Stalker! Leon x Fem! Reader 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚
Synopsis when a terrifying, highly calculated stalker upends your life, you turn to a handsome police lieutenant who promises to keep you safe from harm. But as he isolates you in a remote cabin far from civilization, a horrifying truth begins to dawn on you—the protector you trusted is the very monster you have been running from.
CW: Dark romance themes featuring extreme stalking, psychological manipulation, kidnapping, and heavy weapon threats. [wc: 12.4k]
Looking back, you couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the feeling started.
If someone asked you for a date or a specific moment, you wouldn’t be able to give one. It wasn’t as though you woke up one morning and suddenly felt like something was wrong. It had happened gradually, over months—maybe even years. Small things would occur every now and then, things strange enough to catch your attention but never strange enough to make you truly worry. A package arriving at your apartment when you didn’t remember ordering anything. Finding an item you had spent weeks searching for suddenly back in stock at the exact store you visited. Realizing your keys weren’t where you remembered leaving them, only to find them somewhere else later and convince yourself you had simply forgotten.
At first, you brushed everything off as coincidence. Because what else could it be? Life was full of little oddities. People forgot things. Memories weren’t perfect. Sometimes weird things just happened. And yet, as time passed, the feeling never quite left.
It lingered in the back of your mind, surfacing at the strangest moments. You would walk home from work and suddenly feel as though someone was watching you from across the street. You would turn around and find nobody there. Sometimes you would wake up in the middle of the night for no reason at all, your heart racing despite the complete silence in your apartment. There was never any proof. Never anything concrete. Just a persistent sense of unease that you could never properly explain. Still, you managed to ignore it.
The first person who ever made you seriously think about it was your friend. The two of you were sitting in your usual café after work, occupying the same corner booth you always did. The conversation had drifted toward relationships, which unfortunately meant you had once again found yourself complaining about your terrible luck with dating. “I swear something is wrong with me,” you groaned, stirring your drink absentmindedly. “At this point, I should just give up.”
Your friend laughed. “You say that every single time.”
“Because every single time proves me right.” She rolled her eyes, and you leaned back in your chair with a sigh. “I’m serious. Every time I start talking to someone, something happens. Either they suddenly lose interest, disappear completely, or circumstances just get weird.”
Your friend tilted her head. “Weird how?”
You frowned. “I don’t know.” And that was the problem. You really didn’t know.
The last man you’d gone on a few dates with had seemed genuinely interested before abruptly cutting off contact. Before him, there had been someone who unexpectedly moved to another city. Another who quit his job and left without warning. Another who had simply vanished from social media altogether. Individually, none of those things were suspicious. Together, though…You weren’t sure.
“You know,” your friend said after a moment, a grin spreading across her face, “this is starting to sound less like bad luck and more like you have a stalker.”
You laughed immediately. The idea was ridiculous. “A stalker?”
“Yeah.” She pointed at you dramatically. “One of those obsessive movie or book stalkers. Secretly in love with you. Watching your every move. Scaring off every guy that comes near you.”
You shook your head. “Please stop reading dark romance.”
“Am I?” she asked, clearly amused with herself. “Think about it. Every guy disappears. Problems in your life randomly solve themselves. Maybe some mysterious billionaire is secretly controlling your entire existence.”
You snorted into your drink. The conversation moved on after that. You talked about work, mutual friends, and weekend plans. By the time you left the café, the joke had already faded from your mind. Or at least you thought it had.
Because later that night, after you’d changed into comfortable clothes and climbed into bed- for first time bothering to draw curtains before changing, you found yourself thinking about it again. Not because you believed it. You didn’t. The idea was absurd. But once someone says something out loud, it becomes difficult to completely ignore. Lying in the darkness of your apartment, your friend’s words replayed in your head. And for the first time, you found yourself looking back at all those little incidents you had spent years dismissing.
The strange coincidences. The people who disappeared from your life without explanation. The constant feeling that someone was watching. The way your problems always seemed to solve themselves before you could deal with them. None of it proved anything. None of it meant anything. And yet, as you stared at the ceiling, sleep refusing to come, a thought quietly settled into the back of your mind. What if it wasn’t all coincidence? The possibility was ridiculous. So ridiculous that you almost laughed at yourself for even considering it. But despite that, you found yourself checking that your front door was locked before going to sleep.
A few days after the conversation with your friend, the calls started. At first, you didn’t think much of them.Unknown numbers weren’t exactly rare. Half the time it was spam, telemarketers, or someone who had dialed the wrong number. The first call came while you were making dinner. You almost ignored it. Almost. Instead, you wiped your hands on a towel and picked up your phone. “Hello?” Silence. You frowned. “Hello?”
For a second, you thought the call had disconnected. Then you heard it. Breathing. Slow. Heavy. Uneven. The sound was faint, but unmistakable. Your grip tightened around the phone. “Who is this?” Nothing. No answer. No movement. Just breathing. As though someone was standing perfectly still on the other end of the line, listening. A strange feeling settled in your stomach. You waited another few seconds before hanging up. The entire thing was unsettling, but by the time you went to bed, you’d mostly convinced yourself it was a prank call. People were weird. That was all. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Then it happened again. A week later. This time just after midnight. The sound of your ringtone cut through the silence of your apartment, pulling you awake. Still half-asleep, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand. Unknown number. Your heart immediately sank. “Hello?” Silence. And then— Breathing. The exact same breathing.
For a moment, you couldn’t speak. You simply sat there in bed, staring into the darkness of your room while the sound continued through the speaker. Slow. Steady. Almost patient. Like whoever was on the other end knew you weren’t going anywhere. You ended the call. A few seconds later, your screen lit up again.
The same number. Your stomach twisted. You let it ring until it stopped. Then you switched your phone onto silent and spent the rest of the night staring at your ceiling instead of sleeping. The worst part wasn’t the calls themselves. It was the fact that they never spoke. You almost wished they would. A threat. An insult. Anything. At least then it would make sense. Instead, there was only silence and breathing. As though someone wasn’t calling to talk to you. As though they were calling simply to hear your voice.
By the time morning came, you were exhausted. You hadn’t slept properly in days. Every creak of your apartment made you tense. Every vibration from your phone made your stomach drop. Even after convincing yourself the calls were probably harmless, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
Part of you had even started wondering if your friend was behind it. It sounded ridiculous, but she was the only person you’d told about the stalker joke. The only person who knew how much it had gotten into your head. So when you spotted her walking down the street on your way to work, you didn’t even think. You hurried after her. “Hey!” She turned around, startled. You stopped in front of her, slightly out of breath. “What is this prank?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“The unknown numbers. The breathing. All of it.” Your voice came out more strained than you intended. “I told you about the stalker thing and now I keep getting these weird calls. If this is some joke, it’s not funny anymore.”
For a moment, she simply stared at you. Then her expression softened. “Oh.” Immediately, guilt flickered through you. Because she genuinely looked confused. “I didn’t do that.”
You looked away. “I know it sounds stupid—”
“No.” She shook her head. “Come here.”
Before you could protest, she guided you toward a nearby bench. You sat down heavily. Only then did you realize how tense your entire body felt. Your hands were clenched. Your shoulders hurt. You hadn’t relaxed once all morning. Your friend dug a bottle of water out of her bag and handed it to you. “Drink.” You accepted it reluctantly. She watched you for a moment. “You look terrible.”
You sighed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You’re scaring yourself.” Maybe she was right. Maybe you were. She leaned back against the bench. “Look, it’s probably some random creep.”
“Some old guy with too much free time who enjoys making girls uncomfortable.” The grimace on your face made her laugh. “I’m serious. People are weird.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No, but it makes more sense than whatever you’ve been imagining.” You stared at the bottle in your hands. After a moment, she continued. “Just stop answering unknown numbers.”
“And if they keep calling?”
“Then go to the police.” You looked up. She shrugged. “I mean it. If someone’s actually bothering you, report it. That’s literally their job.”
You considered it. Maybe she was right. Maybe you were making this bigger than it was. “…Okay.”
“Good.” She checked the time on her phone and immediately groaned. “Oh no.”
You laughed despite yourself. “Again?”
“Again.” She stood up quickly, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Then she pointed a finger at you. “No answering weird calls.”
She smiled. “I’ll walk with you for a bit.” The two of you headed toward your office building together. The conversation drifted to safer topics, and by the time she left, some of the tension had eased from your chest. Not all of it. But enough.
“Take care of yourself,” she called.
“You too.” Then she disappeared into the crowd.
By the time you entered the office building, the strange feeling had returned. Not fear exactly. Just exhaustion.
As though the constant worrying was draining you little by little. Your bag felt heavier than usual on your shoulder. One hand held your boss’s coffee while the other pushed through the lobby doors. Halfway to the elevators, your phone buzzed inside your bag. You ignored it. A few seconds later, it buzzed again. Then again. You clenched your jaw. Not now. You were already late. The elevator doors opened. You stepped inside. The phone buzzed once more. By the time you reached your floor, frustration had completely replaced anxiety.
You walked straight to your boss’s office. He was in the middle of a call when you entered. Without looking up, he gestured toward his desk. You placed the coffee down. He acknowledged you with a brief nod before returning to his conversation. A stack of paperwork sat neatly organized beside him. Your work for the morning. Perfect. You gathered the files and returned to your desk. The moment you sat down, your phone buzzed again. You stared at your bag.
Your patience snapped. You pulled out the phone and answered immediately. “Whoever you are, stop calling me or I’m reporting you to the police.” Silence. Your heart hammered.
Then a confused voice replied. “Ma’am, I’m calling regarding the designer courses you were interested in—”
There was an awkward pause. You ended the call. Immediately. Heat flooded your face. For several seconds, you simply sat there staring at your desk. Then you slowly lowered your head into your hands. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.
You had just threatened an innocent marketing representative. With a groan, you switched your phone to silent and putting it on your desk. The embarrassment lingered for the rest of the morning. Though, if there was one positive thing, it was that no more unknown numbers appeared. Every time you checked your phone, there were no missed calls. No strange messages. Nothing.
By lunchtime, you found yourself relaxing for the first time in days. Maybe your friend had been right. Maybe you were letting your imagination run away with you. Maybe the prank caller was just some nocturnal weirdo who only came out at night. And maybe, finally, you’d get a little peace.
For a few days after the incident with the marketing caller, nothing happened. No breathing on the other end of the line. No unknown numbers calling at midnight. No strange messages.
At first, you found yourself waiting for it. Every time your phone buzzed, your stomach tightened. Every unknown number made your pulse jump.
But eventually, even that began to fade.
Maybe your friend had been right. Maybe it had been some random creep who got bored and moved on. Maybe you had spent the last week frightening yourself over nothing. Life slowly settled back into something normal. You went to work. You came home. You paid your bills. You worried about groceries and rent and all the usual things that occupied your mind. By the end of the week, you felt almost embarrassed by how paranoid you’d become.
That evening, you stopped by a department store on your way home. Nothing exciting. You needed groceries, a few household supplies, and a couple of other necessities. The store was busy enough that nobody paid much attention to anyone else. Just the way you liked it. You moved through the aisles absentmindedly, grabbing what you needed before eventually wandering toward the clothing section. Most of your clothes were practical. Comfortable. Affordable. But a girl cant help look at something sexy and alluring- a set of lingerie caught your eye but the price tag made you wince. There wasn’t anyone you were trying to impress anyway. So when you found yourself looking through a rack of undergarments, your decision process was fairly simple. You checked the prices. Winced. Checked them again. Then grabbed the cheapest plain cotton ones you could find. Nothing fancy. Nothing special. Just something comfortable.
A few minutes later, you paid for everything at the register. The cashier guy gave you a polite smile. You returned it automatically. Then you gathered your bags and headed home. The entire trip was completely ordinary. Forgettable, even. Which was exactly why the text message terrified you later that night. You were lying in bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. A loose camisole hung from your shoulders. Comfortable shorts. The television murmuring quietly in the background. For the first time in days, you actually felt relaxed. Then your phone vibrated. You glanced down.
Immediately, your stomach dropped. The calm you’d spent days rebuilding vanished. Slowly, you opened the message. At first, it didn’t make sense.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: shouldve gotten lace ones you shouldn’t even bother with the cheap ones, pretty.
You stared at the screen. Confused. What? You reread it.
Your mind searched for context. Then suddenly— The store. The clothing section. The undergarments. The plain cotton ones. A cold wave swept through your body. You sat upright.
Your friend knew about the calls. But she hadn’t been at the store. Nobody you knew had been there. Nobody should know what you’d bought. Especially not something so specific. For several seconds, you simply stared at the message. Then another text appeared. This one came almost immediately.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Sleep well now, my pretty.
Your blood ran cold. You were out of bed before you even realized you’d moved. The curtains were yanked open. You peered outside. Darkness. Streetlights. Parked cars. Nothing unusual. Nobody staring up at your window. Nobody watching. At least, nobody you could see. That somehow made it worse. You quickly shut the curtains again. Locked the window. Then checked it a second time just to make sure. Your heart wouldn’t stop racing. You didn’t own a weapon. The realization hit almost immediately. If someone was outside— If someone got inside—What exactly were you supposed to do? You looked around frantically. The nearest thing within reach was a pen. Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. And yet you snatched it up anyway. Holding it tightly enough that your fingers hurt. The next half hour became a blur. You checked every window. Locked every latch. Pulled every curtain shut. Then checked everything again. And again. By the time you finally reached the front door, your hands were shaking. You locked it. Unlocked it. Locked it again. Then physically pulled on the handle just to make sure. Only after that did you retreat back toward your bedroom.
The movies made everything worse. You knew they did. Yet your brain insisted on replaying every horror film you’d ever seen. Every story where the intruder wasn’t outside. Every story where they were already inside.
The thought was enough to make you lock your bedroom door too. Only then did you crawl onto your bed. Phone clenched in one hand. Pen still in the other. You didn’t sleep. Not really. Every sound made you jump.The creak of old pipes. The hum of appliances. Something scratching outside. At one point you were almost certain you heard footsteps and spent twenty minutes staring at your bedroom door. Nothing happened. Yet your body refused to believe it.
By morning, you looked terrible. Dark circles sat beneath your eyes. Your head pounded. Every muscle in your body felt tight. The first thing you did was check your phone. The messages were still there. You weren’t imagining them. You hadn’t hallucinated them. They were real. And suddenly that made everything feel worse.
You’d texted your friend during the night. Several messages. No response. Which wasn’t surprising. She’d probably been asleep. Still, when someone rung bell of your house that morning, panic shot through you immediately. Your heart practically stopped. Who was that? How did they know where you lived? For one awful second, your mind went somewhere dark. You grabbed the kitchen knife you’d left nearby during the night and approached the door cautiously. Every step felt too loud. The bell rang again. You swallowed hard. Then carefully unlocked the door.
Your friend stood on the other side. The moment you saw her, relief nearly made your knees give out. “Oh my God.” She blinked. Then looked you up and down. “Jeez.” You probably looked as bad as you felt. Messy hair. Dark circles. Exhaustion written all over your face. Her gaze dropped. “Put the knife down.”
You looked at the knife. “…Right.”
She stepped inside and immediately frowned. Every curtain was closed. The apartment was dark despite the morning sunlight outside. Without hesitation, she walked over and turned on a light. The room brightened instantly. “You look awful.”
A few minutes later, she was standing in your kitchen. “Have you eaten?”
You shook your head. “No.”
You hesitated. Then admitted quietly “I was scared to leave my room.” That earned a look. Not judgment. Concern. Real concern.
“Okay,” she said firmly. “We’re going to the police.” You nodded. This time there wasn’t any argument. You were past the point of dismissing things. “I can drop you off.”
“I know.” She sighed. “But I can’t stay all day. You know how my job is.” You nodded again. She wasn’t wrong. She’d worked hard for that job. Missing work wasn’t really an option. “But I’ll take you there.”
While she made tea and put together a quick sandwich, she practically ordered you to get cleaned up. You didn’t have the energy to argue. The thought of taking a shower made you uncomfortable anyway. You felt too exposed. Too vulnerable. So you simply washed your face and changed clothes. A casual blue shirt. Jeans. Nothing complicated. After brushing your hair, you checked your phone again. Immediately. The messages were still there. You read them twice. Just to make sure.
When you returned to the kitchen, your friend shoved a plate toward you. “Eat.”
“Drink.” You obeyed. Mostly because your body needed something after being awake all night.
Less than half an hour later, the two of you were leaving. You grabbed your purse. Made sure your phone was inside. Then locked your bedroom. Locked the apartment. Checked the lock. Checked it again. Only then did you finally leave. The ride to the police station felt far too short. Your friend stayed beside you until the entrance. “You’ll be okay.” You hoped she was right. After a final reassuring squeeze to your shoulder, she headed off toward work.
And suddenly you were alone. Standing outside the police station. Staring at the entrance. Trying to gather the courage to walk inside. Eventually, you forced yourself to move. The station wasn’t nearly as intimidating as you’d imagined. People came and went. Phones rang. Officers talked among themselves. Life continued normally. Which somehow made your own situation feel strange. Unreal.
You approached the front desk. A woman around 30, her blond hair tied in a sleek bun looked up. “Yes?”
You swallowed. “I… I think someone is stalking me.”
The woman nodded professionally. As though she’d heard worse. “Alright. Tell me what happened.”
The receptionist listened while you awkwardly explained why you’d come. “I know it sounds strange,” you said, clutching your purse a little tighter. “But I think someone’s been stalking me.”
The woman nodded. “Alright. Do you have any evidence? Messages? Call logs?”
You opened your mouth to answer. “Morning.” The voice came from behind you. You turned instinctively. A man had just entered the station. The first thing you noticed wasn’t his face. It was his scent.
Dark, rich leather mixed with something smoky and expensive. The kind of fragrance that lingered in the air even after someone moved away. For some reason, it made you immediately aware of his presence. The receptionist looked up. “Oh, good morning, Lieutenant Kennedy.”
His gaze moved from her to you. “We got our first case of the day already?”
The receptionist smiled. “Looks like it.”
You hesitated. Then cleared your throat. “I think someone’s stalking me.”
For a moment, he simply looked at you. His expression didn’t change. Then he nodded. “Come with me.”
The receptionist blinked. “Lieutenant—”
“It’s alright.” His voice remained calm. “I’ll take care of it.”
Something flickered across the receptionist’s face. Surprise. But she nodded. “Of course.”
You followed him through the station. Past several offices. Past people working behind desks. Until he stopped outside a private office. He opened the door. “After you.” You stepped inside. The room felt colder than the rest of the station. Neat. Organized. A large desk stood between two chairs. A small nameplate sat near the edge.
Lieutenant Leon S Kennedy.
“Please.” He gestured toward the chair. “Sit.”
You sat. He took the seat opposite you. Then leaned back slightly. One arm resting on the armrest. Patient. Waiting. The silence stretched. Long enough to make you nervous. “It probably sounds stupid.”
His answer came immediately. You swallowed. “It just feels weird saying it out loud.”
You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Trying not to fidget. Trying not to feel ridiculous. “I think somebody’s been watching me.”
“What makes you think that?” The question was simple. Direct. His expression remained completely neutral. Somehow that made you even more nervous. The office felt too quiet. Too still.
“Well…” You shifted in your seat. “There were these calls.”
“A few weeks.” You glanced down. “When I answer, nobody talks.”
His eyes never left you. “Nobody?”
You shook your head. “Just breathing.”
He gave a slow nod. “Go on.”
You found yourself rambling. Explaining everything. The calls. The texts. The strange feeling of being watched. The message about the items you’d bought at the store. The fact that whoever it was somehow knew things they shouldn’t know. By the end, you felt embarrassed by how much you’d said.
While you were busy rambling to Lieutenant Kennedy, his attention was completely elsewhere. Hidden safely behind the boundary of his wooden desk, his hand moved with a lazy, deliberate slow motion. He traced his fingers over the fabric of his pants, highly aroused by the sheer intensity of your rant. You remained entirely oblivious to the thick tension building right out of your line of sight, focused only on getting your words out while he secretly enjoyed the view.
“He even asked me to buy specific kind of garments-“
“The messages.” His voice remained calm. “Did you reply to them?”
“Oh.” You shook your head immediately. “No. God, no.”
“Do you still have the messages?”
“Yes.” You quickly unlocked your phone and slid it across the desk. He picked it up. His fingers brushed yours briefly. The contact lasted less than a second. Yet somehow it felt strangely noticeable. You immediately pulled your hand back. Leon studied the screen. Reading each message carefully.Far more carefully than he needed to. As though every detail mattered. When he finally looked up, his expression remained thoughtful. Then he nodded. He placed the phone back on the desk. “We’ll look into it.”
Relief immediately flooded through you.“You will?”
The answer came without hesitation. “You’re doing the right thing by reporting it.” For the first time since arriving, your shoulders relaxed slightly. Leon reached for a notepad. Wrote something down. Then tore off the page. “Here.” You looked down. A phone number. Not the station’s. His. “If anything happens again, call me.”
“Any time.” His gaze held yours steadily. “If he contacts you again, I want to know immediately.”
The reassurance in his voice was almost comforting. Almost. “Thank you, Lieutenant Kennedy.”
Something faintly amused flickered across his face. “Leon is fine.”
“Oh.” You laughed nervously. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” A little later, after the report was finished, he stood. “I’ll walk you out.”
“I know.” His smile was easy. Professional. “Humor me.”
As you walked toward the elevators, the knot in your stomach felt slightly lighter. The crowded elevator offered no breathing room, forcing you back directly against Leon’s chest. The tight space immediately amplified everything, trapping him in the sweet, intoxicating scent of your shampoo. Because of his height, he could look straight down, his eyes easily catching the hint of cleavage exposed by your baby blue shirt. The view made him come completely undone, sending a surge of adrenaline through him that he had to fight desperately to hide.Once the elevator doors finally slid open, he used the rush of the crowd to his absolute advantage. He placed a firm, grounding hand on the small of your back, guiding you out into the open corridor. The combination of your scent, the view, and the sudden physical touch sent his pulse into overdrive, but he kept his face completely blank, concealing the inner chaos perfectly from the public eye.
As for you it was first time in days, you felt like somebody was actually taking you seriously. Like somebody was helping. Like somebody was on your side. You never noticed the way Leon watched you when you weren’t looking. Or how his expression changed the moment your back was turned. Because by then, you’d already started trusting him. And that was exactly what he wanted.
After leaving the station, you blocked the number. Every unknown number. Every suspicious call. Every message. You told yourself that if anything happened again, you would contact Leon. That was what he had told you to do. For some reason, that thought made you feel slightly better. Not safe. Just… less alone. A few days passed. Nothing happened.
No breathing on the other end of the line. You still checked your phone more often than before. Still glanced over your shoulder while walking home. Still made sure your curtains were closed every night. But gradually, the panic began to settle. That evening, you were in your kitchen making dinner while talking to your friend on speakerphone. The conversation started exactly where it always did. With her demanding details. “So?”
“So how was your mysterious police officer?”
You nearly dropped the spoon you were holding. “Oh my God.”
“Nothing? He gave you his number hmm?”
You rolled your eyes despite the smile tugging at your lips. “He was just doing his job.”
You stirred the food in the pan. “He seemed nice.”
“That’s not what I asked.” You groaned.
Eventually the conversation drifted away from your situation. As it always did. Soon she was talking about her own life instead. Specifically the coworker she’d been seeing. The one she kept insisting wasn’t a date. Even though it was very obviously a date. “It is not a date.”
“You’re literally meeting him for dinner.”
You laughed. “It means you’re delusional.”
Your friend gasped dramatically. Then she paused glancing at her phone. “Oh. Someone is calling.”
You immediately knew. “The coworker?”
“Fine.” She paused. “Call you later?”
“I try my best.” The call disconnected. Silence settled over the apartment. Immediate. Heavy. The kind you never noticed while someone else was talking. The only sound came from the food cooking on the stove. A faint sizzling noise. The hum of the refrigerator. Nothing else. You suddenly found yourself missing the conversation. Missing the distraction. The apartment felt larger when it was quiet. Emptier. Then the doorbell rang. You jumped. The spoon nearly slipped from your hand.
For a second, you simply stared toward the hallway. The bell rang only once. Who would be visiting? Nobody had told you they were coming. You turned off the stove and slowly walked toward the door. Your pulse felt strangely loud. You checked the peephole. Nothing.
Frowning, you unlocked the door. The hallway outside was empty. No delivery driver. No neighbor. Nobody. You stepped out slightly and looked both ways. Still nothing. The streets stretched empty in both directions. Then your eyes dropped.
A basket sat directly outside your door. Your stomach tightened. You froze. Every instinct screamed not to touch it. Not to go near it. Not to even look at it. Slowly, you glanced around again. Nothing. Nobody watching. At least nobody you could see. You retreated back inside and immediately grabbed a handful of paper towels from the kitchen. The gesture felt ridiculous. But somehow touching the basket with your bare hands felt worse.
Using the paper towels, you carefully lifted it. The basket wasn’t heavy. You carried it straight to the kitchen counter and set it down. Then you stared. Inside were snacks. Normal snacks. Ordinary snacks. The exact brands you bought occasionally. The exact ones you always reached for when you had a bad day. Your mouth went dry. Because those weren’t popular snacks. Not really. Not specific enough for a stranger to guess. Your hands began trembling. Tucked beneath one of the packages was a folded note. For several seconds, you simply looked at it. Not wanting to open it. Already knowing you shouldn’t. Eventually you unfolded the paper. Written neatly.
‘Ouch. You wound me, darling girl.’
The note fluttered onto the counter. A cold wave swept through your entire body. Because you knew exactly what it meant. The blocked number. The police report. The messages. He knew.
Whoever had been watching you knew. And somehow, impossibly, he wanted you to know that he knew. For the first time since this whole thing began, the reality hit you with full force.
You weren’t dealing with prank calls anymore. You weren’t dealing with some random creep dialing numbers for fun. This person knew where you lived. Knew what you ate. Knew when you were home. And worst of all— He knew you’d gone looking for help. And somewhere, though you couldn’t see him, that thought seemed to make him very happy.
For several seconds, you simply stood there staring at the note. Your pulse hammered against your ribs. The words seemed burned into your mind. Your first instinct was to call your friend. Immediately. You grabbed your phone and dialed. The line rang once. Then stopped. Busy. You frowned.
Of course. She was probably talking to her coworker. The coworker who definitely wasn’t a date. You tried again. The same thing happened. Busy. A frustrated sound escaped your throat. You ended the call before it could ring any longer. Your heart was beating so hard it almost hurt. What were you supposed to do? Stay here? Wait? Call the police station? Then you remembered.
Your thumb immediately moved toward your contacts. You opened the recently saved numbers. There it was.
For a second, you hesitated. You didn’t want to bother him. He was probably busy. He probably had actual cases to deal with. Real emergencies. Not— Your eyes flickered back toward the basket. Toward the note. Toward the snacks. The exact snacks you bought. You pressed call. The phone rang once. Twice. Then connected.
“Lieutenant Kennedy speaking.” His voice was calm. Professional. Steady. “How may I help you?”
You swallowed. Suddenly aware of how ridiculous you might sound. “Hi.” A pause. “It’s… me. I came by this morning about-”
The moment the words left your mouth, you felt stupid. Of course he wouldn’t know who you were. But his response came immediately. “I remember.”
Something about those two words eased a little of the panic twisting in your chest. “You do?”
“Of course.” His tone softened slightly. “What’s wrong?”
And just like that, the words came pouring out. The basket. The snacks. The note. The fact that it had been left outside your door. The fact that nobody had been there when you opened it. You spoke too quickly. Tripping over your own words. Your thoughts were running faster than your mouth could keep up. Leon listened without interrupting. Not once. When you finally stopped talking, the apartment felt painfully quiet again.
“Okay.” His voice remained calm. Composed. As though he dealt with things like this every day. “First, I need you to take a breath.”
You nodded automatically before realizing he couldn’t see you. “Okay.”
Your voice came out much smaller than intended. “Good.” A brief pause. “Now listen carefully.” You found yourself gripping the phone tighter. “I want you to lock every door.”
Something about the certainty in his voice made you obey without question. You moved through the apartment. Checking each lock. Each window. Each latch. The phone remained pressed against your ear the entire time. “Done.”
“Good.” Another pause. Then “Text me your address.”
The answer was immediate. Matter-of-fact. As though there had never been another option. “You don’t have to—”
“I know.” His voice remained calm. “But I’m coming anyway.”
You found yourself nodding again. “Okay.”
“I want you to stay on the phone with me until I arrive.”
Your eyes drifted toward the basket sitting on the counter. Toward the folded note beside it.
“Good.” The call remained connected. Neither of you spoke for a while. You sat on the couch. Phone clutched tightly in your hands. Every sound in the apartment suddenly seemed amplified. The hum of the refrigerator. The ticking of a clock. The occasional noise from the hallway outside. Every few minutes, Leon would check in. “You doing alright?”
Even when the answer wasn’t entirely true. A few minutes later “You still with me?”
“Good.” The simple exchanges shouldn’t have helped. Yet somehow they did. The apartment felt less empty knowing someone was on the other end of the line. Meanwhile, several streets away, Leon guided his vehicle through traffic. One hand rested on the steering wheel. The other held the phone. His expression remained calm. Controlled.
Exactly the same as it had been during the call. No one looking at him would have guessed that he’d already known where you lived. Or that he could have reached your apartment without needing the address at all. Still, he glanced at the text you’d sent. Reading the address anyway. A small smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Just a few more minutes,” he said. You exhaled slowly. For the first time since finding the basket, you felt something close to relief. You had no idea that the person driving toward your apartment was the very reason you were afraid to be there.
You practically ripped the door open the second the bell rang. Relief hit so hard your knees nearly gave out. “Leon.”
“There you are.” His gaze swept over you immediately. The dark circles beneath your eyes. The trembling hands. The way your shoulders were drawn tight with anxiety. You looked exhausted.Frightened. Like you’d spent the last hour convincing yourself someone was standing outside your apartment waiting for you. Exactly as he’d expected. “Can I come in?”
You stepped aside immediately. “Yeah. Sorry.”
The moment he entered, the familiar scent of leather followed him inside. Suddenly the apartment didn’t feel quite so empty anymore. You closed and locked the door behind him. Checking the lock twice. Leon noticed. Of course he noticed. He noticed everything. The way your hands trembled- and how you visibly looked shaken to care. If anything this aroused him the entire situation it aroused him, “Still scared?”
You laughed nervously. “I think that’s an understatement.”
His eyes drifted toward the basket sitting on the counter. The note beside it. The snacks. His expression remained perfectly neutral. As though he wasn’t looking at something he’d carefully assembled only an hour earlier. You hovered nearby. Watching. Waiting. Unsure what to do. Leon picked up one of the snack packets. Turning it over casually. “You like these?”
He looked up. “These.” He gestured vaguely toward the basket. “Nothing fancy. Just snacks.” His voice remained easy. Conversational. “Do you actually like them?”
You frowned slightly. “Yeah.”
Leon set the packet back down. “Then whoever this stalker is…” His eyes returned to the basket. “…he’s watching you pretty closely.”
A chill crawled down your spine. Because he was right. The reality of it settled heavily in your stomach again. The snacks. The note. The timing. None of it was random. Leon looked away from the basket. His gaze landed on the kitchen. Specifically the half-prepared dinner sitting abandoned on the stove. “You haven’t eaten.” It wasn’t a question.
You followed his gaze. “Oh.” You’d completely forgotten. “I was cooking when this happened.”
His eyebrows lifted. “So you’ve been panicking for forty minutes and haven’t eaten.” When he put it like that, it sounded ridiculous.
“That’s not how stress works.” You couldn’t help a small laugh. The first one you’d managed all evening. Leon nodded toward the stove. “Heat it up.”
You immediately shook your head. “No, no, I can do it.”
“I know.” His voice remained calm.
“I’m saying you should.” You hesitated. Then finally nodded. While you moved around the kitchen, Leon wandered through the apartment. Appearing casual. Unhurried. Just taking a look around. Your bedroom. The hallway. The living room. The bathroom.
To you, it looked like he was checking the apartment. Making sure nobody had broken in. Making sure you were safe. The reality was much darker. Because every room held another piece of you. Books. Photographs. Favorite blankets. Hair products sitting neatly on a shelf. A half-finished novel beside your bed with a random receipt as bookmark. Little details. Pieces of a life he’d spent months observing from afar. Now he was finally seeing them up close.
By the time he returned, dinner was ready. The two of you sat at the table. The conversation drifted naturally. Back to the messages. Back to the calls. Back to the note.
For the first time all day, you felt yourself relaxing. Not completely. But enough to breathe. Enough to eat. Enough to stop jumping at every sound. The apartment felt different with another person inside. Safer. Which was why, later that night, when Leon stood to leave, panic immediately returned. You hated how obvious it was. Hated how quickly the fear came back. He noticed anyway. Of course he did. “You don’t want to stay here alone tonight.”
It wasn’t a question. You looked down. Embarrassed. “Not really.”
A moment passed. Then Leon spoke. “If it would make you feel better, I can stay until morning.”
Your head snapped up. “Really?”
Relief washed over you immediately. So quickly it almost made you dizzy. “Thank you.”
A small smile appeared on his face. “You’re welcome.” The couch became his. You insisted. Several times. But he refused to take your bed. Yet atlesst.
You closed the door. Checked the lock. Then checked it again. For the first time in nearly twenty-four hours, you felt like you might actually sleep. Out in the living room, Leon sat quietly in the darkness.
The apartment was silent. Except for the occasional creak of floorboards. And the slow, steady sound of your breathing from the other side of the wall. A sound he’d become very familiar with. And now, for now, he didn’t need a phone call or a surveillance feed to hear it.
He lay on the couch while you were sound asleep, holding the phone you had forgotten on the kitchen counter. Since you had no password set, it opened instantly to a casual picture of you looking effortlessly beautiful.
Leon’s thumb glided over your touch screen, the blue light casting sharp, predatory shadows across his face in the pitch-black living room.
As the head of police, he had the power to access anyone's communication history, and he took full advantage of his position. He knew exactly who you had been talking to and when. He felt a strong temptation to block the friend you called so frequently, but he controlled the urge, knowing he couldn't do that just yet. Instead, he opened your photo gallery, scrolling through the images and lingering on every picture of you. A familiar, intense fixation took hold of him, one that had occupied his thoughts throughout the day. He felt hard. He remained there on the couch, lost in his obsession as he continued to go through your private photographs while you slept peacefully in the other room. Stroking his cock through his pants while being fully aware of you sleeping in next room yet that did nothing but excite him even more.
He didn't just look at your photographs. He tapped into your text messages. He looked at the frantic messages you had sent your friend during the night—the ones she hadn't replied to yet. With a few quick, cold swipes, Leon deleted them. Every single one. If your friend checked her phone later, there would be no record that you had been panicking. No record that you were afraid.Then, he went into your call logs. He selected his own burner number—the one you had blocked earlier. He unblocked it. Then, he deleted the entire text history from that number. The message about the lace lingerie? Gone. The text about sleeping well? Erased. He scrubbed every single digital footprint he had left behind.
If you tried to show any other cop your phone tomorrow, there would be nothing to see. No threats. No stalker. Just an empty inbox. You would look completely insane to anyone else. You would have no evidence left.
Except for him. He would be your only witness. Your only truth.
Leon let out a low, breathy chuckle, his chest vibrating against the couch cushion as he slipped your phone into his pocket. He would put it back on the kitchen counter before you woke up, making you think you had simply misplaced it in your panic.
The morning sun didn't bring relief it only exposed how trapped you truly were.When you opened your bedroom door, the smell of fresh coffee and rich leather met you immediately. Leon was standing by the stove, his uniform perfectly pressed, looking entirely at home in your small kitchen. He turned to you, his blue eyes instantly locking onto yours with a terrifyingly intense focus masked as concern."Sleep well?" he asked, his voice low and smooth.
"Better than layout out alone," you admitted, rubbing your eyes. You looked around the kitchen counter. "Hey, did you see my phone? I thought I left it in my room."
Leon casually slid your phone across the counter toward you. His face was a mask of perfect, professional gravity. "It was out here. Actually, I'm glad you're awake. We have a problem."
Your stomach dropped instantly. "What is it?"
Leon walked over to the front door and gestured to the wood near the deadbolt. Deep, fresh scratches marred the paint, and the safety chain looked slightly bent. "He tried to come in last night. Around 3:00 AM. I heard him from the couch."
You stared at the scratches, the color completely draining from your face. "He... he was inside the building? While we were asleep?"
"I tried chasing after him also he tried to get in and god knows how many other times he might have tried and- succeeded," Leon said, stepping closer to you. He loomed over you, his tall frame completely blocking out the light from the hallway window.
He reached out, his leather-gloved hand gently clasping at your shoulder, making you to look up into his dark, unblinking eyes. "Your apartment isn't safe anymore. He's too bold. He knows your routine, and he isn't afraid of a lock."
"Then what am I supposed to do?" your voice trembled, a tear finally slipping down your cheek.Leon's thumb wiped the tear away, the rough leather of his glove scraping softly against your skin. A dark, possessive satisfaction flared in his eyes.
"You're coming with me. I have a private cabin just outside the district. No records, no state registry. He won't find you there."
You hesitated, a faint alarm bell ringing in the back of your mind. "A cabin? But what about my job? My friend—"
"I'll handle your office. And your friend is safe," Leon interrupted smoothly, his grip on your chin tightening just enough to command absolute obedience. His voice dropped to a dark, dangerous whisper. "Right now, your life belongs to this investigation. Which means you belong under my roof. Pack a bag, sweetheart. We're leaving."
The zipper of your suitcase sounded deafeningly loud in the quiet bedroom. Your hands were still unsteady as you folded a few casual shirts, a pair of jeans, and some basic necessities, tossing them into the bag without much thought. Every couple of minutes, your eyes would dart toward the bedroom door.
Through the slight crack in the frame, you could see Leon.He was standing in your small kitchen area, completely at ease. He had taken off his heavy tactical vest, leaving him in his dark blue police shirt, the fabric stretching tightly across his broad shoulders. He was idly flipping through the small stack of mail you'd left on the counter, his touch casual, almost domestic. He opened your electric bill, glanced at it, and set it down before picking up a stray grocery receipt. He wasn't rushing you. He was patient. Waiting."Take your time, sweetheart," Leon called out, his deep voice carrying smoothly into the bedroom. "Make sure you grab whatever you need for a couple of weeks."
"Okay," you murmured, swallowing the lump in your throat.You reached for your phone on the nightstand, sliding it into your pocket. You didn't feel safe, but looking at Leon—a decorated Lieutenant, calm and collected—you forced yourself to believe this was the right choice. He was a cop. He was the law. If you couldn't trust him, who could you trust? You zipped the suitcase shut, took one last look at your empty room, and walked out into the living room.
Leon looked up immediately, a polite, reassuring smile touching his lips. He walked over, his boots thudding softly against the floor, and easily took the heavy suitcase from your hand. "Ready?"
He placed a firm, grounding hand on the small of your back, guiding you out of the apartment. As you locked the door behind you, a heavy weight settled in your chest. You were leaving your home behind, but at least you weren't alone. The drive started out normal. Leon guided his unmarked police vehicle through the city traffic with effortless control, the hum of the engine a steady, comforting vibration. You watched the familiar streets roll past, the storefronts and traffic lights giving you a lingering sense of reality.
But as the minutes ticked by, the scenery began to blur. The bright city lights gradually faded, replaced by the bleak, grey stretch of an unfamiliar highway. The afternoon sky was darkening, heavy rain clouds rolling in to swallow the remaining daylight.The silence inside the car began to feel thick. Heavy.
Seeking a distraction, you pulled your phone out of your purse. You wanted to text your friend, to let her know you were safe and heading out of the city with the Lieutenant. You unlocked the screen and glanced at the top right corner.The signal bars blinked once, dropped to a single line, and then completely vanished. No Service.You frowned, a small prickle of unease hitting your skin. "Hey, Leon? My phone completely lost signal. Is reception bad out here?"
"Yeah," Leon replied smoothly, keeping his eyes locked onto the dark road ahead. One hand rested on the steering wheel, his posture completely relaxed. "We're moving past the main cell towers. Don't worry about it. You won't need it where we're going."
His tone was entirely casual, but the words sent a faint, icy chill down your spine. You won't need it. The Missing TruthYou stared down at the screen anyway, tapping into your text messages just to look at the stalker's threats again. You needed to read them. You needed to remind yourself why you were fleeing your life in the middle of the day.
You opened the app. Your inbox was completely empty.You blinked, your heart skipping a beat. You tapped out, closed the app, and opened it again. Nothing. You scrolled down frantically, searching for the terrifying message about the lace lingerie. Gone. You checked your recent logs for the midnight messages you had sent to your friend. Erased.
Every single digital trace of your trauma had been completely wiped clean. It was as if the last few weeks of your life had never happened."Leon..." your voice came out breathless, a sudden, tight knot forming in your stomach. "My messages. They're gone. The texts from the stalker, the ones I sent my friend last night... everything is deleted."
Leon didn't look surprised. He didn't tense up. He merely adjusted his grip on the wheel, his face a mask of calm, professional gravity."I was afraid of that," he murmured, his tone dripping with a dark, soothing sympathy. "A hacker capable of tracking your routine can easily clone your SIM card. He remotely wiped your device to destroy the evidence. He's covering his tracks because he knows I'm on to him."
"But now nobody will believe me," you whispered, a cold, suffocating dread settling deep into your chest. "I have no proof. If I go to another cop, I'll look insane."
Leon finally turned his head, his striking blue eyes locking onto yours in the dim light of the dashboard. A faint, deeply satisfied shadow of a smile touched the corner of his lips, completely hidden by the darkness of the car."You don't need to worry about other cops, sweetheart," he said softly, his voice dropping into a possessive, dangerous register. "You have me. I'm your witness. I saw the notes. I saw the door." He reached over the center console, his large, leather-gloved hand resting heavily over yours, pinning your phone against your lap. The weight of his hand felt absolute. Unyielding."Without that phone data, the precinct officially closed the file an hour ago," Leon lied smoothly, his fingers tightening over yours just enough to make you ache. "You have no case anymore. No paper trail. As far as the system is concerned, you don't exist right now. You only have me to keep you safe."
You stared at his gloved hand on yours, a sudden, sharp alarm bell ringing loudly in your mind. No signal. No text history. No police file. No one in the world knew where you were, or who you were with.
You looked out the window as the car veered off the highway, turning onto a rough, unpaved dirt road that bled directly into the thick, black woods. The medium pace of the drive had completely hidden the truth until it was far too late you hadn't been rescued. You had been collected.
The car bumped along the unpaved dirt road, the thick canopy of trees swallowing what little afternoon light remained. Finally, the vehicle came to a stop in a small, isolated clearing. Tucked away against the dense backdrop of the woods sat a secluded cabin. It looked rustic, solid, and completely removed from civilization.
Leon turned off the engine. The sudden silence inside the car was heavy, broken only by the steady rain drumming against the roof.
Leon stepped out of the car, retrieved your suitcase from the boot, and walked around to open your door. He offered his hand, his grip firm and warm through his leather gloves. "We're here. Come on inside out of the rain."
You walked up the wooden steps of the porch, your muscles tight with a lingering sense of unease. Leon unlocked the front door and stepped aside to let you enter first. The interior was cozy but simple—hardwood floors, a stone fireplace, a small kitchen area, and a single hallway leading to the bedrooms. It felt safe on the surface, yet completely cut off from the rest of the world.
Leon set your suitcase down by the door and took off his heavy leather jacket, hanging it up. He turned to you with a calm, reassuring smile. "I know this isn't what you're used to, but it's the safest place for you right now."
You swallowed hard, looking around the quiet space. "It's... nice. Thank you, Leon. Really. I don't know what I would have done without your help."
"Don't worry about it," Leon said smoothly, his blue eyes tracking your movements. He stepped a bit closer, his tone dropping into something deeply comforting yet intensely possessive. "You don't have to face any of this alone. I'll be right here keeping you company, making sure you don't run into any trouble. No one can get to you here."
"Thank you," you murmured, offering a small, weak smile. "I think I just need a moment to unpack and settle in."
"Take all the time you need," he replied easily, gesturing toward the bedroom down the hall. "I'll be out here checking the perimeter secure points."
The moment you stepped into the privacy of the bedroom and closed the door, the heavy silence of the cabin seemed to press against your ears. Your chest felt tight. You sat down on the edge of the bed and immediately pulled your phone out of your pocket.
Your fingers were trembling as you pressed the power button, turning the screen back on. Maybe it was just a temporary glitch, you thought desperately. 'Maybe the signal will come back now that the car is stopped.'
You stared at the top corner of the screen, waiting for the little bars to light up.
The screen read No Service. The inbox remained a completely blank, terrifying void.
A cold wave of anxiety washed over you. The realization began to sink in with full force. You couldn't call your mother. You couldn't text your friend to let her know you were okay. Your family, your friends, your job—everyone you knew was on the other side of those dark woods, and you had absolutely no way to reach them. You were entirely dependent on the man sitting in the next room.
You stared down at the blank screen, and as the initial panic began to settle into a cold, sharp focus, your mind started to race. The sheer speed of everything that had happened over the past few hours began to feel wrong.
A heavy, suffocating doubt crept into your mind, and suddenly, questions you hadn't thought to ask before began to surface, one after another-
How could a hacker clone your SIM card and wipe your phone exactly when you were with a police officer, without triggering any security alerts on your account?
Why would the police station close a stalking case just because the phone logs were wiped, especially after a Lieutenant personally witnessed a forced entry attempt and a threatening note at your apartment?
How did Leon manage to drive across the city to your apartment in less than ten minutes during the rush hour traffic, acting as if he already knew exactly where to turn before you even texted the address?
Why was a high-ranking Lieutenant handling a routine harassment case entirely by himself, breaking protocol, and taking you to an unlisted private cabin without filing a single piece of official protective custody paperwork?
You gripped the silent phone tightly in your hand, your heart hammering against your ribs. The pieces of the puzzle were no longer fitting together the way Leon had explained them. You looked toward the closed bedroom door, hearing the faint, steady sound of his boots pacing around the living room outside.
You had spent weeks wondering who the stalker was, terrified of a ghost. But as you sat alone in the silent cabin, a horrifying truth began to dawn on you, the person who knew everything about you might be the very man who just locked you inside his house.
The bedroom door creaked open just an inch. You held your breath, listening intently over the quiet hum of the cabin. From the kitchen area downstairs, the faint sound of clinking cookware and the rich, savory aroma of dinner began to drift up the stairs. Leon was busy cooking.
This was your only chance.
Padding across the floor in your socks, you slipped out into the hallway. Your heart hammered against your ribs, each step feeling like a gamble. You moved like a ghost, quietly checking each room you passed. A dusty storage closet. A pristine, unused bathroom. Nothing.
Finally, you stood before the door at the very end of the hall. His room.
You turned the brass knob, your palms slick with sweat, and stepped inside. The room was immaculate, dark, and heavily scented with his familiar leather and expensive cologne. It was meticulously organized, almost devoid of personal touches—except for one thing. Hanging on the wall directly opposite his bed was a large, heavy painting of a bleak, foggy forest landscape
As you turned to scan his desk, something caught the corner of your eye. A tiny, sharp white edge was sticking out from behind the heavy wooden frame of the painting.
Your instincts screamed at you to look closer. Swallowing the knot of dread in your throat, you carefully stepped onto the edge of his mattress, your knees shaking. You reached up, your fingers gripping the cold edges of the ridiculously large photo frame, and slowly lifted it off its hook.
The moment the heavy frame shifted, your breath completely left your body. Taped directly to the wall behind the canvas, hidden in the dark, were rows and rows of photographs. Your mind went entirely blank as you stared at them. They were all pictures of you.
You sitting at your usual corner booth, laughing with your friend, taken from across the street through a long-distance lens.
You sleeping peacefully in your bed, the angle taken from inside your own bedroom doorway while you were completely unconscious.
Another one of you in your bed room this time you were in window frame- you changing into night clothes.
Your hands trembled so violently that the heavy frame nearly slipped from your fingers. The realization hit you like a physical blow, turning your blood to pure ice. It wasn't a hacker. It wasn't a random nocturnal creep.
The stalker, the protector, and the Lieutenant were all the exact same person. And you were trapped in his house, miles away from anyone who knew your name, while he was downstairs cooking your dinner.
The click of the bedroom door latch locking from the inside sounded like a gunshot in the silent room.
Your body froze, your hands still trembling against the heavy wooden frame. Slowly, with pure dread anchoring your feet to the mattress, you turned your head toward the doorway.
He was leaning casually against the door frame, his massive shoulder resting against the wood, blocking the only exit completely. He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his uniform shirt was slightly unbuttoned at the collar. He looked entirely at ease, completely unbothered, as if he had been standing there watching you for minutes.
His striking blue eyes weren't warm anymore. They were dark, intense, and fixed entirely on your shaking form."Find what you were looking for, pretty girl?" Leon asked, his voice low, smooth, and terrifyingly calm.
You couldn't move. You couldn't breathe. Your fingers finally lost their grip, and the heavy painting slipped, clattering loudly against the mattress. The rows of stolen photographs—your face, your bedroom, your private moments—sat exposed between the two of you in the dim light.
Leon didn't flinch. He didn't look angry. Instead, a slow, deeply satisfied smile touched the corner of his lips. He tilted his head, his gaze tracking a tear that had just escaped your eye and traveled down your pale cheek.
“I didn't want to bring you here so soon," he murmured, finally straightening up and taking a slow, heavy step into the room. The familiar scent of leather and expensive cologne suddenly felt suffocating. "But you just wouldn't stop trying to block me out. You forced my hand, darling girl."
Your limbs moved on pure instinct. You scrambled off the bed, the heavy frame clattering to the floor behind you, and dashed toward the adjoining bathroom. Leon lunged, his fingers grazing the fabric of your shirt, but you managed to slam the door shut and throw the deadbolt.
A heavy thump rattled the frame as he threw his weight against the wood.
"Be a good girl and open the door," Leon's voice boomed from the other side, stripped of all professional warmth. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be, sweetheart."
You slid down the door, tears streaming down your face as terror locked your throat. The walls felt like they were closing in. You knew the lock wouldn't hold him for long. Looking around frantically, your eyes landed on the small window high above the toilet seat. It was tight, but it was your only exit.
Slimming the toilet lid down, you stepped up, your hands shaking. You grabbed the heavy ceramic lid of the toilet tank—the sturdiest object in reach—and smashed it hard against the window pane. The glass shattered, rain and cold air rushing through the broken frame. At that exact moment, a deafening crack echoed behind you.
Leon had fetched an axe from the cabin. The sharp blade bit entirely through the center of the wooden door, splintering the panel. He swung again, creating a gaping hole wide enough for him to peer through. His dark, unblinking eyes locked onto you just as you were forcing your upper body through the broken window frame.
"Running away from me?" he murmured, his tone a terrifying mix of amusement and anger. You squeezed through the jagged opening, tumbling out onto the wet, muddy ground outside. A sharp, stinging pain shot up your leg as you landed awkwardly on your bare foot, having left your shoes in the bedroom. Cursing through your tears, you yanked off your wet socks so they wouldn't slick against the mud, and bolted into the dense, black woods.
The cold ground cut into your bare skin, but the adrenaline overrode the pain. Behind you, the cabin door slammed open.
You risked a glance over your shoulder. Leon had stepped out onto the porch. He didn't run. He didn't rush. He held the axe loosely at his side, his striking blue eyes locking onto your form in the distance. He knew the terrain, and he knew you couldn't go far without shoes. He simply began to walk.
The chase felt like a waking nightmare. No matter how fast you forced your burning lungs and aching stomach to move, every time you looked back, Leon was there. He moved with a steady, relentless pace, tracking you through the trees like a predator who knew the prey was already spent.
Suddenly, the trees thinned out, and you stumbled onto a deserted asphalt road. It looked completely empty until a pair of headlights cut through the gloom. A single car was approaching.
Desperate, you sprinted into the center of the lane, waving your arms frantically. The car screeched to a halt, the tires smoking against the wet pavement. The driver, looking confused and startled, opened his door and stepped out. "Hey! What's wrong with you? What are you doing out here?"
"Please, help me!" you screamed, rushing toward him, pointing back at the wood line. "He's following me! He's going to—" A deafening crack echoed through the air.
The driver didn't have time to react before Leon emerged from the treeline, far yet his aim precise blowing that guy’s head right off the blood splattered on you leaving you in shock and terror. You stood alone-if you dont count the dead body on ground- on the dark pavement.
Your voice trapped in your throat, you whirled around. Leon was stepping out from the shadow of the trees his gun now back in its hostler. He kept his eyes fixed entirely on you as he walked forward, completely undeterred by the distance between you.
The horror paralyzed you for a split second before the adrenaline kicked in again. You took off into the woods on the opposite side of the road, your vision blurred by tears.
Behind you, a dark, low chuckle escaped his chest. He wasn't running; he didn't need to. He followed the trail you left in the mud with practiced ease.
Your chest felt like it was on fire, and a sharp cramp seized your stomach from the relentless sprinting. Up ahead, you spotted a massive, hollowed-out fallen log half-hidden by thick brush. With the last ounce of your strength, you scrambled inside, curling into a tight ball and pressing your hands over your mouth to stifle your ragged breathing. You closed your eyes tight, praying the darkness would hide you.
The heavy thud of his boots grew louder, crushing the wet leaves outside, before stopping right beside your hiding spot.
"A bunny chase and then hiding? Really?" Leon’s smooth, dark voice cut through the silence, dripping with an unsettling calm. "You think this log is going to keep you away from me?"
You squeezed your eyes shut harder, tears leaking through your lashes. Outside, everything went deathly quiet. The silence stretched for several agonizing seconds.
Suddenly, a heavy hand gripped your lev, and you were hurriedly pulled out of the cramped space your shirt riding up in process exposing your white bra. Before you could get up and run away, Leon held you down sitting on you caging you between his legs, his shadow looming over you and pinning you against the rough ground.
His gaze traveled down, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. He was leaning in close enough for you to feel his hot, stale breath. Panic surged, but you bit down hard on your tongue, tasting blood, anything to keep from screaming.
Terrified, you whimpered, "Not so brave now, are you?" he mocked, tracing the edge of your bra with the blunt side of his axe. You shivered, not from cold, but from the chilling promise in his touch. Then, as suddenly as it had started, he stopped. "You know what? This is boring," he declared, while the situation aroused him he couldnt help but be bothered by blood of another man on you. He held down your hands above your head and brought his hand up which held axe up your tear streaked face twisted up in panic and you closed your eyes shut waiting for the impact yet none came instead he slammed the axe down on ground beside your head yet it didnt help you started sobbing.
He looked down at you with a heavy, unbothered expression, as if the entire ordeal had bored him. Moving with a slow, deliberate calmness that defied the absolute chaos of the moment, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He sparked it effortlessly, the small flame casting a brief glow over his sharp features before he leaned a bit back and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. He sat there, quietly smoking in the dark woods, acting as if he had no interest in your terror at all—as if chasing you down was nothing more than a routine chore.
He took one last drag, dropped the cigarette into the mud, and crushed it beneath the heel of his heavy boot.
"Get up," he said, his voice stripped of any warmth. "Let's get you cleaned up."
You couldn't even fight him anymore. Your body was entirely spent, your muscles trembling from the burning exhaustion and the freezing rain. When he reached down and pulled you out of the mud, your knees completely gave out. Without a word, Leon easily lifted you into his arms, holding your shivering frame tightly against his leather jacket. You hid your tear-streaked face against his chest, completely defeated, as he carried you back through the dark, silent woods toward the cabin.
The heavy glass doors of the police station swung open, the familiar scent of stale coffee and floor wax greeting Lieutenant Leon S. Kennedy as he stepped inside. He adjusted the collar of his jacket, looking completely refreshed. On paper, he had just returned from a relaxing, five-day out-of-district vacation. No one at the precinct had any reason to question it.As he walked past the front desks, the sharp, frantic sound of a woman’s voice cut through the morning chatter of the lobby.
"What do you mean there's no record?!" she demanded, her voice cracking with pure panic as she slammed her hand against the high counter. "I dropped her here myself! She came in to report a stalker, and now she’s completely disappeared! Her phone is disconnected, she hasn't been to work, and you're telling me you didn't even log the case?!"
The desk officer sighed, rubbing his temples. "Ma'am, like I said, we've searched the system. There is no active file under that name. People leave town all the time—"
"She didn't just leave town!"Recognizing the voice instantly, Leon smoothly stepped into the fray. He put on his best professional mask, his blue eyes softening with deep, fabricated concern as he approached the counter.
"Is there a problem here, Officer?" Leon asked, his deep voice instantly commanding the room.
The desk officer looked up, relieved. "Lieutenant Kennedy. Thank God you're back. This woman is causing a scene about a missing person, but we don't have any paperwork matching her story."
Leon turned his attention to the woman. He recognized her instantly from the long-distance photographs he had taken at the café. It was your best friend.
"Hey, hey, calm down," Leon said gently, stepping closer and placing a reassuring, authoritative hand near her shoulder. "Take a breath. I’m Lieutenant Kennedy. Tell me exactly what happened, and I'll help you."
Your friend looked at him, her eyes red, puffy, and completely desperate. "My friend... she's missing. She was terrified because some creep was stalking her, sending her texts, leaving things at her door. I made her come here a week or two ago to report it. She told me a Lieutenant was handling it, but now she’s gone, and they're telling me there's no record!"
A profound wave of dark, twisted satisfaction rushed through Leon's chest, sending an intoxicating surge of adrenaline through his veins. He kept his face perfectly blank, a masterclass in deception. Of course there was no record. He had personally deleted the file, wiped your digital footprint, and ensured that on paper, you had simply vanished into thin air.
"Hey. Look at me," Leon murmured, his voice dripping with a comforting, protective warmth that completely fooled your desperate friend. "I promise you, I will look into this personally. I'll take over the search myself, and we will find out where she is."
"Thank you," your friend sobbed, completely blind to the monster standing right in front of her. "Please find her."
"I will," Leon promised softly, a faint, predatory smirk threatening to touch the very edge of his lips as he turned his back. In reality, he knew exactly where you were. You weren't missing. You were right where nobody on Earth would ever be able to find you—completely isolated, locked away, and entirely dependent on him. Safe, protected, and kept all to himself.
first time writing for leon i know its dark wasnt so sure about posting it because i felt it would get taken down or something only smut i could add here would be non con not sure if that is suitable for tumblr lemme know if it is and i can make a part two
credits to the person you made that leon poster and dividers everything else is my original work please dont upload it or translate it on any other platform other than that i hope you all enjoy reading
