Tulip!

Chishiya’s brain worked along, creating a web of thoughts… but as usual, you kept getting tangled in it. Is this where you’d been taken? Was he technically missing too?.. So, Chishiya makes it his mission to find you again, taking part in plenty of games… but you weren’t there. It only serves to get his brain working.

Had you been scared when you first got here? What if you died before he could find you again?

After striving, he made his way into the Beach, even having the opportunity to work his way onto the Executives board. It was all for his favour, not that he’d say it out loud.

Mentally shaking his head, Chishiya gets rid of the thoughts, blinking a few times as if to ward them off. He focuses his gaze again, scanning the crowd. Then, he spots a pretty figure, and looks closer. You’re here. Chishiya hates how his heart leaps. At least no one could tell because of how nonchalant he was seeming, but inside, he’s a mess. He didn’t know how he’d feel, or what he’d do, when he found you.

After processing the fact you’re here, not dead or living abroad after stealing money off him, like the police had presumed at this point. Before he knows it, he’s walking through the crowd, his gaze never leaving your frame, and as soon as he reaches you, he grabs your arm tight.

“Walk.” Chishiya interrupts your drinking. Your makeshift friends looked confused, but he ignores them. You stay quiet after seeing him, following him out of the crowd and to a more secluded area. As soon as he’s alone with you, Chishiya stares at you for a second. You still looked the same, like you never left. As you open your mouth to say something, he dives in, kissing you desperately.

It catches you off guard, he’s never shown affection before, but quickly melt into the kiss as your arms wrap around his neck tightly. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about him, worry about him… collecting cards to get out of here was harder than it seemed.

Chishiya’s hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him and squeezing you so close it hurt. The kiss was messy, teeth clashing and tongues tangling sloppily… and he hears the sigh that escapes you. Breaking the kiss, he presses his forehead to yours to keep you as close as possible; this was foreign to him, but he didn’t care. “This is where you’ve been?”

You exhale a soft pant, nodding against him. “Yes—“ you manage to utter, but he’s kissing you again. Chishiya keeps it briefer this time, and he sighs. “I was worried.” He deadpans, his lips still touching yours.

“About me?”

“No,” he rolls his eyes, sarcasm drips from his response. “About the weather. Of course about you.” Chishiya murmurs.

“Shun…” you murmur back, your eyes darting to his lips again. Before he could kiss you again, a taunting laugh interrupts. Chishiya pulls back a little, giving Niragi a glare as he walks closer, rifle slung over his shoulder carelessly. “Go away,” your husband deadpans before the man could say anything, but the dark haired man wasn’t very keen. Not without some teasing at first. “What, is going on here?” Niragi drawls out, cocking a hip as he stops a few feet from the two of you.

You stay quiet, it was the best way to handle Niragi— no acknowledgment. He’d get bored and leave… eventually.

“None of your business—“

“The beach is my business, Chishiya.” Niragi grins, the sight lopsided. “You having a fling, and you didn’t tell little ol’ me?” He presses a hand to his chest, a sly smile never leaving his features.

“Not a fling. She’s my wife.” Chishiya deadpans, squeezing you closer, like an animal protecting a pup. You were his… and he didn’t want the likes of Niragi hanging around you.

The latter is agape, glancing between you both before laughing. “You? A wife?” He eyes you suspiciously. “Is this true, darling? Or is he yanking my chain?” He ask, tilting his head; expecting an answer.

You swallow thickly, but the click of his tongue urges you to reply. “Yeah. I’m his wife.” You confirm quietly, and Niragi raises a brow. “You’re telling me he pulled you?” He questions, not buying it.

“Just leave it.” Chishiya keeps his face flat, but the warning tone of his voice makes itself known. Niragi holds the other man’s gaze, as if observing the situation and what buttons to press. He was so much smarter than he made himself seem, but Chishiya— without sounding too egotistical, liked to think he was smarter. Eventually, the taller man speaks. “Ttch, no fun.” Niragi tuts, turning around and leaving to find a better subject to torment. He wasn’t going to get the reactions he wanted from someone as flat as Chishiya.

Turning around again, Chishiya’s hands squeeze you closer, settling his chin atop your shoulder. You couldn’t help but smile quietly, hugging him in return. Your husband had never been like this in the real world, and you couldn’t help but feel warm that he hadn’t just moved on in the time you’d been separated.

Pulling back a little, he grabs one of your hands gently. “C’mon. You can stay with me.” Chishiya tugs a little, leading you inside. You simply hum, a small smile still present on your face. It was really satisfying to know your husband had always cared.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

Explicit Warning: horny chishiya, who almost loses his cool, spanking, fingering, establishment of safe words, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroating, choking, a little bit of overstimulation, penetrative sex (I feel like I need to apologise for this fic, but don't worry, despite all things happening in here, chishiya is still our king of consent)

The morning after that scene in the empty office, Chishiya carried on as if nothing had ever happened. His voice was clipped, his tone even colder than usual, and when he spoke to you, he never met your eyes. He stared at the chart in his hand, or the monitor above the child’s bed, or the blank white wall. Quite literally anywhere but you.

“Read me the lab values,” he said flatly, eyes fixed on the sheet in his hand. You complied, keeping your tone even. He gave no acknowledgement when you finished, only a quiet hum before moving on to the next patient.

At first, you played along with his game. You answered only when he asked a direct question, your words short and professional. You told yourself it was fine, that if he wanted to erase what had happened between you, you would let him.

But the next day, something inside you shifted. You weren’t sure if it was spite or courage, but you couldn’t keep pretending. Not when his words in that office still echoed in your head, not when you remembered the way his breath had brushed your skin.

When he asked about a patient’s medication, you added, “Considering the abdominal pain, wouldn’t it be safer to adjust the dosage?”

His head tilted the slightest bit, his eyes flicking up to you before quickly falling back to the chart. “Mm,” was all he said, a noncommittal sound. But you saw the way his shoulders stiffened.

Later, when he muttered, “The scans are inconclusive,” you answered quietly, “Then maybe we should order a cardiac evaluation next.”

His gaze shot to you at that. For a moment, you thought he would cut you down with one of his biting remarks. Instead, he said nothing, simply crossing his arms over his chest.

The silence between you stretched. Finally, he spoke again, his voice calm but laced with irritation. “You’ve grown awfully talkative all of a sudden.”

You lifted your chin slightly. “Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to stop whispering and start answering properly?”

His eyes lingered on yours a second too long, colder than steel, but caught on something he couldn’t disguise. Yes, that was exactly what he wanted. And besides your sharp mouth, you had done what he asked of you. This alone made the heat return to his lower parts.

Slowly, he leaned back. He thought he could win this battle of wills. That you would crumble the moment he turned the full weight of his icy stare on you.

But you didn’t. And there was the smallest flicker of something dangerous in his eyes before he tore his gaze away again, retreating back into the safety of the chart in his hand.

A new case was presented during morning rounds. A ten-year-old boy, fever spikes for a week, persistent fatigue, joint pain, and a peculiar rash that had spread across his torso. Blood work showed anaemia and elevated inflammatory markers.

Dr. Kato had once made such discussions lively, encouraging every resident to speak, but with him still on leave, the atmosphere felt brittle. And with Dr. Chishiya leading, it was even worse.

One resident offered, “Could be scarlet fever.”

“No,” Chishiya cut in immediately, voice flat and merciless. “The rash doesn’t fit, nor does the joint pain. Next.”

Another resident piped up, “Maybe lupus?" Chishiya’s eyes narrowed. “Unlikely. You’re ignoring the elevated ESR and the pattern of the anaemia. Don’t throw buzzwords around, hoping one sticks.”

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. No one wanted to be the next target of his dismissal. You took a steadying breath. “Systemic juvenile idiopathic arthritis,” you said.

His head turned towards you, finally. You went on before he could cut you down. “The recurrent fevers, the evanescent rash, the arthritis symptoms... they all fit. The labs suggest systemic inflammation, not infection.” The other residents shifted, some surprised, others annoyed, but you didn’t falter. You kept your eyes on the chart, not on him.

Chishiya tilted his head, lips pressing into the faintest line. For a long moment, he said nothing, scanning you as if trying to find a crack in your reasoning. Finally, his gaze dropped back to the file.

“Hm.” It was a sound of acknowledgment, not praise. But for Chishiya, it was enough to make the air feel different. You didn’t let the moment end there. “We should start with NSAIDs. If symptoms persist, corticosteroids. Biologics may be necessary long term.”

This time, the silence was louder. Every pair of eyes in the room darted to Dr. Chishiya, waiting for the verbal blade to fall. Instead, he simply nodded. “That’s correct.”

Murmurs rippled at the edges of the group, disbelief that he had agreed so easily, shock that he hadn’t torn you apart. You kept your expression neutral, but inside something sharp and hot flared. The tiniest victory.

When the group dispersed, residents and nurses buzzing quietly about what had just happened, you left the room with your chart hugged to your chest.

And he was right behind you. His presence was palpable, heat radiating from him, close enough that you could feel the whisper of his breath against the back of your neck. You stiffened, pulse leaping, but you didn’t quicken your pace.

As the corridor emptied around you, his voice brushed against your ear, threaded with something that sounded dangerously like restraint. “Careful with that behaviour of yours.” You didn’t look back. But your lips curved, just slightly, where he couldn’t see.

The rest of the morning slipped into rhythm. Charts, vitals, rounds. You moved through patients with steady precision, lingering a little longer when a child needed comfort, slipping in a joke or a reassuring pat on the hand. Whenever you had a moment to spare, you drifted to the nurses’ station. Fetching supplies, filing charts, even helping roll in equipment.

One of the younger nurses raised a brow at you while you tucked clean linens into a cupboard. “Why do you always help us? You don’t have to, you know. Most doctors think they’re above it.”

You gave her a small smile. “My mother was a nurse. I grew up watching how hard it was on her. Long shifts, aching feet, never enough thanks. I know how draining it can be. So… if I have time, why wouldn’t I?” The nurse softened, her smile warm. “You’re going to make a good doctor.” You ducked your head, embarrassed, pretending to fuss with the sheets.

Across the corridor, unseen, Chishiya had paused mid-step. He shouldn’t have cared. It was a throwaway conversation, casual and definitely unimportant. But the mention of your mother made his ears sharpen. The tiniest information about your past. About you. He found himself listening to your voice, trying to catch every word.

'Why do I even care?' He shook his head, forcing himself to walk away.

When lunch rolled around, you found a spot in the cafeteria, tray balanced neatly in front of you. You were halfway through sipping your tea when you felt a presence close to you.

Chishiya sat down. Not right next to you, but several seats away, just near enough to be deliberate. You blinked, surprised. You hadn’t expected him to join you, let alone speak.

“Good work earlier today,” he said simply, eyes on his tray as he picked at his rice. For a moment, you just stared. The words were so unexpected, you almost thought you had imagined them. Then, cautiously, you replied, “Is that… your version of a compliment?”

His cold gaze flicked to you, but there was something else lingering there. “Don’t get used to it.” A soft and amused laugh slipped out of you. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t planning on it.”

His chopsticks stilled mid-air. Slowly, he lowered them back to his tray. “You’re getting bolder,” he muttered. You tilted your head, lips curving into a small, mischievous smile. “Or maybe you’re just less scary than you think you are.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. He bit back the reaction, crossing his arms instead, leaning back as if to put space between you. “You’re mistaking tolerance for leniency.”

“Tolerance, leniency… same difference,” you teased, taking another sip of tea. He scoffed, but the sound lacked its usual bite. “You can be really annoying.”

“And yet you’re sitting here,” you shot back. That earned you a long, sharp look.

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. The sound caught him off guard. His lips parted slightly, his chest tightening as though his body betrayed him. He had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop the smile threatening to form.

The rest of the day unfolded like a game you hadn’t realised you were playing until now. Each time you passed Chishiya in the hallway, you let a small, sarcastic comment slip, subtle enough to be excused as harmless, but sharp enough that you saw the way his shoulders stiffened.

When he stood at the nurses’ station, scribbling notes on a chart with that maddening calmness of his, you leaned in just enough to murmur, “Your handwriting looks like you’re actively trying to make people suffer.” He didn’t even glance up, his tone flat. “Maybe I am.” You hid your grin as you walked off, sensing the faintest flicker of tension radiating off him.

Later that afternoon, he presented a treatment plan to the parents of a boy recently diagnosed with nephrotic syndrome. His plan involved high-dose corticosteroids. It was efficient, fast-acting, the standard aggressive approach. But when you heard the tremor in the mother’s voice, you stepped forward, suggesting an alternative: a slower approach with immunosuppressants, less aggressive but with fewer harsh side effects for the boy’s still-developing body.

The parents latched onto your words instantly, their hope visible in the way they nodded towards you.

Chishiya’s jaw ticked. He was about to respond, his voice already carrying that familiar sharpness, when you cut in again. It was rationally, but still, you interrupted him. It was the kind of thing no resident would dare do.

His eyes narrowed, though his tone stayed deceptively even as he finally cut you off. “We don’t have the luxury of sentimentality. Time is the variable here, and efficiency outweighs gentleness. We’ll proceed with the steroids.” His words were final. His delivery icy. You said nothing more, simply bowing your head in acknowledgment.

When you stepped out of the room, you expected him to brush past you, maybe throw you a scathing remark. But instead, without looking at you, he muttered, “Walk with me.”

You fell into step behind him, your chest tight, your pulse pounding with a mix of indignation and anticipation.

He led you down a long hall and turned sharply into an empty corridor. The quiet here seemed heavier, more private. He stopped, spun halfway, his arms crossed, his expression cold. And then he snapped.

“You don’t get to undermine me in front of patients or their families,” he said, his voice low but seething. “You want to suggest alternatives, you do it in private. Not when I’ve already given them a plan.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he stepped closer. The charged space between you shrank until you felt the heat of his body radiating against yours.

His words came clipped and controlled, but there was an undercurrent you couldn’t ignore: frustration bleeding into something darker. “You think you’re clever, pushing me like that? Testing me? You don’t realise what kind of line you’re walking.”

Your back hit the wall before you even realised you had stepped back. He wasn’t touching you, but he didn’t need to. His presence caged you in.

It wasn’t just professional fury spilling out of him. The taut coil of something unspoken and personal. His jaw flexed, his hands curling into fists at his sides, as though he was fighting himself as much as you.

Your breath came shallow, your pulse hammering. And despite the danger in his tone, despite the razor-sharp warning in his words, you couldn’t look away.

For a moment, you almost let the words die on your tongue. His authority pressed down on you like a weight, heavy enough to crush the air from your lungs. He was right. You were only a resident. And when you saw the flicker of satisfaction cross his face at your silence, that cold curve of victory in his expression, your chest twisted and something shifted.

Your spine straightened, your guilt hardening into resolve. “Yes,” you said, your voice steady despite the rush of your pulse, “I am just a resident. But the patients and their parents deserve to at least know when there are different treatment options. They deserve transparency. Even if they still choose yours.”

The already quiet corridor went even more silent. Chishiya’s gaze bored into you, his lips parting just slightly as though your audacity had stolen his words. You could almost see the calculations running behind his eyes, weighing possibilities with that same efficiency he applied to medicine.

He could fire you.

He could make every day of your residency a kind of living hell.

He could remind you exactly how small you were under his authority.

But what came out of his mouth wasn’t any of those things. “You truly are insufferable,” he said, each word dragged out through clenched teeth. His eyes burned into yours, darker than you had ever seen them. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to something dangerous. “You should be fucking spanked for that.”

Your eyes widened, your breath catching in your throat. For a split second, you thought you had misheard him. But no. The sharp edge in his tone, the way his knuckles whitened where his fists were clenched at his sides, told you he had meant every syllable.

The world tilted for a moment, everything too hot, too charged. His words wrapped around you like a spark in dry kindling, igniting something you hadn’t dared name until now.

Chishiya froze the moment the words left his mouth. His own voice echoed back at him, and you saw his composure falter. He stepped back immediately, shoulders tightening, the mask snapping back into place with mechanical precision.

He went too far. He knew it. He turned as if to leave, but you spoke before he could escape.

“Fine, then.” Your voice trembled, but not with fear. “Spank me. Punish me for stating my opinion.”

His spine went rigid, his hand hovering by his side as though he couldn’t decide whether to clench it into a fist or press it against his own mouth. A breathy sound escaped him, half laugh, half disbelief. He didn’t dare look at you when he answered, his tone flat, almost brittle. “We’re not crossing that line.”

You crossed your arms, huffing, refusing to let him retreat back into the comfort of that icy facade. “Then at least think of me when you’re taking care of that.” You nodded towards the very thing he had tried to ignore: the bulge in his trousers, straining against the fabric with every passing second of this charged silence.

Something in him snapped. Before you could blink, his hand closed around your throat, cutting off just enough air to make your pulse thunder in your ears. He leaned in until his face hovered mere inches from yours, his eyes blazing with something raw. “Is this all a fucking game to you?” he growled, his voice low and venomous, the heat of his breath ghosting over your lips.

The sound that escaped you wasn’t a word. It was almost a moan. The kind of sound that made his jaw tighten.

That was enough. Without another word, he dragged you by your throat down the hall, shoving open the door to an empty on-call room. The air inside was colder, but it did nothing to cool the fire roaring between you. The door clicked shut behind you, the silence ringing louder than any words.

As much as every muscle in him screamed to push you to your knees and shut you up by shoving his painful erection into your mouth, he forced himself down onto the edge of the narrow bed instead, hauling you across his lap in one deliberate motion.

Your breath caught somewhere between anticipation and disbelief. His hand rested heavy at your hip, fingers pressing into the fabric of your coat as if he was holding himself back with every ounce of control he still possessed.

For a long, suffocating moment, he said nothing. The only sound was the tick of the old clock on the wall and the faint rasp of his breathing.

Then he finally spoke your name.

“Do you consent to this?" His voice was steady, but you could feel the tremor of something dangerous beneath it. You nodded your head eagerly. “I need to hear it from you. A nod isn’t enough.”

You blinked up at him, lips parted, your pulse hammering against his grip at your throat.

He leaned forward, searching your face. The weight of his gaze pinned you down more than his body did.

“I-" Your throat bobbed as you swallowed hard, then steadied yourself. “Yes. I want this.”

Something flickered in his eyes, something unguarded, before he leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“If you're willing to step into this, you don’t get to play games. You do as I say. You obey.” His lips hovered dangerously near your ear, his tone commanding. “That’s what I need.”

The hand at your throat loosened, sliding just enough to let you breathe deeply, though the impression of his grip still burned against your skin.

“This is who I am,” he continued, each word deliberate, as though testing you with every confession. “I don’t date. I don’t… do romance. What I want, what I need, is control. Absolute control.”

Your stomach tightened, the flame inside you roaring higher at the raw honesty spilling from him, honesty he clearly hadn’t intended to share with a resident.

His hand flexed at your waist, still restraining himself, still holding back. “If you can’t handle that, you walk out now.” The silence hung heavy, your heart hammering so loudly you swore he could hear it.

But you didn’t move. You met his eyes steadily and whispered, “Show me, then.”

His composure cracked fully, not with a smirk or a scoff, but with a sharp inhale, his pupils darkening as though your words had cut straight through him.

And just like that, the first boundary fell.

In one swift motion, Chishiya yanked your coat off and your scrub bottoms and panties down. You gasped at the sudden exposure. After enjoying the view for a second too long, he placed his cold hand on your bare butt cheek.

"Do you understand why I'm doing this?" He asked, voice low. You bit your lip, "Yes," You finally said, "because I spoke out of turn. Because I suggested a treatment plan without discussing it with you first."

"That's right. And do you regret it?" You were quick to respond to that, your mind already clouded by annoyance again. "Of course not. The parents deserved to hea-" A sharp smacking sound echoed through the quiet room. Your body jolted at the stinging sensation on your left butt cheek. "What the-" Another smack stopped you mid-sentence.

"Am I still hearing protest?" Chishiya asked, voice calm, as if nothing was happening. "I'm sorry." You whispered softly. "'I'm sorry, sir.'" Chishiya corrected you.

"Will it happen again?" He asked while caressing your already reddened skin. "No, sir." You spoke softly.

"Good. I believe ten strokes will be in order then." And with that, his hand came down to your butt once again. Already counting the two smacks before that, his hand met your skin another seven times after the current one. It wasn't necessarily harsh, but enough to make your skin sting.

You were whimpering under his touch, your skin burning. The quiet sounds that left your lips undid something inside him.

His erection was pressing against you, you could feel it through his trousers. The mere feeling of it made your hips twitch. Chishiya noticed. Of course he noticed. No matter how caught up in the moment he was, he could never ignore the way your body was reacting to his.

Without any further warning, he moved his hand away from your butt and in between your legs. You moaned at the sudden touch. "Quiet." Chishiya said softly, his fingers now covered in your juices. You didn't even have time to react when he slid his middle finger inside you. His breathing was heavy as he clenched his teeth together, refraining himself from moaning at the soft and warm feeling of your walls around his digit.

You tried to stay silent, but when he started pumping his finger in and out of you, the sloppy sounds taking over the quietness of the room, you lost control over yourself. The moans came out eager, your hips bucking against him eagerly.

"I said quiet." Chishiya spoke through gritted teeth, his free hand finding your hair and gripping a fistful of it. He pressed your head against the mattress, your moans becoming quiet, muffled sounds. And then he added a second finger, pumping them, curling them somewhere deep inside you.

Your mind was racing. You had long forgotten what was actually happening here, and more importantly, who it was happening with. All you could focus on was the way your body was reacting to what he was doing to you. The way your hips bucked involuntarily, a knot forming in your lower regions. You focused on the way he curled his fingers at precisely the right spot, as if he knew your body better than you did. And his clothed erection still pressing against you only proved that he wanted this, too.

And he did. Most importantly, he wanted you to learn your lesson and feel good about it. Right now, his only goal was to make you come around his fingers. To make you come while you lay sprawled across his lap. And once you did, he would grab your still sensitive body, sit you up to straddle him, and shove his cock into you. You didn't deserve any trace of mercy for the way you had treated him earlier. He just wanted to fuck you until you weren't able to walk straight.

He almost moaned at the mere thought of it, fastening his pace, thrusting his fingers even deeper inside you. And then he felt it, your walls starting to clench around them. His cock twitched inside his trousers from excitement. He pressed your face harder against the mattress. Truly a shame, he thought to himself. He just wanted to hear those dirty moans leave your lips. He wanted you to say his name when you came for him.

Your orgasm crashed over you, his fingers guiding you through it. He threw his head back, groaning a soft "That's it." before his eyes were back on your body, watching the way you came undone.

When you had come down from your high, the grip on your hair loosened and you lifted your head, taking a deep breath. Chishiya grabbed you with both hands and moved you onto his laps, your legs straddling him. You were still trying to catch your breath, when he fumbled with his belt, the soft clang of metal mixing with your heavy breathing.

You rubbed your cunt against his cock, leaving a visible wet stain on his trousers. You grinned, but Chishiya smacked that grin right out of your face. His fingers stayed on your face after slapping your cheek, but before he could say anything, both your pagers went off.

"Fuck!" He cursed loudly, the desperation heavy in his voice. You jumped off his lap, already collecting your scattered panties and trousers.

Chishiya had already straightened, buttoning his white coat, hiding the evidence of your mark on his pants.

He glanced at the pager, his tone sharp again. “It’s the girl in 304. Get dressed and meet me there.” And then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

You tugged your clothes back on, fumbling with the buttons in a hurry, your mind whiplashing from the heated intimacy of seconds ago to the urgency of now. Then you ran, the soles of your shoes slapping against the linoleum floor as you rushed back to the unit.

The moment you arrived, the air was thick with tension. A young girl, barely five, lay pale and gasping on the bed, her tiny chest rising in desperate, shallow movements. A nurse pressed an oxygen mask to her face while another barked for the crash cart. The monitors screamed with every dip in her oxygen saturation.

Chishiya was already there, stethoscope pressed to her chest, his brows furrowed in concentration. He pulled the earpieces free, his voice calm. “It’s fluids. We’ll have to drain them. Thoracentesis.”

You didn’t hesitate. While the nurses prepped the child, you moved quickly, gathering the supplies: antiseptic, sterile gloves, large-bore needle with catheter, collection bottles. You laid them out in order, your hands steady despite the adrenaline surging through you.

When the tray was ready, you held it up, expecting him to take the gloves and begin. But instead, he shook his head once, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “You do it.”

Your eyes flicked to his, searching for any trace of doubt. There was none. Just quiet certainty. Trust. You swallowed hard and nodded, pulling on the sterile gloves.

The process unfolded step by step, your focus narrowing to a sharp point. You swabbed the skin with antiseptic, then palpated for the correct spot between the ribs, midway up the chest wall, where you could avoid blood vessels and nerves.

The girl whimpered softly. You murmured to her, your voice gentle, promising that she was safe.

With one last deep breath, you inserted the needle. A brief resistance, then a sudden give, the unmistakable shift as you entered the pleural space. Clear fluid rushed into the catheter, the pressure in her tiny chest beginning to ease.

“Good,” Chishiya murmured from beside you, his presence solid and steady at your shoulder. His hand hovered near yours, not intervening, only there if you needed it. “Keep it slow. Controlled.”

You did. Carefully, you let the fluid drain into the bottle, watching her breathing gradually improve, her chest rising a little deeper, a little stronger.

When you finally withdrew the catheter, securing the dressing with deft fingers, the girl’s oxygen saturation climbed steadily on the monitor. Relief rippled through the room. You exhaled, realising only now that you hadn't dared to breathe the entire time.

Chishiya leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not bad.” It wasn’t exactly praise, but the glimmer in his eyes told you more than words ever could.

The girl was stable. Her tiny chest rose and fell evenly now, her oxygen levels holding steady. The monitors no longer screamed but hummed quietly, a steady rhythm that let the entire room exhale at once.

You peeled off your gloves, tossing them into the bin, your hands trembling faintly as the rush of adrenaline ebbed. It was the kind of tremor only you noticed, easily masked by the calm expression you wore for the child’s parents, who hovered nearby in tears of relief.

The head nurse gave your shoulder a firm squeeze, her lined face softening with rare approval. “Good work, doctor.”

Doctor. Not resident. Not girl. Doctor.

Several of the younger nurses exchanged looks, whispers following in the wake of your performance. You had earned their respect, not just for being kind, not just for lending a hand when others thought themselves above it, but for proving you had the skill to back it up.

And still, despite their chatter, your gaze kept sliding to Chishiya. He was standing off to the side, arms crossed, eyes on you. He didn’t say a word. Not in front of them. But you felt it, the weight of his attention, the subtle difference in the way he watched you.

The whispers at the nurses’ station picked up again after the girl was wheeled away for monitoring.

“She’s good,” one nurse murmured.

“She has to be good, considering Dr. Chishiya let her do the procedure.”

“Not just let her. He trusted her.”

“And the way he looked at her-" Giggles were shared between the nurses. The jealous nurse said nothing this time. Her silence was louder than words.

Later, when the ward calmed and everyone dispersed, you found yourself alone in the corridor with him. You expected him to ignore you. To act as though the entire event was already erased from his memory. But instead, his voice cut through the quiet.

“You kept your hands steady,” he said without looking at you. His tone was cool, dismissive even. “Most residents would have hesitated.” You smiled faintly. “Are you saying you’re impressed, Dr. Chishiya?” His eyes finally met yours, sharp as a scalpel. “Don’t push it.”

That night, sleep eluded you. You lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, your mind spinning in loops that refused to settle. The procedure replayed in vivid detail. Your steady hands, the moment the fluid drained, the relief on the girl’s face as her breathing eased. Pride warmed your chest. You had done it.

But what kept you awake wasn’t just the emergency. It was everything that had happened minutes before it. His words. His grip. His control. The way he had almost unraveled before the pagers went off.

You turned in bed, pressing your cheek into the pillow. What more would have happened, if the alarm hadn’t interrupted? The thought set a strange, hot coil twisting low in your stomach.

Somewhere across the city, Chishiya lay awake too. He stared at the ceiling of his apartment, but all he could see was you. The way you had looked at him when you challenged him. The way you hadn’t flinched when he pushed too far. The way you had handled yourself in the emergency, obedient when you had to be.

It should have filled him with satisfaction, even pride. Instead, it filled him with need. A gnawing, restless hunger that only worsened the longer he fought it.

His hand twitched towards his waistband once, but he stopped, jaw clenching. No. That wouldn’t be enough. Taking care of it himself would feel hollow. His body knew what it wanted. Who it wanted.

And that was the problem.

The next day, the entire ward felt the edge in him. He was sharper than usual, every word clipped like the cut of a scalpel. Nurses avoided his path, residents shrank under the weight of his irritation.

He let you do your work, only checking in with you a handful of times, his gaze lingering longer than it should each time. The more he was around you, the tighter the coil in him wound, impossible to ignore.

By the end of the day, he was a storm barely contained in human skin.

You were at the nurses’ station, returning the last of the charts. The ward was quiet now, the air heavy with the calm before the night shift. You stacked the files neatly, already picturing the changing room, the relief of shedding your coat.

Then you felt it. Heat. Breath. A presence just behind you, close enough to make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. His voice ghosted into your ear. “Are you free tonight?”

The words weren’t casual. They weren’t a question so much as a demand, framed in velvet but sharpened with intent.

You froze, your hand still resting on the chart, your pulse thundering in your throat. Slowly, you turned your head just enough to see him from the corner of your eye. His arms were crossed as usual, his expression carved from ice, but his pupils blown wide, betraying him.

And just like that, every sleepless thought from last night roared back to life. You weren’t ready to give in that easily. Not to him. Not to the man who had made you feel worthless in the beginning, who only let cracks show when he lost control.

So instead of answering, you tilted your head, voice light as you said, “What’s this? Are you actually asking me out?”

For a fraction of a second, his brows knitted together, not in amusement, but in the faintest flicker of disbelief. It was subtle, but you caught it, and your stomach dropped.

“I’m joking,” you said quickly, your hand flying up in mock surrender.

The silence stretched heavily between you, every tick of the clock behind the nurses’ station amplified. His gaze pinned you in place, waiting.

Finally, you exhaled and admitted, “I’m free tonight. After dinner.”

That was all he needed. His jaw tightened, a muscle feathering along his cheek as he gave a single, firm nod. “Good,” he said. “We’ll grab something on the way to my place.”

It took a second too long for your brain to process.

His place? Your lips parted, eyes widening slightly. “Wait, you mean right after work?”

He didn’t even bother answering. He had already made up his mind the moment you had said the words I’m free.

You tried to recover, stumbling over your words. “I didn’t mean it like that! We obviously don’t have to grab dinner together."

But Chishiya was already walking away, his white coat brushing past the corner of the corridor. His voice drifted back, not even granting you a glance over his shoulder, "I know. Meet me in the parking lot.” And then he was gone.

You stood there, stunned. Shocked, maybe. Surprised, definitely. But more than anything, your stomach buzzed with an anticipation you couldn’t quite smother.

Slowly, almost against your own will, a smile curved your lips as you turned towards the changing rooms, taking a quick shower before walking to the parking lot.

In the adjoining corridor, someone else had heard.

The nurse stood frozen, her back pressed against the wall, her nails digging crescents into her palms. Every word had carried across the quiet hall, every detail enough to confirm what the gossip had only dared to suggest.

Her breath came uneven, as she moved towards the window that overlooked the lot. She stood there, waiting, watching.

Minutes later, she saw you emerge, coat draped over your arm, hair still slightly mussed from the long shift. And then she saw him. Chishiya. Already by his car, leaning casually against it as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

When you slid into the passenger seat and the doors shut, the faintest smile still lingering on your face, something inside her snapped.

The car ride was quiet, the hum of the tires on asphalt filling the silence. You shifted in your seat, fingers drumming lightly against your thigh.

“Do you always drive in complete silence?” you asked finally, the corner of your lips twitching. Chishiya’s hands tightened ever so slightly on the wheel. He didn’t look at you when he answered. “I like to focus on the road. Better than listening to music. Or worse, the radio.”

That earned him a soft laugh, one you tried to stifle with your hand. Control freak, you thought to yourself. “What’s so amusing?” His voice was sharp, but curiosity threaded through it. “Nothing.” You shook your head, biting your lip to keep the truth from slipping out.

From the corner of your eye, you caught the quick glance he shot you. His jaw was tense, his eyes darker than the dim interior of the car should allow.

“Stop biting that damn lip of yours,” he muttered, his tone low, almost a growl.

Your pulse quickened, heat curling in your stomach. “What’s a worse distraction then? Some light music or me biting my lip?” you teased, your voice soft but laced with defiance.

He didn’t answer. Not out loud, anyway. In his head, the words burned: You running that damn mouth of yours. His fingers twitched against the steering wheel, and he cursed silently as a familiar pressure built beneath his belt.

Chishiya’s apartment wasn’t far. A sleek, modern complex that screamed understated luxury. You stepped out of the car and looked up, wide-eyed.

“We didn't get anything to eat,” you said, half to yourself. He rolled his eyes, lowering his voice in a way that didn’t reach you. “Don’t you worry. We’ll find something to fill your mouth with.”

“What?” you asked, turning towards him. His jaw clenched once, then again, before he let out a breath, voice more composed. “We can order something.”

Inside, the elevator hummed softly as it carried you both up. The mirrored walls reflected back your shifting forms, the silence pressing in again, heavier this time.

You inhaled, whispering almost to yourself, “This seems like a very fancy building.” Leaning slightly forward, you tried to peer around him to catch a glimpse of the floor numbers climbing higher. That small, innocent movement tipped everything.

Chishiya snapped. His hand was at your throat in an instant, pinning you back against the cold mirror. His grip was firm and demanding. His breath hit your cheek a heartbeat before his lips crashed against yours.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands flying up in reflex, only to be caught in his grasp. His fingers wrapped around your wrists, pressing them into the glass above your head.

You kissed him back and it was fire meeting gasoline. His lips moved over yours with a desperate precision, devouring. His body pressed into you fully, chest to chest, hips caging you against the mirrored wall. There was no escape, no space between you, just heat and want.

Every shift of his mouth told a story of restraint cracking, of control he could no longer maintain. And when his tongue swept across yours, the elevator might as well have disappeared.

Your lungs burned, your pulse thundered, but you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t.

The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, shattering the haze you had both been pulled under.

Chishiya pulled back instantly, his hand falling from your wrists as though nothing had just happened. He stepped out, leaving you breathless, lips tingling, heat still curling low in your stomach. You trailed after him, wondering what the hell that had just been.

His apartment matched him perfectly: clean, sleek, modern. Sterile, almost. White walls, no warmth, no personal touches. It was beautiful but cold, like the man himself.

He slipped off his shoes and padded into the kitchen, where pristine countertops stretched beneath untouched appliances. A drawer opened, and he pulled out a small stack of leaflets.

“Pick something,” he said simply, tossing them onto the island. “Anything. I’ll be fine with whatever.” You picked them up, flipping through menus. “Seems like a big responsibility,” you murmured.

Chishiya poured a glass of water and slid it towards you without looking. “I think you’ll manage.” You raised the glass, quirking a brow. “What, is wine too much rendezvous-like?”

“I don’t consume alcohol.” His tone was clipped, final. “Of course not,” you muttered into the rim, sipping anyway.

When you finally settled on a place, he wordlessly picked up his phone and ordered online, barely glancing at the menu before choosing something. Efficient. Detached. Exactly him.

But the silence that followed wasn’t detached, it was heavy, still burning with the memory of his lips on yours. Your cheeks flamed.

“So…” you said finally, twisting the glass between your palms. “Is this it? The part where you show me your secret sex dungeon?”

His brows knitted, but the corner of his mouth tugged, just slightly. “This isn’t Fifty Shades of Grey,” he said, his voice flat, but the smallest trace of amusement there.

You gasped, hand flying to your chest in mock shock. “Wait- you know it?”

He exhaled that familiar breathy sound, almost a laugh but not quite. “If that’s what you were expecting, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

He took his own glass, lifted it to his lips, then nodded towards the couch. You followed, sitting beside him, the cushions dipping between your bodies.

He leaned back casually, but his eyes locked on yours. “This isn’t something story-telling-worthy,” he said slowly. “There are no contracts. But there will be rules. Not many. Just things that matter to me. Or to you, if you have any."

Your throat tightened. “Like what?” He sipped his water, then tilted his head against the cushion, looking devastatingly composed.

“You don’t touch me. Not unless I allow you to. Which will probably be never." His voice was steady, his eyes never wavering. “You don’t lay with anyone else while this lasts. And I won’t, either. You don’t lie to me. About anything.”You swallowed, your pulse hammering. “That’s it?”

“Not entirely.” He shifted, resting his elbow along the back of the couch, the picture of calm control. “You don’t run your mouth when I tell you to stop. You follow instructions when I give them. And if you can’t do that, then this ends before it even begins.” His eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your gaze. “Can you handle that?”

You nodded slowly, choosing silence over the words hovering at the edge of your tongue, that what he described almost sounded relationship-like… minus the whole dating part. But you believed you could be okay with this. Maybe.

His gaze lingered. Then he added, “Either one of us can end this whenever. No explanations needed.” You tilted your head, chewing your lip before asking, “So, say I don’t enjoy the night with you… we can just go back to supervising doctor and resident tomorrow morning?”

For the briefest moment, his lips twitched. Almost a laugh. Almost. His eyes softened, if only for a second, as if your shy but surprisingly blunt honesty amused him. He nodded once.

“So basically…” you pressed, clarifying carefully, “this is… a sexual relationship? Without the romance part, and without any intimacy except a physical one?”

Chishiya leaned back against the couch, water glass balanced loosely in his hand. He gave a slight nod, though his eyes stayed sharp, studying every flicker of your expression.

“All right,” you said at last, voice steadier than you expected. “If this is what you want…”

Chishiya inhaled, the breath subtle but weighted. This is the only way I want things to be, he told himself firmly. The words had come easily before, to others. Rehearsed and clean.

But when he said it to you-

“This is the only way I want things to be.”

-something twisted in his chest. A pause. A hesitation that shouldn’t be there. As if the words weren’t entirely true. As if some buried part of him was already resisting.

He took another sip, hiding it. Your eyes searched his. Then, finally, you gave a small nod, the tiniest curve ghosting at the corner of your lips. “…then I’m willing to try.”

The silence stretched between you, the air weighted by unspoken promises. For once, Chishiya didn’t retreat behind his usual clipped commands or cool detachment. Instead, he leaned back into the couch cushions, and asked, “So. Why paediatrics?”

It was such a normal question that it almost startled you. His voice was steady, casual even, but you could see it for what it was: a diversion, a way to keep his mind and his body in check until the food arrived.

You tilted your head, biting back a smile. “Why not paediatrics?” He hummed faintly. “Most new doctors chase the prestige. Cardiology. Surgery. Trauma. Paediatrics doesn’t exactly come with bragging rights.”

You shrugged, your gaze locked on his, deliberately unblinking. “Maybe I like taking care of things other people underestimate.” His eyes narrowed just slightly, catching the undertone immediately. “Is that so?”

“Mm,” you said, leaning forward just enough for your knee to brush his. “I’ve always liked… challenges.”

The faintest crease formed at the corner of his mouth. He studied you carefully, and you could see the war behind his eyes. He was supposed to ignore this. To keep the lines sharp. But your voice, your eyes, your barely-there grin, it all chipped at his composure.

“And you?” you asked lightly, your tone laced with quiet mischief. “Why paediatrics? Was it the children… or the thrill of bossing around terrified residents?”

His gaze sharpened, a flash of heat that made your breath catch. He didn’t answer, not right away. His lips parted as though he might, then the doorbell chimed. The sound sliced the tension in two.

Chishiya’s jaw clenched. He pushed himself off the couch without another word and crossed the apartment to the door. Only when the lock clicked did you realise you had been holding your breath. You let it out slowly, your lungs aching, your skin hot.

You followed him into the kitchen as he unpacked the takeout, setting containers down. He pulled two plates from a cabinet, laid out chopsticks.

You slid onto one of the stools at the island, unwrapping your food, but your eyes kept wandering. To the sharp angle of his jaw under the lights. To the long, precise lines of his fingers against the wooden chopsticks. To the looseness of his posture that didn’t hide the coil of tension still wound tight beneath the surface.

You barely touched your food. Chishiya caught your stare. His exhale was heavy and frustrated.

“You either start eating your food,” he said, voice low, the edge of a growl under the words, “or stop staring at me…”

“…because if you don’t, I’ll take you right on this counter.” Your breath hitched, chopsticks faltering in your hand. A hot rush of excitement shot through your veins, settling low in your stomach.

And yet, you couldn’t look away.

Chishiya dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, folding it neatly on the counter.

And finally, he looked at you. Your lips parted, your chest tight as though the air itself had thickened between you. Slowly, you wet your lips with your tongue, never breaking eye contact.

The flicker of movement changed something in him. His jaw clenched, and he shook his head once.

“Fine,” he said, voice rougher. “I gave you a choice.”

Then he was behind you, one hand tangling into your hair, the other pressing you forward until your cheek met the cool surface of the island. His body loomed over yours, heat radiating, restraint hanging by the thinnest thread.

His breath grazed your ear, “Don’t ever think you can tease me like that without being punished for it.”

A shiver coursed down your spine. Your voice slipped out soft and innocent, but deliberately so. “Sorry, sir.”

Your hips shifted, pressing back against him, a clear provocation. That was the final snap.

He yanked you upright by your hair, pulling you against him with a sharpness that made your pulse thunder. His movements were controlled. Dragging you towards the hallway, his grip was unrelenting, every step pulsing with the weight of a decision long postponed. You stumbled after him, adrenaline spiking.

“What happened to ‘right on this counter’?” you teased breathlessly, unable to help yourself. He stopped just short of the bedroom door, yanking your face close to his. His gaze bored into yours, searing.

His fingers trailed across your lips, featherlight, mocking. “Changed my mind,” he murmured, tone razor-sharp. “I’ll take my sweet time with you. And take care of that smug mouth of yours first.”

Before you could respond, two of his fingers slipped past your lips, pressing against your tongue, his eyes locked on you as though daring you to resist.

The world blurred, all sound muffled except the thrum of your pulse and the heat of his breath.

Then, without another word, he tugged you forward, shoving open the bedroom door and dragging you inside.

The door shut with a decisive click. "Undress yourself." He commanded. You blinked at him once. "Now." He added eagerly.

You started peeling your clothes off. He walked to the bedside table, turning on the lamp. The room was filled with a soft and warm light. When he turned around, you could see it in his eyes that you were not undressing yourself fast enough.

So you hurried, stepping out of your jeans, while the only thing he got rid off was his cardigan.

And then he watched you. Your underwear was the only layer of clothes left. His eyes burned into you, his lips curling in the faintest hint of a smirk. He didn't have to say a word. You were already unhooking your bra, your eyes quickly drifting to the floor.

"You're beautiful." He said quietly as he stepped closer. He didn't even know what made him say it. But he wanted to ease the tension you were currently feeling, your whole body stiff from it.

Chishiya stood in front of you, arms crossed. "Look at me." You lifted your gaze, eyes meeting his so innocently. The stinging feeling loomed inside his chest again. That you might not be what he needs. That he might not be what you need. But he couldn't stop himself.

"I'm not gentle. Don't expect cosy love-making from me. If things become too much and you want me to slow down, you say 'yellow'. If you want me to stop immediately, you say 'red'. Do you understand?" He didn't step closer, didn't cage you in, because he didn't want you to feel pressured. Almost instantly, you nodded. "Use your words." Chishiya said, raising his eyebrow.

"Yes. I understand." You said, trying to keep your voice steady. "Do you still want this?" He asked with caution. "Yes." The word came out faster than anticipated. "Sir." You added teasingly.

Chishiya walked around you, coming up behind you, clearly satisfied with your answer. "Hands behind your back." There was no fight in you when you did as he said. You heard the clang of metal as he undid his belt, using it to tie your hands together tightly.

He placed one hand on top of your head, "Now get on your knees."

Once you were settled on your knees, Chishiya moved in front of you, his hand never leaving your head. You were face to face with his crotch. A spark of excitement shot through you as he started to undo his trousers. You clenched your legs together as his cock came into view. He was rock hard, the tip leaking the smallest bit of pre-cum.

"Fuck, Chishiya." You moaned at the sight of him. He was quick to slap your cheek, "You speak only when I ask you to." That was his usual rule. But hearing you moan his name like that did something to him. Something unlike anything he's ever felt before. This reaction, this... feeling unsettled him. So he quickly added, "Now keep that bold mouth of yours open and stick your tongue out."

You did and when you looked up at him with those pretty eyes, he had to clench his teeth not to moan out involuntarily. He slid his cock into your mouth, his entire length until the tip reached the back of your throat and your nose touched his pelvis. A low growl escaped his throat.

You tried to breathe through your nose, but it still felt as if you weren't getting enough air. When you tried to move your head, he grabbed a fistful of your hair, holding your head in place until you started choking on him. Only then did he push your head backwards, pulling his cock out of your mouth, allowing you to take a deep breath.

His dick was already glistening with your saliva. Satisfaction plastered his face, mixed with something wicked, as he rammed his cock back into your mouth. He gave you no time to adjust to the situation. The only choice you had was keeping your mouth open for him as he fucked it mercilessly. "That's it." He groaned through clenched teeth. The room was filled with sloppy sounds, saliva flowing down your chin in a massive amount.

His grip in your hair was harsh, moving you exactly how he wanted you to. He was in control. Or at least that's what he thought. You closed your mouth around him, giving you the ability to actually suck him, despite his attempts to just fuck your mouth and being in complete control. His eyes shot down to yours, "Fuck, I said keep your mouth open!" His words sounded way too desperate. The corners of your mouth curled upwards wickedly as you opened your mouth again, looking up at him as innocently as possible.

But you weren't keen on giving up so easily. So whenever he pulled his hips back, eager to slam them into you again, you swirled your tongue around his tip.

Chishiya, however, saw right through you. He should have been annoyed with how boldly you ignored his orders. And worse, enjoyed doing it.

He gave a yank on your hair, pulling you upwards. "Get up." His voice was commanding, but there was desperation hidden beneath his icy tone. You struggled to get on your feet with your hands bound behind your back. Once you stood in front of him, he smacked your cheek, the slap echoing through the now quiet room. His hand gripped your face, pulling it closer towards his. "What is it with you and not wanting to follow simple instructions?"

You grinned shamelessly, the view of it making his breath hitch in his throat. Your light mascara had now started to run down your cheeks, your face wet with your own saliva, probably mixed with some of his pre-cum. You were breathing heavily, your jaw was aching. He wanted to memorise every part of this. Of you.

"I told you I like a challenge. Besides, don't tell me you didn't enjoy that." You raised your eyebrows at him. Oh, how desperate he was to just smack that expression off your face. Everything in him told him to punish you, to teach you a lesson. But his instincts betrayed him. In one fierce action, he claimed your lips with his. The kiss was rough, his tongue slipping into your mouth. He didn't know what had come over him to act like this, but he couldn't stop himself.

He pulled away abruptly, frustrated with himself. "Get on the bed. Now." He growled. Your feet carried you over there, your head still dizzy. "Lay on your back. Head facing me." He instructed and for once, you did as he said. You tried to get comfortable, your tied hands nestling uncomfortably beneath your weight.

Chishiya grabbed your arms and pulled you closer to the edge of the bed, your head now dangling down. He gave his cock a stroke before lining it up at your mouth. "Open up. And keep it fucking open." You obeyed, his length sliding back into you.

From this position, you could feel it in your throat. He started thrusting his hips immediately, ignoring your gagging sounds completely. He leaned forward, placing his hands on the mattress as he fucked his cock into you.

You moaned around him. "You truly are insufferable." He moaned. His hand shot to your tit, squeezing it harshly before giving it a smack, his fingers now playing with your nipple. Your legs clenched together involuntarily at the sensation.

A low and breathy sound escaped Chishiya's throat. "Open your legs for me." The sound of his voice had your cunt throbbing. He pulled his cock out of your mouth, long strings of saliva still connecting the two of you. He pushed three fingers inside your mouth, collecting your saliva before he moved his hand to your cunt, mixing it with your juices. He started rubbing your clit in just the right motions. You wanted to close your legs to get more friction. Chishiya immediately withdrew his fingers. He kneeled in front of you, his wet fingers grabbing your face, forcing you to look at him. "I swear, if you don't keep those fucking legs open, I will tie them to the bedposts."

"Sorry, sir." Your voice was merely a whisper. His eyes stayed on yours a while longer, before finally returning to his previous position. He shoved his cock back into your mouth, leaning back forward to rub your clit. He moved his hips, his dick thrusting in and out of your mouth. Your head was spinning.

He buried his cock deep down your throat and stilled, moving his hand further down your cunt to insert two of his fingers into you. You moaned loudly, the vibrations in your throat tickling his sensitive tip.

Chishiya growled above you, forcing his hips to move backwards, granting you some air as he started to pump his fingers in and out of you.

You bucked your hips, trying to move them upwards, needing his fingers even deeper inside you. You were a moaning mess, desperately chasing your release.

Chishiya had long forgotten about fucking your mouth, his dick just inches away from your face. He was too caught up in getting you closer to your high. The way you squirmed under his touch granted him just as much satisfaction.

And then your orgasm hit you. Chishiya remained silent while letting you ride out your high, his fingers curled deep inside you.

Once your legs stopped shaking, Chishiya moved you to fully lie on the mattress, turning you around so your head was no longer facing him. Your face was flushed, all the blood having rushed into it. The mattress dipped as Chishiya placed one knee in between your legs.

"Next time, you ask for permission if you want to come." Your head shot up, eyes meeting his. You scoffed, but before you could protest, his hand slapped against your cunt. The words you had on your tongue turned into a moan.

His fingers were back inside you, using the thumb of his other hand to rub your clit. You were way too sensitive for this. His fingers moved with the same precision as they did before. The knot in your lower abdomen formed way too fast again. You tried to move up on the bed, getting away from his touch, but he only gripped your hips, holding you down with force.

"Fuck!" The words came out way too loud. When you tried to press your legs together, he smacked your thigh and forced it back against the mattress. When you tried to move your hips, he pressed his flat hand against your lower belly, keeping you down. There was no escaping him. You were getting closer to the edge. "Please!" You practically begged. "Please, what?" Chishiya's voice was calm, not at all matching any of the events currently happening. "Please, let me come."

"No." His answer was short, his tone clipped. You threw your head back in frustration. "Chish- Sir, I can't-"

He stilled his fingers inside you, curling them, his thumb now rubbing your clit. This alone was enough to throw you over the edge. You tried to fight it, but your walls were already clenching around his fingers. "I'm gonna-"

"No." He repeated, withdrawing his hand from your cunt, your legs desperately clenching together in need for friction.

You looked at him in disbelief. Chishiya stood at the edge of the bed, arms crossed. "It makes you feel rather uneasy, doesn't it? Not being able to get the satisfaction you so desperately need." You swallowed hard, your eyes not leaving his. The corners of his mouth curled upwards. "Now you know exactly how I've been feeling."

You wanted to throw some snappy comeback at him, but you knew better. Worst case scenario: He would leave you exactly like this, unfinished, desperate, needy. "Please," you whispered softly. Chishiya just raised his brows at you. "Please, just fuck me, sir."

He walked around the bed in two long strides and leaned down, his face just a couple of inches away from you, "Careful what you wish for." He opened the drawer of his nightstand and retrieved a condom. He was tired of waiting any longer, of teasing you any longer.

He stopped in his tracks as he realised that. He should not be the one being this desperate. He never was desperate. He enjoyed teasing the women he was with, until they begged for his cock. You've only asked for it once. He would have laughed at himself for giving in so easily. But at the same time, he couldn't stop himself.

He had never wanted anything so bad. In quick motions, he finally removed his clothes, rolling the condom onto his cock, that was still sticky from your saliva.

And when he looked at you, when he saw your pretty eyes on him, an unsettling feeling found its way into his chest. He couldn't name it. It's not like anything he's ever experienced before.

"Turn over." He spoke coldly, his tone sending shivers down your spine. But you tried to roll over. When you weren't fast enough, Chishiya grabbed your hips and guided you onto your knees. Your upper body now pressed against the mattress, your ass sticking up.

One hand was on your ass, the other grabbing your tied hands, as he slowly slid his length into you. This was it. Everything he had been aching for ever since you started to work with him.

You moaned into the mattress, satisfied by the feeling of his cock stretching your cunt. He started to move, thrusting into you with force, holding onto the belt around your wrists to slam your body against his. You didn't even need time to adjust to his girth, your cunt was dripping wet, his dick sliding in and out of you with ease. You could already feel the unsatisfied orgasm from before creeping its way back.

Chishiya leaned forward, burying his cock deep inside you as he grabbed your hair and pulled your upper body up. His hand found your throat, keeping you pressed against him. His other hand slid down to your clit, rubbing gently. And when his hand started choking you, your walls started clenching around him. "Sir, please-" you moaned.

"Do you want to come, huh?" He growled in your ear, his teeth grazing the soft lobe before moving down and biting into your shoulder.

"Yes, please." The desperation had you practically yell out. Chishiya let go of you, your upper body crashing back down onto the mattress. He withdrew his cock and slid his fingers inside you, fucking you with them until your legs gave out and you collapsed onto the mattress. He couldn't dare have you come around his cock, because he would just follow your lead. He curled his fingers at just the right spot, once, twice...

The wave of orgasm crashed over you with a force that was unlike anything you ever experienced before. Your body jerked involuntarily as he tried to use his free hand to hold you in place.

He removed the belt from your hands and flipped you over. "No touching." He reminded you. And then he slammed his cock back into you. Your senses were heightened, everything felt too much, the electricity of your orgasm still shooting through you, making you see stars.

His cock hit that spot deep inside you, your hands grabbing the sheets in desperation. And when his hand moved between your legs, finding your clit, a tear streamed down your face. "No! I can't-"

"Yes, you can. One more time." He spat through clenched teeth. You wanted to cry, the sensation completely overwhelming you. The look on your face was almost enough to send him over the edge. His cock twitched inside of you. "Come for me." He groaned. And despite wanting to pull out of you, rip the condom off and paint your beautiful body with his cum, as soon as your third orgasm of the night washed over you, he couldn't help himself but reach his high with you, filling the condom.

The room was thick with silence, broken only by the sound of your uneven breaths. Your body lay heavy against the mattress, exhaustion humming through every bone, your skin still warm from where his hands had held you down. You wanted to look at him, but you physically weren't able to.

Chishiya removed the condom and sat at the edge of the bed, chest rising and falling more slowly now, gaze fixed on you.

The routine was already mapped out in his head: help you clean up, hand you your clothes, call a cab. It was what he always did. What kept things clean and distant.

But when his eyes trailed over your figure draped across his sheets, something snagged. You looked so… out of place. And yet, not at all. The soft rise of your chest, the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead, the quiet trust in the way you almost fell asleep right there, every detail dug under his skin like splinters.

He told himself to move, to get up, to maintain the detachment he had always mastered. But his body betrayed him. He leaned back instead, as his mind battled itself.

Why did it feel different? Why did the thought of sending you away make his chest tighten, a sharp pang of something dangerously close to care?

“Stupid,” he muttered under his breath, jaw tightening. “You’re not supposed to matter.”

Yet, against all the odds he had set for himself, against all the carefully constructed rules, he let you stay.

When morning came, the faint clatter of dishes was already drifting from the kitchen. You stirred awake, blinking against the soft light peeking through the blinds.

The sheets clung to your bare skin, smelling faintly of him. With a drowsy stretch, you pulled them around you, shuffling into the kitchen where he stood, already dressed, already composed, like nothing had happened.

His gaze flicked up quickly, before darting back down to the mug in his hand.

“Do you mind if I… use your shower?” you asked, clutching the sheets tighter around your body. He paused a beat too long before replying, “Go ahead.”

You nodded, turning to pad softly down the hallway.

His eyes followed you until you disappeared. He let out a slow, frustrated sigh, the kind that scraped his throat on its way out. His hands tightened around the ceramic mug. If only there was time before work… He would have joined you in that shower.

And God help him, he wanted to.

The kitchen smelled faintly of coffee and disinfectant wipes when you walked in. Chishiya stood waiting, dressed in his usual sharp attire, his bag slung over one shoulder. On the counter sat a neatly packed container.

You blinked, picking it up. “What’s this? Lunch?”

“Yesterday’s takeaway,” he replied smoothly, adjusting his sleeve. “Strangely, you never finished it. Despite spending half the night debating which restaurant to pick.” Your lips curved into a grin. “I wonder why.”

He looked at you, expression cold as always, but his jaw twitched, like he was biting back a smile he didn’t want you to see.

You made your way to the hospital together. The air between you was quiet but charged, as if both of you were pretending it was just another morning.

From the parking lot, a pair of eyes followed. The nurse. Her gaze sharpened when she caught sight of you at his side, her chest tightening until it burned. Something had shifted, and she knew she had to do something about it.

The morning passed without drama. Rounds, charts, treatments. The familiar rhythm of the hospital carried you both, slotting you back into the roles of supervising doctor and resident.

“Patient in 212 is responding well to the treatment,” you told him while scribbling notes. “Do you think I can lower her steroid dose? She’s been stable for over 48 hours.”

He tilted his head, considering. For a moment his eyes lingered on you instead of the chart. Then he nodded once. “Fine. Document the change.”

Later, when another family grew restless, Chishiya’s voice cut through the room. He called your name, motioning towards the boy sitting up in bed. “Take this one. He trusts you more than he trusts me.”

Your chest tightened with quiet pride as you knelt beside the patient, explaining the plan in a calm, reassuring tone.

Around the nurses’ station, whispers floated.

“He’s not snapping today.”

“Still cold, but less… sharp.”

“Must’ve slept for once.”

Just before lunch, you fell into step beside him. “You know,” you began, voice light, “the nurses are praising your less cocky behaviour today.”

He stopped, crossing his arms, his eyes narrowing in mock scrutiny. “So you usually find me cocky as well?” You bit your lip, suppressing the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I’d rather not answer that.”

The spark was instant. His gaze zeroed in on your mouth, the movement making something dark flicker in his eyes. His voice dropped. “Didn’t I warn you about biting that lip of yours?”

Your tone turned playful, almost daring. “And what are you going to do about it?”

In one swift motion, his hand cupped your face, tilting it up so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. His voice was a low, dangerous whisper. “Careful. There are plenty of on-call rooms I can take you.”

Before you could fire back, he released you and turned, striding towards his next meeting as if nothing had happened. Leaving you breathless in the hallway, your pulse hammering.

The break room hummed faintly with the microwave, its timer ticking down the last few seconds. You leaned against the counter, arms folded, waiting for the beep. The halls outside were alive with chatter, but in here, it was quiet. Almost too quiet.

The microwave dinged. You pulled your container out, the smell of last night’s food filling the small room.

The door opened and nurse Misaki walked in.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. She busied herself at the sink, but you could feel her eyes flick toward you in the reflection of the metal cupboard.

Finally, her voice broke the silence. “So. Dr. Chishiya and you…?” You set the food down at the table, sliding into a chair with deliberate calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, tone casual, almost dismissive.

She turned then, stepping closer. Her shoes clicked softly against the linoleum. When she spoke again, her words were sharper. “I don’t think you’ll be able to satisfy Master’s needs.”

You nearly choked, coughing against the bite of food you had just taken. Wiping your mouth with a napkin, you looked at her, disbelief painted across your face. “I’m sorry- what did you just say?”

Her expression didn’t flinch. She leaned down, voice lowering as if savouring every word. “You’re nothing special. He’ll get rid of you soon enough. And when he does, I’ll be there to take care of his needs. Like I always have.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of her words settling in. Before you could answer, she tilted her head, her smile oddly sweet. “That’s right. Master Chishiya and I share a past. And I’m not giving up on him easily.”

The air in the break room felt suffocating. Your fork stilled against the container, your throat dry as her words echoed. Shared past. Master.

She straightened, brushing imaginary lint from her scrub top, her eyes never leaving yours. “Enjoy your little moment while it lasts.”

And with that, she turned and left, the door swinging shut behind her. Your appetite was gone. All you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears, the words Master Chishiya repeating in your head like a curse.

A/N: ahem... All I can say is that this is probably one of the smuttiest things I've ever written... And I'm not done yet. So stay tuned for part 3 ♡

You had never felt the hallways of a hospital stretch so endlessly before. The bright lights bounced off the spotlessly white walls and polished floors that clicked softly under the rubber soles of your shoes. This was it: your first day as a resident. Years of late-night studying, endless exams, and practicum rotations had led you here, to the paediatric wing of Sakurazawa University Hospital in Tokyo.

You tried to steady your breathing as you clutched your clipboard a little too tightly. The smell of disinfectant and the distant sounds of crying children reminded you where you were and that now, you weren’t just observing anymore. You were here to work.

Your supervising physician, Dr. Kato, greeted you with a warm smile when you found him at the nurses’ station. His kind eyes instantly eased some of the tension in your shoulders. He welcomed you, introducing you to a few nurses and orderlies before starting you on your first round of patients. Dr. Kato's presence was reassuring, like the calm in the storm, and you silently thanked the universe for assigning you to him.

It wasn’t long before you noticed the nurses teasing each other, all while sneaking quick glances towards a man who approached from the other end of the hallway. He didn’t walk so much as glide with effortless confidence, his lab coat swinging slightly with each step. His hair was tied back in a low ponytail and though his expression was impossible for you to read, his gaze was sharp enough to cut through glass.

“Dr. Shuntarō Chishiya,” Dr. Kato explained quietly, noticing your eyes follow him. “One of the best in the department. Brilliant, but… difficult.”

You nodded, though your chest tightened as the man drew closer. You had heard the name before. In fact, everyone had. He was young for his position, a paediatrician already respected for his diagnostic skills, though whispered stories always mentioned his coldness.

When Dr. Kato greeted him politely, Dr. Chishiya’s response was no more than a curt nod. His eyes flicked over you briefly, somewhat impassively, before he continued on his way. That look alone left your stomach twisting. It wasn’t even hostile, just… indifferent. Like you hadn’t even registered as worth his time.

Your first patient was a cheerful five-year-old boy with asthma. You knelt by his bedside, introducing yourself softly, your voice steadier with him than it had been with any of the adults. He grinned at you, asking if you were a “real doctor.” You assured him you were, and the ease with which he laughed warmed you. The nurses smiled at the way you handled him.

But the moment Dr. Chishiya’s voice rang out across the hall, unimpressed as he discussed lab results with a group of doctors, your confidence faltered again.

Later, while recording vitals at the nurses’ station, one of the nurses, a tall woman with a neat bun and warm smile, leaned over. “Don’t let him scare you,” she whispered, nodding subtly towards Chishiya’s retreating figure. “He’s like that with everyone. But you’ll do fine.” You smiled back, grateful for her kindness, even if your chest still ached with nerves.

By the time your first day ended, your legs ached and your head swam with details. But one thing stood out among the blur: Dr. Chishiya’s sharp eyes, that single disinterested glance that made you feel like you were already failing some test you didn’t even know you were taking.

And deep down, you knew this was only the beginning.

When you were finally ready to go home, you already felt a little lighter than you expected. It wasn’t easy, your head was crammed with patient charts and treatment notes, but you hadn’t been swallowed whole.

To your surprise, the nurses had taken to you almost immediately. The younger ones giggled at your clumsy attempts to keep pace with them and the older ones teased you gently, giving advice without condescension. Even the head nurse, a stern woman with decades of experience who was infamous for scowling at new doctors, softened when she watched you crouch down to comfort a crying toddler. Later, she muttered under her breath that you “might turn out all right after all.” Coming from her, you knew it was as good as a compliment.

You hadn’t hesitated to help either, fetching supplies, holding a child steady during a blood draw, even carrying a tray of used syringes back to the disposal room. Most doctors acted as though that work was beneath them, but to you, it just felt natural.

By the time you left, exhausted but buoyed, the nurses gave you small waves and promises of coffee together soon. And finally, you felt welcome and accepted.

The next morning, however, reality came crashing back.

Morning rounds were different from the rhythm of the day before. Instead of the warmth of the nurses or the reassurance of Dr. Kato, you were now among a group of residents clustered nervously in a hallway, waiting. The air was taut with dread.

And then he appeared. Dr. Chishiya moved with the same detached calm as yesterday, clipboard in hand. His presence alone silenced the hallway. Without preamble, he began quizzing the residents as you went from room to room. You quickly realised how much he disliked you all. It was in every clipped question, every sigh of irritation, every unimpressed glance. No answer seemed to satisfy him.

A resident beside you stammered through a diagnosis, her answers all wrong. Another tried to compensate with confidence, but Dr. Chishiya’s flat “No” cut him down instantly. The air grew heavier with each exchange.

When his eyes landed on you, your heart nearly stopped. “Your turn,” he said coolly. You scrambled to recall the case file in your hand, but the words caught in your throat. “I- I think-"

“Speak up,” Dr. Chishiya cut in, his voice sharp but quiet, each syllable laced with disdain. His gaze never wavered and you felt your face heat under its weight.

Embarrassment churned in your stomach, but you forced yourself to breathe. One deep inhale, and you pushed the answer out before you could overthink it. You listed the key symptoms, tied them together, and offered the diagnosis you were sure of.

For a moment, silence stretched between you.

Then Chishiya’s eyes narrowed slightly. He tilted his head, the smallest movement, but unmistakable. His lips didn’t curve, no words of approval passed, but he gave a single nod. His gaze lingered on you half a beat too long before flicking away.

It wasn’t praise. Not even close.

But it was something. And apparently, that something was enough.

You caught the envious glance of the resident beside you, who clenched his jaw. From behind, one of the younger nurses leaned in close and whispered just loud enough for you to hear:

“I think you might have actually impressed him.”

Your chest fluttered with both pride and dread. You weren’t sure which feeling was stronger, only that Chishiya’s nod replayed in your mind long after rounds had moved on.

Your second full day in paediatrics began with relief, you weren’t under Chishiya’s eye again just yet. Instead, Dr. Kato guided you through rounds with a gentleness that made everything feel less suffocating. He asked you questions, but never in the cutting tone Dr. Chishiya used. If you hesitated, he gave you time. If you made a mistake, he corrected you without belittling.

“You’ll get there,” he said more than once, patting your shoulder as though to steady you. “You see things others overlook. I don’t want you to lose that because someone makes you afraid to speak.” You didn’t need him to name the “someone.” You both knew.

For the most part, he shielded you from Dr. Chishiya, intercepting his questions during joint rounds, offering you tasks Chishiya might have dismissed. It was clear he wanted to nurture your potential before it could be crushed under that man’s cold stare.

Still, Dr. Chishiya’s presence lingered. You caught sight of him often, walking briskly down corridors, conferring with department heads, leaning casually at the nurses’ station while flipping through charts. He was impossible to ignore.

One of the nurses tried very hard to get his attention whenever possible. She was always there, hovering at his elbow whenever she could. You noticed the way she leaned forward just slightly when she spoke to him, the brightness in her smile whenever she handed him something, a chart, a pen, even a cup of coffee she had gone out of her way to fetch.

“Dr. Chishiya, I thought you might want this. Extra strong, just how you like it,” she said one morning, setting the cup beside his papers with a hopeful look. Chishiya didn’t so much as glance at her. He pushed the cup aside, eyes still on the chart in his hand. “I don’t drink coffee during rounds,” he said flatly, his tone making it clear the conversation was over before it began. Her smile faltered. You looked away, pretending you hadn’t seen the flicker of hurt on her face.

The real clash came during a staff meeting later that day. Residents, attendings, and nurses crowded into the conference room. A case was presented and the floor opened for discussion.

Dr. Chishiya’s gaze swept the room before settling on you. “You,” he said coolly. “Your thoughts.” Your pulse jumped. Dozens of eyes turned in your direction. You stumbled over your first few words, your voice quieter than intended. “I- I believe the symptoms suggest-"

“Louder,” Dr. Chishiya cut in, his tone icy. “If you want to be a doctor, you’ll need to learn to speak like one. Otherwise, no one will listen to you.”

Heat flared in your cheeks, but you forced yourself to continue. The diagnosis you gave was cautious but correct, and though Chishiya gave no praise, you saw the smallest flicker in his eyes. Recognition, maybe even approval. Still, his words stung. You couldn’t keep hiding behind hesitation forever.

The afternoon rounds, however, weren’t about you. They became the stage for a different kind of spectacle.

Dr. Chishiya's own resident, the same overly confident young man from the day before, had been strutting around all morning, convinced he could win Dr. Chishiya over with his bravado. He spoke loudly, answered quickly, and threw medical jargon around as though volume could disguise inaccuracy.

By the third wrong answer, Dr. Chishiya’s patience snapped. “Wrong again,” he said, his voice calm but sharp enough to silence the corridor. “Do you ever stop to think before you speak?”

The resident’s jaw tightened. His voice rose. “At least I’m not afraid to answer. You can’t just humiliate people like this every day. It isn’t teaching, it’s abuse.”

The hallway went deathly quiet. Nurses at their stations stilled, pretending to busy themselves while leaning just close enough to hear. Other residents froze in place, eyes darting between the two.

Dr. Chishiya didn’t so much as blink. “Are you finished?” His resident didn't say a word but nodded firmly. Chishiya crossed his arms, "Good. You're fired."

The resident’s chest heaved. “You can’t just fire me for disagreeing with you.” A smirk tugged coldly at Chishiya’s lips. “I can. And I did.”

Gasps rippled through the corridor. The resident’s face drained of colour as he realised the weight of those words. Chishiya turned away, already moving on, as though dismissing him was no more significant than flipping a page in a chart.

No one dared to speak. Not even the nurses.

You felt your stomach twist, both horrified and oddly in awe. In that moment, it became clear just how much influence Chishiya wielded in this hospital. He was untouchable and he was completely merciless.

And though you tried not to meet his eyes when they flicked over the group again, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of them, sharper than ever.

The day after Chishiya fired his resident, the corridors of the paediatric ward was still charged with whispers. No one said his name aloud, but the story passed quickly, repeated in hushed voices behind clipboards and at the nurses’ station: "He really dismissed him on the spot… in front of everyone."

When morning rounds came, it wasn’t Dr. Chishiya at the front. He had withdrawn completely, leaving the responsibility to Dr. Kato. You almost sighed in relief.

Dr. Kato led with his usual warmth, his voice carrying more patience and encouragement than authority. He asked each resident questions, not to shame them, but to make them think. When you gave your answer, firm this time, remembering the sting of Dr. Chishiya’s last remark, he smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Correct,” he said, pride in his tone. “That’s exactly what I want to hear. See? You know more than you think.”

The praise drew a few envious looks from your peers. It was so different from Chishiya’s cold nods and it steadied you in a way his approval never could.

Still, you noticed things about Dr. Kato you hadn’t before. The way he paused a moment longer than usual between questions. The faint sheen of sweat at his temple though the air was cool. A cough that lingered too long before he cleared his throat and moved on, pretending nothing was wrong.

The next morning came far too early. You were still rubbing the sleep from your eyes when a nurse intercepted you outside the ward. “The Medical Director wants to see you,” she said, lowering her voice as if the message carried weight. Your stomach dropped.

The director's office smelled faintly of leather and old books, the blinds half-closed against the rising sun. He gestured for you to sit.

“Dr. Kato has fallen ill,” he said, his tone even but firm. “He will need to take a leave of absence for several weeks. It’s nothing life-threatening, but he cannot continue working with his current state.”

The words sank like stones in your chest. Your mentor, the one person who believed in you, who protected you, was gone, at least for now.

“You will, of course, need a supervising physician in the meantime.” He leaned back, folding his hands together. “I’ve already made arrangements-"

The door opened without a knock. Chishiya stepped in, his coat unbuttoned, his expression irritated as though he had been dragged here against his will. He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe with a sigh. “What is this?” he asked flatly, his eyes cutting between you and the director.

“Dr. Kato is on leave,” the Chief of Medicine repeated, unruffled. “You’ll be taking over his resident.” He nodded in your direction. “For the next few weeks, she will be under your supervision.”

Your heart plummeted. You looked at Chishiya, waiting for some reaction, some sign that he might protest and you weren’t disappointed. He scoffed, pushing a hand through his blonde hair with exasperation. “Wonderful,” he muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. “Another babysitting job.”

Your throat tightened. Horror flooded you as the weight of the decision settled. Out of all the doctors in the hospital, out of anyone you could have been assigned to… it had to be him.

And when his eyes flicked to you, you knew these next few weeks would feel like a lifetime.

The first day under Dr. Chishiya’s supervision felt less like training and more like a trial.

He was cold from the moment rounds began, his tone sharper than the crisp shuffle of charts in his hands. Every question he asked was designed to cut. He didn’t just want answers, he wanted you to stumble, to falter, to break.

At first, you nearly did. Your throat tightened when he fixed his gaze on you. Your palms dampened as he fired the first question. “Patient in room 302,” he said without looking up. “Four-year-old. Fever, rash, conjunctivitis. Diagnosis?”

You forced yourself to breathe. Remember Dr. Kato’s words. You know more than you think. “Measles,” you said, a little too softly. Chishiya’s head tilted, eyes narrowing. “And the complication you should be worried about?”

“Pneumonia,” you replied, this time firmer. He gave no nod, no sign of approval. Only moved on.

The questions kept coming, each one fired like a bullet: “Three-year-old, persistent cough, night sweats?”

“Tuberculosis,” you answered.

“Six-year-old, joint pain, malar rash?”

“Systemic lupus erythematosus.”

“Ten-year-old, swelling around the eyes, cola-coloured urine?”

“Post-streptococcal glomerulonephritis.”

Your confidence grew with each reply. The hesitation that had once choked your voice began to fade. You stood straighter, your tone steadier, your answers faster. The residents around you shifted, some stealing glances, some scowling at how quickly you responded. And though Chishiya’s expression never changed, his eyes lingered a fraction longer each time you spoke.

When the group entered the next patient’s room, the little girl there shrank back against her pillows. Her IV tugged at her small hand and her eyes welled with tears at the sight of the swarm of white coats surrounding her.

You crouched down, softening your voice. “Hey,” you said gently, smiling. “I like your bunny. Does she have a name?” The child blinked, her fear faltering just enough to whisper, “Momo.”

“Momo,” you repeated warmly. “That’s perfect. Can Momo help us check your heartbeat today?” The girl nodded, still timid but calmer now.

Chishiya watched from the foot of the bed, his arms crossed, eyes impassive. When you rose again, he spoke quietly, just loud enough for you to hear: “There's no need for irrelevant bedside fluff.” Your brows knit. “She was scared,” you said, keeping your voice low. “It doesn’t hurt to be gentle every now and then.”

The corridor outside the room went silent. Nurses, residents, even orderlies passing by, all froze at your audacity. No one spoke to Dr. Chishiya like that.

His gaze cut to yours, as though he hadn’t expected resistance. He stayed silent a moment too long, then exhaled slowly, crossing his arms tighter.

Without acknowledging your words, he continued, “Nine-year-old, high fever, sore throat, strawberry tongue. Diagnosis?”

“Scarlet fever,” you replied instantly.

“Possible complication?”

“Rheumatic fever.”

He didn’t nod, didn’t praise, didn’t scold. Just kept going. But something about the rhythm had changed. You answered steadily, without falter, as though every word built a shield around you. You thought of Dr. Kato’s smile, his steady voice reminding you not to let fear silence what you already knew.

By the time rounds ended, your throat was dry and your legs ached, but you hadn’t crumbled. Not once. And when Chishiya closed the last chart with a snap, you swore his eyes lingered on you again, not in disdain this time, but in calculation.

The patient who arrived this afternoon was eight years old. A boy with wide, tired eyes and skin that seemed too pale for his age. He had been admitted with a fever, fatigue, joint pain, and a faint rash across his torso. At first glance, it could have been any number of childhood illnesses, but something about the combination didn’t sit right.

Chishiya flipped through the chart at the foot of the bed, his expression flat as ever. “Symptoms don’t line up,” he muttered under his breath. “Not clearly, anyway.”

Tentatively, you spoke. “It could be juvenile idiopathic arthritis. The joint pain and rash-" He cut you off with a glance sharp enough to silence you. “It doesn’t fit.” His tone was clipped. He set the chart down and pinched the bridge of his nose as if warding off irritation. For a moment, you thought he would say it, that cruel phrase he had thrown at the other resident before: observe and learn. But the words never came.

Instead, his eyes returned to the chart, scanning line after line. His brows furrowed slightly, the first visible crack in his otherwise unreadable mask.

“…None of this makes sense,” he said finally. His voice was quieter now, almost reluctant. The admission shocked you more than anything. If Dr. Chishiya didn’t have an answer, then the case was truly unusual.

“Order blood work,” he instructed curtly, scribbling on a slip. “Full panel. Autoimmune markers, inflammatory levels, kidney function. And schedule an echocardiogram. I want everything.”

As he handed the slip to a nurse, you crouched at the bedside. The boy looked anxious, clinging to a toy car in his hands. You smiled softly, adjusting his blanket. “They’re just going to run a few tests, okay? Nothing scary. And I’ll be here to make sure you’re not bored.”

You reached into your pocket, pulling out a small notepad. With a pen, you began sketching a silly cartoon, the boy’s toy car racing along a crooked road with stick-figure drivers waving their arms wildly. He let out a weak giggle, some of the tension easing from his face.

When you glanced up, you caught Dr. Chishiya watching silently. His gaze flicked away as soon as your eyes met, as though he hadn’t been staring at all.

Later that afternoon, work carried on as usual. Charts, patients, rapid-fire questions. Except this time, there was something different in the way he looked at you.

You weren’t stammering anymore. You answered questions with a calm confidence that surprised even you. The nerves were still there, bubbling under the surface, but you held them down and spoke with conviction.

Chishiya noticed. He told himself he didn’t care. That you were just another resident, barely competent, another burden added to his day. But as you stood by the bedside of a toddler with pneumonia, explaining the treatment plan with quiet clarity, his gaze lingered too long on the line of your jaw, the curve of your lips as you spoke.

He caught himself imagining what it might feel like to lean closer than professionalism allowed. The thought irritated him, his jaw tightening as he forced his eyes back to the chart in his hands.

Ridiculous, he told himself. He didn’t like you at all. In fact, he didn’t like anyone. You were a resident, inexperienced, naive, frustratingly earnest. And yet, when you leaned forward to comfort the coughing toddler, your hand resting lightly on the child’s blanket, his eyes drifted where they shouldn't. He felt something coil in his stomach that had nothing to do with irritation.

It wasn’t liking. But it was something else entirely. Something physical and intrusive. Something dangerous. And for the first time in a very long while, Chishiya found himself distracted.

You should have gone home. Your shift had ended nearly an hour ago, your locker already waiting with your clothes neatly folded inside. But when the head nurse pressed a sealed envelope into your hand, the boy’s test results, you couldn’t resist.

“Take these to Dr. Chishiya tomorrow morning,” she said briskly. “Of course. Thank you,” you replied.

But instead of heading to the changing room, you carried the envelope into the empty break room. The faint smell of coffee lingered in the air. You made yourself a cup of black tea, sat at the table, and spread the papers out before you.

You told yourself it was just curiosity. Just a quick glance before bed. But minutes stretched into an hour as you scribbled notes on a pad, cross-referenced symptoms with your textbooks, and muttered possibilities under your breath. Fever, joint pain, rash, cardiac involvement… Kawasaki disease. It fit almost perfectly, yet you hesitated, digging deeper, refining, testing each hypothesis against the evidence.

The rest of the hospital quieted, footsteps fading down the hall. You didn’t notice when someone stopped outside the doorway.

Chishiya had been on his way out, his white coat long discarded, his hair loose. He hadn’t expected to see anyone still around, least of all you.

But there you were, bent over the boy’s chart, brows furrowed in concentration, your pen tapping against the table before you absently slipped the cap between your lips.

He froze in the hallway. Something twisted low in his abdomen as he watched you, a sensation he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He told himself it was nothing, just biology, a simple, physical reaction to a somewhat attractive woman doing something entirely mundane. Still, his eyes lingered, refusing to move. The sight of you tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear, the way your lips pressed together as you scribbled across the page, every small gesture tugged at him in ways he shouldn’t allow.

For a fleeting moment, an image crossed his mind: you looking up at him like that, brows knit in focus, except not over a chart… He clenched his jaw, banishing the thought as quickly as it came. You’re a resident. Nothing more. This is just… relief his body needed. Nothing else.

Finally, he stepped into the doorway. “You should go home,” he said. His voice carried its usual chill, though it came out softer than he intended.

You didn’t react. Pen scratching, tea forgotten, you were too wrapped up in the case.

He sighed, stepping closer until he stood just behind you. He glanced down at your notebook and stilled. Line after line of sharp, deliberate handwriting filled the page: differential diagnoses, cross-checked symptoms, and finally, underlined twice in your neat script: Kawasaki disease.

He blinked. Slowly. You had already pieced it together. Everything he had overlooked in his rush, you had seen it, written it, connected it. A resident, the one he had written off as timid and inexperienced, had essentially solved the puzzle before he had. Chishiya found himself at a loss for the first time. And though his face betrayed nothing, his pulse betrayed everything.

You didn’t even notice him at first. Not until he spoke your name.

Your pen froze mid-stroke. Slowly, you turned in your chair, your gaze rising to meet his. He stood close, too close, one hand resting on the back of your chair, the other gesturing towards your notes. His finger tapped lightly, against the faint words you had underlined: Kawasaki disease. “You solved the case.”

Your breath caught. “I… did?” you whispered, still half-expecting him to dismiss it as coincidence, or luck. But instead of scoffing, his eyes stayed locked on yours.

The tension in your shoulders spilled out in a quiet huff of relief. You looked down at the page again, then back up at him, lips parting slightly as though the weight of the day had finally broken.

Something in that look unsettled him. His grip on the chair tightened until his knuckles whitened. He had seen countless expressions across patients, residents, and colleagues, but the way you looked at him now, equal parts vulnerable and luminous with relief, carved deep into him.

His mind betrayed him with an image, unbidden and dangerous: you on your knees, gazing up at him with those same wide, trusting eyes. Heat coiled low in his abdomen, and his jaw clenched as he forced the thought away, disgusted with himself for even entertaining it.

Still, his gaze burned into you, refusing to let go. “Well done,” he said finally. The words were short, flat as always, but they carried a weight you hadn’t heard from him before. “We’ll talk about the treatment plan tomorrow. Now get some rest.”

Before you could respond, he straightened and stepped back, leaving the break room in sharp, purposeful strides.

You sat there, heart pounding, replaying the two words over and over. Well done. From Dr. Chishiya, that was more than praise, it was a victory.

And while you savoured that tiny spark of validation, down the hall, Chishiya shoved his hands into his pockets, jaw set hard. He kept his face composed, every step as controlled as ever, but it took everything in him not to curse his own body as he adjusted his pace, determined to keep the evidence of his reaction hidden until he was gone from sight.

And when he finally stepped into his apartment, the bulge was still visible in his trousers. But even as he granted his body the pleasure and relief it so desperately seemed to need, he couldn't stop thinking about you, cursing himself for it.

Morning rounds started as they always did: a cluster of white coats and tired faces moving down the paediatric wing like a slow tide. Charts shuffled, pens clicked, children’s cries echoed down the corridors.

But this time, when Chishiya’s eyes landed on you, his question cut sharper than usual. “Treatment plan for the boy,” he said simply, offering no hint, no leading prompt. “You made the diagnosis. What comes next?”

Dozens of eyes shifted to you. The residents, the nurses, all waiting for you to stumble. Your heart pounded, but you steadied yourself, recalling the hours you had spent scribbling notes in the break room. “High-dose intravenous immunoglobulin, administered within the first ten days of illness,” you said clearly. “And aspirin, starting with an anti-inflammatory dose, then tapering to an antiplatelet dose to reduce the risk of coronary artery complications.”

The corridor fell into silence. For a moment, you thought he might dismiss it, or tear into you for forgetting some minor detail. But instead, Chishiya’s eyes narrowed and he gave the faintest nod. "Correct.”

That single word carried more weight than a page of praise from anyone else. The nurses standing near the station exchanged wide-eyed glances.

“You heard that, right?” one whispered, barely containing her grin.

“He actually agreed with her.”

“Maybe she’s the one to finally tame him.” A ripple of laughter moved through the group. But not everyone joined in. The nurse who always lingered near Chishiya, the one who had seemed so friendly at first, grew quiet, her smile slipping as she looked at you.

When the head nurse appeared, sharp-eyed and formidable, the gossip died instantly. Everyone scattered back to their work, files shuffling, keyboards clicking.

Inside the boy’s room, the parents sat anxiously at the foot of the bed. Chishiya gestured to you with a small tilt of his head. “Explain it.”

You froze for half a second, then straightened. Turning to the parents, you repeated the plan calmly, adjusting your tone to be gentle but firm. You explained the IV, the purpose of the aspirin, and the reason for regular monitoring. The boy clutched his toy car, eyes wide, but relaxed as you crouched to meet him at his level, promising the medicine would help him feel better soon. When you finished, the mother’s eyes filled with tears of relief. She thanked you, her voice trembling.

You stepped back, glancing at Chishiya. He said nothing, his expression unchanged, though his gaze flicked briefly to you before moving on.

As you left the room together, you whispered, “Thank you… for letting me present it.”

You hadn’t expected a reply, and you didn’t get one. But as you walked, you could feel his presence beside you, somewhat tense and so very far from indifferent.

Because while his demeanour remained cold, his mind was anything but.

The faint smell of your shampoo when you had turned in the room still lingered in his senses, dragging unwanted thoughts back to the surface. Finding release last night hadn’t been enough. Not nearly enough. His body reacted as though on edge, highly alert, every nerve attuned to you. The sound of your voice, the curve of your lips when you thanked him, the warmth of your shoulder brushing close as you walked side by side. And for a man who prided himself on control, that realisation was more dangerous than any difficult case.

The gossip didn’t fade, it grew. At the nurses’ station, it had become its own current, whispering through every shift change and coffee break. Nurses teased each other with knowing smiles whenever you and Dr. Chishiya walked past. The residents, too, had begun trading snide comments, though mostly behind your back.

“Did you see how he looked at her?”

“Dr. Chishiya never listens to anyone. Except her.”

“Bet she’s the one to break the ice king.”

Most laughed. But not everyone. One nurse, in particular, rolled her eyes every time your name and his were paired together. She had been friendly once, welcoming you on your first day, but lately her smiles had thinned into something sharp. And when the others teased, she said nothing, only pressed her lips tight, her silence louder than words.

It started small with a misplaced file.

You had just handed it over, placing it neatly on the counter with the others before moving to check vitals. But when Chishiya asked for it later, brows drawn tight in irritation, the nurse casually said, “Your resident had it last. Maybe she misplaced it.”

His gaze snapped towards you, sharp and unyielding. You straightened, heat prickling your neck. “I dropped it off here earlier,” you said carefully. “But… I’ll help look.”

Together, you began rifling through the scattered stacks of paperwork on the desk. Charts overlapped, half-signed forms clung together, and somewhere underneath, the missing file waited.

Your hand brushed against his as you both reached for the same folder. You froze. Surely he would pull away, recoil even. But he didn’t. His hand lingered against yours for a beat too long, his skin cool, his presence heavier than the paper between you. The air thickened, neither of you speaking. Across the station, the nurse watched, eyes narrowing.

The moment broke when you pulled your hand back quickly, cheeks warm. A second later, you found the file. Relief rushed through you as you held it up. “Here it is.”

Chishiya took it wordlessly. But when he turned away, his jaw tightened, as though something about that brief contact had unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

And for the nurse watching from the corner, her plan had failed. Not only had you found the file, but Chishiya hadn’t reacted the way she had expected.

If anything, he had let the touch stay.

Chishiya had always prided himself on control. Control of his time, his patients, his diagnoses, his emotions. Especially his emotions. But with you, control was slipping.

He tried to stay away, tried to keep you at arm’s length, but you were his resident. Wherever he turned, you were there. In the wards, in the rounds, in the break room with your stupid tea. He told himself it was nothing, that the restless coil in his chest was irritation. But the truth gnawed at him: it wasn’t irritation anymore. And the worst part was, you had no idea.

Lunch break found you both in the cafeteria. He sat alone at first, scrolling through his phone, picking halfheartedly at his food. He had no intention of acknowledging you when you sat down across from him.

But then, you cracked the faintest joke. Something dry, almost hidden in your soft voice, a comment about how the hospital served rice so bland it could be used as a neutral control in a lab experiment.

He should have ignored it. He really should have. Instead, without looking up, he muttered back, “Maybe it’s to test who’s already dead inside.”

The corner of your mouth curved upwards. To your own surprise, it was the closest thing to a casual conversation you had ever had with him. And to his surprise, it wasn’t unpleasant.

“You don’t mind if I ask you something, do you?” you said after a moment, setting your chopsticks down. “Medically, I mean.” His brows lifted, intrigued despite himself. “Go ahead.”

You leaned forward slightly, your tone sharper now. “A twelve-year-old with prolonged fever, hepatosplenomegaly, and pancytopenia. What do you suspect?”

“Haemophagocytic lymphohistiocytosis,” he answered smoothly, as though it were a reflex. Your eyes lit up. “And the gold standard for confirmation?”

“Bone marrow biopsy.”

The questions continued, rare conditions, subtle presentations, management plans that weren’t obvious. You asked with a hunger he hadn’t seen in many residents, your pen flicking across your napkin as you scribbled notes, your eyes never leaving his.

Slowly, he slid his tray and chair closer, the space between you shrinking until it felt like you were cocooned in your own little world. He leaned back casually, studying you, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards at the fire behind your questions.

Finally, he switched roles. “My turn.” Your pulse jumped. He leaned forward, voice low. “Seven-year-old with a history of congenital heart disease comes in with sudden onset fever and a new heart murmur. Diagnosis?”

“Bacterial endocarditis,” you said after a beat, biting your lip as you thought through the details.

His eyes dropped immediately to the movement, the faint press of your teeth against your lower lip, and his own lips parted without him realising. Heat pooled low in his abdomen, his body reacting before his mind could stop it. He stared at you too long, far too long, until the air between you felt charged. And then, without a word, he pushed his chair back and stood.

You blinked, startled. “Did I say something wrong?”

But he didn’t answer. His feet carried him out of the cafeteria, his steps purposeful.

Minutes later, he was outside the director's office, hand clenched into a fist at his side. He didn’t even fully understand what he was about to do, only that he couldn’t keep going like this. He could no longer have you as a resident.

Chishiya didn’t bother knocking. He pushed open the door to the director’s office, not even closing it behind him.

“When will Dr. Kato be back?” he demanded flatly, arms crossed. The older man looked up from his papers, surprised by the sharpness in his tone. “Not for some time, I’m afraid. Pneumonia. A severe case.”

“Perfect,” Chishiya muttered with a scoff. “Because I want to get rid of her as quickly as possible.” The superior leaned back in his chair, brows knitting. “Get rid of her? Why? All I’ve heard are glowing reports.” Chishiya’s jaw flexed. He exhaled slowly, as though the words pained him. “Yes. She’s brilliant.”For a second, the admission seemed to hang heavy in the air. “But I’m not a babysitter,” he continued, voice colder now. “I want to focus on my work, not hold some resident’s hand.”

The chief of medicine sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Dr. Chishiya. You’ll manage. You’re more than capable of supervising one resident a little longer.”

“Capable isn’t the issue,” Chishiya muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned on his heel. He left the office without another word, his irritation sharp enough to slice through the quiet corridor. But when he stepped out into the hallway, he froze. You were there.

Arms crossed tightly against your chest, your face pale and stricken. Your eyes, usually so cautious, so soft, burned with hurt. Chishiya cursed under his breath. You are just like a lost puppy. Always there, always listening.

Your voice wavered as you spoke, but the sting in your words was clear. “Why do you want to get rid of me so badly? Why don’t you think I’m worth your time?”

He should have brushed past you. He should have said something dismissive, something that would end this right here. But instead, he sighed sharply, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into an empty office.

The door clicked shut behind you, the air inside stifling. He pressed you back against the wall, his face far too close to yours, the heat of his breath brushing your cheek. His hand braced beside your head, caging you in, his chest rising and falling faster than usual.

And then it broke out of him, the words he had been swallowing down for days. “I can’t deny it anymore,” he hissed, his voice low but trembling with tension. “I want you. Every second I spend with you is torture because it’s all I can think about. Every damn moment.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, the nearness of him overwhelming. His eyes burned into yours, pupils dark and wide, his presence suffocating in its intensity. And though his words were raw, his body spoke louder, leaning in, heat radiating, every inch of space between you charged with danger.

You were trapped, not by force, but by the pull between you, impossible to escape.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight as your mind scrambled to process the words he had just thrown at you. Heat rose to your cheeks, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze.

“So…” your voice came out unsteady, “…you want to have sex with me? Is that it?” Chishiya scoffed softly, the corner of his mouth twitching. He leaned back just enough to give you air, but not nearly enough distance to feel safe. His eyes burned into you. He shook his head once, deliberate. “No.” His voice dropped lower. “I want to fuck you.”

The bluntness of it sent your pulse hammering in your ears. The air felt too thin, your head dizzy from the sheer intensity of his stare. You tried to regain focus, tried to claw your way back to solid ground.

So you huffed, crossing your arms tighter against yourself. “You could have asked me out on a date first.”

For a split second, his lips curved into something that almost resembled a smile, but it was too sharp. A breathy sound escaped him, halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “That’s the point,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, studying you like he always did. “I don’t do dating. And you-" his gaze swept over you deliberately, “you don’t exactly strike me as someone who’s into casual things. Not to mention…” His voice dipped steadier. “…it’s highly inappropriate. You’re my resident.”

You inhaled deeply, trying to steady yourself, then leaned forward just slightly, close enough that he could feel the defiance radiating off you.

“Then get your shit together, Dr. Chishiya.”

And with that, you brushed past him, pulling open the door and stepping back into the corridor, leaving him alone in the suffocating silence of the office.

Chishiya stood frozen for a moment, jaw tight, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Then, with a frustrated growl, he slammed his open palm against the wall, not hard enough to hurt himself, but enough to feel the sting.

His breath came shallow, his teeth gritted. Because as badly as he wanted to keep control, all he could think about was dragging you back into the room and silencing that sharp mouth of yours in the most inappropriate way possible.

Continue to: Anatomy of Desire

A/N: I lost count of how many spicy doctor chishiya requests are waiting in my inbox. I got you! This was one of my favourite things to write. And yes, there will be a part 2 (and yes, it will have dominant! chishiya)

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▹ the SECOND he hears about your tragic backstory he's ready to throw hands with anyone who's ever made you sad (even if they're already dead. especially if they're already dead actually)

▹ asks you 847 questions about your breathing technique and gets genuinely excited about the mechanics of it (starts incorporating ideas into his own forms because he's a nerd like that)

▹ shares his food with you immediately. like. IMMEDIATELY. you could be a complete stranger and this boy is already shoving rice balls in your direction

▹ somehow manages to compliment your fighting skills while also being concerned about every single scratch you get (starts carrying extra bandages specifically for you "just in case")

▹ definitely stares at you when he thinks you're not looking and when you catch him he gets all red and starts stammering about how he was just "making sure you're okay!! demons could attack at any time!!"

▹ nezuko approves of you immediately and he takes this as a VERY good sign (starts planning your wedding) wait what who said that

HIM FALLING IN LOVE:

▹ his scent detection becomes both a blessing and a curse because now he can tell when you're nearby and gets all nervous and excited but ALSO can smell when you're upset and goes into immediate protective mode

▹ starts subconsciously using water breathing forms that he thinks look cooler when you're around crashes into three trees while trying to show off with thunderclap and flash

▹ begins leaving little gifts for you everywhere - nothing fancy, just "i saw this flower and it reminded me of you" or "i found this cool rock that matches your haori"

▹ gets ridiculously competitive during training but ONLY when you're watching (tomioka-san is confused by this sudden burst of determination)

▹ starts asking inosuke and zenitsu for dating advice (mistake. huge mistake). inosuke tells him to headbutt you to show dominance and zenitsu tells him to cry loudly and clinging onto your legs while talking about his feelings. he does neither of these things

▹ learns your favorite breathing techniques just so he can ask you about them and watch you get excited explaining the forms

▹ practices conversations with you in front of nezuko and she just nods along supportively even though half of what he's saying doesn't make sense

▹ becomes 500% more protective during missions like he was already the "i must protect everyone" guy but now it's "i must protect everyone but ESPECIALLY you because what if something happens to you i would literally die"

▹ starts incorporating moves that would complement your fighting style in case you ever fight together (spends hours perfecting combination attacks you haven't even discussed)

▹ blushes every single time you compliment his technique or mention how his forms look cool (nearly walked into a wall once because you said his hinokami kagura was "beautiful")

▹ writes letters he never sends where he tries to explain his feelings but they're all like "dear [name], you smell really nice. wait that's weird. dear [name], your breathing technique is cool. wait that's not romantic enough. dear [name], i think about you constantly and—" *crumples up paper*

HIM AS A S/O:

▹ holds your hand like you're made of precious glass but also like he's never letting go ever (his grip strength is actually insane but somehow he's so gentle???)

▹ will definitely always smells like sunshine and cedar wood and something distinctly warm that you can't quite place but it makes you feel safe

▹ gives you his haori when you're cold without even thinking about it (then stands there shivering but insisting he's totally fine. lies. he's freezing but your comfort >>> his comfort always)

▹ learns to cook your favorite foods and somehow makes them taste better than anyone else's because he puts so much love into every single dish

▹ morning training together becomes a everyday thing and he's always so excited to see what new techniques you've been working on (asks a million questions and genuinely listens to every answer)

▹ definitely talks to you while you're sleeping sometimes just quiet little "i'm so lucky" and "i promise i'll always protect you" and nezuko pretends not to hear but she's TAKING NOTES

▹ forehead kisses. SO MANY FOREHEAD KISSES. especially before dangerous missions because it's his way of saying "come back to me safe"

▹ you're the only person (besides nezuko) who gets to see him have complete breakdowns and he trusts you enough to be vulnerable about how scared he actually is sometimes

▹ incorporates your favorite colors into his haori pattern and acts like it's totally casual (it's not casual. nothing about this boy's love is casual)

▹ "accidentally" uses sun breathing forms when he's really happy because his emotions affect his technique and you make him feel like he's literally glowing from the inside

▹ nezuko considers you her sibling-in-law already and will pat your head approvingly whenever you take care of tanjiro

▹ starts every morning by telling you something he's grateful for about you and it's never the same thing twice (he keeps a mental list. it's a very long list)

▹ gets jealous but in the most confused way like "why do i feel weird when that person talks to you? they seem nice? but also i want them to go away? but that's mean? help?"

▹ you become his new favorite scent and he can track you from MILES away (useful for missions) (also useful for when he just misses you and needs a hug)

▹ will literally fight anyone who says anything remotely negative about you (tanjiro "he would never hurt a fly" kamado becomes tanjiro "talk shit about my partner and catch these hands" kamado real quick)

▹ your contact in his mind goes from "[name]" to "my [name]" to just "mine ♡" and nezuko rolls her eyes every time he gets that dopey look thinking about you

⌗ taglist: @idexmids @siriuslyginnychase @eleteo125 @st4r-dustx @corpsebridenightamare @boreaswrites

⌗ mutuals: @haikyuubby @va-3 @tulippanes @luvseraphh @miss-indigen0us @cupkiki