#in his head and i think killing soothed it to an extent. but also perpetuated the issue obviously. racing soothes his demons without the

[colderthancoldest]

Ceasefire

(Read on Ao3 here)

Inspired by: this ask

Word Count: ~1.8k

Summary: Thirteen and Dhawan!Master both really need a hug.

(Fluff piece, hugs, no warnings apply)

Occasions on which the Doctor and the Master pause from their perpetual battles is rare. Over the years, it's gotten less and less common. Back when they were young, all of this- all the battles over Earth, all the threats, all the traps- were much more playful, and so was much easier to pause so that the two of them might grab a bite together and partake in each other's familiar company. However, over time, each slash at each other began to cut deeper and deeper in some failing attempt to 'win' a game that could never be won.

They both loved their fights, they both needed the challenge- but at times, it could become too much. Even for a Time Lord. Or... maybe not a Time Lord, now that they both knew there never really was such a thing.

Point was, their limits had finally been reached. The threshold for pain inflicted upon each other had finally been hit and they both needed time to recuperate before any scheme and/or heroics could resume.

The Master would say it was the Doctor who yielded first.

The Doctor would say it was the Master who suggested it.

Either way they looked at it, a few text messages back and forth from numbers that used to belong to friends later and the Doctor and the Master were staring each other down from opposite sides of the open field.

They had chosen a spot in the middle of nowhere to partake in their agreed upon ceasefire. A place that was hidden by the safety of tall trees and knee-high wildgrass that hid their mutual interest in a way that suggested being nice to each other was the greatest possible sin.

"We agree that this will never be spoken of again? As per our prior arrangement?" the Master questioned skeptically, with a low flat tone and his fists clamped shut.

"Completely. No one will ever know. We keep our mouths shut until long after our souls leave our bodies to rot," the Doctor agreed firmly.

The Master gave a nod to confirm this.

They stood there for a moment more, staring each other down. It was an old concept, but new in practice.

"Are... you okay?" the Doctor asked as the Master shifted from foot to foot, visibly uncomfortable.

The Master shook his head sharply and ignored the way the tips of his ears began to burn red.

"You don't get to ask me that. Not after everything you've done to me. Everything you've put me through," the Master growled through gritted teeth. "I doubt you've ever stopped running long enough to consider the extent of it."

The Master's words didn't linger for long before the Doctor cut through the stillness.

"Me?" the Doctor asked sharply. "What about you! You've killed people. A few years' penance on Earth is the very least you deserve."

"A few years?!" the Master chuckled in the manic, agonizing way he laughed.

He shook his head and caught himself before he could lose his patience.

"Don't push me," he threatened through gritted teeth.

The Doctor took a deep breath of her own.

"Right. That's not why we're here," she reiterated.

The Master gave a nod and took a breath of his own.

"Honestly... I don't want to talk about it either," the Doctor confessed.

She rubbed her arm and stared off at the ground.

The Master's eyes stayed locked on the dirt as well.

After a moment- a long and terrifying moment, the Doctor took a step forward.

The Master instinctively lifted his fists to defend himself at the sign of movement. After a brief second, he shamefully lowered them and attempted to play it off as if it was nothing.

The Doctor let out a sigh, reached out, and... hugged him.

Her arms reached around him, over the Master's own arms where they remained at his sides, and held him.

"I'm... glad you're still alive..." the Doctor admitted softly.

She could hear and feel the Master's breathing speed up and leave his lips unevenly as he froze in place.

It took him a minute to react at all.

The Doctor held him, pressed her face to his shoulder, and let her hands rest on his upper back as she simply soaked in the moment.

All at once, the Master comprehended the act and returned the embrace. He pulled her tight and firm and practically melted against her. His face hid in her shoulder, against the fabric of her coat, and his arms wrapped around her as if he was terrified she would disappear at any moment.

The Doctor could feel from the tense muscles and mild shake of his shoulders that he was fighting tears. She didn't comment on it and instead let her own tears splash down as she let out a small breath of relief.

The Master eventually spoke again. A weak, cautious whisper that the Doctor could only hear because his face was so close to her right ear.

"I haven't been hugged before," he confessed quietly. The words didn't even sound like they were directed at the Doctor. It felt more as if they'd slipped out in a moment of weakness and abrupt realization.

"Not this me, anyways," he continued softly. "And certainly never like this."

He paused, struggling to collect himself long enough to speak.

"I know the feeling," he elaborated, "from lives past."

He shook his head and buried it closer to the Doctor's collar, as if he could hide there. Away from his own words and the emotions that overwhelmed him.

"I... know what it should feel like. I've always know."

He paused. He hesitated.

He trembled as he pressed closer to the Doctor. As if, if he could get close enough, he would be safe, tucked away in her arms.

The Doctor's vision blurred as she willingly pulled him closer and brushed one palm across his upper back to sooth him. She could feel shivers and tremors wrack through his exhausted body as he bit back his emotions.

"This... is far better," he breathed.

The Doctor let out a small chuckle of relief as she carefully soothed the tense muscles of the Master's shoulder within her reach. There was scarring there, scar tissue grown over wounds the Master had never let her know he had. Wounds... that were a direct result of the Doctor's abandonment.

Even so, the Master pressed closer with everything he could. He held her as tight as he could- or at least, as much as he could without hurting her. He clung to her, pretending he would never have to let go- or rather, that she would never leave him- again.

The Doctor kept him safe in her arms and did what little she could to calm him.

They were both a mess of tears by now, but neither was willing to admit it.

The Doctor closed her eyes as she settled her face towards the Master's jaw.

"I... know what you mean..." she agreed softly.

She sighed. "Every new life we're... the same, but also somebody else entirely. I know what the people I knew were like, but I don't know them personally anymore.

Someone... else knew them. Someone else did all those things. And this new me... I've just taken their place."

The Master remained quiet.

"But not you," the Doctor smiled.

The Master shifted closer.

"You never minded-" the Doctor continued, "-that every new me was different, that I had to learn you over again and again. You were patient with me... when you were O."

The Master tensed, but refused to look at her.

"Why did you wait so long?" the Doctor asked softly.

What she was really asking was why he was the Doctor's friend for so long when he could have revealed himself at any time. Why did he wait for her.

The Master shook his head against her.

His voice was weak and soft yet steady when he finally replied.

"You're mine," he grumbled firmly, with the confidence of someone who knew his words were indisputable fact.

The Doctor only chuckled through her silent tears.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The Master paused briefly to think over this response. He knew the answer well- but not how to explain it.

"This you is the match for this me. I had to wait," he said, faintly annoyed. "For our timelines to line up again... for this you."

The Doctor chuckled again, more warmly this time.

"And?" she asked, "Was I worth it?"

A low rumble of a laugh purred from the Master's throat.

"Are you kidding? This you is the most cruel, ignorant, insufferable bastard I could ever have the misfortune of knowing. And, insult to injury, you give decent hugs."

The Doctor could practically feel him smirk.

"Of course you were worth the wait."

The Doctor laughed, warm and wholeheartedly, and even the Master let a chuckle of his own slip through.

"And I suppose," the Doctor rolled her eyes playfully, "you're reasonably tolerable yourself."

"Careful, Doctor. That nearly makes it sound like you don't hate me," the Master prodded amusingly.

The Doctor bushed her fingers over the back of the Master's head. She gently fixed his hair into place and then sighed with a heavy heart.

"Of course I don't hate you, you idiot."

The Master fell silent but let out a small hum as he settled down. The fear and uneasiness from when he had arrived had long since faded, and the Doctor's own worries disappeared along with them.

They both wanted to apologize- for so many, many things- but neither did.

When their legs grew tired, they allowed themselves to settle onto the soft ground, hidden among the grass and beneath the towering trees.

Without anyone to witness, far from even their Tardises' prying eyes. Without hope, that any of this whatever-it-was between them could ever be fixed. And without any reward, without the equal shares in the universe they had promised each other in lives long past.

They layed there until they fell asleep beneath the beautiful stars as they did their best to forget all the now-broken promises they had once made beneath them.

"I don't hate you either," the Master eventually divulged once they were both more than half-asleep in each others' arms.

"Never completely. Although it would certainly be easier if I did."

The Doctor hummed a warm acknowledgement, but knew better than to reply. If they pretended not to hear what the other said, then they would never have to address the difficult matter.

By the next time they met, they would be at each other's throats again. There was no doubt about it.

By this time tomorrow, they would be wishing this had never happened and doing their very best to forget the warmth it brought to their lonely hearts.

However, for now, they both needed a hug from the person they cared about most. And it was through no fault of their own that the person dearest to their hearts, and their most hated enemy, just so happened to be one in the same....

#I hope you like it anon! :) #doctor who #dw #thoschei #spydoc #doctor who fic #my post #thirteenth doctor #dhawan!master #dhawan master

[onwardintolight]

Monster Version 2.0 is up!

Read it here on FFN

Summary: After the war, Leia wrestles with who she is and what she's meant for, while exploring her Force abilities and struggling with Luke's revelation about their father. In doing so, she makes the choice that Anakin couldn't.

Written thanks to a prompt by @graciecatfamilyband 

The new version isn’t completely revamped; it just has a few extra bits I added to fit with what we learned in TROS. :) For those of you who still want access to it (I’m no George Lucas), I’ve posted the original version as the second chapter.

Here’s the new version in full:

~~~

Monster

After the war, I had a lot of things on my mind—I was heavily involved in the work to assemble the new government, for one, and I was also beginning to shift my focus back to the surviving Alderaanians and what I could do for my people. Not to mention, I was newly married, and a child came soon after.

I should have been happy. All the things I’d once dreamed of (and things I’d not even dared to dream, feeling myself unworthy) had finally come to pass. Yet I found myself stuck in a darkness and a turmoil that surprised me… though in retrospect, perhaps it shouldn’t have. All I had been through during the war—Alderaan, torture, Han’s temporary loss to carbonite, Jabba’s palace, watching too many people die (often directly or indirectly because of me), and so much more—it all began to catch up with me. And always, the mask of that monster loomed in my mind: him, the source of this evil, the cause of all this horror, and Luke had said… Luke had said he was our father.

I couldn’t process it. I didn’t want to think about it.

Luke had said that this father had turned back, in the end; that he’d saved his son and killed the Emperor. But all I could think of was Vader’s harsh breath as I writhed on the floor from the torture meds, the splitting pain as he tried to break down my mind’s barriers, his iron grip on my shoulder as everything I loved exploded into a billion tiny particles of dust, the proud, skeletal stare of his mask across the room in Cloud City as he came close to taking everything from me once again. A litany of my worst memories. The nightmares that still creep up on me, breaking into the quiet hours.

I despised Vader, with everything in me. And I was afraid. If I was the biological progeny of this twisted being, then who was I, really? Did the same potential for catastrophic evil lurk in my veins?

~~~

I had felt it, hadn’t I, all my life, this strange connection, this bridge to the ebb and flow of life around me. It emerged in my empathy, my intuition, even my leadership skills—I see it so clearly now. While I will never underemphasize my parents’ nurturing of those qualities, I’ve realized that the extent of my abilities can’t be chalked up to my upbringing alone. There’s always been something more, some inside force that whispers to me and guides me, that helps me persuade and fight and protect and persevere. Something that’s led me back, over and over again, to hope.

The Force. Somehow, I had always known.

At first, I let Luke teach me. Things like how to meditate, how to further hone my perceptions, how to reach out and feel him and others in a fuller way, how to speak without words. I’ve done some crazy stunts, both physically and mentally. I’ve flipped over chasms and moved my fair share of rocks. I can kick his ass with a lightsaber.

I know Luke hoped I would become a Jedi, too. But the more he told me about the Jedi way, the more uncomfortable I felt, especially as the weight of all that had happened began to settle more deeply upon me.

(Our father.)

Luke says fear and anger are the path to the Dark Side.

Easy for him to say, I think. Or maybe not. I know he’s struggled greatly with those things, and I would never trivialize his massive personal victories over them. Now, though, he is the picture of perfect peace, of tranquility. He trusts in the Force that all will be made right, and that in some sense, it already has.

Maybe he’s right. I don’t know.

But our relationships with those emotions are not the same. Anger and fear have been my constant companions for so long, I don’t know if it’s possible to let them go. And in truth, I’m not sure I’d really want to, at least not fully. After all, it’s my anger at injustice and evil and my fear of a galaxy enchained and destroyed that has so often fueled the fire in me, giving me strength to fight, to persuade, to seek change.

But I feel the dark potential, too, of those emotions—the seething hatred, the pull towards despair that sometimes sucks me under. There are days when I no longer know how to speak, how to be; days when all the pain rises up inside me, threatening to explode.

Honestly, the storms I experience are more of a threat to myself than others, unless you count the occasional angry diatribe. (My fault, the whispers still accuse, the ashes of Alderaan smoldering in my mind still.) I will carry forever the memory of the Dark Side’s evil, packed like a ball of durasteel in my core, a warning against too much power. (So much death, so many sacrifices. My fault.) I could never see myself perpetuating everything I fought so hard against, becoming the very thing I hate. (I’m a monster.) I will never.

And yet.

(He was my father.)

Other things, too, I might have to forfeit to become a Jedi; other threads making up the very fabric of who I am. Jedi aren’t supposed to have attachments (Luke is undecided on whether to continue this practice, but it’s been a tenant of the order for millennia). I have Han, and for that alone I’d forsake the Force in its entirety. Jedi are supposed to favor serenity over passion: my passion is my drive, part of my very nature, even. Why would I let that go? Studying the Jedi way takes full commitment: I’m already committed fully to serving the New Republic and the Alderaanian diaspora.

(He was my father.)

~~~

It was in those early days of pregnancy, while I was still training, that the visions started. Waking nightmares.

I saw myself, boiling with rage, a mask descending upon my head, the world around me red as blood.

I saw my family, people I loved, their eyes full of grief and fear.

I saw the Dark devour the galaxy once more, undoing everything.

I saw my child, once blazing in the Force with so much Light, fallen into that darkness.

I saw myself taking up my saber. Killing my son.

The last vision was the clearest. It left me with a horrible certainty; the kind of Force-fueled certainty that centers itself right in the gut and refuses to budge. Visions are not directly mapped onto the future; what one sees may never come to pass, or it may in reality have come to pass long ago. But somehow, I knew: my path forward as a Jedi would lead to my son’s death, at my hand.

Whether the monster inside our blood claimed me or my son first, I still don’t know.

~~~

I have so much now. Even on my darkest days, I still have so much to live for. I see the steadfast love written in my husband’s eyes as he weathers these storms with me, encouraging me onward, daring me to pursue my goals, soothing me through the nightmares (as I do for him), daily sweeping me off my feet. Our love is an exquisite beauty I never thought I’d have, but here we are. I look at Luke, and Chewie, and other friends new and old, and the joy that wells up in me at the challenges we’ve faced together and the victory and the freedom we’ve won nearly takes my breath away. I gaze into the face of my precious little son, and I know that I would die, I’d do whatever it takes to continue making the galaxy a better place for him.

Whatever it takes, as long as it’s right.

And that… that is why I cannot travel this path. The power that Jedi training may give me is tempting, of course. Maybe if I learned more of the ways of the Force, I’d be able to make the galaxy right. Maybe I’d be able to better protect those I love. Bring swift justice. Champion the vulnerable without the neverending tangles of bureaucracy.

But then again, maybe the galaxy has had enough of that kind of power already.

I trust Luke not to grasp for it. As he’s told me, it’s surrender and sacrifice, not aggression and forcefulness, that mark a Jedi’s true calling. He will continue the Jedi tradition humbly and faithfully; I believe it.

And I will continue to honor my true father’s legacy, as well as my mother’s: serving my people in the government, and in the Senate, however I can. I’ll also continue to embrace this curious Force inside me; letting it speak through me to reach hearts and minds and strike up flames of hope, the same hope that it kindled in me, against all odds, throughout the years.

But I do not want more of that power.

(He’s my father.)

I reject the Dark.

No monster will ever take control of the galaxy again.

#Leia Organa #SW fic #Star Wars fic #TROS #Star Wars fanfic #SW fanfic #canon compliant #Luke Skywalker #Ben Solo #Kylo Ren #post-ROTJ #Star Wars #my fic #my fanfic #my writing #thoughts

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

[Re-Upload since the other was marked explicit. Let me know if paragraphs are out of order or you see mistakes because it always happens when I copy and paste from wattpad 🙄] Check out Pandora’s Box by @amethyst1993  if you’re interested in the club Erik went to. The context is different, but I referenced it.

Part 12: Communication

“How do you feel,” Erik asked in the parked car, a loaded question, but he wasn’t leaving until they had the discussion. It wasn’t something to gloss over or sit on. She’d witnessed and participated in some shit that was far beyond her comfort zone and it looked as though she was beginning to withdraw into herself. That wasn’t what she needed to do. “Overwhelmed? Confused? Was it a lot? Regrets? What. Talk to me.”

“It was a lot,” she said with a breath. He reached out slowly for her hand and for a long while they sat in silence, summer night air filling the car. A memory came to mind and he went back and forth between whether or not to share it. As the silence stretched, he decided that he could.

“First time I was introduced to BDSM… before I became a dominant.. I went to this club..,” he paused recalling the details of that fateful night. “I was messing with this girl.. Ashleigh. We had a class together then and she asked me out, so I went. I was still in college then..” he nodded. “I was expecting the typical, you know, crowded bar and dance floor, women in tight dresses. They throwin ass. You get a dance, drink some Henny and get out type shit. Yeah, it was nothing like that..”

She looked over at him then, interested in where his story was going and he hesitated. He’d never told anyone the story and didn’t think he ever would.

“Uhh,” he groaned, “Aight so.. I get there and you need a password to enter. She gives them the password. A curtain opens and we end up in a club only it’s naked people everywhere. I’m talking ass, tiddies, dingalings.. orgies in the open. I ain’t know where to look. I was confused like what the fuck this bitch brought me to? Had men and women staring at my ass. I felt threatened. She bought me a drink and told me to follow so I did. We went down a hall and I followed her into this red room… It was red lights… So, I’m looking around and it’s a lot of random shit..” He paused, the memories flooding his senses.

He could feel the leather whip in his hand, see her tremble, and hear her piercing scream. It terrified him the way she screamed, an ear shattering declaration of orgasmic pain. She had to explain it to him because he’d dropped the whip so fast, afraid that he was really hurting her. “Don’t stop,” she’d begged, “It hurts but it feels so good. I want this.” She coached him into another swing and then another. Then she showed him how she liked to be slapped, slapping herself. “Why you doing this shit to yourself,” he’d asked. Surely this need to abuse herself must have stemmed from a previous experience of abuse. He didn’t feel comfortable perpetuating the cycle. She needed therapy, not punishment. “It’s a kink,” she replied, “Why do people like to box or wrestle? I just like it. I can’t help it. I like this and I like you. I haven’t been abused or anything and I still respect myself just like I expect you to respect me. But this shit gets me wet when it’s done right.. and since you’re inexperienced, you have no bad habits to break. I see you, Erik.. and you’re a dom. It’s in the way you respect women. It’s in the way you carry yourself, you’re no nonsense. And you wanna slap me right now because I’m giving you permission. I trust you not to abuse my trust.”

When he smacked her, it had been a tap. She instructed him to hold her face if he was afraid, that way she wouldn’t get whiplash. Also, avoid hitting near her ear. It was solid advice and with her urging him on, he slapped her harder and harder, his heart dropping when she dropped her head, sobbing into her hands. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he panicked only for her to lift her face, laughing. From there, he listened when she told him to be rough. It became therapeutic and even freeing to be able to fuck as hard and rough as he wanted with no ‘stop’ or 'it’s too big’ or 'wait’. And then she graduated, moving away. He had to find a replacement. Going backwards to women afraid of dick wasn’t an option. No more breaking bitches in.. if she didn’t have a few bodies under her belt, she was off of his radar. His experience hadn’t been a peak into BDSM, he’d been thrust into it and once he understood it, it’d been exhilarating.

“I’m not trying to scare you or make you feel less of yourself with anything that I expose you to. I just want you to feel that same freedom I felt. Freedom to express yourself the way you want to. Freedom to express your sexuality. I want to take on all responsibility and consequences so that you don’t have to feel weird or guilty about anything you do or try. As your dom, I just want you to experience life the way you should without fear. I’m not holding anything over you. I might joke like that sometimes, but you know me. I’m not like that.. and if you’re ever really uncomfortable I want you to be honest enough to tell me.”

The car was silent, her hand in his on her lap. She had a look like she was taking it all in. So he just had to be patient. He closed his eyes, resting his head against the headrest and she spoke.

“Between what I heard, saw, and what I did in there.. I have a lot to digest. I’ve never been in a situation like that. This is all new. I knew this type of stuff could get real because of the nature of it, but the extent truly caught me off guard. And I didn’t expect to do what I did..”

You mean eat pussy, he thought. In the moment, he figured he was moving too fast with her, but the look in her eye said she wanted to try it, she was just caught up in the minutia of what’s socially and morally acceptable. Fear of judgement from others and from her herself. They were all excuses keeping her from experimenting with something new. He nodded, understanding her trepidation. He’d been there and could relate.

“I was surprised when you did jump in,” he says looking ahead through the windshield. “..But I didn’t mind it this time because you knew what you were getting into. No one was getting over on you.. And I had a say in how it happened. Guess that’s the difference between dealing with a sub and someone confused.” Shots fired at Shay. Y/N shook her head, a small smile showing against her will.

“You taste sweeter,” he offered, watching her reaction from the corner of his eye. Her lip twitched before she turned to face her window. With that, he put the key in the ignition and pulled off. She’d be okay. The drive would do her some good.

At his house, she went straight to sleep peacefully in the bedroom he’d given to her. Her face was expressionless, buried into the pillow, and her hair was pushed upward in a pineapple bush atop her head. He needed some good sleep like that...

When he left her room, he checked his second phone. He’d ignored a call almost an hour ago and he knew it was business. He went downstairs and out to the back where the hot tub was to return the call.

“Vidor, Texas,” Rell said and he knew that meant to meet him there. Another missing target had been located. White. Early 40s. Of course, he’d hide out in racist ass Texas, knowing someone was coming for him. Erik was convinced that none of the niggas he was paid to off could hide or lay low for shit. “Two days.. you gotta make it happen,” Rell continued.

“Bet,” Erik said hanging up. This time, he got to hunt and kill himself a white man. Apparently, there had been a military grade weapons trade gone awry with multiple deaths involved. Some other stuff he didn’t really care about as well. He’d make bank off the corpse, he just had to figure something to tell Y/N.. A reason to leave. If only he could take her with him.

—

Erik has to take you to work since you don’t have access to your car. His bedroom door is already wide open when you creep in to sit on the edge of his California king bed. The room is drafty and he’s shirtless, orderly keloids on display. He’s knocked out, asleep on his side, his large arms stretched out ahead of him as though he’s yearning for something and you briefly wonder what he could be dreaming about. His expression is peaceful, serene, with the exception of the occasional brow furrow. His lips though. Those beautiful full lips are pouted. His deep cupid’s bow is prominent, alluring even. It feels like a great shame to wake him and lose this moment, but you have to if you wanna get to work. Like a creep, you pull out your phone and snap a quick picture, putting it away. You place your hand on the blanket covering his side and move to his exposed shoulder, rubbing down his arm.

“Erik,” you whisper. He jumps, his arm jetting to grip your throat at breakneck speed. It takes a moment of struggling to try and pry his fat fingers from your larynx, before his eyes open and adjust, settling on your face. His arm drops as quickly as it raised and you rub your throat to soothe it, hoping there are no marks.

“FUCK. Y/N. Don’t scare me like that,” he croaks, letting his eyes fall back shut. His morning voice is sinful and you feel moisture forming down below. He drops his head back to his pillow, mumbling. “What’s up, you good? You hungry?”

“Huh? ..No, wake up!” You shake his arm when he won’t move. “I need a ride to work.” You’re already dressed and ready to walk out and he refuses to budge. “Erik! You have to take me… Come on. Please? Get up…” Still nothing.

You sit waiting for him to respond and after a few beats, he slowly drags himself upright, his eyes squinted. He’s still exhausted, poor baby. He looks so cranky now that he’s awake. It is super early afterall.. you have to be to work at 8:30 and the drive is longer from his house.

“Aight,” he croaks again wiping his face with his hand. “Gimme five minutes to brush my teeth and shit, I’ll take you.” His voice is super deep and velvety, filled with sleep and it’s really taking you over into wet panty land.

“You can shower though, it’s early enough,” you say eyeballing him with a raised brow and when he glances at the time on his phone, he nods.. a little more at ease. You wait downstairs. Breakfast seems like a great idea so you pull out his bullet blender and make a mixed berry yogurt smoothie that you split into two cups. He appears twenty minutes later in a bright red sweatsuit with Burberry London written on the white stripe going up each leg which matches his white Nikes. He looks like a whole dessert and there's that familiar smell. The mild and delicious scent of spiced musk. You could wrap yourself in it and call right back asleep if you had the time. There are no words from either of you, just a hard smack on your ass that makes you jump when he takes his smoothie, throwing back a third of it on the spot before heading to the coffee table for his keys. You follow him out silently as he swirls them on his thick finger, cup in his other hand. Down the walkway, and to his car, climbing into the passenger seat. The cup finds a new home in the cupholder. As soon as the car turns on, the noise does too. Gucci Mane is BLARING on the stereo, so you switch over to an alternative rock station with mellow 90s grunge rock since it's early. His eyes narrow so briefly that you almost miss it.

“I’ll humor you,” is all he says. Obviously he’s still exhausted because you know for a fact he’d typically fight you or just change the station.. but uncharacteristically, he leaves it there and he’s quiet, his eyes trained on the road. It’s concerning.

“You keep staring at me I’m a pull this car over,” he says blankly, voice still full of that deep bass and the threat is so like him, it must be his little way of assuring you that he’s okay without looking at you.

From this angle, his eyelashes are so long and you wonder why men always have the better eyelashes... You also wonder if he’d ever tell you if he weren’t oka– The car swerves suddenly making your heart drop and a horn beeps from the car behind you. You can your heart beating faster. Erik’s making his way to the side of the road and you realize he's 100% serious. What does he plan to do to you on the side of the road in morning traffic? You don't even want to know. Not today.

“Don’t pull over,” you slap his thigh, looking away from him quickly, “I wanna be on time.” With hesitation, he hops back in the right lane avoiding an exit that would’ve taken you out of the way.

“You gonna come back and eat lunch with me? You’ve never been to my job,” you remind him, one foot in the car and one on the pavement. You’ve never been to his either. You call him Tommy because he seems to be doing so well and you hang out with him a lot but you don’t know what his job is. You have no clue what he does for a living or how he can afford everything he has. He yawns, stretching.

“Mm.. I’ll swing by.. I gotta run some errands, but I’ll be here.”

“You need a nap!” You scold him and with an accusatory glare that says it’s your fault that he’s awake to begin with, he’s off. No goodbye or anything as you watch him zoom away. Yeah he's a little cranky.

The day moves slowly as you sit at your desk staring at your computer screen. The network seems to be running smoothly with no reported issues or disruptions, thankfully.. but Tanner is an idiot, you’re convinced. He’s somehow managed to jam the printer and delete an important file of documents. You clear the jam as he stands there gawking. No problem. As for his file.. He could’ve just dragged it from the trash. You told him this over the phone, but no, you had to come in person and fix it. He’s not even new! When you’re on his computer, you feel his gaze heavy on you and you look up to see that he’s staring at the side of your face like he’s analyzing it. Your face, your hair. Ignoring him, you stand ready to leave. It took all of ten seconds to retrieve the folder from the digital trash bin.

“Uh, Y/N... I was wondering if you’d… like to go for coffee later?”

“There’s coffee in the office kitchen, Tanner. I have a cup back at my desk.”

“Doesn’t have to be coffee, we could take a drive somewhere for lunch… Ernesto’s.”

“Sorry, I already made lunch plans with a friend.” His deep blue eyes widen at the last word and you don’t like the implication. Why does no one believe you have friends?! Rolling your eyes, you almost stomp back to your office but bump into Sherita, an older black woman.

“Y/N, it’s good I bumped into you,” she speaks slowly, “I have my nephew with me and I was hoping you could log him into a computer so he could play some little games or go to YouTube.”

“As long as he knows how to be responsible with his browsing,” you say leading them to the computer lab on a lower floor. You knew it’d be empty and there were cameras all around to keep an eye out for him. The boy was nine, he’d be okay on his own for a bit. “I’ll check on him from time to time,” you offer and she thanks you. Time ticks by so slowly. You sip at your coffee missing your Red Refresh tea. Maybe that’s why you’re so restless today... When your phone lights up around lunch, you all but run to the elevator to leave. You don’t want to run into anyone who will stop you. Outside, you expect to see Erik’s car pulled up and running, but it’s not there. A grip on your waist makes you jump and for a split second you fear it’s Flu before you hear Erik’s voice.

“You so antsy,” he teases poking you in various places to see if you’ll jump again. You do once but it’s because you don’t expect him to poke you in your stomach.

“I’m hungry! Stooop.” You block your stomach before he can poke at your chub again and he snatches his hand back before turning to walk away toward the end of the block.

“Shid, let me get on before you try to eat my ass.”

You answer with your middle finger, jogging lightly to catch up to his side. “I don’t eat assholes.” It works on two levels and he smirks.

“You’ll do whatever I tell you to do, angelcakes. I’m the boss.”

“And the moment you try to make me do that, I’ll quit.”

“It’s a good thing I wouldn’t ask you to do that. But either way, you ain’t going nowhere,” he smiles and you wonder if he's right.

“I’ll leave if I damn well please! What you think you can do about it?”

“Don’t matter... 'cause you ain’t going nowhere…,” he laughs.

"You so irritating.. Where are we walking to?"

He leads you down another block and across the street before turning right and you’re getting winded. He walks fast. “You the one work here, I’m just walking.”

“So you don’t have a place in mind and we just walking around for no reason,” you huff, breathless, trying to keep up with his strides while keeping the aggravation out of your voice. You fail on the latter.

“Yup, walking is good for you.”

Before you can cuss him out, he smiles and opens the door of a business. When you look it’s a small restaurant. It looks very new inside and you figure it’s some hipster spot with white college kids from the nearby university. You’re thrown when you see only black people behind the counter and mostly black customers. You follow him to a table and a young black guy with a fade comes immediately to take your drink orders. Erik asks for water and you get lemonade. The menu itself is decent, full of classic faves and desserts. He orders the house burger and you follow suit because it looks delicious.

“How you feeling,” he asks randomly, his eyes fixed on yours and you shrug.

“Good... You seem more awake, like you got some rest. I hope you did at least.”

“Gotta ask you something. I need a yes or no.”

Well damn, forget my topic then. Anxiety rises but you push it away. Any time someone says they need to ask you something instead of just asking, it’s typically something you don’t want them to ask.

“Shoot,” you say firmly as if you aren’t going through five potentially awkward conversations in your head right now.

“Relax," he murmurs raising his hand. "Wednesday I’m leaving town for a few days on business.. you wanna take off and come with or you can’t?”

Your first instinct is to say you can’t. It’s too short notice and you have to work. He seems indifferent so you wonder if you should just go ahead and decline.. but the fact that he even asked must mean he wants you to go. Did his other subs ever go with him on his business trips? You wonder.. Either way…

“Where are you going?”

“Does it matter? Free vacation. Yes or no, you know if you wanna go or not.”

“Nigga, don’t get smart with me,” you return his stare with equal attitude and his brow raises. Neither of you speak for about ten entire seconds until you decide you're ready to give your answer. “…Yes.”

“I bought the plane tickets already. Pack for three days when we get back to my place.”

“You can’t tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ll see.”

—

The Marriott Marquis Houston in Houston, Texas.. over an hour away from Vidor. Erik entered the room first dropping their bags and Y/N followed, throwing Erik a pointed look.. but what did she expect?

“Nigga… You could’ve gotten two beds..”

“I could’ve,” he said simply. But why would he do that? She rolled her eyes, toeing off her Adidas before diving onto the bed like a starfish. He fell backwards beside her, his body sinking into the comforter. When he opened his eyes, Y/N was gone. He looked around before grabbing his phone to call her. He’d been out cold for a good hour and a half.

“You would wake up as soon as I leave,” Y/N’s voice came in. There were noises in the background that sounded like voices. She was downstairs. “Stay put, I’m buying us food at Biggios. Do you feel more like an herbivore or a carnivore? I know you buff types can go either way.”

“I don’t work out to eat grass everyday. Carnivore,” he said heading to the toilet.

“Right, you work out to lift bitches. I totally get it- Wait, are you.. Ugh, are you peeing right now?!” The call ended and he chuckled to himself. When Y/N came back with the food and plastic utensils, he rooted through the bag for the receipt.

“Threw it away. I got you,” Y/N said peeping what he was on. It was a gesture he respected. His other subs wouldn’t have done it. Still though, in good conscience he couldn’t take her money. He waited until she was occupied with checking the orders to slip fifty into her Michelle Obama wallet.

—

“Game analytics,” was Erik’s response when you asked what his job was. It was such a straightforward answer that your jaw dropped. He rolled his eyes when you gasped. He was Tommy off of Martin no more! You finally had your answer and it made a lot of sense because you did see various game systems hooked up in his living room.

“Can I ride with you wherever you’re going,” you asked with your sweetest smile, the apples of your cheeks entering your line of vision.

“No,” he said lifting your chin, “I got something else I need you to do. Here’s my card… Go to the Galleria and ball out one good time.” Halfway out the door, he added, “New panties, new shoes, new clothes, new panties… I’m serious… Don’t get ugly shit,” he points toward your crotch and you’re offended. Since when has your style been ugly? Comfortable was a better term.

“Nah, matter fact, ask someone your own age in the store what to get or take a picture and send it to me before you buy it.. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I’ll call.” He almost left before turning again to say, “I’m trusting you with my shit, don’t lose it.”

With that, he left you standing in a 4-star Texan hotel room alone with his credit card.

—

“You made it,” Rell greeted. They were in the parking lot of a redneck grocery. Erik grabbed Rell’s hand wrapping his other forearm around his back returning the greeting before dropping into the passenger seat of the car.

“Where did this car come from,” Erik asked as Rell sat parked. Mobb Deep hummed lowly on the system.

“It’s my job, I got my sources,” Rell sniffed with pride. Erik didn’t pursue it since Rell had never fumbled before. Rell was always dependable but if that were ever to change, Erik would be ready to handle the situation, whatever that meant. He looked through the window at the white people getting in and out of cars. They hadn’t really been noticed yet.

“You get anything from Sawyer?” Sawyer was the white boy they sent in as a mole to locate the target before they got there. Vidor was a small sundown town trying to change their rep, but moving very slowly.

“Pine Haven RV park.”

“Oh word, let’s bust him right now,” Erik sat up in his seat, but Rell hesitated.

“He’s not alone. He embedded himself into the community, they’d shoot for him. You got the whole trailer park to fight through.

"Shid, you got the bombs?”

Rell sucked his teeth. Of course he had the bombs, this was cracker country. Home of the clan.

“If you got the bombs and the guns, loaded and ready. You just get me close to that park and stay down."

"We need another white boy to drive us closer. What if they spot us coming?"

"We don't need shit else. What's my name?"

"Killmonger."

"I ain't get these marks for selling cookies... You just get me there and let me handle the rest."

#erik killmonger #original #erik killmonger imagine #erik stevens #killmonger #erik killmonger fanfiction #erik stevens au #erik killmonger x reader #erik x reader #erik stevens x reader #erik stevens x you #erik killmonger smut #killmonger smut #house rules

[countrybunkingbabes-blog]

Phnom Penh Day 1

We finally recovered from our drinking bender and bizarre sleeping pattern and were filled with energy when we arrived early in Phnom Penh at 6 am (actually maybe our sleeping pattern was still fucked...) anyways as we hopped off the bus a guy was like u staying in Phnom Penh?! And I replied yes really enthusiastically coz I was so excited and then realised he'd asked because he was a tuk tuk man and since I didn't know how to deal with the situation he waited outside the 24 hr cafe we went into and kept looking in the window to make sure we were still there. He gave up after like an hour and a half and we made our way to our accommodation, dropped our bags, admired our 3 euro private room and set out to the Tuol Sleng genocide museum. This museum had been known as the S21 prison under the Khmer Rouge. It simple terms, this school-turned-prison now memorialises the horror and torture which the Angkar (or Khmer Rouge) inflicted upon anyone who was suspected of questioning their rule. The communist group glorified hard labour and traditional times and condemned modern urban dwelling, formal education and religious belief. Their rule lasted a mere 4 years (1975-79), but, in spite of this, accumulated a death toll of ~3 million from starvation, disease or murder. The images within the prison walls today were gruesome and surreal; it was really hard to understand how this was considered acceptable. In other ways, the experience showed how easy it could be: combine the potency of a utopian ideology, the witnessing of graphic violence, and the ever present fear of disobedience and retaliation and you see how self-preservation shines through. What the guards inflicted or witnessed was brutal. The image that remains with me is a painting done by a former prisoner where a naked woman is tied down and bleeding, and centipedes are being placed on her sores and genitals. One guard admitted that he took the prohibition of sexual relations and his personal sexual frustration out on female prisoners violently. Another image shows the remains of a persons face, barely distinguishable, as his face is caved in and black with blood. Rows and rows and walls and walls of mugshots documented the extent to which Cambodian people suffered in these prisons. There are mugshots of mothers holding babies who have been incarcerated by association and images of women who have their children in their cells after being raped by prison officers. Even though class was central to the Angkar's beliefs, they exploited the young, uneducated working class, recruiting them and repeating slogans incessantly to burn their values into the minds of as many impressionable people as possible. To me this felt so hypocritical. Especially as Pol Pot, the figurehead, studied in a French University and discovered communism amidst his elite path and then felt entitled to deprive the worth of knowledge and education to everyone else. Though communism may have beauty at its heart, a utopian ideology means nothing when violence is its tool. Having studied bits of victimology and terrorism and political violence, some moments in the museum really resonated with me. Ideas surrounding justifications for violence, revenge or reconciliation, human dignity, blame, national trauma, intergenerational victimisation, responsibility and who are the real victims of this period were insightful and soothing; photos of a former head of the prison and a former prisoner laughing together inspired so much shock and admiration from me. The aim of this place was not to sensationalise or capitalise, but to teach and reflect. At the end of the museum an old man called out to me and saoirse and we realised he was one of the surviving prisoners of the time!! I couldn't speak I just felt so shy and embarrassed and amazed and inadequate thinking of everything he had been through and how kind his eyes remained. He was selling his story but i wanted to go see a free talk they had there that was starting so I said I'd go back after. The woman who spoke had not been imprisoned but her life had been turned upside down by the Khmer Rouge when they forced mass evacuations from big cities and caused many deaths in that process of harsh, rapid migration and homelessness. She spoke of the hard work she had been subjected to with only 2 spoons of rice to eat a day. She had been separated from her mother and then reunited at age 7. Her instinct was to run and hug her mum but her mum pushed her away in an effort to keep her safe through that distance. She went on to tell her daughter different lessons in how to care for herself and survive. (I burst out crying at this point - I'm a sucker for anything that makes me imagine life without the strong guiding influence of my mum). She was only 11 when she was expected to dig a hole one metre deep and wide in a day, and where failure to meet the assigned targets meant only one spoon of rice. You had to avoid crying in those days because it would be interpreted as dissatisfaction with the regime and you would be punished for it. The audio tour included a number of survivors stories and even excerpts from the trial against a key officer running the S21. Victim impact statements from court were also available to listen to, and so so moving. A very instinctual drive for revenge was articulated by one, who wanted to make his mum proud, but she told him that was not what she wished for. She told him she just wanted him to be happy, and he realised this violent urge only perpetuated his feelings of anger and grief. Many spoke of the healing power within religion, advocacy and legal justice and recognition. Ending on this hopeful note was uplifting, and did make me admire the resilience and strength of humankind. The woman who spoke has her own children and grandchildren now and her voice radiated the love she felt for them. It's amazing how people have managed to thrive and love and connect after such violence and bitterness. That visit has inspired me to share this Cambodian history with as many people as possible, through advocacy, college assignments and general conversation as it's overarching message was stressing the significance of history as preventing future crimes against humanity from occurring and the validation of what happened as barbaric, unjust and undeserved. It made me a little angry to see how little we do know about others history and Cambodia's national trauma as our education orbits ourselves and our white, western counterparts despite the gravity of suffering endured in all other parts of the world. This feeling has resurfaced a number of times already (we have since visited the killing fields and war remnants museum). As I took notes on everything we spent about 4-5 hours there and ate into our afternoon where we had meant to see the palace. Instead we got lunch from an authentic chay restaurant and paid about 1.50 for some beautiful noodle soup. We wandered around the area by the river and tried again to get some happy pizza. It worked this time. We shared one between us and it could have been MD it was so strong. We planned on going to this drag show in a gay bar and having just the one beer and a mellow high as our last bender was still fresh in our minds but, once again, our plan to be sensible was sabotaged. My heart felt like it was on fire and I tried to take my socks and shoes off in the busy bar. I was gaping at the performers with my jaw practically on the floor and when we tried dancing I felt like we were moving so slowly and saoirse thought we were dancing super fast. The performance was unlike any other drag we'd seen as the performers dressed convincingly feminine, not in the usual exaggerated way, and it was so aggressively sexual. They humped the stage and deep throated cucumbers and mauled onto members of the audience. Shortly after the end of the performance we left slightly scared and went for freezing showers to recover. After that we just let ourselves pass out.