#lightningstruck

TOKYO COLONY NO. 2 - PRESENT DAY

The air still hummed where your last opponent had fallen, the scent of blood curling through your surroundings like the ghost of a storm. Blood steamed on the pavement in the cooling air, the body sprawled at your feet twitching faintly from the lingering discharge. You inhaled deep, the way some people might savor a good drink.

They’d called it the Culling Game, as if the name itself wasn’t invitation enough. For someone like you, someone who had been reborn with every memory of bloodshed from a lifetime of past, this was less of a game and more of a return.

The rules were simple: the prey abundant and the points came faster than you could count them.

These modern sorcerers… gods, they were dense. Too reliant on flashy tricks and not enough on reading the rhythm of a fight. Most never lasted more than a few minutes before you carved through them.

You twirled the still humming blade in your hand. A spear of pure cursed energy, its length alive with sparking arcs before letting it dissipate into the air. The weapon dissolved with a whisper, leaving your palm bare.

“Ha… I could use a bath,” you muttered, wiping a warm streak of blood from your cheek with the back of your hand. The metallic scent clung stubbornly to your skin, mixing with the ozone that still crackled faintly in the air.

You turned to move on, intent on hunting your next target and froze.

The air shifted, humming differently now, carrying a pressure you couldn’t ignore. That cursed energy… sharp, electric and layered with something almost primal. It felt familiar in a way that made your skin prickle.

Which was odd.

You didn’t forget energy like that.

Not in this life.

Not in the last.

Someone was walking by, cutting a lazy path through the bodies and debris as though the carnage didn’t matter, like a man on his way home after a long day’s work. His clothes bore the faint scorch marks of recent fighting, and the faint metallic tang in the air told you he’d left more than a few corpses in his wake. He looked like he’d been ready to call it a day, maybe find somewhere quiet to rest.. until he saw you.

One look.

One smirk.

One shared, wordless recognition.

Your lips curved, not in greeting but in challenge. He matched it, his steps slowing until he stopped a few meters away.

“That stain's gonna be hard to clean,” you said, your gaze sliding deliberately over the bloodstains splattered across his white clothing.

“Good thing I look better in red,” he said, rolling his shoulders as the nyoi staff slid into his grip with practiced ease.

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

HAJIME'S POV

The colony had been boring him. Forty kills in, and not a single one had managed to make him work for it.

Weak, slow, and painfully predictable.

He’d barely had to push past a lazy jog to keep up with them, no thrill, no rush and nothing worth remembering. The fights were over before they even began, their faces blurring into the same dull expression of panic as his staff caved them in.

Then he saw you.

You didn’t look like much at first glance, just another sorcerer drifting into his hunting ground. But there was a steadiness in your gaze that snagged his attention, slowing the idle spin of his nyoi staff. When the first crackling lance of lightning ripped through the air between you, you didn’t flinch. Didn’t even take a step back.

Instead, you slipped past it, not with the frantic scramble of prey, but with the smooth, instinctive precision of someone who knew exactly where the danger would land. Cursed energy clung to you like a second skin, familiar in a way that tugged at something in his memory.

And for the first time since the Culling Game began, Hajime felt his blood stir.

Interesting.

A sorcerer with technique quite similar to his, judging by the energy you were giving off. The way you read his movements, anticipating and not reacting spoke of training that didn’t belong to this soft, diluted modern era. Maybe a reincarnated player. Maybe someone worth remembering.

There was something in the way your cursed energy moved, coiled tight then striking with sharp and deliberate precision that felt almost like an echo of his own. Not identical, but close enough to stir an odd sense of familiarity. A rhythm he understood. A language of battle he didn’t need translated.

He moved fast, closing the distance with a burst of speed that shattered the ground underfoot. You met him halfway, your palm flicking outward and a weapon took shape in your hand.

It wasn’t steel. Wasn’t anything man made. The spear that burst to life was pure cursed energy, humming with power, every inch of it alive with electricity that danced in time with your heartbeat.

Hajime’s grin sharpened.

Because well, he'd seen this before.

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

YOUR POV

He came at you like a thunderclap, faster than anyone you’d fought since the Culling Game began. Your own speed surged to match, sparks scattering in your wake as you closed the gap.

Your spear met his lightning wrapped staff with a crack that split the air, the collision exploding in a flash of white and blue light. The shockwave rattled the glass of the ruined buildings nearby.

“Familiar,” he drawled, his voice almost amused over the low hum of energy between you. His gaze swept over you, sharp and assessing, as if he could trace the shape of your cursed energy just by watching you move.

You began to circle each other, steps slow and measured, each movement deliberate as you tested the space, timing the next strike.

“Okay, God of Lightning,” you said, your voice laced with a mocking lilt that danced dangerously close to ridicule. Cursed energy surged through your arm, crackling and hot before solidifying into a gleaming nyoi staff. Arcs snapped along its length in sharp defiance as you matched his weapon blow for blow.

“Charged Weapon Manifestation Technique, right?” he said at last, the corner of his mouth curling, not in surprise but in recognition. “Haven’t seen that in a long time.”

The smirk sat on him easily, eyes narrowing in something that looked dangerously like admiration. You caught the flicker of it, and for a heartbeat, it almost disarmed you. He was impressed. And you… you were equally impressed that he could name your technique at all.

After all, you’d seen his technique before.

And he’d seen yours.

“Is that so? For how long exactly?” you asked, voice steady as you slammed the end of your staff into the ground, sending an electric wave crackling outward in jagged arcs. The current tore through the debris between you, racing straight for him.

Before it could land, he countered with a sharp twist of his wrist, his own lightning surging forward, colliding with your attack and ricocheting it back toward you in a blinding flash.

You didn’t flinch. The staff spun in your hands, drawing the electricity inward until it wrapped around you in a protective shield. Every ricocheting wave bent to your will, compressing until, with a sharp crack, it burst outward in a controlled explosion right in his direction.

“Four centuries ago,” he said through the haze, one arm raised to shield his eyes from the flare, the other steadying his stance against the shockwave.

A hunch began to curl at the back of your mind.

Could it possibly be?

You let the current fade, your grip loosening until the nyoi staff dissolved into crackling motes and vanished into the air. The tension in your shoulders eased, but your eyes never left his.

Across from you, Hajime’s stance shifted, staff lowering, posture relaxing into something far less guarded but no less dangerous. The hum of electricity between you didn’t fade. It only changed into slower now.

“…Hajime?” The name slipped out before you could stop it, your voice quieter than you’d meant, almost drowned by the lingering static in the air. “Are my eyes deceiving me?”

His gaze sharpened, the smirk fading into something unreadable. “I should be asking you that,” he said at last, voice low, as if testing the weight of your presence.

After all, he’d seen you die.

For a long moment, the world seemed to still. The crackle of electricity between you the only sound until the pull of memory became impossible to ignore.

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

400 YEARS AGO

It was a perfect union, not just of hearts but of power. Your cursed techniques blended seamlessly, his raw lightning merging with your charged manifestations of electricity, creating a storm that few could stand against.

You and Hajime were married, two souls intertwined beyond the physical, bound by love and a shared destiny.

Together, you ruled in perfect harmony like two halves of a single tempest. Your weapons danced and crackled, a dazzling display of lethal energy as you fought side by side, every strike and parry a testament to the years of trust forged in endless battles.

But with great power came great threat. The enemy was relentless, always lurking and ready to exploit even the slightest weakness.

⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆

The battlefield roared with chaos as you and Hajime moved as one, your techniques perfectly synchronized in a deadly symphony. His lightning arced through the air, crackling with fierce energy, while you summoned surging electric waves that collided with his strikes in bursts of blinding light and thunderous explosions.

Your charged weapon manifestation flared to life repeatedly, creating weapons that hummed with raw electricity, slicing through enemies with lethal precision. Each combined assault pushed the enemy back, turning their ranks to shambles beneath your storm of power.

It was a battle of the strongest, two souls fighting not only for survival but to protect the future you’d built together.

One by one, your foes fell, their techniques shattered by the relentless onslaught. You could feel the momentum shifting, victory within reach.

But war is never so simple.

As your cursed energy waned, your weapons flickered, the sharp edges of your manifestations blunting. Hajime’s lightning grew weaker, the brilliant arcs thinning to flickers.

The enemy seized the moment.

With a cruel smile, they twisted their cursed energy to merge with the water surrounding the battlefield. The surface rippled unnaturally as tendrils of water snaked toward you both, cold and unyielding.

Before you could react, the water surged, dragging you and Hajime down into its depths.

The battle shifted from the skies of thunder and lightning to the suffocating grasp of the water, a deadly trap designed to sap your strength and choke your cursed energy.

The water’s cold embrace was unforgiving, dragging your cursed energy down and muffling the electric hum that had once crackled so fiercely around you. Your weapons sputtered and died, leaving you vulnerable, muscles trembling with exhaustion.

Beside you, Hajime’s own lightning flickered weakly, shadows of its former brilliance. But even drained and gasping, his mind raced.

With a fierce glare, he wrenched a handful of water from the murky depths, concentrating his cursed energy to alter its nature. The liquid shimmered, twisting into a noxious green cloud.

Chlorine gas, thick and suffocating.

A guttural groan escaped him as he released the gas in a sweeping arc, the toxic cloud billowing through the battlefield’s stagnant water.

The enemy coughed and spluttered, their connection to the water severed as they fought desperately for breath. Hajime’s gamble paid off, his victory for now had saved both your lives.

Hajime’s breath was heavy, but his eyes flicked immediately to you. “Hey, you alr-”

You cut him off with a sharp shake of your head, voice steady despite the exhaustion clawing at your limbs. “I’ll take this asshole. You take that guy out.”

He regarded you for a moment then nodded once, simple.

Agreed.

Two enemies left.

You each turned toward your targets, fighting with grim determination.

Hajime’s hand to hand combat was a brutal dance, lightning fueled strikes and precise counters. His movements were fluid, overwhelming his opponent with sheer speed and power. After the tense and relentless exchange, Hajime landed the final blow, sending the enemy crashing to the ground, defeated.

He spun around, breath ragged, eyes immediately seeking yours.

But the sight that greeted him stole the breath from his lungs.

You were slumped against a shattered wall, blood seeping from a deep wound in your chest. Your cursed energy was all but spent fading fast.

His voice cracked as he reached for you, disbelief and panic flooding his expression.

Hajime’s breath hitched. “No… no no no-”

He dropped to his knees beside you, gathering you into his arms with a swiftness that was almost violent. He curled over you protectively, as if his body alone could shield you from the pain, one arm wrapped tight around your back while the other pressed desperately over your wound.

“No, no, no!” he rasped, voice cracking under the weight of panic. “Stay with me.”

You coughed, the sound thin and wet, a faint smile ghosting over your lips. “It’s… okay.”

“Don’t say that,” he bit out, the edge of fear sharp in his tone. “You don’t get to say that. I can fix this, I will fix this-" With every ounce of willpower, he poured all his cursed energy into the wound, forcing the reverse cursed technique to take hold, only for it to fail.

“Hajime…” Your trembling hand found his cheek, brushing along his jaw. “You did everything you could.”

His eyes burned, jaw clenching. “No. No, don’t you dare say that. I’m not losing you.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out weak and broken. “I’m glad… it’s you I see last.”

“Don’t.” he growled, pressing his forehead to yours, holding you tighter as if you might slip away if he loosened his grip. “You’re not yet done- we’re not yet done.”

“You’ll be fine without me, I just know it.” you whispered.

He shook his head fiercely. “No, I won’t. Not without you.”

“Hajime…” you breathed, “I love you.”

His voice cracked completely. “Then stay. Please… stay.”

But the warmth was already leaving your body, seeping through his bloodstained hands no matter how tightly he held you. His voice cracked as he whispered your name again and again, a desperate litany meant to tether you here. Tears blurred his vision until the battle worn world around him faded, leaving only you in his arms.

It didn’t hit him all at once. For a while, Hajime just sat there frozen, his hands still cupping your face as if keeping them there could stop what had already happened.

His mind refused to process it, refused to make sense of the way your cursed energy had gone utterly still.

It took him the entire day to move.

By the time the last light bled from the sky, he had carried you step after heavy step to the inner part of the estate. Somewhere untouched by the chaos of the battlefield. Somewhere private.

There, he laid you to rest. No grand rites. No priests. Just him and the earth, his trembling hands arranging you as if you were merely sleeping. The grave was deep enough to protect you, but still close enough for him to feel like you weren’t far.

Now, he sat there, knees bent and elbows resting on them, staring at the freshly packed soil as the night stretched endlessly around him. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. The only sound was the faint rustle of wind through the grass.

That was when he felt it, another presence.

Footsteps approached. Hajime didn’t look up right away. Whoever it was stopped just behind the grave, the air between them charged with an unspoken weight.

After a moment, he finally turned his head.

A tall man stood there, stitches running neatly across his forehead. The moonlight caught on the faint curve of a smile that didn’t belong to someone offering condolences.

They regarded each other in silence of understanding. No proper introductions, bits of small talk and just the faint hum of intent in the air like lightning before a storm.

"Are you willing to take this offer?"

He simply let the words sink in, gaze flicking back to your grave. When he looked up again, his answer was certain. "I’m willing to accept your offer."

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

TOKYO COLONY NO. 2 - PRESENT DAY

“…Hajime?” The name slipped out before you could stop it, your voice quieter than you’d meant, almost drowned by the lingering static in the air. “Are my eyes deceiving me?”

His gaze sharpened, the smirk fading into something unreadable. “I should be asking you that,” he said at last, voice low, as if testing the weight of your presence.

Neither of you moved at first. The space between you felt taut, humming with more than just cursed energy, it was four centuries of memories, of loss, of battles fought and never finished.

Then, one careful step.

Another.

Each move forward was mirrored by the other, your feet crunching over debris, eyes locked. The air between you crackled, not hostile but not entirely safe either.

You wanted to close the distance, to bridge the centuries and put your hands on him just to prove he was real. But instinct kept your cursed energy alive in your core, coiled and ready. His posture mirrored yours, relaxed on the surface but you could feel the way his energy swirled just beneath his skin, ready to strike if needed.

By the time you stopped, you were close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. His eyes swept over your face like he was searching for traces of the person he once knew.

“I don’t know if I should hold you… or fight you,” you said, the words a half smile on your lips but edged with truth.

“Crazy,” he replied, gaze locked on yours, “because the last time I held you, you were bleeding out in my arms.”

That earned a small breathy chuckle from you, unexpected and almost disbelieving. One hand lifted on instinct, fingers brushing over the strands of hair framing his face. “Your hair…” you murmured, the faintest smile tugging at your lips. “It’s still the same.”

“I really am me,” he said quietly, the certainty in his voice almost grounding. His eyes softened, and when your hand drifted to cup his face, he leaned into the touch without hesitation as if the gesture alone bridged four centuries of distance.

Little did he know, while one hand cupped his face, the other was quietly pulling cursed energy into shape, condensing it into a small gleaming blade.

You moved fast aiming for a clean strike, but before the tip could reach him, his reflexes caught up. His fingers clamped around your wrist, stopping the blade mid motion. His smirk returned, this time sharper, tinged with amusement.

“This is how you welcome your husband? Okay, rude.” His voice dripped with mock offense, though his grip on your hand was unyielding.

The faint lean of his face against your other hand was gone now, replaced by a watchful edge. You drew that hand back slowly, letting it fall to your side, the warmth of that fleeting intimacy dissipating as the air between you crackled with new tension.

“You’ve had four centuries to get over it. Guess you haven’t,” you replied, your tone laced with mocking calm as the tiny blade in your grasp began to flicker, on the verge of vanishing.

Before you could will it away, Hajime moved. In a blur of force and precision, your back slammed against a cold wall, the impact reverberating through your bones. In a single, fluid motion, both of your wrists were pinned above you in one of his hands, his grip unyielding.

His free hand plucked the blade from your grasp, his eyes locked on yours with a predatory gleam.

“Not so fast, love,” he murmured, the words low and threaded with amusement. “Our marriage happens to be something I do not plan to outlive.”

You tilted your head, a faint smirk curling your lips. “Just in case.”

With the stolen blade, he hooked the tip under your chin, tilting your face up toward him. His eyes searched yours, sharp and unyielding.

“Just in case what?” he asked, voice low like he already knew the answer but wanted to hear you say it.

“Just in case you’re an illusion sent to mess with my head,” you replied, voice dipping into a warning. Then, with a slow, deliberate smile, “Now come and greet your wife.”

He didn’t give you time to flinch.

Hajime closed the distance in a single unyielding move, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss that burned with four centuries of absence. It was deep, unhurried in its greed, tasting of everything you’d both lost and everything neither of you had let go of. His grip on you tightened, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, as if afraid you might vanish the second he let go.

The blade’s edge hovered against your throat, a cold kiss of steel threatening with every breath. You groaned into it, the dangerous pressure at your neck forcing you still especially when his teeth caught your lower lip in a sharp, deliberate bite, dragging it just enough to sting.

He lingered there for a beat, tasting the moment like he’d been starved for centuries, before finally pulling back. His eyes burned with something unreadable.

“Just in case,” he murmured, the blade still resting at your skin.

Your lips curled. “Just in case what?” you asked, the mockery in your tone deliberate.

His smirk sharpened. “Just in case I have to be the one to kill you this time.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Wow. Okay, rude.”

“Now we’re even.” His smirk lingered, but the blade didn’t leave your skin. Instead, Hajime tilted it, the cold edge sliding slowly from the hollow of your throat downward.

You felt the steel’s unyielding kiss trace over your chest, then lower still, the faintest pressure parting fabric as he dragged it along.

Your breath caught, the sound of cloth giving way was sharp in the charged silence, every slow inch a deliberate tease.

When the blade reached just above your sternum, his eyes flicked up to meet yours, daring you to move, to speak, to do anything but burn under his gaze.

“Four hundred years,” you murmured, the blade’s trail still tingling against your skin, “and you still can’t keep your hands or weapons off me. Planning to kill me or undress me?”

Hajime’s mouth curved into a slow, wolfish grin. “Why not both?” His gaze dragged down over the strip of exposed skin his blade had revealed. “Though… I think I’ll enjoy the second one a hell of a lot more.”

You were about to quip back when the faint crunch of debris underfoot cut through the moment. Both your heads snapped toward the sound just as another sorcerer stepped into view, posture loose but eyes sharp.

“Am I interrupting something?” the newcomer asked, voice dripping with false innocence.

Hajime didn’t even blink, just smirked wider as if delighted by the audacity. “It’s rude to interrupt a husband catching up with his wife,” he drawled, and without looking, flicked the tiny blade towards the person.

The weapon spun through the air, and before it could reach its target, you sent a surge of electric current along its path as Hajime let your wrists go at last. The steel lit up like a lightning rod mid flight, and when it buried itself in the intruder’s chest, the force jolted them once before their body went still.

You and Hajime stepped over the debris toward the crumpled body. He crouched low, fingers brushing the weapon’s hilt before giving the corpse a light, almost casual kick with the toe of his shoe.

“Dead,” he confirmed, straightening.

You glanced down yourself, lips quirking. “Dead.”

For a moment, the danger of the Culling Game faded into the background as your eyes met. Without a word, you both lifted a hand and smacked a perfectly in-sync high five.

⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆

You found yourselves hand in hand, laughter spilling out between breaths as you took off down the street. The absurdity of it all, the clash between you two, a sorcerer interrupting, and the effortless kill still buzzed in your veins like leftover static.

Hajime’s grip was warm and unyielding, pulling you along with the same reckless ease you remembered from centuries ago. Every so often he’d glance at you, grin sharp in a way that made the years between you blur.

You were running toward the place he’d been calling home during the Culling Game, feet pounding against cracked pavement, hearts still racing from the fight.

For a fleeting moment, you felt like two teenagers again, wild, breathless, and utterly in love. The world around you was irrelevant except for the path you carved together. It reminded you of the time you got married, of all those days and nights spent tangled up in each other, when the only thing that mattered was him.

But that was centuries ago. The memories were blurred at the edges now, hazy from time and all the things you’d both endured since. You could still recall the warmth of those vows, the way his eyes had softened when he looked at you back then. Yet somewhere along the way, things shifted.

You remembered making your own deal with Kenjaku, a choice Hajime never knew about. But him? When did he?

The question lodged itself in your mind, refusing to loosen its grip. You sifted through centuries old memories, searching for the moment, the reason and came up empty, like someone had carved that piece of your life out and left nothing but the faint ache of its absence.

You were still lost in that fog when a touch pulled you back, the brush of a knuckle along your jaw, grounding you in the here and now. You were sprawled out beneath him, much like you had been countless times before, the weight of his body caging you in, knees bent at either side of his hips. Hajime cupped your face, his thumb grazing your lower lip like he couldn’t decide between speaking or kissing you again.

“Hey,” he murmured, softer now, eyes flicking between yours. “What’s wrong?”

Your breath hitched. “I missed you.”

Your hands had already found their way around his neck, pulling him closer, fingers slipping into the familiar softness of his hair.

A faint smirk curved his lips before he kissed you once more, slower this time, his words rumbling against your mouth. “I missed you too.”

The trail of his kisses moved lower from your lips, to your jaw, to the rapid pulse in your throat until he reached your chest. His hands skimmed down your sides as his mouth followed, lingering at your stomach before descending further. When his lips brushed the inside of your thigh, your breath stuttered, the sensation both grounding and dizzying.

Hajime didn’t rush. He pressed soft, deliberate kisses along each thigh, down to your knees, then your calves, his fingertips tracing lazy patterns over your skin. When he reached your ankles, he lingered, placing a kiss there too, as if every inch of you deserved reverence.

“Let me show you how much I missed you,” Hajime said, voice low like a promise he fully intended to keep.

You were just about to respond some witty remark on the tip of your tongue when his mouth found your core, erasing every coherent thought in an instant. The first stroke of his tongue was slow and devastating like he wanted to savor every second of your reaction. Your back arched instinctively, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat as pleasure bloomed hot and fast through your veins.

Your hands, already tangled in his hair, tightened, fingers curling into the strands as if to anchor yourself. He groaned against you, the sound vibrating where you were most sensitive and the shiver that ran down your spine made your grip tighten on his shoulders, nails dragging faintly over his skin. He didn’t relent, switching between languid strokes and quick, precise flicks that had your hips twitching under his hold.

The way he devoured you was nothing short of reverent and filthy all at once, like he was trying to relearn you, memorize every taste, every sound, every way you responded to him after all these years apart.

His tongue flicked against you, slow and deliberate. “Fuck, you taste even better than I remember.”

A sharp moan tore from your chest, “After all those years… you still exactly know how to unravel me.”

His tongue flicked expertly, teasing the most sensitive spots, but just when you thought you were about to tip over the edge, he slowed, pulling back just enough to deny your release.

Your breath hitched, frustration bubbling up. “Hajime-”

Before you could complain, his lips were on yours, soft and insistent, shutting you up with a trail of heated kisses. His hands pressed firmly on your sides, caging you in with possessive strength.

“Not yet,” he murmured against your mouth, voice low and commanding.

You whimpered, the ache in you building, but there was no resisting him, not now, not ever. He was in control, and all you could do was melt into the delicious torture he gifted you, craving every second more.

Lost in the heat of your kisses, you trembled beneath him, desperation bubbling up inside you. Instinctively, your hands reached down, yearning for him, aching to feel him deep inside you, to finally close the unbearable distance.

But just as you started to urge him closer, his grip tightened on your sides, caging you with firm control. “Impatient, are we?”

You giggled breathlessly, catching your breath just long enough to tease back, “Already did my waiting. Four hundred years of it.”

His eyes flickered with surprise, the faintest spark of amusement lighting them up as your words and soft laughter broke through the tension between you. That momentary distraction was all you needed.

With a surge of strength and determination, you shifted your weight, rolling him beneath you with fluid confidence. Now, you were the one in control, perched on top, your hands pressing firmly against the solid expanse of his chest. His hands found your hips instantly, gripping them possessively, grounding you as you took the lead.

You paused just for a breath, meeting his gaze before slowly sinking down onto him Every inch of him stretched inside you, and you savored the fullness, the delicious friction as you moved with a newfound rhythm.

His breath hitched deep in his throat, matching the steady, teasing pace you set.

“I’ll marry you in every lifetime.” He tightened his grip on your hips, steadying you in place, his words anchoring you amidst the storm of sensation.

As you rode him, you tossed your hair over one shoulder, giving him an unhindered view. A low moan escaped you as you teased, “Okay, Mr. Lover Boy.”

His hands slid to your sides, fingers tracing and kneading with possessive hunger. “Let’s get married,” he murmured, voice thick with want. "Again."

You let out a breathy moan, matching his rhythm, “We still are, aren’t we?” you teased back, a smirk in your voice. “I don’t remember divorcing you or something after I died.”

He groaned as his hands tightened on your hips. With a smooth and deliberate shift, he moved beneath you, guiding you to fully straddle him.

His mouth followed, capturing your skin with heated kisses along your neck. “Let’s get married. In this generation.”

Your arms slid up, wrapping tightly around his neck, pulling him closer as you looked down into his dark, hungry eyes. His hands stayed firmly pressed against your sides, caging you with a possessive strength that made your pulse race.

Your lips brushed his neck as you murmured, “I’d say yes in every lifetime.”

Your lips trailed down his neck, planting soft kisses that quickly deepened into hungry nips. Hickeys bloomed like dark roses along his skin, your teeth grazing just enough to mark him as yours.

Meanwhile, his hands slid down from your sides to cup your ass firmly, fingers digging in possessively as he began to lift and guide your movements. You bounced slowly at first, then with increasing rhythm on his length, the delicious friction driving you wild.

His breath hitched, low moans spilling past his lips as he whispered, “I love you… always have.”

You gasped, matching his intensity with your own moans, “I love you too… in every lifetime.”

Your movements grew faster, every bounce sending waves of pleasure spiraling through your body. His hands never left your ass, gripping and guiding you with a fierce possessiveness that made your heart race. The heat between you was almost unbearable.

He leaned up, lips brushing against your jaw as his voice dropped into a ragged whisper, “Come for me.. like it's the first time.”

A sharp moan tore from your throat as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you, every nerve ending screaming in delicious fire. Your hands clutched at his back, nails digging in as you felt the overwhelming rush building.

His hips stuttered beneath you, breath hitching as he groaned, “Fuck, you’re mine.”

And then, with a shuddering cry that mixed moans and your name, you tipped over the edge, your body trembling and glowing with the release only he could give.

He followed moments after, groaning deep and low as he pulled you close, holding you through the tremors.

Your breaths mingled, the world reduced to the heat of skin and the beat of two hearts finally reunited.