one stolen kiss pt. 2
Pairing: Guren x fem!reader; slight Kureto x fem!reader hehehe
Word Count: 2,3k
Synopsis: As if your annoyance didn't already reached its limit when Guren decided to kiss you out of the blue, you find yourself in his office a few days later. But it's not only him who urges to see you again...
Warnings: I never planned to make more than a one shot out of part 1 so the story still didn't fully develop and probably never will lol (all thanks to pookie @shinecrystalmoon). Buuut I have a plot in mind and this story will have around 3-5 chapters. If you wanna get tagged let me know <3
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The days following the battle are absolute hell.
Not because of the injuries, not because of the examinations, not even because of the cleanup efforts that follow every mission.
No.
It’s because of Guren fucking Ichinose.
The bastard has taken up residence in your head, and he isn’t leaving anytime soon.
Every time you close your eyes, you can still feel his lips on yours - firm, demanding, knowing. The way his fingers curled around your wrist, the way his grip burned against the nape of your neck, the way his breath ghosted over your skin like he had all the time in the world to unravel you.
You hate it.
Hate how your heart still jumps when you replay the moment in your head. Hate how your skin burns with phantom touches that aren’t there. Hate that he looked so damn smug after you slapped him, like he had expected it, like he had enjoyed it.
And worst of all, hate that he was right.
This won’t be the last time. This was just the beginning of a journey you didn’t ask for, an open door to a path you so desperately fought against with every fiber of your being.
You simply cannot allow Guren to get under your skin. You can’t afford to catch feeling for a man who turns heads on a regular basis, who only toys with you. The first time you’ve met him, you swore on your life that you won’t let it happen, that you’re immune.
Your frustration builds over the days like a volcano on the brink of eruption. Every moment spent sparring, every meeting, every sideways glance you throw his way - he’s there, radiating that effortless confidence, that irritating charisma, and not once does he acknowledge what happened.
Like it was nothing. Like it hasn’t changed a damn thing.
Well, maybe it hasn’t for him. Maybe it was just another game, another power play, another way to remind you that he’s always one step ahead.
But for you?
It’s a problem. A huge, infuriating, all-consuming problem.
So when you’re summoned to his office one evening for a mission report, you’re already on edge.
You storm down the hall, gripping the stack of reports so tightly your knuckles ache. It’s late, the corridors of the headquarters mostly deserted, save for a few passing officers who barely glance your way. The last thing you need is to be alone in a room with him for the first time after that.
But you have no choice. After all, he is still your superior. And you worked way too hard to get personal feelings in your way at this point.
With a deep breath, you knock once before pushing open the door.
Guren is seated at his desk, one leg crossed over the other, his uniform jacket discarded over the back of his chair. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, his fingers lazily spinning a pen between them. When he looks up, his dark eyes gleam with unmistakable amusement.
“You’re late.”
You slam the reports onto his desk with a force that makes the nearby lamp rattle. Don’t let him get under your skin, don’t listen to what that jerk is saying.
“I was busy.”
He hums, unimpressed.
“Busy thinking about me?”
Your breath catches. For a second, your brain short-circuits, and that half-second of silence is all he needs.
His smirk widens.
“You were, weren’t you?”
“Shut up.”
“I’m flattered.”
You clench your jaw, barely resisting the urge to launch a stapler at his head.
“I wasn’t thinking about you”, you lie shamelessly.
Guren leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his chin propped on one hand.
“Liar.”
Your nails dig into your palms.
“Can we just get this over with, Sir?”
“Oh? In a hurry?”
His tone is maddeningly casual.
“Got somewhere better to be?”
“Yes. Anywhere that isn’t here.”
He chuckles, that deep, knowing sound that makes your stomach flip.
“You sure? Because I distinctly remember you not wanting to leave the last time we were this close.”
Heat rushes to your face, and you grit your teeth.
“I’m going to kill you.”
Guren tsk-tsks, feigning disappointment.
“Now, now. That’s no way to talk to your superior officer.”
“You are the absolute worst.”
“And yet,” he muses, tapping the pen against his lip, “you haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss.”
Your eye twitches.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.”
Guren stands, rounding the desk in slow, deliberate steps, like a predator sizing up its prey. You force yourself to stand your ground, ignoring the way your pulse spikes as he comes to a stop in front of you, far too close for comfort.
“I wonder,” he murmurs, tilting his head as if considering something, “if I kissed you again, would you slap me again? Or would you just kiss me back?”
Your breath catches. Damn him. Damn him to hell.
You glare up at him, willing yourself to push past the tension, to find the upper hand, to regain control of the situation. But before you can say anything, Guren leans in just slightly, close enough that his breath fans against your cheek.
“Tell me,” he muses, “do you still feel it?”
Your entire body tenses.
“Feel what?”
His lips curve.
“Me.”
Your heart nearly slams out of your chest.
You need to leave. Now. Before you do something reckless. Before you give him another win.
Forcing yourself to take a step back, you straighten, lifting your chin.
“You’re delusional.”
Guren chuckles, but there’s something different in his expression now, something sharper, something that makes you feel like you’re playing right into his hands.
“We’ll see about that,” he murmurs.
“Sooner or later, you’ll admit it.”
You scoff.
“Admit what?”
He smiles, dark and knowing.
“That you want me just as much as I want you.”
Your throat goes dry.
Before you can frame a response, before you can throw some kind of insult his way, he steps back, exuding that same infuriating confidence, and gestures toward the reports on his desk.
“Now,” he continues, all business again, “let’s go over this mission.”
You hate him. Truly, deeply, absolutely hate him.
And yet, as you sit down across from him, struggling to focus on the damn report, you can’t stop the one undeniable truth clawing its way to the surface.
You can still feel him. And it haunts you until this silly little meeting is finally over.
The second you finish the last sentence of your report, he sends you away like the conversation before never really happened. No explanation, no discussion. Just a simple dismissal, as if the past few days, the tension, the kiss, the damn teasing, meant absolutely nothing.
It infuriates you to the core.
By the time you step into the shower, the rage boiling inside you is nearly unbearable. The hot water does nothing to soothe it, not even when your surroundings aren’t recognizable due to the fog. If anything, it only strengthens your frustration, washing away the filth and blood but doing nothing for the storm raging in your chest.
You scrub your skin harder than necessary, jaw clenched so tightly it aches. He didn’t even look at you when he gave the order. Just told you to report back, like you were some soldier to be commanded, not someone he had kissed like he was starving, someone he himself states he has feelings for.
Bastard.
The worst part? A part of you expected it. This is Guren Ichinose, after all - always one step ahead, always keeping you at arm’s length just when you think you’ve caught up. But it doesn’t make it any less irritating.
As the water runs over your shoulders, you replay the moment in his office, the way he leaned in, the way he spoke like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. And then he just-
You slam your fist against the shower wall, exhaling sharply. Enough. Thinking about him won’t change anything. If he wants to push you away, fine. You’re not going to sit around waiting for him to decide when you’re worth his attention. No, actually it should be him who aches for you.
You step out, wrapping a towel around yourself, still fuming as you make your way back to your room. You’re too wrapped up in your thoughts to sense the shift in the air, the presence lurking beyond the door.
Until it’s too late.
The moment you push the door open, you freeze.
Someone is sitting on the edge of your bed, one leg crossed over the other, his posture relaxed, almost casual - except for the unmistakable air of authority that clings to him like a second skin.
Kureto Hiragi.
Your blood runs cold, an ice cold shiver runs down your spine.
His dark eyes sweep over you, taking in your damp hair, your barely covered form, and the slight hitch in your breath before his lips curl into a slow, knowing smirk.
"Took your time," he muses, voice smooth as silk, dangerous as a blade.
"I was starting to think you wouldn’t show."
You tighten your grip on the towel, your muscles coiled, your mind racing.
Why the hell is he here?
He sits like he owns the place, one leg crossed over the other, fingers steepled together as he watches you with the cool detachment of a man who controls everything he touches. His uniform is crisp, not a thread out of place, his presence commanding even in stillness.
Your grip tightens on the towel wrapped around you, water still dripping from your damp hair onto the floor.
“What the hell are you doing in my room?”
Kureto doesn’t answer immediately. His sharp, calculating gaze sweeps over you, evaluating, noting the lack of armor, the vulnerability of your current state, but his expression remains unreadable.
“I was waiting.”
You straighten, forcing your voice into something firm, unaffected.
“For what?”
His lips barely curve into a smirk.
“For you.”
The way he says it makes irritation bristle beneath your skin. Kureto is not the kind of man who waits on anyone. If he’s here, in your private quarters, it’s because he has a purpose. And you’re not going to like it.
“For what reason?” you press, keeping your posture rigid, unyielding.
He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Tell me,” he murmurs, tone deceptively light.
“Are you and Guren a couple now?”
Your heart stutters - but only for a second.
“What?”
His dark eyes remain locked onto yours, unwavering.
“It’s a simple question. I’m sure you can handle that much, Major (y/n).”
Your jaw clenches, the way he spits out for title almost making your guts turn.
“That’s none of your business.”
Kureto tilts his head, studying you with that same cool intensity that always makes people squirm.
“So that’s a no?”
“Obviously.”
You don’t know why you feel the need to say it so vehemently, but you do.
For a moment, Kureto says nothing. Then, slowly, he stands.
“You were always stubborn,” he muses, taking a measured step toward you.
“Always so determined to stand on your own.”
Your muscles tense, but you hold your ground as he closes the distance.
“I remember when you refused my help.”
His voice is quieter now, but no less sharp.
“You wanted to achieve your dreams without my influence.”
He stops just shy of invading your space, though the air between you feels suffocating.
“I respected that.”
His gaze sharpens when he meets yours while he towers over you.
“But tell me, is Guren giving you what you want?”
Your stomach twists. Not because of the question itself, but because of the way he asks it. Because of the way it forces you to think about Guren in a way you don’t want to.
Your silence is answer enough.
Kureto exhales a quiet chuckle.
“Good,” he comments your silent answer, tilting his head.
“Because I’d hate to think you rejected me for your career, only to throw yourself at someone else.”
You don’t flinch, but something unsettles in your chest. Fuck, that’s what he’s referring to. When you first joined the Japanese imperial army, Kureto was the first who welcomed you. Did he see your potential, your unwavering urge to change the world, your abilities that already showed in the early stages of your training?
To this day, you have absolutely no idea what it was that draw his attention towards you. Fact is, that things between both of you started to get serious – too serious for your liking.
You dumped him for your career. A grave mistake?
His fingers brush against your arm, light, barely a touch, but enough to send a warning.
“If he ever crosses a line, you come to me. I’ll handle it.”
Your throat tightens. Maybe.
“I don’t need you to handle anything for me. Just like I told you back then”
Kureto’s smirk returns, but this time, it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Of course not.”
He turns, walking toward the door. But before he steps out, he pauses - just enough to let his last words settle like ice in your veins.
“Just don’t play games with me, either.”
And then he’s gone.
You remain standing there, pulse unsteady, the room still carrying the weight of his presence.
As much as you hate to admit it, you know he meant every word.
And worse?
You know he’s watching. That both of them are watching.
-> Part 3
