Vtanis: Memories Of Our Coven! ✨️💜💜💜✨️

THE FACECARDDDD

like this post if you save or use by @eolsenbrasil.

OMFGGGG FERAL BARKING FOAMING AT THE MOUTH

Professor Agatha is that you?!

OH IM SICKKKK

insp ⋆｡°✩

Did Kathryn Hahn know about the lesbian army standing behind her? #WWHL

just looked at this looked at this pic n realized i’ll never have elizabeth olsen sitting on my lap! god this idiot fucking life of mine

still life disaster

THIS WAS AMAZING OMLLL

Under the forbidden tree - Part I

Pairing(s): religious!mommy Wanda X female!reader

Words count: ~ 10k

Summary: A break from your studies and work. A program dedicated to foster children you decided to join. A weekend of faith, charity, and innocence under the watchful eye of the Westview church. But beneath the prayers and borrowed smiles, something unholy stirs.

- "...but have you ever sinned in God’s house?”

- "What’s wrong, Y/N? Kneel." - She repeated, this time with a slightly softer tone."

tags | content: Wanda being a little psycho, innocence/corruption, a lot of teasing, jealous, manipulation, possessiveness, improper use of religion itens, praying for grace.

A/N: My initial plan was to create an one-shot, but it ended up being too long, so I decided to split it into two parts. Honestly, I’m still not sure if that was the better choice, but anyway. Enjoy :)

menu fic | Part II (coming soon)

You were running late, but not as much as the ride your friend, Yelena, had promised you.

As you packed the last pieces of clothing you had laid out on the bed — "toothbrush, comfortable sneakers, sunscreen, hairbrush, cap, towel... vibrator?!" — your mental checklist came to an abrupt halt when your eyes landed on the object placed inside one of the suitcase compartments. "Do I need to bring this?" - you wondered, a pang of guilt creeping into your conscience. Bringing your toy to a church retreat might not be the wisest decision — actually, it was a terrible one. The possibility of boredom wasn’t a valid excuse, nor was the fact that finding a moment of privacy in your friend's apartment was nearly impossible.

Your thoughts drifted beyond the present — this week marked two months since you had temporarily moved into your childhood friend’s apartment. You could call it luck or mere coincidence, but either way, it had been a huge help.

A few months ago, you received an offer to work and study temporarily at a psychiatric hospital unit in Westview. At first, you considered turning it down — far from home, a small town that felt more like a village, completely different from your life, nothing particularly appealing. However, after an honest conversation with your favourite college professor, your perspective shifted. Finding out the significant research advancements happening there reignited your interest.

But, of course, there was still one major issue — where would you stay during that period? Money was tight, and there weren’t many good housing options in Westview. That’s when Yelena practically "fell from the sky" — or rather, her girlfriend, Kate, did, stepping in to help with everything you were missing — they were your saviour.

Two weeks after accepting the offer, you stood in front of Kate’s apartment with your small collection of belongings. In a quick rundown, Yelena had explained that she met Kate at an exhibition of ancient artefacts —more specifically, weapons and combat objects. Well, none of that surprised you. In fact, you made a mental note, wondering how it was even possible for more people to share Yelena’s questionable and somewhat violent interests. Either way, things moved quickly after that, and now Kate was working in a neighbouring city to Westview. Yes, even though you had to travel a few extra miles to the hospital where you’d be working and studying for the next few months, this was still the best option, and you were incredibly grateful for it. Oh, and of course, the small yet not-so-insignificant detail — less than a month after Kate settled into her apartment, Yelena invited herself to move in. Classic.

A knock on your bedroom door pulled you back to the present. The door suddenly swung open, followed by Yelena shouting, - “I’m home! Are you still not ready? Let’s go!”

You jumped in surprise and quickly shut your suitcase. Any hesitation you previously had about the vibrator was gone. It was coming with you, whether because you no longer had the chance to take it out or simply because privacy in this apartment is definitely not an option. Maybe, in a quiet place, free from interruptions, you’d finally get to enjoy a moment to yourself.

----

On the way to Westview, Yelena convinced you to make a quick stop at a Café. After all, a little caffeine would be welcome before hitting the road.

- "Are you sure about this, Y/N?" - Yelena asked, her expression filled with doubt.

- "You mean doing a little charity work by volunteering for the kids at the orphanage?" - you replied with a question of your own.

- "Yes... I mean, not exactly about helping out, but you know, this is a project run by the Westview church community..." - her voice trailed off as if she wasn’t sure how to phrase it.

- "I know, I get what you're trying to say." - You let out a small laugh. - "Honestly, I’m not entirely comfortable with the idea of spending the next few days at a church ‘club.’ Religion really isn’t my thing..."

Yelena was trying her best to not look judgmental, but she was failing miserably.

- "Look, it’s not going to be the best place or the best people, but I’m doing this for the kids. Giving them a weekend of fun, games, and a chance to breathe some fresh air outside of the orphanage. It’s worth it." - you continued.

Yelena stared at you while taking another sip of her coffee, carefully choosing her next words.

- "Okay, I’m still not completely convinced by that excuse." - You raised an eyebrow, waiting for a better response. - "But since you’ve decided, I should warn you that where you're going is far from being a ‘club.’ Kate and I went there once. Honestly, the place looks like the perfect setting for a period horror film. There's only a chapel and three large wooden buildings."

You were about to argue, but she cut you off.

- "No, don’t defend the place before you’ve even seen it. You’ll agree with me later. Oh, and before you ask what Kate and I were doing there — the only, and I mean only, good part is the huge, beautiful lake. Great for swimming or just relaxing."

You let out a long sigh and nodded, choosing to avoid a pointless argument.

- "Maybe the truth is... I just need a short break," - you admitted in a low voice, almost as if you were trying to convince yourself.

You could hear Yelena’s voice in the background — she was probably giving you a lecture about neglecting self-care and not recognizing your limits. But her words barely registered. Your mind was elsewhere, your thoughts louder than her voice, dragging you back to the exhausting days at the hospital.

--

- "Y/N adapted so quickly here, didn’t she, Darcy?" -Jimmy asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.

- "Yeah! A little too quickly, actually. But she got lucky that we don’t currently have any patients going into the ‘dark book,’" - Darcy replied, giving you a playful wink.

The three of you were in the hospital’s break room, taking a short rest and having what might be lunch or maybe even dinner — with shifts so chaotic and schedules a mess from the overwhelming workload, this was probably your biggest meal of the day — a combo of lunch and dinner.

- "'Dark book'? What’s that?" - You asked, puzzled.

Jimmy shot Darcy a disapproving look as if she had just brought up a forbidden topic. Then, turning back to you, he answered in a tone that was far too cold. - "It’s nothing big, Y/N. Just reports on patients with more complex cases. In these instances, to protect their future, all records are archived under strict confidentiality. Once they’re discharged, it’s as if their past is erased — so there’s no public speculation and they can reintegrate into society more easily."

The idea intrigued you. What kind of cases could be so dark that they needed to be kept secret, their pasts wiped clean?

- "That sounds interesting, but I have my doubts about you two keeping secrets. I can practically read it on your faces that you know more than you're letting on."

Darcy let out a loud laugh before responding. - "Of course we do… and yet, we don’t." - She chuckled again. - "But honestly, we respect that confidentiality rule. I think it’s fair."

You weren’t satisfied with that vague answer, and your curiosity got the best of you. - "Oh, come on, guys! It won’t hurt anyone if you share just a little of what you know. Besides, I’ll be gone in a few months anyway." - You gave them your best pleading puppy-dog eyes.

Jimmy chuckled before finally speaking. - "Look, Y/N, you can dig around in our library all you want, but you won’t find anything with real details. Even we, after years here, barely have any real information."

Darcy nodded in agreement and added, - "He’s not lying, Y/N. We don’t even know the patients’ names. All we ever get are bits and pieces of stories that float around the hallways."

You kept staring, silently pushing for more, until she finally gave in. - "Jimmy, do you remember that guy who used to pull pranks on other patients? Even on Dr Strange? He was absolute chaos."

Jimmy refused to say a word, just shooting her another disapproving look.

- "Oh, come on, Jimmy. Everyone here knows at least one story about that guy, don’t give me that judgmental silence." - She smirked before continuing. - "But fine, I know you were way more interested in that other guy… the one who almost turned green when he got angry."

Jimmy scoffed. - "Now that’s a low blow. Of course, that case was more interesting, but don’t even try to change the subject. Your real obsession was that crazy patient who kept rambling nonsense and scribbling in that little red notebook… the one with those three initials on the cover."

You and Darcy were about to press him for more when Dr. Strange walked into the room. - "I believe the break is over. Time to get back to the studies."

--

- "Y/N? Are you listening to me?" - Yelena said, shaking your arm. - “Y/N!! Earth to you, hello??”

You were snapped back to reality by the pinch she gave you.

- “OUCH, YELENA! I’m here, and that hurts!!” - you grumbled, rubbing the spot where she had pinched you.

- “Yeah, yeah, I can see that you're here, physically, at least. But your mind? Oh, it went far, far away from here,” - she retorted with a disappointed tone. - “Anyway, you do seem like you need a break. Maybe your crazy idea isn’t so bad after all.”

She continued speaking as she grabbed her bag from the chair.

- “Speaking of enjoyment, I got you a little present.” - A mischievous smirk appeared on her face as she pointed to a small wrapped box in front of you. - “BUT — you can only open it once you get there. You have to promise me.” - She winked at you as she handed over the gift.

Still unsure, you took the package and shot her a suspicious look. - “This is so unlike you… but okay, I’ll accept this rare expression of affection.”

Her mouth fell open in mock offence at your comment — though she was well aware that acts like this weren’t exactly her style.

Well, you’d understand soon enough once you saw what was inside the box.

----

No matter how many times you drove down the road to Westview, you never grew tired of the natural beauty surrounding you — the towering trees lining the way, the fresh breeze streaming through the open window of the car, if you were lucky, you could even hear the birds singing as they soared through the sky.

As expected, the location was just beyond the entrance to town, requiring a small detour off the main road. A wave of anticipation and gratitude washed over you. You were excited about all the opportunities the universe was laying before you— and, of course, grateful that your friend was here to support you. After all, she was doing you a huge favour by giving you a ride. The designated arrival day for volunteers and children was technically set for tomorrow, Saturday. However, Yelena and Kate had already arranged a small camping excursion for the weekend. Not wanting to interfere with their plans, you reached out to the project administration to inquire about the possibility of arriving a day in advance. Fortunately, they responded quickly, assuring you that it wasn’t a problem — on the contrary, it was common for some team members to arrive early to help with preparations.

Once again, your mind wandered, and before you even noticed, Yelena was already steering into the front garden and parking the car.

- "Alright, are you ready to spend your next few days praying and dying of boredom?" - Yelena teased, her voice dripping with irony.

You let out a laugh. - "Girl, you are sooo dramatic! It won’t be that bad. I have high hopes it’ll be fun, and time will fly by. Just don’t forget to pick me up." - You tried to sound confident, though deep down, you had your own doubts about how interesting this place would be.

Yelena stifled a mocking chuckle, gripping the door handle. She turned her head toward you and stated, - "Good luck, then, Y/N. But seriously, don’t fool yourself into thinking this place is all rainbows and sunshine. When you’re sitting in that chapel praying…" - she pointed outside toward the small building, "… you’ll remember me and what I’m telling you now. There are a lot of weird people around here, so don’t be too easily convinced by good manners."

Without giving you a chance to argue, she swung open the car door.

You shared a brief embrace and a farewell kiss on the cheek. With a final wave, you watched the car fade into the distance.

Drawing in a deep breath, you turned toward the small gathering nearby and began making your way toward them. As you neared, a woman in the group noticed you and greeted you with enthusiasm.

- "Hello! Good afternoon! Welcome!"

The surrounding chatter ceased as the others turned their attention to you.

- "You must be Y/N, right? I’m Monica," - she said, extending her hand to greet you. You shook her hand in return, slightly surprised at her accurate guess.

- "Yes, I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you! But… um, how did you know my name?" - you asked, suddenly aware that all eyes were on you.

- "I was the one who replied to your email about arriving a day early," - she said with a warm smile. - "I was just talking about you! We don’t get new volunteers here very often, so we’re happy to have you."

She glanced at the others and began introducing them from right to left.

- "This is Clint, Scott, Agatha, and Wanda."

They all welcomed you with warm smiles. A slight unease tingled up your spine — being in the spotlight had never been your comfort zone. Clint seemed to notice your nervousness and spoke up.

- "Hey, don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll guide you through the activity schedule. Today will be pretty relaxed — we’re just preparing the welcome for tomorrow and taking care of some last-minute details."

You nodded and muttered a "thank you."

It was also evident that holding onto your luggage was wearing you out, so Monica swiftly added, - "Alright, we’ll have plenty of time to get to know Y/N over the next few days, but for now, I think it would be best to show her around. Wanda, would you mind?"

Without hesitation, Wanda stepped forward and gently took your suitcase from your hands. - "It would be my pleasure! There’s so much to do here — you’re going to love it. But first, let’s drop off your things in your room so they don’t get in the way during our little tour."

She flashed a warm smile, gesturing for you to follow, and you couldn’t help but be drawn to the vivid green of her eyes.

----

The place itself didn’t have much in terms of infrastructure, just as Yelena had warned you. There was the chapel, a large house that served as the dining hall and the main space for meetings and activities, and two additional buildings that housed the dormitories.

Fortunately, since you had arrived early, Wanda informed you that you could choose between a shared or private room. That was an easy decision—a private room, without a doubt.

Wanda followed up with something you weren’t expecting.

- "Alright, a private room for the young lady. But you should know, Y/N, that nothing can be hidden around here."

You stared at her, speechless and confused about the meaning behind her words, until she continued.

- "I’m talking about the bathroom, darling. The restrooms here are communal, but don’t worry — there’s hot water and plenty of stalls for everyone in the building."

That was… disappointing. Not the worst thing in the world, but you had always valued your privacy— especially in a place full of strangers. At least you had managed to secure a private room, you thought.

--

- "And here we are, finally, at the most beautiful part of the refuge — the lake!" - Wanda said excitedly, taking your hand and leading you closer to the shore. - "The sunset view from here is just breathtaking… We’ll have plenty of activities with the kids around this area. I’m sure you’re going to love it."

You were absorbed in the view when you suddenly realized — she was still holding your hand. A warmth spread through your body, catching you off guard. You weren’t used to physical contact, especially not with people you had just met. And yet, when Wanda gently squeezed your hand to get your attention, pointing toward a flock of birds soaring on the other side of the lake, you felt something… different.

Your palm began to sweat from nervousness. In an attempt to check if she had noticed, you turned to look at her — only to find her gaze locked onto yours. It was as if she was trying to read your mind. Strangely, it was both unsettling and comforting at the same time. She radiated kindness, an almost motherly aura. Yet deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that she had the power to destroy you if she chose to.

A wave of anxiety started creeping in, and to break the tension, your eyes mistakenly drifted to her lips. That only made things worse. A rush of heat spread across your skin, and you could feel your cheeks starting to burn. Acting purely on instinct, desperate to avoid an impending disaster, you abruptly pulled your hand away and turned to the side, pointing at some nearby trees.

- "This place is so green… so many trees, so many flowers. It’s really beautiful, Wanda," - you said quickly, starting to walk toward what you had just pointed at. - "Are those… fruits hanging from the branches?"

Wanda followed your awkward retreat, staying close. Too close.

Your face was burning, and you cursed yourself internally. Why do I always react like this around women? It was so embarrassing. This was exactly why you could never successfully start a relationship. It was ridiculous — being a lesbian but completely incapable of holding a normal conversation with a beautiful woman.

Before you could spiral deeper into your self-inflicted humiliation, Wanda’s voice cut through your thoughts.

- "Yes! Most of these trees are fruit-bearing. We have peach, orange, pear, plum… and my personal favourite—apples."

Coincidentally, the tree closest to you had a few ripe apples hanging from its branches. You stopped walking, determined to keep your eyes on the fruit rather than on Wanda.

Your plan failed miserably.

Before you notice it, she was standing right in front of you — too close again. Close enough that you could catch the faint yet intoxicating scent of her perfume.

Your gaze remained fixed on the apples above, but your real struggle was maintaining steady breathing. And, of course, you failed at that too.

- "Are you okay, Y/N?" - Wanda asked with a concerned expression, taking a small step closer. - "Your face looks a little flushed, and—"

- "I-I’m fine, Wanda," - you interrupted, quickly stepping back. - "It’s just… hot, I mean, because of the sun." - You fought to keep your voice steady, but it was a losing battle.

- "Oh, darling," - she said with a pity tone. - "Maybe you didn’t put on enough sunscreen. Your face is looking a little red."

Before you could react, she reached up and gently brushed her fingers against your cheek.

You froze.

Your thoughts raced so fast that they made no sense at all. A simple touch. A meaningless gesture. Why did it make you shiver? Why are you like this?

Just as you were about to combust from sheer overthinking, an apple from the tree behind you fell to the ground with a soft thud.

You let out a startled breath — partly from the sudden noise, mostly from relief.

The shift in focus was instant. Wanda let go of your face and looked down.

- "Oh, we’ve been blessed, Y/N! Look at what we have here," - she said, crouching down to pick up the apple, rubbing it against the fabric of her blouse. Then, she held it up to your lips.

- "Here, sweetheart. Take a bite."

Her eyes flickered from yours to your lips.

You didn’t move. You just… stared at her.

- "Y/N," she repeated, this time in a firmer tone. - "I said, take a bite."

A tremor coursed through your spine. There was something about the way she spoke — the quiet dominance in her voice. Instinctively, you followed, taking a small bite.

- "Well done, dear. That was so easy," - she said with a sly smile.

- "Huh? Easy?" - you repeated, swallowing the piece of fruit.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she lifted her thumb to the corner of your lips, brushing it softly as if wiping away a nonexistent trace of apple. - There was nothing there. Right? - Before you could even think to protest, she silenced you with a quiet "Shhh."

She took a bite from the same apple.

- "Mmm… absolutely delicious. Almost as sweet as you are," she murmured with a smirk, then winked at you.

Your brain shuts down.

- "Anyway, it’s getting late, and we still have things to do. Let’s go, dear," - she said, taking your hand — again. - "I have some important work for your hands."

- "W-What??" - you blurted out in disbelief.

These double meanings — was she doing this on purpose, or was your pathetic interpretation playing tricks on you?

Wanda didn’t respond. She merely pulled you along, guiding you toward the buildings without a word of explanation.

----

It was obvious that you would use your hands to make welcome signs — what else would you even use them for? — As you cut and painted the papers, you found yourself caught in an internal debate. There was no reason for you to have ambiguous thoughts about Wanda. You reassured yourself that she was simply being kind, making sure you felt comfortable around here. She was polite and respectful, and it was evident in everything she did.

As you both worked on the signs, she struck up a light conversation — never prying, never overstepping, but also not allowing an awkward silence to settle between you. When you casually mentioned that you didn’t have much knowledge of religion because it had never been a significant part of your life, she simply smiled warmly, respecting your choices.

She took the opportunity to talk about the upcoming services. For the children, there would be interactive lessons designed to introduce them to biblical teachings. For the adults, there would be mass at night, just like in Westview. Before you could even comment on it, Wanda reassured you that you were under no obligation to attend it but were always welcome to share in the Lord’s grace.

What once felt unattainable was now unfolding—you were speaking to her with ease, without anxious stuttering or overthinking every word. Wanda was an incredible woman, captivating in every way, but above all, she was deeply devoted to her faith. She was present at every service, every activity — the very definition of a right woman.

The signs were finally done, and without wanting to brag, you felt quite proud of your artistic skills. What you weren’t so proud of, however, was the mess you had made in the process. Clumsy as ever, your hands and arms were stained with paint. Wanda noticed your chaotic state and grabbed a damp cloth to help you clean up. Unexpected yet expected. The more time you spent with her, the more you noticed her nurturing aura. It was oddly comforting.

She took your arm and gently wiped the fabric against your skin.

- “You made quite the mess here, huh, Y/N?” - she teased, meeting your eyes with a soft smile. You felt your face heat up, both from embarrassment and from the way her fingers moved over your skin.

- “I’m proud of your work, though,” she continued, her voice warm. - “They’re so colourful, so full of life. In the end, the mess was worth it, wasn’t it?”

You were almost certain she said that just to make you feel better, but either way, you couldn’t stop the small smile that formed at the thought of her being proud of you.

Wanda continued wiping away the last traces of paint. Her touch was soft and delicate, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying the moment. The silence between you carried a strange paradox — both exhilarating and calming at the same time. To keep your mind from spiralling into dangerous territory, you let your curiosity take over. After all, you did want to know more about the woman in front of you. So with the smallest bit of confidence you could muster, you crossed a line you didn’t even know existed.

- “So, Wanda…” - You hesitated. - “You said you live in Westview. Are you married? Do you have children?”

The hand that had once been so gentle against your skin suddenly tightened around your wrist.

Your heart skipped a beat. The shift in her demeanour was instant, her features tensed and her breathing grew heavier. Regret flooded your chest, and you wished you could take the question back.

Seconds passed, though they felt like hours. Her grip didn’t loosen. You tried to pull your arm away, your voice barely above a whisper.

- “Wanda? I—I’m sorry if that was too personal. I didn’t mean to be intrusive.”

It was as if the more you tried to retreat, the harder she held on.

Then, finally, she spoke. - “Oh no, there’s no need to apologize.” - She let go of your wrist at last, and yet, you still felt the pressure of her fingers lingering on your skin.

- “Your question wasn’t inappropriate,” - she said, though something about the way she avoided your gaze made you doubt her words. - “It just caught me off guard.”

You unconsciously rubbed the spot where she had held you. The moment had been tense, and though you wanted to move on, you felt compelled to apologize again. Wanda let out a noticeable sigh. Wrong move. Before you could process what was happening, she took your chin between her fingers and tilted your head to the side.

- “I think there’s a little paint left on your neck,” - she murmured.

Before you could react, she wiped her bare fingers against your skin. - “Almost clean, darling,” - she continued. - “The paint dried, so it’s a little harder to get off.”

Her nails began to lightly scrape against your neck — not painfully, but enough to make your breath hitch. Your body froze again, your thoughts scattering in every direction, yet none of it seemed to add up. Such a small gesture, yet it sent a shiver down your spine. It was meaningless— just a touch, just a fleeting moment — so why did it feel like something more?

- "All done,” - she finally said, pulling back slightly. - “Oh dear, I might have been a little too rough. Your skin turned a bit red where I cleaned.”

Her voice was laced with mock sympathy, her eyes watching you intently before she leaned in. And then, without hesitation, she pressed a soft kiss against the spot on your neck.

- “Don’t worry, it’ll go back to normal soon,” - she murmured against your skin. She pulled away, her lips curling into a knowing smile. She didn’t wait for a reaction — not that you could have formed one if you tried. She simply changed the subject, as if nothing had just happened.

- “Well, that’s it. You’re officially free from your tasks with me.” - She winked and turned toward the door. - “I’d love to see you at mass tonight, Y/N. If you feel comfortable, of course.” - And then, just like that, she was gone.

----

After finishing your afternoon activities, you took one last walk through the garden, hoping the fresh air might help clear your thoughts. You had made a promise to yourself —all the interpretations you had about Wanda’s actions were just figments of your imagination. She was simply being kind, and that was it. You were the one at fault, the one creating feelings and fictionalizing reality. Plus, you even convinced yourself that she probably had a beautiful family but just didn’t feel comfortable sharing that with you.

Taking advantage of your free time, you returned to your room to organize your things and rest for a while. You even felt a spark of excitement as you remembered the gift Yelena had given you earlier. Tearing the wrapping open impatiently, you tried to guess what it could be. But the moment you saw what was inside, you immediately understood why Yelena had been so thrilled to give it to you. It was none other than a strap-on.

You stared at it in disbelief. Your friend was absolutely insane. Okay, sure — it was a good gift, you couldn’t deny that. Technically, you had no right to complain, considering that, during a drunken conversation some time ago, you had confessed your curiosity about trying one. But, honestly, first: it would be ideal to actually have someone to use it with. And second: of all the moments she could have chosen to give it to you, she had to pick now — while you were in a religious setting.

Anyway, it would be hypocritical to blame her, though, considering you had also brought something inappropriate into this environment. Still, you made a note: you weren’t going to let her get away with this when you saw her again. For now, to avoid any potential disaster, you hid your new toy deep in your suitcase, tucking it beneath layers of clothes.

----

You stood in front of the chapel door, hesitating, unsure whether to step inside.

- "Good evening. Are you not going in?"- A male voice sounded behind you, pulling you from your thoughts.

You turned around, startled.

- "I'm Peter… and you must be…?"

You extended your hand in greeting. - "Oh, sorry, I’m Y/N," you replied. - "Yeah, I was just about to go in, it's just—"

He cut you off before you could finish. - "You're the new volunteer! Nice to meet you." - He grinned. - "Don’t worry, the first time can be overwhelming. Come on, I’ll show you around."

Saying this might sound cliché, especially given the circumstances, but thank God Peter showed up to keep you company. Only now did it truly dawn on you that you were in a religious environment. The air inside the chapel felt heavy on your shoulders. Some people were wearing traditional garments, though - obviously, you had no idea what they were called. Others were arranging objects at the altar and most of them clutched bibles in their hands.

The service didn’t take long to begin, but it was enough time for you to get to know Peter a little. His situation was surprisingly similar to yours, he was a university student who was here simply to support the cause of the children. He wasn’t part of any religious community and had started participating in these volunteer activities because one of the partners at his internship happened to be the founder of an adoption center in his city.

Learning that there were others here who weren’t directly connected to the church was a relief. The pressure in your chest, that lingering sense of being out of place, softened just a bit. Besides, you were now intrigued to meet this partner Peter spoke so highly of — Mr. Stark.

--

Your eyelids drooped with boredom. The people around you were full of energy, reciting prayer after prayer, but to you, they were just meaningless words drifting through the air. Without thinking, your eyes kept wandering over the crowd, searching for Wanda. You were fairly sure she was seated near the front, beside the woman named Agatha. They seemed so immersed as if they truly belonged.

All of a sudden, the sound of drums and guitars filled the chapel. A group of people at the front stood and walked up to the altar. Among them was Wanda. Her gaze landed on you immediately. It was hypnotic. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t look away.

- "This is always the best part. The lyrics aren’t great, but at least the melody makes up for it!" - Peter whispered, nudging you with his elbow. - "At least it brings some energy to the room… and wakes up anyone who's about to fall asleep." - He chuckled.

You nudged him back, holding in a laugh to avoid drawing attention.

But Wanda noticed.

And when you looked at her again, her expression had changed. If she had been happy to see you here before, that feeling had now been replaced by something else entirely. Her eyes burned as they locked onto you — and your new colleague.

As soon as the choir finished their last song, Peter turned to you with a small smile. - "I have to go now. I promised to help with the kitchen duties for dinner," - he said, getting up.

You felt a pang of disappointment, both at losing his company and at the realization that the mass still wasn’t over. Turning your attention back to the altar, you watched as the singers from earlier now exchanged greetings with the priest. And there she was — Wanda.

From a distance, she looked so harmless. She conversed effortlessly with those around her, and everyone appeared to admire her. In a way, it felt odd watching her engage with others. She didn’t seem to be giving them those scrutinizing glances, nor did she speak in cryptic phrases designed to mislead or perhaps she behaved the same as always, and everything weighing on your mind was meaningless after all.

It didn’t take long for people to return to their seats. Some, like Peter, left the chapel, but Wanda— She didn’t go back to her place. She was walking toward you.

- "Is this seat taken?" - she asked, not waiting for an answer before sitting beside you. - "I'm really happy you came tonight. I hope it’s not too overwhelming for you, darling," she added, placing her Bible on her lap and opening it.

- "It’s been a good experience," - you admitted truthfully. - "Besides, I met Peter. He seems like a good person." - You weren’t sure why you brought him up, maybe just to fill the silence.

- "Oh, Peter. Yes, I know him," - she said, her tone suddenly firmer, colder.

Looking down, you noticed her fingers fidgeting with the rosary in her hand, gripping the cross a little too tightly. Her mood had shifted — again.

- "Uh… is the mass almost over?" - you asked, hoping to lighten the air.

- "Almost, dear. Almost," - she murmured, just as the priest began speaking again. She turned her head forward, focusing on the next prayer, but not before flashing you a small smile. You were exhausted, silently pleading for everything to end soon.

As the minutes ticked by, Wanda’s presence beside you awakened something unfamiliar. It was as if your body remained in a perpetual state of anticipation, craving something beyond reach, even though you knew your longing was forbidden. Dangerous. And then, almost as if she had read your restless mind — you felt it.

Her hand lay still on your exposed thigh, the cool beads of her rosary caught beneath her palm, pressing into your skin each time her grip tensed with every echoed “amen.” You silently cursed yourself for choosing shorts over jeans.

Unlike you, Wanda appeared entirely unbothered by the situation. She echoed the priest’s words with ease, her voice steady and sure. And with each proclamation of praise, her grip tightened just a little more, pressing the cold metal of the cross even deeper into your skin.

Then, at last, the priest spoke his final words.

Wanda turned to you again. - "I hope you have a blessed night…" - she whispered, leaning in. - "And one full of grace, Y/N. Good night." - her lips grazed your cheek in a whisper-soft kiss.

And just like that, she was gone.

You remained still, frozen in place, watching as she walked toward the others as if nothing had happened. What… was that? Was your mind playing tricks on you again? Regardless of what conclusion you might come to, one thing was undeniable — That kiss was way too close to your lips.

----

You woke up to the sound of the chapel bell ringing. You were exhausted. Pressing the palm of your hand against your eyes, you let out a low groan of frustration. Your treacherous mind dragged memories from the previous night to the surface — the chapel, a new friendship, the endless prayers, and her — Wanda. No matter how much you fought it, the memories kept replaying in your mind—her gaze fixed on you, her presence beside you on the bench, her hand on your thigh, the ghost of her lips on your cheek. Stop. You had to stop thinking about it. As if stealing your sleep wasn’t enough, you refused to let her linger in your thoughts all day too.

As you wished, things were going well. At breakfast, you ran into Peter, who instantly invited you to sit with him. He talked a lot, cracking jokes and sharing stories from college — a great distraction for your restless mind. After indulging a little too much in the delicious food, you both headed to the courtyard, where more volunteers and children began arriving. You finally met the famous Mr. Stark, whom Peter had raved about, and his lovely wife. The conversation was engaging, but duty soon called. Monica gave you instructions to take the children to the dining hall while others helped store their luggage in the respective accommodations. Everything was well-organized, and the people were incredibly helpful. While watching over the children, you even managed a quick chat with Scott, who was eager for you to meet his daughter.

The day was going wonderfully, and, without intending to be judgmental, there were moments when you almost forgot the place was tied to a religious organization. You met people from nearby towns who volunteered regularly for this cause, regardless of their beliefs. It was all about the children, and they were absolutely delightful. Laughter echoed through the air, some raced across the lawn, others tended to the garden, played ball, or explored the small farm area, where they could interact with animals and learn about them. The most rewarding part was witnessing their beaming smiles, their excitement unmistakable as they eagerly chose which activity group to join.

Speaking of which, you were assigned to oversee the lake activities. Initially, you were excited about your role, but upon realizing that "lake activities" meant swimming with the children, your enthusiasm waned. You hadn’t packed a swimsuit, after all, who would have guessed there’d be water activities at a church retreat? Never. Regardless, you worked with what you had, slipping into workout shorts, a sports top, and a lightweight shirt over it. That would do.

--

The evening bell rang, signalling the start of the night’s activities. You began calling the children out of the water and sending them over to Cassie, Scott’s daughter, who was handing out towels.

You were happy but utterly drained. You had to give your all to help your team win the water polo match against Peter, but it was worth every effort. Of course, you took the time to lift the losing team’s spirits, assuring the kids that they had played exceptionally well and placing the blame for the loss entirely on Peter. Maybe that was a little harsh because your convincing words successfully triggered an all-out water fight against him.

Well, karma always finds a way back. After all the children had left the lake and headed to the dorms, Cassie announced that only one towel remained. You and Peter locked eyes in a wordless challenge before sprinting for it. Unfortunately, he was faster, laughing mischievously as he grabbed the towel. - “Better luck next time, Y/N! I win. See you later!”

Great. A short walk to your room while soaking wet wasn’t the end of the world. Everything was fine, you told yourself — until you heard Agatha’s voice.

- "My God, Y/N! Where are you going, dripping wet like that?!" - she exclaimed, approaching you, her loud voice drawing attention including Wanda’s.

- "I’m just heading to my room to grab a towel," you murmured, not wanting to attract more stares. - "Don’t worry, just a few more steps and I’m there," you tried to sound cheerful.

- "Oh, poor little thing," - Agatha teased, giving you a mock pitying look before turning away. - "Wanda! Bring a towel, your little angel here looks like a lost, wet puppy."

A cold breeze hit your damp skin, making the temperature difference even more unbearable. Your body tensed as you saw Wanda approaching.

- "Y/N! Why are you walking around soaked like this? You’ll catch a cold, for God’s sake. Where’s your towel?" - she asked, concern evident in her voice. - "Here, let me help you," - she added, draping a towel over your shoulders, pulling you closer —too close.

- "It’s fine, Wanda. There was only one towel left, and Peter got to it first," - you admitted softly, feeling guilty for secretly enjoying her attention.

- "Peter, huh? I’ve noticed you two are getting along, maybe a little too well," - she remarked, her hand tightening on your arm over the towel. Her grip was firm. - "I hope you had fun." - You couldn’t quite decipher if her tone was sincere or laced with something else.

Your mind replayed moments from earlier. You had done your best to keep thoughts of Wanda at bay, and, for the most part, you had succeeded. The distractions of games and the children’s company helped lighten things, as long as you didn’t glance in her direction. Every time your gaze drifted toward the field where the children played, Wanda was there, watching you. At first, you brushed it off as a mere coincidence, but soon, it became unnerving. Again and again, you caught her observing you as if carefully tracking your every move.

You snapped back to the present when Wanda pulled the towel from your shoulders. You looked at her, confused.

- "Take off your shirt." - It was more of a command than a suggestion. You stared at her, surprised at her boldness.

- "I’m not saying it twice, Y/N. Your shirt is drenched. Take it off." - You stood firm, refusing to comply so easily. Who did she think she was, ordering you around? Sure, she was right, but still, you can make your own choices.

- "I’m warning you. Don’t test me," she said in a sharp tone, raising an eyebrow and stepping closer. - "Don’t worry, darling. No one will see." Your eyes locked, and in an instant, whatever determination you had shattered. She had that effect on you, whether you wanted to admit it or not.

Hesitantly, you peeled off your damp shirt, shivering as the cold air met your skin and the fabric of your sports top. Wanda gave you a satisfied smile, wrapping the towel back around you.

- "Good girl. I’m proud that you listened to me," - she murmured, adjusting the fabric on your shoulders. - "It’s okay, sweetheart." - Her voice softened as she leaned in, her hands caressing your back over the towel, sliding lower. - "It’s okay to want to act like a brat sometimes…" - Her face was dangerously close to yours, her hands now resting on your waist. - "But don’t worry. I’ll make sure you know your place." - She whispered the last words against your ear.

Taking the wet shirt from your hands, she gave you one last knowing smile before turning and walking back toward the others.

----

Your plan to stop thinking about Wanda had completely failed. The scene from earlier kept replaying in your head. Nothing made sense. Why does she act so harmless, yet suddenly she feels like a predator ready to devour me? The question tormented your mind. Well, not that it would be a bad thing for her to devour you, you thought. "STOP!" The thought was so loud in your head that you accidentally muttered it out loud. You needed to do something.

The first solution that came to mind wasn’t the best. In fact, it was the worst. But you were tired and maybe, just maybe, desperate. Whether you were ready to admit it or not, the truth was that your body craved her. The way she looked at you, her touch, her words — everything. She was driving you insane, both mentally and physically. You needed relief, and you convinced yourself this was the perfect moment. After all, you had come prepared for this.

You sat up in bed, determined. This was the right time, everyone was probably asleep by now. After skipping the evening mass and only stopping by the dining hall to grab a sandwich to go. You had been avoiding any contact.

Rummaging through your suitcase for your toy, your body burned with anticipation, your thoughts consumed by Wanda. To your surprise, the midnight bell rang, and you jumped in fright. The cool night breeze rustled the curtain by the open window, bringing a sudden clarity to your mind. "God, I mean, literally God. What am I doing? This is madness!" Guilt crept up your spine. Letting out a long sigh, you made a new decision — you needed a cold shower, now.

--

The freezing water was undoubtedly the best choice. As it cascaded down your shoulders, you felt your mind finally regaining balance. You were relaxed, at peace, when suddenly, a noise outside your stall broke the silence. A chill crept down your body. Maybe it was just the wind. Maybe it was nothing. Just to be sure, you murmured hesitantly, "Hello? Is someone there?" of course, no response. There couldn’t possibly be anyone here at this hour.

Finishing your long, calming shower, you wrapped yourself in a towel and stepped out, heading toward the bench where you had left your change of clothes. Everything was perfectly normal until you realized your underwear was missing. You shook out the rest of your clothing, but nothing. You could have sworn you brought it with you. — Had it fallen somewhere on the way? Or had you simply forgotten to grab it? — There weren’t many options left, you dried off and put on what you had. It was just a quick walk to your room. No one would see.

--

- "Y/N! You’re still awake!" - a familiar voice called out, approaching in the hallway.

No way, you thought. Your hand was already on the doorknob, about to open your room when Wanda appeared.

- "Oh, hi, Wanda. Yeah, I just… went to take a shower," - you responded awkwardly, suddenly avoiding eye contact and instead looking at the object in her hand.

- "Mmm, lucky me, then! I was heading to my room and figured I’d drop off your shirt on the way." - She extended the clothes toward you.

- "Oh, right. Thank you. You didn’t have to wash it," - you said, suddenly remembering the forgotten shirt. Honestly, at that moment, all your focus was on one thing — you were only wearing a thin pair of pyjama shorts, no underwear.

- "No problem, darling." - She offered a warm smile before tilting her head slightly. - "Are you okay? I didn’t see you at mass and dinner tonight. I missed you." - Her hand reached out, gently stroking your arm with a concerned expression.

The warmth of her touch instantly undid all the effects of your cold shower. Your body heated up fast. You tried to maintain a natural posture, but feeling so exposed beneath your flimsy shorts was not helping. You kept your response brief, gripping the doorknob tighter. You needed to get inside, for your safety. - "I’m fine, Wanda. Just tired from today’s activities."

She didn’t seem satisfied with your answer. Placing her hand over yours, she stopped you from opening the door. - "Is that all? Are you having trouble sleeping, dear?" - She squeezed your hand gently.- "How about we say one last prayer together, hm? It will help you rest." - Without waiting for an answer, she pushed the door open.

You had no choice but to nod and step inside, your pulse racing. Wanda followed, closing the door behind her. - "You know," she mused, her voice calm yet laced with something unreadable, - "I have this essential oil that works wonders for sleep. I could use it on you."

This had to be a curse. No word came from your mouth and you were afraid to face her.

Then the silence of the room was broken by her single command. - "Kneel." - Her voice was firm as she stepped closer to you by the bed.

You finally stared at her, incredulous. Your body tensed, yet you could feel a damp heat forming between your legs. She had power over you, and she knew it.

- "What’s wrong, Y/N? Kneel." - She repeated, this time with a slightly softer tone.

A thousand scenarios raced through your mind, all the possibilities of what might happen—but none were what she meant.

- "Didn’t you agree to pray with me before going to sleep?" - she questioned, raising an eyebrow.

- "Oh—of course! Pray, yes, yes, let’s do that." - You responded, your tone far too enthusiastic for the occasion, but relieved nonetheless.

Of course, kneeling was for prayer. You were so stupid. Immediately after your reply, you dropped to your knees, resting against the edge of your bed. The movement caused friction between your legs, heightening your sensitivity. This whole situation was making you feel strangely aroused and simultaneously desperate at the thought of what Wanda might do if she discovered you had been without underwear this entire time.

Before kneeling beside you, she cupped your chin, forcing you to look up at her. - "You’re a good girl, Y/N. Let’s pray to receive His blessing."

Those were the longest, most torturous minutes of your life. You fought against your consciousness, struggling to stay focused, but every little thing distracted you — Wanda’s arm brushing against yours, the rasp in her voice as she pronounced each word, the way she inhaled between phrases. — You felt guilty for desiring her this way, especially at this exact moment.

Shame. Guilt.

Your soaked folds throbbed with ache, your knees pressed against the cold floor — you were paying for your sins, and the devil knelt beside you.

- "Amen." - It was the last word you spoke before she ran a gentle hand down your back and stood up. - "That was wonderful, wasn’t it? I can feel God’s presence here." - She smiled, extending her hand to help you up. - "Alright, now it’s time to rest. Lie down, and I’ll apply the essential oil on you." - She turned, slipping a hand into her bag to retrieve the small bottle.

Honestly, you wanted to plead for her touch — to put an end to this unbearable torment — but at the same time, you felt like the most unworthy soul alive. She was doing all of this out of care and concern… right?

You lay down as she instructed. She poured a bit of oil onto her fingers and rubbed it slowly onto your wrists. - "This will help you sleep tonight, I promise, darling." - Her voice was gentle, almost a whisper. - "One last spot, and we’re done." - She released your wrists, giving you no time to protest before lifting the hem of your shirt, and slipping her hand underneath. Her fingers trailed just above your chest, massaging slowly. The motion caused the delicate fabric of your shirt to brush against your hardened nipples — she must have noticed. Just a few centimetres more, and she would be cupping your breast.

You couldn’t contain it, pressing your legs together, seeking any friction where you craved it most, a quiet moan escaped your lips.

- "You’re so good for me. My good girl." - Her eyes locked onto yours as she smiled. - We’re finished."

- "Goodnight, Y/N. I hope you have sweet dreams." - She stood up and left, leaving you there, needy and desperate. And you could swear that just before turning away, her gaze lingered on the damp spot forming at the center of your pajama shorts.

----

You slept peacefully, like an angel, and for that, you couldn’t hold it against Wanda. She had been right. However, that was the only credit she deserved. Last night had been a whirlwind of emotions and desires, forbidden ones. No matter how much your body craved her or how, in fleeting moments, you believed she might feel something for you too, none of it mattered. It was wrong.

Perhaps God had heard your prayers because your day went wonderfully well. In the morning, you had breakfast with Peter and Cassie. In the afternoon, you were in charge of the arts and painting activity group. Time flew by in the company of the children — so much fun and laughter. You even had the chance to teach them about recycling and how discarded materials could be turned into toys.

Everything was going perfectly — too perfectly. Until Monica approached you. Simply put, one of the church volunteers, an older woman named Sharon, requested a private room, claiming that her roommate’s snoring was unbearably loud. At first, you thought Monica was asking you to check the accommodation list for an available room, but then it clicked. She was actually asking you to give up your room for Sharon. Well, fine. It was a bit inconvenient, but you didn’t mind too much. After all, no one deserved to share a room with a noisy sleeper. However, the proposed solution for your lodging took you entirely by surprise — Monica suggested that you move into Wanda’s room.

You had no excuse to refuse. What could you possibly say? "I’m having forbidden thoughts about a religious woman and I think I’m losing my mind?" So, you had to accept it.

--

You didn’t have much to carry to your new dorm, or rather, Wanda’s dorm. Even so, Agatha offered to help with your belongings since Wanda had given her the key to unlock the room for you, as she was tied up with something else. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little disappointed that Wanda wasn’t here.

You stepped into the room, a wave of anxiety settling in your stomach. It was nearly the same size as a single dorm, the only difference being two twin beds separated by a nightstand. You couldn’t help but picture Wanda sleeping there and wondered why she had a shared room all to herself.

Agatha walked in right after you, lingering by the door for a moment before heading straight to the window above the beds, pushing it open to let in some fresh air.

- “Feel free to put your things in the wardrobe, Wanda won’t mind,” - she said with confidence, settling onto Wanda’s bed.

You nodded in agreement, carefully placing your suitcase on a table near the wardrobe, mindful not to knock over the items already there. Then, you quietly began unpacking your few pieces of clothing.

Agatha decided to break the silence and asked - “Y/N, have you ever sinned?”

A strange question, you thought, but maybe not so much, considering the place you were in. You took a few extra seconds to think of a response. - “Mm… I guess everyone has sinned at some point, right?"

She let out a laugh. - “Smart answer, darling. But have you ever sinned in God’s house?”

You froze in front of the wardrobe. Did I hear that right? You wondered to yourself. A pang of guilt tightened in your throat as if she knew some secret you’d been hiding. - “Mm… I don’t think I understand. You mean in church?” - you lied, feigning innocence as you resumed putting your things away.

You could feel her gaze on you, the heat creeping up your neck as she studied you. - “Never mind. You’re still too pure, aren’t you?” - she chuckled again, but this time, there was something more suggestive in her tone. - “Anyway, it’s good that you’ll be keeping Wanda company here. She’s been down all day.”

Agatha was right. Your afternoon had been busy with group activities, but in the few moments you glanced around and caught sight of Wanda, she seemed… indifferent. For a moment, you told yourself she was just overwhelmed with tasks or maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as interesting to her anymore, not enough for her to seek you out in a crowd. Whatever the case, something had changed.

- “Really? What happened to her?” - you asked, trying not to sound too concerned.

- “Yeah, she won’t be able to attend the kids’ farewell or the final mass tomorrow since she has to leave in the morning,” - Agatha replied, idly twirling a strand of her hair before continuing. - “That’s a shame. She’s always loved the last day, but unfortunately, she has to go back to Westview to take care of her boys.”

- “Boys??” - you asked, almost cutting her off as she finished speaking. There was no doubt she noticed how quickly the topic had caught your attention.

- “Yeah, her boys. They’re adorable. Too bad I can’t say the same about their father,” - she replied as if it were common knowledge. Common to everyone except you.

You put away the last of your clothes and stared at the back of the wardrobe. Agatha had just dropped a fact you weren’t prepared to hear. You felt pathetic for ever indulging in your own fantasies, a slow-burning frustration creeping in, frustration at yourself. Wanda wasn’t to blame for any of this. It was all in your desperate mind. “Just one more night here, then you’ll be gone. You can do this. You’re here for the kids.” You kept repeating it in your head as you turned to zip up your suitcase, eager to leave the room. But in your emotional haze, you pulled the zipper too forcefully, causing the suitcase to shift and knock over a few nearby objects, sending them tumbling to the floor.

- “Shit,” - you muttered, frustration slipping out before you could stop it.

- “Oh God, everything okay over there?” - Agatha asked, craning her neck to check.

- “Yeah, yeah, sorry for the language. I’m just a bit clumsy,” - you said, quickly crouching down to pick up what had fallen.

The moment you saw what had fallen, you silently prayed not to be cursed. Lying there was a red hardcover notebook and Wanda’s Bible. You carefully picked them up and placed them back on the table. But, as luck would have it, one of the Bible’s pages had crumpled from the fall. Hoping to smooth it out, you opened it where a bookmark had been placed.

There were countless handwritten notes and highlighted passages. The sight warmed your heart. Wanda was truly a devoted woman. But then, one message stood out.

It was written in red ink:

“Father, forgive me;

For I have sinned;

This love isn’t holy;

But I’m too far in.”

Your eyes widened. You were about to read it again when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

- “Y/N? Are you sure you’re okay? Have you finished unpacking?” - Agatha asked.

You quickly shut the Bible, placing the small notebook on top of it. In one swift motion, you grabbed your suitcase from the table and turned to face her.

- “I’m fine, and everything’s set. We can go.” - You forced your best fake smile before striding toward the door, eager to leave.

listen to the giver like a proud mom… ily chappell ☹️

The psychology of love (Part 3)

Your first date with Morgan and a lesson in defense mechanisms and the delay of gratification

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: none yet, slowburn

Morgan and you go out to dinner the next day. You had seriously been considering just never texting her and making more of an effort to avoid her, but Wanda and Nat pestered you continuously during breakfast until you had given in. 

Turns out, you were both free that night. 

You had a class in the evening, so you meet her at the pizza place off-campus after. She’s wearing a light blue dress that brings out the color in her eyes and her Black Opium perfume makes you wish there was someone different sitting in front of you. 

“Did you have a good day?” she asks while you’re waiting for your pizzas to be done cooking. The awkwardness of a first date is hanging over you, coupled with the fact that her fingers were inside you on Monday. You’re still a little shocked that happened. 

But you nod and smile. Morgan is nice, and she’s trying. The least you could do is try as well. “Yeah, I had two classes. They’re both pretty easy. My hardest are definitely Physiological Psych and Personality Psych.” 

Even the mention of the latter makes your stomach clench. Agatha has wormed her way into your brain and you don’t know how to get her out. The perfume you ordered should be here tomorrow and you regret buying it. 

Realistically, what are you going to do with it? You can’t wear it—both Morgan and Agatha will pick up on it. It’d be absolutely pathetic to spray your pillow with it and imagine it’s Agatha next to you, plus Wanda would surely wonder about that. 

Which means you spent one-hundred dollars on a bottle of perfume that’s going to sit on your desk and serve as a reminder that you’re delusional. 

A waitress brings over your personal pizzas and sets them down in front of you, steam billowing off. 

Morgan’s looking at you, a little expectantly, and you clear your throat. “How was your day?” you ask, realizing that you never returned the question.

“Pretty good, thanks. I had an International Relations class. We already have a quiz next Tuesday, which is crazy considering this was our second day of meeting.” You learned that she’s a Political Science major while you were waiting in line for pizza. 

She doesn’t say anything else, so you chew on your lip and try to think of ways to get the conversation going. “So…how did you get into political science?” At least her face brightens at that. 

“My dad works in local government and I’ve always been really interested in it. I’ve interned at his office since I was probably sixteen? I’ll be able to get a job with him once I graduate and then hopefully I can be elected for something,” she says before launching into a few stories about town halls that she’s been a part of. She’s from a small town in Indiana and the people there are apparently a little unhinged.

Morgan’s just telling you about a petition one man started to make his birthday a town holiday when the door to the restaurant opens and a familiar face walks in. 

It’s Agatha’s standoffish TA. Morgan is still talking but your eyes follow Rio as she walks up to the counter and shows them her phone. The lady nods and picks up a boxed pizza that’s sitting next to her and hands it to Rio. 

As she’s walking to the exit, she tilts her head over to you like she feels you staring. You quickly look away but in your periphery, you can see her coming closer until you have no choice but to crane your neck up at her. 

“You’re in Professor Harkness’s class, aren’t you?” Rio asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question. She obviously remembers you from Agatha’s office yesterday. 

You nod and she chuckles amusedly, tongue bulging in her cheek. Her complete one-eighty of a personality change is throwing you off. 

Rio glances at Morgan and then back to you, a gleam in her eyes. “Good luck.” Before you can ask what she means—is she talking about Agatha’s class? talking about Morgan?—she shifts the pizza in her arms and strolls out the door without looking back. 

Morgan raises an eyebrow at you. “That was weird.” 

You choose to not say anything and take a bite of your pizza, instantly wincing when it burns your mouth. “Did the man get his petition approved?” you refer to what she had been talking about before Rio, and Morgan dives back into that memory. 

She talks for most of dinner, only really taking a break while she’s eating, and then you walk her to her car. Thankfully, neither of you wants to hang out in the resultant once you’re both done with your food. She’s parked right in front whereas you had to find a spot in the garage behind the row of restaurants. 

“Do you want me to give you a ride to your car?” Morgan offers and you pretend to think about it before shaking your head. 

“No, that’s okay. It’s not very far.” There’s a minute of silent shuffling while you both try to figure out how to end the date. “Um, well I had a great time with you tonight. Let’s do this again soon?” 

She smiles warmly. “I’d love that.” And then Morgan leans in to press a quick kiss to your cheek before getting in her car. Her perfume drifts into your nostrils and lingers and you hear Agatha’s voice telling you that you did very good. Heat flashes through you but you tamp it down. 

You wait until Morgan drives off before turning to head to the parking garage, but you see another person that you know in the shadows. 

Professor Harkness. 

Your heart lurches as she pushes off the building wall she was leaning against and steps into the light. She’s wearing blue pants and a matching blazer over a black turtleneck. The gold from her necklace catches the streetlamp glow. Her long, loose hair frames her face and you can see her blue eyes glinting even in the dark.

Swallowing roughly, you irrationally worry that she’s going to be mad about you and Morgan. A part of you wants her to be mad. 

But she just smirks instead. “Dinner with a friend?” 

“Something like that,” you mutter, shrugging inconspicuously. “What are you doing here?” It seems like she’s waiting for someone—a date? Not that it matters, of course. You just want insight into your mysterious teacher. 

She moves closer to you, close enough so you can smell her perfume. It’s getting really fucking confusing with both Agatha and Morgan wearing the same scent. “I’m just picking up dinner,” she hums. “Nothing as exciting as you.” 

Your cheeks burn. “That wasn’t anything, just a first date. We met at a party a few days ago.” When I let her fuck me because she reminded me of you.

Agatha nods like she knows something you don’t. “Do you remember learning about defense mechanisms?” 

“What?” 

“In a general psych class, did you ever learn about defense mechanisms? Freudian methodology, of course, that believes our ego unconsciously wants to protect the superego from the id when we do something that would otherwise cause us anxiety, guilt, and shame.” 

“I mean, yeah?” You’ve heard of them, but why is she bringing them up? 

She waves a hand at your apparent confusion. “We’ll get more into them later in the semester. I just think it’s neat, you know? How we can be doing something and not even be aware that we’re doing it. Denial, rationalization,” she fixes you with a pointed look, “transference. The mind does really work in interesting ways.” 

You nod and bite your nails, not sure what to say. It feels like you’re missing something by a mile.

But Agatha just smiles. “See you tomorrow in class, hon.” She winks before leaving you outside and you slowly trudge back to your car, completely dumbfounded. 

Once you get back to your dorm, the conversation with Agatha still fresh in your mind, you halfheartedly return Wanda’s greeting and take out your computer and type “transference” into Google. 

Transference is the psychological phenomenon where someone redirects feelings from one person onto another. It occurs when someone unconsciously projects feelings or desires onto someone else. 

“Holy shit,” you say out loud, your blood running cold. Wanda’s head turns toward you but it’s like you have tunnel vision. 

Was Agatha implying that you going out with Morgan is you redirecting your feelings toward your professor onto someone who looks like her? 

Your heart is thumping so loud you can hear it. Are you being that obvious to Agatha? Can she tell that you have a crush on her? 

As if to make matters worse, you get an email notification saying that a package has been delivered—the perfume. A whole day early, like the universe wants to prove its point. 

You let it sit in the delivery room all night because you don’t trust yourself not to go crazy if you smell it right now. 

But you barely get any sleep at all just thinking about it. 

The next morning, Wanda and Nat interrogate you at breakfast. You had told Wanda the general basics of how the date had gone last night, but now they’re pressing you for the details, which you reluctantly give. 

“It was good, she spent a lot of time talking about interning for her town’s government. She’s a Poli-Sci major—” Nat scoffs and rolls her eyes and Wanda laughs, “—and apparently her dad is like the mayor or a council member? I don’t know, I mean, she’s nice and all…” 

“Oh, come on,” Wanda says, fond exasperation staining her voice. “You always do this. You meet a great girl and then you decide that she’s boring or that you don’t really like her or you make one tiny thing of their personality into a big problem. Why can’t you just let yourself have something?” 

It stings how well she knows you. “I just…I don’t know…I’m just not sure we’d work that well together. And it doesn’t really make sense to get into a relationship now, does it? We’re graduating in the spring so why start something new if we’re going to end up in different places? She wants to go back to Indiana and I’ll probably stay here or go back home, so it just doesn’t seem like there’s much of a point.” 

Nat looks unimpressed. “Really? That’s your excuse for why you’re going to self-sabotage? If only long-distance was a thing, god.” 

Wanda pats her girlfriend’s hand and stifles a smirk at the sarcasm. “Just because it’s not going to end in marriage doesn’t mean it’s not worth it,” she says gently. “Why not go on a few more dates, just to see what happens? And who knows? She could be worth it.” 

It won’t work because she’s not at least twice my age. Except you can’t exactly tell your friends that. So instead you say, “Yeah, maybe.” 

“Even if it’s not a relationship, it could be a friends-with-benefits situation,” Natasha adds and Wanda snorts. “You’ve already had sex with her so you already know what you’d be getting into.” 

“Okay, okay,” you grimace at her crassness and push your chair back. “I have to get to class.” 

You have about twenty minutes before it starts, so you’re not in a rush, but you need the walk to clear your head and mentally prepare for seeing Agatha. The quip about transference has you still reeling and it’s only the third day of this class but it’s already the second time you’ve been nervous to look at her. You’re not sure you can get in trouble for having a crush on a teacher but you certainly don’t want Agatha being uncomfortable around you.

So you’ll keep your distance. You’ll go to class and take notes and answer questions, but you’ll leave right after. You won’t let her praise affect you and you will definitely not get close enough to smell her perfume that makes your cunt pulse. 

Practically everything you were just thinking goes out the window when you walk into class and see her standing at the front of the room. 

Agatha’s wearing another turtleneck, white this time, under a tan blazer and matching pants. You wonder if she’s been wearing them to hide hickeys on her neck—but then you remind yourself that you don’t care, despite the growing feeling of jealousy in your stomach from your absolutely baseless speculations. 

She smiles at you, something dark hidden behind her pink lips, and you shiver as you sit down. Does she know what she does to you? The praises, the projection tests from Wednesday, the way she looks at you? 

She seems to like you more than the other students in the class—is that just because you answer questions? Does she encourage you for that because she needs someone to? You’ve had classes where absolutely no one would talk and it was awful. Her praising you for that could just be her way of making sure there’s not an awkward silence. 

But it feels direct, pointed even. Like she wants it to be you.

Or is that just you hoping? 

Agatha isn’t the first teacher you’ve had a crush on, not by a long shot. There was the English teacher when you were in eighth grade. She wasn’t even your teacher, but you still found excuses to talk to her. There was your ninth grade Biology teacher, and then you took her Environmental Science class senior year just to have her again. Your Developmental Psychology professor from the spring semester of your first year in college. You’re sure there’s more. Each time, though, you were certain that you were special. 

Each time, you were sorely disappointed, but not surprised. 

You want to say that it feels different with Agatha, but you need to get a grip on yourself. 

She’s in her late forties, at least. She might have a partner. You glance at her hands as she’s typing something on the computer. No ring. That doesn’t mean anything, you tell yourself. 

But she could get in serious trouble for sleeping with a student. If everything else worked out, if all the other stars aligned and by some way, she did want you, she’d never risk her job over that. She has two doctorates and has published multiple articles about her research, which you’ve been meaning to read, and has won several awards for her work. She’s devoted her whole life to psychology and you are not going to change that. 

Agatha may tease, but at the end of the day, you feel confident that she will never be anything but professional, which means that you really need to get over this. 

“Okay, getting back into Trait Theory,” Agatha starts and you scramble for your notebook. She clicks present on the slideshow and you begin scribbling down everything typed on the first slide. “Theorists who approach personality through the Trait approach want to know what exactly traits are and what they do. Do they describe how we behave? Are they a sum of all we’ve learned? Do they reflect underlying personality? Are they the building blocks of our personality?” 

You chew on the tip of your pen and Agatha’s eyes flick to you with a glint in them. Her lips twitch up and you freeze. 

“The problem with traits is that people are inconsistent. We act one way when we’re by ourselves and a different way when we’re with friends versus family versus professors versus romantic partners. So do situations predict behavior more than personality traits?” 

Agatha surveys the classroom expectantly so you hesitantly raise your hand, wheels turning in your head trying to think of a sophisticated response. She smirks and nods at you. “I mean, I think situations obviously have some part in how we act, but it’s not like we’re completely different people based on who we’re interacting with. It could be kind of like, what traits do we use more of when we’re with some people and what traits do we use less of?” 

Her brows furrow and you can see her mulling it over. “So you’re saying that we have a bank of traits, of consistent traits, but which ones we tap into depends on who we’re with?” 

“Yes?” Your voice wavers but you hold eye contact with her. 

Agatha hums thoughtfully. “Very good. I like that.” Your cheeks flush and you duck your head, the eye contact becoming too intense. “And it brings us to an interesting thought. I want everyone to write down how you consider yourself personality-wise. And then write down some traits you’d use to describe your best friends.” 

You write some general words down for you and then for Wanda and Nat. It’s hard to sum someone’s personality up like that. Glancing around the room, you see everyone’s still working so you pick at your nails and pretend that you don’t feel Agatha staring at you. 

The compulsion grows too great in you, though, so you look at her. She doesn’t seem abashed that you caught her—if anything, she looks excited. You swallow roughly to get some moisture into your suddenly-dry mouth and your teeth sink into your bottom lip. Her eyelashes flutter, maybe just enough to be considered a wink, but then someone coughs and the moment is broken. 

Agatha clears her throat. “Take a look at what words you wrote for yourself and then compare them to the words you wrote for your friends. Chances are, there’s a good amount of overlap. Opposites attract sometimes, but it’s more often than not that we choose to surround ourselves with people that have similar personalities to us. If we do that, then our traits might be influencing the situations that we’re in, which influences our behavior. It’s a lot to think about.”

She clicks to the next slide. 

“Psychologists have found that both situations and traits influence behavior about equally after conducting some experiments that we’ll look at another time. Now,” she turns off the projection and the screen at the front of the room goes dark. Everyone looks at her. “I want to talk to you about an opportunity for next week.” 

Someone out of the corner of your eye perks up. “Extra credit?”

Agatha shoots him down with a glare. “It’s the third class of the semester, first of all. Second of all, there will be no extra credit in this course.” 

He slumps down, defeated. You think he might be the same person from the first day who was upset about only having five grades. 

“We will have a speaker on campus next Tuesday evening at six pm giving a presentation on fallacies from famous psychological experiments. I’ll be sending out more information about it, but I think it will be very interesting, especially for this class. It’s optional, but I do heavily recommend attending.” 

You raise your hand and she smiles. “What studies are they going to look at?” 

“Excellent question. The presentation will look at the Rosenthal study on expectancy effects, the Stanford Prison Experiment, among a few others, and one of my personal favorites: the study on delay of gratification.” 

“Is that the one—” a girl begins to say before Agatha interrupts her like she didn’t even hear the student. 

“Mischel and Ebbesen would call kids into a room one-by-one and tell them that they could either have a small candy bar right away, or wait some unknown amount of time for a larger candy bar. The researchers would leave the room and see what the kids would do.” Her blue eyes pierce into you and her face morphs into something almost predatory. “Is it better to get instant relief for something small, or to wait and let the anticipation build up for a better reward?” 

She prompts you with a tilt of her head and you wonder if she can see the slight sheen of sweat breaking out on your forehead. “If it’s going to be worth it to wait,” you rasp. 

Agatha licks her lips before nodding slowly and then settles back into her casual demeanor. “I mean, who doesn’t want a bigger candy bar?” she jokes and there’s a titter throughout the room. She gives you a smug smile and you face forward, cheeks burning. 

She continues talking but you’ve completely zoned out. You feel like a kid in the experiment—have something with Morgan, real but fleeting, or wait for even the possibility of Agatha? Once you’re not her student anymore, there shouldn’t be a problem. And you graduate in the spring anyway. 

But that’s if Agatha would even like you back then. 

What happens if the researcher never comes back with the big candy bar after the kid waits forever? 

She finally wraps up class, saying that she needs to rush off to a meeting and you slowly pack up your bag just in case she lingers. She may be in a hurry, but it’s nothing compared to the other students and it’s only a minute before you and her are the only ones left in the room. 

The air feels thick with electricity and tension and it’s like you’re rooted to your seat when she starts to slowly walk toward you. You can feel your heartbeat increase and your breathing quickens—your body wants to run but it can’t. 

“Great job today,” she mumbles and drums her fingertips atop your desk surface, her perfume rolling over you like a wave, and you don’t even realize that she’s gone until you hear the door shut behind you. 

You shakily stand up and swing your bag onto your shoulders and go to the library, desperately trying to ignore the heat between your legs.

After dinner, you pick up the package containing the perfume on your way back to your dorm. You’re almost afraid to open and smell it because you know your body will betray your mind. Your cunt has become conditioned to the scent—conditioned to Agatha—and you really need to figure out how to stop it. You’d throw out the bottle entirely if you hadn’t spent so much money on it. You’ll find some use for it, maybe for a party or something. 

Just as you get into your room, your phone buzzes with an email. Your heart starts to race when you see Agatha Harkness at the top of it and you quickly click on it. 

To your dismay, it’s just a course email. 

Hello Personality Psych, 

Here is the link for information concerning the speaker presentation next Tuesday evening that I mentioned in class. As a reminder, you will not receive any extra credit for attending, but it is an opportunity to learn more about flaws in renowned psychological experiments. Please email me if you are interested so I can get your name on the list. 

Best, 

Professor Harkness

You chew on your lip. It’s not something that you necessarily want to go to, and for no extra credit, it might be a waste of time. 

But you do seriously doubt that anyone else in your class is going to go, which would make you stand out to Agatha. 

You imagine walking into a room full of people you don’t know, anxiously scanning the crowd, to find her smiling at you and beckoning for you to go sit next to her. She’d lean in to whisper some remarks about the speaker into your ear and her hair would tickle your skin. Maybe you’d be bouncing your leg because of your trouble sitting still and she’d put a hand on your thigh to help you focus. 

Fuck. Your cheeks are burning now and the temptation to open the perfume so it feels like she’s there is gnawing strongly inside you. 

Instead, you compose a new email. 

Hi Professor Harkness, 

I would love to attend the presentation.

Thanks! 

You sign it off with your name and hit send before you can rethink it and then throw your phone to the end of the bed. 

The moment you press your hands to your face because you can’t believe how bad this is getting, your phone vibrates. You know what it’s going to be before you even look at it, and yet you’re still surprised to find that Agatha responded almost immediately. 

I’m very glad to hear that and I look forward to seeing you there. 

Professor Harkness. 

Only this time, instead of the regular email signature under her name, and every other professor’s name in their emails, that shows her position, the university name, and her email address, there’s something else as well. 

Ten digits. Your breath catches in her throat. 

She added her phone number. 

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