(pic from pinterest. Forgot to copy op, please let me know so I can credit!)
Buckle up. I have a lot of thoughts on this man. This started out as a headcanon, then one-shot, but it changed into, uhhh, something else. I didn’t proof read. Sue me.
Rating:18+
Warnings: Masturbation, Hux feeling humiliated, reader is freaked out for him, cum-eating, high-key nasty with it…
Firstly, there is one thing and one thing only that will break though the General’s professional demeanor and years of repressed desires and that is competence. Nothing will get this man’s cock hard like someone on his level of manipulation and strategy. He needs someone who can not only keep up with him, but push him farther. He needs someone to vent to and bounce around ideas with. You end up being his go-to, which automatically begins to build rapport, trust, and intimacy. He will start to make small comments towards you, spending more time to look over your hard effort. He will certainly begin to compliment your work ethic: bonus points if you stay up later than him. It will get under his skin almost as much as Kylo. If your eyes were not so pretty, he might actually begin to care.
Speaking about caring, Hux is the type of person to care immensely about his own pride and keeping up appearances. Take his gelled hair, for example. You can tell how stressed he is by how many layers there are. The thicker the shell, the higher the blood pressure. If you were to give a bit of appreciation for his accomplishments, however, you would certainly be higher up on his radar. Hux likes those who like him. He can tell the difference between a genuine compliment and a suck-up, though, so you will not want to lay it on too thick.
Now, Hux is well respected by his crew, especially those below him. We know how much he struggles to prove himself against the older and more traditional members of the Order, so having someone like you who actually agrees with his future of technological advancements is a massive boost in confidence. He did not quite understand what he was feeling in the beginning. There was a strange stirring in his gut. At first he brushed it off as jealousy, but it was not the same as he felt towards Ren. No, this was something else. Many times he had caught himself staring at you, eyes gravitating towards your form on the bridge.
Half way through the first morning cycle, he had been conversing with you and some others on the observation deck. Snoke had approved a new project, and conveniently named you head of development. It was quite the honor, and you commanded with dignity. The assertion in your voice had the hairs at the back of his neck standing. His eyes traveled the length of your body, taking in each insufferably perfect detail. It was not until you cleared your throat to catch his attention that he realized he had been staring at your mouth. Kriff…was he really doing that? His face and stomach dropped instantly, but something else was rising. Hux made a b-line straight for an empty briefing room, all too aware of the growing tightness of his trousers.
This situation was entirely too humiliating for him. At least when Supreme Leader Snoke punished him after his failure of Starkiller Base he could talk his way out of it. Perhaps it was the suddenness of it all that he hated most. Hux prided himself on his perfect control, but it seems his cock did not get the memo. It took far longer for it to go down. The next several cycles were not any easier. He spent his time keeping busy in his office, or making his rounds; conveniently ignoring you. The last thing he needed was an instant erection in front of of all his officers. But of course, nothing ever goes exactly to plan.
The erections kept occurring. It gets to the point where he needs to excuse himself from discussions as soon as he sees you enter the room. A thought occurs to him: it had never been this bad, even when he was young. At night, in his chamber, he fought the urge to relieve himself.
He lost.
Hux stared at the sad sight of his release slowly dripping down the wall of his refresher, the water carrying it down the drain. He could feel the bile rise to the back of his throat. He was getting off to his subordinate for kriffs sake…as a General of the First Order, it was all kinds of wrong. He would have fired himself if he were not so essential to the Order's success. Over the course of the next few months, his secret routine of guilt-ridden masturbation continues. Every night before he sleeps, he allows himself a moment of indulgence. "Just this once...," Hux whispered to himself. Such an indulgence found its way into his morning routine as well; a way to clear his mind before his shift began. Eventually, enough time had passed for him to at least somewhat be able to control himself in your presence. Patience would be tested soon as the evening approached. He had called you into his office for a briefing.
General Hux sat behind his desk as your footsteps approached. Each beat against the durasteel had his loins pulsating like the heartbeat of a hummingbird. Not now…not now… His eyes met yours in cool expression as you took a seat across from him, pulling out your holopad. It would be a longer meeting, as there was much to go over. These past few weeks you have been collecting all data on the project. He tried his hardest to focus. He really did.
After an hour, it was time for a break. You stepped out to grab two hot cafs. He mentally counted down the seconds before the doors hissed shut behind you. Once you were gone, he made his way straight to the refresher adjacent to his main office. Hux had approximately five minutes to rub one out before you would come back. He made quick work to pull out his member, griping it firmly. He took a moment to observe its appearance: the head was dark red in color, swollen and angry that its master had ignored it for so long. The weight in his hand felt heavier than normal, and a wave of hunger filled his gut as he gave the shaft a firm squeeze. The pressure was torturous. He began to stroke himself, movements growing faster and faster until that familiar feeling of his balls tightening was all he could focus on. His free hand gripped the edge of the counter as the orgasm washed over him. Rope after rope of warm fluid shot into the tissue. Letting out a sigh, Hux tossed it aside before tucking himself away and washing his hands. He returned to his desk just in time for your return.
The last hour of the meeting went smoothly. He was almost in the clear until you accidentally spilled some caf on your uniform. He thought nothing of your asking to use the refresher before you took leave. He nodded, watching your backside as you made your way across the room. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Just as you disappeared, hitting him like a TIE-fighter: he forgot to throw away the tissue. No doubt you would see it; the wadded up materiel coated in half-dried cum. There was only one logical conclusion you could draw from it. Horror overcame his entire body, face flushed and body sweating beneath the uniform. His face contorted and some pitiful sound escaped his lips. He was too in shock to cry. How could he be so careless??
Once inside, you froze at the exhibit. You had only been gone five minutes... Had it been there beofre the meeting? The pearlescent sheen made it obvious that it was fresh. It made sense now why he had been avoiding you, but it was certainly still a surprise seeing such a confirmation.
You used the refresher as normal and cleaned up your shirt. But, curiosity could not be ignored. You bent down to get a closer look. Some of the fluid had spilled out of the tissue and onto the black counter. The light-on-dark contrast made your lower half begin to ache. What a waste... You could not allow yourself to pass up such an valuable opportunity. Reaching out, your fingers gathered up the cum. It was a bit thin, but still sticky. Rubbing your fingers together, the sensation it provided was very pleasant. Your mouth parted, bringing your hand up to let the fluid drip onto your tongue. Salty. You rolled it around in your mouth for a good minute, memorizing its viscosity. Such sad business that it had already gone cold...you would have very much preferred it warm. However, it was better than nothing. Your eyes closed with a faint hum of satisfaction. Too long you have dreamed of what the General tasted like, which led to the next task of pulling down your trousers. You gathered a good amount of the substance, rubbing it into the crotch of your underwear for safe keeping. It was a shame you didn’t work in the labs, or else you could have taken some in a vial for later use. Licking your fingers clean, you neatly stuffed the item into the inner pocket of your jacket.
You made your way back out, eyes falling on the trembling figure. Taking your seat once more, you simply watched him. Hux’s mouth gaped open and closed like a fish out of water. He knows that you know what he did. For once, he genuinely wished Kylo’s saber would strike him down right then and there.
“Your refresher is much nicer than mine.” You lick your lips. The amusement in your voice was obvious.
His reaction was instant. “I…I…”
"I really should get going. I will have the rest of the data sent to you in the morning." Before he burst into tears, you gathered your things. Bidding him good night and making your way back to your chambers.
Hux was stuck like that for god knows how long until he was able to gather up some courage and come back to reality. He took a deep, shaky breath. You had been so professional with him...you didn't even make any comment. Maybe you did not notice? But there was no way you could have missed it. Hux had to ration with himself that you were willing to let it go. As debasing as the situation was, he had to remain calm. He stood up on weak legs and peered into the private area.
Relief flooded him instantly as he took in the scene: no tissue in sight. These past few minutes had been the highest stress of his life. He might very well have preferred to take two Starkiller Base failures than have had really left his crime out in the open. His shoulders finally dropped as he tuned to leave. But as luck would have it, nothing ever goes his way. The light catches the remnants of his seed streaked across the surface. Rushing to the counter, his jaw went slack.
Fingermarks.
Had you tried to clean it up for him?? The very thought made his heart drop out of his ass. He looked to the trash bin, the floor, all around the area, but there was no tissue to be found. It was gone. Did you flush it? No, you only went to clean your shirt, and he would have heard that. The only conclusion, and the most horrific one, was that you took it.
All his breath left him at once. He recalls the way you licked your lips before you left. His eyes snapped shut at the idea you tasted him. The whole situation came crashing down on him as he felt the familiar feeling of his cock straining inside of his pants.
Summary: You're a member of the resistance taken captive by General Hux. His ship crashes leaving you stranded on a strange planet together.
Author's note: I will also be uploading my fics on Ao3 if you prefer to read there. I upload there after I upload here, I will include a link once it is up there. I hope ya'll enjoy <3
☆Here is the link to it on Ao3☆
Content warning: smut, p in v
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We ran out of water a few days ago. The only reason he shared what little he had with me was so he didn't have to drag around dead weight. I've been stuck on a forest planet with one General Hux handcuffed to my left hand for days now. The chain connecting us must've been made for some giant beast because it drags against the floor if we are not standing far enough apart. Apparently, he didn't want me running off. Most of his time is spent glaring at me and grumbling disagreements with every decision that has been made since we crashed. "We should be staying with the ship, waiting for rescue" His ever-present annoyance makes itself evident with his continued whining; he tramples his way through the flora, making sure every creature around can hear his privilege in every footstep. "Do you want to die of dehydration?" I finally turn toward him, no longer dragging him behind but glaring at him from my disadvantaged height.
"Your rescue isn't coming, at least not anytime soon" He fails to comprehend that his rescue means my ruin, and I can not stand idly by while my downfall grows ever near. He was getting mad too, this whole venture had just been silence and yelling taking turns filling the air between us. "So what? We wander the woods aimlessly till we find water?" I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. How dumb does this guy think I am? "No dumbass, unlike you, I have a handful of survival skills. We're following the moss" If he wasn't looking at me like I'm crazy before, he sure is now. "The moss... We're following... the moss." His pissed tone transitioned nicely to a sarcastic one. It was apparent that he didn't believe a word I was saying and probably thought I was trying to waste his time and energy. This is partially true, but I really do want to find water, and following the direction of moss is the best way I can think of.
He stepped so close to me that our faces were a breath apart. We've both been very easy to aggravate since we ran out of water. I try to force him away from me to re-form what little space possible with our current situation. But he takes my light shove as a sign of aggression and grabs my wrist hard. He pushes me and drives my back against a nearby tree. I can feel the roughness of the barks through my clothes from the amount of pressure he uses to pin me between his body and the tree. "Fuck off Red" I bite back.
His anger is now only visible from the tension in the air and the strain on my wrist he has yet to release. His face holds a calm and cold expression I can't read. I try to squirm out of his grasp but he only leans against me harder. His head lowers to my ear as he practically whispers "You should show more respect towards your betters" Smugness coating his voice.
Heat overtakes me, from the anger boiling under my skin to the warmth of his body pressed against mine. There are other feelings present, that I don't want to think about or admit. He may be hot as hell, but he is still the enemy. To think about how damn alluring I find him, or how his scent takes over my senses whenever he is near, is a betrayal of my home and the rebellion.
Speaking of smells. I smelled it before I heard it; sniffing the air a few times to make sure my mind wasn't playing tricks. He looks at me strangely but loosens his grip on me when he notices my attention is elsewhere. I can smell the moisture in the air, and hear the soft sound of a stream. I pick up my pace, dragging him behind me the best I can to the source of my excitement. The long chain connecting us helped.
I come face to face with a cliffside. There is a slight alcove with a steady stream of water rolling from the top of the cliff to disappear on the floor of the rocky nook. All too suddenly I am jolted backward from a hard tug on the long chain connecting us. Hux pulled me close with a hard look in his eyes that told me all he wanted to say. 'Me first, rebel scum' He walked with purpose past me. Oh fuck no. I grab the chain with both hands and yank it as hard as possible. He stumbles backward as I take the opportunity to sprint towards the water.
I feel tension against the chain before slamming against the ground. My side hits the dirt as my chained hand falls above my head. I roll onto my back and let out a low pained groan. The sun above me shines bright and blinding. Hux's shadow drifts over me as he strolls over. The reprieve from the sun's light was almost welcomed if it didn't come from him. He holds a smug smirk as he looks down at me and my resentful expression. "I hope you know how much I hate you" I grumble out as I glare up at him. "The feeling is mutual" He states flatly before making his way to the stream. I push myself off of the ground before following after.
He practically drags me forward, his focus is solely on the source of water. I have to stand and watch as he points his head high and drinks from the only nearby water source; his Adam's apple is prominent with water cascading down his face and neck. He closes his eyes as he drinks; a slight moan of relief passes his lips. Once he had his full he washed his face and wet his hair. Slicking it back in one swoop. The sight was almost... appealing.
Too bad there's an obnoxious prick beneath the nice view. He opens his eyes to immediate eye contact with me. Without a word he slowly moved away from the stream, still close enough that the chain dragged on the floor. I turn my back towards him as I raise my hands to the water.
I repeat his action with a few slight differences. I faced away from him and actively stopped myself from recreating his moan of relief with my own. The second one was hard, it had been too long since I had had water, my lips were chapped and my throat dry. I could feel them absorbing the moisture and alleviating my troubles. Most of my troubles anyway; they cured my physical headache caused by dehydration, but I am still left with the walking talking headache chained to my non-dominant hand.
I hear a sound. Rustling from the woods. Our heads whip in its direction and our bodies make the space between us disappear. Our odds are better together after all. The rustling stops but my fear of what could be lurking stays. "Thoughts on staying here for a while?" I broach the ever-present subject in the air "I hate when I find myself agreeing with you" Contradictory to his words, his voice seemed to lack its usual hateful tone.
We sit in the alcove, which is too shallow to call a proper cave system; it is more like an indentation that leads nowhere. However, it is spacious enough for us to sit on opposite sides of the cave with the chain pulled taut between us. We sit there in silence for a while, which is how we spent most of our time on this desolate planet; each of us too stubborn to speak to the other about anything other than our mutual disdain.
As time passes he gets more fidgety. His impatience is evident in the way he wrings his hands and bounces his leg. I watch from the corner of my eye as he stands and paces back and forth. "Could you not?" My annoyed tone cuts through the once-quiet cave. Stopping in his tracks he whips his head to glower in my direction. "We are wasting daylight sitting around in this dirt hole." He rages through gritted teeth. I roll my eyes at his anger. "You lack patience. We don't know the kind of creatures that live here, and if we leave too soon we might end up it's feast." I am completely disinterested in explaining to this grown man why it would be a bad idea to trek through these unfamiliar woods with nothing on our person to defend ourselves against an animal we definitely heard rummaging out there.
He storms closer, looming over my person and invading my personal space. "We've waited long enough! We must get back to the ship before the sun sets!" It is almost amusing that he keeps referring to that glorified hunk of scrap metal as a ship. I am still of the opinion that we need to give it more time before we can be confident that whatever is out there has moved on. I don't even look at him when I reply, the rocky walls of the cave somehow being more entertaining. "Give it a moment more time"
Suddenly he pulls me up from my position on the floor, his fists full of my bunched-up shirt. "No more waiting we are leaving!" His grip on me is tight as he pulls me close to better shout at me. I practically have to lean back to keep our noses from touching. "I am not going out there just to be eaten, because you can't get your nerves in check!" My voice raises as we glare at each other. "It wasn't a request" Who does he think he is to order me around?! "Good luck trying to make me comply with any demand you give" There's a strong tension in the air as we stare daggers of contempt into each other. His hands have yet to leave my shirt, still holding me close. I can feel his breath tickling my face.
Unexpectedly, the tension in the air changes to something much thicker. My breath gets caught in my throat. Why is he looking at me like that? His eyes drift down to my lips; I'm caught wondering if he kissed me would I let him? I don't have time to fully ponder as he pulls me in hard, crashing us together hungrily. He takes a step forward, forcing me to take a step back, continuing until my back is flush against the rough wall of the cave.
I was raised in war. I've killed in the name of the Resistance. And yet my heart races when his lips are against mine, his hips grinding into mine as our groans get swallowed by the collision of our mouths. While we messily clash together his hands go for my pants and begin to undo them. I help him pull them from my overheating skin, discarding them across the cave. His hands find their place squeezing my ass before lifting me off the ground; my legs wrap around his waist, making the friction between us even more satisfying.
My hands snake down from their position around his neck to his bucking hips. The bruising kiss breaks as we pant for air. My hands busy themselves by undoing his belt, then his pants all together. His lips return to work, this time on the crook of my neck. He sucks, bites, and licks my skin while I take his girth into my hand. He lets out a low muffled rumble into me at the sensation.
I pump his length and message its sensitive head a few times the creamy moisture leaking from the tip being used as a lubricant. I use my other hand to pull my soaking undergarments to the side as I rub him against me. The general's lips roam higher on my neck and begin to leave bruising kisses against the pressure point below my ear. His groans are like music to my ears. With a thrust of his hips, he enters me unceremoniously causing me great discomfort. The pain turns to pleasure as he slowly rocks back and forth inside me.
My legs squeeze around him, telling him to pick up the pace. I look at his face for the first time since we started all this. His eyes hold a piercing, burning focus in them; sweat beads across his forehead as he pushes ruthlessly deeper into me. My hands go to cup his face, a hand pushing his once pristine hair out of his face. The shared look between us is so intense, it's more intimate than him plunging himself into me as his nails dig into my ass. I break the eye contact by grabbing the nape of his neck and pulling his lips back onto mine. His teeth nipping at my bottom lip we devour each other.
My other hand snakes between our colliding bodies, lowering itself to pleasure myself fully. I can feel my release building rapidly as my body tenses. My legs start to shake and our breathing becomes cumbersome. I can feel him shake slightly, his groans becoming more prevalent and his pace quickening with urgency.
He throws his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing as he loudly moans out into the air. He continues to thrust into me as he rides out his orgasm and brings me to mine. I bite my lip hard as I try to muffle my exclamations. My walls clenched down around his dick, milking it for all its worth. We pant for a moment and a moment only as he pulls himself from me swiftly, making as much space between us as possible. I hurriedly have to get my feet under me as he pushes me off of him. Regret no doubt consumes us both at this moment.
We gather and clean ourselves hastily to get what just happened as far into the past as it can go. What was he thinking? What was I thinking? He is my enemy for a reason and I can't forget it now. More than anything I am pissed at him for kissing me, fucking me, then acting like I am the most repulsive thing on this disgusting planet.
Once clothed I walk past him and out of the cave. If he wanted to leave so bad then I'm not going to stay here a moment longer. The hike felt excruciatingly longer than before with the thick burning tension in the air. I haven't looked at him since he pushed me off of him and I don't plan to. My rage against him has newfound fuel.
Eventually, the trees begin to thin and the heap of scrap he calls a ship is in sight. I can't put my finger on it but something felt...off. He must feel it too, or notice my hesitation, because we both stand still for a beat, taking in our surroundings. It wasn't long before we were enclosed on all sides by Resistance troops with their blasters aimed up at him. I can't help the cackle that escapes my lips. "Looks like rescue did come after all" The look on my face could only be described as smug. I guess my guys got here first. The look of shock and anger on his face was priceless. Someone kicks him hard in the back of the knee to take him to the ground. The cuffs connecting us and keeping me his prisoner are now keeping him as mine.
warnings/tags: gn!reader, admiral!reader, set pre-tfa, drinking alcohol, mutual yearning, switches between Hux's pov and the admiral's pov; let me know if I missed anything!
words: 3810
author’s note: thank you so much to the wonderful @goosewriting for requesting some more Hux content! ☺️☺️ I actually wrote this one like a year ago, and then I was working on a little follow-up piece that I never finished, so I never posted either of them, but this one can certainly stand on its own as a little one-shot! the arc here isn't connected to any of the other Hux things I've written before, so there's really no background or context needed to enjoy it! also, the title and some of the general vibes are inspired by the song "Taste" by Sawyer. I hope you enjoy! ☺️☺️
You had tried to keep yourself from forming any preconceived notions about General Hux before you actually met him when you transferred to the Finalizer. You knew what the old Imperials at your previous assignment had said about him of course – that he was hotheaded and intemperate and unfit to lead. But you could hardly put much stock in that; they likely would have said similarly unflattering things about you. So you went in with as few set ideas about Hux as possible, even though it seemed like everyone in the Starfleet had a strong opinion on him. Even with this relative lack of fixed preconceptions though, you were still somewhat surprised by what you found.
Certainly in presentation he was as crisp and perfect as he appeared in all the holovids you had seen of him: immaculate uniform, irreproachable posture, not a hair out of place. But there was something different about him in person, something almost… magnetic that you hadn’t expected. What caught you first were his intelligent green eyes. When they first landed on you the cycle he came to greet the transferred officers, you felt as though they had fixed you in place, holding you mesmerized as you watched a thousand unreadable thoughts flicker in their depths. Since then, you felt them on you many other times – in meetings or on the bridge. He always seemed to glance away just as you looked, though. You wondered if you were as successful at averting your gaze each time he sensed you staring at him, something that happened more than you had anticipated. You found you wanted to know what was locked in the puzzle of those green eyes, to be able to carefully untangle the thoughts that you often watched flash through them in those moments when your gaze finally met his.
Then there was his hair, which was a much brighter shade of blazing red than you had expected. You half wondered if they muted it somehow in the holovids. It was vibrant against the dark walls of the Star Destroyer, easy to pick out on the bridge or in a bustling hangar. And it was always pristine, combed to complete perfection and held at rigid attention with careful layers of gel. But you couldn’t help yourself from glancing at the strands that swooped over his forehead, imagining what they might look like if you ran your fingers through them, leaving them cascading gently across his face. You tried to quash these imaginings, but they were difficult to banish, especially when you were sitting across from him in a meeting, watching the light from the projected images play over the delicate orange strands that would certainly be silky against the soft pads of your fingers. You would have to take a sip of caf to refocus yourself, hoping he hadn’t caught you staring.
And there were the contours of his face, which you had somehow memorized without even meaning to. You saw the dark smudges under his eyes that he clearly tried to cover, proof of his rumored sleeplessness and dedication to his work at the cost of his own need for rest. You noticed the little lines that formed around his mouth when it folded into a small frown, a barely-perceptible exterior expression of his inscrutable internal feelings. When you passed him on the bridge after he came to relieve you of your command for the cycle, you sometimes tried to get close enough to see the tiny freckles that you knew dotted his skin, but which were usually obscured by the dimmed lighting necessary for the bridge crew to see their data screens. And kriff you had tried to repress these feelings, but you couldn’t stop picturing gently passing your thumb over the tender skin under those sparkling green eyes, caressing away the exhaustion you knew was hidden there. You could see your knuckles passing softly over the little frown lines on his face, easing the long-held tension that had written itself into his skin. You could imagine the tips of your fingers dancing over his face, tracing the intricate constellations of freckles, reverently charting each pale orange star. Kriff, the wanting of it almost made you breathless.
And now you were looking at his lips, because you had spent too much time indulging yourself in such silly imaginings and had weakened your own self-control in the process. The meeting was a strategy session, and Hux was standing at the head of the table, presenting at the main holoprojection. You enjoyed listening when he spoke – he clearly knew was he was talking about, even if some of the things he discussed were outside your area of expertise. And yes, you were technically listening now, letting the pleasant cadence of his voice fill your ears, but you struggled to make out a word of what he was actually saying. Your eyes were fixed on his lips, wondering if you had ever noticed before what a lovely shade of pink they were, how surprisingly soft and plush they looked despite the crisp, clipped words that usually issued from them. You wondered what you would taste if you gently pressed your mouth to his. Would it be the familiar, warm taste of caf or the acidic herbal flavor of the bitter tea you knew he drank? Or would it be something else entirely, something almost as unexpected as all the rest of him? Kriff, you needed to refocus.
You allowed yourself the minutest shake of your head as though to physically clear those thoughts from your mind, even if it wasn’t particularly successful. You were going to present your own strategy suggestions soon, and you needed to not look like a complete fool, especially when Hux would be watching.
When Hux slipped back into his own seat after yielding the floor to you, he didn’t like that his palms were sweaty. He never got nervous for these meetings, but with you looking intently on, he couldn’t help the unexpected burst of nerves that shot through him. He tried to subtly dry his hands on his breeches as he slid his chair back up to the table. Pulling up his notes on his datapad, he attempted to make himself focus as you explained potential fleet configurations. He always liked hearing your suggestions, since they were clearly well thought out and informed by your years of experience. Your presentation was as professional and meticulous as usual, but he somehow couldn’t fully get himself to tune into the words the way he wanted to.
Earlier in the cycle, after he had drifted to sleep momentarily at his desk, he had woken from a dream about you. Actually, Hux dreamed about you more than he cared to admit, but this one was different. Usually you were just there, turning toward him on the bridge with a smile or even speaking with him. This time though, you had kissed him. Frankly, he didn’t even know how his subconscious had come up with such a thing – he had never kissed anyone and hadn’t the faintest idea how to do it. But he dreamed it nonetheless, and when he woke, he thought he could still taste you on his lips. He had tried to shake himself out of it, to rattle some sense back into his mind, but he couldn’t erase the thought. His attempts at erasing thoughts of you had yet to be successful.
He certainly hadn’t expected this, when he first saw your name on a list of high-ranking officers who were transferring to the Finalizer. He had read the title “admiral” and had simply assumed that you were some ex-Imperial who would gleefully join the small cadre already aboard the ship, all of whom clearly distained him. So, when he was required to greet the new transfers, he had steeled himself to behave with all the frosty composure he was used to summoning. But then you had stepped off the transport at perfect attention, clearly a member of his own generation, eyes bright and inquisitive as they met his. Thanks to the years he had spent keeping his expression under close control, he was certain his face hadn’t betrayed it, but he was stunned.
Immediately Hux wanted to know everything about you, an impulse he had originally attributed to his surprise at seeing you rather than the old Imperial he had expected, but it soon became clear that his interest in you had deeper roots than that. He had read through your personnel file, finding awards and accolades that spoke to your successful career, and though he had intended to stop there, assuming his curiosity would be satisfied, he quickly found that it was nowhere near enough. Soon he was ensuring that he would be early to his bridge shifts that came after yours so he could have just a few more fleeting shared moments as he greeted you and you gave him the bridge report. He was making certain he sat across from you at meetings, stealing glances at you when he thought you were absorbed in your notes or whoever was speaking, and before he could stop himself, he would become completely entranced with watching the lights from the holoprojections flicker over your features.
And he had tried to stop himself – he really had. He was more sleepless than usual as he fought to keep you from his mind. He had come up with a thousand reasons why he shouldn’t allow himself to go further. He had constructed elaborate plans to avoid you and to prevent himself from thinking of you. But it had all come too late – he was in far too deep before he realized he had even started something, and you were everywhere. Even in his dreams.
So now he was sitting in this meeting, meant to be paying attention to what was your surely intelligent strategy for fleet organization, and all he could think about was the way you had kissed him in his dream. He watched your lips move as you spoke, the welcoming sound of your voice filling the room even as he struggled to follow your words. In the dream, your lips had tasted faintly sweet as they pressed against his, something like the kind of floral tea he knew you drank. He typically preferred bitter tarine, but he would gladly sip almost anything from your lips. Kriff. He could not be thinking like this. He shifted slightly in his seat and downed some of his caf, letting the too-hot liquid bring him back to reality.
Whenever a group of high-ranking officers from across the Starfleet got together to discuss broad strategy plans, there was always the unspoken expectation that everyone would attend the reception afterwards. You weren’t even sure why they had receptions after these things – some holdover from the Empire that the ex-Imperials insisted upon, you supposed. But whatever the reason for their existence, you dreaded them. They were utterly useless and a complete drain on your time, not to mention your patience.
If there was one upside, it was that the receptions allowed for the un-rationed consumption of alcohol – in moderation, of course – a substance that was otherwise tightly controlled on First Order ships. If you were going to be forced into attending these inane receptions, at least you could have a drink or two while doing it. And anyway, this time would be different – Hux was going to be there.
You lingered near the periphery as you sipped slowly on your drink, an artificially green concoction that made you feel like a foolish, love-sick cadet for yearning for the shifting grey-green of Hux’s eyes. You had yet to see him since the brief glance you had allowed yourself as everyone filed out of the meeting room. Lieutenant Malin, head of your personal staff, waited dutifully nearby, ready for you to say that you were leaving – something you usually did as early as was professionally acceptable.
“Lieutenant,” you said quietly, and Malin was at your side in an instant, awaiting whatever command you might give, “you’re welcome to have a drink if you would like one.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” she said with a little duck of her head. “Just let me know when we’ll be departing.”
“Of course, Lieutenant,” you responded as she nodded again and made her way toward where they were serving drinks. You took a few measured steps toward the center of the reception, idly wondering if you should join a small group of other non-Imperial officers who were engaged in quiet conversation nearby. But then you caught a flash of orange.
You looked up instantly to see Hux speaking to a dark-haired lieutenant whom you had seen with the general before – Mitaka, maybe? – likely a member of Hux’s personal staff. Your feet locked in place, suddenly uncertain what to do. The glass in your hand felt quite slippery as you gripped it, a thousand imaginings that you had been too weak to resist instantly filling your mind as you watched him speak to the lieutenant.
His posture was so correct, so upright – stars he looked good. But then you were seeing your hands on the stiff, squared shoulders of his uniform, soothing away the rigid tension that was surely buried there. KRIFF. You could not be doing this right now. You inhaled a sharp breath and squeezed your eyes closed for the briefest second – so quickly that no one else would notice – and attempted to banish that image, and all the others, from your mind.
You forced yourself to repeat the litany you had prepared for just these moments of weakness. You had no reason to believe Hux was even the slightest bit interested in you. To your knowledge, he had never shown a particular interest in anyone before, and it was unlikely that was going to change now. He was a man dedicated to his work and to the cause, something that was admirable and worth emulating. You had a job to do – an important one at that, and one at which so many of the ex-Imperials were eager to see you fail while you were determined to prove them wrong – so there was no use getting caught up in frivolous fantasies.
You had almost convinced yourself of this and were about to join that group of other officers when you suddenly saw Hux’s gaze flicker to you. Every logical argument you had just worked through came crashing down around you as the lieutenant gestured toward you. Hux looked between him and you with an unreadable expression on his face before he seemed to sigh, straighten his already impeccable posture, and make his way toward you.
A thousand expletives filled your head as all your foolish imaginings reignited themselves. Watching Hux walk toward you with such brisk, confident strides was not helping you steady yourself. You gripped your glass tightly enough that you almost feared it would shatter, but it felt like the only thing holding you in place. You needed to not kriff this up.
Hux hated these blasted receptions. They were so completely pointless and stole him away from other things that needed his attention much more urgently. The only thing that kept him from stalking from the room at the earliest moment possible was the knowledge that you were there somewhere. Why that thought stopped him, he didn’t know. It seemed rather unlikely that you would take the same interest in him that he had in you; you were a highly-skilled and professional officer – you certainly weren’t letting yourself get lost in the same far-fetched fantasy world that he had permitted himself to slip into too many times. But yet, somehow the knowledge that you were there kept him where he was, sipping mindlessly on the amber liquid in his glass that burned slightly at the back of his throat in a way he wasn’t sure he fully enjoyed.
“When are you planning on leaving, General?” Mitaka’s question caught him off-guard, lost as he was in considerations of you, but he didn’t let his surprise show on his face.
“Shortly, Lieutenant,” he huffed in response. Surely it had not escaped Mitaka’s notice that Hux had already been at the reception longer than usual. The lieutenant simply nodded in response, casting his gaze out over the scattered groups of officers that filled the room. Then he appeared to notice something. He turned back to Hux instantly.
“Isn’t that the new admiral?”
Hux knew he shouldn’t have looked, but he did anyway, unable to resist a glance at you. Kriff. He caught your eyes for just a moment, but it was more than enough. He took another sip of his drink, hoping the burn in his throat would drown out the heat growing in his cheeks.
“Don’t you think you should go offer a greeting?” Mitaka prompted, gesturing toward you with his glass. Against all his better instincts, Hux looked again. You did seem a bit isolated, not really a part of any of the groups that had gathered loosely in the reception space. And you looked good. Kriff, you looked really good. Your uniform and posture were perfect, but even more than that, your eyes were sparkling with a hidden depth that Hux had longed to uncover since the first time he saw you.
“I don’t think there’s any need for that, Lieutenant,” Hux replied as he looked away, fighting with the memories of his dream, struggling to keep down the thought of the sweet softness of your lips against his.
“But the admiral’s new, and this is your flagship,” Mitaka pressed. Hux gritted his teeth. As much as he wanted to berate the lieutenant for his insufferable insistence, he knew Mitaka was right.
“Fine,” he snapped at last. Sucking in a deep breath, he levelled his shoulders and began making his way toward you.
Years of training and practice kept his steps efficient and steady, but inside he was wavering considerably. You were watching him as he approached, and he was sinking into your gaze, stumbling as he tripped over himself internally even though his pace never faltered. He had to keep himself focused. This would just be a cordial, professional greeting, nothing more.
“Admiral,” he greeted you as he came up next to you. He was certainly no closer than protocol would allow, so why did it suddenly feel like he was falling, being pulled into your orbit?
“General,” you returned with a little nod. Despite how unsteady he suddenly felt, he needed to find something to say.
“How are you enjoying the reception?” Bland and predictable. Half of him was celebrating that he might succeed at keeping this interaction strictly professional, but the other half was despairing that he might be losing his chance at something more. He took another sip of his drink, although that was probably ill-advised given the way the two warring emotions inside of him were already roiling uncomfortably in his stomach.
“To be honest, General,” you responded, also sipping from your drink, “I would hate for you to think me impertinent, but I hardly see the point in these receptions.”
Hux was stunned for a moment. Your face remained mostly placid, but he thought he could see a little glimmer of light in your eyes. Stars, how he desperately wanted to see more. But then there was something else too – hesitation maybe, or nervousness. You had no reason to believe he wouldn’t find your comment impertinent. But you had been honest with him. Did that mean something? If so, what? He pushed those questions away for the moment – he needed to respond.
“Actually, Admiral, I quite agree with you,” he replied. Your slightly raised eyebrows just barely betrayed your surprise. “These little events are something of a drain on my time.”
Stars, he hoped that was the right thing to say. It was honest at least, if nothing else. He must not have been too far from the mark, because you hummed in agreement.
“I’m glad I’ve found someone who shares my opinion on this matter, General,” you said, and Hux swore he could hear a warm smile in your voice, even if the expression didn’t make it to the carefully-professional mask of your face. His breathing was a little less even than he would have liked. “If I may inquire, what would you be doing right now if you weren’t required at this rather pointless reception?”
Hux took another sip from his drink to give himself time to measure his response. He could be honest again and rattle off a few items on his endless list of tasks, but now that he was so close to you, he was finding it difficult to think logically, and he was once again lost in a fantasy where there was a chance that you might actually take an interest in him. Would a rote repetition of all his responsibilities make him seem dull? But what else would he say? He didn’t do anything else. Could he somehow make his answer even vaguely charming? He had no confidence at all in his ability to achieve that, but blast it, he needed to try.
“I’d likely be required at another meeting that was just as pointless, but I wouldn’t be able to have a drink.” His answer was not funny at all – or at least he didn’t think it was – but you nevertheless let out a soft breath of a laugh, and it almost seemed like you were suppressing a deeper expression of good humor. Hux was beginning to feel the warmth from his drink swirl to life in his stomach, but there was also another sensation of sparkling warmth spreading through his chest, something that felt a lot like pride. He had made you laugh. And kriff, did he want to do it again. “What tasks is this reception keeping you from?”
“Nothing particularly interesting, I fear,” you replied, a lightness lingering in your voice that Hux was aching to hear more of. “I have a briefing with my staff, and there are some ship reports that need my review. Although perhaps having had a drink mid-shift will ease the rest of the cycle somewhat.” There was laughter glimmering in your eyes when you met his gaze again, and Hux was suddenly thinking that he should have skipped the drink altogether, because he was intoxicated on that alone.
“Well, I would hate to keep you from such vital tasks.” It was a complete lie. Hux could have kept talking to you for the rest of the cycle.
“Worry not, General – you’re not keeping me from anything,” you replied, an unmistakable lilt of happiness gliding through your voice. “In fact, I’d have to say that the company at this reception has made it the most enjoyable one yet.”
fandom: Star Wars
relationship: Armitage Hux x gn!reader
category: 🌸 fluff
warnings: none
word count: ~720
A/N: starting off strong with the first prompt i actually wrote heh
Hux takes a moment to let his eyes wander through the large windows, darting from star to star. The view from right here, the bridge of the Finalizer, is one of his favourites.
The General turns back around to look at his crew, working. Everything seems to be in order. He barks his orders as usual, and everyone complies. The respect and slight fear everyone has of him makes him puff his chest out a little further.
Something catches his attention from the corner of his ocean eyes, and he turns to catch a glimpse of something, or rather someone, walking around the corner on the other side of the bridge. He doesn’t know why, but there’s something deep within him that beckons him to follow. So he does.
Leaving one of his officials at the helm, he strides through the room to investigate. Hux follows this mysterious figure through various hallways, always one step too far behind, always a second too late to catch a glimpse of their face.
After taking a sharp corner, Hux bumps into someone. His mouth opens to let out a scold, telling the other person off for being reckless and impertinent. But nothing comes out when he sees it’s you, his favourite officer that he’s been harbouring a crush on for so long now.
Hux’s whole body tingles, not in a good way, at that thought. Crush. He’s a grown man, for Maker’s sake. He’s a General. He shouldn't get crushes. Yet every time you're within sight, his brain seems to freeze up and his limbs are stiffer than usual. Even when you're not in sight, he finds his thoughts often wandering, ending up with you sooner or later. He realises he still hasn't said anything while you rub the spot on your face where you walked into him. Before he can gather his thoughts and tell you to be more careful next time, you speak first.
“General,” you say with more pep than usual. “Excellent timing. Come with me.”
You take his gloved hand and guide him further down the hallway. Hux’s eyes are glued to his hand in yours, tracing to keep up with your hurried pace. He can’t believe you're holding his hand. Even through the material of the glove he feels the warmth, and his head starts spinning. No, actually everything around him twirls, the panels starting to come off the walls of the hallway, turning into colourful dust and getting swept away.
Did he hit his head? Is he hallucinating?
The two of you continue walking, and your surroundings disappear until it’s just you and Hux, floating in the air which feels strangely warm against his skin. Not suffocating, but more like a cabin fire on a cold night.
You turn around mid-air, and take his other hand too, holding both of them now.
“I have something important to tell you,” you confess, a shy smile playing on your lips.
“What’s that?” Hux swallows a lump.
Without warning, you lean in and kiss him. His whole body freezes where it is.
For the floating and the hallway disappearing he could find an explanation eventually; now he’s certain he must be dreaming. But if his brain blessed him with this vision, why should he hold back? He might wake up any moment.
So after hesitating for only a moment, his arms wrap around your middle to hold you against him as he kisses you again, deeper this time. You whisper his first name into his skin and he thinks he might faint.
Suddenly, the warmth isn't as intense, the pressure against your lips starts to loosen. No, he can't let you go, not yet. Hux tries to hold on to you, but your body is like wisps of smoke, fading between his fingers. He calls your name, and suddenly reality crashes down on him. It feels like he just fell several feet when his whole body shakes on the bed, heart racing in his chest.
Hux’s hands curl around his blanket as his ragged breathing fills the dark room. It takes him a minute or two to calm down.
He shuffles to position himself to sleep again. But behind his closed eyes, all he can see is your smile and taste your lips.
“I had hoped,” he said stiffly, “that you would accompany me to the planet’s surface in order to uphold the illusion of a traditional pairing.”
The words hung heavily in the air.
Oh. Understanding dawned all at once.
“Sir,” she said slowly, careful to keep her voice steady. “You want me to pretend to be your wife?”
Tags: Pretend relationship, forced proximity, mutual pining, power imbalance, awkward flirting, resolved romantic tension, accidental voyeurism, unresolved sexual tension.
Word count: 10,073
Crossposted on ao3
The corridor outside Lieutenant Commander ____’s quarters was quiet when she dismissed the last of the deck officers and completed her final inspection. The Finalizer’s polished floors gleamed beneath the sterile lighting.
Another unexceptional shift. Another day ensuring General Hux’s commands were carried out with ruthless precision.
She paused outside her door for a moment before stepping inside, allowing herself the smallest sigh of relief as it slid shut behind her with a soft mechanical hiss. The constant pressure of command eased from her shoulders as soon as the corridor disappeared from view.
Earlier in the day she had overheard a brief exchange between Kylo Ren and General Hux while passing the command deck—something about an away mission and gathering critical intelligence from a foreign species. The conversation had been tense, the kind that meant equal parts politics and danger.
Probably important. But, thankfully, not her concern.
She removed her formal jacket and draped it neatly over the back of a chair, setting her datapad on the small table beside her bed. From a drawer she retrieved the novel she had been slowly working through during her rare hours of leisure. It was a guilty habit, reading fiction while serving aboard a warship, but one she had never quite managed to give up.
Settling onto the edge of the bed, she let the quiet hum of the ship wrap around her. The Finalizer was never truly silent. There was always the distant vibration of engines, the faint murmur of machinery, but compared to the constant bustle of the command deck, her quarters felt peaceful.
She had only just begun reading when the buzz of her door panel cut sharply through the calm.
She frowned. It was rare for anyone to visit her unannounced, especially so soon after her shift on deck ended.
Closing the book, she rose quickly and smoothed the front of her uniform, instinctively straightening herself before crossing the room. The door slid open.
She immediately snapped to attention.
General Hux stood rigidly in the entryway, hands clasped behind his back. He looked entirely composed, as always.
“General!” she said quickly. “Am I needed back on deck?”
“Not currently, Lieutenant Commander ____,” he replied. His voice was clipped as always, but there was something slightly off about his tone. A slight tightness beneath the usual authority.
Without waiting to be invited, he stepped inside.
“Ahem.” He cleared his throat lightly. “In two standard days, we will be traveling to the surface of the planet we're currently orbiting to establish diplomatic contact with its ruling governor. Ren requires something currently in his possession that cannot be taken by force and, as such… requires us to make personal contact.”
He shifted once. The movement was so subtle that most would have missed it.
She did not.
“What exactly does he need, sir?”
For a moment, the corner of his mouth twitched upward in the faintest ghost of a smirk.
“That, Lieutenant Commander, is classified. Need to know basis.”
The expression vanished almost immediately, replaced once again by his usual severe composure.
“That being said, we cannot disclose our true intentions for being there." He continued, jaw tightening slightly. "In their culture, it is customary for individuals in positions of authority to present themselves with a bonded mate.”
She blinked.
“Sorry, sir,” she said slowly, “but I’m not quite sure I follow.”
Hux turned away from her and began pacing across the small space of her quarters, hands clasped tightly behind his back.
“The governor has requested the presence of all high ranking officers at a… banquet, of sorts.” His lip curled faintly. “A cultural display of alliances and… Fertility.”
He sounded uncomfortable, spitting out the last word with disdain.
“And that includes myself.”
Silence stretched between them as the implication slowly began to settle in her mind.
“I understand this is an uncomfortable, favor to ask,” he continued, his gaze flicking briefly toward her before fixing instead on a point somewhere over her shoulder. “However, you excel at your position. And you possess… interpersonal skills that I admittedly do not.”
Despite herself, warmth flared in her chest at the rare compliment. Hux was not a man who gave praise lightly.
He stopped pacing.
“I had hoped,” he said stiffly, “that you would accompany me to the planet’s surface in order to uphold the illusion of a traditional pairing.”
The words hung heavily in the air.
Oh. Understanding dawned all at once.
“Sir,” she said slowly, careful to keep her voice steady, “you want me to pretend to be your wife?”
He did not answer the question directly. Instead, his jaw clenched.
“The governor is currently in possession of ship schematics Ren requires,” he said curtly. “They are stored in his private office. Ren and Captain Canady will create a diversion at the gala. During that time, we will infiltrate the office and extract the data.”
Ah.
So that was the true purpose of this charade. She briefly wondered what had changed in the 30 seconds between "need to know basis" and the currant admittance, but knew better than to question it.
“I’m flattered that you’d trust me with something so critical,” she said finally, “but wouldn’t Captain Phasma be a more suitable choice? I’m not sure I’m qualified to stand at your side in such a public capacity, sir.”
For a brief moment, so fleeting she almost thought she imagined it, something like wounded pride flickered across his expression.
“Captain Phasma will accompany Ren,” he replied sharply. “As will Captain Canady and one of his soldiers.”
He paused, still very pointedly avoiding eye contact.
“You are capable, Lieutenant Commander. Exceptionally so. And—”
He hesitated. Which, for Hux, was practically unheard of.
“You are also one of the few officers aboard this ship whose presence I can tolerate for extended periods of time.”
Her lips twitched before she could stop them.
“Thank you, sir.”
“I expect professionalism.”
“Of course.”
After a brief, stiff nod, Hux turned sharply and strode out of her quarters. The door slid shut behind him.
____ remained standing in the middle of the room for several long seconds, staring at the door as she processed what had just happened.
Pretend to be the General’s wife.
The very attractive General, who she harbored a very inconvenient, very secret crush on.
Okay. She could do that.
She exhaled slowly before crossing to her closet.
Rows of immaculate First Order uniforms hung in perfect order along the rack. Behind them, partially hidden and long forgotten, was a garment she had not worn in years.
She pulled it free.
A deep, elegant evening gown. Formal, striking, and far more extravagant than anything she allowed herself on the ship during her off hours.
She smiled faintly. It would do.
The next few days passed quickly.
The rhythm of life aboard the Finalizer continued without interruption, shift rotations, tactical briefings, weapons checks, the endless hum of preparation that came with serving the First Order. If anyone else aboard the ship was aware of the upcoming diplomatic excursion, they did not show it.
To the rest of the crew, it was simply another week, and that's how ____ acted. Privately, however, every passing hour carried a quiet weight of anticipation.
She threw herself into her duties with her usual efficiency, moving between the command deck and the lower sectors of the ship, reviewing reports, correcting minor procedural errors, and ensuring that each officer beneath her command performed their role exactly as expected.
Then, there was Hux.
Whenever their paths crossed on the command deck or in the corridors, she couldn’t help but notice a subtle difference in his demeanor. He had always been harsh, disciplined to the point of severity, but now there seemed to be an added tension to his movements whenever they were forced to interact.
If anything, he seemed almost… anxious. Which was not a state she had ever associated with the great General Hux.
More than once she caught him pausing mid-sentence during briefings when their eyes met across the room. Each time it happened, he would recover quickly, redirecting his attention back to the matter at hand with the same unwavering authority as always.
Still, she noticed. She doubted anyone else did.
During her off-hours, she studied the small planet's culture.
The species they would be dealing with placed significant importance on bonding rituals, and social pairing. Relationships were not treated with the same privacy or restraint as within the First Orde. Instead, affection, both subtle and overt, was openly expressed and, in many cases, expected among those in positions of status. Partnerships were seen as symbols of strength, unity, and prosperity.
____ felt her face warm slightly as she scrolled.
This made the General’s request, and awkwardness discussing it, significantly more understandable.
Late the second evening, as she reviewed reports at her post on deck, a soft notification chimed from the console in front of her. A new file transfer.
She opened it immediately.
The screen filled with a detailed architectural schematic of the governor’s palace, floor plans layered over security systems, hallways branching in careful geometric patterns, access points highlighted in faint blue lines.
Not long after, Hux approached, standing in front of her once again with his datapad clasped behind his back.
“The blueprints have been uploaded to your console,” he said without preamble.
“Yes, sir.”
“The governor’s private office is located in the eastern wing,” he continued, gesturing at a location on her screen. "Security rotations are minimal during the banquet, as most personnel are stationed within the main hall. That corridor,” he pointed briefly to a narrow passage branching away from the central chambers,“will provide the most direct access.”
His voice had returned to the confident cadence she was used to hearing on the command deck, the General once again fully in his element as he explained the logistics of the mission.
“Memorize them,” he said finally.
She nodded once.
“I will.”
And she did.
Over the next two days she studied the palace layout whenever time allowed, committing each corridor, stairwell, and hidden passage to memory. By the time the morning of the mission arrived, she could have navigated the governor’s estate in her sleep.
The shuttle descended through the planet’s atmosphere beneath a canopy of swirling gold clouds, their edges illuminated by the distant light of the planet's twin suns. From the small viewport beside her seat, ____ could see the sprawling city below slowly coming into focus; vast terraces of pale stone and glimmering towers rising from the landscape like polished sculptures.
It was beautiful, in a strange, unsettling sort of way.
Inside the shuttle, the atmosphere was far more controlled. Everyone was dressed flawlessly for the evening’s performance. Captain Canady stood near the rear hatch beside a weapons specialist from the bridge crew, both clad in their formal First Order uniforms. Their expressions were serious, though there was a quiet excitement lingering beneath the surface. An anticipation for the operation ahead.
Captain Phasma, towering and silent as ever, remained near Kylo Ren at the center of the cabin. Her chrome armor gleamed beneath the shuttle’s overhead lighting, reflecting fractured glints of silver across the walls. Beside her, Ren’s dark robes seemed to swallow the light entirely, his masked face angled toward the floor.
Beside ____, General Hux looked immaculate.
He wore a perfectly tailored black formal ensemble, sharp lines accentuating his rigid posture. The First Order insignia had been embroidered subtly along the collar, just enough to mark his rank without overwhelming the elegant design.
It suited him. Distractingly well.
As the shuttle dipped lower through the atmosphere, Hux rose from his seat and addressed the small group gathered inside.
“We will be meeting with the governor to discuss a potential trade agreement,” he said, his voice carrying the same confident authority that dominated every briefing on the command deck. “Ren and Captain Phasma will occupy the governor and his advisors. Captain Canady will assist in maintaining the diversion...”
His gaze swept briefly across the room before landing momentarily on ____.
She gave the faintest nod of acknowledgement.
Satisfied, he continued outlining the final details of the plan, his tone calm as the shuttle rocked gently beneath them. Despite the expensive clothing and diplomatic pretense, he was unmistakably in his element.
When the briefing ended and he returned to the seat beside her, ____ allowed herself a small smile.
“An inspiring speech as always, General.”
Hux tipped his head in acknowledgment. His expression remained professional, but she caught the brief flicker of pride that passed through his eyes before it disappeared behind his usual stoicism.
“I trust you will follow my lead tonight,” he said quietly.
“Always, sir.”
The shuttle touched down moments later with a soft mechanical thud.
The hatch lowered with a hiss of pressurized air, revealing a group of waiting officials gathered on the landing platform below. Their clothing was elaborate, flowing fabrics in warm metallic tones, and their expressions stretched into welcoming smiles that seemed just a little too wide to be entirely genuine.
Hux descended first.
____ followed half a step behind him, falling naturally into place at his side.
The officials greeted them with elaborate bows as they were ushered through the towering entrance of the governor’s palace. Inside, the halls were nothing short of extravagant.
Golden archways curved high overhead, supported by pillars carved with intricate patterns that glimmered under soft amber lighting. The floors were polished stone, smooth enough to reflect the figures moving through the corridors. Strange floral arrangements lined the walls, their unfamiliar blossoms releasing a sweet, oddly familiar perfume into the air.
____ fought the urge to stare. With all of its elegance, the place felt almost overwhelming compared to the stark, utilitarian design of a First Order star destroyer. It was hard not to feel out of place. Even worse, it was hard not to long for a life so different from what she had pledged her allegiance to.
They were led through several winding corridors before arriving in the reception hall.
There, the Governor awaited them. Despite the vast reach of the First Order, ____ had never seen his kind before. He was almost humanoid, with shimmering metallic skin that reflected the glow of the hall's lights and eyes that blinked like a reptile.
Beautiful, she found herself thinking.
Hux strode forward without hesitation, posture straight and confident as he extended his hand.
“Governor. A pleasure.”
The alien leader returned the gesture with enthusiasm, clasping Hux’s hand firmly before his curious gaze shifted toward ____.
“A pleasure indeed, General. And this is?”
“My wife,” Hux replied stiffly, the air of confidence was suddenly gone. The words sounded almost awkward coming from him, in a way that stood out immediately to ____.
She stepped forward smoothly before the silence could linger too long, offering her own hand with ease.
“____, Governor. It’s an honor to meet you. We are very grateful for your hospitality this evening.”
The governor took her hand, his sharp eyes lingering as he looked between the two of them.
“A fine pairing,” he said with an approving smile. “Strong bloodlines. You will produce powerful offspring.”
Beside her, Hux went red, cheeks flushing with warmth.
“Do you have children?” the governor pressed when he did not respond.
____ didn't hesitate.
“Not currently,” she replied with a warm smile. “Our duties to the First Order require our full attention for now. But family is something we look forward to in the future.”
The governor threw his head back with a booming laugh.
“Excellent! Very wise.”
He gestured broadly toward a corridor leading deeper into the palace.
“Come. The night awaits.”
As the group began moving once more, Hux leaned slightly closer to ____, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
“That was well handled.”
____ felt a small spark of pride at the quiet praise. She didn't bite back the proud smile it drew.
"Thank you, sir."
The gala was already in full swing when they entered, lavish and loud. Music drifted through the grand hall in slow, rhythmic waves, a deep thrumming melody carried by instruments ____ didn't recognize. It blended with the constant murmur of conversation until the entire room felt alive with sound.
Alien dignitaries filled the space, moving between clusters of guests in elaborate garments that shimmered beneath the golden light. Flowing fabrics, metallic threads, and ornate jewelry caught the glow of chandeliers suspended high above the ballroom floor.
It was strange.
The role she had agreed to play was simple enough in theory. But now that they were here, ____ found herself acutely aware of the man beside her. More than that, she found herself rather selfishly enjoying the idea of being with him in such a way.
More than once, she caught Hux glancing in her direction. Each time their eyes met, he looked away first, his attention snapping forward again as though he had been caught doing something improper.
She took advantage of the setting, smiling freely in a way that would never have been permitted back on the Finalizer.
They moved together through the ballroom comfortably, stopping to exchange pleasantries with various attendees. At some point, Hux’s hand found its place at the small of her back. ____ found herself needing to remember, it was all part of the act.
“You are performing well,” Hux praised under his breath as they paused near a column draped in shimmering fabric. His expression was uncharacteristically warm, evidently playing into the character as well, though his eyes never stopped scanning the room.
She glanced up at him, surprised.
“High praise, sir.”
“I do not give it lightly.”
A beat passed.
His gaze turned toward her, only briefly, but it felt shockingly personal.
“You look…” he hesitated, as though he was debating whether or not to speak. “…Appropriate for the role.”
She raised a brow slightly.
“Appropriate.”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“…You look very nice,” he amended, quieter this time. His voice was strained, like he was forcing himself to say something he would be punished for speaking aloud.
She smiled, surprised at the compliment.
“Thank you, General.”
He gave a small nod, once again unwilling to meet her eyes, but his hand did not leave her back. If anything, his fingers pressed slightly more firmly against the fabric of her gown as they resumed moving through the crowd.
They spoke when necessary, laughed at appropriate moments, and leaned just close enough to one another to sell the illusion. At one point, she rested her hand lightly against his arm while speaking to a group of officials. He didn't pull away.
What had begun as a carefully prepared performance blurred at the edges, with their movements becoming more natural, less deliberate. They no longer had to think about standing close, about the way his hand would guide her through the crowd, or how she would angle her body toward his when they spoke.
It just… happened.
At one point, he leaned in close under the pretense of speaking quietly, his voice brushing just beside her ear.
“You are adapting to this role rather quickly,” he said.
She squeezed his arm. He didn't pull away.
“So are you.”
He didn’t respond, but he didn’t move away, either.
____ smiled. It would have been easy to forget why they were there. Too easy to forget that this was all an act.
Time slipped by strangely after that.
Eventually, they drifted toward a quieter section of the ballroom.
There, Kylo Ren stood beside Captain Phasma and Captain Canady, their small cluster appearing no more suspicious than any of the other conversations scattered throughout the room.
____ approached them calmly, her expression relaxed as though they were simply joining another group of acquaintances.
“Is it time?” she asked quietly, her gaze remaining fixed on the crowd rather than the figures beside her.
Ren’s masked head tilted slightly. He gave the faintest nod.
He muttered something to Canady, who moments later, turned alongside Ren and approached the governor once more, drawing the alien leader and several of his guards into animated discussion. Phasma followed, her towering presence ensuring the conversation quickly became the center of attention.
Now.
Hux pressed lightly at the small of ____’s back, steering them away from the ballroom. They slipped through the archway and into the corridor beyond, the noise of the gala fading quickly behind them.
Once out of sight, their pace quickened. The palace halls twisted in careful patterns, but ____ had memorized every turn. Together they moved swiftly through the winding halls until they reached the governor’s private office.
The door slid open with a quiet hiss.
Inside, the room was dim and still. Shelves lined the walls, filled with datapads, books, and artifacts that glimmered faintly beneath soft lighting. Everything seemed to glimmer on this planet. A large desk dominated the center of the chamber, its polished surface nearly bare except for a few scattered documents.
Hux moved immediately to the primary console behind the desk, retrieving his datapad and connecting it to the system with practiced efficiency.
The console flickered to life.
____ wandered through the room, scanning surfaces and shelves for anything that might indicate secondary storage or systems. She flipped through a few of the books stacked on the desk; most appeared ceremonial or decorative, rather than functional.
The room remained quiet except for the soft hum of the console transferring data.
“You performed commendably tonight,” Hux said after several minutes, his eyes still focused on the screen before him.
____ glanced over her shoulder.
“You seem surprised.”
“I am not easily impressed,” he replied simply.
Given his neutral tone, ____ was surprised to see the General smiling at her.
A small smile tugged at her own lips as she returned her attention to the desk, examining a datapad while keeping one ear tuned carefully to the hallway beyond the office doors.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke. Only the quiet hum of the transfer filled the room.
The console beeped softly as the data transfer progressed. Thin lines of text scrolled steadily across the screen of Hux’s datapad while he monitored the process with intense focus.
Across the room, ____ continued searching the desk, carefully opening drawers and skimming through scrolls before setting them back where she had found them.
“Transfer progress?” she asked quietly.
“Fifty seven percent,” Hux replied without looking up.
She hummed thoughtfully. “Faster than I expected.”
“The governor’s security protocols are embarrassingly simple,” he muttered. “Ren could likely have broken into this system from orbit if he wished.”
“Yet here we are.”
“Yes,” Hux said dryly. “Here we are.”
Silence settled again for a moment as she flipped through another decorative book.
After a moment she spoke again, her voice lower.
“You clean up well, sir.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Hux’s fingers paused briefly on the console.
“…Excuse me?”
She cleared her throat, quickly straightening another artifact on the shelf in front of her.
“I meant that the formal attire suits you. Diplomacy appears to agree with you.”
He looked at her then, one eyebrow lifting slightly.
“I assure you, Lieutenant Commander, there is nothing about tonight that I find agreeable.”
A faint smile tugged at her lips as she moved toward the desk, picking up one of the governor’s documents and flipping through it.
“I know, sir,” she said lightly. “Still. You played the part well.”
“Part?”
“The devoted husband.”
Hux made a quiet sound in the back of his throat, something halfway between a scoff and a sigh.
“That role required significantly less effort than the diplomacy.”
Her head snapped up at this.
“Oh?”
He hesitated, as if realizing he had said more than intended.
“You are… a competent officer,” he said stiffly. “Maintaining the illusion was therefore… straightforward.”
____ tilted her head slightly, studying him.
“That almost sounded like a compliment.”
“It was not intended to.”
Her smile widened, just slightly. For a moment, neither of them spoke again. Hux’s gaze drifted back to the console, though his focus seemed less certain than before.
After a few seconds, he added quietly, “You performed your role convincingly as well.”
She blinked.
“Pretending to be your—”
“Yes," he interrupted.
She hummed softly, leaning one hip against the edge of the desk.
“Well,” she said after a moment, “it wasn’t much of a stretch.” The moment the words left her mouth, she cursed herself for admitting such a thing.
This time, it was Hux's turn to look up sharply.
“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
She waved a hand dismissively, forcing a neutral expression when internally, she felt far from it.
“I meant—professionally. You think I'm competent, I follow your commands. We work well together. It made the illusion easier.”
Hux studied her for a moment longer than seemed necessary, his expression unreadable. Finally he gave a single, restrained nod.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I suppose it did.”
The console chimed softly beside him, the faint glow of the display reflecting across his sharp features.
____ had just opened her mouth to respond, when Hux suddenly, went rigid.
“Anyways, if the transfer finishes—”
“Quiet.”
The word came out sharp and low. He lifted a hand instinctively, silencing her. At first she frowned, confused by the sudden shift in his demeanor. But then, she heard it too.
Voices. Several of them.
They were faint at first, muffed by the thick office doors and winding corridors beyond. But they were getting closer.
Her stomach dropped.
She whipped around toward the sealed doors, her heart immediately beginning to hammer in her chest.
The voices were getting louder.
Concerningly close.
Hux was already moving. The calm composure he wore so effortlessly on the command deck had vanished completely as he yanked the cable free from the console and shoved his datapad hastily inside his coat. The fragile moment of warmth between them shattered.
Her training took over immediately, scanning the room rapidly for any place they could hide, or a secondary exit.
No such luck.
"Sir. Nowhere to hide. We can't go out fighting, even if we survived, the Supreme Leader would have us put to death," she whispered, fast and quiet as her mind sped through possible outcomes. "We need an excuse."
Hux's usual stern authority snapped back into place as he rounded on her, his voice dropping into a furious whisper.
“What possible reason,” he hissed, glaring at her as the console chimed to signal the transfer’s completion, “could we have for being in here that will not result in us being shot?”
____’s mind raced.
Footsteps echoed clearly now in the corridor outside. Multiple people.
Think.
Think.
Her eyes darted toward him again.
Oh.
That's something.
“They’re… a very open culture,” she said tentatively.
Hux blinked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You said it yourself,” she rushed, lowering her voice even further. “All the talk about fertility and bonding rituals. These people are very… affectionate.”
He stared at her, completely blank.
“They sneak off during gatherings,” she continued, gesturing vaguely between them. “Closets, hallways, private rooms—”
Understanding dawned slowly across his face.
“Are you picking up what I’m saying here?” she whispered desperately. “Because we have maybe fifteen seconds before they walk through this door, and we're all dead.”
His eyes widened.
“You cannot possibly be suggesting—”
For a moment, Hux simply stared at her. Then, very slowly, he nodded. A deep flush crept up his neck and across his cheeks.
____ swallowed.
“I understand this is unspeakably inappropriate, sir,” she said quickly as she stepped closer to him. “You can reprimand me however you see fit when we return to the ship, but right now I truly do not see another way we walk out of this alive.”
Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears.
Hux didn’t move at first.
Then he lifted a hand and gently took her jaw between his fingers, tilting her face upward so their eyes met. The contact made her breath catch.
Up close, she could see something she had never expected to see in the General of the First Order's expression. Fear. Apprehension. Something else she couldn't put a name to.
His eyes searched her face, wide and uncertain. Outside, the footsteps stopped.
She heard the faint rustle of someone fussing with an access card. They were out of time.
____ inhaled sharply, leaned forward, and pressed her lips against his. The contact was brief, tentative, and when she pulled back, Hux's eyes were wide.
He didn't let the moment last long, as the next second he was leaning back in, pulling her against his body.
The second kiss was far less careful.
Their lips met again with sudden urgency, the tension of the moment crashing between them as she grabbed the front of his coat and pulled him closer. His hands moved instinctively, first gripping her waist, then sliding upward to cradle her jaw before settling on clutching at the fabric draped over her hips.
The closeness of their bodies sent a sharp jolt through her.
One of his hands slid upward, cradling the side of her face while the other braced against the desk behind her, boxing her in. Although their touches had begun uncertain and hesitant, the intensity of the moment quickly stripped away any restraint they may have had.
Hux suddenly broke the kiss with a sharp inhale before gripping her waist and lifting her onto the edge of the desk. The unexpected movement drew a small sound from her throat. There was no time to think about how inappropriate any of this was. Her hands tangled in the front of his jacket, catching his tie as she pulled him down toward her again.
It’s just part of the act.
It’s just part of the act.
The words repeated uselessly in her head as Hux let out a strained sound when their mouths met again.
Behind them, the access panel outside the office beeped.
A shiver of fear ran through her body, however it quickly blended with a shudder of excitement as Hux's hand tightened around her thigh, hoisting her leg up over his hip and slotting one of his legs between her own.
Taking advantage of her position, ____ hooked her leg around the man's waist and pulled his hips flush against hers. Hux gasped quietly against her mouth at the sudden contact, while her eyes shot open at the unmistakable feeling of something hard pressing into the divot between her hip and thigh.
____ let out a soft, breathless sound and buried her face against Hux’s shoulder, praying he couldn’t read her thoughts the way Ren could, because the images running through her head right now were wildly unprofessional.
Before ____ had the time to process the new addition to the situation, the door gave one final 'beep'. As the office doors slid open, her heart lurched. The sound pulled her put of the fantasy, and suddenly it was just an act again. Succeed or die.
The room behind them fell silent.
Then—
A snort of laughter. Someone cleared their throat loudly from the doorway.
Relief flooded through her at the sign that their little performance had worked. She pulled back quickly with an embarrassed, exaggerated gasp, Hux jumping away from her at the same moment as they disentangled themselves and turned toward the interruption.
Her feigned mortification lasted only a heartbeat. The moment she looked up, her blood ran cold, and suddenly the face was real.
Kylo Ren stood in the doorway beside the Governor and several of his delegates. His masked head tilted slightly. Even without seeing his face, she could feel the smirk. He knew exactly what she had been thinking.
For a moment, no one moved. The alien officials in the doorway stared at them.
Then, finally, one of them barked out a laugh.
“Well,” the governor said, amusement thick in his voice, “I suppose that explains why you both vanished from the celebration.”
A ripple of chuckles spread through the small group behind him.
____ forced herself to look appropriately ashamed, lowering her gaze as she slid carefully down from the edge of the desk. Her fingers moved automatically over the fabric of her gown, smoothing the wrinkled material where Hux’s hands had been moments before.
Beside her, Hux cleared his throat sharply.
The sound cut through the lingering tension in the room as he straightened his coat with brisk, stiff movements. He adjusted the front of his jacket, tugged his cuffs back into place, and smoothed a hand over his hair as though the simple action might erase the last thirty seconds from existence.
“My apologies, Governor,” he said stiffly. “We did not intend to—”
“Yes, yes,” the governor interrupted with a broad wave of his hand, clearly far more entertained than offended. “Young couples rarely intend these things.”
A ripple of laughter spread through the aliens gathered in the doorway.
One of the group leaned against the doorframe, clearly amused. “You should have chosen a less official location,” he added with a teasing tilt of his head. “The governor’s office is hardly romantic.”
____ kept her eyes lowered, willing her face to remain convincingly embarrassed. She continued playing the part, even under Kylo Ren's unspeaking gaze, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Forgive the intrusion,” another delegate said with exaggerated politeness. “But perhaps you might continue your… bonding… elsewhere.”
The governor laughed again.
“Yes, please. We do still require this room.”
Hux tilted his head stiffly. "Of course.”
Without another word, he placed his hand on the small of ____'s back and led her toward the hallway. They slipped past the cluster of amused dignitaries in the doorway, both careful not to meet anyone’s eyes. The governor and his advisors were still chuckling behind them as they exited.
The moment they stepped into the corridor, the office doors slid shut behind them with a quiet hiss, and Hux ripped his hand away from her waist as if the touch had burned him. ____ tried not to think too deeply about it.
For several long seconds, neither of them spoke. They simply walked.
The palace corridor stretched ahead of them in gleaming golden arches, their footsteps echoing faintly against the polished stone floors. The faint music from the gala drifted through the distant halls, but here the air felt heavier.
Only when they turned the first corner did ____ release the breath she had been holding. The silence between them thickened almost immediately. They walked side by side, eyes fixed forward, neither one daring to glance at the other.
____ was suddenly painfully aware of her appearance.
Her dress was rumpled. Her hair had fallen partially loose from its careful styling, several strands sticking stubbornly to her cheek. When she lifted a hand to brush them away, her fingers came away faintly smudged with the remains of her lipstick.
Anyone who looked at them right now would know exactly what they had just been doing.
Another, far worse realization followed quickly behind it.
Hux had executed officers for far less than this.
The thought struck her so suddenly that she nearly stopped walking altogether. What was stopping him from killing her the moment they returned to the ship?
She shook her head.
No, she forced herself to think. I’m his second-in-command. His officers respect me. I'm probably the closest thing he has to a friend.
He wouldn’t.
They continued walking in strained silence. Eventually, she forced herself to break it.
“…Did we get the files?”
She kept her eyes forward. He didn’t look at her either.
“…Yes.”
The single word fell flat between them. Silence returned, heavy and uncomfortable.
They had only taken a few more steps when the quiet was broken by the sound of footsteps echoing down the corridor behind them. Both of them stopped.
Slowly, they turned.
Kylo Ren stood several paces away, his tall figure framed by the curve of the golden arch behind him. His hands were clasped loosely behind his back, his posture relaxed in a way that somehow felt more threatening than if he had been standing at attention.
For a moment, the three of them simply stared at one another.
Then Ren tilted his head slightly.
“Well,” he said slowly, his voice smooth and condescending, “that was convincing.”
____ gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to hit him. Beside her, Hux’s jaw tightened visibly, the muscles in his face pulling taut.
Ren took a few slow steps toward them, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor.
“The governor and his advisors seemed quite amused by your… performance.”
Neither of them responded.
Ren’s helmet turned slowly toward Hux.
“Yours, especially,” he added.
Hux’s face burned instantly, the flush returning even deeper than before. His expression hardened at once, but the color climbing his neck betrayed him completely. He straightened defensively.
"The data transfer finished before the governor entered the room," Hux informed him, eyes fixed straight ahead.
Ren ignored him. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying ____ in that unnerving, predatory way he had whenever he was sifting through someone’s thoughts.
Even without seeing his eyes, she could feel the weight of his attention pressing against her mind like a cold hand.
“You were thinking very loudly.”
He looked back to Hux.
"You both were."
____ kent her eyes fixed on the ground, standing stiffly at attention. She wasn't dumb enough to talk back to a superior officer, especially one with a reputation such as Kylo Ren's.
Beside her, Hux stiffened even more.
“I suggest you keep your observations to yourself,” Hux said coldly.
“There was a moment,” Ren continued casually, “when you forgot it was an act at all.”
Heat rushed violently to ____'s face.
Hux clenched his jaw, visibly forcing himself not to react. ____, however turned toward Ren sharply.
"Enough. The only person with the right to talk to the General like this is the Supreme Leader himself, and you are far from that."
The command cracked through the hallway with authority that all three of them knew she didn't have. Hux's eyes widened. ____ went white, horrified at her own outburst.
Apparently she was dumb enough, the thought briefly surfacing as she closed her eyes against the inevitable attack.
Ren’s helmet snapped sharply toward her again.
"You dare speak that way to a superior officer?" Ren questioned, his voice low and dangerous. He took a step forward, hand raising, and ____ preemptively flinched, closing her eyes and awaiting the incoming blow—
But nothing came.
She peeked her eyes open, and to her surprise, Hux had stepped forward, putting himself between ____ and Ren. Her eyes shot open.
"Don't," he warned, voice threateningly calm. "As my second in command, Commander ____ is operating well within her duties by defending her own superior officer. We would not have acquired the schematics without her. I recommend you back down, Ren."
There was a moment of silence, the masked man staring, unmoving, before them.
Then, Ren gave a small shrug.
“As you wish, General.”
The title carried a hint of mockery. ____ looked to her General with wide eyes, shocked by his defense of her. He didn't return her gaze.
Ren began walking again, closing the remaining distance between them until he stood only a few feet away.
"You confirmed that the file transfer was completed?"
Hux gave a slight nod, seeming to relax slightly.
“Then the mission was successful,” Ren hummed.
“Yes.”
His helmet turned slowly toward ____ again.
“Though I suspect the evening will be remembered for other reasons.”
____ wished she could roll her eyes, but knew better than to push her luck.
Hux’s patience snapped.
“If you are quite finished,” he said, tone dripping with ice, “we should return to the ballroom before our absence becomes even more suspicious.”
Ren tipped his head, gesturing lazily down the corridor. “After you.”
Hux moved immediately, his stride sharp and purposeful. ____ followed half a step behind him, exceedingly aware of Ren falling into step somewhere behind them.
They walked in silence for several long seconds. Then, quietly—
“Lieutenant Commander.”
She stiffened. Hux still hadn’t looked at her.
“…Yes, sir?”
Another pause. His voice, when it came, was softer than she expected.
“Compose yourself.”
She blinked.
“Sir?”
His eyes flicked briefly toward her, just long enough for her to see the lingering color still high on his cheeks.
“Your hair,” he muttered.
Her hand flew immediately to the mess at the back of her head.
Behind them, Kylo Ren made a soft sound that suspiciously resembled a laugh. Neither of them acknowledged it.
Hux resumed his usual brisk pace, hands clasped neatly behind his back, every inch the composed General of the First Order once more. If not for the lingering color still faintly visible along his collar, no one would have guessed what had transpired in the office minutes earlier.
____ followed beside, as always, doing her best to restore some order to her appearance as they walked. She smoothed the wrinkles from her dress again and carefully pushed loose strands of hair back into place, though the once-perfect updo was beyond saving.
Behind them, Kylo Ren walked in silence.
The palace corridors gradually filled again with the hum of distant music and conversation as they neared the ballroom. When the doors slid open, the gala was still in full swing. Music drifted through the grand hall while alien dignitaries continued mingling beneath glittering chandeliers. No one spared the returning trio more than a passing glance. Exactly what they wanted.
Across the room, Captain Phasma spotted them first. She gave a small, knowing nod. A moment later, Captain Canady drifted toward them as well, a drink in hand, looking every bit the unsuspicious officer enjoying the festivities they had hoped.
“General,” he said, voice gruff as always, as he reached them.
Hux gave a subtle nod in return.
“The governor appeared satisfied,” Canady continued under his breath. “Ren kept him occupied longer than expected.”
Kylo Ren said nothing to that. Phasma stepped closer, her chrome armor reflecting the soft ballroom lights.
“Was the objective completed?”
“Yes,” ____ replied simply. The answer seemed to be enough.
Phasma inclined her helmet slightly.
“Then our presence here is no longer required.”
As if on cue, the governor himself returned, approaching the group a few minutes later to exchange polite farewells, his earlier amusement still lingering in his voice.
“You are departing already?” he asked.
“Unfortunately,” Hux replied smoothly, the perfect officer once again. “Our duties require our return to the fleet.”
The governor nodded, clearly satisfied.
“Well, General, Commander… I hope the remainder of your evening proves… less interrupted.”
The subtle emphasis was not lost on anyone.
____ kept her expression neutral, though she resisted the urge to grit her teeth. Hux merely nodded again. “Indeed.”
Not long after, the First Order delegation made their departure.
The shuttle ride back to the Star Destroyer was quiet.
Phasma and Canady spoke briefly about the governor’s cooperation and the likely political implications of the new trade agreement, but the conversation remained strictly professional.
Ren offered nothing more than the occasional nod. Hux did even less.
____ sat across from him this time, her hands folded neatly in her lap, carefully avoiding his gaze. Not only was her job on the line, but the concern that her life was as well hadn't left her mind.
Every now and then she caught him glancing in her direction, but the moment their eyes almost met, he looked away again.
The silence stretched for the rest of the flight.
Back aboard the ship, the group dispersed quietly.
Phasma returned to her stormtrooper battalions. Canady headed back toward the bridge. Kylo Ren vanished down one of the dimly lit corridors without a word. Hux simply gave ____ a brief nod before following Ren down the hallway.
They parted ways without a word.
____ walked back to her quarters as she would any day; posture perfect, head straight forward, and carrying the intimidating presence of a higher command to every officer passed. Her formal attire wasn't enough to shake the respect—and sometimes fear, that a large percentage of the ship felt towards her.
On the inside, though, she was tired. She dreaded having to face Hux again, or even worse, Ren.
Finally, she reached her room. The quiet of her quarters was welcoming after the chaos of the evening. ____ shut the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, exhaling slowly.
Finally. Alone.
She crossed the room ungracefully and reached up to pull the pins from her hair, sighing as the carefully constructed updo unraveled. Strands of hair fell loosely around her shoulders as she worked the last of the pins free and dropped them onto the nearby table.
Her reflection in the mirror looked… different.
Flushed. Disheveled. Like someone who had very recently been kissing her commanding officer against a desk. She groaned quietly, kicking her heels off in the general direction of the closet. She could deal with that later.
“Maker…”
Walking over to the bed, she sat down heavily on the edge of the mattress and ran a hand through her hair. It had been an act. Just an act. That’s all.
The silence didn't last long.
A knock sounded at the door.
For a moment she simply stared at it, an exhausted sort of dread washing over her. What now? Slowly, she stood and crossed the room.
The door slid open, and once again, General Hux stood in the doorway. He was still dressed in the same formal wear from the gala, though his coat now hung open slightly and his posture lacked its usual rigidity.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, Hux cleared his throat.
“May I come in?”
She stepped aside automatically.
He entered stiffly, glancing around the small quarters as the door slid shut behind him. The silence stretched again. Up close, she could see that he looked… uncomfortable. Not angry. Just awkward, which was almost more alarming. She was used to anger. This was unfamiliar.
Finally, he folded his hands behind his back.
“We should,” he said carefully, “discuss what happened earlier.”
His gaze flicked briefly toward her before settling off to the side, avoiding eye contact for what felt like the hundredth time that night.
____ stood near the foot of her bed, once again very aware of her appearance. She had removed the carefully composed version of herself he had last seen. Her hair now hung loose around her shoulders, standing barefoot in smudged makeup and a rumpled dress, in front of the General of the First Order. It felt nearly as inappropriate as their actions in the office had been.
Hux, meanwhile, stood stiffly near the door, as though unsure how far into the room he was meant to go.
The silence stretched.
“Yes, sir,” she said finally, her voice steady in an attempt to make up for her unprofessional appearance. “We probably should.”
Hux cleared his throat again and shifted, his hands remaining clasped firmly behind his back.
“I wish to make one thing very clear from the outset,” he said, settling into the clipped cadence she knew well. “Your decision in that moment was… tactically sound.”
She blinked. That was not what she expected him to start with.
“The situation required immediate improvisation,” he continued. “Your solution prevented the compromise of the mission and likely saved all of our lives.”
He paused, his gaze flicking toward her briefly before returning to the wall.
“So if you are concerned that I intend to discipline you for your conduct—”
“I was,” she admitted quickly, letting out a short, relieved laugh.
Hux faltered. His eyes moved back to her fully now.
“You were?”
She shrugged faintly, though the movement held very little humor.
“You’ve executed officers for less.”
A shadow crossed his expression.
“That was different.”
“Was it?”
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Hux stiffened again, though this time the tension felt less like anger and more like discomfort.
“You acted in service of the First Order,” he said after a moment. “You followed your instincts under pressure. That is precisely what I expect from my second in command.”
The title carried a surprising amount of weight. ____ felt some of the tightness in her chest ease, replaced by something else she couldn't quite put a name to.
“So I’m not being court-martialed?”
“No.”
She nodded slowly.
“Good. And you're not gonna kill me?"
"No."
"Okay. Good."
Another silence fell between them. This one felt heavier.
They both knew that wasn’t the only topic they needed to discuss.
Hux shifted again, finally moving farther into the room. He stopped near the small desk across from her bed, resting his fingertips briefly against the edge before withdrawing them again as if realizing the gesture was too casual.
“There is,” he said carefully, “another matter.”
She waited. He hesitated.
For a man who could command fleets and armies without blinking, the uncertainty in his posture was startling.
“The nature of the act itself,” he said stiffly.
She clenched her jaw.
“Yes.”
Neither of them looked particularly comfortable now. Hux exhaled slowly through his nose.
“In the interest of clarity,” he continued, “the physical contact that occurred was… necessary to maintain the illusion.”
She nodded quickly.
“Of course.”
“Of course.”
The words hung there. Neither of them sounded entirely convinced.
Hux’s eyes flicked to hers again.
“As Ren insisted on pointing out, there were… moments,” he said carefully, “when the situation became somewhat… enthusiastic.”
She grimaced, closing her eyes as if to ward off the unwanted conversation.
“Sir—”
“I am merely stating an observation.”
“I noticed,” she muttered, professionalism be damned.
He straightened again, color rising faintly along his neck.
“My concern,” he continued, “is that the intensity of the performance may have—”
“Sir,” she interrupted somewhat harshly once again.
Her tone alone made him pause.
She took a slow breath, closing her eyes as if to shut out the moment. "Please. Ren's scene was humiliating enough. I can't apologize enough for my behavior, but please, don't force us to talk about it. We don't talk about things."
She couldn't bring herself to open her eyes.
"You can demote me, or reassign me if you need, sir. Just don't make me talk about it."
Hux was silent for several seconds too long for ____'s comfort.
Finally, she heard him speak. "Miss ____."
Jaw tight, ____ took a breath and opened her eyes to a squint, only to see Hux looking genuinely confused for the first time in the entirety of her service under his command.
"What are you talking about?"
Now confused herself, she opened her eyes fully to see Hux staring at her as if she had started speaking an entirely different language. ____ blinked at him.
“My… behavior,” she said slowly, the words suddenly feeling uncertain in her mouth. “Earlier.”
“In the office?”
“Yes.”
Another pause. Hux’s brow furrowed slightly.
“What?”
She stared at him.
“…Is that not what we're talking about right now, sir?”
Hux blinked at her.
“No.”
The single word landed with quiet finality. ____ stared back at him, her confusion deepening.
“No?”
“No,” he repeated, his expression tightening slightly. “I was referring to my conduct.”
That stopped her entirely.
“Your conduct?”
“Yes.”
He straightened slightly, shoulders drawing back as if bracing himself.
“As Ren so gleefully pointed out,” Hux continued stiffly, “my reactions during the… performance… were not entirely consistent with a strictly professional demonstration.”
Her brain struggled to catch up.
“Your reactions.”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened faintly. He averted his gaze again.
“It would appear that certain… thoughts… were present that should not have been.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Hux looked beyond uncomfortable now, his composure beginning to show small cracks.
“I assumed,” he continued, voice tight, “that Ren’s commentary had made you aware of this.”
____ felt her stomach twist. Her mind immediately flashed back to the moment in the hallway where Ren had confronted them. She thought the entire scene was meant to humiliate her. Not…
Somehow, she felt herself flush even more.
“I…” she started, then stopped. Hux mistook the hesitation for confirmation.
“Yes,” he muttered under his breath, clearly mortified. “That is what I feared.”
He turned away from her then, fixing his attention on the wall beside her bed with an intensity that suggested he would very much prefer the wall to swallow him whole.
“For the sake of maintaining professional boundaries,” he continued stiffly, “I felt it necessary to clarify that those thoughts were circumstantial.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words.
“They were the product of heightened adrenaline,” he went on, voice tight with controlled embarrassment. “And the proximity required by the deception.”
____ closed her eyes again, trying to piece together what the man had just told her.
“…Sir.”
“Yes?”
“I was under the impression that he was talking about my conduct. My thoughts."
Hux frowned faintly, finally looking her in the eye.
“…Excuse me?”
She hesitated.
“I thought he was talking about mine. I'm the one who should be apologizing. You're my superior officer, my conduct was entirely inappropriate.”
Silence fell over the room. Hux did not move. He did not blink. He simply looked at her as though the words had not fully registered in his brain.
“…Your conduct,” he repeated slowly.
“Yes.”
Another pause. Something shifted in his expression.
“I believed he was addressing me,” Hux said carefully. “So, you… Also?"
“Yes.”
“And that when he said you ‘forgot it was an act’…”
She nodded, a mixture of embarrassment and lingering confusion twisting in her stomach.
“Yes.”
Hux stared at her. For several long seconds, the room was completely still.
Then,
“…Oh.”
But the word came out oddly strained.
“Sir… you came here because you thought Ren might have been referring to your thoughts?” ____ asked cautiously as the meaning settled into place.
Another silence followed. A very different one this time. Suddenly, they were both realizing the exact same thing.
____ spoke first.
“…Sir?”
Hux did not answer immediately.
For a man who could command entire military fleets without hesitation, he now seemed absurdly uncertain of what to do with his hands. They had drifted from behind his back, only for him to clasp them together again a moment later. His gaze shifted dropped to the floor.
“…This is not a discussion we need to have.”
____ raised an eyebrow.
“Sir.”
He sighed quietly through his nose, clearly realizing he had walked himself into a corner.
“You asked a question,” he said stiffly.
“Not really.”
“Well, I answered it.”
“Not really,” she repeated, softer this time.
His lips pressed into a thin line. Across the room, she leaned lightly against the edge of the bed, watching him with what was now a mixture of eagerness and an anxious anticipation.
“You came to my quarters,” she said gently. “If you aren't here to chastise me for how I acted earlier...” she trailed off.
Hux looked at her again. Really looked at her. His gaze lingered just a moment too long before he forced it away.
Another pause stretched between them. Then, he exhaled slowly.
“I came here,” he admitted, “because I believed there was an understanding that Ren's comments were on my own thoughts that shouldn't have occurred.”
Her heart thumped in her chest.
“And what about that made you come here tonight?” she asked quietly.
“Like you said, we did what was necessary. What is there to apologize for?” She probed, heart pounding in her chest. There's no way that this is what she thought it was… Was it?
He hesitated.
Then, almost reluctantly—
“My perception of the act was… not appropriate.”
Something about the way he said it made her tilt her head slightly.
“Not appropriate,” she repeated.
“Yes.”
Another quiet beat passed between them. She pushed herself away from the desk. The small movement closed the distance between them by a step.
“I thought he was talking about me,” she repeated once more, staring ahead. Hux finally met her eyes, and ____ nearly stepped back. She had never seen him look so human.
Hux’s breath caught.
“That has been established.”
“Hux,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “No. I wanted to…"
Oh.
Hux went very still. His eyes widened, proper understanding washing over him. For a moment neither of them spoke. The room suddenly felt much smaller. The admission seemed to settle between them like a physical thing.
Hux didn’t move, but his gaze dropped briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes.
“You shouldn't have,” he said quietly.
“Neither should you.”
“That is precisely my point.”
“Is it?”
She took another small step forward without fully realizing she had done it. Now, there was barely a foot of space between them.
Hux noticed. His posture stiffened automatically.
“You are my second-in-command,” he said.
“Yes.”
“There are boundaries.”
“Probably.”
He exhaled slowly.
“And yet you continue moving closer.”
Only then did she seem to realize how little distance remained between them.
She smiled slightly, cocking her head to the side. "I've risked execution too many times to count tonight. What's once more?" At this point, it felt like a risk worth taking.
It was her turn to glance at his lips now.
“…You haven’t stepped back.”
Hux opened his mouth to respond.
Stopped.
Because she was right. Another long second passed.
“…Do you want me to?” His gaze flicked down again.
“No,” she admitted softly.
The tension that had been building since the governor’s office tightened suddenly, pulling them closer in a way neither of them seemed able to resist. Hux lifted a hand slowly. He hesitated just before touching her, as though giving her time to stop him.
She didn’t.
His fingers brushed lightly along her jaw, tilting her face upward the same way he had earlier that evening. The contact sent a small shiver down her spine. For a moment they simply stood there, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath.
“This is a very poor decision,” he murmured.
“Probably,” she agreed.
Neither of them moved away.
The space between them shrank another fraction.
Then finally, Hux closed the distance.
The kiss was nothing like the desperate, frantic one they had shared in the governor’s office. This one was slower. Almost hesitant at first, like neither of them quite believed the moment was real. But when she leaned into it, when her hand lightly caught the front of his coat again, the last of his self-control slipped.
His other hand came up to cradle the side of her face as he kissed her properly this time, passion slipping through their restraint.
Her fingers tightened slightly in the front of his coat, steadying herself as she leaned into him, and he responded in kind; one hand still warm against her jaw, the other settling at her waist, holding her in place as if to reassure him that the moment was real.
Despite the intensity of his grasp on her, Hux pulled away first. He stared, breathing heavily, hands remaining firmly in place.
“This complicates matters,” he murmured after a moment, though there was less conviction behind the words than before.
“Everything about tonight has been complicated,” she pointed out gently.
“That is not reassuring.”
“It’s not supposed to be.”
That earned the faintest hint of a smile from him. Brief, but genuine.
It faded just as quickly. Hux straightened slightly, though he didn’t step away.
“We will need to proceed with caution,” he said, slipping back into something closer to his usual tone. “This cannot interfere with our duties.”
“It won’t.”
“And it must remain… discreet.”
“Of course.”
Another small silence settled between them. Different now. Softer. Hux studied her for a moment longer, as though committing something to memory.
“…You performed exceptionally tonight,” he said quietly.
She smiled faintly.
“So did you.”
A beat.
Then, almost reluctantly, he stepped back. The distance between them returned, but it felt less professional. Not the way it had been before.
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.
You had known Armitage Hux since your first year at the Imperial Academy, where uniforms were stiff, praise was rare, and competition was everything.
From the moment you met him, he was infuriatingly impossible to ignore. With his sharp gaze and sharper tongue, he spoke in calculated perfection, every syllable like a blade.
You hated everything about him. How he always had an answer, that your scores and his were always neck and neck until one of you pulled ahead, only to do it all over again for the next semester.
He was a storm you wanted to chase and silence all at once. None of your other classmates mattered. They came and went, some brilliant, others forgettable. But none, none, ever got under your skin like Armitage, and you returned the favour in kind. None of the other students understood the rules of the game like he did.
Professors would exchange weary glances when the two of you entered a room, because it meant chaos. Every word between you two was sharp, calculated. Every glance a challenge. If he quoted a doctrine, you’d find the exception. If you proposed a strategy, he’d find the flaw.
There were only two names at the top of every academic scoreboard, two voices circling each other in debates, two cadets with equal parts ambition and loathing.
After graduation, you were both posted to Starkiller Base, naturally. Wherever you went, he was there, usually with that smug, self-righteous smirk that made you want to wipe it off his face.
Your rivalry evolved. Academic jabs became workplace debates. Every meeting turned into a strategic battle of undermining smirks and thinly veiled critiques. You questioned his resource allocation reports, he ‘accidentally’ revised your strategic models. Every meeting turned into a performance, every raised eyebrow, every overly sweet ‘General’ laced with venomous intent.
Still, no one could deny your results. Or his. Which is how you ended up in a meeting with Supreme Leader Snoke himself. Standing side by side, like a couple of nexu vying for the same kill.
“Sir, ” Armitage began, his voice like polished steel. You interrupted. “If this is about the logistics division-” “It’s about results!” Snoke hissed. “And which one of you can deliver.”
Promotion bait. And both of you took to it like starved fish. You launched into a flurry of defence, throwing your credentials like knives, hoping anything will stick. Armitage mentioned planetary sieges. You countered with long-range attrition strategy. He cited troop loyalty. You reminded Snoke of your psychological compliance programs.
It’s safe to say you both left that room fuming.
You both knew the truth: neither of you had truly earned Snoke’s favour. You were still dancing in his shadow like puppets, clawing at his scraps of attention.
The Imperial Gala was a night of pretence: carefully curated uniforms, glittering guests from all across the galaxy, and every social climber slinking around for proximity to power. You weren’t looking forward to it. Too many fake smiles. Too many empty conversations. But it was necessary, you supposed.
You were halfway through some shallow back-and-forth with a Naval dignitary when you spotted him across the room, he’s laughing: fake, poised, smug.
Armitage Hux, dressed in full regalia, like the arrogant ghost of every exam you’d ever lost.
You caught his eye. Just briefly. He didn’t wave, just tilted his head and gave you a look that said ‘you again?’.
The night wore on: chatter, drinks, sneering glances. Eventually, you and Armitage crossed paths by the refreshment table. Because of course you did.
“Is it just me, or is every person in this room two IQ points away from being outwitted by a protocol droid?” You mused into your glass. Armitage hummed in amusement. “Generous of you. I'd wager one and a half.”
You shouldn’t have smiled. But the air between you shifted, just slightly. The banter between you sparked like a live wire, standing shoulder to shoulder, observing the crowd like visitors at a zoo.
“They think they’re clever.” You scoff under your breath. “They think we care.” He replied. You both chuckled. For a moment, the banter wasn’t meant to draw blood. It was… easy. Familiar. And you both felt it.
Which meant it had to be squashed. Immediately.
You clear your throat. “Ren looks like a kicked womp rat.” You point out, glancing at Kylo Ren, who is brooding in a corner like a misplaced Hallowe’en decoration. “Do you think he realises his cape is inside out?” Armitage chuckled, dimples appearing on his cheeks. “He thinks it’s a metaphor.” You almost laughed. Almost.
Something changed after the gala. Neither of you acknowledged it. there is this strange tension, humming in the space between every interaction. Every sarcastic comment. Every brush of proximity.
And so you went to the training room to clear your head. To sweat it out. To forget. But when the training room door hisses open, you see him. Armitage. Alone. Shirt sticking to his back, hair damp, eyes focused. Practicing strikes with mechanical precision.
Of course he had to be here just when you decided to come. “Oh, look.” You drawl. “Do they just let anyone use this space now?”
He turns, already annoyed. “Didn’t realise they were admitting tacticians who’ve never seen a battlefield.” He spits, making you scoff.
“Let’s see who’s more useful in a fight, then.” You move to the training mats. He raises an eyebrow, sharp eyes following your every move. “You’re serious?” You put up your hands, closing them into fists. “Scared?” You taunt him. He scoffs, getting into position. “Of you?”
This isn't just sparring, it is years of buried tension. Words become movements. Movements become strikes. The sweat, the panting, the gritted teeth: it's war and flirtation and fury and everything you’d refused to name.
Then-
Armitage made a mistake: a slip, a misstep, he was too slow. You catch his wrist and pin him to the mat, both of you panting as you hover over him, eyes locked in an intense gaze.
“Still scared?” You whisper. Armitage doesn't flinch at your jab. He looks up at you like you are a supernova. “You have no idea.”
He rolls, suddenly reversing the pin, his face dangerously close to yours. “I never hated you.” He confesses, voice ragged. “I wanted to. But I couldn’t.” You freeze, staring up at him, your heart hammering against your chest.
Suddenly, he pulls back like he’s been burned. He stands fast, eyes clouded. “Forget I said anything.” He mutters, ashamed at his slip-up. “It was nothing.” He turns to leave, shoulders taut.
But-
In a flash of impulse you reach out. Grabbing his wrist, you pull him back, and you kiss him. Fiercely. Desperately. The tension crumbling with every moment your lips touch.
For one glorious second, Armitage hesitates, then he melts into you, his fingers gripping you tightly, desperation pouring into the kiss.
You break apart, breathless. His hands still have a tight hold on you. He swallows. “So… Still think you’re smarter than me?” You scoff. “Naturally.” You respond, causing him to roll his eyes. “Of course.” He laughs, the sound dripping with an unfamiliar fondness.
Hehe Thanks for the ask, darling!
I had a BLAST answering these questions!!!
3. Least favorite canon thing about this character?
Hux becoming a Spy in TROS. Not exactly because he betrayed the First Order, but because of HOW he did it.
I'll die on this hill, I don't know who hated this movie more: me, Domhnall or Hux kkkk cause seriously. WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT???
4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?
A Book of his own.
Disney, let me write this! I'm ready!
No, I'm not. It's been so long since I last wrote for Hux that I don't know if I still have the hang of it.
But I WOULD LOVE to read a Hux novel. I think. NO, I KNOW Dawson would write an AMAZING novel for Hux. And we ALL deserve to read it. Please, Disney, pretty please!
15. What's your favorite ship for this character? (Doesn't matter if it's canon or not.)
Believe it or not... Kylux
Although I write Hux x Reader stories, I quite enjoy Kylux stories. And the reason why I haven't written anything for them is because I'm not really a fan of Ren (don't get me wrong, Adam is absolutely phenomenal, but I have MANY issues with how the character was handled). I just don't think I'd a good job depicting him and I don't start a story unless I can FULLY commit to the characters. You guys who have been with me for a while know that.
But I have read AMAZING stories for the ship and I enjoy the fanarts and fanvids A LOT.
But I also quite like Hux x Poe and Hux x Rose. Have read fics for the ship here as well and loved them. I actually do have a kinktober story in my drafts for Gingerrose hehe
I love getting asks! This character ask game is amazing!!! You can check the questions here
