Umbral - Masterlist

*all rights belong to their original owners

Darling (Otto Octavius x Fem!Reader)

Smut

Summary: One of Otto Octavius’ students convinces him to let her help with a small experiment, but it doesn’t go according to plan.

Word Count: 2258

Warnings: SMUT (minors DNI, 18+ only!), grinding (mild), oral (fem rec), PinV

*this is not my GIF*

“Like this?” You asked cautiously with a low voice, careful not to make any sudden movements. After weeks, maybe even months of asking Dr. Octavius if you could assist him with one of his experiments, he finally caved. The two of you now stood in his lab, the sun having set as rain lightly padded against the ceiling.

He hummed in response as he hovered over your form that stood in front of the taller table, hunched over a microscope to watch the micro chemical reaction unfold with barely contained excitement.

You had been a student of his when he still taught at the university, practically the ‘teacher’s pet’ of the class, but with a more subtle twist. Science had always been an intriguing subject for you growing up so, naturally, you paid attention to every detail during his classes, asked questions, stayed after to clarify notes if need be. While you did indeed have a genuine interest, you couldn’t deny the fact that he wasn’t a bad looking man, to say the least.

That’s how it started, rather.

Over your years in college, what you thought was a small crush had turned into a much bigger problem for you than you had hoped. The way his hand would brush your lower back from time to time, how he’d hold your gaze for longer than what was necessary, lingering touches that seemed misplaced for the moment. It all seemed innocent, unintentional. Yet a part of you still wondered. What was worse was that you couldn’t tell if it was love or just an obsession like everyone else had told you. To be completely honest, you were scared to find out. And yet you couldn't help but dig a little further every chance you had, looking for everything you didn’t want to find.

By the time you graduated, you found your answer. The unmistakable heartache of possibly never seeing or meeting with him again was a dead giveaway. The way you stood in front of each other with your eyes glazed over while everyone else greeted their families. It had been a bittersweet moment for both of you. While he was proud of the woman you had become, watching you grow as a person over the years, he was also upset knowing he wouldn’t have any more classes with you.

However, once he told you about the lab he worked in close by, he noticed the way your eyes lit up and it filled him with a small warmth in his chest. You began visiting him at least once a month, then twice, then once a week. All while asking him, or rather begging, if you could help with an experiment of his. And today you were finally victorious.

As you carefully watched the reaction through the lens of the telescope you felt a hand rest itself on your far shoulder, the heat of it burning through the fabric of your shirt. You felt a certain warmth begin to creep up your neck as you began to lose focus on the experiment, palms growing sweaty. With a feeling of hypersensitivity you were all too aware of the hand creeping down your arm in a manner so gentle that you began to question if he was really touching you.

His breath fanned at your neck as his torso began lightly pressing into your back, the softness of it only adding to the heat of your face. His hand sneakily slipped from your arm to your waist and it was then that you completely lost all focus on the reaction. Sensing that you had started to catch on he tilted his head so his nose brushed against your neck, his other hand moving to rest on the other side of your waist.

With a shaky breath you moved to straighten your back out, an ache beginning to set in with being hunched over for so long. The action didn’t go unnoticed, the hands on your waist moving up just slightly to guide you to stand up further until your entire backside was pressed against him. His left hand inched its way down to the front of your hip, the other snaking its way up to your jaw, coaxing you to turn your head towards him.

As your eyes met with his you noticed his usual chocolate brown irises take on an almost onyx shade, hooded with an uncharacteristic longing. You began to grow lightheaded the longer you stared, following his hand that drew you closer to him as if you were starving.

And in a way, you were.

Your eyes fluttered shut as your lips connected, still for a moment before slow movements began. As the two of you lost yourselves in the long-awaited kiss you made a move to turn towards him, but the hand on your hip restrained you from doing so, in turn giving friction to the growing bulge in his trousers. He let out a light exhale at the contact, the kiss growing more heated as your own need began to form itself, pulsating in your lower abdomen.

“Doctor?” You breathed out, his tongue gliding along your lip before finding its way to your own. He hummed in response, losing himself in your everything as his hands began to wander, your own grasping at the hair on the back of his head. “Doctor?” You sighed once more when the tip of his finger brushed over your throbbing clit through the fabric of your pants.

His eyes snapped open, pulling away from your face with a start as if he had just woken up. His eyes flitted between yours, face flushed and eyes blown wide with what seemed to be fear.

“I -“ He stuttered out. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t - I don’t know what -“ He paused to gather himself.

“What?” You whispered, hand cupping his jaw and your eyes looking from his lips to his own eyes.

“I don’t know what came over me.” He breathed out in disbelief, disgusted with himself as he took a step away from you. “I’m so sorry, darling, I didn’t mean to force myself on you, I just -“ He began, but soon lost himself once more when he saw the look you were giving him. The sight of you alone made him speechless, your beauty unmatched, driving him mad as you slowly made your way closer to him.

“Doctor Octavius.” He carefully watched you, about to question you when you shook your head with parted lips. Your hands found the back of his head again, bringing him down to kiss you once more. It was different than the first kiss, filled with more lust and need than you had ever felt.

He took a moment to process what was happening, then as he began to warm up to it his hands found their way to your hips to pull you impossibly closer. The pace grew faster, motions becoming more and more desperate with each passing second as years of built up pining came crashing down in that moment.

“Doctor?”

“Otto.” The man corrected. He moved from your mouth to your jaw, dragging his teeth to graze them on your earlobe.

“Otto,” You breathed out at the sensation. “Please.” You begged, his hand running along your thigh as you brought it up around his waist.

“That’s it.” He praised as he rubbed his bulge against your aching core, the both of you releasing a shaky breath at the sensation. You continued rolling your hips against him as his hands snuck under your shirt to cup your breasts. His lips assaulted your neck as he squeezed, then reached back to unclip your bra, pulling both it and your shirt off.

“Otto -“ You gasped as his mouth latched onto one of your hardened nipples, running his thumb over the other before the hand moved down further. The tickle it left behind caused you to shiver, Otto smirking at the feeling of it as he got down onto his knees.

“Are you sure about this, darling?” He asked breathlessly, looking up at you as his hands came to rest at the waistline of your pants, toying with the fabric. All you could do was nod in the moment, caressing his hair with an adoring gaze. ”I need you to say it, sweetheart.” He urged, bringing his face closer to your stomach without breaking eye contact. He then closed his eyes as he placed a loving kiss on your stomach, then another, the softness of his lips lingering.

“Yes.” You practically whined, his teeth scraping at your skin with the answer. “Yes, Otto.”

“Perfect.” He whispered, undoing your pants and pulling them down for you to step out of them, kissing further down to your pelvis in the process. He gave the same treatment to your panties, resting one of your legs over his shoulder as he caressed and kissed your thighs. You sighed when his breath lingered over where you needed him most, but it soon turned into a louder moan when he gave your clit a kitten lick, followed by his tongue giving a long lick up your soaking slit before diving in.

You threw your head back as a string of moans and slurred words fell from your lips, his groans only adding to the sensation when you gripped tighter onto his hair. The thick muscle felt cooler against you as it swirled, sinking in and out as his nose brushed against your clit.

Your hand quickly moved from his head to his shoulder, using him for stability when a finger was added into the mix, his mouth now focusing purely on your throbbing nub. Your whole body pulsated at the sensation of him, feeling him add another finger to curl them inside of you against your g-spot, a higher pitched moan alerting him of it.

Your thighs began to tremble and shake against him, his hand holding down the leg on his shoulder by your hip in an almost bruising hold as his motions grew faster. You felt your core and clit begin to throb more violently, warning you of your oncoming orgasm as you grew breathless with your panting.

“Fuck - Otto!” His eyes flicked up to you, taking in your fucked-out expression as your hips ground against him in search of your release.

“Come on.” He breathed against you. “Come on, sweetheart, cum for me.” He growled, sending you over the edge as you cried out, your grip becoming loose as you lost control, relishing in the feeling. Otto pulled away as you slowly came down from your high, standing up to keep you steady and planted sloppy kisses along your collarbone, working his way up your neck and to your lips.

Once you finally came to you made quick work of his sweater, Otto backing you into the closest wall as he ran his hands along anywhere and everywhere on your body. As you undid his belt and fly he took his time memorizing every part of your body, every blemish and impurity that you hated being cherished by him in that very moment.

He felt an overwhelming emotion as he gazed at you, chests pressed against each other and the tip of his cock brushing against your cunt. As he rocked his hips to grind against your opening he gave you a particularly sensual kiss, hands buried in your hair as you breathed against him.

“I love you.” He blurted, bringing your legs up to wrap around his larger waist. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, Otto -!” You moaned out his name as he thrusted in as you spoke, the two of you resting for a moment in disbelief. You nodded at him as you stared at each other longingly, his face glowing with a smile before it twisted into pleasure as he pulled out, only to bottom out as he pushed back in. You both moaned at the feeling of it, his pace gradually picking up speed. He then buried his face in your neck, breathing in your scent as he kissed and bit at it.

You let out a particularly loud moan when he angled his hips, hitting your now over-sensitive sweet spot. Your bodies rocked in rhythm, breathing quickened, moans turning into pants as you felt your high approaching for the second time that night.

“Otto -“ Your eyes rolled back at a particularly deep thrust, nails scratching at his back causing him to let out a longer groan. “Otto, I’m close -“

“Yes, yes, I know.” He panted, hands gripping desperately at your hips. “I know, darling. You’re doing so good.” His head lifted to meet your gaze, your eyebrows pinched in pleasure as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. It was in that intense moment of eye contact that you lost it, convulsing beneath him as your orgasm hit harder than before, mixed with the feeling of his own release filling you as he moaned.

You both stayed there for a few more minutes, tangled in each other, afraid to let go. You held each other close, taking in as much of the other person as possible. Otto then pulled out of you and gently set you back on the floor, hands on your waist in case you lost your balance. When he met your eyes he found you already gazing at him in wonder, in love.

“Did you mean it?” You whispered, afraid to break the moment. He gave a gentle smile, leaning in to give you a soft kiss.

“Of course I did.”

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.

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.

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 👏🏻

Serenity - Chapter 6

Masterlist

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

As days passed along Mary's work began to pay off, her project progressing gracefully. But it wasn't until it was finished that she was able to truly see the beauty of it. It didn't look exactly how she sketched and imagined it as she made improvisations along the way, but it surpassed her expectations by far. It almost had her dress beat, and that was something she never would've thought could happen.

As she gazed at her work through her small candlelight she heard a tap on the doors of the shop, whipping her head around to see who it was. It was in vain, however, as the dark of the night cloaked whatever it was. She set down the candle and quietly stepped over to the doors, carefully opening one and peeking out. Over to the left? Nothing. Over to the right -

"Reuben!" She exclaimed in a whisper with excitement. She took a closer look around the plaza before stepping outside completely, leaving the door ajar behind her. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me." She teased through a rush of courage the recently completed assignment gave her. He offered a mischievous smile in return.

"How could I ever forget the so-lovely seamstress of Vulgaria?" He flattered with a small bow and the wave of his hand. Mary's cheeks warmed and she bashfully turned away, something he relished in. "How is it coming along?" He watched as she faced him again with a deepening smile, motioning for him to follow her into the shop. Looking back at him she placed a finger over her lips to signal for him to keep quiet, then leading him towards the back of the shop where the mannequin sat.

His eyes widened, mouth agape as he caught sight of the coat. Even under the dim light it was a sight to behold. Sure, it was just another one of his disguises, but he knew full well he could never toss such a thing. The attention to detail, careful stitching. None of the workers at the castle could provide anything that articulate. And Mary eagerly watched his every expression, proud to be able to pull such a reaction from the fearsome Child Catcher.

"There's still loose strands and bits that need to be touched up, but other than that it's finished." She carefully pulled the coat off of the mannequin and handed it to him, watching as he slid it on with a smirk. He held his arms out at his sides in a silent question with a cock of his head. Mary slowly eyed him up and down, then met his eyes with a nod. However, she stepped closer and reached up to remove his hat.

"I have an idea." She stated simply and turned to set it on the table.

She grabbed some ribbon and loose pieces of leftover fabric, tying and twisting and knotting with her back to him. He furrowed his brow in curiosity until she turned around. The ribbon had been tied around his hat, the front decorated with a small bundle of flowers to complement the coat. She replaced the hat atop his head and stood back with a child-like smile.

"It's not much, but it sure does bring it all together." Reuben looked around, finding a standing mirror in a nearby corner. He made his way over and began twisting and turning, testing it out with some fluid motions he liked to use. "I tried my best to keep it lightweight for you."

"Well, it certainly is."

"How does it look?" Mary stood next to him, gazing at him through the mirror.

"Fit for a candy man." He watched as Mary suddenly tensed, about to question her when he heard a creak sound from upstairs. They stood still as a statue, waiting for another noise. Just as they thought they were in the clear another creak sounded and Mary's eyes began to glaze over in fear.

"Reuben?" They looked at each other and he noticed her jump at another creak before she began nudging him to the doors of the shop, rushing themselves outside.

As the door shut behind them Mary moved outside the view of the window and leaned against the wall. Reuben, having already taken off the coat, folded it neatly to rest over his arm as Mary took his hat once more to untie the ribbon, laying the same way.

"Just tie that around whenever you need to use it," She spoke hurriedly, glancing behind her every few seconds. "I'm sorry, but he - he can't know, Reuben, he just can't -" A gloved hand rested lightly over her mouth.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me." He, too, glanced behind her. "Go back inside before he sees." Mary nodded, whispering a quiet 'okay' to herself and casting him one last look before entering.

Just as the door shut Mary's father began stepping down into the shop. She began snipping at some nearby fabric to make it seem like she was busy while her father eyed her with a squint.

"What do you think you're doin'?" Mary stopped, keeping her head down as he creeped closer to where she was. She could feel his breath on her neck as his body heat radiated behind her. Nausea began setting in, bile making its way up into the back of her throat.

"I'm - I'm just -"

"You think I'm stupid or somethin'?"

"No, Pa." She whispered as her heart began skipping beats.

"You ain't fiddlin around, you ain't workin on nothin." He caught her chin in a harsh grip, yanking her head to face him. "I thought I told you never to be around him." She held her breath as the heavy smell of alcohol waved off of his own.

"I didn't -"

"Don't lie to me!" He suddenly yelled as he slammed his other fist onto the table. "I don't give second chances, so next time I see you whoring around with that sadist it'll be your last." He shoved her face away and she stumbled back, watching as he stomped his way back upstairs.

The next morning was cold. Quiet. No bird sang. Not a single word was spoken amongst the small family. Charles took his usual seat in the corner while her mother continued to tidy up the shop between fixings.

"Liebling?" Mary turned to face her mother. "Would you mind going into the market for me today?"

"What about the shop?" The younger woman paused her stitching and set it down.

"I'll take care of it."

"Are you sure, Ma?" Her mother gave her a pointed look and Mary took the hint. She grabbed a shawl and threw it over her shoulders before taking the basket to head out.

Thankfully the plaza wasn't as packed as it was the last time they visited. She felt eyes on her back as she passed by other villagers, however. Mary paid them no mind, used to the judgemental stares as she went about her merry way. Stand after stand, shop after shop, the basket was growing heavier than she had expected, and she still had the journey back to the shop. She didn't even realize how far she had ventured until she began to make her way back.

Just as she passed an alleyway she yelped when something pulled her into it. A gloved hand motioned for her to be quiet and she smiled, then worriedly glanced around.

"What are you doing here?" He reached into his coat pocket and she heard a small jingle as he fished out a handful of coins.

"Thought I'd pay you before I forgot." Mary slowly began to shake her head in disagreement.

"I never asked you to."

"What you made doesn't come free." He reached down to take her hand and placed the coins in it, closing her fingers on top of it. Mary looked up at Reuben and was startled at how close their faces were. Should either of them move the slightest bit, their noses would touch.

And yet neither of them moved.

They continued staring at one another as their eyes danced over the other's face, taking in the smallest features they never noticed before. Every line, wrinkle, mole and freckle.

When her eyes met with his she couldn't help but be mesmerized. They were a unique hazel that one could easily get lost in, one that she was already lost in. His nose was what captivated her the most. It was a disturbing feature to most, but to Mary he wouldn't be the same without it. She thought if anyone would be able to pull it off it would be him, and he did it well to say the least.

"I -" She breathed, but couldn't quite find the right words. She noticed his eyes flick down to her lips, causing her to follow suit. Time seemed to slow as they inched closer, Reuben maneuvering his head to keep his nose out of the way. Despite the effort, she felt it lightly brush against her cheek and it sent a shiver down her spine. She felt his breath fan over her lips, just beginning to brush over when a shout sounded in the distance.

Their heads snapped to the street and Mary's heart sank. The shout mixed with a scream coming from a second person. She began to set off in the direction of it when Reuben snatched her wrist, eyeing her warily when she looked back at him. She gently pulled away from his grip and continued backing into the street.

As Mary reached it her pace turned into a brisk walk, face contorted into one of worry as she bypassed villagers who looked on with a similar expression. As she looked at those around her on her way to the shop she grew more and more concerned, breathing growing shallow.

For the umpteenth time that week she crept into the shop, taking a deep breath before facing the small room to find it empty. Her eyes turned up to the floor above, losing her own sense of time as she practically crawled to the stairs. With each step the seconds slowed further and further. She held onto the floor of the living area as she peeked over it from the stairs, eyes widening at the sight of her father hunched over her mother's body.

"Ma..." Mary whispered, gathering her skirt as she trotted up the last few steps to make her way over to them. "Ma!" She rushed as her father began to sob. She was about to kneel down with him when he suddenly grew quiet, enraged as he twisted to face her.

"You -"

"Pa..."

"Bitch!" Mary lept to the side with a shriek as a vase was launched her way, crashing and shattering as it hit the wall. In a flash her father's hands were latched onto her braid and used it as leverage to ram her head into the wall.

Everything became a blur as she collapsed. Her hearing was muffled. As much as she tried to move, the pounding in her head refused to let her.

You run. Her mother's words repeated themselves to Mary. You run far away from here and never come back.

She whimpered as she struggled to push herself off of the floor, stumbling into the wall as dizziness hit her next. Her eyes wandered the room in search of her father and found him distracted by her mother again, so she took the chance to make her way back down the stairs as fast as she could in her current state.

At first Mary took her time as she gradually regained her senses, but the harsh sound of Charles' footsteps flooded her with anxiety and she bolted. Weaving and stumbling through the crowds of villagers, her run turned into a sprint when her father began catching up to her.

Just as he was about to reach her she knocked over a shelf, and him along with it. As he struggled to get out from under it she stared for a second before setting off once more.

"Giddyap!" The catcher's cage sped down the street towards the frightened woman, followed by a group of soldiers on their horses.

She stilled and thought about her choices, that is however straight she could think in the first place. Her body set itself to flight as she caught sight of her father again and took Reuben's hand that was outstretched to her, pulling her up to sit next to him before cracking his whip and turning his horse around.

"Foolish girl, you should've never gone after them." He looked over at her to see her face completely drained of its color.

Blood ran down from the side of her forehead, vibrant against her skin. The area around the wound had already begun to bruise and continued to pound, taking on a migraine. She had no energy to cry. No energy to mourn, to talk, to panic. She felt drained, tired. She wasn't sure if it was because of her head or what had just happened. Mary simply groaned and leaned her head back against the cage, eyes screwed shut in pain.

Serenity - Chapter 1

Masterlist

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

-

The birds chirping outside were what woke her up first. Then it was the quiet footsteps making the floors creak. Mary peaked out of the small window next to her bed, the sun just barely rising above the horizon. With a rather large yawn and an even larger stretch she sat up on the edge and slid her feet into her slippers. She went through the motions of getting ready for the day, the majority of it fuzzy, finishing with a single braid in her hair before she finally made it to the dining room. Her mother was already in the kitchen cooking breakfast.

“Good morning, ma.” The older woman looked over and smiled.

“Good morning, liebling.” Mary gave her a gentle hug before helping her. “Sleep well?”

“I suppose so.” The two of them were quiet for a few moments, the sound of stirring and sizzling the only thing filling the silence of the room until it was broken by Mary. “Are you feeling alright?” More silence. Mary was beginning to regret even asking had it not been for the comforting hand that made its way to her shoulder.

“I’m alright, dear.” Mary moved a hand to rest on top of her mother’s, offering a wary smile before resuming her mixing. “I noticed that dress you’re making. Your personal project, is it?” Mary hummed in confirmation.

“It was going well until yesterday.”

“I think it’s beautiful. Why, I wouldn’t have even noticed anything was wrong if I hadn't known.” The morning continued rather peacefully, the two of them enjoying the small moments they had with each other. It was their break from reality, abeling them to fantasize that they were the only two within their already small family. That nothing else mattered. They both learned to love the little joys in life, the simplest things that no one else seemed to notice. It made everything worthwhile to them.

By the time the sun reached above their heads the market was bustling with energy. Feet padded and clicked along the stone of the plaza, though there wasn’t as quite a hustle as the day before. Personalities clashed whether it was between other customers or vendors, or both which happened to be the most common occurrence. Women gawked at the latest jewelry, and occasionally Mary’s newest attire on display. Men showed off newly bought cattle in a friendly banter. Mary would’ve enjoyed it were it not for her father’s reputation.

The villagers were reclusive with unfriendlies, and unfortunately all it took was one person to ruin it for the lot. Aside from necessities, the delicate work of the seamstress was the only thing saving the family from complete isolation, it seemed.

The skill came naturally to her, much to her mother’s delight. Once she taught Mary the basics she was able to leave her to her own devices. Mary eventually came up with her own techniques, even drifting from basic designs they had been using since the business started. It was refreshing to the villagers and attracted more customers, and though it made the family all the more busy money was coming in quicker and she was able to build a pleasant reputation for herself. But it did little to nothing in the great scheme of things.

Her mother organized the shop in the back, her father naturally taking his place at a table with his morning glass of bourbon as Mary worked on small fixings at the stand. Things had surprisingly gone smooth for the time being, but then again it was still quite early in the day.

It wasn’t until she had the thought that everyone stilled, listening.

Mary couldn’t tell what caused the chain reaction until they began to hear rushing hooves grow closer, followed by a familiar trumpet. She glanced around the plaza anxiously, holding her breath in anticipation until someone shouted from a nearby street.

“Soldiers!” Though thankful, the warning was in vain. Villagers scrambled to the outskirts of the plaza, trying their best to avoid being trampled as the horses circled. Merchants didn’t bother closing shop as it was already far too late.

“Giddyap!” A distinct nasally voice shouted. Their stomachs dropped, the sight of an infamous cage rolling its way into the plaza, coming to an aggressive halt once centered. The figure, clad in black, dropped from his spot on the contraption, net and hook in his gloved hands as he crept around with a crazed look in his eye. “I know there are children here somewhere.”

Mary’s heart rate picked up, fiddling with the fabric in front of her as he grew closer. As far as she was concerned, she had heard nothing of children being in the village. Not for a few months at least. Either that or her family was kept out of the loop which seemed to be the most likely answer.

“Bring them to me and you will receive a painless death.” He mused with a chuckle as he stalked closer to their shop. He seemed to look between her own and the two neighboring marketers, pacing the three of them with determination. He pointed at two nearby soldiers, directing them and their men into the homes of the two others with a grumble. Then he locked on to the seamstress.

Mary froze, regardless if she knew there were no children. She felt as if even just looking at him was a death sentence. Those who fell victim to the Child Catcher rarely ever returned, and she had yet to see a survivor herself.

She quickly glanced away as he stepped closer, now wringing the cloth. She felt him barely brush past her shoulder before he began to lurk around the tiny shop. Mary felt her face and ears burn like a fever, chancing a look at the plaza to see everyone who remained staring at their area as soldiers continued vandalizing houses in search of said children. She heard him shuffling baskets and boxes around, though not as harsh as the others. Then he went silent. No footsteps, no more shuffling.

Out of curiosity, Mary finally turned to face the room. There the Child Catcher stood in front of her mannequin, examining the dress she had been working on. He eyed it every which way, then moved on about the room to look at the rest of the items on display, feeling the different fabrics.

“Who’s responsible?” With no response he turned to face the small family, the parents looking over at Mary. She looked up to meet his eyes once more and he squinted ever so slightly, then glanced between the older couple before scoping the room again. “How exactly are you getting these?” He motioned at the cloth. Mary looked over at her mother.

“I buy them off of a traveling merchant along the road.” The catcher made a noise of approval then looked over at the nearby stairway. Practically sneering at her parents, he rushed up the stairs to scavenge around some more.

Mary took a deep breath and leaned back against the stand, running her hands along the skirt of her dress to keep them from growing more sweaty than they already were. Perhaps it would’ve been better if she hadn't grown so ambitious. She was comfortable with her reputation around the village, but with someone from the castle, let alone the Child Catcher? He was the last person you wanted to stand out to.

Their heads snapped back to the stairs at the sound of his footsteps making their descent. Once reaching the bottom he looked at the parents one last time before making his way back to the plaza, casting Mary a final glance along the way. Just as he passed through screams sounded from the neighboring home to their left.

“Mary!” Her mother whispered her over in a panic. But she didn’t move. She just stood and watched as two soldiers dragged a little boy from the villa, followed by the owners. The catcher eagerly opened his cage, cackling.

“There you are!” He sneered as the boy and his parents were practically tossed inside and shut in. As he jumped up onto his box seat he looked over at Mary one last time, then sped off with the rest of the soldiers with the crack of his whip.

The village was completely silent after the hooves disappeared. Another family was stolen from them right before their very eyes. None of them could imagine what fate awaited them. Nor did they want to find out.

Slowly villagers began to wander out into the plaza once more, though not as many as there were previously. And understandably so. Mary was engulfed by her mother’s warm embrace to which she gradually returned when she finally came to. When she pulled away from Mary she cupped her face, though grew worried when the younger woman refused to make eye contact.

“You’ll be fine, my dear.” She attempted consolation. “He didn’t seem upset.”

“He’s unpredictable and dangerous!” Her father shouted irritably from inside the shop. “I don’t ever want him here nor do I want him speaking to either of you again.” His sentence was reduced to a grumble by the end of it.

“I’m afraid we can’t tell him what to do, darling. The Baron would have our heads.” Her mother cautiously advised, only to be met with incoherent gibberish. He downed the rest of his drink and abruptly left the room, wandering into the streets of the village.

“Terrifier” - Art the Clown

Waking Dreams

Otto Octavius x F!Reader

Rated E - 1.8k words

Tags: lots of fluff, consensual somno, gentle teasing, fingering, jerking off, oral (f receiving)

Summary:

“Oh fuck, I missed you.”

He hums a low, one-note sound of approval, “Missed you too, darling. All I could think about tonight was coming home, and burying my face between your thighs.”

“Don’t let me deprive you, then.”

A/N: It’s impossible to write this fic without thinking of this incredible art by @themaydecemberist or this gifset 💕(Can also be read as a sequel to Sunburst!)

You feel something coaxing you from a deep-set dream, a warm hand smoothing over your shoulder as you lie curled in the blankets - trying to tug you towards the surface - though you stay firmly under.

Lips touch softly down to your temple, the apple of your cheek, the hand lifting from shoulder to trace patterns on your arm.

You stir, the words tumbling out like a sigh, “Is it morning?”

“No,” It’s little more than a whisper against your skin, “It’s still early, love.”

Eyes drift shut again as the bed dips, and you roll with the weight, shifting from your side to your back, legs stretching out and flexing against soft, cool sheets after being tucked up so long in sleep.

Otto’s fingers brush the hollow of your throat, dropping to loosen one button, and then another, inches of your soft skin coming into view.

The sleepwear you’re wearing is intimately familiar, an old shirt of his - the starch long washed-out, the pattern faded and soft under your fingertips.

“Vintage.” You had teased when you found it buried in his closet, slipping it over bare shoulders, rolling the sleeves up to your wrists.

His smile had been slow at your joke, lost in the word and a thought, until you had made room for yourself on his lap. His palm going flat on a bare thigh as your legs parted to straddle him, the dark lace of your bra peeking out of the deep, low v. Otto had melted under your touch, and after that - you had started sleeping in it when you missed him.

The path of his hand moves, gliding from skin to shirt, smoothing down from the collar to cup a breast as he mouths at your neck. A soft moan comes then, a thumb brushing against the pebbled bit of fabric, circling slowly and gently as you arch into his palm.

Eyes flutter open as he shifts to fill the soft valley between your breasts, fingers oh so gently pinching and kneading, his breath hot on sleep-warmed skin as he works his way downward.

With heavy limbs you stir, the space between your thighs feeling warm and neglected - your legs pressing together in an attempt for some friction, but he’s already there, shifting between spread knees. Deftly undoing the last two buttons until your shirt parts like chiffon curtains, exposing a bare strip of skin from thigh to neck.

Your hips lift lazily as you blink down at him, watching as his mouth leaves invisible marks - your skin prickling as his grey-flecked beard scrapes over sensitive skin. The heat in your belly curls as his face tilts up so his eyes can meet yours, dark and hungry in the late evening light.

The look he gives you is worshipful, his eyes so soft and deep you could fall into them, and you buck again, only for a wide hand to push down against your hip, pressing you against the mattress.

“Patience, my dear girl.” Otto’s voice is gravely, but it’s hard to be patient when he’s teasing - his mouth passing the soft curve of your stomach, down, down to your mound, lips dragging softly against skin so close but so far from where you need him.

You’re fully awake now, though your voice is still low in its own way, the whimpers from your throat coming with each long breath as other hand traces the curve of your knee. Fingers sink into the flesh as he moves back upward, slowly following with his mouth to press a kiss against your inner thigh.

It seems cruel he would rouse you from such a sweet dream only to tease, and when you voice that complaint he laughs, the sound a low rumble.

“Could your dream do this, darling?”

A knuckle brushes against your seam, dragging and pressing, parting your folds to feel how you’re drenched for him. Your moan catches in your throat, thighs clenching as a thumb brushes slick, arousal-swollen flesh, nudging at the sensitive bud of your clit.

There’s the prickle of coarse hair on your thigh as his lips brush another kiss, the knuckle on his finger straightening, the tip just starting to press into you.

Otto slides into your heat, and you’re clenching around him already as his thumb works in tight circles. He starts slow, barely a movement, working small flexes of his hand until he’s thrusting into you.

“Oh fuck, I missed you,” Your eyes close, brow scrunching as he presses in deep, the words sliding out with a moan.

He hums a low, one-note sound of approval, “Missed you too, darling. All I could think about tonight was coming home, and burying my face between your thighs.”

The hand on your hip tightens when you flex again at his words with a low groan - you had been content with his touches, his fingers. But now that you he’s voiced his thoughts, you ached for more.

“Don’t let me deprive you, then.” You mean it as a tease, but the need in your voice softens the words, betrays you.

His eyes pull from his fingers to your face, they’d be severe-looking under his cut of his eyebrows if not for the way they burn, unspoken promises flickering in them. A second finger presses its way in, stretching, and you can hear the way he fills you, the wet squelch of each thrust.

And he hears it too, his lip lifting in a smile to show teeth, “Could say the same to you, darling. Let me ask - was it those little dreams that have you this wet?”

His fingers curl and drag against your inner walls and your thighs jerk, your lips parting in a rough moan. The thumb circling your clit dips down to your damp lips, dragging through your arousal on its way back up.

“Or is this all for me?”

“You,” You gaze into those expectant eyes, your word coming in a low rush.

Another gasp of breath as you inhale, “Always you.”

There’s a whirring as his actuator arms move, slipping smoothly between sheets and skin, worming their way under your thighs. The cool metal against flushed skin is soothing, but then you’re yelping as they suddenly tilt your hips up a few inches - his fingers withdrawing so his mouth can meet the sweet offering placed before him.

The sudden drag of his tongue against your cunt sends searing pleasure down your spine - your fingers twisting in the blankets by your head, searching for something to anchor yourself with.

He eats you like a man starved, tasting all of you, a low groan in his throat when his tongue presses in where his fingers were, dipping inside you. Wide hands palm your ass, though his mechanical arms have you positioned just right, fingers sinking into flesh as he hold you to him.

Otto’s name is on your tongue as you cry out, clenching down around nothing as he moves up to your clit, soft and messy and fueling the spark igniting in your core.

His nose bumps against soft, slick skin, tongue and then lips are wrapping around your clit, stealing the air from your lungs with a groan that seems to come from deep within you.

Then there’s the press of thick fingers as they return to your heat, pushing deep and then dragging until they bump into something that makes you whimper, finding that spot again and again.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that a mouth so clever could make you feel this way - but you’re still shocked at the way his tongue moves, lapping at your clit, making your muscles tighten deliciously in anticipation.

A silver tongue gilded with promises of devotion and something deeper, something hidden in those dark eyes when you catch him looking at you.

It’s in the way he’s looking at you now, an intense devotion as he catalogs every breath and movements, the gasping of your lips and the way a hand moves to curl around a breast.

Your breath feel shallow in your lungs as his fingers continue to pump, each gasp of breath a soft “oh” as he drags you closer to the edge. Lost in those eyes, you can only grasp feebly as he brings along to the peak he’s created.

A shuffling sound pricks at your attention, your head tilting as his eyes slide shut and he groans against you. One of his palms leaves your ass to unclasp his belt, working down the zipper until he’s pulling himself free.

You watch his hand close around the flushed, swollen tip, unable to resist the urge to take a bit of the edge off - and the thought that you’ve done this to him, without even touching him, has you aching and tightening around him.

“God, don’t stop,” you rasp, and you’re not sure if you’re talking about his mouth or the jerk of his fist, but it’s all building and swirling and it’s too much-

It hits you hard, the last bit of air ripped from your lungs with your cry as your walls clench down around and flutter around his fingers. You’re not sure if you’re shouting or if it’s all in your head - his lips staying suctioned around your clit as his fingers continue to curl.

The dark room seems to white out as your eyes shut, your hips rocking against his mouth as you ride the undulating waves of pleasure out - until your legs finally unclench, and his arms are tilting your hips back down to rest on the mattress.

You lay there for a long moment, your brain content and fuzzy with your release, small aftershocks pricking at your core. Then, with shaking arms you push yourself up, meeting the man hovering over you half-way, your hand cupping around Otto’s neck to pull him down to you.

His beard is damp and he tastes like you, your tongue brushing into his mouth as he opens for you. Otto moans when you suck on his lip, trapping it between teeth as his body rolls against yours, his cock rutting against the curve of your hip.

Your kiss turns lazy but he arches into you, the broad expanse of his chest and curve of his stomach a welcome weight as he fits again between your spread thighs.

“Was it like you imagined?” You ask when the kiss breaks - one hand cupping his face, the other snaking down between him, until your hand is wrapping around his weeping cock.

He groans as your fist pumps, traveling up his length as you gently squeeze. It was still early after all, and there was plenty of time to return the favor.

“No.” He word catches you off guard, until his hips thrust against your hand, until he’s bending down to kiss you again.

“It was even better.”

Serenity - Chapter 9

Masterlist

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

Reuben decided to stay with Mary as she continued her work, watching her careful movements in curiosity. The baroness' dress hung on a mannequin, nearly finished as Mary made final adjustments. Finally, she straightened it out and fluffed the skirt just a bit, standing back to admire her handiwork while fiddling with her fingers.

Sheer fabric was used for the arms, collar bone area and back. Ruffled fabric lined the shoulders, trailing around the back of the neck. The majority of it was a silver color, not too flashy yet still stuck out in a crowd. It held purple accents, of course, in representation of the Vulgarian colors.

"Do you think she'll like it?" Mary questioned anxiously, glancing at Reuben.

"I think you know my answer."

"'Of course, Miss Mary, she'll love it!'" She mocked him, making sure to flail her arms dramatically as she made her way over to her sketchbook to work on the design for the Baron.

"Well, you're not wrong, Miss Mary." He wiggled a finger behind her ear making her curl away from him and he smirked. "I'll be off to make my rounds, get out of your hair." Mary shot him a look as he made his way to the door. "I'm not sure when I'll be back, but I've told the maid to make sure you eat." Reuben eyed her before shutting the door behind him. Mary rolled her eyes with a bashful smile, sketching away.

She paid no mind to the time, naturally. There were no windows in the room and she was delved too deep into her work to really care to check. Emilia was her only clock. Mary did grow more aware after lunch, knowing she had to prepare herself for dinner.

A knock sounded softly from the door and was cracked open.

"Miss?" Mary whipped her head towards the maid with a nervous expression.

"Time already?" She received a sympathetic smile.

"I'm afraid so." Mary sighed, finding a stopping point in her work to follow her to Reuben's quarters. Her stomach sank at the sight of a new dress that lay across the bed.

"It gets tiring wearing more than one dress a day, no?" She questioned Emilia as she began undoing her dress, taking a deep breath within the short moment of freedom.

"I certainly would think so. At least you're not the one tying and untying all of them." Mary nodded in agreement, slipping out of the dress and into the more elegant one that Emilia held for her. "Your head seems to be healing well." The maid felt her tense slightly. "I could try and conceal it if you wish?"

"No, it's fine." Mary mumbled. "Thank you, though."

"My pleasure, Miss." Emilia finished up and undid Mary's hair, running her fingers through it in thought. She sat her down at the vanity, beginning to twist and braid it.

"Have you ever worked closely with the barons?" Now Emilia sighed.

"Once. Quite the experience. I would rather not do it again."

"Are you able to talk about it?" Emilia shook her head.

"I'm afraid I would speak ill of them if I did." She grabbed a few bobby-pins from the desk, beginning to pin up Mary's hair.

"What would happen if you did?"

"Let's just say you wouldn't be seeing me too often." She messed with her hair a bit more to perfect it. "Your curiosity could land you the same fate, Miss." Emilia noticed the woman's skin pale at the thought. Mary swallowed as the maid placed ornaments in her hair, then clipped a necklace around her neck.

"I worry I'll still be underdressed." Emilia chuckled.

"That's what they want." The maid fiddled with the fabric of Mary's dress, in a way soothing the both of them. "That's why everything seems so bland here. Everything except themselves." Mary looked up at Emilia with an unreadable expression. "Come, now." She patted her shoulders and the woman stood up. "I'm sure the catcher is waiting."

The two of them stepped into the hall and, sure enough, Reuben was making his way towards them. Emilia shut the door behind them and curtsied, then left in the opposite direction.

"Beautiful, as always." He complimented with a smirk, holding his arm out to her to which she took bashfully. As they ventured through the halls he could feel her hold grow more tense, anxious. He could almost feel her aggressive pulse through her hands. "You'll be alright. Remember what I told you."

"Will you be staying?" Mary nearly whispered, moving in closer to Reuben. He felt his chest swell with what almost felt like pride knowing she trusted him enough to feel protected, that he was a source of comfort for her. Then again, he was essentially all she had left to hold on to.

"He asked me personally, so I would assume so, yes. Let alone the fact that he thought you were -" He cut himself off, swallowing. "That you are my lady." Mary had to bite her lip to keep herself from smiling. He began to smile himself when her grip loosened a bit in comfort. Mary's eyes grew curious when they approached a set of glass doors. Reuben held the door open for her and they stepped out into what she assumed was a garden.

It was a decent size, though not incredibly large. It was vibrant compared to the dull interior of the castle, but it was a welcome change. Colorful flowers bloomed wherever she looked, a variety of floral smells pleasantly filling her nose. The golden rays of the setting sun rested on the area, creating an even more alluring scene.

Reuben led her down a few steps, guiding her further into the garden as an awed grin spread across her face. It was calming enough to make her forget what she was dreading in the first place, but then a small opening brought her back to reality.

A medium-sized glass table sat in the center, a set of tasteful chairs sat around it. A larger bottle of wine accompanied by glasses sat upon it, already opened and being drunk by the Baron. The Baroness, however, waited patiently as she looked around at the garden. There was a glint in her eyes, however, when she spotted the two of them entering the court and smiled.

"Bombie?" She nudged her husband and he shot up, boisterously cheering. Mary curtsied while Reuben bowed, as per usual.

"No, no, no! Have a seat, none of that!" He exclaimed happily. Reuben pulled a chair out next to the baroness for Mary before seating himself next to her. She looked over at Mary and offered a warm smile, and she gave a more shy one in return. "Well," The Baron drawled as he leaned in. "How is our seamstress settling in? Well, I hope?"

"Very well, your excellency. I couldn't be more thankful for your hospitality."

"Ah, but it's just an eye for an eye! You're helping us, and as long as you do, you will be a welcome guest here." Servers arrived, pouring wine into their glasses and setting plates with silverware in front of them.

"How is your project coming along, Miss Elise?" The Baroness spoke up, sipping on her wine as she turned towards Mary in keen interest.

"It couldn't be any better, my lady. I actually finished your dress just this morning." The Baroness gasped in excitement, clapping her hands together.

"That was quite quick! Efficient, isn't she, Bombie?" The man in question just chuckled with a nod.

"Fast, yes. But quality is what I am personally looking for."

"You couldn't ask for a finer dress, your excellency." Reuben piped in to support Mary, and it seemed to boost the Baron's confidence in her work. The maids returned with their dinner, laying trays and bowls in front of them with what seemed like enough food for the whole village to Mary.

She glanced around, unsure of their customs and courtesies when it came to dining. She watched the others begin to plate once the Baron began and followed suit, being cautious with how much food she took, and rather eating with her stomach instead of her eyes. Mary had to hold in her already obvious satisfaction as she took her first bite, the food warm and freshly cooked.

They all made small talk throughout the meal, whether it was lighthearted joking or simple questions. She wasn't quite sure what to think of them. She'd heard awful things from the villagers, and then Emilia, yet Reuben seemed to think so highly of them. He always spoke of them with utmost respect, save for a snide remark every now and then, but it happens with everyone. She just wasn't sure if it was out of fear or genuine admiration.

"When should we expect to see your work?" The Baroness curiously asked once they all began to settle from the meal, though Bomburst continued to nibble here and there.

"I've just started on his excellency's, so I would say the day after the next."

"Well, I'm thrilled to have a fresh mind at work. And one with unique talent, I've heard." The Baroness glanced over at Reuben, and in turn Mary looked over at him as well. He quirked a brow at her and she gave a tight lipped smile.

"You've built it up so much, I better not be disappointed when I see it!" The Baron suddenly called out. Mary's skin turned to paper, but she continued with her pleasant facade for appearances. She felt Reuben sneak a hand over hers from under the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"I certainly have no doubts about your talent. If the Child Catcher says your work is a sight to behold, then I trust his opinion." Mary covered his own hand with her other and color gradually returned to her face.

"I suppose you are right, my dear." Bomburst begrudgingly agreed. "He's been with us for many years, you know." He directed at Mary. "I would say he is my most trusted worker here in Vulgaria. I'd take him over the Chancellor or any of those other aristocrats any day." Though it sounded like a compliment, the Baron truly meant it as more of an insult to those in the castle. "So if I see you mistreat him, or if there's any suspicion of it, I will have your head."

Mary feigned a smile at the Baron.

"I wouldn't dream of it, your excellency." He nodded firmly, then slapped his thighs and stood up.

"Well, I think I'll retire for the night. Many things to take care of. I'll be waiting for our little gift, Miss Elise." He poked fun at the seamstress before abruptly leaving the court. The Baroness soon stood to join him, but turned towards the two of them one last time.

"You're more than welcome to visit the gardens if you wish." She then followed after her husband, an elegant skip in her step that Mary found curious.

She released a breath she didn't know she was holding and sat back in her chair, loosening her posture. Reuben held in an amused chuckle.

"Care for a walk?" The man asked as he stood, offering a gloved hand to her. She collected herself for a few moments before she took hold of it and followed him.

The air was but a gentle breeze that calmed her and she took in her surroundings appreciatively. The village never held such gardens, and it felt as if she had been trapped in the castle forever. She could already see herself visiting quite frequently whether it was by herself or with Reuben.

They reached a railing that looked over the smaller mountain the castle sat on, revealing a grandiose view of the countryside not visible to the village. It held rich shades of green in its hills and other mountains, an occasional structure in the distance. The sun had just reached the horizon and Mary couldn't help but stare.

As Reuben hesitantly slid an arm around her waist and pulled her closer she began to realize how peaceful everything truly was in that moment. It was hazy, as if it wasn't truly reality. Never would she have thought she would end up where she was. Not in the castle, not as a seamstress in that castle, and especially not with the man who practically everybody feared most, second to the Baron himself.

"Reuben?" Mary whispered, fearful of breaking whatever it was that was happening.

"Yes?" She hesitated before answering.

"I'm scared to leave this moment."

"Reasonably so." He looked down at her from where they stood. "But there's much more to come."