency. The dreams became more vivid, more intimate, filled with his silent adoration as he twisted her perception of reality until he became the center of her world, the only constant in her life, planting seeds of affection until it became impossible to imagine her life without him.
His obsession with her only grew. He would stand over her while she slept during the day, watching her with an almost childlike fascination. When she woke, his silent attention made her feel adored, special. The way he looked at her, possessive yet affectionate. His presence was her comfort, his protection her shield.
Eventually, (y/n) could no longer distinguish where her own desires ended and his began. The thought of being apart from him was unbearable. She began to seek him out during the day when she should have been resting, desperate to be near him.
When they were together, it was a twisted dance of blood and beauty. A duet that no one else could understand. She would create art from his chaos, and he would watch her with silent adoration, the two of them locked in a world where only they existed.
They grew to share a dark, intimate bond. (Y/n), once a quiet and reserved artist, had become consumed by Art - both his work and his presence. He had molded her. And she, willingly or not, had come to love him for it.
As their connection deepened, (y/n) knew that she could never return to the life she had before. The darkness was too intoxicating, the bond too strong.
She belonged to him now, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Umbral - Masterlist
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.
Contains - Blood, violence, battles/war, betrayal/angst, eventual smut, slow burn
Song Inspiration -
Evanescence - Afterlife
Umbral
Chapter 1 Chapter 6
Chapter 2 Chapter 7
Chapter 3 Chapter 8*
Chapter 4 Chapter 9
Chapter 5 Chapter 10
Serenity - Chapter 4
Masterlist
Summary - Vulgaria was a remote country, held its own beauty quite unlike others. Everything about it was peculiar. The village, the castle, the people. In the village sat a rather famed tailor shop, and the recluse that was its head seamstress unknowingly caught the eye of a notorious henchman of the barbaric Baron Bomburst. Accepting a tempting offer, what was supposed to be a simple project began to meddle with her already disorganized family, and little did she know her sanity would soon follow.
Mary woke up with a start, gasping as she shot up in her bed.
Her bed…?
Had it all just been a dream? Did she really sneak out last night? She looked around, seeing her bag lying on the floor. She remembered the majority of what happened other than a few moments that were foggy to her in her tired state. She remembered riding the horse back to the village, but nothing after that.
She felt foolish letting her guard down so easily. Especially around someone with such a reputation. He didn’t seem to wish her any harm though, he didn’t seem to have any ill intentions at all. That’s what they’d want you to think, though, isn‘t it?
Her mind continued to argue with itself endlessly as she began her normal routine. Freshen up, dress, eat breakfast, open the shop. It was nothing but clockwork. However, she didn’t fail to notice her mother moving slower than usual. And her father’s uncharacteristically careful eye on the ill woman. Another thing among many for Mary to worry about.
Once the shop opened she immediately received her first customer which happened to be possibly the most ill-mannered woman in their area, Madame Caffe. Mary made sure to make the woman’s adjustment especially hasty.
“One lev, please -“
“Yes, I know. I come here nearly every month in case you’ve forgotten.” The grouch of a woman practically slammed the money on the counter, speeding off with her skirt.
Once finished she took care of what other customers came during the morning bustle, then disappeared into the shop when she finally caught a break. She began setting out supplies she knew she already had for the catcher’s - Reuben’s - new piece. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
“Another project?” Her mother voiced with a wink, taking a seat at the center table of the shop. It was the first time she came downstairs in two days. It was very much unlike her as Mary used to always have to shoo her away from work. Mary just giggled, deciding not to pry.
“You know I can’t help myself.” The smile her mother offered would melt anyone who looked upon it.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, liebling.” In the background her father eyed the two of them suspiciously, feeling as if they knew something he didn’t. He may have been a drunk, but he wasn’t stupid. And he intended to use that to his advantage.
“Your projects are the reason our business is going to the rats.” He grumbled as he sipped on his bourbon.
“Charles, you know as well as I that if it wasn’t for her projects we would’ve been with far less than rats.”
“Well, if she would focus more on the customers and less on her silly costumes we’d be out of this hellhole.” Mary continued working with her back to the two of them, breathing growing heavier as her tense lips downturned.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. If you didn’t keep spending our money on alcohol we could have already been somewhere nicer. And besides, no one ever leaves this town if not to leave the world itself one way or another.“ Her mother’s voice began to gain volume in frustration. “We’re better off than half the people in the village, at least be grateful for that. And it’s all thanks to our daughter’s silly costumes!”
Deafening silence followed. The air grew thick. Tears began to prick Mary’s eyes in fear of what was to come. Never had her mother yelled. It filled Mary with an anxiety she couldn’t control. Chaos ensued in the background, her father’s yelling catching her attention.
She whipped around to face the scene. Her mother was now on the floor, her father lunging at her once more to grab her by her bun. Tears began to steadily stream down both women’s faces, Mary frozen in place. Her mother began to cough uncontrollably, grabbing onto the cloth over her chest in search of relief.
“Stop!” Mary shouted in desperation, but it was futile. He began to scream in her mother’s face, practically pinning her to the table by her head. “Pa, stop!” Those who heard the commotion began to sneak peeks into the shop, watching as simple bystanders rather than interfering. Mary’s heart raced in fear for the frail woman whose eyes began to close. “Stop it, Pa!” Mary screamed.
Her mother’s struggle came to a complete stop, body limp. It wasn’t until then that Charles let go. His eyes grew wide, glazing over as he carefully set her on the floor. They waited. And waited. Then he felt a faint pulse. He sighed in relief, cradling her close to him.
As for Mary, she continued to panic. Her father had terrible fits, but none where he would put either of them in mortal danger. She had never felt more terrified in her entire life. Her panting soon filled the room and she flinched when her father looked up at her. Before she could decipher what his expression even was she was out of the shop, wandering off to who-knows-where.
She wiped her face with the back of her hand, but it was no use as it continued to flood. The villagers in her path leapt out of the way as she ran, getting herself as far away from the shop as possible. As a road that led outside the town became visible she slowed to a speedy walk, clutching her chest as her mother had as a last resort of comfort. As Mary neared the edge she held onto the wall for support, the intensity of it all making her feel lightheaded and weak.
She closed her eyes and paced the road to slow her breathing, using techniques her mother showed her when she was younger and the attacks were more frequent. But no matter how hard she tried it just didn’t seem to work. She took a deep breath as her heartbeat filled her ears. Her hands cupped them, ran along her forehead, clutched her dress. Anything.
But just as she felt another surge of panic begin to grow she felt a hand on her shoulder. She whisked around in a fright, jumping away from the source when she saw Reuben standing there with his face scrunched together in confusion and…worry? Behind him was the carriage.
Quickly she dried her face, sniffing as she turned it away from him in embarrassment.
“What happened?” He asked, his voice taking on a darker, yet more careful tone than usual.
When she didn’t answer he sighed, looking down the street that she came from with a squint. He then looked back over at her as she closed in on herself and rested a hand on her back, beginning to guide her over to the box seat of the carriage.
“Sit.” Reuben urged when he felt her hesitate and helped her up. He stayed on the ground and leaned against the cage to allow her some space. He made sure to glare down anyone who dared to follow her or peer over at them, sending them directly back to where they came from.
“My mother.” He looked over at Mary. She looked over at him, eyes red and beginning to swell from the crying. “He almost killed my mother.” She whispered weakly.
“Your father?” Mary nodded. Not one to sympathize, he surprised himself as he felt his blood begin to boil. How Mary was able to tolerate living with such a man was beyond him, but it wasn’t as if she had a choice.
“She, um,” She motioned to her chest area, finding her words. “She has a heart condition,” her voice cracked. “And she - she raised her voice at him and he attacked her and she just -“ She took a breath to try and calm herself. “She just went limp. But he found a pulse once he realized what had happened.” Mary looked up and around, eyes wide with worry. “I shouldn’t have run away - I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t have left her with him -“
“If you didn’t run away he would’ve done the same to you.” Reuben pressed, not wanting her to return to such a place so soon after what happened. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Slowly he climbed up to sit next to her and gently peeled her hands away from herself, looking her dead in the eyes. “Your mother would surely understand. She wouldn’t want you putting your life in danger.”
Mary looked away, unsure if she should believe him. Why was he even bothering to comfort her? He certainly didn’t have an obligation to. Yet at the same time, similar to the night before, she felt comfortable. Maybe that was the reason he was a child catcher. People were so easily fooled by his compassion that they failed to see he had an ulterior motive. But what motive would he have in her case? Had she offended the barons unknowingly and he was luring her in?
The possibilities were endless and there was even a chance she was worrying over nothing. He was a human being just as everyone else was, after all. One with questionable morals, but human nonetheless. He had a life outside of being the barons’ henchman and it was something that the villagers failed to acknowledge. For Mary, however, it was the only reason she was able to trust him thus far.
Or was it because someone had finally noticed her?
Waking Dreams
Otto Octavius x F!Reader
Rated E - 1.8k words
Tags: lots of fluff, consensual somno, gentle teasing, fingering, jerking off, oral (f receiving)
Summary:
“Oh fuck, I missed you.”
He hums a low, one-note sound of approval, “Missed you too, darling. All I could think about tonight was coming home, and burying my face between your thighs.”
“Don’t let me deprive you, then.”
A/N: It’s impossible to write this fic without thinking of this incredible art by @themaydecemberist or this gifset 💕(Can also be read as a sequel to Sunburst!)
You feel something coaxing you from a deep-set dream, a warm hand smoothing over your shoulder as you lie curled in the blankets - trying to tug you towards the surface - though you stay firmly under.
Lips touch softly down to your temple, the apple of your cheek, the hand lifting from shoulder to trace patterns on your arm.
You stir, the words tumbling out like a sigh, “Is it morning?”
“No,” It’s little more than a whisper against your skin, “It’s still early, love.”
Eyes drift shut again as the bed dips, and you roll with the weight, shifting from your side to your back, legs stretching out and flexing against soft, cool sheets after being tucked up so long in sleep.
Otto’s fingers brush the hollow of your throat, dropping to loosen one button, and then another, inches of your soft skin coming into view.
The sleepwear you’re wearing is intimately familiar, an old shirt of his - the starch long washed-out, the pattern faded and soft under your fingertips.
“Vintage.” You had teased when you found it buried in his closet, slipping it over bare shoulders, rolling the sleeves up to your wrists.
His smile had been slow at your joke, lost in the word and a thought, until you had made room for yourself on his lap. His palm going flat on a bare thigh as your legs parted to straddle him, the dark lace of your bra peeking out of the deep, low v. Otto had melted under your touch, and after that - you had started sleeping in it when you missed him.
The path of his hand moves, gliding from skin to shirt, smoothing down from the collar to cup a breast as he mouths at your neck. A soft moan comes then, a thumb brushing against the pebbled bit of fabric, circling slowly and gently as you arch into his palm.
Eyes flutter open as he shifts to fill the soft valley between your breasts, fingers oh so gently pinching and kneading, his breath hot on sleep-warmed skin as he works his way downward.
With heavy limbs you stir, the space between your thighs feeling warm and neglected - your legs pressing together in an attempt for some friction, but he’s already there, shifting between spread knees. Deftly undoing the last two buttons until your shirt parts like chiffon curtains, exposing a bare strip of skin from thigh to neck.
Your hips lift lazily as you blink down at him, watching as his mouth leaves invisible marks - your skin prickling as his grey-flecked beard scrapes over sensitive skin. The heat in your belly curls as his face tilts up so his eyes can meet yours, dark and hungry in the late evening light.
The look he gives you is worshipful, his eyes so soft and deep you could fall into them, and you buck again, only for a wide hand to push down against your hip, pressing you against the mattress.
“Patience, my dear girl.” Otto’s voice is gravely, but it’s hard to be patient when he’s teasing - his mouth passing the soft curve of your stomach, down, down to your mound, lips dragging softly against skin so close but so far from where you need him.
You’re fully awake now, though your voice is still low in its own way, the whimpers from your throat coming with each long breath as other hand traces the curve of your knee. Fingers sink into the flesh as he moves back upward, slowly following with his mouth to press a kiss against your inner thigh.
It seems cruel he would rouse you from such a sweet dream only to tease, and when you voice that complaint he laughs, the sound a low rumble.
“Could your dream do this, darling?”
A knuckle brushes against your seam, dragging and pressing, parting your folds to feel how you’re drenched for him. Your moan catches in your throat, thighs clenching as a thumb brushes slick, arousal-swollen flesh, nudging at the sensitive bud of your clit.
There’s the prickle of coarse hair on your thigh as his lips brush another kiss, the knuckle on his finger straightening, the tip just starting to press into you.
Otto slides into your heat, and you’re clenching around him already as his thumb works in tight circles. He starts slow, barely a movement, working small flexes of his hand until he’s thrusting into you.
“Oh fuck, I missed you,” Your eyes close, brow scrunching as he presses in deep, the words sliding out with a moan.
He hums a low, one-note sound of approval, “Missed you too, darling. All I could think about tonight was coming home, and burying my face between your thighs.”
The hand on your hip tightens when you flex again at his words with a low groan - you had been content with his touches, his fingers. But now that you he’s voiced his thoughts, you ached for more.
“Don’t let me deprive you, then.” You mean it as a tease, but the need in your voice softens the words, betrays you.
His eyes pull from his fingers to your face, they’d be severe-looking under his cut of his eyebrows if not for the way they burn, unspoken promises flickering in them. A second finger presses its way in, stretching, and you can hear the way he fills you, the wet squelch of each thrust.
And he hears it too, his lip lifting in a smile to show teeth, “Could say the same to you, darling. Let me ask - was it those little dreams that have you this wet?”
His fingers curl and drag against your inner walls and your thighs jerk, your lips parting in a rough moan. The thumb circling your clit dips down to your damp lips, dragging through your arousal on its way back up.
“Or is this all for me?”
“You,” You gaze into those expectant eyes, your word coming in a low rush.
Another gasp of breath as you inhale, “Always you.”
There’s a whirring as his actuator arms move, slipping smoothly between sheets and skin, worming their way under your thighs. The cool metal against flushed skin is soothing, but then you’re yelping as they suddenly tilt your hips up a few inches - his fingers withdrawing so his mouth can meet the sweet offering placed before him.
The sudden drag of his tongue against your cunt sends searing pleasure down your spine - your fingers twisting in the blankets by your head, searching for something to anchor yourself with.
He eats you like a man starved, tasting all of you, a low groan in his throat when his tongue presses in where his fingers were, dipping inside you. Wide hands palm your ass, though his mechanical arms have you positioned just right, fingers sinking into flesh as he hold you to him.
Otto’s name is on your tongue as you cry out, clenching down around nothing as he moves up to your clit, soft and messy and fueling the spark igniting in your core.
His nose bumps against soft, slick skin, tongue and then lips are wrapping around your clit, stealing the air from your lungs with a groan that seems to come from deep within you.
Then there’s the press of thick fingers as they return to your heat, pushing deep and then dragging until they bump into something that makes you whimper, finding that spot again and again.
It shouldn’t be a surprise that a mouth so clever could make you feel this way - but you’re still shocked at the way his tongue moves, lapping at your clit, making your muscles tighten deliciously in anticipation.
A silver tongue gilded with promises of devotion and something deeper, something hidden in those dark eyes when you catch him looking at you.
It’s in the way he’s looking at you now, an intense devotion as he catalogs every breath and movements, the gasping of your lips and the way a hand moves to curl around a breast.
Your breath feel shallow in your lungs as his fingers continue to pump, each gasp of breath a soft “oh” as he drags you closer to the edge. Lost in those eyes, you can only grasp feebly as he brings along to the peak he’s created.
A shuffling sound pricks at your attention, your head tilting as his eyes slide shut and he groans against you. One of his palms leaves your ass to unclasp his belt, working down the zipper until he’s pulling himself free.
You watch his hand close around the flushed, swollen tip, unable to resist the urge to take a bit of the edge off - and the thought that you’ve done this to him, without even touching him, has you aching and tightening around him.
“God, don’t stop,” you rasp, and you’re not sure if you’re talking about his mouth or the jerk of his fist, but it’s all building and swirling and it’s too much-
It hits you hard, the last bit of air ripped from your lungs with your cry as your walls clench down around and flutter around his fingers. You’re not sure if you’re shouting or if it’s all in your head - his lips staying suctioned around your clit as his fingers continue to curl.
The dark room seems to white out as your eyes shut, your hips rocking against his mouth as you ride the undulating waves of pleasure out - until your legs finally unclench, and his arms are tilting your hips back down to rest on the mattress.
You lay there for a long moment, your brain content and fuzzy with your release, small aftershocks pricking at your core. Then, with shaking arms you push yourself up, meeting the man hovering over you half-way, your hand cupping around Otto’s neck to pull him down to you.
His beard is damp and he tastes like you, your tongue brushing into his mouth as he opens for you. Otto moans when you suck on his lip, trapping it between teeth as his body rolls against yours, his cock rutting against the curve of your hip.
Your kiss turns lazy but he arches into you, the broad expanse of his chest and curve of his stomach a welcome weight as he fits again between your spread thighs.
“Was it like you imagined?” You ask when the kiss breaks - one hand cupping his face, the other snaking down between him, until your hand is wrapping around his weeping cock.
He groans as your fist pumps, traveling up his length as you gently squeeze. It was still early after all, and there was plenty of time to return the favor.
“No.” He word catches you off guard, until his hips thrust against your hand, until he’s bending down to kiss you again.
“It was even better.”
Thank you all for the lovely comments! I have many more ideas and one-shots to come! Some are a bit more lengthy than others, be warned!🥰
(P.S: Ideas/asks are most definitely welcome 😘)
The Scarred - Chapter 7
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.
As Penelope slipped her key into the lock of her apartment door, her hand shook. Almost expecting him to be in her living space once more. However, when it opened and no one was there, there was no relief to be felt. It was only a matter of time that he showed his face to her again, and it didn’t have to be whenever she got home. It could be at any moment, at any time, at any place. The only comforting thought about the situation was that he hadn't killed her. She assumed that if he wanted her dead, she already would be.
Penelope made her way to the fridge, pulling out leftovers to reheat for a quick dinner. As the microwave ran, she stared at the countertop in thought, facing the living room.
Even if no one else was there, his presence somehow lingered. She recalled his scent, however disturbing it was. She remembered the smell of gasoline and smoke, yet it held a sweet undertone. Burnt sugar, almost. Never would she have thought that he would have smelled of anything even remotely sweet.
She shook her head, itching to get those thoughts out of her head just as her microwave sounded. Switching the TV on, she bundled up in her blanket, food in her lap and started nibbling away. It was a good enough distraction for the time being, however temporary. And when she finished, she debated if she would even be able to sleep.
Putting the dishes away, she pulled out her phone and went to her call history, deciding on not being alone for the night. After the phone rang a few times, it picked up.
“To wha’ do I owe tha pleasure, miss?” Penny smiled lightly.
“Would you mind having company tonight? I can’t sleep…” Her voice faded at the end in embarrassment.
“I’ll do ye one better and ‘ed o’er ta yer place, yah? Tha’ way we can work on ya feelin’ safe in yer own space again. ‘Ow’s tha’ sound?” The woman took a deep breath in thought.
“Okay… Yeah, that’s fine.”
“Be o’er in a minute, miss.”
She decided to keep her bandages on with him coming over. It was uncomfortable, yes, but she couldn’t help but feel naked with them off in front of others. Not even Emma has seen her without them. She wasn’t sure if she would ever take them off in front of anyone, no matter who it was.
Barely over a minute later, there was a knock at her door. She peeked through the peephole, making sure it was in fact Liam before opening it for him. “I’m sorry if it’s a bother -“
“Oi.” Liam cut her off. “What’d I say abou’ apologizin’?”
“Right.”
“C’mon now, let’s get ya some sleep, yah?” He rested a hand on her back and led her to her bedroom. Liam decided to stay above the covers while she climbed underneath, her head in his lap while he draped an arm over her. He watched as her eye finally began to close, keeping a close eye on her until she fell asleep.
“J -“ The woman gasped. Her mind was clouded with the movement of his hands as they caressed her. Her mouth was parted, eye fluttered shut and head tilted back against her soft pillow as he guided her into oblivion. Their mixture of sweat and pants only ignited the atmosphere and he buried his head in her neck to lick a trail up to her jawline, earning a shiver beneath him.
Her eye opened again to see a face without the paint. A bare face with maniacal scars resembling a Cheshire smile. Yet the face itself was all too familiar. A face she hadn’t seen for years. It brought nothing but comfort and security.
The bell above the door rang as she stepped into the warmer air. She trudged towards her chair, energy dampened from the night before. Just as she took her seat she heard footsteps coming from the back, heavier than usual.
“You okay, Emma?” She tried. No response. The footsteps grew closer, louder, heavier.
“Yeah, just moving this bad boy to the front.” Emma grunted as she waddled a heavy and filled vase through the doorway. Penelope let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
“Don’t scare me like that, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” She practically shrieked.
“You wanna come over here and carry this and try having a casual conversation?!” She exclaimed with hands on her hips after setting the vase down. “I’m too old for that, I nearly broke my back.” She exhaled while dramatically wiping her dry forehead. Penelope chuckled to herself and the woman tossed her a look. “I’m gonna go grab some water from the store, you want anything?”
“I’m good, thank you though.”
“What? You said you want lemonade?”
“No -“
“Lemonade, got it.” She backed out the door. “Cya!”
“Geez!” Penelope jumped from her seat, the unique voice popping through the doorway of the back room. “I was wondering when she’d stop all that racket.” The Joker vocalized shamelessly, a natural habit she’d been coming to find out. Penelope’s original fear slowly drifted into irritation.
“You have a bad habit of catching people by surprise.”
“Oh - well the reaction is the best part!” He meandered his way over to the front of the counter. “Besides yours. You were a little bland this time - do better.” He leaned his forearms on the wooden surface.
“As in there’ll be a next time, I’m assuming?”
“See? Ya get it! These people really need to start catching on. They never seem to take a hint, ya know?”
“How’s that when you apparently kill nearly every person you meet?”
“You watch too much of the news, they only ever show the boring parts. So much goes on behind the scenes that nobody knows about.”
“And why’re you telling me this?”
“Can’t a guy just have a conversation?”
“You’re not just ‘a guy’.”
“And you’re not just a girl, hm?” Something glimmered in her eye. “Oh - come on - try and tell me that I’m wrong. Go on, do it.” Silence followed, but Joker patiently waited. “It takes one to know one, toots.” He clicked his tongue with a wink. “Don’t get it twisted.”
“Why’re you here?”
“I have a proposal.” He stepped back to round the counter. “Proposition?” He rolled his eyes. “An offer.” He jumped up to sit on the counter directly next to her, her head following his every move.
“Which is?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say an offer, cause I’m not really giving you a choice -”
“What do you want me to do?” He paused, eyes rolling over to her with a devious look.
“I want to show you what it means to really have some fun.” His voice took on a darker, more serious tone.
“I don’t think you and I have the same definition of ‘fun’.”
“Well, you won’t know unless you try, hm?” Her eye drifted off in thought.
What is he playing at? She asked herself. Even if she wasn’t being forced, she couldn’t deny her curiosity getting the best of her. She wasn’t sure why, but something about him drew her closer. It made her want to know more about him, why he did what he did. And going through with what he offered may give her some answers, no matter how dangerous it seemed. And what did she have to lose, anyways?
“Midnight at the docks. I’m sure you know that area very well.” He looked at the clock on the wall before hopping off of the counter, slapping the counter with a gloved hand before heading towards the back room. “Cya then, toots!”
Just as he left, Emma walked through the door to see Penelope giving her a confused expression.
“What?” She asked in her own confusion. Penelope just sighed and rested her head on her hand.
As the work day came to a close, a jolt of nerves flooded her abdomen. She left the shop, bidding her goodbye to Emma before turning to make her way to her apartment. The lavender smell that usually provided comfort only made her nauseous with anxiety, deciding against eating even with a growling stomach. It wasn’t purely nerves, however. She was anxious, and dare she say a little excited.
Penelope simply showered, got dressed and plopped onto her bed in a poor attempt to get some sleep before heading out. The soft ticking of her nightstand clock filled the otherwise deafening silence, creating an illusion of it growing louder with each tick.
She wasn’t sure when, but she eventually found sleep. It didn’t hit her until she woke up. She jolted upright, snapping her head towards her clock.
11:27.
Another batch of nerves struck her. She took a deep breath and moved towards her bathroom, reapplying new bandages. As she pressed on the last bit, she made eye contact with herself in the mirror, practically snarling at its reflection before aggressively turning away from it to put her shoes and coat on.
The city was eerily quiet, except for the occasional drunkard and criminal walking the streets. She debated on walking, but being how late it was, decided that driving was safer. It was an ironic statement considering what she was getting herself involved in. Who she was getting herself involved with.
She slowly rolled into the parking lot, seeing a black van already sitting in it. No doubt, it was The Joker. She put the car in park and stepped out, two men she didn’t recognize following suit soon after. One had a bag in his hand, both had rifles hanging around their torsos. The one with the bag stepped forward, and then everything was black.
Serenity - Chapter 1
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.
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The birds chirping outside were what woke her up first. Then it was the quiet footsteps making the floors creak. Mary peaked out of the small window next to her bed, the sun just barely rising above the horizon. With a rather large yawn and an even larger stretch she sat up on the edge and slid her feet into her slippers. She went through the motions of getting ready for the day, the majority of it fuzzy, finishing with a single braid in her hair before she finally made it to the dining room. Her mother was already in the kitchen cooking breakfast.
“Good morning, ma.” The older woman looked over and smiled.
“Good morning, liebling.” Mary gave her a gentle hug before helping her. “Sleep well?”
“I suppose so.” The two of them were quiet for a few moments, the sound of stirring and sizzling the only thing filling the silence of the room until it was broken by Mary. “Are you feeling alright?” More silence. Mary was beginning to regret even asking had it not been for the comforting hand that made its way to her shoulder.
“I’m alright, dear.” Mary moved a hand to rest on top of her mother’s, offering a wary smile before resuming her mixing. “I noticed that dress you’re making. Your personal project, is it?” Mary hummed in confirmation.
“It was going well until yesterday.”
“I think it’s beautiful. Why, I wouldn’t have even noticed anything was wrong if I hadn't known.” The morning continued rather peacefully, the two of them enjoying the small moments they had with each other. It was their break from reality, abeling them to fantasize that they were the only two within their already small family. That nothing else mattered. They both learned to love the little joys in life, the simplest things that no one else seemed to notice. It made everything worthwhile to them.
By the time the sun reached above their heads the market was bustling with energy. Feet padded and clicked along the stone of the plaza, though there wasn’t as quite a hustle as the day before. Personalities clashed whether it was between other customers or vendors, or both which happened to be the most common occurrence. Women gawked at the latest jewelry, and occasionally Mary’s newest attire on display. Men showed off newly bought cattle in a friendly banter. Mary would’ve enjoyed it were it not for her father’s reputation.
The villagers were reclusive with unfriendlies, and unfortunately all it took was one person to ruin it for the lot. Aside from necessities, the delicate work of the seamstress was the only thing saving the family from complete isolation, it seemed.
The skill came naturally to her, much to her mother’s delight. Once she taught Mary the basics she was able to leave her to her own devices. Mary eventually came up with her own techniques, even drifting from basic designs they had been using since the business started. It was refreshing to the villagers and attracted more customers, and though it made the family all the more busy money was coming in quicker and she was able to build a pleasant reputation for herself. But it did little to nothing in the great scheme of things.
Her mother organized the shop in the back, her father naturally taking his place at a table with his morning glass of bourbon as Mary worked on small fixings at the stand. Things had surprisingly gone smooth for the time being, but then again it was still quite early in the day.
It wasn’t until she had the thought that everyone stilled, listening.
Mary couldn’t tell what caused the chain reaction until they began to hear rushing hooves grow closer, followed by a familiar trumpet. She glanced around the plaza anxiously, holding her breath in anticipation until someone shouted from a nearby street.
“Soldiers!” Though thankful, the warning was in vain. Villagers scrambled to the outskirts of the plaza, trying their best to avoid being trampled as the horses circled. Merchants didn’t bother closing shop as it was already far too late.
“Giddyap!” A distinct nasally voice shouted. Their stomachs dropped, the sight of an infamous cage rolling its way into the plaza, coming to an aggressive halt once centered. The figure, clad in black, dropped from his spot on the contraption, net and hook in his gloved hands as he crept around with a crazed look in his eye. “I know there are children here somewhere.”
Mary’s heart rate picked up, fiddling with the fabric in front of her as he grew closer. As far as she was concerned, she had heard nothing of children being in the village. Not for a few months at least. Either that or her family was kept out of the loop which seemed to be the most likely answer.
“Bring them to me and you will receive a painless death.” He mused with a chuckle as he stalked closer to their shop. He seemed to look between her own and the two neighboring marketers, pacing the three of them with determination. He pointed at two nearby soldiers, directing them and their men into the homes of the two others with a grumble. Then he locked on to the seamstress.
Mary froze, regardless if she knew there were no children. She felt as if even just looking at him was a death sentence. Those who fell victim to the Child Catcher rarely ever returned, and she had yet to see a survivor herself.
She quickly glanced away as he stepped closer, now wringing the cloth. She felt him barely brush past her shoulder before he began to lurk around the tiny shop. Mary felt her face and ears burn like a fever, chancing a look at the plaza to see everyone who remained staring at their area as soldiers continued vandalizing houses in search of said children. She heard him shuffling baskets and boxes around, though not as harsh as the others. Then he went silent. No footsteps, no more shuffling.
Out of curiosity, Mary finally turned to face the room. There the Child Catcher stood in front of her mannequin, examining the dress she had been working on. He eyed it every which way, then moved on about the room to look at the rest of the items on display, feeling the different fabrics.
“Who’s responsible?” With no response he turned to face the small family, the parents looking over at Mary. She looked up to meet his eyes once more and he squinted ever so slightly, then glanced between the older couple before scoping the room again. “How exactly are you getting these?” He motioned at the cloth. Mary looked over at her mother.
“I buy them off of a traveling merchant along the road.” The catcher made a noise of approval then looked over at the nearby stairway. Practically sneering at her parents, he rushed up the stairs to scavenge around some more.
Mary took a deep breath and leaned back against the stand, running her hands along the skirt of her dress to keep them from growing more sweaty than they already were. Perhaps it would’ve been better if she hadn't grown so ambitious. She was comfortable with her reputation around the village, but with someone from the castle, let alone the Child Catcher? He was the last person you wanted to stand out to.
Their heads snapped back to the stairs at the sound of his footsteps making their descent. Once reaching the bottom he looked at the parents one last time before making his way back to the plaza, casting Mary a final glance along the way. Just as he passed through screams sounded from the neighboring home to their left.
“Mary!” Her mother whispered her over in a panic. But she didn’t move. She just stood and watched as two soldiers dragged a little boy from the villa, followed by the owners. The catcher eagerly opened his cage, cackling.
“There you are!” He sneered as the boy and his parents were practically tossed inside and shut in. As he jumped up onto his box seat he looked over at Mary one last time, then sped off with the rest of the soldiers with the crack of his whip.
The village was completely silent after the hooves disappeared. Another family was stolen from them right before their very eyes. None of them could imagine what fate awaited them. Nor did they want to find out.
Slowly villagers began to wander out into the plaza once more, though not as many as there were previously. And understandably so. Mary was engulfed by her mother’s warm embrace to which she gradually returned when she finally came to. When she pulled away from Mary she cupped her face, though grew worried when the younger woman refused to make eye contact.
“You’ll be fine, my dear.” She attempted consolation. “He didn’t seem upset.”
“He’s unpredictable and dangerous!” Her father shouted irritably from inside the shop. “I don’t ever want him here nor do I want him speaking to either of you again.” His sentence was reduced to a grumble by the end of it.
“I’m afraid we can’t tell him what to do, darling. The Baron would have our heads.” Her mother cautiously advised, only to be met with incoherent gibberish. He downed the rest of his drink and abruptly left the room, wandering into the streets of the village.
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