Chapter 4

Little edit I made of my fav clown ☺️

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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 4

Masterlist

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

Mary woke up with a start, gasping as she shot up in her bed.

Her bed…?

Had it all just been a dream? Did she really sneak out last night? She looked around, seeing her bag lying on the floor. She remembered the majority of what happened other than a few moments that were foggy to her in her tired state. She remembered riding the horse back to the village, but nothing after that.

She felt foolish letting her guard down so easily. Especially around someone with such a reputation. He didn’t seem to wish her any harm though, he didn’t seem to have any ill intentions at all. That’s what they’d want you to think, though, isn‘t it?

Her mind continued to argue with itself endlessly as she began her normal routine. Freshen up, dress, eat breakfast, open the shop. It was nothing but clockwork. However, she didn’t fail to notice her mother moving slower than usual. And her father’s uncharacteristically careful eye on the ill woman. Another thing among many for Mary to worry about.

Once the shop opened she immediately received her first customer which happened to be possibly the most ill-mannered woman in their area, Madame Caffe. Mary made sure to make the woman’s adjustment especially hasty.

“One lev, please -“

“Yes, I know. I come here nearly every month in case you’ve forgotten.” The grouch of a woman practically slammed the money on the counter, speeding off with her skirt.

Once finished she took care of what other customers came during the morning bustle, then disappeared into the shop when she finally caught a break. She began setting out supplies she knew she already had for the catcher’s - Reuben’s - new piece. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

“Another project?” Her mother voiced with a wink, taking a seat at the center table of the shop. It was the first time she came downstairs in two days. It was very much unlike her as Mary used to always have to shoo her away from work. Mary just giggled, deciding not to pry.

“You know I can’t help myself.” The smile her mother offered would melt anyone who looked upon it.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, liebling.” In the background her father eyed the two of them suspiciously, feeling as if they knew something he didn’t. He may have been a drunk, but he wasn’t stupid. And he intended to use that to his advantage.

“Your projects are the reason our business is going to the rats.” He grumbled as he sipped on his bourbon.

“Charles, you know as well as I that if it wasn’t for her projects we would’ve been with far less than rats.”

“Well, if she would focus more on the customers and less on her silly costumes we’d be out of this hellhole.” Mary continued working with her back to the two of them, breathing growing heavier as her tense lips downturned.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. If you didn’t keep spending our money on alcohol we could have already been somewhere nicer. And besides, no one ever leaves this town if not to leave the world itself one way or another.“ Her mother’s voice began to gain volume in frustration. “We’re better off than half the people in the village, at least be grateful for that. And it’s all thanks to our daughter’s silly costumes!”

Deafening silence followed. The air grew thick. Tears began to prick Mary’s eyes in fear of what was to come. Never had her mother yelled. It filled Mary with an anxiety she couldn’t control. Chaos ensued in the background, her father’s yelling catching her attention.

She whipped around to face the scene. Her mother was now on the floor, her father lunging at her once more to grab her by her bun. Tears began to steadily stream down both women’s faces, Mary frozen in place. Her mother began to cough uncontrollably, grabbing onto the cloth over her chest in search of relief.

“Stop!” Mary shouted in desperation, but it was futile. He began to scream in her mother’s face, practically pinning her to the table by her head. “Pa, stop!” Those who heard the commotion began to sneak peeks into the shop, watching as simple bystanders rather than interfering. Mary’s heart raced in fear for the frail woman whose eyes began to close. “Stop it, Pa!” Mary screamed.

Her mother’s struggle came to a complete stop, body limp. It wasn’t until then that Charles let go. His eyes grew wide, glazing over as he carefully set her on the floor. They waited. And waited. Then he felt a faint pulse. He sighed in relief, cradling her close to him.

As for Mary, she continued to panic. Her father had terrible fits, but none where he would put either of them in mortal danger. She had never felt more terrified in her entire life. Her panting soon filled the room and she flinched when her father looked up at her. Before she could decipher what his expression even was she was out of the shop, wandering off to who-knows-where.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand, but it was no use as it continued to flood. The villagers in her path leapt out of the way as she ran, getting herself as far away from the shop as possible. As a road that led outside the town became visible she slowed to a speedy walk, clutching her chest as her mother had as a last resort of comfort. As Mary neared the edge she held onto the wall for support, the intensity of it all making her feel lightheaded and weak.

She closed her eyes and paced the road to slow her breathing, using techniques her mother showed her when she was younger and the attacks were more frequent. But no matter how hard she tried it just didn’t seem to work. She took a deep breath as her heartbeat filled her ears. Her hands cupped them, ran along her forehead, clutched her dress. Anything.

But just as she felt another surge of panic begin to grow she felt a hand on her shoulder. She whisked around in a fright, jumping away from the source when she saw Reuben standing there with his face scrunched together in confusion and…worry? Behind him was the carriage.

Quickly she dried her face, sniffing as she turned it away from him in embarrassment.

“What happened?” He asked, his voice taking on a darker, yet more careful tone than usual.

When she didn’t answer he sighed, looking down the street that she came from with a squint. He then looked back over at her as she closed in on herself and rested a hand on her back, beginning to guide her over to the box seat of the carriage.

“Sit.” Reuben urged when he felt her hesitate and helped her up. He stayed on the ground and leaned against the cage to allow her some space. He made sure to glare down anyone who dared to follow her or peer over at them, sending them directly back to where they came from.

“My mother.” He looked over at Mary. She looked over at him, eyes red and beginning to swell from the crying. “He almost killed my mother.” She whispered weakly.

“Your father?” Mary nodded. Not one to sympathize, he surprised himself as he felt his blood begin to boil. How Mary was able to tolerate living with such a man was beyond him, but it wasn’t as if she had a choice.

“She, um,” She motioned to her chest area, finding her words. “She has a heart condition,” her voice cracked. “And she - she raised her voice at him and he attacked her and she just -“ She took a breath to try and calm herself. “She just went limp. But he found a pulse once he realized what had happened.” Mary looked up and around, eyes wide with worry. “I shouldn’t have run away - I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t have left her with him -“

“If you didn’t run away he would’ve done the same to you.” Reuben pressed, not wanting her to return to such a place so soon after what happened. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Slowly he climbed up to sit next to her and gently peeled her hands away from herself, looking her dead in the eyes. “Your mother would surely understand. She wouldn’t want you putting your life in danger.”

Mary looked away, unsure if she should believe him. Why was he even bothering to comfort her? He certainly didn’t have an obligation to. Yet at the same time, similar to the night before, she felt comfortable. Maybe that was the reason he was a child catcher. People were so easily fooled by his compassion that they failed to see he had an ulterior motive. But what motive would he have in her case? Had she offended the barons unknowingly and he was luring her in?

The possibilities were endless and there was even a chance she was worrying over nothing. He was a human being just as everyone else was, after all. One with questionable morals, but human nonetheless. He had a life outside of being the barons’ henchman and it was something that the villagers failed to acknowledge. For Mary, however, it was the only reason she was able to trust him thus far.

Or was it because someone had finally noticed her?

‘Serenity’ Prologue

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.

-

Nimble fingers stitched the thicker fabric with ease, the thread flowing through with years of technique and precision. The movement resembled that of water, calm and patient. A knot was tied at the end and the remaining string snipped. The woman stood back from the mannequin to examine her handiwork, a soft smile gracing her features in approval.

“Pa?” A low grumble met her ears. “Madame Caffe’s dress is ready.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” The woman held in her sigh, head kept downcast as she passed by the grumpy father to the front of their stand.

“Here you go, miss.” The dress was delicately placed into the older woman’s arms.

“How much?”

“One lev.” The customer grumbled and placed the coins into her hand. The seamstress just sighed and put it away, making her way back into the petite shop.

“You seen your mother yet?”

“Not yet.” She turned to see her worrying father and offered a weak smile of reassurance. “The market’s probably more busy than usual, is all.” The woman collected stray fabrics, throwing them into a nearby basket.

“Yeah, whatever.” Her father waved off with another grumble. She waited a few seconds longer to see if he had anything else to say, then sat down at her sewing bench to resume a side project. She threaded the machine, adjusting the fabric so it rested beneath it just the way she wanted before she began pumping with her foot.

The fabric moved steadily beneath her hands, losing herself in the sound of her most prized possession. She was almost finished with her fourth section when she heard a loud crash behind her. She shrieked when the needle stabbed through her fingertip, yanking away from the machine. Hand clutched to her chest she grabbed bandages and a bottle of alcohol from nearby to quickly dress the wound.

When she finished she turned towards the cause of panic to see her father stood angrily over a ‘fallen’ mannequin, clenching and unclenching his fists. She began to take deeper breaths, almost panting as she watched the scene before her anxiously. Refusing to make eye contact with the man, her finger throbbed heavily. Nothing she couldn’t handle as far as she was concerned. He mumbled something incoherently.

“Pa -?”

“Where is she!” He thrashed, swiping one of their end tables clean as everything on top of it cluttered to the floor. “Where is she!” He continued. The seamstress began to creep her way to the entrance of the shop, her father’s shouts turning into sobs by the time she was able to leave. She aimlessly wandered through the plaza to the markets and shops in search of her mother, bystanders looking on in irritation or disgust as she passed. She sighed in relief at the sight of her, water pooling in her eyes.

“Ma!”

“Mary? Liebling, whatever is the matter?”

“Pa, he - he’s having a fit, he -“ She cut herself off in panic as she tried to catch her breath. Her mother quickly paid the man she was talking to and brought them to a corner away from prying eyes.

“Oh, dear,” She took a cloth and wiped her daughter’s face. “What’s he on about this time?”

“You.” She sniffed and felt her mother’s hand still. “He was getting worried because you were taking a while, I tried to reason with him, but he just - he - he wouldn’t -“

“You did what you could, liebling. Don’t you worry.” She gently pushed her basket into Mary’s hands to which she accepted. “Now, do me a favor and finish up the shopping for me. I’ll handle your father.”

“Ma -“

“I don’t want to hear it. The longer we wait the worse he’ll get, you know how he is.” She gave Mary a quick kiss on the side of her head.

“Be careful.” Her mother nodded and turned to leave, rushing back home as Mary watched her figure disappear in the thinning crowd. She hesitated to leave, then decided it was best she didn’t stall any longer and made her way back to the market.

By the time she finished the sun was setting and most stands were closing down. All that was left on the streets were stragglers either going on a stroll or rushing back to their own homes. She held the basket closer to herself when she caught sight of their oh-so-humble abode, stalking as she entered. Seeing no one in the shop, she cautiously walked up the small ladder-like stairs to their living area and peaked into the room. Her parents sat at the dining table eating their dinner quietly. Though it was anything but a comfortable silence.

Mary finished climbing and made her way over to their cupboard to put away what was in the basket, doing her best to make as little noise as humanly possible. A chair screeched along the wooden floor that jolted her, footsteps growing louder behind her to place dishes in the nearby sink before they faded into a different room. She took a deep breath in relief, turning to face her mother when she noticed a bruise starting to form on her wrist.

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.

Serenity - Chapter 2

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 few days that passed since the abduction were wary. The energy in the village had swiftly changed. Heads were downcast. The air was tense and the bustle was far less pronounced, yet still remained nonetheless. Naturally, Mary received less customers than usual due to growing suspicion. Though no one cared to ask what had happened in the first place. The villagers just assumed.

They weren’t the friendliest bunch, which was fitting for the country. Even if the Baron and Baroness were at least decent the people down below would still find something to mope about. Nothing was ever enough for them.

That was how Mary, with quite the facade, saw them. Greedy. Mannerless. Irritable. She was sure things would be different were it not for her father, but even if he were to pass right then and there the people would see Mary and her mother all the same.

With a sigh, she began to revisit the stitching on her dress, touching up and making sure everything was as perfect as humanly possible. She smiled to herself, proud of her work. Throughout her years of working the shop she had scrapped possibly hundreds of designs for a ‘dream dress’ for lack of a better word.

The finished product was far from what she first thought up, but the evolution of it all was fascinating to her. Whether it be the basic design, the color or the fabric. She had never felt so accomplished, yet it felt so pointless now that she had indeed finished. Twenty-six years of brainstorming for a dress that she would possibly never have the chance to wear.

Not quite the dress of an aristocrat, and yet not that of a queen. It was a healthy balance. It wouldn’t stand out in a crowd, but still held a certain uniqueness to it.

It resembled Mary.

She heard footsteps climbing down the stairs behind her, followed by a gasp.

“Liebling!” Her mother placed a hand above her heart in disbelief. “Such talent.“ She gawked. “Such wasted talent.” She began to cough, clutching an area on her chest as she hunched over.

“Ma? Are you alright?” Mary rested a hand on her shoulder as her mother recovered, patting her chest with a deep breath and a nod.

“Yes, yes, dear. I’m quite alright.”

“You should sit down -“

“I’m fine, liebling.” The room grew quiet as the two of them stared at her dress. Thinking too much or not thinking at all, it was comfortable.

“Ma?” Her mother hummed. “What did you mean by ‘wasted talent’?” Mary heard her sigh and felt a light pat on her back.

“You’re so talented, mein lieber.” She started. “I just wish we could offer you more. Who knows how much further you’d be able to go were it not for this Godforsaken village.” She wrapped an arm around Mary’s shoulders, pulling her into a side hug. “Imagine what you could do if you just had all of the right materials. The tools. The best machinery. And this dress? This dress is just the beginning.”

“Indeed, it is.” A nasally voice interrupted. The two of them jumped and turned to the source, finding the catcher and two soldiers at the entrance. Uncharacteristically, however, he was without his net and hook. It was a rather odd sight for the two of them as he rarely ever visited the town just to show face, if at all. “I’m not here,” He paused, glancing over at the mannequin they stood in front of before looking back over at the pair. “For children.” He practically spat in disgust.

“What are you here for, then?” Mary asked out of curiosity, her mother throwing her a side-eye.

“I have a request for the seamstress.” He paused. “And only the seamstress.” She looked over at her mother who only glared at the man, then softened as she turned to her daughter.

“I’ll be fine.” Mary reassured with her eyes cast to the floor beside her, then quickly checked the entrance past the catcher’s figure before looking back at him.

“Dear -“ One look from her daughter was all it took. One look was all the reassurance she needed. With a hand on Mary’s shoulder as a lasting charm, she left the shop in search of her husband.

Mary took a deep, nervous breath and brought her hands to fold in front of her, wringing them anxiously.

“What is your request?”

“An outfit fit for a candy man, my dear.” He lightly mocked. Her eyes squinted in confusion.

“One of your personas?”

“Yes.” He began to wander, examining a nearby shelf covered in a multitude of colorful fabrics.

“I would be helping you if I were to accept.” She heard him hum and turned to face him. “Why not have another seamstress at the castle make it? Surely there’s more than a few to choose from.”

“The ones we do have lack creativity, something that you carry even with a lack of resources.” He explained as he made his way back over to her. With great hesitancy, she questioned.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t.” He stepped closer. “But I believe you can trust my authority.” Her heart began to race at the minor threat, if it even was one. She wasn’t even sure anymore. She gnawed on her bottom lip in thought, weighing her options. The words of her mother stuck out to her the most.

Maybe being noticed by the Child Catcher was a blessing in disguise? If she were to accept, she would ruin the reputation she worked so hard for should the villagers notice. As if it could get worse.

But why should she care what they think? No matter the outcome, they would still be their own judgmental, nosy selves. The only real problem would be if her father found out. Mary shivered internally just at the thought of it. As long as he wasn’t around when the catcher was there, she could always blow it off as another personal project. And she wouldn’t dare deny a direct request.

She breathed in, looked up at the catcher who waited patiently for an answer.

“I’ll do it. But as you said, I lack the proper materials.”

“Everything will be provided to you. The only thing you have to worry about,” he pointed to the plaza behind him. “Is them. As soon as they find out what you’re up to, they’ll cast you out faster than I can find the little ones.”

“I’m afraid it’s a bit too late for that. They’re the least of my worries, to be quite frank.” His brows knit together in question. “I appreciate the warning.” His expression turned into one of realization as he glanced at the living space that sat above them.

“Uh-huh.” Mary began to grow anxious, both at the silence and the amount of time they had before her parents returned. Her mother could only stall for so long before her father grew suspicious.

“When would you like to discuss the details?” Catching on to her restlessness, he decided against wasting any more time.

“The time is entirely up to you, however, I would prefer it if it were done as soon as possible.”

“I’m sure tomorrow would suffice. But it would have to be after dark. My father isn’t exactly the most understanding.”

He held out his hand, waiting for her to shake on it. However, when she reached out to it, his grip was far more gentle than she had expected. She watched as he leaned down towards it, a feather-like kiss placed between her knuckles with his abnormally long nose tickling the top of her hand.

Her mind grew foggy, unable to breathe. It was as if her body completely forgot how to function. She couldn’t tell if the reaction was caused by the man behind it or pure flattery, but she couldn’t say she was repulsed in the slightest.

Mary couldn’t help the disappointment she felt when he pulled away, and the smug grin on his face told her he was aware of it all.

“Until then.” Mary watched as the three men retreated to the plaza, the catcher on his box seat as always with the other two flanking him on their horses.

She let out an exasperated sigh, collapsing her weight against the table behind her as she quickly grew lightheaded. Not a moment later, her father stumbled into the shop, her mother not far behind.

“Are you alright?” She asked Mary cautiously. She just nodded in response, still thinking over what had just happened.

“What is he doing here, are three people not enough for the sadistic bastard?!” Mary’s father abruptly entered, beelining for her. “What did he want?” Mary glanced between her mother and the man who questioned her.

“He offered a job.” Her voice trembled. Her father’s jaw tensed.

“And?” Another glance from Mary at her mother who stilled.

“I declined.” For a moment he was silent, still. Studying her to see if she was indeed telling the truth. Eventually he huffed and made his way up the stairs, most likely to grab his usual bourbon.

“Where was he?” Mary whispered, tidying up the center table after catching her breath.

“I found him on the outskirts. He was headed for the road.” Mary rolled her eyes as her mother began to help.

“Ma, you need to rest.”

“Stop your worrying, liebling. Can’t have you doing all the work by yourself.”

“You’re only going to make it worse, especially after running around like that. Go rest. I can handle the shop.” Hesitantly, her mother gradually came to a stop. She eyed her daughter guiltily before resting a kiss atop of her head.

“Alright. You holler if anyone gives you any trouble, you hear?” Mary chuckled, bidding her farewell as she retired upstairs for the day.

Thank you all for the lovely comments! I have many more ideas and one-shots to come! Some are a bit more lengthy than others, be warned!🥰

(P.S: Ideas/asks are most definitely welcome 😘)

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.

The Scarred - Chapter 10

Masterlist

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

The woman stared at her reflection in the mirror, eyes glazed over as she glared at herself, judgment passing over her flawed body. She looked back up to meet her own gaze. Just then, a second familiar figure appeared behind her, stepping closer until the heat of their body was pressed against her.

Penelope tossed in her bed, a thin coat of sweat layered upon her skin as she panted, drowning in her own heat.

Her breath grew shaky as the figure brought a hand up to her neck, grazing his knuckles along the scarred skin. He brought his head to rest against hers, his scarred cheeks creating a soothing texture against her own. His hands slid down her figure to rest on her hips, pulling her closer to him. Her eye closed, head leaning back against his shoulder.

“Jack -“ She whispered to him.

Penelope shot up from her bed, too stunned to speak as tears streamed down her face. “Jack?” She cried to herself.

-

“This ‘Jack’ fellow. He mean anythin’ to ye?” Liam questioned as they waited on their order, sitting at a table tucked away in the corner of the small fast food joint.

Penelope thought for a moment, debating on whether or not she wanted to explain any further than she could handle. Liam patiently waited, however long it took for her. “He did…”

“Who was he?” He tried to pry further and he noticed her bite her lip, avoiding his gaze.

“Do you want the short story or the long one?”

“Whichever you prefer, lovin’.” Another pause. She took a deep breath.

“He was my boyfriend. Together for four years. He joined the Army knowing I was against it and eventually made it to Special Forces.”

Her fingers began to fidget with her jacket.

“Shortly after his training was finished, he proposed to me. Then two months before our wedding, he was deployed. I haven't heard from him since.” Penelope’s eyes glazed over. “I can’t help but think of all of the terrible things that could have happened to him.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Two years.” Liam reached out, covering her hand with his own larger one as an act of sympathy. Penelope struggled to prevent the dam of her eye from breaking.

“I’m not sure if this helps, but as a man that had me own love once? He’ll do everythin’ he can to find his way back to ye. Dead or alive. I’m not superstitious, but I think that dream was his way of findin’ ye again.”

Those last few words are what broke her. Tears silently fell, and she rushed to wipe them away, too stubborn to show them openly in public. She sniffed and looked away as their order was called, Liam going up to grab their food before guiding them out of the building and back to the apartment.

They ate in a comfortable silence, the TV humming once again in the background as Penelope was deep in thought. She couldn’t help the gut feeling that began to form in her stomach, too strong to ignore. It began to gnaw at her, eating away at whatever thoughts tried to push it away.

Once the sun had set and Liam left for the night, she looked out of the living room window, debating on whether or not she should take any chances.

She eventually sighed and gave in, throwing on her shoes and jacket before making her way to her car.

Pulling into the familiar parking lot, Penelope sat in her car, the engine off, the sound of the city distant as she stared out at the still water. The lake was calm, moonlight dancing across its surface like silver threads. The parking lot was empty, just like the night they had met. When she had been more cautious, more unsure of the man that now haunted her.

Now, though, things felt different.

The woman stepped out, leaning against the driver’s door as she breathed in the polluted air around her.

She couldn’t shake the pull she felt, the way the Joker had gotten under her skin. The thrill, the chaos, the freedom he had awakened in her. It was all still there, humming like electricity in her veins. It was an addiction. And yet, he had vanished afterward, like a phantom slipping back into Gotham’s shadows.

A flicker of movement in her peripheral vision made her stiffen. She turned her head slowly, heart racing just a little. And there he was, leaning casually against a streetlight at the edge of the lot, watching her. His purple coat was open, revealing his attire underneath, and he looked every bit as chaotic and unpredictable as he had that night. But this time, his eyes didn’t hold the same level of danger. Instead, there was something familiar. Something almost intimate.

Penelope’s breath hitched as their gazes locked.

The Joker sauntered towards her with a lazy grin, his posture relaxed yet full of that wild energy she knew too well. She couldn’t deny it. There was something there that she couldn’t explain. A tension, but not one born of fear or caution. It was something magnetic, unspoken. Something that pulled them together even when logic said they should stay apart.

“Miss me?” His voice cut through the stillness, teasing, his grin widening as he reached her car.

Her good hand rested casually in her pocket. “What if I did?” She replied, her voice softer than she intended, yet steady. She didn’t feel the need to hide her curiosity now. She wanted to understand what it was that drew her to him.

His eyes gleamed with amusement as he tilted his head. “Oh, look at you,” He mused, circling the front of her car like a predator sizing up its prey. “All calm, all… confident now.” He tapped the hood lightly as he passed, his fingers drumming an uneven rhythm. “What happened to that shaky, nervous thing you were before?”

“She grew up.” She gave him a small smile, knowing full well the Joker enjoyed the challenge.

He stopped at the driver’s side - closer than before - and leaned in, his face inches from hers as he stared at her, unblinking. She could feel the heat of his breath on her skin. Could almost hear the ticking of his erratic thoughts.

“I like this version of you,” He whispered, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “There’s a spark in ya, doll… And I’m gonna light it to hell.” His eyes gleamed, the dangerous edge still there. But now it felt personal.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Not this time. Instead, she leaned into the moment, thinking of that liberating feeling from that night. Letting the tension between them manifest into something real. Something tangible. “I want you to.” Penelope replied with an unwavering, honest gaze.

For a brief second, the Joker’s grin faltered, his eyes narrowing as if he was searching for something in her expression, something deeper. Then he laughed, the sound sharp and jagged in the quiet night.

“You’re not afraid anymore… that’s good,” He purred, straightening up but keeping his eyes on her. “Fear’s no fun when it’s one-sided, hm?”

Penelope felt the pull between them grow stronger. She wasn’t afraid anymore. Not of him, not of the things he brought out in her. And he could sense it. Their dynamic had shifted. They weren’t strangers playing a game of cat and mouse. They were something else entirely now.

“Come on,” He said suddenly, offering his hand. “Let’s go do something fun.”

She hesitated for only a second before slipping her hand into his, the feeling of his gloved fingers closing around hers sending a shiver up her spine. This time, it wasn’t fear. It was anticipation. She knew this path would lead to chaos, to something she couldn’t control.

But perhaps that’s what she craved for. And how would she know if she never tried?

He led her to what seemed to be just a regular black car, but she knew better. One of his men waiting by the car opened the passenger door for her, another doing the same for the driver’s side which was new to her.

“You’re driving this time?” Penelope mused once they took their seats, attempting to joke with him and poke the bear.

“I’ve driven plenty, toots.” He winked at her and started the car, his men taking their seats in the back. The car revved and his grip choked the steering wheel, then suddenly took off into the dark streets.

Penelope yelped in surprise before it turned into laughter. The car quickly sped up, the empty streets offering him leverage as he swerved in the road. He pressed down harder on the gas pedal when they reached a long stretch of road, reaching nearly ninety miles an hour that had the woman clutching her seat.

“Joker?” She questioned anxiously.

“Thought ya grew up, toots?” He began to cackle. “So grow up! Enjoy the ride!” Taking a leap of faith, she eased into it, choosing to trust the man behind the wheel. A wide smile spread across her lips once she decided to embrace it as it came, growing more comfortable. And eventually she joined his laughter.

When the car slowed down to a more decent speed, she rolled down her window and began to ease her torso outside, sitting on the door and holding onto the handle inside as leverage. Neon lights sped past as she leaned her head back, taking the wind as it came.

“There ya go, doll!” She heard the Joker encourage from below. His hand reached for her ankle when she wobbled slightly, the small act making her stomach flutter unexpectedly.

The same hand patted her calf when the car pulled into an open lot in front of a large, worn down building.

She fully climbed out and looked over at the Joker, then at the building where two men stood at the doors. Following closely behind him, she eyed the men standing guard who offered the same in turn, the other two from the car close behind her.

The warehouse was dimly lit, shadows dancing along the cracked concrete walls as a few lights flickered ominously. Different voices echoed and carried through the building as they made their way up the stairs past different floors, stopping at the uppermost level. It was an open space with little furniture, weapons of every kind littered around the room. With a single look from the Joker, the other men that were there left.

Penelope stood near an old, rusted table, her body tense, feeling out of place in the gritty environment. She ran her fingers over where the scars on the left side of her body were, feeling the uneven texture.

Across the room, the Joker leaned against a pile of crates. His scarred smile never wavered as his wild eyes observed her every move. He tilted his head, amusement playing across his face.

“Relax, toots. You’re too stiff.” The Joker said, waving his hand theatrically. “Now, the basics. Crime? Oh, it’s not just about the guns and the knives and the explosions. It’s about the art of chaos.”

Penelope’s gaze flickered to his, her curiosity fighting her hesitation. “Chaos?” She asked, her voice soft yet edged with something deeper, something he’d been coaxing out of her since they met.

Joker stepped closer, shoes scraping against the floor, and set down a blueprint on the table between them. “Soon,” He said, tapping his finger on a marked building, “We make a statement. But first, you gotta learn how to send a message. It’s not just about what you take. It’s about what they lose.”

She blinked, studying the blueprint, unsure what part of this made sense. “I’m not like you, Joker, I can’t just -“ She motioned to the table in front of her, unable to find the right words.

A low chuckle escaped the Joker’s throat, and he walked behind her, placing his gloved hands lightly on her shoulders. He leaned down, his voice a low whisper in her ear. “Oh, but you already are. You just need to let go. Stop playing by their rules and start looking at the bigger picture, hm?”

Penelope shivered, but didn’t pull away. Couldn’t pull away. There was a flicker of excitement she couldn’t deny, a part of her that wanted to let go of the fear. Of the guilt and the pain.

“Here’s the thing,” Joker continued, circling back to face her. He tossed a knife onto the table in front of her, its blade gleaming under the warehouse’s dim light. “It’s not about what you can do. It’s about how much you’re willing to risk. For control. For power. For fun.”

Penelope looked at the knife, then back at the Joker. “What do you want from me?”

His grin widened, his eyes burning with manic intensity. “I want you to embrace that spark. That little chaos inside you - and, oh, I see it, don’t you dare try and hide it.” He cocked his head. “That fire that turned you into this?” He motioned at her figure. “That took your arm, your eye? It didn’t kill you. So let it burn.”

Suddenly, the doors burst open, followed by grunts and muffled screaming and yelling from what seemed to be a man. Penelope turned to see what was going on, but Joker quickly took hold of her jaw and forced her to look at him.

Penelope exhaled slowly, her mind replaying flashes of her past. The fire, the agony. Her lost innocence. Maybe, just maybe, he was right. The chaos was already there, harnessed and held against its own will.

His gloved hand let go of her face, moving down to her waist and turning her around to face the commotion behind her.

In front of her sat a disheveled and bloodied man on his knees, gagged by a rag tied around his head. Two men stood at either side, guns in hand as they carefully watched between him and their boss.

“Know who this is?” The Joker questioned, hand still on her waist. The woman shook her head. “Remember that fire?”

Everything suddenly grew cold for Penelope. She stiffened, practically staring into the pitiful man’s very soul.

“New hire. Whaddya know?” Joker chuckled, then stopped abruptly. “Then he just had to open his mouth and - ope! Lookie here.”

He slipped past the shaky woman and snatched his jaw, squeezing at his cheeks to make him look up at his blackened stare.

“Just so happens that ya hurt this doll right here!”

He motioned to Penelope, then playfully slapped his face and made his way back to stand behind her.

“Remember that? Now you can finally put a face to it.”

He peeked over her shoulder to catch her change in expression, nose slightly flaring every other breath as she attempted to harness her emotions.

“Don’t hide it. Embrace it.” He rested a hand on her upper arm. “Pick up the knife.” The Joker urged, his tone softer but no less dangerous.

She looked over at the table, thinking for a moment before she reached for the blade, the cool metal now more familiar in her palm. But as she gripped it, something shifted. The fear that had once anchored her slipped away, leaving room for something else. Power? Defiance?

“That’s it. Now look at him.” She obeyed. “Remember that pain. Remember everything you lost because of him.”

Without another word, he watched as she took a step towards him, knuckles white as she squeezed the handle of the blade. Another step. Then another, until she was directly in front of him.

Tears welled up in her eye, images flashing across her mind at the horror he caused. The pain she endured, the pain she continued to endure. The blade slowly inched its way towards his face, the tip resting just below his left eye.

“I think I’ll start with what I lost.”

Reposting cause my boo is back ♥️🤍🖤

“Terrifier” - Art the Clown