#Armitage Hux X Me

[iwmflbb]

[henclair]

SOMETIMES the gays in space…. ARE EVIL!!!

[artistotel]

shes handsome shes pretty shes the belle of the belfast cityyy

ych / commissions / store / patreon

[flydinom]

they could never make me hate you gingerpilot

[enaelyork]

A first date with Armitage Hux - Aesthetic

✨Imperial ask are open ✨

✨MASTERLIST ✨

[practically-an-x-man]

The Working of My Hands (Indigo x Hux)

Summary: When a storm rolls in and a drought is on the horizon, it takes a bit of hard labor to get things prepared

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: established relationship, domestic fluff, mild physical and emotional hurt/comfort, completely self-indulgent (I may have watched the De Selby pt. 2 music video a few too many times...)

Crossposted on AO3

____

“Hm.”

“What is it?” Indie asked, twisting around from her spot on the sofa. Armitage was peering at his holopad, frowning at what he saw on the screen.

“Local notice.” he answered, waving a hand at the device, “Just went out. They’re expecting a drought after the storm tonight. They’ve got some recommendations.”

“What does it say?”

“‘Locals are advised to take shorter showers and keep water usage to a minimum’,” he read, “‘Any land-owning residents are also encouraged to dig holes at regular intervals to collect rainfall and reduce the risk of desertification’. And then there’s a diagram.”

He turned the screen in her direction, offering her a glimpse at the notice, then shut down his holopad and set it down on the table beside him. He spared a brief glance out the window, taking in the storm clouds brewing on the horizon, then tugged at his sleeves and took a few brisk strides towards the back bedroom.

“We have a shovel in the garage, don’t we?” he asked, “Would you find it for me while I get changed?”

“Right now?”

“Figure it’s better to get started before the rain comes in.” Armitage said, though she knew he’d done his share of working through the rain all the same. He always got the same look on his face, whenever the clouds broke or thunder echoed across the fields, a strange blend of nostalgia and something far more painful. And he always strayed a little closer to her on those days, always seemed a little more candid about his affections, like the rain reminded him of everything he’d left in his wake. She was never sure if he was imagining Arkanis or Ajan Kloss. Perhaps it was a hybrid of both.

“I think we’ve got one,” Indie agreed, gently shooing Zero off her lap and popping up to her feet, “And maybe the neighbors have a second one I could borrow. I’ll give you a hand.”

“Pacemaker.” he reminded her, an infuriatingly good point, “And it’s humid out. I’ll take care of it.”

“C’mon, I want to help. I’ll take it easy. It’ll get done faster with both of us.”

“Indie.” he said, and set his hand on her shoulder as she brushed past him, “My love. Let me handle this one. You do enough housework as it is. I can handle a shovel.”

She caved. Of course she did. He’d always been so damn good at that, and it had only grown easier since he had her heart to use as leverage. So Indigo nodded, and placed her hand over his to give it a brief squeeze. 

“Alright. I’ll go find it for you.”

Gratefulness crested across his face - she wondered, again, how she’d once found him so hard to read - and Armitage ran his fingers over her hair, her face, her throat, before drawing away. It made sparks dance through her, bright and hot and pleasant. She’d never get tired of that. It still astounded her, sometimes, that he’d chosen to spend his life with her, and without so much as a word of complaint towards all her needs and eccentricities. 

Indie ducked into the garage and skirted past the souped-up speeder she’d been working on. Another out-of-towner with a big custom rig: flashy, sloppily-built, and completely impractical, but it brought in good money. She’d take what she got. 

The shovel was easy enough to find, propped up against the far corner amid a cluster of other tools. When she slipped back into the house, Armitage was there waiting for her. He’d changed into looser clothes, ones that would be easier to move in and that he wouldn’t mind getting dirty, and was busy rolling the sleeves back to the elbows when she stepped inside.

“Thank you, Indie,” he said, taking the shovel from her and briefly leaning over to kiss her temple. It was the storm on the horizon, she thought, the rain bringing out his affections like it so often did. She wouldn’t complain, of course, not ever, but it was interesting enough to have noticed the pattern.

He spared one more glance at his holopad, memorizing the diagram on the screen, then nodded and stepped out the door.

She watched him for a while, seated on the couch with Zero curled up on her lap. It was almost entrancing to watch him work, turning shovelful after shovelful of the fine, dry earth. There was a certain grace to his movements, the same grace as when he piloted a ship or fired a blaster. He’d done his share of manual work in his life, she knew that much, been trained in tools and machines for years before he entered the Order proper. And perhaps even more than most - he’d told her before of his father’s disdain of his slender frame, the way he’d wanted a strong military man to carry on his name. She could imagine Armitage as a young man in the academy, always the one sent to chop firewood or dig the latrines in an effort to put a little more muscle on his frame.

She figured this sort of work was a lot easier to palate than what he was used to. She wondered if he thought of it the same way she did, an effort to keep the earth alive so new greenery could grow, or if he only saw it as work. She hoped, now two years spent living here planetside, having escaped the militaristic nature of their prior lives, that it was the former.

But whatever his thoughts, his rhythm didn’t slow. The dirt became pockmarked with shallow holes, one after another in evenly-spaced intervals, and his hands and forearms became streaked with dirt. A few times she saw him pause, to catch his breath or push the hair out of his face, sometimes to turn his face up towards the sky as if savoring the breeze. These little breaks only lasted a moment or two, and then he’d roll his shoulders and tighten his grip on the shovel, right back to work with the same rigid discipline she knew so well. 

After a while, these little breaks got more frequent, and she could see his form beginning to falter. He was tiring, and very clearly pushing himself past it. Old habits.

Indigo sighed to herself - funny how both of them could have the same bad habit, pushing themselves past what they could rightfully take - and stood up from her seat. She stopped in the kitchen, long enough to grab a tall drinking glass and fill it with cool water, then made her way towards the door. She had to nudge Millicent out of the way before she could bolt for it, and managed a tricky sort of spin to get the door closed before the cat could get out.

Humidity hit her like a slap to the face. The air was thick with it, thick and hot, and she expected the storm to break any moment. Only a few minutes outdoors, and she’d already welcome the rain as an old friend. She imagined that even with so many tumultuous memories souring his mind to it, after this much work, Armitage would be quick to do the same. 

He was still absorbed in his work, thin cords of muscle flexing in his forearms as he turned another shovelful of soil. With him standing in the hole, almost a foot below her, Indie had the rare perspective of being taller than him. His face was shining with sweat, his breathing labored, and yet he still moved with an almost mechanical diligence. 

Although his job itself was somewhat sedentary, managing import and export records for this particular hemisphere of the planet, it wasn't as if it was rare to see him performing manual labor. The two of them owned a bit of land to tend, after all, and there were always duties around the house to manage at that. Indie did much of the mechanical work, of course, fixed what needed fixing, but Armitage certainly pulled his weight and more. He was no stranger to hard work.

But this… this was something else. It was almost carnal, she thought, seeing him move the earth in strong and confident motions. As much as she loved the sight of him clean and put-together as he normally was, the sight of him hard at work, covered in dirt with his hair fallen in rough red waves around his face, sent a different sort of thrill through her.

He’d taken on this role in an effort to keep her from straining her heart. The sight of him here, now, easily negated all that effort. If anything, she found herself a little dizzy.

“How’s it going?” Indigo asked, succeeding in drawing his eyes up to her. At first Hux just shrugged and leaned against the shaft of the shovel, panting faintly from the exertion. He swiped one hand across his forehead but only succeeded in smudging dirt across his face.

“Getting there.” he finally replied, gesturing at the rows of shallow, even holes now scattered across their back lot. Armitage brushed at the hair hanging loose into his face, trying to coax it away from his eyes, and let out another sharp breath. “This humidity is killing me, though.”

“Here.” she said, and held out the glass to him, “Water.”

He took it and shot her a grateful look, then drained the glass in just a few swallows. Even just that much seemed to refresh him a bit, though he was still breathing hard from all the work.

“Wanna come back inside?” Indie asked, “Take a break for a few minutes?”

Armitage tilted his head, taking in the storm clouds gathering overhead with a scrutinizing expression on his face. Then he dropped his eyes and gave her a low shrug. 

“Storm’ll break any moment now. I’d like to get a little more done before it does.”

“Alright,” she agreed, knowing she wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise. He was the type to fulfill a job to completion, and she knew it would bother him if he didn’t. That level of discipline had been wired into him, and she didn’t imagine it would ever leave. By now, she figured she knew him almost as well as she knew herself. Her heart was linked with his own, now and forever.

So Indie just reached out and took the empty glass from him, and leaned over enough to kiss his cheek. Her feet slid on loose soil and she nearly fell right into the hole, but one of his hands caught her waist and held her in place - like it was simple, unconscious, easy despite how tired he had to be. It sent the same little thrill through her, so much that she nearly shivered despite the sweltering temperature around her. 

Her heart was never going to recover from this. 

She didn’t mind a bit.

“Don’t stay out too long, okay?”

“I’ll be in as soon as the rain hits.” he promised, his hand remaining steady on her waist until he was sure she’d recovered her footing. 

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Armitage just nodded (weary but not dismissive, merely a reflection of his growing exhaustion) and readjusted his grip on his shovel. Indie found herself lingering a moment longer, drinking in the sight of him, then finally managed to pull herself away and slip back into the house. 

She watched him for a while longer, a shorter while, then eventually decided that was a little odd and picked herself up from the couch. She fed the animals and pored over the contents of the kitchen - then proceeded to take a mental step back, and thought of how lucky she was to be in a place where Zero could have two good meals every day and the fridge held real vegetables instead of only dehydrated space-grade food. She’d never really had this kind of security before. Even two years in, it still came as a bit of a shock. 

Thunder rolled in just as she’d made a decision on what to cook, and Indie heard rain battering the metal roof of the house only a few moments later. This was going to be a big one, she could tell. It made her think of Ajan Kloss. 

The back door slid open after only a moment or two of rain, and she watched Armitage attempt to shoo Millicent away from the door so he could step inside. It seemed he’d mostly outrun the rain - the dirt streaked across his face and arms had not yet become mud, at least - though he left his shoes at the door to avoid soiling the floor as he walked through the house.

“Finished.” he said, though he seemed more preoccupied with keeping the cat from brushing up against his trousers and getting dirt smudged across her fur. Finally Millicent lost interest and padded away, and Hux straightened up. “I’m going to go wash up.”

He crossed the room in just a few long strides, frowning at the dirt caked under his fingernails, but Indigo held up a hand just before he passed her. 

“Wait.”

He paused mid-stride and turned to face her, as Indie refilled the same tall glass of water and held it out to him. Like before, he took it without any hesitation or argument, and downed the liquid like a man lost in the desert.

“Thanks, love.” he murmured, setting the glass down on the counter beside him. Almost before Indie could react, his fingers caught the back of her neck and pulled her in against him. In just one brisk, confident motion, he pressed his lips firmly to her forehead, and then he let her go and strode down the hall before she’d even fully processed what he’d done. 

Then it hit her like a bolt of lightning, prickling along every nerve. Her heart thundered in her chest so fervently that she had to sit down for a moment. The sight of it, the sight of him all rugged and covered in dirt, and the feel of that confident hand against the back of her neck, was carved into her memory.

Armitage emerged a brief while later, looking much more refreshed and put-together now that he’d had a chance to properly cool down. Indigo watched him finish with the buttons on his shirt as he made his way down the hall. His hair was damp, and his skin was clean of dirt - though his face and forearms were crimson with a rather uncomfortable-looking sunburn. 

“Oh, you’re all red.” Indie mumbled, more to herself than anything, and crouched to pull open the cabinet under the sink. That was where they kept the first aid kit: equidistant from the house proper and her garage, positioned for both mundane needs and any work injuries she might stumble into. It took her a minute of rifling through it before she found what she was looking for. 

“Leave it to me to burn on a cloudy day,” he muttered, half a joke and half a sigh, “Do we have aloe? Or bacta?”

“Right here,” she said, finding it almost at the same moment he mentioned it. Hux held out his hand for the little tube of gel, but Indigo just gestured at the couch across the room. “Sit down.”

Confusion flickered across his face, but he crossed the room without hesitation and took a seat on the end of the sofa. Indie joined him after only a moment, aloe in hand. 

She stood in front of him, not even a full arm’s-length away, and poured a bit of the gel out into her fingers. Armitage was still, expectant, though his pale eyes tracked every motion she made.

Indie shot him a faint smile, then reached out and gently took hold of his forearm, working the aloe into his skin. She took her time with it, perhaps a little longer than was really necessary, but she didn’t want this to feel rushed- least of all like a chore, when it was just the opposite. When she reached his wrist, though, Armitage flipped his palm and closed his fingers loosely around her hand. 

“You don’t have to-”

“I know,” she said, “I want to.”

He still looked a little fidgety at first - not uncomfortable, just that he wasn’t used to having someone else take care of these little tasks for him - and his fingers twitched as he released his grip on her hand. That, too, was a frequent thing for both of them. Having sparked their relationship in the midst of war, the gentler life was still foreign in many ways. One of those, and one of the most difficult to soak in, was learning to accept this sort of attention for things beyond simple necessity. Perhaps it came from how much of their lives they’d each spent alone, only able to rely on themselves.

He’d taken on the yard work because he knew her heart wouldn’t manage it. That much was easy; easy for him to suggest, and easy for her to accept, because it was tethered to something as tangible as her health. But this, caring for him in this way that she knew he could easily do himself, just for the fact that she wanted to… that was new. That was trickier.

“Hey,” Indie murmured, and set her hand gently on his sunburned face, “Relax.”

Armitage nodded against her palm, and she could see the tension trickle out of his body with what looked like a palpable effort. It made her heart hurt a little, just knowing how difficult it was for him to be vulnerable even here. But all the same, it warmed her heart that he was willing to try.

She let her hand fall away from his face, and instead busied herself with applying the aloe to his other forearm and wrist. After a minute of this, Zero hopped up onto the couch to investigate, his nose twitching as he attempted to weasel his way under Hux’s arm. Armitage lifted his hand out of the way, letting out a breathy halfway-laugh at the animal.

“Move, buddy,” Indigo told her pet, promptly rerouting him with the hand not slathered in aloe. Zero let out a low chirp, almost indignant, but hopped off the couch and immediately prowled over to steal Millicent’s spot by the window. 

“He was fine.” 

“Medicinal aloe is toxic if it’s ingested. I didn’t want him getting it on his feathers and then grooming himself.”

“Hm.” 

Thunder crackled above the house, sharp and sudden. Indigo jumped, startled by the noise. Hux did not. He’d lived in storms all his life, after all.

“Seems like the wells are helping, though,” Indie said once the thunder died down, stretching to peer out the window, “They’re catching the rainwater.”

“Be surprised if they didn’t.” Armitage mumbled, hardly loud enough to be heard. Indie just scoffed and shoved lightly at his shoulder. 

“You know what I mean.”

She poured out a little more of the aloe gel into her palm, eyeing the drawn and distant look on her partner’s face. He was still looking out the window, watching the rain come down in sheets. Oh yes, this would be quite the storm, a supercell like the ones of his youth.

Armitage shut his eyes as her fingers reached his face, and she felt the last of his tension finally ebb away under her touch. Her fingertips skated over his forehead, his cheekbones, the harsh splash of crimson across the bridge of his nose- and then, on a whim, she ducked down and kissed him. 

That earned her a smile, bright and real and surprised, and his hands caught her hips to pull her a step closer. Indie staggered and nearly fell straight into his lap, brought so close she could feel the heat from his skin. A harsh but steady rain drummed on the roof over their heads.

A flash of sudden lightning lit up the whole house, accompanied by the deafening and near-instantaneous boom of thunder. Across the room, Millicent yowled and sprinted underneath the cupboard in the hallway. Indigo flinched again despite herself. These storms weren’t often as bad for her as they were for him, with his history, but witnessing lightning so close had grown to make her shudder. All she could see was Exegol.

Clearly Armitage had the same thought. He didn’t flinch, but his hands moved from her waist to her wrists, thumbs tracing the paths of those branching scars down her skin. The touch was comforting on a level she couldn’t quite describe - a reminder of what those scars had been worth, in the end. That made things a little better, though she still couldn’t bear to look out the window as the skies flashed bright again.

His fingers slid down to her hands and squeezed them tight. When she managed to meet his eyes, she found a striking degree of seriousness in them. 

“Indie, I-” he began, refusing to break her gaze for even a moment, “I’m so lucky to have you.”

The rain brought out his affections. It always did. And in a storm like this, how could there be anything else? Lightning was the flash of a blaster, thunder was the snap of a belt. His arduous past rolled in with the storm clouds.

And though the rain was cold, he refused to let it chill him. Not anymore.

[bakerstreethound]

Oh my gosh thank you!!! I feel like Hux deserves a little angst and a tad bit of comfort. Thank you so much for reading! 🫶💕

What Doesn’t Kill You

Requested by @livy1391: Hello there!! I seen that you are interested in writing for Star Wars! Would you mind if I asked for a General Armitage Hux x Reader? After Hux is shot the reader is told to get rid of his body, however, she knows that Hux is still alive because he specifically wore stronger armor because he predicted what Pryde would do. 

Pairing: General Armitage Hux x reader

Warnings: TROS Spoilers, violence, swearing

Summary: reader gets rid of Hux’s supposed “dead” body but has other plans. 

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound

Word Count: 786

A/N: this is my first time writing Hux and I really enjoyed it! If you haven’t seen TROS and want to avoid some spoilers read at your own discretion! Thank you for the request! Let’s write those wrongs (:

General Armitage Hux had a bad feeling about a summons he received. He knew letting the fugitives escape was a bad idea, but he had to help the Resistance and bring down Kylo Ren. It did nothing to calm his nerves as he paced up and down the corridors of our shared quarters. 

“You have to trust me, darling. Pryde is going to kill me. When he finds out I’m the spy all hell will break loose. I only have one choice!”

You held up a hand silencing him. “Let me speak,” your voice was laced with authority demanding to be heard. “You have to trust me on this.”

He continued pacing, rustling his hands through his red locks.

“Hux.”

When he turned towards you this time, he didn’t try to hide the tears from falling. “I’m not ready for this. I can’t live a life without you in it.”

Keep reading

[blue-sadie]

Blinded By Feelings

Armitage Hux, Cal Kestis, Poe Dameron, Din Djarin, Anakin Skywalker

They have feelings for you their enemy

Armitage Hux

He hated you even through he's never met you, he loathed your very being and it only increased when he met you, you were another general that to fought to be the best.

And when you two were together in a meeting or just in passing in the corridors you two would bicker like children over plans or random things that was annoying one of you that day.

He would only realize his feelings when a storm trooper would ask him but he would tell them to shut up and threaten them saying he would throw him into space if he ever spoke something so ridiculous again, but it would cloud his mind days after that.

He would feel disgusted by himself and avoid you by all cost but his efforts went to waste when you come back injured from a mission and he would make it his personal mission to take you to the med bay and scold you at the same time.

"You are stupid as the rebellion if you think you would not get scolded for your actions you could've gotten yourself killed next time at least tell me first so I can get you better storm troopers"

Cal Kestis

You joined the crew way before he did and had a stronger bond with greez and cere he was kinda jealous it wasn't much of a hatred thing he just found you kinda annoying to be around and would avoid being with you.

Every time you tried talking to him he would ignore you or when you saved him countless times he would just give you a forced thank you but nothing more.

The thing that made him notice is that you would start showing up in his dreams more or when he meditates, he'd find it annoying at first but he'd start thinking about you more and more.

He'd start listening and paying more attention to you which not only freaked you out but the other crew members to, during one of the missions he'd actually listen to your ideas instead of shutting you up.

"You have some really good ideas I should've started listening to you sooner, I'm sorry about that by the way I guess I was just jealous of you"

Poe Dameron

You were the rebellions best mechanic and the person that would work on his x-wing without his consent he'd hate it even though it needed to be done, he hates it more when you'd leave sticky notes telling him about the up grades you've done to his ship.

He would complain to Leia about you but she'd just laugh and tell him off because your just doing your job so then he'd come complain directly to you but you'd just ignore him continuing on his next up grade.

He'd have a few people tell him that he probably has a crush on you because of him talking about you so much but what really makes him realize is when he sees you talking to others guys and the jealousy he feels.

When returning from one of his missions his x-wing battered and needing repairs he'd actually come straight to you to ask you to repair it for him.

"I know I found it annoying but I've come to realize your up grades are kinda.... helpful after saving me a few times so what I'm trying to say is I'd like you to continue working on my ship"

Din Djarin

Your were an assassin, killing off the high end people most bounty hunters were afraid to kill, you've also killed a few of his bountys making him pissed.

He's only ever layed eyes on you a few times in crowed bars or a desolate street he doesn't really care about knowing you because why would he get to know his enemy a thief.

He'd only start looking out for you more when you saved him from an ambush you shot his captures in the head and threw him a gun before disappearing again.

He'd be against the idea of ever actually falling for you because of his past experiences but after some more encounters with you he'd would stop you before you vanish again.

"You can reject this offer but I'm still putting it out there, I want you to join me us, it would be alot easier we work together then you stealing my bountys so what do you say"

Anakin Skywalker

You are master windus padowan and the person he's always compared to why can't you be like yn why can't you take after her, it was something he heard almost everyday which makes him hate you.

He hates how kind you are even through his hateful words he spits your way or when you'd sometimes take the fall for one of his stupid plans he never even thanks you.

He like hux only got the realization when you got hurt, you'd taken a hit that was ment for him, the panic he felt as he watched you fall made him snap and kill whoever did it.

He'd spend day and night by your bedside in the medbay pacing back and forth as he tried thinking about his feelings, they'd only calm down when he sees you awake.

"Don't do that ever again do you hear me, you don't deserve to be here especially because of me I should be in this bed instead of you, do you know what you put me through I thought I lost you"

[starlightsearches]

Hi Star! Huge congratulations on your 2k milestone - it is so well deserved!!

Could I possibly get "Let's Hear it for the Boy" with our beloved ginger general?

Thank you so much and congrats again!!

Drunk / In Love

Track 3: Let's Hear It for the Boy by Deniece Williams - Give me a character and I'll write a short blurb or headcanons on how they would want you to show them that you love them. 

General Hux x F! Reader / 📼 ✨ mixtape milestone ✨ 📼

Thanks for the request, my love! Sorry it took me so long!

The idiots from these two stories are back again. Sorry I'm obsessed with them (I'm not sorry at all). Warnings for some minor sexual content and weird consent issues!

Phasma said you were drunk.

What she failed to mention was how—how drunk you were, or how you ended up that way. It was only supposed to be a friendly dinner when Hux first suggested it (and didn't stop suggesting it until Phasma finally gave in).

He thought if you made connections here—even just one—that it might make you more comfortable being with him on this ship, and so far from anything familiar.

Although this might be too familiar.

He reaches the door to Phasma's quarters and they glide open automatically, programmed to recognize his approach. He sees Phasma seated at the table, out of uniform, a smirk playing on her wine-stained mouth.

Armitage is not prepared for the dark flash in his peripherals, or the arms around his neck.

Your embrace frightens him, and that alone is enough to leave him feeling hot, stomach swimming, even when he recognizes your touch on instinct. It has him weak at the knees, just this, has his heart in his throat as all the alarm and panic well up inside him, threatening to spill out.

Then your lips meet his. 

There's been a handful of almost-affectionate moments shared between you. The brush of your hand as you wished him goodbye one morning. A kiss on the cheek that missed its target, landing at the edge of his lips.

But nothing like this.

Hux can feel your mouth shift against his, lips turning up at the corners, and the little laugh that passes through them—maybe at the way his hands hang limply at his sides, or the crop of perspiration blooming at his collar from the warmth of your skin, the smell of you. He can't make himself kiss you back, although he wants to.

He really, really wants to.

There's no malice in your eyes when you pull away—Armitage doesn't think you're capable of malice. You smile at him sweetly, taking his hands in both of yours.

"I missed you," you tell him, each word bleeding into the next, eyes half-lidded and hazy from whatever you'd been drinking, "did you miss me?"

"I- uh, yes," he answers—unavoidably honest—his eyes flitting towards Phasma, who's so pleased with herself it practically drips from her, hanging heavier on her shoulders than the armour she usually wears.

A hot anger floods through his stomach, spiked with acrid shame. He doesn’t need any witnesses to his inept attempts at marriage.

Your smile widens, every facet of you bursting with delight knowing that he’s missed you in the hours since you last spoke his name, and then he’s back in your embrace, the sound of sweet laughter in his ear. 

He reaches out for something to brace himself on, and finds nothing. It takes everything in him to keep standing. 

Armitage peels your arms from around his neck, putting a desperate inch of distance between himself and the press of your body. 

"Why don't we let the captain get some rest?" he asks.

Your enthusiasm at the suggestion turns his stomach into knots.

He's able to usher you through the empty halls at a speed just short of a jog, one hand at your waist to keep you from stumbling, and the other wrapped firmly around your wrist to stop any further attempts at touching him.

And, though he can’t puzzle it out just yet—with the warmth of you still against him—he knows something is wrong with you. Something that wine alone could not bring on.

Armitage knows you don’t want him. Not like this. 

Yet you practically drag him through the doors of your quarters, mouth planted against his before the mechanical lock whirs into place. 

All the desire in him makes him sick—feverish and weak. His body shudders against yours, nerves trying to break through skin at the gentleness of your touch.

“Armitage,” you whine, pouty in a way he’s never heard before—always so polite and obliging when you’re sober, “kiss me back.”

He couldn’t refuse you, even if he wanted to, even though he knows it would be better for both of you—knows the way this memory will torture him endlessly, until the moment he dies. Maybe long after that. 

But still, he cups your face in shaking hands, and presses his uncertain lips to yours.

And it’s nothing like all the times he’s thought about this—about taking you, feeling the warmth of your breath mingling with his own, pulling you tight against him with his arm at your waist and kissing, kissing, kissing you, until he tires of the feeling, until he rids himself of all his hideous need to be loved and to be wanted. 

It’s nothing like he imagined because he’s terrified. Because he can’t manage to move the ways he wants to, tripping over his feet when you stumble deeper into his chambers. Because his stomach roils at the feel of your tongue against his stubbornly closed mouth, and his arms shake with the need to move, but his hands stay where he placed them, holding hard enough to bruise, pulling you closer with enough force that part of him wonders if he’s hurting you. 

And still, your mouth on his, your wandering, eager hands. 

The room spins; Armitage’s reason leaves him when his feet lift from the floor, your body underneath him, and below that the cushion of his bed molding you together.

Still kissing. Still you. Your hand, guiding his down the thrumming pulse of your neck, lower. Lower.

Armitage is on the other side of the bed before the thought of how wrong what he has done truly registers, his feet planted and one hand pushing back the fallen strands of his hair.

 “Armitage?”

He curses the day you learned his name, curses the ill, vile part of him that wants to go back. 

He clears his throat and finds it doesn’t steady him at all. 

“You- you should get some rest, I think.”

Your movements are clumsy as you crawl to him on your knees, fighting against the thick bedspread and the fabric of your skirt. There’s a little huff on your lips when you reach him, eyes big and wide and brimming with glistening tears. 

“Why don’t you want me?” you whisper, and tears well up to their breaking point, slipping down your cheeks.

Fuck. He wants to touch you, and knows it’s a terrible idea, palms aching beneath the leather he wears and hates—now more than ever when it keeps him from you. His hand reaches out against his will, hovering just out of reach of your skin and the tears he can’t manage to wipe away because, once again, he is the cause of all your suffering. 

 “You’re- you’re drunk, darling. You’ll feel better if you just-”

“No,” you tell him, pushing his hand away with your own, “why don’t you want me ever?”

Oh, gods. Armitage recoils like you’ve slapped him, the sting of those words and what they mean destroying everything—every moment he’s agonized over since he first saw you and knew you had to be his. 

“You . . . you can’t possibly believe that.” 

You nod your head, fists curled at your sides petulantly, and your stubbornness would make him laugh, if it weren’t so sad.

“I do,” he whispers, then swallows, reaching for your hand. You let him take it. It gives him something to look at, watching your elegant fingers intertwine with his. “I do, but I—”

How much of this will you remember? Even now, the idea of revealing this soft, vulnerable part of him strikes fear into his very core, has him wishing he could run, wishing he could escape the way your eyes flay him wide open.

Your hand against his chest, he can feel his own heartbeat meet the shapes of your fingertips, molding to you. Armitage meets your gaze, and as frightening as it is, there’s no part of him that could deny how deeply he craves it.

“Please forgive me,” he stutters, and there aren't words for him to explain everything he needs to, just the truth. “I am—oh, gods—I am a ruinous man.” 

He watches you, the muscles working in your jaw, the way your brows pull together, examining him, weighing the assessment of himself that he’s offered to you. 

“No,” you tell him, “no you’re not.”

He thinks you might kiss him again, as close as you are. Close enough for him to count each of your lashes, map the constellations you’ve hidden in your eyes. 

You drop to the mattress instead, and the look you give him has him holding back a laugh, the mix of stubbornness and grudging deference that has Armitage wondering how hard it’s been for you to play at obedience in your union.

“You should change,” he tells you, just resting on the edge of the bed, “you’ll be more comfortable.”

It’s easier to talk to you when you’re like this. It has Armitage feeling like he’s the one intoxicated, and he is, in a way. Because what if this is your most honest self? 

He didn’t think you could make him love you any deeper, but you’ve managed. 

“Don’t care,” you mumble into the pillows, trying to brush him away with a waving hand. He takes it in his own.

“You’ll ruin your dress.” 

There’s a look of intense focus on your face, and he wonders if you’ll refuse again. Maybe you don’t care about the dress either, although Armitage would be disappointed. It’s one of his favorites from your incredibly extensive wardrobe—a beautiful black and cream confection that always catches his eye.

But you shift instead, turning to look up at him. “Kiss me.”

Stars, not again. Not now, when the weakest parts of him are so palpable. “I- I don’t-”

You flop into a sitting position, hold a single finger up between your faces.

“One kiss,” you concede, “okay?”

He nods, despite himself. You wait patiently for his approach, still and hardly breathing through your parted lips as he slides closer. Armitage keeps his eyes open, and so do you, heavy as they are, watching the distance between your faces fade into nothing.

It’s not like the other times he’s kissed you, although all but one had happened only a few moments ago. You let him set the pace, his lips just barely brushing your own, a sigh bubbling up from deep inside his lungs. He can only offer a little more pressure before he’s lightheaded again, little bursts of light dancing across his vision.

He pulls back from what could hardly be called a kiss, and waits for your disappointment, for your insistence that he try again, that there must be something more, or better, that he’s kept from you. 

Armitage doesn’t want you to know that there’s nothing else to hope for. 

You don’t say a word about it though. Just flop your arms out in front of you, waiting, satisfied in your demands.

“Help me.”

And it passes like that, with more bribes in the form of barely-there presses of his lips to yours—a kiss for you to raise your arms as he slips something soft and oversized over your head, a kiss for you to clumsily remove the dress from underneath. A kiss to get you to leave him for a moment while he changed into his own night clothes after you’d begged and begged for him to spend the night beside you, and a kiss upon his return.

It feels like a lifetime of kisses to Armitage. He doesn’t know what that number would be for anyone else, but you’ve certainly exceeded it for him. He could die in his sleep tonight and have more than he ever deserved. 

And now you’re curled up beside him a hand at his waist, your head on his chest. Armitage breathes, but only barely, hoping he won’t wake you. 

The tension drains from him, his body the closest it’s been to relaxed in ages. He wonders if he should ask Phasma to invite you to dinner again.

He hopes the next time he kisses you, you'll be sober enough to remember it.

[brawlite]

some horror fic recs for october 👻

i wanted to put together a rec list of my favorite horror fics for the spookiest month. there are a bunch of different flavors of horror in here as well as a number of different fandoms, so hopefully you can find something that tickles your fancy (though ngl i would still rec reading these bad boys even if you don't know the fandoms at all).

i tried to tag tumblrs when/where i could find them, but if i couldn't, the author name links to ao3.

a reminder as always: this is horror—please read all the tags.

thanks for reading and i hope you find something to enjoy!

also, pretty please feel free to reblog and add your favorite horror fic recs.

👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪

the ghost apple tree by @thefearofcod

10k words, rated m song lan/xue yang/xiao xingchen (the untamed/mdzs) summary:

Fixing up a decaying house in the woods is the same as addressing your problems. (sxx is haunted)

brawls' notes: i think about this fic a lot; i'm haunted by it. this is by far one of my favorite horror stories i've ever read—the vibes are off-the-charts and horrific in a very visceral, tense way. made me feel weird (positive). i hope it makes you feel weird too (this is a threat).

—

convergence by @astrophyllitely

33k words, rated e lan zhan/lan xichen, lan zhan/jiang cheng (the untamed/mdzs) summary:

Lan Wangji regains consciousness in a crashed spaceship on an unfamiliar planet. He is not alone; Lan Xichen is there. He is not alone; Jiang Wanyin is there. But never both at once.

brawls' notes: space horror? check. psychological horror? check. uneasy and tense alien vibes? also check. beautiful push and pull of the narrative, paired with an an intense feeling of claustrophobia. there's a particular moment that had my heart right in my throat. stunning.

—

mockingbird by MarInk

82k words, rated e stiles stillinski/peter hale (teen wolf) summary:

Stiles works tirelessly to keep the roof over his heads and longs for a proper challenge for his brains. Peter chafes under his sister's authority and nurses big, bloody dreams. One day, the two are connected by a mistaken text message. One never knows who is on the other end of a wrong number. Sometimes it's somebody one will come to cherish and adore. Sometimes it's a ruthless, unapologetic monster. Sometimes it's both.

brawls' notes: sometimes you read something and are just blown away by it, forever altered. that's what this was for me. want a type of monster-au you've never seen before? this is it. also: ostensibly a wrong-number au, but don't be fooled. (i was.)

—

never meant by nonhicsumus

3k words, rated m alex krycek & dana scully (the x-files) summary:

Sometimes the past isn't worth digging into.

brawls' notes: whump and psychological horror? plus alex krycek?? my favorite. every word of this is perfection—i instantly wanted to read it again for the first time. you can.

—

fais do-do by @moku-youbi

18k words, rated e will graham/hannibal lecter (hannibal)

summary:

“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.” ― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein (this fic does not have a summary, but begins with this quote)

brawls' notes: a different-meeting au packed with everything you need for the perfect horror story: violence, blood, a chase scene, and an unreliable narrator. delightful.

—

blackbird, fly by @acroamatica

19k words, rated m kylo ren/armitage hux (star wars: tfa)

summary:

One sunny afternoon in the mountains of Washington state, Ben Organa-Solo walked out into the woods. He never came home. Six years later, a journalist specialising in missing-persons cold cases decides to follow his footsteps and see where they might lead.

brawls' notes: a masterpiece of vibes. this reads so much like a spooky mystery novel, but with a creeping, anxious dread. perfect for the season if you want that true autumnal sort of chill. i've carried this fic in my heart for nearly a decade now—it has inspired me in my own writing so much over the years.

—

grey stars on the rise by @iodhadh

4k words, rated e song lan/xue yang/xiao xingchen (the untamed/mdzs) summary:

Xiao Xingchen comes back. Xiao Xingchen comes back wrong. It takes too long, maybe, for Xue Yang to realize something is wrong with Song Lan too.

brawls' notes: the exact embodiment of: be careful what you wish for. brutal and crushing and so deeply, utterly satisfying. absolute yi-city perfection: the vibes are wretched but strangely romantic (chefs kiss).

—

half your life you've been hooked on death by @whatever-you-can-give-me

4k words, rated m vash the stampede/nicholas d. wolfwood (trigun) summary:

Wolfwood is cornered in an alleyway. Things get worse before they get better.

brawls' notes: and what's a horror rec list without a little bit of gore? whump and blood and near-death-experiences—oh my. this is brutal and feverish and exactly the right flavor.

—

black rock mountain by @bokuno-jinsei

24k words, rated e will graham/hannibal lecter (hannibal) summary:

Will is a hitchhiker with questionable hobbies. Hannibal is a man who has questionable motives. When Hannibal drives by Will who just so happens to need a ride, things quickly take a turn from the questionable to the downright depraved.

brawls' notes: you know That Fic that is really the epitome of that pairing for you? yeah, this is it for me. perfect alternate first-meeting fic. lives rent-free in my head.

👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪

and hey, why not be a little self-indulgent: i can't help but rec a few of my own horror fics here, too:

old growth

21k, rated m song lan/xue yang/xiao xingchen (the untamed/mdzs) summary:

There’s something in the woods outside of their hometown. Xue Yang and Song Lan are going to find it.

brawls' notes: i tried something new with the formatting on this one and i think it panned out solidly and was a desperately fun way to tell the story. this is full of spooky, sleepless forest vibes.

—

what's real or isn't

57k, rated e kylo ren/armitage hux (star wars: tfa) summary:

Hux's new house is not haunted. It isn't.

brawls' notes: i honestly love playing favorites and this is one of mine. this was a load of fun to write—it's chock-full of vibes, personal experiences, local history, and love notes to my favorite horror stories.

—

acquiesce

16k, rated e original luo binghe/original shen qingqiu (svsss) summary:

After seeing the gentle and loving Shen Qingqiu of the other world, Luo Binghe returns to his own with a hunger that can only be satisfied by one thing—a Shizun of his very own.

brawls' notes: this isn't spooky or haunted, but it is psychological horror—packed with nightmares, flashbacks, dread, and manipulation. enjoy!

👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪

and that's it! hope you find something fun to read for this october 🖤

and again—please reblog and add your own horror recs if you are feeling so inclined!

[girl-next-door-writes]

Fake it til you fall

Characters: Armitage Hux x reader

Summary: Anxiety spikes at a holiday party until an unexpected ally, Armitage Hux, helps you fake-date your way to triumph—but is your evening as fake as you first thought?

Word Count: 1274 words

Prompts: Crowded party. Fake dating.

A/N: A sweet anon requested this one, and I hope they see it.

The clamor of the holiday party swirled around you like a chaotic symphony. Laughter, the soft hum of music, the clinking of glasses—sounds that should have been comforting felt anything but as you scanned the room for a familiar face. The sprawling penthouse, draped in tasteful holiday decor—gold and white lights twinkling against polished wood and sparkling glass—felt more like a museum than a place for merriment.

You had one mission tonight: survive this.

Across the room, you caught sight of your co-worker, Lila, and she wasn’t alone. She was surrounded by her usual gaggle of friends, none of whom you could stand. They'd zero in on you the moment they spotted you alone, hurling the same passive-aggressive questions as always: "Oh, you're here alone again this year? How independent of you!"

The air caught in your throat at the thought. Not again. Not tonight.

You edged closer to the refreshment table, trying to look busy by fussing with a glass of eggnog. The bubbling anxiety gnawed at the edges of your mind, but then, as if summoned by some miracle—or maybe just sheer desperation—you saw him.

Armitage Hux, the last person you expected to be at a party like this.

He wasn’t mingling. Of course he wasn’t mingling. The man looked as out of place as a cat in a dog park. His tailored suit was immaculate, the dark fabric setting off his ginger hair and sharp features. His arms were crossed, his expression one of thinly veiled disdain as he surveyed the room with the air of someone who would rather be anywhere else.

But he was here, and more importantly, he was alone.

You’d worked with him tangentially—sort of. He was a consultant for a neighboring department at your firm, and while you’d only exchanged a handful of words, you knew one thing for certain: he was someone who commanded respect.

Or fear.

Either way, the idea struck like a bolt of lightning.

You could ask him to fake date you. Just for tonight.

You almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it, but then you caught sight of Lila again, her eyes narrowing as they landed on you. Time was running out.

You squared your shoulders, grabbed two champagne flutes, and approached Hux.

“Hi,” you greeted, forcing a smile and holding out the extra glass like a peace offering.

He raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, looking at you as if you’d just interrupted a very important thought.

“Yes?”

You resisted the urge to wither under his gaze. “I… I need your help.”

His other eyebrow joined the first. “My help?”

“Look,” you said, glancing over your shoulder toward Lila, who was now whispering to her friends and shooting pointed looks your way. “There’s this group of people here who always make my life miserable at these events, and I just—well, if I could pretend I wasn’t alone tonight, they’d leave me alone.”

Hux blinked slowly. “You want me to pretend to be your date?”

“Just for tonight,” you said quickly. “No strings, no weird expectations. Just stand near me, maybe talk to me every now and then, and let people assume we’re together. Please.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his green eyes piercing. You braced yourself for rejection, for mockery, for him to laugh in your face and leave you to fend for yourself.

But then he said, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes,” he said curtly, taking the champagne flute from your hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

It didn’t take long for the ruse to kick into effect.

Hux, to his credit, was an exceptional fake boyfriend. He stood close enough to you that no one would question your supposed relationship, but not so close as to make it uncomfortable. He offered you his arm when you moved through the room, and his sharp, dry wit kept even the most insistent small talkers at bay.

You found yourself relaxing in his presence, the initial awkwardness giving way to something almost… fun.

Lila, of course, made her move.

“Oh, wow,” she said, sidling up to you with an exaggerated smile. “I didn’t know you were bringing someone. Who’s this?”

“This is Armitage,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “My boyfriend.”

Her eyes flicked over to him, and for the first time in your life, you were grateful for Hux’s intimidating demeanor. Lila’s smile faltered for just a fraction of a second before she recovered.

“Boyfriend?” she repeated, her voice a shade too sweet. “How… unexpected.”

Hux, who had been sipping his champagne, gave her a cold, thin smile. “The best things in life often are.”

You almost choked on your drink.

Lila, flustered, made some excuse and quickly retreated, leaving you and Hux standing together in victorious silence.

“Thank you,” you said, your shoulders dropping as the tension left you.

Hux shrugged. “It was nothing. People like that are… predictable.”

“Still, I appreciate it. You’ve made this party a lot less miserable.”

He glanced at you then, his sharp features softening just slightly. “You’re welcome.”

As the evening wore on, you found yourself talking to Hux more than you’d anticipated.

It turned out that he had a dry sense of humor, one that matched your own. He wasn’t as cold and unapproachable as you’d once thought; he was just guarded. But beneath that icy exterior was someone who was intelligent, quick-witted, and—dare you say it—kind.

You told yourself not to read into it too much. This was just a favor, after all.

But as the party wound down and the crowd began to thin, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at the thought of the night ending.

“You’ve done more than enough,” you said as you both stood near the exit, coats in hand. “You’re free to go. I mean, you were always free to go, but—”

“I’ll walk you home,” he interrupted, his tone brooking no argument.

“Oh. You don’t have to—”

“It’s late,” he said firmly. “And cold. I insist.”

You didn’t argue.

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, the snow falling softly around you. The city lights reflected off the white blanket covering the streets, casting everything in a golden glow.

“Thank you,” you said again, breaking the silence. “For tonight. Really.”

Hux looked at you, his expression unreadable. “You’ve already said that.”

“I know, but I mean it. You didn’t have to help me, but you did. That means a lot.”

He was silent for a moment, his breath visible in the frosty air. Then, he said, “You’re not as insufferable as most people. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.”

You laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet night. “High praise coming from you.”

His lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile you’d seen all night.

When you reached your building, you turned to face him, suddenly unsure of what to say.

“Well,” you began awkwardly, “this is me.”

“So it is.”

“Thanks again. I guess I’ll see you around?”

He hesitated, his green eyes searching yours. Then, to your surprise, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Perhaps we should try this again sometime,” he said, his voice soft.

“Try what?”

“Pretending,” he said, though there was a hint of something in his tone that suggested he wasn’t entirely pretending anymore.

You felt your cheeks flush, the cold forgotten as you nodded. “I’d like that.”

And as he walked away, his coat billowing behind him, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe, just maybe, fake dating Armitage Hux wasn’t such a ridiculous idea after all.

[henclair]

pushing my fall out boy kylux agenda publicly!!!

[beezusvreeland]

now that we don't talk - chapter 6

summary: After being rejected by Poe, the two of you are assigned a mission together. And a lot can happen during a mission.

ship: poe dameron x f!reader

______________________________________________________________

Armitage Hux was talking to a group of First Order officials. As you and Poe got closer to them, it became clear that Hux was already a few drinks in. He had another in his hand, his red hair was messy and the first few buttons of his uniform’s jacket were open. 

“What exactly is our game plan here?”, Poe asked in your ear, his face so close to your neck, he could see that his question made the almost invisible hairs on the back of your head rise. A wave of pride overcame him. 

During the few seconds between his question and your answer, Poe was consumed by his thoughts, trying to establish a timeline in his mind. He couldn’t help but wonder: had it always been like that? Was that how your body had been reacting to him the whole time? And if it had, why wasn’t he paying attention? 

He was trying his best, channeling all the years of training and experience to focus on the task at hand. Otherwise, Poe would quickly succumb to the truth: the feeling, for him, might be new, but all he could see was you. 

You, however, seemed as focused as ever as you strolled confidently through the crowd. The dark green of your dress made you shine even more.

“Stay here and let me do my thing”, you whispered, barely looking at Poe. 

“But…”

“Just let me. And if you see me going anywhere, follow me, but be discreet.”

This bossy version of you was extremely annoying to Poe, who was used to being the leader, even if it was you commanding, there was still a part of him that wanted to rebel. This version of you also turned him on immensely, the proximity to you was killing him.

You had a job to do, Poe told himself. Focus on the mission. Now he had to be very alert, his priority was protecting you. It should be getting the notebook, sure, that was important, just not as your safety.

“Poe?”, you whispered back, taking him out of his day dreaming. 

“Fine. Go”, he didn’t mean to say it like that, annoyed and impatient. But before he could apologize, you were gone. Gone in Hux’s direction. Poe had a bad feeling about this.

He watched as you slowly approached Hux. You walk behind him and put a hand on his right arm, which made the man finally notice you. His eyes went wide, looking at you from head to toe. Hux started talking to you, but to Poe’s fury, he wasn’t looking at your face, just your chest. Hux’s face was getting redder than his own hair. In part because of all the drinking, but the other…Were you adjusting your dress so your chest would be more prominent? You got closer to him, saying something in his ear. 

And that’s when Poe finally understood. He was so stupid, it was so obvious that this was going to happen. You were seducing Hux to get the notebook from him. That was a terrible plan, he never thought you would be the type of agent to do it. 

Poe was seething, his look intense enough to burn through Armitage Hux’s body. He just wanted to get you out of there and go back home, notebook be damned. Except, you were obviously not letting that happen. You laughed at something Hux said, the sound was very different from the one Poe knew — and missed dearly. The redhead’s eyes widen more as you say something else in his ear. 

And then Poe sees green in movement. He has no idea where you are going, as much as it pained him, he decided to trust you and follow your lead. Hux follows you after a few seconds, walking towards the stairs. Poe goes after him, holding his blaster under his coat, close enough to act if it came down to it, but far enough not to be noticed so soon.

After two flights of stairs, you enter a corridor, Hux right after you, stumbling and almost falling on the carpet. Though downstairs looked like a creepy nightmare, the other parts of the house were very nice. It was colorful, like its owners, but not in an overwhelming way. Poe had to give it to Jib and Boq: the place must be really cozy when it’s not covered in First Order propaganda. 

Looking ahead, Poe sees you stopping by a droid waiter and getting two glasses. Were you planning on getting Hux even drunker than he already was? Poe could feel his stomach turning, he shouldn’t have let you do your plan. Even though Hux seemed kind of an idiot, he could still be dangerous. The more intoxicated he got…

Hux caught up with you and grabbed your arm, pushing you behind the long crimson curtain that covered one of the floor’s many majestic windows and went in after you. Once he was out of sight, Poe walked as fast as he could — running would definitely blow their cover — and squatted in front of the curtain, getting closer to hear what was happening. 

It started with Hux saying your full name.

Poe took his blaster out, by instinct but also knowing there was no one else around in that corridor. Years of war and espionage had taught him to recognize movement through the sounds around him whenever his sight was compromised. 

The same ability let him know, by the sound of your heels, that Hux was getting closer to you. It sounded like you were stepping back from him.

“I never thought I’d ever see you again”, Hux said. 

You answer Hux with a soft laugh, using a different type of voice than normal. It was…seductive. 

Poe held his blaster tighter. 

“Indeed it’s been a long time since we last saw each other”, you said. “I know that we weren’t the closest back then, but I hear you’re doing great things for our galaxy.”

“Oh, yes, I’m one of the top officers of the First Order.”

That was a lie. He had a privileged position, yes, but he was just a pawn in Kylo Ren’s game. Absolutely disposable. 

“Well, I’ll drink to that”, you give him one of the glasses. “From old acquaintances to good…friends. I hope.”

Hux laughed nervously and then drank the liquid. 

“Look at you…what a beautiful woman you’ve become.”

“Thank you. I certainly am not that awkward kid anymore”, you stepped closer to Hux.

And got closer to you. 

“Oh, you’ve always been a sight to behold. But I must say you’re even more beautiful now that you stopped worshiping those disgusting rebels from the Resistance.”

Poe was about to either vomit or shoot Hux. He hated everything that was coming from his mouth. From both of your mouths. 

“Oh, yes, what a silly girl I was”, your voice got lower, as if you were almost whispering. 

Hux’s breathing became erratic and it didn’t seem to be just from his nervousness. 

“But now I’m a woman…”

The curtain moved a bit, someone’s foot almost hitting Poe. His ears picked up the sound of…kissing. Trying to stop his hands from shaking, he checked his blaster — he was good to go. 

The agitation inside the curtain didn’t stop. Desperate, Poe got up and went to the side where Hux was. He was about to tear the curtain apart when it all became silent. What had that idiot done to you? Poe pushes the curtain and walks in with his blaster pointed to where Hux was supposed to be. 

To Poe’s horror, Hux was all over you. He moved quickly to take him away from you, you said: “He’s passed out. I’m okay. Let’s sit him next to the wall”. 

Poe did so, trying to hold his anger from everything that had just happened. 

“Was that all from the drinking?”, Poe asked, breathing loudly.

“Yes…The sedative on his last drink might’ve helped, though.”

Poe’s eyes widened. 

“What do you mean…?”

“Oh, shush. It’s a little something to put him to sleep, he’s not gonna die or anything.”

You crouched near Hux, opening his suit coat, searching for internal pockets. After a few tries, you smiled at Poe.

“Jackpot.”

You take the thing that was holding your hair out, letting it down. The accessory was actually a small knife. Poe didn’t quite know why, but he found that extremely hot. He also had never seen you with your hair down. He hated Armitage Hux even more now than he ever did, which was saying a lot, but had to agree with the man on one thing: you were incredibly beautiful. 

Taking the knife in your hand, you got closer to Hux’s right side and opened more of his coat. You use the knife to rip out the seams of what looked like a fake pocket. Inside it was that damn notebook. That thing better be worth it, Poe had never been so nervous and worried his whole life. 

You got up and opened Poe’s coat like it was nothing and put the notebook inside one of his pockets. He felt like he could barely breathe. 

“Seems like some guests are having too much fun…”, a voice said in the corridor. You and Poe looked at each other scared. You couldn’t get caught, you had just retrieved the notebook, after going through so much trouble. 

“I don’t care what they’re doing, as long as they don’t ruin my curtain or my rug.”

Poe puts one of his fingers in front of his lips, asking you to stay quiet. He got in front of you and pointed the blaster in the direction of the voices. 

“Your curtain, huh? We shall see.”

The curtain is pushed and if it had been a millisecond before, Poe would’ve taken the shot. Jib and Boq’s shocked faces were the only thing that held him back. The hosts were speechless, seconds lasted hours. You took a turn around you, and Poe could see your expression changing as you realized how bad that scene looked.

“He’s not dead”, it’s the only thing you had to offer.

Boq stepped in, which allowed him to get a closer look to the stranger on the floor. He sighed, putting his hands on his hips.

“I wouldn’t blame you if he was”, Boq said, calmly. “This idiot has been the pointiest and nastied rock inside our expensive shoes.”

Poe looked at you and saw you were staring back at him. He almost unnoticeably pointed his head in the direction of the blaster. You answered with a curt nod. Poe then took his blaster down and put it back into his holster. 

Jib came closer and stood next to his partner. 

“So…resistance, huh?”, he said. 

“Yes”, Poe answered shortly. “Is that a problem?”

“Buddy, we don’t have any problems if it helps us not being forced to turn our sanctuary into a First Order lair.”

“Thank you so much, Jib. Hopefully we get to help you and more people across the galaxy”, you said, a bit more relaxed. 

Jib’s eyes sparkle. 

“Ah, you’re a goddamn delight”, he said and turned to Poe. “You’re a very lucky guy.”

“I know.”

On his periphery, Poe could sense your surprise. You cleared your throat.

“Can you help us out of here? Without causing more of a scene?”

Jib and Boq looked at each other and then back at you, grinning. 

“Absolutely.”

Poe only understood Jib and Boq’s excitement when they opened a secret passage in their room. 

“If someone wants to take our lives, they’ll have to work for it”, Boq explained, seeing the confused looks of you two. 

The door, like the rest of the wall, was made of a beautiful type of light wood. It was glistening. Boq started talking about the planet where he and Jib bought the wood, but the latter interrupted. 

“Focus on the task at hand, honey.”

The door led to a small room with only a glass table in the center. On top of it, there was a flower arrangement. The room’s other door, though, took you to a flight of stairs. 

“You’ll end up inside our garage. It should make your walk to your ship shorter and safer”, said Jib.

“Once again, thank you for helping us. Hopefully, you’ll have a future lacking the First Order”, said Poe, in his “I’m on a mission and mean business” voice. 

“Yes, we’re very grateful. I hope you can get these tacky people out of your lives as soon as possible.”

They laughed.

“Delightful”, said Jib. “Now go before the devil wakes up!”

And so, you and Poe went to the stairs.

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<< chapter 5

all chapters

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Dear readers,

It took me long enough, but here we are with a new chapter. Fun fact: the curtain scene was what moved me to write this fic. I had the idea an @d it wouldn't leave me until I wrote it. So here it is.

Thank you so much for reading. Please let me know what you think in the comments.

💌 Read my miguel o'hara x reader fic, 'dear reader'

💌 Read my miguel o'hara/reader high school fic, 'a very good idea'

💌Read my santiago garcia fic, 'santi's journal'

💌 I'm on ao3!

Take care!

Love, The writer

______________________________________________________________

tags 💖

@littleshadow17 @multifandomsw @steven-grants-world

@lizispunkk @torntaltos @nervousmumbling

@arysbruv @hardbeingcasual @adriiibell

[goosewriting]

Make me a caf

summary: Hux seemingly wants to keep you around after you fix his caf machine.

relationship: Armitage Hux x GN reader

warnings: (18+) making out, sexual tension

word count: 7.4k (this one got away from me... i blacked out and woke up to this. i have no other explanation lol)

A/N: 100% self indulgent. partially inspired by @wordborne’s fic Strictly Business, which is a story for inquisitor!Cal. i wonder what it is about redheads in black outfits that’s so appealing to me  lmao

prompt used: they are absolutely losing it, they pin you against the wall, hands on either side of your face, eyes looking down, they say through gritted teeth, "This isn't easy for me. I-I've never--You matter to me. And, You deserve way better than someone like me--" They're cut off when you pull their collar closer, shaking your head, somehow not fazed by his gaze that's ripping you bare. "I deserve you--everything of you, I want it." (source, by @urfriendlywriter)

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

Life sure takes interesting turns sometimes. You started out as a mechanic on your home planet, then got drafted by the First Order to work on many projects, the latest being a new base on the planet Ilum, which was a very exclusive and secret project. So not only did you have to relocate for a long time while the base got built, but also in the little leave you got, you weren’t really allowed to talk to anyone.

But you decided a long time ago that’s an okay price to pay for an honestly more than decent pay. You also don’t have to pay for housing or food, you get your own quarters, all your equipment, and even a droid. So, not too shabby.

It’s been a while since you moved to Ilum now, and it’s a morning like any other. You’re the first to arrive at the workshop and your droid beeps at you, telling you that there’s a special request coming in asking for a mechanic. You ask your companion from where it comes and it projects a schematic of the base, with the room in question blinking.

You swallow hard as you realise that’s the part of the base where the captains and generals are housed. But the message was marked as urgent, and you’re the only one here right now, so you take your tools and nod to your droid to follow you.

It takes a while to navigate the labyrinth of hallways; it was pretty rare for the lower deck people to come to these parts. You have to look at your droid’s map a couple of times, but finally you make it to the right wing. Even the design of the walls is different here than it is in the other floors, it’s more sophisticated somehow.

You arrive at the room number indicated on the message and read the name on the plaque next to the door: it’s General Hux’s room. Great.

Luckily you didn’t have to deal with him personally, ever really, but you did hear the rumours, and they weren’t all too… nice. Sure, talks about Kylo Ren and his anger issues sounded worse in a way, but at least he lashed out from time to time. Hux donned you as the kind of person to be so emotionally constipated that he probably didn’t remember how to express anything else on his face except for contempt. In fact you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen the man smile.

Taking a deep breath, you knock on the door, and you’re startled as it opens almost immediately. In front of you towers none other than the General himself, sans his coat, eyeing you and your droid up and down.

“You’re late,” is all he says as he turns on his heel, and you follow him silently, deciding there’s no point in arguing to him about how he summoned you to basically the other side of the base out of the blue. 

You try not to stare too much, but you can’t help taking in his room: it’s spacious, clean and tidy. There’s a main room with a couch, a chair and a caf table, and a small kitchen to the side with a breakfast nook attached to it. An open door leads to a space you can’t see, but you assume it’s a hallway to the bedroom and refresher. For a whole organisation that seems to love their sleek designs in black and red, his quarters sure are light, which in turn makes them seem bigger. The wall in the far back of the living room has a huge window reaching almost from floor to ceiling, letting in plenty of natural light, reflected on the planet’s snowy landscape.

When Hux clears his throat, you rip your eyes off the place and bring them back to him, where he stands in the kitchen with his arms crossed.

“The caf machine is broken,” is all he says, then moves past you in a way that only entitled people do, where they expect the other to move out of their way, and takes a seat on the couch, reading through his datapad.

“Right,” you say through gritted teeth, thinking back to all your diplomas and licences to repair heavy machinery, artillery, spaceships, yet here you are, fixing a caf machine. 

With a sigh you approach the device and get to work. You find the problem quickly, and luckily it’s an easy fix. You stretch out your arm to your droid, asking for a tool which is handed to you with a happy beep, and finish the repair within minutes. 

“All done, Sir,” you call to Hux.

“Test it to make sure,” he orders without looking up.

“...Sir?”

He sighs.

“Make me a caf,” he clarifies. His tone isn’t particularly condescending or mocking though, it’s just flat. 

“Uhm, yes, Sir,” you respond, turn to the machine and all its buttons, then back to him. “How would you like your caf, Sir?”

“Surprise me,” he answers and goes back to scrolling through his datapad. 

You blink a couple of times, turning back to the device. This is one of those higher end machines, you’ve never really operated one. And you don’t even know where he keeps his stuff.

As if he could read your mind at your lack of movement, he says, “Caf is in the pantry, mugs are in the cupboard above.”

You open said cupboard, finding a collection of plain, black mugs, as well as an electric grinder. In the pantry you see not just an overwhelming amount of different caf beans types, but also a whole barista set, with the little press and the whisky thing. You have never used any of these; all you know is that these sets are rather expensive. And this man apparently knows his caf, so why would he ask a random mechanic to prepare it for him?

Wondering how it is you come into ridiculous situations like this alarmingly often, you get to work, grinding the beans (you didn't know a grinder could be this silent), placing everything in the machine and starting it up. In the pantry you also find some other spices and creamer, but you reckon Hux is the kind of man to take his caf black, so you don’t put in any of the latter. Instead you add a little bit of… you don’t even know what kind of spice it is, as the little jar is unlabeled, but it smells good. 

“All done, Sir,” you say as you walk up to him with the steaming mug.

He gestures to the caf table in front of him with his chin, and you’re about to place the mug down, but then see a little basket with coasters donning the First Order symbol. You pick one up and slide it under the mug.

“You can see yourself out,” is all Hux says, without looking at the mug or you.

You hesitate for a moment, not expecting to just be sent off like that. Wasn’t he even gonna try it? Wait… Why were you even waiting for a response? It’s not like you cared.

“Yes, Sir,” you bow lightly and turn on your heels, calling your droid and leaving.

On the whole walk back to your workshop, you wonder what the kriff just happened, and hope that you won’t have to deal with the General for a long time. He’s so weird.

The universe seems to be against you though, because it is only the next day when you arrive at the workshop, but this time you’re not alone. You’re the first mechanic, as for the next couple of rotations you have the early shift, but there’s a Stormtrooper waiting; that can’t mean anything good. 

“Good morning, Trooper,” you greet them with a smile as you approach them. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Grab your tools and follow me,” the modulated voice orders. You pack your little bag while the Trooper just stares, then tell your droid to come, but they lift a hand.

“Leave the droid.”

You couldn’t be more confused, but you comply, telling your droid to stay. It beeps sadly and slowly rolls back around your table, where it will probably stay and wait for you to come back. You feel a little bad, but there’s nothing you can do.

The Trooper doesn’t say anything else as you follow them through the pristine halls, your steps echoing off the walls. Every now and then you have to jog a little to catch up with their hasty pace. Soon enough the route seems oddly familiar and you feel like you’re having a déjà-vu. 

“Where are we going again?” you ask, even though you haven’t been told yet where the Trooper is taking you.

“General Hux called for you,” they explain.

Okay, now you are confused. You fixed his caf machine, even made him a fresh cup of it. What could he possibly still want? 

The rest of the way to the General’s room is silent again, and once you arrive at the door, the Trooper knocks twice, then stands guard next to it. Again, the door opens comically quickly, as if Hux had been behind it waiting the whole time. The thought makes you smile to yourself, and you try to suppress it the best you can.

“Ah, good, you found the mechanic,” Hux says, nodding to the Trooper, who nods back and leaves the way you came from. 

“What can I do for you today, Sir?” you ask as you find yourself walking into his quarters again. 

This time he has you following him through the hallway to the refresher, where he points at a flickering light.

“Fix it,” he orders and leaves.

Is this some sort of twisted game where he would have you do menial tasks every day? Is the First Order targeting you? Just what in the world is going on, you think, dropping your bag of tools onto the floor with more force than necessary. I have more urgent work to do.

Heaving a silent sigh, you inspect the light. Just as you thought, all it needed was to be screwed in tighter into its socket, and the flickering stopped. 

Picking up your bag from the floor, you walk into the hallway. The door to his room is open and you steal a tiny peek inside. His bed is huge! Sure must be comfy…

“All done, Sir,” you report as you come to stand beside him. 

“Excellent. Now,” he says as he leaves his datapad on the couch and stands up, taking a step towards you, towering over you. Instinctively you take a step back, and the tiniest of smiles appears on his freckled face. Huh, you hadn’t noticed before that he has freckles. 

“Make me a caf,” he orders.

“Sir,” you start, averting your gaze from his piercing one. “With all due respect, you have a functioning caf machine right there. I don’t see why my presence is needed.” 

He narrows his eyes at you. 

“How did you prepare the caf yesterday?” he asks.

Oh Maker, he probably hated it, you think as you tighten your grip on the strap of your bag.

“Uhm, I…” you hate yourself for stumbling over your words. You bet he’s getting a kick out of this. “Was it not to your liking Sir? If so, I apologise–”

“That was the best damn caf I’ve had in a long time,” he interrupts you, and you can only look up at him in surprise. “How did you prepare it?”

“I made a… I think it’s called a blend?” you try your darndest to remember just what you did yesterday when you experimented with the ingredients in the pantry. “I used beans from two different packs. They seemed like they would go well together… Sir.”

Why did you even do that? You have no idea. You’re also pretty sure you added one of the spices. 

“Interesting,” Hux remarks, leaning back to stand at his full height. You didn’t even notice he was leaning in so close to you. 

You kinda just stand in place, waiting for further instructions, while his eyes seem to burn through your very soul, his face unreadable. 

“Then, surprise me again, mechanic,” he orders, and walks back to the couch. 

You gulp for what you’re about to say, but you don’t like how he calls you ‘mechanic’ like it’s a derogatory term. 

“Actually, Sir, it’s…” you say and pause, waiting for him to turn to you, and then you tell him your name.

He repeats it, as if testing out how it sounds, and you reprimand yourself internally for the beat your heart just skipped when you heard him say it. 

Hux turns his attention back to the datapad, and you quickly make your way into the kitchen, leaving your bag on one of the stools. 

Once more you find yourself in front of the pantry, and you get to work. You sniff the different caf packets, trying to understand anything from the colourfully worded descriptions on the back. With a shrug, you just follow your nose like you did last time, and grind up two different kinds of beans, this time without any spices, and let the machine do the rest. 

Once it’s ready, you bring it to the caf table, where a coaster is already waiting this time. You place down the mug and bring your hands behind your back, waiting to be dismissed.

But instead, Hux takes the mug into his hand, blowing softly on it, and takes a sip. All without breaking eye contact with you. He waits a couple of seconds and hums. You hope that’s a good thing. 

“Interesting choice,” he remarks, looking into the dark liquid reflecting the room’s lights in ripples. “You’re dismissed.”

“Sir,” you excuse yourself with the same bow as yesterday, grab your bag, and leave his quarters. 

You take a quick look at the time on your datapad and curse under your breath as you’re gonna be late for the second rotation in a row, and speed up your pace.

This whole spiel goes on for almost two weeks: Hux sends someone to retrieve you from the workshop early in the morning, has you do some menial task as an excuse for calling you, then orders you to make him caf. The feedback you get for your results is sparse at best, usually only one or two words. But you did notice that he has a preference for one type of blend mixed with a certain spice. You even went as far as looking up more things to spice caf up with on the holonet, trying to apply it to the ingredients in his pantry.

The more time you spend in his room, the more he opens up little by little as well. At first you’d work in silence. Then he’d sit on the stools by the kitchen instead of the couch, doing some work. Then he’d put down the datapad to watch you work, and it even came as far as doing smalltalk. Once he even asked you for your input regarding a technical matter in his work, where you caught a glimpse of some schematics of something huge. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you curious to know what he was working on. 

As ridiculous as this whole situation was, not only did you find yourself looking forward to seeing a Trooper every morning, but you made it your goal to make a caf that would blow Hux’s socks right off.

It’s shortly after the two week mark of this whole thing that you’re on your way to the workshop, expecting to see a Trooper to pick you up, but the place is actually empty, save for your co-worker who’s on the early shift. You greet your droid, who beeps happily at your arrival, and you look around.

“Did anyone come by, buddy?” you ask, and get a negative beep-boop. 

When you ask the other mechanic, she also says it’s been just her until now.

Huh, weird. No, wait, hold on a minute – why are you even expecting to get summoned in the first place? You can finally catch up on all the work you’re behind on because of the little “caf-scapades”, as you’ve been calling them. 

“Alright, let’s get to work,” you tell your droid and pat it a couple of times. “There’s a lot to do.”

The nagging feeling that something is wrong doesn’t leave you though, in fact, the more time passes, the stronger it seems to get. By the end of your shift, you wonder if you should pay the General a visit out of your own volition. But you decide against it, after all he could be on a mission somewhere, or maybe he was busy today. Either way, it’s none of your business. 

You wrap up for the day and finish cleaning your workstation, get your dinner, and not long after, find yourself getting ready for bed. After a quick shower, you change into a tank top and shorts, your go-to sleepwear. You’re glad that despite the harsh outside conditions, the living quarters are well heated.

Just as you’re lifting the blanket to get into your bed, you hear your datapad beep twice: a message. You wonder who it could be this late at night.

With a sigh, you make your way to the table and pick up the device, squinting at the light in your already dark room. You almost drop it to the floor when you see the message: “Come now. Alone.” It’s from an unknown sender, but marked as urgent: it’s gotta be from Hux. You glance at the time and roll your eyes. Of course he would have you on a regular trip to his room every morning for half a month, then suddenly stop, only to call you to his room in the middle of the night. Just what is this guy’s deal?!

You look down at yourself and sigh. This isn’t how you want the General to see you, at least not right now. Not yet. Perhaps. 

You don’t really own any civilian clothes, as you’re always in the base. The only non overall kind of clothing you have is a First Order uniform, but that one is only ever really used for official events or gatherings. Plus it’s rather stiff. 

All your coveralls are currently either covered in grease and/or smell of engine oil. Besides, you don’t wanna wear those over your PJs. So you grab the next best option, which is the summer version of the coveralls you almost never use because they have short sleeves, and it’s mandatory to wear long sleeves and gloves in most of the hangars and workshops. They’re clean at least, so you quickly jump into them, not even bothering to zip it up all the way, slip into your boots and head out. 

Walking down the hallways to the military wing of the base at this time of night is strange; for some reason there’s more Troopers and people out and about than in the early mornings. They give you a strange side-eye when walking past you, but no one seems to question your presence at least.

When you finally make it to Hux’s room, you lift your hand to knock, but hesitate.

Why would he call you out here at this hour anyways? On one side you expect him to tell you that he’s grown tired and bored of you. On the other side you know he wouldn’t do that, not like this at least. 

All day, ever since not being picked up by a Trooper, you’ve been plagued by this little voice in your head. A nagging feeling that was disguised as a strange curiosity to know where the caf-scapades would bring you two in terms of getting to know each other, yet you knew that beneath it was genuine worry for the General. He doesn’t contact you all day, then suddenly messages you (which means he went out of his way to get your contact information, since you hadn’t given it to him), and here you are, running to him the second he calls you. 

You grimace at the thought, or rather the realisation, that you actually came to… like the General. 

He has a weird sense of humour, and isn’t good at expressing how he feels. But if you look closely enough, you can recognise the subtle changes in his face that give away his thoughts. You can’t deny that he is very handsome, but you’re also aware that he can be a dangerous man. You’ve heard enough stories of what he and Ren have done and are capable of. And yet… There's something about his presence, like he’s surrounded by this air full of purpose and confidence, that you can’t help being pulled towards him. 

So yeah, you’re intrigued by him. And you want to see more. 

Taking a deep breath, you knock on the door in the pattern you usually do.

But the door stays closed. 

Suddenly it dawns on you that you didn’t actually know for sure who sent the message. What if it wasn’t Hux, and something happened to him? What if he was hurt and this was all a trap?

You hold your breath, tilting your ear towards the door, trying to hear if there’s anyone at all in there, when you suddenly hear a groan from the other side.

You’re about to call out to Hux but stop yourself. You’re sure it was a groan right, and not a… moan? You feel heat rising to your cheeks at the thought. 

Shaking away the images threatening to flood your brain, you knock again. You really hope you’re not interrupting anything.

This time the groan is louder, clearly pained, and it’s calling your name. 

“Sir?” you ask, now definitely worried for his well-being, all other theories thrown out the window. 

Suddenly, the door whooshes open, but there’s no one in front of it. Instead, you see the remote aimed at the entrance (so that’s how he opened the door so quickly), held by a Hux who’s half hanging from the couch onto the floor.

“General!” you call, close the door behind you and rush to his side.

Hux is only wearing his trousers; his shirt, jacket and belt are strewn on the floor. He probably was trying to get dressed or change, but collapsed. You grab his arms to pull him up, and you get to sit him down properly on the couch. His face is flushed all the way down to his neck, clearly running a fever. Your hand shoots up to touch his forehead and he’s burning. He weakly swats your hand away and winces in pain, his eyes shut tightly, and you feel your own gaze travelling down his jaw to his collarbones, to all the freckles covering his shoulders and pecs.

Forcing yourself to tear away your eyes, you shake his shoulder lightly. 

“Sir, you need to go to bed and rest,” you tell him.

“I- I was… trying,” he huffs between heavy breaths, his eyes meeting your own in what you guess was meant to be a glare, but they lack their usual intensity. 

“Lean onto me,” you instruct, pulling him up by an arm and throwing it over your shoulder. You feel how he’s fighting to slump all of his weight on you, and get moving. 

It takes a while and Hux almost falls to the floor twice, but you make it to his room, where he lets himself fall onto the bed. You rush to the refresher, where you remember seeing a first aid kit, and bring it back to the room. You help him take off his boots and lift the blanket for him to climb into the bed, tucking him in once he’s settled. Then you sit down on the edge of the bed and start unpacking the kit. A cold patch goes to his forehead and you take his temperature, which is way too high.

“I’m gonna give you a stim, okay?” you warn him as you take it out of the kit, pulling the blanket down a little so you can apply it. You stick it below his collarbone in a quick motion, and he hisses.

“There, there,” you coo and can’t help but smile. He grunts as he places his forearm over his face, and you pull the blanket back up properly.

After packing everything into the kit and putting it to the side, you go to the kitchen to get a cup of water. Back in the room, you hand Hux some pills and the cup, and he downs it all without even asking what it is and with no snarky remark, which makes you feel even worse for him; the fever must be really bad.

You’re still sitting at his side, taking in his state and wondering what else you can do, when a question pops into your head.

“Why did you call me, General?” you ask him, and he peeks at you from under his arm. “Shouldn’t you have gotten a nurse or a medical droid?”

“Didn’t get my caf today,” he rasps. 

“Oh, so it’s my fault you came down with a fever?” you retort playfully. He nods, and you can’t help but laugh a little. 

“So now I gotta make up for my mistake?” you add, and he nods again. You exhale through your nose with a smile. “Well, General, I did all I can do for you. I’m gonna go get a medical droid–”

But before you can stand up, his hand shoots up to grab your wrist, yanking you back down. 

“Armitage,” he whispers, blinking a couple of times, trying to focus his eyes on you.

“Sir–” is all you get out, trying to loosen his grip on your wrist.

“Call me Armitage,” he repeats, louder this time, eyes suddenly full of an intensity you didn’t know he had left in his state.

“Sir, I can’t– You’re–” you whimper in pain as his grip tightens around you even more. “You’re hurting me, Armitage.”

Hux looks up at you a moment longer, then down at his hand, and suddenly lets go, as if he only now realised what he was doing.

“I– I didn’t mean to…” he mumbles as his hand hesitantly reaches up to your wrist again, but much gentler this time. His fingers ghost over the irritated skin, taking your hand in his larger one, and bringing it to his mouth to kiss your knuckles.

“Stay the night,” he orders, and you feel like your heart, brain, lungs – everything just stops working altogether. 

“Gener–” you start but his brows furrow in a warning glare, so you correct yourself. “Armitage, I really shouldn’t. I can’t.”

Not when you’re like this, at least, you add in your mind.

“I won’t do anything, I promise,” he assures you, his face softening, but eyes still as intense. “Just stay by my side.”

Your eyes fall to your hand still in his, and you feel him give you a squeeze. After a moment, you return it. You’re aware that this can end in one of two ways: it’s either the start of something very interesting, or the end of your career as you know it. Are you really about to risk it all for some fun? 

“Okay,” you finally give in, and he sighs in relief.

Hux pats the space next to him in his enormous bed, and you walk over to the other side of it, lying down on top of the blanket. He holds your hand again and closes his eyes, starting to drift off. 

– – – – –

The next morning, Hux wakes up to a dull pang of pain behind his eyes. He squints as he takes in his surroundings. When did he get to bed? Did he forget to close the blinds last night? Sitting up in the bed, he sees the patch from his forehead fall into his lap. Did he get that himself from the refresher? Why can’t he remember anything from last night? 

He throws his legs over the edge of the bed, seeing that he’s still wearing his uniform’s trousers. On the nightstand is a glass of water and some pills which he assumes to be aspirin. He downs it, drinking the whole thing. Why is he so thirsty? 

His eyes travel over the bed when he realises that not only is the other side ruffled, as if someone had slept there, but there’s some mechanic’s overalls neatly folded at the end of the bed too. He freezes, racking his brain for any events of the night prior, but it’s all a blur.

Suddenly he hears some clinking sounds from the kitchen. Sniffing the air he also smells food. Just as he’s about to get up to investigate, you come walking through the door, and his heart skips several beats. You’re only wearing a tank top and shorts, showing much more skin than he’d ever seen from you, and he immediately decides that he likes what he sees. 

“Oh, you’re up,” you say, coming to a halt just as you pass the door, suddenly very self-conscious of how his eyes are essentially eating you up. “I made breakfast, and caf. Are you feeling any better?”

He doesn’t answer, instead looking down at the floor. You being here, dressed like this, does that mean that last night you two…? And if so, why couldn’t he remember any of it?! 

Given his lack of response, you walk around the bed and stand in front of Hux, looking at him with worry.

“Hey, are you okay?” you ask, your hand coming up to his forehead. You sigh in relief when you notice his fever is almost gone, but you don’t miss how he tenses up at your touch. So if he’s back to normal again… “A-Armitage?”

Hux straightens up suddenly at the use of his name, and looks at you with a ferocity you hadn’t seen before. You instinctively take a step back, and immediately regret it when you see the hurt cross his face for a split second. Hux’s eyes fall and go to your hand which had just been on his forehead moments ago. A scowl spreads on his face as he carefully takes your wrist and brings it up to his face to inspect the bruising that spreads from the back of your hand to almost the middle of your forearm.

“Who did this to you?” he asks through gritted teeth, clearly upset. 

“You did,” you answer, and he looks up at you in disbelief. “You don’t… remember anything from last night?”

“I don’t,” he groans, and when he looks back up at you, his ears burn in the cutest shade of pink. “Since I don’t remember, I have to ask… Did we… last night?”

Your cheeks get set ablaze as you shake your head, biting your lip. When he sighs in relief, you feel your heart sink momentarily, but it resumes its erratic beating with his next words. 

“I’d hate myself if something happened and I didn’t remember it the next day,” he’s quick to clarify, still not letting go of your hand. “And about this… I’m sorry.”

You don’t think that apologies are something that comes easy to Hux, so you know you should just take it as such and shut up, but you can’t help your blabbering, trying to make him feel better for some reason.

“Don’t worry about it, I bruise easily,” you say with a sheepish smile. “Besides, I’ve had worse. I’ll survive.”

“Worse?” Hux asks, concerned for you and at the same time enraged at the thought of someone else hurting you. 

“Yeah, look at this,” you reply, removing your hand from his to lift your shirt up a little, while the other pulls down the hem of your shorts ever so slightly, to show him a scar that goes from above your hip bone up and around your ribcage. “This one I got from when an engine fell on me.” 

So you meant work accidents and not someone else laying a hand on you. Hux feels the earlier rage dissipate as he takes in your scar, and the way you so easily bared yourself to him. 

Being pulled towards him by your hips, you watch in complete shock when Hux places the softest of kisses on your scar, then traces it with his fingers. He’s so close, you wonder if he can hear your heart pounding against your ribcage.

“Shall we get breakfast then?” he asks, suddenly very matter-of-factly, and stands up. “Wouldn’t want the caf to get cold after all.”

Hux walks past you to the wardrobe, getting out of your sight as he stands behind the open door. You take a moment to control your breathing and imagination, then walk towards the kitchen. 

When he joins you on the stools, you notice he changed into more comfortable clothes, and you pass him his mug and a plate of eggs and bacon.

“I can also make some porridge if you think you’d stomach that better?” you offer.

“This is perfect,” he retorts, and starts eating. 

You prop your hand on your elbow for a second, just taking in this moment which seems… strangely domestic. And peaceful. It feels like something you could get used to.

Snapping back to reality, you check the time on the microwave, and scramble to your feet.

“Ah, kriff! I’m so late!” you start running back and forth, gathering your things. You quickly slip into your overalls and jump into your boots without even tying them up. You appear once more next to Hux, who’s still calmly enjoying his breakfast.

“You better take the day off. I don’t want to see you around, you hear me?” you tell him, pointing at him with a scolding finger. “Drink plenty of water and stay in bed, okay? Message me if anything comes up.” 

Before you realise what you’re doing, you place a quick kiss to his cheek, say your goodbyes and dash out the door, leaving a very perplexed Hux in the kitchen.

It’s only as you’re rushing down the halls that you realise not only what you’ve done but also how this must look to the passers-by: someone getting out of a high ranking officer’s room with rather dishevelled hair, not having even put on your clothes properly. You swallow your pride though, ignoring all the looks you get, and run as fast as you can to your room to get changed. 

When you finally make it to the workshop, it’s no surprise to see your supervisor there, and he’s fuming. You try to sneak by to your workstation somehow, but he sees you and calls you over to his office, where he gives you an earful about impunctuality and responsibility and yadda yadda yadda. Then he goes on about how highly irregular this behaviour is from you since you’ve always been a diligent worker, and you better think twice before not appearing for work next time. 

You bite your tongue and let it all pass over you. As long as you finish your work within the deadline, there’s no real risk here. 

When your boss finally lets you go, you rush to your droid and get to work immediately. The next couple of rotations you’re immersed in your job, taking shift after shift to catch up on everything you still have to get done. In all this time, there’s no messages from Hux, and you’re glad, because you would probably say things to him that you’d regret later if you saw him right now. Getting so behind schedule in the first place is kind of his fault. Sure, you never told him that you were losing precious hours of work, but you didn’t think it’d get this far. That you would come to enjoy his company and hope he enjoyed yours, to the point where he had asked you to spend the night. 

So, right now, you don’t want to see him, not until after the deadline. But the universe has other plans for you yet again, as it is the day before it that you see Hux again. 

You had told him he should message you. He could have gone and sent a Trooper for you like last time. But no, what does this guy do? Comes to get you personally.

If it wasn’t for your droid, you wouldn’t even have seen him coming because you’re currently head-first inside a cockpit, trying to reach some cables. But its beeps alert you, and you spring up so hastily that you hit your head on the dashboard.

With a hiss and rubbing over the spot you just hit, you get out of the ship, where Hux and two of his Troopers are waiting. 

“General Hux,” you greet with a polite smile, “What can I do for you?”

“Come with me,” he orders, and for a moment you look at him in disbelief. 

Just what is he getting at now? No greeting, no nothing? Just ordering you around again, in front of your crew? Making you lose even more hours of work? Oh, two can play that game.

“No,” you retort after a scoff.

He comes to a halt and turns around slowly, his eyes narrowed at you in a warning glare. 

“I beg your pardon?” he asks, his whole body language telling you to measure your next words very carefully, but instead, you slightly lift your chin in a defiant gesture. 

“Then beg.” 

Hux curls his fists at his side, and the Troopers lift their blasters to aim at you, but he lifts one hand, and they lower their weapons, but not without giving each other a look behind the General. 

At this point the whole workshop is so silent, you’re sure you’d be able to hear a needle drop onto the metallic floor. Even the TIE fighters in the hangars around you seem to roar more silently. 

“I am the General in charge of this base and you will listen to me!” he suddenly yells, and you avert your eyes. You can’t believe he just pulled rank on you. 

Letting the tool you were holding fall into the toolbox with a clank, you walk up to him, still not looking him in the eyes.

He slightly shakes his head at you, then turns on his heels and heads for the hallway, with you in tow and the Troopers at the end. 

Hux takes a different route than expected; instead of taking you to his quarters, which are pretty far away, he heads to the office wing, finding an empty conference room and getting in. He slams the button on the panel for the blinds, and the inner windows dividing the room and the hallway go dark. 

“No interruptions,” he instructs the Troopers through gritted teeth, then closes the door. 

You find yourself in the rather dark room now, alone, with a seemingly very angry General. He suddenly turns around and takes quick steps towards you, pushing you back against the conference table and trapping you between his arms.

“Don’t you dare defy me like that again in front of the others,” he threatens you. 

“Defy you?” you say with a wry smile, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “You don’t get to order me around like your Stormtroopers. You can ask nicely, you know? Or just, I don’t know, like a normal person?” 

He groans, slamming his fist onto the table, which startles you. You don’t like this attitude at all, so you push him back and take a step to the side.

“General– No, Armitage,” you try softening him up by using his name, and it seems to be working. “What even are we?”

He starts walking towards you again, slowly backing you up against the wall this time. 

“If this is just a game to you, then–” you start, your hands on his chest in an attempt to push him off, but you don’t actually put any strength into it because you know what you actually want. So you let yourself be pushed further, your heart pounding with every step backwards you take. “Then let’s just stop right here. But if you’re serious about this, you need to tell me, please…”

By now, Hux is absolutely losing it, and he finally pins you against the wall, hands on either side of your face, eyes looking down into yours.

"This isn't easy for me,” he says through gritted teeth. “I– I've never– You matter to me. And, maybe you deserve better than someone like me–"

He’s cut off when you pull him closer by the collar, shaking your head, somehow not fazed by his gaze that's ripping you bare.

"I deserve you– everything of you, I want it,” you breathe. 

With that, Hux’s last thread of self-control snaps, and he presses his body against yours, smashing his lips on yours. The kiss is heated, sloppy and messy, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Finally you’re able to show just how much you’ve been longing for each other. 

The General slips his hands under your thighs, pulling you up against the wall. You gasp in surprise and he uses that to press his tongue against yours. You hook your ankles behind him, both your hands roaming each other in desperation. 

When you finally break for air, you’re panting, but Hux attacks your neck next, and he’s relentless. He spends what feels like an eternity and yet nowhere near enough kissing, biting, licking every inch of your skin he can reach. You’re sure the grip of his hands on your legs will leave bruises again, but this time you find yourself looking forward to them. 

Once Hux seems satisfied, he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his shoulders rising and falling quickly with his ragged breathing. 

“When you showed me that scar,” he whispers against your skin. “I thought I was gonna take you then and there.”

He leans his head back only enough to look at you, and the intensity of his eyes sends a shudder to your very bones.

“I’ll map every inch of your skin, every scar, mole and freckle, and mark it up. I want all of you,” he growls, and you’re not sure if it’s supposed to be a threat or a promise; you’re just glad that he’s holding you in place because your knees have long since given out.

You cup his face, and bring him in for another kiss. This time it’s much slower, gentler, but just as deep. 

“I’d like that,” you breathe into his lips, and he smiles. 

When he finally lets you down, you have to hold onto Hux because of how wobbly your legs are. 

“You good?” he asks, his hands on the underside of your arms to hold you.

“Yeah,” you reassure him, and have to choke back a laugh when you look up at him.

“What?” he questions with an amused little smile. 

“Come here, lemme fix your hair. You’re quite a mess,” you say, and he leans down so you can smooth out his hair as best as you can. 

“Well, you should see yourself,” he chuckles as he returns the favour.

Once you’re both more or less presentable, you walk to the door. Before Hux opens it though, he takes your hand one last time in his and brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

“See you tonight?” he asks, hopeful.

“Can’t wait,” you say with a wink.

– – – – –

Bonus:

When you make it back to your table in the workshop with a dreamy look on your face, your co-worker brings her hand to her mouth with a gasp.

“What?” you ask her, looking around in surprise, trying to find the source of her horror.

“Really? The General?!” she whisper-shouts, gesturing to you to follow her.

She guides you to the little supply closet at the end of the workshop and rummages in a box for a clean rag.

“What do you mean? Was it so obvious?” you ask, your cheeks still ablaze from before.

“Obvious?” she repeats rhetorically, handing you the rag and a little pocket mirror. “Honey, you can see those hickeys all the way from Coruscant.”

“Wait, what?” you blurt out and look into the mirror. Sure enough, the General made sure you won’t be able to walk around the base without a turtleneck for several rotations. He went absolutely ham.

“Gha!” you shriek, tying the rag around your neck like a scarf. “I’m gonna kill him!”

[enaelyork]

I'm back so i post this again. I hope everyone are fine !

Hey sweetie -

I'm feel a little better and i need to change my mind so i decide to ask your help.

✨My request is open for Imperial and First Order Character ✨

💫What i can do...

Write headcanon

Write short fanfics (Max 3 parts. Long fics is for my plot)

Write smut/Nfsw

Write humor, angst, fluff and many others things

Do Moodboard/Aesthetic (because i love it).

Take a little time for answer

Say no to a request that makes me uncomfortable.

💫What i can't ...

Write something that makes me uncomfortable.

Write something about minor and/or asking by minor.

So please feel free to ask me anything in my box. It's a safe place here for imperial stuff.

⭐Don't forget that I'm also helping to impoctober !⭐

[noiriarti]

fanfic masterlist!! ╰(*°▽°*)╯

Find me @noiriarti on tumblr and AO3!

Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Just Practice: (NSFW, modern best-friends-to-lovers kissing practice AU) Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Bonus Chapter / AO3 Link

Winner Takes It All: (NSFW, academic rivals to lovers modern AU) Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8, Ch. 9, Ch. 10 / AO3 Link

Trying New Things (NSFW)

Armitage Hux x Reader

Inappropriate: (NSFW) Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4 / AO3 Link

The Arrangement: (NSFW, modern roommates/cuddle-buddies AU) Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6 / AO3 Link

Born At Night: (NSFW, modern cam girl and cafe AU) Ch. 1 / AO3 Link