Like Water for Chocolate
Series Title/AU: My Baby Brother is the Strongest Character
<<read the synopsis and content warnings first>>
Featuring: Gitae Kim
Content/Trigger Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, swearing, dark humor, smut, p in v sex, mild gore/violence, mentions of gang/cartel activity, sexual harassment, dubious consent (dubcon)
It happened years ago, during your brief stint in Tijuana, Mexico.
The sun was already rising by the time you finished your shift. You would never stop being grateful that your dorm room was on the first floor, you’ve heard horror stories of fellow nurses losing consciousness halfway up the stairs and breaking something.
“I’m home,” you announced to no one. It was a habit you never dropped.
You started stripping the moment you locked the door. Just a quick shower and you were free to pass out.
You had just kicked off your scrub pants when you spotted a tiny. red-brown stain on the floor. When you rounded the corner, you discovered the balcony door had been forced off its hinges. Lines of rusting blood splattered over the walls and floor.
Shit.
You spun around to get your phone, but someone pulled you back and into the bathroom.
A deep voice ordered in Spanish: “If you scream…I…I’ll kill you.”
You glanced around until you caught your intruder’s warped reflection on the ceramic toilet.
“I won’t scream.” Even if you did, everyone else would’ve been too deep in sleep to hear. “But I can tell you’re hurt, you already lost a lot of blood.”
He panted, “No…no hospitals—no cops…if you call them, I-I’ll—”
“I know, I know. Save your breath, I’ll help you.”
He let out a sound of amusement, then he groaned and dropped his forehead on your shoulder.
You clicked your tongue.
You were already mapping out the fastest route to the nearest police station, but then he began murmuring something.
He cried out in Korean, “Mother...I’m sorry…”
You clicked your tongue again and shuffled out of his grasp.
A dislocated shoulder, bruised bones and multiple lacerations of varying depths all over his body, painful but not too life-threatening with proper treatment.
You didn’t like making up stories about your patients’ lives (not where they can hear you, anyway), but you were 80% sure this man was involved with the cartel, which was bone-chilling in more ways than one because aside from being Korean, this man was handsome to inhuman degrees. With your luck that can only mean one thing, he was part of the Lookism cast. Unfortunately, your memories about the lore weren’t reliable. They were all from a lifetime ago. You couldn’t find a name to match the face.
You leaned over a little closer. “He really does have a nice face.”
“Thank you, señorita.”[1]
“Shit!” You clutched your chest.
Deep breaths.
You glared at him. “How long have you been awake?”
“Long enough to feel your eyes on me.”
“Well, as you can see, I kept you alive as promised. Thank you for destroying my balcony door, by the way.”
“Apologies, I was desperate.”
“Clearly.”
He smiled and moved to sit up but he paused, no, he was stopped. The bed creaked as he struggled to move. He then gawked at you.
“I tied your joints down, I hope you don’t mind.”
“While it’s one of my life’s pleasures to receive…such care from a beautiful woman, I prefer doing the restraining instead.”
You made no effort to hide your disgust.
“Untie me, señorita.”
“Put yourself in my shoes for a moment: a stranger breaks into your home, bloodied and beaten, and threatens to kill you. There is no way you’d leave them free to roam after that, would you?”
“No,” he said, his forced smile flashing dangerously, “if it were me, I would’ve killed them.”
You shook your head. “You just lost credibility, you’re staying tied down until—”
“—until the police arrive?” His playful tone vanished, his smile now a scowl.
“No, I didn’t call them.”
“You didn’t?”
“Do you want me to perform a hearing test too? No, I didn’t call the police.”
“Why not?”
You recalled his earlier vulnerability and sighed. “You told me not to.” Besides, he might’ve been avoiding them now, but there was a non-zero chance that this man had connections that would let him go, free to get his revenge on you.
The intruder turned patient stared at you, wide-eyed, then he threw his head back with a guffaw. His laughter filled the air until his wounds began bleeding again.
“You done?” You walked over to examine his torso. The bastard tore his stitches.
You cleaned the blood off and prepared the thread.
“I think I like you.”
“Surely you will understand that the feeling is not mutual—stop laughing already.”
“What’s your name, señorita?”
“I’m not telling you that.”
He chuckled and you nearly punctured yourself with the needle. “Fine, then I’ll just call you mi vida.” [2]
“And I will call you Juan Pérez.”[3]
“That’s harsh.” He watched as you resumed stitching. “Your accent is unique. You’re one of those foreign medical personnel, aren’t you?”
“I may not be from here, but I still know a lot of people and when I go missing, they won’t stand idly by.”
“I’m not so boorish that I’d hurt my savior, especially when it’s such a charming lady. Tell me, where are you from?”
“Not from here.”
“Don’t be like that. Tell me.”
Annoyed and eager to end this conversation, you said the first thing that came to mind, “Philippines.”
“I don’t think I’ve been there before.”
You said nothing, which he didn’t appreciate.
“Aren’t you going to ask how I got these injuries?”
“It’s not my business.”
“I’m beginning to like you even more, which is why I’m going to tell you.”
“Really, you don’t have to—”
“I’m part of the cartel, you see. The men in my area didn’t like the way I was running things so they put a bounty on my head. Did you find the stab wound under my shoulder blade? That’s from my right-hand man, so you know what I did? I carved his heart out.”
You tried to focus on stitching.
From the corner of your eye, you saw him smirking. “You’re not very good at poker, are you, señorita?"
“Humans usually become colder when they’re afraid.” He then whispered, “but I can feel your hands heating up, mi vida.”
You cut the thread and put away the first aid kit. “I need to study. Get some rest.” You didn’t wait for his reply and locked the door behind you.
You hated your softness. You also hated your brain for not remembering the original story, and you hated the author for having so many characters in the first place.
How were you going to remove that psycho without calling the police? How were you supposed to fight that guy once the ropes were gone?
You didn’t get any studying done, but at least you cleaned the blood from your walls and got your shower.
Deciding to just get this day over with, you made dinner half-awake and carried a serving for your detestable patient.
“I didn’t have time to go grocery shopping so I hope you like crab and corn soup.” After some thought, you decided that you’d put him in a wheelchair while he was unconscious and then move him to a nearby inn. Hopefully, by the time he was strong enough to walk, you were back in Asia.
“About time.” Your patient, “Juan,” gave you an eerie smile. “You didn’t even give me water before you left, I was scared that you were going to leave me to starve. Although, I hope you don’t plan on using a feeding tube on me.”
Your heart thumped but you swallowed down all emotions and approached him. “Don’t be overdramatic.”
You took a seat next to him.
“I’ve always dreamed of having my own personal nurse, but where’s your tight, white skirt?”
“I have never cursed a patient before, don’t make me do it now.”
“I’m only teasing. Thank you for the meal.”
You rolled your eyes and then lifted the spoon to his mouth. “Blow it yourself.”
He flashed you another smile before pursing his lips and blowing ever so softly on the soup.
“Hm.” Lapping his lips, he leaned back on his pillow. “So what did you put in there?”
You flinched, but then you quickly answered, “I don’t know, just everything in the packet—”
“Not that, mi vida—” his face was right in front of you now “—you put sleeping pills in this, right?”
The bowl shattered on the floor, hot soup burned your legs but you couldn’t feel it as you scrambled away.
He caught your ankle.
“Juan” was standing up now and he pulled until you were between his legs. “You’re hurting my feelings, you promised you wouldn’t call the police.”
“I didn’t!”
He knelt down on the floor and pinned your wrists with one hand. “You were going to put me to sleep then hand me over to the cops.”
“No, I wasn’t!” You tried to knee his crotch but he was straddling your waist.
“I don’t like hurting women, especially when they’re as lovely as you.” He cupped your cheek. “If you were going to betray me like this then you should’ve just left me to die.”
“Listen to me, dammit!”
“Well, you are my savior. Let’s hear your final words.”
“I wasn’t going to hand you to the police—though I can see that’s a mistake—” you sputtered “—I was going to put you in a wheelchair then have you checked in a motel or inn.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Believe what you will, but it’s the truth. Why would I go to all the trouble of patching you up after you broke down my door, stained my place with your blood and threatened to kill me, only to backstab you in the end?”
“I don’t know, maybe you’re petty.”
You let out a frustrated scream. Then you lay limp on the floor. “Augh, whatever. I don’t care anymore.”
“Giving up?”
“You won’t listen to reason and it’s not like I can fight you. I’m tired.”
You learned a few things as a child of the yakuza. Number one: you’d rather die than be captured, so you installed a cyanide capsule at the back of your teeth. Not the most glamorous way to go, but certainly better than getting cut open alive.
He squished your cheeks and then forced your face towards him.
So this was how you die again…
Once he let go of your jaws you just needed to bite down on the capsule. You didn’t close your eyes though.
Well, at least your murderer was hot.
He cocked his head and then let go—
Now—
“All right, I believe you.”
You blinked. “Serious?”
“Yes, serious.” He rose to his feet and then offered a hand. “I’m sorry, señorita. I lost myself for a moment.”
You smacked his hand away. “Get out.”
***
After that intruder fiasco, you fixed the balcony door yourself and then applied for a different dorm room and contacted several hospitals back in Korea for any job openings. Unfortunately, he was back before you could move.
“Accept my apologies.” Pink and white roses obscured the view on your peephole, but you knew that voice.
You refused to unlock your door. “Look, I don’t want any trouble so let’s just forget that this ever happened. I already swore that I wouldn’t tell anyone about this, please just go.”
“I can’t just forget you.”
“Try vodka, works like a charm.”
“Please open the door, mi vida.”
“No! Go away—and stop calling me that.”
“At least let me buy you dinner. I’ve never laid my hands on a woman before at least feeding her. Let me treat you right—”
“I don’t sleep with men without a blood test.”
“Perfect, you already have my blood—”
“Get lost!”
You then went to barricade the balcony.
Hours passed and it was almost time for your shift. You reluctantly opened the front door, finding only the bouquet but no man.
The rest of your days continued like this: intruder turned patient turned borderline stalker would visit you at dawn with a bouquet of fresh roses pressed to your peephole, you would tell him to fuck off, and by the time it was time for your shift, he was gone, leaving only the roses to keep you company and a copy of his medical history; including his most recent blood test results.
Your application for a new dorm was rejected, but you didn’t bother to re-apply.
In some twisted way, the man had enmeshed himself in your life and a part of you was expectant—maybe even happy to hear him behind the door, to see the roses he left for you.
But you were adamant on keeping him at an arm’s length. Well, you were, until that fateful day.
***
It was your birthday.
You were used to celebrating on your own, but was it possible to feel extra alone?
When you tapped your ID at the hospital entrance, the computer was the first to say ‘happy birthday.’ The security guard was asleep.
Maybe you were just being selfish.
The hospital had been busier than usual the whole week. Today there was a six-vehicle collision plus a robbery gone wrong and a man with a shotgun finding out that his wife was having an affair. You and everyone at the ER were on your feet from evening to dawn.
The only bright side lately was that a job opened up back in Seoul. The moment you got their email, you packed and sent most of your things back home.
Now, you weren’t going to throw a tantrum over having no one but a computer to greet you on your birthday. You refused to feel pathetic, so after work, you showered, put on makeup and went to a bar.
The bartender was a jovial-looking middle-aged man. “Greetings.”
“Hello.”
“What can I get you?”
You took a seat at the bar. “I’ll have an old fashioned, and do you have any cake?”
“I’m afraid not.” He looked genuinely apologetic.
“That’s okay.”
You checked your phone multiple times. No messages. You expected as much, you weren’t exactly Miss Congeniality back at school or at the last hospital you worked. You were just reaping what you sowed.
You didn’t know how much time passed, but by your fourth drink, the store bell rang and the bartender looked like he was about to wet his pants.
“How much did she drink?”
You swiveled on your barstool. “Hey, it’s you, Mister Stalker.”
The bartender hiccuped behind you.
Your stalker smiled and bent down to check your face. “Are you drunk?”
“You’d think so, but no, not yet.” You wagged a finger. “I wish I was, but I’m still two drinks away from that. I’m tipsssy at best. Hey, have you tried their Bloody Maria? It's a Bloody Mary but with tequila instead of vodka. Blew my mind.”
“You’re done.”
“Like hell I am.” You spun around. “A martini next—”
Stalker-man gently pulled your chair until you faced him again. “You’re drunk.”
“I am not drunk, if I were I’d be throwing up all over your shoes from all this spinning. Let me go, I mean it.”
He examined your face again, then he sighed. “Fine, let’s drink. But we’re moving to a booth.”
The bartender nodded. “Of course, please, sit anywhere you like. I’ll get you your usual and the lady’s martini right away.”
You were getting tired of having no back support so you held onto your stalker’s shoulders and hopped off the stool.
He put his hand behind your back and guided you to a booth by the window.
“Why are you drinking here alone?” he asked, sitting across from you.
You drew circles on the wooden table with your finger. “Is that not allowed?”
“I’ve just never seen you here before.”
“Well, today’s a special day so I wanted to celebrate it somehow.”
“Special?”
“It’s my birthday. It’s also my sort of death anniversary.”
“What?”
“Shh. No one’s supposed to know that—they all think I’m dead. Maybe, I think.”
He put his elbows on the table and leaned over. “What’s gotten into you, mi vida? You look lonely.”
Lonely? You?
You laughed heartily.
Lonely?
You licked your lips, the taste of wet salt stinging your tongue.
“I guess I am.”
You walked your fingers over the table until they found his. “Will you comfort me?”
You vaguely recalled getting into an elevator and then kicking off your shoes and then falling into the softest mattress in the world.
“Your friends are fools to leave you alone.” His kisses were never-ending, floating from your ear to your neck to your collarbones, but never meeting your own lips. “Dressing up like this, drinking alone, you were just asking to be taken, weren’t you?”
“I’m just tired…” Your hands moved from his biceps to his shoulders. You combed through his pitch-black hair and moaned when he found that special spot on your throat. “I don’t want to be alone tonight—just for tonight, please hold me.”
You gently lifted your thigh, brushing him with your knee.
He groaned at your caress and snuck a large hand under your blouse, pushing your bra upward. He took one breast in his mouth, tongue drawing circles over your nipple, and kneaded the other with his hand.
You traced the lines of his body under his shirt. He was rough and hard everywhere, scars over his chest and belly. You moved lower and lower—
“No,” he said, grabbing your hand, “let’s focus on you first, mi vida.”
He joined your wrists together and pinned them above your head. He continued kissing your chest and his free hand crept down to unbutton your pants.
“Wait,” you panted.
“What’s wrong?”
“Not yet.”
“What?”
He loosened his grip and you sat up. “Is this how you always make love?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“When you make love with me, you need to start with this—” you tipped your chin and captured his mouth.
The kiss took him by surprise and he pulled back, staring down at you, wide-eyed.
You put a hand over his chest. “Please?”
His lips parted, but no words left. It felt like he stopped breathing.
A sobering moment, you almost stood up and left, but then he moved; slowly, he bent down until his nose touched yours again and—in one fluid motion—his hand tipped the back of your head and pulled you in for another kiss.
He tasted like whiskey and tobacco.
He squeezed your waist. You pulled on his hair.
He tore open your blouse and bra, you ripped off his shirt. Your bare skin slid against each other, slick with sweat.
Every part of you was on fire, each second, each touch intoxicated you.
You pressed a hand on his chest again, signaling for him to stop.
He was panting more than you now, face flushed and eyes drunk. He glared at you and you laughed lightly.
“Lie down.”
He let you push him down, his head nearly hitting the headboard. At the same time, perhaps as petty revenge, he grabbed your waist belt. “Take it off.”
You let him pull your pants down and then you discarded it on the floor with a kick.
“Mi preciosa—” [4]
You pressed two fingers over his lips. You then gave his Adam’s apple a quick peck before you turned around, throwing one leg over his torso.
You kissed down his belly, following the thin trail of hair leading towards his bulge.
His cock was bigger than you anticipated, but your mouth only watered and you swallowed as you admired the long veins that covered him.
You dragged your tongue from the base, along the shaft, and to the tip. His pulse was fast and hot and you licked him like he was your last meal.
He groaned and buckled beneath you. Then he slid his hands from your thighs to your waist, pulling you close and holding you steady above him.
His nose pressed against your clothed arousal as you kissed his tip.
He then pulled your underwear to the side and dug his tongue into you.
You moaned but didn’t stop or slow down. Your hands cupped and circled the rest of him as your mouth enveloped his length.
One thick finger pushed through you and you cried. You almost moved away but his hold on you was firm as a vice.
“You need to get used to it,” he said, teasing you.
You rolled your eyes.
He was proficient enough, moving his finger slowly while his tongue slithered inside you.
His finger stopped for a second, then he flicked your clit. Your own knees buckled but he held you in place. He kissed and licked you and then shoved in two fingers.
You gasped.
You felt your pulse move with his as you bobbed your head. His thighs tightened underneath you.
His fingers and tongue worked in tandem. Your own belly tightened.
You sucked in and he curled his knuckles.
White-hot pleasure shot through you, your entire body jerked with his. Your moans filled the room and you collapsed on top of him.
Not a second has passed when you felt him move, growing and standing right next to your cheek.
“Already?”
He rubbed circles over your thighs. “You’re not tired, are you? We’re not even done with the main course.”
Your exhaustion was beaten only by your competitiveness and you struggled to get up.
“Don’t force yourself, mi vida.” He rose to a sitting position and then lifted you back on his lap. He kissed the junction between your neck and shoulder. “Let me handle the rest.”
You reclined against him.
You heard something plastic tear. He slipped on the condom and then guided your hips above him.
For some reason, he looked way bigger now. “Wait—”
“Shh.” He nuzzled your neck. “You can take it.”
He then pushed you down and filled you and your hands scrambled to grab onto something.
“It’s okay, I got you,” he whispered, sucking on your throat.
He reached under your knees and pulled them so close they touched your ears.
“Wait—”
Then he rammed into you. All traces of gentleness were gone.
He was definitely bigger than he was before!
“You did ask for this, didn’t you?” he muttered against your skin. “I’ll hold you until you forget everything else.”
You clawed at his arms, feeling the fullest you’ve ever been. “H-hey—nhn—wait—”
He caught your protests with his mouth, stealing your breath until you surrendered to him. Until you forgot about the loneliness. Until all that was left was pleasure.
***
When you woke up, you realized three things at the same time: you needed to invest in a vibrator, no more drinking alone, and the crazy bastard that you begged to hold you was none other than Gitae Kim. You didn’t remember much, but one thing was for certain: it was a good thing he liked you, otherwise you would’ve ended up as steak tartare.
When you tried to sit up, something heavy anchored you down, Gitae’s arm was strewn over your waist.
You then saw the scratches and bite marks on his back and, despite everything, you laughed. You thought back to those cringy lines you said to him. “Hold me?” “Comfort me?” You laughed and laughed until your stomach ached.
Your partner didn’t seem to hear you though, and to make sure, you even poked his cheek.
The man was out cold.
Good. That made things easier.
You put on your clothes, though you were forced to go without a bra, and searched for your purse. You thought about leaving money for the drinks you knew he paid for, but then you remembered you saved his life afterhe broke into your dorm. Paying for your drinks was the least he could do.
You set down 68 pesos[5] on the nightstand, flipped him the finger and left without looking back.
Gitae Kim had a problem. No matter how many beautiful women threw themselves at his feet, no matter what they did, what they offered, none of them could satisfy him, not in the way you did—
You, the little minx that seduced him and disappeared before morning like Cinderella.
It was like he’d been cursed.
He looked over at his desk. The irreverent paper bills and coins you left him remained in an otherwise empty ashtray. They weren’t just money anymore, they became part of his personal collection, something he treasured.
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
His assistant bowed. “Sir.”
“Well?”
He shook his head. “Our guys in Cebu and Manila didn’t find anyone who fit her description.”
Gitae poured himself another whiskey. That day, when he found his bed empty and your dorm uninhabited, he realized that he didn’t even know your name.
He spoke with the building manager, the security guards, and eventually, the hospital administration, but aside from a name, they were strict about not giving too much. Not even the threat of bodily harm was enough to sway them. Something about requiring your permission to even access the info.
At least he had a name and an illustration courtesy of a police sketch artist. But it had been months since he last saw you.
“Sir?”
Gitae finished his whiskey. “Well, those aren’t the only cities in the country, are they?”
His assistant bowed. “R-right! I’ll get to it. Pardon me.” He stepped back and closed the door, leaving Gitae alone again.
He was certain that you were lying about your country of origin, but what else did he have to go on? He wasn’t going to let you get away with cursing him.
He was going to find his ill-mannered Cinderella no matter what, even if he had to search every corner of Asia.
[1] Señorita. Spanish for "miss."
[2] Mi vida. Spanish term of endearment meaning "my life."
[3] Juan Pérez = "John Smith" or "John Doe"
[4] Mi preciosa. Spanish for "my precious/lovely."
[5] 68 MXN = 214.81 PHP = 3.69 USD
taglist: @sm3156, @placid-plastic, @yin-yun, @ixchelhernandez4, @janeisnotonline, @cocooola
Disclaimer:
The first image was lifted from Ep. 497 - Lookism manhwa.
The second image was lifted from https://www.reddit.com/r/lookismcomic/comments/1kn9mza/chinese_gitae_was_having_more_fun/.
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