It started small—an unfamiliar username commenting on your Instagram stories. At first, you ignored it. But then came the DMs. They knew what you wore that day, what café you stopped by, even the exact words on your tote bag.
You blocked them. They made a new account.
By the third day, your phone buzzed with a message that made your stomach twist:
"Cute blue hoodie. The one you wore yesterday? Wear it again tonight."
You hadn't posted a thing.
That's when fear truly set in.
⸻
Malachi noticed something was wrong right away. You'd been quieter than usual, eyes darting toward the windows every few seconds.
"Y/N, what's going on?" he asked softly, resting his hand over yours.
You hesitated, but finally showed him the messages. His playful expression disappeared, replaced with a sharp, protective edge you'd rarely seen.
"This isn't just some random troll," he said, voice firm. "They know where you are. That's stalking."
You swallowed hard. "I don't want to overreact..."
"No." Malachi cupped your face, making you look at him. "This is serious. I'm not letting anything happen to you."
⸻
That night, Malachi insisted on driving you home. As you approached your street, you both froze—someone stood under the streetlight across from your house. A hood obscured their face, but you could feel their eyes on you.
Malachi's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Stay in the car."
"Mal—"
"I said stay." His tone was sharp, protective.
You watched him step out of the car, shoulders squared. The hooded figure noticed and quickly disappeared into the darkness.
Malachi got back in, jaw clenched. "We're not staying here tonight. You're coming to my place."
⸻
At his apartment, Malachi stayed up late, pacing with his phone pressed to his ear as he reported everything to the police. After he hung up, he sat next to you on the couch, his hand never leaving yours.
"Look at me," he murmured. You met his warm brown eyes, and for a moment, the fear faded. "I'm going to make sure you're safe, okay? We'll get cameras. I'll talk to security. Whatever it takes."
You nodded, leaning against him as he wrapped you in his arms.
But just as you started to drift off, your phone buzzed. Another message:
"You shouldn't let him leave you alone. I like you better when you're scared."
Your heart stopped. Malachi saw the text over your shoulder, his entire body tensing.
"That's it," he said, voice low and dangerous. "We're not waiting around anymore. This is going to end tomorrow."
Wrapped in the dim glow of the TV, Malachi's arm stayed draped protectively over your waist, his steady heartbeat grounding you. The soft rise and fall of his chest lulled you as your fingers curled into his hoodie, seeking safety in his warmth. Outside, the world felt dark and dangerous, but in that moment, the rhythm of his breathing and the weight of his presence formed a shield around you. Slowly, exhaustion pulled you under, and before long, both of you slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep, tangled together like nothing could separate you.
+
The next morning, sunlight streamed faintly through your curtains, but the uneasy feeling never left. Malachi had gone downstairs to make breakfast, insisting you stay curled up on the couch. You were scrolling mindlessly on your phone when you heard it—a soft creak, like footsteps on the floorboards upstairs. Your heart pounded.
"Mal?" you whispered nervously, your voice shaky.
⸻
Slowly, you slipped off the couch, peeking down the hallway. "Malachi... did you come back up here?" you called softly, trying to keep your voice steady.
"No, baby, I'm in the kitchen," Malachi called back from downstairs, his tone sharp with sudden concern.
The sound grew louder, closer. A shadow passed across the end of the hallway. Your breath caught in your throat.
⸻
"STAY!" Malachi's voice was firm now, his footsteps pounding the stairs as he rushed toward you. Before you could move, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you behind him just as a hooded figure stepped out of the shadows.
⸻
"Y/N/N, RUN!" Malachi yelled as the stalker lunged. You screamed, stumbling back as Malachi tackled the man to the ground, both of them hitting the floor with a heavy thud.
"Call the police!" he shouted over the struggle, his voice strained.
You scrambled for your phone with trembling fingers, fumbling to dial 911 as Malachi wrestled to pin the man down. "Hurry!" you cried to the dispatcher, tears streaming down your face. "Someone's in our house—my boyfriend's fighting him!"
⸻
Sirens wailed outside minutes later, blue and red lights flashing through the windows. "They're here, Mal! They're here!" you sobbed, clutching the phone.
Officers burst through the door, rushing up the stairs. Two grabbed the intruder, wrenching him away from Malachi and slapping cuffs on his wrists. The stalker snarled and shouted threats, but they dragged him out, his voice fading as the front door slammed behind them.
⸻
You dropped the phone and ran to Malachi, collapsing against him. He cupped your face with trembling hands, his hoodie streaked with dust and his lip bleeding slightly.
"Hey, hey, I'm okay," he whispered, voice low and calming. "You're safe now. It's over."
You buried your face into his chest, sobbing quietly as his arms wrapped tight around you.
⸻
Finally, with the stalker gone and police stationed outside, Malachi held you close, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I'm not letting anything like that happen again," he murmured firmly. "You'll never face fear alone. Not while I'm here."
