This is what she's been denying herself for so long. Giving into that addictive allure to get what she wants by giving what she wants. It's easier to make people see it than to explain it. It's what Strucker had always prided her about. It's what Ultron had always been mesmerised of. Where they had to train and program and teach, all she had to do was overtake.
She doesn't think much of it within the first few seconds of Bucky's response—it's in line with what he's been saying all night. Everything feels right and warm. But it's the pliancy in him following her subconscious that makes her furrow her brows. It's the weight that overtakes her when she enters someone's mind to make them do exactly what she wants. It's in the lack of tripping as he explores. She likes the tripping; it reminds her that not being perfect is okay.
Her mental grip on him extends beyond their house and it's once Wanda feels the puppet strings grow taut and the puppets themselves comply that she jerks against him.
She digs her heel into his back harshly, but not to try and find purchase. Everything he's doing to her becomes distant. All she can focus on is the tangle of puppet strings around her fingers. She tightly curls her hands into the bedspread. When she pants, it's not from arousal. Panic clutches her heart and tenses every muscle in her body.
"Stop," she says meekly. "Stop. Stop," she says, her voice growing louder. She pushes up onto her elbows, her eyes still glowing red, but the tendrils of scarlet that seep from her hands and the heel of her foot disappear back into her skin. The firm and comfortable grip she has on his mind abandons him instantly to continue its free fall as if she never caught it at all.
no subject
She doesn't think much of it within the first few seconds of Bucky's response—it's in line with what he's been saying all night. Everything feels right and warm. But it's the pliancy in him following her subconscious that makes her furrow her brows. It's the weight that overtakes her when she enters someone's mind to make them do exactly what she wants. It's in the lack of tripping as he explores. She likes the tripping; it reminds her that not being perfect is okay.
Her mental grip on him extends beyond their house and it's once Wanda feels the puppet strings grow taut and the puppets themselves comply that she jerks against him.
She digs her heel into his back harshly, but not to try and find purchase. Everything he's doing to her becomes distant. All she can focus on is the tangle of puppet strings around her fingers. She tightly curls her hands into the bedspread. When she pants, it's not from arousal. Panic clutches her heart and tenses every muscle in her body.
"Stop," she says meekly. "Stop. Stop," she says, her voice growing louder. She pushes up onto her elbows, her eyes still glowing red, but the tendrils of scarlet that seep from her hands and the heel of her foot disappear back into her skin. The firm and comfortable grip she has on his mind abandons him instantly to continue its free fall as if she never caught it at all.
More firmly, she snaps, "Bucky, stop."