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#crimsonween
themidnightcrimson · 1 year
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Halloween. | w. maximoff
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summary: in which a happy halloween in westview turns into something truly horrifying.
warnings: top!wanda, oral (r receiving), dubcon, mind control, agatha being a nosy neighbor, wanda being her usual crazy possessive but hot self
this post is for 18+ only. minors: do not interact.
masterlist.
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The night was crisp and alive. All the children seemed to finally get out of their houses to dress up and run around the neighborhood streets, collecting candy and laughter. You had almost lost hope in this generation, as you hardly ever saw any kids outside in Westview, assuming that the technological era had gotten hold of them and locked them up in their rooms with their video games and television. You were fearful for the 90’s children across the globe, but Westview was sort of an anomaly.
You were so excited for Halloween this year that one could’ve believed you had never even experienced Halloween before. In fact, now that you think of it…
A child suddenly zoomed past you in seemingly supersonic speed, nearly knocking you off your feet. “Hey!” you yelled at the kid, turning around to see the boy with his foot smashed into a pumpkin in the yard next to you. He looked up at you with wide eyes, dressed in some sort of strange blue costume with his hair sprayed blonde and gelled up into spikes like lightning bolts. You weren’t sure how you knew, but you knew that he was Tommy, the son of your neighbor, Wanda.
“Sorry!” he said guiltily, his air of rambunctiousness fading as he took his foot out of the decimated pumpkin, guts stringing from his shoe.
You eyed his costume and tried to figure out what it was. “What are you supposed to be?”
“Uncle Pietro!” he said proudly, scuffing the pumpkin guts off his shoe and onto the grass.
You sewed your eyebrows. “Is that a comic book character or something?”
Tommy shrugged before turning around and speeding off. As soon as you could blink, he was gone.
“That kid should do track someday,” you mumbled to yourself, straightening the witch’s hat on your head. You really couldn’t think of anything else to dress up as, being a fully grown adult, so you opted for the classic witch. A pointy black hat, a black skirt, and a corset that was admittedly revealing. You must have bought the costume far ahead in preparation because you couldn’t quite remember when or where you had bought it.
Everyone seemed more cheery than usual that night. There was chatter and laughter all throughout the streets, and you decided to walk them for a while to just take in the gleeful atmosphere.
It was a while before you got to the edge of town, the last neighborhood before the city line: Ellis Avenue. You noticed that the Halloween cheer seemed to radiate from the heart of Westview, and out here on the edge of town, there was less of it. In fact, it was completely silent. You noticed people out in their yard, some kids dressed as skeletons with trick or treat bags in their hands. They seemed to just be standing, and as you passed them you expected to see them whispering to each other about some prank they were planning. But as you looked at their faces, their eyes were open. Their mouths were open as if they were trying to get a word out. They weren’t just standing—they were entirely frozen.
Besides technology being a threat to children, you knew drugs were, too. It wouldn’t be untypical for some teens to take drugs on Halloween, so you stopped and took a few steps closer to them.
“Excuse me,” you gently spoke as you looked between their faces. “Are you kids alright?” They made no movement. They were like statues, ones that were crafted with looks of terror on their faces before they were turned to stone. They were entirely inanimate. Was this just a decoration? A hyper realistic decoration made to look like real trick or treaters? You didn’t notice any wires or buttons, but there was an unsettling feeling in your stomach telling you to keep walking.
As you kept down the lit but quiet street, a fog blew in through your feet. Some crickets were chirping from the woods nearby, and you could hear the electronic whoosh of blown-up and lit-up decorations on almost every house on the street, but other than that, it was quiet. Yet there were people. There were people in their yards frozen in the start of the celebratory night, like they had stepped out their house to join in on the festivities but weren’t able to get very far.
“What the hell is going on…” The street looked like memory of life, like you were walking through a 3D snapshot left to dust.
As you neared the very end of the street, you looked beyond the road to a section of field in front of the woods that served as the Westview boundary. You were about to turn around and go back to investigate more of what was going on, but suddenly you noticed a glimmer in the air and stopped. Were your eyes deceiving you? Were you the one that had taken drugs and was tripping out of your mind?
You noticed a strange glimmer in the air again, and then a sort of colorful glitch. “What…” you whispered, walking closer to whatever it was in the air right in front of you. You stepped past the concrete road, your witchy heels walking in the grass as you noticed the glitch appear again. Was it a strange reflection of light from the streetlight? Was it fireflies in the air playing a trick on you?
The glitch appeared in the air again, and you stepped closer to it, raising your hand. It was right in front of you now, illuminating in your eyes, and you could hear some strange buzzing noise right in your ears. A sort of fatigue passed you all of a sudden, like you were a machine slowing down. Nonetheless, you raised your hand, bringing a few fingers to touch the light. As soon as your fingers felt a strange thick energy in the air, a burst of red flashed before your eyes before you were pushed back, propelling all the way backwards onto the street and hitting the concrete hard.
Your breath was knocked out of you with an involuntary huff, and you groaned from the ache in your back as you slowly sat up, your hat having fallen off and rolled a bit away from you. As you opened your eyes, they widened at what you saw. The small glitch of light you had seen before had morphed into a nucleus of red that was pulsating outwards as if spreading itself over a wall. It hummed and throbbed, as if offended by your touch, before it began shrinking into itself and snapping shut, disappearing and leaving nothing but the pure air in front of you. You noticed a few smaller glitches appear on this strange invisible boundary before they stopped all together.
You nearly shrieked when you heard loud noises come from behind you. Turning your head, you saw that Ellis Avenue was alive again, with kids running all around and the parents continuing their duties of passing out candy to them. Even the group of skeletons were sprinting now, chattering and talking loudly. Ellis was alive again.
Sitting in the middle of the road, you shrieked when you saw headlights coming fast towards you. This strange fatigue still lingering inside you prevented you from being able to scramble up, and you were practically accepting your fate as this car barreled towards you. Raising a hand over your face, you winced and waited to feel the car smack into you. Instead, you heard the loud squealing of brakes and the shrieking of rubber tires against the road. The noises came closer to you until it was right in front of you, but then they stopped suddenly. You could hear the hum of an engine in your ears, and the smell of exhaust, and when you finally opened your eyes, all you could see was bright whiteness. Blinking, your vision cleared, and you saw that the bumper of the car was right in front of your nose, headlights blinding your eyes.
“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, hon!” yelled a womanly voice as you slowly picked yourself up from the ground, grabbing your witch’s hat and putting it on as if it would protect you. You shielded your eyes from the headlights and saw a woman poking her head through the driver’s side window. It was Agatha, your neighbor.
“Hey, I know you!” she called, pointing your finger in the air. “Oh my gosh, you’re one of the neighbors! Two doors down, right?”
You nodded, feeling confused and strange and slightly dizzy. It wasn’t because you nearly got hit by a car—it was because of the strange invisible wall that felt like it was watching you now.
“Get in! The least I can do is give you a ride after nearly turning you into roadkill,” she said sarcastically before giving out a shrill laughter that made your ears hurt.
Too confused to deny and a little scared to walk home by yourself, you walked to the passenger side of the car and got in. Once you closed the door, the nervous feeling in your stomach seemed to shrink deeper. Agatha propelled the car forward and turned it into a U-shape, turning onto Ellis Avenue.
You hadn’t even noticed, but Agatha was also dressed as a witch, wearing a nearly identical pointy hat like yours. “Well, I guess witches must be in season!” she exclaimed when she noticed your costume. “Although your costume is much more on the edge than mine—look at that corset!” she exclaimed, reaching over and dragging a finger down the waist of the corset. You jumped, having been too absorbed in watching how lively Ellis was now. “Mine is a little more vintage. I was going for a more Salem coven vibe, if you know what I mean.”
You weren’t even listening to her. “How are they alive again?” you whispered to yourself, noticing that not a single person in the neighborhood was frozen like they had been only minutes ago.
Agatha stopped talking, looking over at you with a polite grin but concerned eyes. “What’s that, honey?”
You pointed out the window. “These people… They were all frozen like… like statues…” You were too flabbergasted to realize how crazy you sounded.
“My, I sure hope I didn’t bump your head back there!” Agatha giggled, pulling a strange face that you didn’t notice.
You remained quiet as Agatha started talking about how her husband, Ralph, never wanted to celebrate Halloween. You were thankful that you were still in a daze when she started talking about how she even tried to dress up as a sexy nurse for him.
Finally, you made it back to your own neighborhood. Agatha pulled the car into her own driveway, given that your house was only two doors down. Once the car was turned off, you started to get out, wanting to just go to your bed and sleep after the strange things you had experienced. Agatha’s voice stopped you. “Would you like to come inside? I make a great dirty apple cider. One or two of those and you won’t remember a thing the next day! See, I do about one fourth cider and three fourths bourbon, and—”
“No thanks, Agatha,” you told her with a weak smile. “I’m not feeling too well. I need to just go home and sleep.”
She looked slightly disappointed, but she quickly recovered with her characteristic charming smile. “Oh, no worries, dear! You go rest up, and I’ll make a batch to bring you tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Agatha,” you smiled, getting out of the car and feeling refreshed by the cool air. Walking to the sidewalk, you began the walk to your house. Between Agatha’s house and yours was Wanda’s house. Although you often saw her out and about around town, you hadn’t talked to your neighbor very much. You honestly couldn’t even remember when she moved in.
You were almost past Wanda’s house when you heard a door open. Looking up, you saw Wanda stepping out of her house. Shock filled you at the sight of her—you weren’t sure what she was dressed as, but it was an outfit that made your breath catch. She was dressed in an all-red leotard with tight pink tights and a strange sort of crown on her head. You assumed maybe it was some sort of comic book character, given Tommy’s costume from earlier, but it was incredibly breathtaking.
“Y/n!” she called, and even from there you could see her wide grin. “What a surprise running into you!”
You gave her a polite smile, but your eyebrows threaded. Strange running into you? She had opened her door right as you were walking by it—it didn’t seem like a coincidence.
“Why don’t you come in!” she called, waving you towards her porch.
“Sorry, Wanda,” you yelled as much as you could with how tired you felt. “I’ve had a strange night. I’m just going to—”
“Come in,” she said again, this time the smile on her face fading. Suddenly, you found yourself sharply turning towards her driveway and walking up it. Why were you going to her house? Why had you obeyed her? Why couldn’t you stop your feet from walking?
Wanda watched you with a sort of satisfied smirk as you robotically walked up her steps. She stepped aside to let you pass through the door, and you involuntarily did. You had never been in Wanda’s house before. It was nice and normal like every other house on the street, and you noticed a video game console connected to the TV. The living room was a little messy, with soda cans and candy wrappers everywhere.
“Sorry about the mess,” she apologized while she closed the door, and you could’ve sworn you heard a lock. “My brother Pietro has been staying here and he’s… not very tidy.” She clasped her hands together and stared at you.
You turned to look at her, waiting for her to say something or offer you a reason why she wanted you to stop by, but she only looked at you. “Where’s the kids?” you asked politely.
“Trick-or-treating, of course!” she said obviously. “With Pietro.”
You nodded, realizing it was a pretty stupid question. “Is Vision out with them?”
You noticed Wanda’s eyes dart to the side as she opened her mouth and hesitated before speaking. “Probably. He’s out, is all I know. Don’t know when he’ll decide to come back,” she said with a nervous giggle. “Can I get you something? Water or juice? We’re not really drinkers, so I don’t have any—”
“Sorry, Wanda,” you interrupted her as you felt a pounding reside in your brain. It felt like a headache was coming on, an intense one that made you pinch the bridge of your nose and squeeze your eyes shut. “I really don’t feel good. I may be getting sick and I wouldn’t want you or the kids to catch whatever it is.”
“You’re fine,” she said, and although there was a smile on her face, her voice was firm. “Why don’t you sit down?” She gestured to the couch, but then realized it was a mess from Pietro crashing on it. “Well, actually… How about we go upstairs? You can lay down on the bed while I—”
“Wanda, I need to go home,” you interrupted her again, feeling nervous as to why she was insisting that you stay there or that you go lie in her bed when you have your own bed just next door.
Her smile slowly faded as she fiddled her fingers. “Are you alright, y/n? You seem a little pale.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” you exclaimed, not meaning to be harsh with her but feeling irritated and dizzy. “I’m sorry, I just…” You rubbed your face with both of your hands. “I need to get away for a while, I think. I’ve been so out of it.”
“Get away?” Wanda echoed, her eyebrow lowering in a subtle manner. “What do you mean?”
“Just a vacation or something. I feel like I’ve been in this town forever.” You started to hear that strange humming in your ears again, chocking it up to a weird side effect of your oncoming headache. “I can’t even remember the last time I went on vacation. I can’t remember what I ate for breakfast this morning, or where I got this costume, or when I started working at my job, or when I even fucking moved here. I can’t even fucking remember what happened before I got in Agatha’s car…” All you could remember now was red light in your eyes and energetic humming in your ears.
“Oh, honey, come upstairs,” Wanda urged you. “You look like you’re about to fall over.” She pressed a hand to your lower back, and a few moments later you found yourself walking up the stairs with Wanda. Then, you found yourself sitting on her bed. Were you dissociating? Was your body going on autopilot and just doing whatever Wanda told it to do?
“Wanda…” you mumbled, glancing to her to see that she was closing her bedroom door, and you watched her hand linger on the handle before you heard a click.
Wanda was always so neighborly. Always inviting you over, which you politely declined, always bringing you casseroles and cakes for no reason other than that she wanted to be nice. In fact, you had never seen anything other than a cheery smile on her face. Now that she was slowly turning around to face you, something was terrifyingly different on her face. Her eyebrows were lowered, her red lips bent in a sort of scowl.
You felt the human urge to flee, to escape, to run away, but some weird force kept you sitting there on the bed. As you looked at Wanda’s darkened green eyes, and her scowl that turned upwards into a smirk, you managed to connect the dots. Was she controlling you? Was she in your mind, messing with the controls of your brain to operate you like her little puppet?
“Smart girl,” she whispered, and your face dropped in terror as your questions were answered. “What were you thinking? Going out all by yourself on the edge of town.”
“I… I…” Your mind was blanking.
“Were you trying to leave?” her voice lowered two octaves as she stared you down like a lion. You were trembling under her gaze as the altered reality you had been living in started crashing down around you.
“You know that leaving is not allowed, honey,” she continued, taking a calculated step closer to you. “Why would you want to leave me—Westview?” she corrected, but you felt like the word choice was also calculated.
“I wasn’t trying to leave,” you told her. “I was just walking around town. I got to Ellis Avenue and I saw…” you trailed, trying to focus through Wanda’s hand in your brain to remember what you saw.
Wanda took another step towards you, and she was standing in front of you now. She brought her hand to your chin, her smooth fingers cradling it and lifting your face up to look at her tilted head. “Saw what, honey?”
Before you could say anything, her hand slipped down to your throat and gently clasped it. Wanda pushed you backwards slowly, placing her knee on the bed and crawling over you as she moved you so easily to your back. You laid on the bed, staring up with wide eyes at your neighbor who was kneeling between your legs.
“You can’t leave, y/n,” Wanda huskily whispered as her other hand rested on the middle of your stomach, feeling you inhale and exhale fearfully. “I won’t let you.” Her hand lowered, swiveling around the crescent of your hip before slipping under your skirt and landing between your legs, cupping you. Your breath hitched at the feeling, and although panic was quickly rising within you, heat blossomed from where her hand was.
“What do you mean?” you breathlessly asked as Wanda lost focus, trailing her eyes over your skimpy corset and your short skirt that was raised over your hips now. She licked her lips, her fingers hooking around the hem of your panties.
“Walking around town at night, during Halloween, wearing something like this?” She clicked her tongue, her wild eyes flashing back to yours. “If only I didn’t give you the costume myself, I would be punishing you over my lap right now.”
She gave you the costume? No, no, you found the costume in your closet. You bought it yourself at… You couldn’t remember where you bought it. You couldn’t remember it ever even being in your closet until hours before when you were scrummaging for something to wear. Did she sneak into your house and put it there?
More important matters were on your mind. “Wanda, what do you mean you won’t let me leave?”
“Hush, kitten. Mommy’s waited so long to have you.” She started to drag your panties down your thighs, breathing through her teeth as her eyes focused in between your skirt.
Wanda was the most attractive woman in Westview, although you had never thought of her that way because she was married and had children. Still, you wondered why you weren’t trying to leave, why you were letting her drop your panties to the floor.
Her hands took the underside of your knees and bent them upwards, spreading them so you were wide open for her. She lowered herself down between your legs, and before you knew it, her mouth was on you.
Your lips fell open as Wanda began to devour you, moaning into you as her tongue rolled over your clit. Your mind was hurting from confusion and from Wanda messing with it, but it started to fade away as she pleasured you. There was desperation in the way she ate you, like she had been dreaming for years to spread your legs and have just a taste of you. You couldn’t remember Wanda ever flirting with you or showing anything other than neighborly care, but her desire was clear in the way she hooked her arms around your thighs to keep you still as she tasted you.
“Wanda,” you breathed, your chest arching off the bed as your hips bucked towards her mouth. You glanced down to see her locks of red hair sprawled across your thighs, her cardboard crown poking your thighs. You were growing dizzy, a pressure forming in your lower abdomen as your thighs squeezed around her head. She gave a guttural moan right against your clit that pushed you over the edge, throwing your head back in a high-pitched moan as you came. Wanda continued to lap at you through your climax, her fingertips pressing into your thighs so hard they left bruises.
Wanda carried you through your high until you fell back against the bed, panting and feeling the tingly feelings linger within you. You felt a sort of guilt for what had just happened, how you had let a married woman put you on her bed and put her head between your legs, until Wanda rose up and placed a leg outside of yours, keeping one between your legs as she cupped you again, this time touching you bare. Your juices were glistening on her lips, her lipstick not as smudged as you thought it would be. You tensed when you felt her fingers reach your entrance but then stop suddenly. Her dark eyes flickered, and she took her hand away.
“No,” she whispered to herself. “I want to savor you.”
She got off of you, placing your skirt back over your legs with one hand as she sucked your wetness off the fingers of her other hand. You were weak as you sat up on your elbows, looking at her in confusion. She was going to savor you? Was she going to ask you out again or something? How was she going to assume that you were going to say yes, or that you were going to let her touch you again?
“I don’t have to assume,” she answered for you, and she stretched her hand out towards you. You saw a flash of red and heard that loud buzzing sound in your ears before you fell asleep.
+
You were in a strange place when you woke up. It was a bedroom, an unfamiliar one that was decorated strangely. There was some sort of TV hanging on the wall, except it was wide and completely flat. As you sat up from the bed, feeling dizzy and sore, you looked around the room and noticed that it looked familiar.
It was Wanda’s room, but it was decorated completely different. It was more modern, with a strange device the size of your hand sitting on the nightstand. It looked like a mini version of the strange TV hanging on the wall.
“Oh, you’re awake.”
You jumped, not having seen Wanda standing there in the doorway. She was wearing a blue plaid robe with a gray shirt and sweatpants. As you looked down, you were also dressed differently in sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. You knew that you had went to sleep wearing something different. Did she change your clothes?
You glanced to a calendar on the wall beside the mirror, and for some reason you didn’t gasp in shock to realize that you were in an entirely different decade. You only smiled at Wanda and told her good morning, completely involuntarily. Wanda grinned and tilted her head, and in the look on her face you realized that she was controlling you and that she had been all along. You were in her forcefield that she built around you, and she certainly was never, ever going to let you leave.
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themidnightcrimson · 1 year
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The Woods. | w. maximoff
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summary: in which a hike in the woods costs you your freedom and your innocence.
warnings: dark!wanda, dubcon/non-con, kidnapping, smut, cumstrap, degradation, we can all sign up for therapy together
this post is for 18+ only. minors: do not interact.
masterlist.
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Sweat was starting to seep through your thin workout shirt as the sun shone down on your skin. No matter how many times you hiked this mountain, it always seemed harder than the last.
Although it was a cooler day, the sun, mixed with having hiked for hours, was causing you to become overheated. A stubborn little thing, you pressed on, your dirtied tennis shoes stomping over rocks that became sharper and chunkier the deeper you went into the forest around the mountains. You always liked this trail because it was secluded from all the other hikers and more challenging, but it was becoming cumbersome to avoid all these large rocks in your way. The trail was up on the edge of a hill, and to your left side was a deep slope through dense trees. You couldn’t even see the ground below, between all the trees and scattered leaves, but you knew it was far, so you tried to stay alert.
Your legs were begging for rest. They were becoming weak, and your breaths harder to draw from the air. Nonetheless, you pressed on, trying to enjoy the sound of woodland creatures like the birds singing and the deer you occasionally saw scampering through the wood. You were blissfully unaware of another woodland creature in your surroundings.
Sweat dripped over your eyebrow, and as you went to wipe it away from your eye, you didn’t notice that a particularly sharp rock was in your path. All you felt was the sharp stone cut into the heel of your foot through your shoe, throwing off your balance. You slipped.
Your face hit leaves and sticks as your body rolled, and you felt yourself begin to violently tumble downwards. You couldn’t grab hold of anything because gravity was pulling you downwards through trees that smacked your back and sticks and thorns that scratched your arms and face. You tried to shield your head and roll your body to protect yourself or even convince gravity to let up on you, and it seemed like you were tumbling forever until your head smacked into a particularly large tree that did not give way to your weight. With a huff, you finally stopped, finding yourself staring up at the sky that spun above you. There was a pain at the top of your head, one that seized your brain and rendered you unconscious.
+
You heard a soft humming. It was a woman’s voice, humming along to some sort of tune that you couldn’t quite recognize. It was a sort of lullaby, and it eased your brain awake so that you could open your eyes.
The pain in your head was unbearable, and if it weren’t for being concussed, you would have screamed from it. Although you were awake, you weren’t quite conscious, unable to register what kind of ceiling you were staring up at until it seemed you finally snapped to. You couldn’t remember what had happened, but you knew something had happened. Blinking, you could hardly see anything, and you started to panic that you had hit your head so hard you turned blind. As your eyes struggled to focus, you could make out the wooden panels of ceiling ahead of you, and that wherever you were, it was dark.
You tried to move your limbs, groaning at the sore feeling in the process. It felt like you had been in a car crash or something. You met a resistance as you tried to move, and at first, thinking your body was just malfunctioning, you tried harder to move your arms and legs, but then you felt something tied around your wrists and ankles. Slowly turning your pounding head, you saw in the dark that there was rope tied around your wrists, and assumedly around your ankles, too. You noticed they were tied to a headboard, which led to the realization that that you were laying on a bed.
Now more alert, you raised your head and looked at your surroundings. Through the darkness, you could tell that the room was small and made of wood. Through a window straight ahead, you could see moonlight shining upon trees that softly swayed outside. It had been morning when you went on the hike… What happened between morning and night?
It was a cabin—you could tell by the wooden walls and floors. The bed you were laying on was in a small bedroom with a desk sitting under the window. There were books scattered all across the desk, along with random things like crystals and strangely shaped glass containers filled with different colored liquids. A book was lying face open on the edge of the desk, and the chair was crooked as if someone had gotten up without pushing it into the desk.
As your eyes drifted around the room, you noticed strange markings on the walls. They were in some other language, but you noticed odd symbols carved in between, one being an eye and the other a silhouette of a woman. You then realized that you were hearing a voice humming from another room, turning your head towards the closed door.
“Help!” you yelled, yanking on the restraints on your arms and legs and trying to sit up as far as you could. “Help!”
The humming suddenly stopped, and the cabin was completely silent besides the sound of the wind and crickets outside. You waited for whoever was humming to come find you, until you realized just how stupid you were. You were tied up in this bed in this cabin—that person is probably the one who did it.
Sickness filled your stomach as you realized that you had been kidnapped. You, who was always so careful and so watchful, had been abducted. Your mind began to wonder what tortures would be bestowed upon you, and you only wished that they would just kill you.
Then again, you wondered how far you might be from help. You were obviously in the woods, probably somewhere near your hiking trail. Or, you might be miles and miles away—you had apparently been unconscious for several hours—there was no telling how far your captor had taken you.
If you were somewhere near the mountain, which was the best-case scenario, you tried to remember if you knew of any cabin in the woods there. Most of the mountain was public property, considering it had a public walking trail on it, except…
If your hands weren’t tied, you would’ve slapped yourself for having that thought. For your entire life, you had heard all the rumors about a cabin in the woods near that mountain, in the part that was not owned by the state. A witch, as they called it—the witch in the woods.
It was only child talk, campfire stories, Halloween myths. It was all bullshit, and you had always believed that. Whatever cabin you were in was most likely owned by a creepy old man who was probably going to saw your head off and put it in a jar, at best.
After several moments of silence filled with your swirling and concussed thoughts, you heard footfalls. The rope holding your wrists squeaked as you tensed, listening to the footsteps come closer to the room, floorboards squeaking beneath their weight. You listened, the sound echoing in your ears before the door slowly squeaked open.
What you saw frightened you worse than how seeing a creepy old man would have frightened you. A woman stood tall in the doorway, a pair of deadened eyes boring right into yours through the darkness. The pale moonlight illuminated the orange flames of hair curling down her shoulders. There were shadows around her dark eyes, and her hand on the doorknob slowly closing the door shut flaunted unnaturally blackened fingertips. What frightened you the most was what looked like horns coming to sharp points on her head, but as she took a heavy step closer, you could see it was a sort of crown.
“You’re awake,” came a feminine yet husky voice that brought a cold chill within you, as if she had blown the outside autumn breeze through her lips. Adrenaline filling you, you tried to tug on your restraints. “Don’t,” she snapped, her tone so harsh it made you instantly comply.
“Please,” you softly begged, voice akin to a frightened child’s. Your forgetfulness became clear when your innate human urge to escape led you to mindlessly tug on your restraints again.
The woman wafted towards you suddenly, causing you to shriek as she snatched your jaw in her hand, squeezing your face hard. Your eyes were wide as you stared up at her face full of fury. She was slightly pale, as if she were ill, and her hand on your jaw was freezing cold. “What… did I say?” she hissed, leaning close to your face as she seethed through her teeth.
You were trembling from fear yet frozen at the same time, trying to pull your face out of her grip, but she yanked your face until you stilled from the dizziness it caused you.
“You’re just as stupid as you look,” she growled venomously. “Walking alone on a rocky path, and now you can’t even follow simple orders. Pathetic.”
“Help!” you tried to scream, but she slapped her hand over your mouth, nearly pressing her lips against the back of her hand with how close she came to you.
“No one will hear you from here,” she taunted, a sickening grin forming on her lips. “And if you want to stay alive, I suggest you shut—up!” She punctuated her words by aggressively releasing your face and standing straight.
Your face lulled to the side as you winced, the pounding in your head growing fearsome. A pressure blared the inside of your skull, and the woman tilted her head as her gaze changed.
“Poor little thing. Hit your head pretty hard, didn’t you?” she lilted in a patronizing tone. “I can make it go away.”
“Please let me go,” you quietly begged, closing your eyes because even the darkness was still somehow too bright for your pulsing headache.
The woman’s lip twitched as if she was about to yell at you again, but instead she seemed to calm herself. She outstretched a hand, which you flinched away from, and firmly pressed it over your head. Through your squinted eyes, you watched a red flare swirl in her irises. Suddenly, the pressure in your head began to fade until your brain felt completely clear.
You looked bewildered as she took her hand away, and you noticed that although it was cold, it was soft. “What are you?” you whispered as she stared at you blankly.
Taking a small intake of breath, she casually looked away from you and to your athletic shorts. You had attained scratches from your fall, your legs and arms all marked up with long, red streaks. The woman pressed a finger to one on your thigh, to which you winced, and slowly dragged her finger upwards until it was reaching the hem of your shorts.
“What was a girl like you doing walking all alone? In the woods—wearing these del-ect-ably short shorts.” She dragged her finger under the hem of the shorts, slowly dragging them up and exposing more of your thigh. You tried to jerk away from her, but your restraints would not let you.
“It’s true,” you whispered falteringly. “You’re… the witch.”
Her eyes darkly flashed to you as a smirk rounded her lips. “Is that what you think I am?” There was a tone of playfulness in her voice, but you could not decipher what game she was playing.
“I… I don’t know.” Your weak answer only made her crawling smirk widen.
“I’ll show you what I am,” she husked as she flattened her palm over your skin and slid it downwards to cup your inner thigh, pressing her black fingertips into your tender flesh.
“Please don’t hurt me,” you breathily begged, tears forming in your eyes as fear ran rampant in your blood. It seemed as though she could smell it, looking even more pleased to see the glimmer of tears in your eyes.
“So cute when you’re begging,” she said through a sneer as she watched the way her fingers left indents in your thigh. “I’ll have you begging for me to hurt you soon enough.” She moved her hand to your hip, trailing her fingers up your shirt. Her cold fingertips on your stomach made you shiver, and you could distinctly feel them running over every goosebump on your skin. “Do you know why you are here, detka?”
You didn’t answer her, because her fingers were pushing your shirt up your abdomen, and you tried to ignore the flurries of warmth that followed her touch.
“When I saw you this morning, walking alone in the woods like an innocent little deer, I knew you had to be mine. Someone to live here with me, to sleep with me in my bed, to eat meals with me… to touch…” She ghosted her hands over your bra, jutting her lower jaw out hungrily as she felt the form of your breasts through the material. “Someone to be my perfect companion. And you…” Her eyes connected to yours again. “You’re perfect.” Something of a smile grew on her face, a sad and fleeting one before a look of hunger replaced it. Suddenly, she raised her hand in a flash of red light, and your clothes disappeared from your body.
You shrieked at suddenly being naked and cold on that bed, but the witch paid no mind as all her interest was laid upon your nude form.
“You are such a beautiful darling,” she complimented you as she let her eyes take you completely in. You felt so exposed under her gaze, trying to wiggle against the restraints in hope that they would decide to let you loose. Even if you got free, this witch had powers you knew nothing of, and you wouldn’t stand a chance.
The witch suddenly put her knee up on the mattress, crawling onto the bed and over your body. The mattress dipped with her weight as she kneeled between your legs, holding herself up by placing a hand on either side of your head. She was on top of you now, cornering you down on that bed with both her body and her starving gaze.
She took one hand away from the bed and graced it over your cheek, rounding your jaw and trailing up your chin before pressing two fingertips to your lips. You squeezed them shut, and she demanded you with, “Open.” You shook your head, but she forced them past your lips anyway, sliding her fingers into your mouth. You nearly gagged as they slid deeply down your tongue and nearly hit the back of your throat. They were certainly long.
“Your mouth feels heavenly,” she heavily breathed, her pupils dilating at the sight and feel of your warm mouth around her fingers. A thought crossed your mind to try and bite her fingers off, but something in you told you that would do nothing for your case. There was also something else in you, something you could feel rising to the surface, that made your mouth suction around your fingers. Her eyes alighted when she felt this, her eyebrows lowering deviously.
Your cheeks burned bright red as she slowly dragged her fingers out of your mouth and raised them to her own, sliding them inside and sucking them. She held the eye contact that was starting to make you squirm as she took her fingers out of your mouth and then lowered them down between your spread legs, sliding them inside you without warning. Taken by surprise, you cried out, feeling a bit of pain even though her fingers were wet and, admittedly, so were you.
The witch hissed at the feeling of your pussy tightening around her fingers, and you felt a throb of pleasure beat shamefully within you. Her fingers slid deep inside you, pulling halfway out before she jutted them back in harder, causing you to jump and let out a squeak. When she curled them at their deepest point and massaged directly into your sweet spot, the tension in your body started to melt away, and you couldn’t stop a soft moan that strung from your lips.
“Do you like that, detka?” she grunted as she started thrusting her fingers inside you, hitting that spot repeatedly.
You squeezed your eyes shut and squirmed against your restraints, trying to avoid letting yourself feel good about her touch, but your body was feeling hot all over. She smirked and pulled her fingers out, putting them back into her mouth and sucking your juices off them. You were shocked at feeling empty and longing for her fingers inside you, and the sight of her eyes fluttering closed at the taste of you made the fire within you burn even brighter.
Her jade eyes fluttered open again to look directly at you as she pressed the flat of her palms on your stomach and slid them up to your breasts, boldly taking them in both hands and squeezing them.
“So soft,” the witch moaned, her voice seeming to hiss in your ear. Had she put you under a spell? Was she using some sort of dark magic to make your body feel so pleasured by this strange woman’s touch, who had nonetheless abducted you and was holding you hostage in the cabin? The sad truth was that there was no spell, although she was certainly capable of it.
Entranced, you found yourself longing for her to touch you again where you were suddenly desperate for her.
As if hearing your thoughts, she looked at you suddenly with a smirk. “I’m glad you’re getting used to me so quick.” She waved a palm full of crimson magic which made her clothes disappear but equipped her with something that made that fear rise in you again. A scarlet dildo, large and wide, was attached to her and resting on your thigh.
“Don’t look so scared, detka,” she whispered. “If you’re going to be my companion, you need to learn.” She cupped your cheek with her hand, and you could smell yourself on her fingertips. You suddenly were scared again, feeling as if you were snapping out of whatever spell she must have put you under.
“Please, let me go,” you begged, tugging on your restraints. “Let me go, please. I won’t tell anyone.” You were yanking on the ropes now, feeling them cut into your skin. “Please, just—”
A slap to your face made you fall limp against the bed. It had struck you like lightning, leaving you feeling scorched and weakened. Your hair was covering your face that was laid to the side, your head spinning again as if she had slapped the concussion back into you.
A gentle hand softly combed your hair away from your face, fingertips taking your chin and turning you to look up at her. The look on her face was softer now. “Be a good girl. You’ll thank me soon, I promise.”
You felt the tip of her cock pressing against you, and she moved her hips so that it slid through your folds. You could even hear just how wet she had made you, and the feeling of her hand rubbing circles into your clit made you wake up a bit. As much as you did not want to like it, her fingers felt so good on your clit, and her strap teasing your entrance, and her hand that took your nipple between her fingers and rubbed and pinched it… She had managed to work you up so that you were bucking your hips up to her.
“Good, detka,” she grinned for the first time, and you noticed how beautiful she truly was. You took that moment to take her nude form in—she was breathtaking, truly. You had never seen a woman so beautiful, almost as if she were handcrafted to draw you in and take you under her spell.
“Please,” you quietly begged after she continued to tease you for several moments, and her eyebrows rose in surprise.
“I told you I would have you begging,” she huskily whispered before lining herself with your entrance and snapping her hips forward so that she entered you all at once.
The size of her strap stretched you out so that you cried out in pain, back arching off the bed as you felt the ropes slice more into your wrists.
“Oh, God,” the witch moaned, throwing her head back and holding onto your hips with bruising force as she moved herself around deep inside you before slowly dragging out and forcing herself back in, causing you to cry in pain. She noticed your tears, pausing to place a hand upon your cheek and wipe your fallen tears away. “Shhhh, hush now. You’re doing so good, detka. It’s your first time, isn’t it?”
Feeling hot tears stream down your face, you nodded. The witch cooed and leaned forward, keeping herself still inside you, and pressed a kiss to your lips. She let the kiss linger for a moment, and you found yourself strangely calming down.
Keeping her lips on yours, she slowly started to move, hushing you each time you let out a whine and quieting you with a kiss. You were offput by her sudden sweetness, but it quickly began to fade as she grew impatient and hungry.
Her hands returned to your hips to clutch them tightly, moving her lips to your neck and suckling your skin softly, complimenting how sweet you smelled. As the pain started to reside, you felt pleasure blooming inside you. She was so big and so deep that you could feel her in your lower tummy as her thrusts began to quicken.
“You’re a perfect pet,” she growled into your neck, bringing a hand to squeeze your breast. “It’s taking everything in me to not ruin you our first time together… your pretty, perfect little pussy.” Her dirty words made your cheeks hot, and you started to moan from the pleasure she was giving you. Her hips were thrusting hard between your legs, the bed starting to shake against the wall. Her nails were digging into your hips that blood drew from beneath your skin and dripped down to the sheets.
“Oh, fuck,” the witch moaned as her thrusts grew sloppy. She tried to slow herself down for a moment, sucking hard on your neck and leaving dark purple and red marks all over your skin, but she was too far gone to slow herself down. In whatever daze you were in, you felt yourself also coming close.
Groaning, she slipped a hand beneath you to grab at your ass, pulling you closer into her so that she could fuck you even deeper. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the sparks of climax reached you, and with a painful bite to your shoulder, she came right after you. Your orgasm was prolonged when you felt hot liquid filling your pussy as the witch moaned into your shoulder and scratched desperately at your ass cheek. You were nearly blind now as you finally started to come down, feeling her fall limp against you with her entire weight over you. Her warm breath came in pants against your neck as she laid still inside you, some of her cum dripping out of you and spilling onto the bed.
Whatever thoughts you had of trying to escape were gone as the witch already had you completely under her spell and filled with her cum. You were hers now, her perfect little pet that she would keep forever to fuck and love. As she leaned up from your neck to look down at you, she smirked, a glint of red swirling in her eyes. You were damned to the woods with her forever.
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themidnightcrimson · 2 years
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Autumn Love. | e. olsen
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summary: in which you and lizzie make the most of the season.
warnings: my intense love for autumn, just pure fluff with a little making out (never hurt anyone), lots of boring purple prose because i want to, let's pretend lizzie doesn't live in cali for just a sec, im sorry to those who don't celebrate halloween or aren't experiencing autumn rn but just let me have my moment please
masterlist.
Summer had come and went. Vacations, press, concerts, and all those lively albeit draining events had filled your summer up until there was nothing left but the slow, cooling draw of late September. Your morning walks with Lizzie, usually filled with sunshine and the glittery voice of chirping birds as the earth warmed up for the day, were now slower and cooler, filled with the beautiful morning fog that flooded in through the changing trees.
Lizzie's hand grasped yours as your boots crunched through the orange and brown leaves on the sidewalk. It was chilly that morning, but crisp. The air felt easier to breathe and nicer on your skin, and the bright green trees had faded into vivid oranges and reds. Both your and Lizzie's other hands were warmed with cups of coffee you had picked up from your favorite local cafe. While you preferred iced coffee year round, today was a hot latte kind of day.
Lizzie's nose was pink from the cooler air, a thick brown scarf situated around her neck as she rambled to you as she usually did, using you as her own walking, talking diary. You enjoyed it and listened attentively as you counted the rogue acorns on the sidewalk as you passed them, noticing a squirrel scramble down from a tree and frenziedly steal an acorn from the path just ahead before scampering away with it bundled in its fat cheek.
You swung Lizzie's slender hand almost childlike as she talked, taking sips of your coffee that was now cool enough to drink. You could still taste pumpkin loaf on your lips that you both had shared from the cafe. Your fingernails were both messily painted a rusty orange because you insisted on having matching autumn-themed nails. Of course, Lizzie's was already chipped because of her mindless nervous habit of picking at them.
Lizzie's brown leather fanny pack was bulging from her collections during your walk. She loved to pick up particularly pretty orange leaves, pine cones, acorns, sticks she found artistic (you didn't really understand how a stick could be artistic), and other hints of nature from the ground to make little bouquets out of. She even had a special bowl that she had made during one of your pottery classes together that she filled up with her seasonal findings. The flowers from spring had all wilted, and you knew once you got home she would fill the decorative dish up with all that she found on your walk.
A breeze flittered through the looming trees, causing their upper leaves to wave like orange hands clapping together. You shivered from the cold, and Lizzie noticed this, taking her hand away from yours to wrap it around your shoulders, tucking you into her side. She was already taller than you, but with her heeled boots you fit perfectly under her arm.
"Are you cold?" she asked you, looking down at you and smiling softly at the way you nuzzled further into her. You nodded, looking up at her to find her red lips close to yours. She leaned down and caught your lips, kissing you softly while still walking. Her oversized black coat warmed you, as well as her soft lips. With both your eyes closed, you both lost balance briefly, walking sideways and having to break the kiss to watch where you were walking, causing you to break out into giggles. The sun peeked out of the bleak clouds, bringing some relief to the chilly wind.
You decided to drop by the farmer's market and see if they had any good pumpkins out, and you gleamed brightly when you saw they had fresh, perfect pumpkins all sitting in a bin. Lizzie helped you claw through the batch to find the biggest, most spotless ones. Only one pumpkin would fit in your mesh bag you always took to the market, so Lizzie offered to carry the other one under her arm. The bag was weighing on your shoulder during the walk back to the car, and Lizzie had to keep switching her heavy pumpkin between her arms, which made you giggle almost all the way back.
Carving the pumpkin would prove much more difficult than picking it out. Later that evening, after Lizzie made her annual chili (you couldn't understand how she could handle how spicy she made her chili), you resolved to carving the damned things. Lizzie seemed slightly unnerved by you wielding a large knife, especially when you stabbed it into the top of the pumpkin and began clumsily cutting the top off, the pumpkin nearly slipping out from under your hands several times. Lizzie would always let out a sigh of relief when she saw you had not maimed yourself before going back to calmly cutting the top of hers off.
Lizzie's curated fall playlist on Spotify lilted through the kitchen. She had set down newspapers on the table to keep from getting the table too messy, but your clumsiness had caused half of the newspapers to slip and fall to the ground.
Once you had finally gotten some traction around cutting the top of the thick pumpkin off, you slipped and almost cut your hand, and by then, Lizzie had enough of watching you nearly cut your arm off.
"Baby," she said, already finished with cutting the top of hers off. She came up behind you, gently snaking her arms around yours and taking the knife out of your hand. "Please let me do this. I don't want your blood to stain the floors."
You rolled your eyes at her excuse, knowing she was actually worried of you accidentally hurting yourself. Huffing, you shuffled to the side and leaned your elbows on the table, watching her roll up the sleeves of her beige cable-knit sweater and get to sawing the pumpkin. Biting her lip, the veins in her hands strained as she wielded the knife. You noticed that her own pumpkin was cut in a neat, perfect circle in the top, while yours was jagged and uneven.
Once Lizzie had seamlessly cut your pumpkin, she reached her hands inside and brought out two handfuls of pumpkin guts, scrunching her nose in disgust before plopping the slimy mess of strings and seeds onto the newspaper. "Ew," she giggled, holding up her messy hands out towards you. "Baby, I want a hug."
You gasped and backed away from her as she started to come closer to you with her pumpkin hands, a devilish smile on her face. "No, Lizzie!" you warned her, circling around the table. She crept towards you slowly before suddenly coming at you full speed, and you let out a shriek of terror, jumping around the table and dashing into the living room as she chased you, giggling evilly like a possessed child through the house. Finally, you warded off her attack by threatening to refuse sex for a month, which quickly sent Lizzie into the kitchen to clean off her hands while apologizing through her residual giggles, her face flushed from the high of her sadistic joy while chasing you around.
You both decided on using big ladles to scrape and scoop out the rest of the pumpkin innards so Lizzie wouldn't tempted to torment you again. Once the pumpkins were cleaned out, you sat down across from each other on the kitchen island and put your artistic abilities to the test in carving out faces. You went for a more Halloweenish look, giving the pumpkin sharp teeth and cat eyes. While your cuts were uneven, you put a lot of detail into the face. Lizzie finished way before you which caused you to believe she probably made a perfect, beautiful face on the pumpkin. She waited for you until you were done, and you both prepared to turn your pumpkins to face each other.
"Ready?" Lizzie asked with a smile, and when you nodded, you both swiveled your pumpkins around to show each other your artwork. Upon first sight of Lizzie's, you nearly screamed with laughter. Her pumpkin's eyes were simple circles, both different sizes, and the only effort she put into the mouth was a narrow smile. While her edges were neat, there was absolutely no life or detail in the face.
"Stop!" she exclaimed as you mocked her, almost beside yourself in how dumb her pumpkin's face looked as she eyed your detailed one enviously.
"You may be more handy," you said through your chuckles, wiping a tear from your eye, "but you really suck at arts and crafts."
"Don't make fun of him!" she whined, clutching her pumpkin to her chest and stroking its head like a dog as she pouted.
Once you were done making fun of Lizzie (mostly as retribution for her chasing you around with gut-covered hands like a serial killer), you cleaned up the absolute mess you both had made of the kitchen table while Lizzie started on the cookies she was making. You set the pumpkins on top of the island and placed tea lights in their bellies so that they glowed like jack-o-lanterns, standing and looking at them proudly for a moment. By the time the cookies were in the oven, you were setting up the living room. You brought out blankets and threw them onto the couch, put an array of Halloween DVDs on the TV mantle, and lit a couple of pumpkin and vanilla scented candles, placing them on either side table around the couch.
"Hocus Pocus," Lizzie argued with you as you both got changed into more comfortable pajamas in the bedroom.
"Nightmare Before Christmas," you lilted back, determined to win the argument of which movie to watch first.
"You only want to watch the first half," Lizzie said as she pulled her oversized shirt over her head, pulling her hair out from the back of it.
"Right, and then we watch the second half when it's Christmas time," you told her as you pulled your pajama pants up and tied the string at the waistband.
Suddenly, Lizzie grabbed you by the hips and pulled you against her, causing you to stumble right into her. She tilted her head as she looked down at you with a quirked brow. "How dare you deny me my Bette Midler?" she whispered dramatically.
"How dare you deny me my Jack Skellington?" you taunted back, and Lizzie answered you with a sudden, feverish kiss on the mouth. Her hand came up to grip your face as her lips moved passionately against yours. Her hand wrapped around your lower back, pressing you so tight against her there was absolutely no space between the two of you.
Your arms wrapped around Lizzie's shoulders as she walked you backwards to the bed, guiding you down until you were laying on the edge, having to wrap your legs around her torso to keep your balance. Lizzie continued to cradle you in her arm and kiss you with her supple lips that felt like heaven on yours. Breaking so you both could breathe, she gave sloppy, wet kisses across your face down to your neck where she kissed your tender skin gently, burrowing her hips between yours.
Her body was so warm against yours, her hands so strong, her lips so soft, that you didn't even hear the sound of the oven timer beeping from in the kitchen until Lizzie hesitantly pulled away from you, leaving you cold.
"Cookies are done," she whispered with a smile as she straightened up, standing between your legs as you lay on the bed, staring at her breathlessly. She smirked and rubbed the side of your thighs around her waist, letting her hands linger farther upwards. "Come on," she told you, taking your hand and attempting to pull you up.
Feeling dramatic, you let yourself go limp, causing Lizzie to groan as she yanked your entire dead weight off the bed, only to have to tuck her hands under your arms and pull you up off the bed. Feeling yourself slip, you shrieked and hooked your arms and legs tight around her, clinging to Lizzie as she picked you up, jumping a little to adjust you before carrying you downstairs like a child as you giggled in her ear.
You had never felt so relaxed as you did when you snuggled into the blankets on the couch, laying your legs across Lizzie's. She held the small plate of warm cookies while you held a little dish of candy corn, turning on Nightmare Before Christmas (she happily agreed once you made a deal to give her head later if she let you pick the movie you wanted first). You had turned out all the lights in the room, save for the light from the TV and the two wonderfully smelling candles flickering on either side of the couch.
You nestled into Lizzie's warm shoulder as you sang along to the This Is Halloween song, while Lizzie hummed it beside you. As the movie played, you turned your head upwards to stare up at Lizzie. She was focused in on the movie, mindlessly munching on the cookies. You always felt more romantic this time of year, whether it was because of the cozy holiday or because Lizzie was always extra sweet and doting around the holidays. All you knew was that Lizzie looked so beautiful wearing your matching pumpkin-patterned pajama bottoms you had picked out and watching one of your favorite Halloween movies. She was so beautiful, and she was all yours.
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themidnightcrimson · 1 year
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Ghost. | w. maximoff
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summary: in which you move into an old house and find that you might not be its only occupant.
warnings: dark!wanda, dubcon, top!wanda, fingering, mentions of death (obviously), honestly creeped myself out writing this, super long so grab some popcorn, this one's for the spooky gays
this post is for 18+ only. minors: do not interact.
masterlist.
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This time of year couldn’t have been more exciting for you. As autumn’s cold touch brushed over the air like an icy paintbrush, the changing season was not the only new beginnings happening in your life.
Buying a house at your young age was something rather unheard of. The most that people your age in your city could afford were studio apartments, or maybe even tiny one-bedroom apartments for the ones with more conscientious (aka wealthy) parents. The housing market was more inflated than ever, but you managed to land one—a huge one nestled up a hill in a nice part of town. Sure, it was incredibly old, which you thought was the reason it was so cheap and so easy to bid for. The appraisers didn’t find anything wrong in the house—you thought maybe its foundation was sinking, or maybe the pipes had to be completely gutted out, or the electrical wiring was outdated. No—the house was in tip-top shape, besides the cobwebs and dust coating everything and a few squeaky floorboards in the hallway. What surprised even further was when the realtor told you there were no other interested buyers for the house, and that you were the first one to put up a bid in years. You chuffed it up to you being smart for your age.
The house had been built in the early 1900’s, made evident by its antiquated architecture. The front windows on either side of the door were made of stained glass reminiscent of neoplastic style. The towers of the house were Victorian, siphoning upwards into spikes as if prepared for war. It was a gothic and historical home, which was what you loved about it.
Your realtor seemed a little hesitant when you asked her why no one had already snatched this house up. Besides a little dusting and yardwork that needed to be done, it was the most beautiful house in the city. She opened and closed her mouth as you stood in the entryway of the home, taking a final tour before you would give her an answer. She clutched her clipboard to her chest and slowly glanced up the tall staircase. You dreaded she was going to say there was a construction issue in the staircase and that it needed to be redone, but she slowly averted her eyes back to you, and they now had a certain sheen over them.
She leaned in closer to you and whispered, as if you weren’t the only people in the house, “There was a death here many years ago. A lot of people in this town, you know, are rather superstitious—say it’s got bad mojo or whatever.” Her uneasy attitude quickly turned into bubbly commercial laughter, but you noticed that the hand holding her pen was trembling slightly. “The reputation certainly precedes this house, but it just reputation, after all.”
“Just reputation,” you quietly repeated, turning your head to look around the house. You were not a clairvoyant person, but you didn’t feel anything wrong with the house except that you would need to hire pest control to take care of a few spiders crawling on the ceiling. You didn’t believe in that kind of stuff, and you completely understood what the agent meant about the superstitious people in the town. The town’s citizens were as old as this house, and so they probably grew up hearing all the rumors and believed them.
“I’ll take it,” you eventually said. Besides your agnosticism in the subject of the paranormal, you had been dreaming of having a whole house to yourself to decorate however you wanted. You were tired of being a tenant and not having a place to call truly your own.
Within the first week of moving in, you decided on a sunny but cold Saturday to roll up your sleeves and get to work on the lawn. It was terribly overgrown, with years of dead leaves covering the grounds and weeds rising to your waist. There was an old shed out back where a few gardening tools had been left behind by the owners. You grabbed a rusty rake and pulled on some gloves before going out to the front and beginning at the sidewalk, raking up as many leaves as you could.
The cold day started to turn warmer as the sun rose higher in the sky, and the plaid scarf around your neck was beginning to make you sweat. Pausing in front of the huge pile of leaves you had already created, you leaned the rake against your hip and unraveled the scarf from around your neck. As you were doing so, you glanced mindlessly up to the house. It looked a little cheerier in the sun, but your blood ran cold when you spotted something in one of the top windows where the attic was. In a split second, you thought you saw the silhouette of a person standing in the window, but after one bat of your eyelids, the silhouette was gone. You noticed that the white curtain behind the window was moving, but after another blink, it seemed to remain completely still.
You were just tired and overheating, you told yourself. The realtor had showed you the attic, which was entirely empty besides a few boxes of belongings from the last owners. You wouldn’t dare try to climb that rickety pull-out ladder again, so you shrugged it off and continued to rake.
The house seemed like a maze for one person to live in alone. There were so many bedrooms and random closets that it took you the whole week to clean through each room. When you finally got to the last bedroom, you were going through some of the things that were left behind by the owners, which were a few boxes under the bed. It was pretty important stuff, you thought, as you opened a small red velvet box and saw that it was full of pictures of a family. A mom, a dad, and four kids. There were even some sentimental items in there, like old movie tickets and coins from the old arcade that used to be in town. Why would the owners have left behind such items? Were they really in such a rush to get out?
Late that night, your curiosity got the best of you. You had just installed Wi-fi a few days ago, so you took to your handy laptop in bed and started searching up the house online. To your surprise, Google engineered about three thousand results when you typed in the address of your home. A few shocking news articles came up with headlines like “House of Horrors” and “Home of Death.” You suddenly saw the same picture of the family that you had seen in a polaroid in that box under the other bedroom’s bed, so you clicked on that article as full intrigue consumed you.
Your mouth fell open as you read the story that the family had given nearly two decades ago. They said that their “horrors” began with strange noises that kept them up at night, lights flickering on and off, voices coming from parts of the house that no one lived in, and how ladder to the attic kept getting pushed down by itself. Their tolerance ended, according to the mom, when the ladder flew open right as she was walking under it and rendered her unconscious.
Your initial apprehension of the family’s story, as you subconsciously assumed they were quacks or just lying for money, was upended when the article went on to explain the history of the house. Early on, when it was recently built, a married couple and their twin boys had moved into the home. Apparently, the wife had started to go crazy, which led the husband to take the kids and leave her. The wife, ushered by her grief and insanity, took a rope and went up to the attic and…
Suddenly, the website you were just on flashed a blank white screen with an error code. Frustrated by your interest being cut off, you tapped the reload button repeatedly until you noticed that your Wi-fi had disconnected and was no longer showing as available.
“Ugh!” you groaned, closing the laptop and getting out of your bed. You had dreaded Internet problems, since the house was secluded with trees, and the installation guy was about as old as your grandpa.
You walked through the dark hallway, downstairs, and into the kitchen where you had the router set up. Seeing that the light was not on, you looked behind the router to see that it was unplugged.
“What the fuck,” you whispered, grabbing the cord. You wondered if maybe the outlet was loose and the cord had just fell out, but it was perfectly secure as you plugged it back in. It was too late at night for you to call the Internet guy and ask about it, so you turned to go back upstairs to sleep. Suddenly, you heard a strange thud come from upstairs. You stopped, your breath stilling as you listened closely.
The thud came again, and then another one, like footsteps. Had someone broken in, thinking that the house was still abandoned? Your mind jumped to the possibility that some squatters were living in the attic, and that was why you had seen someone in the attic window.
The only weapon near you in the kitchen was a butcher’s knife, so you quietly took it from its place in the block of knives, your heart skipping a beat as fear consumed you. Admittedly, you were a bit creeped out from reading that article so late at night.
“Hello?!” you called out loudly, waiting to hear another voice meet yours. You heard nothing but another pair of footsteps, this time sounding like they were at the top of the stairs. Gripping the knife in your hand, you moved quietly into the dark living room, carefully turning on a little lamp by the staircase. Slowly, you peered through the railing to look at the top of the staircase, hearing nothing. “Hello?!” you called out again, the house now entirely silent.
You were not a weary person, even though you were on edge in that moment. So, taking the knife confidently with you, you went up the stairs. You were surprised when, halfway there, the light above the staircase suddenly flicked on, but the creepiest part was that it was red.
+
You held the metal ladder as the man stood fearlessly on the very top to reach the light that was all the way on the tall ceiling above the staircase. He’d managed to secure the ladder perfectly on the stairs, but you didn’t know anything about homeowner liability and did not want to see this man tumble down your stairs for sake of not being able to afford home insurance.
“Is that even a light that can change colors?” you called up to him as he unscrewed the lightbulb.
“No, ma’am,” he said as he crouched down and handed the dusty lightbulb to you, grabbing a new one out of his work suit pocket. “Sometimes these old lights can burn a strange orange color when they’re too old.”
You turned the old lightbulb around in your palm. “But it was bright red—like, neon red,” you argued.
“Electricity is amazing, isn’t it?” the old man countered as he screwed the new lightbulb in. You rolled your eyes, deciding that he thought you were just a delusional woman who imagined what you saw.
Despite your distrust of this man now, you couldn’t help but ask him another question pressing your mind since he was a repairman and probably knew something about these things. “Do you think there’s any way rats can live through rat poison?”
As he placed the glass cover over the lightbulb, he slowly looked down at you through his arm.
You quickly explained, “It’s just that… I heard some weird noises last night. I thought maybe it was rats, but the pest control guy said he got everything out of the place.”
The man finished putting the cover back on the light and slowly climbed down the ladder with a sigh. “It’s a possibility a few squeakers got away.” He brusquely folded up the ladder, and you snatched your hand away from it so it wouldn’t get squished. He held the ladder under his arm and turned to you. “It’s an old house, ma’am. Old houses are live creatures of their own, especially when you got a young lady bouncing around here all on her own.” You raised your eyes at him, and he gave a slightly apologetic look. “Just some shifting in the foundation, probably. Nothing to worry yourself over.” He turned to walk towards the door, but before he left, he turned to you and added, “Don’t let yourself get too spooked in this house.” His eyes moved upwards around the house. “But I know I sure would.”
+
The next couple of weeks were relatively quiet in the house. You tested the staircase light every night, and every night it alighted into a normal soft yellow hue. There were no more footsteps, and the Wi-fi was working properly. Maybe you were just spooked from the article you had been reading that night, but you didn’t want to gaslight yourself. Everything that happened truly happened, but you took a more scientific approach to the causation rather than adding on to the ignorant ghost stories.
Things were calm and normal, until they weren’t. You hadn’t been sleeping well the past few nights, for reasons unbeknownst to you. You kept waking up from strange dreams, tossing and turning all throughout the night. These happening escalated one night when you woke up in the dead of dark, sweat covering your entire body. You were burning up, which was odd because as you looked down, you noticed that your bedsheets were completely off the bed and laying on the floor around it. More surprisingly, your silky nightgown was pushed all the way up to your waist, your legs laying wide open on the mattress. You were breathing hard for some reason, and your face was hot to the touch.
Slowly sitting up, your sleepy vision took a few moments to clear before you saw a dark shadow standing in the open doorway of your room that you remembered closing before you went to bed. Every miniscule hair on the back of your sweaty neck stood on its end as the shadow swiftly disappeared behind the door. Scrambling, you jumped out of the bed, noticing that your knees felt like jelly. You burst through the doorway, expecting to see the perpetrator standing there to the side of the door, but there was nothing and no one.
You were in the habit of gaslighting yourself now. You reasoned out that you just had a bad nightmare, but your reasonings came to faulty holdings the next morning when you were about to take a shower. Standing naked in the mirror, you noticed deep red scratch marks going all the way up your thighs, come even on your upper abdomen near your breasts.
This was where things became unreasonable, but what were you going to do? This house was such a steal, and you couldn’t imagine the horrors of trying to sell it with all the rumors surrounding it. You still did not believe the ghost stories, but honestly it was because you were too scared to.
The next night, you didn’t sleep. You stayed sitting up in bed in the dark, trying to keep yourself awake so you could figure out what was happening in the night to make you have such bad nightmares and wake up with scratch marks. It was nearly 3 A.M. before you heard anything.
You had dozed off, waking up with a jolt when you heard a noise out in the hallway. You had closed your bedroom door, and as you heard what sounded like footsteps outside in the hallway, your heart jumped when you saw the bronze doorknob slowly turning.
You had kept your butcher’s knife on your nightstand and grabbed it as you waited to see whoever it was that was harassing you every night. The sound of the latch clicking rang in your ears, and you froze like stone as the door slowly creaked open.
The door widened to reveal—no one. There was not a thing standing in the doorway. Your eyebrows sewed together in confusion when you heard footsteps. They were by the door first, and while you were confused about where they were coming from, you didn’t register the fact that they suddenly sprinted fast towards your bed. In an instant, you felt a cold grip on either of your ankles, and a scream left your throat as you were yanked down the bed and to the floor, the knife falling out of your hand.
Your body ached on the wooden floor as you stood up, adrenaline flowing through your body as you got to your feet. You looked all around the room wildly, feeling like you were going crazy because you could not see anyone in the room with you. Suddenly, the bedroom door slammed shut, and you heard the sinister sound of it locking.
Then came a voice in a hush-like whisper. “Y/n.”
You gasped, turning around in circles to try and pinpoint where the voice came from, but you felt like you were only confusing yourself further.
“Who’s there?!” you yelled, hearing your own echo in the room. You ran to the door and tried to open it, but the doorknob would not budge as you yanked furiously on it.
“For God’s sake, I’m standing right here!” came that whisper of a voice again from right behind you. You jumped around and found yourself face-to-face with a woman, your blood running cold.
There, clear as day, was a woman standing in front of your bed in the dark room. She had red hair that was loosely curled to her shoulders. She was wearing a long, white sort of nightgown that reminded you of what your grandma used to wear when she was younger. Her face was all dressed up in red lipstick and thick false eyelashes, a pleasant smile on her face complemented by red blush on her cheeks. She looked like she had stepped right out of a lingerie ad from the 50’s.
You eyed her up and down in confusion. You had expected to see a dirty man, not a beautiful woman smiling at you, looking like a perfectly normal American housewife from the 50’s. She cocked her head, noticing that you were staring at her appearance. She quickly looked down to her white gown.
“Oh! This old thing?!” she laughed, holding the waist of her gown. “Don’t mind it, it’s just Sokovian tradition.” She gave a small chuckle and flattened the silky fabric. “I brought it when I came over to America as a girl. Of course, Vis never really…” She trailed, a lost look suddenly crossing her features. She hung onto the end of her sentence as if trying to find the words before a sad look filled her green orbs. She looked back to you and smiled in some sort of relief. “Well, it's certainly nice to finally meet you. I’m Wanda.” She stuck out her hand to you and grinned with pearly white teeth. Somewhere in her picturesque smile was something insidious that made your stomach turn.
You slowly backed away. “Why are you in my fucking house?” Her perfectly arched eyebrow twitched as she slowly withdrew her hand. “Are you the one that’s been walking around in the attic at all times of the night? Coming into my bedroom when I’m sleeping?!”
The woman chuckled and walked over to your vanity, taking a seat in the chair and crossing her legs. “Well, I guess you could say I do hang around in the attic most of the time.” She suddenly laughed and slapped her knee, leaning forward as her laugh rang in your ears. She calmed herself down with a sigh, fiddling with a curl of her hair as her smile faded. It was then that you noticed a dark bruise around her neck like a purple and red collar.
You were growing fed up with whoever this lunatic was and why she was in your house. “Who are you? Get out of my house!”
She laughed patronizingly, picking up your pink hairbrush and inspecting it before looking in the mirror and combing her red hair. “Well, someone’s a little entitled, don’t you think?” As she combed her hair in the mirror, your breath stilled when you noticed that there was no reflection of her in the mirror.
A thought creeped in your mind that you were going insane and hallucinating, but your fight or flight nonetheless kicked in. “I said get out!”
Your harsh tone of voice made her freeze. She slowly put the comb down on the vanity, her head slowly turning to reveal a cold stone expression, her eyes wide and furious. You gulped, feeling stupid for antagonizing a crazy person who had snuck into your house, probably with horrible intentions.
She took a deep breath and put a fake smile on her face again, slowly standing up from the chair. “You know, I felt so lucky for you to have come in. I’ve just been so lonely ever since…” She trailed again, as if losing her words. “And then that family moved in, but they only reminded me of everything I couldn’t have.”
She started to step towards you, and you balled your fists in preparation to defend yourself. She held her hands at her front, cocking her head as she neared you. Her eyes were fully absorptive, staring hard at you and making you feel swallowed whole in their gaze. You felt your back press against the cold wooden door, but she continued to near you.
“And then there was you,” she said, her voice sounding whisper-like again. “A perfect little lamb, all alone. Never makes much of any noise in the house. Always keeps it clean. I mean, I just love what you’ve done with the place!” She gave a shrill laugh again that made you feel suddenly sick.
She was right in front of you now, her face inches from yours. You suddenly felt goosebumps rise on every inch of your skin, the air turning deadly cold and causing you to shiver as if it were the middle of winter.
“And then, of course, I’ve had so much fun with you.” Her thick eyelashes fluttered downwards as she reached towards you, taking the hem of your nightgown and lifting it enough to see the scratches on your thighs. A smirk curled at her lips as she whispered, “Oops.”
You slapped her hand away and quickly jumped away from her. “If you don’t leave my house, I will call the police,” you growled as threateningly as you could, but it didn’t faze her. In fact, it only angered her. The cheery countenance once on the woman’s face turned maddened and evil.
Suddenly, she lifted her finger, and a force grabbed you and threw you across the room to the bed. You landed on the mattress with a huff, your breath knocked out of you and your head spinning from being tossed like that. You tried to get up, but a force kept you pinned on the bed.
“I don’t expect such attitude from a nice young lady like you,” the woman growled, her voice sounding deeper than before. You craned your head forward to watch her as she came towards the end of the bed, crawling between your legs. Fear filled you as she laid a pedicured hand on your knee, dragging it softly up the inside of your thigh as she crawled over you, a dark and ominous look in her eyes. Her deathly cold hand left a trail of goosebumps on your skin as she slinked your nightgown up to your waist, exposing your thighs to her. She looked down at them with a smile, trailing her fingers over the scratches. “So pretty and soft.”
“G-Get off me,” you weakly demanded, struggling against whatever it was holding you down to the bed. You had no want to try and reason what was happening, or to make note that all the ghost stories were true—you were only fearing for yourself in that moment as this woman—if that is even what she was—was hovering over you.
“It’s fun when you’re asleep,” she spoke, kneeling between your legs and placing her hands on either side of your head. “I tried to wait to introduce myself, but I’m a rather impatient woman.” She leaned close to your face, and although she was incredibly beautiful, fear strangled you as she lowered her lips to your cheek and pressed a cold kiss there. You trembled as she began to leave a trail of kisses down to your neck, nudging her nose against your skin.
“Please,” you begged, to which she grinned darkly down at you.
“Hush now,” she whispered, pressing a finger over your lips and dragging it over them. “Mommy will make you feel good.”
Pressing on your abdomen two hands that made you jump from how frozen they felt, she dragged her palms up your warm stomach under the fabric of your gown, grabbing at your breasts. She moaned softly, squeezing you as she pressed a kiss to your collarbone.
“So perfect,” she whispered, and while you felt cold all over and more anxious than you had ever been, her touch was so soft and somewhat fleeting that it made you crave more of it. She lifted your gown to expose your breasts, placing her mouth over your hardened nipple. You let out a sort of squeak at the feeling as she suckled on your nipple, dragging her fingernails hard down your abdomen and causing you to wince. One hand stopped on your waist as the other one dipped down, grabbing at your thigh and pushing it to the side so that you were opened up for her.
“You’re such a good girl for Mommy, aren’t you?” she questioned seductively in her strange accent, gliding her hand up and cupping you through your panties. She groaned at feeling your wetness through the fabric, rubbing directly over your clit.
Your body betrayed you as warmth flourished inside you. Pleasure seeped through your veins, and your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of her touch.
She was honest, at least, when she said she was an impatient woman, because within a few moments she was dipping her hand inside your panties and running her fingers through your folds. You gasped from both the cold and the pleasurable feeling, while she moaned at how wet you were.
Slowly, she slid two fingers inside you, your mouth falling open at their length. Your brain was trying to forbid you from feeling good about what she was doing, but your body was on fire with how good it felt. Her fingers were so long as they curled in your depths, hitting your sweet spot perfectly.
“That’s it, lamb,” she encouraged you as she pumped her fingers in and out of you. “Your pussy’s so soft… so tight.” She gasped as she found her own pleasure by straddling your thigh and grinding on it, her long gown pooling around her thighs.
Your hips were moving along to her thrusts, and when you felt her add a third finger that stretched you, the room started to spin. You glanced at her, noticing just how sexy she was grinding on your thigh, eyes closed and mouth open in pleasure, one sleeve of her silky gown having fallen down her shoulder and exposing one of her breasts. She was mindlessly digging her nails into your hip, leaving more and more scratches.
You were hot and dazed as she thrust her fingers harder, using her thumb to rub at your clit all while grinding harder on your thigh. You were still being forced down on the bed, but you were able to grab the side of the sheets as you felt a pressure forming in your lower stomach.
“Jesus,” she moaned, swirling her hips over your thigh as she fingered you with no mercy. She opened her eyes, which were three times darker now, and saw that you were on the edge. She reached forward and gently cupped your hot, flushed cheek. Through a strangled voice she breathlessly whispered, “Go on, baby. Cum for Mommy.”
As if she had a control panel for your body, you instantly came around her fingers that penetrated you as deeply as they could, curling to help you cum even harder. She grabbed onto your breast and squeezed it as she came on your thigh, both of your moans filling the air, although yours were shyer than hers were.
The orgasm that crashed over you left you reeling and blind, your body arching off the bed before calmly lowering back down as your climax slowly passed. You were panting, heart beating loudly in your eyes, hardly able to see the woman as you opened your eyes. She was looking down at you proudly with a small smile.
“You’ll never leave me like he did,” she whispered, cupping your cheek softly. You were still coming down as she spoke, not able to fully register what she was saying. “You’ll be with me forever.”
“W-What?” you croaked, but she shushed you.
Leaning down so that her face was close to yours, she whispered, “Go to sleep, lamb.” You were wide awake now, but when she pressed a soft kiss to your lips, you felt yourself falling into a deep slumber, everything fading to black.
+
When you woke, it was daytime. Sun was flooding through the window, and you felt groggy as you slowly sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes and trying to remember what had happened. By the looks of it, the memory you had must have been just a dream. It was a horrifying but pleasurable dream, but a dream, nonetheless.
Yawning, you decided that the best antidote for your grogginess was coffee. Feeling strangely calm, you were halfway downstairs when you saw your front door swing open. Pausing, slightly frightened, you were a little relieved when you saw it was the realtor agent, although it was strange for her to just walk in like that.
“Oh,” you sighed, “Good morning.” You came down the stairs, but the realtor agent did not greet you. She turned to the door and gestured in another person—a police officer.
“Well, I guess it’s not a crime scene anymore, so you’re good to put it up on the market,” the police officer said, taking his hat off and holding it as he looked around the house with a morose stare.
The realtor sighed and shook her head as she followed his eyes. “Can’t believe what happened here. I’ll never be able to sell this place again.”
Confused, you stepped in front of them. “Uh, sorry, what? What’s going on?”
Their eyes seemed to look right past you. The police officer added, “She was so young, too. It’s such a shame.”
“It certainly is,” the realtor sighed before turning and walking out of the house.
“Wait!” you exclaimed. “Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?!”
The police officer finally seemed to notice you, quirking his eyebrow. “Did you hear that?” he asked the realtor who was already halfway down the front steps.
The realtor turned back to look at the officer with an exasperated look. “Whatever it is, just let it be. This house is damned, and so is my job.”
The officer gave one last look to the house before turning and leaving. “Hey!” you yelled, attempting to walk past him and chase the realtor down to ask what the hell was happening, but suddenly you were back inside the house, right in front of the door. You looked down at yourself and the doorway. “What the fuck?” you whispered, before attempting again to run out the door. Again, you seemed to appear right back inside the house. The police officer was closing the door now. “No! Wait!” He closed the door right in front of your face, and you found that you didn’t have the energy anymore to try and walk through it again to no avail.
You were shaking with anxiety. Why couldn't you walk out the door? Why were they ignoring you when you were standing right in front of them? What did they mean when they said, “She was so young”?
Suddenly, a voice came from the top of the staircase.
“Oh, you’re up!” Turning, your eyes widened when you saw the same redheaded woman standing there at the top. She was still wearing her white nightgown, holding her hands together and grinning. “I didn’t think it would take you this long, but here you are!”
You opened your mouth to speak, but you were too shocked for words as the dots slowly connected in your brain.
Wanda stood at the top of the stairs, beaming down at you. “I must tell you again, y/n, just how glad I am that you moved in.”
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themidnightcrimson · 2 years
Text
the human psyche—one. | w. maximoff
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summary: in which a visit to your psychologist precedes the murder of your girlfriend and leaves you questioning yourself.
warnings: manipulation, murder, gore, sexual tension, mental distress (don’t we all)
this post is for 18+ only. minors: do not interact.
series masterlist.
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"Do you ever think about hurting her?"
The question had struck you entirely off guard. The small dark green leather sofa on which you sat squeaked in response, the decorative buttons deepening until it felt like you were sinking into the furniture. You were cold—it was always cold in this office, which you felt was a paradox. The office of a psychologist should be warm and comforting, inviting and relaxing. All the other therapists you visited had colorful offices with bright yet natural lights and peaceful, abstract artwork hanging on the walls with lively plants in every corner.
This office was dim and cold. This didn't mean it was not stylish—the coffee-colored desk paired with the dark green furniture and classic paintings hanging on the walls uttered every sense of meticulous style. You had imagined that every piece of decor in the office was carefully picked out to go along with the adult, academic theme. Even the Victorian windows made you feel like you were sitting in an Architectural Digest magazine. Your psychologist was a good one, and a fashionable one.
Even her clothes were always tasteful. Today she wore a navy blue suit with a loose off-white blouse and a shiny golden square of a petite watch on her wrist. Around her fingers were matching rings, and in her hand was the pen with which she was writing notes in her journal. You'd always wondered what therapists were writing in your file when you visited them. Wanda never wrote as much they did, it seemed, and while with the others you could reasonably calculate what they were writing based on what you were saying in the given moment, Wanda scribbled at odd times. Maybe she just had a different technique, and maybe that was why you found her to be the best therapist you ever had.
You'd been with her for about two months which, compared to the others, was a very long time. You went from one-and-done visits to seeing this woman every week, and you'd even progressed from calling her Dr. Maximoff to simply Wanda, though intermittently. Strangely, the better you felt, the more you felt you needed to see her. It was supposed to be the opposite, but here you were, in for the second time this week. But you didn't feel better.
Your girlfriend was someone Wanda knew very well. Not that she had ever met her, but because she was the topic of most of your discussions as of the last few weeks. You had been with your girlfriend for a while now, and it had also been a while since her words of love had turned into words of venom. She was only a shell of the girl you had fell in love with now, but her possessive ways left you feeling incapable of leaving her. Also, you had no one else. She was really the only person in your life, and even though she was a terrible one, you couldn't leave her for the fear of being alone.
You had been telling Wanda about your last argument when your girlfriend had brought that exact point up. "What are you gonna do, leave me?" she had spat at you, rearing close to you and snatching your wrist bruisingly. "Who will you have then, y/n? Who? No one." Her words were still richocheting around your head like a bullet, fragmenting parts of your brain with each incessant hit.
Wanda had listened silently, letting you ramble on until your frustrations had turned into rage. You never thought of yourself as an angry person, but here lately...
"I'm so sick of her," you had said through gritted teeth. "I wish she would just... go away. I'd rather have fucking no one than to have her. She's such a bitch. She thinks she controls me, that I'm just a fucking charity case for her. God, I wish she would just..." You stopped, realizing that your fists were balled so tight that your knuckles were as white as the paper Wanda had stopped scribbling on. You could feel your blood pooling in your cheeks, your heartbeat thumping right in your ears. You were even hunched over rather unflatteringly, and realizing just how angry you had become, you finally took a deep breathe and straightened, relaxing against the uncomfortable sofa. The nearly unbearable pressure in your head faded, leaving you slightly lightheaded. "I'm sorry," you told Wanda, your blush of rage turning to one of embarrassment as you met her unreadable gaze. "I'm sorry, I—”
"Do you ever think about hurting her?" came the question from Wanda. Her head was cocked to the right, her eyes slightly squinted but still wide and absorptive. You always felt like she was a sponge, soaking up every drop of your presence. It felt invasive at times, as if she was standing right inside your head and watching your thoughts pass by, but you chocked it up to her just being a really good therapist.
"What?" you scoffed, and for some reason a nervous chuckle escaped your chest as if your lungs were trying to cough something up. You swallowed whatever it was down. "No," you sharply spoke. "No, of course not—why would you ask me that?" The cold room started to rise in temperature.
"It's only in the human nature to feel a need to protect ourselves and the ones we love, even if it’s from the ones we love," Wanda offered smoothly, her voice soft and drawing. "She is hurting you. Your natural defense may be to strike back."
"I-I don't want to hurt her," you laughed again, quickly removing the smile from your face. There was nothing funny about it, but you had a tendency to laugh in these nervous situations. But why were you so nervous that you had to fiddle with the collar of your shirt to breathe better?
"Y/n, it's perfectly normal to have intrusive thoughts. In fact, having a safe, open space to verbalize them can help them to go away." She tilted her head further, ticking the end of her pen against the notebook. She stood up suddenly, and your throat seemed to tighten.
She was so tall, you noted, as she walked around her desk with her hand trailing the wooden edge, her heels echoing in the spacious, silent office. She came around to the front of the desk, standing only a foot from you, and leaned against the edge of it.
"I may be a woman of the mind, but I am also a woman of science," Wanda began, her cool green eyes watching you closely as you looked up at her. She had never moved from behind that desk before, and now she was so close, and the light from the window made her face look so pretty. "A scientist must first gather his data, his evidence, before he can make any kind of hypothesis."
You squirmed in the sofa. "What kind of hypothesis are you trying to make of me?" you halfway accused. You never remembered saying anything to her about your intrusive thoughts, and therefore whatever suggestion she was making about was entirely rootless. It felt like an ambush, an accusation.
Wanda clearly saw that she had approached the situation entirely wrong by the nervousness on your face. Her face softened as she thought for a moment before rewording, "I can't help you unless you're honest with me, unless you help me know you better. I am a psychologist, not a mind reader."
A smirk carved the edges of her lips, and you noticed a strange glint in her eye. What did she mean by that? As much as it seemed Wanda could read your mind, you could never understand hers.
She added in a soft whisper, "Tell me the thoughts you have, y/n." Wanda then leaned forward, reaching out her hand and resting it on your knee—that's just how close she was to you. Her hand was warm and firm, almost able to wrap entirely around your knee. You glanced down to it, feeling heat spark all throughout your leg and through your body, bringing a slight sweat to your hairline. You couldn't help but imagine her hand sliding up your thigh—Wanda was a beautiful woman after all. She was keen, intimidating, mysterious. Her eyes always seemed to pierce right through you, and even though she had just said she couldn't read your mind, it always felt like she knew what you were trying to say without you saying it.
Something twitched across Wanda's lips as she watched you, unblinking. Then you started to think about what she had asked you. Had you had thoughts of hurting your girlfriend? You were not that kind of person, even though your partner was. She had never hit you, persay, but she was overall a self-righteous and unkind person who never minded grabbing you in ways that hurt whenever you didn't tell her what she wanted to hear. You thought back to the argument, when she had grabbed you and said such cruel words. You both were standing right in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in your apartment on the tenth floor of the complex. In that moment, you had been filled with so much grief, so much frustration, so much loneliness and suffocation, that you had, in fact, briefly imagined just pushing her right through the window. You remembered it now, as if you had only then realized your thoughts, and a wave of terror flooded you at the thought. You could never do something like that. It was only an intrusive thought, like Wanda had told you. It was normal. It didn't mean you were capable of such a thing, right?
Either way, there was no way on hell or earth you would ever admit to thinking such a thing. You would be locked away, probably, intrusive thought or not.
"I don't have those thoughts," you firmly told Wanda, noticing that her grip on your leg had tightened. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it was strong. Your heart was beating so fast in your chest now.
Wanda seems to finally comply, realizing that she couldn't get something out of you that you didn't want to tell. She took her hand away from your knee, and it felt like a noose around your neck had loosened. She only nodded slowly, finally blinking, to signal to you that she understood. But the nod felt like a different kind of understanding—not of your reluctance to talk, but of what you were reluctant to say. It was like a nod of approval, that her so-called hypothesis of your intentions had been confirmed, like she had stepped through the door of your mind, saw what she needed to see, and closed it with a sense of calm victory in being right.
For the first time, you left Dr. Maximoff's office feeling worse than when you had came.
After your shift at work, which was gruesome as always, your girlfriend wasn't home yet. You were guiltily relieved at the fact, so you took a nap of emotional exhaustion. It had been daylight when you went to sleep, and you were awoken by a flash of red light through your closed eyelids. You jumped awake with an adrenaline-fueled start, looking around to find the cause of such a strange flash of red light. You had expected to see a fire, but when another bright flash of red light filled your vision followed by a burst of bright blue, and then the sound of wailing sirens, you realized it was an ambulance or the police. You turned to see the lights coming through your bedroom window—they must have been right outside in the parking lot. You called your girlfriend's name, and when you got no response, you looked to your alarm clock to see that it was now the middle of the night—how had you slept for so long? Where was your girlfriend?
Disgruntled by all the noise and lights, you pulled your unusually heavy body out of bed and went into the living room to look out of the larger windows to get a better view of what was going on, but you were startled to see the sight of your windows. Through the red lights flashing right into your dark apartment, your window was smashed open. The shattered glass formed an opening the size of a body. Still confused from sleep, you walked towards the window, avoiding the shards of glass on the floor. You were standing right in the opening now, looking down at the flood of police cars and ambulances in the parking lot right in front of your window. Policemen and paramedics were all rushing towards the building, right below you, and your gaze followed them until your eyes landed upon what felt like a nightmare. There, on the ground, covered in blood and twisted and mangled, was your girlfriend.
+
It had been a week. The funeral was yesterday, and you still had not processed what had happened. Grief didn't come easy to you. You had just lost your girlfriend, the only person in your life, so suddenly. How was a human supposed to register that fully? It was already the most horrible thing to happen to you, but the worst part about it was that you were being questioned by the FBI. You weren't a suspect—yet—but you had been called in twice now to go over what had happened. You told them the same thing, that you were asleep and that you woke up, and she was on the ground ten stories below. They kept asking you if you heard a break-in, or how you didn't hear the smashing of the window. You had nothing to say to them, which made you look even more guilty. You were just as dumbfounded and confused as them as to why you heard nothing until the lights and sirens woke you up. They seemed to sort of believe you, but all the evidence was against you. The only thing they had against their suspicions was that they weren't able to find any fingerprints on her body to signal that she had been pushed off. It was good that they didn't find your fingerprints, but it was worse that they didn't find any at all. It made you look like an OJ case, but you didn't even own a pair of gloves.
You felt like it was only a waiting game before they came and got you. You couldn't even afford lawyers, for God's sake. You were just a cook at a restaurant, whose money all went to the expensive therapy you had been seeking your entire life. In fact, instead of lawyering up, that's where you were now—with Wanda.
Wanda had kept her professional reservations as you sobbed on her sofa. She sat behind her desk, as emotionless and observant as ever, choosing to keep quiet for most of the session and just let you talk. You told her about the entire situation, the accident and the questioning. You were tangled between grief and guilt with no clear reason for it all. Finally, you had no words left to say, and Wanda gave a few moments of silence to clear the air as you wiped your tears, finally calming down.
"I'm so sorry for your loss, y/n," she said empathetically. "You must be feeling so many things right now. Grief, guilt… relief."
Your ears perked at her choice of wording, raising your teary eyes from your clasped hands to look at her with confusion. "Guilt—relief?" you croaked.
"I know you loved your girlfriend, y/n," Wanda began with a sort of sigh, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her desk. "But you were a victim to her abuse. That abuse is gone now, and naturally your mind feels relief to never be under her cruel hold again. That, naturally, is the most confusing feeling to a simultaneously grieving mind."
You were wordless as your eyes fell to the floor. She wasn't entirely wrong—but it felt so wrong.
"As for guilt... it's the most common thread I see in my patients who deal with a loss." You couldn't help but notice a sort of patronizing tone in her voice, and you wondered if it had always been there. "What if they had been there? What if they had stopped it from happening? Sometimes they feel guilt to such an extreme that they manage to convince themselves that they are the reason for their loved one's death." She paused as your eyes caught hers sharply. "They feel almost as if their loved one's blood is... on their hands."
A strange feeling filled you all at once. Do you feel guilty? Do you feel like the cause of her death? Like you're the one who did it? You imagined yourself pushing your girlfriend through that window, the shattering glass flooding her screams before a sickening squelch on the concrete down below... You shut your eyes. You were beginning to become wildly upset, like you were going to puke.
Wanda could see this, and she quickly stood up from her desk chair and walked towards you, taking a seat beside you on the sofa. You felt tense at her closeness, and even more tense when she carefully took your hand and held it in hers. Her hands were warm again as they cradled yours, soft yet firm. Her shoulder brushed against yours, and you could smell her sweet cologne, and you felt dizzy.
"It's okay to feel what you are feeling, y/n," Wanda whispered close to you, almost as if she was right beside your ear. "These deep, ugly parts of the human psyche often go untapped for the entirety of a person’s life, but they are in everyone. Dark thoughts, desires, impulses—they reside in each and every one of us."
One hand left yours, and you felt it tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You turned your teary eyes up to her, eyebrows sewn together as you tried to put together what she was trying to tell you. Her face was inches from yours, those haunting green eyes burning into you. You noticed her eyes flicker to the lower half of your face, her tongue stroking her lower lip discreetly before she turned her eyes up to yours again and resumed the mask you had only then started to notice.
"It takes a high level of cognitive function and human empathy to be capable of feeling what you are feeling right now, y/n," she said to you almost desperately. She didn't feel like your psychologist right now, as her hand pressed your lower back and seemed to lean you closer to her. She continued carefully, "Only few on this earth can. You should feel proud."
You felt like you were in a daze in that moment, wrapped up in the heat radiating from her body, now leaning closer to her without her having to guide you with her hand. Then her words finally registered in your clouded head—proud.
You sharply stood up from the sofa, nearly slapping her hand away. Wanda looked up at you in feigned confusion and concern.
"Proud?!" you repeated. "You think I should feel proud that my girlfriend is dead and I feel like I did it!" You nearly choked on your words as your tears blurred Wanda's face and morphed it into something monstrous. "I didn't! I didn't do it! I didn't fucking kill her!"
You turned away, feeling as if you were going to fall over, as you opened her office door and stormed through it, slamming it so hard that the painting on her wall nearly fell off.
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themidnightcrimson · 1 year
Text
the human psyche—two. | w. maximoff
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summary: in which wanda helps you through an episode, only for you to wake up in blood.
warnings: manipulation, mental distress, slight blood, making out, sexual tension, poor little will graham
this post is for 18+ only. minors: do not interact.
series masterlist.
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It had been two weeks since...the incident. You hadn't seen Wanda again, and you hadn't been contacted by any police anymore for questioning. You thought maybe it was all over now, maybe you were on the other side of the hill and had nothing left to deal with except your grief.
The incident had left your life null and void. Everything was a bit fuzzy around the edges. You'd been having weird blips—one moment, you were somewhere, then you spaced out, and suddenly you were somewhere else with no track of time or memory of what had happened. You had always done things like that to an extent—you'd be awake as you started your drive across town, and suddenly you were across town, somehow having driven without remembering a damn thing. But now, the gap between your wakes was widening every time they occurred. In fact, one of your moments led you to suddenly be sitting in that dark green leather sofa again, eyes locked onto light vermilion ones.
Wanda. Her hair was pulled halfway up, the rest laying perfectly over her shoulders, not one hair out of place. She was wearing a black blouse tucked into silky beige pants. She wasn't sitting behind her desk now. She had drug one of the pieces of furniture that matched yours, a chair, and had it sat right across from you. The only thing separating the two of you was the small coffee table sitting in front of the sofa.
"Dr. Maximoff," you breathed, your eyes aching from how light the room suddenly seemed, although somewhat desaturated. You could only then feel the heartbeat pacing rapidly in your chest, thudding against your ribcage so hard your entire body trembled. A cold sweat lie across your hairline, your mouth horribly dry.
Wanda was looking at you with a tilted head, a clipboard resting over her crossed legs. Her pen was sitting limply in her hand, the point facing the ceiling.
"Would you like a glass of water?" she asked you in a breezy tone, already getting up before you could answer her. As she moved away from your view, you looked down and realized that it was not the dark green leather sofa you were sitting on. It was a black sofa, made of a softer fabric. The chair Wanda had been sitting in also matched, and as you looked around the room, you realized it was not her office, but a living room.
A large flat-screen TV hung on the wall ahead of you, hovering above an electric fireplace that was turned on. It was the only light provided in the dim room, and as you turned your head to the side, you saw through cream-colored curtains left halfway open that it was pitch black outside.
As you turned your head back around, you were met with a glass right in front of your face. You jumped, eyes darting up to see Wanda standing over you, holding out a glass of iced water she must have retrieved from the kitchen.
You stared between the woman and the glass distrustfully. "Why..." you croaked, feeling a burn in your throat. "Where are we? What time is it?"
Wanda took a small breath before slowly sitting down beside you on the couch, noting how you tensed. "My home. You made a very unexpected visit around 10 p.m., and you've been staring silently at me for about 15 minutes, give or take."
She continued to hold the glass out to you, and as you looked at the water, you noticed how dry your mouth really was. So, carefully, you took the water from her, feeling her thumb accidentally brush your hand. The water tasted extra crisp as you drank it down, feeling the cold liquid soothe your burning throat.
"Now that you're apparently conscious again, do you mind telling me why you stopped by? I do make house calls, but it's usually by appointment—and in the patient’s home, not mine." Wanda leaned against the seat of the couch and crossed her arms, turning slightly towards you with calm eyes. She was obviously a little off-put and uncomfortable by you being there, which was not something you'd ever seen in Wanda, not that you'd seen many emotions from the psychologist.
"I..." you began once you finished the entire glass of water, sitting it down on the coffee table. Wanda immediately flashed forward and took the cup from where you had placed it and set it on a black coaster. "Sorry," you whispered, feeling feverish around your eyes. Your head was pounding, and you felt like you would faint if you tried to stand up. Your body was heavy but floating at the same time, and when you blinked, it was hard to get your eyelids to raise up again. "I don't remember," you finally coughed. "I can't remember... how I got here."
Wanda watched you studiously as you wiped the sweat from your forehead, looking ghastly pale. "You were dissociative when you arrived. You haven't said a word or made any emotion until now."
The room began to spin around you as you wiped your face aggressively. "I'm sorry," you whispered, "I've been... just... tired."
"Do you have these episodes often?" Wanda suddenly questioned with a tilt of her head, the one emotion you knew from her, which was that she was hypothesizing.
You looked at her for a moment as what happened the last time you saw her flashed through your mind. Her hand on your leg, what she had said to you...
"No," you blurted when you saw a twinkle across her eyes though her lips stayed in a concerned purse. "No, just here lately—ever since…” You stopped, a knot forming in your stomach. "I should probably go home."
"I don't think you're in any condition to be alone right now, y/n," Wanda told you, and suddenly you felt a hand on your shoulder. "Especially since they're looking for you."
Something dropped in your stomach. Turning your head slowly up to Wanda, her green eyes darkening as a smile set on her lips, you whispered, "What?"
"The FBI," Wanda answered simply, as if it was not a big deal. "They called me asking for your whereabouts earlier today. They said they went by your house, but you weren't there."
As you thought about it, you couldn’t remember where you had been that day, but you were more concerned about being a wanted person. "What do they want?!" you exclaimed, jumping up from the couch out of pure adrenaline. Just as you had assumed, you felt intensely lightheaded. Wanda quickly stood up and caught you before you could fall over, wrapping her arms around you and setting you back down on the couch.
"They just want to ask more questions, y/n," Wanda soothed you, wiping your hair away from your face as you struggled to open your eyes, leaning limply against her couch.
"But the police already—”
"It's up to the FBI to rule it as a suicide or a homicide," Wanda cut you off, and you felt her cold fingertips stroke your hot face. "They're required to speak with you."
Her voice was lower now, and you could finally feel your feet again. Taking deep breaths, you looked up at Wanda to see her giving you an indiscernible look. Her hand was cupping your cheek, almost vibrating on your feverish skin.
"Dr. Maximoff," you whispered shakily, but her hand was somehow soothing you. There was a strange glint in her eyes of a crimson hue, but you brushed it off as the reflection of the fireplace. Melting into her touch, you let your aching eyes flutter closed.
"You've always been my favorite patient, you know," Wanda whispered as her hand slipped down to your jaw, her thumb lining the bone there. "So bright, so beautiful." Wanda's hand traced your neck before opening up and cupping around your throat, holding you gently and nudging your chin up so you would look at her. "You've always had so much potential, y/n."
You wanted to ask her what she meant by that, because in the past few weeks you were sure she was going to refer you to a forensic psychologist. Before you could get a word out, Wanda kissed you suddenly, and you became a statue under her touch.
This was your psychologist. You were not only in her home, but now she was kissing you. This had to violate some laws, you thought to yourself, but Wanda was kissing you harder now, and you could barely keep up to kiss her back. Heat settled between the two of you and pulled you closer to one another as her hand on your throat held you firmly in her controlled grasp.
You needed to pull away, to catch your breath, to ask her what the hell was happening, but each time you tried to pull away, Wanda brought you closer by the neck, smashing her lips against yours even harder.
"Doctor..." you managed to mumble against her mouth, and when you pressed your hands on her shoulders to push her away, you felt a strange fog blow into your head. Your muscles all relaxed, or weakened, because as you tried to push Wanda away, she stayed like stone against you.
Finally, Wanda moved her lips off of yours. Your lips were reddened and swollen, nearly bruised, and when you looked at Wanda's, you noticed blood smeared lightly across them. Wanda, with her one hand that wasn't still on your neck, wiped the blood off casually.
"My apologies, I didn’t mean to bite your lip that hard, darling," she brusquely apologized with a smirk, licking your blood off her lower lip with an eerie grin.
You shuddered, and you could only then feel the throbbing in your lower lip and the metallic taste on your tongue. Whatever fever was in your head was now pounding loudly and blurring your vision.
"Oh, was there something you wanted to say?" Wanda asked full of feigned concern. She was inches from your face, her head tilted and eyes filled with that illusionary worry that you saw right through. There was still remnants of your blood on the corners of her lips, and as you stared at her, the fever growing hotter and hotter in your brain, her face seemed to glitch right in front of you, turning into something monstrous and demonic before it was normal again.
You opened your mouth to speak, but whatever words you had previously been desperate to say were suddenly gone.
"It's okay, y/n, sometimes words fail us," Wanda spoke, and her voice was strained now. She was no longer the calm, cool Dr. Maximoff who was steady and exacting. No, this was not her. Wanda was trembling almost as much as you were, and her pupils had been shot wide, pushing out any green in her irises. "But I want you to know how proud I am of you."
Suddenly, she started to push you backwards by the throat. Losing balance, you gripped her hand and choked as she lowered you to lay on your back on your couch, quickly climbing up to hover over you.
"P-Proud?" you questioned, your head full of pressure and static. Something was buzzing loud in your brain, and your eyes started to feel like they were swelling in their sockets, cracking the innards of your skull.
Were you blacking out again? Is this what happened whenever you had your episodes? You realized then that your eyes were closed, and when you opened them, the fire reflecting in Wanda's eyes was now casting an inhumanly scarlet glow radiating throughout her eyes.
"Yes, I'm proud of you—for murdering your girlfriend."
+
You woke in the kitchen of your apartment. You were standing by the fridge, somehow having been asleep while standing upright. Dizziness swirled inside your head, and you brought a hand up to your forehead to steady it.
You were almost too sleepy to notice, but you did notice the feeling of something wet on your forehead. Bringing your hand into your sight, your entire body burned at the sight of blood on your fingertips. Breath catching in your throat, you turned to look at your warped reflection in your stainless steel fridge, and you saw a red streak across the top corner of your forehead.
What the hell had happened while you were out? How long had you been out? The last thing you could remember was being on Wanda's couch.
Your breath stilled once again when you heard a noise near the entrance hall of your apartment. You listened for a moment before hearing it again, recognizing it as a sort of wheeze or breath. Slowly, heart pacing, you inched your way out of the kitchen, wondering if you would be able to grab the axe you always kept in the closet right beside the front door. As you peered around the wall, you saw that your axe was stuck in the chest of an FBI agent laying bloody on your entrance hall floor.
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themidnightcrimson · 1 year
Text
the human psyche—three. | w. maximoff
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summary: in which wanda unclothes the truth before unclothing you.
warning: top!wanda, strap on smut, murder, BLOOD, heavy mental distress, did i mention murder, oh yea by the way there's murder, hey did you know that there's murder?
this post is for 18+ only. minors: do not interact.
series masterlist.
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You hit the hardwood floor with a painful thud, racking all the aching bones in your body as you stared at the body of the FBI agent laying presumedly dead in your entrance hall. Your ax was buried in his chest, the handle hovering over the rest of his body as if gesturing towards you to be picked up again to continue the job that had been started.
From where he was laying, it looked as if he had been standing halfway into the hallway before being struck and falling backwards. You noticed that his gun was laying a foot or two away from his outstretched hand, as if it had fallen from his grip when he went down.
From the pressure in your head and the fact that you couldn't remember anything after being at Wanda's, you gathered that you were coming back from another episode. Panic steered your bloodstream. Did you do this? How could you have done this? Did he have his gun out to hurt you, and you defended yourself with the axe? Or did he have his gun to protect himself from you?
Suddenly worried that you had been shot without realizing it, you quickly patted down your entire body searching for blood or pain, but the only blood was the streak across your head that came from the FBI agent.
"Fuck..." you whispered as tears started to cloud your vision, a hard lump swelling in your throat and threatening to break through your windpipe. Your chest was deflating now and locking up, and it seemed like the air around the dead agent was lacking oxygen, so you frantically started to scoot backwards on the floor in search for relief of breath. Still you found none, only a tremble in your body and a childlike cry that drew itself from your tight throat.
Had it been you all along? You'd been chasing circles trying to figure out what happened to your girlfriend, even starting to suspect your damned psychologist. The body bleeding in front of you was enough for you to know that you were only chasing circles around yourself. It was your hand that had pushed her out the window and launched the axe into the agent. It was you, and you didn't even know it.
You needed to turn yourself into the police. You didn't want to hurt anyone, and you wondered if you could at least plead insanity and get an easier sentence. You doubted that would happen, though, because these were violent crimes. It looked like you killed your girlfriend out of anger, like it was premeditated, and it looked like you killed the FBI agent to cover yourself up.
Right when you were about to get up and call the police to come take you away, you suddenly heard a voice echo from the front bathroom near the front door. You eyes flicked to the dark entrance of the open door as you saw a foot step through the doorway first, and then the rest of the person smoothly appeared from through the shadows. "Just calm down, sweetheart."
Wanda.
Your stomach dropped at the sight of her. Not only were you shocked and confused to see her, but there was dark red blood splattered lightly across her hollowed cheek. There was a darkness under her eyes, a seriousness you had never seen in her before as she eyed you and stepped into the hallway.
You stared up at her in disbelief from the floor. "W-Wanda?" you croaked, though you could only mouth her name due to your throat being so tight.
Wanda didn't even glance to the FBI agent as she stepped over his legs. Was the body even really there? Were you hallucinating all of this? Your quickly forming theory was denied when Wanda spoke, "There's no need to be scared, detka. Everyone gets nervous their first time."
"First time?" you whispered softly, watching her slowly walk towards you with her hands in her pockets. A small smile curled her lips as she nodded. "I-I didn't mean to..." you began, but tears snapped your voice box shut. "I don't remember," you sobbed, as the tragedy of your situation came into realization.
Seeing your tears, Wanda quickly came close to you and bent down in front of you, taking hold of your face. "Hey," she cooed. You glanced up to her, seeing clearly how close her face was to yours. The specks of blood on her cheek made you feel sick, but you wondered why there was blood on her, too.
"It's okay, y/n," Wanda whispered, rolling her thumb over your temple and accidentally smearing the blood there. "There's nothing to be scared of. You did so well, better than most do their first kill."
Wanda's eyes, full of darkness and demise, starkly contrasted yours filled with tears and innocent confusion. You started to see through the veil of normalcy that Wanda regularly held up to society. The veil was slipping, parting, tearing right through and revealing the demon that she was. Fear filled your eyes, but when you tried to scoot away from her, her hands gripped your face too tight.
"Hey, don't be afraid of me." Her voice was firm, but still attempting to comfort you. "I did what I had to do. What I've done is all for you, do you understand?"
You obviously did not understand by the wild look of confusion and panic written clearly across your features.
Wanda gave a small sigh and explained, "I've seen it in you since you first walked into my office. I've seen that little thread of darkness that is in myself, like I was looking right into a mirror. I knew then in that moment that I needed to be your seamstress. I needed to take that thread and sew you into what you are meant to be."
"Wanda—"
"I have been guiding you since the start of our sessions to be my companion. You and I—we are Earth's real predators. We give the Earth its beauty—killing is beauty!" she grinned widely, eyes watering as if she was touched by such a morbid sentiment. "You have had it in you since the start. I just needed to bring it out."
"Wanda, please—" You were starting to hyperventilate, and her palms were hurting your face, but you immediately stilled at her next words.
"Killing that little girlfriend of yours was not only a personal endeavor," Wanda said with a tone of humor that made your stomach reel. "It was also to lead you in the right direction. I could only form you into a killer once you thought you were capable of it, yourself."
Breath stilling, your eyes widened at her words. She killed your girlfriend? It was her this whole time? All those sessions... She had manipulated you into thinking you had done it. But it wasn't you—it was her all along.
"I had to push your mind just a little bit," Wanda said quieter with a demonic smirk. "I know you hated those episodes, but they needed to happen. You would have never came to me last night, and you would have never done this if those self-limiting thoughts were present in your mind."
"You..." you finally spoke. "You've been hypnotizing me? That's what my episodes are?!"
Wanda looked down with a smirk. "Something like that." Adrenaline filling your veins at the fact that a serial killer was holding you in her grip, you started to violently struggle to get out of her hold. "Hey! Look, y/n, look at me." She managed to hold your face still and close to hers even though you were trying desperately to pry her hands away. "The worst part of it is over. You've made your first kill, and I was there beside you the whole time."
You didn't know what hypnosis trick Wanda put your mind under right then, but suddenly you could remember what had happened, flashing right behind your eyes in a cloud of red. Wanda had led the FBI agent in, telling him that she was worried about her patient and decided that the law needed to be informed. Wanda closed the door behind them, then you came in confused and scared, your brain all fogged from Wanda's hypnosis. Wanda had handed you the axe, and the FBI agent pulled his gun and told both of you to get on the ground. You could feel the ache in your arm as you swung the weight of the axe. You could hear the slashing of the axe into his chest right then as if it was happening before you, and the sight of the blood splattering towards you, a few drops splattering across Wanda.
It was like you were seeing it all from the outside. Was this a trick? Was it another illusion Wanda was somehow planting into your brain?
Wanda was weirdly focused in on you, and her hands on your face had loosened, so you took the opportunity to slap them away and quickly crawl backwards away from her. Wanda snapped out of it, becoming visibly disappointed in your behavior. "Don't be a bad girl, detka."
"I'm calling the police," you threatened as aggressively as you could, glancing over to the kitchen island where your phone sat on the counter.
"And tell them what?" Wanda quickly countered, her voice sharp and venomous now. "That your psychologist, with whom your file shows your history of violent intrusive thoughts and dissociative episodes, is the one who killed your girlfriend and the FBI agent assigned to your case? We'll see how well that turns out." Her face was full of anger, but when she saw the shock in your face, she softened.
"You framed me," you whispered, feeling like the cold floor was swallowing you down.
"Oh, baby. I did what I had to do before I knew I could trust you," she said with a tilt of her head.
Suddenly, from behind her, you heard a wheeze. As Wanda turned around, you could see past her. The FBI agent's feet were moving on the floor, his body trembling as he started to cough up blood. A feeling of relief filled you at the fact that he was still alive, but Wanda slowly turned back around to you with a smile.
"Oh, dear," she said tragically, "Well, you tried your hardest, didn't you? I know you're still shaken up, so I'll finish him off for you." She carefully stood to her feet. "But don't worry, detka. I'll still let it count as yours."
With that, she turned and walked towards him, grabbing hold of the axe and yanking it out of his chest with a sickening sound.
"No!" you screamed, starting to leap forward to stop her, but Wanda held the axe over her head and swung it down with perfect execution, the blade sludging into his head. The opposite wall of your hallway was graphically painted in blood with only the first swing, and although you could only see Wanda's back, you could only imagine what had splattered onto her.
You thought it was a one and done, but Wanda grunted as she pulled the axe out and then swung it over her head again, smashing it back into his skull. You were going to be sick.
The horror and morbidity of what you were seeing caused you to shrink into a ball and hide your face in your knees like a child, covering your ears so you wouldn't have to hear the sound of flesh and bone being cut open. You could only hear every thud, each coming faster than the last, and Wanda's grunts. You didn't know how long it lasted until you could hear that Wanda was now only swinging the axe into your floor.
You waited for a moment until you heard no more noise before you slowly peeked your eyes open and peered over at the scene. Wanda was heaving from the physical exertion, standing with both legs over the body and leaning her head back as she struggled to catch her breath. You watched the axe drop from her hand and fall to the floor, and then she slowly turned around, wobbly as if she were drunk.
The sight of her was enough to make you have to hold back a scream. Her face was entirely painted in blood now, with no sight of skin except for her ears. Even her neck was painted, and the front of her white buttoned up-shirt left open at her chest was splattered all the way down her front. You could even see the wetness of blood on her pants, and her fists that were balled at her sides were crimson.
She was drunk off the kill, her pupils wide and crazed, her lips left open in animalistic breathing. The thing she was to you now was no longer human. She took a step forward, and every instinct in you told you to run, so you did. Since she was blocking the front door, you quickly sprinted to the fire escape, struggling to lift up the old window so you could climb through it.
As soon as your hands touched the metal windowsill, her hands touched your shoulders. "Don't try to run from me, detka," she growled, her voice sounding inhuman.
Frozen under her cold touch, you let her slowly turn you around to face her. Her bloodied face was staring down at you emotionlessly, as if the murder had taken all of her emotion with it, like a fresh cleanse.
"It's you and me now," she whispered, bringing a hand to rest against your jaw. You could feel blood inking your face, and you started to cry.
Through your teary vision, you hadn't seen her leaning in until her lips pressed against yours. Immediately tasting blood, you shrieked and tried to push her away, but she grabbed you and pulled you against her with unfound strength, keeping your face against hers with a hand crushing the back of your neck. You were pressed against her bloodied front, getting it all over your own face and your clothes. You felt disgusted, sickened, horrified—exhilarated.
Finally, Wanda broke the kiss to whisper, "I know what you think of me, y/n. How many nights have you felt so dirty to touch yourself to the thought of your own therapist?"
"Stop!" You bashed your fists against her chest, but she managed to keep you in her hold.
"How many times did you think of me when your stupid girlfriend was fucking you? Huh? I already know, but I wanna hear you say it," she hissed, catching hold of your jaw and forcing you to look up at her. "You've been mine this whole time, you know that? I've had you under my hold for months, and the worst part is that you've loved every second of it. Am I right?" Her teeth were stark white against her reddened skin as she bared them at you.
She was right. You'd had a crush on her since you first saw her, and as much as you always tried to deny it, you had thought about her during your private moments. You didn't know how she knew that, but there was not much that could you surprise you about this woman anymore—even if she was a true mind-reader.
Her other hand sunk down to your ass, squeezing it and pushing your hips against hers, where you felt a strap under her pants. Preceding the shame you quickly felt was a roaring wave of heat that washed over your entire body and alighted something inside you.
Wanda's breath trembled as she started to grind herself into you, resting her forehead against yours and closing her eyes. You could smell the blood all over her, and although the horrors of her monstrous revelation were still fresh in your mind, you couldn't help but feel desire for her as she rubbed her strap right against your clit.
"Wanda," you breathed, trying one last time with the willpower you had left to push her away.
"I would never hurt you, detka," she said much softer suddenly. "Tell me to stop. Tell me to stop, please." Her voice was desperate.
You said nothing. Your hand that had been pushing her away now had hold of her once white collar, and you found yourself moving your hips against hers.
"Tell me to keep going," Wanda countered to your silence, nudging her face against the side of yours before pressing a kiss to your neck. The cold blood was all over you now, and something about it made you want her desperately.
Something possessed you in that moment, because you wrapped an arm over Wanda's shoulders and begged, "Keep going, please."
Within moments, Wanda had guided the both of you to the floor. Dizziness and heat filled you as Wanda crashed her lips against yours, kissing you with fiery passion. Both of you had wanted each other for so long now, and through the terrible catalysts, you finally had each other in whatever way it was.
There was no time to waste, although the both of you now had as much time in the world as you wanted. Patience with your mutual desire had run thin, and Wanda's rapid breaths and eager hands represented that.
"Fuck me," you begged her, shocking yourself. You had never been this desperate for someone ever before, but the throbbing in your heat was borderline painful.
Wanda groaned as she sunk her teeth into your neck, reaching down between the both of you to pull your shorts and panties down your legs where you kicked them off the rest of the way. She unbuttoned her pants and took out her strap, lining the tip up with your entrance where she kept it there.
Moving her face out of your neck, she looked down at you for a moment, the sight of blood smeared messily on your own face and front, your eyes that had feared her moments before now wanting her with deep-seated need.
Taking your wrists and pinning them to the floor above your head, Wanda pressed her lips to yours as she thrusted inside you, filling you up all at once. You broke the kiss with an instant moan, eyes squeezing shut as she immediately hit the sweet spot inside you. Wanda groaned and tried to kiss you as she started thrusting wildly.
"You were already so wet for me," she grunted, her hands on your wrists tightening. "Did it turn you on to see what you saw? You're going to be my perfect slut, aren't you?"
"Yes," you whined, hooking your bare legs up around Wanda's waist and bringing her closer to you.
"Fuck," Wanda shakily whispered as she started to thrust into you harder, her eyes squeezing shut as the both of you became totally inebriated with pleasure.
She fucked you with wild abandon on the floor, blood everywhere, in front of the smashed window that was now boarded up after the incident, feet away from a corpse whose head was smashed to smithereens. Maybe Wanda was right, this was who you were, and you just needed her to bring it out of you.
"Wanda," you moaned as she began to hit your sweet spot deep inside repeatedly, and Wanda buried her face into your neck as she came close. She was grunting, sweating, bloody, hunched into you as she dug herself as deep as she possibly could be inside you. You were what she had set her mind on for months, and now that she had you, you were perfect.
"Fuck, y/n," Wanda moaned, and when her thrusts grew sloppy, you both were sent into a blinding orgasm that had you moaning her name loudly and arching your body up to her. You had never experienced pleasure like that before in your life, and neither had Wanda. Your walls clenched her tightly, your wetness coating the front of her pants.
It was several minutes before either of you could come down clearly. You only then realized how sore you were, from being taken so suddenly no matter how wet and needy you had been for her. But you liked the pain, you liked the blood all over both of you, you liked the ache in your wrists from her crushing them as she came, and you liked how she kept herself inside you and kept her face in your neck for several minutes.
Finally, Wanda leaned up, letting go of your wrists to prop herself up and look down at you. You were completely spent, makeup ruined from tears, and what part of your skin was still visible through blood was blushed.
Coming to her senses, Wanda glanced over to the body still lying in the hallway. "Well, I guess I'd better give you your first lesson on cleanup and disposal." She looked back to you with a slightly hopeful look. "Are you ready?"
You looked at her for a moment, expecting to feel that fear and horror return to you. Strangely enough, it didn't, and you could only feel pure excitement for all the things Wanda was going to show you. Grabbing her bloody collar, you yanked her back down close to your face. "Fuck me again, then I'll tell you."
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themidnightcrimson · 2 years
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The Human Psyche. | w. maximoff series
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summary: wanda is an amazing psychologist. she helps you through your difficult relationship with your girlfriend, your unhealthy work environment, and those intrusive thoughts of yours that she loves to dig at. she’s so good at being your psychologist that sometimes it feels like she can read your mind. she’s also a good liar and good with an axe.
warnings: dark!wanda, murder, gore, blood, smut, manipulation, mentions of abusive relationships
this series is for 18+ only. minors: do not interact.
one.
two.
three.
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themidnightcrimson · 2 years
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Crimsonween
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to celebrate my favorite time of the year, here are all the fics coming to you during Crimsonween 2022.
Autumn Love.
The Human Psyche part 1. 18+
The Human Psyche part 2. 18+
The Human Psyche part 3. 18+
Ghost. 18+
The Woods. 18+
Halloween. 18+
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themidnightcrimson · 2 years
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officially rebranding Crimstober as CrimsonWeen because my Autumn/Halloween inspired fics will start in late September
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themidnightcrimson · 1 year
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first of all i love that pic of her where'd u get it? second, how about a highschool teenage au witch wanda with mean reader where she makes a literal doll for u and control it? well, at first she only made it out of admiration but then she'd lose her patience (if she has one) she'd make u do things against ur will like a puppet and could also hurt u? i just imagine her making u scream in pain as she put needles in ur body until u throw up blood just because she didn't like it when u tease her at school for being the weird girl and for not liking her back. she'd kill ur boyfriend (damn right), friends, or parents so you'd have no one. she'd coax u into thinking she's the only one u have, telling u how this isn't ur fault and using ur vulnerability to have her way with u. ok i think I'll stop here.
it's rlly just a silly thought but i don't think u should post this request if you're ever making it coz it will spoil much but if you're not, i wanna know what u think!
ALSO THANK U FOR MAKING CRIMSONWEEN, MAYOR U BITCH OMG I'M STILL NOT OVER GHOST
-crimson poliz, breathing through my pussy
the pic i attached to the post about taking requests?? i’m not sure where i got it from but it’s from a behind the scenes video of wandavision i believe! also that is a really really great and unique idea!!! i love the concept of wanda being witchy and creating a voodoo doll to control/manipulate you😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 i’m def adding that to my notes bestie!
AND THANK YOU SM I’M SO GLAD YOU LOVED CRIMSONWEEN!!!! i’m not even over ghost yet😭 as always, thank you for your service, chief🫡
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themidnightcrimson · 1 year
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hey besties‼️ so tonight the last installment of crimsonween will be out!!!! as such, i will be taking REQUESTS!!! give me anything you want to see with lizzie or wanda and i will do my best to give you a fic whether it’s a short little imagine or a longer fic. go flood my ask box with ideas💗
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themidnightcrimson · 1 year
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from the softness and fluffines of autmn love to the psychotic behaviour of human psyche then that ghost wanda 😩🥵 ghost wanda got me on a chokehold AND THEN WOODS !?!?!?!?! WITCH WANDA YOU WILL ALWAYS BE MY FAVORITE I can't wait for the last one bestie <33 keep up the very brilliant work and your plot twists are just mind and pussy blowing 🥰😩 thank you for you service, crimson <33333
HEY BESTIE YOURE BACK!!! crimsonween has truly been a ride lmfao, THANK YOU SO MUCH!! 🤍🤍🤍🤍 i am glad to be of service to my nation 🫡
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themidnightcrimson · 2 years
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because I tend to squeeze things when I'm excited or anxious sksjsjjsjs esp for crimsonween
you better be careful not to squish your phone when human psyche comes out then akskwk
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themidnightcrimson · 1 year
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So glad I didn’t offend you Dude, if it isn’t too much trouble, think you’d be up for a Halloween prompt or two?
A) Wanda lost you long ago so to get you back she became doctor Frankenstein/ Wanda is immortal and has been saving her favorite body parts of her victums to make herself the perfect woman
B) Wanda is a werewolf witch hybrid with the avengers and they come upon a black market of supernaturals being sold and y/n Wanda’s thought to be dead soulmate is among them being sold off because she’s a rare were creature, maybe jaguar ( angst, hurt /comfort, definitely breeding)
That would be so awesome dude, but no harm if you aren’t up for it
Happy Halloween 🎃
Happy Halloween!🎃
Oooooooh those ideas are so genius, I really wish I could have included them in Crimsonween! I’m going to keep them in my notes tho and probably write them at a later point in time! Thank you dude <3
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themidnightcrimson · 1 year
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hey crimson!! I LOVE LOVE LOVE HALLOWEEN SO MUCH! IT DEFINITELY CREEPED ME OUT, I LOVE MANIPULATIVE WANDA SM I SWEAR I'M NOT OKAY AND ALSO CONGRATS ON CRIMSONWEEN!!! IT WAS A SUCCESS <33
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HEY BESTIE! thank you sooooo much, i’m so so glad you loved the fic and also crimsonween! i’m so appreciative of all your support🤍🤍🤍
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