Your gateway to endless inspiration
This is so good, dark but kind natasha is so sweet and you write her so well❤️
No Rest for the Wicked
Natasha x reader AU Drabble
Ghosts
You couldn’t believe the price. Not for a place like this. Not in this city.
And that alone should have sounded all the warning bells in your head. No one would sell a house like this here for that minuscule amount.
But you were so broke and so desperate and maybe it seemed too good to be true, but take the good that comes your way, right?
Everything was perfect on the walk through. You were in awe. Such a magnificent place in the middle of town.
And you did ask, at the end. Because dreamer or not, you aren’t an idiot.
“I want it.” You told the real-estate agent. “It’ll cost everything I have - everything they left me, but I have to know- why is it so cheap?”
She is pristine. Black pencil skirts and clear stockings- hair in such a tight bun it actually tightens the skin of her face. (Cool trick, you register for years later. Will have to remember that one someday.)
Anyway
She is not the type who seems to be easily frazzled but she is noticeably uncomfortable at your inquiry.
She clears her throat and fixes her already perfect hair.
“Someone died here,” she confesses. “Violently.”
Oh, that’s all? You don’t believe in ghosts.
“We’ve had 3 other buyers pull out in escrow,” she continues. “Who knows. Maybe she’ll like you.”
Yeah you’re still not buying it - the story that is- not the house- you are definitely buying the house.
“I’ll sign and give you the down payment right now,” you state with confidence.
You move in that afternoon.
And the place feels like a dream. It feels like a fresh start- a balm to your soul after all your loss.
There are some— strange occurrences. Your glasses moving from your nightstand to your bathroom sink. Drawers that you swear you never touched hanging open, your dog— really seems to hate this place.
But you chalk it up to trauma- you’ve just experienced a huge loss and of course your headspace isn’t good.
But everything else here is.
You love your house, your new job is going great, and you just started dating this person who (fingers crossed) seems good for you.
So what if your house is haunted?
You tell yourself that everyday.
Until you finally see her.
And she is… beautiful.
But so terrifying because there is not doubt in your sleepy mind when you walk into your kitchen one morning (when your dog seems particularly upset) and see this red head beauty already standing at your counter in a white night dress, holding a knife, —that she’s dead.
You fight the urge to run and it’s a good instinct, you think. Because she’s looking at you so hopefully. Like you can see her.
And you are usually quite eloquent and articulate but all you can manage to say is,”Are you her? Did you die here?”
And oh my goodness don’t antagonize a ghost but… she just gives you a kind smile and says, “yes. I’m Natasha. I’ve been watching you.”
You swallow and say, “I know,” before joining her at the counter to drink coffee.
And after that—- you kind of become—- friends?
You welcome her presence and when she materializes you just… hang out and watch TV. She isn’t scary.
You want to know, but you never ask how she died. That seems so private and like something maybe she will tell you eventually. When you’re better friends.
She starts showing herself to you more and more and you honestly like her. Like of course it’s weird she’s a ghost (or a product of your medication) but she starts to become the best friend you’ve ever had.
You can tell her everything because she can’t tell anyone else. She’s dead.
But her physicality is real. And when she is present she can touch you and it’s so nice to be held.
You watch old movies with your head on her shoulder and her arms around your waist but— she’s always gone in the morning and you wake up alone on the couch.
You finally convince yourself out of your dead girl day dreams when you get a better psychiatrist (and better meds) and you meet someone —- who is a dream.
She never comes around when they’re there but you can feel her—- hovering. And you convince yourself you just need a higher prescription.
You’re crazy. Meds are your saving grace. There is no ghost in your house. You just went a little nuts for a while.
But then he has to go on a business trip to Dubai. For a month.
And your back alone in that place.
Except she won’t let you be alone. She’s back and she’s angry. And you don’t know how to apologize to a dead person when you’ve done nothing wrong.
But she haunts your every move. She won’t let you sleep.
Until one night you are so terrified and so desperate you just scream, “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! PLEASE JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME?!”
They’re the last words you’ll ever speak alive.
You never asked her but suddenly you see clear as day the man she married — choking her— to death.
Just as you feel her hands around your neck.
You’re so cold when you come out of her memory and you know, you know without even having to think about it - you’re dead.
You turn to the side and she is laying next to you with a soft smile on her face, brushing a little bit of your hair away from your eyes.
“You killed me,” you croak out.
“Yes,” she acknowledges.
“Why?!” You plead
“You asked me what I wanted. I wanted you. Forever.”
You’ll never even get to know if there is a heaven. You’ll always be trapped in her hell.