if ur worried bc ur life isn’t going the way you planned or u feel like u haven’t got ur life well put together yet and u think it should be, today i was visiting my old college with my best friend and we were talking to two of our old teachers and we said “you guys really remind us of us just like…with ur shit together” and one of them literally laughed and said “that’s the funniest thing ive heard all day, you think my life is well put together wow”
so don’t worry, u can have a degree, a solid career, a house and family and still be ????? about what ur doing, bc the secret to happiness is realising none of us have any clue what the fuck is going on ever
All things considered, the difference in height between them was essentially
negligible: a couple of inches, really. Kylo’s helm and hood added a little
extra but Hux knew better. In fact, Hux knew better than better, he knew best. He knew every foot, every
centimetre, every acre of Kylo’s broad body. He probably knew it better than he
knew his own body (he had never seen the back of his own knees; he imagined they
were as bland and pale as the rest of him). He knew him by sight, by touch, by
scent, perhaps even taste if he really concentrated (so many poets across the
stars have waxed lyrical about their lover’s unique taste, but if Hux was being
very honest, sweat was sweat, cum was cum, and from a purely gustatory point of view, one warm body
was as good as another).
While their heights were similar – and oh how Hux had measured and
double measured, over, under, and laid out alongside Kylo – that was not to say
they lacked size difference, only that the size difference was as much a shape
difference as anything else. A silhouette difference. A difference in volume,
presence, how they occupied the space they were in. It even extended to their
clothes; Hux in his tailored uniform, pushed out at the shoulders, the thighs,
all structure and beautiful clean lines; Ren in his ratty robes, the formless
shape and the cinched waist, and the secret slutty half-slip of mesh he wore
underneath, a whisper of something that could hardly be called fabric worn for
no practical reason.
Hux wasn’t a small man – he really wasn’t, not since he was a young teen
and had stretched like cheap elastic over a matter of months. He had always
been on the lean side, but he had passed his combat training with relative
ease, and kept up to date with his physical training. He preferred to think
himself as neat, rather than slim.
Tidy. Elegant. Well turned out, if not somewhat unremarkable.
Kylo, however – Kylo’s body was reckless. He was an avalanche on legs,
broad from shoulder to hip, somehow long in torso and leg. He moved like the seas would part for him, all power, no
control. Arms like knotted ropes, chest like a mountainside. Hux wouldn’t have
been at all surprised if he ever found out the man was not full-blooded human;
the idea of it had a certain appeal to it. Kylo had a certain appeal to him.
It was an appeal that was never more keenly felt than when he was spread
out under Hux like a felled bear, a hunting trophy, eyes soft, mouth slack. His
chest heaved, every breath a landslide, every restless shift a devastating
earthquake. He was so pliant then, with fingers around his neck or in his
mouth, on him or in him, pinched and pulled apart. He could have killed Hux
with his hands, or a thought; he could have diced him into a dozen little
pieces with that ridiculous sword, but he didn’t. All that power, and he folded
under Hux like a slip of paper.
Hux never felt bigger than when he held Kylo Ren in the palm of his