Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Pairing - General Armitage Hux x Reader
*Set prior to The Force Awakens*
Summary -
Forged in blood. Bound by duty. Broken by desire.
(Y/n) (L/n) is a deadly Umbral of the Covenant - an elite order of vampires sworn to the First Order. Her assignment: serve as General Hux's personal guard. But as buried secrets surface and a rogue vampire faction rises, (Y/n) is forced to confront a past she can't outrun - and feelings she was never meant to have.
In a war of blood, betrayal, and duty, the deadliest threat may be the one that lies still in her chest.
Series contains - Blood, violence, battles/war, betrayal/angst, eventual smut, slow burn
The hangar was bustling with activity as personnel of all kinds scrambled to prepare for their mission. Orders were being barked, soldiers made their way in and out of different ships, carrying and dropping off various items. Some held a level of stress in their posture and expressions, others seemed as if it was just another day to them.
The air was thick with the sound of machinery, clanking metal, and low murmurings of troopers and Duskborns checking supplies. Rows of sleek First Order transports lined the hangar floor, receiving final diagnostics. Weapon crates were stacked, gear was being distributed, and squads gathered in tight clusters for final briefings.
Varo, however, was an outlier.
(Y/n) walked beside the general, black cloak trailing behind her, her expression sharp and focused. Hux surveyed the hangar with his usual critical eye, his gloved hands clasped neatly nearly behind him as he took in the organized chaos.
“Everything seems to be running on time,” Hux said coolly. “More or less.”
“More or less usually means less,” (Y/n) muttered under her breath.
Before he could reply, a familiar voice cut through the clamor.
“Now this ,” a familiar voice started. “ This is what I’ve missed,” Varo said from across the hangar as he made his way over to meet them, grinning as he slid a throwing knife into the sheath on his wrist. “The anticipation. The gear checks. The nervous pacing.” He took a deep, dramatic inhale through his nose. “The subtle aroma of blood and fuel in the air. Beautiful .”
(Y/n) arched a brow at the sight of him practically glowing with excitement. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Hey, we’ve been stuck in recon mode for days. I’m starving for a real fight,” he said, clearly savoring the energy in the room. “You don’t get to judge me for being excited.”
“You’re excited the way a hound is excited to chase a transport.”
“Exactly. But smarter. And with better hair.”
(Y/n) shook her head, but the corners of her mouth curled in spite of herself.
“Come on, (Y/n),” Varo added. “This beats standing around the bridge pretending to understand General Hux’s complicated holomaps.”
“I understand them fine,” she said. “It’s his smug commentary that’s unbearable.” She teased harmlessly.
“Right! That little ‘hmm’ he does when someone misses a tactical cue,” Varo added.
“I am standing right here,” Hux interjected, deadpanned.
(Y/n) smirked, clearly trying to keep her composure.
Then she made the mistake of looking at Varo again, just as he gave the general a silly expression in the following silence between them.
She let out a sharp, unexpected laugh. It started small as she tried to hide it, but it quickly spilled into full-bodied laughter, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. She bent forward slightly, shoulders shaking, her eyes gleaming with mirth.
Varo raised his hands in mock victory. “Yes!”
Hux stared at her, momentarily caught off guard. He had never seen her laugh like that, never heard her sound so unburdened, so alive. The sight of it held him still.
When she straightened again, brushing her hair back and shaking her head, she was still smiling.
“You’re the worst,” she said, voice still thick with amusement.
“But you love me anyway.”
She turned to fire back some quip, but her gaze flicked to Hux and the moment lingered. For a heartbeat, she just looked at him. He met her eyes, something warm and unfamiliar settling in his chest.
“I think I’ve just witnessed a miracle,” Hux said with hinted amusement.
“Don’t make it weird,” she replied, her tone flat but eyes betraying her amusement.
“No promises,” Varo added, already wandering off to harass another squad about the angle of their blade holsters.
(Y/n) composed herself with a soft exhale and straightened her cloak. She glanced sideways at Hux who was still watching her with something unreadable in his gaze.
“What?” she asked, arching a brow.
“Nothing,” he replied, tone measured. “It’s just… enlightening to see you interact with your counterpart.”
“Varo’s an idiot,” she muttered fondly.
“And yet, you laugh more with him than you do with anyone else on this ship,” he noted.
“I laugh at him,” she clarified.
“Of course.” Sensing his sarcasm, she snapped her head with narrowed eyes in question, but he simply cocked his head as a challenge to her defiance.
With a dissatisfied hum, she turned for them to resume their walk along the hangar floor, stepping past squads of troopers checking their weapons and finalizing loadouts. A technician approached with a datapad, offering a quick salute to the general before giving a rundown of shuttle assignments, fuel levels, and emergency fallback protocols.
Hux nodded through the information, signing off with a flick of a stylus. When the officer stepped away, (Y/n) glanced towards a row of heavy transports being loaded with Covenant units.
“They seem like they’re ready,” she said. “I recognize the itch when I see it.”
“Exactly what I’d expect from your forces,” Hux said, his tone quietly respectful.
She turned her head slightly, her voice lower. “They’re not mine. Not really.”
“You lead them. They follow you. That makes them yours in all the ways that matter.”
The words lingered in her mind as they reached the final row of transports. Captain Phasma was there already, her gleaming chrome armor catching the overhead lights as she reviewed the final squad configurations. She gave a curt nod to the general and (Y/n) as they approached.
“Preparations are on schedule,” Phasma said. “All squads are at combat readiness. Final systems checks will be complete in twenty minutes.”
“Good,” Hux replied. “Ensure nothing is left to chance.”
Phasma turned and walked with one of her lieutenants as (Y/n) drifted closer to where the command ship was, gazing up at the cockpit.
“Hopefully this will be our last time dealing with this damned faction.” She murmured.
“Are you nervous?” Hux asked, stepping up beside her.
“Not for myself,” she admitted. “For the ones I’m responsible for. We lose even one, and it stays with us.”
Hux’s eyes flicked over her face, noting the calm resolve beneath her words. “You’re ready, (Y/n).”
She looked at him then, and for a moment there was no rank, no orders. Just two people on the edge of something dangerous and defining.
“I know,” she said. “I just need them to be.”
He watched as she turned to look back at her Covenant troops again.
As final prep commands echoed across the vast hangar, one of them - tall, but clearly younger than the rest - stood just slightly apart, fumbling with the thick straps of his tactical harness. The rest of his squad was nearly ready, their posture straight and unreadable, but the younger Duskborn’s jaw was clenched in frustration.
Without a word, (Y/n) veered away from Hux’s side.
The clinking of metal buckles and the rustling of his uniform greeted her as she approached. The Duskborn noticed her too late to compose himself fully, and when he looked up, his expression shifted from surprise to embarrassment.
“Umbral (L/n),” he said quickly, bowing his head.
“At ease,” she murmured. Her voice was low, but not cold. Calm and steady. “What’s the issue?”
“My harness, ma’am,” he admitted, fidgeting. “I can’t get the spine guards to stay centered. I’ve adjusted it twice already, but it keeps shifting to the right.”
“Hold still.” She offered assistance without hesitation.
She stepped in close and began adjusting the straps herself. Her movements were swift, practiced. Each pull and buckle done with silent precision. The Duskborn stood rigid but didn’t flinch under her touch. She could feel the tension radiating off of him, the anxious buzz of youth beneath the discipline.
“You’re new,” she said quietly, her eyes on the harness. “First field deployment?”
“Yes, ma’am. I transferred from the Sanghollow garrison two months ago.”
(Y/n) gave one last tug on the strap, locking it into place. “This gear is heavier than what you’re used to. You’ll adjust in the drop. Trust it and it’ll take care of you.”
He looked at her, hesitating. “I’ve studied your academic campaigns. What you did during the Tarsyn Rebellion - how you held the shield line when everyone else had fallen back. We were told you shouldn’t have survived.”
(Y/n)’s brow twitched slightly, but she said nothing.
“You did,” he added. “I just wanted you to know that leadership like you is the reason I’m proud to be where I am.”
(Y/n)’s gaze softened just a touch. “Well, people like us don’t survive for the legacy. We survive so the next ones don’t make the same mistakes that we did.”
He nodded solemnly, the nervousness in his expression fading to something steadier.
“You’ll do well,” she said, stepping back. “Keep your head up, follow your orders, and don’t try to be the hero. It gets people killed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
(Y/n) gave his shoulder a small, almost imperceptible squeeze before moving down the line. She stopped at each Duskborn, checking gauntlets, securing weapons, quietly giving a nod or muttering something only they could hear. None of them questioned her presence. They welcomed it, a silent reverence in the way they stood taller when she passed.
From a distance, Hux observed.
He remained still, eyes tracking her movements as she moved through her people. He’d seen her command before. He’d seen her fight, train, nearly kill - but this was something different.
There was strength in her gentleness. The way the Duskborns looked at her - like she was a myth walking among them - it told him everything he needed to know about the kind of leader she truly was.
When she finally returned to him - pace unhurried, expression composed - he spoke softly.
“You have their loyalty.”
“They have mine,” she replied. “A good leader doesn’t expect the loyalty of their people. They earn it.”
He held her gaze for a second longer before offering a small nod of admiration and approval.
Before he could speak, a comms officer approached at a brisk pace, datapad in hand.
“General, Umbral,” the officer said, stopping short. “We intercepted a short-range coded signal from the target location. We believe it’s a call for extraction.”
(Y/n)’s eyes narrowed. “How long ago?”
“Less than five minutes. They’re trying to get the target off-world.”
Hux took the datapad, reading the decoded line. “They’re aware of our planning. We’ll lose our chance if we delay.”
(Y/n) looked towards the transports, her mind already racing.
“We’ll advance the timeline,” Hux said, handing the datapad back. “Move the infiltration squads out immediately. Inform Captain Phasma - she coordinates deployment from the ground with Umbral Drenn.”
“Yes, sir.” The officer nodded and sprinted off.
Just then, Varo appeared beside them, already geared up.
“We launching early?” he asked, breathless with excitement.
“Resistance extraction attempt,” (Y/n) said, watching another squad load up. “Mission’s starting now.”
Varo gave a wide grin. “Perfect. I love when plans get interrupted. It makes things interesting.”
She arched a brow at him. “Only you would enjoy last-minute chaos.”
“It builds character.”
He turned to go, but gave her a nod.
“See you on the other side, Umbral.”
As he vanished into the transport line, (Y/n)’s eyes lingered on the group of Duskborns. Hux moved beside her, letting her know that they needed to leave.
Their own vessel awaited nearby. Sleek, reinforced, and fully equipped for high-level command operations. A small crew of officers and pilots stood ready at the base of the ramp.
“We stay close,” he started as they made their way towards the ship. “Just outside of striking range. If the mission goes awry, we’ll intervene.”
(Y/n) gave one last look towards the hangar before following him up the ramp.
The hum of the command vessel was steady as it powered on, its interior as sleek as the outside and minimal compared to the Finalizer’s grand design. It wasn’t built for intimidation, it was built for precision.
Hux and (Y/n) stood side-by-side at the front, displays illuminating their faces with scrolling readouts, tactical data, and live-feed visuals as the pilots flipped various switches and managed the central console.
The two of them watched as others in the hangar ran into their appropriate ships before the ramps lifted shut, TIE fighters and transport ships turning to zip out towards the large expanse of space and down to their targeted coordinates.
(Y/n) held onto the chair of the pilot in front of her to steady herself as their ship lifted just as the last TIE fighter left, signaling for them to follow.
Her heart raced with adrenaline as the ship sped, her grip tightening and the general looked over at her with an expression of mild concern.
Catching his movements, she glanced over at him with the ghost of a smirk. “I may be a little more excited than I’d like to admit.” She said quietly. Hux simply shook his head before looking forward again.
As the surface of the dark planet closed in, the ships slowed and initiated their cloaking.
The silence was deafening, the only sound being the engine of the ship and occasional beeping from the controls. In the distance, they could see faint movement of either the faction or Resistance personnel scrambling to prepare for extraction.
“ TIE fighters on standby. ” A voice came through the comms quietly, as if afraid to speak.
“ Delta team preparing to deploy. Standby.”
Everyone on the command ship held their breath as the other squads reported the same.
“ Stealth teams have deployed .” One of the pilots of a transport ship reported in finality.
“Signal confirms no Resistance sensors have picked them up yet.” An officer on the command ship notified Hux and (Y/n) who nodded in acknowledgement.
“Maintain course,” Hux instructed coolly.
(Y/n) stood tall beside him, arms folded, her eyes locked on one of the overhead monitors. Through the helmet cam of a Duskborn operative, she could see the darkened corridors of the relay station, every movement silent and efficient.
“No signs of Resistance forces yet,” another officer said. “Interior heat signatures are minimal.”
“They’re hidden,” (Y/n) murmured. “Classic misdirection. If the call for extraction was real, the Resistance should be inbound soon.”
“Well, we’ll just have to greet them properly, then, won’t we?” Hux voiced. “Bring up the orbital pathways.”
An officer nodded, transferring a new map to the main display. The orbital path of the planet appeared, layered with potential hyperspace exit points.
“If they attempt to jump from low orbit as expected, they’ll come out here or here.” Hux tapped two coordinates. “I want TIE fighters repositioned in those coordinates to cut them off.”
As the officers relayed commands, (Y/n) leaned in closer to one of the screens, watching the team advance. She could see Varo at the front, weaving between shadows like a phantom.
“He’s enjoying himself,” she muttered dryly.
Hux glanced towards her, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “He always does in controlled chaos.”
The console flickered, red light briefly sweeping across the interface.
“ Enemy movement detected ,” Came a quiet voice through the comms.
“We’ve got an incoming ship, likely their extraction team.”
Hux straightened. “Identify and engage. I want their escape paths closed before they make contact.”
“Yes, sir.”
(Y/n)’s gaze didn’t leave the screens, but her stance shifted, more alert now. “Once the target’s secured, they’ll try to punch through us.”
“They won’t,” Hux said firmly. “Not with the Covenant in play.”
On the ground, the station corridors were cold and metallic, barely lit, the humming of machinery providing a low thrum beneath the silence. Varo stalked at the front of the formation, hand raised to signal a stop. Behind him, the Duskborns and stealth troopers fanned out along the corridor, weapons drawn, silent as wraiths.
The quiet didn’t last.
From around the corner, bootfalls echoed, rushed and uneven.
The Resistance had come early.
Varo barely had time to signal before the firefight erupted.
Blaster bolts tore through the corridor, lighting up the shadows with rapid flashes of red and blue. Varo evaded and sped to cover, firing off a precise volley that dropped two advancing soldiers. The Duskborns engaged with frightening coordination, some vanishing into the shadows before reappearing behind them, blades drawn.
A scream echoed, and then another - followed by a thundering sound from above.
Above them, TIE fighters screamed through the void, engaging the Resistance X-wings in a high-speed dogfight above the station. Laser fire lit the space in a chaotic dance, illuminating the planet below. One TIE spiraled down in flames, colliding with a wing of the station in a burst of debris.
“We’ve got incoming on both sides!” Varo shouted over the chaos, ducking behind a steel pillar as another blast hit too close. “Push them back! Don’t let them bottleneck us!”
A Duskborn soldier leapt across the corridor, spinning mid-air with an unnatural grace and hurling a dagger into a Resistance soldier’s chest before disappearing into the shadows again.
“We’re too exposed here,” one Duskborn warned. “We need to move now!”
“Negative,” Varo snapped, eyes tracking the Resistance squad leader through the chaos. “We hold position until the area is cleared. If they break through, they’ll manage to escape.”
He stepped from cover, dual daggers drawn, and engaged a pair of soldiers in close quarters, moving like water. Sharp, fast and lethal. One went down with a slash to the throat, the other disarmed and stunned with a punch to the jaw.
A nearby Duskborn called out, “Umbral! They’re flanking left!”
“I see them!” he replied, pivoting and launching a throwing knife across the hall. It struck true, dropping another enemy.
Just then, the comms crackled to life.
“ Umbral Drenn, this is Command. Resistance fleet has arrived. We’ve repositioned to cut them off. What’s your status? ” General Hux alerted them.
He ducked behind cover again, breathing shallow, adrenaline high. “Messy. But we’ve got it under control for now. Tell (L/n) she owes me a drink.”
There was a pause on the other end.
“ Duly noted .” (Y/n). “ Hold the line. Reinforcements are on standby if necessary. ”
As the comms went silent, Varo grinned despite the madness. “She better make it the expensive stuff.”
Behind him, the Duskborns surged forward once more, pressing the advantage. And above them, the skies continued to burn.
“Bravo and Charlie team,” Varo addressed the First Order soldiers through their comms. “Hold position and guard the entrance, Delta will push through.”
The air grew colder the deeper they pushed. Not the kind of chill that came from faulty temperature controls. It was something older, more primal. The shadows stretched longer, the lights flickering in a way that set every instinct of theirs on edge.
Varo led the squad with calculated precision, blood from the last encounter still smeared across his neck guard. His eyes narrowed as he held up a clenched fist, signaling silence.
“We’re getting close,” he said, voice barely audible. “They’ve gone quiet, but they’re here.”
The atmosphere had changed. There was no longer the frantic resistance of panicked soldiers. They were entering territory claimed by something more dangerous.
Kin.
A sharp hiss echoed down the corridor and, in an instant, three shadows dropped from the ceiling, landing with unnatural grace. The corridor exploded in movement.
Rogue Covenant.
One launched towards Varo with feral speed, but he caught the attack, bracing with a grunt as he was shoved back. The rogue’s eyes were glowing with bloodlust, fangs bared.
“Careful!” Varo shouted. “Remember, they used to be Covenant!”
The Duskborns split into formation. Blades clashed in a flurry of strikes too fast for the human eye to follow. One Duskborn was hurled into a wall with a sickening crack. Another managed to impale a rogue through the ribs, but the vampire hissed and yanked the blade deeper to get close enough to bite before he was finally thrown off.
Varo ducked a wild slash and countered with a dagger to the thigh, pivoting behind his opponent and grabbing them in a chokehold. “You’ve fallen far,” he snarled into their ear, “but I know you remember how this ends.”
The rogue thrashed, eyes flashing with fury before Varo twisted the silver blade up and under their sternum, dusting them in a shimmer of gray ash.
“Hold formation!” he ordered, breath heavy. “Push forward - we’re close.”
Back aboard the command ship, (Y/n) and Hux stood before the central display, watching the real-time updates unfold. Red markers pulsed where resistance forces were concentrated - handled by First Order troopers - but now faint gray sigils were beginning to appear deeper in the structure, identifiers to denote vampire presences.
“They’ve engaged the faction,” (Y/n) said quietly, recognizing the marks. Her jaw clenched. “It won’t be a clean fight.”
“They’ll hold,” Hux replied firmly.
The Covenant forces continued down the dark passage, slower now, watching every shadow. The silence returned, but it was heavier, like it was waiting.
As they rounded the next corridor where a large set of doors stood, they came to a stop and looked on, preparing themselves for what was behind them.
Then they suddenly opened and more shapes emerged from the dark. More vampires stood in their path, cloaked and still.
One stepped forward. Tall, severe. Her eyes focused on Varo with chilling familiarity.
“Nice to see you again, Varo,” she said softly.
Varo’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “Zera?”
“I’ll admit, I didn’t expect to run into you again.”
“I wish I could say the same, but I had a hunch.” Zera’s head tilted in amusement. “It’d explain the attempt at Umbral tactics. Decided to train yourself instead?” He asked cautiously.
He hit a nerve.
She growled and suddenly the rogues engaged, and they quickly found that they outnumbered the Duskborns.
Varo didn’t have time to shout before three Duskborns were tackled to the ground in a screech of blade and claw.
“Hold the line!” he roared, drawing both knives, back pressed to a pillar. “They’re trying to cut us down before we can reach her!”
Steel clanged, sparks flew, and bodies slammed into walls. The Duskborns fought fiercely, but they were short in numbers.
One of the rogues struck with dual blades, spinning into the formation and wounding two of the Duskborns with equally expert slashes. Another lunged at Varo from above, and he barely managed to intercept the strike, the impact sending him skidding across the floor.
“Command, this is Drenn,” Varo hissed into his comm, teeth bared as he parried another blow. “Confirmed visual on the leader but we’re outnumbered - we need immediate reinforcements!”
Static buzzed and he panicked for a brief second.
Then a reply came through.
“ Copy.” (Y/n) responded.
(Y/n) stood at the center of the ship, already halfway to the exit when the call came through. Her eyes gleamed under the dim red lighting.
She didn’t wait for Hux to say anything.
“I’m going,” she said flatly. Hux looked at her with mixed emotions, torn between duty and the pull in his chest that told him she couldn’t go.
Never before had his personal affiliations affected his work. But as he stared at (Y/n) for what felt like precious minutes, he knew that what was between them was far more than simple romantics.
After seeing the determined, almost begging look in her eyes, he nodded firmly in approval.
The Covenant ship descended through the clouds like a blade falling from the heavens, engines flaring bright against the bleak terrain.
The moment it touched down, the ramp hissed open. But just before she stepped off, Hux stopped her with a hand on her chest.
“Umbral.” He addressed firmly, her face hardened as she looked at him.
The gaze they shared spoke more than words ever could - promises of return and safety.
“No mercy.” Hux commanded her with finality.
A sadistic smile stretched on her lips.
Finally, she descended the ramp and from the smoke and light, (Y/n) emerged.
She didn’t run. She walked with measured calmness, cloak flowing, blades strapped to either side of her thighs, eyes burning with focus.
Rogue scouts now stationed on the roof barely had time to signal before (Y/n) blurred into motion, scaling the structure with preternatural speed. Two guards moved to intercept -
She ducked under the first strike, came up hard, and drove her dagger through the rogue’s chin. The second turned to flee, only to be caught by the back of his uniform and hurled from the rooftop with a deadly twist of his neck.
The battle inside turned desperate. One Duskborn was on his knees, bleeding from a gash in his thigh. Another was pinned against the wall, fangs bared just inches from her throat as the others struggled in their own personal battles.
Then a door flew open inward with a loud bang , sending everyone scattering.
(Y/n) stepped through and the entire room shifted.
The rogues froze mid-strike, eyes going wide as recognition dawned. One even backed up instinctively.
“(Y/n),” Varo breathed, blood on his brow, chest heaving. “You took your time.”
She didn’t answer. Just lifted one blade, spinning it once in hand.
“I prefer ‘fashionably late’.” She took another step forward and practically snarled her next words. “I’ve always hated parties.”
The tension cracked like lightning.
She launched herself into the nearest rogue like a storm given form. Her strikes were precise, brutal. Honed from years of restraint. In a blur, she cut one down, pivoted, and disarmed a second, finishing them with a silver dagger through his spine.
The battlefield tipped violently in their favor.
With (Y/n) at the front and Varo at her side, the Covenant surged forward.
The rogue vampires felt it. An oppressive weight in the air, as if the very presence of the Umbral disrupted the natural order.
One rogue lunged at her, shrieking with clawed hands outstretched. (Y/n) met him without hesitation. She stepped inside his guard in a flash, parried his strike with her forearm, and stabbed upward into his ribs. The blade buried deep, and as he shrieked in pain, she twisted it, then shoved him aside.
Another rogue tried to flank her, drawing a hooked dagger. (Y/n) turned on him just in time, ducked under his swing, and struck his knee with a brutal kick that collapsed him sideways.
To her right, two Duskborns struggled to hold off a pair of rogues who moved with feral, reckless speed. (Y/n) was already in motion, sliding between them in a blur. She grabbed one rogue’s shoulder mid-strike and yanked him back, slamming him hard into the wall. Her dagger found his heart with surgical precision.
The second rogue turned on her, blade spinning, teeth bared.
(Y/n) blocked his strike with a quick upward sweep, twisted around him with fluid grace, and landed a crushing elbow into his throat. As he staggered back choking, she drove her knee into his gut and finished him with a heart-piercing thrust.
Varo shouted from across the chamber, throwing a blade to one of the wounded Duskborns. “Keep pushing! We’re clearing a path!”
(Y/n)’s focus never wavered. Blood splattered across her armor and skin, but she moved with calm brutality. She was calculating every step, strike, and movement as if it were second nature.
One of the older rogue vampires, more disciplined than the rest, snarled and darted towards her with dual blades, flipping through the air to close the distance.
He landed in front of her with a crash and swept his daggers toward her neck.
(Y/n) ducked, blocked, and countered. The exchange between them was fast, nearly imperceptible. Flashes of silver, the clash of bone and blade, the hiss of air being carved by movement. But she read him.
He overextended. And she punished him for it.
With one hand, she disarmed him. With the other, she grabbed the back of his head and slammed it into her rising knee. Bone cracked. He dropped.
Silence began to settle, broken only by ragged breathing and the groans of the wounded.
She looked over at one rogue who still stood, clutching a broken weapon. He looked at (Y/n), eyes wide - not with rage, but fear.
She stared back, her voice low and cold as her eyes drifted over the other disabled rogues.
“Yield.” She commanded as a threat.
They didn’t move. But the defeat in their eyes was enough and the Duskborns quickly closed in to detain them.
Varo approached from behind, sheathing his blades with a sharp exhale. “I don’t know whether to be proud or terrified right now.”
(Y/n) didn’t answer at first. She looked down at the blood-soaked floor, her breathing steady. Then finally turned to him.
“Both are acceptable.”
A flicker of a smirk touched her lips, just for a second.
Behind them, the reinforced door loomed, and Varo looked to her.
“Ready?”
She nodded once, eyes sharp, blades still steady in her grip.
The door groaned open, hinges straining as (Y/n) and Varo stepped inside. The space beyond was dimly lit, the stale air thick with dust and tension.
Zera stood alone in the center, arms loosely at her sides, a single blade sheathed at her back. But she made no move to draw it. Her eyes lifted as the pair entered, slowly landing on (Y/n).
There was no surprise in her expression.
“I heard the screaming,” Zera said with solemn defeat. “Knew it had to be you.”
(Y/n) didn’t respond with words. She approached without hesitation, her boots echoing off of the metal floor. Varo followed close behind, tense but steady. When they stopped in front of Zera, the silence was heavy.
“You came all this way,” Zera said, gaze flicking between them. “To kill me?”
(Y/n)’s voice was flat. “No. Not yet.” She stepped towards her old friend turned enemy, a shift in her gaze showing something new. Something different than burning rage and vengeance.
It was disappointment.
“You studied our techniques and implemented them yourself.” (Y/n) stated with a saddened voice. She looked down for a moment to collect herself before she met Zera’s gaze once more. “You would’ve made a fine Umbral.”
The hatred instantly left Zera’s eyes, now sorrowful and conflicted.
Before Zera could respond, Varo stepped forward and grabbed her arm in one swift movement. She didn’t resist. But there was a flicker of something in her expression as he twisted her arm behind her back.
“Move,” Varo ordered.
Zera hesitated, then took a step. Then another.
They dragged her out through the corridor, back through the chaos of the relay station. And then into the heart of what remained.
The carnage was undeniable. Rogue vampires lay dead in dusty piles, blood smeared across the walls and floor. A few survivors knelt in manacles, guarded closely by Duskborns who still bore fresh wounds. Their eyes followed Zera as she was led into view.
The moment her boots hit the blood-slick floor, her shoulders tensed.
Varo shoved her down to her knees.
Her gaze swept across the bodies. The failure, the betrayal, the loss. Then finally landed back on (Y/n), who stood above her like judgment incarnate.
A younger Duskborn approached and placed manacles around Zera’s wrists, the sharp clink of metal a grim punctuation.
Zera didn’t fight it. But her jaw clenched.
“You lost them,” (Y/n) said coldly. “All of them.”
Zera lifted her eyes, defiance flickering under the weight of shame. “We were fighting for something better.”
“You were fighting for yourself,” Varo snapped. “And you killed your own to do it.”
He turned away, raising a hand to activate his comm.
“Command, this is Umbral Drenn. We’ve secured the objective. Target Zera Veyne is in custody.”
“ Copy that, Umbral. Stand by for extraction coordinates. ” The pilot responded.
As the transmission ended, (Y/n) crouched slightly, lowering herself to Zera’s level. Not in empathy, but so her words struck closer.
“You wanted to burn it all down. Now look at what’s left.”
Zera said nothing.
But (Y/n) could see it. In her silence. In her posture. The reality had finally caught up with her.
(Y/n) stood again, walking away without another word.
Behind her, the other Duskborns moved in to lift Zera and the other rogues from the ground.
The battered survivors, led by their defeated leader, were marched out of the relay station, each of them exhausted, bloody, and broken. The full weight of their loss was evident in their gait, and the air around them hummed with a heavy tension.
At the far end of the landing zone, the command ship loomed, large and imposing. The ship’s engines hummed softly, its silhouette a shadow.
The Duskborns who had captured Zera and the rogues kept their grip firm, but they moved with a silent precision, ensuring that none of their captives could escape. Zera’s eyes were fixed ahead, her face a mask of calculated defiance, but the flicker of doubt in her gaze betrayed her true emotions.
They were brought to their knees before the waiting group of Storm Troopers, stealth troopers and Captain Phasma. Behind them, General Hux descended the ramp and made his way over to them.
Standing at the front with (Y/n) joining, he observed the scene with the cool detachment of someone who had seen it all before, his sharp eyes gleaming with a sadistic satisfaction as he surveyed the group of detainees.
(Y/n)’s expression was as cold and unforgiving as his, but with a sharper edge. Her eyes flicked briefly to Zera, lingering with a mixture of disdain and something harder to pinpoint, almost… sympathetic, though it was quickly masked.
Hux finally spoke, his voice a smooth, venomous drawl.
“Well… it seems the great leader of the rogue faction has finally been captured. Tell me, did you truly think this would end any differently?”
Zera’s eyes locked with his, unflinching. There was no fear in her expression. Only a stubborn defiance.
“The Order will fall.”
Hux smirked. “Perhaps. But not under my command.”
He took a step closer to her, slowly, deliberately, his gaze never leaving hers.
“I have to admit, I was expecting more of a challenge. You disappointed me. You were the leader of a faction that promised so much… but in the end, you couldn’t even keep your own soldiers in line.”
Zera’s jaw clenched, but she kept silent. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a retort.
Hux turned to (Y/n), his gaze lingering on her for just a moment before he continued.
“And you, my dear… you proved your worth yet again.”
(Y/n) didn’t respond immediately. She only nodded once, her cold eyes scanning the remaining detainees with a steady, calculating gaze. But beneath the surface, her heart fluttered at the new term of endearment, let alone at the fact that it was used in front of the others.
“I did my duty, General. Nothing more.”
Hux smirked again, clearly enjoying the small exchange of power between them. Then, he nodded at her.
“Do as you wish with them, Umbral.”
(Y/n) turned to the rogues, stepping forward. “By order of the Blood Accord, punishment for treason is beheading.”
As (Y/n) continued, Zera looked up at her slowly, menacingly. Meeting her with an unwavering gaze. And then, without warning, she shouted.
“By the blood of our kind and the law of The Covenant!”
The words echoed across the landing zone, surprising those in the vicinity, and the Duskborns who had captured her stiffened, knowing what was to come.
(Y/n)’s eyes widened, lips parting in disbelief as Varo stepped forward to express the same.
“I, Zera Veyne, call forth the Rite of Severance!”
The Challenger’s Oath was an ancient rite, a final means of demonstrating dominance and honor among the Covenant’s warriors. To challenge someone to a duel meant that one was not just testing skill. It was a fight to the death.
It was a ritual, a declaration that the challenger did not accept defeat, would never accept submission. A challenge only for the truly desperate or the fiercely prideful.
“Let honor and strength determine our fate, for only one shall walk away from this trial.”
Hux watched as the air exponentially tensed, everyone looking at each other as if to ask if what was occurring was real, and what they should do. He stepped forward next to Varo who explained.
“It’s a sacred challenge in the Covenant. To the death.”
Hux’s gaze immediately flew to look at (Y/n) who simply stared at the ground in front of Zera.
He stepped up to her to speak with her quietly.
“(Y/n). You’ve already captured her. It is done. Do not give into pride.” He attempted to turn her away from the idea.
He was met with silence. Varo was next.
“You have no right! You forfeited the second you turned your back on us!” He backfired to Zera.
(Y/n) then held up her hand, causing silence.
“The Covenant does not abide traitors.” She started solemnly. Then, she looked up at Zera, a darkness in her eyes. “But by my blade and my will, I accept your challenge.” She stepped forward threateningly. “And by the law of our order, I will see this ended.”
(Y/n) took a steady breath, the anger in her chest simmering but contained.
Varo stepped to Hux to convince him to order her to change her mind, uncharacteristically panicked. “Sir, it’s not too late. We can execute Zera without the duel. (Y/n)’s bound by her assignment to listen to you.”
“No!” (Y/n) finally shouted, a fiery gaze settled on her comrade. “Varo, you will witness. I’ve made up my mind.”
Varo looked at Hux one last time, stomach dropping when the general nodded. “Trust her.”
Varo looked back at (Y/n) with his eyebrows furrowed in concern and fear. He swallowed before sighing and nodding.
“Unbind her.” He ordered the Duskborns with Zera.
They followed his order hesitantly, quickly removing her manacles and stepping away.
Like two tigers in a cage, (Y/n) and Zera made their way to stand in front of each other, their gazes heavy. Varo stood off to the side, centered between the two.
“The Rite of Severance is called.” His gaze faltered. “By the will of the Covenant, this battle shall be fought to its rightful conclusion. Only the victor shall remain.” Varo begrudgingly confirmed the rite.
He took a deep breath before continuing.
“Interference and ranged weapons are forbidden. This duel is to be fought at close range only .” He looked at Zera. “There is no retreat once engaged. To turn away is to forfeit and face immediate execution.” He looked to (Y/n), then motioned to the two of them and took a step back. “At the ready.”
Zera’s lip curled in distaste as she slowly unsheathed her blade, a sword of the Covenant.
(Y/n) held an even expression, but her eyes burned with the adrenaline of what was to come. Her hand lifted to her neck, unclipping her cloak and letting it fall to the ground. Her hands moved to the harnesses on her thighs, pulling out her daggers.
A heavy silence gripped the air as the combatants began to circle each other, the gathered First Order and Covenant members watching from a wide berth. The wind stirred the dust and ash beneath their boots, swirling the tension tighter.
(Y/n) moved with calculated precision, every step grounded in years of brutal Umbral training. Zera’s stance, though, was raw and furious - less refined, more instinctive. Dangerous.
They struck first at the same moment.
Silver blurred through the air. Clashed.
Zera came in with a heavy downward arc, forcing (Y/n) to dart to the side and deflect with both blades, the force jarring up her arms. (Y/n) retaliated with a flurry of swift, shallow strikes meant to wear Zera down, but Zera’s strength was unrelenting. She tanked the hits and shoved forward, nearly knocking (Y/n) off balance with a powerful sweep.
The duel dragged across the landing zone. One moment elegant and deadly, the next, savage and visceral. Neither held back. Fangs flashed. Sparks erupted as blades scraped. There were no words now, only breathless grunts and metal on metal.
Zera slammed her shoulder into (Y/n)’s chest, knocking her back several feet. Before (Y/n) could recover, Zera charged, blade high.
(Y/n) ducked just in time, Zera’s sword barely missing her neck. She spun and carved her daggers upward in a cross slash, scoring deep across Zera’s ribs. But Zera didn’t falter - she pivoted into a punishing backhand that flung (Y/n) to the ground.
“She’s pushing too hard…” Varo muttered anxiously.
Hux responded with a tightened jaw. “She knows what she’s doing. She has to.”
(Y/n) scrambled back to her feet just as Zera swung again. She blocked with both daggers, the force rattling her bones. Their blades locked, and - for a split second - their eyes met. Zera bared her fangs in a hiss.
“You don’t deserve their loyalty.” A flash of vulnerability made its way into (Y/n)’s expression and Zera took the chance, kneeing (Y/n) in the stomach and knocking one dagger loose.
(Y/n) staggered, her breath gone and barely able to react in time. Zera kicked her back again, and the silver sword came down hard. (Y/n) rolled, but not fast enough. The blade carved across her upper arm, searing pain flaring hot and immediate.
She hissed at the pain and quickly looked back up at Zera who advanced, towering over her.
“Isn’t this what you wanted, (Y/n)?” She raised her sword high, but (Y/n) quickly spun and her legs kicked Zera off of her feet with a thud.
As she recovered from the fall, (Y/n) quickly grabbed her lost dagger and readied herself once more.
“I never wanted this.” She replied to Zera bitterly.
Zera stood once more, sword readied as she glared. “You wanted to fight together in Umbral academy, no?” She spat, stepping forward. “So let’s fight then!”
They crashed into each other with a flurry of strikes, each blow more desperate than the last. (Y/n) slipped behind Zera mid-strike and elbowed her between the shoulder blades, but Zera twisted and slashed backward, catching (Y/n) across the upper thigh. Blood spattered the dirt.
(Y/n) staggered.
Zera capitalized, tackling her to the ground. Sword pressed against (Y/n)’s throat, only her daggers wedged between them kept her alive. They struggled, locked in a deadly stalemate, blades trembling under the pressure.
“You were always the better fighter. But you hesitated.” Zera spoke through gritted teeth.
“Not anymore.” (Y/n) snarled.
With a surge of strength, (Y/n) twisted her hips, throwing Zera off balance. They rolled, (Y/n) now atop her, and she plunged her dagger downward. Zera caught her wrist just in time and both women grunted.
A sudden headbutt from Zera dazed (Y/n), knocking her back. The sword sliced upward, grazing her ribs. (Y/n) gasped but recovered, leaping back to her feet.
Blood dripped from both of them now. Uniforms torn. Movements slower. But their eyes never wavered.
Suddenly, Zera lunged with a thrust aimed straight for (Y/n)’s heart.
(Y/n) parried it with her left dagger, spun, and used the momentum to dodge around the slash that followed - flipping her grip and stabbing one dagger into Zera’s side. Zera cried out, twisting in pain.
And (Y/n) used that moment.
She brought her daggers up, crossed them at Zera’s throat, and in a single, swift motion, sliced outward.
Zera’s eyes widened, breath caught.
The silver sword fell from her hand.
Her body collapsed to her knees. Then, slowly, it slumped forward. Lifeless.
The head rolled to the side a moment later, cleanly severed.
(Y/n) stood above the body, covered in sweat and blood, chest heaving. She held her daggers loosely, her eyes fixed on the now crumbling, dust riddled body of someone who had once been her closest friend.
The landing zone had fallen silent.
Dust and blood still hung in the air, the remnants of a fight that had gripped everyone in its thrall. The rogue vampires were now fully subdued, forced to kneel and witness the fall of their leader.
(Y/n) stood near the center of it all, her daggers still in hand, arms trembling faintly from exhaustion and adrenaline. Her clothes were torn, streaked in blood - both hers and Zera’s - but her posture remained firm. Stoic. Victorious.
Then she heard the familiar crunch of polished boots against gravel.
She didn’t have to turn to know it was him.
General Hux crossed the field with brisk, purposeful strides, but his composure was fraying at the edges.
His usual expression of poise was shadowed by barely contained emotion. Relief, fear, something deeper. He halted just a breath away from her, eyes scanning her face and then flicking briefly down her frame, checking for injuries.
He didn’t reach for her - not here, not in front of the soldiers - but his voice softened in a way that only she would hear.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m alive.” She replied hoarsely.
Her tone was matter-of-fact, but there was a quiet edge to it. The fight had left more than physical marks.
He exhaled slowly, tension bleeding out of his shoulders, but his hands still clenched at his sides. Every inch of him screamed to hold her. To check every wound. To say something more. But they weren’t alone.
So instead, he met her gaze and gave the smallest, subtlest nod, a wordless exchange between them. Later , it said.
A respectful beat passed, and then Varo approached, still high on the tail end of the fight. His uniform was dusted with ash, and there was a cut above one brow, but his grin was unmistakable as he broke into their silent moment.
“Well, I guess we know who won’t be challenging (Y/n) anytime soon.”
(Y/n) let out a low, tired huff of amusement. Her mouth twitched upward, almost a smile. Varo clapped a hand gently on her shoulder.
“You did good, (Y/n). She was clearly stronger than we remembered. That wasn’t an easy win.”
“It was never going to be.” She replied quietly.
She finally sheathed her daggers and wiped the blood from her brow. Hux remained nearby, his presence quiet but unwavering. He didn’t speak, but his eyes never left her.
Varo smirked. “Now for the fun part.” He leaned his head towards the detained rogues and (Y/n) nodded, walking past both him and Hux to stand before the detainees. Her hands were clasped behind her back, head held high as she glared down each rogue.
“By order of the Blood Accord,” she said for the second time. “Punishment for treason is execution by beheading.”
Immediately and in perfect synchronicity, each Duskborn standing next to a rogue stepped forward, unsheathing their swords at the same time with a spin of the blade. They each stood in front of the rogues, awaiting their command.
“Execute!”
A harmonious slash sounded and the rogue’s heads rolled.
More Posts from Igot-the-juice and Others
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 - Re-Vamped!
Hello, everyone!
If you’ve read the story The Scarred on @j-wont-stop page, it is actually my account. I logged out and haven’t been able to log in so I created this new one.
It’s been a long time coming, I’m sorry for the wait and I understand if yall gave up on it after a certain amount of time, I would’ve, too, honestly - however! The story is back on its way to completion and I’m excited to share where it goes!
Some things have been tweaked due to minor plot changes, but generally it still follows the same plot! So if you’re ready to stick to it, I’ll be sure to make sure it was worth the wait!
For my Serenity story, it is finished, I’m just making minor adjustments before I post the final parts.
Thank you all so much for your support!
The Scarred - Chapter 11 🩸🔥🔞
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.
Warning - This chapter contains smut but can be read without it. Smut will start after the second banner. MDNI/NSFW!
The smell of iron filled her lungs, the blood stuck to her face invading her senses as the man now lay still on the floor below her. With a crazed look in her eye, she kicked away the arm that was now detached, heavy as it slid across the stained floor.
She began to breathe heavily, unable to decipher whether or not she had really done it. But the smell alone brought her to the reality of the situation.
As the men began to pick up what was left of the body, she began to smile, then it turned into a chaotic giggle. She turned to face the Joker and it immediately dropped.
He stared at her with such an intensity that turned her to stone, eyes somehow darker than they ever were. Her lips parted in a silent question, worried about whether or not she overstepped.
She heard the doors shut behind her and suddenly, in a few large strides, he approached her and aggressively pulled her into him. His lips crashed down onto her own blood stained ones, not possibly caring less in that moment as he practically suffocated her.
At first she was stiff, baffled by his sudden behavior that seemed completely out of character for him.
Then she finally let go and accepted it.
Her arm reached up around his neck, reciprocating the affection with equal intensity. Nothing was held back by either of them, his hands wandering over her figure as she kept her own planted, choosing to focus on the sensation of his scarred lips.
She sighed once he pulled away, eye slowly opening to gaze into the hazel gems before her.
“J?” Penelope whispered, the nickname slipping out without a second thought. His expression faltered when it reached his ears, but their usual spark soon followed after.
He didn’t correct her. He didn’t snap. Instead, a low chuckle rumbled from his throat, rolling into a sharp, sinister laugh that echoed off of the concrete walls. His gloved fingers came up to her face, tracing the scarred side with surprising gentleness, his grin stretching impossibly wide.
“Well, well, well,” He rasped, voice dripping with twisted delight. “Look who’s getting familiar now, hm?”
Penelope tensed but didn’t pull away. There was something unsettling in his gaze, a wildness dancing just beneath the surface. Yet there was a strange acceptance, too. As if she’d unlocked a piece of him. Something private. Dangerous.
“Ya know, doll,” He cooed, the nickname rolling off his tongue mockingly, yet with a hint of genuine fondness. “Most people aren’t brave enough to give me nicknames.” He licked at his lips. “Ya might want to be careful, though,” He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. “Calling me that? That’s… close. And close gets people hurt.”
His fingers dropped from her face, drifting lazily down to her shoulder, lingering on the edge of her missing arm.
He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze again, those crazed eyes searching hers, trying to see if she’d flinch. But Penelope held her ground, her heart racing, something in her stirring. A newfound sense of chaos, creeping up, waking.
“I’ll take my chances,” She whispered, her voice steady despite the flutter of fear and excitement in her chest.
The Joker’s smile returned, wider than ever. He threw his head back and laughed, a sound that sent chills down her spine.
-
When she entered her apartment, she ignored the presence she knew would already be there, prioritizing a shower to get the now dried and crusted blood off of her. His questions of concern were muffled as she mindlessly wandered to her bedroom to pick out her pajamas.
“Penelope!” Liam finally yelled, gripping firmly onto her shoulders and turning her to face him. For once, he was truly speechless. Unable to hide his worry for what inevitably came to be his best friend, brow furrowed.
“I’m fine, Liam.” She offered a genuine smile, resting her hand over one of his own. She brushed past him towards the bathroom to turn on the shower and closed the door.
Questions flooded in his mind as he impatiently waited on the couch, the TV now completely blocked out. His leg bounced anxiously, biting at his nails. He practically jumped out of his skin when the door opened and she walked in, acting as if nothing even happened.
She searched through her cupboards for something, plastic crinkling in her hands as she opened a pack of popcorn and popped it into the microwave.
“Penny?” Liam cautiously called to her. She simply hummed in response. He stood and gradually made his way over to her. “Did he hurt ye?”
“Quite the opposite.” Penelope answered casually, unloading the dishwasher as she spoke.
“Penny. Ye know ye can trust me.”
“I killed a man, Liam!” She finally blurted out as she whipped to face him. “He found the man that caused this,” She motioned to her deformed body. “And I killed him.”
The two of them stood silently, searching the other for any sign of distrust or betrayal. While she overthought his reaction, Liam had assumed it was only a matter of time before it happened. As soon as the Joker made himself known to her, he knew it was over.
“The scary part isn’t even that I did it. It’s that I enjoyed it. I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to. Not after what he did to me, Liam.” Her voice began to break, lip beginning to tremble. “Not after…” She sniffed and wrapped her arm around his torso, relieved that his warm comfort was provided without a moment’s hesitation.
He gently hushed her, cradling her head while his other hand’s thumb caressed her back. “It’s alright, lovin’.” He whispered.
Liam pulled away, hands gently taking hold of her face to look at him.
“There is nothin’ wrong with ye. Nothin’ wrong with what happened, ye understand? He got what he deserved, yeah?”
Penelope nodded as he wiped away her tears, grabbing the popcorn from the microwave before leading them to the couch. She wrapped herself in a blanket, opening the bag and nibbling on a small handful.
“Did he scream?” He asked in a joking tone once she calmed down more. To his relief, she giggled.
“Like a pussy.”
-
The flower shop was quiet, the soft scent of roses and lilies filling the air as Emma arranged a bouquet of daisies behind the counter. The bell over the door jingled softly as Penelope stepped inside, her movements slow and careful. Emma’s eyes lifted to greet her, but the smile faded slightly when she saw Penelope’s face—pale, drawn, and distant.
“Hey, hun,” Emma called gently, setting the flowers aside. “Everything okay?”
Penelope gave a half-smile, but it didn’t reach her eye. “Yeah, just couldn’t sleep.”
Emma frowned, watching her carefully. She knew Penelope had been through a lot, but lately, something had shifted. The girl had always been quiet, but now there was a tension beneath the surface, as if she were on edge, waiting for something. Emma noticed the slight twitch in Penelope’s remaining hand, her fingers trembling for a moment before she shoved them into her pocket.
“I’m gonna go handle the new shipment.” Penelope asked, her voice strained.
Emma nodded slowly but kept her eyes on her as she made her way to the door leading into the back room. “Of course, sweetheart. You sure you’re feeling alright, though? You’ve been… distant lately.”
Penelope stiffened, her back to Emma as she began unpacking a box of tulips. “I’m fine.” She said quickly. Too quickly.
Emma bit her lip, the maternal instinct in her stirring. She walked over, placing a hand on Penelope’s shoulder. “Look, I know things have been hard for you, but if something’s wrong… you can talk to me. You know that, right?”
Penelope flinched at the touch, though she tried to hide it with a small shrug. “I know. But really, it’s nothing. I’m just tired.”
Emma’s brows furrowed. She didn’t believe that for a second. There was a darkness in Penelope’s expression, something haunted and restless. Emma had seen it before in people who were hiding something, something dangerous. She couldn’t help but feel a knot of worry tighten in her chest.
“I just want to make sure you’re safe, Penelope,” Emma said softly. “You’ve been acting off. And it scares me.”
Penelope hesitated, her fingers gripping the edge of the box. “I’m fine, Emma.”
But Emma wasn’t convinced. Her heart ached as she watched her, knowing that whatever it was, Penelope was shutting her out.
“I’m here if you need me,” Emma said quietly, retreating back to the counter. “Just… don’t push yourself too hard, okay?”
Penelope nodded, but Emma could see the flicker of guilt in her eye before she turned away.
A little while passed and eventually it was close to closing. Penelope sat behind the counter scribbling away in her journal, however more aggressive than usual. The door chimed as it opened, a sigh of relief falling from her lips when she saw it was only Liam. And it didn’t go unnoticed by Emma.
“Ey there, Penny.” He greeted, giving a simple nod to Emma as he charismatically leaned on the counter in front of the former. “Day treatin’ ye right?” Penelope shrugged. Emma decided to disappear into the back, but took care to listen in on their conversation.
“As much as it can, I suppose.”
“Ye still up fer the range?” He asked, concerned about whether she was too tired or overwhelmed.
“Yeah, I’ll be okay. Don’t think I’ll be up for being there as long, though.”
“No worries about that, I figured as much.” He glanced over at the clock and Penelope did the same, packing up her things to leave. She walked over to the back room and leaned in the doorway.
“I’m heading out, Emma. Text me if you need anything, okay?” The brunette gave an appreciative smile.
“I will. You take care now, okay? Be safe.”
“You too.” Penelope offered a smile of her own before meeting Liam at the door to leave.
The range was rather large, hidden away in the outskirts which she appreciated. With how big it was, she was surprised that they were the only ones there besides the owner at the front.
They stood in a separate room where the actual range was, handguns aimed down range and firing. After finishing an iteration they took their ear covers off, the pressure of them irritating her head.
“She doesn’t know about what ye’ve been up to, does she?” Liam suddenly asked, catching her off guard. Penelope hesitated before answering.
“No.” Liam leaned against the nearby wall, eyeing her.
“I’d be careful about her if I were ye.”
“Why’s that? She doesn’t know, and it’s going to stay that way so long as I can help it.” Penelope readied her gun for the next iteration, then set it back down carefully.
“Ye see, that’s the thing. Ye don’t trust her enough to tell her. And that says a lot. Ye told me and yet ye’ve barely known me for half as long.”
Liam pushed himself off of the wall and began making his way towards her.
“Ye don’t trust her as much as he think ye do, Penny. She may be a friend, but she’s not loyal. The second she gets even a hint of what yer up to, she’s gonna get curious and try to find out more, and when she does, she’s goin’ straight to the cops.”
“She wouldn’t do that to me -“
“But she would.” Liam spoke sternly, urging her to believe him. “I’ve dealt with plenty of her kind and it never ended well. Even just today, I saw the way she was eyein’ us. She’s already suspicious.”
Liam raised his hands to rest on her shoulders.
“Ye need to be careful around her. I know it’s hard, she’s yer friend, I get it. I do. But I’m speakin’ from experience. As much as it hurts to hear, ye can’t trust her.”
Penelope cast her gaze downwards, struggling to take in all that she was being told.
“Come on. Let’s keep goin’.” He nodded towards the targets in front of them, taking notice of the turmoil going on in her head.
As always, he walked her to her apartment when finished. Both because he was right down the hall and it was just the right thing to do. But just before she opened her door, he stopped her.
“Just think about what I said, yeah? I’m tryin’ to keep ye safe.” Penelope paused, thinking. Then she finally nodded and Liam smiled at her, patting her shoulder before walking to his apartment.
Penelope turned back to her door and opened it, a familiar smell reaching her nose making her sigh as the door softly clicked shut behind her. She looked over at her couch where the notorious clown-like man sat comfortably. He lounged back like he belonged there, flipping through channels with an air of indifference, his lips twisted into that familiar, unsettling grin.
Her heart raced. She didn’t know what to feel. Fear, confusion, curiosity? The same mixture of emotions had been bubbling inside her since that night. The night she’d felt his lips on hers, tasted the madness, and the thrill of what she’d done. The blood on her hands still felt so fresh.
“You’re here.” Penelope finally said, breaking the silence, her voice hoarse but steady.
Joker didn’t look away from the screen, but his grin widened. “Where else would I be?”
She swallowed hard, moving slowly towards the couch, her eyes never leaving him. “I don’t know… plotting, terrorizing people. Laughing at something burning, maybe?”
He chuckled, the sound low and dark, and patted the seat next to him. “Sheesh, can’t a guy just catch a break sometimes? Hm?” He jested, eyes still fixated on the TV. “Sit down, toots, we’re watching a comedy.”
She hesitated, glancing at the TV. Some mindless sitcom played, laugh tracks echoing. She took a seat, keeping her distance but not too far. The cushion sagged slightly under her, and she found herself staring at him, trying to read something - anything - in his chaotic, unpredictable eyes.
“What’s so funny about this?” She asked, her voice soft, unsure whether she meant the show or their entire situation.
Joker’s eyes slid over to her, sharp and amused. “Oh, nothing about the show. It’s the idea of it. People trapped in their boring little lives, pretending everything’s fine.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s hilarious, don’t ya think?”
Penelope’s gaze shifted from the TV to him, searching his face. She couldn’t understand how he saw the world. He terrified her, fascinated her, made her want to crawl away and stay close all at once. Her fingers traced the edge of the cushion nervously. “How do you live like this?”
“Like what?” He asked flatly, his eyes glinting as if her question was a challenge.
“Like…” She struggled for the right words. “Without… rules. Without a plan. Just… chaos.”
He laughed, leaning back, stretching his arms over the back of the couch, his fingers brushing her shoulder. “Well, I wouldn’t say I live in chaos.” His voice was soft now, almost soothing, but there was still a biting tone to it. “Yeah, I cause chaos. But live in freedom. Freedom from their rules. Their endless nagging, the ‘don’t do this, do this’, ya see? You’ve tasted it, haven’t you? The freedom. The power.”
Penelope tensed, the memory of that night creeping back in. The rush of adrenaline, the way her hands had trembled… then steadied. “That’s freedom…?” She whispered.
Joker’s grin faltered for just a second, and he tilted his head, watching her closely. “You did what you wanted to do. Without worrying about consequences. Their consequences. The consequences of everyone trying to control you and be someone that you’re not.”
She bit her lip, looking down at her lap. “How can I be sure there won’t be consequences?”
“You’re lookin’ at it, toots.” Joker said, his tone playful but condescending. “You can choose to pretend everything’s fine, just like everyone else. Go back to being quiet, timid little Penelope. Or…” He leaned in close. “You can be free.”
Her pulse quickened, and she turned to face him, searching his eyes.“Why do you want me to change?” She asked finally, her voice quiet.
Joker’s gaze softened, just for a moment, as if he was considering her question seriously. “I don’t want you to change. I want you to stop pretending. I see potential. Potential that is greater than you’d ever know. And I finally got a taste of it. And so did you. The real question is…” He shifted his body to face her. “Can you live with it? Because once you go down this road, doll, there’s no turning back. Your cute little world will not be there for you anymore. It’ll show its true colors. You’ll see. And once you do?” He threw her a look with an accompanied gesture. “I can guarantee you won’t want to go back.”
Penelope wasn’t sure what to do, what to think. She couldn’t help but believe him. Everything he said had some resemblance of truth. Was the freedom truly worth it? Was it worth throwing everything away? Emma? Liam? If the way she felt that night at the warehouse was only a taste of it, she could only imagine how she would feel if she just completely let go.
She was sure Liam would understand, he was supportive of her every step of the way. No matter if it was morally questionable.
But Emma?
Penelope thought about what Liam had told her. Emma was a close friend. A mother figure, even. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe Liam was right about her. She kept telling herself that she never told Emma any of what was happening for her protection, but could she have just been lying to herself to prevent her own guilt? Did she truly trust Emma, or did she just cling to the brunette for lack of options?
A tear trickled its way down her cheek, not even noticing beforehand as she was lost in thought. She looked Joker in the eye and spoke with a trembling voice.
“I don’t want to live like this anymore…” Penelope shook her head. “I’m tired of feeling stuck.” She noticed a subtle shift in his expression, hardened. He suddenly rose to his feet with newfound determination.
“Get up.” He demanded, catching her by surprise. After a moment, she stood and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her into the bathroom and facing her towards the mirror. “Ya want to stop living by their rules, hm?” Penelope nodded in desperation. “Take off the bandages.”
Her eye widened in disbelief, breathing halted. He stepped closer to her, his warmth pressed against her.
“Break their norm. Show them you’re not theirs to control anymore. Stop trying to be like them.” He leaned in next to her ear. “Send a message.”
Penelope took a shaky breath, meeting Joker’s eye through the mirror. Her heart raced, blood rushing in her ears as her hand fought to leave her side. Slowly but surely, it raised. Her hands caressed the edge of her bandages, toying with the fabric until she finally began to pull them off with care.
She refused to look at herself, tears now streaming down her cheek as a sob left her lips. She felt cool leather grip her jaw, forcing her to look at her reflection in the mirror.
The sight seemed foreign to her no matter how many times she took them off. The texture was soft, yet uneven. It was finally healed with skin covering where her eye should have been.
“Now that… is a doll.”
His knuckles caressed down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The tickling sensation caught her breath, head leaning back against him. This enigmatic man made her feel alive, made her want to embrace the freedom he spoke of as his hands slid down her slim figure, igniting something within her.
"There ya go." Joker whispered, his breath hot against her ear.
Penelope's gaze fell on her exposed scars, and for the first time, she felt truly wanted. She felt beautiful.
"Now how about that freedom?" He growled, hands slipping under her shirt and caressing her soft skin. As his skilled fingers found her hardened nipples, Penelope's breath hitched. His marred lips mixed with her own textured neck, covering it with nips and licks as he practically worshiped her scars. She wanted this man, wanted to feel his touch. She yearned to explore this new, uninhibited side of herself that he was awakening.
Joker’s hands then lifted her shirt, pulling it off over her head and soaking in the sight of her with a heated gaze.
More scars littered her left side, similar to what was on her face. He felt her begin the retreat, but his hands quickly snatched her wrists to keep her where she was. “None of that. Got it?” He threatened and she nodded in response.
He then unclasped her bra and tossed it away, hands moving to cup and toy at her breasts. One hand began to travel lower, unbuttoning her pants and sliding them down her slender legs. Once she stepped out of them he turned her around to face him and pushed her until she was leaning against the bathroom counter. Her legs opened, inviting him to stand in between them. One of his thighs pressed against her radiating core, flexing his muscle until her head leaned back with a sigh.
He released a feral growl and reached around to the back of her head, pulling her into him so their lips clashed against each other. The kiss was rough and full of need, Penelope lightly moaning into it as she ground herself against his thigh for some much needed relief.
“Yeah? Ya like that?” Joker taunted before snatching her thighs and setting her on top of the empty space of the counter. “C’mere.” He dropped to his knees, his hands pulling down her panties and spreading her pussy lips, revealing her glistening, swollen clit. He inhaled her scent, a mix of desire and her unique musk, before plunging his tongue deep inside her, making her gasp and grip the edge of the counter.
Joker’s tongue was a skilled weapon, licking and sucking at her clit, sending waves of pleasure through Penelope's body. He teased her entrance, dipping his tongue just inside before pulling away, only to return with renewed fervor.
"J -" Penelope moaned, her head thrown back. "Please, don’t stop."
Joker hummed, the vibrations sending shivers through Penelope. “Dangerous thing to beg me like that, doll.”
He warned before he continued his oral assault, bringing her closer and closer to the edge of orgasm. Just as she was about to climax, he pulled away, leaving her breathless and desperate.
"Thought it’d be that easy, hm?" He said, standing.
Penelope, wild with desire, reached for Joker’s trousers, undoing them with tremulous fingers. Once unbuttoned, her hand tremulously reached inside to grasp his hardened cock, pulling it free from its confines.
Joker’s cock was thick, the head glistening with pre-cum as she stroked it, her touch tentative yet eager. "Like whatcha see?" He asked, his voice hoarse with desire.
Penelope nodded, her eye never leaving his cock as she continued to stroke it, marveling at the power she held in her hands. "Please, J…" She whispered, her voice thick with need.
He didn't need to be asked twice.
He gripped onto her hip tightly, spreading her legs wide as he positioned himself at her entrance.
“Now what’d I say about begging?” With one smooth thrust, he filled her, his cock stretching her pussy as he slid deep inside.
Penelope cried out, her body welcoming the invasion, her pussy clenching around his cock as he began to move, his hips thrusting in a steady rhythm. He leaned forward, his lips finding hers in a hungry kiss.
Joker’s hands gripped her thighs, spreading her wider as he pounded into her, his cock hitting her sweet spot with each thrust. Penelope's body trembled, her orgasm building with each delicious stroke.
"That’s it," He growled against her lips. "There ya go, toots. Come on, show me how much you want it.”
His words were like a trigger, and Penelope's body exploded in a cascade of pleasure. She cried out, her pussy clenching around Joker’s cock as waves of ecstasy washed over her. He followed her over the edge, his cock throbbing as he emptied his load deep inside her, filling her with his hot cum.
As their heart rates slowed and their breathing returned to normal, Joker leaned back, watching as one of his hands ran over her scarred body. When their eyes met, Penelope smiled. Eye sparkling with newfound confidence.
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.
*all rights belong to their original owners
The Scarred - Chapter 12 🩸
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.
“Penelope…” Her name invaded her sleep, mingling with her dream in a way that didn’t make sense. “Penelope?” It continued. “Penelope!” Her head began to stir.
“Penelope!” She jolted awake to the sight of Liam standing over her, shaking her with what seemed to be a panicked expression. “Oi, ye need to wake up, we need to leave!” He urged, grabbing her arm and practically yanking her up out of bed. She shook her head, confused about whether or not she was still dreaming as he pulled her towards the front door.
“Liam! Liam, what’s going on?” She tried to fight back, but he wouldn’t budge.
“I’ll explain in the car, alright? Get yer shoes on!”
She did as he said, slipping on a pair of canvas shoes as the sound of sirens wailing in the distance finally caught up to her, Liam cautiously keeping watch from the window. When she stood up, he snatched her again and they bolted out of the apartment, making their way to the back staircase opposite of how they would usually come home.
Penelope struggled to keep up with him - especially as they sped down the stairs - and worried she was going to fall flat on her already scarred face.
My face! The realization hit her. She didn’t have her bandages anymore. She was bare. The cool breeze felt foreign to her, but it was relieving at the same time.
As she thought to herself, mindlessly following wherever Liam dragged her to, she caught the sight of a familiar van and her face contorted into confusion as the door slid open and she was pushed inside. Liam followed in directly behind her and pulled the door shut, tires burning out as they sped away from the sirens that quickly grew louder.
The van was notably more crowded. Four men tucked away in the back, one where Liam and herself sat, and two in the front. All armed and on alert.
“Liam, what’s going on?” Penelope asked, everything catching up to her at once. Her breathing quickened as she tried to swallow the growing familiar sense of impending doom, heart beginning to beat irregularly. He finally turned to her.
“Someone snitched.” He answered simply, but it only raised more questions.
“Snitched -?” She fell against Liam who caught her with ease as the van dramatically swerved.
“Aye. Yer not safe there anymore, Penny. I’m sorry.” He spoke sympathetically, keeping her close to him as they continued to be jostled around.
“Why wouldn’t I be safe there, who would snitch?” She urged, but Liam just shook his head and she kept quiet to her thoughts. The driver eventually became more controlled with his movements, everyone releasing a collective sigh of relief once the sirens eventually silenced.
The van rolled to a stop and everyone hopped out, Liam taking his time with Penelope who held onto him as if her life depended on it. Surrounded by the other men, he led them into a different abandoned warehouse, though more polished than the one she was in before. The stairs seemed endless as Penelope’s heart raced, in her ears.
The climb inevitably ended and they entered a medium-sized room, darker as curtains were closed to block out the daylight. Men moved about with a purpose, some carrying heavier objects and rearranging, others hunched over a table where papers were scattered.
But what really caught her attention was the familiar purple coat that joined the men at the table.
“J…?”
His gaze immediately made its way to where they stood, eyeing between the two of them causing Liam to step away. He approached her with an exaggerated swagger, but his eyes were sharper, more calculating than usual as he scanned her form.
“Well, look who made it in one piece.” He grumbled to himself. His gaze then flickered over to Liam. “Y’know, I was starting to think we had a problem.” Liam wasn’t affected by the subtle threat, however, as Joker turned his attention back to Penelope. His hand gripped her jaw, turning her head every which way to check on her before letting go and patting her cheek. “Get her some clothes.” He nodded at Liam.
“Sure thing, boss.” Penelope’s eye widened, looking over at Liam.
“Boss -?”
“Calm down, toots,” The Joker tried to console her. “He’ll explain.” He waved them off, throwing her one last look before he joined the men at the table once more.
“Come on, now.” Liam ghosted a hand over her back, leading her out and into a separate room just down the hall.
“Just what in the hell is going on!” Penelope snapped as soon as the door shut behind them. Liam sighed and ran a hand through his hair before searching for what she assumed were her ‘clothes’. “Liam, I swear, if you don’t fucking answer me -“
“Emma called the cops on ye.”
Her breath caught, a sharp pang hitting her chest.
“I told ye she couldn’t be trusted, Penny. She went snoopin’ where she shouldn’t have and found answers she didn’t like.” He finally turned to face her. “I’m sorry.”
He watched as her eye glazed over, pain being the first thing he saw. Then it shifted into something new, something he wasn’t familiar with. He saw anger. She raised a hand, pointing at him as her lips moved to speak, but nothing came out. Her hand then moved to point at the door. “You work for him?” Penelope practically whispered. “You’ve worked with him this whole time?” She took a step towards him, breathing shaky.
“Aye.” She chuckled dryly, turning around to pace a few steps.
“This whole time I’ve been telling you about him, and you just played along.” She thought out to herself.
“Penny -“
“Is anything about us real to you or was it all fake to get me here?” She turned to face him suddenly, pain returning.
“None of this is fake fer me. What we have is real, yeah? What ye and the Joker have is real.” He cautiously walked towards her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “I was only tryin’ to protect ye. Hell, I’d still lay my life down fer ye if it came down to it.” Penelope sniffed and he reached to wipe away the tear that fell.
“You promise?” She whispered. Liam nodded.
“Aye. I promise.” He rubbed her shoulders as she stood in thought. “How about those clothes, yeah?”
It wasn’t until then that she finally took in the room. It was smaller, seemingly a makeshift bedroom. A queen bed sat in the center. A more worn-down wardrobe sat against one of the side walls beside the bed. A single nightstand with a lamp. “What is this place?” She asked as Liam rummaged through the bottom drawers of the wardrobe.
“The Joker’s main hideout.”
“Is this…?”
“His bedroom? Aye. If ye couldn’t tell by how horribly furnished it is.” The two of them chuckled. He then stood up, holding a black turtleneck and leggings to match. “Uh…” He sighed. “Wasn’t sure about the color.” He stated sheepishly. Penelope just shrugged.
“Black’s my favorite, anyways.”
“Good! I’ll leave ye to get changed then. Ye can head back to the main room when yer ready, I’ll be there.” He gave a tight-lipped smile, patting her shoulder as he passed and left.
Once the door shut, she quickly changed, feeling gross from wearing the same thing for too long. She spotted a small mirror that hung next to the wardrobe and stood in front of it, eyeing the sleeve that was left unfilled due to her missing arm.
Penelope looked around the room, then spotted her knives and handgun sitting on the nightstand and smiled at the sight. Before she grabbed one of the knives, she spotted an extra piece of equipment.
A harness.
For the right thigh, three holsters for her knives. A holster for the handgun sat above them for easy access, she figured to prevent her from having to reach over to her left side.
She thought for a moment, wondering if she should try it on. Debating if this was what she truly wanted. Then she thought about what Liam said. About Emma calling the police, her apartment no longer being safe. She remembered what Joker had told her.
“… once you go down this road, doll, there’s no turning back. Your cute little world will not be there for you anymore.”
Her hand felt the leather, caressing it with her fingertips.
“I want you to stop pretending. I see potential. Potential that is greater than you’d ever know.”
Finally, she picked up the harness, struggling to slip on and fasten it with her one arm. She was eventually able to, tightening and fitting it where she could until it was comfortable. Grabbing the knives, she slipped them into their rightful place one by one, followed by the handgun. She then took one of the knives, carefully cutting through the fabric of her sleeve until it popped off, now leaving a hole where her shoulder was.
She took a deep breath, walking to the door when she stopped to look at herself in the mirror once more, eyeing her exposed scars. She chewed on her cheek, swallowed anxiously, then ripped the door open and made her way back to the other room.
Once she stepped inside, she felt eyes on her. Too many for her comfort. She stopped and looked around, finding Liam and the Joker next to each other at the same table as before. The former’s mouth was agape, in awe at the transformation while the Joker simply stared, expression unreadable.
The other men around the table quickly followed their line of sight, each of their own expressions holding a variety of reactions. Some were the same as Liam’s, others indifferent and going back to what they were doing previously. The Joker then motioned for her to come to them with his fingers, licking at his lips as she obliged.
“I see ya found my little gift.” He said as he eyed her up and down.
“I did.” Penelope replied quietly, all too aware of everyone around her. “It’s nice.” She complimented with the ghost of a smile.
“Good. It wasn’t cheap.” Liam gave him a look.
“Ye stole it.” He jested.
“Which took effort, alright? Let’s not worry about the little details here.” He waved off Liam as Penelope giggled before re-focusing on the blueprint of Gotham City laid out below them. “Now, as I was saying before being rudely cut off -“ Penelope and Liam shared a look this time.
She tried to disappear into the background, watching as the Joker spoke. It was the first time she’d seen him so…methodical. She had imagined chaos, shouting, maybe even madness. Instead, he seemed almost clinical in his delivery, though that unnerving smile still twisted his face.
“Here,” The Joker said, tapping the map, his voice low and raspy but commanding attention. “The main point of entry. It’s not heavily guarded, but that doesn’t mean we don’t take precautions. We’ll slip in, take what we need - and more - then leave. In and out.”
Liam nodded along, leaning over the blueprint to point out potential bottlenecks. “We should hit the power grid first, cause a blackout in the area. Maybe set off a couple a charges in the area. With the chaos around, no one will be lookin’ where we are.”
The Joker’s head tilted ever so slightly as he considered Liam’s addition, a grin spreading wider. “Now that’s what I’m lookin’ for. A little disturbance goes a long way.”
Penelope’s breath hitched. It was surreal, seeing him like this, Fully in control, directing the madness with such precision. The scars that marred his face were more pronounced under the dim lights, but it was his eyes that unnerved her the most. Hungry and sharp with intelligence.
He paused, studying Penelope like a new toy. “Got somethin’ to say, toots?” He asked, almost coaxing.
Penelope swallowed hard, her thoughts spinning as emotions piled on top of each other, fighting for attention. Excitement, adrenaline, hesitation, confusion. But her mind made its decision. “When do we start?” She asked as she looked up at him with a mischievous grin.
Penelope’s chest tightened as she watched the men around the table nod, some of them grinning, others chuckling at her boldness. The Joker’s presence was suffocating, pulling everyone into his chaotic orbit. And here she was, standing on the edge of it, caught in his gravitational pull. “Atta girl.”
After the meeting concluded, Penelope looked around and spotted a pile of crates by the only open window. As Liam and the Joker had their own conversation, she made her way over and climbed over a couple before sitting on top of one of them, facing the window as her legs swung over the edge. Her hand reached over to grab one of her knives, mindlessly flipping and toying with it as she thought.
She knew Emma for nearly two years. After everything they had been through, after all she opened up to her about, after their moments of vulnerability. She betrayed her at the first sign of trouble. Just as Liam said.
Thud!
She launched the knife into the crate in the spot beside her, digging it back out.
Emma turned her back as if it never meant anything.
Thud!
Penelope pulled it back out, about to throw it again.
“Do that again and you’ll set the whole place on fire.” The Joker’s gravelly voice stopped her.
“Really?” She asked in a minor panic.
“No.” He answered simply and she rolled her eyes with a giggle. He leaned beside her against the crates, head level with her thighs. A moment of silence passed before Penelope broke it.
“How did Liam know it was Emma?” She asked out of the blue, staring out of the window. Joker licked at his scars.
“Traced the call.”
“Liam told you about his suspicion about her, didn’t he?” He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, a confirmation. “I suppose I should thank you, then.” He grumbled.
“I don’t do ‘thank you’s.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. J.” The two glanced at each other, the Joker humming at the new title. “What exactly is this raid for?”
“Couple of the men found an armory. Hidden in plain sight.”
“As if you don’t have enough guns?”
“Well, you can never have enough. The fun hasn’t even started, toots.”
“I’m coming, right?”
“Well, duh, I wouldn’t drag you in just to sit around. But you’re stickin’ with me.”
“No complaints from me.”
-
The low hum of the city echoed in the distance, its usual chaos muted by the weight of anticipation. Penelope adjusted her harness, her fingers tracing the edges of the throwing knives snugly fitted in their holsters. The handgun sat just below her hip, a cold but reassuring presence. It had been hours of preparation, and now, standing beside the Joker, her pulse was a steady beat of adrenaline.
Liam crouched by a power junction a few feet away, his hands working quickly to cut the wires. The other men were shadows, blending into the urban sprawl, setting up charges farther out. The Joker stood calmly, watching, a glint of madness in his eye.
Penelope, nervous but determined, stayed close to him, practically stuck to his hip. He hadn’t said much to her yet, just a smirk here and there letting her know he enjoyed the fact that she was along for the ride. She kept her breaths steady, hands relaxed but ready.
“Alright, toots,” The Joker finally muttered, not turning to her but keeping his eyes on the armory’s entrance across the street, “Stay close.”
Her throat was dry, but she nodded. “Got it.”
Liam signaled from his position, and the neighborhood plunged into darkness. The streetlights blinked out one by one, leaving the street in a quiet, electric void. A low rumble followed, one of the charges going off. Penelope’s heart jumped at the sound, though no one else flinched. It was the distraction they needed.
“Time to move.” Joker grinned, tapping her on her hip.
They moved swiftly, the Joker leading the way through the newly darkened streets, his men fanning out behind him. The armory was hidden beneath the guise of a shipping company, its mundane exterior nothing more than a front. Penelope could feel the shift in energy, the calm before the storm. She could tell this wasn’t just a random job for him. It was calculated chaos, his version of art.
At the door, one of the Joker’s men swiftly bypassed the lock, and within moments they were inside, the scent of dust, carbon and metal filling the air. Penelope stayed close to the Joker as he said, her eyes scanning the room as they made their way through the warehouse. Weapons - guns, explosives, even military-grade equipment - lined the walls.
“This is the fun part,” The Joker whispered to her, eyes gleaming as he walked by a row of semi-automatics. “You take what you want and leave nothin’ for anyone else.”
Liam started directing the men, telling them what to grab and where to stash it. Penelope stayed beside the Joker, her mind racing. This was her chance. She hadn’t fully considered what being a part of this world would mean, until now. Yet, watching the Joker in his element, there was an allure she couldn’t deny.
As the men continued looting, a sudden clatter echoed from somewhere deeper in the warehouse. Penelope’s hand instinctively went to her knives, ready. The Joker just chuckled.
“Relax,” he said. “Always a few rats scurrying around.”
But Penelope couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. There was a rhythm to this. The power outage, the explosives, the break-in. But there was also the chance of everything going sideways. For the first time, she understood what Liam had meant when he taught her about staying calm in the face of danger during one of their training sessions.
“Stay close, toots,” The Joker murmured again as he pocketed a few grenades, “And keep those knives ready. Gonna need them sooner than ya think.”
Just then, the crackle of gunfire rang out from the far end of the warehouse, and one of the Joker’s men dropped to the ground. The distraction charges had pulled in some curious onlookers - possibly guards - but they weren’t enough to deter them entirely.
Penelope’s grip tightened around the hilt of her knife, and she felt the Joker’s hand on her back, nudging her forward.
“Go on,” He grinned, “Time to see what you’re really made of.”
Without thinking, Penelope stepped forward, eyes locking on the approaching guard. In one smooth motion, she hurled the knife. It sliced through the air with precision and buried itself in the guard’s forehead, causing him to fall back with a heavy thump. She reached for her second knife, ready to throw again, but the Joker’s laugh stopped her.
“Not bad for a first shot.” He cackled, stepping past her. “I’ll make a proper criminal out of you yet.”
Her heart raced, her fingers trembling slightly as she took a breath, grounding herself. The rush of the throw, the hit—it felt like a release, a tiny spark of the chaos the Joker had always seen in her. She gripped the second knife and stayed close to him as the warehouse descended into a frenzy, determined to prove herself in the dark heart of Gotham.
The warehouse erupted into chaos as the sound of gunfire echoed through the air. Penelope’s heart raced, a mix of fear and adrenaline coursing through her veins. She was still riding the high of her first throw when two guards burst into the room, weapons drawn and eyes scanning for threats.
“Get down!” One of the guards shouted, aiming his firearm at Penelope.
She felt a rush of instinct surge through her. She didn’t think; she moved. With a quick flick of her wrist, she released her second knife, watching it sail through the air, aimed straight for the first guard. It struck him in the thigh, and he stumbled, dropping his gun with a cry of pain, Joker bursting with laughter behind her. Liam ran up next to him, about to help her when he was stopped.
“Let her do it.” He ordered, and Liam stepped back with hesitation as they both watched.
The second guard turned to Penelope, fury igniting in his eyes as he charged at her. She didn’t hesitate, dodging to the side and using her momentum to pivot. Her training kicked in; she had practiced this with Liam, but this was different. This was real.
As the guard lunged, she grabbed his wrist, twisting it and using his weight against him to throw him off balance. He staggered, but his free hand shot out, catching her in the side. Pain flared, but she fought through it, focusing on her training.
With a swift kick to his knee, she brought him down, and before he could recover, she pulled out her gun, turned the safety off and pulled the trigger at his head before anyone could comprehend what was happening. The first guard groaned in the background, still writhing from the knife wound.
“Get him, Penny!” Liam called. The Joker simply leaned against a stack of crates, arms crossed, a predator watching his prey.
Penelope was already moving again, advancing on him as the first guard struggled to rise. She picked up his gun and held it at his temple.
“Get down.” She mocked before her face twisted into disgust and a shot rang through the warehouse.
“Such a violent little thing.” The Joker said to Liam with a smirk, still observing the chaos unfold as his laughter echoed off of the walls.
Penelope’s chest heaved with exertion. She hadn’t expected the thrill of the fight to feel so intoxicating.
She stepped back, regaining her breath as the two guards lay lifeless on the floor.
“Now, let’s finish this little party,” The Joker said, moving towards the door with a mischievous grin. “Remember, doll, it’s all about theatrics. You don’t leave any witnesses.”
Penelope followed him, a smirk on her face. This was her new world. The rush, the danger, the thrill of being truly alive. The Joker was right; she was beginning to love every moment of it.
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.”
Serenity - Chapter 8
Masterlist
Summary - Vulgaria was a remote country, held its own beauty quite unlike others. Everything about it was peculiar. The village, the castle, the people. In the village sat a rather famed tailor shop, and the recluse that was its head seamstress unknowingly caught the eye of a notorious henchman of the barbaric Baron Bomburst. Accepting a tempting offer, what was supposed to be a simple project began to meddle with her already disorganized family, and little did she know her sanity would soon follow.
"How long has it been?"
"Five hours, at least.”
"I'd say seven."
"I bet nine."
"Has she even eaten?"
"Hasn't left since the catcher brought her here."
"It's one thing to do your job. It's another when it's an obsession."
"You would know all about that, now, wouldn't you?" The group of women gasped and stepped away from the door they huddled in front of. Reuben made his way towards them with an irritated expression. "I wonder what his excellency would think if I were to tell him you all were harassing his new seamstress." Comically, the women all glanced at each other with fearful expressions before speeding off.
He smirked rather proudly and turned to the door, carefully opening in to prevent any disturbance. There Mary sat at a desk, hunched over a barely made dress she was working on. Eyebrows knit together as she focused, she hummed as she worked, not taking notice of the man just yet. It was quite obvious to him that she was in her true element. She was relaxed, comfortable. Dare he say at peace. It was a pleasant sight to him, especially after all she had been through in the recent weeks.
She stopped when she heard the door close lightly and turned towards it, eyes lighting up when she saw him.
"Reuben!"
"So sorry, it appears you were being eavesdropped." He spoke in a slightly agitated tone as he made his way over to her.
"Eavesdropped? By whom?"
"The other seamstresses." He rolled his eyes. "No matter, I got rid of them."
"Oh..." Her eyes downcasted in realization. "Well, thank you." She offered a smile before returning to her work.
"I must say, you work rather quickly."
"It's amazing what one can accomplish when left undisturbed." Silence followed, and only then did she realize how what she said sounded and looked up at Reuben with wide eyes. "I - I'm sorry, that's not what I meant at all."
"I know, dear." Mary sighed in relief and returned to what was in front of her. Then she felt her face warm at the new nickname. "Though, you do need rest every so often." He spoke as if he was talking down to a child, looking at her with a knowing expression.
"I'm fine, Reuben."
"You haven't eaten since you've been in here for who-knows-how-long, so I find that hard to believe." Mary avoided his gaze guiltily. "As far as I'm concerned, you haven't eaten since I brought you to the castle which, at this point, would be two days."
"I'm sorry..." Mary spoke softly. "I just got excited." Reuben sighed and removed what she held in her hands.
"Understandably so." He patted her shoulder to get her to stand up. "It's time I showed you the kitchen."
Mary's head spun with all the twists and turns it took to get to the said kitchen. The castle was large, yes, but walking through it felt like a maze more than anything. If all goes well, she wasn't sure how long it would take her to memorize what led to where.
The kitchen itself was large, naturally. Everything was pristine, clean as can be. Multiple stoves lined one side of the walls, the most she had seen in one spot probably. Men and women scrambled about, however in an organized manner. It seemed they had a routine that worked for the lot and it took her by surprise. Then she remembered where she was.
"Kochin!" Reuben raised over the chaos that was the kitchen. A short, plump man began speeding in their direction, exasperated.
"Yes, sir?" He asked hurriedly as he wiped a rag over his forehead, whipping it back over his shoulder.
"Bring a plate over for the lady." He leaned down closer. "A nice plate." The man, Kochin, then nodded hurriedly before scurrying off and yelling directions to the other cooks. "Caught them right as they were about to start cleaning up." He looked over at Mary with a quirked brow.
"Well, now I feel bad." She mumbled and wrung her hands.
"It's their job. They're used to it by now." Kochin returned quickly with a heaping plate of food, holding it out to Mary who stood with wide eyes. Reuben's eyes urged her to take it and she hesitantly did so.
Reuben nodded at the man and turned Mary towards the exit to walk them back to his room.
"I can't eat all of this!" She exclaimed as soon as they reached the bedroom. She sat down at a nearby desk and stared at the heaping pile of food.
"Then eat what you can. Meanwhile, I have to take care of a few matters. I shouldn't be long. Don't. Wander." He then shut the door behind him and she heard his footsteps fade down the hall.
The food smelt amazing, to say the least. It was the most extravagant meal she had received in her entire life. She felt awful knowing she surely wasn't going to finish it, but she would've felt even worse if she didn't eat anything from it at all. Choosing the latter she nibbled at her food piece by piece, taking her time to savor the rich flavors. But her assumptions were correct.
She was only about a quarter of the way finished by the time she was full. Either her stomach was shrinking or she hadn't realized how little she had really been eating in the village. Then the food coma hit.
She pushed the plate to the side to rest her chin in her hand, struggling to keep her eyes open. She hadn't the slightest perception of time, only following her body's instincts as her head finally came to rest on her arms to sleep. She must have been truly exhausted with how fast it hit her. Typically Mary would fight herself when it came to falling asleep, lying awake for half an hour at least before she succumbed to it.
Just minutes later Reuben walked in, stopping in his tracks when he saw Mary passed out on his desk. His eyes softened at the sight of it, knowing it was one of the few times she was truly at peace. He sighed and silently shut the door, taking off his coat and hooking it onto a rack that already held his hat before making his way over to Mary. He brushed a loose piece of hair from her eyes, debating on whether or not he wanted to move her and risk waking her up.
After a few seconds of thought he left to pull the sheets of his bed back, then hooked his arms beneath Mary, carefully lifting her to lay her on the bed. Thankfully, she didn't even flinch or move in the slightest save for incoherent mumbling at the action. He wasn't sure if he should've been concerned or not, but nevertheless he slid her shoes off of her feet and pulled the blanket over.
He was about to turn and leave, but his feet wouldn't move. He was planted by the sight of Mary's resting features. He took his time examining them, and he had to admit she had a unique facial structure. That was surely saying something considering his own.
She was rather beautiful in an original sense, in her own sense. It was a different kind of beauty that he couldn't describe. Perhaps he was around the middle-aged women of the castle too often, but even when he traveled to the village he never saw anyone that caught his eye quite like Mary.
There was a small knock on his door and he flinched when he saw Mary move the slightest bit, then he made his away over to it to see who it was.
"Apologies, sir," The maid spoke with a downcast gaze. "I was just coming to see if you needed anything else before you retired for the night?" She watched as Reuben disappeared for a moment, then returned with the unfinished plate of food and handed it to her with a sigh.
"She will need another dress for tomorrow, as well." He spoke in a hushed tone. Emilia nodded. "That will be all." Reuben confirmed dismissively, practically shutting the door in her face.
He huffed and began unbuttoning his vest, loosening the cravat around his neck as he glanced over at Mary over and over. He shook his head and folded the clothing over the back of his vanity chair.
Everything was frozen. Or rather seemed so. It all seemed so much darker than she had remembered. It was a different darkness. A darkness that lurked in the daylight where it shouldn't have been.
Mary turned in the center of the plaza, looking around at the villagers staring back at her with unreadable expressions. One stepped closer. Followed by another. Then it all happened like a domino effect, a mob crawling in her direction leaving her without an escape.
Her body betrayed her, feet frozen where she stood. Her breathing quickened, throat constricting in on itself. She clawed at her neck as her legs gave out, her knees taking the impact against the cold stone. She wheezed as they all enclosed themselves around her until they were all she saw -
Mary's eyes opened to the sunlight peeking through the curtains. She breathed in, slow and thorough. Her cheeks were cold. Wet. She sat up slowly, body drained even after her sleep. She wiped her cheeks tiredly as she sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling off the side.
She wasn't sure how long it had been before she finally stood, looking back over at the bed to see a dress laid out for her. Mary pondered for a moment on whether or not she should wait on Emilia, then decided against it and ran a bath for herself.
As much as she fancied the dresses, the tightness of them drove her up the wall. She cursed whoever thought up the idea of it as she began to tighten what she could, being sure to keep it looser for her own comfort. However, she huffed when the door opened. What she expected to be the maid turned out to be Reuben with a plate of breakfast and the huff became a sigh. "Oh, thank God."
She was taken aback at his appearance. Mary had been so used to seeing him clad in black that his undershirt on display was a sight she unexpectedly welcomed. His vest was still buttoned, encased around his more lean form accompanied by his cravat. The more dressed-down appearance seemed out of character for the man.
The catcher quirked a brow in amusement, catching her more wandering gaze.
"I feared you were the maid." Mary chuckled in an exasperated fashion.
"And why would that be?" He set down the plate and made his way over to her. "May I?" He motioned to her dress and she nodded in approval. He took the laces from her, bare fingertips grazing against her soft skin enough to set it ablaze.
"I know these dresses are supposed to be more form-fitting, but I'm certain she's trying to suffocate me." Reuben chuckled. It was light, different from the darker tone she was used to hearing while he was on the job.
He was far more gentle with his movements than Emilia was and Mary welcomed it gratefully. She couldn't explain what she felt whenever his hands brushed against her, but she was sure she was growing more and more drunk on it. Then it stopped. She stopped herself from pouting and turned to face him with a gentle smile.
"Thank you." Mary then turned to his vanity and grabbed a hair tie, quickly pulling her hair into a bun. "You didn't have to, you know." The woman sighed as she made her way over to her breakfast. She took her first bite, then looked up at him with a doe-eyed look. "Did you eat already?" The catcher nodded and leaned back against the desk beside her. She could feel his eyes on her, making her somewhat self-conscious as she ate. It was awkward for her and she began to drown in it.
She swallowed her current bite and gradually looked up at him. Reuben quickly averted his gaze elsewhere and she noticed a pink hue begin to dust his cheeks. Her chest fluttered and she took another bite in an attempt to hide her growing smile.
Later on, Mary found herself back in the sewing room after Reuben walked her, having to leave in that direction anyways. After closing the door he made his way to the throne room to the swarm of aristocrats and nobles that surrounded the barons.
"Ah, Catcher!" The Baron exclaimed, the group of sycophants parting themselves as he made his way over to Reuben who bowed deeply to the cheerful man as he approached.
"You called for me, your excellency?"
"I did, I did. Where is that lovely seamstress of yours?" Reuben faltered.
"Working on your lady's dress at this moment, my lord."
"It's coming along well, I hope?" The Baron began leading the two of them away from the crowd.
"I have no doubts."
"Good, good. Now," He stopped and faced Reuben. "I want you to bring your lady tonight to join us for dinner. You've built her quite the reputation, catcher, and I'd like to know more about this woman should she be our new seamstress."
"With respect, your excellency, she's not my lady." The Baron's eyes widened, then squinted as he drawled out a chuckle with a wink.
"Of course she isn't." It took all of Reuben's will not to roll his eyes. He was devoted, sure, but even the ever loyal catcher had his moments of irritation with the barons. Bomburst pat him on the shoulder before heading back over to his throne to mingle once more. Reuben huffed, straightened his coat with a snap and made his way back upstairs to Mary.
"Dinner?!" Panic set in Mary's eyes, putting an abrupt stop to her work. "I - I only just got here two days ago - and why would they want to have dinner with a seamstress?" Reuben, sensing her anxiety, tucked a stray hair behind her ear and rested a hand on her back.
"Being chosen to be the barons' seamstress is nothing short of a rarity. They simply wish to get to know you better to see if you're a good fit." Mary chuckled despite her current crisis.
"Was that on purpose?"
"Not in the slightest." Mary stood up and began to pace.
"What if I slip up and say something I'm not supposed to? Or do something I'm not supposed to?" She whipped around to face Reuben. "They won't put me to death, will they?" He sighed and stepped in front of her, lifting his hands to rest on the sides of her arms. Even with his gloves, she could feel the heat of it burning through, enough to soothe her almost instantly.
"You have no reason to worry." He watched as Mary's gaze remained downcast, eyes glazing over yet not a single tear falling. Timidly she reached up to hold onto one of his forearms, refusing to meet his eyes.
Then cool leather met her chin, gently coaxing her to face him. As her head turned her eyes continued to stray, and only when she sensed the smallest bit of confidence in the midst of whatever she was feeling did she meet the hazel of his eyes. It wasn't until then that she realized the little distance between them.
Everything was still in that moment. Seconds felt like minutes, where minutes felt like hours. It was all a haze, the smell of him intoxicating her, making her lightheaded. When she felt his lips on her own she froze for the smallest second, then began melding them as she reciprocated. The softness of his lips caught her off guard, but it was dearly cherished. The kiss was gentle, fervorous. Short.
They pulled back ever so slightly, eyeing the other for any sign of hesitancy or doubt, and when they found none they went in once more without a second thought.
It was more potent, held more passion. Gradually their breathing grew heavier. His fingertips ghosted over her jaw, reaching further back to cup it and draw her closer. Her hands found their way to the lapels of his coat, balling the fabric beneath.
It was awkward for him at first with his damned nose, but a few seconds in and he was almost perfect. In fact, Mary relished in the feeling of it brushing against her cheek. It brought her a sense of tranquility, and reminded her of who she was with.
When they broke away it was a slow movement, regretful. He stared at her with an intensity that left her weak, that would leave anyone weak. It made her feel as if she was all that mattered in that moment. Mary wrapped her arms around his torso, Reuben holding her close to him, head resting atop her own that nestled in the crook of his neck.
Mary wasn't sure what to think. She felt lost. Confused. Of everything that had happened over the course of the past two months, it was all blurring together and made her head spin. She tightened her grip around him in fear and puzzlement.
Mary focused on the feeling of him. The way it felt to have their bodies so close to one another, sharing the new moment of intimacy. Her lips still felt warm, tingly. Something bloomed in her chest, something she was unfamiliar with. It was indescribable to her yet it filled her with such an elation.
When they pulled away a single drop traveled down her cheek as Mary smiled at the man in front of her. He ogled with a sense of adoration, using his thumb to brush the tear away. Then a breathless chuckle escaped his lips.
"The Baron thought you were my lady when I spoke with him earlier." Mary held a curious mien.
"Oh?" Reuben's lips twitched in amusement.
"I told him you weren't, and yet here we are." It was Mary's turn to chuckle. A light giggle that made his heart flutter uncharacteristically.
"Am I, then?" Mary murmured, her expression thoughtful. Her next words were but a whisper. "Am I your lady?"
"I'm afraid so. I fear the day you soften me, and I'm even more fearful that it's already started."
The Scarred - Masterlist
Summary - Penelope Miller works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by trauma and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.
Notes - This story is set prior to the events of The Dark Knight. Some moments may feel OOC, but only because you will see sides of certain characters that weren’t represented in the movie, however I will do my best to stay true to the character and base it off of what is canon. *I do not own any of the content in this franchise other than my own characters!*
Song/Theme - “Set Fire” by Carina Round
Warnings -
Trauma
Flashbacks
Panic attacks
Anxiety
Gore/violence🩸
Aspects of torture
Sexual themes🔥
Smut (MDNI/NSFW) 🔞
Manipulation
Mature language
Chapters -
Prologue Chapter 10
Chapter 1 Chapter 11 🩸🔥🔞
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7 🔥
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Serenity - Chapter 9
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.
Reuben decided to stay with Mary as she continued her work, watching her careful movements in curiosity. The baroness' dress hung on a mannequin, nearly finished as Mary made final adjustments. Finally, she straightened it out and fluffed the skirt just a bit, standing back to admire her handiwork while fiddling with her fingers.
Sheer fabric was used for the arms, collar bone area and back. Ruffled fabric lined the shoulders, trailing around the back of the neck. The majority of it was a silver color, not too flashy yet still stuck out in a crowd. It held purple accents, of course, in representation of the Vulgarian colors.
"Do you think she'll like it?" Mary questioned anxiously, glancing at Reuben.
"I think you know my answer."
"'Of course, Miss Mary, she'll love it!'" She mocked him, making sure to flail her arms dramatically as she made her way over to her sketchbook to work on the design for the Baron.
"Well, you're not wrong, Miss Mary." He wiggled a finger behind her ear making her curl away from him and he smirked. "I'll be off to make my rounds, get out of your hair." Mary shot him a look as he made his way to the door. "I'm not sure when I'll be back, but I've told the maid to make sure you eat." Reuben eyed her before shutting the door behind him. Mary rolled her eyes with a bashful smile, sketching away.
She paid no mind to the time, naturally. There were no windows in the room and she was delved too deep into her work to really care to check. Emilia was her only clock. Mary did grow more aware after lunch, knowing she had to prepare herself for dinner.
A knock sounded softly from the door and was cracked open.
"Miss?" Mary whipped her head towards the maid with a nervous expression.
"Time already?" She received a sympathetic smile.
"I'm afraid so." Mary sighed, finding a stopping point in her work to follow her to Reuben's quarters. Her stomach sank at the sight of a new dress that lay across the bed.
"It gets tiring wearing more than one dress a day, no?" She questioned Emilia as she began undoing her dress, taking a deep breath within the short moment of freedom.
"I certainly would think so. At least you're not the one tying and untying all of them." Mary nodded in agreement, slipping out of the dress and into the more elegant one that Emilia held for her. "Your head seems to be healing well." The maid felt her tense slightly. "I could try and conceal it if you wish?"
"No, it's fine." Mary mumbled. "Thank you, though."
"My pleasure, Miss." Emilia finished up and undid Mary's hair, running her fingers through it in thought. She sat her down at the vanity, beginning to twist and braid it.
"Have you ever worked closely with the barons?" Now Emilia sighed.
"Once. Quite the experience. I would rather not do it again."
"Are you able to talk about it?" Emilia shook her head.
"I'm afraid I would speak ill of them if I did." She grabbed a few bobby-pins from the desk, beginning to pin up Mary's hair.
"What would happen if you did?"
"Let's just say you wouldn't be seeing me too often." She messed with her hair a bit more to perfect it. "Your curiosity could land you the same fate, Miss." Emilia noticed the woman's skin pale at the thought. Mary swallowed as the maid placed ornaments in her hair, then clipped a necklace around her neck.
"I worry I'll still be underdressed." Emilia chuckled.
"That's what they want." The maid fiddled with the fabric of Mary's dress, in a way soothing the both of them. "That's why everything seems so bland here. Everything except themselves." Mary looked up at Emilia with an unreadable expression. "Come, now." She patted her shoulders and the woman stood up. "I'm sure the catcher is waiting."
The two of them stepped into the hall and, sure enough, Reuben was making his way towards them. Emilia shut the door behind them and curtsied, then left in the opposite direction.
"Beautiful, as always." He complimented with a smirk, holding his arm out to her to which she took bashfully. As they ventured through the halls he could feel her hold grow more tense, anxious. He could almost feel her aggressive pulse through her hands. "You'll be alright. Remember what I told you."
"Will you be staying?" Mary nearly whispered, moving in closer to Reuben. He felt his chest swell with what almost felt like pride knowing she trusted him enough to feel protected, that he was a source of comfort for her. Then again, he was essentially all she had left to hold on to.
"He asked me personally, so I would assume so, yes. Let alone the fact that he thought you were -" He cut himself off, swallowing. "That you are my lady." Mary had to bite her lip to keep herself from smiling. He began to smile himself when her grip loosened a bit in comfort. Mary's eyes grew curious when they approached a set of glass doors. Reuben held the door open for her and they stepped out into what she assumed was a garden.
It was a decent size, though not incredibly large. It was vibrant compared to the dull interior of the castle, but it was a welcome change. Colorful flowers bloomed wherever she looked, a variety of floral smells pleasantly filling her nose. The golden rays of the setting sun rested on the area, creating an even more alluring scene.
Reuben led her down a few steps, guiding her further into the garden as an awed grin spread across her face. It was calming enough to make her forget what she was dreading in the first place, but then a small opening brought her back to reality.
A medium-sized glass table sat in the center, a set of tasteful chairs sat around it. A larger bottle of wine accompanied by glasses sat upon it, already opened and being drunk by the Baron. The Baroness, however, waited patiently as she looked around at the garden. There was a glint in her eyes, however, when she spotted the two of them entering the court and smiled.
"Bombie?" She nudged her husband and he shot up, boisterously cheering. Mary curtsied while Reuben bowed, as per usual.
"No, no, no! Have a seat, none of that!" He exclaimed happily. Reuben pulled a chair out next to the baroness for Mary before seating himself next to her. She looked over at Mary and offered a warm smile, and she gave a more shy one in return. "Well," The Baron drawled as he leaned in. "How is our seamstress settling in? Well, I hope?"
"Very well, your excellency. I couldn't be more thankful for your hospitality."
"Ah, but it's just an eye for an eye! You're helping us, and as long as you do, you will be a welcome guest here." Servers arrived, pouring wine into their glasses and setting plates with silverware in front of them.
"How is your project coming along, Miss Elise?" The Baroness spoke up, sipping on her wine as she turned towards Mary in keen interest.
"It couldn't be any better, my lady. I actually finished your dress just this morning." The Baroness gasped in excitement, clapping her hands together.
"That was quite quick! Efficient, isn't she, Bombie?" The man in question just chuckled with a nod.
"Fast, yes. But quality is what I am personally looking for."
"You couldn't ask for a finer dress, your excellency." Reuben piped in to support Mary, and it seemed to boost the Baron's confidence in her work. The maids returned with their dinner, laying trays and bowls in front of them with what seemed like enough food for the whole village to Mary.
She glanced around, unsure of their customs and courtesies when it came to dining. She watched the others begin to plate once the Baron began and followed suit, being cautious with how much food she took, and rather eating with her stomach instead of her eyes. Mary had to hold in her already obvious satisfaction as she took her first bite, the food warm and freshly cooked.
They all made small talk throughout the meal, whether it was lighthearted joking or simple questions. She wasn't quite sure what to think of them. She'd heard awful things from the villagers, and then Emilia, yet Reuben seemed to think so highly of them. He always spoke of them with utmost respect, save for a snide remark every now and then, but it happens with everyone. She just wasn't sure if it was out of fear or genuine admiration.
"When should we expect to see your work?" The Baroness curiously asked once they all began to settle from the meal, though Bomburst continued to nibble here and there.
"I've just started on his excellency's, so I would say the day after the next."
"Well, I'm thrilled to have a fresh mind at work. And one with unique talent, I've heard." The Baroness glanced over at Reuben, and in turn Mary looked over at him as well. He quirked a brow at her and she gave a tight lipped smile.
"You've built it up so much, I better not be disappointed when I see it!" The Baron suddenly called out. Mary's skin turned to paper, but she continued with her pleasant facade for appearances. She felt Reuben sneak a hand over hers from under the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"I certainly have no doubts about your talent. If the Child Catcher says your work is a sight to behold, then I trust his opinion." Mary covered his own hand with her other and color gradually returned to her face.
"I suppose you are right, my dear." Bomburst begrudgingly agreed. "He's been with us for many years, you know." He directed at Mary. "I would say he is my most trusted worker here in Vulgaria. I'd take him over the Chancellor or any of those other aristocrats any day." Though it sounded like a compliment, the Baron truly meant it as more of an insult to those in the castle. "So if I see you mistreat him, or if there's any suspicion of it, I will have your head."
Mary feigned a smile at the Baron.
"I wouldn't dream of it, your excellency." He nodded firmly, then slapped his thighs and stood up.
"Well, I think I'll retire for the night. Many things to take care of. I'll be waiting for our little gift, Miss Elise." He poked fun at the seamstress before abruptly leaving the court. The Baroness soon stood to join him, but turned towards the two of them one last time.
"You're more than welcome to visit the gardens if you wish." She then followed after her husband, an elegant skip in her step that Mary found curious.
She released a breath she didn't know she was holding and sat back in her chair, loosening her posture. Reuben held in an amused chuckle.
"Care for a walk?" The man asked as he stood, offering a gloved hand to her. She collected herself for a few moments before she took hold of it and followed him.
The air was but a gentle breeze that calmed her and she took in her surroundings appreciatively. The village never held such gardens, and it felt as if she had been trapped in the castle forever. She could already see herself visiting quite frequently whether it was by herself or with Reuben.
They reached a railing that looked over the smaller mountain the castle sat on, revealing a grandiose view of the countryside not visible to the village. It held rich shades of green in its hills and other mountains, an occasional structure in the distance. The sun had just reached the horizon and Mary couldn't help but stare.
As Reuben hesitantly slid an arm around her waist and pulled her closer she began to realize how peaceful everything truly was in that moment. It was hazy, as if it wasn't truly reality. Never would she have thought she would end up where she was. Not in the castle, not as a seamstress in that castle, and especially not with the man who practically everybody feared most, second to the Baron himself.
"Reuben?" Mary whispered, fearful of breaking whatever it was that was happening.
"Yes?" She hesitated before answering.
"I'm scared to leave this moment."
"Reasonably so." He looked down at her from where they stood. "But there's much more to come."
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