#to things out of my control like americas fast and only getting faster slide towards Christo-fascism and the genocide happening in Gaza

[cas---2y5]

The Anxiety™ is ROUGH tonight y’all

[buckybarnesdiaries]

longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car

© mine.

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Bucky is kidnapped by Hydra to reactivate the Winter Soldier.

word count: 2.924 words. it worth it, i promise!!!

warnings/tags: none. angst as hell mostly. but it has a happy ending.

author notes: i don't speak russian, but i haven't used google translate either, so no worries. none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

join the tag list NEW!!! here.

No. It couldn't be possible. It had to be part of a terrible nightmare. Bucky couldn't have been kidnapped by Hydra again.

You didn't know what to expect in the ship flying to the secret location of the organization. For Stark, it didn't take more than a couple of minutes to track the arm down, since Shuri put a small monitor on it when the soldier stayed in Wakanda. She never told it, wanting to use it in some kind of circumstance like the one you all were going through now. And you couldn't be more grateful, but it didn't help to make you feel better.

You were sitting close to the back hatch. Back rested against the metallic wall and legs curled to your chest. Nothing inside your head more than the hallucination of a pair of blue eyes staring at you. Blaming yourself was something you couldn't avoid. You should have been with him, by his side, protecting him as many times you promised him. But in fact, you just failed him. You failed his trust, his love. You let them take him. Only God knew which torture Hydra was putting him under, while you were there, lamenting.

You didn't even notice Steve's presence squatting next to you until he placed a hand on your shoulder. Then, you raised your face towards him. He was suffering too. In the end, Bucky was his long-life friend, his big brother. He lost him once and felt like he was going to lose him twice. Although this time was different. You were carrying the dispositive that could put to sleep back the winter soldier, but, at what cost?

“Buck got you now. Everything is gonn—”. He spoke in plural, referring to your last night's talk.

“How could you be so calm, Steve? How do you do it?” You whispered through your trembling lips, about to break in crying.

“Because he needs us focused, not distracted”.

He was wise. Captain America was wiser than anyone in that ship. He curled the left corner of his lips up, trying to make you feel good, trying to transmit you the encouragement you needed to not give up. And he did, more or less. You had to fight harder than ever. For Bucky, and only for Bucky. That's why you didn't hesitate on jumping out from the ship when it landed on the cold hard ground, as the freezing weather hit you on the face.

Following the plan, you ran quietly to the back door hidden under a huge layer of snow. Shaking part of it with the palm of your hand, you placed the device with technology from Wakanda on the locker. Not later than fifteen seconds, it deciphered the code to open the hatch. Once in position, the Avengers followed you downstairs. The passage was empty and silent. The only sound that broke it was a couple of rats running away from your presence. You all had studied the plans of the building, mostly underground, remembering exactly where you had to go.

The coast was clear, that was the reason why you all were so confused. You were expecting to find more than a dozen of agents, but when T'Challa enunciated through your earwigs that he only located two heat spots, you couldn't believe it. How only one man kidnapped the most fearless assassin up to now? Tortuous and bitter screams dragged you back to reality, causing your brain to react to make your legs run faster than ever in your whole damn life. You knew by heart that voice beneath all the pain.

Your skin bristled when your gaze landed on that chair of horrors, connected to an enormous power source. Bucky was sitting there against his want.

“... добросердечный… возвращение на родину… один…”

“STOP IT”. Steve yelled.

Huge mistake. You were aware of it when —yes— that man stopped reciting the Russian words to re-activate the Winter Soldier, but only enough time to push a red button near to him and close the heavy door in front of you. Everything happened in the blink of an eye. At the moment you glimpsed Steve’s shield sliding above the floor, straight to the inside of the room where Bucky was being tortured, you followed the same way. Never in your life, you were this fast. Like a lightning bolt, you snaked yourself under the small distance between the door and the ground before being closed. Now, it was you, that man and the soldier.

“You’re late…” He mocked with an awful American accent, under James crying out loud in pain. “грузовой ваг—”.

Your left hand moved quickly to unholster your gun and shoot him. One… Two… Three… Four bullets right to his head. The man fell dead before he couldn’t complete the command. You didn’t lose time, running to the controls to try to turn that machine off. But it was impossible. Even if you knew Tony could do it, there wasn’t signal inside those large and wide walls made of steel reinforced. You were in one of those abandoned soviet bunkers, that could save you from Armageddon. You were inhaling and exhaling so fast that your lungs never got really full, trying to focus, trying to shut every single noise around up. Trying to think of a plan b. But it was your heart who pushed you to act and not your brain. Grabbing Steve’s shield, you aimed for the energy source before tossing it like a damn frisbee.

That thing blew up, turning off any kind of light and dispositive around, as the sparks and the cables decorated your surroundings. Just like the fire that started to burn down a pile of boxes with different documents of Hydra. But that wasn't why you were impatient. Catching the shield when it came back to you, your legs moved immediately to Bucky, still stirring on his seat for a few seconds else. Then, he simply stopped shaking. Her eyes were wide opened. Reddened, in tears. His chest rose and fell violently. His heart was racing. And you could see the trauma taking control over his body in holy silence.

You didn't doubt removing the protection from his mouth along the restraints keeping him on the chair. Your fingers trembled like never before, not having any more time to lose. Probably, the Avengers would be trying to open the door when the emergency red lights illuminated the bunker, producing a loud alarm sound to indicate that something was going wrong inside the facilities.

“C'mon, Buck… C'mon, we have to leave”. You told him, trying to help him to stand up.

But as soon as your hand was about to land on his arm of vibranium, the five cold digits got closed around your throat. Soon, the lack of air for you was more than evident. He got up on his own, not needing you to do it. The ocean blue in his eyes turned into a dark storm. There wasn't any gesture on his face, more than his jaw clenching, pressing his teeth together. That wasn't Bucky —your Bucky—, but the unstable trained assassin Hydra turned him in. You could barely gulp saliva, gripping his metallic wrist with both of your hands to try to stop him from murdering you.

He couldn't. He couldn't kill you. His strength was suffocating you with no mercy, though.

For a moment, you felt too weak to fight, seeing everything around you getting blurred and darker. Blacking out. But there was something inside you, a sweet tone of voice calling your name. A male voice. Your eyelids rolled down bit by bit, wanting to concentrate on that honeyed sound being closer and closer.

“любить”.

The sore whisper left your lips. Love. The first time Bucky told you about love came to your mind. He told you about his family. George, Winnifred, Rebecca. He told you how much he desired to have a family of his own. To be loved.

“новый”.

Your almost dead fingers traced the form of his new arm made in Wakanda when you felt him lifting you from the floor, being suspended on air.

“сороковых годов”.

Trying to keep a firm tone of voice as much as the pressure let you, the Russian words were spat to the confused soldier, who wasn't understanding what you were doing. The forties changed his life. He was sent to war and, lately, captured by HYDRA. It was something he'd never forget, part of his DNA.

“заката”.

You didn't know what the hell your subconscious was doing either till that precise instant. You were reprogramming him. You were using his own memories to reset his wiped brain from them. Dusk. The first night he spent in Wakanda, Bucky was terrified. But you stayed with him. You comforted him by saying that everything was going to be okay, that his life would be different. That he was safe. That he was at home.

“лето”.

His last night of summer in that kingdom, Bucky took you to his favorite place between the woods, wanting to show you the fireflies fluttering in the middle of the gloom. He used to walk there whenever he woke up from a nightmare. Those small insects used to make him feel better for some reason he didn't comprehend. Until he saw their light reflecting on your amazed orbs. Bucky knew then he was in love with you. Besides his long-life friend, the only person who never judged him, who never ran away from him. The same person that now was dying under his fingers.

“шесть”

Six years took him to be Bucky, after his last war, after the last effort, after the last jump. He was a new man. You made him a new man. A good one. You guided him through the right way. You helped him to get used to the twenty-one century. You accompanied him to therapy and stayed in the waiting room every single session until he finished.

“заткнуться”.

The soldier ordered you to shut up, earning quite the opposite when you knew it was sorting some kind of effect on him, as soon as you felt some relief by the grip loosening around your throat and your tiptoes touching the ground. Little by little, you opened your eyes again, gluing them on the blue ones fixed on you.

“боец”.

He wasn't a super soldier, he was a fighter. He spent the last six years of his life fighting for it, fighting for ruling his existence, fighting for being pardoned for crimes he didn't want to commit, fighting for your love. Bucky furrowed swallowing, allowing you to place your feet on the floor.

“Бруклин”.

And when he demonstrated to the world that he was no longer the Winter Soldier, but James Bucky Barnes, he moved to his birthplace. Brooklyn. You and he rented an apartment together when you both learned that you couldn't live apart. That you were made for each other.

“Отец…”

A tear ran down your cheek, slowly moving your left hand to his free one. A shiver toured his backbone when he felt your warm touch holding his hand and, even if his cold fingers were still around your throat, the soldier bowed his head to follow the connection between the two of you. His flesh hand landed on your stomach, pressing it under yours, trying to transmit to him the news about your pregnancy status. Bucky was going to be a father. You were going to build a family as he always wished.

“Свобода”.

As the sob escaped your soul, his hand made of vibranium released your neck. Freedom was what he got after all those years.

Bucky was free.

His hold was the only thing that kept you on your feet, pining to the cold hard ground, as well as you trying to fill your lungs with the heavy air around you because of the dense smoke coming from the flames burning down that damn place. You watched Bucky picking the shield close to you, probably believing it could be easier to kill you with it than with his own hands. Your arms automatically wrapped your abdomen, as if you could protect your unborn child from that horror, crying James' name to remember you.

“James… James…”

You weren't able to stop whining, feeling a heavy sorrow under your chest, covering your vitals organs. The noisy sound from the bunker was suddenly turned into a constant beep, beep, beep that caused you to frown yet keeping your eyes closed. You called him once and again until a warm hand laced his fingers with you. Peace invaded you eventually, after a fond squeeze around your skin followed by a pair of rough lips pressed on your forehead. You let yourself go, not finding any strength inside your heart to continue awake.

The next time you opened your eyes, you needed a moment to adjust your gaze to the sunlight. Purring feeling more comfortable than before, you rolled on your stomach, sinking your nose into the large pillow. Bucky's scent was like a punch of reality. Your eyes snapped open as your pulse increased, starting to panic. Sitting up, your orbs moved quickly all around the room you recognized instantly. It was your dorm in the Compound, the one you used to share with your boyfriend —and the father of your child. It was empty. No trace of James anywhere. You tossed away the oxygen mask and the sheets covering your stiff anatomy, getting up from the bed. Another huge mistake.

Everything spun around you, feeling strong dizziness hitting your head, having to sit down for a second. But as soon as you felt recovered, you stood up again walking straight to the main door to step out. The hallway was deserted, hearing some voices coming from the meeting room. You followed them slowly, finding balance with your palm against the walls. Sam was the first one noticing your presence, coming faster to help you.

“James… James…” You mumbled, not really sure about when you started to sob again, whilst your muscles got tense with every syllable.

“He's okay, he's okay, take it easy, girl”. He tried to calm you as Steve reached you to bring you to the closest chair.

“We don't know what you did… but even if that man introduced the commands again… you turned it off”. Natasha spoke this time.

“I re— I repro— reprogramed him”.

The confusion was more than evident between the Avengers present in the room. But no one of them had the need to ask how. The spy taught you Russian in your free time, you weren't a fluent speaker, but it was enough to have a chat. Even so, you weren't going to say the words you used. You weren't going to make Bucky go through another wipe. If they worked, you'd make sure that he'd hear them when the occasion required it.

“I wan— wanna see him… please”. You cried covering your face with both hands, desolated after the hell of the situation you had to live.

“He's resting”. Steve informed you, squatting close and placing a hand on your right thigh to gently caress it. “And you should do the same. For your baby”.

“There's no way you're gonna stop me from seeing him”. You replied, raising your head and looking at him through your eyelids. Silently pleading.

He snorted, convinced that you wouldn't change your mind. Nodding two times with his head, he stood up and offered you a hand to hold it and help you to walk. Steve guided you through upstairs, following your pace step by step —he could have carried you onto his arms, but he wasn't sure if he could hurt you accidentally. You were too weak, barely breathing properly because of all the smoke you swollen inside the bunker. Although you started to feel somewhat erratic and excited as you were coming to Bucky's old dorm.

Steve opened the door for you, letting you walk inside before closing it behind your back. Your boyfriend was peacefully sleeping under the sheets. There were some scars on his face, already healed but yet seeming painful. The only explanation you found to be there was that Bucky used the shield to open the door and take you out of the bunker. A theory that made more sense when you noticed that he hadn't his prosthesis and his shoulder was covered by a thin black microfiber.

You headed to the bed, tucking in to wrap his warm and heavy body between your arms. At the moment he felt you, he embraced you as better as he could, not opening his eyes but shedding a tear. His lips started to tremble as you pecked them, previous to hiding his face into your neck.

“I'm so sorry…” Bucky sobbed, causing your whole anatomy to shudder because of the sorrow in his voice.

“We're gonna be okay, my love… You, me, our baby… Our family”.

His crying increased after those two words, caressing his back slowly to comfort him somehow. You knew that this recovery would be hard and painful, being conscious of how close he had been to end with your life. He didn't want to do it, nobody could deny it. You were everything he had, everything he always wished for deep inside his soul and heart. And the acknowledgment of having a baby with you only provoked him to feel guiltier.

But as you said so, everything was going to be okay.

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[bkwrm523]

For All The Times I Missed You

Title: For All The Times I Missed You Rating: Explicit Pairing: Steve Rogers/reader Word Count: 2013 Warnings: let’s see… fingering?  Thigh grinding?  Not a ton of kinks to warn about in this fic… Steve having a huge penis shouldn’t come as much of a surprise to anyone. Summary: Steve and the reader enjoy a moment of intimacy after he’s rescued Author’s Note: All right, so this is actually not in the MCU.  It’s based on the video game.  It is, however, just pure plotless porn.  So if you don’t know anything about the game, just know that this may or may not be an au, and Steve and the reader haven’t seen each other in a really long time.

The first thing Steve did when he was rescued was fight AIM and escape.  The second thing he did was rally the team and plan their next step.

That was the reality of dating Steve Rogers.  There were times when he just couldn't afford to put you first.  You wouldn't have been with him if you weren’t prepared to accept that.

Before long, the Chimera was underway towards the next mission, and a blue-clad wall of muscle cornered you in a hallway.  You and he had already exchanged your public reunions, the I'm glad you're not deads, and the reassurance that you hadn't managed to move on during the five years you thought he was dead.  You just hadn't been ready.

You weren't sure what to expect when he cornered you; a hug, kissing you there in the hallway?  But instead, he grabbed your wrist, gently but firmly and tugged you along through the hallways.  His goal became clear when he led you to the rooms; he wanted some privacy.  Steve pulled you into his room, as it was the closest, and the door swished shut behind you.  Steve turned and engaged the lock.  His silence the whole time was starting to worry you.

"Steve," you murmured, not sure where to start.  Ask if he was okay, tell him how much you missed him, or just hold him?  Steve made the decision for you; he cupped your cheek with a hand and kissed you, long and slow and tender and needy.

Awhile later, Steve broke from your lips, leaving you panting for breath an inch away from his lips.  One of his hands dropped to his side, and the other stayed on your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"We lost five years."  Steve murmured, his eyes filled with love and need, studying you as though he felt every moment of those five years apart in that instant.  "I don't wanna wait anymore."

Oh.

Before A Day, you and Steve hadn't had sex yet.  You hadn't been dating that long, and he was an old fashioned man.  You could wait for him.

Evidently, he was done waiting.

“Steve,” you breathed his name again, captured by his eyes.

“Please, tell me if you feel the same way.”  Steve asked, faint amusement in his eyes.  Because of course he wanted to hear the words.  

“Yes,” you replied immediately.  “God, yes.”

He kissed you again, The hand on your cheek pulling you gently into him.  He closed the distance between you two too quickly for you to raise your arms to his shoulders.  Steve had put on his Captain America suit for the team briefing, and you lifted your hands just to get smushed between you two, resting your hands on his ample bosom.  He pushed his tongue into your mouth, kissing you fiercely and drawing a moan from you.

The kiss broke all too soon, and Steve took a step back from you, startling you.  Until his hands began to work on his suit, quickly unstrapping and unbuckling things.  Getting his suit off as fast as possible.  You were just in a tshirt and jeans, yourself, not having gone on the last mission.  You pulled off your shirt, tossing it heedlessly onto the floor, followed quickly by your bra.  Steve’s work on his uniform never slowed, but his eyes snapped to your breasts as soon as they were revealed.  You almost started removing your pants, until you saw what drew his eyes, and you couldn’t repress a smirk.  You walked over to Steve’s bed, plopping down and laying on it.  You lifted your hands to your breasts, playing with your nipples and sliding your eyes closed with a soft sigh.  Steve gave a small growl, and you opened your eyes to see his shirt and belts gone, only his pants remaining.  His boots were flung in a corner, and he quickly pulled his pants and underwear off, and then he was on you.

Steve was careful not to rest his full weight on you; his bed was large enough that he laid his side next to you, one arm resting on the mattress to steady himself.

“Show me how to touch you,” Steve murmured, his voice low and rough with arousal.  Steve wasn’t a virgin, you knew that much, but he didn’t have very much experience.  You two had had a talk about it years ago.

“M-my neck,” you told him.  You could feel his cock, enormous and half hard against your hip, that and his warmth and closeness after missing him so long was making speech difficult.  You lifted a hand, brushing your fingers against the sensitive spot on your neck.  He leaned in obediently, as you dropped your hand to allow him access.  Steve shifted his weight, lying a little more on top of you.  He nuzzled and breathed on your skin, making you shiver.

“Clint once said you like it when I make you feel helpless.”  Steve murmured, teasing amusement in his voice.  “Is that still true?”

“Steve,” you groaned, impatient for his mouth on you.

“Is that still true?”  Steve replied patiently, refusing to move until you answered.

“Yes!”  You groaned.  “God, yes, Steve, please!”

Steve echoed your groan of desire.  His free hand moved to cup the back of your skull, pulling it to the side and exposing more of your neck to him as he dove in on the spot you’d indicated.  You cried his name, arching into him and closing your eyes.  Steve gave a smug little hum, and you felt his cock twitch against you.  You managed to stammer out further directions; how much pressure you liked, how to use lips and teeth.  Steve complied immediately, and you suddenly found yourself utterly incapable of speech.  You fumbled with one hand, finding his top leg and tugging on it.  He moved obediently, following your tugs until his thigh was settled firmly against your still-clothed crotch.  

You ground against his leg, getting a surge of pleasure from the dual stimulation of his thigh and mouth on your neck.  Steve grasped your intentions with his leg immediately, pushing his thigh up into you to aid your grinding.  Your fumbling hand reached for the hand holding your head to the side, and tugged it down to your breast.  He played with it, and your back quickly arched into his touch.

Your pleasure rose quickly, and all you could do was cry his name and squirm in his arms.  You grasped the arm of the hand fondling your breast, needing to hold onto him somehow, to ground yourself.  It didn’t slow your rise to the edge at all.  You tried to warn him when you felt your orgasm looming, but the only word you were capable of was his name.

You screamed his name and arched your back, the back of your head digging into the pillow.  Steve hesitated for a moment, then redoubled his stimulation when he recognized the orgasm sweeping over you.  Your eyes squeezed shut, your brain focusing only on the pleasure coursing through you and throwing you higher and higher.

You finally came down, a weak push against his arm enough to signal that you needed a moment, and Steve released you.  You opened your eyes, turning to face him as he cupped your cheek again, his thumb rubbing against your skin again.

“I guess you weren’t kidding about that spot, huh?”  Steve asked, his voice and eyes filled with smug pride.  You didn’t quite have the will to smack him, and besides, he’d left you utterly weak.  Not much to complain about.  You lifted a hand to grab his arm again, wanting to hold onto him somehow.

“God,” Steve breathed.  “I could spend an hour eating you out.”

“Steve,” you groaned, weak and eager at the same time.  Steve kissed you gently for a moment, then pulled back.

“We don’t have enough time.  We have to be ready soon.  You got one more in you?”  Steve asked.

“Mmm-hmm.”  You replied, suddenly remembering your pants.  Steve sat up before you could move much, and you shifted your hips around to help as he undid and pulled off your pants and underwear, throwing them off to the side.  Much to your frustration, his next move was to return to that spot on your neck and start to finger you.

“Steve!”  You whined.  You need his cock.

“It’s all right, sweetheart.”  Steve murmured in your ear.  “Been such a good girl.  I gotta get you ready for me.  Get you all nice and wet.”  Well, that was hard to argue with.  Particularly with his fingers inside you and his thumb rubbing little circles around your clit.  His fingers stretched your insides, getting you ready for his cock.  You whined wordlessly, impatient for the main event.

Steve finally pulled away and rolled on top of you just as you were about to burst.  The need in his eyes took your breath away as he rolled on top of you.  He rested his arms on either side of your head, still careful not to put his full weight on your body, and caging your head in so all you could see was him.  You leaned up to kiss him, unable to resist.  He smiled into the kiss, returning it for a moment before pulling away.  He shifted his hips until you felt his erect cock poking at your very wet entrance, making you groan in anticipation.

Steve pushed into you slowly, watching your face and giving you plenty of time to adjust.  Too much time.  You finally lost patience, wrapped your legs around his waist, and dug one heel into his ass in an effort to push him in faster.  Steve gave a short laugh, strained a little from his self control to not break the bed then and there.  Finally, he bottomed out in you, and the two of you just lay there panting for a long moment as you adjusted.

When you were ready, you dug your heels into his ass again, startling a little growl out of him.

“Next time we do this, I’m tying you up.”  Steve teased you, but his voice was rough with lust and need.  He gave a little grunt, and then gave you a smirk.  “And judging by how hard you just clenched around me, I think you’d like that.”  

Well.  There wasn’t much you could say to that.

Then he began thrusting, and all thought went out the window.

You went limp on the bed and cried his name, your back arching up into him.  One of his hands moved to go under your shoulders, keeping you from moving as his hips pounded into you.  Your thighs clenched around his waist, wanting to hold him closer, to cling to him to ground yourself.  It didn’t help.

Steve dropped his head to your neck, returning to the spot that had made you come earlier and attacked it fiercely, making you cry out again.  Your arms lifted to his shoulders, wrapping around them and you couldn’t stop yourself from digging your nails into him.  Your entire body wrapped around him, all you could do was cling as his cock destroyed your senses.  You were still sensitive from the orgasm he’d given you earlier.

“Steve,” you panted, desperately trying to remember how to speak.  To warn him how close you were.  “‘M gonna come.”

“Fuck,” Steve groaned into your neck.  “Me too.  L-let go for me, baby girl.”

Steve redoubled his efforts on your neck, and before long you were screaming his name.  He came inside of you moments later, your own orgasm drawing his own out.

When you both finally came down, Steve rolled over, pulling you on top of him as you both panted for breath.

“Fuck, that was worth the wait.”  You said, drawing a tired laugh from Steve.

“I really missed you.”  Steve replied, his voice turning soft.  You looked up at him, to see him studying you with love in his eyes, and you melted into him.

“I missed you, too.”

[holylulusworld]

Hard lesson to learn

Summary: You always tell Steve about your feelings for him, he ignores you, even tells you to stop. One day he takes one step too far...

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader, Tony Stark x Reader (platonic), Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, James Rhodes

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, smut, unprotected sex, degrading, rough sex/painful, choking (non-consensual), dub-con, Steve is out of character in this

This one is a bit darker than my usual stuff...Part 2 driftes toward creepy...

You said it again and he rolls his eyes. Hands stuffed into his pockets Steve tries to be polite but honestly, he’s tired of finding the right words to tell you he doesn’t want to hear about your deep love for him. 

His heart belongs to Peggy and no other girl can have even a piece of it. Between the Sokovia Accords, the drift between the Avengers and being a wanted man Steve got no time to shelter your heart.

“Stop it now. I’ve got enough of your love-sick babbling. I don’t want to hear another word, soldier.” Steve barks and you flinch, looking away.

“I just thought you should know…” You sniffle, wiping away a few tears. “I know you don’t do relationships, or rather you can’t right now with everything going on, but I want you to know people are admiring, supporting and loving you. Not only me…” Your sad eyes meet Steve’s as he glances at you for a moment, watching your chest heaving up and down.

“If there’s anything you need, I’ll gladly help you, Steve. You don’t need to carry the burden all alone. I’m in my room.” You turn to leave as a strong hand grabs your upper arm.

Suddenly you feel Steve’s chest pressed against your back, his crotch poking your ass and his breath fanning over your neck.

“I have something you could lend me a hand with.” Steve rasps and you shiver. Is he suggesting what you think he’s suggesting? “To clarify my intentions, I want you naked on my bed in five minutes. I’ll lock the door and have a shower. You better are wet for me when I’m back.

You look dumbfounded at Steve, not knowing if he’s joking or how to react to his words you nervously bite your lower lip. “Five minutes, Y/N…”

----

Five minutes later you find yourself naked underneath your commanding officer. He grunts into your neck as rough and impatient fingers work you open for him. At least he tries but then he stops his actions, grabbing your calves to spread you wider.

There’s a moment of hesitation. His blue eyes search your Y/E/C ones before he lines his cock up. Not wasting another moment, he shoves his full length into you, causing you to cry out at the wide stretch. You are wet but he’s not easy to accommodate. 

Something dark is on his features as you want to touch his chest. His hands let go of your calves, grabbing your wrists with one large hand to pin them down above your head.

“Only worthy girls are allowed to touch me, you’re only a slut to use.” Steve snarls starting to thrust into you. 

You always imagined he would be gentle, caring and loving but Steve is like an animal, pounding you straight into the mattress with quick and sharp thrusts.

His cock hits all the right places but he’s too fast, too rough and slowly you get sore from his treatment. Sliding into you with inhuman strength, crashing his hips into yours he makes you cry out as you can already feel the bruises forming.

“You like that…huh? A man not having feelings for you using your body like the whore you are. Sing for me! I want to hear you cum on my cock while I don’t even treat you like a man should.” His thrusts come even faster as he let go of your hands only to wrap one large palm around your throat.

Panicked you shake your head, moving your hands to his wrist to make him stop but he’s too close to his high. The pressure increases and you are close to passing out but the next hard thrust sends Steve over the edge and he let go of your throat, collapsing on top of you.

“Shit, you’re tight …” Steve is panting as he hears a sob escape your lips. “Y/N… you didn’t come…” His eyes soften and he tries to touch your throat, but you slap his hand away while tears run down your face.

“Get off me.” You choke out pushing against his chest and he budges, carefully slipping out of you. Just now you feel the soreness and the bruises forming at your thighs and throat.

“I’m…shit…you’re hurt…” Steve tries to touch you once again but you curl into a ball, shaking in pain and even fear. “You’re scared of me. I told you to not love me…”

“You proved your point. I know for sure now you don’t want someone like me. You didn’t have to hurt me to make me see…”

“I lost control…sorry.”

“Leave me alone and never talk to me again.” You slowly sit up, hissing at the soreness in your body but you manage to snatch your clothes from the chair, only throwing your sweater and jeans on. Barefoot you limp toward the door, not looking back.

“Y/N wait…please. I didn’t want to hurt you it’s just my heart…” Steve stammers as you turn around, sobbing.

“You’ve got no heart, Steve. You were right. I should’ve never told you about my feelings. I’ll be gone in the morning. I would appreciate it if you do not tell anyone why I left. I feel worse enough. I thought you are different, not one of these guys…”

Your words make Steve gasp at the realization he hurt you. “I wanted you to stop loving me; it’s not good to lose your heart to me.”

“Mission accomplished, Captain. You’re not a good man or a hero, Steve Rogers - you’re a monster. Cold-hearted and not worthy enough to deserve my love. I hate you and everything you stand for. I regret I chose you, chose your side against better knowing. I was blinded by my feelings, good thing they are gone.” You open the door, glancing over your shoulder. “I will go back to Tony and pray he will not turn me down. At least he will treat me with respect, he always did.”

“Y/N wait…please don’t leave me…” Steve grabs his jeans, running after you but you limp toward your room to pack your things. “Please…”

“What’s wrong, punk?” Bucky asks watching you enter your room, slamming the door shut. “I messed up epically, Buck.” Steve scratches his beard, glancing at your room. “I hurt her…during sex…”

“What?” Bucky gasps, taking a moment to let Steve’s words sink in. Steve waits for his friend’s reaction but all he gets is Bucky’s metal fist colliding with his jaw, making him stumble.

“The girl inside this room is in love with you. She is real, not Peggy or the fantasy about a life with a dead woman. You could’ve had a chance; a good life with Y/N but now she will never even look at you.” Bucky’s voice cracks knowing about your feelings for Steve. “I told her to not give up. Even told her to be annoying and demanding…”

“You…” Steve’s breath hitches in his throat hearing the sobs coming out of your room. The shower is running, and he can hear you scrubbing your body during sobs and choked out curses.

“It’s my fault, not hers. Y/N wanted to give up, but I told her you need to know people are supporting you. I never thought you would hurt the poor girl. Damn, Steve…”

----

Half an hour later you take two Tylenol before you start packing.

All your fantasies about being with Steve are tainted now. He was rough on purpose to make you see that you are worthless to him. Only a toy to use and throw away.

Your hands are shaking when you close your last bag and pick all you own up. It’s not much as you left everything behind only for him, a man not even respect you.

There’s nothing left of your old life and you will have to restart again. First step…getting away from Steve, next step, taking every punishment Tony and the government will find you guilty for.

----

“Y/N, please stay. Even if Steve was acting like an ass again you can’t just leave.” Natasha tries as you walk toward the exit of the hideout. “They will arrest you…”

“I don’t care, Nat. I gave up everything to follow Steve and he never showed a hint of respect. I’m done with this life, done with pretending his behavior doesn’t hurt and I’m done with Captain America…”

Steve's eyes never leave you as you ignore his stormy blue ones. Turning around you tighten the grip on your bags, walking out of his life…never looking back…

----

It didn’t take Tony long to pick you up after you called him. Oddly none of the government wanted to punish you. You assume Tony hid the fact you were involved.

The first days were painfully uncomfortable. You felt like a traitor, following a heartless man not able to show compassion.

Now a few weeks later you slowly get comfortable around Rowdy, Tony and the others again. Thor returned along with Loki a few months earlier. Something terrible must’ve happened to their home but you didn’t find the guts to ask the Asgardians.

You assume it was devastating.

Eyes glued to the traffic outside your window you don’t hear Tony entering your office. He knows something must’ve happened between you and Steve, but he gave you time to settle in.

“Will you tell me what happened?” He asks softly as he stands next to you, watching the traffic.

“I realized I followed an idea, not the real Steve Rogers. I made a mistake and regretted I acted against better knowing. You were right back then. I wanted to…” Sniffling you wipe away a few tears.

“He didn’t return your feelings, kiddo?” Tony asks as you watch a bird flying toward your window, crashing against the glass, breaking its neck.

“I’m like this bird. Before Steve, I was able to fly. I was smart and independent. I made the right decisions, never let my feelings make me do something I shouldn’t. I’m sorry for letting you down, Tony.” Tony’s hand squeezes your shoulder. He doesn’t say something right away, he needs to compose himself.

“I knew about your feelings. I was never disappointed or mad, okay. I thought Steve would be a good partner for you. I assumed you need each-other. This tall idiot is too blind to see what he had in his hands.”

“Can I tell you something?” You ask and Tony nods, waiting for you to pour your heart out. “I had sex with Steve and he…hurt me.”

“Emotionally?”

Wiping away a few tears you shake your head. “Not just emotionally. He wanted to show me he doesn’t want me, so he hurt me on purpose, degraded me. I never felt so used before. I thought at least he likes me as a friend. I’m worthless to him, Tony - I know this by now.” Your words make Tony’s stomach churn. 

He wanted to tell you about the amnesty for Steve and the others but now he’s unsure if you can handle this information right now. “Tell me everything, kiddo.”

Meeting your friends, your mentor’s eyes you nod as more tears well up your eyes.

You start talking and Tony’s features darken and his hands ball into fists. The moment Steve Rogers will touch US ground he will rip him apart.

----

A few weeks later you are almost back to normal. Working with Tony and Rowdy you explain a new weapon function to Tony as a familiar voice catches your attention.

“Y/N! Good to see you.” Natasha exhales entering the room and your eyes round in shock. “Nat, you shouldn’t be here. They will arrest you.” You gasp hugging your friend tightly.

“Didn’t Tony tell you about the amnesty and our prohibition? Steve, Sam and I are back. Scott is free too, just like Clint. No more hiding.”

“Free…” Your eyes meet Tony’s and you can see the guilt on his features. “You knew? I told you what he did, and you hid this from me? Why?”

“I wanted to shelter you as long as possible. I thought you will get used to being around him again and I thought we got more time. Their return wasn’t due for four more weeks. I didn’t know they would arrive today, I swear.” Tony says as he can see the tears well up your eyes.

“I got to go…” You want to run out of the room, but Tony is faster. Arms wrapped tightly around you he strokes your back. 

“He will never hurt you again. I told him weeks ago to keep his distance, to not even look at you. I’ll protect you, kiddo.” Tony whispers holding you in his arms as Sam, Bucky, and Steve enter the room.

Steve’s features darken seeing you in Tony’s arms. He didn’t lose time. Tony hit on you the moment you returned. Steve thinks to himself.

“Bucky is allowed here but he’s under house arrest till the government tells him otherwise,” Rowdy says to break the awkward silence. “Welcome home, Cap, Sam…Natasha. Welcome to the team, Sergeant Barnes.” Bucky nods as he glances at you in Tony’s arms. 

He doesn’t know how to warn you about Steve’s obsession with you. Bucky has no proof but lately, he caught Steve collecting information about you. Everything you like…

Bucky has a bad feeling about having his friend close to you again.

Your blood runs cold hearing Steve’s voice, so you fist Tony’s shirt, hiding your face into your friend’s chest.

“He won’t hurt you…”

Steve starts clenching his jaw at the sight of your trembling body pressed against Tony’s. You are not his, he can’t touch you this way. 

You can only be Steve’s…

Read the sequels here: Only mine & Root of Evil

All works Tags

@yolobloggers​, @meganywinchester​​, @shikshinkwon​​, @miraclesoflove​, @mogaruke​, @shatteredabby​, @soryuwifeyxx​

Marvel Tags

@stuckys-whore​, @notyourtypicalrose​, @voltage-my2dlove​, @thedoctorscamanion , @officialmarvelwhore​, @randomgirlkensy​, @juniorhuntersam​, @lumar014​, @doctorswife221b​, @badboysdoitbetter2​​, @sister-winchesters99​

Steve Rogers/Chris Evans Tags

@hhiggs​​​, @roonyxx​​, @stylesismyhubs​​, @multisuperfandom​

[danielslilangel]

In the Middle Is How I Like It pt. 3

Part One Part Two Part Three

Sorry for my shitty updating schedule 😅 But thanks for sticking with me and reading along... my tag list is open for anyone who wants to know whenever I finally update! We’re just gonna go with the idea that condoms aren’t necessary because Mari has 100% fool proof birth control (I don’t want to have to write about condoms honestly) 

Mature/Explicit warnings apply

🍆💦😻: You busy tonight?

Marinette grabbed her phone from beside her and unlocked it as it beeped. She rolled her eyes at the screen name before typing out her response.

Me: When did you have time to put your number in my phone?

🍆💦😻: I’m impressed you figured out it was me so quickly

Me: I don’t think I know anyone else full of themselves enough to use those emojis

Me: And I don’t have any plans for tonight at the moment

🍆💦😻: 🏍️👅🍆😏👍

Me: Are we back in high school?

🍆💦😻:😜

She smiled and stood up, reaching her arms above her head in a stretch before putting her plate in the dishwasher and going to brush her teeth, wanting to tidy the place up a bit before Jason showed up.

Within the hour, a soft knock at her door interrupted her reorganizing bobbins by her sewing table and she moved to open the door, eyebrow raised as she took in the sight of her guest.

“So, were you actually polite enough not to steal my phone and put your number in it or am I going to go through my contact list and find a different set of emojis in it?”

“Can I plead the fifth on that?”

“That only works in America,” she laughed as she opened her door wider and stepped to the side to allow Tim to enter.

“I hope I’m not interrupting? I was going to call and see if you were free this evening, but I was in the area for my last meeting of the day and figured I’d stop by. I hope this isn’t too presumptuous of me to just barge in on you at home.” Tim shuffled his feet, unsure if he had bothered her or not. It had only been two days since he had met Marinette and done… things with her, but he hadn’t had contact with her during that time and didn’t know how she would take him just showing up out of the blue.

“You know, you’re the second person to inquire about my plans for this evening.” She smiled as footsteps sounded down her hall and she propped the door open once more as Jason made his way over.

“Hiya Pixie-pop… what the fuck are you doing here?” He glared at the young CEO as he entered the apartment and Mari shut the door behind them.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Their disdain for one another was almost visible as they stood apart, both had their arms crossed and matching scowls on their faces.

Marinette just shook her head and made her way over to her chaise where her phone sat, grabbing it to turn off the music she had been listening to before interrupting the verbal sparring match occurring in her entryway. “You’re both here for the same reason so how about we skip the whole 'whose dick is bigger' argument and you guys just strip already?”

They stared at her with a look of slight shock on their faces from her boldness before they shrugged and began walking towards her, losing articles of clothing as they got closer. Tim loosened his tie before undoing his shirt buttons as Jason unzipped his leather jacket and removed his tight black t-shirt. Marinette’s thoughts briefly judged their wardrobes lack of diversity before she focused once more on the present.

“Fine, but for the record, mine is bigger.”

“Actually, Tim’s is longer… but yours is thicker.” Her smile was wicked as she watched them lose their pants, sadly keeping their boxers on.

“I can live with that,” Jason smirked as he reached Mari’s side first, leaning against the raised back portion of the chaise and quickly pulling the woman towards him for a kiss. He hadn’t expected Tim to show up and complicate things again, but Jason was an opportunist and not one to turn down a good thing so he was determined to ignore the other man as best as he could. Too bad Tim was not someone he could simply ignore in this moment… or any other moment- not that he was thinking about that currently.

Tim reached the chaise and sat on Marinette’s other side, drawing her attention, and mouth, away from Jason as she pressed herself against him. Their lips met, mashing against one another as they found themselves rapidly getting caught up in the heat of the moment. It was a little less awkward this time shifting from one man to the other.

As she tangled her fingers in Tim’s shaggy locks, she felt warmth traveling up her stomach as Jason’s hands sneaked under the hem of her tank top. Cupping her breasts, Jason kneaded the soft skin over and over again before moving his fingers to pinch and tease her hardened nipples.

“Mmm,” she moaned, breaking her kiss with Tim as Jason lightly nipped at her neck.

As he made his way up her jawline and over to her mouth, reclaiming it, Tim’s hand slid up her arm and grabbed the thin pink strap of her shirt, pulling it down as she wriggled her wrist to take it off. He repeated the same action with the left strap, admiring her breasts still in Jason’s hands. When his hand gripped her hip bone, fingers sliding teasingly under the waistband of her shorts, she turned to face him.

“Eager to get me undressed, are we?”

“You made us strip,” he responded with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “Its only fair that you get naked as well.”

Marinette pressed her lips beneath his earlobe before sucking the skin into her mouth before responding. “You both still have clothing covering you.”

“True, but I still think you should at least match us.” Tim’s eyelids fluttered closed as her teeth grazed the base of his neck and his fingers dug themselves into her hip bones once again.

“Alright.” Marinette grabbed Jason’s hands and pushed them off of her as she stood and bent over, slowly sliding her shorts down her legs until she was folded in half, ass facing the men who were still seated behind her. She turned her head slightly to peek at Jason’s face, giggling at the drool escaping his open mouth as he stared at her panties… well, what little there was to stare at since she was wearing a simple gray thong.

Surprisingly, it was Tim who made the next move, palms splaying across her ass as he pulled her back towards him, knocking her off balance. She fell into his lap and felt the heat pool low in her body at the loud moan he let out from the sudden contact. As his hands explored her body and she craned her neck to kiss him, Marinette ground her ass against his restrictive boxers. The friction from her thong against her wet pussy caused her to move faster against Tim as she sought out her release.

A not-so-subtle cough captured her attention as she froze in Tim’s lap. Jason raised a hand and crooked a finger, beckoning her to come to him. Tim’s hands tightened their grip on her hips and she giggled as she peeled his fingers away.

“The biggest thing about this arrangement is that we all have to learn how to share.” She tsked as he tried to grab a hold of her again as she twisted out of his hold.

“I was an only child for many years… I never learned how to share.”

“Well, there’s no time like the present to learn a new trick.” She winked at him before turning, locking her gaze on Jason’s mysterious teal eyes.

Jason moved to stand behind the raised backside of the chaise while Marinette crawled across the plush fabric, resting on her knees once she reached the edge of the furniture. She dipped her fingers below his waistband and pulled his dark boxers down in a single motion. A part of her forgot everything as his hardened cock spring free, bobbing before her as beads of precum leaked from his head, just begging to be touched. Sure, she had seen it two days ago, but his cock was truly a sight to behold as she reached out to touch him. Right as she had gingerly wrapped a hand around the base, her fingers nowhere near long enough to fully grasp his girth, her chin was caught and her head was guided upwards. Jason smirked at her, clearly enjoying the view of a pretty young lady on her knees before him.

She wrapped her fingers around the base once more and slowly slid them towards herself, a smirk appearing on her own face as she watched Jason’s stoic act falter with the sensation. Jason let her chin go and felt his body shudder in anticipation as Marinette’s gaze immediately fell back to his cock and she licked her lips. She barely had to lean forward before his impressive length was pressed against her mouth, the man eager for her. Marinette parted her lips and flicked her tongue across his head, eliciting a groan from Jason as he bucked forward, pushing himself into her warm wet mouth. She moved slowly at first, working her way down his shaft as she rocked back and forth on her knees. She was careful to mind her teeth as Jason filled her mouth.

Tim sat with his arms crossed as he watched Jason pull the woman away from him. He remained seated as she freed him from his boxers and began to caress and lick and kiss and suck him. He didn’t know how long he had been just waiting there, silently watching her blow Jason, but he was pulled out of his daze as Marinette wrapped her lips around the base of the other man’s cock and slid him out of her mouth, teeth lightly grazing the sensitive skin, causing him to throw his head back, lips forming a perfect circle as he moaned. Tim shook his head briefly to clear it, not wanting to dwell on the thoughts that were trying to fill his mind... just like how Marinette’s mouth was full right now from…

He redirected his attention to Marinette and realized he had the most perfect view of her ass as she rocked forward. With one hand palming himself over his underwear at a pace that was definitely not a match for how fast Marinette was sucking on Jason, Tim reached his other hand forward and curled his fingers underneath the string of her thong before he slid them down and into her welcoming pussy.

Tim’s touch was sudden, unexpected, and had Marinette squirming as she rocked against the pressure of his fingers sliding in and out of her. When he pulled his fingers out and the sensation never returned, Marinette looked over her shoulder, allowing Jason to pop out of her mouth. She watched Tim raise his fingers to his lips and lick them, never breaking eye contact with her.

“Mmm. Wanna taste?” His smile was hypnotizing as he stared at her and Mari found herself nodding before turning around. On all fours now facing Tim, she opened her mouth as the man lowered his fingers towards her, raising an eyebrow in question when he paused. “I think there’s something else even better for you to put in your mouth.”

Marinette watched as he slid his boxers down, stepping out of them and kicking them off to the side before he wrapped a hand around his shaft and guided himself towards her open mouth. She couldn’t help but think about how unexpected his aggressiveness was, but then again, he was a CEO and probably needed to know how to get his way. She wrapped her lips around his shaft as his hips bucked forward, sucking him into her throat as far as she could.

Jason knew that Tim had stolen Mari’s attention away from him on purpose and he wasn’t about to let it continue. Stepping forward, Jason plucked her thong from between her ass cheeks and pulled it to the side. Leaning closer over the back of the chaise, he rubbed the head of his cock against Marinette’s warm slit, coating it in her flowing juices before sheathing himself into her welcoming pussy. Marinette moaned at the sensation of fullness as the two men froze, taking in the sight of Marinette being speared by their cocks from both ends. Mari was impatient as several moments passed and the men remained still and waa not willing to allow them the time to process what it was that they were doing. She flicked the tip of Tim’s cock with her tongue as she squeezed her muscles around Jason, using her hands and knees to rock herself back and forth on their hardened members. The movements brought the men’s minds back into the moment and they both picked up the speed in which they bucked into the woman.

“Fuck Mari,” Jason drew out the first word as he grabbed her hips and thrust deeper inside her, causing her to take in Tim to the back of her throat which had him calling out her name as well. The guy’s movements were perfectly in sync so that Marinette bobbed back and forth between them.

The three of them were panting as they exerted themselves with their movements. Marinette had never experienced something to taboo and thrilling as being fucked from both ends and the sensation of one cock sliding out of her as another one slammed in was exhilarating. Though her mind was mostly blank in the moment, later she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about how boring her past sex life had been before meeting the two handsome men.

Tim wrapped a hand around her hair, pulling it slightly as he moved closer and closer to the edge, but it was Jason’s hand that slapped her ass before rubbing circles to soothe the sting that had her falling to pieces.

Her screams were muffled around Tim’s shaft, but the men still heard it, pounding into her harder and faster as they sought out their own relief. Her warm pussy pulsed and tightened around Jason until he grabbed her hips and pushed into her for the last time, streams of cum spilling inside her from one end before Tim followed suit and emptied himself into her mouth. With heavy lidded eyes, Marinette made sure to lick every last drop she could from his cock’s slit as she clenched tighter around Jason, milking him for every drop as well.

Both men pulled out at the same time, leaving Marinette feeling very full, but still so empty. She nodded her thanks as Tim returned from the kitchen with a glass of water for her and Jason made his way back from the bathroom with a towel.

“Mmm,” she hummed contentedly as she looked up at the two naked men standing before where she sat on the edge of her chaise. “Not that I mind too awful much, but I think we should at least attempt to make our way over to my bed next time.” She giggled as the pair looked from her chaise to her entryway and then over to her bedroom door. “It seems as though we’ll use every other spot in my apartment before we get there.”

“Actually, Marinette… I'm supposed to be returning to Gotham tomorrow evening. WE can’t really run properly without it’s CEO after all.” Tim reached a hand up behind his head anxiously.

“Oh. Right. Of course it can’t…”

“And I should be getting back as well since I finished up my mis… job here in Paris earlier.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Her smile faltered in brightness, but she kept a small one plastered to her face so they wouldn’t know how shook she was at the sudden news. They might have fucked on two separate occasions now, but they were still strangers. Strangers who lived different lives in different cities.

As they finished putting their clothes back on and the three of them made their way to the door, Marinette waved her phone at them. “If you guys ever have business back in Paris, message me to meet up for coffee or something?”

“I’ll be sure to do that.” Tim smiled and leaned down, hesitating before deciding to simply press a kiss to her still flushed cheek. A kiss on the lips just seemed too intimate for their current situation.

Jason settled for ruffling her hair up further before they were both stepping over the threshold of her doorway, disappearing down the hallway in silence as Marinette closed her door and locked it for the night

Tag List (Let me know if i forgot you or you’d like to be added!)

@kuramachan96 @mandy984 @eliza-bich @black-streak @kuraudolionhart @bunniebooh @drarryismylife101 @fontegagrilledcheese @loveswifi @zalladane @northernbluetongue @moonystars14 @casual-darkness @my-name-is-michell @emjrabbitwolf

[parkeryeetsblog]

Could u PLS do more of that in school kinda smut like it’s risky and Peter and you have strong sexual tension ugh yes

Of course! I made this with a Stark reader I hope you don't mind 🤗

You felt a trail of wet kisses on your neck and something heavy on top of you, you slowly opened your eyes, closing them again tightly not getting used to the sun coming through the window,after some seconds you opened them again with Peter on top of you leaving wet kisses on your neck "good morning love" he said as he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, his boner hitting the inside of your thigh "good morning horny head" you said with a smirk as he let out a laugh kissing your lips, the kiss becoming more passionate as his one hand slid into your pants touching your folds making you leave a small moan "y/n!! Get up breakfast ready! " your father yelled through the door knowing that if he walk in he'll probably see something that he won't really like, like the last time which is true "and tell little underoos to come down too in case he isn't in there" he said and then walked away, you softly pushed peter off you as he let out a frustrated groan and fall on his side, you looked at your clock and you are already 15 minutes late "Come on babe we are already late" you said as you got up and lifted your (Peter's) shirt off leaving you exposed with just an underwear infron of him, turning him on even more "Are you serious? " he said still laying on the bed hair messy from sleep and voice rapsy "come on you horny little thing, we are gonna be late" you said as you putted on your clothes that you picked up from last night "at least let me take care of you" he said as he slowly got up showing his angeling toned body, you quickly turned away from him not wanting to get even more turned on "don't need too" you mumbled as you putted your book into your bag. He slowly came from behind you wrapping his arms around your waist pulling you close "you know you can't lie to me Stark" he said as he got closed to your ear "I can already feel with my senses how wet you are" he whispered and then bit your lobe licking it softly making you leave out a sigh "well at least I can control it" you said as you grabbed your bag and left the room

As you walked downstairs you noticed that everyone were up "about time miss" Happy said with a smile "I take you and peter today at school, since its on my way" he said as he grabbed your bag, "thanks Happy! " you said with a smile and after that peter followed slowly behind you

After Happy drove you to school, the three past hours has been a mess for you and Peter, he haven't stopped teasing you, always hugging you from behind so you could feel his boner, sending you papers with dirty words, and of course getting all handsy.

On the other side Peter could control himself, the morning he woke up with a huge boner feeling horny as hell his senses making it even worse, also the skirt you desided to wear today, exposing your glowing legs like that, and the tight black shirt that curved perfect your body, poor boy couldn't control him self all day

It was the last 40 minutes before this torturing could end for today, you guys sat at the last desk of the class doing your homework while the teacher putted a movie talking about captain America and the world war, peter sat right next to you lifting every second from his seat getting on your nerves

"Jesus can you stop?! " you whispered yelled getting only his attention "can't.. " he said as you let out a sight "what's wrong with you? " you asked knowing exactly the reason "sorry, that skirt is killing me.. "He whispered as you putted your hand on his knee "what about it? " you whispered in his ear your hand moving towards his thigh making him bit his lip so he won't let out a moan "its just.. The way is shows your legs and.. And the way you walk swinging your cute butt around.. "He said as you slowly grabbed his dick from the top of his jeans squeezing him lightly making peter hold his breath "then why don't you get between them? " you whispered in his ear bitting it lightly, exactly like he did this morning "what.. What if we get caught.. "He whispered trying to hold his moans "if you'll be a good boy and be quiet we won't get caught " you whispered "are.. Are you sure? "He said with a sigh "just shut up and do what you wanted to do all day", you said as peter looked around and everyone were asleep or paying attention to the move, the room was so dark that no one would notice peter under the desk right..?

He slowly kneeled and got down to the floor and then moved between your legs, he putted your panties aside and attacked your clit with his mouth making you lift your head back a little bitting your lip trying not to make a single sound, you moved your hands to his curls, holding them tightly making him burry his face deeper to your clit his breath hitting your core making you even more wet, he continues to make circles to your clit and out of no he slid a finger into you making you open your mouth but not leaving a sound, when he putted a second finger you let out a small gasp quickly shutting you mouth making peter stop and you both look around in case you got caught. You looked down at Petter nodding your head making him continue his actions bringing you close to the edge, you squeezed his head making him go faster, your walls clenching around his fingers, with one last thrust you released on his fingers .

He got back on his seat and you slowly got down on your knees sliding down his pants and boxer, his hard out to vew red and ready to be sucked, you started pumping him fast knowing that he is needy and all he wants is to release and not teasing, his threw his head down enjoying the feeling, you putted him into your mouth bombing fast up and down your tongue running circles around his head, he putted his hands around your pony tail guiding your movements making you go faster, you felt him twich in your mouth meaning that he was close, with one last bob he filled your mouth trying not to moan out loud

He lifted his pants up and you got back to your seat, he kissed your cheek and held your hand under the table "thank you for that" he whispered "oh you think we are done here? Just be patient till we get home" you said with a smirk and then continue to watch the movie excited about what's going to happen after

[killmvnger]

What You Need (Part 2) / Part 1

Killmonger/Black!Reader

Warning: Sexual content, use of n-word

Summary: You didn’t go to the club to find a man, but you sure as hell leave with one.

Lights blurred as you passed them, cars whizzing beside you like clashes of colors and you stuck your hand to the window in awe. You didn't care much if he was watching you from the driver's seat, you rarely traveled to this side of town and definitely not at such a pace, so your eyes moved quickly to capture the expensive life you were obviously being dragged into. This wasn't the kind of place you imagined he'd be taking you to, but then again you couldn't get that accurate a read on him anyway. You used the last of your phone battery to text your friends where you were and who you were with just in case it all went south.

He ditched his little crew in the club without saying goodbye, just a weird nod of confirmation that made you squint. His car was pulled up by the valet, a navy blue sports car that probably cost more than your apartment. He had a smug look when you admired the leather seats, which only made you want to find something wrong with it. When he started the car, his speakers turned on with it blasting hard west coast hip-hop, which he sure as hell didn't turn down despite your wincing.

Sure, he's not someone you'd want to bring home to your family, but you figure it's worth it to get a good night out of him. Even if he does drive you all the way to the other side of town.

You wanted to ask him what he did for a living, but that would be too personal for a one-night-stand. The less you know the better. The last thing you want is to catch feelings for someone like him, it'll only end with you getting hurt. You stare at him as he speeds through the streets, no doubt running a few lights. You smiled to yourself because you really got the finest man in that place. He noticed you looking at him at a red light, then bit his bottom lip. His eyes took you in from head to toe.

"You like how fast I'm going?" He asked, teasing.

"I think you could go faster." You reply with a cheeky smile.

"That's how you like it?" His eyes glint in the streetlights, looking wild and unrestrained. You clenched your thighs together helplessly, hating that his crazy ass unpredictability is what gets you going.

"Yeah."

The speed he takes off with feels dangerous like you're freefalling. You don't even have time to gasp, he's swerving down the highway and taking your breath away. An excitement you haven't felt in a long time sneaks up on you and you find yourself smiling as you fly past other cars. In a moment of giddiness, you shout your enthusiasm. He laughs as you continue your whoo'ing and enjoying yourself. He increases the bass (to show out, you presume) and your entire body is buzzing to the beat of a familiar hip-hop song. You rap a couple of bars, swaying side to side and you can hear him joining in on your impromptu karaoke.

You were afraid that the police would pull you over. Two black people in an expensive sports car blasting hip hop? Clear target. The shots you took at the club didn't help the situation, either. In any case, the cops didn't interrupt your fun, which was a little suspect because usually, you couldn't go above 50 MPH without getting stopped. He seemed to have everything suspiciously under control though.

The song switches to a softer r&b track and Erik turns the radio down a few notches. You smile over at him, admiring his beautiful brown skin and the gold that continued to shine on his neck. Curious, you reach your hand over and caress down his neck, trailing your wandering fingers from his nape to the cold of his chains, then over to his shoulder which you gripped. In your trance-like state, you hardly noticed him staring you through the corner of his eyes, smirking.

"Look at you. Can't keep your hands off a nigga."

"Shut up," you reply as you lean the rest of your body over. He gives you a questioning side eye as you propped yourself up on the armrest, your face beside him.

The ride was taking too long and you couldn't even help yourself anymore, you needed to feel him on you again, you needed the thrills he's been giving you since you first locked eyes. You leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek, then hesitantly, to his lower jaw. He hummed in approval. You smirked and continued planting soft kisses on his skin, inhaling his intoxicating scent of soap and cologne. Cheekily, you poked at his neck with your tongue, giggling afterward. He bit his lower lip and began tapping on the steering wheel.

"Baby girl, you must be tryna run our asses off the road." He chuckled, though you could hear the clear frustration in his voice. "You always been a thrill-seeker?" He asks.

You peck at his collarbone, delighting in his clear muscle definition. "Not really, no." You whisper into his neck.

"I just bring that out of you?" He says as more of a statement than a question. You turn hot as you reflect on your behavior, but it doesn't stop you from sucking at the side of his neck - which, in retrospect wasn't a good idea. He, however, remained cool and confident, driving as he has been before you started assaulting him with your tongue. A lesser man surely would've swerved with how forward you were being, but that's what you liked about him, he wasn't like anyone you'd ever hooked up with.

Slowly, he released his right hand from the steering wheel and pushed it down to his jeans, adjusting himself as you tried to create a kaleidoscope of hickies on his skin. His breathing pattern changed, getting faster with every exit that was passed. You were absolutely on cloud nine.

"Feel good?" You whisper into his ear as your hand descends down his chest. His eyes are now struggling to stay on the road. You take his gulping silence to mean yes and continue on with your ministrations. Your hands slide down to his crotch, experimentally pressing down on his confined dick. Erik groans, slightly pushing up into your touch.

"Fuck," he grunts. You keep rubbing against him, feeling the hardness underneath his layers and giving his neck sloppy kisses. "Goddamn. I'm gon' fuck the shit outta you." He promises, still trying desperately to pay attention to the road and drive to his place faster. You giggle to yourself, peppering light kisses up to his jaw now.

"I don't like how you teased me back there," you whisper against his skin.

"You won't get teased again if you be a good girl for me. Can you do that?" He asks in huffs, slowly grinding up into your palm. You nod. "Baby, speak up."

"I can be a good girl for you." You chime with absolutely no sense of pride. Fuck that. Your inner ho is on the loose and she deserves this. He groans, then without hesitation he turns and smashes his lips to yours. It's messy, chaotic, and wild, your mouths hungry for each other. You lose yourself in his rough kisses a little too much because a car horn is what separates you two. You snap back to reality and, yeah, he's fucking driving. Right.

"Buckle up because if we not at the house in two minutes, I'm pulling over and fucking you raw in the backseat." He pressed down on the speed and continued on this unknown route. You strap yourself in, smiling to yourself because you were down for either option if you were being real.

Less than two minutes later, true to his word, the car turns into a large driveway leading into a two car garage. He cuts the engine and leans over to press a chaste kiss to your lips, lingering just a second too long for it not to feel romantic. You smile as he unbuckles your seatbelt for you, savoring his undivided attention. He presses another kiss to your temple, whispering a fond "my lil daredevil" before opening his door.

You follow his lead, unbuckling and exiting his car. You appreciate the cobblestone ground of the driveway as he leads you to the front door of his house. It was impressive, two stories high and as large as a house you'd expect in the richest of suburbs. It was far too luxurious for only one person. Surely, he didn't live by himself, you thought. What does he even do to make enough to afford all of these things?

"You live here alone?" You ask, walking into his house, though it looked more like a museum than anything. African artifacts were showcased on a few walls in glass boxes, Afrocentric paintings lined up in between them, and there was even a small rustic statue by the staircase. He shrugged, walking to his living room couch to sit as you still spun around trying to take in how amazing his house was. His living room could probably fit most of your apartment in it. You glance up, surprised to find expensive looking chandeliers.

"Sometimes my cousin stays over if he's in America." He explains from the living room. You mindlessly wander towards him and sit next to him on the couch, still discreetly checking out the interior design of his house and large pieces of art decorating his walls. Definitely Mediterranian style architecture, you silently commend. He laughs at you, efficiently snapping you out of your E Network fantasy.

"Damn, you need me to give you and this house some alone time? You getting wet looking at chandeliers and shit."

You huff your embarrassment and hit his shoulder. "Fuck you, I can appreciate art if I want, nigga."

"Peep all that shit in the morning, baby, come over here and appreciate this dick." He smirks, pulling you in by your waist to sit on his lap. You roll your eyes, but slowly prop up on your knees and straddle him on the couch. You run your hands up his arms to his shoulders. He's so muscular, he doesn't even need to flex.

"Yeah, that's perfect." He says as his hands explore your waist to your backside. His lips quickly attach to your neck, sucking any patch of skin he could get to, pushing you down to grind in his lap. You bit your lip to keep the shameless moan from coming out.

"Ah!" You yelp at his hand smacking your ass. He pulls you back so you're level with his face, foreheads pressed against each other.

"That ain't loud enough for me, baby."

"Give me a reason to get loud, baby." You tease with a wicked smile. You enjoyed messing with him more than you'd ever admit. His eyes blink in surprise, a devious smile pulling at the edges of his mouth showcasing his dimples. He stares at you for a moment like he'd just found out something important about you.

You blush at his dazed facial expression.

"Stop looking at me like that," you laugh, covering your face. Erik pulls your hands from your face, intertwining it with his. With nowhere to hide from his intrusive stare, you duck your head and continue laughing.

"Oh, you shy all of a sudden?" He asks rhetorically, but you shake your head anyway. The giggles were just a side effect of you drinking and sometimes it was hard to control.

"No, I just laugh when hoes can't make me cum," you say boldly, and it's obviously meant to be taken as a joke, but that dangerous gleam in his eyes comes back stronger than ever and you realize you've made a grave mistake. Your eyes caught the harsh clench of his jaw as he regarded you, glaring a hole into your face and you couldn't even stutter out an apology before he tossed you beneath him on the couch. During the transition, your dress had risen past your belly button, displaying the ruined black lace wrapped around you. He gripped both your wrists in his hand, pushing them above your head as his other wrapped lightly around your throat.

"You talk too fucking much," he grunts, sliding between your legs to push his erection into you. "That slick ass mouth gon' get you in trouble." His jeans grate against your wet underwear making you whimper. You try thrashing against him, but a quick thwack! to your thighs stop you. You try to speak again, but his hand moves from its firm place on your neck to your mouth, effectively stopping you from making the situation worse. Your whine is muffled by his hand.

"I bet that's what yo lil freak ass want, ain't it?" He leans over so that his lips are flush against your ear. "Fuck the foreplay shit, you tryna get that punishment, that's what you want." He chuckles darkly as you wriggle in his grasp, trying to get more pleasure from his hips. "How'd your old niggas punish you?" He asks and this time removes his hand so you may answer him. You inhale all the air taken from you, panting as you stared up at the ceiling.

"They d-didn't..." you whisper, hoarse. He laughs then, sliding his hand down to your breasts.

"You used to run all over them, huh?"

You shook your head. "No, it wasn't even --"

Thwack!

Your thigh stings.

"No more lying, baby. If I think you lying, yo ass sure as hell gon' be dying laughing because you ain't gon' be cumming." He threatens. "Now, did you run all over your exes?"

"Yes," you whimper, hoping to make some sort of atonement for your earlier words.

"That's what I thought." He huffs, then releases your wrists from his grip, instead of reaching down to grab hold of your waist. Before you could question his intentions, you're being lifted.

Like a rag-doll, you were picked up and tossed over his shoulder. You fixed your mouth to complain as he stood up and began walking, but thought against it. You were in enough trouble as it was. You settled for tsking because the only thing in your line of sight was the hardwood floors of his house and his ass. You entered a room with a beautiful double door entrance that you couldn't even fully admire because he decided to toss you off his shoulder.

You landed on a bed haphazardly, grunting in irritation.

"Seriously?"

"Deadass." He replies snarkily. You roll your eyes. "Take them shits off." He gestures towards your dress that turned into a shirt and you lace underwear. "It's not a suggestion." He says when you don't immediately move. You rush to get the dress up and over your head, then kick your heels off and start pulling your underwear down. In front of you, he's removing his clothes, too, a show you'd be damned if you missed, so your attention zeroes in on him taking off his shirt.

Scars. So many damn scars.

You're worried initially, but upon seeing his unbothered face realize that he's probably done it to himself. But why? What's he tallying? You're so caught up in his markings that you don't notice he's glaring at you. Like you were about to run out screaming because of his scars. You crawl towards him on your knees and hesitantly lean to touch the bumpy grooves in his skin, fascinated more than anything. He looks down at you blankly.

Experimentally, you lean in to kiss his chest, then look up at him for confirmation. You can't decipher what he looks means, so you move back to his chest placing sloppy kisses down his torso and using your hands to feel the scars. The only instance you get that he's enjoying what you're doing is the small sigh leaving his lips once you lightly scrape your fingernails down him. He lets out a soft laugh that has you looking back up to him.

"You something else." He said fondly. You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. He kisses you hard, pushing back down to the bed with him on top. You help unbuckle his pants as you two explore each other's mouths, sucking and teasing and biting.

"I want to hear you begging for me." He comments as he gets his jeans down, crawling up on the bed. You stare down to his length as it pops out of his underwear, then bite your lip. He's bigger than you expected, longer and girthier. You wondered how you would even get him in you.

"Want me to fuck you?" He asks with a smirk.

"Yes."

He settled over you, shoving your legs apart. The tip of his dick nudged your entrance. "You ain't doing enough begging, ma."

Your voice cracked. "Please, fuck me."

He snickers under his breath obviously finding amusement in your weak pleas. You feel his tip brushing up and down your pussy, never pushing in but slowly pleasuring your clit. You can't help but to whine and try to move towards him so he'd fill you up. His hand slapped your stomach, stopping you from moving further.

"Did I say you could move?" He asks. Pouting, you shake your head.

"Please, baby, I need it. I need you to fuck me, please!" You beg sternly albeit a little pathetic. He smirks, then you feel him sliding inside of you, stretching your pussy out farther than you expected. He snapped his hips and you went from having barely any satisfaction to being the most filled you've ever been. He didn't give you much time to adjust, thrusting hard into you again and groaning out his pleasure.

"Damn, baby. Look how wet you getting." He reaches down to your cunt, rubbing your wetness on his fingers as he fucks you, then giving your clit a quick rub. Your body jolts feeling a hot course of electricity zing through you. Your eyes close on their own accord, you feel dizzy from the sensations. You can hear sucking noises like he was tasting you on his fingers. Your head falls back with a cry at the thought, a stinging sensation of tears welling up in your eyes surprising you. One tear escapes when you open your eyes again, sliding from your cheek to your jaw and he leans down to kiss you.

"Why you crying?" He whispers, and for a moment you think he's being genuine, but he follows up the question with a deep chuckle. "The dick too good, ma?" He laughs against your mouth, pressing his forehead against yours. Your eyes flutter open and get trapped in his deep brown ones. Everything about him is hypnotic and mesmerizing, even as he's driving you crazy. He stares you down, hips thrusting passionately in and out of you, hands cupped around your waist to push you on him more.

"You so fucking beautiful, lil daredevil," he confesses. "I might just keep you around."

Another jolt of pleasure flows through you. He kisses your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, all down to your neck where he rested his head on you, peppering you with fervent, sloppy kisses.

Your body convulses, driven to its breaking point and ready to release all the tension that'd been building. You shake, holding onto his shoulders, scratching your fingers down his scars in the heat of pleasure.

"Fuck," you moan. "I'm gonna cum."

That's when he pulls out.

"What? Nah, none of that. I ain't forget that shit you said on the couch, you got me fucked up." He pulls and twists you around on the bed so you're face down instead. "On your knees."

It's wobbly, but you slowly ascend to your knees, presenting yourself to him. He hums his approval, then smacks your ass so hard you almost fall back to the bed. He laughs as you shakily regain your footing.

"You like that?" He asks. "You like when Daddy smacks that ass?"

You whimper in response, nodding frantically.

"Say you like it." His palm cracks on your ass again and you moan shamelessly, trying to back yourself into his touch. He rubs the stinging spot on your ass as you gather the courage to speak. You really didn't wanna call him that, but the less rational part of you, the wreck of a girl begging for his dick feels very differently.

"I like when you spank me, Daddy." You stutter out, but it's enough for him because he shoves his dick back into you without another word. His hips smack against your ass lewdly and the pace only gets faster the more you moan.

"Yeah? You gon' throw that ass back for Daddy?" He asks, slapping your ass repeatedly until you start pushing back against him. He groaned seeing you fuck yourself on him, yelling and panting for more.

"Please!" You finally shouted.

You screamed for him to let you come, but he continued denying you, mocking you. You could feel the pleasure building to its highest point, making you squirm out of his vice grip and vibrate out of your control. He pulled you back in, hooking his big arms around your body so that you stayed put.

"Stop fucking running from me, take this dick." He grunted and you genuinely clawed at his sheets trying to let up on his rough thrusting. You could hear how wet you were with every thrust, a fast rhythm that your body couldn't keep up with anymore. "Yeah, that's it, baby, you like that?"

"Yes! Please, let me cum, please!" You begged with tears forming in your eyes. Your body was giving out on you, aching and burning under his command.

"Fuck no. Tell me who owns this pussy."

"You! You do! Please, Daddy, please, I'll be good!" You cry. He slaps your ass cheek hard and you arch back feeling overstimulated. "I can't do it, I can't!" You cry, then try to crawl away again, needing to be released from his endless cycle of pleasure-pain, but his hands keep you stuck in one place.

"What's wrong, is it too much for my lil daredevil?" He asks teasingly. Hot tears run down your face as his dick hits your most sensitive spots.

"Yes!" You scream, throat stinging because of your abused vocal chords.

"I thought you liked this shit. I thought you said I couldn't make you cum." He punctuates his words with sharp thrusts.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you can! You can! Please! Please!"

He pulls you up to him, hand wrapped firmly around your throat. His chin is tucked into your shoulder, his breath warm and faintly smelling of mint. "I should just pull out and leave you like this." He threatens, uncaring of the cries coming out your mouth. "So fucking disrespectful." He slowly pulls out, causing you to whine.

"You think you deserve to cum?"

You weren't even sure you were forming real words anymore, you have swept away in such an intense vibrating pleasure that left you a quivering, sputtering wreck. His hand squeezes your neck just a little tighter, pushing you, and your senses begin dying out, leaving you with the rapid pounding of your heartbeat and blurry vision. It was like when you'd first seen him, how everything else faded into the background, how he stole your attention from anything else. His belittling words were muffled in the background as you focused all your energy on not climaxing before he told you so. You were floating through time and space, new tears falling to replace your dried ones, muscles burning from the position changes, ears ringing in the sweetest way possible.

His lips are flush against your ear when you finally, finally, hear what you've wanted to hear all night.

"Fuck, baby, cum on this dick. Now."

He slams back into you shamelessly and you're done for. You screamed as the line between pain and pleasure blurred dangerously close, then erupted into euphoria. Your pussy clenched around him tighter than ever, making him moan as audaciously as you were. He started thrusting faster, reaching his own orgasm as you melted through yours feeling your juices running down your thighs.

"Fuck, I'm 'bout to bust all in your pussy, baby." He warns.

"Do it, I want your cum inside me. Please, Daddy." You beg between pants. He climaxes with a loud grunt, whispering something about you being such a good girl. You fall to the bed, him following along after you on your back. 

The world went black and the last thing you remember before sinking into the deepest sleep of your life was him wrapping his arms around you and kissing your forehead.

(That was inch resting. Give me your thoughts. Continue or no?)

@sweettea-and-honeybutter @coldcrevices @nakh-es @shesfromwakanda @nyxieso @jaaystaar95 @tiava143 @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @tenxouttanine @ashleychristina73 @panthergoddessbast @artpoetx @im-not-always-a-jellyfish @thehomierobbstark @muffytheaardvarkslayer (sorry if I missed anyone, thanks for the love & support)

[princessceettaa]

beloved

killmonger x reader

*** i haven’t been able to see black panther yet bc i’m a broke bitch that has a broke family. so there shouldn’t be spoilers unless i’m psychic or some shit. (: i’ve only read fanfiction and watched interviews and trailers.

i didn’t mean to f up his dialect or character so i apologize in advance if i did

*** title might be changed 💜 might be a few mistakes. (:

summary: of course, you fell into a love spell with killmonger, and of course, your family and all of wakanda hates him. although he’s done bad things, you can’t bring yourself to hating him. at first, you did, but now?

“i think your attracted to me, y/n. i mean, who wouldn’t be right?” he asks, smirking at you. you roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. you’ve been here for over six hours. you couldn’t sleep, so you came down to see erik. you didn’t plan to stay all night, but here you are. out of the few weeks you’ve been talking, he’s always had a slick or sly comment. you are attracted, and you have been for a while. you wouldn’t sneak out everyday just to see him if you weren’t. at first, you didn’t care for him or his ways of life, but something still told you to walk down to the prison and give him a visit. “i’m attracted to you too. i wanna take you on the date, a proper one. thing is, the only way i’m getting out of here, is if i’m dead. don’t plan on dying any time soon. i could easily break out of here, but then i’d be on the run.” he shrugs, sitting close to the bar. he motions for you to sit as well, and you gladly do.

“i could talk to t’challa—“

“no, i don’t want you bringing this up to him. he’ll just try to keep you away from me.” he reaches his hands out of the bar. you glance at it, before glancing back at him. you grab ahold of his hand, and the both of you stare at it for a moment. “youre the only reason i haven’t went ape shit on your brother.” this brought your attention back to his face.

“and for that, i am grateful.” he just nods, still staring at your hands. “i must be leaving now.” you stand, and he stands just as fast as you do. you witnessed a change in him in these few weeks. he’s a hardass around everyone but you. you can’t change him and you don’t plan to, but it’s nice knowing that he treats the people he cares about with respect. he motions for you to come closer, and you do, awaiting your favorite part of your time with him. he kisses your forehead, then your nose.

“i’ll see you soon, princess.”

••

“may i ask why you were with killmonger all night long, y/n?” ramanda, your mother, asks trying not to loose her patience with you. when you made it into your bedroom, they were waiting there. how she knew where you were is a mystery. she’s done everything in her power to raise you like one of her own— and she has— and for you to go out and be with someone who brought harm to the kingdom and to the people of wakanda made her upset to high hell. she’s a queen, though, and she’s taught herself to control her anger and outburst. you feel as if you’re being interrogated. it’s only her and t’challa in the room but they held so much power of you, you didn’t stand a chance.

“we’re friends.” you answer, not looking her in the eyes. “he was lonely down there and i just wanted—“

“how long have the two of you been ‘friends’?” t’challa asks bitterly, his glare set the the wall behind you. he hadn’t been able to look you in the eyes since he walked into the room.

“how long has he been in prison?” you sass, and your mother scoffs, laughing bitterly.

“you’re forbidden to leave this room, until erik is gone, do you understand me?” though you didn’t agree with her acts of punishment, you nod. tears gather in your eyes and your chest began to hurt with all the anger building up inside you.

“yes, i understand.”

“well then.” she glances at t’challa, before her gaze goes back to you. “your father would be very disappointed, y/n.” the sentence wasn’t meant to break you, or was it to harm your feelings in anyway. she was just saying what she thought was true. she walks out, closing the door behind her.

“why aren’t you leaving? you going to leture me some more?”

“do you not care about your people? don’t not care about me?” he asks, his gaze traveling over to your face, but not to your eyes. you decide not to answer, looking down at your hands that held a ring. your fathers ring. “he’s tried to dethrone me, and hurt our people.”

“he’s apologized. i look past the bad in people t’challa. erik has a great heart—“

“did my parents not raise you the same as shuri and i? did they not teach you to be loyal to your family?”

“family? you don’t treat me like family. hell, you haven’t since dad died.” you couldn’t stop the tears anymore. you probably looked a fool in front of t’challa. he still wore a straight face. him being king changed him. he wasn’t as uptight or strict before. you guys were actually really close. now, he and shuri are really close. not that it’s a competition, because shuri always treated you like sister, or best friend. she treats everyone like they deserves to be treated.

“i am not understanding. i treat you the same as i treat shuri.”

you scoff, standing to your feet. you slide your sandals back on, deciding you’ve had enough. maybe he doesn’t realize it, but he hasn’t spoken much to you in the last year. he’ll greet you every other day when he sees you, but it’s not the same as spending time with him. t’challa grabbed your arm, just as soon as you were about to walk past him. you roll your eyes, glaring at him.

“let go of me, dammit!” you hiss after trying to pull away from his grip.

t’challa’s eyes go wide as anger covers his face. he harshly let’s go of your arm, glaring at you. he’s used to getting respect from everyone, so you cursing at him, confused and embarrassed him— even with no one in the room.

“i am your king, y/n!” you groan, your fingers going into your dreaded hair.

“see! that’s what i mean! just a year ago you were my big brother and now,” you take a second to breath, seeing that you had raised your voice and didn’t want to draw attention to this conversation. “you were my brother, t’challa and now, apparently, you’re just my king.” his eyes look away from you, again, but you didn’t have time to hear what he had to say anymore. “i just wanted to be happy here in wakanda again, challa. erik takes me away from feeling like a burden here. he makes me feel like dads here protecting me again. i don’t want to lose him. if it makes you feel better, we can both leave wakanda.”

you open your mouth to start another sentence, but he raises his hand with a pissed look on his face. he wasn’t looking at you, more like, he was looking at the floor, pointing all his anger toward it, and not you.

“if it makes me feel better, y/n?” his accent rang through your ears, as he squints his eyes. you’ve always wanted to talk like everyone else, but being from america, you sounded more like an outsider, than you looked. they tried to make you fit in. they dressed you in appropriate wakanda dressings, and tried to teach you xhosa, but it’s harder to go from such a life style back home to this one.

people judged and were concerned. you were only thirteen then. now, at eighteen, people are starting to go back to their ways of judging you, thinking you’d brought killmonger here, though you had nothing to do with the situation or had any contact with america since the day you left.

“yes.” you answer, swallowing as you stepped back from your angry brother.

“it would make me feel better knowing where you are at all times, y/n! it would make me feel better knowing you won’t be harmed by someone like killmonger! i care for you, i do. i didn’t mean to make you feel like anything less than my family and if i did, i apologize, but you will not see erik again, nor will you see beyond the walls of the kingdom until i know killmonger is long gone. understand me?”

not wanting to upset him anymore, you nod, sitting back on your bed. t’challa’s face soften once again, and he rubs a hand down his face. he sighs, uncrossing his arms from his chest.

you can’t say you don’t miss him, because you do and it’s obvious. he’s still protective of you, which is a sign for love, right? you don’t want all of his attention, you just want to be noticed every once in a while.

“do you really think i treat you differently?” he asks, looking around your bedroom. you glance up at him, wiping away the rest of those unshed tears.

“i just think you’ve changed. we used to be closer.” you finally say, standing up. for an odd reason, you felt disrespectful sitting down on a bed while t’challa stood. you place your arms behind your back, staring up at your older brother.

“you paint?” he asks, going over to your desk. you get there half a second before he does, blocking his view of the stack of three dried paintings. you’ve been into painting for around a year and a half. you used to just draw with a simple pen and paper, but you wanted to explore. “y/n? i just want to look.” he chuckles, and you feel your heart beat faster. this felt like the sibling moment you’ve been waiting for. you slightly move over, and t’challa reached for the first one. it was of your father. it was him sitting behind a stand, speaking into a microphone. the first day you’d met him. t’challa hums, placing the painting gently to the side. next was a picture of mom. her white locs were flowing behind her and they were extra long, because you liked the thought of her never cutting them. she inspired your hair style.

the last painting was of t’challa. he hummed again, this time with a smile. he was sitting at his throne with his black panther suit on. it was amazing detail and he wasn’t sure how you made it so perfect but you did.

“you’re an amazing artist and your art should be shown.” he says, setting the paintings down, stepping back from them. “do you have anymore?” he was intrigued by the paintings and that made you happy.

you nod, smiling a little, grabbing your brothers hand as you walk into the huge closet that held none of your clothes. you moved everything into shuri’s closet, or into a bucket. you needed this space for art supplies. as soon as he was about to question, you hold up a painting of shuri in her lab. you added a lot of extra detail to this one, only because it’s recent and you can actually paint extra details.

theres was one of the table. it wasn’t finished yet, but t’challa could see from where he was standing that it was killmonger. the mad was behind bars and his chest showed the self-inflicted scars. before you could pull him out of the closet, t’challa was already close to the painting, glaring down at it.

“does he like you, y/m/n?” the question catches you off gaurd, but you stutter out an answer.

“i-i uhm, he says he’s attracted to me, but—“ he raises his hand again, and you go silent. he glances down at the paintings again.

“i can’t go against what mother said, y/n, but i will take you down there this last time so he won’t be concerned as to why you haven’t been showing up.” your limbs are wrapped around him faster than you can control. he laughs, his arms wrapping around your torso, squeezing you tight. “you’re ruining the royal suit.”

“thank you, t’challa.”

[song2story]

in my blood

in this room, part four

word count: 2.5k

go to my masterlist to read previous parts!

-------

Chris knocks at the door and speaks through the wood, “Good morning, sleepyhead! Today’s the day! I’m getting married! And I need your ass to get out of bed and get ready. Don’t want to be late!”

He groans at Chris and pulls the covers over his head. “Two more minutes, man. It’s so early,” he mumble yells from the security of his spot in the guest bed.

“Nope, you’re already late to get up! Where’s that Canadian cheer, man?”

“Like me, it’s not ready yet,” he says rolling out of the bed, roughing up his hair.

“Okay, Shawn. It takes about an hour to drive from Lake Lure to Asheville, so you’ve got like 30 minutes. Please get ready fast.”

He can hear Chris’ feet slap down the hallway. He gets up and looks at himself in the full length mirror across the guest room. Grabbing his toothbrush and face wash, he heads down the hallway to the bathroom. He closes the door quietly behind him and begins his morning routine, thinking of the process of the wedding and all the things he had to remember before he and the boys leave for the church which is an hour away. As he brushes his teeth, he remembers the rehearsal from the night before. It hits him for the first time that he was partnered to walk her down the aisle.

His mind races with the memories of their past and how she treated him yesterday:

“You look good, Shawn,” she whispers into his ear, linking her arm through his.

“So do you, Mags,” he whispers. She still has on the purple scarf she found at the boutique a couple weeks earlier, even though it was warm inside the church.

She grasps his arm tighter, feeling his muscles between her fingers. “I’d rather be putting these strong arms of yours to a better use than walking down this aisle right now.”

His heart quickens and he tries to focus at walking down the aisle at the same speed. “Don’t talk to me like that. Especially here. You obviously haven’t changed your mind. I want something more than just sex, you know that.”

“But don’t deny that you’re thinking the same thing. I know how bad you want me.”

Their friends were whooping and hollering at them walking down the aisle together. ‘I think I know who’s getting married next!’  ‘Don’t forget to catch the bouquet at the reception, Mags!’  ‘Of course she’s the lucky one who gets to walk with him.’

He could feel all the eyes on them as they reached the altar and split. As he turned back towards the entrance of the church from his position, he looked at the people around him and found his belief to be true. Not a person in the chapel wasn’t looking at him. All these people, who don’t know him personally, around him, looking at him. Judging him based on his behavior with her. His breath quickens and he attempts to loosen his collar. No matter how much tension he creates between his fingers and the top of the shirt, he still feels like he can’t breathe.

He rinses his toothbrush off under the water and puts it on the countertop. He notices his rapid heart beat again. His breathing is out of control. He stands at the sink shirtless, but he still tries to pull at the invisible collar that he feels strangling him. The bathroom begins to feel smaller and smaller. The walls around him seem to cave in and squeeze him. His knees start to shake and he finds himself stumbling, hitting his back against the wall behind him. He lets his weight fall to the ground, breathing heavy and heart racing. The towel behind him slides off of the rack and into his lap. Hands shaking, he places it on the floor next to him and lays on top of it.

His whole body convulses as the thought of him walking down the aisle with her arm linked in his. The eyes. The whispers. The possible posts on social media after the ceremony. The media blowing the situation out of proportion. The possibility of her being linked to a past article written about him and dating speculations beginning. His body continues to shake until he is numb. Tears streaming down his face. No feeling of the pain from the shaking. No feeling of emotions. No tangibility to the experience yesterday. I should give up. Let myself lay here for eternity. But today’s not that day. There will never be a day where I let myself get past this point.

“Shawn, you ready?” DeVeon knocks at the door. “We gotta go, man.”

He takes the corner of the towel and tugs it out from under him. He clears his throat and tries to muster the confidence to get a few words out. “Yeah, one minute,” he chokes out.

“Okay. We’re doing a round of shots before we go. Hurry up!”

He perks up at the word “shots.” If there’s something he desperately needs right now, it’s a drink. He picks himself off the ground and takes a glimpse at himself in the mirror. His face is red. Tear tracks line his cheeks and the sides of his eyes. Embarrassed at his appearance, he forces himself to keep count of his breaths. His wobbly hands fix stray strands of hair. He turns on the faucet and splashes water on his face to cool down. He takes the hand towel on the counter and dries his face with it, making sure to press down hard so he has something to blame the redness of his face on. He practices saying hello in the mirror, making sure his words come out normally and clearly, not garbled up and crackly. Grabbing the undershirt from the other side of the counter, he slips it over his head taking a deep breath. “You got this,” he says to himself in the mirror.

He opens the door and walks into the living room. “Hey!” he says cheerfully. “We’re doing shots?”

Chris pats him on the back and guides him to the island of the kitchen where the rest of the groomsmen are standing. “I know you’re not legal in America yet, but you are legal in Canada and you’re one of the boys. It’s a special day, bro.” Chris reaches through the crowd and passes him a glass.

“Is it strong?” he asks.

“Of course,” Chris replies. Chris taps the edge of the shot glass against his.

Chris’ brother, Declan, stands on top of a stool and shouts, “To Chris! May your marriage be long and the sex be outstanding.”

A collective “To Chris!” follows with the group slamming back their drinks. He shakes his head, letting the alcohol seep into his body.

“Let’s get this man married!” Declan calls out, the men all cheering their way out of Chris’ house and into the limo.

---

The wedding ceremony went smoothly. He distracted himself from the whispers and phones pointing at him by keeping his eyes trained on the altar in front of him. He tells himself to keep a slight smile on his face to deter odd stares from the audience.

“Are you okay?” she whispers. “You’re kinda stiff.”

He glances down at her, “Yeah. Just trying not to screw up.”

She smiles and nods at him.

He remembers to wait for her at the end of the altar for the recession. She slips her hand through his arm once more and they begin their walk down to the outside of the church. Once they reach the outside, they quickly pile in with the newlyweds in their limo. He helps her with her dress and holds her bouquet as she ducks into the small door frame.

Shutters of cameras across the street echo against the back of the building. Their snaps mix with the various shouts of his name from the fans wearing his merch. The paps began calling out questions for him to answer and he only hoped for her to get in the limo faster than she already was. Who’s the lucky lady you’re helping in the limo? Are you two dating? When is your next album coming out? Have you slept with her before? His heart begins to race again, but just as his collar gets tight, he sees her heel slip into the darkness of the limo. He ducks down and loads himself in, closing the door behind him. The wedding party is already passing flutes of champagne to each other.

He sits and unbuttons his black blazer. He takes a flute from one of the bridesmaids. “Sorry for the crowd outside.”

Tracy shakes her head and says, “No worries! It’s actually kind of fun! Maybe they got some pictures of my and Chris walking out!” She sets the glass down on the drink holder besides her. She looks over at her now-husband, who’s shouting across the limo to Max. Tracy leans over and whispers to you, “thank you so much for being part of our special day! I know you’re super busy and I know it means the world to Chris to have you here.”

“Of course! Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Tracy grabs his hand and places a blush colored carnation petal from her bouquet in his open palm. “For safekeeping,” she whispers. “For when you find the right one.”

He smiles at her and tucks the petal in his pocket.

-----

The party arrives at the reception venue, a beautiful mountain side country club meeting house. Bare trees and budding February bushes surround the property. They remained outside for the picture segment of the reception, the girls shivering in their blush colored, spring-styled dresses.

“Want my jacket, Mags? You look pretty cold,” he asks.

“Please!”

He takes off his blazer and drapes it around her shoulders. A click of the camera shutter goes off. He looks up, taken aback.

“I like that!” the wedding photographer says. “Let’s have everyone do that. Cute group photo and then we’ll just have the bride and groom out here for the rest of the pictures.”

He lets out the breath he was holding in. The party gathers around with all the girls in the front with the men’s black blazers on. A few snaps later, the photographer dismisses the larger party.

As they walk back, she reaches into his coat pocket. “Your phone won’t stop buzzing, Shawn! Seem to be a busy man even on your day off.” She takes the phone outside of the inner coat pocket and shoves it into his hands.

He takes it abruptly and immediately begins scrolling through the notifications. At least three dozen from Twitter, hundreds of tags on Instagram posts and too many text messages and missed calls from his publicist. He opens up the messages from his publicist first:

Today, 2:26 pm

Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be at a wedding?!?

Look at this! (link to news article) Are you KIDDING ME?

Today, 2:27 pm

Call me ASAP

We need to get this under control!

You know what your job is and you know what my job is… why are you trying to make both of them harder?

His heart begins to race again as he taps on the article. The page loads instantly: Shawn Mendes and his VALENTINE? What to know about his new fling! He rolls his eyes as he tries to keep his hands still. He scrolls down to the bottom of the page to only find more articles like the one above in the recommended section: Valentine’s Day Wedding for Shawn and Mystery Wife!,  10 Facts You Need to Know About Shawn Mendes’ New Girlfriend, Magnolia Everett,  Shawn’s Love Life…,  Sneaky Shawn and…

He scrolls faster and faster through the headlines as his knees start to shake again. He quickly closes out of the article and pulls up Twitter. His timeline is filled with paparazzi pictures of them as they left the church. Hashtags with his name and the rumors of his marriage. His heartbeats faster by the second. He opens Instagram and searches through the posts he’s tagged in. All of them have some comment relating to this rumor or how good he looked.

By the time he reaches the doors of the reception, he’s pulling at his tie, trying to focus on his breath. She hands him the blazer back, so he can put it in the coat check room. His mind starts to wander down the rabbit hole of self conscious thoughts that always appear when a new rumor comes out about him. He shakily hands the man working behind the counter his coat and receives his number card.

Before entering the reception, he finds a chair to sit in by the foyer. He rests his head back, letting it droop over the top of the chair. He counted his breaths once again as he shakily lifted his phone to text his publicist back: Sorry. I forgot to tell you. I’m not gonna be by my phone a lot. Can we talk about this later?

A few deep breaths later, he reminds himself that it’s bad for him to be alone in this state of mind. He reminds himself to ask for help the next time he feels like this. After all, he doesn’t want to end up on the floor of this country club, everyone looking at him like a lunatic. He remembers that Chris and Tracy ordered an open bar for the reception, and like that, he walks briskly into the reception.

“Shawn! Take this!” the groomsmen are already passing him drinks. He can’t seem to finish them fast enough. Two beers and a glass of whiskey later, he’s on the dance floor, dancing terribly to the music playing over the speakers.

She comes over to him and runs her fingers up his spine. “Really tearing it up out here. I love how you move on the dancefloor.”

He quietly moans and turns to grab her waist, “You always think I look good, Mags. You always know how to get me there. I need somebody now.” He pushes her body close to his and begins dancing on her. She dances against him firmly, provoking his body to ignite with warmth and excitement.

She looks up at him with dilated pupils. She steps up on her tiptoes to whisper, “you wanna get out of here?” in his ear.

It doesn’t take much convincing, given both of their drunken states and late hour of the night. He nods his head and grabs her hand. Thankfully, Chris and Tracy were just leaving, so they wouldn’t miss anything exciting. He didn’t even think twice to look for cameras being pointed at him.

Chris hired a whole fleet of Ubers, so no one would have to worry about driving and driving. They hop in the first Uber they see outside and he slips the driver a twenty dollar bill.

“To the Omni, please.”

[dylan-hague]

Chapter 16

December 22nd, 2017. 7:44 PM.

Damian stood looking out his bedroom window at the city outside, now blanketed in a white powder. When Damian came to America, he was under the impression that snow simply wasn't something that happened in California. But, lo and behold, the forecast was calling for a White Christmas. Unbelievable. This, unfortunately, put a halt to his holiday plans. Damian's father had been planning on bringing Alfred up to the Tower to visit the boy, and Jon had hoped he'd be able to bring his family back to Jump, and the six of them could spend Christmas together... or rather, the seven of them. But when snow falls in Jump City, it apparently is enough to warrant a total shutdown of all the airports until weather conditions are clear again. So now, since his father didn't want him driving anywhere by himself, Damian was stuck in Titans Tower.

On Christmas.

Alone.

... Or at least, he would be alone if not for Raven. Though her aunt in New York had invited "Rachel" to spend the holidays with them, Raven decided to stay behind and join the Kents and Waynes in their celebration. Kori offered to bring Raven with her to Blüdhaven to visit Dick and Barbara, but still the girl insisted on staying behind. Truth be told, Damian had mixed feelings about it; on one hand, he would give anything for her to be there with him on Christmas. But on the other hand, it made Damian even more disappointed that their plans had fallen through. He felt as if, even though it was beyond his control, he'd let her down somehow.

Raven walked into Damian's room, wrapping her arms around him from behind and nuzzling his cheek. Damian's face turned just the slightest tint of red. Maybe it wasn't all bad; having the Tower to themselves for a week was nice, Damian had to admit. But still, the dissatisfaction was there.

"Damian," Raven spoke softly into Damian's ear. "It's alright. I don't mind spending Christmas with just you and me."

Damian turned his head towards the girl, touching his nose to hers. "I know you don't..." he sighed, putting his arms over hers. "But I wanted this to be special. I wanted you to feel like part of the family."

"I do," Raven assured him before pressing her lips to his cheek. "But sometimes things just happen that we can't fix. It's okay."

Damian turned around in Raven's arms, his own arms sliding around Raven's waist. "I promise, I'll make it up to you. I'll come up with something."

"Damian..." Raven held her forehead to his, and moved one hand onto the back of his neck. "I don't need you to make it up to me. You've given me so much more than I could ever ask of you."

Damian smiled at the wonderful girl in his arms. For being together for so long, it's actually rather curious that they never...

Oh... There's an idea.

"Grab a coat," Damian said as he stepped back and rushed over to his closet, pulling out a pair of regular, non-superheroic boots.

"What?" Raven cocked her head to the side just slightly. "Why? Where are we going?"

"Nowhere in particular," Damian said smiling. "I just feel like going for a walk."

...

If Autumn is the best time to be in Gotham, then Winter is the best time to be in Jump City. As Damian and Raven walked through Central Park, the snow falling all around them, Raven couldn't help noticing that they were the only ones out. Upon taking a second look around, Damian realized that, yes, everyone else was gone.

Raven shrugged, turning back to look at Damian. "Guess everyone else thinks it's too cold to be outside."

"What about you?" Damian asked. "Are you cold?"

Raven shrugged. "Demons are better at maintaining their body temperature. I'm not quite as gifted, given that I'm only a half-demon, but I can still stand the cold better than most. They call it the 'Vein-Fire'..." Raven glanced back at Damian. "What about you? Are you cold?"

"I'm used to extreme temperatures like this..." Damian explained. "First time I ever saw snow, I was four years old. Had to climb a mountain. Broke my wrist... but I made it to the top anyway."

"They made you keep going?" Raven looked at the boy with pity. Damian shook his head.

"I just... did. It was what was expected of me. It's what I expected of myself..." Damian kept his eyes to the ground. "I mean... from day one I was, above all things else, the grandson of Ra's al Ghul. It was my duty to be the absolute best, whatever the cost."

Raven stopped walking for a moment , staring at him. He turned back to face her, his face glum.

"... Raven, that's not me anymore. You know that's not me."

"I know it's not you," Raven took Damian's face in her hands, looking into his icy blue eyes. "You're a good man, Damian. You're ten times the man your grandfather was."

Damian smiled. "I wish I'd realized then how wrong I was. I had no idea..."

"You were a child," Raven went on. "You could never have known, because they never allowed you to learn any differently." She slid her hands down onto the boy's shoulders.

"... You're right... I'm sorry, let's just keep walking." Damian took Raven by the hand, and they continued walking along the pathway. "There's actually something I've been wondering about for awhile now."

Raven sighed, letting the focus shift away. "What's that?"

"In all the time we've known each other..." Damian cracked a half-smile as he spoke. "I've never actually heard you listen to music."

"Really?" Raven cocked an eyebrow in surprise. "I actually... well, no. I don't guess I do it that often." They both laughed as they came to a frozen puddle in the center of the park.

"... Hey, Damian. I have an idea." Raven started walking out into the snow, headed for the edge of the park. She had gone about ten paces before she realized Damian wasn't following her. She turned to see him, staring thoughtfully back at her.

"Damian?" She called out to him before coming back and taking his hands in hers. "What's the matter?"

Damian looked into her eyes, and saw something resembling a flash in the clouds of her irises. "Nothing, I just..." He smiled. "... I wanna remember this moment."

Raven's face turned red as a smile spread across her face. "C'mon. I wanna show you something."

...

"Alright... we're here."

Damian looked back to find that, much to his surprise, Raven had taken him all the way outside the city limits. If it had been anyone else, Damian would have been vastly more reluctant to come so far out without knowing what exactly he was getting into... but of course, this wasn't anyone else. This was Raven. She was the moon that brought the tides of his soul into balance. For her, he'd travel around the world a thousand times over on naught but a rumor. So instead he found himself sitting under a lone pine tree at the edge of this frozen pond, covered in snow, watching his Raven dig around underneath the powder beside him, searching for something of great importance. Her sudden jump, followed by frantic digging, (which inadvertently covered him deeper in the snow) indicated that she had found what she was looking for.

"Kori brought me here my first winter on the team," Raven explained. "She made me promise I'd use these one day if it ever got cold enough for the pond to freeze over."

She turned to Damian and, after holding back a laugh at seeing him nearly covered in snow, handed him a pair of ice skates. "Here, put these on." Damian smiled, seeing something akin to excitement behind Raven's eyes, and did as she said while Raven pulled out her phone.

"Wait... let me grab something right quick," Raven said before melding into the shadows. Damian sighed, brushing the snow from his coat while he waited. Just as he shook the rest of the cold powder from his person, Raven reemerged from the shadows, this time holding what looked to be a wireless speaker.

"I'm sure Garfield won't mind if we borrow this." The mage girl winked, and set the speaker down on the root Damian had been sitting on before fiddling around with her phone for a moment.

"Ah, is see what you have in mind!" Damian exclaimed. "This oughta be interesting. What might you listen to?"

Raven smiled back at the boy as she set her phone down by the speaker and took to the ice.

"I just hope it's better than that awful stuff Tim listens to," Damian went on sarcastically. "That pounding electric nonsense just gives me a--"

Damian fell silent as the calming sounds of an acoustic guitar began to fill the air.

"I hope this is okay," Raven said as she slowed her glide around the pond, gracefully approaching Damian with her hand outstretched. "This one helps me get to sleep at night." Damian offered a look of contentment as he took her hand, joining her on the frozen pond.

There on their own little stage, Damian and Raven began their secret performance. Raven slid across the frozen pond with a grace and elegance Damian was unaccustomed to. Damian, while not quite as graceful, still managed to keep steady as he moved across the ice. After a few circles around the pond, the two began to throw little twirls and such into their motions, and slowly they began to move in unison with the music. As the woman on the other end of the speaker wove a melancholy tale of fast cars and starting over, Damian and Raven danced around one another on the pond, slowly coming closer together in the center of the ice. As the music began to build, the two began to glide faster, and their circles around their stage drew in tighter. By the time the music was nearing its climax, the pair had come to the very center, and wet now spinning around and around, hand-in-hand, and pulled each other into an embrace just as the song playing around them reached its peak, slowing their rotations down gradually as the soft, dulcet tones of the guitar brought the song to an end. As the couple slowly spun in the center of the pond, Damian looked into Raven's eyes with a look of adoration and bliss-- something he'd never shown anyone before.

"Damian..." Raven's face turned a bright vermillion, her lips pulled into a bashful smile as she met her Damian's gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Damian gently pressed his forehead to hers as the next song began, a man going on over the sound of his guitar strings about showing your loved ones affection. "I just..." he spoke just softly enough that she could hear him. "... I'm going to remember this evening."

...

Raven sat by the window in the livingroom of the Tower, looking out as the snow continued to fall upon the city. This night started out on such a low note; Damian had been crushed when he realized his father wouldn't be there to join them. But by the time the two of them came home, Raven knew it had been the happiest Damian had felt in years... possibly his entire life. Raven knew they were young, that they both had many years of growing to do. But this... Raven knew in her heart, this feeling was real. This feeling, being with Damian, the way her heart fluttered when she looked into his eyes... that was all she wanted. He was hers, and she was his, and she couldn't stop the way she felt for her Damian any more than she could stop her heart from beating.

"Raven," she heard Damian call from the hallway. She turned back to see him carrying several things into the livingroom; in one hand he carried a blanket, and in the other he dragged a large bean bag chair behind him.

"Jonathan shouldn't mind us borrowing this," Damian said with a wink. Raven let out a laugh as she rose to greet him. Damian paused for a moment, then slowly pulled a small package out of the blanket, wrapped in snowflake wrapping paper.

"I know it's a few days early, but..." Damian looked deep into Raven's eyes as he spoke. "I couldn't think of a better way to top off the evening you gave me."

"Damian, you don't have to get me anything," the girl smiled back at him, holding the present to her chest.

"Well, you gave me something wonderful last year." Damian smirked. "I have to get even, you understand."

Raven just smiled and shook her head, carefully tearing away the wrapping paper to reveal...

"... what...?"

In Raven's hands was a handwritten letter in a frame. It showed signs of significant wear, but not necessarily from age. Raven held the letter carefully in her hands as she read it...

My sweet Damian,

I pray that your father sees fit to give you this letter someday. We may very well never meet again, and I need you to hear these words.

It will always be a burden on my heart that we cannot all be together. I know that your father will never share my beliefs about the League. I will always uphold the beliefs of your grandfather, and I will guide his people to his vision now that he is gone... but I realize now that, as hard as it is to admit, this is not the life I want for you. As a member of your grandfather's League, you would lose that which makes you even better than myself or your grandfather: your spirit. You are but a boy now, but someday, when you have learned well from your father, you will become what I can never be: hope. A man born of greatness, raised as a member of this world, able to give strength to those who have to strength left.

It breaks my heart to know that we fight on opposite sides, but I know that, no matter what time has in store for us, you will achieve wonders.

Stay strong, my son. I will love you always, to the very last beat of my heart.

Mother

In the bottom-left corner of the frame accompanying the letter was a small photograph. In the photograph was a beautiful young woman with long brown hair and vivid jade eyes. She looked down at a baby in her arms, with his first tufts of black hair growing in. Raven would know the child's icy blue eyes anywhere... the baby was wrapped not in a blanket, but what Raven could very clearly see was the tattered remnants of a scalloped black cape.

"You shared a little bit about your mother with me last year..." Damian spoke gently as he placed a hand on Raven's shoulder. "... I wanted to return the favor."

Raven gently set the gift down on the floor beside the bean bag chair, before turning back to her Damian, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She threw her arms around his neck as her emotions overflowed, surrounding them again in a brilliant amethyst light. Damian held her tightly, both of them closing their eyes and feeling the other's presence complete them.

Slowly, as the two pulled each other in closer, they began to lean in. This was it; this was their moment. His knees trembling, Damian gently pressed his lips to hers...

All at once, the both of them felt a wave of passion course through their entire bodies. The brilliant light emanating from Raven came to life, erupting into flashes and sparks that illuminated the whole floor of the tower like...

Fireworks.

As they pulled slowly away, Damian and Raven both found themselves trembling uncontrollably. Everything about it was perfect. They locked eyes, both of them turning the deepest shade of scarlet, smiles of pure warmth and love on both of their faces.

As the clock on the wall displayed 1:30 in the morning, the young Titans agreed that it was time to call this day complete. After turning out the lights around them, Damian and Raven curled up together in the bean bag chair, sharing the blanket. Raven continued to gaze out the window as the snow continued to fall, until she glanced over to see her Damian smiling back at her.

"Are you going to remember?" Raven whispered, a gentle smile on her face.

"Raven..." Damian whispered in reply. "... to the very last beat of my heart... I'll never forget this feeling."

[usamotorscycle-blog]

Church Of MO – 2004 XB12S: Cheddarheads Strike Again

Whenever he gets a chance, John Burns likes to ramble on about how much he likes Buellmotorcycles. The old ones, the new ones, it doesn’t matter. He’s a fan of Erik Buell’s vision and its execution. Case in point? JB’s review below of the 2004 Buell XB12S. A self-proclaimed lover of the XB9S, riding a bigger, better version of the XB-S around Road America left a big smile on his face. Hell, he still speaks fondly of it today. Check out what he has to say about it below, and for more pictures of the bike be sure to click on the photo gallery.    2004 XB12S: Cheddarheads Strike Again By John Burns Apr. 20, 2004 Like S. Langhorne Clemens, who came in with Halley’s Comet and went out with it, I, JB, had my first racetrack ride on a Buell (RR1000, circa 1990) and maybe my last on one the other day at Road America up in the Great White North upon the new XB12–both R and S versions. I may be hanging up the spurs, kids. I’m 43 and no longer on the Up escalator of the ol’ learning curve. I’ve always been a danger to myself, of course, but on Road America’s tight little “Motorplex” track, which is like a paved version of the 80cc track at Lake Elsinore MX Park and where we rode the S version of the bike, I also took out the correspondent for the Canadian version of “USA Today” (that’s got to be some excellent bedtime reading).

Johnnyb @Elkhart Lake, demonstrating the distinctive Burnsian style of lawn mowing. That’s right, just as I was thinking to myself, damn these Buells turn good on the brakes… I locked up the front and took the guy out like a bowling ball heading into a tight little right. I also took a handlebar in the chest, and for the first couple of weeks afterward it hurt almost too much to smoke. Hence, I was all set to announce my retirement when the phone rang just now: Erik Buell calling to tell me don’t feel so bad, Johnny, our timers said you were going faster than Don Canet at the time… This is of course, complete and utter crap and I bet Tripp (Tree’-up) Nobles put him up to it–and yet I shall grasp at this straw and believe it forever.

A nice new longer stroke takes the XB to 1203cc. Check the fatter exhaust headers… It could be true, if DC was testing low-rev carburetion during one of those laps where I cut the course. In any case, I’ll take it and in a few years will no doubt even believe it. It’ll be excellent when Canet and me are in the retirement home. As you may have noted in these pages, I was already probably the biggest fan in all of motojournalism re: the XB9S (and to a lesser degree the clip-on equipped R model). Mainly what’s going on with the new XB12 is stroking that loveable old lump of an air-cooled twin from 3.125 inches to 3.812 (leaving bores at 3.5 inches), thereby increasing displacement to 1203cc. A set of stronger new knife-and-fork connecting rods carry tough new pistons through those elongated strokes. A new larger-bore (49mm) intake tract with a pair of revised injectors stoke the intenal combustion proceedings, while 1.75-inch exhaust pipes replace the 1.5-inchers of before and expire into a new muffler with an electronically controlled valve like the ones on Japanese literbikes. The end result of all that, Buell says, is 24 percent more torque than the XB9 in a flatter curve, and 103 crankshaft horsepower. It’s kind of like the difference, Erik Buell grins, between a big-block Corvette and a small-block. American engineering.

If you see a thing like this getting bigger in your mirrors instead of smaller, it’s a good idea to stop for gas or something… Apart from that, the XB12’s (and the XB9’s as well) get a few detail improvements but nothing particularly major (save the $1K bump in price to $10,995). If you’re wide you’ll appreciate mirrors on two-inch longer stalks. There’s a tougher new final-drive belt, a longer peg on the shifter, lower passenger pegs… er, I think that’s it. Aesthetically, the 12’s sport very cool “translucent amber” wheels which sort of glow in the dark compared to conventional gold anodized ones, and to an easily amused by shiny objects person like myself, the effect against the dark gray fuel-in frame is very nice–particularly set against my favorite thing about these bikes, which is that they are tiny.

Well it’s certainly no SV650 or VFR Honda, but there is a certain appeal. I could be biased, maybe I’m just overtaken by a wave of patriotism or nostalgia or something. My wife is from Wisconsin, but I like the place and the people there anyway. New bikes normally get introduced around January / February, which generally means press introes have to happen in Mediterranean or southern hemisphere climes, and I’m not complaining but the whole thing always winds up feeling a bit alien and jet-lagged. Buell does things differently, and so it’s the exceedingly lovely, green Road America in mid-June–right down the road from the East Troy Buell digs–and never mind that one of the fastest road circuits in North America might be the last place you’d want to showcase anything powered by what’s basically a Harley-Davidson Sportster motor.

Here, the XB12R goes around a corner. After all the highly regimented Japanese-bike launches I’ve been on, this one was like a family picnic, with Paul James the Buell PR guy showing un-PR-guy speed on the track, and Erik would’ve been out there too if not for a ruptured disc in his back which did not keep him from giggling like a big kid the whole time anyway. Even if the new XB doesn’t have the very latest in motive power, the very advanced things it does have in its favor mean it’s still an absolute blast to ride around the track, and 140 mph on the clock into Canada Corner, at the end of the long, tree-lined backstraight doesn’t seem particularly slow to me in my advanced state of decay. Like the XB9 but 24 percent moreso, the XB12 is sort of sneaky fast: The red zone on the tach is set at 7000 instead of 7500 rpm, and so there aren’t really any aural clues to back up the visual ones of the scenery hurrying past. Whatever. The slightly heavier yet still short-wheelbased, quick-turning little mass-compacted Buell is still one of my favorite bikes to flog whatever the venue. Dunlop D207 tires are passé at this point, even déclassé–and yet when I looked to see what kind of sticky tires we were riding on after a couple of sessions, there they were (special versions for Buell). It’s just such an excellently balanced little machine. (Buell says suspension for XB9 and XB12 is identical.) And just like the XB9, the thing is completely unruffled by bumps, and completely stable come hell or high water–amazingly so for a bike with a 52-inch wheelbase, 21-degree rake and 83mm trail. Must be some sort of highly advanced engineering going on here…

Here the XB9S, with actual handlebar and lower footpegs, goes around a corner. Through Road America’s big fast Carousel, the XB could carry as much speed as you could drum up on the way in, feeding in more throttle all the way around and not sliding so much as gravitating outside by the time you get to the exit. There toward the end of the day I was dragging the right footpeg feeler quite a bit–the only thing on the Buell you can drag without crashing on street tires, I think, and only when your knee puck is molten. I was thinking more aggressive brake pads might be a good thing right up until I locked the front in my aforementioned “accident” over at the kiddie track. Shifting is still the Buell Achilles Heel, and I have to say it seems a little worse on the heavier-crankshafted 1200. I mean, the bikes do shift, but with more effort than a Ducati or Japanese bike. Our XB9S got better with a few thousand miles on the odometer, and I also know you won’t be shifting the big 1200 nearly as much on the street as you do on the track, especially on a long, fast one like Road America when you’re trying to catch somebody… it’s all fine until you start trying to squeeze that last little bit of time out of the tube; if you’re not paying attention (and using the clutch a little bit), it’s easy to get hung up between second and third. I hate to say it, but you get used to the way the things shift, really, and the bikes have so many redeeming features… Page 2 By Johnny B Struggling for acceptance, getting it, having it yanked back from time to time… I think I learned more about people, and how things really work, in my year here at MO than in all the other years at other occupations. It was very interesting to go from a big print magazine to MO, with its somewhat checkered past and slightly irreverent editorial policy. When the shiznit hits the rotary oscillator, you find out who your friends are, and I like to think I’ve learned to recognize the signs for future reference. Look out for people, for example, who have tremendous respect for you. Be wary of those who are doing things to you for your own good, who’d like to help you but whose hands are tied.

And on a personal note… Trust people whose actions show respect, and those who actually do things to help you. “No Time for Sergeants” and Catch 22, it turns out, were not farces. If you are starting out in a professional career, study them carefully. When you rock your canoe, it sends ripples out across the lake, ripples that rock other peoples’ canoes. My favorite people in this business are the boat-rockers, all of whom are destined mostly to remain upon the lower rungs. Sad? Maybe not. I’ve had more fun over the years with those people than I ever dreamed possible–riding Hayabusas at Catalunya, R1’s at Valencia (and Catalunya too, come to think), Mille R’s at Homestead, pursuing lactating Croatian strippers in Rimini, hurling BMW’s into rushing mountain streams.

Burns’ Anthology I must’ve been on a couple hundred bike launches and extended jaunts while the Adults were stuck politicking in smoky backrooms, doing whatever they do to preserve the fiefdom. The internet is a revolutionary medium, period. As a low-tech sort of points and carburetors guy myself, it continues to amaze me how many people don’t believe it. Want to see your own work in print? Hell’s bells man, write it up, click on News, then Post Article — and you can be a published author the next day on MO, there to be instantly pilloried and underpaid just like a real magazine writer. Speaking of which, do you think for a minute that the run-of-the-mill motorcycle magazine writer has got anything on the Aerodynamic Head? On The Highwayman? Two words: Reader Feedback. Who wouldn’t pay $11.94 to watch Boehm and Kpaul square off in a battle of wits? Oh well, story of my life, really–big ideas, no execution. I know MO and a hot mug o’ Starbucks will be right there beside me in my new cubicle. I hope to continue to do some Cycle World stuff too. A man’s got to know his limitations, and maybe I am a better writer than I am an Editor. All I want is a slice of motorcycle now and then, not the whole damn pie. Say, what sort of retirement speech is this turning into anyway? I’m not sure if I’m retiring or not, really… but in case I am all I want to express is a huge and humble Thank You to all of you who caused my head to swell over the years by liking my “work” and taking the time to say so. Words can’t express how cool it’s been for a law school dropout seriously considering the US Postal Service to have backed into such a fantastic line of work, Phil Schilling you old dog. So, ah, wish me luck in the ad bizness. I may be back with my tail between my legs in a month or two. Thanks to the internet and MO, when I say I’ll be in touch I mean it. Go back to your homes, and if you make as good citizens as you have Morons, you’ll all do fine. —  

Here is some guy named Craig Jones. He does reasonably proficient wheelies and things of that crazy nature.

Right, old-fashioned. Uh-huh, underpowered, whatever. This is a helluva fun motorcycle engine, and American too.  

This wheel tire/assembly, complete with Buell’s Zero Torsional Load brake, is really really light. Simplify… Anyway, does Buell still market these as “Streetfighters” or what? In the typical Californian canyon, I’d wager, the XB12 should be just as excellent a tool and even better than the XB9–particularly the S model. (Personally, I can’t think of a reason to buy the R over it.) Right, it only revs to 7000 rpm, but there’s probably just as much torque at around 3000 rpm. In the new kink they built following the Carousel at RA, I can’t think of a bike that would be easier to turn in, flick back to the right instantly, and whack the gas back on hard, with less fear of disaster. The whole Buell just sort of rotates within its own axis–it’s that Buell Trilogy thing in action, low yaw and pitch and all that, achieved by keeping things at the ends exceedingly light–and the low-revving beast just goes Bwaaaa… and spins the tire a little without SPINNING the tire, and off you go down the back straight. At the end of the day, the Buell might not be the fastest way around the track if you’re an advanced rider, and the more advanced you are the bigger the gap would grow… but the big But is that if you’re not Mat Mladin or somebody, and have no real ambition of being him, the Buell is just easy to ride and hugely forgiving. Okay, forgiving up to a certain point of stupid, which I managed to exceed. But on the street, where there aren’t any high-speed straights–the tighter the road, the more fits this XB12 will give bigger more powerful bikes. Reliability-wise, I refuse to go there with you people again.

Craig says to keep your weight over the front when you’re burning up rear tires. The quality of these new Buells, beginning with the Blast, is apparently greatly improved. I have noted, maybe along with you, that scattered among the Buell “Reader Feedbacks” which slam Buell reliability every time the topic comes up, is a near-complete, yawning dearth of complaints from people who actually own new ones. At the end of the day it’s just refreshing, after a brat and some beers, to stroll from the lovely Osthoff Resort on the lake to downtown Elkhart Lake and pound some more beers with the ex-college football player types like Tim Osterberg and Dan Grein who built the thing, and who now have excellent raccoon eyes from being in the sun all day in fashion eyewear. Who knew those guys had brains too?

7000 rpm is good for a big-block Corvette. “It’s all about the low-rpm and the midrange, and in those departments it’ll be tough to top a 1203 Buell…” Abe Askenazi’s of Syrian descent by way of Mexico, but assimilating nicely and, in fact, breeding in the Wisconsin wild. More cheese curds anybody? I remember dancing, even, with a third-grade teacher in a tube top, and after that it all became a blur. In today’s corporate climate, the whole Buell attitude is hugely refreshing, and in fact it’s that David v. Goliath attitude that made the XB possible. Nobody told Buell they couldn’t build this bike. If Honda had tried to build an XB9/12, it would’ve wound up being a Pacific Coast with fuel and oil stored in an outrigger or something equally watered-down. And the fact that Buell does it with such an anachronistic engine makes it, to me, that much more interesting, and that much more an accomplishment. No doubt there’s a liquid-cooled Buell down the road, who knows when? In the meantime, I’m not getting any younger, I’ve got no time to wait–and anyway I like the air-cooled Ducati Monsters better than the quattrovalvole ones. Here in the world, it’s all about the low-rpm and the midrange, and in those departments it’ll be tough to top a 1203 Buell with a few choice aftermarket pieces, of which there are about a million. For those who say an air-cooled engine can’t pass emissions, Buell points out this one comes in “substantially below 2004 CARB/Euro II limits without secondary air injection or catalyst.” If I picked a Motorcycle of the Year for the Actual World, I have to tell you I think this one would be it. On the other hand, now’s the time to get a smokin’ deal on an XB9S… Click to Post

[totallymotorbikes]

Church Of MO 2004 XB12S: Cheddarheads Strike Again Whenever he gets a chance, John Burns likes to ramble on about how much he likes Buell motorcycles. The old ones, the new ones, it doesn’t matter. He’s a fan of Erik Buell’s vision and its execution. Case in point? JB’s review below of the 2004 Buell XB12S. A self-proclaimed lover of the XB9S, riding a bigger, better version of the XB-S around Road America left a big smile on his face. Hell, he still speaks fondly of it today. Check out what he has to say about it below, and for more pictures of the bike be sure to click on the photo gallery. 2004 XB12S: Cheddarheads Strike Again By John Burns Apr. 20, 2004 Like S. Langhorne Clemens, who came in with Halley’s Comet and went out with it, I, JB, had my first racetrack ride on a Buell (RR1000, circa 1990) and maybe my last on one the other day at Road America up in the Great White North upon the new XB12–both R and S versions. I may be hanging up the spurs, kids. I’m 43 and no longer on the Up escalator of the ol’ learning curve. I’ve always been a danger to myself, of course, but on Road America’s tight little “Motorplex” track, which is like a paved version of the 80cc track at Lake Elsinore MX Park and where we rode the S version of the bike, I also took out the correspondent for the Canadian version of “USA Today” (that’s got to be some excellent bedtime reading). Johnnyb @Elkhart Lake, demonstrating the distinctive Burnsian style of lawn mowing. That’s right, just as I was thinking to myself, damn these Buells turn good on the brakes… I locked up the front and took the guy out like a bowling ball heading into a tight little right. I also took a handlebar in the chest, and for the first couple of weeks afterward it hurt almost too much to smoke. Hence, I was all set to announce my retirement when the phone rang just now: Erik Buell calling to tell me don’t feel so bad, Johnny, our timers said you were going faster than Don Canet at the time… This is of course, complete and utter crap and I bet Tripp (Tree’-up) Nobles put him up to it–and yet I shall grasp at this straw and believe it forever. A nice new longer stroke takes the XB to 1203cc. Check the fatter exhaust headers… It could be true, if DC was testing low-rev carburetion during one of those laps where I cut the course. In any case, I’ll take it and in a few years will no doubt even believe it. It’ll be excellent when Canet and me are in the retirement home. As you may have noted in these pages, I was already probably the biggest fan in all of motojournalism re: the XB9S (and to a lesser degree the clip-on equipped R model). Mainly what’s going on with the new XB12 is stroking that loveable old lump of an air-cooled twin from 3.125 inches to 3.812 (leaving bores at 3.5 inches), thereby increasing displacement to 1203cc. A set of stronger new knife-and-fork connecting rods carry tough new pistons through those elongated strokes. A new larger-bore (49mm) intake tract with a pair of revised injectors stoke the intenal combustion proceedings, while 1.75-inch exhaust pipes replace the 1.5-inchers of before and expire into a new muffler with an electronically controlled valve like the ones on Japanese literbikes. The end result of all that, Buell says, is 24 percent more torque than the XB9 in a flatter curve, and 103 crankshaft horsepower. It’s kind of like the difference, Erik Buell grins, between a big-block Corvette and a small-block. American engineering. If you see a thing like this getting bigger in your mirrors instead of smaller, it’s a good idea to stop for gas or something… Apart from that, the XB12’s (and the XB9’s as well) get a few detail improvements but nothing particularly major (save the $1K bump in price to $10,995). If you’re wide you’ll appreciate mirrors on two-inch longer stalks. There’s a tougher new final-drive belt, a longer peg on the shifter, lower passenger pegs… er, I think that’s it. Aesthetically, the 12’s sport very cool “translucent amber” wheels which sort of glow in the dark compared to conventional gold anodized ones, and to an easily amused by shiny objects person like myself, the effect against the dark gray fuel-in frame is very nice–particularly set against my favorite thing about these bikes, which is that they are tiny. Well it’s certainly no SV650 or VFR Honda, but there is a certain appeal. I could be biased, maybe I’m just overtaken by a wave of patriotism or nostalgia or something. My wife is from Wisconsin, but I like the place and the people there anyway. New bikes normally get introduced around January / February, which generally means press introes have to happen in Mediterranean or southern hemisphere climes, and I’m not complaining but the whole thing always winds up feeling a bit alien and jet-lagged. Buell does things differently, and so it’s the exceedingly lovely, green Road America in mid-June–right down the road from the East Troy Buell digs–and never mind that one of the fastest road circuits in North America might be the last place you’d want to showcase anything powered by what’s basically a Harley-Davidson Sportster motor. Here, the XB12R goes around a corner. After all the highly regimented Japanese-bike launches I’ve been on, this one was like a family picnic, with Paul James the Buell PR guy showing un-PR-guy speed on the track, and Erik would’ve been out there too if not for a ruptured disc in his back which did not keep him from giggling like a big kid the whole time anyway. Even if the new XB doesn’t have the very latest in motive power, the very advanced things it does have in its favor mean it’s still an absolute blast to ride around the track, and 140 mph on the clock into Canada Corner, at the end of the long, tree-lined backstraight doesn’t seem particularly slow to me in my advanced state of decay. Like the XB9 but 24 percent moreso, the XB12 is sort of sneaky fast: The red zone on the tach is set at 7000 instead of 7500 rpm, and so there aren’t really any aural clues to back up the visual ones of the scenery hurrying past. Whatever. The slightly heavier yet still short-wheelbased, quick-turning little mass-compacted Buell is still one of my favorite bikes to flog whatever the venue. Dunlop D207 tires are passé at this point, even déclassé–and yet when I looked to see what kind of sticky tires we were riding on after a couple of sessions, there they were (special versions for Buell). It’s just such an excellently balanced little machine. (Buell says suspension for XB9 and XB12 is identical.) And just like the XB9, the thing is completely unruffled by bumps, and completely stable come hell or high water–amazingly so for a bike with a 52-inch wheelbase, 21-degree rake and 83mm trail. Must be some sort of highly advanced engineering going on here… Here the XB9S, with actual handlebar and lower footpegs, goes around a corner. Through Road America’s big fast Carousel, the XB could carry as much speed as you could drum up on the way in, feeding in more throttle all the way around and not sliding so much as gravitating outside by the time you get to the exit. There toward the end of the day I was dragging the right footpeg feeler quite a bit–the only thing on the Buell you can drag without crashing on street tires, I think, and only when your knee puck is molten. I was thinking more aggressive brake pads might be a good thing right up until I locked the front in my aforementioned “accident” over at the kiddie track. Shifting is still the Buell Achilles Heel, and I have to say it seems a little worse on the heavier-crankshafted 1200. I mean, the bikes do shift, but with more effort than a Ducati or Japanese bike. Our XB9S got better with a few thousand miles on the odometer, and I also know you won’t be shifting the big 1200 nearly as much on the street as you do on the track, especially on a long, fast one like Road America when you’re trying to catch somebody… it’s all fine until you start trying to squeeze that last little bit of time out of the tube; if you’re not paying attention (and using the clutch a little bit), it’s easy to get hung up between second and third. I hate to say it, but you get used to the way the things shift, really, and the bikes have so many redeeming features… Page 2 By Johnny B Struggling for acceptance, getting it, having it yanked back from time to time… I think I learned more about people, and how things really work, in my year here at MO than in all the other years at other occupations. It was very interesting to go from a big print magazine to MO, with its somewhat checkered past and slightly irreverent editorial policy. When the shiznit hits the rotary oscillator, you find out who your friends are, and I like to think I’ve learned to recognize the signs for future reference. Look out for people, for example, who have tremendous respect for you. Be wary of those who are doing things to you for your own good, who’d like to help you but whose hands are tied. And on a personal note… Trust people whose actions show respect, and those who actually do things to help you. “No Time for Sergeants” and Catch 22, it turns out, were not farces. If you are starting out in a professional career, study them carefully. When you rock your canoe, it sends ripples out across the lake, ripples that rock other peoples’ canoes. My favorite people in this business are the boat-rockers, all of whom are destined mostly to remain upon the lower rungs. Sad? Maybe not. I’ve had more fun over the years with those people than I ever dreamed possible–riding Hayabusas at Catalunya, R1’s at Valencia (and Catalunya too, come to think), Mille R’s at Homestead, pursuing lactating Croatian strippers in Rimini, hurling BMW’s into rushing mountain streams. Burns’ Anthology I must’ve been on a couple hundred bike launches and extended jaunts while the Adults were stuck politicking in smoky backrooms, doing whatever they do to preserve the fiefdom. The internet is a revolutionary medium, period. As a low-tech sort of points and carburetors guy myself, it continues to amaze me how many people don’t believe it. Want to see your own work in print? Hell’s bells man, write it up, click on News, then Post Article — and you can be a published author the next day on MO, there to be instantly pilloried and underpaid just like a real magazine writer. Speaking of which, do you think for a minute that the run-of-the-mill motorcycle magazine writer has got anything on the Aerodynamic Head? On The Highwayman? Two words: Reader Feedback. Who wouldn’t pay $11.94 to watch Boehm and Kpaul square off in a battle of wits? Oh well, story of my life, really–big ideas, no execution. I know MO and a hot mug o’ Starbucks will be right there beside me in my new cubicle. I hope to continue to do some Cycle World stuff too. A man’s got to know his limitations, and maybe I am a better writer than I am an Editor. All I want is a slice of motorcycle now and then, not the whole damn pie. Say, what sort of retirement speech is this turning into anyway? I’m not sure if I’m retiring or not, really… but in case I am all I want to express is a huge and humble Thank You to all of you who caused my head to swell over the years by liking my “work” and taking the time to say so. Words can’t express how cool it’s been for a law school dropout seriously considering the US Postal Service to have backed into such a fantastic line of work, Phil Schilling you old dog. So, ah, wish me luck in the ad bizness. I may be back with my tail between my legs in a month or two. Thanks to the internet and MO, when I say I’ll be in touch I mean it. Go back to your homes, and if you make as good citizens as you have Morons, you’ll all do fine. — Here is some guy named Craig Jones. He does reasonably proficient wheelies and things of that crazy nature. Right, old-fashioned. Uh-huh, underpowered, whatever. This is a helluva fun motorcycle engine, and American too. This wheel tire/assembly, complete with Buell’s Zero Torsional Load brake, is really really light. Simplify… Anyway, does Buell still market these as “Streetfighters” or what? In the typical Californian canyon, I’d wager, the XB12 should be just as excellent a tool and even better than the XB9–particularly the S model. (Personally, I can’t think of a reason to buy the R over it.) Right, it only revs to 7000 rpm, but there’s probably just as much torque at around 3000 rpm. In the new kink they built following the Carousel at RA, I can’t think of a bike that would be easier to turn in, flick back to the right instantly, and whack the gas back on hard, with less fear of disaster. The whole Buell just sort of rotates within its own axis–it’s that Buell Trilogy thing in action, low yaw and pitch and all that, achieved by keeping things at the ends exceedingly light–and the low-revving beast just goes Bwaaaa… and spins the tire a little without SPINNING the tire, and off you go down the back straight. At the end of the day, the Buell might not be the fastest way around the track if you’re an advanced rider, and the more advanced you are the bigger the gap would grow… but the big But is that if you’re not Mat Mladin or somebody, and have no real ambition of being him, the Buell is just easy to ride and hugely forgiving. Okay, forgiving up to a certain point of stupid, which I managed to exceed. But on the street, where there aren’t any high-speed straights–the tighter the road, the more fits this XB12 will give bigger more powerful bikes. Reliability-wise, I refuse to go there with you people again. Craig says to keep your weight over the front when you’re burning up rear tires. The quality of these new Buells, beginning with the Blast, is apparently greatly improved. I have noted, maybe along with you, that scattered among the Buell “Reader Feedbacks” which slam Buell reliability every time the topic comes up, is a near-complete, yawning dearth of complaints from people who actually own new ones. At the end of the day it’s just refreshing, after a brat and some beers, to stroll from the lovely Osthoff Resort on the lake to downtown Elkhart Lake and pound some more beers with the ex-college football player types like Tim Osterberg and Dan Grein who built the thing, and who now have excellent raccoon eyes from being in the sun all day in fashion eyewear. Who knew those guys had brains too? 7000 rpm is good for a big-block Corvette. “It’s all about the low-rpm and the midrange, and in those departments it’ll be tough to top a 1203 Buell…” Abe Askenazi’s of Syrian descent by way of Mexico, but assimilating nicely and, in fact, breeding in the Wisconsin wild. More cheese curds anybody? I remember dancing, even, with a third-grade teacher in a tube top, and after that it all became a blur. In today’s corporate climate, the whole Buell attitude is hugely refreshing, and in fact it’s that David v. Goliath attitude that made the XB possible. Nobody told Buell they couldn’t build this bike. If Honda had tried to build an XB9/12, it would’ve wound up being a Pacific Coast with fuel and oil stored in an outrigger or something equally watered-down. And the fact that Buell does it with such an anachronistic engine makes it, to me, that much more interesting, and that much more an accomplishment. No doubt there’s a liquid-cooled Buell down the road, who knows when? In the meantime, I’m not getting any younger, I’ve got no time to wait–and anyway I like the air-cooled Ducati Monsters better than the quattrovalvole ones. Here in the world, it’s all about the low-rpm and the midrange, and in those departments it’ll be tough to top a 1203 Buell with a few choice aftermarket pieces, of which there are about a million. For those who say an air-cooled engine can’t pass emissions, Buell points out this one comes in “substantially below 2004 CARB/Euro II limits without secondary air injection or catalyst.” If I picked a Motorcycle of the Year for the Actual World, I have to tell you I think this one would be it. On the other hand, now’s the time to get a smokin’ deal on an XB9S… Church Of MO – 2004 XB12S: Cheddarheads Strike Again appeared first on Motorcycle.com.