Control.
Title: Control
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Pairing: Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: Not mine! Characters you recognize belong to other people, and I am just playing in their sandbox for fun. Inspired by the part of the second Civil War trailer with Wanda using her magic to keep Vision on his knees. Written about a month before the movie's release date, so this is no doubt going to be nerfed by the Russos. (Nope, haven't seen it yet, I've got a sitter lined up to watch the kids tomorrow night!) Oh, well, have fun anyway. ;) Title and summary from Halsey's "Control."
Summary: And all the kids cried out,
"Please stop, you're scaring me."
I can't help this awful energy
Goddamn right, you should be scared of me
Who is in control?
Wanda Maximoff was an orphan, left feeling empty and tortured by the ghosts swirling around inside her chest. Her emotions were a tangled mess, constricting around her throat and making her feel erratic and edgy. Natasha Romanoff knew a thing or two about loss, about pain, about using it to hone the edges sharp and useful. Wanda perhaps clung to her more than she really should have, but it felt comfortable at the same time. They spoke in Russian sometimes, talking about the countries they'd left behind, the people that had shaped them into something other than women, the way it was difficult to adapt sometimes. Grief was cloying, but Natasha never pitied her, never treated her as something other than a colleague that chose to stay and forge a different path from the one Hydra painted for her.
But there was no easy way to contain her emotions. When they were too wild, it left her magic reckless and loose, harder to contain. "You're a thing of chaos," Sam had said once, shaking his head when a spell went awry. He didn't say it to be mean, but as a form of truth. "Trying to control chaos is a form of insanity, you know. It's not going to happen. But if you can find the patterns in your chaos, then you can redirect it."
"That makes no sense," she had tried to tell him. Because it didn't; chaos by definition had no patterns to suss out.
"Hey, c'mere," he said, gesturing for her to follow him outside. There was a memorial garden that they had made, a place of peace and quiet to mourn their dead or meditate away from the hustle and bustle of the base.
She followed him, not sure what he intended to do there, but all he did was sit and contemplate the pond. "What are we doing here?"
"The surface looks still, doesn't it?"
"Well, yes. That was the point of it," she said, not sure what his point was.
"But there's movement. Look at the way the surface has a flow and ripple to it, the way the wind blows across it. There's no set pattern, you can't tell the wind what to do. But you can guess what will happen to the water if you watch long enough. You learn it, you get the feel for it, and you can almost predict it."
"You say my emotions are like this?" she asked him, frowning.
"I think so," Sam replied with a nod. He looked back at the pond and willed his shoulders to drop into a relaxed posture. "How you feel is like the wind. It comes out of nowhere, but if you learn them, you can guess the way they go. Then you can control your magic better. The way I see it, it's like any of us learning how to use our bodies. Until we figure out what our limits are, the strengths and weaknesses, we're not going to be able to figure out how to use them."
Wanda grasped his hand in hers and then looked at the pond herself. "You are very wise, Sam."
"I try. It's the best any of us can do."
So she spent quite a bit of time meditating, training in hand to hand with Natasha, listening to the way Steve guided them. The former assassin seemed to know when Wanda needed silence and when the hand to hand work had to be more intense so that she couldn't think. When Wanda tried to thank her, Natasha merely shook her head. "It's hard to adjust from what was to what can be," she had said gently. "I had someone help me through it. I'm just paying it forward now. So in the future, just help someone else."
It felt like an obligation, but one Wanda could easily fulfill.
She wasn't sure how she felt about Rhodey just yet, because she couldn't help but look at the armor and think Iron Man, even if she knew that he was War Machine and not Tony Stark. Vision was... Vision. He had a mind, had dreams of his own, had some vague presence where emotions, thought and desire was. He wasn't quite human, but he was definitely more than a machine.
And honestly, being made of vibranium meant that of all the Avengers, she would feel the safest practicing her magic skills on him.
Vision was pleasantly surprised by her request, and eagerly agreed to help her. "Magic is quite a unique skill set. So few mortals can wield that kind of energy, and the sheer willpower to change a mind or control the body..."
Feeling a bit chastised, Wanda shook her head. "I don't seek to harm."
"But if you don't know where your limits are, then you could possibly do harm without meaning to," he replied reasonably. "I understand the logic involved."
At the touch of his hand on her arm, she felt her heart speed up. It made no sense, not really, and her uneasiness grew a fraction. Vision wasn't machine, but he wasn't man, either.
Wanda desperately wanted him to be a man for her.
Separate from the other training rooms, the two of them met in a bare room made of three foot thick concrete and laminate flooring. No windows, only recessed overhead lighting inside reinforced glass sheeting. She knew that it was meant to be able to contain super strong or other kinds of dangerous people, possibly any of the Inhumans that were starting to be found all around the world. Did she count as an Inhuman now? Was that what the experiments did? Had they triggered some latent gene in her body and that developed into her power?
Uncomfortable with the thought of mental manipulation, she decided to focus on the physical manipulation. Different finger positions changed the strength and direction of her blasts, or changed the properties of the power into something more like ropes or restraints. She changed the consistency of the magic, so that it was more like threads than ropes, so that they were ribbons or a sheet. Over the next several weeks, hours a day, they practiced in the containment room. Vision stayed very still, very preternaturally patient. He was cooperative, too much so, and it set her spine to itching; could she break that control he had over himself? Could she make him feel something after all?
"I propose," she began nervously, licking her lips, "trying something different."
"By all means," he said, still pleasant, still inquiring, still eager to help and understand.
"I might... feel something," she murmured, unsure how to explain it.
"Define something."
"You are not a man."
"No, I am not."
"So I should not feel this way."
Vision looked at her, and it felt as though he could see into her soul. It was odd, yet not quite as painful as she thought it would be. "Perhaps you should show me what you mean," he began in his gentle tone. "I would not wish to assume that I know your thoughts."
"But I can know yours."
He smiled in delight. "Yes, you can."
Without even searching his mind, she knew he wanted her to explore the limits of her power and what she desired. Whatever she felt, he felt something similar.
Wanda pushed her hands forward, and the red jets of magic rushed forward, surrounding Vision like another skin. Curling her fingers inward, almost into fists, the magic tightened around him, to the point that he looked at her in surprise. "Fight me if you can."
"But I don't wish to fight you, Wanda," he said, an odd note in his voice.
"I don't think you'll win," she replied with a smirk. "But I want to know if I can hold you. We've done this with you holding it all in, staying so still. I want the struggle. I want to see if this will work. I cannot have a passive man beside me."
Vision smiled. "I am not a man, if you recall."
She could feel him trying to move within her grip, and her own smile became a touch feral, teeth bared as she took in the sight of him. "Of a sort, you are. Indestructible and hopeful. You still think humanity can be saved, no matter what evils they do."
"As do you," he reminded her gently. "Deep down. Else we wouldn't fight for their sake."
Her hands curled almost instinctively, tightening further around Vision, and when her hands dropped, he was forced to his knees. "Do I control you, Vision?" she asked, voice taking on a husky note. "If I asked, would you submit to me?"
"Perhaps I find you worthy."
And that was a feeling she didn't often have about herself, if she was going to be honest. It was fascinating and maybe a little sad at the way she glommed onto Vision, valuing his opinion of her. He didn't have any preconceived notions of who or what she should be. Sam was good about that, too, but she didn't feel this way about Sam. There was no mystery to him, no challenge. He was a good man, an honest man, one that wanted to serve and protect and assist however possible, who had fallen into the role of hero naturally. Vision was a mix of things, an accident of sorts, just as she was, but didn't feel broken or odd. He simply... was. And that was how she wanted to be, if she could.
Wanda found herself kissing him before she really meant to act on the impulse, but he didn't seem averse to it at all. If anything, he smiled against her lips and struggled a bit against her magic, as if he wanted to hold tightly onto her.
She straightened up and smiled down at the kneeling Vision. "I think I like you on your knees."
He laughed, a gentle and delighted sound. "Indeed."
She had practiced anchoring her spells so that she didn't have to hold the magic in her hands all the time. Grounding herself and driving the containment spell into the ground at her feet seemed to work, even with Vision trying to shift and move. His eyes were alight with mischief, and she was sure he would do something once he broke free.
So she simply had to ensure that he wouldn't.
The spell was strong, and clearly didn't actually hurt Vision. Wanda stepped closer to him, wondering if there was a way she could get out of her clothes and make it seem sexy and not desperate. It might be silly, but she wanted to keep his good opinion of her, wanted him to think that she was worth that consideration. She tossed her jacket aside, in the fitted tank, pants and boots. "You like what you see?" she asked, a definite husky note in her voice.
"You have a fine form, Miss Maximoff," he said, voice curling around her name in a pleasing sort of way. She couldn't explain it, but it sounded right in his mouth, safe somehow. "Power and strength, character and determination. I quite enjoy seeing that develop."
Her breath caught at the compliment, and she caressed his face. The vibranium skin felt soft, more like skin than metal. He had always felt like flesh, and the side of her nail against his cheek caused it to dent as if he was an ordinary man. Her gaze raked over him and she smiled without even realizing she had done so.
A whisper of her magic, a thin thread of it trailing down from her fingers as she rubbed them together, and then her boots were unzipped. Stepping out of them, she kicked them aside and was in her stockinged feet. "See what your clever lips can do," she ordered him, standing straight in front of him.
It was a delight to see him strain against her magic, not able to move until she released the tight grip on his head and shoulders. Then he was able to bend his head forward and attempt to grip the edge of the zipper on her pants with his lips and teeth, drawing them down to undo them. She wanted to laugh at the determined expression on his face, but oh, how gratifying was it to know that he wanted her in the same odd way she wanted him. Because she did, a hot rush in her veins, a singing in her heart, a need to know if he was as fully formed as he seemed to be.
Even though he couldn't quite tug her pants down with his teeth, let alone her panties, it didn't stop Vision from nuzzling at her through the thin fabric left behind. He did his best with only his head allowed to move, and Wanda's breath caught. This was a tease, to have his lips and tongue so close yet so far, and the sight of his head between her legs was amazing. She backed up long enough to yank off her pants and underwear, then approached him once again. This time, she threw one leg over his shoulder and stood on tip toes so that she was opened up in front of his ready mouth. She slid her hands down over his head, caressing the soft metallic skin.
He had the knowledge of millions of databases and the fevered fantasies of billions; every bit of that gave him vicarious experience. It was enough to get his tongue tracing her, curling into her slit and then around her exposed clit. The tongue was soft, gentle, teasing, making Wanda whine a little and dig her fingers into the base of his skull. "More," she demanded.
The slight hum sounded like "Yes, miss," and his tongue thrust deep into her, as if he could use it alone right there to make her come. When he next dragged that tongue and lips across her clit, his touch was harder, firmer, and made her whimper. Her hips rocked a little, tilting so he had better access, and Wanda couldn't help but cry out when he made her come. He continued, as if he could never tire, and maybe that was a benefit of the machine part of his origins. Wanda gasped and moaned, holding onto Vision for balance as he continued to lick and suck at her. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, sinking into the sensation of him.
When the second orgasm hit her, Wanda's entire body shook and it felt as though her control utterly shattered.
Her containment spell must have broken, because when Wanda lost her balance and fell, Vision caught her effortlessly in his arms. It was much like when he caught her in Sokovia; the touch was comfortable, making her feel safe and at ease.
"You are quite the man," she murmured breathlessly, lips curling into a satiated smile.
"I have not quite begun," he replied, smiling in return. "I would very much like to test my own limits. Would you care to help me with that?"
Wanda couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the formal question, and pushed on his shoulders. He obligingly tipped backward, until they landed in an ungainly sprawl. She shifted to straddle him, mischievous expression on her face. "Shall we see what kind of man you are?"
"A fully formed one, I assure you," he answered.
She laughed again, delighted. Learning each others' limits was going to be fun.
The End
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Pairing: Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: Not mine! Characters you recognize belong to other people, and I am just playing in their sandbox for fun. Inspired by the part of the second Civil War trailer with Wanda using her magic to keep Vision on his knees. Written about a month before the movie's release date, so this is no doubt going to be nerfed by the Russos. (Nope, haven't seen it yet, I've got a sitter lined up to watch the kids tomorrow night!) Oh, well, have fun anyway. ;) Title and summary from Halsey's "Control."
Summary: And all the kids cried out,
"Please stop, you're scaring me."
I can't help this awful energy
Goddamn right, you should be scared of me
Who is in control?
Wanda Maximoff was an orphan, left feeling empty and tortured by the ghosts swirling around inside her chest. Her emotions were a tangled mess, constricting around her throat and making her feel erratic and edgy. Natasha Romanoff knew a thing or two about loss, about pain, about using it to hone the edges sharp and useful. Wanda perhaps clung to her more than she really should have, but it felt comfortable at the same time. They spoke in Russian sometimes, talking about the countries they'd left behind, the people that had shaped them into something other than women, the way it was difficult to adapt sometimes. Grief was cloying, but Natasha never pitied her, never treated her as something other than a colleague that chose to stay and forge a different path from the one Hydra painted for her.
But there was no easy way to contain her emotions. When they were too wild, it left her magic reckless and loose, harder to contain. "You're a thing of chaos," Sam had said once, shaking his head when a spell went awry. He didn't say it to be mean, but as a form of truth. "Trying to control chaos is a form of insanity, you know. It's not going to happen. But if you can find the patterns in your chaos, then you can redirect it."
"That makes no sense," she had tried to tell him. Because it didn't; chaos by definition had no patterns to suss out.
"Hey, c'mere," he said, gesturing for her to follow him outside. There was a memorial garden that they had made, a place of peace and quiet to mourn their dead or meditate away from the hustle and bustle of the base.
She followed him, not sure what he intended to do there, but all he did was sit and contemplate the pond. "What are we doing here?"
"The surface looks still, doesn't it?"
"Well, yes. That was the point of it," she said, not sure what his point was.
"But there's movement. Look at the way the surface has a flow and ripple to it, the way the wind blows across it. There's no set pattern, you can't tell the wind what to do. But you can guess what will happen to the water if you watch long enough. You learn it, you get the feel for it, and you can almost predict it."
"You say my emotions are like this?" she asked him, frowning.
"I think so," Sam replied with a nod. He looked back at the pond and willed his shoulders to drop into a relaxed posture. "How you feel is like the wind. It comes out of nowhere, but if you learn them, you can guess the way they go. Then you can control your magic better. The way I see it, it's like any of us learning how to use our bodies. Until we figure out what our limits are, the strengths and weaknesses, we're not going to be able to figure out how to use them."
Wanda grasped his hand in hers and then looked at the pond herself. "You are very wise, Sam."
"I try. It's the best any of us can do."
So she spent quite a bit of time meditating, training in hand to hand with Natasha, listening to the way Steve guided them. The former assassin seemed to know when Wanda needed silence and when the hand to hand work had to be more intense so that she couldn't think. When Wanda tried to thank her, Natasha merely shook her head. "It's hard to adjust from what was to what can be," she had said gently. "I had someone help me through it. I'm just paying it forward now. So in the future, just help someone else."
It felt like an obligation, but one Wanda could easily fulfill.
She wasn't sure how she felt about Rhodey just yet, because she couldn't help but look at the armor and think Iron Man, even if she knew that he was War Machine and not Tony Stark. Vision was... Vision. He had a mind, had dreams of his own, had some vague presence where emotions, thought and desire was. He wasn't quite human, but he was definitely more than a machine.
And honestly, being made of vibranium meant that of all the Avengers, she would feel the safest practicing her magic skills on him.
Vision was pleasantly surprised by her request, and eagerly agreed to help her. "Magic is quite a unique skill set. So few mortals can wield that kind of energy, and the sheer willpower to change a mind or control the body..."
Feeling a bit chastised, Wanda shook her head. "I don't seek to harm."
"But if you don't know where your limits are, then you could possibly do harm without meaning to," he replied reasonably. "I understand the logic involved."
At the touch of his hand on her arm, she felt her heart speed up. It made no sense, not really, and her uneasiness grew a fraction. Vision wasn't machine, but he wasn't man, either.
Wanda desperately wanted him to be a man for her.
Separate from the other training rooms, the two of them met in a bare room made of three foot thick concrete and laminate flooring. No windows, only recessed overhead lighting inside reinforced glass sheeting. She knew that it was meant to be able to contain super strong or other kinds of dangerous people, possibly any of the Inhumans that were starting to be found all around the world. Did she count as an Inhuman now? Was that what the experiments did? Had they triggered some latent gene in her body and that developed into her power?
Uncomfortable with the thought of mental manipulation, she decided to focus on the physical manipulation. Different finger positions changed the strength and direction of her blasts, or changed the properties of the power into something more like ropes or restraints. She changed the consistency of the magic, so that it was more like threads than ropes, so that they were ribbons or a sheet. Over the next several weeks, hours a day, they practiced in the containment room. Vision stayed very still, very preternaturally patient. He was cooperative, too much so, and it set her spine to itching; could she break that control he had over himself? Could she make him feel something after all?
"I propose," she began nervously, licking her lips, "trying something different."
"By all means," he said, still pleasant, still inquiring, still eager to help and understand.
"I might... feel something," she murmured, unsure how to explain it.
"Define something."
"You are not a man."
"No, I am not."
"So I should not feel this way."
Vision looked at her, and it felt as though he could see into her soul. It was odd, yet not quite as painful as she thought it would be. "Perhaps you should show me what you mean," he began in his gentle tone. "I would not wish to assume that I know your thoughts."
"But I can know yours."
He smiled in delight. "Yes, you can."
Without even searching his mind, she knew he wanted her to explore the limits of her power and what she desired. Whatever she felt, he felt something similar.
Wanda pushed her hands forward, and the red jets of magic rushed forward, surrounding Vision like another skin. Curling her fingers inward, almost into fists, the magic tightened around him, to the point that he looked at her in surprise. "Fight me if you can."
"But I don't wish to fight you, Wanda," he said, an odd note in his voice.
"I don't think you'll win," she replied with a smirk. "But I want to know if I can hold you. We've done this with you holding it all in, staying so still. I want the struggle. I want to see if this will work. I cannot have a passive man beside me."
Vision smiled. "I am not a man, if you recall."
She could feel him trying to move within her grip, and her own smile became a touch feral, teeth bared as she took in the sight of him. "Of a sort, you are. Indestructible and hopeful. You still think humanity can be saved, no matter what evils they do."
"As do you," he reminded her gently. "Deep down. Else we wouldn't fight for their sake."
Her hands curled almost instinctively, tightening further around Vision, and when her hands dropped, he was forced to his knees. "Do I control you, Vision?" she asked, voice taking on a husky note. "If I asked, would you submit to me?"
"Perhaps I find you worthy."
And that was a feeling she didn't often have about herself, if she was going to be honest. It was fascinating and maybe a little sad at the way she glommed onto Vision, valuing his opinion of her. He didn't have any preconceived notions of who or what she should be. Sam was good about that, too, but she didn't feel this way about Sam. There was no mystery to him, no challenge. He was a good man, an honest man, one that wanted to serve and protect and assist however possible, who had fallen into the role of hero naturally. Vision was a mix of things, an accident of sorts, just as she was, but didn't feel broken or odd. He simply... was. And that was how she wanted to be, if she could.
Wanda found herself kissing him before she really meant to act on the impulse, but he didn't seem averse to it at all. If anything, he smiled against her lips and struggled a bit against her magic, as if he wanted to hold tightly onto her.
She straightened up and smiled down at the kneeling Vision. "I think I like you on your knees."
He laughed, a gentle and delighted sound. "Indeed."
She had practiced anchoring her spells so that she didn't have to hold the magic in her hands all the time. Grounding herself and driving the containment spell into the ground at her feet seemed to work, even with Vision trying to shift and move. His eyes were alight with mischief, and she was sure he would do something once he broke free.
So she simply had to ensure that he wouldn't.
The spell was strong, and clearly didn't actually hurt Vision. Wanda stepped closer to him, wondering if there was a way she could get out of her clothes and make it seem sexy and not desperate. It might be silly, but she wanted to keep his good opinion of her, wanted him to think that she was worth that consideration. She tossed her jacket aside, in the fitted tank, pants and boots. "You like what you see?" she asked, a definite husky note in her voice.
"You have a fine form, Miss Maximoff," he said, voice curling around her name in a pleasing sort of way. She couldn't explain it, but it sounded right in his mouth, safe somehow. "Power and strength, character and determination. I quite enjoy seeing that develop."
Her breath caught at the compliment, and she caressed his face. The vibranium skin felt soft, more like skin than metal. He had always felt like flesh, and the side of her nail against his cheek caused it to dent as if he was an ordinary man. Her gaze raked over him and she smiled without even realizing she had done so.
A whisper of her magic, a thin thread of it trailing down from her fingers as she rubbed them together, and then her boots were unzipped. Stepping out of them, she kicked them aside and was in her stockinged feet. "See what your clever lips can do," she ordered him, standing straight in front of him.
It was a delight to see him strain against her magic, not able to move until she released the tight grip on his head and shoulders. Then he was able to bend his head forward and attempt to grip the edge of the zipper on her pants with his lips and teeth, drawing them down to undo them. She wanted to laugh at the determined expression on his face, but oh, how gratifying was it to know that he wanted her in the same odd way she wanted him. Because she did, a hot rush in her veins, a singing in her heart, a need to know if he was as fully formed as he seemed to be.
Even though he couldn't quite tug her pants down with his teeth, let alone her panties, it didn't stop Vision from nuzzling at her through the thin fabric left behind. He did his best with only his head allowed to move, and Wanda's breath caught. This was a tease, to have his lips and tongue so close yet so far, and the sight of his head between her legs was amazing. She backed up long enough to yank off her pants and underwear, then approached him once again. This time, she threw one leg over his shoulder and stood on tip toes so that she was opened up in front of his ready mouth. She slid her hands down over his head, caressing the soft metallic skin.
He had the knowledge of millions of databases and the fevered fantasies of billions; every bit of that gave him vicarious experience. It was enough to get his tongue tracing her, curling into her slit and then around her exposed clit. The tongue was soft, gentle, teasing, making Wanda whine a little and dig her fingers into the base of his skull. "More," she demanded.
The slight hum sounded like "Yes, miss," and his tongue thrust deep into her, as if he could use it alone right there to make her come. When he next dragged that tongue and lips across her clit, his touch was harder, firmer, and made her whimper. Her hips rocked a little, tilting so he had better access, and Wanda couldn't help but cry out when he made her come. He continued, as if he could never tire, and maybe that was a benefit of the machine part of his origins. Wanda gasped and moaned, holding onto Vision for balance as he continued to lick and suck at her. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, sinking into the sensation of him.
When the second orgasm hit her, Wanda's entire body shook and it felt as though her control utterly shattered.
Her containment spell must have broken, because when Wanda lost her balance and fell, Vision caught her effortlessly in his arms. It was much like when he caught her in Sokovia; the touch was comfortable, making her feel safe and at ease.
"You are quite the man," she murmured breathlessly, lips curling into a satiated smile.
"I have not quite begun," he replied, smiling in return. "I would very much like to test my own limits. Would you care to help me with that?"
Wanda couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the formal question, and pushed on his shoulders. He obligingly tipped backward, until they landed in an ungainly sprawl. She shifted to straddle him, mischievous expression on her face. "Shall we see what kind of man you are?"
"A fully formed one, I assure you," he answered.
She laughed again, delighted. Learning each others' limits was going to be fun.
The End