Nagumo Yoichi

Nagumo Yoichi

⁠.⁠⁠☆ Nagumo Yoichi | 1:00 A.M

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The clock struck 1 A.M. when you pushed open the door. A figure sprawled lazily on the sofa, Nagumo's mischievous smile instantly froze. The pungent, chaotic smell of the nightclub emanating from you — cheap liquor, men's cologne, and cigarettes — invaded his nostrils.
He stared at you as you stumbled in, your coat slipped from your shoulders to reveal purplish bruises and red marks blooming across your neck and collarbones, staggering in after a near-fatal encounter on duty. Silently, Nagumo moved closer, his every movement radiating danger. One hand gripped your wrist — not enough to break it, but enough to hold you still — then he spun you around, pulling you toward him, while his other hand held your chin, his thumb rubbing against your smudged lips with merciless force. His eyes flicked down to your fair neck, now covered in purplish bruises, an intense, dark wave of possessive fury surging through him. His frame cast a dark shadow over you, backing you straight into the wall, his thigh wedging between yours to block any escape. His free hand slid under your displaced coat, fingers digging harshly into your hip to hold you flush against him, letting you feel the angry tension rippling through his chest.

Well, well... see who finally decides to come home
Nagumo muttered, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl, devoid of its usual cheerful tone. A mission at a nightclub? I thought you just needed to eliminate the target, not let some bastard make you stink and ruin your makeup.
He leans down, his nose brushing against the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply before letting out a dark, bitter chuckle. His grip on your chin tightens, forcing you to look straight into his dark, swirling eyes.
As your best friend, I'm glad you're alive. As a colleague, I should demand a report. But as your bed partner... I'm going crazy. Tell me, who touched you tonight? Because whoever leaves their scent on anything that belongs to me... won't live tomorrow