#stalker!soap

[lunarw0rks]

BELLADONNA - I

Johnny hasn't been the same since the tunnel. Life became hopeless, nothing left for him if not his team. Following the months of medical leave, evaluations, and therapy, he forced his way back in. But he's starved.

(It doesn't take long for him to develop a taste for someone his, and only his.)

WC: 3.1k

CONTENT WARNINGS: fem!reader, stalking, obsession, invasion of privacy, violent ideations, strong language, elements of non/dub-con, but no smut, POV switching, reader is implied to be curvy, TBI johnny; a.k.a MWIII spoilers by default, not proofread. (stalker!soap x reader)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i apologize if this chapter has a lot of yapping and not a lot of action; there is a plan in place. i'm rusty, verging on new writing territory, this is my first attempt at a longfic in months, and believe it or not, i have not written that much Soap on this blog. anyhow, enjoy! if you like this fic, please consider reblogging it (as well as other creators!) since tumblr's algorithm is buns <3 // divider credit @/cafekitsune

✦ AO3 VERSION - SERIES M.L. - MAIN M.L.

The man is back.

In the third month of silence and less checking your shadow, you assumed it was all over. He’d moved on, found some other sod to stalk, ended up liking her more than you. The thought alone was cruel, but you were just glad it wasn’t you anymore. It had been weeks of endless torment, and then nothing at all. Habitually there, but never in your line of sight. The sudden punch of cologne that makes your nostrils flare and burn—always ceasing with afternotes of leather and sweat. As if he was restless or something.

Strangely, you wonder what he looks like. If he is as ruffled as his aroma leads you to believe. On the move. Flighty. But never enough to be caught.

How many times had he stood inches from you, in the dark corners of your flat, studying your every edge? Has he touched you yet? Did you notice? You can’t tell if you’re dreaming when there’s warm breath ghosting over your lips, down your sternum. He sucks in deep before exhaling again. Finishes with a soft nudge on your temple, and then it’s gone.

That ritual is never often enough for you to figure out its validity. So you decide not to. To overlook it, like every other awful thing in your life.

But this, you can’t. He’s getting worse. Your possessions are being moved overnight. Dressers and doors are wide open when you return from work. The gifts are the hardest to ignore because they force you to acknowledge that this is real. Not an evil spirit or bad karma. Perfume, candies, feathers, lockets—all undeniably worldly and passed from his hands to your doorstep.

Tonight is all the same. Another unmarked box sits on the mat, begging you to peel it open. It’s small, standard cardboard, and frayed twine replaces a decorative ribbon.

It’s slightly damp when it makes contact with your fingers, and it smells strongly of petrichor. Considering the dark, grey clouds that have persisted all day long, it’s not surprising. It’s been coming down all day. On your drive home, you could only see the sleek streets during a well-timed beam of lighting since, apparently, streetlights aren’t in your tax bracket.

You’re frozen in time as you gaze down at the gift. Something feels… off about it. This has to be the precipice to His next big thing, right? That’s how these things work.

If they don’t get bored of you, they get bored of your monotony. And if you were an outsider studying the timeline of your life thus far, it’s unremarkably monotonous, inclusive of the unwanted admirer cramming himself into it.

The constant patter of raindrops against your roof echoes like fingertips. A fervent man looming over you, waiting, and waiting.

The soggy flap wilts when you pull at the twine and peer inside. Spritz marks bleed into the weathered pages inside, distorting the lead and ink strokes. Instantly, the notable scent of His cologne overpowers the room, and you know you’re looking directly at the root of it. You thumb over the contents cautiously, prepared to spend another sleepless night decoding them in your head.

The foremost in the stack is what looks like a poem, but it’s been long distorted by the moisture. Too damaged to make any of it out, so you set it aside; it’s doubtful he’d make any more sense putting pen to paper, anyhow.

By the second, third, and fourth, you’re beginning to feel like you’re wasting your time. Nothing in here has enough substance to understand. It’s all tawdry.

Of course, you’re sick to your stomach—but you’ve allocated a special tolerance to His bullshit. From where your shaky knees are standing, this is nothing. He’s not standing in front of you, near you, brandishing a weapon. This is just… another senseless care package that’ll end up in the back of your closet. Nothing he sends is ever enough for you to report, and it’s quite obvious your admirer knows that. Without a threat or hard proof, the police won’t do shit. Going to a station with a collection of soggy sonnets would be a waste of time and downright embarrassing.

“Oh—? Another poem?” You grit your teeth as you rashly hold the next one to the light and squint at it. “Real fucking original.”

The box clatters onto the counter when you toss it aside, scrubbing a hand over your face.

But then it clinks. Like soft wind chimes tinkling through night air, subtle. You don’t know why, but you’re willing to see past your frustrations and give it another go. You’d missed something at the bottom.

The stack sits unevenly atop something round and glass, a small jar that makes your head tilt. 

Muted violaceous petals curve inward, concealing the glistening bulb in the center of the flower, which takes after a dark, tart berry. Your face would scrunch from the punch of it, no doubt, before the earthy aftertaste soothes the tongue. The petals have already started to wither, not likely to survive in their crystal confines more than a day. It doesn’t help that they’ve been manhandled into the small space with what you assume were meaty, brutish fingers.

After staring at the blossom for so long, you almost forgot who sent it. Your throat bobs as you swallow dryly, and suddenly, it isn’t so pretty anymore. Rather than tasteful, the tucked and jagged edges remind you of your own.

All the feelings and suspicions you’ve been hiding from every person in your life, how you haven’t had a proper wink of sleep in months—

Whatever, you think. Spiraling won’t help you. You set the jar down and move on, brows knitted together. The drawings aren’t as damaged, though they aren’t any easier to understand. Part of you has to admit He’s got some talent for capturing your likeness.

There aren’t just one or two in here, it’s… several. Some are of only your face, and others, your body. Parts of you only you or someone that’s gotten too close would remember. Your bust. The flare of your ribcage while you sleep. How your thighs crease when you lounge. Your head tipped back against the ledge of your tub.

The final picture makes your skin crawl. An illustration of you sitting on the train, in the very same outfit you’d worn to work today. Every wrinkle, all the posters, and strangers beside you are uncanny in their authenticity. Like the artist was sitting directly across from you as his gifted hands traced it into the sketchbook.

It dawns on you, arguably too late, that He was sitting directly in front of you today on the train while you obliviously stared out the window, watching the city pass. Your stomach gnaws, twisting and churning at the horrid scenarios your mind is running through. Had you unconsciously met his eye? Did that give him more fuel? The air is thick, coating your tongue with the unmistakable taste of dread.

This isn’t a gift. This is a warning; how many of those will you get?

Get out. Get out now. The thought hammers into the side of your head like a nail until it penetrates the thickness of your skull.

It ebbs and throbs until you obey.

This is his favorite spot: the rooftop across the street that gives a direct view of his beloved girl.

His jeans are soaked on the knees from crouching, arthritis screaming in protest from the positioning. But the discomfort didn’t matter while he was watching you. He had a new purpose now. Didn’t have anything to live for before you.

The soldier shifts slightly, squinting his eyes to savor every detail through the lens. You dropped the box, letting the pages fly around you like a deviant snowstorm. The pages scattered across your floor were his masterpiece—weeks of careful dogging, planning, and crafting the perfect pieces. Some were taken from afar; others... well, he'd gotten much closer than you'd ever realized. Too netted in your head to see what was in front of you. Your sleeping form had made for particularly beautiful subjects.

His bird seems to catch her breath after standing frozen for a bit, shaking, because she disappears from view in a flash.

“Just where are ye off to?” Johnny grimaces, smearing the rain from his cheek.

She passes by the window again, chewing on her cuticles with her phone in hand. Probably thinking about dialing 9-9-9 and barricading in the bedroom. Stupid fucking move. As fun as he imagines that to be, the last thing he needs is some uniformed do-gooder sniffing about. Handing you his card and ‘checking in’ on you. Fuck that.

By some miracle, she lowers the phone and stuffs it into her pocket. But her face looks anything but defeated, rather, resolute. She knows where she’s going, albeit clumsily, as she sifts through the hall closet and pulls out a bag.

His blood rushed with anticipation when she stepped before each window, tugging the latches and yanking the drapes to a close, killing his view of the entire flat. Johnny lowered the binocs, relying on muscle memory alone to disassemble and return them to his pack. As he descended each step of the fire escape, his boots squealed against the dowsed, rusty surface.

Scarred fingers drummed against his thigh as he navigated between the dark high-rises, brows furrowed. The play was changing—and while he loved a good chase, this wasn’t part of his plan. Not yet.

The shrill vibration of his cell willed his pace to a halt. He didn’t need to look at the Caller ID to guess who it was. “Christ,” Johnny snarls, swiping his thumb across the screen to answer the call.

“What? Now? Fer fucks sake—” His throat bobs as he takes in the information on the other line. Price has the worst timing known to man, but this takes the cake. Still, Johnny reminds himself that he’s got a place, and he needs to mind it. Being out here, tailing her, isn’t something he wants anyone to know about. He can’t risk any suspicions, especially from the Cap.

Traffic buzzes by as he makes it to the sidewalk, squinting at her building one more time before driving himself to turn away.

“Yes, Sir.” The words taste like poison on his silver tongue. “I’ll be there.”

You figure it's best to stop when the symptoms of white line fever start surfacing. Everything looks the same out here, so far from the dense smog of civilization. Hills, mud, and years of unmanicured brush. Clotted trees confine the sparse buildings out here, as if suffocating the folk scaping by along the outskirts.

You just need to get out of the city for a while, get your bearings, and hope that this all blows over. It’s not smart, and you know that—but damage control is the only card you have to play right now.

After killing the engine, you take a look at the place. It’s not much. Just some shithole motel. Perfect for lying low and figuring out what the hell your plan is. Which was the absence of one entirely.

The clerk doesn’t bat an eye from her magazine when you ask about a room, just lulls her head toward the faded signage. That’s what you need, though. Someone tepid enough to not ask questions or remember you were here.

 £215 - Single Lodging.

It’s tempting to scoff at the rate, but you’re in no position. Your eyes slice over your shoulder once more before flipping through the cash you packed with you. You have enough to stay here at least a week, but moving in the morning seems best. Some sleep and a vending machine dinner will set you straight. When you set the bills down in front of her, she digs through a drawer beside her, fishing out a key with a number chip on it.

“Thanks.” You mutter, and all she does is hum apathetically.

The neon sign casts a luminous green over the entire lot that flickers and strobes irregularly, making you rub your eyes. Your head is on a perpetual swivel as you head for your room, walking along the wall of doors until you reach the same faded number as on the key. 

This is for the best. No one is following you that you can see. He’s not here. You’re safe.

Of course, he knew where she was; he’s not a fool. He’d planned everything the first night he saw her. In hindsight, the airtag in her wallet was proving to be his best idea yet. But, with his team inches away, he hasn’t had time to check it.

Johnny’s leg bounced impatiently under the meeting table, bottom lip between his teeth as he gnawed at it until it was raw.

His mind was running a mile a minute, more than usual, now that she had run off. What if she’d run her mouth?  Decided to stay with friends, family? That would complicate everything. Force him to approach the situation completely differently.

Before the tunnel, he would have adapted however he needed to. Come up with a rational, calculated plan to see this through. Now, changes are agonizing; his head is too scrambled for it.

Price’s mouth was moving, but Johnny wasn’t sure he’d heard anything since he sat down. Garrick could fill him in on the details later. As long as he wasn’t being shipped off today, he could keep his mind on something better: her.

It seemed like the clock hadn’t changed in hours, but by some miracle, it did when Johnny looked up from his lap again. The shuffle of papers and feet finally means that he’s leaps and bounds closer to sneaking out of here. It proves more difficult than ever with all of them breathing down his neck, always checking in.

He’s got his phone in hand as soon as there’s room for him to squeeze into the hall. Head down, eyes pinned, he studies every movement of the small dot. His free fingers play with the scar tissue on his temple, tapping and digging on it with his nail until his ears stop ringing. Something he finds himself doing a lot whenever there aren’t eyes on him.

She’s further out than a few hours ago, but this is doable. This. Is. Fine. He’ll just have to… expedite his process, maybe find a way to—

“Soap.” The voice grunts, familiar and cavernous.

Johnny tucks his tail and turns to face it. “Lt?” He presses the off button on his phone and pockets it, hands at his sides stiffly.

“Forgot your book.” Ghost holds up the small notepad between two thick fingers, gaze uninterested. That alone makes Johnny let out a sigh of relief and reach for it. If he’d been caught glued to his phone, surely his Lieutenant would’ve been more direct about it. Forceful, probably.

As soon as his fingers brush against the leather, it gets jerked away from him, held above his head. “Ah-ah.” Simon needles, the fabric of his mask wrinkling from what Johnny assumes is a glare. The younger soldier parts his lips and reaches for it again, but it’s pointless. Ghost is a dog with a bone between his teeth ever since the tunnel.

“You’ve been in your head all day. Didn’t look up from the fucking table once.” He lowers the book slightly, but the conversation won’t be over until he gets a proper response. There’s no way to weasel away from Simon.

Johnny blinks, gesturing and picking at his crown again for effect. “I know, Lt. It’s just my bloody head— Can’t… I’ll—”

“Fix it.” There’s no question in his tone, nor his demeanor. “Fix it—” He finally lowers the pad and allows his Sergeant to reach for it, still leaning close, as if he gave a damn about who could hear him, “—or I will.”

The brute is gone before Johnny can figure out a way to save his arse. He truly believed he had been hiding it better than this, that nobody would notice how glum he’s been. But, on the bright side, he didn’t question the phone or the why of it all.

He could handle all this later. For now, though, there was a flighty, imprudent lass he needed to see about.

You aren’t sure you’re going to get any sleep here. Or that you should at all.

There’s no way this place is secure, either. The deadbolt is worn just like all the hinges, and the cheap plastic blinds are barely holding on. The place stinks of mildew and old cigarettes, the neighbors are less than considerate about going at it, and the TV only has three unamusing channels.

Only after you’ve double-checked everything else, and the mattress a third, do you decide to lay down. You peek at the grainy screen through heavy eyes, fighting the exhaustion of the long drive today.

The screen flickers, casting a cool glow across the room that highlights the corners, which gives your paranoid thoughts some ease. If someone was in here, you’d see them, hear them, smell them. The lumpy mattress digs into your flesh when you curl onto your side, tuck in your knees,  and face the blank, cream plaster. You can’t stop your lids from closing.

Everything is serene where your brain is. No rush—no pressure for anything here. You’re back in your apartment, cooking a warm dinner for yourself. The lights are warm and so is your flesh, like the perpetual hug of a soft blanket that’s just come from the dryer.

Someone is there with you, but you can’t see their face. They say something that makes you toss your head back and cackle, but the language is nonsensical. A sense of peace, the first in months, seeped through your chest. You belong here; you want to stay here until the end of time.

When you turn away from the stove, that person is close. It’s a man; you know it without being able to make out his features. His breath fans across your face, mint and tobacco. The fingers on your sides are hardening, beginning to shift to bite into your soft hips.

You part your lips to reply to his mutterings, and suddenly, this all feels real. A presence, a man.

Something is close—

The hand clamped over your mouth startles you awake.

Stocky fingers splay wide across your lips, thumb digging in beneath your ear until you let out a minuscule, pathetic noise against the smothering hold. Your wide eyes adjust to the figure hovering over you, knees bordering each side of your waist.

He leans forward to purr his words directly into your ear.

“Mornin’, bonnie.”

[leftshoeuntied]

quick lil dark soap x reader idea

tw: home invasion/phrogging, allusion to voyeurism, no actual violence depicted

That’s just the wood settling in the stairs, right? You left the light on in the upstairs bathroom, just as your mom had taught you, so people would know there was someone home, and so they wouldn’t be dumb enough to break in to a house that wasn’t empty, right?

It’s an old house, the wood is bound to creak as it settles, and it’s windy outside tonight, that’s why there’s creaks in the empty attic, right?

Your toes are tucked under the blanket, and the door to your room is shut tightly and the blanket pulled to your chin, prepared to hide under the blanket if needed. Your chest feels heavy and you can feel your heartbeat in your throat, but you’re trying everything to focus on the real housewives fighting on your television across the room. Between the catty tones and the drone of your fan in the window, you let the sounds lull you into a sense of comfort and you brain finally begins to listen to your earlier reasoning.

You’ve lived alone long enough to be used to nights like this, there’s nothing to be afraid of. You’re too old to be afraid of thunder and lighting, the sounds above your heard are just the sounds of branches hitting the roof. You’ve experienced your fair share of stormy nights, it’s just the wind.

Right?

The next morning you wake to the stream of sunlight coming through your window, not remembering when you had finally fallen asleep, but at least thankful that you did. Stepping out of your bed and into a pair of sweatpants, you grab a sweatshirt on the way out of your room, prepared to go outside and check for damage the storm might’ve left for you. As you pull the sweater over your head, you don’t notice the light to the bathroom had already been turned off.

Stepping into your boots, you open the front door, and covering your eyes from the blinding sunlight as you schlep down the front stairs.

“Good morning, bonnie”

You hear from your right, looking over you see your neighbor John smiling down on you from his elevated lawn.

“Good morning, John, how’d the storm hit you last night?” You ask him with your hand still covering your eyes from the sun.

“Eh, nothing bad over here hen, how about you?”

“Inside was fine, thankfully didn’t lose power, but the branches were so loud on my roof last night, sounded like someone was right above me, it was crazy” you say with a chuckle, pretending like it didn’t downright scare you. “Might have to get up on a ladder sometime today and make sure there’s no damage up there.”

“Ach, I’m not letting you up there bonnie, let me get my ladder, I can go up there and check it out for you.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to do that for me.”

“Aye, it’s no worries, looks like you’ve got some fallen branches in the backyard. I’ll let you handle those, and I can go up to the roof,” John says with finality towards you, but the same smile pointed down at you “let me look out for you hen, yeah?”

You smile and nodded back at him, even though you know he wasn’t leaving much of a choice. “Thanks John.”

---

A couple of days later you woke up with a stretch and a groan, noticing that your room had a more noticeable chill to it than normal. When you opened your eyes, you noticed that the door to your bedroom was left open. Huh? You pause. You always shut your door before you go to bed, never having been able to sleep with the door to your bedroom open before. 

You did sleep with the window open last night and the fan on in the window, the wind could’ve picked up last night, creating a wind tunnel that pulled the door open, you try to reason with yourself. That has happened to you before while you’ve been in your room doing chores, only when you don’t fully shut the door, you brain reminds you, and you always fully shut your door before bed, double and triple checking. 

You try not think anything of it, the fan in the open window giving you enough reason to believe that wind must’ve picked up last night and the change in pressure must’ve pulled the door open last night, even if the storm y weather had already moved through the area a couple of days prior.

It wasn’t until you were at your dresser applying skincare, after washing your face, that you notice something is off from your normal tray of items. Your favorite purple lighter is missing from next to your candle, hm, you huff in confusion trying to remember where you might’ve taken it. It’s probably just in the living room, you think, you have other lighters down there with your other candle, but this purple was easier to use since you had pulled of the safety, so it makes sense you would’ve moved it, you reason.

---

“Thank you again John for helping me get this old freezer out of the basement” you say stepping down the basement steps looking over your shoulder to John, him falling in behind you, matching your steps and smile.

“Aye no worries, hen. I meant it when I told you I’d look out for you, whatever you need.”

You step off the steps into the finished basement looking over at John and saying “I really do appreciate it though” John just smiles and waves you off like it’s no big deal, so you continue “I unplugged it a couple of days ago, so hopefully that means all of the ice has melted” as you open and step through the door into the unfinished side of the basement. 

You stop though, caught off guard by what you see. “Everything alright bonnie?” You hear John ask behind you. 

“Yeah” you pause but John can hear the apprehension in your voice “I just…I swear I left the board in front of that door”. You say as you walk over the walk over to the door leading to the outside, and noticing that the plank of wood that normally lays in the metal arms across the door, is just leaning up against the wall to the side of the door instead. But the glass window in the door hasn’t been broken, someone couldn’t have removed it from the outside, so “I must’ve just forgotten to put it back up last time I was down here” right?

“Ah” John pauses “that makes sense, hen, you were just doing yard work back there the other day, probably forgot to put it back up then.”

---

Your brain was still hung up on trying to remember if you had gone through the basement door when working on the backyard at the beginning of the week, but you swear you went through the front door on the main floor and walked around instead. John had helped you bring the old freezer out the other day, and afterwards made sure to remind you to put the board back across the door this time, like it was a small joke now. You appreciated him for trying to help you lighten the situation, but it still weighed heavy on you, each of these weird things around the house on their own could be a coincidence, but together? It felt all too much.

Carrying your basket of laundry up the stairs to fold on your bed, you know your already anxious brain is on edge, scanning everything in sight. You tell yourself it’s so you can confirm nothing’s out of place, but part of you knows you are just looking for something to be outside of the norm to confirm your suspicions and unfortunately for you, you find something else. The string to the ladder leading up to your attic was tied into a loop, pulling between the hole in the door and then through the edge of the cutout back into the hatch on the ceiling. 

That’s not how you left it, you never tied the string, the previous owner had never tied it. Any other day you could’ve convinced yourself you had made the change, but with your limited time in the attic already and the basement door left without the board, the sight made your stomach drop.

Part of you was ready to walk into your bedroom, shut the door and fold your laundry like nothing happened, but something had happened. You drop the laundry basket, and reach for the string, pulling the hatch down slowly, scared something might jump out at you, but when met with silence you pulled the ladder fully down.

As you crawl up the ladder to your attic, not much stands out to you, letting your brain fall into a false sense of security. See? Your brain says to your anxiety. Nothings up here, you were freaked out for nothing. 

But your phone’s flashlight catches onto something in the corner. Rushing over there’s a small pile of miscellaneous items: a small flashlight, an old plastic water bottle that became a makeshift ashtray and an open pack of Marlboro Golds. But that’s not what scares you the most. Off to the side there’s a small hand-held drill, debris, and a small hole in the plywood, the same width as the drill bit. The hair on your arms stands up and you take a quick spin in the attic with your flashlight to make you are alone, before you lean down to look through the hole in the ground. You feel like you are going to be sick as you realize the pin size hole give you a perfect view of your bedroom. You sit back up on your knees, swallowing bile as you look around. A couple feet over there’s another small pile of debris, and a few feet over another pile, and then another a couple further from there. You get to your feet, sickness washing over you as you realize there’s small holes drilled into the plywood all throughout your attic’s floor board, giving viewership to each room in your room on your second floor. 

You pound on John’s door, hoping his car in the front driveway means he’s home, you don’t know where else you’d go right now if he wasn’t and you can’t see yourself going back int your house alone. John opens the door with a confused look, but smiles when he sees you there. “Bon-“he starts but you cut him off before he can get the term of endearment out.

“John, please I just need to talk someone right now, I thought I was going crazy but I think someone has been breaking into my house” John’s face drops at your startled state, pulling you through the door into his home

“Aye it’s not a problem hen, let’s get you settled, let me get you something to drink, tea alright?” You nod as John guides you to sit on his couch, rubbing your shoulders soothingly before stepping away into the kitchen.

“I feel crazy John, I don’t know what to do. There’s been all of these weird things happening around the house, and at first, I thought it was just weird coincidences, like things getting misplaced, the basement door being uncovered, doors being left open” you say as he emerges from the kitchen with a mug of tea for you, handing it to you with a soft smile as you lean back into his couch, trying to get comfortable, despite your racing heart and anxiety building in your stomach. John sits next to you, matching your body language. 

“What do you mean?” he asks leaning his head to the side, rubbing your shoulder soothingly as you take a sip of the tea.

“I don’t know,” you start again, your frustration and fear building, tears beginning to build along your eyeline “pieces of my laundry have been going missing, but I figured it was just my washer or dryer eating them. And then little things around the house have been going missing, like I don’t know where my favorite lighter is, which is so miniscule but I always leave it in my room” you heave out, the weight in your chest building as you finally begin to acknowledge the true depth of the situation. Someone in your home, in your room.

“And I know that all sounds stupid, but I noticed the string to the attic was messed up earlier, so I went up there and I- “

You pause, something on John’s coffee table catching your eye, and your stomach drops, unable to continue your train of thought. 

“And what bonnie?” John asks but then follows your line of site to the plate of items on his coffee table, not much standing out besides the purple lighter in tray that visibly had the safety pulled off. Your frozen in place, clutching to the mug, as you feel him turn to you, hum softly, place a hand of your knee, rubbing soothingly before saying 

“I said I’d look out for you hen.”

[yeyinde]

gimme soap x reader in a lifetime-esque thriller where you marry a guy you barely know to escape a crazy stalker that keeps getting bolder and scarier, only for your husband to end up killed after a hit and run several months after your wedding, leaving you utterly alone in the middle of nowhere.

at least until a man shows up claiming to be his younger brother.

he's a little strange, but he seems strong. dependable. and when he tells you he's in the military, you relax. because he seems more than capable enough to do something about a creepy guy who broke into your house and left a wedding dress on your bed, prompting this vegas wedding to begin with. he'll protect you—so long as you don't go into his room. a caveat you have to respect considerating this used to be his childhood home, too.

so you do. and it's easy. all of it is so—easy. he just seems to know everything about you. to get you in a way no one else ever has. and it's flattering, being at the mercy of such an intense man's interest. a little wrong, but—

"he'd have wanted th'." he tells you, eyes bright. feverish. "he'd have wanted what was best fer ye." and you have to believe it. you let yourself believe it.

until the lead detective on the case tells you that your husband was an only child.

[bbystark]

♡ simon is a bad stalker part 4 ♡

badstalker!simon x reader series - pt one two three

♡ masterlist ♡ request more! ♡

summary: the date you've been waiting for dreading.

a/n: so i did the thing again where i dissapeared lol but IM BACK plz enjoy my offering

you get home safely, with soap, and you don't say a singular word. just kind of dumbly stare out the window and then at him when he helps you out of the car and into your house.

you can't stop thinking about ghost, and the fact that you quite literally cornered yourself into going on a date with your stalker

you really chalk it up to having some type of third response to danger, fight, flight or say the most ridiculous thing you possibly can. obviously you chose the third.

you go to bed that night with your cat in your arms, as if they can protect you from you're own stupid decision. you're shivering no matter how warm you try to get, and your cat throws you irritated side eyes.

you wake up with no sign of ghost. no calls, no texts, no emails. you try not to think about if he was in the house while you slept, like he had been before.

you try to have a normal day, but you're plagued with anxiety and anticipation

you decide to go outside, walk to the little coffee shop that's nearby to get fresh air and be somewhere you knew ghost hadn't been

you spend a few hours out, window shopping and trying to clear your head. you head back when the sun starts to go down, not keen on being out after dark.

what you come back to is almost comical.

you stumble through the door, eyes snapping to the huge figure in your kitchen. he turns around suddenly, and your cat is in his arms, rubbing her face against his mask. you only see it for half a second before he's setting them on the counter faster than you can blink. your cat lets out an irritated meow, and somehow even through the mask, ghost looks guilty

you laugh, you honest to god laugh. "oh my god. you fucking traitor." you whisper at your cat, trying to suppress your giggles. yeah, add this to the list of danger responses.

ghost straightens, and then you notice your surroundings. there's roses in a vase on your table, and he's cooking, there's at least 3 different pans and it smells incredible and you're dumbfounded. you stare at him, unable to say anything.

"welcome to your date love." he turns back to the stove, and you're grateful, because you feel like you can't move while he's looking. like one wrong move will make him snap and your worst nightmares will come true. you keep reminding yourself that nothing has happened before, and you take a seat in the chair at the table closest to the door.

"um, the roses are nice." you can see him cooking at this angle. "glad you like 'em. dinner will be done in a few." he doesn't turn around. he doesn't know how this will go, he's expecting you to run out at any moment, screaming bloody murder. he's trying to help you feel safe by turning his back, giving you the upper hand (or at least the illusion of the upper hand).

underneath that worry though, ghost was thriving in this scenario. it was like watching all of his fantasies come true, he couldn't help but preen under your compliment, and the ability to show you he can provide

you're still a little in shock. you don't say anything as ghost serves you dinner, your favorite, not surprising. you watch as he rolls up his mask, and takes a bite. it still doesn't convince you of the possibility of it being drugged.

"it's alright dove, not 'ere to hurt you, just 'ere to give you the date i promised." as he says it, your cat jumps onto the table, knocking over a glass of water. ghost stands, and looks down to find all the water had made it directly into his lap.

you find yourself laughing for the second time of the night. here your stalker is, looking like he peed himself. he chuckles himself, and you have to look away when you see his lopsided smile. you stand and grab a towel, temporarily forgetting the situation you were in. it was way too easy to see this as a real first date, awkward parts and all.

"thanks." he sits back down, clearing his throat. the proximity to you was intoxicating, but he was still worried about running you off.

you sit back down too, and take and slowly take a bite of the food. it's delicious, and you still can't believe the absurdity of the situation. "this is really great ghost. really." your voice is small, and music to his ears.

"thank you. m'sorry about breaking in. swear 'm just trying to make your life easier."

you decide to start testing boundaries, as one would. "maybe, since this is going... okay, you can stop coming in when i don't know? like maybe we can just keep doing this every once in a while?" damage control is all you can think of.

ghost thinks for a moment. "i dunno about that one love. how 'bout i give you a heads up when i do come in?"

"no more coming in here while i'm sleeping. and you still have to tell me when you're in my house."

"alright," he crosses his arm and leans back on the chair. do you hate how big he is because you're scared, or because you secretly like it? "i tell you when i come over, and no more coming in at night. but you 'ave to promise me one date a week."

you can't believe you're negotiating with this man. "okay." you concede.

he smiles and pulls his mask back down. he makes his way over to you, stroking your hair for half a second before clearing your plate. "look at us. arguing like a proper old couple already. "

as he does the dishes, you ask him more questions. he's answers as truthfully as he can, leaving out details here and there. no need to startle you.

you learn he was in the military, that the two men are some of the only people he's close with, that he trusts. besides you, of course. you feel like he throws that in to tell you to be wary of using this information against him.

from what you can tell, this is just a severely damaged man. the actions he was taking against you was just his reaction to loneliness, and his need to provide.

against your will, you feel the need to help him fill that hole. the need to tread lightly dissipates by the minute, and against your better judgement, you find yourself enjoying his company. and hey, he made dinner and did the dishes. that has to speak to his character somehow

later, he grabs your hand and runs rough fingers over your soft knuckles. promises he'll call, and then leaves.

and you're left alone, forced to do what you've done a lot lately; ponder your life decisions, and think about the large, surprisingly harmless stalker of yours..

[decaffeinatedcandycane]

Continuation.... (stalkers!taskforce 141 x reader)

Incorrect quotes.... Let's goo!!!!

Warning: It does get NSFW

*loud arguing from inside the walls*

Y/N yelling from the couch: Can I get a waffle?

*silence*

Y/N: Can I please get a waffle?

*silence*

Y/N: That's what I though.... Suckers.

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

Y/N: Helloooo

Ghost: It's 4am. Shut the fuck up or we are shutting down the WiFi.

*silence*

Ghost: Finally.

*le several minutes later*

Y/N leaning close to Ghost's ear: Herroooo

Ghost falling of the bed: Fucking 'ell!! It's illegal for you to be this QUIET!!!!

Soap rushing in the room: Simon wh- Y/N!!! How did you get in here? This fortress.. is impenetrable?

Y/N: Door was unlocked

Ghost: Son of a bitch

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

Price: Okay kid.... I'm gonna put this bag over your head, now. Don't struggle.

Y/N: Why?

Price: So you don't see where we are taking you.

Y/N: is it.... somewhere....in my own house?

Price: Well-

Y/N: In the same house I constantly bust you in?

Price:

Y/N: This house?

Price, impatient: Yes, this house. Now, put this on.

Y/N: Can't.

Price, irritated: Why not.

Y/N, quietly: Tied up.

Price: Right.

Y/N: It's not gonna last you know.... It's not that big of a house. I will find you again.

Soap: Shouldn't WE say that.

Gaz: I feel threatened.

Ghost: We made renovations.

Price: Don't tell her that.

Y/N: So you made extra space.

Price: Maybe...

Y/N: ....And didn't fix the leaking roof.

*silence*

Soap chiming in: I dug holes under the house for the water.

Y/N: You did WHAT?!

Price: Shit. Don't trash around... My duck tape!!!

.........

Price fixing the holes from under the house: Kid, listen. I am sorry for my sergent.

Y/N: Man with your cake shouldn't call me "kid".

Price: My what?

Y/N: I have too many spicy thoughts to consider you a father figure.

Price: Not sure I want to understand that.

Y/N: I unfrathered you soon after our first meeting.

Price: Please, stop.

*silence*

*Price reaching toward his shirt*

Y/N: No, keep your shirt off.

Price:

Y/N: Yeah...Flex them muscles.

Price, frantically looking around: What? Where are you?

Y/N: Don't worry about it.

Price spotting a small camera: Did you put surveillance on us.

Y/N: Shhh.... Keep working bby girl. Do your thing.

Price: Don't call me that!

.......

Y/N: It's a crime I am being stalked but nothing more.

*silence*

Y/N: I said-

Ghost: We heard what you said. We can hear everything you are saying.

Y/N: So?

Ghost: What do you want more? Torture?

Y/N, mischievously: I will send you some clips.

Ghost: Our network is secured. You can't just-

*ding*

Ghost: Okay... Not happy about that.

*ding* *ding*

Ghost: I got it.

*ding* *ding* *ding* *ding*

Ghost: Captain!

Price: Yeah. I got it. Opening now.

Price: Oh my-

Ghost: We are NOT doing that!!!

Gaz: This is deranged.

Soap, stripping: Guess I will take one for the team.

Soap, yelling: Hey lass. If I do that, ya need to put on a helmet.

Price: Don't even think about it!

...........

Soap: It's a very quiet evening.

*silence*

Soap: I will fix the roof in the morning.

*silence*

Soap: Will you just talk to me?

*silence*

Soap, activating his puppy eyes: Your silence is killing me.

*silence*

Soap, angrily: Fine. Be like that. I don't care!

*from another room*

Ghost: Should we tell him, he is talking to a decoy doll for the past 20 minutes?

Price: Nah, let him be. Where is Y/N anyway?

Ghost: Shop? I think.

Price: You think?

Ghost: That's what I've heard.

Price, suspicious: Didn't Kyle say he was going shopping?

Ghost: Yeah.

Price:

Ghost:

Price: Fuck.

..........

*Gaz leisurely stretching on the couch*

Y/N: One down! Three more to go!

*on the other side of the house*

Ghost: Captain! The sergent is down.

Price: Shit. Y/N you will pay for this.

*Gaz laughing cause he can hear them through his ear piece*

Soap, stripping: I will avenge you.

Price: Mactavish! I said no!

...........

*in bed*

Y/N: Wasn't that bad, huh.

Price taking a deep drag from his cigar: Never said it was, doll.

Y/N, scrabbling something in a notebook and whispering: One more to go!

Price: Why one more?

Y/N: Mactavish ambushed me as soon as you feel asleep.

Price, laughing: God dammit.

Price wrapping his arms tightly around Y/N: Now we are never gonna leave... You know that, right? *planting a little kiss on Y/N forehead*

Y/N: I am counting on that.

.........

Y/N, dramatically: You are the last one left. Surrender.

Ghost, tryng not to laugh: Never.

Y/N: There is nowhere to go, Simon.

Ghost: You sure about that?

Y/N: Surrender! Or else.

Ghost: Alright. *drops pants*

Y/N: Shit- How? What do you eat?

Ghost, stretching his arms out: Come 'ere sweetheart.

Y/N, walking backwards toward the door: I think I forgot the bathroom oven opened.

Ghost, walking towards her: No, no. Come 'ere and take what you bargained for.

..........

That's it!

[fictionalmenobsessor]

RULES ─ MASTERLIST ─ REQ BOX

stalker!soap, who accidentally bumps into you at a local coffee shop, brew spilling down your white shirt. welkin stained eyes contrite while he apologised profusely; smooth scottish accent carrying well.

you told him it was fine, but he insisted to buy you another one. reluctantly you accepted, and he tried to make small talk, but it was a bit awkward with how he was practically burning holes into your partially see-through button-up top. giving him a clear window to the bra you had on underneath.

it didn’t last long, thankfully, as your name was called out for a vanilla cappuccino. you said your goodbyes, and instantaneously trekked off to work.

as ominous as he was, he seemed like a nice enough guy, so the interaction didn’t plague your mind as much as it should have.

stalker!soap, who remembers your name the whole day and how nicely it rolled off of his tongue.

stalker!soap, who searches for you later that night. scrolling through every inch of social media he could find. making sure to not miss a single detail.

stalker!soap, who maps out where all of your favourite places are, favourite restaurants etc. even going as far as creating a schedule for you; knowing where you’ll most likely be according to that day and time.

stalker!soap, who accidentally ends up at the same library, and book aisle as you. picking up a specific novel by your favourite author.

stalker!soap, who acts completely clueless when you come up to him, proclaiming that you’ve seen him before; up until you mention the coffee shop incident.

creating a fake alias, he introduced himself, flashing you an unnatural grin.

obviously he would come clean, just not now… but eventually!

[porkcutletbowl44]

Johnny's got a new lass, the team has noticed. He's almost always buried into his phone, everyone knows he's talking to someone. Eventually he did spill the news.

Everything is great! You're perfect. Literally everything he could dream of. You match his humor, pretty face, wonderful sense of style, kind, thick skin, take no bullshit— the list goes on forever.

The first time meeting you, he was hooked from the simple and nice 'hello.'

You're like one of those couples that make everyone jealous, the perfect dynamic and lavish gifts, which by the way your face is just priceless when you receive those lovely flowers and heart bleeding love notes, the jewelery you eye in stores and your online shopping cart just hoarding things you never pay for they literally just gather digital cobwebs but Johnny can afford it no problem.

Everyone on the team is so supportive too! He went to Ghost to figure out how to work the cameras in your little apartment because that's not really Johnny's specialty.

Is it a bonus that Ghost also thinks you're the perfect, pretty little bird too?

[whinesandwhimpers]

cw; victim overtaking kidnapper mid-fucking, choking—almost passing out, breeding kink

stalker!reader who manages to kidnap Soap but does a terrible job of tying him up so when he wakes up to you bouncing on his cock he easily breaks his binds and harshly grabs your hips and starts thrusting up into you.

"This what ye wanted, Lass?"

You gasp as he flips you both over and continues roughly fucking into you, pawing at your tits and pinching your nipples, making you arch your back and release a loud moan.

"Please, please—"

He folds you in half, hitting deeper inside you, wraps a hand around your neck and applies a little pressure, making your eyes snap open to see he's already watching you, teeth bared like a wild animal.

"That's it. Ye want me so you'll take whatever I give ye, filthy fuckin' girl." He snarls and presses harder against your neck, effectively cutting off your oxygen.

Your building orgasm mixes with pure panic as you claw at his arm to no avail.

When your vision starts to dot black and your eyes close, he releases your neck, his hand flying down to rub fast, harsh circles on your clit.

Between your arms sprawling out to clench the sheets and taking his rough pounding(quite literally rocking the bed), you manage a few gasps for air before you're crying out as you reach climax and cum on his cock.

"Ye want my bairn too, aye? Want a big, swollen belly until you're pushing him out of this pretty cunt, aye?" He pulls out of you, flips you over, lifts your ass up before he's driving his dick right back inside you. He grabs your tits and pulls you up, your back flush against his chest, squeezing the flesh and pulling your nipples. He puts his mouth next to your ear, through the sounds of your squelching pussy and his body smacking against yours with every thrust, you manage to hear the low words, a promise that sends shivers through you. "Aye, I can do that. I'll keep you stuffed full of my cock and my cum 'til there's a whole litter of 'em running 'round."

You whine and clench around his cock, your head slumping back against his shoulder as he fucks you to your second orgasm. You bring a hand up to hold onto the back of his neck, making him hiss when you dig your nails in.

"Knew you were—were perfect." You huff out, eyes squeezing shut.

He growls and turns your head and kisses you roughly, biting your bottom lip until it bleeds. When you moan against his mouth at a particularly rough thrust, he groans and slams inside you to the hilt, coating your walls and filling you up with his warm cum.

The feeling of him cumming inside you is enough to send you over the edge, your second orgasm hitting you harder than the first, making you scream.

He holds you on his cock as you come back down from the high, then follows you as you slump forward onto the bed, laying on top of you and keeping his cock buried inside you. He murmurs in your ear about keeping you plugged up so it takes before he nuzzles his cheek against your back and falls asleep.

You can't help but clench around his cock at how he just bred you and how he promises to keep breeding you, causing him to let out a little whimper in his sleep, and though you should feel like you're being crushed by this large mass of a man, you're quite comfortable with him on top of you and fall blissfully asleep.

[deunmiu-dessie-sideblog]

johnny's eyes never leave you, his dark gaze following your every move with an intensity that borders on obsession. the feel of your touch, the smell of your perfume, the mere sight of you, is all he craves.

in his twisted mind, you are the key to his happiness, the only one who can fill the void within him. every moment that passes, johnny's mind is consumed by visions of a life with you, where you’re lives are forever entwined.

his love for you is all-consuming, devouring him from the inside out. he yearns to be by your side, to share in your joys and griefs, to be the one you turn to for comfort. the one who owns your love. his commitment to you is unwavering, his devotion unbreakable.

he dreams of a future where you are his everything, where you love him back, where you know he exists. his love for you teeters on the brink of insanity, a love that recognizes no limits. you are his infatuation, his possession, and he will go to any lengths to make you his own. even murder.

[dougielovelove]

THE STALKER

(998 words)

WARNINGS: Stalker!Soap, obsessive and toxic behavior, NSFW (at the end), Male reader, my writing. (let me know if I have to put more warnings)

(Something about it didn't leave me all that satisfied😒 but I liked it tho)

Beep Beep

You wake up in your room, as always, to the sound of your alarm clock. Your lazy eyes slowly scan the room, and, as you expected... It happened again. The window is half open, even though you were sure it was closed last night. It's a weird thing that's been happening a lot over the last few months, but you just let it go. Your memory has never been that good, and you forget some things quickly… and it's not like this is the strangest thing happening in your life right now.

Every time you go to do your laundry, you realize that another pair of underwear is missing. You don't have that many, so it's easy to notice when one disappears. And there's also another strange thing going on. Every time you go out, you feel watched. You always have the feeling that someone is watching you, but you don't know where.

But it all started to really scare you when you came home after a stressful day at work, and saw a photo of you, sleeping, thrown across your welcome mat.

Terrified, you decided to do the most sensible thing to do.

You call the only person you trust in this world.

You call Soap your best friend. Your ONLY friend. He's in the military, so he should know what to do.

It doesn't take long for him to arrive. You show him the photo, and he is as surprised as you are. You tell him about the things that have happened recently, and, with each piece of information, his eyes widen in surprise and concern. You're at your limit, and he can see that. Seeking comfort, you hug your good friend, snuggling into his arms as he rubs your back and whispers sweet nothings, telling you that everything is going to be okay, and that he will be there for you. Oh, if you could just see the little smile on his face.

After that day, more and more photos started to appear, and you became more and more scared. But you started to panic even more when you found a photo of you taking a shower. You tell Soap that you're going to take this to the police, but he changes your mind. ‘They are slow' he says. ‘Until they start investigating, something worse could happen’ he says. ‘Leave it to me’ he says.

And then, Soap offers to put Cameras in your entire house. Outside, in the bedrooms, in the living room, in the backyard, in the garage. You feel much safer this way, knowing that your best friend is taking care of you. But, oh, if you only knew about the hidden camera he put in your bathroom…

You also decided to give Soap a spare key to your house... just in case.

Jackpot.

-

Soap's plan is coming to fruition. After so many years, engineering everything precisely. He knew you very well, before he even exchanged a word with you. When you met him at a club, he seemed so friendly, and you had a lot in common. You both liked the same things, went to the same places. It was a very quick connection. But there was something much darker about it. He saw you one day in a coffee shop, and when he saw you, something in his fucked up brain clicked. You needed to be his. All his. He spent the next few months researching EVERYTHING about you. You were quite liked, you had a lot of friends and even a nice boyfriend. It would be difficult to come into your life, and he didn't want to get his hands dirty... I mean, he could carry out a massacre and still get away with it, but he didn't want to do that... that was plan B.

Instead, he went the plan A route, which turned out very well. He pretended to be a former friend of yours, and spread lies about you - with false evidence. This plan worked so well that in less than a month, your friends stopped talking to you, and your boyfriend dumped you.

Oh, poor you, without friends and boyfriend... you were so sad... Well, cycles begin and end! Why not go to this new club that just opened?

-

Soap feels like a child going to a park. He happily fits the spare key you gave him into the lock of your house, and with two turns and a click, the door opens. He patiently follows the familiar path to your room. It's not like he hasn't been there hundreds of times, but now he doesn't have to worry about not making noise. He opens the door to your room, and feels his heart leap with joy.

It's still 7:30 pm, and you're still at work… He has time for a quickie. He happily lays down on your perfectly made bed and takes your pillow, bringing it to his nose and drowning in your sweet scent. He lies down on top of your pillow, and quickly undoes his belt and opens his pants, releasing his rock hard cock from its confines. He starts to hump into your pillow, the smell of your perfume invading his brain, leaving him disoriented in pleasure. His cock rubs against your pillow, and he can't help but imagine you, there, in the place of the pillow, while he squeezes you really tight.

Soap is in paradise. His plan finally worked, and the next step will be to have you as his boyfriend, but that will be easy, after all: he's already come this far.

Soap moans your name, his eyes closed with vivid images of you. He feels closer and closer to his orgasm.

But, oh, it's a shame that you managed to leave work early today.

And it's even more of a shame that he didn't hear you arrive, and it's also a shame that he didn't notice you, at the bedroom door watching the scene.

[lunarw0rks]

a lil creepy idea i had about stalker!soap [no major tw's. except stalking. obviously.]

Lounging in your place, in the main living area.

Whatever it is you're doing, you are clearly too occupied to notice the lurker. He's not behind you; not inside at all. But he's somewhere.

You sneeze into your elbow, shaking off the sudden interruption. As soon as your eyes drift back to your phone, you get a text.

Unknown: Bless you.

[indigosunsetao3]

Here’s this…thing?

Gender neutral reader, stalking (sort of?), alcohol

He's back.

You adjust your stance behind the bar, careful to push up on your toes to reach the top shelf to slide the clean glasses in. He thinks he's blending in with the rest of the crowd, lingering amongst the tourists who are all peering in the shops and booths. But he's not. You spot him easily, as if he has a spotlight on him in the dark shadows of the alleyway where the crowd is funneling in from.

You tilt your head looking blatantly at him. He's leaned against the brick of a building with his arms crossed staring into you as if you were the only person here. He doesn't even flinch as someone barrels into him in their haste to get onto the street.

The last time he had been by had been over a month ago, but he had walked the street every night then. Pausing outside your club to just stare up at you before disappearing again. At first you had been creeped out, worried he was watching you for something nefarious and had asked your friends to walk with you to your car. But he never tried anything, always just lingered in the background, never coming in to talk to you.

Shy boys were common, but he didn't give off the air of a nervous man. If anything he was oozing confidence in how he walked and stared which was why you didn't understand why he didn't come up to you, or at least come in for a drink before finding someone for company that evening.

A knock on the bar has you looking down and you do your best to not frown as you spot the face of your regular. Like clockwork every Tuesday evening he was there. He wasn't bad, not really, just overly chatty and always attempting to to take you home. When you walk over to him the wave of alcohol oozing off him overwhelms you, which is saying something since you work in a bar, and you know you're going to have to turn him away.

"Go on babes," you say with a fake smile as he grins sloppily at you. "Come back tomorrow when you can stand, waste of money when you're like this," you wink pointing him away. He doesn't go though and instead moves to take up one of your precious seats for paying customers. Damn it.

"Pretty sure they said no, mate," comes a growl of a voice as your watcher finally appears. He had moved quick, you hadn't even seen him make his way over. "Go sleep it off," he instructs as the guy stares up and notices the height, and build, difference. Your regular nods before stepping back, stumbling a bit before slipping through the crowd.

"Thanks," you say quietly to your watcher, trying to take in his face that's hidden by a ballcap and hood. "I was wondering if you were ever going to work up the courage to come talk to me," you say lightly, leaning on the bar as the music from the stage thrums in your veins.

"No courage needed," he answers flicking his eyes up to yours. What you see there gives you pause. He's gorgeous up close. Intense eyes under long lashes that make you envious. His face is marred in spots, old scars crisscross across his eyebrow and cheek, yet you find them intriguing. "You watch me as much as I watch you."

"When you stare at me while I work it's a bit hard to not watch you," you answer simply, ignoring as someone calls for a refill.

"That's your job though isn't it?" He asks as he takes a seat, "to be stared at…watched."

"People usually pay when they stare," you answer trying to not snap at his presumptuous tone. "You've had a free show for weeks," you tack on before the person calls for a refill again and you turn heel to help them. Even with your back turned you can feel his eyes on you, as if they were consuming you. And you know when he walks away, the burning sensation on your back gone to be replaced by disappointment.

But when you return to where he had been seated you find a folded piece of paper under a glass. A few large bills and a note are tucked inside. "Payment for staring" is all that is scribbled inside.

You don't see him for another few weeks but one night during a downpour he walks in like he's never been gone and sits at the bar for hours. You don't exchange a single word aside from taking his order, water, all night. But the staring is enough to make your breath catch and body shake with desire.

He watches you like he wants to destroy and worship you all at once and you are fairly certain he can do both.

[aphelionwrotes11]

Nothing feels quite as cool as waking up to over 130 likes on my stalker!john post 🥹 thank you guys!

I was just planning on making 1 part for stalker price, but lemme know, do you guys want more?

I was also planning on making some stalker! Fics for all the 141 boys, so lemme know who you wanna see next! Xoxo

[bbystark]

♡ simon is a bad stalker part 3 ♡

badstalker!simon x reader series - pt one two

♡ masterlist ♡ request more! ♡

summary: you take the risk and meet up with your stalker. briefly features soap. mdni

a/n: i'm so sorry this took so long to get out! and thank you to everyone who requested a part 3, you guys keep me motivated. got bit by the productivity bug so expect more fics soon. :) ( @identity2212 )

you're still reeling days after your talk with your stalker. ghost, you think to yourself. a fake name or nickname, no doubt, but at least you have something to call him. a name to put to the silhouette.

he hasn't reached out since the video call, but you know he's most likely still around, whether he's making it known or not.

you're miffed, and starting to think the man has avoidance issues. it's probably one of the tamer things wrong with him.

then one night you're on your porch, lounging with a cup of tea, minding your own business when a black suv rolls up, much like the one that had picked you up the night you were stranded.

you stand when a man steps out of the car, mohawk emphasizing the height and overall largeness of him.

you watch him warily; he walks up to the fence and rests his palms on the edge. you half expect him to open the gate and waltz right up, confidence oozing from him.

but he stays there, giving you a small smile. "you still wanna meet 'im lass?"

of course it was one of his people. you numbly wondered how he knew the biggest men you've ever seen in your life. you know ghost can't be small himself, you'd put that much together seeing how his shoulders were almost bulked out of frame on the video call.

"you're with him?" you hesitate a little, clutching your mug closer to your chest, "with ghost?" he nods.

you're silent, and he lets you be. lord knows he's not planning on taking you kicking and screaming, sure you were a pretty little thing but he about backhanded simon when he found out about you. of course the big idiot was "accidentally" stalking a much too curious woman. he really knew how to pick 'em.

you weigh your options. you know the man is here to take you to ghost, you could infer that much. it's a dumb idea to go, but it was a dumb time last time and it turned out fine. you could tell him to fuck off, send him on his way. he'd probably listen.

you're not ready to admit to yourself that you'd grown use to ghost's presence, and that part of you would miss it if one day he decided to wise up and leave you alone.

you make a decision before you can really realize it. "can I grab my purse?"

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

he opens the door of the car for you, and it makes your head spin, you're about to meet your stalker and here you are being treated with the utmost respect. it made no sense. you clutch to your keys, fingers seeking out the self-defense items in the pockets of your purse, trying to ease your anxiety.

he hasn't hurt you yet, not really. you remind yourself. violated an insane number of boundaries, yes, but if anything, you're the safest you've ever been. you even take walks at night now, knowing deep down he's somewhere close keeping you safe from everything. everything but him.

your lost in thought as soap watches you from the rearview. he's starting to see why ghost was so fond of you, you're brave and a little naive. like a kitten against a pitbull. headstrong no doubt, probably a downright brat at times. the thought stirs something in him, and he briefly wonders if simon would be up to sharing one day.

he parks the car and you realize in your anxious thoughts you didn't pay any attention to where you were going, too overwhelmed. and you were already here. your entire body flashes cold, sweat prickling the back of your neck. you cannot fucking believe what you had gotten yourself into.

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

ghost had been pacing for the past 20 minutes, fighting the urge to tuck tail and run. he shouldn't be nervous, he was grown man with hundreds of kills under his belt, he shouldn't be shaken at the prospect of meeting some girl.

but you weren't some girl, you were his woman, he was sure of it. something deep in his bones and at the forefront of his brain just knew.

he goes still when he recognizes the sound of the suv rolling down the driveway. he had chosen some random abandoned building, not ready to let you into his own apartment in case things went wrong.

he forcefully exhales, pulling his mask down and taking a deep breath in. it was now or never.

you step out of the car shakily. an abandoned property. nothing serial killer about that. your heart drums in your ears as you follow soap up the steps, avoiding the jagged pieces of wood that stuck up in every which way.

he gets to the door, glancing back at you, offering you one more out. you meet his gaze and hold it, and he figures that's answer enough. he pushes the door open, stepping to the side to let you in.

your first steps inside you don't see him, eyes adjusting to the low light. and then you see a figure in the corner, still as a statue. he's fucking huge, is the only thought that pushes through the panic rising in your chest. you didn't know when you had started shaking. you can see his eyes, carefully watching you.

soap awkwardly clears his throat after almost a minute long staring competition between you and ghost. a kitten and a pitbull indeed. it almost makes him smirk. "right then, i'll be in the car." he promptly shuts the door, wood scraping against wood making you wince.

ghost speaks first, finding himself almost wheezing the words out. "'ello luv." you just stare at him. you seem shellshocked, almost as still as he is, save your chest rapidly rising and falling. he cautiously crosses the room, not wanting to spook you. not when he was this close.

he's standing right in front of you, and your neck aches as you peer up at him. you still can't find the words. something primal in you screaming to run, hide, punch kick, anything. you shake even harder. simon raises his hands to your cheek, effectively smooshing your face between them. its clumsy and he's borderline using too much pressure, but it's grounding for some reason. "breathe." it's said like an order.

you take a deep breath. "this is fucking insane. you're fucking insane." he lets out a puff of air. "i know. i could say the same about you, showin' up 'ere." you give him a look. "i guess you got me there." you catch yourself blinking when you realize he has long, blonde lashes and blue eyes.

he's staring back, eyes roaming your features. it's the first time he's touched you while you were awake, first time he's been able to see your eyes up close. he finds warmth spreading through him, and it's almost too much. he drops his hands and takes a step back, instinctively crossing his arms.

you hate that you miss the heaviness of his hands on your face, and blame the warmness in your cheeks on lingering warmth from his gloved hands.

"i don't know what to say." you really don't. you had a million questions, practiced how you would chew him out and interrogate him. it's all lost now. he shifts on his feet a little. "i feel responsible for you.'" he blurts.

you stay silent, hoping he elaborates. after a few moments he does. "there's not many good people left in the world. i've seen the worst of 'em, downright evil 'n selfish." you can see his jaw clench through the mask. "you're not like 'em. you're kind, pure. go out of your way to be a good person. only right i show you what it's like to be taken care of fer once."

you stare at him, and you know he's telling you the truth. this truly was his fucked-up way of courting you. you scoff a little, not able to contain yourself. "you know there are other ways to be in someone's life, right? without breaking dozens of laws in the process?" he shrugs.

you swallow the lump in your throat, widening your stance subconsciously. simon finds it adorable. "you can't keep doing this. it's wrong." you hate that your voice is shaking and hate even more that the words feel wrong as soon as they come out.

his eyes darken, and he's on you before you can blink. one of his hands is on the nape of your neck, applying slight pressure, scruffing you like a cat. he brings his mask covered lips to your ear.

"you're mine, you hear that? i'm here to help you, to make sure you don't ever have to struggle again. you have my word i'll never hurt you, but you gotta understand that i'll do everything to stay close to you until my dying breath. i'm 'ere to stay luv."

your mind is reeling at the low growl in his voice, dangerous and way too attractive given the situation. he could wrap his hands around your neck easily, choke you until the vessels in your eyes pop and your lungs ignite. but he doesn't, he's just demonstrating the pure control he has over the situation. he's telling you that he cares for you, keep you safe, but that it's at the price of being at his mercy. part of you doesn't mind the idea. you've been at his mercy for almost 6 months anyway, you really only had the illusion of control. would it be that bad to submit to him?

you're sick, you have to be. but can anyone blame you? in almost all your relationships, romantic or not, you were the caregiver. constantly bending over backwards and people pleasing until your heart ached. give give give. it was the story of your life. and here he was, offering you to take for once, only asking you to be receptive in return. it's so fucking tempting.

"take me on a date first at least." you say airily, afraid he can hear your heart thumping against your rib cage.

he leans away from you slightly, looking into your eyes. he keeps his hand tangled in your hair, fingers twitching when he sees the silent challenge in them mixed with a healthy speck of fear. he wants to throw his head back and groan. this was guarded acceptance of the circumstances he had put you in, the last thing he thought he would get from you.

"alright." you blink at him. "what?"

"i said alright luv. we'll go onna date."

you can't believe your ears. nervousness scratches at your chest, you almost regret your offer. maybe leaving him in the shadows would've been for the best, you had no idea what gate you had opened by showing up here in the first place. your mouth is agape, only capable of staring incredulously at him. he takes a step back, two fingers gripping your chin and closing your mouth. "you'll catch flies."

you glare at his little jab. he rubs a finger over your bottom lip, eyes lingering there for a second. "i'll giv' you more answers then too. promise."

"okay." you say timidly. you're at a loss for words. you suppose there's not much to say.

"soap'll take you 'ome. i'll let you be for the night, gather your thoughts." he puts a gentle hand on your back, guiding you to the door. you shiver at how well he read you. he must know you well. you know almost nothing of him.

he opens the door, sending a nod to soap as he starts the car up. your back is to ghost, feeling dazed and stupid. so so stupid. ghost leans down once more, hand sliding to rest on your lower back. whispering. "we'll talk soon. get 'ome safe."

when you don't move, he has the audacity to give your ass a little tap to get you going. and you have the audacity to almost like it.

[darlingkikki]

Thinking of TF141 as scare actors.

[loadedberetta]

hello 'Im sick I'll be back in a couple of days

until then please think about being on the bus fleeing from your crazy ex Johnny, and a beautiful man introducing himself as Kyle talks you up as he seems to notice your distress--