Five More Minutes
Reader x Nurse!Suguru Geto | MDNI
cw: mostly fluff, soft smut, suggestive content, public teasing, groping through clothes, hospital setting, sexual tension, kissing, emotional vulnerability
It started with the stupid coffee machine.
It always jammed when you were tired and under-caffeinated and in desperate need of something warm to hold before morning rounds. You were smacking the side of it with your palm when a familiar voice hummed behind you:
“Careful, princess. You’ll bruise your pretty hand.”
You turned—and there he was. Suguru Geto. The most beautiful nurse in the entire hospital. Long, silky black hair tied low with an almost lazy grace, fresh scrubs hugging his broad frame, and that permanent sleepy smile he wore like it was a secret he was dying to tell.
“I’d rather bruise my hand than go into another double shift without caffeine,” you muttered, but he was already stepping in front of you, casually brushing against your arm as he crouched to fix the machine.
“I keep telling you to let me show you how to talk to it,” he teased, tapping a few buttons before it whirred obediently to life. “She only listens when you’re gentle.”
You rolled your eyes but accepted the coffee he handed you. His fingers grazed yours. It was nothing. But it felt like everything.
You took a sip. “Thanks, coffee whisperer.“
His smirk deepened. “Anything for you.”
God. He always did that. The teasing. The lingering stares. The low voice brushing over your skin like velvet. You loved working with him. Which made everything worse.
On rounds, he walked beside you like it was natural. He’d lean in when you reviewed patient charts, cheek nearly brushing yours. He’d rest a hand on the small of your back when leading you into rooms, whispering jokes under his breath to make you smile before facing a patient. It was professional. Friendly.
Mostly.
One afternoon, during a quiet lull, you caught him sitting at the nurses’ station, casually flipping through forms. You came up behind him and rested your chin on his shoulder.
“You always this relaxed on shift?”
He didn’t flinch. He just smiled, tilting his head until his hair brushed your cheek.
“Only when you’re around. You calm me.”
You snorted, pulling away. “You’re so full of it.”
He looked up at you, slow and deliberate, and something in his eyes made your stomach twist.
“I’m serious.”
You stared at him, heart in your throat. A long moment passed.
Then a loud beeping from Room 207 made you both jump, and the spell broke. You rushed off together, side by side—but the air between you now was charged, electric.
Later that day, as you restocked the supply closet, the door creaked open behind you.
“Need help?” Suguru asked innocently, stepping inside and closing the door.
There was barely a foot of space between you.
“I’m fine,” you whispered, turning around slowly, only to find him right there, gaze dropping to your lips.
“You’re blushing,” he murmured.
“Am not.”
“Liar.”
You shoved a box of gauze into his hands just to make him step back.
“You’re dangerous,” you muttered.
He grinned. “Only if you want me to be.”
That night, when your shift finally ended, you found a note tucked into your locker.
“Your coffee’s on me tomorrow. And the day after. And the one after that. —S”
Your heart fluttered like an idiot. You couldn’t wait for your next shift.
You were trying to grab a fresh lab coat from the top shelf in the locker room when you heard footsteps behind you.
“Need a boost?”
You didn’t have to turn to know it was him.
“No,” you said stubbornly, still on your toes, reaching.
Suguru leaned against the locker frame, arms crossed, watching you with a smirk playing on his lips. “You sure? I’m right here. Built-in step ladder.”
You glanced over your shoulder. He was taller by a lot — you barely reached his shoulder — and he smelled dangerous. Warm, clean skin and whatever subtle cologne he wore that clung to him like the heat in his voice.
You huffed and grabbed the coat, but not before his hand casually reached over yours, plucking it down with maddening ease.
He held it out to you. “You’re welcome, shortcake.”
You snatched it, eyes narrowed. “You love showing off.”
“And you love watching me do it,” he said without missing a beat, his voice smooth and low.
You shoved past him toward the hallway, but he followed, unhurried, hands in his pockets.
“You know,” he added casually, walking just a step behind you, “you look really cute when you’re flustered. Eyes all wide. Lips pouty.”
“I’m not flustered,” you shot back.
“Mm. No?” His voice dipped like silk. “Then stop biting your lip.”
You glared at him over your shoulder. “Stop staring at my mouth, then.”
He laughed—quiet, breathy, like he knew exactly what he was doing. “Hard not to. It’s a good mouth. Sharp little tongue, too.”
You stopped walking. He nearly bumped into you, but he was quick, placing a palm on the wall beside your head instead.
Now he was close. Too close. You could feel the heat rolling off him, smell the faint hint of citrus and something dark under it. His smile was sweet, infuriating. You hated how your stomach fluttered.
“God, you’re pretty,” he murmured, head tilting slightly. “Has anyone told you that today?”
You raised an eyebrow. “You flirt with everyone like this?”
“Only the ones that make me nervous.”
That stopped you. You blinked. “You’re nervous?”
His smile didn’t falter, but his voice went softer.
“I’m not used to wanting someone to flirt back.”
Your breath caught. He stepped back just a little—enough for air, but not enough to shake the tension still curling in the air like smoke.
“Come on,” he said, voice back to that playful warmth. “If we keep staring at each other in the hallway, someone’s gonna page us just to break the tension.”
You rolled your eyes and pushed past him again—but your heart was hammering. He followed. Quiet. Easy.
Then: “I’m off at seven. You?”
“Six-thirty.”
“That’s a shame,” he said, grin lazy. “I was gonna ask you to take a walk with me.”
You didn’t stop walking, but your smile betrayed you. “Then ask anyway.”
Behind you, he laughed.
You were pretending to scroll on your phone.
Pretending to look casual. Like you weren’t leaning against the row of lockers right next to his, waiting for someone with entirely too much calm for how hot he was.
Your shift had ended twenty minutes ago. You could’ve left. But no — instead, you stood there, like an idiot, hoping to catch him before he left for the day.
And then the door opened.
Suguru stepped in, hair dripping down his bare neck, long strands clinging to his skin like black silk. He wore nothing but a navy towel slung low around his hips, his upper body still glistening from the quick rinse he always took after long shifts.
He looked like sin incarnate. You blinked. Hard.
“Hello, Rapunzel,” you said, somehow keeping your voice steady, though your brain was screaming.
He smirked, water dripping from his temple. “Yeah, yeah.”
His voice was lazy, playful, like he had no idea what he looked like right now. Or maybe he did. Maybe the little glint in his eye meant he knew exactly what he was doing, striding past you like that — tall, warm, half-naked and damp, with muscles shifting under perfect skin.
“You waiting for me?” he asked, casually opening his locker, towel swaying with every movement.
“Mm-hm.” You leaned back, arms crossed. “Wanted to ask if you wanted to walk with me after shift. But now I feel like I should ask you to model for a Greek statue instead.”
He glanced over his shoulder, water running down his spine. “You flirting with me again?”
“Not flirting. Just diagnosing the situation.” You gestured toward him. “Symptoms include: unfair hotness, wet hair, very little clothing, and the audacity to still be smiling like that.”
He chuckled, low and amused, as he pulled on a clean shirt. “You’re the one who waited.”
“Because I’m stupid,” you mumbled, half to yourself, trying not to let your eyes wander as he dressed. His back flexed as he tugged the shirt over it. His hair dripped onto the collar.
Suguru turned around fully then, hair still damp, grin still soft, eyes just a little darker now. The air between you thickened.
“You’re not stupid,” he said. “You’re sweet.”
You blinked. “What?”
He stepped closer, now only a breath away.
“And you’re making it really hard not to kiss you right now,” he murmured, voice deep and syrupy.
You stared up at him, breath caught.
“…Then don’t.”
The silence crackled. He didn’t move — not yet. Just grinned again, lower this time. More wolf than prince.
“You sure?”
You swallowed. “I waited for you, didn’t I?”
Suguru’s fingers brushed your jaw. His palm rested just under your ear, tilting your face up.
Then, slow as anything, he leaned in and kissed you.
And fuck, he tasted like warm water and something sweeter. Like something you’d crave again.
When he finally pulled back, he was smiling like he’d just won something.
“Good,” he whispered. “Now let’s walk. Before I forget how to behave.”
The kiss had left you breathless — not from the heat, but from the way Suguru had smiled afterward. Like he knew it meant something. Like he wasn’t going to ruin the moment by rushing it.
He let you walk out of the locker room first, still freshly showered, a bit of damp in his collar, hands tucked in his coat pockets.
“You always walk this slow?” you teased, glancing over at him as he matched your pace through the quiet hospital corridor.
“Only when I want the night to last longer.”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not when your heart was doing backflips in your chest.
The sliding doors opened, spilling the warm night air over your skin. Summer-soft and a little electric. The parking lot was quiet. Just a few cars left. Crickets singing.
Your footsteps echoed on the pavement.
“Which one’s yours?” he asked, voice low, calm as ever.
You pointed. He followed you, not speaking. Just walking at your side like he always had. Like it was normal.
And maybe it was normal now.
You reached your car and stopped. He leaned against the hood, looking at you with those dark, sleepy eyes — like he was waiting for you to say something first.
You licked your lips, tasted him still faintly there. “So…”
“So,” he echoed.
“You gonna kiss me again or keep being mysterious?”
He tilted his head, smiling. “Thought you’d want something to look forward to next shift.”
“You’re the worst,” you laughed, swatting his chest lightly.
“I try.”
You unlocked the car. He stayed leaned there, hands still in his pockets.
“Drive safe,” he said quietly. “Text me when you’re home.”
You blinked. “You want me to text you now?”
“I want to know you made it back,” he said, still soft, still steady. “And I want a reason to text you back.“
You didn’t answer. Just smiled, heart buzzing, and slid into your seat.
He shut the door for you, gently. Stepped back. Watched you roll down the window.
“Night, Rapunzel,” you said, teasing.
He grinned, walking backward a few steps toward his own car. “Night, shortcake.”
And then you drove off — pulse racing, smile wide — knowing he was driving home too.
Both of you replaying that kiss in your heads.
And both of you already thinking about tomorrow.
8:53 PM
You: made it home, didn’t crash into a tree despite being kissed senseless in a hospital locker room also, your hair still looked stupid good wet. don’t let it get to your head
You stared at the screen for a beat too long. Then regretted both texts. You were about to throw your phone across the room when it buzzed.
8:56 PM
SUGURU: 😌 i knew you liked the hair. and i’ll take “kissed senseless” as a review. 10/10?
You: more like 9.5, you were very smug about it
SUGURU: guilty - should i have asked for a second one?
You: i would’ve said yes, maybe
SUGURU: I knew it. you’re a menace
You flopped onto your bed, smiling like an idiot. Then:
You: tell me you’re not brushing your hair right now with that little smug smile on your face
SUGURU: Too late. I’m brushing it slowly and thinking about that “maybe” you want to do something next weekend? Off the clock. no scrubs. no coffee machine in sight.
Your heart flipped. You didn’t even hesitate.
You: pick me up and brush your damn hair
Your shift had barely started and you were already ready to throw someone out a window.
Two discharges. A medication error that wasn’t even yours. One of the printers jammed again and somehow it was your problem. Your coffee was cold. Your ID badge kept flipping around. Your hair wasn’t cooperating. And someone had the audacity to ask if you “looked tired.”
You were gripping a clipboard and muttering murder when the door to the nurse station swung open.
And in he walked. Freshly dressed, calm as ever, clipboard tucked under one arm, hair still damp at the ends and pushed behind his ears. Eyes a little heavy, like he just woke up from a nap in heaven. He scanned the room—and locked eyes with you. He froze.
You must’ve looked like a wild animal in a lab coat.
“…Oh,” he said softly, blinking. Then, calmly, he held out his arm toward you, palm open, waiting. “Come here.”
You stared at him like he’d grown another head.
“Geto—”
“Come. Here.” His voice was still soft. Gentle. A little amused. But his arm didn’t drop.
And god help you, you moved. You stepped forward, clipboard in hand, fuming and ready to burst—
And he wrapped his arm around your waist and tugged you gently against his side.
His hand settled warm and easy on your lower back. Your cheek rested just over the curve of his shoulder.
The world stopped. For a second, nothing existed but the sound of his breath, the way his fingers rubbed soft little circles into your back.
“What’s wrong, princess?” he murmured near your ear, voice velvet-sweet. “Who do I need to fight?”
Your shoulders slumped. “Everything is terrible.”
“I figured. You were giving feral energy.”
“I am feral.”
He chuckled, resting his chin on top of your head. “Feral and cute. Dangerous combo.”
You exhaled, eyes closed. His hand was still rubbing slow against your spine. It was embarrassing how good it felt. How fast your pulse settled. How safe he made you feel in a room where nothing had gone right.
“…You smell good again,” you muttered against his shoulder.
“Always do.”
“Stop.”
“Nope.”
He pulled back just enough to look at your face, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with maddening gentleness.
“You need a reset?” he asked softly. “Five minutes of quiet with me, then we go back to the war zone?”
You nodded.
“Alright,” he said, lips tilting. “Sit. I’ll guard the door like a knight in overpriced sneakers.”
You laughed, finally, tension breaking. God, he really was the worst.
And your favorite.
You sat slumped in a chair beside the med cart, arms crossed, lips tight, trying not to melt under Suguru’s gaze. He stood next to you like a bodyguard-slash-boyfriend, arms loosely folded, thumb grazing your shoulder every now and then, like it was second nature.
“I’m fine now,” you mumbled.
“You’re lying,” he said. “But I’ll allow it.”
You side-eyed him. “Don’t you have things to do?”
“I’m doing one of them right now.”
You opened your mouth, ready to fire back with something snarky—when the door to the nurse station creaked open.
You both turned.
Nurse Okabe, mid-fifties, sharp eyes, mother-of-three energy, paused in the doorway and squinted at the scene:
You, curled up under Suguru’s hand like a grumpy cat.
Suguru, standing far too close, smiling like he’d just won something.
“Mm,” she said slowly. “You two dating yet, or should I keep pretending this is professional?”
You choked. Suguru didn’t even flinch.
“Not yet,” he answered, still rubbing your shoulder. “But I’m working on it.”
You whipped around to glare at him, heat crawling up your neck. Okabe just snorted and walked past. “Tell him yes soon, sweetheart. He’s prettier than my husband and smells like a vanilla candle.”
“Thank you,” Suguru said, grinning.
“You’re not helping!” you whisper-shrieked.
“Not trying to.”
Later, on your break:
You sat on the back steps behind the hospital, the sun barely touching your scrubs as you tried to salvage what was left of your lunch. Then you heard footsteps.
Suguru dropped beside you with all the grace of a cat, pulled out a container, and opened it between you.
“Half my sandwich,” he said, handing it over. “No arguments.”
You blinked. “You don’t even know what I like.”
“Doesn’t matter. You eat what I give you.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Is that how you talk to all your coworkers?”
He turned his head, deadpan. “Only the hot, overworked, criminally stubborn ones who let me cuddle them in med rooms.”
You laughed, despite yourself, and bit into the sandwich.
It was perfect. Of course it was.
He watched you with soft eyes. Then: “You can lean on me more, you know.”
You blinked. He smiled slowly. “Not just when you’re about to combust.”
You looked away, heart thudding, mouth suddenly dry.
“…I know.”
“Good.” He nudged your knee with his. “I’ll keep reminding you.”
You didn’t answer. Just kept chewing quietly, grateful for the food, the silence—and for him.
And you didn’t know this yet, but when your next patient asked him what was making him smile so much that day…
He said your name. Softly. Like it was the answer to everything.
The lighter clicked. Once. Twice.
You cursed under your breath, flicking it again with shaky fingers until it finally caught. You sucked in the smoke like it was oxygen, staring out at the empty parking lot, the buzzing streetlamps, the dim grey of early evening across the sky. You didn’t usually smoke.
Only when it got bad. When too many things went wrong too fast and your body wouldn’t stop buzzing. You were halfway through your cigarette when the side door creaked open behind you.
Footsteps. Then, that voice. “Smoking isn’t good for you.”
You didn’t have to look. You rolled your eyes.
“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, blowing out a stream of smoke. “Let me self-destruct in peace.”
He stepped beside you, all calm and golden like the day hadn’t touched him. His hair was loose. A strand clung to his jaw, catching the breeze.
“You okay?” he asked, quiet now.
You shrugged. “Bad shift. Worse family call. No sleep.”
He hummed. “Come here.”
“No.”
“You’re so mean to me.”
You side-eyed him. “Suguru, your hair is going grey. Old man.”
He gasped, hand flying to his chest dramatically. “You wound me.”
“I see it. Right there,” you said, flicking your fingers toward his temple. “One shiny little strand.”
“Duh,” he said dryly, turning his head so you could see it — faint, silver, betraying him under the soft halo of the lights. “I’m getting thirty next year, sweetheart. Let me age in peace.”
You scoffed. “Gross.”
He smiled down at you. “You’ll still have a crush on me when I’m fifty.”
“I don’t have a crush on you.”
He stepped closer. “Liar.”
You turned away to hide your grin. He reached over and plucked the cigarette from your fingers, taking one tiny puff just to be annoying before stubbing it out on the curb with his shoe.
“Hey—!”
“No more of that.” His voice softened. “Come inside. I made you tea.”
You blinked. “You made tea?”
“Chamomile. And I may have stolen a muffin.”
You stared at him. “Who even are you?”
He just tilted his head, smiling again — tired, sweet, unfairly handsome. The kind of smile that made it really, really hard to say no to anything he ever asked.
“I’m the guy getting grey hairs over a stubborn nurse who doesn’t know how lovable she is.”
You were silent for a second too long. Then muttered, “You’re such a bastard.”
“Mm,” he hummed, brushing your arm with his fingers. “And yet you keep coming back.”
You sighed, flicked his forehead, and walked toward the door.
He followed—close enough to brush your shoulder, warm enough to make your skin hum.
And inside, there was tea. And a muffin. And him.
And suddenly, you didn’t feel like self-destructing anymore.
The ward had finally quieted.
No beeping. No screaming phones. No family drama. Just the gentle hum of vending machines and low voices down the hall. It was one of those rare pauses that made you forget just how brutal the day had been.
You and Suguru sat curled up in the break room. He was cross-legged on the couch, plastic bento in his lap, chopsticks in one hand. You were beside him, sprawled sideways, cheek resting against the firm warmth of his thigh.
“You good?” he asked, voice low as he dug into his food.
“Mhm,” you mumbled, already half asleep. “You’re warm.“
“I’m functional, thank you.”
You snorted softly but didn’t move. His hand found your shoulder, lazily rubbing it in slow circles while he chewed, hair falling down his back in a soft, messy curtain.
The rhythm of his breathing, the scent of clean soap and whatever food he was inhaling—it all made your eyelids droop harder. You felt safe like this. Cozy. Wrapped in quiet affection.
And then—
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
A loud tone cut through the room like a knife.
“Room 213: CODE YELLOW.”
You flinched. Suguru froze. His mouth was still full of rice.
“Ah fuck—” he muffled, already moving to set his bento down, chopsticks nearly falling. “Give me like—two seconds—”
You blinked up at him, scowling. “I just got comfortable.”
“I know, baby, I know,” he groaned, wiping his hands on a napkin as he stood up carefully. “I’ll come back. I swear.”
“Liar.”
He bent down just enough to kiss the crown of your head. “Grumpy little cat. Stay warm for me.”
You grumbled into his thigh, eyes still shut. “Go save lives, Rapunzel.“
He huffed a laugh and sprinted out of the room, hair bouncing, one shoe still half untied, mouth probably still full.
You stayed behind, eyes fluttering shut again, one arm curled where his body had been seconds ago.
And even though the alarm was blaring— You smiled.
You must’ve dozed off again.
The break room was quiet when the alarm finally stopped. You blinked at the half-finished bento still on the table, Suguru’s empty chair beside you.
Then— The door opened, fast and quiet. He slipped back in, breathless, hair messy, cheeks flushed, a few buttons undone from the rush.
“God,” he muttered, flopping back down on the couch. “I hate people.”
You lifted your head from the armrest and blinked up at him. “That bad?”
“Just a wandering patient,” he mumbled, rubbing his temple. “Almost got tackled by Security. I had to explain that he was trying to find the vending machine and not escape into the streets.”
You snorted and reached for him. He blinked down at you as you crawled back into his lap like it was nothing. No words. Just movement.
Your legs stretched across his, arm slipping around his waist, and your cheek found its home right over his chest—where his heart still thudded softly from the adrenaline.
“Hi again,” you murmured.
“Hi,” he whispered, smiling.
His arms came around you without hesitation, one slinging low around your hips, the other resting gently over your spine. He tilted his head down and rested his chin on your hair.
Your breathing synced up. Your whole body melted into his warmth, legs tangled, hips fitted together sideways. His fingers rubbed lazy little patterns into your back, and your eyes fluttered shut again.
And then… he started nodding off too.
His head slumped just enough to rest against yours, breath even and warm. His chest rose and fell under your cheek. You could hear it: the subtle exhaustion under his softness.
Both of you, finally still.
Until the door creaked open.
“Hey, have either of you—oh for god’s sake.”
Nurse Okabe. Again.
You didn’t move. Suguru didn’t even open his eyes. Just muttered, voice sleep-rough and quiet:
“Ten more minutes.”
“I’ll give you five,” she sighed, shutting the door again. “But I’m deducting points for the cuddling.”
“Worth it,” he mumbled.
You giggled, half-asleep, lips brushing his collarbone.
He didn’t let go. Not even a little.
You didn’t know how long you’d been asleep, but the shift in light through the blinds and the faint hum of nurses outside said: too long.
You blinked blearily, warm and heavy-limbed, and then—
Wait.
You were on Suguru.
Fully.
Your body draped sideways over his lap, head tucked under his chin, your thighs now planted directly across his. One leg between his. Your ass nestled right against—
Oh.
You froze. And he was awake. Already.
Looking down at you like he’d been waiting for you to wake up. A slow, satisfied grin stretched across his annoyingly handsome face.
“Morning, princess,” he said, voice low and sticky from sleep.
You blinked up at him in horror. “Did we—? Did I—”
He tilted his head, eyes lidded, amused.
“You were cuddly,” he murmured, the pad of two fingers gently tilting your chin upward. “Didn’t want to wake you.“
And then he kissed you. Soft. Warm. Deep.
You whimpered against his mouth, brain still fuzzy, heart pounding.
But then— You shifted. And felt it.
Oh. Oh.
Right under you, pressed against your ass, the slow grind of something very real and very hard under his scrubs.
Your eyes widened. He just raised his brows, still looking far too smug for someone caught with a boner in the break room.
You stared. And then you broke into a laugh. A loud, breathless, ridiculous laugh, falling forward against his chest.
“Oh my god,” you wheezed. “You nasty little bitch.”
Suguru chuckled, completely unbothered, rubbing his palm up your spine with lazy affection. “Not my fault.”
“You were dreaming about me.”
“I was literally holding you.”
You squinted at him. “You’re disgusting.”
“Mm.” He kissed your cheek. “Still wanna sit there?”
You looked down. Smirked. Didn’t move an inch.
“…Yeah. I do.”
He groaned dramatically.
And you? You settled in deeper.
Because you were definitely gonna make him suffer for it.
His head fell back with a lazy groan, a smile curling on his lips as one eye cracked open.
You were still sitting there. Smug. Pressed right on top of him.
And then you moved.
Just a little shift of your hips. A deliberate grind of your ass over the thick, undeniable shape beneath you.
Suguru whimpered. A real one.
His head snapped back down, jaw clenching, breath shuddering.
“Fuck—don’t do that,” he rasped, voice cracking like it wasn’t used to begging. “Please. Shift’s not over yet.”
You looked down at him sweetly. “Hm. No.”
You did it again. Slower this time.
His eyes fluttered closed. One hand gripped the couch cushion. The other slid halfway up your thigh before he stopped himself. He was breathing hard now, chest rising under you like it was trying to push you off — but not really.
“Evil,” he whispered.
You leaned forward, just enough to let your chest brush his. “You like it.”
He nodded. Helpless. Breathless.
And that was your cue.
You suddenly stood up, slow and fluid, stretching your arms above your head like nothing had happened.
“Alright,” you sighed. “I’m gonna smoke.”
Suguru’s head thunked back against the couch, eyes still glassy. “You’re leaving me like this?”
“Yup.” You glanced at the wall clock. 5:37 a.m. Four more hours til your 24h shift is over.
The sky through the break room window had started glowing faint gold. Soft blue bleeding into sunrise.
He groaned again. “I already said it’s not healthy.”
You opened the door, tossed a smirk over your shoulder.
“Yeah?” you said, voice sweet and venomous. “What’re you gonna do, Suguru? Come at me? Follow me through the whole hospital with a hard-on?”
His eyes burned into you. Then he smiled. Dangerous. Slow.
“Keep talking like that,” he said, standing up carefully—adjusting himself behind the hem of his scrub shirt—“and I just might.”
You stared. Blinked. Then slammed the door behind you before you could combust.
The cool morning air hit your face like a blessing.
You lit your cigarette with practiced fingers, the nicotine doing barely anything to cool the fire raging in your bloodstream. You were smirking, smug, victorious—and still pulsing from the sound of Suguru whimpering under you like he didn’t know what to do with himself.
The door swung open behind you.
You didn’t even have to look. Before he could reach you, a soft voice called out, “Oh! My goodness—you’re just the most handsome young man I’ve seen in years!”
You did look at that. An old woman—one of the sweet long-term patients—stood near the staff garden railing with her IV pole, beaming up at Suguru like she’d just seen a movie star.
He smiled sheepishly, bowing slightly. “You’re too kind, ma’am.”
“Such nice hair. You look like someone from a romance drama!” she giggled.
He thanked her again with that perfect soft-lipped smile—and then turned toward you, clearly flustered, cheeks slightly pink.
He approached slowly, eyes wary.
“Stop it,” he said quietly, that smile still twitching in the corner of his mouth.
You flicked ash off the end of your cigarette, shifting your weight to one hip and looking him up and down.
“No, Suguru.”
He blinked. “Oh no.”
You stepped closer. He stepped back.
“What are you—wait, wha—?”
You didn’t answer. Just kept walking him backward, slow and steady, into the narrow shadowed hallway just behind the garden shed—where no one ever went unless they were sneaking a smoke or hiding from chaos.
The wall hit his back. You were chest to chest now. The cigarette still between your fingers.
Your other hand hovered—slowly, deliberately—over his front.
His breath caught.
“Suguru,” you murmured.
He looked down at your hand. Your fingers hovered just above his scrubs. Right over the thick outline still very much there beneath the thin fabric.
His throat bobbed. “I swear,” he whispered, breath shaky, “if you touch me here, I’m not gonna make it back to work without getting written up.”
You leaned in. Breath warm on his jaw. Close enough to feel the heat roll off his skin.
“I haven’t even done anything yet.”
“Exactly,” he said, voice hoarse.
You finally let your hand ghost lower—palming him through the fabric, just light enough to make him twitch.
He inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering shut, head thunking lightly back against the wall.
You smiled. “Still telling me to stop?”
His hand came up to your hip—tight.
“Don’t you dare,” he growled softly.
There he stood. Tall. Muscular. Dripping in quiet confidence.
Or—he was.
Now?
Now he was leaning against a shadowed back wall, sweating, lips parted, lashes fluttering like he was about to break. You had one hand flat against his chest, feeling the sharp rise and fall of his breath.
The other? Between his legs.
Your palm rubbed slow over the solid bulge in his scrubs, dragging just enough friction to make him hum low in his throat.
“Mmhh—no—” He exhaled sharply, hips shifting toward your hand without meaning to.
You leaned up close, your lips brushing his ear.
“Damn,” you murmured, rubbing in a slow, delicious circle. “You’re one vocal man, Suguru.”
He whimpered again, deep in his chest.
You grinned. “Slutty. I like that.”
He gasped, turning his head to the side like he couldn’t handle hearing it from you—couldn’t handle being caught like this.
But he didn’t stop you.
You gripped him harder this time, your palm sliding up and down over the thick length straining against the fabric. Firm. Rough. Merciless.
His head hit the wall again. Hands flexed at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.
“A-ah—fuck—”
Your eyes never left his face. His jaw clenched, brows pinched in tension, mouth slack and needy.
“You were so cocky earlier,” you whispered. “Now you’re falling apart from a little pressure.”
He let out a soft, broken whine—so quiet and needy it made you throb.
“You gonna cum in your scrubs if I keep going?”
He groaned, body twitching under your hand.
Then—footsteps.
Faint. Somewhere down the path.
You stopped. Froze.
He gasped—then bit his lip hard, trying to stay quiet.
You leaned in, still gripping him through his pants, your breath hot against his cheek.
“I dare you,” you whispered, voice sinful. “Try walking back in there like this.”
He stared at you. Wide-eyed. Pupils blown. Hard. So hard.
And you? You pulled back, smirked like the devil, and said:
“Shift’s not over yet, pretty boy.”
Then turned and walked off—leaving him there, panting.
„Fuck.”
The word slipped out of Suguru’s mouth like a breath as he leaned his head back against the brick wall, eyes fluttering shut. His pulse pounded against your ghost-touch still lingering between his legs.
You were already gone—left him standing there like a problem with no solution.
He ran a hand down his face, dragging it over his mouth, willing his body to calm down.
He didn’t get far.
“Oh my,” a voice chirped gently to his left.
He opened his eyes.
The same old lady from before had wandered closer, blinking up at him with a knowing twinkle in her eye. “You look flustered, sweetheart. Did something happen?”
Suguru swallowed hard, forcing a polite smile through clenched teeth. “No, no,” he said quickly. “All good, ma’am. Just needed some air.”
She nodded slowly. “Mhm. Air always helps.”
He bowed his head again and ducked back into the hospital—still half-hard, jaw tight, trying not to think about the fact that you’d laughed at him while he was falling apart in your hands.
Back on the floor: He tried.
Really, he tried to be normal. He stood straighter. Answered calls. Checked meds. Took vitals. All with that practiced Suguru Geto calm.
But the moment you walked past him?
He tracked you with his eyes.
His gaze lingered longer than it should have—dragging from your face to your lips to your hips. His knuckles clenched around charts. Every time you leaned over a counter or adjusted your scrubs, he swore you were doing it on purpose.
You were smiling too much. Walking too close. Not touching—but hovering. And he was dying.
Then the call came in.
Trauma Room A. Incoming. Male, mid-thirties. Stab wounds.
Everything moved fast after that. Alarms. Running. Gloves snapping on. Blood flooding stretchers.
Suguru rushed in to assist, breath sharp in his lungs—and then he looked up— And saw you.
Standing beside the gurney, hands soaked, scrubs splattered, gloves red and smeared.
Your mask was tugged under your chin. Your hair had come loose. You looked exhausted. Focused. Covered in someone else’s blood.
His eyes widened, body locking up mid-step.
“Oh my god.”
It wasn’t even loud. Just raw. Like it punched itself out of his lungs.
You glanced over at him, blinking through the mess. “It’s not mine,” you said quickly, knowing that look. “I’m okay.”
But the damage was done.
Suguru stood frozen for half a second too long.
The way his eyes scanned over you—top to bottom, panicked, wild—like he’d never realized until that exact moment how easily you could be gone.
Then he moved. Fast.
Right beside you. Close. Hands steady but his voice slightly trembling when he said, “I’ll handle vitals.”
You didn’t say anything. But your arm brushed his.
And neither of you moved away.
The trauma stabilized. The room cleared.
Everyone moved fast, practiced, burned out. There were still streaks of red on the tile, but the worst had passed.
You tore off your gloves. Peeled the sticky gown off your shoulders and tossed it into the bin. Blood clung to your collar, smeared at your elbow. Your throat felt tight. Your head buzzed with leftover adrenaline and nowhere to put it.
You barely registered it when a hand slipped around your wrist.
“Come with me.”
You looked up. Suguru.
Voice low. Face unreadable. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was firm—like if he didn’t have you in his hands, he might lose his footing.
He didn’t wait for an answer.
He tugged you gently down the hall, past the supply carts and linen bins, until he opened the heavy door of an empty storage room and pulled you in.
The door shut behind you. The light flicked on.
Then silence. His hands were on your arms. Light. Scared.
“You okay?” he asked, voice tight.
You blinked at him, surprised. “Yeah. I told you, it wasn’t my—”
“I know,” he interrupted. But he didn’t let go. “I know. But seeing you like that—fuck, I—”
His jaw clenched. He looked at you like you were something delicate. Fragile. Breakable. Like you hadn’t just handled trauma like a goddamn professional.
You took a step closer. And then he touched you. Really touched you.
Both hands on your face now, thumbs brushing your cheeks, fingertips tangling in your hair.
He exhaled shakily. “You’re really okay?”
You nodded. His forehead dropped to yours.
“Don’t do that to me,” he whispered, voice cracked and quiet. “Don’t walk in covered in blood like that and pretend it’s just another day.”
Your hands curled around his waist. “Suguru.”
“I was still hard from earlier,” he breathed out in a broken laugh. “I was trying to be cool and then I saw you and thought you were—fuck—”
You pulled him in. Hugged him tight. Felt his heart pounding like he’d been holding this fear in his chest for years.
His nose brushed your cheek. “You scared me,” he murmured. “You really fucking scared me.”
“I’m okay,” you whispered. “You’ve got me.”
“I better,” he muttered, hugging you tighter.
And then—like he needed it more than breath—he tilted your chin up and kissed you again.
This one wasn’t smug. It wasn’t playful.
It was desperate. Soft. Like he was trying to memorize your mouth in case the world ever ripped it away.
You kissed him back just as deep. Because he had you.
And you weren’t going anywhere.
Shift finally ended.
The moment the patient was transferred and your final notes were signed, it hit you—everything. The weight of the emergency, the blood on your skin, the emotions trapped behind your ribs like an iron cage.
You didn’t say anything to Suguru.
You just nodded. Quiet. Headed down the hall to the staff showers like your limbs were filled with concrete.
But you didn’t know—
He followed.
Not close. Not hovering. Just behind. Just in case.
You stepped into the little private stall in the changing room. Peeled off your scrub top, sticky with dried blood. The water took a minute to heat. When it did, it hit your skin like absolution.
You leaned your head against the wall.
Breathed.
And out there—
He waited.
Suguru sat on the bench just across from the locker bay, elbows resting on his knees, hair tied back sloppily. His own scrubs were rumpled, dried blood on one sleeve. He hadn’t even changed yet.
He didn’t need to be there. But he couldn’t leave.
He stared at the floor, then at your locker, then back at his hands.
He could hear the water running. Imagined you pressing your palms to the tile, eyes closed, finally letting it all wash off.
He wanted to go to you.
But he didn’t.
Because you needed that space.
So he just sat there. Waiting.
The water stopped. Minutes passed.
Then the door cracked open.
You stepped out of the shower barefoot, towel clinging to your body, hair dripping down your back.
And there he was.
Still leaning by the lockers. Still watching you with that steady, warm gaze like nothing else in the world mattered. Like you were the only thing in the hospital that could silence him.
You didn’t hesitate.
You padded straight up to him and threw your arms around his waist, pressing your still-wet body into his rumpled scrubs.
He stiffened slightly—then melted, arms automatically coming up to hold you.
“You’re so cute,” you murmured against his chest. “Even as the big guy you are. Just a fluffball of handsomeness.”
He groaned softly, squeezing you tighter. “Stop it. You’re getting me all wet.”
You chuckled, pulling back just far enough to grin up at him. “Well, that’s my part, not yours. But go on, Rapunzel.”
He bit his lip, clearly trying to hold back a smile—and failing.
You turned, tugging open your locker with one hand, towel still tucked tight around you.
Then you glanced back at him, over your shoulder, eyes full of that familiar smug glint.
“Well?” you said. “You wanna watch, or you wanna turn around?”
He froze. “Wait—I—oh. Oh I—yeah, sorry.”
He spun around so fast you nearly laughed.
You took your time getting dressed behind him. Slowly. Quietly. Letting the air grow thick with that familiar heat again.
You could practically see the tension vibrating off him.
Once you were decent, you stepped up behind him and rested your chin on his shoulder.
“You’re so easy to fluster,” you teased, voice low.
“I’m not flustered,” he said, clearly flustered.
You circled around to face him again.
Suguru looked at you like he’d been starving.
“God,” he muttered. “You’re beautiful. Like—insanely so.”
You blinked. His voice dropped even softer. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than I want you right now. And I don’t mean—just that.”
You stared, breath caught.
He leaned down, hand cradling your jaw, and kissed you again. Slow. Full. Not rushed. Not greedy. Just sure.
When he pulled back, his lips brushed yours.
“Wait for me.”
You nodded, eyes still dazed.
He smiled against your mouth. “Half an hour. I swear. I’ll finish up, and then I’m taking you home. Doesn’t matter how. Doesn’t matter what we do. I just want to be near you.”
You grinned, heart pounding. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “You’re mine tonight.”
-> worth the wait for smut
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩
you made it to the end... still hungry? ⇢ my masterlist’s full of treats.
