I love your writing, so could I ask for a Chishiya imagine where he meet reader in the borderland, and when he wakes up in the hospital he meet reader again and they both remember everything? In a romantic way please! Have a good day love you bye!
you and me found love / lost under the shade
(gn reader / comfort / 927 words) after the meteor hits tokyo, chishiya has an unlikely reunion in a hospital cafeteria
you rub elbows with a lot of people everyday. CHISHIYA SHUNTARO knew this better than most. he had learned to keep his head down; he never spoke of his personal life, only offering snarky comments as they came to mind. he threw himself into his studies, desperate to meet the expectations of a drunken father. it had worked - mostly.
the world had gone dark in the blink of an eye. chishiya had been walking home just after getting off a shift at work. the hospital, as dreary and depressing as it was, felt like home after a while. he had traded the traditional white coat for a thinner cardigan, wandering across the shibuya crosswalk as he made his way home.
then it happened.
in the blink of an eye, everything went dark. the ground shifted beneath chishiya’s feet, trembling beneath its own weight. buildings swayed. people screamed. the sky lit up in a fiery, golden glow. and chishiya stood on the street, right in the middle of it.
chishiya glances up when a hand gently knocks against the glass doors. his curtains had remained drawn since they had transferred him into this room, but he knew who it was. he never received any visitors, anyways.
“how are you feeling today?” the nurse - arakawa - asks with a sweet smile. her long, black hair has been pulled back into a tight bun, bangs tucked behind her ears. she takes a few steps into the room, reaching to grab his chart from the foot of his bed. “did you sleep okay?”
“fine,” chishiya murmurs. he shifts slightly, pushing himself up onto his elbows. arakawa glances up at the movement but doesn’t say anything when he tosses his leg over the side.
“that’s good,” she hums. she reaches up, pushing her thin, purple glasses further up along the slope of her nose. she peers at him from over the top of the glasses, flashing chishiya another smile. “your vitals look good today.”
he simply nods in response. arakawa slides the binder back into its cubby before stepping to the side, watching as chishiya hesitantly stands. the hospital-provided slides were only slightly larger than his feet. his balance had remained unsteady but the ache in his hip had reduced from a stinging pain to a dull ache.
“thank you,” chishiya says, offering arakawa a curt nod. he wraps his hand around his iv pump, careful not to lean too much of his weight against the device. its incessant beeping haunts him as he drags it alongside him, slowly making his way towards the doors.
she bows slightly, leaving the doors slightly ajar when she takes her leave. “i’ll see you later, chishiya-san.”
despite his circumstances, the hospital had proven to be a comfort. here, he didn’t have to worry about going home to a cold, empty apartment. people checked in on him frequently, even if nobody called. the sterile smell reminded him of a simpler time - one where he was still a bright-eyed med-student observing his first ever volunteer shifts.
the cafeteria was the loudest part of the hospital. it bustled with more people than usual. patients sat at the tables with their families, telling jokes over their bland meals. occasionally, doctors wandered past, stealing a bottle of water or a snack from the nearby vending machines. but to chishiya, it was nothing more than an excuse to get out of bed and eat his lunch. it was supposed to be routine. today, however, was different.
chishiya’s eyes scan across the tables, searching for the one closest to the exit. sitting near the edge made it easier to slip away once he finished his meal. he briefly considers the empty table nearest to the line. but then, he freezes.
chills creep up chishiya’s spine. his breath catches in his throat. unease settles deep into his stomach. deja vu, maybe? he’s not sure. all he knows, is that he sees you. and you see him, too.
time seems to stop in its tracks. for just a few moments, the bustle of the hospital stops around you. chishiya stares at you with wide, unblinking eyes, trained on your gaze. you mirror his expression. your lips are just barely parted, chopsticks balancing in your hold.
chishiya moves first. he crosses the cafeteria in a daze, only stopping once he reaches the seat across from you at your table. he blinks, awkwardly shifting his weight between his feet. for once in his life, he doesn’t know what to say.
“chishiya?” his name is little more than a breathless whisper when it leaves your lips. tears brim at the edges of your wide eyes, still staring up at him. he sets the tray down on your table before shuffling closer. his iv monitor drags on the tiles behind him. “you… you’re here?”
“i’m here,” he nods. you’re scrambling to your feet, now, pushing everything aside to get to him as soon as possible. chishiya stiffens when you wrap your arms around him. the feeling is foreign. butterflies swarm throughout his stomach and his heartbeat feels like it’s beating out of his chest.
you bury your head into the crook of his neck and shoulder, keeping your bodies pressed impossibly close. chishiya hesitates for only a moment before he’s following your lead, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning his weight against you as well. “i’m here,” he repeats, whispered into your ear. his lips ghost against your temple for only a moment. you tighten your grip in response, letting out a shaky breath. “it’s okay now.”
notes: please leave feedback if you enjoyed!! honestly i'm not super happy with this, i wasn't really sure where i was going with it but i think it turned out okay, decided to leave it kind of ambiguous that they remembered the borderlands, there's a reference in there for cool hot people, thank you so much for requesting!! i hope you enjoy :)) title from pierce the veil - falling asleep on a stranger
if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, check out my aib masterlist <33
You've ordered: a white mocha hot chocolate! enjoy!
"You make it feel like Heaven~" (Heaven by TXT)
Ryuji Matsuyama x spouse! reader | word count: 721 words
Summary: in which you help your husband unwind after a long day at work🦽
Warnings: none!
Note: requested by @aylinbsx : "Can you make a fluffy Imagine about Ryuji?" here it is, bub!! as someone who is a SUCKER for domestic fics, i just had to write one for ryuji!! hehe...husband ryuji... 🤤 i hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! 🤭
You loved your husband with all your heart.
His job...not so much.
Don't get me wrong, seeing him work to educate so many young minds and further his research was amazing and you were very proud of him and his progress.
But what you hated was how late he'd come back some nights, how exhausted he'd be, and how stressed he'd be.
Tonight, unfortunately, was one of those nights. You had gotten off of work early, spending the rest of your free time making sure your loving husband would be comfortable as can be when he got home.
As you finished setting up his bath, the rattle of his wheelchair rolling into the house put a smile on your lips.
"Y/n?" he called out.
"Coming!" you answered, your steps light as you left the bathroom to greet your husband.
"There you are." A smile found its way onto Ryuji's lips as he wheeled himself closer to you.
You leaned down to give him a hug, a yelp leaving your lips as he pulled you into his lap.
"How's my favorite person doing this evening?" Ryuji asked, resting his forehead against yours.
"Wonderful, now that you're home." you smiled, reaching up to trace the bridge of his nose. You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, feel it in his bones from the way he leaned against you a little.
"I made your favorite for dinner and drew a bath for you. I say we get you cleaned up and then have dinner in bed?" you suggested, his interest piqued.
"And I say, you're the best partner in the world." he whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead.
After a few more stolen kisses, you two end up in the bathroom. You're sitting between his legs, your back pressed to his chest. The bath was originally just supposed to be for Ryuji, but he practically begged for you to join him.
The scent of his favorite essential oils hung in the air, the steam rising from the tub enveloping the two of you in intimate comfort.
"Want me to wash you?" you asked, reaching for the loofah and soap.
"Go ahead, love." he hummed, his lazy expression making your heart skip a beat.
You let your fingers glide over his bare chest and shoulders, the loofah producing cloud like soap suds.
"Mmm...that feels wonderful, Y/n..." he mumbled, his eyes fluttering shut.
You beamed at the sight of him so relaxed and blissed out, scooping up some water to rinse him off.
"You've worked so hard this week, Matsu. You deserve to be pampered every once in a while..." you hummed, moving to wash his hair.
Once you were done, Ryuji took it upon himself to pamper you now. He gently lathered your body in soap, his hands "accidentally" wandering to his favorite places on your body.
He couldn't help but to plant a few gentle kisses upon your shoulder and the side of your neck, his touch gentle and comforting.
"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, you know that?" he whispered, your head nodding in response.
"You tell me everyday..." you laughed, turning to face him fully.
"And I'll keep telling you everyday, forever and ever..."
Ryuji sealed his words with a gentle kiss, both of you smiling into it.
A few minutes later, you two were out of the bath and in warm, cozy clothes. Ryuji waited for you in bed as you carried in two trays that held steaming plates of his favorite food.
You sat next to him, nuzzling up into his side, making him laugh.
"Do you like it?" you asked, watching him take a bite.
"Of course I like it. I always love your cooking." he nodded, taking another forkful into his mouth.
You took a bite of your own food, a bit of rice getting on your lip.
Before you could even grab the napkin, Ryuji had already tilted your chin, his lips brushing against yours, his tongue poking out to wipe away the grain of rice.
"You're such a tease!" you laughed, your bright smile only making Ryuji pull you back in for another kiss.
Between bites of food and stolen kisses, the night continued on, the stars in the sky decorating the truly wholesome moment. 🦽
hi bub!! happy 1.5k!🥳💗 this is such a cute and fun celebration, i can't wait to see all the submissions 🤭 i'd like to request prompt 20 from the touch prompts: "fingertips tracing the notches of a spine" with my art buddy, chishiya from aib 💕
hiii miko thank you! i love you 💗
chishiya shuntaro x reader, 540 words
You hear him even in your sleep. The sound of his bag hitting the ground makes you stir slightly, and you force yourself to open your eyes.
It takes a second for you to locate his blurry outline in the dark. He shrugs his coat off at the other side of the room, adjusts it on the hanger you put out for him. Your heart squeezes with something familiar.
“Shiya?” You croak out, trying not to yawn. Your eyes fall shut against your will and you peel them open again. “You’re home late.”
Chishiya chuckles. “I’m always home late.”
He makes his way to you, leaning over and pressing his palm to your cheek. The bed creaks with his weight.
His thumb ghosts over your eyebrow, cold to the touch. “Did I wake you?”
“Nope.” You shake your head, nuzzling into his hand. Something in him thaws at the sight. “I was up already, waiting for you.”
He laughs quietly. “Liar.”
Chishiya couldn’t deny that coming home to you was the best part of each day. He didn’t hate his job, he knew someone had to do the hard stuff, and he didn’t mind doing them. But it didn’t hurt to do the easy things too. To feel your love in person, to be loved by someone with a heart as sweet as yours. He liked everything about you. And he liked that he couldn’t say that about anyone else.
You tsk, wrapping your hands around his arm. Your eyes flutter shut again, sleepiness overbearing. You cling to him like you can’t get enough and tug him towards you.
He lets you pull him into bed next to you. He pretends like he wasn’t just going to do that anyway.
You swathe yourself around Chishiya as soon as he’s close, leg hooking over his and arm going around his waist.
“I missed you,” you murmur, exhaustion colouring your voice. You press your face into the dent of his collarbone. “Could you press my back for me?”
He hums, adjusting so your legs lay more comfortably across his. “Is this why you keep me around?” He asks humorously. “So I can relieve you when you’re in pain?”
Despite this, Chishiya’s hand slips under your tee to splay against your back, fingertips tracing the notches of your spine. Your muscles melt under the pleasant pressure.
“Well,” you say lightly, tilting your face up to look at him. Your nose bumps against his chin as you do, and you’re treated to the sight of his small smile. “You are a doctor. What other use would I have with you?”
Chishiya snorts, but it’s more fond than anything else. “Right, of course. It’s not like you love me or anything of the sort.”
“Of course not.” You grin, even as you press a kiss to his jaw. Your tummy tingles pleasantly with affection.
He sighs, his lips going to your forehead. It’s gentle, but it’s there. “Well, I unfortunately have to admit, I feel the same way.”
You giggle. “That’s obviously a lie. You’re giving me a back massage at, like, 2 a.m.” You yawn, looking up at him triumphantly. “That means you love me.”
For all his intelligence, Chishiya couldn’t argue with your logic.
Reader and Nobu meet at a depression support group. After sharing their experiences to the group, they get a chance to properly introduce themselves at the end of the meeting.
Word Count: 1.5K
Trigger Warning in place for those affected by depression, self-harm, and s-cide. Please take care of your mental health and do not interact with this post if you may be triggered by these themes.
a/n: as someone who has struggled with their mental health Nobu as a character really spoke to me. I viewed him as incredibly strong on top of being a likeable character. Just had to write a fic for him that felt fully connected to his backstory. - E🌻
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“I just want to remind everyone before we start today's session that this is a safe space, free of judgement.” Your ex-therapist had signposted you to this particular depression support group after you had ended your course of treatment with them. It was your first session, you were extremely anxious and didn't feel like sharing at all. Despite the hard work you had put in with your weekly therapy sessions to get to a place where you could see the light at the end of the tunnel, beginning to recover and learn to better manage your depression, you still decided to attend this support group on the off chance it could provide you something therapy might have missed. “I see we have some new faces joining us today. Welcome!”
Your face reddened as you felt the glances of other members sitting in the circle of plastic chairs. Giving an awkward smile to the man directly opposite you, receiving one in return you wondered if he was also new. It certainly seemed that way as he shuffled in his seat and avoided eye contact with others. The signs of low self-esteem were there in the way he held himself, shoulders hunched to make him seem smaller than he actually was, to take up less room that he probably felt he wasn’t worthy of. You were familiar with the feeling but it was something you had worked hard to challenge. That feeling of inferiority, of unworthyness was one that had been with you since you could remember and meant you had allowed people to walk all over you because of it.
You had suffered from depression since high school. The immense pressure of exceeding academically from your parents as well as the ups and downs of friendships had mentally drained you. It was a numbness that took over, cancelling out every other emotion and making your movements sluggish. Interactions you once looked forward to now became a pointless chore without meaning. Even eating was a task that held zero enjoyment, no longer did your mind register hunger and so you spent days eating the bare minimum before crawling back into bed and falling asleep waiting for yet another day to pass. That was when your friends had staged an intervention of sorts. At the time it had felt like an ambush, a way for them to voice all the issues they had with you and add to the negativity that hung over you like a dark storm cloud. Looking back, you knew it was genuine concern for your wellbeing. I wonder who he has supporting him? You couldn't help but think as your gaze settled on the man across from you. He was cute, with boyish features and plump pink lips. His hair was parted down the middle and looked incredibly soft.
As the session continued your mind wandered, drifting to far off places before you were brought crashing back down into reality by a sweet, timid voice.
“Erm, hi…my name’s Nobu.”
“Hi Nobu.” The echoing reply said in perfect unison by everyone in the circle seemed to remind the man, Nobu, that he was indeed highlighting his presence to a whole bunch of strangers. He seemed to hesitate a moment before doubling down and sharing the reason why he was here.
“I…I wasn’t going to do this. Come here tonight I mean, let alone speaking out like this.” His bravery was touching and you found yourself sitting up straighter and giving him your full attention.
“Take your time Nobu, there’s no rush.” The facilitator reassured him and he nodded before taking a breath and continuing.
“I’ve suffered from depression for years. I didn't really recognise it as that when I was in highschool, just put it down to the stress of exams, keeping up with the drama that comes with friendship groups, and my Dad left around that time. But…” He stuttered slightly, clearly struggling to admit the next part aloud. “I know now that all I did was shove my emotions down into a tiny box and leave them there to fester.”
You found yourself nodding along in agreement. From personal experience you could relate heavily to the idea of ignoring your emotions in favour of pretending that everything was okay.
“Clearly that didn't work since I'm here right now.” Nobu gave a tiny self-depricating laugh, glancing up and briefly meeting your eyes. You gave a reassuring smile, encouraging him to continue. “I did this to myself.” He held up his wrist, showing everyone a thin but deep scar, your own throbbed in response to the visual reminder of the memory.
“I wasn't tryng to-you know-kill myself or anything. I was just so sick of feeling numb. I needed to feel something. Anything! Even if it was painful.” Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over and run rivers down his cheeks. “My Mum found me in the bathroom, she screamed and cried and I had no idea what to say.”
A heartbreaking sob broke free from his mouth and the tears that had clung to his tear ducts finally fell, seemingly endless. “The worst thing for me isn't that I hurt myself, it's the fact that I've put so much stress on her. That I've burdened her so terribly.” Nobu was given a polite moment of silence to compose himself.
“Thank you for sharing Nobu, that took courage. Let's all give Nobu a round of applause for his bravery.” The facilitator led the clapping and everyone quickly followed, voicing their praise and reassurance to the man. You also clapped politely but decided to find him after the session to give your praise privately.
The last rays of sunlight hit his features, making Nobu look angelic as he stared off into the distance. He was pretty in a way you thought impossible as you exited the building where the meeting had taken place. It had been your intention to catch Nobu for the last five minutes of the session but he had rushed off to the bathroom before you could even take a step towards him. Now it seemed like you had a chance.
“Hey.” He startled at your unexpected greeting, spinning around to face you before relaxing.
“Oh, hi!”
“I, erm, just wanted to say I found what you had to say really brave. And that I related a lot.” You awkwardly smiled, unsure if it was appropriate to say to a complete stranger. Nobu flushed at the unexpected compliment and smiled back timidly.
“Thanks, I was super nervous but I think being around people who understand helped with that.” You shared a knowing look before standing next to him in companionable silence. Taking a deep breath you decided to take a chance and ask something you would usually avoid.
“We could maybe get a coffee sometime?” Nobu looked stunned but pleasantly surprised at the offer.
“Are you-are you sure?”
“Yeah of course! But no pressure.” You backtracked slightly, trying to make Nobu as comfortable as possible in this moment.
“No, of course I want to!” He waved his hands in front of him to emphasise the fact that he was super excited at the idea of meeting with a beautiful woman. “Here, let me give you my number.”
After exchanging phone numbers you and Nobu parted ways with shy but eager smiles, promising to arrange something soon.
As Nobu walked away, he couldn’t help but smile wider than he had in months. An attractive woman had not only acknowledged his presence, but had actually agreed to meet up with him in the future. He'd gotten her number! Sure he would probably see you at the support group every week, but this felt more personal. Like you had a genuine interest in him.
Would texting her tonight come off as needy?
As he reached for his phone to do just that, someone suddenly bumped into him. Knocked off balance Nobu quickly stood straight before turning to the stranger and bowing in apology.
“Oh god, I'm so sorry sir. I wasn't paying attention.” The man seemed totally unaffected by this, merely smirking and standing with his hands in the blue suit pants he wore. Something about his stare was off, his eyes cold and shark-like despite the outward appearance. Nobu was immediately on edge.
“No worries.” And the man held out his hand, a card presented to him. A moment's pause before Nobu hesitantly reached out and took the card.
“I look forward to seeing you play again very soon.” Another smirk and the man continued to walk past Nobu at a leisurely pace before he turned a corner and vanished out of sight. Thoroughly confused, Nobu looked down and was greeted by a playing card, the joker specifically. He scoffed, about to throw it away before his phone buzzed with a notification.
“I'm glad we met tonight. Can’t wait to grab that coffee!” Nobu’s smile returned and he stuffed the playing card into the pocket of his jacket, thoughts of the strange man quickly forgotten.
“Me too! Does Monday work for you?”
“Definitely!”
Little did either of you know, Nobu wouldn't make it to that date.
Dividers by @dividers-are-us
Tag list: @zmbiegrltori, @stxr-lilac, @cookiesandcream000 (tagging you as promised!)
I do not own any of the pictures found in this post.
This is Part One of my original storyline for Chishiya Shuntarou, following the real world Shibuya Meteorite Incident ! I hope you guys read it and enjoy it ♡ I'd like to share it fully, yet, I could write only so much. Keep in mind that this has heavy horror and gore elements! Refer to CW/TW list before reading under the cut.
TW/CW: Graphic Descriptions of Medical Gore, Blood, Medical Malpractice/Loss of Autonomy, Mentions of Mental Illnesses and Drugs, Emotional Neglect/Abuse, Disaster Scenarios, Depictions of a mass casualty event (meteorite impact).
Word Count: ~4500.
Consciousness was a curse. His brain remained stubbornly, cruelly wide awake, forcing him to register every data point. Within seconds, the thick, suffocating and depressing gray of pulverized concrete smoke and dust particles had swallowed the perfect Tokyo blue. The warmth of the day, the gentle sunrays has turned into lasers that cut the skin. Gone the beautiful summer weather, the warmth wasn't caressing his skin anymore, the light breeze wasn't there to take the heat off. Instead, it was scorching. The breeze was gone, replaced by a searing pressure wave that roared through the streets, born from the sudden displacement of the atmosphere.
Chishiya didn't scream when he felt the sharapnels tore his body, his weak, lean torso took the impact in three distinct pulses. Chest. Stomach. Flank? Perhaps kidney. Not fatal, he thought for the third sharapnel. His reaction was just a cocky grunt, a sharp, clinical sound of data being received. He collapsed onto the zebra crossing he had been crossing only seconds ago. The white stripes were already beginning to map a new geography of crimson. Yet, he didn't stay down.
The medical student in him, the grand legacy of three generations of the Chishiya lineage, overrode the inherent urge to curl into a ball. He forced his back against a jagged slab of what used to be a storefront, dragging himself into a rigid, upright tripod position. What was the tripod position? Sitting upright, crouched forward while his back is supported. In this position, sitting up and leaning forward, he was using gravity to keep the blood from pooling against his diaphragm, which made it easier to breathe despite the chest shrapnel. If he lay flat, the blood in his thoracic cavity would compress his lungs, tension pneumothorax.
Intern Doctor Chishiya Shuntaro, his ID card read. For once, he was glad to be a victim in this catastrophe. He didn't even want to think about the state of the hospitals. Around him, the world was in agony. A woman a few meters away was clutching a shredded thigh, her femoral artery geysering with every frantic beat of her heart.
"You," Chishiya rasped, his voice sounding like dry gravel. He pointed a trembling, blood-slicked finger at a dazed man standing nearby. "The belt. Take off your belt. High and tight on her leg. Turn it until the red stops. Now."
He couldn't help the doctor in him. How could he? He had been prepared for his vocation since birth. His parents got married to secure a prominent spot in the hospital, a bold career move. In his home, devoid of affection and founded on lies, the medical profession represented the sole tangible reality.
The man blinked, staring at the pale, platinium blonde haired boy who looked more like a ghost than a savior. He looked too young to take the lead. Yet the authority in Chishiya’s clinical tone acted like a credential, moving the man into action. Leaving the school, Chishiya didn't think he'd teach a civillian about how to save a life with a tourniquet but, here he was.
Chishiya turned his attention back to his own small frame. His hands, usually steady for the pediatric cardiovascular rotations, were slick. He could feel the warmth of the antidepressants still in his system. The chemical shield he used to survive his family’s otherwise fatal expectations. Now those pills were doing nothing to dull the cold, creeping reality of the shrapnel in his gut. No, Chishiya thought. Those pills were doing more harm than good, both physically and mentally. His baseline norepinephrine, stress hormone, was reacting differently. The massive load of adrenaline from the impact was working his brain over the clock. He should have been passed out, not witnessing his own demise.
"Class III Hemorrhagic Shock," he thought, his pulse thundering in his ears like a rhythmic, failing drum. "Heart rate approximately 130. Capillary refill delayed. Survival probability... declining."
He checked his watch, white apple watch. He needed a timestamp. He knew the ambulance wouldn't be fast, not with a casualty density this high, the traffic in Tokyo must also have been terrible, but he also knew exactly how many milliliters of blood he could leave on the asphalt before his heart ran dry. While the rest of the intersection dissolved into a primitive, high-pitched static of screaming and sirens, Chishiya retreated into the cold, orderly vault of his training. The medical dynasty he carried in his veins was a heavy burden, but here, in the wreckage, it was a suit of armour.
"Airway... Patent," he whispered, the sound vibrating against the grit on his tongue. He could speak, which meant his vocal cords weren't blocked, though the metallic tang of blood suggested his lungs were starting to weep into his bronchi.
"Breathing... Compromised." He watched the left side of his chest. It didn't rise with the right. Instead, there was a wet, sucking whistle. He checked his neck in the reflection of a shattered shop window; his trachea was still midline. No tension pneumothorax. Not yet. The tripod position was helping him.
"Circulation... Critical." He didn't need a cuff to know his blood pressure was cratering. He pressed a thumb into his own palm; the skin stayed a stubborn, ghostly white for nearly five seconds. Capillary refill delayed. He ran a hand over his torso, mapping the three sites of shrapnel entry. The chest wound was the most urgent, but the stomach hit was the messiest, felt hot, a deep, rhythmic throb that spoke of a shredded mesenteric artery. If it was on his guts, the microbiome could spread to his bloodstream and give him sepsis.
"Estimated blood loss: 1200mL. Compensatory tachycardia. I’m running on a half-empty tank. Disability... GCS 15." He was fully aware, though he could feel the edges of his consciousness fraying. He wondered, with a flicker of dark amusement, if his daily dose of sertraline was the only thing keeping him from the hysterical "Red Tag" panic of the woman screaming nearby.
"Exposure: Penetrating torso trauma." He felt a sense of professional irritation when the ambulance sirens cut through. The paramedics were running, their movements frantic, their triage disorganized. God, if it was Chishiya, he would fail the class for being careless. So many people could get away with being average, Chishiya could never.
"Over here," he called out, though it was more of a wheeze. As they reached him, he didn't ask for help. He gave a report. "Male, early twenties. Three penetrating torso wounds. Tracheal deviation is negative for now, but breath sounds are diminished on the left. I’ve lost roughly 1.5 liters. Start two large-bore IVs. I’m O-negative. Bombay phenotype."
The paramedic paused, mid-bandage. "You’re a doctor?"
"Student," Chishiya corrected, his vision beginning to gray at the edges—a textbook sign of cerebral hypoxia. "And if you don't load me in the next sixty seconds, I’m going to be a was/were."
Asphalt to gurney, then in the ambulance. The paramedics weren't even pretending to care. Chishiya felt the sharp pain in his abdomen, yet he wasn't in the mood to complain. He had bigger worries. As the ambulance doors slammed shut, the sterile, claustrophobic interior of the vehicle became Chishiya’s entire universe.
The paramedics were moving fast, but to Chishiya, they were move like amateur actors in a poorly directed drama. He watched with a heavy, hooded gaze as they fumbled with the saline bags. "Norepinephrine... check the lead II," Chishiya rasped, his head lolling against the thin pillow. He wasn't looking at the paramedics anymore, they were annoying. Instead, he was staring at the cardiac monitor bolted to the wall.
Every jolt of the vehicle over the debris-strewn streets of Tokyo sent a spike of agony through Chishiya’s flank. Yet his eyes remained locked on the cardiac monitor. He watched the green line of his heart rate. The green line was a jagged mountain range, the peaks getting shorter and further apart. Sinus tachycardia, 145 beats per minute.
"Preload is too low," Chishiya rasped, his voice barely audible over the siren’s wail. The paramedic was fumbling with a bag of saline, his hands shaking. "The crystalloid isn't enough. I need whole blood. My phenotype... you heard me? Bombay. If you give me standard O-negative, I’ll undergo a lethal hemolytic reaction before we hit the ER."
"Kid, just breathe," the paramedic urged, pressing a mask over Chishiya's face.
Chishiya pushed it away with a blood-slicked hand. "I am breathing. I’m also calculating. My Mean Arterial Pressure is sliding under sixty. My coronary arteries are starving. Do you see the ST-segment elevation on the monitor? Lead II." He pointed a trembling finger at the screen. "That’s myocardial ischemia. My heart is about to quit because it’s pumping air."
"Kid, stop talking. You're losing too much air," the paramedic muttered again, trying to find a vein in an arm that had already shunted its blood to the core.
"It’s not... the air," Chishiya whispered, a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "It's the preload. My stroke volume is... non-existent. You’re pouring saline into... a sieve."
He felt the sudden, terrifying coldness of Stage IV Shock. It started in his fingertips and climbed up his marrow. His vision, once sharp and analytical, began to tunnel, the edges of the ambulance dissolving into a grainy, flickering black. He felt the change before the machine did. It was a sensation of profound lightness, as if his soul was finally losing its anchor.
A cold, heavy void spreading from his center. It wasn't the dramatic elephant on the chest of a textbook, it was the silence of a machine running out of fuel. His vision began to tunnel, the edges of the ambulance cabin dissolving into a vignette of gray soot.
"Hey," Chishiya said, his voice eerily calm. "Listen to me," Chishiya said, the authority of the Chishiya bloodline cutting through the panic. "I’m going into V-fib. In approximately ten seconds, I will lose consciousness. My downtime needs to be under two minutes. If you lose my brain, you lose my career. Timestamp it... now."
"He's arresting! Get the pads! Charge to 200!"
Chishiya watched the lead paramedic’s face go pale—the reality hitting that the Chishiya heir was dying on his watch. Chishiya wanted to tell him that his hand placement was too high, that his compressions would likely fracture the third rib given the shrapnel's trajectory, but the darkness finally won.
The green line on the monitor suddenly shivered, losing its rhythmic peak and dissolving into a chaotic, vibrating mess of static. Chishiya’s last conscious thought was one of profound clinical disappointment. Ninety seconds, he told himself as the lights went out. You have ninety seconds before the neurons begin to liquefy.
The ambulance drifted into the trauma bay of the university hospital with a violence that nearly threw the staff off their feet. The doors burst open, and the lead paramedic began shouting the one name that every nurse and resident in the building had been trained to fear.
"Clear the bay! We have a Red Tag coming in!" the head nurse shouted, then froze. She looked down at the pale, platinum-blonde boy, his chest bared and slick with blood, the shock paddles already being prepped. "Wait... is that our Shuntaro?"
The room froze. Not another victim of the meteorite; the Director’s son. The intern who had spent the last month correcting the residents' suture techniques and pointing out obscure drug interactions with a smug, half-lidded gaze.
"The Director's son?" a surgical resident hissed, his face draining of color. "If he dies on this table, we're all going to be practicing medicine in the arctic circle by Monday."
"We have Chishiya Shuntaro! Traumatic arrest! Three penetrating torso wounds!" The ER erupted. Pure, unadulterated terror. Somehow, having Chishiya here was worse than the whole meteorite situation.
"Clear!"
The first shock threw Chishiya’s body off the gurney. The monitor remained a flat, agonizing hiss.
"Again! Charge to 200!"
Forty seconds of downtime. Fifty. The surgical team gathered, their faces a mask of professional terror. If they lost him, they’d have to answer to the Director. If they saved him, they’d have to listen to him tell them exactly what they did wrong during the resuscitation.
At the eighty-second mark, the monitor let out a solitary, hopeful beep. Then another.
"ROSC!" the resident yelled, sweat dripping into his mask. "We have a pulse. Return of Spontaneous Circulation."
Chishiya’s eyes flickered open for a fraction of a second. He was intubated now, a plastic tube wedged between his teeth, but his gaze was sharp—and utterly judgmental. He looked at the resident, then at the IV line, then at the monitor. Chishiya was hovering in that strange, lazarus like state of post-resuscitation. He could hear them. He could feel the cold bite of the trauma room’s air and the sharp, metallic scent of the scrubs. He felt the heavy pressure of a senior surgeon’s hands on his abdomen—hands he knew so well.
"He's... awake," a nurse whispered, leaning over him. "He's trying to talk," the nurse whispered, horrified. "He's trying to... is he trying to triage himself?"
Chishiya’s eyes flickered open, pupils blown wide from the adrenaline and the trauma. He looked directly at the Chief of Trauma, a man who had shared dinner with his father only last week.
"The... incision," Chishiya croaked, his voice a ghost of its former self. "Use a... midline laparotomy. Don't... nick the... hepatic artery. I’ve already... had enough... internal leakage... You’re... holding the blade... at the wrong angle," Chishiya whispered, his eyes narrowing with a flash of that signature, maddening arrogance. "And check... the Bombay phenotype... cross-match. If you... give me Type O... I’ll die of... hemolysis... before you even... close the skin..."
The attending surgeon, a man who had been corrected by Chishiya during a pediatric cardio round only three days prior, looked at the med student’s defiant, conscious struggle and made a swift, tactical decision.
"He’s fighting the ventilator and his heart can't take the stress. He’s going to backseat-drive his own surgery if we don't stop him," the surgeon snapped. "And frankly, I can't operate with a Chishiya watching my every move. Increase the Propofol. Heavy sedation. Put him in a medical coma. Now."
The tension in the room was a physical weight. The nurses were trembling; the residents were paralyzed. Every move they made was being narrated by the half-dead genius on the table. It was impossible to work. The Chief of Trauma looked at the Anesthesiologist, a silent plea in his eyes.
"He’s too stable to be this annoying," the Chief muttered under his breath. "If he says one more word about my technique, I’m going to drop the forceps."
"Agreed," the Anesthesiologist replied, reaching for a vial. "For his own safety, and for our sanity, let’s put him under. Deeply."
"Wait—" Chishiya started, sensing the shift in the room's chemistry. "The Propofol dose... you need to... account for the... Sertraline... the metabolic..."
"Goodnight, Shuntaro-kun," the Anesthesiologist said, pushing the plunger.
The last thing Chishiya felt was the cold rush of the sedative entering his vein. A chemical darkness far deeper than the one he had just returned from. Hours later, the surgery was finished. The shrapnel was gone, the dried blood in his abdomeb had been suctioned from his stomach, and the his rare type of blood had been painstakingly sourced.
Chishiya laid still in the ICU, a forest of tubes and wires connecting him to the world. He was stable, but the staff had kept the sedation levels high.
"Is he waking up?" a nurse asked, checking the IV pump.
"No," the resident replied, looking at the door to ensure the Hospital Director wasn't lurking nearby. "And keep it that way. If he wakes up and realizes we missed a single suture on his mesenteric repair, he’ll have our licenses. Let him sleep. We need a few more hours of peace before the 'Chishiya Committee' starts their rounds."
While the discussion was ongoing, Chishiya surfaced from the anesthetic fog not into the warmth of a bedside vigil, but into the rhythmic, sterile clicking of an IV pump. His eyes, heavy and dry, flickered open to the sight of the ceiling of the ICU room. His brain, stubbornly intact despite the 90-second flirtation with the void, immediately began to scan. Mean Arterial Pressure: 72. Heart rate: 88. Oxygen saturation: 96% on the vent. He was alive. It was a statistical success.
The peace the doctors spoke about lasted exactly for forty—two minutes before the double doors of the ICU hissed open with the sharp, rhythmic clacks of a woman's kitten heels. She didn't seem to hurry. She walked with cold, authoritarian steps.
His mother, Dr. Chishiya, stood at the foot of the bed. She didn't look at his face, which was pale and bruised from the resuscitation. She snatched the digital tablet from its dock, her eyes skimming the vitals with the predatory speed of someone looking for a mistake to correct. She adjusted her glasses, her expression the same one she used when reviewing a mediocre research paper.
"Vitals are holding," she noted, her voice as crisp and cold as a fresh lab coat. "The pH is still slightly acidic. 7.32," she noted, her voice a flat, melodic chill that cut through the hum of the ventilators. She didn't address the nurses; she addressed the air. "And the lactate levels are lagging. Why is the infusion rate still at 100cc?"
The resident who had earlier prayed for silence stepped forward, his spine stiffening. "We’re titrating for renal response, Dr. Chishiya. Given the mesenteric repair, we wanted to avoid volume overload."
"The mesenteric repair is holding," she said, her voice a flat, professional monotone. She was speaking to the attending surgeon, Dr. Sato, who stood beside her. "It’s a conservative approach. Predictable," she replied, finally looking up. Her gaze didn't soften as it landed on Shuntaro. She didn't acknowledge the boy in the bed as her son. To her, he was just a high-stakes liability in a hospital her husband directed. "Shuntaro-kun has a high baseline metabolic rate. You’re under-resuscitating him."
Deep beneath the chemical fog, Chishiya felt a flicker of recognition. That voice. . . It was the sound of his childhood. . . The sound of dinner parties where he was a prop and clinical rounds where he was a student before he was a son. He tried to move his hand, to signal that he was here, that he was listening to her critique his own life support, but the paralytics held him in a leaden grip. "Mother," Chishiya tried to rasp, but the intubation tube made the word a wet, pathetic gargle.
Mother, his mind whispered into the dark. Check the PEEP. The ventilator is set too high for my compliance.
She finally looked at her son. She was calculating the cost of the repair rather than mourning the break. "Shuntaro was always too aware for his own good. He doesn't know how to be a patient."
"He’s been trying to surface, Dr. Chishiya," the resident , Dr. Sato, whispered, standing at attention. "He’s... vocalizing. Trying to direct the nursing staff."
She finally flicked her gaze to his eyes. There was no warmth there, only a flicker of irritation. "Don't try to speak, Shuntaro. You’ll cause a laryngeal spasm. You were careless to be in that intersection. Your father is already dealing with the PR fallout of the Director’s son being a Red Tag."
"He’s becoming a liability to his own recovery, Doctor," Sato pitched, his voice dripping with feigned concern. "His neurological state is hyper-reactive. Every time he drifts toward consciousness, he spikes his heart rate trying to audit the monitors. For the integrity of the mesenteric sutures, and to prevent a secondary cardiac event, I suggest we induce a deeper, proper medical coma. We should keep him under for at least forty-eight hours."
He knew the man was lying. He knew his heart rate was only spiking because he could feel the brain zaps of his missing Sertraline. Don’t, Chishiya tried to scream, but the tube in his throat turned the thought into a wet, pathetic rattle. The metabolic load... Sato, you bastard... check the GCS...
Chishiya’s eyes narrowed. He wasn't struggling. He was perfectly still, his mind already calculating Sato’s hidden agenda. Sato didn't want him awake because an awake Chishiya was a witness. An awake Chishiya was a critic who would notice the slight tremor in Sato’s hands or the shortcut he took on the drainage placement.
Dr. Sato who had felt the sting of Chishiya’s arrogance more than once during the semester, looked at the Director’s wife, then at the boy on the bed. He saw an opportunity. Then he looked at Chishiya with a simmering resentment that the medical mask couldn't quite hide.
"He’s incredibly agitated, Doctor," Sato said, his voice dripping with a false, oily concern. "The neurological impact of a ninety-second arrest can be unpredictable. Not to mention the psychological trauma of the 'gray-out' in the ambulance."
Chishiya’s mother finally stepped to the side of the bed. She didn't take his hand. She didn't brush the platinum hair from his forehead. She adjusted the tension of his arterial line, her fingers cold and dry.
"He was always too cerebral for his own good," she said, her voice devoid of any maternal tremor. "He’ll try to self-diagnose until he triggers a secondary arrest."
"Exactly," Sato pushed, sensing the opening. "I recommend a formal induced coma. Keep him at a RASS score of -5 for at least forty-eight hours. Let the inflammation in the brain subside. It would be... safer. For everyone."
The subtext was loud enough to vibrate the glass partitions: Keep him under so we don't have to deal with him.
"Ninety seconds of downtime," she mused, ignoring the monitor's alarm as if it were a faulty sensor. "The risk of cerebral edema is non-zero. If he wakes up and fights the vent, he’ll cause more harm than the shrapnel did."
She handed the tablet back to the resident. "I agree. The psychological stress of the arrest is likely causing emergence delirium. Put him back under. Induce a proper medical coma until the post-operative inflammatory window closes. I have a symposium on cardiovascular trauma in an hour, and the Director is in a board meeting regarding the meteorite’s impact on the hospital’s insurance premiums. We don't have time for Shuntaro-kun’s... theatrics."
"Understood, Doctor."
Sato didn't hide his satisfaction. He reached for the infusion pump, his fingers dancing over the keypad. "Increasing the Midazolam. Adding a Fentanyl drip for autonomic stability."
"Wait—" Chishiya’s hand twitched, fingers grasping at the air, trying to sign a protest. He knew his labs. He knew his brain was fine. They were muting him.
"It’s for the best, Shuntaro-kun," Sato whispered, leaning over him. The doctor's eyes sparked with a petty triumph. "You always said a good doctor knows when to step back. Now it’s your turn to be the quiet one."
He looked at his mother. She was already halfway out the door, her back turned as she consulted her tablet. She hadn't touched him. Not once. She hadn't even called him by his name without a belittling suffix. She had a ward to run, a legacy to protect, and a son who was finally, mercifully, quiet.
Chishiya felt the cold rush of the new cocktail entering his veins. It was a chemical execution of his will. Why did you have me?' the 23-year-old inside the genius whispered to the void. 'If you just wanted a machine, you should have built one. If I’m just a system to be managed, why give me a voice at all? '
Then, quiet and darkness enveloped him.
The edges of the room began to fray and dissolve into a heavy black. The rhythmic beep of his heart monitor slowed in his ears, becoming a distant, fading drum. He felt his autonomy slipping away, traded for the "peace and quiet" of the staff. The last data point Chishiya registered was the sound of his own heart monitor slowing down.
༉‧ .| synopsis: You were the only person who ever truly believed in his theories. Until an unnamed tragedy changes everything, leaving Ryuji to chase answers in the space between worlds.
˖ ִ𐙚 | warning(s)—mentions of death, heavy angst, smut— dick riding, tummy bulging, Ryuji is mentally unstable (mentions of suicidal attempt)
⋆.˚ | author's note: Hi, my angels! Uni has been mopping the floor with me. I'm so sorry for my long hiatus. Im currently free from the shackles (winter break), For those of you who remember me, hey!! I recently watched AIB S3, and this very complex and morally grey man has been stampeding through my mind nonstop, so here ya'll go!
“Do you believe in alternate universes?” You murmured against his lips, your breath warm and sweet with strawberry sake.
“It’s not impossible. Stephen Hawking practically laid the groundwork for it." His hand slid down your waist, fingers tightening at your hips, a rare smile softening the usually unreadable line of his mouth.
“Well…” you drawled, brushing a loose strand of hair from his face. “I read your research—about that place you described… a realm suspended between life and death.” Your voice brushed against his mouth like a whisper, soft and assured. “It sounds metaphysical, sure. But also… strangely possible.”
“Possibility isn’t enough in academia. I need evidence. I need… something real.” He exhales, his thumb gently rubbing circles into your sides. Every academic he had turned to rejected his research, claiming it was philosophical rather than scientific, even the head of the psycho psychology department denied the existence of such a world, such a product of one's deepest subconscious mind. They refused to read it and refused to indulge his study.
All but you.
You drew in a steady breath, gently removing his hands from your hips, intertwining your fingers with his own, promising him, “Then we’ll find a way to make it real. Maybe not tomorrow, and maybe not in the way traditional research expects—but the path is there."
You paused, your lips pressing against the corner of his mouth.
"You’re exploring something most people are too afraid to even question. That alone tells me you’re on to something.”
The tense crease between his brows eased, his tension slowly melting away. "You really think so?"
"I really do..." Your lips gently press to his knuckles before flashing him a small, hopeful smile. "Whatever direction this takes, you won't be facing this alone. The critiques, the questioning. I'll be here through it all, and you'll prove them wrong; we'll find a way."
His lips press against your forehead, letting his eyes fall shut as he stills for a silent beat before meeting your gaze.
"Okay."
You meet his gaze with a tender smile before gently letting your hand fall from his cheek, walking over to your desk, and reaching for the last of your research papers, carefully organizing them into a folder overflowing with your findings and sketches.
Your Ph.D. research primarily focused on frontotemporal gamma activity, which is closely related to lucidity, and how it affects children. Many of your mentors praised your work, claiming you would one day redefine neural research on sleep patterns and brain waves. The praise was nice; it was always pleasant to know that people appreciated your work.
Ryuji, on the other hand, faced much harsher criticism for the specularity of his work. Most claimed it was more philosophical than scientific and could not be proven with real data and experiments.
He was determined to prove them wrong, to deliver groundbreaking research to the university and the rest of the world that would come to understand conceptual understanding of human consciousness.
Everything was going well; Ryuji spent countless hours reading every piece of literature he could find that would eventually provide him with just enough to conduct his experiment and prove that his research wasn't just metaphysical but scientific.
For many nights your boyfriend wouldn't come home, he’d spend countless nights devoting himself to his search for answers—the proof that a realm existed between our world and the afterlife, he theorized it was called the Boarderlands. At first, you didn’t mind it, If anything you’ve always been nothing but supportive for his pursuits. With time, he grew more distant, colder and withdrawn. His placing his research above you. It hurt more than anything.
“Yuji..” you’d begin, gently pushing the threshold open. He’d been trapping himself inside the home office for the few days, hardly getting enough sleep, hardly eating. He moved for the sole purpose of keeping himself in shape. You would often hear the treadmill whirl to life after several hours of silence.
“Did you need something?”
He would look up at you fleetingly, before increasing the speed. You stood there, hoping he would look at you again, smile even.
“I was hoping we could…go for lunch?”
You stepped closer, looking up at him. Beads of sweat pricked at his honeyed skin, his hair fell around face, his chest straining with every ragged breath.
“Can’t.”
He didn’t hesitate, never considered that maybe taking a break to spend some much needed quality time with his girlfriend was a good idea. You could feel your patience thinning.
“Would a day off really hurt? Just—even a few hours with me…?”
Your voice dropped, softened. For someone who had written several academic papers, you could hardly articulate the way he made you feel. Cast aside? No longer needed? No word was strong enough to express how you felt.
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t even flinch.
The treadmill hummed louder, mocking you with its steady rhythm. Everything just hurt.
“I’ve always supported you,” you tried again, quieter this time. “I always will. But I can’t remember the last time you looked at me and… saw me.” You swallowed, your throat tight with tears. “I miss you, Ryuji. I miss my boyfriend.”
He finally slowed the machine, but not because of your words. His body was simply done. He stepped off, breath harsh, muscles trembling from exhaustion—and still, he didn’t come to you. He reached for a towel instead, wiping sweat from his face like you weren’t standing right you heart ripping apart in chunks.
“I don’t have room to miss things right now,” he muttered, not cruelly… just honestly. And somehow that honesty stung worse.
Things.
Your chest tightened. This was not the Ryuji you knew. This was a monster created, a byproduct of obsession.
“This?" Your voice trembled, brows furrowing deeply, struggling to grasp if you even heard him right.
He nodded once.
That was it.
Conversation over.
You waited. Just for a second. Just long enough to see if he’d say your name. Reach for your hand. Look at you with even a fraction of the warmth he used to.
He didn’t.
So you stepped back. One slow, careful movement. Then another. The room felt colder when you left it, like warmth simply didn’t belong there anymore. The door clicked softly behind you—too soft for how loud the hurt felt inside your chest.
For a long moment you just stood in the hallway, staring at nothing, trying to breathe past the ache pressing against your ribs.
You had promised you’d stand beside him no matter how hard things got.
You just didn’t realize hard would look more like hostility.
As the weeks went by you drowned yourself in things that gave you a sense of purpose. You went on walks, treated yourself and tried out new cafes. You even went on a mini haul, purchasing a ton of cute bras, tops, and jeans. You loved Ryuji, that never changed.
When he'd be buried nose deep behind articles you would crack the door open, setting down a box of pastries and a cup of coffee from his favorite place. His efforts ceased, but yours? They never did.
You often reminded yourself that love was patience. That eventually things would be okay, back to normal.
It was futile to hope.
It started as a whisper across campus. Rumors. Curiosity. The kind that traveled with wide eyes and hushed excitement. Ryuji had finally reached the stage of testing. He’d found someone—someone willing, eager even, to help prove his theory. She wasn’t reckless; she was fascinated. Brilliant in her own right. A final-year student who admired his mind, respected his work, believed in the possibility of a world suspended between life and death just as fiercely as he did.
She signed every form. Read every risk. She chose it.
And for a while, it looked like everything was going right.
Until it didn’t.
No courtroom followed. No angry parents screaming malpractice. No lawsuits dragging his name through the mud. She had agreed. She understood. The institution protected him because legally, they could.
But no policy could protect him from what happened inside his chest afterward.
Time itself froze.
He stopped sleeping. Stopped speaking. Stopped looking at the world like it was something he belonged to.
The guilt hollowed him out.
You tried to hold him. Tried to whisper that he hadn’t forced her, that she chose, that he never meant— He didn’t believe you. He didn’t believe anyone.
One night, he drove. His foot pressing harder and harder against the gas pedal, hoping for an impact that would end him. That would end the humiliation, guilt and shame that swallowed his existence whole.
He didn’t succeed.
The doctors said his body survived, but pieces of him didn’t. They explained things clinically—oxygen loss, spinal complications, neurological damage. Words that sounded sterile compared to what they truly meant:
Ryuji would never walk again.
He couldn’t look at you when he woke up.
You couldn't eat, could hardly sleep or move from his side. He tried to end himself. You cried so hard and long, until you no longer could. You chest hurt at the possibility of losing him. You couldn't. For weeks you sat by his side, awake until fatigue knocked your body downwards.
On the days you would allow your mind to wander, your thoughts drifted to the past. Your first date; the beautiful red flowers he gifted you, the bright smile on his face, the way the corners of his crinkled when you kissed his cheek at the end of your date.
He was back home hardly able to meet your gaze, navigating a life that no longer felt like his own. You drove him to physical therapy. Promising him that you would always be here.
You held his hand.
Even when he tried to pull away.
The tension between you began to ease. The months passed, and Ryuji became more capable of independence. Still ashamed, still withdrawn, but not entirely. He looked you in the eye when he spoke to you, your conversations grew longer. Eventually, the smiles you craved for so long returned—small at first, then genuine, the kind that reached his eyes.
He let you back into his world, slow at first but steady. He asked for your opinions on his research, shared ideas he hadn’t spoken aloud in months. The walls between you slowly fell away, replaced by something you had longed for.
One evening, after therapy, he quietly asked.
”Did you want to have dinner together? I'll order takeout some Yakisoba and Karaage...?"
You nodded, hardly able to contain the smile. He knew those were your favorites. That night, you drank so much sake, both drunk and laughing for the first time in many long months.
You finished stacking the last of the plates, grabbing a cloth to wipe the table one final time. Ryuji was busy folding up the empty takeout containers, focused on tidying his side, and you thought you had the space to move freely.
But the floor betrayed you. Your foot slipped, and before you could steady yourself, a sharp little gasp escaped your lips.
The next thing you knew, you were falling—landing clumsily against Ryuji’s lap.
You froze for a heartbeat, startled, realizing only then how close he had been. The warmth of him hit you immediately, the press of his body, the taut pull of his arms bracing you instinctively, and the quiet exhale of his breath.
You hadn’t even noticed him there.
His eyes softened, but there was a flicker of something raw—desire tangled with hesitation, frustration, and self-consciousness. His jaw tightened for a moment, as if weighing words against pride and the vulnerability he still carried from the accident.
“I’ll be fine,” he said, voice steady, controlled, almost casual—but the faint catch in the edge of it betrayed him. “You don’t have to… worry.”
His fingers gently pulled at your sweatpants, his dark gaze piercing into your own.
"The real question is can you take it?"
He teased, tugging lower. Fuck, he was being so...
"Mhm..."
You nodded, not exactly trusting your own voice. He made your stomach turn and twist, a simmering heat pooling lower, and lower.
"Then show me."
He leaned back, comfortable against his seating.
You nodded, swallowing thickly, your face heating as you stood up from his lap, carefully tugging down the warm fabric, feeling the cool air against your legs. His eyes followed every slight movement, down to the slow drag of your panties.
You looked back up, face embarrassingly hot.
"Yuji—"
Your lips parted around a silent sound, watching him lock the wheels into place as he balanced himself against the arm rest, working on his own bottoms before sitting back down.
Your mouth went dry, your eyes zeroing to his cock. You quickly looked away— he didn't even give you a moment to recover before pulling you close, his hands firm on your waist, adjusting you comfortably on his lap.
"I said. Show me."
His palms pressed against your hips. You whimpered, a sound so soft a smile curved at the corners of his lips.
"What can't take it?"
You shook your head, pressing your hands over his own on the arm rest, before slowly lining the flushed head of his cock against your hole. You felt him against you, warm, before your hips slowly press lower. He barely manages to stifle a low, strained sound, his head drooping low as his hand grip tighter against your hips. His jaw clenched tight, dark strands falling over his face as his chest heaves.
"Fuck—so—tight."
He manages, the veins on his forearms corded with the restraint of holding your in place, and allowing you to set the pace.
Your own breathing his just as shaky, your much smaller hands squeezing at his wrist, a small mewl tearing past your lips as you try to sink lower, desperately trying to ease your body and fit more of him in.
"You're really—nngh."
He gently guides you lower, a small high pitched sound escapes you, your head dipping against his shoulder as you tremble.
"Y-Yuji...i-it's really deep."
His heart almost melts at how utterly fucked you are, he didn't even move yet, and here you were trembling and gasping for air when he wasn't half way through yet.
His hand gently smooths over your back, angling his head to press kisses against your jaw and cheek.
"It's been a minute, hm?"
Firm palm gently squeeze your ass, pulling your body lower, urging you to take just a few more inches.
You nod quickly against him, your arms wrapping tighter against his neck as you whine.
"It's in my tummy..."
You whisper, he could've easily missed the words with how quiet you were.
"Yeah?"
His voice is surprisingly gentle, his hands gently kneading at the soft swells, squeezing softly.
"Mhm...is it."
He stills for a moment, before you feel the warmth of his calloused palm traveled from your hip, and press against your stomach.
"Oh, fuck."
He exhales feeling the slight bulge protruding from your warm belly.
"I really am deep."
You nod, leaking down his thick shaft, delirious from your size difference alone, and the heat of his palm against the outline of his cock.
"You're taking it so well, aren't you?"
You're so dizzy all you can manage is a pathetic keen, and a nod.
" 汚いくらい濡れてる。" (so wet it's filthy)
He hums, the words alone make your head spin.
" 'm sorry..."
You burry your face deeper against his shoulder, a sharp sob escaping your lips when he rolls his hips upwards, the movement sudden, making your insides coil tight.
"AH—"
"Thought you could take it?"
He tugs your bottom half lower, gripping your hips in place, before pulling you back up, the slick sounds of your gummy walls sucking him in were beyond filthy, making your face burn up as you gasped against his shoulder.
"You like it when I use you?"
His arms tense with ease push and pull of your him, fucking you against him. You can't do anything but whine, wrapping your arms tighter and tighter around him as he picks up the pace.
" 聞こえる？" (you hear that?)
You nod, against him a strained yelp spilling past your lips when his palm lands rough against your ass.
"さっさと答えろよ ! " (hurry up and answer)
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, as you manage a choked response.
"U-Uhuh...h-hear it..."
He's so deep, fucking in and out of your cunt, his round tip pressing against the depth of cervix almost punishingly. You're beyond dizzy, your body uselessly flopping against his torso, babbling mindlessly as he uses your gushy insides.
"Y-Yuji..."
He wail, eyes hazy and fucked out, trying to clench around him. His hands roughly pull your hips down, and you're brain is much again, your muscles loose, a familiar wave rising higher and high.
" もうイっちゃう… " (gonna come)
Your voice is thin and breathy, your legs trembling around him as your face pressed deeper against his firm chest, small hand gripping tightly onto his strained biceps.
" ほら、イって。" (come for me.)
A wave so overwhelming crashes over you, your stomach clenching as you whine breathlessly, trembling with the intensity of your orgasm, twitching as another wave passes over you.
Ryuji groans deep in his throat, his jaw clenched tight pushing up hips up with the last of his strength, emptying himself inside of you, his muscles trembling with effort as he pants, his head pressing against your damn strands.
"Oh fuck." He exhales, running a damp hand through his hair. Before gently rubbing his thumbs against your bruised hips.
You softly wince, struggling to lift yourself off of him.
He gently adjusts you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
"You okay?"
His eyes pass over your frame, thoroughly fucked, skin glowing with a sheen of sweat, your limbs turned to jelly.
You nod weakly, still clinging to him.
"Washing up is going to be a nightmare of it's own."
He mutters, a small smirk cracking at the corner of his lips.
"You know I love you right?"
This time, a smile tugs at your lips, your eyes trailing up to reach his own.
"Mhm, love you too."
"Oh, trust me. I know."
You had shown it more times than he ever did.
And he knew, he had a lot to make up for.
Is there going to be more parts to stuck with you where chishiya redeems himself I guess
IM BAAAAAACK! ٩(◕‿◕)۶
Thank you for your request and patience, it’s been a rough couple of months. I’ve always wanted to make an insane author note and it’s finally my time to shine:
I had a mental breakdown, got hospitalised due to it, had to fight to get sick leave from my studies (I was supposed to be done with my bachelor’s now so rip that), and then when things finally lined up I GOT A CONCUSSION. So, it’s been a rough couple of months but now I’m back and unstoppable (⌐■_■)
Anyway, I hope you’ll like this story!
Stuck With You (part 3)
(Read part 1 and part 2 here)
🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤
Genre: Smut
Warnings: Smut. Includes oral (both female and male receiving), penetration (female receiving), unprotected sex.
Pairing: Chishiay x fem!reader
Plot: After spending the night together in more than one way, Chishiya finds it hard to keep his hands off of you - even in a life and death situation. The real question is: what have you two become?
3082 words.
🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤
You felt as if you had barely closed your eyes when you were rudely awakened by chirping birds, sunlight shining through the thin and cheap material that the tent was made of. With a big yawn, you sat up in the tent, stretching your sore limbs before looking to your left where Chishiya had spent the last few nights, expecting to see him laying besides you with dishevelled hair as he always had in the mornings. To your surprise, he was nowhere to be found.
“I swear to God if this was some weird type of ‘hit-it then quit-it” I’m going to tear him to shreds the next time we meet,” you mumbled, immediately getting flashbacks to previous similar situations.
With no other choice than to continue your day, you got dressed in silence before emerging out of the tent. And there he was: carefully fidgeting with something you couldn’t quite make out. His head turned towards the sound of the tent zipper unzipping.
“Morning, princess,” he smirked. “Did you sleep well?”
“I slept fine.” That was a lie and you both knew it. You looked like a hot mess with dark blue bags under your eyes and your hair all tangled up. “I thought you ditched me, I won’t lie.”
“Do you think so little of me?” he said, his grin only growing more annoying by the second.
You shrugged to avoid the question - truth be told you still weren’t sure where you had him - and moved closer to him, sitting down next to him on the grass and looking at whatever he was creating. Noticing your peaked interest, he replied to your silent question.
“It’s a stun grenade. Probably not deadly, but it’ll do some damage,” he said nonchalantly. Noticing your confusion, he continued. “I thought it would be a good distraction if we run into problems. It might buy us some time if we need to run.”
“I didn’t know you could run.”
Although the air that huffed out of his nose told you that he found your remark funny, he decided not to reply to your snarky comment.
“Anyway, it’s good to have, isn’t it?” he asked.
You shrugged again, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of him knowing once again that he was right. Why did he always have to think so far ahead? It was annoying you relentlessly how he was right more often than he was wrong. It was Chishiya who spoke first, looking at the stun grenade before stuffing it in his left pocket.
“There’s a hearts game,” he said while pointing distantly towards the sky.
Your heart sunk. Playing a hearts game with an ally was either incredibly beneficial or terribly traumatising. Although you wouldn’t say it out loud, you didn’t want to risk losing Chishiya and you had a feeling that he agreed. Actually, who were you kidding, you knew very well that Chishiya would sacrifice you without a second thought way before you had the chance to sacrifice him. Still, it felt unnecessarily risky.
“Do we have to attend it?”
“Mhm, it’s the closest one to us.”
And that was that. With no counter arguments, you both picked up a few belongings and headed towards the big banner floating above who knew what. Jack of Hearts.
The venue was an old prison. The big iron door which encapsulated the depressing location eerily creaked as you carefully entered the slowly deteriorating building. Of all the games sites you had been at, this was definitely up there in creepiness. With each step you took, you got reminded of the horrors this place had once been home to. You shivered at the thought, trying your best to conceal your feelings about the location.
Much to Chishiya’s dismay, you were required to hand in all potentially dangerous belongings before you could enter the game. Chishiya kissed his teeth and reluctantly let go of the stun grenade he had spent all morning on assembling.
“A shame,” he said monotonously. “Seems like I won’t get to test my creation.”
You muttered a silent thank God under your breath. The idea of a homemade stun grenade didn’t seem very safe to you, and with your luck it would somehow explode in his hands and kill the both of you.
“Did you say something?”
Crap. He heard you. It was like he had super-human hearing at times.
“No,” you lied, causing Chishiya to sneer. Nonetheless, he luckily dropped the subject.
The game started not long after you put on the collar supplied to you by the game masters (whoever the hell that was). The metal was cold, but otherwise it wasn’t particularly uncomfortable. That was good, considering you had to wear it for an unknown amount of time.
The rules were simple. Each person’s collar showed a symbol which you had to announce every hour in a private jail cell. Easy enough, right? The only catch: you couldn’t see this symbol by yourself. The collar was placed in such a way that it was impossible to do so. The obvious solution would be to use a reflective surface - something that was regrettably forbidden by the rules. If you said the wrong symbol: game over. That meant the game was one big exercise in trust with the sole goal of killing off the unidentified Jack of Hearts.
You breathed a sigh of relief when you realised you would not be forced to be in a position where you or Chishiya could get hurt. You trusted each other, right? At least more than you trusted the other strangers in the prison. This would be fine.
And for the first time in what felt like years, it was fine. What you hadn’t considered was how God awful boring this game would be, giving you nothing to do but eat snacks and talk for hours. There were already clear alliances formed amongst the players, causing the Jack to hide safely amongst an unsuspected group of players until someone inevitably fucked up and mistrusted their group.
The boredom had started to hit both you and Chishiya hard. Although he tried to hide it, you knew there were only so many packages of biscuits one man could eat before he went insane. It therefore shouldn’t have surprised you when he pulled you aside at the beginning of the 4th round.
“What are you-“ you managed to exclaim before Chishiya covered your mouth and dragged you into his cell.
“Shhh,” he said with a smirk, looking rather pleased with his plan to waste some time. He immediately yet carefully closed the heavy cell door, making sure not to slam it shut. “Be quiet, we don’t want everyone to hear, now do we?”
“Hear what exactly?”
Despite your confusion, you instinctively lowered your voice to comply with his request. You had long ago stopped questioning Chishiya on these things.
“We’re both bored, aren’t we? I can think of a thing or two we could do to make the time go by faster.”
And that’s when you got it. Sex. He wanted sex in the middle of a game. This wasn’t the Chishiya you knew back at the Beach - that Chishiya would never have been willing to be vulnerable at all, much less during a game.
“What, am I that addicting?” you joked, snaking your arms around the back of his neck. It wasn’t like you were about to complain over or resist his offer. If you spent one more round doing nothing you might actually have died from boredom.
“Very much so,” he admitted, his own hands finding their way to your waist.
It felt good knowing you were wanted - and by Chishiya of all people. Feeling a rush of confidence, you initiated the first kiss, pressing your lips against his firmly. As expected, Chishiya immediately reciprocated, gently leading you towards the wall and pushing you up against it without breaking contact with your sweet lips.
When Chishiya’s hand left your waist to sneak under the waistline of your pants, his mind occupied with lewd thoughts of what was to come, you took the opportunity to switch the position around, taking him by surprise as you pivoted and pushed him forcefully against the cold wall.
The look on his face was priceless, but you didn’t have time to bask in the rays of satisfaction you felt. Instead, you dropped to your knees and placed both hands on his thighs, making sure to look at him up through your eyelashes.
Without hesitation, you hooked your fingers under his sweatpants and pulled them down, revealing his half hard dick. You broke eye contact to gaze at his length, examining the thing that made you feel pure bliss the night before. The thoughts of last night’s encounter made your mouth salivate, causing you to gulp down the excess saliva.
You must have been staring for a while, completely absorbed in the memories, and fully disconnected from reality, because you suddenly felt Chishiya’s hand grabbing yours, gently guiding your fingers around his half-erect dick. You understood what that meant, immediately going to work on making him harder, gliding your hand up and down his entire length, watching as it grew and grew.
Once you noticed small droplets of pre-cum oozing from the tip, you placed your flattened tongue at the base of his dick before sliding it up all the way. Not having expected the sudden change of sensation, Chishiya shuddered and gasped in one breath, his hand moving into your hair.
You flicked your tongue over the sensitive head, enjoying the way his hardness twitched each time the slightly rough yet at the same time soft tissue of your tongue brushed over the tip. Satisfied with the reaction this got you - and feeling as if you had made him wait long enough already - you opened your mouth just wide enough to take him in his entirety, letting his dick fill up your throat as you took him down to the root.
“Fuck,” you faintly heard Chishiya mutter, your other senses almost completely dulled by the feeling of Chishiya’s length occupying your esophagus.
As Chishiya adjusted to the warmth and tightness of your throat, his fingers entangled in your hair. He pulled on it ever so slightly, silently begging you to fuck him with your mouth. And you did, diligently bobbing your head up and down, savouring the feel and taste of him with each movement.
Just as you felt like you had gotten into a good rhythm, Chishiya pulled your head away from his body, your mouth leaving him with a wet, pop sound. He shuddered slightly at the cold air which had so suddenly hit his now wet skin before he pulled his pants back up.
He noticed your confused eyes, but instead of speaking he pulled you up on your feet and guided you towards what you could only imagine was the prison cell’s bed. The bed (if you could even call the cold metal slap that hopefully once had held a mattress a bed) wasn’t exactly comfortable, but neither was the shitty two-man tent in which you two last shared a moment. At least you had more space now than you did last night, opening up for more possibilities.
With a small push, Chishiya got you seated on the metal before kneeling down on the floor in front of you, swiftly pulling off your pants and underpants and seating himself between your legs. The coldness from the metal now directly against your bare buttocks didn’t exactly feel nice, but luckily for you it didn’t take long before he hiked both of his arms underneath your thighs and lifted your lower body up against his face, so you were doing a shoulder stand.
Wasting no time, he immediately plunged his tongue into the depth of your core, licking up your arousal as if he had been wandering around a desert for days with no water. Your sounds went from confusion caused by the awkward position to deep pleasure in record time, your moans being harder and harder to suppress when he finally flicked his tongue over your so far heavily neglected clit. He hummed and growled as he indulged in your taste, the vibrations from his mouth only furthering your arousal and excitement.
His tongue was working overtime, alternating between circling your love button and pushing deep inside of you. You were so zoned out from reality, entering an almost trance-like state brought on by his tongue, that you barely noticed his hand moving down your body, sliding underneath your shirt until it reached your breast. There, Chishiya snaked around your bra and began massaging your boob, occasionally putting extra focus on your sensitive nipple.
Despite the objectively rather awkward and uncomfortable position, you soon enough felt a cascade of pleasure engulf your entire being as Chishiya’s mouth helped you reach your climax. Chishiya didn’t stop - instead he continued to flick his tongue around your most sensitive area, accompanying you through every last pulsation your core made. Once your hand-muffled moans had turned into soft whimpers, he put you down and wiped his mouth with his arm.
Now that you were fully horizontal again, you began feeling the aches in your neck. Perhaps doing a shoulder stand for God knows how long, on a metal bed, was not the best choice. Chishiya too looked as if he was internally questioning his decision to eat you out like that, but he wasn’t a quitter. Not wanting to waste even a second more than he had to, he stood back up and pulled down his sweatpants, his hard length slapping against his stomach once freed.
His dick didn’t even need extra attention before he was set to go. It was so perfectly ready for you; hard, red, throbbing, with a bead of precum adorning the tip. It was almost beautiful - well as beautiful as a dick can be. You didn’t get to admire it for long before he climbed on top of you, pushing your body further down on the metal bed and immediately entering you once on top of you.
With his dick buried so deep inside of you that it almost felt like he was piercing through to your stomach, Chishiya began thrusting in and out of you, his tip forcefully slamming against your cervix each time. You were well aware that you were supposed to be quiet and yet you couldn’t help the moans and whimpers that left your lips. Chishiya quickly covered your mouth with his hand, shusshing into your ear through his own low groans.
Your hands found their way around Chishiya’s torso, gripping tightly onto the soft fabric of his hoodie. Had he not been wearing said hoodie your nails would have painfully been digging into his skin, leaving marks for hours to come. Luckily for his back that was not the case and he barely even noticed how tightly you were clinging onto him.
“I’m gonna-” you began saying into his hand, your words muffled. To everyone else, the sounds would have been unintelligible, but Chishiya knew exactly what you were trying to say.
“Come,” he demanded, growling the command into your ear.
Your mind completely blanked after that, your body only able to feel the immense pleasure that was flowing through every fibre of your being, raising every little hair on your arms and igniting nerves you didn’t know existed. The intense pulsation from your core caused Chishiya to finish soon after, his dick rhythmically spouting his seed deep inside of you.
You both rode out your high together, Chishiya eventually collapsing down on you, grounding you further down on the hard, metal bed. The only sound audible in the room was that of heavy breathing. That was until Chishiya suddenly stood up and redressed his lower half. You raised your eyebrows at his promptness, something that he noticed.
“We can’t stay in here all day. We have a game to play,” he said. Perhaps you were imagining it, but you swore you could see the faintest satisfied smirk on his lips.
You had no reply, but instead followed suit and put you pants back on. As you stood up you felt the sensation of Chishiya’s seed slowly seeping out of you, but you tried to ignore it. It wasn’t like there were tissues laying around to help with that right now.
The silence in the room was thick, a contrast to the sounds of pleasure that only a few minutes prior had faintly echoed around the bare room. That was, until you bravely decided to ask the question that had been on your mind since last night.
“So, what are we?” you asked, trying to sound more confident than you were. He, of course, saw right through you. He always did.
“I don’t know, what are we?” he repeated like a parrot, avoiding answering the question. You knew it was because he loved toying you around. Perhaps you liked being toyed with too, but that felt more like something you should discuss with a therapist than with Chishiya.
“No no no, I asked you first.”
He didn’t reply. Of course he didn’t, that would have been too easy of him. Instead, he opened the cell door again and gestured towards the hallway outside.
“We have a game to finish.”
And that was that. You knew you wouldn’t get a better answer out of him - not today at least - so you followed his lead, exiting the jail cell and pretending as if you hadn’t spent the last small hour with Chishiya rearranging your guts.
The following rounds were slowly getting more and more dramatic, with the other groups disbanding due to betrayals and a general sense of unease spreading through the prison. In that regard, you were quite lucky that you had Chishiya. Even more so when he eventually cracked the code and helped you both survive the game unarmed.
Together you silently walked back to the little camp that you had created and mutely crawled back into the tent. No words were spoken as you both laid flatly down on the mats next to each other. What was there to say? Bringing up the game would do nothing but remind you of the precarious situation you were in. Bringing up what happened during the game would require both of you to openly discuss feelings. Yeah, no. Silence was the right option. At least for tonight.
