#general hux au

[starlightsearches]

Heloooos! I've been sober from using tumblr for almost two years but your recent Hux post has me relapsing and its all your doing in the best ways possible. If it gives you any inspo, could you mayhaps write a modern!hux who has reader as their personal guard? My current job has me babysitting a higher up as punishment (the guy makes my life miserable but if was The Armitage Hux I would bark if he asked). Like an enemies to lovers and refusing to just be his friend due to too many feelings ?????

Sleepless Nights

Thanks for the request, my love! Sorry if it's not "enemies" enough for you, I have this insane fear of people being angry with me so I've never been good at the whole enemies to lovers thing. Anyways, let me know if you like what you see :0) Comments, likes, and reblogs are very cool!

Warnings: Kind of slutty, kind of rambly, hux is kind of toxic, language. I think that's it!

You're about three bites into your wilty Caesar salad when the alarm on your phone chimes.

You fiddle with the volume buttons for a second before silencing the noise completely, steeling yourself in preparation for the look you just know Veronica is sending your way.

It's worse than you'd anticipated. You actually flinch a little when you meet her eyes.

She stabs at her own food ferociously, but doesn't take a bite of the pad thai she ordered, bringing the fork level with her gaze. Being on the business end of those tines makes your heart beat a little faster.

"I thought you had twenty minutes for lunch."

You sneak the lid of your Tupperware in between your fingers, slipping it back over the top what's left of your food.

"No . . . I said the meeting would be twenty minutes. I have to be back at my desk before he's done."

Veronica chews at her bottom lip, and you just know that—if you were sitting anywhere that wasn't right outside her boss's office—she'd be cussing you out for, once again, letting Hux take advantage of your truly incredible work ethic.

Lucky for you, if there's one thing your friend likes more than violent outbursts, it's office gossip. The urge overtakes her, and Veronica leans in closer with a passing glance at Phasma's open door, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

"What's his deal lately, anyway?"

Interesting. You thought you were the only one who had noticed a change in Hux's temperament.

He had a reputation, of course—there was a reason he'd had five different executive assistants in the past year—and everybody checked over their shoulders before they bitched about him in the break room.

It hit you hardest—always in the blast radius, so to speak—with your desk just outside his door. You'd spent plenty of time rolling your eyes behind his back, or muttering curses under your breath when you heard his door latch.

But you'd put up with a lot more for a lot less, and you found you were able to take most of your boss's asshole-ish tendencies in stride.

So what if the hours are long? Sitting at your desk late into the night, filing memos and typing up emails between coffee runs was lonely, but your nights before the job were, too. At least now you were getting paid.

The past few weeks had been strange, though. Longer hours, later nights. His presence hovering over your shoulder or watching you through the crack in his door, that nervous energy always focused on you, waiting for you to misstep.

Then there were the calls during the few moments you were outside of the office, filled with reminders for routines you'd never once forgotten. Hux had been fidgety and restless during those morning debriefs and stumbling over his words half the time he passed your desk with some new directive.

"What's his deal ever?" you counter, and she snorts—then when that feels too mean, "he said he hasn't been sleeping."

Veronica purses her lips, smiling around the next word.

"Oh."

You really don't have the time to wait around for an explanation—the elevator up to the top floor already takes three minutes on its own—but, god, the way she says that word stops you like an ice pick to the heart.

"What?"

"Come on," she rolls her eyes, wondering how you could be so obtuse, "everybody knows that when a guy says he can't sleep it's because . . ."

She waits for you to fill in the rest.

"Uhhhhh . . ."

"It means," Veronica sighs, yanking you closer by the arm so nobody will overhear, "that he's been thinking about you. You know, like—" she mimics the beat of some cheesy porn intro, with the bwops and the chicka-waahs.

As if you didn't already get the message.

Your stomach rolls, and not with hunger—although you're wasting valuable time you could have to shovel the rest of your lunch into your mouth on the way back to your desk.

It takes a moment, but you manage a weak laugh, shaking yourself out of your stupor.

Hux didn't think about you like that. He didn't think about you at all unless he was reading his dictations over your shoulder while you were still writing them, just in case he needed to preemptively correct your mistakes.

"Uh, okay, you're insane."

Veronica's brows come together at the challenge—you know she won't stand for that. She scans the immediate area until she narrows in on a victim.

"Hey, Stephen."

The new intern's on his third trip past her desk since you got here, turning so quick to the side you're surprised his head stays attached to his neck.

He's been waiting for this moment all day.

Stephen's cute—dark, fluffy hair and big eyes—eager like a puppy with his clumsy, loping walk . . . and he's got no fucking chance. Veronica would chew him into pieces.

He runs over to her desk, totally clueless to that.

"What's up?"

Veronica smiles, leaning over her desk so the top of her button-down starts to split open. Stephen develops a twitch in his eye trying to keep his gaze level with hers.

"What does it mean when a guy tells a girl that he's having trouble sleeping?"

He relaxes visibly, like someone just asked him the color of the sky.

"Oh, yeah. It means he wants to fuck her."

Stephen gives the answer to you—well aware of his role—then looks to Veronica, waiting for a good boy and a dog treat and a pat on the head.

You feel like you've stepped into the twilight dimension. When the fuck did that become common knowledge?

"Okay, you're both insane, and now I'm running late."

Your steps are harried on the way back to the elevator, begging the engine to move faster or the second-hand on your watch to tick slower. Trying not to think about your boss, thinking about you every night, twisted up in his sheets.

Because, yeah, you had your daydreams. Everybody needs something to distract from the drudgery of all those fucking emails. It never mattered much to you who had you pinned against the shelves in the supply closet of your mind.

Just a little entertainment to wake you up during the afternoon slump—feverish hands and desperation and the crisp smell of copy paper.

But you've always had a thing for a well-cut suit. And Hux had plenty of those.

So what if you were kind of into him and his weird little hard-ass routine? You'd never dream of going any further than your daydreams.

But was he going further? And what did that look like?

Your palms are sweating when you get back to your desk, and you can't get the image out of your head—Hux with sweat beading down the taut skin of his neck, with his arms caging you against a wall, with his hips pinning yours against the hard edge of his desk.

You hardly have time to plant your ass in your chair before you hear the tell-tale footsteps around the corner.

Speak of the devil—or, you know, daydream about fucking him.

"Any calls?"

Hux barely glances in your direction—always on the move lately—no room in his schedule to actually stop at your desk and speak to you. You'd guess he's only got time for three directives before he's out of earshot.

Good news. Maybe you could make it out of here before midnight.

"I'm still working through them, sir, but I'll let you know if anything important has come through."

Total lie. You haven't even looked at the phone. And you can't look him in the eye either, feeling flushed and frantic.

Oh god. Do you look flushed and frantic?

Hux doesn't notice either way. Maybe Veronica was wrong and decided to ruin your entire life on a whim.

"Make sure you have a car prepared for the event on Friday. I won't stay longer than twenty minutes."

"Of course, sir. I'll call and let him know."

You had already made that call, but you'd have to update Mitaka, still. That's ten minutes less than the original time you gave him.

He's half-way into his office when he turns back for his last demand, "and I'll need you late, again, tonight."

Fuck. So close. You'd have to reschedule that date with your vibrator.

"Of course, sir. Whatever you need."

I'll need you late, again, tonight?

Could he make it any more fucking obvious?

Hux feels like slamming his head against the wall. He would, maybe, if he wasn't sure you'd hear the rattling window and come to see what his problem was. And that would only present more opportunities for him to make a fool of himself.

He certainly doesn't need any more of those.

It seemed like good advice when it was first given to him—"spending more time together" would be an easy first step, if it didn't also involve time-and-a-half for you. The paychecks he was signing were starting to look as ridiculous as the little infatuation he's been carrying.

Not that it mattered. If money was what you wanted, he'd give it. Anything to endear himself to you.

But the extra time—and the money—aren't helping. You're as distant as ever, maybe moreso, with the fog of sleeplessness and your inevitable irritability at his constant demands.

It's his own damn feelings that get in the way. He can't concentrate, not with the shape of your legs in those pencil skirts. He spends most meetings in wondering how to find out the name of the perfume you wear.

And where he can find a bottle of it for personal use.

Nights, still, are worse.

That's where this all started. Hux hardly ever had dreams, and the few dreams he did have in those short, unconscious hours were never memorable.

Then he woke with the feeling soft skin enveloping his cheeks, tasting you on his lips. And god, those noises you were making for him, your fingers through his hair, begging for him to come closer, to give you more.

It flipped the switch. You went from a passive—albeit attractive—body in a chair to a person. A someone.

A need.

He knew it was wrong. He knew, even with his sweat soaking the sheets and his heavy hand resting on his abdomen that this would ruin so much for him.

The mind can be reasoned with, if the body is hungry enough. And Armitage is so, so hungry for you.

On the nights he manages to resist, he imagines, wonders. Are you alone? Do you think of him? Or are you warming someone else's bed, rolling from their sheets with a heavy sigh every time Armitage's contact pops up on your phone screen?

That worry has him sick to his stomach.

So it's best to keep you close. Keep an eye on you.

Hux looks up from the stack of reports he's been reviewing, shifts in his chair just right until he can see you through the window outside his office without you noticing him.

It puts a god-awful crick in his neck if he sits like this too long. His chiropractor commented on it during his last appointment.

Normally there's not much to see—a Solitare window pulled up when you think he won't notice, the shape of your back curved gracefully. Sometimes your bra visible through the fabric of your thin, white shirts.

Not today, though. You're sitting ram-rod straight, one hand brushing some loose hair behind your ear. All your attention focused on the towering man in front of you, his arms propped against the top edge of your desk and a leering grin on his face.

Ren.

Armitage almost falls with the force of his shock, and then settles along with an empty rage in the pit of his stomach.

Of course Ren would have noticed Hux's preoccupation. And of course he would wield Hux's feelings against him.

There's an animal inside his chest, clawing to get out, giving him half a mind to stomp out there, chase Ren away with some biting remark and a hand on the back of your chair.

But there's a fear that runs deeper. Maybe you'd prefer someone like Ren.

A man who is in every way Hux's opposite. Volatile. Domineering. Powerfully built.

Could Armitage compete?

His inadequacy floods him with a distasteful anger. Armitage will put an end to it immediately. Call you into his office and berate you for socializing during working hours, shame you for inappropriate and obvious mooning over a superior.

He'll make you feel small, ashamed. The way he feels right now.

Too late for all his bravado. Ren steps away from your desk with one glance back, a knowing smirk on his face. Hux almost feels like it's a look meant for him, like Ren can find his gaze through the wall.

Armitage stands from the chair, unsure what his purpose is and knowing he'll defer to anger, as always. Knowing it will make you hate him more than you probably already do.

You don't start immediately when the door opens, and he can't tell from his view of the back of your head what you're thinking.

How many times had he wished he could delve into your mind, pull out gauzy strings of your memories, any thought or emotional tug you'd had in his vicinity? How many times had he hoped you might give him a hint or a sign that you felt anything for him at all?

Armitage coughs, and you jump, turning in your chair until you meet his eyes.

"My office," he tells you, and turns back without waiting to see if you'll follow.

Your steps are quiet in the already quiet office. Everyone else has gone home by now, leaving the two of you alone, and the lights buzz menacingly over the sound of your heels rustling against the carpet. You take your usual seat across from his desk. Armitage stays on his feet, hoping to channel his anxious energy somewhere, liking the way it feels to tower over you.

"Did you need something, sir?"

He knows you're nervous. You don't try to hide it, fidgeting with your fingers, chewing at your lip, avoiding his eyes. Armitage wishes that it was him that made you feel that way, not his position, not his reputation for anger.

"What did Ren want?" he asks.

Your lips part, and then come back together in hesitation, planning an appropriate answer, wondering how he'll react.

"His assistant put in her two weeks notice today," you tell him.

He hums, waiting for more. Your lips flush a lighter shade when you press them more tightly together, and he knows you'll acquiesce.

"He offered me the position, sir."

Armitage sees red, feels his hands curl into fists where they rest behind his back. That arrogant, underhanded, low-life bastard. Hux would . . .

He keeps a cool tone, arches a brow. "And?"

"I told him I appreciated the offer but I'd prefer keep my current position."

And that gives him pause. Has the strange, effervescent hope alight in his chest, but something else snuffs it out.

"Why?"

Hux can't hide the skepticism in his voice, the aching disbelief that you would choose him in any context, but especially this.

Everyone knew working under Armitage was . . . trying. He saw the looks of pity you received from other secretaries as they packed their bags for the night, knew they were taking some solace at your misery while sipping on their happy-hour cocktails. He's well aware that he is demanding, and stubborn, and always so exacting.

He's like that in his personal life, too. Which is why he is always alone.

Your brows come together in an obvious but uncharacteristic sign of anger.

"I'm not afraid of hard work, sir."

"I am aware of that, but—"

Why is he so desirous to argue against himself? You are the best assistant he's ever had. Unfortunately, pushing people away is a skill he's mastered over and over and over again.

"Do you want me to leave?" you interrupt him, arms crossing defensively over your chest.

Part of him wants to say yes. To rid himself of this weakness you've blossomed in him, to keep everything under his control and eliminate all other variables.

Your lips press tighter together—Hux would assume he's hurt you, if he thought he had that kind of power.

He's been silent too long. You stand from your chair, brush your hands over your skirt to smooth out the wrinkles.

"Alright, then." You speak without meeting his eyes, heading for the door.

Armitage isn't sure what makes you stop, not until you glance down at your wrist, and he mirrors the movement, sees his own hand circling it.

A perfect fit.

"Sir?"

Your voice is hazy, blurred out by the warmth of your skin and the smell of your perfume and the way your eyes go wide when Armitage makes his approach.

Without saying a word or offering a hint of an apology, Hux is kissing you.

[avercado5]

healed blind hux au (ren did it)

Fanart for the_east_wind_at_221b's fic "Battlefield Debris" on ao3. I don't ship gingerpilot at ALL (I think Poe is a ladies man through and through), but platonic Poe and Hux are awesome. This fic's premise was too cool to not draw.

[pizzat-i]

deep in kylux brainrot hell

[itssteffnow]

„Now, will you behave?“

(Mob Boss Kylo Ren/attack dog Hux AU)

[tomorobo-illust]

See hi-res version here: patreon.com/posts/114995735

Kylux for the spooky season for @orangebutterfly13's patreon reward!! I suddenly got inspired by something zombie related and came up with this story as I was brainstorming XD

Kylo got attacked pretty bad, BUT he is not completely gone and still has his mind in tact. He can barely speak and has the craving for raw meat. Hux, on the other hand, is one of the few who is completely immune to the virus, but is still at risk at being torn apart by the infected. The two travel together finding a safe shelter with Millicent ( don't worry she will always survive)!

[gingersnappish]

"Hm....perhaps you are the long-lost Prince, after all"

---

My Kylux Secret Santa gift for @dcdreamer23 ! You had so many wonderful prompt ideas, dear giftee, that it was difficult to choose! But I really love the whole vibe and aethetic that goes with your Medieval AU idea where 'bastard prince Hux meets berserker Kylo in battle and recognizes him as the exiled prince Ben' - so I drew a scene inspired by that! I hope you enjoy it! --- @thekyluxsecretsanta

[dizzy-bat]

I couldn't decide so...

Hux ~

[drinkysketch]

Watched Late Night With The Devil the other night, and it inspired this! 70's Kylux AU, where Hux is a news anchor and Kylo is a late night tv show host. They also work at the same station and sometimes cross paths within the studio. You can imagine how well that turns out 😌

[ellalba]

My incredibly. Abhorrently. Awfully late gift to the wonderful @justdreamingzzz ! I'm so sorry it took so long, ended up needing some pinch hitters after the deadline and thought it would be too late to ask the many awesome pinch hitters that volunteered.

I do hope you can forgive me! I tried fulfilling your Roleswap prompt as best as I could! I always pictured that Snoke would use Hux as more of an assassin than a tank. Which definitely influenced me to see them as playing similar roles that Ventress and Grievous played for Count Dooku. So when I remembered this scene I just had to draw them in it!

Kylo is disillusioned with the republic and bitter at how his parents have failed not only the galaxy, but him specifically. However since his force abilities are incredibly faint, relegated to mostly help him manipulate people, faster reflexes and sensing emotions, useful, but not powerful enough to consider extra attention from his uncle, who still looks at him with fear in his eyes. An ear pressed against a door and a hushed conversation telling him his uncle is happy at how weak he is, considering he reminds him so much of his grandfather.

This series of events, accompanied by strange dreams about a voice telling him he can be useful, can make a difference, can be respected and wanted, have him defect to the First Order. He finds the voice in his dream to be the enigmatic Supreme Leader, a man who sees the talent, strength and intellect he has, and wishes to use it to better the galaxy. Whether it wants it or not.

Years later, after having risen through the ranks and proven all of the old guard exactly why the Supreme Leader not only made him the youngest general in the Order's history, but his right hand man, he is awarded his first command in the Finlaizer.

It is also there that he finds out Snoke's second hand also exists. An assassin, blessed not only with the force, but a strong intellect and cunning to rival his own.

[symphonyofthieves]

This was my gift for @darthastris, in the May the 4th be with you exchange ✨🌌☺️.

I hope you like it and that you are having a great Star Wars day! I will give you the coloured version as soon as possible 🥰.

May the for e with you, my friend! 🌈💫

[xylavie]

An old sketch back in 2019 again.

I had a phase where I liked the idea of kylux as soldiers (featuring Bowl Cut Kylo ofc.)

[not-so-allegiant-general]

Salve Hux ~

Yes it's another addition to GladiatorRen/ConsulHux AU

[tony-loon]

Huxloween 2024 - Day 21 - The Woods -Lost boyscouts- Inspired by  @huxloween 's wonderful promptlist

[tasiglitch]

[akwardtractor]

I made MORE of these two sillies

[tomorobo-illust]

See hi-res version here: patreon.com/posts/95256707

Made it JUST in time for Christmas to have this done!! @orangebutterfly13 requested a soft and warm Winter time Hux wearing an ugly sweater with glasses.

The ugly sweater is based on this hilarious sweater I found!