“I burn for you my darling”

“After a year and a half of stalking you and obsessing over winning your love, John didn’t think he’d be this excited to hear you might actually be into him”

🍓⋆ ̇⟡Content Warnings——— 

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Obsession, Manipulation, stalking, articulation of obsession as addiction, , violence, implied death/murder

🍓⋆ ̇⟡Author’s Notes——— 

Tis a long one this time ‘round. You can tell who my favourite to write for was in this Stalker AU thing. Anyways, enjoy!! And satiate your daddy issues Ig (jokes ofc teehee)

Yes this one’s a smidge darker coded (and written) than the others. I decided toeing the line a little bit to test the waters.

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•───⋅☾Starting Messsage☽⋅───•

Captain Price did not have a problem. Captain Price was a level-headed, widely admired veteran who’d led a team through hell and back more times than he cared to try and count. John Price however, was much the opposite. He had multiple issues, really, but this one seemed to be the worst. He already knew he was fucked in the head, that was a given after the shit he’d gone through and witnessed, but this was next level insanity.

Not that John could help it– or even wanted it to stop. This feeling in his chest, the little drop in his stomach whenever he got to see you, it was like heaven. A little kick that sent his heart spinning into top gear no matter what was happening in the moment. He loved it and hated it at the same time. Loved it because he was always left feeling like he was floating, hated it because he could barely contain himself around you for too long. He was like an addict being teased with bits and pieces of his favourite vice, and it was tearing him to shreds. He’d held himself back somehow though. You were an ex-lover to one of his men after all, getting involved with you would’ve been the worst idea for his reptation.

But he was retired now, with a pretty penny under his belt and more than enough time on his hands. So, he memorized your habits. Happened to be in the right place at the right time enough times to get closer to you. Not that it was hard, since you already knew him from before the breakup with your ex, but it helped. He’d made an insistence to put cameras in your home, saying it was for “security” just in case. The reality? He wanted to keep an eye on you. Make sure you weren’t catching on to the obsession boiling beneath his skin. Have his fill of the sight of you every day.

After that was the letters, little things he hid around the house for you to find. Just enough for you to be paranoid and call him to check things. Just enough for him to comfort you when you stressfully cried to him about being worried about having a stalker. The irony hadn’t been lost on him then, and he’d had to hide a smile to keep from blowing his cover. And you– surprisingly– hadn’t been the wiser. One would think you’d have caught on by then, but you seemingly hadn't and John wasn't about to toss that opportunity out the window. So yes, maybe he sabotaged your dates whenever you tried to go on one. But it wasn’t completely his fault. It was just that seeing you with anyone else made his head spin and his lungs feel empty. He just couldn’t allow it. Which is why when you’d officially “given up” on love, he’d played the part of a comforting friend perfectly. A you that you’d find the right one soon. Though he knew full well the “right One” would be him in the end.

Little had he known that all of two months later you’d jumpstart his plan by a mile. It was a Thursday. Unassuming, ordinary, nothing of importance. And yet you flipped that on it’s head without much trouble at all. John had been visiting for the weekend, a routine thing he’d do every month after checking security and all that jazz. You were on the phone with your friend, in your room. Something about planning a night out, if he remembered right. Still, he’d decided to watch you on the cameras through his phone; settled in the guest room with some paperwork spread on the bed so he’d look busy. And then you had to go and say something. He didn't hear it exactly, but it sounded an awful lot like his name. Were you talking about him? Was it good or bad? He didn’t know and it was driving him insane. So he turned up the volume and kept listening.

You were talking about him. Pacing your room and apparently ranting to your friend. Saying something about how he was too dense and that you ought to just scream it in his face. But scream what? He’d already missed half of the conversation, he wasn’t sure what you meant now. Until that quote. The last piece to the puzzle of his snooping. ”I should just walk right up to him and kiss his stupid mug.” That’s what you’d said. Out loud. To your friend, admittedly, but who cared? You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kiss him.

John dropped his phone, resisting the urge to throw it in the sudden burst of erratic energy that filled his body. The grin on his face wouldn’t go down and he almost hated how he felt like a teen again. In the end he flopped back on his bed, shoving a pillow over his face and screaming into it. He felt giddy, alive, like his hard work had paid off tremendously. You liked him. Enough to consider kissing him at least, which was a win no matter what. 

Then he remembers where he is, what he was doing here, and fights back a groan. If this is how the beginning of his stay was going, he wouldn’t last. He was royally, and completely, screwed.

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