synopsis: You’re just trying to mind your business at The Beach, failing miserably at not staring at Chishiya. He notices—of course, he does—and corners you about it. One smart comment turns into his hands on you, and suddenly you’re on your back with him acting like he’s been waiting for this the whole time. It’s messy, rough, and way better than someone like you should be handling, but he doesn’t seem in a rush to let go.
It started stupidly. You were sitting on that crappy mattress in The Beach, wiping sweat off your face after another game you barely survived, heart still pounding against your ribs. Chishiya walked past, quiet as always, hair tied back, hands in his pockets like death didn’t even bother to look his way.
You looked for one second too long.
He noticed.
He always notices.
“Something on your mind?” he asked, voice flat in that way that somehow made you want him more.
You froze. Because what were you going to say—yeah, I want you to ruin me so bad my legs don’t work?
He stepped closer before you could answer, eyes flicking from your mouth to your throat. You felt cornered without him even touching you.
“You blush fast,” he said. “Cute.”
Your stomach flipped so hard you almost groaned.
And that was enough for him.
He walked you backwards until your knees hit the bed. You landed on it clumsily, palms digging into the thin sheets. Chishiya didn’t give you time to catch up. He climbed over you, slow and calm, like this wasn’t insane, like you weren’t seconds away from begging.
His fingers slid into your hair, tugging your head back just a little.
“Look at me.”
You met his eyes right away, way quicker than you meant to, and he caught the whole pathetic eagerness of it. His mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh.
“You really want this, don’t you?”
Your voice came out thin. “Yeah.”
He kissed you before you could embarrass yourself further. His mouth pressed hard against yours, pushing you deeper into the mattress, stealing whatever air you had left. His tongue brushed yours, and your whole body jerked like he’d hit a switch.
You kissed back without thinking, grabbing at his shirt, trying to pull him closer. That only made him tighten his grip on your jaw.
“Slow down,” he muttered against your mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”
That alone almost finished you.
He dragged his mouth down your neck, open-mouthed kisses turning into small, sharp bites. You gasped every time his teeth caught skin. He didn’t stop. He liked the way you sounded—he didn't hide it very well.
When his hand slid under your shirt, your breath stuttered. His fingers were cold. He brushed them across your stomach, tracing the soft parts of you that you hated people seeing.
He didn’t comment. Didn’t slow down. Just kept touching you like none of it bothered him.
Like he liked it.
You swallowed hard. “C-Chishiya…”
He looked up at you through his lashes. “Take your shirt off.”
You didn’t even think. You stripped so fast that the shirt got caught on your elbow, and you almost punched yourself. He snorted quietly.
“Hopeless,” he said. “Come here.”
He pulled you in by the waistband of your pants and kissed you again, deeper, messier this time. His hand slid between your legs, cupping you through your clothes. The pressure alone made your hips jerk.
He raised an eyebrow. “Already hard?”
Heat crawled up your neck. “Shut up.”
“No,” he said simply, squeezing harder. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”
You nearly choked.
Then he pushed you onto your back fully and tugged your pants down. You lifted your hips without being told. Pathetic. He loved it.
He wrapped his hand around you, firm and slow. Your head dropped back instantly, a choked noise slipping out before you could stop it. He stroked you like he had all the time in the world, thumb brushing over the tip, watching your thighs shake like you were some toy he’d found lying around.
“Relax,” he murmured, leaning closer. “I’m not going to break you.”
He paused.
“Not yet.”
Your whole body shivered.
Chishiya pushed your legs apart and moved down between them, dragging his mouth up your inner thigh before taking you into his mouth without warning. The warm, wet heat of it made you grab at his hair on instinct. He sucked slowly at first, almost lazily, letting you feel every inch of him.
You moaned loudly. Too loud. He hummed around you like he was amused, the vibration going straight to your spine.
You were shaking so hard your knees kept trying to close. He held them open with his hands, fingers digging into your skin.
“D-Don’t stop—”
He didn’t.
If anything, he got meaner. He took you deeper, sucking harder, tongue teasing the underside in a way that made your hips jump.
“Chishiya— fuck— I’m gonna—”
He pulled off with a wet pop.
“No,” he said calmly. “Not yet.”
You almost cried.
He flipped you onto your stomach before you could even think. Your mind lagged behind your body. You felt him pull your hips up, positioning you on your knees, chest pressed into the mattress.
“Stay like that.”
You obeyed instantly.
He dragged his hand down your back, stopping at the dip of your spine, thumb brushing over a sensitive spot that made your breath hitch. You could hear him behind you—unzipping, shifting, low breaths that you’d never heard from him before.
Then his fingers slid between your thighs and pressed against you, slow circles that made your elbows buckle.
“Relax,” he murmured. “Or it’ll hurt.”
You tried. You really tried. But every touch made your body twitch uncontrollably. He pushed two fingers inside you, steady and unhurried. You moaned into the sheets, gripping them so tight they creased under your fingers.
“You’re tight,” he said quietly, voice thicker than before. “You’re going to feel everything.”
Your head dropped.
“Please,” you whispered. “Just— I need you. Please.”
Chishiya paused.
Then you heard him breathe out, soft, almost like you’d gotten under his skin without meaning to.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll give you what you want.”
You felt him line up behind you. The head of his cock pressed against you, hot and firm. You sucked in a breath, nails digging into the mattress.
“Ready?” he asked.
You nodded quickly. “Yeah— please—”
He pushed in slowly.
Your mouth fell open around a sound you didn’t even recognise. The stretch made your eyes roll back, your whole body tightening around him.
“Relax,” he said again, one hand slipping under your stomach, holding you steady while he sank deeper. “Breathe.”
You tried. You really did. But he filled you too much, too deep, too steady.
When he bottomed out, you felt like your brain was spasming.
He leaned over you, chest brushing your back, breath ghosting your ear.
“Good,” he whispered. “You take me so well.”
Then he pulled back and thrust in— hard.
Your whole body jerked forward. You moaned loud enough for people outside the area to definitely hear, but you didn’t care. Couldn’t care.
He set a rhythm, sharp and deep, each thrust pushing a broken sound out of you. His hips slapped against yours, quick, controlled, like he was holding back something rougher on purpose.
“Chishiya— god—”
“Louder,” he said, gripping your hips tighter. “Let them all hear you.”
Your stomach clenched.
He grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled your head back, forcing your back into an arch. You almost collapsed, but his hand on your stomach kept you upright as he fucked into you harder.
“I told you,” he said, breath hot against your neck. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Your knees finally gave out, and he followed you down, keeping himself inside you even as you shook. He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Just kept thrusting into you, deeper, rougher, until you were gasping into the sheets.
“Come for me,” he said, voice low. “Do it.”
You didn’t even touch yourself. Didn’t need to. One more thrust and your whole body snapped tight, release hitting you so hard you nearly sobbed. You clenched around him, shaking, legs gone.
He groaned—quiet, strained—and thrust into you once, twice, before finishing inside you with his forehead pressed to your shoulder.
Neither of you moved for a moment.
Then he pulled out slowly, watching the mess drip down your thighs. His fingers brushed your lower back in a way that felt almost… gentle.
“Don’t fall asleep,” he said, tone lazy now. “Another game might start soon.”
You groaned into the pillow.
“For once,” you muttered weakly, “I hope it doesn’t.”
Chishiya laughed under his breath.
“Then stay close. I might keep you busy until it does, pretty boy.”
Summary: after the most recent events, you choose distance, thinking it would be for the better. but trying to stay away from chishiya is breaking you more than it should, and more importantly, it is breaking him
Warnings: angst! fluff, one short smut scene, hospitals, medical procedures (I still recommend not to read this if you're under 18!)
Word Count: ~9.7k
This is Part 4 of Anatomy of Control, Anatomy of Desire and Anatomy of Feelings
You were already at the nurses’ station, preparing a tray of morning medications, when Chishiya finally arrived. He looked crisp as ever in his white coat, but you didn’t spare him more than a glance. Without a word, you slid the neat stack of charts across the counter towards him and before he could say anything, you picked up the tray and walked off down the corridor.
Chishiya stared at the charts as if they had personally offended him. Even your handwriting, looping neatly across the margins, irritated him. His jaw clenched, the muscles tight. He wanted to stop you, to say something, anything, but instead he flipped open the first chart, trying to focus.
You took your time with the patients, lingering longer than usual, explaining things slowly, always smiling at them, anything to avoid crossing paths with him. Time passed quickly, but not quickly enough for Chishiya, who found himself constantly checking the time between charts.
When you finally stepped out of a little boy’s room, the door clicking softly behind you, he was already there waiting, a chart in hand.
“You adjusted the dosage for Tanaka in 207?” His tone was sharper than he intended. He lifted the file, eyes scanning the notes. “I don’t agree with this change.”
You straightened, clutching the tablet to your chest. “He’s been stabilising for the past three days, his fever is gone, and his appetite’s back. The reduced dosage keeps the therapeutic effect without risking unnecessary side effects.”
For a moment, he just studied you, the way your voice carried quiet conviction. Then he exhaled softly through his nose, conceding, “I understand your thinking. But I believe it’s better to stick with the current treatment plan until we have two more stable cultures.”
You only nodded, expression unreadable. No spark of playful retort, no grin tugging at your lips. Just silence.
He shifted slightly closer, lowering the chart to his side. “Do you have a second?” You shook your head, stepping away before his words could sink in. “No. Actually, I don’t.”
And then you were gone, slipping into the next room and closing the door softly behind you, leaving him standing alone in the hallway, the weight of your absence pressing heavier than the chart in his hand.
Chishiya spent the rest of the morning pretending to focus, but the pressure inside his chest only grew sharper. The need to explain himself, to drag you into a quiet room and make you listen, became almost unbearable. You had built up an image in your mind, and the cruelest part was, it wasn’t even true. Not even close.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, flipping a chart shut harder than necessary. A pair of nurses at the station glanced at each other nervously.
"Doctor, do you want us to-" one began, but Chishiya’s sharp voice cut her off. “Do I look like I want you to finish that sentence?”
The nurse flinched, muttering an apology before retreating. He sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair, but it didn’t soften him. The next resident who approached didn’t fare better.
“Dr. Chishiya, I was wondering if-"
“Don’t. Wondering clearly isn’t your strength.” He didn’t even look up from the chart he was scribbling into.
The younger doctor stammered, retreating quickly down the corridor. It was as if the past few weeks hadn’t happened. He was back to being the cold, sharp-edged surgeon everyone whispered about behind his back.
And still, it didn’t make the gnawing in his chest go away.
Later that day, Misaki slid up beside you at the nurses’ station, her perfume sharp in the sterile air. You tried to ignore her, focusing on the chart in your hand, but she leaned casually against the counter, voice pitched low and taunting.
“I'm sorry, honey.” she said with a smirk. You stiffened, not looking up. “Pardon?”
She tilted her head, her smile far too knowing. “I just mean, I'm sorry I crushed your little fantasy with him. You seem… tense. Dr. Chishiya too. He’s been impossible all morning, haven’t you noticed? Snapping at everyone.”
Your grip tightened on the chart. “He always snaps. That’s not new.”
“Mm,” Misaki hummed, as if amused by your denial. “But this is different. You must have done something to upset him. I don't think his needs were taken care of properly these past weeks.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Don’t feel too bad, though. I know exactly how to make him relax.”
Your stomach twisted, a hot spike of nausea crawling up your throat. You forced your gaze down at the papers, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
Misaki chuckled softly at your silence. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that. Thinking you can keep his attention? Don’t fool yourself. I’ve known him a lot longer than you have. You’re… temporary. But you probably already noticed that."
Her words sank like stones into your chest. You wanted to fire something back, to tear her smugness apart, but your throat was tight, your tongue frozen. Instead, you shoved the chart back onto the pile with more force than necessary and turned on your heel, walking away before she could see how badly her words rattled you.
Your footsteps echoed against the tiles as you made your way towards the changing rooms, shoulders tight, throat raw. You hated how much your chest hurt. Hated that Misaki’s words still crawled beneath your skin, twisting and pulling until you weren’t sure what hurt worse: the anger at her, or the anger at yourself for letting her get to you.
You tried to swallow it down, tried to laugh at yourself. How could you have been so naive? He had told you from the very beginning: none of this meant anything, it was only about sex. No promises. No strings. And yet here you were, pressing your palms against your eyes, trying to stop the hot tears that refused to obey you.
Stupid. So stupid.
The sound of steady footsteps reached you. Your breath caught. You wiped at your face in a frantic motion, but your heart already knew.
When he called your name, his voice was softer than you had ever heard it, like it scraped out of him against his will.
Your chest clenched painfully. You didn’t turn, but you could feel him behind you, the weight of his presence filling the narrow corridor. He didn’t touch you. Not this time. Not after you had burned that boundary into his skin with a single word: red.
And yet every fiber in him screamed to close the distance. To grab your wrist, to pull you against him, to hold you together before you shattered right there in front of him. His hands twitched at his sides. His jaw ached from how tightly he was clenching it. He hated this, hated what he had done to you.
“Please.” His voice cracked just slightly, desperation threading through it. “Allow me to explain.”
A bitter laugh bubbled from your throat, breaking off halfway as you pressed your palms harder against your eyes, the headache blooming sharp behind them. “Please, Dr. Chishiya. Just leave me in peace for once.”
He flinched at the title. He wanted to argue, wanted to drop to his knees right there and beg you to listen, to believe him. But when he was about to force his body to move, the rational part of him acted first, dragging him back a step instead of forward.
His heart burned, his voice thick when he finally spoke again. “Message me… if you want to talk.” The silence that followed felt heavier than any scalpel he had ever held.
He leaned back against the cold corridor wall after you disappeared, the weight in his chest threatening to cave him in. His fingers twitched at his sides, feeling utterly useless. He had spent years training his body to stay steady in chaos, but tonight… he felt like he was unraveling.
Chishiya checked his phone before he even realised it, screen lighting up with nothing but the time staring back at him. Again. And again. Every ten minutes, every five... pathetic, really. But he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t quiet the gnawing ache in his stomach that screamed for your name to appear, even if it was just a few words telling him to go to hell.
By the time he made it home, exhaustion pressed heavy on him, but sleep wouldn’t come near him. He dropped onto his couch, elbows braced against his knees, eyes locked on the empty cushion beside him. The one you had curled into last week.
He closed his eyes. If he could claw his way back into that moment, he would. If he could start all over again, he would.
And his mind, traitorous as it was, didn’t wander to your mouth or the way your body had felt against his. Not this time. Instead it pulled him through all the small things, the things he never thought would matter until he lost them.
The teasing glint in your eyes when you grinned at him across the ward. The way you were bold enough to laugh at his sharp remarks instead of shrinking away. Your face when he shoved the syringe into your hands during the emergency, trusting you to drain the patient’s lungs, and how your hands had been steady, focused, capable.
The image of you shuffling into his kitchen wrapped in his blanket, shyly asking if you could use his shower. The look you gave him at the restaurant, half teasing, half curious, when you realised he had friends.
He wanted those moments back. He wanted more of those moments. More of you.
His hand tightened around his phone again, thumb hovering over your name in his contacts. For once in his life, Chishiya didn’t know how to calculate the next step. He only knew that the silence between you was unbearable.
Chishiya’s shoes clicked sharply against the tile as he strode into the ward, white coat billowing slightly behind him. He was late, by his standards at least. But when he didn’t see you waiting at the nurses’ station, charts ready, his irritation simmered instantly into impatience.
He grabbed the stack of files himself, flipping through them with mechanical precision, eyes darting to the door every few minutes. He checked his watch, lips pressing into a thin line. Late. Too late.
The sound of his own thoughts drummed louder in his skull with every passing second, until finally he snapped, “Where’s my resident?” His voice cracked like a whip across the counter, making nurse Aiko flinch before she forced her posture straight again.
“Scrubbed in for surgery,” she replied, her tone deliberately even, almost dismissive.
Chishiya’s hand stilled on the edge of a chart. His face didn’t move, but for a fraction of a second, one small crack slipped through. “What?”
Aiko stood, gathering a tray of supplies without sparing him a glance. “Don’t you know? Dr. Kato is back. He made her join him for surgery, said she’s more than ready to assist.” She set the tray down with a soft clink, finally meeting Chishiya’s eyes. “So, you don’t have to bother with a resident anymore, Dr. Chishiya. That’s what you wanted, right?”
The silence that followed felt heavier than the walls of the ward. His jaw clenched visibly, molars grinding together, but his expression remained stone-carved. He didn’t answer her. Couldn’t.
The truth was, he didn’t know why it burned. Why the thought of you standing at the OR table beside Kato and not him twisted like a knife in his ribs. Why the fact that the first surgery you ever scrubbed in for wouldn’t have his name attached to it, gnawed at him until he couldn’t even think straight.
He exhaled harshly through his nose, tossing the chart down with more force than necessary. The resident hovering nearby opened their mouth to offer help, but one look from Chishiya shut them down immediately, sending them scurrying back.
“Guess I'll take care of the morning rounds alone then.” His tone left no room for argument. And he did, slicing through the ward like a blade. Each interaction quick and efficient, but brittle at the edges, as if every word cost him more energy than he was willing to spend.
When he was finished, his steps carried him somewhere he hadn’t planned on going. To the observation room above the OR. To the glass pane that separated him from you.
And when his eyes found you, steady hands, gaze sharp, face half-hidden behind your mask as you stood beside Kato, the knot in his chest only grew tighter. He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe right. You were so focused, so composed, as if the entire hospital didn’t exist beyond the patient in front of you.
And for the first time in years, Chishiya wished desperately that he could rewrite the script. That he had been the one to pull you into that room, to guide your hands.
Chishiya’s arms were crossed tightly over his chest as he leaned against the glass, but it did nothing to steady the storm inside him. He told himself he would only watch for a minute, long enough to confirm for himself that you really were there, that Aiko wasn’t lying.
But one minute stretched into two. Two into ten. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t tear his gaze away from you.
It wasn’t just irritation twisting in his chest. It wasn’t just jealousy crawling hot under his skin. There was something else, a weight he didn’t recognise. Something dangerously close to pride, something foreign, something that belonged to people other than him.
For the first time in his life, he wasn’t proud of himself. He was proud of someone else. Proud of you.
Every detail burned itself into his mind: the steadiness of your hands as you passed instruments, the way your brows knit in concentration, the subtle precision of your movements that spoke of a natural instinct few ever developed. And when Kato finally stepped back, nodding for you to handle the sutures, Chishiya felt his chest tighten.
You didn’t falter. Didn’t even hesitate. Your fingers moved carefully, purposefully, as though this had been inside you all along, waiting for the right moment to surface. And when your eyes flickered up beneath the mask, when he caught that glimmer, that pride, that joy, he nearly lost his composure right there.
But it wasn’t him who had put that look in your eyes. It wasn’t his approval you were soaking in. It was Kato’s. That stung sharper than any scalpel.
When the last stitch was tied and the patient wheeled away, Chishiya finally forced himself to move, leaving the gallery before anyone else could notice the way he lingered. His long strides carried him straight to the scrub room hallway, where he stood in the sterile scent of disinfectant, shadows pooling around him.
Through the narrow window of the door, he saw you and Kato together. The older surgeon leaned towards you slightly, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. You nodded eagerly, voice muffled but animated, replying with a spark he hadn’t seen in your tone towards him for days.
Chishiya’s jaw ticked. He hated the way it made him feel. Hated how he wanted to storm inside and drag you out just so he could have that spark turned back on him.
The door opened, and suddenly you were there. Freshly scrubbed, hair tucked away, face free except for the faint lines where the mask had pressed into your skin. Your steps faltered when your eyes met his, and for a split second, neither of you moved.
“You did well in there.” His voice was cool, even detached. He made sure of it. Your lips parted softly before you managed a quiet, “Thank you, Dr. Chishiya.” No warmth, no fight, just polite. Professional.
And then you walked past him, your footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving him standing there with a hollow weight in his chest, staring at the space you had left behind.
The following days turned into a quiet torment for Chishiya. You didn’t avoid him exactly, you were too professional for that, but your civility was cutting. Too polite. Too detached. Every “Yes, Dr. Chishiya” landed like a blade beneath his ribs.
Chishiya fell into a pattern he hadn't meant to. Whenever there was a procedure, he found himself saying the same thing to the nurses: “Fetch her.”
It didn’t matter if another resident was already standing there, eager for a chance to learn. Chishiya barely spared them a glance. He wanted you. Needed you back in his shadow, even if your tone was clipped and polite, even if your eyes never lingered on him longer than necessary.
You kept it professional, painfully so. Your replies were short, your voice soft when you had to answer. He hated it. He hated how you wouldn’t bite back, how you wouldn’t roll your eyes or make one of those infuriating comments that always forced the corner of his mouth to twitch in return.
The ward had been buzzing with the low hum of late-afternoon chaos. Chishiya stood at the nurses’ station, flipping through a patient’s chart, his sharp eyes scanning the lab results before he called, almost absently, “Page my resident.”
The nurse blinked, clearly confused. “Dr. Kato’s?”
“Yes,” he said simply, and returned his focus to the file, refusing to acknowledge the curious looks that followed.
A few minutes later, you appeared at the door, your coat still slightly askew from hurrying. “You asked for me, Dr. Chishiya?”
He looked up and for a split second, something in his chest eased just at the sound of your voice. “Yes. There’s a patient in 205, post-op from an appendectomy. There’s some tenderness and swelling. We’re going to perform an ultrasound-guided drainage.”
You nodded immediately, professional as ever, though your tone was softer than it had been in days. “I’ll grab the kit.”
In the room, the air smelled faintly of disinfectant and anxiety. The small boy on the bed clutched his mother’s hand, his wide eyes darting between the two of you. You bent slightly, your voice gentle and soothing as you explained the procedure in terms he could understand. He relaxed under your calm tone, something even Chishiya, for all his precision, could never quite manage.
When the boy was settled, Chishiya guided you to the bedside, pointing to the monitor. “We’ll start here. The fluid pocket’s small, but if you angle the needle like this-" he took your wrist lightly, guiding your hand, looking at the screen, “you’ll see the echo-free area right beneath the muscle layer. That’s your target.”
You followed his instructions carefully, your eyes narrowing in concentration. “Would you aspirate directly here or place a small catheter?” you asked, voice thoughtful. He glanced at you, caught off guard by the question. “What would you suggest?”
“Catheter,” you replied quickly, confidence bleeding through. “He’s young, and the pocket looks shallow enough that full aspiration might cause more trauma. Continuous drainage seems safer.”
A beat passed and then Chishiya gave a slow, measured nod. “Exactly right.”
As you continued the procedure under his quiet guidance, he found himself watching your hands and listening to your voice as you described each step for the nurse charting nearby.
When it was done, the boy was resting comfortably. You stepped back, exhaling softly. “I think it went well.”
Chishiya folded his arms, his gaze flicking from the boy to you. “It did.” And then, before he could stop himself, he added quietly, “Good work.”
You looked up, meeting his eyes, the faintest curve at the corner of your mouth. “Thank you.”
Something unknotted in his chest then. It wasn’t quite a smile you gave him, but it was something. And for the first time in far too long, the sound of your voice didn’t carry frost, it carried life again. Interest. For the first time, he could breathe.
The late-afternoon meeting dragged longer than necessary, and by the time Chishiya and Kato stepped back onto the paediatric ward, the corridors had thinned to soft beeps and hushed voices.
Chishiya’s eyes found you immediately.
You stood at a treatment cart near room 212, assembling an IV line with meticulous care, your brows knit in concentration, a loose strand of hair having escaped the clip at the back of your head.
He didn’t realise he had stopped walking until Kato’s quiet voice broke through his thoughts.
“Dr. Chishiya,” Kato said mildly, his tone carrying the faint amusement of someone who had seen more than he let on, “I’ve noticed you’ve been borrowing my resident quite a bit lately.”
Chishiya blinked once, forcing his face back into its usual composure. “Borrowing?” he echoed, slipping his hands into the pockets of his white coat. “Hardly. She’s been useful for certain cases. I like to see how well she adapts under pressure.”
Kato’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, keeping his gaze on you as well. “Ah. Interesting. I thought you weren’t particularly fond of teaching residents.”
Chishiya’s jaw flexed, but his tone stayed smooth, detached. “She’s an exception,” he said simply. “I have high hopes for her.”
Kato hummed thoughtfully, crossing his arms. “I do, too,” he said at last, a knowing edge hidden behind the politeness of his smile. “She learns fast. And she seems to bring out a certain… patience in you.”
Chishiya’s expression didn’t change, but something sharp flickered in his chest. Kato gave a small chuckle, patting his shoulder before walking off towards the nurses’ station, leaving Chishiya standing there.
He let his gaze return to you, still focused, still unaware of the conversation that had revolved around you, and for a brief moment, the corner of his mouth twitched.
Patience. The word lingered in Chishiya’s mind long after Kato walked away.
He told himself he was being rational. That asking for you during procedures was a matter of efficiency, your instincts were simply always sharp. He told himself this every morning, every time he heard your name, every time he caught himself waiting to hear the soft click of your shoes in the corridor.
But rationality was a fragile thing, and it was cracking.
He had begun finding reasons to need you, reasons even he knew were flimsy.
“Get her for the dressing change,” he would tell the nurses.
“She needs to assist on the catheter insertion, it’s good experience.”
“I want her to review this imaging. She catches things the others don’t.”
The nurses exchanged knowing looks each time. They weren’t subtle. They didn’t need to be.
“Dr. Chishiya,” one of them murmured one afternoon, handing him a chart, “you might as well request her full-time. Save yourself the trouble of pretending it’s about training.” He gave her a look so sharp it could have frozen the air. But the comment lingered.
You, on the other hand, remained composed. Professional. Distant. Even when he would stand beside you during a procedure, close enough that your sleeves brushed, your tone stayed perfectly level.
“Do you want me to administer the sedative, Dr. Chishiya?” No falter. No flicker of emotion. He should have admired that control. Instead, it infuriated him. Because he was not in control.
Not anymore.
He found himself lingering outside rooms longer than necessary just to hear your voice with patients, gentle and reassuring, the kind of warmth he had never been capable of giving. It did something strange to him.
And when you laughed softly at something a nurse said, the sound hit him square in the chest. He had to turn away before anyone noticed his expression slip.
By the end of the week, the tension coiled so tightly inside him that he could barely think straight.
When a nurse brought him a chart that morning, saying, “Before you ask me to page her, Dr. Kato requested her for a consult." Something inside him flared. He nodded curtly, masking the irritation. “Fine. I’ll find someone else.” But his pulse betrayed him.
He wasn’t angry at Kato. He wasn’t angry at you. He was angry at himself, for missing you this much, for losing the upper hand, for letting something as human as feeling get in the way of his control. The thought made him sick.
And yet, the next time he caught a glimpse of you across the ward, hair slightly loose, face lit by the morning sun through the windows, his resolve cracked all over again.
It wasn’t about control anymore.
It was about you.
You told yourself you were fine.
You told yourself every morning, as you tied your hair back in front of the mirror, that today would be easier. That the sharp ache in your chest would dull if you just stayed busy enough.
So you threw yourself into work. Into the patients. Into anything that wasn’t him.
You smiled at the children, laughed with the nurses, helped anyone who needed an extra hand. You pretended the hollow ache wasn’t there, that you weren’t aware of every single time his name was mentioned across the ward.
But you were.
You noticed the way the air shifted when he entered a room. The faint hush that followed him. The subtle tightening in your chest every time your eyes accidentally met his across the corridor.
You felt him. Always.
Even when you tried not to look.
Your hands would tremble faintly when you passed him charts, so you began setting them down instead of handing them over.
You would keep your gaze fixed on paperwork, not daring to meet the intensity in his eyes when he stood too close.
You told yourself this distance was strength. That the hurt he had left in you was armour now, thick and necessary. You told yourself that the burn beneath your skin when he brushed past you was only your body betraying you, not your heart.
At night, you would replay everything. The on-call room. The restaurant. The stupid smirk when he warned you not to bite your lip.
It all felt like another lifetime, something you couldn’t afford to miss.
And yet you did. You missed the quiet hum of tension that used to hover between you. The banter. The way he would look at you as though you were the only person who ever managed to catch him off guard.
You missed him. But you couldn’t forget the sting of betrayal, the image of Misaki on her knees, his cold expression, your own voice shaking when you said red.
The memory was your anchor now. It reminded you why you couldn’t go back. So you straightened your coat, fixed your posture, and kept moving.
Professional. Composed. Untouchable. Even if, inside, every step away from him felt like it might tear something vital from you.
You decided to enjoy lunch in the quietness of the empty break room. You hadn’t even noticed the door closing until the sharp click of the lock echoed through the room. You turned quickly, bag of food still in your hands.
Chishiya stood in front of the door, chest rising, eyes burning with a rare, unguarded intensity. “Dr. Chishiya-"
“We’re going to have a talk.” His tone left no room for argument. You sighed, setting your food down, exhaustion flooding through you. “Now’s not-"
“Now,” he cut you off, voice low, almost trembling under the weight of restraint.
You crossed your arms, waiting, though your pulse thudded in your ears.
He stepped closer, not too close, just enough that you could smell the faint antiseptic and clean linen clinging to him.
“When you walked in on that scene,” he began, jaw tight, “Misaki had already crossed a line before I could stop her.” You said nothing. You didn’t even blink.
“I told her to leave me alone. She didn’t listen. When she walked into that on-call room, I didn’t know what she wanted until she was already on her knees. And I stepped away from her. Nothing happened.” His voice was sharper now, sounding controlled and precise, as though explaining a case to a superior. “Nothing ever happened since I met you. And nothing ever will.” The words hung there.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “I’ve followed the rule I set. I haven’t been with anyone else. I don’t want anyone else.”
You scoffed softly, the sound cutting through the silence like glass. “You might as well start again.” His brows drew together, confusion flickering before realisation hit. You gestured faintly between the two of you, voice tight. “Because this, whatever this was, is over.”
For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
The quiet stretched unbearably, and you could almost feel the fear clawing beneath his skin. He swallowed hard, words coming out rougher than intended. “Why?”
You hesitated, then finally looked at him. His eyes caught yours, pleading, though he would never admit it aloud.“You said,” you began quietly, “either one of us could end this whenever we wanted. Without any explanation.”
Chishiya’s throat tightened. He remembered the rule all too well. He had made it to protect himself, never imagining you would be the one to use it... against him. For the first time, he hated his own logic.
He stood frozen, watching you, waiting for something to anchor him. And you finally gave in, the words barely above a whisper. “If you must know… I don’t think I’m what you need. And you’re not what I need.” He stared at you, unblinking.
“This whole thing,” you continued, forcing the words out before your voice could break, “was doomed from the start. We just got caught up in the moment. In the desire. That’s all it was.”
His jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He looked away, trying to swallow the burn in his chest.
After a long pause, he forced out, “We could find compromises. If that’s what it takes. I could-" He stopped, then looked at you again, desperate. “I could take you on dates. Do the things you need.”
A sad smile tugged at your lips. “I don’t want you to become someone you’re not, Chishiya.”
You grabbed your packed lunch, sliding it into your bag with trembling fingers. He didn’t move. His body felt carved out of stone, panic rising inside him like he was watching something vital slip through his hands and didn’t know how to stop it.
You turned towards the door. He wanted to call your name, to say don’t go, I’ll change, I’ll try, but the words caught in his throat.
So he just stood there, silent, as you left him behind.
And the only sound left in the break room was the faint click of the door closing, and the echo of his world falling apart.
The door had barely closed when the air left his lungs. Chishiya stood there, motionless, for what felt like hours.
The echo of your voice, quiet but firm 'I don’t think I’m what you need' replayed over and over in his head until the words blurred into noise. Because no, you were everything he ever needed.
He had spent his life building walls, every piece of detachment carefully placed, every rule designed to keep him from exactly this.
And yet, you had slipped through the cracks. Now, without you, everything he had built felt off balance. Too quiet. Too fragile.
By the time morning came, the silence in his apartment was unbearable. He had spent the night staring at his ceiling, trying to convince himself he was fine, that this ache in his chest was nothing but exhaustion.
When he arrived at the hospital, he spotted you walking into the little café next to it.
The day was cool, the kind that carried the faint beginning of autumn, the air biting at your skin. You had decided to grab some black tea from the small café just next to the hospital before your shift. Anything to feel human again before walking into the sterile lights of the ward.
The door chimed as you pushed it open and nearly walked right into someone. “Oh, sorry-" you started, then froze when the familiar voice replied, “No harm done, doc.”
You blinked up to see him, the bartender from the night out. Same warm smile, same easy posture, the opposite of everything Chishiya ever was. You noticed the apron as he made his way back behind the counter.
“Oh! You work here, too?” you asked, surprised but relieved by the friendly face.
“Sometimes,” he said, chuckling. “The manager is a friend of mine. I fill in when he needs help. Small world, huh?” You smiled softly. “Apparently. You seem to enjoy making beverages, whether they are hot or cold."
His laugh filled the quiet café. He leaned on the counter, studying you for a moment before saying, “You look like you could use something stronger than caffeine.”
“Unfortunately, I’m on duty,” you replied with a grin, and the simple conversation felt like a balm. Easy. Effortless. No tension humming beneath your skin.
You ordered, he made your drink, and when he handed it to you, he slipped a napkin across the counter too, his number written neatly in the corner.
“Only if you ever want to talk,” he said quickly, holding up his hands. “Promise I’m not trying to hit on you. You just looked like you could use a friend the other night.”
The sincerity in his tone made you pause. You hesitated only for a moment before tucking the napkin into your coat pocket. “Thank you, Karube." You said after checking his name tag, "I might take you up on that.”
And maybe that was the truth, you wanted something normal. Something safe. Someone who wasn’t built from contradictions and stormlight.
When you stepped out of the café, the air hit you and so did a familiar presence.
“Good lord, you scared me,” you exhaled, heart skipping when you saw him standing just outside the café door, hands shoved in his pockets, posture tense.
Chishiya’s gaze flicked to the café window, then back to you, his voice edged with that old sharpness. “You do realise that guy’s just trying to get into your panties, right?” You blinked at him, incredulous. “Excuse me?”
“He’s only interested in getting you into his bed,” he added dryly, crossing his arms. You scoffed, pushing past him towards the hospital entrance. “Why would that be any of your concern, Dr. Chishiya?” He fell into step beside you, expression unreadable. “Because you deserve better than that. And if you’re looking for someone to fuck-" he leaned closer, voice dropping, “I’m always available.”
You stopped walking, turning to face him with an incredulous laugh. “And how exactly are you any different than him then? You don’t do dates. You don’t do feelings. You just-" your words caught for a second.
Something flickered across his face then, a crack in the mask, just for a moment. His jaw clenched hard enough that you could see the tension ripple through it. Because the answer was there, loud and screaming in his head:
Because I don’t want to take advantage of you.
Because I want to give you more than that.
But he didn’t say it.
By the time he found the words, you were already walking away, the hospital doors swallowing you whole.
He stood there for a long moment, the sound of your footsteps fading down the corridor, his hands tightening into fists at his sides, because he knew exactly why he cared, and he hated himself for not saying it out loud.
The ward greeted him with the usual chaos, the sharp smell of antiseptic, the soft beeps of monitors, the hum of chatter. Normally, that rhythm steadied him.
Today, it grated.
He was already tense when a resident approached with a hesitant, “Dr. Chishiya, I wanted to ask-"
“Then ask,” he snapped, without looking up from the chart. The young man stammered, fumbling over his words. Chishiya cut him off coldly, his voice like a scalpel. “If you don’t know the answer to a basic metabolic question, you shouldn’t be standing in this ward.”
The resident paled. Chishiya walked away before the kid could stutter an apology.
When Aiko asked if he wanted assistance with the next treatment, he said flatly, “No. I’ll do it myself.”
When a nurse accidentally handed him the wrong chart, his voice went icy. “If you can’t tell one patient from another, perhaps you should find a different department.”
The silence that followed him through the halls was louder than any argument could have been.
And still, in every quiet moment, he thought of you.
Of the way you used to challenge him, and how now he would give anything just to hear you say his name with that hint of exasperation again.
He hated this, hated how much power you had over him even in your absence.
The guilt sat like lead in his chest, pressing heavier with every patient, every chart, every step.
That evening, after another unnecessarily harsh comment towards a junior doctor, even the head nurse gave him a pointed look. “You’re not yourself, Dr. Chishiya.”
He didn’t answer. Because she was wrong. He was himself. And that was the problem.
You had heard the whispers first. The slammed drawers. The sharp orders. The uncomfortable silences that trailed after him down the hall.
At first, you told yourself it wasn’t your concern anymore. You had made your decision. You had chosen distance.
But when you walked past the nurses’ station and saw the pale resident standing frozen, a termination slip shaking in his hands, and Chishiya standing beside him with that cold, empty look, something inside you snapped. That was enough.
You didn’t even think. You simply marched up to him, pulse hammering.
“Dr. Chishiya. A word?” He was halfway through a curt dismissal, irritation sharp in his voice. “I’m in the middle of-"
But when his eyes met yours, he stopped.
The air between you shifted instantly. You saw the tension in his shoulders, the exhaustion in his face. He hesitated, then nodded once, curtly.
You didn’t wait. You turned and started down the hall, hearing the quiet drag of his footsteps behind you. The on-call room door shut behind you with a decisive click.
You turned to face him, your voice steady, though your pulse wasn’t. “That’s enough, Chishiya.”
He blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” you said firmly. “You’ve been snapping at nurses, residents, everyone in your way. You’ve fired two people in three days, and for what? Because they’re not perfect?” His eyes hardened. “I’m holding them accountable for their incompetence.”
“No,” you countered, taking a step closer. “You’re punishing them for my decision.”
The words hit him like a blade. His expression flickered in hurt, or was it anger?
He exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m punishing no one but the ones who deserve it.” You scoffed. “Oh, please. You can’t stand the fact that you lost control, so you’re taking it out on everyone else.”
He moved closer, voice dropping. “Control is what keeps this ward functioning.”
“Control is what’s destroying you.” The air thickened between you, both of you breathing harder now, the tension electric and sharp.
“Why do you even care?” he demanded suddenly. “You ended it. You walked away.”
“Because people are terrified of you again, and I know that’s not who you are!”
“You don’t know anything about who I am.”
“Yes, I do,” you shot back, your voice trembling, not with fear, but with everything you had been holding in. “I’ve seen who you are when you’re not hiding behind your damn arrogance. You care. You just hate that you do.”
His hands clenched at his sides, chest rising and falling fast. “Stop pretending you understand me.”
“Stop pretending you don’t feel anything!” you fired back, stepping right into his space now, your anger colliding with his.
Something in his composure cracked, the faint tremor in his breath, the way his eyes darkened when you didn’t back down.
“You think you can just waltz in here and tell me who I am?” he hissed. “You think you can walk away and still lecture me like I-" You cut him off, voice low, shaking. “Then stop punishing others for what I caused, and if you need to take it out on someone, take it out on me.”
For a moment, there was silence.
Then his voice came out rough, almost a growl. “I can’t.”
Your heart skipped, confusion flickering, but before you could speak, his restraint shattered. He crossed the distance between you in one swift motion, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, and his mouth crashed into yours.
The kiss wasn’t soft. It was days of anger and longing and confusion, all colliding in one violent, breath-stealing moment.
Your hands went to his chest, meaning to push him away, but instead you pulled him closer, the sound of your quick breaths filling the narrow space.
The fight between you burned out in the heat of the kiss, replaced by the thing that had always lived between you: fire.
When he finally broke away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath unsteady. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you needed to. For now, the silence said everything words couldn’t.
His hands stayed on your face, fingertips warm against your skin, the air between you still trembling with what had just happened.
His breath brushed your lips, but he didn’t lean in again. He couldn’t.
Chishiya’s eyes flicked over your face as though he were trying to memorise it, the way you looked up at him, hurt, confused, wanting.
He could feel his pulse everywhere, his body betraying him, his erection pressing against his trousers, begging him to give in.
But the word red still lived in the back of his mind.
The memory of you saying it, the look in your eyes when you walked away that day, he would never forget that.
He swallowed hard, voice rough, almost quiet enough to disappear. “What are you doing to me?”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.
And then he stepped back, letting his hands fall, forcing his expression back into place. Without another word, he turned and left the room.
For the rest of his shift, he was a ghost of himself.
He spoke less, barked fewer orders, signed charts mechanically.
Every time he passed you in the hall, his eyes flickered towards you and away again so fast it almost didn’t happen. The silence between you buzzed louder than any argument could.
When you finally came home that evening, exhaustion hit you like gravity.
You dropped your bag by the door and stood there for a long moment, staring at your phone. You shouldn’t. You couldn’t. But your thumb hovered over his name anyway.
Just one message, you thought. One call.
Before you could decide, the doorbell rang. You froze, heart stumbling. For a second you thought, hoped, it couldn’t be him. That he wouldn’t dare.
But when you opened the door, there he was.
Shirt creased from a day’s worth of chaos, dark circles shadowing his eyes.
He looked exhausted, strung tight, like a man who had run out of ways to pretend.
“Chishiya,” you breathed, his name half a question, half disbelief. He exhaled, voice raw. “I can’t do this anymore.”
And in that moment, you knew, every wall he had rebuilt was about to come crashing down again.
You barely had time to register the look in his eyes before his hands were on you. Chishiya kissed you like a drowning man breaking the surface, his mouth desperate and searching, stealing the air from your lungs until you were gasping against him.
Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, kissing him back with the same hunger you had been holding back for weeks. He stumbled you backwards, step by step, until your back hit the cool wall with a soft thud.
His palms slid over your sides, your back, your hips, roaming, needing to feel you under his hands, needing the reminder that you were real, warm, here. His forehead pressed to yours as he kissed down your neck, his breath hot against your skin.
“Please…” he whispered, the word breaking against your throat. “Give me another chance.”
He didn’t stop kissing you, his lips trailing along your jaw, but his voice was low and shaking.
“I want to make this right. This isn’t about me changing into someone I’m not. This is me wanting to become the man you need. Because I need you. All of you. In every way imaginable.” Your fingers trembled where they gripped his shoulders.
“No more rules,” he murmured. “No more restrictions. Let me take you out. Let me try… I can’t-" He broke off, pressing his forehead harder to yours, voice cracking. “I can’t deal with a world that doesn’t have you in it.”
Tears blurred your vision, streaming hot down your cheeks before you even realised you were crying. Chishiya’s hands came up immediately, wiping them away with his thumbs, his eyes searching yours, softer than you had ever seen them.
“Please,” he breathed, his voice a whisper against your lips. “Grant me one more chance.”
You stared at him, this man who had been so cold, so controlled, now trembling as if the whole world had come undone around him.
And you nodded. Just a small, soft nod. “Okay.”
The relief that crashed over him was visible, almost tangible. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his head dipping as though the weight had been lifted from his shoulders. His grip on you loosened, becoming something gentler, almost reverent.
When he opened his eyes again, there was something new in them, a glint of hope, of fear, of something unspoken but no less real.
His arms wrapped around you and for the first time, he let himself just hold you, breathing you in, as if anchoring himself to you before he could shatter completely.
He kissed you again, slower this time, lingering between breaths as though memorising you, every angle of your mouth, every quiet sound you made. His hand came up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb tracing the faint line of a tear he had missed.
The kiss that had started fierce and breathless began to slow, his lips still moving against yours but with a newfound tenderness. The hunger that had driven him softened into something rawer, something that made your heart ache more than your body ever could.
You felt his chest rise and fall against yours. The sharp edges of the man you knew, the arrogance, the control, the walls he had built around himself, seemed to fall away with every soft press of his lips.
This wasn’t the same Chishiya who had cornered you in on-call rooms, or barked orders across the ward. This was him stripped bare, trembling in the quiet space between you, kissing you as if trying to speak through it.
"Would you prefer to take things slow?" Chishiya asked breathlessly between kisses. You chuckled softly, "I think we're past taking things slow."
Chishiya threw his hands up in defence, "I can contain myself. Against all odds, I do have self-control."
"Is that so?" You smirked, hand moving to palm his erection through his trousers. His muscles flexed, his hand shooting down to grab your wrist, "well, you're not playing fair. Don't think I won't still punish you if you misbehave." He spoke through gritted teeth.
"I wouldn't have wanted for you to change anything about that anyway." You leaned forward, standing on your tiptoes, whispering in his ear, "because I so enjoy the way you fuck me, Chishiya." You felt his cock twitch beneath your palm, a soft growl escaping his lips before he grabbed your hair and pressed his mouth against yours.
He pulled you inside the living room, walking you backwards until your legs hit the couch. With quick hands, he yanked off your shirt, removing your bra in one quick motion. He left a trail of wet kisses down your breasts and stomach as he knelt in front of you, pulling your trousers down.
"Sit down." He murmured. When you did, he snaked his arms around yours thighs, pulling you closer to the edge. You could already feel his hot breath ghosting over your cunt. "Please, Chishiya." You whimpered desperately. His eyes met yours and he smirked at you, "don't worry, darling. This will be quick. I really need to be inside you. I just have to prepare you for my cock." And with that, his mouth was on you, his tongue licking between your folds, his saliva mixing with your juices.
Chishiya ate you out until you were a moaning mess, his tongue flicking across your clit in precisely the right motions. Your hands grabbing the edge of the couch, steadying yourself, mostly refraining yourself for grabbing his hair.
He stood up, leaning forward to press his mouth against yours, dragging his hand over your cunt before slipping two fingers in. He pumped them in and out of you, his mouth never leaving yours as he swallowed your moans.
Sloppy, wet sounds filled the room as he thrusted his fingers into you at a fast pace. Your hips moved involuntarily, granting him just the right angle to hit that spot deep inside you. You moaned his name, your walls clenching around his fingers. Chishiya pulled away from your lips, his free hand shooting up to wrap around your throat. Your eyes widened when your air supply was cut off.
His gaze was fixated on you, on the expression on your face. "Please." You croaked, voice almost inaudible. "Come for me." He finally growled. You shut your eyes close as you reached your high, your whole body shaking. Chishiya's skilled fingers guided you through your orgasm, making you enjoy every second of it.
When your eyes found his again, his pupils were dilated, mouth parted. "Fuck, I need you so badly." He groaned, already fumbling with his trousers. You stood on wobbly legs, replacing his hands as you undid his pants, sliding his cardigan off his shoulders and removed his shirt. He watched you, one eyebrow raised.
"What? Don't think I haven't been craving to have you inside me." Amusement plastered his face. When you pulled his trousers and underwear down, his cock slapped up against his lower stomach. You pushed him onto the couch, kneeling on the floor, settling between his legs, his erection towering in front of you.
But before you could even touch him or drag your tongue across his length, he grabbed your hair, stopping you. "Get on top of me right fucking now."
He leaned down, retrieving a foil packet from the pocket of his trousers, tearing it open and rolling the condom onto his cock. You placed your knees on either side of him, straddling him. He grabbed your waist, his other hand holding his dick, positioning it at your entrance. He inhaled sharply as you lowered yourself onto him. When his length was fully buried inside you, you stilled for a moment, eyes finding his.
Chishiya grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you towards him, kissing you fiercely. He quickly undid your hair tie, letting the strands fall loose over your shoulders. When you straightened, Chishiya looked at you, eyes traveling all over you. "You are so beautiful, it's driving me insane." He muttered under his breath.
You smiled at him before lifting yourself and slamming back down, earning a low groan from him. His hands were immediately back on your waist, guiding you up and down his cock. When you sat down, you rocked your hips shortly, making him stroke your walls. You placed your hands on the back rest of the couch, just above his shoulders, keeping in mind he prefers not to be touched. You steadied yourself as you rode him, moving up and down his length. "Hands behind your back." Chishiya ordered.
Chishiya's grip kept you steady, his eyes locked on the one thing he wanted to achieve with that order: your tits bouncing up and down in front of him with your movements. It took you some time to notice, but when you did, you grinned at him, whispering a soft "perv".
Chishiya's eyes shot up, his hand smacked your cheek almost too gently, grabbing your face and holding it in place, "Can't even let me enjoy the view without throwing a snarky comment at me." In one swift motion, he threw you down on the couch next to him, hovering above you in an instance. He lifted your legs, placing them on his shoulders before ramming his cock back into you. His arms wrapped around your legs at his front, pushing his length even deeper inside you. "I'm sorry!" You moaned.
And then he started to move, snapping his hips, silent groans leaving his lips when you clenched your walls around him. One hand moved down, rubbing small circles on your clit while he kept thrusting into you at a steady pace.
You threw your head back in pleasure, the second orgasm creeping its way into your brain, ready to shoot through your entire body. Chishiya noticed, bending your legs so he could lean forward. "Look at me when you come." He spoke through clenched teeth.
You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze. The intensity of it threw you over the edge. Chishiya moaned loudly when he saw the pure satisfaction on your face. Something he caused. You wrapped your legs around his torso, clenching them, pushing him against you as you rocked your hips, riding out your orgasm.
His thrusts became uneven as he leaned down, capturing your mouth with his. He grabbed your tit, the feel of it in warm and jiggly in his hand made his cock twitch. He could have edged himself, drag this out for as long as possible. But he wasn't going anywhere tonight. And he would have you as many times as you wanted him.
So with one final thrust, he stilled inside you, his cum filling the condom as he moaned against your lips.
The room went silent, filled only with your heavy breaths. He removed his cock, taking off the condom and making a knot.
He collapsed on the couch, leaning against the back rest, head thrown back as he placed your legs on his lap. "You have no idea how much I missed you." He said softly. He spotted the box of paper tissues on the living room table in front of him. Leaning forward, he grabbed a few tissues, cleaning the mess your wetness has caused in between your legs. You smiled at him softly. "I wasn't aware you were capable of missing someone." You teased him. "Neither was I." He muttered absentmindedly as he continued cleaning you.
"So, tea?" You laughed at his question, remembering the last time he asked for tea. "What, is this our ritual now? Tea after sex?" Chishiya didn't respond but you saw the corner of his lip curl upwards. You were smiling way too hard, but got up anyway. "I'll be right back then." This time he did grab your wrist when you wanted to grab your clothes. The raise of his eyebrow was enough to tell you to leave them right there and prepare that tea naked.
Steam curled softly between the two of you, the faint scent of tea grounding what still felt almost unreal. You sat next to each other on your couch, both a little disheveled from everything that had happened, the world outside reduced to a muted hush.
Chishiya held the mug awkwardly, like it was a surgical instrument he wasn’t sure how to use. His gaze flicked up from the tea to you. “So,” he said, voice quieter than usual, “how does this… dating thing work?”
You let out a soft laugh before you could stop yourself, the sound bright in the dim living room. “You’re asking the wrong person,” you said, shaking your head. “You’ll just have to figure that out as you go. Find out what you like. What you don’t.”
He tilted his head slightly, thinking, eyes still on you. “Well,” he said after a beat, a small curve ghosting over his mouth, “I like you. Guess I already have everything I need, then.”
Your chest tightened in the best possible way. You chuckled, warmth spilling into the space between you. For a moment, he just watched you, the corners of his usually sharp eyes softening. He hadn’t realised until now how much he had missed that sound, the quiet joy of it, the lightness it carried.
You took a sip of tea, glancing at him over the rim of your mug. “Did you enjoy dinner with me?” you asked, careful but curious.
He hesitated, then nodded once. “I did,” he admitted, and there was no trace of his usual detachment in his voice. Just honesty.
You smiled, a real smile, and his breath caught a little at the sight. “See?” you said gently. “We can go out for dinners. Dating’s just about doing the things you enjoy… and sharing that with someone else.”
He looked down at his tea, watching the ripples settle. For the first time, the idea didn’t seem foreign or foolish. It didn’t sound like a trap or an inconvenience. It sounded like peace. Like colour seeping into the monochrome lines of his world.
He met your eyes again, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “Then maybe,” he murmured, “this won’t be so bad after all.”
For a heartbeat, the world went soft and ordinary, almost peaceful. But peace doesn't last long in a world like this. Just beyond the light, danger was already counting its steps, deciding where to break the quiet and when to strike next.
A/N: You guessed right, I'm not quite finished with this fic yet...
But when survival in the Borderlands meant uneasy alliances, you still found yourself beside him—calculating, quiet, dangerous. Until one club game changed everything. He betrayed you. Locked you away to save himself. And you survived anyway.
You swore you’d never speak to him again. But fate—or maybe the twisted logic of the games—keeps throwing you back together. Forced into team games. Arguing like an old couple. Drawn together like magnets you can’t seem to tear apart. He reads you like a puzzle. You fight him like a storm.
And then one night, when the tension finally snaps in the dark of a forgotten building—everything you’ve buried erupts.
Lips.
Hands.
Teeth.
Rage turned into something hotter. Something desperate.
Words: 5110
The concrete steps beneath your feet are damp with rainwater and something else you choose not to think about. You can hear the quiet hum of the game arena ahead—buzzing lights, the low hiss of power in the wires overhead. Somewhere in this crumbling building, people had screamed once. Now it is just silence and echoes.
Your heart beats a steady rhythm, too calm for what you know is coming.
You step into the massive entryway of what had once been a museum. The tall columns are cracked and lined with grime. The remnants of old art displays hang from the walls like shadows—missing pieces, just like the people who had once stood here. Now, there are only players.
And Chishiya.
He is already here, leaning against a marble pedestal like he doesn’t have a care in the world. His white hoodie is spotless. He is twirling a poker chip between his fingers, absently. The overhead lights flicker, casting him in momentary shadow. He glances up at your arrival but doesn’t move.
Your jaw tenses.
“Wonderful,” you mutter under your breath.
He smirks faintly, like your annoyance amuses him. “Nice to see a familiar face.”
You shoot him a look sharp enough to cut marble. “Let’s not pretend we’re friends.”
“Did I say we were?”
You move past him without another word, heading toward the central platform as more players filter in. Seven in total, including yourself. A woman with shaky hands. A man with a crooked smile and darting eyes. A quiet teenager who looks barely old enough to be out of school. Two more whose faces you don’t bother memorizing yet. And Chishiya—impossible to forget even when you want to.
The large screen blinks to life above them with a buzz.
GAME: “HUNTED”
DIFFICULTY: 6 of Spades
PLAYERS: 7
OBJECTIVE: Survive 90 minutes. Identify and detain the Hunter.
WARNING: False accusations will result in immediate elimination. The Hunter chooses one victim if undetected.
GAME BEGINS IN: 30 SECONDS.
A ripple of panic spreads through the group. The woman with shaky hands begins to mutter to herself. The teenager backs up against the wall. Only Chishiya doesn’t move. He stands with arms crossed, expression unreadable.
You watch him closely.
He thrives in games like this. Games where people turn on each other, where logic could be used like a weapon. That was what drew you to him before—his cold precision, the way he reads patterns like a second language.
So, despite your instincts, you gravitate toward him again.
“You planning on staying solo?” you ask, crossing your arms.
He raises an eyebrow. “You want to team up with me?”
“Only until I decide I don’t.”
Something like a smile ghosts across his lips. “Fair.”
The museum is a labyrinth of shattered glass cases, forgotten bones, and dust-laced air. Cameras in the ceiling track your movements. No one knows who the Hunter is. Everyone watches everyone else.
You and Chishiya move as a unit. Quiet. Efficient.
He points out behavioral inconsistencies. You listen—at first.
You shadow the teenager for ten minutes, then the woman with shaking hands. Nothing adds up. A false accusation means death, so everyone hesitates. Paranoia thickens in the air like fog.
You argue once—briefly—about whether the man with darting eyes is faking his nervousness.
“It’s too obvious,” you whisper. “He’s trying too hard.”
“That’s what someone guilty might want you to think.”
“You’re overcomplicating it.”
“You’re oversimplifying it.”
You turn to him, eyes narrowing. “You’re always like this, aren’t you?”
You chased down the man with darting eyes when he bolted from the second floor. He ran like someone guilty. You sprinted after him, the hallway echoing with footfalls and the creak of decaying floorboards. The others followed, but you were the fastest. Chishiya right behind you.
You cornered him near the taxidermy exhibit. Pulled open the heavy containment door of a rusted holding cell.
“Get him in here!” you called over your shoulder, breathless. “Now!”
But when you turned to look—
Chishiya’s hands were already on your shoulders.
“What the hell—?”
He shoved you.
You stumbled backward into the cage, the door slamming shut with a metallic clang. Before you could react, you heard the click of the lock.
You screamed. “What are you doing?!”
Chishiya didn’t even flinch. He stood just outside the bars, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket.
“You’re too convincing,” he said simply. “The others were beginning to suspect you.”
You gripped the bars, fury crackling in your chest like lightning. “I’m not the fucking Hunter! You know that!”
“Knowing isn’t the same as proving.”
“You set me up!”
“I made a tactical decision.”
Your voice dropped. “You betrayed me.”
He held your gaze. And for the briefest moment, something flickered there—regret? Doubt? But it passed too quickly to be certain.
“I preserved my chances,” he said. “That’s the only thing that matters in a game like this.”
“Then I hope it’s worth it,” you hissed. “Because next time you need someone to watch your back, don’t look at me.”
Chishiya didn’t reply. He turned and walked away.
You were left alone, trapped behind steel, as the clock ticked down.
A shadow in the dark. A shard of broken glass. They tried to kill you through the bars—lunging, stabbing. You fought them off, barely, hands cut and bleeding, vision going red.
And when the final buzzer sounded, when the word CLEAR glowed across the wall—
You weren’t relieved.
Outside, the players stagger through the museum’s exit. Only five remain. You emerge last, hands wrapped in makeshift bandages, blood caked on your sleeves. Your eyes find Chishiya instantly.
He is leaning against the railing like nothing has happened, arms folded, watching you.
“You’re alive,” he says mildly.
You don’t answer.
Don’t even slow down.
Just walk past him, your body shaking not from exhaustion, but from restraint. Because if you stay there one second longer, you aren’t sure what you’d do.
Behind you, Chishiya’s voice drifts into the night.
The next time you saw Chishiya, it was—of course—during another game. The anger still burned hot beneath your skin. You hadn’t forgotten how he’d thrown you to the wolves just to increase his own chances of survival in the last round you shared.
“Can you not just fucking disappear for once?” you muttered under your breath, your eyes locking on him where he stood casually, hands in his pockets like he had all the time in the world.
He looked up, gave you the faintest smirk. “I could ask you the same.”
You didn’t respond. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
The building was a decrepit office tower—gray concrete, broken ceiling tiles, the stench of mold clinging to every surface. You and six others stood in the lobby, eyeing one another, waiting. Waiting for the rules. Waiting for the next nightmare.
The screen above flickered to life.
GAME: “CHAINED BALANCE”
DIFFICULTY: ♣️ 7 of Clubs
PLAYERS: 7
OBJECTIVE: As a team, maintain perfect equilibrium across four weighted platforms for 60 minutes.
RULES: Players are chained together in pairs. Each pair must be balanced against another across the platforms. Movement, communication, and strategy are required to succeed. Unbalanced platforms trigger penalties. Three penalties equal elimination.
BONUS CONDITION: If all platforms remain stable for 15 continuous minutes, one chain can be broken.
Your eyes went wide.
Chains?
You glanced down just as something snapped shut around your wrist with a mechanical clink. Thick. Cold. Heavy.
And of course—when you looked at who the other end of your chain had latched to—
“Fuck me,” you whispered.
Chishiya blinked once, then looked down at your wrists, now connected by a thick, reinforced steel chain.
He said nothing. Just offered the most subtle shrug. "Statistically, not the worst pairing."
You glared at him. “You threw me in a cage last game.”
“I made the rational choice,” he replied without missing a beat.
“And now I’m stuck to you like some bad joke.”
His voice dropped just slightly. “I suppose that makes two of us.”
You nearly stepped on his foot, but the first buzzer sounded. A panel slid open in the floor, revealing four square platforms and weight sensors embedded beneath them. Colored lights lined the floor—green for stable, red for unstable.
The room shook faintly as you and the other players were herded onto your designated platforms. You and Chishiya landed on the first. The chain between you clinked with every movement. Another pair took Platform Two. One player was left alone, the unchained seventh—designated as the “Balancer.” They would shift between the platforms to keep the equilibrium in check.
The countdown began.
60 minutes.
Chishiya adjusted his stance with surgical precision, distributing his weight almost immediately.
You crossed your arms. “What’s your plan, genius? Shove me off the edge again when it benefits you?”
“I’d rather not take a penalty,” he said flatly. “And despite your tendency to act emotionally, you’re decent at spatial reasoning.”
“Oh wow,” you snapped, “thanks for the glowing review.”
“Don’t let your grudge disrupt the team dynamic,” he said, as if you were the problem here.
You clenched your jaw so hard it hurt.
The platforms tilted slightly. A red light blinked beneath your feet. Somewhere behind you, another player cursed.
“Shift your weight left. Two centimeters,” Chishiya said quietly.
You hesitated—then did it. The light turned green again.
Damn him.
The first ten minutes passed like that. Small shifts. Careful steps. Quick calculations. And silence—except for when he barked out a direction, or you snapped back at him.
The tension between you had its own gravity. Everyone noticed it. The other players gave you two wide berth—except the Balancer, who moved like a ghost between the platforms, watching, adjusting.
At the fifteen-minute mark, a soft chime rang through the room.
STABILITY BONUS ACHIEVED.
Your chain unlocked.
You stared at the open cuff like it was a joke.
“I’m not even going to say thank you,” you muttered, pulling your wrist away from his like it burned.
“I didn’t expect you to,” Chishiya replied calmly.
You thought that would be the end of it. That with the chain gone, you’d stay far from him.
But the game had other plans.
Because when Platform Four dipped into red again, and the Balancer was injured trying to adjust, a new rule flashed across the screen.
“CHAIN REDISTRIBUTION INITIATED.”
Your cuff snapped closed again.
This time, it clicked around your other wrist.
The other end?
Still him.
You turned to Chishiya with fire in your veins.
“This game really wants me to kill you.”
He actually smiled.
“For once,” he said, voice low, “we might agree.”
The second half of the game was worse.
The platforms became hypersensitive, responding to even the slightest imbalance. With the Balancer injured, everything came down to the paired players working in perfect, agonizing sync.
Which meant you and Chishiya had no choice but to cooperate—physically, mentally, and strategically.
It was hell.
Every step was a negotiation. Every shift of weight a battle. He calculated everything down to the millimeter, spoke in clipped instructions like you were some kind of machine.
"Left foot half-step forward."
"Angle your torso—slightly. No, not that much."
"You're off by two kilograms. Did you eat something stupid today?"
You snapped. “I swear, if you don’t shut up—”
“If you’d stop reacting emotionally—”
“I react because I’m not a goddamn robot!”
“You’re reacting because you’re still mad I was right.”
“You betrayed me.”
Silence fell like a guillotine.
For a second, he said nothing. Just looked at you—expression unreadable, but something behind his eyes flickered.
“…Would you rather I had died instead?”
You almost flinched. “I would’ve rather you hadn’t used me as a fucking meat shield.”
By now, you were soaked in sweat. Your legs shook from holding precise positions for so long. One platform blinked red for a heartbeat too long, and a section of floor opened up beneath one of the players. Screams. Gone.
Just like that.
Four of you remained.
You. Chishiya. The woman with shaky hands. And the injured Balancer, limping, bleeding, but still moving.
And then, your platform tilted.
Chishiya faltered—not much, but enough.
You shifted instantly, grabbing his arm without thinking. “Don’t you dare fall.”
“I’m not,” he said sharply, though his weight buckled against yours. You gritted your teeth, legs burning, arms straining to pull him upright with the chain biting deep into your wrist.
The platform teetered. Red. Red. RED.
Then—green.
Silence.
Breathless.
Chishiya was still against you, shoulder braced to yours, and for a second, neither of you moved. You could feel his heartbeat. Fast. Unsteady.
So he wasn’t a robot after all.
He straightened, fixing his hoodie sleeve like nothing happened.
“…You pulled me back,” he said, watching you carefully.
“Yeah. I’m a goddamn idiot.”
“Or a hypocrite.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t want your death on my conscience. That doesn’t make me like you.”
When the final buzzer sounded, it was almost anticlimactic. Just two words on the wall in blazing light:
GAME CLEARED.
Your cuffs unclasped. The doors opened. And that was it.
You stepped into the outside world, cold night air stinging the sweat on your skin, and walked ahead of him without a word.
Chishiya followed.
Of course he did.
“You know,” he said from behind you, voice casual, “we make a surprisingly effective team.”
You stopped walking and turned, eyes sharp. “Don’t.”
A pause.
He tilted his head. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t try to act like this means anything’s changed.”
“You saved me.”
“And I regret it.”
That surprised him—just a flicker. You caught it. And hated that part of you felt satisfaction seeing it.
He didn’t argue. Just nodded once. “So, next time…”
“There won’t be a next time,” you cut in, voice like ice.
He blinked.
You stepped closer, so close he had no choice but to look you in the eyes.
“I don’t trust you. I won’t ever trust you again. So whatever logic you’re running on? Whatever equations you’re solving in that sociopath brain of yours—just take me out of the variables.”
Game: 4 of Clubs
Objective: Secure five keys across five zones. Split into pre-assigned pairs. Pairs must stay within 15 meters of each other at all times. Failure to do so will result in instant detonation of the collar device.
You almost laughed when you saw who the system had paired you with. Of course.
“How is it that we always end up in these damn Club games together?” you muttered under your breath.
Of course it was him.
You didn’t say a word. Just grabbed your satchel, adjusted the collar around your neck, and turned away without meeting his eyes.
The device let out a warning beep the moment you strayed too far—its red light flashing like a threat.
“Fifteen meters,” Chishiya said, trailing after you, not quite out of breath. “You’re really pushing the limit.”
“I’m not pushing anything. I’m just walking away from you.”
“Not very strategic.”
“Neither is pairing with someone who shoves you into a goddamn cage.”
He went quiet at that.
Zone One was a flooded subway platform. Half the group was gone in the first five minutes—mistimed jumps, drowned under falling debris. You moved fast, fluid, deliberate. Chishiya lagged behind at first, hands slick with grime, lips drawn in a tight line.
You noticed. Of course you noticed.
“You alright, genius?” you muttered as you caught the first key and tossed it to him.
He barely caught it. “Perfectly fine.”
“You sure? Looks like your ego’s too slippery to hang onto.”
The catwalk was scorched, brittle. A pipe burst as you were running, sending flames licking at the edges. The noise was deafening. You turned, barely in time to see Chishiya lose his footing, crash into the edge. His hand gripped the metal—barely.
“Shit,” you whispered, frozen.
He looked up at you, eyes wide—not in fear, exactly. Just calculation. Like he was weighing the odds and seeing the end of the line.
“Don’t,” he said, already knowing what you were going to do.
“I should let go,” you hissed. “It would make sense. Karma, right?”
He didn’t say anything. Just stared at you, smoke curling around him.
But his hand was slipping.
And you hated that your body moved before your brain did.
You dropped low, grabbed his wrist, pulled hard. Your shoulders screamed from the strain. For one terrifying second, the collar between you beeped—too far apart.
Then—
He was up. On the catwalk. Breathing hard, eyes locked on yours.
“…You didn’t have to.”
“I know I didn’t have to,” you snapped, panting. “You think I don’t know that?!”
Chishiya said nothing.
You turned away before you could do something really stupid. Like scream. Or cry. Or both.
The “CLEAR” sign blazed on the ceiling in brutal white light.
You leaned against a crumbling wall, knees scraped, hands blackened with soot. Chishiya sat a few feet away, unusually quiet.
He broke the silence first.
“…Why did you help me?”
You stared at the floor. “Because I’m not like you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
You turned to look at him, voice tight. “Yes, it is.”
He studied you, something unreadable passing across his face. Then: “It was illogical. Risky. You could’ve gotten us both killed.”
“Maybe.” You stood slowly, brushing ash off your pants. “But guess what?”
“What?”
“I’d rather die than be like you.”
You left him sitting there, still breathing, still very much alive.
Despite having survived multiple intense games side by side, the tension between you and Chishiya never really eased. You fought like an old married couple—constantly snapping at each other over tiny things, exchanging barbs with practiced ease. His cool, calculated demeanor grated against your fiery spirit, and neither of you was willing to give ground. Every game brought more friction, more unspoken resentment simmering just beneath the surface.
He’d make a cold, logical comment about your tactics, and you’d fire back with a sharp retort questioning his humanity. He’d dismiss your emotions as weaknesses, and you’d call him out for being too detached. The others noticed the friction, but it was something only you two truly understood—an uneasy bond built on rivalry and necessity.
Then came the next game: Hearts, a psychological battle where alliances were fragile, and trust was a rare commodity. The game forced you to trust the other players, and to your surprise, you found yourself trusting Chishiya.
From the start, cooperation was difficult. Every move he made was calculated, designed to minimize risk and maximize his survival chances. You, however, played with passion and gut instinct, frustrated by his unemotional approach. Every decision became a battlefield.
The cold glow of the Heart game arena flickered around you as you and Chishiya faced off across the table. The rules forced you to cooperate, but every move he made felt like a calculated chip away at your patience.
“You really think this is all just about logic?” you snapped, slamming your hand on the glass surface. “You never take a risk, do you?”
Chishiya didn’t flinch. He just leaned back, arms crossed, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips. “Risk is a luxury you can’t afford when your survival depends on precision.”
You rolled your eyes. “That’s just your excuse for being cold and detached.”
He raised a brow. “Detached? I’m efficient. You’re emotional. And that’s why you lose.”
“Emotions make you human,” you shot back, voice rising. “Something you wouldn’t understand.”
He chuckled, low and dry. “Humanity doesn’t win games. Logic does.”
You stood up abruptly, pacing the small space between you. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Always three steps ahead. But you’re predictable. You think your poker face hides everything, but I see right through you.”
Chishiya’s smirk twitched, his eyes narrowing. “And what exactly do you see?”
You stopped, inches from him, eyes blazing. “I see someone who’s scared to let go. Scared to be surprised.”
He opened his mouth, but you cut him off.
“No, listen. You say you don’t care, that it’s just a game. But I know better. You look at me like you don’t want me to hate you.”
He blinked, a flicker of something unspoken passing through his gaze.
“Maybe you’re wrong,” he said finally.
“Maybe,” you said, voice softer now. “But I’m not the asshole who threw people under the bus.”
“That was tactical.”
“Then watch this.”
Before he could respond, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips to his. It was sharp, defiant, a challenge wrapped in fire.
Chishiya froze, eyes wide and unguarded.
When you pulled back, you smirked. “Bet you didn’t see that coming.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he just stared, the usual smirk gone, replaced with something close to stunned respect.
“Not so predictable after all,” you whispered.
And for the first time, the fight between you felt different — like it was no longer just about survival, but something far messier.
And how not over this fight you were—it clung to you both like a stubborn shadow, sharp and unforgiving. You didn’t even remember exactly how you ended up pressed against that cracked, dusty wall of the abandoned room, his hands roaming over you as if trying to make up for all the distance and anger between you.
Your mouths collided fiercely, urgent and desperate, like that kiss was the first thing either of you had felt that truly made you come alive in the brutal, unforgiving Borderlands. The world outside—the pain, the betrayal, the games—it all slipped away in the heat of that moment.
Your fingers tangled in his thick hair, clutching him with a hunger you barely recognized in yourself. His hands slid under your shirt, cold against your bare skin, gripping your hips with a possessive strength that made your breath hitch. The rough wall scratched your back as he pressed you harder against it, his mouth claiming yours again and again with a fierce urgency.
Every kiss was a silent argument, every touch a clash of frustration and longing. His hands moved lower, tracing the curve of your waist, pulling at your clothes until the thin fabric slipped away. You shivered, both from the chill in the room and the fire burning between you.
He paused just long enough to look into your eyes—dark, intense, challenging—and you saw it there: a flicker of something softer beneath the hardness, something vulnerable hidden in the storm of his usual calm. You didn’t hesitate. You let yourself fall into him completely.
He eased you down onto the threadbare mattress shoved into the corner, the springs creaking under your weight. His hands were everywhere—on your skin, your neck, your face—mapping every inch of you with desperate reverence. You pulled him closer, your body arching into his touch, every nerve alight.
The room seemed to shrink until there was nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths, the slick warmth of skin against skin, and the urgent rhythm of your hearts pounding out a frantic tempo.
You moved together—rough, impatient, fierce—as if trying to make up for every lost moment, every word unsaid, every betrayal forgiven too soon or held onto too long. There was anger in every touch, yes, but beneath it was something far deeper: a fierce, complicated need that neither of you could—or wanted to—deny.
Time slipped away, measured only by the heat of your bodies entwined, the slick whisper of skin sliding against skin, and the soft, gasping sounds you made into the darkness.
When it was over, you lay tangled together in the quiet aftermath, the world outside forgotten. His breath was slow and steady against your skin, fingers tracing lazy circles on your arm as if afraid to break the fragile peace that had settled between you.
For once, the fight was still there—but it didn’t matter. Not now.
And in that silence, something unspoken passed between you. His gaze found yours again, steady and unreadable, but you didn’t look away. You held it. You let him see the flicker of exhaustion, the want, the bruised places in your chest that hadn’t quite healed.
His hand brushed your cheek, slow and tentative. You leaned in before either of you could overthink it, and this time, the kiss was quiet—no fire, no fury, just the heavy weight of everything you couldn’t say resting gently between your mouths.
A kiss that didn’t ask for anything but didn’t run from it either.
The light coming through the cracked windows was brighter now—no longer the gentle grey of dawn, but the harsher white-blue of midmorning. Dust floated lazily in the shafts of sunlight cutting across the room. You stirred, stretching slightly beneath the thin blanket, every muscle aching in that way that reminded you exactly what had happened.
And who it had happened with.
Chishiya was already awake. Of course he was. Sitting near the window, hoodie tugged back on, fingers idly toying with one of the cracked buttons from his coat pocket. He didn’t look at you when he spoke.
“So. Are we pretending last night didn’t happen?”
You sat up slowly, dragging the blanket with you. “I wasn’t planning to pretend anything.”
He gave a dry little laugh. “That’s a first.”
You shot him a look. “Are you trying to pick a fight before breakfast?”
“I don’t need to try. You usually start one for me.”
You rolled your eyes and stood, ignoring the way his gaze flicked toward you before he immediately looked away again like he hadn’t. You took your time, rummaging through your bag for a protein bar, biting into it like it was made of spite.
“You still mad about that time I let you almost die?” he asked casually, voice light but eyes sharp.
You crossed the room in two steps and kissed him before he could say anything else.
It was swift and intentional—your mouth pressing to his with just enough pressure to knock the smugness out of his tone. When you pulled back, his brows raised slightly, and he looked at you like you’d just short-circuited his brain for a second.
“What was that for?”
“For talking too much.”
He blinked. “That’s new.”
You smirked. “Get used to it.”
You turned away and began gathering your things, ignoring the way his eyes followed your movements now with something softer. But, of course, he couldn’t help himself.
“You know kissing me doesn’t make your arguments more valid.”
“No,” you said over your shoulder, “but it makes you shut up, and that’s just as good.”
You heard him scoff—more amused than annoyed.
Minutes later, as you both stepped out into the abandoned hallway, the usual tension crept back in like it always did. You bickered about which direction to go, whether or not the building looked like it might collapse, and if you really needed to check every damn room for supplies.
But this time, every time he got too snide or your temper threatened to rise too far, you simply grabbed him by the collar and kissed him again—shutting him up mid-sentence.
The third time, he didn’t even argue. He just leaned into it, fingers tightening around your waist, like maybe—just maybe—he liked this version of losing to you.
“Will you kiss me all the time now?” he asked after a few moments of silence between you.
You tilted your head to the side, watching his expression closely. “Maybe.” You smiled as you took his hand in yours.
He rolled his eyes at the gesture but said nothing, simply letting himself be pulled along with you back to the beach.
“You won’t get enough of me,” you added with a laugh, squeezing his hand.
“Great,” he replied, his sarcastic tone unmistakable—which only made you laugh even harder.
“Guess you’ll have to live with my unpredictable attacks from now on,” your voice cutting through the silence again.
“Do you ever stop talking?” His reply was a little frosty, as always, but you just shrugged and kissed him.
Again, his surprise was written all over his face as he pulled back slightly, eyes wide and searching yours like he was trying to decode what just happened.
“You really don’t hold back, do you?” he muttered, half amused, half exasperated.
You smirked, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Nope. And maybe that’s why you keep sticking around.”
He shook his head with a small laugh, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Maybe you’re more unpredictable than I thought.”
You leaned in again, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to the corner of his mouth. “And maybe that’s exactly what you need.”
He caught your hand in his, fingers curling around yours tightly. “Guess I’ll have to get used to it then.”
The bickering didn’t end, but somehow, in between the sharp words and teasing jabs, there was a growing warmth neither of you could deny.
summary: Chishiya is forced to teach a class of medical students. The class is incredibly hard but lucky for you, the professor agrees to tutor you. A dream come true if only he wasn't so distracting
warnings: smut (minors dni), swearing, pwp pretty much, reader has a fat crush on chishiya, she also seduces chishiya for a good grade lol, tension, dom!chishiya, he kinda has a thing for being called professor, dry humping, fingering and oral (fem receiving), y/n is called "good girl" once, unprotected sex + creampie
word count: 5,209
a/n: I'm just horny for Chishiya :D this shit is soooo ooc without proper buildup, but he would be such a sexy professor.
Minors...get out of here
Sakurazaka University Hospital had grown quiet, the rush of the day giving way to the low hum of machines and the occasional echo of footsteps down sterile hallways. Most doctors had already gone home. The lights in their offices had flicked off one by one, leaving only slivers of fluorescent glow through the narrow windows of doors.
But not his.
Inside, Dr. Chishiya sat hunched over his desk, sleeves pushed back, pen gliding across paperwork with unhurried precision. He should have gone home hours ago, but no doctor’s work was ever truly finished. His office smelled faintly of disinfectant and coffee, and the only sound was the soft shuffle of pages turning.
A knock interrupted the stillness.
“Come in,” he called without looking up.
“Dr. Chishiya…” a voice spoke. The voice belonged to Hikaru Nakayama, the head of administration for Sakurazaka University. The university was home to a prestigious medical school which led to many hospitals and clinics being constructed under its name all throughout Japan. Most students in their medical program ended up at their hospitals at some point during their careers—and Chishiya was one of them.
He knew what Hikaru wanted. For the past three days, he has continuously pestered Chishiya about teaching an intermediate pediatrics course on the university campus. Each and every single time he brought it up, Chishiya always responded the same.
“No.”
Hikaru blinked, clearly thrown off by the bluntness. “I- you haven’t even heard me out.”
“Do I need to?” Chishiya murmured, signing his name on the document in front of him before finally setting his pen down.
The administrator fumbled, tugging at his tie. “If you’d just consider it…there are new benefits we can offer.”
That at least earned Chishiya’s attention. His gaze lifted, sharp and assessing. “I’m listening.”
“Well…” Hikaru cleared his throat. “If you agree, you won’t need to complete your continuing medical education credits this year for your license renewal.”
Chishiya’s pen stilled against the page. That was tempting. He despised wasting hours on mandatory lectures on material he’d already mastered years ago. Slowly, he leaned back in his chair, finally regarding the man standing awkwardly in his doorway.
“You said benefits…as in plural.”
“Yes! Yes,” Hikaru stammered, quick to nod. “There’s also a pay bonus, and-” he paused for dramatic effect, though it did little to hide the anxiety written all over his face, “an extra month of paid leave.”
Chishiya let the silence hang, studying him. His smirk was faint, but there. “Email me the details.”
Hikaru nearly sagged with relief. “Of course, Doctor. Thank you for accepting! The class is r-”
“Email,” Chishiya repeated, picking up his pen again.
The administrator bobbed his head in agreement and backed out, closing the door quietly behind him. Chishiya hummed to himself, amused at the man’s dedication. Whether it was dedication or desperation was debatable, but who was he to care? He certainly wouldn’t care once he got his month of paid time off.
♤♧♡♢
Your laptop screen glared back at you, the spinning wheel taunting you with every failed click. “Oh, come on!” you groaned, slamming the heel of your palm against the trackpad.
From across the couch, your roommate didn’t even look up from her book. Ann was sprawled lazily on her side, reading glasses slipping down her nose as she flipped another page of her thick forensics text.
“What is it now, Y/N?” she asked, voice bored but teasing.
“Remember how I couldn’t register for my pediatrics class yesterday because the system crashed from ‘high volume’?” you grumbled, glaring at the error message on your screen.
“Mhm.”
“Well,” you spun the laptop toward her dramatically, “now there’s only one pediatrics course left open, and the professor isn’t even listed. How am I supposed to know what I’m getting into if I can’t look them up on RateMyProfessor?”
Ann finally looked up, blinking at your theatrics before snorting. “God, dramatic much? You’ll survive. It’s your last semester before you’re free, so look on the bright side.”
“There is no freedom,” you groaned, collapsing backward onto the couch with a throw pillow clutched to your chest. “After med school comes residency. After residency comes endless work until I die.” Your voice was muffled by the pillow, but Ann was already laughing.
You sat up again, shoving the pillow into your lap. “I just like knowing what to expect. What if I get a total jackass professor?”
Ann’s grin widened. “But what if you get a hottie? Extra motivation to study.”
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, right. The chances of landing a hot professor are practically zero. I’ll probably end up with some old man who smells like chalk dust.”
♤♧♡♢
Sakurazaka University’s lecture hall was louder than usual that morning. Dozens of students crammed into narrow rows, the smell of coffee and cheap convenience-store pastries heavy in the air. The chatter was chaotic with some people nervously flipping through textbooks, others laughing about weekend plans, and you, chewing the inside of your cheek as you refreshed the digital syllabus on your laptop for what felt like the fifteenth time.
The door creaked open.
Silence spread across the room almost instantly, as though the air itself had been held down. A man walked in, his steps unhurried, his presence cold and composed.
Definitely not an old man.
He was younger and far more handsome than you expected. No gray hair, no tired posture of an overworked professor. Instead, a sharp figure in a loose white coat, blond hair falling neatly around his face, dark eyes narrowing with disinterest. He carried no bag, no stack of notes. Just a slim folder, which he placed on the desk with a quiet thunk.
“I’m Dr. Chishiya.” His voice cut through the stillness. It was smooth, low, and effortlessly commanding. “This is Pediatrics 302. Read the syllabus. Don’t waste my time asking questions already answered in it.”
That was it. No warm greeting, no introduction, not even a smile.
Around you, students exchanged wide-eyed looks, some stifling laughter at his bluntness, others already scribbling nervously in their notebooks. You sat up straighter, studying him more closely. His gaze skimmed the room—detached yet sharp—as though he could already tell who would pass, who would fail, and who wasn’t worth his time.
You were in for one hell of a semester.
♤♧♡♢
The lecture hall was quieter than usual, the low hum of ventilation and the occasional shuffle of papers were the only sounds breaking the stillness. It was only the second week and people were already dropping like flies. Whether it was the boring material or the professor who clearly didn't want to be there, people didn't bother attending any more lectures.
You settled into your usual spot near the back, notebook open but mostly untouched. The lecture had already started, Chishiya moving at the front with his usual calm, detached air. You told yourself you were paying attention, but your eyes kept drifting.
At first, it was casual—a glance at how he adjusted the papers on the desk, the neat flick of his pen as he underlined a point, the slight arch of his brow when a student asked a question. There was something…deliberate in the way he moved, almost measured, as if every gesture had been planned, precise and controlled.
You caught your heart speeding up, your chest tightening in a way that felt foreign. It’s just…how he moves, you tried to reason. Focus on the lecture.
But your eyes kept returning to him. His presence constantly pulled you back in each time you shifted your attention back to the textbook. The tilt of his head as he listened to a question, the way the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly when he considered an answer, the sharpness in his dark eyes as they scanned the room. Each detail pulled your attention further in. You realized, slowly, that your mind wasn’t on pediatrics at all. It was on Chishiya.
A small chuckle escaped him as a student gave an impractical response to his question, yet you caught it. It was quiet, controlled, yet somehow teasing. Your stomach fluttered. You were fixated by his lectures but not just by the material. You felt a heat rising in your cheeks and cursed yourself silently for thinking about him like that.
You told yourself it was harmless. You weren’t doing anything wrong. You were just observing, noting his mannerisms to memorize them and get on his good side. But when he glanced up, and your eyes met, a jolt ran through you. His gaze was sharp, unwavering, and suddenly it felt too personal.
“You’re staring,” he said, voice low, almost amused, cutting through the lecture hall like a knife. How could he just announce that to the entire class?
Your stomach dropped. “I-I was just…listening,” you stammered, heat flooding your face.
“Listening, huh?” His lips twitched into a faint smirk, corners tugging just slightly, the kind that made your chest tighten.
You swallowed, suddenly acutely aware of how your fingers clenched your pen, how your knees were pressed together tighter than usual. "Yes, I was listening to what you were saying. I wasn't staring-"
“You were,” he said smoothly, voice calm but with that undercurrent of knowing. “If you're too far away, you will never catch the important details but if you look too closely, you will miss the big picture. Don't get too caught up looking at me when the information lies in the text."
Something in the way he spoke, detached yet teasing, sent an electric thrill down your spine. You couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop your heart from racing. Every word, every motion, every glance he gave you felt like it was meant to pull you closer, to make you notice him more.
By the time the lecture ended, your mind had shifted entirely. You were no longer thinking about exams or syllabus points. You were thinking about him. The way he stood, the sound of his voice, the faint smirk that seemed to linger in your thoughts even after he had turned to collect his materials.
You packed up slowly, trying to keep your composure, but your eyes found him again, and he noticed. That faint, deliberate glance he gave you as you left the room made your stomach flutter and your pulse spike. He had seen you. He had seen the way you couldn’t stop staring. And somehow, that made your infatuation feel both thrilling and terrifying all at once.
♤♧♡♢
The “56%” at the top of your test might as well have been a death sentence. The red ink burned against the white page, your pulse pounding in your ears. You swallowed hard, skimming the corrections, but your eyes snagged at the bottom: See me after class.
Your stomach twisted.
You lingered as the lecture hall emptied, the scrape of chairs and shuffle of feet fading until it was just you and Chishiya. He sat at the front desk, chair reclined, pen in hand, flipping idly through papers. His posture screamed nonchalance, but his presence filled the room.
You stepped forward, clutching the exam in sweaty hands. “So…” you tried to laugh, though it came out shaky, “I guess I failed.”
“Observation skills intact,” he murmured without looking up, tapping his pen against your test. “You did fail. Lack of knowledge, lack of preparation, and lack of care led you to receive that grade.”
Heat rushed to your cheeks. You wanted to disappear, but his voice was steady and detached, rooting you to the spot. He finally glanced up, his gaze settling on you with clinical precision.
“Teach me then,” you blurted out.
His pen paused. He looked up slowly, eyes narrowing at you, dark and calculating. “Teach you?” His voice was even, almost bored, but there was a flicker there. A small spark of curiosity.
“Yeah,” you said, forcing a small, nervous giggle. “You can teach me how to earn an A, Professor."
You finally let your eyes meet his, licking your lips nervously under his gaze. You noticed the way his pupils flickered in response. There was a subtle shift from your eyes to your lips, then down to your chest. A heat rushed to your cheeks.
“See something you like, professor?” you teased lightly, testing him, biting the inside of your lip to hide your sudden nervousness. Without thinking, you reached for the buttons of your blouse, unfastening the top one, then the next. The air between you seemed to thrum, heavy with tension.
A shiver ran down your spine as you met his eyes again, searching for approval, anticipation curling in your stomach. And then—like a grip on reality—he leaned back just slightly, the faintest sharp intake of breath, his voice cutting through the charged quiet.
“Ahem.”
Your fingers froze mid-button, heat and panic flooding through you. Chishiya’s eyes snapped back to yours fully, precise and cold, but unmistakably on the edge of control. “I think it would be best to focus on the exam material rather than… whatever ‘extra credit’ you were thinking of.”
Your entire body filled with embarrassment.. “I-I’m so sorry,” you stammered, fumbling to button yourself back up. “I thought you… I thought you knew where I was going with that.”
“I did know.” He cut you off, tone cool but edged with amusement. “I just didn’t think you’d start undressing here and now. Regardless of time or place, it would not be appropriate for a student and teacher to engage in sexual activities.”
“I apologize for trying to get a better grade in an inappropriate way. I know that it could’ve very easily put your job at risk as well as my education,” you immediately bowed your head apologetically. How were you going to get out of this mess now?
“Mmm, it’s not that. I’m technically not employed by the school, so I can really do whatever I wish,” he replied simply.
“So I'm not hot enough??” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. Your hands flew to your mouth at your vulgar language. Not that professionalism was relevant anymore considering you practically stripped in front of him.
“I never said that. As attractive as you are, not everyone can be easily bribed with sex,” he stated.
“Y-You think I’m…attractive?”
“Mmm, forget I said anything,” Chishiya mumbled before he scribbled something on a notepad, sliding the paper toward you.
“This is the counselor’s office. Switch out before you waste any more time failing this course.”
“I can’t,” you shot back instantly, your voice louder than you intended. He raised an eyebrow, yet remained unbothered. “This is the only pediatrics class left. I graduate at the end of this semester. I have to take it.”
“Then do better,” he said simply, already turning back to his papers.
You clenched your fists. “You’re impossible.”
“You’re unprepared.” His tone didn’t waver, but when his eyes flicked up, there was a challenge there. And that was when the idea hit you.
“Fine. If you tutor me and I fail the next exam, I’ll drop the class.”
He tilted his head slightly, studying you as if calculating the probability of your failure. “Mmm. Promising, considering your last score.”
“Oh shut up.” You crossed your arms. “But if I pass, you have to keep tutoring me for the rest of the semester.”
The smirk returned, faint but undeniable. “Fine.”
♤♧♡♢
The library was almost eerily quiet that evening. Golden pools of light spilled from tall lamps across polished wooden tables, casting long shadows between the towering shelves. The smell of old books mingled with the faint aroma of coffee from the small café in the corner. Every footstep you took felt loud against the dark hardwood floors.
You spotted him immediately. Chishiya sat at a corner table, loose white coat draped over the chair, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His posture was perfect. He was relaxed yet confident, just enough lean to suggest the right amount of disinterest. As you approached, his eyes tracked your every movement. Pen in hand, he flipped a page in his textbook slowly, deliberately, as if waiting for you to arrive.
“You’re late,” he said finally, not looking up, voice smooth but carrying that unmistakable edge that made you tense.
“Yeah by two minutes,” you muttered, sliding into the chair across from him, trying to act casual.
He didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch, eyes finally lifting to appraise you. The corner of his mouth quirked, just slightly. “Two minutes is enough time for a patient to die,” he said. Voice flat and cool. And somehow incredibly challenging.
You rolled your eyes but felt your stomach tighten. Sitting there, across from him, you were hyper-aware of his presence. The faint scent of antiseptics, the way his hair fell over his forehead, the subtle lean of his body toward the desk—just enough to make you feel watched.
He pulled out your test from the last session, flipping it open. “Let’s start with what you got wrong. Why did you miss these questions?”
You explained, careful, your voice steady but betraying slight nerves. He listened, head tilted, eyes narrowing occasionally as if measuring each word, judging each thought. “Incorrect,” he said sharply at one point, and you flinched. “Try again. Think clinically. Observation is key.”
Minutes passed, tension building. You reached for your pen, fingers brushing against his as you moved, and you caught his eye. A flicker passed over his face—subtle, almost imperceptible—before he returned to your notes. Your hand lingered, heat pooling in your chest at the slight contact.
“Focus,” Chishiya said softly, voice low, almost a whisper. Yet the way he said it made the word dangerous, demanding. Surely he knew what he did to you.
You swallowed and refocused, but the tension remained, thick and unrelenting. His instructions were sharp, clipped, yet there were moments where he leaned slightly closer to point at your notes, his proximity sending a jolt through you. Every deliberate movement carried weight. Whether it was his hand brushing your wrist or his knee bumping into yours, it sent shivers down your spine.
When you faltered, he didn’t scold. Instead, he tilted his head, gaze piercing, lips twitching faintly. “Not enough attention to detail,” he murmured, voice low, almost teasing. “Try again.”
You met his stare, cheeks warming. “I’m trying,” you admitted, voice firmer this time.
“Then think harder.” His tone was neutral, almost bored, yet every word carried the unmistakable authority that made your pulse quicken.
These private lessons were turning into torture sessions by the second.
♤♧♡♢
Weeks later, the midterm exam results slid across the desk toward you. Your fingers trembled as you lifted it. Eyes scanning and heart hammering, your breath caught at the top in bold: 90%.
A wave of relief, disbelief, and pride flooded you all at once. You glanced up at Chishiya, desperate for reaction, for any sign that he cared.
He was still calm, composed, almost unreadable, yet the faint twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed something. He moved down the row, indifferent yet precise, flipping through another student’s test.
After class, you waited to the side, the echo of footsteps fading until it was just the two of you. “So… I passed,” you said, testing the words as if they might disappear in the air.
He didn’t smile. Not quite. “Mmm. With such a great teacher, it's hard not to,” he said, his tone clipped, detached.
“Don’t be smug,” you countered, stepping a little closer, heart thudding. “You’re stuck with me now.”
He finally tilted his head, gaze sharp, analyzing. “Unfortunate.” His words were dry and controlled—yet there was something in the way his eyes lingered on you. There was a spark, a flicker of amusement that made your stomach twist.
You squared your shoulders. “I’m not going to fail again,” you said, more firmly. “So, what now? More tutoring?”
He considered, leaning back slightly, fingers drumming the edge of a folder. “If you want to survive this semester, yes. But you will follow my instructions precisely. Deviate, and you fail. No excuses.”
“Deal,” you said, a smirk tugging at your lips despite your nerves.
♤♧♡♢
You walked out of the lecture hall, exam in hand, the bold “90%” still fresh in your mind. Relief, pride, and exhaustion mingled together and your steps began to feel lighter than usual.
But even as you passed the empty hallways, your thoughts refused to stay on your test results. They kept drifting back to Chishiya. The way he had leaned back in his chair, calm and calculating, yet somehow impossibly commanding. The sharp glint in his eyes when he caught your gaze. The subtle smirk at the corner of his lips, the way his hand had hovered over his pen with deliberate precision.
You felt a heat in your chest and a flutter in your stomach that had nothing to do with relief at passing. In the quiet of your thoughts, your mind wandered to…other possibilities. The way his touch might feel, the dangerous thrill of what it would be like to test his control, to see how far he’d let you push. You caught yourself blushing, biting your lip, and shaking your head at just how distracting he had become.
A small and guilty laugh escaped you as you shook the thoughts away, telling yourself to focus—to breathe. But you knew deep down that the next time you saw him, it wouldn’t be just about pediatrics anymore.
Even as you walked back to your apartment, every movement, every glance over your shoulder, was colored by the memory of him. Your pulse quickened, your imagination refused to be tamed, and a thrill of anticipation settled in your chest like a fire just waiting to be ignited.
You couldn't wait to see what he would teach you next.
♤♧♡♢
Lucky for you, Chishiya invited you over to his house for today's study session. This meant you could finally be alone with him without wandering eyes, but it also left much uncertainty for how you would act.
Chishiya’s office was dimly lit, the small desk lamp casting warm shadows over stacks of neatly organized files. He sat with sleeves rolled up, pen scratching against paper. The faint smell of coffee hung in the air.
“You’re late,” he said, “Typical, but you’d think you would be on time for once.”
“Got stuck in traffic,” you responded, hoping that would be a sufficient excuse.
“Hmm,” he contemplated lecturing you again but decided against it. “Let’s get started with what time we have left for today.”
You slid your notebook onto the desk, flipping it open and trying to force your mind into focus. Words swam before your eyes as you scribbled notes, but every time you looked up, you caught him glancing your way. Not overtly, not in a way that felt threatening, but in that deliberate, assessing way he had. His sharp eyes scan your movement, reading you as easily as a patient chart.
The faint scent of antiseptics from the hospital clung to him, mixing with something musky, subtle, intoxicating—and you could feel it seeping into your skin, curling around your senses. You tried to breathe through it, tried to make yourself concentrate on the equations and clinical notes before you, but your hands trembled slightly as you reached for your pen.
His posture was impossible to ignore. Relaxed, controlled, yet every slight lean forward, every casual adjustment of his sleeves seemed purposeful, precise. It was the kind of movement that demanded attention whether you wanted it or not. You found your eyes flicking to the line of his jaw, the curve of his neck, the veins on his arms and cursed yourself silently. Focus, Y/N. Focus on the material.
But the words on the page blurred again, your pen hovering in indecision. You could feel heat pooling low in your stomach, your pulse quickening at every subtle shift he made. His gaze met yours briefly, just a flick, and your chest tightened. You tried to shake your thoughts—focusing on clinical reasoning or patient symptoms—but your mind betrayed you, tracing imagined scenarios where his proximity wasn’t just about tutoring.
A quiet exhale escaped him and you jerked slightly. You looked down, scribbling a note that made no sense. Nothing you wrote seemed coherent, nothing in your mind could focus. The notebook in front of you became a blur of meaningless lines.
Finally, Chishiya’s voice cut through the haze, low and even but threaded with something else, something that made your skin prickle and your breath hitch.
"Y/N, I need you to focus," he murmurs, but there's a hint of something more in his tone.
"You're the one distracting me," you whisper back, your voice barely audible. “This material is so dense…”
There was a moment of silence before you finally made your move.
“I wish you were teaching me something else.”
A faint and knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That is a dangerous thing you’re suggesting,” he said finally, voice low and even.
Your heartbeat quickened. “Then stop me,” you challenged softly, leaning just slightly closer, daring him.
He tilted his head, silent for a long moment, and in that pause, your pulse pounded in your ears. The tension had built so high it felt like it might snap. You could almost imagine what might happen next. The heat of proximity, the brush of fingers, the taste of lips.
His eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think he might pull away. But instead, he leans in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, yet desperate kiss. It's electric, sending shivers down your spine. You respond eagerly, your hands reaching up to tangle in his hair as you deepen the kiss.
Chishiya's hands roam over your body, exploring every curve. You can feel his desire growing, matching your own. He pulls you onto his lap and you straddle him. You immediately feel his growing length press against your heat, causing a loud whine to leave your mouth. You start grinding against him as you both moan into each other's mouths. The pleasure starts to build up deep within your core.
"Is this what you wanted, Y/N?" he growls, his voice laced with dominance. "To seduce your professor? To have me teach you what it feels like to be fucked right?"
"Yes," you gasp, your hips moving in rhythm with his upward thrusts. "I want you, Chishiya. I need you."
He stands up quickly, lifting you effortlessly, and carries you through the hallway to his bedroom. He lays you down gently on his bed, his body covering yours. His hands trail down your sides, lifting your shirt and exposing your skin to his touch. You arch into him, craving more.
“A-Ah Chishiya! Please touch me,” you whine out. His touch was cold and calculated yet it did nothing but warm your entire body and send shivers of pleasure from head to toe.
Chishiya's mouth finds your neck, kissing and nibbling as his hands explore lower, unbuttoning your pants and slipping his fingers inside. You gasp as his fingers find your wetness, stroking and teasing. He scoops some of your slick up towards your clit and circles around it before he slides a finger inside your hole. He curls his finger deep within you, making you shudder in pleasure. He adds a second finger and continues moving in and out in a rhythm that has you panting and begging for more.
"You're so wet for me," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "So ready for my cock, isn’t that right?”
All that leaves your mouth is a high pitched moan as his fingers reach deeper than before, curling and caressing your most sensitive spot.
“Be a good girl and respond when your professor asks you a question,” Chishiya orders. He starts kissing down your neck, sucking and leaving markings along your collarbone and chest.
“O-Oh god! Yes, Chishiya! Need your cock so bad, I wanna feel you inside~”
He moves lower, his mouth trailing kisses down to your stomach as he pulls off your pants and underwear. You're completely exposed to him, and the look in his eyes is one of pure hunger. He spreads your legs wide, his tongue diving in to taste you.
“Gotta make sure your cunt is ready for me,” he groans into your pussy. The vibrations from his words make your back arch off of the mattress and tangle your hands in his hair. Your legs threaten to close around him, but he pushes them open with his hands, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thighs.
You cry out as he continues, your hips bucking against his face as he licks and sucks, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. He circles your clit with his tongue, applying just the right amount of pressure to send you spiraling. Just as you're about to cum, he pulls back, a wicked smile on his face.
"Not yet," he says, standing up and unbuttoning his own pants. "I want to feel your pretty pussy cum around me when you do."
He positions himself at your entrance, his eyes locked on yours, asking for permission to enter. You nod your head for him to continue and with one powerful thrust, he's inside you. He moves his entire length inside, filling you completely. You both moan, your bodies reacting to each other in perfect sync. He starts to move, slow and deep, driving you wild with each stroke.
"Chishiya," you cry out, your nails digging into his back. "P-Please, I need more—faster!" You can feel the way his cock twitches at your pleas, making you clench harder down around him.
He lets out a deep groan and obliges, his pace quickening, his hips slamming against yours. The room fills with the sound of your pleasure, your moans and gasps echoing off the walls. You can feel the tension building, your body coiled tight and ready to explode.
"Chishiya! I'm so close—fuck!" you moan.
"Cum for me, Y/N," Chishiya commands, his voice a low growl. "Let me feel you cum around my cock. Show me how badly you've wanted this."
His words push you over the edge, and you shatter, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over you. "Mmm fuck Chishiya! Oh my god—ahhh feels so good!"
"Ah fuck, Y/N. You're clenching around me so tight. I'm gonna cum—Gonna fill you up, okay?" He groaned into your ear, hot breath fanning against your cheek. You nod frantically at his words before his seed spills into you and he collapses on top of you.
He rolls off you, pulling you into his arms as you both come down from the high. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, a contented smile on your face. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, sending shivers of aftershock pleasure through you.
"So you finally got what you wanted since day one, huh?" he asks, his voice soft and teasing.
“You know, I only got to where I am right now because my professor agreed to teach me.”
hiii can i request chishiya getting jealous when he sees the reader talking to niragi and pulls her away into his room and fucks her dumb thank youu 💕
Mine All Mine
requested?: yes
pairing(s): shuntarō chishiya x afab!reader, platonic!niragi x platonic!reader (mentioned)
genre: smut
warning(s): kind of possessive(?) chishiya, set in the borderlands, mentions of breeding, degredation, hair pulling, spanking, pussy spanking, orgasm denial, oral (f&m recieving), fingering, squirting, really rough sex (rlly good aftercare tho), reader is like a little masochist omfg, mentions of crying, honestly js really mean and rough chishiya tbf
summary: 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘪, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘺𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳
word count: 3.7k (i made it good since its been so long)
a/n: hi guys, i am so so so very sorry that i have been MIA for a little while, i came back from my holiday not long ahgo (it was very good) and i have just been struggling a lot to write this bc i had a lot of ideas but js didnt know how to put anything into words. i managed to finish twisted lies tho! and king of wrath, king of pride and king of greed! so requests are officially open for the twisted men. remember to eat and drink something, love yas, mwah! (p.s. i may also open requests for the king of sin men once i have read king of sloth) -Cilla
you and niragi had kind of been some-what friends before the borderlands. so when you finally made it to ‘the beach’ he was practically the only one you knew. obviously, niragi was a bit crazy, but he wasn’t around you.
after one specific game, you had managed to befriend/meet a man with longish blonde hair, swimming trunks and a hoodie that was always zipped until it met his mid-chest. chishiya.
not long later, you were practically in a relationship with chishiya. it had started off with a mutual agreement, you would be friends with benefits. it started off with harmless sex. stressed after a game? chishiya was right there to eat you out and get rid of said stress. and that’s when it hit you. you had fallen in love with the blonde man.
so, given, when you were tired and in bed while chishiya was getting dressed and ready to leave your room, you whispered a small ‘i love you’ which didn’t go unnoticed, and led to another round of (softer) sex where afterwards chishiya told you he loved you too.
even though you and chishiya were sort of together, you still talked to niragi quite frequently. this angered chishiya, but he didn’t want to be seen as the over-bearing boyfriend, so he let it go. but you were beginning to laugh with niragi a lot more. kuina would sit next to him and tell him that everything is fine and he probably just told you a joke, but chishiya knew that laugh. it was his laugh.
it was the laugh you did when chishiya brought something back from a game for you, like a little souvenir, it was the laugh you did when chishiya told you a joke to prevent you from panicking at the start of a game, it was the laugh you did when chishiya ran his knuckles over your sides to help you sleep after sex, and it tickled a little too much. it was his laugh.
so granted, chishiya got you more gifts because he was scared you would leave him, he told you more jokes so it would give him a sense of pride that you were his and you always would be, and he fucked you senseless and raw every night for a sweet, sweet reminder that you were his and only his.
but today, you had laughed just a little too long at one of niragi’s jokes, and it had been happening for a little too long, that chishiya snapped. he made his way over to you, grabbed your arm and tugged you along with him. despite your protests.
he tugged you to your room and closed the door behind you, pushing you into the room. he instantly attached his lips to yours in a fiery kiss, and you tried to kiss back, but chishiya was hungry. he was kissing you like a man starved from love. his tongue ran across your bottom lip, and chishiya’s knee pushed in between your leg and rubbed, making you gasp against his lips. chishiya took this as his opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.
your tongues slid against eachother in the best way possible. you didn’t realise you both had moved until the backs of your legs hit the end on the bed, making you break the kiss and fall backwards onto it.
chishiya wasted no time in grabbing your bikini bottoms and ripping them down, shredding the fabric as he did so. he then clambered on top of you and ripped your bikini top off aswell, throwing it god knows where in the messy room you were staying in.
he smirked down at you, before attaching his lips to your neck and sucking a few small bites before moving down your collarbone, to stomach and them down to your aching core. chishiya looked up at you before diving straight into your sopping pussy, feeding on your small bud like a man starved.
his tongue lapped at your folds before licking a stripe upwards to your clit and giving it a harsh suck. he gave it a couple more sucks before he slides his middle finger into your sopping cunt, curling them to hit your g-spot. he thrusted one finger into you a few times at the same time as sucking your clit, before sliding another finger into you, stretching you out.
you moan out and arch your back as you feel your high beginning to approach.
“shiya- gonna come” you whimper out, but as soon as you did, chishiya stopped all of his actions, the feeling of your upcoming orgasm simmering away. you quickly regain yourself and sit up, chishiya pushes you back down. “what was that for?” you grumble.
“bad girls get punished” he said lowly before delving back into your pussy again, retreating his fingers back into the spot they were inside your cunt.
his fingers curl inside of you, aswell as his mouth harshly sucking on your clit again. soon, he takes his mouth off of your clit and decides to just go solo with his fingers, curling them and pumping them inside of your sopping hole, you moaned out frantically, pleas leaving your mouth as he abused your hole, adding another finger.
chishiya then brought his thumb to your clit, pumping his fingers in and out of you aswell as circling and pressing on your clit. you began to feel your high approaching you again, and tried to grind against chishiya’s hand to gain more friction to get yourself to the edge faster. but chishiya, being as observant as he is, sensed your oncoming orgasm and withdrew his hand, destroying your second orgasm.
you huffed as chishiya looked up at me.
“why won’t you let me come?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows, looking down at chishiya who was still in-between your legs.
“because you’ve been a bad girl, sweetheart” he says lowly, you gave him a confused expression, but he doesn’t answer and instead pushes your thighs ore open, placing them over his shoulders to gain more access to your aching pussy.
his tongue slides easily into your hole, after all, you were soaking. his nose hitting your over sensitized clit over and over again, making your hips buck into chishiya’s face. your hands gripped the sheets of the unmade bed beneath you, the other hand going to chishiya’s hair and tugging slightly, before pushing his face back into your pussy, forcing him to stay there as he fucked his tongue in and out of you, eliciting mewls and moans from your mouth.
as soon as it started, you felt your orgasm beginning to approach again, you tried to hold chishiya’s head where it was against your cunt, chishiya sensed you were close and tried to pull back, but it was too late. your orgasm crashed over you, seeing nothing but white as your juices squirted all over chishiya’s face. as you came back to your senses, you felt chishiya’s tongue lapping at your folds again. you tried to push his face away as you were overstimulated, but this time, chishiya was stronger and kept his face where it was.
soon, you fell into the pleasure again, another orgasm beginning to approach even faster than the last. but as your moans got louder and heightened in pitch, chishiya pulled back, leaving you bare.
he stood up, looking down at you laying on the bed as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand from your juices.
“such a naughty girl, coming without my permission” he tutted, “i guess i’m just going to have to punish you now, but you like that, don’t you? being treated like the little cumslut you are” he teased.
you didn’t have time to reply before chishiya grabbed you by your hips and flipped you over so you were bent over the bed. you didn’t realise chishiya had moved with you until you felt his hot breath against the shell of your ear.
“here’s what we’re going to do, sweetheart” he whispered lowly into your ear, you could feel his hardened cock pressing against your lower back, “you are going to count how many times i spank this pretty pussy of yours, and it you count correctly, i’ll give you a nice little surprise, yeah?”
“and what if i don’t?” you say softly, chishiya chuckled.
“then you’ll just have to see, won’t you?”
chishiya stood back up, looking down at you spread on the bed for him, before he grabbed your thighs and spread them. for a moment, you didn’t feel anything, until a harsh slap landed on your clit, making you mewl and move with the force of his slap. when you didn’t say a number, chishiya spanked your pussy again.
“what number was that?” he asked as your mewl turned into a moan.
“i- i can’t-“ you tried.
“what number was that” he asked, a lot more sternly, delivering another slap to your poor, over sensitized clit, you mewled out again, “c’mon baby, what number”
“three” you practically cry out as he lands another slap to your clit as an answer. “four” you mumble.
“good girl” he coos.
chishiya slaps your cunt three more times, you counted as he did so.
“good little slut, just a few more and i’m going to give you your reward, gonna fuck you so dumb that you’ll never be able to laugh with another man again” he whispers down into your ear, you only whimper in response. “poor baby, are you too fucked out?” you whimper a ‘no’ in response. “good” he says before standing back up again and landing another slap to your cunt.
chishiya slaps your clit another two times, you counted out loud, before he flips you over and smiles down at you.
“such a good girl for me, never lost count did you baby?” you only whimpered in response, not trusting yourself to form a sentence. chishiya chuckled and you heard ruffling from in-between your legs from where chishiya was standing. he had taken his swimming trunks off and was now stood fully naked, his cock hard and dripping with pre-cum.
you practically drooled at the sight, chishiya’s smile turned into a smirk as he watched your reaction to his now free cock.
“you gonna keep ogling me, or you got something i can help you with, sweetheart” he smirked down at you, you didn’t say anything but instead let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and changed your gaze to look back up into his eyes. he only raised a brow at you.
“please” you breathed out.
“please what? hm? please fuck you dumb like the little cockslut you are? c’mon, baby, say it” he practically cooed at you.
“yes” you said urgently, he stared at you expectantly. “please fuck me dumb like the little cockslut i am” you practically whimpered, he smiled in satisfaction.
“good slut. since you’ve been so good for me, i’ll give you what you want”
he didn’t give you much time to think before he was slamming his cock inside of you with so much force that the bed almost moved with you. you moaned out loudly as he did so, grasping at the sheets of the unmade bed and throwing your head back. chishiya chuckled from where he stood in-between your legs, his cock now fully sheafed snuggly inside of your walls.
you wrapped your legs around his torso, drawing him in impossibly closer than he already was. chishiya waited a few minutes for you to adjust to his size before you gave him the good-to-go, before he started moving. when he started off, his thrusts were brutally slow, you were practically begging and mewling for him to go faster.
chishiya only smirked down at you as you begged, you weren’t looking a him, but you could practically sense the smirk plastered on his face.
“you want me to go faster, hm, baby?” you could only nod in response as a certain movement of chishiya’s hips hit that oh-so sweet spot inside of you that made you throw your head back and see nothing but stars. chishiya only got slightly annoyed by your lack of response as he grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced you to look at him. “when i ask you a question answer me with your words you pathetic little slut” he practically growled.
you were now sat up, your legs still wrapped around chishiya’s torso as his cock pressed into your sopping little hole.
“f-fuck please” you moan out. “please fuck me harder” you add as chishiya stares at you, his hips now stilled with his cock pressed into your walls.
“good slut” chishiya pulled your hair back roughly so you were looking up at the ceiling, tears pricked in your eyes.
chishiya then resumed his thrusts into your pussy, his pace still slow but his thrusts a lot more powerful and hard, hitting spots inside of you, you never knew anyone could ever reach, not anyone but chishiya. chishiya was the only man who could ever make you see stars the way you did.
the sound of your moans and chishiya’s occasional grunts bounced off the walls of the hotel room, the scent of sex filling the air. the obscene sounds of skin hitting skin and your squelching pussy taking chishiya’s cock so well.
“oh, you’re such a dirty little slut, aren’t you? taking my cock so fucking well in that tight little cunt of yours” he groaned, you could only whimper in response, again, not trusting yourself to fully form a sentence.
chishiya thrusted his hips a few more times, each time hitting that gummy spot inside of you that made you feel on the brink of heaven, each stroke of his cock drawing you closer and closer to the edge. your moans began to get higher in pitch as you neared the end.
“shiya don’t stop- gonn-gonna come” you moan out, tightening your legs around chishiya’s waist to keep him there as the familiar knot formed in your stomach, threatening to snap at any given moment. you shoved your head into his chest, muffling your moans.
“m not gonna stop baby, not gonna stop. gonna come too yeah? breed this little pussy so everyone knows you’re fucking mine and to not make you laugh the way i do, especially not make you come all over my cock the way i do all the fucking time yeah?” you only nodded in response as the knot snapped In your stomach, causing white to cloud your vision and pleasure to wrack through every inch of your body.
your eyes roll back in your head as your head was thrown back, a cry leaving your lips as you clamped down on chishiya’s cock. chishiya came not long after you, a low groan leaving his mouth as he held his hand against your head which was now pressed against his chest.
chishiya didn’t give you much time to regain yourself as he pulled out and flipped you around on your stomach before sliding back into your dripping pussy, now full with his cum.
he placed his hands on your hips to hold you in place as he thrusted inside of you fast and hard your moans and whimpers only spurring him on as you gripped onto the bedsheets and shoved your face into them as an attempt to muffle your moans.
unfortunately enough, chishiya caught you in the act and tugged your head back as he kept pistoling his hips into yours.
“don’t cover up your pretty moans. want everyone to hear that you’re mine yeah?” chishiya leaned down to whisper in your ear, you nod, chishiya growls and tugs your head back further.
“y-yes” you cry out as another orgasm washes over you.
chishiya groans as he feels your walls clamp down on him as you come again, chishiya again not far behind.
you panted as you came down from your long lasting high, you felt like you couldn’t stop coming as chishiya spilled himself inside of you. after what felt like an eternity, you came down from your high to see chishiya just staring at you with those lust filled eyes you loved oh-so much.
“you’ve never done that before” he whispered, if he wasn’t so close, you would have not heard him, you could only whimper in response as at this point you were too fucked out to form a coherent sentence. “get on all fours. now” chishiya whispered into your ear.
it took you a few seconds to get up, but when you did, you were met with chishiya’s cock plunging straight back into you, as though it had been a while since the two of you had fucked, when in reality it had only been a few minutes or so. either way, you weren’t complaining.
after a few thrusts of his hips, you felt a hand land harshly on your ass, creating an oh-so delicious sting. you babbled out about how good it felt, but chishiya couldn’t workout a word you had said as they were all quite slurred together and too incoherent, but chishiya didn’t care what you said as he just landed another harsh spank on your now reddening ass.
soon, chishiya stopped his brutal attack on your ass as red handprints started to form, and instead reached his hand forwards to your front to draw circles on your slippery clit, he felt your juices leak from your poor abused hole as he did so, your pretty little pussy clenching around his fat cock as he did so.
“are you gonna laugh with him again?” you chishiya asked, delivering a slap to your pussy when you only replied with a whimper.
“laugh with who, shiya?” you moaned out as he started to circle your poor over sensitised clit, he only chuckled in response, leaning down to suck a hickey on your back.
“niragi, baby. you gonna laugh and flirt with him again?” you could only whimper out in confusion. flirting with niragi? what did he mean?
“flirting- fuck right there- shiya, i wasn’t flirting with hi- oh fuck” you moaned out the last couple of words as chishiya’s cock abused a spot inside of you that made you edge closer and closer to your edge with a brutal force.
“don’t lie to me” he cut himself off with a grunt. “i saw you laughing with him, the laugh you use with me and only me” his hips started to get faster and more brutal as his cock bruised your cervix.
you whimpered as you felt yourself nearing the edge.
“shiya, he’s a childhood friend, we were friends before the borderlands”
“and i can tell when a man is trying to get into a girl’s pants, sweetheart”
“nothing is going on with me and him- fuck” you cut yourself off as you came again, chishiya’s fingers still circling your clit, juices dripping from your hole and down your thighs to the bed. if you looked down, you could see the mess you had both (mostly you) had made.
chishiya groaned and came not long after you, fucking his cum into your hole as he helped you ride out both of your highs.
“such a good girl” he mumbled, pulling out of you and letting you lie down on the soft mattress.
chishiya pressed small open mouthed kisses all over your neck and shoulder to help sooth your pants as you came down from your third high of the night. chishiya took one look at your pussy, full and dripping with a mixture of your and his cum before slipping two fingers inside of you, making you whimper.
the sight of you now taking his fingers so well in your pussy made his cock perk up again, the glistening tip from both of your arousals reddening with need.
he flipped you over again and sat you up, removing his fingers from you as he did so. he sat on the edge of the bed as he moved you to kneel in front of him, in between his legs.
“you gonna clean up your mess now, my pretty little slut” with his words, you knew what to do and took him all in your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat and making you gag, the action making chishiya groan out in pleasure.
he gathered your hair into a ponytail, shoving your mouth back onto his cock when you tried to move off him, making you gag again, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes, them spilling down your cheeks, but chishiya was too lost in pleasure to care about it, his head thrown back.
his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed a groan.
it didn’t take long before chishiya was spilling himself down your mouth, and you swallowed it all, moving your mouth from his cock.
chishiya slipped two of his fingers into your mouth when you had, smiling when he sees that you had swallowed every drop he gave you.
chishiya then picked you up and took you to he hotel bathroom, sitting you on the bathroom floor and grabbing a damp cloth before starting the bath. he wiped you as best as he could as the bath filled with water and bubbles he had put in. chishiya didn’t necessarily like bubble baths, but you did. and whatever you liked, chishiya did too.
soon, you were both settled in the bath, you in between chishiya’s legs, back pressed against his chest.
“you don’t have to worry about me and niragi, y’know, i don’t like him like that” you said with your eyes closed, but you turn to look at him with the next part you said. “he’s not my type, anyways.”
“yeah, and what’s your ‘type’ pretty?” he smiles down at you. you pretend to think before answering.
“blonde, slightly long hair, quite, brown eyes, student doctor, a little scary at times” you both laugh as you named the last thing. “but, seriously, shiya, i love you and nothing will ever change that” you said as you both sobered up.
“i love you too, pretty, more than you could ever know” he leaned down and captured your lips in a sweet kiss.
it was safe to say that the next morning, you were greeted with a smirking niragi.
cw ; typical aib death nd gore ; reader is a physical fighter nd i wont apologize abt it ; the militants themselves lmao ; oblivious reader who holds everyones attention <3
TAGLIST : @chaotickyrith @valleyofheartz
♧ ♡ if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked. ♢ ♤
— ♧ ♡ ♢ ♤ —
Oil fries in the pan as you flip the meat you're cooking, the side dishes already prepared and ready to eat. You hum with a nod, satisfied with the spread you've cooked — happy the recipes you read came in handy and turned out well.
The front door slides open and a smile falls onto your lips unconciously. You don't turn from the stove as you speak, "welcome home, Shuntaro!"
He grunts in response, kicking his shoes off and throwing his work bag to the side. Sliding up beside you, Chishiya eyes the food you cooked curiously, nodding his head the way you did earlier. You grin, "hard day? Did they let you work with patients today?"
"Still a student, technically," he responds. Chishiya grabs the cutlery you need, filling one cup with your drink and the other with his own. He grabs one of the dishes, absentmindedly setting it on the table. "Proabaly won't be around people for a while still."
You frown, following behind him. "That sucks. You're the smartest person in that building."
The left side of his lips quirk up, "thank you."
Hitting his arm lightly, you can't fight your own grin. "As if I needed to inflate your ego anymore."
The only sound is your eating — conversation with Chishiya never felt needed. You often found comfort in his silence ; found it easy to be in his presence. When your food is finished and you're washing the dishes, you notice him lingering in the doorway. You let him take his time — sometimes, your boyfriend simply needed a moment or two before his thoughts could escape his head.
But, he never spoke up. Chishiya simply stood there, staring at you and through you simultaneously. You blinked at him, hands still soapy, "everything okay, 'taro?"
“Let’s break up.”
You pause, a wobbly smile masking the strain in your throat. You face him fully, “what?”
“Let’s break up.” He doesn't meet your eyes as he speaks. He looks over your shoulder — looks to the pictures of you together throughout the two years you'd been dating.
“…why?” You wipe your hands dry, hoping to hide how they tremble. Chishiya eyes them through furrowed eyes — he noticed. You hide them helplessly anyways.
He shrugs passively, “I’m bored.”
“And nothing I say will change your mind?” It's now that he meets your gaze. It's dark — empty as he looks at you. Ice crawls into your chest, settling there as your breathing begins to get heavy. You nod slowly and look to the floor. “Okay. Let’s break up, Chishiya.”
You hope the sound of his last name burns him as much as it did you.
— ♧ ♡ ♢ ♤ —
Music hits the pool area as you walk out, nodding to the beat you hear. Grinning at those you're familiar with, you perk up at your chosen group. The ones who brought you in when you were lonely.
"Ni—ra—gi!" you sing as you approach him. Sat on his lap is a girl with her bikini top slipping down slowly. Her lipstick is smeared and her cheeks flushed as her eyes widen at your voice. "Oh, am I interrupting?"
Niragi glares — he's really just hiding his laughter, "you always do. What do you want?"
You hum slyly, going behind the girl to settle her bathing suit correctly. Her breathing picks up and her hips twitch at your touch — Niragi hides his snort. "Have some newbies Hatter is welcoming. Wanna check 'em out?" You bend so that you're eye to eye with the stranger, "or keep having fun instead?"
With a squeak, the girl practically launches from Niragi's hold and skitters away. You blink owlishly, "was it something I said?"
Niragi's loud, boisterous laughter leaves a trail as you sneak into the secret meeting. Aguni eyes you before rolling his eyes discreelty and tuning back into what Hatter is saying. It's the same spiel you were given — this was a free paradise that only called for your loyalty. Loyalty being the cards you earned every game, of course.
If someone was going home, it was going to be Hatter first and foremost.
You eye the trio standing in the middle of the room, watching as the shorter male fidgets. He glances around — meets your gaze and gulps. He mutters to the girl he’s with, tugging on the end of his shirt.
Grinning, you lean close to Niragi and lower your voice to a whisper. “Traitor.”
“Them?” He raises an eyebrow, incredulous. “You really think?”
You put your hand out, “wanna bet?” Niragi clicks his tongue as you wiggle your fingers, insisting he shakes your hand. “Hm?”
He shoves your hand away, “never making a bet with you. Not again.”
As the meeting concludes, you grin widely.
Your name is called as Hatter beckons you forward. He leans on the desk in front of his card display, grinning as his top men join him. He gestures grandly, his arms open wide. "Liking your promotion?"
It's a silent nod to the gun strapped to your thigh — to the absence of a bathing suit. Aguni crosses his arms lightly, sticking his chin out. You grin — recently, it's starting to look more and more like Niragi's teasing smile than anything like yours. "It's fun enough."
Hatter laughs loudly at your words. He nods his head, "rumor has it you could beat any of my militants, anyways. Would rather have you on our side — on my side."
Niragi slings an arm around your shoulders as he hums in agreement. "Not a good idea to get on this one's bad side. I've seen it — scary shit."
Hatter cackles again as Mira eyes you now. She tilts her head a little, deciding to speak up. "Wonder where that temper of yours came from."
You simply grin again, closing your eyes with a sweet facade. "An old friend. That's all."
— ♧ ♡ ♢ ♤ —
When he's recruited to the Beach, Chishiya isn't sure what to think. The man he was partnered with was lasered at the last second, leaving Chishiya in a remaining duo. The woman — Rei, she said — eyed him warily before nodding.
An unspoken rule of the Beach was the ability to bring more people in — more cards in.
It's a loud place, music booming and people cheering as if they aren't in danger. In the entry way of the hotel, there's a small crowd gathering, whooping and jeering. Chishiya unknowingly strays closer to the circle and away from his tour guide.
In the middle, a man with his hair half-up is laughing loudly. His arm is around someone else as they stand over the bleeding lump of a person on the floor. As he laughs, Chishiya can see the shine of a tongue ring gleaming in the lights. His arm is tapped and he's dragged back to the introduction of everyone.
For a second, though, Chishiya thought he caught a glance of you.
Hatter calls for a meeting, as he usually does to welcome newcomers. Niragi stands with his gun slung over his shoulder — Chishiya squints his eyes, thinking of how familiar he looks before his attention is taken.
A long, lanky figure begins to speak to Aguni. The only indication of the conversation is the raise of his eyebrows — he seems surprised by something. Aguni's lips part, as if he's going to speak, before he eyes Hatter and his mouth falls shut.
The door behind him opens and Chishiya feels cold. A shiver runs down his spine, trickling in line with the sweat that's built up. He keeps his eyes to the ground, as if he subconciuosly knows danger is around. A sharp, musical lilt of someone humming interupts the meeting in the room.
"The traitors," it can't be, "have been taken care of, your highness."
Stock-still and frigid Chishiya stands as you come into view. You look different — it's been three years — a wide, estranged grin on your face as you ignore the blood dripping down your face. Niragi saunters up to you, "the hell happened?"
"Had a knife," you let out an annoyed breath, sweeping at the cut above your eyebrow. "Not a very good one, though."
Hatter's laughter calls everyones attention back his way. His grin is just as wide as yours — just as corrupted and red. "Thank you, [Name]! For your sacrifice, the Beach will live another day."
You simply bow your head before standing with Aguni — the militants, Chishiya remembers.
Tilting his head, the blond secretly looks you over. You'd gotten toned — leg and arm muscles built and presenting themselves nicely in your shorts and shirt. You stood relaxed, surrounded by numerous weapons and threatening figures had no impact on you at all. Maybe you were part of that threatening crowd now — part of the fear that clung to the Beach.
Chishiya wondered if you'd noticed his differences as well — his longer, lighter hair and how he slouched more when he stood. He wondered if you'd even seen him in the first place.
Sharp, animalistic eyes catch his gaze. The lanky, tattooed figure watched him before saying something to the pierced one from before. Chishiya shot his eyes away before either had the chance to see him staring.
— ♧ ♡ ♢ ♤ —
"Seem to have caught the newbies attention." Niragi speaks casually as you roam the hallways. He lets out a snort, rolling his eyes and head until he's looking at Last Boss.
Last Boss grins, "always do."
You curl your nose, swatting away the rifle Niragi holds on his shoulder — it'd bounced your way one too many times. "We had a newbie?"
Standing in disbelief, Last Boss pauses in the middle of the hallway. He looks Niragi's way, mouth parted in shock before he's slowly shaking his head. "[Name], you are..."
"Something," a feminine voice speaks up. The girl is with a crowd of three, her eyes trailing up and down your body slowly. She turns to wink your way as her friends scatter. "Something, truly!"
With a giggle, she's gone.
Before they can comment, a bell is tolled, signaling the time for games. Niragi lets out a huff, following behind as you wrap your arm in Last Boss'. A stranger allowed their attraction for you to overcome their fear for everyone else. You had to be magic.
— ♧ ♡ ♢ ♤ —
You had to be magic.
It was a spade's game, to Chishiya's disinterest. He'd made an acquaintance — Kuina agreed on wanting to leave before Hatter, and had a history of combat. She would be useful in these games — except, they switched games at the last minute.
Chishiya couldn't have regretted it more.
You seemed to be the star of the show, everyone focused on you as your fellow militants grinned ferally. Poser — a four of spades where one player selected was not who they said they were. It should've been a hearts game, maybe diamond.
Said player could only be exposed by the color of their 'blood'.
Everyone was given a heavy, white t-shirt full of paint. Red meant you were human — blue meant you were an imposter. Chishiya gulps at the display in front of him. The red staining your skin wasn't just paint — he looked down apathetically at the two half-concious people who'd taken you on beforehand.
"You." A friend of yours is looking his way, at his pristine, unstained shirt. They tilt their head, "let us see your insides, hm?"
Letting out a huff, you swipe the sweat off of your forehead. Three others have joined you in your battle — think some of these people are actually dead. Standing straight, you see a newer militant cornering someone ahead. Shrugging, you saddle up beside them to help.
Your voice dies in your throat.
Dark, almost empty eyes meet yours and you hold back a gag. They shine sparsely, with disgust, maybe empathy and the smallest hint of regret. Your fist clenches around your trusty knife, praying to it that your voice won't break. "...Chishiya."
He almost jumps when he notices your attention on him. The stray militant has joined into the clump of fighters feet away — it's only the two of you once more. He lets out a breath, "[Name]..."
Your fist connects with his cheek before you can think. Chishiya stumbles back — doesn't have time to guard himself before you're nailing your fists into him once again. Your knees connect to the floor harshly as you go down, following his body as he collapses.
How dare he call you so casually? So lovingly? Your swing misses — Chishiya simply stares up at you. How dare he come into the world — this solace of sorts and destroy the walls you'd built? How dare he — three years later — still linger on your tongue and in your thoughts?
A choked, staggered sob leaves your lips as the voice overhead chimes.
"Game complete!"
Chishiya is still laying on the ground as you stand on wobbling legs. His eyes are half-lidded, hazy as he gazes at you, stock still. The red under his broken nose copies the red bleeding from his shirt. Not the traitor this time, at least.
You let out another sob before turning, grabbing the card and leaving the game.
— ♧ ♡ ♢ ♤ —
a part two is already in the works! have to figure out a definite plot, is all <3 if you’d like to be tagged in this series or any other aib work, let me know!! ♥︎
Shuntarō Chishiya x GN!Reader (no pronouns mentioned)
Summary: Maybe the little things are the most important of all 🫶🏻
Content Warning: Mentions of blood, canon-typical violence (not explicit, just the aftermath), probably curse words bc I have no chill, little bit angsty but happy ending
A/N: Just a quick little Chishiya drabble; super short, kind of angsty, kind of fluffy (like me rn)
I hope you enjoy 🫶🏻✨️
Your relationship was built on a foundation of simple little things - small actions intended to evoke a smile, to make your life better. There was nothing grandiose or romantic about it, or so you'd always told yourself.
It was the coffee made just right, a wisp of steam billowing in the air as it waits on your desk before your overnight shift at the hospital. It was his steady, comforting presence at your side when you lost a patient or needed to find a way to deliver difficult news to a family. It was the way he always swooped in with takeout and the promise of companionship just when you were about to let yourself succumb to the familiar abyss of loneliness. The man was a steadfast presence over the years, his blonde hair casting light even in the darkest corners of your life.
But the Shuntarō Chishiya you knew would never say the three words most people yearn to hear, and you would never be caught begging to hear them from him. Doing so would implicate him in deeper feelings for you, would mean that there was something more significant than friendship between the two of you. And wouldn't that just ruin everything? Somehow, deep down, both of you know; though it's kept locked away like an inside joke that only you can understand. That his actions have spoken louder than words ever could, that he has been silently telling you all these years with every lunch together, every time he's shared his umbrella with you, every squeeze of your shoulder in encouragement.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
And now in this moment - after weeks - months? - of fighting for your lives together in a ruthless world and the lines of your friendship softly blurring, you feel the tug of desperation sinking in your stomach like a brick. Your heart cries out a silent plea as you sink to your knees on the warm, cracked asphalt beside him.
Please don't leave me here. I need you. I love you.
Fading chestnut eyes blink up at you, a crimson stain pooling slowly but distinctly on the ground; the consequence of a violent blend of pride, hatred, and similarity. Your shaking hands flit over his abdomen, a little pressure here, more pressure there. Blood soaks quickly through his signature white jacket, and before you know it, your hands are coated in the shiny slick too. Your eyes widen in true terror - there was nothing you could do in a place like this, any and all medical supplies in the area long gone. Chishiya knew it too, his cold, steady fingers gently finding yours instead, rubbing soothing patterns across your trembling skin.
"I do, you know. Always have," his voice rattles out with a wheeze, his death bed speech short but not surprising. He says just enough to make you let out a choked sob, your heart shattering like delicate glass in your chest. The memories of your time together both here and in the old world flicker through your mind on rapid fire, simultaneously breaking you further while also breathing new resolve into you - he has to live.
You nod emphatically, joyous and terrified tears mixing at your waterline. "I know, me too," you sniffle, stray tears cascading down your adrenaline-colored cheeks, "Tell me when we get home, okay? Consider it motivation to stay alive." The look on his face as he studies you, as if trying to memorize exactly what you look like in this moment - the moment you've essentially confessed your silent love for one another - knocks the wind out of your lungs in devastation. He brushes a hand over the wet path your tears took, cooing unintelligible words of comfort as he attempts to guide you to lay against him with a wince.
"Chishiya! What are you doing?" you ask in alarm, awkwardly maneuvering your body to avoid falling against his bloodied injuries. He huffs a slight laugh through his nose at the way you contort yourself as if trying to avoid something scary. "Lay with me, please? It might even help stop the bleeding," he jokes, his characteristic smirk stretching on his lips.
After a moment of anxious contemplation, teeth grating at your bottom lip, you gingerly allow yourself to curl against his less injured side. Any nervous tension left in your body melts away as he tilts your chin up to look at him. His shining eyes are filled with more emotion than you'd have thought he was capable of, somehow knowing they were a perfect mirror of your own. "You have no idea how much you mean to me, do you?" he whispers, searching your soul for the answer he wasn't really expecting from your mouth. Tears blur your vision again, threatening to ruin your tender moment. Chishiya doesn't mind, doesn't hesitate any further.
With a genuine smile, he pulls your rosy lips to meet his in the middle, soft skin meeting soft skin for the first time as your eyes flutter shut. Finally. His kiss is gentle but full of unplaced emotion; full of words you may never hear spoken outloud. None of that matters, now. Chishiya pours every ounce of love he has for you into your lips as you move softly against each other, hands gently exploring uncovered skin. This would be enough for you, it might have to be.
Breathless and looking a little paler, Chishiya lets go of your swollen lips, gently guiding your head to the place where his neck and shoulder meet. "Let's rest and wait for Arisu and Usagi to do their job, hm?" he asks, his arm wrapping around your shoulders like it belonged there, fingers stroking your bare arm. You snuggle into him further, pressing your hand carefully to the wound that was bleeding faster and situating yourself where you could hear the still steady thump of his heart. You focus in on the way it sounds, making each beat your mantra. Stay alive. The beautiful symphony of his proof of life lulls you into a light slumber as the sun sets in the sky, casting twilight shadows around Shibuya.
You shoot up in surprise as you're startled awake by hundreds of fireworks lighting up the starry sky above you. Your heart leaps with joy in your chest - Arisu and Usagi had actually done it. You don't realize that tears of relief are streaking warmly down your cheeks until the pad of Chishiya's thumb swipes them gently away. You hurriedly turn to kiss him again, a wave of calm surging through your body knowing he had made it. Your kiss now is a stark contrast to earlier; deeper, more passionate. All teeth and tongue as you express your excitement. You'd won.
When the cheerful robotic voice gives you your final choice, having interrupted your moment of passion, you look up at Chishiya for an answer. You want whatever he wants, and up until now he has been pretty on the fence about that. His tired eyes, framed by darkened circles look down to study you. "I don't want it," he mumbles with a strained cough, "I think." You grin dazzlingly up at him, his fingers stroking through your hair while you contemplate what you're going to say. "I want to go home," you murmur confidently, "With you." You lay your head back against him, nuzzling into his neck as your body grows heavy. The last thing you remember before the world you'd come to know fades to black was a warm kiss pressed to the crown of your head, and the comforting sound of Chishiya's voice.
I love you.
What you'd once considered the little things, well, maybe they weren't so little after all.You wouldn't be taking those for granted anymore.
♤ ♡ ◇ ♧
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The Red String of Fate was a myth that was whispered between the souls and the skies. It said to guide two destined hearts across lifetimes, undeterred by distance or time. But belief is a fragile thing. To tether one's sense of self to a thread is to be haunted by the silence at the other end.
Yet still, hands reach—for fate only weaves through hearts willing enough to be bound.
part one, part two, part three
cw: heavy angst
Chishiya x Reader
You were visiting Kuina at the hospital for the last time.
She had officially been declared fully recovered and ready to leave. Physically stable and mentally coherent, give or take the fact that she was still very much Kuina. The doctors had run their last set of scans, signed their forms, and scheduled her discharge for the following morning. Her room no longer smelled like antiseptic and other alcoholic scents. Now it smelled like overly sweet bubblegum and the last bag of chips you had shared.
"I'm getting out of this sterile hellhole," she declared, dramatically throwing her arms out. "They said my leg is 'functional enough', which I personally find rude, because they've always been functional enough."
You laughed with relief that your best friend would finally be able to be free from her hospital bed. However, the knowledge that this would be the last time you'd visit her here struck something within you. That after this, the daily walks down pale hallways would stop. So would the vending machine runs and going up the gloomy elevator. So would—
Chishiya.
You shook the thought off immediately. You would see him again. It just wouldn't be often. And who were you to care? He was only a friend to you, after all.
Kuina tilted her head at you. "You okay?"
You jolted out of your thoughts immediately. "Huh? Oh, yeah! I'm fine."
She raised an eyebrow. "Are you sad because you're realizing your hospital crush is about to vanish from your daily routine?"
You flopped onto the chair beside her bed. "Don't start."
"I'm continuing," she grinned.
You sighed. "Well, the thing is that we went to the aquarium together yesterday. And he bought matching jellyfish keychains for us."
"What?!" she cried out. "You went on a date with him?! Why didn't you text me this! Why didn't you tell me sooner? Why—"
You groaned. "It wasn't a date."
"Oh?" she said, all innocence. "Just two people spending quality time together among marine creatures while probably making accidental eye contact over jellyfish tanks? Totally not a date."
You shot her a half-hearted glare, which was returned by one of her wider grins.
"But I think I started to actually fall for him," you mumbled.
The words came out quieter and softer than you intended, as if saying them aloud made them impossible to ignore any longer. You stared down at your hands, fingers fiddling with the edge of your sleeves. "It's not even just the aquarium. Or the keychain. Or any moment. It's... everything. It's who he is, even with all the dry and sarcastic remarks. And I just feel like I'm being pulled towards something I don't understand."
"But I can't. I don't know if I should," you continued, your voice cracking a little. "Because what if I'm wrong? What if I'm the only one feeling this? What if there's no string at all?"
She blinked. "You mean the Red String of Fate?"
You swallowed. "It's stupid, I know. But I've always believed in it, like there'd be this sign. This moment where everything aligned. And now that I'm actually feeling something like this, I keep waiting for the confirmation. That it's safe for me to fall. Because if I fall for someone the universe didn't choose for me, then it'll ruin me forever." You fixed your eyes to the floor. "I don't want to be the only one reaching. I don't want to love someone and find out I was never meant to."
For a while, Kuina didn't say anything. Then she reached out and held your hand. "Screw the string."
You stared at her, not sure how to respond.
She squeezed your hand. "Who cares if there's a thread or a sign or a green light? You're here, and he's here. And if your heart is pulling towards him, maybe that's enough. Besides, since when did you let the universe boss you around? You're not a prophecy, you're a person. You get to choose who you love."
You let out a shaky breath. "What if he doesn't choose me?"
"I don't think he would have given you that little jellyfish if he didn't already start to," she grinned.
Your lips twitched, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Without thinking, you leaned over and pulled her into a hug. She squeaked at the suddenness of it, but her arms came around you quickly.
"Thanks, Kuina," you murmured into her shoulder.
She gave you one last squeeze before letting go. "Anytime. Now go before we both cry."
You rolled your eyes and grabbed your bag. "You're the worst."
"Tell me something I don't know," she called after you, her smile warm.
You stepped into the hallway, and there was a strange lightness in your chest. You began to walk towards the elevator, but as you turned the corner, you nearly collided with someone.
You jolted back a step. "Oh, sorry—"
Your words froze midair.
Chishiya blinked down at you, his brows lifting in that unimpressed way that somehow always made your stomach flip.
"Well," he said dryly. "I didn't think I was that easy to bump into."
Your heart immediately began to take on the role of a traitor again. "I—uh. Sorry. I wasn't looking."
"Clearly," he said, his eyes flicking down to your bag where your jellyfish keychain was, then back to your face. "Leaving already?"
You nodded, trying not to look too long at his mouth when he spoke. "Yeah, I just finished seeing Kuina. She's officially leaving tomorrow."
His expression shifted so imperceptibly that you could barely tell. "Good for her."
You nodded again, mostly because your brain had stalled. But he didn't move to leave, and neither did you. The two of you just stood there as nurses and other doctors passed by, giving the two of you a glance of smugness.
After a moment, he tilted his head towards the hallway. "Follow me."
You blinked. "Huh? Where?"
He was already walking, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. "Just follow me."
You hesitated, mostly out of habit, but your legs moved before your doubts could catch up. You trailed after him until he led you through a door marked 'Authorized Staff Only'. When the two of you walked in, he led you to his office that was tucked away in a quiet corridor. You stood in the doorway, awkwardly shifting your weight, while he crossed to the desk without looking back.
"Are you going to perform surgery on me?" you asked.
"No," he said, reaching for something on his desk. "Though if you keep talking, I might consider it."
You were about to retort when he turned, but he placed something soft in your hands.
You stared down and saw that it was a small stuffed penguin. Its fabric was slightly different from the one you had admired at the aquarium, but the resemblance was uncanny. Same little beak, same stubby wings, and same soft weight cradled in your hands.
"You kept holding it," he said flatly. "At the aquarium. You looked like you wanted it badly."
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.
"I found it on my way here," he added. "You're welcome."
He shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets, as if he didn't know what to do with them now.
You ran your thumb over the little plush flipper, the faintest smile tugging at your lips before you could help it. "Thank you, Shuntaro," you said sincerely with a blooming smile that lived in the space between two heartbeats.
He glanced at you sideways, then looked away just as quickly.
You held up the penguin a little. "He needs a name."
"You're naming it?"
"Of course I'm naming it," you said. "Just look at that face."
He gave the penguin a skeptical once-over as you cradled it protectively. "Then what are you naming it?"
You hesitated, then looked back at the toy. "Hmm. I don't know. How about... Yentaro?"
He arched a brow. "Yentaro?"
"Shuntaro and Yen combined," you explained. "He was overpriced at the aquarium. I want him to remember that."
He scoffed, but you caught the faintest trace of a genuine smile in the corner of his mouth. You clutched Yentaro to your chest and smiled, quiet and real and a little stunned by the soft chaos this boy kept bringing into your life.
౨ৎ
Back at home, you lay on your bed with the penguin tucked loosely between your hands.
Yentaro stared at you with its beady, judgmentaless eyes. You stared back like he held all the answers to your feelings, and he didn't. He was just a stuffed penguin with an uneven beak, but he had been chosen for you by someone who had said that he didn't believe in love.
Which was exactly the problem.
Because now that you were alone, the feelings returned louder and clearer. They curled around your heart like strings, pulling tight each time you thought of Chishiya. You didn't know what to make of it, and that was exactly the part that scared you the most. Because you were falling in love with someone whose heart was a locked room. And the only thing worse than loving someone who didn't feel the same was loving someone who might, because hope was more dangerous than certainty.
But the truth was, you didn't know if he would ever show it. Or even understand it. And your heart wasn't a place you could offer lightly, no. Not when you had spent so long convincing yourself love needed to have a sign to it. Not when you had built your entire mindset on the idea that fate would tell you when it was safe.
But fate had been far too quiet lately.
It hadn't sent you a sign. It hadn't tugged you forward with a gentle pulse of knowing. There was no dream, no red thread, and no whispered feeling in your heart that said "Yes, this is the one". There was only you, lying here with a penguin on your stomach and a storm behind your ribs, caught between what you felt and what you feared. Because if you let yourself truly love him, you would be gambling with no guarantee. And after everything, after all you've been through and all the grief, wasn't that the one thing you had sworn you'd never do again? To fall without certainty?
You thought about his silence. His distance. His maddening ambiguity. But you also thought about the way his eyes had softened when he noticed the jellyfish keychain on your bag. The way he had bought you the penguin you hadn't even asked for. The way his voice was dry as always but began to sound different when he handed it to you.
But what if this was all a temporary illusion and you were mistaking warmth for fate again?
You sighed, letting your head fall back against the pillow.
You thought about what Kuina had said. About not letting the universe control who you love. About how sometimes you have to choose your heart over a hunch. And yet, it still felt like a gamble you weren't sure you were brave enough to make. Because you didn't know if fate would approve. If the gods were watching, string in hand and ready to tie or snip it at will.
It wasn't just about liking someone anymore. Not when your feelings had grown real and rooted themselves somewhere deep and terrifying. You hadn't meant to let them in, and you had tried not to, but somehow, they'd taken root all the same.
And Chishiya... he had said he didn't believe in love. He was apathetic. Elusive. But there were those fleeting moments. Those were things no one else would notice unless they were trying to listen for him.
You clutched the stuffed penguin a little tighter in your arms.
Maybe he didn't know what love was supposed to look like, but he was trying to speak it in your language. And so were you.
Because what if love wasn't supposed to be something you found at the end of a divine thread? What if it wasn't supposed to be a perfectly timed confession beneath falling stars? What if it was just a slow undoing and a slow becoming?
So what if you were the only one feeling it this loudly? So what if his heart was a quiet room and yours was knocking too hard at the door? You'd rather be honest about the chaos in your chest than pretend it wasn't there. You were tired of holding it back. Tired of waiting for a sign when maybe your feelings were the sign.
You loved Chishiya Shuntaro.
౨ৎ
You picked Kuina up from the hospital the next morning.
However, there was no cryptic doctor with a peculiar hairstyle in sight. Not that you were looking, though. (You were absolutely looking).
But Kuina was free now. Fully healed and already threatening to do a cartwheel down the sidewalk. She hobbled slightly through the discharge doors with a triumphant glint in her eye and a paper bag full of vitamin supplements.
Fifteen minutes later, you were standing in the doorway of her apartment. And three seconds after that, her scream echoed through the room.
"What did you do?!"
You blinked. "Good morning to you, too."
She spun towards you, wild-eyed, with one arm flung dramatically towards the now-empty pantry. "You ate all my snacks?! All of them?!"
You tried to defend yourself. "In my defence, I thought you were going to die. And I paid you back with more, didn't I?"
"That doesn't explain my limited edition Oreos!"
"Grief manifests in strange ways."
You stayed for a little while. You helped her unpack her things, refold her towels, and argue over whether penguin plushies should be displayed upright or lounging with dread. She kicked you out eventually, citing a sacred reunion with her newly restocked pantry.
The afternoon sun cast long shadows that stretched across the sidewalk. You walked with your hands in your pockets and your mind elsewhere. And that has been the problem lately. Your mind was always elsewhere. It was always with him.
Not that you'd tell him that. You'd rather eat the remaining contents of Kuina's cupboard.
Still, there was something about walking through the city that made you feel like you were moving towards something, even when you weren't sure what. The streets were familiar, but every corner made you hope that he would appear again with that stupidly perfect hair and a new sarcastic remark to mock you with. He didn't, but the thought continued to linger.
You glanced at Yentaro poking out of your tote bag. You didn't even remember putting him in there. His nonjudgmental beady eyes seemed to judge you at this very moment.
You sighed. "Don't start."
He said nothing. Well, you couldn't really blame him.
Yentaro continued to bob lightly in your bag as you walked. He was quite the ridiculous companion for someone currently spiralling about metaphysical signs and emotional unavailability. But there he was, serving as proof that some part of Chishiya had thought of you, which made everything worse.
You stared at the concrete ahead, trying not to read into every memory, every pause in his voice, and every look that lasted a second too long. Trying not to crave something that hadn't been promised.
Halfway down your street, you noticed something. Well, it wasn't really noticed but more like acknowledged the strange little thread that had been curling around your pinky for the past several blocks.
At first you thought it was lint or maybe an old bracelet fray. You had even tried to flick it off earlier while crossing the crosswalk, annoyed at how it served as a petty reminder of how disheveled you probably looked. You squinted at it now in the late afternoon light, the thread gleaming faintly and almost translucent, as if not there at all. It extended forward, drifting lazily toward the corner ahead, as though it had been leading you somewhere this whole time.
You blinked.
It couldn't be it. Right?
You stared at it harder, your heart thudding. The thread was barely there, no brighter than a sunbeam caught in a spider's web, and about as fragile-looking too. It certainly wasn't the dramatic blood-red string you had read about in stories. The ones tied bold around pinkies like a declaration. No, this one shimmered faintly, like it wasn't fully convinced of its own existence.
You twisted your hand in the light, and it moved with you. Why now? Why did it come at this moment? It should've come at a time when the two of you were together, right?
Your breath caught, suddenly remembering something your grandmother used to say.
"The red string only shows itself when both hearts have already reached for it."
Your fingers trembled as your heart crescendoed up a tempo. You remained still on the sidewalk as the pedestrians and even the buildings around blurred into motion.
If your grandmother had been right, then it meant the ache you felt wasn't one-sided after all.
You immediately ran towards the nearest subway entrance as if your bones had made the decision before your brain did. You needed to see Chishiya. If you guessed right, the threat would grow more visible the closer you came to him. Then the hospital would be proof. You dashed down the stairs, weaving past commuters, and taking the platform steps two at a time. You barely even realized that as the train screeched to a halt, you hopped on just before the doors slid shut.
The train lurched forward, and so did your heart, thudding wild and breathless against your ribs like it, too, knew how close you were. The world around you turned into colours, but the thread didn't. It burned faintly at first, then it became clearer and bolder and clearer, red as every unspoken thing you had ever wanted to believe in. You were right. The closer you were to them, the more visible it would become.
You stood near the door with your bag clenched to your side, legs taut with impatience and hope. And this time, it was actual hope. Not the skeptical kind you used to ration in your chest. This was louder. Stupidly loud and daring to believe. You watched the string brighten with every stop, as if it were feeding on the proximity.
And so when the train doors finally opened at the station near the hospital, you immediately ran. You ran through the platform, up the stairs two at a time. Your lungs burned, but your smile bloomed wider than it had in weeks. You imagined how he'd look when he saw you. Surprised, maybe. Soft, even. You imagined his voice, dry and teasing as ever, cracking just slightly when you told him what you needed to say. Because you were going to say it. All of it. How much you felt. How much he meant. How afraid you had been.
You wanted to see him. You just wanted to stand in front of him with this thread wrapped around your finger and say, "Look! Look, I was right!"
You thought about how often you had dismissed it. How often you had doubted the way your heart stuttered when he spoke. But love wasn't always loud or obvious, was it? And now, it was all making sense. Because all this time, the little things—the penguin, the keychain, the way his eyes lingered just a moment too long on yours, and those deep conversations—had all been leading up to this moment.
Your breath was caught halfway between a sob and a laugh. The string glowed brighter than it ever had, and it almost seemed as though it was tugging at you now, guiding you forward like it wanted to be found. And you let it lead you.
The thread continued its way down the sterile hallway, bright as a heartbeat and just as stubborn. You followed it past the patient rooms, up the elevator that started this all, and past the rows of worn chairs until it veered quietly towards the corridor that only authorized staff could enter. You paused at the threshold from the confirmation that this was it. You peeked down the hallway to make sure no nurses or interns were loitering nearby, and there was no one in sight. And so, you slipped in silently, your heart ricocheting inside your ribs.
You couldn't help the way your hands started shaking because he was inside. What if one look from him made you forget every word you had rehearsed on the train ride over and over? What if you stammered and cried or laughed or said the wrong thing entirely?
You shook off the thought. It didn't matter. It didn't have to be perfect. It just had to be real. Because this was finally the moment. The right place, the right time, and the right version of both of you.
You knocked once. You frowned slightly when you were met with silence. But you tried again, a little firmer this time.
"Shuntaro?" you called out.
Still nothing.
Maybe he was asleep. After all, he had pulled shifts so long they blurred the line between night and day. You tried to imagine him with his head resting on his desk, and you smiled at that.
But you couldn't exactly wait here in the hallway, twiddling your soul between your thumbs, with the chance of other doctors strolling by and telling you to leave immediately. You had one shred of dignity left, and you planned to keep it, at least until your inevitable confession to him.
So you opened the door and let yourself in.
"Shuntaro?" you called out again, softer now.
Still, no response.
The room was quiet. The last strands of the sunlight filtered in through the blinds, slicing sunlight into thin lines across the floor. It painted over shelves, and sterile counters, and it stretched across a coat flung over the back of a chair. His coat.
Your heart leapt.
You moved quickly now, the red string still tugging forward and sure towards the desk ahead. You were smiling without realizing. He was here.
But once your eyes dropped to the desk, the smile froze on your lips.
There it was. The red string.
It lay coiled and limp like a discarded ribbon, no longer tugging towards anything at all.
And right beside it was a pair of scissors.
౨ৎ
The thread had always been so quiet in its guidance. You had followed it like a dreamer chasing the tail end of a story, half-believing it would lead you to something—anything—that might prove you weren't alone in this. And now, here you were, standing with tears unable to fall.
You had followed it all this way. You had believed. You had let yourself believe.
And he? He had seen the thread too. That much was clear. He had reached for it. Held it. Knew exactly what it meant. And then, he cut it. And it wasn't fate this time. Nor timing. Nor a misunderstanding.
It was a choice.
Your knees nearly gave out. You reached for the edge of the desk, fingers curling against the wood as if you could steady yourself against the weight of it. The room, warm just moments ago, turned cavernous. Every light became a lie. Every second leading up to this unraveled behind your eyes like ribbon torn at the seam.
Why?
The hurt came all at once. Like breath knocking out of lungs. Like slipping beneath ice. Your throat clenched. Your vision blurred. You had run so far. You had believed.
Your gaze dropped again to the string. You hadn't realized you were still holding your end. It clung to your finger, frayed now at the middle, while its other half was severed so cleanly that even grief felt like an afterthought. You wondered if he had done it slowly. If his hand had trembled. If he had hesitated. Or if he had looked at it, expressionless.
You didn't even hear the door open behind you until a voice came.
"What are you doing here?"
The voice broke something in you. You spun around and saw him. Chishiya Shuntaro.
The blue hour had settled into the room, casting everything in that melancholic sapphire. It painted his figure too, as if it had drained all the other colours from him entirely, leaving behind only the hollow of him. As though the sun had tried and failed to love him.
You stood there, barely able to breathe. Your throat was locked as your hands clenched at your sides. Every version of this moment you had played out in your mind so many times collapsed in on itself. None had accounted for how useless they'd all become when you were faced with this.
"What am I doing here?" you managed to say at last.
You took a shaky breath and stepped forward.
"You don't get to ask me that. Not after you did this—" You pointed at the desk, towards the thread lying limp like a corpse. "I followed this thing all the way here like a fool, only to see that you cut it?"
Chishiya stood there, still with that same maddening indifferent look stretched across his face, like the thread meant as little to him as a strand of hair.
"I told you before," he finally said. "It doesn't mean anything."
You stared at him, stunned. "Doesn't matter? It was the Red String, Shuntaro. Ours. It was fate. It chose us."
"And it doesn't matter."
Your heart cracked at that.
"No, it does," you whispered. "You and I—we're—we're soulmates."
The word hung fragile and humiliating. He said nothing as apathy stitched deeper into every line of his face. It only made your own fractures across your heart deepen.
"Don't just stand there and pretend like none of this meant anything," you said, your voice shaking, furious, and breaking all at once. "If it was just a story, if it didn't matter, then why? Why did you give me that stupid penguin?"
Chishiya blinked at that. But his expression didn't change. Not even a bit. It was just that same indifferent look that made you want to scream.
"Why did you buy it just for me?" you went on. "Why did you smile when I named it after you? Why did you get me those keychains, huh? The ones that matched, and you hooked yours to your bag like you cared."
His jaw tensed so briefly you almost missed it. His eyes flicked toward the string. Regret? No. He shut it down too fast.
"And don't tell me it was meaningless. Don't tell me it was convenient, or a coincidence, or you just felt like it." Your voice was rising now. "You looked at me. Shuntaro, you looked at me like I was something soft in a world that never offered softness to you."
Still, he said nothing.
"You cared," you breathed. "Even if you didn't want to. Even if you won't admit it. You felt something."
"I didn't."
"You're lying!"
Your vision blurred as tears pricked your eyes.
"You asked me how I viewed the heart," you began hoarsely. "In the aquarium. You don't ask something like that unless part of you wants to understand it. Unless part of you already does."
He looked away for a moment, towards the far wall. It was as if he, too, couldn't bear the hurt behind all your words.
"They don't have hearts," you quoted, softer now. "That's what you said. But you kept looking at them like you envied that. Like you wanted that for yourself."
You tried blinking your tears away. "And if I told you that if I didn't have a heart, I'd float through everything. Including the happy moments. Like that one. And you answered me like you agreed, or at least wished to."
You pointed at the thread again.
"Did all of this mean nothing to you?"
He finally met your gaze again, and this time, there was something behind it. It wasn't warmth nor guilt, but it infuriated you in how tightly he locked it away.
"What this means doesn't change anything," he said, each word carving even more fractures in your heart. "It won't change the truth."
"What truth?" you demanded, hating how your voice trembled and how small you started to sound. "That you're too scared to try? That it's easier to pretend you're some kind of machine who doesn't want anyone to admit you've already let someone in? I know you felt it too. The pull. I've seen the way you look at me, Shuntaro. You felt it too. I know you did!"
"I told you," he said quieter, but no less brutal. "I don't believe in whatever this is."
"You think you don't believe in it," you spat, eyes burning. "You just think you're incapable of it. That's not true. You are. You're just too much of a coward to admit it."
Chishiya didn't even move.
Why didn't he? Why wasn't he fighting for you? Why wasn't he—
"I don't want to love anyone."
You froze.
"I don't want it," he said again, slower this time. "It complicates things."
Something inside you both shattered and wilted.
It wasn't in the way flowers did when the season ended, but in the way stars collapsed until only the ruins remained. His words weren't sharp, but they were delivered with the kind of apathy that made them cruel. "I don't want to love anyone," he had said. As if love were a disease. That the very idea of it was a burden he never asked for. A variable to be erased from his life in the name of simplicity. As if yours was a thing to be avoided and unwanted, even in its gentlest form.
You had prepared yourself for a hundred different outcomes, but not this. The cruelty of his honesty was spoken without hesitation. His words felt like a scalpel instead of a blade, designed not to kill but to carve something out of you and leave you living with the absence.
You looked at the thread on the desk again. Red. Frayed. Lifeless. A thread that once felt divine had now been reduced to something discarded.
It had chosen you both.
You exhaled shakily, trying everything in your will to not let your tears fall. Your breath came out in a hollow whisper that didn't even sound like you anymore.
"Fine."
Just that one word.
You didn't trust yourself to say anything else. Not when everything inside you that had been broken open was spilling out, flooding every fragile corner you had tried so hard to protect. You had already laid everything bare, so what more could be said?
You turned before your heart could change its mind.
Chishiya didn't move. He didn't call out or stop you. So you didn't either.
Your hand reached for the door, and still, nothing.
Even in the silence, you waited a moment longer. Just in case. Just in case he said your name. Just in case he whispered, "Don't go". Just in case anything inside him fractured the way everything inside you had.
But the stillness stayed.
And so, like a fool made of hope and endings, you stepped through it.
౨ৎ
It had been a while since you left the hospital.
Time moved strangely now, as though the hours were waterlogged and too heavy to hold shape. You walked without really knowing where your feet were going, like your body had been handed a script your heart hadn't read. The world around you blurred beneath the glow of signs, and yet everything felt too clear. It was like grief had sharpened your senses instead of dulling them.
You had found a pair of scissors on the hospital cart outside, abandoned, as if someone had left them there just for you. Metal catching the light and soft as breath, you held them in your palm. For a moment, all you had heard was your pulse as you had looked down at your hand. The thread still clung to your pinky like a memory of a promise you hadn't been ready to bury. You had angled the blade gently, and then came the clean, surgical sound of something ending. The thread had slipped from your hand, and something in you followed it.
You kept walking, but the thoughts kept chasing you.
What were you expecting? That he'd follow? That he'd change his mind? That love would crack him open like sunlight? The sheer audacity of it all made your chest tighten. You had let yourself believe. You had given your heart the benefit of the doubt.
You thought about his desk again. That ruined thread. Still red and bright. Still something sacred, reduced to something left behind. You pictured the way his scissors must have hovered for a moment. Or maybe they didn't. But how cleanly he had cut it and how gentle the violence had been stayed with you the way all the worst moments do.
Through the muted light of vending machines and past shuttered storefronts, your limbs felt far away from you. Your thoughts too, as if they were dragged behind, unable to keep up.
You tried to rewrite it all in your head. You tried to tell yourself it didn't matter. That it was all convenience. That he never meant any of it. That you were foolish and desperate for inventing stories out of silence.
But you couldn't.
Because you had seen the way he looked at you. Like you were an anomaly he hadn't accounted for. You had seen that tilt in his head whenever you spoke of peculiar topics again. You had been his exception. You knew it.
But he, himself, couldn't see it. He wouldn't let himself to.
Eventually, you made your way home.
You moved without thought until your body found your bed. Face buried in the sheets and breath stuttering out of your chest, it was then that the tears finally came.
They were sudden and humiliating. They scalded as they fell, tracing every inch of your face like they meant to carve the pain into something permanent. Your chest ached in ways you didn't know were possible, as if your ribs were splintering under the weight of everything that had happened. You had held that threat like a promise. You let it lead you like a star across the sky. And now, it became the unraveling of a belief you had built your world around. The hurt of it bloomed like a wound that would never close.
You sat up, trying to wipe your tears away with your shaking fingers. And that's when you saw it dangling. The jellyfish keychain.
You stared at it, your heart breaking even more from the sight of it.
Your hands moved before your thoughts did. You ripped it off your bag, the metal clasp snapping with a small, pitiful sound before you hurled it across the room. It hit the wall hard and bounced to the floor, breaking apart on impact. A small crack split its plastic body, and the little beads of the tentacles scattered everywhere. You stared at the broken shape of it, your chest burning with the kind of ache that grief could only hope to imitate.
He had never planned to love you back.
And your memory had become a gallery of all the ways he almost did.
౨ৎ
Chishiya stared at the empty desk for so long. The outline of you stayed burned into his vision long after you were gone, like the memory of warmth on cold skin.
The only thing left behind was the string. Crumpled and discarded, like a blood-red thread bleeding out on the woodgrain. It almost looked like a wound that not even he had the skill to treat.
He told himself it didn't matter. That this was always going to happen.
It was better this way. He had spared you from a promise he didn't know how to keep. From the slow dismantling of a person who had never learned how to give. From loving someone whose instinct was to always retreat. He protected the things most fragile to him by keeping them unreachable.
That's at least what he told himself. Again and again.
He didn't know where you had gone. You didn't say anything. Not even the polite formality of a goodbye. You had simply disappeared, the same way he thought his emotions did a long time ago.
But he also told himself it wasn't his concern. Because if he had cared, wouldn't he have shown it? If it all meant anything, wouldn't he have held on? Wouldn't he have run after you?
He didn't, but the unfamiliar yet unbearable ache in his chest said otherwise.
For whatever reason, he pulled out his phone. Maybe he wanted to feel foolish. Maybe he just needed a reason to. Or maybe he didn't know what else to do. Because your presence had long gone, but the feeling hadn't left. And for a man who had made a life of disassociating emotion from logic, it terrified him. This feeling that refused to be dissected. This ache that didn't respond to reason.
His thumbs hesitated over the keyboard as he typed in the Red String of Fate into his search bar.
He skimmed past the romanticized versions. The articles with red hearts and the poorly written metaphors with idle hopes. And then he found something tucked into the footnotes of a text less inclined to lie.
It described what the Red String was. It was a belief that said to connect two people destined to be lovers, regardless of place, time, or lifetime. The physical string was only meant to guide the bearer, but not the bond itself. The real thread is unseen and irrevocable. Beyond touch or interference. And while the string may stretch or tangle, it would never break.
And in that moment, a single crack formed in the dam Chishiya had built around his heart.
It was small. Barely a fracture. But something slipped through. It stung in a way he had never felt before. Even as a doctor, he wasn't able to figure out how to treat it. There was no prescription for guilt. No cure for a goodbye. No name for the feeling of wanting to rewind time and do something differently.
He still remembered the look on your face when he dismissed the string. The way your fingers tightened. The way your breath caught. The way your eyes, with so much pain in them, had searched his, as if hoping he'd change his mind. He wasn't able to empathize with your emotions back then. He hadn't known how.
But oh, how he wished you were still here so he could learn from you.
Now, with only silence left in your place, he found himself thinking about things he never used to. All of your little interactions, since the beginning. The little glances in the elevator. The way your shoulders would angle just slightly towards each other, as if you both were pulled by something neither of you could name back then. The day at the aquarium, when the world had felt unusually soft between you, filtered in the glow of blue water and drifting lights. The jellyfish keychains he had bought.
He had teased you then, saying that it would serve as a reminder that you didn't have a brain. He remembered the way you smiled and how you had rolled your eyes. But now? It felt like it was reminding him that he was the one who lacked something vital. Because you had a heart, though foolish, open, and unguarded. And all he had was the absence of where one should've been.
And somewhere in those thoughts, he remembered the first and last song the two of you ever shared. But now, he would live in the echo of a chorus, in the hush of a bridge, in the lines he once never paid attention to.
He had been playing it in the elevator, and you had heard it through the faint bleed of his earbuds.
"Is that...Motion Picture Soundtrack?" you had asked.
He hadn't forgotten that. He hadn't forgotten the way you smiled, either. It was soft, like you didn't want him to see how happy it made you that he liked the same songs you did. He told himself that you were merely a curiosity to him. A passing impulse. But now, there was a line in that very song that stood out to him. One that hadn't meant anything then.
"I will see you, in the next life."
And now, paired with what he had just read—the idea that the Red String connected people across lifetimes—he could only hope that in the next life, he would be a little less unfortunate. A little braver. A little softer. Perhaps then, fate would bring the two of you back together one day, as it must have known how loving someone had been so difficult for him.
But even if he weren't, he could only hope that wherever you were, you'd still find your way to him like in this one.
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masterlist
random note that in the description in the masterlist, it says, "yet still, hands reach. for fate only weaves through hearts willing enough to be bound" but the title is called "unwoven hearts" (๑╹◡╹)
