Creepy Stalker Quotes

I sneaked out to his house a couple times in the middle of the night to watch over him while he slept, just in case, I don't know, his comic book collection decided to spontaneously combust. This was dumb and admittedly creepy in an Edward Cullen kind of way.

I start to wonder if I’m being creepy. I mean, I am creeping. Does creep-ing automatically make one creep-y? Or are there dispensations for…romance? I bet all stalkers believe they’re being romantic. I did it for love, officer.

For a guy who claimed not to be a stalker he sure knows the tricks of the trade. Give up the Ghost

…sitting on the sidewalk outside of his workplace like some creepy stalker ex-girlfriend, waiting for him to come out so I can ambush him with love.

These were the things we would never notice were missing.

I turned to him and he reached for my hand. It would have been easier to walk away. But the wind still blew around us and the house still stood.

Because of movies, music and television shows, men have come to believe that they are supposed to wait on a woman hand and foot and act like a stalker to make women fall for them. They learn, basically, that if they become her do-boy, she will fall in love with them. That may look romantic in the movies, but when you try that in real life, that is not the way it happens. It actually turns them off. Approval seeking behavior is not masculine. It is creepy stalker-like behavior.

Keep driving," I said. "Oh, really? I usually pull over and drape myself seductively over the hood of my car when I'm getting tailed by creepy stalkers," She said a little hysterically.

They weren’t creepy stalker binoculars. Because I wasn’t a stalker. He was. These were like fancy opera watching binoculars. Or ones you’d use to watch the Kentucky Derby. I wasn’t doing anything weird.

Oh Beck, I love reading your e-mail. Learning your life. And I am careful; I always mark new messages unread so that you won't get alarmed. My good fortune doesn't stop there; You prefer e-mail. You don't like texting. So this means that I am not missing out on all that much communication. You wrote an "essay" for some blog in which you stated that "e-mails last forever. You can search for any word at any time and see everything you ever said to anyone about that one word. Texts go away." I love you for wanting a record. I love your records for being so accessible and I'm so full of you, your calendar of caloric intake and hookups and menstrual moments, your self-portraits you don't publish, your recipes and exercises. You will know me soon too, I promise.

I saw them,” he said. I frowned. “Saw what?” He took a deep breath as he eyed me. “The paintings.” For a moment, I didn’t get where he was going with this. Not when he traced the curve of my cheek with his thumb and not when a soft smile curved his lips. And then it hit me. “The paintings?” I swallowed and started to sit up, but he didn’t let me get very far. “The paintings at my place?” When he nodded, I felt my face heat like I was out under the summer sun. “The ones that are . . . ?” “Of me?” he supplied. I squeezed my eyes shut. “Oh my God. Seriously?” “Yes.” Mortified, I didn’t know what to say. “They were in my closet. Why were you in my closet?” “Looking for a psycho stalker,” he answered. My eyes popped opened. “That . . . that was like two weeks ago! You saw them back then and didn’t say anything.” Reece sat up, bringing me with him. Somehow my body ended up between his legs and we were face-to-face. “I didn’t say anything, because I figured you’d respond this way.” “Of course I’d respond this way! It’s embarrassing. You probably think I’m some kind of freak. A stalker—a creepy stalker who paints pictures of you when you’re not around.” “I don’t think you’re a stalker, babe.” His voice was dry. I screwed up my face. “I can’t believe you saw them.” He chuckled, and my eyes narrowed on him. “Honestly? I really didn’t know how you truly felt about me until I saw them.” My brows flew up. “I thought you were all-knowing.” Reece smirked. “I had my suspicions that you were in love with me from the first time you laid eyes on me.” “Oh dear baby Jesus in a manger,” I muttered. “But I don’t think I was a hundred percent until I saw those paintings, especially the one of me in the kitchen. You painted that after . . . after I left.” His brows lowered as he gave a little shake of his head. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I think it’s sweet.

Come out, come out, wherever you are... come out, come out, or you'll end up in the tar...

Chloe took hold of Mia’s arms and she spoke in a tone reserved for people who were slow. “Ryan…is stalking you and I don’t mean cute guy type of stalk but creepy could be a dangerous type of stalk.

Greg’s grin returned and I was happy to see it. “See? No vanity. You’ve lost the ability to care about bullshit that doesn’t matter. You’re a star, the center of a solar system, with no desire for the planets, asteroids, and moons caught in your gravitational field.” “Who wants creepy planets anyway? Planets are amoebas, circling mindlessly in the vacuum of space. They’re star stalkers of the worst sort.” He continued to look at me like I was a treasure. “Planets are creepy, when you put it like that.

Maybe she appears terrified now because I practically chase her down and I'm giving her absolutely no explanation. I'm just standing here like a creepy stalker and I have no idea how to even ask her if she's the girl I lost all those years ago. - Dean Holder

I trudged down the stairs and stood on the sidewalk examining my car. Deep scratch in the roof from a misplaced bullet. Hole in windsheild plus embeddedbullet in passenger seat. Bashed-in right rear quarter panel and right passenger-side door from slegehammer. Previous damage from creepy gun attack by insane stalker, And someone had spray painted EAT ME on the driver's side door. "Your car's a mess,"Lula said. "I don't know what it is with you and cars.

Honestly, I don’t doubt that, Addie. If he is who I think he is… he’s doing some good in the world. And he’s clearly obsessed with you in a very unhealthy manner, but from the sounds of it, he’s not the typical stalker where he’s out to murder you. I think he just really, really wants to be with you and is handling it in a very creepy fucking manner.

I might want to help the paranormals, but I’m not willing to give up my soul for it.” “Of course not! No one can ask you to do that. No one should. If you decide to do this—and I man you decide, not anyone else—then we’ll figure out how to make it work so you come out safe and sound. Besides, I wouldn’t let you sacrifice your own soul. It’s mine.” “Uh, I think you mean my heart is yours. That’s a little more romantic and less stalker creepy.” “Well, regardless, you know mine is yours, right? Heart, soul, whatever. It’s all yours.

Stalked your FB and followed you on IG Liked your posts, commented tirelessly Boy, I can go on with this endlessly I like you too much. I know it's creepy.

Shadowy mystery stalkers? Hidden escape hatches? Creepy subterranean tunnels? My mother tried to get me to take social work for my master’s. I told her it was boring. I was so wrong.

Would've been useful when I was about eight," I said. "I used to have wicked nightmares." I did, too: stupid dreams about being chased by Elmo. A psycho Elmo with eyes like that Chucky doll. I'd wake up screaming and Vicky would come running in and ask what the nightmare was about. I never told her. I was too embarrassed.

You know Shay Coleman?” the guy asked, sounding doubtful. The girl was still laughing. She had no clue what was going on. “I’m in a class with him. It’s all good. I’m not like a stalker or anything.” I shuddered at that thought, and as the girl pulled me forward and into a large crowd in the bar, I couldn’t help but think about the control a stalker had. They chose when to say something. They chose when to approach, when to look, when to retreat. They had all the control. That was creepy as fuck. I never wanted to be a stalker. Why was I thinking about that?

Whatcha listenin' to?" "Oh, you probably wouldn't like it." "Try me." He shrugs as he passes the headphones across the slim space between our beds. This is gonna be good. I've got him pegged for a Yanni diehard, and I smirk a little as the music starts. One of my cellies had a thing for electronic rock, so I recognize the song right away. With the heavy breathing at the start, it's unforgettable and creepy as hell. Seriously. Like stalker-level shit. I want you now, tomorrow won't do. There's a yearning inside and it's showing through. "Depeche Mode, huh? Cool, man. Wouldn't have figured it." Reach out your hands and accept my love. We've waited for too long. Enough is enough. Like I said, stalker-level. His laugh is jittery, quick as the cockroaches in Folsom. "It's my favorite song. Reminds me of being seventeen again. You know, when sex was all you could think about." I pretend I'm not totally skeeved out when I return his headphones and shut the lights.

Don't tell me where I live if I have not told you where I live. That's not the flex. It's creepy.

Once you get to this point, you’ll find yourself some breadcrumbs. Did you like fairytales when you were little? I’ve always liked Hansel and Gretel. Such a dark tale, don’t you think? Only in our story, you won’t find an evil, cannibalistic witch in the cabin. No, you’ll find me. But I’m going to devour you nonetheless…

Little brute… You, with a weapon in your hand… That’s the stuff of dreams. Do you even know what you’re doing to me?

I am a beast, locked in a cage. But when I finally get out, you will be mine and mine alone. Say goodbye to hubby dearest, for he will be gone soon…

My love, I can see it so vividly―you torturing your husband. What was it that Daisy Scott did first? She cut off his fingers one by one? For ever daring to put his hands on her? You would look so pretty with blood all over your face. But you would look even prettier completely bare for me, taking me inside. Letting me worship your body and make you bleed as I dig my nails into your silky skin. You would love that. I promise you.

Dear Lucy, I see you. I read between the lines. You are unhappy. And there’s only one way to fix that. I am counting the days… Love, Your secret admirer

Dear Lucy, You must be wondering who I am. That I cannot yet reveal. I read your book. And I am enthralled by your story. You write so beautifully. I am counting the days until I can finally touch you. Smell you. Let you feel all the things you long for. I see you. I see the real you. I see the darkness.

absolutely will not be following Emerson's lightly floral scent home. That would be creepy. I've lived nearly four hundred years without being a stalker. I'm not going to start now. Probably. Although, it couldn't hurt to make sure she made it home safely, right? No, of course not. That makes me a good boss, not a creep with boundary issues.

So did you, like, jerk off over me, or what?” My mouth falls open. “I…” She laughs. “It’s okay. It’s sort of a given when you do lingerie shoots that people are gonna wank over the shots. And I’d much rather it be a lonely soldier in his barracks than some creepy stalker.” “I didn’t, though,” I say honestly. “Hm?” “I didn’t—do that. Which probably makes it weirder.

Would I come off as a creepy-stalker-kind-of-guy or would it demonstrate that I cared?

Rorie, he told you he was in love with you. That he’d been in love with you. Jentry isn’t some creepy lovesick stalker. He’s intense, and from what you’ve told me, is the kind of guy who probably shies away from love.” My

You’re like my own polite stalker. It’s only a little creepy.” “There it is.” Taking a bite, he reclines and stares up at the ceiling. “She said the S-word.” “Really. I mean, I get it. I’m fascinating. You’re obsessed with me. Just as long as you don’t let it interfere with doing our jobs.” He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re such a brat.” “Creeper.

If I were talking to any other woman besides myself—especially someone like my little sister Heather—then I would tell her to get the fuck away from these guys, run as far and fast as she could. Stalking isn’t sexy. It’s fucked-up. And yet, when Cal holds out his glass for a refill of juice, my heart just melts for him and I know that even if he is a creepy psycho stalker, he’s my creepy psycho stalker.

Hannah made up a bunch of lies saying that Hannah was obsessed with her and some kind of creepy stalker.

Your creepy puts my creepy to shame.

I am ferociously and inexorably infatuated with her. And that is absolutely dangerous. Because I know that I won’t be able to stop myself, even if she begs me to.

My little brute, You look so radiant in the picture at the back of your novel. I look at it all the time. I cannot keep you out of my mind. You are a temptress. I can see it in your eyes. You are screaming out for a man to touch you like you deserve. You deserve to be treated like a queen, but not just that. I will make you feel like a dirty harlot, and you are going to like it. I am a beast, locked in a cage. But when I finally get out, you will be mine and mine alone. Say goodbye to hubby dearest, for he will be gone soon…

But I don’t understand,” she said. “Why have you been following me all over the world? Why didn’t you just approach me before?” “I’ve wanted to,” he confessed. “But I kept chickening out. I meant to in Frankfurt, but then you spotted me and I lost my nerve. I didn’t want you to think I was some sort of creepy stalker.” “God forbid,” Eliot muttered. Larry looked nervously at Eliot. “Then your bodyguard took off after me and I just panicked. And then there was that scary blonde in the dog costume…” “Scary?” Parker reacted, her indignation coming through Sophie’s earbud loud and clear. “I was adorable.” “My personal assistant,” Sophie explained. “She’s a furry.

We tested it out last night,” Sophie confirmed. “And it was way better than sedatives.” “So that’s why the Fitzster played creepy dream stalker. I guess that’s fair. How’s she doing? Still telling everyone I’m her favorite?

Secondly, have you never seen a Lifetime movie? The stalker never sends a note of apology. That’s like, creepy perv 101.