#stalker reader

[vixellate]

Introducing !! -‘๑’- Shy! Yandere! Stalker

IVORY MIURA ❒ 📷🩹

. ✧. ┊ "You're being watched.." / DARK CONTENT! MDNI

Ivory Miura. He's supposed to be your stalker. But all you ever see is a pathetic, anxiety-ridden student who can't fit in with the university around him. The one loser who can't speak without stammering and runs at the sight of you.

But that's exactly how he wants it. How he wants you to see him. You're so sweet. So oblivious. So accessible. How many times has he broken into your room? How many of your clothes has he stolen and ruined? He's lost count. But that doesn't matter. You don't need to know about his hundreds of photos of you. How he films you, even in places he shouldn't. How he sneaks into your room at night. How he fantasizes about what it'd be like to scare you. To ruin you. Taste you. No. You only need to know him as your shy pathetic classmate.

[ultravi0lence14]

AMERICAN PSYCHO

DEAN WINCHESTER X STALKER ! READER

warnings: stalking, dark themes, yearning to the MAX

SHE’S COLD AS ICE, SHE’S DARK AS NIGHT — 1.4k

someone was watching him.

dean had felt it for months. the penetrating feeling of eyes on his skull, the whisper of breath on his neck. he’d been being followed since he parted ways with his dad in massachusetts, and he was dead set on finding out what — or who, was making him feel so on edge.

the drive to the dive bar in the nestled streets of san francisco had anticipation running through dean’s veins. he didn’t know what was waiting for him when he parked, if he would even make it to the front doors before needing to pull out his gun. it was sending a nervous lull through his chest, one that he hadn’t felt since he was a child.

silence blanketed the impala as he sat in front of the decrepit bar, lifting himself up to actually go inside and confront his suspicions. dean thought he was being paranoid, but he’s been in this life for too long, and he knew his gut feeling better than anything.

stale air smacked him in the face as dean walked into the bar, the patron’s keeping mostly to themselves as he travelled to the back of the bar to a table that had a good view of the entrance. he could see everyone who left and went in, and he was waiting for his gut feeling to tell him who the person was.

he sat, and sat and sat and sat yet nothing felt right. dean was starting to lose hope, the beacon of light in his gut that what he was feeling was valid dwindling. wanting to cut his loses and leave, dean got up from his table and started making his way through the table and to the door.

passing a table situated right across from his, a couple places away, dean felt that rush, that deep haunting feeling in his gut. his heart froze as his head turned, meeting eyes with the coldest devotion he’s ever seen.

“it’s you.” he breathed, staring at a girl so sickeningly beautiful, yet eerily terrifying. you stared up at dean through doe eyes, wide and inviting as the man you saw all those months ago in massachusetts stood in front of you. he was even prettier up close, and you couldn’t believe he was talking to you.

“it’s me,” you responded back, a wispy catharsis in your voice. your head lulled up to stare into dean’s beautiful pool of green irises, and he couldn’t help but flinch at your soulful and deep look. “i can’t believe we’re finally meeting, dean.”

a mirthless laugh left dean’s lips as he roughly pulled out the chair across from you. he watched as you smiled at his movements, only for it to falter when you saw the rigid and sharp look on his face.

“seriously,” he grit out, hands gripping the edge of the table roughly. “that’s how you want to act? like you haven’t been following me like a fucking creep for the past five months?”

“what did you want me to do?” you replied exhaustively, hands wringing together in an uncomfortable fashion at the heated glare dean was giving you. “i couldn’t just walk up to you. it was too hard-“

“yes you fucking could’ve.” his whisper was harsh, a merciless rage that made you flinch back in fear. but dean wouldn’t hurt you. it was a fact that you gained from watching him all these months from afar. he never hurt humans, only the monsters that lurked in the night.

but wasn’t that you? a shrouded shadow who watched him as he got snacks at gas stations? stationed outside of his motel rooms and watching the girls he’d bring back in a heated rage? it wasn’t normal, and you would’ve felt all the disgust in the world if you weren’t so devote to him.

dean just wasn’t understanding, and you realized that the nice girl persona was not working for him. the deep glare that adorned your face after his biting tone made dean jolt back, watching as your body grew rigid in a grotesque and twisted way.

“would you really?” you shot back, a dark look of understanding backing up your cold voice. “i mean, i saw all the girls you brought back to your motel rooms. would you really give the shy loner freak a chance?”

dean’s jaw dropped, and you didn’t even care about the small piece of information you just let slip. “oh my god,” he breathed, staring at you in shock and horror. “you watched me outside of my fucking motel rooms?”

“look at me dean,” a lopsided, dark grin etched across your cheeks, and dean shivered at the beauty that overtook your face. how you looked hauntingly beautiful and how he hated it. “what else did you expect from a girl like me?”

the anger bubbling in dean’s chest was molten, and he almost yelled in anger before boiling his temper back down. “i don’t know,” he replied with a sarcastic nature, hands white knuckling his jacket sleeves. “since i don’t really know you, it’s hard to judge. all i’ve got right now is that you’ve spent five months of your life following me around for some unknown reason.”

you just smiled coolly, hands crossing in front of you on the table as you stared down dean’s hot look. “i’m just a girl dean,” watching as his eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion, the smile you were wearing couldn’t help but brighten. “i’m a girl who saw what i liked, and decided to take matters into my own hands. is that such a crime?”

“yes!” dean exasperated, eyes bugging out in pure shock at your mindset. “stalking is a fucking crime! you followed me around and watched me like a creep! how can you not see a problem in that?”

lips twisting at dean’s words, you really looked at the man, seeing each and every glitch and tick in his face. his jaw was clenched, an anger like hot coals plastered on his face. he couldn’t see your side of this, and it was hard to put your reasons into the words you needed.

“i was just interested in who you were.” you admitted, eyes landing down on the table as dean’s hard gaze slowly softened. “i saw you, outside with your dad. you seemed so tortured, so beaten down and sad. you drew me in and i couldn’t help myself. i’m sorry okay? but i’m not sorry for being interested in who you are.”

dean really thought of this, thought of the day he left his dad. john was mad, yelling at dean about some hunt he slightly messed up. it was a stupid mistake, yet john yelled at dean like he got a whole school of kids in danger. he remembered the hurt in his chest, the anger that he boiled towards john.

he didn’t know you were watching him at that point, he honestly didn’t know someone was around until a week later. though dean remembered the feeling of eyes starting to peel on him, the feel of what it was like to always be noticed.

“you could’ve just talked to me,” dean finally whispered, watching as your lips downturned in hope to not let the guilty tears in your waterline fall. “i don’t judge, okay? i would’ve been a nice guy, i swear.”

“but now it’s different.” you mumbled, finally looking up with wet eyes and shame in your gut. you weren’t ashamed that you fought for what you wanted, you were ashamed that what you wanted didn’t want anything to do with you.

a nod was all dean could muster, an awkward air wavering over the both of you. dean just stared at you, watching the inner turmoil in your head. he watched as you slowly nodded, getting up leisurely and moving towards the exit.

dean shot up, his hand bracing against his chair as he anxiously yelled for you. “hey! where are you going?”

you slowly turned, your solemn macabre face branding his soul. “away from you, dean winchester. out of your life and away from your problems.” you nodded again, reassuring yourself in your head that what you were doing was right. “i’ll see you around.”

with that you left, leaving the lingering thought of you in dean’s head for years to come. he never forgot about you, and as much as he tried to find you, he felt that you were right about getting out of his hair; for you became a ghost.

TAGS: @starzify @titsout4jackles @daylighted @deansbeer @bluemerakis @haunteres @bittersweetfig @littlesoulshine @h8aaz @deanswidow @sunsbaby @rositaslabyrinth @honeyryewhiskey @florchids @tinas111 @soldiersgirl @hvnlygrl @s0urw00lf @cowboysandcigarettes @nekkiotine @a-lil-pr1ncess @flow33didontsmoke @whump-loverz @1967barracuda @mochminnie @jstcln @wedoinalr @ilovedeanwinchester4 @sunnyteume @mostlymarvelgirl @blossomingorchids @multiversefanfics @wintersoldierenthusiastt @kimxwinchester

NAT BABBLES: day before my bday and we are so up with a yearning girl who knows what she wants!!

[tarantulasnot]

Okay fine I'm a stalker

Like bad.

But whatever a girl can dream.

Sub! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Stalker! Reader smut lolzzz

Dark content! Stalking, exhibitionism, voyeurism, elements of stockholm syndrome, Leon doesn't ask for help cause he's Mr. Independent so his brain messes with him, reader does come in, Ada mentioned if you squint your eyes like 9999.99999%, Leon just doesn't know wtf too do with himself, my crk account got lost so now I'm torturing Leon

©©©

He was a trained military officer, he had survived countless injuries and perilous situations both willing and unwillingly. Of course he knew there was someone there, at all times.

He went to the store? There was someone there, watching him as he made his purchases. Were you that interested in what he was eating for dinner?

Even when he was eating it, he felt it from somewhere outside of his dining room window. It inspired him to stand up and close the blinds, however it was too late and his appetite was ruined.

Over time he felt it more and more as that strange presence seemed to adjust to his schedule, one he wasn't fully aware he had. Like how he always took the same roads to go to his part-time job, never taking a single detour. Or how he stopped at the same gas station every day to get one of three drinks, always settling on the same one every Wednesday. This was something he didn't notice until you made him notice.

Then you started hitting a little too close to home. Or rather, in his own home.

Whoever you were, you were good at what you did. He would come home to his dishes washed, or maybe his clothes. With a couple of things missing of course.

He thought about calling the police, but who was he kidding? He was the police. He can't just hit up his co-workers about something a trained military officer can't do. Well, maybe one. But she wasn't all that helpful. So, he started doing his own little investigating.

However, the paranoia was so relentless. He couldn't dress without thinking you were there, watching him, maybe not even through human eyes. Cameras maybe? The man couldn't even eat without throwing up because of the anxiety you caused him. Constantly forcing him to imagine what you were planning.

How could Leon be reduced to this? He was a man of power, of status... and yet here he was quaking in his boots over some person who he could probably kill in one swift kick to the temple.

But you weren't physical, you weren't tangible. You weren't something he could pin down and fight. Were you even real?

You seemed to notice him looking into it, and that omnipresent energy seemed to sputter at the knowledge. Like usual though, you had accustomed yourself to it. He had accustomed himself to it too. Maybe, the reason why the energy seemed to shift was because he simply was being paranoid. Maybe it was the trauma from always having his life threatened, maybe it was just his memory going bad.

Or maybe, there was someone out there.

Maybe you didn't want to hurt him at all.

You never seemed to do any harm, whoever you were. In fact, you seemed almost helpful sometimes. Even though it was odd that something he'd mutter under his breath, barely audible, would somehow come to reality- it was still free in the end.

So why was he being so serious about this? It was probably no big deal. Maybe he just needed to relieve some stress, clear his head a little.

But what would that make him? Normal for wanting a little bit of self care, but what about the fact he's doing it with his window wide open, facing the woods he feels like someone's in?

Maybe it was something in him that liked this, liked the danger, the anonymity of the eyes. Maybe he dreamt about it one time, the pretty girl he found out was stalking him was maybe a little too pretty. Maybe she was an ideal, maybe he wanted those keen eyes watching him.

As he sat on the edge of his bed, facing the open window, he could practically feel the inquisitive nature about you. He could feel your gaze on him.

His member strained against his pants. He had refrained from touching himself, from doing just about anything because of the extreme obsession going on within him. But you weren't so much of a stranger anymore. At this point, you had been in his home, in his life- you were a part of him he'd struggled to accept.

But he was accepting it. Maybe he even craved it.

You were so normal to him, so comforting, like a last resort. He really had no one else. His blue eyes fluttered shut and his face bloomed red as he slid his fingertips over the ache he'd been denying. Already the pressure made him sigh, his long lashes resting against his cheek as he teased himself.

What was he doing? This was just to prove that there was no-one there, there was nothing to be afraid of, but what if there was?

He gasped as he heard something outside, and he accidentally squeezed himself in surprise. He'd be lying though if his dick didn't twitch. Jesus... maybe he wanted something to be there- someone? Someone just to prove he wasn't going crazy, he wasn't just imagining things. Why couldn't he make up his mind? He kept thinking to himself as his other hand lifted up under his shirt to pull it up a little.

You were loving the display. His eyes weren't fixed on you, they were above you to the treeline you were crouching in front of. You weren't even in a bush, you were just sitting on the ground in a very black outfit in a very dark forest. You weren't sure what he was doing when he sat on the edge of his bed like that. You almost debated the fact he might just call out to you. He had been investigating you, in fact you helped him. You gave him a false lead on some random girl who had no clue who he was.

How clever. He thought it was some silly girl with a strange obsession for him, he would never suspect his coworker.

His coworker, that's why your fingerprints were on his things. You'd redirected him so many times. When you'd come over, he'd stare outside to the treeline, where you weren't, but usually would be.

But now, you were right in front of him, with his big hand lifting up the black fabric of his tank top- gasping and subconsciously rutting into his hand. Ever so cautious, as Leon pretends to be when he's all alone.

In the safety of his own home.

You teased him, shifting just once, just to test his reaction. It's the best decision you've ever made because the sweet little gasp he makes as he suddenly grips himself is priceless. You'd record him if the stupid light attached wouldn't give you away.

However, he's right back at it. This time, he's panting, and his thighs are twitching.

Leon swears he means to have some shame, or maybe he's pretending because he can't seem to rip his pants off fast enough. He grabs the lotion beside him and puts it on his hand. God, the slut even puts on a show. Dragging his calloused hands over his thighs before he reaches his aching base and he gives it a light squeeze, bobbing it in the air. Teasing you.

Or what he believes to be that girl from Kansas. "F-fuck..." After having no contact for so long has him laying on his back now. He pumps himself slowly, small strokes to get him fully hard before he starts to speed up a little bit. The cold air blowing through the window reminds him of how exposed he is right now, and the thought makes his fist move faster. His other hand comes up to swipe his thumb over the tip, forcing a huff from himself. God it feels Soo good- so good!

He hopes someone is watching now, or he did all of this for nothing. All this worrying, all these late nights looking around his room, all this whining against his palm as his hips jump into his own fist. his knees rub together as his back arches. His muscles flex as he furiously strokes himself, his eyes rolling back in his head while he tries not to cry.

He's so humiliated, but it turns him on so fucking much. He wants to be seen, noticed. He loves this-

And you know he does, you know he's in his own little world. Because you're leaning against his house now, just under his windowsill as he cries and whines, too conflicted but so overwhelmed with pleasure. He's so overwhelmed in general.

His knees tap against each other as his hand leaves his lips to accompany his other palm on his member, stroking in two different directions. The squelch fills the air as he becomes louder, heaving and groaning furiously as he gives himself what he's been denying for so long. Yet, you tease him one more time. You make yourself openly known for the first time. You knock on the side of his house.

The sound sends a frigid chill down his spine, but it's replaced by a searing hot heat. Someone was watching him pump himself to the thought of a stalker. But he realized he loved it- he loved everything- it slammed him over the edge and his eyes roll back into his skull. The coil in his stomach bursting into a climax with an intensity he's never felt before. "Oh FUCK!! 'm cummingg!!! I'm cummin- f-fuhuhhhck!" He's sobbing as wave after wave of his orgasm slams into him, his hand is squeezing himself and the sheets for some sort of purchase to cope with the way he's practically screaming. "Ohhhh- mnh! FUCK! can't stohp-!" God, he wails like a fucking bitch. His back is arching off the bed and he explodes into his own hand, he's terrified but fuck, fuck, fuck he's cumming, and he's cumming hard. His cock pulses as the ropes of cum spew out like some dumb teenager. Fuck you're right there- you're watching him- he should be hiding, calling someone-

"Please!" He cries, and you know what he wants.

You both know what he wants, even if he doesn't admit it out loud.

So he closes his eyes, and he hears your footsteps. He's covered in his own cum, he's whining and crying- all he's saying is please over and over again, his body twitching with every footstep. Pleading you to leave him alone? To not look? To touch him? Fuck if he knows, he just wants something from you, but his brain's all fucked up from the months of psychological torment.

You're on your knees now, and he's basically hyperventilating. You take his sensitive shaft into your hand, and you lick the underside. The lotion makes your tongue buzz, but you dont care. Lotion is temporary, having a braindead Leon is forever.

LOL IM THE KING OF UNFINISHED FICS!!!

[dogsosoy]

i am thinking about stalking aki. no devils au also (gn)reader is an obsessive freakkk and loser ; things get a little physically violent ^__^

as per usual, you were following the local grocery store clerk home after his shift.

he was a pretty unassuming guy, despite his height, but something about him was different from all the other NPCs you had to encounter in your shitty city.

a few weeks ago, for the first time in your life, someone wasn’t outright disgusted with your presence. on top of that, that person was downright gorgeous too. exactly your type. a lot like the guys you went for in your dating sims: tall, long hair, and an unbothered attitude. aki had an air about him that screamed “i don’t really care,” which made you weak in the knees. you were shaking when you approached his checkout line.

you expected him to be like everyone else. throw you a hardly-concealed glare and make your interaction as swift as possible. you’ve never been that great with social interaction. or social cues. but somehow, in your delusional mind, you believed that you were quite charming the day you met aki.

he had initially caught you off guard. aki recognized the game on your shirt, and commented on it as he was checking out (and trying hard not to judge) your groceries (seriously, when was the last time you ate a meal that wasn’t full of MSG?). immediately getting even more flustered and nervous than you already were, you told him a fun fact about the game—that only you found fun—and flashed him an awkward, stressed out smile. more fearful looking than anything. more animalistic than human.

but he smiled back, so clearly that meant you did a good job, right? you surely impressed him with your knowledge and the submissive air about you! he must’ve thought you were charming in a “kicked dog” sort of way.

aki totally wasn’t thinking ‘will this quivering little freak get out of my line already?’ eyeing your shaky hands and figure. you were most definitely overstaying your welcome in the check-out area to stutter at this poor clerk. at least he’s good at staying composed. most of the time.

overall, he was disgusted by you. you looked like you got hit by a bus two weeks ago and hadn’t showered since. your clothes were dirty and way too big, like a child trying on something from their parent’s closet. you had a minecraft wallet that would’ve been a cute little trait if you weren’t so fucking off-putting. your hair was in your eyes. probably to hide your face, he thought. you don’t seem to like being perceived.

aki had a lot of thoughts about you in that moment—some of them more intrusive than others. he thought about scowling at you, yelling at you to move along, maybe shoving your shitty groceries into your hands so you’d get the idea that he really didn’t like your vibe. or face. or anything about you. then, aki thought about strangling you. you just had a face for it. you looked easy to beat up and aki kind of liked that. it crossed his mind that maybe he could kick the shit out of you after his shift. get some anger out. hell, he could’ve taken five and done it right then.

you know, normal minimum wage job thoughts.

but of course, he didn’t do any of that. didn’t even really entertain the thought (although he really would’ve liked to). at his core, aki isn’t a bad person. he’s not the best, don’t get him wrong, but he wouldn’t harm a random person he doesn’t know. even if that person was giving him a million reasons to, just by existing. even if they look like they would make such a good punching bag. or stress ball. or chew toy?

aki doesn’t necessarily enjoy hurting people. he’ll admit, he does find some sort of sick satisfaction in it, but it’s not something he actively seeks out. or even something that regularly crosses his mind. aki is reliable and intelligent. that’s what anyone you ask would say about him. sure, maybe he’s a hardass most of the time, but he really does seem to have a thing for helping others.

he looked at you, really looked at you, his eyes filled with pity as you were turning to walk out of the store. he imagined what it would be like to have everyone you come across have these sorts of thoughts about you. how could you live your life normally when everything about you invokes violent and anger in the people around you?

it was pathetic. he thought you were pathetic.

maybe he could help you.

your eyes caught his only for a moment as you cautiously glanced back at him, trying to sneak in one more glimpse at this angel before you went home, not to return for weeks. then you saw it. you saw that look. something in his eyes, but it wasn’t anger or annoyance or disgust. your face heated up, and your eyes widened with how flustered you felt. your palms suddenly felt sweaty, and it was too hot. for once, someone looked at you and felt something more for you, and it felt like a fire was lit inside your chest.

this man… (squints to read name tag) aki… he was different.

and aki knew from that split second that you were definitely a total hopeless case and complete freak.

your obsession with him snowballed from there.

you followed behind him after every shift, making sure to stay hidden from the light and as far away as possible. you just wanted to make sure the love of your life got home safe! plus, it wasn’t hard to keep an eye on him. maybe keeping up with him was a little difficult due to the height difference, but good thing you’re amazing at masking your presence! thank you, fear of being perceived.

even from this distance, your heart was in your throat. you could barely make out the way his shoulders moved as he walked, or how he lazily puffed on a cigarette (mevius brand, your brain supplied). it was still enough to get you panting like a freaky little creep. your whole body was on fire. the physical reaction you had to aki was apparent, and it had only gotten worse by the day. during your first interaction, you were a complete mess. now? you’d be lucky to get a single word out if he was any closer than twenty feet, and your legs would surely give out from the anxiety. it would be like meeting god.

aki had decided earlier, during his shift, that he had had enough of this game of cat and mouse.

of course he could feel the eyes on his back during his walk to his apartment. although you think you’re quite slick and sneaky, aki has known since the first day you followed him home. you may be quiet, but your hiding skills are a bit rusty. on top of that, aki trained in the police force. he knows when someone is tailing him. he had to hand it to you though, it took him longer than normal to notice you.

every day you got a bit closer—he had picked up on that by the fifth night. he picked up on you breaking into his apartment by the second week, which irked him. not because he necessarily cared about you stealing his stuff—he didn’t have much of value anyway—he just didn’t want your dirty hands touching everything. he started cleaning more after that.

then slowly he started… leaving things out for you. like someone leaving milk out for a stray cat. a half eaten bar of chocolate on his kitchen counter, an old shirt on his bed. things he thought you’d think he wouldn’t miss. he left some healthier food out too, with a few bites taken out of it, so you’d think he was done eating and take it for yourself.

he wondered if it felt like sharing a meal to you, too.

he had caught a glimpse of you in a shop window as he turned the corner onto his street. you were wearing his shirt. he never saw you without one of his shirts on, not since you started stealing them.

instead of continuing all the way to his apartment, aki stopped short and took a quick right to duck into a nearby alleyway.

your heart sped up. what was he doing? was he meeting with someone else? going to someone else’s place? maybe just taking a leak? despite your worryingly amazing stalking skills, you lacked a lot of… basic intellect. street smarts.

common sense.

you approached the alley cautiously, peering in. no sign of aki. your heart sunk, had you lost him? your foot steps rang out in quiet thuds on the concrete. your thoughts were running a mile a minute.

aki thinks you should be more aware of your surroundings. it becomes another bullet on his mental list of things you need to work on. this list is uncomfortably long.

you pass by an unassuming dumpster, not looking at or even near it. it didn’t cross your mind that the object of your deepest desire could be crouched beside it. why would he be? why would he be staring at you? why would he be getting ready to pounce on you, like a predator on prey?

the moment you had just barely cleared the threshold into his vision, aki pounced.

your back hit the concrete wall before you could even grasp what could be happening. the smell of cigarette smoke flooded your sinuses. someone’s forearm was pressed to your neck—their hand carefully balancing a mevius cigarette between two fingers—affectively holding your weaker body in place and somewhat choking you. your voice cried out in a pathetic yelp, which caused another large hand to be placed rather roughly over your mouth. he didn’t want you to make any unnecessary noise. or, god forbid, any dumb comments.

his figure was even more imposing at this distance—or lack there of. fuck, is he going to kill you? beat the shit out of you? why is that thought kinda hot? your heart was beating so fast you felt like you were going to have a heart attack. aki, ever composed, casually leaned over your trembling body, looking deep into your scared eyes with his intense gaze. he was so calm, but he was also scary. imposing. like a parent looking down at a child who has misbehaved. your knees felt weak.

you have misbehaved.

his face was inches from yours as he spoke softly, condescendingly, “i would say you’re dumber than you look but,” his eyes raked over your figure slowly, rolling the cigarette between his fingers. he removed his forearm from your neck and took a drag and blew the smoke into your face as he continued, “you’re not.”

quick note: having a hand over your mouth, somewhat covering your nose, smoke blown into your face, and having previously been choked by a forearm to the neck does NOT pair amazingly with what was likely an incoming panic attack. or maybe it was a meltdown. aki didn’t think you could tremble this much. widen your eyes this much. make him feel so in control this much. he would’ve rather thrown out his brand new pack of meviuses than admit that you have such a way of making him feel. he continued rolling his cigarette between his fingers, staring at your face, thinking. then he backed off a little. looked down his nose at you.

his gaze was filled with disgust… and an impossible amount of want. want for you. to own you. control you. maybe he just wanted to have some sort of control over anything in his life. unfortunately, you didn’t have a whole lot of time to react to this sudden realization about aki, as you cried out, muffled by his palm. the bastard had put his cigarette out on your neck.

“don’t worry,” he spoke softly, in an ever condescending tone, “you’ll probably still be able to walk when i’m done.”

[succubusvalentine]

How did Simon Riley stalk you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

[python333]

dayshift — python³

― ― ― ―

synopsis a continuation of "after hours".

relationships platonic!ghost & reader.

characters simon "ghost" riley.

word count 4.5k.

warnings obsessive behavior, mentions of previous stalking, bad mental health that isn't explored + ghost is essentially an enabler, alternating povs.

note lets ignore that i went radio silent for 4 months... also i uploaded this to ao3 as a chapter 2 to "after hours" for anyone curious! enjoy :3

part 1 | part 2

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.

[arsonlookers]

I ONLY SEE YOU

Yan! Tartaglia/Childe x Yan! reader

song : stalkers tango and unhealthy obsession

Summary: tartaglia who stalks reader for his curiosity at first because of how mysterious the reader is but slowly he starts to fall in love with her. not knowing how reader is also very obsessed with him he didnt know about it first and just oblivious at first but he starts to notice everything and act like he didnt know about the growing obsession the reader has for him and wow he is really turned on about everything. how the reader actually tries to hide away from him just to take some photos but~ of course he knows about it and pretends he didnt know to make the chase longer for his liking and seeing her going insane for him just turns him on for archons sake~

You always has only eyes for one person. CHILDE.

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...

A/N: Look forward for part 2 ? which you make the choice~

[holylulusworld]

Dumbass stalker (2) – Crazy for you

Summary: You’re the worst stalker ever.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: stalking, obsession, possessive/delusional reader, mentions of sex

A/N: Please consider this reader is obsessed with SB. Her behavior is concerning.

Dumbass stalker masterlist

Dumbass stalker (1) - Every step you take

The place is crowded, and you hate yourself for coming here. It’s one of the rare occasions you allowed yourself to go to an official fan event.

Girls and even some boys scream Soldier Boy’s name. They are like in a trance, just like when you watch your man walk on stage. He waves only at you, but the crowd cheers, believing he means them.

Soldier Boy will talk about his next movie projects, and you couldn’t stay away. How can you miss the revelation of his movie project and the new costume he’ll wear?

“Ladies,” he purrs into the microphone, making you weak in the knees. His piercing green eyes focus on your face as he steps closer to the edge of the stage. “Gentlemen. Thank you for coming. We will reveal the trailer in a minute, and I will answer your questions.”

“YES!” You smile and clap your hands, feeling your panties dampen as he runs his tongue over his plump lips. “We love you!”

“I know you do,” he snickers and twirls on the stage to shake his ass. “You only came here to take a look at me.” He turns back around and pushes a few loose strands out of his face.

The show begins as the other members of the Seven join Soldier Boy on stage. You barely look at them. Queen Maeve and Starlight are not concurrence for you. They are not interested in your man.

You stare at Soldier Boy, watching him cup his crotch. Usually, you hate when men do this in public, but you don’t mind when it’s him. He’ll get away with anything.

“He’s such a hot piece of ass,” a girl to your left swoons. You roll your eyes and continue staring at your man. The trailer wasn’t as interesting as watching him.

Soldier Boy smirks and looks toward the crowd. He chuckles as the girls sigh loudly whenever he looks their way.

“Alright,” he says and claps his hands. “It’s twenty questions time.” You giggle at his playful tone. “What do you all want to know about the movie?”

The crowd cheers when Queen Maeve reveals that a few lucky ones can come to the stage and ask questions. You won’t even try. Soldier Boy knows you’re there only for him. That is enough.

One of the girls in the front row gets lucky. Queen Maeve helps her enter the stage and hands her a microphone. She nods and encourages the girl to ask her questions.

“My question is for Soldier Boy. What do you like in a girl? Do you like them skinny like me?” She squeaks when Soldier Boy takes the microphone out of her hands to answer.

“Well, I like all the ladies,” he grins, as the girls cheer and scream his name. “But honestly,” you swear he looks directly at you when he says, “I like me some cushion, you know. If things get heated, I like a girl I can grab and do—” He can’t end his line because Queen Maeve rips the microphone from his grasp.

You whimper as he winks at you. Did this really happen? Did Soldier Boy look your way? Did he talk about you?

“Thanks for the question,” Queen Maeve says while glaring at Soldier Boy. “Next question, please.”

Another girl and another enter the stage. They ask questions about the upcoming movie and how it feels to be a hero. The seven happily answer every question of their fans.

You yawn, bored because Soldier Boy prefers to play with his phone instead of answering more questions. He looks to the crowd one last time before leaving the stage without talking to the rest of the seven.

Sighing, you decide to leave too. If Soldier Boy is no longer around, there’s no reason for you to stay.

While you make your way through the crowd to reach the exit, a pair of green eyes follows your every move.

Maybe you���re not as invisible as you believed you were.

Tags in reblog.

[dreamyblossommwrites]

Rockstar x stalker reader???1?1?1

TW: bad English (tell me if you spot a mistake!!!)

Rockstar who sees you on every single fan meetup, always taking pictures with him and telling him how much you love his work

You always tell him you already own every single new album he released, every single merch and everything else thats asosieted w him

He also sees you on his concerts, always in the 'vip members' part of the event

Sometimes he wonders how much money you spend on him

Rockstar who stops calling you his fan and starts calling you by your name cuz "youre always here, might as well treat you as a crew member"

Rockstar who geniusly start letting you in behind the scenes... You just love him so much! Always spending so much money on the concert tickets! You deserve something for all the support!

Rockstar who stsrts seeing you outside of his public life! You like the same movies,drinks, snacks... everything! How could he not want to be friends with you??? He just needs to take you for a walk after a concert or fan meetup

Rockstar who starts getting freaked out seeing gifts and plushies and other stuff outside his door every morning.... Hes fans dont know where he lives... You dont to (at least thats what he thinks)

Oh how happy he was when you offered to give him your number when he told you whats happening <33 now he can call you when hes felling like someones watching him

Then he starts to get wierd messages on every single account on every single platform that has his number attached to it.... (Hes just so dumb 😔)

Rockstar going thru those messages only to find pictures of his house.... Terrified calls you to ask if he can stay with you until he doesnt find out whos stalking him!!!

Rockstar who doesnt know youre not planning to let him leave your house ever again

Lmao Im back ig :33 prob nobodys gonna see this but atleast I had fun writing this <333

[444venicebitch444]

Something something TF 141 gets a new secretary because their old one decided to finally retire, and you show up.

A sweet little thing, no military experience, all shy smiles and nervous chuckles, punctual and neat.

You take care of their paperwork, their mail, schedule their meeting, bring them coffee, and most importantly it’s not half bad to have a good set of legs and a pretty face to look at.

Price was a right gentleman, a nicer boss than you could’ve ever expected from a military man, and Soap and Gaz really had your confidence going whenever they made their flirtatious quips (which was everyday, really).

Ghost, though? Ghost was exactly what you’d expected after hearing the stories: a stoic, intimidating man who spoke in grunts and monosyllables, and who was, in your opinion, quite rude.

Did the man have no manners? Had his mother not taught him to say ‘thank you’?

You tried making an extra effort with him, your need to be liked overpowering your annoyance towards the lieutenant, because you intended to keep this job; the pay was great, it was a short drive from your apartment and you weren’t going to let a guy who wore a bloody skull balaclava everyday ruin this for you.

So you smiled more, made your good mornings and good afternoons sweeter, same as the tea you’d leave on his desk everyday at 4 pm sharp, and the little squiggly hearts you’d draw on the post it notes on top of his files. 

And when Simon’s grunts started mutating into full fledged sentences, and he actually told you a joke, you found yourself grinning, more out of self satisfaction than because of whatever ridiculous pun he’d said in that deep, rumbling voice of his.

For you, it was over, your plan had worked, and now all your bosses liked you, getting rid of that lingering uneasiness in the back of your head. 

For Simon, on the other hand? You’d unlocked Pandora's box, if said box contained the lieutenant’s affection (obsession) for you.

It was true, he hadn’t liked you at first: you disrupted the routine, the practised flow of the office, and gave Johnny and Kyle an excuse to be fucking insufferable in their working space instead of only in the shitty pubs where they’d drag him after shifts. He was going to lose his fucking mind if he had to hear another “can’t walk into the office looking that good, darlin’. won’t let me get anything done”.

The worst part was that they weren’t wrong; you were pretty and Simon couldn’t deny that. I mean, what did anyone expect, for him to not shoot a look at your arse in those tight trousers? He was but a man.

But when you started your little routine, it sent him down a spiral. What the fuck was your problem? Why would you draw a bloody heart next to the note that reminded him about his debrief? 

What you hadn’t understood, though, was that with a man like Simon Riley, that wasn’t just being nice, it wasn’t getting him to like you. it was an enablement of his ugly heart, something that fed the flames of his desires, because why else would be making him tea? that was practically a wedding vow, love. 

So he decided that you were his, that he didn’t need to discuss it with you because you already worried your pretty, little head too much with work and what future husband would he be if he didn’t try to make your life easier?

That included tellin Kyle to fuck off when he flirted with you, giving you a lift when your car broke down (which had absolutely nothing to do with simon messing with its battery), and helping you find your cat when it ran away (the fucking thing had scratched the hell out him when he’d taken it to that alleyway). 

The most important part of his duties, however, was watching you, making sure you were safe. Because who was gonna do it if not him? certainly not your, in his assessment, untrustworthy friends.

And your locks were so easy to pick, it had only taken him one try.

So Simon watched as you read a book and bought the same the very next day, he watched you prepare meal after meal with the nutritional value of a brick and made a mental note to make you something healthy when he’d finally cook for you, and he watched as you came out of the shower, completely enthralled.

Unfortunately, he had no way of looking into your bathroom but you’d walk into your room wrapped only in a towel so he wasn’t going to be too picky. Especially not when he got to see you rub that vanilla scented lotion that drove him insane into your soft skin, or drop the fluffy towel to the ground only to cover the delicate swell of your breasts with your pyjama top.

His favourite part, however, was without doubt when you’d lie against your pillows, your fingers dipping below your waistband. His sweet bird, not so innocent after all. 

His body would burn as he watched, his hands aching to replace your fingers, his tongue wetting his lips because it couldn’t touch yours.

He held onto every tiny gasp, every quiet whine, knowing that he’d make you sound so much better.

But he was patient and he was going to do things properly, take his time: take you to dinner, buy you gifts, eventually give you the ring he’d already bought. He wasn’t a total wanker, lovie.

So for now he was going to be satisfied with watching you and stealing your panties, offering a gruff “morning, sweetheart” the next day.

[cloudedcreams]

(nsfw) thinking of a yandere who is entranced by the idea of you taking his virginity from him.

he saved it all for you, he said. he told you that he’d forced away all his unclean thoughts, put himself in the shoes of the pure in hopes that it’ll unleash such passion, some emotion and such longing between the intimate moment he wishes to share with you.

he groans against your lips, slightly grinding his hips as he does so. he leaves you wet, open mouthed kisses and he trails them from your cheek to your neck, sucking at the skin as he fondles your chest.

“you’ve got such pretty nips.” he pants, before swirling his tongue around them, sucking them as he used his hands to undress the two of you. he bucked his hips against you the moment the two of you were unclothed, moans pouring from his lips until the moment he sheathed himself inside of you.

he thrust himself inside of you wildly, grabbing your hips with sweaty palms as he lightly moved them to match his rhythm. you tangled your fingers through your haired and he breathed your name out, shaking as he did so.

“ohhh fuck yeah baby. s-say my name like that again, p-please fucking… mmh” he pleads. he places another kiss against your lips, hurried and passionate, messy with the ecstasy that he’s feeling, and even after he’s released himself inside of you with desperate and crying whimpers of your name, he keeps his length inside of you, humming against your ear as he whispers praises on repeat.

[valalice]

BLINDS WIDE OPEN .ᐟ ft. stalker!caitvi

ꮼ summary. you've unknowingly attracted the attention of piltover's finest, and now they'll do anything to make sure you're theirs. ( inspired by 'she' by tyler, the created ft. frank ocean )

warnings. dark content. fem!reader. reader isn't specified to be from piltover or zaun. stalking. slightly nsfw. established caitvi. allusions to murder but could also be just them scaring off said person. possessive!caitvi. abuse of power (on cait's part). commander!cait. unsolicited note & gift sending. staged meeting/slight savior complexes. pet names (r!receiving : darling, pretty girl, little bird, dear). reader is painfully oblivious. vouyerism. vi takes pictures of reader without her consent. pantie stealing & sniffing & alluded usage of stolen panties. wc. 2.3k

m.list. | arcane m.list.

‣ their little obsession starts out innocent. you're just a civilian, blending into the crowd around you, just another person going about their routine. but to caitlyn and vi you stood out. they didn't actively seek you out, you just happened to also be in the same places as they were at times, and they couldn't complain about that. often moving or forgetting what they were doing to see (follow) you a little longer.

‣ they agree that they've never been so sure about something before. you allure them in, like a flower temping a honey bee. someone so sweet, with such beauty that want, need you. they begin calling your theirs from then on.

‣ it turned sour when once again, out of coincidence you were in the same vicinity as vi, the pink haired woman quickly taking notice of you, her fingers hooking into her hood to pull it over and cover herself as she keeps a sweet distance behind you. not too far and not too close. the bustling streets get rowdier and vi gets thrown around a bit, picking up her pace and ramming her shoulder into who gets close to her, so she doesn't get whisked off into the frown and loses you. she groans when out of nowhere a brutish man blocks her view, putting her scuffed hand on his arm, mumbling something out about needing somewhere to be (a lie), and just within those few moments of vi’s watchful eye on you you've presumably arrived at your destination, a restaurant. she sighs and takes post near by, but as quickly as she was resting, slumped against some wall, her posture straightens out. fist fighting at her side, her teeth begging to grind, hard enough she'd snap her jaw off. you've met up with a woman, and said woman has her hands on you, pulling you into a hug. a glare bores into the mystery woman's head. if vi had glared any harder she's sure beams would've shot out her eyes and straight into her head.

‣ since then, the couple had made sure to purposely watch you. no more coincidences or hopeful wishes that they'd see you a few times out of their week. now they see you every chance they can get. and at this point they're getting bolder, more risky with how they watch you. inching closer and closer into your space as they follow you just to get a whiff of your shampoo, or perfume. going into the same places as you instead of watching from outside. frequenting the same places you frequent and learning your favorites, caitlyn has gone as far, as asking for the same drink as you one time when she was standing behind you in a small cafe. they're even begin starting to work out your relationships with people, keeping tabs on them too. and oh, you haven't seen that one friend in awhile.

‣ caitlyn begins to abuse her power as commander to find and dig through your findings. memorizing your stats; height, weight, hair color, eye color, blood type, ect. she got caught once snooping through your files by a subordinate and quickly sorted herself out, clearing her throat out and making up some lie about needing a file on a stillwater escapee. waving your file at them and briskly walking past them saying that she’ll be in her office, when she's really taking that file home with her.

‣ they’d even begin sending you notes and gifts. notes that read along the lines as “you look beautiful today.” “loved the new hairstyle, did it just for us?” “one day you'll see that you were made for us.” and the gifts are usually items they'd watch you eye in shops or things they'd think you'd like based off of your other preferences, like clothing, books, a new bag, that expensive new technology device you've been saving up for since your old one broke, and of course the classic flowers and chocolate. and they can't lie when they're hurt whenever you come home or open your door to one of their notes or gifts that you have a horrified look on your face, frantically looking around to see you could've given it to you, and vi in particular is hurt whenever she watches you throw out the chocolates she picked for you.

‣ despite all of this, they still have yet to formally meet you, although they're sure you know of them. but they can't simply introduce themselves, they have to make it look natural. accidental and like you needed them. they've learned your entire routine just for a moment like this.

you had just finished up grocery shopping. the sun was just finishing up with rising fully within the sky. you enjoyed going first thing when the store opens to dismiss the morning rush that happens by the time you're bagging your items and leaving. as you're making your way home, your head peeks from over the brown paper bags in your arms to watch where you're walking.

it's quick and sudden, the catch of something on your foot. knowing what's next, so you close your eyes preparing for impact against the ground. at least your groceries will cushion your fall, but not without ruining them underneath your weight.

except you don't and your body stays slanted still at a degree. peeking an eye open you're met with a pink haired woman, she looks familiar, but you can't put your finger on her name. you're reminded of the groceries in your arms from the crinkle of the bags, and they feel lighter in your arms. her hands are placed over your groceries, and there's also a pair of hands on you, but on your waist? who's the person behind you?

“are you alright?” the woman in front of you asks, her voice is low and comforting.

it happens swifty, the woman in front and the person behind you working to place you back upright on your feet. and you're dazed when she also takes most of the bags from your arms.

“she asked you a question, darling.” you twist around at the sound of a new voice, the person from behind you presume, and it's. . . british? upon turning around you're met with the fall figure of commander kiramman, and on instinct you're standing a little straighter.

“c—commander kiramman,” you splutter out. “i’m, uh, i’m okay.” looking down you adjust the bags in your arms, just for caitlyn to swoop down and take them in her arms, and within them, the bags no longer look as big as they did in your arms. “thank you, for, em, catching me from falling to my doom.” you let out a light laugh at the end, trying to make light of your embarrassing situation and to ignore that you're flushed, thankful for the cool morning air against the warmth of your sizzling body.

“it's no problem, really. we hate to see a pretty girl get hurt.” the pink woman smiles. oh! that's when it clicks.

“you're vi!” you enthuse, feeling a sense of pride that you were able to remember her name, you knew she seemed familiar. feeling a little silly it didn't click sooner since she's so recognizable.

“i am,” her smile grows. “and you already know caitlyn.”

it feels like a game as you bounce your head from one woman to the other, but now your attention lies on caitlyn. “no more calling me commander kiramman. no need for formalities, you can just call me caitlyn.” she hums, correcting her name for you.

yet your wide eyes stay strained up at her, “but would it not be respectful to call you commander?”

caitlyn’s exterior remains collected, only vi catching the way cait’s eye slightly twitches, your worries for calling her by her correct title is cute and sends a jolt straight to her cunt.

“like i said, no need for that. calling me caitlyn is perfectly respectful. alright, little bird?”

they both refrain from voicing their distaste of your nod at cait’s words.

it's quiet for a moment, the three of you just looking between each other and you realize both of them still have your groceries in their arms. “oh! i can take my groceries now.”

they both look at you like you'd just grown another head from your neck.

“don't be silly. you should've seen how looked trying to carry all of these bags—”

cait cuts vi off, “you looked comically cute.”

a part of you doesn't really know how to take that they thought you looked funny trying to carry your groceries, but at least they thought you were cute. “i normally don't have that many bags,” that was something they already knew. “but today they had some great deals i couldn't pass up on.” oh, gee, they wonder who tipped off the owner to have such deals.

“well that's great, dear. but what we're trying to get at is that, we want to assist you with your groceries.” caitlyn clarifies, eyes flickering down to her girlfriend.

“so, we’ll carry them. keeping you from stumbling by trying to balance it all in your arms. and you show us the way to your place.” vi finishes, although they already knew the route to your home with their eyes closed.

this isn't something that you'd agree to, but it's vi and commander kiramman, or caitlyn, and that automatically makes you trust them. agreeing to their offering and placing yourself ahead, beginning to walk your way home, and they follow, missing the way they wickedly smile at each as they just perfectly wormed their way into your life.

‣ since meeting you they've become even further unhinged. while caitlyn has duties that distract her from her habits of watching you, vi has complete free will to watch you whenever she'd like. her favorite is when cait is working late, instead of being alone at the estate, she’ll take post at a spot close to you place, to her it's the perfect spot, having a view into your home, able to see as you go from room to room, even your bedroom. both you and her are thankful that your windows don't really point anywhere, so you're comfortable enough to keep you blinds open most of the time and vi is able to watch as you leisure around, cook, clean, when you're fresh from a shower, still damp and drying off your body with your towel. she's seen it all, she's seen you all, in your most vulnerable state when you touch yourself, fingers trailing between your pretty thighs to play with your cunt. vi wishes she could hear the gasp, whines, and moans of pleasure that fall from your lips, but right now the best she can do is capture pictures.

bonus

‣ they're both desperate for you, the run ins, pictures, files, watching you isn't getting them what they need. but they both know that it isn't time to act just yet. so, cait request for vi to break into your home one night, a night they know you'll be out with some friends, to steal a few pairs of your panties. something small that'll take the edge off for a little while. luckily it had been a warm few days and a window in your bedroom was cracked, so vi welcomed herself in as she slid the window open wider so she could slip in. already having the layout of your bedroom memorized as she makes her way to your dresser, opening the first drawer to behold where you keep your socks, bras, and panties. she diligently scours through the stacks of panties, making sure to keep them all nice and tidy as you had them, picking out a few pairs that she and cait would like, mostly cotton, until she got to the bottom of the stacks where you kept your lace panties. she can only imagine that you got them for her and cait to look all pretty when they finally take you. there's a pretty lavender pair, it makes her wet thinking about you wearing them. vi brings them up to her nose, eyes rolling back as she sniffs the fabric, you've worn them before she can tell, they smell of you and your detergent. feeling a high, she promptly stuffs the various pairs of panties in her pockets and exits her way from your bedroom, leaving everything as it was when she came in. caitlyn and her will make great use of them.

and just a few days later cait gets a call from you, the exchange of numbers occurring that morning they helped you with your groceries. “what is it, darling. tell me.”

“it’s—” you pause, rethinking if you should've even called. “it's embarrassing, but i’m scared.” you whisper.

“i ensure you i’ve heard my fair share of things while on the job.”

“promise you won't laugh or call me crazy?”

“i promise.”

you sigh, gathering courage. “i have a stalker, or stalkers. i really don't know but they refer to themselves as 'us' and 'we' a lot.”

caitlyn leans back in her office chair, “oh, darling. i’m sorry to hear that.” faux concern is ridden in her tone. “have they been doing anything to you?” she already knows the answer to that, this is normally the time she'd take out her note pad and pen to make note of the report, but there's no need for that.

“yes. i feel foolish to not think much of it at first, i thought it would just fizzle out over time. but the notes, the gifts, they've gotten odder. and now—” you stop yourself.

“and now?”

you bite your lip, your heartbeat beats rapidly in your chest, it's loud bangs rattling throughout your body. “i think they've taken some of my panties.” you whisper that also, embarrassed to have to admit that.

caitlyn smirks against the phone. oh, you have no idea.

[casuallyanidiot]

More Yandere Nerd thoughts...

Dead Dove Do Not Eat! MDNI ! NSFW !

Tw. Dubcon/ Noncon, stalking, yandere, mansplainer supreme, voyeurism, dumbification

Yandere Nerd who stares at you every single day in class. He thinks you're so pretty and cute, and he fucks his fist to the thought of you multiple times a day. He thinks you're far too dumb to truly be on par with him, but he likes that you're just smart enough to understand the same things he does.

Yandere Nerd who loves the confused little face you make when he goes off about some niche, hard to comprehend topic that he spends far too much time researching outside of class. You're not a ditz, but he likes being the one to put you in the same place as all the other brainless, pretty faced sluts he sees prance around on campus. No, no see you've got substance, don't you? That's probably the only thing more alluring that that adorable little hole he knows you have hidden so unfairly underneath all of your clothes.

Yandere Nerd who seethes with jealousy every time you get a shred of attention from anyone else. He hopes you're not fucking someone else behind his back. If you are, he loses his mind. How could you go for someone so lackluster in comparison to him? He'd lavish you with gifts, praise and attention if you would just look his way. In fact, he'd give you a lot more than that. He'd pound into you until you were babbling, speechless, and all you had to worry about was how stuffed full of cum you were going to be by the time he was done with you.

Yandere Nerd who is so damn insufferable when he gets his hands on you. He loves the fact that he has a little cutie like you in his life, and sometimes online he'll post photos of your gaping, stretched out entrance onto some obscure forum just so he can brag about how his little fucktoy is the best one there is.

Yandere Nerd who wants to see you wearing shit from his favorite hentai. Microkinis with stockings, cat ears, bunny outfits, maid costumes, virgin killer sweaters: you name it, and he's slapping his card on the table just so he can pound you silly in it. He loves taking photos of you from lewd angles. He makes you sit down and compare the ones he takes of you now that you're "dating" versus the more rushed, unflattering ones he got while sneaking cameras into your old room. He also makes you masturbate to your own pictures. His little darling has got to practice self love, you know?

Yandere nerd who tries to get you into every fandom and interest he has. He'll strap you down and keep you tied to a fucking machine for hours if you get the lore wrong for his favorite video game or book series, so you better pay attention if you don't want to get any dumber.

Yandere Nerd who makes you come up with new ways to reward him every time he accomplishes something academically.

"If I get a 98 or above on this exam, you have to cock warm me with your mouth for at least three hours while you sit on a dildo as a treat. You will do it, right? For me? Don't I deserve a treat for once?"

He doesn't even have to try all that hard to score that high, he just likes seeing you hope that he fails even though you know it's no use. Yandere Nerd is an asshole, and he totally deserved to be rejected by you before you got kidnapped, but how're you going to tell him that when you're stuck sucking on his balls?

[tarantulasnot]

HEY ITS THE STALKER ANON PERSON!!

You totally should, literally going insane at the thought of it ESPECIALLY since he has the experience in stealth from his training 🙏🙏🙏 literally will be going feral the second you even make it.

It is on its way 🙏

[meo-eiru]

Found out

[millyondollarbaby]

Loser Stalker Yandere

(He’s a fucking loser but he’s hot and down bad. And a total virgin.)

You didn’t expect to fuck him.

He’s a little too quiet. A little too intense. The guy who watches you like you invented the color red. Always hovering at the edges of rooms, starving. Your voice makes him flinch. Your body makes him twitch.

You noticed it—how he always seemed to know your schedule before you did. How he’d bump into you too often.

You weren’t supposed to say yes.

But tonight? You were bored.

Curious. Cruel.

You whispered: “Fine. Let’s see if you’re as desperate as you look.”

And now?

You’re between his legs. Back against his chest. Your thighs spread. His hands all over you. His breath is already ragged. You haven’t even touched him.

He’s got one hand sliding between your thighs, the other palming your breast like he doesn’t know whether to squeeze or sob. You feel the tremble in his fingers—the awe, the disbelief.

His thumb finds your clit and he gasps. You’re soaked. For him.

“Oh my god,” he whispers into your neck. “You’re really letting me—fuck—you’re actually—” He cuts off with a choked moan, his lips dragging over your skin, his teeth scraping your shoulder like he wants to bite, but doesn’t dare.

He rubs you with shaky, frantic circles. Clumsy, but desperate. Desperate to please you. To make you cum. To make it count.

“You’re so soft—so warm—so wet, holy fuck-I’ve thought about this every night since I first saw you. I know your scent. I fucking know the way your heels sound in the hallway—”

You arch your back, lips parting. He moans—like you’re hurting him just by existing.

“You let me touch you… You don’t know what that does to me, Bunny. I’d kill someone if they even looked at this pussy now. You understand that?”

He’s rubbing harder now, his breath catching every time your hips twitch. His other hand slides down to your stomach, pressing you back into his lap so you feel how hard he is.

“You can’t leave after this. I’ll lose my fucking mind.”

You cum hard.

Harder than you meant to. Harder than you should, considering the freak behind you.

Your head falls back on his shoulder.

Your whole body tenses—legs shaking, clit throbbing against his fingers as you grind against his palm. You cry out. And he moans with you. Louder. Needier. Like your orgasm is his.

“Yes. Yes—fuck—thank you. Thank you for letting me. Thank you—thank you—thank you—*”

He’s crying. Literally. Holding you like you’re a fever dream and the second he lets go, you’ll disappear.

“I can die now,” he whispers.

“Or I can kill for you. Just say the word.”