Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Pairing - General Armitage Hux x Reader
*Set prior to The Force Awakens*
Summary -
Forged in blood. Bound by duty. Broken by desire.
(Y/n) (L/n) is a deadly Umbral of the Covenant - an elite order of vampires sworn to the First Order. Her assignment: serve as General Hux's personal guard. But as buried secrets surface and a rogue vampire faction rises, (Y/n) is forced to confront a past she can't outrun - and feelings she was never meant to have.
In a war of blood, betrayal, and duty, the deadliest threat may be the one that lies still in her chest.
Series contains - Blood, violence, battles/war, betrayal/angst, eventual smut, slow burn
The air was cool in the general’s office. It was later in the afternoon, the soft glow of artificial light bathing the room in sterile illumination.
General Hux stood at his desk, sorting through a series of final mission details before the team’s departure. His usual precision was evident, and his focus was absolute, but the silence in the room was not one of ease. It felt like the calm before the storm. A storm he was about to launch, and one that would, inevitably, affect those around him.
(Y/n) stood at the side of his office, leaning against the wall, but her fingers were tapping lightly against the fabric of her uniform, a subtle movement that betrayed her usual composure. Her eyes were fixed on the floor, unfocused. There was a nervous energy to her now, a tension that lingered in the air between them.
Hux glanced over at her, sharp eyes catching the fidgeting, the clenched jaw, the way she tried to appear still but couldn’t quite hide the anxiety beneath. For a brief moment, he was caught off guard. (Y/n) was rarely anything other than perfectly controlled, an elite soldier.
Seeing her this way, on edge and uncertain, was unsettling to say the least.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his voice a touch more probing than usual. The words held the more relaxed tone they had begun to grow accustomed to with each other, but there was also an undercurrent of something resembling care.
She stiffened at the sound of his voice, but only for a moment. It was as if she was trying to reset herself, to shove the anxiety back into the dark recesses of her mind, but it refused to stay there.
“I’m… fine, sir,” she replied, the words coming out a little too quickly, too tightly.
Hux raised an eyebrow, not fooled by the performance. He walked over to where she stood, stopping just a pace away from her. He wasn’t physically imposing. There was no need for it. But his proximity was enough to make the air between them feel charged.
“You’re not fine,” he observed quietly, his tone steady but unyielding.
(Y/n) bit down on her lower lip, her shoulders tensing further. She wasn’t looking at him, still staring at the floor, though the distant edge in her gaze seemed to suggest she wasn’t fully present.
He could feel the shift in the room, the subtle but noticeable change in her energy. (Y/n), the formidable warrior who had so often seemed untouchable, was standing here in front of him, not hiding her vulnerability.
It was strange to someone like him. No one on the ship would ever open up to him in such a way, and yet the fiercest warrior he had ever met was cracking right before his very eyes.
“Why are you worried about him?” Hux asked, his voice softer now. It was rare for him to show any degree of gentleness, but there was something in (Y/n)’s uncharacteristic behavior that pulled at him.
(Y/n) was usually the one others depended on, the one who gave strength to others when they needed it most. She was the protector, the shield.
But now? She was the one who needed protection. And, for the first time, Hux saw it clearly. He saw her as more than just the cold, calculating soldier everyone else saw. He saw the person beneath.
Her breath hitched slightly, and she stiffened even more, as if bracing herself for something she didn’t want to face. He couldn’t help but notice how much the uncertainty of the mission, of the risk to Varo, was affecting her.
He began, his voice lower now, with an unexpected softness that she couldn’t ignore. “He’s trained. They’re all trained. If anyone can handle themselves in that situation, it’s him.”
But she shook her head, biting back whatever she wanted to say. “He’s not just a close comrade. He’s…” She faltered, as if the words didn’t quite fit together. “He’s the only person I have left who saw me before all of this. Before the Covenant. Before I became what I am now.”
There it was again. The rare slip. The cracks in her armor. She wasn’t just a soldier to be viewed from the outside. She was a person who had lived through something, who had experienced loss, betrayal, and isolation in ways few would ever understand.
Hux studied her, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “I know,” he said simply. “I know what it’s like to have your future determined by others. To be bound to something you never chose. And I know what it’s like to lose people. It doesn’t get easier, but you learn how to live with it. You have to if you want to survive.”
(Y/n) lifted her gaze, her eyes meeting his for the first time in what felt like hours. She didn’t say anything in response, no words of thanks or gratitude. But Hux saw something akin to understanding pass between them.
“Get some rest,” he said, turning away. “You’ll need it. The mission launches in just a few hours.”
She nodded absently, her mind still caught on the thoughts she couldn’t shake. As she started to leave the room, she paused for just a second.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, as if the words were hard-earned.
Hux gave a brief nod, holding her gaze before she finally turned and left.
And as she walked out of his office, her footsteps quieter than usual, Hux stayed behind for a moment longer, staring at the empty space where she had been standing, a strange feeling settling into his chest. As much as he tried to shake the thought, it lingered.
Hours later, after tossing and turning and not getting any sleep, (Y/n) found herself heading to the hangar to see the squad off.
The hum of the hangar was deafening as they geared up. The noise of loading crates, preparing fighters, and the steady thrumming of engines filled the space, but it was the quiet bubble of tension around (Y/n) and Varo that made the moment feel charged. (Y/n) stood near the side of the bay, watching the First Order soldiers make sure their gear was locked in place before the operation began.
Her eyes were focused on Varo, who was making his final adjustments to his gear, ensuring everything was in place. His usual easy going demeanor seemed absent, replaced by the quiet intensity of someone about to step into the unknown. She was well aware of the weight he carried. Not just the weight of the mission, but the weight of the friendship they shared. The only friend she had left, and now he was going off into danger without her for the first time.
“Ready to go?” (Y/n)’s voice broke the silence, though it wasn’t without hesitation.
Varo glanced up from his harness he was adjusting and gave her a faint, lopsided grin. “You know me. Always ready.” He continued adjusting his equipment, but there was a slight tremor in his movements, a rare moment of vulnerability that (Y/n) noticed.
For a long moment, she just stared at him. Her gaze softened, and her hand instinctively reached out to adjust one of his straps, smoothing it down to avoid any discomfort on the mission. It was an automatic gesture, something they both knew well. Small moments of familiarity between soldiers who had fought together for years.
“I wish I could go in your place.” she said quietly, her tone softer than usual. She tried to hide the worry in her voice, but it was there, clear as day.
Varo stopped what he was doing, raising an eyebrow and looking down at her. “You know I’m not letting you off the hook that easily. Besides, you’re needed here with Hux. He’d be lost without you.”
Her brow furrowed at the mention of the general, and she quickly brushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. “I don’t like you being out there alone. The squad can handle it, but I… I just don’t like it.”
Varo smiled, that familiar spark returning to his eyes, though it didn’t fully reach the corners of his mouth. “You always were the protective one.” He nudged her lightly with his elbow, a teasing move that was meant to lighten the moment. “I’ll be fine. You know me, I’ve been through worse than this.”
(Y/n)’s gaze lingered on him for a second longer before she nodded, but it was clear that she wasn’t convinced. Her next words came with a sigh, a mix of frustration and unease. “I hate how I can’t always control everything, Varo. What if something happens? What if -”
“Nothing is going to happen,” Varo interrupted, his voice firm but comforting. He stepped closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder in a rare show of support. “We’ve been trained by possibly the best academy in the galaxy. I know how to stay alive. And I’ll come back. I always do.”
For a moment, they stood there, the bustling hangar a distant hum in the background. It was just the two of them, the unspoken bond between them hanging heavy in the air.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “You better. Don’t make me come rescue you.”
Varo chuckled softly, the sound a brief relief in the tension-filled atmosphere. “If you insist. But you’ll have to catch me first.”
She shot him a sharp look, a brief flash of her usual intensity crossing her face. “I’m fast enough.”
Varo’s grin widened, and he clapped her on the back. “That’s the (Y/n) I know. ”
(Y/n)’s lips twitched upwards slightly, the barest hint of a smile breaking through her otherwise stoic demeanor. “Just don’t get yourself killed.”
“I won’t,” Varo replied, his tone turning more serious. He took a step back, nodding towards the squad waiting by the ship. “Alright, I better go. Stay safe here, alright?”
(Y/n) nodded, watching him for a moment as he started to walk towards the shuttle, his footsteps echoing in the hangar. She stood there, still. Her eyes followed his retreating figure and something inside her twisted. It was always so much easier when they were together.
“Varo,” she called out before he could get too far.
He paused and looked back at her, raising an eyebrow.
“Be careful,” she added softly, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.
He gave her a smile, the one she’d seen hundreds of times before, the one that told her everything would be okay. “Always am.”
And with that, he disappeared into the shuttle, leaving (Y/n) standing alone in the hangar. Her heart was heavy with unspoken words and the quiet hope that everything would, indeed, be okay.
For now, she could only wait.
Once they left, she stood in the hangar for a moment before striding back towards the bridge where the general would be waiting.
It was quieter than usual, as if the very walls of the ship were holding their breath. Lights blinked rhythmically across consoles, officers working silently, their glances occasionally flicking towards the command platform where General Hux and (Y/n) stood.
They weren’t speaking. Not yet.
Hux stood with his hands clasped neatly behind his back, staring out at the stars through the viewport. There was a sharpness to his expression, his usual composure tinged with a trace of unease.
(Y/n) stood beside him, not in her usual rigid stance, but more reserved, arms folded, her eyes flicking across the terminals. Her gaze was distant, but focused. Waiting, calculating. Her heightened senses kept her attuned to every shift of movement, every new blip on the screen.
Still, no update.
“They’re late checking in,” she said at last, her voice quiet.
Hux didn’t move. “A few minutes behind schedule is not unusual for a stealth insertion. You know that.”
(Y/n)’s jaw tightened, but she gave a short nod. “Doesn’t make it any easier.”
He glanced toward her, just for a moment. “Worried?”
She didn’t deny it. “Yes.”
A pause hung between them. The bridge crew pretended not to notice their exchange, though a few subtle glances were exchanged among them. No one had ever seen the general speaking this calmly with anyone, especially not one of the Covenant.
“I’m not fond of silence before battle either,” Hux admitted quietly, returning his eyes to the viewport. “Waiting for someone else to move first is always the worst part.”
She looked at him. “You’ve waited on plenty of battlefields, I’m sure.”
“Yes.” A faint, sardonic smile touched his lips. “But I prefer the part where I’m giving orders and watching the results. The part where things are in my control.”
(Y/n) let out a soft exhale that was nearly a laugh. “So you don’t like silence either.”
“No,” he replied, tone flat. “I despise it.”
Their shared stillness resumed, but it wasn’t uncomfortable this time. Just suspended.
Until a sudden chime broke through the quiet. An officer at a lower console straightened sharply.
“General,” he called, voice clear, “we have a transmission from the advance team. The squad landed and is moving into position now. No contact with hostiles yet, but visibility is low.”
Both Hux and (Y/n) turned at once, stepping down from the command platform towards the console.
“Put it on the central display,” Hux ordered.
The large screen at the center of the bridge flickered to life, showing grainy feed from the squad’s body cams. Thermal vision, silent hand signals, movement through low-light terrain.
(Y/n)’s sharp eyes scanned the footage instantly. “They’re moving well. Clean formation. But this terrain… it’s too open.”
“They’ll adapt,” Hux replied, though he watched the feed just as intently.
She nodded. “Drenn will keep them sharp.”
The atmosphere on the bridge was tense. The buzz of activity faded into the background as (Y/n) and Hux stood side by side, their attention locked on the holographic displays before them.
It was a quiet, methodical operation.
(Y/n) stood just beside Hux, her eyes tracking every detail on the feed. Her mind was elsewhere, despite the seemingly calm exterior she projected. She felt the gnawing anxiety she hadn’t quite shaken off when Varo left, the unease creeping into her chest. She trusted Varo’s skills, but there was still the lingering thought of the unknown.
“Any changes in the feed?” The general asked after too many moments of silence. Hux’s voice was low, but precise, cutting through her thoughts.
(Y/n) blinked, focusing on the screen. “No, nothing yet. It’s still the same. They’re just watching the outer perimeter for now. No signs of the faction yet.”
“Good,” Hux responded, eyes narrowing as he observed the footage. “Keep me updated if you see anything that changes.”
(Y/n) gave a sharp nod, though it was clear from the tension in her posture that she was already on edge. Her gaze flitted between the feeds, watching Varo and the squad move through the landscape, their movements fluid and practiced. Every corner they turned, every shadow they passed, felt like an eternity to her. She could feel the weight of the unknown pressing down, her thoughts drifting back to the moment before the mission when she had wished she could go instead.
“How long until we can make contact if something goes wrong?” (Y/n) asked, her voice laced with quiet concern.
“Half an hour,” Hux answered, his voice still calm, though (Y/n) noticed the faintest crease in his brow. He, too, was tense. “We’ll keep monitoring. We can’t risk alerting them if they’re aware of our presence.”
(Y/n) didn’t respond at first, her eyes narrowing as she watched Varo and the team continue their sweep. The slow, deliberate pace they kept felt agonizing, but it was necessary. Every inch of the mission was calculated, but even the smallest mistake could jeopardize everything.
She felt a strange, familiar tightness in her chest as she saw Varo’s team approach a set of crumbling buildings, their silhouettes casting long shadows in the dim light.
“Everything’s moving according to plan,” (Y/n) said, though her voice lacked conviction. “I just wish -”
Hux turned to her, his gaze steady but piercing. “You were out there with them,” he finished for her.
(Y/n) hesitated before nodding once. She hadn’t realized how much she’d let the feeling show.
Hux was silent for a long moment, his eyes flicking back to the screen. “Drenn’s capable,” he said, as though trying to reassure her, though there was something oddly personal about the way he said it, as though he understood her worry more than he’d let on.
She didn’t reply immediately, choosing instead to focus back on the screen. “I know. I just… I know how dangerous this could be.” She glanced at him, the briefest flash of vulnerability crossing her face.
Hux’s eyes lingered on her for a second longer than usual. “You’ve been through worse to get to where you are now. He’ll be fine.”
Her gaze returned to the screen, the words not quite enough to quiet her inner fears, but she appreciated the effort. As the minutes dragged on, she leaned in closer, her posture tightening with each new frame on the display. She didn’t want to admit how much she was starting to rely on the quiet support Hux was offering at that moment. How much it was beginning to matter that he was there.
The hour passed slowly, but as the operation continued, the tension in the room began to build.
Then, a sudden shift in the feed caught her attention.
The movement was erratic, flashes of motion in the distance, too quick to be natural. The squad had stumbled onto something.
“Wait,” (Y/n) murmured, stepping forward. She turned to the console and her fingers moved over the controls, zooming in on the image before walking back over. “They’ve spotted something.”
Hux stood straighter, his gaze sharpening as he too focused on the newly updated feed. “What are we looking at?”
(Y/n)’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not just a few stragglers…” She held her breath, eyes widening as realization kicked in. “They’re surrounded - this isn’t right.”
The screen displayed the incoming movement. Too many figures, too fast to track. The squad was moving into a choke point.
“Get me a full analysis of the surrounding area,” Hux ordered a nearby officer sharply, his voice cold and commanding. “We need to know if there’s a larger force there, and if they’re closing in.”
The officer didn’t hesitate, their fingers moving swiftly to initiate the commands.
Hux’s eyes flicked over to (Y/n) once again, the coolness in his expression momentarily fading. He didn’t say anything, but something in his posture softened, just enough for her to notice.
The situation on the feed escalated, and (Y/n) could feel the gravity of it. With the team out there, in the line of fire, she couldn’t help but feel a growing unease that she couldn’t shake.
“Hold on, Varo,” she whispered to herself.
The tension on the bridge intensified as the analysis the officer ran illuminated more troubling details. The surrounding area, once thought to be clear, was now crowded with figures, movement that didn’t match the squad’s advance.
For a moment, (Y/n)’s mind raced with the possibilities after the officer reported.
Had they been ambushed? Was this a setup?
Her eyes darted between the surveillance screens and the data feeds she was receiving.
“Damn it,” (Y/n) muttered, her fingers flying over the console, zooming in on the feed more to get a better look at the incoming forces. “Whoever they are, there’s more of them. We’ve got a larger group. Not just the squad anymore.”
Hux’s gaze sharpened as he leaned over her shoulder just behind her, his attention now fully locked onto the feed. “Are we looking at enemy combatants?”
(Y/n) shook her head quickly. “Not entirely. There are more… but they don’t look like the rogues. These are… Well, they’re just as coordinated, but don’t follow the same pattern.”
The figures in the background were moving with the precision of seasoned soldiers, but their tactics were far too refined to be random insurgents. And then, as if on cue, the officer’s analysis returned an unexpected match.
“General, they’re Covenant,” they said, voice tinged with surprise.
“Covenant?” (Y/n) questioned as she shot the officer a look before turning to the general. “Did we call Covenant reinforcements?” He shook his head, just as stunned.
A silence fell over the bridge for a moment, as the officers took in her words. Hux remained stone-faced, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something that might have been disbelief, or perhaps curiosity.
“Why would the Covenant be aiding the squad?” Hux asked, his voice low and deliberate, though his mind was clearly whirring, processing this new development.
“This doesn’t seem like a coincidence.” (Y/n)’s voice was firm, though the concern was evident. She watched as the small group of Covenant soldiers moved swiftly, expertly clearing the area around the squad without hesitation. Their skill and methodical execution suggested they were there to protect the squad, not target them. “It’s a controlled assault. They’re securing the perimeter.”
(Y/n)’s hand hovered over the console as the squad pressed forward, their formation tight and coordinated with the Covenant’s. “They could have been on a recon mission and ran into them.” She hesitated.
Hux’s lips pressed into a thin line as he considered the implications.
The feed revealed flashes of movement, but the squad’s communication remained solid, confirming that the Covenant was not only aiding them, they were taking command of the area with Varo’s order, clearing the perimeter with precise strikes. Within moments, the area was secured.
Hux’s voice cut through the tense silence on the bridge. “Has the situation stabilized?”
(Y/n) watched intently as the rogue faction retreated into a corner, pinned down by the Covenant and squad. “It’s under control,” she confirmed, though there was a trace of disbelief in her voice. “They’ve secured the perimeter. The rogues are cornered.”
Suddenly, (Y/n) honed in on one of the squad’s feeds showing the captured rogues as they were being detained. Hux watched as she stepped closer to the video of one woman, a familiar face she hadn’t seen since before joining the Covenant.
“Umbral?” The general asked carefully as her lips parted in disbelief, face reflecting contained rage and pain. She took a staggered step away from the feed, swallowing before she quickly schooled her expression. But her eyes couldn’t lie.
“May I step away for a moment, sir?” She asked in a trembling tone without even glancing in his direction. The general hesitated before approving.
“You may.” His eyes followed her as she immediately stormed out of the bridge.
The door to Hux’s office hissed shut behind (Y/n), sealing her in silence.
She didn’t make it far. Just a few steps in before the weight of what she’d seen crashed down over her like a collapsing hull. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as her breathing quickened, shallow and sharp.
(Y/n) stood at the edge of the main living space, her posture tense but composed. Her dark clothing was simple, travel-ready. A small satchel was slung across her back. Her mother sat stiffly on the couch, a glass of crimson liquid in her hand. Her father stood behind her with arms folded.
“You can’t possibly be serious.” Her father quipped.
“I am. Varo and I are leaving by morning.”
“You’ve been spending far too much time with that fanatic.” Her mother spat.
The image was still burned into her mind. Sitting among the detained rogues, restrained, eyes hollow. The woman hadn’t changed much. At least not in the way that mattered. That cold stare, the one that had once looked down on (Y/n) with bitter disappointment, was still there.
(Y/n) answered, growing louder. “He showed me the truth. The ruins. The archives. The names of our people they tried to erase.”
“Stories, (Y/n)! Lies, ghosts! You’re choosing to chase vengeance over reason!” Her father yelled, patience as thin as silk.
(Y/n) responded with the same volume. “I’m choosing to stop hiding! To not let the Resistance erase what they did to us! The history of our people that you’re so casually tossing aside all because you’ll get a little more money in your pocket!”
“And you think the Covenant is the answer? The First Order?” Her mother asked sternly, choosing to ignore her last comment. “What you’ve done is a disgrace to our family,” the older woman said coldly, her voice calm, but only on the surface. Beneath it was fear, trembling and bitter.
“You left me no choice.” She bit back.
(Y/n) stumbled forward and pressed her hands against the edge of the general’s desk, her head bowed. Her nails scraped against the cold metal, leaving faint indentations as she shook her head over and over again.
No. It’s not her. It can’t be.
But it was.
“I didn’t ask for this,” (Y/n) choked as her eyes began to brim with tears.
A cracked sound escaped her throat. Half snarl, half sob. She pushed away from the desk, pacing like a caged animal. Her boots thudded against the floor as she moved, erratic and unmoored.
Her hands shook as she pressed them to her temples, trying to force the memories away.
(Y/n) gritted her teeth as her fangs finally extended, the sound of her crying out combined with a monstrous hiss-like roar. She couldn’t think like this. Couldn’t feel like this. Not now. Not again.
Silence stretched across the room, heavy with tension. Her mother set down her glass and stood, golden eyes narrowing.
“If you walk out that door, (Y/n)… You are no daughter of ours.”
(Y/n)’s throat tightened, a few tears finally escaping silently. There was no outburst, no scream. Just a slow, internal breaking. She squared her shoulders.
“You already made that choice when you decided fortune was more important than our people.”
She turned, walking towards the door. Her hand lingered on the panel for just a second.
Without turning back to look at them, she finalized her decision. “Goodbye.”
She collapsed onto the floor on her knees, hunched over as she hugged herself. Her breathing slowed, but the tension clung to her shoulders like armor she couldn’t shed.
There was no comfort. No absolution.
Only the low hum of the Finalizer around her, and the knowledge that her past had come roaring back into the present with a face she had never wanted to see again.
And now, she would have to face her.
Not as a daughter.
But as an affiliate of the First Order. And a child of the Covenant.
More Posts from Igot-the-juice and Others
Blood of A Rose - Part 2 (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)
Masterlist
Summary - Following the events of their night together, (y/n) and Art explore their dynamics together to form a perfect duet of blood and beauty.
Notes - Was requested to expand on the relationship between Art and the reader and will happily oblige! It’s honestly so fun to write Art’s character, I hate how little there is out there for him. My man needs attention.
P.S - Might branch this into a series of one shots showing their relationship more and whatnot either from my own ideas or requests from you guys for what you’d like to see with them. Hell, might even make a whole blog based on them. Thoughts?
Word Count - 4,091
Warning(s) - Blood, gore, violence, morally ambiguous reader
Song Inspiration -
Cody Frost - Process
Screams were heard all around them, piercing and agonizing. Everything was set ablaze, yet she felt no heat. She felt no pain. Even as the smoke clouded, she could breathe without struggle. (Y/n) craned her neck to look up at the clown before her, eyes wide with wonder, with trust. Her life was in the hands of a murderer and yet she felt safe. She felt protected.
His usual grin did not show, yet he didn’t frown. His face remained neutral while his eyes said it all, filled with an untamed obsession, possessiveness and dare she say adoration. His gloved hands rose to her jaw, cupping it delicately as he guided her to train her eyes on him, to ignore all that happened around them. As she stared up at him, her hands came to rest over his own, and with a look of his eyes she was told -
He would be her past, present and future.
(Y/n)’s eyes fluttered open, greeted by the soft light of the moon that peaked through the boards of the window. The colder air bit at her skin through her sweater and she shivered.
She sat up and looked around curiously, seeing that she was now in the makeshift bedroom from before. She then looked down and saw that she was on the mattress, however a tattered blanket now lay on top of it beneath her, shielding her from whatever mold and rot had been on it.
Her legs closed when she felt a light breeze brush against the tear in her pantyhose, heightening the chill. (Y/n) stretched her arms out and stood, then heard what sounded like someone hammering from a different room. Her mind raced with the events of what she assumed was still the same night. Her face burned, stomach fluttering as the ghost of Art’s caress tickled her skin.
She took a deep breath and left the room, quietly making her way to where the sound came from. Mindful of the debris on the floor as she grew near, she entered the room with the workbench, Art hunched over it on the stool as he hammered away at something.
When (y/n) stepped closer he paused. Her breath stilled as his head slowly turned to the side, yet not over his shoulder to look at her, letting her know that he knew she was there.
Once he returned to work she released the breath she held and made her way over to him, seeing as he hammered a screw-eye hook of sorts into the end of a chair leg.
His face was focused, not smiling or putting on his usual dramatics as he worked. It felt strange to her, seeing him this way. It reminded her that even if he was a murderer he wasn’t excused from putting in the work to make it happen, whether it was a hobby of his or not. It reminded her that he still had interests and needs just as everyone else. It was oddly humanizing and she couldn’t help but feel privileged to see him in such a state.
He motioned to a nearby corner and (y/n) turned to see another stool placed there, then moved to bring it over and sat on top of it to continue to watch him. He then motioned to her - conversing as he worked - then symbolized sleep as if to ask how she slept, then proceeded to pick up an average sized chain.
“It was actually quite nice. Best sleep I’ve had in a while.”
With chain in hand, he clapped excitedly, happy with her response. He hooked it to the screw, bending and twisting the metal to make sure it was secure as (y/n) watched casually, as if it was just another day.
“Is it… Is it still the same night?”
He shook his head and her eyes widened. Art turned to see it and began to laugh to himself.
“How long has it been?”
He held up a finger after his laughing fit died down, going back to his work.
“One day…? But how?”
He nodded and glanced over at her, watching as she looked down, growing more and more confused. He patted her shoulder and she looked up at him, seeing him point to himself, then her.
“Because of you?” Her brow furrowed, then her expression changed as she chuckled. “Are you saying I slept for so long because of what we did?”
Art shrugged and made a cheeky expression, but she became confused again when he then shook his head. He motioned to himself again, then pointed to her head.
“You… forced me to stay asleep?” He eagerly nodded, smiling and pointing at her to say she got it. “But how? Did you knock me out?” His head shook. “Did you drug me?”
His head shook again and he rolled his eyes, arms falling to his sides in exasperation. He then motioned to his entire body, pointed to his head with both fingers, then to her head again.
“You were in my head…?” He nodded and clapped. “How is that even possible?”
Art shrugged dramatically with a mischievous smile. (Y/n) paused and slowly met his eyes.
“The dream…?” She asked, and in the back of her head she already knew the answer.
The clown only solidified it with a raise of his eyebrows, mouth forming an ‘o’ and shrugging as an ‘oops’. (Y/n) could only laugh, not knowing how exactly to react to someone with such supposed supernatural abilities.
She wasn’t sure if she had finally grown to become insane or if it was all a hallucination, all in her head. But as she thought to the night before she found that it all felt too real, too vivid to be fake.
(Y/n) suddenly felt exposed and crossed one leg over the other, tugging down the skirt of her dress as her face grew warm. Art looked over at her, face twisting into mischief as his eyes squinted with his smile. He wiggled his eyebrows when she looked at him and she turned her face away bashfully.
He reached over to grasp her chin, coaxing her to look back at him. He nudged his head in her direction, grinning to encourage her to do the same. Once her smile returned and she giggled, he playfully booped her nose and turned back to his workbench, his smile now remaining on his dramatized face as he worked.
The minutes seemed to drag on as he worked, but not once was she bored. She watched eagerly, fixated as his hands toyed and shaped the weapon he was creating. His actions were all well thought out and deliberate, masculine yet graceful as his fingers caressed the wood and metal.
Deeming the weapon satisfactory, he raised it by the handle - the chair leg - and examined it carefully. Three chains hung from the screw-eye, knife tips, nails and spikes decorating the length of them.
“Is that a flail?” (Y/n) gasped.
Art’s head whipped over to look at her and patted her thigh, the hand holding the weapon shaking excitedly as he nodded. He watched as she eyed his new creation, then an idea formed in his head. His gaze shifted to look over at her, now smiling sadistically. She caught the change in his expression and she began to smile, catching on to what he was thinking.
“I’ll get the camera!” She hopped off of the stool.
-
After some convincing from her end, they stopped by her house for her to quickly change into something more comfortable. It wasn’t until she began to beg sweetly that he finally agreed, unable to say no to her more innocent nature, regardless of her interests.
Not a person was in sight as they were shielded by the dark of the night, hardly any street lamps in the area they currently wandered.
“Does the bag ever get heavy for you?” (Y/n) asked as they walked through the ghosted roads.
Art shook his head, using his other arm to exaggerate flexing his muscles and she laughed.
“I bet that bag is the reason you’re so strong, lugging it around everywhere and all.” He waved her off at the compliment and tickled her ear with his finger. “I’m serious! You make it look like it weighs nothing.”
As they walked, they began to see the edge of the town ahead of them. Or rather, Art saw it. (Y/n) was too focused on the clown beside her, taking in all of his features under the starry night, the moon perfectly accentuating every curvature and jagged edge, every -
She was suddenly yanked to the side of the sidewalk he walked on and she gasped, looking over to see a pole that she nearly walked straight into. She looked back over at Art who had a hand on his hip with a frown. He pointed at her, his eyes, then the direction they were walking in.
“Sorry…” She giggled as she blushed, nervously fiddling with the camera hanging around her neck.
He pulled back his arm and reached for her, pulling her to stand on the opposite side where he was previously walking to prevent it from happening again. He motioned for her to continue walking, rolling his eyes from behind her before he set his pace next to her again.
As they reached the town, Art began to look around carefully, more alert in the brighter area while (y/n) had a mind of her own. While he kept an eye out for his next victim, she focused on finding her next inspiration. She supposed they went hand in hand, but she was never one to strive for the bare minimum.
He then paused, holding his arm out for her to do the same, knowing she very well would’ve kept on walking. Hearing the voices of what seemed to be a couple arguing, he listened carefully to find where they came from.
Then he spotted them.
A man and woman arguing next to a car. The man was halfway in the driver’s seat while the woman stood next to it, flailing her arms.
Art then heard a shutter sound from beside him, slowly looking over to see (y/n) holding her camera up, taking photos of the argument before them. She looked over at him and shrugged innocently.
She put down the camera and the two of them watched the pursuing argument, equally invested in the exchange. The man then slammed the car door shut.
“They just broke up for sure.” (Y/n) whispered to Art and he looked down at her with a widespread grin, wiggling his eyebrows then nodding towards the woman who was now making her way into what seemed to be her villa.
Art crossed the street, making his way over with (y/n) in tow and walking up the small set of stairs leading to the front door. He looked down at her, then turned to the door in front of them and tested the door knob, unsurprisingly finding it locked.
He gave (y/n) a ‘wait’ signal and set down his bag, cracking his neck and stretching his arms out in front of him with linked fingers. Art then gave her a side smile, then suddenly kicked the door open. She froze with wide eyes, yet her stomach betrayed her as it flipped at his show of masked strength.
He picked up his bag again and grabbed her wrist to pull her inside with him, closing the door behind them. Footsteps quickly descended the staircase in front of them and they looked up to see the same woman from before, chest heaving in fear at the sight before her.
While (y/n) quickly snapped a photo of her expression, Art dropped his bag again and wiggled his fingers at her in a wave with a menacing smile. He then held up a finger to her and began to look through his bag as the woman remained frozen like a deer in the headlights, watching as he pulled out a scalpel and the new flail. He turned to (y/n) and raised his eyebrows, then bolted upstairs after the woman who fled.
As they thumped around upstairs, she began to explore the villa, looking for things to use in her next piece. The woman’s screams and shrieks were muffled behind the door of the room they were in and were drowned out, inevitably useless.
(Y/n) eyed a smaller box TV that sat on an entertainment stand in the living room, an idea popping into her head. She walked over to it and unplugged it in preparation, resuming her wandering when the noise above her suddenly stopped.
She heard a door open upstairs followed by footsteps descending the staircase. (Y/n) looked towards it, seeing a now bloodied Art giving her the ‘ok’ to go upstairs when she was ready.
“Could you do me a huge favor?” She asked as he made his way over to her, shaking off the blood on his hands and nodding. “Could you help take the TV upstairs for me? I want to use it as the head.”
Art made a surprised expression, clapping his hands giddily at the idea. He then paused with a finger up, making a sawing motion and asked for her to wait a moment, disappearing upstairs. Not long after, he returned with his saw and put it back in his bag, happily walking over to the TV and tipping his hat at (y/n) when he walked by. He then picked it up as if it was nothing but a feather and made his way back upstairs, (y/n) following closely behind as she giggled.
They entered the woman’s bedroom, her body splayed out on the bed with small to large chunks of her skin and fat missing, head nowhere to be found.
As he placed the TV where the woman’s head used to be, (y/n) admired the slashes left from the flail. Some were rather deep, others shallow. Their marks tore at the dress that the woman wore, some simulating claw marks while other areas were simply shredded.
“Could you move the arms to look like this?” (Y/n) posed her own arms to grab the sides of her head. Art carefully took note of the angle and position, then moved the victim’s arms to reflect it. “Perfect.” (Y/n) smiled, looking up at the ceiling to see LED lights lined along the edge.
Art watched as she wandered to find the remote, smiling to herself once she found it and changed the color to red and turned off the main light. She looked around the floor, watching for anything she could trip on before lifting a foot onto the bed.
Art’s face twisted into panic and his hands shook, stepping next to her and helping her up onto the bed.
“Thank you.” She responded softly, one of his hands still holding her waist to help steady her as she readied her camera. He followed her as she captured different angles, some standing while others she crouched.
(Y/n) took his hand to help herself down, smiling up at him as he grinned at her excitedly. Just as the night before, she flipped through the pictures she took, and just the same, she felt his closeness.
The only difference was rather than nerves, she felt relaxed. She felt calm and comfortable despite the mess around them that he caused. His hand that rested on her far shoulder radiated heat through her layers of clothing and she subconsciously leaned into him, head pressed against his chest while he pointed at the photos he favored.
His silent presence, twisted grin plastered on his painted face, drew her in like a moth to flame. (Y/n) found herself unable to refuse, an invisible pull guiding her to him.
At first, their following encounters were just a few hours in the night together. Art would appear when (y/n) least expected, showing up at odd hours, his silent insistence drawing her out into the dark. However, she began to notice her sleeping pattern slowly change. She grew more tired sooner, falling asleep earlier and earlier, waking up in a strange nocturnal rhythm.
At night, she would wake to find him waiting, patient but always silent, eager to lead her deeper into his world. (Y/n), feeling a strange sense of peace in his presence, began to follow him without question. And after only a few weeks of their odd relationship, she began to grow used to it. Comfortable with it. Comfortable with him.
“Hey, Art.” (Y/n) greeted him as she yawned, fresh out of bed to find him rummaging through her kitchen.
He looked up at her and waved, a widespread grin bringing out her own smile in her vulnerable, post-dream state. He gushed at the sight, elbows resting on the countertop with his chin in his hands, blinking dreamily at her as she walked over to him with her arms out.
Art popped up, engulfing her in his arms as she sighed happily at the feeling. He rocked the two of them slowly, the rhythm almost putting her back to sleep.
Slowly, (Y/n)’s life became consumed by Art. The gruesome art pieces she crafted from his handiwork grew bolder, more disturbing, as if the dark side of her creativity was being unleashed by his influence.
In her dreams, she would see him. His painted face looming over her, silent but omnipresent. At first, the dreams were disorienting. But over time, they became comforting. She would wake, feeling a strange longing for him, for the connection they shared in the darkest corners of her mind, weaving its way to the forefront.
As the days bled into nights, (y/n) found herself thinking of Art constantly. He was always there, even when he wasn’t physically present; a haunting figure in her thoughts. His silence, once goofy, became a form of comfort. She began to crave his presence, yearning for their time together.
And so (y/n) found herself growing dependent on him. Whether it was for her art or simply her attachment to him, how safe she felt with him. He understood her in a way no other person could, and she reciprocated.
The way he was so brutal and aggressive with others, yet gentle and thoughtful with herself only drew her closer to him. He treated others as nuisances, problems to deal with and get rid of while he treated her as delicately as the rose that brought them together. The contrast was endearing to her, and she couldn’t help but be entranced.
Though such treatment came with an undisclosed amount of protection and possessiveness, to which she learned rather quickly.
“It just came out wrong, I’m sorry!” (Y/n) giggled. Art mocked her, rolling his eyes as his mouth and hand mocked her talking. The culprit of such a fit?
She called his nose cute.
“Your nose is attractive, is what I meant. Believe me, you’re still as frightening as ever.”
He threw her a side eye, then dramatically sighed and waved it all off.
“Hey!” She stopped them in the middle of the sidewalk, a lit street lamp looming over them as they faced each other. “I’m sorry.” She gave him her best doe eyes, then stood up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
His grin slowly returned, hand coming over the top of where she kissed him and she giggled. He then took her hand in his own, continuing their nightly walk.
Later on, they heard slurred conversation ahead of them, seemingly male in nature. (Y/n) tried to slow their walk, but Art looked back at her and encouraged her to keep up with him. As they grew closer, they passed an alleyway that held a small group of drunks, hearing a whistle of a cat call.
The clown immediately stilled, and (y/n) quickly grew worried.
“Hey, where ya goin’ babes?” One of the men called, stepping out of the alleyway with a bottle in hand. “Not with the mime, I hope.”
Art and (y/n) slowly turned to face the man, their hands still interlocked as she gripped his tighter and stepped closer to him, practically hiding behind him like a scared child.
“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you actually wanna be with the guy!”
“Ey, c’mon man, stop messin’ with them, she’s not worth it.” Another man stepped out, followed by a third to watch the scene play out. Art’s eyebrows furrowed in anger, twisted grin remaining as he set down his bag and quickly reached into it.
“Obviously not if -“ Two shots suddenly pierced through the night air, the second and third men collapsing to the ground while Art aimed a handgun at the first who initiated.
(Y/n)’s hold on his hand moved to his arm, clutching onto it as the bodies began to puddle with blood beneath them. She looked up at Art, his grin replaced with a frown and it sent a chill down her spine. She had only seen him genuinely angry maybe once or twice, and whatever followed was far from pleasant, to say the least.
“H-hey, I was just jokin’ man, I was just jokin’!” The drunk held up his hands in surrender, but the clown wasn’t buying it.
As he continued to ramble and apologize, begging for his life, Art kept the gun pointed at his head. He watched as the man slowly broke in front of him, growing increasingly desperate. Art’s grin then slowly reappeared, giving the man a glimmer of hope.
Then Art suddenly aimed at the man’s thigh and fired, doing the same to his other until he fell to his knees. Art tossed the gun into his bag and rummaged through it further, his face twisting into a sadistic expression when he pulled out a box cutter flashing it to the man as a tease before stalking over to him.
(Y/n) turned around, facing away from the chaos and gore as she plugged her ears to drown out the noise. Even still, the sound seeped through as the man struggled and cried out helplessly. His fight was futile compared to Art’s strength, and the latter simply ragdolled him as if the man was just a child.
When the noise stopped, she unplugged her ears and felt a hand pat her waist, turning to see Art wipe off his now bloodied hands. She turned to see his mess, and his face suddenly grew concerned when she pouted.
“I don’t have my camera.” (Y/n) nearly whined, and Art mimicked her frown.
At first, (y/n) resisted the growing dependency, confused by her attachment. But he began to seep into her thoughts with concerning frequency. The dreams became more vivid, more intimate, filled with his silent adoration as he twisted her perception of reality until he became the center of her world, the only constant in her life, planting seeds of affection until it became impossible to imagine her life without him.
His obsession with her only grew. He would stand over her while she slept during the day, watching her with an almost childlike fascination. When she woke, his silent attention made her feel adored, special. The way he looked at her, possessive yet affectionate. His presence was her comfort, his protection her shield.
Eventually, (y/n) could no longer distinguish where her own desires ended and his began. The thought of being apart from him was unbearable. She began to seek him out during the day when she should have been resting, desperate to be near him.
When they were together, it was a twisted dance of blood and beauty. A duet that no one else could understand. She would create art from his chaos, and he would watch her with silent adoration, the two of them locked in a world where only they existed.
They grew to share a dark, intimate bond. (Y/n), once a quiet and reserved artist, had become consumed by Art - both his work and his presence. He had molded her. And she, willingly or not, had come to love him for it.
As their connection deepened, (y/n) knew that she could never return to the life she had before. The darkness was too intoxicating, the bond too strong.
She belonged to him now, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
The Scarred - Chapter 10
Masterlist
Summary - Penelope Miller works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by trauma and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.
The woman stared at her reflection in the mirror, eyes glazed over as she glared at herself, judgment passing over her flawed body. She looked back up to meet her own gaze. Just then, a second familiar figure appeared behind her, stepping closer until the heat of their body was pressed against her.
Penelope tossed in her bed, a thin coat of sweat layered upon her skin as she panted, drowning in her own heat.
Her breath grew shaky as the figure brought a hand up to her neck, grazing his knuckles along the scarred skin. He brought his head to rest against hers, his scarred cheeks creating a soothing texture against her own. His hands slid down her figure to rest on her hips, pulling her closer to him. Her eye closed, head leaning back against his shoulder.
“Jack -“ She whispered to him.
Penelope shot up from her bed, too stunned to speak as tears streamed down her face. “Jack?” She cried to herself.
-
“This ‘Jack’ fellow. He mean anythin’ to ye?” Liam questioned as they waited on their order, sitting at a table tucked away in the corner of the small fast food joint.
Penelope thought for a moment, debating on whether or not she wanted to explain any further than she could handle. Liam patiently waited, however long it took for her. “He did…”
“Who was he?” He tried to pry further and he noticed her bite her lip, avoiding his gaze.
“Do you want the short story or the long one?”
“Whichever you prefer, lovin’.” Another pause. She took a deep breath.
“He was my boyfriend. Together for four years. He joined the Army knowing I was against it and eventually made it to Special Forces.”
Her fingers began to fidget with her jacket.
“Shortly after his training was finished, he proposed to me. Then two months before our wedding, he was deployed. I haven't heard from him since.” Penelope’s eyes glazed over. “I can’t help but think of all of the terrible things that could have happened to him.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Two years.” Liam reached out, covering her hand with his own larger one as an act of sympathy. Penelope struggled to prevent the dam of her eye from breaking.
“I’m not sure if this helps, but as a man that had me own love once? He’ll do everythin’ he can to find his way back to ye. Dead or alive. I’m not superstitious, but I think that dream was his way of findin’ ye again.”
Those last few words are what broke her. Tears silently fell, and she rushed to wipe them away, too stubborn to show them openly in public. She sniffed and looked away as their order was called, Liam going up to grab their food before guiding them out of the building and back to the apartment.
They ate in a comfortable silence, the TV humming once again in the background as Penelope was deep in thought. She couldn’t help the gut feeling that began to form in her stomach, too strong to ignore. It began to gnaw at her, eating away at whatever thoughts tried to push it away.
Once the sun had set and Liam left for the night, she looked out of the living room window, debating on whether or not she should take any chances.
She eventually sighed and gave in, throwing on her shoes and jacket before making her way to her car.
Pulling into the familiar parking lot, Penelope sat in her car, the engine off, the sound of the city distant as she stared out at the still water. The lake was calm, moonlight dancing across its surface like silver threads. The parking lot was empty, just like the night they had met. When she had been more cautious, more unsure of the man that now haunted her.
Now, though, things felt different.
The woman stepped out, leaning against the driver’s door as she breathed in the polluted air around her.
She couldn’t shake the pull she felt, the way the Joker had gotten under her skin. The thrill, the chaos, the freedom he had awakened in her. It was all still there, humming like electricity in her veins. It was an addiction. And yet, he had vanished afterward, like a phantom slipping back into Gotham’s shadows.
A flicker of movement in her peripheral vision made her stiffen. She turned her head slowly, heart racing just a little. And there he was, leaning casually against a streetlight at the edge of the lot, watching her. His purple coat was open, revealing his attire underneath, and he looked every bit as chaotic and unpredictable as he had that night. But this time, his eyes didn’t hold the same level of danger. Instead, there was something familiar. Something almost intimate.
Penelope’s breath hitched as their gazes locked.
The Joker sauntered towards her with a lazy grin, his posture relaxed yet full of that wild energy she knew too well. She couldn’t deny it. There was something there that she couldn’t explain. A tension, but not one born of fear or caution. It was something magnetic, unspoken. Something that pulled them together even when logic said they should stay apart.
“Miss me?” His voice cut through the stillness, teasing, his grin widening as he reached her car.
Her good hand rested casually in her pocket. “What if I did?” She replied, her voice softer than she intended, yet steady. She didn’t feel the need to hide her curiosity now. She wanted to understand what it was that drew her to him.
His eyes gleamed with amusement as he tilted his head. “Oh, look at you,” He mused, circling the front of her car like a predator sizing up its prey. “All calm, all… confident now.” He tapped the hood lightly as he passed, his fingers drumming an uneven rhythm. “What happened to that shaky, nervous thing you were before?”
“She grew up.” She gave him a small smile, knowing full well the Joker enjoyed the challenge.
He stopped at the driver’s side - closer than before - and leaned in, his face inches from hers as he stared at her, unblinking. She could feel the heat of his breath on her skin. Could almost hear the ticking of his erratic thoughts.
“I like this version of you,” He whispered, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “There’s a spark in ya, doll… And I’m gonna light it to hell.” His eyes gleamed, the dangerous edge still there. But now it felt personal.
She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Not this time. Instead, she leaned into the moment, thinking of that liberating feeling from that night. Letting the tension between them manifest into something real. Something tangible. “I want you to.” Penelope replied with an unwavering, honest gaze.
For a brief second, the Joker’s grin faltered, his eyes narrowing as if he was searching for something in her expression, something deeper. Then he laughed, the sound sharp and jagged in the quiet night.
“You’re not afraid anymore… that’s good,” He purred, straightening up but keeping his eyes on her. “Fear’s no fun when it’s one-sided, hm?”
Penelope felt the pull between them grow stronger. She wasn’t afraid anymore. Not of him, not of the things he brought out in her. And he could sense it. Their dynamic had shifted. They weren’t strangers playing a game of cat and mouse. They were something else entirely now.
“Come on,” He said suddenly, offering his hand. “Let’s go do something fun.”
She hesitated for only a second before slipping her hand into his, the feeling of his gloved fingers closing around hers sending a shiver up her spine. This time, it wasn’t fear. It was anticipation. She knew this path would lead to chaos, to something she couldn’t control.
But perhaps that’s what she craved for. And how would she know if she never tried?
He led her to what seemed to be just a regular black car, but she knew better. One of his men waiting by the car opened the passenger door for her, another doing the same for the driver’s side which was new to her.
“You’re driving this time?” Penelope mused once they took their seats, attempting to joke with him and poke the bear.
“I’ve driven plenty, toots.” He winked at her and started the car, his men taking their seats in the back. The car revved and his grip choked the steering wheel, then suddenly took off into the dark streets.
Penelope yelped in surprise before it turned into laughter. The car quickly sped up, the empty streets offering him leverage as he swerved in the road. He pressed down harder on the gas pedal when they reached a long stretch of road, reaching nearly ninety miles an hour that had the woman clutching her seat.
“Joker?” She questioned anxiously.
“Thought ya grew up, toots?” He began to cackle. “So grow up! Enjoy the ride!” Taking a leap of faith, she eased into it, choosing to trust the man behind the wheel. A wide smile spread across her lips once she decided to embrace it as it came, growing more comfortable. And eventually she joined his laughter.
When the car slowed down to a more decent speed, she rolled down her window and began to ease her torso outside, sitting on the door and holding onto the handle inside as leverage. Neon lights sped past as she leaned her head back, taking the wind as it came.
“There ya go, doll!” She heard the Joker encourage from below. His hand reached for her ankle when she wobbled slightly, the small act making her stomach flutter unexpectedly.
The same hand patted her calf when the car pulled into an open lot in front of a large, worn down building.
She fully climbed out and looked over at the Joker, then at the building where two men stood at the doors. Following closely behind him, she eyed the men standing guard who offered the same in turn, the other two from the car close behind her.
The warehouse was dimly lit, shadows dancing along the cracked concrete walls as a few lights flickered ominously. Different voices echoed and carried through the building as they made their way up the stairs past different floors, stopping at the uppermost level. It was an open space with little furniture, weapons of every kind littered around the room. With a single look from the Joker, the other men that were there left.
Penelope stood near an old, rusted table, her body tense, feeling out of place in the gritty environment. She ran her fingers over where the scars on the left side of her body were, feeling the uneven texture.
Across the room, the Joker leaned against a pile of crates. His scarred smile never wavered as his wild eyes observed her every move. He tilted his head, amusement playing across his face.
“Relax, toots. You’re too stiff.” The Joker said, waving his hand theatrically. “Now, the basics. Crime? Oh, it’s not just about the guns and the knives and the explosions. It’s about the art of chaos.”
Penelope’s gaze flickered to his, her curiosity fighting her hesitation. “Chaos?” She asked, her voice soft yet edged with something deeper, something he’d been coaxing out of her since they met.
Joker stepped closer, shoes scraping against the floor, and set down a blueprint on the table between them. “Soon,” He said, tapping his finger on a marked building, “We make a statement. But first, you gotta learn how to send a message. It’s not just about what you take. It’s about what they lose.”
She blinked, studying the blueprint, unsure what part of this made sense. “I’m not like you, Joker, I can’t just -“ She motioned to the table in front of her, unable to find the right words.
A low chuckle escaped the Joker’s throat, and he walked behind her, placing his gloved hands lightly on her shoulders. He leaned down, his voice a low whisper in her ear. “Oh, but you already are. You just need to let go. Stop playing by their rules and start looking at the bigger picture, hm?”
Penelope shivered, but didn’t pull away. Couldn’t pull away. There was a flicker of excitement she couldn’t deny, a part of her that wanted to let go of the fear. Of the guilt and the pain.
“Here’s the thing,” Joker continued, circling back to face her. He tossed a knife onto the table in front of her, its blade gleaming under the warehouse’s dim light. “It’s not about what you can do. It’s about how much you’re willing to risk. For control. For power. For fun.”
Penelope looked at the knife, then back at the Joker. “What do you want from me?”
His grin widened, his eyes burning with manic intensity. “I want you to embrace that spark. That little chaos inside you - and, oh, I see it, don’t you dare try and hide it.” He cocked his head. “That fire that turned you into this?” He motioned at her figure. “That took your arm, your eye? It didn’t kill you. So let it burn.”
Suddenly, the doors burst open, followed by grunts and muffled screaming and yelling from what seemed to be a man. Penelope turned to see what was going on, but Joker quickly took hold of her jaw and forced her to look at him.
Penelope exhaled slowly, her mind replaying flashes of her past. The fire, the agony. Her lost innocence. Maybe, just maybe, he was right. The chaos was already there, harnessed and held against its own will.
His gloved hand let go of her face, moving down to her waist and turning her around to face the commotion behind her.
In front of her sat a disheveled and bloodied man on his knees, gagged by a rag tied around his head. Two men stood at either side, guns in hand as they carefully watched between him and their boss.
“Know who this is?” The Joker questioned, hand still on her waist. The woman shook her head. “Remember that fire?”
Everything suddenly grew cold for Penelope. She stiffened, practically staring into the pitiful man’s very soul.
“New hire. Whaddya know?” Joker chuckled, then stopped abruptly. “Then he just had to open his mouth and - ope! Lookie here.”
He slipped past the shaky woman and snatched his jaw, squeezing at his cheeks to make him look up at his blackened stare.
“Just so happens that ya hurt this doll right here!”
He motioned to Penelope, then playfully slapped his face and made his way back to stand behind her.
“Remember that? Now you can finally put a face to it.”
He peeked over her shoulder to catch her change in expression, nose slightly flaring every other breath as she attempted to harness her emotions.
“Don’t hide it. Embrace it.” He rested a hand on her upper arm. “Pick up the knife.” The Joker urged, his tone softer but no less dangerous.
She looked over at the table, thinking for a moment before she reached for the blade, the cool metal now more familiar in her palm. But as she gripped it, something shifted. The fear that had once anchored her slipped away, leaving room for something else. Power? Defiance?
“That’s it. Now look at him.” She obeyed. “Remember that pain. Remember everything you lost because of him.”
Without another word, he watched as she took a step towards him, knuckles white as she squeezed the handle of the blade. Another step. Then another, until she was directly in front of him.
Tears welled up in her eye, images flashing across her mind at the horror he caused. The pain she endured, the pain she continued to endure. The blade slowly inched its way towards his face, the tip resting just below his left eye.
“I think I’ll start with what I lost.”
The Scarred - Masterlist
Summary - Penelope Miller works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by trauma and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.
Notes - This story is set prior to the events of The Dark Knight. Some moments may feel OOC, but only because you will see sides of certain characters that weren’t represented in the movie, however I will do my best to stay true to the character and base it off of what is canon. *I do not own any of the content in this franchise other than my own characters!*
Song/Theme - “Set Fire” by Carina Round
Warnings -
Trauma
Flashbacks
Panic attacks
Anxiety
Gore/violence🩸
Aspects of torture
Sexual themes🔥
Smut (MDNI/NSFW) 🔞
Manipulation
Mature language
Chapters -
Prologue Chapter 10
Chapter 1 Chapter 11 🩸🔥🔞
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7 🔥
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Serenity - Chapter 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.
Happy birthday, Otto! ❣️🐙
Thank you all for the lovely comments! I have many more ideas and one-shots to come! Some are a bit more lengthy than others, be warned!🥰
(P.S: Ideas/asks are most definitely welcome 😘)
The Scarred - Prologue
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.
Tick.
“What do you think about your day to day habits?”
Screams flooded her ears, a deep, guttural rumbling playing in the background.
“Nothing of it.” A pen scratched away in a notebook.
Tick.
The older woman watched as her eye fluttered about the old wooden floor. “Nothing?”
A cold breeze suddenly reached her numbing skin, her mind unable to comprehend the sensation of an ever true freefall.
“Yes. Nothing.” A sigh reached her ears, her right arm coming up to run over the stump that used to be her left.
Tick.
An eye shifted to the clock on the wall. 5:53pm. Another sigh. The pen stopped, then the notebook closed. Hands folded over the leather cover. “I’m afraid that’s the end of our session, Miss Miller.”
“Of course.” Her eye stayed focused on the clock, yet grew more and more distant.
“Miss Miller?” With a sharp inhale and whip of a head, the woman knew she finally caught her attention. “I said that’s the end of our session.” She raised her eyebrows at the younger female whose eye shifted to the floor once again.
“Right,” Her arm pushed her off from her chair, walking - practically stumbling - to the door to grip the knob. It swung shut with a slight thud, a sign of underlying frustration.
Her hand stuffed in her pocket, she started her journey through the woeful streets of the city, her eye dancing around cautiously at those around her. The sky was clouded, gray and foreboding over the already depressive buildings and people. Her shoes softly padded against the gum and puke stained concrete, silent compared to the heels that clacked around her obnoxiously. She felt the faintest amount of joy upon seeing a familiar building, the chipping white brick a comfort.
She followed the steps up to the third floor, keys noisily being shuffled to unlock the door to what she called home. She took a deep inhale, the scent of lavender filling her senses to bring a light smile upon her face. The apartment was small, obviously run down to fit the exterior, but her choice of furniture made it seem somewhat younger. She had spent at least a week removing mold and a few stains, and by the time she had finished it seemed almost brand new. The bleach smell took a while to wear off, but it was worth it to her in the long run.
The living room was just a bit larger than the size of an average bedroom, furnished with a small kitchen, dining table and couch. It was all put together and connected through accents like curtains, family photos and knick-knacks. She quite liked that it was smaller, that everything was visible save for the bedroom and bathroom which had their own separate rooms for obvious reasons. It left little room for any intruders to hide and she knew exactly where everything was, knowing someone had come through should anything have moved in the slightest.
She hung her coat on a hook by the door, kicking off her shoes and throwing her keys on the table. She made her way to the bathroom that connected to her bedroom, clothes thrown in the hamper in the corner. Her nimble fingers grasped at the soft padding that hid the left side of her face and neck, the cotton coming off with ease as she pulled. She chewed on the side of her cheek as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. The once soft, pale skin now uneven, beginning to scar and create discolored skin even where her eye used to be. As they traveled down they seemed to fade, stopping at her mid thigh. Though her arm had received the most damage.
She snuggled under her blankets after a soothing shower, the soft warm glow of her bedside lamp illuminating the area just enough to read the book she had recently invested in, Atlas of World History. While others indulged themselves in the words of romance, fantasy and thrillers, she much preferred factual information. Knowledge. To her, even the smallest bit of information that seemed useless could possibly save a life at some point.
The Scarred - Re-Vamped!
Hello, everyone!
If you’ve read the story The Scarred on @j-wont-stop page, it is actually my account. I logged out and haven’t been able to log in so I created this new one.
It’s been a long time coming, I’m sorry for the wait and I understand if yall gave up on it after a certain amount of time, I would’ve, too, honestly - however! The story is back on its way to completion and I’m excited to share where it goes!
Some things have been tweaked due to minor plot changes, but generally it still follows the same plot! So if you’re ready to stick to it, I’ll be sure to make sure it was worth the wait!
For my Serenity story, it is finished, I’m just making minor adjustments before I post the final parts.
Thank you all so much for your support!
Chapter 9
Pairing - General Armitage Hux x Reader
*Set prior to The Force Awakens*
Summary -
Forged in blood. Bound by duty. Broken by desire.
(Y/n) (L/n) is a deadly Umbral of the Covenant - an elite order of vampires sworn to the First Order. Her assignment: serve as General Hux's personal guard. But as buried secrets surface and a rogue vampire faction rises, (Y/n) is forced to confront a past she can't outrun - and feelings she was never meant to have.
In a war of blood, betrayal, and duty, the deadliest threat may be the one that lies still in her chest.
Series contains - Blood, violence, battles/war, betrayal/angst, eventual smut, slow burn
Armitage stirred first, blinking against the soft light as his senses came back to him one by one. The weight of a body against his side registered next. Cold. Solid. The absence of breathing a unique reminder of who it was.
He turned his head slightly.
(Y/n) lay beside him, half-buried beneath the sheets, hair tumbled and unbound, one arm rested upon his chest with her head tucked under his chin. Her expression, usually composed and sharpened by discipline, was peaceful. It was a version of her he’d never seen before, one reserved for these rare, unguarded moments.
He didn’t move for a long time. Just watched her.
He wasn’t sure what surprised him more. That she had let him this close… or that he had allowed himself to meet her there.
Her eyes fluttered open, slow and amber in the dim light. For a heartbeat, she looked at him as if unsure whether the moment was real. Then she gave the faintest smile, quiet and reserved, but unmistakably genuine.
“You’re staring,” she murmured, voice still husky with sleep.
“It’s difficult not to.” He admitted, not bothering to look away.
She raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t push. Instead, she shifted so her head was resting on the curve of his shoulder.
There was silence again, comfortable.
Eventually, (Y/n) broke it. “I thought I’d feel conflicted,” she said quietly, “But I don’t.”
He glanced at her, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Good to know that we’re on the same page, then.”
Another pause.
Then he leaned in slowly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “We should be on the bridge soon.”
(Y/n) sighed. “Let’s give it five more minutes.”
“Five,” he agreed softly. “But no more.”
After they finished getting ready and checking in for updates at the bridge, the two of them made their way to the general’s office.
Just as they settled themselves, the door hissed open with its usual sharp efficiency.
Phasma entered first - polished and imposing in her chrome armor - followed by Varo with a datapad clutched in his hand.
Hux and (Y/n) stood behind his desk patiently as they approached. And if there was any tension lingering from the intimacy of the previous night, neither showed it.
(Y/n) stood tall in her uniform, hair pulled back to perfection, eyes sharp once again. Though Varo’s knowing glance didn’t miss the faint glow in her complexion. He said nothing, but a smug grin tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth.
“General. Umbral,” Phasma greeted coolly, giving a slight nod of acknowledgment.
“Report?” Hux requested.
“We finished processing the remaining rogue prisoners last night,” Phasma said, her voice smooth and unyielding. “Nothing useful from three of them. Too scared or too loyal to give us anything beyond what we already know. But one of them slipped.”
Varo stepped up, tapping on the datapad and projecting a faint holo display over the table. “One of the younger ones mentioned a location unintentionally. They were arguing with one of the guards and let it slip while cursing about ‘wasting time near the dead moon.’ We cross-referenced it with known Resistance supply routes.”
“We found activity consistent with a hidden relay station,” Phasma finished. “It’s remote, but its location makes it a perfect fallback point for the remaining rogues and potentially their leader.”
(Y/n)’s jaw tightened, her eyes flicking over the projection. “Dead moon… That’s near the Obraxis Veil. It’s unstable territory.”
“Exactly,” Varo said. “Which means anyone hiding there is either desperate or confident that they won’t be followed.”
Hux’s expression darkened. “We can’t afford to ignore this. If they’re regrouping, it means their leader could already be en route.”
“They will be,” (Y/n) said quietly. “This wasn’t just an attack. It was a distraction.”
Phasma’s tone didn’t waver. “We’ll need to act soon, sir. If you authorize it, we can begin planning a strike team. Smaller, mobile, precise.”
Hux nodded once. “Begin preparations with both your Troopers and the Covenant. I want operational parameters ready within six hours.”
“Yes, sir,” Phasma replied crisply before turning and exiting without another word.
Varo lingered just a beat longer. “I’ll coordinate and have them ready to deploy.” His gaze drifted briefly to (Y/n), and he added with a quiet smirk, “You good?”
She gave a tight nod. “Good.”
With a short salute, Varo followed Phasma out, the office door hissing shut behind him.
Silence settled again between Hux and (Y/n), the weight of the intel heavy in the air.
“This is accelerating,” Hux said lowly.
(Y/n) nodded. “They’re forcing our hand.”
He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable, then said softly, “Then we’ll make sure we’re ready.”
Once again, the two found themselves inside the briefing room, lit only by the soft blue glow of the encrypted holoprojector in the center of the room.
General Hux stood with his hands clasped behind his back, face expressionless but alert. (Y/n) stood to his right, arms folded, sharp-eyed and composed. Though her posture was rigid, Hux could feel the tension beneath it.
The holoprojector hummed to life, flickering before stabilizing into two distinct projections. On one side, the tall, imposing form of the Supreme Leader of the First Order emerged in holographic light. His features were partially obscured, but the cold, piercing eyes were unmistakable.
On the other, the figure of the Covenant’s Grand Master took shape. Tall and regal, skin pallid like marble and eyes ancient with knowledge. His ornate robes flowed with ethereal stillness, and the emblem of the Covenant pulsed faintly across his chest.
“General,” the Supreme Leader greeted, allowing the briefing to start.
Hux nodded once and spoke clearly. “The rogue Covenant group we engaged has yielded new information. Through interrogation, we’ve confirmed the existence of a possible fallback position used by the rogues near the Obraxis Veil. We believe their leader may be regrouping their forces there due to the complexity of the location and growing activity that intelligence is collecting.”
The Grand Master tilted his head slightly, voice like cold velvet. “And you are confident in the validity of this information?”
“Yes, Grand Master,” (Y/n) answered. “The source was… resistant. But they broke. We believe this was a coordinated distraction meant to divide our attention.”
The Supreme Leader’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Then you’ll deal with it before they can mount anything further. I expect a clean strike.”
“We’re already preparing a mobile unit,” Hux confirmed. “Captain Phasma and Umbral Drenn are coordinating troop selection. The Covenant will be deployed in tandem.”
The Grand Master’s gaze slid to (Y/n). “And what of the interrogation personally? Did it provide anything else of value?”
(Y/n) hesitated for half a breath, but her voice remained steady. “There were personal complications. But they didn’t interfere with the mission. The prisoner is being held for further interrogation, should more be needed.”
The Grand Master’s expression barely shifted, but something flickered in his eyes. Understanding, or perhaps warning. “Complications have a way of multiplying, Umbral (L/n). Ensure they do not cloud your purpose.”
“They won’t, Grand Master.” (Y/n) said, cool and resolute.
The Supreme Leader’s hologram leaned forward slightly. “You’ve been granted considerable support, General. Further proving alliance with the Covenant remains necessary. I want results. Fast.”
“You’ll have them, Supreme Leader.” Hux replied without hesitation.
The two projections exchanged one final glance. The Supreme Leader and Grand Master both united in purpose if not in ideology. Then, in perfect synchronicity, they cut transmission. The holoprojector dimmed, and silence returned to the room.
(Y/n) exhaled slowly. “They don’t trust us.”
“No,” Hux said quietly. “But they’ll trust what we deliver.”
He turned towards her, and for a brief moment, their expressions softened.
“I should brief my soldiers now. I’m sure they’re itching to get more information on what exactly is happening.” (Y/n) nearly complained as she picked up her datapad to contact Varo.
Unsurprisingly, he immediately picked up.
“Yeah, boss?” He greeted in his usual casual tone.
“Gather the Covenant into the briefing room. I want to go over the new intel with them.”
“You got it. I’ll make sure they’re there in 15.” The screen blipped, signaling the call ending.
(Y/n) rubbed at her forehead with a sigh, her arm dropping down by her side.
“Tired?” Hux quipped with a tinge of playfulness, hinting at their activities from the night prior. (Y/n) tossed him a look and he raised a brow at her defiance.
Minutes later, just as Varo had said, the Duskborns stood in formation around the briefing table, tall and cloaked.
(Y/n) stood at the head of the table, Varo and Hux stepping to the far side of the room, choosing to remain out of the spotlight.
(Y/n)’s eyes scanned the room as each Duskborn straightened under her gaze, a mix of respect and readiness resonating in the still air.
“This mission will not be simple,” (Y/n) began, her tone clipped and clear. “The faction knows they’ve been exposed and - as we all know - desperation makes people dangerous.”
A soft hum from the holotable populated a projection. (Y/n) gestured to a narrowed valley system just outside of a decommissioned relay tower. “These are their projected fallback coordinates. Intel confirms their leader is still unaccounted for, but we anticipate they will return once the rogues transmit the message of unresponsive personnel.”
She looked up, sharp eyes locking with each of the operatives.
“You are not just here to fight. You are here to make a statement. The Covenant does not tolerate traitors. This mission is to uphold the Blood Accord and by treason, their punishment is execution by beheading. Cold and swift.”
There was a ripple of quiet approval through the Duskborns.
One of the newer members, a younger male, raised his hand. “Umbral (L/n),” he said carefully, “is it true that some of the rogues were once part of noble lines? Possibly even family?”
(Y/n) froze for just a fraction of a second.
Her posture remained rigid, her expression unreadable, but a storm passed behind her eyes.
“Yes,” she said flatly. “But that is irrelevant to the mission. Regardless of who they once were, they swore their oath and chose treason against their own people.”
A stillness settled over the room. Even the Duskborn who’d spoken looked uneasy, as if he realized too late the weight of what he’d asked.
Across the room, Varo shot the general a sidelong glance and whispered under his breath, “Told you she’s scary when she gets that tone.”
Hux’s eyes didn’t leave (Y/n) as he hummed in agreement, and something more.
(Y/n) continued smoothly, voice unwavering.
“You will all work as a team, but will be assigned in pairs. Umbral Drenn will lead the central push alongside the Order’s stealth troopers. General Hux and myself will direct from the command ship that will be following your transport. We will keep our distance, but close enough to intervene if necessary. Additionally…” (Y/n) paused.
“ There’s the dramatic effect.” Varo mumbled with a smirk.
“I want to make it perfectly clear that the Grand Master has authorized the full extent of both Covenant and Umbral engagement. Mercy does not exist in this mission.”
A ripple of anticipation swept through the Duskborns. For many, it had been decades since they’d acted under such authority, and the thought of it made them itch for a fight.
(Y/n) stepped forward, shoulders squared, her presence almost magnetic.
“If any of you falter, I will know. And I will not hesitate to pull you for questioning.”
A beat of silence. Then the Duskborns struck their chests in unison. A solid, thudding vow.
Varo leaned towards Hux again. “She really does the ‘terrifying vampire warlord’ thing well.”
Hux allowed a faint, private smirk.
“Truly,” he murmured.
(Y/n) gave one final look to the team.
“Further details will be provided to you soon. Dismissed.”
As the Duskborns filed out like silent shadows, Hux and Varo remained behind. (Y/n) lingered at the holotable, eyes fixed on the map, though her thoughts clearly drifted elsewhere.
Varo approached carefully. “That question back there, about the rogues and family…”
“I handled it,” (Y/n) said sharply, too quickly.
Varo nodded once and backed off, giving her space. But Hux lingered a second longer, watching her with something unreadable behind his gaze.
She didn’t turn to face him, but he didn’t press. Something between them said he understood, and that he wouldn’t let her carry the weight alone.
The door hissed closed behind the last of them with a finality that somehow felt heavier than usual.
(Y/n) stayed in place, her arms folded as she gazed out in front of her. Her shoulders were squared like always, but her stillness betrayed her. Armitage stepped in quietly behind her.
“You handled the briefing well,” he said.
Her response was slow, deliberate. “I know.”
Hux gave a small nod, then caught her off guard as he moved to lean against the edge of the table in front of her, watching her. Silence lingered a moment longer than comfort allowed.
“That Duskborn,” he said, “as ignorant as he was -”
(Y/n) finally looked at him. “It doesn’t matter. They’ll all find out eventually. It’s better that they heard it that way, without room for doubt.”
“You were… composed,” Hux said carefully.
(Y/n)’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “That’s not what you were going to say.”
He didn’t correct her.
“Attractive?” He attempted, the word feeling foreign to him, and the context even more so.
She looked down bashfully for a moment, then uncrossed her arms and took a slow breath.
“It’s strange,” she admitted. “To feel something burn when you thought you’d already cauterized the wound. I shouldn’t care. I don’t know why I do.”
“Because you’re not heartless,” he said simply.
That made her eyes darken. Not from anger, but from quiet emotion.
“Has it ever been a requirement for you?” she asked softly. “To be in this world and not feel?”
“Not a requirement,” he said, voice lower now. “A means of survival.”
(Y/n) stepped closer, her presence steadying the space around her.
“I hate that part of me still listens for her voice. Still waits for her approval.”
Hux nodded, then after a moment, reached out. Not commanding, not demanding. Just offering.
She took his hand.
“You don’t need her voice,” he said, quietly now. “Not when you have your own.” He gently pulled her to move closer, stopping mere inches away from him.
(Y/n) stared at their joined hands for a moment, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Somehow, you always say the right thing.”
“I don’t,” he said with a flicker of a smile. “I simply say the truth.”
That earned a soft, real breath from her. Not quite a laugh, but something close.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” he asked gently.
“I am,” she said. “Because you’ll be there.”
Their eyes met - his hand still in hers - and for a long second, neither said a word.
(Y/n), in a moment of bravery, leaned into him. Her arms slowly settled around his waist, head resting against his chest as he did the same, his head on top of her own.
It was a foreign comfort to be embraced by someone other than themselves, a dangerous comfort. One that they found to be a quickly growing addiction the longer they strayed in the other’s presence. They still had much to explore emotionally, but for now, it was just enough.
Eventually, they had to pry themselves apart - albeit begrudgingly. They still had to go over planning for the all-too-quickly nearing mission that had everyone involved on their toes.
The briefing room was quiet save for the hum of the holomap and the occasional flicker of shifting data. (Y/n) stood beside Armitage at the table, both of them deep in concentration.
Tactical reports hovered in midair beside the map. Enemy movement patterns, terrain schematics, and intercepted transmissions scrolling in real time.
Armitage selected a section of the display, rotating the terrain of the target zone with precise movements. “They’ve fortified the main entrance. We’ll need to breach from the east or south. Preferably somewhere we can mask the team’s entry long enough to get through the outer perimeter.”
(Y/n) nodded, eyes scanning the projections. “There’s a patch of dense forest here,” she pointed, “if we move in under the cover of night, with the right cloaking and noise suppression -”
“It’s still too close to the secondary patrol route,” Armitage interrupted, adjusting the map again. “If they sweep early, our unit’s compromised before they even touch the ground.”
“They won’t sweep early,” (Y/n) countered. “We’ve tracked the intervals. Their pattern hasn’t changed in over a month.”
“Which is exactly why they’re due for it to change.”
There was a beat of silence, the kind that sat heavy between two people who were both too smart and too stubborn for their own good. (Y/n)’s eyes flicked towards him, brows raised. Hux stood straight, unfazed, still looking over the map like it would bend to his will.
She folded her arms. “You’re planning for variables that don’t exist.”
“I’m planning for the worst-case scenario.”
“And you think I’m not?”
They stared at each other, tension mounting again. It wasn’t the anger of enemies, more the clash of sharp minds refusing to yield. There was something in the air, simmering just beneath the surface. Not quite frustration, not quite admiration… but undeniably something.
Armitage stepped around the table to get a better angle of the terrain projection, then gestured sharply at a ridge. “Fine. Then let’s go over your precious landing spot one more time. Tell me exactly how you intend to keep them hidden here.”
“I just did,” (Y/n) said, stepping around to meet him. “But you weren’t listening and were instead trying to win, so I’ll repeat it.” She stiffly stepped towards the map closer and pointed, words more pronounced in simmering agitation. “If we drop the team here ,” She said sharply, “they’ll have both cover and elevation. It gives them visibility over both known entrances to the base while still remaining hidden.”
Armitage’s eyes narrowed. “It may be a cloak, but it also puts them at risk of scan detection. The Resistance scans for signs of incoming ships in that valley in quick, short intervals. Our last recon proved it.”
“They’ll be cloaked and will be moving between intervals where the scans are not active,” (Y/n) retorted. “Unless the Resistance has acquired a new array of sensor tech we’re unaware of -”
“They don’t need new sensors if we hand them a clean shot on a silver platter,” Armitage cut in. “We use the ridge and we’re compromising their stealth. They’ll be spotted in minutes.”
“Not if they move quickly and precisely, which my people are known to do.” (Y/n) argued.
“I’m not gambling with their lives based on if , (Y/n).”
(Y/n)’s mouth opened, a retort ready, but before it could leave her tongue the door to the room hissed open.
Varo and Phasma stepped in to find both of them nearly shoulder to shoulder, the holomap between them like a line in the sand. They watched as both of their heads whipped to face them, the heat of their previous discussion still burning in their eyes.
Varo gave a low whistle and a grin. “Interrupting something tactical or something personal?”
(Y/n) stepped back slightly, clearing her throat. “Strategic discussion.”
Phasma’s helmet turned to the holomap. “Of course it is.”
Hux gestured to the holomap, a gentle huff escaping past his lips before he spoke. “We’re finalizing the drop zones. She wants to use the high ridge. I say it’s too exposed.”
“And I say stealth cloaking will keep them hidden if they move quickly and efficiently out of the drop zone before they’re caught in a scan,” (Y/n) added with clipped precision.
Varo and Phasma stepped closer, surveying the layout.
Varo leaned over the glowing terrain map and pointed. “We could use the ridge for their initial descent and have them rappel directly into tree cover before advancing. That way the transports can evade the scans in time as soon as they’ve dropped. We know they’re capable.”
Phasma gave a small nod. “It’s viable. Terrain there is steep but manageable for trained units. We’ve done it before.”
(Y/n)’s shoulders dropped just slightly. “It’ll be tight, but it works.”
Hux gave a short exhale, the tension in his stance loosening. “Alright.”
Varo crossed his arms and shot (Y/n) a teasing look. “You two always like this?”
“Only when he’s wrong,” (Y/n) muttered under her breath.
Hux’s brow twitched, but he turned away to adjust a tactical overlay.
Phasma didn’t comment. Only slightly shook her head, perhaps to hide the trace of amusement.
The sounds of daggers clashing and slicing through the air filled the matted training room, echoing off of durasteel walls. (Y/n) ducked and pivoted, her blade a silver blur as Varo dodged many close calls.
Neither spoke now. This was their language. Precision, movement, and endurance.
Varo grunted as (Y/n) feinted left, then spun into a calculated strike that he just barely blocked. “Starting to think you’re enjoying this more than usual,” he said between breaths.
“I am,” (Y/n) replied coolly, not missing a beat.
Then the doors hissed open.
Neither flinched at the sound. They kept moving, trained to never let their guard down. But (Y/n)’s gaze flicked briefly towards the figure that entered.
Hux, hands clasped behind his back, eyes already fixed on them with keen interest.
Still, they kept going.
He said nothing, only stepping in far enough to stand just off to the side. Observing.
He watched closely. The sharpness of (Y/n)’s posture, the swift control in her strikes, the clean and lethal grace she carried like second nature. It was different from everything else he’d seen from her. Different from her stoic professionalism on the bridge or the romantic partner she was evolving into.
This was raw. Focused. Unapologetically in her element.
“You’re throwing too wide,” (Y/n) told Varo mid-duel. “Again.”
“I’m trying to make you sweat,” he replied, breath hitching with effort.
“You’ll need a better plan.”
She stepped in with a quick flurry of strikes that pushed Varo backward, forcing him to readjust his footing. Hux’s brow lifted slightly. She wasn’t even winded.
After another exchange, Varo finally gave a sharp exhale and disengaged, lowering his blades with a low chuckle. “You see what I’ve had to put up with, sir?” he called toward Hux, half-joking, half-exhausted. “She’s all calm and quiet until you put a weapon in her hand. Then she turns into that thing.”
Hux’s mouth twitched in the barest hint of a smile. “I’ve noticed.”
(Y/n) said nothing, simply stepping back and tilting her head toward Varo in acknowledgment of the match. Her breathing was controlled, but her eyes glinted with intensity, skin gleaming and shadowed by the low light of the chamber. She looked at ease.
“Want to go again?” Varo asked, rotating his shoulder.
“Probably wouldn’t be a good idea. Don’t want to tire ourselves too much before the mission,” she replied, her gaze now shifting to Hux.
Varo raised both hands. “I can take a hint.”
But he didn’t leave. Just moved to one of the side benches, giving them space but clearly still within earshot if needed.
Hux stepped forward, studying her carefully. “Impressive.”
(Y/n) tilted her head slightly. “You’ve never seen me fight.”
“No. But I suspected.”
“And now?” she asked, her voice still laced with that post-spar calm.
“Now I’m even more glad that you’re not a rogue.”
She allowed a flicker of a smile to pass before turning to grab a towel, blotting her neck and face. Varo stretched out on the bench with a sigh.
“Can’t wait to tell the others I survived sparring with the Umbral herself,” he muttered.
“You’re lucky she was holding back,” Hux remarked dryly, still watching (Y/n).
Varo turned to her in disbelief. “You were holding back?”
(Y/n) tossed the towel over her shoulder and shrugged with a mischievous smile as he rolled his eyes. She then looked back at Hux, her expression unreadable now. “Did you come to pull me back to the bridge?”
“No,” Hux said softly. “I came to see you.”
Varo, now very much pretending to scroll something on his datapad, smirked.
(Y/n)’s gaze lingered on Hux’s a moment longer, her voice quieter as she replied teasingly, “Well, you’re seeing me.”
And Hux - despite everything he knew of war, strategy, and command - was at a loss for what to say to that.
But he nodded once. Because he had seen her. And it had changed everything.
So he settled on saying the only thing he could manage.
“Care for a walk?”
(Y/n)’s eyebrows raised slightly before smirking. “Mind if I shower first? It won’t be long, I promise.”
“Of course.” He nodded, then watched as she made her way to the showers and disappeared.
He glanced over at Varo who still sat on the bench and the latter gave him a knowing look.
“What?” The male Umbral held his hands up in surrender before standing.
“Nothing, General.” He passed by Hux to leave with a smirk. “Nothing at all.”
A few minutes passed and (Y/n) finally emerged, hair let down and wet, out of uniform in an undershirt, leggings and her boots.
“Shall we?” She asked him after he stared at her for a moment. He caught himself and nodded, the two of them making their way out of the room.
Armitage and (Y/n) walked side by side, a comfortable silence lingering between them after the intensity of the sparring session. Armitage’s hands were tucked behind his back, ever composed.
“You fight differently than I imagined,” Armitage said after a stretch of silence.
(Y/n) glanced over, brow arching slightly. “Is that a compliment or a concern?”
He let out a low breath, almost a laugh. “A compliment. Though I admit, there was a moment I feared for Varo’s life.”
She gave a small, amused hum. “He should be used to it by now.”
“You’ve always been dangerous,” Armitage continued, his tone quieter now, more thoughtful. “But that was… different. There’s a clarity in you when you fight. Like it’s the only place your mind is truly at ease.”
(Y/n) didn’t answer at first. That struck a little too close. Instead, she looked straight ahead, eyes sharp even as they softened.
“It’s the only time I feel in control,” she said finally. “Everything else… there’s too much room for uncertainty.”
Armitage glanced over at her, brow furrowing just slightly. “Including myself?”
She slowed her pace before she stopped entirely. He stopped beside her.
“Especially you,” she said honestly, voice low.
They stood there for a beat in silence, the air between them heavy, but not uncomfortable.
He spoke thoughtfully. “I’ve devoted everything to this fleet. This cause. And then you…” He sighed, words failing him for a moment. But (Y/n) was already watching him like she understood everything he hadn’t said.
“I didn’t expect it either,” she murmured. “But I don’t regret it.”
He studied her for a long moment, thinking. He looked around them, the corridor empty as personnel slept through the night cycle, leaving the skeleton crew to themselves.
He then offered his arm in a rare, almost shy gesture.
She looked down at it, then back up at him with a faint smirk before linking her arm with his. “Careful, General. You’re starting to look sentimental.”
He let out a quiet, dry laugh. “Only with you, Umbral.”
They continued their walk, together now in stride and silence, with more said between them in that quiet than any words could.
They rounded another corner, neither in a rush to return to their respective quarters. There was a tension between them, but it was a quiet, mutual thing now - no longer volatile, but charged in a different way.
Finally, Armitage slowed to a stop outside of his door. He hesitated for a moment before he turned to face her with a thoughtful expression.
“Would you think -” He stopped himself for a second. “Since I saw your quarters, I think it’d only be appropriate for you to see my own, yes?” he said carefully before opening his door. He gestured for her to enter and (Y/n) glanced at him in question before stepping in.
His quarters were pristine, larger than her own. Fitting for a general. But something else was different, something softer.
The lighting was dimmer, warmer than usual. A strange contrast to the harshness of his office. It still held a sense of strict order and discipline, but it had an odd comfort to it as well.
“I assume you’re hungry after training?” He asked as he hung up his overcoat and made his way to the kitchen.
“Starving, even.” (Y/n) sighed as she took in the room, wandering over to where he stood in the kitchen and leaning against the counter beside him, watching.
The soft hum of the heating element filled the room as Armitage moved with practiced precision, setting out two mugs and a tin of loose-leaf tea. His posture was, as always, precise - spine straight, movements calculated - but there was an ease to his presence that only showed in these rare, private moments.
(Y/n) lifted a curious brow when he went into the fridge, then her lips parted when he pulled out a blood back and went to warm it up. He gave her a mischievous side glance.
“Since when did you start having blood packs in your quarters?” She asked in disbelief.
“Since I figured you would visit at some point.” He shot back with a faint smirk.
“And when would that be?”
He raised a brow at her. “I’d say last night.” He nodded as if he actually had to think about it.
(Y/n) giggled quietly, a hint of amusement tugging at her lips as she watched him fix his tea once the water heated.
“You even prepare tea like you’re orchestrating a military campaign,” she remarked, arching a brow.
Armitage glanced over his shoulder with a dry look. “Precision is key. Unlike some, I prefer my beverages not tasting like dishwater.”
(Y/n) smirked. “That almost sounded like a personal jab.”
“It was,” he said evenly, turning back to the tea. “I once had a droid bring me a tea that tasted like it was put in a dirty mug with the bag only steeped for five seconds.”
(Y/n) chuckled. “I’m assuming you’ve had serious trust issues since then?”
Once finished making his own tea and the blood pack was warmed, he poured the thick substance into her own mug and turned to hand it to her.
“I had trust issues before then, imagine where the bar is now.”
(Y/n) graciously took the mug with thanks and shook her head, following him to the living room to sit on one of the couches.
As they settled in pleasant silence, sipping from their mugs, (Y/n) could feel Armitage’s gaze linger every now and then as she drank. She was used to it coming from other people, but from him it was amusing.
“If you’re curious, just ask. You’re not going to offend me.” She offered gently from the edge of her mug.
She locked eyes with him for a moment, watching as he debated himself internally on what to ask, if he should even ask.
“Does it help?” The question finally slipped, his head lowering to gesture towards her mug.
“The blood?”
Armitage hummed. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Are the packs enough? Being synthetic - they are synthetic, correct?”
(Y/n) couldn’t help but giggle again at his genuine curiosity, finding it endearing. “Yes, they’re synthetic. It’s not the same as organic blood, but it’s enough to make do. It’s more humane, anyways.”
“How often do you need it?”
She paused for a moment in thought before answering.
“I’d say every few days if I’m not exerting myself. More often during missions or when I train - like today.”
“And what if it’s not available when you are hungry?” Armitage caught her finger twitch, a subtle sign of discomfort. “If it’s too much -“
“It’s fine.” She cut him off softly before answering his question, but not before sighing. “The Covenant trained us under starving conditions during our field exercises. We were taught to exist in it, to harness it rather than be controlled by it to ensure we wouldn’t be a liability.”
Armitage’s brows lifted slightly. “You were starved on purpose?”
(Y/n) shrugged indifferently. “It was just part of the process,” she said. “In our final trials, we went without blood for weeks. Hardly any sleep. They wanted to see if we’d break, and anyone who did failed the academy.”
She met his eyes and smirked at his near incredulous expression.
“I think it made me a better person for it, anyhow. Even for those not in the Covenant, it’s a good learning lesson for our kind to keep them from going on a murdering spree.” She attempted a jest at the end.
Armitage hummed in thought as he eyed her. She set down her mug and carefully brushed her fingers over the top of his gloved hand. He turned his palm up to intertwine their fingers, his eyes never leaving her face.
“We should get some rest. I imagine tomorrow is going to be quite busy.” He suggested softly.
(Y/n) nodded in agreement, taking a deep breath before slowly resting her head on his shoulder.
“Quite busy…” She repeated in a murmur as she stared at the coffee table.
Serenity - Masterlist (Complete)
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.
Notes - This story is set prior to the events of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Characters may seem OOC at times due to not being given much material to work with. Some background and history of the country and characters are not canon in the film. *I do not own any of the franchise, only my personal characters*!
Song/Theme - “So Far” by Ólafur Arnalds feat. Arnór Dan
Warnings -
Trauma
Abuse
Minor sexual themes
Manipulation
Chapters -
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11 (Final)
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