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

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

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

And then there had been that man.

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

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

Armitage would mind. He minded very much.

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

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

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

Your obvious hunger for someone, for anyone, else.

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

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

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

"Armitage?"

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

"Is something wrong?"

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

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

And that is something he cannot bear any longer.

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

"I consider your marital responsibilities to me fulfilled."

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

"Armitage, I don't understand."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Was he careless with you?"

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

"I never let him close enough."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"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.

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

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

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

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

Cal Kestis

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

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

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

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

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

Poe Dameron

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

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

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

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

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

Din Djarin

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

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

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

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

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

Anakin Skywalker

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

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

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

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

Armitage barely noticed the buzz at the door as he leaned over his desk, eyesight beginning to go a little fuzzy as he attempted to focus on the forms and diagrams on his data screens. Then he came back to himself. You were sleeping. Kriff, he hoped the noise hadn’t woken you. He pushed himself from the chair and stumbled a little unsteadily to the door, muscles stiff after hours of not remembering to move. He peered at the tiny screen for the cam that was trained to the exterior of the door. It was just a transport droid, no doubt delivering a freshly pressed set of uniforms. Pushing the button and sending door sliding open before the droid could buzz again, he collected the clothing and dismissed the droid.

He pivoted on his heel back into the room, uniforms in hand. It never failed to send a little thrill through him when both his and yours were delivered to what used to be only his quarters. Maybe it was silly, but it was another treasured reminder that you really were together. With that pleasant thought in mind, he set the crisply folded general’s and captain’s uniforms on the low table in the living area. He didn’t want to risk waking you by placing them in their proper location in the bedroom closet.

He had settled back down at his desk, mind already puzzling through the problems in front of him when he heard a soft sound from the direction of the bedroom. Then he heard you speak.

“Armitage…” Your voice was still thick with sleep, but the sound of his name on your lips was always impossibly sweet. He turned toward you instantly to find you leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom, attempting to rub the sleep from your eyes. He was about to try and convince you to go back to bed when he noticed something that caused a faint heat to begin rising in his body. You were wearing his sleep clothes. He had gotten back frustratingly late from a meeting that went far longer than necessary, and you had already been asleep when he quietly entered your shared quarters, so he wouldn’t have seen. But the tiny silver bands near the edges of the short sleeves and the hems of the shorts marked the otherwise unassuming black garments as unmistakably belonging to part of a general’s clothing allotment. Armitage swallowed thickly.

“Are… are you wearing my sleeping clothes?” he asked quietly, feeling the internal heat in his body begin to externalize itself in the form of an embarrassing blush. You nodded sleepily, beginning to make your way to him. He still watched your footsteps carefully in case you might become unstable, but you crossed the floor without incident, even if he could tell that you still favored your uninjured leg slightly. 

“Mmhmm…” you confirmed as you reached him, resting your hands on the back of his chair. “You weren’t there to hold me, so I had to opt for the next best thing.” Your fingers wandered to his shoulders. Armitage’s blush had increased to a veritable blaze, and with the way the warmth of your hands was soaking into his skin, he was beginning to find it very difficult to breathe. “Although I must admit,” you whispered, lips at the shell of his now very reddened ear, “they’re a very poor replacement.” 

Armitage was feeling quite faint indeed. Even if he had wanted to say something, he doubted any words would have made it past his lips. Your fingers pressed into his shoulders, finding all the places where his stress was tied in tense knots and slowly massaging them away. He suppressed a small groan at the heavenly feeling.

“You never wear the short ones anyway,” you murmured. It was true; Armitage had spent too much of his life feeling cold, first on rainy Arkanis and then on the desolate ships of the Imperial remnant. His wiry frame had never held onto heat well. Now that he had the choice to be warm, he wasn’t going to waste the privilege. You helped with that too, he mused as the places where your hands met his shoulders radiated with liquid warmth that was seeping into the rest of his body. “You don’t mind, do you?” There was maybe just the barest hint of hesitation in your question, like you weren’t perfectly certain. He reached one hand up to clasp over yours, momentarily stilling your rhythmic movement on his strained muscles. 

“Not at all,” he assured you. He was so far past not minding. In fact, the thought of it was causing very… distracting images to begin to form in his mind. You hummed lightly in response to his answer, and he could feel the gentle press of your lips against his disheveled hair. Your fingers began kneading at his shoulders again, and he let himself relax more fully into your tender touch. Then he caught a glimpse of the time on his data screen.

“Love,” he said softly, reveling in the way the term of endearment could fall so easily from his lips now. “It’s late – you should go back to bed.” As much as he wanted you to stay, he was determined not to let his own bad habits affect you, especially not while you were still healing.

“Not without you,” came the soft but stubborn reply. A small smile pulled at his lips. Your sleepiness seemed to have made you more endearingly uninhibited.

“You need your rest,” he reminded you, gently pulling one of your hands from his shoulder and placing a warm kiss on your knuckles. 

“So do you,” you responded, your other hand now carding through his hair, sending a pleasant humming sensation along his scalp as you freed the last of the orderly orange strands from their gelled attention. He realized his resolve was weakening.

“I have work to do…” he said softly, trying to convince himself as much as you. Reluctantly, he dropped your hand, placing his arm back on the armrest of his chair as he once again pulled himself toward the desk. He hoped that the action of returning to work would shake the tiredness he could feel steadily growing in his body. It seemed you weren’t having any of that though.

You trailed your hand over his shoulder and down the length of his arm, your touch setting off sparks on his skin even through the rumpled fabric of his uniform top. He struggled to regulate his breathing. You came into view then as you moved between him and his data screens, letting your fingers linger on the back of his wrist as you leaned back against the edge of his desk. The sight of you still soft and languid from sleep, clad in his sleep clothes, was almost more than he could bear. He bit down hard as he struggled with both the exhaustion and sudden heat that were steadily rising in his body. 

“Armitage, you can work next cycle,” you told him gently as you leaned toward him. His breath stuttered in his lungs.

“I— I really should try to get this finished,” he stammered out, even though everything in him wanted to give into you. You seemed to search his face for a moment before coming to some kind of conclusion. What you had decided Armitage could not guess.

“Alright,” you whispered, but there was less defeat in your voice than he would have expected. He watched as you pushed yourself from his desk, hoping to steal a kiss as you passed back behind his chair to return to the bedroom. But that was not the motion you made.

Armitage had to grip the armrests of his chair in surprise as you instead moved forward and slid onto his lap, easily slotting yourself against him. Your head was tucked into his neck, your hands curled up against his chest, legs swung sideways across him. It was a long moment before he could breathe again. The warm, comforting weight of your body against him was such a familiar, welcome feeling that he instinctively began to melt into you. 

“What are you doing?” he asked breathlessly, his lips against your forehead.

“You said you needed to work and that I needed to rest,” you murmured back. He could feel your quiet words vibrating against his chest. “But I sleep better when you hold me. So I’m compromising.” Even through the sleepiness in your voice, Armitage could hear the light teasing that threaded through your words. Kriff, he was so in love with you.

“You’re not going to be able to sleep like this,” he told you, unable to keep the smile from his voice. You shrugged against him.

“How do you know?” you responded, adjusting your position on his lap and snuggling closer to him. He gritted his teeth, only too aware that he was losing this battle. When he remained still for a moment, you spoke again: “You can work. I’ll just be here.”

Armitage let out a huff of affectionate amusement at your words. Nevertheless, he pulled himself back toward his desk, trying to train his attention on the data screens. He was not particularly successful in that endeavor. Every instinct in his body was telling him to wrap his arms around you, to pull you closer. You were literally in his lap, pressed against his chest, and he was focused on work that was seeming less and less important by the minute as he became more and more aware of your body against his. He was struggling mightily to read over a diagram when he felt you move.

Your hands had found their way to his uniform collar and were slowly loosening the dark fabric from around his throat, undoing some of the topmost fastenings. His skin flushed, reacting immediately to the soft brush of your fingers.

“I thought you were supposed to be sleeping,” he reminded you, his lightly scolding tone no doubt getting lost in the rush of affection that he couldn’t suppress from his voice.

“You seemed uncomfortable,” you offered by way of explanation as you pulled the high collar away from his neck. “I was just trying to help.” Before he could respond, he was suddenly frozen in place by the feeling of your warm lips pressed tenderly to the revealed skin of his neck. He gripped the armrest as his breathing became fevered and uneven. He knew the battle was lost.

When your lips fell from his skin, he pulled back, letting you lean slightly into the support of his arms so that he could see your face.

“What?” you asked with a bright smile, the question suffused with false innocence. 

“You are incorrigible,” he responded, tilting forward to press his forehead against yours, brushing your noses together. The action caused a spiral of sleepy giggles to bubble from your lips. Despite his attempt to affect mock disapproval, Armitage couldn’t help the way his face pulled into a smile at your reaction.

“I learned from the best,” you retorted happily, planting a tiny kiss on the tip of his nose. There was no way to hide the way his whole face went pink.

“Well, now I see why you were so good at your work, Captain,” he teased, still surprised at how easily such a response came to him when he was around you, “you can be very convincing indeed.”

“I’m not sure how good it made me at my work,” you replied, and Armitage could hear the laughter in your voice, “since this manner of persuasion is saved for you alone, General.” Your eyes were glittering and so, so soft as you looked at him. If he hadn’t already admitted defeat, this would have been the moment he would have happily given in. There was something about knowing that there was a side of you reserved solely for him that never failed to make warmth bloom in his chest.

“Hmmm… a brilliant tactician then,” he mused as he brought your head to where he could press a kiss to your temple. You hummed happily in response. 

“Does this mean you’ll come to bed then?” you asked with a small yawn. Armitage was all too aware of the way your fingers had found his collar again and were slowly opening more and more of his uniform top, revealing the black shirt beneath. The skin of his chest was no doubt a humiliating shade of pink under the thin fabric as his body reacted to your gentle touch.

“Fine,” he acquiesced with an exaggerated sigh of mock-resignment. From the way you laughed, it was clear you heard the affectionate joking in his voice.

“Thank you for your sacrifice, General,” you teased back. The way your fingers were idly tracing patterns across his chest was making him feel quite dizzy.

“Far from a sacrifice,” he whispered against your temple, the joking gone from his voice, “I consider it a privilege.” You ducked your head in slight embarrassment at his words as he pressed another kiss to your hairline.

“Then why did it take so much convincing?” you murmured against his chest. There were a hundred ways Armitage could have answered that question, most of them coming down to the fact that he had gotten good at denying himself the things he wanted. This was not the time to delve into that particular subject; he wanted to keep the conversation light, aware of the fact that you seemed to be growing sleepier by the minute as you curled against him.

“Well, your methods of persuasion were perfectly attuned to your intended target,” he mused, tracing a finger along your cheek. “Perhaps I found the process of being convinced… enjoyable.” He could feel the way your skin warmed at his words. 

“Now who’s being incorrigible?” you rejoined, unable to keep a smile from blooming on your face despite the teasing mock-accusation in your voice.

“You did say you learned from the best,” he reminded you, eliciting a small laugh as you tucked your head against his neck again. Kriff, you made everything in him feel so light. He could have stayed there all rest period, but he was too practical to think that the current position was a viable long-term sleeping option for either of you.

“Love, I hate to say this, but you are going to need to get up so that I can keep my promise,” he whispered against your ear. He couldn’t help but chuckle at your small whine of annoyance. Nevertheless, you crawled from his lap as his hands hovered over you, still anxious that you might become unsteady. He missed the feeling of your body against his immediately.

He stood from his chair as soon as he was certain that you were able to stand without incident. You leaned back against his desk slightly, arms wrapped around yourself as though to ward off the chill in the air that was more apparent on your bared skin now that you weren’t curled against him. Armitage placed his hands on your shoulders as you gazed at him with tired eyes.

“Go to bed,” he urged you softly. “I need to change, but I’ll be right there.”

“You promise?” you asked. Kriff, he couldn’t say no to you when you were looking at him like that – not that he was planning on denying you anything.

“I promise,” he assured you, planting a kiss on your forehead. You hummed lightly as his lips found your skin and offered him a soft smile as you vanished back toward the bedroom. Watching for just a moment to make sure your injured leg didn’t fail you, Armitage then slid into the refresher and finished the work you had been doing to loosen his uniform, the memory of your fingers still lingering against his skin. He pulled on his sleeping clothes – garments he used significantly more now that he was with you. Then he padded through the darkened rooms, turning off his data screens as he made for the bedroom. You were right: his work could wait until next cycle.

He stepped softly into the room, taking a moment to notice the way the starlight streaming in through the window cascaded over your form, bathing you in a silvery glow. His breath skipped a little in his lungs. He crawled under the covers with you, and he could tell that you were already half asleep by the way your breathing had deepened. You blinked your eyes open slightly as he slid onto the mattress next to you, a tired but genuine smile forming on your lips.

“This is so much better than just wearing your sleep clothes,” you murmured as he pulled you into his arms.

“And this is so much better than working,” Armitage sighed. “But you can wear my sleep clothes any time,” he added, the words barely above a whisper. Something about the soft darkness in the room and the way you were folded so happily against him was making him feel a little brave.

“Oh yeah?” He could tell from the hazy quality of your voice that you were on the verge of sleep. “Why?” He stroked a hand down your back, considering his reply. If he confessed now, with you already barely conscious, maybe you would wake up thinking you had dreamed it.

“I find it quite… attractive.” The word was a paltry one for the way heat had suffused his body at the sight, but it conveyed his meaning well enough for the moment. Perhaps there would be another time for him to be more explicit about his feelings on the subject. He blushed deeply in the dark.

“Then… I guess… I’ll have to wear them more often…” It was clear you were struggling to stay awake with the way your stumbling words kept trailing off. Armitage continued the gentle motion of his hand moving lightly up and down your back.

“I find you quite… appealing… no matter what you wear.” Again, the word paled in comparison to the way he felt about you. But the sentiment was true, the proof only too clear on his very reddened cheeks that he was grateful you couldn’t see.

“Armitage… are you saying…?” Your question faded from your lips as your breathing deepened. Armitage was relieved. He wasn’t sure that was a conversation he could have with you without it resulting in you getting far less sleep than you needed. Heat still spread throughout his body at the thought though. He closed his eyes, working to match his breathing to yours. There would be time for that on other nights.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Use your words." Ren said, demanding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuming, he finished packing two more crisp uniforms, his datapad, and a coat for the journey. He also counted the rotations until his retirement--12,045, to be exact, if he managed to survive that long--and wondered if there was any way he could kill Ren in his sleep, if the bastard even slept. By the time he had gotten to the Finalizer's hangar, he had decided poison would be best, and that he'd move to some penthouse in Coruscant, get 5 cats, and become some miserly old curmudgeon once he was done working.

The hangar was one of his favorite places, following the bridge, because it housed so much controlled chaos. Just like his precious bridge, it was carefully managed, teeming with droids and techs, always working, always awake. He liked the brightness of the lights in both places, keeping him up through the night cycles, always working away at his datapad. At least Mitaka would be on the mission, he figured, and he was tolerable. And punctual, he noted as he walked around their transport, given that he could see a pair of boots under the nose of the ship. As he rounded the front, he came face-to-face not with Mitaka, but with you.

Oh, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. As was usual when it came to you, he was done for. You had served under him for two years as a Lieutenant, his best strategist even with his rose-colored glasses off. You two worked closely together, which had been just about killing him. These feelings, these stupid stupid thoughts, would nestle in his brain every time he let his guard down. What if he just brushed your hands together, working late one night on the bridge? What would it be like to kiss you? What would it feel like to have your nails down his-- he stopped himself. That was completely inappropriate. And something he would think about a lot more later. With that thought firmly lodged in his head, he just had to act like a human being long enough for Mitaka to arrive, then he could wash it away in the refresher.

"General!" You broke the silence with a smile and a wave. He had asked you to stop saluting when you saw him, partially because you saw each other so often, but mainly because it reminded him of the fact that he was your commanding officer, and that his little crush was inappropriate. So, so, inappropriate.

"Lieutenant," he said, pausing. Small talk. Small talk. Right. "What brings you to the hangar?" he asked. Real smooth, dumbass.

"I'm coming with you on the mission to Starkiller, sir. You requested a Lieutenant come along, and Mitaka is in the medbay for...injuries, so I'm filling in," you replied. It didn't need to be said that the injuries were caused by Kylo Ren. That was the only cause of injuries in the bridge, anyway.

Normally, he would be thrilled to have you replace Mitaka. You were much more enjoyable to be around, and you weren't one of the people who regularly faced Ren's wrath, so it worked out for him. Except for the fact that he would be spending twenty-four hours, there and back, with you. He could feel the blush climbing up his neck, and he tried to defuse it. You had been a couple of years below him in the Academy, you had been on plenty of missions with him, and you had worked late into the night right beside him plenty of times. He knew you. He wouldn't do anything stupid, like thinking about your time in the Academy, when he helped you study for exams in the library and he imagined what it would be like to make out against one of the shelves--he stopped himself again. This was really getting out of hand, and if he kept going down that road he'd get hard in the middle of the hangar.

"I hope Mitaka recovers well, and that his injuries are not severe. He is a good Lieutenant," he said, mentally kicking himself. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Yeah, Dopheld is pretty okay, just some scrapes. It was... avoidable." Despite your careful language, he knew what you were telling him. You had both harbored a dislike of Ren ever since he joined the Order, but, since he entered your orbits, both of you took issue with him. You, more because he hurt your colleagues. Hux, for obvious reasons. Regardless, you were both united in your general dislike of the Commander. 

The pilot stepped out of the ship, telling both of you that you could get on. He gestured for you to go first, out of some semblance of politeness. He kept his eyes pointedly on the back of your head and not your ass as he walked. Back. Of. The. Head. Your hair--he thought about your hair when it was loose, back in social events at the Academy or during balls, and how he had wondered what it would be like to run his fingers through it, or tuck it behind your ear, or pull it--stars, he definitely needed a shower at this point.

As you entered the ship, he was unpleasantly surprised by how cramped it was, and the pilot showed you to your rooms. His was pretty standard fare: a bed, a refresher, a nightstand. At least it's not shared, he thought. He nodded at the pilot and set his bag down, taking off his coat and unceremoniously flopping it onto a nearby chair. He fished out his datapad and sent you a brief comm.

"Shall we meet in the lounge at 1800 for a briefing on the Base? We can also get dinner, if you would like." He typed the last part hurriedly, sending it before he could think better of it. That was normal, right? For work, right? He had 45 minutes to go cool off before he saw you again. Or, stars forbid, Ren.

Ren still hadn't made it onto the ship, and takeoff was in five minutes. Hux smiled to himself. Maybe there was hope that this mission could be fun after all. He was still, rather embarrassingly, flustered from your previous encounter. He shed his uniform quickly, getting to the refresher and turning on the water as cold as it would go. The ship started under his feet, engines whirring and coming to life as it prepared for takeoff. Hux braced himself against the walls of the shower, smiling even wider. 

Ren hadn't made it. There was just you and him, working on the ship for a full rotation. His brain immediately thought of ways to spend the time that were less than savory. Against the wall, for one. On the floor, on the bed. Maybe in the refresher? He leaned his forehead against the shower wall, willing those thoughts away as he felt himself harden. His hand instinctively went to his cock, and he drew in a halting breath. Not now.

This was going to be a hard, hard twenty-four hours.