Unsettle Me
This contains adult content, minors dni 18+
AN: Trying something new here so please be kind ❤️ Might expand on this depending on whether or not you guys would be interested.
Pairings: Dark!Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader
Warnings: Language, Stalking, Non Consensual Sex, Somnophilia, Violence, Obsessive Behavior and just general creepiness.
Summary: Someone’s been in your apartment, you know this because when you come home from work, dinners waiting for you.
Words: 881
Masterlist Part 2
You’re still shivering and dripping water as you walk up the three flights of stairs to your shitty New York City apartment. You had just gotten back from a five-hour shift on top of your full load of college courses. The only thing you wanted to do was collapse into bed and not wake up for at least a week, but you still had to finish your essay on the Cold War.
You’re yawning as you shove the key into the keyhole in the door, and step inside, but the sight on your kitchen countertop has you alert at once. A piping hot plate of food sits at the ready. You shuffle closer to take in the food in front of you.
Rosemary and lemon chicken breast, grilled asparagus and crispy potatoes, and a bottle of red wine with a glass already poured for you. The food is hot, you can see the steam coming off the plate as if someone had cooked it minutes ago.
You stop, your heart beating wildly as you work over what this means. You didn’t see anyone coming down the stairs as you went up…was someone in your apartment now?
Your eyes flick around your studio apartment, looking for any potential hiding spots, the closet opposite your bed was open, the space too small for anyone to hide in any way. Your eyes fall to the floor, peering into the darkness under your bed, your hand reaching into your coat pocket to get a grip on your keys. Your hands are sweating and you fumble to get the keys into the spaces between your fingers the way you were taught.
You crouch down slowly as I’d you were approaching a wild animal which you very well could be and pull your phone out in your free hand, the light of the screen illuminating the dark space. Nothing but plastic storage containers with your winter clothing.
You sigh in relief but the tension in your body doesn't leave, someone was in your apartment recently too. You swallow hard, considering your options, you suppose you could call the police but what good would that do? You had no evidence other than the food on your kitchen counter, if anything they would think you were some stupid college kids trying to pull a prank.
You turn and study the door to your apartment, there was no physical indication that anyone had forced their way into your home. Whoever it was must have their key, a chill goes up your spine at the thought.
You end up dragging the small bookcase across the length of your apartment to barricade the front door. Having something physical in between you and any possible intruder made you breathe a little easier.
Turning back to your supposed dinner you take a closer look, picking up the knife and fork already set out and cutting into the chicken breast. The skin was brown and crispy, the inside juicy and cooked perfectly. Your mouth waters at the sight.
You take a closer look at the bottle of wine, the label was in French but you recognized the name from a few upscale restaurants. Expensive, four figures expensive and only sold by the bottle.
Grimacing at the sight before you and all it indicates you carry the plate over and scrape the food into the trash without a second thought. You turn and take the bottle of wine and the glass too, as you go to pour it down the drain the sight of dirty dishes in the sink stops you.
A small frying pan, already soaking, a few miscellaneous bowls and utensils wet and soapy, almost as if someone was in the middle of doing dishes before they were interrupted.
You don't notice your shaking until you hear the smash of the plate you were holding shatter against the hardwood floors. It takes another moment to realize your beading slightly, the red liquid oozing out of your finger fascinates you before it alarms you.
Stepping over the broken ceramic you fetch a tissue to tamper the blood dripping down the side of your thumb. Your body’s slower, less fluid as you sweep up the shattered remains of the plate, your eyes unable to leave the view of the front door.
You shower with the bathroom door ajar and the curtain open, the busted shower heads getting water all over the floor but you are too paranoid to care. You’ll clean it up later. You’re skin itchy as you scrub yourself with a loofah and rub lotion into your skin.
You’re no longer shaking as you clumsily prepare for bed, pulling an oversized t-shirt over your head and slipping on a cotton thong. You curl up on your side, your eyes trained on the door 20 feet away. You slip in and out of sleep, snapping awake before exhaustion pulls you back under.
Just two miles north of you, Natasha watches you through her computer screen, her face impassive as she watches you sleep. Annoyance flares up in her when she remembers you didn’t eat the dinner she made for you or anything else for that matter. She sighed, you barely took care of yourself but it was okay, that’s why she was there.
