harusmichixo

[harusmichixo]

omg i love ur oneshots sm,,,,, i adore u pageee !! Can u maybe write a chishiya x reader where she has REALLY REALLY bad social anxiety and like never goes out at all😭

chishiya x anxious!reader

summary: you had never been extroverted (to say the least). But luckily for you, neither has chishiya.

tags: established relationship, fluff, social anxiety

A/N: hiiii! i feel like this is so bad so i’m so sorry😭😭 my writers block has been terrible these past few days so this is just whatever slop my brain could produce😭😭

word count: 1.7k

masterlist!!!

You’ve always been a creature of habit, but “habit” feels too gentle a word for the walls you’ve built around yourself. Your life exists almost exclusively between the four walls of your apartment, a soft-lit sanctuary of blankets, books, and the faint hum of your laptop. Going out? That’s for other people – those that don’t feel their heart slam into your chest at the mere thought of a stranger’s glance.

But then there’s Chishiya. He is different - solitary, like you, but by choice rather than necessity. You had met on one of your rare visits to the grocery store, bumping into him, literally, and, for some reason, he decided to stick around. You finally confessed your struggles with anxiety to him a few weeks after, expecting him to become disinterested like so many others, but he just said, “meh, outside is overrated anyway.”

He’s learned you, piece by piece, even noticing the signs before you do sometimes. The way your fingers twist the hem of your shirt when you’re overwhelmed. The shallow breaths that come when the doorbell rings unexpectedly. The way you curl into yourself on the couch when your brain thinks just a little too much.

Tonight is one of those quiet evenings between you both. You’re nestled under a blanket, scrolling through your phone, while Chishiya lounges in the armchair across from you, flipping through a book on biochemistry or something equally impenetrable.

“You’re fidgeting,” he says suddenly, not looking up from his page.

You freeze, realizing your foot has been tapping against the floor. “Am I? Sorry.”

He glances at you then, those sharp eyes softening just a fraction. “It’s fine. What’s on your mind?”

It’s nothing big - not really, just the usual spiral. You had seen a post online about a local event happening this weekend. It looked fun, like something you’d enjoy, but you were hyperaware that fear would keep you away once again. It stirred that familiar ache: the longing to be involved, to be normal. But saying it aloud feels silly, redundant even. “Just… stuff. You know.”

He nods, closing his book with a soft thud. “The delivery guy’s coming soon. Want me to handle it?”

You exhale, grateful he doesn’t press. He never does. He was good like that, always offering without making it seem like a favor. “Yeah. Thanks.”

You eat in companionable silence, the kind that never demands filling. It never did with him. Afterward, he clears the table while you wash up, and when you return to the living room, he’s already dimmed the lights, knowing you prefer it dark.

“Movie?” he asks, settling on the couch.

You nod, curling up beside him. His arm drapes over your shoulders casually, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm. It’s these little things - the way he anticipates what you need without words - that make you feel seen.

Safe.

But Chishiya isn’t content to let you hide away forever. Not in a forceful, sudden way; no, he’s far too clever for that. He plants seeds, subtle suggestions that will nudge you toward the edge of your comfort zone. Like last week, when he mentioned ordering books online but mused aloud about browsing in person someday. “Less waiting,” he had said offhandedly. You had brushed it off, but the idea lingered in your mind. It would be nice, you hadn’t been to a bookstore in years.

He’s doing it again now, as the movie credits roll. “I finished that thriller you lent me. The ending was predictable like you said.”

You smile, shifting to face him. “Told you. What did you think of the twist with the sister?”

“Oh that was from chapter three.” He said with a playful smirk, knowing you didn’t get it until chapter 10. “I need something new. There’s a bookstore downtown – it’s small, independent. Not too crowded.”

Your stomach twists, that familiar knot forming. “You could go alone. Or order online.”

“I could.” He pauses, his eyes meeting yours. “But I thought you might want to come. They have that section on rare editions you like.”

It’s not a demand; Chishiya never demands. But there’s a subtle challenge in his tone. The kind which means he’s not going to back down. He knows you love books - the smell of paper, how the pages sound when you turn thrm. Your apartment is lined with shelves, supplementing any need to go to a library, but all of those books were bought online or gifts from family if you were lucky.

“I… don’t know.” The thought of stepping out, navigating the streets, possible small talk with a cashier - it sends your pulse racing. “What if it’s busy? Or someone talks to me?”

“Then we leave.” Simple, logical. “It’s a Tuesday afternoon. There won’t be many people. And I’ll handle any talking.”

You bite your lip, fingers twisting in your lap - a sign he clocks immediately. His hand covers yours, stilling the motion. “No pressure though. Just think about it.”

The next morning, you wake to the scent of coffee. Chishiya’s already up, leaning against your kitchen counter with a mug in hand.

“Morning,” he says, sliding a cup toward you.

You mumble a reply, sipping gratefully. It was the same routine as always: breakfast together, him reading the news on his phone while you sketch absentmindedly in your notebook. But today, you can tell he’s watching you more closely, not overtly, but you feel his eyes in the side of your head.

By noon, he broaches it again. “I’m heading to the bookstore at around two. If you change your mind, the offer still stands.”

Your heart hammers in your chest. Part of you wants to - desperately. To feel normal, to share something simple with him outside the confines of your apartment. But…

What if you get overwhelmed? What if you embarrass him?

He senses the war in your head without needing to ask. Setting his phone down, he moves to sit beside you at the table. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“It’s stupid,” you whisper. “I want to go, but… my chest gets tight just imagining it. How would I cope if I can’t even think about it? What if I freeze up?”

His expression doesn’t change - no pity, no frustration. Just understanding. “It’s not stupid. And they won’t be staring; people are too focused on themselves. But if it happens, we adapt to it. Breathe through it, like we practiced.”

Those practices - he started those subtly too. Deep breathing exercises disguised as “meditation for focus,” which he claimed helped his studies. You know better now; it was for you, to arm you against your own anxieties.

“Okay,” you say finally, surprising yourself. “I’ll try.”

His lips quirk into an almost-smile. “Good.”

The next hour is preparation, though he doesn’t call it that. He suggests comfortable clothes - your oversized sweater and jeans that don’t pinch. He packs a small bag: a water bottle and noise-canceling headphones, for you, just incase.

As you step toward the door, your hands start to tremble. Chishiya notices - of course he does, he notices everything when it comes to you - and he silently slips his fingers through yours.

Outside, the world felt obnoxious: cars humming and clanking as they drive by, people talking too loudly, eyes looking your way. You cling to chishiya’s arm, your eyes focused on the ground. “Too much?” he asks.

“A little.” Your voice wavers.

“We can turn back.”

But you shake your head. “No. Lets keep going.”

He just nods, continuing to guide you down the sidewalk. It’s not far - ten minutes at most – but right now it feels eternal. A passerby brushes too close, and you flinch so Chishiya shifts, positioning himself between you and the street, like a human shield.

“Focus on the details,” he says quietly. “Count the cracks in the pavement. Or name the colors around us.”

It’s another trick he’s taught you. You try: gray sidewalk, blue sky, red stoplight. And slowly, the panic ebbs away to something more manageable.

The bookstore appears ahead - a quaint corner shop with a faded sign. Through the window, you can see shelves stacked high, soft lighting, and only a few people.

Inside, it’s heaven. The air smells of old paper and ink, a silence which is only broken by the turn of pages. A single clerk nods from behind the counter, then returns to their book. No forced greetings, no hovering.

Safe.

You exhale, the tension in you uncoiling slowly. Chishiya releases your hand but stays close, browsing a nearby shelf. “Take your time.”

You wander tentatively, fingers trailing the spines. Fantasy, mystery, poetry - your havens. For the first time in ages, the outside world feels… tolerable. Chishiya picks up a volume of his favourite medical journal, but his eyes flick to you often, just checking in.

At one point, you reach for a high shelf, and he’s there instantly, plucking the book down. “This one?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He adds it to his stack. “Anything else?”

You browse longer than planned, the anxiety fading into mere background noise. But as you approach the counter, it surges back. The clerk - a kind-faced woman in her forties - looks up. “Find everything okay?”

Your throat tightens, the words sticking in your throat like tar. Chishiya steps forward seamlessly. “Yes. Just these.”

He handles the transaction, chatting minimally with the cashier about the weather. You stand beside him , grateful for his buffer.

The walk home feels lighter than the one on the way here. You had actually done it – a small step that feels like a milestone towards a slimmer of normalcy. Maybe it was a coincidence, but the cars were quieter now, and the pavements less crowded.

“You did well,” he says once you’re inside, door locked behind you.

“I almost didn’t.” You sink onto the couch. “But… it wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

He sits beside you, unpacking the books. “Progress isn’t linear. Today was a step. A big step for you.”

You lean against him, exhaustion mingling with the small pride. “Why do you push me like this? Not that I mind, but… you are okay with staying in, right?”

“I am.” His voice is thoughtful. “But I see how the isolation weighs on you. I don’t want you to feel trapped - not by anxiety, anyway.”

That’s the closest he’s come to admitting he’s helping on purpose. “Thank you.”

Later that evening, as you’re both reading your new finds, he says, “There’s a café near the bookstore. I heard its nice… quiet. Maybe we could try it sometime?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe is good.”

And it is. With him, nothing feels too scary anymore.

[harusmichixo]

someone send me kakashi requests plssss i miss my man🥹

requests info!

[harusmichixo]

Omg hi, loving ur chishiya fics sm, I wanted to req a possible chishiya oneshot/hcs/fic whatever u feel okay with, where we have a chronic illness or something that forces us to stay at the hospital for a long time and chishiya is our doctor (obviously) and he slowly starts to like us then the aib things happen and he finds us there (u don't need to elaborate on the aib stuff, but I just want to see him try to treat us in the borderland realm tbh 🥹)

Thank you for reading, hope you have a good day/night !

chishiya x reader

*:･ﾟ✧ summary: what could possibly be worse in a game of survival than a body that does not make adrenaline? Clearly the people - or thing - that designed this world left you out of their equations. Luckily for you though, your ex-doctor is here.

tags/warnings: Addison’s disease, near-death experience, needles, fluff, chishiya will never admit to being a kind person out loud

word count: 1.4k

masterlist!!!

Addison’s disease: Addison's disease, also known as primary adrenal insufficiency or hypoadrenalism, is a rare disorder of the adrenal glands. People with Addison's disease must be constantly aware of the risk of a sudden worsening of symptoms, called an adrenal crisis. This can happen when the levels of cortisol in your body fall significantly. An adrenal crisis is a medical emergency. If left untreated, it can be fatal.

Addison’s disease didn’t care about visas or weird laser beams that came from the sky. Your adrenal glands were shot, courtesy of your body turning against itself, an autoimmune disease your doctors called it, and without your daily steroids and the occasional emergency hydrocortisone shot, you were one stressful situation away from a full-blown crisis. In Tokyo, you had managed it with hospital stays, pill bottles, and an annoyingly handsome doctor who always seemed more interested in anything else but you. Dr. Chishiya Shuntaro – a third year medical student who’s clinical rotation just so happened to overlap with one of your longer stints in hospital. He had overseen your treatments detached as ever, but he kept you alive. That was the main thing.

But here? There were no pharmacies, no refills. You had scavenged what you could from abandoned clinics in the early days, rationing your meds like they were diamonds. At The Beach, you kept a low profile, joining games when your number was called, and avoiding the militants at all costs. Hatter’s rules were simple: contribute cards, or die.

You contributed, barely.

That day, you were weaving through the crowded corridors, heading to your room after a Hearts game that had left your hands shaking. Your salt cravings were kicking in hard - a sign your cortisol was dipping low. You needed to rest, pop a pill if you had any left. And if you didn’t then die. The hallway was dim with bodies pressed against walls in various states of intoxication.

And then you saw him.

Chishiya leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, watching the crowd with that same bored expression you would have recognised anywhere. “Dr. Chishiya?”

He turned and his eyes narrowed slightly. For a split second, something flickered in his gaze - surprise? Recognition? But it vanished as quickly as it came. “It’s just Chishiya here,” he said flatly, pushing off the wall. “No titles needed.”

You stepped closer, relief flooding you like a wave. “Oh my god, it’s you. From the hospital. You remember me, right?” Your voice was too eager, too hopeful. In a place as hellish as this, seeing a familiar face - especially one who knew your medical history - felt like salvation.

He regarded you coolly, like you were a mildly interesting specimen under a microscope. “Vaguely. Chronic adrenal insufficiency. Steroid-dependent.” His tone was clinical, detached as it always was. Familiarity was a weird thing – the vague nostalgia enough to make his detachment comforting.

“I… yeah. That’s me.” You laughed nervously, rubbing your arm. “Look, I don’t have much left - meds, I mean. If you could help, or… I don’t know, team up with me?”

Chishiya’s lips curled into that trademark smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Team up?” He shook his head, already turning away. “I operate alone. It’s best you do too. Alliances are liabilities here.”

Your stomach dropped. “But-“

“Survive on your own merits,” he cut in. “Or don’t.” And with that, he melted into the crowd, leaving you standing there, fists clenched, fighting the sting of his rejection. Fine. You had managed without him before. You could do it again.

But things started changing after that.

The first time, you thought it was a miracle. You returned to your room after a Clubs game - exhausted, dehydrated - and found a small plastic bag hooked on your doorknob. Inside: a blister pack of fludrocortisone, a few prednisone tablets, and a single hydrocortisone vial with a syringe. Not a fortune, but enough to buy you days. Who? How? The Beach was full of scavengers, but this was targeted. Specific to your needs.

You didn’t question it much at first. Desperation overrode suspicion. You took the meds, felt the fog lift, and moved on.

But It happened again. And again. After every game, or sometimes randomly, the bag would appear. Always anonymous, always exactly what you needed.

Then there were the games themselves. You were assigned to a Spades game one night - a nightmare for someone with little adrenaline, climbing derelict buildings, dodging traps. Your team was ragtag, but you pushed through, salt tabs dissolving under your tongue. Halfway up a rickety scaffold, you glanced down and saw him: Chishiya, lurking at the edges, not exactly participating but… watching? He vanished when you cleared it.

It became a pattern. Diamonds, Hearts, whatever - he would be there, only ever in the peripheral. Never helping directly, never acknowledging you. But the meds kept appearing. You pieced it together eventually. Why him? He had shut you down cold. Was it pity? Guilt from the “before” maybe? But he seemed far too cynical for that.

Then the crisis hit during yet another Spades game.

It was a tag variant in an abandoned amusement park – scaling ferris wheels and rollercoasters, perfectly suited for the adrenaline-less. But your visa was running low; you had no choice. You had taken your last pill that morning, but the physical strain was too much. Your adrenaline spiked, then quickly plummeted. Classic adrenal crisis incoming: nausea, dizziness, your blood pressure tanking.

You were halfway up a rusted rollercoaster track, teammates yelling below, when it hit. Your vision tunneled, legs buckling. “Shit,” you gasped, clutching the rail. Heart pounding erratically, skin clammy. Shock. You needed a shot, now, or you would black out and fall.

A hand gripped your arm. “Hold still.”

Chishiya. He materialized seemingly out of nowhere, pulling you into a shadowed alcove on the attraction. He moved quick - unzipping a hidden pouch in his hoodie, revealing a syringe and vial. Hydrocortisone. “This will stabilize you. Breathe.”

You were too weak to argue. He injected it into your thigh, the sting barely registering over the haze. Warmth spread almost immediately, your pulse steadying. “How… why are you here?”

“Clear the game first,” he said curtly, helping you stand. “Questions later.”

The laser grid deactivated shortly after - game cleared. Your team cheered, but with the way your vision still swam it didn’t feel like much of a victory. Chishiya didn’t let go until you were back on solid ground, then steered you toward an exit. “Come on. You need more than that shot.”

Back at The Beach, he led you not to your room, but to his. It was sparse, clinical - unlike the party dens others had. A bed, a table cluttered with wires and gadgets, and… a medical kit? Not the basic first-aid crap everyone had, but advanced: IV bags, monitors stolen from ambulances, stacks of meds labeled neatly.

He sat you on the bed, rolling up your sleeve to check your vitals. “Your blood pressure’s low. Lie down.”

You obeyed, but you weren’t quiet. “Chishiya, what the hell? it’s been you, hasn’t it? The meds?”

He didn’t deny it, busying himself with an IV line. Saline and more cortisol. “You’d deduced that already.”

“But why?” Your voice cracked. “You said you operate alone. No alliances.”

He paused, needle poised. “I do operate alone. This isn’t an alliance.” His eyes met yours for a brief second. “You deserve as much of a chance as anyone else.”

That shut you up for a moment. “That’s it? Some egalitarian bullshit? Some professional obligation?”

Chishiya inserted the IV with practiced ease, taping it down. “In the real world, yes. I treated you because it was my job. But here?” He sat back, watching the drip. “Everyone’s fighting for survival, but not everyone’s equipped equally. Your condition - it’s not a weakness of will or skill like everyone else. It’s biology. That’s unfair.”

You stared at him, the room quiet except for the distant bass of music. “So you’re leveling the playing field?”

“Something like that.” His smirk returned, softer this time. “Abandoned Tokyo has plenty of hospitals. It’s not hard to find what you need if you know where to look.”

“But you carry extras. In your pocket, I saw.” You gestured weakly.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Observation isn’t involvement. But yes, I prepared contingencies. Your crises are predictable under stress. Humour my ideals for a moment, would you?”

“So you’re indulging?”

“Something like that.” He said again as he adjusted the IV, his fingers brushing your skin - deliberate? “Rest. You’ll be stable by morning. Then back to your room. No one needs to know.”

You wanted to push, to unravel him further, but exhaustion won. As your eyes drifted shut, you murmured, “Thank you..”

He didn’t reply to that, but you felt him there, watching over you.

The next morning, you woke to an empty room, IV removed, a fresh bag of meds on the table. And no Chishiya in sight.

Business as usual it seems.

[harusmichixo]

Hello, could you please write Chishiya Hcs or whatever you want where the Reader is a Shy Person? And just doesn't really say stuff they think out loud and likes to stay in the background kind of person ^^

doctor!chishiya x patient!reader

*:･ﾟ✧ summary: You were used to carefully masking your discomfort, to crowds, to social situations, and now to hospitals. But unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) Dr. Chishiya was nothing if not emotionally intelligent. And he didn’t need words to figure out something was wrong.

tags: shy reader, mild fluff, medical au, chishiya is a very smart man.

A/N: I hope this is okay!!! Apologies for yet another medical au apparently doctor!chishiya is all I can think about these days😭😭😭

word count: 1.7k

masterlist!!!

You’re not one for hospitals. Or people, really. Talking to strangers always felt exhausting, and even with familiar faces, you prefer to let your thoughts go unheard. Here, though, your shyness is harder to hide. You were stuck here, recovering from an apendectomy gone wrong. Conversations couldn’t be easily deflected by a claim of “business” or a cleverly constructed sentence to end any questions. Nurses bustle in and out, asking questions, prodding at your stomach. But the worst - or maybe the best, you’re not sure yet - is Dr. Chishiya.

He’s your attending physician, the one who operated on you. Intimidating, in the way that anyone who cuts up organs for a living is, but there’s also something almost detached about him, as if he’s observing the world from behind a glass wall. That was probably quite literal, at least in his line of work.

He comes in twice a day: once in the morning during rounds, and again in the evening to check on your progress.

The first time he entered your room, you froze. He flipped through your chart with those long, practiced fingers before, inevitably, sparking a conversation. “Good morning. How are you feeling today? Any pain on a scale of one to ten?”

You managed a nod, mumbling a quiet “Four,” before your gaze dropped to the blanket covering your legs. That was it. No elaboration. No questions from you. He waited a beat, those dark eyes flicking over your face, but when you didn’t say more, he simply noted something on the chart and adjusted your IV drip. “We’ll keep the pain meds steady. Let me know if it worsens.”

He left, and you exhaled, relieved. But part of you wondered if you had disappointed him. Doctors need information, right? To help you. Yet the words always seemed to stick in your throat.

By the second day, the pattern repeats. Morning check: he asks about your sleep, your appetite. You whisper short answers- “Okay,” “A little” - and avoid his gaze. He doesn’t push, but you catch the subtle furrow in his brow as he examines the surgical site. “Your incision looks clean, and theres signs of infection. Bowel sounds are returning too - good.”

You nod again, fingers twisting the edge of the sheet. He lingers for a moment longer than necessary, as if waiting for you to speak up. When you don’t, he nods to himself again and exits.

Evening rounds are similar. The room is dimmer, the hospital quieter. He enters in the same way, quietly to the point you almost don’t notice, chart in hand. “Evening. How was physical therapy? Any discomfort walking?”

“Fine,” you murmur, eyes on the window where the city lights blurred. The truth is, it hurt more than you let on - a sharp pull when you tried to stand - but admitting it would draw attention to yourself. Longer conversations that expected more detailed answers, more regular visits. Better to endure silently.

He pauses, pen hovering over the paper. “Pain level?”

“Three.”

His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he checks your vitals himself, pressing his fingers against your wrist as he times your pulse. “Your heart rate’s a bit elevated. Rest well.”

And he’s gone.

You don’t know it yet, but Chishiya is piecing you together. In the staff lounge later that night, he sips his coffee - black, no sugar - and reviews your file again. Quiet patients aren’t uncommon, he’s treated a fair few, none of them a bother. but you were… quieter than quiet. No family visits to his knowledge, minimal interactions with nurses too from what he had heard. He recalls the way your shoulders tense when spoken to, how your eyes dart away. Not rudely, just… guarded.

Emotionally intelligent as he is, irritation isn’t his response. Frustration, maybe, at the barrier to proper care - but he adapts. Always has.

Day three. Morning. He enters, and you notice something different. He doesn’t launch into questions right away. Instead, he pulls the chair closer to your bed - not too close, respecting your preference for space - and sits, crossing one leg over the other and flipping open your chart. “Slept alright?”

You nod, but your hand unconsciously presses against your side, a subtle wince flickering across your face.

He sees it. Of course he does. He notes the way your breathing shallows just a fraction when you shift. “The nurses said you ate half your breakfast. That’s progress.”

You blink, surprised he knows. “Yeah.”

No more words from you. But he doesn’t leave. He checks the monitors, adjusts a setting on the IV pump with a soft click. His presence is calm, unhurried. As he stands to examine the incision, his voice becomes softer. “I’m going to palpate the area gently. Tell me if it’s tender.”

His fingers brush your skin, and you tense, but it’s over quickly. “Slight inflammation, but it’s healing well.” He meets your eyes briefly. “You’re doing better than you think.”

Heat creeps into your cheeks. You mumble a “Thanks,” and that’s the end of it.

Evening. The pain has worsened -a five now, maybe six - but you don’t plan to say so.

“Evening check,” he says, routine as ever. But instead of standing at the foot of the bed, he leans against the wall - alarmingly casual for a doctor - giving you distance. “Walked the hall today?”

“A bit.”

Your voice is quieter than usual, and he observes the way you curl slightly inward, protecting your abdomen. A tell. Pain, pain that’s unmanaged.

“Scale of one to ten?” he asks, but he already knows it’s higher. By the way your fingers grip the blanket tighter just to the point your knuckles turn white.

“Four,” you lie, not meeting his gaze.

He doesn’t call you out. Instead, he nods and taps something into the tablet. “I’ll up the dosage slightly for tonight. Should help with rest.”

You glance up, surprised. How did he know? But he’s already moving on, checking your temperature with the forehead scanner. His expression is empty as ever, but there’s a warmth to his efficiency, like he’s attuned to your silence.

As the days blur - four, five - Chishiya learns your mannerisms without a word. The way your brows knit when the pain spikes, how you bite your lip when you wish you could voice your pain, but can’t. Mornings, you tend to be more alert, so he saves the more interactive checks for then - asking about dreams or the bland hospital food, drawing out one-word answers that he can piece together into an understanding of your needs.

Evenings, you’re wearier, so he keeps it brief, observational. He notices you favor the left side when lying down- to ease pressure on the incision, most likely. One night, he brings a small pillow from the supply cart without asking, positioning it under your right side. “For support.”

You murmur a thanks. That’s the first time someone’s anticipated your needs without making you spell them out. Even your parents weren’t that intuitive about you.

By day six, you’re walking more, albeit slowly. You still avoid small talk with nurses, preferring to read or stare out the window. But with Chishiya, there’s a gradual shift. His questions are usually open-ended but undemanding, that helps: “See anything interesting out there?” he asks one morning, nodding to the window.

“Clouds,” you reply softly. “Theres one shaped like a cat.”

He smirks faintly and comments dryly, “Cumulonimbus feline. Rare.”

You almost smile, ducking your head.

He memorizes more: how your pulse quickens when anxious, not just in pain. Like when a loud cart rattles by in the hall, and you flinch. So he starts closing the door during his check-ins.

Your pain improves because of it. He adjusts meds based on cues- the hitch in your breath, the subtle shift in posture - rather than waiting for you to speak. “You’re at a two today,” he says one evening, not asking, because he didn’t need to ask. He already knew. “Better.”

You nod, relieved. “Yeah.”

He lingers, flipping through the chart. “You’ll be good for discharge soon, if progress holds.”

The thought twists your stomach. Home means solitude, but also no more of his visits. You push that feeling down.

Day seven. Morning rounds. You’re sitting up, book in lap - a medical thriller, fitting. He enters, eyes flicking to the cover. “Good read?”

“It’s okay,” you say, more than usual. That’s progress.

He checks your vitals, his touch feeling familiar now, not so intimidating. As he listens to your lungs with his stethoscope, you blurt out: “Why do you… notice things?”

He pauses, stethoscope still pressed to your back. “Breathe in.”

You do.

“Out.”

As you exhale, he straightens. “It’s my job. But with you…” He chooses his words carefully. “Words aren’t always necessary. Bodies speak too.”

No one’s ever said that – you felt validated. Seen, but not in the way that makes your skin crawl.

Evening. Your pain is minimal now, a one. But anxiety creeps in about leaving. Which is weird, considering you’re currently in a hospital. When he arrives, you fiddle with the IV tape, a new tell he’s learned: nervousness.

“Last check before you’re discharged tomorrow,” he says, sitting in the chair. “How do you feel?”

“Okay.” A pause. “Scared, actually.”

It’s the most you’ve volunteered since being here. He nods, no judgment at all. “Recovery at home can be daunting. Your follow-up in a week - I’ll see you then.”

You meet his eyes for the first time fully. “You will?”

“It’s my clinic.” A faint smile. “Unless you’d prefer another doctor.”

“No,” you say quickly, followed by a blush. “I mean… you’re fine.”

More than fine.

He stands, but hesitates at the door. “If you need anything - pain, questions – just call. Being quiet is okay, suffering however, isn’t.”

Discharge day. You’re dressed in your own clothes, feeling exposed without the hospital gown. Weird, considering the hospital gowns came with a convenient hole at the back. As you wait for the wheelchair escort, the door opens.

Dr. Chishiya. Not a scheduled visit, but here nonetheless. “Final once-over.”

He checks the incision one last time. “It’s healing nicely. Remember: no heavy lifting.”

“I know.”

His eyes soften a fraction. “You’ve done well.”

Your throat tightens. “Thanks to you.” Three words in one go. Progress.

He responds with a rare, genuine smile that looks almost misplaced on his features. “Mutual.”

As he leaves, he slips a card into your hand - his direct line. “For the pain.”

[harusmichixo]

As a fic writer, i need every reader to know that:

I don’t care if your comment is coherent. I know what you mean and i love you

I don’t care if you ramble. I read every word and i love you

I don’t care if you leave a comment on a fic from four years ago or leave comments/kudos on like ten of my fics in one go. This isn’t IG, pls stalk my AO3. I love you

I don’t care if you mention the same thing in your comment that four other people have already mentioned. It’s actually really useful to know what resonated with people and I love everyone who takes the time to tell me they liked a particular turn of phrase

I don’t mind if your comment is super long or just a couple of sentences, i love them all

I love you

[harusmichixo]

Under His Scalpel - Chishiya x OC

Chapter 20

*:･ﾟ✧ summary: surgeon!Chishiya Shuntaro had never wanted to have a resident.

And he never wanted to care .

But yet here he was with a resident under his wing - inexperienced, fragile, needy - and now he’s expected to live to his reputation and make her into the best surgeon known to mankind.

Or at least thats what he reasoned.

fic tags!: surgeon!chishiya, mentor!chishiya, resident!oc, slow burn, sort of enemies to lovers (?), medical au, chishiya is bad at feelings, chishiya is a little shit, semi-inspired by greys anatomy, fluff, maybe some angst, surgery, potentially ooc chishiya

warnings: medical detail, injury detail, surgery detail, patient death, incorrect medical information (my knowledge of medicine comes from greys anatomy so PLEASE do not use this fic to diagnose)

chapter list!!!

crossposting on ao3!

A/N: Final chapter is here 🥲 Thank you so much to everyone who has supported this fic and kept up with the updates!!! I’ll be sad to finish this🥲

Chishiya paced the length of his penthouse living room. It was January 2nd, 2026, exactly 9:23 AM. Five hours before Tabi’s flight to Osaka departed from Haneda Airport. Five hours before she vanished from his life forever.

The thought made his stomach churn, that nauseating twist that has become far too familiar for him.

Never seeing her again.

He stopped pacing, gripping the back of the leather sofa with whitening knuckles. It’s for the best, he told himself, the mantra he had repeated like a broken record.

She’s advancing her career. You’re not holding her back. It’s for the best.

He glanced at the clock again – 9:30AM. She was probably still asleep in her apartment, or maybe packing last-minute things, humming that annoying little melody she did when nervous. The one that used to irritate him until it became endearing. He shook his head, forcing himself to move. Coffee. He needed coffee. Anything to drown out the annoyingly loud silence.

He flicked on the espresso machine, the hum doing little to fill the void she left behind. As it brewed, he leaned against the island, staring at the spot where she had once perched, legs swinging, teasing him about his terrible diet of black coffee and protein bars. She had made an attempt to fix it, stocking his pantry with better quality ingredients – but it was futile for the most part.

Stop it, he snapped internally. She’s gone. Deal with it.

Back in the living room, he sank onto the couch, mug in hand, intending to scroll through his phone - maybe check stock updates, or read the latest journal on aortic repairs. Anything clinical, detached, to pull him back into his old lifestyle he lead before she existed. But as he set the mug on the coffee table, something caught his eye. A glint of metal under the table’s edge, half-hidden by the rug.

He frowned, leaning down. His fingers brushed something small, fuzzy. Pulling it out, he stared at the object in his palm: a bunny keychain. Pink, cartoonish, with floppy ears and a ridiculous pom-pom tail.

Hers.

It must have fallen off her bag the last time she was here.

The keychain felt heavier than it should, a tiny weight in his palm. He turned it over, the metal ring cold against his skin.

Memories flooded in: her clipping it to her hospital badge on her first day, telling him it was to seem “personable.” He had rolled his eyes, claiming it was rediculous, but secretly he found it… cute. The way it jingled when she walked – he would listened to it when they walked through the hospital, subtly matching his pace to the sound of it so she didn’t get left behind.

And now, it was here. Left behind.

Something snapped.

Not physically, but deep inside him. The sickness in his stomach worsened, but this time it wasn’t nausea; it was clarity. Blinding, terrifying clarity.

I can’t let her go.

Not to Osaka, not to some fellowship that would swallow her whole while he rotted in this empty penthouse.

This is irrational. Impulsive. You’re throwing everything away.

But for once, he didn’t listen.

He stood abruptly, the keychain clutched in his fist. His phone was in his hand before he could second-guess. First: the hospital. He dialed the director’s private line – Tabi’s father. It rang twice.

“Chishiya?” Hiroshi’s voice was groggy, early morning confusion evident. “Everything alright?”

“I’m resigning.” The words came out flat, final. No preamble. “Effective immediately. I’ll email the formal letter by noon.”

Silence. Then: “What? Why? Is this about-“

“Yes.” Chishiya cut him off, pacing again. “Tabi. I can’t… I won’t hold her back, I promise, but I can’t stay here without her.”

Another pause, longer this time. Hiroshi sighed, the sound heavy with understanding. “I see. Well, son… if that’s your choice, I won’t stop you. But Osaka General- they’re always looking for talent like yours. I could make a call.”

Chishiya’s grip tightened on the phone. A job in Osaka? It hadn’t even crossed his mind yet, but… yes. Perfect. Nepotism be damned. “Do it. Please.”

“Consider it done. And Chishiya? Good luck.”

The call ended. Next: his real estate agent. He scrolled to the contact- the one who had sold him this penthouse years ago. A quick text:

List it. Today. Market price, quick sale. I’ll sign digitally.

The reply came almost instantly: On it. Any reason for the rush?

Personal.

He hit send, then tossed the phone on the couch. His heart hammered, there was no going back now.

One more thing: the flight. He grabbed his laptop, pulling up the ANA website. Flight 47 to Itami, departing 3 PM. Seats available - first class, even. He booked it without any hesitation, credit card details entered purely from memory. The confirmation email pinged:

Boarding pass attached.

It was done. Within the hour, he had quit his job, put his home on the market, and booked a one-way ticket to Osaka. Irrational? Absolutely. Illogical? Alarmingly so. But for the first time in weeks, the sickness eased. Replaced by… hope? Excitement? He didn’t know, didn’t care. All he cared about was getting to her. Before she boarded that plane and it was too late.

He moved like a man possessed. Shower: quick, scalding. Clothes: slacks, button-down, nothing flashy. Bag: a duffel stuffed with just the essentials - laptop, wallet, a change of clothes. The bunny keychain went into his pocket. Keys, phone, out the door.

Tokyo blurred past as he drove. Haneda airport appeared on the horizon, and he parked in short-stay, not caring about the fee he would pay for getting it towed. He’ll just buy a new car anyway. He checked his watch: 12:00 PM. Plenty of time. Check-in was smooth; no luggage beyond his duffel, which he carried on. Security: a minor delay for a pat-down, but nothing major.

And then, the departure lounge.

Gates stretched out, and the scent of fresh pastries wafted from a café. He scanned the crowds, heart in his throat. Gate 12 - her gate. People milled about: a family arguing over snacks, a businessman on his phone. And there, by the window, staring out at the tarmac -

Tabi. Her back to him and backpack at her feet.

He froze for a second, his breath catching.

What if she says no? What if I already ruined everything?

He took a step, then another, weaving through the seats.

“Tabi,” he called, but it came out too quiet. Louder now: “I sold my penthouse.”

Tabi froze.

That voice - low, precise, with that faint edge of sarcasm she knew far too well.

No. It couldn’t be.

She turned slowly, her heart slamming against her ribs, and there he was:

Chishiya, standing a few feet away in the middle of the lounge, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, looking… disheveled? His hair was slightly damp and his button-down rumpled like he had dressed in a hurry.

“Chishiya?” The name came out too quietly to be heard, her boarding pass crumpling in her fist. Shock rooted her to the spot, confusion swirling in her. People glanced their way curiously, but she barely noticed. “What… what are you doing here? Penthouse? Huh-? Wha-“

He took a step closer, the duffel thudding softly as he set it down.

“Because I love you,”

He said simply, the words dropping in the quiet space between them. No preamble, no hesitation.

Tabi’s world tilted. He… what?

Her mouth opened, then closed, tears pricking at her eyes. “You… you love me?” She shook her head, trying to process. “But why are you here? And the penthouse- Chishiya, that’s…that’s your home. You love that place. The view, the terace… why would you- I don’t understand?”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips, that familiar, infuriating curve that always meant he was one step ahead. “I quite like Osaka,” he replied simply. “And I quit my job. I’m coming with you.”

The lounge seemed to spin. Tabi blinked, her backpack slipping from her shoulder as she stared at him.

Quit his job?

“You… quit? Chishiya, no. That’s your career. You’ve built everything there-… I-…what?… your reputation, that’s important to you. You can’t just… throw it away.” Her voice cracked, a mix of disbelief and hope warring inside her.

Is this real? Or am I hallucinating?

He reached into his pocket, pulling out something small and pink - her bunny keychain. She had turned her apartment upside down looking for it.

And it was with him the whole time?

He held it up to her. “This fell off your bag last time you were at my place. I found it… and, well-… I can’t stay in Tokyo without you. The penthouse? I want one with a gym anyway.” He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne. “Your father - he’s pulling strings. A position at Osaka General. For me. It’s not finalized, but… it’s a start.”

Tabi’s tears spilled over now, hot and unchecked, but she laughed through them - a shaky, incredulous sound. “Osaka General? With me? But… are you sure? Like, really sure? This isn’t some impulse, right? You’ve thought about this?”

“No, I’ve not really thought it through.” He shrugged. “But I don’t need to.”

He cupped her face gently, his thumbs brushing away her tears. “I’ve never been more sure. The only time I’ve ever felt happy in Tokyo, was when I was with you.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I love you, Tabi. I should’ve told you that sooner. But I’m saying it now.”

She searched his eyes, looking for any hint of doubt, any flicker of his usual detachment, that cruel logic he used to hold over her.

But there was none of that. Not anymore.

Still, old habits died hard; she had to triple-check. “What about your job, though? Really? Head of cardiology - that’s huge. And Osaka… what if it’s not the same? What if you regret it?”

He chuckled softly, a low rumble that sent warmth through her. “The only regret I have is letting you walk away in the first place.” He shrugged again. “Besides, I’ve been thinking about teaching. Maybe at Osaka University. And Osaka General is top-tier; I’ll rebuild. Better, even.” He paused, his hands sliding down to her arms. “And as for a place to live… we can go apartment hunting tomorrow. Something with a view, maybe. Or whatever you want. I don’t care.”

We.

That word hit her her hard, igniting a hope she had buried deep. “We?” She sniffled, a smile breaking through despite the tears. “You’re really doing this? Coming with me? For real?”

“For real.” He pulled her into a hug then, his arms wrapping around her tightly, chin resting on her head. She melted into him, burying her face in his chest, sighing at the familiar sound of his heartbeat.

The announcement crackled overhead:

Final boarding call for ANA Flight 47 to Itami. All passengers, please proceed to Gate 12.

Tabi glanced at the gate, then back at him, an almost childish grin crossing her face. “Our flight.”

He grabbed his duffel and her backpack, slinging them over his shoulder with ease. “Our flight.” He echoed.

They joined the line hand in hand, her boarding pass in one hand, the bunny keychain now clipped back to her bag where it belonged. The attendant scanned their passes - the first-class upgrade on her ticket a mystery she didn’t dare to question.

As they settled into their seats - side by side, his hand holding hers - Chishiya leaned over with a knowing smirk, whispering in her ear.

“By the way, your second-year boards are in three months.”

[harusmichixo]

HEYYY!!

I just wanted to tell you something! Thank you so much for writing the Chishiya x Oc fanfic!! I loved it so much and it was the best one I ever read! I can’t believe that it’s about to end 🥹🥹. You’re an amazing writer and I loved supporting you!

The whole fanfic was amazing seriously I remember waking up every morning just to check if you uploaded a new chapter checking Tumblr had become my habit even! And when I was at the hospital even that didn’t stop me from checking<33

Your an amazing writer and thank you so much for making such a great fanfic<333

Luv youuuu

-Aeri 💕

Thank you so much for reading and supporting the fic! 🥹 I’ve really loved reading your comments and it means a lot that you’ve enjoyed it so much!! <3

[harusmichixo]

Under His Scalpel - Chishiya x OC

Chapter 19

*:･ﾟ✧ summary: surgeon!Chishiya Shuntaro had never wanted to have a resident.

And he never wanted to care .

But yet here he was with a resident under his wing - inexperienced, fragile, needy - and now he’s expected to live to his reputation and make her into the best surgeon known to mankind.

Or at least thats what he reasoned.

fic tags!: surgeon!chishiya, mentor!chishiya, resident!oc, slow burn, sort of enemies to lovers (?), medical au, chishiya is bad at feelings, chishiya is a little shit, semi-inspired by greys anatomy, fluff, maybe some angst, surgery, potentially ooc chishiya

warnings: medical detail, injury detail, surgery detail, patient death, incorrect medical information (my knowledge of medicine comes from greys anatomy so PLEASE do not use this fic to diagnose)

chapter list!!!

crossposting on ao3!

A/N: 2nd to last chapter 🥲… final chapter coming tonight!!!

At first, Chishiya convinced himself this was for the best. Logic, his true lifelong partner, dictated that much. Tabi deserved the fellowship at Osaka General; it was a career catapult, the kind of opportunity he would have seized without hesitation in his resident days. To him, letting go of her was his version of an “I love you”. Holding her back would have only bred resentment, she would grow to hate him, and if roles were reversed, he knew that he would grow to hate her too. So he buried it, channeling the ache in his chest into constant work. Back to back surgeries and consults that left him collapsing into bed at 3 AM, only to rise again at 6.

But nights were the worst. His penthouse felt uncomfortable without her stuff everywhere. Sleep evaded him, because annoyingly his pillows still smelt too much like her, no matter how much he washed them. That vanilla perfume that he loved so much – he couldn’t rid of it. His sleep was replaced by restless tossing, dreams fragmented with her face - smiling, her head on his chest with that warm pressure that made it feel real. And he would wake in cold sweats, reaching for her, only for his fingers to touch a cold pillow.

He tried distractions. Investments were one of them - pouring over stock portfolios until his eyes burned, adjusting holdings in real estate and tech ventures. It kept his mind occupied, but the satisfaction was hollow. A rare night out with colleagues - a forced happy hour at a bar near the hospital - ended early when a blonde woman at the counter reminded him too much of her, sending him home to an empty bed. Even his usual solace, medical journals, failed; articles on transplants blurred, but his thoughts always drifted to how Tabi slept at his desk waiting for him to finish writing his own.

It was pride that kept him from reaching out. They had agreed: clean break, no contact. But pride warred with longing; he would stare at his phone, thumb hovering over her number, only to lock it away in his nightstand. At work, their paths crossed inevitably - a shared elevator where she would avoid his gaze, a briefing where her voice cracked slightly when trying to explain something to him. Each encounter caused a pang in his gut, she wasn’t coping too, as it seems. He was proud of her, damn it - fiercely so. But that only made this hurt so much more.

And then her last shift came.

His office door was slightly ajar, as it usually was, when Tabi entered – a box of professional items in her arms. Chishiya felt his chest twist into knots at the sight. This is it, she’s really leaving forever.

Tabi entered, closing the door behind her, the room’s clinical scent mingling with his cologne - a reminder that twisted at her chest too. “My last shift. I… need to hand these in.” She set the box on his desk, badge on top, avoiding his gaze.

He nodded, picking up the badge, his thumb tracing the name. A silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. “Everything accounted for?”

“Yes.” She shifted, fidgety. “I, um, wanted to say thanks. For mentoring me, that is.”

He leaned back. “You were a capable resident. Osaka will suit you.”

Then came an awkward pause. She bit her lip. “It feels weird. Leaving.”

“It’s the right move.”

More silence followed. Then, quieter: “Chishiya… I’ll miss-“

“Wait.” He stood suddenly, rounding the desk to her. “I’m proud of you, Tabi. Truly. I’m glad you’re doing this for yourself. You’re doing the right thing.”

Tears welled in her eyes instantly, spilling over like a dam breaking. “I’ll miss you. So much.”

There was a moment of hestitation – I shouldn’t do this - and then, he cupped her face, his thumbs wiping away her tears as they fell. “Yeah. Me too.”

Then slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, his breath mingling with hers in the small space between them.

The kiss started tentative, a brush of his lips against here to test the waters. But as her tears mingled with the contact, he deepened it, his hands cradling her face like she was made of glass, precious. It was soft, slow, sweet, in all the ways it always was.

When they parted, he rested his forehead against hers, his thumbs still brushing away fresh tears.

“Take care of yourself. Please,” he whispered, and she could have sworn she heard his voice choke too.

“You too,” she managed, stepping back as the finality settled between them like lead.

__________________________________________

The automatic doors of Haneda Airport slid open with a whoosh, ushering Tabi into the busy terminal. It was January 2nd, 2026, exactly 09:23am, she was early for her flight – some would say too early – but Tabi was nothing if not punctual. Her rolling suitcase bumped over the tiled floor, the wheels echoing her hesitant steps as she made her way to the check-in desk. A sea of travelers in lines snaked round the hall, most of them with someone - families with kids tugging at luggage, men in business suits tapping impatiently on phones, and couples sharing last-minute hugs.

Tabi’s heart ached with every beat, a dull throb that had become a constant over the past weeks. The breakup with Chishiya had been mutual, logical so he says, but leaving meant leaving him.

She joined the check-in line for ANA Flight 47 to Itami, her small backpack slung over one shoulder, containing the essentials: passport, wallet, a thermos of tea (for comfort), and her cat pin clipped to the strap so she seemed “personable”. The line moved slowly, giving her way too much time to overthink.

What if she had fought harder? Told him she loved him that night, instead of letting the words die on her lips? But no - Chishiya was logical to a fault, she knew that. She knew things would have ended eventually.

Finally at the counter, the agent smiled brightly. “ID and ticket, please.”

Tabi handed them over. “One way to Osaka.”

The agent tapped keys, printing her boarding pass. “Bag to check?”

“Just this.” She hefted her suitcase onto the scale - packed light, mostly scrubs, books, and a few mementos from Tokyo. She wanted to start fresh; wardrobe and all. No room for regrets, she had told herself while folding her scrubs last night, tears staining the fabric.

“Gate 12, boarding at 2:30. Have a safe flight!”

Tabi nodded thanks, pocketing the pass and heading to security. The terminal was overstimulating to say the least: announcements blaring in Japanese and English, the scent of overpriced coffee from nearby kiosks, and tourists bumbling around. She joined the security queue, and her mind wandered to Chishiya. Again.

Was he at work right now? Does he even think about me anymore?

The thought twisted at her gut. She would miss Tokyo, of course she would, this had been her home for 10 years. But him? That was a wound that wouldn’t be healed easily with distance.

She passed through security without issue, collecting her things on the other side of the scanners. No pat-downs, no delays - just forward momentum toward a future that felt equally terrifying as it did exciting.

Beyond security, the duty-free shops were filled with perfumes and chocolates, things she would usually allow herself to indulge in, but Tabi bypassed them, heading straight for the gates.

Tabi found a spot by the windows, settling into a chair. She stared out at the tarmac, watching planes take off to wherever they were heading, and her thoughts churned again.

Am I really doing the right thing to do? Leaving Tokyo? Chishiya?

Suddenly, A voice - familiar, slightly breathless - cut through her thoughts.

“I sold my penthouse.”

[harusmichixo]

hi! please can you write how chishiya would react to being called kind? something like reader sees him distributing food and maybe some small toys he had crafted to the few kids that are residing at The Beach. and being uncharacteristically nice to them and the reader approaches him and tells him its a kind thing to do. thank u!!!!

chishiya x reader

*:･ﾟ✧ summary: you find chishiya in the abandoned play park one night, surrounded by kids. Usually detached and bitter, you were startled to find him looking so… kind?

tags: 5 minute craft chishiya, soft chishiya, slight angst.

word count: 2k

masterlist

You wandered the grounds one afternoon, keeping to the edges, out of sight, merely observing. It was a habit born from necessity - spot the threats, the weak links, the ones to avoid in a team game. Today, though, your gaze snagged on something else.

Chishiya, with his hoodie perpetually zipped up, hands in pockets and eyes scanning for… well, whatever it was he scanned for. You had crossed paths with him a few times before – a few brief nods in the hallways, a shared game where you had barely kept up with him. He was smart, unnervingly so, but kind? That wasn’t a word people usually associated with someone like him. He was detached, almost dissociated, like he was in a different world altogether.

But there he was, in a quiet corner near the abandoned playground area - overgrown with weeds pushing through cracked concrete, swings creaking in the faint breeze. A handful of kids, the rare survivors who had somehow lasted long enough to end up at The Beach, clustered around him. There weren’t many children here; most didn’t last long in this world. These ones - maybe five or six, ages ranging from toddler to pre-teen - looked scruffy and malnourished, but alive at the least.

Chishiya was crouched down, his usual condescending smirk absent for once, replaced by an expression far softer. One that barely suited his features.

In his hands, he held small objects: toys, it looked like. Not the flashy plastic kind from the old world, but makeshift ones crafted from scavenged junk.

A little car whittled from wood scraps, with wheels made from bottle caps.

A doll fashioned from cloth rags and buttons.

Even a puzzle box, pieced together with wire and cardboard.

He handed them out one by one, talking to them in an oddly soothing voice, not the condescending drawl you were used to.

“Here,” he said to a small girl with pigtails, placing the doll in her grubby hands. “Don’t lose the arms; they’re fragile.” She beamed up at him, clutching it to her chest like it was a prized treasure. A boy next to her grabbed the car, zooming it across the ground with an enthusiastic vroom.

And it wasn’t just toys. From a small bag slung over his shoulder, he pulled out rations - cans of fruit, packets of crackers, even a few candy bars that managed to outlast their expiry. The Beach had food, sure, but it was rationed tightly by the militants. These kids weren’t high on the priority list; they were afterthoughts, surviving on scraps and the occasional pity handout. Chishiya distributed the food methodically, making sure each got an equal share, his fingers brushing theirs gently, there was no rush, no irritation.

One kid, a boy with a bandaged knee - probably from a tumble during a game - tugged at Chishiya’s sleeve. “Do you sometimes scratch yourself when you make them?” he asked, pointing to the toys, referring to how he crafted them with a small knife.

Chishiya tilted his head. “Not if you’re careful. Want to see how?” He sat cross-legged on the ground, pulling out a pocket knife and a piece of scrap wood, demonstrating with slow, deliberate strokes. The kids leaned in with rapt attention, as shavings fell like snow on the ground between them.

You stood there, half-hidden behind a tree, watching this unfold. It didn’t compute. Chishiya, the guy who you watched shrug when the player next to him was exploded into pink mist, was… nurturing? Patient? The word ‘kind’ bubbled up in your mind, as unusual as it was. You had heard rumors about him – some say something to with medicine, or some say assassin - but this? This seemed like neither of those things.

Curiosity got the better of you. You stepped out, gravel crunching under your shoes, and approached the group. The kids glanced up, some scattering a bit like startled birds, but Chishiya didn’t flinch. He finished handing a puzzle to the last child - a quiet girl who hadn’t spoken - and stood up, brushing the dirt from his pants.

“That’s… kind of you,” you said, the words slipping out before you could overthink them. “What you’re doing for them.”

He turned, his expression neutral as ever, those eyes locking onto yours, considering you. For a split second, something flickered there - surprise? Confusion, maybe? But it was gone in an instant, replaced by his trademark indifference. He shoved his hands back into his pockets, the bag of remaining supplies slung casually over one shoulder.

The kids were dispersing now, toys in hand, munching on their treats as they ran off to play. One waved back at him, and he gave a slight nod, almost imperceptible.

You waited for a response, but Chishiya just stared, like you were something he hadn’t anticipated. Kind. That word hung in his mind, awkward and heavy. No one had ever called him that before - at least, not that he could remember. Compliments were always reserved for his intellect, his skill, never for his personality. And here, in this world? He had quickly deciphered that Kindness was a weakness, a target on your back.

He didn’t do it for praise; it was… what? A habit? A calculation? Even he wasn’t sure why he did it sometimes.

He shifted his weight, trying to summon that disinterested mask he wore so well. “Is it?” he finally said, almost sounding bored.

You nodded. “Yeah. The toys, the food. Most people here wouldn’t bother. Hell, I’m not even sure the kids are on the rations list.”

He glanced away, toward the horizon where the city skyline loomed. “They found a way to survive long enough to get here, same as us. Might as well give them an equal chance.”

It wasn’t much of an answer, but you pressed on, leaning against a rusted swing set. “Where’d you learn to make those? The toys, I mean. They’re pretty detailed.”

Chishiya shrugged, the movement minimal. “Boredom. Scavenged materials aren’t hard to find if you know where to look.” He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, “keeps my hands busy.”

You chuckled softly, the sound surprising even you. “Right, I see.” You gestured to the now-empty spot where the kids had been. “They lit up, you know. Like actual kids, not… whatever this world turns people into.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he pulled out another small item from his pocket - a whittled bird, wings spread as if in flight - and turned it over in his fingers, examining it like it held answers. Kind. That word echoed in his head again, unfamiliar and almost irritating. What did you want from him? Gratitude? An explanation? A partnership? It had to be something material. He wasn’t used to this - people seeing through him, or worse, misinterpreting his actions as something noble.

Finally, he met your gaze again, forcing a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe I like kids. Problem?”

The words came out sharper than intended, a defensive edge honed from years of solitude. But there it was - his response, the one that shut down any further probing from you. Just a casual deflection as always.

You blinked, then smiled faintly. “No problem at all. Just… it’s unexpected, coming from you.”

He pocketed the bird, adjusting his hoodie. “Careful. Expectations are dangerous here. Gets you killed.”

The conversation could have ended there, but something kept you rooted. Perhaps it was the rarity of having an actual conversation with him, or maybe something else, you wouldn’t know. “Fair enough. Mind if I stick around? Watch you work your magic on the next batch of scraps?”

Chishiya raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say no. Instead, he sat back down on the ground, pulling out his knife and a fresh piece of wood. You joined him, cross-legged, the grass prickly against your legs. The air smelled of chlorine from the pool and the faint decay of the body bins nearby. An odd mix for the scenario you had found yourself in.

The kids trickled back eventually, drawn to him by the promise of more toys. One boy, the one with the bandaged knee, plopped down beside you. “Can I try?” he asked Chishiya, eyes pleading.

Chishiya handed him a duller tool - a makeshift chisel from a spoon handle. “Watch your fingers.” He demonstrated again, remaining patient as the boy fumbled. This side of him felt like a glitch in the matrix.

The sun set lower, turning the playground orange, and for a moment, it felt almost normal. Kids laughing, crafting, or sharing stories of “before.” One girl talked about her old school, another about a lost dog. Chishiya listened, interjecting occasionally with an added fact or an encouragement to talk more. “Dogs are smart. Did you know their noses are 10,000 times stronger than ours?”

Hours passed like that, the group growing and shrinking as kids came and went. You helped distribute more food when Chishiya pulled out extras, your hands brushing his accidentally.

By dusk, the playground emptied again. Chishiya packed up, standing from the ground with a stretch. “That’s enough for today.”

You rose too, dusting off your clothes. “Thanks for letting me crash your… whatever this is.”

He nodded, already turning away. “Don’t make a habit of it.”

But as he walked off, hood up, hands in pockets, you called after him. “Hey, Chishiya?”

He paused, glancing back.

“It was kind. Really.”

He didn’t respond to that, just continued into the shadows. But you caught the faintest hesitation in his step, like the word had lodged somewhere he couldn’t easily shove it down.

The next day, you found yourself back at the playground, almost by accident. Or maybe not. The Beach was buzzing with another party, but this little corner felt like a bubble. Quiet and safe. Chishiya was there again, earlier this time, with a new batch of toys: spinning tops made from corks, and slingshots made from rubber bands and forks.

The kids arrived in waves, and you joined seamlessly, helping him hand things out.

“Why do you do it?” you asked later, when the kids were playing nearby.

“Why not?” He shot back.

“Come on. You’re not the type to waste time.”

“Who said it’s a waste of time?” His voice sounded almost thoughtful. “Kids adapt easily. Quick learners. Their best chance of survival is if they treat games like puzzles.”

“So, you’re… teaching them?”

“Something like that.” He finished a top, spinning it on his palm. “Or maybe I just like the company.”

Days blurred into a routine. You’d meet there at the same time in the afternoons, help him hand out food and whatever toys he’d crafted. Chishiya’s crafts grew more intricate over time: a marionette from string and sticks, a board game etched into wood. Food was always there - stolen from the basement storage, you suspected, but he never confirmed.

One evening, after a particularly brutal game night, the kids were subdued. A boy had lost his older brother the night before. So chishiya sat with him, carving silently, then handed over a small figure that inteded to look like the kid’s brother. “Keep it close.”

The boy hugged it, crying silently at chishiya’s side. He occasionally leaned into chishiya, as if seeking out comfort, and chishiya never pushed him away.

The routine continued, words sparse but comfortable. Until one day, you said it again: “This is kind, you know.”

He froze mid-carve, knife hovering. Never been called that. It didn’t fit his self-image.

He forced disinterest, shrugging. “Whatever.”

But you persisted. “I’m being serious.”

He set the knife down, meeting your eyes, and letting out a steady huff. “Only with kids. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

[harusmichixo]

Under His Scalpel - Chishiya x OC

Chapter 18

*:･ﾟ✧ summary: surgeon!Chishiya Shuntaro had never wanted to have a resident.

And he never wanted to care .

But yet here he was with a resident under his wing - inexperienced, fragile, needy - and now he’s expected to live to his reputation and make her into the best surgeon known to mankind.

Or at least thats what he reasoned.

fic tags!: surgeon!chishiya, mentor!chishiya, resident!oc, slow burn, sort of enemies to lovers (?), medical au, chishiya is bad at feelings, chishiya is a little shit, semi-inspired by greys anatomy, fluff, maybe some angst, surgery, potentially ooc chishiya

warnings: medical detail, injury detail, surgery detail, patient death, incorrect medical information (my knowledge of medicine comes from greys anatomy so PLEASE do not use this fic to diagnose)

chapter list!!!

crossposting on ao3!

Months slipped by perhaps faster than chishiya would have liked. It was early November now, and Chishiya found himself in an unfamiliar state: content. No, more than that -happy. He actually felt happy. His career was at its peak; as head of cardiology, he had just led a groundbreaking hybrid procedure that blended pediatric heart transplants with cutting-edge holographic imaging, earning accolades from the board and a pay rise from the director (turned father-in-law). The hospital buzzed with his name, residents from other departments trying to bribe their way onto his service, it was challenging in all the ways he craved, without the exhausting politics of before.

And his relationship with Tabi? Evenings at his penthouse or her apartment, where she would insist on cooking for him (albeit terribly), and he would do his best to not grimace as he forced down every bite. Kindness – that was new. Something that he’s surprisingly good at.

Head scratches on the couch had become an almost nightly ritual, her fingers weaving through his hair as they watched mindless TV, his usual detachment melting under her touch. She would drag him on low-key “dates” - picnics in hidden parks, late-night runs to the supermarket - and he would go, completely failing at the uninterested act.

And then, the realization hit.

It was during one of those quiet nights, her asleep against his chest after that activity, her hair splayed across his skin. He watched her breathe, as he always did, and it struck him:

he was in love.

Not the calculated attraction he had rationalised as a mental break before, but completely real, messy love. The kind that made his chest ache in a way that didn’t cause pain, that had him buying her favorite tea without prompt just because, that made the idea of a future - with her - feel less like a threat to his sanity. It startled him, both that he had come to this revelation but also that he was even capable of feeling this way for someone.

But even more startlingly, he didn’t care.

No panic, no horrible sick feeling, no searching the internet for local psychiatrists. Just acceptance.

He’d tell her soon, he told himself, when the moment felt right.

But lately, Tabi had been off. Fidgety during their time together, nervous glances when she thought he wasn’t looking. She would zone out mid-conversation, twirling her hair absently, or excuse herself to the bathroom more often than usual.

Chishiya noticed – of course he did, he noticed everything - but he just chalked it up to work stress. A tough rotation, perhaps, or lingering effects from keeping their relationship private. He didn’t press; vulnerability was still new territory for him.

One lazy Saturday afternoon, he lounged at her apartment while she showered after a morning run. He wandered around aimlessly, picking up a book from her coffee table, when a loose paper fluttered out from under a stack of mail. Curious, he bent to retrieve it - and froze.

It was a letter, typed neatly on hospital stationery. A resignation letter. Addressed to the director - her father - stating her intent to step down from her residency at Tokyo University Hospital to accept a fellowship at Osaka General Hospital.

Effective next month.

The words blurred as his mind raced. Osaka? Hours away by train, perhaps a flight, a world apart in terms of their life together. Fellowship – they were prestigious, practically adrenaline for careers, but why hadn’t she mentioned it? He was her boyfriend after all, let alone her mentor – the person she’s supposed to discuss these moves with. He set the letter down carefully, heart pounding in a way it hadn’t since that disastrous date night.

Tabi emerged from the bathroom then, towel-drying her hair, in her usual comfy sweats. She froze at his expression. “Chishiya? What’s wrong?”

He held up the letter. “This. Care to explain?”

Her face paled, eyes widening. “You… weren’t supposed to see that. I was going to tell you-“

“When? After you packed? Or maybe at the airport?” He stood, crossing his arms. “Osaka General? A Fellowship?”

She sighed, sinking onto the couch, motioning for him to join. He did, reluctantly, the space between them feeling vast. “It came last week. An offer – it’s a top program, specialized in advanced cardiac imaging. It’s a huge opportunity for me.”

“And you didn’t tell me because…?”

“Because I don’t know if I want it.” She met his gaze, fidgety hands stilling in her lap. “It’s far. Very far. From Tokyo, from you. I haven’t decided yet. Didn’t want to worry you until I did.”

Chishiya’s stomach twisted, a mix of hurt and fear wearing in him. Abandonment. He was bad at it. Probably more so than affection. “So what about me?”

She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers. “We could try long distance. Visits on weekends, calls every night. It would be hard, but… we could make it work.”

Long distance. The words hit like he had been electrocuted - sickening, disorienting. Images flashed: empty evenings in his penthouse, loneliness, that slow drift apart until they’re basically no contact.

And as always, logic took over in place of fear. Love? Irrelevant now. This was practical: careers first, always. That’s how it was. He pulled his hand away.

“You would be a fool not to take it.”

Tabi blinked, hurt flickering in her chest. “What?”

“I didn’t train you to be a fool, Tabi.” His voice was cold, clinical – like it used to be when he was just her mentor. “This fellowship? It’s elite. Opens doors I could only dream of at your stage. You’ll be making double what I do in just a few years. Don’t throw it away for… sentiment.”

“But us-“

“There is no ‘us’ if it holds you back.” He said, his expression blank despite the ache in his chest. “Go. Leave me behind. It’s the smart move.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she nodded, voice small. “If…if that’s what you want.”

It wasn’t. The complete opposite actually. But he couldn’t say it, couldn’t risk being the one holding her back.

That evening, over takeout gone cold on Tabi’s cluttered coffee table, they had that long conversation. The type of conversation that never ended in anything good. The apartment felt smaller than usual, the pink accents and stuffed animals on the shelves almost mocking the heaviness in the air. Chishiya sat on the couch, his posture rigid, while Tabi paced the small living room. The sushi boxes remained mostly untouched - neither had an appetite anymore.

Tabi stopped pacing finally, sinking into the armchair across from him, her eyes red-rimmed from unshed tears. “We need to talk about this. Like really talk. The fellowship… us.”

Chishiya nodded, his expression a mask of his formerly usual detachment, though inside, his chest ached with a pain he couldn’t quite compartmentalize. “Yes. We do.”

She took a deep breath, twisting her hands in her lap. “The offer is amazing. Osaka General - it’s one of the best for cardiac fellowships. Cutting-edge research, mentors who’ve written the textbooks I studied in med school. It could seriously launch my career, like you said.’”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, forcing his voice to stay steady. “Exactly. Which is why I want you take it. I didn’t mentor you - push you – to settle for less.”

“But what about us?” Her voice cracked, the fidgety nerves from the past weeks spilling over. “We’ve built something real here… I don’t want to lose that.”

Chishiya’s throat tightened, the words “I love you” hovering on his tongue, but he swallowed them. Admitting it now would only complicate things, make the inevitable harder. “Long distance,” he echoed her earlier suggestion, testing it. “You think that would work? Weekends shuttling between cities, our schedules clashing? With shift work we could go months without seeing eachother.”

She nodded eagerly, leaning in. “We could make it work. Trains are fast - Shinkansen gets me here in under three hours. We can call every night or… or on lunch breaks… and video dates! It‘s not ideal, but… we’re strong enough, right? We’ve handled a lot already.”

He rubbed his temples, logic warring with the ache in his heart. “And when it isn’t enough? When resentment builds - missing out on milestones, birthdays, anniversaries? Because of work? Relationships like ours… they fizzle out under that strain.”

Tabi’s eyes welled, a tear escaping. “So what? You’re saying we just end it? Throw away months of… of this?” She gestured between them, her voice rising. “I lo- I care about you, Chishiya. More than some fellowship.”

That almost-slip- did she almost say love? - hit him like a punch to the gut, but he pushed it down. “Caring isn’t enough. Not for this. You would regret staying here, passing up the opportunity. And I’d… I’d be the reason. The one holding you back.”

“You’re not holding me back!” She stood, crossing to sit beside him, taking his hand. “We can figure this out… Please, chishiya.”

He looked at their joined hands, the warmth of her skin a cruel reminder of what he was about to lose. “No. We can’t.” Pulling away, he stood, pacing to the window. “Take the fellowship. Please. Go to Osaka. Leave me behind.”

Tears streamed down her face now, her voice sounding small. “Is that what you want? Really?”

What he wanted was her - here, with him, always. But yet again his logic screamed otherwise: careers over sentiment. “It’s what’s best. For you.”

“For me?” She wiped her eyes, anger mixing with hurt. “Or for you? You’re scared of comittment.”

Scared? Yes. Of comittment? No, of abandonment. Of her abandoning him first.

He turned to face her, his expression hardening. “I’m being realistic. I trained you to excel, not cling to comfort or ideals. This opportunity? Take it. Don’t disappoint me by being a fool.”

The words hung, sharp. Tabi flinched and stood to face him. “A fool? For wanting us? Fine. If that’s really how you see it… then maybe we should break up.”

Chishiya’s chest constricted at her words. This was really it. But he just nodded. “Yes. A clean break. On mutual terms. No resentment.”

They sat again, the takeout forgotten, hashing out details: no contact at first, purely professional at work until she left, a mutual agreement. Tears fell freely from her, sobs muffled into her hands; he stayed stoic as always, though inside, it felt like his heart was being ripped apart.

[harusmichixo]

Under His Scalpel - Chishiya x OC

Chapter 17

*:･ﾟ✧ summary: surgeon!Chishiya Shuntaro had never wanted to have a resident.

And he never wanted to care .

But yet here he was with a resident under his wing - inexperienced, fragile, needy - and now he’s expected to live to his reputation and make her into the best surgeon known to mankind.

Or at least thats what he reasoned.

fic tags!: surgeon!chishiya, mentor!chishiya, resident!oc, slow burn, sort of enemies to lovers (?), medical au, chishiya is bad at feelings, chishiya is a little shit, semi-inspired by greys anatomy, fluff, maybe some angst, surgery, potentially ooc chishiya

warnings: medical detail, injury detail, surgery detail, patient death, incorrect medical information (my knowledge of medicine comes from greys anatomy so PLEASE do not use this fic to diagnose)

chapter list!!!

crossposting on ao3!

The week dragged on like any other, a monotonous grind of beeps and charts that Chishiya navigated with his usual disinterest. Tabi and him exchanged nothing beyond the necessary: a curt “Update on the bypass patient?” from him, her replying with “Stable, vitals holding” in that clipped tone she had adopted for work. No one seemed to notice that anything was off. Dr. Tanaka, for his part, had been uncharacteristically subdued - nodding hello in the elevator, no sly comments, no probing stares. So much so, that Chishiya actually allowed himself a sliver of relief by Thursday. Maybe the idiot had decided to keep his mouth shut after all.

Friday afternoon came with the sharp ping of an email notification on his phone, buried in his coat pocket during a break in the cath lab. He wiped his hands on a towel, fished it out, and scanned the subject line: Request for Meeting: Monday, 9 AM. From HR. His thumb hovered for a short moment before opening it.

Dr. Chishiya Shuntaro,

Please attend a meeting in HR Conference Room B on Monday at 9 AM regarding a report of gross misconduct. This is a formal inquiry. Attendance is mandatory.

Regards,

HR Department

The words settled in his gut like swallowed lead.

Gross misconduct. Tanaka’s face flashed in his mind - that smug grin at the restaurant, the way he’d drawled “celebrating her boards” like he was already scripting the rumor. Chishiya shoved the phone back, his jaw tightening as he stared at the sterile wall. No details, no specifics, but he didn’t need them.

This was it. The fallout.

He pictured the inquiry: questions about boundaries, power dynamics, all leading to a suspension or worse. And Tabi - dragged into it, her residency tainted before it truly started, all because he couldn’t keep those stupid feelings to himself. He rubbed his temple, the lab’s hum fading to white noise. He needed to fix this.

End it before it exploded further.

By evening, he had texted her from his penthouse:

Come over. Now.

No explanation.

The buzzer sounded half an hour later, and he let her up without a word through the intercom.

Tabi stepped inside, kicking off her sneakers by the door, her hair still slightly damp from a post-shift shower. She wore that lavender sweater again, the one that hung loose on her frame, paired with jeans that had a faint coffee stain on the knee. “Hey,” she said, tilting her head as she padded into the living room. “You okay? Your text sounded… urgent.” She dropped her bag on the couch, glancing around his space.

Chishiya stood by the kitchen island, arms crossed, not moving to greet her like he usually did with that half-hearted pull into a hug. “Sit down.” His voice came out flatter than he had intended.

She paused, her smile faltering. “What’s going on? Did something happen at work? You look like-“

“HR emailed me.” He cut her off, pulling out his phone and sliding it across the counter toward her. The screen was already open to the message. “Meeting Monday. Gross misconduct.”

Tabi snatched it up, her eyes scanning over the text. Her face drained of color, fingers tightening around the device. “Oh god. Tanaka? It has to be. He must’ve reported us.” She set the phone down harder than necessary, pacing a small circle in front of the island. “What do we do? Deny it? Say it was just dinner?”

He watched her move, the way her hands twisted together, a habit he had come to recognize as her gearing up for a ramble. “We can’t risk it escalating. If they dig, they’ll find more - texts, subconscious favouritisms.”

She stopped pacing, turning to face him. “So…what? We prepare a story? Stick to the boards celebration thing?”

Chishiya exhaled, leaning against the counter, his fingers drumming a slow rhythm on the granite.

“No. We end it.”

The words landed blunt, like a pin hitting at just the right spot on his windows, making them crack. Tabi’s mouth parted, but no sound came out at first. Instead, she blinked, stepping closer. “End… what? Us?”

“Yes.” He forced his gaze to stay level, ignoring the twist in his chest. “Before this blows up. You keep your residency clean. I handle the inquiry alone.”

She stared, her brows knitting together. “Wait, you’re actually serious? Just like that? Because of one email?”

“It’s not just one email. It’s the start of many emails.” He pushed off the counter, grabbing his whiskey glass but not drinking, just holding it as a prop. “Tanaka saw us. Now HR’s involved. If we keep going, it’ll confirm everything. Or it will all come out eventually.”

Tabi crossed her arms, but her voice pitched higher, laced with that tremor she got when holding back tears. “So you want to break up? We can deny it, like you said last time. Together.”

He set the glass down with a clink, sharper than needed. “Denying works until it doesn’t. I’ve seen it - colleagues suspended, licenses reviewed. Residency is 7 years. Do you really think we can keep this quiet for another 6? You think I want that for you? For us?”

“For us?” She laughed bitterly, stepping into his space now, close enough that he could smell the faint rose from her shampoo. “Sounds like you’re deciding for me. Again.”

Chishiya’s jaw ticked. She was misreading him - seeing control where he felt cornered. “I’m being practical. This isn’t some game. Your career-“

“My career?” Her voice cracked on the word, hands dropping to her sides. “You think I care more about that than… this? We’ve been careful. And now, one bump, and you’re out?”

“It’s not just a bump.” He turned away, facing the window. “We knew the risks. I told you from the start.”

She followed, grabbing his arm to spin him back. “Yeah, you did. But you also said we would figure it out. Together. Remember? Or was that just talk?”

He pulled his arm free, in a gentler manner than he felt, but the motion still carried frustration. “Figure it out how? Lie under oath? Drag your dad into it?”

“This isn’t about him. It’s about you bailing when it gets hard.”

“Bailing?” He stepped closer now, their faces inches apart, his voice dropping low. “You think this is easy for me? I’ve never done shit like this - relationships, feelings. And now it’s all at risk because I couldn’t keep my hands off you.”

Tabi’s breath hitched, her gaze dropping to his mouth for a split second before snapping back. “Then why suggest breaking up if you are worried about it ending?”

“Because I-“ He stopped for a moment, forcing himself to take a breath through gritted teeth. “It’s the smart move.”

“Smart.” She echoed it like a curse, turning away now, her shoulders rising with a shaky inhale. “Always so damn smart, aren’t you? Fine. If that’s what you want.”

He reached for her elbow, pulling her back. “Tabi-“

“No!” She yanked free, but didn’t move away, her chest brushing his with each breath. “You don’t get to do that.”

The air thickened, charged with everything that was being left unsaid. Chishiya’s hand lingered in the space between them, then dropped to her waist, gripping the sweater fabric. “I don’t want to push you away.”

“Then don’t.” Her words came out breathy, her hands fisting his shirt now, tugging him closer.

He crashed his mouth against hers, the kiss rough, all teeth and urgency, like he’d been holding it back since the email. Tabi responded instantly, her fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him toward the bedroom without breaking contact. They stumbled through the door, his back hitting the frame before he spun them, pressing her against the wall.

They lay there after, bare and tangled in his sheets with ragged breaths. Chishiya rolled off her, pulling her against his side, his arm feeling heavy across her waist.

Tabi traced patterns on his chest, her finger circling a faint scar from some old procedure. “What if… I did talk to my dad?”

He tensed, his hand pausing where it had been stroking her hair. “About what?”

“Us. The HR thing. He’s the director - he could shut it down before it starts.”

Chishiya sat up slightly, propping on an elbow to look down at her. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why? He could-“

“Because I don’t want to be introduced to your father as your boyfriend.” That word came out awkward, like it didn’t fit his mouth. “Not yet. Not like this. Sneaking around, then begging him for a cover-up? It’s just nepotism all over again.”

She pushed up too, the sheets pooling at her waist. “It wouldn’t be begging. We would barely have to ask. And you’re not just some hookup- you’re-“

“You’re my boss’s daughter.” He cut in, voice sharp. “Think about how that looks. I earn my way, I don’t do favors. You know that.”

Tabi frowned, pulling the sheet higher. “So you’d rather risk the inquiry? And break up for real?”

“I didn’t say that.” He rubbed his face, exhaling. “Just… not your dad. Not yet.”

__________________________________

Tabi paced the narrow hallway outside her father’s office at the hospital. It was late Friday night, the wards quiet except for the occasional shuffle of a nurse’s shoes or the ping of an elevator. She had texted her dad earlier –

Need to talk. Urgent.

and he had replied with a simple: Come by after your shift.

Now, standing here, her thermos clutched in one hand, she second-guessed everything. Chishiya’s words from last night echoed in her mind: Not your dad. Not yet. She felt bad, truly she did, for going behind his back like this. But the threat to their relationship, his career, it weighed on her. If there was a way to protect it all, why wouldn’t she?

She knocked on the hard wood door.

“Come in,” her father’s voice called, warm, the way it always was after hours.

She pushed inside. Director Lee sat behind his desk, glasses perched on his nose, reviewing a stack of reports under a desk lamp that cast long shadows across the room. He looked up at her, smiling faintly. “Tabi. It’s late for you. Everything alright?”

She closed the door, sinking into the chair opposite him without invitation. “Not really. I… I need your help. With something personal.”

He set the papers down, leaning back. “Personal? You mean residency stuff, or…?”

“Both. Sort of.” She twisted the thermos lid in a nervous fidget. “I’m seeing someone. At the hospital.”

Her father’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t interrupt, just nodded for her to continue.

“It’s Dr. Chishiya. My mentor.” The words tumbled out, her voice pitching unevenly. “We’ve been… together. For a few months. Secret, obviously, because of the rules. But someone saw us - Dr. Tanaka - and now HR’s calling him in for misconduct. Monday.”

Director Lee removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Chishiya, huh?” He paused, processing his daughter’s revelation. “And you two… how serious?”

“Serious enough that I don’t want to have to end this.” She leaned forward, her hands pressing flat on the desk. “I know it’s against policy. But he’s good to me. And I went behind his back telling you, but I had to. Can you… make it go away? The inquiry? Please?”

He studied her for a long moment before a heavy sigh left his lips. “Tabi, you know I pulled strings to get you here. People already whisper about that. This… it could make that worse.”

“I know.” Her voice cracked slightly. “But please. For me.”

He sighed, replacing his glasses. “Alright. I’ll handle HR. But you two - be careful. And bring him to Kyoto sometime. Your mother will want to meet the man turning my daughter’s head.”

She blinked, surprised at the pivot. “Kyoto? Like… soon?”

“Why not tomorrow? I’m heading home tonight. Weekend’s free. Jet’s available.” He smiled, but there was a firmness to his tone. She knew this was more than a request. “If he’s serious, he’ll come.”

“Thanks, Dad. Really.”

He waved her off. “Go home. Rest. And Tabi? Stop making a habit of these surprises.”

The buzzer pierced Chishiya’s sleep far too abruptly for a saturday morning. He groaned, rolling over, the digital clock on his nightstand showing 6:45 AM. Who the hell…? He dragged himself up, scrubbing a hand over his face, his hair sticking up in uneven spikes.

The buzzer rang again, insistent.

“Coming,” he muttered, as if anyone would hear, padding barefoot to the intercom.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me.” Tabi’s voice, bright and edged with something he couldn’t quite place through the static. “Let me up.”

He buzzed her in without question, unlocking the door before shuffling to the kitchen to start coffee. He was barely awake, his mind still foggy from the whiskey he had nursed last night while staring at that email. The door clicked open moments later, and Tabi burst through, wheeling a suitcase behind her, her hair pulled into a messy bun, wearing sweatpants and an oversized hoodie that swallowed her frame. Cute, he smirked internally.

“Morning,” she said, far too chipper for this time of morning, dropping the suitcase by the couch and heading straight for him. “Coffee? Good. We need it.”

Chishiya blinked, leaning against the counter in his rumpled boxers and t-shirt, his coffee machine gurgling behind him. “What’s with the bag? Going somewhere?”

She grabbed a mug from the cabinet - familiar now, like she owned the place, which in a way, she kind of did - and poured for the both of them. “We are. Get dressed. Flight’s in two hours.”

“Flight?” He took the mug she handed him, but didn’t drink it, staring incredulously. “What are you talking about?”

“Kyoto.” She sipped, watching him over the rim. “To see my parents.”

He set the mug down hard, hot liquid sloshing over the edge. “You… what? I told you no. Explicitly. Not your dad.”

“I already talked to him.” She set her own mug aside, crossing her arms. “Last night. About us. The HR thing.”

Anger flared quick, sharpening his voice. “Behind my back? After I said-“

“Not behind your back, around it.” She cut in, stepping closer. “Because waiting’s stupid. He said he’ll handle HR. But he wants to meet you. Today.”

Chishiya turned away, gripping the counter edge, his knuckles paling. “You had no right. This isn’t your call.”

“It’s our call.” She touched his arm, but he shrugged it off. “Chishiya, please. Trust me. It’ll be fine.”

He spun back, his face inches from hers. “Fine? Meeting the director as… what? Your secret fling? The one risking your job?”

“As my boyfriend.” The word hung there, awkward in her mouth, like she hadn’t planned to say it. “And it’s not a secret anymore. Not to him at least.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve never done this. Met parents. What if they-“

“They won’t.” She softened, her hand finding his again, this time holding on. “Come on. Shower. I’ll pack for you.”

He stared at her, his anger simmering down to a churn in his gut. Trust her. “Fine. But if this goes south…”

“It won’t.” She smiled, albeit tentatively, and pushed him toward the bedroom.

He dressed quickly - slacks, button-down, nothing too flashy - while she rummaged through his closet, stuffing his clothes into a duffel bag he didn’t even know he still owned. The cab ride to the private airstrip was silent, Chishiya staring out the window without a word and his knee bouncing restlessly against the floor. He had never met parents before. Casual hookups didn’t usually come with family introductions in his experience, and relationships were still uncharted territory to him. The thought looped, tightening his chest. What did people even say? “Hello, I’m sleeping with your daughter”? Handshakes? Small talk about weather? Or would they grill him – about his career, intentions, the small age gap that he suddenly felt acutely?

The jet waited on the tarmac, its engines humming low. Tabi boarded first, chatting with the pilot like they were old friends – perhaps they were, he wouldn’t put it past her. Chishiya followed, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Inside, leather seats and polished wood greeted them, a flight attendant offering water and fruit. Private jet. Of course. He had grown up with money - his parents’ estate in Tokyo rivaled most - but this screamed old money, a type he wasn’t so accustomed to.

“Window or aisle?” Tabi asked, settling in, her suitcase stowed overhead.

“Doesn’t matter.” He took the window, buckling in as the plane taxied. “How long?”

“Hour and a half.” She reached for his hand under the armrest, but he pulled back slightly, glancing at the attendant.

“Relax,” she whispered. “No one’s watching.”

He didn’t respond, his fingers tapping the armrest instead. The takeoff pressed him back, and he watched as the city shrinked below. “What did you tell him? Exactly.”

“Everything.” She fiddled with her seatbelt. “The relationship. Tanaka. HR.”

“And he just… agreed?”

“With conditions.” She hesitated. “Like meeting you. Properly this time.”

Chishiya nodded, but doubt gnawed. Conditions. Sounded like leverage. “What if he hates me?”

“He won’t.” But her voice dipped, uncertain. “He’s… protective. But also fair.”

Protective. That word sat heavy in his mind. Chishiya pictured a stern interrogation -questions about his family, his past flings, why a resident? His stomach twisted. He wouldn’t be able to answer that. Fresh? No that sounds far too creepy. “Never done this,” he muttered again, almost to himself.

Tabi turned, her knee bumping his. “Me neither. Bringing someone home.”

He glanced at her, misreading the bump as nervousness on her part, not affection. “Then why push it?”

“Because hiding this is worse.” She leaned back, closing her eyes. “Trust me.”

The flight dragged, the attendant bringing coffee that Chishiya sipped - black and bitter, his taste. Tabi dozed fitfully, her head lolling toward his shoulder, but he shifted away, too wired to relax. Kyoto approached, green hills and temples blurring below. The landing was smooth, and there was a car already waiting on the tarmac - obviously - a black sedan with tinted windows. The driver, an older man in a crisp suit, greeted Tabi by name, loading their bags without a word.

The drive wound through the city outskirts, past manicured gardens and stone walls, until they reached the estate gates - iron wrought with intricate designs, opening silently as the car pulled up. The driveway stretched long, gravel crunching under tires, flanked by koi ponds and ancient maples. The house loomed above them: traditional architecture fused with modern glass extensions, sprawling across acres that made his parents’ place in Tokyo look modest. Bigger, yes - multiple wings, a central courtyard visible through the windows, servants moving discreetly in the background.

Chishiya’s pulse quickened as they pulled up. “This is… yours?”

“Family’s.” Tabi unbuckled, her voice light but strained. “Come on.”

The front door opened before they reached it, Director Lee stepping out in casual slacks and a polo, his wife beside him - elegant, with Tabi’s eyes and a warm smile. No suits, no stern glares. Just… normal parents.

Weird.

“Tabi!” Her mother enveloped her in a hug, pulling back to cup her face. “You look tired. Flight okay?”

“Fine, Mom.” Tabi glanced back at Chishiya, beckoning him closer. “This is Chishiya.”

Director Lee extended a hand, his grip firm but not crushing. “Dr. Chishiya, nice to see you outside the hospital. Come in.”

Chishiya shook it, his own palm slightly damp from nerves. Embarrassing. Now they think i’m sweaty. “Director. Mrs. Lee. Thank you for… having me.”

“Call me Hiroshi,” the director said, waving them inside. “And her, Akiko. No need for titles here.”

The entry hall gleamed - polished wood floors, vases of fresh lilies, a sliding door leading to a garden view. Akiko linked arms with Tabi, chattering about lunch preparations, while Hiroshi led Chishiya to a sitting room overlooking the courtyard. “Tea? Or something stronger?”

“Just tea. Uh- thanks.” Chishiya sat on the edge of a cushion, his posture rigid. Interrogation incoming. Any second.

But Hiroshi poured from a pot, handing him a cup. “I must say I always wondered how you managed to land head of cardiology at your age, its impressive.”

Chishiya nodded, sipping. “Luck and timing, I suppose.”

“Modest.” Hiroshi chuckled, settling across from him. “She speaks highly of you. As a mentor. And… well, more now.”

Here it comes. Chishiya braced. “I appreciate that.”

Akiko and Tabi joined them then, carrying trays of fruit and sandwiches. “Eat,” Akiko insisted, placing a plate in front of Chishiya. “You both look like you skipped breakfast.”

Tabi sat beside him, her knee brushing his again - this time intentional, a small reassurance. “Mom makes the best onigiri.”

Chishiya took one, biting into the rice, the salmon flaky and seasoned just right. He hummed, a sound meant to be approval but his nervous state makes it come out more as a huff. “It’s good.”

Akiko beamed. “Family recipe. Tabi never learned - too busy with her books.”

The conversation flowed then, easy, light - Hiroshi asking chishiya about hospital cases, nothing too probing, and Akiko sharing stories of Tabi’s childhood, like the time she had tried dissecting a frog in the kitchen at age ten.

Chishiya listened, contributing sparingly: a nod, a short answer about a recent transplant. No interrogation. No accusations. Just… warmth. Weird. Hiroshi even laughed at one of Chishiya’s dry comments about bureaucratic red tape. Even weirder.

“You two must be jet-lagged,” Akiko said after an hour, standing. “Rooms are ready. You should rest before dinner.”

Rooms. Plural. Chishiya glanced at Tabi, but she just smiled. “Thanks, Mom.”

They were shown to adjacent guest suites - tatami floors with views of the garden. Alone in his, Chishiya sank onto the edge of the bed, exhaling. No interrogation. He felt… welcomed. He rubbed his temples, the nervousness ebbing but leaving a residue of confusion.

Why was this so easy?

Tabi knocked softly, slipping in. “See?” She sat beside him, her hand finding his knee and giving it a light squeeze. “Not so bad, right?”

He covered her hand with his. “I thought… it would be worse.”

“They like you.” She leaned in, kissing his cheek. “Told you so.”

He pulled her closer, but then hesitated, his brow ticking up in half amusement, half genuine curiosity. Perhaps they’re a no touching until marriage family. Although it seemed redundant to ask that now. “Separate rooms?”

“Tradition.” She shrugged. “But the doors connect.”

Dinner was in the courtyard - grilled fish, vegetables from the garden, sake poured generously.

Chishiya felt… welcomed? Loved? No. that word felt odd in his mind.

“What a weird family.”

[harusmichixo]

Under His Scalpel - Chishiya x OC

Chapter 16

*:･ﾟ✧ summary: surgeon!Chishiya Shuntaro had never wanted to have a resident.

And he never wanted to care .

But yet here he was with a resident under his wing - inexperienced, fragile, needy - and now he’s expected to live to his reputation and make her into the best surgeon known to mankind.

Or at least thats what he reasoned.

fic tags!: surgeon!chishiya, mentor!chishiya, resident!oc, slow burn, sort of enemies to lovers (?), medical au, chishiya is bad at feelings, chishiya is a little shit, semi-inspired by greys anatomy, fluff, maybe some angst, surgery, potentially ooc chishiya

warnings: medical detail, injury detail, surgery detail, patient death, incorrect medical information (my knowledge of medicine comes from greys anatomy so PLEASE do not use this fic to diagnose)

chapter list!!!

crossposting on ao3!

Chishiya had always prided himself on mastery – over surgical skills, over research , over diagnostical knowledge. But relationships? That was a field he had never even glanced at, let alone conquered. Hookups were simple: transactional, efficient, no lingering expectations. This thing with Tabi, though? well, he was way out of his comfort zone. And he had not a clue what he was doing. He craved her attention, all the time, but admitting to it? Not happening.

They had been doing good at keeping it professional at work, as promised: curt nods in the halls, no eye contact during rounds that lasted longer than necessary. He was good at that, it was just how he normally acted after all. But outside? Chishiya had to admit he was a fumbling mess.

He showed up at her apartment unannounced one Friday evening, a bag of takeout dangling from his fingers a little too casually for what he was here for. He had picked it up on impulse after a long shift - sushi from that place near the hospital, the one she had mentioned liking once. This counts as a date, right? This dating thing is a breeze, he thought, buzzing her intercom. Spending time together, food involved. Seemed straightforward enough.

The door swung open after a few moments, and there she was: Tabi, blinking sleepily in oversized pajamas that looked like they had seen better days - faded pink with what appeared to be a coffee stain (or was that soup?) down the front, her hair was a tangled mess on one side, and – good god - a faint line of drool drying on her chin. She rubbed her eyes, clearly having just woken up from a nap, her slippers peeking out from under the hem of her bottoms.

“Chishiya?” she mumbled, confusion knitting her brows. “What… what are you doing here?”

He held up the bag, his expression as neutral as ever. “Date night.”

Tabi’s eyes widened, sleep fog lifting as panic set in. “Date- wait, what? Now? Oh no, no, no- look at me! I’m a mess! I was napping, I didn’t know-“ She wiped frantically at her chin, smearing the drool mark instead of erasing it. “Give me ten minutes? No, twenty. I need to shower, change-“

Chishiya stepped inside anyway, closing the door behind him with a soft click. “It’s fine. We’re just eating.” He set the bag on her small kitchen counter, glancing around her apartment - the cozy mess of it, with throw blankets piled on the couch, a half-empty thermos of tea on the coffee table, and that faint vanilla scent that clung to everything she touched. It was the opposite of his plwce, and somehow, that made it… nice?

“But… a date?” Tabi hovered, tugging at her stained pajama top self-consciously. “I had always been under the impression dates were, like, planned? Dinner out, or movies? Not me looking like… well, this.”

He shrugged, already unpacking the sushi boxes. “Dates are spending time together. That’s what you said.” He grabbed plates from her cabinet - like he had been here enough times now to know where things were - and set them out. “Sit. Eat.”

She hesitated, but the smell of fresh salmon won her over. Sighing, she plopped down at the table. “Okay, but next time, warn a girl? I could’ve at least brushed my hair.”

Chishiya sat across from her, popping a piece of tuna into his mouth. “Noted.” But truthfully, he didn’t mind her like this – so unguarded. It was the attention he craved: her eyes only on him, each and every one of her thoughts likely involving him.

“You’re staring,” she teased after a few minutes, her blush fading into a shy smile. “Is there still drool on my face?”

“No.” He reached across impulsively, thumb brushing her chin where the mark had been. The touch was brief, but it sent a warmth through both of them - casual affection, something he was still wrapping his head around.

Tabi grinned, popping a piece of sushi into her mouth. “See? This could’ve been romantic if I had been told. Candles, music…”

“Next time,” he muttered, though the idea of planning something elaborate made his skin itch. Dates were just time together, right? Attention. That’s all he needed to be satisfied.

But as the evening wore on - they migrated to the couch, her feet tucked under a blanket, him leaning back with his arm casually behind her - and the cracks in his inexperience showed. Tabi leaned into him, her head on his shoulder, but Chishiya was awkwardly stiff. Outside the bedroom, affection felt… odd. PDA? Huge no-no. He wasn’t even good at it in private, let alone with people watching.

“You’re tense,” she noted softly, pulling back a bit.“We don’t have to cuddle if you don’t want to.”

He glanced at her, that craving for her touch warring with his discomfort. “I… don’t know how.” Admitting it felt like exposing a weakness. “Never had to.”

Tabi’s eyes softened. “Okay. Want me to teach you?”

He nodded once, stiffly. She shifted, patting her lap. “Lie down. Head here.”

Chishiya eyed her skeptically but complied, stretching out on the couch with his head in her lap, his legs dangling over the armrest. He felt awkward – weird, vulnerable in a way the OR never made him feel. His body was rigid with arms crossed over his chest.

“Relax,” she murmured, her fingers threading into his hair tentatively. “Just breathe.”

He exhaled, forcing his muscles to loosen. And then her nails scratched lightly at his scalp, a slow, rhythmic motion that sent unexpected tingles down his spine.

Oh boy.

That was… nice. Really nice.

The tension melted away inch by inch, his eyes fluttering shut as she continued - gentle scratches, fingers combing through his hair.

“You’re like a cat,” she giggled.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, but there was no bite to it. (not so) Secretly? He loved it. The attention, the scratches - it was addictive, filling that quiet need he would never voice.

He could stay like this forever.

So they stayed that way for hours, talking softly about nothing - hospital gossip, her latest surgery, a dry commentary from him on a recent case. No grand gestures, no planned romance. Just time. Attention. And for Chishiya, that was all he wanted.

The next few days blurred into a pattern: stolen moments after shifts, him showing up at her place more often than not. He still sucked at casual affection - brushing past her in the kitchen without a touch, sitting a respectable distance on the couch until she initiated.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day at the hospital, he arrived at her door again - no takeout this time, just him, looking more tired than usual.

“Hey,” he said when she opened it, stepping inside without preamble.

Tabi, fresh from a shower in her robe, smiled. “Missed me?”

“Something like that.” He shed his coat, collapsing onto the couch. The craving hit hard tonight - her attention, her hands in his hair. Work had been a nightmare: a botched consult, endless paperwork.

She joined him, curling up next to him. “Rough day?”

He nodded, an arm hesitantly draping over her shoulders. Progress. “Yeah.”

“Wanna talk?”

“No.” But he pulled her closer, stiff at first, then relaxing as she nestled into his side.

“Cuddling 101: Lesson two. Hold hands.” She laced their fingers, squeezing gently.

He stared at their intertwined hands, the warmth seeping in. It felt… good. Weird, but good. “You’re teaching me like a child.”

“You’re learning like one,” she teased, kissing his cheek. “But you’re cute when you’re trying.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted, lying back and tugging her with him until his head was in her lap again. “Scratch.”

Tabi laughed, but gladly obliged, her nails grazing his scalp in that perfect rhythm that numbed his mind. “Don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the weeks ticked by, their “dates” evolved - sort of. Chishiya still showed up unannounced, but now with small gestures: maybe a thermos of her favorite tea (he’d learned to make it, begrudgingly), or a book he thought she would like.

One night, after a particularly sweet “date” of takeout and movies (her choice, some rom-com that made him scoff), they ended up on the couch again. Tabi guided him into a cuddle - spooning this time, her back to his chest. He was stiff, his arms sitting awkwardly around her waist.

“Relax your shoulders,” she whispered. “It’s not a test yknow.”

“Might as well be,” he muttered, but complied, his body molding to hers bit by bit.

“Better.” She turned her head, kissing his jaw. “See? Nice, right?”

“Hm.” But his hand tightened on her hip, pulling her closer. And when she scratched his head later, head in her lap as always, he practically purred -though he would deny it forever.

____________________________________

Three months into Tabi’s secret relationship with Chishiya, and she had mastered the art of compartmentalization better than any surgical technique he had ever taught her. At work, they were the epitome of professionalism: curt nods in the hallways, clipped instructions during rounds, and absolutely no lingering glances that could raise eyebrows. Tabi had even taken to avoiding the residents’ lounge when he was there, just to be safe. It was exhausting, but necessary. One slip, and everything could unravel - their careers, her credibility, his reputation.

Chishiya, for his part, played the role flawlessly. Detachment was his default mode, after all. No one batted an eye when he snapped at her for a minor charting error or dismissed her input in a consult with his signature eyebrow raise. If anything, the staff whispered that he was being harder on her lately, which only fueled the rumor mill in the opposite direction. “Poor Tabi,” they would say in the break room. “Chishiya’s riding her extra hard this rotation.” If only they knew how literal that could be interpreted in his bedroom.

But Tabi couldn’t stop herself from obsessing over the “normal” couple things they couldn’t do, the things she had fantasised about since she was little; hand-holding in public, spontaneous dates, dressing up for someone without the fear of being caught.

Chishiya noticed. Of course he did - he was nothing if not observant. Her sighs during their evenings together, the way she would scroll through Instagram couples’ posts and quickly close the app when he glanced over. It gnawed at him, this guilt he wasn’t used to feeling. Not just that, but, seeing her dressed up just for him? Well, that would stroke his ego in ways he didn’t care to analyze. And if it meant risking a little to give her the traditional romance she dreamed about… well, he was confident enough now that he thinks he could pull it off.

That’s how he found himself texting her one Thursday afternoon, right after a grueling valve replacement surgery: Clear your schedule for tomorrow night. Wear something nice. Pick you up at 7.

Tabi’s reply came seconds later: ??? A date? Like, out out?

Yes. Don’t make me regret it.

She had squealed in her apartment that night, rifling through her closet for the perfect dress - a soft blue number that hugged her curves just right, with a sweetheart neckline and a hem that fluttered mid-thigh. It was feminine, flirty, the exact dress she had imagined herself wearing on a date 100 times.

Chishiya, meanwhile, had scouted the location meticulously: an upscale Italian restaurant two hours outside Tokyo, tucked away in a quiet suburb where no hospital staff would dare to go. Far enough to be safe, elegant enough to impress. He had even made reservations under a fake name, just in case.

Friday evening arrived. Chishiya pulled up to her building in his sleek black Audi, dressed sharper than usual: a tailored black button-down that accentuated his frame, slacks that screamed money, and his hair swept back just so. When Tabi stepped out, looking about as close to a goddess he would ever get to see, he felt a rare surge of possessiveness. Mine, his brain supplied unhelpfully. She looked stunning, all dolled up just for him. Ego stroke: checked.

“You clean up nice,” he said as she slid into the passenger seat. His eyes lingered a beat too long on the way the dress rode up her thigh.

Tabi blushed, smoothing the fabric self-consciously. “ You too. Where are we going?”

“Surprise.” He pulled away from the curb, the city lights fading as they headed out of Tokyo. The drive was comfortable, filled with her chatter about the week’s patients and his occasional dry commentary. No hospital talk beyond the superficial – he had enforced that rule early on. By the time they arrived at La Bella Vita, a quaint spot with vine-covered walls and tables overlooking a small lake, Tabi was beaming.

“Oh…This is perfect,” she whispered as the host led them to a secluded corner booth. “It’s an actual date.”

Chishiya smirked, pulling out her chair for her with uncharacteristic chivalry. “Don’t get used to it. But… you deserve it this time.”

They ordered - pasta for her, steak for him, a bottle of red to share - and for the first hour, it was bliss.

Tabi gushed about how romantic it all was, her eyes sparkling under the lights. Chishiya listened, his foot brushing hers under the table in a subtle claim. Seeing her like this, dressed up and happy because of him, was another new addiction for him. His ego was more than sufficiently inflated.

Halfway through their mains, though, that bubble burst.

“Dr. Chishiya? Is that you?”

The voice came from across the room, sharp and unfortunately familiar. Chishiya’s fork paused mid-air, his gaze snapping up to meet Dr. Tanaka’s – fucking Tanaka - out with what looked like his wife. Tanaka’s eyes widened in recognition, flicking between Chishiya and Tabi with poorly concealed glee.

“Tanaka,” Chishiya replied coolly, setting his fork down. His hand tightened under the table, out of sight. “Small world.”

“Indeed!” Tanaka approached their table, his wife trailing awkwardly. “Fancy seeing you here. And with… Dr. Lee? I see… The director’s daughter.” His tone dripped with implication and his smile was far too wide, far too knowing.

Tabi froze, her fork clattering to her plate. “Dr. Tanaka, hi. We were just-“

“Celebrating her boards,” Chishiya interjected smoothly. “congratulatory dinner. Professional courtesy.”

Tanaka chuckled, clearly not buying it for a second. “Of course, of course. Wouldn’t dream of assuming otherwise.” But his eyes lingered on Tabi’s dress, the intimate booth setup, and the half-empty wine bottle. “Well, enjoy your evening. I’ll see you both at the hospital Monday. Bright and early.”

He walked away, but not before whispering something to his wife that made her glance back with raised eyebrows. The damage was done.

The rest of the meal passed in a tense silence. Tabi poked at her food with her earlier joy quickly evaporated. “Do you think he’ll say something?” she whispered finally, as the waiter cleared their plates.

Chishiya signaled for the check. “Most likely. Tanaka loves drama.”

They left quickly, the night air feeling colder now. In the car, Tabi buckled her seatbelt with shaking hands. “Chishiya, what if he tells someone? HR? My dad? We could get in so much trouble-“

Silence. He started the engine, pulling onto the highway without a word, his jaw set in a hard line.

“Chishiya? Talk to me. Please.” Her voice cracked, desperation creeping in as the city lights blurred past. “This was supposed to be nice, and now… what if we get caught? I can’t lose my residency. You can’t-“

Still nothing. His hands gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles white. The silence stretched on, suffocating, broken only by the hum of the tires.

Tabi’s eyes welled up, her lip trembling. “Say something! You’re scaring me. If you’re mad, if its over then just-“

“Here’s what we’re going to do.” His voice cut through her panic in that disarmingly calm way. He didn’t look at her, his eyes fixed firmly on the road. “We’re going to go back to my penthouse. I’m going to take that dress off you. And we’re going to finish this date. Then we can panic.”

Tabi blinked, tears spilling over despite the heat that flushed her cheeks. “What?”

“You heard me.” His tone was steady, almost clinical, but there was an undercurrent of something else -desire, perhaps, or complete defiance to the rules they had built for themselves. “Tanaka can wait. Date night’s not over yet.”

The rest of the drive was charged, the air thick with unspoken tension. Tabi wiped her eyes, glancing at him sideways. He was silent again, but this time it felt deliberate, like he was holding back. When they pulled into his underground garage, he killed the engine and finally turned to her.

“Inside,”

The elevator ride to his penthouse was agonizingly slow. Chishiya stood close, his hand on the small of her back, thumb tracing idle circles through the fabric of her dress. A move that had become more common recently. Tabi leaned into him, her earlier panic simmering down to a nervous flutter. “Are we really just… ignoring it?”

“For now.” The doors dinged open, and he led her inside, the city skyline glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He turned to her then, cupping her face with both hands, thumbs brushing away the last traces of her tears. “You look beautiful tonight,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Don’t let this ruin that.”

They lay tangled in his sheets hours later. Tabi’s head rested on his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin. The high of their “finished date” had faded, making way for reality to creep back in.

“Now we panic?” she asked quietly, propping herself up on an elbow to look down at him.

Chishiya sighed, staring at the ceiling. His arm was draped around her, holding her gently despite the tension coiling in his muscles. “Tanaka’s a gossip, but he’s not stupid. He’ll test the waters first - drop hints, see if we react.”

“What if he goes straight to HR? Or the director?”

“Then we deny, deny, deny.” He turned his head, meeting her worried gaze. “celebratory dinner. Nothing more. Your boards were worth celebrating.”

Tabi bit her lip. “But if he pushes…”

“We handle it.” His free hand came up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Together. But no more public dates. Not until we’re sure.”

She nodded, settling back against him. “I had fun tonight. Before… you know.”

“Me too.” A rare admission, and he pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Get some sleep. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

[harusmichixo]

Ashes of Atonement - Itachi x OC, Kakashi x OC

Chapter 26

*:･ﾟ✧ fic summary: Itachi Uchiha had fallen in love. He hadn’t meant to, nor wanted to. He was just supposed to be gathering intel, finding a way in. But his nature for detachment hadn’t stood strong this time.

He hadn’t intended for her to remember, for her to be haunted by him with every thought. The plan was, protect her from the purge, erase her memory of him, and leave her at the gates of Konoha.

The memory part didn’t quite go to plan though.

OR

Team Kakashi find a prodigy at the gates of Konoha.

fic tags!: Fluff & Angst, slow burn (Kakashi), internal conflict, everyone is traumatised, Itachi is bad at feelings, Kakashi is bad at feelings, non-canon timeline, sometimes ooc, morally gray itachi.

chapter warnings: none

chapter list!!!

Kiyomi’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze clouded with confusion as she registered the warmth, the steady heartbeat beneath her cheek, and the unfamiliar softness of the bed. Her mind, still groggy from sleep, struggled to piece together the shift -she remembered falling asleep on her mat on the floor, as she had every night since moving into Kakashi’s apartment. Yet here she was, in his bed and in his arms.

She blinked and her face, puffy with sleep, scrunched into a sleepy frown as she tried to orient herself.

“What…” she mumbled.

She shifted, attempting to sit up, but Kakashi’s arm tightened, pulling her back against his chest. The effort sending a faint twinge through him, though he hid it behind a crinkled eye and a teasing smile.

“Not so fast,” he said. “You’re not escaping me that easily.” His eye gleamed with amusement, taking in her grumpy, pouty expression - her cheeks puffed out from sleep, her lips pursed in a scowl that was far more adorable than it was intimidating.

He couldn’t help but admit that he found her sleepy demeanor utterly endearing.

Kiyomi huffed and her frown deepened. “Kakashi, let go. I need to forage. Your breakfast isn’t going to make itself.” Her hands pushed against his chest, though still careful as to not hurt him, but her strength was half-hearted, her body still heavy with sleep.

Kakashi chuckled and he refused to move his arm. “Forage later,” he said. “ You’re staying here for once.” He pulled her closer, tucking her against his side, his hand brushing through her hair absentmindedly. Her sleep-ridden grumpiness and her puffy face made his heart ache with a fondness he hadn’t expected. “Besides,” he added, his eye crinkling, “you’re kind of cute when you’re all sleepy and cranky.”

“Cute?” she snapped, her voice rising, though the grogginess softened its edge. “I’m not cute.” Her scowl deepened, her cheeks puffing further, but the effect was undeniably charming to Kakashi. She squirmed, trying to free herself, but his arm held firm, his warmth a quiet insistence that she stay.

“Debatable,” he said. “Just relax, Kiyomi. Your herbs can wait.” His fingers traced lazy circles on her back, a soothing gesture that sent a shiver through her.

She huffed again and her pout softened only slightly. “You need to eat,” she said, her voice quieter, almost petulant. “Those ginseng roots won’t pick themselves, and your wounds-“

“My wounds are fine,” he interrupted. “And honestly I’d be grateful for a day where you don’t force ginseng down my throat.” He shifted slightly, wincing at the pull of his stitches. He saw the exhaustion in her shadowed eyes, the toll that her obsessive routine was taking on her. “You’ve been doing so much to take care of me lately. So… humor me a little and let me take care of you today, okay?”

Her breath caught, the fog of sleep clearing as his words sank in. “I’m not tired though,” she lied in a mumble, her pout returning as she tried to sit up again. But her body betrayed her, her head sinking back against his chest.”

Kakashi’s chuckle was soft, his hand brushing her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. “You’re still a terrible liar,” he said, his eye crinkling with amusement. “Your face is all puffy, and you’re so grumpy. Just stay in bed with me. One morning won’t kill me, or you.”

She glared, her pout deepening. “You’re annoying,” she muttered, her voice muffled against his chest. “I should be foraging, not…doing whatever this is.” The word came out with a scowl, but her cheeks flushed.

“Its called cuddling… and cuddling’s not so bad,” he said teasingly. “You’re warm, I’m warm, it works.” His arm tightened just a little, pulling her closer and his lips brushed her forehead through his mask in a silent promise.

Kiyomi’s heart skipped, and her cheeks reddened, her mind turning as she tries to process whats happening, and how she should react.

But she didn’t fight it.

She relaxed against him, her pout softening into a reluctant smile. “Fine,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible. “But only because you’re too weak to argue.”

He laughed. “That’s the spirit,” he said as he stroked her back. “You’re stuck with me now.”

She nestled closer, her hand resting on his chest, careful of his bandages. For the first time in months, she didn’t feel the urge to run, to hide, to prove herself. She felt safe.

A faint melodious hum left her lips absentmindedly.

It lasted a few mere moments, but Kakashi remembered what Itachi had said, and he knew for just those few moments at least, that she was happy.

“Sleep a little longer,” he whispered, his lips brushing her hair. “I’ve got you.”

[harusmichixo]

Heyyy 🥰 I love your writing and eagerly wait for the updates of Under His Scalpel on ao3! I didn't know you write for naruto fandom as well!!! Mannn...i love Kakashi and I love chishiya...i don't know who to request for 😂😭 they're both my love ❤️ can you do a Kakashi x reader/oc where oc is like a erotic romance writer 😂😂 so like i don't want you to write smut between the characters but maybe like a few sentences that Kakashi "reads". Judging by how flustered he gets with icha icha paradise it'd be funny to see him read actual filth 😂😂😂 - Doodle

kakashi x author!reader

*:･ﾟ✧ summary: Few realized the cutthroat nature of the wordsmith world. As an up-and-coming erotic romance novelist, you were annoyed at the dominance of the purple prose drivel like Icha Icha on the local charts - enough to boldly confront one of its most devoted fans.

genre: comedy, minor fluff (idrk)

warnings: suggestive, innuendos and euphemisms, mild nsfw (quoted book exerpts)

A/N: i hope this didn’t end up being too filthy for your request… ijbol. 😭 Thank you for reading my works btw 🩷

word count: 1k

masterlist

The streets of Konoha were alive with their usual midday chaos - vendors hawking fresh produce, kids darting between legs. You, however, were on a mission: coffee. Or whatever passed for it in this village. Your latest manuscript deadline was looming, and nothing got you out of a writers block quite like caffeine and people-watching.

That’s when you spotted him. Leaning against a lamppost near the bookstore, mask pulled high over his nose, one eye buried in a familiar orange cover.

Icha Icha Paradise.

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly strained something. Jiraiya’s drivel. Sure, it had its fans - mostly hormonal teens and lonely adults - but as someone who wrote actual erotic romance, you couldn’t help but scoff. It was all innuendo and no substance, like a tease without the payoff.

You weren’t one to hold back. Never had been. So, with your stack of fresh-printed proofs tucked under your arm, you walked over.

“Enjoying that trash?” you asked, your voice laced with amusement as you stopped in front of him.

Kakashi didn’t even look up at first, turning a page lazily. “It’s a classic. What’s it to you anyway?”

You crossed your arms, smirking. “A classic? Please. That’s overhyped drivel for virgins. Jiraiya couldn’t write a decent female orgasm if it hit him in the face.”

That got his attention.

His visible eye widened, and he nearly choked on air, coughing behind his mask as he finally lowered the book. “Excuse me?”

You grinned, unfazed. Up close, he was taller than you had expected. But the faint flush creeping above his mask? Priceless. “You heard me. Its nothing but purple prose for people who blush at hand-holding.”

Kakashi straightened, tucking the book into his pouch mechanically as if attempting to cover his painfully obvious fluster. “And you are…?”

“Y/N,” you said, extending a hand. “Local wordsmith. I write real literature.”

He shook your hand - firm grip, calloused - but his eye lingered on the books under your arm. “Real literature, huh? Bold claim from someone critiquing a bestseller.”

“Bestseller doesn’t mean quality. Here-“ Without thinking, you snatched Icha Icha from his pouch (reflexes be damned; he was too surprised to stop you) and slapped one of your own books into his hand. The cover was sleek, black with embossed gold lettering: Shadows of Desire. “Try this. On the house. Consider it education.”

He stared at the book, then at you, his eyebrow arching. “You just… took my book.”

“And gave you a better one,” you shot back, waving Icha Icha like a trophy. “I’ll return this when you admit mine’s better. Deal?”

Kakashi’s eye crinkled in what might have been a smile. “you’re persistent. Fine. But don’t expect me to go easy on the review.”

You winked, already backing away. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Enjoy the read.”

That evening, back in his modest apartment, Kakashi kicked off his sandals and flopped onto his bed. The day had been long. He needed to unwind. Normally, that meant cracking open Icha Icha, but… well, that was currently hostage to a snarky writer.

His gaze drifted to Shadows of Desire on his nightstand. “Real literature,” he muttered mockingly, picking it up. It was wrapped in cellophane wrapper, the same kind that most books had in the section of the bookstore he usually browsed. He snorted. How bad could it be?

Flipping to the first chapter, he settled in, mask still on, eye scanning the pages. It started innocently enough - a mysterious stranger in a dimly lit tavern, the protagonist across the room. Standard fare. But then…

By chapter three, things escalated:

One hand slid between her legs, finding her already-

Kakashi slammed the book shut, face burning hot. “What the-,” He stared at the ceiling, heart pounding heavier than it usually did. That was…

graphic.

No euphemisms, no fading to black. Just raw, unfiltered filth. He could feel the heat creeping down his neck, mask suddenly feeling too tight. “Drivel for virgins,” is what she had called Icha Icha. If that was drivel, this was… well he wasn’t sure what this was.

He tossed the book aside, but curiosity - damn it - pulled him back. Just one more chapter. For research. Yeah.

The next scene didn’t help:

Lowering himself, he spread her thighs wide, burying his face between them. His tongue flicked-

Kakashi dropped the book like it was on fire, bolting upright. His breathing was ragged, and - oh god - he was affected. Visibly. He glanced down, groaning. “Nope. Not happening.” A cold shower. He needed a cold shower. Now.

The next day dawned bright and merciless. Kakashi avoided the bookstore street like it was plagued, opting for a solo training session in the woods. But fate - or the Hokage - had other plans. Tsunade summoned him for a quick mission briefing, and who should be in the office but you, dropping off some “research materials” for the medical ninja. Apparently, your books included accurate anatomy details. Go figure.

You spotted him immediately, waving with a grin. “Hatake! Read it yet?”

He froze in the doorway, eye widening. Memories of last night flooded back - the words, the heat, the… well, the everything. He couldn’t meet your gaze, staring at a particularly fascinating spot on the floor instead. “Uh… partially.”

Tsunade raised an eyebrow but said nothing, smirking as she shuffled papers.

You approached, arms crossed. “Partially? Come on, spill. Better than Jiraiya’s fluff, right?”

Fluff. If only. Kakashi cleared his throat, mask hiding the blush he knew was already there. “It’s… certainly detailed.”

“Detailed?” You laughed, leaning in closer. He stepped back instinctively. “That’s code for ‘gave me a boner,’ isn’t it? Don’t be shy - I write this stuff for a living.”

He nearly tripped over his own feet. “ it’s not- I mean, it’s well-written. Very… vivid.”

Your eyes sparkled with mischief. “Vivid, huh? Which part? The tavern scene? Or the one where he-“

“No!” Kakashi cut you off, his voice higher than intended. Tsunade snorted from her desk. “It’s fine. Good, even. Here’s your book back.” He thrust Shadows of Desire at you like it was a live grenade, still avoiding eye contact.

You took it, tilting your head. “You didn’t finish?”

“I… got the gist.” Liar. He’d skimmed ahead, and it only got steamier.

“Hmm.” You pocketed it, then pulled out Icha Icha from your own pouch. “Fair trade. But you owe me a proper review. Coffee tomorrow? My treat.”

He should say no. Run. But that crinkled eye-smile of his betrayed him. “Sure. Why not?”

That would soon prove to be a big mistake.

[harusmichixo]

Under His Scalpel - Chishiya x OC

Chapter 15

*:･ﾟ✧ summary: surgeon!Chishiya Shuntaro had never wanted to have a resident.

And he never wanted to care .

But yet here he was with a resident under his wing - inexperienced, fragile, needy - and now he’s expected to live to his reputation and make her into the best surgeon known to mankind.

Or at least thats what he reasoned.

fic tags!: surgeon!chishiya, mentor!chishiya, resident!oc, slow burn, sort of enemies to lovers (?), medical au, chishiya is bad at feelings, chishiya is a little shit, semi-inspired by greys anatomy, fluff, maybe some angst, surgery, potentially ooc chishiya

warnings: medical detail, injury detail, surgery detail, patient death, incorrect medical information (my knowledge of medicine comes from greys anatomy so PLEASE do not use this fic to diagnose)

CHAPTER 15 WARNINGS (towards the end): suggestive content, kind of mild nsfw (idk)

chapter list!!!

crossposting on ao3!

“Crap,” He muttered under his breath, the word slipping out as the full weight of what he’d done hit him. Ethical violation. Power imbalance. His resident.

His resident.

The hospital code flashed in his mind - fraternization, harassment claims, everything he had built at risk. And worse, the addiction he’d just unlocked. One kiss, and he wanted more. So much more.

Tabi blinked up at him, her breath still uneven. “What… what was that?”

He straightened, dropping his hands from her waist like it had burned him, stepping back to put space between them. “A mistake,” he said flatly. “Forget it happened. Go back to work.”

But even as he said it, turning away to shuffle papers on his desk, he knew forgetting wasn’t an option. Not for him, at least.

Tabi lingered for a moment, touching her lips absently, her blush still burning. “But… you-“

“Out, Lee.” he cut in, sharp and final. She nodded, confused and flustered, slipping out the door without another word.

Chishiya sank into his chair once she was gone, running a hand through his hair. Great. You idiot. The kiss replayed in his mind - the softness, the slowness, the way she had sighed. It was supposed to end the feelings, not cement them. Now, he was in deeper than ever, and the ethical line he’d just crossed? It loomed like a guillotine.

But damn, if it didn’t feel worth it in that moment.

_________________________________________

Chishiya found himself staring at the blank screen of his computer, the cursor blinking mockingly in an empty document he had opened just to look busy, but his mind was miles away - stuck on that kiss. That stupid, impulsive, annoyingly good kiss.

What the hell was I thinking? But that was the problem. He wasn’t. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. Ethical violation didn’t even cover it. Fraternization with a subordinate? His resident? If word got out - and it always did in places like this - his career could tank. Years of building his reputation, gone. And Tabi? She would be labeled as the one sleeping her way up, her achievements dismissed as mere favoritism. Her father’s shadow was bad enough; but this would bury her.

He glanced at the clock - end of his shift is in an hour. He needed to fix this. Or at least talk it out. Set boundaries. End it before it started. Whatever. His thumb hovered over his phone, then typed a quick message: My place after shift. We need to talk. Simple. Professional. No room for misinterpretation.

The reply came almost immediately: Okay. See you then. No emojis, no questions. Good. She was probably as freaked out as he was.

The rest of the hour dragged. He snapped at a nurse over a minor charting error, earning a wary look, and buried himself in paperwork to avoid thinking. But his mind kept drifting back - her blush, the way her hands had gripped his arms.

Stop. This was a mistake. Nothing more.

By the time he got home to his penthouse, he had rehearsed the conversation a dozen times. Lay out the risks, agree it was a mistake, move on. Easy. Clinical.

The buzzer rang at exactly 7:30. Punctual, as always. He let her up, and when the door opened, there she was - Tabi, in that simple lavender sweater and jeans, and that stupid keychain jingling from her bag. She looked nervous, biting her lip.

“Hi,” she said softly, stepping inside and slipping off her shoes. “You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” He gestured to the living room. “Sit. Want something to drink? Water? Whiskey?”

“Water’s fine,” she replied, perching on the edge of the couch, not settling in it, her hands folded in her lap. She watched him as he grabbed a glass from the kitchen.

He handed her the water and sat across from her on the armchair - safe distance - running a hand over his face. “About earlier. The kiss.”

Tabi’s cheeks pinked instantly, but she nodded. “Yeah. I-“

“It was a mistake,” he cut in, the words tumbling out faster than planned. “A huge one. I shouldn’t have done that. We’re in a professional relationship - mentor and resident.” He starts pacing in front of her. “Power imbalance, ethics codes, all of it. If HR gets wind, we’re both done. My license could be reviewed, your residency tainted. People would say you’re getting special treatment, and with your family’s history? It would destroy any credibility you’ve built.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he kept going, pacing faster now, the words spilling like a dam had been broken. “But it’s not just that. I’ve never crossed lines like this. I’m the one who sets the rules, enforces them. What if this affects your training? I can’t be trusted to be objective anymore. One wrong call in the OR because I’m distracted - thinking about you - and a patient suffers. Or worse, you second-guess yourself around me, hold back on ideas because you’re worried about… us. Whatever ‘us’ even is.”

“Chishiya-“

“And then there’s the hospital gossip mill. Nurses talk, residents speculate. One slip-up, like lingering too long in my office, and it’s over.” He runs a hand through his hair with a frustrated groan. “But god, that kiss… it was supposed to be nothing, just a test so I could get you out of my head, but no, I can’t stop thinking about it. Which is the problem! I don’t do distractions. Relationships are messy, inefficient. But you’re… perfect. Annoyingly so.”

He stopped pacing, breathing a little heavier, his sharp features twisted in rare frustration. Tabi stared at him , trying to process the whirlwind of contradictions he had just unleashed. He wanted to end it? But he couldn’t stop thinking about it? He was so confusing it made her head spin.

“Chishiya,” she tried again, setting her water down. “Can I-“

“No, wait,” he interrupted, sinking onto the couch beside her now, too agitated to stay put. “What if we keep it secret? Compartmentalize. Professional at work, and… whatever this is outside. But is that even possible? I’ve seen colleagues try – always ends in disaster. And you’re a first-year; you need focus, a good mentor, not me complicating things. But then I look at you, and… damn it, why did you have to pass those stupid boards? I’d like you a lot less if you were terrible at medicine. But you aren’t. you’re competent. Talented. Attractive. God-…fuck-”

Tabi blinked, her confusion deepening. He was all over the place - back and forth like a pendulum, one second listing doomsday scenarios, the next it sounded like he was confessing feelings. “Chishiya, please-“

“And ethically? I’m your superior. Consent issues alone could-“

“Slow down!” Tabi finally burst, her voice rising enough to cut through his ramble. She reached out, grabbing his arm to still him. “You’re going a mile a minute, and I can’t get a word in. You’re confusing me - What do you actually want?”

He froze and the room fell silent. He exhaled sharply, slumping back against the cushions. “I… I don’t know. That’s the problem.”

Tabi softened, her hand lingering on his arm. “Okay. Then let’s breathe. We don’t have to go any further than that kiss if you don’t want to. It can just be a one-time thing. A lapse. We forget it, stay professional. If that’s what you need to protect our careers… I get it.”

The words hit him like a jolt. Forget it? Pretend it didn’t happen? The thought twisted something in his chest - possessiveness, maybe, or just raw want.

“God, no! I want you!”

The confession hung there, raw and completely unfiltered. Tabi’s breath caught, her flush returning as the air thickened between them. “You… you do?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, softer now, the back-and-forth easing as he finally let the truth settle. “I do. More than I should. That’s why I’m freaking out.”

She nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Okay. Then… we figure it out.”

They shifted closer on the couch. Chishiya relaxed against the backrest, his arm draping casually over the cushions behind her. “Alright. First rule: absolute professionalism at the hospital. No lingering looks, no private meetings unless it’s work-related. We act like nothing’s changed.”

“Agreed,” Tabi said, tucking her legs under her, facing him fully. “I don’t want this affecting my training. Or your career.”

He nodded, his fingers absently tracing the seam of the couch as his voice takes on a nervous quality – rare for him. “Second… I’ve actually never done this before. A serious relationship, I mean. Casual hookups? Sure. Quick, no strings, over before complications set in. But this? Actual feelings? It’s… new to me.”

Tabi’s eyes widened slightly. “Really? Never? Not even in med school?”

He smirked, self-deprecating. “No not in med school. After? I just focused on my career. Relationships always seemed pointless – just distractions… Well, until now I suppose.”

“Well… we can take it slow.” She said. “Learn as we go. No pressure.”

“Slow,” he echoed, though his gaze dropped to her lips, lingering. “Yeah. Slow.”

The conversation lulled, the weight lifting as they sat there, the penthouse quiet save for their breathing. Tabi shifted closer, her knee brushing his thigh. “So… what now?”

Chishiya’s hand moved from the couch to her shoulder, thumb grazing her collarbone through her sweater. “Now?” Followed by a shrug.

Before she could respond, he closed the distance, capturing her lips in a kiss that started soft but deepened quickly. Tabi melted into it, her hands finding his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. He pulled her closer, guiding her back until she was lying on the couch beneath him, his body hovering over hers, careful not to crush her small frame.

The kiss intensified, slow and deliberate at first - his lips moving against hers with that same tenderness from the office. He tasted like toothpaste and whiskey, his hand sliding up her side, bunching her sweater as he explored the curve of her waist. Tabi arched slightly, a soft moan escaping as his tongue brushed hers, the heat building between them.

“Oh!” she murmured against his mouth, pulling back just enough to breathe. “We could go on dates -like real ones. Do you like picnics? or that cute café near the hospital with the macarons. And movies! We could go to the cinema, hold hands-“

Chishiya chuckled low, nipping at her bottom lip in a futile attempt to silence her, but she kept going, her words tumbling out between kisses. “And walks at night. You could show me your favorite spots, and I could make you try my favourite teas – they’re not that bad, I promise. Oh, and matching keychains! Not too cheesy, but something subtle, like-“

“Tabi,” he groaned in feigned annoyance, his voice husky as he kissed her harder, trying to derail her ramble. His hand slipped under her sweater, fingers splaying across her stomach, tracing lazy circles into her skin. But she was completely undeterred, her lips brushing his as she continued.

“-and vacations! We could plan a weekend getaway, somewhere quiet, far from the hospital of course. It’d be so cute, don’t you think? Like, actual couple stuff-“

He wanted to shut her up, needed to, because her words were painting pictures he hadn’t dared imagine, and it was driving him crazy – how dare she be so sweet in a moment like this. “Enough,” he muttered, capturing her mouth again, deeper this time, his body pressing flush against hers. His free hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back to expose her neck, where he trailed kisses down the column of her throat, sucking lightly at her pulse point until she gasped.

But even then, through the haze, she whispered, “And stargazing - on your balcony, maybe-”

“Tabi,” He growled, lifting his head just enough to meet her eyes. His hips shifted against hers, for emphasis, eliciting a soft whimper from her that finally paused her words. “Stop talking. Please.”

She blinked up at him, flushed and breathless, her lips swollen from his kisses. “But… it’s exciting. Us.”

“Yes,” he agreed, his voice rough as he kissed her again, slower now, savoring the way she responded - her hands sliding under his shirt, nails grazing his back. The couch creaked softly under their weight as he settled more fully between her legs. His fingers danced higher under her sweater, brushing the edge of her bra, thumb teasing the lace as she arched into him.

She moaned softly, her ramble forgotten for a moment as heat flared between them. “Chishiya…”

“There you go, that’s better,” he murmured against her skin, nipping at her earlobe before trailing back to her mouth. The kiss turned urgent, tongues tangling, bodies pressing closer.

He broke the kiss briefly, forehead against hers, both panting. “No more date talk, okay? Not now.”

She laughed breathlessly, her fingers threading through his hair. “Fine. But later?”

“Later.”

[harusmichixo]

hey, i saw you we’re taking requests! can you write something where itachi has an s/o who still has something she attached to from her childhood like a pillow or a blanket that brings her comfort. you can write however long or short however you want it. (i still don’t know all the different tumblr terms😭) thank you!

itachi x reader

*:･ﾟ✧ summary: You always kept your blanket a well kept secret - it was childish to carry such an item at your age, you would tell yourself. But Itachi was not an easy man to hide things from.

genre: tooth rotting fluff, mild angst

word count: 1.1k

masterlist!

It was a rainy afternoon when he first discovered your secret. You had invited him over after a long day, your muscles aching and your mind buzzing with the usual post-mission anxiety. Itachi arrived quietly, as he always did, slipping through the door almost without you noticing. He found you in the bedroom, rummaging through your closet for a change of clothes.

“Hey,” you said, smiling over your shoulder. “I’ll be right out.”

He nodded, his eyes scanning the room with that habitual caution. But then he paused, his gaze landing on something peeking out from under your pillow. It was a corner of fabric - soft blue, frayed at the edges, with tiny embroidered stars that had faded from countless washes.

Curiosity flickered in his expression, rare for someone as composed as Itachi. He reached out, tugging it free. The blanket unfolded in his hands, lightweight and worn, smelling faintly of lavender.

You froze in the doorway, fresh shirt halfway on. “Oh… that’s, um…”

Itachi looked up, holding it carefully, like it was something precious. “What is this?”

Your cheeks burned. Great, now he thinks I’m weird. “It’s just… an old blanket. From when I was a kid. Uhh…My mom made it for me before she… you know.” You trailed off, the memory stinging too much to finish your sentence. “I know it’s silly… But it helps when things get overwhelming. Calms me down.”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease. Instead, he folded it neatly and placed it back on the bed. “It’s not silly,” he said softly. “We all have things that ground us. For me, that’s you.”

You blinked, surprised. Itachi wasn’t one for grand declarations, but this felt intimate. Vulnerable. “Really? You don’t think it’s weird?”

He stepped closer, his fingers brushing your arm. “Not at all.”

After that, Itachi started taking that blanket anywhere you went with him. The first time it happened was on a reconnaissance trip to the Land of Rivers. You’d packed light - kunai, scrolls, rations - but as you shouldered your bag at the village gates, Itachi appeared with his own pack slung over one shoulder.

“Ready?” he asked.

You nodded, but as you walked, you noticed his bag looked a bit bulkier than usual. “What’s in there? Extra weapons?”

He didn’t answer right away, just gave that small, knowing smile. Hours later, when you stopped at an inn for the night, exhausted from the trek, you collapsed onto the bed. The room was stuffy, the mission’s tension gnawing at you – spies, they were everywhere. Anxiety bubbled up, making your chest tight.

Itachi knelt by his bag, pulling out… your blanket. Folded neatly, as always.

Your eyes widened. “You… brought that?”

“Just in case,” he said simply, draping it over your shoulders. The familiar softness enveloped you, chasing away the unease like the magic your mother used to describe. “I thought you might need it.”

Tears pricked your eyes - not from sadness, but from the sheer thoughtfulness. Itachi wasn’t affectionate in public ways; he always showed love through actions, quiet and profound. “Thank you,” you whispered, pulling him down beside you.

He wrapped an arm around you, his chin resting on your head. “Always.”

From then on, it became a habit. A diplomatic escort to the Hidden Sand? Blanket tucked in his pack. A quick patrol along the borders? He would slip it in without a word. Once, during a stormy night in a cave hideout, you woke shivering from the cold. Wordlessly, he unfolded it and covered you both, his body heat mingling with the fabric’s comfort. “Better?” he murmured.

“Much,” you replied, snuggling closer.

But it wasn’t just for travel. Life as a shinobi meant anxiety was a constant companion - nightmares from past battles, the fear of losing him again mingling in there too. Itachi noticed your tells: the way your fingers twisted together, your breaths coming shorter, your eyes darting like you were searching for an escape from your own head.

The first time he used the blanket in one of those moments was after a particularly rough day. You’d argued with some village elders about old grudges and it left you drained and upset. You paced the living room, words tumbling out in a frustrated rant. “Why can’t they just let it go? It’s not fair-“

Itachi listened silently, as he often did. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t offer platitudes. Instead, he disappeared into the bedroom for a moment. When he returned, the blanket was in his hands.

Without a word, he stepped behind you, wrapping it around your shoulders like a cape. The weight settled, familiar and soothing, pulling you out of the spiral. You stopped your pacing the second it hit your shoulders.

“Better?” he asked, arms encircling you from behind.

You leaned back into him, nodding. “How do you always know?”

“I watch you,” he admitted. “And I care.”

It became his silent ritual. Whenever upset hit - after a failed training session, or when memories of your lost family surfaced - he’d wait until the words slowed, then envelop you in the blanket. No judgment, no questions. Just what you needed.

One evening, after a nightmare woke you screaming, you bolted upright. He was there instantly, pulling you into his lap. Still silent, he reached for the blanket on the nightstand and tucked it around you both.

“Talk to me,” he said finally, once your breathing steadied.

“It’s stupid,” you muttered. “Just dreams.”

“Nothing about your pain is stupid.” His fingers traced patterns on your back through the fabric.

Separation was the hardest part. Missions didn’t always align; sometimes Itachi was called away for classified duties, or you’d be sent on solo reconnaissance. The apartment felt empty without him - too quiet, too cold.

But he had his ways of coping, too.

You discovered it by accident, returning early from a trip. The door creaked open, and there he was, sitting by the window, reading a scroll. Draped around his shoulders was your blanket, the blue fabric contrasting with his dark hair.

He looked up, not startled - Itachi was never startled -but a faint flush colored his cheeks. “You’re back early.”

You grinned, dropping your bag. “Is that… my blanket?”

He adjusted it slightly, not removing it. “It smells like you. Lavender.”

Your heart melted. This man, who rarely showed vulnerability, was wrapped up in a kiddie blanket. The sight would be comical if it wasn’t sickeningly endearing. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Since the first time you left,” he confessed, standing to pull you close. The blanket enveloped you both now. “It brings me peace.”

It became a shared secret. When you were away, he’d wear it around the apartment - reading, cooking, even sleeping with it nearby. Once, you caught him napping on the couch, the blanket pulled up to his chin. “Missed me?” you teased.

“Always,”

[harusmichixo]

Under His Scalpel - Chishiya x OC

Chapter 14

*:･ﾟ✧ summary: surgeon!Chishiya Shuntaro had never wanted to have a resident.

And he never wanted to care .

But yet here he was with a resident under his wing - inexperienced, fragile, needy - and now he’s expected to live to his reputation and make her into the best surgeon known to mankind.

Or at least thats what he reasoned.

fic tags!: surgeon!chishiya, mentor!chishiya, resident!oc, slow burn, sort of enemies to lovers (?), medical au, chishiya is bad at feelings, chishiya is a little shit, semi-inspired by greys anatomy, fluff, maybe some angst, surgery, potentially ooc chishiya

warnings: medical detail, injury detail, surgery detail, patient death, incorrect medical information (my knowledge of medicine comes from greys anatomy so PLEASE do not use this fic to diagnose)

chapter list!!!

crossposting on ao3!

Tokyo University Hospital’s corridors felt dimmer without Tabi’s presence, though Chishiya would never admit it aloud. It had been three days since the board exams and Tabi was nowhere to be seen. He had tried calling her that first night, his phone pressed to his ear as he paced his penthouse.

No answer.

A text the next day - Report in when ready - went unread.

By the third day, as he signed off on a patient’s chart with more force than necessary, he muttered a quiet “Whatever” under his breath, shoving his phone into his pocket. Let her sulk. He wasn’t her babysitter.

But the bad mood clung to him, his usual detachment cracking at the edges. Nurses avoided his sharp glances and residents scattered when he approached. Even Dr. Tanaka steered clear. Chishiya told himself it was irritation at her absence disrupting the ward’s shift patterns, something that became his problem. But deep down, in the recesses he rarely visited, he knew the truth:

it hurt because it was her.

He had reluctantly admitted his feelings in the dead of night, staring at the ceiling - attraction, affection, whatever label fit the unfamiliar “feelings” he got whenever she was near. It didn’t matter to him what they were, just that they were there. And now, she saw him as just an asshole. Fitting, he thought bitterly. That’s what I am.

The hospital day dragged on, an endless blur of rounds and paperwork, his mind wandering to her more than he would have liked. By evening, he needed an escape. A bar - not his usual spot, but a quiet one in a side street near the hospital, where the dim lights and anonymous crowd could drown the noise in his head. He ordered a whiskey neat, settling at the counter, his eyes fixed on the glass as he swirled it. She’ll come back. Or she won’t. Either way, life goes on.

Tabi, meanwhile, had spent those three days in complete isolation, curled up in her apartment. Mr. Hino’s death haunted her, along with the disaster of her exam, the feeling of Mia’s hand striking her cheek continued to burn into her skin, replaying like a nightmare. Work felt impossible - the thought of facing the ward, the stares, the questions. So she’d called in sick, ignoring Chishiya’s calls, burying her phone under her pillow.

But tonight, everything seemed to close in. She needed air, needed to escape her own thoughts that have been plaguing her nonstop. A bar - any bar - to numb the ache with a drink or two. She dressed simply: a small blue dress, a pair of heels, not bothering to style her hair. The place she chose was dim and unassuming, the kind where people went to forget. She stepped inside, the warm hum of conversation and clink of glasses a brief distraction - until her eyes landed on him at the counter.

Chishiya, nursing a glass of whiskey.

Panic consumed her as her heart leaped to her throat. She turned to leave, hand on the door, but he glanced up, his eyes locking onto hers across the room.

“Lee,” he called out, his voice cutting through the noise.

She froze, caught. Running now would be childish, so she approached slowly, her heels clicking softly on the wooden floor. “Dr. Chishiya… hi. I didn’t expect…”

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the stool beside him. It wasn’t a request, but his tone lacked its usual edge - perhaps softened by the whiskey, or something else.

She hesitated, then slid onto the seat, ordering a glass of wine to steady her nerves. The silence stretched on awkwardly at first, the bar’s jazz music filling the gap. Tabi fidgeted with her necklace, her mind racing - What do I say? Sorry for ignoring you? For calling you an asshole?

Chishiya took a sip, his gaze on the countertop. He was admittedly a bit drunk, the alcohol loosening the tight control he kept on his words. “You didn’t come in,” he said finally. “I called.”

“I know,” she whispered, her cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry. I just… needed time.”

He nodded. Another sip, and the whiskey emboldened him. “Do you really think I’m an asshole?”

Tabi’s eyes widened, the question hanging heavy. She stared at her wine, swirling it as if it could change the subject. “I… I was upset. Overwhelmed. I didn’t mean it-“

“But you did,” he interrupted, sounding almost… vulnerable? “Don’t worry, I don’t blame you. After all, I made myself that way.”

She met his gaze then. “You are an asshole… sometimes. But… you’ve also helped me, and I think… you’re actually also quite a good guy. I was wrong to snap. I’m sorry.”

The apology eased something in him, the whiskey warming his veins as the conversation opened, tentative at first. They talked casually - about the bar’s dim ambiance, a light anecdote from the ward he’d missed sharing with her. But the pain in her eyes, the way she could only look at him for so long, pulled at him.

“It’s my fault,” she whispered eventually, her voice breaking. “I was there. If I’d reacted faster…”

Chishiya set his glass down, the alcohol loosening his guard. To comfort her - something he rarely did - he opened up. “I used to be like you… In my resident days, that is. I would replay every decision, every cut, every measurement. It would eat me alive.” He sighed, tracing the rim of his glass. “Do you remember when I made you remember my failed cases? They were from my residency. You’ll accumulate that many patient deaths, probably more. I let them consume me at first - sleepless nights, I considered quitting many times.”

Tabi looked at him, surprise softening her features. “You? Affected like that?”

He smirked faintly, but his eyes were distant. “ I do have feelings, Lee. Been reminded of that recently,” He said. “But I learned to compartmentalize. I don’t let myself think about things. Ever. If I did… It would send me crazy… Thinking sends everyone crazy, I think.” He looks away, sighing deeply, then looks at her more firmly. “Mr. Hino’s death wasn’t your fault. Shit happens.”

“But-“

He cut her off, taking another sip of his whiskey. “Mr. Hino’s death wasn’t your fault. Shit. Happens.”

_________________________________________

Chishiya leaned back in his office chair, the remedial buzz of his department filtering through the half-closed door. His fingers tapped idly on the edge of his desk, a rare sign of impatience as he stared at the sealed envelope in front of him. The results. Tabi’s first-year boards. He had pulled strings - not unethical ones, just the kind that came with being head of cardiology - to get them delivered straight to him before the official announcements. Curiosity, he told himself. Or perhaps something else. Not that he would admit to that though. Either way, he wasn’t about to wait for the bureaucratic snail mail to catch up.

With a swift motion, he sliced open the envelope, pulling out the crisp sheet of paper. His eyes scanned the top line:

Candidate: Tabi Lee.

Status: Pass.

The score was solid - not top percentile, but comfortably above the threshold. Despite everything… she’d done it. She’d actually done it. And on her own this time.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. Not bad, Lee. He’d half-expected failure, given the mess of that day, but this? This was proof of her resilience, what sets her out from most residents. Or maybe it’s just sheer dumb luck. Either way, it stirred something in him - pride, perhaps.

Or those annoying feelings he’d been trying to ignore for weeks.

He picked up his phone, thumbing through contacts until her name appeared. A quick text: My office. Now. No pleasantries. That wasn’t his style.

Minutes later, there was a hesitant knock. “Come in,” he called, leaning against the front of his desk now, arms crossed casually over his chest.

The door creaked open, and Tabi slipped inside, her scrubs slightly rumpled from the morning round and that ridiculous keychain dangling from her badge like always. She hadn’t been the same since returning to work, since Mr. Hino’s death - quieter, more subdued, like she was still letting everything press down on her. But he hoped this would put a stop to all that.

“You wanted to see me, Dr. Chishiya?” she asked, tentative. She hovered near the door, not quite meeting his gaze, as if expecting a lecture. After all, that was usually what she was in his office for.

“Sit,” he said, nodding toward the chair opposite his desk. But she didn’t move right away, fidgeting with the hem of her scrubs instead. He sighed internally. Always so nervous. “Or stand. Whatever. I have your board results.”

Her eyes snapped up then, widening like saucers. “Already? But… they said it would take another week at least.” She took a step forward. “How did you…?”

“Perks of the position,” he shrugged dryly, holding up the paper. “Want the bad news first?”

Tabi’s face paled, her shoulders slumping as she braced herself. “I… I failed, didn’t I? With everything that happened – I knew it… I couldn’t focus in there. You’re going to kick me out aren’t you? Please… Dr. Chishiya… you have to-”

“You passed.”

The words hung in the air, simple and matter-of-fact. Tabi froze, her mouth parting in shock. “What?”

“You passed,” he repeated evenly, though a hint of amusement crept in at her disbelief. He flipped the paper around, sliding it across the desk so she could see for herself. “See? Right there. Passing score. Congratulations, Lee. You’re officially not a complete disaster.”

She stared at the paper, her brows furrowing as she leaned in closer, like she couldn’t trust her own eyes. Her fingers trembled as she traced the printed words. “This… this can’t be right. I was so late, and I rushed through half the questions. I left some blank, even. How could I have passed?”

Chishiya shrugged. “Apparently, you knew enough to scrape by. Or maybe you got lucky and the graders were feeling generous that day.”

Tabi’s gaze lifted slowly, suspicion flickering in her eyes. She straightened up, crossing her arms over her chest. “Did you… did you do something? Like, pull strings? Meddle with the scores?”

Chishiya’s smirk faded, replaced by a rare flash of irritation in his eyes. He pushed off the desk slightly, his posture tensing. “Meddle? What? You think I’d risk my reputation for that? Tamper with exam results like your parents did? No, Lee. Unlike your father, I don’t play those games. You earned this. Believe it or not.”

She flinched at the mention of her dad, her cheeks flushing with guilt. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you like that. It’s just… it feels too good to be true. I’m not very good at exams, I thought for sure I’d bombed it.”

The offense lingered for a second longer, a tight knot in his chest, but then he let it go. She was rattled, that much was clear. And honestly, part of him understood the doubt—the shadow her parent’s nepotism cast surely would play a hand in that. He exhaled slowly, leaning back against the desk again. “Apology accepted. But next time, have a little faith in yourself. Or in me.”

Tabi nodded, biting her lip as she glanced back at the paper. Then, slowly, the reality sank in. Her eyes lit up, a smile breaking across her face. “I… I passed. Oh my god, I actually passed!” The smile grew, turning into a full-blown grin, her hands flying up to cover her mouth in disbelief. She bounced slightly on her toes, a laugh escaping her lips. “This is crazy! I can’t believe it - I mean, I do now, but… wow!”

Chishiya watched her, the way her whole face transformed with excitement. It was… cute. Endearingly so. The kind of unfiltered joy that made her seem even smaller, and even more vibrant against the stark white of his office walls. A warmth spread through him, unbidden, and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. “You did good, Tabi. Really. I’m… proud of you. You’ve got real potential.”

The compliment hung there without his usual sarcasm or backhandedness. Tabi’s bouncing stopped, her cheeks flushing a deep pink as she stared at him, wide-eyed. “You… you think so? That’s-… I mean… thank you, Dr. Chishiya. That means a lot.”

He held her gaze a beat too long, the air in the room shifting subtly. The blush on her cheeks, the way her lips curved in that shy smile - it stirred those feelings in him. The ones he had rationalized away a hundred times. Just test it, a voice whispered in his mind.

He didn’t think it through - didn’t weigh the ethics, the risks. Impulse wasn’t his thing, but here, with her looking at him like that, it overrode all logic.

“Come here,” he said softly. He stayed leaned against the desk, legs slightly parted, patting the space in front of him casually. “I want to show you something.”

Tabi hesitated, her blush deepening, but curiosity - and maybe something else - drew her forward.

She stepped closer, until she was standing between his legs, close enough that he could smell the faint vanilla of her perfume mixed with the antiseptic soap of the hospital. Her breath hitched, her eyes flicking up to meet his questioningly.

The moment stretched, silent and charged. Chishiya’s hands hovered at his sides, his heart rate picking up in a way that annoyed him - clinical, detached him, feeling this flutter? Ridiculous. But her proximity, the way her chest rose and fell just a little faster, the soft parting of her lips… it was intoxicating. He reached out slowly, his fingers brushing her waist, settling there lightly at first, then firmer, pulling her just a fraction closer.

“Dr. Chishiya…?” she whispered, her hands coming to rest tentatively on his arms.

“Just Chishiya,” he corrected quietly, his thumbs tracing small circles on her sides through the thin fabric of her scrubs. “Just for now.”

Before she could respond, he leaned in, closing the distance. His lips met hers softly, tentatively at first - a brush, testing, meant to be brief. Just enough to confirm if this obsession was a fluke, something he could dismiss after one taste. But the second their lips connected,

everything shifted.

Her lips were soft, warmer than he had ever imagined, yielding under his with a sweetness that made his head spin. He deepened the kiss without thinking, one hand sliding up her back to pull her closer, the other staying firm on her waist. The slowness of it - lazy, slightly uncoordinated – felt so addicting. She responded hesitantly at first, then melted into it, her fingers gripping his sleeves tighter, a soft sigh escaping against his mouth.

This was supposed to stop it, he thought dimly, but instead, it amplified all those stupid feelings. The taste of her - faintly like the tea she always drank - the way she fit against him, oddly perfect … it was like a drug, pulling him under. Or the first glass of whiskey he’d had, and then never went back. He tilted his head, savoring the slowness, the way time seemed to stretch in his office, no rush, just this building heat.

When he finally pulled back - reluctantly, his forehead resting against hers for a second - reality crashed in. And what left his lips was a soft;

“Crap.”