18+

stalker!nagumo who could easily observe you without ever being spotted, but where’s the fun in that? he needs you to be on edge, to doubt whether the creaking of your floorboard was indeed someone’s weight or the room merely settling, to regard the shadows beyond your window with wariness. he moves your salt shaker to a different location in the kitchen, leaves smudged, unidentifiable fingerprints that could be yours on windowpanes, shifts the contents on your coffee table ever-so slightly—just enough to cause perplexity and uncertainty without driving you into full-blown paranoia. 

stalker!nagumo who watches you through the slits in the blinds covering your bedroom window, his gaze sharp and twinkling with intrigue as you walk around half-naked in search of an outfit you approve of. he observes as you turn this way and that in front of your mirror, his tongue tracing over his bottom lips, eyes reflecting the starvation and yearning engraved in his bones as they lazily peruse every curve and line of your figure. if it wouldn’t prove to be detrimental to his end goal of having you all to himself, he would slip through your window and take you for himself right now, but he is nothing if not disciplined. so instead, one gloved hand presses against the wall just below the windowsill to steady himself as he leans closer to watch the inviting ripple of your ass in that godforsaken pair of panties he’s had his eye on for weeks as you walk around your bedroom. he adores watching you put yourself together, hands fluttering about as they fuss over your makeup or hair or the aftertouches to your carefully curated outfits. it’s as if you’re his own personal doll, even if you aren’t aware of it.

stalker!nagumo who masquerades as the police officer that you confide in about being “stalked.” you aren’t even sure if that’s what you should call it, seeing as how you have yet to actually identify the person that’s been plaguing your life for months. you’re frazzled, hesitant. and he just sits there with that faux empathetic smile as you pour forth stories of items in your home being moved, your windows and doors being unlocked or even ajar when you’re certain you locked them, a silhouette outside your bedroom window that just happens to melt seamlessly into the darkness whenever you snap your head over to look. if you didn’t already feel insane when you walked into the police station, then the way the officer spoke to you as if you’re a frightened child spouting nonsense of boogeymen and monsters in your closet certainly made it so. nagumo is manipulative, cunning, downplaying your concerns and somehow managing to rationalize all of the strange occurrences until you don’t know what to think. he smiles in your face as he assists you with filling out a police report, reassuring you as if he doesn’t have a pair of your cotton panties stuffed into his glove compartment right next to his 9mm. and after you leave? that police report goes right into his pocket so that he can take it home and practice your signature until it’s perfect.

stalker!nagumo who knows everything about you—your social security number, your family’s addresses and phone numbers, what cosmetics you use, how much your perfume costs, your bank account information, the first thing you do when you wake up and the last thing you do before you turn in for the night, and now your signature. he uses that information to ruin your financial stability, maxing out several credit cards and taking out loans from shady people who will most definitely come looking for you when you don’t return to pay them back. he single-handedly topples your credit score, and you’re left in shambles. you have no idea what to do when all of your money has been siphoned from your bank account (he’s holding on to it for safe-keeping, he claims) and loan sharks warningly tap aluminum baseball bats against your windows and rattle your doorknob under the cover of night. nagumo simply waits you out, watching your life crumble but never allowing actual harm to befall you. he’s cruel, waiting until you’ve hit financial rock bottom before swooping in to rescue you.

stalker!nagumo who is as wealthy as he is deranged. he lives in the minato ward and owns a whole penthouse floor, remember? that man has money. he pulls a few strings and strikes up a deal with a landlord who is majorly indebted to him, and suddenly there’s a vacancy in a lavish apartment complex for dirt cheap. hundreds apply, but they’re all turned away. well, all but one, of course. you can’t believe your luck when you’re accepted for a tour of the apartment, completely unaware that the landlord accompanying you as you wander around in blissful ignorance is none other than the man that has made your life a living hell. still, you can’t help but be a bit skeptical about the low rent, and the “landlord” admits that a few areas of the apartment have faulty wiring and many back out after finding out. it seems odd to you, but who are you to complain? you certainly won’t have an opportunity like this again. he promises you that someone will be arriving in two weeks to fix the electrical issues, and you honestly don’t give a fuck. you’re more than happy to sign the lease, and after crossing a few t’s and dotting a couple i’s, your fate is sealed.

stalker!nagumo who just “happens” to be renting the apartment two doors down from yours. he appears to be the perfect gentleman, flashing a charming smile and never hesitating to offer you a helping hand in order to worm his way into your good graces. he just “happens” to stumble across you when you’re moving into your new living space, and he insists on helping you empty out the moving van. lean, hard-packed muscle strains against the cuffs of his black tee as he hauls around stacks of heavy cardboard boxes, beads of sweat dappling his brow as he works like a well-oiled machine beneath the glaring sun. you think you’re being discreet with the glances you sneak at him, but he can feel your eyes on him, and it makes his chest swell with satisfaction. you seem to like him. funny. it’s sick, the way the corners of his lips quirk upward when he leads the way back up to your apartment from the moving van. if only you knew.

stalker!nagumo who plays the role of the “concerned,” friendly neighbor. he checks in on you and visits to ensure that everything is going smoothly and you’re adjusting well. if you weren’t so swept up in basking in the small ray of sunlight that was finally peeking through the dark stormcloud that’s been looming over you for months, you might have been unnerved by how he always seems to run into you. in the parking garage, in the hallway, at restaurants, at grocery stores. even so, he never pushes his luck by holding long conversations in public, never makes it seem awkward. now that he’s facing you head on, he doesn’t want to risk screwing up.

stalker!nagumo who always seems to coincidentally (right?) be at the right place at the right time whenever trouble comes sniffing around your doorstep. after all, he borrowed a lot of money in your name, and it’s only natural that you’re pursued from place to place. he goes completely undetected by you, nothing more than a silent shadow that engulfs those who come knocking at your door in search of your head on a platter, chewing up debt collectors and spitting out mangled, bloodied corpses that wind up in the furnace downstairs. you can never become privy to his crimes. that would ruin everything. even so, he adores being your knight in shining armor, the big, strong man who escorts you through the parking garage at night and deters creepy men who approach you. this is normal, right? yes, of course it is. it has to be.

stalker!nagumo who disguises himself as the electrician that comes to work on the faulty wiring, and he uses that opening to install hidden cameras around your apartment. “it’s to protect her,” he reasons, and that’s partially true. he needs to make sure that you’re safe, that you aren’t inviting any other men into your apartment. you’re too sweet to be left to your own devices, too trusting, too poor of a judge of character. i mean, look at who you allowed into your life. you should be grateful that he’s so good to you and would never lay a hand on you to harm you, because if he were anyone else, he’s certain you would be stuffed in a suitcase at the bottom of the pacific ocean. he has to take care of you. he can’t allow you to be taken advantage of.

stalker!nagumo who monitors the live footage from the cameras like a hawk, laptop open on his bed as he sprawls next to it, boxers shoved down his hips and a pair of panties that he’d swiped from your drawer two days ago wound around his cock. he hisses as his thumb painstakingly slowly rubs the cotton fabric over his leaky tip, toying with the tight coil of arousal in the pit of his stomach until it’s borderline maddening. but he can wait. he will wait. he draws it out, massaging his cock with lazy pumps of his fist and watching as you move around your apartment in a camisole and the shortest pair of shorts he’s ever seen in his fucking life. he’ll be damned if you show that shit to anyone else. as a matter of fact, he almost wishes that you would, because at least that would give him a reason to ensure that you understand exactly whose mercy you’ve been sustaining yourself on and who you belong to—mind, body, and soul.

even if you haven’t realized it yet.