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.
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.