(a merry) scary girl enthusiast

The thing about Avengers meetings was that they were almost always unnecessary.

Natasha had sat through approximately seven hundred of these things over the years—that was a conservative estimate, but probably accurate—and maybe ten percent of them had actually required everyone to be physically present. The rest could have been emails. Or texts. Or literally anything that didn't involve gathering Earth's Mightiest Heroes in a conference room for two hours to discuss things like "protocol updates" and "equipment inventory" and "quarterly budget reviews."

Today's meeting was shaping up to be a particularly egregious waste of time.

They were forty-three minutes in, and Tony and Steve had already derailed the agenda four times to argue about... something. Natasha had honestly stopped paying attention around minute fifteen. Something about shield storage protocols? Or was it the new quinjet maintenance schedule? She'd lost the thread entirely when Tony had made a sarcastic comment about "Captain America's thoughts on proper hangar organization," and Steve had taken the bait like he always did, that stubborn set to his jaw that meant he was digging in for a long argument.

Now they were going in circles while everyone else looked progressively more dead inside.

Sam was scrolling through his phone under the table, not even pretending to pay attention anymore. Bruce was doodling something in his notebook—looked like molecular diagrams, because of course Bruce would use boring meetings to work through actual science problems. Clint had that thousand-yard stare that meant he was mentally somewhere else entirely, probably thinking about his farm or his kids or literally anything more interesting than hangar organization protocols.

Natasha was sitting in her usual seat at the conference table—the one with a clear view of both exits and her back to a wall, because old habits died hard—directly across from Wanda. Her wife looked about as thrilled as Natasha felt, slouched slightly in her chair with her chin propped on one hand, watching Tony and Steve go back and forth with the glazed expression of someone who'd mentally checked out thirty minutes ago.

At least they were suffering together. Small mercies.

Natasha pulled out her phone under the table, intending to at least get some work done while trapped in this purgatory. Maybe she could respond to those SHIELD emails that had been piling up, or review the mission report from last week that was due tomorrow, or literally anything productive—

She felt it immediately.

A gentle pressure between her legs. Subtle, barely there, but unmistakable. Like phantom fingers tracing along the seam of her jeans, a whisper of sensation that made her breath catch and her spine straighten involuntarily.

Natasha's eyes snapped up to Wanda.

Her wife wasn't looking at her. She was still watching Tony and Steve argue, her expression unchanged—bored and slightly annoyed, like everyone else at the table. But as Natasha stared at her, the afternoon light from the window shifted slightly, and for just a moment Natasha caught the faint red glow in Wanda's eyes. That telltale sign of magic at work.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Wanda's lips curved into the tiniest smile, barely perceptible to anyone who wasn't looking for it. And the pressure between Natasha's legs increased slightly—still subtle, still just a tease, but definitely, unmistakably intentional.

Natasha focused her thoughts the way she'd been trained to over years of practice, directing them clearly and deliberately at Wanda. 

“Wanda. We're in a meeting.”

A moment later, Wanda's voice filled her head—warm, amused, with that particular playful tone that meant Natasha was in serious trouble. “I know. A very boring meeting. I'm entertaining myself.”

“By torturing me?”

“By entertaining both of us.” The pressure shifted, became more focused, tracing a deliberate line up the inside of Natasha's thigh. “You're bored too. Don't pretend you're not.”

Natasha was bored. Had been actively dying of boredom for the last forty-three minutes while Tony and Steve argued about absolutely nothing of consequence. But there was a significant difference between being bored and having your wife use magic to tease you under the table in front of the entire team.

“Someone's going to notice,” Natasha thought at her, trying desperately to keep her expression neutral even as Wanda's magic traced another slow, deliberate line up her inner thigh.

“No one ever notices.” Wanda finally looked at her directly, and the heat in her eyes made Natasha's stomach flip. “They're all too busy arguing about absolutely nothing. We could probably fuck on this table and Steve wouldn't notice until we knocked over his water glass.”

“Wanda—”

“Relax, Nat.” The pressure increased again, and Natasha had to physically fight the urge to shift in her seat. “I'll be gentle. Mostly.”

That "mostly" was not even remotely reassuring.

Natasha tried to focus on the meeting, on whatever Tony was currently saying with increasingly dramatic hand gestures. Something about equipment requisitions? Budget allocations? She genuinely couldn't tell anymore, and the phantom pressure between her legs was making it functionally impossible to concentrate on anything else.

“This is insane,” Natasha directed at Wanda, gripping her pen hard enough that her knuckles went white.

“This is fun,” Wanda corrected, and Natasha caught another flash of red in her eyes as the magic moved with more deliberate purpose. “And you're already responding. I can feel it.”

“Of course I'm responding. You're using magic on me. What did you expect?”

“I expect you to sit there and take it like the professional spy you are.” Wanda's mental voice had taken on a teasing quality that made Natasha's pulse quicken and her thighs clench involuntarily. “You're so good at keeping your composure under pressure. Let's see just how good.”

The magic increased in intensity significantly—no longer just a tease but actual, deliberate pressure. Still subtle enough that no one would notice from looking at her, but intense enough that Natasha had to actively concentrate on keeping her breathing even and her expression bored.

“You're evil,” Natasha thought at her with feeling.

“You love me,” Wanda countered, and the smug satisfaction in her mental voice was both infuriating and devastatingly attractive.

“I'm going to get you back for this.”

“I'm counting on it.” And then Wanda's magic pushed past the barrier of Natasha's jeans—which should not have been physically possible, but apparently magic didn't care about things like fabric and physics—and touched her directly, skin to skin, through her underwear.

Natasha's hand clenched on her pen hard enough that she heard the plastic crack slightly. She forced herself to relax her grip before she snapped it completely, forced herself to keep her expression neutral and vaguely bored, even as Wanda's magic traced maddening patterns directly against her most sensitive areas through the thin cotton of her underwear.

This was a problem. This was a serious, ongoing problem that was only going to get worse, and Natasha had absolutely no idea how she was going to survive the next hour and fifteen minutes.

"—which is exactly why I'm saying we need to completely restructure the storage system," Tony was saying, gesturing emphatically at something on the projected screen behind him. "The current setup is inefficient and frankly dangerous to anyone who needs to access level-three equipment in under two minutes—"

"It's been working perfectly fine for three years," Steve interrupted, his jaw set in that stubborn way that meant he was prepared to die on this hill. "If it's not broken, we don't need to fix it."

"'Fine' isn't good enough when we're talking about response time in crisis situations—"

Natasha stopped listening entirely because Wanda had just increased the intensity significantly, her magic stroking firmly and deliberately against Natasha's clit through the thin fabric barrier, and it was taking every ounce of her considerable training to keep her expression neutral and her breathing steady.

“I hate you,” Natasha directed at Wanda, even as her body betrayed her with a fresh rush of arousal that Wanda could definitely sense.

“No you don't.” Wanda's mental voice was unbearably smug. “You love this. You love that I can do this to you and no one else knows. You love that you have to sit there perfectly still while I take you apart piece by piece.”

Natasha couldn't even deny it. Because Wanda was absolutely right—there was something thrilling about this, something that made her pulse race and her skin flush with more than just arousal. The danger of it, the complete control Wanda had, the fact that they were surrounded by their teammates who had absolutely no idea what was happening three feet away from them.

“You're already so wet,” Wanda observed, her magic confirming what she was saying as it slid easily through gathering arousal. “God, Nat. You're soaked while we’re in a meeting.”

“Whose fault is that?” Natasha shot back, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity even as Wanda's magic circled her clit with absolutely maddening precision.

“Mine,” Wanda agreed, sounding extremely pleased with herself. “All mine. And I'm going to make it so much worse before I'm done with you.”

The magic shifted without warning, and suddenly Natasha felt what distinctly felt like fingers—phantom fingers, magical fingers, but fingers nonetheless—pushing aside her underwear and touching her directly with no barriers at all. No fabric, no protection, just Wanda's magic stroking through her wetness with increasing confidence and skill.

Natasha bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sound, her free hand moving under the table to grip the edge of her chair hard enough that her knuckles went completely white. This was so much worse than she'd anticipated. The sensation was surreal and overwhelming—she could feel it so clearly, the pressure and movement and friction, the way it dragged through her wetness and circled her clit with perfect precision, but there was nothing physically there. Just Wanda's magic, invisible and intangible to everyone else in the room, but absolutely devastating to Natasha.

“This is insane,” Natasha repeated, because she genuinely couldn't think of anything else to articulate.

“You said that already.” Wanda's magic found her clit and circled it with perfect, maddening pressure that made Natasha's hips want to jerk up involuntarily. “Try to be more creative with your complaints.”

“I'm too busy trying not to cum to be creative,” Natasha thought desperately, her thighs clenching together under the table in a futile attempt to either increase or decrease the sensation—she honestly wasn't sure which.

“Then don't try so hard.” The magic increased its pace deliberately. “Let it happen. I want to feel you cum while Steve is pontificating about hangar organization.”

“We're not even talking about hangar organization anymore. I think they've moved on to... actually, I have no idea what they're talking about now.”

“See? No one's paying attention anyway.” Wanda's magic pushed inside her without warning—just one finger, testing, but enough to make Natasha's breath catch audibly in her throat. “Now stop overthinking and just feel.”

Natasha wanted to argue. Wanted to tell Wanda that this was inappropriate and dangerous and absolutely could not continue. But Wanda's magic pushed deeper, curling in that perfect way that made stars burst behind Natasha's eyelids, and all her protests died before they could fully form.

“That's better,” Wanda said approvingly in her mind. “Much better. Now let me work.”

And work she did.

The phantom sensation of Wanda's fingers inside her was surreal and overwhelming in equal measure. Natasha could feel everything—the stretch and fullness, the way Wanda's magic curled just right to hit that spot inside her that always made her see stars, the drag of withdrawal and the press of penetration. It felt impossibly real, and Natasha had to keep reminding herself that there was nothing actually there, that this was all Wanda's magic and her considerable skill at using it for deeply inappropriate purposes.

“You're doing so well,” Wanda praised, her mental voice dropping into that lower register that always made Natasha's stomach clench with want. “Sitting there so still, so quiet, so perfectly composed. No one has any idea that you're falling apart right now. That you're seconds away from cumming all over my magic while Tony explains quarterly budget allocations.”

Natasha's nails dug crescents into her palm as Wanda's magic increased its pace, fucking her with steady, deliberate, devastating movements while phantom pressure circled her clit with perfect rhythm. She was getting close—embarrassingly, terrifyingly fast—and she knew with absolute certainty that there was no way she was going to make it through this meeting without cumming at least once.

“Wanda,” she thought desperately, not even sure what she was asking for anymore. “Please—”

“Please what?” Wanda's mental voice was deliberately teasing. “Please stop? Please keep going? Please make you cum right here in front of everyone? You have to be specific, baby.”

“Please—” Natasha's thought cut off abruptly as Wanda's magic hit that perfect spot with devastating precision, and she had to physically transform her resulting gasp into a cough.

"You okay, Romanoff?" Clint asked from beside her, looking mildly concerned as he finally emerged from his mental absence.

"Fine," Natasha managed, her voice only slightly strained, remarkably steady considering. "Just—dry throat. Need water."

She reached for her water glass with a hand that was almost steady, taking a long drink to cover for the fact that she'd nearly lost complete control of her physical reactions. Across the table, Wanda was watching her with dark, knowing eyes, and her magic hadn't slowed down at all. If anything, it had increased its pace.

“Nice save,” Wanda said in her mind. “But I'm not going to make it easy on you.”

“You're going to get us caught,” Natasha thought at her, setting down her water glass with deliberate, careful precision.

“I'm not.” Wanda's magic curled inside her again, hitting that spot that made Natasha want to moan. “Because you're going to sit there quietly and cum for me without making a single sound. Aren't you?”

It wasn't really a question. It was a command, delivered in that tone that made Natasha's knees weak and her resolve crumble into dust. And because Natasha had apparently lost her mind entirely, she found herself nodding almost imperceptibly.

“Good girl,” Wanda said, deep satisfaction coloring her mental voice. “Now let go. Cum for me, Nat. Right now.”

And because Natasha's body had apparently decided to obey Wanda over her own sense of self-preservation and professional dignity, she did.

Her orgasm built with terrifying speed, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in her belly as Wanda's magic worked her with relentless, perfect precision. The phantom fingers inside her hit that perfect spot with every thrust while pressure circled her clit in exactly the right pattern, and Natasha knew—absolutely knew with crystal clarity—that she was about to cum in the middle of a team meeting while Tony Stark argued with Steve Rogers about god knows what.

“That's it,” Wanda encouraged, her mental voice wrapping around Natasha like a physical caress.” I can feel how close you are. Can feel how hard you're fighting it. Stop fighting and just let it happen. Let me feel you fall apart.”

The magic increased its pace one final, devastating time, and Natasha's orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave. She kept her expression carefully neutral through sheer force of will, kept her breathing even despite her racing heart, kept her body still and composed—the only outward signs were the white-knuckled grip she had on her water glass and the way her thighs clenched together involuntarily under the table. But inside her mind, behind her carefully constructed mask, she was completely falling apart. Pleasure rolled through her body in intense, overwhelming waves, and Wanda's magic worked her through every second of it with gentle, perfect movements, drawing it out until Natasha was trembling with the effort of staying still and silent.

“Beautiful,” Wanda said in her mind, and Natasha could hear the genuine affection and awe beneath the teasing satisfaction. “You're so beautiful when you cum. Even when you're trying to hide it from everyone.”

“I’m going to divorce you,” Natasha thought weakly, still trying to catch her breath without being obvious about it, still trying to look like she was just bored and shifting position.

“No you won’t.” Wanda's magic gentled considerably, became soothing instead of stimulating, helping Natasha come down slowly from the intensity. “You love me.”

“I'm going to kill you when we get home,” Natasha amended, finally releasing her death grip on her water glass before she actually shattered it.

“Looking forward to it.” And then, mercifully, Wanda withdrew her magic entirely.

Natasha slumped slightly in her chair, trying to make it look like she was just bored and adjusting her position rather than recovering from an intense orgasm. Across the table, Wanda had turned her attention back to the ongoing argument, looking for all the world like she was following the discussion with genuine interest rather than having just made Natasha cum at a team meeting using invisible magic.

Natasha took another long drink of water, using the moment to compose herself properly and slow her still-racing heart. She tried to focus on what Tony was saying—something about quarterly budget reviews now, apparently they'd moved completely away from hangar organization—but her brain felt pleasantly fuzzy and her body was still tingling with aftershocks.

She lasted approximately seven minutes before Wanda's magic returned with a vengeance.

“What are you doing?” Natasha demanded, feeling the familiar phantom pressure return between her legs with alarming intensity.

“The meeting's not over yet,” Wanda replied, and Natasha could hear the wicked grin in her mental voice. “And I said you were going to cum at least once. We're going for twice now. Maybe three times if you're really good for me.”

“Wanda, I just—I can't do this again—”

“You can.” The magic was gentle at first, teasing, building her back up slowly despite her recent orgasm. “And you will. Because you're perfect and I love watching you struggle to keep it together.”

“This is cruel,” Natasha thought, even as her body—traitorous thing that it was—responded immediately to the touch, still oversensitive from her first orgasm.

“This is fun,” Wanda corrected cheerfully. “There's a significant difference.”

“Not from where I'm sitting.”

“From where you're sitting, you're about to cum again.” The magic circled her clit lazily, building pleasure with patient, maddening, absolutely devastating precision. “So I'd say your perspective is about to get much more interesting.”

Natasha couldn't even argue with that deeply flawed logic. She just gripped the edge of the table with both hands now and tried to mentally prepare herself for round two.

This time, Wanda took her time with deliberate, almost cruel patience.

The magic moved slowly, teasingly, building Natasha up with maddening care and attention. She'd stroke firmly for several long moments, bringing Natasha right to the desperate edge of needing more, then pull back to barely-there pressure that left Natasha silently begging for anything substantial. It was torture of the absolute sweetest kind, and Natasha knew with certainty that Wanda was thoroughly enjoying every second of her struggle.

“You're fucking evil,” Natasha thought for what felt like the hundredth time.

“So you keep saying,” Wanda replied, utterly unbothered and clearly amused. “And yet you keep responding so beautifully to everything I do.”

The magic pushed inside her again without warning—two fingers this time, stretching her in that delicious way that made Natasha want to moan out loud. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek instead, maintaining her neutral, bored expression even as Wanda's magic started to move with clear, deliberate purpose.

And then Natasha felt something entirely new flooding her mind: vivid images with perfect clarity.

She saw herself through Wanda's eyes—a memory from last week, the two of them in their bed at home. Natasha was between Wanda's spread thighs, looking up at her with dark, intent, hungry eyes, and Wanda's hand was fisted tightly in her hair, guiding her movements. Natasha could hear Wanda's voice in the memory, breathy and desperate and absolutely wrecked: “God, yes, just like that, don't stop, Nat, please don't stop—”

The memory was so viscerally vivid that Natasha could almost taste Wanda on her tongue, could almost feel the weight of Wanda's thigh pressed against her shoulder, the way Wanda's hips had rolled up to meet her mouth. And underneath the overwhelming sensory details of the memory, Wanda's magic was still working steadily between her legs in the present, the dual sensation of memory and physical pleasure making her head spin dangerously.

“Stop,” Natasha thought desperately, though whether she meant the memories or the magic she honestly couldn't say anymore. “That's not fair—”

“All's fair in love and boring meetings,” Wanda replied smugly, and she sent another memory crashing into Natasha's consciousness—this one from the shower two days ago. Natasha was pressed hard against the cold tile wall, hot water streaming over both their bodies, and Wanda's fingers were buried inside her, moving with devastating purpose and skill. “You feel so good, Nat. So perfect for me. So tight and wet. Come on, baby, let me feel it. Cum for me just like this—”

“You're going to make me cum again,” Natasha thought, somewhere between rising panic and overwhelming arousal.

“That's the entire idea,” Wanda confirmed with satisfaction, sending yet another memory. This one was from last month—Natasha wearing their strap-on harness, Wanda riding her with complete abandon, her head thrown back in pure ecstasy, hands braced on Natasha's shoulders for balance. “Fuck, Nat, you're so deep like this. So perfect. So good. Don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop—”

The combination of intensely erotic memories and the very real physical sensation of Wanda's magic working inside her was absolutely overwhelming. Natasha's second orgasm was building significantly faster than the first, pleasure coiling tight and hot and insistent in her belly, and she knew she wasn't going to last much longer at all.

"—don't you think, Romanoff?"

The sound of her name cut sharply through the haze of pleasure and memory, and Natasha's attention snapped back to the meeting with something very close to pure panic. Tony was looking directly at her with clear expectation, and she realized with growing horror that he'd just asked her a direct question. A question she definitely, absolutely hadn't heard because she'd been too busy drowning in erotic memories while Wanda finger-fucked her with invisible magic under the conference table.

“Oh god,” Natasha thought at Wanda in genuine panic. “What did he ask? I wasn't listening—”

“Something about security protocols,” Wanda supplied helpfully, her magic not slowing down even slightly. “For the armory specifically. You reviewed them last week, remember?”

"Could you repeat the question?" Natasha asked Tony, remarkably proud of how steady and professional her voice sounded despite the fact that Wanda's magic had just hit that perfect spot inside her with devastating accuracy.

"The new security protocols for the armory," Tony said, looking mildly annoyed that she apparently hadn't been paying proper attention. He gestured impatiently at the complex diagram displayed on the screen behind him. "You reviewed them last week, right? What's your professional assessment? Are they actually going to improve our response time in crisis situations, or are they just more bureaucratic nonsense that'll slow us down?"

Natasha had reviewed them. Three days ago, in fact, sitting at her desk with coffee and her tablet. She could absolutely provide her thorough, professional assessment. The only problem—the significant, glaring problem—was that Wanda had just increased the intensity of her magic dramatically, and Natasha was approximately thirty seconds away from her second orgasm.

“Wanda, stop,” Natasha thought desperately, trying to focus. “I have to answer him properly—”

“So answer him,” Wanda replied, her mental voice maddeningly calm and collected. “You can multitask. You're Natasha Romanoff.”

“I'm about to cum—”

“Then you better talk fast.”

Natasha took a careful, measured breath, forcing her brain to focus on security protocols instead of the magic currently destroying her from the inside out. 

"They're solid," she said, and she was professionally, almost absurdly proud of how completely normal her voice sounded despite everything. "The biometric scanning updates are comprehensive and address the previous vulnerabilities. The redundancy protocols make tactical sense—if one system fails catastrophically, we've got two independent backups. I'd recommend adding a secondary verification step specifically for the level-four weapons storage, but overall it's a significant improvement over the current system. Should cut our emergency access time by approximately forty percent while actually increasing overall security measures."

"See?" Tony said triumphantly, turning to Steve with vindication written all over his face. "Romanoff gets it. Secondary verification for specific cases, not a complete systematic overhaul of everything that's currently working—"

Natasha stopped listening entirely because Wanda had just sent her another intensely vivid memory—this one of Natasha pressed urgently against their bedroom door, Wanda's hand shoved down the front of her pants, kissing her desperately while Natasha gasped and moaned helplessly into her mouth. And simultaneously, the magic inside her curled with absolute perfection, hitting that spot that made her see actual stars behind her closed eyelids, and Natasha knew with crystal clarity that she was completely done for.

“Cum,” Wanda commanded, her mental voice firm and absolute and impossible to resist. “Right now.” 

Natasha's second orgasm hit her like an actual freight train.

She kept her expression carefully, meticulously neutral through what felt like superhuman effort, kept her breathing even despite her heart threatening to beat out of her chest, kept her body still and professionally composed—but inside, behind her careful mask, she was absolutely shattering into a million pieces. Pleasure rolled through her in waves that seemed to go on forever, and Wanda's magic worked her through every single second with perfect, devastating, utterly merciless precision.

“Good girl,” Wanda praised warmly. “So good for me. Staying so quiet and still while you fall completely apart inside.”

When it finally subsided enough for Natasha to think again, she was sweating slightly and both her hands were shaking where they gripped the table edge. She reached for her water glass yet again, taking another long drink to cover for the fact that she'd just had her second orgasm in an hour while her teammates continued arguing about bureaucracy and protocol updates.

“Two,” Wanda said with unmistakable smugness. “That's two orgasms. We're doing great.”

“Are you done now?” Natasha asked, not even remotely hoping for a yes.

“Not even close,” Wanda confirmed cheerfully. “We've still got at least forty minutes left in this meeting. I'm thinking we can definitely go for three. Maybe even four if you're really, really good for me.”

“I'm going to die,” Natasha thought with absolute certainty. “You're actually going to kill me right here in this conference room.”

“You're not going to die.” Wanda's mental voice was affectionate despite the relentless teasing. “You're going to cum a few more times and then we're going to go home and I'm going to do all of this properly in our bed where you can actually make noise.”

“A few more times?”

“I'm thinking four total is a nice round number.” Wanda sounded delighted with her plan. “Very satisfying and complete.”

“Four orgasms. At a team meeting.”

“Exactly!” Wanda's enthusiasm was almost endearing. “Isn't this so much better than just being bored?”

Natasha couldn't even formulate an answer to that absolutely insane question. She just slumped in her chair and tried desperately to recover while Wanda's magic withdrew temporarily, giving her a brief, blessed reprieve to pull herself back together.

The meeting continued with absolutely no awareness of what had just transpired. Tony and Steve had apparently finished their argument about armory protocols and moved on to discussing the upcoming training schedule revisions. Natasha tried genuinely hard to pay attention, tried to actually follow and contribute to the conversation, but her brain was still pleasantly fuzzy from two intense orgasms and she was already dreading the inevitable moment when Wanda decided to go for number three.

She lasted fifteen whole minutes.

Fifteen blessed, magic-free minutes where Natasha actually managed to contribute meaningfully to the discussion about updating the hand-to-hand combat training schedule. She'd even pulled up her digital calendar on her phone and checked her availability for the advanced tactics sessions Steve wanted to implement next month.

And then Wanda's magic returned with absolutely no warning or mercy, and this time there was no gentle buildup whatsoever. This time, Wanda went straight for absolutely devastating, her magic pushing inside Natasha with clear purpose while phantom pressure circled her oversensitive clit with firm, deliberate, unrelenting movements.

“Wanda—” Natasha's thought was barely coherent anymore.

“One more,” Wanda said, her mental voice leaving no room for argument. “Give me one more and then I'll let you rest for a bit. I promise, my love.”

“I can't—it's too much—I'm too sensitive—”

“You can.” Wanda's magic increased its pace mercilessly, and Natasha felt herself responding despite her desperate protests, her body apparently fully on board with this plan even if her brain was having serious reservations. “And you will. Because I want you to. Because I love watching you try so hard to keep it together while I systematically take you apart.”

The magic worked her relentlessly, and Wanda started sending more images—but this time they weren't just memories of things that had actually happened. This time they were fantasies, vivid imaginings of things Wanda was planning, things she wanted to do the absolute moment they got home.

Natasha saw herself bent over their kitchen counter, still fully clothed in her meeting outfit, while Wanda's hands worked expertly between her legs from behind. Saw herself tied securely to their bed with soft rope, wrists bound to the headboard while Wanda took her sweet time exploring every single inch of her body with hands and mouth. Saw herself on her knees on their bedroom floor, looking up at Wanda with desperate, pleading eyes while Wanda's hand guided her head exactly where she wanted it.

“Stop,” Natasha begged weakly, even though she absolutely didn't mean it, even though her body was responding to every single image with fresh waves of arousal. “Please—”

“You don't really want me to stop,” Wanda observed with absolute certainty, her mental voice knowing and confident. “You're already so close again. I can feel it building. Your body knows exactly what it wants, even if your brain is still trying to protest.”

She was absolutely, infuriatingly right.

Natasha was close—desperately, embarrassingly close—oversensitive from two previous orgasms and completely overwhelmed by the constant flood of erotic images Wanda kept sending. The phantom sensation of Wanda's magic inside her was relentless and perfect, hitting that spot with every single thrust while pressure circled her clit with increasing, maddening intensity.

“Almost there,” Wanda encouraged warmly. “Just a little bit more, baby. Let go for me one more time. Let me feel you cum.”

Natasha's third orgasm built with agonizing, torturous slowness, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in her belly until she thought she might actually scream from the unbearable tension. Every single muscle in her body was taut and trembling, and she was gripping the table hard enough that her knuckles had gone completely white and bloodless.

And then Wanda sent her one final image—the two of them in bed that very morning, before they'd gotten up for work and this godforsaken meeting. Natasha curled protectively around Wanda's back, her hand working slowly between Wanda's legs, bringing her gently to orgasm while Wanda was still half-asleep. The memory of Wanda's voice, drowsy and satisfied and full of love: “Love you so much, Nat. Love waking up like this with you every single day.”

The unexpected tenderness of the memory combined with the relentless physical sensation pushed Natasha over the edge one final, devastating time.

Her third orgasm crashed through her with absolutely brutal force, and she barely—just barely—managed to keep from crying out loud. She bit down on her tongue hard enough to taste copper, her whole body going completely rigid in her chair, and the only sounds she made were a sharp inhale through her nose that she somehow managed to disguise as a tired sigh.

“Perfect,” Wanda said in her mind, satisfaction and genuine affection coloring her mental voice beautifully. “You're so perfect for me, Nat. I love you so much.”

“Love you too,” Natasha managed weakly, slumping in her chair as the pleasure finally faded to manageable levels. “Even though you're genuinely the worst person I've ever met in my entire life.”

“Flattery will get you absolutely everywhere,” Wanda replied warmly, and her magic finally—finally—withdrew completely and didn't return.

Natasha sat there for a long moment, just trying to remember how to be a functional human being who could sit through meetings. Her body was still tingling pleasantly, oversensitive and thoroughly satisfied in a way that made her simultaneously want to sleep for twelve straight hours and drag Wanda out of this conference room immediately to continue this somewhere private.

"—so that wraps up today's agenda," Steve was saying, and Natasha could have genuinely wept with relief and gratitude. "Any other business we need to address before we adjourn?"

Silence. Beautiful, blessed, merciful silence. No one had anything else to add. Everyone just wanted to escape this godforsaken meeting and get on with their actual lives.

"Alright then. Thanks everyone for your time and input," Steve said, closing his notebook with finality. "Same time next week."

People immediately started gathering their things and heading for the door with barely concealed relief, conversations breaking out about lunch plans and afternoon training sessions and literally anything that wasn't this meeting. Natasha stood on legs that felt distinctly unsteady, trying desperately to look normal and professional even though she'd just had three intense orgasms in the last hour and forty-five minutes.

She made her way around the table toward Wanda with as much dignity as she could muster, which honestly wasn't much. Her wife was innocently checking her phone like she hadn't just committed several acts of magic-assisted indecency in front of the entire team.

"Hi," Wanda said brightly when Natasha reached her, looking up with perfectly innocent eyes. "How was the meeting for you?"

"You know exactly how the meeting was," Natasha said through gritted teeth, keeping her voice low enough that no one else would overhear.

"Do I?" Wanda's eyes were wide and innocent, but there was a wicked glint in them that made Natasha want to kiss her and strangle her in equal measure. "I thought it was pretty boring personally. Standard protocol updates. Were you bored?"

"You're the worst person I've ever met," Natasha repeated, but there was absolutely no heat behind the words.

"And yet you married me," Wanda pointed out reasonably, standing and gathering her things. She leaned in close, her lips brushing Natasha's ear so quietly that only Natasha could possibly hear. "Car. Now. We're going home."

"I can barely walk," Natasha hissed back.

"Then you'd better hold onto me," Wanda said cheerfully, looping her arm through Natasha's like they were just two colleagues leaving a meeting together.

They made it to the parking garage without running into anyone else, which was a minor miracle. The moment they were in Natasha's car with the doors closed and locked, Wanda was on her.

"You," Wanda said between desperate kisses, her hands already sliding under Natasha's shirt, "are so incredibly hot when you're trying not to cum."

"You," Natasha replied, kissing her back just as desperately, already pulling Wanda closer, "are completely insane."

"Maybe." Wanda kissed down her neck, teeth grazing her pulse point. "But you loved every second of it."

"I can't believe you made me cum three times at a team meeting," Natasha said, even as she tilted her head to give Wanda better access to her throat.

"I can't believe you didn't make a single sound," Wanda said admiringly, pulling back to look at Natasha properly. "Your control is genuinely incredible. I was honestly trying my hardest to break it."

"I'm a highly trained spy," Natasha pointed out, slightly breathless. "It's literally my job to not react to things."

"Well, you're excellent at it." Wanda settled back in the passenger seat with a deeply satisfied smile. "Now take me home so I can make you cum a few more times without having to worry about Tony Stark interrupting to ask you about armory protocols."

"A few more times?" Natasha looked at her incredulously, even though her body was already responding enthusiastically to the promise in Wanda's voice. "You broke me. I might actually be done for the day."

"You're not done," Wanda said with absolute confidence. "You're never done. And besides, I've been thinking about what I want to do to you since I started this whole thing in the meeting."

"You're genuinely insatiable," Natasha muttered, but she was already starting the car, already pulling out of the parking space, already heading for home.

"You love it," Wanda said, reaching over to take Natasha's hand and thread their fingers together on the center console. "And you love me."

"I really do," Natasha admitted, bringing Wanda's hand to her lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Even though you're absolutely terrible and just sexually tortured me in public for ninety minutes straight."

"It wasn't torture," Wanda corrected with a grin. "It was entertainment. For both of us."

"That's definitely a matter of perspective."

"Admit it was at least a little bit fun," Wanda challenged.

Natasha was silent for a moment, actually considering it as she navigated through afternoon traffic. "It was..." she said slowly, carefully, "terrifying and overwhelming and..."

"And?"

"And I think I might have discovered a new kink.”