Archive of Our Own

Wanda knew her brother, knew him better than anyone else on the planet. When everyone else glimpsed him in class or on the field, all they saw was a clueless jock, he fit the bill. They never saw the boy she knew him to be, the boy fluent in two languages, the boy whose mind raced at breakneck speeds, too fast for anyone to keep up with - even for Pietro. The boy who was too busy thinking ahead to keep his head where his feet were. It was why he was so great at football, no thinking, just doing, just action, his head and feet were always in the same spot when he was on the field.

But, it was also why he was failing another class. His football scholarship could only carry him as long as his grades were decent enough to warrant him keeping the scholarship. Most nights Wanda stayed with him in her dorm, none of the RA’s ever questioned her brother needing to spend the night. He’d lay his mountain of coursework on her floor after a grueling practice and she’d mimic his hasty scrawl over pages and pages with her left hand while he grabbed a quick shower. 

She knew it wasn’t right, everyone always said so. He’d never learn if she kept doing his work for him, but Pietro was a bit of an airhead, so scatterbrained, he just needed her guidance. No one else understood. Everyone said he was always taking advantage of her kindness, but Wanda knew better, she knew she was just a good sister. And Pietro was a good brother, in his own way.

Still despite all of her assistance apparently even Pietro had forgotten about this course, this stupid elective course that now jeopardized his whole future. Occult studies. Why the hell had he even signed up for it anyway? He had never been one for that kind of stuff, Wanda felt her chest thaw with fondness at the realization that he’d probably taken it knowing she’d enjoy it. She would’ve enjoyed it better if she’d known he was taking it - perhaps that could’ve saved them from this predicament.

This mortifying predicament. Her weathered combat boots scuffed against the freshly polished tile as she raised a tightly curled fist to the heavy oak door, it felt ancient when her knuckles rapped against it, fitting - established. Her gaze lingered on the gilded nameplate beside the door: Professor Agatha Harkness

“Come in,” She heard a voice call from behind the door. Wanda had rehearsed her speech that morning, practiced it again and again. She knew exactly what she would say to this professor, this woman she had never met, and apparently one her brother could hardly remember either. But, she was doing this for Pietro...she could do this. She straightened her spine, acted as though it was forged from steel as she let her hand drop to the bronzed doorknob. Her knuckles blanched white as she twisted the knob. She lifted her head, toying with the ginger tail of her neat braid where it dangled over her shoulder, before marching into the professor’s office.

Her breath fled from her lungs as she breached the doorway, her gaze landing on the woman in question, the one person who could decide her brother’s fate. Professor Harkness.

Wanda hadn’t been sure what she was expecting when she thought of the name Agatha Harkness, but the reality was certainly not it. Instead of the withered graying old woman she anticipated, a woman with a wild nest of dark curls and fair skin who appeared no older than thirty sat behind a massive ebony wood desk. She looked rather bored when she peered up from a stack of papers, with frighteningly blue eyes, so dark they were nearly a shade of violet.

“Professor Harkness?” Wanda questioned meekly, her tongue coming out to lick her lips, her mouth suddenly feeling dry in a way she couldn’t explain.

“That’s what the door says,” The older woman said wryly, pink lips pulling into a playful smirk as she leaned back in her chair. Wanda hadn’t expected playful , stern or disinterested perhaps, but not the nearly coy quirk of that mouth. If this was a game, she supposed, she’d play it like chess, just like Papa taught her.

“How can I help you?” The professor asked in a tone that seemed a bit more appropriate, plucking her glasses off of her nose to briefly knead the tense spot between her eyes. Wanda felt a twinge of something behind her chest at the lack of those clever blue eyes on her.

“Oh, um, I just wanted to stop by to talk about my brother…” Wanda admitted, trying not to fidget with her hands where she lingered by the door.

“Pietro?” The older woman said knowingly.

“Peter,” Wanda corrected, “He likes to be called Peter.” Only family called him Pietro. Licking her lips, she briefly pondered how the woman had deduced who her brother was so quickly.

“How did you-” Wanda began with a tilt of her head.

“You’re twins.” The professor pointed out, blue eyes creasing with a smile. Wanda felt her cheeks color with embarrassment, of course…

The older woman arched back in her chair, shoulders tense beneath that eggplant colored blazer she wore, before sinking back into the stiff wooden seat with a sigh.

“I’m Wanda.” She said while shuffling closer, gliding across the hardwood of the office floor, it felt more luxurious than the rest of the school, older even, like the whole campus had been built around it. The office felt like a time capsule with artifacts and knick-knacks and leatherbound journals with yellowing pages filled the shelves, an array of crystals and bundles of her herbs hung from the window sill like a witchy mobile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Wanda.” The professor said with a smile, a razor sharp smile. That smile felt like losing a few pawns from the board, unassuming and quick, part of her felt bare and undefended. Wanda nodded her head, offering a congenial smile in return, softening the blow for when she would inevitably land the older woman in a cage of pieces, locked in a checkmate.

“I presume you’re here to talk about your brother’s grades?” The professor said, shuffling a few papers on her desk, splitting the deck like a game of cards. Oh, she was probably excellent at cards, Wanda thought, she had one hell of a poker face.

“I am.” Wanda admitted, sacrificing a few more pawns for a peek at the professor’s hand.

Then the older woman let out another sigh, raking a hand shimmering with eye-catching silver rings through her dark hair, leaning back in her seat once more. Her legs spread from beneath the space of her desk imposingly, the sight didn’t steal any pieces in their game, just Wanda’s breath. Those clever blue eyes studying her like one of those precious artifacts that decorated her office, Wanda wanted desperately to patch those holes in her defenses. The professor motioned to an empty chair across her desk, an invitation that Wanda readily accepted. 

She sank into the seat that appeared leagues more comfortable than the professor’s own. It felt like a trick, like Wanda was collecting some pieces in return. Combat boots swinging back and forth as she situated herself, fingers fitting over the pale expanse of skin between her dark thigh-high socks and her little black denim shorts.

The professor motioned again, encouraging her to speak while she took an apparently much needed drink from her cup of coffee. Wanda licked her lips as she observed the faint sheen of wetness lingering on the older woman’s lips.

“Go ahead.” The professor prompted when Wanda said nothing.

“Well, Professor Harkness-”

“Agatha,” The older woman corrected, “You can call me Agatha.”

The carefully crafted words she had practiced in the mirror that morning felt like a lump of cement stuck in her throat. She hadn’t prepared for that.

“Agatha,” Wanda amended with a small nervous smile, “I mean no disrespect in what I am about to say, but I’m afraid you don’t know my brother very well-”

Then Agatha smiled back, this one was dizzying, hypnotizing even, “Pietro,” She paused, catching herself with a knowing grin, “ Peter , excuse me, is a sharp young man, he’s brilliant, talented at what he does. I believe he’s set 3 records for this school, the fastest running back we have ever had, and I for one congratulate him on those successes.”

Wanda felt her chest tingle with warmth at the realization that someone had possibly glimpsed the Pietro she knew.

“But,” Agatha said, her smile faltering and Wanda felt that warm tingle sharpen to icy prickles in her chest, “He’s impatient and gets bored easily, and those wouldn’t be a problem really, if he had turned in any of the assignments I listed on the syllabus this semester.”

Wanda felt Agatha clear half of the board in those few short moments…

“I apologize on his behalf, really, but I promise you, he cares, he really does.” Wanda explained, hands braced against the edge of that polished ebony wood.

“No, he doesn’t.” Agatha shot back instantly, not particularly disgruntled when she said the words, just resolute in her opinion.

“But,” She drawled cruelly, “I think you do...I think you care, Wanda.” The professor said back sagely, and now Wanda felt herself clutching onto her two remaining pieces, her king and her queen. The previously straight steel of her spine had been hammered into a submissive curve by those dark eyes and jagged tongue.

And it was the truth, Wanda did care. She cared so much. It was why she and Pietro had enrolled in the same school, despite the fact that Vision had told her she could have easily joined him at MIT with her impressive transcript…

But she didn’t, because where Pietro went, she followed. It was just the way things were.

“Profes- Agatha,” Wanda said, correcting herself with a speed that made the older woman’s blue eyes gleam with fondness.

“Please, is there anything I can do to make you reconsider failing him?” Wanda asked earnestly, “his scholarship is on the line.”

Agatha opened her mouth momentarily like she was going to speak, and Wanda practically lunged at whatever opportunity hung tauntingly from her tongue. Those deadly almost-violet eyes raked over the younger woman with a startling clarity, like she could see right through her.

“Please,” Wanda pleaded, “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

Agatha straightened in her seat and Wanda’s palm felt slippery where she was prepared to hand over her remaining piece - her queen, to save her king.

The professor regarded her with curious eyes, sharp blue eyes that knew too much. One arm propped against the wooden armrest of her chair, leaning into a slender hand, her thumb poised beneath her chin while an elegant pointer finger pressed against her temple. She was thinking, Wanda realized, and maybe that was what terrified her. Agatha looked like a monarch and Wanda squirmed in her seat awaiting the swing of the axe. The torture of waiting was nearly enough to turn her stomach, but with every breath she reminded herself why was doing this - it was for Pietro.

“Have you ever been with a woman, Wanda?” Agatha asked after an eternity of maddening silence, the question was so sudden and jarring that it left Wanda reeling.

“I- uhm, no?” She replied after a moment, resisting the urge to nibble at a glossy red thumbnail. That hadn’t been true, she had lied. Shortly after Monica’s mother had passed away, Wanda had consoled her friend ceaselessly, until one thing led to another and she had landed herself in Monica’s childhood bedroom - fingering her best friend with a hand clapped over those beautiful full lips so they didn’t wake her aunt.

“Wanda…” Agatha crooned fondly with a wicked grin, “Don’t lie to me now.”

Her cheeks burned hotly after a moment, she swore the blotchy red of her blush had risen all the way to the tips of her ears. How did she know? How could this woman she had met just that day, no less than half an hour ago, have known - how could she know when even Pietro didn’t? He had never asked why she had driven back to campus after only a day of visiting Monica, or why she had stopped returning her best friend’s texts, or why they didn’t hang out as much anymore. He didn’t ask, and she would never tell, would never say that she had left when Monica blurted out that she loved her, she hadn’t known what to do with the admission, the same way she panicked over the summer break when Vision confessed his feelings for her. Pietro never asked, but Agatha did.

“Yes.” She admitted, green eyes turned down as she began to pick at the frayed ends of her little denim shorts.

Agatha’s lips pulled into a wide knowing smirk, it was a vindictive look that pinned Wanda to her chair.

“I thought so.” Agatha said with a nod that Wanda glimpsed when she gazed up at the older woman through her lashes.

Wanda chewed the inside of her cheek, peeking up at the older woman, chest hot and heart hammering.

“I’m sorry, but what does this have to do with my brother?” Wanda asked, voice strained like playing a guitar out of tune.

“Humor me?” Agatha said with a wink, it was playful and very, very distracting. But, Wanda played along, she did it for Pietro. She fell silent, big eyes fixed expectantly on the older woman across the desk from her.

“How did you like it?” Agatha asked casually, like they were talking about nothing. Wanda knew her face was redder than a tomato, her cheeks throbbing with all of the blood darkening her blush. She wished the older woman would quit it with the hugely inappropriate questions and just saddle her with some chore to make up for her brother’s missed assignments. She’d clean her office or buy her coffee every day for the rest of the semester, she’d even grade some assignments, she’d do anything if only she’d ask. But she didn’t, she just kept playing their game.

She shrugged, playing with the tail of her braid as Agatha awaited her answer, but that was the question, what answer did she give? 

“I, uh, I liked it.” Wanda said blandly, it’s wasn’t not true. 

Spine stiff and tingling at the way Agatha wrinkled her nose at the response, apparently unsatisfied.

“Uh huh,” Agatha shot back, dark eyes squinted at Wanda like she was unconvinced, “Did you climax?”

Wanda sputtered, her head aching on account of her ever-present blush.

“W-what?” The younger woman asked breathlessly, thighs clamped together in response. Was this some kind of joke? Was Pietro going to leap around the corner with a devilish grin and admit it was all a prank? That none of this was real…

“You know, orgasm, finish...did you come?” Agatha clarified, not the least bit jovial, just curious. She was joking, Wanda told herself, it was a joke and she had an incredible poker face. Pietro would pop out from behind the shelf any minute now...

She blinked feverishly, chest constricting when her brother never appeared.

“No, I didn’t…” Wanda said meekly, that was the truth, she had only been with Monica to allow her to feel something other than pain. Her friend had been drowning in grief, Wanda had just thrown her a life-preserver, Wanda hadn’t really considered how high the tide cresting over her was.

Agatha huffed out a little breath in response, dark brows lifted in surprise where she still remained leaning into her palm.

“Boy, that’s gotta be frustrating, huh?” The older woman asked with a commiseratory look. Wanda shrugged stiffy, chewing her lower lip between her teeth.

“Not really…” Wanda said, picking at a loose thread on her shorts, black thread pulled between her red nails. Despite how pretty the other woman’s eyes were, Wanda found she couldn’t lift her head to meet them.

“Wanda…” Agatha drawled disapprovingly, “What did we say about lying?” 

The reminder wasn’t uttered cruelly or with malice, yet it sent fire spitting through the younger woman, heat festering like a brand pressed down on her lungs with a punishing sizzle. But for the first time since they had begun their game, Wanda felt as though she had glimpsed Agatha’s hand - four of a kind, all queens in her deck, she had no room for kings. There was a thrill of excitement in the discovery.

“I’m sorry,” Wanda whispered quietly, toying more fervently with the copper twist of her braid, “I won’t do it again.” She murmured meekly, Agatha narrowed her dark eyes at that.

“I’d appreciate that.” The older woman purred, something appraising in her gaze where it swept over her. Agatha drummed her fingers against the desk, long, elegant fingers that moved more fluidly than water where they tapped against the dark wood.

“So, why’d you do it?” Agatha asked after a moment.

“Do what?” Wanda asked in return, dainty hands folded in her lap, precariously settling over the apex of her thighs.

“Sleep with whoever it was that didn’t make you come.” The professor explained, leaning forward awaiting the answer she got.

Why had she done it? She supposed she had always been attracted to Monica, attracted to her, to the flawless shimmer of her bronze skin, the breadth of her powerful shoulders, the depth of generous heart, her disarming smile, her dark curls that bloomed around her pretty face like a cloud. She liked Monica, but she had slept with her for reasons other than romance, she did it because-

“She needed me.” Wanda announced simply, eyes refocusing on the woman seated across from her.

“Like your brother needs you.” Agatha said pointedly, the words tearing through Wanda like a lance. It wasn’t spoken as a question, but rather as a fact. She opened her mouth in automatic indignation, only to snap it shut when the professor spoke again.

“In a manner of speaking.” Agatha amended instantly with a tilt of her head, weaving words around Wanda like spells. That was the thing that was enchanting about the dark haired professor sitting across from her, she was moved by the truth no matter how ugly.

A silence stretched on after this, daunting and cruel, Wanda hated it, she’d wish the other woman would say something. Anything.

“That’s got to be exhausting.” Agatha remarked, thankfully shattering the bothersome silence as she twirled a slinky dark curl around her finger.

“Always doing things for other people.” She said in a knowing silken purr, her lower lip sucked between her teeth as she leered at the young woman. It was then as those haunting eyes raked over her that Wanda realized she’d been bartering with the wrong piece, sacrificing her queen to save her king, but Agatha wasn’t playing chess, she had no room for kings in her deck- so, she’d give her what she so clearly wanted. A Queen.

“I’ll do whatever you want.” Wanda offered quietly, the admission making her tingle like she’d been wearing socks on a carpeted floor, static glittering in that funny pins and needles kind of way over her entire body.

Agatha gave her a smirk, that kind that stretched wide and cruel over her face, those deep blue eyes gleaming hungrily in response.

“Oh, honey, I knew that from the moment you walked in here.” She purred and Wanda shivered at the way she knew the older woman thumbed the queen of hearts in her deck. She liked that one best.

Wanda was climbing out of her seat, the heavy soles of her combat boots dragging against the hardwood floor as she rounded the broad face of the professor’s desk. Pale fingers trailed across the ebony wood, tracing the elaborate engravings that adorned the corners as she inched closer and closer. She licked her lips, sucking the swell of her lower lip into her mouth, between her teeth as she gazed down at Agatha where remained seated.

“What do you want me to do?” Wanda asked, trying her best to sound sultry, to sound every bit the seductress she needed to be, and not the clumsy nineteen year old she actually was.

“Get on the desk.” Agatha instructed calmly, one hand slinking down to catch at the clasp of her slacks. She didn’t undo them, just toyed with the fabric for Wanda to watch. And she certainly did, her green eyes were stuck to the deliberate motion of those clever fingers as she hopped up on the desk. 

Her heart hammered in her throat, hard and palpable contrasting the slow seductive way she reclined back onto her palms, the burgundy knit of her cardigan slipped off of her pale shoulders, pooling down around her wrists.

Agatha smirked, leaning forward to brace both hands against Wanda’s little hourglass. The contact made the younger woman jump even through the barrier of her top. Long elegant fingers digging in to warm flesh that resided beneath.

Those palms smoothed down, fingers dragging in a path along her sides before halting where they met the fabric of her little black denim shorts. Wanda felt her breath leap from her lungs, breathless as Agatha did nothing but circle the little bronze button of the younger woman’s shorts.

It was agonizing, teeth biting down on her lower lip to keep from begging for an end to that exquisite pain. She’d never wanted anything in this way before, never craved something quite like this, it was terrifying and wonderful.

Then Agatha peeled her fingers away, the lack of contact left Wanda reeling like she’d been struck over the head, dark spots swarming her vision as she drank in the fiery look in those dark blue eyes.

“Take these off.” Agatha purred quietly, one crooked finger tugging at the unoccupied belt loops. It was simple, but electrifying and Wanda felt her whole body throb from her ruddy blush that ate up her skin like an allergic reaction. She nodded dumbly, still recovering from the lack of contact. She shimmied her hips as she undid the fly of her shorts with shaky hands. Wiggling out of them while trying not to topple off of the desk proved to be the least graceful thing she’d ever done, but soon enough her shorts slipped down her hips and billowed down her spindly legs to land on the floor.

Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest as she stared up expectantly at Agatha, pale hands braced against her knobby knees where they were covered by the dark material of her thigh highs, cautiously spreading herself open. She swallowed, her mouth dry and body hot.

Agatha smirked down at the display she put on where she was draped across her desk. The older woman slumped back into her chair with a grin, lifting her seat to scoot closer like she was tucking in for a meal. The thought made Wanda’s head spin.

Her breath stuttered in her throat as the professor leaned forward with shrewd smiling eyes like she was staring at some prized artifact and not Wanda’s crotch. It was mortifying and simultaneously flattering.

“Those are cute.” Agatha hummed with a fond crinkle of her nose as she thumbed at the elastic waistband of Wanda’s pink panties, nail skimming over the little bow at the top in the same bubblegum shade of pink.

Then the older woman pulled her hands away again and Wanda was left whining, writhing for more contact. That made the professor smile, and suddenly there had never been a sight so rewarding.

“Touch yourself.” Agatha said nonchalantly.

“What?” Wanda stammered, face hot and her underwear dampening at the request. It wasn’t that she hadn’t understood what was being asked of her, it was just that Wanda usually reserved the act for the privacy of the shower or dark nook of her bunk, hand working quickly beneath the spray of water or sticky cover of sheets.

“I-” She began, sucking in a shuddering breath before summoning some reserve of strength. She exhaled, posture thawing to point that it wasn’t so stiff as she brought the hand that wasn’t supporting her weight up to her lips. She mimicked the deliberate way the professor was toyed with the clasp of her slacks or the button of Wanda’s own shorts as she pressed her fingers against the seam of her lips. 

A dark brow raised appreciatively where Wanda held Agatha’s gaze. Heat throbbing between her legs at the way the older woman’s gaze intensified, enraptured as she observed the way Wanda pushed the tips of three fingers between her plush lips. There was something unbearably vitalizing in the way Agatha couldn’t look away as Wanda hollowed her cheeks around her fingers. A thrill of excitement skittered up the young woman’s spine at the revelation that she was the center of attention.

Wanda persisted sucking her fingers teasingly, dipping the digits into her mouth until she felt her knuckles bump against her teeth. Her own wet fingers flexing against her tongue.

She wasn’t one to draw things out, so she didn’t linger much longer before pulling her fingers free, a silver strand of spit linking her digits to her softly parted lips. It was obscene, but the intensity of that almost-violet gaze told Wanda she was doing well. So, she continued, making a show of the way she teasingly lowered her fingers to the elastic of her underwear. She jimmied the waistband with her thumb, prying it away from her pale skin like a crowbar.

Wanda grinned playfully at her one-woman audience, gasping at the startling contact of her slick fingers over her pubic bone. She shivered, thighs parted as she pushed further, mapping out the familiar flesh between her legs. Her hips shook of their own volition, heat glittering up into her belly at the first twirl of her fingers against the petite bundle of nerves she sought.

Warmth tingled down to her toes at the touch, wet fingers circling her clit again, it was a slow motion, like dipping her toe into a pool, only for the pool to swallow her whole. It was addictive, rubbing once and then twice, and then endlessly. Wanda gasped, rutting hungrily against the pleasant grind of her fingers.

“How’s that feel?” Agatha asked, one hand coming up to cup Wanda’s cheek, the mundane touch making her tremble like she was hypothermic. But, fuck, she felt like she was on fire.

“Good,” Wanda heaved between gasps, “ So good.” Her thighs locking together, trapping her bony wrist in it’s spot between them.

“I bet it does,” Agatha crooned with a filthy chuckle, her thumb framing Wanda’s cheekbone.

Wanda ignored the way her fingers began to cramp, chasing only that blistering feeling that swelled within her. Fingers slippery and wet as they rubbed in a ceaseless blur over her clit. Her hips undulating at the way she watched Agatha pluck each and every ring from her long fingers, each bit of jewelry clattering against the wood of her desk.

Her gaze glued to the way those elegant fingers wiggled teasingly in the air, the way Agatha grinned back at Wanda’s undoubtedly starved expression.

“You look like you’ve got everything under control.” Agatha remarked, the words made Wanda whine a petulant sound low in her throat.

“No.” She whimpered, fingers still rubbing away at the wet gash between her legs.

“No?” Agatha echoed, feigning confusion, but Wanda knew her, knew she was far too clever to ever be confused. She knew every answer to every question, she just liked to hear Wanda speak.

“I thought you said it felt good?” The older woman persisted with a sharp smirk.

Her face pinched in a desperate agony, eyebrows drawn together, eyes hardly open, mouth ajar with color high in her cheeks.

“Please-” Wanda pleaded, a servant to her own plentiful desire, this overwhelming want that threatened to consume ever since meeting the professor.

“Please, what?” Agatha teased, appearing far too pleased with herself.

“Touch me.” Wanda begged, her head falling back with a cry. At the first brush of those bare fingers, Wanda felt like a dying fire that had been fed oxygen. She was aflame, body roaring and burning as Agatha’s fingers crept toward her slick sex.

She shivered violently as the ragged saw of Agatha’s breathing, the hungry way she sucked in her subsequent breaths like there wasn’t enough space in her lungs. Her body glowed with pride and want and lust at the thought that she had elicited such a response from such a woman.

Wanda arched desperately into the foreign, dry fingers that slipped beneath her damp underwear to join hers.

“You’re soaked, huh, hon?” Agatha asked, it was obvious, but humiliating to be reminded of how much she wanted this. Clever fingers dipped between her drenched folds, slow and teasing like a key blindly searching for a keyhole. Wanda squirmed desperately in search of the plunge of those fingers, but Agatha was outplaying her in this game of theirs. Her fingers expertly danced around the slick pink entrance, gliding up to playfully bump against Wanda’s own fingers.

“Why don’t you keep playing with that?” The professor crooned fondly, briefly tapping Wanda’s overstimulated clit like it was a fucking telegram. It was like a shot of electricity against those frazzled nerves. So she did was she was told, sticky digits continued grinding that little fleshy pearl.

Then those bare fingers were nudging at her dripping entrance, sinking down to the knuckle without warning. Wanda gasped incoherently, leaping up in shock like she’d been burned. She shuddered, hips shaking and thighs parting as she leaned into the overwhelming yet equally rewarding crook of those talented fingers.

Wanda felt incandescent, burning up like a fucking powder keg, like the was going to explode, and Agatha’s fingers were the matches, striking an overwhelming fire inside of her.

Agatha looked pleased, beyond pleased even, like she needed this as much as Wanda did. Plunging those fingers in a steady rhythm, in and out. Adding a curious curl of those cruel digits just to make Wanda melt under a scorching tide of pleasure. It was filthy and profuse and she would’ve given anything for that moment to last forever.

One hand seized her hip, dragging her closer to the edge of the desk, papers clinging to the exposed dewy skin of her thighs. Wanda leered down at the older woman working fervently between her parted legs, those almost-violet eyes narrowed with focus. All of her cards were on the table now with Wanda’s porcelain queen amongst them.

Agatha’s fingers dug into her, curling and flexing, pushing and prodding - it felt like magic, Wanda thought belated, her mind so sluggish it could hardly keep up with where her body was; a quiet voice in the back of her mind briefly wondered if this was what Pietro felt like all of the time.

Then those knowing fingers scrubbed across a spot inside Wanda that made her go rigid, fingers moving back and forth like a plow trying to till soil, gouge deep for something to grow. Her vision blurred with every loose copper strand that slipped loose from her braid. Despite that, Wanda could still see the contented look in Agatha's eyes.

She slumped back against the desk, sticky and shimmering in the glorious afterglow of what had to be the best orgasm she’d ever had. She stared up at the ceiling, playing cards and chess pieces floating behind her eyelids as she tried to slow her erratic breathing.

“I think you touched my soul…” Wanda slurred, overcome with drowsiness where she laid against the warm surface of the desk beneath her, the dark wood tainted with her body heat.

“Nah,” Agatha said as she hummed a chuckle, “Just your g-spot.” The older woman said fondly, her hips wiggling and a moan leaving her lips as Agatha slowly withdrew her fingers. Wanda was already mourning the loss of her as she felt the damp crotch of her panties get slid back into place. They felt cold and sticky in contrast to the throbbing heat of her overstimulated sex. Wanda kind of wanted to just kick them off too, let her damp underwear drift down to the floor.

“Open.” She heard Agatha say, and her thighs parted without question, eyes still hazy where she stared at the ceiling.

“Cute.” The professor chuckled, before her wet fingers bobbed into Wanda’s view, glistening and warm where they prodded at her full lips. Oh. She opened her mouth, tongue lolling out like a panting dog as she obediently accepted the digits. She could taste herself on those fingers, purring at the warmth that burrowed in her chest. Where Agatha’s fingers moved, she followed, leaning up as they threatened to leave her mouth. Before she knew it, she was sitting up, hair hanging in her eyes as she remained stubbornly latched onto those fingers. Her tongue worked lazily between both digits, tracing each knuckle and flicking the tip teasing between the fleshy webbing.

“Wanda?” The older woman called with a smile, the kind that made another tingle of warmth reignite between her thighs.

She couldn’t find words yet, mind still pleasantly distant, so she hummed around the digits instead, drool belatedly dripping down from the corner of her mouth.

“He doesn’t deserve a sister like you.” Agatha murmured tenderly, fingers stroking over Wanda’s limp tongue like she was petting an animal. The words rang in the younger woman’s head like a gunshot. Realization dawning on her sharply like she had just dropped on the downward curve of a rollercoaster and suddenly her heart had joined Agatha’s fingers in her mouth.

Oh god, oh god, Pietro. Dread and guilt churned thickly in her stomach, and Wanda was leaping off of the table, her cardigan clinging onto one wrist as she snagged her shorts from the floor. She shamefully shimmied into them as the dreaded reality of the situation returned to her.

What the hell had she been thinking? Having sex with a teacher? Forget about Pietro’s scholarship, if Agatha went to the school’s president as a tenured educator to report student bribery, Wanda would be booted out of school. Then her brother would really be in trouble.

“I’m sorry.” Wanda hissed as she shakily struggled with the button of her shorts. She didn’t know what she was apologizing for, but it felt appropriate.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Agatha said soothingly, trying to smooth out the edges of Wanda’s razor sharp guilt, yet Wanda still dodged the absolution like it was a bullet.

“Wanda?” The professor called gently and Wanda loathed the way the sound of her voice on the older woman’s lips inspired selfish want in her belly. She was tugging on her cardigan when she turned to face Agatha. Her face that looked like it was carved from marble was molded into something cold and unreadable.

“Tell your brother he’s got to turn in the paper he missed most recently, guidelines are on the syllabus, I’ll count the grade to cover the other ones he missed, but it better be good.” She informed as Wanda attempted to tame some of her hair where it had fallen out of her braid, tastebuds still colored with the reprehensible taste of herself.

“O-okay,” The young woman stammered, shifting from foot to foot so she didn’t have to endure the uncomfortable press of her damn underwear against her skin, a constant reminder of what she’d done.

“Oh, and um,” She paused, teeth digging into her lower lip as she retreated back towards the door, “Thank you,” was all she could manage before fleeing.

Wanda found her brother in the cafeteria, obnoxiously sucking nothing from his obviously empty soda cup. He was shoveling food into his mouth, a bite of his burger, a handful of fries, another bite of his burger, another pull of his empty soda. Wanda knew why though, he was carb-loading, he did it after all of the grueling practices. The coach had likely made the team run suicides, and Pietro always finished first, which meant he always got more.

One cheek bulged with poorly chewed curly fries as he finally caught sight of her, smiling that irritating boyish smile that made his eyes crease cutely at the corners - her eyes did it too, but it just made her look old.

“Hey.” He greeted with a grin, ashen blonde bangs hung in his eyes.

“I spoke to her.” Wanda said stiffly, too conflicted to snag a bite of his fries like she typically would’ve.

“Who?” Her brother asked as he shook his soda cup once more, rattling the ice cubes as he wiggled the straw to drink up what little bit of the beverage remained hidden in the corners. He was more focused on the damn soda than he was on her, on what she’d done for him.

“Your professor, the one that’s going to fail you-” Wanda explained through gritted teeth, it wasn’t often she found her patience wearing thin with her brother, yet at the moment her fuse was unusually short - she was so burnt out.

“Oh.” Pietro said with a frown that told her he remembered. Unlike Wanda, his appetite remained unsullied as he reached for another handful of fries.

“How’d it go?” He asked cautiously before chewing his mouthful of food.

Wanda wrung her hands together at the question, praying her guilt didn’t read like a neon sign across her face.

“It went well,” She said admitted, watching at he eyed her skeptically, Pietro may have been forgetful and distractible, but there was no one that knew her better, no one that could read her more expertly, though after the day’s previous events Wanda thought he might have a contender for that title. The image of those haunting blue eyes still branded into her brain.

“Yeah?” He probed with a hopeful smile.

“Yeah.” Wanda echoed softly, reluctantly allowing herself to smile in return. It was like looking into a mirror, it didn’t feel right if they weren’t pulling the same face.

“You have to write a paper.” She informed firmly, he couldn’t wiggle his way out of this, not after all she’d done to give him this opportunity.

“Yeah, yeah, of course whatever you say.” He swore, springing up from his seat with startling speed, wrapping her in a crushing hug.

“You’re the best.” Pietro hummed against her cheek, and just like that Wanda’s previous frustration had blown out like a candle, wilting into his arms in an exhausted heap.

---

Wanda has spent the night gazing at the ceiling of her dorm room. She remained splayed out in bed, twisted in a tangle of her red sheets while Pietro typed away at her laptop at the foot of her bed. Every now and again, he’d pass the laptop back to her to check his progress and read it over, to catch the frequent spelling errors, those fingers moved too fast for his own good.

Aside from that, Wanda did nothing, nothing but lick her lips and revel at the faint taste of herself that lingered there. Her mind spinning as she replayed the events, all her pieces lost in the game she had played, in her idiotic gamble. 

She recalled the fingers that had probed her, cruel fingers that brought her unheard amounts of bliss. Her lips wrapped around those fingers - Agatha’s fingers. The fingers that garnered more intimacy than any sexual experience Wanda had ever encountered.

Despite it all, her loss in the game, Wanda was left wanting more. She recalled something her father had told her when she pouted after being bested in a game of chess.

You learn more from failure than from success

She had certainly learned something from Agatha that day, she wanted to keep failing, keep learning.

---

Agatha wasn’t sure what to anticipate the next day, after spending the majority of her night replaying the day’s events in her head instead of grading papers. She’d always been insatiable, but with Wanda, the feeling seemed to grow tenfold. And Agatha was left rubbing herself raw in her office with the same fingers she’d used to bring Wanda to completion.

The occult studies professor had barely made it into her office when she heard the distant screech of sneaker soles against the tile floor of the hallway.

A quiet giggle.

Pietro, slow down.

But he didn’t, his wiry frame was filling up her door before Agatha even sat down. Big gym bag dangling from one sharp shoulder with his backpack hanging off of the other. He wrung his hands together, she noticed, the same way Wanda tried not to.

A shy smile on his face as he stared expectantly at her. It was eerie how similar he and his sister looked, despite being so different. Of course Agatha knew they were twins, but beyond that, their mannerisms weren’t similar - they were the same, like they were each one half of the same person.

“Peter.” Agatha greeted with a stiff smile that he was too antsy to react to. He seemed to shift from foot to foot at the nickname, his worn running shoes scuffing against the floor.

“Good morning.” He said cheerily as Agatha sank into her chair behind her desk.

“I have my paper.” The other Maximoff informed with a wry smile that told the educator he was anxious.

“I figured as much.” Agatha said dryly as she reached for her reading glasses where they resided in her bag. Her gaze lingering as another figure briefly bobbed behind Peter’s - Wanda .

There was the sound of a zipper being underdone, papers rustling and books jostling as his sister dug around his bag. After a moment a pale hand with red nails handed the paper over Peter’s broad shoulders. Agatha felt herself admiring those dainty fingers, smiling despite herself at the memory of them pressed between Wanda’s lips, working keenly between those lily white thighs.

Peter closed the distance to Agatha’s desk in a few long strides, it quickly made sense how he was a blur over the field. He presented the paper, clutched in his shaking hand. 

She could see Wanda more clearly now, where she lingered in the doorway, swaddled in her brother’s letterman. The sapphire blue and stark white of the jacket seemed too bright of a color palette for Wanda who wore muted reds and other dark tones.

“I was hoping you could read it now - if it’s not too much trouble…” Peter blurted out, though Agatha still couldn’t pull her eyes away from his sister. There was something pleading in Wanda’s green eyes, something she couldn’t say no to.

“Yeah, sure.” She said blandly, taking the paper to look it over. Agatha blindly rummaged through her desk for a pen to mark up any mistakes. The professor uncapped the thing with her teeth, spitting the top onto her desk. 

She knew there was a whole debate through the education community on the negative impact of using a red pen for grading - then she glimpsed the fluorescent office light winking off of Wanda’s nails as she twisted her fingers nervously, the tips of her fingers shimmering like garnets. Yes, red seemed rather appropriate.

Agatha skimmed the paper, the font was fine, the intro was fine, a bit bland but otherwise fine. It sounded like Peter, the writing sounded like him, but refined, coaxed into something understandable with cherry red fingers.

A little glittery red tick next to an unnecessary comma at the bottom of the page, then she turned to the next. It was astonishingly well organized for a kid who seemed like he would forget his head if it wasn’t attached. But he had his sister to thank for that, Agatha knew, sweet, sweet Wanda would do anything for her brother - because he needed her...and she liked it that way. Because Wanda would surely fall apart, come undone like she had on Agatha’s desk, if she didn’t spend every waking moment holding him together.

She skimmed another paragraph, there were a few run-on sentences scattered throughout, but the professor expected nothing less from him, Peter’s thoughts seemed to run on and on just like he did.

Agatha cleared her throat as she flipped back to the cover page, her gaze finding Wanda’s despite the way Peter loomed innocently above her desk. The young woman chewed her lower lip, pale fingers braced against the doorway as she awaited the verdict with baited breath.

A smirk pulled at her lips before she dipped her dark head back down to scrawl a grade at the top of the page. A single scarlet letter written in glittery ink adorned the pristine white margin of the paper, still vaguely warm from the printer.

“Oh my god,” Peter hissed in giddily, teeth pinching his lower lip just like his sister, “An A? I- Thank you so much professor-”

Wanda wilted against the entryway in visible relief, gratitude written on her blushing face. Agatha felt heat pool in her belly at the sight, that insatiable hunger lunging behind her ribs. Except the grade hadn’t been for Peter, the paper was fine she supposed, no, the grade was for Wanda - the architect of this whole game. Wanda who had performed beautifully just for her brother to deliver a relatively average assignment. Wanda, who was staring at her in that moment with those clever green eyes like she might combust with want at any moment.

“Don’t thank me,” Agatha said with a sharp grin as she handed back the paper, “You should be thanking your sister - she can be very persuasive.”