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A Lonely, Sour-Faced Boy

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Bright light.

Beep beep beep.

Some kind of monitor kept a steady rhythm. The sound faded in and out of your ears, but your awareness of it remained. It kept time with your heart, after all. You could practically feel the sound of it.

Feeling. You couldn’t stop feeling. You felt before your mind registered anything else.

Piece by piece your casing was peeled back, undone by gloved hands eager to carve out a spot. For what? For the hell of it?

“I see you’re awake. I’m glad.”

General Hux was not a doctor and yet his hands were opening you up, ribcage being cracked apart like the shell of an egg, yolk poised to spill out. The monitor beeped a little faster.

“I missed you, you know… when you were asleep.” He gave you a smile, the pouty kind paired with furrowed brows that usually meant I’m sorry. “Today is a very special day for us.”

You tried to wiggle your wrists, your ankles, but: nothing. They must be bound, you thought. You thought, until you looked. They didn’t move because nothing was there - just stumps of flesh sutured closed, unbandaged and slightly oozing.

“Remember that day, at the academy, when you smiled at me from across the hall?” Hux stared unblinkingly at you as if the sheer intensity of his gaze would jog your memory. His smile was timid - cute, if it weren’t for the current circumstances. “I’ve been saving myself for you. Oh! Don’t worry, it wasn’t difficult,” he said, chuckling. “No one ever even tried to proposition me!” The shy smile grew wide, proud, like what he said was something to boast about.

The monitor’s beeping increased in speed again.

Funnily enough, you did remember that day. You remembered there being a lonely, sour-faced boy with beautiful orange hair, always covered in bruises. Remembered hearing rumors that he was disturbed and not believing them because you thought everyone deserved a chance.

Cheeks getting redder by the second and hands fumbling with his uniform, Hux undressed before you, then crawled up onto the operating table. He batted his pale eyelashes and looked away, sheepish, innocent if not for the cock dribbling precome into your abdominal cavity.

“I know that I’m not very impressive to look at…” he said, pulling on his bottom lip with his teeth. “But I hope you might find something to your liking.”

You realized a bit late that he was trying to act coy when he made eye contact again and started to stroke himself, pretending that something wasn’t necessarily his dick. It could have been funny in a dumb sort of way, like a bad pick-up line or corny dirty talk.

Too bad he wasn’t just the flustered, awkward boy he thought he was.

The beeping was drowned out by the rushing of blood in your ears as Hux leaned forward, slotting himself between the undulating coils of your intestines and bringing a shaky hand up to your heart. It throbbed beneath his fingertips, fingers that caressed it, cherished it. A treasure for him and him alone. Each thrust inside you rattled the operating table and you could see your organs being jostled out of place, membranes being torn, blood vessels bursting.

Hux panted into your mouth, “You’re perfect, you’re perfect. Tell me this is all you ever wanted. Please.”

You had accepted your fate ever since you realized your limbs were gone. What harm would it do to play into his fantasy now?

“This is… a-all I’ve ever… wanted,” you eked out. Your body had started to go into shock.

A small part of you registered the splashes of warmth when Hux finished within you, across your liver and stomach and intestines. Splashes of another kind anointed you from above, where Hux peered down with teary adoration.