#stalker reader

Of course, initially people think it's fake, that you AI'd him into your post and tagged him to make seem real. You get a lot of shit for it from your friends until-

("It'll be even better next year, I promise. London, maybe? Or Paris?")

He comments on your post. His official photography account posts all the pictures he took of you on the trip. He even tags you in the post.

Your friends freak out. They didn't believe you at first. They ask you sooo many questions about him.

"What's he like?" - "He's kinda perfect, honestly."

"What does he smell like??" - "Uh. What?"

"What did he get you for your birthday?" - "Oh, you know, new jewelry, some new clothes, the Coach Brooklyn Bag. Nothing crazy."

"Is he really taking you to Paris for your next birthday?" - "Ugh, no, I don't know why he said that. We're going to Paris for Christmas, and then London for my next birthday."

Your friends have no idea that Tim is watching that whole conversation through one of the hidden cameras in your apartment.

Your post goes viral, and you gain several thousand followers almost overnight. Tim takes you to the next gala he has to attend, and he spares no expense. He makes sure you're dressed to the nines, all jewelry and designer clothing. The pictures of you from that night are everywhere the next morning. Tim saves the best ones in a folder on his computer, just like he does with all the other pictures he has of you.

News outlets start asking the two of you for interviews. Vicki Vale is among the first to reach out. The interview goes perfect, obviously. She asks the typical questions, all of which you and Tim rehearsed answers for. Most of your answers are honest, anyway, aside from how you two met. You couldn't very well tell her you woke up to Red Robin practically bleeding out on your fire escape all those months ago, rain pattering against the windows... That's a story you and Tim will be keeping to yourselves.

Whenever you two are out in public, especially when you're together, there are always cameras on you. Some barista once made the poor choice of leaving her number on your coffee cup. She was fired within the hour. It doesn't stop happening. You're a very attractive person, and some people just can't help themselves. Some college kid stared at you for too long one time and Tim hacked their laptop and deleted the term paper they'd been working on. It happens so much it becomes a meme; "POV you caught the 'i flirted w tim drakes partner' curse and you got hit by a bus twice in one week". People catch on very quickly to how possessive Tim is over you.

It's only a few weeks later that they realize you're just as possessive as he is. One of the IT guys, a new transfer from Metropolis, is chatting with Tim in the elevator and hands him his phone number as he leaves. The poor guy didn't even know Tim was dating anyone. He isn't really expecting a text from Tim, but he certainly isn't expecting a text from you.

"hit on him again and your master's degree disappears."

He posts a screenshot of the text. It goes viral in under an hour, and you've been tagged in the comments more times than you can count. People are asking if it's real, if you really sent that text. You tag him and type out a short answer in the comments: "Yeah, that was me. Tim wanted to transfer you to the Texas branch, but I figured you'd prefer an ominous text to the deep south lol"

People start to be little obsessed with you after that. They start making edits of the two of you, making playlists titled things like "the kind of love i can only dream of", with a picture of you two as the cover image. As avid Tumblr users, you and Tim both see the Tim Drake-Wayne x [partner]!reader fics. Apparently, people are really into relationships with equally loving and creepily possessive partners. Who knew? (A/N - Me. I knew.)

Everyone loves you guys. Well. Everyone loves Tim, anyway. Most people love you, too. And the ones that don't love you? The ones that hate you and call you a golddigger?

They want to be you so bad they're choking on their own jealousy.

A/N - I will be continuing this and writing a meet-cute prequel. Idk if I made that hint obvious enough lol. Also the questions Vicki asks are literally what came up on google when I searched "what do people usually ask when they interview celebrity couples" lmaoo. Also also, would you guys like me to make a "the kind of love i can only dream of" playlist yes/no??

Edit 6/3/26: I made the playlist lol, you can find it here

MASTERLIST

You missed Simon all day long. It didn't matter that he was coming home to you that night. Him leaving your sight, leaving your grasp, felt unacceptable. You could barely focus at work, only snapping out of your stupor when you burned yourself on the oven door.

"So did you and tall, brooding, handsome finally go on a date?" Your manager teases when you're finally about to clock out, leaning on the counter with a smug smile.

"You and your need for details." You huff playfully, rolling your eyes. "He stayed at my place for a few days."

Her eyebrows shoot up and she gasps, smacking your arm playfully. "Y/N!! You dirty dog! How much fucking did you need to get out of your system?" She teases, and you roll your eyes at her with a fake groan.

"Oh my God, your filthy." You sigh, pretending you hadn't spent the whole week fucking Simon within an inch of his life. "I just finally found someone that I connect with. He... Matches my engery." You sigh wistfully which makes your manager smile.

"Hey, all teasing aside, I'm glad you found somebody. Make sure he doesn't just need a couch to crash on!" She jokes, sending you off with a wave. You grin at that, heading for your car and driving straight to the base you knew Simon was at.

You wonder if he knew that you'd put a tracker on his car. It had been there almost two months, so you assumed he hadn't figured it out yet.

You didn't go onto base. You parked far away, already knowing which route Simon would take to go home. If he didn't pass you, it meant that he went to the bar with that Mohawked man named Johnny.

You take his boxers from your bag, putting the crotch of them against your nose and huffing a deep breath. "Fuck.." you murmur into the fabric, the strong musk of the boxers taking over your mind.

You quickly put the boxers away after a few more satisfying sniffs, not wanting to miss Simon's car driving by. He should be leaving any minute.

You watch his car roll by, his window open, but his mask is still on. You grin, starting your car and following down the road after him. Simon didn't notice your car right away, but when he does, he takes another route home.

One that takes him by a wooded area close by his house. It was a little out of the way, sure, but he had an idea. You couldn't be the only one having fun. Not of he had any say in it.

You smirk to yourself, immediately realizing what Simon probably had planned. You sigh, digging past his dirty boxers and into your bag. Without looking, you find the contact you need and press call.

"What do you need, schatz? Has your lover gotten away?"

"No, but he thinks his slick. He's driving to the woods now. I think he wants to play cat and mouse, except he doesn't wanna be the mouse anymore." You intentionally give a little whine, pouting your lips even though the person on the other line cannot see you.

"Ah, we cannot have that, maus, can we? I'll be there shortly. Let him think he's caught you, ya?"

You sniffle, staring at your stupid pathetic face in the mirror. The woman on the Youtube tutorial made it look so easy. A few pumps of foundation, a swoosh of mascara, a dab of blush, and she looked perfect.

While you look like a mess. The foundation isn't the right color, cakey in some spots. The blush is too red. The mascara is clumpy. Your lovely Cecil would recoil in disgust if he saw this. You're suprised he hasn't done that already. You check the time. 7:21.

Shit! You jump up, running to the bathroom to quickly scrub the makeup off of your face with soap. You let out a sob, hiccuping. You just want to be beautiful for your darling. You want to be able to compare to all of the other girls at school. They're flawless, and you're just a disgusting rat.

But no time for anymore of that! You're about to miss your daily ritual of watching Cecil walk to school! You grab your backpack, running out the door of your home. You run a few blocks, panting until you see Cecil. He's walking with his friends. You stare at his back, whimpering quietly. So beautiful!

He must be an angel. Must! With that light blonde hair that shines in the sun, and those baby blue eyes that entrance anyone he makes eye contact with! Cecil is pure. Your Iove is a god you can never touch. It hurts your heart to know it is true.

You follow the group all the way to school, staring longingly. You go to your first period, nervously tapping at your phone while you wait for class to start. The bell rings, and Cecil sits in his assigned seat beside you. You have to hold back a squeal.

You really did start crying at the beginning of the year when the teacher assigned Cecil to sit beside you. You vividly remember him smiling and handing you tissues while all your other classmates gave you dirty looks for crying over that. Tears of happiness, of course!

Since this is one of your two required classes as a senior, the teacher makes the class start to take notes. You reach into your backpack, finding..well..no pencils. No paper either "Oh.." You whine, pouting at your nearly empty backpack. Only a crumpled folder and a sad looking binder

"Ah." Cecil peeks over your shoulder, peering down at your empty backpack. "Hear you are, Y/N." He slides a sheet of paper and a brand new pencil unto your desk. "If you need anything else, don't hesitate to ask, okay?"

"Uhh..aa..yes.." You stammer, your voice failing you. You quickly turn away, face flushed. God, you're such a pathetic fucking loser! Can't even..speak to the love of your life! You quickly write down your notes, mentally beating yourself up the entire time.

First period comes and goes. In second, you're unfortunately sitting on the other side of the classroom from Cecil. Your lower lip is jutted out the entire time as you watch him. So unfair! The girl beside him touches his arm, and you're so upset. You wish that was you. You turn your gaze away, not noticing how Cecil jerks his arm away from her.

In third, you sigh. "Hah.." You lay your head down on your desk, stomach rumbling. All classes eat before third, in their third period classrooms. You didn't bring any lunch, and the free lunch is your least favorite today. You also didn't have anything for breakfast, so you're starving!

And yet, you won't eat. Skinny girls are pretty. You're trying to be very skinny for Cecil. He would love you if your stomach was completely flat and there was no fat on your body- You jolt when someone sits beside you. No one ever sits beside you.

You turn your gaze, making eye contact with Cecil. You nearly melt in your seat, face quickly flushing. "Hey." Cecil greets, already smiling. "H-Hi..uhm..uhh.." You squeak. Cecil slides a lunchbox your way, concern written on his face. Oh god. He looks so beautiful!

"I noticed you haven't been eating these past few days." He has noticed something about you!? "You don't like the free lunch either huh? Don't starve yourself. If you didn't like it, you should have told me."

TOLD HIM!? A bead of sweat trickles down your brow. Is..Is he saying the two of you are friends!? "Eat for me, Y/N." Cecil whispers, settling his hand over your clammy one. Your eyes widen. His soft fingers gently wrap around your palm, and he tilts his head with a slight pout.

Oh god. Oh GOD. You're never gonna wash your hand ever again! You quickly scarf down the food, cheeks puffed out. When Cecil sees you finish every last bit, he smiles. "Good. So good. I'll bring you a lunch everyday, so eat well." He intertwines his fingers with yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze for a spilt second.

Cecil then stands, face glowing. "Class is going to start soon. I'll see you in fourth. Goodbye!" You're dazed the entirety of third, not even noticing the girls behind you throwing paper balls at the back of your head. You feel like you're gonna pass out. You suddenly slap your cheeks, regaining your composure. Cecil wouldn't want a fool!

You calm down, but fourth period has you almost falling into that daze again. Cecil is sitting in front of you! "Haha..yea." He laughs at something his friend says, a bright smile on his face. You sigh dreamily. If only that smile was directed at you.

Suddenly, Cecil leans back in his seat. Hes so close, you can smell the shampoo he uses in his hair. He rests his head against your desk, peering up at you upside down with a gentle smile. "Do you mind if I rest my head here, Y/N? I find myself to be oh so tired." He sighs, pouting.

"Okay..it's okay.." You whisper. Cecil smiles, closing his eyes. You rest your head on the other half of your desk. Hes so close like this. The smell of him envelopes you. Soft and deep, it makes your eyes flutter. You want to stay awake. Want to enjoy more of this closeness. But...your eyes..are shutting..

Cecil's eyes open as soon as yours shut and you fall asleep. He sits up, a hand slowly stroking your hair. You smile in your sleep, and he smiles in response. One of his friends gives him a disgusted look. "Ew dude, why are you flirting with that loser-"

Cecil's face hardens, and he grabs his friend's collar. He whispers something to him, which makes his friend go pale and shut his stupid mouth. Cecil then turns his gaze back to you, continuing to pet your hair.

This continues for a few weeks. Cecil spoils you. Massaging your shoulders, bringing you food, and being overly affectionate. It confuses you. Cecil has always been nice, but it seems to have gotten more intense senior year. When you asked, he simply avoided the question. Well, it doesn't matter! You love every second.

You don't love being bullied though. Bam. You're slammed against some lockers, and you groan slightly. That's gonna hurt tomorrow. "Ugh, how disgusting." Ashley, the girl who pushed you, wipes her hand off on a tissue. "I can't believe Cecil has taken an interest in you, you-"

You zone out for the rest of her monolog. You stare down at your feet, holding back tears. You don't want to hear her say things that are true. About how disgusting you are. About how you don't deserve Cecil. Because you don't. She eventually stops talking, scoffing as she leaves. You stand there, reminiscing.

15 years ago, you rub your nose that is runny from crying on your sleeve. Your preschool teacher said to get into pairs, but you have no one! Everyone else already has friends. A boy grabs your hand, and your eyes light up. You don't even notice the annoyed look on his face. "Hey..whatever your name is. My name is Cecil. My friends ditched me, so you're my partner now."

That was the best day of your life. Your parents don't love you, so you've never had anyone be nice to you, so that simple act made you obsessed with Cecil. Even if your delusional mind didn't realize it technically wasn't done in kindness.

You and Cecil went to the same elementary school. You always kept your distance, shy. Then, the two of you went to different middle schools. You were devastated. It didn't help those were the worst years of your life. The bullying you experienced forever changed you.

So when you found out freshmen year you were in the same highschool as Cecil, you were so happy. You followed him home after the first day. You watched him through his bedroom window, tears streaming down your face. You didn't interact with Cecil until sophomore year.

Suddenly, he was nice. Gentle. Caring. Ever since that year, he has been nothing but nice to you. And yet, you've refused to get close to him. And it seems senior year, he is determined to be close to you.

You wipe away the tears streaming down your face. You have to push him away. You're a stalker. For gods sake, you use a shirt you stole from him as a pillow case. Suddenly, a hand gently rests on your shoulder.

"Hey, hey, don't cry. Its okay, I'm here." Cecil embraces you, and you tremble against him. "No..No..Please. Stop..I'm not good..I'm not good for you!" You sob hard, and Cecil simply holds you through it.

"Poor thing. Those disgusting, filthy, vile, girls have corrupted your mind. Come with me. We'll talk." Cecil interwines his fingers with yours, walking out of the school. Your eyes widen at the familar route he takes you down.

You see his house come into view, and you whimper. You've never been inside other than his room. Thankfully his parents aren't home. It looks like a typical suburban family home, nothing like your own disgusting one.

Cecil pulls you upstairs, opening the door to his room. He guides you to sit on his bed. "There you go..relax. I'll take care of everything. You melt against his pillows. His bed is so comfy compared to yours. Cecil sits down beside you, thumb comfortingly rubbing circles on the back of your hand.

"I knew you were watching me the first day you came to my house." Cecil suddenly says. Your heart drops. "At first, I was angry. Then, I saw that beautiful face a mess of tears." He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you nearly short-circuit.

"I watched you. Ironic, isn't it? The one being watched watching the one that was watching him." He chuckles, brushing your greasy bangs out of your face. "I couldn't help but fall in love with you. The pure love you felt for me..god..It melted my heart."

"You love me..You love me!" You hiccup. "That's all you heard?" Cecil sighs, but a smile peeks out. "Yes, my love. I love you. Only you. Always you." You have to simply stare at him for a long minute before your brain catches up. "U-Us..couple..you..boyfriend?" Is all you can stammer out.

"Of course, you silly thing. Now, relax." Cecil pulls you on top of him, slowly rubbing your back. Your eyes flutter closed. This is your dream. Except its not a dream. You can only hope everything stays like this forever.

As soon as your deep into sleep, Cecil slowly pulls away. He lays you down on his bed, gently tucking you in. Now that he has you here, no way you're going back to that horror house of yours.

Cecil takes his car to your house, walking in through the front door. Your parents are so careless. Your father is passed out on the living room couch, and your mother is yelling in the master bedroom. He would kill them, but that would complicate things. He will just have to wait until the two of you graduate. Cecil steps over the trash in the hallway calmly, not even phased by the mice that run past.

He makes it to your room, smiling as he opens the door. Its the only decent part of the house. The rooms are covered in bad quality photos of him, and he chuckles. He'll have to buy you a better phone. Cecil packs up all of your things, taking them back to his house.

You're so excited when Cecil tells you that you will be staying in his house from now on! And his parents don't even care when he tells them. It seems..his mother is just like the two of you, clinging to his father. His father doesn't seem to mind it.

You spend the next few weeks in bliss. The two of you openly date, and it doesn't even damage Cecil's reputation! You cuddle with him every night, and even wear his clothes all the time!

That bliss ends when one day, Cecil tells you to walk home alone. He pouts, clinging to you as he sighs about having something important to do. You happily walk home, okay with it surprisingly. After all, nothing can come between you.

Then, you're suddenly dragged into an alleyway. You make eye contact with Ashley, who jams a manicured finger into your face. "YOU! What did you do!? Why does Cecil love you so much?"

"Must have used a love potion on him! No way Cecil truly loves..that thing." One of her minions giggles. Ashley smirks. "Yea. A filthy rat like you isn't a good match for Cecil. Just wait. I'm getting closer to him by the day. He'll abandon you soon."

Your eyes widen, and you immediately start spiraling. Cecil has boosted your confidence over these past few weeks. You know he would never leave you. And yet..you can't bear the thought of him loving someone else. You pull a sharp pencil out of your pocket.

Completely irrational, you stab Ashley in the eye. Blood pours. You hear screams. You yank the pencil out, and continue stabbing. Her body falls. You don't stop. Her two minions run away, crying about calling the police. You stare down at her lifeless body, gasping.

Oh god. What have you done? You drop the pencil, stumbling back. Your back hits the alleyway wall, and you fall to your knees. Your hands fumble for your new phone, dialing Cecil's number. "Cecil!" You sob as soon as he picks up.

You explain what happened inbetween sobs and coughs. "Its okay baby, its okay. I'll be there as soon as I can. Breathe." Cecil hangs up, and its an hour and a half before he makes it to that alleyway. He kneels in front of you, scooping you up.

"Shh..shh.." Cecil soothes, even though you aren't even crying anymore. "I'm sorry it took..so long. I was dealing with the witnesses." He murmurs. "What am I gonna do!? I'm gonna go to jail, forever!!"

Cecil simply shakes his head, gesturing to his father who you didn't even notice. The man is sliding gloves on, sighing. "Ah kids. So energetic." Cecil guides you into his car, which is parked in the street. "My dad will take care of everything. Lets go home."

You go home, and take a long shower. You stumble back into Cecil's room, in tears again. You spend the next few hours cuddling, where he reassures you. "She deserved it. Badmouthing you. Lying. I've killed too, so don't worry about it."

You snap your head to look up at him. "Really?!" Cecil smiles at your enthusiasm. "Yes, I have. We are meant for each other, aren't we?" You giggle, nodding. Cecil is perfect for you. And you are perfect for him.

Abrupt ending, ik

I'll consider a part two

It was in the first day of your class, you never really know everybody since youre just new to the campus. So it was normal for you to get lost in the big campus, so what happened was you kept walking and walking to look for your class. To your dismay you just ended up sitting in the side entrance of the building sighing knowing that you still have a lot of rooms to look for and even if you ask for directions you suck at following it. admit it.

Then he came, he noticed you on the side and asked by your just sitting there when its already late, he was obviously late too though he seem chill about it as the sweat in his forehead tells other wise

'he must have run towards here' so you politely smiled and said "I got lost. I dont know where my classroom is " You said as you look sadly embarassed about your pedicament

"Oh! well thank your lucky day! i am here" he chuckle boyishly "what class are you?" he asked

his smile also made you smile a little and chuckle a little "12 Class A"

He looked shock then smile brightly "LUCKY! we're on the same class! come on! we're late already" as he offers his hand to help you get up

after than the two of you starts walking to the class as you both entered you got scolded by your advisor about how are you both late first day of the school year. though Childe just smiled and jest about it all.

Since then you really wanted to get closer to childe though the problem was he is popular with everyone. So his attention is not only for you, he tends to be either always with a classmate or his friends from other section, or with teachers asking for his asssistance.

That is who childe was, the Popular kid.

So you ended up admiring from afar, not that far though not close enough to notice.

can they really blame you? He was jsut so sweet and kind, the more you observed the more obsessed you are with Childe, you even get to know his real name and his childhood nickname it was really adorable just like him "ajax and tartaglia" you ended up stalking his parents account just to get to know who he was when he was younger and who his family is.

Since then you can't take your eyes off him really, whenever you feel so alone or exhausted by your class here he was in your taken pictures, smiling, so full of life yet you also got some shoot of him when he looks bored and whenhe whines and got mad one time. You have everything to comfort you, his pictures beside your wall as you wake up you'll see him smiling and greeting you, isnt that nice?

not only that you also already planned on what you'll wear for your first date and maybe also your wedding too!

Without any noticing your weird behavior you continue on stalking him though you never crossed the line more than taking his pictures. You respect his privacy at least in the matter when he comes home already to his house, you linger sometimes though not that long in the night.

You just love him, so much so you dont ever want to see him with his friends absolutely to his GIRL friends. just the thought of him dating the most popular girl in school and also his close friend (lumine) it just makes you sad and also jealous about her.

As long as you can admire him from afar, not crossing the line of your deep obsession, it really woudnt hurt to daydream of you two getting together is it?

.....................................

Childe observes you in class again, he never wanted to take his eyes off you, you know. He really loves it when your so focus and oblivious whenever he is looking at you, he loves how you touch your lips whenever you think or how you scratch your hair when stressed. He also loves your confused and thinking expression as you hold your chin by your thumb and index finger.

He loves everything about you so much, maybe you will never notice that. But thats fine, he's fine with that after all whenever you are this oblivious he can always openly admire you so bad no one will ever take a second glance at him, who would?

He's the one who should do the honor to treat your chapped lips or when you unconciously crack your knuckles, oh how focused you look and he wonders how you would look when its him you only focused on?

So he became your stalker for the past month, it was on the first day of school when he saw you sitting beside the front building yet you looked so troubled and abandon like a cute puppy. At first he was just helping you know he was not that curious, he started noticing some things like how he somehow have this feeling being watched .... since then he kept his attention to you since you where the one who he thouhgt was staring at him. He was just curious, then he started noticing your personality you never show to people, memorized your favorite spots where you enjoy your coffee. Memorized your order by heart and even know your sugar level to your liking. You know he was just curious about you~ not a big deal...right?

Childe never crosses the line more than stalking, really, he did take some of your things but not too much for you to notice. He always just blames it to his curiousity after all your always so quiet and reserved. So somehow e got access to your phone one time and started scrolling on your media and whose your friends are...

Thats when he also started taking some pictures of you whenver you never noticed. The more he does, the more he becomes so good at it that you have an album dedicated only for you.

One time though now being more aware of his deep obsession for you, he started stalking you in your house deep in the night, he also started sneaking in whenever theres no one in the house or how easy it was to just get inside your room from your open window whenever he wants. Has he already taken personal things from your room? Yes, yes he have.

Where you looking for your pair of underwear that you surely remember putting in your laundry basket? dont worry its in good hands~

wondering why your perfume is already empty? dont worry~ he was just curious what perfume you used~

looking for your chapstick? you can just buy a new one he can keep this one, yeah~?

little by little he just cant stop himself you know~ he just loves LOVES~ having things you own~ he has this one drawer dedicated only for your prescious things~ can you blame him?

It was one night, you were not home with your family that night so he decided to get inside your room once again.

he has this routine when he gets inside your room, as he climbs the tree near your window and gets inside the first thing he would do is inhale hard then exhale just to smell you. After he would go to your bed and lay himself there for a couple of minutes as he wrapped himself in your blanket, he also would start feeling your bed thinking about you in it.

"smell so good, princess" after a while he would go to your closet and starts looking for his favorite dress, its the one who he really wanted to see you in it one day then he would start to lean closer to it as he rubs his nose against your clothes

That same night he also discover your deepest secret...

Doing his usual routine, he noticed something that he hasnt seen before, it was a box below your closet. As he opened it there revealed his pictures ...

Lots and lots of taken shots of him, the more he looked onto the photographs the more his heart kept beating nonstop. As his smile turns into a smirk and then laughter

"ha..hahaHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! oh~ princess~ fck!" He can't believe himself...gosh "fck....my innocent princess is not so innocent~" as he whispers to himself "so fcking cute~"

Since that night Childe has become more and more aware around you, he let you be as he notices your stares, your adorable blushing and absolutely loves it when he sometimes catches you on act~

'so cute princess~' he thought as he kept talking with his friends knowing that you we're watching

Should he test you?

So he did...

Your photography room has never looked worse.

There’s several polaroids scattered across the floor. A few tubs of water have been thrown across the room, the spillage reaching the photos and damaging them beyond repair. The red light flickers. It casts dramatic shadows across your face and highlights the wrinkles in your clothes though it hides the dark spots beneath your eyes, and it especially illuminates the immediate condensation that takes place every time you exhale. The room is usually kept at medium temperatures, since you’re too scared of damaging the pictures, but during your tantrum, one of the water tubs you threw must’ve hit a button on the thermostat that lowered the temperature. 

The cold is supposed to make the ink in the pictures expand and eventually leak from the plastic confines of the film itself. It’s only a matter of time until your photos are ruined. The photos that date back all the way to last summer, all of Simon, who, shockingly, triggered your tantrum. Just thinking of him makes your eye twitch. You find it hard not to get mad at him, especially after how frustrating he’s made your observing, as if it’s just some kind of game to him. Your harsh breaths create a harsh contrast to the quiet thumping of your heart that’s loud enough to reach your ears, and the gentle trembling of your limbs forces you to lean against the wall. You’d rather he just be mad and not want anything to do with you at this point. It’d be so much easier for you if that was the case. 

Ever since Simon confronted you about your “stalking”, he’s been coming more frequently. Just about every week now, usually requesting bacon and some kind of fish. He gets more talkative every time. More willing to share his personal life, his past, what he hopes for in the future, what he plans to make with each item he buys, hell, sometimes even jokes around with you―it’s torture. It’s torture because you don’t know how to react to it. You’ve spent so long treating him like a hobby, something you can choose to focus on or stray from, but all of a sudden, he’s decided to share so much of himself that you feel like it’s all you can focus on. You can’t handle so much information about your subject. 

It’s caused a few meltdowns over the past few weeks. 

Every so often, whether it be at work while sharpening knives, at home trying to sleep, or even walking down the street with your headphones on playing the sweet sounds of ocean waves and rain to calm you, you’ll remember that he knows. He’s known. It disturbs you and makes that knife slip in your hands, scares your circadian rhythm into deviance, and forces those waves to crash into rocks as the rain turns to thunder. Everything feels out of order, the puzzle pieces of your mind scattered and a few missing, with you unable to solve why or how exactly everything went so wrong. Why you feel so wrong. Why, out of everything, the thing that bothers you the most is that unsettling feeling of the ever-so present fact that Simon is painfully aware of your tendency to follow. 

You lean against the wall and slide down into a sitting position, your knees reaching your chest and your arms automatically wrapping around yourself in lieu of a hug. You wish it was him. For the quickest moment, you wish it were his arms around you instead, his calloused fingers stretched over your back and his rough palms rubbing circles into your lats. The thought makes your hands tremble and your gaze shifts to the ruined film strewn across the room, the flickering red light overhead reflecting off of each polaroid, the faint sound of water dripping from the counters crossing with the buzzing of the lightbulb. You let out a shaky breath and hold yourself a little tighter, allowing your head to fall limp ahead of you, your forehead resting on your knees. 

It’s ridiculous how much this affects you. How much he affects you. 

— 

Simon considered that maybe you stayed home today, the idea of you falling ill worrying him, but after checking your flat, he found nothing but your keys missing and your lack of presence. Therefore, you must be in your shop. However, your shop is currently closed. 

He could break in. He’s done it before, after closing once you’d gone home, and snooped around your little photography room curiously. He was, admittedly, mildly impressed with some of the photos―a few of them he didn’t even notice, though many of them he can recall seeing you out of the corner of his eye or hearing a faint click behind him―but otherwise indifferent to each one. He hadn’t taken any but was tempted, just to maybe let you know that he’d been there long enough to steal something, but decided against it; he’d tortured you enough with his much-too-dramatic confrontation. You don’t need any more stress. Even he knows that, despite not being the best at showing it. 

There’s no lights on in the shop. Nothing that hints at your presence, nor anything that invites his own in, but the feeling in his gut tells him to just go in through the back door and hope to God nobody sees him. Simon sighs and looks around haphazardly, not seeing anyone out in the open, and walks as casually as he can around the back of the butchery. There’s a door the same color as the wall, with a small handle rusting at the edges and a lock that barely functions. I would remind you to fix it, but it would give me away, he thinks, I’ll just replace it myself one of these days. 

He easily opens the door without a key, the rusting lock giving into the slightest force worryingly quick. It turns inwards, and Simon walks into the room, closing the door behind him and reaching for the string on the side of the wall. He pulls on it and the overhead bulb flickers before turning on, an orange-yellow glow casting the room in a decent amount of light, making the cleaning tools and chemicals visible. Simon ignores all of this and instead reaches for the door, opening it before walking out into the dimly lit kitchen. It’s freezing, and the white lights cast an even glow onto the counter, reflecting off of the metal surface and illuminating the clean table. Simon looks around, and to his disappointment, you’re nowhere to be seen. Despite this, he moves on and searches for the next door, eventually finding the one that leads out into the main shop. He soon finds himself clicking the door shut behind him whilst being behind the counter you typically are. The role reversal feels strange, the new view of looking outside the shop rather than gazing inside as he usually would.

Simon makes his way towards the end of the counter and finds yet another door, though it’s locked with a slightly better lock than the last. It looks newer rather than an old lock that’s simply held up well over the time you’ve had it, so he assumes it’s been changed recently. It would make sense, considering it's the lock that guards your oh-so-precious photography room—or, at least, the stairs down to it. He hesitates, his hand hovering over the door, balled up into a fist with his knuckled readied in front of the door, about to knock. 

He can hear something. It’s shuffling. Maybe some soft breaths, the tell-tale hitch of them a sign of your distress―something Simon’s not particularly proud to know of―and a tell-tale sign that maybe Simon should leave you alone. He’s not a sadist; he doesn’t enjoy seeing you upset. It’s satisfying at most, knowing your remorse for your stalking, knowing that you’re guilty enough to be so upset over it. Assuming that that’s the reason you’re so upset, of course. He thinks it’s a good show of character, or a nice way of knowing that you don’t have the worst intentions. And maybe, going by that logic, Simon isn’t the best person―but he’s willing to go without remorse if it means that he feels no guilt keeping you safe. 

Simon steps back from the room, his hand dropping to his side. He sighs and walks around the counter, heads towards the front door, and flips the misleading ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’ before he walks out. Even if you’re not closed, he can’t imagine you’d want any customers while you’re in the middle of whatever you’re doing. Your photography room is important to you, or so he assumes; he can’t imagine there’s many things that would draw you away from the room besides him. The room is so clean it almost annoys him. The organized nature of it all, the pictures of him strung up and strewn across the room so perfectly, the drawers filled with camera film and different camera lenses―the sight of it seems so wrong, knowing the less-than-perfect hobbies the room provides sanctuary for. 

He can’t imagine you breaking down in there. It’s aphantasic, how little he can visualize any sort of mess taking place in the room. He wonders if you break down often in that room. If you find it safer than your house. If, sometimes, when your store is closed for no apparent reason on an average, festiveless day, the true reason behind its closure is the fact that you’re too busy crying over lost potential photos and an unpredictable tomorrow in your little safe room in the same place meant to be your workspace to open up shop. He, quite frankly, can’t imagine something more pathetic than being so swept up in your own sorrow created by your own mistakes that you could’ve so easily avoided had you not done an objectively disgusting act.

And, for whatever reason, that patheticism is the exact reason Simon finds himself heading towards the local hardware store, a new lock and some WD-40 on his mind. 

— 

It’s been two days. You wake up in your photography room. The floor is wet and your clothes are wet and you hate the feeling of your clothes sticking to your skin. You slept here last night, after going home the previous night to sleep in an actual bed, then came back here in the morning to spend another day mourning the pictures you ruined and the potential friendship you threw away by acting so recklessly. By being so obvious. You’re about one more mistake away from hopping off the nearest bridge with a ball and chain wrapped around your ankle.

You push yourself up by your elbows, and eventually the palms of your hands make contact with the ground, then you’re sitting up with your legs outstretched at awkward angles. Your knees hurt when you bend them, and as you try to push yourself up, you have to stop and breathe for a bit to get a handle on your pain. It’s not the worst you’ve felt. Far from it, honestly. But for some reason, this little thing keeps making you stumble, keeps making you hesitate in pushing yourself up, your knees feeling as unstable as a fawn and your frame as shaky as a leaf in the wind. When you finally manage to completely push yourself up, your femur feels as though it’s barely attached to your tibia; the two bones are balanced so unevenly that it feels like you’re standing on stilts. 

The doorbell rings and you curse out loud. Rather loud, in fact, for the small room you’re in. You already sense who it is. You’re not in the mood for this, already knowing what’s bound to happen, and despite this, you make your way out of the ruined room and up the stairs. Lo and behold, 

Simon stands at the counter, waiting for you to get behind the other end of the counter to take his order. You do so, putting on a pair of latex gloves before speaking.

“What are you looking for today?” you ask politely, slipping on the black gloves, leaning forward against the counter as you wait for an answer.

“It’s been a while since we last had a chat,” Simon hums, opting to stay standing straight, “and, for some strange reason, I haven’t heard any camera noises recently.”

Your mind pauses for a moment before you sigh and stand up straight, taking a step back from the counter, “I don’t want to do this with you today.”

“Why not?”

“Please. Not today.”

“I don’t remember having a say in when you’d follow me around and take pictures of me minding my business.”

You purse your lips at his valid point and look away for a moment, “Did you not just say you haven’t noticed me take any pictures of you recently?”

Simon is silent for a moment, before taking a step closer to the counter, voice a little quieter, almost gentler, “So I can’t complain a little about you stalking me, then? Because you’ve stopped for a month or two?”

“But that’s not―” you choke up, despite mentally begging yourself not to, your voice cracking. You sigh defeatedly, tiredly, and lean against the counter as if it can offer any more than physical support. You stare down at the grimy-clear surface. You need to clean it.

“Not…?” Simon presses on, though his voice is gentle, softly coaching you through your emotions.

“It’s not stalking,” you have to defend yourself with a broken voice while quiet, labored breaths leave you and force you to breathe manually. You already did horrible the first time Simon decided to interrogate you about your observing―you don’t know why he’d think it was a good idea to try and do it again. He already knows that you “stalk” him, or however he wants to classify it, so why does he have to keep bringing it up?

“Then what am I supposed to call it, huh?” he asks, the gravel leaving his voice gradually, exposing something soft and fuzzy in its leave. Something smoother, something that makes the hairs on the back of your neck shoot up. 

I don’t have an answer for him, you realize. You can try to explain yourself however you like. You can tell him that you’ve been following him―or, had been following him before being confronted―and taking candid pictures of him, leaving them to hang in the dingy room below your shop, with dates and locations attached to each photo to ensure that you remember each one. You can explain the thought that goes into every photo, and how each one is selected from the many taken from that day. You don’t do any of that, however; instead, you stare at him and hiccup again, hot embarrassment rushing to your face as you let out another shuddering breath and dare to draw another one back in.

“Hey, listen,” Simon reaches a hand across the counter and puts his palm over the back of your latex-covered hand, making you look at him with glassy eyes, sniffling, “I’m not doing this to make you upset. I don’t want you to cry, or feel guilty, or think that I’m in any way mad at you. Because I’m not.”

It’s barely reassuring. You’re just glad that you have the shop hours posted outside so that nobody thinks to come in right now, since you’re sure it's at least an hour beyond closing by now. Simon’s thumb rubs circles against the back of your hand as he continues, “You stalked me for at least a few months. I don’t know why, I don’t know who else you’ve stalked, I just know that you’ve been following me around for a while. I would like to know why you’ve chosen me.”

It’s an awful question, really. You don’t think he could’ve chosen a worse one. You would honestly take prison over answering this, because truthfully, you don’t know―Simon was there, and for whatever reason you felt inexplicably attached to him. It could’ve been something he said the day you two met, something he did, or just the way he acted, but whatever it was, it elicited a strong enough feeling from you to cause you to start following him. You sniffle again, and Simon must sense that something’s not right, because he squeezes your hand and leans in a little further. 

“I think I should at least know why, right?” he asks, before pausing, and offering, “Maybe we could trade information?”

You furrow your eyebrows at this. “Huh?” You wince at the way your voice cracks.

Simon doesn’t mention it. “I’ll tell you something I think you’d like to know, in exchange for you telling me why you decided to stalk me.”

You don’t answer him, partially because you’re not sure what he could possibly tell you, partially because you don’t know what you could possibly tell him. After a few moments of silence, though, you nod your head and a nearly unintelligible “okay” leaves your mouth. Simon takes this as an invitation to share his information, and so he does.

“I knew for a month before I told you,” he tells you in a low voice, “and for that month, and the month after that, I watched you.”

You swear your heart stops for a moment. What? “... what?”

“I watched you close your shop every day,” Simon hums, “and I made sure you got home safely. The area you live in is dangerous. Plenty of roadmen just waiting for someone as… unaware as you to come by them.”

Your heart starts beating again, faster and faster, and you think you can feel your pupils dilating. Simon’s words reach your hypothalamus and you can physically feel the dopamine multiply, hell, you can feel it lighting up your nerves and flooding your veins. It feels like lightning coursing all throughout your body. You’re nearly positive the blacks of your pupils have consumed the majority of your iris, leaving just a ring of color in your eyes.

“Is that why you watched me?” Simon asks, a hand coming up to brush his thumb over the tears that’ve trickled just below your eyes, “Did you think I was unsafe? That I couldn’t take care of myself?” You shake your head, and a breathy “no” leaves you, making you take a deep breath, stuttering as you exhale. Simon keeps his hand on your cheek and pauses, a curious look on his face. 

— 

No? 

Simon tries to think. He considered the―frankly horrifying―possibility of you fancying him, but that idea went as soon as it came, both out of lack of evidence and because he truly can’t stand the idea. It would only mean he’d been playing into it, and that’s the last thing he wants to do. He watches your pupils grow uncannily big and only gets more concerned. He forgets what it means when the pupils get bigger outside of being under the influence, and since he doesn’t recall seeing you take anything while talking to him, he can only assume that that’s not the case. 

“Do you know me from somewhere?” Simon asks, bringing his hand down from your cheek to your own, squeezing it gently, “Should I recognize you?”

You shake your head negatively, “No.” 

Simon thinks for a few beats, each feeling a little longer than the last, before speaking up again, “Did I seem particularly interesting?”

Despite what he hoped the answer would be, you shake your head again wordlessly, a “no” never escaping you verbally but your body language more than enough to tell Simon that he wouldn’t be able to guess why exactly you stalked him. He supposes it can’t be too easy to tell your victim why exactly you stalked them, but he told you what he did, so he thinks it’s only fair if you return the favor and grace him with the answer to the question, “Then why did you do it?”

You take shaky breaths, still hunched over the counter, staring down at the dirtied glass so as to not make eye contact with Simon, “You’re new.”

He stays silent. You continue after swallowing, “You were right there. Everyone else― they don’t come here as often. If they do, they make too much conversation. They give too much of themselves to me. I don’t want them. You’ve never… been so open, not as much as them. I didn’t find you any more interesting than them, I just― I just thought that you were better. You’re so rare. I needed you, like… like a―”

“Like a toy?” Simon tries to interrupt, only for you to shake your head negatively, looking up at him and finding his eyes.

“Like an artifact.”

Simon tries to think. An artifact? As if you were a museum curator, looking for new items to add to your displays, a collector of sorts looking for something new. Something special. And he had the luck to be the one you found different, to be the one that you need, for God know’s what reason. 

“You needed me?” Simon asks, thumb swiping over the back of your hand, “Nobody else?”

“Only you,” you confirm, turning your hand over so that your gloved palm is in contact with Simon’s bare one, “it was so strange. I didn’t think for a second that I was stalking you. I just wanted to know you.”

“… Do you know me now?”

“Not as well as I want to.”

So you still want to. Simon’s conflicted. He’s not sure how he feels about being some kind of collectible. He’s sure you didn’t mean to equate him to an item―or at the very least, something inhuman―but he can’t help but feel that you’re doing just that. The lock in his back pocket feels heavier. Like these conflicted feelings weren’t weighing Simon down enough, he just needed the extra weight of the steel lock to remind him of where he is. How close to the ground he is. How close to you he is. Who he bought the lock for. How much better is he than you? You stalked him first, but he stalked you back. You broke into his flat, he broke into yours. You observe him, he watches you. Same difference.

“I bought you a new lock,” Simon comments after a few beats of silence, amusement poking through his conflicted feelings at the sight of your suddenly confused expression, clarifying quickly at the look, “for your photography room.”

Your expression hardens and you sigh, “I’m not using that room anymore.”

“No?” Simon tilts his head, “lost your interest in photography, all of a sudden?”

“The room’s not in the best condition right now,” you admit, watching as Simon pulls a lock out of his back pocket with his free hand, sliding the metal across the counter to your end. He’s surprised by the admission―just a few days ago, he couldn’t imagine your room being any less clean than a research clinic. You take the lock regardless, flipping it over in your hand and smiling at Simon, “Thank you, though.”

He nods and you hesitantly slide your hand away from his, walking back towards the stairs, with Simon following behind you closely as soon as he rounds the corner of the counter. It’s a quick walk down the stairs to your locked-up room, and Simon steps ahead unprompted to grab the rusted lock, not missing your look of appreciation as he yanks off the decayed hunk of metal. Orange dust flies into the air in the lock’s unexpected departure and the particles soon melt into the surrounding air. You fit the bar of the lock through the uneven hole in the bar of metal attached to the door, and open the door before the bar can go all the way through. 

When Simon sees the state of your photography room, he can hardly believe his eyes. There’s splattered dye everywhere, all various shades of blue and purple―from your polaroid film, he guesses, seeing all the tattered plastic-paper pictures strewn across the floor, all having the same colored clumps attached to the interior plastic. There’s tubs of water knocked over, accompanied by puddles of the same water gathered on the floor, desecrating any originally-decent pictures. The red overhead light bulb is flickering and the room is darker than light. There’s several camera lenses shattered to bits across the floor. Cameras follow the shattered glass, several models from the same brand of each camera broken, either the lithium batteries leaking or the lens broken or the camera itself looking like it’d been run over. 

The room is a mess. This pleases Simon greatly.

He stays silent as you kick a few shards of glass out of the way, though he keeps an eye on you to make sure you don’t get hurt doing so, watching as you walk across the room and open up a drawer underneath the only intact table in the room, the others greatly dented or a hole worn in them. You put a single picture out of it, though not before brushing small shards of glass off of the polaroid, making Simon take a step forward and hold out a hand as if to take yours and inspect it for cuts. The red light makes it nearly impossible to tell, but the way that you don’t react to the glass makes him think that it hadn’t punctured your skin at all. When you walk back over to him, he sees what’s in your hand; a picture of him.

“This is my favorite one,” you hum, holding the picture out for him to take. Gently, he takes the film into his hand and reads the caption. 24/06/23, Mosley St. It’s a picture of him walking towards the camera, but looking off to the side, watching a car speed by. He can’t remember the moment, but judging by the look he sees on his face, he imagines he was wondering who in their right mind decided to go so fast in whatever speed zone that street is. 

“It’s very nice,” Simon replies, something warm settling in his chest, “I don’t believe I saw you take this one.”

He knows it’s a lie. Not because he remembers seeing them, but because it would be ridiculous if he didn’t see them. Despite this, he feels no guilt lying to your face, not when you get this proud look on your face that coincides with the disbelief appearing upon it at the same time, the two creating a look Simon can only respond to with the smallest bit of adoration.

“Really?” you ask, and Simon doesn’t hesitate to nod.

“Really.” 

He doesn’t mind it, really. Not when you seem so happy, letting him follow you back out of the room and up the stairs, an invisible tail wagging behind you in excitement, goosebumps erupted across the skin of your arms and the back of your neck. He thinks it’s worth it. 

Of course, for you, most things are worth it, if not everything.