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@greyfskittles
During therapy:
Therapist: Now what is it called when you can't take it anymore, but you keep taking it...?
Y/n: A good girl?
Therapist: Oh my God, no.
Later:
Wanda: YOU SAID WHAT
Natasha: *snorts, but tries to hide it in front of Wanda, who hears anyway and still gives her a death stare*
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Wanda making you strap warm her favourite toy while she calls for room service. She can hear your quiet whines nearby as she talks to the hotel staff, having to speak a little louder to them. “We would love some breakfast, thank you. Although I think my darling is already stuffed.” She glances to the side to see you squirming on the strap, smirking slightly. When they’re gone, Wanda praises you for being so well behaved and quiet. “Well done, honey. Keep this good behaviour up and mommy will make sure you’re fucked dumb by the afternoon.”
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Sevika x Male Reader headcanons!
• She leaves you for a woman.
sf: https://www.tumblr.com/tonsillessscum/769541848758910976?source=share
Me, getting distracted for a moment in just in smut and now I don't know what position they are in:
cw: smut; sevika is helping reader to be vocal, silent reader (at first), vaginal fingering, oral sex, pillow talk, aftercare, gentle sevika
words: 3.2k
—Let me hear you.
That’s something Sevika noticed right from the beginning. How quiet you always got whenever things turned heated.
The stolen kisses in dark corners, the make-out sessions that ended with swollen lips and quick goodbyes.
You never made much of a sound. A sigh here, maybe the faintest whimper there, but never anything more.
She never said a word about it. Not when the furthest you’d ever gone was kissing.
But now you’re in her bedroom, lying on her sheets that smell faintly of smoke and steel, her heavy frame crowding you against the headboard, both in your underwear.
The two of you are kissing like you’ve been starving for it; messy, hungry, saliva shared between lips that can’t get enough.
Her hand is cupping your jaw, thumb dragging over your cheekbone, while her other slides down your side in a slow, claiming stroke.
You know exactly where it’s leading. So does she.
Her palm settles low at your waist, the weight of it making you shiver. She lingers there, waiting.
Waiting for something; your breath to hitch, a moan, a sound, even a word or a nod, anything that tells her you’re ready for more.
But she hears nothing.
Sevika pulls back just enough to search your face, breaking the kiss. Her lips are slick, her voice rough when she murmurs, “You okay?”
The question hits you like a splash of cold water, pulling you out of the haze of heat.
Your lashes flutter, eyes wide as you blink up at her, your cheeks burning red.
At first, your lips part, but no words come out at first. Just a rush of air you didn’t realize you’d been holding.
“Y-yeah,” you manage, cheeks hot, voice barely above a whisper as you nod slightly. “I’m okay.”
Her eyes soften, even with that dark heat burning in them.
She leans in, pressing her forehead against yours for a second, grounding you before her mouth brushes the corner of your lips.
“Good,” she rasps, her breath hot on your skin. “Then let me hear you.”
The words sink into you at the same time her hand dips lower, sliding beneath the waistband of your panties.
You gasp against her lips, and you’re glad Sevika swallows the sound with a hungry kiss, her metal arm now braced against the headboard while her other hand finds the heat between your thighs.
She’s careful, slow at first.
Fingers teasing along sensitive skin, circling without giving in too soon. Her mouth trails down to your neck, kissing rough and open-mouthed, like she’s been waiting forever to taste you here.
You tilt your head instinctively, granting her access, and her tongue flicks against your pulse point in a way that makes your stomach twist.
Her fingers slide lower, parting your lips with an ease that makes your thighs tense around her wrist. The wet sound of it fills the room, obscene in the quiet, but still, you don’t make a sound.
Instead, you’re biting your lip, holding back with every ragged, too-controlled breath. Each exhale is shaky, pulled through your nose, like you’re afraid of what might come out if you just let go.
Sevika notices. Of course she does.
Her hips roll against yours in slow, deliberate rhythm, teasing you with the press of her heat as her fingers circle exactly where you need her.
She wonders at your silence, at the way your body reacts so vividly while your voice refuses to follow.
For now, she doesn’t call it out. She lets her hand do the talking, coaxing, testing, pushing you closer; waiting to see how long you’ll hold it in.
But Sevika can feel it, clear as day.
The way your body is trembling against her, the heat soaking her fingers, the arch of your hips begging for more.
Yet your mouth stays stubbornly shut.
Every breath you take is caged, dragged too carefully through your nose.
Her lips keeps kissing your throat, teeth grazing over your jaw before she pulls back enough to look at you again. Her hand doesn’t stop moving; steady, relentless on your clit.
Her voice is low, roughened with hunger but edged with command when she murmurs, “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
The question makes your breath stutter. You can only nod, biting down harder on your lip.
Not enough.
Sevika’s eyes narrow, her pace unfaltering as she presses her palm firmer against you, forcing another desperate jolt from your body.
“Use your words,” she says, husky and unyielding.
“I want to hear you.”
Shame burns hotter than your blush.
You’ve been taught to keep quiet your whole life, drilled into silence even when your body was screaming for release.
The thought of letting go, of letting Sevika hear how much she makes you unravel, twists something inside you, half fear, half desperate want.
“I…” your voice cracks, and you swallow, chest heaving.
Her fingers curl inside you and you gasp, the sound tearing out of you before you can stop it.
Sevika’s mouth curves into a slow, hungry smile as she catches it, as if she’s been waiting for that exact sound. Her lips crash back onto yours, her voice growling against your mouth, “That’s it. Don’t hide from me.”
And with her fingers working you open, her hips pressing insistently against you, there’s no room left for silence.
But you can’t help it. You keep your mouth shut.
Your body gives her everything it can.
Your shaking thighs clamped around her hips, the heat dripping down her fingers, the way you arch and writhe under every stroke.
But your voice… it’s still trapped. Locked away behind bitten lips and shallow breaths. The tiny, strangled gasps that escape you are so restrained it almost hurts her to hear them.
Sevika realizes pretty fast while you have sex. It’s not shyness. Not inexperience either, even if just slightly a part of it.
It’s something carved into you, something you’ve probably been taught, and it runs too deep to be undone in one night.
It’s not something she can tease about. Not something she can use to be mean or cruel and make you drip even more for her.
So she doesn’t push.
Instead, she presses her lips to your temple, murmuring low praise between kisses to your skin.
“That’s it. You’re doing so good for me.” “fuck, you feel incredible.” “let me take care of you, baby.” Her voice rumbles through your bones, grounding you as she keeps her movements steady and sure, carrying you to the edge until your silence finally shatters and she does too.
Not with words or sounds for your part,but with the way your whole body seizes, clinging to her as release rips through you.
She holds you, strong and unshakable, recovering from her own high. Only then does she ease her touch, kissing you soft and slow, letting you breathe.
Later, when you’re curled against her chest, her flesh arm wrapped around you and your face tucked into the crook of her neck, the thought lingers.
She strokes absent circles into your back, quiet in the afterglow.
She wants to ask. Wants to know why you hold yourself back, why you seem afraid of letting her hear you even though she wants to hear you.
But she knows this isn’t the moment to pry. Not when you’re so vulnerable in her arms, clinging to her warmth like she’s the only solid thing in the world.
So she kisses the top of your head, pulling you closer. For now, she thinks, she’ll just hold you.
But in the back of her mind, she’s wondering how she’ll bring it up later; how she’ll make sure you understand, that with her, you never have to be silent.
For a while, she lets it be. Lets you both rest, lets the haze of the night dissolve into ordinary days filled with cigarettes by the window, quiet breakfasts, and evenings where you both sprawl across her couch like you belong there.
It’s domestic, casual. Something a bit too unfamiliar to her but she’s starting to love the idea.
It’s on one of those lazy afternoons, when the sun is spilling soft light across her apartment, that Sevika decides it’s maybe time to talk about it.
You’re straddling her thighs, facing her, half-distracted as you play with the chain around her neck while the two of you talk about nothing really important.
She’s got her hands heavy on your hips, tracing absent lines into your skin.
You’re laughing at something dumb she just said about a coworker when her thumb stills against you.
“Hey,” she starts, and her voice is rougher, more deliberate than before. You look up at her, curious, blinking those eyes she can never look away from.
She shifts under you, her jaw working like she’s chewing on the words before she spits them out. “Can I ask you something? …About sex.”
The word makes you freeze just slightly, shoulders tensing even though you try to hide it. Your gaze flickers down, but you nod anyway, laughing softly, awkwardly. “…Yeah. What about it?”
She doesn’t miss the stiffness, the way your voice tilts just enough to betray you.
She shifts her hands to your waist, grounding you against her chest, her eyes holding yours steady. “The other night,” she says, low and careful, “You were quiet. Like holding back.”
Your fingers twisting her chain absently as she waits, Sevika, not exactly known for being delicate with words, clears her throat and tries again.
“Maybe…” She smirks a little, but it’s self-deprecating, almost awkward. “I’m just used to loud girls.” She shrugs, big shoulders shifting under your hands. “Not to flatter myself or anything.”
You blink at her, startled, before your lips twitch in a smile. She sounds like she’s joking, but she’s so bad at it. The dry way she says it, like she’s honestly just tossing the thought out there, that it makes something soft and embarrassed bloom in your chest.
Sevika catches the way you duck your head, cheeks warm, and her brow furrows. “Hey. I wasn’t—” she starts, but you’re still fidgeting, rolling her chain between your fingers like you’re trying to find courage in the cool metal.
“It’s okay, it’s not that,” you whisper, shaking your head.
“I’m not… It’s just…” Your throat tightens, and you have to look down, focusing on the line of her collarbone instead of her eyes. “You’re the first girl I’ve ever been with.”
Sevika nods once, steady, no judgment in it. She knew that already, you’d talked about it, but she can tell this is leading somewhere heavier.
She keeps quiet, giving you room.
Your voice falters, soft and ashamed. “Well, before you… the men I’ve been with weren’t really… good. I mean… ah, it’s embarrassing”
You laugh in embarrassment, almost self deprecating, before saying, “They always told me to be quiet. I just… couldn’t make a sound.”
You keep your eyes on her chain like it might anchor you. “I’m just… ashamed,” you admit finally, the word thick on your tongue. “I tried, last time, when you told me you wanted to hear me. I wanted to. But it’s impossible now. It’s like—” You stop, take a shaky breath. “the first time I’ve ever been allowed to make a sound without… being scolded for it.”
Sevika’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t interrupt. She just strokes her thumb over your waist, waiting.
Your voice lowers, as if the memory itself might overhear. “Last time I did, with my ex, he just… stopped. Got mad. Sulked like a child. Made me feel stupid for it. And it stuck.”
The confession hangs heavy between you, shame curling through your chest as your cheeks burn hotter.
Then you glance up at her, eyes glinting with a teasing defiance, even if it’s soft. “But I left him. Don’t look at me like that.”
Her brows had been furrowed deep, a storm brewing behind her eyes, but your little tease loosens them. A slow breath escapes her, and the sharp line of her shoulders eases.
Sevika shakes her head, mouth twitching into something not quite a smile, not quite a scowl. “Good,” she mutters, blunt as ever. Her flesh hand squeezes the flesh of your waist, grounding. “Because he was a fucking idiot.”
She tilts her head, meeting your gaze, voice low and steady. “I’m bad at this, but you don’t have to be quiet with me. But if it’s hard for you, then don’t force it, yeah? No shame. No bullshit rules some fuckers left in your head. Just you and me.”
The words taste strange in her mouth, too raw, too earnest. Sevika isn’t used to talking like this, her jaw flexes as if she wants to grit her teeth around the cheesiness of it.
But she means every word, and it shows in the steady weight of her hand on your waist, in the way she doesn’t look away.
You blink at her, then let out a soft laugh. Not mocking, not dismissive. Just… lighter. Relieved. The sound makes her shoulders relax a fraction.
“God,” you murmur, cheeks still burning as you finally meet her eyes. “You sound so serious.”
“I am,” she says, blunt, like it’s the only answer.
Your smile grows just a little, shy but warm. You lean closer into her, resting your forehead against hers. “Yeah, okay,” you whisper. “As long as you’re patient enough.”
A low huff of air leaves her, half a scoff, half a laugh, but her arm wraps tighter around you, pulling you closer on her lap. “Yeah,” she mutters, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I can be patient.”
And she means it. For you, she can be.
And just like that, one day, you barely manage to tug Sevika’s shirt over her head, her dark hair falling loose above her shoulders, when your own pants hit the floor.
The rush of it all makes you dizzy. Her hands everywhere, her mouth hot and demanding against yours.
Then suddenly, with a rough efficiency that makes your head spin, Sevika’s dragging your panties down your thighs and tossing them aside.
You don’t even have time to protest, to catch your breath, before her grip is on your knees, broad palms spreading you wide, pressing them up on her shoulders like you weigh nothing.
“Sev—!” Your voice breaks on her name, shock and heat flooding your cheeks.
She glances up at you through heavy lids, lips already curved with hunger, her expression dark and unrelenting. “Relax,” she rasps, her voice gravel and smoke. “I’ve been wanting this for too long.”
And then her mouth is on you; no warning, no hesitation, just the wet slide of her tongue and the crushing grip of her hands pinning your legs on her shoulders, holding you there while she devours you like she’s been starving.
The first drag of her tongue has your back arching clean off the mattress.
It’s not tentative, not careful.
Sevika licks into you like she’s been waiting her whole life for the taste, groaning low against your skin as if she’s the one being fed.
You clutch at the sheets, your breath catching sharp in your chest. And then the sounds start slipping out, broken little gasps, ragged breaths that tear free before you can even think to stop them.
It’s overwhelming. Too much. Too new.
Her mouth is everywhere at once, her tongue relentless, her lips wrapping around your clit and sucking hard enough to make your vision spark. The sheer intensity of it short-circuits your brain, burns through every rule you ever followed about staying quiet.
You don’t even realize you’re being louder than you’ve ever been, your gasps and whimpers spilling out raw, unfiltered, desperate. Each time Sevika groans into you, it vibrates straight through your body, pulling another helpless sound from your throat.
Your thighs try to close around her head, but her grip is iron, holding your knees pinned to her shoulders like she’s got no intention of letting you escape.
The sight alone of her shoulders broad and solid between your legs, her face buried deep in you; is enough to make you cry out, breathless and undone.
“Ah, Sevika—” It bursts out of you without thought, your voice high and trembling.
The second you hear yourself, your whole body locks.
Your eyes fly wide, panic flooding in. If it weren’t for Sevika’s hands braced like steel over your thighs, you’d have snapped your knees shut on instinct, crushing her head between them just to stop yourself from being heard again.
Your chest heaves, shame choking the edges of your high, and you stare down at her with your lips parted, already fumbling for an apology. “I—I didn’t mean—”
But then you see her.
Sevika’s eyes are locked on yours, burning dark with hunger. Her mouth is wet, glistening even, chin slick with your juice, and when her tongue drags slowly across her lower lip, her smirk is nothing but feral.
The sight knocks the words right out of your mouth. Your apology dies in your throat, replaced by a helpless shudder.
Sevika squeezes your thighs, her grip unrelenting, and tilts her head just enough to rasp against your skin, voice low and wrecked, “Better like this, uh.”
And before you can even think, she’s back on you.
Her smirk pressed into your flesh, her tongue sliding deep again, as if your voice has only made her hungrier.
Her tongue works you with unrelenting precision, every stroke calculated to tear more out of you. And it does. You gasp, broken and unrestrained, each sound tumbling past your lips without thought.
The realization lingers; you’re making noise, something you swore you couldn’t do.
But it’s forgotten faster than you ever imagined as pleasure coils low and tight in your gut.
You clutch at the sheets, your thighs trembling against her grip, the world narrowing to nothing but her mouth on you, her hands holding you open, her growl vibrating against your most sensitive flesh.
Your gasps turn quicker, sharper, spilling out one after the other as the pressure builds.
Not loud this time; not the sudden shout of her name, but free, natural, desperate little cries that you couldn’t stop if you tried.
And when it finally snaps, when that wave rips through you, the sound that leaves your throat is raw and unfiltered, a breathless, quivering release that makes your whole body shudder.
Sevika doesn’t let go, not until she’s dragged every last tremor out of you, not until your free, gasping cries fade into ragged breaths.
Only then does she ease her grip, pressing your legs gently down, kissing the inside of your thigh with her mouth still glistening, her smirk dark and satisfied.
this request was amazing to write. If you read this and you’re the one who asked me this, I love you and I LOVE your mind.
thank you for reading, thank you all for supporting me. 🩶
taglist: @lonerslug @riotstemple29 @summ3rbummer @strawberrylipglossx
IM PISSING MYSELF
𝙂!𝙋 𝙎𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙠𝙖 𝙭 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙤𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙣! 𝙎𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𖹭
𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘬𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘬.
𝘛𝘢𝘨𝘴: 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘬𝘢 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳. 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘬𝘢 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳.
𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘈 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵; 𝘋𝘖 𝘕𝘖𝘛 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯. +18. 𝘔𝘋𝘕𝘐.
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Guess Who recently watched twilight for the first time🤘🏻 I could so see wanda as a wife paired vampire wife who once she sees us needs us. like oooo i’m already playing it out in my head all the movies can be applied
A love stronger than sunlight
W.Maximoff x Reader
The moonlight through the stained-glass windows of your New York brownstone didn’t cast a shadow behind Wanda. She hadn’t for a very, very long time. She moved through your shared life with a preternatural grace, a secret smile always playing on lips that were perpetually cool to the touch.
You knew, of course. From the moment you’d stumbled, laughing and rain-soaked, into her path five years ago, you’d known. There was the impossible speed, the way she only appeared at your side when you truly wished for her, the fact she never ate your cooking (though she praised it endlessly). But you saw the loneliness in her ancient, beautiful eyes—a loneliness that mirrored a hollow space in your own soul. You weren't afraid. You were chosen
You are the only warmth that doesn't burn me," she'd confessed one night, her forehead resting against yours, her breath a scent of cold roses and old books. "You are my sunrise, my only sunrise, in an endless night."
Your love was a quiet rebellion. Against her nature, against time itself. And it bore the most impossible fruit: a child. A miracle growing within your mortal womb. Wanda was terrified. Elated. Consumed by a protective ferocity that made the very foundations of your home tremble. She read every medical text from the last three centuries, her panic a silent storm you could feel in the air.
"The baby is… different. Strong. It's part of me," she'd whisper, her hand, so cold and so gentle, splayed over your swelling belly. "I can hear its thoughts already. It's hungry for life. Your life."
You dismissed her fears. You were creating life with the love of your existence. What could be more natural?
You were wrong.
The labor was not natural. It was a cataclysm. The baby, your beautiful daughter, was as strong as Wanda feared. Her movements inside you were not kicks, but seismic shifts that shattered bones. The pain was a white-hot universe of agony, consuming you from the inside out.
Wanda was there, holding your hand, her face a mask of ancient horror. Her vampire senses could hear it—the rapid, frantic gallop of your heart, the delicate tissues tearing, the precious blood leaving your body in a torrent no transfusion could hope to match.
"Take her!" you screamed, your voice a ragged thread. "Save her!"
The human doctors were a blur of panic, useless in the face of this supernatural struggle. With a growl that shook the operating theatre, Wanda dismissed them with a flick of her wrist, a pulse of crimson energy sending them gently into unconscious slumber.
It was just the three of you now.
You were fading, the light dimming at the edges of your vision. The pain was being replaced by a cold, profound peace. You saw Wanda’s face, etched with a grief more vast than centuries.
"I can't," she sobbed, her tears like crystals of blood. "I can't watch you go. Not you. Never you. Not again."
"You have to," you breathed, the words barely a whisper. "Our daughter… love her for me."
But Wanda Maximoff had lost too much. A brother. A wife. A family with you. She would not lose you. The love that had gentled her for five years twisted into something desperate, primal, and utterly possessive.
No," she snarled, and the Scarlet Witch and the vampire became one in purpose.
As your last breath left your lungs in a soft sigh, as your heart gave one final, faltering beat, she struck. It was not the elegant bite of love. It was a savage, grieving act. Her fangs found your ravaged throat, not to take, but to give. To force a torrent of her own potent, venomous essence into your stilling veins, to pull you back from the precipice by the sheer force of her will and her magic.
It was fire and ice. It was dying and being reborn in the same instant. You felt every cell scream as it was unmade and remade. You felt the ghost of your mortal death, and then the terrifying, exhilarating rush of something new
When your eyes opened, they did not see the world. They devoured it. Every thread in the blanket, every dust mote in the sterile air, the humming of the lights—it was a symphony of overwhelming detail. And the scent… the coppery scent of your own birth-blood, and beneath it, the pure, vibrant, intoxicating scent of a newborn child.
You jerked upright with a gasp that wasn't a gasp, your new strength terrifying. There, in a bassinet Wanda had conjured from scarlet light, was your daughter. She was perfect. Rosy, healthy, and her mind… her little mind buzzed with a soft, warm light against your new mental awareness. She was human. Wanda’s venom had saved you, but not passed to the child
Wanda knelt before you, her face stained with blood-tears, her eyes wide with fear and hope. "Forgive me,my love" she pleaded, her voice raw. "I could not let you go. I needed you. I will always need you. I couldn't do this alone. I love you"
You looked at your hands, pale and impossibly strong. You felt the new thirst, a hollow echo beside the all-consuming love for the child before you. You looked at your wife—your creator, your savior, your jailer, your everything.
Slowly, you reached out. Not for her throat, but for her hand. Your skin was as cool as hers now.
"Our daughter needs her mothers," you said, your new voice a melody of bells and shadows. "Both of them."
Your daughter, Elizabeth, grew with a grace that was entirely her own, a bright, mortal flame in a house of gentle shadows. You learned the rules of your new existence together. You learned to hunt without harming, guided by Wanda’s centuries of restraint. You learned to quiet the world’s noise, just as she had.
You raised Elizabeth in a world of wonder. Wanda would weave stories from crimson light, and you would move faster than sight to catch her when she stumbled. You taught her history from personal memory, and she taught you how to see the world anew through mortal eyes.
On the night of Elizabeth’s high school graduation, you stood on the porch, watching her laugh with her friends under a string of lights.
Wanda slipped her arm around your waist, resting her head on your shoulder. The same gesture, but now the temperatures matched.
"You still need me?" you asked, the old, human joke now layered with eternity.
Wanda turned your face towards her. Her eyes, forever green, held the memory of your death and the triumph of your shared life.
"More than the night needs the stars," she whispered. "I saw you, and I needed you to be my forever. And now you are."
You looked back at your daughter, her mortal life a brilliant, fleeting bloom you would cherish every second of. Then you looked at your wife, your maker, your equal in this endless night.
You had died. You had been reborn. And together, you were raising a miracle. It was not the human life you'd envisioned, but it was yours. It was eternal. And it was bathed in the deep, abiding need of a vampire who loved too much to ever let go.
Overqualified
Wanda Maximoff (CEO) x Fem Reader
By summer2224
18+
Sexual Content 18+
Practice writing in Past tense
You walked away from the empire you helped build, burned by power, broken by the man who used you, and determined to never be vulnerable again. Now you're applying for a quiet, forgettable job beneath a woman who doesn’t forget anyone.
Wanda Maximoff isn’t supposed to interview junior hires. She’s not supposed to care. But the moment she sees you, brilliant, guarded, dangerous in your silence, she can’t look away.
4523 Words
Written January 1-6th 2024
-----------------------------------
The elevator hummed like a held breath.
Fifty floors above Manhattan, the air tasted different. Polished, cold. Even before the doors opened, you could feel the gravity shift, pressure, presence, prestige. The kind of atmosphere built not by glass and steel, but by power. Unspoken, unyielding.
You smoothed your coat down your arms as you stepped out.
Reception was minimal, brutalist. Slate gray floors, soft recessed lighting, and one long pane of smoked glass stretched behind a carved obsidian desk. The receptionist, barely twenty three, perfectly symmetrical, blank eyed, looked up, blinked once, and smiled like she’d been programmed for it.
“Name?”
Your voice was calm, low.
“Y/n Y/l/n”
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She just need some love 😔
Spending hours just sucking on Mommy Wanda's nipples. Gently creating dark hickeys all over her chest, your tongue languidly sweeping over her smooth skin. Feeling the arousal coat your underwear as you mindlessly use your tongue to stimulate her. Your brain is finally quieting after a long day. Her fingers wander down, slipping through your wetness as you moan around her nipple. Not caring about your orgasm as you just mindlessly suck.
