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painted-bees · 8 months

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August 12, 2008.

Magritte had only ever heard good things about Vancouver's Granville Island and so, naturally, it was the first place she set out to find upon arriving in the city. The Greyhound station her bus pulled into had been only a short walk from the Skytrain that would carry her two minutes to Granville Station. And it was here that Magritte had the good sense to find a nice, unintrusive space to sit cross-legged and lay her old, faithful piano keyboard across her lap.

The instrument, pulled out of its cozy bed from within her large duffel bag, was a well loved Yamaha PSS-270. Its dull, black, plastic body was covered in ancient, disintegrating stickers, and a generous amount of electrical tape served to hold its batteries in place.

With an affectionate press of a button, she woke the machine up from its slumber, selected her choice presets and, with no specific setlist in mind, began to improvise a little tune. Something cute and fun, perhaps a little bit like Donkey Kong’s Stickerbrush Symphony in tempo and progression. Or just…”Stickerbrush Symphony”, wholesale, why the hell not? Improvisation melted seamlessly into the classic video game tunes that were fondly familiar to her.

The beloved instrument cradled in Magritte’s lap had been pulled apart and reassembled more times than she kept track of. But still, it held together and played its charming FM sounds dutifully. A tidy row of silver metal switches, lined up along the side of its body, were left carefully undisturbed as her fingers danced across the yellowed plastic keys. Magritte had learned very early in her busking career that the general public did not appreciate the unpredictable discordinance of a bent circuit as much as she did. And so that row of silver little switches connecting the data lines stood stoically in their ‘on’ position, not allowing for any delightful surprises, but also not deteriorating the synth-chip’s sound into glitchy noise on a bad turn. Perfectly vanilla, perfectly agreeable, endearingly nostalgic.

She had placed an old ball cap upside down infront of her, tossing in a few quarters of her own as a way of inviting more from friendly pockets. Ideally, she’d play an hour or two and leave with enough change to buy a coffee. Not just a Tim’s coffee–no. She wanted a decadent foamy latte from a cute, artsy little cafe she could sit in. She couldn’t bear to walk through the streets of Granville Island without having the spare change to treat herself on an impulse. And so–she’d not leave the train station until the passing public funded her frivolous spending habits.

After all, it was her birthday. She deserved a little gift.

Busking in a transit station was always a bit of a trade-off. It was a bustling place full of foot traffic but the people here were focused on reaching their destination; busy and preoccupied. In a place like this, Magritte had no expectation to captivate loiterers. Not many transit-goers could spare a minute or two to sit and listen while she hammered out her cheap little tunes on cheap little piano keys. And so, when a well worn pair of tan colored, loose-laced Timberlands entered her field of vision, stopping definitively to stand before her, Magritte turned her gaze upward to welcome the listener with a wide, sloppy smile.

Without giving her brain time to register the face she was speaking to, Magritte opened her mouth to chime a cheery greeting. She was cut off faster than she could process his expression.

“You’re in my spot.”

The man’s voice was curt, and the cold annoyance in his tone was mirrored in the expression on his short, square face. Pale blue eyes looked down a sharp, slightly bent nose at her. His narrow lips were pressed narrower still in a stern line, framed by a full, sandy colored beard and moustache. Atop his head, long hair of the same light color was pulled back into a small, tight bun; more slick and tidy, but far less full than the sloppy bun that Magritte’s unruly mane of curly rust colored hair had been wrangled up into.

Her dorky smirk dissolved with a few confused blinks into a slack jaw of nervous apology. “O-oh! I uh-s-sorry!”

Her startled gaze snagged itself on the acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder, and the instrument’s exciting potential made her straighten her back with intent.

She found her smile again. “What if–maybe we could jam? For a few minutes! And then I can scoot on outta here and leave you to it if you want. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the chance to–”

“Do you have a permit?” His tone was unchanged by her eager proposition.

“Huh?” It wasn’t that Magritte didn’t hear him, but she needed a moment to process what was being asked.

“You can’t be here without a permit. Not the stations, not anywhere in Granville either.” The unaccommodating man took a few steps towards her duffel bag and used the top of his foot to lift and slide it away from where she had safely tucked it. “Get a move on.”

Magritte protectively reached out to grab her bag as the man carelessly footed it out of ‘his’ space. And in doing so, she caused her keyboard to slide off her lap, forcing her to clumsily abort her duffel-grabbing effort in favor of clutching her instrument before it could somersault over the edge of her knees and land face-down onto hard ground.

The man, it seemed, was done with words and had already begun moving into the small space that shoving her bag out of the way had created. She felt her face turn hot as she began to gather up her items. Any desire to engage the guy more than she already had was lost along with her nerve.

As she relented to stowing her keyboard back into her duffel bag, an unfamiliar hand shoved a cold, unopened can of Coke in front of her face.

“Here you go.” Another man’s voice. A softer one, this time. Magritte glanced up to meet eyes with the stranger who was offering her a free drink, only to gaze into a pair of red, plastic, star shaped dollar store sunglasses.

He gave the soda can a little shake, prompting her to take it into her hands. “Sorry I took long, I had to give someone directions to the aquarium.”

“Is this…for me?” Holding the can in both hands, Magritte stared at the unopened beverage, unsure what to do with it.

The new stranger leaned onto his back foot. “You said coke, right?”

Before Magritte could stammer out a response, the new stranger turned his attention to the man with the guitar. “‘Ey, Kurtis. You mind, dude?”

The unaccommodating man, ‘Kurtis’, had just started settling in, and looked towards the new stranger with an expression that appeared as perplexed as Magritte herself felt. He turned up both his palms in a slightly contentious gesture. “Didn’t know you were playin’ here again. I’ve had this spot for, like, a year. People don’t usually park here without asking me first.”

“Okay, but you can’t just kick ‘em out like this, man.”

“I didn’t know she was with you–”

“Doesn’t matter,” Magritte’s new best friend replied. “Sixty minutes. It’s not a long time to wait if you gotta wait.”

Magritte, who had been watching Kurtis’ confidence slowly drain from his body with each passing second, turned to examine the cut of her spontaneous new accomplice. His hair was a shade or two darker than Kurtis’, and trimmed much, much shorter, with longer locks in front that fell in straight tufts over the tops of his ears and just past his thick, blocky eyebrows. His eyes remained obscured by the cheap plastic shades, and their childish novelty paired strangely with the well trimmed goatee that fanned out from under his lip to define the curve of his somewhat long but gentle chin. And he had with him a rectangular instrument case of…some variety. Not big enough for a guitar, not small enough for a flute. It didn’t give away the shape of the instrument inside, but the black oxford cloth and gold colored metallic detailings of its exterior gave it a classy, charming look she had not seen for an instrument case before. It was cute. Magritte wondered if such a style was available for portable keyboards.

His hands, which wore white fingerless driving gloves, cracked open his can of sprite, and he took a casual sip while waiting for Kurtis to, “Get a move on.”

Relenting, Kurtis shuffled away from the spot he had been deliberately crowding Magritte out of. With a snort and a nod of his head towards her, Kurtis said, “Can’t exactly play Paganini on a Portasound, Raf. What’s on your setlist?”

Raf brandished a lopsided smirk and jutted his chin in the direction of Magritte’s upturned hat on the ground. “Put a toonie down and I’ll show you.”

“Fuck off.” Kurtis’s scoff was accompanied by a laugh–one that sounded surprisingly genuine to Magritte's ear. “I came here to earn change, not spend it. But I’m curious to hear how the Ephrem Classical pairs with Toy Piano.”

Raf let out a low groan that could have been mistaken for a growl. Moving into the corner that Kurtis had surrendered, he unslung his instrument off his shoulder with a shrug. “There’s plenty you can play on just forty-nine keys.”

Being very confident about this fact, Magritte couldn’t help but provide her insight on the matter. With an enthusiastic lean-in, she interjected, “Yeah, like Kirby’s Dreamland!”

Raf’s head flinched in her direction almost imperceptibly, and if she had caught the subtle downward twitch of his eyebrows that betrayed a pang of confusion, she might have felt a bite of embarrassment. But instead, she heard him agree. “Like…Kirby’s Dreamland, yeah.”

He turned to look over his shoulder at her, his sunglasses mercifully hiding the bafflement in his eyes. Magritte beamed gleefully back up at him.

“Well, have fun.” Kurtis levelled a stern yet somewhat pleading glance at Raf.” I’ll be back here in an hour. Don’t let anyone else move in if you leave early, please.”

Raf simply shrugged and sipped loudly from his can of sprite in response.

As Magritte watched Kurtis disappear into the foot traffic, she began to tentatively scoot back towards where she had previously sat. “I didn’t mind giving that guy his spot back, he was just kinda–”

“A dick. Nah, I saw that. S’why I stepped in.” Raf had carefully set his instrument case down, and was in the process of zipping it open.

Leaning slightly to get a peek at what he was playing, Magritte said, “Thanks for the pop, by the way! I can pay you back after. If uh–you’re actually gonna stick around and jam with me.”

He pulled his instrument out of its protective cradle; a pale varnished wooden violin. “Don’t worry about it.”

Inside the carrying case, Magritte noticed two bows neatly stowed. The bowstrings on the bow Raf selected was a standard white color, but the strings on the one he left in the case were an eye-catching red.

“Truth be told,” tucking the chin rest of the violin beneath his chin, he played one string, and then two experimentally, “I don’t really play anymore.” His fingers closed around one of the tuning knobs at the head of the violin, but if he had tweaked it at all, it wasn't perceptible. “So it’s gonna be pretty rough. But uh…gotta commit to the bit, I guess.”

Magritte took the moment to open her soda and enjoy a refreshing sip. “What kinda music do you normally play?”

“Classical,” he replied almost too quickly. “You?”

Magritte hesitated for a second. She should have had an easy answer for this by now, but all she could manage was, “a bit of everything. Anything, really!”

Raf ran his bow over the strings again to hear their tune before turning to look at her. “Yeah?” His eyebrows were raised, and his smirk favored one side of his face; an expression Magritte interpreted as incredulous. He fidgeted with a tiny, lone knob on the violin's body where the strings ended.

“Y-yeah! I, um…” Settling her keyboard back into her lap, she turned it on. “You can just play whatever, and I can fill it in. I can improvise, I think.”

Raf paused and stared down at Magritte’s little Portasound with a sigh much heavier than he intended. The thing was lacking, not just in keys, but in sound. It was a struggle to think of something he could play that she’d be able to accompany. The titles which did come to mind where…overplayed and would have to be simplified considerably to suit the keyboard's limitations. Weighing it in his mind, however, he decided that ‘simple’ may benefit not just the limited range of her instrument, but of her musical skill as well.

He ran the bow over his strings to measure their tune one last time before tentatively, very slowly playing the first few crystalline notes of Für Elise. He felt a tension he didn’t know he was holding melt off his shoulders as he watched Magritte’s face light up. She curled over her little piano in a hurry to play his accompaniment. She knew this one.

She picked a soft, more ambient sound from the keyboard’s voicebank, electing to quietly cushion the violin’s notes rather than chafe against them. It was…difficult. Her little yamaha and its quaint library of FM chip sounds did not get along nicely with ‘real instruments’ that were being played ‘straight’. It wanted to be weird and annoying, just like her. But the notes Raf played, while simple, were extremely clear in tone; neat and tidy. The bow did not once stutter on the rough strings, it glided with practised ease. And with a great deal of restraint.

This guy…he was playing beneath his skill level. For her sake, presumably. Like a gentleman.

As Raf brought Für Elise to a close with the last, steady draw of his bow, Magritte swapped her soft, ambient voicing out with an annoying music box sound, and began hammering out a choice section from the 3rd movement of Appassionata. Her fingers slammed the keys harder than was necessary, solely because she enjoyed the percussive sound it added to each obnoxious, feverish note.

Lowering his violin, Raf watched Magritte’s fingers flutter furiously across the mini keys with respectable precision. Holding both the bow and the neck of his violin in one hand, his free hand reached up to remove his sunglasses and he rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm. A humbled snort escaped through his nose. “Yeah, okay.”

“Play any song.” Magritte slowed her fingers to a stop without completing the movement. “Even if I don’t know it, even if it goes beyond the range of my little piano, I can improvise something nice for it, I promise!”

Fitting his sunglasses back on, Raf let out a tentative hum. “I’m not much of an improviser–”

“You don’t have to improvise anything! Play whatever you want, however you wanna play it. I will improvise around whatever you give me!” Magritte’s voice had risen to an excited shout, and instinctively, she withdrew into herself just a little bit, as if making herself smaller would also make her voice smaller, too. “It’s my favorite thing to do. It’s a lot of fun.”

His incredulous smirk returned, but this time his brow furrowed slightly, encouragingly, under his growing sense of intrigue.

“It’s–” Magritte held up both hands haltingly, “it’s probably not gonna be like how you know it should be. Just…so you know. It might even be…bad? In some parts? But-! Mostly it’ll be neat! I promise!”

“Neat…” Raf brought the violin up once again to rest under his chin. “Neat’s cool. Alright, let’s see, then.”

As though he had been inspired by Magritte’s aggressive interpretation of Appassionata, he began with a series of fast, chirpy, clean notes of his own. A wholly different song, but Magritte recognized this one too. She had most often heard it as a phone ringtone, but she couldn’t recall who composed it nor what the song was titled. She provided a jaunty, equally bouncy accompaniment that she’d have described as ‘percussive’. The violin’s unwavering confidence was a delight for Magritte’s deft little fingers to dance around. He never fell out of tempo, and she was able to punctuate his notes with hers in perfect time. Maintaining synchrony for the entire length of the fast paced composition filled her with such satisfying joy, she had failed to properly appreciate an obvious fact about her musical accomplice until he brought the song to a close; he was a skilled musician.

Staring up at him from her spot on the floor, Magritte’s wide eyes almost sparkled with delight. “You’re like…Concert hall good, aren’t you? Are you part of the local orchestra? Or at least like–aspiring to be?”

Raf’s gaze hung on her as both his jaw and posture slackened. “Uh…”

She didn’t give him enough time to respond, hitting him with another question. “What was the title of that song? I just know it as one of the Nokia ringtones.”

“P–” Raf’s stunned silence cracked with a laugh that sprang forth from his chest and took him by surprise almost as much as Magritte’s line of questioning had. “Paganini. It’s–it’s Paganini, Caprice number…number 24.” The response was punctuated with warm chuckling. “Or, you know, that one phone ringtone, yeah.” He smirked at her for a moment longer, studying her for any sign that she was putting him on. “How do you…accompany me that well, on that little machine, and not even know the song?”

Magritte waved her hands in front of her. “No, no, I knew the song! I’ve heard it before, I just didn’t know what it was called.”

“Yeah, alright.” He snorted one last incredulous laugh and brought his violin back up for another song.

Magritte stopped him before he could settle on his next pick. “Do you play professionally? I mean, it sounds like it but, like–”

“No.” Before Magritte could inquire further, the first notes of their next song filled the space between them, drawn out of his violin with long, purposeful strokes of his bow.

The next several songs, Raf played seamlessly one into the other–without pausing for conversation. That was just as well for Magritte. It had been ages since she was given the chance to play music with someone, and never had she played with someone who was so…solid? Consistent? The real deal. Usually, she had to avoid getting carried away when playing with another person. It was very easy for her to close her eyes and get taken to places that her musical partners could not follow along with. But with Raf, she was finding herself challenged to keep up with him. Most of the songs he had chosen, she had not heard before. And so she needed to keep an attentive ear out if she wanted to pick out repeated phrases, and predict melodic trajectories.

Finally, they arrived at the end of an especially eclectic piece, and Raf did not immediately follow through into another composition. Instead he lowered his bow, and Magritte took her opening to converse again.

“I really liked that one. It was super janky, in a fun way.”

“Yeah,” Raf said. “I was always fond of it, too.”

“I liked the plucky bits. Did you write it?”

“Did I–” Raf palmed both his bow and violin in one hand, and massaged his eyes and browline with the other. “No, some guy named Ravel did. Tzigane, that one’s called.”

Magritte chewed the inside of her cheek. “R-right.”

He furrowed his eyebrows at her. “You knew that one, though.”

“I didn’t.”

“...You just let me solo the first four minutes based on vibes?”

“I thought I missed the bus on it.”

“The actual composition has no accompaniment until about half way through, so…bravo.”

“Wait, really?” Magritte leaned forward eagerly. “Did I play the accompaniment correctly, too?”

“Not even close.”

“Drat.” She slumped.

“Was good, though.” Raf picked up his sprite from where he had placed it, on the ground next to his case, and drained the last bit of its contents.

Magritte perked up again. “Yeah!?”

He held the lip of the empty can between his teeth as he began tucking his violin back into its carrying case. “Mmhm.”

Magritte watched him pack up for a moment longer than it should have taken her to realise, “Wait, you’re leaving already?”

Raf zipped his instrument safely away before removing the empty soda can from his mouth. “Yeah, I gotta get going. But look,” He bent over to collect Magritte’s upturned ball cap off the ground. The few quarters she had started with now had a generous handful of friends with them; more quarters, some loonies, a few toonies and–

Magritte accepted the hat when Raf handed it to her, and pulled a crisp twenty dollar bill out of it. “W-who left this!? I wasn’t even paying attention, I should have said thanks!”

“A mystery.” He slung his violin case over his shoulder.

Magritte urged him to wait, fluttering a hand at him. “Half of this is yours!”

“Nah.” He favored her with a smile. “Genuinely, this was a treat in itself. It’s been a long time since I’ve played for fun like this. It…was fun.” That last part sounded as though it came as a surprise to him.

Frowning, Magritte pleaded with him. “Okay, okay but–okay. Lemme treat you to a coffee then, at least? If you’re in no real hurry.”

Raf paused to regard her with a measuring stare. He then sighed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his black denim hoodie jacket, waiting for Magritte to stow her keyboard away into her bag.

Zipping the duffel closed, she hoisted it with effort over her shoulder and beamed up at her new friendly acquaintance. “If you know any cute, cozy coffee places with a real decadent latte, I’m open to suggestions!”

“There are…a few.”

“I’m Magritte, by the way!” She extended her hand out to him.

With slight hesitation, Raf shook it. “Rafael.”

As the two of them began to make their way out of the station together, he dared to ask, “Are you here visiting, or..?”

“Oh!” She bounced on the balls of her feet, “I just came in from Calgary like…two hours ago. Ideally, I’d like to stay until the spring, but that’s gonna depend on things.”

“Calgary?”

“Yeah! I was in Edmonton before that, and in Winnipeg before that–but that was mostly a fever dream. I wasn’t there long. Montreal before that, though, was nice..!” She talked the entire walk, and he was content to quietly listen. part ii

#meet cute?#meet cute.#unedited...sorry about that lmao #Hi-Note #rafael #magritte

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pastel-paramour · 1 year

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Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4.9k Tags/Content Warnings: SKK x F!Reader, Dom!Dazai, Sub!Chuuya, Sub!Reader, Voyeurism, Brief Alcohol Consumption, Brief Smoking, gun play, knife play, edging/teasing, Oral (F & M Receiving), Overstim, Gagging, Begging, Shotgunning (Smoke, Fluid) Okay... Here we go... First original post. I'm considering additional parts exploring this strange little... dynamic these silly little men have with you. Mind the tags, and away we go!

The two of you fell tangled through the door, your collar bunched in Chuuya’s fists. He kicked the door with his heel, and the resounding slam shook you loose of his lips with a breathless chuckle.

“Shhhhh! Chuuya! Someone’ll catch us!” You scolded in a stage whisper.

He leaned over you, hands roaming freely over your breasts, your ribs, your waist, your hips, all the way down to give your ass a hard squeeze, pulling you against him, his already hard cock straining against your thigh.

“Like I give a damn.” He says against your smiling lips, quickly arrested in a kiss.

You ran your hands over his shoulders as he shrugged out of his coat, and the two of you waltzed backward into the room in a clumsy tango. When you collided against the far wall, you managed to pry your body apart from his enough to get your fingers around his belt. The buckle yielded with an affirmative clink, his zipper following suit soon after. Your own remained untouched at the side seam of your skirt, Chuuya instead opting to hike the crisp black fabric up wholesale to get his access to your aching pussy.

You slung your leg over his hip and traced unintelligible patterns into the neatly starched fabric of his rapidly disheveling waistcoat. He palmed your breast, and your head thumped against the wall while he ground into you, teeth and tongue working your neck.

“Well, well, well…”

Your heart seized in your chest, Chuuya’s eyes went wide as he whirled around, fixing his fly but otherwise leaving his belt undone, “Dazai!”

Indeed, in the shadow of the doorway loomed Dazai, moonlight glinting copper in his eyes, a light smile curling his lips. You pulled your skirt down to cover yourself.

“Fraternizing between colleagues? And an executive, no less…” He tutted, “You darling, I can understand, but Chuuya… You should know better.” He brought his hand to his face, like his voice, dripping with drama.

You shrank into yourself as Dazai crossed the room. Chuuya, on the other hand, only scowled, untucked his cigarette case from his breast pocket, and took one between his lips. Dazai’s face darkened, and before Chuuya could even put away his lighter, Dazai had snatched the cigarette from his lips.

“Hey!”

“It’s rude to smoke in front of a lady.” He scolded. Only, he didn’t put it out or discard it. Instead, he took it between his own lips. The ember glowed cherry in the dark as he took a long drag and held it, snuffing the rest in an ashtray on the dresser. Dazai hooked a finger beneath Chuuya’s choker, his other hand taking his jaw. If you hadn’t known better, you would have believed Chuuya’s eyes softened, even glazed just a bit, as Dazai pulled his face to meet his; lips just shy of touching, before exhaling a rolling cloud of smoke onto his waiting tongue. Dazai’s hooked finger tugged firmly down, down, down until Chuuya sank to his knees, Dazai towering over him.

You twisted your legs together. You had never seen this side to Chuuya before. He looked completely lost to the world, but Dazai never let an eye off you.

“Like what you see, Darling?” he smirked.

Your face flushed, and you averted your eyes in a vain attempt to save face.

“Don’t be ashamed, sweetness, I’ve learned you can get Chuuya to do all kinds of amazing things.”

“Fuck you, Dazai…” Chuuya panted.

“Ohh..” Dazai whined in mock pity, and took Chuuya’s face in his hand again, “We’re getting to that. Now-”

He released all hold on Chuuya, and turned his attention to you, sweeping up your hand in his “Sweet Belladonna…” a kiss that was anything but chaste pressed to each knuckle, “Would you like me to show you his true potential?”

You were flabbergasted, quite honestly too stunned to speak. Here was Dazai, Osamu Dazai, who somehow waltzed into this room and the entire world bent around him, even, most astonishingly, Chuuya.

He huffed a small laugh at your silence, and took the initiative once again, pulling you against his chest.

“First of all, let’s put this back where it was…” His fingertips skimmed along the hem of your skirt, goosebumps raced along your thighs as he pulled the fabric up over your hips and ass. In his wanderings, his hands glanced along the delicate lace of your panties. Feigned shock lighted his face.

“Very nice…” He teased, flicking his thumb beneath the elastic. You squealed at the snap against your skin, but still you didn’t push him away. He squared his hands on your hips and turned you around to face Chuuya, who’s blue eyes shone silver to Dazai’s copper, flashing dangerously as he took in your body, and Dazai’s hands upon it.

“Then…” Dazai continued, pulling you backwards until his knees collided with the mattress. He pulled you both down so you were seated between his legs, back pressed against him. Before you knew it, his mouth was at the shell of your ear, chasing chills down your spine.

“Now here is where it gets very interesting…”

Chuuya’s eyes tracked Dazai’s bandaged hands from your hips, down your thighs, to the bend in your knees. He hooked his fingers featherlight beneath them, and pulled them apart, exposing your thinly clad cunt to the cool night air. Your breath hitched in your throat as you watched him, eyes glazed but trained so intently on the apex of your thighs, not daring to come closer, despite so desperately wanting to.

A cool touch picked up your right hand, laying it palm up in his;

“And this is where you say-” He curled his fingers, and yours with them, “‘Come, Chuuya…’”

Chuuya, coming vaguely to his senses, sucked his teeth and moved to rise.

“Ah, ah, ah…” You gasped as Dazai hummed the warning against your ear and released your hand only to point downwards.

He cut a withering glare at Dazai, but in time, Chuuya sank back to his knees and crawled across the floor to his place between your feet, gazing expectantly up at you.

“Now you say, ‘very good, Chuuya’...”

Much to your surprise, Chuuya, Chuuya Nakahara pouted.

“I don’t want to hear that from you…” He muttered.

Dazai only chuckled before he turned back to you, “And now what do you suppose you say, hmmm?”

Your heart raced in your chest, the wind thoroughly knocked out of you when you spoke, “Please?”

If he only chuckled before, his shoulders now shook with laughter, “No, no, Bella…” He brushed his knuckles softly against your cheek, “You are the boss, now. You ask for nothing.” He whispered, casting a sidelong glance at a scowling Chuuya; “Say ‘thank you’, Chuuya.”

Dazai’s hands hooked your legs again, and pulled them further apart. Chuuya was able to quickly shake off his glare as he shuffled forward and pressed his face to the lacey apex of your thighs. His eyes closed and he inhaled deeply, loosing a shuddering breath before he raised his hands and paused.

He appeared to gnaw his cheek for a moment, a light flush dusting his cheeks. Dazai said nothing.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, worried you had erred somehow.

“I want-” he started, only to reconsider his words, “May I… take off my gloves?” He finished, eyes sidecast and fixed firmly to the floor.

You looked at Dazai for assistance, only for him to shrug and nod back to Chuuya.

“You… may…”

He slowly, deliberately rolled each glove off, one after the other before he returned to his task. He skated his newly bare fingers over your ankles, your calves, over your knees and around your thighs before lighting so gingerly on the soaked through fabric covering your cunt. His thumbs kneaded the flesh, glancing agonizingly close to your clit, and drawing some oh so necessary friction over it.

At length, he hooked a thumb over the lace barrier, and pulled it to the side. Cold air lapped at you, as Chuuya drew a long exhale over your center. His eyes flicked up to you again to see you worrying over your lip, and that damn Dazai looking so fucking smug, before he let his tongue peek out over his lips, closing them over your clit.

You gasped, your back arched away from Dazai but he held you firm against him while Chuuya lapped at your clit, drew circuits and figure eights around your lips, your entrance and back. The sweet sounds of your sticky pussy and gasping breath echoed into the night. It wasn’t long until your head rolled back to rest on Dazai’s shoulder, which he allowed himself to take some advantage of by sparing playful nibbles on your neck while he skirted his way up to cup your breasts, his cock granite hard and twitching against your back while Chuuya eddied you torturously closer to orgasm.

“Hmmm, you two are lucky I caught up to you when I did…” He mused idly, his hand relinquishing your breast to reach between you two to adjust himself.

“After all, if anyone else had found two people sneaking around a secure area like this, they might get a little nervous…” You dismissed his rambling, too lost in bucking your hips to grind on Chuuya’s tongue.

“And you know, some folks here, they can get a little…” You stilled as the cool edge of metal pressed to your temple, “trigger happy.”

Chuuya’s eyes flashed wide, “What the fuck, Dazai!”

“Oh hush, Chuuya.” Dazai chastised, free fingers flying out to entwine in autumn tresses, yanking his face back to your twitching cunt. “It’s rude to talk with your mouth full. Besides… I think she likes it, don’t you, belladonna? Oh come on, say you do?” He pleaded.

Your attention fractured, split between Chuuya’s tentative licks at your most sensitive spots, eyes still trained on the gun to your head, and, well, then there was that…

“Ah, I see…” He hummed, removing the offending article, but before you could relax completely, you heard the hammer click back and saw the barrel extend out in front of you.

“Say you like it, or I’ll make him stop.” He said icily against your ear.

All at once, you were a whirlwind of feeling, your gut dropped, your heart thrummed, but still your cunt tightened as Chuuya continued haphazardly servicing your slit.

“O-okay!” You yelp, “I do! I like it, Dazai!”

Just then, without knowing what combination of the circumstances in which you found yourself led to this, your entire body seized up around Chuuya’s tongue. Your legs clamped over his ears and drew him impossibly closer to you until he could do little more than suck your keening clit until your muscles shook and ached with effort.

This seemed satisfactory to Dazai, because quickly thereafter the pistol disappeared from your field of view.

“Wow…” He purred, you could feel his smile curl against your skin as you gasped for breath, “I was only foolin’, but I think you really did like it… Ha! And they call me sick…” His arms wound around your shoulders and your waist while he nuzzled your neck.

Chuuya rested his hands on your thighs and scowled up at Dazai, “You knew, didn’t you?”

Dazai had the nerve to look hurt at the accusation, “And lucky I did, too!” He said, lithely dismounting from the bed to meander to the dresser behind Chuuya, “You two are hopeless when it comes to discretion.” Dazai busied himself with the decanter which glistered crystalline in the moonlight.

“You should really be thanking me…”

Chuuya whirled at that, “Thanking you?! For what?”

Dazai chuckled darkly, “Oh, you will…” His voice was low with an edge to it that seemed to hush even Chuuya into a cautious, but expectant silence.

Dazai’s heels click… click… clicked against the floor, decanter in hand. He stopped in front of Chuuya whose lips were still slick with you, and uncorked the decanter with a squeaking pop. A crooked finger beneath Chuuya’s chin raised his gaze up to Dazai.

“For you…” The one and only warning Chuuya received before the dark liquor came waterfalling out of the crystalware, dribbling into Chuuya’s mouth gracelessly. He spluttered and coughed at the burning liquid invading his throat, using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away what had escaped out the sides of his mouth and down his chin.

No sooner than he could breathe again, Chuuya found his chin once again hooked over Dazai’s knuckle. Another cutting glare until he spoke again;

“For her…” He canted the bottle in your direction, this time pressing his thumb to Chuuya’s bottom lip as an instruction to open.

The amber liquid flowed into Chuuya’s mouth again, this time with more decorum. Just shy of exceeding the amount that Chuuya could hold in his mouth, Dazai halted the flow and capped the decanter, gesturing once again toward you, before turning away to replace the bottle on the table.

You watched Chuuya, knowing better than he had before, crawl his way up your body. He used one arm to hike your leg over his hip, and his free hand to press you reverently into the mattress. Once there, he caged you in on either side, with his thumb he swiped away an errant curl from your face, before stooping low as though for a kiss.

When you opened your lips to grant him passage, warm, golden liquid spilled from his mouth to yours. It scalded the back of your throat as you drank it down, gulp by gulp, until your lips parted, a shining thread still connecting the two of you.

“Chuuya…” you cooed, pitching your hips up to even just graze his weeping erection. He hissed, and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“The fuck are you doing to me, doll…”

In the distance, you heard a cheerful hum, something to the tune of ‘Memory’.

Chuuya heaved a long-suffering sigh, then busied himself with gnawing at your neck. You reached between you, once again flicking open the button of his pants, slowly undoing his fly, and reaching in to palm his wrought iron cock, to the response of a breathy groan against your neck as he ground into the touch.

“Please, Chuuya… Need you so bad…” Damn what Dazai says, you thought, you two know yourselves better than he does, right?

Chuuya wasted no time shuffling his pants down enough for his cock to spring free. He laid it against your still dripping cunt, hot like a brand. One thing that was different with Dazai here, Chuuya never loved you this slowly before. He thrust against you, relishing the friction once, twice, and on the third stroke he sank himself into your waiting heat. Your pussy sucked him greedily in, which knocked the wind right from his lungs.

He pushed himself off the mattress to look at you, arms and shoulders trembling with effort as he took you in. He pressed into you again, and again, and again. Eventually, he captured your lips in a hungry kiss, tongue skimming the roof of your mouth, melding with yours, before sucking your bottom lip between his teeth. In one movement, he snatched up your wrists in either hand, pinning them to the mattress as he bullied into your cunt over and over.

His grip tightened around your wrists, vicelike, bruising.

“Ch-Chuuya!” you stammered around his thrusting cock, “You’re h-hurting me!”

“Don’t. Stop.” Dazai commanded, unseen.

And like he had no other choice, Chuuya slammed into you like a crashing tide, pinning you to the bed as he loomed over you, sweat slicked, panting and animal.

Soon, like you had no other choice, your legs snapped around him, your breath came ragged and whining as he ground you down into his shape, made to receive only him.

“M’gonna…” He gritted through his teeth.

“Yeah” You agreed, the feeling of your own release ricocheting off him.

His face once again sunk down to your shoulder, and a loud groan fell from his lips as he peaked shortly after you. Your breaths mingled, and at length the two of you relaxed into each other.

Before you could fully recover, the sound of a slow applause resounded about the room.

“Very nice…” Dazai crooned.

Much to your chagrin, Chuuya rolled off of you to look Dazai in the face, but Dazai wasn’t looking at Chuuya. He was looking at you.

“You put on a good show, Bella… Come, sit in my lap.” He said, patting his thigh softly as he reclined in the ornate chair he had pulled from beneath the window.

You sat up, skirt pushed well over your waist, and moved to stand. Chuuya’s hand captured your wrist,

“You don’t have to do what he says…” He tells you.

“Why don’t you let her decide that, Chuu-ya?” Dazai sing-songed from his seat.

“It’s okay, Chuuya…” You whispered, smiling blearily before turning to meet Dazai.

You’d only gotten within arms reach before he snatched up your arm and spun you around, “Yeah, it’s okay, isn’t it Chuuya?” He called, mocking, before raising you wrist to inspect it.

“I swear to god, if you hurt her, Dazai…”

“What, like I’d hurt you, Chuuya?” He smirked against the blossoming bruise on your skin, “I think you’ve got that well in hand, don’t you.”

Chuuya blushed, actually blushed as Dazai pressed light kisses against your skin.

“I think it’s high time these came off…” He continued, unzipping your skirt, and pulling it with your panties unceremoniously to the floor. Left exposed, you tried to pinch your legs together just out of sheer embarrassment, as though you hadn’t just been licked and fucked within an inch of your life while a most unexpected guest watched. Behind you, Dazai tutted again.

“No no, sweetness, that won’t do… Can’t hide how beautiful you are, now can we?” He chided, before he shoved his leg between yours, both forcing them apart and throwing you off balance until you straddled his thigh.

Dazai pushed up on the ball of his foot to grind his knee into your clit. You tossed your head back with a gasp as he wound his arms about your middle like a python, pulling you hard against him, so he could nuzzle the hollow of your ear.

“Hasty, isn’t he?” he purred. You only whined as you tried to cant your hips into his thigh to feel just an ounce of friction again.

“Some people just don’t know…” long fingers trailed over each of your buttons until your now rumpled dress shirt fell open, “how good slow can be…”

He deftly undid the clasp of your bra and slid both articles off your shoulders, The night air raised goosebumps over your whole body. Even colder hands skated up your tummy to pluck at your purled nipples while Chuuya watched, your gasps and whining moans rousing his cock each passing second.

“Oh how I’d tease him to tears…” He recalled. “I could do that for you, if you’d like…”

One set of fingers trailed down, down, down just where you’d need them to be. They pet at your clit, swirling featherlight over it. The nerves there sang, pitch driving higher and higher until just as you’re about to reach the zenith.

Smack.

You yelped as a cold hand landed a sharp slap over your cunt. Again, he toyed with you, playing with your nipples, nibbling your neck and ears, thumbing over your clit until you’re just about to cum, and…

Smack.

The aftershock of your denied release rolled through you, your muscles tensed and ached and rebelled, choking a strained groan from your throat.

“Oh, what’s the matter, Belladonna?” He cooed, his iron grip around your middle barring you from the delicious friction of his thigh, your impatient grunts and whining availing nothing to you.

“Such a greedy little thing…” He continued, “Already two orgasms from Chuuya, and you want another from me?” He chuckled as you whined and struggled against him, meanwhile Chuuya sank off the bed onto the floor to watch you, pale fingers raking desperately through velvet tresses in a feeble effort to contain himself.

“Oh darling, you’ll have to work for that.” He kissed the hollow behind your ear, “Go on, pretty, give him a show…” He said, both hands dropping to your hips, canting them forward until your clit rubbed sweetly against his trousers. You shuddered and groaned, and he pitched your hips back to start again.

After a few strokes, you found your own rhythm grinding against his thigh. You unclasped your hands in favor of supporting yourself on Dazai’s knee, heavily lidded eyes lighting on Chuuya, cunt twitching at the far-off look he had watching you work yourself up.

“Isn’t she pretty, Chuuya?” you heard.

“Mm…” He murmured in dazed reply.

You couldn’t see the way Dazai rolled his eyes behind you, before tucking into his jacket and pulling out a thin blade of shining metal. Some of the light came back into Chuuya’s eyes.

“I said…” Long fingers knotted through the hair at the nape of your neck, and forced you to look skyward, “Isn’t she pretty?”

You yelped again, and where you had previously been aching, burning, like your skin was too tight to contain your body, cold metal prickled your skin.

“You should really be more careful where you keep these, Chuuya… I know you like to keep them…” You hissed as the cutting edge of the blade bit into the delicate skin of your neck. “...sharp.”

“Dazai, you fucker, I’ll-!” Chuuya did his best to scramble to his feet, only to be met with a booted heel to his shoulder.

“You’ll what?” Dazai said darkly, more of a challenge than a question. WIth barely more than a glance, he directed Chuuya’s attention to where you met his thigh. You were soaked, pussy positively drooling over Dazai’s thigh if the rapidly spreading dark spot was anything to go by.

Dazai’s lips quirked up as he, in time, removed the knife, pressing the tip against his tongue before taking the whole blade end into his mouth, pulling it out clean.

“You found a real freak, Chuuya…” He licked a long stripe along your neck to clear the dribbling blood from your cut, “Maybe I’ll keep her…” He grinned, winding his arms tightly around you again.

Chuuya opened his mouth to reply, but was soon interrupted.

“D-Dazai…” You whined.

“Hmmm?”

“Wanna… cum…” You panted in his ear. Your body ached with need, your legs trembled you could have climaxed just from the rolling chuckle he lilted into your ear.

“Of course you do, sweet thing.” He said with a kiss against your jaw, free hand tucking some hair behind your ear.

Your eyes flew open when those fingers twisted in your hair again, forcing you down to your knees as he stood without warning.

“However, I hardly think that’s fair, considering poor Chuuya has worked so hard to make you feel good, and you’ve done next to nothing!”

You winced away from his grip against your scalp, but he held firm as he crouched to speak in your ear again,

“Perhaps if you try returning the favor, maybe I’ll consider it.” He spat venomously, letting go of your hair, and disappearing from your sight.

Despite the scathing words, your mind swam on a numbing sea, leaving you with no thoughts outside of the humming in your blood and the ache between your legs.

Your skin sparked at the sensation of a ridged leather sole between your shoulder blades, forcing you forward into a near kowtow between Chuuya’s knees.

“Maybe I didn’t make myself clear.” He hissed. “Suck.”

You sighed as though in relief, like you were granted a great boon, and leapt forward to take his flushed cock in hand.

Your eyes swam up to meet his, just as bewildered and mystified as your own as he watched your tongue loll from your mouth, and lick a white hot stripe up the underside of his cock. His surprised moan tumbled from his lips as he carded his fingers through your hair, gentle and delicate compared to Dazai’s biting grip.

Chills raced up and down your back as he swept up your cascading curls into his fist while you took him from tip to base into your throat. Eyes fixed on his face, so pretty in the white gold light filtering through the window, you swallowed around his dick. He hissed sharply and another groan choked forth from his throat.

“Oh, you can do better than that.” Dazai chided, the last thing you heard before a second hand forced you further down his cock. Chuuya threw his head back with a strangled gasp as you gagged around him, tears rolling down your cheeks. You planted your hands to either side of Chuuya’s hips, thumbs fisted in your palms while you struggled to take him all.

“Dazai…” Chuuya breathed, “please…”

Dazai only hummed in reply, twirling his russet hair between his fingers as Chuuya yielded himself to the sensation of you, kicking his feet and bucking into your throat until white ribbons painted the inside of your mouth.

“Don’t waste it, Bella…”

And you didn’t, wouldn’t dare, swallowing every drop of what Chuuya had to give until Dazai let you off his cock, spluttering, coughing and gasping through your spit slick lips. When you started to catch your breath, a cold hand cupped your chin and pulled you to look into deep dark eyes.

“You’ve done very well, sweetness.” A wan smile painted your lips at his praise, “I think she’s earned her reward, don’t you, Chuuya?” Chuuya said nothing while Dazai trailed a hand between your legs to pinch your clit, eliciting another wanton moan from your lips, which devolved into one of protest when Dazai removed his hand. You weren’t sure how much more teasing you could take.

Dazai , however, quickly dismissed your concerns, “Go on, take your prize then.” He said, glancing once down to Chuuya. Your gaze flitted from him, back to Dazai, and then hungrily back to Chuuya again as you clambered up his body and positioned yourself over his hips.

“Wait…” He slurred, propping himself up onto one elbow, “Hold on a sec- ah!” Chuuya keened as you slotted him at your dripping slit, and rode slowly over him, feeling him growing hard beneath you, spreading delicious warmth over your needy clit.

“Baby…” he pleaded, “I can’t…”

“He can.” Dazai assured.

You threw your arms around Chuuya’s neck, your breasts pressed to his chest. You couldn’t help but marvel at him, flushed, panting, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, yet another one of his facets that Dazai’s chosen to reveal to you tonight. When his hazy eyes landed on yours, polished with tears, alcohol, the moment, you found your mouth landing on his, swallowing his moans, sucking on his tongue as you ground in circles on his cock.

His hands flew to your hips, slender fingers gripping the fat of your ass, pulling you on top of him. He tried to hold you still, but the more you wound around him, the less control he had over his hips pistoning in and out of you, a chorus unbridled moans tumbling from his kiss-bitten lips.

In the end, you collided in ribbons of color, your body overwound and his undone, and you both came with trembling gasps as you held tightly to one another, a sheen of sweat setting your skin aglow.

“Perfect.” Dazai whispered.

From where he was standing, you couldn’t tell if he was looking at you or at Chuuya. Maybe both, maybe it didn’t matter. When you heard the echo of Dazai’s footsteps, you shook yourself out of your suspension.

“W-wait!” You called hoarsly. He stopped. Chuuya’s arms wound around your waist to hold you to him, but still you reached for Dazai;

“What about you?”

He tossed a look over his shoulder, an exasperated smile playing on his lips before he turned back on his heel and crouched in front of you.

“And what about me, Belladonna? Hmm?” A long finger idled with a strand of your hair, caressed your cheek.

“You- I mean… You didn’t…” Why were you suddenly so embarrassed? Like he didn’t just watch you and Chuuya come apart in his hands, taken apart like instruments, only he wasn’t the player here, he was the conductor, directing the tempo, crescendos and arpeggios into a beautiful symphony. A perfect masterpiece.

Dazai smiled wistfully at you, a touch of sincerity opening up on his face, in his eyes. He took your chin between his fingers, and pressed a lingering, chaste kiss to your lips.

“Something to look forward to.” He smirked, and took his hand over to Chuuya to tuck a stray lock behind his ear, before returning to his exit, sans encore.

“Dazai…” Chuuya grumbled, but before he could get another word out, Dazai spoke, a finger to his lips and a mischievous glint in his eye;

“Don’t worry, Chuuya… Your secret is safe with me.”

And with a wink, he was gone, the echo of his statement sounding more like a threat than a promise.

#these men have a chokehold on me #chuuya nakahara #nakahara chuuya #dazai osamu #soukoku #chuuya x reader #dazai x chuuya #chuuya x you #dazai x you #dazai x reader #bsd x reader #bsd smut #skk x reader #paramour writes

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wanda-little-baby · 2 years

Text

New Encounters - Wanda x Reader

Summary: You finally get to meet Wanda and her twin brother, things get a little too hard but somehow you bond with the twins

Warnings: doing superhero stuff, blood, use of magic, honestly I don't find so many warnings here

A/N: It sounds strange, but it's the second month that I get sick early in the month and I keep asking why?

Words: 3.621

Italics: thoughts - mental communication with Wanda

The most complicated journey I've ever done.

Once you've set the course, with your hands still on the yoke, you juggle the skies over the Atlantic.

With deep blue below the Quinjet and a light blue above, the view is monotonous and calm enough to put you on autopilot the jet and think a bit.

Not bad as a first time piloting it on my own

"I still have a long way to go so I can afford the luxury of making a plan" you whisper, rubbing your hands and looking around you. "Stay calm, that's the important thing, I just want to talk to them." you tapped your worried leg.

You have tried many times, various ways of presenting yourself, all very clumsy. "How can I get someone who would like to kill me to listen to me? I miss Steve's pep talks" I sighed, shaking my head and returning to fly the aircraft.

It was still the first light of dawn when you caught sight of the coasts of Portugal, indicating that you had reached Europe. The whole crossing went quite well, at least up to the Alps, where the weather began to darken before releasing a powerful blizzard accompanied by hail. I tried to go up to avoid the snow, but the hail damaged a wing forcing me to make an emergency landing.

Here you are, in the snow, with the only vehicle available broken, two kilometers from Vienna and cold.

So do the only sensible thing, put on a heavy jacket, a scarf, and go out for a hike to town

I need a few materials, most of them are already on jets, the tools too ... At most I will spend one night in Vienna.

I think, walking through the streets of the city and looking at the snow-covered buildings. The air is freezing, the locals move on outside, while a stranger like you is amazed by the beauty of the place.

Go to a kind of wholesale hardware and get the materials you wanted. On the way back, you book a room in an inn for prevention, and buy (with the money of a certain billionaire) a motorcycle (I know I will need it).

So, you get back to the jet and get to work.

Piece by piece, put the wing back in shape with a magical help, watching the hours pass little by little

When night comes, you go back to town and take a little break in a clean bed. At the first light of dawn, just as you darted into the city, you return to the Quinjet and resume the journey from where you were, it will be interrupted.

"Well, no more interruptions now," you sigh, starting the engines and getting ready for takeoff. The cell phone in the pocket vibrates

Join us in Seoul, South Korea. It's important!

A message, signed Nat, telling me to go to South Korea. Seriously?

"Why do I have to go to South Korea?" you wonder, obviously unaware of what your friends have been doing in the last couple of days, so you reply at the message

Why???

I await an answer quivering in anticipation

Ultron. Has the twins. He wants to get a new body. They took Dr. Cho's lab hostage. He has some vibranium and wants to use the regeneration cradle. Keep up. :-)

Time to read this message and you are already setting the route for the capital of South Korea.

——————————————————————

Push the engines hard, but eventually get there much earlier than expected by landing on a rooftop a few blocks from the lab.

"Guys, are you there?" ask by turning on the headset

"Y/N! Where are you?" Steve's voice comes out surprised, already making you understand his expression on his face you grin realizing that no one knew of your arrival. "On a roof, a few blocks from the laboratory. Where are you instead?" you ask looking down at the surrounding buildings.

"I'm chasing a lab truck on the junction near the bridge," he gasps, clearly in the middle of a battle. "Okay, I'm on my way" you say putting two pistols in holsters on your ankles.

The building is low so you jump off the bike and enter traffic.

The cars whiz by, you keep going straight ahead until there it is! The lab truck with Cap and Ultron on it to fight.

Just the instant before you can be close enough to get on the truck, they move inside the train that was passing at that moment. Instinctively you make a skid, you push yourself away from the bike and start flying towards the train.

Above the train you crash, as if you had taken off in autopilot and now you have regained consciousness, take a deep breath and get off in a carriage.

Pure adrenaline flows through your veins, a single spark would be enough to make you explode but you find yourself there with Steve getting punched by a robot. "Hey Steve! Would you like a little help?" you said attracting the attention of the two. "Maybe" he mumbles before getting punched in the stomach. Then a gust of wind, and the robot is pushed away by Steve.

Following the trail, there he is, a boy with white hair and blue eyes. Pietro, that's his name, seems nice.

And then a flash of red coming from behind you makes you turn around and you recognize her. Wanda, the girl you were looking for.

Brown hair adorned her head, hanging over her shoulders taut for battle. A face that will be difficult to forget (not that I want to forget it), with those deep green eyes like an abyss and the light dusting of freckles on her nose. Her fingers decorated with some rings and black enamel move sinuously wrapped in the magic that unites us. Her hips majestically covered by her clothes, wrapped in a kind of red shawl. In short, perfect, it is what you think of her as you study her passing your eyes over her entire body until you meet her gaze. The blush appears on both of your faces as you look away to return to reality.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Ultron punches another hole in the car and sneaks off, not before killing the driver. "Are you OK?" I ask, turning to Wanda for the first time, looking at her worriedly. "Yes" she sighs, leaving me to listen to that whisper a thousand times again to remember her beautiful voice.

The train arrives at the end of the line, but having died the driver continues to advance through the streets of the city.

"Civilian in our path," Steve says to the twins.

Then, Pietro runs away from in front of the train all obstacles or civilians to avoid casualties while Steve turns to me and Wanda "Can you stop this thing?".

Confusion, is what you see when you turn around and look for any expression from the sokovian and then you expose yourself "If she can, I can try" I say looking at her encouraging her to start.

Red threads begin to come out of Wanda's hands, red threads that wrap around the train to stop it, seeing her you start doing the same only with more effort than her leaving her even more amazed.

The train stops, Wanda goes to her brother and you make sure all the civilians get out of that thing before rejoining the conversation the two of them were having with Steve.

"The cradle. Did you get it?" Wanda says at Steve.

"Stark will take care of it" he reply

This conversation is so tense

At those words, Wanda's expression darkens. "No, he won't" this words come out almost if they were a sigh. "You don't know what you're talking about. Stark's not crazy" Steve said, in a tone a little angry.

"He would do anything to make things right!" Wanda said, becoming increasingly bristly towards the blond in front of her.

So, Steve tries to get in touch with Tony or any other team member but nothing, no one answers.

"Ultron can't tell the difference between saving the world and destroying it. Where do you think he gets that?" were the last words she spoke in that country to anyone other than her brother, as we were making our way quickly back to the tower to prevent an impending disaster.

——————————————————————

"I'm gonna say this once" Steve stated as he entered the lab with us. "How about 'none-ce'?" that conceited being Tony pointed out, angering you and the twins even more. "Shut it now!" then the captain exclaimed, obviously being ignored. "Nope, not gonna happen" so Tony replied, continuing undeterred to plot with the cradle. "You don't know what you're doing" he remarked on the other hand, trying to make them think.

"And you do? She's not in your head?" Bruce interjected, hinting at something you couldn't help but respond to.

"Oh but do me a favor Bruce!" you screamed pointing out your nervousness. "I have the same powers of her as she does," you say pointing to Wanda behind you. "And if I had wanted to control the minds of each of you I would have done it at any time and you wouldn't have even noticed." take a short break and catch your breath. "So yes I trust Wanda because I feel I can do it!" you affirm with conviction, giving a brief glance of understanding to the brunette behind.

What you didn't notice, however, as you went out of your way to defend Wanda, a stranger, was that she was looking at you wondering

why you were doing this?

You were defending a stranger who until recently wanted to kill all your friends including you. Yet that gesture, that trust, was something Wanda hadn't seen for a long time, it warmed her heart and maybe made her flutter a little with her emotion.

So when she realized that Bruce was going to argue with your words she exposed herself to take all the blame, after all she felt she deserved it. "I know you're angry" she apologized, without even knowing why, but she did and was rejected.

"Oh, we're way past that. I could chocke the life out of you and never change a shade" impassively angry the doctor stated.

"Banner, after everything that's happened..." Steve started explaining, being interrupted again. "It's nothing compared to what's coming!" at this point Tony exclaimed in annoyance.

Here, here the uproar has broken out.

"You don't know what's in there" full of conflicting anger, Wanda exclaimed

"This isn't a game!" Steve pressed the situation

"What if Ultron already connected with that thing? We don't want another one!" with one hand in your hair and the other pointing to the cradle you pointed out trying not to go crazy for the absurdity of the situation.

It was then that Pietro made his move, in less than a second he disconnected the power and interrupted the transfer.

"No, no. Go on. You were saying?" sarcastically he addressed all of us still stunned

And then ... A shot, a bullet passes right in front of the Sokovian's face, breaking the glass he was standing on and knocking him down. "Pietro!" Wanda cried out, bringing out all her concern for her brother.

"I'm reroating the upload" Tony announced before going back to what he did as if nothing had happened.

To prevent any continuation then Steve took and threw his shield at one of the many computers destroying it before taking a beam from the thruster of the glove that Tony had mounted in the meantime.

So then the battle begins, dude huh? The closest thing you've had in the last couple of years to a family (dysfunctional but still family) was slaughtering itself for a stupid piece of vibranium.

The thought had just enough time to formulate itself before looking at Wanda gripped by Bruce. "Go ahead, piss me off" he urged him to make her give in.

Then an idea came to you, you approached making red threads shine from your hands and looking menacingly at Bruce "Leave her alone, I'll tell you once" I threaten Bruce thinking about activating the second part of the plan.

If Wanda has the same powers as me she can hear my thoughts, maybe I can use it to help her.

Wanda!!! If you are there, if you are listening, I distract him, you lay him down ok? If you understand, give me a sign!

For the first two seconds nothing then a red glint appeared in her pupils, here it is the sign, she listened.

With Bruce focused on you, he didn't notice Wanda hitting herself to get both of them off balance and then hitting him hard.

It was you and her ready to fight side by side when Thor carefully landed and he went to put on the cradle and charging a powerful bolt of lightning from his hammer headed for the cradle.

Upon receiving the discharge, the transfer is quickly finished, and in the general amazement and wind caused by the discharge the lid leapt up and the god jolted somewhere else.

One thing came out, he looks like a man, but he's not, you feel it and you're sure Wanda feels it too from the way she looks at him. So all you do is ask her.

Do you have any idea what this is?

you tell her, trying to tell in her mind, hoping he wants to hear it.

Ultron created it, that's enough

she replies in an intriguingly cold tone, surely there is something underneath but she doesn't want to say it, she's fine so we're not so friends and you can understand.

The "chat" lasts a few milliseconds during the squad's astonished looks at the thing in front of them before it tries to attack Thor to end up face-to-wall in the common area. The mystery was clear so with a nod everyone goes there to understand. When we arrived (you, Wanda and Bruce) it was different, he had "dressed up" and was talking to Thor.

"I'm sorry. That was... odd. Thank you" in a calm, quiet voice he addressed the god

Wait up? Too familiar a voice, JARVIS?

You didn't have time to ask why the conversation (more interrogation, than conversation) had already gone on.

"Thor. You helped create this?" Steve asked unsure of what prompted the god to do what he had done.

"I've had a vision. A whirlpool that sucks in all hope of life, and at its center is that" he said pointing his finger at the gem. "What? The gem?" Bruce tried to understand better.

"It's the Mind Stone. It's one of the six Infinity Stones. The greatest power in the universe, unparalleled in its destructive capabilities" Eventually he explained himself, making things less clear at the same time

"Then why you would bring..." Steve tried to continue. "Because Stark is right" the Norse god stated firmly.

"Oh, its definitely the end of times" then Bruce sighed demoralized

"The Avengers cannot defeat Ultron" Thor asserted with conviction. "Not alone" The "Vision" remarked, walking ever closer to us.

"Why does you Vision sounds like JARVIS? finally someone has the nerve to ask, and thank god that someone is Steve. "We reconfigured JARVIS's matrix to create something new" Tony promptly exposed, almost going face to face with the "Vision"

"I think I've had my fill of new" annoyed by recent events, Steve replied

"You think I'm a child of Ultron" the sytezoid firmly admitted a rather normal thought at this point

"You're not?" rightly Steve asked surprised, and wanting to make sure other wise

"I'm not Ultron. I am not JARVIS. I am... I am" at this point the AI no longer an AI realized it in amazement

Then Wanda stepped forward looking for explanations for her visions. "I looked in your head, and saw annihilation" with horror she remembered

"Look again" then the vision encouraged Wanda leaving you a little perplexed

"Her seal of approval means jack to me" Agent Barton scoffed at the words before he was struck by a very angry look from you deep inside.

"Their powers, the orror in our heads, Ultron himself, they all come from the Mind Stone. And they're nothing compared to what it can unleashed. But with it in our side..." Thor explained, matching all the pieces of the puzzle, except for one question.

"Is it? Are you? On our side?" the super soldier asked uncertainly, turning to the syntezoid.

"I don't think it's that simple" he admitted, a little to himself and a little to those present

In a tone more serious than sarcastic the archer said his last sentence "Well, it better get real simple real soon"

"I'm on the side of life. Ultron isn't. He will end it all."

"What's he waiting for?" Stark asked, unsure why you weren't all dead already.

"You" the newly born vision announced, with no little surprise

"Where?" Bruce asks worried

"Sokovia. He's got Nat there, too" the not-so-likable archer to you, he said as he walked around and looked (threateningly?) at the twins.

As Bruce approached the sentient being trying to peer an answer in his robotically alive eyes "If we're wrong about you, if you're the monster that Ultron made you to be..."

"What will you do?" curiously, the being replied thus, avoiding the continuum of the unspoken sentence.

There was a short pause, a few seconds, this made you realize whatever I'm about to say was going to be long and important.

Then Vision began to walk forward observed by all "I don't want to kill Ultron. He's unique and he's in pain. But that pain will roll over the Earth." painfully, as if he really cared, he recognized the baleful words before continuing "So, he must be destroyed. Every form he's built, every trace of his presence on the net." emphasizes emphatically before turning to us.

"We have to act now. And not one of us can do it without the others." he said staring one by one into the team's eyes

"Maybe I am a monster. I don't think I'd known if I were one." resigning himself, he looked at himself and expressed his thoughts

"I'm not what you are, and not what you intended. So, there may be no way to make you trust me. But we need to go." He concluded with a flourish, taking the mjølnir and handing it to Thor to the general amazement of the team before walking away.

"Right. Well done." Embarrassed, the god patted Tony on the shoulder before reaching the robot.

"Three minutes. Get what you need." was the order that the captain gave, giving his ultimatum.

——————————————————————

Ok what you need, I have it, but the twins? They have nothing and I know what they need

"Maximoff twins, please follow me, you will not regret it" you invite the two a little older than you to follow you.

To which, initially you receive strange looks from the two and then after a brief exchange of glances between them and a nonchalant shrug from Pietro you find yourself leading them into the armory where you keep most of your creations.

"This is all yours, you can choose!" nod to all the gear behind you letting the twins choose before you go to get your armor back.

When you return, you find Wanda staring at Thor and Vision from afar and then with a smiling look you approach her. "Nice view huh?" you ask pulling her abruptly away from the flow of her thoughts and making her jump in surprise "Eh, ah yes yes no, I was just thinking" awkwardly embarrassed of her he spits out a more than plausible excuse.

"A penny for your thoughts? Anyway, yes, I understand you, it happens" you touch her shoulder with yours, losing the slight thrill that follows.

You stood there for a while staring at nothing before Pietro threw a red leather jacket to his sister and received a crooked glance as a thank you.

"It'll look good on you, it's red, it looks good on you. And then I did it, so it's perfect, I won't be Stark but I can handle it." point out by explaining everything very carefully.

"Did you made it?" she asks, giving you the most beautiful look you can see

"You know, after two years in here you learn something" you continue ignoring the pressure on your stomach when you think about it. "Two years?" she asks you with more curiosity in her eyes.

"Yeah, since I ..." you stop mid-sentence when your eyes start to sparkle with tears and she looks at you like she understands, she probably does, that's what you need and she understands it . "No, it's okay, don't tell me. I've been there" she reassures you by passing a hand over her shoulder, shivering at the contact, while you instead rock yourself in her warm touch.

"See you at Quinjet, I'll wait for you there" you says sobbing before running away, fleeing but muttering a faint thank you hoping she hears it.

Pietro looks at his sister with a beaming smile before she begins to speak. "Piet don't say it!" she says annoyed. "What? That you have a little crush on your new friend?" he joked, fearful of danger, of such a powerful sister.

"I don't have a crush! She's just a girl, with my same powers, it's normal that we have a special bond, and then at the moment we're just friends" she poses a little embarrassed, with a slight blush on her cheeks, having a short laugh by her brother attenuated immediately after a flash of red passed between her eyes. "If you say so, sestra."

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