songs about toxic people

Ch 4: Rough around the edges

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tw: nsfw first half / mature content
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Sanzu doesn't remember her name, her face, or how she even ended up tangled with his limbs in his own bed in the first place, his own mouth buried down her neck leaving bite marks on her skin. To be fair, he is pretty much unaware of much else; all he hears at the moment is his name being whispered over and over in his ear like a prayer, the woman's voice so ragged and broken his mind fleetingly remembers the Bonten hideout he was at just the day before, all the faceless men on the floor and their meek begging for their lives, screaming his name and not for pleasure.

He ought to be smiling that wicked grin of his but he suddenly finds himself hating her voice and the sound of his name out of her mouth. Though it shouldn't matter, he shouldn't be thinking, not when he's inches deep inside of her and she's leaving him bruises on his skin.

"H-Haru....Haru, Haru, Haru, please..." the woman with no face whimpers, her sharp nails grazing the back of his neck. "Please, love, slow down."

Frankly, he doesn't feel like slowing down anytime soon, he thinks as he angrily picks up his pace and his hips buckle for a more forceful thrust against her now bruising cervix. This earns him a filthy, lengthy moan and a sharp pull from his hair and he feels it, so near and so good, the electrifying high that he's always out there to chase. This time the euphoria out of a tight cunt clenched around his unrelenting cock, and really why would he be slowing down?

Love.

"H-Haruchiyo!"

There's a split second in the midst of his almost-high when he looks up, half-surprised and half-dazed, at the sound of his first name being called. A brief moment of genuine wonder because that's not how you call him. You would be screaming "Sanzu." 'I just like calling you Sanzu, is all. It sounds nice.' He sees you shrugging in his memory, your head tilted slightly to the side and your black hair now draping your shoulder, uncaring that you were giving him that smile that nobody else ever sees. You were twenty-two when he started calling you by your first name.

And now his mind is reeling in disappointment because the woman's hair is a silky blonde and her lips are too red, and she's screaming his name and her face isn't yours. He feels the world slowing down and her hand shifts to cup his cheek.

"Haru, what's wrong?"

He stares into her eyes without answering, his heavy breathing the only sound filling the silence. There is now a slight frown lining her forehead and he feels her thumb stroke his cheek one last time before she moves forward, closing the space between their faces as her lips hungrily find his. He kisses back just as hungrily because it's good, and it's all he really needs to feel when he closes his eyes and thinks it's your lower lip he's biting instead. And he slightly pulls back and slows down his kisses, because he's biting down hard enough to draw blood and you're not someone he wants to hurt.

But now he finds himself wanting to scream because he doesn't even know how you taste like.

He hears the woman groan underneath him as he pulls out of her without warning, the sudden cold against his bare chest giving him a momentary shiver. I want you gone, he wants to tell her, but all he manages is a low warning growl, a quiet "Go." as he takes one last look at her dumbfounded expression. He doesn't hear her speak, not that she can speak up against Bonten's No. 3, as he pushes himself off the bed and almost topples over some furniture in the dark, rushing to his bathroom.

Sanzu doesn't bother turning the lights on as he sees his own reflection in the mirror now bathed in the moonlight's blue. It doesn't matter, he'll be quick with it. He can still feel the woman's slick all over his now throbbing cock and he doesn't waste any more time as he runs his own hand on himself up and down, up and down, picking up pace and closing his eyes, pulling his head back at the wave of pleasure as he screams out your name. He spills on his pristine white wall, on the marble floor, and he hunches forward above the sink, resting his forehead against the mirror's cold surface. The dead silence is filled with nothing but his heavy breathing and the sound of your voice in his head, the Sanzu formed by your mouth, your dark hair draping against your bare skin.