ostavil | don't touch that dial

Entry tags:

wanda

don't touch that dial

They're the two most terrifying people on the planet and wanted by several governments but they're playing house in the middle of nowhere and not a single person can tell. Bucky's used to being invisible and silent and he'd managed to hide out in Romania for longer than he should have been able to by living on cash only, working under the table, keeping to the shadows. This is different. This is a real life that he can have, out in the open, and nobody even thinks he's suspicious at all.

It's a very, very good thing that HYDRA no longer has control of Wanda Maximoff.

When they're out in public, he keeps his face away from cameras and his arm hidden; a hat and Wanda's tricks do the rest. He can take his time picking out food, plan meals, pretend to have the friendly banter that a husband and wife would have. It's nothing he's never had before and this kind of stability almost feels like he's stealing the life he was supposed to have after the war. There's some other version of him who died falling from that train and maybe it's that version that's getting a new lease on life now.

It's autumn and the leaves have started to turn, yellow like the sun and scarlet like Wanda's hair and there's a brisk wind that says there's gonna be a storm in a day or two. Rain or snow, he isn't sure, but it's Canada so it can go either way. He has his left arm slid into Wanda's to cover up that it doesn't hang naturally the same as his right does and nobody suspects a thing. Their neighbors aren't ever curious, there's no surveillance, there's nothing to worry about. It's a strange feeling but a good one.

"You know, if you can figure out how to explain it to my tiny soldier brain I would love to know how you managed to keep our house invisible from everyone else. Small words, though. I'm all brawn and no brains."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

She shivers—at his words, at his fingers, and at his voice being inside of her mind. It's overwhelmingly intimate. Telepathy is a part of her that she's kept to herself—had to, for the sake of others, especially since she's only ever used it to manipulate people onto puppet strings—and it's a strange and overwhelming thought to have him accept it so readily. And she fears doing it now, accidentally making Bucky do something he hadn't wanted to do.

It's a little hard to relax when Bucky's in her head and has his fingers nestled in her cunt. She breathes in sharply, making a gasping noise that sounds like its part moan, and digs a heel into the bed in response to his fingers.

Just two. Move slow.

She tightens the muscles in her belly, sucking it in before forcing a long exhale. The desire to control him is there—it's always there, waiting for her on the precipice of new and nerve-wracking moments—and Wanda palms the bedsheets with both hands to stop herself from dipping into it.

Trust me.

All of this is about trust at the end of the day. For her side, it's the physical part she's trusting him with but for his, he's trusting her with his mind and it's terrifyingly intimate because of it. They both have skin in the game and they're both doing something a little frightening but it's good because they're doing it together.

Bucky doesn't move his fingers so much as curl them a little to try and see if he can find the places that feel good for her. If she wants it harder and faster there's time for it once she's loosened up but right now she's too tense for him to do anything but just get her used to how it feels to have his fingers there while he's working her over with his mouth. He squeezes her hip with his left hand in reassurance as he does, trying to let her know with everything he has that it's all right if this doesn't end in a picture-perfect way.

At the squeeze of her hip, she places her hand over his, gripping the back of his hand tightly. He feels so close yet so far away, and she wants to keep reminding herself that he's here. But she relaxes as she arches her back and exhales, moaning a little louder than she had previously.

She knows she's still tense, and every time she tries to force herself to relax, her body doesn't listen. And no matter how hard she tries to control herself, she doesn't heed her own wishes.

She focuses on his fingers, focusing on the way they feel, on the heavy sensation of him being inside of her, of how he's so gentle yet present, and whimpers at the sensation of him curling them.

A little more.

Wanda's not quite sure if that even makes sense. She knows what she wants, but she doesn't know what she wants at all. She exhales roughly, a little aggravated with herself.

Of that.

Bucky moves his fingers then. He keeps it fairly slow even if the rhythm is steady because if it's too fast, he thinks she won't enjoy it. He doesn't push in hard, either, because if she's not used to penetration, she needs to get warmed up and stretched before he starts doing anything rougher; if they're going to have intercourse, he wants to make sure he doesn't hurt her.

He focuses on her clit a little more now, though, focusing in on the spots he has determined feel the best and he alternates sucking and licking to see which one Wanda is more into. Her reactions will tell him a lot and they have the benefit of telepathy if he's really getting it wrong.

God, he loves doing this. She tastes good and she doesn't have to do anything but lay there and enjoy feeling good and he's the cause of that. It's a damn good feeling to know he can do that for her.

Although she desperately wants to stay still in fear of accidentally hurting him, Wanda fidgets where she lies. Every time he sucks, she shifts her hips delicately but digs her feet roughly into the bed, arching them and curling her toes as she lifts slightly off her back.

She can hear a mix of sounds from the neighbourhood, but nothing is as loud as her panting. Her mouth dries, but she hardly cares as she tilts her head back and closes her eyes. All the thoughts around her are there, present, little spokes trying to prod at her, but Wanda reaches telepathically out for him before she stops herself. Beneath her closed eyes, her irises begin to glow red. The tips of her fingers start to smoke a pale pink.

It's more when he sucks on her clit that she wriggles and red thin vines curl along her long fingers. Digging her heels into the bed, she lifts one of her feet up and plants it on his back. The moment she realises where she's digging her heel into, she quickly puts it back on the soft bed. "Sorry," she murmurs.

<>You can put it back, doll. No problem being touched.

If she's feeling good enough to lift off the bed and press her heel into his back, he's doing what he should be doing to make her feel good. He crooks his fingers a little before sucking again, hard, and tries to see if he can get her there. It hadn't been the true goal, no, but if she gets there it's amazing.

If nothing else, she'll know he can get her close and that's all he wants her to know. If there's the promise of pleasure that they can work toward, maybe she won't feel so frustrated or worried about things and maybe she will let him try more.

Wanda gently places her foot on his back again, but that gentleness is short-lived as he sucks hard on her clit. She pushes into him as she moans and twists her upper body slightly on the bed.

She arches her back and doesn't try to be quiet. She ignores the dampness of her skin and the heat of the bed beneath her as she focuses on his mouth and fingers and her foot on his back. She pushes into him as though he's all she has to stay afloat. Gripping the bedsheets, her hands glow red as her magic slowly weaves itself through the threads.

Where she would let his voice go in her head, Wanda latches onto it tightly without thought. The tension she'd been holding remains, but something in the way she holds herself tautly snaps. She zeroes in on the skin and muscle beneath her heel, the mind in her hands. Where her voice would feel like a little ticklish whisper, it's akin to being tangled in thick vines.

When she thinks next, it's in a hushed whisper of Sokovian that resonates around the room like an incantation.

More please.

It's almost as if there is no thought in his head other than pleasing Wanda and giving her exactly what she wants and that's as clear as if it were blasted inside his brain. It's almost like he has a diagram of where she wants his hands, what pressure, where to put his tongue. It's easy. It feels good to just follow it.

Everything you want.

It comes to him so naturally to stroke inside her faster and to suck a little bit to the side of her clit instead of directly on it, little strings that are pulling him in all the right directions. It feels better than anything he's ever done to do it.

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.

More firmly, she snaps, "Bucky, stop."

Bucky feels like he's been kicked both mentally and physically when Wanda starts telling him to stop and when he pulls away, he looks at her with concern on his face and he knows his right hand is trembling. What did he do? What did he do? For someone who hasn't had his body autonomy for a long time, he's afraid he's taken something from her.

"Wanda, I'm sorry, I thought I was doing what you wanted...I don't know what I did wrong but I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Did I fuck it up?"

Shit. How is she going to trust him when he's clearly crossed some kind of boundary with her that she didn't want him to cross? He had only wanted to be intimate because he loves her and wants her to feel good but now he's afraid he's fucked it all up.

With a pinched expression, Wanda shakes her head. "No, no… I fucked it up. I did." She grits her teeth and tenses her jaw, glancing away for a moment in shame. If he was her, she wouldn't forgive her for what she did. After everything he's gone through with being controlled, the last thing she ever wanted to do was control him.

Her eyes water and despite the racing of her heart, she inhales deeply to try and centre herself. Her nerves are frayed from his ministrations and from her having extended her mind across the street and her bed. But she forces herself to stay present.

She sits up properly but doesn't tuck a leg beneath her for fear that he'll misread that, too. Instead, her grip on the bedsheets tightens until her knuckles grow red with anger at herself. "You did nothing wrong," she says imploringly, staring down at him. "I took it too far. I'm sorry." As her voice wavers and grows wet, her accent thickens, "I'm really, really sorry."

"You were in my head."

It makes sense now, the strange sense of calm and peace that had come over him, the way he knew exactly where to touch her and how. She had been pulling the strings on him the same way HYDRA could only it was different because he suspects - strongly - that Wanda hadn't meant to do that at all.

"I couldn't tell, I just thought I was getting it right. I just wanted to make you happy."

Bucky moves to sit up and sit beside her, not wanting to be down here while he's trying to have this conversation. He tries to ball up his fear of being controlled and focus on the fact that he's scared the shit out of Wanda instead.

"You didn't mean to do it. I was distracting you," Bucky says gently. "Right? Isn't that it?"

With him now beside her, Wanda tucks a leg beneath her and pulls the other to her chest. She wraps her hands around it and glances at him before looking down.

She nods but doesn't answer immediately. She doesn't know how to even begin explaining it. She spends most of her time gently smoothing out the sharp edges of bad memories and dreams of those around her that sometimes being in that much control can be addictive. Feeling someone's contentment is adrenaline spiking. Having Bucky in her head so intimately had produced the same feeling. Bowing her head towards her knee, she presses her nose against her kneecap and nods again.

"I really liked you in my head," she says quietly. Looking at his legs, she furrows her brows thoughtfully. "It's… intimate for me. And you were there and… everywhere and I just didn't let go this time." She presses her forehead against her knee before turning her head to look up at him. "I think I was too distracted. But I shouldn't have been. I never should've done it." Wanda shakes her head and wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. "I never will again."

"Never go in my head again or never let yourself get distracted again?" Bucky asks softly. Because he understands her concern but he's a little afraid that Wanda might have spooked herself out of being intimate with him and that's the last thing he wants out of this. It's not her fault she lost control. It felt good and she had let go of her worries, just the way he'd wanted her to.

He slides his arm around her. It's his left and he can still feel a little bit of the spell there, can still feel her skin against the metal in a way that he shouldn't be able to do. There's wonderful things about Wanda's magic and he's afraid she's not thinking about those things right now.

"I know you didn't mean to, Wanda. I still trust you. Do you wanna know why I still trust you?"

While Wanda continues to rest her head against her knee, she leans toward him when he wraps his metal arm around her. She hides behind her other hand, pushing her palm against her face as if her heel can somehow stop her from crying. Even if he refuses to be mad at her, she's hurt the one person she cares about. It's an invasion and cruelty she promised he'd never feel again.

She shakes her head. She doesn't want to know why he still trusts her because he shouldn't. But she sniffs hard and wipes at her eyes and smears her tears. She rests her hand on his upper thigh and grips it hard.

"Why?" she asks, her voice small. Wanda doesn't deserve to know, but Bucky has a right to voice those reasons after decades of being forced to be silent.

"You told me to stop. You could have kept going, could have finally gotten that orgasm that you could never quite get and I wouldn't have known the difference, right? But you didn't do that. As soon as you realized what you did, you told me to stop and move away. If you wanted to hurt me, you wouldn't have done that. So I trust you."

He turns his head and kisses her hair. Bucky suspects that Wanda just needs to be held right now and he's more than happy to do the holding. Sex is off the table for tonight and possibly for days or weeks but physical touch is something he still thinks is important for them.

"You care enough about me to not want to control me. You want me to be myself. You didn't fuck anything up and it was just an accident."

She removes her head from her knee and curls into him, taking the arm not around her to hug to her chest. She nods her head. All she wants is for him to be himself. She doesn't want to be in his head, making him do anything. She wants it all to be him.

That's what she had wanted from the start, but Wanda supposes perhaps she had wanted it too much.

Wiping at her face again, she turns her face into his chest to impulsively kiss his skin before resting her forehead against him.

"I have to make sure it won't happen again," she says quietly. How, she doesn't know, but she's determined to figure it out. For now, she wants to let herself have this. Rather than refuse everything he says and his efforts to comfort her, she wants to let herself accept what he's offering. He's shown her he won't lead her astray in that regard.

Hesitantly, she asks, "How… did it feel?"

"It didn't hurt. It made me feel...I felt as if it was the right thing to do, the thing that would make me so happy. I wanted to please you more than anything and I knew exactly how to do it. You didn't hurt me, Wanda. I swear you didn't."

Bucky is a little frightened she'd gotten into his head, sure, but he also knows it was accidental. Wanda is so careful to keep away from his mind, so careful not to violate what HYDRA violated for decades.

"It's okay. I don't hate you for it, all right? You didn't mean to."

She's slow to nod, although she has some difficulty in accepting that he doesn't hate her for it. He should. It'd be so easy to make him, but for all of her self-sabotaging tendencies when it comes to her facing potential contentment or even happiness, Wanda, of course, doesn't. That's up to him. And while that desire to self-sabotage is prevalent even now, Wanda doesn't want him to hate her.

"I wouldn't blame you if you changed your mind," she says quietly, peering up at him. She curves the corners of her lips upward as though that's the joke. But, really, it'd be up to him if he changed his mind on his current stance.

"I'm just glad it didn't hurt you." Vehemently, she whispers, "But it won't happen again."

"I trust you. Think about it, Wanda - I could have hurt you with my arm, right? I could have bruised you or something and I would have felt awful. It's a part of me. Just as much as that's a part of me, it's a part of you to have magic and accidents happen."

Bucky doesn't want Wanda to feel bad about this. He wants her to understand that he still cares for her and wants this to work. He wants to be with her, all of her, and that includes the magical part of her as well. He wants to cherish her the way she deserves.

"Do you want me to just hold you for a little while, Wanda? Just to have the comfort? Because I could do with comforting you right now so you can tell yourself it's just for me."

"Okay," she says quietly, smiling softly. Being held sounds nice—and if it's something Bucky wants, then Wanda thinks it's only fair to make sure he gets it… even if it's something that most likely will make her feel a lot better, too. She had liked lying on top of him earlier and simply being held. It's those moments that she appreciates the most. "That would be really nice."

She widens her smile and laughs quietly, "I'll think it's just for you since you look like you have very bony shoulders." She pokes him in the shoulder with her index finger. It's her attempt to lighten the mood.

Bucky laughs at that because his shoulder is mostly pure muscle and if she feels bone, it's only because everyone has bone there and not because he's especially bony. God, he loves this woman, and even if she makes mistakes he hopes he can help her pick up and try again because she deserves more out of life than guilt. He's lived that life and he's done with it.

"You know there's nothing but muscle here, baby. It's all I am. Of course, you were complaining about that earlier too so I don't know how to please you. Just know I wanna try."

He gives her his best attempt at puppy eyes and pulls her to curl up alongside him where she can pillow her head on his chest if she wants to. He idly drifts his fingers through her hair.

"I ever tell you I love your hair?"

As she rests her head against his chest and wedges her foot none too gently against his calf, Wanda mouths Not too bony incredulously and leaves it at that. She makes a mental note that perhaps calling his shoulders 'bony' in the near future might have him call her 'baby' again. She hadn't minded it. She rests her palm against his side.

Briefly, she wonders if during her accident she had somehow revealed she liked her hair played with. Wanda decides no, she mustn't have; not everything Bucky will do from this moment on is because of some seed she's unintentionally planted in his head. He's simply discovered it on his own without knowing it.

As for his question, she thinks to tell him no, but Wanda opts for continuing to tease him. She prefers a gentle chaotic approach, especially in light of everything. "I was thinking of chopping it all off."

"I would be sad but it's your hair. I could grow mine out," he teases, giving her a bright grin. "Go back to the homeless look. It was really working for me in Bucharest and I could definitely blend in for a long time with that hair and a cap. Nobody wanted to walk near me because it looked like I hadn't showered in a month."

Bucky doesn't think he's going to go back to long hair. It had been a pain in the ass, for one, and for two he likes it short and out of the way. He doesn't like having it cut but Wanda can do it for him and he trusts her not to come at him with a pair of scissors to stab him in the jugular and to, you know, only cut his hair.

"What'd you do if I grew it out?"

She instantly scrunches her nose in distaste. While Bucky had been attractive even with the long hair, she much prefers his short hair. It doesn't distract from his eyes and she thinks it being a hairstyle he hadn't been forced to wear makes him appear more confident.

She doesn't afford him the same luxury as he does her.

"Change all the locks and make you sleep outside until you cut it again." With her cheek pressed against his warm skin, she shakes her head. "I told you I never liked the homeless look. It's not you."

don't touch that dial

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)