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PROMPT POST #2 - CLOSED

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prompt post one

+ All comments except fills should be posted anonymously.
+ All prompts should focus on TFA characters. You can't post OT or PT-only prompts.
+ One prompt per comment please.
+ You can request both kink and non-kink content
+ Crossovers, characters from the other media are allowed, but must relate to the 2015 movie in some way.
+ All prompt comments should begin with a pairing tag (eg Rey/Finn) or Gen for no pairing.
+ Use 'Any' when prompting for any pairing at all (eg Kylo/Any or Any/Any)
+ Anyone, everyone, no one? Use "Other." (e.g. Poe/Other)
+ Warn for common triggers, please
+ NO PROMPTS FEATURING CHARACTERS UNDER 18 IN SEXUAL SITUATIONS.
+ don't hijack other people's prompts.
+ prompts should not exceed ~250 words.
+ also, while this is not really a rule I can enforce, please try to limit yourselves to fewer than 5 prompts per page.
+ reposting prompts is currently not allowed.
+ no prompts based on real life tragic events. e.g: 9/11 au, concentration camp au, etc
+ PLAY NICE

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

warning: filthy henotheism.

*

The hours roll by. Thick clouds of oily smoke block the stars, and the dark underbellies of the clouds flicker with dull red fire. Guards tromp in cadres through the city streets, the clanking of their armor and the thud of their boots the only sound. The Warrior King chews on dried fruit to keep his strength up. He takes a piece of dried meat and shreds it, but his stomach turns thinking of the Wild Tribes and their cannibalistic feast, and he discards the meat out the window, imagining that it will be snatched up by the cats that keep the city's rat population down. The meat has barely left the Warrior King's hand before the Oracle pushes him away from the window.

A needle-thin dart clatters off the far side of the tower wall, falling to the floor. The Warrior King flattens himself against the stone wall, but not before the Oracle yanks a skinny, struggling thing wrapped in dirty rags onto the floor of the tower. The skinny thing kicks and shrieks, writhing in apparent agony until the Oracle slaps it across the face. Then it goes still, drawing in on itself as much as it can with the Oracle's long, bony hand wrapped around both of its wrists.

The Warrior King hurries over and kneels down by the assassin's side. He draws his dagger and holds it to its throat, nodding at the Oracle. "Let me see its face," he says. The Oracle obediently tears off the assassin's face to reveal the snub-nosed, drawn face of a young girl.

"Who sent you?" barks the Warrior King. The girl just spits in his face. He wills himself not to wince.

"She does not know your tongue. Let me." The Oracle bends down, folding in on himself like a piece of linen cloth. He presses his long, beaky nose to the girl's. The Warrior King can't help but watch the way their eyes widen at each other, the terror and wonder in the girl's face as the Oracle's madness flashes in his eyes.

At last the Oracle speaks, his words measured and his voice low. It's in the guttural words of the Wild Tribes, the speech the Warrior King still can't understand. The girl answers him back in high, breathy tones, her chest rising and falling as she gulps out the words. At last, the Oracle seems satisfied, and he touches her on the forehead. Almost immediately, her eyes close and her head falls to the side.

The Oracle stands and brushes the dust from his knees. "Snoke sent her to me," he says. "He sent her to test my wits and my resolve, and I have triumphed." The Warrior King can see fire reflected in his eyes. "He has given me my reward."

"The girl?" The Warrior King stares at the assassin. "Do you wish to keep her?"

"Perhaps. But not in the way you think, my king." The Oracle's voice is mocking. "She may be useful to us. But that is not my reward. I have your vision, and your victory is my victory." The Oracle bares his teeth.

"Good. How can we defeat those beasts?" The Warrior King squats down next to the fire, the pungent smell of the herbs suddenly like fresh air to him. "What is our battle plan?"

"There will be no battle, and not a single soldier of yours will lose their lives. They will not even have to pass the walls of the city." The Oracle unsheathes his own knife. Where the Warrior King's blade is a worked blade of beaten bronze, the Oracle's blade is a shiny, brittle red stone, chipped unevenly and roughly, that would easily shatter if dashed against hard dirt. But it's not meant for dirt or stone, and the Warrior King knows that.

The Warrior King raises an eyebrow. "Will you sacrifice the girl? The Emperor of Heaven cannot eat blood. Can your god Snoke?"

"This is not for the gods." The Oracle crouches over the girl and places the red stone dagger against his wrist. "Light in the Darkness was not here to kill you, my king. She was here to rescue me."

"After twenty years a slave here? The Wild Tribes have passed through here before this. They must have known of you." The clouds flicker bright, and the Warrior King feels his spirits sink. "Unless...unless this is vengeance. But I thought your people drove you out for your visions, afraid."

"My grandfather has died." The Oracle's sight is not on the girl or on the Warrior King, but on the lights in the distance. "My mother is War Queen now, as my uncle is the shaman. She Who Lies With Stars wears the braided crown." The Oracle sneers. "Do you know how she got that name? She was with child, but no man could claim it. My mother told everyone that she could give birth by starlight, and such a woman needs no man to give her children. But Snoke gave me a vision. My father was a common man like any other, although he did come from the stars and flew away. When I saw him, he was drinking like a man, and playing games like a man, and lying with another--like a man!" The Oracle spits into the fire.

The Warrior King stares at the Oracle. "Do you mean...there are men in the stars?" His mind whirls, suddenly far beyond the city walls, beyond even the Wild Tribes and the fearsome forests that lie beyond. So much has opened up and so suddenly. If there are men in the stars, surely there are cities and Wild Tribes. Surely they can be visited. Deals brokered. Land taken. Who might rule the stars? And what might it be like to look out on them as your own? "Can you contact them? Can they help us?"

The Oracle squeezes his eyes shut. "I do not know. If I could reach into their dreams...they would wish to speak to you. To my mother."

"Then keep her alive."

"I could kill her. The link between us--I can manipulate it." The Oracle presses the red blade into his wrist. "If I give my hand, Snoke will strike down my mother. He has promised me."

"And if she dies, will the men from the stars still help us?"

The Oracle casts down his eyes. "There will be nothing tying us. But the men from the stars may help the Wild Tribes, if my father remembers her."

It is then that the Emperor of Heaven reaches his hand down to the Warrior King, and shows him a vision. It is of his people--the people of the city where he stands at the center--flying away, into the stars. It is a vision of his people of the city multiplying by the thousands. By more, by numbers too big to count. By as many grains of sand as there are in the desert. And the people in the stars will have ways to stretch his life out over the centuries, the man who brought his people to the stars. He can see himself at the center of a swirling cloud of stars, bright and great.

The Warrior King closes his hand around the Oracle's wrist. "Go back to your mother, boy," he says.

The Oracle's eyes blink rapidly, bright and darting. "You would throw me to the Wild Tribes? They will kill me!"

"No," says the Warrior King. "Your mother will welcome you, and you will tell her that you wish her to speak with me. That I will give them anything they want. And then--" He nods at the dagger. "You will do what you need to call the men from the stars."

"We'll lose," says the Oracle. He rises, the red blade glinting in his hand. "You'll lose all of this. Don't you understand? My mother will never let you rule her people."

"We'll gain the sky," says the Warrior King. At the edge of the clouds, there is the faintest blue light. It is the first hint of dawn, and with it comes the cession of his Oracle's visions and his power. But the Emperor of Heaven is said to span both the day and the night, and the Warrior King's vision will not fade with the day.

Oh this is so good. I'm aching all over here, waiting for the next installment!

thirded!

i'm not really sure where this is going anymore but we're finally getting to the sexy devotion/traditions part!!! or at least, the pre-sexy devotion/traditions part! Just needed to get past the movie stuff.

This will be heavily, heavily edited and/or expanded for AO3 once it's done.

---

Everything after Starkiller Base was destroyed descended into pure chaos.

Poe had been caught in the maelstrom, leading Black Squadron, blasting Starkiller, and he hadn’t really had the time to stop and consider the possibilities. The possibility that Finn might not make it out intact. The possibility that Finn might not make it at all.

When he touched down on-base and searched out the Millennium Falcon for Finn, he found Chewbacca holding Finn’s limp, lifeless body in his arms. He found Rey, too, standing stock-still, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her disheveled buns were matted with blood that could have been hers or Finn’s. Something sick and hot coiled in Poe’s gut, like a spring.

Rey looked like she could have been a princess. Finn, cradled so carefully in Chewbacca’s arms, looked like a fallen soldier.

Or maybe Rey had been the brave soldier and Finn had been the prince. Maybe Finn would owe Rey his devotion now, as Poe owed Finn.

Maybe they’d been both to each other.

He opened his mouth to say something—anything—to her, some sort of comforting nonsense, but the haunted, hollow look in her eyes stopped him short.

Poe turned back to watch the Wookiee gently lay Finn down on a hovergurney.

“I’ve got a pulse!”

All thoughts of anything but Finn vanished from his mind. In that moment, Poe only knew one thing: he needed to be there, by Finn’s side. He needed to be there when Finn woke up. If Finn woke up.

Poe followed after.

He would chase Finn to the far reaches of the galaxy, if only to see with his own eyes that he was alive. That he was well.

He would give to Finn what Finn had offered to Rey, if he chose to accept it: the gift of his devotion.

A!A

The next bit has been posted! Thanks for following along. :)

A!A

The next part's up!

A!A

Thank you!

A!A

Thanks!

A!A

Thank you! for the v kind comment!! This is so far out of my comfort zone, so I'm happy to see people are following along/getting some fulfillment out of this fill.

And I have first filler to thank for this. If not for the brief but so meaningful interaction of general to corpse that had so moved me, Kylo Ren and Hux would have had a much different relationship in this.

(reposting in CORRECT location)

Vengeful Finn is my favourite flavour of Finn.

oh hell yes!

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ Perfect Valentine's fill for this misfire!

things get even more petty!

Finn decides, for some reason, that the three of them should watch a holodrama together. He picks out a romantic melodrama of forbidden love amongst a stormtrooper unit, says they used to sneak them into the barracks back during his First Order days.

“They wouldn’t let us watch any holodramas, let alone ones with romance,” he explains, as he sets up the holoprojector in the center of his room and aims it toward the blank wall.

Poe is lounging—because of course he’s lounging—on Finn’s bed, all carelessly sprawled limbs and mussed hair. He probably thinks he looks artfully disheveled or something.

Rey’s onto him. She can see right through him even without the whole Jedi-in-training thing.

“What’s it about?” she asks, curling up on a chair beside the bed.

“These two stormtroopers, DX-9999 and FL-1983, get stranded together in this spacepod,” Finn explains, as he settles on the floor between the bed and the chair. “Dax and Fel, they call themselves. They crash-land on this island in the middle of an ocean planet and they’ve gotta fend for themselves. There’s rancors and wampas—which, okay, yeah it’s a little unrealistic. But then Dax falls down a mineshaft and Fel thinks he’s dead, and—”

“Whoa, there, buddy. Don’t spoil the whole thing before we’ve got a chance to watch it,” Poe says, stretching his arms high above his head and arching his spine so that his shirt rides up his stomach a little bit.

Finn’s eyes widen a little bit and his lips part. Rey resists grabbing a pillow off the bed and smacking both of them in the heads with it.

Kriff, she doesn’t even have to physically grab a pillow. She could just lift one using the Force. It’s sorely tempting.

“Okay, here we go.” Finn pushes a button on the holoprojector and sits back against the side of the bed.

Poe’s foot brushes up against the back of Finn’s shoulder.

Rey does use the Force to scoot her chair a little closer to Finn. Neither Poe nor Finn notice; they’re too caught up in the holodrama’s opening credits to pay her Jedi parlor tricks any mind.

She nonchalantly knocks Poe’s foot away from Finn’s shoulder with a jab of her elbow and nudges her chair in gently against his side. When she hazards a glance over her shoulder at Poe, he’s narrowing his eyes at her in what looks like suspicion and distrust.

Finn leans unconsciously into her folded knee a little bit. Rey turns back around and smiles.

Rey - 1, Poe - 0

Sexy AND in-character! As much as I like subby Hux, it's satisfying in its own way to see that he still wants to take over the galaxy.

yay! as I wrote Hux's delusions-of-grandeur stormtrooper metaphor, I kept thinking of that one stormtrooper in the older moves that walked straight into the door frame... and they forgot to edit it out so occasionally-cluzy stormtroopers became canon.

**

The guards and one maid lay dead, the autumn cottage’s door broken into, and the masked men advanced upon the Emperor. They clamoured for justice, they chased after revenge. The fires of a dead sun a burning rage in their grieving hearts.

The collared plaything huddling on a cot at the end of the Emperor’s bed was completely ignored.

RN-0000 panicked. If the Emperor was gone, who would feed him? Take him for walks? Play Dejarik with him? Read him novels while providing him a lap to lay his head on? Give him permission to dig into the ever interesting minds of all those people during the day? Pet his hair and call him a good boy before sleep at night? Discipline him when he was bad? The Emperor was the fairest and most engaging keeper 0000’s ever had! RN-0000 wanted the Emperor to be his keeper forever.

He threw an ornamental vase at the men (it was given to Hux by his mother, but the Lady did not mind the vase’s final use at all, at all), and forced the shattered shards deep into exposed skin, un-armored joints, fined glass grinded into pixie dust glittering through clogged bloodstreams.

He collapsed on the floor in fear, when he realized one of the shards had left a bleeding cut on the Emperor’s arm. He was not supposed to damage his keeper. He had made the Emperor, the highest authority for light years around, bleed. He would be punished most severely for sure.

But Emperor Hux pulled him up by the arm, ushered him into the refresher suites, pulled the vase shards from RN-0000’s feet and legs (when did they got there?), and carefully bandaged RN-0000 before seeing to himself.

And then Hux did something no one had done to RN-0000 for a long time. He hugged him (the last person who hugged him was the technician with her sad smile. So she was dead. The dark ate her. But Hux’s bathroom was well lit, his red hair bright, his life force pulsing strongly).

“Thank you, Ben,” said and thought Hux.

Hmm, no one’d ever said that to him in full sincerity before either. Not as far as he could remember.

**

“Am I Ben?”

“If you want to be.”

“I thought I was Ren?”

“No.”

“Ok I am Ben then.”

**

Hux’s head of security was reprimanded and demoted.

Ben was not to be blamed for being caught unaware. He did his best, with how erratic his powers could be, controlled by a fractured mind. The Force was a fickle thing, and instead of relying on Force users, those blessed/cursed with it should be treated as an extra edge in a much grander arsenal, an arsenal built and controlled by ordinary men.

Hux would make his Empire into a well-oiled machine yet.

**

Emperor Hux was nervous when his lady mother asked to meet ‘that pet of yours’.

But Ben liked Lady Hux’s food, remained his almost childlike and mild self, and was on his best behaviour.

And Lady Hux petted Ben’s hair, called him a dear child, and told him to be ‘a good boy for my darling Hux’.

“She smelled nice and felt a bit like you, the sense of her mind. So why should I be nervous?” Ben later asked the Emperor.

**

Crossposted on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5937291/

Poe had been there from the beginning. He had known Ben for almost his entire life. He had been there back when everyone believed he was just Ben Solo. He had been there before anyone had ever heard the name Kylo Ren. A part of Poe wished he hadn’t been so young when it happened, maybe then he would be able to better remember how he came to know Ben and Kylo as different people. Maybe then he could help others understand them.

From what he recalled, Ben was always different. He ran hot and cold. One minute he would be playing happily with Poe and the next he would be shoving Poe away and running from the room screaming and crying. He remembered that their parents were concerned with Ben’s behavior but did nothing of it. Every child had tantrums though. It was just taking longer for Ben to learn to control himself. For Poe it didn’t change the fact that Ben was his best friend. The fun he had with Ben was far more important than a few accidents when Ben lose control of himself.

Poe remembered the night he grew up, at least mentally. It was the night his parents got the phone call. He was six which meant Ben was four or maybe five. It was late and Poe remembered waking up thinking it was weird that someone was calling their house so late at night. He remembered sneaking towards his parents’ room and listening through the door as they spoke in hushed voices to someone on the other end of the line. He remembered the bone chilling question that left his mother’s lips. “What do you mean Ben is gone?” That moment would define the next two years of his life. Without Ben he was adrift. He remembered walking around those first few months as a zombie. He remembered his parents trying to comfort him, telling him that Ben wouldn’t want him to worry himself sick and that Ben’s mom, Leia was very important and that she made sure there were lots of people out looking for him. He remembered jumping every time the phone rang hoping and praying that it would be someone saying they found Ben.

He remembered when a year and two months in his mom’s friend and employer, Ben’s mom Leia, came over talking about how one of her co-workers had been the one to take Ben. Poe remembered how his mother’s face. She thought Leia lost it at first; that Ben’s mom in her grief had taken to blaming those around her. Poe’s mom sent him upstairs telling him this wasn’t the sort of thing he needed to hear. He sat on the steps and listened though. He listened as Ben’s mom explained that one of her rivals at work, a man she called Senator Snoke had started talking about how sad it was that Ben was gone because she would never see what he would become. She told to Poe’s mom, Shara Bey, that the man had always been weird about Ben. Always asking about him with a weird look in his eyes. Leia had never thought anything of it until the most recent comment. Poe remembered his mom was unconvinced but that she would help Leia look into it.

After that his mom was busy a lot. She had retired from being a detective when Poe was born. She had instead become a body guard for Ben’s mom. For Ben’s sake and for Ben’s mom she started reaching out to contacts and turning over stones. Poe remembered it was a long time before his mom fixed things. He knew now that it took nearly ten months to build a case that would allow them to search Senator Snoke’s properties.

He remembers his mom picking him up from school the day they found Ben. He remembers her trying to explain what had happened to Ben. “He’s been hurt.” She said. “A man hurt him and it will take him a while to recover. He may not be the same as he was.” Poe knew now what she had been trying to say. Shara Bey was saying that Ben had been abused physically, starved, and tortured for something that wasn’t his fault. He knew now that Snoke, a rival senator had taken his hatred for Senator Leia Organa out on her young son, hitting him, beating him, and trying to convince him that his parents didn’t love him to try in an effort to turn him against them.

When Poe got to the hospital that first day he wasn’t allowed to talk to Ben. Ben was undergoing tests. He got to watch though. He and his mother stood next to Senator Leia Organa as the doctors poked and prodded Ben. Ben’s dad, was in the room, shouting at the doctors to be more gentle and holding Ben’s hand, the gruff man the only comfort he had in that cold room. Ben looked different, Poe remembered. His short a fluffy curls were now long tangled greasy knots with clumps of blood. He was taller, thinner, and ghastly pale. He shook with fear every time someone touched him. He was dirty and a bit bloody but none of that stood out to him as much as the dark marks littering Ben’s arms and legs. They were small letters written in a childish scrawl that Poe recognized as Ben’s.

Poe remembered talking to Ben in the days following his recovery. He would beg his mom or dad to drop him off at the hospital. He also remembered that the hot and cold feeling he always had when playing with Ben was now a thousand times worse. Some days Ben was the sweet and shy boy Poe had always known. He knew what had happened to him during the two years he had been gone but seemed largely unaffected by it. He told Poe remembered missing his parents and little details but little else. Other days he was cold and angry. He hated being touched and he hated his parents for not protecting him from it. On one memorable occasion Poe saw Ben get a faraway look in his eye and shift from one to the other. The marks on his arms continued to appear. No matter how many times the nurses took the pen Ben was using away he always found more. Poe remembered the day he finally worked up the courage to ask about it.

“Ben? Why do you always write on yourself?”

Ben responded first by pulling out the Ben and writing ‘Poe asked’ just below his left wrist. “So Kylo knows what happens while he’s gone. He does the same for me.”

Of course that didn’t make sense to Poe. “Who’s Kylo?” he remembers asking.

Ben looked unsure for a second, as if he was trying to figure out what to say. “He’s the other me. The one who protected me from the bad man. He’s always been there I just never really had a name so one day I wrote him a note and asked him to pick one. He decided he wanted to be Kylo.” That confused Poe even more but in some ways but it explained what he had always known inside. There were two Bens.

From what Ben told him the doctors, and even his parents were less impressed with Ben’s explanation. They sent him for tests and tried to figure out what was wrong. Poe hadn’t understood completely back then. He just knew that Ben was never in school even though he was finally home. Poe made it up by coming to Ben’s house to see him instead. He remembered both Ben and Kylo being upset that no one seemed to understand. He remembered listening to them talk about his countless appointments with specialists and how he just wanted to go back to real school so things could be normal again. He didn’t want to be home schooled anymore he whined. His cries went unanswered for nearly six months before the doctors finally conceded. They gave a name to what they all knew was wrong. Dissociative Identity Disorder.

They said that they thought it was because of trauma but Ben kept insisting that wasn’t true. Kylo had always been there, he just didn’t know it because he didn’t remember. It wasn’t until he woke up with bruises and broken bones he couldn’t explain that he tried to communicate with Kylo. Communicating with them became crucial to their survival while they were with Snoke.

Having a name for it changed little for Ben and Kylo though. It didn’t really make any difference he supposed. They still wrote on their body and it was something Poe knew Leia was trying to break them of the entire summer following Ben’s return. Now that they had a name for Ben’s condition she said he could go back once he could control his urge to write all over his body. She gave him notebooks instead. The notebooks soon littered every room of the house because if there wasn’t one at hand they would go back to writing on themselves. Poe would even keep small notebooks in his back pocket in case Ben ran across the need while they were hanging out. It took nearly a month of skin clean of pen ink Ben’s mom conceeded he would be allowed to go to school when it resumed.

Poe remembered being excited that he could see Ben in school. Apparently Ben had been so ahead in his studies when he was taken, was able to test back into Poe’s grade after a few months of home schooling. Ben’s mom even asked that Ben be placed in Poe’s class in the hope that a friendly face could help. With Ben back Poe expected it would be the best year yet. He thought that Ben would be welcomed back by their classmates but somehow everyone knew what happened. They sensed that Ben Organa-Solo was different, more different than before and they hated him for it. A few brave souls even dared to mock him. Kylo broke their fingers. Poe, who had always been popular with people, struggled to deal with the fact that no one liked Ben. He was forced to choose between Ben and his other friends on more than one occasion and though he always chose Ben it didn’t seem to get better. No one outside of their families seemed to see Ben was worthwhile, and Kylo too. It was a trend that continued through middle school, then high school, and it was a change that Poe was still waiting for now, their junior year of college. He was starting to be doubtful that it would ever come.

Poe pulled himself from the memories he had gotten lost in and finished brushing his teeth. He left the small, messy bathroom in their two bedroom apartment and moved back to the room he shared with Ben. When he entered he grabbed a clean shirt and dared to look over to the bed where a very distracting tall man with dark hair lay. His chin-length hair framed his long delicate features like a halo. Poe, looked down at his bag against his better judgement failed to pick it up and head out to class. Instead he found himself leaning over to kiss his boyfriend.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing Dameron? I don’t want your slobber all over me.” Poe chuckled and pulled away. It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last but he had no desire to disturb Ben’s volatile other half.

oh this was just amazing. genius idea to liken being a grey jedi to music, with jedi being silence and sith being angry piano bashing. thank you for bring more love to maul. hot action with the mutual masturbation.

i have to wonder what would luke think about this. and the other force!ghosts. someone has to be rolling in their force grave.

this is killing me. WOW.

This crack is perfect and irresistible!

I'm on this! I'm slower than a stoned sloth, but I'm on it.

“I'm partial to your helmet. But I suppose you'd be affronted if I asked you not to remove it?” Hux said, raising an eyebrow.

Phasma went motionless. “Not at all” she said, voice oddly edged with some emotion. “Your proposal appeals to me.” A measured pause. “If you'd grant a similar favor, keep your gloves on, during.”

Hux looked at her curiously but didn't ask. He had to take his gloves off to remove his shirt without difficulty, but he pulled the black leather back over his hands after undressing.

It was cold, touching his forehead to the smooth expanse of her helmet as their bodies came together. Her fathomless, dark lenses seemed to watch him as he positioned himself between her legs and touched her.

Irrational as it was, Hux associated her helmet more with her face than Phasma's actual flesh-and-blood face. He'd seen the other on rare occasions, at formal officer's parties. She had lovely hair and eyes, but they wore a neutral expression that suggested high-stakes Sabacc, at the very least. It was professional. Not inviting. And this was … shaping up to be everything he'd wanted out of this encounter. He had the captain of the stormtroopers on her back, naked in his bed, and it was perfect.

He couldn't hear her breathing, or watch her composure come apart, but her chest rose and fell beautifully as he stroked his fingers over her. A fine sheen of sweat covered her large, lovely breasts as he put most of his weight on one gloved hand, holding her down at the sternum, and pushed fingers in with the other. There was something ritualized about all of it. She sucked breath between her teeth at the intrusion, even though her body was dripping for him. Her muscles clenched forcefully around his hand. One of her hands gripped his forearm. The other fisted the covers hard enough that her knuckles were whitening. The expanse of her body just went on and on under his eyes, shifting muscles and long, sinuous lines. He was tempted to run his hands down the solid planes of her stomach, or the pronounced contours of her thighs, but instead he replaced his hand with his shaft and pushed in, unconcerned, almost punishing.

The expression of Phasma's helmet, the enigmatic almost-grin didn't falter, of course. But she lifted her hips to meet his thrust. There was an unnerving sort of quiet, almost challenging, as he pulled out and then fucked back into her. Hux was intentionally setting a pace that he could keep for a while. He wanted her to feel this the next day. He wanted to make her come well before he was even close to finished. This was as much about control as it was about pleasure, even though she was so beautiful that he resented having to make rational choices about it, as opposed to exploring, feeling, tasting, and playing with her. Because they thought the same way, because she inhabited his world – of ships and weapons and power games – he couldn't.

She had precisely the genetic makeup of someone who would have made a desirable Imperial wife. But none of the temperament for it. The more he watched the light dance on her helmet, as they moved, the gladder he was of its presence. He didn't want some pretty face with soft lines. He wanted this. He wanted her: metal, tempered and reflective. She only took her helmet off out of necessity, he realized. But that was just as well, because his interest wasn't in seeing what she didn't want to show. It wasn't in intruding on her privacy. This was about surface. This was about dominance. This was about righting himself after the recent conversation they'd had, where he'd actually caught himself smiling at her. They just … both needed to get this out of their system and go back to focusing on things that mattered. The galaxy's imminent subjugation beckoned.

The other had really been the fault of archaic antecedents to early Imperial history, he'd decided, and exceptionally boring social events. He hadn't recognized her without her armor on, or he would have found someone more important to play off of as he networked. As it was, he'd liked her wit and elegance, dragged her with him to a number of different tables as he informally sized up the new officers ... and then spent four hours heatedly discussing overlooked tactical breakthroughs from the Mandalorian War. After having completely underestimated what she'd know about any of it and making a contentious and, in retrospect, rather ill-considered remark. Dash it all, though, he hadn't met anyone who took their history training as seriously as he did in years. Or, frankly, who knew all his uncles (by reputation) from their accomplishments in the Imperial Navy. And Palpatine. Her eyes had danced whenever the subject turned to their august Emperor. Finally someone who … Hux blinked and tried to refocus. He was having sex, for pity's sake. And it was as good as it usually was, so he had no idea why he was luxuriating in the memory of a nice conversation. This was hardly the moment.

Perhaps, his mind answered him slyly, because it's the first time you've had a conversation you found remotely stimulating with such a striking woman.

He swallowed. She was a formidable, lovely creature, albeit perhaps with a build few men would appreciate. She would have been tall, regardless, but without such training, without her vocation as a Stormtrooper (her words, not his), she wouldn't have developed the hard muscles that gave her gait such weight and presence. Or that strength that left people gaping in awe in the weight room, until they got used to her. More or less. As much as anyone ever did. He knew that wasn't how she liked people to think of her – as an anomaly – but it was as if she'd superimposed the ideology of a man on the body of a woman.

Phasma had the rigid adherence to authority and command that was drilled into all the 'troopers. That was how he'd gotten her here, actually. Into – this. Young as Hux still was, he knew from her answers to his questions that he could trust her obedience. He was her commanding officer. That meant something private and complicated if you probed beyond the surface at all, but it also meant reflexive, unhesitating submission. It meant any one of them was his to use, though most of the time he had more productive things to do. And it meant the lust was secondary to the exercise of power. He was trying to reestablish distance and dominance through a pure display of “you come here at my summons, you do as I say, and you leave at my convenience.” What could be less interesting?

And yet, he realized all at once that he'd been incorrect. Because having this dragon laid out quiescently under him, her pale and powerful body beneath his jet black gloves, and using her like this was a power trip all its own, and he'd somehow gone from being almost dissociated from what he was doing to becoming completely entranced by it.

“Captain,” he ground out.

“General,” she acknowledged, voice husky and thick with desire. Her insides clenched around him repeatedly, rhythmically. Life-force, it was like having his cock embraced by a crushing monster. But her muscles pulled him in fully, rolling waves of heat and pressure encouraging the way his thrusts became savage.

It was actually painful, but so exquisitely intense that he decided there was no question of backing down now. Hux's lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl, that turned up at the corners into a truly frightening smile as he mastered himself. He'd moved from uncertainty to confidence, from can I take this? Should I pull out? She's kriffing powerful! to enjoying the way her body was making full contact, sucking against his entire length hungrily as if it could not wait for his come. Phasma's muscles bowed her back against the bed as she came, pushing her breasts against his chest. He gave up his original plan and drove into her with abandon, and her orgasm drew his out of him in long, deep pulls.

Hux collapsed on top of her, not caring about the way his heart was pounding. His eyes were closed, and all he could feel was the warmth and solidity of her. Phasma's body was still shuddering, albeit more gently now, against his softening cock. He could also feel her heart. Her breathing. Her arms, as she – hesitantly, and then with determination – held him against her.

He wasn't as tall as she was: lining up their hips had meant that his head now rested against the curve of her helmet's jawline, but the metal was smooth and cool. And the crook of her shoulder was comfortable. On impulse, he nipped at her collarbone, hard enough to leave marks, and then ran his tongue over them. Phasma made an unconcerned sound under him that he could feel from her vocal chords well into the depth of her chest, a vibration that made him very aware of the contours of her body. He ran a gloved palm over one of her breasts, and this was met with an internal twitch against the end of his cock.

Hux had a sudden, insistent desire to make her take her mask off and suck him back to hardness, even though he wasn't properly recovered yet. As things were getting a little out of hand even without his encouragement, he ignored it.

Phasma was trailing a hand down his back and then up again. It wasn't particularly suggestive, but it felt nice. He didn't take people to his bed often, so his skin tingled and buzzed with the novelty of being touched. Petted, really. He considered telling her to stop. Then changed his mind, deciding that volunteered caresses were also a kind of submission. (Somehow, that made it okay. Simply feeling good would have been rejected as a trivial distraction.)

“You could have warned me,” he said, mild reproof in his voice.

“I. Didn't expect to have to,” Phasma said, sounding embarrassed.

“Explain yourself.”

“Normally, I have a lot more control over whether to … but my insides didn't give me any notice. When you spoke, everything went molten.”

Hux felt the compliment in his chest.

Silence, followed by audible, absolutely sincere concern: “Did I hurt you?”

He laughed. “Hardly. Though you seemed a little out of practice,” he said, just to see how she would respond to that.

“Sadly, I am. Most people aren't in a position to invite me to sleep with them,” Phasma said. “And when I'm not what they expect, people often feel threatened.”

“Mm. Do you know, I'm considering doing this with you more often.”

“Well, if there's something I can do to make that more likely, let me know. Sir.”

Hux smirked against her, more than pleased with this. It looked like his previous plan to fuck her once and be done with it wasn't at all realistic, but, as neither of them seemed to have a romantic bone in their bodies, he didn't expect an arrangement to occupy much of their time. And, given the amount of intrigue in the upper levels of the First Order, he could do a lot worse than a high-ranking Stormtrooper.

I hope this is what you wanted, OP. Your prompt made me really happy and I've been pulling a story together in my spare moments for days. I would have liked it to have fewer trailing pieces, because it felt disorganized, but it's been a long time since I wrote something like this. I hope it was hot, in any event, and IC. (First story with either of these guys, and watching TFA didn't give me a lot to go on for how to characterize Phasma.)

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PROMPT POST #2 - CLOSED

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