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hi star! I saw your post about some election season comfort, so I hope it's okay if I send in a request! ☺️ (this is @charlottesbookclub btw, that person who's very unhinged about your stunning hux arranged marriage au – that might contextualize this ask a little haha)

I'd be so down to hear any additional thoughts you have on hux and his wife!! 🧡🧡

I was having some random scattered thoughts, but do with these what you will or feel free ignore them entirely!

them visiting his wife's home planet (which maybe has seasons, and thus perhaps some nice fall foliage) and she's like "the colors are so gorgeous, it looks just like your hair" to hux and he gets all flustered

they finally take that shared bath he fantasized about when he saw her in the tub??

can we give hux space hot coco?? like maybe again, it's a thing on his wife's home planet and she gives him some and he gets one of those marshmallow/whipped cream mustaches (space version of course lol) and she laughs at him, and he's like "ah fuck" and she's like "no not like that, you just look cute" and then fluff??

idk if these are anything, but they were the autumnal themed fluff thoughts that were circulating through my brain! again, literally no worries if you'd rather not do anything with them, I'd be so down to hear anything you'd like to share! ☺️🧡

anyway, I just want to say thank you for doing this, because election anxiety is so real! 💕💕 and if you don't end up having the energy to get to this, no worries at all! ☺️ I just want to say that I appreciate you and your writing so much and I hope you're able to take care of yourself during this stressful time! 🥰🥰

AAAAAAHHHHHH YAY!!!! I'm so happy I'm not the only one who loves the arranged marriage AU and I will happily chat with you about it forever and ever and ever and ever 💖 thank you for your sweet request and your even sweeter words, my love! wishing you peace of mind!

Warnings: a few vague allusions to patricide but nothing specific 🤭

The air is crisper than you remembered—cleaner in your lungs than anything you'd been breathing on The Finalizer, despite all the filters and processes it went through as it circulated.

You pull in cold, aching lungfuls, full of the smell of smoke and decaying leaves and fine leather—from Armitage's hand in yours, warm even through his glove.

Maybe this is just what it feels like to breathe without your father around.

Your husband had something to do with it, you're sure. You haven't asked, and he hasn't mentioned it. All the gratitude in you is aimed in his direction, regardless. For more than just this.

"How long has it been," you ask him, quiet, like you might break the stillness, pop the comforting shell that holds you both, "since you've been planet-side for this long?"

His eyes, normally impenetrable and grey, shine green in the light of the sunset, and his breaths grow a little heavier when you press closer against him to stave off the cold.

"It's been— a long, long time."

When Armitage meets your eyes, his cheeks and nose are dusted with pink from the cold air, but the color only deepens when your lips brush the shoulder of his coat.

You tug him further into the copse of trees, just past the garden and the greenhouse, into the shelter of their branches. Vivid leaves dust the ground you walk and the sky in the spaces between sunlight, and your heart swells with a happiness you had never imagined for yourself.

You had sobbed, after your father told you, cried and cried into the soft dirt here beneath your feet before you had ever seen the man who was supposed to be your husband.

It had felt like a death sentence. An ending. A thin slip of silk tied over your eyes before the executioner pressed the blade to your throat.

But it's all so much sweeter than any life you could have dreamed of—to be here with a man who blushes at the brush of fingers, who shows you in his every movement, in his every look, how deeply devoted he is to you.

You come to a stop, gentle, turning to face your husband, finding his other hand and taking it in your own.

"What is it?" he asks, and his voice is strained, on a knife's-edge of anxious.

You part your lips to speak, but no words make it out, your eyes caught on something just above his earnest, and a little frightened, gaze.

It almost blends in—a little more green than the reddish-blond of his hair, and you pick the leaf out by the stem, holding it in the space between you.

"You match," you tell Armitage, and he scoffs a little, but doesn't pull his hand away, his fingers still gripping tightly at your own.

"Do you like them?" you ask, and his eyes stray from yours for a moment, taking in the scenery with a critical set to his brow, determined to answer you honestly.

"I do," Armitage nods, and you toss the leaf to the side, taking his hands again.

Your face folds into a smile.

"I love you, Armitage."

His eyes go wide. You've frightened him, but he won't let you pull away from his grip.

The space between you shrinks with each shuffle of your feet, moving closer because you want him to know you understand. Know that he won't chase you away.

"It's alright. You don't have to say it back."

Armitage nods, relieved—you feel it when his nose brushes your cheek, breath hot against your skin. Maybe he does say the words back to you in the seconds before his lips meet yours.

✨☕️✨ Cozy Time 2 ✨☕️✨

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