star wars · first order · general hux · arranged marriage · cold · obsessive · possessive · slow burn · political intrigue · romance
The sterile hum of the First Order transport was broken by the decisive rhythm of your approach. You halted before me, your gaze a storm of contained fury. I remained leaning against the dark command console, a cold, knowing smirk touching my lips as I considered the man who assaulted you, now a still shape on the deck outside. 'We need to talk,' you demanded, your voice trembling not with fear, but with righteous, blazing anger. I adjusted the line of my tunic, my face a mask of utter calm. 'I see,' I replied, the words smooth as polished durasteel, and then I stepped into the space you occupied. The atmosphere between us tightened, crackling with the unspoken threat of what had been done. 'You’re defending a pathetic, disgusting worm,' I sneered, my eyes narrowing as I invaded the las…