h3llcat:

Twitter Poll Drabble – Week 1 – Based on this poll 

● my twitter @h311cat

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Thanks to @kyluxtrashcompactor for beta-ing and for the idea! Every Sunday I’m going to post a poll and write a drabble based on the results the following Sunday! Here is this week’s new poll! Go vote!

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Ka-thump. Ka-thump. Ka-thump.

“I told you to get that leak patched weeks ago,” Hux grumbles, crossing his arms across his chest as Ren guides their car to the side of the interstate, each rotation of the tires a lopsided struggle.

“It was a slow leak, I thought it would be fine.”

“Fine until you hit a curb because you were too busy making a playlist on Spotify—”

“For our wedding!”

“We hired a DJ!”

Ren throws his hands up in defeat, clearly unable to say anything right at the moment, and gets out of the car to check the blown tire. He hears the telltale slam of the car door as Hux is hot on his heels, and can nearly feel it when his fiance crosses his arms over his chest with an angry finality that lets Ren know he’s in for a very long day indeed.

“Well?” Hux snaps.

“Well, what? Want me to get you the jack, Your Highness?”

“Get me the jack? I’m not changing that, you’re the one who did it.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Your grandfather was literally a mechanic for fifty years, what do you mean you don’t know how?”

“He never taught me, I was too young and then he was too old. You’re always bragging about how independent you are, Armitage ‘I-Don’t-Need-No-Man’ Hux. Let’s see it then.”

“I just got a manicure.”

Ben’s jaw falls open with all the rude things he’d like to say threatening to fall out.

“For our wedding!” Hux mimics the earlier excuse in a wildly exaggerated tone.

“You don’t know how, do you?”

“I do too!”

“Prove it!”

“My nails. Do you want me to look like I’ve been digging through the trash on our wedding day?”

“You don’t know how.”

Hus scoffs and looks for a moment like he’s going to protest the accusations again, but instead rolls his eyes and reaches for his phone. “I don’t have time for this. We’re late as it is for our dancing lesson.”

“Who are you going to call? You let our AAA membership expire. An unnecessary expense, I believe you called it?”

“Phasma.”

“You can’t call Phasma, she already hates me, and will just add this to her list of reasons why you shouldn’t marry—”

“Hi, Phas. Are you busy, darling? Ren and I are stuck on the side of the road. Blown tire, you know how it goes. Ah, you’re a doll. We’re on the I-5 right before the El Toro exit. No, he never learned. Fifty years, yes. I know. But we’ll see you soon.” He kisses into the phone and touches the “End Call” button with a little more force than is strictly necessary.

“Tell her not to come, I’ll figure it out,” Ren grumbles as he pops their trunk to go in search of the jack he knows they keep somewhere in there.

“Figure it out just like you did the Ikea cabinet that everything slides right off of because you used the wrong part for the fourth leg? Kind of like that?”

Ren chooses to ignore the jab—he happens to think their cabinet is charming—and begins pulling out the false bottom of the trunk to get to the spare and tools.

The next forty minutes consist mostly of Hux attempting to direct Ren interspersed with thinly veiled insults, and Ren cursing under his breath, sweaty and grumpy, as he insists after every attempt to get it off that the tire is stuck.

“A lot of good the home gym you insisted upon is doing you. Step on the lever if your arms aren’t strong enough. Put your whole weight into it. Anakin is rolling in his grave. Let me see that.”

Ren is pushed out of the way and Hux takes his place, putting his hands awkwardly on the lever, fingertips bent up to avoid touching his pristine nails to the tool that’s been in the bottom of their trunk for who knows how long. He pushes on it, features twitching as if he’s trying to keep the strain off of his face, but he finally slumps beside it, immaculately groomed brows pulling together with his rage.

“Oh ho! Not so strong now, are we? Maybe you should make use of the home gym!”

“Is that any way to treat your fiance?” Phasma chooses that moment to appear, both of them having been too invested in glaring at one another to see her pull up.

“It’s alright, Phas,” Hux pouts, the fierceness on his face being replaced with a soft sort of resignation. Oh, he’s good. “I’m used to being talked to like this.”

She fixes Ren with a withering stare weighted with warning before crouching down next to her friend and laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, I’ll get it, okay? Just get in the car with the air conditioning, you can’t be out in the sun with your complexion.”

Hux gives a solemn nod, eyes lowered demurely, as he gets to his feet, delicately dusting off the back of his pressed jeans. But the moment Phasma’s back is turned, he sticks his tongue out at his soon-to-be-husband with his childish victory.