iβm your biggest fan, iβll follow you until you love me!
w/c: 0.8k, obsession, stalking, very self-indulgent
!! do not romanticize this irl, this is strictly only for fiction !!
there is a specific kind of madness that comes with writing men who long for things they cannot have. youβve built an entire online reputation on itβon the precise, agonizing geometry of a man breaking because a woman wonβt look at him.
you just didnβt expect the universe to hand you a live demonstration.
it started with a single username in your inbox, always there within seconds of a new story dropping. tooru_01. at first, it was standard praise, then it became analytical. then it became.. possessive.Β
now, itβs a fixture of your life.
βyou understand it so well,β his latest message reads, sent at three in the morning. βthe way he wants her. but youβre too cruel to him, author. if i was the one waiting for you, iβd never let you look away long enough to write these down.β
you lean back against your pillows, the glow of your laptop illuminating the small smile tugging at your lips. anyone would call the police. anyone else would block the account and change their pen name. but you? youβre an architect of obsession, you find it thrilling. a little intoxicating, even, to know youβve engineered a craving this severe.
the screen blinks, another notification.
βi saw the photo you posted on your blog today. the coffee shop in the district. the blue mug fits you well. i was so tempted to walk in, but i didnβt want to scare you away yet. i promise iβll be nice, but i donβt think iβll ever stop tailing you.β
your breath hitches, he was there?
three days later, youβre at a local fan-meet event for independent writersβa small, crowded gallery space filled with the murmur of readers and the scent of paper. youβre sitting behind a small desk, signing a few self-published works, when the air pressure in your vicinity seems to drop.
βso,β a voice purrs, smooth and entirely too confident for a stranger. βthe genius behind the heartbreak.β
heβs taller than you imagined, broad-shouldered and strikingly handsome, with dark, sweeping hair and eyes that harbor a terrifyingly focused intensity. heβs wearing a soft cream sweater, looking every bit of the perfect, idealized hero from one of your stories. but thereβs a sharp edge to his smile that gives him away.
βyouβre smaller than you look in your desk selfies,β oikawa says, tilting his head. he rests his long fingers on the edge of your table, leaning in just enough to crowd your space, effectively cutting off the rest of the room. βbut just as pretty.β
βtΕru,β you say softly, testing the weight of his name on your tongue.
his eyes widen slightly, a flash of delight washing over his features. a faint flush creeps up his neck, βyou remember me. of course you do. weβre made for each other, arenβt we? you write yearning, and i live it.β
βyouβre borderline stalking me,β you point out, keeping your voice low, conversational. you donβt pull back. instead, you lean forward, matching his proximity. βmost writers would have called security by now.β
oikawaβs smile turns a bit sharper, a bit more desperate. he reaches out, his thumb lighting brushing against the blank zine on your table, his gaze locked entirely on your face. he isnβt even looking at your works now. heβs starving, and youβre the only meal in the room.
βbut you arenβt most writers, are you?β oikawa whispers, his voice dropping an octave. βyou like it. i can tell by the way your hands arenβt shaking. you like knowing that someone is completely obsessed with you.β
he folds his arms, resting them on the table, looking up at you through his eyelashes. itβs a pleading look, but the intent behind it is heavy, suffocating.
βiβm your biggest fan,β oikawa says, and it sounds less like a compliment and more like an oncoming threat. βiβll follow you until you love me. until you stop writing about fictional men and start writing about me. i can wait. iβm very good at pursuing things until theyβre mine.β
you look at himβat the beautiful, dangerous mess of a man whoβs decided you are his entire sun. a normal person would run.
you just click your pen, slide a fresh zine toward him and smile. βwell, arenβt you sweet, tΕru.βΒ
the sound of his name leaving your lips makes his chest heave, his fingers twitching against the wood. βonly for you, my storyweaver.β he hums, eyes dark and entirely consumed by you.
you know full well heβll never leave your side, whether you know it, or not.
n: i wrote this w my twin @forgottensniper watching, hell yeah :3 ty for watching me crash out while writing.
Β© showhay β donβt copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.Β