Chapter Text
You angrily shimmy your way into a pair of fresh panties, uttering a tired groan when feeling the thin lace rims chafe painfully across your skin. You realize you must’ve missed a few spots when you hastily toweled yourself dry a minute ago. Your mood sours further, adding to the high-strung bundle of nerves that you’ve been all night.
Your mind goes back to twenty minutes earlier, to when you stood at the edge of the gym, trying to keep yourself from coughing up your guts. The hall was filled with the distinctive smells of unwashed feet, rubber mats, and machismo, worsening your upcoming nausea. A cacophony of grunting men, and the sound of flesh connecting to flesh in swift blows and kicks, slowly faded into the background as black spots started filling your vision.
‘Uh-oh. This isn’t good,’ you had thought then. You deeply inhaled a lungful of air rife with testosterone and managed to catch a little of your breath. Relief washed over you when the spots slowly disappeared from your eyes.
You had severely underestimated this class.
All you had wanted were some self-defense tips to make you feel more secure, but instead, you were expected to literally fly around doing double back-flips like the Kung-fu monks in the movies you had seen as a kid.
You were late to spot a guy with sexy scars on his face thrown in your direction, but fortunately, you managed to step aside in the nick of time and he missed you by a hair's breadth.
As if things couldn’t go worse, the looming presence of your teacher was behind you menacingly, causing your muscles to tighten with tension and your hair to stand on end. It was the same guy who had looked down on you for the entire duration of this class, from his self-appointed high ground, even though he wasn’t even that much taller than you (if you didn’t count his weird, upright hairdo).
“Tsk, why don't you just go home? You're getting in the way left and right," he said with his annoyingly grating voice, audible over the sounds of your heavy breathing.
Aware that you might be unable to respond (presumably), he continued, "Why did you even bother coming here? You're a normal human girl , and a weak one at that."
His snorts reached your ears, making you squeeze your knuckles white. ‘Sexist bastard.’
“This is no place for you.”
Still trying to recover your breathing rhythm, you still couldn't utter a word. This guy was shooting a powerfully offensive message, but you also realized he was kind of a one-note.
You turned around to shoot proverbial knives in his direction, fervently wishing your gaze had somehow gained the power to kill because you still didn’t have the bandwidth to speak. But your confidence started wavering again when you needed to lean forward on your knees for support. Those annoying spots were starting to plague your vision again.
Through the blurriness of sweat in your eyes, you could see the outlines of his muscular body. ‘Why does this guy have to be so hot?’ You groaned internally, involuntarily roaming your eyes over his slim waist and up to his very wide and well-formed chest and set of shoulders. It was as if his body was sculpted straight from marble, and the mere sight triggered a dry gulp. You became aware that your throat feels like you've just swallowed the driest sand in the Sahara, and the irony that this man embodies a literal thirst trap did not escape you.
Still not able to utter a word, you tried a sip from your water bottle. But the previous onslaught on your body hasn’t done any favors for your coordination, so you clumsily spilled water all over your chin.
Warm embarrassment crept up on your cheeks as you tried to hide behind your water bottle. As you quickly gobbled everything down, you thought this couldn't get any worse.
You vaguely noticed his heavy, disapproving gaze follow the line of water trickle down your neck and into your cleavage. Something unreadable flickered across his eyes before he presented you with his back. “Go. This is no place for weak-willed little girls like yourself.”
You buried the shame on your face in your towel for a few long, dreadful seconds, before leaving with a slouched spine and painful defeat.
******
Moments later, when you turn the key into the lock of your new, considerably shoddy apartment, and you absentmindedly reach for your phone in your pocket, your fingers find nothing but empty mint roles and change.
You must’ve left your phone at the gym.
Dismay fills you up and takes up residence in your soul. ‘FUCK.’ You really don’t want to go back to that sweatpit of Hades again, but losing your phone means being completely cut-off from society these days, so you have to go back. Besides, where else are you going to get your dopamine hits later this evening?
You begin the trek back, placing one foot in front of the other, slowly and begrudgingly, truly dreading the idea of showing your face there again.
As you take reluctant steps through the block, your eyes lock onto everything that even hints at movement: rustling bushes, fighting cats (sounding more aggravated than usual), whispering breezes through dark alleys filled with broken crates and trash. You’re seriously dreading the feeling of needing to be on high alert in your neighborhood.
You zip up your oversized hoodie, trying to disappear into the thick fabric. Hell, walking through this questionable neighborhood was the reason you had taken up self-defense lessons in the first place.
The rapidly dropping temperature is starting to freeze your freshly showered head, so you pull your hood over your hair and tighten the strings to further close yourself in.
When you turn the corner, you see a few grubby, back-alley stores ahead. You walk past their window shops, already ordained in cheap attempts at early holiday decoration. It’s early fall, couldn’t they wait till winter to remind single peeps of the upcoming annual nightmare?
Chi says the holidays best go together with antidepressants, comfort candy everyone regrets in January, and proper evasive maneuvers—handy whenever your great-aunt wants to shower you with kisses on her brandy breath. A vague smile plays around your lips thinking of your friend. She could be so melodramatic at times. You agree with her though, Christmas was starting to feel more like a deadline than a holiday.
The canopy of black clouds slowly opens, drawing a thin, misty haze across the moon.
The moon graces the sky in its full glory tonight, and its rays are bright enough to help you navigate through the parts where the streetlights are broken. The fracture lines in the asphalt reflect the silver-blue light, making them sparkle almost prettily.
Street maintenance is long overdue in these parts.
You know you must've looked like a fearful heap of patheticness when you walked straight into a dense wall, just behind the corner.
But it's not a wall; it's the firm chest of what seems to be a man, because his arm shoots out to steady you as you bounce back, his large palm enclosing your arm tightly.
Terror paralyzes you, as you behold a sturdy, shadow-clad form loom over you. The figure is dark as night and equally disturbing as the creaking floors in your empty apartment at three AM. But your fear quickly deflates when he moves from the shadows, stepping forward with the graciousness of a black panther.
It’s your trainer Vegeta, still looking rather exquisite, unfortunately. The moon shines bright enough to cast a soft light on his stupid, smug face, that you would gladly set your nails in and scratch off.
He produces an object with a black reflecting surface from the inner recesses of his leather jacket, presenting it directly in front of your nose. You become acutely aware of the closeness between you two, and of his lingering hand on your arm.
“Forgot something?” he taunts, with a smirk growing on his stupid, impeccably sculpted face. “Are you just an idiot, or were you looking for an excuse to…return?”
Attempting to bore a hole with a scathing glare into his widening grin, you snatch your phone from his hand with more aggression than you intended. “Just shut up, you asshole.”
“Hmmm. Fierce are we, all of a sudden,” he nearly purrs, leaving you briefly dumbstruck.
You study his face for a few long and awkward seconds. The veil of clouds recedes from the moon, uncloaking its pale body entirely, and the new stream of light reveals him looking at you oddly. You swallow whatever mean retort you have on the tip of your tongue because it looks like his mind is glitching, with widening, glassy eyes staring right through you. Even though his irises are black as coal, you can see his pupils are almost dilated all the way to the rim.
“Are you…okay?” You don’t particularly like this son of a bitch, but that doesn’t mean you are going to forgo all human decency.
He blinks a few times, before snapping out of his stupor. Annoyance flitters across his eyes, almost as if your kindness has burned his skin, and he releases your arm abruptly with a small, unnecessary yank.
“Well uhh…I guess I should say thanks. I’m going to go now,” you mutter before turning around, looking back to hold his face in your rearview as long as possible. You’re not sure what to make of all of this, and a hint of worry bubbles up in your stomach (even though this guy isn’t deserving of any of that).
Your distraction compromises your environmental awareness for a second, and you’re late to spot a few cars coming your way, blasting obnoxious music with the bass turned up to the max.
Looking behind you, Vegeta still stands frozen into place, with that weird, dissociated face.
You break eye contact as a group of loud and obviously drunk miscreants in a convertible approaches. The doors are adorned with lots of graffiti text that is no doubt offensive if you were to take the time to read them. They hit the brakes when they spot you, all the while yelling and hollering things at you that you can't understand from this distance, but are likely lecherous and cliché.
‘No, not this again’ , you groan internally.
You sigh deeply when they begin to drive by you slowly and your already considerably low mood sinks even further into your shoes.
“Hey girl, wanna have a good time?” The one behind the wheel yells in your direction. The guy next to him gestures to you with a come-hither motion, sporting an equally creepy smile and facial hair.
You shrink in on yourself, wanting to disappear in your clothes, as you’re trying to create more distance between the car and you . ‘Damn, this fucking neighborhood!’
"Look at that nice piece of ass!" the third one says between wolf whistles. "Wanna party with us? We have a spot free for you." The man attempting to channel a washed-out Eminem points to the vacant seat beside him.
Not even in a million years. You hasten your pace when you spot a dark alleyway further ahead, too narrow for any car to fit. You take a sharp right turn, and you’re immediately swallowed up into black. You lean flat against a brick wall, trying to disappear into the shadows, and watch with a racing heart at how they drive by, cursing and catcalling in your direction.
“You frigid SLUT…!” is the last thing you hear fading out in the distance. You let out a large exhale from relief, glad that the schrödinger’s whore incident was over (meaning you’re either an attractive woman to these douchebags or an ugly slut, all depending on whether their ‘advances’ are reciprocated or not).
Relieved, you become aware of your surroundings. The alleyway wears an impossibly dark cloak, and as if you weren't tense enough, you can’t help imagining dreadful things lurking in the shadows. You nearly jump out of your skin when you see a large man, with wild hair, and an ominous silhouette has followed you into the narrow passage. Your heart swells in your throat when he grabs your arm before you can get away. “No–”
You choke on the rest of what you are about to say when you recognize him.
‘Oh, it’s him again.’
For his stocky frame, the bastard was light as a feather on his feet. You breathe out another lungful of autumn air in relief. “Dude, quit scaring the the fucking SOCKS off of me tonight! You almost gave me a heart attack!”
“Let me walk you home,” he offers, giving your sleeve a small tuck.
You comply soundlessly by following him back onto the sidewalk and into the streetlights.
The silent way to your apartment is pregnant with awkwardness.
“So…I’m beginning to understand why you were in my class,” he says, finally breaking the dead air.
Good. So he wasn’t just a stack of dumb muscles, then. A sexy stack of dumb muscles. Even with that weird upstanding hairdo of his. You slap yourself inwardly and wonder what the hell has gotten into you.
“Yes, it’s because of this part of the city. I can’t afford to live anywhere else,” you say, hunching your shoulders even deeper into subconscious shame.
“I see ,” he says, his baritone voice making your insides tingle.
‘Why the hell is this guy playing nice all of a sudden?’ you ask yourself.
“It’s nice in its own right, you see. Lovely low ceilings, very little light, and the occasional police siren to keep me company at five AM are all part of the deal.”
His silence begins to unnerve you, and now that you’ve opened your mouth you have trouble putting a sock in it.
“Six floors, twelve different apartments each, all occupied by a different flavor of crazy.”
You mentally zip up your mouth.
He remains silent for a minute, visibly stewing in some thoughts. You’re surprised he even has any.
“I can’t help you become a martial artist. You’re too weak for tha–”
You roll your eyes, as you cut him off. “Yeah, yeah, how much longer are you going to rub that in my face? I’m as strong as wet tissues in a hurricane, what else is new?”
“Let. Me. Finish.” He proceeds through clenched teeth.
“Ugh, all right,” You say, nearly throwing your arms in the air out of exasperation. Talking to this guy is like trying to navigate your way through a minefield.
He scrapes his throat before starting again. “In my dojo we practice ‘ki’, or ‘energy’ manipulation. It’s rather… advanced . A skill only accessible to a rare few human individuals who possess the gift.”
You think it’s odd that he uses the word ‘human’, but you let it slide.
You hear him swallow loudly before he proceeds. “What you’re looking for is a regular self-defense class, and we don’t have that at our dojo. I might give you some other…tips, though,‘ he says, looking baffled by his own suggestion.
You look at his face again, where that odd expression from before seems to be returning. It almost looks like someone slipped him a molly, and it is just kicking in. Minus the jaw twitching.
“Like what?” You ask, trying not to let your skepticism seep through to your tone too much. You shove your hands down in the pocket of your hoodie. It was getting colder than a witch's tit.
His eyes follow the lines of your shivering form with a disapproving intensity that puts you further off ease.
“Well for starters, I could teach you how to walk without coming off as a cowering lamb waiting in line for sacrificial slaughter,” he says, pointing at your bent form, hunched shoulders and all.
There’s a soft, unconvincing grunt in your throat. When was this guy ever going to give you a break?
But you can feel yourself relenting. “Oh, God. Fine then,” you groan. Giving in to this guy’s request feels like stepping into wet spots with dry socks.
“No, call me Sensei,” he says, the muscles in his jaw moving, a glint of amusement now flittering along his eyes. “Or master. ”
He was making a joke. You come to the edge of a nervous laugh, but you bury it at the last moment. Instead, you opt for rolling your eyes. “All right, master. ” This asshole seems really eager to place you under him, with every sentence further bolstering his weird superiority complex. You quickly push out the dirty thoughts that spring into your mind.
“What do you propose?” You eye him sideways, seeing sharp moon-shadows dance across his angular face.
“Are you home tomorrow, five o’clock?”
You have an early start tomorrow morning. So, yes.
You nod, simultaneously asking yourself why you agreed to further punish yourself with this asshole’s presence.
*****
After hours, you find yourself tossing and turning in your bed. Pearls of sweat form on your brow and along the swell of your chest, making your nightshirt cling to your skin. You are in deep sleep, but you’re seeing flashes of your own face, almost like viewing yourself through the eyes of someone else, in a string of near-delirious dreams.
A tsunami of heated images, erotic smells, and sounds washes over you. One moment you’re back at the dojo, wearing a revealing gym outfit. Your shoulders press against the wall as you roll your head back, seductively exposing your neck.
Next, you see yourself standing in a gloomy, narrow alleyway, melting in long and sensual kisses, encircled by a pair of strong arms. You can't see through whose eyes you're viewing yourself or to whom the arms belong, but from the muscular forearms and rough hands, you deduce that it's a man. Moonrays cascade from your partly opened lips to your bared throat, and down to your rapidly heaving chest. You witness your hoodie slowly being zipped down, revealing hard nipples poking through your top.
From merely looking at you, you sense him erupt in an intoxicating rush, as he greedily drinks in your form with exhilaration. When you lock eyes with yourself, a moon-eyed expression mirrors back at him.
You look absolutely star-strickenly in love.
The glimmer of sweat on skin under the moon's soft rays is the last thing you see before the dreams turn more sexual. You see yourself in a sequence of images: you, with your sweatpants on your knees and a hand between your thighs, morphing into you bending over, roughly being entered from behind while your moans echo all the way through to the next equally as pornographic dreamscape. You see yourself on your knees, licking along a very stiff length up to the tip, where you eagerly lap up the drops of precum.
Eventually, everywhere and everything you see is colored in your own skin, in entwined, writhing limbs, and heavily breathing flesh. You see yourself climax again, and again, and again, till your eyes roll to the back of your head as the waves of ecstasy keep washing over you.
When your alarm clock finally pierces your feverish dreams to reach your subconscious, the sound pulls you up to the surface like a diver gasping for air. Damnit, you must’ve woken up over 7,000 times by now, and you still weren’t used to it.
You find yourself sitting up in bed, tangled blankets at your feet, and damp all over.
Odd, considering the dropping temperatures lately.
You look down at your lap, seeing your panties have turned see-through by your wetness.
“What. The. Hell…?”