#crimsonween

[themidnightcrimson]

malevolent ࿏ wm

summary: in which moving into a new house brings you horrors you never imagined.

words: 7.6k

warnings: forced breeding, strap-on, dubcon/noncon, demonic, horror, gore, top!wanda, evilmommydemoncockwanda4life

this is dark!fic for 18+ only. minors dni. read with discretion.

The day was cold and bleak. The air had a frostiness to it that manifested in a sheen of white over the long-dead grass that had yellowed at the passing of autumn. The leaves scattered around were no longer vibrant reds and oranges but rather dulled browns. The trees were barren—dark, crooked cracks in the grey skyline. You noticed a pack of buzzards eating at roadkill.

Death.

Christmas was just around the corner but, unlike everywhere else in the country, this town seemed to not be celebrating much. You’d noticed that the very first time you drove through—this sort of head-down feeling about the place that differed so much from what it looked like. The town itself was charming and cutesy with so many little shops and beautiful gathering spaces. It was colorful, too. But something about it seemed greyed, like a ghost town almost except the people were still there. They didn’t talk much, especially not to outsiders apparently. They only whispered to each other with concerned faces and low voices, like they were afraid something lingering around in the air would hear them. They held their children very close to them.

So it wasn’t exactly the neighborliness of Westview that attracted you to move there. The town felt like something very dark had happened in a place that otherwise was a great place to live.

To be quite honest, the housing market in that town had taken a sudden dip down in the past couple months. You didn’t understand the housing market and thought maybe people just didn’t like to buy houses in the winter, but there were a few neighborhood roads that had recent For Sale signs up in every yard. It’s like people were evacuating the town. Running from something.

There was a specific house, actually, that had taken a steep dip down in price. It was put up for sale a couple months ago for a shockingly low price. You were stunned when you found out there were no bids, no one who had showed interest since it’d been put up. It was a beautiful house, a perfect family home. Not that you had any family to put in it. It was just you, but you liked space.

And for a price that cheap? In a quiet town away from the city? You couldn’t pass up on it. You were anxious, anyways, to have somewhere to yourself. Crashing on your friend’s couch wasn’t exactly the most glamorous post-breakup living arrangements, but the apartment lease was in your ex’s name.

Now you stood, on this dreadful day, in front of that house. You couldn’t help but feel like the windows were eyes staring at you, measuring you the way you were measuring it. Evaluating, judging. Maybe your confidence was just shot from all you’d been through the past few months. You had a house now. It was time to make it into a home.

It didn’t so much seem like the dark energy of town had made its way into your house, but rather that the house was some sort of energy field pushing it out into the town. This was a strong assumption to make, but as soon as you walked into the front door, you could feel it. The air was thick with something more than just the dust of time. It was still. So still. You could feel the still air on your face like a thick cloud of smoke that wasn’t there. It was energy brimming all around you. It made your stomach turn.

You couldn’t lie and say that you didn’t feel this eerie energy when you viewed the house. You felt it from the very beginning, but you just needed somewhere, and this house was the only one in your budget.

Cursed, is what the local kids called it. It was cursed because of the family who lived there. When you questioned your real estate agent about it, she sort of brushed it off and said that they just disappeared, that whatever happened to them, happened outside of this home.

You were reluctant to believe that story, but you were a skeptic anyways. If a young family had been axe murdered here or something, it was still just wood and brick to you.

The first few days in the house were busy. The moving company was taking all your stuff from your ex’s apartment and moving it into your house, which meant you had to deal with her calling you and screaming that she definitely bought that chair even though you distinctly remembered ordering it for the living room. You hated having to speak with her, with all her narcissistic tendencies. As much as you mourned the relationship, you mourned how stupid you were for ever putting up with so much for so long.

The house apparently was built in the 50’s and hadn’t been touched since besides the usual renovations every decade or so, which you enjoyed. Older houses had so much more character, like the adorable little partition window between the living room and the kitchen. You opened and closed the little shutters, imagining what 50’s housewife used this for so many years.

So you didn’t have much time to dwell on that eerie energy in the house while the movers brought everything in, until they left. And it was just you and those walls.

Luckily you could focus on unpacking all the boxes stacked around. You did so dutifully, and since you really had nothing else to do, you finished pretty quickly. By the next day you were untaping the last box which was full of random childhood artifacts. Trying to think of where you could put these things that you wanted to keep but didn’t really want just lying around, you suddenly realized that this house had an attic. The agent had vaguely pointed to it previously but you had never went up there.

Going upstairs, you opened the attic ladder and carefully climbed up the rickety thing, instantly inhaling thick layers of dust as your head entered the dark attic. To your surprise, you saw a few boxes lying around.

“Huh,” you murmured with interest as you swatted away cobwebs, the floor dangerously creaking beneath you as you approached the boxes. Whoever took the previously family’s stuff out of the house must have forgotten about the attic, which you found strange. Were they in that much of a hurry to get in and out?

Crouching down, you wiped the thick layer of dust off the box. How much dust could have accumulated in a matter of months?

None of the boxes were taped, only folded shut. Was it wrong of you to look through their stuff, especially since they were basically considered dead? To be fair, the house was yours now, and you needed to put some stuff up here. So you opened the box and looked inside.

This one was full of different colors of fabric. A red fabric crown of some sort, green tights, a blue headband, a can of silver spray paint for hair. Halloween costumes? All of superhero-esque kind?

Opening another box, this time you find some sort of fake lobster. A doorknocker? There’s some baby stuff in there too—a book about the psychological effects of pregnancy, a crib mobile made of butterflies. You go through all this stuff, the usual family keepsakes that the mother was too sentimental to throw away, until you suddenly come across something starkly different.

A book, but a different kind of book. It’s at the bottom of the box, and it’s heavy. The front is dark and somewhat torn with strange inscriptions on it. Heaving it out of the box, it falls into your lap with a cloud of black dust. What the hell did a family have to do with this? It looked more like a Halloween decoration than anything.

Mindlessly flipping it open, you saw that the pages were full of language you did not understand. Markings, almost, like hieroglyphics. Symbols. You come across a page that has the only recognizable thing you see—the figure of a woman, hair flowing, seeming to levitate on the page. This page is much darker than the rest, and the corners more torn. Like whoever read this book always seemed to seek out this specific page.

A sudden popping noise that sounded like weight on a floorboard startled you, made the book fall (it felt more like it leaped) out of your hands. You turned around to see nothing but the dark empty attic.

It was much too creepy up there.

Leaving your box of childhood memories up there and deciding to swap it out for this strange dark book, you carefully climbed back down the ladder and closed it.

The air felt thicker than ever now. Vibrating. Like it had just woken up.

࿏

You were mostly settled. Things still felt weird in the house, even after you put up every decoration you owned, but you figured it would go away with time. You’d been living off takeout the whole two weeks, hence the pile of Chinese takeout boxes in the corner of the kitchen. Deciding to go shopping to have some real food in the house, you pulled on your jacket and stepped out into the bitingly cold air. There was even a harsh wind, too, that made your nose hurt. Hugging yourself, you walked down your driveway and noticed a woman standing in the yard of the house next to yours. It was one of the few houses still lived in on the street, and you hadn’t even seen your new neighbor until now.

It was a middle-aged woman checking her mailbox. You struggled internally to decide if you should say hi or not, knowing that being all alone in a strange town was probably not the best idea, but something told you to just keep walking. You almost made it to your car until suddenly you could see her head snap towards you out of the corner of your eye. Instinctively, you froze, looking across the yard at her and seeing that she squinted her eyes suspiciously at you.

“H-hello,” you weakly greeted, shivering from the cold.

“Who are you?” the woman called out loudly, turning her body fully towards you now as if she was braced to defend herself. Great, a crazy neighbor.

“I’m y/n. I just moved in.” You tried to give a smile as you pointed to the house.

Looking between you and the house, the woman hesitated before walking towards you. Wishing you’d just ran to your car and left, you tried to be polite as she approached you.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said gruffly, sticking out her hand which shook yours rather aggressively. You noticed now something neon green on her hip—a watergun? “Detective Agnes. I work for the FBI. I’m working on a murder case here.” She pulled out a black wallet and flipped it open towards you. You knew that there was supposed to be a gold FBI badge there, but it was only a CostCo membership card for someone named Ralph.

“Oh,” you mumbled as she sighed officially and put her “badge” back in her pocket. She was also wearing a purple shirt with a picture of Dolly Parton and the word “Jolene” on it. Who the hell was this woman?

“Better be careful, newbie,” she said, pointing to your house. “The kids love to egg this house. Don’t worry though, I’ve got top of the line security system.” She nodded proudly and pointed to the roof of her house, which you noticed had one solitary print-only Polaroid camera haphazardly duct taped to it.

“Oh,” was all you could say again, feeling the intense urge to run away.

“Unfortunately the department frowns on tasering the little shits even though it’s what those punks need to set them straight,” she said, stretching and tapping on the other side of her hip, which had a toy car on it that she apparently thought was a taser.

Nodding slowly, you started backing away to your car. “Okay, well, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You, too, young lady. Be safe out here. It’s a crime-ridden place.” She dramatically looked around the nice, quiet neighborhood as if she was looking at Gotham City and went back to her mailbox. You got in your car and sped away.

Westview only had a tiny market in town. It was liminal with its old linoleum floors and flickering green LED lights that buzzed overhead. It smelled slightly of rotting meat. You wondered if you could steal Detective Agnes’ fake CostCo card.

It was deserted in there, too, besides the drunk clerk with a scruffy beard who stared blankly at you. This was the point where you started to realize the citizens here did not take well to new people.

In fact, you had noticed the only other shopper in there seemed to be following you around. You didn’t feel in danger, given that it was just an older lady in a sweater buying fig newtons, until suddenly she came out from the other aisle and slammed her cart into yours.

“Hey!” you yelled out, looking at the older lady with short blonde hair.

“Get out while you still can!” she whisper-yelled, her eyes pleading. “You’re going to die!”

“Excuse me?”

“Run! Get out of that house, get out of this town! Wanda! She’s going to kill you! She’s going to kill us all!”

She was screaming now, eyes tearing up, knuckles turning white as she gripped her cart. You stared at her, wondering if you should call the police, until suddenly her face changed into a pleasant one.

“Ope! Sorry, dear! These carts have a mind of their own!” She let out a cheery little cackle before wheeling her cart away, going down the aisle to look at the Pop Tarts.

You stood there dumbfounded for a moment before deciding to just leave and go to Eastview for your shopping needs.

࿏

Your ex thought you weren’t worth much, but you knew she had to miss your cooking. Cooking was an art to you, a hobby you enjoyed sharpening your skills in. Tonight, since you’d been living off of leftover orange chicken for days, you were making a nice ribeye with lemon green beans and garlic mashed potatoes. A comfort meal. Maybe it would cheer up the angst-imbued house.

The interaction with your neighbors, specifically with the lady at the market, was unsettling. Why was she telling you to get out of that house? Who the hell was Wanda and why was she going to kill everybody? Was everyone in that town cracked out or out of their mind?

It was a little cozier, admittedly, as you were cooking that night. The kitchen had plenty of space for all your cooking tools and equipment, which you had a lot of. They were precious to you, so you had spent almost an entire day arranging them in all the drawers and cabinets.

You limited the lighting in the kitchen to the oven range and the little lamp in the living room. Setting your phone up, you let classical music fill the air as you prepped your steak while your potatoes finished boiling.

You felt calm and at home for the first time in a long time.

Until you started hearing a strange clicking noise.

Your first instinct was to check the oven since this was your first time using it. The clicking was not coming from there. You listened all around in the kitchen until you realized it was coming from the living room. Looking through the partition, you saw that the floor lamp on the other side of the living room was flickering.

Your pot of potatoes steaming and boiling, your steak left on the counter, you emanated through the flip door into the living room. You had just put a bulb in that lamp—no way it was dying already.

The closer you got to the lamp, the more it flickered. Faster and faster, causing your stomach to fold into anxious knots, until finally you lunged and turned it off all together. The room dark now, you caught your breath that you didn’t even notice was quickened.

You reached and turned it back on to find that it was no longer flickering. It must have been a weird glitch with the bulb. You were about to turn away when it suddenly clicked off by itself.

“What the fuck?” you say, reaching to turn it back on when it clicked right back on by itself. Taking a step away as fear imbued you, your eyes widened when the bulb in the lamp started getting brighter.

“What the fuck?” you say again, reaching to turn it off only to find that the bulb was so hot it burned your fingers. “Ow!” Stepping away, you watched in horror as the bulb kept getting brighter and brighter, filling up the entire room with light so that every corner and shadow was lit. You could see everything. And then it got so bright that you couldn’t see well. Your eyes burned, your skin burned with the heat of the bulb. The lamp was shaking where it stood, the fabric of the lampshade starting to burn up to expose the hot bulb even more. Even the metal pole was starting to melt where the bulb sat on it. You could hear the classical music playing from your phone in the kitchen, except that it was frenzied, angered, violent now.

It got brighter and brighter until your face was red hot and your hair felt like it was about to catch fire and all you could see was bright hot white, and you screamed a silent scream “STOP!”

With a loud electrical popping noise, the bright white faded away. You were blinded now, everything pitch dark, the heat replaced with a sudden coolness as the bulb popped and sparked on the lamp where the shade had half melted off. When you could finally see again, you unplugged the lamp and stepped away from it.

“What the fuck?” you said for the third time this night, heart beating fast as you rubbed your hot, aching eyes as your vision came back to you.

Before you could even process what had happened with the lamp, you looked over at the partition window and froze. Your heart stopped in your chest. Every hair on your arm stood up. Your eyes instantly watered with fear.

As you stood across the living room, staring through the partition window into the kitchen, you saw that every single cabinet and drawer in the kitchen was fully opened. All of your cooking tools, all the utensils and knives and equipment, hung suspended in the air right above or in front of the drawer or cabinet you had them in. It was like they were all on strings. And where your dining table was, all 3 chairs were hung upside down in the air above the table.

The air felt alive now. So alive you could feel its heartbeat, feel its breath down your neck, feel it on your skin. It was watching you, taunting you, burning eyes into you. There was something else there with you as you stared at all your kitchen stuff hanging in the air by themselves like they were on pulleys. But they were all so still. Nothing swayed or trembled.

A sigh breezed against the back of your neck. And then everything fell.

All of it dropped, every tool and utensil, every chair. It dropped like dead weight from where it hung, like gravity had suddenly been turned back on. It was deafeningly loud, all the metal tools clanging against the hard tile floor and countertops. Even your boiling pot of potatoes went down with a loud splash of steaming water. It was a deafening clatter, pure chaos as all of your stuff went right down to the floor. Even the chairs cracked onto the ground as they dropped heavily.

Things rolled and trembled until finally it all came to a stop. The air no longer felt as thick, but it was still there. It was silent now except for the eerie classical music still playing from your phone, calmly now.

You didn’t know what to do, or think, or feel. You felt fear. You felt confusion. Fingers trembling, you took frightened steps forward towards the kitchen, unsure of what lied in wait for you in there. Flipping open the door, you expected something to get you. You could feel it, you swore. Watching you. You swore you saw something dark swoop down under the surface of the island counter, but nothing was there. It was just you and all your broken tools and chairs. You avoided stepping on the mushed potatoes that still steamed as you walked through the warzone.

On the counter, your steak laid where you left it. Except that it was bleeding now, covered in thick, black blood that oozed out of it. It dripped down the counter, covered your floor. The center of the steak seemed to throb. Too much blood for just a ribeye, and when you touched it, it was warm.

࿏

Not that you had anyone to tell, but you didn’t speak of what happened. Dumbfounded, you numbly cleaned the mess up and went to bed. After the steak, you couldn’t eat beef for a week.

The house felt different now. Still eerie and angsty, but not as devoid as it did at first. Whatever devoid feeling had been filled the day you went into the attic was angered since the day in the kitchen. It felt like the house was resentful, like it was going to snap at any moment and swallow you. Even the doors kept slamming on your fingers when you tried to close them.

You thought about the lady in the market. Couldn’t stop thinking about her. Something very bad had happened in that house.

“Wanda?” Detective Agnes repeated when you asked her about it. You saw her in her backyard, duct taping another Polaroid camera to her patio. You spoke to her over the fence. It was gnawing at you to know what had happened. “Where did you hear that name?” she asked gruffly, perking up and approaching you at the fence, causing you to take a few steps back.

“Some lady at the store,” you blurted. “She was saying something about a Wanda, like it had to do with my house.”

Agnes squinted her eyes at you, and then she suddenly perked up as if she was listening to something. She grabbed a nearly all-brown banana from her hip and put it up to her mouth like a walkie talkie, speaking in a deep voice. “312 on the move. Dealing with concerned civilian. Be there at 1600 hours.” She tucked the banana back into her belt. “You wanna know about Wanda?”

You nodded, wondering if you should even trust what she has to say.

Agnes sucked at her lip and then blurted, “She’s dead. But you didn’t get that from me.”

“I kind of figured… Did she live here?”

Agnes tilted her head. “And what do you plan on doing with that information, huh? You trying to blackmail a federal officer?”

You raised your hands and backed away. “Look lady, I just live here and want to know why everyone is being so weird about the house I just bought.”

“Look,” Agnes interrupted you, “Wanda Maximoff was found dead in the woods. She’s gone, deadso, totally corpsed out, alright? I’ve got her on an operating table over at the morgue if you don’t believe me.”

You shook your head. “But she lived in my house?”

Then Agnes did something weird. She spoke, “I don’t know.” But she nodded her head.

You looked at her in confusion. “What?”

“I said, I don’t know!” she yelled, but she nodded her head again. The expression on her face was angry, but there was something wrong with her eyes. They were almost… pleading. But like she didn’t realize it.

That conversation didn’t make you feel any better about the situation. And when you got home to find that the old book you’d brought down from the attic was sitting on the coffee table open like something had been reading it, you weren’t exactly comforted.

It was turned to that same page, the one with the figure of a woman wearing a crown. Feeling aggravated with the lack of knowledge you were getting from both the internet and your neighbor, you slammed it shut and threw it under the couch, out of sight. If there was something in this house fucking with you, you would not just lay down and take it.

Things continued to feel off in the house. Your TV kept going off and on at random times. Doors slamming, footsteps in the hall at night, knocking on the walls. None of it felt as aggressive as that night in the kitchen, though. You’d come to terms that you had picked a slightly haunted house, though you still didn’t truly believe in all that stuff. But as a logical, sensible person, you knew that there was something strange causing all these strange occurrences that couldn’t be overlooked.

But when all the little events were mostly docile and didn’t get in the way of your usual living, you just carried on. You wouldn’t forgive what happened that night in the kitchen, but you could live with it and try to forget it. Even though you had to buy so much new kitchen stuff.

That was until you were cleaning one day and picked up that old dark book from under the couch so that you could vacuum. You set it on the coffee table and kept on cleaning, forgetting to put it back in its place of hiding.

That night, with a clean house, you decided to take a nice relaxing bath. You lit candles all around the bathroom and turned off the light as the tub filled with hot water. There’d been more flickering lights and knocking on the walls that evening, but you were starting to get used to it. It was an old house, after all. Maybe it was all just your imagination, and it was all very explainable in a scientific way.

But this event marked a point where you could no longer believe that.

As you laid in the tub, muscles relaxing under the hot water, you opened your eyes momentarily and saw something strange. In the water where you lay, you saw foggy threads of red floating through the water.

Were you bleeding?

Sitting up sharply, you check yourself all over. No marks, no wounds or cuts, no time of the month, but there’s trails of blood floating in the water.

Your heart starts to quicken as the air grows thick around you again, that same feeling as the one that night with the lamp. It swarms you.

“Stop,” you whisper, watching more and more blood appear from nowhere in the water, making the water turn crimson red.

Glancing at the reflective metal surface of the bathtub faucet, your heart stops when you see, in the warped reflection, some shadow of black sitting right behind you in the tub.

That’s when you scream and leap out of the water, nearly slipping on the tile floor as you freak out. There obviously was no one or nothing sitting behind you in the tub, but you most certainly saw the dark reflection of one.

The lightbulb above you starts flickering, even though the light was not turned on.

The blood in the water had gone, but during your jump out of the water your foot had pulled the stopper up. The water was draining now, very loudly, making a deep guttural sound as the water drained quickly. When it was all gone, it was silent.

Something dark appeared at the wide-open hole of the drain. It looked liquid at first, like some black substance was oozing out of the drain onto the white porcelain of the tub, but when it started rising up out of the hole and moving in a very alive way, you realized it was fingers.

Blackened fingers rose out of the drain, wiggling, pulling up a hand along with it. The fingernails were sharpened, the slender hand feminine even with its charcoal fingers.

You screamed when a whole arm shot out of the drain and grabbed at the side of the tub.

All you could think to do was run out of the bathroom and slam the door shut, holding onto the knob and listening as you heard the sickly wet sounds of something being pulled out of the drain and slapping against the wet tub, and even the sound of it stepping over the tub onto the floor. Heavy breathing with effort. Distorted wet footsteps across tile floor.

You wanted to run and call the police, but then you felt the knob gently turn in your hand. This bathroom door did not have a lock.

With some sort of screech of breath, whatever thing that was behind the door pulled hard at the knob. Screaming, you pulled the door back shut before you could see whatever was on the other side, wanting to rather die than to actually see what it was. The thing wrestled with you over the door, pulling hard and fast. You held on with all your strength, hands still wet from the bath, putting your foot against the threshold for more leverage. The air was screaming now, loud in your ears, a heartbeat that was not your own beating from inside your own brain. The lights were all flickering, and the house felt like it was closing in on you.

The thing pulled and pulled, screaming and screaming until it got the best of you. The knob slipped out of your hands, and the door swung wide open.

Instinctively, you slapped your hands over your eyes. You didn’t want to see. You didn’t want to see. You didn’t want to see. You’d rather die than see.

Breathing heavily, you waited for something to get you, because you were certain that whatever was in your house was trying to do that all along.

But nothing came.

Inhaling oxygen and exhaling bravery, you tried to ignore all the visions your brain guessed that you would see, and parted your fingers. Through the slit in your fingers you saw… nothing. The bathroom was empty. The tub was drained but clean. The flame of the candles all around were perfectly still.

But then you heard a creaking noise from behind you. Slowly, breath held, trembling, you turned around and raised your eyes.

A black figure clung to the ceiling. It was the shape of a person with soft edges. It was a shadow, in human form.

It jumped down at you.

With a scream, you buckled to the floor and covered your head, trying to shield yourself. Nothing touched you. You bravely opened your eyes again and looked all around only to not see the black figure anywhere. There was nothing but you, naked and wet on the floor.

The air felt empty again. The thing had come and gone. You were safe.

For now.

࿏

It was hard to feel settled after that. Things got more aggressive. It was like whatever demon was with you had finally laid eyes on you and was set to get you now. You couldn’t find that book anywhere. It wasn’t on the coffee table nor under the couch. You looked everywhere to no avail.

Detective Agnes knocked on your door one night to tell you that someone had been lurking at a window at the side of your house. She was holding a full-size Nerf Super Soaker and said that she had tried to snipe the suspect wearing all-black but they had somehow jumped into your closed window (hence the sound of spraying water you had heard on your window). She demanded to look through the house, which she did and found nothing. You’re pretty sure she swiped a pair of your underwear, though. She taped a Polaroid camera to your roof for good measure and said she took photos of “damning” evidence which included unconcerning pictures of your flowerbed. You knew it wasn’t a person, but rather a thing lurking from within the window.

Nights were the worst. You had never been someone to be so scared, but you could barely sleep from how hard your heart thumped with fear as you lay in bed at night.

A few nights after the bathroom event, you managed to halfway fall asleep somewhere around 3 AM when you suddenly heard loud banging coming from within the walls. Waking up with a shot of anxiety in your chest, you heard the banging again, loud and clear, like someone trying to break down a wall from the inside.

Feeling frozen, you forced yourself to sit up when you fully froze at the sight of something horrific. In the corner of your bedroom, right beside the window, was that dark figure hiding in the shadows. It seemed more formed this time. You could see the outline of hips, hands, legs. The worst part was that you could see two red eyes gleaming at you in the dark.

“Go away!” you instinctively yelled, but it came out barely audible due to the lump in your throat.

The figure slowly came forward, and the moonlight from the window casted over it.

It was some creature of a woman. She was decrepid, slightly hunched over. Her eyes were red and glowing, her mouth set wide open as if her jaw has been broken off. But where her face would have been… Where her face would have been, her skin had been stretched upward into two points, like her skin had been stretched over horns, or over a crown. She was unnaturally tall and skinny, her skin pale and yellowed.

Dark red hair laid at her shoulders, and she was wearing some torn and ratted red suit. Her hands were deformed, long and sharp and bony, blackened at the ends. The horrible smell of death and blood suddenly filled your nostrils, making you gag and cover your nose. The creature smelled of death and appeared deformed, demonic, monstrous, evil.

“Who are you?” you questioned, trying to think of what to say or do. This thing must have been some sort of manifestation of the thing that had been torturing you, and so you say the only name you know. “Wanda?”

The creature erupted into a monstrous screech so loud you nearly went deaf, and in a flash, she lunged fast at you. You swore you could feel her push you down onto the bed when you suddenly sit back up, coming out of a horrible nightmare.

You were sweating through the sheets, panting, looking all around your empty bedroom. Had it been just a dream?

Feeling a sting at your shoulder, you look at it to see a bloody claw mark there, so deep it was already dripping blood.

Once the demon had first seen you in the bathroom, she got more aggressive. Now she had tasted your blood… What was going to happen now?

As you expected, everything got worse. The knocking and footsteps got more violent than ever, doors slamming on you, knives throwing themselves across the kitchen towards you. This thing was trying to get you.

You leased an apartment in Eastview as quickly as you could.

You couldn’t move in for a week, so you were stuck there with that thing trying to murder you. Your friend you had been crashing with was on holiday, but you could not stand to sleep alone in that house. So you asked the only person you could think of…

“No worries, tuts,” Agnes said as she strode into your bedroom with an armful of blankets and pillows. “It’s my job to keep my fellow citizens safe.” She threw her blankets and pillows down on the ground right at the foot of your bed.

Awkwardly, you watched her make a pallet. “You know, I have a couch downstairs… That might be best so you can, you know, watch the front door.” You had told her you were having fears of break-ins and just needed someone to stay with you for a night or two.

“No, no, I can do my job best from right here,” she said as she plopped down onto the pallet. “Besides, these nights can get a little…” She undid her police jacket, which was actually just a varsity jersey jacket with the name Bohner on the back, as she looked up at you with a smirk. “Lonely…”

You just stared down at her, with her banana and water gun. “Okay, Agnes.”

Honestly, the night went better with Agnes there. There wasn’t any knocking or footsteps, no creatures in your corner. It was just Agnes’ obnoxiously loud snoring like a lawnmower right in your bedroom that kept you awake, but eventually you drifted off.

You had dreams of red. Of red and blood behind your eyes. Voices, names, memories, all in red. You don’t know what it was that jolted you awake, but something did, and when you flapped open your eyes, you saw her.

She was on your ceiling.

Red scarlet hair hanging down. Her face was not malformed this time, but rather, it was somewhat beautiful. Even with the glowing red eyes and darkness.

“Wanda,” you whispered, somehow knowing for sure that this was her. Wanda, the woman who had died, who had a family in the house you bought, who had been torturing you for weeks. Her fingers, black, clung to the ceiling as if that’s what kept her there, but you could tell it was magic. It was the same magic that froze your body and made you unable to move as she slowly drifted down the ceiling, closer to you, until she hovered right above you.

She didn’t seem real. This beautiful ghost, demon, whatever she was, her nose so close to yours, breathing over you with red eyes full of desire.

“You opened the Darkhold,” she spoke in deep unnatural voice without moving her lips. “You beckoned me.”

You tried to shake your head, but you couldn’t move a muscle in your body except your mouth. “No, I didn’t…” You thought of the old dark book. You had opened it.

“I can live on…” she spoke, reaching out her hand to touch you. It landed on your stomach, causing you to jump. You could feel her hand. You felt silly for expecting it to just go right through you. Her skin was touching your stomach over your shirt. It made you feel fear and excitement at the same time. “I have a womb now.”

Your eyebrows sewed together. “A womb?”

Chills filled you as Wanda’s lips stretched open in a wide grin that was too perfect to be real. Her face looked fake suddenly, like it was just a pretty human mask put over the real face of something horrible. “A womb for my children,” she said without moving her lips.

Suddenly, your legs were spread wide open in the air. You let out a scream of shock and fear, which made Agnes’ snoring finally stop. Agnes jumped up, stumbling, holding her Super Soaker. Her eyes widened when she saw the demon hovering over you.

“Get down!” Agnes yelled to you as she held up the Nerf gun and sprayed a sharp stream of water at Wanda. To your surprise, once the water hit the demon, it steamed and burned. Wanda hissed and turned to Agnes, levitating upright in the air as Agnes continued to spraying her.

Getting out her banana, Agnes yelled, “664 we need backup over here! I repeat! 664 we’ve got a code red!”

Wanda lifted her hand. Agnes rose up into the air, and with a flick of Wanda’s wrist, she was flung right out of the second-floor window.

Wanda turned back to you, and fear jumped at your spine again. Now it was just you and her.

Flying back towards you, she used her magic to peel the sheets off of you, settling herself down on the bed over you.

“What are you doing?!” you cried out as she somehow tore your clothes off your body, exposing your skin to her.

Her hand immediately went between your legs, groping at your core. “I have been waiting so long for you, detka,” she spoke, her voice sounding a little more natural. Her eyes, once robotic and blank, looked softer now. You couldn’t tell if it was real or not.

You tried to squirm but her magic kept you still. Her hand was expert—she rubbed circles at your clit as her other hand snaked up over your stomach, up to your breast which she groped. “The perfect vessel,” she whispered. “I can live on. I can have my children again,” she repeated as she slid her hand down to your tummy again, her hand glowing red. “Your womb is so fertile. I could feel it when you first arrived.”

Your head was spinning as this demon woman worked at your pussy, pinching your clit and slipping two fingers inside which made you yelp. She was gentle yet firm at the same time, somehow knowing exactly what would make you feel good. You were getting wet for her—you could hear it in the wet sloshing sound that your pussy made as she pumped her fingers in and out of you, curling them at their deepest length.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your head feeling suddenly very hot, as if a fever suddenly set upon you.

“You are so good,” she breathed, voice deeper this time as she adjusted where she sat between your legs, now kneeling over you. Suddenly, something large formed at her crotch. It was a strap—long and maroonish red with charcoal darkness at the tip.

“What are you—”

Wanda grinned and shushed you as she stroked her length, red magic glowing from within her strap. “Be a good, quiet vessel, detka.”

Something evil was showing through in her eyes.

“Wanda—”

She used her magic to shut your mouth so that you could only make muffled noises as the demon nestled between your hips, using her hands to spread your thighs further open. She wanted you as open for her as you could be.

Frightened but also some sickly form of turned on, you watched as the demon stroked her cock and brought it to your entrance which she had prepped and made soaking wet for herself. Her cock was larger than anything you’d ever taken. It was throbbing with magic.

The tip pushed through your entrance painfully, and you cried out through the magic covering your mouth as the demon suddenly pushed her entire cock inside you, ripping open your walls. Pain seared through your human body as the demon forced her way inside you, but when she passed a hand over your head, the pain suddenly went away. It turned more into a feeling of butterflies, of throbbing, of pleasure. You could feel blood leaking down your thighs, but she had taken away your pain.

“You are going to give me such beautiful children,” Wanda murmured, cupping your chin with her dark hand as she started to thrust her hips, pumping herself inside you. The pressure came against your cervix in a hot flash of pleasure each time. She was so long and so large, fucking herself so deep inside you that your stomach bulged. The demon pressed her hand on the bulge and cackled, feeling herself fuck you from inside.

You could feel everything, how deep she was, how the ridges of her strap glided against your walls, the way your stomach bulged with each thrust. Your pussy was being stretched open around her demon cock, taking every single inch no matter how girthy.

“The perfect bride,” Wanda said, her demon voice showing through as she started to fuck you harder. Her hand slapped around your throat, holding you down and halfway choking you as her thrusts became quicker and quicker, demonic grunts coming from her. You could feel yourself tightening inside, preparing for what was about to come.

The demon’s cock seemed to swell inside you, forcing you to stretch even more. Sickly squelching noises filled the air. Blood was all over the bed now. You felt nothing but electric, all-consuming pleasure.

“Stay still,” Wanda said as she choked you harder. “You’re going to take all of my seed. You’re going to give me such beautiful children, my beautiful bride.”

She went harder and harder, fucking deep into your womb until finally, the energy broke. She let out a guttural noise, and you could feel her cock go rigid inside you before a load of warmth filled you deep inside. As you shook from your own blinding orgasm, you couldn’t even see the fact that your tummy bulged as the demon kept filling you with her seed which glowed red from inside you.

Sighing, Wanda relaxed against you, keeping her cock inside you. It was still swollen, stuck inside your cunt. “I’m going to keep myself here until I know it takes.” She smiled for real this time as she stroked your glowing, swollen tummy. You were more than feverish now as you felt things start to change inside you at an inhuman speed. You could feel it taking, feel your tummy swelling more and more.

You didn’t know that once you birthed, she would slaughter you like breeding cattle.

[themidnightcrimson]

nosferatu ࿏ wm

summary: in which you are much too trusting of a creature who wants more than a dance with you.

words: 6.0k

warnings: blood, supernatural, horror, gore, dubcon/noncon, top!wanda, fem!reader, biting, oral, breastplay, bondage, victorian era

this is a dark!fic for 18+ only. minors dni. read with discretion.

Your corset was so tight around your waist that you could not breathe. It was a sickening shade of pink that was supposed to portray girlish innocence about you. It was made specifically to match the color that imbues your cheeks, though now it was more of a sharp crimson red.

“I cannot believe your impudence,” your mother breathily spoke in a vexed air as she stiffly ripped the white gloves from her hands. “Your audacity.”

Rolling your eyes, you threw your head back against the wall of the compartment, feeling the familiar but nauseating shake of the carriage, the click-clack of the horse’s hooves going as fast as your heartbeat. Biting your lip to ward off any retaliating remarks towards your mother, you reached behind your waist and fiddled for the bow of your corset, snapping the ribbon undone and inhaling the first large breath of fresh air since the night began.

“At this rate, you’ll never be wed,” your mother continued to grumble as she neatly folded her gloves in her lap and looked out the window of the compartment door, the tree-lined field flickering past her eyes as the carriage moved on down the sandy country road. “I wouldn’t know what gentleman in all of England would wed such a usurping, galling, exasperating little—”

“Please, Mother, I haven’t had my vocabulary lesson yet this week,” you sarcastically battled as you ripped the matching pink ribbon out of your hair, letting your long waves flow down your shoulders. Your mother especially hated when you wore your hair freely down like that, citing that it reminded her of the harlots of Dorset Street.

You had to admit that your behavior was not the most ladylike this evening, but that was your entire mission. Your mother had been trying to marry you off to every man that comes across your path since you were of age. What she didn’t know (or rather was entirely aware of but simply unable to comprehend or acknowledge it under both societal implications and her own personal dogmas) was that you actually preferred the company of women.

It was just another fancy political ball she’d dragged you to. As always, she put you in clothes you didn’t want to wear, made you speak to people you didn’t want to speak to, and expected you to take it all with sugar and a big smile.

“Is this how you behave at those other parties you attend? Those invalids might be able to handle your inexcusable behavior, but I certainly won’t.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t like parties at all. You actually very much enjoyed going to the parties you liked to go to with people you actually liked to be around. Could these parties become a little unsavory if warranted? Yes, they could. But you yourself never participated in those things. You just thought the people there were nicer and didn’t have giant sticks shoved up their bums. Plus, the food was always better.

“Well, I hate to burst your bubble, young lady, but there will be no more attending these parties of yours.”

“Mother!” you exclaimed, looking at her with eyes of disbelief. “I am a grown woman. I will go wherever I please!”

“Not with what’s been happening,” she argued, glancing at the folded newspaper sitting on the cushion beside her that she had picked up on the way to the ball. The Old Post. The front of it read Vampyres in the Village.

“You can’t be serious,” you grumbled, turning away from her with a pout. “You really believe in that stuff?”

“It’s devil-work, dear,” she said in a quieter, more serious tone. She stared at you for a moment from across the compartment before slowly leaning forward. “I’m not saying this to try and… control you. I’m saying this to you because… because you are my daughter, and I want to keep you safe.”

You could tell she was biting back vomit at saying kind words to you. “And things have been… happening in the city. Horrible things. And it seems to be happening only to people like you. Pretty, single, young girls. But most importantly, naïve girls.”

You rolled your eyes and turned further away from her. “You say my head is full of air, but I’m not the one who believes in fairytales here.”

“Miss Margaret’s daughter is still missing.”

Miss Margaret was a close friend of your mother’s, which you found surprising because Miss Margaret was one of the kindest women you’d ever met. Her daughter was your age, maybe a year or two older. She hadn’t been seen for two months now since she attended one of the parties you liked to go to in the city.

“She probably ran off with a boy,” you argued even though you knew that was not her daughter’s character.

Your mother didn’t even bother to argue that because you already knew. She only shook her head and turned back to the window, taking a deep sigh. “I’m only trying to keep you safe. It’s one thing to have an unwed daughter, but it’s entirely another thing to have one that’s dead.”

“I’m sure that’s what you’d prefer.”

You shouldn’t have said that, and you didn’t even need to look in your mother’s general direction to feel the look of shocked hurt on her face.

Maybe if your mother hadn’t fought tooth and nail to keep a noose around your neck your whole life, you might have listened. You might have heeded her advice.

Things might not have ended up the way they did.

If only.

࿏

You knew exactly how to scale your own house by now. Granted, you had to be barefoot while you did it.

Clutching your shoes in one hand, you teetered on the edge of the windowsill of your room, carefully stepping down on the ledge of the roof. From there, you could set your foot on the top sill of another window, and then catch the vine-wrapped lattice going up the side of your parent’s estate, and it was a breeze from there on. You always enjoyed this feeling. The chilly autumn night air breezing between your legs as you wore a more casual dress that did not require a skeleton of its own. The wind fluttering through your loose locks of hair. The light of the full moon above you guiding your way down. Feeling agile and smart, free and unfiltered. Sometimes, your favorite part of these nights was just the sneaking out.

You always enjoyed the feeling of the dewy grass on the bottom of your feet when you finally hopped down to the ground. You’d jog like this, barefoot and wild like some kind of heathen, all the way down your country driveway to the main road where your friends had a carriage waiting for you.

When you said these parties could be a little unsavory, you meant it. While you mostly stuck with your friends and did not participate in these acts, all around you people were doing all kinds of unknown drugs, being lude with each other, engaging in certain dares or pranks. Sometimes there was a theme to all this, and tonight happened to be a masquerade, except instead of socialites and rich people, it was the ones of society who yearned a more stained quality of life.

This party was especially sex-driven, you realized with an air of shock as you walked in behind your group of friends. They were handing out masks at the front, and beyond that, you could see people basically eating each other at every sitting area in the large auditorium. Someone was throwing this at a large estate where everything around you seemed to be made of gold.

See, there were a select few rich people that participated in and most importantly, funded and housed these parties. There was a group of people, higher on the social ladder, who liked to throw these unsavory parties sometimes in their own homes. You could tell that this party was definitely one of them. They always seemed to get much more extreme when one of these people hosted it in their own home. The odd thing about it was that no one really knew who they were other than that they were seemingly nocturnal and rather pale, possibly as a consequence. Nightcrawlers, they sometimes called them. They always infested the local bars in the later hours of the evenings.

“My Lord,” your friend whispered under her breath as she eyed the couples (sometimes multiple couples all in one cluster) all around. “I think I’ve seen three bare buttocks already.”

Uneasiness settled into your stomach. While you normally enjoyed these parties, you usually tried to stay away from the ones that appeared to have a more carnal purpose, mostly because you did not want to have to fight off random men under the impression that you wanted to be a part of it. To your surprise, though, you actually saw a few women together, and a few men together also.

A mask was flung in your direction, and you took it. It was black and gold with a sharp nose, covering the top half of your face and leaving your mouth exposed. Trying to clear your vision as you stared out of the eye holes, you followed your group of friends into the party. It became denser the further they led you into it, and soon you could feel bodies touching yours.

“Wait!” you called when your mask slipped and covered your eyes, blinding you in the thickly packed room. You stumbled over someone’s foot as you tried to adjust your mask, and by the time you finally corrected it over your eyes, you could not locate your friends. Starting to panic as you were packed in a sea of people, feeling eyes behind odd foreign masks staring you down, you looked around for your friends, frantically calling their names.

You were turning in circles, growing dizzier and fainter by the second. This was a horrible idea. You should have listened to your instinct and turned around as soon as you walked in and saw what was going on at the party. Even now, in the crowd of people dancing to the oddly calm music that did not match the strong energy of the dancers, you could hear faint moans and the vague smell of sex drifting in the air.

You were about to melt to the floor and curl yourself into a sobbing ball when suddenly you felt a purposeful hand press into the small of your back. Gasping, you turned sharply, ready to slap the man who dared think he had a right to touch you, when you were faced with something unexpected.

The only thing you saw that was expected was pants—a men’s dark red velvet suit, decorated with lacy white wristcuffs and a rather poofy white chestpiece beautifully ruffled. But instead of seeing broad shoulders, you saw softer ones, and a curve at the chest and hips. This person wasn’t as tall as you expected, though they were several inches taller than you. Instead of a cropped cut, or perhaps a shaggier cut with handsome curls around the ears, this person had long, silky, wavy red hair that went down to their chest, flowing like a beautiful lake of deep rust.

A pitch-black mask covered the top half of their face, but instead of whiskers, or a beard, there was smooth, pale skin and delicately soft pink lips. The jaw there was strong, but there was a feminine curve to it.

A woman. This was a woman who was now curling your hand around the small of your waist, somehow enveloping it completely around you, pulling you against her and taking your hand in her other hand.

Gasping, you stumbled as she strongly started pulling you into a gentle dance through the crowd that seemed to make way for her.

You struggled to see her face, as the mask covered the top half. Those deep pink lips curled into a cupid’s smirk that brought some sort of chill up your spine. Even in this crowded room, with all the unpleasant noises and smells, your entire focus was on this woman pulling you to her breast and holding you with an iron strength that shocked you.

Though her mask, like the others, had carved holes for eyes, the lighting cast a shadow over the material that kept her eyes from view, and it was rather dim in the room anyway.

You opened your mouth to speak but failed to find words as the redheaded woman in a man’s suit spun you in a circle, and as she did, the source of light from a chandelier above finally glared through the holes of the mask, and you jolted in shock when you saw a flash of red eyes behind the mask.

Instinctively, you tried to pull away, but her arm would not budge. Had you ever known a man to be this strong, let alone a woman?

“Who are you?” you asked, but it came out in a tiny, hoarse whisper that surely only you could hear. Somehow, she heard it.

“Your dream woman,” she smoothly husked with an impish smirk, and you saw another flicker of red in the eyes of the mask as she spun you again before it went dark again.

Sewing your eyebrows together, you stumbled to keep up as she spun you. “Why won’t you let me go?”

“Because it’s so much more fun when I don’t,” she said with a small chuckle. You noticed that her hand holding yours was ice cold. “Besides, you looked a little lost back there.”

“I was perfectly fine,” you argued, finding it incredibly rude that this woman would not let you go, though being so close to her was making your spine tingle with something that bordered attraction and the urge to run for your life.

“You were far from fine, though you sure look fine,” she said, and you noticed how nice her voice was, such a pleasant cadence, like honey to your ears. Suddenly her arm around your waist disappeared, and she was spinning you around. Losing your balance, you let out a gasp, feeling yourself about to fall until she spun you back into her, wrapping her arms around you and leaning you backwards in her strong hold.

She grinned down at you, and you almost didn’t notice.

“What—” you said, startled. Her teeth, ivory white, were sharp. Like, as sharp as your father’s hunting knives. Glistening even in the dim light. Some unsatisfactory stain of red between them that made your stomach uneasy. It was strange, to see such a pleasant pair of lips stretched around teeth that looked so deadly.

“You’re beautiful,” the woman whispered, her eyes lowering down your neck and to your chest left exposed by your dress. You’d picked this dress because your mother hated how particularly revealing it was.

You saw the flash of scarlet irises again through her mask. They seemed to glow as she drank you in with her eyes.

“You can’t even see my face,” you whispered with a tone of playfulness at the fact that the woman was obviously staring at your chest with a look of hunger that you could see even through her mask.

Glancing back up to your face, she smiled handsomely and reached towards your face. Your instinct was to push her hand away, berate her for daring to take off your mask without asking, but for some reason your body did not budge. You involuntarily let her remove your mask, her eyes drinking you in.

“I didn’t have to take it off to know that you are the most beautiful woman in the room,” she flirted shamelessly, her hand on your back gripping you. She was still holding you in a leaning position.

Deciding to have fun with this odd woman, you smirked and said, “Your turn. Remove yours so that I may see who is holding me so.”

The woman hesitated but smiled again, reaching up and slowly removing her mask.

She was beautiful—like the kind of beautiful you had never seen before. An alien, strange beautiful that did not feel real. Something churned in your gut, some kind of knowing, a fear, but it was muffled. Her red eyes, her sharp smile, it was suffocating down the instinct in you that was telling you to get away from her as fast as possible.

She cocked her head, her eyes never leaving yours. “Come with me,” she spoke, and it sounded like many voices at once. Her grip on you was hard now, and if she hadn’t been compelling you with her magic, you would have seen the bloodlusting look on her face.

You didn’t remember leaving the party. You also suddenly couldn’t even remember arriving at the party. All you knew was that suddenly you could hear the click-clack of hooves against cobblestone and the cold night air blowing through your hair, and something else in your hair, too.

You sharply turned your head to see the same redheaded woman walking next to you, her hand in your hair, stroking it softly, playing with the strands between her long-nailed fingers.

“Where are we?” you questioned, slowing your walk and looking all around you. You did not recognize this street at all.

“We’re on a walk, my love,” the woman cooed, cradling her arm around you and pulling you into her. “You were becoming faint at the party.”

Your head felt fuzzy. Muddled. Like you needed to remember something that you just couldn’t remember, but you knew you desperately needed to.

“I’m… I’m confused…” you cried, clutching your hands to your face. You wanted to ask her where she was taking you, what she was going to do to you, why her teeth were so sharp and her eyes so red, but something was stopping the words from coming out of your mouth and even stopping these anxious feelings from being realized by you. There was a false blanket of calmness over you that was not coming from within you. It was suffocating you.

“Do calm down, beautiful girl,” she said in a velvet tone in your ear, suddenly very close to you. The moonlight rained down over you as she pressed her lips to your ear in a soft kiss. Something hard grazed the skin there, but it wasn’t enough for you to really notice.

The street was nearly empty. There were a few shops that were all closed down at this time of night. As you passed one that had a string of garlic hanging down over the door, which a lot of shops had now with all the rumors flying around, you felt the redhead stiffen beside you. When you were far enough away, she let out a breath as if she had been holding it.

Stupified, you hadn’t noticed this.

You also didn’t notice the way she walked faster, goading you forward with a hand at your back, as you passed by a church with a large cross on its steeple. The church also had garlic over the door, and had even built a fence of sharp whittled stakes all around the front. This city was so paranoid.

“Where are we going?” you question, noticing finally that the more garlic-protected doors you passed, the more the false sense of security lifted from you. Unbeknownst to you, the protections were interfering with the woman’s magic on you. “Where are you taking me?!”

“Be quiet!” she hissed at you suddenly, her red eyes fiery in the dark night. She looked monstrous now, albeit beautiful, and you finally realized the fear inside you.

“Get away!” you yelled, slapping her hand away from your waist and stepping away from her. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you!” You glanced around to see if anyone was around, but there was no one.

“Don’t yell!” the woman said louder this time, and her teeth started to look even sharper than before.

Finally, with all the garlic and crosses and stakes preventing her from being able to stop you from thinking your own thoughts, you could hear the instinct, loud and clear within you, telling you to run from this woman, this witch, this monster, this…

Vampire.

You ran as fast as you could on the uneven cobblestone. You were a very agile girl, thanks to so many times sneaking out of the window and running away. You always impressed people with how fast you could run, and you knew you could definitely outrun a woman in a stiff suit.

Until she appeared right in front of you with lightning speed. You didn’t even have time to be shocked. Her hand passed over your eyes, and you were asleep, falling limply into her arms like dead prey.

The last thing you thought of was if your mother had noticed you were gone yet or not.

࿏

You could tell it was dark before you even opened your eyes. When you did manage to finally flutter your eyes open, the first thing you saw was candlelight. A dark room with red carpet and black walls. Candles, everywhere. Some semblance of a bed that you lay on, naked. Something wooden in front of the bed on the floor which you realize to your sleepy horror is a coffin. And worst of all, to your upmost terror, standing to the side of the bed you lay on staring at you with a vile look of hunger, the redheaded woman.

She was holding a glass in her hand that held what appeared to be red wine, but it was way too dark. As the last memories flood back into your mind as she takes a slow, sickly sip, you realize that it is not wine in her glass.

“I know you’ll be much sweeter than this,” she thickly says after swallowing, lowering the glass and grinning at you with reddened teeth. “I could smell your blood as soon as you walked in.”

You attempt to sit up but there was an invisible force keeping you pressed flat on the bed. “Please let me go,” you whisper, your eyes welling with tears. You can’t exactly feel the fear inside you, not with whatever magic this vampire was putting inside you, but your body felt it and informed you of it in the form of hot tears rolling down your cheeks in an emotionless cry.

She laughed and started towards the bed, the movement causing you to jump. She set the glass down on the table beside the bed, eyes flickering at you as she slowly leaned over you, the weight of her hand on your pillow tipping your head closer to her. She was so close now. Deep scarlet eyes, pointed teeth, locks of her rust hair grazing your bare chest and tickling your nipples which you realized now were erected. Her breath smelled of iron, of old iron that had been sitting out in the rain. It smelled of flesh and of blood casting over your face for how close she was to you.

“Don’t be so frightened,” the vampire cooed, reaching her hand under you. You gasped at her cool touch, her oddly delicate and soft hand which glided across your back which arched for its way, coming to the other side of your waist and holding it gently so that her arm was completely curled under you. She had you trapped now, hovering over you, holding you. There was a crazed look in her eye now as her skin touched yours, as she smelled your scent and felt your warm flesh in her hand and listened to your heart beating so fervently, so frightened.

“You will enjoy this, love,” she continued, her nails digging slightly into your side as she lowered herself down further on the bed. She parted your legs with her knee, and it made you gasp in shock as she slid her other knee between them also, forcing your legs to spread. You felt the cool air of exposure in your middle, feeling now the strings of wet between your folds. She could smell it, you knew, by the way her nostrils flared and her beautiful lips twisted into a knowing smirk. This woman was an animal, a beast with senses that far outpowered yours. She could smell and hear and feel and see everything, down to the hairs on your arms that stood on their ends.

Were you enjoying it already? Why was your skin basically vibrating as she laid herself over you? Why were you slick as if you were with a lover? Why was your back and hips arching towards her hungrily as if you were the one thirsting for her and not the other way around?

Was she persuading you? You had heard of these vampyres being skilled in the art of witchery, particularly in the use of persuasion. It was heard of vampyres luring their victims to them willingly, as if the humans were offering themselves to them. Was that how she got you outside of the party in the first place?

You could feel the radiation of her powers vibrating through you, her red eyes seeming to glow in the dark room. “Oh, darling,” she whispered, bringing her hand up to your face and caressing your cheek. Your cheek was burning hot against her cold hand, which only invigorated her more.

“Your body is so warm against mine…” she murmured, her eyes trailing down your body to your bare chest. Lowering herself, she moved her head towards your neck area.

“No!” you instantly screamed, jerking your body against her as her face disappeared below your face. She dug her nails hard into your side, causing you to squeak, and then her mouth was on your neck. “Please! Stop! Don’t!”

You writhed and shrieked until you realized that you felt no intrusion of teeth into your veins but rather just a forceful yet gentle kiss of heavenly lips on your neck. The vampire’s breathing was heavy and thick, blowing hard against your skin as her entire body went rigid over yours like a predator. Her hips were the only thing that trembled, pressing hard between your legs.

“Fuck,” you heard the vampire curse into your neck as she pressed more kisses, letting her body push harder into yours. She was salivating, leaving your neck slick as she pressed more and more flurrying kisses against your soft skin. “So soft and warm,” she murmured, rubbing her entire face into the expanse of your neck, digging the bridge of her nose into your collarbone.

You were shocked when a gentle moan left your lips. She was kissing and rubbing her face all over your clavicles and chest, rolling her hips into you with a steady rhythm. You were starting to feel dizzy with warmth and lust that throbbed sinfully through you as this monster had her way with you.

She lowered further and finally was met with the pillowy hills of your breasts. She nuzzled herself right into them, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your flesh there that was so tender it gave way to the slightest of her touch. It felt like she was vibrating against you now, breathy and rigid and drunk. Her tongue slipped out of her mouth and lapped over the peak of your nipple, earning a loud gasp from you. Her eyes flickered open, alert at the sound, and looked deviously at you as she started to lap at your tit, the points of her fangs sticking through her lip like a kitten.

Sewing your eyebrows together, you squirmed under her, unsure of what, if anything, was going through your head. There were your thoughts, and the thoughts she wanted you to think, and thoughts your body was sending up your spine to your brain, mostly sinful and desirous.

Chuckling throatily against your nipple, the vampire grinned, which caused her fangs to scrape your skin.

“Ow!” you exclaimed at the tiny but strong sting you felt. It only felt like a papercut until the woman’s pupils went large, and she sunk her fangs into the soft flesh of your tit. You gasped in shock at first, watching the readhead’s long fangs sink into your breast, blood immediately streaming out of where she bit.

The scream that left your mouth was loud and burned your throat. The vampire grunted and groaned as she tasted your blood, her hips fully grinding into you now, her body melting on top of yours as she moaned huskily into your wound that she drank from.

You were at a loss for words as you thrashed against her strength and clawed at the pillows and blankets around you. The worst part was that, as much as it hurt and as much as you feared for your life, your middle was throbbing and more slick than ever as she ground herself into you, turned on from the mere taste of your blood.

Finally, the woman retracted, gasping open-mouthed, her lips and mouth smeared with the bright red of your blood. Her pupils were blown, red barely visible, your blood dripping from her fangs. She breathed heavily against you as your blood streamed down your breast, trailing to your stomach.

“The sweetest I’ve ever tasted,” she breathed almost inaudibly. She looked completely different now, like drinking from you had changed her features in some fundamental way that you couldn’t describe. She looked more beautiful than ever, and whether it was her persuasion or the sinner that had been hiding somewhere deep inside you, it made you even more slick to see this woman so beside herself, hovering over you, her mouth and chin covered and dripping with your blood, declaring you to be the best.

Seeming to still be gasping for breath, the vampire lowered herself more down the bed until her shoulders were what kept your legs spread open.

“My heavens,” she breathed as she inhaled the scent of your arousal, her eyes focused between your legs. “You sick little thing.”

Shame blushed across your face, but it was replaced with the blush of pleasure when the woman put her mouth over your clit. Her hands curled around your hips, holding them with iron strength as she devoured you. Your cum mixed with your own blood over the vampire’s mouth as she lapped at your soaked folds, somehow masterfully avoiding nicking you with the blades in her mouth. Her tongue plunged inside you, supernaturally long as it curled to reach your pleasure spot deep inside.

You were the one absolutely beside yourself now, grabbing at the sheets, at her soft red hair, arching your back off the bed and pushing your hips into her face. Any thoughts of life or death, the risk of it, being a prey trapped with its predator, your blood leaving your system through the deep bite on your breast, were all gone. All you knew now was this beautiful woman’s tongue deep inside you and the bridge of her nose digging against your clit.

A burst of pleasure exploded inside you, and you found yourself screaming out, blinded, only urged on with a more vigorous effort from the vampire’s tongue. Her nails had dug so hard into your hips that there were ten bleeding marks in the shape of fingernails on your skin, unbeknownst to the vampire who was joyously overwhelmed with the taste and smell of your blood and juices in her mouth.

Finally, when you had relaxed, she pulled away, looking up at you from between your legs. The blood on her face was still there but had been wiped away in most spots, turned pink by the mixing of your wetness which glistened over the bridge of her nose and down her chin. Her long tongue came out from her mouth to lick at her lips, her throat clenching as she swallowed.

You had never felt such physical bliss in your life. Your entire body throbbed and ached wonderfully, churned with the duality of it being so sexy and so morbid at the same time.

In fact, you’d nearly completely forgotten about the morbidity of it all until the vampire, eyes crazed even more, gazed down at your fleshy thighs. Her lips twitched in a smirk before she dove down and bit right into the inside of your thigh.

Reacting with a shriek and kicking your legs, you could feel her bite this time was much more painful and aggressive. She was not just biting you, she was sucking your blood.

“Stop!” you exclaimed, trying to kick at the vampire that seemed to be made of steel. “Stop! Stop! Stop!”

She did stop. She pulled away sharply, face bloodier than ever, and lunged upwards. In a flash faster than you could realize, she grabbed your jaw and snapped your head to the side, digging her face down into the crook of your neck and sinking her teeth into your throat. The weight and strength of her body naturally held you down against the bed as she devoured you now in a more real way. You could feel your blood draining from your veins, leaving them cold. You could feel your head get lighter and lighter, your arms and legs feeling more and more numb until finally you went limp in her arms like a lamb. Vision blurring, you were moments away from death when finally the monster pulled herself away from you with a heavy sigh.

The redheaded woman had to stand up out of the bed to restrain herself. Your blood streaked darkly down her chin, staining the white lace of her chestpiece which she clawed at to give her throat room to breathe. You were a pathetic thing now, covered in your own blood at your breast and thighs, laying limply on the bed, eyes rolling as you tried to jolt yourself awake.

“My dear, I believe I’ve found heaven in you,” she whispered, recovering herself as she approached you again. You were half-conscious as she easily picked you up in her arms, holding you bridal style. Your head and arm hung down limply, the both of you blood-streaked and throbbing with different sorts of feelings that were somehow mutual. She carried you to the end of the bed where, at the floor, was the wooden coffin with the lid open. Gently, she laid you down into the soft red velvet of the wooden coffin.

She was about to stand up before you weakly grabbed at her collar. She paused, something glistening in her eyes as she stared down at you with a sewed brow.

“I don’t want to die,” you coarsely whispered. Most people wouldn’t have been able to hear you but, either because of the kind of monster she was or because your blood was running through her body, she understood exactly what you said.

“Don’t worry, my lamb,” she said with a crimson grin. “I wouldn’t let a treat like you go to waste. I’m going to keep you, pet. You’ll sustain me for as long as your body can take it. For now, you must sleep and rest, for my satisfaction is brief, and my thirst comes in quite short intervals.” She paused and stood up, letting your hand fall away from her collar. “Sleep well, little lamb.”

She closed the lid on your bleeding body, leaving you locked in the dark coffin.

[themidnightcrimson]

all hallow's eve ࿏ wm

summary: in which a bleeding woman shows up to your house asking for more than just help.

words: 8.0k

warnings: blood, dubcon/noncon, fingering, knifeplay, knifefucking, murder, death, horror, gore, top!wanda, fem!reader

this is a dark!fic for 18+ only. minors dni. read with discretion.

There were already chips in the paint of her fingernails which she had painted a thick coat of black only the night before. Wanda liked using her hands—it was a cathartic thing. It only meant she couldn’t keep nail polish on for very long.

In her quiet kitchen, the gentle tink of a spoon again her black porcelain mug could be heard as she gingerly stirred her coffee, watching the cloudy white swirls of creamer fade into the black of her dark roast and turn walnut. She only liked a little bit of creamer. She enjoyed coffee for its depth and dark. Bits of brown splashed around the inner rim of the black mug as she tapped the spoon clean of remnants before gently setting it down in the sink.

Wanda kept a clean house, but her kitchen she kept clean most of all. She was not trained, but she considered herself something of a chef. She enjoyed carnivorous recipes most of all, beefy red ribeyes and delicately roasted chickens. Her kitchen was her wizard lair where she worked to perfect the most complex of dishes, so she kept it meticulously tidy. The clean black marble counters covered lower cabinets filled with pots and pans stacked neatly and drawers shockingly organized with tools and utensils no matter their irregular shape. She made everything fit perfectly because she was a little neurotic about her tools.

Now the kitchen filled with the lusty dark scent of coffee that she sensually inhaled through her nostrils as her ringed fingers clinked against her porcelain mug. The expensive, shiny coffee machine still clicked and steamed from the fresh batch, and it glimmered almost as much as the array of large knives that were set out neatly on the counter beside it. Wanda had also invested in nice lights for her kitchen, because she liked to take pictures of her dishes when she made them. The studioesque lights glared off the silver blades, some freshly sharpened, some awaiting the fate of the honing rod laying discarded next to the line of knives. Sharp knives were also one of the most important tools of a chef.

Wanda maintained the dark minimalist aesthetic of black and white throughout her upscale apartment. Her annual endeavors usually left her with enough cash to get through the year with lavish, hence the nice apartment. Draining a few bank accounts always amounted to more than expected. If she was saving up for something big she would target a nicer area of town.

Through her French windows was the view of the city framed by the bright orange leaves of the autumn tree outside. She had bought a few small baby pumpkins of different colors and shapes and set them along the windowsill. This time of year was always bittersweet. There was always that simmering sensation rising within her that starts near the end of July, when the dead summer heat goes quiet and still with the promise of no new births of nature, only the aging and deadening that future autumn will bring.

Maybe it was the quiet, or maybe it was just her pituitary gland recognizing when it was time for her to awaken, but it always starts at the same time of each year. It was even earlier this year, though. She could feel the first little scritch when the fireworks went off above all the skyscrapers outside her window. It was like the giant booms and bangs shook the thing inside her awake. Now at this point, late in October, it had turned into a ravenous clawing inside her head. She imagined the innards of her skull like a wooden wall caging a wild animal—scarred with desperate scratches to be released. The clawing reminded her of a beast begging to be slaughtered as it is once a year, so that it may enjoy peace and quiet until it starts to conceive itself again like a rebirthing flower.

It gets so hard to manage this late in the season. Usually, she is the most calm and collected person she knows. People compliment her on her otherworldly levelheadedness which they don’t realize is just a lack of emotion. But in September she gets antsy, and in October she is wholly consumed with restlessness and need, constantly zoned out like a lion on the hunt, eyes laser focused for the bright stripes of a zebra amidst the tall African flora, jaw hung wide open, teeth buzzing with anticipation for the first tear of live flesh, ears constantly rounding its skull in search for the sound of food.

Even now, thinking about it as she stared out the window, she let her coffee go cold in her hand. Coming to, she cursed herself and put the mug in the microwave and turned it on. When warmed, she took the mug through her apartment and to her office, settling down in her chair. Her desk was probably the only thing about her apartment that could be considered messy, only because her planning was extensive and elaborate. It had to be for her to have gotten away with it for this many years. Her Octobers were spent stuck at her messy desk which, by the afternoon sun, becomes littered with empty coffee cups.

There were many papers scattered on her desks about many different things. Locations, demographics, news reports, police stations, everything there could be to know about a city. Underneath a stack of papers was another small stack stapled together. “Diagnosis Report.” She had thrown it on her desk carelessly when she took it home from the doctor, miffed that he was only telling her what she’d already known for a long time. “Controlled psychopathy.”

On the other corner of her desk was the most recent news report. “HALLOWEEN KILLER SET TO STRIKE AGAIN.” She’d been waiting for this for years now. She was surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

That was why her planning was deeper this year. Too many patterns in the same city. She needed to branch out, to change it up. She couldn’t complete her mission with cops stationed at every block. They’d even started tracking reports in the outer suburbs. She had to go farther this year.

She rolled out a wide roll of paper over the entire desk: a map of the entire city and its outer areas. Usually, the red circles were drawn on the yellowish vague blocks printed on the map to convey where urban areas were, more concrete and road. This year, her red marker circled farther to the side, almost to the very edge of the paper, where the paper turned green with curly printed lines to signify forested areas.

Wanda ran a shaky hand through her red hair, tugging harshly on the locks. She felt like a mad poet, a tortured artist. It was riskier this year. She wasn’t as familiar with woods as she was with the city.

Letting out a deep sigh, Wanda rolled out of the desk and went over to the little couch against the wall of her office, plopping down with another huff, chewing on all the thoughts in her head that were becoming harder to manage with all the fucking clawing. Lower population out in the woods could mean fewer fish brought home. But it also meant lower income levels than that in the richest parts of the city. Then again, she did pretty good last year and didn’t really need to worry about money this year. If money wasn’t a bias, then it usually would be beauty and females. That was why all the reports were either rich old men or beautiful young women, which made it hard for them to find a pattern. Of course, with women it would take more tactic to get everything she would want out of them besides the main point. The main point would be easy, but the seduction would take more artiste.

Turning her head over her shoulder, she eyed the brand new pair of expensive hiking boots that sat in the corner of the office, the laces recently untightened to let the new leather relax. They were industrial, tactical, ready to climb a mountain. It was the pair of shoes that even the most experienced hikers longed for.

She’d never been hiking a day in her life.

࿏

You’re alone this year.

Sticky green icing melted on your fingers as you picked up the bag of black icing again, piping out little pupils on the Frankenstein cookie you were decorating. Your Halloween playlist played at medium volume through your tiny kitchen as you piped Frankenstein’s black hair on top of his head. Once you had perfected him, even with his messy bangs and uneven mouth, you picked up the sugar cookie and placed it next to other decorated ones which included pumpkins, ghosts, bats, and even graphically disfigured vampires. A delicious aroma in the air emanated from the dish of tomatoes, garlic, onion, and spices roasting in the oven, and on the rack below that, a loaf of bread baking to completion.

“Jeez,” you murmured as you looked at the cookie in front of you that was supposed to be a black cat. One eye was twice the size of the other and its ears were more like Panda ears. You were going for cute, but horrific matched the theme anyways.

It was a cozy Halloween night in your little cabin. Orange pumpkin string lights were hanging from the ceiling, your little space cluttered with your accumulation of Halloween decorations that you just couldn’t stop buying each year. This was another great thing about living so far out in the woods—you could enjoy holidays by yourself without having to worry about catering to bratty little kids asking for candy, or your house getting egged for deciding not to. You had nothing against enjoying the festivities of your favorite holiday, but you were happy you could do it alone without interruption.

Wiping your stained hands free of icing because you had licked so much that you couldn’t take anymore, you slipped on your pumpkin-shaped oven mitts and took the dish out of the oven, feeling warmth on your face as the oil and tomato sizzled in the hot dish. Your kitchen was tiny, but it was cozy, and you could make all your favorite foods in it, so it was perfectly fine to you. And your cabin was small—so small that the kitchen and the living room were basically one room, and you could see the TV in front of the couch from where you stood at the oven. As you very carefully spooned all the tomatoes and garlic and onion out of the dish and into a large red pot that was older than you, you could hear the TV clearly.

Out in the woods, you did not have very good service. The satellite sitting on your roof let you have very few channels, one of them being the local news channel. It was time for the evening news as you heard the familiar theme sound, trying to not let tomato splatter on your Halloween apron that was white donned with black spiderwebbing.

The news channel picked up news from the city, which was a good 30 miles away but the nearest civilization. You halfway listened as they spoke about local events like the highway construction that was branching the city out even farther into the woods, a special on the best places to go trick or treating which was just all the rich neighborhoods, and then they came to the recent crime segment, starting off with one that was the city’s primary worry that night.

“Year after year, our city is faced with crime on this Halloween night that makes celebrating harder each year. For nearly a decade now, the city has experienced killing sprees that happen every October 31st from what locals call the Halloween Killer.”

You opened up your cabinets and waded through the messy piles of pots and pans and tools until you found your old beat-up food processor. The loud clanging muffled the news report that you were listening to with distracted but piqued interest until you found the processor.

“…Police have been unable to find patterns in the killer’s targeted victims or locations, but this famed killer does strike seemingly randomized neighborhoods each year, though they have mostly only targeted areas with higher income levels. Thanks to local funding, police have been able to set up neighborhood watches all throughout the city, even setting up a police line around the border to keep watch of any suspicious activity. Any sightings of criminal or suspicious activity should be reported to your nearest station immediately. For those living outside city limits, please be on high alert, as police think that the killer may start seeking out further areas to evade the local watches. Your local news station sends a huge thanks to our police as they fight to keep our city safe and to track down this Halloween Killer. Please, everyone be safe out there tonight as you enjoy All Hallow’s Eve.” You glanced momentarily to the TV and saw the wide shiny grin of the blonde newscaster that did not match her grim tone as she swiftly moved on to a segment about Halloween party decorations.

At first, the segment about the Halloween Killer started to pass right through your brain, until your brain caught it, and a small seed of paranoia plummeted into the pit of your stomach. You fiddled with your food processor as you thought about the segment.

When you lived in the city, people always talked about the Halloween Killer. At some point, people started to make up their own ideas of what the killer looked like, creating different masks that seemed to change each year. Most of them just settled on a rip-off of Michael Meyers. You always ignored it, until one year the killer struck right near where you lived. That was only a small impetus of why you fled the city searching for a more peaceful life out in nature, but it certainly was a reason thrown in with all the other rising crime rates in the city. It was becoming like Gotham out there, and you wanted no part of it. Hence your cozy cabin life out in the forest.

Still, it made you nervous. You were a young girl all alone. You didn’t have neighbors. If you screamed, it would be to the mercy of squirrels and foxes. And to be fair, though you lived in a forested area and got lucky to live on a plot of land with no other houses, you didn’t live that far from the city. If you climbed the nearby hill all the way to the top, you could see the skyline good enough to track the movement of cars on the city highway. If the killer was trying to escape city limits, all they would have to do was choose East, and they’d be right in your lap.

A shiver ran through you, and you gave a breathy laugh. You’d been watching too many scary movies that Halloween season. It was making you paranoid. This was why each year you chose ParaNorman over Pet Sematary. You were too paranoid of a person.

Though you took your fretfulness with humor, it gnawed away at you. Wiping your hands on the towel on the oven door, you went over to your front door and opened it.

The air was cold that night. Fall had been teasing and tantalizing all month, but it seemed to rush in all at once that Halloween night. That was another thing you liked about living out here—it wasn’t a concrete jungle that trapped in all the heat like the city did. It was cooler out here and less humid. It was just easier to breathe.

You looked up at the dark, shadowy pines that rose so much higher than your squat little house. Their needles rustled in the gentle breeze. It was so dark, nothing like the ever-present source of light in the city. Beyond where your measly front porch light and the flickering glow of jack-o-lanterns on your porch steps touched, it was pitch black. You could hear the whistle of crickets, the belches of frogs all around.

Twigs snapping.

Fear roared up in you at once, but you quickly settled yourself. Twigs snap all the time out here in the forest given that there are twigs littering the whole ground. A pinecone falling, or a bird landing, or a squirrel sitting—it all could snap a twig. You were scaring yourself.

Nonetheless, you pulled yourself inside, closed the door, lock it, turned off the porch light, and closed all your blinds and curtains. Even though you didn’t believe yourself to be at risk, it would be silly to ruin your own night by making yourself scared at the possibility of seeing a face at the window.

You slapped a piece of the bread on the buttered hot pan, deeply enjoying the loud immediate sizzle it made. You followed up with a slice of cheese and another piece of bread, and then flipped the grilled cheese, salivating at the perfect shade of brown the bread turned into.

You ladeled your tomato bisque into a bowl and topped it with some shreds of cheese and one singular basil leaf just to be extra. Bringing your soup and grilled cheese into the living room, you finally settled down on the couch with a sigh, setting your food down on the coffee table before searching for the perfect cutesy Halloween movie to watch. You settled on ParaNorman since you’d been thinking about it.

All traces of the news report had left your mind as you burned your mouth on the soup and did the most immaculate cheese pull with your grilled cheese. You didn’t even think twice when you heard a creaking noise on the front porch.

When you heard it again, you surprised yourself by remaining calm. It was a breezy night. This was an old cabin, and that wooden porch was squeaky. A gush of wind is bound to move the wooden panels enough for it to squeak.

Squeak. It seemed closer now.

You still weren’t worried, but just out of habit, you turned your head and looked back at the front door in the kitchen.

You didn’t really see it at first. Or didn’t recognize what it looked like, at least.

A dark shadow through the sheer curtains over the window of the front door. The perfect shadow for a head and shoulders.

Fear broiled deep in your gut, but you warred with yourself yet again. It was definitely just the way that the moon filtered through all the shapes of the forest trees and landed across the window of your door. That was all it was. You were just being paranoid—the shadow wasn’t even moving.

You’d managed to fully convince yourself and was just about to turn your head back around when there was a knock at the door.

Adrenaline shot through your body so hard that your bowl of tomato soup slipped right out of your immediately sweaty palms, landing with a heartbreaking splash across your shirt.

“Fuck!” you yelled as the hot soup instantly soaked through your shirt and gently burned the skin of your stomach. What was worse about how hot it was, was how sad you were at losing your tomato soup.

The knock came again, much more hurried this time.

“Hello!?” a woman’s voice came from the other side of the door, and the sound of a person’s voice deepened your panic even more. No one had ever been out here except the few friends and family you had invited over a handful of times. No one lived near here. Your dirt road stretched on for three miles before it touched the highway. The dirt road only led to your house, nothing else. It was your own personal driveway. There was no reason for someone to be out here unless beckoned.

And you were all alone. There was no one to glance at with panicked eyes and telepathically ask who the fuck is at the front door. It was just you and your tomato soup-soaked shirt.

“Help!” the voice cried, pounding on the door harder this time, so hard that your windows shook in their panes. “Help me! Please!”

“What the fuck?” you whispered, your breathing picking up as you started to really freak out. Not only was there someone randomly at your door this late at night, but they were apparently in distress? Or at least pretending to be.

“Please! Somebody help me! Please!” the woman screamed outside, and she slammed so hard on the door that it sounded like she was throwing her whole body against it. You could even see the door bulge from the wall, almost like she was trying to break it down.

Rule number one of living out alone in a cabin deep in the forest was to never, ever open your door to strangers. You were way too vulnerable for that. You knew that, and so your instinct was to hide and possibly call the police if she didn’t give up. It could easily be a trick.

Then again, she was screaming for help. She herself was out here potentially alone in the woods, if this was real. What if you later learned that this girl needed help and couldn’t find it from the single house she managed to stumble across?

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you whispered, tugging at your hair as you ducked across the room, hiding behind your little kitchen island. If you made yourself seen, there was no way you could get out of it or even pretend to not be home. “Please open the door!” she screamed with such desperation that her voice croaked, and you heard little sobs follow. “Please just open it! I need help! Please!”

Something about the desperation in her voice panged you deeply in the gut, and for some reason you felt like it wasn’t a trick. Nonetheless, you knew it was bad, whatever it was. She could be running from someone or something and leading them right into your house. The best outcome of this whole thing would be a cruel Halloween prank.

“Please!” she screamed, slamming herself against your front door. You heard a horrible clicking noise that sounded an awful lot like your door coming undone from the hinges.

Internally groaning, you grabbed a knife from your knife drawer and held it as realistically as you could in your hand, slowly going towards the shadow at the front door window.

“Please!” she screamed again.

Gritting your teeth, you gathered all your bravery, expecting anything to happen as you touched the doorknob. With a big breath in, you unlocked it and swung it open.

A scream involuntarily escaped your throat at what stood on the other side of that door.

Seeing a person’s face at your door for the first time in basically months was already a shocking thing, but seeing it covered in blood was even more shocking. The woman stood only an inch or two taller than you, her dark red hair stretching down past her shoulders. She wore a long sleeve white shirt, which you could only tell it was white from the sleeves because the entire front of it was soaked with dark red blood. The blood even caked the thighs of her jeans, and it dripped in long, thick lines down her face, with splatters over her cheeks. The worst part was that the blood glistened against the light that came from inside your home. In fact, it dripped—in horrible black splatters on the old wood of your porch. You could see bloody footprints going up the steps.

For a moment, she looked shocked to see you standing there. Had she started to think no one really was home? The shocked look faded as she glanced over you, her lips seeming to struggle to form words.

“Hi—I need h-help,” she said quieter now, very breathlessly. She was trembling—her eyes looked at you with a crazed, weakened look, like she was about to fall on you at any moment. That was when you realized that she must be bleeding—bleeding a fatal amount.

“Oh my God,” you croaked, not knowing what to do. “What—I—Come in,” you hesitated, and then remembered that whatever cut her up this badly could be following her, so you goaded her. “Come on, come in!”

Quickly, she came inside, leading a trail of bloody prints on your precious wooden flooring as you closed the door and locked it shut. You turned around, pressing your back to the door and staring at her as your heart pounded hard in your chest. You noticed that her eyes were focused on your hand at your side—you looked down and remembered that you were holding a large knife in your hand. “Sorry—” you apologized at first, thinking that she was probably just harmed with the same thing you were holding and wasn’t too happy to see another person wielding it, but remembered to keep your guard up. She could be anyone, and anything could have happened to her. Anything could happen next.

“I need to sit down…” she said, clutching her stomach and bending over. Her eyes, you noticed, were a vivid green against the darkness of the drying blood on her face. “I…” The vivid green disappeared, and you realized she had closed her eyes and was starting to sway.

“Oh God, yes, sit down,” you rushed, absentmindedly dropping your knife on the kitchen counter so that you could help her. Trying your best to avoid touching any blood, you barely held her arm and led her to the couch. She sat down heavily, flickering her eyes to look at you, those green orbs landing at your waist.

“Your shirt…” she whispered croakily.

“Oh,” you blurted as you looked at your own shirt that had an orangeish red splash over the front. “Tomato soup,” you blushed, growing sick at the fact that the red splash on her shirt was, in fact, not tomato soup.

You looked around as this strange woman sat bleeding on your couch, her eyes opening and closing. She was probably losing a lot of blood. What were you supposed to do?

“The police,” you blurted, and her eyes opened wider with a flash. “I’ll call the police!”

You went to your landline phone—there was no cell service up here, so you depended on the weak telephone lines for any kind of communication. You typed in 9-1-1 and pressed the phone to your ear—silence. Confused, you dialed again, only to hear more silence. “What the hell?”

“Water.”

“Huh?” you asked, glancing at the woman on your couch.

“Can I please… have water?”

“Oh, yes,” you said, feeling stupid and rude that you hadn’t even tried to physically help the woman bleeding out on your couch. “I’m sorry—Are-are you okay?” you asked as you went to get a glass of water. It felt like an obviously stupid question to ask, but to be fair, you weren’t entirely sure of her injuries nor her situation except that she was bleeding what appeared to be a lot of blood to you.

“I think so,” she said, coughing to clear her throat as you handed her the glass of water.

You ignored the stains of tomato soup on the other seat of your couch as she sipped the water with a shaky, bloody hand.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a phone on you, do you?” you questioned. It was obvious there was something wrong with your phone, which wasn’t that unusual, and even though there was no cell service the last time you checked, you thought any effort might be worth it to get this girl some help.

She shook her head as she gulped the water down.

Sighing, you glanced toward the curtained window and thought of your car out front. You would need to drive her to help, you realized. You figured you could at least find out what the hell was going on first before you loaded her up in the car.

“What happened to you?”

She finished the glass of water and weakly handed it to you, her eyes flashing up at you. Something about it startled you. Maybe it was the visual connection that jarred you into realization of the situation, or maybe it was because you weren’t used to being around people anymore. Either way, you suddenly felt scared with her eyes on you.

“Someone attacked me,” she hoarsely spoke, wiping her mouth of water only to smear blood around her lips. She gritted her teeth, looking around your house for the first time. You suddenly thought of your knife on the counter.

“Attacked you?” you asked, trying to imagine the situation in your mind. “Do you know who?”

“No, just some guy in a mask,” she exclaimed, sounding like she was starting to calm down and gather her wits. You noticed she wasn’t breathless anymore—in fact her chest rose and fell very slowly and calmly. Maybe she was a good self-soother.

“Where?” you questioned.

“What?” she said, looking up at you with sewn brows.

You hesitated. “I mean, where were you attacked?” You looked towards the window again when she hesitated to answer. “It’s just… you must’ve ran at least like, three miles.”

The redheaded woman only stared at you with her vivid green eyes that you now noticed, with a slight chill in your spine, were oddly empty. Like doll eyes. Like a doll skeleton with human skin stretched over it.

You were starting to feel weird as you tried to explain. “The main road is three miles down that driveway out there.” You vaguely pointed. “Unless you came through the woods. So I was just asking where were you attacked?”

Finally, she blinked. “On the road,” she blurted out. “I was… walking to my friend’s house on the road when this car stopped. And he got out and just… attacked me.” She started to shake again as she looked down at the blood all over her.

But you were still and silent. “Your friend’s house?”

Her eyes met yours, and you could see that chilling emptiness again.

You swayed your weight from one foot to another, trying to think out the entire situation before you spoke. “The nearest house in ten miles is abandoned.”

Her red brows sewed together in confusion, and for a moment you saw, through the blood on her face, that she was pretty. You wouldn’t find it strange for someone to target her.

“I’m confused,” she suddenly sobbed, an illegible cry escaping her throat as she covered her face. “I don’t know what happened.”

A flash of guilt shot through you. This girl is here bleeding out, obviously having just been attacked, and you’re questioning her. Sure, her story didn’t make sense, but you knew if you’d been randomly stabbed in the middle of nowhere, you wouldn’t be making much sense either. It’s possible that she was drugged or kidnapped or all of the above. She certainly didn’t look like she was from around here.

“Hey, hey,” you gently said, starting to reach out a hand to touch her shoulder but deciding against it. She was fully crying now. “It’s gonna be okay. I…” You took a deep breath and tried to be a better savior for this poor woman. “Look, I’ll get you some help, okay? We can take my car and take you to the nearest—”

“He’s following me!”

You stopped in the middle of your sentence. “What?”

“We can’t leave. He was following me as I got away from him…” She slowly turned her face to the window. “He could be out there right now…”

That paranoia boiled within you again. On one hand, you thought it would be better to just risk it to get her the help she needs, but you knew that if someone were lurking out there, it would be just you versus him since this woman was in no condition to defend you.

“The Halloween Killer,” she murmured. “I think it was him.”

Dizziness swirled in your head as your brain shot back to the news report. The Halloween Killer… the police guessed that he would be going out of city limits this year… You imagined the killer taking the nearest highway out of town which happened to be the one you lived by… Seeing a girl on the road… Maknig his first victim of the night… Except that he didn’t kill her. There was no way he would let a witness get away. Especially since she probably saw his face and his vehicle.

“Okay,” you breathed, rushing to the nearest lamp and turning it off. “We’ll wait for a while.” You turned off the kitchen light, the string lights, the range light. “We need to be quiet. If we don’t hear anything in… an hour… we can go.”

You walked back over to her, noticing that she was looking at her stomach.

“Can you wait that long?” you gently asked. “It looks like you bled a lot. Are you still bleeding?”

“I don’t know,” she weakly said. “I can’t tell.”

Biting your tongue, you thought for a moment. If you were going to make her wait an hour, the least you could do was clean her up a little. It was important to clean the wound, and if she was still bleeding, it looked like you needed to put pressure on it as soon as possible before she lost too much blood. You were already surprised she was still conscious with all that blood on her.

“I’ll be right back. Stay right here.”

You left for a moment to get the first aid kit, a rag, and a cup of water, and came back to find her in the same spot, her head leaned back on the couch cushion. Carefully, you sat down next to her with the rag in your hand, dipping it into the water. “We’ll clean you up a little so we know the damage,” you said, laughing at your attempt to sound professional and steady-headed.

“Thank you,” she croaked, turning to face you slowly on the couch. It was completely dark in your cabin now except for the little glare of moonlight that came through the curtains. It felt a little too close, sitting in the dark with her on your tiny couch, and it felt even more close when you started to wipe away the blood on her face with your rag.

“You’re welcome,” you said. “I’m sorry I’m not the best person to come running to for help,” you said with a little laugh.

Her lips curled into a smile, and you felt your heart murmur at how pretty she was. As you wiped away the blood on her face, wondering if she had a head injury to account for her confusion and the blood on her face, you saw that she was actually strikingly beautiful. It made you a little hot, sitting there so close to someone who looked like that.

“Okay…” you said when her face was all clean, now looking at the front of her blood-soaked shirt, hesitating. “Um—”

Without speaking, she rolled up the hem of her shirt to show the flat expanse of her abdomen that was blotted with dark blood. Worried that you would freak out at the sight of stab wound, you very carefully and tensely cleaned away the blood on her stomach, rewetting the rag in the bowl of water which was now murky red.

You always hated how ignorant you could be sometimes.

It wasn’t until you had wiped her entire abdomen clean that it dawned on you.

There were no stab wounds. Not a cut or a scratch.

Nothing felt real suddenly. Confused, you looked up at her.

The deeply malicious look on her face jarred you so suddenly you almost slipped off the couch, stumbling to your feet. Your ankle slammed against the coffee table as you backed away.

Her eyes were staring at you evilly, her lip set in a smirk. You suddenly felt small, tiny, helpless, stupid. So stupid!

“Is this the part where they say trick or treat?” the woman asked now in a gruff voice as she slowly stood up, looking suddenly a lot taller than she did at the door. You also noticed now a bulge in the sleeve of her shirt.

Wanda straightened her arm down at her side, letting the long, bloodied knife slide out of her sleeve, catching the long handle when it touched her palm. She held the knife up expertly, the moonlight glinting off of it.

This was one of her best tricks yet. There’d been times where she had to hide in the closet of the home of a victim, or in the backseat of their car, or she’d even had to follow them several blocks down before striking, but she’d never made herself so intimate with someone she was going to kill before, besides the ones that sparked out of intentional sexual encounters. Wanda had always been more of a grab and slash kind of serial killer, looting their belongings afterwards and moving right on to the next one. But this time, this girl… she was lingering.

You were just so pretty. Pretty girls were Wanda’s weakness, especially when they were vulnerable. And my, how you were vulnerable.

“All alone out in these woods,” Wanda whispered as you both just stood staring at each other, her at your face, you at her knife. “You never thought that one day the big bad wolf would come knocking?”

The fear in your eyes was delectable to her. You’d been so easy to trick. You almost caught her about the friend’s house—she’d been so distracted thinking of all the things she was going to do to you that she slipped up. She blanked.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you whispered, raising your hands up like someone who was just caught by the police for vandalism. “I won’t do anything—I—I won’t tell anyone.”

“I’d hope not,” Wanda interrupted you. “If my plans go accordingly, which they will, which they always do, you will be in no state to do anything or speak to anyone. Ever.” Wanda grinned, chuckling at the way your fingers shook in the moonlight.

The Halloween Killer. You cursed yourself. You also cursed your luck. What were the chances the killer would decide to find you that night?

You realized then that the blood on her shirt was not hers. It was whoever else she had just murdered before coming to you. You were just another life to tick off her quota.

You thought of your knife on the counter. The woman stared at you with a cold, dead look, coupled with the look of enjoyment. She was enjoying this.

You hesitated for a moment before deciding that taking your chances was better than having no chance at all. You jumped over to the kitchen, reached over the counter, and had your fingers on the handle when you felt her warm body slam you against the counter, her hand reaching easily over you and slapping the knife away.

“No!” you involuntarily cried out as you watched the knife slide off the counter and drop to the other side of the floor.

“Bad girl,” Wanda grunted, and you felt the woman’s hands grab your hips. She pressed you harder into the counter, her hips flush against your bottom, grabbing a fistful of your hair and slamming your face down on the hard, cold counter.

“Ah!” you cried as your head slammed into the rock-hard surface, dizzying you. She had you completely bent over the counter, pressing herself into you and holding your head down on the counter with blinding pressure.

“I won’t lie that I like the challenge of putting up a fight,” she whispered, resting her fist that held the knife against the small of your back. “But I’d rather you make it easy for both of us.”

“Get away from me!” you screamed, feeling your cheeks go red hot as your animalistic instincts to survive kicked in.

“Shhhh sh sh,” the woman shushed right into your ear, making you jump at how close she was now, her body laid over on top of yours, her lips pressing right into the soft skin of your ear. “Hush, baby,” she cooed, and the sound made the entire side of your face burn hot. “I’m not going to really hurt you. I’m not that much of a sadist.”

Suddenly, you could feel something really cold on the back of your thigh. The tip of her knife pressed softly into the tender flesh of the back of your thigh, dragging slowly upwards. It caught the hem of your skirt, dragging it upwards and exposing you.

You whined and squirmed, to which she pressed herself harder down on you. The edge of the counter was pressing into your tummy so hard you could barely breathe.

“Now, stop moving, you’ll hurt yourself,” she husked against the space behind your ear, and you shivered at the way your body reacted. You were trembling under her, helpless and confused as the tip of her knife pressed harder into your thigh.

You let out a long cry when she let the knife slice your soft skin, engraving a slash right below your butt cheek.

“Oopsie,” she murmured as she breathed heavily into your ear, her fingers dragging your blood around the back of your thigh. “Sorry about that, you’re just the prettiest one I’ve ever had.” You could feel her smirk against your ear. “I hated how I had to branch out this Halloween, but if I get you, it’s all worth it. I can go right on home—stop moving!”

She grabbed your hip tightly, and your body reacted in the worst way possible. You arched for her, exposing your rear end to her hips even more.

“That’s it,” she said with an air of shock that made you hate yourself. “See? I don’t mind you enjoying it—in fact I want you to.”

Her hand suddenly came down hard on your ass, making you squeak and jump. Your body was hot all over, throbbing against the coolness of the counter, your mind a complete mess.

“Let’s see you,” Wanda said, lifting your skirt fully over your ass to expose it in the moonlight. You felt her finger grab the back strap of your panties and tug them down. Your face grew hot in embarrassment as even you could feel how wet you were. This strange murderer had untapped something inside you that was making you spiral against that counter.

“I knew you were perfect,” she whispered as her fingers touched you, making you jump and whine, swimming in your soaking folds. She laughed against your upper back, her hand roaming over your ass and squeezing it before going back to your pussy, slowly pressing a finger in. You could feel both the blood from the cut and the wetness from your core dripping down your thighs.

Wanda grunted, feeling lost in you. In your fear, your body under hers, the control. This was the best kill she had, and she hadn’t even killed you yet.

“Such a tight little thing, I almost want to keep you.” She pulled out her finger, and you hated yourself for feeling empty because of it. Then you felt something foreign and hard against your entrance, panicking as it pushed into you. She harshly grabbed your hair and slammed your head down again, and that was enough to weaken you.

Your insides throbbed and tingled as she pushed the handle of her knife slowly inside you, grunting at the way you stretched around it. It was a nice knife, thick blade. “You’re taking it so well.”

You squirmed helplessly on the counter, starting to sweat as the woman pushed the knife handle deeper inside you. You could feel it pushing against your cervix, and your legs trembled.

“It’s okay to feel good, you dirty little thing,” Wanda whispered, both a praise and a degradation that made you whimper. You were wordless, mindless, under this killer’s hands and body, and the last part of you that remained subconscious wondered what would’ve happened if you never opened the door.

She pulled the handle almost all the way out before slamming it inside you again. You feared feeling the blade, but you didn’t. She pumped the handle inside you over and over again, soft at first before that clawing inside of her head got the better of her.

“Good girl,” she breathed against the back of your neck, biting into it as she slammed her knife inside you. “That’s it. Stay still.”

You heard a zipper unzip, and the sound of denim shifting, before you felt the warmth of her core pressing into your left cheek. Grabbing the back of your neck with one hand, the other ramming the handle of her knife into your pussy repeatedly, Wanda grinded her clit against your ass, shoving you against the counter over and over again. She was so helpless, so overwhelmed with both intensifying hunger and relief that she just needed to get off. Her cum smeared over the hill of your ass as she rutted herself against it, listening to the wonderful squeaks and whines you made.

“Fuck,” Wanda whispered as she got close, watching the cum-soaked handle of her knife fuck harder into you as she got closer. “Mmmm,” she grunted animalistically as she felt the edge near her.

You clawed helplessly at the counter, your walls spasming around the ribbed handle until finally you couldn’t take it anymore, your hot face pressing hard into the cold, sweaty counter as you came around the handle of her knife. She rutted harder into you as you heard her vague sounds of orgasm, the tip of her knife accidentally making shallow stabs in your inner thighs as she lost control of how she angled the knife.

“Oh fuck,” Wanda breathed as she slowed down, and you were lost under her, your brain far gone and body farther, trembling, thighs bloodied. Wanda hadn’t even noticed that she ripped so hard into the back of your neck that it was bleeding.

Controlled psychopathy. Load of shit.

Pulling out of you, Wanda pulled away and turned your limp body over, looking at your reddened, tear-streaked face. You were such a pretty little thing. A diamond hidden out in the forest. It was a shame she’d stumbled across you that night. If it had been any other night, she would’ve kept you—courted you, even. She could tell you’d make such a good girlfriend to her.

“Well,” Wanda whispered, gently stroking your sweat-soaked hair out of your face. “That was great. I really enjoyed that,” she said softly, almost like a person with real emotions, and for a moment she had almost felt like one.

Controlled psychopathy.

“But I’m afraid I’m going to enjoy this even more.”

The last thing you saw was the flash of her blade as it came down on you.

[themidnightcrimson]

3 fics… 3 nights of terror…

all hallow’s eve (10/25/24)

nosferatu (10/28/24)

malevolent (10/31/24)

beware … you’re in for a scare …

[themidnightcrimson]

happy halloween spooky goblins 🎃

it all ends at 6pm cst tonight with malevolent. have your bibles and crosses on hand.

[themidnightcrimson]

CRIMSONWEEN 2024 GRAPHICS

dates teasers

fic headers

newspaper teaser

television teaser

latin spell teaser

title teasers

masterlist header

thank you all for reading. see you next halloween (or maybe sooner)

[themidnightcrimson]

The Woods. | w. maximoff

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.

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.

[themidnightcrimson]

Halloween. | w. maximoff

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.

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.

[themidnightcrimson]

the human psyche—two. | w. maximoff

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.

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.

[themidnightcrimson]

Autumn Love. | e. olsen

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.

[themidnightcrimson]

Ghost. | w. maximoff

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.

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.”

[themidnightcrimson]

the human psyche—one. | w. maximoff

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.

"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.

[themidnightcrimson]

the human psyche—three. | w. maximoff

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.

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."

[themidnightcrimson]

The Human Psyche. | w. maximoff series

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.

[themidnightcrimson]

Crimsonween

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+

[themidnightcrimson]

officially rebranding Crimstober as CrimsonWeen because my Autumn/Halloween inspired fics will start in late September