#stalker!simon

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.

࿇ Immediately duplicated a set of your keys while you were getting groceries.

࿇ He would always walk behind you late at night, far enough that you wouldn't notice. He just wanted you to be safe, after all.

࿇ You always wondered why guys started ghosting you after the first date. The answer? Simon Riley.

࿇ Simon believes his best decision was installing small cameras around your apartment.

࿇ He loved rubbing his cock as he watched you try and finger yourself. He knew his fingers would fill you so much better than your own.

࿇ Simon thought it was so cute how frustrated you got when you couldn't make yourself come.

࿇ Then, you started noticing your panties going missing. Not from your drawer, but from your laundry basket.

࿇ And yes, Simon was stealing your panties to sniff while he got off. He couldn't help it! You just smelled so good.

࿇ You best believe that Simon has a list of your likes and dislikes. He was not going to mess up when he finally got into a relationship with you.

࿇ While you're out at work, Simon loves to enter your apartment and find your laptop. He goes through your search history, specifically, he looks at what porn you watch.

࿇ He loves to know what you're into, and he's storing that information away for when you finally fall into bed with him.

࿇ So yes, Simon may be a creepy stalker obsessed with you, but at least it means you'll never be alone, right?

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

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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.

Looking back on it, you realize you should’ve noticed the signs earlier.

A police charger starts regularly parking a few cars down from yours near your townhouse. You wonder which unit a cop moved in to. Your once barren, small town suddenly seems a lot busier. You used to be able to drive for miles without seeing a car but now it seems like there’s always one 15 feet behind you. Your kitchen seems to creak a lot more when you’re trying to sleep. You should probably call the maintenance man, maybe the pipes are getting old.

Then one day, some of the pieces click in to place. It takes half of a muddy shoe print in your doorway for you to come to. It’s a man’s shoe, a ridiculously large size. You try to excuse it on the maintenance man, but you were here when he came in and he definitely didn’t leave that.

The creaking in your kitchen no longer sounds like pipes. You excuse it for anxiety but you swear you can hear heavy footsteps. You lock your bedroom door every night when you start thinking you can hear deep breaths from down the hall. Sometimes, the door is unlocked when you wake up.

Flowers start appearing on your doorstep. It’s endearing at first with sweet little notes that read like a schoolboy crush. Then they turn in to poems. Then they turn in to promises. Then they turn in to threats.

“You look beautiful today,” turns to, “I will be there for you forever, darling,” turns to, “I promise you a beautiful life with me,” turns to, “If you ever talk to that man again I will fucking kill him and tie you to the bed until you know better.”

Your heart sinks a bit every time but you continue to brush it off. Maybe an ex boyfriend or a prank from your friends. Nothing really malicious has happened and you were probably hallucinating when you swore you felt the corner of your bed dip down in the middle of the night.

When a Polaroid picture of you smiling awkwardly at a man who’d hit on you while you were out arrives on your door along with a detached, bloody human finger and another warning note, you cave and call the police. They send an officer out and he arrives in no time.

And it’s him.

It’s the tall, brooding officer who pulled you over for speeding. When he first pulled you over, he had ridiculed you so badly that you had to wipe away fat tears with shaky hands. This time he’s anything but mean. Now he’s all open arms when you turn in to a blubbering mess. He holds you close to his chest as you explain the whole situation, how scared you were. Squeezes you tight and promises that you’re safe, you’ll be okay, he won’t let anything happen to you.

He leads you to his squad car and fits you in the passenger seat. He even takes the time to delicately buckle you in. When he drives, he takes your shaking hand in his and rubs soothing circles into your palm. A little peculiar for a stranger, you think, but you’ll take any form of comfort you can get.

You’re so trusting of the behemoth of a man that you throw all caution to the wind. He’s an officer of the law, of course, so why would you pay attention to where he’s taking you? Maybe it’s a little weird that he knows what your favorite food is- promises to get it for you sometime soon- but maybe he’s just a good guesser. And when he tells you that he has to stop by his house to grab some stuff before he takes you to the station? Well you definitely don’t ask any questions. In fact, you’re so ready to free yourself of the distress of the past few weeks that you trust him completely.

18+ mdni - stalking, insinuated kidnapping, nasty evil man, dubious behavior

Thinking about Stalker Simon who immediately falls in love with you after you swing on him. (As if he didn't need you already.)

He isn't expecting it because you're such a soft lookin' thing. And you'd shown only flight tendencies before—when he'd followed you home, wearing the shadows like a hood.

So jumpy you were. Like a wee mouse. You'd whip your head in the direction of any little sound and quicken your pace, not even realizing that you were leading whatever awful thing that was following you right to your home.

Thank god it was only him. Could've been dangerous otherwise.

That's why he doesn't expect you to hit him when he makes the bold choice to get a bit closer. You nail him, though. And his souvenir is a bloody nose and a cock so hard it made him dizzy.

How could he leave you outside in the cold, shaking like a leaf with bruised knuckles? Someone had to take care of you. Ice that fist.

you've been stood up.

it's been forty-five minutes since your date was supposed to arrive. he's not replying to any of your texts even though the 'read' is clear on your screen. He's seen your messages and is not replying. He's changed his mind about you. He's ghosting you. There's no other reason for thi— your phone chimes.

Your date isn't going to make it.

The text is from your date himself. weird. Is he trying some new tactic to get you to leave him alone? Your phone chimes again.

He won't be answering you again.

You send a text back asking what is going on. Your phone chimes the moment you place it back on the table.

Attached: 1 image.

Heartless.

You gasp at the picture, dropping your phone onto the table in shock. Your date is lying in a dumpster, his chest cut and torn open, bloody and lifeless.

You throw your phone in your bag and immediately get up and leave. Once in your car you lock your doors through your tears and let out a shaky breath. Your phone chimes again. You brace yourself and pull it out of your bag and click the screen on.

Open my gift, Love.

You squint in confusion before you turn and notice the wrapped red box with a pink bow on top. Just rip it off like a bandaid. You quickly pull the lid off, then scream.

Inside the box is a human heart. Heartless. Inside the box is your date's heart. Someone has murdered your date and gifted you his heart.

You realise too late that whoever did this managed to get inside your car to leave this gift for you.

Thursday - 4:30 PM

It was just starting to set in that Simon would actually have to talk to Johnny. A hair cut could take fifteen minutes… or fortyfive!! He would need to have a conversation– multiple!