Worth the Wait
✩ Suguru Geto
contains sexual content, first time sex (together), oral sex, praise kink, overstimulation, public teasing, workplace sexual themes, making out, kissing, suggestive touching, smoking, sexual language, mild patient harassment, brief medical drama, hospital setting, flirting, playful banter, strong language, physical intimacy, power dynamics, light possessiveness, humor intertwined with sexual themes
five more minutes
You were leaning against the nurse’s station, arms crossed, foot tapping rhythmically against the tile. The corridors were mostly quiet now—lights dimmed for night mode, only a few monitors beeping in the distance. You’d changed out of your scrubs twenty minutes ago. Checked your phone. Waited.
Thirty minutes passed.
Then thirty-five.
By the time he appeared, slightly out of breath, curls tousled from rushing, you were already ready with your smirk.
“You’re late, sweetheart.”
Suguru winced a little, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I know. Boss coded just as I was leaving. I swear I sprinted.”
You raised an eyebrow.
He stepped closer, slipping one hand around your waist, the other up to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed lightly beneath your eye.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. Then kissed you before you could sass him again soft, slow, warm.
You melted into it before you even realized.
When he pulled back, just slightly, your lips brushed his as you whispered, “Mmm… you taste good.”
His grin spread wicked and slow. “Yeah? Bet you taste even better.”
You gasped dramatically, smacking his chest. “Suguru!”
He laughed quiet, low in his throat and leaned down to kiss the corner of your mouth. “I meant your lip balm. Cherry something, right?”
You squinted at him. “Liar.”
“Brat,” he teased back, then tucked a finger under your chin to tilt your face up again. “But you waited for me anyway.”
You sighed like it was the greatest burden of your life. “Unfortunately.”
“Mm.” His voice dropped, flirtatious and low as his hand slipped into yours. “Let me make it worth it.”
You were still squinting at him when he slid his hand down, gently lacing his fingers with yours.
Then, without a word, he reached over and took your bag from your other hand.
“Hey—”
“I’ve got it,” he said, calm and certain, like always. Like it was obvious. “You’re off duty now. Let me take care of you.”
You let out a huff but didn’t fight him. Not really. Not when he looked at you like that.
The walk through the staff entrance was quiet, soft footsteps echoing in the late-night hush. The air outside was warm and heavy with summer, cicadas humming in the trees lining the parking lot. He didn’t let go of your hand.
“I can carry my own bag, you know,” you mumbled, still holding onto the bratty tone even though you’d already lost.
“I know,” he said, voice warm. “But I like carrying it.”
You glanced up at him. His profile was gorgeous in the dim glow of the parking lot lights—sharp lines and soft eyes. Even after a full shift and a code blue, he looked unfairly good.
His car beeped as he unlocked it, and he opened the passenger door for you like a gentleman, waiting until you were seated before leaning in a little.
“You always this spoiled?” he asked, resting your bag at your feet.
You smirked, already leaning into his space. “Only when someone insists on treating me like I’m delicate.”
“You’re not delicate,” he murmured, brushing your knee with his hand. “But you are mine.”
Your breath caught, pulse skipping.
And then he kissed you again but slower this time, no rush, no teasing. Just something full and sweet that made your toes curl in your shoes.
When he pulled back, you were flushed and breathless. He looked proud of himself.
“Seatbelt,” he said, tapping your chin playfully before closing the door.
You watched him walk around the front of the car, still a little dazed, wondering how the hell he managed to short-circuit your brain that easily.
He slid into the driver’s seat beside you, his movements slower now, like everything was catching up to him all at once. His shoulders dropped as he sank back against the leather, fingers pausing on the ignition.
Still in his scrubs, sleeves rolled up slightly, he reached up and loosened the tie in his hair, letting those long black strands tumble free. A few clung to the back of his neck, the rest falling over his shoulders like silk. He sighed—deep and tired and full.
You looked over at him, watching the way his hand rested on the wheel, the subtle slump in his posture, the way he stared out the windshield for just a second longer than usual.
“What’s wrong?” you asked gently.
He blinked, then turned his head to you, eyes already a little softer just from hearing your voice.
“Long day, baby,” he said, low, quiet, and real, before shifting into gear.
You didn’t answer, not with words. You just reached out and slid your hand to the back of his head, fingers parting through his loosened hair, slow and soothing. Your nails grazed lightly against his scalp, trailing up and down in gentle circles.
Suguru’s breath hitched. “Oh, I love that,” he whispered, voice dropping like melted honey.
He leaned into your touch instinctively, eyelids fluttering just for a second as your fingers worked through the tension at the nape of his neck.
“Yeah?” you whispered, lips curling.
“Mmh,” he hummed. “Gonna fall asleep like this if you keep doing that.”
You grinned, dragging your nails a little firmer along his scalp, just to make him shiver.
“Then don’t fall asleep at the wheel, loverboy.”
He cracked a lazy smile, eyes half-lidded as he turned out of the parking lot. “I’ll stay awake if you keep your hand just right there the whole ride.”
You did. And when he stopped at a red light a few blocks down, he turned his head just enough to kiss your wrist, soft and slow.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“For what?”
“For waiting.”
The drive stretched out in comfortable quiet, just the hum of the road and the low purr of the engine beneath you. You’d turned toward him in the seat, knees bent up slightly, one foot tucked under you as your fingers continued to work through his hair.
He didn’t say much, but his body did. The way his head tilted into your touch. The way his jaw unclenched. The way his hand drifted over to your knee now and then absently, possessively—resting there for a moment before returning to the wheel.
Fifteen minutes passed like a warm exhale.
By the time he pulled into the parking garage, his voice was low, nearly a whisper. “I have to shower.”
You glanced at him, the corner of your mouth lifting. “No problem. I’ll wait for you.”
He looked at you for a second longer than necessary, like he was memorizing the way you said it. Like he couldn’t believe he got to have this.
The elevator ride up was quiet, but his hand didn’t leave yours. Not once.
His apartment was exactly what you expected, neat, minimal, soft light spilling from a dim lamp in the corner. The scent of something clean and herbal lingered faintly in the air.
He dropped your bag gently on the couch, then turned to you, voice rough from exhaustion. “Make yourself comfortable.”
You kicked off your shoes and curled up sideways on the couch, tugging the throw blanket over your legs. “Take your time,” you said, voice soft.
He hesitated. Just a second. Then leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple slow and warm. “I won’t be gone long,” he murmured.
You watched him disappear down the hall, hair falling in loose waves around his shoulders, scrubs clinging to him just enough to make your brain short-circuit.
The sound of running water started a minute later.
And you were still smiling when you curled deeper into the cushions, breathing in the scent of his place, his warmth lingering on your skin.
Because you weren’t just waiting anymore.
You were staying.
You heard the bathroom door open, then the soft sound of bare feet against the floor.
When you looked up, Suguru was walking toward you, damp hair clinging to his collarbones, a towel slung low around his hips. Drops of water still clung to his chest, trailing slowly down his skin. His eyes were heavy-lidded, lashes wet, expression soft but drained.
God, he looked beautiful. And exhausted.
You sat up immediately, shifting the blanket off your lap as you opened your arms to him without a word.
He didn’t even hesitate. He dropped to his knees between your legs, strong arms wrapping around your waist as he buried his face against your chest. You held him, tugging his head gently into you, fingers carding through his damp hair like you’d been doing it your whole life.
You pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Then another.
And another.
His arms tightened around you. Not possessive, just needing you there.
“You’re soaked,” you murmured, laughing a little against his hair.
“Don’t care,” he said into your skin, voice muffled. “Just needed this.”
You tilted your head, rested your cheek against the crown of his head. “You’ve got me.”
“I know,” he whispered, exhaling like he could finally breathe.
Your fingers moved slowly through the damp strands, smoothing them back, your other hand rubbing soft circles over the bare skin of his back. His body was warm from the shower but trembling slightly, like the adrenaline from the day had finally run dry.
“You give too much,” you whispered, kissing the crown of his head again. “You carry so much.”
“Not when I’m here,” he murmured. “With you like this, I don’t feel like I’m breaking anymore.”
Your heart clenched. So you held him tighter, arms around his shoulders, his head pressed against your chest, towel still damp against your thighs. And for the first time all day, he didn’t have to be the one holding everything together.
He was still kneeling between your legs, damp and warm, head tucked against your chest like he belonged there.
But then he looked up at you. Slowly. His eyes met yours—calm, dark, and shining with something quieter than desire but just as strong. The kind of look that made your heart beat differently.
You reached down and took his face in both hands, palms cupping his cheeks. His skin was warm beneath your touch, his damp hair curling at the sides of his jaw. He didn’t move. Just let you look at him like you were trying to memorize him.
“I’m really trying to behave right now,” he whispered, voice low and smooth. A little smile played at the edge of his mouth, tired, but unmistakably flirty.
Your thumbs brushed over his cheekbones as you tilted your head. “Then stop.”
His eyes flicked to your lips, and you pulled him in—not rushed, not greedy, just close until you could press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.
He smiled, eyes fluttering shut. Then you kissed him. Gentle. Real. And then again.
This time, he kissed you back, his lips warm and slow-moving against yours like he had all the time in the world. Like he was anchoring himself to the way your hands cradled his face, the way your knees bracketed his sides, the way you were holding him like he was the fragile one for once.
When you pulled back, your foreheads touched. His breath was shaky, but his smile was steady.
“You wanna stay here?” he asked, voice quiet, his hands still cradled in yours. “Or you wanna go to bed?”
You blinked slowly, fingers brushing through the wet strands near his ears.
“I don’t care,” you murmured. “I’m comfortable either way.”
He exhaled through his nose, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Okay.”
Then, slowly, he stood, keeping one hand on your knee for balance as he rose to his full height, towel clutched lazily at his hip. Droplets of water still traced over the planes of his stomach, disappearing into the low curve of terrycloth.
He looked down at you, that familiar quiet smirk tugging at his lips. “Come.”
You took his hand. He pulled you to your feet like he’d been waiting all night to do it, and when your bodies brushed, barely clothed and finally alone, the air shifted, heavier, warmer, thick with something unspoken but electric.
Your hands slid up his bare chest, fingers following the lines of water still clinging to his skin. You stopped just beneath his collarbones, fingertips pressing lightly.
His own hands settled on your hips, thumbs brushing under your shirt as if asking first. Neither of you said anything—not yet.
Then you leaned in, slowly, mouth finding his again, softer this time but with a little more intent. His lips parted against yours, and he kissed you back with the same calm hunger he always carried, like he knew exactly what you liked. Like he had all night to savor it.
Your hands slid up to his neck, tangling in his wet hair again. He groaned into your mouth at that, low and quiet, pressing you closer.
“Still trying to behave?” you whispered, breath catching.
His smile curved against your lips. “Not even a little.”
He walked you backward toward the bedroom, kisses trailing slower now, along your cheek, your jaw, the sensitive spot beneath your ear that made your breath hitch.
And when the backs of your knees hit the mattress, he paused just long enough to look at you. Like you were the only thing grounding him. Like he’d come undone for you, if you asked.
You sat down on the edge of the bed, legs slightly parted, the hem of your oversized shirt brushing the tops of your thighs. The fabric was worn and soft, probably one of his. Your fingers toyed with it absently as you looked up at him towering, towel low, dark hair still damp and curling at his neck.
He stepped in closer, eyes locked on yours.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he knelt again his hands trailing down your calves, over your knees, before tugging at the waistband of your pants.
You lifted your hips, letting him pull them off in one smooth motion. Now it was just you, bare-legged and warm-skinned, shirt loose over your frame, nothing underneath but the thin strip of your underwear and the heat rising between you.
His hands lingered at your knees.
You looked up at him, eyes tracing his face, those calm, dark eyes, that strong mouth, the wet strand of hair stuck to his cheek. Then, without thinking, you grabbed the edge of his towel and gave it a tug, pulling him closer.
“You’re hot,” you mouthed against his jaw, lips brushing skin.
His smile spread slow, lazy. “Mh, yeah?”
Then he pushed you gently back into the mattress. The bed gave with your weight as your elbows caught you, propped up just enough to watch him come over you.
He climbed between your legs, towel still hanging low, water glistening across his chest. His hands landed on either side of your shoulders, caging you in. Not possessive. Just there. Just his.
He leaned in, kissed you again. Deeper now.
The kind of kiss that made your toes curl and your breath stutter. That said I missed you and I need this in the same, slow drag of lips. Your hands slid up his sides, fingers tracing the muscle beneath his skin, then into his hair again, tugging just enough to make him groan softly into your mouth.
“Still tired?” you teased against his lips.
He chuckled, low and sweet, nose brushing yours. “I’ll sleep after I worship you a little.”
You shivered.
Then you kissed him again, harder this time. And he followed you down, slow, steady, like he had nowhere else to be.
The kiss deepened, messier now, heat curling between your bodies like smoke. Suguru’s weight pressed into you, arms braced on either side, his chest brushing yours with every breathless inhale. His lips moved against yours with practiced hunger, but nothing about it felt rushed. It was slow-burning. Controlled.
Until it wasn’t. You slid your hand down, fingers skimming over the dip of his spine—lower, lower—until they hooked just under the knot of his towel.
He didn’t stop you. Didn’t break the kiss. He just groaned softly into your mouth, like the anticipation alone was unraveling him.
You tugged the knot loose.
The towel slackened at his hips, and with a smooth flick of your wrist, you pulled it free and tossed it to the floor without a second thought.
Your other hand joined the first, both of them trailing over his stomach, palms flat, slow and symmetrical, one left, one right, drawing over every inch of his toned abdomen, tracing the hard lines with a kind of reverent curiosity.
Suguru shuddered. His breath caught, hips twitching faintly as your fingertips grazed lower, brushing along the cut of his v-line. “Fuck,” he whispered, the word cracked and quiet, moaned more than said. His head dropped for a moment, forehead brushing against yours. “You—shit—you’re gonna kill me.”
You smiled against his mouth. “Thought you said you were gonna worship me.”
“I am,” he whispered, voice wrecked already. “But you’re making it really fucking hard to take my time.”
Your fingers dipped a little lower, just barely teasing, drawing soft lines along the hollow just above where he wanted you most. His breath stuttered again, the muscles in his stomach twitching under your touch.
Then he moved. His mouth found your throat, kissing along the underside of your jaw, slow and desperate. His voice was low, warm, reverent.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your skin. “I could spend hours on you. Just… tasting you. Watching you come apart.”
His hands gripped your thighs now, thumbs dragging along the softest part just beneath the hem of your shirt. “Let me make you feel good, baby,” he whispered, kissing beneath your ear. “Let me take care of you.”
But still—his hips pressed against yours, bare and heavy, and you felt the full weight of him, how hard he already was for you.
You grabbed his face again, dragged him into another kiss, and this time you moaned into his mouth. “I want you now,” you whispered, breath shaking.
And God, the way he looked at you after that? Wrecked.
Your body arched into his, hips grinding up slightly, breaths shared and tangled as his mouth dragged across yours in desperate intervals, soft groans and half-spoken curses caught between every kiss.
His hands roamed beneath your shirt now, palms broad and warm against your waist, sliding up with slow intention. Fingertips grazed your ribs, your back, higher until you whispered it, quiet and commanding. “Take it off.”
His breath hitched. Then he obeyed without hesitation, lifting the shirt over your head and casting it aside in one fluid motion. You sat up slightly, giving him space to strip it from you, your skin flushing under the cold air and his heated gaze.
Now it was just you, bathed in the soft lamplight, in white lace and nothing else. His eyes raked over you. Slowly. Like he was memorizing every curve, every soft swell of your body, every inch of skin he'd dreamt about touching.
And when his gaze met yours again, his expression shifted—eyebrows drawn together, jaw slack, reverent. He looked like he was in pain. Holy, aching, feral need. “Fuck…” he breathed. His voice was raw, low, broken open. “You—shit.”
You reached up, cradled his jaw with both hands, then kissed him again. Deep. Filthy. Your tongue dragging against his, swallowing the groan that tore from his throat.
Your hands roamed now sliding down his chest, over the curve of his abs, feeling the flex under your touch. You dragged both hands down again, symmetrical, teasing along that v-line that made him twitch and tremble.
He gasped and dropped his forehead to your shoulder. “Baby…” he whispered, voice already wrecked. “If you keep touching me like that—”
You kissed the shell of his ear. “Then fuck me like you mean it.”
He moved fast. One hand gripped your thigh, the other slid behind your back and unclasped your bra with one practiced flick. It slipped from your shoulders, discarded instantly. His mouth followed, hot and open and hungry, kissing over the curve of your breast, licking over your nipple until you arched up with a cry.
“You’re so perfect,” he whispered, trailing kisses lower. “I could stay here all night. Taste every inch of you.”
Then his hands were dragging down your lace panties, slow, reverent. His eyes were locked on you the whole time.
You reached for him, pulled him down again with fingers buried in his damp hair. “Then stop teasing.”
“Oh, baby…” he breathed against your inner thigh, hot and trembling. “You don’t want me to stop teasing.”
And then his mouth was on you.
And he meant it.
You let your back fall into the mattress, but only for a second—then pushed yourself back up onto your forearms, propped just enough to watch him between your thighs.
Suguru was on his knees at the edge of the bed, palms spreading your legs with deliberate care, and the look on his face was nothing short of fucking religious.
He kissed your inner thigh first just above the knee. Then again, higher. Higher. His breath was warm. His hair, still slightly damp, tickled your skin as he dragged his mouth up the inside of your leg.
“I imagined this,” he murmured, lips barely touching. “The way you look right here. All soft. All mine.”
His eyes flicked up, dark, molten, so full of adoration it made your throat close up and then he finally leaned in. His mouth devoured you. No teasing anymore. No soft warm-ups. Just immediate, deliberate worship.
The first swipe of his tongue made your hips jerk. The second made you whimper.
And the third? Had you gripping the sheets.
“F-fuck—Suguru—”
He hummed against you, like your sounds were feeding him, like your moans were the exact thing he’d been starving for. His hands slid up to hold your hips in place, thumbs digging gently into your waist, keeping you still as his mouth moved with devastating precision.
He licked you long and slow, then closed his lips around your clit, sucking just enough to make your entire body arch.
You gasped, falling back on the bed for a second—but you needed to see him.
You forced yourself up again, propped on your elbows, chest rising and falling rapidly. The sight of him there—between your thighs, eyes fluttered shut, mouth slick and buried deep in you—was almost too much.
And he was moaning. Into it. Eating you like a man starved.
“God, you taste so good,” he groaned, dragging his tongue through your folds. “So sweet, baby. I could eat this pussy for hours.”
“Then do it,” you gasped, breathless. “Don’t stop.”
He grinned into you, tongue flattening and curling, sucking at you until your thighs started trembling.
“You’re so responsive,” he whispered, pausing only to press slow, open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs. “So fucking perfect. Look at you—already shaking for me.”
His mouth returned to you greedily, deeper now, wetter, his tongue pushing, licking, sucking, tracing slow figure-eights as if he was memorizing you. His nose brushed your clit every time he dipped lower, and he moved like he was making out with you down there—like he wanted you dripping across his lips, coating his tongue, soaking his jaw.
You cried out when he flattened his tongue again and pushed in deeper, grinding his face into you like you were the only thing he wanted in the world.
And you were.
“Fuck, Suguru—!”
He pulled back just long enough to whisper, “You gonna come for me, baby?”
Your fingers sank into his hair, tugging. “If you keep doing that—”
“I will.” His voice was low, thick, breathless against your skin. “I’m gonna make you come so hard, I’ll feel it in my mouth.”
Then he dove back in, tongue stroking over your clit with devastating rhythm, lips sucking gently, perfectly, again and again and again until your thighs clamped around his head and your voice cracked as you came.
Hard.
He groaned, loudly, as your orgasm hit, moaning into you like he was the one getting off. He didn’t stop, he just slowed down, guiding you through the waves, lapping at you softer now, kissing your thighs like he couldn’t get enough of the aftershocks.
Your legs trembled around him. Your chest rose and fell.
And Suguru… looked up at you with wet lips, flushed cheeks, and fucking pride in his eyes. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come.”
He kissed the inside of your thigh one last time before lifting his head, the backs of his fingers trailing up your skin, lazy and reverent. Then he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, slow and deliberate, his lips still slick with you, jaw flushed, hair wild.
And when he crawled up over you, it was with a kind of unbearable grace, like he was savoring every second of your soft, fucked-out state beneath him.
You were still breathing hard, legs limp and trembling, eyes half-lidded as he hovered above you, forearms braced on either side of your head.
Your hand reached up instantly, slipping into his hair, tugging him down. You kissed him. Tongue and all. Tasting yourself on his lips. He groaned into your mouth and you whimpered softly against him, your body still sensitive, nerves raw from the orgasm still echoing through you.
That’s when you felt it heavy and thick, pressing against your stomach, hot skin to skin.
Your breath caught. A sharp, broken whimper escaped you before you could stop it. Suguru pulled back just enough to watch your face, his voice dipping into something dark and warm and full of heat. “You taste good, huh?” he whispered, deep and low.
You shivered. His cock twitched against your stomach.
You dragged your nails lightly down his back, slow and deliberate. “You’re very, very hard,” you whispered back, voice teasing, shaky. He chuckled and kissed the corner of your mouth. “I’ve been hard since you took my towel,” he murmured. “You’re the one who wanted to play innocent.”
You arched into him, hips shifting up, grinding just enough to feel the full weight of him against your belly.
“No one said I was innocent.”
His eyes darkened. “Good.”
Then his hand slid down, between your legs again, brushing over your soaked, sensitive pussy with the same fingers that had held you open moments ago.
“Still wet,” he whispered. “Still twitching.”
You gasped softly, thighs trembling around him.
“I haven’t even fucked you yet.”
He stayed right there—his cock pressed heavy against your stomach, his hand sliding slowly between your thighs again, fingers gliding through the wetness he’d pulled from you. He didn’t rush. He didn’t push in. He just touched, just watched the way you shivered beneath him like he was studying the effect of every movement.
You pulled him back down by the hair, kissing him again, deeper this time, slower, messier. Tongues dragging. Mouths open. Breath shared. He groaned into your mouth when your legs wrapped around his waist.
“You’re taking your time,” you whispered against his lips, your voice low, sultry, warm.
“I told you I would,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded. “I want you so fucking bad, but I’m not gonna rush this.”
“You’re already soaking me with precum,” you breathed grinning, grinding your hips up just enough for his cock to slide against your slick pussy, slow and teasing. You felt the weight of him drag over your clit and gasped, smirking as his breath hitched.
“Fuck,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re so wet I could slide in without trying.”
“So do it,” you whispered, smirking against his jaw. “Or are you all talk tonight?”
You rolled your hips again, slow and filthy. The length of him dragged against you. The friction made you both gasp.
“I want you to fuck me,” you whispered into his mouth, voice velvety, thick with desire. His eyes fluttered closed. His hips bucked without meaning to, catching your entrance—just the tip brushing against you. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned. “You’re making it so fucking hard to behave.”
“Good,” you breathed, kissing him again, filthy and slow. “I don’t want you to behave.”
His hand came up and cradled your jaw, lips brushing yours with maddening patience.
“I want you loud,” you whispered. “I want you to feel how good I make you. How good you make me. I want you deep. Slow. All fucking night.”
His cock twitched hard against you. His whole body trembled with restraint.
“You’re gonna talk me through it the whole time, huh?” he whispered, grinding down with unbearable control. “Gonna keep saying filthy stuff in that voice while I fuck you open?”
You kissed him again, tongue teasing. “If you’re lucky.”
“Then let me in, baby,” he rasped. “I’m so ready for you.”
He lined himself up again, hips rolling just enough to let the swollen head of his cock glide over your entrance, dragging through the slick mess between your thighs. Your legs were still wrapped around him, heels digging in just slightly, but he wasn’t giving in yet.
Not completely. He kept grinding, rubbing the tip over your clit, down, back up, catching at your entrance and pressing just barely in.
Just the first inch. Just enough to make you gasp.
Then he slid back out, slow and shaky.
“God, you’re tight,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours. His jaw clenched, and his whole body shivered. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”
“You won’t,” you breathed, voice already broken around the edges. Your hands grabbed at his sides, fingers digging into his skin like you could will him deeper. “Suguru—stop fucking around.”
But he only rolled his hips again—just enough to slip the tip in, stretch you slow, pull back out and drag across your folds again. “F-fuck,” he moaned. “You grab like your life belongs on something.”
You gasped, squeezing his waist harder. “Then stop teasing me.”
That did it.
He snapped.
His lips crashed into yours, all teeth and tongue and breathless groans, and as he kissed you, desperate, worshipping—he finally slid in again. Not all at once. Slow. Thick. Stretching you inch by inch.
You cried out against his mouth, not in pain, just pure sensation.
He stopped halfway, moaning raggedly into your mouth. “Shit—fuck, you feel insane. I—fuck—I can’t even move yet.”
You clenched around him, smirking through your haze. “Poor baby.”
He laughed breathless and dropped his head to your shoulder. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
Then he started to move. Slow thrusts. Deep strokes. Dragging himself back and then sinking in again with delicious pressure, hands sliding under your back to pull you closer with every push. And the whole time, his voice never stopped, broken, right in your ear. “So perfect—fuck, so tight—taking me like this—like you need me.”
You moaned, mouth on his neck, your hands gripping his back, dragging nails down to make him hiss and buck.
His rhythm started to lose its patience, those slow, deep strokes giving way to something hungrier, filthier. The wet slap of skin filled the room, your bodies colliding over and over as he buried himself deeper with every thrust.
Your moans tangled in each other’s mouths as he kissed you, groaning against your lips like he couldn’t get close enough.
Then he grabbed your thighs. Lifted them.
Your legs went over his shoulders, and your world folded.
He leaned into you, hips grinding deep as he bent your body perfectly beneath him, folded you in half, your knees brushing the sides of your chest, his hands gripping under your thighs as he bottomed out with a guttural, trembling groan.
“Fuck, baby—look at you,” he rasped, eyes barely open, sweat trickling down his temple. “Taking it all, so tight, so fucking deep—holy shit.”
You whined under him, toes curling, head tipping back into the sheets. The stretch was obscene, the pressure perfect, he hit something inside you that made your mouth fall open in a silent gasp.
His body pressed flush against yours, hips grinding, thrusts harder now, feral and breathless as he chased the sound of your voice, the heat of your walls squeezing him so tight he was shaking.
You reached up, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him down so you could kiss him again, tongue sliding into his mouth, swallowing his moans, biting his bottom lip just to feel him growl into you.
His hips stuttered. “You’re gonna make me fucking lose it,” he groaned into your mouth.
Then both of you were kissing each other’s necks, desperate, teeth dragging, lips hot and wet as he buried his face in the crook of yours.
“You’re so fucking good,” he moaned into your skin. “So perfect.”
You could feel him twitching inside you, the tension building in every stroke, grinding just right. But when he pushed up on his elbows to look down at you again, flushed and soaked and panting, you reached up and cradled his face between both hands.
You kissed the corner of his mouth. Then looked right into his eyes. “You’re doing so good,” you whispered sweetly, voice warm and ragged. “You feel so good inside me.”
His entire body jolted.
He whimpered. “Baby…” he rasped, hips twitching hard as he tried not to collapse into you. “Don’t—fuck—don’t say it like that—”
You kissed him again, thumb brushing his jaw. “I love watching you lose control.”
He groaned, deep in his chest, and slammed into you harder, folding you even tighter under him, sweat dripping down his neck as he fucked you like it was the last thing he’d ever do.
And you welcomed all of it. The filth. The sweat. The whimpers. The praise tangled in curses, and the kisses that never stopped.
You were still making out, lips bruised and spit-slick, breath shared and broken between gasps. Suguru's thrusts grew messier, shallower now, rougher, his rhythm falling apart as your tongues tangled, and his soft moans spilled right into your mouth.
Your hands cupped his face again, holding him close even as your bodies shook with the effort of keeping it all together.
He whimpered softly, whined, deep in his throat, his hips grinding so deep into you the bed groaned beneath it.
“You didn’t cum yet,” he panted, like it physically hurt him that you hadn’t.
You laughed breathlessly, your lips ghosting over his, eyes glazed and sparkling with mischief. “I did,” you whispered, sweet and sultry. “Remember?”
His mouth fell open slightly as he blinked, wrecked and dazed, trying to think and you took full advantage of it, surging forward to kiss him again, tongue stroking his, slow and filthy and perfect. He moaned into it, his body jerking as you clenched around him just a little.
When you pulled back, you grinned at him. “Stage is yours.”
That made him moan and you loved it. Every trembling second of it. Your fingers slid through the hair at the back of his neck again, dragging slowly upward to cradle the crown of his head. He melted into your hands like he was built for it.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” you whispered, voice like velvet, like sin. “You feel so big inside me. So deep. You love how I talk to you, don’t you?”
He nodded, breath hitched, lips parted like he couldn’t catch air.
“Say it.”
“I—fuck—yeah,” he gasped, eyes fluttering. “I love it—love when you talk like that—makes me feel like I’m gonna—fuck, baby—”
“Yes that’s good,” you whispered again, stroking the back of his head as he started to tremble. “You’re so perfect when you fuck me like this. You know you’re the only one who can fill me this deep, right?”
He moaned—loud, broken, fucked-out.
His hands gripped your thighs harder, body coiled like a wire about to snap.
“Say it, Suguru.”
“You’re mine,” he choked out, breath shallow. “You’re mine—only I get to feel this—only I make you come like this—fuck, I’m gonna—”
You kissed him again hot and messy as his body jerked once, then again.
And then he came.
Hard.
You felt it. Every pulse. Every twitch of his hips as he buried himself deep and stayed there, spilling into you with a strangled moan torn right from his throat, your name broken and desperate on his lips.
His entire body collapsed against yours, trembling, breath ragged, heart pounding through his chest where it pressed against yours.
And even then—especially then—you wrapped your arms around him and whispered into his hair: “You did so good.”
His body collapsed fully onto yours, weight delicious and grounding, skin hot and damp, breath coming in staggered gasps against your neck.
His head dropped to your shoulder, forehead pressing into the curve of it like he’d just barely survived.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, voice shredded, dazed.
You giggled softly, breathless. Smug.
Then you clenched around him—still buried deep, still thick and twitching inside you.
He shuddered. Twitched hard.
“Fuck—wait,” he gasped, voice hoarse, hips flinching. “Don’t—baby, I need a second—”
But your hand was already on his jaw, sliding gently, tilting his face toward you. You watched him, flushed and panting, lips parted, eyelids fluttering like he couldn’t believe you were still trying to ruin him.
“Kiss me again,” you whispered, sweet and slow, like it wasn’t even a request.
It was a need. And he obeyed. Of course he did. He lifted his head, leaned into your hand as his eyes found yours and then he kissed you. And it was different now. Messy still, but slower. Breathier. A little desperate.
Like he needed your mouth to stay sane.
His hand cupped your cheek, fingers trembling slightly. His body still shuddered with aftershocks every time you clenched around him again, small involuntary thrusts, quiet moans into your mouth. “You really gonna kill me,” he whispered between kisses.
You smiled, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone. “You like it.”
“I fucking love it.”
And then he kissed you again, tongue gliding against yours, and the two of you melted into it.
Still joined. Still gasping. Still not done. He was still inside you, twitching, wrecked, whining softly into your mouth with every slow kiss you gave him.
You clenched again.
“Fuck— wait—wait—” he gasped, hips jerking like a glitching machine. “Baby, please—I’m begging for my life.”
You laughed breathlessly, dragging your fingers through his damp hair, thumb grazing the corner of his lips. “Still sensitive?”
“I saw God just now. I’m still talking to Him.”
“Oh yeah?” you grinned, rolling your hips slightly, just enough to make him groan into your neck. “Ask Him if He’s hiring.”
He whimpered. “This is abuse.”
“You loved it.”
“I did. And now I’m gonna die happy. Right here. Inside you.”
You kissed him again, lazy and wet, letting your lips linger on his just a little too long.
He groaned. “That should be illegal.”
Eventually, finally, he slipped out with a messy drag of skin and a hissed breath through his teeth. You both winced.
You immediately climbed on top of him like a proud little gremlin, collapsing on him with a sigh.
“Mm,” he grunted. “You are crushing me.”
“I’m comforting you.”
“You’re leaking on me.”
You nuzzled into his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”
He groaned into the pillow, swiping blindly for the towel on the floor and half-sitting up to clean between your legs.
“Ow,” you winced. “Gentle, Nurse Geto.”
“I am being gentle,” he muttered, kissing your inner thigh between wipes. “You should’ve thought about being gentle before you started whispering filth into my soul.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t love it,” you said, stretching like a cat, basking in his ruin. “You were moaning like a prom night virgin.”
“I was speaking in tongues.”
You smacked his arm. He retaliated by flinging the towel at your face. You dodged it and crawled over to him, smirking as you wiped him down very slowly.
He flinched. “Baby—!”
You gave him your best innocent eyes. “What?”
He was pink in the face and entirely, visibly, over it. “I’m going to cry.”
“You came so hard,” you whispered sweetly, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Did your soul leave your body?”
He kissed you right on the lips, mid-laugh, breathless and grinning. “I hate you.”
“You worship me.”
He kissed you again. “Unfortunately.”
You flopped down beside him dramatically, still flushed and tangled in the sheets. “You’re not cuddling me, huh?”
“I’m not cuddling you,” he said firmly, already pulling you into his chest.
You tucked your face into his neck, warm and smug. “Liar.”
“Massive liar,” he mumbled into your hair, kissing your forehead. “I’m so in love with you, it’s disgusting.”
You beamed against his throat. “I’m your problem now.”
He sighed like a man who’d just lost a war. “The hottest problem I’ve ever had.”
You were curled against him, skin flushed and kissed raw, your leg still slung over his waist like you had no plans of letting go.
His arms wrapped around you tighter, one hand stroking lazily over your spine, the other brushing sweat-damp hair from your temple.
You lay there for a moment in the quiet, your nose tucked under his jaw, lips resting just at the corner of his throat.
And then, soft, you whispered it there: “I’m in love with you too.”
You felt him freeze, just slightly. Then his head tilted down immediately, eyes wide and gleaming with something wicked and smug as hell.
“I knew it,” he said, grinning like the bastard he was. “I KNEW it.”
You groaned, immediately trying to pull the blanket over your head. “Oh my God.”
He caught it. Pinned it down. Grinning down at you like he just won the fucking lottery.
“Don’t hide now! You said it!” he laughed, kissing your cheek obnoxiously. “You love me. It’s confirmed. Say it again.”
“Get your stupid face away from me.”
“Say it again.”
“No.”
“I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow.”
You paused. “…With toast?”
“And eggs.”
You sighed dramatically and tucked your face back into his neck. “I’m in love with you,” you mumbled against his skin.
He sighed too, deep, content, hand smoothing up your back like you were the softest thing he’d ever touched.
“God, I’m so annoying,” he whispered. “You’re never getting rid of me.”
“Good.”
And he smiled into your hair.
The room had gone quiet, the kind of quiet that settles after the storm, only the soft creak of the sheets, the subtle rhythm of your breathing syncing up with his.
You were tangled together under the thin blanket now, limbs looped around each other like ivy. Suguru had his chin tucked into your hair, your head resting against his chest, listening to the slow thump of his heartbeat.
You felt it skip a little when you shifted and pressed a kiss right under his collarbone.
“M’gonna make you breakfast,” he mumbled sleepily.
You smiled. “You already promised that.”
He huffed, lazy. “Then I’ll do it extra good. Little heart-shaped eggs. Toast with feelings.”
You snorted. “You’re such a menace.”
“You’re the one who seduced me and made me cry.”
“You moaned like I cast a spell on you.”
“Maybe you did.” His voice dropped dramatically, barely holding in his smile. “Witchcraft. Slutty, lace-panty witchcraft.”
You laughed into his chest, skin warm against his, and he kissed the top of your head like he was sealing it in.
Then a pause. Quiet.
His fingers traced little circles on your shoulder. “…Hey,” he said softly, barely a breath.
You tilted your head up slightly. “Hm?”
“I meant it earlier.” He looked down at you, eyes soft now. Sleepy. “I really am in love with you.”
You blinked, heart giving a slow, heavy thump.
“I know,” you whispered. “Me too.”
His hand found your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye. He smiled, small and tired and sincere. “I’m gonna annoy the hell out of you forever,” he murmured.
“I’m counting on it,” you said, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth.
His eyes closed as he pulled you closer, tighter, until there was no space left between your bodies. You felt his lips graze your forehead again. “‘Night, baby.”
“‘Night, Geto.”
“‘S’Suguru,” he whispered.
You sighed, nuzzled into his neck and smiled. “…Goodnight, Suguru.”
He sighed, happy, and finally let sleep pull him under, wrapped around you like you were something he didn’t ever plan to let go.
The early light filtered through the curtains in pale, golden slats, casting gentle lines across the bed, your legs, his chest. Everything was warm and slow. Birds outside. The low hum of the city waking up.
Your fingers moved first lazy and affectionate, raking gently through the hair on Suguru’s chest, nails dragging soft lines as your leg curled tighter over his. His arm was already around you, his other hand flopped behind his head on the pillow, long fingers curled loosely.
He blinked awake slowly, thick lashes fluttering.
You leaned in and rasped against his collarbone, voice still rough with sleep, “Morning, sweetheart.”
He tilted his head toward you, lips tugging upward. “Mornin’. You ready for work?”
You groaned and dropped your forehead to his shoulder. “No.”
He chuckled, voice still deep and husky, and pulled you in tighter, nose brushing your temple. His hand slipped down your back, fingers splayed wide against your spine.
Neither of you spoke after that.
Just the quiet hush of the room. The weight of his body. Your thumb tracing slow shapes over the soft skin of his chest, occasionally pausing to circle a freckle or trail down the line of his ribs.
Then, a few minutes later—so casual, it almost sounded like an afterthought: “What are we now?”
You smiled, the question sitting comfortably on your skin instead of tightening it.
You looked up, still half-tucked into his chest, and met his eyes.
“You were my man since the day you slapped the coffee machine,” you murmured, cheek crinkling with a smirk. “You just didn’t want to admit that.”
He stared at you for a second. Then huffed a laugh low and helpless and let his head fall back against the pillow. “I hate that you’re right.”
“I love that I’m right.”
“You said I looked hot when I was pissed at a vending machine.”
“You did.”
“You’re insane.”
“You’re in love with me.”
He paused.
“…Yeah.”
You shifted upward, lips brushing his jaw, voice soft again. “Still true?”
He turned his head, met your gaze, and kissed you, “Truer than ever.” His hand slid down your back again, palm wide and warm. Then he gave your hip a firm squeeze.
“Come here, woman.”
You snorted, but obeyed, crawling over him with lazy, amused movements, hair mussed, face still flushed from sleep. You swung a leg over his hips and settled your weight gently across him, palms resting on his chest.
He looked up at you with hooded eyes and a faint, stupidly satisfied smirk.
You leaned in and kissed him—lips soft and slightly parted, just enough tongue to make him hum into your mouth. When you pulled back, you looked down at him and murmured, “This was long overdue.”
“Mm,” he hummed, smug.
You tilted your head, brushing your nose against his. “You could’ve said earlier that you’re good in bed.”
He laughed. Loud. That deep belly kind, head dropping back against the pillow.
“Oh, now I’m supposed to advertise?” he grinned, hands gripping your thighs. “Should’ve printed a little brochure for you. ‘Hi, I’m Suguru Geto. Emotionally unstable, excellent oral, strong back—’”
“Strong back?”
“For arch support, obviously.”
You dissolved into giggles and smacked his shoulder lightly. He caught your wrist and kissed it like a dramatic prince.
“You are such a menace,” you murmured, still laughing, curling down onto his chest.
“And you,” he said, stroking your spine again, “are way too smug for someone who almost passed out last night.”
“I did not pass out.”
“Baby, you meowed.”
“I whimpered. There's a difference.”
He grinned against your hair. “Sure, sweetheart.”
You huffed. And then kissed his chest right over his heart, listening to it beat steady and full beneath your lips. He wrapped his arms around you and sighed into the top of your head.
“God, I like waking up with you.”
“Get used to it.”
“Oh, I’m planning on it.”
Suguru kissed your forehead again, then suddenly shifted, one arm slipping under your legs, the other behind your back.
“Alright, off. You’re cute, but I need to walk.”
You yelped as he effortlessly slid you off his chest and onto the bed beside him. “Rude.”
“Practical,” he mumbled, already standing and stretching.
And oh—oh.
The full morning show.
He bent slightly to grab the nearest pair of sweatpants from the floor, giving you a perfect view of his long, lean back and that unfair ass. No briefs. No nothing. Just a sleepy, smug Suguru with tousled hair, a few bite marks on his shoulder, and the audacity to saunter into those pants like he wasn’t still half-hard from your existence alone.
The waistband sat dangerously low. His hipbones were still visible. The fabric hung off him just right. You sat up on the edge of the bed, legs curled under you, completely silent as you watched him move.
He paused at the doorway to the kitchen. Looked back over his shoulder. You hadn’t blinked.
“Staring,” he said flatly.
“You’re welcome.”
He scratched his neck, clearly pretending not to enjoy it. “You’re the worst.”
“You’re not wearing anything under those,” you replied calmly, blinking at him like an owl. “I can see.”
He looked down at himself, then back at you with a half-grin.
“Accident,” he lied terribly.
“You don’t even own underwear, do you?”
“I’m mysterious.”
“You’re a whore.”
He pointed at you like that was fact. “And you are about to get breakfast made by that whore, so maybe shut up.”
You grinned. Watched him disappear into the kitchen, that loose waistband clinging for dear life as he moved.
And you stayed right there on the edge of the bed, shirt hanging off your shoulder, completely wrapped in the realization that this, the early light, the quiet clatter of cabinets, the smell of coffee soon to come, was yours now.
And you were never letting him go.
You tossed his shirt over your head and let it fall just past your hips. Nothing underneath but your panties. Your hair was wild, legs bare, mouth smug.
You padded into the kitchen quietly, the smell of eggs and coffee in the air. Suguru stood barefoot at the stove, one hand lazily stirring something in a pan, the other scratching his jaw. Sweatpants—low. Hair—mussed. Underwear? Absolutely not.
And he had the audacity to look calm.
He turned just as you stepped into the doorway, his gaze catching on your bare legs. Then up to your face.
And he froze.
You didn’t say a word. Just walked right up to him with that slow, deadly kind of confidence. His eyes followed every step.
“Hey,” you said casually, voice still thick from sleep. “You look criminal.”
He blinked, distracted. “I—what?”
Your hand slid up his side, dragging your nails gently along his ribs. “Criminal. You know. Joggers. No underwear. Morning wood situation.”
He choked on air. “I don’t have—do I—”
You dragged your palm right over the bulge forming beneath the fabric. His entire soul left his body.
“Oh—okay, that—”
“Yeah,” you said, grinning. “That’s illegal.”
He stared at you like you were actively casting a sex spell in the middle of his home.
“I was just—eggs.”
“Uh-huh.” You traced the curve of him again, slow and intentional. “You’re really hard right now for someone making eggs.”
He backed up slightly until his hips hit the counter. “Okay—hold on, we—we haven’t—we have no time.”
You stepped in close, all sinful-smile and soft thighs brushing his. “I know. Isn’t that exciting?”
“You are going to end me in front of my stove.”
You kissed the corner of his mouth, voice purring. “That’s the dream.”
He made a noise. An actual, helpless noise. His head tipped back and hit the cabinet behind him.
“Baby, please, I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
“You made that impossible when you walked around swinging in grey joggers,” you replied, hand cupping him again. “That’s on you.”
“I was making breakfast!”
“I’m about to make a mess.”
He groaned but his hips rolled into your hand like he’d already lost the fight. “You’re not serious. Kitchen sex?”
You licked up his throat. “You gonna stop me?”
His hands grabbed your waist. Hard.
“...Fuck no.”
You smiled at him. He looked down at you like he was trying to remember how to breathe.
Then, wordlessly, you reached for his wrist. He didn’t stop you. Just watched, heart pounding in his throat as you slipped the black hair tie from where it was looped loosely over his arm.
You gathered your own hair and tied it back into a loose, low bun. Calm. Casual. Like you were about to do chores.
Suguru squinted slightly, brain clearly buffering.
“...What are you—?”
Then you dropped to your knees. He groaned. Head tipped back. Hand slammed on the edge of the counter. His other hand shot out and flicked the stove off without even looking.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Eggs are canceled.”
You bit your lip, looking up at him from between his legs, eyes wide and wicked. Your hands slid slowly up the inside of his thighs, over the worn grey cotton, feeling him twitch through the fabric. Hard. Big. Bare beneath. Fingers hooking into the waistband.
He looked down at you, already flushed, already gone. You smiled sweetly. The second your fingers slid under the waistband, he hissed through his teeth, hips flinching, jaw clenching, his knuckles white where he gripped the counter behind him.
“Fuck,” he muttered, voice tight. “You’re not gonna even let me make breakfast?”
You smiled up at him, lips brushing the skin just above his waistband. “I’m starving. Just for something else.”
With that, you pulled his joggers down painfully slow until they slipped over his hips and dropped to the floor. His cock sprang free, flushed, heavy, already leaking at the tip from just watching you get on your knees.
He swore again under his breath as you wrapped one hand around the base, your other steady on his thigh.
“You were this hard just from me walking in here?” you teased, lips ghosting just shy of him. “Or were you thinking about last night?”
He looked down at you like you were the actual devil.
“Both,” he rasped. “And you on your knees in my shirt—? Baby, you’re gonna get me committed.”
You grinned.
Then leaned forward and licked a slow, wet stripe from the base to the tip—broad and unhurried, tongue pressed flat. His whole body jerked against your mouth.
“Shit—”
You hummed in satisfaction as you wrapped your lips around the head, suckling gently at first, then sliding your mouth down a little deeper. His hand shot to your hair, loose fingers on the bun you’d just tied up, thumb stroking the back of your head. Not pushing. Just there.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned. “That mouth—shit, that mouth is gonna kill me.”
You took him deeper slowly, steadily, your tongue dragging along the underside as you sucked him in. Every sound he made just pushed you further. The shaky breath. The curse through his teeth. The whine in his throat when your hand started stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach.
He was so responsive.
“Feel good?” you murmured around him, pulling off with a wet pop, your hand still pumping him slow.
He looked wrecked. Eyelids heavy. Lips parted. Chest rising in fast, shallow breaths. “You’re unreal,” he whispered, voice thick. “You’re literally gonna make me cum just from this.”
You smirked, then took him back in deeper, sinking until he hit the back of your throat, swallowing around him as his knees buckled slightly.
“Fuckfuckfuck— okay—baby— wait—”
He tried to steady himself, but his hands were shaking now, bracing on the counter, his head dropping forward as he moaned through clenched teeth.
“Too good—feels too good—god, your mouth—”
You didn’t stop.
You just kept working him with slow pulls, then deeper strokes, sucking harder at the tip, swirling your tongue until he was cursing nonstop and twitching in your mouth, hips fighting not to thrust.
You looked up at him again, eyes glossy, cheeks hollowing slightly with each drag of your lips.
And he lost it. His hand tightened gently in your hair.
“Gonna cum, baby—fuck, don’t stop, please—”
You moaned around him in response, and that was it.
He spilled into your mouth with a full-body jerk, eyes squeezed shut, voice cracked with a groan that echoed off the kitchen tile. Hot and thick, he came hard, and you took every drop—swallowing slowly, letting your tongue linger at the tip until his thighs trembled.
“Holy shit,” he panted, head falling back. “You’re evil. You’re fucking evil.”
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and kissed the crease of his hip, grinning like a satisfied demon. Then stood. “You still making those eggs?”
He looked at you, still naked from the waist down, shirt clinging to his chest with sweat, hair a mess, breath unsteady.
“…I don’t even remember what a pan is.”
You reached up on your toes and kissed his cheek soft and quick and way too sweet for someone who just ruined him in his own kitchen. “Okay, baby,” you murmured against his flushed skin. “Then get ready. I’ll grab us something on the way to work.”
He blinked at you like you’d just spoken another language.
Still shirtless. Still half-hard. Still processing the fact that you were on your knees two minutes ago.
“You’re just… you’re gonna walk out of here like nothing happened?”
You shrugged, already heading toward the bedroom to grab your bag. “I swallowed. It literally didn’t leave a mess.”
“Oh my god—”
“Plus, you were the one standing in grey sweatpants with your dick practically waving hello.”
He groaned, dragging both hands over his face, leaning against the counter for support.
“You’ve destroyed me.”
You peeked back over your shoulder. “And I’ll do it again.”
He pointed at you weakly. “You’re dangerous.”
You winked. “And you’re late for your shift, Nurse Geto.”
He grumbled something under his breath, but you heard the smile in it. As you disappeared down the hallway, you called over your shoulder, “Get your ass dressed. I’m picking up coffee, and if you’re slow I’m drinking yours too.”
“Okay, okay!” he yelled after you, still laughing. “Just don’t traumatize the barista on the way out!”
You smirked to yourself as you pulled your jeans on, heart pounding under the stolen shirt still clinging to your skin.
He was yours. Fully. Completely. And hopelessly in love.
You handed him his coffee in the parking lot, smirking as you took a sip from your own cup, perfectly collected, fully dressed now, hair tied back, lips still somehow kiss-swollen but subtle enough to pass.
Suguru looked less composed.
The neckline of his scrub top was slightly crooked. His hair was tied back but not in its usual neat bun, more like a traumatized ponytail. And he kept shifting his weight like his soul hadn’t quite reattached to his body.
You both walked through the hospital’s back staff entrance, side by side. Not too close. Professional.
Except. You kept glancing at him over your cup with that little smile. The one that said I had your cock down my throat next to the stove and you moaned like a choir boy.
He noticed. Of course he did. “Stop looking at me like that,” he whispered, sipping his coffee like it might save him.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re smirking.”
“I’m drinking.”
“You’re drinking smugly.”
You reached over and fixed the collar of his scrubs. He flinched slightly—then relaxed when you tugged it into place. Your knuckles brushed his throat on the way back down.
“Better,” you whispered.
He made a sound that could only be described as a throat sob.
Then the doors to the breakroom opened.
And there was someone from Pediatrics, leaning against the coffee machine, biting into a granola bar with slow, knowing eyes. “Morning,” she said, blinking.
You both froze. “Hi,” you said sweetly.
“Mornin‘,” Suguru added, voice a half-octave higher than normal.
She raised a brow. Her eyes flicked between the two of you. Then down to the shirt you wore under your coat. Then back to Suguru, whose ears were red. She took another bite of her granola bar. “Hm,” she said. “Finally.”
You blinked. “I’m sorry?”
She smiled, wide, feral. “Nothing. Just… you both look well-rested.”
Suguru looked like he was dying. “I—I slept fine—”
“You definitely slept,” she said, turning away.
You turned to him once she disappeared. He looked at you like a man on the edge. “…We’re never gonna hear the end of this, are we?”
“Nope.”
“I was such a good coworker before you.”
“And now you’re a better man.”
He stared at you. Then shook his head, grinning despite himself. “Still worth it.”
You slipped away to the locker room first, tossing your bag into the corner and peeling off Suguru’s shirt with a quiet, lingering smile. The scent of him still clung to the collar. You almost didn’t want to take it off.
But duty called and your badge was already clipped to your fresh scrubs when you stepped out again. Down the hall, you spotted him leaning against the wall near the nurses’ station. Hair now actually tied up properly. Fresh scrubs. Composed. Almost.
You walked toward him casually, sipping the rest of your coffee.
Then stopped in front of him. “Hey,” you said, voice casual.
He looked up from his chart. You tugged the hem of your scrub top and nodded toward him with a crooked grin.
“Look. We matchin’.”
He looked down at your outfit. Then at his own. Same slate blue scrubs. Identical badge clips. Matching tired eyes. He opened his mouth and just laughed. Head tipped back, hand running down his face as he cracked up, warm and breathless.
“You are so annoying,” he wheezed.
“You love it.”
“Unfortunately.”
You leaned in a little, lowering your voice. “Tell me I’m not the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.”
He gave you a flat look. “You sucked my soul out in front of the refrigerator.”
“Exactly,” you said brightly. “Multifaceted.”
He was still laughing when you walked off toward the nurses’ station, hips swaying just a little too much.
And his eyes never left you.
Sadly, the day had been hell from the first hour.
Your morning started with a combative post-op patient who’d decided he didn’t need IV fluids anymore and tried to yank the line out himself. Then came a fall in the stairwell—fractured hip, transport delays, radiology backed up by three hours. Somewhere between that and an endless stream of code blues over the intercom, you realized you’d only stopped moving long enough to hit the bathroom twice all day.
Suguru had been on the opposite wing for most of the shift. You caught glimpses of him in the hall—hair coming loose, jaw tight, hands already pulling on fresh gloves as someone barked his name down the corridor. Each time, you wanted to just… stop him. But there wasn’t time.
You’d barely registered the last patient handoff of the day before you found yourself in the break room, leaning against the fridge. The hum of it was loud in the otherwise quiet space. You pressed the rim of a water bottle to your lips and drank like it was the best thing you’d ever tasted, cold sliding all the way down, cooling your overheated skin.
The door slammed open.
Before you could even look up, strong arms wrapped around your middle and pulled you back into a chest that smelled faintly of clean sweat and antiseptic soap.
“Fuck, I missed you,” Suguru murmured into your hair, voice low and raw, the kind that told you he hadn’t been breathing right all day until now.
You froze only for a second before you melted into him, setting the bottle aside as his hold tightened. His face nuzzled into the curve of your neck, and you swore you felt his shoulders finally drop for the first time in eight hours.
“You okay?” you whispered.
“Busy. Rough day.” His lips brushed your temple. “Almost lost it in Room 412—patient crashed, family losing their shit—” He stopped himself with a slow exhale. “Just needed to see you.”
You turned in his arms, hands cupping his jaw. His eyes looked tired but softer now, relief bleeding into them. “Hi,” you said simply.
“Hi,” he murmured back.
Then he kissed you. Warm. Firm. Like he needed proof you were still here.
The door swung open again.
You both froze but Suguru’s arms didn’t move from your waist.
“Oh, finally!” came a familiar voice.
You turned your head to see Nurse Okabe standing there with her mug, wearing the same sharp-eyed grin she reserved for when she was about to meddle in someone’s personal life.
“Took you long enough,” she muttered, walking past to the coffee machine like she’d been waiting for this.
Suguru’s ears went red. You bit back a laugh. “Okabe—”
“Don’t ‘Okabe’ me,” she cut in, stirring sugar into her coffee without looking at either of you. “We’ve all been watching you two make goo-goo eyes in the hall for months. The betting pool’s been closed since last week.”
You blinked. “There was a betting pool?”
She turned with a sly little smile. “Sweetheart, in this place, there’s always a betting pool.”
Suguru groaned into your shoulder, and you couldn’t help it—you laughed, leaning back against the fridge as his arms stayed snug around your waist.
“Welcome to being the new break room gossip,” Okabe said, lifting her mug. “Now kiss him again so I can collect my winnings.”
You rolled your eyes, but Suguru, smiling tiredly now, leaned in and pressed another kiss to your lips, his hand warm at the small of your back.
Okabe just sipped her coffee, satisfied.
The faint buzz and muffled chime came from his scrub pocket. Suguru groaned against your temple. “Fuck,” he muttered, already knowing it wasn’t something he could ignore.
Still, instead of reaching for his phone, he tightened his arms around you and pulled you flush against him again.
Three short kisses—one, two, three—brushed against your lips in quick succession. Then he eased his hold just enough to glance toward the door… but stayed close enough to give you more pecks, softer this time, his mouth catching yours like he couldn’t get enough in before he had to go.
You could feel the faint smile against your skin, the way his nose nudged yours between kisses.
“Go,” you murmured.
“I am,” he said, and stole another one.
You chuckled, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “You’re gonna get yelled at.”
“Worth it,” he breathed, finally stepping back, his hand dragging down your side until it slipped away.
Then he was gone, out the break room door, phone already in hand but the heat of his kisses still lingered on your lips, warm and stubborn, like he’d left them there on purpose.
Your name was paged over the intercom just 15 minutes after Suguru left. You grabbed your chart and headed down the hall, still tasting the ghost of his kisses.
The call was for an older male patient in recovery—one you’d dealt with before. He greeted you with a smile that was just a little too knowing, eyes skimming you from head to toe in a way that made your skin crawl.
“Hello there, sweetheart,” he drawled.
You pasted on your best polite-nurse smile. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better now,” he said, gaze dragging slow over your scrubs. “They put all the pretty ones in this ward, huh?”
You ignored it, flipping through his chart. “I’m here to check your vitals and—”
“Don’t need that. Just need someone nice to look at.”
You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to keep the same steady tone. “Sir, I’m here to provide your care, not—”
“Care, yeah. I bet you’re good at that.” His smile widened, shameless. “What’s your name again? Maybe I’ll ask for you next time. Unless you’ve got a sister that looks like you.”
Your fingers tightened on the pen. You were this close to snapping.
Then he leaned back on his pillow, smirking. “Actually, nah. Get me someone else. The prettiest one the hospital’s got. You know who I mean.”
You inhaled slowly. Then let it out in the fakest smile you could muster. “Alright.”
Reaching down, you unclipped your phone from your waistband and tapped Suguru’s number. He picked up after the first ring.
“Hey,” you said lightly, eyes still locked on the patient. “You got a little time?”
“Yeah, why? Problem?” His voice sharpened slightly.
“Mhm. Room 307. ” You grinned, the kind of grin that made people nervous. A pause. A sigh. Then: “I’m coming.”
You ended the call and slid the phone back into place.
“Sir, you will get the prettiest nurse we have,” you told him sweetly, arms crossed as you leaned back against the counter. “Won’t be long.”
He smirked like he’d just won the jackpot. “That’s what I like to hear.”
You didn’t bother replying—just kept that faint smile on your face, knowing exactly what was coming.
Five minutes later, the door swung open.
Suguru stepped in, hair neat, eyes faintly amused. Without a word to you, he went straight to the sink, pumping sanitizer into his hands before tugging on a fresh pair of gloves.
“Well hello, sir,” he greeted warmly—too warmly—the corner of his mouth quirking in a way you recognized instantly. “I’m here because you requested the prettiest nurse in the hospital again, yeah?”
The patient’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
Suguru straightened, glancing at you briefly before looking back to the bed with that calm, infuriatingly polite expression. “So. Let’s get you washed up.”
There was something in his tone, just enough to make the man shift uncomfortably on the mattress.
“Uh… I meant…” The patient’s eyes flicked between the two of you.
Suguru’s smile didn’t change. “You meant me. Right?”
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, watching him step closer to the bed with deliberate calm, setting a basin and washcloth down like this was the most natural thing in the world.
“You’re in luck,” Suguru added, snapping the gloves into place. “I’m very thorough.”
The patient muttered something under his breath, but Suguru was already rolling the bed a little higher, leaning in with a calm, clinical precision that still somehow felt like a flex.
You stayed exactly where you were, arms still crossed, enjoying every second. Because if the patient wanted to play games, he’d just been reminded what it was like to lose.
Suguru worked in complete, infuriatingly calm silence, asking only the necessary clinical questions while the patient tried and failed—to avoid eye contact. You caught his little smirk once when he turned toward the sink, rinsing the washcloth before wringing it out.
“Alright, sir,” Suguru said finally, peeling off his gloves with a snap. “You’re clean, comfortable, and in excellent hands. Anything else you need?”
The man shook his head quickly. “No. That’s fine.”
“Good.” Suguru’s tone stayed polite, but the glint in his eye as he glanced at you said everything.
He sanitized his hands, nodded once to the patient, and walked out—pausing just outside the door for you. You followed, letting it click shut behind you. The moment you were in the hallway, his mouth curled into that bastard smile.
“Well,” he murmured, “that was satisfying.”
You snorted. “I was this close to snapping.”
“Yeah, I could tell.” He stepped in just slightly, his voice lowering, warm with amusement. “And here I thought you called me because you missed me.”
You tilted your head, lips twitching. “Mhm. That too.”
He leaned in, just enough that his breath brushed your ear. “Next time you want me to show off, you could just ask.”
You gave him a look. “Next time you could be the problem instead of solving it.”
He chuckled under his breath, straightening but still watching you with that post-victory smugness. “Tempting. But I like watching you all riled up.”
You shook your head and started walking toward the nurses’ station. “Come on, pretty boy. We’ve got work to do.”
Behind you, he hummed. “Prettiest nurse in the hospital, actually.”
You didn’t even turn around. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Oh, I’m already used to it.”
Suguru’s pager went off before you could answer. He glanced down, sighed, and gave you one last that was fun smile.
“Another one. I’ll see you later, alright?”
You nodded, watching him jog down the hall before turning the other way.
Finally—finally—you slipped out the side exit of the ward. The heavy metal door swung shut behind you, sealing off the noise of ringing phones and distant intercom calls.
Outside, the air hit you cool and sharp. The sky was starting to blush with late-afternoon light, the faint hum of traffic somewhere down the block.
You leaned against the brick wall, pulling a cigarette from the pack in your scrub pocket. The flick of the lighter sounded too loud in the quiet, but the first inhale was perfect.
For a moment, you just stood there with your eyes closed, head tipped back—letting your pulse settle, letting the smoke curl lazily into the air. No call lights. No demanding voices. No one asking for “the prettiest nurse in the hospital.” Just you, the warm drag in your lungs, and the faint sound of your own breathing.
You let out the smoke in a slow exhale, shoulders finally loosening for the first time in hours.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket.
You smiled before you even checked the screen.
Suguru: Don’t think you’re escaping me. Where are you?
You smirked, flicking ash into the tray beside you.
Break. Don’t ruin it.
The typing bubble popped up almost instantly.
Suguru: Coming to ruin it.
You shook your head, but the smile didn’t leave your face.
Fifteen minutes passed. Enough time for you to finish one cigarette, scroll aimlessly through your phone, and actually start to relax.
The side door creaked open.
Suguru stepped out, hair a little mussed from whatever chaos he’d just come from, scrub top slightly wrinkled, that I know I’m late but I’m still hot expression on his face.
He spotted you instantly and started walking over, hands in his pockets.
“You took your time,” you muttered around the cigarette, not even looking up fully.
“Patient family wouldn’t stop talking,” he said, leaning casually against the wall next to you. “But I said to myself, ‘Nope. Gotta go ruin her break.’”
You snorted. “Mission accomplished.”
Without asking, he plucked the cigarette from your fingers, took one long drag, and exhaled into the cool air with an exaggerated sigh.
“God, that’s terrible for you,” he said, handing it back.
You rolled your eyes. “And yet you still steal it.”
“Because it tastes better when it’s yours,” he said with that infuriating grin, bumping his shoulder into yours.
You gave him a side-eye. “Pretty sure that’s not how nicotine works.”
“Pretty sure you missed me,” he countered, smirk deepening.
You blew smoke in his direction on purpose. “Maybe.”
“Definitely,” he said, tilting his head so his hair fell forward slightly, hiding the way his eyes softened just for a second. “So. When’s your next break?”
“Never, if today’s anything to go by.”
He made a thoughtful sound, gaze flicking toward the door. “Guess I’ll just have to keep sneaking out here, then. Make sure you’re not lonely.”
You shook your head, but you were smiling as you stubbed out the cigarette. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love it,” he said, pushing off the wall and opening the door for you.
Unfortunately for your composure, he was right.
You stepped back inside, the hum of the ward rushing in to swallow the quiet you’d just stolen together. Suguru trailed a step behind, the door swinging shut on the fading curl of smoke outside.
Back to monitors beeping, call lights flashing, the chaos that had eaten your whole day. But his presence at your shoulder felt like a private joke—one only the two of you were in on.
At the nurses’ station, he peeled away toward his side of the floor with a lazy, knowing glance over his shoulder. It was quick—blink and you’d miss it—but it said later.
You smirked to yourself, flipping open the next chart.
The shift wasn’t over. Not yet. And neither was whatever this was.
That was our little mistake. Wasn’t it? You can leave now. But you won’t.
The Masterlist is here. If that was not enough, you know where to put your request.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ © ᴠᴇʟᴠᴇᴛɢʜᴏᴜʟ
𝘙𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵. 𝘋𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺, 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮, 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘈𝘐.