Weekly Poll #12 - OC / Scarlet Witch (Wanda Maximoff - MCU) {Story 23} (Patreon)

Weekly Poll #12 - OC / Scarlet Witch (Wanda Maximoff) {Story 23}

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Dr. Sean Sylvan’s office at the Avengers Compound was a careful mix of two worlds that shouldn’t have fit together. The walls and ceiling were sleek chrome and reinforced glass, the kind of cold, high-tech look that screamed SHIELD facility—monitors recessed into the panels, soft ambient lighting that adjusted automatically, and a faint hum of climate control keeping everything at the perfect temperature. But the floors were covered in thick, dark wool rugs that swallowed every footstep, and the furniture was all heavy, worn leather that had been sat in and leaned on for years. The big mahogany desk looked like it belonged in an old library rather than a superhero compound. It was all intentional. The room was built to make people drop their guard before they even knew it was happening.

Nick Fury stood by the tall window that took up most of one wall, arms crossed over his broad chest. Outside, rain hammered against the glass in steady sheets, blurring the view of the compound grounds and the distant city lights. His one good eye stayed fixed on the storm, barely blinking. The black eyepatch over the other side made his expression even harder to read than usual.

“The Maximoff girl is a problem,” Fury said, his voice low and rough, like gravel being dragged under combat boots. “Lagos tore her up bad. Stark’s got her filling out worksheets and talking to some fancy AI program like that’s gonna fix a witch who accidentally turned a crowded marketplace into a war zone. She’s walking around the compound these days like she’s one bad dream away from blowing the whole place sky-high. We need her stable.”

From behind the wide mahogany desk, Dr. Sean Sylvan leaned back in his high-backed leather chair. He was in his mid-forties, broad-shouldered and solid, with short dark hair that was starting to show silver at the temples. His face was calm, almost unreadable, the kind of expression that came from years of listening to people spill their worst secrets without flinching. He steepled his fingers in front of him, elbows resting on the arms of the chair.

“She’s not a weapon, Director,” Sylvan said evenly. His voice was deep and steady, the kind that carried quiet authority without needing to raise it. “She’s a twenty-something woman who watched her own power rip innocent people apart. She needs to feel like a person again, not like something that might go off if she breathes the wrong way. Treating her like a loaded gun is only going to make it worse.”

Fury grunted. It wasn’t full agreement, but it was as close as he usually got. He turned slightly from the window, the rain still streaking down the glass behind him. “Then unpack it. Whatever it takes. Make her functional. I don’t care how unorthodox your methods are—as long as they work. Is Maria scheduled for her debrief right now?”

Sylvan’s expression didn’t shift at all. Not even a flicker. “We wrapped up early. She was… thorough.”

Right on cue, a soft, wet sound drifted up from under the desk—quiet, rhythmic sucking noises, the kind that didn’t carry far in a normal room but were unmistakable once you knew what to listen for. The wet glide of lips and tongue, the faint bob of a head, the occasional small, eager hum in the back of a throat. Fury’s good eye flicked downward for half a second, toward the gap where the desk met the floor. He caught the briefest glimpse of movement—dark hair, a SHIELD jacket still perfectly buttoned—but he didn’t press the issue. He’d seen and heard enough over the years not to be surprised by much.

“Keep me in the loop,” Fury said simply. He gave a short nod, turned, and walked out. The heavy door clicked shut behind him with a solid, final sound, leaving the office quiet except for the rain against the glass and the muffled noises under the desk.

The second the lock engaged, Dr. Sylvan rolled his chair back a few inches, the wheels whispering over the rug. Maria Hill was kneeling neatly between his spread thighs on the thick carpet, her pristine SHIELD uniform jacket still buttoned all the way up, skirt hiked high around her hips to give her room to move. Her dark hair, usually pinned in a tight, professional style, was slightly mussed now. Lipstick was smudged around her swollen lips, which were stretched wide around the thick base of Sylvan’s cock. She looked up at him with steady, hungry eyes—blue and sharp, full of focused adoration and zero shame.

Sylvan slid a large hand into her perfectly coiffed hair, fingers threading through the strands without pulling too hard. He guided her head back down slowly but firmly. “Finish it,” he said, voice low and rough around the edges now that they were alone.

Maria didn’t hesitate. She took him deeper immediately, her throat working around the thick head as she swallowed him down with practiced enthusiasm. Her tongue pressed flat along the underside, swirling and licking as she bobbed her head in a steady rhythm. Wet, obscene sounds filled the space under the desk—gluck-gluck-gluck—the slick slide of her lips and the occasional soft gag when she pushed herself to take him all the way to the root. Her cheeks hollowed with every suck, spit shining on her chin and dripping down onto his balls.

Sylvan leaned back in the chair, one hand still resting lightly on her head, the other gripping the armrest. His cock was thick and heavy, veins standing out along the shaft, the head flaring wide every time she pulled back to swirl her tongue around it. Maria worked him eagerly, eyes locked on his face whenever she could, clearly enjoying the way his breathing grew heavier and his thighs tensed under her palms.

She sucked harder, faster, one hand coming up to stroke the base in time with her mouth while the other gently massaged his balls. The wet heat, the tight suction, the enthusiastic way she moaned around his length—it all built quickly. Sylvan’s hips jerked once, then twice, pushing deeper into her throat.

“Fuck… that’s it,” he groaned under his breath, voice tight.

He came hard, thick ropes of cum pulsing straight into her mouth and down her throat. Maria held perfectly still, swallowing every drop with greedy little gulps, her throat fluttering around the head. She didn’t spill a single bit until he finally started to soften. Only then did she pull off slowly, lips dragging along the sensitive shaft with one last long suck.

She sat back on her heels, looked up at him, and opened her mouth wide. Her tongue was coated with the last pearly streaks of his load, shiny and thick. She showed it to him proudly, eyes bright, before closing her lips and swallowing again with an audible, satisfied gulp. A small string of saliva mixed with cum still clung to her lower lip. She wiped her chin with the back of her hand, then licked her fingers clean without being told.

“Good girl,” Sylvan murmured, his voice warm with approval. He reached down and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, thumb tracing her swollen lower lip.

Maria smiled up at him like he’d just pinned a medal on her chest. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes half-lidded with clear satisfaction. “Thank you, Doctor,” she said softly, voice a little hoarse from the thorough use. She stayed on her knees a moment longer, resting her cheek against his thigh, clearly in no rush to move.

Sylvan let her linger there, his hand resting on her head in a lazy, possessive stroke. The rain continued to drum against the window, the office quiet once more except for their slowing breaths. Maria’s uniform was still perfectly in place from the waist up, the picture of professional SHIELD agent—except for the smeared lipstick, the wet shine on her chin, and the way her thighs pressed together under the hiked skirt, clearly aroused from the act itself.

After another minute, she finally rose gracefully to her feet, smoothing her skirt down and adjusting her jacket. She gave him one last warm look before heading for the side door that led to a private exit. “Same time next week?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

Sylvan nodded once, tucking himself back into his trousers and straightening his shirt. “Don’t be late.”

Maria smiled again, brighter this time, and slipped out quietly.

The office fell silent except for the rain. Sylvan leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled once more, the calm mask sliding back into place as if nothing had happened. But the faint scent of sex still lingered in the air, a reminder of just how “thorough” Maria Hill could be during her debriefs.

The next afternoon, Wanda Maximoff arrived exactly on time, the way she always did once the sessions became routine. She wore the same oversized gray hoodie that swallowed her frame and a pair of simple black leggings. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, a few loose strands framing her face. She looked smaller than usual, shoulders hunched forward as she stepped into the office. Instead of settling comfortably, she perched right on the very edge of the leather chaise lounge, back straight, hands clasped tightly in her lap like she might bolt at any second if the conversation turned too heavy.

Dr. Sylvan was already seated in the armchair across from her, legs crossed casually, his notepad resting untouched on the small side table beside him. He wore a simple button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, looking relaxed but attentive. The rain from yesterday had eased into a light drizzle, tapping softly against the large window.

“I don’t know if this is gonna help,” Wanda said quietly. Her Sokovian accent thickened with nerves, making the words softer around the edges. She kept her eyes on the rug instead of meeting his gaze. “Tony tried. It was all… charts and breathing exercises. Felt like I was a machine he was debugging. Like if I just followed the right steps, the red stuff would stop being a problem.”

Sylvan didn’t lean forward or try to force eye contact. He stayed relaxed, voice calm and even. “I’m not Tony. And you’re not a machine, Wanda. Talk to me about you. Not the mission report. Not what the team needs from you. Just you.”

She stayed silent for a long stretch—almost ten full minutes. The only sounds were the faint hum of the climate control and the occasional drip of rain outside. Sylvan waited without pressure, giving her the space she clearly needed. When she finally started speaking, the words came out in a sudden rush, like a dam breaking.

She told him about the guilt from Lagos. How every time she closed her eyes she saw the marketplace again—the chaos, the screams, the bodies that didn’t make it out. The red energy that had burst from her hands felt like it had a mind of its own, something alive and angry twisting inside her chest, hungry and uncontrollable. She described the nightmares in detail: waking up drenched in sweat, the metallic taste of fear in her mouth, convinced she was still the monster everyone whispered about behind her back. Her hands twisted tighter in her lap as she spoke, knuckles turning white.

Then her voice dropped, quieter and more embarrassed. She mentioned Vision.

“He tries,” she said, staring down at her fingers. “He really does. He reads every psychology text he can download, runs simulations on my emotional state, quotes probability percentages about how likely I am to have another breakdown. But he can’t… he doesn’t feel it. Not the way a person does. He can’t put his hands on me and make the noise in my head stop for even a second. It’s all wires and code and synthetic skin underneath. Sometimes I feel like I’m dating a really smart computer who’s nice to me. He cares, I know he does, but it’s not the same. It never quite reaches me.”

Sylvan listened the entire time without interrupting, his eyes steady and patient. He didn’t nod along or offer quick reassurances. He just absorbed every word. When she finally ran out of steam and the silence returned, he spoke gently, his deep voice filling the space between them.

“He can’t ground you,” Sylvan said simply. “Can’t make your body feel so real and present that the chaos in your mind has to shut up for a while. That’s not a failure on your part, Wanda. It’s just physics. You’re human. You need human things—touch, warmth, something solid to hold onto when everything else feels like it’s spinning out of control.”

Wanda looked up at him then. Something flickered in her green eyes—surprise, maybe recognition, or the first spark of something deeper. She searched his face for a moment, as if checking whether he really meant it. Sylvan didn’t push or elaborate. He simply let the words sit there, giving them room to breathe.

The next few sessions followed a similar pattern. Wanda showed up each time in the same oversized hoodie and black leggings, hair in that messy ponytail. She sat on the same chaise lounge, starting off tense and guarded. But slowly, session by session, she started peeling back more layers. Sylvan never rushed her. He asked quiet, thoughtful questions that mirrored her feelings back without judgment—“What does that guilt feel like in your body right now?” or “When the red energy rises, where do you feel it first?”—and listened as she answered.

Every time she left the office, she looked a little less like she was carrying the entire weight of the world alone. The heavy guilt from Lagos didn’t vanish overnight, but it stopped choking her quite so hard. Some days she could talk about the marketplace without her voice cracking. Other days she still cried quietly, and Sylvan simply handed her a box of tissues and waited until she was ready to keep going.

By the fourth session she was laughing once or twice—small, surprised sounds that escaped when Sylvan made a dry comment about Stark’s therapy methods. “He probably has an app for spontaneous combustion too,” he’d said with a straight face, and Wanda had let out a soft huff of laughter, the tension in her shoulders easing for a moment.

She started noticing things about Dr. Sylvan himself. The way his voice stayed low and even no matter what heavy thing she dropped on him. The calm strength in his hands when he passed her a glass of water or adjusted the small lamp beside the chaise to make the light less harsh. The solid way he took up space in his chair—broad shoulders, steady posture, nothing tentative or artificial about it. It was the complete opposite of Vision’s careful, weightless presence, the way Vision always seemed to hover rather than settle.

After the sixth session, Wanda caught herself lingering outside the office door once it closed behind her. Her heart was beating faster than it should have, a warm flutter low in her stomach that had nothing to do with anxiety. She told herself it was just relief. The therapy was working. That was all.

It wasn’t.

The seventh session felt different from the moment she walked in. The air in the room seemed thicker, charged in a way she couldn’t quite name. Instead of heading straight for the chaise lounge, Wanda stopped in front of Sylvan’s desk, fidgeting with the hem of her oversized gray hoodie. She pulled at the fabric, twisting it between her fingers as she gathered her courage.

“I keep thinking about what you said last time,” she told him, her voice quieter than usual but determined. “About giving up control to someone you trust. About how sometimes that’s the only way to get it back.”

Sylvan watched her from his chair, patient as ever, but there was a new attentiveness in his gaze. He didn’t interrupt or fill the silence. “And how does that thought feel now?” he asked after a moment.

Wanda swallowed hard, her green eyes meeting his. “Scary. But… good scary. Like maybe I wouldn’t have to carry everything alone for five minutes. Like I could just… let go and not have to be the one holding it all together.”

He didn’t move from his seat. He simply waited, giving her the space to decide what came next.

Wanda took a small step closer to the desk, then another. Her heart hammered in her chest, but the pull was stronger than the fear. Slowly, deliberately, she sank to her knees on the thick, dark rug right beside his chair. The soft fibers cushioned her legs as she looked up at him, ponytail falling slightly over one shoulder. Her voice came out small but steady, raw with honest need.

“Show me how to let go,” she whispered. “Please.”

For the first time in all their sessions, Sylvan’s calm expression shifted. Just a flicker of heat darkened his eyes as he looked down at Wanda kneeling there on the thick rug. He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he reached down with steady hands, unbuckled his belt, and unzipped his trousers. He freed his cock, letting it spring out into the warm office air.

It was thick and heavy, already half-hard and curving upward toward his stomach. The shaft was veined, the head flushed a deep pink.

Wanda’s breath caught in her throat. She stared for a long second, pulse hammering. Then she leaned in slowly, almost cautiously, like she was testing whether this was really allowed. Her tongue came out and dragged a slow, wet stripe up the underside of his cock, from base to tip. The taste hit her immediately—salty skin, a hint of musk, warm and unmistakably human. It made her stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with nerves anymore.

She parted her lips and wrapped them around the swollen head, taking him into her mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut at the sudden fullness. He stretched her lips, heavy on her tongue, the girth making her jaw ache just a little in the best way. She breathed out through her nose, trying to adjust.

Sylvan rested one large hand lightly on the back of her head, fingers threading gently into her messy ponytail. He didn’t push or force her down. He just guided, offering quiet support. “Easy,” he murmured, voice low and rough around the edges. “Breathe through your nose. That’s it… slow.”

Wanda tried to follow his words. She took him a little deeper, her tongue pressing flat along the underside as she bobbed her head. When the head bumped the back of her throat she gagged softly, a wet, involuntary sound escaping around his shaft. Her eyes watered, but she didn’t pull away. She stayed right there, breathing through it, determined.

The quiet office filled with soft, obscene noises—the wet glide of her lips sliding along his cock, the faint suckling sounds, the occasional small gag when she pushed herself further. Her hands rested on his strong thighs, fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers for balance. She could feel the muscle tensing under her palms every time she took him deeper.

She bobbed steadily, learning the weight and shape of him on her tongue. The musky scent of his skin filled her nose with every breath. She felt his cock throb hotly when she sucked harder, swirling her tongue around the head on the upstroke and pressing it firmly on the way down.

Sylvan groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through him and straight into her mouth. “Look at me,” he said, voice rougher now, losing some of that perfect calm.

Wanda lifted her watery green eyes to meet his. Her cheeks were flushed pink, lashes damp with unshed tears, lips stretched tight around his thick shaft. Drool had already started to trickle from the corners of her mouth, shining on her chin. The sight of her like that—kneeling, eager, a little messy—made his grip on her hair tighten just a fraction.

He rocked his hips gently, fucking her mouth with slow, shallow thrusts. Not too deep, not overwhelming, just enough to let her feel the rhythm. “Good,” he praised, the word rough and genuine. “You’re doing so good, Wanda. Just like that.”

The praise hit her hard, low in her gut, sending a rush of heat straight between her legs. She moaned around his cock, the vibration traveling up his shaft and making his thighs flex. The sound of her own muffled moan mixed with the wet sucking noises turned her on even more. Her panties were already soaked, clinging uncomfortably to her skin, but she didn’t care. All she cared about right now was the heavy cock filling her mouth and the low, approving rumble of his voice.

She worked him with growing confidence, sucking harder, taking him as deep as she could without gagging too badly. Her tongue never stopped moving, licking and swirling, pressing against the sensitive spot just under the head. Sylvan’s breathing grew heavier, his hand staying gentle on her head even as his hips moved a little faster.

A few minutes later his thighs tensed under her hands. His cock swelled thicker on her tongue. He let out a quiet grunt, hips stuttering as he came. Thick, hot spurts flooded her mouth, salty and warm, pulse after pulse. Wanda swallowed frantically, trying to take it all, but there was too much. Some of it escaped the corners of her stretched lips and spilled down her chin in shiny trails.

She stayed on her knees even after he finished, breathing hard through her nose, his softening cock still resting on her tongue. A dazed little smile tugged at her lips despite the mess. Her eyes were glassy with arousal and something like relief.

Sylvan looked down at her, chest rising and falling. He reached out and wiped the cum from her chin with his thumb, collecting the stray drops. Then he brought the thumb to her lips. Wanda opened without being asked and licked it clean, sucking the digit gently into her mouth until it was spotless.

That was the moment everything changed.

The sessions stopped being just sessions.

The careful professional boundary they had been dancing around for weeks finally snapped. The air in the office felt heavier, charged with a new kind of tension that had nothing to do with trauma or guilt and everything to do with raw, physical need. Wanda stayed on her knees a moment longer, catching her breath, the taste of him still lingering on her tongue. She felt grounded in a way she hadn’t in months—her body humming, her mind quieter than it had been since Lagos.

Sylvan tucked himself back into his trousers with calm hands, then leaned forward slightly. He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his touch surprisingly gentle after what had just happened.

“You did well,” he said simply, voice back to that steady tone, though there was a new warmth underneath it.

Wanda nodded, still a little dazed, a small, shy smile playing on her swollen lips. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and slowly rose to her feet, legs a bit unsteady. But she didn’t feel small or fragile anymore. She felt seen. Real. Wanted in a way that had nothing to do with her powers or her pain.

As she left the office that day, the hallway outside felt different. The knot of guilt in her chest was still there, but it was looser now, pushed aside by the memory of his taste, his voice, and the solid weight of him in her mouth. She already knew she would be counting the hours until the next session.

The next time Wanda came in for her session, the air in the office already felt thicker, heavier, like the room itself knew what was about to happen. She didn’t hesitate at the door. She turned the lock with a quiet click, the sound final and deliberate. When she turned around, Sylvan was already standing up from behind his desk. He crossed the space between them in three slow strides.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just cupped her face with one hand and leaned down to kiss her. It started slow—lips brushing, testing, giving her every chance to pull back. Then it deepened. His tongue slid against hers, warm and sure, while his other big hand slipped under the hem of her oversized gray hoodie. His palm pressed flat against the warm skin of her lower back, pulling her closer until her body molded against his chest.

Wanda melted into the kiss immediately. A soft, needy sound escaped her throat, half moan, half sigh, as she rose up on her toes to meet him better. Her hands fisted in his shirt, holding on as the kiss turned hungry. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the steady strength in his arms, the way his body felt real and grounded compared to everything else in her life.

Sylvan broke the kiss just long enough to grip the bottom of her hoodie and pull it up and off in one smooth motion. He tossed it aside onto the chaise. Next came her leggings. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband and peeled them down her long legs, letting her step out of them. She stood there in nothing but a plain black sports bra and matching panties, the simple cotton suddenly feeling far too thin under his gaze.

Her body was lean and strong from years of training and missions—long, toned legs, a tight ass that curved nicely, a flat stomach with the faintest lines of muscle, and full, high tits that strained against the fabric of her bra, nipples already visibly hard. Sylvan took his time looking, eyes moving over every inch of her without hurry. No rushed compliments, no flowery words. Just a quiet appreciation that made her skin flush warmer.

“Beautiful,” he said simply. A plain statement of fact.

He sat down on the edge of the leather chaise lounge and tugged her toward him. Wanda climbed into his lap facing away, her back pressed to his chest, legs spread on either side of his thighs. She could already feel how wet she was—her panties soaked through, clinging to her folds. Sylvan’s hands moved with calm confidence. He reached around and tugged the crotch of her panties to the side, exposing her. With his other hand he freed his cock again, thick and hard, the head already glistening.

He lined himself up at her entrance, the blunt tip pressing against her slick, puffy lips. Wanda sank down slowly, inch by inch, gasping sharply as he stretched her open. The fullness was intense—hot, solid, and so much thicker than anything she had imagined. Her head dropped back against his shoulder, mouth falling open in a silent cry as she took every inch until her ass was flush against his lap.

“Fuck,” she whispered, voice shaky and breathless. “You’re so… big. I can feel you everywhere.”

Sylvan wrapped one strong arm around her waist, holding her steady. His other hand slid up her stomach and under the sports bra, squeezing one full tit firmly. He yanked the bra down roughly, freeing both breasts so they sat heavy and bare. His fingers found her nipple, rolling and pinching it with steady pressure that sent sparks straight down to her clit.

“Ride it,” he told her, voice low against her ear. “Take what you need, Wanda. Use me.”

She did. At first she rolled her hips in slow circles, feeling the way his cock shifted deep inside her, rubbing against every sensitive spot. Then she started bouncing—small at first, then harder, the wet slap of her ass meeting his thighs filling the quiet office. Each drop of her hips drove him deeper, the lewd sound of skin on skin mixing with her growing moans.

Her tits swayed heavily with every movement, bouncing and jiggling, nipples tight and dark pink from his earlier attention. Sylvan’s free hand stayed between her legs, fingers finding her swollen clit and rubbing tight, firm circles while he stayed buried to the hilt. The dual sensation—his thick cock stretching her and his skilled fingers on her clit—made her head spin.

“Think about him,” he murmured right against her ear, voice low and filthy, breath hot on her skin. “Think about Vision trying to touch you like this. All that perfect data in his head, all those simulations, and he still can’t fill you up. Can’t make this pretty little cunt drip the way it is right now. He’ll never know what it feels like to have you squeezing around a real cock, hot and wet and greedy for it.”

The words hit Wanda like a spark to dry tinder. A loud moan tore from her throat as the mental image crashed into the physical reality of Sylvan’s thick cock splitting her open. Her thighs started shaking, her inner walls clamping down hard around him in rhythmic pulses. She came hard, back arching, head thrown back against his shoulder as pleasure ripped through her in waves. Her pussy fluttered and squeezed, milking him as she rode out every pulse.

Sylvan held her down tight on his lap, not letting her lift off even an inch. He thrust up once, twice—short, powerful bucks of his hips—then groaned roughly as he spilled deep inside her. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded her, pulse after pulse, filling her until she could feel the warmth spreading through her core. Some of it already started to leak out around where they were joined, slick and messy.

Wanda slumped back fully against his chest, breathing fast and ragged, a small, satisfied smile curving her lips. Her body felt loose and glowing, the constant knot of guilt in her chest pushed farther away than it had been in months. For the first time in a long while, her mind was quiet, focused only on the heavy, satisfying fullness between her legs and the solid warmth of the man behind her.

She wasn’t even close to done.

Sylvan kept one arm wrapped around her, his hand gently stroking her stomach as they both caught their breath. His cock was still inside her, softening slowly, but neither of them moved to separate yet. The office smelled faintly of sex now—sweat, her arousal, the unmistakable scent of his cum. Rain continued to tap lightly against the window, but inside the locked room the only sounds were their slowing breaths and the occasional wet shift when Wanda moved slightly in his lap.

She turned her head just enough to look at him over her shoulder, green eyes still hazy with aftershocks. Sylvan met her gaze, his expression calm but with that same underlying heat. His hand slid up to cup her bare tit again, thumb brushing lazily over the sensitive nipple, drawing a soft whimper from her.

“We’ve got time,” he said quietly, voice steady. “Plenty more where that came from.”

Wanda nodded, biting her lower lip as a fresh spark of want stirred low in her belly. She could already feel him starting to harden again inside her. The guilt was still there, somewhere in the background, but right now it was drowned out by the simple, physical truth of being filled and wanted exactly as she was.

Sylvan gave her a minute to catch her breath, his thick cock still buried deep inside her, softening just a little but refusing to slip out. The warmth of his cum was already starting to leak around where they were joined, but he kept her seated firmly on his lap. One of his big hands stayed cupped around her full tit, thumb brushing slow, lazy circles over the stiff nipple, sending little aftershocks through her. His other palm rested low on her flat stomach, the heat of it pressing through her skin like an anchor, grounding her in the moment.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and even, right beside her ear. The words were calm, almost clinical, but there was a rough edge underneath that made her shiver.

Wanda nodded, a small, breathless laugh escaping her lips. “Yeah. Better than okay.” Her body felt loose and warm all over, muscles relaxed in a way she hadn’t experienced in weeks. The usual tight knot of guilt that lived in her chest had loosened, pushed back by the heavy, satisfying fullness between her legs and the solid press of his body behind her. She shifted her hips experimentally, rolling them just a little, and felt his cock twitch inside her in response. A fresh spark of want shot straight through her core, making her inner walls flutter around him.

He kissed the side of her neck, slow and open-mouthed, tongue tracing the sensitive skin before he gently sucked. “Good,” he murmured against her. “Because we’re not stopping yet.”

Sylvan lifted her off him carefully, his hands strong and steady on her waist. As soon as he pulled out, a thick trickle of his cum started to leak from her pussy and run down her inner thigh. The warm, sticky trail made something hot and possessive twist low in her stomach. She liked seeing it—the physical proof that he had been inside her, that she had taken him so well. It made her feel real. Claimed in the best way.

He stood up, turning her gently but firmly to face the large reinforced window that overlooked the Avengers Compound grounds and the glowing city skyline beyond. Rain still streaked the glass in thin rivulets, but the lights from the buildings below twinkled through the haze. The contrast between the cool, slick surface and the warm room made her skin prickle.

“Hands on the glass,” he said, voice low and commanding without being harsh.

Wanda placed both palms flat against the cool pane. The sudden chill made her shiver hard, nipples tightening even more. Sylvan kicked her feet apart gently with one of his, spreading her stance wider until she was open and exposed. He stepped in close behind her, his body heat radiating against her back. His cock, already hard again, slid hot and heavy between her ass cheeks, the thick length nestling there for a moment before he moved.

He reached around and hooked his fingers into the waistband of her soaked panties, pulling them all the way down her legs and tossing them aside. One big hand gripped her hip firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh, while the other guided his cock back to her slick entrance. The head nudged between her puffy lips, still dripping with their mixed fluids.

He pushed in with one smooth, powerful thrust, burying himself to the hilt in a single stroke. Wanda moaned loud against the glass, the sound fogging the surface right in front of her face. The new angle hit completely different—deeper, the head of his cock pressing right against that sensitive spot inside her that made her legs feel weak and her knees buckle slightly.

“Look out there,” he murmured right against her ear, his breath hot on her skin as he started to move in steady, hard strokes. His hips slapped against her ass with every thrust, driving his thick cock in and out of her soaked pussy. “All those people going about their day down there. None of them have any idea that the Scarlet Witch is up here getting her tight little cunt fucked raw against the window.”

The filthy words sent a fresh rush of wetness flooding around his shaft. Wanda’s breath came in short, foggy bursts against the glass, her palms sliding slightly on the slick surface as she tried to brace herself. Her full tits were pressed flat against the cold pane, nipples aching from the chill and the constant friction. They swayed and bounced heavily with every powerful thrust, the soft, heavy flesh rippling visibly, leaving faint smudges on the glass.

Sylvan’s hand slid up her side, tracing the curve of her waist before cupping one of her swaying tits. He squeezed the full mound firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh as it jiggled in his palm. He pinched the stiff nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it steadily until she whimpered, the sharp pleasure-pain mixing with the deep thrusts. “These tits look so good when they’re moving like this,” he said, voice rough with arousal. “Heavy and soft, bouncing every time I fuck into you. Vision ever tell you that? Ever get his hands on them and feel how they fit perfectly in a real palm?”

“No,” Wanda gasped, pushing her ass back to meet his thrusts, her voice breaking on the word. “He… he can’t. Not like this. He never touches me like you do.”

“Exactly.” Sylvan picked up the pace, fucking her harder now, the wet, obscene smack of skin on skin echoing loudly in the quiet office. His other hand moved down to grip her tight ass cheek, spreading her open so he could watch clearly as his thick cock disappeared inside her again and again. The flesh of her ass jiggled and rippled under his strong grip with every impact, the sight making him groan low in his throat. “He’ll never know how good this tight ass feels when it’s bouncing on a real cock. Never smell how fucking wet you get for it. Never hear the pretty sounds you make when you’re getting properly fucked—those little gasps, those moans that turn into cries when I hit it just right.”

Wanda’s moans grew louder and more desperate, turning into sharp, broken cries every time he bottomed out, the head of his cock kissing her cervix with each deep stroke. The smell of sex filled the entire room now—thick and heady, a mix of sweat, her dripping arousal, and the faint musk of his skin. She could hear every filthy detail: the slick, wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of her soaked pussy, the way her body welcomed him so easily, the slap of his hips against her ass, her own ragged breathing fogging the glass.

He reached around again, this time his fingers finding her swollen clit. He rubbed fast, firm circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves while he kept pounding into her from behind without mercy. The dual stimulation was overwhelming—his thick cock stretching and filling her, his fingers working her clit perfectly. “Come on, Wanda,” he growled against her ear. “Let go again. Show me how much you need this. Cum on my cock like the good girl you are.”

She did. The orgasm slammed into her fast and hard, her whole body tensing as her inner walls clenched around his cock in rhythmic, powerful spasms. She cried out sharply, forehead pressed hard against the cool glass, legs shaking violently as pleasure crashed through her in wave after wave. Her pussy fluttered and squeezed him tight, milking his shaft as she rode it out, juices coating him even more.

Sylvan didn’t slow down even for a second. He fucked her straight through the orgasm, drawing it out until she was gasping and oversensitive, little whimpers escaping with every thrust. Only when her cries started to turn hoarse did he finally pull out, his cock glistening with her wetness.

He stroked himself fast, hand flying over his slick shaft. With a low, guttural groan he came hard, thick ropes of hot cum painting her ass cheeks and the small of her back in heavy spurts. Some of it splashed onto the glass right beside her hand, white and sticky against the rain-streaked surface. The warm, wet spurts made her shiver again, her body still trembling from the aftershocks.

Wanda stayed pressed against the window for a long moment, palms still flat on the glass, breathing hard and fast. She felt marked, used in the best possible way—her skin sticky with his cum, her pussy throbbing and leaking, her tits aching from being pressed against the cold surface. The city lights blurred in her vision, but all she could focus on was the heavy satisfaction humming through her veins.

Sylvan turned her around gently, his hands careful now as he pulled her away from the window and into his arms. He kissed her slow and deep, tongue sliding against hers in a lazy, thorough exploration while his hands roamed over her body like he was memorizing every curve—the dip of her waist, the swell of her tits, the soft jiggle of her ass as he squeezed it. When he finally pulled back just enough to speak, his forehead rested against hers.

“You’re not a monster,” he said against her lips, voice steady and low. “You’re a woman who needs to be touched. And I’m going to keep touching you until you believe it.”

Wanda’s eyes fluttered open, green and hazy, meeting his gaze. She nodded slightly, still catching her breath, the words sinking in deeper than any therapy session ever had. 

They moved from the window to the thick, dark rug in the center of the office. The soft wool fibers felt warm and comforting against Wanda’s skin after the cold press of the glass. Sylvan laid her down gently on her back, the rug cushioning her body like a soft bed. He knelt between her spread legs, his broad frame towering over her for a moment as he studied her flushed face and heaving chest.

He lifted one of her long, toned legs and hooked it over his shoulder, the position stretching her hamstring in a way that made her feel exposed. Then he twisted her hips slightly to the side, bringing her other leg across his body so her limbs formed a tight, angled lock. Her pussy was fully exposed, lips puffy and glistening from the previous rounds, still leaking his earlier load. The angle made her back arch naturally, pushing her full tits upward.

Sylvan leaned forward and slid back inside her in one slow, deliberate push. The head of his thick cock parted her slick folds and sank deep, impossibly deep in this new configuration. Every inch stretched her walls until the blunt tip pressed right against her cervix with a firm, insistent pressure. Wanda’s green eyes widened, a broken, breathy moan tearing from her throat at the intense fullness.

“Fuck… that’s deep,” she breathed, her voice shaky and raw. Her hands reached up instinctively, gripping his strong arms for support as her body adjusted to the new depth.

Sylvan started moving with slow, powerful rolls of his hips. Each grind pushed him even deeper, the base of his cock rubbing firmly against her swollen clit while the head nudged that sensitive spot inside her over and over. His chest pressed down against her tits, squashing the soft, heavy mounds between their bodies. Her stiff nipples dragged deliciously against his skin with every thrust, sending sparks of pleasure through her chest. The meeting of their flesh was wet and noisy—the slick slide of his cock in her soaked pussy, the gentle slap of skin, the quiet squelch every time he bottomed out.

“You feel that?” he grunted, keeping the rhythm steady and deep, his voice low and rough with effort. “How open you are for me right now? This is what you needed, Wanda. Not charts or data or simulations. Just a real cock stretching you out and making you cum until your brain finally shuts off.”

Wanda nodded frantically, her messy ponytail splayed out on the rug beneath her. Her free hand slid down between their bodies, fingers brushing over her clit and then lower, feeling the thick base of his shaft where it disappeared inside her. The intimacy of the position felt completely different from the rough, frantic fucking against the window. Here it was slower, more connected. She could see his face clearly—focused and intense, sweat beading on his forehead, but that calm, steady presence still underneath it all. It made her feel seen in a way Vision never could.

Her orgasm in this position built slower than the last one, but it hit much harder. It started as a deep, rolling wave in her core, spreading outward through her limbs until her entire body was trembling. She cried out his name—“Sean!”—her voice cracking as her back arched as much as the twisted position allowed. Her pussy fluttered and squeezed around his cock in strong, rhythmic spasms, milking him tightly. The sensation was too much for him. Sylvan buried himself as deep as the angle would let him and came again with a low, guttural groan, pumping another thick, hot load straight into her. The warmth flooded her womb, pulse after pulse, filling her until she could feel her belly slightly swell with it.

They stayed locked together like that for a long minute, breathing hard in sync, sweat slick between their pressed bodies. Wanda’s legs trembled visibly when he finally eased out of the figure-four hold, carefully untangling her limbs and letting her stretch out fully on the rug. Her muscles felt like jelly, loose and heavy with satisfaction. She had never felt this boneless, this thoroughly used and pleasured in her life.

But when Sylvan looked down at her with that small, knowing smile—eyes with lingering heat—she knew they still had more left in them. He wasn’t finished with her yet, and she didn’t want him to be.

He scooped her up easily, one arm under her knees and the other around her back, lifting her like she weighed nothing. Wanda wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw as he carried her back to the leather chaise lounge. This time he laid down first on his side, then pulled her against him so they were spooning—her back flush to his chest, her ass nestled perfectly against his hips. His arm wrapped around her waist, one hand cupping her tit possessively, fingers gently kneading the soft flesh. His other hand rested low on her belly, palm warm and steady.

His cock, still hard despite the two loads he had already given her, nudged between her thighs from behind. Wanda reached down between her legs, her fingers wrapping around his thick shaft to guide him back to her entrance. They both sighed deeply as he slid inside her again in one easy, smooth motion. The wet heat welcomed him home, her pussy still slick and open from everything that had come before.

This time there was no frantic pace, no pounding. He fucked her slow and deep, gentle rolls of his hips that kept him buried inside her warmth the entire time. The movement was lazy but deliberate, the head of his cock dragging along her inner walls with every subtle shift. No dirty talk now—just the quiet, intimate sounds filling the office: their mingled breathing, the soft wet slide of skin on skin, and the occasional small, breathy moan from Wanda when he hit a particularly good spot.

His fingers gently kneaded her breast, thumb circling the sensitive nipple in lazy, teasing strokes. The other hand stroked her stomach in slow, soothing patterns, his palm pressing lightly as if to remind her she was safe and grounded. He leaned in closer, lips brushing the back of her neck.

“You’re safe here,” he murmured against her skin, voice steady and low, like an anchor in the quiet room. “You can feel everything. You don’t have to hide any of it from me.”

Wanda’s eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing her cheeks. The slow build started again, gentler this time, like a warm tide rising steadily inside her. There was no rush, no pressure—just the constant, deep connection of him moving inside her, his body wrapped around hers. The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in her core until it finally broke in a soft, shuddering whimper. Her body clenched around him in rhythmic pulses, a gentle but powerful orgasm that left her trembling in his arms, her walls fluttering and squeezing him tight.

Sylvan followed right after, groaning low and deep against the back of her neck as he emptied the last of his load deep inside her. The warmth spread through her core in slow waves, mixing with everything he had already given her. His cum leaked slowly from her well-used pussy, trickling down her thigh and onto the leather surface of the chaise beneath them.

They stayed like that for a long while, still connected, his body a solid, heavy weight behind her. Wanda felt full in every sense—physically stuffed with his cum, emotionally lighter than she had been since Lagos. For the first time in a long time, the chaotic red energy inside her felt quiet. Not gone completely, but quiet and manageable, pushed into the background by the simple, overwhelming reality of being held and fucked so thoroughly.

She turned her head just enough to kiss him over her shoulder, her lips brushing his in a slow, grateful press. “Thank you,” she whispered against his mouth, voice soft and hoarse from all the sounds she had made.

Sylvan smiled against her lips, one hand still gently stroking her stomach. “We’re just getting started, Wanda,” he replied quietly, the promise clear in his steady tone.