So, one time I was reblogging something and had a fun idea about stalker!Simon... i finally started it! It's probably not gonna be more than 2 parts, I just cut it bc it made more sense honestly. Anyways... I took a while to go around writing this huh
❀ EDIT: The original post I said I rebbloged that sparked this idea was this amazing fic by my lovely moot @milkk--t !! Please check it out, it's probably way more flushed out than my silly idea ;)
.𖥔 ݁ 🍯 Stalking! Mentions of stealing underwear and clothes, breaking into each other's places & taking unconsented(kinda) pictures ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚
Simon took a leave, a months long leave, one he wasn't exactly keen on taking, but Price was having none of it, and sent him off field for a long while, or else the lieutenant was going to be the reason Price is chewed by the administration.
So he was...off field. Which left him stranded. He had nothing to focus on, nothing to put his skills to use, to drown out the overwhelming silence of his flat. So he started walking, getting to know the city, going to different cafe's and random shops; which is how he found himself walking into this specific coffee shop.
He was just looking for a coffee to go and something to eat, but when he reached the counter, he hesitated. See, he may be closed off, but he knows a pretty thing when he sees it; even when said pretty thing's hair is messy, bags under their eyes and tense shoulders. But you smiled at him with a somewhat knowing look in your eyes that had him resisting the urge to ask if you understood the weight of the aching silence in his life, the deafening static that made him feel like he was going crazy.
He didn't, though. He just stared until you frowned, feeling his stomach twist at how adorable you looked frowning up at him, tilting your head and asking if he was okay. When he nodded dumbly and mumbled his order, he couldn't help but swoon a little at the giggle that left your pretty lips. Paying with a heavy tip and admiring the way your eyes when wide before you glanced up a him through your lashes.
You had asked softly, a little teasing, unable to resist it when this big ass man was acting like a shy schoolboy from ordering a black coffee and a pastry.
He grumbled. Not bothering to ask yours when he had already repeated it a million times over in his head the moment he saw it on your name tag. You nodded and went to making his coffee.
When you finished, he took it and sat on a table in a corner, watching out he corner of his eyes the way you'd flit around cleaning tables and making coffee and talking to customers. Something heavy and crazed nuzzling it's way to his chest as he looked at you.
You had locked onto him the moment he stared dumbly at you. Even more when you felt his gaze on you for the entirety of your shift (and your way back home). The feeling of his gaze and unwavering attention left you in a daze; weighting heaving in your stomach and pooling like molten lava in your tummy in a way that had you holding back on slipping into your work's bathroom and easing some of the tension off with your hand, but you didn't want him to know it yet, you let him think he was doing a great job at stalking you.
It was easy, easy knowing he'd be back in the coffee shop, easy warming up to him, letting him think you didn't know about how he'd walk you home (so romantic!) like a guard dog, making sure the shady men around didn't even glance at you. It was also easy giggling and asking in a sweet whisper for his surname, a simple.
"And this coffee is for Mr..?"
He had said, and you wrote it in the paper cup, commiting it to memory. It wasn't just important for when you looked into who he was later, but it also was important since now you could start deciding the important stuff, like if you'd take his last name, or he would take yours.
Then, it was smooth sailing. He'd come in every day, order the same things (safe for the days you talked about any other pastry or drink, where he'd immediately buy one of it for him), sit in a corner and watch you. And you'd start your own routine, search him up, find out who he is, what he does, where he lives. It was easy getting anything out of him; he thought you were so innocent and oblivious, he wasn't about to be doubting you when you still casually locked your door and went to sleep soundly despite the many times he slipped in at night.
You used the days you knew he was in your flat to ask for the day off and go to his place. Go over his documents, find out everything you could, map out his house (decide where your plants and furniture and decorations would go). You could make out the type of guy he was just for his house and documents, so after that it was just some careful threading and you got yourself his usual routine.
When he wasn't stalking you, you were stalking him. It was a fun cat and mouse game (a good story for your kids); you'd casually show up in the same grocery shop as him, then coincidentally be running at the same park he runs every morning, maybe even daring to wear some more skimpy running outfit just to feel the warmth of his stare on your body. He saw you everywhere, and when you were at the coffee shop, he always came back, every time his gaze was even more intense, like a visible force growing until it broke, and it left you giddy.
Simon was sure it was some kind of divine intervention. You were it for him, he was sure. He saw you everywhere, ever since that damned day on that random coffee shop where he first saw you and felt that crazed, horrible weight in his chest, he couldn't stay away. He knew he shouldn't, but he sat there and watched. Watched you move, watched you hum along to the music of the shop, clean tables, make coffees, talk and laugh to regulars, and the more he watched the more this dreadful feeling settled in him, he was almost in a haze as he followed you home, staring at your complex, physically restraining himself.
He hadn't planned on getting worse, see, it was just something to focus on when not on the field, it was easy, stalking, gathering intel info about you, keeping watch. He just went to the cafe, ate and drank some coffee, and followed escorted you to your flat.
But then you suddenly were everywhere, always just passing through, not even looking at him, not even noticing how he's always in the sidelines even when he's not the one going after you. Maybe once or twice you'd recognize him and wave before going your merry way, and he'd plant himself on the spot he was in an attempt to not follow you like some stray after you feed it once. Every time you were around, it was never quiet.
On the run at the park where he saw you in that tight, skimpy running outfit, it wasn't quiet in the way his mind was filled by the things he wanted to do to you. When he saw you at the grocery store, you were humming along to the song playing on the speakers. When he saw you at the bar when he was out with the others, you were laughing with your friends.
It wasn't quiet, it wasn't ecstatic that had his ears ringing and chest tightening and head full yet feeling hollow. No, it was full, you filled in, filled in the silence, the hollow, you were sound and warmth and presence and he needed it, needed you, just a little more, just enough he wouldn't go batshit crazy while out of the field.
So he broke in your apartment. So what? He wasn't going to rob you or anything. He actually was making sure you were safe, because he didn't want his pretty thing exposed to risks. He mapped it out, took note of the locks in the doors and windows, fantasized of having your trinkets fill in the empty spaces and hollows of his home rather than this simple flat you lived in, fantasized on you filling in that silence and void in his life he just so recently found out you can fill up.
But he didn't do anything wrong, he didn't touch you, never would, he's a gentleman despite everything, and he wouldn't want to risk losing the calming sound of your breathing at night just because he got too greedy. He settled on taking one of your underwear, he wouldn't touch you, but theres only so much he can do when seeing the type of clothes you use to sleep.
He'd make sure you were safe and all you had to do is stop the silence, that was it, it was enough for him, more than enough, he was sure, he told himself the same thing each time, even when he got bolder, when he'd trace your cheek while you slept, when he'd leave you new groceries so you didn't have to use of you low salary for it, when he at last left you bags with your favourite snacks and sweets, even if he knew you'd be paranoid when you saw them, he'd just be more careful, he was just trying to be good to you, thank you for helping him.
Simon Riley was the one for you. He was it, you were sure. He always tipped nicely, he was fun to talk to, made dumb jokes, listened to whatever others were talking about, was surprisingly caring when he wasn't keeping up his walls. Sure, you knew all that from desperately watching and listening to him on his bar nights with his task force coworkers, and sure, he'd always smile at little more to Johnny, Johnny is how he is saved on Simon's contacts, the scot with a mohawk was pretty fun too, and you understood while Simon liked his company.
Aswell as being a good man, he was attentive and protective, always walking you to your flat, always coming in to see you at work, always helping you sleep with his gentle caresses, not once touching you without consent, he really was a sweetheart! And when he started buying groceries for you? Buying any products of yours that was on the end and putting them right where they always were as if you wouldn't notice how adorable that is?
The final straw was when he bought a bag of your favourite snacks and sweets and let it on your counter after a particularly bad day. You couldn't help but let out a shaky sigh, it really felt so good to be cared for, and you were falling, hard. So, of course, you wanted to thank him!
Simon was once again staring at the photos he took of you on his phone, late into the night, unable to sleep, but the silence had begun to be too loud, so he put your playlist on his headphones and stared at the photos. That is, until a notification appeared. He frowned, his personal number doesn't usually gets wrong texts. He was about to block when he noticed what number it was. Your number, your number? Did you find out it was him? How did you find his number? Were you scared, were you going to cuss him out?
Hii! Just wanted to thank you for the snacks, it was sooo sweet of you!! How about I pay you back on a date? Next Friday you know I'm free. You pick me up here and we go to that restaurant you like! Xoxo!
He stares at the message, that sense of dread that had been building suddenly vanishing, and he can't help but laugh, shaking his head as he saves your number and stares at your smiling profile picture. Somehow, knowing it had been you who went through his office and who vanished with one of his shirts had him smiling.
He murmured, already making reservations at his favourite restaurant and thinking of what to buy you tomorrow when he goes to see you at work.
