#stalker!ghost

Stalker Simon who shows up at your house in the middle of the night before letting himself in; he’s already made himself multiple copies of your house key. First, he watches you sleep, as always, towering over your bed silently. He takes a picture, needing to capture the way the moonlight peaks through the window and shines across your face.

Then, he shifts closer, the floorboard creaking under his boots. You don’t stir, he almost wishes you would—he likes it when your eyes go wide, when you start to tremble under his stare.

He reaches down slowly, gloved fingers softly brushing against your cheek. So soft. He wonders if you’d scream if you woke up now, or if you’d finally stop pretending you don’t want this.

He sets his phone down on your nightstand, camera still open—he likes to see the way you look from every angle. Likes having proof you’re his.

He takes the hem of your shirt between two fingers and lifts it up inch by inch, baring your skin to the cold air. He feels his cock twitch against the zipper of his pants. God, you’re perfect like this. Helpless. Waiting for him to do whatever he wants.

And he will.

Just not yet. Not like this.

He leans down, voice a low rasp against your ear—his breath hot on your skin, making you shift in your sleep.

“Next time, love,” he murmurs, gloved hand sliding under your shirt to cup your breast, his thumb circling your nipple until it peaks. He feels your body arch, soft and pliant, chasing his touch even without waking. His cock is throbbing now, and he has to grit his teeth to stop himself from taking you right there.

“Next time you’ll be awake for me.”

He forces himself to step back, but not before he picks up a scrap of lace from your hamper. Something to remember you by until he comes back.

stalker!ghost x stalker!fem!reader

mdni. dubcon/noncon. stalking. kidnapping. somnophilia. dd:dne

Ghost is trapped in your basement…

He became infatuated with you the moment you started your shift at the pub. He subtly kept tabs on you from that day forward, showing up whenever you were on the clock, watching as you tended to unruly patrons each night.

How pretty you were, rolling your eyes as drunken regular asked for your number, a common occurrence on your work days. It irks him, seeing some bastard constantly pester you as if you hadn't shut him down countless times now.

The very next night, the regular doesn't show up, giving you a load off the usual flirtatious annoyance. You were quite caught up in your own life, work, and everything else taking precedence. You didn't have time to notice how that one day turned into countless weeks of uninterrupted work, simply serving drinks and going home.

Ghost watches you on your off days as well, keeping a safe distance while you get your nails done, sitting lovely on a cushion, hands outstretched while the nail tech paints them your favorite color.

He's seen it practically all over your apartment.

Once the tech is finished, you disappeared into the bathroom, giving Ghost the opening he needed. He stepped inside, the intensity of his gaze and build, drawing attention from the patrons. Without much said, he pays for your nails, having no problem swiping that card of his, asking to remain anonymous. He leaves just before you return, smirking to himself at your surprise face as you return, the owner telling you that your nails were paid off.

Wow, must be your lucky day!

After getting your nails done, you took a quick trip to the store, browsing for clothes when a stunning black dress connected to a hefty price catches your attention. It's gorgeous, could be worn on a date or a girls night with your friends but you weren't made out of money.

Huffing a disappointed sigh, you leave without buying it, sparing the alluring dress one last glance before going home. Hours later that night, as you were getting ready for bed, the sound of knocking at your door caught your attention.

In your nightgown, you opened the door and were greeted by a black box sitting out on your welcome mat. For a moment, you looked around, hoping to catch whoever left the mysterious package only to be met with silence and the sound of crickets chirping. Bending down, you picked up the box and flipped open the top, eyes widening at the sight of the dress from the store and with it a note.

HE’S IN YOUR HOME or STALKER! GHOST BREAKING INTO YOUR HOME

practically limping along the sidewalk, the weight of your oversized tote bag mirroring the exhaustion that dragged at your bones after a long day at the office. your feet ached because you thought it would be cute to wear the new cherry red pumps you’d bought the other day and your feet were absolutely screaming. they matched your outfit perfectly and now they just felt like cute instruments of torture.

you could only mentally replay the endless spreadsheets, lukewarm coffee, and passive-aggressive emails that you’d suffered through throughout the day. just lost in the drudgery of your workday until it was time for you to go home.

thoughts of dinner and catching up on supernatural before sleeping sounded so good right now.

the first thing you do when you get home is kick off those damn shoes, a small sigh of relief leaving your lips as you rub your feet against the soft carpet of your living room. it didn’t do much but it did ease the aching feeling just a bit.

sweet sweet relief.

you’re practically on autopilot the moment they’re off. hanging your work bag, dropping your keys in the ceramic bowl you’d gotten as a house warming gift from your cousin. it all settles you.

everything else after that was a blur, the cooking, the cleaning, the showering. you didn’t even have time to watch your show from the utter fatigue that had your body about to shut down. you slipped into an old oversized raggedy shirt before going to check your front door. you stayed on the fourth floor so there was definitely no one fucking scaling your building.

you feel a chill cross your arms as you walking into the living room, running your hands over the goosebumps. the air felt slightly colder than usual but you paid it no mind due to the fact that you’d gotten out of the shower around five minutes ago and you didn’t have much on.

the door wasn’t locked and you felt your gut turn. your mother probably would’ve slapped you crazy if she’d found out that you hadn’t locked your door as soon as you got home. but once again, you paid it no mind—the possibility of some crazy man breaking into your own and gutting you open seemed crazy. the thought made your skin crawl.

the sound of the deadbolt clicking echoed through the stillness of your apartment, a small victory for your forgetfulness. it felt like enough to ease your mind for now.

it would’ve been nice until you ended up tripping over a pair of something, stumbling and hitting the ground with an audible thud. annoyance eats at you, irritation clear on your face but that quickly transcends into a look of confusion.

looking down, your eyes widened in horror. a pair of heavy, mud-caked boots lay sprawled in the middle of your living room floor, boots that were definitely too big to be yours. they're neatly lined up against the wall the toes pointed toward your bedroom. as if someone had carefully taken them off before making themselves comfortable.

a wave of icy fear washed over you, paralyzing you for a moment. the realization hit you like a physical blow – the indescribable feeling sinking into your guts finally.

you weren’t alone.

“silly little bird eh? didn’t mommy tell you to never leave your door unlocked?”

your heart drops and the panic sets in before you can truly understand what is actually going on. there’s a man in your apartment and he’s towering right over you. he was… enormous. like a wall of muscle and shadow blocking out everything. you had to crane your neck just to meet his eyes, and even then, it felt like looking up at a predator. you could barely see anything due to the lights being off, the only light coming from your room down the hallway and the moon through your curtains.

his voice was as thick and heavy as gravy, laced with a cheeky, almost sarcastic lilt. like a mouse toying with a cat. you were fucking scared out of your mind and you only stumble more as your crawl away backwards from him, legs seemingly not working. it wasn’t the time but now you gladly understood those little damsels in horror movies

he only stared down at you, the black fabric of his mask covered the lower half of his face, creating a stark contrast that made the skull seem to float against the darkness. in an instant, his hands, like slabs of meat, calloused and scarred—wrapped around your ankle and pulled you along toward the light of your bedroom. your frantic screaming falling on death ears.

“pl-p-please! no! let me go!!”

he was literally dragging you kicking and screaming like you were nothing and for your sake, it was better to ignore that ache beginning to form in between your legs. the masked stranger proceeds to lift you up as if you were nothing before tossing you on your bed, your shirt flying up to reveal your unshaven mound. probably a bad time to go commando but to be fair, you didn’t know some creep would be breaking into your apartment.

“you can take anything! ju-just please don’t kill me.”

it was then that you had gotten a good look at him. those cold dead yet familiar eyes giving you a once over as you reach your pull your night gown down. he looms over you and scoffs with a roll of his eyes.

“been watchin’ you for a while now lovie. if i wanted to kill ya—i would’ve done so already.”

that really made your heart drop, and you don’t realize you were crying until you felt the tears sliding down your face. he’d been watching you? fuck! were you really that green and naive? the stranger must’ve noticed the look on your face because he was grabbing your ankle and pulling you to the edge of the bed again, his other hand coming up to undo his belt.

“don’t look so scared girl. i’ll take reeeeal good care of ya.”

bad!stalker!simon x reader series - pt two three

♡ masterlist ♡ request more! ♡

summary: simon being a stalker but really it's just him being sweet. price makes an appearance. mdni

a/n: as per usual this is way longer than it needs to be, enjoy

❀ EDIT: The original post I said I rebbloged that sparked this idea was this amazing fic by my lovely moot @milkk--t !! Please check it out, it's probably way more flushed out than my silly idea ;)

.𖥔 ݁ 🍯 Stalking! Mentions of stealing underwear and clothes, breaking into each other's places & taking unconsented(kinda) pictures ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Simon took a leave, a months long leave, one he wasn't exactly keen on taking, but Price was having none of it, and sent him off field for a long while, or else the lieutenant was going to be the reason Price is chewed by the administration.

So he was...off field. Which left him stranded. He had nothing to focus on, nothing to put his skills to use, to drown out the overwhelming silence of his flat. So he started walking, getting to know the city, going to different cafe's and random shops; which is how he found himself walking into this specific coffee shop.

He was just looking for a coffee to go and something to eat, but when he reached the counter, he hesitated. See, he may be closed off, but he knows a pretty thing when he sees it; even when said pretty thing's hair is messy, bags under their eyes and tense shoulders. But you smiled at him with a somewhat knowing look in your eyes that had him resisting the urge to ask if you understood the weight of the aching silence in his life, the deafening static that made him feel like he was going crazy.

He didn't, though. He just stared until you frowned, feeling his stomach twist at how adorable you looked frowning up at him, tilting your head and asking if he was okay. When he nodded dumbly and mumbled his order, he couldn't help but swoon a little at the giggle that left your pretty lips. Paying with a heavy tip and admiring the way your eyes when wide before you glanced up a him through your lashes.

"Do you have a name?"

You had asked softly, a little teasing, unable to resist it when this big ass man was acting like a shy schoolboy from ordering a black coffee and a pastry.

"Simon"

He grumbled. Not bothering to ask yours when he had already repeated it a million times over in his head the moment he saw it on your name tag. You nodded and went to making his coffee.

When you finished, he took it and sat on a table in a corner, watching out he corner of his eyes the way you'd flit around cleaning tables and making coffee and talking to customers. Something heavy and crazed nuzzling it's way to his chest as he looked at you.

You had locked onto him the moment he stared dumbly at you. Even more when you felt his gaze on you for the entirety of your shift (and your way back home). The feeling of his gaze and unwavering attention left you in a daze; weighting heaving in your stomach and pooling like molten lava in your tummy in a way that had you holding back on slipping into your work's bathroom and easing some of the tension off with your hand, but you didn't want him to know it yet, you let him think he was doing a great job at stalking you.

It was easy, easy knowing he'd be back in the coffee shop, easy warming up to him, letting him think you didn't know about how he'd walk you home (so romantic!) like a guard dog, making sure the shady men around didn't even glance at you. It was also easy giggling and asking in a sweet whisper for his surname, a simple.

"And this coffee is for Mr..?"

"Riley"

He had said, and you wrote it in the paper cup, commiting it to memory. It wasn't just important for when you looked into who he was later, but it also was important since now you could start deciding the important stuff, like if you'd take his last name, or he would take yours.

Then, it was smooth sailing. He'd come in every day, order the same things (safe for the days you talked about any other pastry or drink, where he'd immediately buy one of it for him), sit in a corner and watch you. And you'd start your own routine, search him up, find out who he is, what he does, where he lives. It was easy getting anything out of him; he thought you were so innocent and oblivious, he wasn't about to be doubting you when you still casually locked your door and went to sleep soundly despite the many times he slipped in at night.

You used the days you knew he was in your flat to ask for the day off and go to his place. Go over his documents, find out everything you could, map out his house (decide where your plants and furniture and decorations would go). You could make out the type of guy he was just for his house and documents, so after that it was just some careful threading and you got yourself his usual routine.

When he wasn't stalking you, you were stalking him. It was a fun cat and mouse game (a good story for your kids); you'd casually show up in the same grocery shop as him, then coincidentally be running at the same park he runs every morning, maybe even daring to wear some more skimpy running outfit just to feel the warmth of his stare on your body. He saw you everywhere, and when you were at the coffee shop, he always came back, every time his gaze was even more intense, like a visible force growing until it broke, and it left you giddy.

Simon was sure it was some kind of divine intervention. You were it for him, he was sure. He saw you everywhere, ever since that damned day on that random coffee shop where he first saw you and felt that crazed, horrible weight in his chest, he couldn't stay away. He knew he shouldn't, but he sat there and watched. Watched you move, watched you hum along to the music of the shop, clean tables, make coffees, talk and laugh to regulars, and the more he watched the more this dreadful feeling settled in him, he was almost in a haze as he followed you home, staring at your complex, physically restraining himself.

He hadn't planned on getting worse, see, it was just something to focus on when not on the field, it was easy, stalking, gathering intel info about you, keeping watch. He just went to the cafe, ate and drank some coffee, and followed escorted you to your flat.

But then you suddenly were everywhere, always just passing through, not even looking at him, not even noticing how he's always in the sidelines even when he's not the one going after you. Maybe once or twice you'd recognize him and wave before going your merry way, and he'd plant himself on the spot he was in an attempt to not follow you like some stray after you feed it once. Every time you were around, it was never quiet.

On the run at the park where he saw you in that tight, skimpy running outfit, it wasn't quiet in the way his mind was filled by the things he wanted to do to you. When he saw you at the grocery store, you were humming along to the song playing on the speakers. When he saw you at the bar when he was out with the others, you were laughing with your friends.

It wasn't quiet, it wasn't ecstatic that had his ears ringing and chest tightening and head full yet feeling hollow. No, it was full, you filled in, filled in the silence, the hollow, you were sound and warmth and presence and he needed it, needed you, just a little more, just enough he wouldn't go batshit crazy while out of the field.

So he broke in your apartment. So what? He wasn't going to rob you or anything. He actually was making sure you were safe, because he didn't want his pretty thing exposed to risks. He mapped it out, took note of the locks in the doors and windows, fantasized of having your trinkets fill in the empty spaces and hollows of his home rather than this simple flat you lived in, fantasized on you filling in that silence and void in his life he just so recently found out you can fill up.

But he didn't do anything wrong, he didn't touch you, never would, he's a gentleman despite everything, and he wouldn't want to risk losing the calming sound of your breathing at night just because he got too greedy. He settled on taking one of your underwear, he wouldn't touch you, but theres only so much he can do when seeing the type of clothes you use to sleep.

He'd make sure you were safe and all you had to do is stop the silence, that was it, it was enough for him, more than enough, he was sure, he told himself the same thing each time, even when he got bolder, when he'd trace your cheek while you slept, when he'd leave you new groceries so you didn't have to use of you low salary for it, when he at last left you bags with your favourite snacks and sweets, even if he knew you'd be paranoid when you saw them, he'd just be more careful, he was just trying to be good to you, thank you for helping him.

Simon Riley was the one for you. He was it, you were sure. He always tipped nicely, he was fun to talk to, made dumb jokes, listened to whatever others were talking about, was surprisingly caring when he wasn't keeping up his walls. Sure, you knew all that from desperately watching and listening to him on his bar nights with his task force coworkers, and sure, he'd always smile at little more to Johnny, Johnny is how he is saved on Simon's contacts, the scot with a mohawk was pretty fun too, and you understood while Simon liked his company.

Aswell as being a good man, he was attentive and protective, always walking you to your flat, always coming in to see you at work, always helping you sleep with his gentle caresses, not once touching you without consent, he really was a sweetheart! And when he started buying groceries for you? Buying any products of yours that was on the end and putting them right where they always were as if you wouldn't notice how adorable that is?

The final straw was when he bought a bag of your favourite snacks and sweets and let it on your counter after a particularly bad day. You couldn't help but let out a shaky sigh, it really felt so good to be cared for, and you were falling, hard. So, of course, you wanted to thank him!

Simon was once again staring at the photos he took of you on his phone, late into the night, unable to sleep, but the silence had begun to be too loud, so he put your playlist on his headphones and stared at the photos. That is, until a notification appeared. He frowned, his personal number doesn't usually gets wrong texts. He was about to block when he noticed what number it was. Your number, your number? Did you find out it was him? How did you find his number? Were you scared, were you going to cuss him out?

Hii! Just wanted to thank you for the snacks, it was sooo sweet of you!! How about I pay you back on a date? Next Friday you know I'm free. You pick me up here and we go to that restaurant you like! Xoxo!

He stares at the message, that sense of dread that had been building suddenly vanishing, and he can't help but laugh, shaking his head as he saves your number and stares at your smiling profile picture. Somehow, knowing it had been you who went through his office and who vanished with one of his shirts had him smiling.

"Bloody hell"

He murmured, already making reservations at his favourite restaurant and thinking of what to buy you tomorrow when he goes to see you at work.

He's genuinely so offended and confused he doesn't know what to say, just stands there awkwardly as you and your friends start growling to each other. Clearly making fun of him.

To be fair, he iiissss wearing a skull mask to the bar, but he's usually met with weird or anxious looks. Not.. this.

It's even more confusing when you start flirting with him 20 minutes later, sitting far too to him, "so what does the skelly like to drink?" Followed by "sooo... when you bone, do you actually bone?" While pointing at his mask. He doesn't have the chance to answer before you're laughing your ass off.

He wishes he got your number before you left.