Pairing: chishiya x reader (no pronouns mentioned)
Summary: chishiya gets turned on by merely watching you
Warnings: smut! voyeurism, jerking off, slightly kinky chishiya (do not read if you're under 18)
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Until it hurts no more
Part 1, Part 2
Pairing: chishiya x f! reader
Summary: you get hurt during a game of Clubs, trying to save Chishiya. He takes care of you the following days until you're able to make your way back to the beach
Warnings Part 1: knife wound, mentions of blood, mentions of alcohol (not consumed), one-bed-trope, a little bit of bantering
Warnings Part 2: smut! fingering, oral sex (m receiving), intercourse, curse words (do not read if you're under 18)
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Aggravation
Pairing: chishiya x f! reader
Summary: chishiya and you team up during a game of spades. the constant bickering turns into a heated moment at the end of the game
Warnings: smut! fingering, unprotected sex, mentions of guns and blood (don't read if you're under 18!)
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Falling
Pairing: chishiya x reader (no pronouns mentioned)
Summary: when chishiya thought you had died during a game, he realises he does have feelings after all
Warnings: angst, fluff
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Yours and yours only
Pairing: chishiya x f! reader
Summary: when Niragi tries to have what isn't his, Chishiya makes sure to remind you who you belong to
Warnings: smut! oral sex (m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, slightly jealous and possessive chishiya, handsy niragi (sa!), mentions of blood, pet names (do not read if you're under 18!)
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Consolation
Pairing: chishiya x reader (no pronouns mentioned)
Summary: you lost a friend during a game of Hearts. Chishiya comforts you with words
Warnings: pure fluff, words of comfort, loss of a friend
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Forgiveness
Pairing: chishiya x reader (no pronouns mentioned)
Summary: you're trapped in a world full of horrors and stumble across the one person you never wanted to see again. can you forgive the man who is involved in your little brother's death?
Warnings: angst, mentions of death, loss of a sibling, mentions of blood
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
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Distraction
Pairing: chishiya x f! reader
Summary: chishiya is very needy after a long day
Warnings: smut! needy chishiya, oral sex, fingering, penetrative sex (don't read if you're under 18!)
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A Game of Trust
Pairing: chishiya x reader (no pronouns mentioned)
Summary: you find yourself in the jack of hearts game and meet another player who seems rather untrustworthy. can you find it in your heart to help him clear the game?
Warnings: just fluff, mentions of death
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Sutures
Pairing: chishiya x reader (no pronouns mentioned)
Summary: chishiya gets shot during a game of spades and you have to take care of it. you have no experience in the medical field, so chishiya has to talk you through it.
Warnings: fluff, gunshot wound, mentions of blood
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Run
Pairing: chishiya x f! reader
Summary: he's always there. lurking, watching. and he wants to make you his
Warnings: smut! dark romance, slightly dominant and kinky chishiya, fingering in a public space, oral sex, a little bit of degradation (do not read if you're under 18!)
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Precautions
Pairing: chishiya x reader (no pronouns mentioned)
Summary: chishiya becomes colder, more distant, even though you thought the two of you had developed a friendship
Warnings: angst, a whole lot of fluff at the end
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One Day or Day One
Pairing: chishiya x f! reader
Summary: chishiya and you met during med school. strangers turned into friends and into strangers again. but now here you were, stuck with him in a deadly game
Warnings: angst! but also fluff, mentions of death
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Mine
Pairing: chishiya x f! reader
Summary: chishiya feels like he needs to punish you after you made a reckless choice during a game of diamonds
Warnings: smut! dominant!chishiya, spanking, fingering. unprotected sex (do not read if you're under 18!)
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Escape
Pairing: chishiya x reader (no pronouns mentioned)
Summary: chishiya finds you in the backyard after you had a nightmare.
Warnings: a whole lot of fluff, trauma, intercourse implied (no graphic details, it's just about the connection)
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Together again
Pairing: chishiya x f! reader, brother!arisu x sister!reader
Summary: all you want to do is find your brother in this mad world. you stumble across a certain someone who you believe wants to help you
Warnings: fluff, angst, intercourse implied (no graphic details)
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Saviour
Pairing: chishiya x f! reader
Summary: chishiya saves you from the king of spades. you find shelter in an abandoned apartment and find something rather interesting in one of the rooms
Warnings: smut! rather dominant chishiya, oral sex, masturbation (do not read if you're under 18!)
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Breath of Life, Breath of Evil, Breath of Love
Pairing: chishiya x f! reader
Summary: becoming sick wasn't the plan. doctors not being able to find out what's wrong with you wasn't the plan either. and one specific genius becoming your attending physician and you slowly falling for him was most definitely not the plan
Warnings: angst, fluff, lung disease, hospitalisation, mentions of blood and needles
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Loathing
Pairing: chishiya x f! reader
Summary: he's selfish, arrogant and irritating. you'd even consider him your number one enemy. then why on earth do you keep having dreams about him?
Warnings: smut! enemies to lovers, lot of bantering, a little bit of degradation, unprotected sex (do not read if you're under 18)
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Reminiscence
Pairing: chishiya x f! reader
Summary: in a world that equals a nightmare you meet your childhood best friend. you haven't seen each other in years and there are many unspoken things between the two of you
Warnings: angst, fluff, violence, Niragi
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Sweet Surrender
Pairing: chishiya x f! reader
Summary: chishiya meets an old friend of his in the borderlands. one who has once meant a lot more to him than he wants to admit. but that friend has changed into someone manipulative
Warnings: smut! slightly dominant!reader x submissive! chishiya, oral (m receiving), thigh riding, unprotected sex (do not read if you're under 18!)
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Paper Hearts, Paper Wings
Pairing: chishiya x reader (no pronouns mentioned)
Summary: in which chishiya finds a diary and can't refrain from reading it.
Warnings: fluff, mentions of violence (normal Borderlands business)
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The Only One
Pairing: chishiya x f! reader
Summary: when you see chishiya with another woman, you can't help the jealousy creeping in. but things aren't as they seem
Warnings: jealousy, a little bit of angst, mentions of alcohol, smut! ahem... oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, protected sex, dirty talk (do not read if you're under 18!)
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Arranged
Pairing: chishiya x f! reader
Summary: while you believe love can grow, chishiya had already decided he will never experience love. but his feelings will betray him in the end
Warnings: arranged marriage, angst, fluff
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Infuriating, Irritating
Pairing: doctor! chishiya x fInurse! reader
Summary: in which you start working as a nurse at sakurazawa university hospital and cross paths with a certain dr. chishiya. everything about him drives you insane, especially his arrogance
Warnings: chishiya being a smug asshole in the beginning, hospital/emergencies, enemies to lovers, smut! banter, fluff (Do not read if you're under 18!)
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When Calculations Fail
Pairing: chishiya x reader (no pronouns mentioned)
Summary: when niragi gets too touchy, too persistent, you lie to him you're taken and chishiya's name accidentally slips out
Warnings: fake dating, fluff, niragi being a red flag as always
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Caged
Pairing: chishiya x gn! reader
Summary: the beach takes you prisoner. while niragi tries to break your body and soul, chishiya stitches it back together during the long nights
Warnings: violence! beatings, mentions of blood and bruises, knife wounds, comfort with a sprinkle of fluff
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The Weight of Fragility
Pairing: chishiya x reader (no pronouns mentioned)
Summary: in which you carry around a secret. a secret that could make people realise you're a liability. so you do everything you can to shield it from everyone. but one certain genius can't refrain from wanting to find out
Warnings: reader has epilepsy, angst, fluff, comfort
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What Remains of Us
Pairing: chishiya x reader (no pronouns mentioned)
Summary: chishiya never thought he'd fall in love. and he never thought there could be an emotion that is even more consuming than love: grief
Warnings: heavy angst! reader dying, mentions of blood, a little bit of fluff
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Of Hearts and Knives
Pairing: chishiya x gn! reader
Summary: in which you get close to chishiya, knowing you will have to betray him. but hatter sends him after you, commanding him to eliminate you
Warnings: angst! mentions of blood and knives, fluff
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Anatomy of Control
Pairing: doctor! chishiya x f!resident! reader
Summary: you start working as a resident doctor at the sakurazawa university hospital. a certain paediatrician is not very fond of residents, but something about you catches him off guard
Warnings: mentions of hospitals and diseases, chishiya being a smug bastard, smut!
☁️ more to come ☁️
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Summary: after the most recent events, you choose distance, thinking it would be for the better. but trying to stay away from chishiya is breaking you more than it should, and more importantly, it is breaking him
Warnings: angst! fluff, one short smut scene, hospitals, medical procedures (I still recommend not to read this if you're under 18!)
Word Count: ~9.7k
This is Part 4 of Anatomy of Control, Anatomy of Desire and Anatomy of Feelings
You were already at the nurses’ station, preparing a tray of morning medications, when Chishiya finally arrived. He looked crisp as ever in his white coat, but you didn’t spare him more than a glance. Without a word, you slid the neat stack of charts across the counter towards him and before he could say anything, you picked up the tray and walked off down the corridor.
Chishiya stared at the charts as if they had personally offended him. Even your handwriting, looping neatly across the margins, irritated him. His jaw clenched, the muscles tight. He wanted to stop you, to say something, anything, but instead he flipped open the first chart, trying to focus.
You took your time with the patients, lingering longer than usual, explaining things slowly, always smiling at them, anything to avoid crossing paths with him. Time passed quickly, but not quickly enough for Chishiya, who found himself constantly checking the time between charts.
When you finally stepped out of a little boy’s room, the door clicking softly behind you, he was already there waiting, a chart in hand.
“You adjusted the dosage for Tanaka in 207?” His tone was sharper than he intended. He lifted the file, eyes scanning the notes. “I don’t agree with this change.”
You straightened, clutching the tablet to your chest. “He’s been stabilising for the past three days, his fever is gone, and his appetite’s back. The reduced dosage keeps the therapeutic effect without risking unnecessary side effects.”
For a moment, he just studied you, the way your voice carried quiet conviction. Then he exhaled softly through his nose, conceding, “I understand your thinking. But I believe it’s better to stick with the current treatment plan until we have two more stable cultures.”
You only nodded, expression unreadable. No spark of playful retort, no grin tugging at your lips. Just silence.
He shifted slightly closer, lowering the chart to his side. “Do you have a second?” You shook your head, stepping away before his words could sink in. “No. Actually, I don’t.”
And then you were gone, slipping into the next room and closing the door softly behind you, leaving him standing alone in the hallway, the weight of your absence pressing heavier than the chart in his hand.
Chishiya spent the rest of the morning pretending to focus, but the pressure inside his chest only grew sharper. The need to explain himself, to drag you into a quiet room and make you listen, became almost unbearable. You had built up an image in your mind, and the cruelest part was, it wasn’t even true. Not even close.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, flipping a chart shut harder than necessary. A pair of nurses at the station glanced at each other nervously.
"Doctor, do you want us to-" one began, but Chishiya’s sharp voice cut her off. “Do I look like I want you to finish that sentence?”
The nurse flinched, muttering an apology before retreating. He sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair, but it didn’t soften him. The next resident who approached didn’t fare better.
“Dr. Chishiya, I was wondering if-"
“Don’t. Wondering clearly isn’t your strength.” He didn’t even look up from the chart he was scribbling into.
The younger doctor stammered, retreating quickly down the corridor. It was as if the past few weeks hadn’t happened. He was back to being the cold, sharp-edged surgeon everyone whispered about behind his back.
And still, it didn’t make the gnawing in his chest go away.
Later that day, Misaki slid up beside you at the nurses’ station, her perfume sharp in the sterile air. You tried to ignore her, focusing on the chart in your hand, but she leaned casually against the counter, voice pitched low and taunting.
“I'm sorry, honey.” she said with a smirk. You stiffened, not looking up. “Pardon?”
She tilted her head, her smile far too knowing. “I just mean, I'm sorry I crushed your little fantasy with him. You seem… tense. Dr. Chishiya too. He’s been impossible all morning, haven’t you noticed? Snapping at everyone.”
Your grip tightened on the chart. “He always snaps. That’s not new.”
“Mm,” Misaki hummed, as if amused by your denial. “But this is different. You must have done something to upset him. I don't think his needs were taken care of properly these past weeks.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Don’t feel too bad, though. I know exactly how to make him relax.”
Your stomach twisted, a hot spike of nausea crawling up your throat. You forced your gaze down at the papers, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
Misaki chuckled softly at your silence. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that. Thinking you can keep his attention? Don’t fool yourself. I’ve known him a lot longer than you have. You’re… temporary. But you probably already noticed that."
Her words sank like stones into your chest. You wanted to fire something back, to tear her smugness apart, but your throat was tight, your tongue frozen. Instead, you shoved the chart back onto the pile with more force than necessary and turned on your heel, walking away before she could see how badly her words rattled you.
Your footsteps echoed against the tiles as you made your way towards the changing rooms, shoulders tight, throat raw. You hated how much your chest hurt. Hated that Misaki’s words still crawled beneath your skin, twisting and pulling until you weren’t sure what hurt worse: the anger at her, or the anger at yourself for letting her get to you.
You tried to swallow it down, tried to laugh at yourself. How could you have been so naive? He had told you from the very beginning: none of this meant anything, it was only about sex. No promises. No strings. And yet here you were, pressing your palms against your eyes, trying to stop the hot tears that refused to obey you.
Stupid. So stupid.
The sound of steady footsteps reached you. Your breath caught. You wiped at your face in a frantic motion, but your heart already knew.
When he called your name, his voice was softer than you had ever heard it, like it scraped out of him against his will.
Your chest clenched painfully. You didn’t turn, but you could feel him behind you, the weight of his presence filling the narrow corridor. He didn’t touch you. Not this time. Not after you had burned that boundary into his skin with a single word: red.
And yet every fiber in him screamed to close the distance. To grab your wrist, to pull you against him, to hold you together before you shattered right there in front of him. His hands twitched at his sides. His jaw ached from how tightly he was clenching it. He hated this, hated what he had done to you.
“Please.” His voice cracked just slightly, desperation threading through it. “Allow me to explain.”
A bitter laugh bubbled from your throat, breaking off halfway as you pressed your palms harder against your eyes, the headache blooming sharp behind them. “Please, Dr. Chishiya. Just leave me in peace for once.”
He flinched at the title. He wanted to argue, wanted to drop to his knees right there and beg you to listen, to believe him. But when he was about to force his body to move, the rational part of him acted first, dragging him back a step instead of forward.
His heart burned, his voice thick when he finally spoke again. “Message me… if you want to talk.” The silence that followed felt heavier than any scalpel he had ever held.
He leaned back against the cold corridor wall after you disappeared, the weight in his chest threatening to cave him in. His fingers twitched at his sides, feeling utterly useless. He had spent years training his body to stay steady in chaos, but tonight… he felt like he was unraveling.
Chishiya checked his phone before he even realised it, screen lighting up with nothing but the time staring back at him. Again. And again. Every ten minutes, every five... pathetic, really. But he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t quiet the gnawing ache in his stomach that screamed for your name to appear, even if it was just a few words telling him to go to hell.
By the time he made it home, exhaustion pressed heavy on him, but sleep wouldn’t come near him. He dropped onto his couch, elbows braced against his knees, eyes locked on the empty cushion beside him. The one you had curled into last week.
He closed his eyes. If he could claw his way back into that moment, he would. If he could start all over again, he would.
And his mind, traitorous as it was, didn’t wander to your mouth or the way your body had felt against his. Not this time. Instead it pulled him through all the small things, the things he never thought would matter until he lost them.
The teasing glint in your eyes when you grinned at him across the ward. The way you were bold enough to laugh at his sharp remarks instead of shrinking away. Your face when he shoved the syringe into your hands during the emergency, trusting you to drain the patient’s lungs, and how your hands had been steady, focused, capable.
The image of you shuffling into his kitchen wrapped in his blanket, shyly asking if you could use his shower. The look you gave him at the restaurant, half teasing, half curious, when you realised he had friends.
He wanted those moments back. He wanted more of those moments. More of you.
His hand tightened around his phone again, thumb hovering over your name in his contacts. For once in his life, Chishiya didn’t know how to calculate the next step. He only knew that the silence between you was unbearable.
Chishiya’s shoes clicked sharply against the tile as he strode into the ward, white coat billowing slightly behind him. He was late, by his standards at least. But when he didn’t see you waiting at the nurses’ station, charts ready, his irritation simmered instantly into impatience.
He grabbed the stack of files himself, flipping through them with mechanical precision, eyes darting to the door every few minutes. He checked his watch, lips pressing into a thin line. Late. Too late.
The sound of his own thoughts drummed louder in his skull with every passing second, until finally he snapped, “Where’s my resident?” His voice cracked like a whip across the counter, making nurse Aiko flinch before she forced her posture straight again.
“Scrubbed in for surgery,” she replied, her tone deliberately even, almost dismissive.
Chishiya’s hand stilled on the edge of a chart. His face didn’t move, but for a fraction of a second, one small crack slipped through. “What?”
Aiko stood, gathering a tray of supplies without sparing him a glance. “Don’t you know? Dr. Kato is back. He made her join him for surgery, said she’s more than ready to assist.” She set the tray down with a soft clink, finally meeting Chishiya’s eyes. “So, you don’t have to bother with a resident anymore, Dr. Chishiya. That’s what you wanted, right?”
The silence that followed felt heavier than the walls of the ward. His jaw clenched visibly, molars grinding together, but his expression remained stone-carved. He didn’t answer her. Couldn’t.
The truth was, he didn’t know why it burned. Why the thought of you standing at the OR table beside Kato and not him twisted like a knife in his ribs. Why the fact that the first surgery you ever scrubbed in for wouldn’t have his name attached to it, gnawed at him until he couldn’t even think straight.
He exhaled harshly through his nose, tossing the chart down with more force than necessary. The resident hovering nearby opened their mouth to offer help, but one look from Chishiya shut them down immediately, sending them scurrying back.
“Guess I'll take care of the morning rounds alone then.” His tone left no room for argument. And he did, slicing through the ward like a blade. Each interaction quick and efficient, but brittle at the edges, as if every word cost him more energy than he was willing to spend.
When he was finished, his steps carried him somewhere he hadn’t planned on going. To the observation room above the OR. To the glass pane that separated him from you.
And when his eyes found you, steady hands, gaze sharp, face half-hidden behind your mask as you stood beside Kato, the knot in his chest only grew tighter. He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe right. You were so focused, so composed, as if the entire hospital didn’t exist beyond the patient in front of you.
And for the first time in years, Chishiya wished desperately that he could rewrite the script. That he had been the one to pull you into that room, to guide your hands.
Chishiya’s arms were crossed tightly over his chest as he leaned against the glass, but it did nothing to steady the storm inside him. He told himself he would only watch for a minute, long enough to confirm for himself that you really were there, that Aiko wasn’t lying.
But one minute stretched into two. Two into ten. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t tear his gaze away from you.
It wasn’t just irritation twisting in his chest. It wasn’t just jealousy crawling hot under his skin. There was something else, a weight he didn’t recognise. Something dangerously close to pride, something foreign, something that belonged to people other than him.
For the first time in his life, he wasn’t proud of himself. He was proud of someone else. Proud of you.
Every detail burned itself into his mind: the steadiness of your hands as you passed instruments, the way your brows knit in concentration, the subtle precision of your movements that spoke of a natural instinct few ever developed. And when Kato finally stepped back, nodding for you to handle the sutures, Chishiya felt his chest tighten.
You didn’t falter. Didn’t even hesitate. Your fingers moved carefully, purposefully, as though this had been inside you all along, waiting for the right moment to surface. And when your eyes flickered up beneath the mask, when he caught that glimmer, that pride, that joy, he nearly lost his composure right there.
But it wasn’t him who had put that look in your eyes. It wasn’t his approval you were soaking in. It was Kato’s. That stung sharper than any scalpel.
When the last stitch was tied and the patient wheeled away, Chishiya finally forced himself to move, leaving the gallery before anyone else could notice the way he lingered. His long strides carried him straight to the scrub room hallway, where he stood in the sterile scent of disinfectant, shadows pooling around him.
Through the narrow window of the door, he saw you and Kato together. The older surgeon leaned towards you slightly, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. You nodded eagerly, voice muffled but animated, replying with a spark he hadn’t seen in your tone towards him for days.
Chishiya’s jaw ticked. He hated the way it made him feel. Hated how he wanted to storm inside and drag you out just so he could have that spark turned back on him.
The door opened, and suddenly you were there. Freshly scrubbed, hair tucked away, face free except for the faint lines where the mask had pressed into your skin. Your steps faltered when your eyes met his, and for a split second, neither of you moved.
“You did well in there.” His voice was cool, even detached. He made sure of it. Your lips parted softly before you managed a quiet, “Thank you, Dr. Chishiya.” No warmth, no fight, just polite. Professional.
And then you walked past him, your footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving him standing there with a hollow weight in his chest, staring at the space you had left behind.
The following days turned into a quiet torment for Chishiya. You didn’t avoid him exactly, you were too professional for that, but your civility was cutting. Too polite. Too detached. Every “Yes, Dr. Chishiya” landed like a blade beneath his ribs.
Chishiya fell into a pattern he hadn't meant to. Whenever there was a procedure, he found himself saying the same thing to the nurses: “Fetch her.”
It didn’t matter if another resident was already standing there, eager for a chance to learn. Chishiya barely spared them a glance. He wanted you. Needed you back in his shadow, even if your tone was clipped and polite, even if your eyes never lingered on him longer than necessary.
You kept it professional, painfully so. Your replies were short, your voice soft when you had to answer. He hated it. He hated how you wouldn’t bite back, how you wouldn’t roll your eyes or make one of those infuriating comments that always forced the corner of his mouth to twitch in return.
The ward had been buzzing with the low hum of late-afternoon chaos. Chishiya stood at the nurses’ station, flipping through a patient’s chart, his sharp eyes scanning the lab results before he called, almost absently, “Page my resident.”
The nurse blinked, clearly confused. “Dr. Kato’s?”
“Yes,” he said simply, and returned his focus to the file, refusing to acknowledge the curious looks that followed.
A few minutes later, you appeared at the door, your coat still slightly askew from hurrying. “You asked for me, Dr. Chishiya?”
He looked up and for a split second, something in his chest eased just at the sound of your voice. “Yes. There’s a patient in 205, post-op from an appendectomy. There’s some tenderness and swelling. We’re going to perform an ultrasound-guided drainage.”
You nodded immediately, professional as ever, though your tone was softer than it had been in days. “I’ll grab the kit.”
In the room, the air smelled faintly of disinfectant and anxiety. The small boy on the bed clutched his mother’s hand, his wide eyes darting between the two of you. You bent slightly, your voice gentle and soothing as you explained the procedure in terms he could understand. He relaxed under your calm tone, something even Chishiya, for all his precision, could never quite manage.
When the boy was settled, Chishiya guided you to the bedside, pointing to the monitor. “We’ll start here. The fluid pocket’s small, but if you angle the needle like this-" he took your wrist lightly, guiding your hand, looking at the screen, “you’ll see the echo-free area right beneath the muscle layer. That’s your target.”
You followed his instructions carefully, your eyes narrowing in concentration. “Would you aspirate directly here or place a small catheter?” you asked, voice thoughtful. He glanced at you, caught off guard by the question. “What would you suggest?”
“Catheter,” you replied quickly, confidence bleeding through. “He’s young, and the pocket looks shallow enough that full aspiration might cause more trauma. Continuous drainage seems safer.”
A beat passed and then Chishiya gave a slow, measured nod. “Exactly right.”
As you continued the procedure under his quiet guidance, he found himself watching your hands and listening to your voice as you described each step for the nurse charting nearby.
When it was done, the boy was resting comfortably. You stepped back, exhaling softly. “I think it went well.”
Chishiya folded his arms, his gaze flicking from the boy to you. “It did.” And then, before he could stop himself, he added quietly, “Good work.”
You looked up, meeting his eyes, the faintest curve at the corner of your mouth. “Thank you.”
Something unknotted in his chest then. It wasn’t quite a smile you gave him, but it was something. And for the first time in far too long, the sound of your voice didn’t carry frost, it carried life again. Interest. For the first time, he could breathe.
The late-afternoon meeting dragged longer than necessary, and by the time Chishiya and Kato stepped back onto the paediatric ward, the corridors had thinned to soft beeps and hushed voices.
Chishiya’s eyes found you immediately.
You stood at a treatment cart near room 212, assembling an IV line with meticulous care, your brows knit in concentration, a loose strand of hair having escaped the clip at the back of your head.
He didn’t realise he had stopped walking until Kato’s quiet voice broke through his thoughts.
“Dr. Chishiya,” Kato said mildly, his tone carrying the faint amusement of someone who had seen more than he let on, “I’ve noticed you’ve been borrowing my resident quite a bit lately.”
Chishiya blinked once, forcing his face back into its usual composure. “Borrowing?” he echoed, slipping his hands into the pockets of his white coat. “Hardly. She’s been useful for certain cases. I like to see how well she adapts under pressure.”
Kato’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, keeping his gaze on you as well. “Ah. Interesting. I thought you weren’t particularly fond of teaching residents.”
Chishiya’s jaw flexed, but his tone stayed smooth, detached. “She’s an exception,” he said simply. “I have high hopes for her.”
Kato hummed thoughtfully, crossing his arms. “I do, too,” he said at last, a knowing edge hidden behind the politeness of his smile. “She learns fast. And she seems to bring out a certain… patience in you.”
Chishiya’s expression didn’t change, but something sharp flickered in his chest. Kato gave a small chuckle, patting his shoulder before walking off towards the nurses’ station, leaving Chishiya standing there.
He let his gaze return to you, still focused, still unaware of the conversation that had revolved around you, and for a brief moment, the corner of his mouth twitched.
Patience. The word lingered in Chishiya’s mind long after Kato walked away.
He told himself he was being rational. That asking for you during procedures was a matter of efficiency, your instincts were simply always sharp. He told himself this every morning, every time he heard your name, every time he caught himself waiting to hear the soft click of your shoes in the corridor.
But rationality was a fragile thing, and it was cracking.
He had begun finding reasons to need you, reasons even he knew were flimsy.
“Get her for the dressing change,” he would tell the nurses.
“She needs to assist on the catheter insertion, it’s good experience.”
“I want her to review this imaging. She catches things the others don’t.”
The nurses exchanged knowing looks each time. They weren’t subtle. They didn’t need to be.
“Dr. Chishiya,” one of them murmured one afternoon, handing him a chart, “you might as well request her full-time. Save yourself the trouble of pretending it’s about training.” He gave her a look so sharp it could have frozen the air. But the comment lingered.
You, on the other hand, remained composed. Professional. Distant. Even when he would stand beside you during a procedure, close enough that your sleeves brushed, your tone stayed perfectly level.
“Do you want me to administer the sedative, Dr. Chishiya?” No falter. No flicker of emotion. He should have admired that control. Instead, it infuriated him. Because he was not in control.
Not anymore.
He found himself lingering outside rooms longer than necessary just to hear your voice with patients, gentle and reassuring, the kind of warmth he had never been capable of giving. It did something strange to him.
And when you laughed softly at something a nurse said, the sound hit him square in the chest. He had to turn away before anyone noticed his expression slip.
By the end of the week, the tension coiled so tightly inside him that he could barely think straight.
When a nurse brought him a chart that morning, saying, “Before you ask me to page her, Dr. Kato requested her for a consult." Something inside him flared. He nodded curtly, masking the irritation. “Fine. I’ll find someone else.” But his pulse betrayed him.
He wasn’t angry at Kato. He wasn’t angry at you. He was angry at himself, for missing you this much, for losing the upper hand, for letting something as human as feeling get in the way of his control. The thought made him sick.
And yet, the next time he caught a glimpse of you across the ward, hair slightly loose, face lit by the morning sun through the windows, his resolve cracked all over again.
It wasn’t about control anymore.
It was about you.
You told yourself you were fine.
You told yourself every morning, as you tied your hair back in front of the mirror, that today would be easier. That the sharp ache in your chest would dull if you just stayed busy enough.
So you threw yourself into work. Into the patients. Into anything that wasn’t him.
You smiled at the children, laughed with the nurses, helped anyone who needed an extra hand. You pretended the hollow ache wasn’t there, that you weren’t aware of every single time his name was mentioned across the ward.
But you were.
You noticed the way the air shifted when he entered a room. The faint hush that followed him. The subtle tightening in your chest every time your eyes accidentally met his across the corridor.
You felt him. Always.
Even when you tried not to look.
Your hands would tremble faintly when you passed him charts, so you began setting them down instead of handing them over.
You would keep your gaze fixed on paperwork, not daring to meet the intensity in his eyes when he stood too close.
You told yourself this distance was strength. That the hurt he had left in you was armour now, thick and necessary. You told yourself that the burn beneath your skin when he brushed past you was only your body betraying you, not your heart.
At night, you would replay everything. The on-call room. The restaurant. The stupid smirk when he warned you not to bite your lip.
It all felt like another lifetime, something you couldn’t afford to miss.
And yet you did. You missed the quiet hum of tension that used to hover between you. The banter. The way he would look at you as though you were the only person who ever managed to catch him off guard.
You missed him. But you couldn’t forget the sting of betrayal, the image of Misaki on her knees, his cold expression, your own voice shaking when you said red.
The memory was your anchor now. It reminded you why you couldn’t go back. So you straightened your coat, fixed your posture, and kept moving.
Professional. Composed. Untouchable. Even if, inside, every step away from him felt like it might tear something vital from you.
You decided to enjoy lunch in the quietness of the empty break room. You hadn’t even noticed the door closing until the sharp click of the lock echoed through the room. You turned quickly, bag of food still in your hands.
Chishiya stood in front of the door, chest rising, eyes burning with a rare, unguarded intensity. “Dr. Chishiya-"
“We’re going to have a talk.” His tone left no room for argument. You sighed, setting your food down, exhaustion flooding through you. “Now’s not-"
“Now,” he cut you off, voice low, almost trembling under the weight of restraint.
You crossed your arms, waiting, though your pulse thudded in your ears.
He stepped closer, not too close, just enough that you could smell the faint antiseptic and clean linen clinging to him.
“When you walked in on that scene,” he began, jaw tight, “Misaki had already crossed a line before I could stop her.” You said nothing. You didn’t even blink.
“I told her to leave me alone. She didn’t listen. When she walked into that on-call room, I didn’t know what she wanted until she was already on her knees. And I stepped away from her. Nothing happened.” His voice was sharper now, sounding controlled and precise, as though explaining a case to a superior. “Nothing ever happened since I met you. And nothing ever will.” The words hung there.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “I’ve followed the rule I set. I haven’t been with anyone else. I don’t want anyone else.”
You scoffed softly, the sound cutting through the silence like glass. “You might as well start again.” His brows drew together, confusion flickering before realisation hit. You gestured faintly between the two of you, voice tight. “Because this, whatever this was, is over.”
For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
The quiet stretched unbearably, and you could almost feel the fear clawing beneath his skin. He swallowed hard, words coming out rougher than intended. “Why?”
You hesitated, then finally looked at him. His eyes caught yours, pleading, though he would never admit it aloud.“You said,” you began quietly, “either one of us could end this whenever we wanted. Without any explanation.”
Chishiya’s throat tightened. He remembered the rule all too well. He had made it to protect himself, never imagining you would be the one to use it... against him. For the first time, he hated his own logic.
He stood frozen, watching you, waiting for something to anchor him. And you finally gave in, the words barely above a whisper. “If you must know… I don’t think I’m what you need. And you’re not what I need.” He stared at you, unblinking.
“This whole thing,” you continued, forcing the words out before your voice could break, “was doomed from the start. We just got caught up in the moment. In the desire. That’s all it was.”
His jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He looked away, trying to swallow the burn in his chest.
After a long pause, he forced out, “We could find compromises. If that’s what it takes. I could-" He stopped, then looked at you again, desperate. “I could take you on dates. Do the things you need.”
A sad smile tugged at your lips. “I don’t want you to become someone you’re not, Chishiya.”
You grabbed your packed lunch, sliding it into your bag with trembling fingers. He didn’t move. His body felt carved out of stone, panic rising inside him like he was watching something vital slip through his hands and didn’t know how to stop it.
You turned towards the door. He wanted to call your name, to say don’t go, I’ll change, I’ll try, but the words caught in his throat.
So he just stood there, silent, as you left him behind.
And the only sound left in the break room was the faint click of the door closing, and the echo of his world falling apart.
The door had barely closed when the air left his lungs. Chishiya stood there, motionless, for what felt like hours.
The echo of your voice, quiet but firm 'I don’t think I’m what you need' replayed over and over in his head until the words blurred into noise. Because no, you were everything he ever needed.
He had spent his life building walls, every piece of detachment carefully placed, every rule designed to keep him from exactly this.
And yet, you had slipped through the cracks. Now, without you, everything he had built felt off balance. Too quiet. Too fragile.
By the time morning came, the silence in his apartment was unbearable. He had spent the night staring at his ceiling, trying to convince himself he was fine, that this ache in his chest was nothing but exhaustion.
When he arrived at the hospital, he spotted you walking into the little café next to it.
The day was cool, the kind that carried the faint beginning of autumn, the air biting at your skin. You had decided to grab some black tea from the small café just next to the hospital before your shift. Anything to feel human again before walking into the sterile lights of the ward.
The door chimed as you pushed it open and nearly walked right into someone. “Oh, sorry-" you started, then froze when the familiar voice replied, “No harm done, doc.”
You blinked up to see him, the bartender from the night out. Same warm smile, same easy posture, the opposite of everything Chishiya ever was. You noticed the apron as he made his way back behind the counter.
“Oh! You work here, too?” you asked, surprised but relieved by the friendly face.
“Sometimes,” he said, chuckling. “The manager is a friend of mine. I fill in when he needs help. Small world, huh?” You smiled softly. “Apparently. You seem to enjoy making beverages, whether they are hot or cold."
His laugh filled the quiet café. He leaned on the counter, studying you for a moment before saying, “You look like you could use something stronger than caffeine.”
“Unfortunately, I’m on duty,” you replied with a grin, and the simple conversation felt like a balm. Easy. Effortless. No tension humming beneath your skin.
You ordered, he made your drink, and when he handed it to you, he slipped a napkin across the counter too, his number written neatly in the corner.
“Only if you ever want to talk,” he said quickly, holding up his hands. “Promise I’m not trying to hit on you. You just looked like you could use a friend the other night.”
The sincerity in his tone made you pause. You hesitated only for a moment before tucking the napkin into your coat pocket. “Thank you, Karube." You said after checking his name tag, "I might take you up on that.”
And maybe that was the truth, you wanted something normal. Something safe. Someone who wasn’t built from contradictions and stormlight.
When you stepped out of the café, the air hit you and so did a familiar presence.
“Good lord, you scared me,” you exhaled, heart skipping when you saw him standing just outside the café door, hands shoved in his pockets, posture tense.
Chishiya’s gaze flicked to the café window, then back to you, his voice edged with that old sharpness. “You do realise that guy’s just trying to get into your panties, right?” You blinked at him, incredulous. “Excuse me?”
“He’s only interested in getting you into his bed,” he added dryly, crossing his arms. You scoffed, pushing past him towards the hospital entrance. “Why would that be any of your concern, Dr. Chishiya?” He fell into step beside you, expression unreadable. “Because you deserve better than that. And if you’re looking for someone to fuck-" he leaned closer, voice dropping, “I’m always available.”
You stopped walking, turning to face him with an incredulous laugh. “And how exactly are you any different than him then? You don’t do dates. You don’t do feelings. You just-" your words caught for a second.
Something flickered across his face then, a crack in the mask, just for a moment. His jaw clenched hard enough that you could see the tension ripple through it. Because the answer was there, loud and screaming in his head:
Because I don’t want to take advantage of you.
Because I want to give you more than that.
But he didn’t say it.
By the time he found the words, you were already walking away, the hospital doors swallowing you whole.
He stood there for a long moment, the sound of your footsteps fading down the corridor, his hands tightening into fists at his sides, because he knew exactly why he cared, and he hated himself for not saying it out loud.
The ward greeted him with the usual chaos, the sharp smell of antiseptic, the soft beeps of monitors, the hum of chatter. Normally, that rhythm steadied him.
Today, it grated.
He was already tense when a resident approached with a hesitant, “Dr. Chishiya, I wanted to ask-"
“Then ask,” he snapped, without looking up from the chart. The young man stammered, fumbling over his words. Chishiya cut him off coldly, his voice like a scalpel. “If you don’t know the answer to a basic metabolic question, you shouldn’t be standing in this ward.”
The resident paled. Chishiya walked away before the kid could stutter an apology.
When Aiko asked if he wanted assistance with the next treatment, he said flatly, “No. I’ll do it myself.”
When a nurse accidentally handed him the wrong chart, his voice went icy. “If you can’t tell one patient from another, perhaps you should find a different department.”
The silence that followed him through the halls was louder than any argument could have been.
And still, in every quiet moment, he thought of you.
Of the way you used to challenge him, and how now he would give anything just to hear you say his name with that hint of exasperation again.
He hated this, hated how much power you had over him even in your absence.
The guilt sat like lead in his chest, pressing heavier with every patient, every chart, every step.
That evening, after another unnecessarily harsh comment towards a junior doctor, even the head nurse gave him a pointed look. “You’re not yourself, Dr. Chishiya.”
He didn’t answer. Because she was wrong. He was himself. And that was the problem.
You had heard the whispers first. The slammed drawers. The sharp orders. The uncomfortable silences that trailed after him down the hall.
At first, you told yourself it wasn’t your concern anymore. You had made your decision. You had chosen distance.
But when you walked past the nurses’ station and saw the pale resident standing frozen, a termination slip shaking in his hands, and Chishiya standing beside him with that cold, empty look, something inside you snapped. That was enough.
You didn’t even think. You simply marched up to him, pulse hammering.
“Dr. Chishiya. A word?” He was halfway through a curt dismissal, irritation sharp in his voice. “I’m in the middle of-"
But when his eyes met yours, he stopped.
The air between you shifted instantly. You saw the tension in his shoulders, the exhaustion in his face. He hesitated, then nodded once, curtly.
You didn’t wait. You turned and started down the hall, hearing the quiet drag of his footsteps behind you. The on-call room door shut behind you with a decisive click.
You turned to face him, your voice steady, though your pulse wasn’t. “That’s enough, Chishiya.”
He blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” you said firmly. “You’ve been snapping at nurses, residents, everyone in your way. You’ve fired two people in three days, and for what? Because they’re not perfect?” His eyes hardened. “I’m holding them accountable for their incompetence.”
“No,” you countered, taking a step closer. “You’re punishing them for my decision.”
The words hit him like a blade. His expression flickered in hurt, or was it anger?
He exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m punishing no one but the ones who deserve it.” You scoffed. “Oh, please. You can’t stand the fact that you lost control, so you’re taking it out on everyone else.”
He moved closer, voice dropping. “Control is what keeps this ward functioning.”
“Control is what’s destroying you.” The air thickened between you, both of you breathing harder now, the tension electric and sharp.
“Why do you even care?” he demanded suddenly. “You ended it. You walked away.”
“Because people are terrified of you again, and I know that’s not who you are!”
“You don’t know anything about who I am.”
“Yes, I do,” you shot back, your voice trembling, not with fear, but with everything you had been holding in. “I’ve seen who you are when you’re not hiding behind your damn arrogance. You care. You just hate that you do.”
His hands clenched at his sides, chest rising and falling fast. “Stop pretending you understand me.”
“Stop pretending you don’t feel anything!” you fired back, stepping right into his space now, your anger colliding with his.
Something in his composure cracked, the faint tremor in his breath, the way his eyes darkened when you didn’t back down.
“You think you can just waltz in here and tell me who I am?” he hissed. “You think you can walk away and still lecture me like I-" You cut him off, voice low, shaking. “Then stop punishing others for what I caused, and if you need to take it out on someone, take it out on me.”
For a moment, there was silence.
Then his voice came out rough, almost a growl. “I can’t.”
Your heart skipped, confusion flickering, but before you could speak, his restraint shattered. He crossed the distance between you in one swift motion, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, and his mouth crashed into yours.
The kiss wasn’t soft. It was days of anger and longing and confusion, all colliding in one violent, breath-stealing moment.
Your hands went to his chest, meaning to push him away, but instead you pulled him closer, the sound of your quick breaths filling the narrow space.
The fight between you burned out in the heat of the kiss, replaced by the thing that had always lived between you: fire.
When he finally broke away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath unsteady. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you needed to. For now, the silence said everything words couldn’t.
His hands stayed on your face, fingertips warm against your skin, the air between you still trembling with what had just happened.
His breath brushed your lips, but he didn’t lean in again. He couldn’t.
Chishiya’s eyes flicked over your face as though he were trying to memorise it, the way you looked up at him, hurt, confused, wanting.
He could feel his pulse everywhere, his body betraying him, his erection pressing against his trousers, begging him to give in.
But the word red still lived in the back of his mind.
The memory of you saying it, the look in your eyes when you walked away that day, he would never forget that.
He swallowed hard, voice rough, almost quiet enough to disappear. “What are you doing to me?”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.
And then he stepped back, letting his hands fall, forcing his expression back into place. Without another word, he turned and left the room.
For the rest of his shift, he was a ghost of himself.
He spoke less, barked fewer orders, signed charts mechanically.
Every time he passed you in the hall, his eyes flickered towards you and away again so fast it almost didn’t happen. The silence between you buzzed louder than any argument could.
When you finally came home that evening, exhaustion hit you like gravity.
You dropped your bag by the door and stood there for a long moment, staring at your phone. You shouldn’t. You couldn’t. But your thumb hovered over his name anyway.
Just one message, you thought. One call.
Before you could decide, the doorbell rang. You froze, heart stumbling. For a second you thought, hoped, it couldn’t be him. That he wouldn’t dare.
But when you opened the door, there he was.
Shirt creased from a day’s worth of chaos, dark circles shadowing his eyes.
He looked exhausted, strung tight, like a man who had run out of ways to pretend.
“Chishiya,” you breathed, his name half a question, half disbelief. He exhaled, voice raw. “I can’t do this anymore.”
And in that moment, you knew, every wall he had rebuilt was about to come crashing down again.
You barely had time to register the look in his eyes before his hands were on you. Chishiya kissed you like a drowning man breaking the surface, his mouth desperate and searching, stealing the air from your lungs until you were gasping against him.
Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, kissing him back with the same hunger you had been holding back for weeks. He stumbled you backwards, step by step, until your back hit the cool wall with a soft thud.
His palms slid over your sides, your back, your hips, roaming, needing to feel you under his hands, needing the reminder that you were real, warm, here. His forehead pressed to yours as he kissed down your neck, his breath hot against your skin.
“Please…” he whispered, the word breaking against your throat. “Give me another chance.”
He didn’t stop kissing you, his lips trailing along your jaw, but his voice was low and shaking.
“I want to make this right. This isn’t about me changing into someone I’m not. This is me wanting to become the man you need. Because I need you. All of you. In every way imaginable.” Your fingers trembled where they gripped his shoulders.
“No more rules,” he murmured. “No more restrictions. Let me take you out. Let me try… I can’t-" He broke off, pressing his forehead harder to yours, voice cracking. “I can’t deal with a world that doesn’t have you in it.”
Tears blurred your vision, streaming hot down your cheeks before you even realised you were crying. Chishiya’s hands came up immediately, wiping them away with his thumbs, his eyes searching yours, softer than you had ever seen them.
“Please,” he breathed, his voice a whisper against your lips. “Grant me one more chance.”
You stared at him, this man who had been so cold, so controlled, now trembling as if the whole world had come undone around him.
And you nodded. Just a small, soft nod. “Okay.”
The relief that crashed over him was visible, almost tangible. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his head dipping as though the weight had been lifted from his shoulders. His grip on you loosened, becoming something gentler, almost reverent.
When he opened his eyes again, there was something new in them, a glint of hope, of fear, of something unspoken but no less real.
His arms wrapped around you and for the first time, he let himself just hold you, breathing you in, as if anchoring himself to you before he could shatter completely.
He kissed you again, slower this time, lingering between breaths as though memorising you, every angle of your mouth, every quiet sound you made. His hand came up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb tracing the faint line of a tear he had missed.
The kiss that had started fierce and breathless began to slow, his lips still moving against yours but with a newfound tenderness. The hunger that had driven him softened into something rawer, something that made your heart ache more than your body ever could.
You felt his chest rise and fall against yours. The sharp edges of the man you knew, the arrogance, the control, the walls he had built around himself, seemed to fall away with every soft press of his lips.
This wasn’t the same Chishiya who had cornered you in on-call rooms, or barked orders across the ward. This was him stripped bare, trembling in the quiet space between you, kissing you as if trying to speak through it.
"Would you prefer to take things slow?" Chishiya asked breathlessly between kisses. You chuckled softly, "I think we're past taking things slow."
Chishiya threw his hands up in defence, "I can contain myself. Against all odds, I do have self-control."
"Is that so?" You smirked, hand moving to palm his erection through his trousers. His muscles flexed, his hand shooting down to grab your wrist, "well, you're not playing fair. Don't think I won't still punish you if you misbehave." He spoke through gritted teeth.
"I wouldn't have wanted for you to change anything about that anyway." You leaned forward, standing on your tiptoes, whispering in his ear, "because I so enjoy the way you fuck me, Chishiya." You felt his cock twitch beneath your palm, a soft growl escaping his lips before he grabbed your hair and pressed his mouth against yours.
He pulled you inside the living room, walking you backwards until your legs hit the couch. With quick hands, he yanked off your shirt, removing your bra in one quick motion. He left a trail of wet kisses down your breasts and stomach as he knelt in front of you, pulling your trousers down.
"Sit down." He murmured. When you did, he snaked his arms around yours thighs, pulling you closer to the edge. You could already feel his hot breath ghosting over your cunt. "Please, Chishiya." You whimpered desperately. His eyes met yours and he smirked at you, "don't worry, darling. This will be quick. I really need to be inside you. I just have to prepare you for my cock." And with that, his mouth was on you, his tongue licking between your folds, his saliva mixing with your juices.
Chishiya ate you out until you were a moaning mess, his tongue flicking across your clit in precisely the right motions. Your hands grabbing the edge of the couch, steadying yourself, mostly refraining yourself for grabbing his hair.
He stood up, leaning forward to press his mouth against yours, dragging his hand over your cunt before slipping two fingers in. He pumped them in and out of you, his mouth never leaving yours as he swallowed your moans.
Sloppy, wet sounds filled the room as he thrusted his fingers into you at a fast pace. Your hips moved involuntarily, granting him just the right angle to hit that spot deep inside you. You moaned his name, your walls clenching around his fingers. Chishiya pulled away from your lips, his free hand shooting up to wrap around your throat. Your eyes widened when your air supply was cut off.
His gaze was fixated on you, on the expression on your face. "Please." You croaked, voice almost inaudible. "Come for me." He finally growled. You shut your eyes close as you reached your high, your whole body shaking. Chishiya's skilled fingers guided you through your orgasm, making you enjoy every second of it.
When your eyes found his again, his pupils were dilated, mouth parted. "Fuck, I need you so badly." He groaned, already fumbling with his trousers. You stood on wobbly legs, replacing his hands as you undid his pants, sliding his cardigan off his shoulders and removed his shirt. He watched you, one eyebrow raised.
"What? Don't think I haven't been craving to have you inside me." Amusement plastered his face. When you pulled his trousers and underwear down, his cock slapped up against his lower stomach. You pushed him onto the couch, kneeling on the floor, settling between his legs, his erection towering in front of you.
But before you could even touch him or drag your tongue across his length, he grabbed your hair, stopping you. "Get on top of me right fucking now."
He leaned down, retrieving a foil packet from the pocket of his trousers, tearing it open and rolling the condom onto his cock. You placed your knees on either side of him, straddling him. He grabbed your waist, his other hand holding his dick, positioning it at your entrance. He inhaled sharply as you lowered yourself onto him. When his length was fully buried inside you, you stilled for a moment, eyes finding his.
Chishiya grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you towards him, kissing you fiercely. He quickly undid your hair tie, letting the strands fall loose over your shoulders. When you straightened, Chishiya looked at you, eyes traveling all over you. "You are so beautiful, it's driving me insane." He muttered under his breath.
You smiled at him before lifting yourself and slamming back down, earning a low groan from him. His hands were immediately back on your waist, guiding you up and down his cock. When you sat down, you rocked your hips shortly, making him stroke your walls. You placed your hands on the back rest of the couch, just above his shoulders, keeping in mind he prefers not to be touched. You steadied yourself as you rode him, moving up and down his length. "Hands behind your back." Chishiya ordered.
Chishiya's grip kept you steady, his eyes locked on the one thing he wanted to achieve with that order: your tits bouncing up and down in front of him with your movements. It took you some time to notice, but when you did, you grinned at him, whispering a soft "perv".
Chishiya's eyes shot up, his hand smacked your cheek almost too gently, grabbing your face and holding it in place, "Can't even let me enjoy the view without throwing a snarky comment at me." In one swift motion, he threw you down on the couch next to him, hovering above you in an instance. He lifted your legs, placing them on his shoulders before ramming his cock back into you. His arms wrapped around your legs at his front, pushing his length even deeper inside you. "I'm sorry!" You moaned.
And then he started to move, snapping his hips, silent groans leaving his lips when you clenched your walls around him. One hand moved down, rubbing small circles on your clit while he kept thrusting into you at a steady pace.
You threw your head back in pleasure, the second orgasm creeping its way into your brain, ready to shoot through your entire body. Chishiya noticed, bending your legs so he could lean forward. "Look at me when you come." He spoke through clenched teeth.
You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze. The intensity of it threw you over the edge. Chishiya moaned loudly when he saw the pure satisfaction on your face. Something he caused. You wrapped your legs around his torso, clenching them, pushing him against you as you rocked your hips, riding out your orgasm.
His thrusts became uneven as he leaned down, capturing your mouth with his. He grabbed your tit, the feel of it in warm and jiggly in his hand made his cock twitch. He could have edged himself, drag this out for as long as possible. But he wasn't going anywhere tonight. And he would have you as many times as you wanted him.
So with one final thrust, he stilled inside you, his cum filling the condom as he moaned against your lips.
The room went silent, filled only with your heavy breaths. He removed his cock, taking off the condom and making a knot.
He collapsed on the couch, leaning against the back rest, head thrown back as he placed your legs on his lap. "You have no idea how much I missed you." He said softly. He spotted the box of paper tissues on the living room table in front of him. Leaning forward, he grabbed a few tissues, cleaning the mess your wetness has caused in between your legs. You smiled at him softly. "I wasn't aware you were capable of missing someone." You teased him. "Neither was I." He muttered absentmindedly as he continued cleaning you.
"So, tea?" You laughed at his question, remembering the last time he asked for tea. "What, is this our ritual now? Tea after sex?" Chishiya didn't respond but you saw the corner of his lip curl upwards. You were smiling way too hard, but got up anyway. "I'll be right back then." This time he did grab your wrist when you wanted to grab your clothes. The raise of his eyebrow was enough to tell you to leave them right there and prepare that tea naked.
Steam curled softly between the two of you, the faint scent of tea grounding what still felt almost unreal. You sat next to each other on your couch, both a little disheveled from everything that had happened, the world outside reduced to a muted hush.
Chishiya held the mug awkwardly, like it was a surgical instrument he wasn’t sure how to use. His gaze flicked up from the tea to you. “So,” he said, voice quieter than usual, “how does this… dating thing work?”
You let out a soft laugh before you could stop yourself, the sound bright in the dim living room. “You’re asking the wrong person,” you said, shaking your head. “You’ll just have to figure that out as you go. Find out what you like. What you don’t.”
He tilted his head slightly, thinking, eyes still on you. “Well,” he said after a beat, a small curve ghosting over his mouth, “I like you. Guess I already have everything I need, then.”
Your chest tightened in the best possible way. You chuckled, warmth spilling into the space between you. For a moment, he just watched you, the corners of his usually sharp eyes softening. He hadn’t realised until now how much he had missed that sound, the quiet joy of it, the lightness it carried.
You took a sip of tea, glancing at him over the rim of your mug. “Did you enjoy dinner with me?” you asked, careful but curious.
He hesitated, then nodded once. “I did,” he admitted, and there was no trace of his usual detachment in his voice. Just honesty.
You smiled, a real smile, and his breath caught a little at the sight. “See?” you said gently. “We can go out for dinners. Dating’s just about doing the things you enjoy… and sharing that with someone else.”
He looked down at his tea, watching the ripples settle. For the first time, the idea didn’t seem foreign or foolish. It didn’t sound like a trap or an inconvenience. It sounded like peace. Like colour seeping into the monochrome lines of his world.
He met your eyes again, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “Then maybe,” he murmured, “this won’t be so bad after all.”
For a heartbeat, the world went soft and ordinary, almost peaceful. But peace doesn't last long in a world like this. Just beyond the light, danger was already counting its steps, deciding where to break the quiet and when to strike next.
A/N: You guessed right, I'm not quite finished with this fic yet...
Summary: something begins to shift not only between you and chishiya, but more so within him. will a former acquaintance of his be able to destroy whatever is growing between the two of you?
Warnings: angst! smut! (explicit warnings under the cut), use of safewords, mentions of alcohol consumption, hospitals and emergencies. Do not read if you're under 18!
Word count: ~ 14k
This is Part 3 of Anatomy of Control and Anatomy of Desire
Explicit Warnings: oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, masturbation, overstimulation, the use of safewords!, swallowing
You wanted to talk to Chishiya about what happened with nurse Misaki, but the chance never came. He had been busy all day, performing a small surgery in the morning, then disappearing into one meeting after another. It wasn’t that he deliberately avoided you. No, you could see it in the way his eyes flicked constantly in your direction during the morning shift. He was simply glad to be busy. Busy enough to keep his sharp mind occupied, too distracted to risk being pulled into your orbit again.
When he didn’t show up for afternoon rounds, you glanced at the clock, then at the pile of charts stacked neatly on the nurses’ station counter. For a moment you hesitated. But then you took a deep breath and reached for them, tucking the files under your arm. If he wasn’t there, you would handle it.
“Doctor?” Head nurse Rinka had spotted you. Her usual strict expression softened. “Do you want me to join you?” Relief swept over you and you smiled. “Gladly. But only if you have the time.”
The older woman gave a faint hum, nodding as she stepped beside you. “You always make time for my nurses. It’s only right I return the favour.” Together, the two of you began the rounds.
The first patient was a small boy recovering from pneumonia. His colour had improved, his breathing less laboured than yesterday. You flipped through the notes, frowning slightly. “His medications have done their job, but the dosage might be too strong now that he’s stabilising. We risk stressing his system.” Nurse Rinka nodded slowly. “Good eye. What would you do?”
“Step the dosage down, monitor for forty-eight hours. If his progress continues, we can switch him to oral medication instead of IV.” The nurse smiled faintly, her wrinkles softening around her eyes. “That’s exactly what I would do.”
You moved on, file after file, patient after patient. A girl with asthma who laughed when you crouched down to her level and asked her about her favourite stuffed toy. A teenager with diabetes, nervous about needles, who relaxed when you explained step by step what was happening. A toddler with an ear infection, giggling as you pulled a silly face just to make him open his mouth for inspection.
Everywhere you went, the children seemed to brighten. Their small voices called for you, tugging at your sleeve, wanting your attention. You never rushed them, never dismissed them.
By the time you finished, the sun had dipped lower.
At that very moment, Chishiya stormed through the ward, his coat billowing behind him, long strides that seemed impatient. His hair was just slightly tousled from running his hands through it too many times during meetings, his jaw tight with irritation. He reached the nurses’ station, scanning for the charts. His eyes narrowed when he saw the counter empty. “Where-" he began, voice already filled with annoyance, but then he caught sight of you.
You and nurse Rinka stepped out of the last patient’s room, charts neatly stacked against your chest. Your hair was slightly out of place from leaning down to your patients, your cheeks flushed from the warmth of the ward. Nurse Rinka was murmuring something to you, and you smiled back at her with quiet gratitude.
Chishiya froze mid-breath. The words he had been about to spit at the nearest nurse caught in his throat. And for a fraction of a second, irritation melted into something else. Something he didn’t want to name.
You held the stack of charts firmly, offering them before he could scold anyone. “I took over the afternoon round.” Chishiya stopped in his tracks. His coat settled back around him as he crossed his arms, gaze fixed on you, waiting for you to justify yourself.
You cleared your throat. “The boy with pneumonia, his condition is improving. I lowered the medication dosage, the IV strength was becoming too much now that he’s stabilising.” His eyes narrowed, not in disapproval but in calculation. He still said nothing.
Quickly, you flipped open another chart, your voice softening with excitement. “And here, look.” You turned the paper towards him. “The girl with juvenile dermatomyositis. Her muscle enzymes are trending down, her skin rash is fading. If this continues, she can be tapered off corticosteroids soon.”
That finally earned a reaction. Chishiya uncrossed his arms and stepped closer, leaning in to read the latest blood values. His shoulder brushed yours, but instead of shifting away, he leaned further, his chest firm against you as he scanned the chart. His hair tickled against your temple as he bent slightly, and you forced yourself to keep talking.
“These were the most important changes,” you explained quickly, the words tumbling out. “I also noted a few minor things. The toddler in 212 still refuses solids, the teenager with diabetes needs another session with the dietician, but nothing urgent.”
You were still talking when the air shifted.
His voice brushed low and hot against your ear, every syllable vibrating through your chest. “I missed you today.” The words slammed into you, stealing the air from your lungs.
You turned your head slightly, clearly startled, but his face looked unimpressed. To anyone watching, he was simply scanning a chart. But to you, pressed against his chest, his voice still lingering in your ear, it was something else entirely.
Your fingers trembled slightly as you closed the chart, his words still echoing inside your head. You tried to keep your tone steady, tried to hide the way heat rushed through you. “I, uh… I promised the girl in 305 I’d be there when she gets her blood drawn,” you said, setting the pile of charts neatly on the counter. “You should go eat something, maybe sit down for a bit. You’ve been running all day.”
For a second, he didn’t move. Chishiya tilted his head, studying you with that unreadable stare of his. The corner of his mouth twitched, not amusement exactly. His hand brushed against your lower back as you passed him, subtle but deliberate, enough to set your skin alight. You could feel him lingering closer than he should as he murmured, just low enough for you to catch it, “You think you can tell me what to do?” There was no real bite in his tone, just the simmer of a promise. A warning.
You ignored the way your pulse jumped, offering him the smallest smile before slipping away towards room 305.
Inside, you knelt beside the little girl, keeping your voice light and playful, distracting her as the nurse prepared the needle. She clutched your hand, her eyes on you instead of the syringe. When it was done, she whispered a small and relieved “thank you, doctor,” and your heart warmed.
But when you stepped out into the corridor again, warmth of another kind hit you instantly.
Chishiya was still there. Arms crossed, back against the nurses’ station, gaze fixed sharply on the door as though willing you to appear. His jaw was tight, patience stretched thin. The sight of him waiting sent a shiver down your spine. He didn’t speak. He simply pushed off from the counter and nodded once, curtly, for you to follow. And then he turned, coat flaring as he strode down the corridor, every step precise and somewhat purposeful. Your stomach flipped. Whatever this was, it couldn’t wait. He wasn’t going to let it wait.
Chishiya was too controlled to ever let anyone see eagerness. But you saw it now. It was there, in the tension of his shoulders, the sharpness of his movements, the way his hand flexed once as though resisting the urge to reach for you.
He wanted you.
Right here.
Right now.
You had barely taken a breath, your thoughts tangled between Misaki’s words and how to even bring them up, when the door clicked shut behind you. "Chishiya, can I ask you some-" But he cut you off by pressing his mouth on yours.
The impact stole the air from your lungs, his kiss fierce and consuming, nothing like the careful and detached man he showed the world. His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging your head back just enough to deepen the press of his lips against yours, a hunger you hadn’t seen in him before.
Your body hit the wall, the thud muffled by the press of his chest pinning you there. Your coat slid from your shoulders, pooling at your feet before you could even think about resisting. His hand caught both your wrists, lifting them high above your head, holding them there as if daring you to fight him.
The control in his grip contrasted with the urgency of his other hand, fumbling at the fabric of your trousers impatiently, but not at all clumsy. His breath was ragged, his mouth breaking from yours just long enough for him to mutter against your skin, half curse, half confession. He hadn’t meant for it to be like this. But he had thought about your lips all day. Which was more than unusual for him. He never had been much of a kisser. Kissing was just unnecessary fluff.
The realisation seemed to startle him, if only for a fleeting second, his lips hovering above yours, his chest heaving against your own. And then the tension snapped again, fiercer than before. He needed to distract himself, before he would rip off the rest of your clothes. His desire burnt hot inside him, making his jaw clench.
Chishiya knelt in front of you, his fingers hooking into your panties and pulling them down. "What are you doing?" You asked breathlessly. Chishiya's eyes snapped to yours, "You told me to get something to eat, didn't you?" Your pulse hammered harder in your chest, realising what he was implying.
"Since when do you care what other people suggest you to do?" You asked teasingly as you stepped out of your panties. Chishiya grabbed them and stood up, towering in front of you. "Since when did you forget your place?" He spat through gritted teeth. "Sorry, sir."
"Do you think you're capable of being quiet now?" You nodded your head, keeping your mouth shut. His hand immediately found your throbbing clit, fingers rubbing small circles. Your hips rolled against him and a desperate moan left your lips. "Obviously not." Chishiya said, shaking his head. He stuffed your panties into your mouth, your eyes widening at the sudden action. He was back down on his knees, his mouth on your cunt in an instance.
The panties in your mouth muffled whatever sounds wanted to escape. Chishiya swirled his tongue around your clit, his cock twitching inside his trousers at the taste of you. Your hips bucked against his face, when he sucked on your sensitive clit, your legs clenching around his head. He moaned softly, grabbing one of your legs to place it on his shoulder, giving him better access to your cunt.
He slid two fingers inside you, your walls immediately clenching them in desperation. You bit down on the panties in your mouth as he started fucking you with his fingers, all while his mouth continued to work wonders on your clit. Your high was approaching fast. Everything that had concerned your mind just minutes ago seemed to vanish into nothingness. There was only the sensation of him.
Your hand shot into his hair to get his attention. You couldn't speak, couldn't ask for permission to come. Chishiya's icy stare shot up to you, ready to snap at you, reminding you weren't allowed to touch him. But when your eyes found his, the ice inside them melted the slightest bit. You were looking at him with pure pleasure and desperation plastering your entire face. And he couldn't take his mouth off of you, didn't want to. So he let your hand stay, let your touch linger. He simply nodded at you, before curling his fingers deep inside you.
Your grip in his hair tightened, pressing him even harder against your cunt, riding his face as you came all over it. Chishiya guided you through it, palming himself through his trousers, giving his cock a light squeeze.
Your legs were still shaking when he already fumbled with his belt. He stood up, removing the panties from your mouth and unzipping his trousers. He didn't waste any time on shedding his clothes, retrieving a foil packet from his pockets.
"Do you just carry these around all the time?" You teased, still panting. Chishiya ripped the package open, sliding the condom over his hard cock. He grabbed your waist and spun you around, pressing your front against the wall, moving your arse further towards him.
He didn't want to look at you. Not after you touched him without permission. He should have punished you right then, denying your orgasm, making you apologise and beg for forgiveness. But he couldn't. Not after seeing that look in your eyes. So he wasn't about to make the same mistake again.
He grabbed your hair, pushing you harder against the wall, as he lined his cock at your entrance. "I've been carrying these around ever since working with you." He responded bluntly, before ramming his cock into you. Your body jolted forward, a loud moan escaping your lips. His hand smacked your arse and you knew it was his warning to stay quiet. You were still in the hospital after all.
He fucked you against the wall, mercilessly, his hand snaking around your body, slipping under your shirt and your bra. He pinched your nipple, making your walls clench around him. He kept rolling it between his fingers, electricity shooting through your body down to your cunt. It was insane how he could make you feel. No one had ever satisfied you the way he did. Not even you yourself.
Chishiya placed his hand between your shoulder blades, pushing your upper body further down. Your head was already tilted against the wall, sliding down even further, your hands pressed flat against it.
His hand was on your hip, his other moved up to your hair, grabbing a fistful of it and pulling on it to fuck you even harder. Your vision was blurry, the moans came out in uncontrollable intervals.
From this angle, his cock brushed past a certain spot with every thrust, getting you closer to your orgasm.
"Please let me come, sir." You desperately added the sir, threatening that he would deny your orgasm without it. Chishiya threw his head back when he heard the desperation in your voice. His hand moved from your hip to your clit. "Go ahead. Come around my cock." He spoke through clenched teeth, his thrusts becoming more forceful.
And it didn't take you long to do so. You bit down on your hand as the orgasm crashed over you, your walls clenching around his cock, as if wanting to milk him. His thrusts became uneven, moving his hand to your butt, squeezing the soft flesh. Your legs were shaking but you tried to keep your stance steady. "Please." You whimpered, desperate for him to find his own release. This should have caught him off guard, but instead, it threw him over the edge. Again, instead of painting your back with his semen, he stilled inside you, filling the condom to the brim, his groans sounding more like a growl.
He stayed inside you a while longer, catching his breath, coming down from his high. His mind started racing. You did everything he hated when other women had done it. You spoke out of turn, you had grabbed his hair, you were unable to follow instructions. And yet he just had one of the most intense orgasms. And yet... he started to enjoy your presence way too much.
He had to get out of here. Clear his mind. Usually, sex took his mind off things. But with you, it made him think about things. And he didn't like that.
So he quickly pulled his cock out, holding the condom in place. He slid it off and knotted it tightly, throwing it in the bin.
The room felt thick, the air clinging to your skin like a second layer. Your chest was still rising and falling too fast, heat still pulsing through you, when the sound of his zipper cut through the silence.
You looked up, expecting him to say something. But his gaze was fixed on the floor, jaw clenched, movements sharp as he straightened himself. He didn’t look at you. Not once. He couldn't. Couldn't dare to look into your eyes and having the sudden need to stay close to you resurface.
Your mouth opened, the start of a question balancing on your tongue, but before you could even find the words, he was already halfway across the room. His hand gripped the doorknob like it was his only lifeline. “See you tomorrow.” Three words. Cold. Flat. Dismissive. And then he was gone.
The door clicked shut behind him, the sound loud in the suffocating quiet he left behind. You stood there, still pressed to the wall, your arms trembling as if they hadn’t realised the moment was already over.
It took a while before you moved, before your body registered the hollow ache spreading through your chest. You bent down, gathering your clothes with fingers that felt unsteady. The heat he left in you was still simmering, but it was drowned now, smothered by the sharp sting in your chest.
You told yourself not to think about it. Not to let it get to you. But the words from Misaki’s venomous mouth echoed anyway, burrowing deep. You won’t be enough for him.
And for the first time you feared she might be right.
Sleep didn't come easy. Every time you closed your eyes, you felt the ghost of his touch on your skin, the phantom burn of his lips pressed against yours. The heat of it lingered in your body, but the sharp emptiness he left behind dug deeper. You tossed, turned, and stared at the ceiling until the first cracks of dawn slid through your blinds.
By the time your alarm went off, you were already awake, eyes heavy, body aching from exhaustion. The walk to work felt longer than usual, and when you stepped into the hospital, the brightness of the fluorescent lights made you squint. Luckily, it was Friday. Just one more day to push through before two days off.
Chishiya was already scrubbed in for surgery when you arrived, his name listed on the board in neat black marker. A small, guilty part of you was relieved. You weren’t sure what you would say if you saw him right away.
So you busied yourself. Rounds kept your hands occupied, your mind sharp, even if your body begged for rest. The children smiled when you came in, their little voices calling you “sensei” in their sing-song ways. Their laughter, their trust, it grounded you. By the time you finished the last room, your chest didn’t feel quite so heavy.
You returned the charts to the nurses’ station, setting them down carefully. One of the younger nurses, her hair tied up in a messy bun and her smile soft, leaned across the counter.
“Doctor," she started, her voice hushed like a secret, “do you want to go out with us tonight? A few of us are heading to that little bar near the station. I saw you’re not on duty this weekend.” You blinked, a little caught off guard. Socialising felt like the last thing you had the energy for. Still, the warmth in her tone tugged at you.
“Thank you,” you said, managing a small smile. “I’ll think about it. Honestly, I didn’t sleep well last night.” Her expression softened instantly, understanding shining in her eyes. “Long shift yesterday?” she asked, and when you just gave a tired shrug, she nodded knowingly. “Well, we’d love to have you. But no pressure. Just… it might be nice to relax for once, you know?” You hummed in agreement, grateful for the kindness. For the reminder that there was still a world outside of Chishiya’s shadow.
Chishiya finally returned from surgery. His hair was slightly mussed, his eyes sharp as ever when they scanned the nurses’ station.
“Rounds?” he asked flatly, holding out a hand. Without a word, you passed him the charts. Normally, you would have already launched into your little recaps, explaining which child had smiled again, who was tolerating meds better, who had been brave during a blood draw. But not this time.
“What, no overly enthusiastic narration about morning rounds?” he asked, a flicker of something almost like amusement curling in his tone.
You didn’t even meet his eyes. “No, sorry, Dr. Chishiya.” Your voice was quiet, your head bowed as you busied yourself with the trays of medications you had been preparing. Gathering them carefully, you brushed past him, but his hand shot out and grabbed your arm.
The motion made you spin, your body colliding with his. His sharp gaze finally caught your face and the air in his chest stuttered. The dark circles beneath your eyes, the subtle slump of your shoulders, the hollowness in your expression, it was all there, written across your face.
For the first time, it wasn’t your determination he saw, or your fire, or your infuriatingly stubborn will. It was exhaustion. And it twisted something deep inside him, something he didn’t recognise and didn’t want to.
He opened his mouth, but no words came. He, who always had an answer, who prided himself on never being caught off guard, stood completely speechless. You gave him a faint smile. It was too neat, too sharp at the edges. Fake. Before he could ask, before he could do anything at all, you slipped from his grasp and walked away, the medication tray balanced in your steady hands.
Chishiya just stood there, rooted to the spot, the charts limp in his fingers. His chest felt hollow, an unfamiliar ache pressing against his ribs. Yesterday flashed through his mind, the way you had tried to ask him something before he silenced you with his own desperation, the way you had looked at him afterwards as he rushed out without giving you so much as a second glance.
Guilt. He realised, with something like disgust, that this was guilt. He hated it. He hated how heavy it felt, how wrong it was to see you like this because of him. And yet, under all that sharp-edged hate, burned a need he couldn’t shake, he wanted to fix it. Right now.
You buried yourself in work, pushing through the fog of exhaustion that clung to your bones. Charts, prescriptions, medication lists, anything to keep your mind and body moving, anything to keep from collapsing.
The steady scratch of your pen on paper halted when the faint clink of porcelain touched the desk. You blinked, staring at the cup of steaming hot black tea placed neatly beside you. You knew the hand that had set it down. You knew it without needing to look.
Your eyes lifted, but by the time you did, Chishiya’s back was already retreating down the corridor, coat swaying slightly as he disappeared around the corner. No words. No acknowledgment. No chance to even whisper a thank you.
The warmth of the cup seeped into your palms as you held it. Strange, how something so small could unravel the knot in your chest just a little.
Later that afternoon, head nurse Rinka found Chishiya reviewing a patient chart near the supply room. She held a tray with sterile supplies already half-prepped. “Doctor,” she began, calm but firm as always, “do you need assistance with the next set of treatments? The boy in 212 still needs his IV fluids adjusted, and the asthmatic girl’s nebuliser requires recalibration.”
Chishiya’s mouth opened, his voice cool and clipped as ever. “Sure. Get me my resident-" Rinka cut him off smoothly, her tone almost maternal but edged with authority. “Your resident already handled the morning rounds. Alone. She deserves a little break.” She tilted her head knowingly. “We should just let her focus on the paperwork for now.”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. His gaze shifted down the hall, locking onto you where you sat hunched over a desk, your pen moving sluggishly across the paper, shoulders heavy with fatigue. His eyes lingered there longer than he intended, something sharp and unsettled flickering behind them. Rinka noticed.
Finally, Chishiya gave a small nod, his voice quieter this time. “All right. Thank you for your offer, nurse Rinka.” The older nurse’s lips curved just slightly as she turned back to her work. She didn’t press further, though her silence carried an unspoken truth: she had seen the concern etched across his face, whether he admitted it or not.
The corridor was dim and quiet. You had your bag slung over your shoulder, already halfway to the changing rooms when Chishiya appeared at the other end. His stride was purposeful, his coat flaring just slightly with each step.
He stopped in front of you, blocking your path. His eyes scanned your face, the weariness etched into it. He wanted to ask How are you feeling? The words hovered on the tip of his tongue. They felt heavy and foreign. But also... wrong, too revealing. He wasn’t the kind of man who asked about feelings. He wasn’t the kind of man who cared.
So instead, his voice came out calm, measured. “You wanted to ask me something yesterday. What was it?” Your tired gaze flicked up to his and you exhaled slowly. “This is probably not the best place for it,” you murmured, your voice hoarse with exhaustion.
“Fine.” He shifted his weight, hands sinking into the pockets of his white coat. “I’ll pick you up tonight. We can talk over dinner.”
The words slipped out smoother than he expected. It wasn’t a question, but an invitation wrapped in command. And as soon as he said it, the reality of it gnawed at him. Dinner? Really? What the hell am I doing?
You blinked, almost missing the subtle shift in him. Chishiya, the man who claimed he didn’t date, had just suggested dinner. It should have shocked you, but you were too tired to even process it.
“I’m busy tonight,” you said simply, already moving to step past him. He tilted his head, a sharp brow lifting. “Oh?”
“One of the nurses asked me to join them for a night out,” you explained, your tone casual. His jaw tightened, the muscle twitching visibly. He didn’t like that answer. Not one bit.
“Tomorrow then?” His voice was clipped. Before you could protest, he held out his hand. “Here. Let me give you my phone number. You can just text me then.”
You hesitated for only a second before placing your phone in his palm. He typed with quick precision, saving the number, then handed it back.
“Just let me know when you’re free,” he said, his gaze steady on yours. “And send me your address.”
Something about his tone left no room for argument, though you only responded with a soft, tired smile. Then, before he could read too much into it, you slipped past him and disappeared into the changing rooms.
Chishiya remained in the corridor, staring after you. His fingers twitched slightly in his coat pocket, restless, as though they still remembered the weight of your phone. He cursed under his breath and finally turned on his heel, his mask slipping back into place.
When you got home, exhaustion weighed down your limbs like lead. You didn’t even bother changing out of your clothes properly, just collapsed onto your bed, your bag abandoned on the floor. The second your head hit the pillow, sleep claimed you.
By the time you stirred awake, the room was dipped in dusky light, your body sluggish but a little lighter than before. You rubbed your eyes and reached for your phone, blinking at the faint glow. Nurse Aiko’s name blinked in your messages, reminding you of her cheerful invitation. You typed a quick reply, letting her know you would be joining later and asking for the details.
When you closed the chat, you started closing the tabs on your phone. Your contacts list popped up, the last open tab. And there it was.
Shuntarō Chishiya.
You froze, thumb hovering over his name. For a long moment, you simply stared at the screen. You shouldn’t. You wouldn’t. But your fingers betrayed you, acting on impulse. Before you could talk yourself out of it, the words were already typed.
You: Thank you for the tea earlier, by the way. – Your insufferable resident
You stared at the bubble for a second longer, then threw your phone across the bed as your courage dissolved.
You hadn’t expected a reply, of course you hadn’t. It was Chishiya after all. The man who thrived on silence and walls, who wouldn’t waste words on something as meaningless as acknowledgment. So you went about curling your hair, slipping into a casual outfit that felt a little more playful than professional.
But when your phone chimed your heart nearly leapt out of your chest. You grabbed it, pulse quickening, only to see Aiko’s name flash on the screen.
Aiko: Meet at 8. We’ll be at Kikuya on Main Street! Drinks on me for whoever shows up first!
You sighed, forcing down the flutter in your chest. Silly. It was just Aiko. Of course. Still, your eyes flicked back to Chishiya’s name, silently daring for the three dots to appear, indicating he was typing. They didn’t. Pocketing your phone, you muttered to yourself, “Get a grip,” and headed out the door.
The place Aiko had suggested wasn’t far from your apartment, so you decided to walk. The cool evening air helped shake off some of the grogginess from your nap, though the restless thoughts from earlier still tugged at the back of your mind.
The bar was warm and lively when you stepped inside, laughter already spilling from one corner where a group of familiar faces had gathered. Aiko waved both arms high, calling your name before the others joined in with cheerful greetings. You smiled, letting the noise and chatter wash over you as you weaved your way through.
At the bar, you ordered your first drink, tapping your fingers lightly against the wood while waiting. That was when your phone buzzed in your pocket. A quick glance at the screen made your eyes widen.
Shuntarō Chishiya. You almost dropped the phone.
“Bad news?” the bartender asked, setting down a glass in front of you. “Huh?” You looked up, blinking. “Oh- no! Just someone I didn’t expect to message me.” You forced a polite smile, quickly locking your screen again. The bartender raised a brow, smirking faintly. “Boyfriend to be?” You nearly choked on your own laugh. “No! Oh lord, no. I’m a resident doctor, and he’s… somewhat my superior?”
“Ah,” the bartender nodded knowingly. “Good to know.” Your cheeks warmed, though you quickly reached for your wallet. “How much?” He shook his head, sliding the glass towards you. “First one’s on the house. Perks for hospital staff.”
“Oh! Thank you,” you said, caught off guard but grateful. You didn’t think much of it, lifting the glass and heading back towards the others, weaving into their circle of stories and laughter.
And just like that, with the noise of your colleagues pulling you in, Chishiya’s name blinking on your phone slipped to the back of your mind. You set it down on the table and forgot about it entirely.
After a couple of drinks you made your way to the restroom. You sighed in annoyance when you had to wait in line, your bladder feeling fuller by the second. Trying to distract yourself, you scrolled through your camera roll, looking at the cute pictures you and the nurses had taken.
This is when you remembered. The unread message.
Shuntarō Chishiya: I hope you're feeling better. Take care of yourself tonight. – Your congenial superior
You couldn't stop the laugh that escaped your throat. You were quick to respond, faster than your mind was able to process what you were doing.
You added a selfie of you and the nurses.
You: See how all of us are capable of smiling? Ah, the perks of not having your grumpy and arrogant persona around. You prefer to make people cry.
After five minutes that seemed to stretch endlessly, you were finally able to use the lavatory. You hurried, making your way back to the others, taking a sip of your drink when your phone chimed again.
You steadied yourself against the edge of the table, your glass trembling slightly as the words on the screen seared into you.
Shuntarō Chishiya: I only enjoy making you cry when you think you can’t handle another orgasm.
The breath you dragged in was sharp and shaky, almost sending the drink down the wrong way. You coughed, covering it up with a laugh so no one noticed. Around you, the pub buzzed with chatter and clinking glasses, but all you could hear was the echo of his voice in your head, low, dripping with the same hunger he had whispered into your ear in that on-call room. Your thumb hovered over the screen, warring between outrage, a smart comeback, or something reckless enough to match him.
You: Why, thank you. You almost made me choke on my drink. It wasn't as bad as having your cock shoved down my throat, though.
You squeezed your phone tight, pressing it face down against the table, as though that could smother the way your pulse jumped.
“Everything okay?” Aiko asked beside you, raising her brows, grin mischievous. “Yeah,” you managed with a shrug, your voice thin. You lifted your glass to your lips, though you barely tasted it. “Just… work stuff.”
“Work stuff?” she echoed, leaning in, clearly not buying it. “Or maybe a certain 'stuff' from work?” Your forced laugh slipped out, but you didn’t answer. Aiko’s smirk said enough.
After almost twenty minutes, your phone vibrated again.
Shuntarō Chishiya: Outside. Now.
You blinked, staring at the words. For a moment, you thought maybe the alcohol was making you see things. But no, his name was right there, sharp against the glowing screen.
You tucked your phone into your pocket, forcing a casual smile as you excused yourself from the table. “I'm gonna get some fresh air,” you explained quickly. “Be right back.”
The cool night air hit your flushed cheeks as you stepped outside. You scanned the street, confusion prickling when you didn’t immediately spot him. You glanced at your phone again, half wondering if it had been some kind of joke.
And then strong arms seized you, dragging you around the corner. You gasped, almost ready to scream, until his mouth crushed against yours.
Chishiya.
Your hands flew up against his chest as his palms framed your face, holding you still, forcing you to take every ounce of his need in that kiss. It was harsh, desperate even, and you couldn’t help the sound that tore from your throat, a soft moan swallowed into his mouth.
That only pushed him further. He groaned against you, pressing you back against the cold brick wall, his body pinning yours, caging you in. His breath was ragged when he finally tore his lips from yours, resting his forehead against yours, words gritted out low and heavy. “The things I want to do to you. Misbehaving like that. Teasing me like that.”
You managed a soft laugh, your lips brushing his as you whispered, “My bad.” The sharp sting of his palm on your cheek made you inhale sharply, more shock than pain. His eyes darkened, his jaw tight as he pointed towards the sleek car parked a few feet away.
“Get in the back,” he almost barked, the command vibrating in the small space between you. Your heart thundered as you glanced from him to the car, heat flooding your chest, your stomach, everywhere.
For the first time that night, the alcohol haze cleared.
You quickly climbed into the back of his car and he followed suit. "Are you going to spank me again, sir?" You asked innocently. Chishiya's jaw clenched visibly. "How many drinks did you have?"
You giggled, "Enough to have the courage to text you." Chishiya exhaled deeply, resting his head against the headrest. "I'm not going to lay my hands on you. Not when you're under the influence of alcohol."
"But what if I want this?" You asked, trailing your fingertips up his leg to the very apparent bulge in his trousers. He snatched your wrist, his grip tight around it. He knew he should say no. Wait until your mind has cleared. "Do you want me to beg for it?" You looked up at him through your lashes. "If this is your way to punish me for having a few drinks on a night out, then fine, I'll never drink again." And when you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip ever so slightly, he snapped.
Chishiya grabbed your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You squeaked at the sudden action. Before he could even do anything, you crashed your lips into his. "Please, Chishiya. I've been thinking about you all night. I need you." You rolled your hips, your cunt rubbing against his erection. Chishiya groaned in frustration. Hearing you say his name with that sexual desperation in your voice... He never wanted any of the women he was with to say his name. They were to refer to him as sir, but never his name.
"Say my name like that again." He growled through gritted teeth. You grinned, your mouth moving from his to his ear. "Chishiya." You moaned softly, your hands fumbling with his belt. When you finally managed to open his trousers, you palmed his cock through his underwear. "Chishiya." You moaned again, louder this time.
"Hands behind your back." Chishiya ordered. You obeyed, too desperate to mess with him any further. He spread his legs, forcing yours to open even further. You were only wearing a skirt, your panties already soaked. You leaned against the back of the passenger's seat behind you.
Chishiya's hand cupped your cunt, noticing the wetness already spreading all over your underwear. He leaned forward, his other hand grabbing your throat, as he moved your panties aside and inserted two fingers into you, after collecting enough of your juices.
He didn't go slow, not even for a second, he started pumping his fingers in and out of you at a fast pace. You knitted your eyebrows together, moaning out. "Quiet." Chishiya ordered, his hand closing around your throat. Your eyes widened as you realised you weren't able to breathe. The lack of oxygen and the way he was fucking you relentlessly with his fingers, were enough to bring you closer to your high way too fast.
When his grip around your throat loosened, allowing you to breathe again, you grabbed his wrist. "Don't stop." This earned you a confused look from him. His cock twitched inside his underwear. He should just leave you unsatisfied and send you back inside to the others. He wanted you to suffer. But the way you were squirming under his touch, the way you had so desperately wanted this, thinking about him all night, your cunt already wet and ready for him, he couldn't just torture you like that.
So he tightened his grip around your throat again, cutting off your air supply. His fingers fucking into you at a steady pace, curling them right where you needed him to. His eyes were fixated on you, studying every inch of your face, every expression crossing it, when the orgasm hit you. You rolled your hips, riding his fingers, your legs shaking against his.
You took a deep breath, when he removed his hand from your throat. He withdrew his fingers from your cunt, putting your panties back in place, before pushing his digits into your mouth. You sucked them clean, swirling your tongue around them. Chishiya watched you with parted lips. When he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, he replaced them with his tongue, savouring the taste of you.
"You should go back to the others now." He said, pulling away from you. "What? But-" He was quick to cut off your protest, "No buts. Back inside you go! I've already crossed a line by touching you while you are under the influence of alcohol. I'm not moving this any further."
You blinked at him, surprised by the sudden wall slamming down between you. A small giggle bubbled up before you could stop it. “You seem to enjoy crossing this stupid line you keep talking about.”
You straightened your clothes, still smiling faintly, even as your chest fluttered with a warmth you weren’t sure how to name. “Well, thank you then,” you whispered, fingers brushing the door handle before you slipped out of the car.
The night air was cool against your heated skin as you walked back towards the pub, legs unsteady but not from the alcohol.
Inside the car, Chishiya didn’t move. His head tipped back against the headrest, eyes squeezed shut. The crotch of his pants ached, the fabric stretched too tight, and for once in his life, he hated his own self-control. Or the lack of it? Punishment would come later. He would make sure of it.
Surprisingly, you woke the next morning without the dreaded pounding in your skull. The water you had downed after your drinks had done its job. No headache, no nausea, just a faint memory of laughter, teasing conversations, and the searing press of Chishiya’s mouth on yours outside the pub.
You kept yourself busy through the day. Laundry folded into neat piles, groceries tucked into the cupboards, dust brushed away from corners you had been ignoring for weeks. For once, there was no pager, no alarms, no little voices calling for “Doctor.” Just the soft quiet of your apartment.
In the afternoon, the chime of your phone cut through the stillness.
Shuntarō Chishiya: Feeling well enough for dinner tonight?
Your heart skipped. You hadn’t expected him to follow through so quickly, not with the way he had left you simmering in the backseat of his car. Still, your fingers typed out a steady reply.
You: Yes.
Another message arrived almost instantly.
Shuntarō Chishiya: I’ll pick you up at 7. Send me your address.
You hesitated for a beat, biting your lip before tapping the screen. Your thumb hovered as though second-guessing itself, but then you hit send.
The rest of the day passed in fragments, though you barely remembered what you read in the book you picked up. By the time the clock neared six, your thoughts had narrowed to a single track. Misaki.
You still hadn’t had the chance to ask him about what she said, the way she called him Master and hinted at some tangled past. The memory of her smug expression still crawled under your skin. You had to bring it up tonight.
As you got dressed, your hand lingered over the lace in your drawer. Practical cotton or… something else? You laughed softly to yourself, shaking your head at your own foolishness. And yet, when you finally pulled the straps of your fanciest lingerie over your shoulders, it felt like a secret armour, hidden beneath the casual jeans and jumper you layered over it. Casual on the outside. Dangerous underneath. And maybe you would make him regret ever rushing out of that on-call room and leaving you to doubt yourself.
Chishiya picked you up at seven sharp. He was punctual as always, surgical precision, you thought, only tonight he looked almost devastating in a black dress shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. It was simple, but on him, it was lethal.
You smiled faintly as you slipped into the passenger seat, yesterday’s memories flickering back: his message, his command, his mouth on yours outside the pub. The silence between you stretched, heavy and expectant, until you finally broke it.
“How did you even know which pub I was in yesterday?” you asked, curiosity lacing your voice as much as an attempt to break the awkward quiet.
His steady gaze stayed on the road. “The picture you sent me. The name of the pub was in the background.”
“Oh.” You blinked, impressed and… unsettled. “Good. For a second, I thought you might’ve been some kind of stalker.” The corners of your lips curved, but he didn’t so much as twitch. No spark of amusement, no sarcastic jab back at you. Just silence.
When the car finally slowed to a stop, you turned your head and your jaw almost dropped. The soft glow of warm lights spilled from tall windows, and the faint sound of live piano music drifted into the street. “That’s not your apartment,” you said, eyes narrowing.
Chishiya cut the engine, glanced at you briefly, and replied evenly, “No. This is dinner.” Without another word, he pushed his door open and stepped out.
You scrambled to follow, nearly gasping as you stood beside him. “Wait, hold on. I thought you meant dinner at your place.”
“Cooking,” he said flatly, as if it were an insult. “Is not really a skill of mine.”
“Okay… but like, takeaway? Casual stuff?”
"Because that worked out so well the last time?" You gasped at his words, then gestured at yourself, at the jeans and jumper you had picked without a second thought. “Chishiya, I cannot go into a restaurant looking like this!”
His lips curved, just the faintest flicker, but it was there. “Come on.” His hand pressed gently against the small of your back, firm enough to guide, warm enough to scatter your thoughts, as he ushered you inside.
The waiter at the entrance lit up the second he saw him. “Chishiya, nice to see you! Table in the back?”
Chishiya gave only the smallest nod, and the two of you were led into a space that felt almost secluded, tucked in the far back, far from the clusters of other guests, just the two of you and the low hum of the piano.
Still in disbelief, you sat down across from him. Your eyes flicked to him, then to the waiter, then back again. “You know that waiter?” He picked up the menu without hesitation. “A friend of mine.”
You stared at him, still trying to adjust to the idea. But the more you looked at him, the calm way he read the menu, the way he almost seemed to sink into this environment as if he belonged here, the more your shock grew. Finally, he set the menu down, raising a brow at your expression. “What is it?”
“I don’t know what I’m more shocked about,” you said, shaking your head slowly. “This ridiculously fancy place…” Your lips curved into a smirk. “Or the fact that you actually have friends.”
And that was what almost did it. The corners of his mouth twitched, his eyes flickering down to the table as if to conceal it. For a split second, his usual mask faltered, the barest hint of laughter threatening to break through. Almost. But then he looked back at you, his composure sliding into place again, though a tiny spark lingered in his eyes.
You let your eyes wander over the menu, though truthfully, the words blurred together every time you looked up to steal a glance at him. He sat across from you, posture elegant, every movement deliberate, turning a page, adjusting the menu slightly.
Without even looking up, his voice cut through the quiet. “Focus on the menu. Find something you’d like to have for dinner.” You blinked, caught. A grin tugged at the corner of your mouth, and you bit your lip to hold it back. “I am looking at it.”
The second the words left your mouth, his jaw flexed. He almost slammed the menu down onto the table, the sound sharp against the low hum of piano music. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, hands intertwining just below his lips. His gaze was focused, unblinking, and the tension in his jaw was impossible to miss.
“See,” he said lowly, “this is why we can’t have a nice, cosy dinner at my place.”
You mirrored him, closing your own menu and leaning forward, your voice dropping even though no one could possibly overhear at this distance. “Too bad you can’t just punish me here, isn’t it?”
For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. His brow lifted slowly and you saw it then, the subtle shift in his eyes, the kind that made heat rush to your cheeks and settle heavy in your chest. He didn’t move closer, but the weight of his gaze was enough to pin you in your chair.
“You’re playing with fire,” he warned, his tone deceptively calm. But you noticed how his shoulders tightened, how the air between you seemed to thrum with unspoken threat and promise alike.
The waiter returned, shattering the taut silence like a pebble hitting glass. You both leaned back as though nothing had just passed between you. The waiter smiled politely, taking your orders, oblivious to the heavy undercurrent running just beneath the surface of the table. You forced yourself to speak evenly, handing the menu back, while Chishiya only murmured his choice, eyes barely leaving your face.
When the waiter finally left, the heat remained. It sat there, simmering, coiled tight in your chest and in the clench of his jaw, both of you balancing precariously between restraint and indulgence.
Chishiya took a slow sip of the water the waiter had left for you both. He set the glass back down, the sound soft against the white tablecloth, and then leaned forward again, elbows on the table.
“So,” he said, his voice quiet but cutting. “What is it you wanted to ask me?”
You glanced around automatically, making sure no one could overhear. The restaurant wasn’t crowded and your table was tucked far into the back, but still you lowered your voice.
“Well… nurse Misaki approached me the other day.”
One of his brows lifted, but his expression didn’t flicker beyond that small movement. It was still and, as always, utterly unreadable. “She mentioned a few things…” you continued.
“What’s your question?” Chishiya asked, impatient now. You hesitated, feeling the heat crawl up your neck. “Is it true that you and her have a… deeper connection?”
The corner of his mouth twitched upward, more a flash of sharpness than amusement. “Is this your way of asking whether or not we hooked up?”
Your stomach dropped. Blood rushed to your face, and you managed only a small nod.
Chishiya crossed his arms over his chest, his posture a lazy contrast to the tension now coiling between you. “It’s true. I wouldn’t call it a ‘deeper connection,’ though. It was very brief and it was years ago. Back when she didn’t work at our hospital.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact, like he was reciting a list. “She was into things that went way deeper than I was comfortable with, so this was basically over before it even began.”
You tried to process that, your thoughts darting like startled fish. “So what, she still can’t accept that? Or why can’t she just leave you alone?”
His eyes flickered, something almost like irritation crossing his face, but it was gone in a second. “I haven’t been in contact with her after. That is until she started working at the hospital.” You stared at him. “Do you think she started working there to be close to you?”
For the first time, his expression shifted. Not much, just the faintest pause, the faintest narrowing of his eyes as if the thought had never fully landed before. But then he shook his head dismissively.
“Well, thank you for clarifying,” you said simply, lifting your water glass and taking a small sip to ground yourself.
Chishiya’s gaze stayed fixed on you. Then, with a small tilt of his head, he asked, “Were you jealous?”
The smug curl to his lips made you almost roll your eyes. “No,” you said, sharper than you intended. “I just wanted to make sure you don’t fuck your way through the hospital staff, already planning who’s next.”
That landed differently than you expected. His expression hardened, not in annoyance, but in something tighter. Something almost like pain. His arms stayed crossed, but his shoulders straightened, the smugness draining out of his features as a thought screamed loud in his head:
I don’t want anyone else.
I don’t even want to think about anyone else.
I can’t.
He looked at you across the table, your cheeks still flushed from embarrassment, your eyes lowered as you sipped your water. The words he wanted to say pressed against his teeth, fighting to get out, but he forced them back down.
He only leaned back in his chair, silent for a long moment, his jaw tight enough to ache.
The silence stretched. The clinking of glasses and soft piano music filled the space, but between you and Chishiya it was heavy and suffocating. You shifted slightly in your chair, unsure whether you had pushed him too far.
Finally, he reached for his glass of water again, taking a slow sip as if he could drown the tightness in his chest. When he set it back down, his voice was calm, eerily so. “Do you always make such bold assumptions about your superiors?”
You met his gaze, forcing your voice to sound casual. “Only the ones who keep me guessing.”
His lips twitched again, but it wasn’t a smile. It was restraint. You could almost see the battle raging behind his eyes, his instinct to shut you down colliding with the fact that he wanted more. Wanted you.
The waiter arrived with your dishes, mercifully breaking the tension. You both sat in silence while the plates were set down. The smells of seared meat and spices curled into the air, grounding the moment.
You picked up your fork, trying to act normal, but every nerve in your body was hyper-aware of him sitting across from you. Chishiya didn’t immediately touch his food. He just studied you, the faintest furrow in his brow.
When you finally looked up at him again, he was still watching you. “You should eat,” you said softly.
“You should sleep more,” he countered without missing a beat. The words caught you off guard. You blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
“You looked exhausted yesterday,” he said, finally picking up his fork but still not looking at the plate. “Dark circles. Slow reflexes. That smile you gave me wasn’t real.” His tone was flat, but his eyes betrayed something deeper. “I don’t like seeing you like that.”
Your heart thudded against your ribs, louder than the restaurant noise, louder than the music.
“You don’t… like it?” you asked, voice quieter now. Chishiya shook his head once, finally dropping his gaze to the food in front of him. He pierced a piece of meat with his fork, his jaw tightening. “I prefer you sharp. Quick. Smiling for real. Not drained because of me.”
The food on your own plate blurred for a second as your throat tightened. You swallowed, forcing your voice to remain steady. “I just... had a bad night. That's all, Chishiya.”
He finally looked up again, but remained quiet. But even as he ate in silence, his thoughts weren’t on the food. They were stuck on you. On the way you had said already planning who’s next, like he could ever stomach the thought of anyone but you.
It unsettled him more than he would admit.
The drive back to your place was suffocating in its silence. You could feel the weight of his thoughts, even if he never voiced them. The streetlights washed his face in pale golds and shadows, highlighting the clench in his jaw, the way his knuckles flexed faintly against the steering wheel.
When he finally pulled up outside your apartment, you turned to him, searching for a flicker of softness in his profile. “Would you like to come up for some tea then?” you asked quietly, testing him, giving him an out if he wanted it.
For a second, you were sure he would refuse. His jaw tightened further, his head turned towards you like he was about to cut you off with his coldest dismissal. But then he looked at you. And just like that, the sharp edges of his restraint splintered.
Images flashed in his mind, your breathless laugh in his car yesterday, your lips parted beneath his, the heat of you pressing against him. His want drowned out reason in a single, sweeping tide. “I’d rather have your cunt around my cock, if that’s okay, too.”
The bluntness of it nearly stole your breath. Your lips parted, eyes wide, a shiver running through you at the raw honesty in his tone. He wasn’t smirking, wasn’t teasing, he meant it. Every word.
You swallowed hard, forcing your voice steady, though your pulse betrayed you. “…Fine by me.”
Chishiya’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he killed the engine. He followed you up without hesitation. And when you unlocked your door and let him step into your space, it already felt too small to hold both the two of you and the tension burning between.
The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the world outside. For a second, you both just stood there, the quiet of your apartment wrapping around you like fragile glass.
Then Chishiya moved. His coat was off before you could even take off yours, tossed carelessly over the arm of your couch. He stepped into your space, pinning you back against the door you had just closed, one hand braced above your head, the other sliding along your jaw. His lips crashed into yours, fierce and hungry, leaving you gasping at the sudden force of it. It was him unraveling.
You clutched at the front of his black shirt, pulling him closer, answering his kiss with the same desperation that had been gnawing at you since the car ride. He growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as his hand tangled into your hair, tugging your face harder into his.
Your legs brushed his, your chest pressed tight to his. Every movement of his mouth against yours was edged with frustration, like he was punishing you and himself at the same time for the tension that had been building for hours.
When you broke away to catch your breath, your forehead still resting against his, you whispered between gasps, “I guess tea… doesn’t seem to be happening anymore.” Chishiya huffed a laugh, sharp and breathless, his mouth brushing your cheek as he muttered, “Didn’t come here for tea.”
And then his lips were back on yours, deeper this time, slower but no less consuming.
"Bedroom?" He whispered against your lips. You pointed at the door to your left and Chishiya ushered you in, his mouth never leaving yours.
You turned on the bedside lamp, lightening the room. Chishiya couldn't help himself but have a quick look around.
"Undress yourself." He said, his eyes still wandering across the room. He walked towards your bed, inspecting the wooden headrest, smirking when he saw the gaps. He then continued his way to your desk, all while you were still getting rid of your clothes. He grabbed the scarf that was thrown over your desk chair, feeling the soft fabric. "You don't mind, do you?" He asked as he turned back around, holding the scarf up. You looked at him in confusion, but allowed him to take it anyway.
"Lay down." He commanded, his eyes scanning all over your body. You obeyed, resting your head against the soft pillow. Chishiya grabbed your legs, pulling you down. "Arms up." He used your scarf to tie your wrists together, then tying it to the headrest.
"Do you have any condoms stored somewhere?" He asked casually. You knitted your eyebrows, "No, why would I?"
"Casual male encounters." He replied, but the confused expression on your face stayed the same. This was when it hit him. This wasn't you. You wouldn't just have condoms stored in your apartment. You would never invite anyone up here. You did romance, dates, everything he wasn't able to give you.
He walked out of your bedroom, towards the coat he had thrown over the couch and retrieved a foil packet from his pocket. He hesitated shortly before he walked back into your bedroom, scanning the pictures on your wall. He quickly shook off whatever interest suddenly overcame him. This was about sex, nothing else. And if he couldn't give you romance, then you at least deserved as many orgasms as you could handle.
He was already unbuttoning his shirt as he made his way back into your bedroom. You lifted your head to look at him from your position. He looked absolutely ravishing with his hair loose and his black shirt unbuttoned. You licked your lips, pressing your thighs together.
"Eyes on the ceiling." His voice was cold, but the coldness couldn't stop the heat spreading through your body. With Chishiya striding across your room, it was hard to keep your eyes on the ceiling. You were way too intrigued to find out what he was doing. He stood beside you, freeing one of your hands with skilled fingers, while the other remained tied to the bed.
Then you heard your desk chair move. He carried it across the room, setting it down at the foot of your bed, before sitting down. It was silent for a long while. "Touch yourself." He finally said.
Your head shot up, looking at him. He lifted one brow, his gaze stern. "I-" you started, blood rushing to your face. "You heard me. Now move your eyes back to the ceiling before I have to blindfold you. And then touch yourself." You bit your lip, forcing your gaze away from him.
You moved your hand between your legs, slowly starting to rub soft circles on your clit. "Open your legs. I want to see you." You felt embarrassed, but opened your legs for him. "Just touch yourself the way you would if I wasn't here."
And you did. Starting with moving your fingers along your slit to collect your juices, spreading them all the way up to your clit, before rubbing it. You moaned softly, trying not to get distracted as you heard the clang of metal as he undid his belt, the sound of his zipper following.
When you moaned his name, his cock twitched inside his underwear and he couldn't help himself but free it, starting to stroke it as he watched you.
Your hand tried to grip the scarf it was tied to, steadying yourself, as you inserted a finger inside you. And slowly, the embarrassment started to vanish. You no longer focused on how exposed you were, you no longer felt his burning gaze on you. You were caught up in the moment. The mere imagination of him sitting there, stroking his cock at the sight of you made the knot tighten in your lower belly. You moved your fingers exactly how you liked it, curling them, rubbing your clit ever so often. And Chishiya studied every movement.
He knew when you were getting closer to your high, noticing how your body started to react. "Please, Chishiya." You moaned desperately.
"Please, what?" His voice was deep, slightly panting. "I want to look at you."
A breathy sound escaped his throat, half moan, half laugh. "Do you want to see how I'm stroking my cock for you? How fucking hard you make me?" Your legs clenched at his words. "Look at me." Your head shot up, seeing him leaning back in your chair, his shirt still open, his hard cock in his hand, stroking it, his eyes fixated on you. This view alone was almost enough to send you over the edge. And he saw it in the expression of your face. "And now come for me."
You threw your head back as your orgasm crashed over you. You moaned his name as your legs started to shake. Chishiya's grip around his cock tightened, his jaw clenching. He shot up from the chair as soon as you came down from your high, moving your arm back up, your hand in its previous position tied neatly into your scarf before his mouth was on your cunt in an instance.
You were still way too sensitive, even the softness of his tongue felt way too harsh against you. But when he licked up all your juices, moaning softly before his mouth settled on your clit, you wrapped your legs around him, caging him in, needing more.
The way he ate you out was more intense than anything you have ever experienced. You rocked your hips against his face. He wrapped his arms around your legs, pressing you harder against him. You cursed loudly as you felt your second orgasm approach, but Chishiya didn't stop. He couldn't. Not when you had been so eager to wrap your legs around him, rubbing your cunt up and down his face. And soon after, you came all over it, scared you would crush his skull with your thighs.
"Fuck." Chishiya cursed. He was way too caught up, his pupils blown and dark. He straightened, kneeling between your legs as he pushed two fingers inside you. Your legs were still shaking, your mind still clouded with your second orgasm. The sensation of his fingers inside you was overwhelming. You shook your head, a few tears streaming down your face. But seeing you like this only encouraged him, his hips bucking against empty air, desperate for friction. His fingers pumped in and out of you, curling deep inside, stroking your walls. "Chishiya, I can't-"
He smacked your cheek, the sting lingering on your skin. "Yes, you can." You tried to move, to get away from his touch. He used his free hand to grab your hips, putting some of his weight on it, pinning you down.
The room was filled with the wet sounds of his fingers fucking your dripping pussy. And you had absolutely no control over your own body as the next orgasm hit you. You were crying out, trying to get your hands free, anything to get away from the overstimulation.
But Chishiya didn't stop. His fingers kept fucking you. "Chishiya-" You moaned. He didn't even look at you, focusing only on the way your body reacted to his touch. It was as if he was caught up in his own world, where pleasure outweighed everything else.
"Chishiya!" You tried to get his attention, but his fingers pumped into you still, his thumb brushing over your clit ever so often. "Yellow!"
This immediately brought him back to earth. His eyes shot up, finding yours. The movements of his fingers slowed, until he retrieved them completely. You were finally able to take a deep breath, "Sorry. This was becoming too much."
Chishiya leaned forward, his face inches from yours. "Don't ever apologise for using any of these words." He said before his lips crashed against yours. He kissed you as if he wanted to apologise, his tongue slid inside and you could taste yourself on it. His hand moved up, undoing the scarf that tied you to the headrest. "Do you need a break?" He asked in between kisses.
"No. I'm okay." You assured him. Chishiya grinned, his weight leaving yours as he got up, finally taking off his trousers before he sat back in the chair at the end of the bed. "Good. Suck my cock." His voice was back to its commanding sound.
You blinked at him a few times, your mind still trying to comprehend everything that was happening. You got up, walking over to him on wobbly legs and kneeling down in between his legs. You licked your lips to moisturise them, eyes focused on his erection in front of you.
Chishiya spoke your name in that low voice of his, tone somewhat a warning. Before he could say another word, you leaned forward, dragging your tongue along the shaft before taking him into your mouth. The tip tasted salty, pre-cum already leaking.
"Tap your hand against my leg three times if you want me to stop." He whispered softly before using both his hands to grab your hair, pushing your head down until your nose met his pelvis. You tried to breathe as his cock was buried deep down your throat. Chishiya held your head in place for quite a while until you were choking around his cock. Only then did he force your head back up by pulling your hair. You took a deep breath, before he pushed your head back down. He guided you, forcing you to take his cock exactly the way he wanted you to. He tried to suppress his moans but they came out anyway.
He had been way too desperate for this. Ever since the car incident, he was barely able to focus on anything else. Touching himself hadn't been enough. He needed you.
He held your head in place, his hips snapping up, fucking your mouth. He wanted you on top of him, riding him, your tits bouncing in front of his face as you rode him. But you had asked him to slow down, used the word, and he knew he had already overstimulated you. So he refrained from lifting you onto him and burying his cock inside your sensitive cunt.
He threw his head back at the thought of it. Your mouth was warm and wet around his cock. That, plus your moans and your choking sounds ever so often, would suffice. He could have you on top of him any other day.
His eyes were back on you, watching his cock disappear into your mouth. He should have praised you for how well you were handling him, but he couldn't dare to have you look up at him. He would just come on the spot if your eyes met his.
Instead, he kept fucking your mouth, pushing your head down on him with force. When you started doing that thing with your tongue, swirling it around the sensitive tip, he almost lost it. And you noticed, satisfied with yourself. You looked up at him through your lashes, your eyes mirroring all your want and desire. Chishiya already knew he couldn't hold back any longer. He loosened the grip on your hair, groaning your name. "I'm gonna come." He warned you, but you ignored him. You kept bobbing your head up and down his cock, your hand shooting up to fist what couldn't fit. Chishiya wanted to yank your head away, wanted to scold you for touching him. But it was too late. His orgasm crashed over him, before his body could react. He shot his load down your throat and you swallowed every last drop of it.
Chishiya stared at you in disbelief, trying to ignore the feeling in his chest as he watched you swallow his cum. He leaned forward, grabbing your face, forcing you to look up at him.
His eyes searched yours. He was fine with granting you a short break, but later tonight, he knew he needed to be inside you. He had to. "You can relax for a little. But I'm not done with you for tonight." He said more to himself than to you.
He was sprawled in your desk chair, the picture of careless composure, shirt open, chest rising and falling with steady breaths. His voice, still a little rough, cut through the quiet. “So, about that tea?”
You blinked, then almost laughed at the absurd timing. Straightening yourself, you brushed your hair out of your face. “Right. I’ll be back.”
He watched as you threw on some clothes, his hand twitching against the armrest as though he might stop you. But he didn’t. He knew if he tried, he would have you on top of him in seconds, and for once, he wanted to let the moment breathe. His gaze followed you until you disappeared into the kitchen.
With a sigh, he put his trousers on, but left his shirt hanging loose. Wandering out of your bedroom, he moved through the short corridor, eyes inevitably once again catching on the framed pictures lining the wall.
“You do horse riding?” he asked, voice casual but curious, pausing before a photo of a younger version of you on a tall chestnut horse. You glanced over your shoulder, kettle already in hand as you filled it with water. “Oh, I used to. When I was younger.”
He leaned against the kitchen doorframe, one arm braced above him, smirk tugging at his lips as his eyes flicked between you and the photo. “Good to know.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you set the kettle back down, not sure if you even wanted to ask what he meant by that.
You rolled your eyes at him, focusing on arranging two mugs on the counter instead of giving him the satisfaction of a reply. “Don’t read too much into that,” you muttered, flicking the switch on the kettle.
Chishiya tilted his head, the faintest glint of amusement in his gaze as he stayed in the doorway, arms crossed over his open shirt. “Why not? It tells me you’re disciplined. Competitive. You like control, but you also know how to give it up.” His tone was cool, analytical, like he was dissecting you right there in your kitchen. You paused mid-motion, hand hovering over the tea box. “You got all that from a childhood hobby?”
“I get a lot from very little,” he replied, stepping inside finally. The faint smirk tugging at his lips was infuriatingly smug. “It’s what makes me good at what I do.”
The kettle clicked off, saving you from replying too quickly. You poured the steaming water into the mugs, your back turned to him so he wouldn’t see the flush creeping onto your cheeks. Still, his presence pressed against your skin, the weight of his eyes never leaving you.
“Here's your tea,” you said softly, sliding one mug towards him when he leaned casually against the counter, close enough that his arm brushed yours when he reached for it.
His fingers lingered a second longer than necessary on the ceramic. “Hm. Not bad,” he said after the first sip, though his eyes weren’t on the tea, they were on you.
You swallowed, feigning nonchalance, but your heart was already drumming harder again. “Glad I could meet your standards, Doctor.” That earned you a soft, short chuckle. “You might be the only one who does.”
Chishiya smirked faintly, lifting the cup without comment, but the simple act of drinking tea in your kitchen felt strangely intimate. Too domestic for the walls he so carefully built. He let his gaze wander over the clutter on your counter, the faint hum of your fridge, the way your socks didn’t match. All of it so ordinary, and yet it had him more unsettled than a surgical complication.
“You’re staring,” you teased, sipping your tea. “Just observing my… resident’s natural habitat,” he drawled, though his eyes were softer than his tone. You chuckled, shaking your head. “Right. Make it sound like I’m some kind of zoo exhibit.”
“Insufferable, even outside the hospital,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it. Only the faintest curl of amusement in his voice.
For a moment, it almost felt normal. Easy. Like this was something he could get used to if he let himself.
Then his pager went off, sharp and demanding against the quiet of your apartment. He sighed, setting down the mug and checking it, his expression souring. “Emergency.”
You straightened, concern flickering across your face. “Should I come with you?” He shook his head immediately, already buttoning his shirt with quick, precise fingers. “You’re not on duty. Enjoy your last day off while you can.” You watched him, lips pressed together, before nodding. “See you on Monday then.”
He slid his arms into his coat, glancing at you from the doorway. “I certainly hope I’ll see you earlier than that.”
Your breath caught a little at the way his gaze lingered, too long, too heavy, on your lips. For a moment, it seemed like he would leave, like he would pull that cold mask back into place. But something cracked.
He stepped back towards you, one hand cupping your face as he kissed you slowly, nothing like the heat of before. It was out of character, unbearably so, and it made your chest tighten with something dangerously close to longing.
Before you could say a word, he pulled back, muttered a low “stay out of trouble,” and slipped out the door. And just like that, he was gone.
The hospital swallowed him whole the moment he left your apartment. The emergency bled into another, and then another, until the hours blurred. His hands never faltered in the OR, but his thoughts did. Again and again, his mind dragged back to you, the taste of you, the way you had looked at him before he kissed you. That kiss. Stupid. Reckless. He hated himself for it.
And yet he still craved more. He still wanted you.
The ten-hour surgery pushed his body past the edge of exhaustion. By Sunday midday, when he stepped out of the OR, dark circles sat under his eyes, his jaw tense with fatigue. But even then, between the ringing pagers and the weight of scalpel and suture, his body ached for you. He hated it. He hated how badly he wanted to be with you instead of here.
By the time the afternoon came, he had no filter left. Sitting at a desk, fingers stained with ink and fatigue, he pulled out his phone. Without thinking, he typed:
Shuntarō Chishiya: I’m sorry the hospital has been keeping me busy non-stop. I’d rather be with you. Still craving to be inside you.
He hit send before his conscience could catch up. No hesitation. No regret. Only the raw truth. Then he shoved his phone back into his coat and forced himself to keep moving.
The nurse’s station was crowded when he sat down again, flipping through charts, his pen scratching mechanically across the paper. The exhaustion was a constant weight pressing on his spine. He barely registered the footsteps before a hand slid onto his shoulder.
His body reacted instantly. He turned sharply, fingers clamping around a wrist that didn’t belong there. His voice snapped before his restraint could.
“Don’t touch me.”
Nurse Misaki blinked at him, her lips curving into a smile far too coy for the venom in his tone. “You seem so tense. I can help you relax.”
His grip tightened, warning in every line of his body. But then her head tilted, her voice lowering as she whispered, “Master Chishiya.” She bowed her head slightly, an air of submission that churned his stomach, though not for the reasons she hoped.
And in the heavy silence that followed, the air thickened dangerously.
Your phone had lit up with his message on Sunday, and your heart had stuttered. You had read it once, twice, then again, feeling your pulse quicken with every word. You couldn’t stop the smile that curled on your lips, the heat spreading through your chest. Still craving to be inside you.
Excitement bubbled in your stomach, but guilt twisted right alongside it. The hospital had been merciless on him, his words proof of just how nonstop his day had been. You wanted to text him back something sweet, something cheeky, anything, but you held yourself back. He didn’t need distractions right now. He needed rest.
You didn’t hear from him again that night. And you told yourself it was fine. He was probably too tired, stumbling home to crash without a second thought.
By Monday morning, you walked into the hospital feeling more settled. At least until you saw his name still up on the OR board, that hasn't been updated yet. A surgery that long… no wonder he hadn’t texted again. The thought made you soften inside, protective, even as you hurried towards the nurse’s station.
“Morning,” you greeted, going straight for the stack of charts, fingers flipping through them with practiced precision. If he was still resting, you could handle rounds. It wasn’t a problem.
That was when Misaki’s voice cut through your concentration. “Sorry your little party got interrupted Saturday night.” You froze, your brows furrowing as you slowly turned toward her. “…What?”
Her smirk widened. “I’ve never seen him so on edge. It took me quite some time to get him to relax.” She even winked, her voice dripping with suggestion.
Something cold curled in your gut, sharp enough to steal your breath. You tried to shake it off, to shove her words away, but they burrowed too deep. She tilted her head, her tone syrupy. “He’s in on-call room five, by the way.”
Your knuckles whitened on the chart, but you didn’t reply. You forced your focus back to the task at hand, plastering on a smile as you moved through morning rounds, greeting your little patients, asking them about their weekends, letting their innocent chatter keep you grounded.
But by the time rounds were done, your pulse was an uneven drum in your ears. You had to know.
So you made your way to the on-call rooms, each step heavier than the last. You knocked softly on the door to room five, only to feel it swing open under your knuckles. It hadn’t been closed all the way.
And what you saw stole every last breath from your lungs. Misaki. On her knees. Chishiya standing in front of her. His expression cold, his body stiff, his foot already shifting as if he had just taken a step back. At least he was fully clothed.
But the sight was enough. Enough to make terror crawl icy fingers up your spine. Enough to make your stomach lurch.
A sharp scoff tore from your throat before you even realised it. You spun on your heel. “Wait.” His voice snapped after you loudly. His footsteps quick behind yours.
“Don’t.” Your voice shook as you stormed down the hall, your pace quickening. He called your name, catching your wrist, yanking you into the nearest empty room, shutting the door behind him.
“Stop it!” Your voice cracked, louder than intended, your chest heaving.
“Just let me expla-"
“I don’t want an explanation, Chishiya. Just leave me alone.”
He said your name again, his voice was desperate this time, more than you’d ever heard. Your hand gripped the door handle, ready to pull it open, when his words tumbled out faster, harsher.
“Stop it right now. I know what your mind is making up, but it’s not-"
“What?!” You snapped, cutting him off. Your voice shook with anger, with hurt. “It’s not as it seems? Save it, Dr. Chishiya.” The title left your lips like venom, bitter and final.
His hand reached for you again, but you turned on him, your eyes locking on his with an intensity that made him still.
“Red.”
The word fell like a blade between you. His chest clenched, his throat tightening around words that never made it out. And before he could say another thing, before his mask could even crack, you wrenched the door open and walked away. Finally, in peace.
For a single, searing second, anger flared hot in his chest. How dare you shut him down like that? How dare you not even give him the chance to explain? He could feel the sharp edge of his pride, the instinct to snap back, to tear the ground out from under you the way he did with everyone else.
But then something else crept in. Something foreign. Something heavier. It coiled in his chest, crushing, suffocating. A dull ache at first, then a piercing, unbearable pressure. Fear.
The kind of fear he couldn’t outsmart or mask away. The fear of you walking out that door and never looking back. The fear of your eyes never softening towards him again. The fear that he had just lost you and it was his fault.
He stood frozen in the empty room, his hands trembling in a way he despised, listening to your footsteps grow fainter, each one stabbing harder into his chest.
And for the first time in his life, Shuntarō Chishiya understood what it felt like to be terrified of losing someone.
Continue to: Anatomy of Breaking
A/N: I'm sorry it took me so long to update this fic! (It is 14k words after all), but I hope it was worth the wait! Part 4 anyone?🤭
Taglist (18+ and all those who wanted to be tagged in this fic): @mypsychoticlove @rurujm @butterishjam @stilltrynafuckingtumble @badbishsblog @annismotherr-deactivated2025100 @ronjantz @aliendustpee @yayafenyru @lazcylies @cerisefait @mad-die45 @lady-lai @iamferalfordilfs
Sunmary: the boundaries between you and chishiya snap bit by bit, pulling you into his controlled world where desire outweighs reason. your connection has grown undeniable, slipping from teasing exchanges into a dangerous intimacy that both excites and unsettles you
Warnings: hospitals and diseases, dom! chishiya, smut! Do not read if you're under 18! (More explicit warnings are under the cut)
Word count: ~12k
This is part 2 of Anatomy of Control
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.
Continue to: Anatomy of Feelings
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 ♡
Taglist (18+, including those who wanted to be tagged in part 2): @mypsychoticlove @rurujm @butterishjam @stilltrynafuckingtumble @the-bookish-artist @ronjantz @carlandoxlestappen @74zix47 @badbishsblog
Summary: you start working as a resident doctor at the sakurazawa university hospital. a certain paediatrician is not very fond of residents, but something about you catches him off guard
Warnings: mentions of hospitals and diseases, chishiya being a smug bastard, there are no explicit details, but some parts are highly suggestive (so I recommend not to read this if you're under 18!)
Word count: ~6.6k
Requested (multiple times)
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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Summary: in which you get close to chishiya, knowing you will have to betray him. hatter sends him after you, commanding him to eliminate you
Warnings: angst! mentions of blood and knives, fluff
Word count: ~6.8k
Your lungs burned as though fire licked the inside of your chest, every breath tearing itself ragged from your throat. The silence of the city pressed in on you, broken only by the pounding of your footsteps on cracked asphalt.
Every sound seemed louder and threatening. The scuff of gravel. The wind dragging debris across the street. The faint echo of footsteps that didn’t belong to you. You didn’t need to turn around to know who they belonged to.
Your heart slammed harder against your ribs, not just from the run, but from the sickening weight of realisation. He’s hunting me. Chishiya.
You cut across the street, nearly stumbling over a fallen lamppost, and ducked into the yawning mouth of a ruined building. The scent of rust and mildew clung to the air, every shadow stretching long and dark like skeletal fingers. You pressed yourself against the cold concrete wall, forcing your breath to slow, forcing your trembling hands to still as you tightened your grip around the knife. The blade felt useless. A desperate comfort more than a weapon.
You squeezed your eyes shut for a heartbeat, trying to listen past the roar of your pulse. For a moment there was silence. And then, the faintest sound. The soft, measured rhythm of footsteps outside, dragging closer, echoing through the hollow building like the steady toll of a clock.
You knew that rhythm. The patience in it. The control. Chishiya didn’t run. He didn’t need to. He only ever stalked and waited.
Your pulse hammered harder, a sick mix of fear and something you refused to name. And then a memory surfaced: another hunt, another game. The first time you saw him.
⸻ ♡ ⸻
The rules of the game had been simple enough: hide from the hunter, collect the marked tokens scattered across the arena and reach the exit alive. But simplicity never lasted long in this world.
You remembered the way panic had taken root in the other players as soon as the first gunshot rang out. Screams echoed down corridors, footsteps thundered like a herd of animals, and the frantic scramble only made the hunter’s job easier. The air had been thick with desperation and the tang of fear.
But not yours. You had pressed yourself into the shadows of a broken shelving unit, heart pounding steady, breaths shallow and controlled. You knew the truth: the louder, the faster, the more desperate you became, the quicker you died. So you stilled. You listened. You planned.
And that’s when you noticed him. Blonde hair catching the faint light like a beacon, though he didn’t seem to care. His steps were measured and unhurried, as if death itself wouldn’t dare touch him. Where others ran like frightened prey, he moved like someone already certain of victory. His eyes scanned the room with a predator’s focus, dissecting every angle, every possibility.
You had thought him arrogant at first, maybe suicidal. But then you realised he wasn’t reckless. He was calculating. Every move was deliberate. Every pause was precise. His calmness was sharper than panic, sharper than fear.
You stayed still, breath caught in your throat, thinking he would pass you by like the others. And for a while, he did. But then his head tilted slightly, and his gaze lingered on the shadows where you hid. Noticing you.
You froze. You had worked so hard to disappear, to be another piece of the rubble, unseen and unremarkable. Yet his eyes narrowed and you knew then: he saw you. He didn’t give you away, didn’t call the hunter’s attention. He just… kept watching.
When the others screamed, when they bolted for tokens in wild, clumsy grabs, you stayed focused, slipping through cracks, waiting for your moments. And you realised he was still watching.
At the exit, when the game ended and only a handful of players remained alive, you felt his eyes again. This time not as cold as before. A faint curiosity glimmered there.
⸻ ♡ ⸻
You slipped deeper into the ruined building, feet barely brushing the cracked tiles as you slid between pillars and collapsed walls. The air smelled of dust, every breath clogging your throat, every sound magnified in the hollow silence.
Shadows clung to the corners like a living thing and you pressed yourself into them, trying to vanish as you had so many times before. But tonight, hiding didn’t feel like safety. It felt like suffocating.
Your heartbeat quickened, each thud slamming against your ribs, so loud it seemed impossible that he wouldn’t hear it. Your pulse roared in your ears, drowning out the distant hum of wind against broken glass. Then came the sound. A creak... The door.
You stiffened, lungs locking, breath caught halfway between inhale and exhale. The sound of hinges grinding open scraped against your nerves, and with it, the soft, deliberate echo of footsteps on the tile. Chishiya.
You pressed yourself harder into the shadows, chest aching as you forced your breathing to shallow into nothing, as though if you simply stopped existing, he might pass you by. Every crack of plaster under his shoes, every shift of weight sent terror rattling through your bones. You imagined those calculating eyes sweeping the dark.
His voice cut through the silence like a blade pressed against your throat. “I know you’re in here,” he said. His tone was quiet, but certain. Confident even. “Do us both a favour and just return the playing cards.”
The sound of his voice clawed at your chest, made your throat tighten. It wasn’t the first time you had heard it like this, disinterested on the surface, but sharper underneath, as though every word was weighed before being spoken.
And just like that, your mind betrayed you. It dragged you back to the first time.
⸻ ♡ ⸻
The surviving players drifted in different directions, some collapsing from exhaustion, others buzzing with nervous energy. You had kept to yourself, slipping towards the edge of the crowd, content to leave without a word.
But then you heard him. "You hide well.” You turned, and there he was, eyes half-lidded, studying you like you were an equation he was curious to solve. His voice was casual, almost bored, but something in the way it lingered told you otherwise.
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, unwilling to let him see how much his sudden attention startled you.
He shrugged, lips curving in the faintest suggestion of a smile. “Observation. Nothing more.” A pause, deliberate. “Have you ever thought about joining the Beach?”
The Beach. Your brows arched. “That’s the place I keep hearing about, isn’t it? Food, electricity, hot water… a self-proclaimed paradise.” You let your tone sour. “A paradise built by a maniac who forces people to work for him. Doesn’t sound like my scene.”
The corners of his mouth curved more noticeably this time. Not mockery exactly, but amusement. The expression sharpened his otherwise unreadable face. “Hatter's main interest isn't playing dictator,” he said smoothly. “All he wants is to collect the playing cards. Convincing people to help him is just efficient. Food, shelter, comfort, it’s more of a trade. He gives, they give back. Simple.”
Something in his words lodged in you like a thorn. Collecting playing cards.
You forced your expression to remain neutral, though your heartbeat picked up. So that was where they were being gathered. That was where you needed to go.
You tilted your head, considering. You let out a small sigh, as if giving in to the idea reluctantly. “I suppose… hot water doesn’t sound so bad.”
Chishiya’s gaze lingered on you. And though trying to remain cold, you caught it: the faintest flicker of satisfaction curving his lips before he tucked it away again. Almost invisible, but not to you.
He turned slightly, gesturing with his hand in a half-hearted invitation. “Then it’s decided.”
And just like that, your fate was sealed.
⸻ ♡ ⸻
Your lungs screamed for air, but you refused to let a single sound escape. Every muscle in your body trembled, every nerve alight with terror. His footsteps drew closer. Each one echoed inside your skull until you thought you might go mad. Then silence.
Your pulse thundered in your ears. Sweat clung to your palms where you gripped the knife so tightly your knuckles ached. He was close. So close you could almost feel the air shift as he moved, the faint whisper of his breathing brushing against the darkness where you hid.
For a terrifying second, his head tilted just slightly in your direction. His eyes swept over the shadows, pausing right where you stood.
Your blood froze. Your heartbeat stuttered painfully and you bit down on the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from gasping. You imagined his gaze meeting yours, imagined his calm lips twisting into something sharp as his knife slid between your ribs.
But it didn’t happen. Instead, he lowered his head, his attention sliding away as though you weren’t even there. His footsteps retreated softly, carrying him back towards the broken doorway. You dared to take the smallest sip of air, your throat burning with the effort of silence.
At the threshold, he paused. His hand brushed the splintered doorframe. He didn’t look back, didn’t raise his voice. But you heard it, barely a whisper, curling into the shadows like smoke. “Until next time.”
And then he was gone.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Your knife slipped from your damp grip, clattering softly against the wall. You weren’t sure if your knees gave out from relief or despair.
Because you didn’t know which was worse: believing that he truly hadn’t seen you, or believing that he had… and simply decided not to.
The silence left in Chishiya’s absence pressed in on you like a weight, but your mind refused to stay in the present. That single whisper, "until next time", was enough to unravel you, to pull you back into memories you had no business clinging to.
Memories of the Beach. Of him.
⸻ ♡ ⸻
The Beach was never truly quiet. Music thumped late into the night, drunken laughter spilled from the lounge, and arguments echoed through the halls like constant background noise. Yet somehow, you and Chishiya always found yourselves outside of it, drifting into the quieter corners where the chaos couldn’t reach.
One night, you had found him sitting in a chair on one of the balconies, his blonde hair glinting almost silver under the moonlight. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but you noticed the way his foot tapped idly against the metal bar of the railing, as if the silence left him restless.
“You’ll fall if you lean back any further,” you said, leaning against the railing a few steps away.
His eyes slid towards you, disinterested at first glance, but there was a faint glimmer of amusement there. “Then I’ll die. Saves me the trouble of playing more games.”
You rolled your eyes. “How inspiring. A motivational speech for the masses.” His mouth curved ever so slightly. “Not everyone is meant to be inspired.”
That was how it started. Sarcastic comments traded like knives. But somewhere in the pauses between your jabs, something shifted. The silences stretched longer and instead of walking away, you filled them.
“You really don’t like people, do you?” you asked one night, half teasing, half curious. “They’re predictable,” he replied, voice calm as always. “Panic, selfishness, stupidity… it’s all the same. People are boring."
“And I’m boring too?” His gaze lingered on you a second too long, his lips twitching like he was holding back a real smile. “Not quite.” The words settled between you, heavier than either of you acknowledged.
The nights bled into each other after that. You found him more often and he never seemed surprised to see you. What began as sarcasm slipped into something softer. Observations, confessions that weren’t quite confessions.
You told him once that you hated how the games twisted people, made them into animals. He didn’t laugh or mock you as you expected. He only said, “That’s the world. Pretending otherwise is a waste of time.” But then, after a pause, his voice dropped lower. “Still… I suppose it’s not the worst thing to hope.”
He had never meant to say that. You saw it in the flicker of his eyes, the way he immediately busied himself with whatever handmade weapon he was currently working on. But the words lingered anyway.
The more you talked, the easier it became. You hadn’t expected it. Neither had he. He wasn’t used to conversation feeling like breathing. So natural and unforced. With others, every word was a mask, a calculation. With you… it wasn’t.
He told you once, late into the night when the Beach was quiet, “You make it easy.” You had tilted your head, unsure. “Easy?”
“Talking,” he said simply, almost dismissively. But the look in his eyes betrayed him. It wasn’t dismissal at all, it was something closer to wonder.
That night, he let his guard fall in a way you had never thought possible. His voice softer, his posture relaxed, his mask slipping piece by piece until you glimpsed the man underneath. The one who wasn’t always calm or in control. But the one who felt.
And you realised then just how dangerous this was becoming. Not because of who he was, but because of what you were meant to do.
And still, you didn’t stop. Couldn't stop.
⸻ ♡ ⸻
Your legs ached, every step heavier than the last. The chase had stretched your body thin, adrenaline burned out and leaving only exhaustion behind. You found a corner of the ruined building. An alcove half-hidden by crumbling concrete and rusted pipes you pressed yourself into it.
For tonight, you told yourself, this would be enough. Stay low. Stay hidden. Rest. You curled against the wall, forcing your breath to slow, knife clutched loosely in your hand. But when you closed your eyes, you didn’t find the comfort of darkness. You saw him.
Chishiya, standing in the same building only hours before, his gaze sharp but strangely heavy. He hadn’t looked like a hunter then. Not like a killer.
He had looked like a man betrayed.
The image cut deeper than any knife. It made your chest ache in a way the running never could. You hadn’t wanted this, you had never meant to. But the moment he had told you about the playing cards, about Hatter collecting them and him planning on stealing them, you had known. This was your chance.
Your only chance.
And Chishiya… Chishiya had trusted you.
You pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, stifling the sound that threatened to escape. It wasn’t fair. He had lowered his guard for you, something he had never done for anyone else. You knew that. You had felt it. And still, you had taken the cards. Still, you had run.
Because in this world, trust was a luxury you couldn’t afford. And if it had to be him you betrayed, then so be it.
But as sleep dragged you down in the shadows, you couldn’t shake the truth clawing at your chest: it wasn’t just him you had betrayed. It was yourself.
⸻ ♡ ⸻
The night had been warm, heavy with the constant hum of voices and music echoing through the Beach. But in Chishiya’s room, it was quiet. Quiet enough that you could hear the scratch of paper as he smoothed out a folded blueprint on the desk.
“Come closer,” he said casually, without looking at you, his voice carrying that usual mix of disinterest and command. “You’ll want to see this.”
You leaned in, the lamplight catching on the map of the Beach’s main floor, the hallways, the staircases leading up to Hatter’s private suite.
“We’ll need the best path to the top floor,” Chishiya murmured, his finger trailing along a stairwell. “Military men rotate here every thirty minutes. Too predictable.”
You found yourself leaning closer, scanning the same marks, the brush of his shoulder grazing yours. A small spark of awareness shot through you at the contact, but he didn’t shift away.
Instead, he glanced at you, the barest flicker of intrigue in his eyes. “You look… eager,” he said smoothly. Not judgment, just a quiet observation.
“I am,” you admitted before you could stop yourself. You let a smile tug at your lips. “This might actually be fun.”
That seemed to amuse him. The corners of his mouth curved faintly and he returned his gaze to the blueprint, though not before you noticed his eyes linger just a heartbeat longer than they needed to.
You leaned over the desk again, pointing to a corridor drawn on the map. “If we time it right, we can slip through here. The guards don’t overlap when they switch shifts.”
Your hand brushed his as you traced the path. The contact was brief and feather-light, but it made the air feel heavier somehow. He didn’t pull away.
“Not bad,” he murmured. His voice was low, thoughtful, though when you glanced at him, his eyes weren’t on the paper anymore. They were on you.
Your chest tightened, breath catching. For just a second, his gaze flicked down to your lips, before sliding back up to meet your eyes.
You noticed. And from the faintest twitch of his mouth, you knew he noticed that you noticed.
You turned back to the map quickly, cheeks warm, pretending to study the lines of ink like they held the only answers in the world. But your pulse betrayed you.
Chishiya leaned back slightly, arms crossing loosely over his chest, his expression calm but his gaze unrelenting. You had the sudden, terrifying realisation that for once, you weren’t the only one studying someone like a puzzle. He was studying you too. And unlike everyone else, you couldn’t tell if he had found the solution yet.
⸻ ♡ ⸻
Morning came sluggishly, dragging the weight of exhaustion with it. Your body ached from the night before, muscles stiff, bones heavy, the kind of fatigue no amount of sleep could truly erase. Even after hours curled in the shadows, you woke feeling as if you hadn’t rested at all.
You pushed yourself upright, rubbing the grit of sleep from your eyes, and stumbled towards what remained of a balcony. The metal railing was rusted and bent, but it held as you leaned against it.
Fresh air filled your lungs. It felt thin and acrid with smoke, but still better than the stale scent of dust and mildew inside. The city stretched before you, silent and broken. Streets littered with debris. Skyscrapers yawning hollow windows. The husk of a world that used to be alive.
You scanned the streets out of habit, your eyes tracing every alley, every rooftop, every shadow. And then you froze.
Voices.
They carried faintly up from below. You crouched instantly, knees bending, lowering yourself until you were hidden behind the warped metal railing. Your breath caught in your throat.
Peering carefully through the rusted bars, you spotted them: three men in black jackets, military men. Not just scavengers or wanderers.
Your stomach dropped. Hatter had sent more. Of course he had. Chishiya hadn’t been fast enough. You were still breathing, still running. That wasn’t acceptable.
A rough voice cut through the air, demanding: “Where did you last see them?”
Your heart skipped. And then you heard him. Chishiya’s voice was unmistakable, carrying no weight of urgency or frustration. Just that detached certainty that always made him sound like he was one step ahead of everyone else.
“Here,” he said simply. “This street. Likely hiding in one of the buildings down the alley.”
You pressed yourself flatter against the railing, pulse thundering in your ears. He was so close. You couldn’t see him from this angle, but you could imagine him, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.
The men muttered, their boots scuffing as they began to spread down the street, their eyes scanning doorways, weapons ready.
But Chishiya… he didn’t mention the building you were in. Didn’t even glance at it. His gaze skipped past, as if you were invisible. As if you weren’t here at all.
You let out the softest breath you hadn’t realised you had been holding, relief flooding your chest so suddenly it made you dizzy.
⸻ ♡ ⸻
Tonight was the night. Music still thudded in the distance, muffled by walls, and laughter echoed faintly from the lounge. But here, in the upper corridors, it was only you and Chishiya.
You moved in sync, shadows slipping through shadows, the creak of floorboards avoided with practiced precision. His calm steadiness grounded you, even as your heart raced with the thrill of what you were about to do.
Chishiya led the way to the stairwell, pausing only when the beam of a guard’s flashlight swept the opposite hall. You crouched beside him, shoulder brushing his as you waited in silence. His profile was sharp in the dim light, eyes narrowed, mouth set in that perpetual curve that wasn’t quite a smile.
When the guard passed, you leaned close, lips brushing the air near his ear. “Now.” He nodded once and you both slipped forward.
Every second was charged, adrenaline thrumming through your veins, your pulse loud in your ears. You weren’t sure if it was the risk of being caught or simply the closeness of him that made your breath feel unsteady.
At the top of the stairs, he spread a rough sketch of Hatter’s suite against the wall, the paper creased and worn from hours of study. His hand brushed yours as he pointed to a narrow passage beside the main door. “Here. Security blind spot.”
The contact was brief, accidental, but it left your skin tingling. You forced yourself to focus on the map, though your eyes strayed to him, the way his hair fell across his forehead, the intent sharpness of his gaze.
“Stay close,” he murmured, voice low, steady. “We’re almost there.” You did. You always did.
Together, you slipped through the corridor, timing your movements perfectly, until finally, the door to Hatter’s suite loomed before you. Chishiya’s fingers ghosted over the lock, tinkering with it, his eyes narrowing in thought before a faint click signaled his success.
The suite opened into silence. Darkness cloaked the room, but the glint of polished wood and glass reflected the faint glow from the hallway. And there on his nightstand, almost carelessly displayed in a wooden box, were the cards. The sight stole your breath.
Chishiya smirked faintly, stepping inside. “Too easy.” You followed, every nerve alive, your gaze locked on the cards. Your fingers itched to touch them, to claim them. The very thing you had been chasing since the moment you arrived at the Beach. The reason you had gotten close to him.
But as you reached for them, your stomach twisted painfully. You could feel his eyes on you, watching, trusting, his guard lowered in a way you knew he never did with anyone else.
And still, you took them. "I'm sorry, Chishiya." You whispered, voice laced with hurt.
The moment your hands closed around the stack, you bolted, out the door, down the hallway, your footsteps thundering louder than you had ever allowed before. You didn’t dare look back. But you didn’t need to.
You could still feel it, the weight of his gaze, the silence behind you heavy with realisation. He hadn’t shouted, hadn’t chased, hadn’t even tried to stop you. But you knew. You had betrayed him.
In a breath, the corridor behind you filled with the stomp and clatter of military men. They poured into Hatter’s suite like tidewater, searching, calling, scanning the room until their flashes landed on the empty box. Luckily you had studied the blueprints long enough, so you knew where to hide.
You heard their shocked curses through the walls.
Chishiya moved like he always did: calm, the kind of calm that hid everything. He stood there casually as the men swarmed, hands tucked into his pockets. For a second he was angry, hurt. But he quickly adapted to the situation, his mask back in place.
“They were stolen,” he said smoothly, voice flat. “I tried to stop them, but they got away.” He quietly added your name, as if not daring to speak it too loud. It was a half-lie wrapped in half-truth, the sort of small betrayal meant to salvage a situation. You could imagine the exact tilt of his head as he said it, the measured cadence that made fabrications sound like facts.
The soldiers exchanged glances, barking questions, and that’s when the door opened wider and Hatter himself filled the frame. He moved with the showman’s ease of someone who always got what he wanted. He clicked his tongue and crossed his arms like a judge about to deliver sentence.
“It was you who invited them to the Beach, if I remember correctly,” Hatter said, amused more than accusing. Chishiya didn’t flinch. “Yes.” His answer was controlled. “I thought they might be useful.”
Hatter laughed sharply. “Useful, hm? Or were you just naive enough to think them useful?” Hatter shook his head. “They’re probably too clever for this place. Too manipulative. Too dangerous.”
Niragi, the one who always leaned forward at the scent of a hunt, snapped, voice hot. “We should find them now. I want to-"
Hatter lifted a hand without looking at him, a small, absolute gesture that shut his fury down like a curtain. He stepped closer to Chishiya. As he spoke, there was ice under every syllable. “No,” he said. “Chishiya will hunt them. And he will bring me my playing cards… and their heart. I want proof of their death.”
The room seemed to exhale. Orders hung in the air like smoke. The men straightened, weapons reclaimed and hands itching to move. Niragi’s shoulders tightened in frustration, but he didn’t speak again.
Chishiya’s face was blank, the war inside him was visible only in the slight catch of his breath before he turned to leave.
“Now go. Find them. And kill them,” Hatter finished, the sentence falling like a verdict.
Chishiya left the room with that same calm stride, but not before he looked in your direction, if only for a second, if only like a ghost brushing by. You had already gone, but the look found you somewhere in the corridors between rooms, or perhaps it was the look he gave the idea of you in his mind. Either way, it landed with the force of a physical blow.
He was desperate to find you. Not solely because Hatter had commanded it, not only to fulfill the bloody practicalities of orders, but because something behind his patient eyes ached. He wanted an explanation. He needed to understand the quick betrayal that had split whatever small, private thing had been growing between you. That ache, the confusion, wounded pride, something that might be called grief, sat in his chest like a live coal, burning and impossible to ignore.
You ran because you had to. He hunted because he had orders. But underneath the mechanics of command and survival, there was something else that moved him, something you had formed without meaning to, and which you had shattered without meaning to, too.
⸻ ♡ ⸻
You waited until the light thinned to a bruised orange, every minute measured like a stolen breath. The men from Hatter had thinned out over the day, voices and boots carrying farther into the city, chasing other leads, so you told yourself it was safe enough to move. Stay low. Move slow. Think three steps ahead and never breathe louder than the wind.
You packed the few things you had, the cards hidden tight against your chest in a fabric wrap, a stale piece of bread you had found, the knife that had felt like a joke, and practiced the route in your head until it lived there like a second skin. The plan was simple: slip to the next block, find food, then keep going.
The city sagged around you, half-night already. Shadows pooled in doorways and the gaps between abandoned cars. Every sound was a threat, tins rolling, a distant argot of rats, the creak of loose metal. You kept your shoulders low and your eyes lower, moving like a ghost through the bones of the place. You thought yourself careful. You were wrong.
He had been there all day, waiting, watching the building like a bruise under your skin. You hadn’t seen him when you stepped out, you only noticed him when the world condensed to the length of his shadow swallowing yours.
The alley was narrow and smelled of old rain. You rounded a rust-eaten dumpster and felt a hand close around your wrist with the precision of inevitability. It moved faster than reflex, a practiced motion, you were spun before you could throw a single thought after the first.
Your back slammed against brick. Cold scraped down your spine. His arm caged you in, steel and warmth intertwined, pinning you where you could count the individual grit in the mortar. The other hand came up and the world narrowed to a flash of polished metal that kissed the soft skin beneath your jaw. Knife to throat. The press was intimate and absolute. It wasn’t a threat. It was fact.
You tasted metal on your tongue even if nothing actually cut. Your lungs tried to heave and stopped. There was no room to draw breath, only the small, contained panic of having your life held in someone else’s fist. You could feel the pulse of his fingers against your collarbone, measured and frighteningly calm.
For a heartbeat you imagined the scene in reverse: the two of you bent over plans as you had once been, fingertips briefly touching over a blueprint, his eyes thoughtful. The memory slid away like a cracked mirror.
⸻ ♡ ⸻
It had been late, the rooftop still carrying the warmth of the sun long after it dipped below the horizon. You and Chishiya had spent too long up there, conversations that had started with the heist and your plan drifting into softer places, places you hadn’t meant to go. He had listened, you had laughed, and the silence between words had grown thick with something unspoken.
By the time you made your way back down the stairwell, your chest still fluttered with nerves that refused to settle. You tried to mask it with banter, slipping into the rhythm you both knew so well.
“You really think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” you teased lightly, bumping your shoulder against the wall as you followed him. “Careful, that ego of yours might not fit through the doorway.”
Chishiya stopped, turning just enough to catch your eye. The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“You truly enjoy annoying the hell out of me, don’t you?” he said softly, with that casual tone that always made his words sound like a game.
You opened your mouth to shoot back another jab, but the air shifted before you could. He stepped towards you. And without even realising it, you stepped back.
The wall met your shoulders, cool against your spine. The smirk slipped from his face, leaving his expression bare in a way you had never seen. His eyes searched yours and then they moved lower. To your lips. His own parted just slightly, the faintest tremor of hesitation in someone who never hesitated.
Your heart hammered against your ribcage, as though it could leap straight into his chest. Every part of you screamed for him to close that final distance, for the tension to snap, for the hunger you had buried beneath sarcasm and schemes to finally be fed. And you were sure he was going to.
But then came the voices. Too close. The sound of laughter and footsteps rounding the hall.
Chishiya pulled back instantly, the space between you slamming shut like a door. The mask slipped back into place as though nothing had happened. His face was calm, his hands sliding into his pockets.
But the moment lingered, broken like glass. Shattered, but leaving its edges in your skin, impossible to forget.
⸻ ♡ ⸻
He smelled like he always had, clean, with a trace of something indefinable that used to feel like comfort. His face was inches from yours. Up close, his expression was a map of contradictions: composed, controlled, and lined at the edges by something raw. You had seen that look once before in softer light, and the memory made your throat burn with shame.
You could do the math of his calm. He had been given an order, so he had to obey. He also had a choice of method. He had chosen to corner you alone, in an alley, with no witnesses and no theatrics, like a man who wanted answers, not a spectacle.
“Don’t move,” he said quietly. The words were casual. There was no mockery now, only the thin, brittle line of someone who had been surprised into feeling something he would rather not name.
Your hands went instinctively to the fabric bundle pressed against your ribs. The cards were warm and heavy under your fingers. You had them. You had the thing you had come for. That should have been everything, but all you could feel was the hollowness of the trade, what you had taken and what it had cost.
Panic tried to claw into your vision, but the knife at your throat focused you into a brittle clarity. Anything could have happened in the next second: the blade could drop, he could pull back, he could stab, he could bargain. You were close enough to see the way his jaw flexed when he swallowed.
He didn’t strike immediately. You learned, with a small, humiliating heat, that he was holding himself in the same way he had held his silence back at Hatter’s suite in practiced restraint. The pause tasted like accusation.
“You could have talked to me,” he said, voice low, almost a murmur meant only for you. There was no accusation in it you could harness to your anger, only the quiet fact of it. “You didn’t have to run.”
You wanted to argue, to say all the justifications that churned inside you, how the world didn’t reward trust, how the cards were the only thing that could change your life, how you had no other choice, but your voice felt like a cracked thing. You swallowed. The knife pressed closer, a subtle reminder that words were secondary.
He shifted, the knife’s edge making the smallest line of pressure across your skin. You flinched, more from the intimacy of it than the pain. He smelled like the Beach at midnight and some memory you hadn’t yet allowed yourself to keep.
“You left me no choice,” he added after a moment, softer, but layered. The words were not an absolution, they were not a condemnation either. They landed in the alley like a verdict that hadn’t been signed.
You could see the battle in his eyes. The conflict between duty and some brittle, dangerous thing that might have been care. It made him look dangerously human.
In that small, suffocating space, all the plans you had made and all the reasons you had told yourself fell away until there was only the cold press of steel and the heat of his breath on your skin and the taste of betrayal on your lips.
You had wanted the cards. You had taken them. But you had lost him.
“Chishiya…” His name left your lips in a trembling whisper, but it was enough to unravel something in him.
His hand began to shake subtly, the steady calm he always wore cracking at the edges. His jaw tightened, teeth grinding together as if he could force control back into himself through sheer will.
You felt it: the war inside him. The want to kill you, to end this, to erase the weakness you had carved into him, and the desperate refusal of his own body to follow through.
The grip on your collar slackened, just the faintest loosening, but enough to make your chest ache.
You searched his eyes, desperate for something, anything. But what you found there was worse than the knife.
“You didn’t just betray the Beach,” he said, his voice a rasp through clenched teeth. “You betrayed me.” The knife pressed harder, biting into your skin, the sting sharp and sudden. A bead of blood slid down your throat, warm against the chill air. You gasped softly, more at the weight of his words than the pain itself.
Tears burned your eyes. “I thought I had no choice,” you whispered, your voice breaking under the confession. “This world doesn’t allow for trust, Chishiya. I never wanted to betray you… but you’re an executive. You had duties, obligations. I couldn’t-"
“Do you really think the Beach means anything to me?” His voice cut through yours, sharp and almost bitter. His eyes flared, more alive than you had ever seen them. “I was only there to do exactly what you’ve done.”
Your breath hitched, as his words crashed into you. You swallowed hard, your throat tightening around the truth you hadn’t seen. His face moved closer, his breath brushing your skin, hot and intimate despite the steel at your neck.
“We could have run together,” he whispered, almost too softly, as if he was afraid of the sound of it. Something inside you broke then. His name slipped from your lips again, softer than the first, trembling with guilt and longing. And that was all it took.
His lips crashed against yours, the kiss desperate, almost frantic. His mouth was hot and eager, filled with everything he had been holding back. Anger, need, betrayal, desire, all bleeding into one feverish act. The knife slipped away from your throat, clattering faintly against the brick wall as his hand fell to your waist, pulling you closer.
You kissed him back with equal hunger, your tears mixing with the heat of his mouth. Your hands fisted in the fabric of his jacket, clinging to him like you were drowning and he was the only solid thing left in this ruined world. You pulled him closer, as though you could erase the choices you had made, erase the betrayal, erase everything but this moment.
For a heartbeat, the world outside ceased to exist, no Beach, no cards, no hunt. Only him. Only you.
The kiss broke when the faint echo of voices carried down the alley. You both froze, lips still close, breath mingling in sharp gasps of adrenaline and want. The sound of boots scuffing concrete, laughter too cruel to be careless. It was them. The military men.
Terror flickered in both your eyes at once. “You need to go,” Chishiya whispered quickly, his voice low but urgent. His grip on you tightened once, as if to keep you from moving, before pushing you gently back. “Run north. I’ll lead them south.”
Your throat clenched. “Chishiya…” His eyes locked on yours, sharp and pleading all at once. “Go!” he hissed, almost too loud, urgency cracking through the calm mask he clung to.
You didn’t let go of his jacket. Not yet. You pulled him back to you for one last kiss. It was fleeting, but filled with everything you didn’t have time to say. His lips lingered on yours as though he couldn’t stop, even with danger closing in.
When you finally broke apart, his forehead rested against yours. His voice was a whisper of glass: “Please.”
Your breath shivered against his skin. “Will you come find me?” you asked quietly, the words nearly breaking in your throat.
His eyes met yours, steady even as his mask slid back into place. But beneath it, the truth burned. He nodded once. “I will. Now go.”
Your chest ached with the weight of it, but you obeyed. You turned, forcing your legs to move, running around the corner into the shadows. You pressed yourself into the darkness, waiting, heart hammering so loud you were sure it would give you away.
“Guys!” Chishiya’s voice rang sharp through the alley, calm but commanding. “I think they went this way!” Boots thundered in response, the men chasing the phantom trail he had given them.
And you stayed hidden, trembling in the silence he had carved out for you, your lips still burning from his kiss, your throat stinging from his knife, and your heart splintering under the weight of everything unspoken.
⸻ ♡ ⸻
A/N: I've been working on this one for so long, only to now realise that this might need a part 2?🥺
Summary: In which the chemistry between you and chishiya becomes undeniable, but a hidden truth lingers beneath it
Warnings: reader losing her virginity, soft chishiya, smut! oral sex (f receiving), fingering, protected sex (do not read if you're under 18!)
Word count: ~4.2k
Requested by anonymous (x4, I got you, loves!)
gif credits
You had never met anyone who could keep up with you the way Chishiya did. Most people either grew irritated with your quick tongue or backed down when you challenged them. He never did. If anything, your sharp remarks seemed to amuse him, his pale eyes glinting with something between amusement and intrigue every time you fired back.
“You’re insufferable,” you had said one night, arms crossed as you leaned against the broken wall after clearing a Spades game.
He hadn’t even looked up from the card he was shuffling idly between his fingers. “You’re just mad I’m right. That my plan helped us clear the game."
“You’re not right. You just sound convincing because you like hearing yourself talk.” That finally got his eyes on you and there was the faintest curl of his lips, the kind of almost-smile that was more dangerous than a full grin. “You keep saying that, but you never prove me wrong.”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the way your chest tightened when his gaze lingered just a little too long. He was smug and yet, he was the only one who made your mind race fast enough to distract you from the nightmare of the world you were stuck in.
Others noticed, of course. Usagi had given you a knowing look once, and Kuina hadn’t even bothered to hide her smirk when she caught you and Chishiya sparring over some strategy debate. To them, it had looked like a weird way of flirting. To you, it was a battle of wills, a game of words where neither of you wanted to admit how much you enjoyed it.
But late at night, when the others were quiet, you always found him nearby. Not close enough to draw suspicion, but close enough that you felt the weight of his presence. And whenever your eyes met, it was clear: for all your teasing, neither of you was pulling away. And this was probably why Chishiya let you in. Let you in on his plan to steal Hatter's playing cards.
It started the same way it always did: an argument over strategy. You had been pacing, pointing out flaws in his plan, while Chishiya lounged against the wall, arms folded, eyes half-lidded like he was humouring a child.
“You’re oversimplifying it,” you said, stopping to glare at him.
“And you’re overcomplicating it,” he replied smoothly, as if the words had been waiting on his tongue.
The usual rhythm should have ended there, your retort, his smugness, but something in the way he leaned forward broke the pattern. His eyes flicked down briefly, catching the curl of your lips as you smirked, and though the shift was subtle, it was undeniable.
“You’re awfully confident for someone who’s wrong,” you teased, deliberately stepping closer, testing how far you could push him.
He tilted his head, pale hair falling just slightly into his face and his smile sharpened. “Careful. You might start sounding like me.”
Your chest tightened at that, heat crawling into your throat before you could shove it away. You weren’t used to being on the back foot, not with him. And yet, there was no denying the way your pulse quickened when he didn’t move back, when he let the space between you shrink to just inches.
The air grew heavier, the silence stretched. What was usually a game of clever words now hummed with something unspoken. His gaze lingered, not challenging, but searching, and you felt yourself lean in ever so slightly before you could stop yourself.
You swallowed hard, looking away first, though not without catching the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. The banter hadn’t ended. It had just changed its rules.
You hadn’t expected him to move so suddenly. One moment, he was standing there with that insufferable smirk, and the next, his mouth was on yours.
It wasn’t anything like the way Chishiya usually approached the world. It was fierce, like something that had been locked away for far too long and had finally broken free. His hands gripped you with a hunger that startled you, sliding over your sides, your back, as if memorising every inch of you before it could all be taken away.
Your breath caught, but you didn’t hesitate. You matched him with equal desperation, kissing him back with the same fire, the same aching need that had been simmering beneath your playful sparring for weeks. Your fingers tangled in the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer until his body pressed firmly against yours, heat radiating between you.
For once, there were no clever comebacks, no sarcastic remarks. Just the taste of him, the sound of his breathing harsh against yours, the overwhelming crash of two people who had waited too long to admit what they wanted. And God, you wanted him.
It was almost too much, the way he kissed you like he had been starving for years, the way his hands roamed your body as though he could never get enough. His erection pressed violently against you. You could almost feel it throbbing through his swim trousers. You felt yourself unraveling, swept up in the dizzying rush of it, until suddenly your chest tightened with something else, something heavier than desire.
You broke away, breathless, pressing your palms against his chest to stop him. Chishiya froze instantly. His hands, once so desperate, stilled and dropped back to his sides. He searched your face with that sharp gaze of his, and for once, there was no smugness in it. Only confusion.
“You don’t want this?” he asked quietly. No edge, no challenge. Just a rare softness, a genuine question.
Your lips parted, but the words tangled in your throat. You could still feel the heat of him pressed against you, still taste him, and your body screamed to close the space again. But your mind faltered, caught between longing and fear.
“It’s not that,” you stammered, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I just-" Your voice cracked, and that was all it took. His expression shifted, the faintest flicker of realisation crossing his face as he watched you fumble for words.
For a man who always seemed so unshakable, Chishiya’s stillness was different now. His breath came heavy, his chest rising against your palms, but his body stayed rooted where you had stopped him.
And for the first time since you had known him, he looked almost uncertain.
A dozen possibilities flickered behind his eyes, each one heavier than the last. Had he misread you entirely? Had he pushed too far? The thought sent a sharp edge of fear through him, because unlike the others he toyed with, you weren’t someone he could afford to lose. He actually liked you, more than he had ever admitted to himself.
“I am so sorry. I thought you wanted this too. I didn't mean to overstep any boundaries,” he said carefully, his voice stripped of its usual detachment. Not an accusation, not a defense. Just quiet and apologetic.
Your heart ached at the softness in his tone, at the way he was bracing himself as though he had crossed a line he couldn’t take back.
“That’s not the point,” you whispered, your throat tightening. You couldn’t meet his eyes, not with the way your chest felt like it might cave in. “It’s just that… I’ve never…”
The words stuck like shards in your throat, humiliating to admit out loud. But as his gaze softened patiently, the truth tumbled out before you could stop it.
“I’m a virgin.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. You squeezed your eyes shut, already preparing yourself for the inevitable: his smirk, his laughter, some biting remark about how unexpected it was. You braced for cruelty, because you couldn’t imagine someone like Chishiya meeting your vulnerability with anything else. But the laugh never came.
When you finally dared to look at him, he wasn’t mocking you. He wasn’t even smiling. His expression was unreadable, as usually, but not cold. Not cruel. If anything, there was a carefulness in the way he looked at you now, like he was holding something fragile in his hands and terrified of breaking it.
When your confession slipped into the air, you wanted to disappear with it. Your cheeks burned, your chest ached, and you couldn’t stand the silence stretching between you.
But then his shoulders eased and that sharp, unreadable mask of his softened into something you had never seen before.
“You know,” he murmured, tilting his head just slightly, “I never would’ve guessed.” His lips curved faintly, not in cruelty, but with something lighter. “You carry yourself like you’ve got the whole world figured out. Like you’re three steps ahead of everyone else.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the weight of his words. He shifted closer, though not enough to crowd you, his voice gentler than you thought possible from him. “It doesn’t change a thing, you know. Not the way I see you. Not what I think of you.”
The knot in your chest loosened just a little, and your eyes flicked up to his, searching for any trace of amusement at your expense. There was none. Only that rare, quiet sincerity. The kind that left you even more vulnerable than your confession had.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The air was still charged from the kiss, but the weight of your confession lingered between you like fragile glass.
Chishiya’s gaze lingered on your face, but when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before, low and almost tender.
“You shouldn’t lose it here,” he said simply. You frowned, your heart stuttering. “What?”
“Your first time,” he clarified, eyes narrowing just slightly as if he was forcing himself to choose the right words. “It shouldn’t be in a world like this. Not when everything here is about desperation and survival.” His gaze flicked briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes. “You deserve more than that.”
His words sank into you slowly, each one tugging at the knot in your chest. He wasn’t brushing you off. He wasn’t mocking you. He was… protecting you, in his own way.
“You think I’d regret it?" you asked quietly, testing him.
“I think you’d remember it,” he corrected, “and I’d rather that memory not be tied to a place like this.”
Something in your chest ached at the certainty in his tone, the way he carried it without a trace of his usual smugness. It was almost frightening, seeing him without the armour of detachment, just a man who, against all odds, cared enough to draw a line.
And even though you wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, you couldn’t ignore the warmth that bloomed in your chest at how much he meant it.
“I don’t care about perfect circumstances,” you said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “This could all be a dream for all we know.”
Chishiya’s smirk came back like clockwork, that tiny, dangerous curl of his mouth that always made your ribs tighten. “Then I’m honoured to be part of your dream,” he said, voice low. “Especially if it’s a wet one.”
Heat flared so bright and sudden in your face you had to bite back a retort. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you snorted, but the quip lacked venom, more embarrassed amusement than anything else.
You both laughed softly then. He reached up without breaking eye contact and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering at your neck for a heartbeat longer than necessary. He watched you the way he watched a puzzle he was intent on solving, as if cataloguing the exact way you breathed.
That quiet focus steadied you in a way nothing else could. You swallowed, words catching and tumbling out on a single breath. “It’s just-"
You closed your eyes for a second, feeling the old, stubborn terror prick at the edges of your courage. “You’re the only person I’ve ever felt… drawn to. Ever. Not just because you're smart or interesting. I don’t know why. I just-"
When you opened your eyes again, you let the rest fall out. “This world could end any second. Maybe it will. Maybe there won’t be a tomorrow. If I’m going to…if I’m going to share that with someone, I want it to be with you.”
Chishiya searched your face, for anything that could make him stop. "You're really not making this easy for me." He said as he cupped your face.
"I understand if you don't want to be with someone as inexperienced as me. I just want you to know that I really want this. And I don't care about the circumstances. After all, these circumstances are what brought us together."
A rare softness flickered across Chishiya's face. "C'mon." He whispered as he grabbed your hand and dragged you into his room. The door clicked shut behind him and it took him a few seconds, a few moments of silent calculation, until he looked at you again. His hands were back on your face, thumbs softly caressing your cheeks.
"Promise me that you will tell me to stop if anything becomes too much or you change your mind." His eyes were locked on yours. You stared back at him, swallowing. "I promise."
And then his mouth was back on yours. It was tender at first, but when you kissed him back eagerly, he couldn't contain his excitement. He undid your zip-up hoodie, his hands sliding underneath it, as he moved them around your waist.
He pulled you flush against him, a soft gasp escaping your mouth. His hands never stopped exploring, moving down to grab your butt cheeks, moaning softly into your mouth. He kissed down your throat. "You have no idea how attractive you are. All that bantering and your confident come backs? I really had to refrain myself from just shutting you up with a kiss." He murmured softly, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.
Your fingers slid into his hair, pulling him back up to crash your lips against his. His hands moved from your arse up to your tits, squeezing them gently through your bikini top. Your nipples hardened at the touch and he didn't waste a second to flick his thumbs over your hardened nubs.
"Chishiya, please-" You moaned, feeling him smirk against your mouth. "What is it, darling? What do you want?"
You opened your eyes, his were already staring at you. "Touch me." You whispered confidently. One of his hands moved down. Your pulse quickened, you could hear it thundering in your ears, when he finally reached your bikini bottoms. He slipped his hand in, his gaze never leaving yours.
His cock twitched inside his trousers as he moved his fingers along your slit. "Fuck, you're so wet." The words came out as a groan. His jaw tightened as he had to restrain himself from just pushing his fingers in and fucking you with them until you were no longer physically able to stand up straight.
He removed his hand, not trusting his self-control. Instead, he licked his fingers clean. His first taste of you. You watched him with wide eyes. "I just knew you'd be fucking delicious." Chishiya said with a smirk on his face.
He finally slid your zip-up off your shoulders, watching you like you were some masterpiece at a museum. "Take off your bikini and lay down." He gestured his head towards his bed. You did as he ordered.
As you were getting comfortable on his bed, he was already removing his signature white jacket. Only his swim trousers remained. He was absolutely gorgeous and you couldn't quite believe how lucky you were.
"How do you like being touched?" The question caught you off guard. You blinked a few times before your brain had comprehended it. "I- I don't know. I've never been touched by someone else before."
Chishiya bit the insides of his cheek, keeping himself from saying that he's not only going to be the first to touch you, but also the last. He would make you his and you would stay his. His erection was pressing against his tight trousers, it almost hurt.
He placed one knee in between your legs, spreading them gently before kneeling in between them. "How do you touch yourself?" Your face went red and you quickly looked away. Chishiya leaned forward, grabbing your chin in between his fingers and forcing your face back to his. "You have the quickest tongue when arguing with me and never back away from challenging me but a simple question like this makes you speechless?" There was obvious amusement on his face. A new challenge, which he was winning. But you couldn't let him.
"I just- don't know how to answer that." You murmured softly, voice thick with embarrassment. Chishiya raised his eyebrows, a smirk now plastering his face. He moved his free hand to your cunt, gently starting to rub circles on your clit. Your hips bucked involuntarily, a moan escaping your throat. "Do you prefer to rub your clit?" He asked, giving it a few more rubs before moving his hand further. "Or," he carefully inserted one finger,
"Do you prefer your fingers inside when pleasuring yourself?" He curled it once, hitting precisely the right spot, your walls immediately clenching around him. The sensation overwhelmed you. You needed him. All of him. "Both." You simply stated, eyes now locking on his with confidence.
"Good." He nodded and started moving his finger in and out of you. You cursed under your breath, throwing your head back. Chishiya watched you for a while longer, memorising the look on your face. Then he moved down, his tongue finding your clit before you could comprehend what was happening. Your head shot back up, "Chishiya!" You moaned.
He chuckled against your cunt, "What? Did you think I was going to use my fingers to take care of your clit?" And with that, he dived back in, sucking the sensitive nub, while the pace of his finger quickened. You felt the need to clench your legs, but Chishiya used his free hand to keep them spread. A knot was forming in your lower belly, one that usually took way too long to form when it was you trying to get yourself to your high. But the sensation of Chishiya's tongue against your clit, his finger deep inside you, curling ever so often, was enough to bring you closer to your orgasm way too fast.
You bucked your hips in desperation. Chishiya was quick to understand your body language. He buried his finger deep inside, curling it over and over again. But before he could even tell you to come for him, your orgasm was already crashing over you like a wave. Your legs clenched around his head, your walls around his finger. You were a moaning mess and he couldn't help himself from groaning against your cunt, his hips bucking into the mattress, needy for any kind of friction.
Chishiya guided you through your orgasm, only retrieving his finger when you came back down from your high. And then he was on top of you, kissing you fiercely. You were still catching your breath, kissing him back eagerly. "We can just leave it at that, if you want." He whispered softly. You grinned as you moved your hand to his eagerly waiting cock, palming him through his swim trousers. Chishiya moaned against your mouth, earning a soft chuckle from you. "I think your cock would disagree."
Chishiya tried to get his thoughts straight, but with your hand on his dick, it was hard to focus on anything else. "I'm just- saying, it's okay if you want to stop here. I don't want you to feel pressured to lose your virginity to- fuck." He groaned, clenching his teeth, as you slipped your hand in his trousers and started rubbing his cock. The tip was already wet with pre-cum.
"Such a big brain yet you still don't understand that I want this, Chishiya. I want you. All of you. So please, unless you don't want it, just take my stupid virginity already and have me."
Chishiya bucked his hips against your hand, a low sound escaping his throat. He got up and took off his trousers. "You're driving me insane." He groaned as he opened the drawer of his nightstand. He roamed through it for some time before finally retrieving a foil packet. "Just something Hatter granted us executives. Never thought I'd be needing it here." He explained as he ripped the packet open, sliding the condom on his painfully hard cock.
The mattress dipped as he crawled back on top of you. "Last chance." His eyes were watching yours carefully. You smiled, biting your lip, "do it."
"It might hurt a little." He said softly, his tip already eagerly lined up at your entrance. "Do it, Chishiya." You whispered. And then he finally slid his length in. Slow and careful. He bit back the moan that wanted to come out, too focused on you and how you felt. It stung a little when his cock broke through your hymen. But the pain was manageable, because the pleasure and the want for him was stronger. When his whole cock was buried inside you, he stilled. His hand cupped your face, stroking your cheek gently. "You okay?" He asked softly. You licked your lip, nodding. But he didn't move. "I'm okay." You finally said. And then he pulled his cock back out almost fully, before sliding back in. The soft moan you let out was enough for him to crash his mouth against yours as he started moving at a steady pace. And every thrust felt better than the last.
"You feel so good." He groaned against your lips, fastening his pace. And you wholeheartedly agreed. His cock felt amazing inside you. As if it were simply made to be. You and him.
You wrapped your legs around him, giving him an even better angle. Pleasure took over as he was now slamming his cock into you, forgetting all about his gentleness, which you certainly didn't need any longer. You wanted to feel his dick as deep as possible, hitting just the right spot.
You moaned his name loudly, encouraging him keep the exact pace, as you got closer to your orgasm. He left wet kisses down your throat, your chest, until he reached your tits, flicking his tongue lazily over the hardened nipple before sucking it in. Your hips bucked involuntarily at the sensation, earning a groan from him. You took notice how good it made him feel, and how good it made you feel, so you did it again, meeting his thrust. He cursed, grabbing your hips and helping you move against him.
"Oh God, Chishiya. I think I'm gonna-" your voice cracked as he hit your G-spot, your head feeling dizzy. "Come for me, darling." He groaned desperately, eager to feel your walls clenching around his cock. And when they finally did, it was unlike anything he ever felt before. He has had sex multiple times before but none of the other times had ever felt this intense. And he couldn't help but reach his own orgasm with you, filling the condom inside you. The room was filled with the two of you moaning each other's name.
When your body finally stopped shaking, he pulled out of you carefully. He removed the condom, knotted it carefully and threw it towards the trash can, before dropping down beside you.
He had one arm tucked casually behind his head, the other resting against his stomach as if he hadn’t just torn down every carefully built wall between you. He glanced at you with that insufferably smug little smile, pale hair messy against his forehead.
“Well,” he drawled, voice low and amused. “I’d say you handled yourself better than expected.”
You groaned and buried your face in the blanket, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Accurate,” he countered smoothly. “But you still enjoyed every second of it.”
You peeked at him, narrowing your eyes.
“The way you moaned my name,” he said, tilting his head, “the way your body reacted to mine. Your desperate pleas as your walls started clenching around my cock, ushering me to go even deeper and fa-"
“Finish that sentence and I swear I’ll challenge you to another round,” you warned, jabbing your finger into his side. He caught your wrist easily, trapping your hand against his chest. The warmth of him seeped into you, making your heart trip over itself. His smirk softened, just barely, and his thumb brushed absent circles against your skin.
You tried to focus on glaring, but the weight of his gaze, the quiet intensity of it, made your chest ache in a different way.
“What?” you asked finally, your voice smaller than you intended. He shrugged lightly, still watching you. “You just admitted you want more than just one round.” You rolled your eyes, though the lump in your throat made it less convincing. “Don’t flatter yourself.” His lips quirked, amused. “Too late.”
Pairing: chishiya x reader (no pronouns mentioned)
Summary: chishiya never thought he'd fall in love. and he never thought there could be an emotion that is even more consuming than love: grief
Warnings: heavy angst! reader dying, mentions of blood, a little bit of fluff
Word count: ~6k
gif credits
The King of Spades was nothing but chaos. Bullets ripped through the air, glass shattered, smoke stung your eyes and burned your throat. Screams echoed through the empty streets, but beneath the panic there was a strange, desperate determination. This was it. This was almost the endgame. Only two remained: the King of Spades and the Queen of Hearts.
You ran through the debris-strewn street beside Chishiya, lungs burning, heart hammering against your ribs. Every step, every breath, was weighted with the knowledge that if you made it through this, there might finally be peace.
Another gunshot rang out, closer than before. In the split second it took to realise the trajectory, you saw it: the bullet was aimed straight for Chishiya. Without thinking, you shoved him aside. The crack of impact tore through you. The pain was instant, molten fire blooming in your side.
His voice was raw, almost unrecognisable as he yelled your name. He caught you as your knees buckled, his arms tightening around you like he could physically hold you together.
You tried to laugh, tried to tell him it was fine, but all that came out was a wet gasp. “Guess… I wasn’t fast enough.”
“Shut up.” He sank to his knees with you clutched against him, his sharp eyes blown wide with panic. He pressed both hands against the wound and you could feel the tremor in them, something you had never felt from him before. “Don’t talk. Just- just hold on.”
Blood seeped hot between his fingers, soaking through his clothes. His usual calm precision was gone, replaced with frantic movements as he dragged you behind a crumbling wall, shielding you from gunfire.
“Shuntarō…” You coughed, the metallic taste flooding your mouth. “You need to go. You can still-"
“Don’t you dare.” His tone cut like a blade, but the crack in his voice betrayed him. “Don’t you dare tell me to leave you.”
You blinked up at him, his face hovering above yours. For once, the usual smirk was gone. But there was also no coldness, no detachment, just desperation. “This isn’t you,” you whispered weakly.
“I know.” His voice broke on the words. He pressed harder on the wound, muttering curses under his breath. “I can’t focus. I can’t- dammit, stop bleeding-" His hands shook, smeared red to the wrists. “You’re going to be fine. You hear me? You’re going to be fine.”
A shiver racked through you as the world blurred at the edges. “You sound so sure.”
“I am.” His jaw clenched, his eyes flicking between your face and the spreading blood. “Because I don’t lose. Not like this. Not you.” You reached up weakly, fingers brushing the fabric of his bloodstained shirt. “You’ve always been a terrible liar.”
His breath hitched. “Then believe me when I say this: you don’t get to die here.” His hands pressed harder, trying to stem the tide. “You don’t get to leave me.”
The street around you was still chaos, the King of Spades’ gunfire relentless, but in that moment, Chishiya didn’t calculate his odds or think of strategy. For once, he wasn’t the untouchable player. He was just a man on his knees, clutching the one person he couldn’t afford to lose, fighting a battle his brain told him he couldn’t win and refusing to let go anyway.
“Chishiya!” Usagi’s voice cut through the chaos as she and Arisu sprinted into view, ducking low behind the ruined wall. Their eyes widened when they saw you in his arms, your blood pooling beneath you.
Arisu lurched forward, calling your name, panic all over his face, but Chishiya snapped at him before he could even reach you.
“Tear your jacket, now! I need more fabric. Usagi, water, anything clean!” His voice was sharp, commanding, but shaking at the edges. His hands never lifted from your wound, pressing down, desperate to slow the tide that kept slipping through his fingers.
Arisu fumbled, tearing at his jacket with trembling hands, while Usagi scrambled through her bag.
Chishiya seized the torn pieces of fabric, pressing them against the wound, replacing sodden fabric with fresh ones as quickly as it soaked through. His teeth clenched hard enough to ache. “Come on, come on- stay with me,” he muttered under his breath, a mantra as much for himself as for you.
You choked, the sound wet and terrifying. Blood dribbled from the corner of your lips. Chishiya froze. For a split second, his world went silent. No gunfire, no shouting, no explosions, just the crimson stain painting your mouth.
His medical mind knew exactly what that meant. Internal bleeding. Lungs filling. The bullet had to come out. Surgery. You needed an operating room, a sterile environment, equipment he didn’t have. Without it...
No. Don’t. The thought hammered against the walls of his skull, but his chest burned with the truth he didn’t want to accept. This was not good. This was not survivable.
“Shuntarō…” You tried to speak, voice bubbling with blood, but he shook his head furiously, silencing you with the fierce press of his palm against yours.
“Don’t talk. Don’t.” His voice cracked as he barked it, eyes burning, jaw trembling despite the sharpness of his tone. “I can fix this. I can fix you. Just hold on.”
Arisu swallowed hard, looking between your paling face and Chishiya’s bloodied hands. He opened his mouth to say something, but one look from Chishiya kept him silent.
Chishiya’s heart pounded as his mind screamed calculations he didn’t want to hear: survival rate near zero, no surgical intervention possible, the inevitable dragging closer with every shallow breath you took. And yet his hands kept working, pressing, replacing, fighting against the truth.
You coughed again, weaker this time, and your eyes fluttered half-shut. Chishiya’s own vision blurred. His heart refused what his mind already knew: that you were slipping, that he couldn’t save you here.
“No,” he whispered fiercely, leaning closer, his forehead almost pressing to yours. “You’re not allowed to leave me. You hear me? You don’t get to leave me.”
The world around him dimmed, the noise of battle fading like a distant echo, as though time itself slowed. The warmth of your blood on his hands, the weight of your body in his arms, everything anchored him in this moment of devastation.
And then, like smoke curling in from the edges of memory, another image began to press against his mind. Not this battlefield. Not this day. Something older. The first time he saw you. The sharp words you had thrown at him. The way you would never let him hide behind his cold smirk.
The present wavered and the past began to bleed through. With the world blurring, the chaos of blood and gunfire slipped away, replaced by a different kind of tension. A memory pressed itself into focus: the first time you met him.
The game had been set in a massive, abandoned shopping mall. The rules were simple, the execution brutal. A puzzle with two possible paths. One that would allow a handful of players to escape quickly if they figured out the solution, and another, longer route, that gave everyone a chance to survive if enough people cooperated.
You had seen the solution almost instantly, the same way he had. The smug tilt of his head told you that much. He leaned back against a shattered storefront, hands tucked into his pockets, eyes glinting with that detached amusement you would later come to know all too well.
“Well?” he had drawled, looking at you from the corner of his eye. “Smart enough to see it. Smart enough to walk away. What’s stopping you?”
You squared your shoulders, pulse steady despite the smug challenge in his tone. “The fact that there are other people here who don’t deserve to die just because they weren’t fast enough.”
He arched an eyebrow, the corner of his lips twitching like your answer was amusing but foolish. “Ah. So, one of those. Self-sacrificing, bleeding-heart types.” He pushed off the wall and stepped closer, his gaze sharp. “That won’t get you far in here.”
“Neither will standing around acting superior while people die,” you shot back. The words hung in the air, as unexpected as they were. For the briefest second, his expression flickered. And it wasn't intimidation or anger, but surprise. Then that infuriating smirk slid back into place.
You ignored it, turning to the cluster of terrified players and explaining the longer route, urging them to work together. Some hesitated, some doubted, but you persisted, and slowly they began to move.
Chishiya followed, hands still shoved into his pockets, watching you with that unreadable stare. When the danger spiked and the panic threatened to ruin the plan, he intervened with quiet, precise words, guiding others in exactly the right way to keep them moving. Not for their sake, you suspected, but for his own.
In the end, the game was cleared. A few lives were lost, but far fewer than there might have been. Relief rippled through the survivors as they stumbled out into the night air, alive.
“That was reckless,” Chishiya said when it was over, his gaze fixed on you. “Reckless and far too good-hearted for this world.”
You wiped the sweat from your brow, exhaustion tugging at your limbs, but your lips curved into a sharp grin. “Funny. I was about to say the same about you... minus the good-hearted part.”
For a moment, silence stretched between you. Then his eyes narrowed slightly, not with annoyance, but with something far more dangerous: intrigue.
From that day forward, you weren’t just another player in his eyes. You were the one person who hadn’t flinched, hadn’t bent beneath his words, and that fact alone hooked something in him he couldn’t quite explain.
The Beach was a different kind of battlefield. Not bullets and blood, but politics, manipulation, and fragile alliances. Hatter had welcomed you with a grin wide enough to split his face when you first arrived, declaring you “a rare gem”, a Clubs player who excelled in strategy and cooperation. Someone who could win games not by force or brute intellect alone, but by leading others through them.
It didn’t take long for you to rise. Your ability to clear Clubs games and to keep people alive, made you valuable. And with value came rank. Soon, you found yourself seated at the long table in the executive meetings, surrounded by the most powerful players at the Beach.
Chishiya always sat slouched in his chair, arms folded or hands tucked into his pockets, his lazy smirk never leaving his face. He barely ever said anything. It was not hard for you to realise what he thought of the Beach and the executives. Only they never noticed.
Sometimes he couldn't hold back, when a plan was exceptionally stupid. He barely ever suggested a better plan, only scoffing and calling the current one 'absolutely brainless'. Most people let his words roll past, unwilling to engage with him. But not you.
“Do you ever contribute anything useful?” you snapped one evening after yet another one of his thinly veiled provocations.
His smirk deepened, eyes glittering with mischief. “I'm stating the truth. Someone has to keep these meetings interesting.”
“You mean you hide behind sarcasm so no one notices you never stick your neck out,” you countered.
The room went quiet. A few executives shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking between you and Chishiya. No one spoke to him that way. Not Hatter. Not Aguni. No one.
For a heartbeat, he said nothing, only watched you with those unreadable eyes of his. Then, slowly, his lips curved. “Careful.” He muttered softly. A scoff escaped you before you could stop it.
The meeting moved on, but the tension lingered. His eyes found you more than once, following the way you spoke, the way you carried yourself. It wasn’t intimidation he felt. It wasn’t irritation, either. It was something far more dangerous: fascination.
That night, after the meeting, you found him leaning against a balcony rail, the glow of neon lights painting his pale features. You didn’t hesitate.
“You know,” you said, stepping up beside him, “for someone who pretends not to care, you work very hard at keeping up that act.”
He turned his head just enough to glance at you, one eyebrow lifting. “Is that so?”
“Yeah.” You met his gaze steadily. “You think no one sees through it. But I do. You’re not detached. You’re scared of what happens if you’re not.”
The words landed heavier than you expected. For once, he didn’t smirk. He didn’t argue back. He just studied you, like he was piecing something together for the first time.
And in that silence, something shifted. His intrigue, that spark of curiosity from your first encounter, began to settle into something deeper. Because no one ever challenged him. No one ever broke past the persona he wore like armour. No one but you.
Sleep rarely came easy at the Beach. The music, the shouting, the laughter of people pretending they weren’t living on borrowed time, it all seeped through the walls no matter where you hid. Most nights you wandered restlessly, letting your feet carry you. It turned out you weren’t the only one.
You would find him again and again. Sometimes in the library, idly leafing through books. Sometimes outside, leaning against the rail of the poolside bar. Sometimes on the rooftops, gazing at the ruined city like he was the only one left in it.
At first, the two of you exchanged little more than jabs. Witty remarks, sharp words meant to poke at each other. But over time, the conversations deepened. The silences between words grew comfortable instead of tense.
One night, you told him about your family. Just small details like your favourite childhood memory, the smell of your grandmother’s cooking. Tiny things, fragments of a life that felt impossibly far away. You hadn’t expected him to answer. He never did. But this time, after a long silence, he spoke.
“I used to think medicine was just a puzzle. Problems to be solved with logic. People only… complicated it.” His eyes stayed fixed on the ground below as if it was easier not to look at you. “I didn’t expect it to matter. Until it did.”
The admission stunned you. You didn’t push. You just sat beside him, the weight of his words sinking in. And slowly, he began to share more. Little fragments. Pieces of himself he swore he would never hand to anyone here. But with you, the risk felt almost… safe?
Safe. That was what he felt with you, a word so foreign to him it might as well have been from another language. Yet when your eyes found his, when your shoulder brushed his in the quiet of the night, that’s what it was. Safe. And strangely, it felt good.
It was on one of those nights, the both of you standing on an empty rooftop, the broken city sprawled endlessly below, that something shifted again. The wind tugged at your clothes and tousled his pale hair.
You leaned against the railing, staring out at the flickering lights far away. The games had just started. When you finally turned your head, you realised he wasn’t looking at the view at all. He was watching you. His gaze was steady, as if memorising every detail.
The silence stretched, heavy with something unspoken. And then, quietly, almost as if confessing to himself, he said, “I really want to kiss you right now.”
You froze, breath catching in your chest. For a moment, you thought you misheard. “What?” His lips twitched, “You heard me.”
When you turned fully to face him, the look in your eyes was all the invitation he needed. His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair from your face with uncharacteristic gentleness. And then he closed the distance.
The kiss felt careful at first, like he was testing the reality of it. His lips pressed against yours softly, almost reverently, the warmth of him startling against the night’s chill.
But when you tilted your head, when your hand found the fabric of his shirt and tugged him closer, something inside him broke free. The kiss deepened, growing urgent, his fingers curling against your jaw as though anchoring himself to you.
For someone who lived in logic, in distance, it was uncharacteristically vulnerable. He kissed you like he had been holding back for far too long, like he had finally surrendered to the one truth he couldn’t outthink or outmaneuver: you.
When he finally pulled back, breath mingling with yours, his forehead rested lightly against your temple. “I- We shouldn’t,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. You whispered back, “But what's stopping us in a world that is already doomed?"
After that rooftop night, things shifted in ways neither of you acknowledged out loud. It wasn’t dramatic, not some sweeping declaration or visible change. It was subtler than that, the quiet gravity pulling you towards each other, undeniable even when you tried to resist.
Sometimes it showed in stolen moments. You would find him sprawled on a couch in the empty library, eyes closed like he was dozing, and he would wordlessly lift one arm, making room for you at his side. You would curl against him, your head against his shoulder, and he would go back to pretending to sleep, though you noticed his breathing always slowed, steadying only once you were there.
Other times, it was in small acts of defiance. During games, he no longer stood apart. He no longer seemed detached. He stayed closer, orbiting your side. When danger flared, his eyes always found you first, calculating not just his survival, but yours.
And then there were the nights. Nights when the Beach quieted, when the music finally died down. You would sit together on that rooftop, trading fragments of memory. He told you about the feeling of holding a beating heart in his hands during surgery. You told him about the way spring mornings smelled after the rain in your hometown.
One night, you laughed at something ridiculous he said. A rare and genuine laugh that slipped from you without restraint. You hadn’t noticed how intently he was watching until the sound faded, and his lips curved, not in a smirk this time, but in something softer, rarer. “You’re dangerous,” he murmured. You tilted your head. “Me?”
“Yes.” His eyes lingered on yours, unreadable yet warm. “Because I almost forget where we are when I’m with you.” You hadn’t known what to say to that. But the silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It was delicate, like glass you didn’t dare shatter.
There were arguments, of course. He would call you reckless, accuse you of risking yourself for people who didn’t deserve it. You would snap back that he was a coward for hiding behind his indifference. But even those clashes felt different now. They ended not in walls, but in doorways. His eyes softened when the fire in yours burned out, and more often than not, one of you ended up seeking the other out again by the next day. And slowly, without him even realising when it happened, admiration turned into something far more dangerous than any game the Borderlands could throw at him.
Love.
The rooftop, the laughter, the fragile moments of peace, they dissolved like mist against the fire of the battlefield. The deafening roar of gunfire crashed back, smoke choking the air, the metallic tang of blood heavy on your tongue.
Chishiya’s hands were still pressed desperately against your wound, his knuckles white, his movements frantic. He muttered under his breath, curses and pleas bleeding together, his usual calm precision shattered into raw desperation. “Stay with me,” he rasped, shaking his head as though the force of denial alone could undo reality. “You’re not leaving me here. You hear me?” His voice cracked, jagged at the edges.
You summoned what little strength you had left, lifting a trembling hand. Your fingers curled weakly around his wrist, halting his futile attempts to stop the bleeding. His head snapped up, eyes locking on yours. They were wide with fear.
You forced your lips into something resembling a smile, though pain pulled at every muscle. “Shuntarō…” Your voice was barely a whisper, wet and broken, but you pressed on. “It’s okay.”
“No.” The word tore from him like a growl, desperate and vicious. “Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you-"
“It’s okay,” you repeated, firmer this time, though your breaths were shallow and ragged. “It’s time to let go.” His throat bobbed, his hands tightening helplessly around yours. You could see it in his eyes, the refusal, the devastation, the breaking.
“I'm ready,” you whispered, each word a battle. “I knew it might come to this ever since stepping into this world. But you… you gave me more than I ever thought I’d have here. You showed me things I’d forgotten. How to feel again. How to… love again.” His face twisted, anguish tearing through his mask like shrapnel.
“I’ll never forget you,” you continued, your vision dimming at the edges, though you fought to keep his face in focus. “I’ll always be with you. Right here.” Your fingers pressed weakly against his chest, where his heart thundered. Tears blurred his eyes, though he blinked them back with furious defiance.
“You have to make it out alive,” you breathed. “For me. Promise me.” His lips trembled, his jaw clenched, and for a long moment he couldn’t answer. Then, hoarse and broken, the word escaped:
“…I promise.”
Your hand slackened, sliding down his wrist. Your smile lingered faintly, even as your breaths grew too shallow to draw.
And for the first time in his life, Shuntarō Chishiya felt utterly powerless, cradling the one person he could not save, watching the light slip from your eyes, even as his heart screamed to hold on.
Your hand slipped from his wrist, falling limply to the ground. Chishiya didn’t move. His body hunched over yours, his bloodied hands frozen against your wound as if sheer will could reverse what had already happened.
“Chishiya-" Usagi’s voice cracked as she reached for him. He didn’t respond. He didn’t even look up. Arisu’s hands were on his shoulders then, pulling, shaking, desperate. “We have to move! If we stay here, we’ll die!”
“I can’t-" His voice was hollow, the words rasping out like ashes. “Yes, you can!” Arisu’s grip tightened, dragging him back with all his strength. Usagi whispered a soft farewell to you, thanking you for everything you endured together. Then she helped Arisu pull Chishiya away from your seemingly lifeless body.
His legs stumbled beneath him, but his mind was empty. Utterly, completely numb.
The King of Spades fell. But danger was still close. Niragi, his laughter fractured and unhinged, stumbled into the open. He raised the gun with gleeful cruelty, his aim swinging wildly until it landed on Chishiya. The shot cracked. Pain seared through Chishiya’s body as the bullet tore into him, just missing vital organs. And he mocked Niragi for it.
But when Chishiya saw Niragi's gun pointed at Usagi, he intervened. Before he could pull the trigger, Chishiya lurched forward, forcing his body between them. He stood, shielding her with everything he had left. He staggered, slumped back against the wreck of a car, blood soaking his side.
“Chishiya!” Usagi’s cry tore through the smoke. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even care. Death didn’t scare him anymore, not when he had already lost the only thing he wanted to live for.
Slumped against the car, breaths shallow and pain radiating through him, he managed a broken, wry smile. “A change in my usual character seemed just right,” he murmured, voice barely more than a rasp.
Arisu crouched beside him, eyes wide, face twisted in worry. But Chishiya only leaned his head back against the scorched metal, his gaze unfocused, his thoughts far away from the battlefield. "Now win that last card."
When the final game was cleared, when Arisu and Usagi brought the Queen of Hearts down and the fireworks tore across the dark sky, he lay there, watching the colours explode above.
The question lingered in the air, heavy and impossible: return to the real world, or remain here forever. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, so softly it was almost lost beneath the thunder of fireworks, he whispered, “I think… I want to return.”
His lips parted in a faint, broken smile, eyes glimmering with tears he didn’t shed. “To make it out alive,” he breathed. “To become a better person back in the real world.” His gaze drifted skyward, as though you might be hidden among the stars. “For you.”
The light swallowed everything. One moment, there were fireworks blazing across the sky, the sharp taste of blood in his mouth, and the weight of his whispered promise to you. The next, there was white. A brightness that pressed in from all sides until there was nothing else.
When Chishiya’s eyes fluttered open, it wasn’t the Borderlands he saw. It was a ceiling. Pale and sterile, humming faintly with fluorescent light. The faint beeping of machines filled the silence. A hospital.
For a moment, he lay still, the weight of his body foreign, every nerve raw.
“Yo,” a too-familiar voice rasped. Chishiya turned his head, his neck stiff. Niragi was in the hospital bed next to him, bandages wrapping his whole body, IV tubing dangling from his arm. His smirk was lopsided, weaker than usual, but still there.
“You finally up, huh?” Niragi chuckled dryly, tapping his temple. “Funny thing. Can’t remember a damn thing. Not the accident, not how I got here. Blank. Guess we got lucky, huh?”
Chishiya said nothing. He only watched him, his chest heavy with a dread Niragi couldn’t understand. Because he remembered.
Not all at once, but piece by piece, like shards of glass cutting through the fog. The endless games. The blood. The fire. And then you.
Your hand slipping from his wrist. The weak smile you forced through the pain. Your voice, trembling but steady, telling him it was okay. That it was time to let go. That you would always be with him, in his heart.
His breath caught, the sound sharp in the sterile air. He turned his face away from Niragi, pressing his eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the flood.
Every word. Every laugh. Every kiss on that rooftop beneath the ruined city. Every quiet moment of safety you had given him in a world designed to strip it away.
And then the memory of you dying in his arms. The devastation hit like a blow to the chest. His throat tightened, his stomach twisted, and for the first time in his life, Chishiya felt the weight of grief so sharp it was suffocating.
He had thought himself untouchable. Above it all. Detached. But you had dismantled that piece by piece until he had nothing left to hide behind. And now, with the memories flooding back, he realised what it meant to lose the only person who had ever made him want to live.
Tears pricked hot at the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. He swallowed them down, his jaw tightening, his nails biting into his palms.
You were gone. And he remembered everything.
Recovery was a slow, suffocating process.
The surgeons told him he had been lucky. He was kept in bed for weeks, his movements limited, every shift in his body reminding him of pain.
At night, when the hospital quieted and the only sound was the steady beep of monitors, he would close his eyes and see you. Not vague impressions, not blurry dreams, but you. The weight of your hand in his. The curve of your smile on that rooftop. The way your voice cracked when you told him it was okay to let go.
And every time, he broke all over again. He didn’t cry. He refused. But grief hollowed him out, carving him into something unrecognisable. Meals went untouched. The doctors muttered about depression, about trauma, about therapy he wouldn’t accept. Niragi never noticed, too consumed in his own arrogance and relief at forgetting. But Chishiya remembered. Every second. Every heartbeat. Every loss.
And still, he clung to the only thing he had left: the promise. "Make it out alive. For me."
He replayed your words in his head like scripture. You wanted him to survive, so he would. He had never cared before. Not about life, about people, about being anything more than clever enough to win. But you had changed him. You had made him want more.
So when he forced himself to eat again, it wasn’t for himself. It was for you. When he pushed himself to stand, leaning on the IV pole with trembling legs, it was for you. When he looked out the window at the city, the world he had never expected to see again, it was with the thought of you.
He wanted to be a better person. For you.
Every step forward was agony, but every step was survival. And survival was what you had asked of him.
He carried your voice in his chest like a second heartbeat, a phantom rhythm guiding him through the emptiness. He didn’t know what becoming “better” would look like. He only knew that for the first time in his life, he wanted to find out.
Because you would have wanted it for him. And that was enough.
The first steps outside the hospital felt strange.
The city was alive in a way the Borderlands had never been. Cars rumbled by, their horns impatient. Neon signs buzzed overhead, some flickering with tired light. The air was full of chatter, laughter, the rustle of people living their lives without the weight of survival games pressing against their every breath.
For weeks, Chishiya had forced himself to notice these things. The way the sky shifted from grey to orange at dusk. The smell of fresh bread wafting from a bakery. The sound of a dog barking in the distance. Little things. Ordinary things. The kind of details you would have smiled at. The kind of details he had promised himself he would appreciate for you.
That afternoon, his steps carried him into Shibuya. The famous scramble crossing stretched wide before him, thrumming with life. He stood at the curb, hands shoved in his pockets, watching the sea of people swell as the lights changed.
And then his world stopped.
His heart lurched violently against his ribs, a blow so sudden it nearly stole the air from his lungs. His feet froze mid-step, rooted to the ground as if the earth itself had given way beneath him.
His eyes widened, every muscle in his body locking in place. For a moment, the sounds of Shibuya dulled, the honking horns, the shuffle of feet, the chatter of strangers all fading into nothing but a faint buzz in his ears.
Because there, in the shifting crowd, you walked. Alive.
Your face, so achingly familiar, so impossibly real, turned slightly towards the sunlight. No blood, no fear, no Borderlands. Just you. Your expression was relaxed, your steps unhurried, like you belonged here, like nothing had ever happened.
Chishiya’s chest constricted. His pulse thundered in his ears. His breath caught, shallow and trembling, as if one wrong inhale would make the image vanish. He didn’t blink. He couldn’t. He was terrified that if he did, you would be gone.
But you weren’t. You were right there, weaving through the crowd, alive in a world where you weren’t supposed to exist anymore. And for the first time since waking in that hospital, Chishiya felt his carefully rebuilt composure shatter all over again.
He couldn’t stop himself.
The second the crossing cleared, Chishiya stepped off the curb, his legs moving before his mind could catch up. His pulse thundered, drowning out the noise of Shibuya. Every stride closed the distance, though he stayed a pace behind, weaving silently through the throng of bodies.
You were alive. Walking. Breathing. Existing. And he couldn’t look away.
He memorised the way your shoulders moved with each step, the tilt of your head when the sunlight brushed your face. The little details, the ones he had thought were lost to him forever. They mesmerised him. His chest ached with every heartbeat, but he couldn’t let himself blink, couldn’t risk missing even a second of it.
Words caught in his throat. A hundred things he wanted to say, your name, his apologies, the promise he had carried for you, but none of them reached his lips. He only followed you silently, his gaze fixed like a man watching a miracle take shape.
And then you turned. Your eyes met his instantly, locking onto him as though you had been waiting. The world fell away, Shibuya dissolving into nothing but the depth of your gaze.
For a moment, everything inside him broke apart, the devastation, the grief, the crushing sadness he had been dragging behind him since the Borderlands. It all dissolved, washed clean in the quiet safety of your eyes. His chest tightened, his lips parting in a soundless breath. He felt weightless, suspended between disbelief and overwhelming relief.
You tilted your head slightly, your brows knitting together in faint confusion. “Do we… know each other?” The words hit him harder than any bullet.
Because in that instant, he realised: you didn’t remember. Not the Borderlands. Not the games. Not him. Not the love that had grown between you in the shadow of death.
The smile you gave was polite, uncertain. A stranger’s smile.
Your eyes narrowed slightly as though trying to place a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. “Though… you do look familiar,” you admitted softly.
Chishiya’s breath caught. Little did he know, when your eyes first locked, your heart had skipped a beat. It had been involuntary. A sudden, unexplainable flutter that left you unsettled, though you couldn’t begin to understand why.
His lips parted, the word trembling out of him before he could stop it. Your name. Whispered like a prayer.
Your eyes widened. “So we do know each other?” Relief and guilt flooded your face in equal measure. “I’m so sorry. I… I recently woke up from a coma after the meteor incident. There are still gaps. I don’t… I don’t remember everything.”
Chishiya just stared at you. Stared as though you weren’t real, as though at any second you might vanish back into smoke and gunfire. His whole body ached to close the distance, to wrap his arms around you, to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingers, to remind himself you were alive.
But he didn’t move. He couldn’t. Not when your memories had been erased, not when touching you might break whatever fragile thread had brought you back to him.
Still, the grief that had crushed him for weeks didn’t win here. Not this time. Because you were alive. That was all that mattered.
Perhaps it was better you didn’t remember the Borderlands, the blood and the countless horrors. Even if it meant you also didn’t remember the rooftop, the laughter, the nights of whispered secrets, the love that had bloomed between you.
He would carry those memories for the both of you. And he was certain of one thing: he would make you fall in love with him again. Just as it had happened before.
For the first time in weeks, his lips curved softly. He remembered the little detail how you hated coffee, how you would always wrinkle your nose when the smell drifted too close.
“Would you like to grab some tea?” he asked quietly.
And though you didn’t know why, something in your chest tightened, pulling you towards him.
A/N: I've been working on this one for far too long now. Did I break my own little heart while writing this? Perhaps. Did I still enjoy writing it? Absolutely.
Pairing: chishiya x reader (no pronouns mentioned)
Summary: in which you carry around a secret. a secret that could make people realise you're a liability. so you do everything you can to shield it from everyone. but one certain genius can't refrain from wanting to find out
Warnings: reader has epilepsy, angst, fluff, comfort
Word count: ~7.6k
Requested by "anonymous"
gif credits
You had learned quickly that the Borderlands punished weakness. It didn’t matter how kind you were, how smart, or how desperate to survive. If someone saw you stumble, falter, or even hesitate, they would use it against you. At the Beach, that truth was amplified tenfold. Every person there fought to maintain their place in the fragile hierarchy and you knew you couldn’t afford to give them a reason to question yours.
That was why you hid it. The little orange pill bottle was tucked away carefully, always hidden beneath scavenged clothes and scraps you didn’t care about losing. You counted out each tablet with precision, rationing them as though they were the last drops of water in a desert. Sometimes you tried to go without, when the dizziness was bearable, when you told yourself you were strong enough to risk it. But every time the metallic taste filled your mouth, or your vision swam at the edges, fear closed its hand around your throat.
Epilepsy. It wasn’t just a word, it was a death sentence here.
You had made excuses when your hands trembled, claimed exhaustion when the fog pressed down on your brain. The others bought it. They wanted to believe you were just another tired body at the Beach, not someone carrying a secret liability that could jeopardise them in a game. You had been clever enough, careful enough, so that no one had asked questions.
Every time the Beach gathered to drink or celebrate, you stayed alert. You sipped at your glass but never too much. You kept to the walls, watching the crowd instead of engaging with them, forcing your body into stillness when panic curled inside your chest. Because you knew if anyone ever saw the truth of you, they wouldn’t hesitate to cast you out. Or worse.
And so you smiled when needed. You listened. You studied the rules of this new world, played the games, won your place. But deep inside, beneath the mask you wore so well, the truth hummed like a loaded gun waiting to go off.
And if it did, if you faltered, if they found out, you knew there would be no second chances.
You met him during a game of Diamonds. You remembered the chill of the lobby, the numbers flashing on the screens, the quiet shuffle of bodies as players eyed each other with suspicion. And then there was him, leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world, eyes flicking lazily over the room. Shuntarō Chishiya. Even back then, you had heard whispers about him: clever, dangerous, untouchable.
You hadn’t expected him to notice you. But when the rules of the game were revealed, when panic broke out in the group and players immediately started scheming and shouting over one another, it was your voice that cut through the noise. Calm and with an observation no one else had made.
“It’s not about brute force. It’s about deduction,” you had said, eyes on the countdown ticking above the door. “If you waste time fighting each other, you’ll hand the game over without realising it.”
A pause, brief but electric. Then a voice, low and smooth behind you. “Finally. Someone here who can count past ten.”
You turned to see Chishiya watching you with the faintest curl of a smile. His eyes glinted, sharp as glass, and for the first time you felt as if someone wasn’t just listening to your words. He was dissecting them, weighing your mind the way he might weigh a scalpel in his hand.
From then on, it was like you had been locked into a private current with him. The others scrambled, desperate and loud, but between you and Chishiya the strategy unfolded like a quiet dance. You tested him with suggestions, theories, traps hidden inside your phrasing. He parried with lazy quips that carried razor-thin logic beneath them.
When you noted that one player was about to get eliminated, his mouth had twitched upwards. “You noticed that, too? I was starting to think I was the only one with eyes.”
“And here I thought you enjoyed letting people underestimate you,” you shot back. He let out a breathy sound of amusement, one that stayed with you longer than it should have.
Move by move, round by round, you matched him. Not in strength, but in sharpness, in the refusal to be fooled. You didn’t defer to him the way the others did. You challenged him, nudged him, made him reveal just a little more of the mind he kept so carefully veiled.
And ever since that night, you had felt it, that invisible thread between you, the way he lingered at the edge of rooms you were in, the way his attention seemed sharper whenever you spoke. Something unspoken had taken root in the silence between you, something taut and undeniable.
The days that followed blurred together in the chaos of the Beach. Drunken laughter echoing through the halls, bonfires blazing under the night sky, the endless plotting and scheming of executives who thought themselves untouchable. But in between all that noise, there were moments. Quiet ones. Yours and his.
It started subtly. A glance across the room, a small tilt of his head, a shift in his stance. You learned quickly that these were his signals, his way of telling you to follow. And you did. Always.
You would find him in shadowed corners of the complex, or leaning against the railing of a quiet balcony, far from the echo of music and drunken shouts. He would speak in that low, unhurried tone of his, usually starting with some offhand remark about the “newest brilliant plan” another executive had come up with.
“They want to burn the Beach’s stockpile of food,” he murmured once, his mouth curving with a faint smirk. “A show of loyalty to Hatter. Dramatic, isn’t it?” You raised a brow, crossing your arms. “That’s not loyalty. That’s starvation with extra steps.” His laugh was quiet, genuine. “Exactly what I thought.”
It became a routine, him sharing whatever half-baked strategy or indulgent fantasy the executives concocted, and you dismantling it piece by piece, your wit cutting clean through the nonsense. He would lean back, watching you with that unreadable smile, always encouraging, always listening.
You teased Hatter’s hedonism openly when you were with him, calling his excesses a “suicidal masquerade” and his obsession with the cards “childish wishful thinking.” Chishiya never defended him. If anything, your words only made that glimmer in his eyes sharpen. He seemed amused and approving.
And sometimes the conversations slipped deeper. Past strategy, past mockery. Into questions about survival. About the games. About what it meant to still be human in a world designed to strip that away. He never offered much about himself, but he listened when you spoke.
Those moments carved out something unspoken between you, a space where the chaos of the Beach didn’t exist, where you weren’t hiding or pretending.
One evening, you had been sitting at the bar, listening to Tatta and Arisu talk about a game they had heard whispers about. Tatta was animated, waving his hands as if the gesture alone could help him make sense of it.
“The few survivors said it was impossible at first,” he exclaimed. "The rule was simple: ‘Stand where you cannot fall.’ That was it. Everyone panicked. They climbed up on the furniture, pressed themselves into corners, tried to balance on the highest shelves. But one by one, they all got eliminated.”
Arisu leaned forward, brows furrowed. “I heard that too. But I don’t understand. If the condition was to stand where you couldn’t fall, then what were they supposed to do? Not many people made it out.”
You had been silent until then, absently twirling the straw in your glass. But the answer clicked almost instantly in your mind, neat and elegant.
“They were overthinking it,” you said, your voice calm, “The rule was ‘stand where you cannot fall.’ It didn’t say anything about height. It didn’t say anything about danger. The only place you literally cannot fall from… is the floor itself.” Both Tatta and Arisu blinked at you, taken aback.
You leaned back against the bar, allowing yourself a small smile. “If they’d just stayed put, if they hadn’t panicked, they would have survived. The trick was in the wording. They killed themselves trying to escape a danger that didn’t exist.”
Tatta laughed, half in disbelief, half impressed. “Okay, genius, tell me how you’d have figured that out in the moment.”
“Same way I just did,” you replied smoothly. “By listening instead of reacting. The Borderlands likes to trick people into moving too fast. Sometimes the safest choice is the one no one dares to consider, which is doing nothing at all.”
What you didn’t notice at first was that someone else had been listening too. Chishiya stood a few feet away, silent as always, his posture relaxed as though he had simply been passing by. He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even looked directly at you, his eyes fixed instead on the glass of water in his hand, a sad slice of lemon swimming around in it. But the weight of his attention pressed into you all the same.
Arisu noticed the shift. He glanced between you and Chishiya, curiosity plain on his face. “What do you think, Chishiya?” Chishiya swirled the water, the ice clinking against the glass. His voice was soft when it came, smooth as silk. “I couldn’t have solved it better... or faster.”
You didn’t let it show, but something tightened in your chest at the words. He said them casually, as if they meant nothing, but the deliberate weight beneath them was undeniable.
The laughter around the bar felt suddenly too sharp, too bright. You had been fine a moment ago, in control, but then the familiar static began to hum at the edges of your vision. The lights above seemed harsher than usual, their glow stabbing at your eyes, and a slow dizziness curled through you, dragging the floor closer in uneven waves.
Your breath caught. You knew this feeling too well. The warning signs. The aura. Panic flared hot in your chest. Not here. Not now.
“I-, excuse me,” you said quickly, forcing a casual tone as you set your glass down and slid off the barstool. “Didn’t sleep much last night. I should… get some air.”
You turned, willing your legs to move, to carry you towards the sanctuary of your room before anyone noticed. Before you lost control. But Chishiya noticed. Of course he did.
“Are you alright?” His voice was quiet, almost lazy, but he was already falling into step behind you. He wasn’t fooled by your sharp exit.
You shook your head lightly, refusing to meet his eyes. “Yes, as I said I'm just tired,” you murmured, brushing him off. “Didn’t eat enough today, that’s all. I’ll be fine after some rest.”
He didn’t push, though you felt his gaze pressing into your back like a question left unspoken. When you slipped into the hallway, you forced yourself not to quicken your steps, even as every part of you screamed to get behind the safety of your door.
Once inside, you locked it and leaned against the wall, letting out a shaky breath. The dizziness swelled, your pulse thundering in your ears. Quickly, you went through the routine: pushing furniture aside to clear a space, placing a folded blanket on the floor in case you fell, making sure your water bottle and pill stash were within reach. You had done this more times than you cared to admit, building a cage of precaution around yourself.
You sat on the bed and waited. Minutes stretched. The humming in your head dulled. Slowly, cautiously, the world steadied again. No seizure. Just a warning, nothing more. Relief crashed over you so heavily it almost left you dizzy all over again.
By the time night had deepened, exhaustion had begun to drag you under. You might have dozed if not for the sound of a soft knock against your door. You froze. No one ever came to your room.
Careful, you cracked the door open and found no one there. Only a small tray set neatly on the floor, covered with food that actually looked fresh and warm. On top of it lay a scrap of paper, the handwriting rushed but unmistakably deliberate:
Make sure to stay well nourished – C
Your throat tightened. You stared at the tray, the note, the little sliver of care hidden beneath his usual detachment.
For most people, Chishiya needed only a glance. He was a man who thrived on secrets, who peeled people apart without ever touching them, their weaknesses laid bare to his quiet, calculating eye. But with you, it was different. You played your part too well, kept yourself balanced with the precision of someone who had learned long ago that the smallest slip could be fatal. And that fascinated him.
Still, he noticed. The little things. The sudden way your expression shuttered when a wave of dizziness came. The way you slipped away without explanation, your exits too carefully timed to be coincidence. The way you came back hours later, your composure stitched together so neatly it almost looked real. Almost.
One night, after another of those abrupt excuses, he didn’t stay back. You had risen quickly from where the two of you had been talking, the conversation cut short as you muttered something about being tired. The hallway was dim, the buzz of revelry from the common rooms fading behind you, when his voice followed close at your heels.
“What’s wrong?” You froze, turning only slightly to find him just a step away, his gaze heavy but not unkind. “Nothing,” you said too quickly. “I just… need some rest.”
He tilted his head, studying you like you were one of the riddles he enjoyed dismantling. “You can tell me, you know. You can trust me.”
The words hit harder than you wanted them to. You did trust him, at least more than anyone else here. But not with this. Not with the truth that you carried like a live wire beneath your skin. If he knew, if he saw you as weak, it wouldn’t matter how sharp your mind was. You would be a liability. And liabilities didn’t survive in the Borderlands.
So you shook your head, stepping back. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, Chishiya. I just need some rest."
For a long moment, he said nothing. His eyes lingered on you, sharp enough to cut, but there was something else there too. Something quieter and harder to name. Finally, he let out a soft exhale and stepped aside, his usual smirk curling faintly at his lips. “Fine. If you say so.”
You slipped past him, heart racing, every muscle tense with the effort of keeping your façade intact until you reached the safety of your room.
But as you closed the door behind you, you knew it wasn’t over. Chishiya had let you go, but only for now. You could feel it in the way his gaze had lingered, in the subtle weight of his words. Sooner or later... He would find out.
He told himself it was because your secret could be dangerous to the Beach. That if you were hiding something, it might mean betrayal, and he couldn’t allow that. But deep down, beneath all his careful lies, even the ones he told himself, he knew the truth. He wasn’t chasing your secret for the Beach.
He was chasing it because it was you.
The next day, you weren’t surprised when there was a knock on your door. Chishiya always had a reason to seek you out, whether it was another so-called “strategy” from the executives or just his own boredom disguised as curiosity.
This time, he didn't even have any excuse. You let him in anyways, careful as always, keeping your things tucked out of sight. It wasn't unusual, Chishiya visiting you in your room, laughing at whatever romance book you were currently reading or mocking you for your taste in literature.
Still, your stomach tightened when you spotted the orange pill bottle on your nightstand. You moved fast, dropping your jumper over it in what you hoped looked like a casual gesture.
He didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn’t let on. He leaned against the wall with that usual air of lazy detachment, letting the silence stretch until you filled it with conversation. And you did. Little jabs came easily with him now, your words brushing against his like flint striking steel. For a while, you thought you were safe.
When your stomach growled faintly, you suggested heading downstairs for lunch. He gave a small shrug, pushing off the wall.
You were halfway to the door when you realised he had stopped. You turned just in time to see him pick up your jumper from the nightstand.
“Don’t forget this,” he said casually, holding it out. “It’s a little chilly out.” Your heart stuttered. Because now laying on display on the nightstand... was the bottle.
You crossed the room in two quick steps, snatching it before he could say anything. But the damage was already done. You saw it in his eyes, the way they flicked once to the label, the sharpness behind them as recognition settled in. You could feel your pulse in your throat, every muscle in your body locked in place.
The name of the drug hung heavy between you. He didn’t need to ask. He was a doctor after all, he knew exactly what it meant. The silence stretched, long enough to drown you. You clutched the bottle so tightly your knuckles ached, your chest tight with panic.
This was it. The moment everything shattered. You braced yourself for it. For the fake pity, the cold dismissal, the sharp remark that would slice through you like every worst-case scenario your mind had rehearsed. You imagined him walking out the door without another word, or worse, telling someone else, painting you as weak, unfit, a liability.
When you dared to glance up at him, his expression was unreadable. But his eyes burned with something different. You could almost see the threads weaving together in his mind, every moment he had noticed something off about you, every slip you thought you had hidden. Everything clicked into place for him now.
Your throat went dry. “Please… just don't tell any-"
“Your meds are running low.” The words weren’t cruel. They weren’t pitying. Just calm. Clinical. A statement of fact. It disarmed you completely.
You blinked at him, the fear you had been clutching unraveling by the second, though shame still burned hot in your chest. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I- I’ll manage.”
He tilted his head, studying you with quiet precision, then let out a small hum that bordered on amusement. “No. You won’t. Not for long.”
Your grip tightened around the bottle, heat crawling up your neck. “Chishiya, I can take care of myself. You don’t understand, if people find out-"
“They won’t.” His tone was final, soft but razor-sharp with certainty. Then he added, almost lazily, “And you’re not going out there alone.” You stared at him. “What?”
“I’ll come with you. To get some more." He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, as if accompanying you on a dangerous scavenger hunt for medication wasn’t risking his own neck. As if your condition wasn’t something to tiptoe around.
The shame twisted deeper, curling like a knife in your stomach. “I don’t want you to waste your time. You don’t have to-"
“Of course I don’t have to.” He smirked faintly, though his gaze never left yours. “But I’m going to. Because you’re too smart to throw away. And because…” His words trailed off, but the weight of them lingered, unspoken yet undeniable.
You looked away, unable to meet his eyes, torn between humiliation and the smallest flicker of relief. For once, you weren’t alone in this. Even if you didn’t quite understand why, he had chosen to stand with you.
You sat on the edge of your bed, the pill bottle still clutched in your hand like a brand of shame. Chishiya leaned against the desk across from you, arms loosely folded, his gaze steady but not unkind. He didn’t press. He didn’t gloat about being right that there was something off, something you weren't telling him. He simply began to think aloud.
“There are pharmacies scattered through Shibuya,” he said after a moment, tone light, as though this were any other puzzle to solve. “Most will have been raided already. Hospitals are trickier. Larger stockpiles, harder to get into, and also... a bigger chance something’s left.” You blinked, caught off guard by how easily he slid into planning. “That could take days.”
He nodded once, unfazed. “I know which ones are closest. We’d need to move carefully, avoid drawing attention, travel during the day, find shelter before dark.” His gaze flicked to you, as sharp as ever. “And we’ll need to make sure your visa lasts long enough. You’ve got, what? Five days left?” You hesitated before nodding. “Five.”
“Good.” He looked almost pleased with himself. “That’s enough time to get there and back. If we’re efficient.”
The ease with which he had considered everything made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite name. You curled your fingers tighter around the bottle. “You really don’t have to do this, Chishiya.”
For a moment, silence lingered. He let it stretch between you, until you finally risked a glance at him. His eyes were on you still, but softer somehow.
Then he shrugged, lifting one shoulder as though it cost him nothing. “It’s safer this way.” Your heart twisted. Safer. For you, he meant. But he didn’t say it outright. He didn’t need to.
And as much as shame still burned at the thought of him knowing, of him seeing you for what you were, a small piece of the weight you carried felt lighter than it had in years.
The first day blurred into a rhythm of quiet footsteps and the low hum of city silence. Shibuya had never felt so desolate. Towering glass storefronts shattered, neon signs dead and hollow. You and Chishiya combed through one pharmacy after another, but each one was stripped bare, shelves ransacked down to splintered wood and scattered wrappers. Still, he didn’t seem discouraged.
“People never know what they’re looking for,” he said lazily, crouched to brush glass aside from a broken display. “Most of them grab painkillers and antibiotics. They wouldn’t think to take something specific like this unless they needed it.”
“Well, lucky me for not needing a usual everyday medication,” you replied, peering through the busted cabinet. He looked up, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Exactly.”
The conversations drifted like that through the day, light and effortless. Sometimes he would throw a dry jab about your “relentless optimism,” which you countered with digs at his “fake humility.” The exchanges were quick, witty, and softened the jagged silence of the city around you.
But underneath it all, you were aware of him. Always close, never more than a few steps behind when the shadows pressed in too tight. Even when you couldn’t see him, you felt the quiet gravity of his presence, steady as a tether.
By the time night fell, you still didn't have any luck, only exhaustion. You holed up in the shell of an office building, the windows cracked, the air stale. Between you sat a dented can of food you had managed to scavenge, shared without question.
Chishiya leaned back against the wall, legs stretched out, picking absently at the label of the empty can. His gaze found you now and again, but he didn’t press you with words. You appreciated the silence, appreciated him, in that moment, more than you could say.
It was only after a long pause that he spoke, his voice softer than you had ever heard it. “I certainly hope you know that I don’t think any less of you.”
Your chest tightened. The words struck deep, clean through the layers of shame you had been clinging to. You wanted to answer, to say something sharp or witty to mask how much that simple statement unraveled you, but the words wouldn’t come.
So you just looked at him, the light from your tiny lantern catching in his pale hair, softening the sharp edges of his face.
The silence lingered, fragile and almost comfortable, until you heard your own voice breaking it, barely a whisper. “I’m weak, Chishiya. You’re allowed to think less of me.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them, bitter and jagged with the self-hatred you had been carrying for so long.
Chishiya let out a breathy laugh, quiet but not mocking, more like he couldn’t believe you had actually said it. He shifted then, pushing off the wall to move closer. His presence filled the small space between you, his eyes searching yours with a sharpness that stripped you bare.
“You’re not weak,” he said softly, deliberately. “You’re one of the smartest people I’ve come across here.” Your throat tightened, heat prickling behind your eyes. You wanted to believe him, but the shame dug in its claws. “I’m a liability-" He cut you off. His hand lifted, cupping your face before you could turn away. His touch was steady, grounding you, freezing you in place.
“You’re not a liability,” he murmured, voice lower now, every word deliberate. “You’re strong. Smarter than anyone gives you credit for. You can even keep up with me. And I don’t say that lightly.”
Your breath caught, heart stuttering painfully in your chest. No one had ever said that to you. No one had ever looked at you like this, like your cracks weren’t weakness, but proof of how hard you had fought to hold yourself together.
He tilted his head slightly, his thumb brushing faintly against your cheek. “I’m lucky I met you in this fucked-up world. Because somehow, you've managed to surprise me. To impress me. And that doesn’t happen.”
For a moment, you forgot how to breathe. The weight of his words, the warmth of his hands, the nearness of him, it all crashed over you in a wave, threatening to pull you under.
And you realised then with startling clarity, that this wasn’t pity. Or obligation. This was him choosing you.
His words left you raw, your defences crumbling under the steady weight of his gaze. You swallowed hard, fighting the tremor in your chest. “Chishiya…” His name slipped from your lips before you realised you had spoken it, soft and unsteady.
He didn’t move his hand from your face. If anything, his thumb brushed against your cheek again, slow and deliberate, as if testing how much closer he could come before you pulled away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.
The air between you grew heavy, taut with something unspoken. His eyes flicked down, just briefly, to your lips, and your breath hitched. It would be so easy. To lean in. To let the space between you collapse.
For a heartbeat, you thought he might. His forehead nearly touched yours now, his breath warm against your lips, his presence surrounding you like a tide you couldn’t fight.
A scream split the night, echoing from somewhere far off, bouncing off the hollow walls of Shibuya. The sound was followed by distant explosions, the unmistakable noise of another game unfolding, someone else’s nightmare tearing through the city.
The moment shattered like glass. Chishiya pulled back first, his expression back to its usual detachment, though his hand lingered a second longer before dropping away. He exhaled slowly, the faintest curl of amusement tugging at his lips, as if mocking the cruel timing of the world itself.
“Seems we’re not the only ones awake,” he murmured, voice light again, almost careless.
But you felt it, the shift and the weight of everything that had almost happened. The spark still smoldered, waiting.
You forced yourself to look away, your pulse still thundering in your ears, knowing one thing for certain: next time, the world might not get the chance to interrupt.
The next morning, the city wore its silence like a shroud. You and Chishiya slipped through its hollow veins, winding your way towards a hospital he hoped hadn’t been fully gutted yet.
The building loomed, a fractured skeleton of glass and steel, its walls groaning under the weight of time. Inside, the air was thick with dust and rot, corridors dim and oppressive. Each step echoed too loud, too sharp.
“Careful,” Chishiya murmured as you picked your way past a collapsed ceiling panel. His tone was offhand, but his gaze never strayed far from you.
You were the one scanning shelves, cracking open rusted cabinets, ignoring the sour twist of disappointment with each empty row. There was nothing left, just broken bottles, ripped packaging, and dust.
Then, it happened in a blink. Your foot landed and the floor groaned. Too late, you felt the shift, the splinter of wood beneath your weight. Before you could react, a hand clamped around your wrist and yanked you back, hard. The floor gave way, a hollow crash echoing into the blackness below.
You stumbled against him, breath ripped from your lungs, the world spinning. His arms wrapped tight around you, pinning you to his chest as if anchoring you there. For a moment, neither of you moved. His heart was pounding fast, faster than you thought it could, considering how steady and calculated he always seemed. His breath stirred against your hair, sharp and shallow.
The seconds stretched, his grip strong, holding you longer than necessary. He wasn’t letting go.
Finally, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, still caught in the cage of his arms. His expression was composed, almost lazy again, but his eyes betrayed him, flashing with something raw, something he hadn’t managed to hide in time.
“Could’ve told you the floor was unreliable,” he said at last, voice dry, but it lacked its usual sharpness.
Your lips parted, a shaky laugh slipping out. “Of course, mister know-it-all.”
He didn’t answer. Just let you go slowly and turned back towards the ruined corridor. His hands stayed shoved deep in his pockets after, but you could feel the shift, the tension clinging to him like static.
The rest of the search was fruitless. Empty wards, collapsed storerooms, cabinets stripped bare. By the time the light outside began to fade, you were both worn thin with disappointment.
“We’ll find shelter nearby,” Chishiya said simply, his voice calm, but softer than before.
And though the hospital had offered nothing but danger and dust, it had given you one thing: a glimpse of what lay beneath his armour, pounding just as fast and fragile as your own.
The building you found that night was already crumbling, but it was solid enough, and most importantly, quiet. You had scavenged another dented can between you, eaten in silence, the day’s disappointment still heavy in the air.
But as the night pressed in, the silence shifted. Less heavy, more… expectant. You lay back against the wall, lantern light casting shadows across Chishiya’s sharp features as he leaned nearby, his arms loosely crossed.
Your eyes traced him for a long moment before you finally spoke. “Do you miss working at the hospital?” His gaze slid towards you, calm but alert, weighing whether or not to answer. For once, he didn’t deflect with a joke.
“Not really.” His voice was low and almost too casual. “I thought I could find purpose in it. That I could do something meaningful. Help people. But the world doesn’t work that way.” You stayed quiet, listening, letting him speak on his own terms.
“All it taught me was that the world is even more corrupt than I thought. Money, power... they always decided who lived and who didn’t. Not skill. Not who deserved it.” His jaw shifted, subtle but tight. “And if you care too much, you break. Detachment… it was the only thing that kept me safe. Kept my soul safe.”
The softness of his words didn’t dull their weight. He wasn’t talking about medicine anymore, not entirely.
Your breath caught when he continued, quieter now, his gaze unfocused as if he were seeing something far away. “There was this boy, who needed a liver transplant. He could have made it. But some rich family… they had money and more importantly, influence. Their child got the organ. And the boy-" His lips pressed into a thin line. “He didn’t make it.”
For a long moment, the only sound was the faint creak of the old building around you, the city’s silence pressing in. Your chest ached, not just for the boy, but for him. For the way he said it like he had folded it into himself so tightly he could almost pretend it didn’t hurt anymore.
You shifted closer, your voice low. “That wasn’t your fault.” He looked at you then, his eyes were sharper than usual, searching.
“You cared,” you added softly. “Even if you think you shouldn’t have. That doesn’t make you weak, Chishiya. It makes you human.”
Something flickered in his eyes, something fragile, gone almost as quickly as it appeared. He didn’t answer right away, but his silence was different this time. Less like detachment. More like he didn’t quite know what to do with the comfort you were offering.
And for the first time since you had met him, you felt like you had stepped past one of his carefully constructed walls.
Sleep didn’t come easily for him. It rarely did, but tonight it felt impossible. He lay stretched out against the cracked wall next to you, eyes fixed on the dark ceiling above. His breathing was slow and even, but his mind refused to follow. It churned with thoughts he didn’t recognise, questions he had no answers for.
He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He wasn't supposed to feel.
The thought alone unsettled him. No one had ever gotten under his skin. No one had ever stirred more than a fleeting curiosity, let alone… this. This restlessness. This constant awareness of your presence. He had always dismissed people as predictable, easy to unravel, boring once their patterns revealed themselves. But you...
You weren’t predictable. You were a contradiction he couldn’t solve, a puzzle that resisted every attempt at dissection. And somehow, instead of frustrating him, it fascinated him. And worse, it pulled at him.
Chishiya exhaled quietly, the sound almost a sigh, though he would never admit it aloud. He turned his head slightly. Even in the dim light, he could see you sleeping, your face soft, your breathing steady. You looked fragile in this moment, and yet he knew better. You were strong, sharper than anyone he had met. That contradiction again, gnawing at him, undoing him. He closed his eyes, as though shutting you out would help. It didn’t.
Somewhere in the long stretch of night, half-drifting towards sleep, his body betrayed him. Instinct overrode thought. He shifted subtly, his arm moving without conscious decision. His hand brushed against yours, the lightest graze of skin on skin.
But it was enough. Enough to anchor him, to reassure him that you were there. He didn’t pull away. He couldn't. His fingers lingered, not quite holding, not quite letting go, as though the contact tethered him in a way nothing else ever had. And with that tiny point of warmth grounding him, his restless thoughts finally dulled. His chest eased. It was the only way he was able to fall asleep.
The next day dawned gray and heavy, the air thick with dust that clung to your throat as you and Chishiya cut deeper into the city. The search had started to wear on you. Day after day of empty shelves and looted cabinets, every failure pulling the knot in your chest tighter. But then, in the half-collapsed basement of a smaller hospital, luck finally bent in your favour.
The pharmacy door was still locked, wedged behind fallen debris. It had taken the two of you nearly an hour to pry it open, your arms aching, your nerves on edge. But when you finally pushed inside, the air felt untouched. And there, stacked neatly behind the counter, dusty but sealed, were boxes of your medications. Rows of them.
Your eyes widened, your breath catching as your gaze landed on the label you knew by heart. A sound left your throat, half-laugh, half-sob, as you rushed forward and grabbed a bottle. Then another. Then another. Relief swept through you so strong your knees almost buckled.
When you turned, Chishiya was watching. His eyes followed every movement of your hands as you clutched the bottles, as though the weight of them in your grasp was a victory he had been waiting for, too. And for the briefest second, he looked almost… more relieved than you were.
You tried to speak, to thank him, but the words tangled in your throat. Instead, you met his gaze and offered a small, shaky smile. His lips curved, faint and fleeting, but real.
The elation didn’t last long. By the time you returned to the streets, the fading glow of the setting sun reminded you both of another truth. Your visas.
Though you had one day left on yours, Chishiya's was running out today. You both knew what it meant. That night, you had to join a game.
The game arena was an abandoned office building, ten stories of cracked windows and decaying drywall. The kind of place that swallowed sound and spat it back as an echo.
Other players gathered at the entrance, shoulders tense, eyes darting, the sharp tang of fear hanging heavy in the air. They watched you, some suspicious, some determined, every face sharpening your dread.
It was a twisted version of hide and seek. The rules were simple: remain hidden until the timer hits zero. If the Seeker found you, he was allowed to eliminate you.
It sounded simple. But simple rarely meant safe.
As the countdown began, you felt Chishiya step closer, his presence a steady shadow at your side. He didn’t speak, didn’t need to. He followed you without hesitation, weaving through the skeletal hallways with feline grace.
He was the one who found the spot: an abandoned manager’s office tucked behind a warped corridor. The blinds hung crooked, but intact. The door stuck, heavy on its hinges. A good place to disappear.
You ducked inside, your pulse loud in your ears. Too loud. Silence pressed in, suffocating, amplifying the thunder of your heart. That was when it hit.
The warning signs. The dizziness first, sharp and sudden. The crawling sensation prickling across your skin. The pressure building at the base of your skull. Your throat tightened. Not here. Not now.
Panic clawed at your chest and before you could hide it, Chishiya noticed. He always noticed. His eyes sharpened, though he didn’t ask, not when he already knew.
He moved immediately, as quiet as possible, crossing the room with calculated precision. His hands worked the lock on the door, jamming it just enough to buy you time. Then his gaze swept the room, fast and purposeful, scanning for the safest spot. Somewhere soft. Somewhere you wouldn’t hurt yourself if the worst happened.
You swallowed hard, shaking your head, whispering urgently, “No. Chishiya, if it happens, it’ll get us both killed. You have to go.”
He didn’t answer. He was already moving the furniture, sliding a filing cabinet closer to shield the corner, shifting a chair without so much as a scrape of sound.
“Stop-” Your hand shot out, gripping his arm, desperate. “Please. Just leave me.” That made him turn. Slowly. His eyes caught yours in the dim light, and for once, his expression was raw, almost too eager, like the words had been burning in him, waiting for this moment. “I’m not leaving you.” His voice was a whisper, but it rang with iron. “You don’t have to endure this alone.”
The silence returned, heavy and absolute, but different now. Not suffocating. Grounding. Because even here, in this nightmare, you weren’t alone.
The silence grew unbearable. Every creak of the ruined building sounded like thunder in your ears, every breath felt like it could betray you. And beneath it all, your body betrayed you more, dizziness curling sharp in your skull, muscles twitching, that awful crawling sensation spreading across your skin.
He crossed to you without hesitation, lowering himself beside you in the shadowed corner he had prepared. His movements were slow and noiseless, every gesture calculated to keep from drawing attention. You trembled, clutching your arms tight to your chest. “Chishiya-" He cut you off with the barest shake of his head, his hand steady as it brushed your shoulder. His touch was grounding. Anchoring you back into the moment.
"You’re okay,” he whispered, so soft you barely caught it. “Stay with me. Breathe.” You nodded, but panic pressed hard against your ribs. And then you heard it. Footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate. The Seeker’s.
The sound reverberated through the halls, growing louder and closer. Each step rattled your bones, until you swore it was inside your chest.
Chishiya’s hand slipped from your shoulder to your wrist, steadying your shaking fingers. He leaned in close, his breath ghosting against your temple. “Try not to make a sound. I’ve got you.”
From his pocket he drew his handmade taser, cobbled together with wires and a scavenged battery, a tool of survival as sharp as his mind. He kept it hidden in his palm, the faint hum masked by the silence of the room.
The Seeker’s steps stopped right outside. You froze, heart hammering. Every instinct screamed that he would hear it, that the thundering in your chest would give you away.
The door rattled once, the jammed lock groaning under the pressure. You bit your lip hard, forcing back the panic rising like fire in your throat.
Chishiya’s grip on your wrist tightened. He shifted ever so slightly, putting his body between you and the door. If it opened, if the Seeker pushed through, he would strike first. No hesitation.
For a breathless eternity, the Seeker lingered there, silence stretching so thin it could break. But then the footsteps moved on.
The tension snapped all at once. You slumped forward, your forehead brushing his shoulder, your body still trembling from the surge of adrenaline and your own unstable symptoms. He didn’t move away. He didn’t let go.
Instead, his free hand lifted, fingers threading lightly through your hair as he whispered, “Told you. You’re not alone.”
The Seeker’s steps faded into the distance, but his words stayed, a vow carved into the dark. Dawn bled pale light into the ruined windows, and with it, the crackling announcement:
Game Cleared. Congratulations.
The Seeker was gone. The lock on your chest eased, but only slightly. The night’s terror still clung to your skin and exhaustion weighed heavy in your bones.
You and Chishiya stepped out into the open, the cold morning air sharp against your face. For a few precious breaths, you were alive. Both of you.
Suddenly, the relief curdled into something else. Anger. Fear. A sick, tangled knot in your chest that refused to untangle. You spun on him, your voice sharper than you meant it to be, raw with everything you had tried to hold back. “You can’t just do reckless things like that, Chishiya! You can’t risk your life for me. That’s not you- it’s not who you are!”
He stilled, watching you. His blonde hair caught the early light, his eyes locked on yours. Then, he shook his head slowly. A short, sarcastic laugh slipped out, bitter and disbelieving. “Don’t you think I don't know that?” His voice was low, rougher than usual.
He stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. “But I can’t leave you. I don’t want to. And maybe it doesn’t make sense-" His words faltered, then sharpened. “But I don’t even want to make sense of it.”
Before you could respond, his hands were on your face, firm but careful, tilting your head up towards him. His gaze burned, every ounce of his sharpness stripped away, leaving only something unguarded.
“You’re the one thing,” he whispered, his breath brushing your lips. “The one variable I didn’t calculate. So don’t you dare push me away. Not when you’re the only thing I want.”
And then his mouth crashed against yours. The kiss was desperate, years of restraint, of not allowing any feelings, breaking all at once. His hands held you like you might vanish if he let go, and you melted into him, all the fear, all the tension, all the suppressed feelings spilling free.
Relief swept through you and it was overwhelming. You had tried so hard to suppress this, to focus on the safety of friendship, on surviving one day at a time. But the truth had always been there, simmering beneath every glance, every word, every moment you had shared.
And now, with his lips moving against yours, there was no denying it. The emotions you had buried burst to the surface. Fear and longing and want tangled together, crashing into him with all the force you had tried to hold back.
For the first time in this twisted world, you didn’t feel weak. You felt alive.
A/N: One of my lovely mutuals requested this one. I want all of you to know that your disabilities, diseases or struggles, whether they're something visible or not, do not make you weak or worth any less. All of you are deserving of being here and being exactly who you are. You are wonderful. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Feel free to leave some love or encouraging words for each other in the comments, if you want. ♡
A/N: I talk about the corner of Chishiya's mouth curling upwards slightly and his eyes softening in so many of my stories
This gif right here is exactly what I'm talking about. Like it's barely there but you can see it
gif credits
I felt like I had to share this with you guys :')
Also a huge thanks to everyone who actually reads my sh*t and I'm sorry that my fics are a bit messy from time to time. Sometimes I get carried away and lose track of the actual plot line😭 And know that I'm really sorry if I haven't written your request yet, I have way too many WIPs but I promise you I'm working on most of them! Thank you to everyone who sends me requests and feeds me ideas. And I appreciate all the (anonymous) asks that I've been getting lately that included kind and encouraging words. It really means a lot to me!
Also I really hope this fandom will come back to life once the new season drops and people might rewatch the series. Chishiya deserves so much more appreciation
All right, that's enough of my rambling. Have a wonderful evening. ♡
Love, Elowen
P.S.: I'll post a new one shot tomorrow, so stay tuned
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Summary: after the night in the on-call room, there is something unspoken between the two of you. the tension grows. will chishiya finally be able to accept his feelings?
Warnings: hospital/emergencies, smut! oral sex (f receiving - yes, you'll finally be getting that face riding scene; m receiving), penetrative sex, creampie, fingering, featuring the usual fluff and banter
Word count: ~12.8k
This is part 2 of Infuriating
'Lying in the dark, he pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes with a quiet groan. You’re a damn problem. And I don’t know if I can ever solve it. Solve you.'
Your work was the same as always. Charts stacked at the nurse’s station, the gentle chatter of the children in their rooms, the constant rhythm of monitors beeping in the background. The other nurses greeted you with smiles and you smiled back, slipping into your role like muscle memory. Everything was the same, everything was normal.
And then he appeared.
Dr. Shuntarō Chishiya. Same lab coat, same lanyard swaying at his chest, same expression that managed to look both bored and calculating at once. His presence barely made a ripple in the ward. Most of the nurses had grown used to his cold indifference, his clinical efficiency. But for you… it was different now.
You tried to keep your head down when he passed the station, rifling through the charts with practiced ease. But your chest tightened all the same, remembering things you shouldn’t remember during work hours. His voice in your ear. His hands on your skin.
And yet, nothing in his posture gave it away. His tone was as flat as ever when he asked one of the senior nurses for an update. He didn’t even glance at you. You told yourself that was a relief. That this was how it was supposed to be.
Still, when he did finally address you, asking for vitals from the patient you had just finished checking, your reply was sharper than necessary.
“Already in the chart. You just... have to read it.”
The other nurses stifled laughs. Chishiya’s eyes slid to yours. Even though they seemed cool and unimpressed, there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, gone before you could decide if you had imagined it. “Efficient. For once,” he said, turning on his heel.
Over the next few hours, it became clear that something had shifted. You caught him watching you more often than before, his gaze flicking to where you moved around patient rooms. At first you thought it was in your head, but then you noticed the pattern: whenever you went in to check on a child, he followed a few minutes later under the guise of “double-checking” charts.
It irritated you. But that was something you were used to.
By the time your break rolled around, you sat with the other nurses at the station, sipping tea, trying to pretend your nerves weren’t frayed from the constant weight of his eyes.
“I swear,” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone, “if he doesn’t stop hovering, I’ll tape a chart to his forehead so he can read it from there.”
The nurses laughed, shaking their heads. “That’s just Dr. Chishiya,” one of them said. “His need for perfection and precision can be annoying.”
You rolled your eyes, trying not to overthink it. “Yeah. Probably doesn’t trust me not to screw up.”
But the truth was heavier. Every glance, every clipped word exchanged, carried a charge that hadn’t been there before. You still argued. You still got under each other’s skin. Yet beneath it all, something simmered, something neither of you had dared name.
The nurse’s station was unusually quiet. You stood leaning over the counter, pen in hand, carefully filling in a stack of paperwork that never seemed to shrink. You didn’t even hear him approach.
One second, you were writing, the next, Chishiya’s presence loomed at your side. He reached past you for a chart on the desk, his chest brushing your arm in the process. The contact was brief, casual, probably even unintentional, but it still sent a current down your spine.
His voice came low, a whisper close enough that his breath stirred the hairs near your ear. “You promised you’d come back that night.”
Your pen stilled mid-stroke. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. The words pulled at something tight inside your chest. You sighed, keeping your eyes on the paper in front of you. “There wasn’t time.” When you finally turned your head, his gaze was fixed on you.
You went on, softer this time. “Rounds kept me busy. And with the other nurse on shift barely able to handle the smallest things on her own… I couldn’t just vanish again.”
Something shifted in his expression then. The sharp detachment dulled, his features softening in a way you weren’t used to seeing. His reply, however, was anything but soft. “I’ll make sure she gets fired then.”
Your eyes widened, shock rushing through you. You spun around to face him fully. “What? No! Chishiya, I didn’t mean it like that-" But before you could finish, one corner of his mouth lifted. Subtle. Almost imperceptible. But it was there. This was when you realised he was just messing with you.
“You-" Heat rushed to your cheeks. Without thinking, you smacked his arm with the chart you had been holding. “Asshole.” The word slipped out under your breath as you brushed past him, determined not to let him see the way your pulse had picked up. Behind you, you caught the faintest sound of him exhaling, something close to amusement.
You had never thought you would see the day when Dr. Shuntarō Chishiya did something for you that wasn’t cloaked in sarcasm or meant to annoy you. Yet over the next few days, it began happening in ways so subtle, you almost convinced yourself you were imagining them.
It started with paperwork. You came back from rounds, the stack of forms you had dreaded tackling mysteriously gone from your desk. You assumed another nurse had grabbed them, until you spotted Chishiya a few seats away, pen in hand, calmly finishing the last line of your paperwork as if it was his own.
Your mouth opened to point it out, but before you could, he handed you the completed folder without looking up. “You’re welcome.”
You blinked, startled, because it wasn’t even sarcastic. It was just… casual.
The next night, you returned to the station after nearly an hour in a patient’s room. Your legs ached, your head pounded, and there, waiting by your chair, was a steaming cup of tea. Still warm enough that it hadn’t been sitting long. You didn’t have to ask who had left it.
You glanced down the hall and found him leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes on you like he had been waiting to see if you would notice.
“Tea?” you asked, lifting the cup.
“Healthier than coffee.” His tone was dry, but his gaze lingered on you longer than usual before flicking away.
These weren’t grand gestures. They weren’t even overtly romantic. But they were him and that was what unsettled you the most. Because you knew this man normally didn’t do nice things. And what unsettled him even more was that he couldn’t stop himself.
Chishiya didn’t understand when it had started. Somewhere between watching you coax a terrified child into laughter and realising you could anticipate his next move in an emergency before he even spoke. Somewhere between that and the night in the on-call room.
He had expected the pull to fade after giving into his curiosity, after tasting you, after touching you. That was how it worked, wasn’t it? Needs satisfied, feelings neutralised. Simple. Clean. Done.
But the opposite had happened. The more he tried to distance himself, the more his body betrayed him. The more he wanted.
He found himself waiting for you to walk into the station just so he could watch you roll your eyes at him. He found himself lingering outside patient rooms you entered, always finding a random excuse, when in reality, it was the way your voice softened that pulled him closer.
And now, he found himself doing things he would have mocked anyone else for, filling out paperwork, making tea, looking out for you in ways that made him question his own mind.
Every small act chipped away at the lie he tried to tell himself: that this was just physical. That he didn’t care. That he couldn’t care.
But he did. And that terrified him.
You set the cup of tea back down, narrowing your eyes at him as he walked over to the station.
“You know,” you began, voice lilting with amusement, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were actually being… nice to me lately.” Chishiya didn’t even look up from the chart in his hands. “Dangerous assumption.”
“Dangerous?” you echoed, leaning one elbow on the desk. “Making tea is dangerous?” You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Unless you poisoned it.”
His eyes flicked up, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a smirk. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”
You took another sip just to spite him, humming dramatically. “Mm. Shame. That would’ve been the perfect cover, too. Doctor eliminates pesky nurse with a hot cup of tea.”
“Pesky,” he repeated, finally setting the chart down. He leaned against the counter, arms crossing lazily. “If you’re fishing for gratitude, you won’t get it. I’m efficient, not kind.”
“Oh, of course,” you said, feigning seriousness. “You didn’t do it out of kindness. You did it because what? Watching me drown in paperwork would’ve slowed you down?”
“Exactly.” His reply was immediate, smooth. Too smooth. You let a slow smile spread across your face. “You’re such a bad liar.”
For the first time, he faltered. It was slight, just a flicker in his eyes, a breath of hesitation before he met your gaze again. “Believe what you want.”
“I will,” you said brightly, turning back to your files. “I’ll believe that Dr. Shuntarō Chishiya, the ice king of paediatrics, has a soft spot.”
The way you spoke his full name did something to him. He scoffed under his breath, but the sound lacked its usual edge. “Keep telling yourself that. See how far it gets you.”
“Oh, I intend to,” you shot back, grinning at the chart in front of you.
When you glanced up again, he was watching you, arms still folded, expression carefully neutral, but the faintest trace of a smile tugged at his lips before he masked it with his usual indifference.
But you had caught it. And though it was subtle and fleeting, it had been there. If you hadn’t been staring, you would have missed it completely.
Your stomach flipped.
“Was that…” you drawled, narrowing your eyes at him, “…a smile?” Chishiya didn’t blink. “No.”
“Yes,” you countered, leaning forward like you had just uncovered state secrets. “You smiled.”
His posture didn’t shift. He was still wearing the perfect mask. “You’re imagining things.”
Then, without warning, he set the folder down. His steps were unhurried but deliberate as he crossed the small space to where you stood at the station. You blinked up at him, startled, as he leaned in and placed a cool hand against your forehead, tilting your chin slightly with the other.
“Hmm,” he hummed, fake-serious, peering into your eyes. “No fever… pupils reactive…” His mouth quirked as his brow furrowed in mock concern. “Any other symptoms with these hallucinations? Dizziness? Confusion? Sudden loss of intelligence?”
Your lips parted, ready with some sharp retort, but instead a laugh burst out of you. It was so sudden, that you couldn't have suppressed it. The sound carried through the quiet wing, bubbling over into something bright and unrestrained.
Chishiya froze for a fraction of a second. Then his hand fell away, his face perfectly neutral again, except for the flicker in his eyes that betrayed him. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his own mouth from curving up, because god, your laughter sounded like music.
“Ah,” he said dryly, stepping back half a pace. “Hysterical laughter. Noted.” He tapped his temple with one finger. “Might be a psych case. I’ll have to admit you.” You leaned against the desk, still catching your breath, eyes sparkling as you looked up through your lashes at him. “Will you be taking care of me then, Dr. Chishiya?”
His pulse stuttered. Something about the way your lips curved, the warmth in your eyes, just anything about you, nearly undid him. He felt his body betray him, heat curling low, his blood being pumped to places he didn't want it to. It almost made him curse out loud.
Too dangerous.
He stepped back quickly, regaining his distance, arms folding over his chest. “Unfortunately,” he said, amusement slipping into his voice, “I’m a paediatrician. You’re far too old.”
You gasped, hand flying to your chest in mock offence. “Did you just call me old?”
His lips twitched, again, damn it, as he turned away, voice infuriatingly casual. “I didn’t call you old. I said you’re too old for me to treat.”
“Same thing!” you shot back, eyes narrowing even as you grinned. And for a fleeting second, with your laughter still echoing faintly in his ears and your faux outrage lighting up your face, Chishiya almost forgot he was supposed to be the cold one.
His lips pressed together, but that twitch was back, betraying him, betraying the fact that you had gotten under his skin. That you had seen something he didn’t let anyone else see.
And for the first time, you realised the power in that.
He might have been your rival, your irritation, your impossible colleague. But you were the only one who could make him slip.
The thought settled somewhere warm in your chest, even as you pretended to turn back to your paperwork like it meant nothing.
The morning had been normal. As normal as things could get in paediatrics. Rounds, vitals, medications, paperwork piling up faster than you could file it. You were bent over the counter at the nurses’ station, sorting out medications into trays, while two of your colleagues quietly worked on charts behind you.
Chishiya appeared in front of the counter, nose buried in a file. Nothing unusual about that. He didn’t greet you, didn’t even glance up, just flipped through the chart like you weren’t standing there. Business as always.
He shut the file with a quiet snap and slid it across the counter towards you. Reflexively, you reached for it, ready to put it with the rest.
“Dinner,” he said. Your head snapped up. “What?”
His tone didn’t waver, didn’t lower, didn’t give you a single out. His voice was steady, as if he were making the most ordinary request in the world: “Tonight. With me.” The chart slipped in your grip.
Behind you, one of the nurses actually coughed into her fist, while the other’s pen stopped moving altogether. Silence wrapped around the station, thick and heavy, like the whole ward had paused just to hear what he had said.
But Chishiya didn’t wait for your answer. Didn’t give you time to process. He simply turned, picked up the next patient’s file, and walked down the corridor with his usual lazy stride, as if he hadn’t just detonated a bomb in the middle of your shift.
You stood there frozen, your hand still on the chart, your brain struggling to catch up.
Did Dr. Chishiya, the man who rarely spoke unless necessary, who seemed allergic to warmth, who treated emotions like they were some kind of disease, just ask you out?
The nurses behind you exchanged looks so wide-eyed you thought they might choke on their own shock. One of them leaned forward, whispering, “Did he just…?” You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because you didn’t even know yourself.
Chishiya had no idea what possessed him to say it.
The horror hit him in waves throughout the day. He didn’t ask anyone out. Ever. He avoided personal entanglements, never let anyone close enough to demand more than his mind, his skill, his efficiency. He wasn’t the type of man who made dinner plans.
And yet...
The image of you, frozen in place, eyes wide, cheeks warming, it replayed in his head every time he blinked. And beneath the horror, beneath the sharp bite of self-loathing for breaking his own rules, there was something else.
Excitement. Like the thrill of a diagnosis no one else could crack, like catching the exact beat of a heart murmur hidden in the noise of a stethoscope.
Still, his hands moved with precision, his words to parents and nurses sharp as ever. The mask held, but under it, his thoughts never strayed far from you.
The afternoon bled into evening and the ward grew quieter as the day shift began to peel away. You stood at the station, signing off your last file when he stepped out of a patient’s room, sliding his stethoscope back around his neck.
Something in you tightened, nerves pulling your voice low as you approached him. “So,” you murmured, hesitating just enough to make his eyes flick towards you, “is dinner just a code for another night spent in the on-call room, or…?”
For a beat, he just stared. His brows pulled together slightly, like he was surprised you would even ask. Then, slowly, his face softened, the sharpness in his eyes melting into something quieter.
He leaned forward, close enough that only you could hear him. His voice dropped, smooth and steady: “No codes. Except perhaps a dress code. Wear something that makes you feel beautiful. I’ll pick you up at seven.” Your breath caught. A blush rose to your cheeks before you could stop it, heat blooming across your skin.
And as if he hadn’t just set your entire world spinning, Chishiya straightened, turned, and walked down the hall with his usual unhurried stride, leaving you standing there, heart thundering, wondering what the hell just happened.
You weren’t sure what you had expected when seven o’clock rolled around, but it definitely wasn’t Chishiya standing at the door of your apartment looking as effortlessly sharp as he always did; except this time without his white coat or stethoscope.
A simple black shirt, his hair loose and not in its usual ponytail. He didn’t need effort to look good and that annoyed you almost as much as it left you staring too long. “Ready?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady. You nodded, grabbing your bag.
The moment you stepped out, his hand settled lightly against the small of your back, guiding you down the stairwell. It was such a simple gesture, but something about the warmth of his palm through your dress had your stomach flipping.
A taxi was waiting at the curb. He opened the door for you, leaning in just slightly so that his lips brushed close to your ear as he whispered, “You look absolutely beautiful tonight.”
Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you laughed softly, sliding into the backseat. As you adjusted your dress, you shot him a look when he joined you inside. “I didn’t know you could be such a gentleman.” The faintest smirk tugged at his lips as he fastened his seatbelt. “I read the book How to Be a Gentleman 101 on the way here.” You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin. “Right. Must’ve been a quick read.”
“Very thin volume,” he replied smoothly.
The restaurant was warm, softly lit, not too crowded, just enough of a hum in the air to make you feel tucked into your own corner of the world.
Chishiya let you order first, eyes steady on you while you spoke to the waiter. When it came to him, he simply closed the menu with an easy flick and ordered whatever was in front of him without so much as a glance back at the page.
When the waiter left, he leaned forward slightly, arms folding across the table. “What’s your favourite movie?” You blinked, somewhat confused of a question so banal to slip out of his mouth, “…Excuse me?”
“Favourite movie,” he repeated, expression calm, as though this were a standard medical history question. You hesitated, then told him. His eyes flickered with interest before his next question came without pause. “And the worst movie you’ve ever sat through?” You tilted your head. “…Really?”
“Do you sing in the shower?” he asked flatly, ignoring you. A laugh bubbled out of your throat as you shook your head, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Chishiya… is this an interrogation or a date?”
He sighed, not annoyed, but almost… embarrassed. His eyes dropped to the table, then slid back to you. “I must admit, I'm really bad at this... dating thing.” His voice was low, honest in a way that made you sit straighter. “But I want to know you. Beyond the nurse’s station. Beyond rounds and charts. I want to know that brilliant mind you hide under scrubs.” Something in your chest softened at his words.
So you leaned back, smiling, trying to loosen the thread he had tangled himself in. “You know,” you teased, “this is the first time we’ve seen each other outside of the hospital. I almost didn’t recognise you without your coat and your superiority complex.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “It’s in the wash.”
“Good,” you shot back. “It reeked of arrogance.” His laugh was quiet, but real. And just like that, the tension cracked.
The conversation slipped into a rhythm. It became lighter and easier. You teased him about the way he always lingered at the station with charts that weren’t his. He threw back pointed comments about your tendency to challenge doctors on a daily basis. Little jabs, small smiles, a give-and-take that felt familiar.
Normal.
Normal, but wrapped in candlelight, the clink of glasses and the startling realisation that you weren’t just sparring partners in a hospital anymore.
The night air was cool when you stepped out of the restaurant together, the faint hum of traffic and chatter from the street mixing with the glow of neon signs. Chishiya slipped his hands into his pockets, his usual unhurried stride matching yours.
“Walk?” he suggested, tilting his head towards the small park just across the avenue.
Something inside you warmed. The fact that he wanted the evening to stretch just a little longer. It wasn’t casual indifference. It was choice.
You smiled softly. “Sure.” You had barely taken a few steps down the sidewalk when it happened. The sharp whir of bicycle wheels came from nowhere, the glare of a headlamp blinding for a second. Before you could react, Chishiya’s voice cut sharp through the air, calling out your name. His hand shot out, gripping your arm, yanking you back a heartbeat before the cyclist skimmed past with a curse. The rush of air brushed your cheek, the squeal of brakes fading into the night.
You stumbled, colliding against him. His arm was firm, holding you upright against his chest as the adrenaline crackled through your veins.
For a long moment, your eyes locked. His expression was unguarded, shock lingering in the way his brows furrowed, tension in his jaw. But then it softened, his mouth curving into that familiar, infuriating smirk.
“Who knew it’d take an almost accident to get you back in my arms?” Your laugh came shaky, but real, the tension easing just enough. But when you tried to take a step back, pain through you. Your face pinched and you winced. Immediately, his gaze sharpened again. “What is it?”
“My ankle,” you admitted, hissing softly as you shifted your weight.
Without hesitation, he crouched slightly, his hand gentle but probing near the joint. His voice dropped to a murmur. “Might be sprained.”
Instinctively, you muttered, “Rest, ice, compression, elevation.” At the exact same time, he said, “Immobilise, reduce swelling, monitor for fracture.”
Your eyes met again, the pain in your ankle almost forgotten for a second. A smile tugged at your lips, mirrored faintly by his.
“Same page,” you breathed.
“Always,” he murmured back before straightening again.
He exhaled, scanning the street, then nodded towards the block ahead. “My apartment’s close. I can get you some ice there.”
You arched a brow despite the dull throb in your ankle. “What, did you stage this whole cyclist incident just to get me to go home with you?”
For a split second, his face went deadly serious, his voice low and earnest. “If you’d rather, I’ll call a taxi. Take you back to your place instead.”
Something in your chest pulled tight at the sincerity in his eyes. You shook your head quickly, chuckling under your breath. “Relax. I was joking.”
He slid an arm carefully around your waist, steadying you as you tested your steps. His touch was firm but careful, every movement protective as he guided you down the sidewalk. “Come on,” he said, his voice quieter now, more weighted. “Let’s get you taken care of.” And with that, the two of you made your way towards his apartment, your heart hammering harder than the pain in your ankle ever could.
The hallway to his apartment was quiet, the hum of the city fading behind the thick door he unlocked with his usual calm precision. You expected something, anything, that might hint at who he was outside of the white coat and the ward. But when he pushed the door open and flicked on the light, your breath caught for a different reason.
The place was spotless. Immaculate, even. Not a speck of dust, not a shoe out of place. Everything was arranged with surgical precision, from the sleek black sofa to the glass coffee table free of fingerprints. The walls were bare, almost sterile, a faint scent of antiseptic lingering as if the hospital had followed him home.
It wasn’t a home. It was a holding cell for someone who didn’t know how to live outside of work.
You stepped inside slowly, your eyes sweeping over the expanse of white and gray. No photographs. No books scattered. No signs of laughter or warmth or life. Just function.
Your ankle protested when you shifted, but the ache felt small compared to the heaviness in your chest. You realised this was the most private glimpse anyone could get of Chishiya and it was chilling.
“Sit,” his voice cut through your thoughts, sharp as ever but not unkind. He pointed towards the sofa before moving to the kitchen, already pulling open a freezer drawer.
You lowered yourself carefully, the cool leather sighing beneath you, and glanced around again. Everything felt so carefully curated to reveal nothing. And yet, by showing you this, by letting you in at all, he had revealed everything.
Silence hung heavy. You found yourself imagining him here on nights after long shifts, the quiet pressing in on him, no laughter, no warmth, no banter. Just him and his own silence. Something inside you ached.
When he returned, a folded towel wrapped around an ice pack in his hand, his expression was unreadable. He knelt before you with clinical efficiency, like this was just another patient. But his fingers, when they adjusted your foot onto his knee, were gentle. Almost careful, as if he were afraid to hurt more than just your ankle.
You couldn’t help but say it, your voice low. “You live like you’re in the hospital 24/7.”
His hands stilled for a fraction of a second before continuing their work. He didn’t look up. “Order is easier than chaos.” You let out a quiet breath, eyes scanning the sterile room again. “It’s not chaos if it feels like home.” That made him pause. Just for a heartbeat.
And in the silence that followed, you realised, this was what it felt like, stepping into his world instead of the hospital. A world so tightly shut off, so untouched by anyone else, that even sitting here with him felt like breaking through his last defence.
His hands lingered a second too long as he pressed the ice gently to your ankle, his eyes fixed on the swelling instead of your face. Reserved and distant. But you could see the tension in the sharp line of his jaw, like there was something unsaid, something he didn’t allow to surface.
You didn’t push. You just sat there, watching him, waiting. Finally, his voice broke the silence, low and almost reluctant. “I don’t spend much time here.”
You tilted your head. “I can tell.”
A flicker of amusement passed over his face, but it faded just as quickly. His gaze stayed on your ankle as though it was easier to confess to your skin than your eyes. “Home… doesn’t mean much when you’ve never had one.”
The words slipped out quieter than he meant. He stilled, as if deciding whether to leave them hanging or pull them back. You didn’t speak, didn’t rush to fill the silence. You just looked at him, without pity, without forcing anything. Just listening. And maybe that was what undid him.
“I learned early that detachment is safer,” he said after a beat, his tone measured but softer now. “No ties, no clutter, no mess. Nothing to lose.” His lips curved, humourless. “Hospitals are… cleaner than people.”
You kept your gaze on him. He wasn’t used to this. He was used to people recoiling, deflecting, or worse, pitying. But your expression was just… there. Interested. Present.
Chishiya finally looked up, and something in his chest twisted when your eyes met his. He had expected judgment. Instead, he saw understanding. It unnerved him, but it also made him want to keep talking.
“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this,” he admitted, a shadow of incredulity in his voice. His hand adjusted the ice pack again, needlessly now.
You leaned forward slightly, voice low but steady. “Maybe it’s because for once, you want to.”
He stilled, blinking at you. His instinct was to scoff, to dismiss, to cut the thread before it unraveled him further. But the words caught in his throat. Because you were right. For once, he wanted to.
And you weren’t looking at him like he was broken. You weren’t looking at him like he needed fixing. Just like he was… human.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, but it lacked venom. You smiled faintly. “Like what?”
“Like you… get it.” His tone was sharper than he meant, but it softened in the end. “Like you see too much.”
“Maybe I do,” you said quietly. “But I don’t mind what I see.” For a heartbeat, the room was unbearably still, the weight of your words pressing against him in a way no scalpel, no diagnosis ever could. His chest tightened, unfamiliar and heavy.
Chishiya exhaled slowly, leaning back, as if putting physical distance would undo what just happened. But it was too late, he could already feel the shift inside him, unsettling and terrifying.
For a moment, the air between you was raw and unguarded, fragile in a way that frightened him more than any medical emergency ever could. He could feel his chest tighten, not with anger or annoyance this time, but with something far more dangerous. Something warm. Too warm.
His eyes lingered on yours a second longer before the familiar chill slid back into them, like a door quietly closing. The corners of his mouth twitched downward into the faintest hint of that cool detachment he wore like armour.
“You’ll see soon enough,” he said flatly, his voice lower, more controlled now, “there’s nothing to like about me.”
The words hit you harder than you wanted to admit. Not because you believed them, but because you could hear the conviction in his tone. He meant them. He carried them like truth.
“Chishiya…” you spoke his name softly, the sound almost a plea. His head tilted slightly, acknowledging, but his expression didn’t change. You drew in a breath. “It’s okay to have walls. To protect yourself. But don’t mistake that for being unlikeable. That’s not what I see when I look at you.”
Something flickered across his face, something he immediately tried to crush down before it could surface.
His pager vibrated sharply on the table, the shrill sound breaking the moment cleanly in two. He exhaled through his nose, the lines of detachment settling even more firmly back into place as he glanced at the screen.
“Emergency,” he said simply, already standing.
"I can just call a taxi to take me home." You said as you started shifting to stand as well, but he turned his head towards you. “Don’t.” His voice softened then, almost reluctantly. “Your ankle, don’t make it worse. Come with me. One of the ER doctors can take a look at it while I handle this.”
You blinked up at him, surprised by the practical protectiveness in his tone. He didn’t give you time to argue, already grabbing his keys from the counter. “Come on.”
And just like that, the fragile intimacy of moments before was packed away behind his mask again, though you couldn’t shake the memory of the warmth you had seen underneath. Even if it was just for a heartbeat before it vanished.
The ER was alive with its usual storm, doctors calling out orders, monitors beeping, the sterile smell of antiseptic fighting against the warmth of panic. Chishiya slipped into it like he was born for this chaos, all precision and command.
The emergency case, a boy no older than six, was wheeled in pale and barely conscious, monitors screaming in protest. The staff scrambled, but Chishiya’s calm voice cut through the noise.
“Bolus, ten milliliters per kilo. O2 mask, now. Keep his head elevated.”
His hands moved swiftly, checking vitals, adjusting monitors, ordering labs without raising his voice once. Every instruction came sharp and certain, like the room bent to his rhythm. Nurses hurried, doctors followed. The boy’s breathing steadied, though faintly, and the colour slowly returned to his lips.
And still, despite the storm around him, his gaze flicked sideways towards the small examination room across the hall.
You were seated on the exam bed, a doctor wrapping your ankle carefully, your face caught in a half-frown, half-smile as you nodded to the instructions you were given. Chishiya forced his eyes back to the child in front of him, jaw tightening.
Focus.
But when the boy’s monitor finally leveled out and the stretcher team rolled him towards the ICU, Chishiya found himself standing in your doorway before he had even thought to stop himself.
You looked up the second you sensed him and the lines of exhaustion on your face softened into something that tugged unexpectedly at his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, leaning against the doorframe, voice lower than usual. “For the interruption.” You tilted your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Some night, huh?” A humourless huff escaped him, but the faintest shadow of a smile played across his mouth. You looked at him a little longer, then said, softer now, “Mess or not… I enjoyed it nonetheless.” The words hung in the sterile air like something fragile.
And just like that, he had to look away, crossing his arms as if to remind himself of the barrier he always kept in place. But the damage was done, your words had already sunk beneath his skin, where he couldn’t shake them.
The hospital had quieted by the time you both stepped out into the cool night. The city hummed faintly in the distance, neon lights stretching against the sky, but the air between you felt heavier than all of it.
“I'll take you home,” Chishiya said, his voice low. You nodded, letting him guide you towards the waiting taxi, his hand brushing lightly against your back as you climbed in. He followed, sliding in beside you. He smelled faintly of antiseptic and something subtle, clean, unmistakably him.
The silence stretched, only the hum of the engine filling it. You leaned back against the seat, ankle aching beneath the bandage. Finally, you broke the quiet, lips quirking.
“You know, I get it now,” you said, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “When you said you weren’t good at this whole dating thing.”
His brow arched faintly. “Imagining all your dates end like that…” You gestured loosely, as if to cover this entire mess, the emergency, the ankle, the late-night detour.
For a while, you weren’t sure he would answer. But then, the faintest curve tugged at the corner of his mouth, reluctant but undeniably there. “Not all of them,” he murmured. “Just the ones that matter.”
Your stomach twisted at the weight of the words, but you shook it off with a scoff, trying to push the warmth down. “So I’m a disaster-date that matters?” He tilted his head slightly, watching you with those unreadable eyes, the faint smirk still there. “Something like that.”
You rolled your eyes, but the banter was back now, sharp and familiar. “You should’ve just stuck to your scrubs. At least then I’d know what to expect.”
“Mm,” he hummed, leaning slightly closer, his voice dropping. “You’d miss the fancy shirt, though.” You gave him a once-over, feigning indifference. “Overrated.”
His smirk widened, just a fraction, and the air in the taxi shifted. What had started as light jabs began to spark into something heavier, pulling the two of you into a different kind of tension.
“You’re lying,” he said simply, almost amused, but his tone was low, like he could see right through you.
You turned to him fully now, unable to keep your lips from curling into a smile. “And you’re way too sure of yourself.”
“Confidence,” he corrected, his gaze lingering on your mouth a fraction too long before meeting your eyes again. “Is said to be attractive.”
The heat spread between you, quiet but undeniable, the city lights flickering past the taxi window, casting shadows that made everything feel more intimate. For a long moment, neither of you looked away.
The taxi rolled to a stop outside your building, the hum of the engine cutting off as Chishiya paid the driver. He didn’t say a word as he stepped out and moved around to your side, waiting as you climbed out carefully.
The quiet followed you both up the street until you reached your door. He lingered just a step behind, hands shoved in his pockets, gaze steady on you.
“You don’t have to walk me up,” you said, glancing over your shoulder at him, trying to keep it casual.
“Mm,” he hummed, unbothered, “but then I’d miss the opportunity to make sure you don’t trip again.” You shot him a look, lips quirking. “Wow. Gentleman and comedian. Who knew?” His brow arched. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Good,” you teased, pulling your keys out. “Wouldn’t want you to ruin your reputation.”
“Which one?” His tone was smooth, but his eyes burned as they lingered on you. You smirked faintly, turning to face him fully. “The one where you’re cold, untouchable, and completely insufferable.”
He leaned a fraction closer, voice almost dangerously low. “And yet here you are. Letting me walk you home.”
The banter snapped between you like live wires, your heart thundering in your chest. You should have laughed it off, rolled your eyes, ended it. But his eyes held you in place, looking at you with hunger.
“You don’t make sense,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. His mouth curved, but it wasn’t the cool smirk he usually wore. This one was darker and almost desperate.
“Then stop trying to make sense of me.”
Before you could answer, he stepped into your space fully, his hand bracing against the wall beside your head, the other catching your hip as he pinned you lightly to the rough brick. And then his mouth was on yours.
It was a storm breaking loose. He consumed you like his body had been waiting for this exact moment the entire night. His lips were hot, and you met him with equal force, your hands fisting in the front of his shirt as though you could pull him even closer.
The city buzzed faintly around you, but it all blurred into nothing. There was only the heat of him pressing into you, the way his mouth moved against yours with a hunger that terrified you in its intensity.
He deepened the kiss, his hand sliding up your side, memorising, craving. And in that moment, he realised with startling clarity. This wasn’t about teasing anymore, or curiosity, or even the thrill of rivalry. His whole body craved you, had been craving you, with an urgency that burned straight through his carefully built walls.
For once, Chishiya didn’t want distance. He wanted more.
You fumbled with the lock blindly, but his lips didn’t let go, didn’t give you space to breathe, and you didn’t want him to. The door barely clicked shut behind you before your back hit it, his mouth crashing onto yours again.
“Sorry,” he muttered against your lips, voice rough, ragged, “should I have waited for you to invite me in?” You laughed breathlessly, tugging him closer, your fingers already working at his jacket. “Yeah. Was that not mentioned in How to be a Gentleman 101?"
He let out a breathy sound as he let the fabric slide off his shoulders to the floor, his hands just as desperate, mapping your body like he had been starving for the touch. He barely gave your apartment a glance, none of it mattered. The only thing that existed was you, warm and pliant beneath his hands, your mouth that he couldn’t stay away from.
You stumbled back together, lips never parting, until your hips bumped against the edge of the low cabinet in your living room. He broke the kiss only long enough to rasp against your mouth, “Jump.”
Your brows knit, confused for half a second, but then you caught the flicker in his eyes. He wanted your ankle off the ground.
You obeyed, hopping lightly onto the cabinet and instantly his hands were braced at your thighs, holding you steady as he stepped in between your legs. His lips found yours again before trailing lower, hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat.
The sound you made when his teeth grazed your skin made him tighten his grip on you. His voice came low, husky, between kisses. "Fuck, I've missed this…” his lips moved lower. “I've missed you.”
The words spilled out of him like confessions he hadn’t meant to voice, but couldn’t hold back. Each syllable was punctuated with another kiss against your skin, like he needed you to believe it.
And you did. Every word sank straight into you, fueling the fire already blazing through your veins. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him back up to kiss you again, harder this time, like you wanted to fuse every part of you together.
For once, there was no banter, no rivalry, no fight for control. Just need. Pure, unrestrained need.
His hands slowly started to move up your bare thighs. Your dress had risen far too high, almost exposing your underwear. The soft and warm flesh beneath his fingertips had his heart beating faster.
"Chishiya..." you breathed softly, before his hand finally reached your soaked panties. "God, I love how fucking wet you get." He said as he pulled his mouth from yours, his eyes staring into yours intensely. You bit your lip as he started rubbing small circles through your underwear. He could just take you. Right then and there. You were more than ready for him. But Chishiya enjoyed teasing you, enjoyed watching your body react to his touch.
Suddenly, a wicked smirk appeared on his face. He leaned forward, breath hot against your ear, "I still want you to sit on my face and ride it until you come." Thanks to your cheeks already being flushed, he couldn't notice how you blushed. The thought of sitting on his pretty face did something to you.
Your nod was shy at first but there was eagerness behind it. "Bedroom?" Chishiya asked. You pointed at your bedroom door and he picked you up and carried you over.
The room was chilly. The light of the full moon outside your window lightened it well enough. Chishiya set you down, steadying you as you carefully put the tiniest bit of weight on your sprained ankle. His hand found the zipper of your dress. "May I?" He asked patiently. But as soon as you nodded, his patience wavered, undoing your zipper in one swift motion and letting the dress fall to your feet. Your nipples immediately hardened as the cold air hit them.
Chishiya took half a step back, taking you in. His eyes wandered all over your body, making you feel exposed. He shook his head softly, his thoughts were racing. He wanted to tell you how fucking beautiful you are, how absolutely insane you drove him. But Chishiya was never one for grand words, so he didn't know how to. His mouth wouldn't speak what his mind was telling him. So he wanted to make you feel.
He grabbed your waist and pulled your naked body flush against him. His erection was pressing against you, his tongue slipping into your mouth effortlessly.
You busied yourself with undoing the buttons of his shirt, taking it off. His skin was hot against yours, as he started walking you backwards towards the bed.
His mouth left yours and a smirk plastered his face as he lay down. "Have a seat." He whispered.
You felt a little awkward, considering you had never done this before. But Chishiya's eyes burned into you like fire. His gaze was enough to make your pussy drip.
So you slowly climbed onto him, placing a leg on either side of his face, your cunt now hovering over his face. Chishiya watched you, licking his lips before moving his eyes back up to you. "Sit." He ordered in his usual tone. As if he was giving you an order back at the hospital.
"I- I don't want to suffocate you." You murmured. Chishiya let out a breathy, almost laugh-like, sound. "You won't. But if you do, make sure it says so on my tombstone." His arms snaked around your thighs from behind, his hands pushing you down. "Now fucking sit down." He growled and you finally lowered yourself.
His tongue was on your clit immediately, swirling around the sensitive bud. You moaned loudly, still trying not to put your entire weight on his face. However, you couldn't keep your hips from slowly starting to move against his mouth. And the way Chishiya ate you out was unlike anything you had ever experienced.
Chishiya never cared about oral sex with others. It's not like he hadn't done it before, he just believed it was messy and absolutely unnecessary. But you changed that. With you, he couldn't get enough of that taste of you. He enjoyed looking at your cunt way too much and wanted to feel it on every part of his body. And more so, he wanted to make you come in any way possible.
You looked down at him, his face now completely buried in you. His hands held your hips, guiding you to ride his face even more, pushing you down against him even further. Your moans escaped your throat in regular intervals, a symphony to his ears.
And slowly but steadily, you lost the last bit of awkwardness. You grabbed the headboard in front of you, your hips now moving on their own, your cunt grinding against his face. Low moans came out of his mouth ever so often, giving you confidence.
His eyes moved to yours, his pupils were dilated, his gaze darker than usual. One of his hands slid up to yours tits, the other holding you steady. His thumb rolled over your hardened nipple. You cursed loudly as you felt your orgasm approach. And he knew it. He knew you were close, reading your body like one of his goddamn medical books. And with all the right movements of his tongue, he threw you over the edge, pressing you harder down against him as you came all over his face.
As soon as your legs stopped shaking, you lifted yourself off of him, still scared he was having troubles breathing. His face was glistening with your juices. He looked at you in disbelief. Never would he have thought that something like this could almost make him cum in his trousers. His dick was throbbing eagerly.
You wanted to get up to get him a towel for his face. But he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back. "I'm not fucking done with you yet." His voice was nothing more than a growl, hungry and desperate.
Chishiya unfastened his belt, pulling down his trousers just enough for his cock to spring free. He didn't have the patience to undress completely. He was on top of you in an instance, his cock already sliding deep inside you before you even realised what was happening. Your eyes widened, as he didn't waste any time, his dick already pumping in and out of you. "I've never been this turned on." He groaned.
His lips found yours as he fucked you into the mattress, his thrusts deep and hard. "Fuck, Chishiya." You moaned out. His movements stilled for a second, but you could feel his cock twitch inside of you once. "I could cum just from hearing you moan my name like that."
He lifted his upper body, grabbing your waist and flipping you over. "If I keep seeing that look on your face, I won't last long." He simply stated as he finally took off his trousers. He pulled your arse up before slamming into you from behind. You jolted forwards, but his harsh grip on your waist pulled you back against him.
And then he set a pace that was insane, his balls slapping against you with every thrust. One hand shot to your hair, grabbing a fistful to tilt it sideways. He needed to hear your moans fully, instead of a muffled sound against the mattress.
His other hand smacked your arse once before snaking around you, finding your clit. He bend over, his cock hitting a spot deep inside you, that made the heat coil in your lower abdomen. Your walls started clenching around him involuntarily. He let out a dangerously low groan.
Everything inside him craved for you to come again. He wanted to see the pleasure ripple through your body. If he could, he would spend every night making you come over and over again. And perhaps he would do exactly that in the near future.
You moaned his name as you reached your orgasm. Pure satisfaction plastered Chishiya's face as he fucked you through your high. His pace didn't falter, so you were able to feel the wave of joy for as long as possible.
When you finally came down, he flipped you over again, because he was close and he wanted to see your face. He needed to see it. Needed to look into your eyes as he shot his load into you. He loved being buried deep inside you when he came. No orgasm had ever felt this intense.
He collapsed next to you. You curled against him on instinct, your hand pressed lightly against his chest. Chishiya had never shared a bed with anyone like this, never allowed the silence to stretch so vulnerably.
At first, it terrified him, the way your warmth bled into him, the way your breathing lulled against his skin. But eventually, even he couldn’t resist. He fell asleep to the steady rhythm of your breaths, his first real taste of comfort.
The morning light was crueler than either of you expected, but somehow it felt different. You walked to work together, and before he could slip away into his usual brisk stride, you handed him a small bag.
“What’s this?” he asked, his tone flat, but his eyes flicking to the bag with unspoken hesitation.
“Lunch,” you said simply, giving him a look that dared him to protest. “Don’t even try to tell me you’d remember to eat otherwise.”
For once, he was silent. Not because he had nothing to say, but because he genuinely didn’t know how to respond. Something shifted inside him. None of this felt like a mistake anymore. His detached mind whispered it should, that he should push you away before you slipped even further under his skin. But as his fingers curled around the bag, that voice felt smaller than it ever had.
The day swallowed you both in its usual whirlwind of cases, rounds, and endless patient needs. Yet every time you crossed paths, in a patient’s room, by the nurses’ station, or passing each other in the corridor, the banter was there.
“Careful, Doctor,” you teased when he stole a chart from your stack. “Don’t strain yourself doing nurse work.”
His lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk forming. “If I don’t, who knows what kind of chaos you’ll cause.”
The words had a sharpness to them, but the glint in his eyes had changed. The banter wasn’t biting anymore. It was endearing, threaded with something neither of you dared name out loud.
Later that day, a young boy was admitted. Seven years old, pale as paper, his small frame curled on the hospital bed. At first, everyone thought it was dehydration from a lingering stomach bug, but IV fluids didn’t change much. His electrolytes were a mess, and every new test came back with more contradictions than answers.
Every morning and evening, you were there at his bedside. Adjusting his blanket. Whispering jokes. Holding his tiny hand while he winced at yet another blood draw. When he grew restless, you told him stories, silly ones that made his lips twitch even when he was too tired to laugh. The boy leaned on you like a lifeline, trusting you in a way children often trusted nurses more than doctors.
Chishiya was a constant presence, too, but in a different way. He circled like a predator with a puzzle, his expression unreadable as he read test results, ordered new labs, scrawled notes across charts. He rarely spoke to the boy beyond what was necessary, but you could see it in the flick of his gaze, he cared more than he let on. And the fact that he couldn’t solve this case was eating at him.
By the fourth day, his frustration was palpable. He had barely slept, his temper sharper than usual. Even then, his sharpness towards you wasn’t truly biting, it was his strange way of drawing you closer into the case, as though he needed you in the trenches with him.
The case was wearing on everyone. Nurses shuffled faster, whispered quieter in the corridors, the weight of the boy’s condition heavy in the air. It all came to a head during morning rounds.
A nurse had miscalculated a fluid balance, the numbers off by more than just a rounding error. Chishiya’s voice cracked like a whip, sharp and cutting. “Do you even know how to count, or should I call someone else who does?” His tone was cold enough to freeze the room. The nurse stammered an apology, red spreading over her cheeks, but Chishiya didn’t relent. “This isn’t maths homework. This is a child’s life. Mistakes like this can kill him.”
The air went stiff. No one moved, no one breathed.
You arrived just in time to see the tension spill across the ward. When you stepped closer, his eyes snapped to you, ready to lash out, but then… he stopped. His nostrils flared, his jaw worked, but instead of venom, his voice shifted into something low, almost conspiratorial.
“You’re one of the only trustworthy nurses here,” he muttered, after you had walked away from the terrified nurse, the words slipping like an admission he hadn’t planned to make. “Half of them should be fired for the messes they’re making.”
You tilted your head, the sharpness in his tone not lost on you, though there was something softer beneath it, an edge he never turned on you.
“Or,” you said carefully, keeping your voice calm, “maybe you just haven’t slept in three days and the exhaustion is doing the talking.” His eyes narrowed slightly, a protest rising on his tongue, but you crossed your arms, holding his gaze.
“Chishiya. You need to rest. You won’t solve anything like this.” He scoffed, but the fight in his eyes faltered just a little. You pressed on.
“Go to the on-call room. Lie down for an hour. Clear your mind. If you burn yourself out, you’ll be no good to him either.”
He said nothing for a long moment, just watching you. His lips pressed into a thin line, but there was no snap, no bite. Finally, with a sharp exhale, he turned on his heel.
“I’ll think about it,” he muttered, which from him, you knew was as close to agreement as you would get.
That afternoon the corridors felt colder, like everyone was bracing for impact whenever Chishiya appeared. His footsteps echoed too sharply against the floor, his presence snapping the air taut. Nurses practically jumped out of his way, heads ducked, afraid to make eye contact.
You sat at the nurses’ station, flipping through a chart when one of the older nurses leaned in, whispering under her breath, “He really needs to get some rest. This is a new high of being unbearable, even for him.”
You sighed, setting the chart down with a soft thud. “I’ll try to talk to him again,” you murmured, though part of you wondered why you always did.
Across the ward, Chishiya was giving instructions to a young nurse, his tone clipped and his voice straining against the edge of snapping. She nodded frantically, clearly terrified.
“Dr. Chishiya,” you called, your voice cutting clean through the tension. His head turned, sharp eyes landing on you, but before he could bark anything, you added calmly, “Walk with me.”
It was the same words he had once thrown at you, back when you were brand new here. The memory of it seemed to flicker in his gaze, just for a heartbeat. He didn’t argue. He fell into step beside you, his hands sliding into his coat pockets as you guided him down the corridor, ignoring the curious looks that followed.
When you reached the on-call room, you pushed the door open and gestured inside. “You’re starting to scare the other nurses,” you told him lightly, though your tone carried more weight than your smirk did. “And frankly, I don’t want to run this ward alone just because I’m the only one not afraid of you.”
He let out something between a scoff and a sigh, stepping inside but not sitting down. His jaw was tight, shoulders rigid as though even the walls of this room weren’t enough to contain him.
“I can’t calm down. I can’t relax,” he muttered, frustrated, running a hand through his hair.
You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirking despite the heat of his exhaustion radiating off him. “Good thing I know just the thing to take your mind off things for a bit.”
His head lifted slightly at your words, sharp eyes narrowing. “And what exactly would that be?”
You tilted your head, letting a sly smile play at your lips. “Something even your genius brain can’t figure out on its own. Something that will pump your blood to other places instead."
A flicker of amusement passed over his face despite the fatigue that weighed on him. He took a slow step towards you, closing the gap in that casual predator’s stride of his. “You’re making promises you might not be able to keep,” he murmured, his voice low, taunting.
You pushed off the doorframe, closing the door behind you and meeting him halfway. “Oh, I can keep them. Question is..." your voice softened as your eyes locked with his, “can you handle them?”
That was all it took. His hand shot up, cupping the side of your neck as his mouth crashed against yours, the kiss urgent, all sharp edges and pent-up frustration. You gasped softly into it, your body arching closer as his other hand anchored at your waist.
“Thought you said I needed rest,” he teased against your lips, breath warm, before kissing you again, deeper this time.
“You do,” you whispered, tugging at the lapels of his white coat, pulling him impossibly closer. “But this seemed faster than a sleeping pill.”
A rare laugh ghosted from him, muffled by another kiss that left you both breathless. He pressed you back against the wall, his body caging yours in, yet somehow you weren’t trapped, you were exactly where you wanted to be. His fingers slid down your arm, your hand catching his wrist to keep him there, grounding him even as the heat threatened to unravel both of you.
“Dangerous,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw as he caught his breath. “You’re dangerous.”
“And you like it,” you shot back, whispering into his ear, your voice trembling with equal parts nerves and desire. He smirked against your skin, his words vibrating low and dangerous. “That’s the problem.”
Clothes were shed off in a hurry, his lips barely leaving yours.
As he was about to lift you up and just fuck you against the wall, you stopped him. Shaking your head, you whispered softly, "No more physical labour for you, sir." His brows knitted in confusion. You placed your hands on his chest and pushed him back towards the bed. "Sit." You ordered. Chishiya smirked shamelessly but obeyed.
You knelt down in between his legs, his erection towering in front of you. His eyes burnt into you, lips slightly parted, as you finally took his cock into your hand and gave it a soft stroke. Chishiya let out a long breath. One he had seemed to be holding since before you even stepped into the on-call room.
You had no intention of teasing him. Not when all you wanted was for him to finally relax. So you licked his dick from base to the top, before finally taking him into your mouth.
Chishiya's lower abs tensed as he let the smallest moan slip past his lips. You placed your hands flat against his thighs as you slowly took him all in, the tip hitting the very back of your throat. You focused on breathing through your nose. Chishiya threw his head back for a split second before his hand grabbed your hair roughly, pulling you back up to be able to meet his gaze. His cock was covered in your saliva and so were your lips. He thought you looked absolutely breathtaking.
There were so many things he wanted to tell you right then and there. How no one had ever made him crave something or someone that badly. How you messed with his mind, so much that it affected his body. How the mere thought of you did things to him, that he couldn't explain.
But all he was able to get out, was a whispered "What are you doing to me?" You grinned, "As for right now? Hopefully making you feel good, Doctor."
One corner of his mouth curled subtly upwards as his other hand stroke your cheek a little too gently. Then he guided you back to his cock and you took him in eagerly. His grip was rough in your hair, his hand guiding you up and down his length. You used your hand to fist the base. The room was filled with his soft moans and the sloppy sounds of your wet mouth bobbing up and down his cock.
Whenever you sucked the tip or flicked your tongue across it, you earned an extra flex of his muscles, telling you just how much he enjoyed it.
You moaned against him, the vibrations almost sending him over the edge. You looked up at him, wanting to savour the expression on his face. Chishiya met your eyes, his cock twitching inside your mouth almost instantly. Your name left his lips as a low moan, "Fuck, I'm gonna come." He tried to yank your head away from him but you kept your rhythm steady, working his cock in just the right way. Chishiya cursed loudly, his hips thrusting up a few times before he stilled. You felt his warm semen hit your throat in long spurts and you swallowed it all. When you removed your mouth, you looked up at him, a soft and satisfied smile plastering your face.
Chishiya's grip in your hair loosened as he stared at you in disbelief. His mind couldn't wrap around the fact that you did all this just to help him relax. He wasn't used to people ever doing anything for him, unless he was barking orders. Or they wanted something in return.
You got up and started gathering your scrubs. Chishiya was still sitting on the bed, legs spread, eyes still watching you, not knowing what to say. "Will you finally get some sleep now?" You asked as you picked up your scrub bottoms.
The silence stretched, before he finally spoke your name. It sounded more like a plea. You turned around to look at him, holding the pile of clothes in your arm. "Come here." He ordered, his voice now back to his normal sharpness. When you stood in front of him, he grabbed the pile of clothes and threw them back on the floor. "Hey!" You protested, amusement in your voice.
"Let me return the favour." Chishiya said, pulling you onto his lap. "Chishiya..." You took his face into your hands gently, "you don't have to return anything. It's okay to accept the fact that people want to do something for you every once in a while and not expect something in return."
His mind was trying to comprehend your words. And though he appreciated it, he replied, "But I really want to make you feel good." He buried his face in your neck, kissing it. "I promise I'll get some rest after. But as of right now I can't think of anything else but wanting to make you come."
You moaned as his teeth grazed your neck, biting the soft flesh. He grabbed your leg, moving it so that you were straddling him. You were still naked, still exposed. He spread his legs further, which resulted in you opening your legs even further as well. One hand snaked around your waist, holding you steady, while his other made its way to your desperate pussy.
A low sound, which sounded almost like a satisfied and way too confident chuckle, escaped his throat as he moved his fingers along the slit, covering them in your juices, before he pushed one digit inside you with no further warning. You threw your arms around him, moaning out loud.
Chishiya started to move his finger in and out of you. Slowly at first, then he quickly picked up speed, curling it inside you at just the right spot. When he was certain you had adjusted, he added another digit. His mouth was on your tits in front of his face, leaving a few wet kisses before he flicked his tongue over your nipple. He sucked on it, making you grind your hips even harder against his hand. He loved the wet sounds of his fingers pumping your cunt. It only encouraged him to pump faster, stopping every now and then to curl his fingers to stroke your walls.
"Fuck, Chishiya..." You threw your head back as the familiar warmth spread in your lower region, the knot tightening. He buried his fingers deep inside you, the heel of his palm moving against your clit in the process. Your hips bucked involuntarily and he knew you were close, so he kept doing exactly what he was doing, until you finally reached your orgasm. Chishiya groaned when he felt your walls tightening around his fingers. He loved the way your pussy clenched around whatever he had inserted when you came. He kept his fingers curled, stroking just the right spot inside you as he guided you through your high.
When you finally came down, he retrieved his fingers, moving them to his mouth to lick them clean. You kissed him eagerly, tasting the faintest trace of yourself on him. And then the most unexpected thing happened. Chishiya smiled into the kiss. Soft and rare. He didn't even notice until it was too late. He blamed his tiredness, that he was no longer strong enough to suppress it.
When you finally got up, he just watched you, looking content. Without another word, he half-fell, half-collapsed onto the narrow bed. His chest rose and fell in steady, heavy breaths, eyelids fluttering shut as if his body had been waiting days for permission to stop.
You stood there for a moment, looking down at him. For once, Chishiya wasn’t untouchable. He was just… tired. Human. And as much as he had fought it, he trusted you enough to let himself rest. Quietly, you pulled a blanket from the end of the bed and draped it over him, tucking it gently at his shoulders. He didn’t stir. Not even a twitch.
Your shift was almost over anyway, so you quickly got dressed and slipped back to the nurses’ station.
The next morning, the hospital greeted you with its usual chaos, though the weight of last night lingered in your chest. When you passed the break room, you paused at the doorway.
Chishiya was there, already occupying a whole table for himself. Medical textbooks lay open, pages filled with notes and charts, a scattering of files sprawled like a battlefield. His jaw was tight, eyes locked on the boy’s paperwork like he could burn a hole through it.
You leaned against the doorframe, tilting your head with a small smile. “You know, I can actually see your head smoking with all that concentration." He didn’t look up at first, but one corner of his mouth curved ever so slightly. A rare acknowledgment.
You crossed the room, standing behind him, your hands brushing lightly over his tense shoulders before pressing gently, massaging the knots that had taken root. He stiffened at first but didn’t pull away.
“I can’t figure this one out,” he admitted quietly, and the honesty in his voice made your chest ache. He never admitted defeat, not to anyone.
“It bothers me,” he murmured, voice low, the words coming like a confession. “I can’t crack it. Nothing fits. Not the labs, not the symptoms. Every test closes a door instead of opening one.”
Something about that honesty, that rare glimpse of him without his armour, tugged at your chest. Your hands stilled for a second before sliding forward, wrapping around him in a soft embrace from behind. Surprisingly, he relaxed. No fibre of him felt the need to push you away, to keep a safe distance.
You were just about to say something encouraging when your eyes landed on the most recent bloodwork.
“Wait,” you said quietly, your hand slipping from his chest to tap the paper. “Look here. His sodium levels are too low.” Chishiya’s head tilted, the pause in his movements sharp. “I already noticed.”
“Yes, but if his sodium is that low…” you leaned closer, your finger tracing down to another set of values, “…why are his chloride levels holding steady? That doesn’t make sense.”
Chishiya stilled. His sharp eyes flicked to the numbers and for a long second, he didn’t move. Then his hand shot out, dragging another book closer, flipping pages with rapid precision. His brain clicked faster than your eyes could follow.
“…It’s not a simple imbalance,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It’s the transport-"
His movements grew sharper, stacking charts, grabbing the lab work, pulling everything together into a single thread. His pen scratched across the margin, connecting numbers, symptoms, test results. His mouth pressed into a thin line before he finally exhaled.
“Congenital chloride diarrhea,” he said firmly, tapping the page. “A rare metabolic disorder, most people don’t even think of it outside of textbooks. But it explains everything. The diarrhea, the electrolyte crashes, the abnormal labs. And it’s treatable if we start the right therapy now.”
You blinked, stunned, then broke into a slow smile. “So… you found it.”
"No," He corrected, "we found it." For once, it wasn’t I. It was we.
An hour later, as you were finishing up some notes at the station, Chishiya appeared at your side. His voice was quiet, but his eyes were sharp, intentional. “I’m about to tell the parents,” he said. “I want you there.” You looked up, surprised. “Me?”
“Yes,” he answered simply. “This wasn’t my doing alone. They should know that.”
Your heart swelled at the words. It wasn’t just acknowledgment, it was pride, shared freely, without the cold detachment he usually wore. He wanted you there, standing beside him. Not as his nurse. Not as his subordinate. But as his partner.
When you followed him into the room, he glanced at you once, just long enough for you to see it:
Respect. Gratitude. Something warmer, too.
And when he began explaining the diagnosis to the boy’s worried parents, you stayed by his side, listening, your chest full at the simple fact that, for the first time, he wanted you there, to show that this was both of your victory.
The parents hung on every word as Chishiya explained the condition with calm precision. His tone was steady, confident, his brilliance undeniable. Relief flooded their faces when he said the words “treatable” and “manageable with therapy.”
When he finished, the boy’s mother reached for his hand, bowing her head in gratitude. “Dr. Chishiya… thank you. Thank you for not giving up on him. You saved our son.”
The father’s voice cracked as he echoed the sentiment, both parents looking at Chishiya like he was a miracle himself.
He glanced sideways at you, then back to the parents. “If you want to thank someone,” he said smoothly, his voice dipping low with certainty, “thank her.” Both parents blinked, surprised.
“Her sharp eye is the reason I caught what I did. Without her… I might have missed it.” His gaze lingered on you just a heartbeat too long, his words sharp enough to cut through the memory of every time he had once dismissed you. “She’s remarkable.” He whispered, more to himself than to anyone else.
The mother turned to you with teary eyes, bowing deeply. “Thank you. We… we can never repay this.”
You swallowed, your throat tight. Heat flushed your chest, not from embarrassment, but from the way his words rang so true, from the weight of them coming from him.
And when you finally dared to glance at Chishiya again, he wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t detached. He was looking at you with a kind of quiet pride you had never seen before, like in his mind, this wasn’t just a case. It was yours together. Your heart felt full.
The two of you slipped out of the patient’s room, the air in the corridor feeling lighter now that relief hung in the air instead of tension. Chishiya walked beside you, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable to anyone else but not to you.
“I suppose I should say thank you.” His voice softened at the end, low enough that you almost missed it.
The silence stretched, this time not uncomfortable but charged with something else. And then, his voice cut through it, softer than you expected.
“We never took that walk.” You blinked, surprised at the shift. “What walk?”
“The one I suggested,” he reminded you, his tone casual but his gaze fixed firmly on you. “After dinner.” A pause. “There’s a café in that park. Quiet little place. Good coffee.”
You smirked, lifting your still bandaged ankle a little, eyebrows raised. “Right. I feel like something got in the way of that, but I can’t quite remember what…”
For once, Chishiya didn’t deflect with sarcasm. Instead, his hand came up, fingertips brushing against your cheek so lightly it almost hurt. His eyes softened, the walls he usually kept so high lowered for just a moment.
“I’ll fucking carry you there,” he murmured, his tone steady, “if that means you’ll have coffee with me.”
Your breath caught. Because you could tell, it wasn’t about the coffee. It wasn’t even about the walk. It was about him wanting more, so much more. His voice carried a truth he hadn’t spoken aloud until now: he wanted a second date. And a third. And countless more.
And as he looked at you, thumb still brushing your cheek, you saw it clearly. You made him want to be more than the cold, brilliant doctor everyone else saw. You made him want to be a better person.
A/N: a big thank you to everyone who requested a part 2 of this (and all those who literally YELLED at me to write the face riding scene, I got you!!). I absolutely enjoyed writing this
Summary: the beach takes you prisoner. while niragi tries to break your body and soul, chishiya stitches it back together during the long nights
Warnings: violence! beatings, mentions of blood and bruises, knife wounds, comfort with a sprinkle of fluff
Word count: ~5.6k
gif credits
You had always been the type to notice the patterns others ignored. Back home, if that word still meant anything, you thrived on details, on pulling threads until the larger picture revealed itself. In school, at work, in the quiet hours when you couldn’t sleep, puzzles soothed you. But in the Borderlands, puzzles could mean life or death. And that was precisely what fascinated you.
This world terrified you. Who wouldn’t be scared, waking up in a city stripped of everyone but the unlucky survivors forced into these nightmarish games? Yet beneath the terror there was something else: curiosity. You wanted to know why. Why this world, why these rules, why this need for blood and brilliance in exchange for a visa. Fear kept you alive, but fascination gave you purpose.
You believed the cards weren’t just trinkets handed out after survival. You believed they could be something more. Collect enough, collect them all, and maybe the door to understanding would open. Other players laughed at the idea. To them, a card was nothing more than a souvenir. They shrugged, pocketed the prizes and went on trying not to die. But you couldn’t let it go.
At first, you tried to win them on your own. Heart-stopping nights in death traps earned you a few scattered victories, enough to prove you could handle yourself. But soon, your logic sharpened into clarity: alone, you would never collect them all. You needed another approach.
So you became a trader.
You raided what the city had abandoned. Grocery stores with shelves that still held cans no one had bothered with. Pharmacies with antibiotics, painkillers, even insulin that desperate players would kill for. Hardware shops with duct tape, lighters, knives, batteries, tools that meant survival in a world that punished carelessness. Piece by piece, you built a stockpile of things more valuable than food itself: leverage. With leverage came the cards.
Players were willing to part with them easily, almost too easily. A handful of bandages for a Four of Spades. Three cans of soup for a Three of Hearts. An inhaler for an Eight of Clubs. They didn’t care, they couldn’t see past the length of their visa. But you could. And you collected. Quietly at first, then bolder, casting your net wider across the city.
It worked. Too well, maybe. Because whispers travel faster than the truth in the Borderlands. And soon, your name wasn’t just muttered in back alleys or broken underground stations. It carried across districts, a rumour dressed in sharp edges: there was someone out there who wasn’t just playing the games, but trying to beat them. Someone building something larger, gathering the fragments no one else bothered with.
The rumours reached the wrong ears.
There was a place players spoke of in wary tones, a community built on hedonism and enforced loyalty. They called it the Beach. A paradise on the surface, but everyone knew paradise demanded sacrifice. The Beach had its rules, its hierarchy, and above all, its obsession with the very cards you were hoarding.
And when word reached them of a lone collector pulling cards into the shadows, one truth became clear: in their eyes, you weren’t just ambitious.
You were a threat.
Long before you ever saw them, the decision had already been made. Somewhere across the city in a golden and velvet suite, the Hatter lifted a glass and gave his orders. You had been noticed. You had been judged. And once judgment fell, there was no outrunning it.
“Bring them to me,” he told his military men, the glint of obsession in his eyes. “Alive.” It wasn’t mercy. It was ownership.
Aguni’s nod had been curt, his loyalty unshaken. Niragi’s grin, by contrast, stretched wide, a predator already savouring the chase. And so they came for you.
It wasn’t difficult for them to find you. You had made a reputation out of trading, the whispers of your location carried faster than footsteps. That night, when you spotted them cutting through the shadows of the street, the first spark of panic caught in your chest. Two men, armed and assured, moving like hunters who had already cornered their prey.
Aguni’s face gave nothing away, but Niragi… Niragi couldn’t contain himself. His wicked grin was already sharp, his rifle slung casual over his shoulder as though the outcome had been decided long before he even saw you.
“You’re invited to the Beach,” Aguni said flatly, his voice leaving no room for interpretation. “Our leader wants to talk to you.” You forced a smile, your voice calm despite the fear crawling under your skin. “I appreciate the invitation, but I’m not interested.”
The words were polite, a shield of friendliness you hoped would soften them. But it was wasted breath. Neither man came here for your consent.
Aguni’s hand shot forward, ironclad around your arm. The strength in his grip told you he wasn’t used to people resisting him. But you weren’t going quietly. With a sharp twist and a burst of desperation, you yanked yourself free, stumbling backwards before turning on your heel and ran.
For a heartbeat, you thought you had bought yourself a chance. The city stretched open ahead of you, a maze you had navigated countless times. But hope was a fragile thing.
Niragi was quicker. The sound of his boots pounding behind you rang louder than your heartbeat. You didn’t have time to cry out before the dull, brutal crack of metal slammed against the back of your skull. Pain bloomed in your head, your body collapsing forward as the world tilted and shattered.
The last thing you saw before darkness claimed you was Niragi’s grin, hovering above you like a shadow that promised worse things to come.
You woke slowly, as if surfacing from a deep, black sea. Your head throbbed with each heartbeat, the pain spreading in dull waves from the spot where Niragi’s rifle had kissed bone. At first, all you caught were murmurs. Low, hushed voices blending together like the buzz of distant insects.
Then you felt the ropes. Your wrists ached from the coarse fibers binding them to the arms of a chair. Your ankles were fastened, too, ensuring you couldn’t shift more than a fraction. It was only when you pried your eyes open, lashes sticking to skin, that you saw the room around you.
It was dimly lit. Shadows clung to the walls, punctured here and there by the glow of standing lamps. A crowd of figures stood in a loose semicircle, all eyes fixed on you.
“Finally!” The voice was theatrical. A man stepped forward, his silk robe hanging open, sunglasses perched arrogantly on his face even in the low light. His arms spread wide as though he was hosting a grand celebration rather than presiding over your abduction.
“Welcome,” he said, lips curled into a radiant smile. “Welcome to the Beach.” You blinked, throat raw as you forced out your voice. “That’s… not really a friendly way to invite someone.”
Before you could breathe again, Niragi’s hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back hard enough to send a shock of pain down your spine. His breath ghosted hot against your ear. “You should’ve come quietly,” he sneered, his grin sharp. “We were friendly. You’re the one who had to make it ugly.” You bit down on a retort, keeping your expression steady even as your scalp burned.
Hatter closed the distance. He stood tall before you, his smile calm, almost admiring. “You’ve done wonderful work,” he said, voice smooth as honey. “Collecting so many playing cards. Such dedication, such vision. And now…” His smile widened. “You are welcome to join the Beach.” You lifted your chin, forcing a smile of your own. “That’s very kind of you,” you replied lightly. “But I’m not interested.”
A loud, dramatic gasp escaped from a woman draped elegantly nearby, her beauty striking in the dim glow. Others shifted, their eyes narrowing, whispering among themselves.
You didn’t know their names, but you knew power when you saw it. These people weren’t bystanders. They were executives, predators dressed in silk and shadows.
Your gaze swept across the room, and that was when you noticed him. Not in the light, not flaunting himself like the others. He lingered in the far corner, half-bathed in shadow, watching. His posture was casual, yet his eyes were fixed steadily on you. The stare made your chest tighten, not with fear but something sharper. You could have ignored every other gaze in the room. But his felt different. His felt like he saw through you.
“Ah,” Hatter sighed, crossing his arms. His smile dimmed, replaced by something colder. He leaned forward, his voice lowering. “See, I wasn’t asking if you wanted to join. You don’t have a choice.”
“I’m still not interested.” His head tilted slightly, a glint flashing behind the sunglasses. He flicked his hand, casual as a maestro calling for the next note. Niragi was on you in an instant, the barrel of his rifle pressing hard against the back of your skull.
Most would have begged. You didn’t. Instead, you let your body relax, your lips curling in a daring smirk. “Go ahead,” you said, voice smooth despite the tension in the room. “Pull the trigger. But if you do, you’ll never find out where my cards are.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Then, slowly, you tilted your head towards the far wall. A giant mural stretched across it, all fifty-two cards painted neatly, some already crossed out.
“The Three of Hearts. The Seven of Spades,” you murmured, your grin widening. “I have them.”
Niragi let out a sound half-snarl, half-laugh, and then his grip shifted. The barrel left your head, but not before the heavy metal stock swung sideways into your face. The impact burst stars behind your eyes, blood wetting your tongue as it split against your teeth. He hit you again, harder, until you coughed scarlet onto your lap.
Through the ringing in your ears, you heard Hatter chuckle. “You’ll change your mind,” he said with infuriating certainty. He waved a hand as though dismissing a servant. “Throw them into the basement. No light. No food. No water. Let them rot a while.”
Hands grabbed your chair, dragging you backwards. You didn’t resist. Your bloodied smile lingered, even as the darkness of the hallway swallowed you whole. Because whatever hell awaited in the basement, at least you knew one thing: you had forced the Beach to keep you alive. For now.
Niragi and Aguni dragged you through the Beach with your wrists still bound, your head heavy and aching from the blows. At first, the sheer absurdity of what you saw made your stomach twist.
This world was built on fear and blood, and yet here at the Beach the opposite seemed to thrive. Tables overflowed with food scavenged from the city: fruit stacked high in bowls, bottles of liquor lined in neat rows. You caught the heavy thrum of bass echoing faintly through the walls, laughter and music carrying from somewhere deeper in the hotel.
It was insane. A glittering paradise carved out of hell. But paradise didn’t last long.
The moment Aguni pushed open a door and guided you down a flight of concrete steps, everything shifted. The warmth, the light, the sound of music was gone. Each step was colder, until the musty air hit your lungs and you knew instinctively that this was the Beach’s true face.
They found a tiny room at the end of a long corridor. Its walls were slick with damp, patches of mold clinging like shadows. The floor was bare concrete, stained and uneven, and in the corner sat a single bucket, the only indication that this room had been used as a cell before.
Neither Aguni nor Niragi said a word. They simply unbound your wrists, shoved you forward, and let the door slam behind you. And you stayed there.
Time blurred. Hours bled into each other. The pounding in your skull dulled into a constant ache, your lips cracked from thirst. Hunger gnawed relentlessly at your stomach, every growl making you weaker. Standing became a battle of will.
When the door finally creaked open again, hands seized you, pulling you upright despite the way your knees threatened to buckle. They dragged you back upstairs. Hatter awaited you, arms spread as though greeting an old friend. His smile was bright, his voice light. “Now,” he said pleasantly, “are you willing to tell me where your playing cards are?”
You swallowed against the dryness of your throat. Your voice cracked, but the word was still clear. “No.” The smile didn’t falter. He only tipped his head to the side and gave the smallest flick of his hand, before leaving the room.
Then the beating began. Niragi was first, always eager. Fists and boots found your ribs, your stomach, your back, each strike a fresh wave of pain. You gritted your teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound.
But then the edge of his hunger sharpened into something crueler. With a low laugh, Niragi crouched before you, pulling a knife from his belt. “You know,” he said, his grin flashing, “if you weren’t a fucking traitor, we could’ve had a wonderful time together.”
The blade slid easily through the fabric of your shirt, prying it open, grazing your skin underneath. His voice stayed low and teasing, as he dragged the cold steel along your side. When the edge nicked flesh, you clenched your jaw until it hurt, refusing to cry out. A thin line of blood traced a path down your ribs. And then-
“That’s enough.” The voice was new. Calm. Almost bored, as though the entire scene barely warranted attention. But it cut through the room with quiet authority.
You turned your head slightly, searching past the haze of pain, but you couldn’t catch more than a shadow moving at the edge of the crowd.
Niragi clicked his tongue, smirking in irritation. “Shame,” he muttered, but he withdrew the knife all the same. He stood, yanking you roughly by the arm. A moment later, you were being dragged once again down the stairs, deeper into the cold. Back to the damp cell where the dark swallowed everything. And this time, the silence weighed heavier than before.
The hours dragged mercilessly, each one bleeding into the next until you could barely tell if it was day or night above. Sleep came only in broken fragments, jolted apart by thirst or the ache in your ribs. You were drifting in that in-between haze, half-conscious, half-gone, when the lock rattled. Your heart slammed in your chest.
The door creaked open, spilling the faintest sliver of light into the dark cell. Panic surged sharp and immediate, your body instinctively trying to push itself further back against the wet, musty wall. Your breath came shallow and fast. Another round of fists, or worse.
But the silhouette that stepped inside didn’t move like Niragi, nor carry Aguni’s brute presence. He carried a lamp in one hand, a bag in the other. The glow illuminated him slowly, carving his features out of the darkness as he knelt before you. Pale hair caught the dim light. His expression seemed unreadable, but his eyes were steady as they locked on yours with an intensity that pinned you in place. The man from the shadows.
His voice was soft, “I convinced Hatter to let me take care of your wounds.” The words didn’t sound like kindness so much as practicality. Still, the quietness in his tone eased the panic that clawed at your throat.
He opened the bag, laying out its contents methodically: antiseptic, cotton pads, bandages. “I’ll clean the wounds first,” he explained. “It’ll sting. You’ll want to stay still.”
His hands were precise and careful as if every movement was calculated. Yet when his fingers brushed your skin, there was a hesitation, as if he felt wrong touching you at all, though he knew asking permission was pointless. His detachment was almost clinical, but beneath it was something gentler than you expected.
He started with your face, soaked a cotton pad in antiseptic and pressed it carefully against the cuts and swelling along your cheekbone. “This one isn’t deep,” he murmured, voice low enough to be a thought spoken aloud. “Bruising will fade in a few days.” The sting burned hot, but you didn’t flinch. You just watched him.
He worked down to your side, where Niragi’s blade had left its mark. He pulled the fabric of your torn shirt gently aside, exposing the thin slice of bloodied skin. “The cut is shallow. Not life-threatening. But it could still infect.” He poured antiseptic over it, holding gauze steady as the liquid dripped, cold fire against the wound. “Keep breathing steadily. It will hurt less.” You obeyed.
You didn’t take your eyes off him as he dressed the wound, his fingers moving with the steady patience of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
When he finished, he packed the supplies away in silence, then set a bottle of water and two pieces of bread on the floor beside you. Without another word, he stood and turned towards the door.
“Thank you,” you called softly after him, your voice rough. You hesitated, the end of the sentence dangling unfinished, because you didn’t know his name. He didn’t turn, only paused in the doorway. “Chishiya.” The name slid easily into the darkness, almost as if he hadn’t meant to give it. You exhaled. “Thank you, Chishiya.” The door closed behind him, leaving you in silence again, but the darkness felt different this time.
The next day, the pain returned with cruel familiarity. Niragi came back with a gleam in his eyes that was hungrier than violence alone. His fists landed harder, his laughter sharper, his body thrumming with twisted satisfaction. You caught the unmistakable outline straining against his trousers and dread crawled cold into your bones.
You clenched your teeth, forcing yourself not to react, not to give him the pleasure of fear, even as your stomach knotted with it.
Niragi’s fists hurt, but it wasn’t the bruises that terrified you most. It was his voice.
The blows slowed, turned to idle jabs, as if he enjoyed stretching it out. He crouched in front of you, tilting his head with a grin that never reached his eyes. “You know,” he drawled, “if you’d just stop acting like such a stubborn bitch, I could make you feel really good. Just you and me.” His rifle tapped idly against your knee, like a drumbeat. “Bet I could make you beg for it. You'd forget all about those stupid cards.”
Your stomach turned. He leaned closer, whispering things you wished you could unhear, things worse than pain, worse than fists. Things that painted pictures in your mind that you wanted to burn out of existence.
His words slithered into you poisonously and for the first time since they had captured you, real fear sank its claws into your chest. Not fear of death. Not fear of pain. But fear of what he might actually do if the others allowed him to. Fear that he would break something in you that no amount of time could fix. You didn’t answer him. You wouldn’t. But the silence only fed his grin.
That night, the door opened again. You flinched instinctively, panic sparking before the glow of a small lamp reassured you. It wasn’t Niragi.
Chishiya stepped inside, shutting the door softly behind him. He carried more than before. Another bag, heavier this time, and something folded over his arm. He knelt down wordlessly and set a woolen blanket beside you, then began unpacking medical supplies, food, a bottle of water.
When his gaze fell on your newest wounds, something flickered across his face and for a second, the mask slipped. His gaze was almost painful.
He didn’t speak. Not at first. He worked in silence, cleaning and redressing each bruise and cut with the same precision as before. His hands were steady, but every so often, his eyes flicked from your injuries to your face, as if he was measuring something unseen. When he finished, he packed the supplies neatly back into the bag and stood to leave.
“Why?” The word escaped you before you could stop it. Your voice was raw, but the question clung to it stubbornly. “Why are you doing this?”
He paused. For the first time, he turned around. His voice was calm, almost cold. “Because I don’t think this is fair.” He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You are ...intriguing. Most people just want to live another day. You want more. You’re trying to solve the Borderlands instead of simply surviving them. And that…” His lips curved into the faintest, unreadable smile. “That fascinates me.”
He crossed the floor again, slow and deliberate, before kneeling in front of you once more. His gaze locked on yours, unflinching, sharp enough to make your breath catch.
“Keep fighting,” he said quietly. “Don’t let them break you.” Cold words, warm gaze. His voice might have been carved from stone, but in those dark, steady eyes, you saw something else. Something that felt like fire.
For a moment, the silence stretched long and taut between you. Then he stood, gathering the lamp. Without another word, he slipped out the door. And for the first time since you had been dragged into this darkness, you didn’t feel entirely alone.
Time lost its meaning, but a pattern took shape. By day, there was Niragi, sometimes accompanied by other militants. His cruelty filled the cell like poison, his fists and words carving into you until you felt your soul buckling under the weight. He laughed when you clenched your jaw, when you refused to give him a sound. He whispered promises of things worse than death, painting nightmares you carried long after he left.
But by night, there was Chishiya. The faint scrape of the lock became the only anchor you had. The certainty that he would come again steadied you through the beatings, through the hunger, through the fear. And when he entered, lamp in hand, the darkness softened. At first, it was only tending your wounds. Then it became tending your mind.
“Most people,” he said one night, his voice low and deliberate, “break when Niragi stares at them too long. You don’t. You don’t give him what he wants.” He paused, his eyes flicking over you. “That takes strength. More than most here have.”
His words sank into you like warmth, soothing places inside you that even his bandages couldn’t reach. Honey on your soul.
Another night, as he dabbed antiseptic across a cut near your collarbone, his voice shifted, more thoughtful. “The Beach looks like paradise, doesn’t it? Food, music, parties. But it’s all fake. A game within a game. And the people here…” He trailed off, his mouth quirking in a humourless smirk. “Sometimes they scare me more than the ones outside.”
You met his eyes then and something unspoken passed between you. You understood.
The conversations grew from there, blossoming like cracks in the concrete around you. Short remarks turned into questions, questions into answers. And answers became something deeper: the two of you recognising the same truths about people, about survival, about how cruelty could wear a smile as easily as Niragi wore his grin.
One night, he lingered longer than usual. He had already dressed the cut on your lip, already left the food beside you, but he didn’t stand. Instead, he stayed kneeling, his gaze searching yours with rare intensity.
“I wish I’d found you sooner,” he said quietly, almost to himself. His eyes glimmered with something softer than his tone allowed. “Before I joined the Beach. Before I had to play their game.” Your breath caught, your chest tightening with a strange ache.
“You collected cards by trading,” he continued, his voice steady but low. “By doing something good. Kind, even. People gave them to you because you helped them. Meanwhile, the Beach kills for theirs. That’s the difference between you and them.”
For once, his precision, his calm detachment, cracked. Not much. Just enough.
Enough for you to feel seen.
A few days later, Chishiya slipped into your cell smoothly. "You’re still alive,” he murmured, his tone almost casual. “Good. It would’ve been disappointing if you weren’t.”
You let out a shaky laugh, though it hurt your ribs. “That’s one way to say you’re glad to see me.”
He smirked faintly, but his eyes lingered on the bruises blooming across your jaw. He knelt in front of you, hands gentle as he dabbed antiseptic on a split lip. His touch burned at first, but not from pain.
“You’ve taken more than most people here could handle,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that it almost blended with the hum of the lamp. “And you’re still not broken. That kind of strength doesn’t show up often. I just hope you never lose it.”
The words were meant to slide past, but they lodged inside you like warmth.
You swallowed hard, staring at him. “You don’t know how much I need to hear that.” Your voice cracked on the last word, but you pressed on. “Your visits… it’s the only time I feel safe.”
For the briefest moment, his hand stilled on your cheek. Then, with a sharp inhale, he kept working.
“So,” you whispered, watching him, “the way you work… you worked in the medical field back in the real world, didn't you?”
His lips quirked into the ghost of a smile. “You figured it out, huh?”
“Doctor?” you pressed softly.
“Mm.” He didn’t even deny it. “No one else here knows. Didn’t see the point in telling them.” His gaze flicked to yours, somewhat unguarded for once. “But with you… it doesn’t feel like a risk.”
That admission sank deep. You exhaled slowly, leaning back against the wall. “Why tell me at all?”
“Because you see through people.” His voice stayed calm, but his eyes told another story. “And I don’t think you'd use it against me. For once, I’d rather not wear the mask.”
The silence between you stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable. You felt your lips tremble before the words slipped out, “Sometimes… I feel like I can’t take another day of this. And then I remember, you’ll come. You always come. That’s the only thing keeping me from giving in.”
His eyes softened. Enough to make you feel seen.
He closed the bandage, his fingers brushing your skin with deliberate care. “Stay strong. Just a little longer. I’ll find a way to get you out of here.”
You let out a shaky laugh, the sound wet with exhaustion but real.
For the first time since you met him, his mask cracked. Not much. Just a flicker of something rawer in his eyes. Regret. Determination. Something warmer than his voice could carry. “You’re more than they think you are,” he said softly, almost like a vow. “More than they deserve to break. And I won’t let them.” The hope his words sparked in you burned brighter than Niragi’s cruelty ever could. And you realised, maybe for the first time, that he wasn’t just tending your wounds. He was holding you together.
Chishiya had been working Hatter for weeks, careful as a chess player guarding his king. Never too direct, never too forceful, but weaving his argument into idle conversation, dressing it as logic instead of mercy.
“They're not like the others,” he had said once, tone flat and almost bored. “You kill them, you lose the cards. You cage them, you lose their mind. But if you let them walk free, they'll keep gathering them, for themself. And we…” He had let his voice trail into a sly smile. “We’ll be there to collect them. Easy.”
He never said out loud that he would never allow anyone to touch your cards. Instead, he played the role Hatter needed him to play: clever strategist, never sentimental.
Today, Hatter finally nodded. “You make a fair point. Very well. But they're yours to manage. Don’t disappoint me.”
Chishiya inclined his head, mask perfectly in place. But the moment he left Hatter's suite, his pulse quickened. For the first time since he had arrived at the Beach, his steps were hurried. He descended the hallways, each one darker than the last, until the thrum of music and laughter above gave way to silence and mildew. When he pushed the basement door open, his world stilled.
You lay crumpled against the wall, barely conscious, your skin painted with bruises and blood. The air was heavy with damp rot. And in the far corner stood Niragi, his rifle slung lazily against his shoulder, his grin vile enough to make the air itself taste sour.
“They look better like this, don't they?” Niragi purred, tilting his head. “Quiet. Soft. Almost broken.”
For the first time in years, Chishiya felt fear slice through him like a blade. A flash of pure horror, a choking weight in his chest. His body wanted to freeze. But his medical instincts snapped into place.
He crossed the room fast, crouching at your side. Two fingers pressed against your neck, pulse weak, but there. He exhaled softly, barely a whisper of relief. “Stay with me,” he murmured, brushing matted hair from your face with the back of his knuckles. “Don’t you dare quit on me now.”
Niragi laughed behind him, the sound sharp and grating. “What’s the point, Chishiya? They're ruined goods. Might as well let me finish what I started.”
Chishiya’s head snapped towards him, eyes narrowing into something glacial. “Hatter’s orders,” he said flatly. “They're leaving the basement.” Niragi tilted his head, unconvinced. “Funny. Leaving dead?"
“No.” Chishiya’s tone was clipped. He angled his body between you and Niragi, one arm shielding you while the other reached into his bag, retrieving gauze and antiseptic. “Go ask Hatter if you don’t believe me. But if you touch them again, Niragi-" his gaze lifted, steady and cold as death, “you won’t live long enough to regret it.”
The grin faltered. Just for a moment. Niragi scoffed and slung his rifle over his shoulder, muttering something obscene as he stalked out.
The moment the door slammed shut, Chishiya’s mask slipped. He tore open the gauze with his teeth, his hands shaking as he pressed it against a gash on your temple. “Come on. Focus on me. You’re safe now. Breathe.”
Your eyelids fluttered weakly, a sound escaping your lips that barely qualified as speech. Chishiya leaned closer, his chest aching in a way he couldn’t rationalise. “It’s alright,” he whispered, his tone raw for the first time you had ever heard. “I’ve got you. You’re not dying here. Not while I’m still breathing.”
He kept working, efficient but frantic, stitching you together piece by piece, cursing every mark Niragi had left. And though his hands stayed steady, his heart hammered with something he couldn’t name.
Because for the first time since the Borderlands began, Chishiya was afraid.
The climb from the basement had been brutal. Every step he carried you, your weight felt heavier not because your body was failing, but because he could hear your shallow breaths. By the time he reached his room, the one place no one was ever allowed to enter, Chishiya’s pulse was thrumming louder than the music downstairs.
He shut the door with his heel, set you down on his bed carefully and pulled back the covers. His bed had always been nothing more than a piece of furniture. But when he tucked the blanket around you, smoothing the fabric against your battered frame, it suddenly felt like the only sanctuary that existed in this twisted world.
When he straightened, your fingers curled around his wrist. Weak, trembling, but strong enough to stop him in his tracks.
“Don’t-" your voice cracked, barely more than a whisper, “don’t leave me alone.”
Chishiya froze. He was used to pleas, bargaining, desperate words spilling out of dying mouths. But this wasn’t the same. This was you, looking at him with those wide, terrified eyes that had seen too much already.
His voice softened into something barely human, barely him. “I’m just going to grab some food and medicine for you,” he whispered, leaning closer.
Your grip tightened. Panic swam behind your gaze. Chishiya crouched, lowering himself until his eyes were level with yours. His hair fell slightly into his face, but he didn’t push it back.
“I’ll lock the door,” he promised, his tone steady but carrying a weight he rarely let anyone hear. “No one will get in."
It was a forbidden thing, locking doors at the Beach. Hatter had insisted on the openness, the illusion of equality, of family. But Chishiya had never cared for rules. He had tinkered, rewired, and reshaped the lock until it obeyed him and him alone. No one knew. No one could breach it.
“I’ll come right back,” he added softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face with a gentleness that surprised even him. Your hand slipped reluctantly from his wrist, exhaustion dragging you down again.
It pained him to straighten, to step back. Leaving you alone even for a handful of minutes twisted something sharp inside his chest. But he forced himself out, quick and efficient, gathering supplies.
When he returned, the door clicked shut and locked behind him. He set the supplies down, his gaze finding you again.
Still breathing. Still here.
And for reasons he didn’t care to examine, Chishiya realised that keeping you alive wasn’t strategy anymore. It was necessity.
Pairing: chishiya x reader (no pronouns mentioned)
Summary: when niragi gets too touchy, too persistent, you lie to him you're taken and chishiya's name accidentally slips out
Warnings: fake dating, fluff, niragi being a red flag as always
Word count: 5.2k
Requested by anonymous
gif credits
The Beach was always loud and bright, but beneath the music and the glittering lights was tension that never quite let anyone breathe. The Beach wasn’t paradise, it was a powder keg dressed in neon. Every smile carried teeth, every handshake hid a blade. People formed alliances not because they trusted each other, but because no one survived long without one. You learned that quickly. And so did Chishiya.
He wasn’t like the others who clawed desperately at attention or power. He kept to the sidelines. Always quiet, always calculating and always watching. Watching the chaos unfold as though he was running numbers in his head that no one else could see. You weren’t naive enough to think he was harmless, but you weren’t blind enough to overlook the similarities between the way he played the games and the way you did. He noticed things. He anticipated moves before anyone else even thought of them. And in a place where intelligence was almost more valuable than muscle, that made him dangerous. Just like you.
That was how your paths crossed: in a moment of recognition. A strategy session during a game, a subtle suggestion. You both tested each other’s logic in conversation like chess players making exploratory moves. When your conclusions matched and your observations lined up, a silent acknowledgment passed between you. You didn’t need to like him. He didn’t need to like you. But there was value in standing next to someone whose mind worked as sharply as yours did.
Over time, that understanding became… something. Not exactly friendship. Chishiya wasn’t the type to give out something so sentimental. But he didn’t dismiss you, either. He listened when you spoke. And though his expression was always unreadable, his attention was sharp. Sometimes, when others were loud and reckless with their schemes, he would tilt his head toward you and murmur, “What’s your take?”
And you would answer. Sometimes your suggestions were met with a smirk, sometimes with nothing more than a glance that told you he had already considered the same angle. It became routine: in games, in Beach politics, in the tangled mess of survival, you and Chishiya moved with a mutual understanding that didn’t need words.
You wouldn’t call him a friend. He wouldn’t call you one either. But when people at the Beach whispered about Chishiya and how unpredictable he was, they sometimes added your name alongside his. Not as an accomplice, just as someone he didn’t brush off. And that in itself was rare enough to mean something.
Niragi had tried before. Offhand comments, suggestive jokes, lingering touches to your arm that you always shook off. He was relentless, like a predator amused by his own persistence, but he never quite pushed far enough that you couldn’t slip away. Until today.
Tonight, his energy was different. His grin was sharper, somewhat hungrier. You caught him watching you across the room, leaning lazily against a column, his rifle slung lazily over his shoulder. It was the way his eyes followed you that made your skin crawl, like he was already imagining something you would never even waste a single thought on.
You tried to avoid him, weaving through the crowd of drunken members, but Niragi cut you off with ease. His hand shot out, fingers curling around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.
“Hey,” he drawled, leaning down until his face was too close, breath warm and reeking of smoke and alcohol. “Always in a rush to get away from me. You don’t have to play hard to get, y’know? I can be fun when I want to be.” His thumb stroked idly over your skin, the casualness of it making your stomach turn.
You pulled at your wrist. “Niragi. I said it before and I'll say it again: no.”
He chuckled low, not moving back an inch. “Yeah, yeah, you always say that. But you don’t mean it. C’mon, one night. You won’t regret it.”
His free hand came up, brushing too close to your waist. You stiffened, shoving him back, but his grip on your wrist only tightened, playful but firm. His eyes gleamed like he was daring you to fight.
“Funny,” a calm voice cut through the tension, soft but carrying enough weight to make Niragi pause. “I didn’t know ‘no’ had become a synonym for ‘try harder.'"
Both of you turned.
Chishiya stood a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of his white jacket, expression bored. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t look angry. He just stared at Niragi like he was observing an insect crawling too close to his shoes.
Niragi’s smirk faltered. “Tsk. Chishiya. This isn't your business.”
“Oh, but it is.” Chishiya took a slow step closer, his gaze flicking to your wrist still trapped in Niragi’s grip. “You’re loud. Annoying. Touchy. That makes you my business.” His lips curved, not into a smile but something colder. “You're a disturbance of the Beach's peace. I doubt Hatter would be fond of such a behaviour."
The moment stretched. Niragi’s jaw flexed, his grip tightening once more as though testing boundaries. Then, with a click of his tongue, he released you, shoving your hand away like it was nothing.
“Whatever,” he muttered, glaring between the two of you. “You’re not worth the trouble.” With a mocking little chuckle, he stepped back into the crowd, his rifle glowing in the lights as he disappeared.
You exhaled slowly, realising how tense your shoulders were. “Thanks-"
“Don’t mistake it for chivalry,” Chishiya interrupted smoothly, his eyes already drifting elsewhere. “I just dislike nuisances.” And just like that, he walked past you without another glance, as if saving you from Niragi’s harassment had been as casual as swatting away a fly.
You had hoped that after Chishiya’s interference, Niragi would back off. For a while, it almost seemed like he had. He kept his distance, lingering at the edges of rooms with that same wolfish grin, but he didn’t corner you again.
Until today.
It was late, most of the Beach drunk or passed out after another night of excess. You had been heading down one of the quieter hallways when Niragi appeared like a shadow slipping from the wall. His grin widened the second he saw you.
“Well,” he drawled, stepping into your path. “I must admit I lied the other night. You're definitely worth the trouble.” Your pulse jumped. “Move.”
Instead, he leaned against the wall right in front of you, blocking the way with infuriating ease. “Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you. Just saying, after just one night with me you'll never want any other man again."
You looked around nervously, hoping someone or anyone was around. Hoping he was around.
His eyes glinted, sharp and mocking. “What? Are you looking for Chishiya? You hiding behind him now? Cute. Real cute.” You clenched your fists. “I told you before. I’m not interested.”
“Yeah, yeah, you keep saying that.” He straightened, suddenly too close again, his hand brushing your arm before you jerked back. “But tonight feels different. Don’t you get tired of pretending?” His voice dropped, low and suggestive. “Bet I could make you feel a whole lot better than running around as Chishiya’s shadow.” Niragi took your hand, forcing it to palm his growing erection through his trousers.
That was it. The anger, the cornering, the unwanted touch. You snapped.
You pulled your hand free, your voice came out louder than you meant, sharp enough to echo in the hallway: “Stop! I- I’m taken.”
The words hung there, heavy and desperate. Niragi froze, brows lifting in surprise, then arched into a mocking smirk. “Oh, really?”
Your chest tightened. Too late to back down. Too late to take it back. You swallowed hard, heart hammering and before you could think better of it, the name slipped out. “I'm with Chishiya.”
Niragi stilled. The silence stretched for a long, dangerous beat before he barked out a laugh. “You? And him?” He leaned down, eyes searching your face as if waiting for you to crack. “No shit?”
“Yeah,” you said quickly, forcing steel into your tone. “So leave me the hell alone.”
For the first time, Niragi didn’t push back. His grin faltered and something ugly flickered across his face before he masked it with another laugh. He stepped back, shaking his head like he had just heard the funniest joke of the night.
“Well, isn't that something,” he muttered. “Didn’t think he had it in him.” His eyes narrowed at you, the threat lingering in his gaze even as his mouth curled up again. “Guess I’ll let you two geniuses play house.” And then he was gone, striding down the hall with a low whistle, leaving you frozen in place, heart pounding.
You exhaled shakily, pressing your hands to your face. You had no idea what would be worse: Niragi not believing you… or Chishiya finding out.
The Beach thrived on gossip as much as it did on alcohol and games. Nothing stayed secret for long. You could feel the stares the next morning, fleeting glances when you passed by, smirks exchanged when your name was mentioned. The whispers trailed behind you like smoke.
“Did you hear? Chishiya is dating someone..."
Each word tightened the knot in your chest. You needed to tell him before someone else did, before he thought you were manipulating him, using his name as a shield.
But Chishiya was slippery. He had a way of disappearing into the noise of the Beach, slipping into quiet corners no one else noticed. By the time you worked up the nerve to search for him, he was nowhere to be found. And every hour that passed, the whispers grew louder and harder to ignore.
In the end, you didn’t find him. He found you.
You were in one of the Beach’s quieter lounges, nursing the tension in your skull, when a shadow fell across the low table in front of you. You looked up and your breath caught.
Chishiya stood there, expression unreadable as always, but his eyes… they lingered on you longer than usual.
“So,” he said casually, almost lazily, but there was an edge beneath the softness. “Care to explain why half the Beach thinks we’re dating?” Your stomach dropped. “Chishiya, I-" He tilted his head, cutting you off without raising his voice. “Not that I mind being the subject of rumours. But when they involve me without my consent, I usually like to know why.”
Heat rushed to your face. You sat forward quickly, hands tightening into fists against your knees. “I was going to tell you. I swear I was. Niragi- he-” The words tangled in your throat.
His eyes narrowed just a fraction, a flicker of interest breaking through the detached calm. “Niragi?” You swallowed hard. “He wouldn’t leave me alone. He kept touching me, no matter how many times I told him no. I panicked. I said I was taken and when he pushed for who, I just-" You forced yourself to meet his gaze, shame coiling hot in your chest. “I said your name. I didn’t think. It just… slipped out.”
For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Chishiya’s gaze never wavered, his expression as neutral as ever, but you could feel the weight of his mind working, running through possibilities and outcomes.
Finally, he exhaled softly, almost like a sigh. “You know,” he said, voice even, “my first instinct was to set the record straight. I don’t particularly like being dragged into other people’s problems.”
Your throat tightened. “I’ll fix it. I’ll tell people it was a misunderstanding-"
“But.” That single word froze you. Chishiya leaned back against the wall, his hands tucked into his pockets, his posture deceptively relaxed. “If Niragi suspects this little story isn’t true, he’ll only push harder. He’ll see it as weakness. And frankly…” His lips curled into a ghost of a smirk. “I don’t have the patience to watch him bother you again.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “…So you’re saying?"
“I’ll play along.” His gaze flicked to yours, sharp and unreadable. “Consider it mutually beneficial.”
The knot in your chest loosened. You didn't know if it was relief, confusion, or something else you couldn’t name. “Chishiya, I didn’t mean to drag you into-" He waved a hand dismissively, already moving toward the door. “Like I said… I just dislike nuisances.”
But this time, there was something different in his tone. Something that made your pulse stumble, wondering if he truly meant it was only about Niragi.
Later, when you weren’t around, Chishiya let the faintest trace of annoyance slip across his face. Being dragged into rumours wasn’t part of his plan. Attachments were liabilities. Lies complicated things. And the Beach thrived on weakness like sharks on blood. If anyone saw through this little story, it could easily backfire.
But still, he didn’t set the record straight. Because as irritating as it was, there was a truth underneath it: you were one of the very few people here worth keeping around. You didn’t crumble under pressure, you didn’t let panic blind you in games. Your mind worked quickly and logically. He didn’t consider you a friend, not in the soft, sentimental sense of the word, but he did consider you useful. And if Niragi kept pressing until you broke, that usefulness would be lost. Chishiya couldn’t stand the idea of seeing such a rare ally ruined by someone so vulgar, so predictable.
That was what he told himself, anyway.
It started subtly. The next time Niragi prowled close, Chishiya shifted his weight just slightly, closing the gap between the two of you as though it were the most natural thing in the world. His shoulder brushed yours, his presence a shield cloaked in indifference. Niragi sneered, but he didn’t step closer.
After that, it became a pattern. Whenever Niragi’s gaze lingered too long, Chishiya’s hand would slide against the small of your back, or he would lean just close enough that it looked deliberate. But each time, in the quietest murmur by your ear, he would ask: “Is this okay?”
The first time, you froze, startled not by the contact itself, but by the fact that he asked. Chishiya wasn’t the type to care what anyone thought. Yet here he was, waiting for your nod, your faint hum of consent before letting his hand stay.
And the strangest part? It was okay. More than okay. You had braced yourself for discomfort, but instead, there was an odd sense of safety in the weight of his hand, in the lazy way he draped an arm around your shoulders when Niragi passed by, in the soft brush of his fingers against yours under the table during an executive's meeting.
What surprised you most wasn’t Niragi finally keeping his distance. It was how much you didn’t mind the touches. How you almost… wanted them.
And what surprised Chishiya, even if he’d never admit it aloud, was how little he disliked it. The contact didn’t drain him, didn’t irritate him the way most people did. If anything, he found himself lingering longer than necessary, fingers brushing just a second too long, leaning in under the excuse of keeping up appearances.
Of course, he would never admit that out loud. He only gave his usual half-smile, whispering more to himself than to you: “Relax. It’s just for show.” But deep down, he wasn't sure if that was entirely true anymore.
The strangest thing wasn’t that people believed the two of you were dating. The strangest thing was how natural it started to feel.
At first, you rationalised the extra time together as necessity. The more you were seen with Chishiya, the stronger the illusion. He seemed to think the same. Every shared meal, every walk through the Beach, every moment spent leaning close to murmur observations was just part of the act.
At least, that’s what you both told yourselves.
But little by little, you stopped noticing when he drifted to your side. When he stayed longer than he needed to. When he tilted his head towards you not just for strategy, but to make some dry remark that actually made you laugh. Somewhere along the line, keeping up appearances bled into something else.
One night, the Beach was loud again, the party spilling into every corner. The music pounded, lights flashing, bodies pressing together in sweaty, desperate celebration. You slipped away, needing air. To your surprise, Chishiya was already waiting on the rooftop, leaning against the railing like he had been expecting you. He knew this was your favourite spot when you wanted to get away from the parties.
He didn’t comment on your arrival, just glanced at you with that unreadable half-smile before returning his gaze to the skyline. The city below stretched in broken silence, a sharp contrast to the chaos inside. For a long while, neither of you spoke.
Then, almost out of nowhere, he said, “I’m going to steal Hatter’s playing cards.”
You turned your head sharply. “You’re… what?”
He smirked, as if amused by your shock. “Not tonight, of course. But eventually. If I want control of this world, I need them.”
The words hung heavy in the night air. It struck you that this wasn’t something Chishiya told just anyone. Yet here he was, handing you his plan like a knife, testing whether you would hand it back or drive it into his back. You nodded slowly. “Then I’ll help you.”
His eyes flicked towards you, sharper than usual. Something unreadable passed over his face, an expression so fleeting you almost missed it. Not his usual detachment, not his lazy smirk. Something closer to… trust. It unsettled him.
Still, he didn’t argue. He only tilted his head back, watching the stars as though they held the outcome of his calculations. “You really are full of surprises,” he murmured.
You stayed a while longer, the two of you slipping into easier conversation. For once, it wasn’t about games or strategies. Just small, aimless talk. Shared observations. Even laughter, light in your chest despite the darkness of the world around you. And though Chishiya smirked at your jokes, a part of him wondered why it didn’t feel like wasted energy.
Eventually, you decided to head back down. The music still throbbed faintly from below as you made your way towards the stairs. But just as you turned the corner, Niragi was there, leaning casually against the wall, the cigarette in his mouth glowing like an ember in the dark.
He raised an eyebrow, eyes darting between the two of you. “What kind of secret meeting was that?” The question was dripping with mockery, meant to pry, to dig.
Before you could respond, Chishiya smirked, slipping into his usual smooth drawl. “The roof’s great for making out. You should try it sometime.”
You choked on air, your face going hot in an instant. Niragi barked a sharp laugh, muttering something under his breath, but Chishiya didn’t give him the satisfaction of a second glance. Instead, he placed a hand firmly at your back, steering you past Niragi and down the hallway before the bastard could notice the way your face burned crimson.
You opened your mouth to say something, but Chishiya only leaned close enough that his words brushed against your ear. “Don’t overthink it,” he murmured, though the slight curl at his lips suggested he knew exactly what he had done.
And yet, for all his composure, he hadn’t expected the heat creeping up his own neck.
The next day, Chishiya and you were stuck in a game together. Your visa was running out today. Chishiya, who still had two days left on his, decided to join you anyways.
It was a Game of Hearts. That alone put everyone on edge. Hearts were always the worst, designed to pick apart the fragile bonds people clung to. Trust was a weapon here and betrayal was inevitable.
You and Chishiya stood side by side as the rules were read aloud. A crumbling office building had been turned into the arena. The objective was simple enough: every player had to reach the rooftop alive. But the path upward was rigged with lethal traps. Spikes, falling debris, collapsing floors. Most could be avoided if you moved smart enough. Some levels offered a “choice”: one player took the danger, the others passed unharmed. You could only survive if someone else was willing to suffer in your place. That is if you were able to find one or more people to team up with.
It was a brutal gamble, designed to reveal how much, or how little, people valued one another.
The group splintered quickly, alliances breaking down as panic set in. People shoved, screamed, abandoned each other in an instant. You and Chishiya didn’t speak much, but you stuck close, moving in tandem, as though it had already been decided.
Each time the traps presented themselves, Chishiya’s sharp mind cut through the chaos, calculating the safest paths, minimising risks. His instructions were cold, precise: "Step there. Wait until it resets. Move on my count.” But he never left you behind.
And then, on the eighth floor, the trap shifted. Two pressure plates blocked the only doorway forward. Either one of them had to be stepped on to unlock it. While one was safe, the other triggered a wall of steel spikes. A fifty-fifty gamble.
Chishiya’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps there's a design flaw. Like the safe one will be slightly raised.” He crouched low, scanning, searching for differences. For once, there was nothing, no tells, no uneven edges. A perfect fifty-fifty.
Before he could say anything, you moved. “Wait-" His voice was sharp, but you were already stepping forward, planting your foot firmly on the left plate.
The floor shuddered. A hiss echoed through the hallway. And then the spikes shot out of the wall towards you.
Pain ripped across your side as metal tore skin, but you shoved against the wall with all your strength, forcing yourself free of the trap before it could impale you entirely. Blood blossomed hot against your clothes. The door unlocked with a loud clack. Both of you were still alive.
Chishiya caught you by the arm before you could collapse, his grip iron tight. His face was blank, but his eyes were wide, pupils blown, staring at the crimson staining your shirt.
“Why,” he said, voice low and dangerously quiet, “did you do that?” You tried to laugh, though it came out ragged. “Fifty-fifty chance, right? I didn’t want to waste time. We won't make it otherwise.”
His jaw clenched. You had never seen Chishiya rattled, but now, his composure cracked just slightly, enough to glimpse something raw underneath. He pressed his hand hard to your wound, not caring about the blood seeping onto his fingers.
“Idiot,” he whispered, but the word lacked bite. “You could’ve died.”
And for the rest of the game, he couldn’t shake it. Not the screams of other players, not the chaos of collapsing floors. Nothing cut through the fog in his mind like the image of you, bloodied and staggering, throwing yourself into danger for him.
He calculated every move faster and sharper than ever, dragging both of you through the remaining traps with ruthless precision. Not because of survival. Not because of strategy. But because the thought of leaving you behind, the thought of your body sprawled lifeless because you had chosen to save him... He couldn’t bear it.
When you finally stumbled onto the rooftop, the familiar chime blaring the game’s completion, Chishiya was at your side instantly, his hands steady against your wound, his face calm but his chest aching with something he couldn’t name.
You had endangered yourself for him. Not because you were forced. Because you chose to.
And that truth stirred something inside him he had never felt before. Something terrifying, and impossible to ignore.
Chishiya didn’t say a word as he slipped his arm around your waist, steadying you on the way down from the rooftop. Every step you took sent a sharp pulse of pain through your side, warm blood still seeping between your fingers. The other survivors scattered, too preoccupied with their own relief to notice you leaning heavily against him.
At the base of the building, one of the Beach’s cars was already waiting to take survivors back. Chishiya guided you in with a firm hand at your back, never loosening his grip, his expression unreadable the entire ride.
When the car pulled up to the Beach and you made to stumble toward your own quarters, his hand tightened on your arm. “No,” he said simply, steering you firmly in another direction.
You blinked up at him, weary. “Chishiya, I can make it to my room-”
“I have a medical kit in mine.” His tone left no room for argument. Surprise flickered through you, but you didn’t resist. He was silent the entire way, jaw set, his grip never faltering until you were inside his room.
It was neat and clinical. Every item arranged as if nothing ever stayed out of place. He moved quickly, pulling open a drawer, setting out antiseptic, gauze, and bandages on the table with precise motions. Then he turned to you and for the first time, hesitation slipped into his voice. “I’ll need to clean it properly,” he said, eyes flicking to the blood-soaked fabric clinging to your side. His jaw tightened and when he finally met your gaze, there was something uncharacteristically careful in it. “…Is it okay if I take this off?”
The question startled you. Not because of what he asked, but because of how genuine it sounded. It seemed neither casual, nor mocking. You gave a small nod. “It’s fine.”
Chishiya’s fingers brushed the hem of your shirt, deft but deliberate as he worked it up and over your head, avoiding your wound as best he could. When the fabric finally fell away, he drew in a quiet breath through his nose, not at your body, but at the sight of the injury itself. Blood smeared across your skin, raw and angry. His hands flexed once before he picked up the disinfectant.
“This will sting,” he said evenly, though his voice was lower, tighter than usual. The liquid burned when it touched your skin and you sucked in a sharp breath. Chishiya’s hand was steady, his other hand pressed lightly against your hip to keep you still. His movements were precise and efficient, but there was an unfamiliar tension in him. His jaw was clenched, his eyes were narrowed, his lips were pressed into the faintest line.
Not a single amused jab. No casual smirks. Just silence and concentration as he carefully wiped the blood away, the antiseptic stinging, the gauze soaking red before he replaced it.
But his touch… despite the sting, there was something grounding about it. He wasn’t rough. Every movement was deliberate, but gentle enough that you could feel the care beneath it. His fingers brushed your skin with the kind of caution that almost contradicted everything you thought you knew about him.
The silence stretched between you. It felt thick and charged. His closeness made it hard to think, the warmth of his body brushing yours every time he leaned in. His jaw was still tight, but beneath it, you could see it. Something fragile, something raw flickering across his face each time his gaze lingered too long on the wound. Something you had never seen in Chishiya before.
Chishiya worked in silence until the wound was dressed. Not a word left his mouth, not a flicker of his usual smirk. His hands were steady, but his jaw never unclenched, and his gaze lingered on your injury longer than necessary, as if memorising it.
When it was done, he gathered up the bloodied gauzes, setting them aside with precise, almost obsessive neatness. You sat on the edge of his bed, raw with the ache in your side and the heaviness in your chest.
He reached into a drawer, pulled out a clean black T-shirt and held it out to you without looking.
“Take this. Yours is ruined.” You hesitated, then slipped it on, the faint scent of him clinging to the fabric. The silence pressed down, heavier than the pain in your ribs. You couldn’t stand it anymore.
“…Are you angry with me?”
The question cut through the air. Chishiya froze where he was, midway through wiping the table clean. For a moment, you thought he would ignore you. Then he scoffed. A sharp, breathy sound that almost sounded like a laugh.
He set the cloth down and turned, finally meeting your eyes. His voice was soft, but it carried like a blade. “Yes.” The word struck harder than you expected. You blinked at him, stunned.
The silence returned, thick and suffocating, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. They were sharp, almost burning, and when he finally spoke again, his voice trembled with something unfamiliar. “You can’t just endanger your life like that. You can’t do reckless things for someone else. Not when it means you could get hurt.” His gaze flicked briefly to your bandaged side, and for the first time, his composure cracked just enough to show it. “And you did.”
Your fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt, fidgeting. You lowered your eyes. “…Well, it wasn’t just someone else. It was you.” The words were quiet, but they hit him like a strike to the chest.
Heat rushed through him, sudden and violent, something he had never known before. Something he had never even allowed himself to imagine. His heart stuttered, his breath caught, and before he could stop himself, his hands were cupping your face. And then his lips were on yours.
The kiss was tentative at first, a test, as though he wasn’t sure if the ground beneath him would hold. But the moment you leaned in, responding, soft and certain, he deepened it, letting the walls he had built his whole life finally shatter.
When he pulled back, you were both breathless. Your chest rose and fell, your fingers curling into his shirt. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that left you pinned in place.
You broke the silence with a shaky laugh. “Niragi’s not even around. Or do you have him locked in your wardrobe?” For a moment, there was nothing, and then Chishiya huffed a quiet, breathy laugh, rare and real. His lips curved, softer than his usual smirk, and he shook his head.
“This stopped being for show a long time ago,” he said, voice steady and devastatingly honest. “And you know it.”
He had never thought himself capable of affection. He had never wanted to be. It was inefficient, irrational and a weakness. But being here with you, bandaged, in his shirt, still flushed from his kiss, Chishiya realised the truth he had fought so hard to deny.
When he first heard of your fake relationship, he had been annoyed, ready to dismiss it as another complication. Now, he wanted nothing more than for it to be real. For you to be his. Not as an ally, not as a lie.
Summary: in which you start working as a nurse at sakurazawa university hospital and cross paths with a certain dr. chishiya. everything about him drives you insane, especially his arrogance
Warnings: chishiya being a smug asshole in the beginning, hospital/emergencies, enemies to lovers, smut! fingering, penetrative sex (x2), oral (f and m receiving), creampie, but no worries, i added the right amount of bantering and fluff! (Do not read if you're under 18!)
Word count: ~13k (my bad)
Your pulse raced. Not exactly with fear, but with the kind of nervous excitement that came with starting something new. This was the beginning of a chapter you had been waiting for.
You took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of antiseptics and faint traces of coffee before you finally entered the paediatric wing.
You smoothed your scrubs as you walked towards the nurse’s station, forcing a polite smile. To your relief, the other nurses greeted you warmly. They introduced themselves quickly between answering call lights and shuffling through charts, but their easy smiles and encouraging words made the knot in your chest loosen just a little. A few of the doctors you passed in the hall even offered nods and small words of welcome. You already felt like you belonged here.
That was until he arrived.
You didn’t notice him at first. He was quiet and deliberate, moving with a certain detached confidence as he approached the station. The air shifted, subtle but undeniable, as if everyone present instinctively straightened just a little.
You turned to him with the same polite smile you had given everyone else. “Hi, I’m new here. I’ll be working in paediatrics with you. My name is-"
He barely looked at you. His gaze flicked over you once, head tilting ever so slightly, as though sizing you up and filing you away in the same motion. You stopped mid-sentence, smile faltering under the weight of that silent scrutiny. Finally, he offered a single word. “Welcome.”
If you could even call it that. His voice was flat, tone devoid of warmth, like he had simply repeated a phrase he was obligated to say. Before you could respond, he reached across the counter, plucked a stack of charts from the desk and walked off without another word.
You blinked after him, caught between confusion and indignation. The other nurses exchanged knowing looks, a couple of them chuckling under their breath. “Don’t take it personally,” one of them said, shaking her head. “That’s just Dr. Chishiya. He doesn’t… bother much with pleasantries.”
“Or people, really,” another added with a wry smile. “He’s brilliant,” the first nurse continued, lowering her voice like it was both confession and warning, “but don’t expect him to ever act like a human being. That’s just not how he is.”
You tried to laugh it off, but the sting of his disinterest clung to you. The warm welcome you had felt only moments ago seemed to cool in his wake. For reasons you couldn’t name, you already knew one thing. Dr. Shuntaro Chishiya was going to be a problem.
Your first shift moved quickly, a blur of small faces and nervous parents. Despite the nerves that clung to you earlier, your body seemed to remember what your mind doubted. That you belonged here.
The children responded to you better than you expected. A little boy with asthma clung to your hand like you had known each other forever, refusing to let go until you promised you would check on him again after lunch. A girl with a fractured wrist stopped crying the moment you crouched to her level, speaking gently to her about the “brave warriors” who wore casts like armour. Her parents mouthed a silent “thank you” as you adjusted the sling.
Every smile you coaxed out of a patient reminded you why you had chosen this path. The anxiety you carried into the hospital began to dissolve with each interaction, replaced with something steadier. Replaced with confidence.
Dr. Chishiya walked in. You straightened automatically, as if sensing the shift in the air again. He moved with a casual sort of disinterest, chart in hand, gaze flicking towards the patient’s bed. You stepped forward before he could even ask. “Vitals are stable,” you said, keeping your voice professional. “Pulse 84, respirations 20, O2 sat 97%. She’s been calm since receiving the analgesic.”
His eyes slid to you briefly. You couldn’t tell if he was pleased or annoyed that you had anticipated his questions. “Efficient,” he said at last, though the flatness of his tone made it unclear whether he meant it as a compliment or simply an observation. He shifted the chart in his hand, then glanced at you again. “And if her O2 saturation dropped suddenly?”
The question caught you off guard. Still, you answered without hesitation. “First, I’d check for obstruction or displacement of the cannula,” you said. “If it wasn’t equipment-related, I’d notify you immediately while administering supplemental oxygen.” A beat of silence. His head tilted slightly, the faintest flicker of something in his gaze. Testing you again, he asked, “And if she went into acute respiratory distress?”
You met his eyes, not wavering. “Then I’d make sure the airway is secure and call for rapid response. But if there’s no time, I’d bag her myself until help arrived.” Another pause. For a heartbeat, you thought you caught the barest trace of approval in his expression, so faint you could have imagined it. But then he looked away, scribbling something on the chart without acknowledgment.
“Mm,” he murmured, dismissive as ever. “I appreciate your enthusiasm but I reckon it won't last long." And just like that, he was gone again, leaving you with the patient, the chart, and a peculiar mixture of irritation and pride simmering inside you.
No matter how coldly he acted, you couldn’t shake the sense that you had just surprised him.
The next few days slipped into routine. You saw Chishiya often enough, passing through the halls, taking charts at the station, checking in on patients, but he rarely spared you a glance. When he needed updates, he always went to the older nurses. As though you weren’t even there.
You told yourself it didn’t matter. You were new. You had no reason to expect his attention. And yet… something about his deliberate avoidance left a dull sting you didn’t care to admit, even to yourself.
So you poured your energy elsewhere. Into your patients. Into proving you belonged here. You stayed late reading charts, memorising histories, making sure every child under your care felt safe and protected. The other nurses began to joke that you would burn yourself out before your first month, but you didn’t care. You wanted to prove yourself.
It was during one of those late evenings that you noticed something. A little boy with a chronic condition. His treatment had stabilised him, but days later there was still no real improvement. His vitals were steady, but his recovery flatlined. You combed through his chart, double-checking the diagnosis and the prescribed course. Nothing was wrong exactly… but something seemed off. Something missed.
The diagnosis hadn’t been Dr. Chishiya’s, but the thought gnawed at you until you couldn’t ignore it. So when you caught him leaving a patient’s room, you stepped into his path before you could lose your nerve. “Dr. Chishiya,” you began, holding the boy’s chart close to your chest.
His eyes flicked to you, then down at the folder you carried. The faintest crease tugged at his brow. “Yes?” You opened the chart, pointing at the notes. “I was reviewing his case. The eight-year-old in 204. He was diagnosed with asthma and he’s been on bronchodilators and corticosteroids. His vitals are stable, but his symptoms aren’t improving." Dr. Chishiya’s gaze sharpened slightly, but he stayed silent, taking the chart from you.
You pressed on. “His O2 saturation is holding at ninety-four percent, but it doesn’t rise much even after treatment. He’s still short of breath at rest. And…” You tapped the labs. “…his haemoglobin is low. That shouldn’t happen if this was just asthma.” He blinked once, slowly.
“I think the diagnosis might have missed something cardiovascular,” you continued, your voice steady even as your heart pounded. “An atrial septal defect could explain the hypoxia and fatigue. If we ran an echocardiogram, we could rule it out ...or confirm it. And in the meantime, maybe supplement oxygen and adjust his monitoring protocol.”
For a moment, silence stretched between you. Then his lips pressed into a thin line. “If that were the case, my colleague would have accounted for it,” he said coldly, snapping the chart closed with one hand. You held his gaze, refusing to flinch. You didn’t need to say a word, the weight in your eyes carried more force than anything you could have spoken aloud.
He tilted his head, the faintest glimmer of irritation or something else flickering in his expression. “Remember your place,” he said evenly, before brushing past you and disappearing down the corridor.
Not even half an hour later, he was at the nurse’s station. He plucked the boy’s chart from the stack and skimmed it again, his expression unreadable. When his eyes fell on the labs, the low haemoglobin, and the notes you had flagged, he paused.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. You hadn’t been wrong. The presentation did suggest something more than asthma. And an echocardiogram was exactly the next step.
He set the chart down with a soft thud, exhaling quietly. You had seen it. And worse, you had been right.
The next morning, you noticed the boy’s chart had been flagged for additional testing. An echocardiogram had been ordered. And before noon, the results were back: a small but significant atrial septal defect. His treatment shifted immediately. Oxygen was adjusted, his medications reevaluated and a plan for corrective surgery scheduled.
By afternoon, the boy looked better already, the colour returning to his cheeks, his breathing steadier. His parents hovered by his bedside, eyes wet with relief. And when Chishiya walked in for rounds, they practically fell over themselves thanking him. “Thank you, doctor! Thank you so much! If it weren’t for you…”
You stood just outside the room, half-hidden in the corridor, their voices ringing in your ears. He waved them off, he wasn’t the type to bask in gratitude. He stood still, hands in the pockets of his coat, offering little more than a detached nod.
But what bothered you is that he didn’t correct them. He didn’t so much as mention your name. The feeling burrowed deep in your chest, sour and burning.
By the time you found him alone in the break room later, the weight of it was too much to ignore. He sat slouched on a chair, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling lazily through his phone as though the world barely existed.
You leaned against the doorway, arms folded, voice sharp with sarcasm. “Does it feel nice? Getting praised for someone else’s work?"
His head lifted slowly, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. His brows arched, curiosity breaking his otherwise flat expression. You scoffed, stepping inside. “You could’ve at least said thank you. It wouldn’t kill you to acknowledge someone else’s contribution once in a while.”
He slid his phone into his pocket, settling back against the chair as though making himself more comfortable for the argument. His arms were crossed, eyes half-lidded. “You want gratitude? For doing your job?” Your jaw clenched. “I’m not asking for praise, Dr. Chishiya. I’m asking for acknowledgment. That’s what teamwork is.”
He tilted his head, a ghost of amusement tugging at his mouth. “Teamwork,” he repeated, as though tasting the word. “You’re just a nurse. Your job is to follow orders, not make them. If I started handing out gold stars every time you wanted to feel useful, I’d never get any actual work done.”
The venom of it stole your breath for half a second. “Just a nurse?” you repeated, your voice sharper than you intended. “If I hadn’t caught that, that boy would still be lying in bed, breathing shallowly, waiting for nothing to change. But sure, let’s pretend your brilliance saved the day.”
His eyes narrowed, though his posture stayed maddeningly relaxed. “If it really mattered to you that much, you should have gone to medical school. Instead of becoming a nurse.”
The words sliced deeper than you wanted to admit. You felt heat crawl up your throat, anger and humiliation sparking at once. “Not everyone gets that choice,” you snapped. “Some of us don’t have the money or the privilege to waltz into med school. But I still work hard and at least I give a damn about the kids. Can't say the same about you.”
For a moment, silence stretched between you, charged and heavy. His eyes locked on yours, as though peeling back your layers one by one.
And then he smirked. Controlled and infuriating. “So that’s it,” he murmured, voice cool. “You don’t care about recognition, but you care enough to chase me down over it. You’re not here to prove yourself. You’re here because you want me to what? Acknowledge you? Notice you?"
The breath hitched in your throat before you could stop it. His smirk deepened at your silence. You hated him in that moment. Hated how calm he looked, sitting there with his arms crossed, like none of this touched him. Like he was above it all while your blood boiled.
“Go to hell, Dr. Chishiya,” you spat, turning on your heel. He didn’t call after you. But when you slammed the door on your way out, you swore you could still feel his gaze burning into your back. And in your stomach, hatred coiled like a knot you weren’t sure would ever come undone.
For the next couple of days, you did your best to avoid him. You switched charts with other nurses when you could, volunteered to cover other cases and slipped out of the station whenever you saw him approach. It wasn’t hard. He seemed just as uninterested in you as ever. And after your fight, that was fine by you.
However, when another nurse brushed past you outside an exam room, muttering, “Dr. Chishiya asked for you,” your stomach dropped. You sighed, annoyance pricking at the back of your neck. “Of course he did.” Still, you pushed the door open.
Inside, he stood at the foot of the bed, chart in hand, expression as cold as always. He barely looked up as he spoke. “Nine-year-old, recurring fevers, weight loss, fatigue. We’re running labs to rule out infection versus autoimmune involvement. Draw his blood.” Your lips pressed into a thin line, but you didn’t argue. "Draw his blood, please." You whispered under your breath.
You turned to the boy perched nervously on the exam bed. His parents hovered nearby, worry etched into their faces.
“Hey there,” you said gently, crouching a little to meet the boy’s eyes. “I’m just going to take a little blood, okay? Promise it’ll be quick. And if you’re super brave, maybe I can convince the vending machine to give me an extra juice box later.”
The boy blinked, then giggled softly, shoulders relaxing. You kept him distracted with silly questions like his favourite color, favourite superhero, while you swabbed his arm and slid the needle in. He didn’t even flinch. When the vial filled, you capped it and smiled. “See? That’s hero-level bravery right there.” The boy grinned and his parents exhaled in relief.
From the corner of your eye, you caught Chishiya watching you. Silent. His gaze lingered a moment longer than usual before shifting back to the chart in his hand. He explained the plan to the parents, voice clinical. “We’ll wait for the lab results before proceeding further. It’s likely nothing serious, but we’ll know more soon.”
The parents nodded, but their faces still carried unease. You stepped in, softening his words. “We’ll take good care of him. The tests are just to make sure we don’t miss anything, but he’s in the right hands now.” Relief flickered in their eyes, some of the tension easing.
When you stepped out of the room together, heading for the nurse’s station to send off the blood work, you finally let out the breath you had been holding. “Can I ask you something?” you said, eyes on the floor as you walked. He hummed in response, not looking at you. “Why do you work in paediatrics?”
That made him glance at you, brows furrowing slightly. “What kind of question is that?” You shrugged, keeping your tone even. “No offence but you don’t exactly strike me as someone who’s… good with kids.” His mouth twitched, not quite a frown, not quite anything. “I’m good at my job. Whether it’s children or adults makes no difference.”
You scoffed. “Maybe. But it wouldn’t kill you to actually speak kindly. Especially to kids. They’re scared. They don’t need cold hard facts from a robot, they need comfort.”
He finally stopped, turning to face you. “Medicine isn’t about kindness,” he said, voice sharper than before. “It’s about fixing what’s broken. Healing people. They don’t need warmth, they need results. Attachment doesn’t save lives.” You stared at him, anger flickering in your chest. “You say that like the two can’t coexist. Like caring automatically makes you incompetent. But maybe what they need is both.”
He opened his mouth, then shut it. For a moment, his expression slipped, just slightly. He looked at you with something unreadable, like he was trying to dissect not just your words but you yourself. And that unsettled him. Because Chishiya didn’t defend himself. He never wanted to. Never needed to. Not to colleagues. Not to anyone. His work spoke for itself, his detachment kept him above the unnecessary entanglements of other people’s opinions.
So why did he feel the need to explain himself to you? Why did it matter that you thought him cold? That you thought he lacked warmth? He told himself it didn’t. He told himself he was just irritated at your persistence. That was all.
But the irritation was too sharp, too loud in his mind. His chest tightened with something unfamiliar as he looked at you standing there, defiant, lips pressed tight with frustration, eyes burning into his like you wanted to tear him apart and understand him all at once.
He didn’t want you to like him. He didn’t care if you understood him. …Or did he? The thought slipped in unbidden and unwelcome. He pushed it down immediately, the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint, dismissive smirk.
“Cute theory,” he murmured, turning away before you could see the way his composure faltered. And you stood there, fists clenched, hating him more than ever.
The ward had barely quieted when the monitors shrieked. You recognised the room number instantly. Your stomach dropped. The boy.
You ran, feet pounding the corridor and burst into the room with half the unit behind you. His small body writhed weakly on the bed, skin pale, monitor screaming low O2 saturation and dropping blood pressure. His parents clutched each other in terror against the wall.
And at the foot of the bed was Dr. Chishiya, already pulling on gloves. His gaze flicked to you for half a second before snapping back to the boy.
“Bag-valve mask,” he said sharply. You had it in hand before the words finished leaving his mouth. His eyes cut to you, irritation flickering, though not at the fact you had moved too slow, but that you had moved too fast.
You ignored it, fitting the mask over the boy’s face, squeezing rhythmically as his chest rose and fell. “Airway’s clear,” you reported without being asked.
“IV fluids, push now.” Dr. Chishiya ordered.
You had them already primed, connecting the line, flushing it and starting the bolus before he even reached for the kit.
He stopped short, staring at the tubing in your hands, the saline already dripping. For the briefest second, surprise crossed his face. He masked it immediately. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he muttered, reaching for the stethoscope at his neck.“Not ahead,” you shot back tightly, eyes on the monitor. “Exactly where I need to be.”
The other nurses scrambled around you both, but it was like they blurred into the background. Orders barked by Chishiya, answered by your hands already moving. His brain calculated, your instincts filled in the gaps.
"His oxygen is not enough. He needs steroids,” Chishiya said. “Methylpred for IV injection is already drawn,” you said, snapping the cap off the syringe and holding it out before he could turn. He froze, just half a second too long, before taking it from you. His mouth pressed into a thin line. “You’re insufferable.”
“Funny,” you gritted out, checking the boy’s O2 sats, “I was about to say the same about you.” His smirk was faint, but there.
The boy’s vitals crept upward, stabilising. Heart rate stronger, O2 climbing back above ninety. Relief flooded the room like oxygen itself, his parents sagging into each other with sobs of gratitude.
You finally stepped back, sweat dampening the collar of your scrubs, heart pounding with leftover adrenaline. Chishiya peeled his gloves off, his expression calm, as if he hadn’t just pulled a child back from the brink.
The room emptied slowly, leaving you both at the edge of the bed, the hum of machines filling the silence. You blew out a breath, flexing your fingers. “Guess we didn’t make a terrible team.” His eyes slid to you, cool and sharp. “You’re reckless.”
You let out a dry laugh. “Reckless? I kept up with you.” He leaned slightly closer, voice low so no one else could hear. “No. You kept ahead of me. And you should be careful with that.” You met his gaze, fire sparking in your chest. “Maybe I just know what I’m doing.”
For a beat, he said nothing. His eyes lingered on yours, unreadable, though his jaw tightened like he was biting back words. Because the truth was there, clear in the back of his mind: you did know what you were doing. Every move you had made matched what he was about to order. And though he wanted to chalk it up to coincidence or overzealousness, he couldn’t ignore the sharper reality. You had been right. Again.
And Shuntaro Chishiya, who prided himself on never being surprised, was beginning to hate how much you kept surprising him.
The ward had finally settled, the steady hum of monitors fading into background noise as families drifted home for the night. Your shift was almost over, exhaustion pulling at your shoulders, when you heard his voice calling your name.
You turned, pulse skipping before you could stop it. Dr. Chishiya stood a few feet away, his white coat half-unbuttoned, chart tucked under one arm. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes… they were sharper than usual. Focused.
“Walk with me,” he said simply. You frowned. “Why?”
“Because I asked.”
Against your better judgment, you followed. He led you down the hall, into an empty consultation room. The door shut behind you with a soft click, the sound echoing in the silence.
He turned then, arms folding across his chest. Despite his average height, something in the way he squared his shoulders made him feel taller, his presence filling the small room. His nostrils flared, jaw tight, and for once his mask of indifference seemed to crack just enough to reveal irritation.
“You shouldn’t get ahead of yourself,” he said evenly, though his voice carried an edge. “You wait for a doctor’s order before you act.”
You let out a short, humourless laugh, crossing your arms to mirror his posture. “I did all the right things. Don’t blame me because my reactions are faster than your words.” His eyes narrowed. “This isn’t a competition.” You tilted your chin up defiantly. “If I’d waited for your orders, that boy would’ve been suffering even longer. I’m not going to stand by just to stroke your ego.”
His brows arched, the faintest flicker of amusement breaking through his annoyance. “Ego? You think this is about ego?”
“You tell me,” you shot back, voice low. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell looks like you hate the fact I knew what to do before you opened your mouth.”
For a heartbeat, silence swallowed the room. His gaze locked on yours, sharp as a scalpel. But beneath the anger was something else, something you couldn’t name but felt deep in your chest.
The air between you buzzed. You realised, with a start, how close you had both drifted. Neither of you had moved deliberately, but the space had shrunk, step by step, until the heat of his body brushed against yours. His arms remained folded, but his shoulders leaned forward just enough that his breath ghosted against your cheek when he spoke.
“Careful,” he murmured, voice low. “You’re getting reckless. Again."
“Maybe you just don’t like that I’m not afraid of you,” you whispered back, refusing to drop your gaze. Something flickered in his eyes then. It was neither anger nor amusement, but something different. His jaw clenched, his throat bobbing with a swallow.
You hated the way your pulse quickened, hated the way your body leaned forward as though drawn to him despite every sharp word you had ever exchanged. His lips parted, just barely, and for one wild second you thought-
The sound of footsteps passed outside the door, breaking the moment like glass. You both stepped back at once, breaths uneven, masks slamming back into place. His arms unfolded, hands slipping into his coat pockets as if nothing had happened.
“Don’t mistake instinct for brilliance,” he said finally, tone cool again. “It’ll get you in trouble one day.”
You scoffed, turning towards the door. “And don’t mistake detachment for strength. It’ll get you in trouble one day.”
You didn’t look back as you left the room, but you felt his eyes follow you. They were burning into you. And Chishiya hated that he couldn’t stop thinking about you, even as the door clicked shut.
The second you left the consultation room, Chishiya’s composure cracked. Not on the outside, his expression was still cool, his movements deliberate, but on the inside, his thoughts roared louder than he liked to admit.
He stormed out a few minutes later, his footsteps sharp against the linoleum. His jaw ached from clenching it too tightly, his hands jammed deep in his pockets as if he could shove the irritation down with them. You unsettled him.
He couldn’t stand it, the way you moved too quickly, anticipated his orders, challenged him without fear. He should have dismissed you, the way he dismissed everyone. But somehow, you lingered. The way you had stood your ground. The way your voice had dropped low when you spoke back to him. The way you leaned closer instead of retreating when the air between you had tightened.
He hated it. Hated the knot curling in his chest. Hated that it wasn’t just anger, though he told himself it was. Because he had never felt anything. Not good, not bad. Nothing. People didn’t reach him, they slid off his walls like rain on glass. So why were you different? It had to be negative emotions. Frustration. Irritation. Hatred, even. Something ugly. That was easier to accept. That was safe.
Still, the echo of your words followed him down the hall, digging beneath his skin in a way he couldn’t name.
In the meanwhile you had returned to the nurse’s station with your heart still pounding, your arms crossed tight across your chest. Two of the older nurses sat there, sipping coffee, charts stacked between them. They both looked up as you approached, then exchanged identical grins that made your stomach sink.
“What?” you demanded. One of them leaned back in her chair, a smirk tugging at her lips. “So? How does it feel being the only person brave enough to talk back to Dr. Chishiya?” You scoffed, dropping into the chair opposite them. “Brave? Please. It’s not bravery, it’s necessity. He’s insufferable.” The second nurse raised a brow. “That bad?”
“Worse.” You threw your hands up, heat still simmering in your voice. “He walks around like he’s above everyone. Doesn’t acknowledge nurses, doesn’t say thank you, doesn’t even pretend to have a shred of respect. He should realise this place wouldn’t function without us. But no, he acts like he’s the only one keeping the world spinning.” The first nurse sipped her coffee, her grin never faltering.
“And don’t get me started on his attitude,” you continued, your voice climbing despite yourself. “This smug and arrogant piece of-. It’s like talking to a wall, except that wall looks you in the eye and makes you want to throw something. I’ve never met anyone so... so..."
“Infuriating?” the second nurse offered.
“Exactly!” you snapped. “Infuriating. He drives me insane.” The two nurses exchanged another look, quiet, but amused. Their smiles deepened, but neither said a word. You huffed, slumping back in your chair, trying to will the flush from your face. “I can’t stand him.”
They only kept smiling. They had never seen Dr. Chishiya interact with anyone the way he did with you. Almost attached. But they didn’t say that aloud. They just let you ramble, hiding their laughter behind their coffee cups.
Chishiya told himself he was fine. That your words hadn’t gotten under his skin. That the tight coil in his chest was irritation, nothing else.
And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. The way your hands had moved with confidence during the emergency, anticipating his orders before he gave them. The sharp glint in your eyes when you stood your ground in that empty room. The sting of your voice when you accused him of refusing acknowledgment.
Worst of all, he couldn’t deny the truth. You had worked with him seamlessly. Flawlessly, even. He would never say it aloud, not even to himself, but a part of him wished some of the other nurses had your instincts. Wished he didn’t have to spell out every step, because you already seemed to know.
Over the next few days, he caught himself watching you more than he should have. He told himself it was just caution. That you were reckless, that he needed to keep an eye on you before you made a mistake. But the excuses rang hollow.
He noticed the way you comforted children before drawing blood, the way your voice softened when explaining things to frightened parents, the way your laughter carried through the halls like something foreign to the sterile walls of the hospital.
Sometimes, when you walked into a patient’s room, he followed minutes later. He told himself it was coincidence. But it wasn’t. Something pulled him closer, something he couldn’t explain and he hated that he couldn’t figure it out.
You noticed. Of course you noticed. His eyes on you when he thought you weren’t looking. His footsteps behind you, too often to be random. His presence filling rooms he hadn’t bothered with before.
At first, you thought maybe it was about trust, or the lack of it. Maybe he didn’t think you were good enough, so he kept checking in, monitoring your every move. The thought burned in your chest, stoked your irritation, made your jaw ache from clenching.
Your first night shift followed a few weeks later. The ward was quiet, the halls hushed with the stillness of sleeping children. Most of the lights had been dimmed, monitors softly blinking in the darkness.
Dr. Chishiya joined you at the nurse’s station, reading charts while the silence stretched between you, broken only by the scratch of a pen against paper as you updated it. But his presence sat heavy beside you, as if it demanded to be acknowledged.
Finally, you set your pen down with a sigh. “Okay,” you said quietly, turning to him. “What is your deal?” Chishiya didn’t look up from the chart he was reading. “My deal?”
“Yes.” You leaned forward, voice low but sharp. “You’ve been hovering. Watching me. Following me into rooms. I know you don’t trust me, but this is getting ridiculous.”
For the first time, his eyes flicked up to meet yours. His lips curved faintly, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “Maybe I’m just making sure you don’t get ahead of yourself again.” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Right. Because clearly, I’m such a danger.” The corner of his mouth twitched, his gaze lingering a second too long before dropping back to his chart. “You might be surprised.”
The silence that followed buzzed louder than before, pressing down on your chest. You hated that he could look so calm and casual, while you burned with the weight of his words. But you weren’t about to let him sit there and unravel you without answers.
You couldn’t keep quiet.
“I’m not a danger,” you snapped, pushing your chair back as you rose to your feet. “Not to the patients. Not to this hospital. Not to anyone.”
The clatter of his chart echoed through the quiet ward as Chishiya deliberately set it down, harder than necessary. The sharp sound made you flinch before you could stop yourself. And then he stood.
You immediately regretted standing first. Because when he straightened to his full height, arms at his sides, shoulders squared, he seemed taller, broader. He didn’t have to move a muscle to intimidate you. It was the sheer weight of his presence. His dark eyes locked on yours, reading you like a chart he had already memorised.
The playful edge of your banter was gone. Something heavier filled the silence now, something that made your throat tighten. He stepped closer. Instinctively, you stepped back. Another step from him. Another from you. Until your shoulders hit the wall, cold and unforgiving, the final reminder that you were cornered. Your breath hitched.
He leaned in just enough for his voice to brush against your skin. “Yes,” he murmured. “You are a danger.” Your heart slammed in your chest, your knees locked in place. “To me.”
The words stole the oxygen from the room. And then his mouth was on yours.
It wasn’t meant to be. His lips pressed hard against yours, urgent and somehow testing. Like he needed to prove something, or maybe disprove it. The spark you had been trying to bury ignited immediately.
You gasped into the kiss and that was all it took for him to deepen it. His hand rose, threading into your hair, holding you still as if you might dare to pull away. His other hand pressed against the wall beside your head, caging you in.
Your hatred and your irritation crumbled beneath the fire of his mouth. You kissed him back, harder than you intended, nails curling into the fabric of his scrub top. His lips softened, then pressed harder again, the rhythm messy, hungry. Like neither of you could decide if this was war or surrender.
He tasted faintly of coffee and mint and smelled of antiseptic and something warmer beneath it. Skin and heat.
The world narrowed to the heat of his body pressed against yours, the soft hitch of his breath, the low hum in his throat when your lips parted and the kiss grew deeper still.
And then, too suddenly, he broke away. His eyes held yours for a single, endless moment. You felt unsteady. Without a word, he reached past you. Grabbed his pager. Then yours. His hand wrapped around your wrist and he tugged you with him. Down the hall, silent except for the echo of your footsteps. Past the closed doors of sleeping children. Past the empty break room.
Until he pushed open the door to his on-call room. The lock clicked behind you. And the silence between you burned hotter than ever. For a single, suspended heartbeat, you both stood still, your breaths the only sound in the room.
Then Chishiya moved. He pushed you back against the door, his mouth finding yours again with none of the hesitation from before. This kiss was rougher, hotter, like he had decided against restraint the moment he dragged you here.
Your hands flew to his chest, meaning to push him away, but the heat of his body under your palms betrayed you. Instead of shoving him, you clutched at the fabric of his scrubs, pulling him closer.
“You annoy me so very much,” you gasped between kisses, lips brushing his. “Mm.” His hand slid to your waist, anchoring you against him. His voice was low, almost taunting. “You’re not much better.”
Your laugh turned into a breathless sound as his lips trailed along your jaw, teeth grazing lightly at the edge of your skin. His fingers splayed over your hip, tugging you flush against him.
“I really don't like you,” you whispered harshly, your hands now sliding up into his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch. “Good.” His lips crashed back onto yours urgently. “Because I don’t like you either.”
But the way his mouth devoured yours, the way his hands roamed so desperately said otherwise.
Every kiss felt like a battle neither of you wanted to lose. Your teeth caught his bottom lip. He answered with a low growl against your mouth. His hand dragged down your spine, pulling another involuntary gasp from you and his lips curved into a smirk at the sound.
“Smug bastard,” you muttered breathlessly, shoving at his shoulder only to pull him right back to you.
“Hypocrite,” he murmured against your lips before kissing you harder, swallowing whatever comeback you might have had.
Everything blurred into heat and need, your bodies pressed so close there was no space left. Every movement, every kiss carried that edge of defiance, as if both of you were trying to prove you could keep this on enemy ground.
But your hands wouldn’t leave him, exploring the shape of his shoulders, the line of his neck, the warmth beneath his clothes. And his touch was no better, memorising you, claiming you, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stand the thought of space between you.
The line you had both sworn to keep, that wall of hate, of irritation, shattered beneath the heat of his mouth and the desperate way your bodies sought each other out. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But neither of you wanted it to stop.
"Tell me to stop and I will." Chishiya removed his mouth from yours, giving you room to decide. But you pulled him right back. "Don't." You whispered in between kisses.
He was quick to remove your scrubs, letting them fall to the floor where his white coat already waited. "Are you on birth control?" He asked casually and you nodded. "Any STDs I should know about?" You shook your head no as he kissed down your throat. "Good." He muttered, his hand slipping into your panties. Your breath was caught in your throat, replaced with a soft moan escaping your lips.
He ran his fingers along your slit, smirking at your wetness. Then he plunged one digit into you.
His mouth left you, your skin still feeling hot from his kisses. He just watched you. Watched your body react to whatever he was doing. How your facial expression changed when he curled his finger inside you. How you held your breath when he pumped it in and out of you at a fast pace.
His cock was throbbing in his underwear. He couldn't think of a single time he had ever been this turned on. And when you came around his finger, a low moan escaped his throat.
You were still catching your breath when Chishiya grabbed you and pushed you onto the bed. He quickly took off his remaining clothes, his erection slapping against his lower belly when he removed his underwear.
You stared at him until he was hovering above you. "You can still leave. It's your choice." He whispered. There was no emotion in his voice. But still, you shook your head, not wanting to leave.
That was enough for him to finally slide his cock inside you. You moaned loudly, your fingers curling in his hair. Chishiya didn't give you a lot of time to adjust before he started moving. He lifted his upper body, placing your legs on his shoulder, pulling you up slightly to get just the right angle.
He was skilled, there was no denial in that. Chishiya had his fair share of female encounters. Not that any of those ever meant anything. He made sure to always clarify that before anything ever happened. Sex had never been more to him than taking care of his body's needs.
But right now, he couldn't take his eyes off you. He couldn't stop noticing every small change in your features, in your posture. He wanted you to enjoy this as much as he did. He wanted to pleasure you.
Chishiya moved effortlessly, his cock rubbing the insides of your pussy in just the right motions.
You felt all the stress and anger leave your body. His grasp on your thighs was firm, pressing them against his front as he slammed his cock into you over and over again.
When you moaned his name, he let go of your legs, leaning forward and kissing you fiercely. He was never one to enjoy kissing. And he especially didn't need it during sex. But right now it felt as if his lips were pulled to yours and he couldn't resist. Your mouth felt soft against his, warm and welcoming. The small moans that slipped past your lips only encouraged him.
You wrapped your legs around him. He groaned at the sensation. It was driving him insane how good you felt. He cursed under his breath, his hand reaching for your tit, pulling it out of your bra. His mouth found your nipple, his tongue flickering over it before sucking harshly. Your walls started clenching as your orgasm approached. Chishiya noticed immediately. His head shot back up, his eyes meeting yours. He used his thumb and index finger to continue rubbing your nipple, pinching it softly.
He watched you intensely as your orgasm washed over you. It was almost enough to just push him over the edge right then and there.
Your body was still shaking when you grabbed the back of his head, pulling him towards you and kissing him hard. Your tongue slid into his mouth as his thrusts became uneven. He was breathing heavily, as if to avoid any moans from slipping out.
He pulled away, searching your eyes once more before a low groan erupted from his throat. He pulled his cock out of you, his hand ready to give the last few strokes until he came all over you. But you reached down, replacing his hand with yours, guiding him through his orgasm.
And once again, Chishiya found himself being surprised by you.
The room was still thick with heat, your breath uneven as you lay tangled in the sheets, Chishiya at your side. His arm wasn’t around you, of course it wasn’t, but he hadn’t moved away either. His chest rose and fell steadily, eyes fixed on the ceiling as though this had been nothing more than a distraction, a puzzle solved.
Then the shrill beep of a pager shattered the silence. You shot upright immediately, your pulse still hammering from what you had just done. “Shit.”
Clothes were tugged on in haste, your hands trembling just slightly as you shoved your scrub top back over your head. Chishiya, annoyingly calm, was already dressed before you had found your shoes.
He glanced at the pager. “I’ve got it,” he said flatly, already moving towards the door. But that didn’t stop you. “Like hell you do,” you muttered, rushing after him, tugging your hair back into something resembling order as you caught up.
The call led you both to the room of a little girl, no older than seven, sat upright in bed with wide eyes, clutching her blanket like a shield. The call light above her bed still blinked. "I've- I've had a nightmare." She spoke, voice cracked.
Chishiya sighed under his breath, shoulders tensing. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. You shot him a glare, then crouched beside the girl’s bed, your voice soft and warm. “Hey, sweetheart. You’re okay. It was just a dream.” Her lip trembled. “I saw… I saw the bad man again.”
You smoothed a strand of hair from her damp forehead, speaking as though the world outside her blanket didn’t exist. “Bad men can’t get you here. You’re safe in this room. And that call button you just pressed?” You gestured gently toward it. “That’s your shield. Whenever you’re scared, you press it, and someone comes. You’re not alone, okay?” The little girl nodded, her shoulders relaxing just slightly. She sniffled once before curling back down under the covers.
Chishiya shifted beside the door, clearly restless. He wasn’t needed here, not really, the girl was fine. But still, he didn’t leave. He stayed and watched you.
His dark eyes followed the way you tucked the blanket around her, the way your voice dropped to a near-whisper, melodic and calm. He couldn’t fathom where that kind of warmth came from, or why it made something twist inside his chest.
When the girl finally drifted back to sleep, you rose quietly, brushing your palms down your scrub pants. Chishiya caught your gaze across the room, something strange flickering in his expression. He should have walked away. But he didn’t.
You pulled the door closed behind you with careful quiet, exhaling softly as though you had been holding your breath. The hallway was dim, hushed with the weight of the night.
Chishiya stood a few steps away, arms folded, leaning against the wall. His face was carved into his usual, detached mask, but his eyes hadn’t moved from you.
“You waste your energy,” he said finally, voice flat as ever. “Coddling her like that." You turned your head sharply, narrowing your eyes. “She’s a child who was scared.”
“She’s a patient,” he countered without missing a beat. “Not your daughter. Pressing the call button for a nightmare isn’t a medical emergency, it’s manipulation.”
Your jaw tightened. “Maybe to you. But she doesn’t see it that way. To her, that call button is safety. And if a few minutes of comfort helps her sleep through the night, then it’s not wasted energy. It’s humanity.”
His lips curved in the faintest hint of a smirk, but it wasn’t amusement, it was armour. “You really think the world runs on ‘humanity’? That’s naive.”
“And you really think the world runs on detachment?” you shot back, your voice low and sharp. “Not everything has to be cold efficiency, Dr. Chishiya. Medicine isn’t just about charts and diagnoses. Sometimes it’s about being human.”
For a second, the silence between you buzzed. His gaze lingered on you longer than it should have, searching, as though he wanted to argue, but couldn’t quite find the words. Finally, he scoffed softly, pushing off the wall. “You’ll burn yourself out. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. But it seems this job is not for you. You're too emotionally involved. I don't even want to imagine how it'll break you when you lose your first patient. You'd be better off working as anything but a nurse."
And with that, he walked past, hands in his pockets, as if your words hadn’t gotten under his skin. But they had. He could feel them. Like splinters lodged too deep to ignore. But worse, his words had gotten to you and they had hurt you, your heart cracking the slightest bit.
Chishiya didn’t sleep much that night. Not because of the shift, not because of the pager that went off twice more before dawn. Because of you.
He thought dragging you into his on-call room, kissing you until you were both breathless, giving in to that gnawing pull in his chest, would end it. That it would strip the curiosity bare, prove you were nothing more than a distraction, a fleeting itch his body wanted to scratch. But it didn’t. It made everything worse.
The memory clung to him like static. Your lips on his, your nails pressing into the back of his neck, the way your breath hitched when he pulled you closer. The heat of your body still lingered in his hands like he had branded himself with it. He hated it.
He hated that when he closed his eyes, he saw you. He hated that his mind, usually so sharp and efficient, replayed the way you had whispered his name as though it was worth something.
It should have been enough. One night. A mistake, neatly folded away. But his body disagreed.
The next day, he caught himself looking for you more than once. His eyes flicked towards the nurses’ station without meaning to. Every time you walked into a room, something in him screamed to follow. To be near you. And he despised it.
What even was this? He had never felt tethered to anyone. Patients were cases. Colleagues were tools. People were predictable pieces in a puzzle he could manipulate at will. But you… you weren’t playing by any rules he knew. You unraveled him. And he didn’t know how to stop it.
So, he did what he always did. He folded his arms tighter, let his eyes flatten into that familiar mask, and convinced himself this was irritation. Just irritation. Negative emotions, nothing more. Because the alternative, the idea that he wanted you or even needed you, that some part of him cared, was unthinkable.
Still, when he saw you across the ward later that day, leaning down to tie a little boy’s shoe while he giggled through his oxygen mask, Chishiya felt his stomach clench. His jaw tightened and he looked away before anyone noticed. He hated this. He hated you. So why did he keep watching?
You hadn’t slept much after that night either. Not because of regret. But because you couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Not only the night, but his cold and sharp words after. It left your chest restless, your skin hot, your thoughts a mess. And you hated yourself for it. But even more, you hated him for talking to you like that.
So the following days, you did what you thought was best: avoid him.
When he passed by the nurse’s station, you buried yourself in charts. When he lingered in a room too long, you slipped out quickly. But still, you noticed him. His gaze lingered. Always too long. Always when he thought you wouldn’t catch it.
You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That you had moved on already. But the pit in your stomach said otherwise. His words had hurt you.
When he tried to speak to you, you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a fight. Your replies were clipped, ice-cold and stripped of the usual banter. You didn’t even look at him.
And for the first time, he was the one unsettled. Because silence from you felt worse than any argument. And he didn’t know why.
The rest of the day, Chishiya was on edge. He had tried every tactic he usually used on you. Sarcasm, sharp remarks, little jabs meant to provoke. But you barely reacted. A clipped “mhmm.” A tight-lipped “yes, doctor.” No fire, no fight. And it infuriated him.
By the end of your shift, he had enough. As you walked down the corridor towards the locker rooms, he caught your wrist, not harsh, but firm enough that you stopped. He didn’t say a word, just tugged you into the nearest empty on-call room.
You pulled your arm free immediately, glaring at him. “This is not happening again.” The confidence in his smirk was unbearable. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.” He didn’t move closer though. Didn’t corner you. Didn't pressure you. He just stood there, arms loose at his sides, eyes fixed on you. Waiting.
You scoffed, crossing your arms. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?” His voice was smooth, but softer than usual. “Go on. Let it out.” Something in the way he said it, like he actually wanted to hear you, broke through your restraint.
“You know,” you said, your voice steady but your chest aching, “the things you said to me the other day… they hurt. You had no right.”
“Words hurt when you put too much weight on them.” You stepped closer, fists clenched at your sides. “Don’t twist this. I’m sorry for whatever forced you to become such a cold and detached person, but that doesn’t give you the right to throw it on everyone else. To throw it on me.”
Something flickered in his eyes, so quick it was gone before you could pin it down. “Detached is safe. Detached means control.”
“Well then, congratulations on being detached.” you shot back, surprising even yourself with the edge in your tone. His jaw tightened. “I wish I was.” His voice was quieter now, lower, but the weight of it pressed into you like a confession he hadn’t meant to give. “I wish I didn’t feel anything. I wish I could ignore it all like before. But you-" he broke off, exhaling sharply, shaking his head as if the words themselves betrayed him. “You keep trying to break it.”
The room stilled, your heart pounding against your ribs. You swallowed hard, stepping closer still. “So what? You’ve been rude to me on purpose? Hurt me just to push me away? Is that it?”
Silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. His eyes stayed locked on yours and for the first time, they weren’t cold or empty. They were conflicted. Vulnerable.
Finally, his shoulders sank just slightly. “Yes.” The word cut between you like a blade. He shifted his weight, gaze hard but voice soft. “I thought it was the safest option. Because…” His throat worked as he forced the words out. “Because this-" he gestured vaguely between you, as though even naming it was unbearable, "it scares me.”
Your breath hitched. He hadn’t admitted to feelings, not directly, but it was enough to rattle you. Enough to confirm what your gut had screamed at you for weeks. The wall he had built wasn’t for you to climb, but for him to hide behind.
The silence after his confession was suffocating. He waited, arms crossed, chest tight, expecting you to snap again, to throw his words back at him. Instead, you just stared. Your voice, when it finally came, was quiet, too quiet. “…That’s really selfish of you.”
The words cut sharper than any scalpel. And before he could respond, you turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind you.
For the first time in his life, Chishiya felt the ground give way beneath him. He had always prided himself on control. On being five steps ahead of everyone else. Mistakes were for other people. Not him. But this? This was a mistake so obvious it burned.
He hated the gnawing in his chest, hated how your eyes had looked at him, hurt and betrayed. The truth was, you hadn’t deserved any of it. Not his barbs, not his distance, not the way he had tried to cut you down just to keep himself safe.
For years, he had lived without guilt. Without regret. He prided himself on it. But now, for the first time, the word burned on his tongue. Regret.
He found you later at the nurses’ station, filling out paperwork. The harsh fluorescent lights overhead washed the warmth from your features, but your lips were pressed tight and he knew that tension was because of him.
He spoke your name softly. You didn’t look up at first, just muttered, “Doctor,” and kept writing. The formal address cut sharper than any of your past retorts.
Chishiya drew in a breath, shoved his hands into his pockets like he always did when he was trying to pretend he wasn’t unraveling. “I… You are an immaculate nurse with an immense amount of knowledge and the patients adore you. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that." Your pen stilled mid-word. Slowly, you looked up, brows raised. “Did you just- apologise?” He hated how it made his throat tighten. “Don’t make it harder than it already is.”
The corner of your mouth twitched. For once, he wasn’t smug. He looked genuine. And it disarmed you more than all the arguments combined.
You studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Apology accepted.” Something eased in his chest, something he hadn’t even realised was wound so tight. He looked away quickly, muttering, “Good,” as if the word itself embarrassed him.
But as he turned to leave, you caught the faintest trace of relief in his expression. Relief that told you this wasn’t just another manipulation, another deflection. This was real.
The following days returned to their usual rhythm, or at least, that’s how it looked on the surface. You and Chishiya were back at it again: sharp words exchanged in the hallways, sarcastic comments over charts, bickering like always. Anyone watching would think nothing had changed.
But you noticed things. How paperwork that should have landed on your desk mysteriously disappeared, already completed in his precise handwriting. How a cup of hot tea sat waiting at the nurse’s station when you returned from long rounds, steam curling gently upward. How, for the briefest moment when he thought you weren’t looking, his gaze lingered. It was soft, simply making sure you were okay, and then it was gone in an instant.
It was a particularly heavy afternoon when the case came in. A six-year-old girl named Aimi, pale and listless in her mother’s arms. She had been brought in for recurring fevers and joint pain. Her paediatrician had already tried antibiotics twice, but nothing had changed.
Chishiya was flipping through her chart when you walked into the station with the vitals you had just taken.
“Fever again,” you said, setting the clipboard down. “And it's high. 39.4C. Her joints are tender to the touch, especially her knees. She hasn’t eaten much in the last three days.”
He barely looked up. “Probably another viral infection. Happens often in children.” You frowned, crossing your arms. “Except she’s been in and out of clinics for a month. And her blood work," you tapped the chart, “her white cell count is elevated, but it’s not consistent with a straightforward infection.”
He gave you a sidelong glance, half-amused. “What’s your theory, then?” You hesitated, then said quietly, “It reminds me of juvenile idiopathic arthritis. The joint pain, the recurring fever spikes… and her mother mentioned rashes a few weeks ago. That fits, doesn’t it?” Chishiya leaned back in his chair, studying you. “Interesting.” His tone was cold, but there was something sharper in his eyes. “But you’re forgetting the enlarged lymph nodes.” Your brows knitted. “…So you’re thinking something hematological?”
“Leukaemia, possibly.” His voice was flat, as though he was testing the words on his tongue. “But the course doesn’t quite fit. Her anaemia is mild, not progressive. No blasts in the smear.” You bit your lip, staring at the labs again. “Then maybe it’s systemic lupus? Kids can get it. It could explain the fever, the joint inflammation, the rash, even the lymphadenopathy.”
For a long moment, silence stretched between you. Both of you staring at the same chart, minds circling the same puzzle from different angles. Finally, Chishiya exhaled through his nose, the closest he ever came to a sigh. “You’re not wrong.” He reached for a pen, tapping it against the paper. “Let’s order an ANA panel. Anti-dsDNA, complement levels. And repeat her ESR and CRP.”
You nodded quickly. “And I’ll talk to her mother. Ask about any history of sun sensitivity or ulcers.”
His gaze flicked towards you, "Thank you.”
Hours later, the results came back. ANA strongly positive. dsDNA elevated. Low complement. It was lupus.
Together, you broke the news to the girl’s mother, explaining the plan. Steroids to control inflammation, close monitoring, follow-ups with rheumatology. Chishiya handled the medical details, calm and precise as always, while you sat close to the mother, grounding the words in gentleness, in hope. And when you left the room, there was no banter, no fight. Just a charged quiet. For once, the two of you had been on the same side. And it felt… dangerously natural.
Chishiya had expected the usual sting of irritation when you spoke over him, but it hadn’t come. Instead, what lingered was a steady hum beneath his skin. You had seen what he had seen. You had filled in the gaps where he hadn’t yet reached. It should have annoyed him.
But instead, all he could think was how easily the diagnosis had clicked into place with you standing next to him. How the silences hadn’t been awkward but… weighted. Like working with a second mind that already knew where his was heading.
That unsettled him most of all.
For a while, he walked alongside you in silence, hands in the pockets of his coat. Then, almost out of nowhere, his voice slipped low.
“…Why didn’t you become a doctor?” You blinked at him. “What?”
“You’re sharp,” he said simply, eyes forward. “Most nurses wouldn’t have put lupus on the table before the labs confirmed it. So, why not med school?”
You gave a small laugh, though there was no humour in it. “Because med school costs more than my family had. My parents worked themselves raw just to keep food on the table. University was… never on the list.”
Chishiya finally glanced at you, eyes narrowed, not in judgment but in something closer to curiosity. “So you chose nursing instead.”
“Chose?” you echoed, raising a brow. “I’d call it settling. But it was the only way I could work in medicine without drowning in debt. And I do love the patients. Especially the kids.” You smiled faintly, then added, “But if I had had the chance? Yeah. I probably would have wanted to become a doctor.”
He tilted his head, studying you like one of his puzzles. “…You’d be a good one.” Your head snapped toward him. “Did you just- was that a compliment?” The corner of his mouth twitched, the faintest ghost of amusement. “Don’t get used to it.” You scoffed, but the warmth that spread in your chest betrayed you.
Still, his questions didn’t stop.
“What made you choose paediatrics?” he asked next, his tone deceptively casual. “Out of all the wards.”
You shrugged. “Kids are… honest. They don’t hide when they’re in pain, they don’t play games the way adults do. And when you help them feel better, it shows immediately. It feels like…” You trailed off, suddenly aware of how much you were saying, and to him of all people. “Never mind.” But he didn’t let it drop. “It feels like what?”
Your eyes met his. There was no cold detachment in his face now. Just an intent focus, as though he was peeling back each layer of your answer like it was another riddle to solve. You swallowed. “Like it matters.” For a moment, the words just hung there, heavy in the quiet corridor. And Chishiya, this man who never gave anything away, gave you another compliment, so soft you almost missed it.
“…It does matter. Because you matter." Then he added quickly, "because your work matters." He looked away then, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, as if he hadn’t just said the most un-Chishiya thing imaginable.
You narrowed your eyes at him, but a sly smile tugged at your lips. “Did Dr. Chishiya, the Dr. Chishiya, just say something… nice? I think the world might be ending.” He gave you a flat look. “Don’t get carried away.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t,” you shot back, smirking. “I’ll just carve it into the wall of the nurse’s station. You know, so everyone remembers the day Dr. Shuntaro Chishiya grew a heart.” He huffed quietly, the closest thing to a laugh you had heard from him. “I regret opening my mouth already.” But the amusement in his eyes betrayed the words.
The hospital was quiet, the halls dim. Another night shift.
You glanced across the nurse’s station where Chishiya leaned against the counter, pale under the harsh fluorescent light. His posture was as straight as ever, but you saw it in the way his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, in the faint shadow under his eyes.
“You look like hell,” you said flatly. His gaze flicked to you, unimpressed. “Your compliments need work.”
You crossed your arms. “You should get some rest. There’s no point in you sitting here glaring at the wall when you’re too tired to see straight. Go to the on-call room.” He arched a brow. “You’re dismissing me?”
“Yes,” you deadpanned. “Nurse's orders.” That actually got the ghost of a smirk out of him. But still, he didn’t argue, slipping away towards the on-call room, leaving you to your rounds.
It came without warning. Alarms blared, monitors flashing red. A patient had crashed. A boy with a seizure disorder suddenly in respiratory distress.
You didn’t wait. Adrenaline surged, your training snapping into place as you stabilised his airway, administered oxygen and got IV access. The other nurse on duty moved around you, but you were the steady core, your voice calm, directing where needed. By the time the boy’s vitals leveled, your heart was pounding, your palms clammy.
But still no Dr. Chishiya.
You didn’t hesitate. You rushed down the hall and pounded on the on-call room door.
“Dr. Chishiya! Emergency!” A muffled voice came back, “Come in.” You shoved the door open, breathless. He was already on his feet, half-dressed, tugging his coat over his shoulders. His hair was messy, strands falling over his forehead in a way you had never seen before. For half a second, you froze, heat rushing up your neck, before dragging your eyes away.
“The boy in Room 212. Seizure followed by respiratory distress. I secured his airway, gave him oxygen, got IV access and started fluids.”
Chishiya stilled mid-movement, his hands frozen on the buttons of his coat. His eyes flicked to you. He stopped fastening the buttons.
“You did everything I would’ve done,” he said finally, his tone quieter than usual. “Exactly right. There was nothing else I could have added.” Your breath hitched slightly. “Sorry for waking you, then-"
He shook his head once, decisive, and before you could finish, he closed the distance between you in two quick steps. His hands came up, firm but not rough, cupping your face. And then he kissed you.
It was deep, all the restraint he usually wrapped himself in torn away. His lips crashed against yours with something almost desperate, as if every unspoken thought, every ignored pull, every denial had combusted into this moment.
You gasped against him, but your hands were already fisting in his coat, pulling him closer, unable to resist the fire that had been simmering between you for so long.
The kiss didn’t break, it only grew hotter. His fingers tightened against your jaw, tilting your face up as if he couldn’t get close enough. You had kissed him before, but this was different. Less curiosity, less testing. This was hunger.
He pulled back just an inch, his forehead pressed against yours, breath ragged. For once, his eyes weren’t unreadable. They were raw, burning with something he couldn’t mask.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, voice low, almost pained. “Every time I tell myself to keep away, it only gets worse. I’m tired of it. Tired of you being in my head.”
Your chest tightened, your hands sliding up into his messy hair. His honesty, however begrudging, hit you harder than the kiss itself.
“Then don’t stay away,” you whispered, your voice trembling but certain.
Whatever thin thread of restraint he had left snapped. His mouth was on yours again, rougher this time, desperate. Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, his body pressing against yours like he needed the contact to breathe. You clutched at his coat, pulling him down, until there was no space left to close.
The kisses grew more intense, each one more urgent than the last. His hands slid from your face, down your sides, gripping your waist as if grounding himself in the feel of you. You gasped against him and he swallowed it greedily, lips parting wider.
There was banter buried somewhere between you, but it never made it past your lips this time. Only heat, only need. The air in the room was thick with the inevitability of this collision. You weren’t enemies here, you weren’t colleagues. You were two people who had tried far too long to fight something impossible to resist.
And as his hands tangled with yours, pinning them against the wall, the truth settled heavy in your chest. Neither of you were going to win this war. Not when every kiss made the hatred blur into something frighteningly close to want.
"I've never wanted anyone this badly." He murmured as he knelt down in front of you. When his hands reached your waistband he lingered, his eyes finding yours, looking for any sign of non-consent. But you just bit your lip, nodding softly.
Chishiya pulled your trousers and panties down in one swift motion. Your eyes widened at the sudden exposure. He steadied you as you stepped out of your scrub bottoms. He kept your legs spread, a soft smirk plastering his face before he dived in.
His mouth was on your cunt, his tongue finding your clit immediately. He groaned softly at the taste of you. Like he'd been starved and your pussy was the only thing that could finally still his hunger.
Chishiya was usually never the most vocal person during any sexual encounter. But when he looked up and saw the way you looked at him, he couldn't hold back. The moans escaped his throat, the vibrations driving you crazy.
His hand moved to your clit, his thumb replacing his mouth as he licked deeper down. He plunged his tongue into you, his face now buried completely. Your hands found his hair, holding his head steady as you pressed your cunt harder against his face. He couldn't care less that he had trouble breathing. All he cared about was getting you closer to your orgasm.
"Oh, God." You threw your head back, your walls started clenching around his tongue. His thumb was rubbing your clit in just the right motions. "Fuck, Chishiya." You moaned out loud as you came all over his face. He made sure to lick up your juices and when he finally removed himself from your cunt, his face was covered in them.
Chishiya's eyes found yours, looking at you almost in disbelief. His dick was throbbing and he had almost come in his trousers just from eating you out like that.
"Remind me to make you sit on my face one day and let you ride it until you come all over it again." His voice was so low, he was almost purring. He grabbed a towel from the ensuite bathroom to clean his face. You watched him, still pressed against the wall, still catching your breath.
You walked over to him on wobbly legs and knelt down in front of him. "Time to return the favour." You pulled down his trousers and gave him no time to react before you took his cock into your mouth. He tasted salty from the pre-cum already leaking.
A sound that seemed almost inhuman filled the room as he dropped the towel to the floor and fisted his hand into your hair. He stopped you from continuing to bob your head. You looked up at him in confusion. "As much as I love your enthusiasm and would want to fuck that pretty mouth of yours, I'm not gonna last long like this. And I really just want to bury my cock deep inside you and fill your cunt with my cum."
Your jaw dropped in shock as you heard such dirty words leave his lips. He smirked at you as he pulled you back up, taking off your remaining clothes, followed by his. He wrapped his arms around you and turned you around so your back was pressed flush against his front. His skin was hot against yours. "Did I just make you speechless?" Something close to a low chuckle sounded close to your ear as he walked you over to the bed. One of his hands found your tit, squeezing the soft flesh as he bit your throat before sucking the sensitive skin, leaving a mark. "Bend down for me, sweetheart, would you?" And you did, placing your hands on the mattress to steady yourself.
Chishiya lined himself up behind you, his hand caressing your butt cheek before giving it a soft smack. His breath hitched as he grabbed your waist and slid his length into you. Your grip tightened around the sheets and you were unable to suppress the loud moans as he started fucking you from behind.
His thrusts were sloppy and eager. He had already been close to orgasm once tonight, so he knew he'd probably not last long. His hand snaked around your body, his soft fingertips finding your clit. He wanted to make this as pleasant for you as it was for him.
Your arms started to shake, not being able to hold yourself up any longer, as he continued to slam his cock in and out of you mercilessly. Your upper body collapsed onto the mattress. But he continued fucking you, the tip of his dick hitting just the right spot. You felt yourself getting close again.
You heard him groaning behind you, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. His fingers were still rubbing circles on your clit. And just like that, he threw you over the edge for the second time tonight. Your body jolted, your moans muffled by the mattress. He smacked your butt harder this time, guiding you through your orgasm until your body stopped shaking.
Chishiya cursed under his breath, flipping you over effortlessly. He was on top of you, his cock buried deep inside you as he leaned down and kissed you. The kiss was desperate, his tongue clashing against yours. Sweat plastered his face and you didn't think you had ever seen someone as attractive as him. Hovering above you, desperation and hunger on his face. He moaned your name loudly, "fuck, I'm gonna cum." You could feel his cock twitch inside you as he shot his load into you, collapsing on top of you.
He stayed like this for a while, both of you panting, trying to catch your breath. When he pulled out of you, you felt his cum dripping from your cunt.
He almost moaned at the sight of it before walking into the bathroom.
For a moment, you thought he would retreat into that familiar detachment, maybe hand you something like a cloth without even meeting your eyes. But instead, he returned with a damp towel, crouching down at the edge of the bed. He didn’t pass it to you. He cleaned you with it himself.
He was gentle. The same precision he carried in his work, but with something different threaded through it now, something softer. His eyes stayed fixed on his task, jaw tight, but you noticed the faint crease between his brows, as though concentration was the only way he knew how to keep this from becoming too vulnerable. You blinked at him, your heart tugging.
When he finally set the towel aside, he slid back into the bed. You expected distance, like in that night you had already shared not too long ago. But he didn’t leave an inch between you. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, your back to his chest. His warmth seeped into you, his breath brushing your hair.
For a long time, neither of you spoke. His breathing grew slower, as he almost fell asleep.
“I should get ready for rounds,” you whispered into the dark. There was a pause, then his voice came low, rough with exhaustion and something unguarded, "Stay. Let your colleague do it.”
A soft laugh escaped you, though your chest tightened. “I can’t just do that.” You slipped from his arm, searching for your clothes in the dim light. Behind you, you heard the shift of sheets, the faintest sigh as he pushed himself upright, his hair tousled, as he sat on the edge of the bed watching you.
You put on your scrubs, smoothing the fabric, trying to steady your hands. When you reached for the door, his voice stopped you. He whispered your name ever so softly.
You turned, hand still on the handle. He was leaning forward, forearms on his thighs, but his eyes caught yours. And they seemed... uncharacteristically unguarded, a softness beneath their usual sharpness. His voice was quieter this time, almost hesitant. “Will you come back when you finished your rounds?”
The question startled you. Not because of the words themselves, but because of the raw want woven through them. Chishiya, who thrived in distance, who kept every bond at arm’s length, was asking you to come back to him.
You held his gaze for a long moment. Something in your chest softened, your lips curving in a small, genuine smile. You gave a single nod. “Yes.”
His eyes lingered on your smile as though committing it to memory. And as you slipped out of the room, he lay back against the pillows, surprised and a little shaken by how much the thought of you not coming back would have unsettled him.
He hated it. He had built his life on control, on indifference. Nothing touched him. Not patients. Not colleagues. Not anyone.
But you had. You had slipped through defences he didn’t even realise he had and now the thought of you not coming back tonight made something deep in him ache.
Lying in the dark, he pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes with a quiet groan. You’re a damn problem. And I don’t know if I can ever solve it. Solve you.
Continue to: Irritating
A/N: i'm sorry this got out of hand but the amount of love i have for doctor! chishiya is unmatched. he's just so- 🥵
Summary: while you believe love can grow, chishiya had already decided he will never experience love. but his feelings will betray him in the end
Warnings: arranged marriage, angst, fluff
Word count: ~5.5k
Requested by anonymous
gif credits
You had never met Shuntaro Chishiya before the day your parents told you his name.
They spoke of him as if he was an opportunity. A man of good family, intelligence and stability. You had smiled politely, heart fluttering with nerves and hope. Arranged marriages were rare these days, but you believed love could grow anywhere if two people nurtured it. But Chishiya did not believe in love.
Years before, he had been a boy standing in the dim hallway of a too-large house, clutching the edge of the wall like it could shield him from the sound of his parents’ voices. They were fighting again.
His father’s tone was razor-sharp, the kind of anger that came from numbers and logic, not heat. His mother’s voice was all fire. High, breaking, desperate to be heard.
“Do you ever care about me? About us?” she had shouted. “You mistake obligation for affection,” his father replied. “The sooner you understand that, the less you’ll suffer.”
Chishiya hadn’t stepped in. He never did. He only listened, quietly collecting evidence for the truth he would carry into adulthood: love was an illusion, a story people told themselves to survive their own loneliness.
Now, as a man in his late twenties, he sat across from his father in that same cold dining room, visiting his parents on a Sunday. The air was heavy with the scent of polished wood and untouched food.
“You will marry her,” his father said simply, as though assigning him a task at work. Chishiya’s expression did not change. “Why?”
“It’s time you settle. She’s from a respectable family and the match benefits both sides. You don’t need to love her, only keep up appearances. A marriage will be good for your image.” Chishiya leaned back in his chair, lips curling faintly. Not in amusement, but in acknowledgment.
He had no objections. Marriage, like everything else in life, was a transaction. If it pleased his father and smoothed his path in society, he would agree.
When the news reached you, your breath caught. The thought of a stranger as a husband was daunting, but there was a small thrill in the unknown. You imagined slow mornings over coffee, long conversations that began in politeness and ended in laughter, the gradual stitching together of two separate lives.
You told yourself that even if he didn’t love you at first, you could change that. You could show him that love was not a fragile fantasy, but something that grew stronger when both people chose it every day. You didn’t know then that your future husband had no intention of choosing it at all.
The first time you saw Chishiya, the world felt oddly still. It was in a quiet tearoom your parents had chosen for its privacy. Outside, the early spring air carried the faint scent of rain, but inside it was warm, sunlight spilling through the tall windows and glinting off porcelain cups.
He was already seated when you arrived. White shirt under a crisp beige cardigan, hair falling casually. He didn’t stand to greet you, only looked up with an unreadable expression, as though weighing you in his mind. “Shuntaro Chishiya,” he said, voice calm, smooth, but without warmth.
You gave him your name in return and took the seat across from him. You searched for something familiar in his face, but he gave nothing away. No smile, no subtle softening. Just the faint, catlike curl of lips that might not have been amusement at all.
“So... we're supposed to get married,” you said lightly, trying to break the ice. “That’s what they told me,” he replied. The words carried no hint of excitement, no curiosity. Only fact.
For a moment, you felt the first thread of doubt tug at your chest, but you smoothed it over with a smile. “I suppose we should get to know each other then.”
He didn’t argue. He didn’t agree either. Instead, he asked you questions that felt more like an interview than a conversation: where you worked, what you studied, whether you preferred cities or quiet towns. Every time you tried to turn the focus to him, he gave short, neat answers, revealing nothing personal.
Still, you noticed little things. He listened closely, never interrupting. His gaze, though steady, flicked towards your hands when you wrapped them around your teacup, as if cataloging details. He seemed… deliberate and calculating, as though this meeting was another transaction to analyse rather than a step towards a shared life.
When it ended, he stood and gave a shallow nod. “I’ll see you at the ceremony.” No promise, no affection. Just a statement.
But as you watched him walk away, you didn’t feel discouraged. You told yourself some people simply took longer to open up. You believed, truly believed, that once he saw your patience, your kindness and your willingness to understand him, he’d let you in.
You had no idea that, for him, walls weren’t something to be climbed over. They were built to last a lifetime.
The first weeks of marriage felt… quiet. Chishiya never raised his voice, never slammed a door, never made a scene. But he also never reached for your hand, never leaned towards you during a meal, never smiled in the way couples often did. He was polite, meticulously so, but distant.
You adapted quickly. You greeted him warmly each morning, even when his responses were short. You made extra tea when he worked late, setting it beside him without a word. You left him space when he retreated to his study, choosing patience over pressure.
Days blurred into weeks and in small, almost imperceptible moments, Chishiya began to notice things. The way you tilted your head when you listened, as if every word mattered. The way you always seemed to sense when he needed silence without asking. The way you never tried to fill the empty air with meaningless chatter. But he didn’t mention these things. He just stored them away like data points.
One evening, while the rain tapped steadily against the windows, you sat at the kitchen table together. He was reading a medical journal, you were quietly folding laundry. Without looking up, you spoke.
“I know we’re still getting used to this,” you said softly, “but… I guess I just wished there was a little more affection between us.” He lifted his eyes, studying you. And then he almost laughed. Not in amusement, but in disbelief.
“Affection,” he repeated, setting down the journal. “You mean the thing people pretend to feel so they don’t have to admit they’re lonely?” You blinked, unsure how to respond before he continued, voice calm but cutting.
“Love, affection, they are lies. Pretty words people use to dress up obligation. They don’t last. They never do. All they do is set you up for disappointment.” He leaned back, watching for your reaction.
He thought that this was it. The turning point. You’ll push back. You’ll tell him he's wrong. You'll fight, the way his parents did, the way couples always do. It’s the natural order. Hurt followed by anger, anger followed by hurt. You’ll finally show your real colours and he'll know what to expect from you. People always drop the act sooner or later. But you didn’t.
You simply folded the last shirt, placed it on the pile and looked at him with quiet sincerity. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Shuntaro." you said. “And I’m sorry that’s what love has looked like for you.”
Something cracked. Not visibly, but somewhere deep in his chest, something shifted out of place. He stayed silent, eyes fixed on you, thoughts racing. He didn’t understand why your calm unsettled him more than any argument could have.
The change was slow, almost unnoticeable at first. Chishiya still kept his distance, but his eyes lingered longer when you spoke. He still stayed quiet at dinner, but he asked you to pass the soy sauce instead of reaching for it himself. A small thing, but the first time he’d asked you for anything.
And then there was the market. You’d been walking together, the late afternoon sun spilling across the crowded street, when you saw an elderly woman struggling to lift a heavy bag of rice into her cart. Without hesitation, you crossed to her side.
“Let me help,” you said, sliding the bag into place. The woman’s relief was immediate, her gratitude spilling out in hurried thanks. You smiled, reassured her it was nothing and went on your way as if it truly were.
Chishiya had watched the entire exchange in silence. It was the kind of thing most people might do if asked, but you hadn’t waited to be asked. You’d seen a need and moved without hesitation, without expectation of recognition.
He told himself it didn’t matter. That it was just another data point. But for the first time, he found himself wondering if maybe you were not like the people he had grown up around.
And that thought, though small, was dangerous.
Dinner was quiet that night, but not in the usual way. The clink of chopsticks against ceramic filled the room, the faint hum of the refrigerator in the background. You sat across from Chishiya, shoulders relaxed, eyes focused on your meal. You didn’t press him with questions. You didn’t try to fill the silence with forced conversation. He found himself watching you more than the food.
You have been patient. Too patient. He believed most people would have given up by now and he wouldn’t have blamed them. He's given you nothing. No warmth, no comfort. He has kept you at arm’s length because that’s the safest place for anyone to be near him. But you… You’d shown up in his life like a steady flame that refused to burn out, no matter how cold the air around you became. You never fought, never pushed, never demanded more than he could give. You simply… stayed.
He thought about the way you always made tea without asking if he wanted any, as though you knew he wouldn’t answer, but left the cup there anyway. The way you noticed when he was tired and didn’t call attention to it, just quietly adjusted the pace of the evening. The way you looked at him, not with suspicion or expectation, but with a kind of quiet understanding that made his chest ache.
He’d told himself love was a lie. That people were selfish and temporary. That closeness only gave others the opportunity to hurt you.
But sitting there, watching you gently set your chopsticks down and pour him a little more tea, he realised that maybe… maybe he’d been wrong. Or maybe you were the exception that proved him wrong.
He didn’t say any of this out loud. Instead, he made a silent decision, one he never thought he’d make.
He would try. Not because it was expected of him. Not because it was easier than letting you go. But because you deserved more than cold politeness. You deserved someone who at least tried to be the person you thought they could be.
He let the faintest smile tug at his lips, small, almost shy. “Thank you for din-"
Then world shattered.
A deafening roar split the air, followed by a blinding flash that swallowed the room. Something most believed were fireworks.
And then... nothing.
When you opened your eyes, you were lying on cold asphalt under a dark sky. No lights. No sound. The street stretched endlessly in both directions, empty as if the entire city had been abandoned in an instant.
Your hands trembled as you pushed yourself up. The air was heavy, pressing against your skin. The dinner table, the warm room, the small almost-smile across from you... gone.
You didn’t know what had happened. You didn’t know where you were. You only knew you were alone.
The world you woke up in didn’t make sense. The streets were empty, the air still. Every building you passed felt hollow, like it had been abandoned in a hurry. The only sound was your own footsteps echoing off the walls.
It wasn’t long before you saw the first sign. An illuminated arrow pointing towards a building you didn’t recognise, glowing with the words “Game Arena”. You hadn’t wanted to follow it, but your feet carried you forward anyway, pulled by something you couldn’t name.
Inside, the lights were harsh. A group of strangers stood around a table, faces tense, eyes darting towards one another. You had to use a phone to register for whatever this was. A giant screen displayed a playing card: Four of Clubs.
You didn’t know what it meant. You didn’t know the rules. All you knew was that the doors had locked behind you and someone said, “If you lose, you die.” Fear curled cold in your stomach.
The game was chaos. Shouts, desperate movements, the sound of something mechanical ticking down to zero. You survived, but barely. When it ended, the others scattered without a word, leaving you standing there with the lingering images of what had just happened burned into your mind.
Somewhere far from you, Chishiya was already playing his own game. He’d woken in the Borderlands the way he woke anywhere. Calm, observing, calculating. The streets were quiet, but the rules weren’t hard to figure out. Signs, games, rules, cards, visas. It didn’t take long for him to put the pieces together.
Clear the games. Win and live. Lose and die.
The first game he played was a Game of Hearts. Brutal, but revealing. He’d stayed back, let others burn through their panic while he mapped out the rules. He didn’t just play to survive, he played to understand the system. And by the time the final second ticked down, he understood a lot.
But when the game ended, when the crowd dispersed, he realised something else, something sharper than any deduction he’d made.
He had no idea where you were.
He pictured you, the way you’d looked across the dinner table hours before everything changed. Patient. Kind. Vulnerable in ways you didn’t try to hide.
You wouldn’t last long here. Not because you were weak. He knew better than to underestimate you, but because this world fed on trust and you still believed in people.
That was the moment he decided that he would find you and he would keep you alive. Not because it was an obligation. Not because it was expected. But because losing you now would be the one thing in this place he couldn’t calculate his way out of.
You found your way to the Beach. It wasn’t what you expected. The place was loud, always alive with voices, music,and the restless energy of people who didn’t want to think about the danger outside. Everyone moved in groups, always talking, always laughing too loudly. You stayed near the few faces you had grown familiar with in past games, careful not to draw unwanted attention.
And then you saw him. Chishiya stood near the far wall, white zip-up jacket, surrounded by a handful of executives. They were laughing about something, but he wasn’t. He was just watching, listening, his eyes sharp.
The moment his gaze found yours, your breath caught. You hadn’t realised how tightly you had been holding onto the hope of seeing him again until now. But then his expression didn’t change. No smile. No flicker of recognition. Just that unreadable mask.
It took only a second for you to understand. The way he stayed still, the slight narrowing of his eyes, the way he didn’t glance towards you again. He didn’t want anyone to know you knew each other.
You slipped your gaze away and pretended to be listening to the conversation beside you.
You crossed paths in the hallways, at meals, on the Beach itself, always surrounded by others. Sometimes you felt the weight of his gaze brush over you before sliding away again. Sometimes you caught the barest twitch of his lips, like he almost wanted to say something before remembering where he was.
He didn’t speak to you. Not openly. But you noticed things. A bottle of water appearing on your nightstand after a long day. An extra serving of food set down in front of you at lunch with no explanation. A folded note slipped into your jacket pocket with only one word: “Careful.”
He told himself the secrecy was necessary. The Beach was full of opportunists and an obvious connection to you would put a target on your back. Keeping his distance was protecting you.
But at night he lay awake. He could hear the soft murmur of distant voices, the muffled thump of music below, but all he could think about was you. Somewhere else in the building, asleep.
He didn’t understand why the thought made his chest ache. He had spent months pushing you away, convincing himself it was for the best. Now, all he wanted was to be close enough to hear your breathing. The craving was strange. Dangerous.
He imagined you sitting across from him again, the way you had that last night. The curve of your mouth when you smiled, the way your eyes softened even when he gave you nothing in return.
He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. This wasn’t like him. He didn’t long for people. He didn’t lose sleep over them. And yet, he found himself counting the hours until he could see you again, even if it was only in passing. Even if he couldn’t say a word.
Then came the next game. It was a Hearts game.
The arena was a crumbling multi-story building, its staircases partially collapsed, its hallways dark and narrow. You didn’t see Chishiya at first. You didn’t expect to. The Beach had so many members and he had never been in your assigned group. But here he was now.
The rules were simple. A shifting maze of floors and doors. One “king” whose survival guaranteed their own escape, but not everyone else’s. The rest? Forced to hunt the king down before time ran out. Hints of the true identity of the king were hidden all around the building.
It was chaos from the start. Screams in the distance, the pounding of footsteps, the echo of splintering doors. You kept your focus on the rules, trying to stay alive without becoming someone else’s prey.
You rounded a corner and froze. Two players had cornered you in a narrow hallway, their eyes wild, weapons in hand. “You’re the king,” one of them spat. “We saw you avoiding people.” Your back hit the wall before you could think. “I’m not-"
“Move.” The voice was calm, but sharp enough to cut through the air. Chishiya stepped into view from the shadows, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. “She’s not the king,” he said simply. The two players sneered. “How do you know?”
“Because if she was, she wouldn’t be cornered right now. She’d be in control. And judging by the way you’re hesitating, neither of you are smart enough to have figured out the real one.” His tone was lazy, almost bored, but every word landed with precision.
One of them faltered, but the other stepped closer, grabbing your arm. “We’ll find out the hard way-" He didn’t finish the sentence. Chishiya moved faster than you’d ever seen him, his hand striking a point just under the man’s jaw, precise and clinical. The man’s knees buckled instantly, collapsing to the floor unconscious. The other froze, wide-eyed, then backed away without another word.
Chishiya’s gaze flicked briefly to the man on the ground, then back to you. He took your wrist, not gently, but not painfully either, and started walking. “Come on.”
You didn’t protest. The hallway blurred as he dragged you away from the now unconscious danger, his grip firm, steady, and unyielding until the sound of other players’ footsteps faded behind you.
He hadn’t meant to get close to you during the game. It was too risky. Too many eyes, too many opportunities for someone to notice something they shouldn’t.
But the second he had seen you pinned against that wall, something inside him burned hot and cold all at once. He had calculated half a dozen outcomes in less than a second, and every single one where he didn’t step in ended with you bleeding on the floor.
He followed you through the rest of the game, always just far enough behind that it didn’t look intentional. Every time you stumbled, every time another player came too close, he was ready.
When the game finally ended because someone found the king and eliminated him, the exit doors swung open.
Relief hit him so hard it nearly staggered him. This is bad. Not the win. Not the danger. The realisation.
Somewhere between the moment you first looked at him in that hallway and the second you walked out alive, he’d crossed a line he didn’t even know he was approaching. He didn’t just want you safe. He didn’t just want to protect you because it was the logical choice. He wanted you. Not as a wife for show, not as a duty, but in the quiet, unshakable way he had once sworn didn’t exist. And for the first time in his life, that thought terrified him more than anything the Borderlands could throw at him.
The Beach was its usual chaos that night. Music thumping downstairs, voices rising and falling like waves crashing against each other. But your mind wasn’t on the noise. It kept circling back to the game. The narrow hallway. Chishiya’s voice cutting through the air. His grip on your wrist, steady and unyielding until you were safe.
You hadn’t seen him since the arena. The executives had gathered somewhere upstairs and you had spent the evening surrounded by the same group of players you had stuck with since arriving. But as the night stretched on, you found yourself wandering to one of the quieter hallways, away from the crowd.
That’s where you saw him. Leaning against the wall near an unused side door, hands tucked into his pockets, eyes half-lidded as if he’d been waiting there for a while.
You stopped a few feet away. He tilted his head slightly, studying you the way he always did, like you were a puzzle he had almost solved but didn’t quite understand yet. “You almost died today,” he said simply. You folded your arms. “So did a lot of people.”
“That’s not what I meant.” His voice was calm, but sharper than usual. “You can’t keep trusting that kindness will save you in these games. Some people here don’t need a reason to hurt you.”
You smiled faintly, tilting your head. “Is that why you stepped in?” He didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped briefly. Not in avoidance, but as if weighing what he could afford to say. “I didn’t like the odds.”
The silence between you was different this time. Not heavy, not cold. It was charged, like there was something unsaid pressing against both of you.
“I’m not one for physical fights,” he added finally. “But I know which buttons to push.”
You remembered the precise strike that had dropped your attacker instantly. “Doctor’s training?” you asked. His mouth quirked, the closest thing to a smile you’d seen from him in weeks. “Something like that.”
For a moment, you thought that was the end of it. But then he straightened, his eyes finding yours again and there was no calculation in them this time, only something warmer, something almost… raw.
“You’re not supposed to matter here,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “But you do.” Your chest tightened, words caught somewhere in your throat. You didn’t push him for more. You knew he’d given you as much as he could, and maybe more than he meant to.
“Goodnight." He said finally, stepping past you toward the noise of the Beach. You watched him go, the thump of music growing louder with every step he took.
He lay awake in his room long after your encounter. The ceiling above him was cracked, faint moonlight slipping through a gap in the curtains. The party downstairs was still in full swing.
He thought about the way your eyes had met his. The way you didn’t laugh at him, didn’t press him, didn’t run. The craving to be near you was worse tonight. He could almost hear your voice, almost feel the ghost of your wrist in his hand from earlier. It made no sense. He had gone his entire life without needing anyone. And yet, here he was, staring into the dark, wondering what it would be like if you were lying just an arm’s length away. It confused him. It unsettled him. And it terrified him more than he would ever admit out loud.
Chishiya sighed, pushing himself upright from his bed. He had told himself he would sleep. He had told himself he didn’t need to see you again tonight. But the hollow ache in his chest said otherwise.
He pulled on his jacket and swim trousers. The halls were dim, lined with flickering lamps. He checked your room first, but it was empty. The sheets were smooth, untouched. His jaw tightened. Where were you?
The search pulled him through the building, then out into the night air. He found you by the pool, sitting at the edge with your legs tucked beneath you, head tilted in conversation. The water reflected the neon glow of the Beach’s lights, rippling like shattered glass. And sitting beside you was Tatta.
Chishiya stilled, his expression flat as always, but inside, something shifted. Something unfamiliar and sharp lodged beneath his ribs.
He knew he was a friend of yours. Just a friend. So why… why does it feel like the ground is sliding out from under him watching you laugh with him?
He studied the way Tatta leaned forward, the way you smiled softly at whatever he had just said. Your smile, the one you had given Chishiya so many times with nothing in return, now pointed at someone else.
The feeling twisted in his chest, hot and restless. Not anger. Not fear. Something heavier. Something he didn’t recognise because he had never felt it before. The tiniest bit of jealousy.
The word formed reluctantly in his mind and it unsettled him. He had never cared enough about anyone to feel threatened by their closeness with another person. But now, watching you, the thought burrowed in deep: What if you smiled like that at someone else long enough to forget how to smile at him? And all of this, losing you, would be his fault for not giving you the attention and ...affection you deserve.
His fingers twitched at his sides. He wanted to walk over, pull your attention away, remind you that you belonged to him in a way no one else could touch.
You were laughing quietly at something Tatta said when a shadow fell over the poolside. Chishiya said your name. His tone was calm, detached, the same flat cadence he always used. To anyone else, it sounded like nothing. But you noticed the faint tightness at the corner of his mouth, the way his eyes lingered a beat too long on you before flicking briefly to Tatta. No one else would have seen it. But you did.
“Chishiya,” you greeted softly. “Did you need something?” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Walk with me.”
Tatta gave you an encouraging nod, assuming nothing of it. You followed Chishiya as he led you away from the pool, through the corridors, up the stairs. He didn’t say a single word the entire way. His silence was heavier than usual, sharp like the air before a storm.
When he finally pushed open the door to his room and let you inside, he closed it behind him and leaned against it, exhaling slowly.
“You’re mine.” The words came out low, clipped, but trembling beneath with something unsteady.
You blinked, startled. “Chishiya, I-" But he didn’t let you finish.
"Don’t tell me he’s just a friend. I know he is. I know you weren’t doing anything wrong.” His eyes locked on yours, sharper than you had ever seen them. “This isn’t about him. It’s about me.” You stilled, waiting. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, like he hated every word he was about to say but couldn’t stop himself.
“I thought I had myself figured out. That nothing could touch me. That love was a lie, that attachment was weakness. And then you showed up. And I did nothing. I gave you nothing. I left you alone in a marriage that should have been more. I told myself it didn’t matter, that you’d give up eventually. But you didn’t. You stayed. You were patient. You were kind. And I-" His voice cracked, just slightly. “I didn’t see it. Or maybe I refused to." His chest rose and fell faster now, like he was losing the rhythm of his usual composure.
“And tonight, when I saw you smiling at him…” He shook his head, his voice dropping to a whisper edged with bitterness. “I felt something I’ve never felt before. Something ugly. Something I don’t want to feel.” He pushed away from the door, pacing once, twice, before turning back to you.
“I hate it. I hate that it’s taken me this long to realise that you matter more to me than anything else in this world. I hate that I couldn’t give you affection before, when you deserved it every single day. I hate that I let you think you weren’t worth my attention, when you’ve been worth everything all along. And I hate-" He stopped, swallowing hard, eyes burning into yours. “I hate myself for not worshipping you sooner.”
The room went silent. You could hear the muffled thrum of the party downstairs, but here, it felt like another world. For a moment, you thought he was angry, but as you looked at him, at the rawness in his expression, you understood. He wasn’t angry at you. He wasn’t even angry at Tatta.
He was furious with himself.
You closed the space between you slowly, as though approaching something fragile that might break. His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling too fast. The words he had spilled into the air still hung heavy and raw.
Your hand lifted gently, brushing against his cheek. The faintest touch, but enough. Your thumb lingered there, soft against his skin. Your eyes met his and you didn’t need to say a single word. The warmth in them said more than a thousand promises, more than reassurances could ever hold.
For a long moment, Chishiya simply stared at you. His lips parted slightly, breath shaky. He usually flinched away from touch, kept his distance from anyone who dared to cross that line. But now, slowly, his shoulders loosened beneath your hand. His breathing steadied. His racing heart began to fall back into rhythm. He placed his hand over yours, pressing it firmer against his face as if anchoring himself. For once, he didn’t fight the comfort. He let himself feel it.
Then his grip on your hand tightened. His other hand rose, sliding to the back of your head. And with one fluid, almost desperate motion, he pulled you toward him. His lips met yours.
This time, it wasn’t for appearances or show. It was real.
It was tentative and somehow uncertain. But the longer his lips lingered on yours, the more it shifted, deepening into something raw and consuming. He tilted his head, angling closer, his grip on you firm as if he feared you might vanish if he let go.
You could feel months of restraint unraveling in him all at once. Every emotion he had buried, every touch he had denied himself, poured into the kiss. His hand to your face, thumb brushing along your skin with reverence, while the other stayed tangled in your hair, pulling you closer still.
The kiss grew desperate, heated, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. His mouth moved against yours with an intensity that startled even him. It was as if he was trying to make up for all the months of distance, all the quiet walls he had built between you. His hands explored, the curve of your back, the line of your waist, the warmth of your skin beneath the fabric. Every inch he touched, he worshipped. His fingers lingered as though memorising you, claiming you, needing to know that you were real and his.
He pressed you against him, the space between your bodies disappearing, the kiss deepening further still. The soft sigh you gave only spurred him further, his chest tightening with an ache he didn’t know how to name. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Chishiya kissed you like a man starved, like he had spent his entire life convincing himself he didn’t need this only to realise now, in this moment, that he could never live without it.
When he finally broke the kiss, it was only to breathe. His forehead pressed to yours, his grip still possessive, as if letting go even for a second would undo everything. His voice was low, rough, shaking with the weight of emotions he couldn’t disguise anymore.
“You’re mine,” he whispered again. Not cold. Not detached. But full of aching truth. And realisation.
A/N: i'm so sorry, i feel like i'm so bad with this whole arranged marriage thing :( but i wanted to fulfil the request anyway. i truly hope you enjoyed it a little bit ♡
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Summary: when you see chishiya with another woman, you can't help the jealousy creeping in. but things aren't as they seem
Warnings: jealousy, a little bit of angst, mentions of alcohol, smut! ahem... oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, protected sex, dirty talk (do not read if you're under 18!)
Word count: ~6k
Requested by anonymous
gif credits
Neither of you had meant for it to happen. Not at the Beach, not in a place where survival meant guarding every secret close to your chest. But Chishiya had slipped past your walls effortlessly, as though he had planned it all along.
No one was supposed to know. That was his rule, his idea of safety. So you played your part in the daylight, a stranger to him among the others, never lingering too long in his orbit. But when night fell and the Beach drowned itself in music and parties, he would always come. The door to your room would creak just after midnight and there he would be, voice low as if even the walls were listening.
It became your routine. He never promised anything, never put words to what this was, but he didn’t need to. The nights spoke for themselves. Long hours tangled in quiet conversation, the brush of his fingers against yours when he thought you had already fallen asleep, the rare curve of his lips when you teased him into smiling. And you believed it meant something.
Until it all started to change.
He hadn't come to your room in three days. The nights grew empty without him. You caught yourself listening for footsteps that never came. Then, you saw him at one of the parties he always claimed to despise. Surrounded by bodies and laughter, standing exactly where you never expected him to be. And all that with another woman.
She leaned in close to him, her laugh ringing over the music, her hand resting lightly on his arm. You waited for him to pull away, to shoot her that look he gave everyone else when they tried to touch him. But he didn’t. He let her stay.
What you weren't able to see was the subtle shift in his expression, the way his grip tightened around his glass.
Your stomach twisted and before you knew it, you were gone, slipping out of the room before he could see the way your chest had caved in.
You did everything you could to avoid him the next day. The Beach was big enough if you knew where to disappear, but Chishiya wasn’t the type to let anything slip past him. You felt his eyes on you more than once, though you never gave him the chance to corner you. Every time he stepped into a room, you slipped out of it. Every time he lingered too close, you found someone else to talk to, pretending not to notice. But Chishiya was patient. And patience, when it belonged to him, was dangerous.
It happened late in the evening, the halls nearly empty, your mind still churning with the memory of him and that woman. You didn’t hear him until it was too late. A hand wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you back before you could react. "I'm getting the feeling you're avoiding me." His lips crashed against yours, heated, as though he had been holding himself back for far too long.
You gasped against him, the fight in you slipping away under the familiar burn of his mouth on yours. His hand slid into your hair, fingers curling as he pulled you flush against him. The anger you had nursed all day trembled and cracked. It began to melt under the soft, desperate way he kissed you.
Between hurried breaths, his words ghosted against your lips, low and rough in a way you weren’t used to from him.
“I missed you.”
“I need you.”
And for a second you almost believed him. But the image of her laugh, her hand on his arm, snapped everything back into place.
You pushed against his chest, breathless, the fire of his touch colliding violently with the ice in your chest. “I don't think you mean that,” you snapped, your voice sharp and trembling all at once. “At least not anymore.”
The confusion on his face was almost enough to undo you, the rare crack in his composure unsettling in its rawness. His mouth opened like he wanted to argue, to demand an explanation, but your feet were already moving. You slipped from his hold before he could stop you, leaving him standing in the empty hall, lips parted, eyes narrowed, as though he couldn’t quite piece together what had just happened. By the time his mind caught up with his body, you were gone.
The next day, you found yourself drifting toward the bar by the pool. The sun was too bright, the laughter of the Beach’s residents too loud and the knot in your stomach too heavy. It was barely past noon, but your visa was expiring tonight. That meant a game awaited you in just a few hours and instead of preparing, you wanted nothing more than to drown everything out. Especially the ache Chishiya had left behind.
Tatta was behind the counter, cheerful as ever, and didn’t ask questions when you requested a drink. You knew it wasn’t the smartest idea. Alcohol before a game dulled your senses, made you reckless. But logic felt distant, smothered beneath the hurt and jealousy that still clawed at your ribs.
The glass touched down in front of you with a soft clink. You reached for it, only to feel someone take the seat beside you. “Do you think it’s wise to drink before a game?” His voice was calm and casual, but it cut through you like a blade.
You almost laughed, though it came out closer to a bitter snort. Of course he knew. Of course Chishiya had kept track of your visa days, the nights you would have to play games, the danger waiting for you after sunset. “Don’t act like you suddenly care,” you muttered, your hand falling away from the glass.
He didn’t respond right away. Then, for the first time in days, he said your name. Quietly, with a weight that made your chest tighten. When you finally looked back at him, he was already leaning closer, his eyes fixed on yours, searching. “Of course I care.”
The words almost didn’t sound like him. They were too raw and too exposed. His gaze burned, sharp and desperate, but you only gave him what you had left: coldness. A stare that stripped the warmth from your features, one that landed harder than you intended. You saw it in the flicker of his expression, the subtle shift in his jaw.
You leaned closer, your voice dropping to a low, careful murmur. “Careful. Or someone might see. Might hear something.”
Before he could say another word, you pushed away from the bar. The glass remained untouched, condensation sliding down its side as you walked off without looking back. Chishiya stayed behind.
For once, his mask slipped. Not in front of you, but in the quiet that followed. He stared at the untouched drink, replaying the look in your eyes, the edge in your voice. He couldn’t fit the pieces together, couldn’t understand what had changed so suddenly and the confusion gnawed at him like nothing else had before.
His mind, always so sharp, faltered under the weight of emotion. He went over every detail, every word, every night he had spent in your room. He thought of the way you used to smile when you thought he wasn’t looking, the warmth of your fingers tracing idle patterns against his skin. None of it aligned with the coldness you had given him now.
And for the first time, Chishiya’s chest ached. It was an unfamiliar pressure, sharp and unrelenting, that he couldn’t reason away. He hated not understanding, hated the loss of control. But more than that, more than the sting of your indifference, he was scared.
Scared of losing you.
The thought clawed at him, an ache buried deep beneath his calm exterior. He didn’t know what he had done, or how to fix it, but the possibility of you slipping away made his pulse thunder in a way he couldn’t ignore. For someone who never let himself need anyone, he realised too late that he already needed you. And the fear of you walking away forever was something even he wasn’t prepared to face.
As evening drew near, the weight inside you only grew heavier. Every tick of the clock dragged you closer to the game that would decide whether or not you’d see another sunrise. Your chest still ached, your mind still replayed the sight of Chishiya with her, and no matter how many times you told yourself to focus, the feelings pressed down harder.
You slipped into a quiet corner, out of sight, and finally let yourself unravel. The tears came soft and silent, sliding down your cheeks as you pressed your hands over your face. It wasn’t just fear of the game, it was him. The anger, the betrayal, the hurt you had no right to feel but felt all the same. And you thought, if you let it out here, maybe it wouldn’t cloud your mind once the game began.
You thought you were unseen. But from the shadows across the hall, Chishiya saw everything.
He had followed the subtle pull of your absence, the quiet gravity that always seemed to draw him towards you no matter how much you tried to push him away. And when he saw the way your shoulders trembled, the tears falling softly, something inside him twisted tight and merciless. His heart ached in a way he couldn’t disguise or rationalise.
He wanted to move. To step out of the shadows, to cross the distance, to pull you against him and tell you something, anything, that might ease the weight you carried. But before he could, the room began to fill. Voices and footsteps rose around him as more and more people gathered, waiting for Hatter to arrive and deliver his nightly sermon of fire and glory.
Chishiya stayed where he was, his expression unreadable to the others but burning beneath the surface. He couldn’t have gone to you, not without eyes noticing, not without questions. And he knew you would only push him away if he tried in front of them.
But one thing settled clearly in his chest. He couldn’t leave you alone tonight. So when the groups for the games were announced, Chishiya made his choice. Despite the comfortable stretch of days still left on his visa, despite every logical reason to stay behind, he slipped into the group bound for your assigned game arena. Silently, without explanation, he ensured that wherever this night led you, he would be there too.
The van ride to the game arena was silent except for the faint hum of the engine and the occasional murmur of nervous voices. You sat stiffly, staring out the window into the darkened streets, your arms folded tightly across your chest. You hadn’t looked at Chishiya once, though you felt him there. Close enough to notice, far enough to frustrate.
When the van stopped and the doors opened, a heavy silence fell over the group. You stepped out into the night air, heart hammering as your eyes found the glowing sign ahead.
A club game. Strategy, puzzles, team work. You swallowed hard. The big screen that had flickered to life at the far end of the room, displaying the rules. You stood with the others as the instructions were read aloud. The goal sounded deceptively simple: escape the maze before the timer runs out. Work together, or die together.
As the countdown began and the doors opened, you pushed forward, determined to focus on the game. Your feelings, your anger, your jealousy, they had no place here. Not if you wanted to survive.
The maze twisted and shifted, walls sliding open and slamming shut without warning. Traps snapped from the ceiling and the floor, cruel devices meant to punish hesitation. You kept your pace steady, trying to stay sharp, but your thoughts betrayed you, flashing back to Chishiya, to the woman, to the coldness you had given him earlier.
And then it happened. You turned a corner too fast. The floor gave way beneath your foot with a sickening crack, a hidden pit yawning wide. You gasped, arms flailing, and for a heartbeat the only thing you saw was the dark void below.
But before you could fall, a hand clamped around your wrist, strong and unyielding. The sudden jerk rattled your bones as you dangled over the pit. You looked up and met Chishiya’s eyes.
His face was sharper than usual, tension carved into the lines of his mouth, his brows drawn in rare urgency. With one brutal pull, he hauled you back onto solid ground, his arm wrapping around you as if he refused to let go until he was certain you were safe.
Your chest heaved, your pulse was wild. For a moment, all you could feel was the strength of his grip, the heat of his body against yours, the reality that you were alive because of him.
And then the anger came back. You shoved at his chest, glaring even as your hands shook. “What the hell were you thinking?” you snapped, your voice breaking under the weight of adrenaline. “That was reckless! You could’ve gone in with me!”
His eyes narrowed, confusion flickering there, as though your words were entirely foreign to him. He had saved you, risked himself for you, something he would have never done for anyone. Yet still you were lashing out. But you couldn’t stop. The mix of fear and heartbreak boiled over, sharper than any blade.
You tore yourself from his hold and stormed ahead through the maze, your pulse still hammering, your throat thick with everything you couldn’t say. Behind you, Chishiya stood frozen for a moment, his mind a storm. He had never let anyone’s words cut this deep.
The walls kept shifting, traps kept springing, screams echoed from players who weren’t fast enough. But from the moment Chishiya pulled you back from that pit, he never strayed more than a step from your side.
Every turn, every decision, he kept you within reach, his gaze flicking to you in quick, sharp glances as though making sure you were still there, still moving. His usual detached calm was still in his posture, but the truth was written in the smallest cracks. The way his jaw clenched when you stumbled, the quick tightening of his grip when he steadied you, the way his shoulders didn’t drop until the maze’s final door slid open.
When you stepped back into the cool night air, relief crashed over you so strong it nearly brought you to your knees. You were alive. And though your head had been clouded, though your heart had been too heavy, he had made sure you survived.
But you couldn’t look at him. Not yet.
Back at the Beach, the atmosphere shifted as survivors trickled in. The usual mix of victory cheers and hollow silence echoed through the halls. You tried to slip away, to vanish into the crowd before Chishiya could close the distance. But you should have known better.
It only took a few steps down a dim corridor before a hand caught your wrist and pulled you sharply into an empty room. The door clicked shut behind you.
“Alright, that's enough,” Chishiya said, his voice low but hard, his eyes burning in the dim light. He didn’t waste time, didn’t give you a chance to escape. He caged you in with his presence, his usual calm unraveling at the edges. “What the hell is going on with you?”
You yanked at your wrist, glaring. “Let go of me.”
“Not until you tell me what this is.” He stepped closer, cornering you without ever raising his voice. His restraint was the only thing keeping the sharpness of his anger in check. “You’ve been avoiding me, lashing out at me-" His eyes narrowed, the memory of your words in the maze still cutting through him. “I save your life and you call me reckless?”
The silence stretched, your chest heaving as you tried to fight against the storm of emotion pressing in on you. Finally, the words tore out of you, raw and bitter. “I saw you with her.”
For the first time, Chishiya blinked. “Her?”
“That woman,” you snapped, your voice breaking despite your attempt to keep it sharp. “At one of the parties. Laughing. Letting her touch you. And you-" Your throat closed, the tears threatening to spill again. “You didn’t even flinch.”
His brows drew together, not in anger but in something far rarer. Confusion, then realisation. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair as though piecing the puzzle together.
“That’s what this is about?” His tone wasn’t mocking, but stunned, as if he couldn’t believe it. When you looked away, ashamed of how small and foolish you felt, he moved closer still, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“She isn’t what you think.” His voice was quieter now, the edge gone, replaced by something steadier. “Hatter wanted me close to her. She’s been trying to seduce Hatter, asking all the right questions to make him suspicious of her intentions. She's been trying to get close to any executive, really. He wanted me to use that, to get information out of her.”
You froze, your breath catching.
“I let her laugh. I let her touch me.” His jaw tightened. “Because it kept her talking. Because it made her believe she had me wrapped around her finger. And the entire time-" His hand came up, fingers brushing against your jaw, grounding you even as your heart twisted. “The entire time, I was thinking about how much I hated being anywhere but with you.”
Your eyes burned, the cold front you had put up all this time cracking under the weight of his words.
“You think I don’t care?” His voice broke low. “Do you know how close I came to losing it when you went down in that maze? Do you have any idea what that did to me?” He shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line as though he couldn’t say it any plainer. “I can’t lose you. Not you.”
The air between you was thick and heavy. Your pulse thundering in your ears. Every inch of you screamed to let go of the anger, to give in to him, but the ache lingered still. It was raw and unresolved.
And yet when he leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours, his breath brushing over your lips, you didn’t move away. You couldn’t.
For the first time since this began, you heard the truth beneath his calm, felt it in the trembling edge of his control.
The silence between you pressed heavier than the walls of the room, thick with everything you hadn’t said and everything you couldn’t. Chishiya’s forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven, his fingers trembling where they cupped your jaw. You had never seen him like this, never seen the sharp, controlled man fraying at the seams.
His voice came low, raw, almost breaking. "Please don’t shut me out. I can’t stand it.” Something inside you snapped. The ache, the longing, the fear of losing him... it all collided into one inevitable impulse. Before he could say anything else, you surged forward and kissed him.
It was desperate and hungry, as though you were making up for every night you had spent apart. The suddenness of it seemed to shatter what little control he had left. His hands gripped your hips, dragging you flush against him, his mouth moving against yours with fierce urgency.
The kiss deepened quickly, his lips parting, his tongue brushing against yours in a demand that pulled a sharp sound from your throat. The sound made him groan, low and guttural, as though it had ripped something loose inside him. He pressed you back against the wall, his body crowding yours, his hand sliding from your hip up your spine to tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back and claim your mouth harder.
He kissed you like he had been starving. Like the days without you had been torment.
When his lips left yours, it was only to trail hot, desperate kisses down your jaw, to your neck. You gasped when his teeth grazed your skin and he rewarded you with a soft, possessive mark just below your ear. His voice was rough when he spoke against your skin, each word vibrating through you.
“You have no idea what you do to me. These past days have been hell. I don’t need anyone but you.”
The sincerity in his tone, the way it cracked just faintly, undid you. Your hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, wordlessly begging him not to stop.
His touch grew bolder, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. His hands were cool against your overheated skin, sending shivers racing down your body. The contrast was intoxicating, grounding and dizzying all at once. He explored slowly at first, reverent almost, then with growing confidence as the kiss between you turned more frantic.
When his tongue slid against yours, you couldn’t hold back the soft, desperate moan that escaped you. The sound tore the last threads of restraint from him. His hands gripped harder, his body pressing you tighter against the wall, his kiss deepening into something that was no longer careful or calculated. It was raw hunger.
Your hand slid down, palming his hard cock through his swim trousers. Chishiya's breath hitched as he bit down on your lip. His brain was still trying to catch up with his actions.
Your shirt came off in one swift motion. A wicked smile plastered his face as he slowly undid your bikini top. As it fell to the floor, he licked his lips, taking in the view in front of him before his mouth was back on yours. You yanked his jacket off, his shirt following suit. You were eager to feel his warm skin against yours.
You dropped to your knees and settled between him and the wall behind you. Chishiya looked down, his hand stroking your cheek gently. "Let me take care of you first, darling."
Your eyes met his and you shook your head softly as you pulled his trousers down. His erection sprung up, rock hard and pre-cum already leaking. Chishiya inhaled sharply as the cool air hit his painfully eager cock. He cursed under his breath as your tongue moved along his shaft, all the way up to the sensitive tip.
You licked up the pre-cum before finally taking him into your mouth. Chishiya was tempted to throw his head back but he couldn't take his eyes off you. You moved slowly, driving him insane. "Fuck, please no teasing. It's been days." He spoke through gritted teeth, trying his best to refrain from grabbing your hair.
You chuckled intentionally, wanting him to feel the vibrations. "Just use me in whatever way you need me, Chishiya." You grinned at him. You knew exactly which buttons to push. Something inside you craved his rougher side. You wanted him to claim your body, to remind you you were his and his only.
Chishiya fisted your hair and tilted your head back. He looked at you for a second longer before tapping his cock against your mouth. "Keep your mouth open then."
You obeyed and he slid his full length into you, hitting the back of your throat. He stayed like this until you choked on him. The moan was guttural as he pulled out, letting you catch your breath. And then he fucked your mouth. Mercilessly. The back of your head hit the wall behind you. You couldn't suppress your moans. His pace was rough. The sloppy wet sounds and your mixed moans filled the room.
When his thrusts became uneven, your hand reached up, fisting his dick. You sucked at his tip and Chishiya let out a low groan. He pulled your hair harder, tilting your head back. But that didn't stop you from pumping his cock. You looked up at him, giving him just the right face to almost send him over the edge right there.
"If you don't stop right now, I'll come all over that pretty face of yours." The words came through gritted teeth, hiding how unstable his voice was.
Your lips curved into a smirk. "Please do." You whispered, your voice sounding way too innocent for what you've just asked of him.
Chishiya cursed loudly, your name leaving his lips as the first spurts of warm semen hit your face. You closed your eyes, enjoying his desperate groans as he painted your face with his cum. His grip in your hair loosened.
When he caught his breath, he ended the silence stretching between the two of you. "I'd love for you to just walk out of here and let everyone see this masterpiece." He grabbed your chin, tilting your head in every direction to admire his artwork.
"Always happy to be your canvas, Picasso." You replied amused.
Chishiya stepped into the ensuite bathroom, grabbing a towel and holding it under some running water. He returned to you, kneeling down in front of you. "Careful, it's rather cold." He whispered softly before starting to clean your face.
You opened your eyes, meeting his right in front of your face. You smiled softly, thanking him. Chishiya's gaze held yours long after he had put the towel down. "I'm sorry." His voice was soft as he bend down his head in apology. "All of this could have been avoided if I had communicated better."
You cupped his cheek softly. "You are under no obligation to me. It wasn't my place to react like that. So it's me who has to apologise."
Chishiya shook his head, his breath leaving in what seemed like a soft laugh. He imagined how he would have felt if the roles were reversed. He would have gone feral if he saw you with someone like that, without knowing what was happening.
But he couldn't admit that. Because that would mean admitting he was in love with you. And he had never ever been in love.
Something inside him took pride in your jealousy. Because that meant you felt something for him, too. Something deeper.
Chishiya cupped your face, "don't ever apologise for the way you feel." His lips met yours. The kiss was soft at first, careful. "This isn't a no strings attached kind of thing. I won't let it." He deepened the kiss, pulling you up and against his bare body. "You're mine," he breathed, "and I'm yours. I won't let anyone come between that."
You knew this night was far from over.
His hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch. You almost flinched whenever his fingertips grazed a sensitive part of your skin. His mouth claimed yours in fierce passion. He wanted you to feel everything he couldn't say, everything he couldn't find the words for.
His hand slipped into your bikini bottoms. He moaned when he felt your wetness against his fingertips.
He spun you around, forcing you to walk backwards until your legs hit the end of the bed. He pushed you down gently, his hand never leaving your pussy, his lips barely ever leaving yours either. He needed this. Needed to be close. Connected.
He was on top of you right away. He kissed down your jaw, your throat, biting your shoulders as he started rubbing your clit more intensely. His dick was already getting hard again, you felt it against your thigh.
He removed your bikini bottoms before settling in between your legs. He easily slid two fingers inside you, never breaking eye contact. You moaned loudly, your hands fisting the sheets.
Chishiya smirked before leaning down, his tongue immediately finding your clit. "God, I missed that sweet cunt of yours so much." He moaned against you as he started pumping his fingers faster.
You arched your back, grabbing his hair and pushing him harder against your pussy. He sucked your clit, then flickered his tongue over it as he curled his fingers inside you. You moaned his name.
He used his free hand to pinch your nipple, rolling it between his fingers. The sensation was almost unbearable. He knew your body too well. Knew exactly which buttons to push to get you close to the edge. When he moaned against your cunt, the vibrations almost pushed you over it.
You threw your head back. Your legs tried to close, which only resulted in squeezing his head in between your thighs. Chishiya loved when you did that. He knew you were close, which made him continue exactly what he was doing in exactly the right pace. "Fuck, darling. Please come for me."
His low, rough voice was enough to send you over the edge. He helped you through your high. Your legs were trembling as your body jolted involuntarily.
When you came down from your orgasm, Chishiya sat up, straightening himself. The satisfied grin on his face looked almost inhuman.
He placed your legs over his shoulder. "What are you-" His fingers were back inside you. He used his other hand to keep your lower body pinned to the mattress, his fingers sprawled over your lower belly, pushing you down.
The pace he chose was fast and almost cruel, given how sensitive you still were. His fingers pumped in and out of you like there was no tomorrow, curling at just the right spot.
"Chishiya, please-" you finally managed to moan out. You felt your second high approaching. It felt ridiculous how easily he was able to get you close to your orgasm. It was insane how skilled he was with just his fingers.
"Please what, darling?" He asked, not stopping his movements. You tried to move your hips, tried to get away from the angle that was about to make you come again. But he didn't let you.
"Please, just fuck me."
"But I am fucking you." He leaned forward, his hand grabbing your chin, forcing eye contact. His breath was hot against your face.
"Or do you want my cock? Are my fingers not enough for your desperate cunt?" You moaned when the dirty words left his lips. You were unable to reply.
"Come for me again and I'll fuck you." He whispered, placing soft kisses on your neck. His mouth reached your tits, swirling his tongue around your nipple before sucking harshly.
And when he curled his fingers again, you reached your second high of the night. "That's my good girl."
Chishiya licked his fingers clean. When he leaned down and pushed his tongue into your mouth, you could taste yourself on him.
He got up, walking over to his jacket to retrieve a condom from one of its pockets. "Do you just carry them around everywhere?" You asked, still trying to catch your breath.
Chishiya raised an eyebrow, his lips curving slightly. "Imagine I didn't. How would I be able to fuck you whenever and wherever the fuck I want?"
You bit your lip, refraining yourself from giving him a sassy remark. You knew this wouldn't end well for you.
He stood at the edge of the bed, rolling the condom over his hard cock. He grabbed your legs and pulled you further down. The bed was high enough for him just having to bend his legs a little to get the right angle. He slid his dick up and down your pussy, using your own juices as lube before he finally pushed into you.
He threw his head slightly back, inhaling sharply. When his eyes found yours again, the playfulness was gone. Replaced with raw need. You wrapped your legs around him as he started moving in and out of you. His thrusts were slow at first, making sure to push his entire length into you.
But they were soon becoming faster, more eager. You tried to meet his every thrust, making it all the more sensational for both of you. Chishiya placed his hands on either side of your head, leaning down and kissing you fiercely. Soft moans kept slipping out of your mouth and into his.
"Do you really think I'd waste my time with anyone else when I already have you?" He asked, barely audible over the harsh sound of skin slapping against skin.
"I don't know what I was thinking..."
Chishiya stilled his movements, his cock was fully buried inside you. "I have never wanted anyone so badly. I don’t let people in. I never wanted anyone enough to even try. But then you just... broke through everything. I didn’t even notice it happening until it was too late. And now I can’t stop thinking about you." He started moving again, his cock hitting just the right spot whenever it slid back in.
His mouth was on yours, "I can't stop needing you." He added in between kisses. "I’ve never felt this way for anyone."
His words fuelled something inside you. You felt yourself getting close. Your third orgasm of the night. And it was approaching fast with every word he spoke.
"Only you." He breathed. "There's only you. And I'm totally addicted to you."
Your walls started clenching around his cock, resulting in groans leaving his throat. You threw your head back, eyes shut. Chishiya grabbed your face. "Let me see those pretty eyes when you come for me, darling." His voice wasn't commanding but needy. Desperate even.
Your eyes met his and you came undone. The look on your face made his cock twitch. He guided you through your high while chasing his own, making sure to satisfy you to the last second before finally letting go. His hips snapped when he filled the condom, his soft moans slowly fading into satisfied silence.
He pulled out carefully, removing the condom and throwing it in the trash. He asked if you needed anything and you shook your head softly. So he lay down on the bed, pulling you up until you were in his arms.
The room was quiet except for the slowing rhythm of your breaths. The chaos, the hunger, the sharp edges of desperation had faded, leaving only warmth. His warmth, surrounding you like a shield. Chishiya lay on his side, one arm wrapped firmly around you, holding you against his chest as though he didn’t dare let go.
Your skin still tingled where his hands had been, but now his touch was feather-light. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, lingering just a little longer as if memorising the feel of you there.
For a long while, he didn’t speak. He simply held you, his heartbeat steady under your ear, his fingers tracing lazy patterns against your back. Then, quietly, his voice broke the silence.
“I’m not good with words,” he murmured, his tone uncharacteristically fragile, almost unsure. “You know that I can’t… say things the way other people do. But I need you to know something.”
You tilted your head, looking up at him and his eyes met yours. They seemed unguarded and stripped of their usual calculation.
“You mean more to me than I’ll ever be able to express.” His thumb brushed along your cheek, his gaze softening as though the admission cost him everything but freed him at the same time. “More than I ever thought I could feel for anyone.”
He leaned down, brushing his lips against your temple and pulled you closer, as if the very thought of distance was unbearable.
In that moment, you understood. You might never be a normal couple. Not in a world like this. And he might never say the words in the way you longed to hear them. Not after everything he went through in his life. Everything he had to endure. And you would never expect that of him.
But everything in his embrace told you the truth. And that was enough. You were his and he was yours.
A/N: the gif is driving me insane, he's so beautiful i can't- anyways, thank you for this request. i hope you enjoyed it ♡
Summary: reading your diary is no longer enough. chishiya has to find you
Warnings: angst! with a big amount of fluff
Word count: ~7k
This is Part 2 of Paper Hearts
gif credits
And he would find you. Not by chance. Not by accident. Because he’d decided.
And once Shuntaro Chishiya decided on something, the world, this one or the last, never stood a chance.
You had liked the shed. It wasn’t much. Just four wooden walls and a roof patched in more places than it should have been, but it had felt safe. A corner where you could sit, breathe and pretend the world outside wasn’t sharpening its teeth against you.
Leaving it behind hurt more than you thought it would. Not the roof or the walls, but the small things you had collected, the fragments that made the Borderlands feel a little less empty. Your clothes, a chipped mug, the soft fabric you had found draped over a fence one afternoon. And your diary.
That one stung the most. Page after page of your words, your thoughts, your observations. They were pieces of you you would never get back. But this world demanded sacrifices. So you had to leave.
The stationery shop was a chance discovery. An unremarkable building on the outside, but inside… drawers of pens, shelves of untouched notebooks, scraps of paper covered in dust but blank and waiting. You found yourself returning there whenever the world’s cruelty weighed too heavily, taking what you needed, letting the silence of the aisles soothe you.
The words kept coming. They always did. Sometimes short fragments, sometimes long paragraphs, sometimes little poems about the cruelty of people or the emptiness of survival. Writing wasn’t hope, but it was something close to breathing.
Your nature had always leaned toward seeing too much. Too much pain, too much beauty, too much hidden under masks. Even here, you noticed the details others ignored: the way someone’s hands trembled when they thought no one was looking, or how the night air carried a softness even when the games had been brutal. You wrote it all down.
One evening, you returned to the shop. The glass door whined as you pushed it open and the familiar musty air greeted you. You moved to the counter where you usually scribbled notes before tearing the pages free.
That was when you saw it. A single piece of paper sat on the cashier’s desk. You picked it up.
I’m glad I found you.
The words were simple. Almost absurdly so. And yet, your heart stuttered in your chest, a startled rhythm that felt louder than it should.
Because you had written endlessly into the void of this world and never had it answered back.
Until now.
At first, it felt like a trap. The words, even though they were so simple, so human, burned in your brain. I’m glad I found you. The letters tilted unevenly, as though the writer had tried to mask a messy handwriting as something neat.
Confusion struck first, then the faintest spike of panic. Who had seen you here? How long had they been watching? Your chest tightened as if the air had turned heavy and without thinking, you slipped the paper back onto the counter and bolted the shop.
The night air outside hit your skin like cold water. You walked fast, boots crunching against broken glass scattered across the pavement. Each step stretched into another. But as the city swallowed you, another thought pressed in.
What could possibly be worse than the world out here?Everywhere was danger. Everyone was a weapon. The games, the strangers. The cruelty was constant, unmasked. And yet… Your mind whispered in rhymes, unbidden:
Hope is a candle, trembling, slight,
but even small flames pierce the night.
If doom has already carved the land,
what fear is left of another hand?
You slowed. The panic still hummed beneath your ribs, but it tangled with something else. Something dangerously close to curiosity. Before you had fully decided, your feet had already turned.
Back at the shop, the shadows felt thicker, but the silence was unchanged. You walked to the counter, found a pen that still bled ink and lowered the tip to the same piece of paper.
Your hand trembled, but the words came anyway, in that half-poetic rhythm you could never suppress:
To be found... is it fortune, or is it fate? Should I welcome the light, or fear the hand that holds it? Tell me… is there something here I should dread, or are you only as dangerous as this world already is?
You added the small poem your brain had just come up with a few minutes ago. You left the pen beside the note, the question hanging in the stale air, your heart still loud in your chest as you stepped back.
For the first time since you lost your diary, you weren’t writing into the void.
The stationery shop had become a ritual. He never lingered long, never left more than the faintest trace behind. Just enough. Tonight was no different, until he stepped inside and saw it. The paper was no longer empty.
A line cut through him like static across his skin. His eyes locked on the handwriting, your handwriting, each curve familiar from the diary but fresh, alive in a way the old pages never could be. It had taken you a few days to return to the shop after Chishiya had left the note. He had kept himself busy by participating in a game. And when the waiting became too much, he sneaked by your shelter one night, taking some of the remaining blank sheets of paper to give you a reason to return to the stationary shop.
He crossed the room without hesitation, the faintest tightness coiling in his chest. He lifted the paper, his eyes scanning every word.
His heart stumbled, then picked up speed. Too loud for something so minor as ink on paper. He noticed it almost immediately, the unsteady rhythm in his chest and the realisation unsettled him. Why should this matter? Why should something as simple as a reply draw this reaction out of him when nothing else ever did?
He read it again. Then again. Devouring the words like a man starved for something he had never admitted he wanted. Each line cut sharper than the last, threaded with your voice, your thought, your wariness, your strange beauty. His lips curved faintly, but it wasn’t quite a smile. More a tightening, something raw pressing beneath the surface.
The diary had been enough, for a while. Enough to keep him company through the monotony of the Beach, through the lies and forced roles. But this, this was you now. You breathing, questioning, writing to him. It wasn’t memory. It was presence. Every line of ink only sharpened the ache to know the hand that wrote it, the eyes behind it, the voice that would speak it.
The obsession that had begun quietly, like water seeping into stone, was now clawing through the cracks. Chishiya folded the paper carefully, sliding it into his jacket. His pulse was still uneven. He hated noticing it. But he already knew he’d come back tomorrow. And the next day. And every day after, until he had more than words.
The next evening, you returned to the stationery shop, hesitant but pulled by something you didn’t want to name. The paper from yesterday was gone. For a moment, a pang of disappointment flickered through you, until you saw a new sheet laid neatly on the counter.
The handwriting was the same, messy but deliberate, as though the writer was trying to be careful for your sake.
If my words frightened you, I apologise. That wasn’t my intention. I don’t know how to phrase things the way you do. Your words feel like glass, polished and sharp, while mine are only rough edges. But I mean well. To show you that, I’ll give you something useful: there’s an old hardware shop on the corner of 5th and Sakura. In the back storage room, there are shelves of canned goods, water bottles, even camping gear. Use what you need.
P.S. Consider this my peace offering.
Next to the note sat a protein bar, slightly dented but still sealed. You laughed softly, the sound startling in the quiet. It was ridiculous, the way something so small felt like a gift. You unwrapped it then and there, chewing as you left the shop with a faint smile you hadn’t worn in too long.
The address he gave wasn’t a lie. The hardware store was dusty and dim, but the shelves were full. Rows of cans, crates of bottled water, even a stack of sleeping bags. You packed as much as you could carry, the weight of the bags dragging on your shoulders but filling you with a strange warmth.
On your way back, you stopped at the stationery shop. Your hands ached from the load, but you dug out a pen anyway, leaning over the counter.
Then let my reply be my peace offering in return. Thank you, for the food, for the kindness, for showing me something good in this ruined place. Your words are not rough. They are true. And perhaps truth doesn’t need polish at all.
You left it there, tucking it beneath the protein bar’s empty wrapper. And so it began.
Once a day at first. You, leaving thoughts like breadcrumbs, and him, answering in notes that were shorter, simpler, but steady. Then twice a day. Then more. Your fragments began to overlap, weaving into something that felt dangerously close to conversation.
It didn't take you long to realise he was the player you once met during a game of Diamonds. The one who had mesmerised you. You learned he lived at the Beach, though he never said much about it. That he had a way of seeing people without their masks. That he read your words as though they were sustenance.
The stranger became more than just that. Every reply carried it between the lines, in the way his rough handwriting bent toward softness whenever it was meant for you. And though you told yourself not to, you felt yourself falling for him.
The stationery shop became a place where silence wasn’t empty but expectant, where you and the stranger left fragments of yourselves folded neatly into ink and paper.
You wrote, The nights are loud with silence. Sometimes it feels louder than screams. Do you ever hear it too?
He replied, Yes. Silence says more than people do. At least it doesn’t lie.
You wrote, I saw a girl today with blood on her hands. She wept like she didn’t know how it got there. But I think she did.
He replied, Most people here know exactly what they’re doing. They just pretend not to. You’re different.
You wrote, Different doesn't always mean better. Sometimes it just means lonelier.
He replied shaky, as if rewritten twice, Maybe you don’t have to be alone.
The rhythm deepened, quickened. Once a day became twice. Twice became whenever you could.
You wrote, Today I found a flower growing out of broken asphalt. It shouldn’t have been there, but it was. Do you think things survive out of defiance or chance?
He replied, Both. Like you.
Your next note was written in a hurry. You were about to make your way to any game arena since your visa was expiring. But you wanted to stop at the shop once more before you entered a game.
I dreamed of the Diamonds game again. Of you. Your eyes were clear, sharper than the knives everyone else carried. They terrified me. They comforted me. I don’t know what that means.
His reply was short. The words uneven and pressed hard into the paper as if he had paused too long before writing them,
It means you saw me. And I’ve never wanted to be seen, until now.
With every note, his letters bent closer towards you. With every reply, your words opened wider, spilling more of your inner world across the pages.
By the second week, the correspondence wasn’t just habit. It was hunger. For him, it was obsession. His fingers lingering on the paper too long, heart skipping faster with each word of yours, confused why ink could undo him this way. For you, it was the smallest, most dangerous flicker of hope.
And in a world designed to crush both, hope and obsession were already entwining into something inevitable. He told himself it was fine. That the exchange of words was enough. More than enough, in a world where everything else was death and deceit. But when he unfolded your latest note, his resolve began to splinter.
Sometimes when I write to you, I forget this world exists. It feels like you are a door I keep knocking on and I don’t know if I want you to answer or if I’m afraid of what happens if you do.
The page trembled slightly in his hand. He stilled it, annoyed at himself for even noticing. This was dangerous. He knew that. Attachment in the Borderlands was a liability. Something to be either used, exploited, or destroyed. He had always prided himself on being immune. Detached. Observing the world from above while everyone else drowned in it.
But you weren’t like the others. You wrote the way he thought. Honest and unwilling to soften truth but still able to see fractured beauty where no one else did. You weren’t drowning. You were surviving and every line you wrote made him feel as though you were surviving with him.
His heart was beating faster again. The same way it had when he found your first reply. It infuriated him, that his body betrayed him like this over ink and paper. He pressed a hand against his chest, as though he could will it back to calm, but the uneven rhythm persisted.
The logical part of him whispered: You don’t need this. Distance is safer. Control is safer.
The other part countered: You don’t just want this. You need it. You need her.
And that was the truth he could no longer ignore. Reading wasn’t enough. The diary, the notes, the careful exchange of words. They were sustenance for a while, yes, but now they had turned into hunger. He needed to see you. Not as handwriting. Not as fragmented thoughts. But as a person, standing in front of him, breathing the same air.
For once in his life, it wasn’t strategy, or curiosity, or even survival. It was want. A want that had grown teeth and was tearing through the walls he’d built around himself.
Chishiya set the paper down, staring at it for a long moment. His lips curved into the faintest, unreadable smile. The decision had already been made, somewhere deep inside him, long before this moment. Now it was only a matter of time.
Niragi had been watching him for weeks. Chishiya was slippery, always slinking around the Beach like smoke. Too quiet. Too calculating. Niragi knew there was something beneath that lazy smile and half-lidded stare. Something dangerous.
So one night, when Chishiya slipped out of the Beach after midnight, Niragi followed.
He stayed far enough back to avoid being noticed, grinning to himself as Chishiya wove through the streets of the empty city. Eventually, the blonde stopped at a small stationery shop. He went inside, stayed only a few minutes, then left just as casually as he came. Niragi frowned. That’s it?
He crouched on a nearby rooftop, waiting. One hour passed. Then another. And then he saw you. Moving carefully through the shadows, you slipped into the same shop, stayed inside for a few minutes and then left. Niragi’s grin widened, sharp and mocking. Well, well. Looks like someone has a little secret.
He went straight to Hatter. The leader of the Beach was half-drunk, draped in silk as always, but Niragi’s words cut through his haze.
“Chishiya has been sneaking out. Met with someone. Cute thing, too. He leaves and an hour later, she shows up at the same spot. Something doesn't seem right about this. Like he’s playing his own little game outside yours.” Niragi scoffed, then added, “Or maybe he just wanted to get laid.”
Hatter laughed at first, but the laughter didn’t last. The mention of Chishiya’s name always brought a shadow to his eyes. “Do you know what kind of man Chishiya is?” Hatter murmured, more to himself than to Niragi. “He doesn’t play with toys. He plays with kingdoms. Every smile he wears is a calculation. If he’s hiding someone, it isn’t romance. It’s strategy.”
Hatter’s gaze was sharp, cutting through the drunken façade. He shook his head slowly. “He’s dangerous, Niragi. More dangerous than anyone at the Beach. If he’s keeping her a secret, then she’s either his weakness… or his weapon.” Hatter leaned forward, voice dropping into steel. “Bring her to me.” Niragi grinned, teeth flashing. “With pleasure.”
You were humming quietly under your breath as you slipped through the city, a bag over your shoulder, ready to leave another note. But you never made it inside.
From the alley beside the shop, shadows surged. Rough hands grabbed you, a cloth muffled your scream and your body was dragged backwards. Panic clawed up your throat as you kicked, thrashed, bit, but the men were stronger. And they laughed as though this were nothing more than a game.
One of them leaned close enough for you to smell his breath. His grin was wide and feral, eyes glinting with cruelty. “Well, well. So this is the little secret, huh? Let’s see what Hatter thinks about that.”
Your stomach dropped, dread pooling inside you. They bound your wrists and shoved you into the back of a car. As the city blurred by, you stared at the morning sky through the window, clinging to one single thought like a prayer: He’ll find me.
Chishiya slipped into the stationery shop at the usual hour, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. The place was empty as always. But the desk was bare. No folded note waiting for him.
He frowned. Not unusual, maybe. You could’ve been late. He lingered, leaning casually against the counter, pretending he wasn’t listening for footsteps outside. Nothing. The next hour, still nothing.
He returned to the shop later that day. Unease began to creep under his skin. He paced the shop slowly, fingers brushing over the edges of paper stacks, the pens neatly lined. No fresh ink, no trace of you. His mind raced, though outwardly he remained calm. Maybe a game. But no, the last note was late last night, long after the games had ended. You were safe then.
The thought of you bleeding in some dark arena made his chest tighten painfully, a sensation so unfamiliar it left him unsteady. He told himself he was being irrational. That you would show up later today. That nothing had happened. But it was a lie and he knew it.
By evening, his usual calm was gone, replaced by something he hadn’t felt in years: panic. It lodged like a stone in his throat, kept him circling the city, returning to the shop again and again as if you might suddenly materialise.
When he finally returned to the Beach, his body was taut with restless energy. He hardly made it inside when Niragi stepped into his path, smiling like a cat that had cornered its prey. “Hatter wants to see you.” Chishiya’s eyes narrowed, but his voice remained lazy, unbothered. “Does he, now?” Niragi’s grin widened, cruel and knowing. Chishiya’s pulse spiked. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
The room was dimly lit. Hatter lounged in his chair like a king on a fragile throne, robes spilling around him. His smile was wide and entirely without warmth.
You were standing off to the side, wrists bound, two guards gripping your arms. Niragi leaned smugly against the wall, his rifle slung casually over his shoulder, enjoying every second.
Chishiya entered like nothing about this scene was unusual. Hands in his pockets, posture loose, that same half-lidded gaze giving nothing away. He didn’t so much as glance at you. Though every nerve in his body was screaming to.
“Chishiya,” Hatter drawled, tilting his head, “you’ve been keeping secrets.” Chishiya’s lips curved faintly. “If I were keeping secrets, do you think I’d be sloppy enough for Niragi to find them?” His tone was almost bored, dismissive. Niragi’s grin faltered just a fraction.
Hatter chuckled, though his eyes sharpened. “So she’s not yours? Not someone you’ve been… grooming outside my walls? Not a hidden piece on the board?” Chishiya finally turned his gaze to you. It was brief and clinical, like a doctor glancing at a file. Nothing intimate. Nothing revealing. And yet, beneath his calm, his heart was thrumming in his ears.
“I don’t even know her name,” he said smoothly. “She’s... how did you phrase it? A piece on the board.” Hatter raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” Chishiya slipped further into the lie as if it were second nature. "I needed someone believable on the outside. Harmless-looking. Someone people would underestimate. She’s an asset. A pawn. Nothing more.”
The words burned as they left his tongue, but he kept his face unreadable, his tone almost lazy. Niragi barked a laugh. “You’re telling me you’ve been sneaking out every night for a… pawn?”
Chishiya shrugged. “Would you have believed me if I told you here, in front of everyone? No. Sometimes a snake needs to shed its skin in private.”
Hatter leaned back in his chair, studying him for a long, tense moment. Chishiya didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. And then Hatter smiled, wide and dazzling. “You’re clever, Chishiya. Always thinking of the bigger picture. I like that.”
The tension broke. The guards loosened their grip on your arms, though they didn’t release you entirely. Chishiya offered a small, empty smile. “I thought you might.”
But as he turned his gaze away, his hands curled tighter in his pockets, nails biting into his palms. Because beneath the perfect mask of detachment, he was already planning a dozen different ways to get you out.
It was late when the door creaked open. The Beach had mostly gone quiet, save for the faint thrum of bass and laughter bleeding through the walls. You sat curled on the thin mattress, arms wrapped around yourself, the neon bikini they had forced you into making your skin crawl.
When Chishiya slipped inside, the shadows seemed to bend with him. He closed the door carefully, his blonde hair catching the light. For a moment he stood still, unreadable as ever, and then he crossed the room.
You expected sharp words, some sly remark. Instead, he sat down at the edge of the bed, something soft bundled in his hands. “I thought you might hate this place’s dress code,” he murmured. He laid a hoodie across your lap.
Your throat tightened. Before you could even thank him, his other hand moved. Slowly, until his palm cupped your cheek. His fingers were cool against your flushed skin and when you met his eyes, the mask he wore so well was gone. The detachment, the calculation, all stripped away.
His gaze softened, heavy with something you couldn’t quite name. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice raw in its quiet. “That you had to meet me like this.”
The apology pulled a shaky laugh out of you, breaking the tension. “Well, we basically already met. During that game, remember?”
The corner of his mouth lifted, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Still, you could feel the warmth of him, the way his thumb brushed just barely against your cheekbone.
“Not exactly the most romantic reunion,” you teased, slipping the hoodie on. It swallowed you whole, soft against your skin. “Being paraded around as your pawn. Honestly, I expected a little more from you.” For the first time, he shook his head lightly, as if amused by your boldness. “I told you,” he said, voice lower, “I’m not as good with words as you are.”
Something in his tone made your chest ache. The hoodie smelled faintly of him, like something you could get addicted to. And then, before you could reply, he leaned closer.
The space between you vanished in a heartbeat. His lips brushed yours and the world outside your door ceased to exist. You melted instantly, all fear and exhaustion slipping from your body as you leaned into him.
It wasn’t rushed. It was the quiet relief of finally being close to someone, of belonging in a world that had stripped belonging away. His hand stayed on your face, grounding you, steady even as your heart hammered wildly.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours. His eyes were still soft, still bare, like this was the only place he could afford to be human. "I'm sorry. I've been wanting to do that for far too long now."
Neither of you said another word. The silence was full but not heavy, the kind that hummed between two people who had already said more without words than they could ever manage with them.
He stayed close, not crowding, never forcing. Just near enough that his fingertips brushed your jaw every so often, like a tether. His eyes held yours steadily and softer now. Stripped of the armour he wore for everyone else.
You broke the silence first, voice hushed, “So, you're a doctor.” You remembered how the last thing you wrote about was figuring out each other's careers in the real world.
Something flickered in his expression. He leaned back slightly, resting his elbow on his knee. “Was,” he corrected, though his tone wasn’t sharp. “That life is gone.”
You tilted your head, studying him. “No… it isn’t. I can see it in you. You think too carefully. You measure everything before you speak, before you move. It suits you. Healing people. Knowing exactly what’s wrong before anyone else notices.”
His lips curved, not quite into a smile, more like amusement he didn’t want to admit. “That’s a generous interpretation.” You shrugged inside the hoodie, warm and safe in the weight of it. “Not generous. Just true.”
The quiet stretched again, and then he spoke, "You're a writer. I just haven't figured out whether you're an author or a journalist." You grinned, “I’m nothing like that. Poetry… writing… it’s just a hobby. A way to keep myself from drowning.”
Chishiya’s gaze sharpened, a glint in his eyes that made your breath catch. “That,” he murmured, “I don’t believe.” You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “It’s the truth. Words are the only thing I’ve ever had, but that doesn’t mean I’m good at them.”
His hand shifted, fingertips grazing your wrist now, feather-light, tracing the faint marks from where the guards had held you. The gesture was careful, almost reverent, like he was cataloguing proof that you were still here. “You underestimate yourself,” he said finally, his voice even but low, like he was confessing something he hadn’t intended to.
The air between you pulsed with something unspoken. He could feel the rational part of him, still there, still calculating. The doctor who saw the danger, who knew connections here could mean destruction. And yet, at the same time, he felt the other side of him, the part he had buried for years, the one he was only now letting breathe again.
That side of him couldn’t seem to get enough. Not of your voice. Not of the brush of your skin beneath his fingertips. Not of the way you looked at him, unafraid, as though he was more than the mask he wore.
He leaned in just slightly, his lips so close to your ear you could feel the warmth of his breath. "Keep writing,” he whispered. “Even if you think it’s nothing. I want to read every word.”
You turned your face towards him and your eyes met again. And though he stayed mostly still, there was no distance between you at all.
The night stretched on like that. Whispered fragments of your old lives, of fears neither of you would admit to anyone else. His hand never quite leaving you, his gaze never letting go. And for those hours, the Beach didn’t exist. The Borderlands didn’t exist. There was only him. And you.
The night dissolved slowly into pale grey, the faintest suggestion of dawn seeping in through the curtains. You had drifted half-asleep on the mattress, his hoodie wrapped around you. He hadn’t moved much, but his presence beside you was constant. Fingertips brushing lightly against your wrist, eyes never straying far from yours.
When the first voices in the hallway stirred, he straightened. His hand slipped away and with it, that fragile warmth between you threatened to vanish. He stood, shoulders rolling back, every trace of tenderness folding itself neatly away. The mask slid into place so seamlessly it almost frightened you.
At the door, he paused. Glancing over his shoulder, his voice came light, unbothered, as though the night had been nothing but a tactical move: “I’ll see you later, pawn.”
But then, just as he stepped through the door, he added something that wasn’t in character at all: A small, soft smile. Brief, almost imperceptible, but real enough to leave your heart aching. And then he was gone.
Later that morning, the grand suite was full of smoke and candlelight. Hatter sat on his throne-like chair, his manic grin plastered across his face, sunglasses pushed lazily up into his hair. Niragi lounged nearby, eager to hear how this would play out, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips.
Chishiya entered with his usual gait, hands in the pockets of his white jacket, posture loose. There was no hint of urgency in him, no suggestion that anything at all was out of place.
Hatter leaned forward, tapping his fingers together. “Chishiya… about your little secret. The girl.” Niragi chuckled darkly, but Chishiya didn’t even glance at him. He tilted his head, expression unreadable. “Not much of a secret, really. You’re giving me too much credit.” Hatter raised a brow.
“She’s not my… whatever Niragi is implying.” Chishiya’s tone was calm, clipped, perfectly rational. “She’s an extra pair of eyes outside the Beach.” He strolled casually closer, his voice measured like he was explaining a clinical procedure. “While everyone here is wrapped up in their parties, in the illusion of safety, she moves out there. She hears things. Notices things. You’d be surprised what slips through the cracks when no one’s looking.” Hatter’s smile faltered, shifting into something sharper, curious.
“I’ve been using her to track missing cards. Information. Whispers of games that vanish from the records. Nothing that requires risk on my part, but useful nonetheless.” His eyes flickered toward Hatter, calm and sharp all at once. “If you want the Beach to keep growing, to keep its grasp on power, you need information. And that’s exactly what she gives me.”
The room was quiet for a long beat. Then Hatter laughed, a rich, delighted sound, slapping his thigh. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Trust you to think ahead, to find a way to stretch our reach without lifting a finger.”
Niragi scoffed, but Hatter ignored him, his grin stretching wide again. “Still, what a shame. She’s beautiful. I would have liked her here, enjoying paradise. But…” He waved a hand dismissively. “If she’s more valuable outside, then so be it. We can’t clip the wings of Chishiya’s little spy, can we?”
Chishiya’s lips curved faintly, that lazy smirk everyone knew so well. “Exactly. She’s more useful out there than caged here.” Hatter leaned back in satisfaction, utterly convinced. “You always know how to play the game, Chishiya. You make the Beach stronger.”
Chishiya inclined his head slightly, the picture of calm agreement. Inside, though, the rational voice and the emotional one waged quiet war. One had lied flawlessly, securing your freedom. The other was still replaying the feel of your skin beneath his fingers, the softness in your voice when you said his name.
He left the suite moments later, mask still perfect, steps silent and controlled. But deep in his chest, the ache from leaving your room that morning hadn’t faded in the slightest.
You had taken off the hoodie the moment morning broke, folding it neatly beneath the thin mattress. You knew better than to flaunt comfort in this place. The bikini Hatter had forced on you felt like a brand, but it was safer to play along.
The door burst open without a knock. Niragi leaned against the frame with that wolfish grin plastered across his face, eyes sweeping over you in a way that made your stomach twist. “I wanted to see that body in a bikini one last time.” He drawled. Your arms crossed instantly over your chest, glare sharp enough to cut. “Disgusting.” His grin widened, feeding off your anger. Before you could answer again, another figure stepped in behind him. Chishiya.
He moved with the same ease as always. The only tell that betrayed him was the brief clench of his jaw at Niragi’s words. But by the time he spoke, his voice was steady, cold, detached.
“You’re free to go.” He tossed a bundle of your clothes onto the bed with casual indifference, as though you were nothing more than an asset being moved into play. His eyes, flat and cool, gave nothing away of the man who had whispered to you through the night only hours ago.
For a heartbeat, it almost hurt, that emptiness. But then you caught it. The faint tension in his stance, the way his teeth had ground together seconds earlier. You understood. This was his role.
You grabbed the clothes without a word, turning toward the ensuite bathroom. His hand shot out, catching your arm. Not cruel, but harsher than necessary. Enough for Niragi to see. His voice was sharp, “Hatter still expects you to work for me. You’ll keep moving outside, watching. Listening. Every scrap of information you find comes to me.”
You met his eyes. Nothing warm looked back, but you felt it anyways, burning in the unspoken space between you. You nodded once, obediently.
Only then did he release you, his hand sliding away slowly, deliberately, as though he wanted Niragi to see control where there was none.
You slipped into the bathroom with your bundle, shutting the door firmly behind you. For a moment you leaned against it, exhaling quietly. Chishiya had played his part perfectly. And so had you.
When you walked out again, dressed in your old clothes, head high, you didn’t look back at him. But you didn’t need to. You already knew you would see him again.
The walk through the Beach was suffocating. Too many eyes, too many grins, too many people pretending this place was heaven when you could feel the chains tightening with every step. You kept your expression neutral, your gaze forward. But your pulse betrayed you. It pounded in your throat, in your ears, as you crossed the threshold and the Beach’s walls loomed behind you.
The guards at the gate barely gave you a second glance. To them, you weren’t worth remembering. Not when Hatter had already dismissed you as expendable. And that suited you just fine.
Still, when the sun hit your face outside, it didn’t feel like freedom. Not entirely. It was survival dressed up as release. Your steps carried you into the city, but your thoughts were still caught on last night. On the softness in his voice, the careful way his hand had lingered on your wrist, the fleeting smile before the mask returned.
You wanted to hold onto that, but the words he had used in front of the others still clung to your ears. Pawn. Spy. You told yourself it was strategy, necessity, but the ache in your chest didn’t care for logic.
From above, on one of the high balconies, Chishiya leaned against the railing, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on your retreating figure. His posture was as careless as ever, hair falling into his eyes, lips tugged into the faintest suggestion of a smirk. No one watching would have thought he cared. But his pulse was unsteady. A rare thing. It irritated him, this betrayal of his own body, yet he couldn’t stop watching.
Every step you took further into the city stretched the distance between you like a wire pulled taut. It should have been a relief, having you away from the Beach, away from Niragi’s leering eyes, away from Hatter’s warped games. But it wasn’t.
It was bitter, because the rational part of him knew you were safer now… and the irrational part was screaming at him to follow. He forced himself to step back, to turn away before anyone noticed his eyes linger too long. The mask slipped back into place with practiced ease. Detached. Unbothered. Chishiya again. But inside, he already knew. This wasn’t the end of your story. It was only the beginning.
The afternoon light slanted through the cracked windows of the stationery shop, painting long shadows across the floor. Your steps echoed softly against the quiet walls and the moment you reached the counter, your breath caught.
A fresh sheet of paper waited for you. Four simple words, written in a steady hand.
I already miss you.
Your heart stuttered, warmth blooming in your chest. You pressed your lips together to contain the smile tugging at them, but it broke through anyway. You couldn’t help it.
You reached for the pen, the familiar weight of it grounding you as you leaned forward over the counter. Your hair slipped over your shoulder, brushing across the page as you began to write, curves flowing smooth and certain. What you didn’t know was that you weren’t alone.
From the shadows at the back of the shop, Chishiya watched. Silent, steady, drinking you in with an intensity that even he didn’t fully understand. The way your fingers curled around the pen. The delicate movements of your wrist guiding each letter. The small furrow in your brow as you searched for the right words. The loose strands of your hair falling forward, catching the light like silk. It was mesmerising. Peaceful.
For someone who thrived in chaos and strategy, watching you like this felt like a different kind of game. One he never wanted to win, because winning meant it would end.
When you finally set the pen down, releasing a quiet sigh as though you had poured a piece of yourself onto the page, he moved. The sound was so soft you almost didn’t hear it. But then warmth enveloped you, firm arms sliding around your waist from behind. A sharp jolt of fear shot through you, your body stiffening, until the faintest trace of his scent reached you. You melted instantly, shoulders dropping, heart racing.
Chishiya rested his chin lightly on your shoulder, eyes scanning the words you had left for him on the page. His touch wasn’t crushing or desperate. It was protective in a way you hadn’t expected. Pressed against his chest, you felt his heartbeat. Faster than you imagined it could be.
Neither of you spoke. There was no need. The words on the page, the warmth of his arms, the quiet thrum of his pulse, everything you had been aching for was right here.
Paper Hearts
Two fragile hearts, like paper thin,
Still trembling where the tears begin.
Yet fate has stitched our threads so tight,
A woven bond in endless night.
Though storms may tear, though fire may sear,
This fragile thread still holds us near.
For even paper, torn apart,
Can bind again with beating hearts.
So if the world should burn away,
And shadows steal the light of day,
I’ll trust the thread, both fierce and true,
The hand I reach will lead to you.
The words bled into him like a slow fire. No matter how many layers of ice he had built, how carefully he had sharpened his mind into something untouchable, your poem slipped past every defence. Each line pressed deeper, breaking something inside him that he never believed could be broken.
Two fragile hearts, like paper thin.
For years, he had told himself he didn’t need anyone. That connections were distractions, weaknesses waiting to be exploited. Yet now, standing with you pressed against him, your words carved through that hollow logic like a knife.
His grip around you tightened, uncharacteristically desperate, his fingers digging into your side as if letting go meant you might vanish.
A tear slipped free. He didn’t notice it until it had already fallen, hot against his cheek. No one would ever know. Not even you.
He closed his eyes briefly, forcing air into his lungs, forcing his heartbeat to steady. Slowly, deliberately, he loosened his hold just enough to move, to turn you gently in his arms. His hand rose to your face, cupping it with a tenderness that contrasted the sharpness of every other part of him.
Your eyes lifted to meet his. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t question. You simply looked back at him, steady and sure, as though you had been waiting for this moment all along.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy, but not unbearable. It was electric. And then he leaned in.
The kiss was gentle at first, cautious, as though he was testing whether this was real. But passion ignited quickly, swallowing that hesitation whole. It wasn’t hungry but consuming. Like a man who had finally found something he never intended to look for yet could no longer live without.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead lingered against yours, his breath brushing across your lips. That was when he decided.
For the first time since stepping into this cruel, unrelenting world, Chishiya wanted to go back. To the real world. To possibility. To you.
And if it meant burning everything down, dismantling the Beach piece by piece, outsmarting every single player standing in his way, so be it. Even if it meant stealing Hatter's playing card collection.
Because for the first time, he had something worth surviving for.
A/N: i'm sorry this took so long but i wanted this to be perfect which only resulted in me rewriting scenes over and over again. perhaps i poured a little too much of myself into this.
also, i got a first request for a taglist (ahh, this made me so happy btw), so in case you want to be added to it, just let me know ♡
