Summary: A usually unshakable heart surgeon, Shuntarō Chishiya, learns that nothing tests his composure quite like his adorably unpredictable, pregnant, and wildly emotional wife.
Shuntarō Chishiya x pregnant!reader
Words: 1,8k
A/N: blond or brunette?
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The hospital smelled faintly of antiseptic and burnt coffee, and somewhere in the distance, someone’s shoes squeaked down the hallway. Dr. Shuntarō Chishiya had long stopped noticing either sound. His focus was entirely on the chart in his hands, the lines of an EKG as familiar to him as the back of his own hand.
He was, by all accounts, a man who didn’t feel much — or at least didn’t show it. Even in a hospital full of adrenaline junkies, Chishiya was an enigma: calm, detached, and eerily composed. His colleagues could be shouting, the OR could be a mess, but he’d still be steady, monotone, efficient.
Which was why, when one of the nurses asked with a teasing smile, “So, Dr. Chishiya, how’s married life? Your wife’s due soon, right?” — he didn’t flinch.
He just said, “She’s fine.”
They all rolled their eyes. “You could at least pretend to sound excited.”
He only gave them that small, knowing half-smile — the one that made people unsure if he was amused or just done with the conversation. “I’m a heart surgeon,” he replied. “I see excitement every day. I don’t need more of it at home.”
What he didn’t add was that his wife was literally the definition of excitement lately.
Because while the rest of the world thought Dr. Shuntarō Chishiya was unflappable, only one person had ever seen him break his poker face — you.
And you didn’t even mean to.
It was almost 9 p.m. when he finally pulled into the driveway. His hands were still faintly stained from gloves, the faint scent of soap and hospital disinfectant clinging to him. The house was dark except for a warm glow spilling from the living room.
He exhaled slowly. Home. Finally
When he opened the door, he heard it — the sound of sniffles.
Immediately alert, he dropped his bag near the entryway and stepped out of his shoes. “(Y/N)?”
You were curled up on the couch under a blanket, phone in hand, face red and blotchy from crying.
His pulse kicked up slightly, reflexive concern, trained instinct — until he caught sight of your phone screen. A cat video. A compilation of kittens meowing softly at the camera.
You hiccuped. “They’re so small, Shuntarō.”
He blinked. “...The cats?”
You nodded miserably. “They can’t even open their eyes yet. They just want love!”
He sighed, crossing the room and sitting down beside you. “You’ve watched that same video about ten times this week.”
“I know!” you wailed, wiping your nose with a tissue. “And it’s still sad!”
He didn’t say anything at first, just brushed a strand of hair off your face. Then, with that calm voice that could command an entire OR, he murmured, “You’re crying over happy kittens, love.”
You sniffled. “I’m pregnant. I have feelings.”
That got him, a soft, rare smile tugging at his lips. “Clearly.”
You huffed, crossing your arms. “You’re so mean. You don’t even miss me, do you?”
That startled him. “What?”
“I said, you don’t miss me!” you repeated, your voice trembling as tears started welling again. “You come home so late every night, and I’m just here alone, and I miss you, and you probably don’t even think about me while you’re doing all your— your doctor things!”
Chishiya blinked twice. Then again. Slowly.
He’d faced heart attacks, cardiac arrests, chaotic emergencies — and yet, somehow, this was what truly left him speechless.
Finally, he let out a quiet sigh, leaning closer until his forehead rested against yours. “You’re ridiculous,” he whispered, but his tone was fond. “Of course I miss you.”
You frowned, lip trembling. “You don’t say it enough.”
“Because every time I do, you cry.”
“That’s not true!”
“It is,” he said, brushing his thumb under your eye. “You cried when I said ‘good morning’ yesterday. And again when I said ‘you look beautiful.’”
You sniffed. “Well, maybe if you weren’t so nice I wouldn’t cry.”
He couldn’t help it — he laughed. Not the small, sarcastic chuckle his coworkers heard, but a soft, warm sound that was all for you.
You narrowed your eyes, offended, even as tears still streaked your cheeks. “You’re laughing at me.”
“I’m laughing near you,” he corrected. “Different thing.”
You swatted his arm weakly. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re beautiful when you’re mad.”
That earned him a glare — followed by a watery smile you couldn’t suppress.
The next day, when he got home, you were in a completely different mood.
“Hi, baby!” you cheered, running — well, waddling — to the door to greet him. You were glowing, wearing one of his oversized shirts, and clutching a bowl of strawberries.
He blinked at the whiplash. “You’re...happy?”
“Of course I am! You’re home!” You wrapped your arms around him as best as you could, pressing your face into his chest. “Did you eat? Are you tired? Do you want me to run you a bath? Wait, I made dinner! Oh! And I washed your scrubs!”
Chishiya stood there, coat half-off, eyes slightly wide. “Did you nap today?”
“A little!” you said proudly. “Only cried once!”
“Progress,” he murmured dryly.
You didn’t notice the teasing. “And I watched this video where a baby heard his mom’s voice for the first time with hearing aids, and I—” your voice broke off, and he immediately tensed, but you shook your head quickly, smiling again. “—but I didn’t cry this time! Okay, maybe a little.”
He chuckled, cupping your face. “You’re unbelievable.”
You leaned into his hand, eyes fluttering shut. “You love it.”
He did. More than he could say.
Later that evening, you were curled up in bed watching random videos while he read next to you.
Everything was peaceful. You were giggling at some stupid meme, the sound of your laughter soft and contagious. He allowed himself to glance up from his book, just for a second — watching your expression change with each video, your eyes bright and happy.
Then the next video autoplayed.
A slow, melancholy piano began to play. The screen showed a montage of couples growing old together, the kind with captions like “True love lasts forever.”
Your face crumpled instantly.
“Oh no,” he muttered.
You sniffed loudly. “It’s so sweet, Shuntaro. They’ve been together since high school and he still holds her hand even though she has Alzheimer’s.”
He closed his book with a resigned sigh. “Here we go again.”
“She doesn’t even remember him, but he still visits her every day!” you wailed, clutching the pillow to your chest. “That’s— that’s what love is supposed to be!”
Chishiya reached over and gently took your phone, locking it before you could scroll further down the emotional abyss of the internet. “Okay, that’s enough TikTok for today.”
“Hey!”
“You’ve cried three times in one hour. Your tear ducts need a break.”
You frowned up at him, eyes glassy. “You don’t understand, you’re emotionally constipated.”
He snorted. “That’s a new diagnosis.”
“Yeah, and I’m the doctor now.”
He set your phone on the nightstand and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re cute when you’re bossy.”
“I’m always cute.”
“I won’t argue that.”
That finally drew a laugh out of you — a soft, sniffling one, but genuine.
And that, he thought quietly, was worth more than any successful surgery.
A few days later, one of his colleagues caught him smiling at his phone during lunch.
“Okay, that’s it,” the nurse said, squinting suspiciously. “What’s got you smiling, Dr. Emotionless?”
Chishiya didn’t look up. “Nothing.”
The surgeon next to him leaned over. “Is it your wife again?”
“She sent me a video,” he said simply.
“What kind of video?”
He paused. “…A raccoon washing grapes.”
There was a collective groan around the table.
“Seriously? That’s what makes you smile?”
He shrugged. “She said it reminded her of me.”
The nurse snorted. “Because you’re both emotionally detached and like to wash things?”
He smirked faintly. “Because we both use our hands a lot.”
The entire table groaned louder.
“Gross, Chishiya.”
He only smirked more.
That night, when he got home, you were on the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of the baby crib you’d just assembled.
You looked exhausted but proud, rubbing your belly absently as you admired your work.
“Hey,” he murmured, kneeling beside you. “You actually did it.”
You beamed at him. “I’m nesting. It’s a thing.”
He reached out and steadied your hand, seeing the faint tremor from your effort. “You could’ve waited for me to help.”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
He exhaled softly, then leaned in to kiss your temple. “You always do.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder, suddenly quiet. “You think I’ll be a good mom?”
He turned to look at you — at your soft eyes, your worried frown, the vulnerability that came in waves lately.
“(Y/N),” he said quietly, “you cry because a cartoon dog gets lost and laugh because someone sneezed like a duck. You already care too much. You’ll be perfect.”
You laughed through a sniffle. “That’s not a medical opinion.”
“It’s a personal one.”
You smiled at him, soft and watery. “You’re sweet sometimes.”
“Only for you.”
That night, as you both lay in bed, you reached for his hand, resting it on your belly.
He blinked, startled by the gentle movement beneath his palm.
“She’s kicking,” you whispered. “She does that when she hears your voice.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stared at your stomach — the faint thump against his hand making his chest tighten in ways he couldn’t explain.
Finally, his lips curved into that tiny, private smile again. “Guess she’s impatient. Just like her mother.”
You giggled, swatting him lightly. “You love us both.”
He didn’t deny it this time. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I really do.”
The next morning, he left for work before sunrise. You were still asleep, curled up on his side of the bed, wearing his shirt and hugging one of his pillows.
He paused by the door, taking in the sight — the peaceful mess of blankets, your hair spilling across the pillow, one hand resting protectively over your stomach.
For someone who prided himself on logic, Chishiya couldn’t quite rationalize why his chest ached in the best possible way.
Maybe this was the one part of his life he didn’t need to analyze — the one thing that didn’t need to be measured, dissected, or fixed.
Because no matter how unpredictable your moods were — whether you were laughing, crying, or scolding him for being “too pretty to be a doctor” — you were his constant.
And if the hospital was where he fixed hearts, home was where his own finally learned how to beat for something other than survival.
Summary: You and Chishiya play a game together; you just have to be quiet 🤫
Content Warning: NSFW (18+), quite literally porn with plot; smutty smut, slight breeding kink, Chishiya and Reader are drugged, but they chose it for themselves
I won't tell anyone what or what not to do, but please interact responsibly ✨️
AO3 Link Here
A/N: Not related to any of my other stories but I hope you enjoy nonetheless 😝 The idea for this game is absolutely ridiculous but made me laugh too hard not to include it
The bright light from your phone illuminates the perplexed look painting your features. The task seemed, simple? Suspiciously simple for a Five of Hearts. Your eyes narrow into slits, deperately trying to see the perspective of the game master; what was the catch?
[Game: Quiet]
[Rules: Gain entry to and remain locked in your cell with your partner for the duration of the game; if the noise level in the cell exceeds 70 decibels, you and your partner will be shocked at increasing levels of intensity.]
[Game Clear: Survive in your cell for entirety of the time limit.]
[Game Over: Failure to gain entry to your cell with your partner will result in a game over for both players. Exceeding the sound limit three times will result in a game over for both players.]
[Time Limit: 2:00:00]
A brief glance to your left puts Chishiya in your line of vision. The blonde stands waiting patiently, unperturbed beside you with hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Though you were admittedly a little creeped out by the dingy and dimly lit prison you found yourself occupying, you knew you wouldn't mind being locked in a jail cell with him for two hours. In fact, the thought alone made carnal heat bloom in your core.
A door buzzes open to your right, revealing a hallway filled with solitary confinement cells. Six of the rooms have a small table sitting in front of them, adorned with a sign and some other things you can't see yet. The task that will gain you entry to the cell. Chishiya quirks an eyebrow, grabbing onto your hand and leading you through the narrow hallway. The warmth of his hand against yours sends an electrical current through your body and short circuits your mind.
You'd been somewhat friends with the blonde for, well, long enough. You were best friends with Kuina, and he always just seemed to be somewhere in the background; static noise to your combined exhuberant energies. You didn't mind that either, his presence was enjoyable and calming. Plus, it allowed you to study him enough to at least fantasize what he might do to you if he wasn't such a cold and distant prick. If only you could feel his surprisingly warm hands elsewhere, one holding you down and the other sinking lower and lower until -
Get it together, you mentally slap yourself. You can't be getting all worked up when you have to be stuck in a cell with the man for two hours. Save it for later, when you can actually do something about it.
Coming back to reality, you see Chishiya is staring at you expectantly, offering something to you. You blink dumbly, "What?"
"I said, are you gonna take the pill or not? I want to know if I'm dying by laser in the hallway or if we can get this over with." He blinks slowly, face completely devoid of emotion, as usual. You look skeptically at the pill, then at Chishiya, and back at the pill.
Ah, so this was the catch. You'd have to consume an unknown substance to even get inside your cell, and who knew what it would do to you once you did? But if you didn't, you'd be greeted by the warm kiss of a laser to the head.
The man smirks when you snatch the pill out of his fingertips, gulping it down and chugging some water before you can lose your nerve. He'd clearly already taken his while you were busy fantasizing about his hands roaming your body. You watch with bated breath as he clips the shock bracelet around his wrist, then does the same for you. How romantic, matching jewelry.
When the cell door buzzes open, the two of you enter. You immediately separate yourself from him, allowing your body to slide slowly against the rusty metal wall down to the dirty tiled floor. Chishiya quietly settles himself down across from you, taking the hint about wanting space.
The first fifteen minutes or so go by easily, neither of you saying a word. You start to wonder if the pill was just a way to mess with your mind, and it wouldn't have any effect. You almost burst into laughter at the sheer audacity.
But then, you feel heat beginning to prickle underneath your skin, a cool sheen of sweat appearing on your chest and arms. You quickly rip your sweatshirt off, leaving you in just your bikini top, thinking you must just be overheating in the small space. No good. Your internal temperature continues to skyrocket, making your entire body feel weak and sore.
Your water! You just need a cool drink of water. When that does nothing to quell the sandpapery feeling in your mouth, you lay your head back on the cool metal wall and shut your eyes. You just need to breathe through this. It's all in your head.
No, your pulse is racing, and you find your body unconsciously squeezing your thighs together to find just a little bit of friction. Fuck.
It's then that you realize, and your eyes shoot open in panic to look at your counterpart sitting against the wall across from you. He looks relatively composed still, but you can see sweat forming on his brow and the vice-like grip he has on his own water bottle is causing his knuckles to turn white.
"C-chishiya . . ." You moan out brokenly, not intending to sound so desperate already. He looks at you knowingly, head still leaned back on the wall behind him, "I know, it was an aphrodisiac."
He smirks lightly at you, you who are starting to drip in sweat and pant. "What are we gonna do?" You mewl, pain starting to flood your senses. You didn't know that you could get so aroused that it would physically hurt your entire body, but here you were.
The man smirks, raising an eyebrow at you, as if to say what do you think?
You shake your head slightly, embarrassed. It isn't that you don't want Chishiya like that. Of course you do; you're aching for him. It's that you don't want him like this. Because you're forced onto each other by a cruel twist of fate in Borderland.
"No?" He clicks his tongue, "A shame," he mocks. "And I was so interested in helping you, too." You choke back a sob, his teasing words doing nothing but stoking the fire burning inside you.
He grins a Cheshire grin now, whispering your name in a raspy tone that floods your panties with arousal, "Beg for it." You could have came right there hearing that, fuck.
"Please, Chishiya!" You cry out, frantically, before clapping your hands over your mouth. Quiet. Chishiya's eyes glitter in amusement now, this was certainly one of the more exciting games he'd played. And with you? With you, this was a gift. He'd always wanted you, but would never show it, not unless he was forced to. Oh, fate.
"Please what, angel?" He grins, staring wide-eyed at you as though he was confused about what you could possibly want from him.
"Please come over here and help me! I'll do anything, please please please." Your desperation is at an all time high, you can't and don't want to withstand Chishiya's teasing right now.
The blonde coos mockingly at you as he stands smoothly, crossing the floor to close the distance between you. He kneels down, gripping your jaw and brushing his lips very lightly against yours, "I thought you'd last longer than that before giving in." Your breath catches in your throat as one hand softly cradles the back of your head and the other travels down to find the waistband of your fleece sweatpants.
Chishiya looks into your eyes, allowing you to see the deep desire you feel for him reflected back in his, he wants you too. He studies your face for a moment, before asking, "May I?" You groan, because who isn't turned on by a polite king?
"Please Chishiya, I want it. More than anything." You see a flicker of excited anticipation in his face, it looks gorgeous painted on his usually stoic features. Long, dexterous fingers at long last slip into your panties, collecting the wetness that was pooled there and rubbing a few tentative circles on your clit. When you throw your head back against his hand in total bliss, the man lets out a groan of his own, "You're so wet, and I've barely touched you. You won't last long like this will you, baby?" The sound you let out is a dangerous one, and Chishiya pulls his hand away to cover your mouth. The loss of his intimate touch is devastating and you look at him with tears welling up in your eyes. You physically cannot wait anymore.
"Gotta keep quiet for me, angel. Don't forget we're playing a game," he whispers, not moving his hand away until you finally nod in agreement.
He smirks at you, shifting to lean himself up against the wall, and pulling your body to sit between his spread legs. With both hands, he quickly undresses your bottom half, tossing your sweatpants and panties somewhere across the room. He moves your hair carefully out of the way, bringing his plush lips to suck and bite at the sweet spot on your neck, simultaneously using his hands to spread your legs for him.
Your head falls back on his shoulder, mind completely spinning just from his assault on your neck. You are so in trouble. His left hand comes up to cover your mouth, preemptively knowing that you won't be quiet for him as he'd asked. You were grateful for that, because when he plunges two long digits inside you without warning, you squeal in pleasure and surprise.
You turn to see the sparkle in his eyes as he curls his fingers deliciously in just the right way to make your toes curl. His thumb circles your swollen clit, fingers finding a steady pace that makes you pant and whine. You know you won't last long like this, hips already grinding down into his hand, begging for relief from the intoxicating effects of the drug pumping through your veins. Chishiya knows it too, smirking against the soft skin of your neck.
The blonde works you on his fingers, still pumping in and out at a rapid pace, your body starting to squirm against him. You can feel his cock straining against his sweatpants, and it gives you some joy to tease him like this. Chishiya pulls his hand away from your mouth, using it instead to hold your hips in place. "Quit teasing, little minx," he growls dangerously in your ear.
Breathlessly you whine, "Let me touch you too, Shiya, please." When Chishiya looks down at you, half cradled in his arms, you see two deep pools of darkness gazing back at you, ready to drown you in his lust.
You clumsily push yourself up off of him, turning around to pull his sweatpants off, the dark patch of pre-cum gracing his boxers catching your attention. He was loving playing this game with you. Your breath catches in your throat again. You run your hand lustfully along his member still hidden by his boxers, but the man is rock hard and he is big. Heat pools in your core, your head swimming with desire.
You look up at Chishiya through your eyelashes, nearly cumming when you see the blissed out look on his face. He is stunning when he doesn't look so serious - like a perfectly chiseled statue. You hope you'll get to see this look on his face more often. You finally pull the boxers off of his body, allowing his cock to spring free and bounce a little against his abdomen. Perfect.
You run your thumb over his slit, collecting some of the slick and distributing it all over. You moved slowly with him, watching curiously at what would make Chishiya moan, what would make him growl, and what made his balls tighten. His hand wanders back to your clit, rubbing quick circles to match your pace. His other hand grabs onto your jaw, pulling your face to his and kissing you desperately. You moan lowly into his mouth, giving him the opportunity to sneak his tongue in and tangle it with yours.
You are in heaven with Chishiya's fingers pressed against your wet heat, your own hand wrapped around his cock bringing each other closer and closer to the promised land. But you want more, you want to taste him badly. Just as you are about to lean down to take him in your mouth, he interrupts you.
"Fuck this," Chishiya whispers, clearly at his breaking point too. He lifts you with ease, tossing you gently onto the dusty bed at the far end of the cell. One hand shoots out to grab one of your ankles, dragging you to the edge of the bed as he gracefully falls to his knees between your legs.
You lean up on your elbows to stare down at him breathlessly, brushing your fingers into his shockingly soft hair. Chishiya grins a Cheshire grin at you, licking his lips slightly like a predator about to devour his dinner.
Both hands hook underneath your legs, spreading you apart for him and lifting your hips a bit, his lips coming to lick an experimental strip up your slit. The moans you let out for him go straight to his cock, only making him want to devour you more. Chishiya suddenly brings two of his fingers to your lips, raising an eyebrow at you expectantly. Suck. You do, taking his fingers lustfully into your mouth and coating them in saliva before he pulls them out with a wet pop.
He brings those fingers to dive into your fluttering core, immediately curling them forward to find your spongey spot while his lips suck gloriously on your clit. You see stars, knowing that this man is about to give you the best orgasm of your life. Your body involuntarily squirms underneath Chishiya as you get closer and closer to those aforementioned stars. The fingers of his free hand intertwine with the fingers of the hand you'd had in his hair, letting you ground yourself in his touch.
His pace does not falter, fingers driving in and out of your pussy, causing obscene squelching sounds to bounce off the walls in the small cell. Hopefully that sound isn't higher than 70 decibels. His tongue collects everything you give him, alternating between licking and sucking you as you writhe beneath him. His watchful eyes take in every second of you like this, you are gorgeous underneath him. The man sees how your eyebrows furrow in just such a way, your tight hole clamping impossibly around his fingers. And your arousal hitting his tongue - God, he would do this all day if you'd let him.
"Let go for me, baby," Chishiya moans against your clit, the vibrations sending you to the moon. For the first time in your life, you squirt as you orgasm, soaking the dusty white sheets beneath you. You're certain you've died. The sound that leaves you is animalistic, loud, and completely against the rules. You feel your body and Chishiya's stiffen and jolt as you're shocked for exceeding the sound limit, but honestly it kind of extends the high that you're riding. Maybe you could get into that kind of thing during intimacy.
When the shock finally subsides, your entire body collapses back onto the bed, completely spent and nerve endings still on fire from the charge. When you finally open your eyes and start to feel yourself relaxing back into your body, you see Chishiya looking up at you in what can only be described as awe.
"That was so worth getting shocked for," he laughs, licking his lips clean of your arousal. Just the vision of him between your legs has your pussy throbbing again, that was the best orgasm of your life, but you desperately wanted more from him.
You grab onto the front of his white jacket, pulling him up to press your lips against his. You whimper, tasting yourself on him and let him deepen the kiss. You've waited for what feels like forever to finally kiss him like this, and you'll be damned if you miss out on a second. You glance down at his red, angry looking cock and feel your mouth water. You want to feel him fill you more than anything.
He presses your body down into the mattress, leaning over you as you stare like an angel up at him, hair spread on the sheets around you like a halo. "Do you know how long I've waited to have you under me like this?" He leans down, peppering your jaw and neck with kisses, sinking his teeth into you and marking you for everyone to see later. Your heart hammers against your ribcage at his admission, Chishiya wanted you too.
He shrugs his jacket off, leaving himself completely bare in front of you. Heat pools once again in your belly, you hoped desperately he was about to give you exactly what you need.
He pulls the flimsy strings holding your bikini top to your body, helping to pull it off of you. "You frustrate me so much, you know? Waltzing around in these tiny bikinis, not even realizing that I want to bend you over and fuck you in front of everyone just so they know who you belong to," he growls in that sexy raspy voice again. Your pussy clenches around nothing, arousal dripping down onto the bed and he absolutely notices.
He raises an eyebrow at you, teasingly running his fingers through your soaked slit again, "You like that, baby? You want everyone to know that this pussy is mine, don't you?" You whine, head falling back against the bed and growing increasingly needy, "Please Chishiya, t-take me."
He wastes no more time, letting a growl escape his chest, and in one swift motion he sheathes his throbbing cock inside you. "Fuck," he whimpers, "You're so fucking tight, perfect for me baby." His praise causes your cunt to tighten around him, panting as he lowers himself to attack your swollen lips once more. You whimper and whine pathetically into his mouth, feeling so delightfully full for once in your life as he stretches your core.
His arms wrap securely around you, cradling you to him as if you were the most precious thing in the world. To him, you are. Rocking into you at a slow pace at first, Chishiya whispers absolute filth in your ear between sloppy kisses. You whine just from the sound of his voice, but also because you need more to make the pain of the drug dissipate. "Shiya please! I need you to f-fuck me!" Oh, how he wants to hear you scream that loud enough for his neighbors to hear.
The man emits another low rumble in his chest, yanking your legs up onto his shoulders and crossing your ankles behind his neck. He quickly finds a steady pace, hips rolling against you with one hand grabbing the skin at your hip for purchase and the other coming up to pinch a hardened nipple between two fingers. Chishiya can feel how the muscles in his abdomen are already tensing up; he knows that HE won't last long like this, you're soaking wet and so fucking tight, his cock feeling at home inside you like he'd always been meant to be there.
The aphrodisiac clouds his mind and yours, he's so desperate for you. You look up at him through half-lidded eyes, lips bruised and puffy from the heat of your kisses. Electricity goes straight to his core, fuck, you're so perfect.
"M'gonna cum soon, baby," he whispers, causing your pussy to flutter around him again. You loved that you were making him feel as good as he was making you feel. You pull your legs off of his shoulders to wrap around his hips instead, a silent plea for him to cum inside. You needed to feel him fill you up.
And oh, how he couldn't wait to fill you up. Whether the drug or just some sick part of his mind he'd kept locked away until now, he wanted to keep you filled with his cum until it took. That thought made his nerve endings light on fire.
You whimper in desperation when Chishiya presses his body weight back on top of you, lips joining yours once more in a passionate but tender kiss. As his tongue locks with yours, he brings two fingers to circle your clit, trying to get your next orgasm to come before he does.
With so many sensations flooding you all at once, you do find yourself on the edge again, you need just a little bit more.
"Shiya . . . I'm -" you start, but the man is desperately trying not to cum too soon and cuts you off with a low growl, "Cum for me baby, please." His hips snap into yours now, setting a blazing pace as his movements get sloppy.
That's all you need to be thrown over the edge of your orgasm, cunt squeezing tightly around Chishiya's hardened member as you wail loudly, forgetting yourself once more. It's just so good.
Your orgasm triggers his, and you whine even more as rope after rope of his hot cum paints your walls white, his lips pressing hard against yours as he fills you completely. The warm sensation of his cum filling you nearly gives you a third orgasm, until you're shocked by the collar. Neither of you care, just hanging onto each other tightly as the current rushes through you.
You grimace when Chishiya pulls out, missing the feeling of being filled to the brim by him almost immediately. He lowers himself to the side of you, leaning against one elbow. His free hand comes up to caress your cheek, pulling your soft lips back against his again. Where before it was frantic, now it felt romantic, slow, intentional.
His hand travels, featherlight touch dancing down your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. Overstimulated, you whine a bit as your nerve endings feel about to explode. He pulls his face away from yours, eager to study his long fingers as they push his cum back into your pussy. Your body shivers, and he admires the way you react.
"No more, Shiya, s'too much," you whine as his fingers begin circling your clit again. He hums in response, not stopping, but not increasing his speed either.
"Just a little more, angel. I told you I've waited forever for this." You mewl in overstimulation as he picks up the pace, your hips lifting off the bed and you squirm underneath him.
[Game Clear - Congratulations] The cheerful robot chimes. You'd cleared the game, and gained so much more than Visa days.
You collapse, letting out an exhausted sigh as the man pulls his hand away from your sensitive core. "Think you can wait a little longer, then?" You ask tiredly, seriously needing a shower and a tiny bit of rest before continuing these activities with Chishiya.
He smirks, grasping your jaw to bring your face towards him again. "Let's get back to The Beach. I want to make sure everyone can hear you scream for me," he announces, making your insides go up in flames once more.
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)
I have an aib request!! Maybe a shy! Reader always clinging to Chishiya? I’m weak for opposites attract and idk I just think it’s cute for new players at the beach to see Chishiya willingly let a girl cling to his jacket, maybe tho she’s equally smart and often underestimated or gets sent into a game and is the last one alive? Idk I’m idea dumping
Virus
Synopsis: The militants try to hit Chishiya where it hurts, but they forgot to factor in just how lethal you could be underneath all that softness.
Genre: fluff, reader having quite a dark side
Words: 3.6k
Warnings: mentions of blood, minor character death, violence
Note: this isn't proofread, whoops! also, pulled this game out of thin air, not gonna lie. let me know if i did a good job, I'm actually pretty proud of it ^ W ^
"What the fuck was that about?" you pouted at him. For the past hour, you've been waiting outside the meeting room, tapping your foot impatiently against the floor.
Despite being bestowed the "honor" of being called Number 11 just a month ago, the tides suddenly shifted when Last Boss refused to let you in. Even Chishiya was caught off guard, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion before he told you he'll "handle it."
Sixty minutes later, and now you're in one of the common rooms, picking at a pudding cup. Chishiya was silent, eyes fixed on something far away. You had one arm hooked around his, your other one holding the spoon.
It wasn't an uncommon sight for people to see you like this—you attached to him one way or another. Whenever you would wade through a crowd, you'd have a fistful of his jacket in your hand as he guided you forward. If there was a party and the environment was rowdy, eagle-eyed residents would spot you in a corner sharing earphones, listening to your own music.
"'Shiya, are they firing me?" You scooped up some of the pudding, bringing it close to his lips. He hummed in deep thought, letting you feed him.
"They wouldn't try," he finally responded. "They know what would happen if they did."
Your heart fluttered a little, making you bite the inside of your cheek to prevent a smile. After getting to know him for a while now, you've come to realize that only one word could fully describe your relationship: subtle.
He wasn't as big on PDA as you were, but he wasn't averse to physical touch as well. He wouldn't let you sit on his lap in public, but you'd feel his touch on your lower back whenever you were wandering around. He wasn't overtly jealous, but he didn't not care either. He was protective in the sense that he wouldn't make a scene. And it's in instances like this where his love for you really shows.
"Oooh, you're so hot when you're scary like this," you teased him, offering him another spoonful. He rolled his eyes, though a small smile played at his lips. He was silent after that for a few more minutes. You frowned a bit at this. Something was off.
"You gonna tell me what's on your mind?" you asked softly, placing your chin on his shoulder. Subconsciously, he leaned his head towards you.
"We're playing tonight, right?"
"Uh-huh. What about it?"
"They're putting us into separate groups this time." His eyes shifted towards you, trying to read your reaction.
Your eyes widened just a bit, surprised but not fully. In the past, you and Chishiya have come to expect that they'll use your relationship as a target. It was impossible for the militants or Hatter to have gotten a whiff of your plan to steal the cards, but a storm was about to come if they were trying to get rid of you first—and then presumably Chishiya.
You hummed, taking the last bite of pudding. Chishiya was still studying your expression. Truthfully, he wasn't worried about sending you off alone. He knew what you were capable of—your intellect and quick thinking were among the biggest reasons why he fell for you in the first place. It was who you were going to be grouped with that he was worried about.
"Well... I guess we had it coming," you stated plainly. You heard him scoff next to you. You quirked an eyebrow. "Is the great Shuntaro worried about little, old me?"
"Yes."
He moved so that he was facing you. Honey brown eyes bore into your own, his lips pinched in a thin line. The sarcasm died on your tongue, and you noticed how his knee was restlessly bouncing.
"I want you to come back here alive and well." It was a demand more than a request.
You took his hands gently into yours. "Of course I will. I'll always find my way back to bother you."
────୨ৎ────
"Where's your jacket?" Kuina gestured towards him with the lollipop. "Don't tell me you forgot it."
"It's with ___," he replied cooly.
Kuina tensed a little at your name. She knew about the separation ploy. Even further than that, she knew you were getting sent to a hearts game. She shifted from one foot to another, eyeing Chishiya carefully.
Upon first glance, he seemed aloof enough. His face was perfectly blank, eyes sharp. It was his hands that gave him away. He was repeatedly digging his nails into the tip of his thumb.
"I'm sure they'll be okay," Kuina murmured, nudging his shoulder. "They're tougher than everyone else thinks."
On the other side of the city, you were cozying yourself up in Chishiya's jacket as you leaned against the wall. The car had brought you to a mall, which had already unnerved you since it may mean you'd have to be quick on your feet. Large game zones always meant more physicality. The usual table filled with phones was also scattered with various weapons. Knives of various sizes, an axe, a baseball bat, dumbbells. All melee.
You've already armed yourself with the switchblade Chishiya made for you. You didn't want to risk carrying anything heavy around, especially not in a hearts game. You never knew if you'd need to run.
You eyed your "teammates," five militants you recognized to be under Niragi's posse. They couldn't have made it any more obvious that they were sending you to the wolves.
You rolled your eyes as they leered at you. It was one more minute before the game started, and your attention was drawn to a burly man accompanying an elderly woman. He was wearing a tank top reminiscent of Aguni's. He donned two full sleeves of tattoos and a row of piercings on his left ear.
Would've fit right in Aguni's faction if it weren't for the way he gently spoke to the woman.
Her crow's feet deepened when your eyes met. You gave her a small smile and a polite nod. She bowed lightly to you, mirroring your smile. You knew that part of Chishiya's protocol was to never look out for others, but god, you could already feel the guilt gnaw at you.
Just then, the familiar chime sounded, followed by the game announcer's voice.
"Registration has closed. There is a total of eight participants. The game will now commence.
Difficulty, 8 of Hearts. Game, Virus.
Clear condition: Find the antidote before the timer runs out.
Rules:
All players are Infected. Being Infected when the timer runs out will result in elimination. To be cured, players will need to find the antidote hidden in the shopping center. There is only one.
To administer the antidote, please place it in front of your phone camera.
Players are not allowed to exit the venue.
Players are allowed to use weapons.
Players will have 30 minutes before game over."
Almost immediately, the phones lit up with a timer counting down. There was palpable tension in the room, like all eight of you simultaneously held your breaths. Eight of you and only one antidote.
You could already see the gears turning in the militants' heads. Less people meant a larger chance to be cured. The one who went for the axe—Akira, you've come to remember his name—had a wolfish grin. Slowly, you inched yourself closer to the pair of newcomers.
The man already looked distressed, saying something inaudible into the old woman's ear. He froze when you came into view, his eyes narrowing at you. Before he could speak, you cut him off with a harsh whisper.
"Stay clear of them."
"Hey Kenji, aren't you Number 78?" You heard Akira speak behind you.
You subtlely nodded to the doors on the far left, an entrance to the grocery. Lots of shelves meant lots of places to hide. Lots of places to search. The tattooed man nodded in understanding, clutching the elderly woman's arm. Slowly, you led them farther and farther away from the armed men.
The militants were all focused on each other now. Akira was eyeing Kenji with a smirk. He was shorter, newer to the Beach. He took a cautious step back when Akira inched closer to him.
"I'm just double-checking, because if you aren't worth shit then that means I can do this."
You walked faster, breaking into a sprint when you heard the thick "thwack" of metal colliding with flesh. The body fell to the floor with a muted thump, followed by jeers and yells from the four remaining men.
"Don't look back!" You shouted at the pair. You led them into the supermarket area, winding around shelves and freezers. You finally stopped in your tracks when it was silent once more.
"How did you know they were going to..." The man trailed off, rubbing the elderly woman's back as she panted.
"I came here with them. Not really friends, more like begrudging workmates," you explained, catching your own breath. You stuck a hand out at them, introducing yourself.
"I'm Minato. This is my mother, Chiyo." Minato shook your hand firmly. Chiyo smiled at you once more, bringing her hand to her mouth before slowly turning it down.
"She's saying 'thank you,'" Minato said. You shrugged, moving to look around you.
"I think we should look around for now. We'll cross the bridge when we get there," you huffed, vaguely referring to the elephant in the room. Minato looked only half convinced, though nodded nonetheless.
The three of you moved together in silence, wary of the other men who may still be alive. At worst, it will still be the four of them. If, by some miracle, they were smart enough to work together, you'd have to face all of them if they decided they wanted to play the violent way. At best, it would be just Akira, or whoever would overpower him. After that, it would boil down to you, Minato, and Chiyo—something you did not want to think about for now.
"How are we even supposed to know what it looks like?" he asked you as you took off items from the shelves, digging around for anything that may be useful.
"Maybe our phones will light up when we come in contact with it?" you answered non-commitally.
You scanned your surroundings, seeing only half-off banners and posters offering discounts. "Under 40% off!" one of them read.
"What if it's not here?"
You turned around to look at them before peering around the shelves to glance at the entrance of the grocery. "Then we'd have to go out. You wouldn't happen to have anything you can defend yourselves with, would you?"
Minato gulped, shaking his head. He placed a hand on Chiyo's shoulder. "I'll be back, mama. I'll just look for things we can use. Take care of her while I'm away, okay?"
You assured him with a nod, carefully leading Chiyo to stand behind you. At least Minato was willing to trust you enough to leave you with his mother. The worry over betrayal was erased, for now.
You looked on as the seconds flew by on your phone. You've spent about 15 minutes in the shopping center, and you still have two whole floors left to investigate. You racked your brain, trying to think of the most efficient way to solve this.
You can't split up. Chiyo would be vulnerable, and Akira wouldn't hesitate to attack an old woman. Survival always came first in the Borderlands, sometimes more than humanity. If you went as a group, you'd risk having the timer run out. And even if you did find the antidote, what then?
That was when you heard the sliding doors part open. A small ding ran through the supermarket. You stuck close to the shelves, craning your head to see enough of the entrance. Chiyo followed suit.
Akira stood in the middle, face splattered with blood, a trail of crimson coming from the blade of his axe. He gripped it tightly, boots heavy on the tiled floor.
"___!" he called out. "I know you and your little friends are here!"
You looked around, still not seeing Minato. Akira walked aimlessly in your direction. You put a finger against your lips before gesturing to Chiyo. You'd have to go around and hope you'd meet Minato outside. Shakily, she hobbled towards the back aisle, silently making your way to door.
"I just want to talk!" Akira bellowed, hitting a display in one big swoop. Cans fell to the ground in echoing clatters. If Minato didn't know Akira was here, he sure would now. "You left so fucking fast a while ago!"
Akira swiped at the shelves, sending products toppling to the floor. From the corner of your eye, you saw Minato across the cash registers. He was kneeling down, pressed against one of the ledges. The end of a fire extinguisher poked out of his arms. He frantically pointed to the exit. You shook your head stubbornly.
"No, you'll break your mama's heart."
He shuffled on bent knees until he was a good distance behind a rampaging Akira. He stood up, bringing the fire extinguisher above his head. In front of him, Akira brought his eyes up, just in time to see their reflection in one of the freezer doors.
He spun around, bringing the axe across Minato's chest. Minato jumped back, shielding himself with the fire extinguisher. The axe blade broke through the metal, sending a steady puff of smoke out with a high-pitched wheeze.
"Stay close to the wall!" You lightly pushed Chiyo back before running towards Akira. You had gotten your blade out, swinging it at his neck. He jerked his head back, the blade cutting through his cheek instead. Minato got hold of the fire extinguisher again, smacking Akira in the side with it.
The militant stumbled back, but his grip on the axe was tight. He caught himself on one of the shelves and swung back at you. Minato shoved you out of the way, making you collide with one of the cashier stands. You smacked your head on the conveyor belt ledge, room spinning as you held yourself up.
"Under maintenance," the sign stuck on it read.
Unsteadily, you straightened up once more, seeing Minato on the ground as he clutched the side of his thigh. The fabric of his pants was torn, blood gushing out of the deep cut. Akira towered above him, extending his arms high above his head for the killing blow.
You swiftly grabbed one of the cans from the ground, chucking it at him. Bullseye, square in the face. He staggered backward, letting out a pained cry. You dragged Minato away from him, adrenaline pumping in your ears. Your vision wasn't fully clear yet, but you dove for the axe.
You had managed to grab the handle closest to the blade, but Akira's hand shot out to clutch the other end. The two of you fought, trying to wrench it out of each other's grip. He had you pinned against one of the cash registers, struggling to press the bladed end into you.
"You think lover boy would cry if I brought back your corpse?" he sneered at you through a toothy grin.
Just then, a blast of smoke hit him. With your remaining strength, you pushed off the axe handle, sending Akira flying back. Chiyo held onto the fire extinguisher, emptying it on a coughing Akira. You brought your arm around your face, burying your nose in the jacket's cotton. With your free arm, you dug around, blindly feeling the floor. Finally, your fingers came into contact with your switchblade.
Just as the smoke ran out, you lunged at Akira, plunging the blade into his sternum, just a little to the left. Exactly where the heart was, as Chishiya taught you. You retracted the blade, pushing it back in deeper. Akira limply struggled beneath you, mouth gaping in a wordless taunt. Eventually, he stopped moving.
You got up, wiping the blood off your blade using your shorts. You turned to Chiyo, who found her way to Minato. She was trembling as she pressed her hands against his wound. Below her, he gritted his teeth in pain. Panicked, you glanced at your phone. Seven minutes.
You swore, briskly walking up to them.
"Give me your phones. I'll find the antidote and—"you made eye contact with Minato. "I'll scan it using Chiyo's."
"How will we know you won't use yours?"
"Then I'll take her with me."
He chuckled humorlessly. "And leave me here?"
"Would you rather have all of us die?" you retorted, furrowing your brow. You could faintly hear the seconds tick down on your phone. For a moment, it was just you and Minato holding eye contact, challenging one another. It didn't look like either of you was budging soon.
"If I would scan using my phone, I would have left you by now." His brow furrowed deeper, mouth open with an argument that died on his tongue. Chiyo pressed Minato's cracked phone into your hands.
She smiled tearfully at you, repeating her gesture of thanks. You tilted your head towards her. With one last glance at Minato, you stood up.
"No! Mom! Give her yours! Mama!"
Minato's voice faded behind you as you made your way back to the center of the mall. You frantically looked around. Kenji's body was sprawled near the table. Another body was near one of the potted plants, at the landing of the escalator.
You forced your breathing to slow down. Chancing at one more look at your phone, you figured you had 5 minutes. You slowly spun around, taking in your surroundings.
Your eyes scanned the shopfronts, the banners, the posters tacked on the columns.
"Under 1,000 yen!"
"See us under the food court!"
"Selected items under 5, 000 yen!"
You brought your gaze back to one of the escalators, a piece of paper taped on its side.
"Under renovation."
Under.
It hit you.
You scrambled back to the phone table. Trying your best to avoid the pool of blood, you knelt down and peeked underneath. Sure enough, a 2x2 QR code was taped underneath. Below it was a red cross.
You positioned Minato's phone underneath it, angling the camera to line up with the code.
"Come on, come on," you pleaded.
Finally, the phone buzzed. Yours did as well. Confused, you brought both phones out, placing them on the ground.
"Antidote administered. You won!"
────୨ৎ────
Back at the Beach, Chishiya stood next to Kuina. They were on the balcony overlooking the entrance, waiting for time to trickle slowly as group after group came back. Everyone except yours.
Niragi and his group of "friends" perched around the couches, revelling as the night stretched on and you still haven't arrived. He tilted his head in Chishiya's direction, a mocking smirk on his face.
He tapped his fingers repeatedly on the balcony, letting out a long sigh. "Why aren't they back yet?"
"I don't know, Chishiya."
"They should be back by now. The games never take this long."
"Maybe they're driving back right now? Maybe it's an endurance game?"
Chishiya scoffed. "It's a hearts game. You don't need endurance for that."
"Well, I don't know, Chishiya, okay? I'm worried too," Kuina glanced at him, grimacing in irritation.
As if on cue, you walked breezily through the large doors. Chishiya's eyes widened at the sight of you. Dark red seeped into his jacket, your sleeves, especially, soaked with them. A large bloodstain was spattered over your t-shirt, flecks of scarlet stuck on your chin and cheeks. You glanced around, face blank. When your eyes met, your mouth broke into the biggest grin.
You sprinted towards him, Chishiya walking briskly to meet you halfway down the steps. Before he could get a word out, you wrapped him up in a tight hug. His arms snaked around your frame, pressing you against him.
"What took you so long, you idiot?" he mumbled against your neck. To your surprise, he gently cradled your face in his hands, pressing his lips softly against yours. You hummed, beaming as he pulled away.
Kuina folded her arms, proudly watching you both. She sneaked a glance at Niragi, a deep scowl on his face. This made her laugh under her breath.
"I told you I'd be back," you knotted your fingers in between his. You smoothed down the worried crease between his brows. You giggled, accidentally transferring some of the blood onto his skin.
"Sorry about that. I guess we'll both need to shower." Chishiya rolled his eyes as you winked teasingly at him.
Kuina moved towards you, embracing you as well. "Jesus, that worried the fuck out of me. What happened to you?"
"Don't worry, it's not mine," you referred to the blood. "I had to drop some friends off on the way."
The three of you started to make your way back to your room, Chishiya's hand gripping your waist firmly.
"Oi!" Niragi called after you. You groaned, turning halfway to him. You cocked a brow.
"What the fuck did you do to my boys, huh?"
For a moment, you contemplated what you would answer. You could tell the truth, tell him his "boys" mindlessly went after each other for a cure that needed to be activated only by one person—logic they missed out on. You could lie and act tough, bluff that you killed them yourselves. You glanced at Chishiya, his mouth formed in a content grin.
"I didn't do anything. They were too dumb, that's all. Just like you."
"You heard that, Niragi. Now back the fuck off. ___ had a long day," Chishiya's eyes narrowed down at him. Without another word, he brought you closer to him by the waist, promising to pamper you for the night.
tags: established relationship, reunions, protective! chishiya, niragi being a little shit
authors note: idk why my tumblr is being glitchy whilst writing this, but enjoy
· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·
Chishiya Shuntaro was a man used to helping people. But now? He only helped himself. It was vital to survive in this place, and that meant a few betrayals needed to be made. The real shift in his demeanour? It was when you, his wife, went missing in the real world. Sure, the two of you had only married for status, because your families wanted it… but he didn’t want to be abandoned. You had been kind, sweet— and he refused to believe what the police said, that you’d taken money and ran, or had eloped with another. Sure, he didn’t show much affection, but you were always more than happy to stay with him.
He had seen you, briefly, in a game, and had to physically ignore the way his heart picked up. You had been beautiful— more so than he remembered.
Chishiya’s brain worked along, creating a web of thoughts… but as usual, you kept getting tangled in it. Is this where you’d been taken? Was he technically missing too?.. So, Chishiya makes it his mission to find you again, taking part in plenty of games… but you weren’t there. It only serves to get his brain working.
Had you been scared when you first got here? What if you died before he could find you again?
After striving, he made his way into the Beach, even having the opportunity to work his way onto the Executives board. It was all for his favour, not that he’d say it out loud.
Mentally shaking his head, Chishiya gets rid of the thoughts, blinking a few times as if to ward them off. He focuses his gaze again, scanning the crowd. Then, he spots a pretty figure, and looks closer. You’re here. Chishiya hates how his heart leaps. At least no one could tell because of how nonchalant he was seeming, but inside, he’s a mess. He didn’t know how he’d feel, or what he’d do, when he found you.
After processing the fact you’re here, not dead or living abroad after stealing money off him, like the police had presumed at this point. Before he knows it, he’s walking through the crowd, his gaze never leaving your frame, and as soon as he reaches you, he grabs your arm tight.
“Walk.” Chishiya interrupts your drinking. Your makeshift friends looked confused, but he ignores them. You stay quiet after seeing him, following him out of the crowd and to a more secluded area. As soon as he’s alone with you, Chishiya stares at you for a second. You still looked the same, like you never left. As you open your mouth to say something, he dives in, kissing you desperately.
It catches you off guard, he’s never shown affection before, but quickly melt into the kiss as your arms wrap around his neck tightly. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about him, worry about him… collecting cards to get out of here was harder than it seemed.
Chishiya’s hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him and squeezing you so close it hurt. The kiss was messy, teeth clashing and tongues tangling sloppily… and he hears the sigh that escapes you. Breaking the kiss, he presses his forehead to yours to keep you as close as possible; this was foreign to him, but he didn’t care. “This is where you’ve been?”
You exhale a soft pant, nodding against him. “Yes—“ you manage to utter, but he’s kissing you again. Chishiya keeps it briefer this time, and he sighs. “I was worried.” He deadpans, his lips still touching yours.
“About me?”
“No,” he rolls his eyes, sarcasm drips from his response. “About the weather. Of course about you.” Chishiya murmurs.
“Shun…” you murmur back, your eyes darting to his lips again. Before he could kiss you again, a taunting laugh interrupts. Chishiya pulls back a little, giving Niragi a glare as he walks closer, rifle slung over his shoulder carelessly. “Go away,” your husband deadpans before the man could say anything, but the dark haired man wasn’t very keen. Not without some teasing at first. “What, is going on here?” Niragi drawls out, cocking a hip as he stops a few feet from the two of you.
You stay quiet, it was the best way to handle Niragi— no acknowledgment. He’d get bored and leave… eventually.
“None of your business—“
“The beach is my business, Chishiya.” Niragi grins, the sight lopsided. “You having a fling, and you didn’t tell little ol’ me?” He presses a hand to his chest, a sly smile never leaving his features.
“Not a fling. She’s my wife.” Chishiya deadpans, squeezing you closer, like an animal protecting a pup. You were his… and he didn’t want the likes of Niragi hanging around you.
The latter is agape, glancing between you both before laughing. “You? A wife?” He eyes you suspiciously. “Is this true, darling? Or is he yanking my chain?” He ask, tilting his head; expecting an answer.
You swallow thickly, but the click of his tongue urges you to reply. “Yeah. I’m his wife.” You confirm quietly, and Niragi raises a brow. “You’re telling me he pulled you?” He questions, not buying it.
“Just leave it.” Chishiya keeps his face flat, but the warning tone of his voice makes itself known. Niragi holds the other man’s gaze, as if observing the situation and what buttons to press. He was so much smarter than he made himself seem, but Chishiya— without sounding too egotistical, liked to think he was smarter. Eventually, the taller man speaks. “Ttch, no fun.” Niragi tuts, turning around and leaving to find a better subject to torment. He wasn’t going to get the reactions he wanted from someone as flat as Chishiya.
Turning around again, Chishiya’s hands squeeze you closer, settling his chin atop your shoulder. You couldn’t help but smile quietly, hugging him in return. Your husband had never been like this in the real world, and you couldn’t help but feel warm that he hadn’t just moved on in the time you’d been separated.
Pulling back a little, he grabs one of your hands gently. “C’mon. You can stay with me.” Chishiya tugs a little, leading you inside. You simply hum, a small smile still present on your face. It was really satisfying to know your husband had always cared.
· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·
This fanfiction was written by VanillaLoafCake, all rights reserved. I do not consent to people reuploading my fics, feeding my work to ai, or stealing my work. If you wish to translate my work, please give credits, but getting in contact is not necessary so long as I am tagged appropriately. Thank you.
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
Summary: “You shouldn’t have come back to my room.” - “You didn’t stop me.”
In the deadly chaos of Borderlands, trust is a luxury no one can afford—especially not with someone like Chishiya.
After barely escaping a brutal game, you find yourselves trapped in a crumbling building, forced to share a single threadbare blanket to survive the cold night.
What starts as necessity soon sparks something unexpected—secret kisses, quiet moments, and small acts of care breaking through the walls you’ve both built to survive
Part 2 here / Part 3 here
Words: 5925
You don’t even know how you ended up in this situation.
One moment you were both buried under a collapsing building, the next you’re cuddling with a person you swore never to be close with.
It wasn’t part of the plan.
Then again, nothing ever is in the Borderland.
The air inside the ruined structure is still thick with dust. Every breath feels like inhaling static—dry and bitter. Outside, the wind howls through the fractured walls, echoing against broken concrete and twisted rebar. The sky’s gone dark, not from nightfall but from the smoke and ash kicked up by the chaos.
And here you are—pressed shoulder to shoulder with him, under a scratchy emergency blanket salvaged from what’s left of a supply box. You’re both bruised and scraped up, the sharp sting of minor injuries flaring with every twitch. Blood crusts on your temple. You’re fairly sure something in your ankle isn’t right. But none of that compares to the surreal reality of being this close to Chishiya.
Shuntaro Chishiya, the infuriatingly brilliant man who rarely speaks unless he’s dissecting your every move. The man who plays games with people’s lives like he’s playing chess in his head. The one who always made it clear—he doesn’t do attachments. Doesn’t trust anyone. Certainly not you.
And yet... here he is. Lying beside you. Sharing body heat. Letting the silence stretch without breaking it.
You glance at him from the corner of your eye.
He’s on his side, facing the ceiling—or what's left of it. His silver hair is dusted with debris, and a thin trail of dried blood runs from the edge of his brow into his hairline. His arms are pulled close to his chest beneath the blanket, and you notice the way his fingers flex every so often, like he's testing for pain without making it obvious.
He’s trying to stay composed. Of course he is.
You shift slightly to ease the pressure on your side, and the movement draws his attention. His eyes slide toward you—calm, analytical, and yet... softer than usual.
He says nothing.
Neither do you.
For a moment, the world is just your breathing, his breathing, and the way the thin blanket does barely anything to keep out the cold seeping in from the broken floor beneath you.
"This wasn’t supposed to happen," you mutter, more to yourself than him.
He’s quiet for a second, then replies, voice low and even: "Neither was surviving that game."
A flicker of something passes through his expression—dry humor, maybe. Or fatigue. Or something he won’t name.
You huff a tired laugh through your nose. “That’s comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.” He shrugs slightly, and you feel the movement through the blanket. “You’re the one who insisted we go back for the injured players.”
You glance down. “And you didn’t stop me.”
“I was curious how far your altruism would get you.” A pause. “Apparently, buried.”
You shoot him a look. “And cuddled.”
He doesn’t smirk—doesn’t even blink. But the faintest crease touches the corner of his mouth. “Unavoidable,” he murmurs. “Unless you’d rather freeze to death.”
You want to say something sharp, something that puts distance between you again. But you don’t. Because the truth is, it is freezing. Your fingers are already numb, and the warmth of his body against yours is the only thing keeping your teeth from chattering.
Still, it’s not just the cold that’s getting to you anymore.
It’s this… strange comfort. This closeness. His heartbeat, steady and human beneath all the armor he wears.
You’ve never seen Chishiya like this—silent, still, not calculating his next move like everyone else is a pawn. Just… being.
And you can’t help but ask, quietly, “Why haven’t you moved away?”
Another beat of silence.
Then, without looking at you, he replies, almost too soft to hear:
"Because... you're warm."
It’s the kind of answer you expect from him. Evasive. Simplified. But underneath it—layered between every carefully chosen word—is something else.
Something real.
And for once, you don’t question it.
You just let the silence stretch again, this time not uncomfortable, not heavy. Just there.
Like him.
Beside you.
You shift slightly under the blanket, feeling the dull ache in your shoulder and the weight of exhaustion finally settling in your limbs. Chishiya is quiet beside you, not asleep but still. Calm in the way only he can manage after everything collapses—literally and otherwise.
The silence brings memories with it, uninvited but not unwelcome.
And before you know it, you’re remembering the first time you saw him.
A Diamonds game in a dimly lit tower where trust and logic were pitted against each other in equal measure. You worked in silence, scanning patterns on the wall, sorting false clues from real ones. Most players panicked. Some shouted. A few cried.
He didn’t.
You spotted him across the room—silver hair like a slash of moonlight, hands casually tucked into his hoodie pocket as if this whole life-and-death puzzle was mildly annoying rather than terrifying.
He didn’t try to lead. Didn’t bark orders.
He just watched.
Not the game.
The people.
And then he looked at you.
Only for a second. But it was enough. His eyes flicked to where you’d already solved one of the riddles before he had, and for a moment—just a flicker—his mouth quirked upward in the smallest, subtlest twitch of recognition.
Days later, you were sitting alone on the floor of an abandoned metro station, legs stretched out, the sting of shrapnel embedded in your calf making your breath catch. You’d just barely escaped a Hearts game that left more bodies than survivors.
He walked in from the far end of the platform, dragging a half-empty backpack, silent as ever. He looked around once, then spotted you. Paused.
No words.
He pulled out a medical kit—clearly from a previous win—and tossed a roll of gauze toward you with a lazy flick of his fingers.
You caught it midair, confused.
Before you could ask, he just said, “I had extras.” Then walked past you like it meant nothing.
You almost let him go. But something inside you—something stubborn—made you dig into your pack the next day and leave a water bottle in his usual spot on the upper balcony of the observatory. You didn’t wait to see if he took it.
But the next time you were out of supplies, you found a protein bar on your bag when you returned from the restroom.
You were both unlucky enough to get pulled into it. The rules were convoluted—classic psychological manipulation. One player could sabotage the rest, and the only way to win was to figure out who before time ran out.
Everything went sideways.
A panicked player pulled a concealed knife after being accused. Everyone scattered. The room became chaos.
You saw it before Chishiya did—he was focused on decoding something on the wall, the glint of the blade catching your eye just in time. Without thinking, you lunged. Your hand hit his shoulder, and the two of you went down hard.
The blade caught your back. Not deep, but enough to burn.
The pain didn’t register until you saw blood soaking through your shirt. Chishiya blinked up at you, stunned—more by your action than the fall.
You remember the look on his face.
For once, the usual calm calculation was replaced by something else.
Something like disbelief.
He didn't say thank you. Didn't joke. Just tore a piece of his hoodie sleeve and pressed it to the wound, his hands steady even as his jaw clenched.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said eventually, voice low.
You laughed bitterly. “Neither did you—when you tossed me that gauze.”
He said nothing else.
But when the game ended, and the smoke cleared, he walked beside you the entire way back to the safe zone.
Didn’t ask. Didn’t offer.
He just did.
After that, you never questioned why he kept showing up.
Now, lying beside him again, that memory feels closer than it should. You wonder if he’s thinking about it too.
His voice is barely above a whisper when he finally speaks.
“You remember that game?” he asks, like it’s an afterthought. But you can feel the tension in his voice, the careful way he phrases it—as if asking means something.
“The 7 of Hearts?” you ask, keeping your own tone neutral.
A slow nod. “Why did you push me?”
The question hangs in the air.
You swallow, heart ticking just a little faster, surprised he’s asking after all this time.
“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “Instinct, maybe. Or maybe I just didn’t want to deal with this place without at least one familiar face left in it.”
He hums softly, thoughtful.
Then, a beat later, his voice quieter:
“You could’ve died.”
You let out a breath. “So could you.”
There’s a pause.
Then you feel it—a small shift. His hand, resting between you both under the blanket, brushes against yours. Not intentional. Not overt.
The hours stretch on. You're not sure how long you lie there, pressed against Chishiya beneath the thin blanket, but your body aches less from injury now and more from stillness. Your limbs are stiff. The air has only gotten colder, and you can see your breath in the pale morning light sneaking through the cracks of the broken ceiling.
Neither of you has spoken in a while.
But that’s never made you uncomfortable with him.
Eventually, Chishiya shifts beside you, slow and quiet. His breath hitches, like the movement strains something. You glance over and see him clench his jaw, eyes flicking down to his ribs.
He’s hurt. Worse than he let on.
“You’ve been hiding that,” you say gently.
He doesn’t deny it. “Didn’t seem relevant at the time.”
You sit up slightly, brushing off dust and broken drywall. “It’s relevant now if we’re going to get out of here.”
Chishiya doesn’t argue. Just nods once and watches you with that sharp, observant gaze of his—calculating even in silence.
You crawl to one of the fallen slabs of concrete blocking the doorway. It’s shifted a little since the collapse, probably unstable. You test the edge of it carefully with your fingers. It’s heavier than you expected, but movable. Maybe.
You glance over your shoulder.
He’s already beside you.
“I’ll lift,” he says. “You wedge something under.”
You pause. “You sure?”
He nods, already rolling his sleeves up, teeth grit against the pain. You don’t waste time arguing.
You move in sync—wordless, efficient.
It’s not easy. The slab grinds against the floor with a low groan, and dust rains down from above. Your muscles scream from the strain, and you hear Chishiya suppress a quiet grunt of pain.
But he doesn’t stop.
Not until the slab tips enough for you to wedge a twisted metal pole beneath it. It holds, barely.
There’s just enough space now for the two of you to squeeze through.
“You first,” he says.
You raise a brow. “You're injured. You should go.”
He eyes you, unreadable. “And let you stay behind and do something reckless again? No thanks.”
It’s… the closest thing to concern you’ve heard from him.
You don’t argue. Just crawl through the gap, careful of the jagged edges, until the rubble gives way to open air and biting wind.
Freedom.
You turn to offer your hand—and to your surprise, he takes it.
His grip is warm despite everything. Solid.
You pull him through slowly, his teeth clenched as he drags his body past the debris. He winces when he’s fully out, but the tension in his shoulders loosens once he’s free.
You both sit there for a moment in the grey light of morning. Exhausted. Filthy. Alive.
He exhales, leaning back against a broken concrete pillar, and closes his eyes for a beat. “Well,” he mutters, “that wasn’t ideal.”
You huff out a breath. “And yet, we survived.”
He glances sideways at you, something unreadable in his expression again. “We always do.”
The way he says we doesn’t go unnoticed.
It’s not gratitude. Not affection. Not even a confession.
It’s… acceptance.
Of your presence. Of your place beside him. Of the fact that, somewhere along the way, you stopped being someone he just noticed—and became someone he trusted.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a crushed energy bar, snapped in half. Without looking at you, he holds one half out.
You blink. “Is this your idea of breakfast?”
“Unless you want to fight a tiger next,” he replies flatly. “Take it or leave it.”
You take it.
Your fingers brush again—just briefly—and this time, he doesn’t pull away.
The sun begins to dip below the skyline, setting the shattered city in hues of gold and rust.
You’ve both walked for hours, navigating broken roads and hollow buildings. By the time you stumble across the half-collapsed hotel, your body aches in places you didn’t know could ache. Chishiya walks beside you, a little slower than usual—his side must still be bothering him, though he won’t admit it.
The hotel looks unstable, but familiar enough in its decay to be worth the risk.
Inside, the air is stale but dry. The lower floors are ruined, the lobby reduced to cracked tile and broken glass. But upstairs—after climbing past crumbled staircases and stepping over a dead vending machine—you find the jackpot.
Beds. Real ones.
Dusty. Lopsided. But beds nonetheless.
The rooms are mostly intact. There’s even a functioning door that clicks softly shut when you try it. Two rooms side by side. No threats. No other signs of life.
It almost feels like peace.
You spend the next hour scavenging. Chishiya finds a half-full medical box in what used to be a spa room. You dig through supply closets and snag a few protein bars and two bottles of mostly-clear water. One is slightly expired, but Chishiya just shrugs when you point it out.
“We’ve had worse,” he says.
Which is true.
You both return to the room you picked—the one with a window that still opens—and divide the supplies without speaking much. There's no debate over who gets what. No bargaining. Just an easy, automatic understanding.
As the last of the sunlight filters through the dust-streaked glass, you glance over at him.
He’s seated on the edge of the bed now, arms loosely folded, head tilted toward the window. There’s a faint orange glow along his cheekbone, catching in his pale hair, making him look unreal. Like he doesn’t belong in this world.
But somehow, you’ve never felt more grounded.
You break the silence after a long moment. “Do you miss it?”
He turns toward you slowly. “Miss what?”
“Before.” You motion vaguely toward the city. “The real world. Whatever your life was.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Then: “Not really.”
You blink. “Seriously?”
“There’s nothing to miss,” he says simply. “Most people just survive pretending they’re alive. Here, at least, there’s no illusion.”
You stare at him, unsure what to say to that. The cynicism is pure Chishiya—but something about the way he says it makes your chest ache. Like maybe, despite the indifference in his voice, there's a quiet thread of loss buried under it.
After a pause, he turns the question back at you.
“You?”
You exhale slowly. “Yeah. I miss… having music in the background. Late trains. Stupid things. The smell of clean laundry. Having somewhere to go that wasn’t life or death.”
Chishiya watches you, eyes narrowed slightly. Not mocking. Not judging. Just… listening.
You offer a tired smile. “And I miss sleeping in a bed that doesn’t try to kill me.”
Chishiya stands up and stretches, moving toward the door to the room next to yours.
“There are two beds this time,” he says lightly, one hand on the doorknob.
You nod, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah. Guess we don’t have to cuddle tonight.”
He pauses—not long, just for a breath. “Guess not.”
The door clicks softly shut behind him.
You lie down in your bed, adjusting the blanket around you. It's not bad. The mattress sinks in just enough to feel something like comfort. The room is quiet, still.
But it's cold.
And it’s worse, somehow, than last night.
You turn onto your side. Then your back. Then your stomach. Nothing helps. Your thoughts churn restlessly.
Last night… was warm. Peaceful, in a way nothing has been for a long time.
You hadn’t planned to fall asleep next to him, but once you were there—wrapped in that makeshift blanket, with the heat of his body close—you’d slept deeper than you had in weeks.
And now?
Now you're just cold and annoyed at your own neediness.
You stare at the cracked ceiling.
You wait ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.
And then, finally—quietly—you rise.
You don’t bother putting on shoes. Just cross the hallway in your socks, listening for any sound from inside his room. You pause with your hand on the doorknob, nerves fluttering in your chest.
Then you turn it.
The door creaks slightly as you open it. The room is dark, lit only by the city glow bleeding through the window. The bed creaks faintly as Chishiya shifts. You can see him clearly enough—propped on one elbow, watching you enter like he expected it.
Maybe he did.
You close the door behind you, slowly, and move toward the bed.
Chishiya doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask what you’re doing.
He just watches as you lift the blanket and crawl in next to him.
You settle in beside him again, careful not to touch too much. The mattress is smaller than the floor had been. Your shoulders brush. Your legs bump under the blanket.
It’s quiet.
Then, finally, he lifts one eyebrow, dry amusement in his voice.
“Couldn’t resist my charm, huh?”
You snort. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He hums, then lies back down fully, arm folding behind his head.
You lie beside him in silence. The warmth starts to spread again. Not just from his body—but from the stillness. The peace.
A beat passes.
Then another.
Chishiya speaks again—so softly you almost miss it.
“…You sleep better this way?”
You turn your head, surprised.
His face is turned toward the ceiling. He’s not looking at you.
You hesitate.
Then nod once. “Yeah. I do.”
He doesn’t respond right away. But then his arm shifts. Not touching you—just moving a little closer beneath the blanket.
The space between you shrinks again. Just enough.
You let your eyes drift closed, heart still pounding.
And then, in the dark, you hear him say—so quietly it might’ve been a thought rather than a voice:
The feeling of being held by silence, not alone in it.
The first thing you notice when you wake is the quiet.
Not the panicked kind. Not the empty kind, either.
Just… peaceful.
Then you notice the second thing: you’re not where you started.
You’re closer to him now.
Somewhere in the night—whether by choice or instinct—you must’ve shifted in your sleep. One of your legs is draped over his, and your head has ended up on his shoulder, nose buried slightly into the soft fabric of his hoodie. One of his hands rests loosely at your back. Not tight. Not holding you there.
But not letting you go, either.
The sunlight filters softly through the broken blinds, casting pale gold lines across the wall, the bed, the sharp line of Chishiya’s jaw.
He’s still asleep.
And that alone surprises you. You didn’t think he could sleep like this. So open. So exposed. But he does — his features slack and unguarded, lips parted slightly in rest. The ever-present edge in him has softened.
For a long, suspended moment, you just watch him.
You don’t want to move. Not because of the comfort — though that’s part of it — but because if you shift too loudly, if you break the spell of morning stillness, you might have to face it.
Face what this has become.
Because this is not nothing anymore.
You close your eyes again. Let yourself stay there. Just for a little longer.
But, as if he can hear the thoughts rattling inside your skull, Chishiya stirs beneath you.
His breath catches lightly, then evens again.
A slow blink. Then two.
He opens his eyes, turns his head slightly toward you, and you feel him go still.
He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t push you away.
Instead, his fingers flex just slightly against your back — the only sign he’s even registered the intimacy of the position.
And then, of course, in classic Chishiya fashion, he breaks the silence with dry irony.
“…You drooled on me.”
You gasp and lift your head instinctively, already about to deny it—before catching the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
You scowl. “I did not.”
“Mm. Must’ve been rain, then,” he deadpans, one eyebrow lifting. “From inside the building.”
You groan and shove his shoulder lightly. He allows the push, shifting under you with a soft exhale that’s almost—almost—a laugh.
You move to sit up, but his hand lingers just briefly at your back.
Not to stop you. Just… stays.
And that hesitation—that small, unconscious tether—makes your chest tighten.
When you finally sit upright, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, he follows a beat later, dragging a hand through his hair, still disheveled from sleep. He doesn’t meet your eyes at first.
Neither do you.
But the silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. Not like before. It’s thicker now, weighted with everything you didn’t say.
After a long moment, Chishiya stands and moves toward the window, peeking through the blinds.
“Still clear,” he says. “We should move soon if we want to get to the Beach by sundown.”
You nod and rise, stretching your sore limbs, still feeling the ghost of where your body had pressed against his.
You glance at him again before leaving the room.
He’s looking out the window, but his voice follows you as you step toward the door.
“…If we find another place like this,” he says, quiet but even, “and there’s only one bed again…”
You turn your head, waiting.
He still doesn’t look at you.
“…I wouldn’t mind sharing.”
Your breath catches.
But you don’t tease him. Don’t ruin it with a joke. Instead, you nod once — small, sincere — and step into the hallway.
You walk through the gates with aching legs and dirt on your face, but it’s the noise that hits you hardest: laughter, splashing water, music from someone’s half-broken speaker. It feels wrong, somehow—this joy in the middle of hell. But you suppose survival breeds strange coping mechanisms.
Chishiya walks beside you, his hoodie pulled up to shade his face. He doesn’t speak as you pass through the clusters of half-naked strangers. He doesn’t have to. His posture tells you enough: tense, alert, calculating.
As always.
Still, you notice how his shoulder stays just close enough to yours to be deliberate.
A few heads turn as you both pass. Some recognize him. A few glance at you, eyes lingering—noticing the proximity, the silence between you that's less awkward and more… familiar.
Hatter’s not around, but Kuina spots you almost immediately and jogs over, her usual smirk widening as she takes you both in.
“Well well,” she says, sweeping her eyes over you with a grin. “I didn’t think I’d see both of you again. Figured one of you would have murdered the other by now.”
You glance at Chishiya. “Tempting.”
He hums. “You sleep too deeply to be worth the effort.”
Kuina laughs, but her gaze sharpens slightly as she looks between you. She picks up on it. Of course she does. The small shifts. The softer edges.
“So…” she drawls, eyes twinkling. “You two close now, or just sharing body heat to conserve resources?”
You open your mouth to deflect, but Chishiya cuts in first:
“Both.”
Your head whips toward him in shock. His face is unreadable—but his lips twitch ever so slightly, betraying that he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Kuina raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but lets it go. For now.
You lie on the stiff cot in your assigned room, blankets pulled up to your chin. You stare at the ceiling and pretend the bed feels fine, the air feels warm, and the space beside you doesn’t feel… empty.
You last about fifteen minutes.
Then you're up.
Quiet steps across the hallway.
No shoes. No excuses. No hesitation.
The door to his room creaks slightly as you push it open. He doesn’t turn — doesn’t even flinch — just watches you with that unreadable expression as you pad across the room and crawl into his bed.
You don’t speak. Neither does he.
You slip under the blanket. He shifts slightly, just enough to make space for you without making it obvious that he was waiting.
His shoulder brushes yours again.
It's familiar now — that quiet warmth. That silence that doesn't ask for permission.
You rest your cheek against the curve of his upper arm and exhale softly. “Separate beds are overrated.”
He hums. “So is pretending this means nothing.”
You don’t answer.
Neither does he.
But you both fall asleep faster than you have in days.
The next game is a 8 of Diamone — logic, psychology, trust.
And, of course, betrayal.
The room is a maze of mirrors and timers, each choice leading to a countdown, a riddle, or a trap. You and Chishiya are separated halfway through. You can still hear his voice sometimes through the walls — clipped commands, calm assessments, telling others where not to go.
You hold your own. Until you don't.
One wrong answer. One misstep.
You're cornered in a dead-end hallway with a pressure floor and no visible way out. The timer above your head flashes red — 00:09, 00:08 — and you're too far to run.
You freeze.
Then the door behind you bursts open.
Chishiya is there.
His hoodie is soaked with sweat, chest rising with sharp breaths. “Move!” he yells.
You do — not because your body listens, but because his voice cuts through the panic.
He grabs you roughly by the wrist and yanks you into the corridor just as the trap triggers. The door slams shut. There's a thunderous BOOM behind you, and the force knocks you both forward.
Your knees hit the ground hard. He lands beside you, his arm thrown around your back to brace your fall.
The silence after is deafening.
You're alive.
You turn your head, eyes wide. “How did you—?”
“I heard the timer.”
“You were three zones over—”
“I heard it,” he snaps, sharper than you’ve ever heard from him. His voice trembles at the edges.
You stare at him.
His jaw is clenched. His fingers dig into your wrist, too tight to be casual. His breath shakes. Just once.
And that’s when it hits you.
He was scared.
You’ve never seen it before — not like this. Not from him.
His walls don’t crack. They shatter, just for a second, and you see the truth behind them.
You weren’t just another player to him anymore. You were something else. Something dangerous.
The door shuts behind you with a soft click, but it’s already too late for silence.
Without a word, your bodies slam together.
Your lips crash hard and hungry against his, urgent and desperate—like you’re trying to make up for all the time lost, the dangers faced, and the unspoken truths hanging between you.
His hands move fast, rough and possessive, gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him with fierce intensity. The fabric of his jacket wrinkles under your fingers as you dig in, anchoring yourself to something solid in the chaos of your racing heart.
His breath is ragged, hot and trembling against your skin, and your own gasps mingle with his in a frantic rhythm.
You’re not gentle. You don’t want gentle. You want raw. Real.
His fingers thread into your hair, tugging you closer, tilting your head with an insistence that makes your pulse spike.
Your arms wrap tight around his neck, fingers curling into the soft hair at the nape, as if holding on is the only thing that might keep you both from falling apart.
There’s no hesitation, no delicate testing — just pure need, spilling out all at once in the rough brush of lips and the sharp bite of teeth.
Your teeth graze his bottom lip, a spark igniting low in his throat as he groans—a deep, guttural sound that vibrates through your chest.
He opens for you, tongue slipping in, claiming and tasting, a silent confession in every movement.
Your body melts into his, the heat between you a sharp contrast to the cool night air drifting through the cracked window. The faint scent of saltwater and sweat and something uniquely him clings to your skin, making the world outside this room vanish completely.
Your heart pounds so hard you’re sure he can hear it, but his hands never loosen their grip, never let you forget that you’re here, real, and not alone.
You push closer, body pressed tight against his, and feel him respond — a low hum of something fierce and guarded.
His jaw is tense under your fingertips, but his hold never falters.
When you break apart, gasping for air, your foreheads press together, breaths mingling, hearts beating out a wild, shaky rhythm.
His dark eyes hold yours — fierce, unreadable, raw with something unspoken.
Neither of you speaks.
Neither needs to.
You just stay there — caught in the fragile, burning silence of a moment that says more than words ever could.
Even when he said nothing changed, everything had.
He let you into his heart in the smallest ways — the ones no one else could see.
You understood how you two kissed when nobody was looking — quick, secret touches of lips that spoke more than words ever could.
How he let you borrow his hoodie before the harsh games, the fabric hanging oversized on you but carrying his scent like a shield.
How, without a word, he took care of you in quiet ways — a bandage wrapped a little tighter, a glance that said stay close, a hand resting lightly on your back when you didn’t even realize you needed it.
He wasn’t one for grand declarations or easy emotions, but you saw it all in the way he stood a little closer, in the moments he didn’t pull away.
The diamond game had changed something — not in what he said, but in what he showed.
And you knew, no matter how much he tried to hide it, that you’d become something he couldn’t let go.
The night is cold and unforgiving, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones no matter how tightly you cling to a threadbare blanket.
The echoes of the King of Spades’ attack still ring in your ears — shouts, frantic footsteps, the sharp crack of gunfire, and the heavy weight of dread pressing down on your chest.
Somehow, you and Chishiya have been separated from the others, finding refuge in a crumbling building that smells of dust and rust.
You don’t speak. Words feel unnecessary.
Instead, you huddle together beneath the single, thin blanket, the chill forcing your bodies closer.
His arms wrap around you, strong and steady, pulling you flush against his chest. The steady beat of his heart beneath your ear is a fragile anchor in the chaos.
You close your eyes, letting yourself be held, the warmth slowly replacing the cold that had settled deep inside.
After a long silence, your voice breaks the quiet — a whisper trembling with something more than fear.
“I… love you.”
Chishiya doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers tighten gently around your shoulder, a silent promise.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost reluctant, but laced with something unmistakably real:
“After this… after Borderlands… meet me.”
His words are simple, but they carry a weight heavier than any confession.
It’s a quiet hope, a promise of something beyond the endless games and death.
You look up, searching his eyes — dark, guarded, but shining with a fragile vulnerability.
He doesn’t say ‘me too,’ but you know what he means.
His quiet invitation says it all: he cares.
He wants more.
And for the first time in this cruel game, you feel a flicker of something that feels like hope.
Wrapped in his arms, with the night pressing close around you, you let yourself believe that maybe — just maybe — there’s a future waiting beyond the Borderlands.
