igot-the-juice

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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.

Chapter 9

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

Armitage stirred first, blinking against the soft light as his senses came back to him one by one. The weight of a body against his side registered next. Cold. Solid. The absence of breathing a unique reminder of who it was.

He turned his head slightly.

(Y/n) lay beside him, half-buried beneath the sheets, hair tumbled and unbound, one arm rested upon his chest with her head tucked under his chin. Her expression, usually composed and sharpened by discipline, was peaceful. It was a version of her he’d never seen before, one reserved for these rare, unguarded moments.

He didn’t move for a long time. Just watched her.

He wasn’t sure what surprised him more. That she had let him this close… or that he had allowed himself to meet her there.

Her eyes fluttered open, slow and amber in the dim light. For a heartbeat, she looked at him as if unsure whether the moment was real. Then she gave the faintest smile, quiet and reserved, but unmistakably genuine.

“You’re staring,” she murmured, voice still husky with sleep.

“It’s difficult not to.” He admitted, not bothering to look away. 

She raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t push. Instead, she shifted so her head was resting on the curve of his shoulder.

There was silence again, comfortable.

Eventually, (Y/n) broke it. “I thought I’d feel conflicted,” she said quietly, “But I don’t.”

He glanced at her, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Good to know that we’re on the same page, then.”

Another pause. 

Then he leaned in slowly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “We should be on the bridge soon.”

(Y/n) sighed. “Let’s give it five more minutes.”

“Five,” he agreed softly. “But no more.”

After they finished getting ready and checking in for updates at the bridge, the two of them made their way to the general’s office. 

Just as they settled themselves, the door hissed open with its usual sharp efficiency. 

Phasma entered first - polished and imposing in her chrome armor - followed by Varo with a datapad clutched in his hand.

Hux and (Y/n) stood behind his desk patiently as they approached. And if there was any tension lingering from the intimacy of the previous night, neither showed it. 

(Y/n) stood tall in her uniform, hair pulled back to perfection, eyes sharp once again. Though Varo’s knowing glance didn’t miss the faint glow in her complexion. He said nothing, but a smug grin tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth.

“General. Umbral,” Phasma greeted coolly, giving a slight nod of acknowledgment.

“Report?” Hux requested. 

“We finished processing the remaining rogue prisoners last night,” Phasma said, her voice smooth and unyielding. “Nothing useful from three of them. Too scared or too loyal to give us anything beyond what we already know. But one of them slipped.”

Varo stepped up, tapping on the datapad and projecting a faint holo display over the table. “One of the younger ones mentioned a location unintentionally. They were arguing with one of the guards and let it slip while cursing about ‘wasting time near the dead moon.’ We cross-referenced it with known Resistance supply routes.”

“We found activity consistent with a hidden relay station,” Phasma finished. “It’s remote, but its location makes it a perfect fallback point for the remaining rogues and potentially their leader.”

(Y/n)’s jaw tightened, her eyes flicking over the projection. “Dead moon… That’s near the Obraxis Veil. It’s unstable territory.”

“Exactly,” Varo said. “Which means anyone hiding there is either desperate or confident that they won’t be followed.”

Hux’s expression darkened. “We can’t afford to ignore this. If they’re regrouping, it means their leader could already be en route.”

“They will be,” (Y/n) said quietly. “This wasn’t just an attack. It was a distraction.”

Phasma’s tone didn’t waver. “We’ll need to act soon, sir. If you authorize it, we can begin planning a strike team. Smaller, mobile, precise.”

Hux nodded once. “Begin preparations with both your Troopers and the Covenant. I want operational parameters ready within six hours.”

“Yes, sir,” Phasma replied crisply before turning and exiting without another word.

Varo lingered just a beat longer. “I’ll coordinate and have them ready to deploy.” His gaze drifted briefly to (Y/n), and he added with a quiet smirk, “You good?”

She gave a tight nod. “Good.”

With a short salute, Varo followed Phasma out, the office door hissing shut behind him.

Silence settled again between Hux and (Y/n), the weight of the intel heavy in the air.

“This is accelerating,” Hux said lowly.

(Y/n) nodded. “They’re forcing our hand.”

He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable, then said softly, “Then we’ll make sure we’re ready.”

Once again, the two found themselves inside the briefing room, lit only by the soft blue glow of the encrypted holoprojector in the center of the room. 

General Hux stood with his hands clasped behind his back, face expressionless but alert. (Y/n) stood to his right, arms folded, sharp-eyed and composed. Though her posture was rigid, Hux could feel the tension beneath it. 

The holoprojector hummed to life, flickering before stabilizing into two distinct projections. On one side, the tall, imposing form of the Supreme Leader of the First Order emerged in holographic light. His features were partially obscured, but the cold, piercing eyes were unmistakable.

On the other, the figure of the Covenant’s Grand Master took shape. Tall and regal, skin pallid like marble and eyes ancient with knowledge. His ornate robes flowed with ethereal stillness, and the emblem of the Covenant pulsed faintly across his chest.

“General,” the Supreme Leader greeted, allowing the briefing to start.

Hux nodded once and spoke clearly. “The rogue Covenant group we engaged has yielded new information. Through interrogation, we’ve confirmed the existence of a possible fallback position used by the rogues near the Obraxis Veil. We believe their leader may be regrouping their forces there due to the complexity of the location and growing activity that intelligence is collecting.”

The Grand Master tilted his head slightly, voice like cold velvet. “And you are confident in the validity of this information?”

“Yes, Grand Master,” (Y/n) answered. “The source was… resistant. But they broke. We believe this was a coordinated distraction meant to divide our attention.”

The Supreme Leader’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Then you’ll deal with it before they can mount anything further. I expect a clean strike.”

“We’re already preparing a mobile unit,” Hux confirmed. “Captain Phasma and Umbral Drenn are coordinating troop selection. The Covenant will be deployed in tandem.”

The Grand Master’s gaze slid to (Y/n). “And what of the interrogation personally? Did it provide anything else of value?”

(Y/n) hesitated for half a breath, but her voice remained steady. “There were personal complications. But they didn’t interfere with the mission. The prisoner is being held for further interrogation, should more be needed.”

The Grand Master’s expression barely shifted, but something flickered in his eyes. Understanding, or perhaps warning. “Complications have a way of multiplying, Umbral (L/n). Ensure they do not cloud your purpose.”

“They won’t, Grand Master.” (Y/n) said, cool and resolute.

The Supreme Leader’s hologram leaned forward slightly. “You’ve been granted considerable support, General. Further proving alliance with the Covenant remains necessary. I want results. Fast.”

“You’ll have them, Supreme Leader.” Hux replied without hesitation.

The two projections exchanged one final glance. The Supreme Leader and Grand Master both united in purpose if not in ideology. Then, in perfect synchronicity, they cut transmission. The holoprojector dimmed, and silence returned to the room.

(Y/n) exhaled slowly. “They don’t trust us.”

“No,” Hux said quietly. “But they’ll trust what we deliver.”

He turned towards her, and for a brief moment, their expressions softened. 

“I should brief my soldiers now. I’m sure they’re itching to get more information on what exactly is happening.” (Y/n) nearly complained as she picked up her datapad to contact Varo.

Unsurprisingly, he immediately picked up. 

“Yeah, boss?” He greeted in his usual casual tone. 

“Gather the Covenant into the briefing room. I want to go over the new intel with them.” 

“You got it. I’ll make sure they’re there in 15.” The screen blipped, signaling the call ending. 

(Y/n) rubbed at her forehead with a sigh, her arm dropping down by her side. 

“Tired?” Hux quipped with a tinge of playfulness, hinting at their activities from the night prior. (Y/n) tossed him a look and he raised a brow at her defiance. 

Minutes later, just as Varo had said, the Duskborns stood in formation around the briefing table, tall and cloaked. 

(Y/n) stood at the head of the table, Varo and Hux stepping to the far side of the room, choosing to remain out of the spotlight. 

(Y/n)’s eyes scanned the room as each Duskborn straightened under her gaze, a mix of respect and readiness resonating in the still air.

“This mission will not be simple,” (Y/n) began, her tone clipped and clear. “The faction knows they’ve been exposed and - as we all know - desperation makes people dangerous.”

A soft hum from the holotable populated a projection. (Y/n) gestured to a narrowed valley system just outside of a decommissioned relay tower. “These are their projected fallback coordinates. Intel confirms their leader is still unaccounted for, but we anticipate they will return once the rogues transmit the message of unresponsive personnel.”

She looked up, sharp eyes locking with each of the operatives.

“You are not just here to fight. You are here to make a statement. The Covenant does not tolerate traitors. This mission is to uphold the Blood Accord and by treason, their punishment is execution by beheading. Cold and swift.”

There was a ripple of quiet approval through the Duskborns.

One of the newer members, a younger male, raised his hand. “Umbral (L/n),” he said carefully, “is it true that some of the rogues were once part of noble lines? Possibly even family?”

(Y/n) froze for just a fraction of a second.

Her posture remained rigid, her expression unreadable, but a storm passed behind her eyes.

“Yes,” she said flatly. “But that is irrelevant to the mission. Regardless of who they once were, they swore their oath and chose treason against their own people.”

A stillness settled over the room. Even the Duskborn who’d spoken looked uneasy, as if he realized too late the weight of what he’d asked.

Across the room, Varo shot the general a sidelong glance and whispered under his breath, “Told you she’s scary when she gets that tone.”

Hux’s eyes didn’t leave (Y/n) as he hummed in agreement, and something more.

(Y/n) continued smoothly, voice unwavering.

“You will all work as a team, but will be assigned in pairs. Umbral Drenn will lead the central push  alongside the Order’s stealth troopers. General Hux and myself will direct from the command ship that will be following your transport. We will keep our distance, but close enough to intervene if necessary. Additionally…” (Y/n) paused.

“ There’s the dramatic effect.” Varo mumbled with a smirk.

“I want to make it perfectly clear that the Grand Master has authorized the full extent of both Covenant and Umbral engagement. Mercy does not exist in this mission.”

A ripple of anticipation swept through the Duskborns. For many, it had been decades since they’d acted under such authority, and the thought of it made them itch for a fight.

(Y/n) stepped forward, shoulders squared, her presence almost magnetic.

“If any of you falter, I will know. And I will not hesitate to pull you for questioning.”

A beat of silence. Then the Duskborns struck their chests in unison. A solid, thudding vow.

Varo leaned towards Hux again. “She really does the ‘terrifying vampire warlord’ thing well.”

Hux allowed a faint, private smirk.

“Truly,” he murmured. 

(Y/n) gave one final look to the team.

“Further details will be provided to you soon. Dismissed.”

As the Duskborns filed out like silent shadows, Hux and Varo remained behind. (Y/n) lingered at the holotable, eyes fixed on the map, though her thoughts clearly drifted elsewhere.

Varo approached carefully. “That question back there, about the rogues and family…”

“I handled it,” (Y/n) said sharply, too quickly.

Varo nodded once and backed off, giving her space. But Hux lingered a second longer, watching her with something unreadable behind his gaze.

She didn’t turn to face him, but he didn’t press. Something between them said he understood, and that he wouldn’t let her carry the weight alone.

The door hissed closed behind the last of them with a finality that somehow felt heavier than usual.

(Y/n) stayed in place, her arms folded as she gazed out in front of her. Her shoulders were squared like always, but her stillness betrayed her. Armitage stepped in quietly behind her.

“You handled the briefing well,” he said.

Her response was slow, deliberate. “I know.”

Hux gave a small nod, then caught her off guard as he moved to lean against the edge of the table in front of her, watching her. Silence lingered a moment longer than comfort allowed.

“That Duskborn,” he said, “as ignorant as he was -”

(Y/n) finally looked at him. “It doesn’t matter. They’ll all find out eventually. It’s better that they heard it that way, without room for doubt.”

“You were… composed,” Hux said carefully.

(Y/n)’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “That’s not what you were going to say.”

He didn’t correct her.

“Attractive?” He attempted, the word feeling foreign to him, and the context even more so.  

She looked down bashfully for a moment, then uncrossed her arms and took a slow breath.

“It’s strange,” she admitted. “To feel something burn when you thought you’d already cauterized the wound. I shouldn’t care. I don’t know why I do.”

“Because you’re not heartless,” he said simply.

That made her eyes darken. Not from anger, but from quiet emotion.

“Has it ever been a requirement for you?” she asked softly. “To be in this world and not feel?”

“Not a requirement,” he said, voice lower now. “A means of survival.”

(Y/n) stepped closer, her presence steadying the space around her.

“I hate that part of me still listens for her voice. Still waits for her approval.”

Hux nodded, then after a moment, reached out. Not commanding, not demanding. Just offering.

She took his hand.

“You don’t need her voice,” he said, quietly now. “Not when you have your own.” He gently pulled her to move closer, stopping mere inches away from him.

(Y/n) stared at their joined hands for a moment, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Somehow, you always say the right thing.”

“I don’t,” he said with a flicker of a smile. “I simply say the truth.”

That earned a soft, real breath from her. Not quite a laugh, but something close.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” he asked gently.

“I am,” she said. “Because you’ll be there.”

Their eyes met - his hand still in hers - and for a long second, neither said a word. 

(Y/n), in a moment of bravery, leaned into him. Her arms slowly settled around his waist, head resting against his chest as he did the same, his head on top of her own. 

It was a foreign comfort to be embraced by someone other than themselves, a dangerous comfort. One that they found to be a quickly growing addiction the longer they strayed in the other’s presence. They still had much to explore emotionally, but for now, it was just enough. 

Eventually, they had to pry themselves apart - albeit begrudgingly. They still had to go over planning for the all-too-quickly nearing mission that had everyone involved on their toes.

The briefing room was quiet save for the hum of the holomap and the occasional flicker of shifting data. (Y/n) stood beside Armitage at the table, both of them deep in concentration. 

Tactical reports hovered in midair beside the map. Enemy movement patterns, terrain schematics, and intercepted transmissions scrolling in real time.

Armitage selected a section of the display, rotating the terrain of the target zone with precise movements. “They’ve fortified the main entrance. We’ll need to breach from the east or south. Preferably somewhere we can mask the team’s entry long enough to get through the outer perimeter.”

(Y/n) nodded, eyes scanning the projections. “There’s a patch of dense forest here,” she pointed, “if we move in under the cover of night, with the right cloaking and noise suppression -”

“It’s still too close to the secondary patrol route,” Armitage interrupted, adjusting the map again. “If they sweep early, our unit’s compromised before they even touch the ground.”

“They won’t sweep early,” (Y/n) countered. “We’ve tracked the intervals. Their pattern hasn’t changed in over a month.”

“Which is exactly why they’re due for it to change.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that sat heavy between two people who were both too smart and too stubborn for their own good. (Y/n)’s eyes flicked towards him, brows raised. Hux stood straight, unfazed, still looking over the map like it would bend to his will.

She folded her arms. “You’re planning for variables that don’t exist.”

“I’m planning for the worst-case scenario.”

“And you think I’m not?”

They stared at each other, tension mounting again. It wasn’t the anger of enemies, more the clash of sharp minds refusing to yield. There was something in the air, simmering just beneath the surface. Not quite frustration, not quite admiration… but undeniably something.

Armitage stepped around the table to get a better angle of the terrain projection, then gestured sharply at a ridge. “Fine. Then let’s go over your precious landing spot one more time. Tell me exactly how you intend to keep them hidden here.”

“I just did,” (Y/n) said, stepping around to meet him. “But you weren’t listening and were instead trying to win, so I’ll repeat it.” She stiffly stepped towards the map closer and pointed, words more pronounced in simmering agitation. “If we drop the team here ,” She said sharply, “they’ll have both cover and elevation. It gives them visibility over both known entrances to the base while still remaining hidden.”

Armitage’s eyes narrowed. “It may be a cloak, but it also puts them at risk of scan detection. The Resistance scans for signs of incoming ships in that valley in quick, short intervals. Our last recon proved it.”

“They’ll be cloaked and will be moving between intervals where the scans are not active,” (Y/n) retorted. “Unless the Resistance has acquired a new array of sensor tech we’re unaware of -”

“They don’t need new sensors if we hand them a clean shot on a silver platter,” Armitage cut in. “We use the ridge and we’re compromising their stealth. They’ll be spotted in minutes.”

“Not if they move quickly and precisely, which my people are known to do.” (Y/n) argued.

“I’m not gambling with their lives based on if , (Y/n).”

(Y/n)’s mouth opened, a retort ready, but before it could leave her tongue the door to the room hissed open. 

Varo and Phasma stepped in to find both of them nearly shoulder to shoulder, the holomap between them like a line in the sand. They watched as both of their heads whipped to face them, the heat of their previous discussion still burning in their eyes.

Varo gave a low whistle and a grin. “Interrupting something tactical or something personal?”

(Y/n) stepped back slightly, clearing her throat. “Strategic discussion.”

Phasma’s helmet turned to the holomap. “Of course it is.”

Hux gestured to the holomap, a gentle huff escaping past his lips before he spoke. “We’re finalizing the drop zones. She wants to use the high ridge. I say it’s too exposed.”

“And I say stealth cloaking will keep them hidden if they move quickly and efficiently out of the drop zone before they’re caught in a scan,” (Y/n) added with clipped precision.

Varo and Phasma stepped closer, surveying the layout.

Varo leaned over the glowing terrain map and pointed. “We could use the ridge for their initial descent and have them rappel directly into tree cover before advancing. That way the transports can evade the scans in time as soon as they’ve dropped. We know they’re capable.”

Phasma gave a small nod. “It’s viable. Terrain there is steep but manageable for trained units. We’ve done it before.”

(Y/n)’s shoulders dropped just slightly. “It’ll be tight, but it works.”

Hux gave a short exhale, the tension in his stance loosening. “Alright.”

Varo crossed his arms and shot (Y/n) a teasing look. “You two always like this?”

“Only when he’s wrong,” (Y/n) muttered under her breath.

Hux’s brow twitched, but he turned away to adjust a tactical overlay.

Phasma didn’t comment. Only slightly shook her head, perhaps to hide the trace of amusement.

The sounds of daggers clashing and slicing through the air filled the matted training room, echoing off of durasteel walls. (Y/n) ducked and pivoted, her blade a silver blur as Varo dodged many close calls. 

Neither spoke now. This was their language. Precision, movement, and endurance.

Varo grunted as (Y/n) feinted left, then spun into a calculated strike that he just barely blocked. “Starting to think you’re enjoying this more than usual,” he said between breaths.

“I am,” (Y/n) replied coolly, not missing a beat.

Then the doors hissed open.

Neither flinched at the sound. They kept moving, trained to never let their guard down. But (Y/n)’s gaze flicked briefly towards the figure that entered.

Hux, hands clasped behind his back, eyes already fixed on them with keen interest.

Still, they kept going.

He said nothing, only stepping in far enough to stand just off to the side. Observing.

He watched closely. The sharpness of (Y/n)’s posture, the swift control in her strikes, the clean and lethal grace she carried like second nature. It was different from everything else he’d seen from her. Different from her stoic professionalism on the bridge or the romantic partner she was evolving into.

This was raw. Focused. Unapologetically in her element.

“You’re throwing too wide,” (Y/n) told Varo mid-duel. “Again.”

“I’m trying to make you sweat,” he replied, breath hitching with effort.

“You’ll need a better plan.”

She stepped in with a quick flurry of strikes that pushed Varo backward, forcing him to readjust his footing. Hux’s brow lifted slightly. She wasn’t even winded.

After another exchange, Varo finally gave a sharp exhale and disengaged, lowering his blades with a low chuckle. “You see what I’ve had to put up with, sir?” he called toward Hux, half-joking, half-exhausted. “She’s all calm and quiet until you put a weapon in her hand. Then she turns into that thing.”

Hux’s mouth twitched in the barest hint of a smile. “I’ve noticed.”

(Y/n) said nothing, simply stepping back and tilting her head toward Varo in acknowledgment of the match. Her breathing was controlled, but her eyes glinted with intensity, skin gleaming and shadowed by the low light of the chamber. She looked at ease. 

“Want to go again?” Varo asked, rotating his shoulder.

“Probably wouldn’t be a good idea. Don’t want to tire ourselves too much before the mission,” she replied, her gaze now shifting to Hux.

Varo raised both hands. “I can take a hint.”

But he didn’t leave. Just moved to one of the side benches, giving them space but clearly still within earshot if needed.

Hux stepped forward, studying her carefully. “Impressive.”

(Y/n) tilted her head slightly. “You’ve never seen me fight.”

“No. But I suspected.”

“And now?” she asked, her voice still laced with that post-spar calm. 

“Now I’m even more glad that you’re not a rogue.”

She allowed a flicker of a smile to pass before turning to grab a towel, blotting her neck and face. Varo stretched out on the bench with a sigh.

“Can’t wait to tell the others I survived sparring with the Umbral herself,” he muttered.

“You’re lucky she was holding back,” Hux remarked dryly, still watching (Y/n).

Varo turned to her in disbelief. “You were holding back?”

(Y/n) tossed the towel over her shoulder and shrugged with a mischievous smile as he rolled his eyes. She then looked back at Hux, her expression unreadable now. “Did you come to pull me back to the bridge?”

“No,” Hux said softly. “I came to see you.”

Varo, now very much pretending to scroll something on his datapad, smirked.

(Y/n)’s gaze lingered on Hux’s a moment longer, her voice quieter as she replied teasingly, “Well, you’re seeing me.”

And Hux - despite everything he knew of war, strategy, and command - was at a loss for what to say to that.

But he nodded once. Because he had seen her. And it had changed everything.

So he settled on saying the only thing he could manage. 

“Care for a walk?” 

(Y/n)’s eyebrows raised slightly before smirking. “Mind if I shower first? It won’t be long, I promise.”

“Of course.” He nodded, then watched as she made her way to the showers and disappeared. 

He glanced over at Varo who still sat on the bench and the latter gave him a knowing look.

“What?” The male Umbral held his hands up in surrender before standing.

“Nothing, General.” He passed by Hux to leave with a smirk. “Nothing at all.” 

A few minutes passed and (Y/n) finally emerged, hair let down and wet, out of uniform in an undershirt, leggings and her boots. 

“Shall we?” She asked him after he stared at her for a moment. He caught himself and nodded, the two of them making their way out of the room. 

Armitage and (Y/n) walked side by side, a comfortable silence lingering between them after the intensity of the sparring session. Armitage’s hands were tucked behind his back, ever composed. 

“You fight differently than I imagined,” Armitage said after a stretch of silence.

(Y/n) glanced over, brow arching slightly. “Is that a compliment or a concern?”

He let out a low breath, almost a laugh. “A compliment. Though I admit, there was a moment I feared for Varo’s life.”

She gave a small, amused hum. “He should be used to it by now.”

“You’ve always been dangerous,” Armitage continued, his tone quieter now, more thoughtful. “But that was… different. There’s a clarity in you when you fight. Like it’s the only place your mind is truly at ease.”

(Y/n) didn’t answer at first. That struck a little too close. Instead, she looked straight ahead, eyes sharp even as they softened.

“It’s the only time I feel in control,” she said finally. “Everything else… there’s too much room for uncertainty.”

Armitage glanced over at her, brow furrowing just slightly. “Including myself?”

She slowed her pace before she stopped entirely. He stopped beside her.

“Especially you,” she said honestly, voice low.

They stood there for a beat in silence, the air between them heavy, but not uncomfortable. 

He spoke thoughtfully. “I’ve devoted everything to this fleet. This cause. And then you…” He sighed, words failing him for a moment. But (Y/n) was already watching him like she understood everything he hadn’t said.

“I didn’t expect it either,” she murmured. “But I don’t regret it.”

He studied her for a long moment, thinking. He looked around them, the corridor empty as personnel slept through the night cycle, leaving the skeleton crew to themselves. 

He then offered his arm in a rare, almost shy gesture.

She looked down at it, then back up at him with a faint smirk before linking her arm with his. “Careful, General. You’re starting to look sentimental.”

He let out a quiet, dry laugh. “Only with you, Umbral.”

They continued their walk, together now in stride and silence, with more said between them in that quiet than any words could.

They rounded another corner, neither in a rush to return to their respective quarters. There was a tension between them, but it was a quiet, mutual thing now - no longer volatile, but charged in a different way.

Finally, Armitage slowed to a stop outside of his door. He hesitated for a moment before he turned to face her with a thoughtful expression.

“Would you think -” He stopped himself for a second. “Since I saw your quarters, I think it’d only be appropriate for you to see my own, yes?” he said carefully before opening his door. He gestured for her to enter and (Y/n) glanced at him in question before stepping in. 

His quarters were pristine, larger than her own. Fitting for a general. But something else was different, something softer. 

The lighting was dimmer, warmer than usual. A strange contrast to the harshness of his office. It still held a sense of strict order and discipline, but it had an odd comfort to it as well. 

“I assume you’re hungry after training?” He asked as he hung up his overcoat and made his way to the kitchen. 

“Starving, even.” (Y/n) sighed as she took in the room, wandering over to where he stood in the kitchen and leaning against the counter beside him, watching. 

The soft hum of the heating element filled the room as Armitage moved with practiced precision, setting out two mugs and a tin of loose-leaf tea. His posture was, as always, precise - spine straight, movements calculated - but there was an ease to his presence that only showed in these rare, private moments.

(Y/n) lifted a curious brow when he went into the fridge, then her lips parted when he pulled out a blood back and went to warm it up. He gave her a mischievous side glance.

“Since when did you start having blood packs in your quarters?” She asked in disbelief. 

“Since I figured you would visit at some point.” He shot back with a faint smirk. 

“And when would that be?”

He raised a brow at her. “I’d say last night.” He nodded as if he actually had to think about it.

(Y/n) giggled quietly, a hint of amusement tugging at her lips as she watched him fix his tea once the water heated.

“You even prepare tea like you’re orchestrating a military campaign,” she remarked, arching a brow.

Armitage glanced over his shoulder with a dry look. “Precision is key. Unlike some, I prefer my beverages not tasting like dishwater.”

(Y/n) smirked. “That almost sounded like a personal jab.”

“It was,” he said evenly, turning back to the tea. “I once had a droid bring me a tea that tasted like it was put in a dirty mug with the bag only steeped for five seconds.”

(Y/n) chuckled. “I’m assuming you’ve had serious trust issues since then?” 

Once finished making his own tea and the blood pack was warmed, he poured the thick substance into her own mug and turned to hand it to her. 

“I had trust issues before then, imagine where the bar is now.” 

(Y/n) graciously took the mug with thanks and shook her head, following him to the living room to sit on one of the couches. 

As they settled in pleasant silence, sipping from their mugs, (Y/n) could feel Armitage’s gaze linger every now and then as she drank. She was used to it coming from other people, but from him it was amusing. 

“If you’re curious, just ask. You’re not going to offend me.” She offered gently from the edge of her mug. 

She locked eyes with him for a moment, watching as he debated himself internally on what to ask, if he should even ask. 

“Does it help?” The question finally slipped, his head lowering to gesture towards her mug.

“The blood?”

Armitage hummed. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Are the packs enough? Being synthetic - they are synthetic, correct?” 

(Y/n) couldn’t help but giggle again at his genuine curiosity, finding it endearing. “Yes, they’re synthetic. It’s not the same as organic blood, but it’s enough to make do. It’s more humane, anyways.”

“How often do you need it?”

She paused for a moment in thought before answering. 

“I’d say every few days if I’m not exerting myself. More often during missions or when I train - like today.” 

“And what if it’s not available when you are hungry?” Armitage caught her finger twitch, a subtle sign of discomfort. “If it’s too much -“

“It’s fine.” She cut him off softly before answering his question, but not before sighing. “The Covenant trained us under starving conditions during our field exercises. We were taught to exist in it, to harness it rather than be controlled by it to ensure we wouldn’t be a liability.”

Armitage’s brows lifted slightly. “You were starved on purpose?”

(Y/n) shrugged indifferently. “It was just part of the process,” she said. “In our final trials, we went without blood for weeks. Hardly any sleep. They wanted to see if we’d break, and anyone who did failed the academy.”

She met his eyes and smirked at his near incredulous expression. 

“I think it made me a better person for it, anyhow. Even for those not in the Covenant, it’s a good learning lesson for our kind to keep them from going on a murdering spree.” She attempted a jest at the end.

Armitage hummed in thought as he eyed her. She set down her mug and carefully brushed her fingers over the top of his gloved hand. He turned his palm up to intertwine their fingers, his eyes never leaving her face. 

“We should get some rest. I imagine tomorrow is going to be quite busy.” He suggested softly. 

(Y/n) nodded in agreement, taking a deep breath before slowly resting her head on his shoulder. 

“Quite busy…” She repeated in a murmur as she stared at the coffee table. 

Chapter 8

Pairing - General Armitage Hux x Reader

*Set prior to The Force Awakens*

Summary -

Forged in blood. Bound by duty. Broken by desire.

(Y/n) (L/n) is a deadly Umbral of the Covenant - an elite order of vampires sworn to the First Order. Her assignment: serve as General Hux's personal guard. But as buried secrets surface and a rogue vampire faction rises, (Y/n) is forced to confront a past she can't outrun - and feelings she was never meant to have.

In a war of blood, betrayal, and duty, the deadliest threat may be the one that lies still in her chest.

Series contains - Blood, violence, battles/war, betrayal/angst, eventual smut, slow burn

The door slid shut behind General Hux as he entered his office, footsteps light yet heavy with unspoken thoughts. The atmosphere in the room was thick, weighed down by the events of the interrogation, and (Y/n)’s presence only seemed to intensify that tension. She stood by the viewport behind his desk, her back turned to Hux as she gazed out at the stars. It was hard to tell if she was looking for answers from the vastness of space or simply trying to avoid the thoughts swirling in her mind.

Hux lingered near his desk, watching her carefully. He hadn’t missed the shift in her demeanor since the interrogation. There was something different about her now, something subtle but undeniable. He knew that what had transpired in that room had left a mark on her. 

“(L/n),” Hux began, his voice steady but tinged with curiosity, “You’re quiet.”

(Y/n) remained silent, her fingers tightening on her arms where they were crossed in front of her. It was as if she were weighing something inside herself, something she didn’t know how to voice. After a moment, she exhaled slowly, but didn’t turn to face him.

“What she said,” she murmured. “About us.”

Hux responded plainly, but his averted gaze showed otherwise. “She seemed to think it was significant.”

(Y/n) finally turned, her expression guarded. But there was a flicker of something in her eyes, something vulnerable. “Is it?”

The question hung in the air, leaving no space for games or half-truths. Hux felt a strange twist in his chest, a tightening he wasn’t accustomed to. He studied her as (Y/n)’s gaze faltered, her shoulders tense as if she were bracing herself for an answer she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear. 

“Do you think…” She paused and took a deep breath. “Do you think she was right?”

Hux slowly rounded the table closer to her, his expression softening as he drew closer to her. “Well, that depends,” he began, his voice more earnest now, “If I think she was, then it would mean something. Wouldn’t it?”

She swallowed, the words lodged in her throat. She had expected him to brush it off, to dismiss it like so many other things she had been told to suppress. But his response wasn’t what she had imagined. It made her heart beat a little faster, her pulse quickening at the thought of facing the truth of what was building between them.

“You know, I didn’t expect you to humor talking about it,” she admitted, her voice softer now. “But… I can’t stop thinking about it. Especially after what she said.”

Hux studied her carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly as he searched her face for any trace of the controlled stoicism that had defined her for so long. But it wasn’t there. Not now. Instead, there was something raw, something that made him feel exposed, as if the walls they had both kept between them were slowly crumbling.

“You’re not the only one trying to make sense of it.” Hux admitted, much to their surprise.

(Y/n)’s breath caught at his words. It was disorienting, in a way, to hear him say what had been silently understood between them. And yet, it was the first time in what felt like forever that something real, something genuine, was spoken aloud.

“My focus has always been on the mission. I’ve tried to justify it as my loyalty to my assignment, but this…?” She paused. “It’s different.”

Hux took another step closer, now barely a foot away from her as his expression grew more tender than she had ever seen it before. “It is different. But we don’t have to figure it all out right now. Not everything has an immediate answer.”

(Y/n)’s gaze flickered to the floor for a moment, but slowly lifted to look at him again once she felt the brush of his gloved fingers against her arm. She knew there was so much they couldn’t say, not yet. The words were all tangled up inside of her, but she felt a shift in the air, an understanding that neither of them had ever truly acknowledged until now.

“We can’t pretend this is nothing,” (Y/n) said, her voice a little firmer now. “ I can’t pretend it.”

Hux studied her for a long moment, his gaze softening. “Then we won’t.”

(Y/n) glanced up at him, her eyes searching his face, looking for some sign that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment of honesty. It was as if they were both testing the waters, unsure of how deep they were willing to go. But for once, she didn’t want to pull back. 

And they didn’t. 

The silence between them grew thick with the weight of unspoken words and shared realizations. (Y/n) stood there, the distance between them closing, yet neither one made a move. The tension was palpable, the quiet stretching out in a way that felt almost unbearable, like they were both standing on the edge of something they didn’t fully understand, but wanted to.

Hux’s eyes never left hers, his expression still soft but full of intent, even hesitation. There was a moment of vulnerability there that (Y/n) had never seen in him before, a rawness that made her breath catch. It was clear now that they were both standing on the precipice of something new, and though neither of them could predict where it would lead, neither of them seemed ready to walk away from it, either.

Slowly, (Y/n) stepped forward, closing the space between them and causing the hand on her arm to shift higher. She’d never been this close to him before. Not like this. It felt like every breath she took was shared with him, every beat of his heart hers to share. She could feel the heat of his body, his scent. And it made her feel as if everything else had melted away.

For a brief second, she hesitated, unsure whether to continue or pull back. But then, she saw something in his eyes. An openness that mirrored her own. It was in that fleeting moment that she realized she didn’t have to be afraid of what they were becoming. She didn’t have to hide from this. From him.

His hand reached up, fingers brushing lightly against her jaw, testing the boundaries between them. Her own hand came up to rest on top of his chest, feeling the thrumming of his heartbeat beneath her palm. It was an intimate sensation, one she never had the luxury of feeling. 

Hux didn’t flinch, didn’t pull back. He remained still, waiting, letting her make the decision.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. She was acutely aware of how close they were now, of the electricity crackling between them, urging them forward. She could feel his breath warm against her face, his gaze steady and searching. Everything in her screamed to lean in, to finally bridge the gap that had always been there.

And then, without thinking, without words, she closed the distance.

Her lips met his, tentative at first. Testing, unsure. But when he responded, both of them moved together as if they had always known how. It was slow at first, tentative, as if they were both discovering this new part of themselves.

(Y/n)’s hand slid up to his neck, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer, and Hux’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her into him. The intensity of the kiss deepened, and for the first time in a long while, (Y/n) felt a sense of peace, as if everything had come full circle. 

She had always been so guarded, so controlled. But now, with him, she didn’t have to hide anymore. There were no expectations, no pressures. Just them, in this moment, finding something real.

They finally pulled apart, breathless, both of them looking at each other as if they were seeing one another for the first time.

Hux’s fingers gently brushed her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray piece of hair that was out of place from its usually perfected style. “We should’ve done this sooner,” he whispered, his voice low and full of meaning.

(Y/n) let out a breathless laugh, the sound soft and genuine. “Maybe. But I’m glad we didn’t rush it.”

Hux hummed in agreement. 

The room was still, and for once, the weight of the war, the orders, and the missions didn’t seem so heavy. It was just the two of them.

“I don’t know exactly what this means, but I’m not as afraid of it as I think I should be.”

(Y/n) felt a knot in her chest loosen at his words. It wasn’t a declaration of love, not yet, but it was something. It was enough for now.

“Neither am I,” she said, almost to herself, before looking up at him with a softer expression. “I don’t know what happens next, but I’m not afraid either.”

Hux gave her a small nod, his lips curling into the faintest of smiles. “We’ll find our way.”

Neither of them had all the answers, but they knew one thing for certain - they were no longer pretending. And that, in itself, felt like the first step forward for them. 

(Y/n)’s voice broke the stillness first, soft and almost hesitant. “(Y/n),” she said, her voice a little unsure as she spoke her own name. It was an offering, an invitation. It felt almost too personal, too intimate to say aloud.

Her gaze dropped for a moment, mind racing as she tried to gauge his reaction. It felt like she was crossing an invisible line, one that might make everything feel different. But she didn’t regret it.

Hux’s eyes softened, his expression unreadable for a moment as he looked at her. It wasn’t the name of an officer or a superior. it was something else entirely. It was personal.

“I -” He stopped himself, the words getting caught in his throat. “Armitage.” He nearly choked out, his heart racing uncharacteristically. But the gentle smile she gave him made it worth it. 

“Armitage.” His heart skipped. He wasn’t used to hearing his name spoken with such sincerity, but somehow, hearing it from her felt natural.

Hux’s lips twitched upward, and he couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, as if a weight had been lifted. He hadn’t expected it, hadn’t even realized he wanted it, but hearing his name from her own lips felt like a bond. A commitment, maybe, even if they both didn’t fully understand it yet.

Her gaze softened as she looked at him, and for a moment, it seemed like the weight of their shared experiences had brought them to a place of understanding. They both knew that this wasn’t just about the mission anymore. There was something here, something that was no longer hidden beneath their armor.

“I suppose we should prepare to brief Drenn and Phasma.” Armitage reluctantly reminded both himself and (Y/n), not wanting to ruin their moment. The latter sighed and nodded before they slowly peeled away from each other and turned towards his desk. 

Once the two others arrived, Hux was standing behind his desk with (Y/n) to his left, the others on the other side. They all knew the nature of what had transpired, the importance of the information that had been gathered. But the air still held some form of thickness with the remnants of the intense interrogation.

“I’m pleased to say that the interrogation was successful. But now it is imperative that we act quickly from what we received. (L/n), if you will.” The general began.

(Y/n) straightened slightly, acknowledging the order. She had become used to this dynamic, this balance of trust and command between them. Her gaze shifted from Hux to Varo and Phasma as she spoke.

“It was confirmed that the rogue faction is still in contact with Resistance forces, but their next location is still not clear enough for us to target,” (Y/n) began, her voice steady but tinged with something colder now, something sharp. “However, Elira,” She paused, just for a moment, to steady herself. “Made it clear that there is a larger play at hand.”

There was a brief flicker of recognition in Varo’s eyes, and Captain Phasma’s unreadable expression didn’t change, though the air seemed to tighten. The information had clearly shaken them both, but none of them dared to show it.

“It seems the Resistance has a heavier involvement with the faction than what was originally assumed.” Hux added, his tone darkening. “They’ve been providing the rogues with supplies and safehouses. Coordinating and assisting each other to perform these recurring strikes on First Order establishments.”

Varo frowned, his eyes narrowing. “And they’re preparing a larger strike?” he asked, his voice full of masked concern.

(Y/n) nodded. “They wanted to regroup, build momentum, and meet the others at the next location. What they failed to consider was the Covenant’s involvement. That’s what ultimately led to their capture.”

Hux didn’t let his gaze falter. “But the remaining rogues are more elusive, believe it or not.” He commented with a hint of annoyance.

Phasma spoke up, her voice as calm and measured as ever. “What’s our next move?”

(Y/n)’s eyes were cold now, her focus entirely on the task at hand. “We still have the other four prisoners to pull information from so we’ll be able to finalize a more stable plan once that’s taken care of. We need names, contacts, any possible location. They have to know something if they were planning to meet the others.”

Hux glanced at her, a flicker of admiration in his eyes before he turned back to the others. “Once all information is extracted, we must act swiftly, and with precision. This isn’t about eliminating the rogues anymore. This is about stopping a much larger operation.”

Varo looked to (Y/n), a slight smirk tugging at his lips before turning back to the general. 

(Y/n) gave a nod, her expression firm. “More than stop them. We’ll send a message. Make sure this never happens again.”

Captain Phasma stepped forward. “Then it’s settled. I’ll have droids assigned to interrogations during the scheduled timeframes.”

Hux nodded in approval. “That is all for now. I will notify you after information is collected from the interrogations and ready to brief. Dismissed.”

Phasma and Varo nodded, the latter casting her a final, knowing look before turning to leave. 

Following the brief, Hux and (Y/n) reached the entrance to the bridge, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent corridor. The doors slid open and they stepped in with purpose. The crew worked in near silence, their movements efficient and synchronized, the controlled hum of the ship’s engines providing a constant backdrop.

“Report?” Hux asked immediately, his gaze sweeping across the room as he approached the control console where a subordinate officer stood.

The lieutenant snapped to attention. “General Hux, Umbral (L/n). No significant updates since the last transmission. However, we’ve managed to locate a few more traces of rogue activity. It’s a small, hidden network. It seems we’re closing in on one of their projected targets based on the patterns we are seeing.”

Hux’s eyes narrowed slightly, a dangerous edge to his voice. “Are they still active or attempting to relocate?”

The officer’s fingers flew over the console, bringing up new data “We have a rough location, but there are no confirmed movements yet.”

(Y/n) stepped forward, her eyes scanning the information that flashed across the screen. 

Her hand rested on the console, her fingers brushing lightly against it as she leaned in closer, and inevitably closer to the lieutenant who hadn’t moved away. He held his breath at her proximity, frozen in place by the intimidation of her presence. And he had a sinking feeling as he looked at her that he even found her slightly attractive. 

Hux looked between the two of them, blood simmering beneath his skin. He would never admit it, but his glare towards the subordinate was more than enough to express what he was feeling. 

The lieutenant finally looked up at the general and his eyes widened slightly, immediately taking a step away from her.

“Set a course to the location,” she finally said, her tone firm. “We can’t afford to take any chances of losing them.”

The officer hesitantly glanced at the general who gave a node of approval. “Yes, Umbral.”

Hux stepped back, his gaze shifting to (Y/n), watching her as she took charge. There was an intensity about her now that matched his own, and it stirred something in him that he had to push down. He couldn’t afford to let distractions cloud his focus. Not now.

“Good,” Hux said, his voice was particularly hardened, but still carrying authority. “Keep me updated if anything changes.”

“Yes, General.” The officer acknowledged before the two of them left the bridge once more.

Later on, (Y/n) found herself within the alcove where she and Armitage had their first moment together, a quiet stillness settled in the later hours of the night cycle. (Y/n) sat on the bench just the same, her back against the wall, her dark uniform replaced by simple black attire. The issued sleepwear was comfortable, yet still representative of the Covenant. The lights were dim, casting long shadows over the space. She wasn’t used to this kind of quiet as of late, but tonight, it was a welcome change.

Her thoughts were a tangled mess, the events of the day and the intensity of her feelings for Hux weighing on her in ways she didn’t know how to process. 

The kiss. The words they hadn’t fully said. The subtle shift between them that she couldn’t ignore. 

She had spent enough time thinking about it, enough to start overanalyzing every single moment, trying to understand it all.

She was lost in thought when the soft sound of footsteps echoed from the corridor. She glanced up, finding Varo rounding the corner. His ever-present smirk was softened tonight, though. A far cry from the playful taunts he usually threw her way.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Varo said with a casual shrug, his eyes scanning the space before landing on her. 

(Y/n) didn’t respond immediately, her eyes flicking towards the corner of the alcove.

“Yeah,” she said quietly, her voice betraying a trace of emotion she couldn’t quite hide. She quickly cleared her throat. “It’s been a long day.”

Varo took a seat beside her, his posture relaxed, his arms casually resting on his knees. “You know, for someone who’s usually an uptight prick, you’re not as composed as you usually are. What’s going on?”

(Y/n) remained silent for a moment, her eyes focused on a distant point in the alcove, not wanting to meet his gaze. She could feel the weight of his expectant stare, the way Varo seemed to have this uncanny ability to know when something was off.

Varo grinned, sensing her hesitation. “I’m guessing this isn’t about your mother or the rogue vampires. You’ve had plenty of that already. So, what is it?”

(Y/n) hesitated, taking a deep breath. “It’s… about the general.” she admitted, her tone softer than she intended.

Varo raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Ah. That explains a lot.”

She shot him a quick, almost defensive look, but Varo’s expression remained calm, casual. He clearly wasn’t going to push. At least, not too much. He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms and waiting, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

(Y/n) sighed, finally meeting his gaze, her eyes guarded but honest. “It’s not as simple as I thought it would be, Varo. I -” She paused, unsure of how to continue. “I didn’t expect this to happen the way it did. It was completely unexpected.”

Varo didn’t interrupt. He just let her speak, waiting for her to continue at her own pace. He knew better than to press, especially when (Y/n)’s walls were this high.

“I’ve been focused on duty. On my assignment. I’ve kept myself guarded for so long, and now… now there’s this.” Her voice trailed off, a mixture of uncertainty and something else she couldn’t place.

“Sounds like you’ve got some feelings there,” Varo said lightly, his tone teasing but not unkind.

(Y/n) didn’t laugh at his joke. Instead, she nodded, her eyes distant. “I do. We both do. But it’s more than that. It’s… I don’t even know how to explain it.” She took a moment, glancing down at her hands, her fingers twitching nervously. “He’s… different. I’ve never allowed anyone to tear me apart so quickly. To leave me so open and vulnerable. I don’t know what to do with it.”

Varo watched her closely, his gaze softening for a moment. “You don’t need to figure it all out at once, you know. You gotta understand that we were trained to be soldiers. We’ve never had the luxury of dwelling on things like this.”

(Y/n)’s lips tightened into a thin line. “I know. But this isn’t about the mission anymore. Not entirely.”

“And yet,” Varo said, leaning forward slightly, “You’re still thinking like a soldier. Even with him. You’re afraid, (Y/n). You’re afraid that if you give in to this, it’ll distract you. But it won’t. It’ll just change things. And sometimes… that’s the best kind of change.”

(Y/n) let out a slow breath, her eyes lowering again as the weight of his words sank in. “You think so?”

Varo didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back against the wall again, crossing his arms and looking at her with a thoughtful expression.

“Don’t think too hard about it. You don’t have to be the perfect soldier all the time. Hell, if you ask me, Hux needs someone like you.”

(Y/n) looked at him sharply, a little surprised. “What do you mean?”

Varo shrugged casually. “Hux… he doesn’t always know what to do with himself. But with you?” He chuckled lightly. “He’s definitely got someone to keep him on track if something happens. Emotionally and professionally.”

(Y/n) shook her head slightly, the smallest of smiles tugging at her lips. “You think so?”

“Trust me. I’ve been watching.” Varo’s smirk widened. “But, more importantly - you two? There’s something there.”

(Y/n) glanced at him, her smile turning into a soft laugh. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never done this before.”

Varo grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, there’s only one way to figure it out.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders seemed to ease just a little. “You’re right.”

“I know,” Varo said with a knowing smile. “I’m just here to remind you that you don’t have to have everything figured out. Sometimes, you just need to… let it happen.” Her eyed her for a moment. “You wanna know something else?”

She glanced at him curiously, encouraging him to continue. 

“I’ve heard that relationships with personal assignments are actually encouraged by High Lords.”

(Y/n)’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“It creates a deeper sense of loyalty. Which, in turn, would mean a more successful assignment.”

(Y/n) sat in silence for a moment, her thoughts swirling as she took in what Varo had said. For once, she allowed herself to relax, to let the uncertainty sit without trying to fix it. There was a strange comfort in that, even if it didn’t feel entirely natural.

“Thanks, Varo,” she said softly, turning to face him.

He winked at her. “Anytime.”

(Y/n) and Varo remained seated in comfortable silence. She leaned back against the wall with her arms loosely folded, her thoughts still lingering on the kiss, on the shift between herself and Armitage.

That shift seemed to arrive in person only moments later as footsteps approached. 

Varo lifted his head first, eyebrows raising with amusement as the tall, unmistakable figure of General Hux rounded the corner into the alcove.

Hux paused when he saw them, his expression unreadable but his gaze lingering on (Y/n) a fraction longer than protocol might have allowed. He wore his uniform still - sharp, pristine, and composed - though there was something faintly softer in his eyes as they flicked between the two.

“Drenn,” Hux greeted stiffly, polite but distant as ever in tone.

Varo rose to his feet smoothly, flashing a smile that didn’t quite hide the glint of mischief in his eyes. “General,” he replied with mock formality, brushing nonexistent dust from his jacket. “I was just keeping her company, but I think she’s in good hands now.”

(Y/n) gave him a mildly exasperated look.

“I’ll take the hint,” Varo added under his breath as he passed her. Then more loudly, to both, “I’ll be in my quarters if you need me.”

As he walked off, he gave (Y/n) one last, knowing glance. She rolled her eyes at him behind Hux’s back.

Once he was gone, a quiet settled again. Armitage stood a few feet away, his hands folded behind his back. There was a pause, the kind that stretched just long enough to hint that he hadn’t come here by accident.

“I was looking for you,” He said finally. “I stopped by your quarters.”

(Y/n) glanced over at him, still seated, her expression open but cautious. “Is everything alright?”

He hesitated, then took a few steps closer. “I thought you might want company. After everything today.”

Her eyes flicked downward, then back up to him. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know.” He looked down for a moment, then met her gaze again.

There was something in his voice. Tentative, unfamiliar. Like the footing beneath him was uncertain and he didn’t quite know how to steady himself in this territory. She understood the feeling.

(Y/n) pushed herself up from the bench slowly, now standing beside him in the soft lighting of the alcove. Her hair was down, and the shift from her usual rigid posture made her seem more human, more vulnerable. Armitage saw it and found it hard to look away.

“It’s strange,” she murmured, “How everything’s changed so quickly.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Armitage paused. “But sometimes change can be good.”

She met his gaze, studying him. “You’re right, that’s very strange coming from you.”

Armitage threw her a side glance of disapproval. “I have my moments. Just that no one ever sees them.”

(Y/n) gazed at him a moment longer, her sharpness dulled by weariness and something far more tender.

Then her voice, quiet but sure, made a simple offer.

“I suppose I should have my dinner now.” A faint curve tugged at one corner of her lips. “Would you like to join me?” 

Armitage blinked once, as if surprised. Not by the invitation itself, but by how much he wanted to accept it. His expression gave away little, save for the slight lowering of his shoulders and the flicker of something softer behind his eyes.

“I would, actually.”

(Y/n) inclined her head in a simple nod. “Come on, then.”

She turned and began walking without ceremony, confident that he would follow. 

He did. 

His stride falling in just behind hers, his hands still clasped behind his back in a subconscious effort to maintain composure. But as he walked, he realized with a strange sense of peace that for the first time in longer than he could remember… he didn’t feel the need to be composed.

Not with her.

And in that silence, he let himself fall into step beside (Y/n), hands slowly unclasping themselves from behind him. He walked beside her not as the General of the Finalizer, but simply as the man she had invited in.

The door shut behind them with a soft hiss. 

(Y/n)’s quarters were sparse but lived-in, dimly lit with the gentle glow of low lumen panels. There were few personal touches. Just a few old Covenant relics lining the shelf near her desk, and folded training attire draped neatly across the back of a chair. Still, it was warmer than most quarters on a First Order vessel. Warmer than his.

(Y/n) moved first, her posture more relaxed than usual, her movements quieter.

“Sit wherever you like,” she said, brushing past him to a compact kitchenette where she retrieved two mugs. “The lighting’s adjustable if it’s too dim. I just keep it darker for obvious reasons.”

Armitage glanced around, then chose the loveseat built into the wall across from her bed. He sat back with his hands resting in his lap, posture still perfect. 

(Y/n) then brought over both mugs. She handed him his - a pale amber tea with a faint herbal scent - and kept the dark crimson one for herself. 

Armitage nodded to her as a thank you before she settled in beside him without a word.

For a moment, they just sat in silence. Sipping slowly, the quiet stretching comfortably between them.

Then Armitage spoke, low and thoughtful.

“I think I could get used to seeing you this relaxed.”

(Y/n)’s brow rose as she took another sip. “Why’s that?”

“It’s oddly comforting, I think. Even reminds me of myself outside of working hours.”

She set the mug down on the coffee table in front of them. “Well, no one stays sharp forever. Not even me.”

Hux gave a short, amused huff. “Don’t let the others hear you admit that. It would shatter their entire perception of you.”

(Y/n) turned slightly towards him, resting one elbow against the back of the couch and leaning her head on her hand. “Let them believe what they want. Fear has its uses.” There was a pause. Then she added, quieter, “Except with you, of course.”

He turned his head slowly to look at her, and found her already watching him.

Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes. 

Those eyes . 

They were open. Clear. Trusting.

“I’ve spent most of my life hiding what I feel,” (Y/n) said softly. “From my parents, from the Covenant, from the Order. But I somehow find myself not wanting to have to hide from you.”

Hux set his mug aside, his fingers accidentally brushing her hand that rested on her thigh. It wasn’t intentional - not exactly. But he didn’t move away either.

“I’m not used to this,” he admitted. “Any of this. But I can’t deny that I find myself wanting it.”

A beat. 

“Wanting you.”

Her breath hitched just slightly, but her hand cautiously turned beneath his, palm to palm, fingers threading together in a tentative hold. She thought about Varo’s words before Armitage arrived. 

“Then have me,” she practically pleaded quietly.

His thumb brushed the edge of her knuckles. For all his control, he still looked like a man trying not to fall too fast. But in her presence, he was already halfway there.

They leaned towards each other - not a rush. But a slow, inevitable draw. When their lips touched, it wasn’t urgent. It was grounding.

(Y/n)’s hands instinctively reached for him, her fingers tangling in his short, gelled hair as she pulled him closer. His arms wrapped around her waist, his touch firm yet gentle, as if he was afraid she might shatter.

The kiss deepened, entwining in a dance that spoke of pent-up desire and unspoken longing. (Y/n) could taste the remnants of the tea he drank, the warmth of his breath mingling with her own. 

As they broke apart, breathless, Armitage rested his forehead against hers, his hands sliding down to her hips. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

(Y/n) asked, her gold eyes glinting. “And what is it you want?”

“You.” He nearly growled. “ All of you.”

Her hands traced the contours of his uniform, her touch deliberate with barely contained desire. “Then take it.”

Armitage’s eyes darkened as he suddenly pulled her on top of him, relishing the light gasp that slipped past her lips which he quickly captured once more. Their hands began to wander over one another as their tongues mingled and danced. 

Armitage’s fingers then began to tease the hem of her shirt, slipping up beneath it to let the unnaturally cold temperature of her skin meet his warmth. He broke apart from her lips to wander down her neck as she sighed at the feeling of his warmth, eagerly welcoming the foreign sensation. 

As his hands continued to caress higher, his fingertips carefully brushed the underside of her breasts, following the curvature to their outer edges. (Y/n) let out a particularly loud sigh as his thumbs ghosted over her erect nipples, hips growing restless as she squirmed on top of him. 

He hummed against her neck at the feeling of her brushing against the growing tent in his uniform and grabbed her hips, pulling her down onto him to elicit a low groan. Her own vocal satisfaction mixed with his at the feeling of him pressed against her now throbbing core, head tilting back with her mouth agape. 

“Armitage,” The man hummed at the sound of his name. “Please.” (Y/n) begged and he pulled away to look up at her. 

They breathed heavily for a small moment. Then Armitage stood, taking (Y/n) with him who wrapped her legs around his waist. He brought them over to her bed, delicately laying her on top of it. 

His frame leaned over her to capture her lips once more. The kiss was messier, filled with more passion that had been built up from them pining over each other for too long. 

He began to grind himself into her, their voices mingling with pleasure as her hands pulled him into her. 

Armitage clung to her, hands wandering and caressing every dip and curve, committing it to memory. He gripped the hem of her shirt and began to pull it up, (Y/n) lifting her torso enough to slide it off. 

He sighed as he looked down at her bare torso, not knowing where to start until he felt her hand pull him down to her neck. 

His mouth grazed over her skin, kissing and sliding over it until he reached one of her breasts. His lips wrapped around its nipple, tongue tickling and circling it as her other breast was massaged by his still gloved hands. 

She looked down at him when he growled and pulled away, watching as he peeled his gloves off with his teeth before continuing his ministrations. 

Slowly, he trailed his way down her abdomen, his mouth tickling the surface along its path until he reached the waistband of her pants and underwear. 

He kissed along the edge of it, fingers hooking under the seam as he looked up at her for approval.

When she slightly lifted her hips for him to pull them down, he did so without hesitation. They slid off of her legs and he kissed around her pelvis, her sighs of pleasure egging him on. 

He turned to her inner thighs - biting, nipping and sucking as he grew closer to her femininity. His warm breath fanned over it, practically panting as he took it in.

Then, without warning, his mouth gently attached itself to her. 

(Y/n) threw her head back as a moan escaped her lips, hand latched into his fiery locks. Armitage hummed at her pull, tongue lapping at her center as his hands left momentarily to undo his uniform top. 

As it slipped off of his form, he pulled away from her. She felt his fingers replace his mouth as she looked down at him in question, watching as he crawled his way up to loom over her as the digits teased. 

His face settled barely an inch away from her own, gazing intently into her golden irises as he eased two fingers into her. He watched as her eyebrows furrowed, a soft gasp slipping past her lips before her eyes closed. 

He slowly began to pump his fingers, curling them to pull different reactions from her, testing to see what was more effective. At a particular angle, she let out a particularly sharp moan and he smirked to himself, feeling her nails carefully claw at his back. 

As his pace quickened along with her moans, he leaned down just next to her ear and whispered. 

“ Don’t you dare hold back from me. ” 

The burning coil in her pelvis suddenly snapped and she nearly screamed, back arching as Armitage felt her juices thickening around his fingers. He groaned when her nails finally dug into him, no doubt drawing blood. 

He pulled back slightly to work his uniform trousers as she recovered. (Y/n) gazed at him with hooded eyes as he pulled them off along with his boots, dropping them to the floor with a soft thud. 

He drew close to her once more, one hand rubbing over his stiffened cock while the other supported his weight. 

Their breaths shook as he teased at her entrance, already drawing another soft moan from her as the head teased over her sensitive clit. 

“Armitage -“ She pressed, cut off by him pushing into her. They both sighed at the foreign sensation, eyeing each other with unmatched intensity. 

(Y/n) pulled him closer so they were chest-to-chest before he rolled his hips, groaning with his lips pressed together in barely contained pleasure. 

She pulled him down by the back of his head into a kiss, moaning into each other as his pace gradually quickened. Her hands gripped at his arms and shoulders, feeling them tense and his muscles shift as he now pounded into her.  

Her moans were no longer quiet, and she prayed that the walls were sound proof. But they couldn’t care less in that moment as she felt his warm body against her, her cold skin keeping him cool as he nearly broke into a sweat. 

His hair fell out of place as pieces hung over his forehead, face buried in her neck as he groaned and huffed. Her sounds flooded his ears, filling his head as his cock throbbed from inside of her, feeling her tighten around him as he angled himself in the same way his fingers angled to bring her over the edge. 

His pace grew hasty, chasing his own release and desperate to hear her lose herself once more as her hands tightened their grip on him.

At last, she cried out and practically sobbed at her second orgasm. She felt weightless. Dizzy and absent as her voice no longer felt like her own in that moment as he continued to push through her release. 

Just as she began to feel overstimulated, he quickly pulled out and pumped his cock over her stomach, watching as he groaned as strings of cum landed on her skin. 

Everything seemed to slow as he breathed heavily, searching her face for anything negative. 

When he found nothing but peace and content, he leaned down and pressed a kiss onto her cheek, landing one on her lips before he stood and disappeared into the washroom. 

She heard the sink run as he most likely cleaned himself, throwing an arm over her eyes as she replayed the intimate moment in her head. 

Armitage emerged from the room, pausing to admire what he considered was an ethereal beauty laying across the bed. 

How he was ever able to turn one of the most intimidating forces in the First Order into a delicate flower beneath his hands, he would never understand. But he knew he would never take it for granted. 

Silently, with a rag in hand, he made his way over to her and cleaned up the mess he made of her, surprisingly gentle compared to his more strict persona that everyone else knew him for. 

After it was discarded, he returned to the bed, placing a delicate hand on her waist to coax her into getting under the covers. 

She complied mindlessly, brain still fuzzy as she sighed with pure satisfaction. (Y/n) watched as he moved to his uniform on the floor, picking it up piece by piece. 

Just as he was about to begin dressing himself, she called out to him softly. 

(Y/n) watched as his head snapped to her with a mix of concern and newfound fondness, a smile nearly showing on her lips. 

“Do you think you could stay tonight?”

His shoulders barely dropped, undetectable to anyone who was not familiar with his character. But to her it said everything she needed to know. 

Surprise. Hesitation. Disbelief. 

A long moment passed between them before he finally responded. 

“I believe I could.” He answered, a corner of his lip upturning ever so slightly in endearment. 

Complete Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Pairing - The Child Catcher x OC

Summary - Vulgaria was a remote country, held its own beauty quite unlike others. Everything about it was peculiar. The village, the castle, the people. In the village sat a rather famed tailor shop, and the recluse that was its head seamstress unknowingly caught the eye of a notorious henchman of the barbaric Baron Bomburst. Accepting a tempting offer, what was supposed to be a simple project began to meddle with her already disorganized family, and little did she know her sanity would soon follow.

Masterlist

Pairing - The Joker x OC

Summary - Penelope Miller works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by trauma and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

Masterlist

Pairing - General Armitage Hux x Reader

Summary -

Forged in blood. Bound by duty. Broken by desire.

(Y/n) (L/n) is a deadly Umbral of the Covenant - an elite order of vampires sworn to the First Order. Her assignment: serve as General Hux's personal guard. But as buried secrets surface and a rogue vampire faction rises, (Y/n) is forced to confront a past she can't outrun - and feelings she was never meant to have.

In a war of blood, betrayal, and duty, the deadliest threat may be the one that lies still in her chest.

Chapter 7

Pairing - General Armitage Hux x Reader

*Set prior to The Force Awakens*

Summary -

Forged in blood. Bound by duty. Broken by desire.

(Y/n) (L/n) is a deadly Umbral of the Covenant - an elite order of vampires sworn to the First Order. Her assignment: serve as General Hux's personal guard. But as buried secrets surface and a rogue vampire faction rises, (Y/n) is forced to confront a past she can't outrun - and feelings she was never meant to have.

In a war of blood, betrayal, and duty, the deadliest threat may be the one that lies still in her chest.

Series contains - Blood, violence, battles/war, betrayal/angst, eventual smut, slow burn

The hiss of the door was nearly silent as it slid open. The general stepped inside with purposeful strides, datapad in hand, the pale lights of the corridor casting shadows along the walls. He paused just inside the threshold, eyes landing on the figure ahead.

(Y/n) stood motionless at the far end of the room, back to the door, arms stiff at her sides and head hung low. Her entire silhouette coiled like a wire pulled taut.

Hux froze.

She wasn’t speaking. She wasn’t moving. But the air felt heavier. Thicker.

Like a storm about to break.

He watched her in silence for a long second before speaking, voice cautious and measured.

“Their shuttle is approaching. They’ll be docking within the next few minutes.”

She didn’t respond at first. Then slowly, deliberately, she turned.

Her eyes met his. Ice-cold. Still. Controlled. And somehow far more dangerous.

Her face was a mask of serenity, but it was the kind of calm that lived just before a strike. The kind of silence that waited before violence.

Hux swallowed. Just once. His pulse kicked against his collar despite himself.

“(L/n)?”

(Y/n)’s lips twitched, just slightly.

“Ready.” 

Her voice is calm. Measured. Controlled.

Too controlled.

Hux stared at her, his own expression unreadable for a moment before he gave a slow nod, stepping aside.

“Then let’s not keep our guests waiting.”

She moved towards the door, walking past him with silent purpose. He watched her go, jaw set tight as he followed.

He couldn’t help but wonder what it was that waited behind that eerily perfect composure. Wondered how close she was to unraveling… and what would happen if she did. 

The massive expanse of the hangar was clouded with tension. The transport ship settled into place, steam hissing as the ramp descended with a mechanical whine.

Troopers and techs held back, keeping a wide berth as Varo emerged first before turning to the Covenant flanking the detained rogues.

Their uniforms were similar to that of the Umbral, however instead of black, the uniform was more of a grey, along with their cloak. Though, unlike the Umbrals, they wore sleek, black Eva helmets, adding to their intimidation. Yet also kept them from any individual distinction.

“Restrained and on their knees.” Varo ordered.

The Duskborns moved with practiced precision, grabbing each of the five rogues and forcing them forward. The detainees were bloodied but breathing, their mouths bound, hands cuffed with reinforced mag-restraints. They struggled. Some were defiant, some afraid. 

Then their eyes landed on two figures quickly approaching with determination in their long strides as they were shoved to their knees in a line.

(Y/n) stood beside the general, her gaze sharp and fixed on them like a predator tracking prey. Her expression was unreadable, but her posture was tight with restrained fury.

One of them, a woman with faded dark hair and hollow eyes, faltered as she saw (Y/n).

Her eyes widened.

She didn’t speak. Couldn’t with the gag in place. But her stare was laced with recognition, disbelief, and something sharp and uncomfortable.

(Y/n) didn’t blink as they came to a stop in front of them. Her eyes were locked on her mother like twin blades.

The general’s presence was cold and commanding as he addressed the kneeling rogues with both disdain and sadistic satisfaction in their capture.

“Your brood of vipers have made this an interesting couple of weeks, I must say. But all good things must come to an end, unfortunately.” His lips stretched into an evil smile as he slowly stepped closer. “Oh, we’re going to have fun breaking you.” He gestured to the squad behind him. “Take them to the holding cells.”

The Troopers moved to comply, accompanied by a few Duskborns. (Y/n) then spoke. Low, calm, and without looking away from her mother.

“That one.” Her head lowered in the direction of the older woman. “She’ll be the first interrogated.”

Hux looked at her briefly but said nothing. There was no question in his mind that she wouldn’t falter on her decision.

He nodded once, silently giving the order. A pair of troopers roughly yanked (Y/n)’s mother to her feet, separating her from the others as they began escorting the prisoners away.

The remaining rogues were dragged down the corridor, their footsteps echoing in the hangar, accompanied by the growls of the Duskborns.

Varo watched them go, his expression grave. But once they were out of sight, he stepped up to (Y/n), his voice low and careful.

“(Y/n).” It was his first time using her first name in the presence of others on the ship, let alone the general. But with the look in her eyes that was present since she entered the hangar, he couldn’t care less about titles and formality.

She didn’t answer.

“You doin’ alright?” He tried again, more gentle as Hux carefully watched the exchange, equally invested.

Her eyes finally flicked to Varo’s. And though she didn’t say a word, her expression was enough. An expression Varo had seen only a few times before.

The look of a wild animal held in a cage.

He didn’t press her. He just stood beside her, silent in his support.

Hux’s gaze bounced between the two of them, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

There would be much to discuss. But first, there would be blood.

The air remained heavy with the aftershock of what happened before (Y/n) turned slowly from where her mother was dragged away. Her eyes cut across the hangar to the remaining Covenant who awaited her orders in a neat, disciplined formation.

She didn’t hesitate as she stepped towards them.

“Captain.” She called. A man quickly rushed forward with unnatural speed, stopping directly in front of her at attention. His darker cloak marked his distinction as the squad leader for their group. 

“Yes, Umbral?” He spoke, voice slightly distorted by his helmet. 

“Secure perimeter patrols around the detention wing. No shifts longer than four hours. You will rotate in pairs only, no one guards alone. We don’t know if they are capable of anything outside of Covenant training.”

The captain nodded, taking her words with strict obedience.

“I want you and one other Duskborn to reinforce engineering access points as well as bioscans at every bulkhead and atmospheric control gate. If they’re smart, they’ll try to sabotage next.”

“Yes, Umbral. Understood.”

“If anyone on this ship attempts to prevent you from doing any of these tasks, you report it to me immediately and I will personally handle it.”

“As you command, Umbral.”

“Dismissed.” With a snap of his heels, the captain spun around and began barking orders to the Duskborns. They broke off in precise movements, scattering to carry out their directives.

The general, still standing behind her, watched the exchange with sharp focus. Hands clasped behind his back, lips drawn into a contemplative line. There was no cold detachment in his gaze this time.

There was something else.

Admiration. A hint of surprise. And buried somewhere deeper… a flicker of desire.

She hadn’t just taken control. She commanded. Cool, composed, and utterly lethal in presence. A weapon shaped into a leader.

Beside him was Varo, arms casually crossed and expression unbothered as he leaned slightly towards Hux.

“She always gets like this when she’s pissed.”

Hux’s brow lifts slightly, attention still fixed on (Y/n).

Varo continued with a grin. “I’ve been taking notes. Someday I’m gonna give orders like that and people’ll actually listen instead of laugh.”

“Doubtful.” Hux deadpanned.

“Fair.”

(Y/n) finally turned towards them, her features carefully neutral once again, though Hux caught the sharp edge still hiding in her eyes.

Hux gave her a single nod, though his gaze lingered longer than it should.

“Excellent work, (L/n).” He paused, then spoke lower, almost thoughtful. “Impressive.”

She tilted her head, the faintest flicker of acknowledgment in her expression, but it was hard to tell if it was from the praise or the unspoken tension hanging between them.

“You make the rest of us look like amateurs.” Varo teased. “It’s honestly infuriating.”

“You do that all on your own, Drenn.” She replied flatly.

Varo mocked being offended and pointed at her. “That was uncalled for. Accurate, but uncalled for.”

Despite everything, the prisoners, the tension, the weight of what was coming. There was a breath of ease between them. A fragile but welcome reprieve.

Hux exhaled quietly, eyes trailing (Y/n) again.

“We need to begin preparing for the interrogations. And then you’ll be able to…” he thought for a moment. “Handle… your subject.”

(Y/n) nodded before her and Varo followed behind the general as they made their way to his office. Varo gave (Y/n) a sly look, voice pitched low.

“He was staring.” He spoke bluntly. “Like, full-on ‘I’m going to write poetry about her in my quarters’ staring.”

(Y/n) grit her teeth as Varo grinned. “Varo.”

“Just saying.” He put his hands up in surrender. “You’re terrifying when you take command, but I’m pretty sure he thought you were something else. Might wanna warn him next time before he -“ Varo was cut off by a harsh slap on his arm.

But as she looked at Hux in front of them, there was something else flickering in her expression.

The office carried a heavy silence save for the soft clicks of data being organized. Hux stood beside his desk, reviewing the preliminary files of the detainees, his posture rigid, focused. (Y/n) remained near the far wall, her back partially turned, arms folded tightly across her chest.

The silence between them stretched until Hux finally broke it.

“First interrogation is scheduled to begin in 15 minutes.”

(Y/n) didn’t respond immediately.

“I’m sure you have questions,” she spoke quietly. “Elira (L/n).” Hux’s gaze snapped to her at the mention of the same last name. “My mother.”

Hux’s fingers froze above the datapad. His expression was unreadable, though something in his eyes softened slightly.

“I see,” he said carefully. 

Telling herself that it was necessary information prior to the interrogation, she continued, her voice steady but subdued. “I thought I’d never see her again. The last time I did, she disowned me.”

She inhaled slowly through her nose, grounding herself as her gaze lowered to the floor. 

“My parents supported the Resistance, so naturally I followed. Growing up, they told me that the stories of what happened to our people were fabricated lies. That the Covenant was just another form of control used by the First Order.”

Her voice grew quieter.

“When I told them I enlisted in the Covenant, that I’d met Varo - who told me the truth - they were furious.”

Hux took a few steps toward her, listening.

“She told me I was brainwashed. That the Resistance was the only path forward for people like us. I told her I didn’t want to forget what they did to our people. I wanted justice. She said if I walked out that door, I would no longer be her daughter.” (Y/n) swallowed the tightness in her throat, eyes flicking up to meet Hux’s. “I left anyway.”

He watched her for a moment longer, taking in the weight of her words. The rare vulnerability threading through the calm composure she wore like armor. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.

“You made the right choice.”

“I don’t need reassurance,” she said, turning away slightly.

“No,” Hux said, “but you deserve it.”

(Y/n) let out a breath, shaky despite her effort to control it. “I don’t know how I’ll feel when I see her. I want to be cold. I want to act like she’s just another prisoner. But…”

“But she’s not,” he finished for her.

“She looked surprised,” (Y/n) murmured with partial amusement. “When our eyes met in the hangar. I don’t know if she was ashamed… or just didn’t expect to see me.”

Hux stepped closer, careful not to invade her space, but close enough that his voice dropped into something more human.

“You’ve turned out loyal. Capable and unshakably devoted to your cause. She should be grateful you didn’t let their cowardice define you.”

(Y/n)’s lips parted as if to speak, but she stopped herself, nodding once instead. The silence returned, heavy but less suffocating now.

Finally, Hux spoke again.

“I’ll attend the interrogation with you. You won’t go in there alone.”

(Y/n) turned to him, surprised. “You don’t have to -”

“I want to.” He replied firmly.

She met his gaze, and this time, there was no veneer of command or control in either of them. Only something quietly understanding. A long, steadying moment passed between them.

Then (Y/n) nodded.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Hux didn’t respond with words. Just a quiet nod… and the comfort of silence shared with someone who understood what it meant to be abandoned. 

And to keep going anyway.

The metallic corridor outside of the detention wing was chilled, dimly lit with harsh overhead fluorescents that buzzed faintly, casting pale light across polished black floors. Two Duskborns stood stationed on either side of the sealed blast doors of the interrogation room, their heads locked forward in unblinking silence. A pair of stormtroopers flanked them, weapons held steady against their armor.

Varo stood waiting nearby, his posture alert but relaxed in that uniquely casual way of his. At the sound of approaching footsteps, he turned to see (Y/n) and General Hux striding towards them together.

(Y/n)’s expression was unreadable, her eyes cold, her jaw clenched. She moved with unwavering purpose, every step measured and silent. But Varo knew her too well to miss the tension simmering just beneath the surface.

He stepped forward, glancing at Hux with a short nod before turning his attention to her.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said quietly.

(Y/n) blinked, her lips twitching as if caught between a grimace and a smile. “Am I pretending?”

Varo shrugged. “You’re walking like you’re about to go into battle. And I’d say you’ve got that ‘vengeful spirit of the ancestors’ look in your eyes again.”

Her shoulders tensed slightly before she forced a breath through her nose.

“I’m fine,” she muttered.

“No, you’re angry. And hurt. And about to go talk to the person who did that to you.” Varo’s voice softened. “You don’t have to be fine, (Y/n). You just have to be in control.”

There was a brief pause.

She looked up at him, expression guarded but grateful beneath the steel.

“I don’t know what I’m going to say to her,” she admitted, barely above a whisper.

“Start with what you want her to hear,” he said. “Then say what you need to say.”

He placed a hand lightly on her shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze. “You’ve faced worse. You’ve survived worse. She won’t break you.”

From behind them, the general waited silently, allowing the moment between them to settle. His hands were folded behind his back, his gaze unreadable but sharp as ever. But there was no judgment in his eyes, only a rare flicker of something quieter. 

(Y/n) turned to Hux, nodding once.

His gaze lingered on her for a heartbeat longer than usual before he offered a nod in return. 

The blast doors hissed as they began to part, the light beyond flickering on with a sterile, clinical chill.

Together, (Y/n) and Hux stepped through - side by side - into the chamber where the ghost of her past waited to speak.

The room was black steel and held a sense of brutality. Devoid of comfort, drenched in sterilized silence. A single spotlight poured down from above onto the table bolted to the floor in the center of the room. Restraints clamped down on the prisoner’s wrists and ankles, tight and unmoving as the table was inclined for her to lay upright.

On that table sat her ghost. (Y/n)’s mother.

Still sharp-featured and graceful despite the grime of capture, but aged in a way that had nothing to do with time. Her clothes, though stripped of insignia, still held the vague air of Resistance sympathies. Her gold eyes burned with a smug, knowing light, even now.

(Y/n) stood before her. Unmoving. Focused.

Her cloak was gone, boots echoing across the metal as she paced in measured steps around the chair. The sharp hiss of the sealed blast door sounded behind them, where Hux now stood silently in the shadows. He said nothing. Observed everything.

“(Y/n),” her mother purred, voice far too casual for the weight in the air. “My daughter, standing like a First Order dog. I always imagined you’d outgrow your rebellion against us. But look at you. Still clinging to the leash someone else put around your neck.”

(Y/n) ignored the bait. She circled again, cool and collected.

“You were found in the company of known ex-Covenant fugitives. Now Resistance operatives.” Her tone was flat, clinical. “You will give us names, contacts, safehouses, and supply lines. Do this, and perhaps you’ll be granted leniency.”

Her mother tilted her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “The Covenant must’ve broken you more than I thought. They told you a new history, gave you new fangs, and now look. You’re snarling at your own blood.”

(Y/n) stopped walking. Her arms stayed at her sides, her posture impeccable, but the line of her jaw was sharp now, locked tight.

“I’m snarling at traitors.”

Her mother’s expression twisted.

“To our people?” she hissed. “Or to the family you discarded for the sake of your friend’s myth? You think they care for you? You think that man behind you,” Her gaze flicked to Hux. “Would even look your way if it weren’t for how useful you are? How obedient you are?”

That landed.

(Y/n) didn’t flinch, but her breath hitched. Subtle. Small. But there.

“My loyalty is to my assignment. And to the Covenant and First Order.” She replied tightly, her voice lower.

Her mother’s lips curled. “That’s not what I see in your eyes when you glance at him.”

From the back of the room, Hux shifted slightly. He remained composed, unreadable. But his gaze sharpened with interest.

(Y/n)’s eyes darkened, fangs just barely visible behind a clenched jaw.

“You know nothing about me,” she said, voice steady but low with restrained threat.

“I know you,” her mother pressed, eyes glowing. “I see the girl who wanted to belong so badly she let herself be molded into a weapon. And now you’re falling for your handler. How poetic.”

(Y/n) stepped forward too fast. Her hand gripped the edge of the table, close to her mother’s throat, but not touching.

“I said you know nothing about me,” she seethed. “You forfeited that right when you threw me out.”

The words rang sharper than anything that had come before. Her mother’s smugness wavered just slightly.

Behind her, Hux took a single step forward, voice cutting cleanly through the silence.

“Where were your orders coming from?” He redirected.

His voice cut cleanly across the air. Calm, precise, commanding.

Her mother blinked, pulled abruptly from the rising tension between her and her daughter. She turned toward Hux with a subtle sneer, clearly displeased with the shift in control.

“We intercepted coded transmissions routed through an old Resistance frequency,” Hux continued, stepping forward into the light with quiet authority. “You’re going to tell us where the next operation is planned, and how long you’ve been in contact with the rogue faction”

A beat passed.

Then another.

The silence gave (Y/n) time to steel herself again. She folded her arms, lips drawn in a firm line, and resumed her position at Hux’s side, this time more guarded, more resolved.

Her mother looked between the two of them. That smug gleam in her eyes had dulled slightly.

“You two really do make quite the team,” she said, colder now.

Hux said nothing. (Y/n) stared through her like she was already ash.

And somewhere, deep beneath the chill in her voice, something cracked in (Y/n)’s chest that she refused to look at too closely.

A long, dragging silence lingered in the room. (Y/n)’s mother didn’t speak for a moment. Her eyes flicked between him and (Y/n), no longer filled with smugness, but calculation. Weighing.

Then she exhaled, slow and bitter.

“You think I’ll sell them out? That I’ll betray everything for you?” she said, turning her gaze fully back to (Y/n). “You’re a child playing war. You have no idea what we’ve sacrificed to keep the truth buried. What the Resistance gave us in exchange for silence. You think you’re righteous now because the Covenant gave you a uniform and purpose -”

“I think,” (Y/n) interrupted, her voice eerily calm, “that you’re wasting my time. And I don’t like when people waste my time.”

She stepped forward slowly, her boots clicking softly against the metal floor. Hux remained just behind her, a silent force of support, eyes sharp and watching.

Her mother sneered. “You’re going to try to frighten me, is that it? You forget that I raised you. You were always too soft to do what needed to be done.”

(Y/n) stopped directly beside her.

“I was,” she admitted. “But I’m not her anymore.”

Then her eyes darkened. The golden glow in her irises sharpened, deepening into something ancient, something primal. She let her hand rest on the edge of the interrogation table, not threatening, but suggestive. The air changed, subtle and slow, like the pressure before a storm.

Her mother’s composure wavered just slightly.

“You may be working with ex-Covenants who simply studied Umbral technique,” (Y/n) said quietly. “But I’m the Umbral. While your little faction can barely attempt to reach our frequencies, I can reach nerves you weren’t even aware that you had. And unlike them,” she nodded toward the security panel, “I won’t need a droid to do it.”

Hux said nothing, merely backed away to allow her space as he sensed an urge of bloodlust in her tone. His silence was approval, his gaze intense as he watched the scene unfold.

Her mother scoffed, but it was weaker this time. “You’re bluffing.”

(Y/n) smirked sadistically.

She extended her hand with slow, deliberate precision, brushing her fingertips near the side of her mother’s neck, just close enough for her mother to feel the tips of the preternatural sharpness of her nails, the way her presence seemed to sink into the skin.

Her mother stiffened.

Still, (Y/n) didn’t touch her besides the tickling sensation. Not yet. She let the words work their way under her mother’s skin.

“You can talk,” she said softly. “Or I can peel the truth out of you. Slowly .”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

Her mother’s jaw tensed. Her eyes betrayed her as she tried to maintain her pride. Her hands tugged slightly against the restraints.

“You wouldn’t -” she began.

(Y/n) interrupted, her voice hollow and cold. “You gave me nothing. You lied to me. Disowned me. I have no remorse for your pain.”

That, more than anything, made her mother flinch.

And for the first time since entering the chamber, the woman’s eyes shifted. Not with defiance, but with recognition.

A crack.

Hux observed it all silently, his hands still folded neatly behind his back. But there was a look in his eyes now. Measured pride, and something else deeper, more personal. Watching (Y/n) become who she needed to be. Commanding. Ruthless. Unshaken.

But he could see the strain beneath the resolve, beneath the fury, the remnants of a daughter still buried under years of betrayal.

Her mother finally exhaled. But no information followed.

(Y/n) leaned in closer, nails beginning to press into her neck with trained precision. Even with barely any pressure, her mother’s eyes widened enough to reveal the amount of pain she was experiencing.

“I would rethink your analysis of what you think I’m capable of. This isn’t just loyalty to the Covenant or the First Order.” Her nails pressed further and the older woman’s mouth gaped, veins beginning to swell on her skull from strain. “This is the wrath of a daughter long forgotten.”

Suddenly, her nails pierced through her skin and dug through directly to her nerves. 

Varo stood just outside the reinforced blast doors, arms folded, leaning against the wall like he was waiting for a caf refill instead of an interrogation to end. For a while, it was quiet.

Then -

A muffled scream erupted from within the interrogation chamber. Sharp. Definitely pained.

One of the stormtroopers stiffened. The other glanced nervously at Varo.

Varo didn’t even flinch. He just raised a brow, cocked his head towards the door with a smirk, and muttered, “There it is.”

The Duskborns didn’t so much as blink.

“About time,” Varo added. “Thought (L/n) might actually try diplomacy for a second there… A brief, terrifying second.”

The stormtroopers exchanged an awkward glance.

“Is that standard?” one of them asked, as another muffled cry echoed from behind the doors.

Varo shrugged. “Depends on your definition of standard. She’s doing the thing where she doesn’t blink, right?” He looked to the Duskborn on the left who held a datapad with surveillance of the interrogation. They gave a subtle nod.

“Yeah,” Varo continued. “That’s her ‘I’m gonna extract your soul through your teeth’ face. Totally fine.”

Another scream. One that sounded like it came with tears.

One of the troopers cleared his throat. “Should we, uh, alert medical, sir?”

Varo snorted. “To have them walk into that room and spontaneously combust? No thanks. Anyways, if it gets too quiet in there, then you should worry.”

The Duskborn beside him let out a low, approving hum. Close to a laugh.

Varo grinned. “Best seat in the house, boys. You’re witnessing a master at work. And by ‘witnessing’ I mean ‘listening to a war crime in real time.’”

He glanced back toward the chamber doors, tone softening slightly beneath the bravado.

“She’ll be alright,” he added quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

Then another muffled scream rang out - panicked this time - and Varo clapped his hands together once.

“Welp. That’s the sound of truth. Sounds like we got what we need.”

After a few minutes of silence, the door hissed open with a hydraulic groan, leaving behind only a faint echo of the storm it had followed.

General Hux stepped out first, composed as ever, though his jaw was tight and his gloves slightly askew. Subtle signs that he’d been more involved than he liked to appear. Behind him, (Y/n) emerged in silence.

Her posture was upright, but her steps were heavy. Her eyes, dark and unreadable, bore none of their usual sharp focus an afterglow of restraint barely kept in check.

Varo stood straighter as they appeared, arms unfolding from where they’d been crossed.

“Ah,” he said with a short nod. “So… good news or do I prep another cell?”

(Y/n) didn’t answer. She brushed past him like a shadow, her expression carved from stone. For a second, it looked like she might keep walking. But then she paused.

Without turning, she said lowly, “She broke.”

Varo raised his brows. “No kidding?”

“She gave us a name,” Hux confirmed, stepping to stand beside (Y/n). “And a destination. We’ll be debriefing shortly.”

The two Duskborns exchanged glances, subtle but meaningful. The troopers remained silent, uncertain whether to feel relieved or unnerved.

Varo leaned in slightly, his voice pitched just for (Y/n). “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, her tone clipped and automatic.

Hux watched her carefully, noting the stiff line of her shoulders and the way her fingers flexed slightly. Telltale signs of unrest.

“She did quite well, I must say,” Hux added evenly, still watching her. “Admirably.”

(Y/n) didn’t thank him. She just gave a short nod and said, “Excuse me,” before striding off down the hall.

Varo let out a breath and looked over at Hux. “You sure she’s alright?”

“No,” Hux replied without missing a beat. “But she will be.”

Varo gave a short chuckle. “You always say that like it’s a fact.”

Hux adjusted his gloves slowly. “Because with her, it is.”

Chapter 6

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 air was cool in the general’s office. It was later in the afternoon, the soft glow of artificial light bathing the room in sterile illumination.

General Hux stood at his desk, sorting through a series of final mission details before the team’s departure. His usual precision was evident, and his focus was absolute, but the silence in the room was not one of ease. It felt like the calm before the storm. A storm he was about to launch, and one that would, inevitably, affect those around him.

(Y/n) stood at the side of his office, leaning against the wall, but her fingers were tapping lightly against the fabric of her uniform, a subtle movement that betrayed her usual composure. Her eyes were fixed on the floor, unfocused. There was a nervous energy to her now, a tension that lingered in the air between them.

Hux glanced over at her, sharp eyes catching the fidgeting, the clenched jaw, the way she tried to appear still but couldn’t quite hide the anxiety beneath. For a brief moment, he was caught off guard. (Y/n) was rarely anything other than perfectly controlled, an elite soldier. 

Seeing her this way, on edge and uncertain, was unsettling to say the least.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his voice a touch more probing than usual. The words held the more relaxed tone they had begun to grow accustomed to with each other, but there was also an undercurrent of something resembling care.

She stiffened at the sound of his voice, but only for a moment. It was as if she was trying to reset herself, to shove the anxiety back into the dark recesses of her mind, but it refused to stay there.

“I’m… fine, sir,” she replied, the words coming out a little too quickly, too tightly.

Hux raised an eyebrow, not fooled by the performance. He walked over to where she stood, stopping just a pace away from her. He wasn’t physically imposing. There was no need for it. But his proximity was enough to make the air between them feel charged.

“You’re not fine,” he observed quietly, his tone steady but unyielding.

(Y/n) bit down on her lower lip, her shoulders tensing further. She wasn’t looking at him, still staring at the floor, though the distant edge in her gaze seemed to suggest she wasn’t fully present.

He could feel the shift in the room, the subtle but noticeable change in her energy. (Y/n), the formidable warrior who had so often seemed untouchable, was standing here in front of him, not hiding her vulnerability. 

It was strange to someone like him. No one on the ship would ever open up to him in such a way, and yet the fiercest warrior he had ever met was cracking right before his very eyes.

“Why are you worried about him?” Hux asked, his voice softer now. It was rare for him to show any degree of gentleness, but there was something in (Y/n)’s uncharacteristic behavior that pulled at him. 

(Y/n) was usually the one others depended on, the one who gave strength to others when they needed it most. She was the protector, the shield.

But now? She was the one who needed protection. And, for the first time, Hux saw it clearly. He saw her as more than just the cold, calculating soldier everyone else saw. He saw the person beneath.

Her breath hitched slightly, and she stiffened even more, as if bracing herself for something she didn’t want to face. He couldn’t help but notice how much the uncertainty of the mission, of the risk to Varo, was affecting her.

He began, his voice lower now, with an unexpected softness that she couldn’t ignore. “He’s trained. They’re all trained. If anyone can handle themselves in that situation, it’s him.”

But she shook her head, biting back whatever she wanted to say. “He’s not just a close comrade. He’s…” She faltered, as if the words didn’t quite fit together. “He’s the only person I have left who saw me before all of this. Before the Covenant. Before I became what I am now.”

There it was again. The rare slip. The cracks in her armor. She wasn’t just a soldier to be viewed from the outside. She was a person who had lived through something, who had experienced loss, betrayal, and isolation in ways few would ever understand.

Hux studied her, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “I know,” he said simply. “I know what it’s like to have your future determined by others. To be bound to something you never chose. And I know what it’s like to lose people. It doesn’t get easier, but you learn how to live with it. You have to if you want to survive.”

(Y/n) lifted her gaze, her eyes meeting his for the first time in what felt like hours. She didn’t say anything in response, no words of thanks or gratitude. But Hux saw something akin to understanding pass between them.

“Get some rest,” he said, turning away. “You’ll need it. The mission launches in just a few hours.”

She nodded absently, her mind still caught on the thoughts she couldn’t shake. As she started to leave the room, she paused for just a second.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, as if the words were hard-earned.

Hux gave a brief nod, holding her gaze before she finally turned and left.

And as she walked out of his office, her footsteps quieter than usual, Hux stayed behind for a moment longer, staring at the empty space where she had been standing, a strange feeling settling into his chest. As much as he tried to shake the thought, it lingered. 

Hours later, after tossing and turning and not getting any sleep, (Y/n) found herself heading to the hangar to see the squad off.

The hum of the hangar was deafening as they geared up. The noise of loading crates, preparing fighters, and the steady thrumming of engines filled the space, but it was the quiet bubble of tension around (Y/n) and Varo that made the moment feel charged. (Y/n) stood near the side of the bay, watching the First Order soldiers make sure their gear was locked in place before the operation began.

Her eyes were focused on Varo, who was making his final adjustments to his gear, ensuring everything was in place. His usual easy going demeanor seemed absent, replaced by the quiet intensity of someone about to step into the unknown. She was well aware of the weight he carried. Not just the weight of the mission, but the weight of the friendship they shared. The only friend she had left, and now he was going off into danger without her for the first time.

“Ready to go?” (Y/n)’s voice broke the silence, though it wasn’t without hesitation.

Varo glanced up from his harness he was adjusting and gave her a faint, lopsided grin. “You know me. Always ready.” He continued adjusting his equipment, but there was a slight tremor in his movements, a rare moment of vulnerability that (Y/n) noticed.

For a long moment, she just stared at him. Her gaze softened, and her hand instinctively reached out to adjust one of his straps, smoothing it down to avoid any discomfort on the mission. It was an automatic gesture, something they both knew well. Small moments of familiarity between soldiers who had fought together for years.

“I wish I could go in your place.” she said quietly, her tone softer than usual. She tried to hide the worry in her voice, but it was there, clear as day.

Varo stopped what he was doing, raising an eyebrow and looking down at her. “You know I’m not letting you off the hook that easily. Besides, you’re needed here with Hux. He’d be lost without you.”

Her brow furrowed at the mention of the general, and she quickly brushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. “I don’t like you being out there alone. The squad can handle it, but I… I just don’t like it.”

Varo smiled, that familiar spark returning to his eyes, though it didn’t fully reach the corners of his mouth. “You always were the protective one.” He nudged her lightly with his elbow, a teasing move that was meant to lighten the moment. “I’ll be fine. You know me, I’ve been through worse than this.”

(Y/n)’s gaze lingered on him for a second longer before she nodded, but it was clear that she wasn’t convinced. Her next words came with a sigh, a mix of frustration and unease. “I hate how I can’t always control everything, Varo. What if something happens? What if -”

“Nothing is going to happen,” Varo interrupted, his voice firm but comforting. He stepped closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder in a rare show of support. “We’ve been trained by possibly the best academy in the galaxy. I know how to stay alive. And I’ll come back. I always do.”

For a moment, they stood there, the bustling hangar a distant hum in the background. It was just the two of them, the unspoken bond between them hanging heavy in the air.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “You better. Don’t make me come rescue you.”

Varo chuckled softly, the sound a brief relief in the tension-filled atmosphere. “If you insist. But you’ll have to catch me first.”

She shot him a sharp look, a brief flash of her usual intensity crossing her face. “I’m fast enough.”

Varo’s grin widened, and he clapped her on the back. “That’s the (Y/n) I know. ”

(Y/n)’s lips twitched upwards slightly, the barest hint of a smile breaking through her otherwise stoic demeanor. “Just don’t get yourself killed.”

“I won’t,” Varo replied, his tone turning more serious. He took a step back, nodding towards the squad waiting by the ship. “Alright, I better go. Stay safe here, alright?”

(Y/n) nodded, watching him for a moment as he started to walk towards the shuttle, his footsteps echoing in the hangar. She stood there, still. Her eyes followed his retreating figure and something inside her twisted. It was always so much easier when they were together.

“Varo,” she called out before he could get too far.

He paused and looked back at her, raising an eyebrow.

“Be careful,” she added softly, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

He gave her a smile, the one she’d seen hundreds of times before, the one that told her everything would be okay. “Always am.”

And with that, he disappeared into the shuttle, leaving (Y/n) standing alone in the hangar. Her heart was heavy with unspoken words and the quiet hope that everything would, indeed, be okay.

For now, she could only wait.

Once they left, she stood in the hangar for a moment before striding back towards the bridge where the general would be waiting. 

It was quieter than usual, as if the very walls of the ship were holding their breath. Lights blinked rhythmically across consoles, officers working silently, their glances occasionally flicking towards the command platform where General Hux and (Y/n) stood.

They weren’t speaking. Not yet.

Hux stood with his hands clasped neatly behind his back, staring out at the stars through the viewport. There was a sharpness to his expression, his usual composure tinged with a trace of unease.

(Y/n) stood beside him, not in her usual rigid stance, but more reserved, arms folded, her eyes flicking across the terminals. Her gaze was distant, but focused. Waiting, calculating. Her heightened senses kept her attuned to every shift of movement, every new blip on the screen.

Still, no update.

“They’re late checking in,” she said at last, her voice quiet.

Hux didn’t move. “A few minutes behind schedule is not unusual for a stealth insertion. You know that.”

(Y/n)’s jaw tightened, but she gave a short nod. “Doesn’t make it any easier.”

He glanced toward her, just for a moment. “Worried?”

She didn’t deny it. “Yes.”

A pause hung between them. The bridge crew pretended not to notice their exchange, though a few subtle glances were exchanged among them. No one had ever seen the general speaking this calmly with anyone, especially not one of the Covenant.

“I’m not fond of silence before battle either,” Hux admitted quietly, returning his eyes to the viewport. “Waiting for someone else to move first is always the worst part.”

She looked at him. “You’ve waited on plenty of battlefields, I’m sure.”

“Yes.” A faint, sardonic smile touched his lips. “But I prefer the part where I’m giving orders and watching the results. The part where things are in my control.”

(Y/n) let out a soft exhale that was nearly a laugh. “So you don’t like silence either.”

“No,” he replied, tone flat. “I despise it.”

Their shared stillness resumed, but it wasn’t uncomfortable this time. Just suspended.

Until a sudden chime broke through the quiet. An officer at a lower console straightened sharply.

“General,” he called, voice clear, “we have a transmission from the advance team. The squad landed and is moving into position now. No contact with hostiles yet, but visibility is low.”

Both Hux and (Y/n) turned at once, stepping down from the command platform towards the console.

“Put it on the central display,” Hux ordered.

The large screen at the center of the bridge flickered to life, showing grainy feed from the squad’s body cams. Thermal vision, silent hand signals, movement through low-light terrain.

(Y/n)’s sharp eyes scanned the footage instantly. “They’re moving well. Clean formation. But this terrain… it’s too open.”

“They’ll adapt,” Hux replied, though he watched the feed just as intently.

She nodded. “Drenn will keep them sharp.”

The atmosphere on the bridge was tense. The buzz of activity faded into the background as (Y/n) and Hux stood side by side, their attention locked on the holographic displays before them.

It was a quiet, methodical operation. 

(Y/n) stood just beside Hux, her eyes tracking every detail on the feed. Her mind was elsewhere, despite the seemingly calm exterior she projected. She felt the gnawing anxiety she hadn’t quite shaken off when Varo left, the unease creeping into her chest. She trusted Varo’s skills, but there was still the lingering thought of the unknown. 

“Any changes in the feed?” The general asked after too many moments of silence. Hux’s voice was low, but precise, cutting through her thoughts.

(Y/n) blinked, focusing on the screen. “No, nothing yet. It’s still the same. They’re just watching the outer perimeter for now. No signs of the faction yet.”

“Good,” Hux responded, eyes narrowing as he observed the footage. “Keep me updated if you see anything that changes.”

(Y/n) gave a sharp nod, though it was clear from the tension in her posture that she was already on edge. Her gaze flitted between the feeds, watching Varo and the squad move through the landscape, their movements fluid and practiced. Every corner they turned, every shadow they passed, felt like an eternity to her. She could feel the weight of the unknown pressing down, her thoughts drifting back to the moment before the mission when she had wished she could go instead.

“How long until we can make contact if something goes wrong?” (Y/n) asked, her voice laced with quiet concern.

“Half an hour,” Hux answered, his voice still calm, though (Y/n) noticed the faintest crease in his brow. He, too, was tense. “We’ll keep monitoring. We can’t risk alerting them if they’re aware of our presence.”

(Y/n) didn’t respond at first, her eyes narrowing as she watched Varo and the team continue their sweep. The slow, deliberate pace they kept felt agonizing, but it was necessary. Every inch of the mission was calculated, but even the smallest mistake could jeopardize everything.

She felt a strange, familiar tightness in her chest as she saw Varo’s team approach a set of crumbling buildings, their silhouettes casting long shadows in the dim light.

“Everything’s moving according to plan,” (Y/n) said, though her voice lacked conviction. “I just wish -”

Hux turned to her, his gaze steady but piercing. “You were out there with them,” he finished for her.

(Y/n) hesitated before nodding once. She hadn’t realized how much she’d let the feeling show.

Hux was silent for a long moment, his eyes flicking back to the screen. “Drenn’s capable,” he said, as though trying to reassure her, though there was something oddly personal about the way he said it, as though he understood her worry more than he’d let on.

She didn’t reply immediately, choosing instead to focus back on the screen. “I know. I just… I know how dangerous this could be.” She glanced at him, the briefest flash of vulnerability crossing her face.

Hux’s eyes lingered on her for a second longer than usual. “You’ve been through worse to get to where you are now. He’ll be fine.”

Her gaze returned to the screen, the words not quite enough to quiet her inner fears, but she appreciated the effort. As the minutes dragged on, she leaned in closer, her posture tightening with each new frame on the display. She didn’t want to admit how much she was starting to rely on the quiet support Hux was offering at that moment. How much it was beginning to matter that he was there.

The hour passed slowly, but as the operation continued, the tension in the room began to build. 

Then, a sudden shift in the feed caught her attention. 

The movement was erratic, flashes of motion in the distance, too quick to be natural. The squad had stumbled onto something.

“Wait,” (Y/n) murmured, stepping forward. She turned to the console and her fingers moved over the controls, zooming in on the image before walking back over. “They’ve spotted something.”

Hux stood straighter, his gaze sharpening as he too focused on the newly updated feed. “What are we looking at?”

(Y/n)’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not just a few stragglers…” She held her breath, eyes widening as realization kicked in. “They’re surrounded - this isn’t right.”

The screen displayed the incoming movement. Too many figures, too fast to track. The squad was moving into a choke point.

“Get me a full analysis of the surrounding area,” Hux ordered a nearby officer sharply, his voice cold and commanding. “We need to know if there’s a larger force there, and if they’re closing in.”

The officer didn’t hesitate, their fingers moving swiftly to initiate the commands.

Hux’s eyes flicked over to (Y/n) once again, the coolness in his expression momentarily fading. He didn’t say anything, but something in his posture softened, just enough for her to notice.

The situation on the feed escalated, and (Y/n) could feel the gravity of it. With the team out there, in the line of fire, she couldn’t help but feel a growing unease that she couldn’t shake.

“Hold on, Varo,” she whispered to herself.

The tension on the bridge intensified as the analysis the officer ran illuminated more troubling details. The surrounding area, once thought to be clear, was now crowded with figures, movement that didn’t match the squad’s advance. 

For a moment, (Y/n)’s mind raced with the possibilities after the officer reported. 

Had they been ambushed? Was this a setup? 

Her eyes darted between the surveillance screens and the data feeds she was receiving.

“Damn it,” (Y/n) muttered, her fingers flying over the console, zooming in on the feed more to get a better look at the incoming forces. “Whoever they are, there’s more of them. We’ve got a larger group. Not just the squad anymore.”

Hux’s gaze sharpened as he leaned over her shoulder just behind her, his attention now fully locked onto the feed. “Are we looking at enemy combatants?”

(Y/n) shook her head quickly. “Not entirely. There are more… but they don’t look like the rogues. These are… Well, they’re just as coordinated, but don’t follow the same pattern.”

The figures in the background were moving with the precision of seasoned soldiers, but their tactics were far too refined to be random insurgents. And then, as if on cue, the officer’s analysis returned an unexpected match.

“General, they’re Covenant,” they said, voice tinged with surprise. 

“Covenant?” (Y/n) questioned as she shot the officer a look before turning to the general. “Did we call Covenant reinforcements?” He shook his head, just as stunned. 

A silence fell over the bridge for a moment, as the officers took in her words. Hux remained stone-faced, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something that might have been disbelief, or perhaps curiosity.

“Why would the Covenant be aiding the squad?” Hux asked, his voice low and deliberate, though his mind was clearly whirring, processing this new development. 

“This doesn’t seem like a coincidence.” (Y/n)’s voice was firm, though the concern was evident. She watched as the small group of Covenant soldiers moved swiftly, expertly clearing the area around the squad without hesitation. Their skill and methodical execution suggested they were there to protect the squad, not target them. “It’s a controlled assault. They’re securing the perimeter.”

(Y/n)’s hand hovered over the console as the squad pressed forward, their formation tight and coordinated with the Covenant’s. “They could have been on a recon mission and ran into them.” She hesitated. 

Hux’s lips pressed into a thin line as he considered the implications. 

The feed revealed flashes of movement, but the squad’s communication remained solid, confirming that the Covenant was not only aiding them, they were taking command of the area with Varo’s order, clearing the perimeter with precise strikes. Within moments, the area was secured. 

Hux’s voice cut through the tense silence on the bridge. “Has the situation stabilized?”

(Y/n) watched intently as the rogue faction retreated into a corner, pinned down by the Covenant and squad. “It’s under control,” she confirmed, though there was a trace of disbelief in her voice. “They’ve secured the perimeter. The rogues are cornered.” 

Suddenly, (Y/n) honed in on one of the squad’s feeds showing the captured rogues as they were being detained. Hux watched as she stepped closer to the video of one woman, a familiar face she hadn’t seen since before joining the Covenant. 

“Umbral?” The general asked carefully as her lips parted in disbelief, face reflecting contained rage and pain. She took a staggered step away from the feed, swallowing before she quickly schooled her expression. But her eyes couldn’t lie. 

“May I step away for a moment, sir?” She asked in a trembling tone without even glancing in his direction. The general hesitated before approving.

“You may.” His eyes followed her as she immediately stormed out of the bridge.

The door to Hux’s office hissed shut behind (Y/n), sealing her in silence.

She didn’t make it far. Just a few steps in before the weight of what she’d seen crashed down over her like a collapsing hull. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as her breathing quickened, shallow and sharp.

(Y/n) stood at the edge of the main living space, her posture tense but composed. Her dark clothing was simple, travel-ready. A small satchel was slung across her back. Her mother sat stiffly on the couch, a glass of crimson liquid in her hand. Her father stood behind her with arms folded. 

“You can’t possibly be serious.” Her father quipped.

“I am. Varo and I are leaving by morning.”

“You’ve been spending far too much time with that fanatic.” Her mother spat.

The image was still burned into her mind. Sitting among the detained rogues, restrained, eyes hollow. The woman hadn’t changed much. At least not in the way that mattered. That cold stare, the one that had once looked down on (Y/n) with bitter disappointment, was still there.

(Y/n) answered, growing louder. “He showed me the truth. The ruins. The archives. The names of our people they tried to erase.”

“Stories, (Y/n)! Lies, ghosts! You’re choosing to chase vengeance over reason!” Her father yelled, patience as thin as silk.

(Y/n) responded with the same volume. “I’m choosing to stop hiding! To not let the Resistance erase what they did to us! The history of our people that you’re so casually tossing aside all because you’ll get a little more money in your pocket!”

“And you think the Covenant is the answer? The First Order?” Her mother asked sternly, choosing to ignore her last comment. “What you’ve done is a disgrace to our family,” the older woman said coldly, her voice calm, but only on the surface. Beneath it was fear, trembling and bitter. 

“You left me no choice.” She bit back.

(Y/n) stumbled forward and pressed her hands against the edge of the general’s desk, her head bowed. Her nails scraped against the cold metal, leaving faint indentations as she shook her head over and over again.

No. It’s not her. It can’t be.

But it was.

“I didn’t ask for this,” (Y/n) choked as her eyes began to brim with tears. 

A cracked sound escaped her throat. Half snarl, half sob. She pushed away from the desk, pacing like a caged animal. Her boots thudded against the floor as she moved, erratic and unmoored.

Her hands shook as she pressed them to her temples, trying to force the memories away. 

(Y/n) gritted her teeth as her fangs finally extended, the sound of her crying out combined with a monstrous hiss-like roar. She couldn’t think like this. Couldn’t feel like this. Not now. Not again.

Silence stretched across the room, heavy with tension. Her mother set down her glass and stood, golden eyes narrowing.

“If you walk out that door, (Y/n)… You are no daughter of ours.”

(Y/n)’s throat tightened, a few tears finally escaping silently. There was no outburst, no scream. Just a slow, internal breaking. She squared her shoulders.

“You already made that choice when you decided fortune was more important than our people.”

She turned, walking towards the door. Her hand lingered on the panel for just a second.

Without turning back to look at them, she finalized her decision. “Goodbye.”

She collapsed onto the floor on her knees, hunched over as she hugged herself. Her breathing slowed, but the tension clung to her shoulders like armor she couldn’t shed.

There was no comfort. No absolution.

Only the low hum of the Finalizer around her, and the knowledge that her past had come roaring back into the present with a face she had never wanted to see again.

And now, she would have to face her.

Not as a daughter.

But as an affiliate of the First Order. And a child of the Covenant.

Chapter 5

Pairing - General Armitage Hux x Reader

*Set prior to The Force Awakens*

Summary -

Forged in blood. Bound by duty. Broken by desire.

(Y/n) (L/n) is a deadly Umbral of the Covenant - an elite order of vampires sworn to the First Order. Her assignment: serve as General Hux's personal guard. But as buried secrets surface and a rogue vampire faction rises, (Y/n) is forced to confront a past she can't outrun - and feelings she was never meant to have.

In a war of blood, betrayal, and duty, the deadliest threat may be the one that lies still in her chest.

Series contains - Blood, violence, battles/war, betrayal/angst, eventual smut, slow burn

The two remained in the War Room as Varo and Phasma joined them soon after. A large tactical display hovered between them, showcasing the sectors suspected to harbor the rogue threat.

General Hux stood at the head of the table again, hands behind his back. To his right stood (Y/n), and on the opposite end of the table stood Phasma and Varo, their expressions focused, but the tension in the room was palpable.

“We have authorization to act. Now we need to figure out a way to track them down and find them.” The general began.

Phasma followed. “They’re ghosts,” she said flatly. “Not a single trace left behind. No footprints. No blood. Just bodies.”

“That’s the Covenant for you,” Varo muttered grimly. “They know how to vanish. And they’re using it.”

“Not just vanish.” (Y/n) added. “Each strike we’ve reviewed… they’re not looking to make a statement. They’re gathering something.”

Phasma tilted her head in question. “Intel?”

“Or resources.” She replied. “They’re choosing their targets too precisely. They know our protocols. Our rotations. What we have and where. Every time they attack, they raid the location.”

“Then we bait them.” Hux suggested. He stepped forward and gestured toward a flickering system on the map. “These three supply stations are within striking distance of the last known rogue activity. We plant the idea that one of them is carrying classified tech and leak the information through a Resistance channel we know they’ve intercepted in the past.”

Phasma hummed in thought. “Risky. But controlled. I can reroute stormtroopers for concealed perimeter placements.”

“I don’t want any engagement.” Hux ordered. “Observation only. Identify, record, and pull back. The moment we can confirm their identities, we strike with the Covenant’s backing.”

“We’ll need more than scouts, sir.” Varo warned. “These aren’t just any rogues. We engage with standard units, we lose more good soldiers.”

The general nodded in agreement. “Which is why you -” He looked at Varo. “- will be embedded in the region as a liaison. You’ll move freely between units and help direct operations. No one else has the experience to recognize them for what they are.”

(Y/n) shifted and offered a warning to Varo. “If they smell you, they’ll come out. If any of them knew you before they defected…”

Her gaze sharpened.

“They might want to carry out unfinished business.”

Varo’s expression was unreadable, but something cold flickered in his eyes.

“Then let them try.” He threatened indirectly. “I’m very persuasive when it comes to traitors.”

“Trust me, I’m aware.” (Y/n) replied simply.

Hux tapped the console, confirming the initial troop deployment orders.

“Begin rotating squads to the target sectors under routine drills. Make it look mundane.”

“They’ll never know we’re watching.” Phasma consoled him.

“Good. Then it’s settled.”

“Dead rogues or silence,” Varo started. ”Either way, we’ll bring order back to the Covenant.” 

Later on, as the night cycle began, the corridors with higher command personnel quarters were dimly lit, lights cycling to mimic planetary night. Most of the officers had retreated by this time. A hush blanketed the area, the kind of silence that only came during these artificial nights in the belly of a warship.

(Y/n) sat alone at a secluded alcove in the corridor, an architectural oddity tucked near the viewport wall. The viewport stretched tall and wide, revealing the swirling stars and the velvet void beyond. A built-in bench sat along one side of the wall next to the window, lit only by the glow of passing starlight.

She sat with one leg curled up beneath her, still dressed in her uniform but with the zipper of the bodysuit around her neck slightly undone for breathing room. A small blood pack, half-drained, rested beside her hip. Her datapad was forgotten in her lap, the screen dimmed. Her gaze was fixed on the stars, lost in quiet thought.

Her ears then honed in as she heard a set of footsteps further down the corridor. Measured. Familiar.

(Y/n) didn’t turn to look. She already knew who it was.

“I didn’t expect anyone to be awake in this sector.” The general commented in a quieter tone.

“Neither did I.”

There was a pause. Hux stood there, considering her. Not just the strange placement of her presence, but the rare image of her relaxed posture and unguarded expression.

“This isn’t regulation seating.” He pointed out. (Y/n) glanced over at him in a playful deadpan.

“Are you here to enforce it, General?”

He let out the faintest sound, almost a scoff. Then, unexpectedly, he stepped closer and took a seat beside her on the bench, maintaining a respectful space between them.

After a moment, the general began to speak again.

“This part of the ship was designed to house long-term High Command. They included comfort features… but few of us make time to use them.”

“It’s the only place I’ve found that doesn’t feel like war.” (Y/n) said in a more hushed tone.

A long silence fell between them. Outside the viewport, stars drifted past slowly, distant and indifferent.

The general hummed. “I find comfort in order.” (Y/n) tossed him a pointed look - as if to say ‘no, really?’ - and he clicked his tongue in minor annoyance. “It makes things… predictable. Safe.”

He paused.

(Y/n) turned her head slightly to look at him. “Why do you think it’s safe?”

He looked at her now, his expression more open than she’d ever seen. “I think predictability can keep a person alive. But it doesn’t protect you from harsh realities in life.”

The words hung between them for a moment too long.

“No… it doesn’t.” (Y/n) agreed softly.

She looked away again, fingers absently brushing her datapad.

“I thought I knew my people. What we stood for. What we bled for. But now I’m not so sure.”

“You’re referring to the rogues.”

“I’m referring to those I once trusted. Those who chose to spit on everything that kept us alive. After what the Resistance did to our kind… I can’t understand how they could turn their backs on the Covenant or First Order.”

Hux thought for a moment before he answered. “Pain doesn’t forge loyalty. Not for everyone. For some, it just festers… until all they want is to be the one holding the knife. And they won’t care who’s at the end of the blade.”

(Y/n) watched him closely now, seeing the way his jaw tensed as he said it. “You speak like someone who knows.”

“I do.” He answered flatly.

Silence again. But this time, it wasn’t cold. It was shared. Weighted, but equal.

After a beat, (Y/n) leaned back slightly against the wall, letting her head rest there as she stared up.

“I don’t regret joining the Covenant or becoming an Umbral. But some nights… I wonder who I would’ve been if I didn’t.” 

“You’d still be dangerous.” Hux quipped.

A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. Just a flicker. “And you’d still be impossible.”

“That almost counts as a compliment.” His lips twitched in a smirk.

Another moment of quiet. 

(Y/n)’s gaze was fixed on the stars outside, but her awareness was sharp. She could feel the  general’s presence beside her as if it were its own gravitational field. And he, for all his rigid posture and measured breathing, had not moved since sitting down.

The silence lingered, no longer heavy with unspoken thoughts, but… tentative. Curious.

“You seem more yourself.” Hux suddenly pointed out.

“I thought I was always myself.” She replied curiously.

“Yes, but… you’re more calm. Not as stiff. It’s refreshing… and it suits you.”

She glanced over at him, a single brow lifting. “Well, I do expect myself to know how to separate professionalism from personal matters, if that’s what you mean. I’m just careful with who sees what side.” She then turned to face him slightly. “How would you know what suits me?”

“I pay attention. You’re not the only observant one here.”

Her lips parted slightly as they stared at one another, but whatever retort she was about to make was lost when her knee brushed lightly against his.

She stilled immediately. So did he.

The touch had been accidental. Casual contact in the narrow space of the bench, but it sparked like static, subtle and unmistakable.

Neither of them moved away.

(Y/n) shifted her gaze back to the window, face unreadable save for the faint shift in her posture. Hux pretended to return to his datapad, his grip on it just a little too firm, his jaw set with a precision that was almost… performative.

“Apologies.” (Y/n) muttered.

“Unnecessary.”

She looked down at her hands. He tapped once on the datapad, but didn’t really read whatever was on the screen.

The silence returned. Not awkward, but charged. It buzzed faintly beneath their skin.

(Y/n), sensing the tension still in his posture, allowed herself a rare act of rebellion against her instincts. She shifted just a bit closer. Not enough to touch again. Just enough to make it noticeable.

And Hux noticed. But what he noticed even more was how she became even more tranquil after she had done so.

She didn’t look at him, and if it were possible, her cheeks would’ve been tinted. The corner of her mouth twitched faintly. Barely.

“It’s strange.” She spoke.

“What is?”

“Sitting still. Doing nothing. And yet… it doesn’t feel like a waste of time.”

He studied her carefully now. “It isn’t.”

Another moment passed. A pause not meant to be filled.

And then Hux stood, smooth and precise as usual. But the movement was slower. He tucked his datapad under one arm, glancing down at her with something unreadable in his gaze.

“It’s late.”

“So is everything on this ship.” She jested.

He allowed the corner of his mouth to lift, just a ghost of a smile, and then turned.

But just before he stepped away, he hesitated.

“I’ll expect you in my office at 0600.”

“Of course.”

“Bring tea.”

She blinked.

(Y/n), feigning seriousness, replied. “Blood or sugar?”

He glanced at her, a faint glint in his eye. Amused. Surprised.

“Surprise me.”

And with that, he disappeared down the corridor, boots silent on the floor.

Left alone again, (Y/n) stared out at the stars.

Her body still remembered the brief brush of contact. And her expression softened with something akin to warmth.

The next morning, General Hux was already at his desk, filtering through whatever came in while he was asleep. He didn’t look up immediately when the door slid open with a soft hiss.

(Y/n) stepped in, punctual to the second. In one hand she carried a thermal cup. In the other, a sealed blood pack.

She approached the desk and placed the cup neatly within his reach.

“Surprise.” She greeted flatly.

Hux raised his eyes. His gaze flicked between the items. Then his brow lifted, barely.

“You brought both.”

“I like to cover contingencies… that and I’m starving.” She added as she twisted the cap and began to drink from it, the cool liquid easing down her throat.

He regarded her for a long moment, then reached for the cup. Steam rose from it as he took a measured sip.

“Sugar.” He hummed. “You didn’t risk the blood. Wise.”

“I need my commanding officer awake, not disgusted.”

He smirked faintly at that, a rare expression, short-lived but genuine. (Y/n) caught it but didn’t comment.

For the first time since she’d been there, she moved to the small seat across from his desk without his direction, posture straight with her legs crossed. Despite the cold formality of the room, the air between them was… different. Not quite relaxed, but no longer so distant.

He reviewed a few lines on the datapad before speaking again.

“I assume your quarters are adequate? I don’t believe I’ve ever asked.”

(Y/n) replied with a faint tilt of her head.

“Functional and familiar.”

“That’s what passes for comfort around here.”

“I don’t require comfort.” She teased before taking another sip.

“No. But everyone benefits from a moment to breathe in an acceptable environment.”

She blinked at that, ever so slightly surprised.

“Is that what last night was?” She smirked. 

He looked up at her then, the full weight of his focus falling on her face. “Possibly.”

Something passed between them again. Unspoken. Subtle. 

Then, like the snap of a soldier returning to attention, he set the datapad down and stood, brushing a hand down the front of his coat.

“Come. We’re expected on the bridge. I need to have updates on Resistance activity by 0700.”

She stood smoothly, falling into step beside him after tossing the now empty blood pack.

As they moved towards the door, (Y/n) offered an afterthought. 

“Next time, I think I’ll bring both in a thermal. Tea for you, blood for me. Haven’t had it warm in a while.”

Hux glanced sideways at her. “Efficient.”

A beat.

“Thoughtful.” He added, though quieter.

The door hissed open and they stepped into the corridor in perfect contrast, moving in precise sync.

The bridge of the Finalizer was quiet in its efficiency, cloaked in the bluish-gray tones of early cycle operations. Terminals glowed softly, crew members moved with practiced rhythm, and the stars beyond the viewport were distant and still.

General Hux stood at the front, hands clasped behind his back as he analyzed data from one of the terminals. (Y/n) stood beside him, arms crossed as her eyes scanned the bridge with deliberate calmness. She was close enough to intervene if needed, yet never encroaching on his command space.

A lieutenant approached first, offering a crisp nod before handing Hux a tablet. “General, update from outpost Delta-Four. Last contact was at 0300. No response since then and no distress call was sent.”

Hux read it with a furrowed brow. “Similar to Sector Eight last week.”

“Yes, sir. Final transmission mentioned movement along the outer edge of a debris cluster. Then silence.”

“No signs of conflict?”

“None. It’s clean.”

Hux’s eyes narrowed. “They’re getting bolder.” He handed the tablet back to the lieutenant and turned back towards the terminal to key in a command. Facing the bridge again, a map of the outer sectors materialized in a wash of pale blue light. Red indicators blinked in a triangular pattern.

“Have long-range scans pulled from the Starbreaker Array. Cross-reference radiation trails, shield fluctuations. Any anomalies, no matter how faint.”

The officer gave a quick nod. “Yes, General.”

(Y/n)’s gaze flicked briefly to the glowing display, then back towards the junior officers bustling quietly. 

Another officer approached. A younger systems technician with smudged gloves and a nervous gait. “General… we detected an attempted intercept on last night’s dispatch to Command. It failed, but whoever it was, it wasn’t Resistance-grade slicing.”

Hux’s hands tightened behind him. “I want the source tracked, triangulated, and dissected. Every data spike, every digital pulse logged. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

The technician nearly tripped backing away. (Y/n) didn’t react, though her eyes flicked to Hux subtly, noting the flare of tension in his expression.

He exhaled slowly before the doors to the bridge slid open with a sharp hiss.

Captain Phasma entered first, tall and commanding in her chrome armor. Her pace was deliberate, each step punctuated by the soft thud of metal boots on deck plating. Varo followed at her side, his usual grin exchanged for a more focused expression. When he spotted (Y/n) already at Hux’s side, his brow lifted in silent greeting.

Hux turned as they approached “Phasma. Drenn,” he greeted. His eyes flicked to (Y/n), then back to the others. “You’re just in time. We have a developing situation.”

(Y/n) gave a small nod in response to Varo’s glance. 

Hux stepped back slightly and gestured towards the holomap still displayed. “We may be looking at a coordinated infiltration effort. Unknown parties. Skilled and precise. Possibly something more than the Resistance. This may be one of our only chances to intercept and identify them.” The general nodded his head in the direction of the doors to the bridge and walked, the group following him.

The doors to the bridge hissed open, then sealed shut again as General Hux led them down the corridor. (Y/n) walked beside him as while Varo and Phasma flanked from behind.

No words were exchanged on the walk. The tension from the short briefing still lingered in the air like static. Tightly wound, waiting for direction.

Once inside Hux’s office, the door sealed behind them with a low thrum. Hux moved to behind his desk, bringing up the latest holomap which crackled to life in front of them.

“This is where they’re projected to hit next,” Hux said without preamble, pointing to a small, seemingly insignificant relay station nestled between two inactive mining sectors. “It’s remote. Understaffed. A low-profile target. Perfect for remaining unseen.”

“And exactly what we’d expect them to go for if they’re testing our blind spots.” Phasma chimed in.

“We’ve tracked fragments of their signal spikes converging here,” Hux continued, zooming in on the relay’s coordinates. “Encrypted communications, faint enough to be overlooked if you weren’t already looking for them. But there’s a pattern.”

Varo squinted at the holomap. “It’s a bait station. Easy to infiltrate, but also easy to ambush from. If someone knew how.”

Hux’s eyes flicked towards him. “Which is why we’re going to beat them to it.” He turned slightly, addressing all three of them. “We’ll deploy a stealth team, small and silent. We observe first. Identify who they are. Confirm if this is the same force behind the outpost vanishings.”

(Y/n) stepped forward slightly, her voice level. “And if it is?”

“Then we’ll respond accordingly,” Hux said coldly. “And we won’t miss.”

Phasma nodded. “I’ll have a squad outfitted for cloaked transport and scout support. The relay can be secured quietly, with minimal presence.”

Hux tapped his fingers against his desk. “No standard stormtroopers. It’ll be too obvious.”

He turned his gaze to Varo. “I want you in position ahead of the operation. You’ll be our eyes on the ground. Blend in with the relay crew if needed. Keep comms silent unless contact is made.”

Varo gave a sharp nod. “Understood.” He folded his arms across his chest. “So we’re playing shadow games now. I always preferred being the knife in the dark over the hammer at the gate.”

“Then consider this a return to form,” Hux replied dryly, before turning back to the holomap.

A brief silence followed as each of them absorbed the mission’s stakes. Then Hux looked to (Y/n) once more, his gaze thoughtful beneath the commander’s mask.

“Umbral (L/n) and myself will have visual from here on the bridge while the operation is active. Anyone who is on ground will have a surveillance system so we can track what they are seeing and have more eyes identifying who we’re dealing with should anything happen.” Everyone nodded before the holomap disappeared. “If we’re going off of their typical patterns, the mission will be set during tomorrow’s night cycle. Phasma and Drenn, I want you to coordinate with intelligence and logistics to formulate a plan. Dismissed.”

Phasma offered a curt nod and exited with precise efficiency. Varo lingered just long enough to exchange a glance with (Y/n), a small, wordless assurance before following.

The door slid shut, leaving only the soft hum of the overhead lights and the distant thrum of the ship’s engines. General Hux remained standing, unmoving as he observed the remaining Umbral.

Her gaze was distant, as if she was looking at something far beyond the walls of the office.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Hux said without looking up.

(Y/n) blinked, shifting slightly. “Apologies, sir. I didn’t mean to appear distracted.”

“You didn’t,” he said simply, finally glancing over at her. “You appear unsettled.”

Her mask didn’t crack, not fully. But something in her eyes softened. A hesitation.

“I’m fine,” she said, too quickly.

Hux’s brow lifted ever so slightly. “Umbral?” The formality in her title made her glance at him sharply, until she realized he was watching her not with scrutiny, but something bordering on concern. Her posture eased by a hair’s breadth.

She exhaled quietly through her nose. “It’s Umbral Drenn.”

“Ah.”

“He’s the only person I have left,” she said slowly, as if peeling the words out of herself. “We’ve fought, bled, trained… Endured everything together. And now I’m stuck here. Watching him walk into a threat we still don’t fully understand.”

She didn’t pace. She didn’t fidget. But her stillness was heavy, dense with emotion she rarely permitted to surface.

“I’ve lost too much already,” she added softly. “If I lose him too…”

She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

Hux studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable, but far from cold. He stepped away and moved towards the viewport behind his desk.

“I understand more than you think,” he said after a pause. “The burden of command is not just strategy and protocol. It’s the slow erosion of everyone who made you feel human.”

She looked at him then, some part of her surprised.

He didn’t meet her gaze, but his voice was steady.

“You will remain here,” he continued. “You’ll watch the feed with me. If anything happens to Drenn, you’ll know before anyone else does.”

(Y/n) blinked once, unsure how to respond to the weight of his words.

“Thank you,” she said finally, quieter than usual.

He turned to her now, his expression still composed, but his eyes… there was something else there.  

Their eyes held for a second too long, just long enough for something to pass between them.

Then Hux turned back to his desk. The Umbral stood for a moment in thought, and for the first time in years, she found herself fidgeting slightly. 

-

The lights were dimmed in the corridors, the stars outside scattered like frost across a black pane. The two Umbrals stood side by side, simply looking out at the galaxy before them in the same alcove (Y/n) had sat in with Hux.

(Y/n)’s arms were crossed, a subtle tension in her frame. She said nothing for a while, watching the distant shimmer of a nebula bleeding color into the void. Varo stood beside her, his usually relaxed posture tempered by a rare stillness.

“You’re quiet,” he said finally, his voice lower than usual.

(Y/n) didn’t glance his way. “So are you.”

A small chuckle escaped him. “Fair enough.”

They lingered in silence a moment longer.

“Do you ever think about what we signed up for?” (Y/n) asked. Her voice wasn’t cold. It carried the weight of something old, something uncertain. “What it cost us?”

Varo nodded slowly. “All the time. Just… not usually out loud.”

Now she glanced at him. “Tonight feels different.”

“It does,” he agreed, looking out at the stars again. “Walking into something none of us fully understand. And just… watching. Not fighting. It feels wrong.”

She nodded. “I know.”

His gaze flicked over to her, reading the steel behind her voice. But then it softened, and he tilted his head towards her slightly. “You think we did the right thing, choosing the path we did as Umbrals? All of this?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Her silence wasn’t uncertain. She was simply searching for truth.

“It was the only path that gave us purpose,” she said finally. “And if this faction turns out to be what we fear, then it’s our duty to stop them. No matter who they were to us.”

Varo was quiet again, but then nudged her shoulder gently. “Still. I’m glad I’m not doing this without you.”

(Y/n) looked up at him, a faint trace of a smile pulling at the edge of her mouth. “Likewise.”

For a few moments, they stood in comfortable silence again. Then Varo exhaled, brushing his hand through his hair and casting her a sideways glance.

“You know,” he added with a small smirk, “if I die tomorrow, I want you to avenge me with dramatic flair. Really make a scene. Rip someone’s spine out or something.”

She rolled her eyes, smirk deepening. “I’ll consider it.”

“Seriously,” he pressed, grinning now. “Cry. Wail. Maybe swear vengeance in front of a flaming backdrop.”

“I’ll pencil it in,” she said flatly, but there was warmth in her tone.

The weight of the night didn’t vanish, but it lessened between them. Whatever tomorrow brought, they wouldn’t face it alone. Even if apart.

Chapter 4

Pairing - General Armitage Hux x Reader

*Set prior to The Force Awakens*

Summary -

Forged in blood. Bound by duty. Broken by desire.

(Y/n) (L/n) is a deadly Umbral of the Covenant - an elite order of vampires sworn to the First Order. Her assignment: serve as General Hux's personal guard. But as buried secrets surface and a rogue vampire faction rises, (Y/n) is forced to confront a past she can't outrun - and feelings she was never meant to have.

In a war of blood, betrayal, and duty, the deadliest threat may be the one that lies still in her chest.

Series contains - Blood, violence, battles/war, betrayal/angst, eventual smut, slow burn

The door hissed closed behind her, sealing out the clinical brightness of the corridor. Dim, ambient lighting filled the compact but private space assigned to her. An austere First Order officer’s quarters, modified slightly to accommodate a Covenant elite.

Her boots hit the floor with a dull thud once pulled off, followed by the slow release of her harness. Piece by piece, she shed the image of a soldier, her black Umbral uniform folded neatly over the ottoman at the foot of her bed. Only then did she stretch - shoulders rolling, spine cracking softly - as if the weight of the day had settled deeper into her bones than she let anyone see.

With a huff, she crossed to the small wall-mounted refrigeration unit in the kitchenette and retrieved a sealed blood pack, marked with the Covenant’s insignia. Twisting the cap open, she drank from it without ceremony. The crimson liquid was cool and iron-rich, satiating her hunger with clinical precision, but not without the flicker of ancient instinct.

A small sigh escaped her lips as she leaned back against the counter, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as the day’s events caught up with her. 

It had been a few days since they first suspected the Resistance was harboring a rogue Covenant faction. Herself and Varo had visited each other that night to discuss the issue and grieve over the betrayal that their own kind committed. After all they had been through, going against their own species was an option they never thought would be on the table. 

Steam began to cloud from the refresher as she turned on the shower. Her reflection caught in the darkened mirror. Unnaturally pale skin, the shimmering yet pale gold of her eyes, and the ever-present weight behind her gaze. Not tired, not weak. Guarded.

She stepped into the shower. The water was searing hot, meant more to cleanse her mind than her body. The sound drowned out the hum of the ship. For once, she allowed herself to just feel. The rippling heat against her normally cold skin, a foreign feeling to her rhythmless heart. The steam curled through her hair, head tilted back as she let the water run over her face.

When she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, she looked strangely younger. Not in appearance, but in silence. The storm behind her eyes had calmed, if only for a moment.

She slipped into a set of issued black sleepwear and sat on the edge of her bed, datapad in hand. Her eyes scanned the text with machine-like precision. Reports, updates, combat performance logs. But as she scrolled, her gaze slowed on one item. A personnel file.

General Hux, Armitage

“Armitage?” She mumbled to herself curiously. Her finger hovered over the file, hesitating. 

She tapped it open.

It wasn’t invasive. Just basic service records. Public to internal ranks. Dates. Promotions. Assignments. 

At least, that’s what she told herself. 

But she lingered longer than necessary. Not for intelligence. Something else.

Her thumb hesitated before swiping the screen away and powering off the datapad.

For a brief moment, she sat in silence, staring at nothing. No orders. No commands. No expectations. Just a woman forged into something sharp. Sitting alone in the dark, still searching for the pieces that made her whole.

The lights dimmed further at her mental prompt.

She lay back on the bed. No armor. No duty. No one watching.

Just (Y/n). 

The hum of the Finalizer’s systems faded into the background. Lying in the quiet dark, (Y/n)’s eyes finally drifted shut.

The great courtyard of the Covenant’s inner sanctum was bathed in the violet hue of the twin moons. Tall, obsidian spires reached up around the ceremonial space where graduates were gathering, fresh from their final trials.

(Y/n) stood near the edge of the crowd. Lean, composed, her black cloak still streaked with ash from the Gauntlet. Beside her stood her closest friend. They had trained together, bled together, whispered their plans under moonlight while the others slept.

Her friend’s smile was tight. Her golden eyes flickered. Not with pride, but with something hollow. Something new.

“Umbral Academy,” she said, as if the words tasted bitter. “You and Varo. Chosen.”

(Y/n) furrowed her brow. “You forgot yourself, Zera. The High Lords -”

“Are finished with their selections for the remainder of the year.” Zera’s voice cracked, a tremble buried beneath her control. “I wasn’t one of them.”

(Y/n) blinked. “What? That’s… No, that’s a mistake. We’ll appeal -”

“No. You’ll go. Without me.” Zera stepped back, her jaw clenched, her voice sharp now with jealousy. “You always had their eyes on you. You and Varo. I was just the shadow in your wake, made to look worse so you could look better.”

“Zera, that’s not true -” (Y/n) moved forward, confused, reaching for her arm.

But Zera recoiled. Her expression was carved from stone now, guarded and venomous. “They said I lacked the instinct. The control. That I wouldn’t survive a night in the academy.”

“I didn’t know,” (Y/n) murmured. “I didn’t want this without you, we’ve talked about this for -”

“Four years!” Zera interrupted, eyes flashing with something darker now. Other Duskborns began to watch the pair of them as it escalated. “Four years, and you’re just leaving like it meant nothing to you! You were the only good thing I ever had, (Y/n)!”

(Y/n) went to speak, but Varo cut in. 

“It’s not her choice, it’s the Covenant’s.” He defended firmly. 

“Quiet, Drenn!” She snapped, turning back to (Y/n). “After everything we said about not leaving each other. About being there through everything, no matter the cost!” Zera looked between the two of them before she took a step back. “Forget it.” She spat with venom before turning to leave. 

(Y/n) took a step after her, then froze. Something in the air shifted. Too quickly, what they thought was unbreakable, had already been severed.

Varo was silent for a moment. Watching. He met (Y/n)’s eyes and gave a faint shake of his head.

“We can’t help her. She needs to figure this out herself.” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders with a solemn expression. 

And (Y/n) knew, deep down, he was right.

(Y/n) sat bolt upright, the memory like a blade to the ribs. Her breathing was unsteady, but her eyes… distant. Haunted.

She didn’t weep. She hadn’t in years. But that scar, deep and invisible, throbbed like a fresh wound.

Zera.

The name echoed like a whisper in the back of her mind.

Still in the dark, (Y/n) turned to the edge of the bed and wrapped her arms around herself. 

The sharp rhythm of boots echoed through the corridor. Varo walked at (Y/n)’s side, his stride easy, relaxed despite the rigid order of the Finalizer’s halls. His head tilted slightly towards her.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he said casually, “I’m pretty sure the Wraith Commander gave you the better assignment just because he was afraid of you.”

(Y/n) raised a brow, her voice cool. “ Him? Afraid?” 

“Well, you did break that instructor’s arm during blade training.” Varo gave a mock shiver. 

“He told me to stop holding back.”

“You shattered his elbow.” He deadpanned.

“His stance was weak.”

Varo grinned, tilting his head. “Remind me never to spar with you again. I quite like my bones in one piece.”

“They’ll heal.” (Y/n) didn’t smile, but the corner of her mouth twitched, just enough to show she wasn’t entirely made of steel.

“Well regardless,” Varo continued, “you get to shadow the general. Meanwhile, I’m stuck listening to Phasma bark orders at people half her size.”

“She’s efficient,” (Y/n) said, with a faintly amused glance. “And terrifying.”

“Exactly. I admire her… From a safe distance.”

They turned a corner, passing by a few stormtroopers who gave a wide berth to the two Umbrals. One even hesitated before saluting, a twitch of nervousness as their cloaks swept past.

Varo dropped his voice slightly, leaning a bit towards (Y/n). “But admit it. Watching people fumble around Hux while trying to impress him is a little entertaining.”

(Y/n) didn’t respond right away. Then, quietly, she murmured, “He sees through it. That’s what makes it worse for them.” She smirked. 

Varo laughed under his breath. “Stars, you’re getting soft. Next thing I know, you’ll be complimenting his hair.”

(Y/n) gave him a sideways glance. “It’s always perfectly parted. Not much to critique.”

“Maker help us,” Varo grinned.

(Y/n) shook her head with a faint exhale. “I hope you know that during this conversation I’ve been deciding whether to stab you or ignore you.”

“Either way,” he said with a chuckle, “at least I’d die knowing I made you smile.”

They reached the final corridor leading to the bridge. Their banter faded slightly, replaced with the calm professionalism both had been trained to resume in operational zones.

(Y/n) and Varo stepped in side by side, their long, dark cloaks catching the sterile light.

Varo leaned slightly towards her one last time. “Try not to glare too hard. Some of the crew still think you drink souls.”

(Y/n) smirked without looking at him. “Only on weekends.”

He snorted and gave her a casual nod before veering off to the left. “Captain Phasma’s waiting. Try not to miss me.”

As Varo disappeared into the far side of the bridge, (Y/n)’s eyes scanned the command walkway and there, just ahead, stood General Hux.

Clad in his sharp uniform, he was facing the forward viewport, the glint of the stars outside casting a cold sheen on his fiery hair. He didn’t look up immediately, but he was already aware of her arrival after hearing her familiar voice. A sound he found himself growing more accustomed to, and maybe even favor.

She approached with fluid precision, stopping just beside him.

“General Hux,” she said clearly, but her voice gave off a friendlier introduction than usual.

He glanced up, his expression unreadable but unmistakably aware. His gaze swept her form. 

“Umbral (L/n),” he acknowledged. “You’re punctual.”

“I was assigned to your command. Punctuality is expected.” She poked with a knowing look.

A moment passed between them. Not tense, but taut with subtle energy. Unspoken understanding, and the awareness of watchful eyes on the bridge.

Then, as he turned, she fell into step beside him, unobtrusive but unquestionably present.

As they walked, several officers along the command stations subtly glanced their way, some with the flicker of uncertainty in their expressions before Hux stopped at one of the terminals to look over a new report.

(Y/n)’s eyes remained alert, her senses sweeping the room. She could feel the tension. The curiosity. The fear.

Good.

Hux glanced sidelong at her. “They’ll get used to it. Eventually.”

“I’d prefer it if they didn’t,” (Y/n) replied, her voice low enough for only him to hear.

His lips twitched, just barely. “Likewise.”

The quiet buzz of the bridge was momentarily disrupted as Captain Voss entered from the far side, his footsteps deliberate and heavy. He stood a few paces away from (Y/n) and General Hux, pausing for a brief moment before speaking.

“General,” Voss greeted, his voice as sharp and professional as ever, but with a particular emphasis on the word General, as if reminding everyone of their roles. His eyes flicked briefly to (Y/n), who remained standing stoically beside Hux.

Hux didn’t immediately respond as he was watching the report flicker across the terminal, his eyes scanning the data. “Captain.”

Voss stepped closer, his boots echoing with each step, a tablet in his hand. “Updates from the fleet, sir,” he said, still careful to avoid directly acknowledging (Y/n), but it was impossible to ignore the slight narrowing of his eyes as they briefly met hers. “I trust the Umbral has settled in… comfortably by now?”

The words weren’t directly insulting, but the bite behind them was unmistakable. (Y/n)’s gaze didn’t falter. She simply stared, a perfect mask of professionalism. She wouldn’t let him get under her skin. Not here, not now.

However, Varo, who had been standing nearby and quietly observing the exchange, didn’t miss the undertone. His brow furrowed slightly as he stepped closer, his eyes narrowing in irritation. The thought of intervening crossed his mind, but before he could open his mouth, Hux spoke first, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

“Captain Voss,” Hux said coolly. “I would appreciate it if you would refrain from insinuating things that are neither relevant nor professional in the presence of my personal guard.”

Varo froze for a split second, surprised by the quickness of the response. He could feel the shift in the air as Hux’s sharp tone pierced through the murmur of the bridge. Voss blinked, momentarily taken aback. “My apologies, sir. I wasn’t aware I was offending,” Voss replied, his tone now more clipped, but his eyes still glinting with that same passive-aggressive edge.

“Umbral (L/n) is not to be the subject of your personal musings, do I make myself clear?”

Varo smirked, standing just behind the captain, sensing the rare moment of discomfort in Voss. Voss stilled, his hand gripping the tablet tighter.

“Yes, sir,” he responded stiffly, the forced politeness thick in his voice.

The silence lingered for a moment before Hux finally shifted his attention back to the captain, the brief interruption passing as if it never happened.

“What have you found?” Hux asked, gesturing to the tablet in Voss’s hand.

For a second, Voss opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he simply nodded and began to speak about the fleet’s movements. His words lost a bit of their earlier venom, though the flicker of resentment never fully disappeared. It was clear that he was no longer willing to test Hux’s patience at that moment.

(Y/n) didn’t react outwardly, her face remained a perfect mask. But inside, she allowed herself a fleeting moment of satisfaction, and dare she say appreciation. Hux had handled the situation with precise authority, making sure to put Voss back in his place.

Varo, however, couldn’t resist a small chuckle as he leaned in a bit closer to (Y/n). “Didn’t think the General had it in him,” he muttered for only her to hear, his grin amused but still holding a touch of concern.

(Y/n) didn’t look at him, but she did respond quietly. “Neither did I.” Her eyes looked over the general’s face as he spoke with Voss, unaware of how she found herself admiring him. The shadow of his cheek bones, the movement of his eyes and curve of his nose -

“Time and place, (L/n).” Varo teased, breaking her out of her stare and elbowing him sharply in the ribs making him huff with a chuckle. 

The silence in the room lingered after Captain Voss’s departure. His passive-aggressive remarks had left a slight chill in the air, but the tension began to dissipate as personnel moved back to their stations after eavesdropping, giving the trio a moment of quiet.

(Y/n)’s eyes flicked between Hux, who was absorbed in the tablet given to him, and Varo, who appeared to be in his usual playful mood despite the recent exchange. Varo, never one to leave a tense moment without attempting to lighten it, glanced at (Y/n) and gave her a knowing smirk.

“Well, that went well, don’t you think?”

(Y/n)’s lips twitched into a barely perceptible smirk, but she didn’t say anything. At least, not until Varo continued.

“I mean, you did have that whole ‘silent rage’ thing going on - very intimidating. I’d be scared to cross you.”

(Y/n) glanced sideways at Varo, her eyebrow raising slightly, but she couldn’t hide the hint of amusement in her gaze. “If you keep making jokes like that, Varo, I might actually consider crossing you .”

Varo’s grin widened, and he threw a quick, playful glance toward Hux, who hadn’t looked up from the tablet. With a calculated, dramatic pause, Varo leaned closer to (Y/n), lowering his voice to a whisper.

“I’m just saying, if you did, we’d probably have to drag you away from him before Hux starts thinking you two are too close.” Another jab in his side. 

The quip made (Y/n)’s eyes narrow, but she held back a quiet chuckle. Hux, who had been focusing intently on the report, suddenly glanced up, a sharp, cutting gaze landing on both of them.

Hux spoke dryly. “If you two are quite finished, I suggest you save the idle chatter for later.”

Varo, ever the opportunist, turned to Hux with feigned seriousness.

“Of course, General. Just keeping the morale up.” He glanced sideways at (Y/n), his expression turning faux-pensive. “It’s hard, you know? Being the only source of entertainment.”

Hux stared at him for a moment with an unreadable expression on his face before his gaze switched to (Y/n) who had the faintest smirk. Figuring that the Umbrals had slight leeway given their status, the general decided to humor him.

“You’d be surprised how little your ‘entertainment’ is needed, Drenn.” He paused in hesitation. “But if it helps you two get through the day, I suppose I can allow it on occasion.”

Varo grinned and gave a half-bow, completely unfazed by the general’s dry retort. (Y/n), watching this back-and-forth, finally allowed herself a brief chuckle, one that she quickly masked with a more stoic expression, but Hux had already caught it and he looked at her longer than necessary in masked amusement. The lightness between the three of them was palpable.

Just as the tension was beginning to ease, the door to the bridge opened and a soft chime echoed through the room, signaling an incoming message.

“ General Hux, the Grand Master requires your presence in the War Room immediately. ”

The playful atmosphere that Varo had tried to create faded slightly as the business of the day returned, but there was still a slight, lingering warmth to the moment.

“I suppose we’ll have to continue this conversation later, Umbral Drenn. You can make your jokes when I’m not in the middle of a meeting, though I’m sure I’d be ‘thrilled’ by your input.”

Varo shot him a mock, two-fingered salute, a teasing grin still in place.

“I’ll try to contain my enthusiasm, General. Wouldn’t want to distract you from the really important stuff, right?” He shot (Y/n) a quick, conspiratorial glance, the joke hanging between them.

“Keep it down, will you?” (Y/n) pressed. 

“The two of you together are insufferable. Let’s go, (L/n).” Hux urged. 

With that, the two left the bridge, making their way towards the door to the War Room and entering. 

The War Room was dimly lit, its walls lined with shifting holo-maps and live feeds from the far reaches of First Order space. A single long table dominated the room, displaying an active projection of disputed sectors and blinking alerts. Hux stood at the head of the table, his posture rigid as always. 

(Y/n) stood to his right and the general noticed her take a soothing deep breath uncharacteristically. 

“Nervous?” He questioned her. She glanced at him. 

“The Grand Master is the Covenant’s equivalent to the Supreme Leader. The highest elder of our kind.” Her head turned to look at Hux. “I would be.”

The air shifted slightly as the holo-communicator pulsed and activated, forming the image of the Grand Master of the Covenant. Draped in ceremonial black and crimson, his eyes were sharp beneath the weight of age and authority. The halo of his mantle flickered faintly, feeding off the shadows like it hungered.

“General Hux. Umbral (L/n).” He nodded in acknowledgement. His tone was unreadable, neither warm nor hostile.

Hux spoke. “Grand Master. Thank you for joining us.”

“The matter warranted it. You have reports of a Resistance-aligned unit employing techniques unnatural for mortals. I cannot tolerate such rumors under my careful watch for the sake of my kind.”

A pause.

“I assume this is not an exaggeration of your kind’s military incompetence.”

The general didn’t flinch. He was used to the Covenant’s thinly veiled disdain.

“You are correct to assume, Grand Master. These attacks are not the doing of amateurs. We’ve faced Resistance operatives on countless occasions. This is different.”

(Y/n)’s eyes narrowed slightly, lips pressing into a firm line. She stepped forward, speaking for the first time. 

“They strike in the dark, Grand Master. With coordination and precision that suggests training. Covenant training with attempted Umbral elements. These are not mere recruits or fledglings.”

The Grand Master tilted his head, his expression sharpening as if considering her worthiness to speak.

“And you believe them to be… rogues?”

“With the knowledge of my training and what I’ve assessed, I don’t know what else they could be.”

“You presume treason. A bold accusation. Especially from one so newly graduated.”

Hux’s voice cut in, calm but authoritative.

“We have firsthand knowledge of Covenant methods from Umbrals (L/n) and Drenn, and my own of the First Order. We’ve reviewed the evidence together. The similarities are unmistakable.”

Another pause. The Grand Master’s eyes moved from Hux back to (Y/n). 

“If what you suggest is true, then this would be an unsanctioned breach of the Blood Accord. The punishment for such betrayal is execution.”

He stepped back slightly in his projection. Behind him, the faint silhouettes of the High Lords flickered into view, standing in silent consensus.

“You are authorized, Umbral (L/n), to investigate this matter further with the support of the First Order. Should your findings confirm the presence of a rogue Covenant faction…”

A beat.

“You will have the full authority of the Covenant to eliminate them. All of them.”

A flicker of darkness passed over (Y/n)’s face. Determination, resolve and dread entwined. She gave a silent nod.

“As you command. Thank you, Grand Master.” She bowed her head with a hand crossed over onto her heart. 

“You are not alone in this. I also grant Umbral Drenn operational liberty. I suspect the two of you will perform well, given your history. The Council expects discretion… but finality.”

The Grand Master’s gaze locked once more with (Y/n)’s, this time more direct. It was personal.

“They took their oath, Umbral. They chose exile. They chose treason. And we will provide no mercy for such actions. Show them the price of turning their fangs on their own. Honor in Loyalty, Umbral.”

“Strength in Silence, Grand Master.”

With a flicker, the projection faded, and the War Room fell into silence.

Hux didn’t move for a moment, the two of them digesting the gravity of what had just transpired. Then, without looking at (Y/n), he spoke. 

“Well. That settles the question of what we do next.”

(Y/n) stood quietly beside him and he finally looked at her with the smallest hint of concern. Her gaze was downcast as she was frozen and he caught a familiar emotion in her gaze. 

Betrayal. 

Chapter 3

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 doors to General Hux’s office slid open with a quiet hiss as (Y/n) stepped inside. The space was sterile and methodically arranged, a monitor displaying fleet operations. The room carried the crisp scent of standard regulation upkeep. Precise, orderly, and devoid of warmth, much like the man seated behind the desk.

Hux did not immediately acknowledge her entrance. His sharp eyes remained fixed on the datapad in his hands, his posture as composed as ever. 

She moved forward and stopped before his desk, clasping her hands in front of her. “General.”

At last, he looked up. His piercing gaze swept over her as if ensuring she met the standard he demanded. He set the datapad down with deliberate precision before gesturing to the chair opposite him.

“Sit.”

Without hesitation, (Y/n) obeyed, lowering herself into the seat with rigid posture and crossing one leg over the other. Though she had been assigned to him, there was still much to understand about how he expected her to operate.

Hux leaned back in his chair, his fingers folded together in front of him. “Being assigned to me, you will be present for all meetings, briefings, and high-priority assignments. You will not interfere with my command, but you will ensure my security.” His tone remained even, yet carried the weight of authority. “I expect absolute discretion. You will not speak in official matters unless addressed directly, nor will you allow your presence to be a disruption.”

(Y/n) gave a curt nod. “Understood.”

“You will also continue overseeing security measures aboard the Finalizer, particularly any vulnerabilities that may pose a risk to High Command.” Hux studied her closely, his expression unreadable. “As shown yesterday, your findings have already proven thorough.”

“Thank you, General.” (Y/n) nodded. “I will continue to ensure there are no weaknesses.”

“Good.” He let a brief pause linger before adding, “Now, for your awareness, there is a briefing in thirty minutes.” A silent nod was her response.

Hux’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he shifted his attention back to his datapad. 

The quiet hum of the ship’s systems filled the space, broken only by the rhythmic tapping of General Hux’s fingers against his datapad, eyes locked on the reports scrolling before him, analyzing every detail with meticulous focus.

(Y/n) stayed in her seat, shoulders beginning to relax after a few minutes or so. 

As they awaited the designated time for the briefing, the silence between them stretched, neither uncomfortable nor strained. Just an unspoken understanding of their respective roles.

“You are adjusting well, I hope?” Hux remarked suddenly, still focused on his datapad.

(Y/n) turned slightly, regarding him with measured curiosity. “I was trained to adapt. But yes, I am settling in well, thank you.”

A faint smirk ghosted across his features. “A necessary trait.” He paused for a moment, then added, “What of the security concerns? Have they been adjusted?”

“I have spoken with Captain Phasma and Umbral Drenn about necessary reinforcements,” she replied. “High Command’s quarters now have additional security measures, as well as key control corridors. All other issues are being fixed as we speak.”

Hux’s eyes flicked toward her briefly before returning to his datapad. “Good. I expect nothing less.”

A brief silence followed before (Y/n) spoke again with curiosity, as well as an attempt to get to know him better. But she would never admit the latter. “You didn’t seem too affected by the vulnerabilities when I mentioned them yesterday.”

Hux gave a low, almost amused hum. “If I let myself dwell on every potential weakness, I would hardly get anything done. Besides, that’s what security is for.” He watched as a humored smirk reached her face, then quickly looked back down at his datapad.

Satisfied, he gave a short nod before checking the time. 

“We leave in three minutes.”

Hux said nothing more, simply standing and stepping past her as the time arrived. (Y/n) dutifully followed him out of the office, walking in sync as they made their way to the briefing room. 

The doors slid open and all conversation inside fell into a tense silence as General Hux stepped inside. (Y/n) followed precisely behind him, their presence an immediate disruption to the murmured voices of the room.

Seated at the long, durasteel table were several officers. Intelligence analysts, strategic analysts, and logistical personnel, all awaiting Hux’s arrival. Captain Phasma stood near the back, her imposing chrome figure motionless, observing. Beside her stood Varo, however more casually and seemingly unbothered. 

The officers were disciplined, but even discipline could not mask instinct. The moment they saw her clad in her Umbral uniform - her movements silent and predatory - unease rippled through them. A few of them shifted slightly, others stiffened, their hands resting just a bit closer to their belts. Some exchanged quick, uncertain glances.

The First Order was built on power and control, and yet, the Umbrals were something outside of it. Something unnatural.

If Hux noticed the tension, he did not acknowledge it. He moved towards his seat at the head of the table without hesitation, placing his datapad down in front of him. (Y/n) took her position behind and to his right, standing like a shadow.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Finally, one of the officers - a middle-aged man with a rigid posture - cleared his throat. “Sir.” His gaze flickered toward (Y/n), as if unsure whether to continue with her there. “Shall we begin?”

Hux noted the empty seat at the table. “We are waiting for Captain Essen.”

The room remained still. No one dared question Hux directly, but the unspoken question lingered in the air. 

Why were Umbrals there?

Another officer, a woman with sharp features, shifted in her seat. “General, if I may ask -” her eyes flickered towards (Y/n), cautious, measured, “is security a concern?”

Hux finally looked up, his expression cold and unreadable. “It would be if they were not here.”

The statement was simple. Cutting and final.

Whatever doubts they had, no one voiced them again. The officers turned their attention to their datapads, and the room settled into rigid professionalism once more.

The doors opened once more as Captain Essen arrived, striding in with an air of obnoxious authority. He barely spared (Y/n) a glance before taking his seat, unlike the others who had yet to fully mask their unease.

Hux wasted no time. “Now that we are all here,” he glanced at the captain in disapproval and annoyance. 

General Hux stood, posture rigid, hands clasped neatly behind his back as a holographic image projected itself above the center of the table.

“Recent operations in the Mid Rim have uncovered a disruption within Resistance ranks. Our intelligence suggests that an unidentified force is working alongside them. One that has displayed an unusual level of precision and efficiency in combat against our troops. Whoever they are, they are trained, disciplined, and deliberate in their strikes.”

A murmur passed through the room as the holoprojector shifted, displaying a series of attack reports. Outposts, convoys, scouting units. All ambushed with calculated precision. The markers on the map indicated a pattern, a slow but deliberate targeting of First Order assets.

Captain Phasma tilted her helmet slightly. “Do we have any confirmed identities?”

The General’s jaw tensed. “No. Whoever they are, they remain elusive. There is no clear insignia, no known affiliations, and no captives taken alive. They possess a level of skill that suggests advanced training. Beyond what we have seen the Resistance is typically capable of.”

Varo leaned forward slightly. “Their attacks indicate careful coordination. They don’t strike randomly. They are targeting weaknesses in our operations so someone among them understands our tactics.”

Hux inclined his head in agreement. “Precisely. Which is why this matter is of utmost priority. We must identify who they are before they become a greater threat and further exploit the Order’s tactics. The longer we wait, the more vulnerable we become” His gaze swept the room, sharp and expectant. “I want increased surveillance on all known Resistance movements in these sectors. Our reconnaissance units will prioritize capturing one of these operatives alive, if possible. Until we have more information, no assumption should be made about their origin or objectives.”

An intelligence officer hesitated before speaking. “If they are as skilled as you suggest, sir, what makes you certain we can capture one at all?”

A silence settled over the room. (Y/n) felt Hux shift slightly beside her before he responded, voice cool and unwavering.

“Because failure is not an option.”

No one spoke after that.

As the meeting concluded, officers exchanged brief nods before gathering their datapads. Some cast wary glances towards (Y/n) and Varo as they exited, though none dared to address them directly.

Standing beside Hux, she remained still, absorbing the information. She did not need to say it aloud to recognize the familiar sensation curling in her gut that came with the impending doom of an unforeseen enemy. 

Her and the general shared a quick glance before his eyes shifted to stare at the blank surface of the table. 

The last of the officers filed out, the metallic hiss of the door sliding shut behind them leaving the room cloaked in a heavy stillness. The hum of the holoprojector dimmed as Hux tapped its console, dismissing the glowing map and returning the room to its cool, neutral lighting.

He didn’t speak at first, letting a silence settle between the two of them. He simply stared for a long moment, the fine lines around his eyes drawing taut as if calculating a dozen outcomes at once. Then, without turning to face her, he spoke.

“What are your thoughts on this?” His tone was mild, curious, not critical. He then turned to face her. 

She stepped forward slightly, no longer merely standing in the shadow of a soldier but assuming the role of the strategist he was asking her to be.

“There’s discipline in their attacks,” she voiced, her stoic demeanor dropping slightly as she grew more thoughtful. “Clean movements. No wasted time. No reckless aggression. It’s not guerrilla warfare, at least not in the traditional Resistance sense. These are trained killers. Efficient. Precise.” Her tone remained flat, but there was a shift in her gaze. A flicker of deeper concern as she folded her arms in front of her. “From what I’ve seen, they behave like us.”

Hux’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You believe they’re the Covenant?”

“I believe,” she answered carefully, taking a deep breath. “that whoever they are… they’ve either studied the Covenant and are mimicking their tactics, or were once part of it.”

He considered her words, pacing slowly across the room, hands still behind his back in thought. “If what you say is true,” he said, “and dealing with the Covenant is a possibility, we’re dealing with more than defectors. We’re dealing with apostates. Rogues with the skillset of assassins and the ideology of fanatics.”

(Y/n) nodded. “And worse… they know how to exploit weaknesses in the First Order. Which means they’ve had time to observe us. They’re planning something larger.”

He stopped pacing and turned to her again. “This is your area of expertise. What would you suggest we do?”

She hesitated, but only for a moment. “Double security rotation in the compromised sectors. If we’re being watched, they’ll expect patterns. Break those patterns. Cause misdirection. Set traps where they think they’re safe. And…” She looked at the spot where the hologram once was. “I want to study the combat reports. If they’re Covenant-trained, I can spot their technique. No matter how much they’ve tried to disguise it.”

Hux studied her face for a long moment, fascinated by her intelligence. Then he gave a small nod.

“I’ll grant you access to the full debriefings. I want Umbral Drenn involved as he is one of your own. I’m sure he’d be able to provide valuable input.”

“Yes, General.”

As she turned slightly to prepare her departure, he spoke again. Quietly this time.

“If they are what you suspect… it won’t be easy for you.”

She paused, looking back at him. There was a glint of remorse, though her voice remained steady.

“I’m not afraid of ghosts, sir.”

His gaze held hers.

“Good,” he said at last. “Because ghosts can be the most dangerous enemies of all.”

Then, with a flick of his eyes toward the door, he dismissed her with a subtle nod as they both shared the familiar sense of unease.

As she exited the room, Varo stood just down the corridor, leaning stiffly against the wall with his arms crossed and eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. He straightened the moment he saw her.

“You’re finally out,” he said under his breath, striding toward her. “How bad was it?”

(Y/n) didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes scanned the corridor behind him, instinctively checking for eavesdroppers before she spoke.

“I think it’s worse than we thought.”

Varo exhaled sharply. “So we’re right to assume?”

She gave a slight nod. “It’s not confirmed, but… the patterns, the precision, the disappearance? It doesn’t match the Resistance’s usual methods that we’ve studied.”

Varo’s jaw tightened. “And you think they’re Covenant-trained?”

“I know they are,” she said flatly. “They’ve either defected or were exiled and found a new cause. Either way, they’ve been careful to stay out of sight until now.”

Varo rubbed a hand over his mouth, then glanced away, voice low. “I had a bad feeling. As obvious as it is, I still don’t want to believe it.”

There was a beat of silence between them.

Then he looked at her again, eyes searching. “You don’t think it’s…” he hesitated, words stuck in his throat. 

(Y/n) looked away, the mention of the name flicking something sharp in her otherwise impassive face before she shook her head.

“Zera?” she shook her head. “Impossible to determine off of tactics alone. But we’ll be able to determine if there are Umbrals involved or simply standard Covenant.”

Varo’s voice was quieter now. “Well, let’s hope there’s no Umbrals. That would make things far more complicated.”

She looked back at him then. “I’ll be reviewing combat footage soon with General Hux. Cross-referencing movements. Stances. Flaws in form. He wants you to join to see if you have more input.”

Varo nodded slowly, though his expression remained uneasy. “Regardless of who they are, we’ll be ready for them. Whatever they’re planning, we’ll shut it down.”

“We don’t have a choice,” (Y/n) agreed. “If they’re ex-Covenant, they know our strengths. But we would also know theirs. And I’m not going to let them tear down what we’ve built just because they were too weak to follow the code.”

There was steel in her voice now, the mask of an Umbral settling over her features. But Varo knew her well enough to see the flicker of something deeper beneath it. Pain, betrayal not yet faced.

“We’ll handle it together,” he said, placing a steady hand on her arm.

(Y/n) didn’t flinch.

“For the Covenant,” she replied.

“For our people,” he added, quietly in an unspoken vow. He dropped his arm just as the door to the briefing room opened and the general walked out, making his way towards the pair who followed him once he showed no signs of stopping. 

“We’ll stop by the bridge to settle any matters there before we discuss things further in my office. Umbral Drenn, I want you, (L/n) and myself to go over the combat reports. I will notify Captain Phasma of your temporary absence.”

“Yes, General.” Varo replied with determination as they walked with purpose towards the lift at the end of the corridor. 

The lift doors closed with a soft hiss, and the silence inside immediately turned heavy. General Hux stood front and center, back straight, datapad in hand as he reviewed a stream of tactical updates. (Y/n) stood beside him, composed and motionless, hands folded neatly in front of her. Varo, positioned a respectful distance to Hux’s left, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eyes flicking between the floor and the countdown on the lift panel.

The silence dragged on.

Varo cleared his throat softly, attempting to ease the recent tension. “So… lift rides. Always this silent, or are we doing something ceremonial here?”

Hux didn’t even glance up. (Y/n) didn’t respond either, though her eyes narrowed slightly. Amused or warning, it wasn’t clear.

Undeterred, Varo continued. “I mean, I get it. First week with the new team, gotta establish dominance. But if this is the vibe every day, I may start talking to the walls just to hear an echo.”

“Time and place, Drenn.” (Y/n) finally drawled out as if she was used to constantly reminding him.

“Hey, I’m just trying to provide a little morale. Emotional support, y’know?” After a moment of silence, Varo leaned back slightly to look at (Y/n), his voice just a shade too loud in the confined space. “Blink once if you’re actually enjoying this, blink twice if you’re praying for explosive decompression.” The general exhaled heavily through his nose.

(Y/n) didn’t blink at all as she responded. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what?” Varo asked, feigning innocence.

She turned her head slightly. “Testing boundaries.”

Varo grinned. “I prefer to think of it as calibrating team chemistry.”

Hux finally spoke.

“If your intent is to measure how much noise I’ll tolerate before reassigning you to cargo inspections for the next month, Umbral, you’re quickly approaching your answer.”

Varo straightened. “Right. Copy that, sir. Just… gauging lift etiquette.”

“As long as you’re in the lift, silence is the default etiquette.” This caused (Y/n) to chuckled softly and the general finally looked over to side-glance at her. His eyes reflected what seemed to be surprise, but he quickly masked it as he looked forward again.

Varo muttered under his breath, “Brutal crowd.”

(Y/n), in an uncharacteristically dry tone, added, “It’s not the crowd. It’s the venue.”

Varo huffed out a short laugh and looked up at the ceiling. “Next time I’ll take the stairs.”

The lift chimed, and the doors slid open. Hux stepped out first, not acknowledging either of them.

Varo and (Y/n) followed behind, the former whispering, “Do you think he heard that?”

(Y/n) nodded. “Knowing you? Every word.”

Varo glanced nervously down the hall, then back at her. “Good. At least we’re bonding.”

She gave him a sidelong look. “You’re an acquired taste.”

He grinned. “You’re acquiring it, though.”

She didn’t answer, but her silence, this time, didn’t seem disapproving.

The subtle change in lighting and sound from the rest of the ship to the command bridge was immediate. Cooler tones, sharper alert systems, and the low murmur of officers moving with strict purpose.

The moment Hux stepped onto the bridge, heads turned and spines straightened. Officers at their consoles stood at attention, acknowledging the general’s presence.

“Status report,” Hux said crisply, eyes scanning the forward viewport before turning toward the nearest communications officer.

The officer cleared his throat. “No change in the last two hours, sir. No new movements detected from the Resistance front. Patrols along the outer systems have remained within predicted patterns.”

Hux narrowed his eyes. “And the anomaly from the outpost?”

“Still investigating, General,” the officer replied. “The team is analyzing the signal distortion. It appears to have been an intentional scrambling. There were faint traces of bio-signatures, but too faint to confirm species or number.”

Varo stepped forward slightly. “Was it similar to the last occurrence near Sector 7G?”

The officer glanced between him and the general before nodding. “Yes, sir. Nearly identical. Quick incursion, silence, and retreat. No tech left behind.”

(Y/n) shifted beside Hux, her eyes narrowing as they looked at each other. “They’re testing our responses. Watching how quickly we mobilize.”

“Agreed,” Hux said. “And they’re becoming more confident.”

He stepped forward, overlooking the bridge with hands still behind his back, then addressed the senior officer at the main console. “Deploy a double rotation on the patrols near the outer systems. I want all tactical relays running constant scans for any trace of cloaking disturbances.”

“Yes, General,” the officer said, turning quickly to execute the order.

Hux looked to Varo and (Y/n). “They’re baiting us. Probing our borders without making themselves fully known.”

(Y/n) nodded. “They’re waiting for us to act first.”

Hux’s voice dropped slightly as he addressed the two Umbrals directly. “Make no mistake. Whoever they are, their actions have escalated them to a direct threat. If they are former Covenant… they know enough to be dangerous. We’ll root them out. Quietly and efficiently.”

He turned to walk back toward the exit, the Umbrals in tow as they made way for his office. 

The office was quiet but for the sharp hum of data scrolling across a holo-projector between them. General Hux sat behind his desk, posture immaculate, one gloved hand resting against his chin in thought. Across from him stood (Y/n) and Varo, both locked in a silent focus like Siamese cats as report after report flickered before them. Damage assessments, troop debriefs, weapon pattern readings.

Varo leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “That’s the third unit that reported full signal jamming mid-op. Exact same signature. Frequency disruption spiked in a sharp wave, scrambled visuals, sensors blinded.”

(Y/n) tilted her head, arms folded. “But only briefly. Just long enough to disorient and isolate them.”

“Classic guerrilla-style tactics,” Varo muttered. “But refined. They knew exactly where to strike and how to disappear.”

General Hux’s voice cut in, sharp and composed. “We’ve fought Resistance saboteurs before. This is beyond their usual disorganized chaos.”

(Y/n) nodded. “They moved with discipline. Patterned strikes. Coordinated withdrawal. Whoever led them had military training… or something similar.”

Hux’s eyes flicked to her. “Similar to yours?”

She hesitated. “Yes. Umbral. But admittedly not as skilled or precise as someone from the academy. Someone simply studied us and are attempting to use the same tactics.”

A beat passed.

Varo glanced between the two. “I’ve been thinking the same. The way they handle shadow ambushes, their use of terrain, misdirection. It feels like home.”

(Y/n)’s jaw clenched slightly, the flicker of unease betraying her usual control. “If they are ex-Covenant… we may be facing a rogue faction. Not just a few stragglers.”

“That would explain the silence from the Covenant,” Hux said. “If they suspect internal betrayal, they’ll be trying to contain the fallout quietly.”

Varo rubbed the back of his neck. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Not everyone graduates as a loyal soldier.”

(Y/n) ’s voice was quieter now. “And not everyone takes rejection well.”

Hux leaned forward. “If this is a rogue Covenant group, what’s their goal?”

Varo shrugged and blew a raspberry before rambling off ideas. “Destabilize both sides. Maybe they want revenge? Maybe they think they can burn it all down and rebuild it better. Could be ideology. Could just be vengeance.”

(Y/n) ’s eyes didn’t leave the shifting data. “We won’t know until we lock an identity and capture them for interrogation.”

Hux nodded. “Then we make that our priority. We’ll identify them. Track them. I want patterns, predictions, and locations. I want to know where they sleep and where they bleed.”

He turned his gaze to Varo.

“Can you do that?”

“Yes, General.”

“Coordinate with Phasma and bring me a plan by the end of the day tomorrow. Dismissed.”

Varo gave a sharp nod, glancing towards (Y/n) a final time before taking his leave. 

The general eyed her as she stared at his desk, arms folded in front of her, deep in thought. He swallowed before deciding to pry. “What troubles you?” 

She shook her head, debating on whether or not she should speak on it. But Hux was patient. After a deep breath, she finally answered. “It doesn’t concern the mission.” 

“That’s not what I asked, (L/n).” Her eyes snapped to meet his own that bore into her with an intensity she was not used to. He stood from his chair and rounded his desk, eyes never leaving her as he stood feet in front of her. 

“What would you do if your own people betrayed you?”

Hux’s hands tensed slightly.

His gaze didn’t shift right away. For a moment, she thought he might ignore the question. But then he exhaled, measured and cold.

“I’d survive it,” his voice was steady, but carried something darker beneath the surface. “And then I would make sure they lived long enough to regret it.”

(Y/n) studied him. No smugness in his words. No theatrics. Just raw, precise conviction. Something about it wasn’t just rehearsed. It was lived.

“So you have.” Her voice was soft. Observational. No judgment in it.

He didn’t confirm or deny.

“Blood isn’t loyalty,” Hux said more softly after a pause. “It never has been. You learn that very quickly in the kind of world we were both shaped in.”

There was no venom in his tone. Just the kind of sharpness that came from an old wound that never quite closed.

“If they betray you, they were never your people to begin with.”

Chapter 2

Pairing - General Armitage Hux x Reader

*Set prior to The Force Awakens*

Summary -

Forged in blood. Bound by duty. Broken by desire.

(Y/n) (L/n) is a deadly Umbral of the Covenant - an elite order of vampires sworn to the First Order. Her assignment: serve as General Hux's personal guard. But as buried secrets surface and a rogue vampire faction rises, (Y/n) is forced to confront a past she can't outrun - and feelings she was never meant to have.

In a war of blood, betrayal, and duty, the deadliest threat may be the one that lies still in her chest.

Series contains - Blood, violence, battles/war, betrayal/angst, eventual smut, slow burn

The steady hum of the transport ship was a constant beneath their feet, a rhythmic pulse of power that carried them through the vastness of space. Inside the dimly lit cabin, the atmosphere was subdued. Formal, disciplined, yet not entirely tense. 

Hux sat with his back straight, a datapad in hand. His eyes flicked over reports and incoming transmissions from the Finalizer, processing the minutiae of fleet logistics with the same cold efficiency as always. He did not acknowledge the Umbrals beyond what was necessary. Yet, his sharp gaze lifted briefly when movement caught his attention.

(Y/n) stood a short distance away, her posture still disciplined, but there was a subtle shift in her demeanor. A small relaxation of her shoulders, the slight ease in her stance. Changes so minute that most would miss them entirely.

Except for him.

The reason soon became apparent as Varo had approached her. His expression was composed but carried a faint trace of familiarity, something that separated him from the others. She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment. 

“You’re holding together well,” Varo remarked, his voice carrying the weight of an old camaraderie.

(Y/n) glanced at him, one brow lifting slightly. “Were you expecting otherwise?”

A small smirk played at the corner of his lips. “Not really. But even you have to admit this is different from what we’re used to.” He gestured vaguely around them. “The academies are one thing. Taking on an assignment? That’s something else.”

(Y/n) exhaled quietly, her gaze shifting briefly to the viewport where the stars streaked past in elongated trails of light. “We were made for this,” she said simply.

“Made for it, sure,” Varo agreed. “But I’d rather fight beside someone I know than be stuck with others who think we’re nothing more than glorified beasts on leashes.” (Y/n) caught a new frustrated glint in his eyes. “They have a hard time trusting us, but they don’t realize it goes both ways.” 

Hux noted the way (Y/n)’s expression flickered. Something subtle, a trace of understanding.

“Let them think what they will,” she murmured. “It changes nothing.”

Her attempt at grounding themselves seemed to work as Varo huffed a quiet chuckle. “Still the same as ever.” He tilted his head slightly. “No regrets?”

(Y/n) finally met his gaze, and in that moment, there was something unspoken between them. Shared experiences, unspoken memories from the academy. The brutal trials, the losses, the moments of quiet survival.

“No,” she said at last, and there was no hesitation in her answer.

Varo studied her for a moment before nodding in acceptance. “Good.”

Hux, still seated and listening in on their conversation, watched them from the corner of his eye.

It was… fascinating.

The Umbral he had observed up until now had been nothing short of calculated and professional. She had spoken only when necessary, moved only with purpose. But here, in the presence of someone she trusted, she was not softer - that was the wrong word.

More settled.

There was no loss of awareness, no drop in discipline. She was still poised, still unreadable to the untrained eye. But there was a difference, one that made Hux’s fingers still briefly over his datapad.

This was an Umbral outside of direct orders. This was (Y/n) (L/n) as a person, not just as a weapon. And it was something worth noting.

Not long after, the landing sequence they experienced was smooth, the ship barely shuddering as it settled into the Finalizer’s hangar. 

Inside the ship, General Hux remained composed as he stood, eyes fixed ahead as the ramp lowered with a sharp hiss. The air changed immediately. Cooler, sterile, filled with the low hum of machinery and distant orders being barked across the hangar deck.

(Y/n) followed precisely half a step behind him as he descended the ramp, boots meeting the polished black floor with measured precision as Varo followed beside her. 

The hangar was alive with motion. TIE pilots making their way to their fighters, officers moving in coordinated patterns, stormtroopers standing at attention as their general passed. Hux did not acknowledge them. He expected discipline, not admiration.

A group of officers awaited him near the entrance to the main corridors. At their forefront, Captain Phasma stood in gleaming armor, a towering presence of authority. She inclined her head as Hux approached.

“General.”

“Captain.”

Her visor tilted toward (Y/n) for a brief moment, then to Varo. “Which one of you is Umbral Drenn?” The man in question stepped forward. Phasma gave a single nod in acknowledgement. “You will be shadowing me for the next five days to ensure your understanding of our operations in High Command. Further guidance will be provided to you later.” She informed before turning to the general. “Your presence was missed, sir. There are several matters requiring your attention.”

Hux nodded, already moving forward. “Walk with me.”

(Y/n) and Varo followed silently as they moved towards the turbolifts, officers and other personnel scurrying out of their way. Phasma strode beside Hux, her tone clipped and efficient.

“The Resistance has increased its scouting efforts in the Mid Rim. No direct engagements, but intelligence suggests they are probing for weaknesses.”

“Predictable.” Hux’s expression remained unreadable. “Have our patrol routes been adjusted accordingly?”

“They have. Colonel Ronn reports all security measures are holding, but vigilance is advised.”

The lift doors opened, and the group stepped inside. The moment they ascended, Phasma’s tone shifted, slightly lower.

“There was also an incident with Captain Voss.”

(Y/n) did not react outwardly, but she sharpened her focus. Hux, however, merely exhaled through his nose, a sign of mild irritation rather than surprise.

“What has he done?”

“He questioned your decision to take an Umbral as a personal guard.” A pointed glance at (Y/n). “Not publicly, but he has made his opinion known among certain circles.”

(Y/n) remained motionless, her gaze fixed ahead.

Hux’s lips curled into something that was not quite a smile. “Let him. Voss is intelligent enough to know the consequences of stepping beyond his station.”

The lift arrived at the floor of the bridge and as they neared, the doors hissed open, revealing the vast command deck of the Finalizer. A sea of officers stationed at their posts, the soft hum of control panels and distant chatter filling the air.

As the general stepped forward, the ship’s personnel immediately straightened, all eyes momentarily drawn to their returning commander. (Y/n) observed silently as they passed through, noting how conversations momentarily ceased as Hux moved to take his place at the command platform overlooking the viewport.

The stars stretched endlessly before them, vast and cold.

Hux clasped his hands behind his back, surveying his domain. “Report.”

An officer stepped forward. “All systems operational. No disturbances during your absence. We are prepared to resume standard operations under your directive.”

Hux nodded once. “Maintain course. I will review today’s logs personally. Any deviations in patrol efficiency are to be reported immediately.”

“Yes, General.”

As the officer left, Hux glanced toward (Y/n), his expression unreadable. He studied her for a moment, then turned back towards the viewport.

She had remained silent, as expected. Present, but unobtrusive. A shadow at his side.

(Y/n) remained alert as General Hux turned and faced Phasma who had not yet left, her tall frame imposing as she continued briefing him. “There is another matter. The Supreme Leader has sent a transmission requesting an update on the Starkiller project. He will expect a report.”

Hux’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Of course he will.” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Patch it through to my private terminal. I will address it personally.”

Phasma nodded before stepping away to relay the command, Varo following, leaving General Hux and (Y/n) to themselves. 

(Y/n) remained silent, watching as Hux’s fingers flexed behind his back, the only outward indication of his restrained irritation. 

He turned sharply, beginning to walk along the command walkway overlooking the bridge. (Y/n) followed in step.

“You will make yourself familiar with the Finalizer’s layout,” Hux stated without looking at her. “I expect you to know the ship’s schematics, primary access routes, and all possible security vulnerabilities within the next seventy-two hours.”

(Y/n) inclined her head slightly. “Understood, General.”

He stopped abruptly, turning to face her, his eyes assessing her with scrutiny.

“There will be those aboard this ship who question your presence. Some out of ignorance, others out of resentment.” His voice was level, but his meaning was clear. “I do not concern myself with their opinions, and neither should you. If any officer openly challenges your position, you are to report it to me.”

(Y/n) met his gaze evenly. “I can handle myself, sir.”

A flicker of something, amusement, perhaps, crossed his expression before vanishing behind his usual stoicism. “Of that, I have no doubt, Umbral.”

A short pause stretched between them before he resumed walking, continuing toward the exit of the bridge. (Y/n) followed, standing just behind him to his right.

Silence settled between them, but it was not uncomfortable. It was measured, weighted with unspoken understanding.

His expression was unreadable, but (Y/n) could sense the calculation behind his silence. Whatever the Supreme Leader had demanded of him, it was not a request he would take lightly.

Her steps were measured, keeping a respectful distance behind him as they moved through the corridors of High Command. The officers they passed barely spared her a glance, their attention focused solely on their returning commander.

When they reached the secured door of his office, Hux keyed in the access code. The doors hissed open, revealing the stark, meticulously organized interior. Polished black surfaces, a large desk with a holoprojector at its center, and its own expansive viewport behind it. The room was immaculate, devoid of any unnecessary personal effects.

Hux stepped inside, barely acknowledging (Y/n) as the doors slid shut behind them. He removed his gloves methodically, placing them on the desk before tapping a sequence into the holoprojector. The device flickered to life, casting an eerie blue glow as the Supreme Leader’s form materialized before them.

The air in the room seemed to shift, thick with an oppressive weight. Even through the projection, Snoke’s presence was suffocating. His towering form loomed over them, distorted slightly by the transmission’s flickering edges.

“General Hux,” Snoke’s voice rumbled, slow and deliberate. “I trust you have not wasted my time.”

Hux straightened further, hands clasped tightly behind his back. “The Starkiller project continues on schedule, Supreme Leader. Engineering reports optimal progress, and our primary test phase is nearing completion.”

Snoke’s hollow eyes studied him, his expression unreadable. “Good. You understand the consequences should you fail.”

There was no hesitation in Hux’s response. “Yes, Supreme Leader.”

A long pause followed, tension lingering in the air like a coiled viper. Then Snoke’s gaze shifted slightly.

“You have taken an Umbral into your service.”

(Y/n), who had remained silent and unmoving, felt the weight of his attention settle on her. It was as if Snoke’s gaze pierced straight through her, as though he was dissecting her presence, her worth.

Hux’s voice remained steady. “The Covenant has assigned her to myself. She is among the highest ranks of their order.”

Snoke exhaled, a low sound that was neither approval nor disapproval. “The Covenant serves its purpose.” His gaze lingered on (Y/n) a moment longer before shifting back to Hux. “Do not let her presence become a liability.”

“I won’t, Supreme Leader.” Hux assured him.

Another silence. Then, Snoke inclined his head ever so slightly.

“Proceed with the operation. I will expect another update soon.”

The transmission cut out abruptly, the hologram dissolving into nothingness.

Hux exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders slightly as if shedding an invisible weight. His fingers flexed against the polished desk before he turned towards (Y/n).

“You are dismissed,” he said simply, though his gaze lingered on her for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. “Begin your reconnaissance of the Finalizer immediately.”

(Y/n) inclined her head. “Yes, General.”

Without another word, she turned and exited his office, the doors sealing shut behind her.

As she strode down the corridor, she couldn’t shake the sensation of Snoke’s gaze still lingering in the back of her mind. It was a different kind of scrutiny compared to that of the Covenant’s Grand Master, one that was less inviting and more dangerous. But perhaps it was due to their differing species.

The halls of the Finalizer were a labyrinth of sterile steel and calculated design. But to (Y/n), they were merely another environment to master. Every corridor, every bulkhead, and every access hatch had to be committed to memory. The Covenant had trained her to adapt to unfamiliar terrain with ruthless efficiency. This ship would be no different.

She moved with purpose, weaving through the bustling corridors of High Command. Officers and troopers passed her by, some sparing glances in her direction, though none dared approach. Her presence was an anomaly, a shadow among the uniformed ranks of the First Order.

(Y/n) had no doubt that rumors of her assignment had already spread. An Umbral of The Covenant personally guarding General Hux? There would be speculation. Distrust. Resentment.

None of it mattered.

She descended towards the lower decks where the layout became more complex, hallways twisting into the maintenance sectors and security control stations. 

The artificial lighting hummed faintly above, casting shadows as she turned a corner and nearly collided with a figure standing in her path.

(Y/n) stopped short, her body tensing instinctively as her gaze lifted to meet the cold, piercing eyes of Captain Voss.

His uniform was pristine, his posture rigid with military precision. There was no insignia of High Command upon his uniform, yet the authority he carried was unmistakable. He was a First Order officer through and through, one who did not believe in wasting words on pleasantries.

His eyes flickered with something unreadable as he regarded her, arms clasped behind his back. Then, after a long moment, he spoke.

“So,” he said evenly, “you’re the Umbral.”

(Y/n)’s expression remained unreadable, her posture unmoving. “Captain Voss.”

His lip curled slightly, though whether in amusement or disdain, she couldn’t tell. “You know who I am?”

“I make it a priority to recognize potential threats.”

A low, humorless chuckle left him. “Threat?” He tilted his head, scrutinizing her as though she were some curious specimen beneath his gaze. “You misunderstand, Umbral. You are the threat. An unnatural creature let loose aboard our fleet under the guise of loyalty.”

(Y/n) did not react, though his words were designed to provoke.

“Do you have a point, Captain?” she asked, her voice cool and measured.

Voss took a step closer, lowering his voice to something nearly conversational. “Only an observation,” he murmured. “You may have fooled the general into believing in your worth, but I see you for what you are.” His gaze darkened. “And I will be watching.”

They stood in silence, tension coiling in the space between them like a viper ready to strike.

Then, as if the moment had never happened, Voss stepped past her, his presence brushing against hers as he moved down the corridor.

(Y/n) remained still for a long moment, her fingers twitching at her sides. She had expected resistance. She had expected scrutiny. But Captain Voss was more than just wary. He was trouble.

The general was engaged in a discussion with one of his officers when (Y/n) stepped onto the bridge. The dull clang of her boots against the polished floor drew only the briefest of glances from the crew. Most had already grown accustomed to her presence, though unease still lingered beneath their professionalism.

Hux, however, acknowledged her arrival immediately. With a curt nod, he dismissed the officer at his side and turned his full attention to her.

“Report,” he ordered, his voice precise, leaving no room for wasted words.

(Y/n) halted before him, her posture unwavering. “The ship’s layout has been committed to memory,” she stated evenly, noting the slight raise of Hux’s eyebrows. “Critical sectors, alternative routes, access corridors, and blind spots have been accounted for. There will be no uncertainty in my movements should an incident occur.”

Hux observed her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “And?”

(Y/n)’s jaw tightened slightly. He wanted more. Not just facts. He wanted assessments.

“There are areas of vulnerability,” she continued, adjusting her stance. “Certain maintenance shafts are lacking proper security oversight. The officer quarters are positioned too closely to primary access points leading towards command sectors. An infiltration risk if not properly monitored. Additionally, there are multiple routes through the ventilation system that could allow undetected movement for someone knowledgeable enough to exploit them.”

Hux’s gaze flickered with something unreadable, though it was not dissatisfaction. If anything, there was a sharp edge of approval in his eyes.

“And what would you suggest?”

(Y/n) did not hesitate. “Increased security sweeps in blind spot regions, reallocation and brief investigation of stationed personnel in high-risk zones, and additional lockdown measures in the event of an incursion.” She tilted her head slightly. “With your approval, I can communicate this to Umbral Drenn so he can oversee these adjustments personally and I can inspect once complete.”

A slow pause. Then, Hux’s lips pressed into something almost resembling a smirk.

“Efficient,” he remarked. “As expected.”

(Y/n) inclined her head slightly, accepting the words without pride. “Was there anything else, sir?”

Hux considered her for a moment longer, as if weighing an unspoken thought.

Then, with a subtle shift in his stance, his expression cooled once more. “You encountered Captain Voss.” It was not a question.

(Y/n) met his gaze steadily. “I did.”

“And?”

“He made his position clear.”

Hux exhaled shortly, a breath that was almost amused. “I’m sure he did.” He studied her with something bordering on curiosity. “And what is your input on him?”

(Y/n) was silent for a brief moment before responding.

“Controlled in his resentment, but not without intent,” she said evenly. “He sees me as a threat. Not to the Order, but to himself.”

A flicker of something colder passed through Hux’s expression. Not anger. Not yet. Just quiet acknowledgment of what he already knew being confirmed.

“Captain Voss is an officer of the First Order,” Hux said, his tone deliberate. “But he is not your superior. He will not interfere with your duties so long as he values his position.” A pause. “However, should he become a problem… inform me.”

(Y/n) gave a curt nod. “Understood.”

Hux regarded her for a moment longer, then turned back towards the viewport, hands clasped neatly behind his back.

“Relay your findings to Umbral Drenn and see to it that these flaws are remedied immediately. Once he is informed, you are dismissed. You are quartered beside my office in room A375.”

“Will do, sir.” (Y/n) then turned and made her exit.

The cold glow of the various screens illuminated the room of the security hub, casting faint shadows across the chamber’s sleek metallic surfaces. Various officers moved with precision, their tasks carried out in controlled efficiency. The monitors along the walls displayed multiple security feeds, scanning every sector of the Star Destroyer.

(Y/n) entered without hesitation, her footsteps silent against the polished floor. 

Varo was already waiting near the holotable, arms folded as he scanned the display. He glanced up when she approached, but before either could speak, Captain Phasma strode into the room.

Her chrome armor reflected the dim lighting as she moved towards them, helmet concealing whatever expression she might have worn. The imposing stormtrooper commander carried an air of quiet authority, her presence alone demanding respect.

“I assume this is regarding the vulnerabilities you reported to General Hux,” Phasma stated, her voice even but firm.

(Y/n) met her gaze without hesitation. “Yes, Captain.” She keyed in a holographic projection of the Finalizer to expand before them, highlighting weak points (Y/n) had identified. “There are significant flaws in patrol shifts around the hangar bays, particularly during rotation cycles. Lower deck patrols leave a brief window where two sectors are completely unmanned. These are weak points that could be exploited.”

Phasma studied the projection in silence for a moment. Then she turned her helmet towards Varo. “Do you agree with these findings after your own inspection?”

Varo nodded. “I do. They’re accurate.”

Phasma’s tone remained neutral, but there was no mistaking the steel beneath her words. “Then we correct them immediately. The Finalizer’s security should be absolute, not riddled with gaps that invite disaster.” She turned back to the projection. “Who is responsible for these sectors?”

(Y/n) answered without hesitation. “Captain Voss oversees the affected sections.”

There was a brief pause. Though Phasma’s helmet concealed her reaction, the air between them grew taut. “I will deal with Voss personally,” she said at last. “In the meantime, Umbral Drenn will implement corrective measures. I expect immediate results.”

(Y/n) exchanged a glance with Varo before nodding. “I recommend patrol rotations to be altered, and surveillance coverage increased in compromised areas. High Command security will receive additional reinforcement, and the bridge will have extended guard shifts.”

Phasma inclined her head slightly. “Good. I want a full update within the next cycle.” Her gaze flicked between them, then landed on Varo. “Do not fail.”

With that, she turned on her heel and left, her cape flowing behind her.

Varo let out a quiet breath. “Well. That went about as well as expected.”

(Y/n) exhaled softly, her expression unchanged. “At least we have clearance to fix the issues.”

Varo smirked. “And the added bonus of Phasma breathing down Voss’s neck.”

A rare flicker of amusement crossed (Y/n)’s face. “Consider that a victory.”

With their orders set, the two Umbrals turned back to the holomap. There was work to be done, and neither intended to leave The Finalizer vulnerable for long.

Umbral - Masterlist

Pairing - General Armitage Hux x Reader

*Set prior to The Force Awakens*

Summary -

Forged in blood. Bound by duty. Broken by desire.

(Y/n) (L/n) is a deadly Umbral of the Covenant - an elite order of vampires sworn to the First Order. Her assignment: serve as General Hux’s personal guard. But as buried secrets surface and a rogue vampire faction rises, (Y/n) is forced to confront a past she can’t outrun - and feelings she was never meant to have.

In a war of blood, betrayal, and duty, the deadliest threat may be the one that lies still in her chest.

Contains - Blood, violence, battles/war, betrayal/angst, eventual smut, slow burn

Song Inspiration -

Evanescence - Afterlife

Umbral

Chapter 1 Chapter 6

Chapter 2 Chapter 7

Chapter 3 Chapter 8*

Chapter 4 Chapter 9

Chapter 5 Chapter 10

Chapter 1

Pairing - General Armitage Hux x Reader

*Set prior to The Force Awakens*

Summary -

Forged in blood. Bound by duty. Broken by desire.

(Y/n) (L/n) is a deadly Umbral of the Covenant - an elite order of vampires sworn to the First Order. Her assignment: serve as General Hux's personal guard. But as buried secrets surface and a rogue vampire faction rises, (Y/n) is forced to confront a past she can't outrun - and feelings she was never meant to have.

In a war of blood, betrayal, and duty, the deadliest threat may be the one that lies still in her chest.

Series contains - Blood, violence, battles/war, betrayal/angst, eventual smut, slow burn

The torches lining the Grand Hall flickered, casting elongated shadows against the obsidian walls. The air was thick with the scent of smoldering incense, a tradition as ancient as the Covenant itself. At the center of the chamber, six figures stood rigidly in a line, cloaked in the dark, combat-hardened suits of the Umbral. Their faces remained impassive, their postures drilled to perfection. They were not just soldiers. They were the executioners of the Covenant’s will.

At the head of the hall, a raised dais loomed, adorned with banners of crimson and black. One bore the emblem of the Covenant, the other of the First Order. And standing just behind the Altar of Ascension, watching with calculating interest, was General Hux.

His uniform was pristine, his gloved hands tucked behind himself. Unlike the other High Lord elders draped in ceremonial robes or Covenant Duskborns standing at attention, he was an outsider. A reminder of the alliance between the Covenant and the First Order, a bond forged from necessity rather than trust.

Standing at the altar, the Wraith Commander of the academy spoke, his voice like steel scraping against stone.

“You stand here today as the few who have survived.” His gaze swept over the graduates, lingering on each of them. “Of the many who entered, you are the only ones who endured. The trials have burned away weakness, stripped you of fear, and reforged you into something greater.”

One woman remained motionless as the commander’s piercing gaze settled on her. She could still feel the phantom aches of the trials. The grueling endurance tests, the relentless combat drills, the nights spent standing motionless under the open sky, waiting for an attack that could come at any moment. The academy had demanded everything from them. And they had given it.

One by one, their names were called. Each stepped forward to receive the insignia of the Umbral, a symbol of their rank and purpose. When the woman’s name was spoken, she moved with perfect precision to stand before both the altar and the commander to have the insignia fastened onto the top left of her chest. It was heavier than she expected. Not in weight, but in meaning.

Once it was securely fastened, her gaze briefly flickered to General Hux. He studied her with a carefully measured expression, his sharp eyes betraying nothing.

As the Umbrals stood back in line, the commander gave them a single nod and stepped away from the altar. The Umbrals then synchronously pulled out one of their daggers harnessed to their thighs and - in accordance with the Covenant’s oldest tradition - dragged the blade across their palm. enough to draw blood but not enough to drip. As they all looked up at the Covenant’s emblem, they put away their blades with their arms back at their sides. Their expressions were overcome with fierce determination before they all spoke. 

“In darkness, I was forged. In blood, I am bound.” The Umbrals felt the palms of their hands begin to heal and close up. “ In shadow, I rise.” 

The audience watched intently as their voices spoke with an intense unnamed emotion. The memories of their history settled in their hearts as the Umbrals continued. 

“I am the blade unseen, the wrath unyielding. My will is iron, my duty eternal. I forsake the light, for it is not my path. I swear my loyalty to the Covenant, to my kin, to the Order that raised me from the ashes of the weak. My blade is theirs to command. I will not falter. I will not fail. I am an Umbral, and an Umbral does not kneel.”

As they finished their oath, there was a moment of silence before the hall erupted in a resounding chorus of acknowledgement, their success etched into the annals of the Covenant’s legacy.

But before the new Umbrals could disperse, the Wraith Commander stepped forward.

“Duty awaits, Umbrals.” His voice echoed with finality. “Your placements have been decided.”

A datapad was produced, and the assignments were read aloud.

“Varo Drenn, stationed aboard the Finalizer. Assigned to High Command security detail.” Applause sounded from behind them. 

The list went on, and then -

“(Y/n) (L/n).”

She barely shifted, but inside, her senses sharpened.

“You will be stationed aboard the Finalizer. You are assigned directly to General Hux.”

The hall remained silent, but a subtle tension threaded through the air before the applause started. Few Umbral were assigned to personal protection roles, particularly to someone of a higher ranking. But it was not unheard of.

She turned her head just slightly towards the general. His expression did not change, but there was the faintest flicker of something in his gaze. Approval? Interest?

Or perhaps just calculation.

(Y/n) simply bowed her head in acknowledgment. She did not question her orders. She did not hesitate. Her assignment had been set. And she would see it done.

“That is all from me, Umbrals. I wish you all the best of luck in your careers moving forward.” The commander eyed them carefully. “Honor in Loyalty!”

“ Strength in Silence!” The Umbrals viciously responded, their voices powerful as they carried through the chamber. 

The ceremony had ended, but the weight of it lingered in the vast expanse of the great hall. The gathered elders had dispersed, along with the spectators from the Covenant and the First Order. Now, only the newly anointed Umbrals remained, standing in their familiar groups and murmuring in hushed voices.

(Y/n) exhaled slowly, flexing her palm where the ceremonial cut had already healed. She had known this moment was coming for years, yet the finality of it settled in her chest like a weight.

A voice broke through the silence beside her.

“Didn’t think we’d actually live long enough to make it to this point.”

She turned, already recognizing the low, dry tone before meeting the sharp gaze of Varo.

Dressed in the same black ceremonial attire as her, he looked every bit the Umbral he now was. Tall, imposing, his features carved from sharp lines and quiet intensity. But there was an ease to his posture, an irreverence in his stance that had always set him apart from the others. While many of their kind held themselves with rigid discipline, Varo carried his authority like a cloak draped loosely over his shoulders, rather than armor strapped too tightly to his skin.

(Y/n) arched a brow. “You doubted?”

Varo let out a short, amused breath. “Not about myself. You, though? Definitely.”

She gave him a pointed look, unimpressed.

He smirked. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who kept getting thrown into the pits every time you challenged the instructors.”

“They were wrong,” she said simply.

“They were stronger,” he corrected. “At least at the time.” He studied her for a moment before nodding. “But I guess you proved your point.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.

There was a brief lull in the conversation as the murmurs of their fellow Umbrals filled the space around them. Some had already begun filtering out of the hall, moving toward their new lives, their new assignments. It was a strange thing. To spend years side by side, only to be scattered the moment they were forged into weapons.

Varo broke the silence first. “So you’re being sent off with the general?” (Y/n) stiffened slightly. Of course, he would have questioned it already. 

She nodded. “I suppose so.”

Varo let out a low whistle. “Not bad. High-profile assignment. Though I can’t say I envy you. General Hux looks like he hasn’t slept about as much as ourselves.”

(Y/n) didn’t respond, but she could see the curiosity in his expression. “And what about you?” she asked instead. “High Command security?”

“High Command security.” he nodded, crossing his arms. “Captain Phasma’s command, I’m assuming. We’re stationed together, but I doubt we’ll see much of each other. At least, not as much as we’re used to.”

She considered that. They had trained together for years, watching each other’s backs, surviving what others couldn’t. Now, they were being pulled into separate orbits. She knew it was inevitable, but that didn’t make it any less strange.

“You’ll be safer there,” she remarked.

Varo scoffed. “I’m not sure safer is the right word when it comes to guarding a bunch of ambitious officers with knives hidden behind their backs.” His smirk faded slightly, something more thoughtful settling in his expression. “But I’ll manage.”

(Y/n) studied him. There was an understanding between them, one that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. They had survived the trials, endured the blood, the pain, the sacrifice. They were Umbrals now. Their lives weren’t their own anymore.

But that didn’t mean they weren’t still themselves.

“Be careful, (Y/n),” he said, quieter now. “Not just with the general. With the Covenant, too.”

She tilted her head. “You sound like you don’t trust them.”

Varo shrugged. “I trust that they’ll use us as long as we’re valuable. And if we stop being valuable?” He gestured vaguely. “Well. You know how it works.”

She did. All too well.

“But we aren’t Umbrals for no reason. We know our value.”

She didn’t let the thought linger. Instead, she extended her hand toward him, palm up.

Varo looked at it, then smirked slightly before gripping her forearm in a firm clasp.

“We survived,” he murmured.

“For now,” she replied.

Their hands fell away, and with one last glance, Varo turned and disappeared into the departing crowd.

(Y/n) stood in the dimming light of the Grand Hall, silent for a moment longer before finally stepping forward.

She walked with the same precise step, her boots striking the stone floor in measured intervals. The weight of her new insignia pressed against her chest, a tangible reminder of what she had become.

As she stepped past the towering doors of the chamber, she immediately noticed the presence of General Hux waiting in the adjacent corridor.

He stood with his hands clasped neatly behind his back, his long black coat pristine, every inch of him composed and controlled. Two First Order officers flanked him at a distance, but his attention was entirely on her.

She approached with unerring confidence, stopping precisely at the required distance. With a practiced motion, she placed her hand over her heart and bowed her head slightly. The formal gesture of acknowledgment within the Covenant.

“General Hux,” she said, her voice smooth and measured.

The man regarded her with the same critical gaze he had maintained throughout the ceremony. Up close, his presence was even more exacting. Sharp angles, unwavering posture. An air of authority that demanded nothing less than absolute obedience.

“Umbral (L/n),” he greeted in return, his tone clipped but devoid of disdain. “It seems we are to be in close quarters from now on.”

She straightened, her expression impassive. “I will carry out my duties as assigned.”

Hux’s lips pressed together slightly, as if amused by her strict adherence to protocol. “I would expect nothing less.” His gaze flickered over her with analytical precision. “You are younger than I anticipated.”

“My age is irrelevant, sir,” she replied without hesitation. “I would not be standing before you if I were not capable.”

Hux tilted his head slightly, considering her words. “Indeed. The Umbral training is known for its… unforgiving nature. And yet, you emerged among the few who completed it.”

There was an edge of something in his voice. Not admiration, but acknowledgment.

“My survival is a testament to the Covenant’s teachings,” she said simply.

He nodded, accepting the response before shifting slightly. “Your role with myself will differ from standard Umbral assignments, as I’m sure you are aware. You will report directly to me. No other officer aboard the Finalizer holds authority over you unless I say otherwise.” His gaze sharpened slightly. “Is that understood?”

“Perfectly, General.”

There was a moment of silence, something unsaid hanging in the air between them. Hux studied her, and she, in turn, did the same. She had learned to read people, to dissect their intentions, their weaknesses. General Hux was not a man who wore his emotions plainly.

But there was something in his eyes that told her he was doing the same to her.

Finally, he gave a curt nod. “Very well. You will accompany me back to the Finalizer. Your belongings have already been arranged for transport.” He turned sharply, beginning to walk, (Y/n) moving in perfect sync beside him.

As they walked, the halls of the academy fortress loomed around them, dark stone and towering spires casting jagged shadows under the dim glow of the perimeter lights. 

They walked outside into the cooler night air towards their awaiting transport, their boots echoing against the stone path leading to the landing platform.

From the ceremony, she had observed him in sharp detail. The cold, precise way he carried himself, the calculating glint in his eyes. He was an enigma to her, even now, as they moved in unspoken synchrony towards their shared destination.

For a time, neither of them spoke. It was not uncomfortable, only measured. (Y/n) had been trained in the weight of silence, in the power of withholding words until they served a purpose.

Hux was the one to break it.

“You’re not what I expected.”

She turned her head slightly, studying him from the corner of her vision. His gaze remained fixed ahead, his expression unreadable.

“Explain,” she said simply.

His brow arched faintly, as if noting her directness. “I expected a mindless weapon after all I’ve heard. A blunt instrument honed by the Covenant to serve without thought or hesitation.” A pause. “Instead, I find someone who holds herself like a dedicated soldier rather than a puppet.”

She considered that. “I am a soldier,” she affirmed. “And I was trained to be a weapon. But the two are not mutually exclusive.”

“Hm.” He didn’t argue the point.

The wind picked up as they neared the platform, the hum of its idle engines filling the space between them. The platform was quiet, and only a handful of the Covenant’s attendants and a few First Order officers stood waiting for them, Varo amongst them.

“A few key points to remember when under my supervision,” Hux began.

“Yes, General?”

“I do not tolerate insubordination.” The two of them ignored the bystanders they passed as they boarded the ship, focused in conversation. 

“I do not tolerate incompetence,” (Y/n) returned evenly.

That earned her a brief glance, though his expression remained carefully schooled. “My interests, demands, and safety are your first priority.”

“Naturally, sir.” Another look from the general.

“Your orders come from myself and myself alone. Not from Captain Phasma, not other officers. No one. If anyone urges otherwise, you are to report it to me. Am I clear?”

“Crystal, sir.” She spoke with an unwavering gaze. 

“Good,” he said after a moment. “Then we won’t have a problem.” He turned to take a seat, (Y/n) moving to lean against the wall beside him, yet alert. “I don’t expect blind loyalty from you, Umbral,” he said, his voice measured. “Only obedience.”

(Y/n) met his gaze quickly. “Obedience is earned, not demanded.”

A flicker of something passed through his expression. Perhaps intrigue, perhaps amusement. It was gone before she could decipher it.

“Then I suggest you learn quickly.” He caught a shadow of amusement in her expression, but it quickly faded. 

For your new Art the Clown Series: Can I please request the reader and Art going on their first ever official date? A night on the town? Like it’s not just what they usually do. There’s some fine dining, a movie, and a romantic walk in the park involved. Of course, all made twisted and bloody by the duo. 😆

Of course! Definitely gonna be a fun one to write 👏🏻

As Promised,

Fan Art From Your Series “Blood Of A Rose” 🖤❤️

( P.S. You might wanna turn your brightness ALL the way up 😅 )

This is absolutely amazing and beautiful!! Thank you so much for taking an interest and doing this, it made my day! 💕

Created a new blog (https://www.tumblr.com/arts-bloody-rose) dedicated to my Blood of A Rose work!

Tumblr

Art’s Rose 🥀

This page is dedicated to my Blood of A Rose series with Art the Clown, requests welcome!

This will include everything related to my Blood of A Rose series as well as any requests you may have regarding it or anything Art the Clown related to bring more of the attention this underrated character/actor deserves. Please feel free to let me know what you would like to see!

Work that had already been posted for this series on my main page will be tagged/linked on that page.

Thank you all for your support ♥️🖤🤍

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.

Blood of A Rose - Part 1 (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Summary - (Y/n) is an aspiring artist, but rather than mainstream, she captures what she considers to be the beauty of death. She has been fighting with the industry and local art museums to publicize her work. Reaching negative publicity, a particular clown takes an interest.

Masterlist

Notes - I see a lot of smut with little plot to build up to it so decided to write it myself. He’s always portrayed as aggressive and hasty with it, but I took a different take on it since he’s always so methodical and takes his time with what he does and I feel like that would stay the same in the bedroom or wherever else with his wild ass. Slow and torturous smut, ladies. Let me know if you’d like a continuation of this!

Word Count - 5,602

Warning(s) - Gore, depictions of graphic art, morally ambiguous reader, smut/sexual themes, no harm to reader

Song Inspiration -

IAMX - Bernadette

Ice Nine Kills - A Work of Art

The brush stroked gracefully along the canvas, a symphony of strings playing in the background as she worked. A multitude of shades of red took precedence over the piece, hints of yellow and skin tones sprinkled in where she thought was necessary. 

She cleaned off her brush and took a step back, admiring her newest work, eyeing it for flaws or hints of emptiness. When she found none she smiled to herself, untying her apron and leaving to enter the house to wash herself clean of any unwanted paint that caught her skin. 

She turned on the faucet, pumping soap into her hands and began to scrub. She watched as the red began to drain down the sink, sighing in delight at the sight of it. 

(Y/n) had always been captivated by the concept of death. Not in the way people feared or avoided it, but in the way she saw its eerie elegance. Growing up in a household that celebrated perfection and the beauty of life, her fascination with decay and the passage of time was met with silence, sometimes disgust. 

As a child, she’d spend hours sketching wilted flowers or photographing the abandoned cemetery near their house. Sometimes she found dead animals which was always a treat for her. She found beauty where others saw only ruin and death. Her parents had tried to correct her, and her teachers had labeled her work disturbing. But (y/n) remained drawn to the delicate balance between life and death.

As she grew older, the fascination deepened, and she poured it into her art. Her paintings had always included blood in one way or another, whether it was an aging object, haunted landscapes, or human forms twisted in the stillness of death. On the other hand, her photographs captured the fleeting beauty of nature’s quiet end. The decay of a flower, the pale tranquility of a body. 

However, the world around her wasn’t ready for her vision. Critics were quick to brand her work as grotesque, calling it an abomination, and galleries refused to showcase her art. News articles labeled her as disturbed, questioning her mental health rather than her talent.

But for (y/n), it was never about horror. She saw beauty in the inevitability of death, in the idea that all things must come to an end. To her, it was a reminder of the fragility of existence and the raw, unfiltered truth of the world. Yet, each harsh critique was another nail in the coffin of her confidence, driving her further into herself. 

She became more reserved, speaking less in public, avoiding eye contact at exhibitions - if she even attended. She longed to defend her work, but the voices of her critics echoed in her mind, silencing her before she could even begin.

Despite the noise, (y/n) still clung to her vision, working tirelessly in the small, dimly lit studio that was the garage of the small house she currently rented. Surrounded by the eerie stillness of her creations. 

She began to change into something more fitting for the colder October weather, slipping on a coat to bury her hands in and walking into the crisp autumn air. As her feet tapped through the night’s atmosphere, she closed her eyes for a moment, the smell of the dying trees and asphalt sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. 

She didn’t live far from the heart of Miles County, quickly reaching it and taking joy in the quietness of it all compared to the usual bustling energy during the day that she preferred to avoid. 

She passed a display lined and stacked with TVs, some of them turned on and broadcasting different channels. 

“- another piece was released just days ago with another overwhelming amount of negativity -“ 

She stopped promptly, turning her head towards one of the TVs closest to her and seeing a portrait of herself display. 

“Be advised, the image is disturbing.” 

Her last work was then shown. She admired it, not from an egotistical standpoint, but more from the genuine beauty of the concept. 

A flower pot, chipped and cracked. An elongated and decaying finger was the stem of the flower in the pot, bloodied thorns sticking out of it every which way. Ears made up the petals, an eyeball at the center in place of a typical pistil. A radiant glow shone from behind the flower, its rays of light praising its beauty in all of its wretched glory. 

Her eyes began to water as they threw out carefully constructed insults, indirect but still noticeable enough to catch. 

However, what (y/n) didn’t notice was the tall, slim monochromatic figure standing behind her just feet away. Gripping the overfilled black trash bag hanging over his shoulder, he curiously watched the same TV, head tilted slightly in fascination.

She brought a balled hand up to below her nose, keeping it from running as a tear fell. Too caught up in the screen before her, she failed to notice the man that now stood next to her, watching the TV from next to her rather than behind, his bag now on the sidewalk.

Having had enough of their cruel remarks, she turned to walk back home, but gasped when she nearly collided with the strange man. 

Her eyes slowly trailed up his form, landing on his white painted face, accented by the black paint around his eyes and mouth. She took in his features with curiosity and fascination, taking note of his exaggerated hooked nose, cheekbones and pointed chin. 

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed and quickly wiped at her tears. “I didn’t notice you there.” 

His head slowly turned towards her and his mouth widened into a dramatic smile, flashing his black-coated teeth. It suddenly turned to surprise, shaking where he stood with excitement and pointing to the TV. 

“You… Do you like it?” She asked, unbelieving. He nodded enthusiastically and pointed to her, then the TV, then back to her. She caught on. “Oh, um… Yeah - yeah that’s me.” 

His hands shook with another wave of excitement, his hands representing the beat of his heart, then giving a chef’s kiss. 

“Well, thank you,” She sniffed again. “That means a lot to me, actually.” She gave a small giggle of amusement at his mannerisms. 

He then stopped suddenly, putting his hands on his hips with a disapproving look. He ran a finger down his cheek to simulate a fake tear, then pointed to her, then the TV. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m used to it by now.” (Y/n) waved off, but the clown knew better. 

He held up a finger, his mouth forming an ‘o’ with eyebrows raised, then turned to rummage through his bag. She watched curiously, wondering how this was even happening. He suddenly turned back around, presenting a rose to her with a large smile. 

Again, she couldn’t help but giggle and grew bashful, her cheeks tinting red as her fingers lightly grazed his own to take the flower from him. She brought it up to her nose to smell it, a smile gracing her lips. She then felt something drip down her hand and looked down at the flower again, seeing as a drop of blood made its way down over her fingers. 

“Nice touch. Thank you.” She complimented and her smile widened. 

He folded his hands in front of himself, swaying as if to show he himself was bashful. 

“Are you mute?” She asked curiously out of the blue. 

He nodded and she smiled in understanding. 

“Well, I think you’re quite charming regardless.” She spoke softly and he waved a hand at her, then raised it to his cheek as if he was blushing. Her giggles turned into laughter. “What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

(Y/n) watched as he looked up in thought, tapping his chin. He then stuck a finger up to show he had an idea and dipped a finger into the blood of the rose, turning to the glass pane with the TVs and began to write. 

“Art?” She asked and he nodded eagerly, making her laugh once more. “It suits you.” He shrugged dramatically in response. (Y/n) sighed, looking at her watch reading 10:34. “As much as I love this interaction, I should head back home.” She looked back up at him and he pouted and looked down, then shot up with another idea. 

He made a walking motion with his fingers, pointed to himself, then to her and pointed in the direction she came from. 

“You want to walk me home?” He nodded. 

She stood in thought for a moment, wondering if she should really trust the monochromatic clown. He seemed sweet enough, and it wasn’t a lie when she said he was charming. She couldn’t deny that there was something oddly attractive about his facial features, either. 

Against her better judgment, she looked back up at him and gave a shy smile. “Okay.” Art clapped with glee and picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder and motioning for her to lead the way. 

The walk was quiet, save for (y/n) making casual conversation every now and then. It wasn’t an awkward silence when she didn’t speak, and Art seemed to be just as content as he happily walked alongside her. She couldn’t help but sneak looks at him along the way, and though he seemed blissfully oblivious he caught every glance. 

She felt a pang of pity when they reached the smaller house, walking up to the door and turning to him to see him pouting once more. “Thank you for walking me. It gets lonely sometimes, to be honest.” 

He looked down, swinging with sadness at the end of their walk. 

“Well,” She sighed in thought. “I mean, I suppose you know where I live now. Maybe you could visit some time? I never really have company, anyways.” 

His excitement reappeared, making herself happy in the process. He nodded vigorously and she laughed for the umpteenth time. 

“Be safe out there, okay?” He nodded again and waved at her as she opened the door to go inside. “Goodnight, Art.” The door closed and she leaned against it, wondering what the hell just happened. 

Of all people, she befriended a clown. But it was nothing against him. She supposed she just attracted the oddballs of the world given that she was deemed one herself by society. 

She mindlessly prepared for bed, running through her interaction with the man over and over repeatedly. It was the only thing she could think about. No amount of distraction would keep him from her head. (Y/n) sighed as she stared up at the ceiling, hands folded over her abdomen.  

When she woke up the next morning, preparing breakfast in the kitchen as the TV hummed in the background, her ears caught something rather peculiar. 

“- found dead in their home just last night after neighbors reported screaming to the police.  We were told photographs of the scene are too graphic to broadcast and were not provided.”

(Y/n) walked over to the TV, seeing a picture of the news anchor who insulted her work the night before, along with his family. As much as she pitied them, she couldn’t help the tsk of her tongue when they refused to provide the photographs. She had recently been relying on such photos as inspiration for her pieces, and she couldn’t do much but grow more and more curious about them. 

After eating her breakfast and freshening up, she went to her desktop computer and powered it on. Having made note of the name of the news anchor, she began to search the case in hopes that they posted the photos online and came across an image that baffled her. In the middle of the article was a sketch of the suspect. 

The clown she had encountered. 

She stopped reading and sat back against her chair, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. He knew where she lived, and she invited him to visit. Granted, she figured if he wished her harm, he would just bust through a window or the door itself regardless of invitations. 

But then she couldn’t shake his goofy mannerisms, how he showed her more kindness in one night than anyone had in all of her (y/age) years. How he showed her how much he loved her art, giving her the rose to cheer her up. 

Then she remembered. Art was with her when the news anchor was insulting her work. Now he and his family are dead. 

Could he have…?

Coincidence. (Y/n) shook her head. 

(Y/n) stood and made her way to the garage, checking if her latest work had dried up. To her delight, it did, and she removed it from the easel to prop against the wall holding her countless other works. 

The rest of the day was wasted away, filled with cat naps, snacking and binging shows. She thought of going out and doing something for herself, but the thought of being surrounded by people immediately put her off. So she decided on lounging until the sun set and could truly be in her element. 

Time seemed to mock her, dragging on and on enough to make her think that it froze altogether. But alas, the hues outside grew darker and she began to prepare for her night out. 

Throwing on a sweater dress, pantyhose and her shoes, she picked up her digital camera that sat on a nearby table, hanging it around her neck before making her way outside. When she turned to face the street, she jumped at the sight of Art standing nearly directly in front of her with the same oversized bag and wide grin. 

(Y/n) froze, wondering if things should change between them after finding out what he did. What he could do. 

She figured it was already too late if he indeed wished her harm. He knew where she lived and could easily find her. So why should she give him further incentive? And he hadn’t done anything to her personally to be rudely snubbed. The memories of the night before ran through her head, an innocent and friendly encounter. 

So she indulged herself until fate decided the outcome. 

“Hey, Art.” She greeted him with a gentle smile. He waved excitedly at her, then pointed at the camera around her neck with a questioning expression. “Oh, I’m just going on a walk. Trying to see if there’s anything interesting to photograph for my next piece.” 

He tapped his chin and looked off, thinking. He perked up with a finger, eagerly motioning for her to follow him. Unable to contain her curiosity, she walked up to him and began to follow. 

“You know a place I could find something?” He grinned mischievously at her, a silent ‘yes’. 

After some walking, they came upon an older building. The walls actively rotted away, windows broken and some boarded up. He stopped with her when she paused at the front, looking up at the building in awe. 

Perfection.

She reached for her camera, but his hand quickly came over hers to stop her and heat rushed up to her face. He pulled away and motioned to the building, then placed his hand over his heart endearingly. “Is this your home?” He nodded. “Oh! I’m sorry, I won’t take pictures.” 

He patted her shoulder as a thank you and motioned for her to follow once more, leading her into the building. 

The smell was horrid to anyone else, but to (y/n) it was just another day of work. With the countless rotting animals and even occasional mutilated body she’s encountered, she had no choice but to grow used to it. By now, the smell reminded her of her work and provided a sense of comfort in a twisted way. 

However, standing in what was the killer’s home, it also struck her like a bolt of lightning. The familiar smell of blood and rot was in his home, which could only mean one thing. 

“You wanted to show me something in here, didn’t you?” 

Art’s smile grew impossibly wide, pointing at her to show he was impressed that she caught on quickly. He dropped his bag and held out his hand in an exaggerated gentlemanly fashion, leg kicked out and foot up on its heel, holding the same sadistic smile when she met his eyes. (Y/n) delicately placed her hand in his, his own only grasping onto her fingers with a surprising gentleness as he led her through the dark building to a separate room. 

The smell grew stronger the closer they drew to the room as more and more of the all too familiar red hues began to reveal themselves. 

When they finally entered, she gasped at the sight before her. Art presented his own ‘masterpiece’ to her with excitement, taking in her every reaction. 

Sat on a chair in the center of the room was the remnants of a decapitated man, chest cavity wide open. Blood covered the body from neck to toe, stains coating the walls and floor around it. 

At first she was frightened, but as he presented it to her she realized something. She realized that they shared the same fascination. Granted, he had a more methodical way of showing it, but artists always vary in accordance to what mediums they used, right? 

“You did this?” 

Art nodded eagerly, practically vibrating where he stood as he impatiently awaited for a verbal response. As she took in the sight before her shamelessly, he urged her with his hands to spit out what she was thinking. 

“It’s beautiful…” She whispered breathlessly. And it was the truth. It felt as if she was staring at a blank canvas for her to mold and create into something new, with his permission of course. The possibilities were endless as they ran through her head, too many to keep track of. 

Ever observant, he took notice of the turmoil and his almost innocent excitement turned into something more wicked. Something clicked in his brain as he practically watched a butterfly emerge from its cocoon before his very eyes. 

He motioned to (y/n), then to the body, then with widespread arms he motioned at them together. 

“You want me to create something?” She wondered if he ever suffered whiplash from nodding so aggressively, at least with her. “May I walk around to see what you have that I could use?” Another nod. 

(Y/n) looked around the room, finding it completely empty besides the chair and body. She then left to wander, Art following her like a lost puppy, eager to watch her work. After searching through three other rooms, she finally found a flower pot. It had a chunk missing from the back, but she could easily turn it to where it wasn’t visible. 

She turned to Art. “Do you have a cup or something to fill it with dirt?” He thought for a moment, then gave her a sign to wait before disappearing. 

Her eyes wandered around what she assumed used to be a bedroom. An old mattress in the corner with an equally rotting dresser, nightstand and standing mirror. 

When he reappeared, he held out a tin can to her and she gladly took it, making their way outside with the pot to fill it. He watched as she did so, taking note of the way she avoided getting herself dirty. He silently laughed to himself, pointing at her as her dainty hands refused to muddle with the soil. “What?” She questioned with her own chuckle. 

He mimicked her avoiding the dirt and grime as he continued to laugh and she rolled her eyes. 

“The work I showcase does not reflect my behavior. You’d be surprised how much I hate getting dirty.” (Y/n) giggled as she finished filling the pot, mindful of the missing chunk so as to not let any dirt spill. “Where did you get the rose from yesterday? Was it around here?” 

He motioned for her to follow, looking back at her every now and then as he led her around the building to the back. A single rose bush was planted with only a few fully-bloomed flowers left intact. He offered to cut one of them off, and doing so he held it delicately to himself. 

“Could you hold this for a second?” She held out the pot to him and he nodded. “Careful of the back, I don’t want anything to spill.” He nodded again and watched as she wandered, looking around for other plants to add to the pot. She settled on a few weeds, picking a handful of petals off of the other roses on the bush before heading back to the room with Art. 

He softly set the items down in the corner as she cradled the petals in her hand, looking at the body with a tilted head. Art stood next to her, mimicking her mannerisms as he tried to understand what she was thinking of. He watched as her mouth moved to speak, but nothing followed until a few seconds after. 

“Um…” She pointed to the body, looking at it for a few more seconds before turning her head to him. “Could you, um…” She took a deep breath. “Do you think you could do a couple more things to it for me?” 

His face twisted into mischief, as if to say ‘I thought you’d never ask’. His palms pressed against each other, fingers twiddling as he waited for what she wanted. 

“Could you flatten the top and remove the um…” She motioned to the abdomen. “What’s inside…?” His mouth made an ‘o’ in a surprised expression before shifting into the same smile, booping her nose before leaving the room, she assumed to grab supplies. 

He soon returned with a hacksaw and scissors, making his way to the body to do what she asked. Her stomach grew queasy once he began and she averted her gaze out of habit. 

The noise suddenly stopped and she looked back to see him standing upright with a frown. She felt a pang of fear and dare she say guilt, thinking he was offended. 

“I-I’m sorry, I love the end result, but I just get squeamish with the process, is all…” She whispered almost pitifully. 

He watched as her face paled and she was left baffled when he made his way over to her, saw still in hand. However, he simply pushed her out of the room into a wide open area that was further away, holding up a finger to tell her to wait before he disappeared to finish.  

Her face grew hot at the gesture, stomach fluttering as a bashful smile reached her lips. When (y/n) turned, she was met with a workbench, worn stool sat in front of it. She wandered over with curiosity, eyeing the rusted tools, nails and screws that sat on top of it. 

A few jars were scattered along the back of it against the wall, reading the labels. Most of them were some form of acid, others she refused to guess the result of the compound mixture. 

(y/n)’s eyes lit up when she found small circular candles akin to what would be put in a pumpkin, grabbing a couple along with a match from a box sat next to them and put them in her pocket. 

She jumped when the sound of metal clattering to the floor invaded her ears and she whipped around to find Art standing there, saw next to his comically large shoes. He waggled his fingers at her in a wave, motioning for her to head back to the room to which she obeyed. She passed him with the same bashful smile, remembering his kindness from earlier.

When she entered, she saw that he did indeed do as she asked and turned to Art with a wider smile. “Thank you.” The clown tipped his hat and she giggled. “Could you hold these please?” She asked of the petals and he held out his cupped hands for her to place them in. 

Eyes following her like a cat, he watched as she knelt by the pot, planting the rose in the center of it followed by the other plants she picked along the way, standing and making her way to the body. She placed it in the now empty cavity of the abdomen, then turned to take the petals back from Art. She sprinkled them over the body, some inside where the pot was. 

She then pulled out the candles, placing them methodically inside the abdomen, making a point to avoid touching the body itself. Igniting the match, she lit the candles and stood, looking for the light switch to turn off the overhead lights. Art caught on and immediately turned them off somehow. (Y/n) looked at him with a confused expression to which he just shrugged with a wide grin. 

She shook her head and giggled, lifting the camera from around her neck, checking the settings before testing different angles through the lens, snapping photos when she came upon the ones that satisfied her. (Y/n) made her way next to Art who shook his hands with excitement.

He stood against her with their closeness, practically his entire side brushing against her from behind as he looked down at the photos she clicked through. The beat of her heart picked up, blood rushing to her ears at the realization. 

“Which one do you think is best?” She asked softly, turning to look up at him to see him already looking at her. 

The candlight shone ominously against his features, pale eyes piercing through her own, her smile dropping as his nose nearly touched her own. His eyebrows quickly rose and dropped, head turning as his eyes squinted with his smile. His hand slowly rose, carefully prying the camera from her hands and setting it down. As he stood back to his full height, she craned her neck to look up at him, their bodies slowly turning to face each other until he took a step towards her, (y/n) taking a step back. 

Taking his time, he walked her back until her body was pressed against the wall and his figure was the only thing in her field of view. Her breath shook as his bloodied fingertips reached up to caress her jaw, settling delicately under her chin to hold her gaze. 

He leaned closer, tilting his head as his nose tickled her face. The hand under her chin then moved down to her neck, his feather-like touch changing pressure as it wrapped itself around her, increasing just enough to make her gasp and he finally closed the gap between them. 

The kiss was surprisingly tame for how brutal he was, her eyes closed as she gave in to the intoxicating feeling and the only thing she could think of or feel was the man that held her. As for him, his eyes remained open, taking in and savoring her every expression. 

The expressions of the same twisted mind that complimented his own work, turning it into breathtaking beauty that was beyond comparison. His mannerisms grew more eager, more desperate at the thought of whatever else they could create together, his free hand finding her waist and squeezing enough to release air from her lungs audibly, a plea for more. 

His tongue slid against her teeth and she welcomed the invasion, parting her mouth to take him in as his hand ran over the hump of her arse, fingers digging into the fat and muscle enough to bruise. His wanton thoughts grew to become an obsession, anger rising at the thought of her parting from his life. 

Their breath mingled, his mouth moving down to her jaw, then to her pulse point where he bit down just enough to release a trickle of blood and she cried out, hand squeezing his forearm of the hand still wrapped around her neck. As he sucked at the blood, the hand moved from her neck down to her breast, kneading and toying with it as her head leaned back, swaying at the pleasure. 

Her leg lifted as his other hand slid from her arse down her thigh, hugging it close to him as he shifted his leg to apply pressure at her core. He pulled away from her neck, teeth still bared in its grin but his eyes clouded with lust and greed as he took her in. Her lips were parted with need, vulnerable and exposed before him in a gamble of trust and fate. 

She felt his leg shift and she whined, a shiver running down her spine once she finally opened her eyes to look up at him. The sight before her sent a pulse to her center, clit throbbing as his hand slid down from her breast to her hip, her eyes following as he slowly dropped to his knees before her. 

The thigh he previously held was now over his shoulder, hands sliding the skirt of her dress up to her hips to bury his nose into her clothed pussy. She sighed at the feeling, hands moving to hold the skirt for him. Suddenly, she heard a rip, cold air hitting her core as he tore her pantyhose open to reach her. 

(Y/n) watched as he looked up at her with a mischievous grin and wiggled his eyebrows, disappearing back under her skirt when she felt his warm muscle drag along her leaking center. She felt his breath fan over her, his nose tickling her bud as his tongue dipped into her, teasing her entrance before plunging into it. 

The woman gasped and her back arched as he toyed with her, her hand coming down to grip one of his own that squeezed at her thighs. He shook his head eagerly as he continued his feast and she moaned at the action, rolling her hips against him. His tongue then removed itself, moving to settle on her clit and she trembled at the sensitivity. 

His free hand inched towards where his tongue had been, playing with her lower lips and providing a tickling sensation before he dipped a finger in, pushing to the knuckle. His finger began to move in rhythm with his tongue, practically digging into the spongy area that drove her mad with desperation. 

She let go of his hand when she felt him move it, followed by the sound of a zipper coming undone as he pulled out his hardened member, continuing to chase her high and begging to himself to hear her scream. 

She felt the coil begin to build and tense up, her heart racing as her skin grew hot in anticipation. The two of them locked eyes and his own squinted, encouraging her to fall over the edge. His gaze alone was enough, her chest heaving as she leaned her head back against the wall with a cry. 

She struggled to catch her breath, panting and watching Art with a fucked-out expression as he rose to his feet with a deep hunger in his eyes. Her eyes flicked down to his erection, then back up at him with brows knit in anticipation. He slipped an arm behind her, pulling her in to press her against him. 

Holding her gaze, he teased his member against her entrance, brow twitching as she tried to move against his strength. His smile suddenly dropped as he impaled her with his length, mouth open as he mocked her expression with great pleasure. His grin returned as she gripped onto his shoulder, one of her legs moving to hook around his waist. 

He snatched her chin when her eyes began to close, forcing her to watch him as he began to set an agonizingly slow pace. He wanted to hear her beg. Needed to hear her beg. His cock twitched at the thought of it and she moaned. 

“Art…” She called breathlessly and he tilted his head to listen. “Please…” The word shook as it left her lips. The leg hooked behind him pulled him in closer and his mouth twitched as she pleaded him once more. 

He lifted her other leg to wrap around him, carrying her as if she was weightless, his display of strength only deepening her arousal and need as both of her hands settled behind his neck. He suddenly began to plunge into her repeatedly, a feral noise escaping from her throat as he watched on with animalistic desire. 

He angled their bodies effortlessly, paying attention to her every expression and vocal flux in order to throw her over the edge for a second time. Her moans heightened their pitch, growing louder as her grip on him tightened and his eyes somehow darkened further, thrusting harder and harder with an inhuman amount of strength and stamina.

“Art -“ He gave a single nod with a sadistic grin as (y/n)’s hands shifted to his shoulders, nails digging into the satin of his suit before she crossed over into her orgasm. One of his hands snatched her jaw, slightly squeezing at her cheeks as their noses touched. He practically stared into her soul as he soon found his own release, baring his teeth as she felt his warm stream of seed fill her. 

She sighed in exhaustion as Art silently huffed to himself. He then brought his head next to hers, licking the shell of her ear.

His mind was made up. Her fate was sealed.

Reposting cause my boo is back ♥️🤍🖤

“Terrifier” - Art the Clown

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.

Little edit I made of my fav clown ☺️

Song: ^^4Я4Z^^ - Dove

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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. 

The Scarred - Chapter 10

Masterlist

Summary - Penelope Miller works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by trauma and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

The woman stared at her reflection in the mirror, eyes glazed over as she glared at herself, judgment passing over her flawed body. She looked back up to meet her own gaze. Just then, a second familiar figure appeared behind her, stepping closer until the heat of their body was pressed against her.

Penelope tossed in her bed, a thin coat of sweat layered upon her skin as she panted, drowning in her own heat.

Her breath grew shaky as the figure brought a hand up to her neck, grazing his knuckles along the scarred skin. He brought his head to rest against hers, his scarred cheeks creating a soothing texture against her own. His hands slid down her figure to rest on her hips, pulling her closer to him. Her eye closed, head leaning back against his shoulder.

“Jack -“ She whispered to him.

Penelope shot up from her bed, too stunned to speak as tears streamed down her face. “Jack?” She cried to herself.

-

“This ‘Jack’ fellow. He mean anythin’ to ye?” Liam questioned as they waited on their order, sitting at a table tucked away in the corner of the small fast food joint.

Penelope thought for a moment, debating on whether or not she wanted to explain any further than she could handle. Liam patiently waited, however long it took for her. “He did…”

“Who was he?” He tried to pry further and he noticed her bite her lip, avoiding his gaze.

“Do you want the short story or the long one?”

“Whichever you prefer, lovin’.” Another pause. She took a deep breath.

“He was my boyfriend. Together for four years. He joined the Army knowing I was against it and eventually made it to Special Forces.”

Her fingers began to fidget with her jacket.

“Shortly after his training was finished, he proposed to me. Then two months before our wedding, he was deployed. I haven't heard from him since.” Penelope’s eyes glazed over. “I can’t help but think of all of the terrible things that could have happened to him.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Two years.” Liam reached out, covering her hand with his own larger one as an act of sympathy. Penelope struggled to prevent the dam of her eye from breaking.

“I’m not sure if this helps, but as a man that had me own love once? He’ll do everythin’ he can to find his way back to ye. Dead or alive. I’m not superstitious, but I think that dream was his way of findin’ ye again.”

Those last few words are what broke her. Tears silently fell, and she rushed to wipe them away, too stubborn to show them openly in public. She sniffed and looked away as their order was called, Liam going up to grab their food before guiding them out of the building and back to the apartment.

They ate in a comfortable silence, the TV humming once again in the background as Penelope was deep in thought. She couldn’t help the gut feeling that began to form in her stomach, too strong to ignore. It began to gnaw at her, eating away at whatever thoughts tried to push it away.

Once the sun had set and Liam left for the night, she looked out of the living room window, debating on whether or not she should take any chances.

She eventually sighed and gave in, throwing on her shoes and jacket before making her way to her car.

Pulling into the familiar parking lot, Penelope sat in her car, the engine off, the sound of the city distant as she stared out at the still water. The lake was calm, moonlight dancing across its surface like silver threads. The parking lot was empty, just like the night they had met. When she had been more cautious, more unsure of the man that now haunted her.

Now, though, things felt different.

The woman stepped out, leaning against the driver’s door as she breathed in the polluted air around her.

She couldn’t shake the pull she felt, the way the Joker had gotten under her skin. The thrill, the chaos, the freedom he had awakened in her. It was all still there, humming like electricity in her veins. It was an addiction. And yet, he had vanished afterward, like a phantom slipping back into Gotham’s shadows.

A flicker of movement in her peripheral vision made her stiffen. She turned her head slowly, heart racing just a little. And there he was, leaning casually against a streetlight at the edge of the lot, watching her. His purple coat was open, revealing his attire underneath, and he looked every bit as chaotic and unpredictable as he had that night. But this time, his eyes didn’t hold the same level of danger. Instead, there was something familiar. Something almost intimate.

Penelope’s breath hitched as their gazes locked.

The Joker sauntered towards her with a lazy grin, his posture relaxed yet full of that wild energy she knew too well. She couldn’t deny it. There was something there that she couldn’t explain. A tension, but not one born of fear or caution. It was something magnetic, unspoken. Something that pulled them together even when logic said they should stay apart.

“Miss me?” His voice cut through the stillness, teasing, his grin widening as he reached her car.

Her good hand rested casually in her pocket. “What if I did?” She replied, her voice softer than she intended, yet steady. She didn’t feel the need to hide her curiosity now. She wanted to understand what it was that drew her to him.

His eyes gleamed with amusement as he tilted his head. “Oh, look at you,” He mused, circling the front of her car like a predator sizing up its prey. “All calm, all… confident now.” He tapped the hood lightly as he passed, his fingers drumming an uneven rhythm. “What happened to that shaky, nervous thing you were before?”

“She grew up.” She gave him a small smile, knowing full well the Joker enjoyed the challenge.

He stopped at the driver’s side - closer than before - and leaned in, his face inches from hers as he stared at her, unblinking. She could feel the heat of his breath on her skin. Could almost hear the ticking of his erratic thoughts.

“I like this version of you,” He whispered, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “There’s a spark in ya, doll… And I’m gonna light it to hell.” His eyes gleamed, the dangerous edge still there. But now it felt personal.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Not this time. Instead, she leaned into the moment, thinking of that liberating feeling from that night. Letting the tension between them manifest into something real. Something tangible. “I want you to.” Penelope replied with an unwavering, honest gaze.

For a brief second, the Joker’s grin faltered, his eyes narrowing as if he was searching for something in her expression, something deeper. Then he laughed, the sound sharp and jagged in the quiet night.

“You’re not afraid anymore… that’s good,” He purred, straightening up but keeping his eyes on her. “Fear’s no fun when it’s one-sided, hm?”

Penelope felt the pull between them grow stronger. She wasn’t afraid anymore. Not of him, not of the things he brought out in her. And he could sense it. Their dynamic had shifted. They weren’t strangers playing a game of cat and mouse. They were something else entirely now.

“Come on,” He said suddenly, offering his hand. “Let’s go do something fun.”

She hesitated for only a second before slipping her hand into his, the feeling of his gloved fingers closing around hers sending a shiver up her spine. This time, it wasn’t fear. It was anticipation. She knew this path would lead to chaos, to something she couldn’t control.

But perhaps that’s what she craved for. And how would she know if she never tried?

He led her to what seemed to be just a regular black car, but she knew better. One of his men waiting by the car opened the passenger door for her, another doing the same for the driver’s side which was new to her.

“You’re driving this time?” Penelope mused once they took their seats, attempting to joke with him and poke the bear.

“I’ve driven plenty, toots.” He winked at her and started the car, his men taking their seats in the back. The car revved and his grip choked the steering wheel, then suddenly took off into the dark streets.

Penelope yelped in surprise before it turned into laughter. The car quickly sped up, the empty streets offering him leverage as he swerved in the road. He pressed down harder on the gas pedal when they reached a long stretch of road, reaching nearly ninety miles an hour that had the woman clutching her seat.

“Joker?” She questioned anxiously.

“Thought ya grew up, toots?” He began to cackle. “So grow up! Enjoy the ride!” Taking a leap of faith, she eased into it, choosing to trust the man behind the wheel. A wide smile spread across her lips once she decided to embrace it as it came, growing more comfortable. And eventually she joined his laughter.

When the car slowed down to a more decent speed, she rolled down her window and began to ease her torso outside, sitting on the door and holding onto the handle inside as leverage. Neon lights sped past as she leaned her head back, taking the wind as it came.

“There ya go, doll!” She heard the Joker encourage from below. His hand reached for her ankle when she wobbled slightly, the small act making her stomach flutter unexpectedly.

The same hand patted her calf when the car pulled into an open lot in front of a large, worn down building.

She fully climbed out and looked over at the Joker, then at the building where two men stood at the doors. Following closely behind him, she eyed the men standing guard who offered the same in turn, the other two from the car close behind her.

The warehouse was dimly lit, shadows dancing along the cracked concrete walls as a few lights flickered ominously. Different voices echoed and carried through the building as they made their way up the stairs past different floors, stopping at the uppermost level. It was an open space with little furniture, weapons of every kind littered around the room. With a single look from the Joker, the other men that were there left.

Penelope stood near an old, rusted table, her body tense, feeling out of place in the gritty environment. She ran her fingers over where the scars on the left side of her body were, feeling the uneven texture.

Across the room, the Joker leaned against a pile of crates. His scarred smile never wavered as his wild eyes observed her every move. He tilted his head, amusement playing across his face.

“Relax, toots. You’re too stiff.” The Joker said, waving his hand theatrically. “Now, the basics. Crime? Oh, it’s not just about the guns and the knives and the explosions. It’s about the art of chaos.”

Penelope’s gaze flickered to his, her curiosity fighting her hesitation. “Chaos?” She asked, her voice soft yet edged with something deeper, something he’d been coaxing out of her since they met.

Joker stepped closer, shoes scraping against the floor, and set down a blueprint on the table between them. “Soon,” He said, tapping his finger on a marked building, “We make a statement. But first, you gotta learn how to send a message. It’s not just about what you take. It’s about what they lose.”

She blinked, studying the blueprint, unsure what part of this made sense. “I’m not like you, Joker, I can’t just -“ She motioned to the table in front of her, unable to find the right words.

A low chuckle escaped the Joker’s throat, and he walked behind her, placing his gloved hands lightly on her shoulders. He leaned down, his voice a low whisper in her ear. “Oh, but you already are. You just need to let go. Stop playing by their rules and start looking at the bigger picture, hm?”

Penelope shivered, but didn’t pull away. Couldn’t pull away. There was a flicker of excitement she couldn’t deny, a part of her that wanted to let go of the fear. Of the guilt and the pain.

“Here’s the thing,” Joker continued, circling back to face her. He tossed a knife onto the table in front of her, its blade gleaming under the warehouse’s dim light. “It’s not about what you can do. It’s about how much you’re willing to risk. For control. For power. For fun.”

Penelope looked at the knife, then back at the Joker. “What do you want from me?”

His grin widened, his eyes burning with manic intensity. “I want you to embrace that spark. That little chaos inside you - and, oh, I see it, don’t you dare try and hide it.” He cocked his head. “That fire that turned you into this?” He motioned at her figure. “That took your arm, your eye? It didn’t kill you. So let it burn.”

Suddenly, the doors burst open, followed by grunts and muffled screaming and yelling from what seemed to be a man. Penelope turned to see what was going on, but Joker quickly took hold of her jaw and forced her to look at him.

Penelope exhaled slowly, her mind replaying flashes of her past. The fire, the agony. Her lost innocence. Maybe, just maybe, he was right. The chaos was already there, harnessed and held against its own will.

His gloved hand let go of her face, moving down to her waist and turning her around to face the commotion behind her.

In front of her sat a disheveled and bloodied man on his knees, gagged by a rag tied around his head. Two men stood at either side, guns in hand as they carefully watched between him and their boss.

“Know who this is?” The Joker questioned, hand still on her waist. The woman shook her head. “Remember that fire?”

Everything suddenly grew cold for Penelope. She stiffened, practically staring into the pitiful man’s very soul.

“New hire. Whaddya know?” Joker chuckled, then stopped abruptly. “Then he just had to open his mouth and - ope! Lookie here.”

He slipped past the shaky woman and snatched his jaw, squeezing at his cheeks to make him look up at his blackened stare.

“Just so happens that ya hurt this doll right here!”

He motioned to Penelope, then playfully slapped his face and made his way back to stand behind her.

“Remember that? Now you can finally put a face to it.”

He peeked over her shoulder to catch her change in expression, nose slightly flaring every other breath as she attempted to harness her emotions.

“Don’t hide it. Embrace it.” He rested a hand on her upper arm. “Pick up the knife.” The Joker urged, his tone softer but no less dangerous.

She looked over at the table, thinking for a moment before she reached for the blade, the cool metal now more familiar in her palm. But as she gripped it, something shifted. The fear that had once anchored her slipped away, leaving room for something else. Power? Defiance?

“That’s it. Now look at him.” She obeyed. “Remember that pain. Remember everything you lost because of him.”

Without another word, he watched as she took a step towards him, knuckles white as she squeezed the handle of the blade. Another step. Then another, until she was directly in front of him.

Tears welled up in her eye, images flashing across her mind at the horror he caused. The pain she endured, the pain she continued to endure. The blade slowly inched its way towards his face, the tip resting just below his left eye.

“I think I’ll start with what I lost.”

The Scarred - Chapter 9

Masterlist

Summary - Penelope Miller works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by trauma and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

“You okay, Penny?” Emma questioned, seeing the woman in question begin to nod off. She quickly sat up and rapidly blinked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just didn’t get much sleep, that's all.” She responded, which wasn’t really a lie at all. Liam had tried to convince her to call in to take the day off, but Penelope couldn’t do that to Emma. That and she worried it would come off as suspicious since she rarely ever does it, and even more so given recent events that have been occurring at the shop itself.

“Is something bothering you, hun?” Emma asked gently, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“No, I’m okay,” She turned to face her. “Promise.” She smiled, and thankfully it was returned before the older woman walked away. Penelope let out a sigh of relief, massaging her temple.

They received more customers than usual that day, thankfully. It helped to both keep her awake and distract her from her thoughts, which grew to be a harder task as of late. By the time the work day drew to a close, Penny was practically sleepwalking. Zombified and depleted of energy, she waved off Emma in a goodbye before she turned to leave.

As she passed an alleyway, thinking all was well and would finally return home to relax, she gasped when something snatched her jacket and pulled her in.

“I did some thinking - y’know?” A familiar voice tossed up her stomach with nerves. She turned to look up at the painted face that greeted her - however much of a greeting it was.

“You scared the hell out of me!” She whisper-yelled in exasperation, her adrenaline throwing all caution to the wind regardless of who was in front of her.

“I think you oughtta have these than myself.” He continued on, completely ignoring what she said. She looked down and saw the handgun and knives from last night.

“You couldn’t have done that last night rather than snatching me and giving me a heart attack?”

“You’re alive, aren’t cha?” The Joker dismissed as if it was the most simple thing. Penelope couldn’t help but roll her eyes to his amusement and he hummed.

“Gettin’ a little bold after last night, don’t cha think?” His voice was flat, yet somehow still held a joking undertone. Penelope grew fidgety, mentally slapping herself for forgetting who she was talking to.

“I’m sorry, it’s been a long day.” She nearly whispered with a downcast gaze.

“Ah, I’m just messing with ya, doll!” The Joker cackled. “But seriously, take these, I don’t want em.” She greatly hesitated before gently taking them from his hands, looking at them for a moment and putting them in her satchel.

“Thank you -“

“I’m going to give a wild guess and say you don’t have a single gun at your place?”

“I mean, I don’t, but -“

“Ah-ta-ta-ta.” He cut her off, placing a finger over her lips.

“Don’t got time for chit-chat, toots, but uh -“ He looked around for a second before leaning in closer to her as if he was telling a secret. “We can save that for later, hm?” He winked with a click of his tongue and gave her a couple of small pats on her head before turning to leave. “Don’t wait up for me!” He hollered over his shoulder and disappeared off to who knew where with a skip.

Penelope just stood in the alleyway confused as ever for the umpteenth time. If she wasn’t awake before, she definitely was now. She turned to make her way back to the main sidewalk, this time bumping into someone else.

“Oi, there ye are!”

“For fuck’s sake!” She gasped once again, hand over her chest. Liam frowned and steadied her.

“First of all, that’s my line. Second, the hell were ye doin in an alley?” He gently coaxed her to start their walk back to their apartment complex.

“Too tired to explain right now.”

“Alright, fair enough. Guess it’s not a good time to say ‘I told you so’ then?” Penelope gave him a side eye and he held up his hands in defense. “Okay, okay. Quiet time it is.”

When the two of them reached her apartment and stepped inside, they were quick to get comfortable and relax on the couch. The TV hummed in the background at a low volume, soothing the two of them as Penelope began to fall asleep in Liam’s lap, the latter playing a game on his phone mindlessly.

No matter how close the woman was to sleep, though,, her body fought back. Her mind raced with scattered thoughts, a heavy sigh leaving her lips catching Liam’s attention.

“What’s on yer mind, lovin?”

“Too much.” She answered simply. Liam took his turn to sigh.

“Still too tired to talk about it?”

“The Joker is supposed to be dangerous…” She whispered mindlessly. Liam tensed at first and put down his phone. She continued once he began to caress her hair. “And yet I can’t shake that I feel safe with him.” Penelope turned in his lap, head facing up at him as she stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know how else to describe it. But something about him just feels so familiar, Liam. Like a reminder of something I can’t remember.”

“Aye. I know the feelin’, believe me.” He shifted as he thought. “If he wanted ye dead, he would’ve done so already. It’s a gruesome thought, but I believe it’s the truth.” He looked down at Penelope who met his gaze of understanding.

“But what if he has an ulterior motive? What if he’s just using me?” She watched as Liam began to shake his head.

“He doesn’t seem the type. Not patient enough from what we’ve seen on the news. Seems to me that if he wants something, he just goes fer it. The man won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” There was a moment of silence, the two of them sitting in contemplation, coming up with scenario after scenario where something could go wrong. But none of them seemed realistic in comparison to what had happened so far.

Days passed with no contact from the Joker or his men, much to her surprise. Days turned into a couple of weeks. Penelope just assumed that he was either too busy or got bored of her. She wasn’t sure which would have been a better explanation.

In a way, she missed his odd encounters. Before him, her life was boring, for lack of a better word. It was the same routine over and over and over. Granted, Liam tossed things up from time to time. But she eventually grew used to that, as well.

Penelope decided to switch things up herself after some days. She found a target range not too far away where she could continue her practice with the knives and handgun, Liam joining her from time to time.

It wasn’t until a while after that he came up with an idea.

“Come on.” The Irishman dragged the woman by her wrist to what looked like a gym of sorts.

“Liam, what’re we doing here -“

“You’ll see, ye twat, just come on.” As they entered the building, he scanned them in and took her upstairs, the smell making her nose twitch in discomfort. Once they reached the top, she was welcomed to an empty matted room. Her eye widened in surprise, unsure of what Liam was getting themselves into.

“The hell is this about?” He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Take off her shoes and coat and you’ll see. Stop asking questions, dammit!” He chuckled as he got ready himself and walked onto the mat.

Soon after she followed, giggling at the feeling of the mat beneath them like a child on a trampoline.

“Oi!” She snapped her head up to where he was and stood in front of him. “I figured since ye got them fancy knives and gun, we teach ye some real self defense, yeah?” Penelope’s eye shot wide open.

“Self defe -? You do realize I only have one arm, right?” Liam shrugged.

“All the more reason ye need it.” Penelope sighed and glanced away for a second, then took a deep breath.

“Okay fine, I’ll play.” He nodded with a reassuring grin.

“Right, Penny. First rule: self-defense isn’t about strength. It’s about leverage. Ye don’t need two arms er perfect vision fer this. It’s all about knowin’ how to use what ye’ve got.”

Penelope nodded, her single eye narrowing as she focused on him. Her missing left arm had made her hesitant, and the burns that marked her left side were a constant reminder of her limitations. But she needed to do this.

Liam stepped closer and motioned for her to raise her remaining arm. “Let’s start with balance. No matter what situation yer in, ye need a strong foundation. Feet shoulder-width apart. Right foot slightly behind, heel up. Keep that center of gravity low, but don’t lock yer knees.”

Penelope followed his instructions, her movements stiff but determined. She felt a slight shift in her body as she adjusted her stance. Liam circled her slowly, nodding his approval.

“Good. Now, if someone comes at ye from the front, yer not going to overpower em, but ye can use their own momentum against em. Grab my wrist with yer right hand.”

Penelope hesitated for a moment before grasping his wrist. Liam, much taller and stronger than her, didn’t resist at first, but then slowly applied pressure, mimicking an attacker’s force.

“When someone grabs ye, ye won’t have the leverage to just pull away,” He explained. “But what ye can do is use yer entire body to redirect the attack.” He gently guided her to pivot her hips and pull him off balance. “See? Ye use yer hips and shoulders to create force. That’s what keeps ye grounded and throws em off.”

Penelope felt the shift in weight and how Liam’s body tilted slightly as she pulled him off-center. Her eyes widened in surprise, a spark of confidence growing inside of her.

“Now, what if someone tries to take ye down?” Liam asked, stepping back and raising his hands as if to simulate a grab for her. “Yer instinct might be to pull away, but that just puts ye at a disadvantage. Instead, ye drop yer weight. Lower yer center of gravity, and they won’t be able to lift ye.”

He demonstrated, lunging toward her in slow motion. Penelope took a deep breath and bent her knees, dropping her weight as Liam had instructed. She felt him try to lift her, but she remained planted, like a rooted tree.

Liam grinned. “That’s it! Perfect. And while they’re strugglin’ to get a grip, that’s when ye go fer yer next move. Elbows, knees—anything hard and sharp. It’s not about bein’ clean. It’s about surviving.”

Penelope smirked slightly at that. “So… you want me to fight dirty?”

Liam’s eyes twinkled. “In Gotham? There’s no other way.”

He motioned for her to step back, giving her space. “Now, let’s try it with a punch. Someone’s swingin’ at ye from the right. What do ye do?”

Penelope tensed. Her left eye was no longer, and her missing arm meant her range of vision was limited. But Liam had thought of that.

“Ye can’t block with yer left, so ye have to move. Slip to the outside of their swing, stay low, and use yer shoulder to knock em off balance. That’s where yer right arm comes in.”

He swung at her slowly, exaggerating the motion so she could practice. Penelope sidestepped, dipping her head and bringing her right shoulder up to mimic the block.

Liam nodded in approval. “Good! Now follow up with yer right elbow—hard to their face er throat.”

Penelope did as he instructed, bringing her elbow up in a quick motion, though she hesitated at the last second. Liam chuckled. “Don’t hold back next time. You’ll need that speed and precision.”

They spent the next hour going over similar moves: how to throw a knee into an attacker’s gut, how to pivot and drive her elbow into someone’s ribs, how to avoid attacks from angles she couldn’t see. With each move, Penelope grew more confident, her hesitation slowly melting away.

Finally, Liam held up a hand, signaling for a break. “Yer gettin’ there, Penny. Ye’ve got the instincts. Now ye just need to trust yerself.”

Penelope wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, breathing heavily but feeling more grounded than she had in a long time. “It’s… a lot to take in. But I want to keep practicing.”

Liam clapped her on the shoulder. “And ye will. Just remember, yer not as vulnerable as you think. Ye’ve been through hell and came out the other side. That’s more strength than any move I can teach ye.”

Penelope gave him a small, hearing him say something so endearing a rarity coming from him. Her eye glimmered, practically glazed over with emotion. “Thank you, Liam.”

More days passed. And more. But it wasn’t boring anymore, no. Liam and Penelope had been practicing her self-defense as often as they could without straining themselves, and eventually he decided to teach her offensive attacks as well should they be necessary.

It was obvious to her that he genuinely cared for her and her safety, understanding that he wouldn’t always be there to protect her. That much was clear. Though it was a welcomed respite, the Joker still lingered in the back of her mind.

No matter how long it had been since he visited, she couldn’t help but think that their encounters were far from over.

The Scarred - Chapter 8

Masterlist

Summary - Penelope Miller works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by trauma and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

The Joker’s manic laughter echoed off of the interior of the van as she took her seat, assumingly next to him based off of the proximity of his voice.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" The Joker crooned, his voice dripping with playful malice. "A little birdie all alone in the big bad city."

Penelope’s heart raced with nerves and anticipation. She could feel his gaze pierce through her, as if he could see into her very soul. Just then, the van revved before taking off to who knew where.

"Ah - don't be afraid, toots," The Joker said, his voice oddly soothing. "I'm just here to show you a good time." His deeper tone sent shivers down her spine.

“How could I believe that?”

“You can’t.” He answered bluntly. “Think of it as a - uh…” He smacked his lips. “A trust exercise, of sorts.”

“The bag over my head set the tone for that, I suppose.” The Joker cackled.

The rest of the ride was silent, save for Joker’s occasional humming and commentating. She eventually lost her perception of time, her body slowly growing tired. Just as her eyes began to start closing, the van was parked and doors were opened. Suddenly, the bag was ripped off of her head to be face to face with the Joker.

“Wake up, sleepy head!” He then exited the van, Penelope following slowly after.

It was pitch black, however the distant city skyline somewhat made up for it. Based on the distance, they were a good half hour from the edge of the city limits. If it wasn’t for the lights, she would’ve thought they were lost in a barren wasteland of sorts. They stood on a large patch of dirt-covered flatland, practically surrounded by random piles of what looked like junk.

“C’mon.” The Joker caught her attention and she turned towards him as he started walking towards the back of the van, throwing the doors open.

“Welcome to our little playground.” He drawled more to himself.

They both stared into the miniature arsenal of weapons; knives of every size and shape, handguns, shotguns, and an assortment of explosives. Penelope’s eyes widened as she took in the deadly array, swallowing hard as her heart pounded in her chest.

“Pick one,” The Joker urged, his grin widening. “Go on, don’t be shy.”

With a trembling hand, Penelope reached for a small throwing knife. It was lightweight, the blade glinting menacingly in the dim light. She held it awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

The Joker chuckled, stepping beside her and motioning to her hand. “Feel the weight, the balance,” he guided. “This isn’t just a knife, y’know. It’s an extension of you.”

Penelope’s grip tightened, a spark of something unfamiliar flickering within her. She glanced up at the Joker, who nodded encouragingly. He then looked up and around before wandering into the wasteland, shuffling around and huffing before he called her over and met her halfway.

“Now, I want you to throw that knife,” he nodded at the object, “at that poster.” He pointed and she followed, seeing a large poster that stood tall of what seemed to be an old billboard advertisement. “Got it?”

Penelope paused, then quickly nodded and stuttered. “How do I throw it?” She practically asked in a whisper.

“Well, first, you're way too rigid. You need to shake out, loosen up.” The Joker shook out his hands. “Relax.” Once he noticed her become less stiff, he continued. “Now, you need good posture. So straighten up.” He performed the actions with her. “Since you’re obviously a righty, stick your right foot forward and left foot back. Hold the blade,” He stepped closer to her and moved her hands into the right position with the grace of a newborn foal. “Handle up, and throw.” He then patted her hand and stepped away, motioning towards the target.

Penelope took a deep, shaky breath, trying her best to forget about the Joker’s presence when she finally threw the knife with surprising ease. When it hit the poster with a ‘thud’, he stepped forward to check where it hit. Suddenly he burst out laughing, catching her off guard.

“Ya mean to hit dead center?” He grabbed the knife and made his way back to her.

“That’s what I was aiming for, yes.” Her fingers fidgeted nervously.

“Well, that was either beginner’s luck or you got some talent in ya! Let’s test that theory, huh?”

He handed the knife back out to her for her to take and she did, getting back into her previous stance. With a second ‘thud’ the Joker checked again and he licked his lips, pulling out the knife once more and repeatedly pointing at her with it.

“Think these were meant for ya, doll.” He growled with barely contained excitement. Much to her own surprise, Penelope couldn’t help the twitch of her lips to form a phantom smile. She took her stance once receiving the knife once more, this time with her head held a little higher.

She had no sense of time the longer she practiced, and at some point the clown-like man disappeared to the van for reasons unknown to her. Penelope had to admit, however, that she was thankful for the colder air after her body warmed up from their activities.

She felt a sense of pride knowing how well she had come to handle the knives in such a short amount of time, and she couldn’t help but feel like it was almost natural to her. Not even the Joker himself could deny it.

Just as Penelope was about to make another throw, she heard footsteps growing closer and she looked over to see the Joker meandering over to her with his hands behind his back.

“Let’s trade, toots.” He suddenly took the knife from her hand and stuck it in his pocket, showing his other hand which held a sleek handgun. She stared at it, unsure and fairly hesitant as he held it expectantly out to her. He quickly lost patience and took her hand, placing it there properly himself.

The cold metal was heavier than she expected, and her fingers fumbled with the grip at first. The Joker’s hands covered hers when he took notice and fixed her hand, then raised her arm to point it at the now abused sign.

He then stood directly behind her, the warmth and pressure of his body nearly overstimulating. His smell intoxicated her, filling her senses as his hand snaked down her arm and over her own, steadying her aim. He leaned his head down next to hers.

“Take a deep breath, and squeeze the trigger.” It was nearly a whisper. A hushed command. And she obeyed.

The gunshot echoed through the night, startling Penelope. Her heart raced, but there was a thrill in the recoil, a rush of power. She took a shaky breath from the adrenaline, then exhaled an airy chuckle. She wasn’t sure how to feel about everything that was happening, about the situation she was in.

But one thing she couldn’t deny was how she loved the feeling of pulling the trigger.

The Joker noticed it almost immediately, a familiar glimmer in her eyes that made him more than hopeful. It was nearly impossible to miss, whether he was standing against her or feet away.

“Good, very good.” The Joker purred before stepping away slightly, but close enough to help with recoil if need be. “Again.”

Penelope listened, rocking on her feet before holding firm and taking aim once more. Another shot rang through the air.

She staggered back slightly, a giggle slipping past her lips. Penelope looked back at the Joker for permission and he immediately nodded with giddy delight. Three more shots pierced through the night air and the woman began to laugh. The Joker’s cackles mixed with her own.

Two more shots.

Tears pricked her eyes as she smiled, genuine and free as she felt a wave of happiness and excitement that she hadn’t felt in years.

But then the smile slowly dropped as she began to spiral. Images of what her life used to be flashed before her eyes, mingled with more recent memories.

“What do you think about your day to day habits?”

Screams flooded her ears.

“Y - you just -“

“Killed a man? Aye. The bastard ‘ad it comin’.”

She looked down at the gun in her hand, then up at the sign.

“If they can’t help me, who can?”

She looked back over at the Joker with an unreadable expression. His own was eager, egging her on.

“Come on, come on…” He encouraged as he swayed on his feet.

“Give me a gun and I’ll protect myself.”

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The gun raised to point at the man in front of her, directly at his head. He stepped into it, the barrel pressing into his forehead as he held eye contact with her.

“I’d be worryin’ ‘bout why he’s worried ‘bout ye bein’ fun.”

A single tear trailed down her cheek, lips downturned and trembling to fight back her emotions.

“It’s good to have someone you trust in a city like this. Someone to protect you.”

Penelope suddenly pulled away with a frustrated yell, turning and unloading the rest of the magazine into the sign.

There was a heavy silence that followed. Penelope’s head hung low, breathing heavy.

“You’re starting to see it, aren’t ya?” The Joker said softly, his voice almost tender. Almost. “The world is nothing but a game.” He stepped closer towards her, now directly beside her, facing her trembling form. “And you, doll,” He reached out, two fingers settling beneath her chin to turn her face towards him. “Are finally learning how to play.” His hand dropped.

Penelope met his darkened gaze, a newfound determination in her eyes. “Show me more.”

And he did.

He provided therapy for her that no one else could. He lulled her further and further into his own darkness, his own madness ever so gently in a way that only the Joker could pull off. In a way that only the Joker could to convince such innocence to begin to crack.

Why should he fix something that is broken? Why fix it when he could mold it into something new, something more beautiful than it ever was?

And that was exactly what he planned to do.

As the sky turned the slightest shade brighter, they put an end to their shenanigans. The bag was back over her head, in the same seats as before. The ride was more silent on the way back, their energy depleted from the long night. Though they couldn’t say the same for the Joker.

As they came to a stop in the same parking lot they picked her up in, the bag was pulled from her head, the van’s door sliding open. Before Penelope stepped out, however, she turned towards the Joker who was already looking at her. She swallowed.

“Thank you.” She whispered, then stepped out before there was any response and went to her car without looking back.

The drive home for her was calm, but she fought to keep her eyes open after pulling nearly an all-nighter. Her feet trudged up the stairs to her apartment level, lazily unlocking her door and entering. She leaned against the door as it shut behind her, eyes closed with a faint smile on her lips.

“Yer playin’ with fire, ye know that?” Penelope jumped at the sudden intrusion, glaring at the brunet sat on her couch.

“What’s it to you?” She bit back, taking off her shoes and jacket.

“Oh, I dunno, yer safety?”

“You’ve been waiting for me just to say that, haven’t you?” She disappeared to her bedroom and Liam hollered a response.

“Look at ye, ye know me so well!”

“Wait -“ She reappeared with a large t-shirt in hand. “How long have you been waiting here?”

“Probably since two hours after ye left.”

“What the hell…” Penelope sighed before leaving the change. “Are you spying on me or something?”

“No, just got good enough hearin’ to recognize yer door openin’ and closin’.” The woman chuckled.

“You really are like an overprotective brother, aren’t you?”

“Would ye rather me not be protective at all?” Liam entered her bedroom when he got the ‘ok’, moving to stand in front of her with his arms crossed.

“No, it’s just amusing sometimes.” He sighed.

“Jokes aside, you need to be careful, Penny. I’m not going to tell ye who ye should and shouldn’t take as company, but he’s a dangerous man with a dangerous reputation. I just want ye safe, yeah?” Penelope looked up at him with as much of a smile as she could muster up.

“I know.” Liam pulled her into a hug, head on top of her own. He sighed and closed his eyes.

The Scarred - Chapter 7

Masterlist

Summary - Penelope Miller works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by trauma and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

As Penelope slipped her key into the lock of her apartment door, her hand shook. Almost expecting him to be in her living space once more. However, when it opened and no one was there, there was no relief to be felt. It was only a matter of time that he showed his face to her again, and it didn’t have to be whenever she got home. It could be at any moment, at any time, at any place. The only comforting thought about the situation was that he hadn't killed her. She assumed that if he wanted her dead, she already would be.

Penelope made her way to the fridge, pulling out leftovers to reheat for a quick dinner. As the microwave ran, she stared at the countertop in thought, facing the living room.

Even if no one else was there, his presence somehow lingered. She recalled his scent, however disturbing it was. She remembered the smell of gasoline and smoke, yet it held a sweet undertone. Burnt sugar, almost. Never would she have thought that he would have smelled of anything even remotely sweet.

She shook her head, itching to get those thoughts out of her head just as her microwave sounded. Switching the TV on, she bundled up in her blanket, food in her lap and started nibbling away. It was a good enough distraction for the time being, however temporary. And when she finished, she debated if she would even be able to sleep.

Putting the dishes away, she pulled out her phone and went to her call history, deciding on not being alone for the night. After the phone rang a few times, it picked up.

“To wha’ do I owe tha pleasure, miss?” Penny smiled lightly.

“Would you mind having company tonight? I can’t sleep…” Her voice faded at the end in embarrassment.

“I’ll do ye one better and ‘ed o’er ta yer place, yah? Tha’ way we can work on ya feelin’ safe in yer own space again. ‘Ow’s tha’ sound?” The woman took a deep breath in thought.

“Okay… Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Be o’er in a minute, miss.”

She decided to keep her bandages on with him coming over. It was uncomfortable, yes, but she couldn’t help but feel naked with them off in front of others. Not even Emma has seen her without them. She wasn’t sure if she would ever take them off in front of anyone, no matter who it was.

Barely over a minute later, there was a knock at her door. She peeked through the peephole, making sure it was in fact Liam before opening it for him. “I’m sorry if it’s a bother -“

“Oi.” Liam cut her off. “What’d I say abou’ apologizin’?”

“Right.”

“C’mon now, let’s get ya some sleep, yah?” He rested a hand on her back and led her to her bedroom. Liam decided to stay above the covers while she climbed underneath, her head in his lap while he draped an arm over her. He watched as her eye finally began to close, keeping a close eye on her until she fell asleep.

“J -“ The woman gasped. Her mind was clouded with the movement of his hands as they caressed her. Her mouth was parted, eye fluttered shut and head tilted back against her soft pillow as he guided her into oblivion. Their mixture of sweat and pants only ignited the atmosphere and he buried his head in her neck to lick a trail up to her jawline, earning a shiver beneath him.

Her eye opened again to see a face without the paint. A bare face with maniacal scars resembling a Cheshire smile. Yet the face itself was all too familiar. A face she hadn’t seen for years. It brought nothing but comfort and security.

The bell above the door rang as she stepped into the warmer air. She trudged towards her chair, energy dampened from the night before. Just as she took her seat she heard footsteps coming from the back, heavier than usual.

“You okay, Emma?” She tried. No response. The footsteps grew closer, louder, heavier.

“Yeah, just moving this bad boy to the front.” Emma grunted as she waddled a heavy and filled vase through the doorway. Penelope let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“Don’t scare me like that, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” She practically shrieked.

“You wanna come over here and carry this and try having a casual conversation?!” She exclaimed with hands on her hips after setting the vase down. “I’m too old for that, I nearly broke my back.” She exhaled while dramatically wiping her dry forehead. Penelope chuckled to herself and the woman tossed her a look. “I’m gonna go grab some water from the store, you want anything?”

“I’m good, thank you though.”

“What? You said you want lemonade?”

“No -“

“Lemonade, got it.” She backed out the door. “Cya!”

“Geez!” Penelope jumped from her seat, the unique voice popping through the doorway of the back room. “I was wondering when she’d stop all that racket.” The Joker vocalized shamelessly, a natural habit she’d been coming to find out. Penelope’s original fear slowly drifted into irritation.

“You have a bad habit of catching people by surprise.”

“Oh - well the reaction is the best part!” He meandered his way over to the front of the counter. “Besides yours. You were a little bland this time - do better.” He leaned his forearms on the wooden surface.

“As in there’ll be a next time, I’m assuming?”

“See? Ya get it! These people really need to start catching on. They never seem to take a hint, ya know?”

“How’s that when you apparently kill nearly every person you meet?”

“You watch too much of the news, they only ever show the boring parts. So much goes on behind the scenes that nobody knows about.”

“And why’re you telling me this?”

“Can’t a guy just have a conversation?”

“You’re not just ‘a guy’.”

“And you’re not just a girl, hm?” Something glimmered in her eye. “Oh - come on - try and tell me that I’m wrong. Go on, do it.” Silence followed, but Joker patiently waited. “It takes one to know one, toots.” He clicked his tongue with a wink. “Don’t get it twisted.”

“Why’re you here?”

“I have a proposal.” He stepped back to round the counter. “Proposition?” He rolled his eyes. “An offer.” He jumped up to sit on the counter directly next to her, her head following his every move.

“Which is?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say an offer, cause I’m not really giving you a choice -”

“What do you want me to do?” He paused, eyes rolling over to her with a devious look.

“I want to show you what it means to really have some fun.” His voice took on a darker, more serious tone.

“I don’t think you and I have the same definition of ‘fun’.”

“Well, you won’t know unless you try, hm?” Her eye drifted off in thought.

What is he playing at? She asked herself. Even if she wasn’t being forced, she couldn’t deny her curiosity getting the best of her. She wasn’t sure why, but something about him drew her closer. It made her want to know more about him, why he did what he did. And going through with what he offered may give her some answers, no matter how dangerous it seemed. And what did she have to lose, anyways?

“Midnight at the docks. I’m sure you know that area very well.” He looked at the clock on the wall before hopping off of the counter, slapping the counter with a gloved hand before heading towards the back room. “Cya then, toots!”

Just as he left, Emma walked through the door to see Penelope giving her a confused expression.

“What?” She asked in her own confusion. Penelope just sighed and rested her head on her hand.

As the work day came to a close, a jolt of nerves flooded her abdomen. She left the shop, bidding her goodbye to Emma before turning to make her way to her apartment. The lavender smell that usually provided comfort only made her nauseous with anxiety, deciding against eating even with a growling stomach. It wasn’t purely nerves, however. She was anxious, and dare she say a little excited.

Penelope simply showered, got dressed and plopped onto her bed in a poor attempt to get some sleep before heading out. The soft ticking of her nightstand clock filled the otherwise deafening silence, creating an illusion of it growing louder with each tick.

She wasn’t sure when, but she eventually found sleep. It didn’t hit her until she woke up. She jolted upright, snapping her head towards her clock.

11:27.

Another batch of nerves struck her. She took a deep breath and moved towards her bathroom, reapplying new bandages. As she pressed on the last bit, she made eye contact with herself in the mirror, practically snarling at its reflection before aggressively turning away from it to put her shoes and coat on.

The city was eerily quiet, except for the occasional drunkard and criminal walking the streets. She debated on walking, but being how late it was, decided that driving was safer. It was an ironic statement considering what she was getting herself involved in. Who she was getting herself involved with.

She slowly rolled into the parking lot, seeing a black van already sitting in it. No doubt, it was The Joker. She put the car in park and stepped out, two men she didn’t recognize following suit soon after. One had a bag in his hand, both had rifles hanging around their torsos. The one with the bag stepped forward, and then everything was black.

The Scarred - Chapter 6

Masterlist

Summary - Penelope Miller works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by trauma and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

The night air was gentle, forgiving as she walked the path upstairs. Her tired eye grew heavier with each step as she fiddled with the bunched up fabric of her turtleneck in an effort to keep herself awake. By the time she reached her floor she was practically sleepwalking, her feet almost sliding against the floor with what little energy she had left. When she reached the door she noticed that it was ajar and she huffed, lightly pushing it open.

“Liam, how many times -“

“Ah, there she is!” Penelope stilled after having slammed the door shut. Her head slowly turned to the direction of the unknown voice, face paling at the sight before her. “Just the girl I’m lookin’ for!” The green-haired criminal stood at her counter, setting down one of her few glass jars a little too roughly for her liking.

“For a while now.” Her voice was as even as she could make it, unwilling to let him know how terrified she truly was. The man knocked over a salt shaker with a gloved finger. He watched as she stared at him with a blank expression, however he caught a light glimmer behind it and it brought a wide grin to his face.

“You are an oddball, aren’t cha?” He began taking slow steps in her direction.

“You’re one to talk.” The Joker cackled, but it was far from genuine. He stopped just a few feet in front of her.

“It’s the scars, yeah?” He motioned to his mouth with a flailing wrist, but her eye stayed locked on his.

“Why are you toying with me?” Another cackle.

“Because you’re fun!” His laughter suddenly stopped and she pressed herself further against the door, trying to make it as subtle as possible. “I like fun.” The Joker’s tone had been deeper, sending a chill down her spine. “Everyone else is so,” He paused, motioning with his hands with a gaze cast upwards as he tried to find his words. “Boring.” His blackened gaze met with hers once more and he stepped closer, forcing her to crane her neck to look up at him. “They’re all the same. Begging for their lives, strikin’ a bargain, but you,'' He poked at her shoulder. “You haven’t even bat an eye.”

“I suppose I’ve been expecting you.”

“Kept ya on your toes, hm?” He leaned closer, growing intrigued.

“You could say that.”

“After all those nights and here I am, still keeping ya on those toes.”

“The whole city is on their toes.”

“Oh, they should be. But you’ve had your little - ah - friend to lean on.” Anger flashed in her eyes and he swayed on his feet in excitement.

“There ya are!” He turned away to walk further into her apartment. “For a moment there I thought you were, like, a sociopath or somethin’!”

“Like yourself?”

“Oh, no no no no no, exactly the opposite.” The Joker turned around to face her again. He pulled out a switchblade from his trench coat and flipped it open. “But I prefer creative.” He reached her faster than she could comprehend, cold metal held against her throat with just enough pressure as to not break the skin, but enough to where if she moved it surely would. His other hand pushed her into the door, placed against the top of her rib cage to have some form of control over her breathing. But she remained still. Patient. She looked him in the eye, daring him to do something. A challenge.

Her phone ‘ding’ed and her eye snapped to where her bag sat on the floor, the painted man’s own eyes never leaving her form. When she looked back at him he held a mischievous glint in his eyes that no one would be able to miss, hummed, then he suddenly removed the blade.

“Now, uh, I’m gonna leave so you can get back to your dear friend - uh - what was his name? Oh! Right, Liam,” The name was spat out in a mocking manner. Her eye widened ever so slightly and he backed away from her towards her window. “Very busy tonight! Hope you enjoyed your little - ah - birthday party.” He laughed as he crawled out onto the fire escape, the sound echoing in her ears.

She decided to wait a few minutes to ensure he had left to bolt towards Liam’s apartment, quickly yet quietly knocking on his door with a sense of urgency. It wasn’t until that moment that everything started to catch up to her, that her entire being started to shake and tremble, growing numb with fear. The door swung open and Liam’s eyes shot wide like saucers at the sight before him.

“Christ almighty!” He immediately grabbed her and pulled her inside, walking her in to close the door. He held her firmly by her shoulders as she tried to catch her breath, her hand limply fanning her face in a poor attempt to calm herself.

“Liam, he c - he came -!”

“Penny.” Her friend tried to get her to focus.

“He - he was there, he -!”

“Penny!” She stopped babbling and looked up at him, a tear making its way down her cheek. “Who came?” Her breathing stilled for a moment.

“The Joker.” The woman immediately noticed the panic in his eyes, but he remained calm for her sake. Liam walked her over to the couch and sat her down, leaving to get a cup of water for her. She shook her head in refusal and he set it on an end table nearby. She squeezed his torso for comfort, tears streaming down her face as she continued to shake. He looked down at the carpet of the living room as she cried, hands wrapped protectively around her. When it all started to fade Liam decided to speak, voice gentle.

“‘Ow did he get inside?” He heard her take a shaky breath before giving him a muffled reply.

“My door was cracked open… I thought it was you.” He sighed.

“Penelope,” The Irishman felt her tense. “Wha’ did he do to ye?”

“He -“ She swallowed. “He put a knife to my throat.” Liam took a deep breath to compose himself while she pulled away and looked up at him. “And yet here I am.”

“I’m assumin’ tha’s not all?” Penelope sighed and laid her head back on his chest. She listened to his heartbeat to calm herself, regulating her breathing.

“I asked him why he was doing all of this.”

“And?”

“He said that I was fun. That everyone else was boring because they all say the same thing when he pays them a visit, I’m guessing.” Liam rubbed her shoulder.

“Well, now ye know yer juss really lucky.”

“Until he gets bored of me.”

“There’s too much to ye to get bored of ye, I’m afraid.” The woman lightly punched him in the gut and he chuckled.

“I’m serious, Liam.”

“So am I.” The man looked down at her with a look of adoration. “‘E’s right, ye know?” Penelope slowly sat up from his chest to look at him. “‘Bout erryone bein’ borin’. There’s so much I ‘ave yet to learn ‘bout ye, an’ I know I’ll never know errythin’ ‘cause there’s always gon’ be somethin’ new wit’ ye. Erryone else I’ve met?” Liam scoffed. “Gimme a week wit’ em’ an’ I’ll know errythin’ there is to know. There’s no secrets, no adventure, no thrill. Ey!” Penelope made a noise and he gave her a warning look to show he was being serious. “Yer unpredictable. An’ tha’s exactly wha’ ‘e thrives fer. Tha’s why ‘e said yer fun.” Liam pointed a finger at her. “If I were ye, I wouldn’t be worryin’ ‘bout ‘im sayin’ yer fun. I’d be worryin’ ‘bout why he’s worried ‘bout ye bein’ fun.” Her brow twitched in both confusion and curiosity, lips parted.

“Penny?” The woman cast her eyes from her journal towards Emma, noticing her concerned expression.

“Hm?” Penelope sucked on her lip.

“You okay?” Emma noticed her eye glance off to the side. “You seem bothered.” Holding the same expression, she replied.

“I’m fine.” Her tight lipped smile was of no consolation to her friend. The brunette gently placed a hand over Penelope’s that gripped a pencil.

“Penny.” The woman in question gave a quick sniff.

“Just thinkin’ about that customer.” Emma sighed and took a seat on the stool beside her.

“He’s not going to bother you again, hun. He got what he came for. What’s done is done. Okay?” She gave Penelope an encouraging smile, but she wouldn’t take it.

“How are you so sure? How -“ She took a breath and fidgeted in her seat. “How do you know he won’t do anything?” Emma sighed again, but it had been more solemn.

“Truthfully?” She leaned back a little and folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t. But if he tries anything, then I’ll settle for smashing a vase over that bald head of his.” Emma then stood up and headed to the back room leaving Penelope to herself. She closed her journal and began to chew on her cheek in thought, tapping her pencil against the leather cover.

The woman sat in the waiting room of an average office, heart pounding against her chest as her leg bounced. Her eye burned into the carpet, lost in thought. She heard a door creak open and peaked to see her therapist waving her inside.

“Miss Miller.” The older woman greeted as they both took their seats. “Last time I saw you we talked about your habits, correct?” She watched her patient nod her head. “Have you reflected on that at all?” She was met with silence as Penelope met her eyes.

“You never asked me to reflect.” She mumbled.

“Well, I assumed you would after I mentioned them to you.” The therapist’s tone had grown passive aggressive and it hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Perhaps I should use a more direct approach this time.” She opened the notebook on her desk and began jotting down some notes. “Can you think of any off the top of your head, then? Maybe we can branch off from that?”

You keep biting your cheek like that, you won’t have one to bite on.

“I bite my cheek.” The pen scribbled down her words.

“And what do you think is the reason?” Penelope took a long, shaky inhale and begrudgingly looked at the grey haired woman. She couldn’t explain why, but when she met her eyes she felt frustration, pain. So, as her patient, she decided to let her know.

“Ms. May, if I’m not mistaken, you’re supposed to provide resources to help me, not make me question my own behaviors and feel bad about them.” The woman moved to speak, but Penelope continued. “You’re supposed to be a shoulder for me to cry on, someone I can trust. Someone who cares for me.” Water pooled along Penelope’s water line, leaning forward in her seat. “I’m trying not to think about my problems and yet you expect me to assume that you want me to ‘reflect’ on my habits outside of therapy knowing it would make me think even more about what the hell is wrong with me?” She watched as her therapist continued writing down notes and a wave of rage hit her. “Stop writing and listen to me!” Penelope cried out, tears finally falling.

Everything in the room stilled as the atmosphere thickened, and once Penelope was sure she had her attention she continued.

“I dread these sessions because I know you don’t care. Because I know I won’t get anything out of it. I’m just here to answer your questions so you can write your notes. But please. Give me something. Help me.” They held eye contact for a few moments and Penelope could see the hesitation in Ms. May’s eyes. Then she sighed.

“I can prescribe you medication. That’s the quickest way.” Penelope let out a breathless laugh in disbelief, looking away in disappointment. She quickly wiped off her cheek and stood up.

“I’ll schedule another appointment when I’m ready.”

The Scarred - Chapter 5

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.

“Let’s get ye home, yeah?” Liam spoke softly after she had calmed down somewhat. He guided her with a hand on her back, eyeing the van knowingly as they walked past it. Penelope sniffed and placed her hand in her pocket, head kept down in shame.

“I’m sorry.” Penelope whispered after a few moments. Liam’s head whipped in her direction.

“Fer what, exactly?” She sniffed again.

“I’m not usually like this. You just met me at a bad time.” Her head lifted and she gave him a delicate smile. Only a fool wouldn’t fall to their knees at the sight of it, her large eye glistening under the street lights. It was child-like. Innocent in every way, yet far from it at the same time. Its complexity fascinated him.

“Depends on ‘ow ye look at it.” She stared up at him as he looked forward once more. “The way I see it, I think I met ye at the best time.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Not to toot me own horn, but tha’s twice I’ve helped ye in what seems lie’ a crisis. I mean,” he threw his arms up in a joking manner. “What in God’s name would ye ‘ave done without me?” The comment made her chuckle and he joined in with her. It was a relief. A much needed one, at that. They carried on with their conversation as they walked with an occasional brief silence, but soon they had been talking as if they were old friends, eventually exchanging numbers.

It took her by surprise that as the weeks passed, he was able to make her feel so comfortable. To make her feel so secure, so safe with him. Even after he killed someone in front of her, claiming it was for her own safety. There was an aura around the man that drew her to him and she wore it like a blanket to keep her calm.

She wasn’t attracted to him, no. He was handsome, charismatic. Charming, even. But what she felt was a deep admiration. As if he was an overprotective brother. And overprotective, he was. She didn’t know if he was just a gentleman or something else, but the slightest aggression towards her sent him over the edge. He wouldn’t fight unless absolutely necessary, but he could get overwhelmingly creative with his vocabulary, to say the least.

Liam made his way to Penelope’s door, rapping on it a few times to make his presence known. He folded his arms over his chest and looked over to where he heard footsteps, seeing a taller brunette making her way over to him with furrowed eyebrows.

“Hi?” The woman questioned him in curiosity.

“Who might ye be?” Her eyes widened.

“Irish?” She made a sound of approval and nodded her head. “Emma. I’m stealing Penelope for tonight.” She spoke dominantly, winking at him with a smirk.

“Are ye two -?”

“No! No. If anything, I thought you two were.” She laughed. “I’m married.”

“Well, tha’s never stopped anyone.”

“So you two are a thing?”

“Wha -?”

“You didn’t deny it.” She shrugged with a chuckle.

“She’s a good friend o’ mine.”

“Oh! Are you Liam?” She exclaimed in excitement.

“Aye. Tha’s me.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Mentioned me, ‘as she? I should feel special.”

“You should. Took me years to get where you are with her.” Emma’s voice grew softer. “Takes a certain person to get her to trust any -“ The door whipped open and the two snapped their heads towards the woman in the doorway.

“Speak o’ the devil.” Penelope looked between the two of them with a wide eye. Liam’s eyes quickly scanned over her, looking between her and Emma. “Wha’s the occasion?”

“What, am I not allowed to dress nice every once in a while?”

“Juss different seein’ ye without the baggy-ish clothes.” He gestures with his hands.

“She’s visiting my family for dinner. And you look stunning, hun.” Emma gave Penelope a warming smile while Liam practically gawked.

“Well, I suppose I’ll leave ye to it.” He began to walk off when Penelope stopped him, voice holding just a trace of concern.

“Was there something you needed?” He turned and looked back at her.

“Nothin’ of importance.” Liam gave her a tight smile before heading back to his own apartment. Once he was gone Emma looked over at Penelope and wiggled her eyebrows, earning herself a light nudge to her shoulder.

“How is it?” The man of the hour asked, a bright smile complimenting his eagerness.

“Amazing!”

“Good, good! I’m glad you like it.” The atmosphere was comforting, save for the older man’s niece’s occasional glare from across the dining table. The two story house was elegant, however not exaggerated. It was warm and the perfect size for their smaller family. The different shades of browns and greens were appealing to the eye, none too bright or too dark. “I hope Gotham’s treating you well? No trouble?” Penelope lightly shook her head.

“Thanks to Emma, it is.”

“And Liam.” The brunette coughed under her breath. Penelope shot her a look and she giggled.

“Who?” Penelope opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off.

“A guy friend she has.” There was a mixture of ‘ooo’s and gasps among the room and Penelope felt her face start to warm.

“Boyfriend.” The niece chirped in. While Emma laughed along thinking it was all just fun, Penelope’s jaw tensed. Thankfully it went unnoticed.

“Really?” Emma’s mother spoke excitedly.

“Nah, we’re just messing with her. But she does have a friend she’s been hanging out with.” Emma died down the situation, noticing her friend’s discomfort. They mingled into the later night, indulging themselves in a glass or two of champagne after having cake and Emma’s father opening his presents. Penelope stepped out into their backyard once things had grown more rowdy. She took a deep breath and closed her eye to calm her increasing heart rate when she heard the door slide open from behind her. She turned to see their niece’s husband step out to join her.

“Needed a break?”

“Yeah.” Penelope mumbled, looking back out to the fenced in yard, rubbing her right shoulder.

“I feel ya.” He chuckled as he pushed his hands into his pants pockets. “This ’guy friend’. You like him?” Penelope began to chew on her cheek.

“As a friend, yeah.” He nodded.

“You trust him?”

“With my life.” She examined the man stood beside her. “Why?”

“Gotham’s why.” It wasn’t until then that he looked at her. He noticed the look she was giving him and sighed. “It’s good to have someone you trust in a city like this. Someone to protect you.”

“Give me a gun and I’ll protect myself.” She quirked her brow at him.

“I’m not just talking about physically -“ The door slid open again and his wife peeked her head out.

“Babe, we should get going.” The addressed man nodded and gave Penelope one last look before heading inside. She sent Penelope her signature glare before closing the door once more.

The Scarred - Chapter 4

Masterlist

Summary - Penelope Miller works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by trauma and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

The vase fell from her hands, the shattering glass echoing through the hall. Penelope’s mind and body grew petrified as she stared at the card sitting in the mess of glass, water and flowers. She fell back against her door frame, her breathing sharp and fast as she began to hyperventilate. She gripped onto the front of her bra to pull it away from her chest, looking for any kind of relief, any way to find space for her to breathe properly. Yet it did nothing. She knew she was making a scene, and she wanted so badly to hide away in her apartment.

But what about the mess? She asked herself amidst the chaos. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the ambience around her.

“’Scuse me -?” Penelope shot straight up, eye frantically darting towards the new voice. A tall, average built man stood before her, hands held out in front of him as an offering of peace. “Apologies, I didn’ mean to alarm ye. Are ye alrigh’?” His bright eyes held a gentleness in them, the same as his voice. It was soothing in a way she had never before experienced. It was hardly able to calm her, however, in her panicked state. “Righ’, dumb question…” He mumbled to himself, glancing between Penelope and her welcome mat. “I’ll clean this up righ’ quick fer ye, tha’ alrigh’?” She gave the smallest nod, letting go of her bra to wipe the tears from her face as he disappeared.

She closed her eye, grounding in an attempt to compose herself. Never had she broken down in front of a stranger. And never had she felt more humiliated by it. She hated coming across as weak and vulnerable, and she felt as if she was both in that moment.

Her eye snapped back open when she heard the sound of a plastic bag, eyeing the man warily as he walked back to start picking up the glass shards. He noticed how her breathing had only slightly improved, but it was progress.

“Why are you helping me?” The sound of her voice caught him off guard as he continued picking up the pieces.

“Juss doin’ my duty.”

“In Gotham?” The man sighed and looked up at her from where he was crouched on the floor.

“‘Ard as it is to believe, miss, not erryone in this city is a crook.” It wasn’t until then that she noticed his thick accent. It was a surprise to her, however one she greatly accepted. She felt childish for it, but she was excited as it was her first time meeting someone with one. “Ye wann’ keep this?” He asked, holding the Joker card between his index and middle fingers. She hesitated before reaching to grab it. “Now, I’m not all tha’ superstitious,” He stood up with a huff. “But if tha’ is a genuine Joker card, I’d watch out if I were ye. Yer either really lucky, er ‘bout to be really dead.” He noticed the growing fright in her eyes. “Or! Some guy is juss actin’ the maggot and playin’ wit’ ye.”

“People are scared enough to impersonate Batman, I don’t think they’d dare to impersonate The Joker himself. Seems like he gets more bold by the day for a nobody, anyhow.”

“Then pray yer juss really lucky. He’s gainin’ reputation rather quick, if I do say so meself.” He spoke in a softer tone. He began to tie the bag as she continued to carefully watch him. “I don’t believe I’ve caught yer name yet?”

“Penelope.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “Miller.”

“Penelope?” The name left his lips in curiosity. “Tha’s a new one.” Her eye shifted to the ground. “Bu’ it’s refreshin’.” The man offered her a friendly smile, but her expression remained constant. “Liam Garson. Juss moved in couple a doors down.” He pointed off to his left.

“Why?” He threw her a confused look. “I mean, why Gotham?”

“Oh!” Liam chuckled. “Well, why not? Barely any restrictions with the mob and cops runnin’ ‘round lie’ chickens wit’ their ’eds cut off. Sure, muggers an’ the lie’ crawl abou’, but tha’s the price ye pay fer freedom, righ’?” He contained himself from beaming when she gave the ghost of a smile.

“Well, I see where your morals lie, Mr. Garson.”

“Liam.” He jested. “An’ I may lack some, but I’m better off than over ‘alf the boyos ‘ere.”

“’Boyos’?” Penelope gave a small chuckle.

“Males, juveniles, youngins.” She nodded in understanding. “Well, I’ll let ye be. Juss wanted to check on ye and make sure ye were alrigh’.” He started to back away. “If ye need anythin’, I’m in 329.” With a final salute, he disappeared into his own apartment. Penelope slowly turned around to head into her own, closing her door softly.

She looked down at the card caught in her nimble fingers. She couldn’t help the jolt that rushed through her body when she realized that if it was his card, he knew where she was. He knew who she was. She was somebody to him and she wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or terrified. It made her start to question her own morals. Any other person wouldn’t even think to be flattered, so why would she?

He was a murderer, a psychopath. And yet she had half a mind to consider being flattered.

Really lucky or really dead.

Why would she be dead? Had she angered someone without her knowing?

She froze.

“The boss.” She whispered to herself in realization. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. The bald man had to be working for The Joker. Which meant he knew where she worked.

How much else did he know? Who all knew? How many people were following her?

Question after question ran through her head and it was almost unbearable. She didn’t know what she even did to be on his radar in the first place.

“- patrolling the streets trying to trace his whereabouts for the time being, but so far -“ The news anchor’s voice hummed softly from her TV and she practically ran over to it, snatching the remote from the coffee table to turn up the volume.

“Well, John, I think it’s safe to say that The Joker’s slow uprising is truly fascinating for the people of Gotham. Not only in the sense that he is beginning to make a name for himself, but it gives the chance for other criminals to wreak havoc on the city knowing that Batman could possibly be busy with him if things start to get out of hand, more than usual for what the mob calls a ‘nobody’.” The woman on the other line spoke. Penelope scoffed at her words.

“Way to give them ideas.” She mumbled to herself with a wide eye.

“Let’s just hope that Batman is able to do what he does best, and fast. Cause -“ Penelope switched the TV off, having heard enough of it.

It upset her that the city was putting their faith in a masked man, that none of them had the nerve to do something themselves. That they couldn’t even rely on their own first responders. That she couldn’t rely on first responders.

She began to peel off her bandages, dragging her feet towards her bathroom. So much had happened in only a week and it all started to catch up to her, her head starting to pound from it all.

The note. The glass. The bald man offering her a large sum of money for just a vase of flowers, that he possibly worked for The Joker, finding out The Joker had been tracking her for who knows how long.

Penelope reached into her medicine cabinet for pain killers, deciding on taking two with a glass of water. Finally she laid down on her bed, snuggling up to her fuzzy blanket with her eye closed in an attempt to fall asleep. She briefly thought about telling Emma, but if she truly was dealing with The Joker, she wanted her involved as little as possible.

For her safety. She thought to herself in reassurance before sleep took over.

The sounds of rushing water and seagulls filled the air around her, the occasional pair of footsteps passing by that she grew wary of from time to time. The sun began to disappear in the horizon, painting the sky with breathtaking shades of pink and orange on the rare cloudless evening. Music played softly from her phone that sat on one side of her, her dinner left half eaten on the other. Her legs dangled over the ledge as she watched from the pier. It was almost tradition on warmer nights, as it was a rarity. It would’ve been perfect if it wasn’t for the littered concrete and occasional plastic bag that floated by as a reminder of where she was.

Along with the gun that clicked from behind her.

“I’d say just jump and save me the work, but then I wouldn’t get your money.” A gruff voice spoke. She didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare turn her head or flinch a finger. Her heart rate picked up, stomach churning. “Well?” The man urged, losing patience.

“I don’t have any.”

“How’d you get that nice dinner, then, huh?”

“Been saving up for it.” A lie. The man just chuckled.

“Alright. How about you get off of there, put your hands up, and then face me. Slow.”

“I only have one hand.”

“So, raise your one hand, then.” Penelope awkwardly turned around on the ledge.

“Alrigh’, enough talkin’.“ The man halted, red quickly seeping through his jacket. She watched in horror as he collapsed.

Penelope looked up to see the man who had helped her the day before. He walked around the mugger towards her, switchblade in hand. When he saw her flinch he slowed his pace, tucking away the weapon to make her more comfortable.

“Y - you just -“ She spoke frantically, pointing towards the now dead body with a shaky hand.

“Killed a man?” She nodded quickly. He tilted his head dismissively. “Aye. The bastard ‘ad it comin’.” She shied away from him as he took a seat next to her, arm folded in front of her. “Relax, miss. I juss saved yer life, did I not?” He looked over at her to see her chewing on her cheek.

“Why?”

“Why what? Why did I do it -?”

“Yes.”

“Why not?” The man shrugged. “Was either he killed you or I killed ‘im, an’ I wouldn’t dare let such a beautiful woman go to waste lie’ tha’.” Penelope scrunched her nose and scoffed.

“Beautiful woman…” She mumbled to herself. “If you think I’m easily won over by flattery, you’re wrong.”

“With all due respect, miss, I wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout fer meself.” The brunette noticed her eye take on a more gentle stare. He sighed, scratching at his beard.

“Why’re you here?” She asked, rubbing her left arm.

“I could ask ye the same question.” Penelope looked at him quizzically.

“Dinner.” Liam nodded.

“Was on a walk. ‘Eard the ruckus. Came to see what was ‘appenin’.”

“That’s quite a coincidence.”

“Aye. It sure is. A damn good one, if I do say so meself.” Silence fell between the two of them, however it was peaceful. Penelope quite enjoyed it. “If ye don’t mind me askin’,” Liam broke in. “What do ye plan on doin’ wit’ this Joker business? Assumin’ it’s not too late already. I mean, ‘ave ye told anybody?” She shook her head, focusing on her breathing.

“I haven’t.” Penelope swallowed as Liam raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Ye ‘aven’t? Well, why not? Not even the cops?”

“What’ll they do?” She finally looked up at him. “What will they do? You’re the one that was saying yesterday that they’re all ‘running around like chickens with their heads cut off’.“ She began to rant, everything starting to catch up to her. Her eye began to glisten as it watered over. “And if they can’t help me, who can? Certainly not Batman!“ She spit the masked man’s name with venom. “They're all bought out by the mob, anyways! Why the hell would they care to keep The Joker from coming for just a single person, from coming for me -!”

“Miss!” Liam held onto her shoulders, keeping her steady. In a moment of desperation, she clung to him, and once again she caught him off guard as she started to break down for the second time. He began to gently stroke her back, letting her take in the silence to collect herself.

A van sat in the distance, tinted windows making it impossible to see through. It was cracked enough for him to see who was in it and he made eye contact with a pair of almost pure black eyes, giving them a faint nod.

The Scarred - Chapter 3

Masterlist

Summary - Penelope Miller works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by trauma and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

“The hell is happening?” Penelope whispered to herself as she stared with a wide eye. She carded her hand through her hair, unsure of what to do, what to think. Whoever was behind this, they were patient and calculative. It frightened her. It frightened her and yet she hadn’t even met the person. That was the most unnerving part about it all.

Her hand moved to pick up the larger shards to throw away, then to grab the broom and sweep the rest. She scrambled to look through every hatch, every door, cabinet and closet for anything that might have been left behind. Yet there was nothing. Once more, the only sign that someone had been there was the face that had been cleared already. There was no lingering smell, not even a hair. Not a single spec of dust out of place.

“Okay,” She muttered. “Okay - okay.” Her mouth rambled on as she carried out her night routine, heart pounding faster than she would have appreciated as she tried to relax under the warm stream of water. Her feet padded against the cold tile as she tended to her formulating scars, pacing the small room before throwing on her pajamas. She raced to her coat, fumbling through the pockets for her phone and shuffled through her contacts. The coldness of it rested against her ear as she chewed on her cheek, wiggling the fingers of her hand absentmindedly.

“Penny?” The familiar voice made her perk up. “What’s up?”

“I just needed someone to talk to…” The woman practically whispered. She made her way to lay on her bed, listening attentively to the shuffling in the background over the phone.

“Oh, ’course, hun,” Emma had an underlying tone of understanding in her voice. “Did everything hold up okay at the shop?” Penelope thought back to the bald man.

“Yeah - everything went fine. Sold three vases.” She started fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

“Three? That’s amazing!”

The voices echoed in the auditorium, the petite woman messing with the tassel that hung from her head. Everyone migrated to their families after having all walked the stage, visiting friends from time to time to say their goodbyes or reminisce in their memories. The woman searched for a familiar brunette bun.

“Penny!” She turned to face the voice, but was soon met with engorging flames. They towered over them all, everyone screaming and scattering in a panic. “Penny!” The voice screeched again, but no matter how many times she spun around and searched, she couldn’t find them. She started sweating profusely, both from the heat and stress of it all. Flames licked her skin, almost teasing it before it grew volatile.

Penelope’s eye snapped open, breathing heavily. Her hair stuck to her skin from the cold sweat she was left in. She laid there for a moment or two, collecting herself as best as she could. She imagined wind humming through her window, birds chirping as the sun’s first rays peaked through the clouds. She closed her eye again, imagining a bird.

What kind of bird it was, what it was doing. Perhaps it was a Swallow? It’s boring, brown feathers smooth as they glided and fluttered. The curious black eyes that fidgeted as it cocked and turned its head.

She took deep breaths, opening her eye once more to sit herself up on the edge of her twin bed. She stared at the soft carpet below her, loathing herself for waking up at such an ungodly hour. The faintest shade of blue colored sky if she were to squint. Penelope then stood, stumbling over to her dresser to change out of her now drenched sleepwear. She thought about taking a quick heat dump to cool her off, but the amount of energy it took for her to get in the shower right now made her shudder, so she settled with splashing cold water on her face instead.

She trudged into the living room to her box TV, turning it on and having the low noise of the news play in the background as she migrated to the kitchen. She decided to simply pop an egg sandwich from the freezer into the microwave, pouring herself a glass of milk to go along with it. She bounced when she plopped onto the couch, pulling the lap blanket from the top of it to wrap herself up in. Her eye stared at the screen with a bored expression, heavy as she watched.

With how consistent the news was it was a wonder to her how it was never a rerun. The same news anchor, the same monotone voice with the same type of news. A new murder case, Bruce Wayne’s next trip to an extravagant venue, cloudy skies with an expected drizzle all week. None of it came as a surprise to her anymore.

Crime rates continued to slowly increase ever since The Joker showed up. Penelope would be lying, however, if she said she wasn’t intrigued. From what she had seen on the news and heard from around the city, he was a very finicky person. He seemed so clumsy and careless, yet was always the one in control. No one could ever predict what he would do next, keeping everyone on their toes at all times.

She somewhat felt bad for the first responders who seemed to just be ragdolled from one end of the city to the other or thrown into frequent traps when he was out and about. She couldn’t deny that the thought of it made her snicker, wondering how they hadn’t learned their lesson the first few times. It was all a joke.

A vibration sounded from her phone and she looked to where it buzzed on the coffee table, the green icon showing that she had received a message. She reached over and picked it up, flipping it open in curiosity.

I’m stopping by Gotham Coffee. Want anything?

Emma. Penelope smiled at her phone, fingers moving to reply when another buzz went off. An unknown number, and what was sent was the number twelve. That was all she needed to know who it was.

The two women sat at the counter, sipping casually from their now cold coffee cups as they made small talk. Emma noticed how tense Penelope had seemed when she first entered the shop, what with her stiff posture and gaze cast down on the floor more so than usual, so it was a relief to see her smile a little more the longer they talked. They had just finished with one of their many giggle fits when the bell of the shop went off, cutting it short. Their heads snapped to the front and Penelope’s stomach dropped, mouth suddenly dry.

Once again, the light of the shop reflected off of the bald man’s head as his eyes focused on her own. With every step he took she felt as if she just shrunk smaller and smaller. It wasn’t until he stood directly in front of them that she shot up from her seat, scrambling into the back room to grab the vase she previously prepared. Her multitude of tiny footsteps echoed from the back as Emma and the man practically held a staring contest, the latter holding a sickly sweet smile. When Penelope emerged from the back room with the vase her arm shakily handed it to him, sucking on her bottom lip anxiously. With how rough he seemed, the gentleness with which he handled the vase amused her. But she wouldn’t dare show it. Emma looked over at Penelope as soon as he left.

“Was he one of the three vases?” She quipped, quirking an eyebrow. Penelope took a deep breath in, then casted her a sheepish smile.

“Four.” Emma stood to throw away their coffee cups. “He paid yesterday. Said he was picking it up at noon today.”

“How much?” Penelope’s mouth started to water, mouth faltering as she tried to form a response.

“Just twenty-five.” Emma, always having been good at reading people, knew she was being lied to, but for her friend’s sake decided not to push. She knew that if Penelope ever held something back, she did so for good reason. She just chuckled.

“How was it when he ordered it?” Her voice took on an amused tone. “‘Begonia and baby’s breath, please’.” She mocked the man, driving the two of them back into a giggling fit. They wasted the day away talking, trying to busy themselves one way or another until the end of the day. The last hour was the hardest. In silence they sat and watched the grandfather clock tucked away in a corner. Yet it only worsened their predicament.

Fridays had always been slower than any other day, and it was on Fridays that they truly realized that time was never on their side.

When they had fun, it flew by. When they wanted something to just be over with, it dragged on. It was cruel. Time was cruel. Life was cruel.

Penelope knew these things. So when the clock sounded at the hour they were out the front door, Emma locking up the shop and tossing Penelope a smile. They gave each other their ‘goodbye’s and ‘have a good weekend’s and made their way back to their respective homes. The city was in chaos, full of eager citizens who all wanted the same thing as Emma and Penelope. Some had already made their ways into their local bars, choosing to drown out their lives or celebrate simply because they made it through another week.

As for Penelope, she sat on the edge of her open windowsill and watched. A cigarette balanced between her lips as she struck a match and lit the end of it, shaking it out as she breathed in the all-needed nicotine. Her weekly treat. One she decided to keep to herself. She rested her head on the wall beside her, the buzz starting to get to her after a significantly larger inhale. She stared out at the scenery in wonder, mind finding its first moment of peace since the last time she had a smoke.

A sudden knocking on her door jolted her from her spot, the stick nearly falling from her mouth. She quickly put it out in the ashtray next to her and climbed down to close her window, bare feet skittering across the floor. She stood on her tip-toes to look through the peep-hole, yet no one stood at the door.

She unlatched it and opened it cautiously, peeking through until something caught her eye. She opened the door a bit wider to see a familiar vase sat on top of her welcome mat. Her vase. She noticed something dangling off to the side and delicately picked up the flowers to see what it was, and what she saw made her heart make its way to her throat. A playing card.

A Joker card dangled from the vase.

The Scarred - Chapter 2

Masterlist

Summary - Penelope Miller works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by trauma and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

The note was all she could think about the next morning. Her pen tapped on the table relentlessly, the blank page of her journal sitting next to her now soggy cereal.

How did they even get inside? Who was it? Did they go through her belongings?

If they had, they must’ve paid close attention to detail as everything had still been exactly as she had left it. The locks on her door and windows were left undamaged, nothing was broken. The only sign that someone had been in there in the first place was the note. How long could they have been invading her space if all it took was a note to be noticed? The amount of questions that rambled through her head, the amount of ‘unknowns’ and ‘what if’s’ made her increasingly uncomfortable. Not to mention, the message itself had its own essay of questions. She couldn’t even tell if it was heartfelt or sarcastic.

Don’t forget to smile.

The walk to work wasn’t any different from all of the other days. The same bitter air, the same dark skies, passing the same people, wearing the same coat. Everything had a routine, and she enjoyed it. She took pride in keeping the same routine for long periods of time. The door chimed once again as she stepped into the shop, Emma already inside getting things ready as always.

“Good morning!” The woman sang. Penelope just gave a tight smile, wondering to herself how someone could be so energetic that early in the morning.

After Penelope set down her bag she wandered about the room, touching up some vases and pots here and there while her friend worked in the back room. After fixing the last vase she did a slow spin around, a final look to see if she missed anything before heading over to her spot behind the counter. She flipped her journal open, rubbing her left stump as she stared at the page for a minute or so until the scratching on the page started.

“You keep biting your cheek like that, you won’t have one to bite on.” Emma’s voice piped up. She watched as Penelope suddenly stopped, almost as if she was a child getting caught doing something they knew they shouldn't be doing. Emma just giggled at her and rubbed her shoulder, then made her way over to the door to flip the shop’s sign to ‘open’.

As Penelope watched her she thought back to the night before. Her dinner that was left forgotten. The bowl that was still left shattered on the floor.

The note.

She had thought about telling Emma, but what good would that do her? She would either brush it off or overreact, neither of which she appreciated. But there was never a happy middle when it came to Emma. She learned that the hard way when a customer started making crude comments towards Penelope. It was safe to say he wouldn’t be coming back any time soon, if at all.

“Penny?” Her eye snapped up from her journal to the woman. “Di’ja hear what I said?” The woman in question simply shook her head. Emma sighed with a smile. “I have an appointment after lunch an’ I’m not sure how long it’ll take. I’ll need you to hold down the fort while I’m out, okay?” Penelope was about to start chewing on her cheek again, but quickly caught herself and resorted to a short nod. Emma could sense her underlying worry and walked over to her, softly resting her hand over hers. “It’ll be fine, I’m sure.” Her footsteps creaked along the old wood flooring as she disappeared to the back room again. Penelope grew doubtful of her words, eyebrows knitting together as she finally succumbed to chewing on her cheek once more.

The day seemed to go by slower than the pace of a turtle, to her misfortune. It only left more time for her brood. More time for her to dread the inevitable. Her pen rapped against the wood of the countertop, and thankfully Emma was a patient person. Any other would have snapped at her by now. She heard the jingle of the woman’s keys and felt her stomach drop, taking a slow, deep breath to calm herself, yet in vain. Her heart skipped a beat as her nerves grew stronger.

“I’m off, Penny. If you need me just give me a call,” The brunette gave her a side hug and kissed the top of her head. “You got this, hun.” She whispered and gave her a reassuring smile. She looked back at her as she reached the front door and Penelope offered a wavering smile, accompanied by the smallest wave of her hand.

“Bye.” The woman spoke softly as she watched Emma leave the shop. She didn’t know what to do, so she just sat there. Hunched over with her hand laying loosely on her lap. Her hand reached to rub her shoulder and she stood up, walking to the back room. Rarely did she ever. It wasn’t her first time managing the shop on her own. She was quite capable, really. She just preferred to have Emma there as a form of comfort should something happen.

Shelves lined the slightly larger room, pots and vases of various flowers laid upon them that were lit up by artificial lighting. She weaved through the rows of flowers, stopping to smell one every now and then when she grew curious. One that had caught her eye, however, was a vase of daffodils.

No matter how yellow, how vibrant they seemed, she seemed to believe there was a sadness. With their slightly downturned petals and simple stemming, it was a flower that was too often looked over. She thought for a moment, staring at the slim vase in question. Her hand then reached up to wrap around its neck, cradling it to her chest and she made her way back to the front.

“Oh!” The woman jumped, just barely catching herself from dropping the vase.

A man stood in the center of the shop, looking around casually as if her frightened stature was normal to him. He was of a larger build, dawned in a leather jacket and jeans. The light of the shop reflected off of his bald head, scruff moving with his lips.

“I - I apologize, I couldn’t hear the bell from the back.” Her voice faintly trembled as she gently set down the vase next to her journal. He remained silent, his eyes a fierce shade of green as they connected with her own. “Um -” Her eye darted around the room before gathering the courage to meet his again. He started taking slow steps towards her as she spoke. “Are you wanting to browse or is there something in particular that you’re looking for?”

“I have a personal order I’d like to place.” He spoke suddenly with a harsh tone.

“Well -” She blinked quickly as he cut her off.

“From the boss.” Her eye was wide, glazed over in fear.

“The bo -?”

“He wants a vase of begonia and baby’s breath,” The man cringed while he said the names. “By noon tomorrow. That’s when I’ll pick it up,” He threw a stack of cash in front of her, worth at least a thousand. He turned to make his way out of the small room, but not before calling over his shoulder. “For your sake, I suggest you make it happen.”

“My sake?” She muttered to herself after the door shut, her voice a higher pitch than usual. Her breathing quickened and her eye darted about the space around her, then she scrambled to the back room to prepare the vase.

Her keys shuffled to unlock her door, her teeth gnawing at the soft scabs already covering the inside of her cheek. She swung the door shut harder than she had meant to, throwing her coat and shoes off as she scrambled about the room anxiously. She had already started peeling the bandages from her face by the time she reached her bedroom. Then she stopped.

Penelope’s hand fell down to her side when the realization hit her. She inched herself out of her bedroom, time moving slower by the second. Her feet dragged her to the freshly scratched paint, eye ever so slowly making its way to the floor. The glass was still there, but instead of the scattered shards that had been, they were neatly placed to form a face that menacingly smiled at her.