Vincente Capobianchi | LE HÉRON FAMILIER , 1877
Jacques Clement Wagrez | Promenade médievale , 1899
Aimée Brune-Pagès | Young Lady with her Maid, 1853
Eugen von Blaas | Day dreamers , 1887
Anthony van Dyck | William II, Prince of Orange, and his Bride, Mary Stuart, 1641
kissing gently and shyly on the couch because we said we would take it slow. slowly beginning to open our mouths more, tongues gliding across each other. sighing softly into your mouth. i finally bite your lip. just gently but it’s enough to kick things up a notch. the gentle hands resting softly on each others shoulders and backs beginning to roam and explore. we begin gasping into each others mouths as the shyness fully disappears and you grab my breast and i tug at your hair.
you pull me onto your lap, straddling you, as your lips leave mine for the first time and begin trailing across my jaw and down my neck. my nails scratching lightly on your shoulder and on your scalp. as we continue to to pant and grab and kiss i suddenly blush as i feel you begin to get hard against me. we make eye contact for a moment before i slowly roll my hips, grinding against you. we both let out soft moans and after that any plans to take it slow are forgotten.
I have no honeyed words to speak. It is fierce out there, but you are fiercer.
Bly belongs to you, and they will try to take it from you as they did me. But I will not let them.
summary: in which wanda has been missing for months, and the last place you expected to find her was behind a ghost mask with a knife in her hand.
words: 7.7K
warnings: ghostface!wanda, top!wanda, fem!reader, blood kink, knifeplay, dubcon/noncon, cumstrap (r receiving), horror and fear, lots of blood, some more blood too, also there is blood
this post is a dark!fic and is for 18+ only. minors dni.
masterlist.
Steve passed behind the couch and handed a bottle of beer over your head. “Thanks, Rogers,” you said as you took the chilled bottle, handing it to Natasha who sat beside you on the couch for her to open it for you.
You watched as Nat reached into the pocket of her leather jacket and took out her switchblade, flicking the lever so that the dainty but incredibly sharp knife popped up in front of her face. The light from the movie playing on the television in the dark room reflected off the spotless blade. She smirked a little, always proud to show off her knife skills, as she took your beer bottle and used the knife to pop the cap, cold smoke hissing from the bottle’s rim. She handed it back to you and tossed the cap onto the pile of beer caps sitting on the coffee table in front of you. The three of you had really blown through several cold ones that night.
You, Steve, and Natasha had recently started having weekly Friday movie nights. Each Friday, you got together in Natasha’s homely little apartment and ate pizza and drank beer while watching a scary movie of your choice. Naturally, Natasha chose the Texas Chainsaw Massacre the first night, and the next week, Steve chose the original black and white Frankenstein movie which he said was scary enough for him. This week it was your turn to choose, and you had chosen The Conjuring.
Steve winced from behind his beer bottle as the movie played. He looked funny, a large muscular man, cuddling up on the old blue recliner and struggling to hold his stomach down as the movie played. Natasha watched it with wide eyes that didn’t blink and an amused smirk on her lips. You were somewhere in the middle, not as easily bothered as Steve but not coldhearted sociopath like Nat. Still, when something did get to you, you always grabbed Nat’s arm and hid your face in her hair.
Things had been different the last few months. Before, there would be two more people in your party—Wanda and Vision. They were soulmates in the form of best friends, although everyone knew Vision had a crush on Wanda. Although she found him annoying, he was a doting friend whom she cared a lot about—you all cared a lot about.
Two months ago, Vision was driving when his car was struck by a large truck losing control. He died twice—once on the road, his bloodied bodied having flung through the windshield and onto the concrete where his head cracked. The paramedics were able to revive his pulse and take him to the hospital. In the middle of an emergency surgery that was supposed to save his life, his pulse stopped and did not come back.
The worst part was that Wanda was there the whole time—in the car with him before the wreck, crouched over his body as the paramedics resuscitated him, holding his hand in the screeching ambulance, and outside the room when the doctors pronounced him dead again. Vision had died twice—and Wanda watched each time.
It was Vision’s dying wish to have his body dedicated to science, so there was no burial. When Wanda completely disappeared, there was not even a funeral held. No one had seen or heard from her since Vision died, and you remembered that every time you saw your friends. Her absence was unignorable.
When the movie was finally over, Steve insisted that you watch something lighter so that he could feel better before going home. Natasha laughed as he put Bluey on.
“God, I feel drunk,” you groaned as you laid your head back against Nat’s sofa and cast your legs across her lap. “We drink too much.”
“You drink too much, bunny,” Nat remarked as she opened another beer for herself. “You’ve gotta remember you’re still a lightweight.”
“Have some water,” Steve said, grabbing a water bottle from the table and tossing it to you. The water felt refreshing on your tongue as you chugged half of it in one go.
“Woah there, everything you just drank is gonna come right back up,” Nat laughed, gently taking the water bottle away from your mouth as you swallowed the last bit and wiped the stray drops from your mouth.
Feeling antsy from the movie, Steve opened his phone and checked his messages. You watched as his eyebrows sewed together, his eyes widening. “Guys.”
“What?” Nat sighed, casually casting an arm over your shoulder as she stared mindlessly at the TV.
“Sam just sent me this article,” Steve said, turning the phone so that you and Nat could see the screen. “Apparently, we got a killer on the loose.”
Natasha leaned forward with concern, reaching over you to grab Steve’s phone so she could read it. You peered over her shoulder and saw that the article said there have been multiple fatal stabbings across the city in the past week all linked to one unidentified suspect. Out of abundance of caution, the police department was issuing a citywide curfew starting at 11 p.m. and warned citizens to be on the lookout for a tall, cloaked individual wearing a white ghost mask.
“Ghost mask,” Natasha remarked as her eyes read over the words at the same time as yours. “Jesus Christ.” She handed Steve’s phone back to him.
Steve sighed and read over the article again. “What has the world come to?”
Your face was set in an expression of concern as you thought over the circumstance, and then you remembered that the city has issued a curfew. Grabbing Nat’s wrist, you turned it and looked at the time on her watch. “It’s 10:50. The curfew starts a 11.”
“Shit,” Steve groaned in realization, looking at his watch, too.
“You guys can just stay here tonight,” Nat offered, sitting up with urgency.
“Nah, Nat. I have to train early in the morning,” Steve said, pushing his phone into his pocket and downing the last of his beer before slamming it down on the coffee table. “And after that movie, I’m barely gonna get enough sleep tonight as it is.”
“I bet I could make it home before 11 if I leave now,” you said, standing up to your feet.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Nat said as she sprung to her feet with you. You looked at her questioningly, and she tilted her head and hesitated. “If there really is a killer on the loose, you shouldn’t be walking home alone at night, curfew or not.”
“I need to get home to feed my neighbor’s cat,” you argued. Nat’s eyebrows raised, and you sighed and explained, “She went on vacation for a week, and I’m supposed to feed the cat every night. It’s already so late—the kitty’s probably starving by now.”
“Then let me walk you home.”
You tilted your head like hers. “Then you would be the one walking home alone, silly.”
“I’ll get her home,” Steve announced as he slipped his brown jacket on. “Her apartment is on the way to mine.” Nat stared at him, not very convinced. “It will be fine, Nat. But if she’s going to leave, we need to do it now.”
Throwing her head back in frustration, Nat gave in. “Fine. But you better use yourself as a human shield if a guy in a ghost mask jumps out of an alley at you.”
Steve crouched and leveled his fists in front of his face, punching the air in front of him. You and Nat just stared blankly at him as he straightened and smiled sheepishly.
“Aren’t you the one who just nearly pissed your underwear from a scary movie?” said Nat.
“That’s demons!” he argued. “I’m a total boss in real life.”
“Don’t ever say total boss again,” Nat grumbled as she picked up your jacket from over the couch and slipped it over your arms gently. Nat was always extra caring and protective over you. Whether it was a best friend thing, a sister thing, or something more, she always did everything possible to make you feel safe and taken care of, especially after Wanda disappeared. She knew how close the two of you were and how much it affected you when she up and left.
Natasha walked the two of you to her front door, Steve leaving first and you following after. Before you passed through the door, you stopped, turning to Natasha who stood close to you.
You hesitated. You had asked everyone you knew this question a million times, almost every other day. You felt annoying and absurd, but you just couldn’t help the constant gnawing feeling inside you that was driving you crazy. But you knew Nat would never judge you.
Natasha read the concern on your face, crinkling her brow and leaning closer to you. Looking up at her, your lips opened a few times before you whispered, “Have you heard from Wanda?”
She must have assumed that was what you were going to ask, because her lips pressed into a straight line and her eyebrow softened. “No, I haven’t bunny,” her raspy voice assured you.
Disappointed, you sighed and looked at the ground. Nat’s hand met your shoulder, her warm palm rubbing it comfortingly.
“She just needs some time.”
“It’s been two months, Nat.”
“Everyone grieves differently, bunny,” she told you as she had told you a million times before, after each time you had asked her. “She’s grieving Vision, and you’re grieving her. Just as you want her to move on, you need to move on, too.” Hearing someone tell you to just move on was never the best advice, but with the way Nat was holding your shoulder and the gentleness laced in her voice, as if she was afraid that talking too loudly might break you, you found it assuring.
“Okay,” you whispered. She gave you a look questioning if you were okay, to which you answered with a slow nod and a soft smile.
“10:52!” Steve called from down the apartment hallway.
Nat quickly leaned forward and kissed the top of your head. “Be safe, bunny.”
“You, too.” You patted her arm and turned away, catching up to Steve who led you down the stairs.
Everyone had taken the curfew seriously, because the streets were nearly empty as Steve walked you home. He talked about all the training he had to do in the morning, to which you disinterestedly listened because it comforted you from the dark, quiet streets. Once you finally made it home, Steve hugged you goodbye and left to go to his apartment just a couple blocks over.
First, you took out the key your neighbor had given you and went into her apartment, being met with her orange and white cat who was already meowing at the door when you walked in.
“Hi, kitty,” you cooed, leaning down to rub the cat’s back as he pushed his forehead against your shin, his tail curling around your calf. “I’m sorry kitty, I know you’re so hungry.”
You got the food out from the cabinet where your neighbor kept it and poured it into the cat’s bowl, watching him instantly settle down into proper loaf position to hungrily eat.
“I’ll be earlier tomorrow,” you promised him, giving him a few more pets before you watered your neighbor’s succulents and then left, making sure the door was locked behind you. A door down, you entered your own apartment, sighing and letting your back lean against the cool door for a moment.
Coming back home alone was always depressing. You didn’t understand. You had lived alone for years because you liked it that way—you liked having your own space, your own things, your own comfort zone to relax in. The past two months, the emptiness was deafening.
“Maybe I should invest in a cat,” you murmured to yourself as you slid your jacket off and hung it on the coatrack.
After taking a shower, you still felt a little too tipsy to sleep. Plus, as braver you were than Steve, the movie did have you feeling a little on edge. So instead of going to bed like you normally would, you dragged your favorite fuzzy blanket from your bed to the couch and turned on Bluey, starting where you left off at Nat’s. You also got a bowl of Lucky Charms both for comfort and because you needed your stomach to settle from all the pizza grease and alcohol.
Five minutes into Bluey and stuffing your face, you felt your phone ringing from the table beside the couch. Crunching on the cereal, you glanced over to your phone that vibrated, moving slightly atop the table. It was Nat’s contact lighting up your phone, the screen filled with your favorite picture of her where she’s wearing a green face mask with a cucumber slice over one eye, her other eye squinting open.
Shifting the bowl to your right hand, you reached to your left and grabbed the phone, tapping the answer icon and bringing it to your ear.
“Yes, I made it home safe, Nat. Steve didn’t get stabbed, nor did I, and everything’s safe. You can sleep soundly tonight,” you immediately answered with a little giggle, already knowing that she was calling to bombard you with questions about if you made it back safely.
There was a beat of silence where all you heard was Bluey playing in front of you and the distant sounds of your neighbor’s cat meowing. A staticky hushing sound flooded through your phone’s speaker, and then a voice.
“Speaking too soon?”
The left side of your face where the phone was pressed tingled at the unfamiliarity of the voice in your ear. It was a strange, raspy voice, and you could tell almost instantly that it sounded audibly modified.
You second guessed yourself—was it someone else who called you? You took the phone away from your ear and looked at it again, but it was still Nat’s name in heart emojis and the picture of her in the green face mask with the cucumber slice over her eye. You brought it back to your ear, eyebrows sewing in confusion.
“Who is this?”
“What’s your favorite scary movie?” the voice drawled, low and hoarse in your ear, a tone of excitement laced in their voice.
You couldn’t help but feel a tendril of fear in your chest as the logical side of you tried to sort through all the possibilities of why Nat’s number had called you, yet you were not speaking to Nat.
“Is this a scam caller?” you blurted. “I know they figured out how to make it look like one of your contacts is calling you, but I’m not interested in your multilevel marketing scheme tonight, okay, buddy? Try again with a geriatric and maybe you’ll catch your luck.”
You were about to hang up before the voice spoke again, loud but hushing in your ear. “Let’s see… The Texas Chainsaw Massacre? No, that’s Natasha’s. What about Frankenstein? No, you’re too young for that. That would be more of Steve’s liking, wouldn’t it?”
Your lips fell open as the voice piqued your concern again. This definitely was not a scam caller, because there was no way a random stranger would know not only your friends’ names, but also which movies they had picked for movie night the last two Fridays in a row.
“What about… The Conjuring?!” The person’s voice rose in excitement, blaring through the speaker of the phone. A hissing laugh flooded the line, and your heart was starting to noticeably pound in your chest.
“Sam?!” you confidently asked, despite the seeping fear in your chest. Sam would know what you all had watched together, and he would definitely be the one to prank call you using a voice modifier just to scare the shit out of you.
“Is Conjuring your favorite movie, y/n?”
Your body froze as your brain started to run out of possibilities as to who it could be. The sounds of Bluey and the neighbor’s cat started to drown out of your hearing, your hand on your bowl of cereal turning sweaty and hot.
“Why don’t you put the Lucky Charms down so we can have a proper conversation?”
A gasp struck out of your throat as you set the Lucky Charms down harshly on the table, a few marshmallows and some milk spilling out of the bowl and onto the table. Pushing your blanket off your body that was now growing hot, you turned around to look around your apartment. The kitchen was empty, and so was the bathroom that you could see into, and so was your bedroom whose door was open.
“Who are you?” you demanded shakily, whipping your head to the window where your blinds had broken and hadn’t been replaced, looking out at the fire escape and seeing no one there.
“Don’t turn your head too hard there, y/n. You’ve had a lot to drink tonight, haven’t you?” the sinister voice said over the phone, and now your entire body was starting to throb in fear.
“If this is a prank caller, you should know my friend is a hacker and she will find out who you are,” you said, jumping up to your feet and turning in circles around your apartment even though you still saw no one there.
“One… two… three… four…” The voice counted, and on the other end of the line you could hear the light clinking of metal. “Thirteen… fourteen… fifteen! Fifteen beer caps!”
Your eyes went wide and instinctively started to moisten as you realized that the sound of metal was the pile of beer caps that the three of you had built on Nat’s table.
“Oh, you said your friend is a hacker? Are you talking about Natasha? Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Natasha won’t be helping you out with anything anytime soon—or ever.”
Could it be Natasha herself prank calling you? That would be extremely out of the blue for her, since she seemed so worried about you walking home and she knew you were feeling extra sensitive about everything that had happened in the last few months. There was no way she would do that. But it was Nat’s number calling you, and there was the sound of the beer caps in her apartment, and the words of the person telling you that Nat was in some way incapacitated permanently.
“I’m calling the cops!” you yelled, taking the phone away from your face and instantly ending the call. Your trembling fingers fumbled to go back to the call app and dial the local police station’s number, accidentally opening other apps. Before you could dial anything, Nat’s contact lit up your screen again. Frustrated, you denied it, but almost instantly it blocked your screen again.
Maybe it was all a joke and now Nat was calling you to tell you she was okay, you thought. You answered the call with a very frustrated, “Hello?”
“You hang up on me again and I will gut you like a fish!” the voice angrily hissed with such power and fury that it made your back straighten suddenly. The loudness of their voice overpowered the voice modifier, but even as their voice changed, you still couldn’t put a finger on if you recognized it or not.
You just closed your mouth, breathing hard as your forehead grew sweaty and feverish.
“Unless you want me to slice pretty little Nat’s throat right open, I suggest you sit still and comply.”
Relief washed over you as you took the caller’s words meaning that Nat was still okay. In the silence on the line, you could hear the sound of a car in the background. This person was driving.
“What do you want?” you asked, and now that you knew for sure they weren’t near you, you ran to your bedroom and opened the drawer of your nightstand as quietly as you could.
“I want you to tell me your favorite scary movie,” they lolled with bemusement.
Focused on getting the gun out of your drawer and bullets from a pack of ammo to load it, you didn’t say anything.
“Oh, c’mon. It’s a simple question. Everyone has a favorite scary movie.”
You realized that you didn’t hear the sound of a driving car in the background anymore, and they were getting impatient, so you blurted the first thing you could think of. “Saw.”
“Saw? With all that blood and gore?!”
“It’s a classic,” you breathed as you loaded the gun and then held it up, carefully walking back into the living room.
“You Americans always follow the sheep,” they said with a despicable laugh, and you could hear noises in the background.
“So… you’re not American?” you asked, trying to get more information about who was calling you. While you wanted to hang up and call the police, you knew they would just keep calling you back quicker than you could dial 911, and you thought you might as well try to figure out more.
They dodged your question completely. “What do you like so much about Bluey?”
Gasping, you turned towards your TV and pointed your gun at the animated characters on the screen. It was sickening, looking at the cute, childish show while you were holding a gun and being held hostage on the phone by a psychopath. You were starting to think they must be just a prank caller. Maybe they picked some random person, who happened to be you, and followed you to Nat’s apartment. They saw you were drinking and used their own beer caps to make you think they were in Nat’s apartment. Maybe they had seen you through the window eating Lucky Charms and watching Bluey. It had to be a prank.
“It’s… it’s cute,” you faintly answered, going to the window slowly, with your gun pointed at the glass.
The voice laughed again, singeing your nerves as you peered out of the window into the darkness, looking around as far as you could to make sure no one was there.
“Do you wanna hear a joke?”
Seeing that no one was anywhere near the window, you moved back across your living room.
“Sure,” you whispered.
“Knock… Knock.”
Your eyes instantly shifted to the front door which was right ahead of you. Did you even lock it? Were they mentioning the door because they were right outside?
Quickly, you jumped to the door and locked the handle and slammed the chain shut at the top of the door. Holding your breath, you brought your eye up close to the peephole, expecting to see some strange man standing outside your door. To your relief, there was no one there.
“W-Who’s there?” you whispered, keeping your eye at the peephole in case they jumped into sight.
You were met with the sound of the call being disconnected. Confused, you looked down at your phone, but the moment you did, you heard the piercing sound of glass shattering. Out of fright, you dropped your gun, and it slid out of reach under the kitchen table.
Shrieking, you turned around and saw that the window you were just standing at had been kicked through. In came a dark figure slinking through the broken window, heavy boots crunching the shards of broken glass on the floor as they stepped into the apartment. You froze. Their other foot came through, the trail of their black cloak slipping over the windowsill as they stepped fully inside your home. They stood, straightening themselves like a demonic shadow standing across the room from you.
What should have scared you the most was the large, shiny knife they held in their hand. But what really scared you was when they lifted their face to show a white ghost mask with darkness for eyes and a horribly, sickeningly twisted open mouth in the shape of a scream. From across the room, you saw the blood splattered across the mask, staining its otherwise spotless white surface. The black glove on their hand squeaked as they tightened their fist around the knife, the ghost mask tilting slowly to the side as they stared you down from behind the mask.
Your phone slipped out of your hands, and the sound of it crashing to the floor propelled you out of your frozen state. Unable to breathe, you grunted in fear as you turned and started to unlock your door so you could run away.
Heavy booted footsteps came thudding towards you as your sweaty fingers struggled to unlock the door, and you turned your head to see that they were coming right at you, raising the knife in the air which spread their black cloak out like wings of a black bird coming down to snatch their prey. You shrieked and jumped to the side right as their arm came down, hearing their large knife stick right into the wood of the door.
Stumbling like an idiot, you sprinted to the only other exit in sight—the broken window they had just come through. You had a little time as they were pulling their knife out of the door, but right as you got to the window, they were running towards you again.
The fear and adrenaline pumping through your blood was making you dizzy. You let out another undignified squeal of terror as you moved away from the window and jumped between the couch and the TV.
The masked killer which you had read about in the article stopped when they saw you moving directions, now standing on the other side of the couch from you. You jumped to the right, but they moved with you.
“Stop!” you screamed, moving to the left only to have them move at the same time as you, still holding up the shiny knife that glinted under the light of your apartment.
You were cornered. There was nowhere to go now. You just stood there, your knees shaking, crouched, just waiting for them to make their move.
In a sudden swoop, they leaped over the couch and lunged at you. You screamed, jumping away just in time for their knife to slice across your upper arm in a non-fatal catch. The person fell right into the TV, the screen on which Bluey still played turning into glitches as they knocked it right off the wall in a loud crash.
Sprinting to your bedroom, you slammed the door shut and locked it, lunging towards the window by your bed. You could hear them fumbling to get up in the other room.
You had this window glued shut several years before out of fear for your own safety. You lived in a dangerous city. There was a fire escape right outside your window. It was only common sense to have glued it shut so that no one would sneak into the window right beside where you lay sleeping in bed.
The cut on your arm was already gushing, bright red lines of blood flooding down your arm and trickling into your palm, making your grip on the window slippery. The cut hurt, and as you tugged upwards on the window, it hurt even more, but you were desperate. People could lift cars out of their own adrenaline, surely you could snap the barrier of super glue standing between you and your last effort to escape.
The doorknob to your bedroom aggressively throttled. You could hear them shoving their shoulder against the locked door, and you started to sob as you tried harder to open your window, feeling like there was a timer right over your head counting down to your own death. It was a manic state you were in, pulling at the window as your arm covered itself in your own blood and the person started using their boot to heavily kick down the door.
“Come on!” you cried, your bloody hand slipping off the window.
With another powerful kick to the door, it came right off the hinges, slamming into the adjacent wall as the cloaked, masked person started storming towards you.
There was nothing left to do. You tugged at the window again, not even bothering to watch them come towards you. If you were going to be murdered, you didn’t want to see them as they did it.
Instead of a knife, you felt two gloved hands grab you by your sides and lift you, throwing you onto your bed. You lost your breath as your back hit the mattress with force, and you watched as the person climbed over you. You were at least going to give them a fight.
Raising your legs, you tried to kick them away, but they grabbed hold of your ankles as they climbed between your thighs, using a great deal of strength to keep your legs still. You even heard them grunt in frustration, and the sound of them struggling to hold you down gave you a boost of confidence to jump up and punch them right in the mask. The person took one hand away from your leg to cover the mouth part of the mask, and you used the opportunity to kick them in the chest. To your surprise, they hardly faltered. The mask faced you again, and something in you twisted. The mask did not change its expression, but you knew now they were very, very angry.
They snatched your free leg and climbed further over you, leaning down and snapping their knifeless hand over your throat, squeezing hard. You watched as they raised the knife above your head. You choked and grabbed at their hand, using your legs to try and kick at them again, but they were kneeling between them, so all you could do was dig your heels into their hips which didn’t have any effect.
Their hand squeezed your throat hard, the leather of their gloves digging into your skin. Losing air, you grabbed at their iron grip on your throat, staring up at the horrifying ghost face above you and their knife positioned to strike.
If they were going to kill you, your dying wish was to see who this serial killer was. They were breathing hard, loudly, distracted by the passion of their pending kill, so you flew your hands to their face and ripped the mask off.
A head of red hair came spilling out of the mask as you tugged it off, and you were met with wide green eyes. If you weren’t already being choked, you would have lost your breath at the sight of Wanda above you.
“W-Wanda?” you choked, your face going bright red as your vision blurred. Your eyes shifted between the mask in your hand and her face—it was her the whole time.
Her lips snarled, showing her canines at you. Her pupils were wide and frenzied, a pink flush in her face and a shine on her forehead whether from the efforts of trying to catch you or from excitement of finally catching you. Her lip was busted from when you had punched her over the mask, a little blood bubbling into her mouth and spreading across her teeth.
She looked at you for a moment, her face hardening, and she released her hand from your neck right before you were about to pass out. You desperately sucked in air, coughing and choking as your lungs filled with oxygen.
“So I did get you,” she said, her eyes moving to your bloody arm. Her tongue ran over her lower lip as she reached down and ran her gloved hand over the cut, smearing more blood across your skin. Fear twisted inside you as you watched her pink lips turn into a demonic smile.
“Wanda,” you whispered, breathing heavily as you saw her more clearly now. “What have you done?”
Was she the same ghostfaced serial killer who had been killing people in the city? Is this where she has been for these two months, breaking into people’s homes and stabbing them to death?
“It didn’t take long for Natasha to swoop in, did it?” she asked, and you realized then that when the voice modifier glitched over the phone, it had been her voice you heard. It’d been so long since you heard it that you hadn’t even recognized it, but you knew now.
“What?” you breathed, eyes flickering to the knife still in her hands.
“I’ve been gone for two months, and she already has you in her grip,” she spat, her lips curling in anger.
“Where did you go?” you blurted. “Why did you disappear?”
A smile stretched at her mouth. “I needed some time adjust my… perspective.” She enunciated the word slowly and sharply as she brought the knife to your bruised throat.
You gasped and flinched when you felt the cold metal lay flat across your skin and then turn so that the point pushed against your flesh, threatening to rip it.
“I used to be so selfless. I avoided you for Vision’s sake, so as to not hurt his precious feelings.” She started dragging the point of the knife down the column of your throat, her breath hissing between her teeth in excitement. “But Nat was still there after he died, so I left. I couldn’t be around if I couldn’t have you still.”
You watched her in terror as she spoke, her wide pupils focused on the way the knife moved across your skin, pressing in but not cutting.
“I sat back and watched. I watched you see her nearly every day. I watched you go to her house for those stupid little movie nights. I watched you sit at home and talk to her on the phone. God, how could you stand listening to her voice that much?”
“Nat was there for me when you weren’t,” you spat, forgetting that she had a knife to the most vulnerable part of your body.
Her eyes shot up at you again, seized with anger. She dragged the knife down to the collar of your shirt as her other hand grabbed a fistful of the fabric, and she started cutting it right off your body. You were reminded that Wanda was not herself now, that she had spent the last two months going insane. You were not safe.
You gasped as Wanda cut right down the fabric of your shirt so easily that it made you realize just how sharp her knife was. She pulled the fabric off your body and threw it down, leaving your upper body entirely naked. She looked down at your chest and seethed.
“You’ve always been so perfect,” she whispered, using her knife to draw a gentle line down your sternum. “I love watching you through the cameras but seeing you in real life is so… fucking… hot.”
She got a little ahead of herself as she dragged the knife down between your breasts, her hand jerking and cutting the skin on the inside of your breast. You shrieked and jumped, feeling tears well up in your eyes and spill down your hot face.
“C-Cameras?” you stuttered, your chest heaving as you breathed through the pain.
Wanda looked up ahead of you, and you tilted your head up to follow her eyes. How could you be so unobservant? In the top corner of your room was a little black circle with a lens, and as your eyes shifted, you saw that every single corner of the room had a little black lens.
“And in every other corner of your apartment, sweet cheeks, as well as Natasha’s.” She laughed at the terror on your face as you realized that you had been watched for weeks on end without even knowing.
Her eyes fell down to your chest where the cut on your breast was bleeding now, gravity tugging a drop of the blood down the center of your stomach. She let out a shuddering, primal growl as she leaned down and brought her lips to the cut.
Your body stiffened as you felt her lips, so close to a sensitive part of your body, kissing the deep cut that started to bleed more. She kissed it again and then ran her tongue over it, moaning at the taste of your blood. It made your face go hot and red as Wanda’s hair tickled your arms, her tongue moving upwards until it swirled around your nipple.
You squealed, thinking about asking her to stop but knowing it was no use, anyway. It scared you the way your body reacted to her, your nipple hardening in her warm mouth as she sucked on it.
She let it go with a pop, coming back up to reveal that her lips and chin were smeared with your blood. You glanced down to see that the breast she had paid attention to had smudges of blood all over it.
“Wanda, please,” you begged. “I’m sorry for whatever you think I did. I didn’t mean to hurt you or—”
A sudden slap to your face stopped you from where you spoke. Your head whipped to the side with the force of the slap, and through the stinging pain of the leathered force you also felt a sharp pain—she had been holding the knife. Warm blood trinkled down your sliced cheek as your flooding tears mixed with it.
“Don’t be so sad, detka,” she purred, taking your chin with hypocritical gentleness and turning your face to look back at her. “You can’t help it you’re a needy slut. I mean, just look at what’s happening. Here I am, cutting you up, and your little pussy is already so wet, isn’t it?”
She rolled her hips forward suddenly, and you felt a hard bulge under the cloak press against your core. The friction made your body shiver, and it was then you realized the wetness between your legs. Wanda grinned widely down at you, looking like a predator with her pearly smile covered in blood.
“Besides, it’s Natasha who stole you from me, and I don’t have to worry about her anymore.”
She looked down at your shorts and started to tug them off, but your eyes widened at her words. “Nat? What did you do to her?!”
“Shhhh…” she shushed you as she peeled your shorts and panties to the floor, leaving you completely naked under her. “Don’t worry, detka. I always clean my knife between kills.” She smirked at you and sat up, kneeling between your open legs.
Your mind raced at thoughts of Natasha—was she dead? Was it your fault? Was Wanda going to kill you, too?
You jumped when you felt the knife dragging across your inner thigh, slicing open your skin that bubbled with more blood. Wanda groaned at the sight, and you felt a mix of relief and fear when she set her knife down on the bed near her hand, far enough out of your reach.
“Just look at you, detka,” she purred as she smeared the blood around on your thigh, the pain vibrating through you. The terror of bloody craze on her face struck a chord inside you that made you both scared and thrilled. “All bloody for me—and so fucking wet.” She moved her eyes to your pussy, using her finger to spread your lips open. Your cheeks burned when you heard the wet sound of your folds moving.
Wanda reached down and grabbed at her crotch, grinning as she leaned back down to you and started kissing the bloody side of your face. “I’ve been waiting so long for you,” she whispered right into your ear, making your skin hot. When her tongue licked up the blood on the side your face, you cringed and whined. She moved her kisses to your neck, biting you with force as she started to grind her hips against you, getting excited.
Your core was throbbing hard as her bulge moved right against you, your knees bending up around her and threatening to spread wider for her. She was putting you under a bloodied haze, and your body was yielding to her. It made you cry harder, but your hand met her shoulder and begged her closer against you.
“Fuck,” she groaned, grinding harder against you. She was breathing heavier now, and when she leaned up to look at you again, there was even more blood on her face. “I want you to watch me fuck you.” She reached down between her legs, and chills ran up your spine as your body tensed in preparation. “I want you to look me in the eyes as I fuck your pussy the way it should be fucked—because it’s mine and you’re mine, and there’s just nothing you can do about that, can you, pretty little doll?”
Your hands grabbed desperately at her arms, words leaving you as your body grew hotter and hotter with desire. She shifted the fabric of her cloak, and pressed herself down against you, her hand still reaching down.
“My pretty little doll,” she breathed as she stared down at you. Suddenly, you felt the tip of something large pressing into you, and suddenly her strap was sliding all the way inside you. You groaned as your walls stretched around her girth, hands grabbing a fistful of her cloak as she buried her cock deep inside you. Wanda only laughed at the look of pain on your face, snapping her hips so that the entirety of her length pushed into you.
“Wanda,” you begged—begged for her to stop, for her to continue, for her to kiss you, for her to let you go—you didn’t know what for.
“Just as tight as I thought you’d be,” Wanda groaned, her eyes rolling back as she started to move her hips. You laid under her, legs spread, bloodied and cut up, letting her fuck you right there on her own bed.
“Too big,” you whined when she started moving faster, her strap bulging tightly inside your pussy. She only laughed again.
“Take my cock, detka. Or would you rather take my knife?” She grabbed the knife again and pushed it right against your throat, causing you to screech in fear. “I would like to leave as many cuts on your pretty body as I can, but I think you might not want me to cut right here, would you?”
You wanted to shake your head but quickly decided against it with how hard the knife was pressed to your throat, so you gave a pathetic, “No.”
“Good,” she growled, her free hand grabbing your hip to keep you still as she started fucking you harder. Grunts of pain left your lips and grunts of pleasure left hers as she drove herself inside you over and over again, thrusting her hips upwards to meet that sweet spot inside you just to drive you a little crazier and make your body betray your mind even more.
It was working. The pain faded and pleasure filled in all the cracks as she fucked you. She was groaning like a wild animal, and the sight of your blood on her face made you even more sickeningly turned on.
Keeping the knife on your throat, steadied with her elbow digging into your collarbone, she slipped her hand down between you and started rubbing your clit with her gloved fingers. The leather was painful at first, but as she massaged your clit just right, it started to propel your pleasure.
Disgusting sounds filled your ears. The squeaking of the bed under her forceful thrusts, the wet squelching of your pussy as she filled it with her cock, the sound of her grunting, and the vibrations of your own moans in your throat that you tried your hardest to keep silent.
Wanda took notice of this and pushed the knife harder on your neck. “Go ahead and let it out, baby. I’ve always wanted to hear you scream.”
It came tumbling out of you as you moaned for Wanda, and it encouraged her to fuck you even harder. The blood from the cut on your inner thigh was mixing with your own juices, causing a symphony of wetness and squelching from between your legs as she defiled you.
Pressure built in your lower tummy that bulged from her large strap filling you up. “That’s it. Cum on my cock, detka. Give yourself to me.”
Wanda was close to cumming herself, and it was evident in the way her hips thrust wildly and without rhythm, her eyes struggling to stay open.
“Wanda,” you moaned, grabbing at her as your orgasm started to crash over you. You couldn’t help but scream as your insides quivered around her, her strap still hitting all the right places inside you as you helplessly came.
Wanda grunted and opened her mouth, quickly reaching down and squeezing the base of the strap as she came. In the middle of your climax, you felt her faux cum spill inside you all at once, pumping you full until you could feel it in your lower tummy.
You were blinded by many things—from the shattering orgasm Wanda had just given you, from the blood loss you were enduring, from the fear and terror of the situation. By the time you came down from your high and could see again, Wanda was looking at your throat. In the heat of the moment, she had accidentally cut it just a little—not enough to really hurt you, but enough to make her go even crazier at the mere thought.
You were shaking and panting as Wanda smirked in victory and in malevolence. She looked over to the ghostface mask beside you and picked it up, pulling it on back over her head. She leaned down closer to you, the black eyes of the mask boring into your own as her head tilted.
“Let’s do another round, yeah? This time with the mask on.”
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