#General Hux x Reader

[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"

[magicbystarlight]

Star Crossed — Prologue

Hux x Reader, Ren x Reader

Summary: Years after leaving behind your life as a Jedi, an unexpected encounter forces you to confront the past you wanted to forget. Divider.

Warnings: 18+, canon-typical violence, sexually explicit scenes later, additional warnings as needed. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 1.1k

Lieutenant Atrox stalks through the halls, his face pulled taut with displeasure. It’s an expression you've grown familiar with in these last three months. You’re on his heels, nonetheless, with a datapad clutched tightly to your chest.

The Lieutenant and yourself had only arrived on board the Finalizer the night before from the Exheres System. He had spent the the time drunk while you spent it combing through three years worth of trade routes, ship manifests, store inventories, and planetary exports. It had been to quell the nagging feeling you’d gotten during a review of the last audit of an inconsequential clothing shop on an inconsequential planet, but it had paid off.

"Please, sir, if you would just listen I can—"

"I don’t have time for your theories. Ren will be here at any moment."

An unnecessary reminder. The headache that plagues you is evidence enough that the Sith had already boarded and subjected some poor soul to the Force. A day early of his expected arrival. Normally, you'd have found sanctuary far from any Force User. Twice before you'd been on the same vessel as Kylo Ren and twice before you'd shoved yourself into a dark corner far, far away. But this is important.

You hope.

"But I found it, sir. There's a bimonthly shipment of polyfibe that—“

“Polyfibe is the most common fabric in the galaxy.”

The hallway ends at two large doors. They open with a whoosh, revealing a room with a long table. It’s thankfully still empty. “It is, but it can’t be made on Sentrena which is where the shipments originate. Or any of the planets in that star system. They don’t have the proper resources or machinery.”

His steps came to a halt with a defeated sigh as the doors shut. “Could it be imported and shipped from there?”

“If they wanted the price quintupled.”

“Some people are stupid with their money.”

“Yes, but,” the datapad lit up as your fingers work deftly to bring up the list, “there’s no inventory of polyfibe or anything made of polyfibe in the shop.”

He takes the offered tablet, eyes roving over the list. His brows scrunch and he shoves it back into your hands. "When is the next shipment?”

“Today.”

“Send a squad to intercept.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

His fingers grip your upper arm, pulling you back harshly as you try to turn. “You better be right about this or you’ll find yourself shoveling shit somewhere for wasting my time.”

A nod in understanding is all you muster before he releases his grip. Scurrying away, the door barely opens in time for you to squeeze through. Or at least, you thought you had before you collided with a solid surface.

With a glance up, you meet the icy gaze of General Armitage Hux. A scowl adorns his face as it has in every hologram you've ever seen of him. “Watch where you’re going.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

You can hear the sneer in his voice as you continue past him. "I'll never understand why we use civilians for secretaries."

—

"Chromafiber?"

The hologram of Sergeant Eviena is shaky, but her voice comes through clear. "Yes. It appears they were making suits of it."

You nod, pacing the small, sterile office. “For camouflage. Stealth suits.” Chromafiber is expensive and difficult to work with in unskilled hands. "The best money could buy. Who are they for?"

"They wouldn’t say, but" she reaches into her pocket and produces what appears to be a clothing patch with a familiar, flame-like insignia, "we found a batch of these hidden away."

It’s the worst case scenario. You expected smuggling of some sort, perhaps avoiding taxes or bringing in some other outlawed substance. But they’ve been providing a lethal advantage to the Resistance, possibly for years. “Detain them. Send me every file you find. On the ship, in the shop, on any droid. Everything."

Despite you having no authority to give such commands, Evenia nods. “Yes ma’am.”

The hologram dissolves and you’re left alone once more. You don’t linger to soak in the victory, retracing your steps across the ship to where the meeting had been taking place. It’s been nearly two hours since you left and you've heard nothing on comms about them being finished. By the closed doors and the sweating lower officers waiting just beside them, it’s safe to assume the meeting continued. The pain in your head is dull. A good sign. Perhaps Atrox will be in a decent mood for once.

You wait, leaning against a wall further down a hallway that leads the opposite way of the docks. Two dozen reports have already chimed on your datapad. They’re easy enough to run through the programs you’d created to find key phrases, locations, names, patterns, etc. There’s nothing the programs recognize in them, but names pop out to you as you skim. They’re all common names. Too common.

Fake names designed to be overlooked. You’ll have to consider adding a program to make sure something like this isn’t missed again. You pull information aside as you continue to scroll, letting it drop in a new document for later review. No matter how well they hid their connections, there was always a trace left behind.

A commotion has you looking up. The doors open and the sounds of someone in hysterics floods the corridor. A man backs out of the room, pleading. Only one person inflicts that sort of fear. You don’t have time to flee.

Pain erupts in your skull. Blinding, burning white pushes from every corner. Something cracks. You try to resist, to push back against the Force, but it’s too much, too close, too late. A locked door that had held for more than a decade splinters and explodes beneath the pressure. The pain disapperates, but it’s no relief. Every part of the world around you turns bright and vibrant, connected and overwhelming. A sense suppressed for so long snapped back like a rubberband.

There’s a hand on your face. Green eyes boring into yours. "I love you." Brown Eyes. "Stay with me." Yellow eyes. Blinding red.

Gasping, ragged breaths drag air back into your deprived lungs. Cold seeps through the gloves. Your hands are on the floor. Shattered datapad between them. Black boots behind it.

He sinks to his knees. “You’re alive.” The robotic overlay can’t hide his surprise. Fingers on your chin make you stare into the abyss of a mask. Kylo Ren. But beneath the mask you feel him. A twisted, darker version, but still him. Alive.

Ben Solo is alive.

[starlightsearches]

Sad wet pathetic Hux… or… Sadistic asshole Hux? 🤭

She Is Mine

Thank you so much for this request, Lena! Sorry it took me so long 😬 I was overcome with horny visions that led to no writing, but sad wet pathetic Hux ultimately won the battle!

AN: Guess who's back? Hopefully nobody else is sick of this arranged marriage AU yet because I'm definitely not! This one's mainly hurt/comfort with some very low lows and some new highs! We've got incredibly jealous and pathetic Hux for your enjoyment uwu. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated, my loves!

Armitage tugs at the collar of his dress uniform, restless, wishing he could manage to ignore the crushing emptiness that's threatening to swallow him.

This is hardly the worst slight he's ever experienced. There had been hundreds of embarrassments and affronts to his pride—not even considering the deep aches from his childhood and their lingering stings.

So why is it this one that has him feeling like he's dying?

The answer is there—right in front of him, as it were—but even that is too painful. Armitage can't manage to meet your eyes.

And his hopes had been so high. Only hours ago there had been that singing, almost giddy feeling in his chest as you clung to his arm, walking with him into the glimmering party—the wide-eyed look of wonder and a smile on your face that the sip from his glass of Correlian whiskey only managed to dampen for a moment.

It had been beautiful. Perfect, even. The exact kind of moment he had been waiting for since he first laid eyes on you. The kind of moment that reflected the depth of his feeling.

The kind of moment where he might have the words to express his devotion.

And then there had been that man.

Armitage's vision goes black at the edges, even now, just thinking about the scene—the look on your face when you recognized this old friend, his possessive leering, the mockery in his tone and that sly gaze he'd shared with Armitage just out of your line of sight.

"You wouldn't mind, of course, general, if I stole your wife for just a moment?"

Armitage would mind. He minded very much.

And, still, on the exterior he had remained stoic, gracious even, had watched you walk out those gaping doors into the dim blue of the gardens, another man's hand pressed into the small of your back.

One of the other guests near the bar had called him brave, the mockery in his tone and the snide laughter of the others perfectly communicating that they all, including Armitage, were thinking the exact same thing.

His wife, secluded in the thick, dark branches of drooping trees, sheltered away from prying eyes, her feverish kisses in the darkness and eager, reaching hands.

Your obvious hunger for someone, for anyone, else.

His mouth had bled with the force of his teeth cutting into the meat of his cheek, and he had washed it away with slow, stinging sips of drink after drink.

Off the transport, the heels of your shoes click sharply, echoing in the empty halls and the hollow space behind his eyes, and your hand feels stolid and limp as it clings to his arm, the walls of his hurt and anger keeping you far from him.

The air in his quarters is stifling, and Armitage rips at the fastening of his collar until it snaps, but there's no help, no aid. Just a roiling nausea and the shake in his fingers that can't be quelled.

"Armitage?"

Your hand at his shoulder, voice sweet and ripe with a hurt he can't see. He won't meet your eyes.

"Is something wrong?"

Yes. He drops into a seated position on the plush couch, every line of him weary, every heartbeat a withering ache.

He has to face it. Despite himself, despite the longing and the fierceness and the depth of his need, Armitage knows that he has done you wrong. He has trapped you here, trapped you in this marriage without any real consent and against your will, trapped you in his permanent misery.

And that is something he cannot bear any longer.

Armitage leans heavily on his forearms, propped up by his knees, and rubs the sting from his eyes before meeting your gaze, still stunned, as always, to be in your presence.

"I consider your marital responsibilities to me fulfilled."

Hurt etches every aspect of your features, your steps hesitant before you fall into the space beside him. Your hand reaches for him, fingers trembling, never making contact.

"Armitage, I don't understand."

He swallows, continues, "this union has met the needs of my position and the contract between your father and the First Order, and there is no more I can expect from you. If you wish to find satisfaction for your- your romantic desires elsewhere, with proper discretion, I will not stand in your way."

The hand that had reached for him flashes back, pressed against your lips and there are tears in your eyes, catching the light, shimmering against dark lashes.

Your mouth trembles, unable to form the words you need. Maybe you'll thank him. Maybe you'll never speak to him again.

"Please," you whisper, "I don't- is this about Andres?"

Just hearing the other man's name is like a knife slid into the vulnerable spaces between his ribs, and he reminds himself that this is what he deserves, that it's only a fraction of the pain he must have caused you.

The look in his eyes must be answer enough. You stare at each other in the silence, and he waits for the end.

Your fingers are chill, the feeling unexpected, when they brush against his cheek, smoothing over the the sharp contours of his face. It's a gentle gesture, as if you're wiping away tears he knows are not there.

"Andres is an old friend," you tell him, quiet, kind, and something else he can't puzzle out, "but he is careless with his things, and with people."

That spike of anger returns, for a moment, washing away everything else.

"Was he careless with you?"

Fragments of glitter that dust your skin catch in the light, disappearing and reappearing with each small shake of your head, as if by magic.

"I never let him close enough."

Armitage is close enough, and more aware of it than ever before, tasting the air you breathe, feeling the singing heat of your skin so near to his. But you must know that he is never careless.

You lean into the kiss he presses to your lips, part your mouth and sigh into his deep breaths as he tastes you.

And that same desperation is back, his body pressing yours into the cushions, the solid weight of you here, and for the first time, knowing you want to be.

A hand at your neck, that racing pulse, and your sweet, soft gasps, almost moans at the feeling of him.

Armitage finds himself sinking, once again, beneath that light-headed fear—that shaking, disorienting spark of your touch.

He wants to run from it. And he wants to stay.

"Do you want me to stop now?" He breathes the question against your lips, meets your eyes and finds them burning with your own hidden desires.

"No," you promise with the shake of your head, "never."

Oh.

[pinkykats-place]

Armitage Hux x Reader

AO3 Star Wars Fic Recs

Disclaimers!

None of the stories below are mine.

Some contain mature content.

Read tags. Check Ratings.

Note: If you read any of these stories and like them please let the author know with a kudos and/or comment!

Beautiful by orphan_account

Summary: Armitage Hux has taken a wife. Unfortunately for you, you're his new bride. You're trying to battle your fast growing feelings for your husband, but your apprehension is fading faster and faster.

Contains Smut

Complete | 7 Chapters

safety by moonlitcavern

Summary: A two-part hux x reader in which hux shows up at your quarters bleeding and exhausted and perhaps on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

Complete | 2 Chapters | Fluff

Fragile Trust, Fragile Love by KiaraKohana

Summary: Armitage Hux had grown up in a world where he was told not to trust anyone, so why did he seem to let his guard down around you? He felt safe for the first time in decades- perhaps in his entire life. He trusted you. But little did he know there's a lot more to you than what meets the eye.

Complete | 13 Chapters

Cats and Commands by TheJediCode

Summary: You are in training as a communications officer aboard the Finalizer. When you are an assigned an unusual task by your superior officer, you find yourself face to face with one of the most formidable officers in the First Order, who isn't at all what you expect.

Complete | 8 Chapters

Rated - General Audiences

Good Samaritan by CatchYouInTheRye

Summary: Your superior Armitage Hux seems to be having a bad day and you suddenly have the urge to fix that.

Complete | 2 Chapters

Rated - Explicit

That Kind of Love by Irma7x

Summary: Trying to break free of the control that ruled his everyday life, Hux asks for you to try something different together in the bedroom. You carry it through on his birthday.

{One Shot}

Rated - Explicit

Nova Girls by LostLaureate

Summary: An unauthorized transmission from inside the ship.

DATA BREACH: holo-feed.novagirls/cstream/7786-5548283404

“Oh Kriff! I’m so close!”

Had he been in worse health, the sudden 62 inches of ass that filled the entirety of his holo display would have been enough to give him a coronary.

Hux x Cam-Girl Reader

WIP | 5/? Chapters

Rated - Mature

Let Me Take Care Of You by selfinserttrash

Summary: You were a Hall Girl. A glorified errand monkey, you deliver datapads and fetch sandwiches for the most important men in the First Order. You've been reassigned to General Hux's sector, and you quickly find out that he's not as easily impressed as most of the men aboard the Finalizer. One day, you see something you're not meant to, and it ignites something entirely new within you.

After all, you know what they say, the fastest way to a man's heart is through his stomach.

Incomplete | 5/? Chapters

Last Updated 2018

Rated - Mature

The Crown by bananakin

Summary: "Chin up, darling," your mother had bitten out with her dying breath, "or the crown will slip."

OR in which a female reader ends up bound to General Hux (and in turn, the First Order) in matrimony.

Incomplete | 26/? Chapters

Last updated 2019

The Temptations of a Kitchen Woman by nelliespector (ilmv)

Summary: Kylo Ren has made a sport out of bothering General Hux. The Supreme Leader is sure Armitage shares Brendol's weaknesses. To prove it, Ren takes away the protocol droid that normally prepares Hux's meals and replaces it with an irresistible Arkanisian kitchen woman who is also required to share the General's bed every night. How long can a sexually frustrated Hux hold out? Can his desire to prove Kylo wrong prevail over... plain ol' desire?

Incomplete | 15/? CH | Contains Smut

Last updated March 2022

[valaryswrites]

🪐 where kylo calls hux and order him to fuck you while he watches (and he loves it)

warnings: smut & english is not my first language

The idea sounded exquisite to you. For some reason, it was Kylo Ren who brought it up. He was a man that could never share, unless he really wanted to. And god, he really wanted to this time.

"Your request caught me by surprise, Ren." Hux said, unbuttoning his uniform, standing right next to the bed where you were laying, already naked. "But I'm quite excited for it, I must say."

"Mhm." Kylo nodded, sitting in a chair next to the bed, watching you realize what was going to happen. "I'll be watching you." He said to you, almost in a whisper. "Every touch, every word, every look you give him. I'll be envious. Jealous." He swore. "Enjoying it."

"Any rules, Ren? Before we start?" Hux asked, taking off his belt.

"I won't give you any orders, General. I want you to use your best judgement. Use her."

"Use?" You asked, quite surprised to hear that word.

"Yes. To use." Kylo said, with a grin. "You're a toy tonight."

Hux laughed a little, and you notice how hard he was under his uniform trousers. He lean in, giving you a kiss. A passionate kiss. His tongue was in your mouth, dancing with yours. And Kylo watched, eyes locked on the two of you.

It felt weird to kiss another mouth, but it felt exquisite too.

"That's it, General..." Ren said, adjusting himself in the chair next to the bed. "Show me how much you desire her. I've seen you watching her in meetings. Show me, and do anything and everything you wish. But..." He said, and Hux stopped kissing you, breathing heavily, to look at him. "... Don't forget to bring her back to me in one piece. She is still mine, after all."

Those words made you feel a desperate warmth all over your body. Hux smiled and continued, kissing your neck and stroking your hair a little. He went further, biting your collarbone and even leaving some marks. You tought Kylo would get mad, but he didn't. You pictured your Master caressing himself over his trousers. Teasing himself, slowly.

"Good, General." Kylo said, breathing heavily, but still sounding demanding. "You really know how to worship a woman's body, don't you?" Hux nodded, but without talking; his mouth was wondering all over your breasts. "You have to be gentle with her. But firm. Very firm." As he speaks, he keeps touching himself over his uniform.

"Your woman is delicious, Ren." Hux said, going down on you and leaving traces of saliva everywhere.

"She's more than that, General. She's the finest piece of flesh you've ever touched." Kylo smiles, looking at your face. "Remember to be firm with her. Don't hold back. Use all of that strength, energy and desire I know you have. Let her feel it."

After that order, Hux knew he had to obey. He wanted to obey. While eating you, as if you were a plate of food to a hungry man, he spanked you. And you groaned in pleasure.

The more exciting part, was turning your head to Kylo and see him stroking his cock freely now. Still wearing his leather gloves, now covered in his own saliva. He smirked before talking to the General, without taking his eyes off you.

"She likes that, General." He said. "I think it's time for you to give her what she really wants. Don't hold back just because you're sharing her with me."

Hux lifted up his face, licking his lips and teeth like an animal. Without any warning, he grabbed you by your waist and moved you even nearer to him, caressing your entrance with the tip of his cock.

Kylo stood up and walked towards you, kneeling next to bed, with his head next to yours.

"Tell the General what you want, baby." He whispered in your ear, and you could listen the sound of his leather gloves wrapping and moving up and down around his cock.

You tried to speak, but the stimulation was too much.

"Use your words." Ren said, demanding.

"For god's sake, fu-fuck me, General..." You managed to speak, and some laughter came out from the throats of the two men around you.

"Lord, she feels fantastic..." Hux said, after finally sliding himself into you. "I envy you... Getting to f-fuck her every... single... day..." He said between harder thrusts.

"Give me a good show, General." Kylo ordered. "She likes what you're doing to her, so keep using her." You were unable to speak. "But... she can also do some convincing. She know exactly what to say to get you to do whatever she wants."

"Then tell me..." Hux begged, trying not to cum all over you already.

"Go fast... faster." You thought it was impossible to use your words, but you did. This lust was something you've never experienced.

"Come on, baby..." Kylo whispered in your ear, still stroking himself but this time even faster. "Say it louder to the General."

"Faster!" You said in a scream, knowing for sure that the Knights of Ren heard you from the other side of the door.

And Hux delivered without any problem. His orange hair was dripping wet and looking so messy, you never thought you would see the General like this. So desperate, without the good manners he usually has towards you.

"Isn't she a lovely sight, General? Don't hold back, you can be harder than that. I want you to be harder." Kylo demanded, as he grabbed you by your hair and forced you to look at him. "Look at me, baby..." He whispered between some groaning. "I'm fucking my hand wishing it was you... Watching how another takes you... In-Infront of me..." You opened your mouth and instead of a word, it was only a loud moan what came out. Hux hit a good spot in a rough way.

"She's a noisy one, General." Kylo said, looking at the redhead now, who was already smiling.

"I'm not sure... I'm not sure I can't hold it any longer, Lord..." Hux said, struggling to speak.

"You can't go yet, General." Kylo denied, and then whispered in your ear. "Turn around." He ordered you. "Let him cum by taking you in all fours. And you'll watch me." Ren was totally lost in pleasure, sounding so mean and desperate it could only make you feel even more aroused.

You didn't even have to move, they did it for you and you end up in all fours, with your head looking directly at the chair where Kylo sit again. His stomach was covered in cum, and that's how you knew that Kylo was having fun, and fucking himself for the second time now.

While Hux kept fucking you, you tried your best to keep your eyes opened.

The sight was beautiful; Kylo Ren, a man respected and feared all over the galaxy, playing with his own cock while his General was using you. Looking directly at your eyes. And while doing so, he spoke.

"Cum already, General." Ordered. "All over her. I don't care. She doesn't care either. But you, my love..." He now said to you. "You don't get to finish. You'll hold it in for me." The moment he said that, Hux couldn't help but cum inside you. The man was exhausted. "Because after the General leaves, I'm going to fuck you again, and again, and again... And I'll be the one to make you cum."

After saying those words, Kylo finished in his leather covered hands once again. And you were just there, breathing heavily in the bed, while Hux was dressing himself.

"It was a pleasure, Ren." The General said, right next to the door. Kylo approached him, taking his gloves off.

"You did good, General." Kylo said, stretching out his hand to shake Hux's. "I might call you soon, again." You heard him say, and you couldn't help but let go a mischievous smile. It was Kylo's turn now.

[moonlightshaiku]

Kissing Hux

In everything Hux does he goes for the jugular, and kissing is no different.

He loves giving special attention to your neck, so much so, that you have to be on guard lest anything is left in his wake.

He's less sweet and more "begrudgingly and tiredly affectionate", so anything that's sweet and/or soft is probably prior to caf or in the name of comfort.

He usually kisses close-mouthed. Biting occasionally, but he'll never use his tongue unless his partner initiates.

He'll hold on to your face or shoulders in a stern grip, pressing his body to yours. Hux runs rather cold, but due to his uniform layers, is warm to the touch. His neck is always warm and ruddy, hands cold and pale.

As soon as Hux steps out of the shuttle, hair mussed, he's in front of you. It's night, and the hangar is relatively empty, so he gathers your face in his hands.

Kylo climbs out of the shuttle behind him, ragged and dirt-covered, mask off. He rolls his eyes, boots clicking on the ground as he steps away from you both, giving you privacy.

As soon as Kylo is out of sight, Hux breathes. "Maker." He presses a kiss to your jaw, then to the corner of your lips.

You interrupt the inevitable, "I missed you," with your lips, and he reciprocates eagerly. He pulls himself closer to you as you kiss, he smells like sweat and his cologne. He's a bit too warm, you wonder why.

Once he's pressed firmly to you, he grabs your hair, pulling your head back slowly. He presses a kiss to your neck over your uniform, breath hot on the underside of your chin.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 || general armitage hux x reader series

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || you didn't care for the arrogant General from the moment he set foot on your planet, but the only way to protect it was to agree to a political marriage. the last thing you ever imagined was becoming a military leader's wife, but that may prove to be only the first of many surprises that come with being married to Armitage Hux.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || eventual smut (18+), enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, angst, age gap, religious themes, totally canon divergent

"I was born on Arkanis, if you must know."

"Did your friends back on Arkanis call you Armie?  Or Huxie?  Ooh, wait!  They called you Mitch, right?" you grinned.

He had that tense frown on again, that one that really brought out the weasel-like quality of his features. 

"Oh," you sighed a bit, "you didn't have friends, did you?"

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞...

[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!”

[kaminokatie]

Armitage Hux Dating Headcannons

Synopsis - General Armitage Hux dating headcannons.

Warnings - SFW/NSFW.

Word Count -

[Caffeinate Me]

SFW:

: ̗̀➛ At first, Armitage Hux was weary of you… Scared almost. After all, you were the sister of Kylo Ren. You shared many similarities with your brother, was bad temperament one of them? 

: ̗̀➛ Despite this, you consistently tried to show him that you weren’t a threat to him or his rank in the First Order. Alas, Armitage always kept a close eye on you from a distance. 

: ̗̀➛ One day, your brother and Armitage were engaged in a heated argument, one that had ended in Kylo force choking the ginger general, leading him to hang a few feet off the ground and pawing desperately at his throat. 

: ̗̀➛ Upon seeing the commotion from across the room, you quickly ran to Hux’s aid, pushing your brothers hand away and causing him to lose concentration. Hux fell from his spot in the air and onto his knees, quickly looking between you and Kylo Ren. 

: ̗̀➛ Unimpressed with your stunt, your brother stormed off in a huff leaving you alone with Hux who quickly averted his gaze from your form. 

: ̗̀➛ “You helped me?” He said, he questioned. His voice was full of surprise.

: ̗̀➛ “Why wouldn’t I?” You asked, holding your hand out to help him to his feet. 

: ̗̀➛ “I never thought you would go against your brother like that,” was all he said in response before taking your hand and standing to his feet. 

: ̗̀➛ When his hand touched yours, he felt an instant connection. One he never thought he’d feel from anybody. It shocked him so much, he immediately let go of your hand. You frowned at him but didn’t press the matter. 

: ̗̀➛ From that day, Armitage Hux felt differently about you. He couldn’t deny that when you thought about the day you had saved him from your brother's rage, his heartbeat quickened. Your answer to his question of why you had saved him had sent his head into a spiral; why had you saved him? 

: ̗̀➛ Armitage Hux kept a closer eye on you from across the bridge. Watching as you worked with your colleagues, the red lightsaber on your hilt seemingly unused since he had met you. 

: ̗̀➛ It was a few days after and you had decided to approach Hux. 

: ̗̀➛ “How are you feeling?” You asked him, hand reaching out to touch his shoulder comfortingly.

: ̗̀➛ He tensed up at your reaction and moved away, clearing his throat. “Better.”

: ̗̀➛ You were confused but didn’t press the matter, just giving him a quick smile before returning to your post. 

: ̗̀➛ Armitage Hux found himself falling for you quickly after your limited interactions. His heart continued to beat faster when you were near and he found himself watching you more and more on the bridge. 

: ̗̀➛ He felt an unpleasant feeling in his stomach when he saw you talking to male co-workers, one he knew was jealousy. He wasn’t sure how to quell his jealousy however. 

: ̗̀➛ He still kept his distance from you for a while longer. 

: ̗̀➛ “You’ve been acting weird,” you say to Hux one day. 

: ̗̀➛ He looks around to see the two of you were alone. He stammers his words out, throat dry from nerves. “I am?” 

: ̗̀➛ “You are,” you say bluntly. “Why?” 

: ̗̀➛ Hux shakes his head. “I don’t know.” 

: ̗̀➛ You raise your arm to use the force and Hux flinches, thinking he’s about to get force choked when suddenly, he feels you in his mind. You're rifling through all his personal thoughts, and you see yourself. When you’re finished probing his mind, you drop your arm and looked at him in bewilderment. 

: ̗̀➛ “You like me?” You asked, stunned. 

: ̗̀➛ Hux stayed silent as you circled him, confusion evident in your eyes. 

: ̗̀➛ “You like me?” You repeated. 

: ̗̀➛ Hux still remained silent, but nodded his head. You grinned and stopped circling him once you reached his front. 

: ̗̀➛ “I like you too, General,” you smirked. 

: ̗̀➛ There was an unspoken romantic relationship between the two of you from that day on. It wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. It was… Nice. 

: ̗̀➛ At first, nobody knew about your relationship. It was kept quiet. Hux would invite you to his quarters during the ‘night’ so the two of you could have some quality time together. You would sit and talk about the events of the day, discuss First Order plans and talk about yourself. 

: ̗̀➛ Hux loved to listen to you speak. Your voice was a comfort for him. He could listen to you talk all day about the most miniscule of things. 

: ̗̀➛ Always sent gifts to your quarters to let you know that he was thinking of you when he couldn’t be with you. 

: ̗̀➛ Would always admire you from across the bridge. Watching the way you interacted with your brother, calming him down when things got a little too heated.

: ̗̀➛ Your first kiss happened on a date night in his quarters. You were both laying on his bed watching a movie on his holopad when all of a sudden Hux grabbed your hand. You weren’t startled by his action, just confused. But he pulled you closer so you were hovering over him, staring into each other's eyes. 

: ̗̀➛ He searched your eyes for any signs of uncomfort before pressing his lips to yours softly in the most brain-melting kiss you had ever had. 

: ̗̀➛ Your brother is the first to find out. Probing Hux’s mind to find out why he has been acting so differently lately. In his mind, he sees the two of you getting hot and heavy in a make-out session. 

: ̗̀➛ Kylo see’s red. He automatically chokes Hux (once again) to get more information out of him. And yet again, you come to his aid. 

: ̗̀➛ “What is the meaning of this?” Kylo snaps as you help Hux off the ground. 

: ̗̀➛ “The meaning of what?” You snap back. Your brother holds his unlit lightsaber close, ready to ignite it at a moment's notice. 

: ̗̀➛ “You and him!” He says, venom dripping from his tongue.

: ̗̀➛ “I love him, Kylo,” you say back.

: ̗̀➛ Hux jaw drops. The two of you had never said you love each other before. So to hear you say it for the first time, and to your brother of all people, it made his heart soar.   

: ̗̀➛ “I love her too,” Hux whimpers, his throat hoarse and dry. 

: ̗̀➛ Once again, Kylo storms off in a huff. He can’t believe you and Hux are together. 

: ̗̀➛ Hux will propose to you very early on. He knows you’re the one for him and won’t let you slip away from him. Of course, you say yes. 

: ̗̀➛ Wedding plans are swift and relatively easy. Hux takes care of almost everything, giving you the perfect wedding you had always dreamt of. 

: ̗̀➛ People of the First Order are surprisingly happy for the two of you, offering their congratulations in the hallway and on the bridge as the two of you walk side-by-side.

NSFW: 

: ̗̀➛ Hux is a virgin, 100%. 

: ̗̀➛ Will be nervous about your first time, and will constantly be thinking about it. What if he messes up somehow? What if he hurts you by accident?

: ̗̀➛ You initiate the first time during a heavy make-out session. You kiss down his neck, undoing the shirt of his uniform as you trail your lips further down. When you reach the waistband of his trousers, Hux is breathing heavily. You look up to see his eyes are closed and his lips are parted ever so slightly. You undo his trousers and pull out his heavy cock, licking the tip and earning a shiver from the general above you. You give him a quick blowjob, it’s so quick you wonder if he was even satisfied but he was the one that pulled your head away with whines that he was gonna cum if you carried on. 

: ̗̀➛ Your first time was slow and sweet. You were on top, taking control and showing Hux what you liked and where you liked it. He listened to every word you said, ingraining it into his memory so that he would remember for next time. 

: ̗̀➛ He cums quick, but not too quick that you were unsatisfied.

: ̗̀➛ From that day on Hux will take you whenever he wants, wherever he wants. In the middle of a shift? Meet him in a supply closet. At night? Come to his room sweetheart, he’ll take care of you. 

: ̗̀➛ Has a fantasy about fucking you on the bridge. Maybe one day the two of you can make it happen. 

: ̗̀➛ Favourite position is doggy. He loves being able to see your arse bounce when he thrusts into you. There’s something about it that sends him absolutely feral. Especially when he paws at your tits and feels them bouncing from the force of his pounding. 

: ̗̀➛ He enjoys being dominant in the bedroom. He loves having power over you, telling you what to do etc etc. However, when you bring up the idea of you being in control for one night, he thinks about it. 

: ̗̀➛ At first, he was weary about being submissive, but after he realised he thoroughly enjoyed it. He loved letting you use him like a toy to get off however you wanted to get off. 

: ̗̀➛ Therefore he’s a switch. Sometimes he’s dominant and sometimes he’s submissive. 

: ̗̀➛ At the end of the day, Hux uses sex to show you how much he loves you. Always taking care of you afterwards and making sure that you’re happy and content.

[angelofthenight]

Rey: You’re so quiet and laidback, why go for Hux who’s so loud and fiery?

You: Someone gotta tell the waiter I ordered mashed potatoes and it ain’t gon be me

[abigailywrites]

reconditioned. [armitage hux x reader]

ao3 / ko-fi rating: m word count: 3.3k warnings: implied sexual content

You already know you're late the minute you wake up. There’s a pit of dread in your stomach, and you curse under your breath. The only thing keeping you from bolting up in bed is the fact that half of your body is trapped under someone else's.

"Armitage," you whisper, pushing at the arm that's draped over you. "Let me up. I've gotta go."

Armitage groans and buries his face deeper into the pillows, pulling you closer.  "Is that any way to address your superior officer?" he mumbles, half-asleep.

"General Armitage," you correct yourself. "Move your ass." In case that's not enough, you kick him under the blankets.

"Ow!" His eyes shoot open, and his arm jolts away from you.

You jump out of bed and rip off your nightclothes on the way to the dresser. Your things are in the third drawer down as always.

"Do you suppose you might employ less violent methods to wake me in the future?" Armitage asks as he sits up, running his hand over his face.

"Your fault for not setting the alarm," you answer, stepping into the standard black stormtrooper trousers. "I told you it's an early day for me. Could you tighten this?" You tap the bra strap on your shoulder.

He stands, walks over, and tightens the strap. “If I’d known that having the physical evaluations this early would make you bruise my shin, I would’ve canceled them altogether."

“Oh, would that be the only reason?” you question. “Not because you want me with you all day?”

He hums low in his throat and presses his lips to your shoulder blade. “There. Keep that with you all day. But I expect to have it returned by this evening.”

With a roll of your eyes and a smile, you turn to him. “Sir, yes, sir,” you say as he helps you pull your shirt on. Once you’re dressed, you stand on your tiptoes to peck his lips. Then you’re running out the door, saying, “Don’t forget to feed my cat!”

"She's my cat," he answers as you slam the door shut.

You have to skid to a stop when you reach the medbay waiting room, attracting more attention to yourself than you’d like. Conversations stop. People shoot dirty looks your way. You're used to it, of course. It's not exactly a secret that you're involved with General Hux. It's also not a secret that everyone hates you for it.

Whatever. It doesn't matter. Whispers of nepotism trail you like shadows, but it isn't like you've been promoted. (Not that he hasn't offered. In the middle of the night when you're both enveloped in sweat and heat, when he's breathing praises in your ear, he offers to give you whatever you want. You laugh it off and kiss him.)

You've barely been waiting for a minute when your number is called. The physical eval goes well… you think. You're in peak stormtrooper condition. The mental eval seems fine, too; but the doctor seems in a particularly bad mood. You're anxious to relieve the tension.

"So, doc, will I live?" you ask, grinning.

The doctor doesn't laugh. Doesn't smile. "Ever been reconditioned, trooper?"

You hesitate. The smile doesn't leave your face, but it loses its mirth. "Uh, yeah," you answer. "Yeah, once."

Once when you were a teenager and had just finished initial conditioning. Once when you started to care too much about what happened to your fellow troopers. Your friends. You were too young to experience the way reconditioning breaks you and puts you back together, but you experienced it anyway. You still pass those friends you cared too much about sometimes. You don't care about them anymore. But you care that you don't care so much it hurts. Reconditioning isn't an experience you're eager to repeat.

"Well," the doctor says. "You're due for another round within the next month."

Your smile drops as the doctor hands you your file with bold, red letters across your information: SCHEDULE FOR RECONDITIONING.

You sit there, staring at it another second before asking, "What the hell is this?"

"It's questions like that that get you reconditioned," the doctor says, opening the door. "This is the medbay, not the hub. No special treatment here."

Oh. 

Maker, you want to knock his lights out. Instead, you curl your hands into fists, grit your teeth, and march out the door.

You have duties to attend to, but your mind is on a different plane. There’s no way you’ll be able to bring yourself to don your armor and stand on guard in the hub for hours. Not when Armitage will be there, and you’d have to face him knowing that everything you’ve ever felt is about to be ripped away from you. Not when you know you’ll have to act like everything is fine. The kiss on your shoulder is burning a hole straight through to your heart.

You march back to Armitage’s quarters. Because it’s instinct, and you don’t know what else to do. There, you flop down on the bed, face buried in your hands. As much as you want to block everything from your mind, you can’t. It’s tormenting you endlessly. A distressed mewl and the sound of a food bowl being scraped across the floor interrupts your existential crisis once, and you get up with a deep sigh to feed the cat. Afterward, you’re right back where you were. On the bed in the fetal position, trying not to think. Thinking too much.

There’s no telling how long you’ve been there when the door hisses open and shut.

“You weren’t at the hub this afternoon,” Armitage's voice penetrates the silence. The weight of it is shattering.

"You didn't feed the cat," you retort half-heartedly, voice raw from unshed tears.

"I didn't expect you to be here before me. Besides, I was monstrously busy today. More than usual, if you can believe it." 

You raise your head just enough to see him unclasping the collar of his uniform and slipping his boots off before slipping into the bed behind you. He wraps his arms around you and pulls until your back is against his chest.

"Now," he mumbles into your neck. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong, or shall I guess?"

Maker, you can't take this. Everything is so perfect. He's wrapped around you. His fingers laced through yours are against your chest. You can almost imagine there’s nothing wrong at all. You could be a regular couple at the end of a regular long day. "Nothing," you choke, unwilling to spoil the fantasy.

“Don’t lie to me,” he orders, squeezing your hand. “I can tell when you lie.”

“Armitage, please,” you sigh. “Just… Just tell me about your day.”

There’s a silence before he speaks. “I…” he starts. Then he clears his throat. “What about it?”

“Anything.”

So, he tells you everything, the entire itemized list of his agenda for the day. And you listen to his voice more carefully than you ever have, just savoring the way it falls on your ear. The way it vibrates in his chest against your spine. The way you can feel it on the nape of your neck. One day, you’ll remember that this moment was important to you, and you won’t be able to recall why.

But for now, the arm you have become so accustomed to draping over you becomes a wing to hide beneath, shielding you from whatever comes next.

You don't say a word. Not until he mentions something about approving the reconditioning list. "Did you," you start. Clearing your throat, you start again. "Did you review the list before approving it?"

Hesitation. "Well, no," he sputters. "No, but you weren't on it."

You turn over to look up at him, your beautiful fool. His voice is so sure, so confident. His eyes, however, are all uncertainty. "How would you know?" you question.

"Why would you be?" he counters. "You're nothing if not a loyal soldier."

Deep breath. "Doesn't mean much."

"And why not?" he challenges. His voice holds the faintest hints of anger now as if the mere implication of your number on a list is worth losing composure. "Haven't you already been reconditioned once? What could the First Order gain from sending you a second time?"

"It's not about what we gain, it's about what we lose," you tell him. "In this case, we would lose the embarrassment of the highest-ranking general of the order being involved with a lowly stormtrooper."

That silences him for a time. "Embarrassment..." he finally grits as he stands up. 

"Embarrassment? We'll see about this."

"There's nothing you can do," you sigh as you sit up. "You've already approved the list. My name was on the list."

"I can change the list." He's pacing the floor now, the gears of his mind turning.

"If you changed it for me, you'd have to change it for everybody."

“I don’t have to do anything.”

"You know I'm right."

He stops pacing. "What would you have me do, then? Give you up?"

"What other choice is there?" you ask.

Another long silence before he sighs from his chest and walks back over to you in long, determined strides. His hands are on either side of your face. Cold hands against burning cheeks, ready to brush away any tears that would dare to fall. "I'll find a way. I swear it," he promises.

You know he believes it, despite how impossible it is. So, you smile. You say, "Okay." And when he crushes you to his chest, you hold him tight, and you don't let him know that you're holding on to your last moments.

Your last month before reconditioning is a whirlwind of regular duties paired with snide remarks and smug looks from your peers. At night, when you're in Armitage's quarters, you scoop up the cat and hold her close to your chest while Armitage works late into the night, trying to find solutions. He barely talks to you aside from a kiss hello when he enters and an absent “Goodnight,” when you tell him you’re going to bed.

It’s because he's wearing himself thin, you know that. His desk light is on when you fall asleep in his bed, and it's still on when you wake in the middle of the night. His forehead rests against his hand, shoulders hunched, hair unkempt. He’s drifting off and shaking himself awake every couple of seconds, and it hurts your heart to see it.

Silent as the grave, you pull yourself out of bed and shuffle to stand behind him. He takes a deep, settling breath when you spread your hands over his shoulders and lean in next to his ear. “Come to bed, sweetheart,” you whisper to him calmly as you would to a child. “You’ve done enough.”

“Not enough,” he counters. His voice sounds so tired. “It isn’t enough yet. It won’t be enough until you’re safe.”

You wrap your arms across his chest, forcing him to relax into you. Your cheek is against his head so he can feel it when you say, “I don’t want to spend my last days with you without you.” 

After this is only a moment’s pause before he takes your hand and holds your palm against his cheek, kissing it once. Twice. “This is all my doing,” he tells you, His voice isn’t just tired. It’s penitent like he’s trying to atone for something. “It’s my duty to you to fix it. I cannot, I will not give you up.”

He drops your hand and returns to his work. He’s far too good to you. Far too good to a stormtrooper that no one else would blink twice at. He always has been, hasn’t he? And you love him for it. Maker, you love him, and your heart squeezes with the realization that comes too late. You can’t tell him, not before he loses you forever. So you squeeze your eyes shut against pointless tears and press your lips to the back of his head, your kiss lasting longer than you intended. There’s no desire to pull away, but you eventually have to. When you curl back up in bed, the phrase “You love him, you love him, you love him,” plays over and over again in your head, and the melancholy song sings you to sleep.

You’re nearing the end of your time. In the final days before you’re due to be shipped out, something in him seems to change. A long-overdue realization that he’s powerless in the situation seems to break over him. Where his determination would harden him, he begins to soften. He speaks to you carefully. He ends his work before bed and curls up behind you. Every little thing you usually worry about in a day is taken care of for you. 

On the first morning of your last week, you wake to the feeling of his lips brushing against yours. He’s sitting on your side of the bed in full uniform as if he’s been ready for hours. Once again, you feel instinctively that you’re late for something, but you can’t be bothered to care. His hand is in your hair as he just barely smiles down at you, thumb brushing against your hairline. It’s the first time you’ve woken slowly and sweetly in so long. Even before the reconditioning news, it was rare to wake like this.

“I’m late,” you mumble, despite how little you care.

"Don't concern yourself with that," he answers. “I’ll take care of it.”

A sigh escapes from your chest. “I can’t let you do that.”

He leans down, nose brushing against yours. “Why not?” 

Gently, you push him back and sit up, running your hand down your face. “Because,” you groan. “That kind of thing is what got us into this mess to begin with.”

"Well…" he responds as he stands. His voice is teetering on the edge of saying more, you can tell. He doesn't, however. Instead, he goes through the motions of a regular morning: feeding the cat, making his side of the bed, etc.

All the while, you're contemplating what kind of punishment you'll incur from being as late as you are. Or if Armitage takes care of it, what kind of remarks you'll get. What kind of looks would you receive?

"If I married you, no one would be able to say a thing about it, would they?" he says suddenly.

Your heart lurches in your chest, but you sigh. "That's not funny."

"Good," he replies. "It’s not a joke."

Lifting your head, furrowing your brows, feeling your stomach drop, you say, “You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” you scoff. “I’m a stormtrooper. I’m a number on a sheet. I don’t even have a name.”

“You have a name,” he reminds you. “I gave you a name.” Then he leans down, his lips next to your ear. Slowly, tenderly, he whispers the name he gave you. The one he only uses in secret. The one that is uniquely yours. It sends a shiver through you.

You can’t let him do what he proposes. He shouldn’t even entertain the notion, but the wall of resistance is slowly eroding, cracking, crumbling. It’s all you can do just to stammer your next words. “But you can’t,” you reiterate. “I mean, what would the Supreme Leader say? Beyond that, you can’t just throw away your whole life to spare me. There will be others, Armitage. Somewhere down the road, you’ll meet someone who was born for the kind of life you could offer, and I can’t be the person who stands in the way.” 

At this, he grips your shoulders. “Would you have a selfish thought for once in your life, dammit?” he asks sharply. That silences you enough for him to continue. “Or if you can’t, would you consider that I just might be proposing to marry you because I want to? Because I—” 

He cuts himself off as sharply as he began and turns away from you, pacing the room. But even in the silence that follows, you can’t formulate a single sentence. You’re still sitting there dumbstruck as he runs a hand through his hair, heaves a deep sigh, and turns back to you.

“Don’t you see? There isn’t anyone else. There never will be, and I’ll be damned before I let anyone take you away from me.”

It’s only then that you can gather yourself enough to speak. “But why?”

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t,” you counter. You have a guess that you would never presume upon. It seems too much to ask for. 

But then his wide eyes soften, and for the first time since you’ve known him, he looks vulnerable. Afraid. Like he stepped into a battle without armor or a blaster. Nevertheless, he crosses to you. Kneels before you. Surrendered. He takes one of your hands in both of his. 

“Because…” he begins, looking down at where your hands are joined. Then he steels himself, looks into your eyes, says your name. “I can’t let anyone take you from me because I’ve never loved anybody before. It goes against my nature, against everything I have ever been taught. I don’t understand how you managed to change me, but you did. And despite everything, I love you. I have loved you for what feels like an age. And I know that to ask you to love me in return is more than I deserve, but I only ask that you let me save you. Please, my love, marry me.”

Tears that have been threatening to show since he first said your name spill over now without resistance, without reserve. He’s still gripping your hand with both of his. You lower your forehead to rest against his hands and sob against them. The grey of the world you’ve been moving through for the past month is blooming into light, but all you can think of is how foolish you’ve both been. Burying so much for so long, only uncovering the truth at the last possible minute. But in the last minute, love has become salvation, and refusing him would be the unpardonable sin.

He’s been calling your name softly, and you haven’t been hearing him. When you finally do, you look up at him. At his ocean eyes that have a gentleness to them like a sudden calm over a troubled sea. Gentleness that you have to be in the right place and time to see. Or maybe you just have to be the right person. 

“Will you marry me?” he asks you again. Another long silence as you struggle to say anything at all.  “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Yes,” you finally say through a shaking breath. “Yes, but will you marry me?”

An invisible weight lifts off his shoulders as he sighs. In a swift motion, he gathers you to himself and makes you stand with him. “Of course,” he mutters into your ear through a veil of hair. “Of course, I will.”

And then he’s kissing you anywhere his lips can reach: your temple, the bridge of your nose, the corner of your mouth. All the while, he mutters incomprehensible words to you. And though you could never hope to understand them, you can sense the warmth of them.

You’re saying something, too, but you know exactly what it is. Just three words, repeated over and over again, growing more true each time you say them. And you think he notices you telling him you love him because he pauses just to hold you still against him. Just to let out a hot breath against your hairline.

But when you’ve been still for too long, you tilt your head up and claim his lips, and the force with which he reciprocates is nearly incapacitating. He’s cradling your face between his hands, crawling over you, tilting your jaw up so he can kiss underneath it. As for you, you’re sinking back into the pillows. Sinking into a moment that is all yours, a moment you’ll never have to give up. And when you feel a sweet, familiar burning from the inside out, his fire connecting to yours, you feel yourself repurposed, as if you were brand new. 

[queen-of-elves]

Getting caught cuddling with General Hux and taking the blame saying you were the one being clingy but really it was him lol the man is like a needy cat and the purring (smooching noises) gave you away

you can honestly go in any direction you want with this. i just thought it'd be a fun lil idea to base off

Getting caught

A/ N: I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCH THANK YOOU!! I am telling you Hux is always going to be this soft and touch starved man that I adore plus I am in my Hux era obsession so this request was soooo sooooooo perfect

A/N 2.0: I also made it so that their relationship was not official yet hopefully that’s no problem

Word count: over 1.8K

Warning: affection?? Lol and cursing as always, also not proofread

*********

General Armitage Hux was a man of strict discipline and undeniable loyalty to the First Order, you have admired these qualities of his since the first day you had the luck to be under his command. There was just something so interesting about him which exceeded even beyond him becoming one of the youngest generals in the First Order history. So it made you a one lucky individual when he set his eyes on you.

You really hoped his secretive glances were interpreted by others as an angry stare at a subordinate or just his regular cold and stern glare because today was awfully full of these glances. It was a miracle that no one has yet figured out this weird arrangement between the two of you. No, you were not dating, at least none of you verbally stated it. But by the time the two of you had already made out in a random maintenance room or closet for the second time that week it was obvious. Something was cooking between the two of you and obviously keeping it secret as much as was humanly possible was an unsaid rule.

It would be a lie to say you knew exactly how it all started. You just knew that one thing led to another and you and the handsome general Hux ended up passionately kissing in one of the empty corridors of the Finalizer. But this all is a tale for another day.

This time it wouldn’t be any different, you were following the commanding officer throughout the left part of the flagship’s corridor and discussing the next plans after the last mission. Nothing out of ordinary, just a normal conversation in the middle of the day, you were afterall one of the main strategists on the flagship in the command of Armitage Hux so it was expected of you to have frequent interactions with him. However, today felt very different to you, if you didn’t count the stares throughout the day, Armitage was still acting jittery and unconcentrated which was highly unlike him. 

Did something happen?

You couldn’t help but feel concern for the wellbeing of your general. In fact you were so lost in your thoughts over it, you haven’t even realized that you have just confirmed a false statement about one of the missions from last week. And then it happened again and again, discussion containing false information soon turned into one about even nonexistent missions planned for the next few days. A confusion slowly crept on your face, did you prepare data for the wrong missions? 

What is he talking about?

And then it hit you. He was furiously looking behind you, checking the corridor before spinning on his heel and glancing down the other side of the hall. You two were the only one or so it seemed since you couldn’t hear any steps or talking except for Hux who was still going on about the fake mission. When his inspection of the hall was done and he seemed fairly satisfied, snatching your hand and dragging you to the door of what you deemed to be some sort of maintenance room was the next step in his plan. 

So before you could react properly he smashed the lock on the side of the door causing the door to open widely and pushed you in. You had no time to even recognize what the room actually contained before the door closed behind the both of you, plugging you into a darkness. It took a bit for your eyes to adjust and it also got worse when he placed his hands on your shoulders, spinning you around to face him. You couldn’t make out any specific details of his face but he still looked so handsome to you. 

Armitage truly was a being above all in your eyes, handsome, disciplined and incredibly smart, too smart for his own good sometimes and this man, this stupidly handsome man was now kissing you. His hands rested on your cheeks and lips on yours and you felt once again as in ecstasy, just like you were drug to him, he was to you.

He slowly backed you to the nearest wall until your back hit it and then it all really started. His kisses went across your whole face, starting at a temple on one side, stopping momentarily to kiss you furiously and ending at the jaw across before he gave himself the time to properly breathe. This was what you loved about kissing with him, how out of breath he would get, it was as if he couldn’t get enough of you and it made you feel eternal.

There was nothing explicitly sexual about this, nothing beyond simple makeout, no great sinful desire at least this time. And if there was anything in it, it was all about comfort, the comfort you brought to him and you could feel it radiate from him. He needed the comfort you provided, that only you could provide.

This time he nudged his face into the croak of your neck and inhaled slowly while squeezing you in a tight hug as if he was afraid you would turn into mist and disappear from his arms.

With Hux it wasn’t just about the kissing, the cuddling was also very prominent and you were pretty sure oftentimes Armitage enjoyed the cuddling much more than he would ever admit. At this point in his life this man was just beyond touch starved and if he would let you, you would give him hugs any time he wanted. It made you so happy to see him smile after every quick kiss or just slight touch of hands that got unnoticed by others. You truly loved making him happy and it felt like he was on the same note with you. 

Armitage was also decently vocal, actually he was the most vocal guy you have ever been with, you noticed it the first time the two of you made out in his office. The little moans that escaped his mouth and oh my, you would be a goddamn liar if you said you didn’t enjoy every second of the sound he would make. Whenever it was caused by you hugging him or kissing the hell out of him.

His mouth felt like it was everywhere, that HE was everywhere and you couldn’t get enough of it. Armitage’s hand moved from your shoulder to your hip while the other sneaked on the small of your back, gripping the hip and bringing you again so close you could hardly breathe. Both of your chests were now touching but even without his mouth touching you, you felt the excitement accumulating between your bodies. 

You have now noticed his vibrant red hair all out of place, you quite liked the disheveled look on him, and the buttons of his uniform sat loose, he must have unfasten some of them while he dragged you to this room and in between the kisses. But instead of kissing you again he nuzzled his face into your neck again while humming slowly. He was contend, purring like a cat onto your neck and chest. You hope for this moment to never end, to just simply cuddle him until you die.

However, the whole moment shattered with the heavy door sliding open with a long whoosh sound. The both of you stood frozen for agonizingly long, hoping whoever opened the door would either not notice you, which was very unlikely considering you were an eyesore in the now lit room, or pretend to not notice you. In those excruciatingly drawn-out seconds you have noticed a blush creeping on Armitage's face but even that image ripped out of your mind by a stammering voice of a much more embarrassed officer.

“I-I am so sor-rry, SIR. I d-din’t know that- I heard a we-weird sound and I thought-” Oh god, the two of you must have been really loud if they could hear you through the door. And on top of that you were pretty sure that officer wouldn’t keep his tongue behind their teeth after what they saw.

“Get OUT!” Armitage's voice echoed through the room silencing the officer. 

You couldn’t see his face, his silhouette was illuminated by the hall's light still present in the room after the officer just ran for his life, leaving the door open. And there was a certainty the officer wouldn’t escape the punishment Armitage was already making in that smart head of his.

When he finally turned to you, you could see his face seeping red, the tips of his ears caressed with blush just like his cheeks and neck. He wasn’t looking at you, instead his wide eyes rested a few meters before your feet on the metal floor. Half of his face was obscured by his left hand which was holding his mouth in a tight grip. If it weren’t for the blush you would have thought he was contemplating his life choices or maybe he really was and maybe this was it. You knew Armitage was a man of a great reputation and to taint it with a flirt with one of his subordinates was unforgivable.

“I hoped it wouldn’t get out so soon.” A stoic mask was placed again on his face, the one he sported when he commanded on the bridge, when he was back in his role, unforgiving and with no mercy for failure. You did enjoy seeing him like that, full of pride and in his element but you also enjoyed how he would hold your hand while kissing your cheeks softly. The duality of this man surely would be the death of you one day and maybe this was the day.

“It seems it’s official then-” Your voice interrupted him.“What’s official?” Your heart was pounding so hard against your rib cage you were afraid it might leave bruises, you were too nervous to care for formalities now. This could be either exciting news or a soul crushing one.

“Us, obviously.” He stated, while he still hasn't noticed your nervous expression and your eyes following his every move before the realization came crashing down on you.

Oh.

This time you could hear the heavy steps, it obviously wasn’t an officer, probably a stormtrooper but you still didn’t expect Phasma, the stormtrooper captain, to appear in the still open door, her stare unrecognized by you thanks to her helmet, causing Armitage to turn his back on you again.

“Captain Phasma, I apologize it’s my fault I-” This time it was your general interrupting you.

“Yes, your choice of location to inform me of classified information is-,” Armitage turned back to you, shooting you an unidentifiable look,“ maybe next time choose my office. People could get the wrong idea, officer.” It seemed to be the end of the conversation or at least Phasma deemed it as one since she turned ready to leave while informing general Hux of new details about her mission. However, before both of them could exit the room you caught Armitage shooting you a smirk.

“Yes, sir.” You whispered with a small smile painted on your lips.

Oh god, that man was truly going to be the death of you.

[charlottesbookclub]

hiii ! 😘 💐 🥂 for hux? if that’s too many you can just pick one no worries !!! i love love love your work <33

send me a headcanon request 🥰

hello my dear! ☺️ no worries at all – that's definitely not too many! in fact I'm very excited to do them! ☺️💕 and thank you so so so much for your super sweet words! 🥰🥰 I genuinely am so touched that you enjoy my work that much! 🥹🥹🥰🥰 I hope you enjoy these headcanons as well! ☺️💖

putting them below the cut because they got long (whoops!), but under the "read more" are:

what would they look for in an s/o?

would they give their s/o gifts? if so, what kind?

what are dates with them like?

for Armitage Hux!

General Armitage Hux

😘 – what would they look for in an s/o?

I think Hux would look for two conflicting things in an s/o: ambition/drive and the ability to relax and not take things too seriously. on one hand, I think he does really need someone who can match his energy. his whole life is about working in dogged pursuit of his goals, and I think he would find it hard to relate to someone who didn't share that sense of drive, at least to some extent. I don't think they would have to be in the same field as him (in fact, it's probably better if they're not so that no competition emerges), but I do think that Hux would look for someone who takes their goals seriously and has a lot of passion for their work

on the other hand, I think he also needs someone to temper that impulse in him. everyone around him expects something of him, and his work is constantly under scrutiny. it would be nice for him to have someone who he didn't have to perform around, someone who would encourage him to take a breath and just be for a moment. so I guess what he really needs is someone with perspective; someone who can appreciate and empathize with his ambition, but also remind him that there's more to life than constant work

💐 – would they give their s/o gifts? if so, what kind?

again, I think Hux would be of two minds in this regard. on the one hand, he grew up in the imperial remnant where supplies were hard to come by, and I think that instilled in him a sense of austerity and distaste for clutter and wastefulness. in that sense, he certainly wouldn't be giving "useless" gifts, like things that would just sit and collect dust. even for sentimental things, I think it would be hard for him to overcome that idea that everything needs to have a functional purpose. he might make a couple of exceptions for really meaningful things though

on the other hand..... whooooo boy does this man have self-esteem issues! he finds it so hard to believe that anyone would be with him just to be with him. he projects this ultra-confident facade, but inside he is so insecure. one way for him to make up for that would be by giving his s/o things that he thinks might make it "worth it" for them to be with him. they're still mostly functional (often expensive) things, but he does put care and thought into selecting them. as the relationship progressed and his s/o was able to convince him that they weren't with him as some sort of transactional exchange, I could see him getting more comfortable giving more sentimental, meaningful gifts. even once he got past that insecurity, expressing his feelings verbally is still hard for him, so giving gifts is a nice way for him to show his affection without having to be too vulnerable

🥂 – what are dates with them like?

first, they are few and far between 😅 at least if we're talking in terms of "formal dates." Hux is a busy man and he just doesn't have a lot of time for things like dates, even if he would like to. however, "informal" dates, like having a quick meal together in the privacy of his quarters or just working together in a private space, are much more frequent. Hux definitely feels guilty about not having more time to spend with his s/o, so when he makes the time for a formal date, he goes all out

they usually happen planetside, since first order ships don't exactly scream "romance" lmao. Hux will book an expensive restaurant and reserve a speciality table (usually on a balcony or by a window looking out over the planet). afterwards, he'll have gotten tickets to some kind of fancy entertainment (whatever that particular planet specializes in, usually something adjacent to opera or theatre or ballet). then the night will end in a suite at the nicest hotel the planet has to offer, and both Hux and his s/o can enjoy a night away from the pressures of the first order

if his s/o is the kind of person who prefers "quirky" dates (like whatever the star wars equivalent of going to a farmer's market or playing mini golf is), he might be able to get on board with it, just because his s/o enjoys it. however, those kinds of more free-form, sometimes silly outings are much more foreign to him, and he's a lot more comfortable in more "formal" dates. however, no matter what he does with his s/o, he always tries to make it a time to show them how much he love and appreciates them 💖

[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.

[noiriarti]

Inappropriate: Armitage Hux x Reader - Ch. 4

NSFW!!!

TW: mentions of Brendol Hux being abusive, nsfw

Summary: Hux has to travel to Starkiller Base to check on construction. His favorite lieutenant comes with him, but these horrible, terribly inappropriate thoughts just won't stop.

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, [Ch. 4]

The Academy didn't exactly leave its graduates romantically well-adjusted, and Armitage was no exception. As he stormed into his room, his heart pounding, partially with fear for his career and partially with adrenaline from your encounter, he closed his door and immediately felt the guilt wash over him. Saying that to you felt terrible, and the look in your eyes when he pulled away nearly shattered him right there. It took all his resolve to protect your careers.

He wondered if he had made a wrong decision. Cora had married someone as an officer, after all. A small part of him whispered that one of you could just retire, and then it wouldn't be anyone's business what you did--Order or not. And, if something did happen, it wasn't exactly nonconsensual like it was with Kelein. Maybe he could even get away with an honorable discharge.

He had thought about it before, if he could build a life with you. He looked into it, considered all the practicalities. But he never acted on anything, because it would have been ridiculous to think you felt the same way about him. After tonight, though, Armitage thought maybe you felt the same way about him. Just maybe. 

Armitage weighed the probability in his mind as he got out of his uniform, meticulously folding each piece as he took it off. Around the time he had slipped on his sleep shirt and sleep pants, he had decided that there was a greater than 50% chance you liked him, at least a little bit, and that there was some merit in talking to you about it. He brushed through his hair and broke up the gel, leaving his bangs soft over his forehead. Either way, his words to you were far too harsh. You hadn't done anything wrong. You were just sitting there, and it was him that touched you. Fuck, now that he thought about it, he had initiated all the contact, except the leg thing. He was the creepy one leering on your lips and touching them like some pervert.

There was a decanter of whiskey on the desk, just as he had requested, and he poured himself a double with shaking hands. What had he done?

He gulped the whiskey down as fast as he could. The warmth in his throat didn't burn him, though, it just reminded him of your legs touching earlier and the warmth it had filled him with. He leaned over with his head in his hands, panic gripping him. FUCK, what have I done?

Armitage was halfway through pouring himself another drink to build up his courage when he heard a whimper through the wall. Oh fuck, were you crying? He froze. You shared a wall, so he pressed his ear to it. His heart stopped and his throat got tight at the mental image of you sobbing. He had only seen you cry once, when an Academy student died on a mission. You were both so much younger then, but he still felt himself drawn to stand by you and put his arm on your shoulder. He couldn't stand to see you cry again.

A moment later, he heard another small noise. A deep intake of breath. You were definitely crying. Hard, by the sound of it.

He could barely hold himself together as he put on a sweater and slippers, shoving his feet into them hurriedly. He had to fix this. NOW. His hands shook as he set the glass down.

It's all my fault it's all my fault it's all my faultit'sallmyfaultit'sallmyfault, his mind echoed as he slammed his door open and rushed to yours. Your cries were louder now, and his chest was tight with guilt.

Fuck protocol. Fuck rules. Fuck Kelein. Fuck the Order. All that mattered was you feeling better. Him making it right. He wanted to make it right for the rest of his life, if you asked him. He would do fucking anything for you, and he knew that now. He would take the firing squad, if it would stop you from crying because of him.

He reached your door and knocked on it hurriedly, calling your name, propriety be damned. No answer. 

Fuck it. He opened the door.

There, on the bed, he saw you splayed out, fingers buried inside you. Your other hand was gripping your breast, but he barely noticed. His attention was entirely on your face and your moans. You looked positively fucking angelic with your hair splayed messily around you, and the sweat beading on your brow. He heard you make a little *oh!* sound, face scrunched together, as you finally came. Hard.

Your back arched off the bed, pushing your breasts into the air. His eyes were glued to your pussy now, watching it twitch around your fingers. From the moment he saw you, his cock was harder than a fucking diamond, but it started twitching when you came. Stars, he needed you. Needed to be inside you.

It was only a split second, but it was enough for him to memorize everything. And to process that he should probably go. His cheeks and chest grew hot and feverish, blush spreading all over his upper body.

"HolyfuckIamsosorry!" he blurted before he ran out of the room. He closed the door behind him and walked, lightheaded and unsteady, back to his own room. As he closed the door behind him, he realized he had fucked up. Majorly. This was an HR report waiting to happen. But he couldn't stop his cock from twitching, or his mind from seeing that image of you, cumming hard in front of him.

Usually, masturbating was just taking care of a need for him. He would wake up hard, or, worse, come back to his quarters hard after one of your meetings, and take care of himself full of shame. Your sweet voice haunted those moments, saying "Affirmative, sir" or "Good shot, sir" with those perfect lips.

This was different. He was harder than he had been in any of those moments. His cock ached in his pants, begging to be taken out and touched. He rolled his hips subconsciously, feeling his head rub across the material of his pants. He wanted more. He needed more. He palmed his cock as he moved to his bed, falling onto it roughly. The material of his sleep pants was already getting sticky at the point where the tip of his cock leaked precum. For a moment, he was scared he was going to cum as soon as he wrapped a hand around his length. He had to make this last.

He smeared the precum over his hand as he pulled his pants down, setting a slow pace to keep himself going. Fantasies weren't new to him, and it wasn't like he'd never imagined you naked before. But now, he didn't have to imagine. He had your perfect body snapshotted in his mind forever. Would your pussy twitch the same way if he made you cum on his cock? Would you make that noise if he bent you over some stupid machine on the bridge? He'd give anything to make you shake while he buried his face between your legs, making you cum over and over and over until you begged him to stop.

Fuck, it was too much. He sped up, setting a brutal pace, like he imagined he would with you. The head of his cock was a dark red, sensitive and ready to cum. He grunted as his thumb rubbed over his slit, sending the tingling feeling that had started in his legs all over his body. It had never felt like this before, when he was alone in his quarters.

Then a knock came a his door. It was probably the pilot, telling him the updated ETA. He internally cursed fate, timing, and just life in general as he pulled up his sleep pants. A rather obvious tent was still visible, and he tried to shift it to make it smaller as he moved toward the door.

"Yes?" He swung the door open. It was you.

"Gene--Armitage. Can I come in? I'd like to talk to you," you said, wringing your hands like he knew you did when you were uncomfortable. He was still a little pink from his encounter with you, but he definitely flushed a deeper shade when he saw your cheeks still rosy, and your pupils still blown wide.

"Yes, er--sure," he answered. He gestured for you to enter, and, while you passed through the doorframe, pulled his shirt down as far as he could to try and disguise his obvious arousal. You breathed in raggedly and turned to face him once he closed the door behind you. An awkward silence sat between the two of you.

"I-" you both began in sync. You giggled awkwardly, which in turn made him chuckle.

"Please, go ahead," he said.

"No, please, you go first," you responded. He took a deep breath and began. He got the sense that what he said, and the way he said it, was perhaps the most important choice he had ever made.

"Alright. I came to see you because I wanted to apologize. For earlier. I was harsh to you, unnecessarily so. I most likely made you uncomfortable earlier, with the, well, I suppose, advances I made. I am deeply sorry for that. It also wasn't my intent to to walk in on--to see you in such an... intimate moment. I am truly, very sorry," he said. It took you several seconds to respond--4 and a half, not that he was counting--and his heart was in his throat for every single one of them. 

"About you seeing... what you saw. I should be the one who's sorry. I shouldn't have been doing that on a mission, and I didn't want to make you uncomfortable," you said, and then paused before continuing, "But you were making advances?" Your hopeful eyes bored into him, and he took a shaky breath. It was now or never.

"I-yes. I was. I hadn't intended to, but I couldn't stop myself once I started. The truth is that I have... feelings for you--deep feelings--and I have been trying to shake them since the Academy. I have been in love with you for so long that I cannot imagine what my world would be like without you," he paused, "But I was, and am, worried that, given my position of power over you, that I would pressure you into a relationship, or that I would lose my job, or, even worse that you would lose your job over my silly crush." There was a certain vulnerability to being honest that Armitage wasn't used to, and he so rarely felt exposed the way he did now. His heart was in your hands, and, even if you crushed him at this moment, saying that he loved you had lifted a weight he did not even realize he was carrying. Now you knew. Not that the minor relief made the earth-shaking nervousness any better.

A long pause hung in the air between you. His heart pounded in his chest and his ears thrummed with the blood rushing through them. When had he last been this scared? This nervous? He pressed his nails into his palm to distract himself, the bite of the pain taking the edge off. He kept his gaze downward, as if that would help him avoid the inevitable.

Instead, he was met with your hands on his face. Stars, your hands were so soft pressed up against his cheek. His eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into your touch, starved for it. He sighed deeply, hoping against all hope that he could stay here forever, suspended in this moment with you.

Then he felt your lips on his, gentle and warm and perfect. He could have sworn that every single nerve in his body was firing at a million miles an hour and lighting him up like a firework. It was the best feeling Armitage had ever felt. If this is what being kissed felt like, he didn't want to ever stop for the rest of his life. He could die right here and be the happiest man to ever exist. Even when you pulled away, he kept his eyes closed, savoring the moment before it was gone. Your thumb gently stroked his cheek, which made his body scream for more more more, but he ignored it in favor of waiting for you to say something.

"Armitage, I love you too. I've loved you since, well, as long as I can remember," you said. Your confession sat, heavy in the air between you. Now that everything was in the open, the tension that had been suppressed by his fears was suffocatingly strong. His eyes met your lips, again, and he snapped.

He kissed you wildly, grabbing your waist and face with such force that you almost fell over. It was everything he had ever wanted to do to you over all those years--sloppy and messy and so, so intense. Your cheek was just as smooth under his hand as it was earlier, but this time it was *his*. You sniffed in pain when, in his haze, he accidentally bumped your teeth together. Fuck, I hope I'm not bad at this, he thought.

"Sorry," he murmured to you, face only an inch from yours, "I'm not very experienced." He internally hoped you hadn't thought of him as some playboy who would be perfect the first time around.

"Me neither, whatever, just kiss me," you gasped as you pulled his shirt and slammed your lips together again. Your already wet lips slid together and against each other so perfectly, sending jolts to your core. Heat was pooling in his body too, settling to an insistent thrum in his cock, which was already sensitive and twitching like mad. He was leaning down to kiss you, and you occasionally stepped back to catch your balance, until your legs hit the back of his bed, almost knocking you down in the process. He caught you with his arms, which really were stronger than they looked, but what he really wanted was to push you down onto the bed and keep you there for hours. (Would he really be that lucky? Would you even want that, from him? Could he really even make you feel good, let alone make you cum? Would his cock be good enough for you? Big enough? Was he enough? A little voice asked in his mind. He dismissed it.)

"We don't have to, now, I mean," he whispered to you between kisses.

"No, I want to. I want you," you breathed, pulling him down onto you. He was weightless for a moment before catching himself on his arms, his body so close to yours. Here goes nothing, he thought, pressing his clothed erection against you. You moaned in response and he swore it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. He wanted you to moan for him all night, begging for his cock inside you over and over.

Armitage rocked his hips hesitantly, hoping you wouldn't hold him obviously being aroused beyond belief against him. The friction was absolutely delicious, and he wished there were fewer layers between you as he kept thrusting as he kissed down to your throat, planting wet kisses as he went. You would have a high collar anyway, he figured, so he started sucking and biting a spot that made you whine whenever his tongue ghosted over it.

He pulled off you with a wet pop, and looked in pride at the swollen red mark he left. His. You were his. He beamed with pride. His kisses progressed lower, down to the neckline of your shirt, and you got the hint. When he next pulled off you, you kicked off your slippers and scooched back onto the bed, laying on the pillows. You treated him to quite a show, taking your shirt off slowly and sensually as he sat, practically drooling for you. You were in just your regulation sports bra, not anything special in your mind, but he thought it was the best thing he had ever seen. Your nipples peeked through the garment, and he longed to take them in his mouth.

Fair was fair, so he took off his own shirt, pausing for a moment when he realized this would be the first time anyone saw his bare chest in years. It was, like the rest of him, lean but muscular, and, to him, not particularly sexy. His freckles peppered his shoulders, but his back was covered with small scars from particularly harsh beatings from his father, including several rather prominent cigar burns that he hid at all costs when he was changing in the Academy. It felt shameful, to be so weak. He hoped you wouldn't ask, and that he wouldn't have to explain.

Your eyes scoured his chest, looking like you wanted to pounce on him again, which cast a warm glow in his heart (and crotch, but that mattered less right then). He approached you and lay next to you, on his side, carding his hands through your hair.

"What are these scars from, Armitage?" You asked, tracing a particularly harsh one that cut from his back to his shoulder.

"I-" he felt like his mouth was filled with cotton, dry and heavy. Would you think less of him? "My father. He is... not a kind man," he choked out. You gazed at him with pity, and his heart pattered in his chest. Had he ruined the moment? Did you still want to keep doing... whatever you were doing?

"I'm sorry. He sounds like an asshole," you said. You kissed him tenderly. "But let's not think about him," you continued, kissing him with more heat, more urgency. His arousal came back, insistent. He rolled so he was on top of you, skin against skin, kissing away any memory of his father until his head was filled with nothing but you. His hand came up to your bra strap, and you nodded. He grabbed the bottom, pulling it gently up and over your head. Finally, he was seeing you again. He went back to your jaw, kissing down to your nipple. He took it in his mouth, swirling and sucking until you moaned like you did when you came. He'd pull more noises out of you, he decided. His right hand came up to roll your nipple--almost exactly like you had imagined--grabbing and kneading your breast as he thrust gently against your clothed pussy.

The heat between you was getting unbearable. When he was satisfied with your tits (not that he would ever, really, be done with them), he kissed down to your waistband. Looking up at you for confirmation, he started pulling them down when he saw you nod emphatically. "Yes, yes," you whispered. He practically ripped them off, along with your underwear, finally seeing you naked in front of him again. But what was he supposed to do now? He'd never touched someone like this. He had an idea.

"Show me what you like. How you did it earlier," he commanded, pouring some of his General voice into it. You whimpered, bringing your hand to your clit and rubbing circles. Finally, pleasure. You moaned loudly, and he ripped your hand away. It was his turn.

He dove into your pussy like a man possessed, licking sloppy circles on your clit until he figured out which position made you react the most. Then, he kept on it, speeding up as he went. Words poured out of you, almost surprising you with their filth.

"Fuck yes Armitage please faster please please please that feels so good," you babbled, body twitching. He could feel your abs clenching, and your thighs tensing up as he kept going. With his free hand, he thrust his middle finger into your pussy. You were positively soaked, and he groaned against you at the sensation. He had read somewhere that he was supposed to curl up (in one of his times alone with a datapad after a particularly long study session with you), so he tried it, and you practically screamed. So sensitive for him. He moved a hand to stroke himself through his pants. Fuck, you were perfect.

He set a brutal pace on you, adding another finger, which your pussy instantly gripped around. You were even louder now, so so close to release.

"Please, General, let me cum please please pleasepleaseplease," you gushed, digging your hands into his hair and gripping it. He made a mental note to pull yours later. He could tell you were almost there, and who was he to deny you? He just wanted you to come undone all over him, so he let you.

He could tell you were cumming when you spasmed and clenched *hard* on his fingers, moaning just like you had when he saw you the first time. Only, this time, it was all because of him. He smiled against you at that thought. He gently worked you through your orgasm, slowly lapping at your sensitive clit. You were so perfect for him. When you had caught your breath, he pulled his fingers from you and licked the taste of you off of them as he climbed back up you.

"Darling, I want to fuck you," he said with a newfound confidence from your glazed, doe-like eyes. He had an idea of something you might like. He put his hand on your cheek and toyed with your lower lip like he had earlier.

"Do you want your General to fuck you?" He asked sweetly, pouring just the smallest tinge of command into his tone. He knew you couldn't resist. You whimpered and nodded fervently as your hands tried to tug his pants down. He chuckled darkly and tutted.

"Not yet, darling. Do you have protection?" He asked. He didn't exactly have a need for condoms, so he didn't tend to travel with them. You looked embarrassed as you jumped off the bed and dug one out of your pants pocket, holding it up to him once you returned to the bed. He grinned wildly. You were his favorite strategist, after all. Gods, how he loved you. Armitage ripped open the little foil packet, holding it between his teeth as he pulled his pants down, finally freeing his aching cock. He gave it a pump or two, just to take the edge off, and then he rolled it smoothly onto his cock. Your gaze was fixed on his cock, ravenous. Joy bloomed in his chest, and he lined himself up with you.

"Are you sure, my love?" He just wanted to check. You smiled and tucked a piece of his bangs behind his ear.

"Yes, are you?" He nodded, grinning impishly. He slapped his dick against your oversensitive clit a few times before pressing into you, loving the squeal he elicited. He watched your eyes roll back as he sheathed fully into you, trying in vain to take a mental picture of your face as he first fucked you. The feeling of your sweet, wet, tight pussy gripping his cock was overwhelming and perfect. He was sure life couldn't get any better than being buried in you. He experimentally pulled back and thrust in, shallow, but he groaned with the feeling. So. Fucking. Tight.

"Please, fuck me, sir," you whispered to him, and he immediately started slamming his hips into you. *Stars*, this was worth waiting for. You were worth waiting for. He fucked you with long, deep strokes, rushed and sloppy. His cock was lighting up your pussy, and, whenever you clenched around him, he groaned loudly. Your moans were becoming louder and louder in rhythm to his hips. Your mind was going blank with the feeling of his thick cock bumping against every spot that made your body sing. He could feel his balls tightening, so he pulled out of you quickly, wanting to make this last.

He put his hand under your hip and roughly flipped you over. As he entered you from behind, he grabbed your hair with one hand and smacked your ass with the other. You practically howled, and, before he could push in all the way, started moving your hips on his cock. He tutted at you and grabbed your hip with his free hand, pulling your hair to turn you to face him.

"You want to be fucked? I'll fuck you, angel," he growled, setting a brutal pace. You squealed and bucked when his hand snaked down your stomach and met your clit. The headboard of the bed smashed against the wall, the springs creaking so loudly, it almost sounded like your moans. But you, his love, were drowning them all out with your beautiful moans. Stars, he was close. He wasn't going to cum without you, though, so he put all his energy into speeding up his hand on your clit and fucking you even faster.

Then, it came. He could tell you were close from the way your body tightened and you panted, just like you had before. All at once, you came with a loud yelp, moaning obscenities shortly after. It was too much for him. His legs were tingling from the pleasure, and his head was buzzing, almost distracting him from the hot coil in his stomach. When your pussy clenched from the waves of your orgasm, it was over for him. The feeling exploded all over him, and he fucked you through it, chanting your name like a prayer as he finished.

Tired and spent, he leaned forward and rested on your back. His head was a daze, filled with such much joy that he didn't know it was even possible. He pressed a few lazy kisses to your back as you panted, tipping your head back to look at him with a smile. After a minute, he pulled out of you, tied off the condom, and tossed it somewhere toward the trash. He would get it later. You slipped into his arms, resting your head against his slightly sweaty chest.

"That was perfect," he said, still trying to catch his breath. He played with the hair that fell over your face, pushing it behind your ear.

"I love you, Armitage," you said, and he decided he would never get tired of those words.

"I love you more, darling," he responded.

"Most."

"Moster."

"Mostest," he chuckled with his face buried in your hair. You settled into contented silence, gazing out the window to space.

"I should really go clean up," you murmured.

"Can I join you? We have 18 hours to kill, after all," he asked, grinning from ear to ear.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

AN: thanks so much for reading!! asks are always open for requests or feedback, and i'd love to hear from you!

[blue-sadie]

Torture

Imagine:

Being hux's girlfriend and him slowly torturing you by teasing and touching you leaving you on the edge intill it's unbearable.

"Don't you dare cum little one, if you do ill have to punish you even further and trust me you don't want that"