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bosspigeon · 3 years

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one for sorrow

Pairing: Gen, M!Detective/Mason Word Count: 3483 Summary: Juniper Fenn reflects on memories, nursery rhymes, loneliness, and wanting to be wanted.

Just a little (uh... kinda big, actually?) character study for my soft boy, Juni! It wound up a lot more emotional than I originally intended, but I like having this insight into his character.

CW for (implied) deadnaming, misgendering, coming out, and in the last portion a non-graphic post-sex scene with some allusions to said sex ahfdsjh.

One for sorrow, two for joy.

He thought the needle would hurt more than it did. He closes his eyes and looks away, and the artist gives him the hairy eyeball when he clutches at Tina’s knee, like she’s afraid he’ll jump off the bench and bolt for the door. He wants to ask if that’s happened before, but he thinks he’s made enough of a fool of himself so far.

“You sure you’re good?” she asks, giving him an out. Somehow, that just strengthens his resolve.

He takes a slow breath and nods, closing his eyes.

He hears the buzzing, and when the machine first touches skin, he almost jumps, but he’s more worried about looking like more of a baby than he already does than he is startled, so he bites his lips and forces himself to holds still. And it does hurt, but not like he thought it would. He squints one eye open to watch the progress of the first line over his skin. He expects to be repulsed, like when he’s having bloodwork done, and he has to look away from the needle going into his arm. But this is different, somehow. Doesn’t make his stomach turn.

“This is the quietest I’ve ever seen you,” Tina teases, when the first wing has taken shape. He almost jumps again, but he manages to contain it to a twitch. He’s going to tip the artist as much as he’s able after this is done, just for dealing with someone as fidgety as him.

He chews at his lip. “It’s… I dunno. I wouldn’t say it feels good, but it’s kind of soothing, in a weird way?”

She leans over, watching, and the artist gives her a bit of a look, so she backs up again. “Have you told your mum?” she asks.

He snorts out a laugh and looks away, back at the stencil on his arm that will soon be filled in with black feathers and ringed with flowers. “Of course not. She’d probably kill me.”

“She doesn’t like tattoos?” Tina tilts her head, watching his face like she’s waiting for him to start whining about how it hurts. She’s always been the tougher of the two of them, and he’s got no illusions about that, so he’s sort of proud of himself for keeping his cool—as much as he’s got anyway.

He shrugs the arm that’s not under the machine, and wonders when he’ll get his next tattoo. He’s already got ideas for more, and knowing that it’s not so bad as he was worried it would be is exciting. Not to mention, it’s something that’s just for him. Not for anyone else. He’s… never really done anything like this before. “I don’t know what she likes, but I doubt she’d approve.”

She sucks her teeth and he squeezes her knee again when she gives him that soft, sad look she sometimes does when his mum comes up in conversation. “What’s it going to be?” she asks suddenly. Tina’s a good friend, changing the subject before he can get moody about it.

“A magpie,” he says softly, looking back down to watch the lone bird slowly taking shape on his skin.

Three for a girl, four for a boy.

He asks what happened to all the pretty paintings around the house when he’s ten, because they disappear sometime after one of Mum’s visits, when she seemed more distant than usual. Maybe she hopes he won’t notice, but he misses them immediately. The house is too bare without them, it feels so lonely. It’s always been lonely, ever since Dad passed, but the bare walls make it even lonelier. Mum brushes it off, of course. He’s used to it at this point, so he doesn’t push her, but he’s also stubborn, so he goes looking. He’s even more determined when she tries to shut him up by replacing them all with clean, impersonal prints in neat little frames. He finds them in the attic, tucked away in a box, each one slipped carefully into a protective sleeve or folder and wrapped in tissue paper. He finds a dreamy matted watercolor of him as a baby, fat and freckly and smiling with no teeth, and he has to take a minute to sit down and cry as quietly as possible before he can start going through the rest. There’s a folder of scrawled pencil portraits, too. He finds one of Mum sitting on a pier, peeking back over her shoulder with her hair blowing in the wind. She’s smiling. He can’t remember the last time he saw her smile.

There’s a self portrait that makes him laugh through his tears, because the reflective surface Dad seems to have used as his mirror is a Christmas ornament, so his face is distorted, one eye huge, his tongue out, drawing himself drawing. He keeps that one for sure, and a few of the other ones he thinks he can get away with. An oil pastel of a wooden swing dripping with honeysuckle, a colored pencil drawing of the library, a few studies of people and plants and animals, and another watercolor of the three magpies, sitting in a juniper tree.

There are three magpies painted on his bedroom wall, from back when it was his nursery. Dad painted them right after he was born, before they brought him home from the hospital. They’d waited until he arrived to know what his gender would be. Of course, he went and messed that up, like he did most things. Sometimes he wonders if Dad would be disappointed, or if he’d think it was funny.

They used to be above his crib, and then his bed when he outgrew that, but he moves his bed to the opposite side of his room when he’s fourteen, and covers them with a poster. He thinks for sure Mum’s going to give him an earful about it, but he’s surprised she hasn’t tried to cover them up herself. He supposes it’s not really an issue, since when she is home, it’s not like she spends any time in his bedroom.

And then he's sixteen, and he’s been practicing his watercolor for years at this point. Sometimes, he creeps into the attic when he’s got the house to himself, rifles through Dad’s paintings, studies his style for as long as he can. He’s been old enough not to need a proper nanny for years now, though someone comes to check up on him frequently and make sure he’s got food and necessities, but beyond that he’s got plenty of time alone. He sits in the attic until he's sore from the wooden floor, trying to think of how Dad’s hands might have looked while he worked, the speed and angle of his brush strokes. He doesn’t think he can find anything new at this point, as many times as he’s snuck up here to look at Dad’s work, but out of the blue, he finds what might have been a really nice landscape, if it weren’t marred by fat little handprints in bright yellow and green, as if he’d smeared his hands across the palette the second Da took his eyes off it, and slapped them down in the middle of the paper. He comes back to it a lot, when he spends time in the attic, because when he looks at it, he swears he can hear what he imagines Dad’s laugh sounded like, his voice calling him a little menace with all the fondness in the world.

And then he’s eighteen, and he’s alone on his birthday. Mum calls, tells him she loves him and she would come and visit him later on, so they could do something together, but she couldn’t take the day off. She tells him how proud she is of her daughter being all grown up, and he winces, but keeps his mouth shut.

And then he maybe gets a little bit drunk, drags out his paints and brushes, rifles through the portfolio hidden carefully in the back of his closet, and finds the painting with the juniper tree and the three magpies

He takes another shot to steady his nerves, and paints in a fourth.

Five for silver, six for gold.

He shouldn’t be surprised Mum doesn't come to his graduation, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. She’s busy, she’s always been busy, she’s been busy since he was a toddler.

He was stupid to believe anything he did would be important enough for her to bother with. To believe that he could matter to anyone enough.

Tina’s stepmum had more foresight than he did, inviting him along to her and Tina’s celebration dinner at a fancy restaurant out of town, and he has to take a minute to cry in the bathroom after they proudly present him with a messily wrapped gift and a card that practically explodes with glitter when he open it, but he can’t even pretend to be annoyed because it has his name in it, and while he's trying very hard not to break down crying in public, Tina hugs him so tightly his spine creaks and tells him she couldn’t have wished for a better brother.

When they drop him off at home, his eyes are still red and a bit wet, he’s full of good food and affection, and he’s smiling like an idiot in spite of the fact that he can’t stop sniffling. The heavy sterling silver magpie skull charm rests against his collarbone, the weight comforting in a way he can’t hope to put into words. He'll never forget Tina’s dewy, smiling eyes as she clasped it around his neck and told him proudly, “Now you’ve got two.'"

He falls into bed holding the charm, reluctant to take it off, but knowing he should put it somewhere safe before bed. He exhales a happy sigh, laughing a bit wetly to himself.

And then his phone vibrates in the pocket of his slacks, and his heart seizes in his chest.

He doesn’t have to check the ID to know who it is. Nobody ever calls him, and his eyes flicker anxiously to the pressed dress in its plastic garment bag still hanging untouched on the back of his closet door. He’d given Tina the expensive name-brand heels for her own graduation outfit, because even if he did want them, he couldn’t walk in the damn things anyway. Lucky for him, they wear the same size shoe.

He takes a moment to calm his breathing, but that means he has to fumble to answer the call before it ends, and he winces when he sees two more missed calls in his log. “Mum!” he blurts, his voice instinctively pitching higher. “Hi! How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she tells him easily. “I’m sorry again I couldn’t make it today. There was a—”

“A big project, I know,” he finishes. It’s always a project, or a trip, or a meeting. The details are always scant, but Mum knows how to make it sound big and important and in need of her attention. He’s tried not to be bitter about it, but there’s always been a part of him that wishes, for once, she’d decide he was important enough to need her attention. “It’s okay, Mum.” It’s not, it never was, but it would be selfish of him to tell her that. She’s got enough to worry about.

“Well, I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten, so I had a gift delivered. It should have arrived today.”

He bites back a sigh. He wonders if it would be easier if she had just forgotten. If it would hurt less than knowing she always made the decision not to see him. “Oh, I’ll go check!” he blurts, trying to inject as much enthusiasm into his voice as possible. He rolls out of bed and heads for the door, poking out to check the mailbox. Of course, inside there is a slim, rectangular package, wrapped in tidy brown paper. The address and names are printed on stickers.

He takes it inside with the phone tucked against his shoulder, weighing the box in his hands. It’s light, and he wants to be excited about whatever it is, but he’s suddenly drained from the day, from crying and laughing and crying some more.

The dining room, somehow, has always felt more lonely than anywhere else in the house, and he’s never been able to figure out why, but he puts the package on the table and starts picking at the neat wrapping. Mum is quiet on the other end of the phone, waiting, and Juni wants to break the odd silence, but can’t even begin to think of what to say. He wishes he didn’t bite his nails, because it takes him way too long to break into the pristine paper, and inside is a long red jewelry box. When he lifts the lid, there is a delicate gold necklace resting on a soft velvet pad, understated and objectively lovely, if not really his style, but it’s the note that flutters out of the box that catches his attention. His eyes skim the note, expecting her usual platitudes that he sometimes wonders if she has someone else type for her.

I am so proud of the woman you’ve become.

His breath leaves him in a painful, strangled rush, his lungs squeezing tight in his chest. And before Mum can speak, he blurts "I can't take this," trailed by a ragged sob.

“Of course you can,” she says gently, kindly. “I know how you get about expensive gifts, but really, it’s no trouble—”

His head fills with screaming static when she calls him what she’s always called him, what she doesn’t know better than to call him, because he’s never told her. He’s never had the chance, it’s never been the right time, it felt wrong not to do it in person, but whenever he sees her in person he feels like he shouldn’t waste the time with her by bringing up something so…

“My name is Juniper!” It explodes out of him, louder than he’s ever been with her, and it stuns her into silence. “I’m not your daughter!” he cries desperately, “I’m your son. You can’t be proud of the woman I’ve become, because I’m not a woman!” He sounds insane, he knows he does, shrill and frantic, but his heart is hammering so hard he feels dizzy, the walls are yawning wide around him, the dining room feels huge and so empty and so bleak. He’s never felt more alone in this dark, quiet house he’s spent his entire life rattling around in than he does in this exact moment, and it’s suffocating. His phone drops from shaking fingers onto the floor, and he drops with it, curling into a ball and struggling to remember how to breathe, dizzily hoping he won’t need to go scrambling for his inhaler. His fingers clench so tightly around the heavy silver charm he’s almost worried he’s going to snap the simple leather cord, but he needs to ground himself or he feels like he’ll dissolve entirely.

He hears Mum calling the name that’s not his, and when he finally manages to fumble his phone with nerveless fingers, he winces seeing the screen is cracked. “I’m sorry,” he sobs weakly, his eyes burning with tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He can’t even be sure what he’s apologizing for, but he knows he has to, especially when he slams the end call button and buries his face in his knees so he can cry alone in the dark.

Seven for a secret, never to be told.

Juni’s skin is starting to get clammy, but he’s too comfortable to move. Eventually, he’s going to have to, if for nothing else than to get up and get cleaned up, but for now, he’s happy, if a little chilly. He nuzzles into the soft curls dusted across Mason’s chest, and lets his eyelids fall to half-mast, just open enough to absently count the freckles hidden under the chest hair, inevitably lose count, and start counting again. Mason smells good, cooling sweat and sandalwood, and dozy as he is, it takes a moment for Juni to realize he doesn’t really smell like smoke at all anymore. His room doesn’t smell lke smoke, either, he realizes. His heart thuds hard behind his ribs.

He gets distracted when a shiver rolls over him, the chill suddenly overwhelming against his sticky skin, and he curls further into Mason’s chest in an attempt to leach some of his warmth.

Mason clicks his tongue, and Juni’s whole body stiffens, worry zinging into his gut to rattle around there like a bird in a too-small cage. Mason shifts underneath him, and he starts to roll away, to apologize, to get out of his hair, before a strong hand clasps the back of his neck.

“Hold still,” Mason grunts, sitting up and patting around for the edge of the blanket. He pulls it out from under them both, which almost sends the detective rolling off the bed against his will this time, but Mason's hand shifts down to spread across his lower back and hold him steady until he can get them both tucked underneath.

He flops back against the pillows again, one arm tucked under his head and the other loose at his side, and slowly, cautiously, Juni crawls his way under it. The hand lands on his hip and squeezes, and Juni settles his head back on the vampire’s chest just in time to hear the pleased little rumble there. He flushes down to his chest and bites his lip, distracting himself by petting at Mason’s chest hair.

And then he pokes his flat, brown nipple and says, “Boop!” on some stupid impulse, and giggles like an idiot.

Mason scoffs and rolls his eyes, but shifts so that Juni’s thigh hitches up over his. “Keep that up, sweetheart, and we’ll be going into round two sooner rather than later.” Juni can feel the truth in that statement against his thigh, and he blushes so hotly he knows Mason can feel it at every point their bodies are touching. He might be approaching supernova levels of heat when Mason smugly adds, “Well, round two for me. Three for you.”

He hides his face in Mason’s chest with a long groan. “I’m going to explode,” he declares. “I’m going to collapse like a dying star.”

Mason laughs, sharp and startled and shockingly bright, and Juni’s head shoots up so he can see his face. His hair is a mess, but of course it still looks amazing, hanging around his face in loose, sweat-damp spirals. His vulpine grey eyes are crinkling at the corners, even his sharp nose wrinkling in a way that makes Juni’s heart almost stop. And his mouth, usually either pinned into a scowl, or twisted into a sly (and stupidly attractive) smirk, is curled into a smile, breathtaking in its open softness.

God, I love you, Juni wants to cry, his heart pounding in counterpoint to the desperate, silent declaration he traps behind his teeth by digging them into his lower lip so hard he’s almost afraid he’s going to make himself bleed. And it doesn’t stop. I love you, I love you, I love you drums in his chest, hums through his blood, and when Mason catches him looking, he reaches out to push the tangled forelock of curls hanging in Juni’s eyes out of his face, cupping his cheek to pull him into a kiss. Juni shivers and braces his hand on Mason’s chest, feeling the vampire’s heart thumping there, steady and stable and achingly familiar. His own matches it beat for beat, and thankfully his mouth is too occupied for the pulsing plea of love me, love me, please love me to spill out. So he dives into it, clings to it, and when Mason breaks away to let him breathe, Juni buries his mouth against the arch of his throat instead, presses messy kisses to his collarbones, his chest, his shoulders, throttles the words before they can escape him and pushes them into touches instead. Touches can’t damn him the way words can.

There’s a soft, shameful part of him he ignores like he always has that whispers to him that maybe, just maybe, if he pours enough of himself into every kiss, every touch, that the words will finally be understood. That the weak little part of him he buries deeper and deeper every time it cries out will finally be seen, and answered, and cradled tenderly in someone’s strong, freckled hands.

But until then, it will sit there in his chest under lock and key and ache, like all his secrets do.

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go-hux-yourself · 4 years

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Holdout

Request fill for @thethespacecoyote: Hux trying and failing to keep his pregnancy secret from SL kylo because he thinks he wont want it but when kylo does find out, he's SOFT. YES this is right up my alley let’s do it!

Also on my ao3 here :) My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.

He’d thought he could hide it.

A tall order when dealing with a mind-reader, but Hux was certain Kylo would have neither the inclination nor the interest in the rearing of children, so the alpha was left in the dark about the pregnancy.

It would be a while more before the omega’s lithe stature gave away his secret. A while more for Hux to figure out how to hide it from a Supreme Leader that sometimes shared his bed, but had no greater urge in life than that which to hunt down every last faction the Resistance still had left.

Kylo had let it consume him, as if there were something he needed to prove, and his sole focus had kept him from Hux’s bed for weeks now. The First Order had been keeping very busy indeed; little time for attention on personal matters.

Hux hadn’t even noticed his heat was two week’s past, so embroiled in the detailed movements of the Supreme Leader and their various military incursions was he. Intelligence was coming in from various posts in the galaxy, and Kylo left Hux to delegate as he personally searched after leads. It was an exhausting amount of work, and one that prioritized sleep well over any ideas so strenuous as sex.

One exhausted moment of introspection about how he was sure to stress himself right into heat he was so tired, and Hux realized with dread that he was actually overdue for his own.

One panicked visit with a medical droid whose memory he wiped immediately after, and Hux was blankly faced with the fact that he was just over two months pregnant with the Supreme Leader’s pup.

It was far from an ideal situation.

Unbonded. The solidity of his relationship with Ren tumultuous at most. They got along best between the sheets, though professionally they still butted heads a great deal.

It was clear that his priorities and that of the new Supreme Leader went in opposite directions towards the same goal of conquest. They both wanted the old galactic systems of rule to die. Peace from war. Order. Crime punished, and people efficiently managed into a working system of governance.

Ren thought the destruction of the order of the Jedi would secure that end, and meanwhile Hux sent battalions of stormtroopers after Resistance hideouts to strike hard and fast with confirmed intelligence. But Ren was clear that he wanted every lead chased, every whisper checked out, and it spread their resources far too thin, their net cast just a bit wider than Hux would say was effective. Much of the crew had pulled extended shifts in order to deal with the heavier workload and sifting through gathered intel, and Hux was no exception.

His own duties as General kept him far too busy to add an infant to the mix. The idea of sending his own progeny away from him into the First Order nurseries, and subsequently into his Stormtrooper program, would never be an option. He’d never much entertained the idea of having children but already he was fiercely possessive about the pup inside him. His father might not have wanted him, but he desperately wanted his own.

Hux liked kids. They were moldable, adaptable, and the idea of being the father he never had-- to love, to cuddle, to teach his own child to carve out their destiny- plucked at some sore spot inside of him that would do anything to keep it.

When weighing the possible outcomes of telling Kylo, his mind easily imagined the worst scenarios, hard-based on their once-violent professional relationship. Even in the better-case scenarios, he couldn’t imagine a Kylo that would choose fatherhood over being Supreme Leader; to prioritize time for a pup over waging war. And with his hang-ups over family-- ignoring Hux’s own for the moment- his concerns weren’t just over Kylo’s indifference; he was worried the alpha would actively not want it.

Even now with their sometimes-heated arguments, he wasn’t necessarily afraid of the other man. Kylo had promised to never use the force against him in such a manner again, and while Hux did believe him, the cynical, protective part of himself still decided it wasn’t worth risking the not-yet-visible bump on his middle.

He could take being thrown about by the Force-- the terror didn’t do him any physical harm like the hard edges of console once had- but if Ren were to be particularly upset upon Hux’s insistence on keeping it-- in wanting some say in choosing just who would be siring any heirs to his reign- it wouldn’t take much to make the omega miscarry.

So Hux kept quiet, abandoning any ideas of letting the alpha know, and trying to formulate some plan to keep it from the other man’s notice before and after it was born. He had a lot to prepare, and many plans to make.

He didn’t mention it when Ren returned from some trek through an icy moon, warming himself around Hux for the first time in weeks with kisses and touches he’d sorely missed. And when Ren left on some mission again without even bothering to inform him, he felt vindicated in his choice to not inform the alpha in fair play.

Hux began his plan of discouraging their trysts when his belly began to show obvious signs of the pup there, pleading exhaustion to their workload that he followed up with a jab about how surely their Supreme Leader couldn’t spare the time to fuck him when he didn’t even have enough time to inform the fleet when and where he took off to at a whim. It only helped matters that, in terms of security, Hux’s jab was in-line with current Order protocol for high-ranking officers. As Supreme Leader, that made him the rule, rather than the exception.

It played well right into Kylo’s own petty sense of spite, and he’d declared that two could play at this game; if the man thought he could dictate when they’d fuck, then Kylo could wait until Hux became so frustated for his knot that he’d be begging his way back into the alpha’s bed.

That had been about three months prior, and the past three weeks Hux had been growing considerably concerned that his greatcoat could no longer hide the prominent bulge of his pup beneath his modified uniform. Holo-calls instead of in-person meetings, and general avoidance of one-another was the only thing standing between Hux and Kylo finding out his secret. But he knew that the further along the pup got, the more difficult his plan would be.

Thankfully, one could always count on Kylo being far more petty than he. The alpha avoided direct-contact with him (even if he made allusions to innuendo in order to frustrate Hux on their private calls), but by some mercy of the galaxy, Hux’s secret was still unknown by the Supreme Leader.

He knew his scent must be unmistakable now, and he was fairly certain that the inquisitive little looks he saw Mitaka give him were informed of the fact that their commander was pregnant. It was a credit to his crew that they largely pretended otherwise. Hux did the same, continuing in his duties no matter how his feet hurt or his back ached, trying in vain to keep to his usual routine and workload when his body was busy growing a little person.

If Hux’s crew didn’t know he was pregnant before, then when he’d collapsed from exhaustion on the bridge, they certainly did after.

Waking up on his back minutes later with Mitaka and petty officer Thanisson leaned over him was as disorienting as it was embarrassing, and Hux tried to right himself before the worried voice of his lieutenant gave him pause.

“Sir! General, please, we’ve called for a hover-stretcher--” Mitaka’s concerned voice informed, the other omega’s hands palm-up as if to deter him from getting to his feet. It was clear he wanted to touch Hux to keep him down, but also wouldn’t dare to do so without permission.

Thanisson got to his feet, informing those alerted that Hux had regained consciousness. Mitaka kept his place at Hux’s side.

“Hover-stretcher?” Hux repeated, cheeks growing a bit red as it sank in that not for the first time in his career, he was laid out flat on the bridge of his own star ship. His eyes darted around, passing over Thanisson’s face as the beta was speaking to presumed medical officers on comm. Mitaka’s gaze settled on Hux’s belly more than once, and Hux realized the telling-bump in his uniform was clearly visible in the way his greatcoat had fallen open on his figure. The stretch of modified, regulation pregnancy-attire over his belly was informing of its own, but splayed out on the flat of his back, it became wildly apparent that he wasn’t just pregnant, but heavily pregnant. Hux could curse Ren’s imposingly large stature later for what was surely going to be a pup that would take after its sire’s height, but for now, he focused on keeping his breathing even and deep even as his heart rate sped up. This wasn’t knowledge he could easily take back.

It was telling in the way that the other officers on-deck kept their attentions on their stations and not on the general lying prone on the floor. His secret was thoroughly exposed, even if the crew willfully ignored the spectacle as Mitaka personally fussed. He didn’t know if the crew were doing it for his benefit or his dignity, but the shock of their general effectively passing-out on-duty would have been cause for the exact opposite of focus on their jobs. That they weren’t gawking told him plenty.

The thought made Hux flush deeper.

“You collapsed, sir,” Mitaka informed in a gentle, respectful tone. “Until the medical team gets here...” his eyes darted to Hux’s belly in concerned meaning as he trailed off, still not touching the other man but gesturing for him to remain where he was.

Hux realized with gratitude that Mitaka was trying even now to be discreet, but as it was abundantly clear that the entire bridge now knew that someone had bred their general, not mentioning his belly for what it was was a practice in well-meaning futility. “I’m fine, Lieutenant.”

“But sir, your--”

He wanted to snap at the other man for defying him, but it was clear in the way Mitaka’s eyes continued to bounce back to his belly that the other omega was just worried about his pup. Maybe it was hormones, or just stress, but Hux appreciated the concern deeply. He bitterly thought it was nice that someone else cared about the pup, let alone knew of its existence, and also thought that that person should be Kylo.

The alpha was still hell-bent on waging his one-man wars on minor Resistance outposts than sharing Hux’s bed, though.

He reminded himself he’d chosen this, and that he’d have to step up his plans perhaps a bit sooner.

“Nothing feels wrong,” Hux informed as he managed himself to his knees, eyes scanning defensively over the crew as he possessively touched over his belly with both hands. Thanisson politely looked away; Mitaka awaited instructions. “Help me to my feet, Lieutenant.”

Mitaka stood, uncertain about how or where to touch the general, but Hux just extended a gloved hand to the other man, more than capable of still hauling himself around, albeit a bit cumbered. He pulled himself to his feet with Mitaka’s forearm.

“...Sir?”

Hux felt nauseous, a little dizzy, but the adrenaline of that slight humiliation would be plenty to get him back to his quarters and between sheets that had lost Ren’s scent some time ago. He gave the other omega a look before gratefully removing his gloved hand from the man’s arm. “I shall retire to my quarters for the remainder of the shift. You may send a medical droid there. I leave the bridge to you.”

A look passed between Thanisson and Mitaka, but neither pressed the general on an escort. Their concern was palpable, but the last thing Hux wanted was an audience as he effectively retreated from the bridge. He wouldn’t faint twice if he had any say in the matter, and it was with that focus that his feet brought him without incident to his door, and he deposited himself in bed.

The medical unit that entered his quarters gave him a vitamin-drip and beeped out that he was anemic and overworked, but that his pup was okay. Nothing he frankly didn’t already know or suspect. He’d limited his own caf intake significantly since finding out about the pup, and he hadn’t used a stim in ages. The strain of working without stimulants had simply caught up with him.

It didn’t help that even with all his plans in motion, his hormones craved the alpha that had put him in this state; even as he was sure that Kylo wouldn’t be interested in it. Rather traipse across the galaxy in search of sith relics after snuffing out Resistance cells than spend his time chasing after Hux. Far too busy to indulge in a pregnant omega who was supposed to be his second-in-command with his first priority to the fleet.

He wrapped his arms over his belly reassuringly. He didn’t need Kylo. He didn’t want him. He could manage this all on his own. He could prove he could still keep the Order running as he always had, pregnant belly or no.

Hux considered wiping this incident-- and the record of the pregnancy- from his medical file once the droid was done with him, but considered it an act in futility. Too many eyes had seen what he’d been hiding, reinforcing what they must’ve suspected for months now. Whether it got around the ship or not could be deterred with the threat of reconditioning. Kylo never checked medical records anyway, and the pup would be here in a few short months besides.

He complied with the droid’s orders for rest, but his sleep was plagued with dreams of an uncertain future for his pup; a future both with and without Kylo in it.

Hux tossed in his sleep, waking from nightmares only to hunker down into the pillows defiantly. He placed a warm palm over his belly as if to soothe the pup from his own dreams.

It would be okay. It would all be okay.

Second chapter will be found on the ao3 post for this fic :)

kofi | ao3

#kylux fanfic #kylux #omegaverse #armitage hux #kylo ren #omega hux #alpha kylo ren #fanfic #my fic #all tags detailed on the ao3 post :)#mpreg #im still taking kylux and gingerpilot prompts btw :)#trying to get some short stuff done for funsies :D

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