“you’re going to hurt yourself like that, my love.”
you startle at the voice over you, having been nearly asleep.
“—uh?”
you turn your head to see Nanami looming over your side of the bed. if you were fully conscious, you would see the tiny look of mischief in his eyes as they roam your body, but you’re not, so you take it as his tendency to mother hen you.
and then he’s pushing you to the middle of the bed despite your whining, climbing in beside you. you try to settle in and find you’re still being moved—he’s on his back, shuffling himself down the bed and pulling one of your legs over his chest. you feel him turn his face into your belly in a move that feels suspiciously like nuzzling.
“what’re y’doin,” you slur, a little petulant at being woken up like this, despite it being well past the time you meant to rejoin the living and despite your own desire to seek out the warmth he’s emitting next to you.
“you’re going to hurt your hip, laying like that,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. he runs a hand up the back of your thigh and over your hip, and you sigh a little bit, comforted by the feeling of him.
“i don’t know how you sleep like that,” he continues, absentmindedly dragging his fingers over your skin, making you shiver every now and then.
“feels good,” you grumble, face shoved into the pillow. talking about your bizarre sleeping position and maybe also the way the rough pads of his fingers leave a trail of warmth in their wake. you think you hear him chuckle softly, and you feel him press a kiss to the skin of your belly, right above the hem of your sleep shorts.
it’s soft, chaste—and then it’s not, and you suck in a breath when you feel him kiss you there again, feeling the tip of his tongue drag along the skin that stretches over your hip bone.
and evidently he hears your sharp inhale, because you feel a strong arm sneak around your lower back, pulling you closer to him.
“was still sleeping, you know,” but it’s lost all of its bite and you’re a little breathless now, fixated on the way his free hand slides up the back of your thigh to brush over the sensitive spot just under the curve of your ass.
“go to sleep then,” he says into the soft of your belly, pressing another kiss, opening his mouth a little wider to catch the skin of it between his teeth. he’s turned into you now, and despite yourself, you drag your leg up from his chest so it’s over his shoulder.
he moves to rest his head against your thigh that’s trapped underneath him, and distantly you think that it is more comfortable like this— his head squeezed between your legs having alleviated some of the pressure against your hip from laying on your side. that thought quickly becomes muddled in your head when you feel him latch on to the skin of your inner thigh that rests against his face.
you whine, hips bucking weakly as you squirm under tongue and teeth—both leaning into and trying to get away from the sting of his bite.
“my sweet love,” he coos, running his tongue over the fresh bruise, placating you. you shiver, pressing your face further into the pillow to try to breathe—to ground yourself despite the heat that curls up your spine. he stops, then, and you peak down at him to find that he’s staring back up at you.
“hi,” you whisper, fighting another shudder at the way his lips pull at the corners into a smirk that looks absolutely sinful on him.
“good morning,” he drawls, deep and far too awake. he rests his chin in the space between your hips, pressing a quick kiss above your pubic bone. your hips buck toward him a tiny bit, and his smirk widens when he feels it.
you bring a hand down to run it through his hair, tangling in the blond strands and scratching at his scalp. he closes his eyes and hums, deep in his chest, nuzzling into your thigh. it makes you smile, and it makes you ache.
“want you, ken,” you murmur, squeezing him gently between your thighs and reveling in the groan he lets out.
“i know, sweetheart,” he coos, hands coming up again to grope whatever skin he can reach and pressing a tiny kiss through your shorts, “i can smell you.”
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suguru looks at you and thinks he could tell you everything.
it's tempting—how you hold his gaze when others normally avoid it. anyone else and their eyes dart away immediately, blurring him into the background. not with you though; with you, he exists in central focus.
there's a strand of your hair that's fallen out of place, and he reaches to tuck it behind your ear, quickly. it's a trick, a sleight of hand that conceals the tremble of his fingertips.
(your breath hitches when he grazes your cheek.)
the noise in the cafe is a symphony of indistinct chatter and soft alternative folk music, with ceramics clinking as the constant underlying beat. none of it is supposed to go together, but it carries the ambiance in its harmony.
he leans in closer when you speak.
you continue your story, off on a tangent already; his head tilts to the side, a finger to his temple as he nods along, lips curling at the edges fondly. this same look has made others nervous, flustered, but you seem unfazed; meeting him eye-to-eye overtly.
which isn't normal.
and if he's being truly honest with himself, none of this—what he's doing, thinking, how he's feeling—is normal.
suguru believes in secrets, that some things are better kept to himself.
but, it's one look into your eyes, at the way you regard him so unlike everybody else that has him wondering how you'd react if he tells you you look pretty instead of nice today—how you are pretty much a frequent visitor to his thoughts lately.
(you talk and talk and talk because you can never tell what he's thinking—mysterious smile matched with an unnerving stare is a combination too deadly.)
he doesn't do 'brunches'—it's either a late breakfast or an early lunch, pick one—yet he finds himself seated in a cafe at 10:27 a.m., having one with you.
the lock to his chest has been tampered with; if he dusts it off, he'll find your fingerprints, left behind unknowingly. you are innocent until proven guilty, but his lips, usually shut tight, are now slowly unzipping; it's you, the root of all this.
if he tells you he likes looking at you—might always want to—would you consider having another brunch with him? to stay longer in that suspended in-between of breakfast and lunch time?
(you blink, suguru still leaned in, listening.)
(if you tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear, will his breath hitch just the same?)
for @rinniessance; a lil birthday gift for you angie bby! (i might be a lil early posting this... oop!) i've never written sugu but wanted to try for you 🥹 ily you beautiful soul!! (not a birthday fic itself but i hope i gave a decent characterisation of him! 🥺)
thank you notes: @mysugu @soumies for helping me try to figure this man out 😭
comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡
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