i’ve never written a soulmate au, so here is my best take on it
a clydeland soulmate au where you dream about your soulmate and see their day-to-day life
The dreams started when he was twelve, as was common for most folks who were destined for another. On his twelfth birthday, Clyde rushed through the party his parents threw for him, ripping through gifts, shoveling cake into his mouth, and twitching impatiently as family members lingered around the house to talk with his folks about one thing or another. Until finally, finally, Clyde was allowed to shower up and go to bed. Clyde Logan had never wanted to sleep as badly as he did that night.
There were no dreams at first, and Clyde awoke the morning after his birthday disappointed and a little frightened. What if he wasn’t destined for another? What if he was destined to live his life alone and loveless, like the Bang brothers up the road? Sam and Fish were already sixteen, and neither of them had ever dreamt before. Jimmy and Mellie both reminded him that he would still be loved, that he would still have family just like the Bang boys. Clyde Logan had never wanted to dream so badly in his life.
Rating: T // Words: 890 // Post-TLJ // H/C // For @sluthuxx, who was sad because why can’t evil space husbands be nice to each other, at least. I don’t know if this will really fix it, but hopefully it won’t make it worse. (Title from A Softer World: 876)
***
“Something you learn early on, as a mind reader, is that you cannot trust what you hear in someone else’s head.”
Hux says nothing in response to the voice filtering out of the darkness of his quarters.
“It’s only after many years of familiarity that you can start to predict someone’s actions based on the thoughts in their head. But, even then, you can’t ever be truly certain.”
There’s a creak from deep in the room, furniture moving under someone’s weight. Hux stays where he is, silent, exhausted. He feels dried out from the lack of sleep and the recycled air of the ship.
“For the first time, in so many years, I am uncertain what you will do, Hux. Your thoughts bring me no clarity,” Kylo Ren remains an indistinct shape in the darkness just beyond the sad spill of light that illuminates the entryway to Hux’s rooms. Hux can almost make him out, face bare, the scar haphazardly bisecting his face still startlingly new. Hux doesn’t say anything.
He blinks slowly at Kylo Ren. He can feel the man’s gaze skitter across him, taking in his every feature, as if looking for some clue, something he has missed.
With a sense of finality, Hux brings his hands up to his collar.
“I don’t know what you expected,” he says, voice hoarse, pulling the thick uniform cloth away from his neck, knowing it will put the bruise-mottled flesh of his throat on display.
He hears Kylo draw in a quick breath, it’s a familiar hiss of sympathy, laced through with guilt, the same one that would make an appearance when Kylo would discover bruises blooming beneath Hux’s pale skin from their rougher couplings. It was endearing then, the marks already forgiven before either of them were aware of their presence. Now it is a slap in the face, a reminder of all that has already gone wrong between them.
But Hux doesn’t have the energy left to flinch.
“First the scavenger girl, then this,” Hux rasps out, letting his hands fall to his sides, leaving his collar open, leaving himself exposed down to the clavicle. He thinks maybe if he were less cold from stress and lack of sleep, his skin might prickle with the chill of the room. But he isn’t and it doesn’t.
“She didn’t-” Kylo’s voice cracks. “She couldn’t possibly have even a fraction of your importance.” His voice is a whisper in the dark, in the distance between them.
Hux says nothing. He doesn’t have anything left to say. Exhaustion has reduced his thoughts to static – words and feelings having fled with the anger that had fueled him during their assault on the Rebel base on Crait.
“I wanted her to bolster our side in this war. You can I both know how the Force can impact the tide of a war. I couldn’t let them have that. Hux, please-”
And Hux distantly registers that he should be feeling triumphant, that he has reduced the Supreme Leader to begging with mere silence. But the buzz of white noise that is occupying the space behind his eyes doesn’t abate enough to allow the thought to settle.
“It doesn’t matter now,” he says, exhaustion finally taking from him whatever defeat had left behind.
“Hux, you have to know- I would never- The Force-”
Kylo sounds desperate. Still mired in darkness, the voice reminds Hux of the boy Kylo Ren used to be – still naive, still terrified by the monster that lived inside of him, this dark thing that used his hands to wreak havoc on the Galaxy.
When Kylo stepped into the meagre light of the entrance, Hux found himself face-to-face with that boy – the one who still doubted his master’s assurances that he was on the path to true power – the one who woke shivering from nightmares he could never put into words – the one who crawled into Hux’s arms and his bed and his mind to receive the cold comforts of Hux’s own broken childhood and his clear-eyed power-hungry calm.
Even as things changed between them, the amassing of hurts between them – inflicted by Hux with his words and Kylo with his blinding passions – ever they remain the same.
Kylo, the double-edged sword, the ready protector, the unguarded flame ready to burn down the Galaxy to lay its ashes at Hux’s feet.
Hux, the cold and bitter wind of avarice, his unquenchable thirst for power, and his cold heart that beat slowly only when placed next to Kylo’s warmth.
Their love was something ferocious, a wildfire ready to consume them as easily as the rest of the Galaxy. It was the only thing Hux had ever held which made him feel warm.
He hears Kylo intake a sharp breath.
The thought and the shift in the air are the spark that push through the grey fuzz of Hux’s exhaustion and he takes a step closer to Kylo (and another and another).
Kylo’s arms envelop him, the fabric of his clothing is warm where it presses against Hux’s exposed throat.
Enough, Hux thinks.
Snoke’s machinations, and this war, and the Galaxy itself, have already robbed them both of so much – it was enough, they wouldn’t have this, too. Hux would ensure that the wildfire warmth would burn until the breath was gone from both their lungs.
Hux was so engrossed in the sweet, miserable creature curling up inside his jacket that he didn’t even hear Ren’s return approach, so the sudden voice startled him. “Oh my god. You’re actually crying over a stray cat.”
Now he was cringing in shame at letting Ren find him in such a pathetic state. He couldn’t bear to look Ren in the eye, but he glared down at his knees nonetheless. “She’s not a stray! Or she didn’t used to be. She’s wearing a collar. She had a home and a family.” He could barely get the words out in between sniffles and stifled sobs, and he braced himself for the mockery he knew was coming.
Happy Birthday, @cremesin, my clydeland mentor and supplier of greasy donut ❤
“If you take a job I got on Saturday, I’ll give you two weeks worth of my best shit.” The offer from his dealer had immediately peaked Stensland’s interest. While he wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of more work, he was assured that it would take half an hour at most which had sounded manageable, and it would allow him another vacation from his actual job for two weeks. It sounded like a great deal, really. It had then anyways. At the time. Now he isn’t so certain, the tiny shorts he’d been given riding up his ass, his nipples chafing beneath the unnecessarily tight matching top.
He squints at the numbers screwed into the aluminum siding of the trailer beside the screen door, and compares them to the ones he had scribbled onto a soda stained napkin, satisfied that the address matches up. “You’re a beautiful condor, Stensland,” he assures himself as he makes his way up the couple of steps with his fragmented pride. “Spread your wings and soar. Show ‘em what you’ve got.” He knocks.
The door is answered by someone who has no business being as large as he is both vertically and horizontally, tall and broad, muscles bulging obscenely at his clean button down (though he is missing a hand, so Stensland supposes that balances things out a bit). There doesn’t seem to be a party or an event of any sort happening behind him as Stensland had expected, but he’s never done this before, so maybe he had just assumed wrong. “Hello,” he says awkwardly before remembering the script he had copied in now-fading ballpoint pen on the back of his hand. He shifts his weight awkwardly from one booted foot to the other as he tries to make out the ink smudges. “You’re under arrest for not having enough fun on your birthday.” He remembers he’s supposed to sound enthusiastic halfway through the statement. He pulls the fake handcuffs off his costume belt with a spastic flourish while trying to wriggle past the man into the trailer, fumbling with his phone in his hand to find the song that had been selected for him.
–
“Hey, wait a minute…” Clyde’s mouth gapes as he watches the skinny stranger in an offensive parody of a police uniform shove past him into the room. “Birthday? But it’s not—“ The stranger gets the music playing, a terrible, thumping song the likes of which Clyde imagines they play in those fancy clubs in the city. Is this how they dance in the city too? One moment he looks as if he’s swinging an invisible lasso above his head, the next he’s wagging his finger at some unseen misbehaving dog, shrugging his shoulders, all as if he’s listening to a different song altogether.
The redhead tosses his police cap at Clyde’s chest before spinning around and popping his bottom to some beat that’s definitely not present in the synthetic noise bubbling from blown out phone speakers. He pulls the uniform shirt over his head, or he tries anyways, but Clyde has to step forward and help when it gets caught on his head. Next his hands go to his shimmying hips, gripping both sides of the shorts and giving a hard tug. And another tug. Another. Finally the snaps give, leaving him in only a pair of underwear that look mighty uncomfortable, some sort of stretchy material in sequined silver that flosses up between his buttcheeks.
“Why are you takin’ your clothes off in my home?” Clyde finally asks, arm clutching the costume pieces as he watches a soft, pale body writhe to the music.
“You’re under arrest for not having enough fun on your birthday. I think you’re supposed to sit down so I can rub my arse on your cock.” Small hands are placed on Clyde’s shoulders and he’s given a push until he’s seated in his tattered recliner. The redhead awkwardly straddles the wide chair, plopping down in Clyde’s lap in a move he isn’t sure is deliberate or if he’d just lost his balance. His tailbone grinds down against Clyde’s hip, off target, ass cheeks clenching unattractively each time he lifts back up. He’s humming something under his breath, the tune staccatoed through his bouncing. The stripper rolls his hips in an inelegant, awkward movement, but still Clyde feels his dick stirring to life and quickly shoves his hand between them in an ineffectual attempt to hide it. A clammy ass crack grinds across his knuckles, and he makes a garbled sound in the back of his throat somewhere between lusty arousal and horror.
“It’s not my birthday for‘nother month!” Clyde insists, voice coming out more like a wounded yelp.
“It’s not…?” The stranger stops dancing, shoulders drooping pitifully with his awful posture, the gears turning in his head nearly visible. “Isn’t this 156 County Road 13?”
“Nope. This is 159. Sorry ‘bout that. The 9 on my house fell over so it looks kinda like a 6, ya see. Guess I shoulda… fixed that sooner.” He can feel his cheeks lighting up bright red as he averts his gaze.
“Oh,” is all the dancer dumbly says with a few slow blinks. “Oopsies.” He shrugs and bends at the waist to pick his clothes up off the floor, the searching movements wiggling him around more in Clyde’s lap before he hops up to redress. He can’t get the snaps on the shorts to cooperate, so finally just wraps the uniform shirt around his waist like a towel, a completely ridiculous sight with one side of the shimmering thong riding up on his wide hips. It’s… really damn cute. “Guess I’ll be going then.”
Clyde hops up to see him out, polite even with his hand still covering his flagging erection. “You can come back for my real birthday… if you wanna.”
So i read “Be my Consolation” by @hallo-catfish and it was probably the most erotic thing i’ve read in a long time (and i read a lot of fanfic ok). It had me at kylo Ren idly picking at salt in the seams of his clothes and deciding he’d rather have them incinerated than deal with cleaning them, being struck by how clean Hux is, and taking the incentive to muck him up.
Sense of Self (650 words) Tags: NSFW, Masturbation, Krennic faces the fact he is aging
Krennic didn’t recognize the man staring back at him in the mirror.
The crow’s feet around these icy blue eyes were not his. The loose skin that hung off forming jowls were not his. The wrinkles plaguing his neck were certainly not his.
He didn’t want to take a step back. He didn’t want to reveal more truth. The light caught too much, and the reflection would betray his sense of self.
He was handsome once. A wink and a smile could make the most stoic of hearts follow his command. There was a time when the galaxy handed him whatever he wished.
Now look at me…Krennic thought, his stomach turning as he took that step back. What have I become?
Krennic sat up straight, arching his back just slightly to ease the sag beneath his pectorals. His once dark brown hair was now dusted with gray. Softness had replaced lean muscle and the once prominent islands of muscles over his abdomen had melded together into a soft, fleshy mass. His fingers ran along loose skin, watching the pinkish skin grow white under his touch.
Where did my power go? He marveled. Where did I go?
His exploratory hands continued down to the carefully trimmed hairs of his groin. He remembered a time when he would fret over a single strand of gray. Now they were as well-blended with his pubic hair as the salt mixed with the cinnamon locks on his head.
His organ hung heavy, of decent length, but Krennic, always wished for thicker, heavier, longer. Of course he had never been satisfied with what he had.
Now I have so little of me left…
Krennic took his length in his hand, suddenly. He sucked in a soft breath as he felt the weight of it in his palm. Then, he slowly exhaled, facing himself again.
This old man staring back at him that he had not recognized…there existed a glimmer of recognition…there in the eyes.
He stroked himself slowly, eyes roaming over his deteriorating body. He studied how his thick flesh tensed and twitched as he rubbed his shaft. He watched his chest quiver when his breath quickened while he squeezed his organ tightly. He observed how his stomach tensed as he jerked his hips forward into his palm.
The moan from his lips was that of a younger man. A hungry man. A man who was never satisfied until he got what he wanted. A slight smile returned to sinfully pouty lips.
He slammed a hand on the wall beside the mirror, his focus returning to those eyes that hungered for his attention. He pumped himself faster, reddened lips wet and parted, emitting more of those deep, needy sounds.
His left cheek twitched as he drew closer to his peak, and for a moment he faltered, caught off guard by the reality of his withered skin.
Stubbornly he squeezed and twisted, turned and stroked, thrusted…and thrusted…and…
He caught something in the mirror, something ignited within his gaze. The answer to the unspoken question staring at him in the face.
He held in his hand so much more than his own cock…he held the fate of an entire galaxy in his palm. With age came more experience. And with experience came more power.
There you are. He thought as the orgasm surged through him. That’s who you have become…
His fist clenched against the wall, and he let loose a final thrust. All the tension melt away from his body as he shamelessly let out an indulgent groan.
Riding through the haze of euphoria, he looked at himself again.
He saw less of the loose skin and subtle folds, he forgot which wrinkles had bothered him most, and the gray did not seem as daunting as before.
Wearily, he dragged his focus back to his own eyes. His crystal blue irises were paler, hotter, the center of an intense flame, not the cold embers that haunted him earlier.
Krennic never doubted his sense of self after that. More gray formed at his temples, deeper wrinkles cracked his face, and his body grew thicker and softer. His hunger for life, however, never was satiated. Through age he found experience, through experience he gained power, and through power, he created the most powerful battle station the galaxy had ever seen.
Thank you so much for the prompt, Krennic-anon. I hope it was alright to blend the two prompts you had together! And thank you for your patience!
TechieHux 