Chapter 345: The Second First Date
By late afternoon the snow had gentled into a sift, the kind that made Konoha's streets look powdered rather than buried. Lanterns were already warming to life when Malik rapped—politely, for once—on the door of Yamanaka Flowers.
Ino stepped out in a winter look that was somehow both practical and devastating: cream knit under a deep-violet wrap coat, dark tights, sensible boots, a scarf the exact blue of her eyes. She'd braided her hair low and loose, a few strands purposefully rebellious near her cheeks. A tiny sprig of preserved baby's breath tucked behind one ear said she'd dressed in a hurry and still thought about details.
"You're early," she said, amused.
"You're luminous," he answered, then lifted his hands in surrender. "And on time. Which is better. Ready to be distracted before you save the world tomorrow?"
Ino hesitated—only a heartbeat. Then she nodded. "Yeah. Tonight, you can get away with distracting me."
They started walking.
The Reprise (He Tries)
The first stop was… suspiciously familiar. Malik took a corner one building earlier than necessary and somehow they were on a quieter side street, cut between old workshops and a retired bathhouse. Not an alley—wider, safer, lamps on both ends—but the echo of that first clumsy day was there, drafted in the angles of the buildings' brick and their long, tall shadow.
Ino's eyes flicked to his, one brow lifting. "Mm."
"What?" he asked, too innocent.
"Nothing," she said, too musical.
They didn't go in. They simply paused in the mouth of the lane. Malik pretended to check his sleeve; Ino pretended to be fooled. A few snowflakes drifted sideways in a small wind.
"You're not going to 'accidentally' offer to fix my bandages again, are you?" she deadpanned, moving her scarf just enough to show the tiniest smile.
He pressed a hand to his heart. "I come to you as a wiser man bearing consent forms and pen."
Ino huffed a laugh despite herself. "Points for growth."
"And for not being an idiot?"
"Oh no," she said sweetly. "You still are. You're just… housetrained."
He bowed. "Progress."
They moved on.
The Flower Shop After Hours
He "remembered" he'd left something; she "remembered" she had keys. The shop was warm in that green way—humidifiers humming, soil and water and life. Ino flicked on the string lights she kept twined through the rafters for late customers. Gold danced across leaves, glass jars, handwritten tags.
Malik set a tiny parcel on the counter. Ino eyed it, suspicious of anything that looked like it might explode into glitter.
"It's not cursed," he promised. "Open?"
Inside: a slender lacquered case with a pressed-flower bookmark nested on velvet—fire-lotus petals preserved in a glass sliver, edge-trimmed in pale gold. On the back, a single rune: return.
"For the road," he said. "For your field notes. It'll always find its way back to you, even if someone 'borrows' the book it's in."
Her expression softened, then steadied. "You made me a homing bookmark."
"I made you a way home," he corrected quietly.
She swallowed and tucked it safely into her coat. "Okay. That… was good."
"Good enough that you'll forgive my next idea?"
"That depends entirely on how dumb it is."
Park, Bench, Sunset (Again)
They climbed the little hill to the same pocket park where a younger, dumber Malik had nearly combusted at a smile. The sky was a wash of apricot and iron-blue; the pond wore a thin sheet of glass; the bench—that bench—sat dusted with snow.
He snapped once; the snow stepped politely aside. They sat.
"Alright," Ino said at last, amused eyes on the slow-blooming lamps. "You're doing a bit."
"What gave it away?" He tried for guileless; she was immune.
She ticked on gloved fingers. "Side street that felt like our first 'shortcut.' The shop lights. This bench. You're not subtle, Malik."
He exhaled, a small white fog. "I'm not trying to be. Tomorrow you leave. So tonight I wanted… repetition. The kind that makes a thing feel threaded instead of frayed."
Her gaze drifted to the pond. "You think if we walk the same steps, I come back along them."
"I think when it gets loud out there," he said gently, "having a clean memory helps. Something quiet to touch."
Ino let that sit between them. Then she nudged his shoulder with hers. "You're a sap."
"Ruthless, devastating sap," he corrected. "Documented."
She smiled—a real one now, not the performance version. "So what else are you copying? We've done the almost-alley. The shop. The bench. You going to ask for a photo and say something poetic about my smile?"
"I could," he said, and didn't reach for the phone in his magic pocket that he allowed people to call a camera. "Or I could ask for a conversation you'll remember more than a picture."
That earned him the tiniest tilt of her head. He took it as permission.
The Talk (She Leads)
"How are you really feeling about this mission?" he asked. No frosting. No detour. "Sea spray and old ghosts. Amachi's name carries… weight."
Ino's breath came out in a wisp. "Excited to be useful. Tired of being treated like a pretty accessory. And—" she glanced sideways "—annoyed that I'm annoyed. I am pretty. I am an accessory sometimes. To a team. To a plan. It's not the insult people think it is. I like being the keystone that holds frames together. I just don't like when people forget I can also be the hammer."
"Noted," he said, pleased, because Gods yes. "And are you worried about Mizuki?"
She considered. "I remember him as the rumor filtered through teachers: smile first, knife later. But I've seen him since. Not up close. Still… different. I trust Anko to burn him down if he twitches wrong."
Malik's grin tilted. "I asked him to try not to twitch."
"You asked him," she repeated, catching the verb. "Not Tsunade. You."
He shrugged, small. "Second Chance is my mess. If it works, we all get stronger. If it doesn't, that's on me too."
Ino studied his face then—a cataloguer at work. "You carry too much in your pockets," she murmured.
"I have a very good tailor."
"You have very dangerous hands," she returned, then let the tease collapse into truth. "Thank you. For the bookmark. For the bench. For not pretending I'm not scared and not trying to kiss it away."
He looked at her, amused. "You caught the part where I didn't try?"
"You're vibrating," she said, deadpan. "But you're being good."
"The Goddess is taking notes," he whispered aside.
Ino flicked him with the end of her scarf. "Do not bring deities into our date."
He laughed, softer than before. The pond made a glassy noise. Somewhere a bell changed the hour.
The Reversal (She Calls It)
"You know," Ino said after a while, voice lighter, "if you're bent on recreating our 'firsts,' you missed one."
"Oh?" he asked. "Which?"
"The part where I kissed you first."
He blinked. "Historically accurate."
"Scholarly," she said—and leaned in.
It was a warm press, not dramatic; a seal on a letter that had already been read. It tasted faintly of the sweet tea they'd taken to walking with, and the winter air, and the particular Ino-thing that was mint and ink and whatever flower she'd brushed past on her way out the door. He didn't chase it, didn't deepen it; he matched it, let it bloom, let it end.
"Better," she judged, approving. "Less panic, more presence."
"I've been practicing," he said. "With my fiancées."
She squeezed his sleeve so he couldn't dodge the smack that followed. "Do not bring other women into our date."
"Fair. Strike that dialogue."
She breathed a laugh and leaned back on the bench, hands tucked in her coat. "Alright, historian. What's next on your tour?"
"The place I pretended not to be hungry," he confessed. "And then ate like a war crime."
"Mm. Canon," she agreed, standing. "Feed me, then. And while we walk, you can tell me why your eyes are more gold than pink lately."
He blinked. "You noticed?"
"Please," she said, and looped her arm through his. "I notice everything."
Ramen, but Make it Ours
Ichiraku's noren flapped against the evening breeze. Teuchi looked up, eyebrows lifting at the pair, then creasing in mild exasperation at Malik's flourishing bow.
"Good evening," Malik sang. "Two bowls, nostalgia style."
"Nostalgia style?" Teuchi grunted, amused despite himself.
"Whatever we had the first time I brought Ino here," Malik said. "But upgraded for a woman who can actually taste balance."
"Mm," Teuchi said, already moving, already in his temple. "That was a miso-sesame base. You slurped like you were drowning."
"Accuracy," Ino said, taking a seat, hips bumping his on the small stool with deliberate mischief. "And don't be nice with the menma. He's trying to be normal tonight. Make it hard."
Teuchi gave them both a look that said children and went to work.
They ate like people who had somewhere to be tomorrow: quick, appreciative, without fuss. Ino tilted her bowl at the end to get the last of the broth; Malik watched her do it with a ridiculous smile like he'd just witnessed a royal ceremony.
"What," she said around a small hiccup-laugh.
"Nothing," he said. "You just… exist very well."
She rolled her eyes, but it failed to hide the glow.
They paid. Teuchi waved away Malik's attempt to tip like a tyrant and slipped Ino a little bag of yuzu peels "for your pillow." She tucked it in her pocket with a promise to bring flowers when she returned.
The Rooftop (New)
He took her somewhere he hadn't, that first time: up.
A low building two blocks from the shop, roof cleared by the same polite sweep of magic, a small blanket and a thermos appearing like they'd been there all along. Konoha spread beneath them in lantern-constellations; the snow made the streets wider somehow, softening edges without blurring them.
They lay shoulder to shoulder, boots touching, the city's breath rising in small white plumes.
"Okay," Ino said into the sky. "I like your copycat date."
"Thank you for indulging my coping mechanisms," he said to the same.
She turned her head. "Malik."
He turned his.
"Come back to this roof with me," she said. "When I return. Even if we're tired. Even if it's late. Bring the same blanket. Bring terrible tea. I want this to have a pair."
He didn't make a joke. He nodded, and it felt like tying a knot.
"Deal."
He sat up first, because if he didn't, he would keep her there until the whole village fell quiet. He took her gloved hands and warmed them between his palms; she let him, eyes soft.
"I made you two little things," he said, and the words felt light rather than dramatic. "One you saw—the bookmark. The other… may I?"
She tipped her chin in consent.
He brushed two fingers over her scarf and drew the tiniest sigil in the weave—no glow, no fanfare. "A ward keyed to your pulse and chakra print. It does nothing until you decide it does something. If you need it, it becomes a flare only three people can see: Shikamaru, Anko, and me. It's quiet. It's yours. If you'd rather not—"
"Keep it," she said, quick and sure. "Thank you."
No fanfare then, either. She simply leaned into him for a long, simple moment, the sort that made time behave.
The rooftop was quiet except for the sound of their breath, the distant hum of Konoha's evening life below them like a lullaby. The blanket beneath them was thick, woven with Malik's magic to keep the cold at bay, the warmth wrapping around them, the air and space between them kept at the perfect temperature. Ino lay back, her body relaxed but her eyes sharp, watching Malik as he sat beside her, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the fabric between them.
She didn't hesitate.
"Malik," she said, her voice low, a command wrapped in the warm private heat of their private moment together. "Take me. Right here."
Malik's breath hitched, his golden-pink eyes flickering with heat as he turned to face her. "You're sure?"
Ino's smirk was slow, dangerous. "I've been sure since you dragged me up here. Now move."
Malik didn't need to be told twice.
He reached for her first, his hands finding the edges of her coat, pushing it open to reveal the layers beneath. The deep-violet wrap coat fell away, pooling around her like a shadow. Beneath it, she wore a fitted cream knit sweater, the fabric clinging to the curves of her body, the soft wool hugging the swell of her breasts. Malik's fingers trembled—just slightly—as he gripped the hem of the sweater, pulling it up and over her head in one smooth motion.
Ino didn't stop him. Instead, she arched her back, lifting just enough to let him strip her bare.
The bra beneath was simple—blue and yellow lace, practical but undeniably sexy, the cups straining slightly against the weight of her breasts. Malik's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of her. Her breasts were larger than he remembered, fuller, heavier, the kind of change that came with time and confidence and the quiet, stubborn pride of a woman who had spent years carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. The lace barely contained them, the swell of her cleavage pressing against the fabric, her nipples already hard beneath the thin material.
"My sweet, perfect Ino," Malik murmured, his voice rough with awe. "You're stunning."
Ino's cheeks flushed, but she didn't look away. Instead, she reached behind her, unclasping the bra with a practiced flick of her fingers. The lace fell away, and her breasts spilled free, full and heavy, the dark pink of her nipples already tight with arousal. Malik's hands found them instantly, cupping their weight, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks.
"They're bigger," he said, his voice thick with admiration. "I love it."
Ino huffed a laugh, her back already protesting the weight. "They're a pain in my back, but I'll take the compliment."
Malik's grin was wicked. "Let me help with that."
His mouth replaced his hands, his lips sealing over one nipple, his tongue flicking in slow, deliberate circles. Ino gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair as pleasure arced through her. Malik took his time, lavishing attention on first one breast, then the other, his free hand sliding down to grip her hip, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.
Ino's breath came faster, her body arching into his touch. "Malik—more—"
He didn't stop. Instead, he nipped at the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing her nipple just enough to make her gasp before soothing the sting with his tongue. His other hand slid lower, finding the waistband of her tights, his fingers hooking into the fabric.
Ino lifted her hips, helping him drag the tights down her legs, revealing the paler yellow and light baby blue lace panties beneath. They were damp already, the fabric clinging to her, outlining the thick, full lips of her pussy. Malik's breath grew hotter as he took in the sight of her—the way her private area was shaved smooth, the skin soft and bare, her lips swollen and glistening with arousal.
"You're still shaved, I see," he murmured, his voice rough with desire.
Ino's smirk was all teeth as she rolled her blue eyes. "I know what you like, but don't stop."
Malik groaned, his cock straining against his pants. "You're going to kill me."
"Not yet," Ino purred, her fingers already working at the fastenings of his trousers. "But I will make you beg."
Malik's pants hit the ground a second later, his cock springing free, thick and dark, already glistening with pre-cum. Ino didn't waste time. She lined him up with one hand, her other gripping his shaft as she sank onto him in one smooth, claiming motion.
Malik groaned, his head falling back as she took him to the hilt, her tight, wet heat enveloping him completely. Ino didn't give him time to adjust. Instead, she began to ride him, her hips rolling in fast, hard motions, her body taking what it needed.
"No teasing," she growled, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Take me now. Hard. Fast. Just like I like."
Malik didn't argue.
His hands found her hips, his grip bruising as he met her movements, his cock pistoning up into her with every snap of his hips. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the air, the wet, obscene noise mixing with their ragged breaths.
"You like that, don't you?" Malik groaned, his voice dark with satisfaction. "When I take you just like this, over and over again."
Ino's answer was a broken moan, her body clenching around him as she rode him harder, her pleasure coiling tight in her belly. Malik's fingers dug into her ass, holding her in place as he thrust up into her, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside her over and over again.
"Malik—harder—I'm close—!"
Malik didn't let up. Instead, he reached between them, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing in fast, tight circles. Ino's body tensed, her orgasm crashing over her with the force of a warm heat of a sunny day. She came with a broken cry, her walls clamping down around his cock as her release soaked them both.
Malik groaned, his own release building, his cock thickening inside her. But before he could follow her over the edge, Ino's hands found his shoulders, her grip firm as she flipped them, rolling him onto his back as she pulled him out of her slick, trembling pussy.
Malik barely had time to blink before she was straddling his chest, her hands guiding his cock between her breasts. The weight of them was perfect, the soft flesh pressing around him, her nipples brushing against his shaft as she began to move, her tits bouncing with every roll of her hips.
"Wait—Ino—!" Malik groaned, his hands finding her sides, slowly sliding up to her shoulders to rest, his fingers digging into her skin as she worked him between her breasts.
Ino's smirk was triumphant. "You like this, don't you? When I use you just like this."
Malik's answer was a broken groan as his cock twitched, his release crashing over him. Thick ropes of cum splattered across her chest, her breasts, her collarbone, the heat of it dripping down her skin as she milked the last drops from him with slow, deliberate strokes.
Ino's breath came in ragged gasps, her body still humming with pleasure as she collapsed forward, her lips finding Malik's in a slow, deep kiss. Malik groaned into it, his hands sliding up to cup her face, his tongue tangling with hers as they savored the aftershocks of their pleasure.
When they finally pulled apart, Ino's smirk was slow, satisfied. "Good?"
Malik's laugh was breathless. "You're trying to kill me."
Ino's grin was all teeth. "And you love it."
Malik didn't deny it. Instead, he pressed a final, lingering kiss to her lips before helping her sit up, his hands already reaching for the thermos of tea.
Ino's eyes flicked to the cum still glistening on her skin, then back to him. "You're not cleaning me up?"
Malik's grin was wicked. "I like you marked."
Ino rolled her eyes, but her smirk didn't fade. "You're insufferable."
Malik just laughed, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "And you love it."
Ino didn't argue. Instead, she leaned into him, her body warm against his as they sat beneath the stars, the city sprawled out beneath them like a promise.
= A good amount of romantic quiet time and some needed cleaning magic later -
When they finally climbed down, the streets were quieter. He walked her to the edge of her neighborhood and stopped—not at the gate, not at the door, but exactly where she had space to choose her own last few steps.
"Tomorrow," he said, "you'll be brilliant."
"Tonight," she said, "you were."
"And when you come back—"
"Tea on a roof," she finished. "And you can tell me how you did with being normal."
"I will have failed spectacularly," he warned.
"I know," she said, and kissed his cheek, precise. "That's why it's fun."
She went the last stretch alone, a violet ribbon in the snowlight. He stood there a little longer than strictly necessary, committing the color to whatever part of him kept score of hope.
Then he turned, hands in pockets, and smiled up at the winter-still stars.
Repetition, yes. But not the same.
Threaded, not frayed.