Imagine the Star Wars [The Rewrites]

reconditioned. [hux x reader]

words: 3.3k

warnings: none that i know of! lmk if i missed anything! 

a/n: this is a rewrite of my first hux oneshot from six years ago. hope y'all enjoy the update! merry christmas and happy last day of hanukkah!

You already know you're late the minute you wake up. There's a pit of dread in your stomach, and you curse under your breath. The only thing keeping you from bolting up in bed is the fact that half of your body is trapped under someone else's.

"Armitage," you whisper, pushing at the arm that's draped over you. "Let me up. I've gotta go."

Armitage groans and buries his face deeper into the pillows, pulling you closer. "Is that any way to address your superior officer?" he mumbles, half-asleep.

"General Armitage," you correct yourself. "Move." In case that's not enough, you kick him under the blankets.

"Ow!" His eyes shoot open, and his arm jolts away from you.

You jump out of bed and rip off your nightclothes on the way to the dresser. Your things are in the third drawer down as always.

"Do you suppose you might employ less violent methods to wake me in the future?" Armitage asks as he sits up, running his hand over his face.

"Your fault for not setting the alarm," you answer, stepping into the standard black stormtrooper trousers. "I told you it's an early day for me. Could you tighten this?" You tap the bra strap on your shoulder.

He stands, walks over, and tightens the strap. "If I'd known that having the physical evaluations this early would make you bruise my shin, I would've canceled them altogether."

"Oh, would that be the only reason?" you question. "Not because you want me with you all day?"

He hums low in his throat and presses his lips to your shoulder blade. "There. Keep that with you all day. But I expect to have it returned by this evening."

With a roll of your eyes and a smile, you turn to him. "Sir, yes, sir," you say as he helps you pull your shirt on. Once you're dressed, you stand on your tiptoes to peck his lips. Then you're running out the door, saying, "Don't forget to feed my cat!"

"She's my cat," he answers as you slam the door shut.

You have to skid to a stop when you reach the medbay waiting room, attracting more attention to yourself than you'd like. Conversations stop. People shoot dirty looks your way. You're used to it, of course. It's not exactly a secret that you're involved with General Hux. It's also not a secret that everyone hates you for it.

Whatever. It doesn't matter. Whispers of nepotism trail you like shadows, but it isn't like you've been promoted. (Not that he hasn't offered. In key moments, 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.