your legs were over his shoulders, his name torn from your throat in broken syllables — but ichigo didn’t speak.
he grunted.
every thrust punched it out of him — low, deep, primal. not words. not even curses. just that raw, masculine sound, guttural and rough like it was being dragged from his chest. each one landed inside you like a wrecking ball, hips slamming into yours with bruising force, and with it came that huff of air, the kind of sound an animal makes when it’s too deep inside instinct to remember restraint.
“uh—uh—fuck—ichigo—”
he didn’t stop. couldn’t. his hands were gripping your thighs like he was holding on for dear life, knuckles white, sweat rolling down his temple. the orange of his hair hung in his face, damp, wild, sticking to his forehead while his amber eyes locked on where his cock disappeared into you over and over again.
“huh—hhhf—uhh—”
every time he slammed into you, another grunt. it wasn’t conscious. it was carnal. like he didn’t know how to fuck quietly — like each thrust forced the air out of him just from how tightly your cunt gripped him. his whole body shuddered with it. his breath hissed through clenched teeth, his chest tightening, and the sound spilled out again, raw, shaky.
“hhh—fuck—huh—nngh—”
and gods, it made you clench. made you wetter, made you arch your back and beg for more like a feral thing because holy shit ichigo sounded like he was barely holding himself back from biting. his lips were parted, panting now, a little growl curling at the back of his throat every time your pussy sucked him in again like it didn’t want to let him go.
“you like that?” he finally rasped, voice thick, husky, hips picking up speed, slamming into you so hard the bed groaned. “hhhn—tch—fuck—” his fingers dug into your waist, holding you still as he pounded into you, rutting like he was in heat, every grunt louder, filthier.
“so tight—uhh—so fucking wet for me—ahh—hff—”
you could feel it — the tension in his body, the way his abs flexed, the way every thrust now came with a desperate edge, his voice catching between his teeth, and that animalistic noise coming faster, closer to a growl, closer to losing it—
“hh—hnngh—uhh—fuck—gonna—”
and when he finally came, it wasn’t quiet.
he moaned — head thrown back, spine snapping into an arc, cock buried to the hilt as he exploded inside you with a full-body shudder and a final, deep, savage grunt that sounded like it was dragged from the pit of his soul.
you've always felt so full whenever ichigo slides into you, his thick cock stretching your pussy just right. it's like he knows exactly how much you can take, filling you up with slow, deliberate thrusts that make your toes curl and your breath hitch. you cling to his broad shoulders, moaning into his neck as he rocks his hips, that delicious pressure building deep inside you until you shatter around him. he groans your name, his voice rough and low, and you swear nothing could feel better than this, being claimed by your boyfriend, body and soul.
but tonight, something's different. you're both tangled in the sheets of his bed, the room dimly lit by the streetlight filtering through the curtains. ichigo's on top, his muscular frame pinning you down in the best way, sweat glistening on his skin. he kisses you deeply, tongue tangling with yours as he pushes in, and you gasp at the familiar stretch. half of him, you think absently, because that's all it ever feels like, enough to hit every sensitive spot, to make your walls clench greedily around his girth. you're pleased, so full, your hips bucking up to meet him as he grinds against you.
he picks up the pace, fucking you with steady strokes that have you whimpering, your nails digging into his back. "fuck, you feel so good," he mutters, burying his face in your hair. you come undone quickly, your pussy pulsing around that thick half of his cock, waves of pleasure crashing over you until you're boneless beneath him. ichigo follows soon after, spilling inside you with a guttural moan, his body shuddering as he collapses half on top of you.
as you both catch your breath, you shift slightly, feeling him still semi-hard inside you. your hand trails down his side, curious, and you reach between your legs, fingers brushing where you're joined. that's when you feel it—the rest of him, untouched, hanging heavy and thick against your thigh. your eyes widen, heart stuttering as the realization hits.
only half. he's been holding back this whole time, giving you just enough to satisfy, but never the full length. why? is it because he thinks you can't handle it? that you're too fragile, too small for all of him?
a wave of insecurity crashes over you, hot and stinging. your chest tightens, and you pull away slightly, turning your face into the pillow to hide the tears pricking at your eyes. you feel sad, inadequate, like maybe you're not enough for him. does he not trust you with everything? or worse, does he pity you?
ichigo notices immediately. he's attuned to you like that, always has been. he lifts his head, concern etching his features as he cups your cheek, turning you to face him. "hey, what's wrong?" his voice is soft, thumb brushing away a stray tear. you bite your lip, glancing down, and he follows your gaze. understanding dawns in his eyes, and he curses under his breath. "shit, baby… you figured it out."
he pulls out gently, and you whimper at the loss, but he doesn't let you dwell. rolling onto his back, he tugs you on top of him, his hands firm on your hips. "i've been careful because you're so tight, so perfect. didn't want to hurt you. but if you want it all… i'll give it to you." his cock twitches against your slick folds, fully hard now, the sheer size of it making your breath catch. it's massive, long and thick, veins pulsing along the length that you've only ever felt half of.
you nod, a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling up, and he guides you down slowly. the head breaches you first, stretching your entrance wider than before, and you gasp, hands splaying on his chest for balance. inch by inch, he sinks deeper, past the point you've known, filling you impossibly full. your pussy flutters around him, adjusting to the new depth, the burn of the stretch mingling with sharp pleasure. "ichigo," you gasp, rocking your hips tentatively as he bottoms out, his balls pressing against your ass.
he groans, head falling back against the pillow, eyes dark with lust. "fuck, you're taking me so well. all of me." his hands grip your thighs, urging you to move, and you start riding him, slow at first, savoring the way he hits spots you didn't know existed. every thrust sends sparks up your spine, your clit grinding against his pelvis with each downward motion. but ichigo's patience snaps quickly. he flips you onto your back without pulling out, hooking your legs over his shoulders as he starts pounding into you.
the pace is brutal, relentless, his hips slamming against yours with wet, obscene sounds. his cock drags along your walls, the full length fucking you deep, over and over, until your mind goes blank. you can't think, can't form words, only broken cries and pleas for more. "ichigo—fuck—yes, harder!" he obliges, one hand pinning your wrists above your head, the other rubbing tight circles on your clit. your pussy clenches around him, milking his thickness as another orgasm builds, faster and fiercer than before.
he fucks you braindead, just like that. thrusts turning erratic as he chases his own release, growling your name like a prayer. you come first, screaming as your vision whites out, body convulsing around his cock, gushing over him in a messy squirt. ichigo doesn't stop, driving through your spasms until he buries himself to the hilt and floods your pussy with hot cum, so much it leaks out around him.
you both collapse, panting, his weight a comforting blanket over you. he kisses your forehead, murmuring apologies and praises, but all you can do is hum, utterly spent and sated, knowing you'll never settle for half again.
Needy BabyDaddy! — Bleach Men Headcanons (a little long tbh) fem!reader
starring: Ichigo Kurosaki, Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, Izuru Kira & Kisuke Urahara
MDNI
Light Smut
Enjoy
Note: I’ve been really sick these past few days but wanted to get this idea out of my head before I lost the hype, so sorry if it’s not my best work lol.
Planning to maybe do a Part 2, if you want to see any other character, let me know :3
Ichigo Kurosaki
there was nothing more beautiful to him than watching you walk around the house with that round belly, adorable, perfect, the way you wore loose pants sitting low under it and tight tops stretched over it.
You had gained a bit of weight, completely natural during pregnancy, and when you mixed that with your smile, or even with your little pouts when you couldn’t get that strange craving, it only made you look more beautiful.
Ichigo never once doubted giving you everything you needed, even when that included the most pleasurable sex possible. Even when it meant having you straddle him, his long, thick cock already buried deep, touching everything you needed to satisfy that wild hormonal appetite, his hips moving for you, not rough, no.
Even if you begged, asked in every way possible, soft or desperate, he never gave in to losing control. He made sure you felt all of him in deep, controlled thrusts, absolute restraint.
And still, you couldn’t help but smile between moans when you noticed one of the reasons for his carefulness, when his hands caressed and adored your round belly in the most tender, considerate way, and even in the smile in his eyes you could see how much he enjoyed one of the most beautiful stages of your life.
But now, things had changed slightly. Having to care for a baby, so small, so needy by nature, was exhausting for both of you. Though for him, you were always the one carrying the heaviest load, and without hesitation, without refusing even for a second, he was always by your side, ready to support you.
Sometimes he would just watch you softly hum little melodies while the baby still cried, searching for comfort. He admired your calm in the face of desperation until, finally, that little bundle of happiness fell asleep peacefully in your arms before you laid him in his crib.
The problem? He couldn’t help missing you.
Two months had passed since you gave birth naturally, since he held your hand and felt it nearly break his. And during that time, he had religiously respected the 4 to 6 weeks protocol of no penetration.
Now, your footsteps approached the bedroom. He heard them after you went to get a glass of water, after making sure the baby was in his deepest sleep in the crib.
his gaze landed with a hint of shame on his erect cock beneath his sleep pants, rising up, straining against the elastic waistband. There was no real reason to hide it, after all, he was your husband, you already had a child.
Sex between you was one of the best things you shared, a blessing for both of you, but even so, he still felt shy about his desperation, about the way his cock throbbed with need while he tried to respect, sacredly, your rest, your time, your needs.
Priority.
“Ichi?” you called as soon as you stepped into the room. Your hair was slightly messy, held back with a head band, your torso covered by one of his old shirts slipping off one shoulder, making your figure look small, very small. Finally, you were wearing those maternity pants you refused to stop using because of how comfortable they were, though by now they hung loose on your constantly changing body.
And his eyes lifted to you.
“Y-yes?!” he asked quickly, eyes widening when he snapped out of his trance.
The trance of watching a goddess cross a threshold.
“Everything okay?” you asked with a small smile as you moved closer to the edge of the bed. “he is finally asleep,” you nodded with a soft laugh, lifting one knee onto the bed on your side.
“E-everything’s fine, yeah,” he nodded, pushing himself up with both hands to sit against the headboard. “Come… rest,” he sighed, a small smile too nervous to ignore.
“What are you hiding from me, Kurosaki?” you asked, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his cheek, comfortable, warm, gentle. “Oh,” you murmured, lowering your gaze to the unattended problem.
The thick, long shape strained upward beneath his pants, and it wasn’t the first time you’d seen him try to hide it, something he used to do when you were younger.
“Back to your old tricks?” you teased with a soft laugh against his cheek, feeling his quiet sigh as his cheeks flushed pink. “If you wanted that… you could’ve asked, Kurosaki,” you added, brushing your nose against his.
“Please,” he whispered with the relief of someone freed after years of sentence, lifting a hand to your jaw, and with that, you let him take your lips in a kiss, completely desperate.
Their lips crashed together in desperate kisses, almost like a silent cry for help.
He wasn’t usually like this, he wasn’t usually this needy, and even your heart tightened at the thought of how much he must have been holding back as his tongue explored every part of your mouth.
“Let me take a shower—” you murmured between kisses when you felt his other hand start to wander to the front of your pants, slipping past the waistband and underwear, unable to resist any longer. “Ichi—!”
“No— please,” he breathed against your neck, his words muffled and shaky as his hips pressed into you, searching for friction. “Give me— this,” he whispered when you felt his fingers sink into that slit he had missed so much, into the wetness already waiting for him.
But then—
Whaaa! Whaaa!
The cries echoed through the walls like a full-blown emergency alarm, and soon a small, frustrated whine escaped his lips against your neck. He shook his head for a few seconds, like a child who didn’t get what he wanted.
“Looks like the little one doesn’t agree with this,” you murmured with a small smile.
“I’ll go,” you whispered, feeling his hand slowly leave your warmth.
“I’ll go,” he cut in, standing up in one quick motion, shaking his head sharply before giving himself a light slap on the cheek.
“Stay awake— that kid is going back to sleep.” he said with a determination you hadn’t seen in a long time, probably not since Renji had challenged him to a sparring match with his usual banter.
“Good luck, champ,” you laughed, watching him leave the room.
“Don’t you move!” he shouted from the hallway over the crying.
Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez
Grimmjow was a born extremist.
From the moment your belly started to grow and the inevitable became completely real right in front of him, his attitude changed, and...well..., his words hadn’t, at least.
Because even if your body begged for it, demanded it in that burning need between your legs, he had his own stupid way of protecting you.
“You’re weak. You’ve got a small being inside you that’s going to be my successor as ruler of Hueco Mundo, if he’s not a weakling and manages to defeat me,” he would snap every time you so much as tried to climb onto him, just to feel him against your swallowed clit in the smallest touch that might help your unruly hormones. “If I do anything to you, I won’t be gentler just because the kid’s there, and you won’t be able to handle me with a plus one.”
But really, it was just his way of saying…
I don’t want to hurt you. Or you. Or the baby.
Even if he always had to wrap it in some clumsy, stupid attempt at degradation you couldn’t even take seriously anymore.
You were left stunned by the way he took care of you. He let you do many things, sometimes he even fought with you, or helped you train, but no matter what, it wasn’t the same at all. His fights weren’t intense anymore, they weren’t long or brutal, because according to him he “got bored.”
Something you clearly didn’t believe, because…
Fuck. It’s Grimmjow.
Or maybe it was the way that, even though he let you walk freely to get whatever you wanted, food, something to drink, a shower, or just to go to the bathroom, his eyes never left you for even a second.
He thought he was being very slick and careful.
But you could still see his light blue hair peeking from the edge of the door when you just wanted to take a piss.
And even if he refused to penetrate you with that long, thick cock, curved just enough to find that spot in such a sweet way, his fingers pleased you every single night you whispered for it against his neck.
Before sinking two fingers into your wetness, his hand always caressed your round belly first, like it was a perfect little routine, until finally, with those fast but flawless movements of his fingers, ones you’d stupidly underestimated once, he managed to make you come as many times as you needed.
Until even he had to stop you, because “you’re not thinking straight, the little brain in there needs to rest too.” And you’d just smile against his lips, laughing softly at his strange way of worrying about you two.
And when his little baby girl finally came into the world, a precious girl with hair in that same electric blue shade, and features unmistakably her mother’s, the world shifted around her.
Grimmjow’s ambition changed in the way he acted. Partially.
Yeah, he still carries her everywhere with one hand against her chest, letting her small, chubby limbs dangle freely in the air no matter how much you try to tell him how dangerous that could be.
Something far more dangerous than the future ruler of Hueco Mundo had been born. Another ruler had come into existence, one who would rule the heart of someone willing to burn the universe down just to keep his queens safe.
Still, not everything was flowers and roses. No. Not once some time had passed after you gave birth to that beautiful little being.
He had been patient. Too patient, even for his own good, doing his best not to overwhelm you.
Even though he was the one wanting to rip his own hair out after having to get up almost three times a night just to help your daughter sleep beside you.
Because maybe he wasn’t the best at holding her and letting her sleep in his arms, not because of his naturally rough nature, but he never missed a single night where he watched you rock your baby softly into sleep, murmuring quiet hums.
A night like this one.
Watching you from the doorway, leaning against it with nothing but loose, comfortable pants meant for sleeping and driving you crazy. His face was adorned with that mask, dangerous and attractive in equal measure, his tired eyes fully focused on you.
On the fact that you were wearing only a loose, partially transparent robe, highlighting your natural curves, beautiful after giving Grimmjow one of the greatest blessings of his life. Still keeping your habit of sleeping in just panties and a bra with him.
Because he never held back from telling you how beautiful you looked.
Every damn day.
In happiness.
In exhaustion.
In pain.
In peace.
“You’re—” his growl came out like a dangerous purr, “perfect. Fuck.”
And every night he repeated it, like a thank-you to the universe.
His universe.
His arms were crossed over his bare chest when the crying finally stopped, and he allowed himself to push off the doorframe and walk toward you. Until his hands fell to your hips, a small squeeze from those rough fingers, as his lips brushed your neck softly.
“She’s asleep now,” he purred with a smile against your skin as finally he pressed fully against you. You felt that hardness against your round ass, needy, deliberate, grinding against you shamessly.
“That’s true,” you whispered with a soft smile, lowering your gaze to the baby.
Your body bent slightly as you went to place her in the crib, your hips pressing back into him at the same time, enough to draw a furious growl from his lips.
But before you could lay her down…
The crying returned like thunder, shattering the atmosphere you’d created entirely. Her tiny hands flailed, searching for something to hold onto, the warmth she sought from a body like mom’s.
Or dad’s.
“No… that’s not possible, no,” his voice came out shaky, completely incredulous as his eyes widened at the baby. “Do we have to fight for mom now? Is that it?” he asked, raising a brow as he looked at her over your shoulder. “This isn’t fair, y/n. I didn’t sign up to feel my balls twist and be about to explode like this,” he muttered, his growl failing to hide the desperate whine underneath.
“Love, that’s something you think about before you come inside your woman repeatedly,” you murmured with a small smile, your arms making gentle movements with the baby. “Hey,” you called softly. “Sit down.” You pointed toward the couch, still smiling.
“I don’t think sitting is gonna fix this boner,” he muttered, obeying with an irritated look before finally dropping onto the seat you ordered.
But just a few minutes later...
You were leaning against the doorway.
Smiling, proud, in love, completely lost in the sight.
His head thrown back against the couch, bare torso exposed, your baby resting peacefully against him as if that was all she truly needed for a good night’s sleep, his large hand supporting her tiny back.
“Maybe tomorrow,” you whispered, tilting your head slightly with a smile.
Izuru Kira
His eyes always held that relaxed shape. More than relaxed, really, almost permanently tired. And yet, no matter what, they never looked exactly tired when you were in his line of sight.
relief.
It wasn’t just the way the corners of his lips lifted into a small smile for you, but how his eyes themselves found the peace needed to smile too. And now, he wasn’t smiling only at you.
Ever since the tiny bump, the smallest proof of what you had created together, began to show on your belly, his smile became inevitable every time his gaze dropped to it.
And of course, there was no one more attentive than your husband at this point. Entirely devoted to your needs every second of the day. Even when you could still perform your duties as a shinigami, it didn’t matter, he was always there, just behind you, even when you couldn't tell. Never suffocating, never making you feel restrained or breathless. Just present.
The way he’d leave strange little snacks in your barracks at different hours of the day. Knowing your cravings completely.
A kiss to your lips.
A kiss to your round belly, still covered by your uniform.
Before finally returning to his own duties.
Still, his behavior worried you sometimes. The way he tried so hard to respect your space while also wanting to serve you, almost as if he belonged at your feet. You could see his nerves in everything, in his movements, his words, his hands. Every day he prepared himself more and more to receive your baby girl, consuming every piece of information he could find about pregnancy and newborns.
You were completely certain of one thing: he was going to be the best father in the world.
Assuming he didn’t faint from sheer nerves the first time he saw her in your arms. Or the first time you placed her in his.
Throughout your pregnancy, he never once hesitated to show you, every possible way, that you were living one of your most beautiful stages. Even when you said you didn’t look good, that you’d gained weight, that your breasts had grown too much.
He didn’t argue.
He showed you.
Sometimes it was in the way he smiled while you applied creams to your round belly, trying to prevent stretch marks if possible. The way his eyes followed your body when you wore nightgowns purely for comfort. The way, even when your hair was messy from exhaustion, he would whisper in your ear that you looked beautiful, radiant, as he brushed it for you.
always.
Thanking you for being so divinely strong for the blessing inside you. For her. For him.
He even showed his gratitude in the way he searched for the best positions to satisfy your deepest needs, the ones that didn’t forgive exhaustion, long days, or aching backs.
The way he lay on his side, his long member, slender, yet undeniably prominent, sliding inside you in soft, deep thrusts, restrained pants spilling from his lips. He was never aggressive.
Just as intense as he was gentle.
A balance only he could achieve.
The way his hand brushed hair away from your sweat-damp cheek, leaving wet, needy kisses that sometimes dissolved into his own moans. Filling you every time you needed it, as if making you pregnant again were even a possibility in that same moment.
After your baby girl arrived, Izuru became the most attentive father, especially to you. He let you do what was necessary, like breastfeeding her, but the moment you finished, he was the one who took her to give those gentle pats on her back, making sure she burped properly.
He allowed her to fall asleep in your arms, but once you placed her in the crib, he always stayed a few minutes longer. Just to make sure she was truly peaceful in her sleep.
Giving you the space to take care of yourself, as you deserved, after being such a wonderful mother to his daughter.
Time passed since the last moment he could pour his love into you in that raw, burning intimacy.
His body couldn’t ignore how good that simple outfit looked on you, the one you wore around the house since your squad granted you maternity leave. Or how, when you removed it to shower, your hips, softer now from pregnancy, presented themselves before him like the most beautiful torture imaginable.
But he also noticed your exhaustion. Not just from caring for the baby, but the mental fatigue of constantly being alert, responsible for something so fragile. He knew your body was still recovering, sensitive nipples from breastfeeding, mild complications, but present.
He noticed all of it. And he helped with everything he could. Everything he had.
Until, pathetically, he reached his own limit that night.
One night, he couldn’t help it. He asked if, just for that night, you could put the baby to sleep on your own. Said he had 'a bit of a headache.' A lie that embarrassed him deeply, but one you accepted without question.
When you returned to your room, your baby already fast asleep, the bed you shared was empty. Soft sounds came from the bathroom.
Your steps were quiet, deliberate, as you approached the door.
And then you heard it.
Moans
thin, small, sharp gasps. Tiny, broken whimpers from inside.
Your hand lifted gently, pushing the door open, neither of you ever locked it, finding him at his most vulnerable.
In the shower.
Water running down his back, soaking his blond hair and plastering it to his face.
His cock wrapped in his hand, the swollen, reddened tip slick with pre-cum, shining obscenely. His back arched as his hips twitched in small, desperate spasms with his other hand against the wall.
“Y/N!” His eyes went wide. He shut off the water quickly, grabbing a towel and covering himself. “I’m so sorry—I… I’m sorry.” He turned his face away, cheeks burning with shame.
You said nothing.
You only smiled softly and stepped closer, letting each piece of clothing fall to the floor without hesitation. His eyes followed you, stunned.
“Why didn’t you call me?” you asked gently. “Izuru, I’m your wife. And you know nothing would make me happier than putting our daughter to sleep, just to return the favor after all the months, no, years, you’ve taken care of me.” You nodded as your feet stepped into the wet floor of the shower, one after the other.
Your hand knocked the towel aside, letting it fall outside the shower.
“I—I didn’t want to—” he murmured weakly. “If you’re tired…”
“You’re an amazing father, Izuru.” You smiled as your hands rested on his lean, defined body, sliding up his shoulders to wrap around his neck. “The best father of all. Can we still enjoy the fact that you’re also the best husband?” You kissed him softly.
And yes.
you enjoyed it.
Very much.
That night, Izuru allowed himself the reward of everything he had held back. And he probably slept better than his own daughter, wrapped around his wife after reminding himself, in the rawest, most intimate, most pleasurable way, that you were the perfect team.
Kisuke Urahara
There was no man more excited than Kisuke Urahara when it came to your pregnancy.
He didn’t hide it, not even a little.
The way he wrapped himself around your round belly every chance he got, wearing the softest, widest smile, completely unashamed.
Nothing held back.
He couldn’t hide it in the way he talked to the tiny little person growing inside you, morning, afternoon, night. He always had something to tell her. Sometimes about an experiment he was working on, or worse, about some strange, probably-not-baby-safe toy he was already promising her before she was even born.
His world revolved around the two of you in a way that was utterly devoted, completely given.
Always ready with a clever comment to stop you from doing anything that required even the slightest effort, because he could do it. Or some clumsy explanation wrapped in scientific jargon that somehow made perfect sense coming from him.
And you couldn’t help laughing every time his limbs moved too fast trying to attend to you, the way his eyes widen in panic when you simply get out of bed to pee with your bladder under constant pressure.
You couldn’t stop admiring how tender he was. How genuinely excited.
Almost to the point of suffocating, but you forgave him for it, because he was so damn attractive in every stage of your pregnancy.
Even when his libido grew to match your raging hormones, his body completely at your disposal at all times.
You could take whatever you needed, no, that was too much effort.
He would give you everything.
After all, you had already given him something so beautiful, growing inside you, making you more and more breathtaking by the day.
He even found himself worrying, thinking, about when you might get pregnant again after the first. And though he would never pressure you…
He would absolutely make sure you wanted it, and that your body could endure something as exhausting as it was satisfying.
Still, he couldn’t ignore the fact that the views he was blessed with were the most beautiful he’d ever known.
Seeing you in the morning, lying on your side, one hand resting on your large, round belly, his own hand covering yours, sharing warmth, fulfilling his constant need to be connected to you.
Helping you put on your shoes. Or, more shamelessly, the grin that spread across his face when you asked him to help you shave there.
Giving everything so your desires were met perfectly, like the low bed he built for a very specific purpose. Letting you rest like a queen while he knelt on the floor, parting your legs and taking you deeply, intensely, savoring every part of it.
The way your tight entrance wrapped around his needy cock. The way your back softly arched, perfect position for him to watch your eyes glaze over with pleasure, all while making sure nothing ever pressed against your round belly.
Until your little princess finally arrived.
The moment he held her in his arms, allowing himself, just a little, to be selfish.
“Kisuke… she needs to eat,” you murmured with a soft smile from the bed.
“Mhm,” he hummed, his voice calm, gentle, playful. His eyes fixed on her chubby limbs twitching clumsily, tiny fists trying to grab onto something. Her lips parted, searching instinctively.
Him already knowing he had lost against a pair of breasts.
And what a pair of breasts.
Carefully, he placed her into your arms. Moments later, her lips latched onto your nipple, tiny sucks following while her eyes stared up at you, as if trying to memorize you completely.
“So jealous,” he murmured with a crooked smile, his voice slipping into a soft purr.
He gave you time, real time, to recover after birth. Time for both of you to adjust to the new reality. Even so, Kisuke ached to feel you again. Your warmth. The way your soft walls clung to him when he pleased you, when he simply existed inside you. Seeing your face melt under the pleasure only he could give you.
“Kisuke…” you warned softly, a teasing seriousness in your tone. “You’re not keeping those comments in front of your daughter.”
“Well,” he sighed, stretching his arms and back as he stood, smiling, “she does fall asleep pretty fast after stealing what’s mine— I’m ready anyways.”
“Ready for what?” you asked, adjusting the small bundle against your chest.
“For the little thief to go to her bed and let me reclaim what’s mine,” he said casually, running a hand through his hair. “We’ll need a serious conversation about breast appropriation.”
“Kisuke!” you hissed, laughing quietly.
Soon enough, the pressure on your nipple eased. You covered yourself again, looking down at your baby, completely satisfied.
Kisuke took her into his arms with firm confidence and endless care, lifting her to his chest. He grabbed a small cloth, resting it over his shoulder as he gently patted her back, taking his time with each healthy burp.
And you could never deny how attractive he looked like that.
“All good, pretty girl,” he whispered, pressing his cheek softly to her chubby face as her eyes fluttered shut against his chest. “Don’t change,” he added, pointing at you. “I want you exactly like that, in my pajama top. Which you haven’t changed in two days.” He smirked. “Don’t move.”
He took longer than expected to return.
Not because of his needs, but because his heart was still full, overwhelmed by the beauty you had brought into the world with sheer strength and stubborn determination. Nine months of cravings, pain, doubt, fear.
He would never be able to thank you enough.
But when he came back—
His eyes softened.
You hadn’t obeyed.
You lay asleep on the bed, wearing nothing but small black panties, hugging a pillow to your chest. Bare. Peaceful. Exhausted.
When you stirred, trying to wake, trying to protest, he hushed you with sweet murmurs in your ear.
“Hush… time to sleep.” He dressed you in his clothes, soft, familiar, yours by now. Until your tired body finally relaxed completely.
Even with the ache still pulsing between his legs, this was heaven.
You sucked in your breathe, your nails already digging into his shoulder blades. “Ichigo-!” You gasped in a small panic, your eyes looking up at him in small fear. It wasn’t exactly hurting, it was just barely the inch slipping in. It just sorta.. stung. It made your face scrunch up. Ichigo - who was having a hard time already but not because it was also discomforting for him, but because just the tip was in and he could feel how incredible you felt wrapped around him.
Hovering above you, Ichigos hand tightly gripped the sheets beside your head. He looked at you with the best sincere he can give while his body was being overtaken by such a new feeling. “I know.. I know..” his voice was strained, slightly cracking when he added another inch in. “It’ll go away, I promise.” He whispered down at you. His pupils were dilated and his cheeks were flushed. Every part of his body was tense, trying his hardest to be patient.
You groaned once more, your body slightly trying to run away from the pinch. “It stings.” You whined quietly, looking back up at him after opening your eyes from shutting them after the new inch added. “I know, I know,” ichigo repeated once more, groaning afterwards. He leaned down to kiss your forehead, letting his lips rest on it for a second. His eye shut closed when he slide in another inch, he was desperate to go all in at once but he knew that was wrong. He needed you to feel just the same pleasure he was feeling. “I’m sorry, I really am.” Ichigo gasped out, groaning again. “I’ll make it go away soon, I promise.”
Adding a new inch in, Ichigo lowered himself again to capture your lips. Kissing you in ways that always blurred your mind, had you whimpering against his lips. Your hands traveled up to the nape of his neck, the other moving higher to grip his hair softly. You were loosing your breath, panting heavily against his lips. Ichigos left hand traveled low, down your tummy, down to where you both were connecting. His fingers went in between your folds and began slowly rubbing your clit.
You pulled away in a gasp, your eyes widening up at him before you abruptly moaned and rolled your head back on the pillow. Your back slightly arching when Ichigo added his last remaining inches. Feeling your warm cunt, the way it tightly wrapped around his dick, he couldn’t help but lightly growl. Breathing heavily, Ichigo leaned back to stare. Stare at the way your body squirmed because of his fingers touching you, stare at your cunt and how his dick just vanished into it. “There you go,” he rasped, his voice somehow getting deep. “You took me all in.” He whispered, his eyes never leaving your cunt.
You couldn’t respond, not when his fingers kept rubbing and his entire length was filing you up and doing things to you without him even thrusting yet. You felt like he was intruding, all you could feel was him. It stung but it was hard to focus on that when your clit was being stimulated by his slender calloused fingers. Ichigo moved to hover over you again, his right arm resting against your head, holding him up. He didn’t touching you, “I’m going to start moving okay?” His voice was huskier, his eyes more diluted. And despite his cheeks looking so flushed, Ichigo did not look the least bit flustered. He looked like he needed something desperately.
You simply nodded your head, your small whimpers giving him an answer. You braced for the movements, your hands reaching to grip the sheets and your eyes began to close shut. Sucking in a breath. Ichigo used that time to crumble, now that you weren’t looking at him he felt like his could shut his eyes and whimper from how good you felt. Even the slightly movement of his hips had him gripping the sheets tightly, the veins slightly forming on his forearm.
Slowly, he pulled himself out and pushed himself back in. Going out inch by inch, carefully, slowly, especially when you were still groaning in small discomfort. Once he was capable of pulling all the way out and pushing himself all the way back in, that’s when your nails began to slightly loosen on his shoulder blades and your groans of discomfort started morphing into small moans.
“There you go.” Ichigo mumbled, refusing to let you hear how shaken he sounds. He knows you could probably feel his body trembling, he can’t hide that from you. “Does it still hurt?” Your eyes were still shut and your lips were occupied in moaning, you shook your head against the pillow. Trying your hardest to at least murmur out a ‘no’ while he began thrusting in and out of you. “Feels good?” Ichigo panted, a small smirk coming into play when he realized how fast you were letting go with each new thrust. You nodded, your thighs tightening around Ichigos hips.
“I’m going to go a little bit more faster, okay?” licking his lips, ichigos eyes moved away from your face and down to your cunt. Watching himself disappear into you and watch a small bulge form on your lower belly, it made his eyes widen. Ichigo didn’t think he was that big. He looked back up at your face, waiting for your approval. “Ichigo-” you gasped out, your eyes fluttering to open up.
He looked up at your eyes, absolutely entranced by how dilated they look. How much darker they seemed even though you were both in his room with the lights off. Your face was fully flushed, slightly glistening from the sweat that was forming. He was down bad for you, just the sight of you like that had him moaning for you. Ichigo doesn’t think he can last any longer, he’s surprised he lasted longer than ten seconds.
“K-keep looking up at me like that.” Voice cracking, Ichigo gripped the bed sheets better. Using it as support while he began thrusting faster and a little rougher, the mattress beneath you both beginning to squeak. “Oh fuck,” he whimpered out breathlessly. You felt like you needed to close your eyes again, the pleasure overwhelming and you needed some kind of support.
It was hard to close your lips, they kept parting to whine or whimper. You knew you didn’t need to be quiet, you were in his apartment where he lived alone. But the situation felt intimate, you felt like you needed to be quiet, the task just seemed difficult when Ichigos dick was thrusting into your cunt likes he done this before. Your hands let go of his hair to travel back down to his back, your nails digging into his soft scarred skin. “My god-” you whined out, a small sob slipping past your lips.
Ichigo was finding his rhythm, you could feel it. “Ichigo!” You moaned, your nails digging in deeper, your thighs closing around his hips tighter. “Oh fuck, fuck!” You gasped out, your eyes moving down to stare at your cunt and his dick being shoved in. “Nu-uh.” Ichigos hand came to grab your jaw, making you move your head back up to look at him. “You’re looking at me.” Even with his voice cracking and getting strained, he sounded demanding. It made you wet, you could hear it whenever he thrusted back in.
You sobbed out, your eyes beginning to water a bit. “Too much-” “take it, please, I need you too!” He groaned. He felt his grip getting tighter on your jaw, he let go to grip the bed sheets. Not at all wanting to hurt you in that way. “My god, Y/n,” he gasped, he felt it, his brink. “Fuck you feel so good.” He growled. The feeling was becoming too much, he leaned down to the crook of your neck. One of his hands moving to grip your under thigh.
“Fuck, you feel it don’t you,” he rasped against your ear. His voice husky. “You feel how good you’re taking me.” His heavy breathing tickled you but you couldn’t for the life of you focus on that, you couldn’t even exactly focus on his words when you were practically cumming on his dick. Your body tensing. “Ichigo please!” You whined, your body arching. “Taking me so well,-” he moaned, sounding just as needy as you. “Common, cum for me, I need it.”
“I need it bad, please Y/n.” He pleaded, his own mind dazed. He began kissing your neck, licking your sweating skin. Kissing and sucking, he needed all his senses to be filled with you. His hand that was somewhat still soaked in your juices, traveled up from your hip to your nipples. He began playing with your boob, groping them a little aggressively and flicking your nipple with his cold somewhat wet fingers. It was overstimulating you, making you become moaning wet mess.
You couldn’t even warn him, you came from the overwhelming feeling. Your body tensing up and loosening a second after, flopping on the bed and tiredly whimpering. Ichigo came soon after, pulling out in time and coating your cunt in his cum. Something about seeing your eyes roll back in pleasure and watching you go silent while you unravel because of his doing brought him to the edge.
You both were panting heavily on his bed - you laying flat on the mattress and Ichigo sitting on his knees. His body glistening from sweat and his throat dry. His eyes were still dilated while he watched you but he had the biggest smile on his face. “Not too bad for my first time huh?”
You scoffed, dazed that — that’s what he says afterwards. You threw a pillow at him, laughing a little. “Yeah, you deserve a trophy.” Catching the pillow, Ichigo still smiled. He leaned over to kiss your forehead, “I love you.” You smiled, looking up at him. “I love you.”
I think the reason why Ichigo is such a likable main character for a Shonen series for me is that…he’s a punk. And not just in the vague idea of a punk that pop media has given us over the years, though that is how we’re initially introduced to him—he’s got a rude attitude, he gets into fights a lot, and he doesn’t fuck around. But the story also doesn’t waste time in showing us how much deeper it goes—because above all else, Ichigo is incredibly kind. We’re introduced to him beating up a bunch of thugs because they desecrated a dead girl’s shrine, and then comforting her spirit. And this attitude of Ichigo reaching out to care for those who have been hurt has never stopped—he’s even worried for his enemies, because for the most part, Ichigo doesn’t want to see people hurt or killed. He doesn’t even want to be the strongest shinigami, he just wants the world to get better, and since he has to power and the opportunity, he’ll take the responsibility if he needs to.
He just wants a normal life, and as long as the world refuses to give him one, he’ll fight until it lets him, and I think that’s wonderful.
౨ৎ 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 ┊ just this once, and just tonight. it’s the least he can do for you.
WARNINGS: nsfw, angst, fem reader. takes place 1/2 years after tybw. unrequited feelings, mentions of ichihime. fingering, first time (both ichigo & reader), unprotected p in v sex, alcohol usage (but no dub-con). wc: 8k.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: orihime my girl forgive me. . . i wanted to take a little dip into ichigo ever since starting the series and there is nothing i love more than some good angsty smut :> thank you tori for betaing and brainstorming!! @saenora enjoy ♡
One step at a time, Ichigo makes his way up the stairs to your bedroom. He thinks so, at least. It's not like he knows the layout of your house, but the simple direction of "upstairs" given between a yawn and your tipsy humming has to suffice.
Your house is quiet and spacious, dead silent in the night except for the ticking clock hung up on the kitchen wall. Though he's taken notice of the quirky accessories you've put around the living room (he had a chance to when grabbing you water, knowing you'll thank him for it tomorrow morning) and the colorful posters hanging on the walls up the corridor to your room, it barely makes up for the unvacated space.
A house that’s not yet a home, Ichigo feels, though he wouldn’t dare say it out loud. He's not in the place to do so anyway.
Perhaps it’s not even an issue - he doesn’t know you that well, after all, only seeing you at school or when dropping by Orihime’s house. Your parents work away from the country most of the time, or so he's heard, so you spend most of the time alone- focusing on school work or the part-time job you picked up at the local flower shop.
You've gotten used to it, Orihime said, yet Ichigo thinks there must be a reason you're staying at her house every other day. Some find peace in solace and quiet, but does it apply to someone like you?
Nudging the door open, he's met with the faint scent of jasmine, a neatly made bed, and various plants sitting atop your drawers and desk. It's very much you. As far as he knows you, that is. It's cozy and warm and you seem to pick up on your surroundings, given the way you relax further into his back and lift your head just slightly.
Ichigo had hoped the crisp night air would be enough to sober you up on the way home, but you're still fairly putty in his grasp when he helps you get off his back and then settled onto your bed. Something akin to a purr rumbles in your throat as he handles you, almost carefully - your senses are sedate but the way he touches you rises goosebumps across your flesh. It's new but welcome nonetheless.
"There you go," Ichigo says, keeping his voice low. He's hoping you'll be fast asleep by the time he goes out the front door. You surely look like it- lashes languidly fluttering atop your cheekbones, the rise and fall of your chest gentle and slow.
It's weird.
He proposed to take you home to ensure your safety, seeing how your lightweight self handled the alcohol consumed back at the izakaya. Orihime was probably the only one looking more worried than amused at your drunken antics (like the angel she is) and asked him so sweetly to bring you home - how could he deny her?
It's common courtesy. You're his friend, too, so it's only natural he took it upon himself to tuck you into bed, hand you electrolytes, and lock your front door with the spare key.
You're Orihime's best friend. And yet, your skin feels feverish but so, so soft against his palm where it fits under your knees as he lowers you onto the mattress.
It's a conscious thought, something more than a fleeting observation. The one he makes of the sliver of pale pink cotton between your thighs doesn’t go unnoticed, either. If anything, his ears suddenly feel like red hot coal and eyes move away so fast he could’ve gotten whiplash.
Clearing his throat, Ichigo fixes your skirt for you, however forward that is. It's the right thing to do - God knows he’d rather have anyone (even a guy) do the same for Karin or Yuzu if they were ever in such a position. It shouldn’t be such a big deal in his head, and he swears he’s not making up excuses, but surely you would've thanked him anyway. (If it wasn't for the cotton in your mouth, of course.)
Most importantly, it makes the blush on his cheeks a little more bearable.
You squirm a little, shifting into a comfortable position that steals a content sigh from your mouth. It's only now that Ichigo notices your eyes have been following him for all this time, glossed over with intoxication. Thick like molasses, your scrutiny sticks to him. Ichigo’s been to hell and back but it’s been a while since anyone peeled back all his layers like you're doing now. You're no demon or evil entity. Your spiritual pressure feels more like a pleasant summer breeze than anything else, but the gentle smile you wear sends a chill down his spine.
He wonders what you're thinking, not expecting such an expression in the first place. You were all giggles and exclaims back at the izakaya and couldn't stay quiet on the way back either, yet now you're so mellow and soft. It's unlike you and what he's used to. What's even stranger is how it renders him still in his seat on the edge of your bed.
"Thanks, Ichigo," You say, breathily. The usage of his first name surprises him a little, but he does not mind, "for, y'know..."
Your words aren't as jumbled as he would've predicted but your voice does trail off as if taken away by the liquor. Ichigo smiles at you, but the bizarre feeling doesn’t go away. Is it something about the proximity? Or the way your hand lays so freely next to his, a nudge away?
He scratches at his nape and breaks the strange eye contact. Your eyes burn into the side of his face still, he couldn’t miss it if he tried. “Ah, it’s nothing. I’m glad you’re safe.”
You watch his jaw as he speaks, the eyes wandering from the posters on your wall to the photo frames on your desk. ichigo’s observant, but this time, you feel like he’s just curious, perhaps a little sheepish. “Inoue wouldn’t let me live if I didn’t bring you home,” He adds.
It’s partially true but he doesn’t voice the rest out loud. He hasn’t been around in Soul Society for a hot minute now and it’s something to be glad about, but it does make him wonder if it’s his chivalry, manners, or unsatisfied instinct to protect that brought him here, into your room, pinewood and pale pink.
You snort a little under your breath at the thought of your redhead best friend, fanning you with whatever she could’ve grabbed to possibly sober you up. She’s a sweetheart, cares more than she should about things that don’t need it, but it is a part of her charm.
Is it why Ichigo’s smiling like this?
The truth is laid out right in front of you, there is no denying it. A part of you is glad to witness the blossoming of something that would make your favorite person the happiest alive.
In the unvacated space lives greed.
Jealousy and desire are primal to an extent that you wouldn’t think could ever apply to you, but here you are. It’s funny Ichigo doesn’t look aware of his input to your silly realizations in the slightest.. But, down to the core of it all, you’re just a girl as well. Young, with a heart aching to be loved. You know it is considered wrong but what they don’t know can’t hurt them.
You’ve never said a word despite how often you run your tongue. Your choice was always conscious, firm, and made with the best intentions in mind. Tonight, as you lay in your frilly sheets and scent the remnants of Ichigo’s cologne on you with his warmth still so close, your throat tightens with the words that grow heavier, unbearable to swallow down.
“Ichigo,” You say his name again, this time more gentle. The boy glances over and you know now that you did catch him space out, with her in mind. It’s a different look on him, fond with the slightest curl to his lips, handsome on his features when he turns to you.
You enjoy the attention and it’s a shameful realisation. Brown eyes envelop yours with a warmth that you know isn’t directed at you, “Yeah? What is it?”
Adrenaline does it for you - props you up until you face him, stretches your fingers out to wrap around his wrist. It’s unrushed but only because of the alcohol. It puzzles Ichigo all the same, a quirk in his brows and a twitch in his fingers.
“Can you… stay,” Oh, it’s so, so heavy on your tongue. Doesn’t roll off the way you’d want it to even with the added courage - it’s more of a shaky breath than anything else “Please,”
The silence soughs in your ears, a white noise to blur out Ichigo’s perplexed inhale. His gaze wavers and moves to where your hand guides his, to the soft flesh of your thigh, bare and still so warm as he noticed earlier. Now it almost burns him.
He says your name in a question and his voice cracks in the sheer realization of your wish, unspoken but shown so forwardly and in a way he wouldn’t have thought of you. He moves to retract his hand, shaking his head, “I– uh, I can’t. Really, trust me, it’s not…”
When Ichigo goes to look at you again, your chest aches with shame. He’s confused but looks mostly worried, if not a little pitiful of your silly, needy wish. Your fingers feel too clammy to keep holding onto his hand, instead grabbing onto the thick denim of your skirt.
“O-Oh,” You stammer and it feels like a cold bucket over your head, “R-right. Sorry, uhm,”
You worry the plump of your bottom lip between your teeth and stare anywhere else. Your vision is a little distorted, just a tad blurry, the thudding of your heart loud as ever.
Warmth envelopes your fist and your gaze bounces back. Ichigo’s frowning a little, but again, it’s mostly worry. You don’t particularly dislike it, “Hey, hey. It’s fine. You’re drunk. It’s alright.”
Right, you’re drunk. But not enough to blackout, not enough to lose control over your actions and better judgment. So when the feeling of his hand on yours grows to be too much, your breath catches in your throat and eyes soften. It’s a sliver in time but Ichigo catches onto it.
This time, he’s not as taken aback when your fingers wrap around his. He’s seen it coming by the gleam in your eyes, and though he’s not that much of an empath, he knows what longing looks like. He’s not dumb. Your rings feel cool on his skin as you guide his hand up, from the hem of your top to the swell of your breast- it’s a strange feeling. Entirely new in the way he hasn’t done it before (intentionally, at least), throwing him off because it’s you. You fit in his hand perfectly. Ichigo swears he feels every goosebump against his palm, even through the thin cotton.
It registers slower than he would’ve liked it to. With a sharp breath, his eyes find yours, asking for something though he knows you wouldn’t answer. You look tongue-tied, shivering against his touch and under his nearly begging gaze.
“Please,” It’s a whisper but bleeds into a whimper. Your fingers around his wrist grow tighter, and his palm presses against your flesh until he feels your thighs part.
It’s all you say. He shouldn’t have asked for more, but it’s only natural he did - you put him in this place, confused and torn. Ichigo does not want to blame you for it but he wishes he did- it’s easier getting upset than dealing with this pull in his chest. You give him your widest eyes, reminiscent of the look she gives him– it’s just the same. The discernment is unmistakable. It makes him think of all the times he felt eyes on his back, the side of his face as he spoke. Could it be there were always two pairs of them? Could he really not notice it for all this time?
Devotion is a strange thing. It’s unspoken between him and Orihime but it doesn’t make the bond any weaker. It was an unknown feeling - noticing things about her that made his heart race, paying a bit more attention to his appearance whenever they’d see each other. Ichigo didn’t want to spend too much time pondering on it, but deep down, between the crevices of his ribs, he feels it. His heart is full. Stutters whenever she’s around, aches when she is not. It’s a pity it has to come down to this to make him admit it to himself. Neither of you deserve this. The policy of truth is simple: you speak it, you suffer the consequences. As long as Inoue doesn’t hear about this, the pain doesn’t take her under with you.
What she doesn’t know doesn’t hurt her, but the oblivion has no power to erase what already happened. It will eat away at you both, rightly or not.
It’s a sliver in time. A second, two at most - no more than a shaky breath. It’s not nearly enough time to make such a decision but Ichigo operates on instinct more often than not. Right now, you’re here, so pretty and divine in front of him. Your lip shines with saliva, eyes gleam with need, and your legs part, making just enough space for him to fit in between.
In this moment of time, you’re the prettiest sight he could possibly witness.
The thought feeds his guilt but makes his heart thump all the same. There’s only so much you can do to fight off desire when it creeps up on you, cunning and ruthless.You couldn’t ignore your own and he’s surrendering, too. (What a strange feeling that is, indeed. After countless fights and not even one desertion, the only time he fully, consciously drops his guard down finally catches up to him. Perhaps it’s the rule of war, one you cannot run from even when once it died down.)
Ichigo’s merciful when he needs to be. When lenient, his hands usually drip with blood, not even one more drop to be shed. Tonight, they’re gentle, slipping under flimsy fabric with a promise of more- an augury of pleasure.
Your breath dies in your chest, caught in your lungs when Ichigo’s hand squeezes the flesh of your breast. Your nipple stands erect against his rough palm, skin erupting in goosebumps as he groans. It’s a sound you wouldn’t dare wish to hear, but you’re thanking gods when you do.
Ichigo moves closer, meddles with your space like it’s a magnetic pull. His thumb teases the hardened nub, experimentally pinches it between his fingers. It’s languid but only because he’s unsure. He doesn’t want to give in to greed. Curiosity is a much better teacher.
“You’re so warm,” He whispers and it feels cathartic to some extent. A weight dissipates from his shoulders now that he admitted it to himself: he wants you. Longs for you, feels it down to his core. “Does it feel good?”
A hurried nod is enough, for now at least. Your hand slips from Ichigo’s to grab at his bicep instead as his free palm fits under the weight of your chest, then slides down the smooth, soft canvas of your stomach. It ripples under his touch, almost a reflex. Ichigo swears under his breath, heat rushing to his cheeks and below his belt. You’re so pliable, so full of trust.
He pushes your top up just below your collarbones, though not without a fleeting glance at your face to ensure it’s fine. Cool air nips all over the exposed skin and it’s a small mercy when the warmth of Ichigo’s mouth presses along the shivering flesh. You gasp and writhe, as much as you can in his gentle grip, anyway. His tongue feels heavy where it laps across the skin, suckling where his teeth graze next. When his mouth wraps around one of your nipples, it sends sparks down all the way down to your toes. It’s as pleasurable as it is new.
“Ichigo,” You moan and it makes his desire run rampant.
He sucks harder, the other hand wrapping around the side of your ribcage, as if to settle you but bring you closer at the same time. His breathing grows heavier, ragged when he lets go of one nipple to move to the other, repeating his measure of sucking and licking and toying with you until your heart ripples under the flesh. It’s his highest reward when you start to squirm and unceremoniously tangle your fingers in his hair.
You wish you could feel his lips on yours but it feels like a boundary that cannot be crossed. Not yet, anyway, and you don’t look a gifted horse in its mouth, so the sensation of Ichigo’s shuffling down your mattress and pressing his open-mouthed kisses lower down your torso is where you pin point your focus. It’s the only thing overriding your senses either way - you can’t escape it, the slick and hot feeling of his tongue and the plump of his lips. He bites somewhere around your navel and you keen, toes curling in on themselves.
Ichigo’s uncertain whether it should bring him this much ecstasy but he’s sure he’s just as euphoric as you are, receiving his caress. His thumbs dig into your sides and along your hipbones as he looks up, hair in your fist and eyes blown with lust.
A beat passes before he crawls up your body again, a little clumsily but neither of you care. His breath hits your jaw before his head dips to the crook of your neck, mouthing at the thrum of your pulse. Your bodies act as one, strung up with instinct and curiosity strong enough to kill the cat. Whether you get caught in crossfire, neither of you cares.
Just as your hands move to push up Ichigo’s shirt, he pulls away to take yours off completely, the gathered material getting in his way. You barely wind your arms around his neck before he presses back against you, breathing heavily between feverish kisses to your collarbone and shoulder.
It’s a lot - the feeling of your chest pressed against his, your hands roaming under his shirt, following the ridges of his hard abdomen. You’re squirming underneath him, inhales quick, exhales resembling more of a whimper than anything else. It’s a lot to take in but Ichigo takes his time nonetheless. He maps out the spots that make your nails dig under his skin, makes sure to give them extra attention before moving to search for more. It’s exhilarating, feeds his ego when you arch into him so beautifully. It’s hard focusing on everything at once but there is no way he misses any of it.
Between bites and wet kisses, Ichigo’s shirt comes off and joins your crumpled top on the floor. He’s not self-conscious in the least, but your gaze sticks to him and it’s making his heart skip a beat. Swallowing thickly, he breathes out a laugh, almost sheepishly, and you return it in a smile. It clears the air, makes it easier to breathe again - lets him see the gleam in your eyes, allows you to take in the reddened sheen of his cheeks. It’s everything you could’ve dreamed of and more, the embodiment of what heaven looks like, you think.
“Can I make you feel good?” Ichigo speaks, low and ragged. You think it’s endearing that he asks, even when seeing you so restless. His hands are itching to touch, explore places that make you tense up and call for him. The need to possess is strange, but he doesn’t hate it. it must be a part of the intimacy- something about knowing it’s him that grants you this pleasure. It has to be something about the sense of duty, knowing it’s the least he can give you.
“Yes,” It’s more of a breath than proper speech but it’s good enough. “Yes, please, Ichigo, right there…”
Your hand moves to his, guiding it to the soft cotton of your panties. It’s hot, damp with what the boy can only recognize as arousal, silky when the pad of his finger presses on the soft, plump flesh. The fabric is thin, darkened where it clings to your folds. It’s enough to make his head spin. Your thighs jolt and breath sharpens as his finger dips between your folds and Ichigo feels all blood rush to his cock.
“Fuck,” He grunts, aching against the denim of his jeans. It’s almost embarrassing in a way “You ask me so nicely,”
You didn’t expect the remark but take it as a praise. Ichigo doesn’t particularly enjoy others prodding at him but will do it himself if given a good chance and you wonder if he enjoys the way you look away, overwhelmed. Not even the alcohol buzzing in your system makes this any more bearable. Instead you focus on him undoing your skirt, first the button and then the zipper, to eventually pull it down your legs. He’s gentle while doing so, fingers lingering on your ankle as his gaze searches for yours.
“Have you…” Ichigo trails off and it suddenly dawns on him that it should’ve been asked before he even first got his hands on you. Your boldness could’ve mistaken him, after all, and judging by the way your eyes widen, it did.
You shake your head, gripping the sheets and chewing on your bottom lip. You seem as sheepish as the boy between your legs, suddenly a little embarrassed, hoping it doesn’t drive him away. “N-No, not yet…”
Ichigo knows it shouldn’t, but it goes straight to his cock. The realization that he’s the first to touch you like this, to have his hands roaming your body and spoil you with affection. The mechanism behind the thought is unattainable to him yet, but frankly, he has no time to dwell on it. It flatters him, fills him with something indescribable, knowing you trust him enough to deem him the right one.
He sucks in a breath, opening his mouth to speak. Are you sure about this? is what he wishes to ask. Please is what your eyes are telling him - dark with lust and sewing right through him. You look like you could cry any second if made to wait any longer. He’s no sadist, really.
Your panties come off next, index finger hooking under the waistband and easing them down the curve of your legs. Ichigo doesn’t mean to stare but it’s his first time around as well, after all, and he’s a little overwhelmed. You’re pretty from head to toe, he realizes, face burning as he exhales shakily, fingers tracing the same path as before, but this time with no fabric in between.
Wetness collects at his fingertips, coats them from the tip to his first knuckle and makes it so much easier when he presses three fingers against your clit and starts to rub. You’re unaware of his lack of experience and frankly, the way he handles you isn’t giving it away either. Your legs seize up, breath stuck in your throat, and Ichigo figures he’s doing a good job. You’re quick to tell him, too.
“Fuck,” Your voice is small, the small of your back arching off the bed. Ichigo watches every reaction like a hawk, from the parting of your lips to the way your abdomen tightens and hips squirm in place.
“Right here?” He asks in a breath, almost holding it. It’s unconscious, but his focus is all on you. His hand slides lower and palm presses to the throbbing nub instead, slick finger prodding at your entrance as you nod.
Ichigo’s taking his time with you but it only makes the tension grow tighter, like a string bound to snap any moment. You’re already out of breath before he gets to pleasure you properly. His equally restless, needy expression makes it a little more bearable. One by one, his fingers push inside of you with much more ease than he’d expected. It’s tight and warm, squeezing him down to the last knuckle when the pads of his fingers caress the front of your insides. Each and every movement eases more honeyed sounds from your mouth, makes your grip on him tighten. Your nails dig in his bicep, bare and littered with small scars you wouldn’t ever ask about, voice betraying any inhibitions. You’re moaning in his ear when he goes to press himself against you, mouthing along the curve of your jaw and heavily breathing against your pulse point.
Every word is washed away with desire, long gone from your head. The feeling of being worked open on Ichigo’s fingers is too much. He’s as gentle as he can be but loses himself in the way your pussy squeezes around him and hips hump against his hand, urging for more. You feel his scent, overriding anything else, hear his ragged breath by your ear. The heat licking at the base of your spine seems familiar but entirely strange at the same time, thinly veiled by intoxication.
“Ichigo–” You sound almost panicked if he hadn’t known any better. You’re not in pain, not with the way you cling onto him “Think m’gonna..”
Ichigo feels his stomach flip and suddenly the sound of your slick is the only thing in his ears. The squelch, every little mewl you let out when his fingers press into the spongy spot. It’s obnoxiously loud, though in reality it most likely is not. To him, it’s all that matters. You’re feeling good, you’re barely speaking.
You almost jolt when he picks up the pace, eyes boring into your face, the euphoric flutter of your lashes. “Do it for me,” He mutters, voice lodged low in his throat, equally as coaxing as it is urgent. “S’alright”
The sensation hits all at once and it’s overwhelming compared to anything you’re used to. It’s different when Ichigo’s easing you through it, groaning when you grab at his wrist and choke out sounds of unadulterated pleasure. Raw and beautiful as you fall apart, Ichigo watches you. A pull in his chest urges him to kiss you, swallow every sound and claim it. Everything else makes him want to watch, shamelessly and greedily, and so he does.
You slump in his hold around the moment his fingers slow down nearly to a stop. It’s good timing considering you push at his wrist weakly, thighs shaking when you go to close them involuntarily. Ichigo eases his fingers out and it’s only now that the white noise dies down that you hear his breathing, equally as labored as your own.
Your eyes search for Ichigo’s, albeit a bit unsure. Almost shyly. The clarity doesn’t set in just yet as you reach your hand towards him, fingers dipping past the waistband of his jeans.
He’s slightly flustered but mostly still overwhelmed by making you cum. He wouldn’t have ever guessed it feels this good to give- never would’ve thought you are so beautiful when he brings you over the edge. It makes his heart ache when the thought at the back of his head reappears, poisoned with guilt, but it’s not enough to drive his mind away from the desire coiling in his gut.
“Come here” Ichigo states, a little firmly as he grabs you by the hips and pulls you down to his level more comfortably. “Want to feel you, properly this time,”
His breath is ragged when he speaks, warmth fanning across your face. It’s a lot to take in, but the press of a hard bulge to your bare mound speaks for itself. Your throat feels a little dry when you swallow, clumsily reaching your hands down to work at Ichigo’s belt, then the buttoning of his jeans. He helps you out, fingers brushing against yours until finally, he gets the remaining pieces of clothing off.
Your head is spinning with how quickly it happens. One second you’re coming on his fingers, now you’re trying not to stare at his cock, standing upright, heavy and flushed bright pink with arousal. The sheer size is intimidating but you couldn’t have expected anything less from Ichigo. (Neither did you imagine him any smaller than this.)
He notices your shy little glances but doesn’t comment on it, because soon enough you’re wrapping your small hand around his girth. The touch is electrifying, would’ve made his knees buckle if he wasn’t sat. Ichigo hisses under his breath, the tips of his ears burning. You’re moving languidly, thumb tracing along the throbbing vein running up the shaft and it’s making his stomach tighten.
“Let me,” You suddenly speak meekly. Ichigo blinks down at you, mind foggy with want but he’s quick to shake his head and wrap his hand around yours.
Your expression morphs into something more sheepish, borderline confused. Your fingers almost retract from around his aching cock but he stops you, tightening his hand on yours to keep it in place.
“No, it’s just…” Ichigo’s a little frustrated but only with himself. He breathes out a laugh, shaking his head when you look at him, puzzled and a little hesitant “I’m not gonna last if you do, and I want you,”
It’s purely symbolic by this point, now that he’s taken the leap and cannot turn back, but voicing his desire out loud makes the loop around his heart tighten. It shouldn’t feel this natural to say it, roll off his tongue so easily, but it does- and Ichigo figures he might as well embrace it. His throat feels tighter with every word but the smile he gives you, a little coy and all the more comforting, makes you relax instantly.
Your cheeks heat up with the flattery before the meaning behind his words really settles in. It’s one thing to have the boy of your dreams touching you, but another to have him admit his desire. It makes the butterflies caged between your ribs run wild.
“Then just–” You trail off and hold back a moan, feeling Ichigo’s hand reassume the stroking you’ve been gracing him with a moment before. “C-come here,” You finish between one sigh and another. His palm feels warm on top of yours, tightening whenever you reach the sensitive tip of his cock, his breath growing unsteady.
It’s tipping along the edge of teasing but Ichigo can’t bring himself to stop, even with a promise of greater pleasures coming. You’re looking up at him like you’re scared to miss any of his reactions- the knot in his brows, parting of his lips. It’s hard to look away when the very thing you’ve longed for is right in front of you, tangible and real.
Despite his previous words, it’s a struggle to stop you from indulging him. You don’t want to take more than he gives, though, and so you pull away, instead nudging the boy to lay down on his back beside you. He takes the hint but not without a look of surprise and lays back. You enjoy the look behind the amber of his eyes when you climb on top of him, straddling his hips, your heat hovering just above the weeping head of his cock. It’s enough to make Ichigo hiss out a breath, his hands moving to grip the fat of your hips, fingers digging into the flesh.
“Take your time,” He says, and the tremble at the edges of his words give away his impatience or perhaps excitement. You wonder if it’s his first time as well but the thought is quickly pushed to the back of your mind, too hopeful and bold. As if.
You smile down at him, a little dopily, “M’kay.”
You ignore the shaking of your thighs as you rest your hands on Ichigo’s chest, broad and firm with muscle. The slow rubbing of your pussy along the throb of his length is agonizing, but neither of you complain. You watch breathlessly as Ichigo leans his head back, throat bobbing with a grunt. It’s hot and slippery wet, the way your folds drag against his cock, clit catching on the angry pink tip. You’re moaning so pretty already, he wonders how the hell he’s going to hold back when he’s actually inside you.
He doesn’t regret his statement to take things at your own pace but you are driving him a little crazy. The position you’ve both found yourselves in is hard enough to brace already, and now you’re on top of him, too, about to take a part of him to keep with you forever. The thought makes his head spin. Ichigo wishes he still believed he’s only doing it to show you mercy, but his own enjoyment is too palpable. He tries not to think about it when you lift your hips and wrap your fingers around the base of his cock, lining it up with your entrance, leaking wetness on his tip.
You drop your hips, inch by inch, and it erases any other thought from his head. It’s so ridiculously warm and tight, feels like you’re suffocating him in the best possible way. There’s not a condom in sight and Ichigo’s not too proud to realize he couldn’t care less. What matters is the feeling of you around him, pulsing with arousal when he bottoms out. Your fingers twitch on his chest and clit presses against the neat trim of his pubes - he feels it all, it’s almost agonizing.
Ichigo has to remind himself to soothe you into it. He rubs his hands up your waist and swallows thickly, watching your chest shudder with a breath and your mouth fall agape.
“You good?” He asks, but the slow sway your hips pick up is an answer in its own right. You suck in a breath and nod, looking down at him. God, don’t do this. Ichigo twitches inside of you and you feel it all.
“Mmhm,” Your voice sounds strained. You don’t trust yourself enough to speak proper words, getting used to the feeling of being stuffed full. It’s unlike anything else, the feeling of every ridge and vein of his cock, the tight fit that makes your tummy feel funny. Glancing down to see the boy of your dreams staring right back at you, heavy-lidded and restless, turns your brain into mush.
There’s not much discomfort. Not to make you stop, at least. You’re greedy and you can only hope Ichigo doesn’t mind, but the groan he lets out when you begin to rock your hips back and forth proves it right. The slide of his cock against the spots that turn your vision spotty around the edges feels perfect.
It’s quieter than you would’ve suspected. Heavy breathing bounces off the walls and your bed creaks with every firmer movement, your cunt squelches whenever Ichigo’s cock fits back inside of you, stuffing you to the brim. You couldn’t handle any more of it anyway- it’s enough as it is. You’re a little light-headed with the tingly sensation that runs all the way down to your toes, making them curl. You wonder if it feels as good for Ichigo as it does for you, but he’s awfully quiet- trying to swallow down any grunts or sounds of pleasure.
He’s a little overwhelmed, truly. You feel like heaven, throbbing and swallowing all of his cock. He hopes you won’t be in pain tomorrow- he’s given you enough prep (he hopes so, at least), but you’re starting to ride him harder with every few movements. You drop your hips on him experimentally, rut against him in little circles, then still and whimper when his tip kisses the spongy area all the way up your pussy. Ichigo’s speechless, truly. It almost feels too good to be true- too good for him, like he’s undeserving. He can’t let go of the thought of it being unfair. The way you make it feel so intimate, passionate until it’s hard to take only deems it an ever harder task.
Ichigo watches with his heart lodged in his throat as you lean back, gracing him with a full view of your breasts, trembling with every quick breath, and the slow path your hand follows to toy with one of them. Your face contorts in bliss, lashes fluttering before your eyes roll back. It’s raw and almost primal, in a way, despite how sweet you sound with every choked out Ichigo, Ichigo, you’re so good. Too good for this world, and frankly, too good for him - that’s what you are. He can’t take it.
You gasp when Ichigo moves to sit up, the new found angle making your stomach stir. You can almost feel him in your throat, swelling inside of you “I-Ichigo,” You swallow back a whimper, taken aback and delirious with pleasure.
He wraps his arm around you, fitting himself against you like it’s how you’re meant to be. The thought makes your arousal cling to his base, a sheen of slick forming a ring where his girth stuffs you full. He’s so close it feels almost unfair. His nose nudges against yours and breath meddles together. It’s your own heartbeat that’s thrumming in your ears, but if you focus hard enough, you can pretend it’s Ichigo’s.
“Shh- q-quiet,” He utters, almost hurriedly. His fingers splay out on the small of your back, holding you close, but the other hand soon joins on your other side, gripping your rear so tight you could almost squeal.
It’s an added leverage and control that lets Ichigo grind into you with little effort. Restraints cut off when he feels your chest press against his, skin clammy against his palm as he presses you further into him, until there’s nowhere left for you to run. It’s the least he owes you. It’s what you deserve, so wide-eyed and open for him, so soft and unconditionally dutiful. Indulging you is what he must do, even when it feels like making love though it really isn’t. It’s only fair in such unjust circumstances.
Ichigo kisses you like he means it and like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s not his first but it’s the first that feels like this- makes his gut churn and his hands grab you tighter. You moan in his mouth, wrap your arms around his neck, touch his jaw. You’re all over him in the best sense, in a way he’d never think he’d experience, but it’s a slice of heaven on earth.
Your tongue licks at his teeth and he tastes your desire, tender and unadulterated. It’s slow and takes your breath away, hell, steals every conscious thought with it, too. You could melt in an instant if giving it any thought at all.
You take what Ichigo gives and don’t ask. You know better than this.
Ichigo’s breath catches in his throat when your legs wrap around him, almost clumsily, driving him deeper. The drag of his cock against your walls starts to become unbearable, like gasoline to the fire licking at his spine. He’s close and struggles not to notice it’s the close proximity and the taste of your tongue that pushes him to the edge.
Your mind is foggy when Ichigo pushes himself home a few more times, almost teasingly slow. He’s pulling away from your kiss, lips swollen and wet with spit when he goes to glance between the two of you, where your cunt rubs against him so sweetly, takes him so well. Being watched like this proves to be too much, your heart jolting and gut tightening, the coil appearing quickly.
“H-uh, I- Ichigo, gonna cum,” He thinks it’s endearing how you tell him when he can feel your cunt speak for you- hear it, even, with how it squelches with his every thrust, even the most languid. Still, he kisses you silent, once, then again and again. Each one feels more treacherous than the other. Each one makes you whine louder and louder, despite his intention.
“I know, I know,” It’s more of a rasp than anything else when he speaks, hoarsely and hushed “Go ahead, m’ right here,”
It’s instinctual to ease you into it like this, when you’re clinging to him so tight. It fills him with a weird sense of possessiveness, even if it only lasts so long as he’s inside of you. Ichigo finds himself struggling holding his own climax back when you’re squirming in his lap like this, your tight heat squeezing him until it’s hard to move at all. He’s shocked at how slick you are, wetter with every thrust but he’s glad, for it makes all the difference (and stroke his ego more than he’d like to admit).
Little throaty grunts start to slip out his mouth as your body grows stiff. You’re quieter, almost holding your breath, and the way you’re looking at him is almost painful. Ichigo would think you are in pain if he didn’t know any better. His forehead fits against yours, mostly to ground him but mainly because he can’t stand this look from you- like this is all you’ve ever wanted. (He knows it is, but he likes to pretend otherwise.) You wheeze and moan all on the same breath, finally cumming on Ichigo’s cock until you’re trembling. He fucks you through it despite how achingly hard he is, trying to hold off his own orgasm. He’s panting against your lips, dragging your hips against his own and adding another layer of white hot pleasure that renders you limp in his grasp moments after.
You’re stunned by the intensity of euphoria that washed over you all at once, still dizzy when Ichigo swiftly pushes you on your back. He stays nestled inside of you, tip of his cock pressing against your cervix, kissing it harder with each of his thrusts, deep and deliberate. He’s not going fast nor is he rough- it’s passionate in it’s rawest form. Ichigo leans forward and shamefully indulges in the warm embrace of your arms, wrapping around his back, your hand tangled in his hair.
His kisses feel equally as tender as his strokes, growing firmer with every roll of his hips. You’re drinking every word from his mouth and cup his face, keeping him grounded when he’s losing composure. Gonna cum, fuck, I’m coming, I’m coming. You watch Ichigo’s face twist in pleasure, his silhouette caging you in. You’re unsure whether your intoxication comes from liquor or the sheer euphoria seeing him look so beautiful on top of you, but you feel delirious either way.
Ichigo groans as the knot unravels, blinding and forceful enough to turn his mind blank. He shudders through it, having just a crumble of sanity left to pull out at the very last moment as to not fuck things up more than he already did. He fists himself to completion, a few rough tugs ending in warmth spilling all across your lower tummy, some even landing on the swell of your breasts. (If it wasn’t for the spots littering his vision, he’d notice the small marks he had left, something to leave you with aside from the aching void.) With a few last grunts, each one breathier than the last, he finally relaxes, dropping his head in the crook of your neck.
The air should be thick and heavy, palpable with the realization of what had just taken place. It should feel spoilt and eat away at you like acid. And yet, as the both of you come down from your highs, the afterglow tastes sweet - even if for a few seconds more.
It makes a part of Ichigo want to scream. The other makes him kiss the thrum of your pulse one last time, his forehead pressed to your jaw, almost in a sign of affection. Your fingers run through his hair, absentmindedly and leisurely. Your heart slows down and Ichigo listens, wondering if you feel any different that he does? Is your head full of conflict too, guilt clawing its way back in despite how good it felt to be so close to him? Are you having a hard time like he is?
By the time Ichigo pulls away, your eyes are fluttering close, breathing mellow and soft. It would’ve made him chuckle, but his heart feels a little too heavy, so he only smiles down at you, pushing himself up on arms that feel weirdly shaky. Fatigue is one thing, but emotion is another.
He’s lucky enough to find a box of tissues on your nightstand, right next to your alarm clock. Angry red numbers read 2:41AM as he reaches for a couple and then begins to clean you up, wiping away any remnants of his spent. It’s weirdly intimate and this time, it brings a sour taste to his mouth. You’re watching him, tiptoeing over the edge of sleep, as he crumples up the tissues in his hand once it’s over with.
It’s easier to not look at him at all than see his gaze scurrying away from you, absent and full of thought. You’re tired- exhausted, even, barely able to keep yourself awake. The alcohol catches up to you again and so does the weariness from endorphins wearing off and though it’s a bitter thought, you think it’s a small mercy. He’s never been good at hiding when things are troubling him. In a way, he wears his heart on his sleeve, much like you do. It just took him a little longer to notice what you wanted to tell him. A mistake had to be made to let him see inside your mind for what it truly is: full of longing and misplaced love.
Despite it all, you watch as he pulls on his boxers and let him dress you into your underwear and top from before. He handles you gently, carefully, as if you could break into pieces. You wouldn’t like the pity but thankfully, in your delirious state, you take it as affection.
“Ichigo,” It makes his skin crawl. Unfair, unfair, unfair. How can you say it like this, so soft and hopeful? He glances back to look at you, takes in the sheen across your cheeks, the afterglow that adorns your features. You’re irresistible, but his restraints broke only because of leniency. “Will you stay?”
He smiles at you. In your eyes, half-lidded and shiny with sleep, it looks genuine.
“Yeah. Yeah, I will.”
You fall asleep peacefully despite everything, ignoring the drop in your chest. You don’t take Ichigo for a liar, but this one time, you will not mind nor hold it against him. Everything he’s ever done was for everyone’s best interest. If tomorrow you wake up in an empty bed with his scent fading away from your sheets, you’ll be grateful for whatever piece of him he’s left with you.
Your house is quiet aside from the ticking clock downstairs as Ichigo dresses himself and checks for his phone and wallet in his jeans’ pocket. He walks downstairs and pays no mind to the quirky accessories you put along the living room as he passes by. Pulls on his shoes, shrugs on his jacket, then fishes out the spare key from the glass bowl by the front door. It’s exactly where Orihime told him. He’ll have to text her once he’s home, he thinks.
Just like he’d hoped, you’re fast asleep by the time he’s out the door. And though his heart feels full like it has for a long while, it only now begins to grow heavy.
Thank you for your overwhelming support and the love you've given my work! I'm really glad we became moots this year! Keep being the absolute sunshine that you are!
As usual, you can feel Ichigo before you see him, and you don’t turn despite the swell of spiritual pressure in the environment around you that normally portends a threat - you’d know that particular soul anywhere and to you, it’s more kind than anything else.
There’s a small soul sitting in your lap, a tiny thing, barely walking and babbling, and you imagine the child was shy of a year old when it died. Soft brown hair on its head and big round dark eyes... when you met it, it was crying, loudly, but you know it wasn’t out of hunger - the dead don’t hunger in the same way humans do, at least not in this realm. It’s quiet now, eyes blinking slowly at you less human than cat really, breathing softly as it decides whether or not to imprint on you as its new caretaker.
The thought makes your stomach turn because you cannot do anything for them.
“Hey, are you alright?” Ichigo calls out from still afar, as he approaches with the tension of a man who was summoned expressly to defend and protect and prepared to do just that. Before you can turn to look at him, he’s turned to face your front and knelt down to your level. He’s in his shihakusho which makes you feel slightly guilty - you didn’t send him a text because you were in danger, but because you’re not so sure what to do now.
Ichigo’s gaze, softened once he’s given you a once over and you’ve nodded that you are okay, slides towards the source of your melancholy, the child now practically still in your lap, its eyes almost completely closed now. You know you look crazy, sitting on a street corner in plain clothes, stroking the soft cheek of something no one else but the two of you can see, and then you remember that in Ichigo’s form currently, even he can’t be seen by passersby. And yet, as he sits cross-legged in front of you, just watching as you hum something quietly until the baby sleeps, you don’t feel quite as alone.
Ichigo doesn’t say anything immediately, and you finally look up at him again.
“I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what to do,” you murmur quietly.
He nods and his glance lingers a little too long before you avert your eyes.
“I don’t think babies turn into Hollows, do they?” you ask, not looking back up. Ichigo leans in a bit closer, taking an appraising look at the sleeping baby, as harmless as they come. You move back to accommodate him, a whiff of something fragrantly sweet, blowing in your direction as he moves. You realize his hair is still slightly damp.
Did he run here?
“Probably not. Not this one anyway.”
Ichigo frowns for a moment, then reaches his hand to pull the baby into his arms. You hesitate for a moment, but then let him cradle the soul and rise. The child doesn’t wake even while Ichigo shifts its weight to his right arm, and reaches out for your hand with his left.
You pause, looking at it for a split second, unsure if he’s really asking you to hold his hand or not, and he seems to catch himself, quickly shoving it back into his pocket. You are friends now but…
You chalk it up to older brother reflex.
“Oh, uh, let’s go to Urahara’s.” Ichigo says quickly as he starts walking, maybe a bit too fast, and you take a couple steps to catch up to him.
“Urahara… the bucket hat guy?”
You’ve met him once, you think, recalling the shop owner’s grin, remembering something about it is always dodgy despite how easygoing he lokos.
“Yeah.”
You don’t know much about soul reapers except for the fact that Ichigo is one and you trust him. And you don’t really know why you trust him either, but he comes when you call and he is close to Rukia, whom you also trust. He probably has a good plan.
The tip of Ichigo’s ears are pink now, and you wonder if you should have just taken his hand when he offered it and played it off as a joke. But his other hand fidgets uncomfortably and finds purchase on the hilt of his sword.
“Hard to look badass when you’re holding a baby, huh?” you finally decide to tease after a couple steps.
He stops abruptly, giving you an exasperated look, and you grin widely, reaching your hands out.
“I’ll take him… her?... back,” you offer but he shakes his head and keeps walking.
You pause to see how far he’ll get and he takes two more long strides before he turns over to you again. You realize the baby is awake, its big brown eyes now looking at you curiously, then to Ichigo as he holds it flush to his shoulder.
“Are you coming? We need to get him gone before one of us has to figure out how to change a soul diaper.”
Despite yourself, you stifle a laugh, and catch up to him again, realizing the shampoo scent from earlier was that of fresh strawberries.
the car hums along the quiet road, the engine's low rumble filling the space between you and ichigo. you're parked now, tucked away in a secluded spot under the cover of night, the dashboard lights casting a soft glow on his sharp features. he's slouched in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel even though you're stopped, the other casually drifting down to his lap. you glance over, mid-sentence about your day, when you notice it—his fingers pressing and rubbing over the growing bulge in his jeans, slow and deliberate, like it's the most normal thing in the world.
"ichi, what the fuck are you doing?" you blurt out, your eyes widening as heat rushes to your cheeks. your voice comes out sharper than intended, but there's a thrill under it, a spark of curiosity that makes your pulse quicken.
he doesn't stop, just smirks that cocky grin of his, orange hair tousled from the drive. "what? feels good," he says plainly, his voice low and casual, like he's commenting on the weather. his hand keeps moving, squeezing the outline of his hardening cock through the denim, the friction making him shift slightly in his seat. "you've been talking about that boring shit all day. needed a distraction."
you swallow hard, torn between laughing and shoving his hand away—or maybe pulling it closer. but the way his eyes lock on yours, dark and hungry, sends a jolt straight to your core. "you're so mean," you mutter, but your body betrays you, thighs pressing together as you watch him. the air in the car thickens, charged with unspoken tension.
ichigo chuckles, deep and rough, finally letting go of himself to reach for you. his hand finds your thigh, sliding up under your skirt with confident ease. "yeah? then why're you staring?" before you can snap back, his fingers brush against your panties, finding the damp spot already forming. he groans softly. "fuck, you're wet already."
you gasp as he rubs you through the fabric, circles firm and teasing. "shut up," you breathe, but you're leaning into it, your hand instinctively grabbing his wrist—not to stop him, but to urge him on. the casualness of it all fades fast; his touch turns insistent, pushing your panties aside to slide two fingers along your slick folds. you moan, head falling back against the seat.
"get over here," he growls, unbuckling his seatbelt with his free hand. you don't hesitate, climbing into his lap, straddling him in the confined space. the steering wheel digs into your back, but you don't care—his mouth crashes into yours, hot and demanding, tongue thrusting in to claim you. you grind down against the bulge straining his jeans, feeling the thick length of his cock twitch beneath you.
he breaks the kiss to yank your top up, exposing your breasts. his mouth latches onto one nipple, sucking hard while his hand kneads the other, pinching the peak until you whimper. "ichigo—" you start, but he cuts you off by shoving your skirt higher, fingers plunging into your pussy. two digits curl inside you, pumping steadily, his thumb grinding against your clit.
"so fucking tight," he murmurs against your skin, voice muffled as he nips at your collarbone. you rock your hips, riding his hand, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the car. the windows start to fog almost immediately, your heavy breaths condensing on the glass.
you fumble with his zipper, desperate to feel him. his cock springs free, thick and veined, the head already leaking pre-cum. you wrap your hand around it, stroking from base to tip, making him hiss. "you want this?" he asks, but it's not really a question—his hands grip your hips, lifting you just enough to position you over him.
"yes," you whine, sinking down onto his cock in one slow, stretching slide. he fills you completely, the girth of him splitting you open, every inch dragging against your walls. you both groan at the sensation, your pussy clenching around him as you bottom out, his balls pressed against your ass.
ichigo thrusts up immediately, hard and deep, his hands guiding your movements. you bounce on his lap, the car rocking with each slam of your bodies. his cock pistons in and out, slick with your juices, the obscene slap of skin on skin echoing in the tight space. "ride it," he demands, one hand sliding up to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat. he bites down, marking you as you fuck yourself on him.
the windows are completely fogged now, a hazy veil blurring the outside world. sweat beads on your skin, mixing with the heat building between you. you lean forward, bracing against his shoulders, grinding your clit against his pubic bone with every downward thrust. "harder," you gasp, and he obliges, hips snapping up to meet you, driving his cock deeper.
he flips you suddenly, maneuvering in the cramped backseat now—somehow you've ended up there, his body pinning you down. your legs wrap around his waist as he pounds into you, relentless. "gonna make you cum," he grunts, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing fast circles. the pressure builds, coiling tight in your belly.
"ichigo—fuck, i'm close," you cry out, nails digging into his back. he doesn't let up, fucking you through the waves as your orgasm crashes over you, pussy spasming around his cock, milking him. he follows seconds later, burying himself to the hilt and spilling hot cum deep inside you, ropes of it flooding your walls.
you both collapse, panting, bodies slick and spent. the car smells of sex, windows thoroughly steamed up. ichigo pulls out slowly, a mix of your releases trickling down your thigh. he reaches over, tracing a finger through the fog on the window, drawing a sloppy heart right there, his touch light and almost tender.
you laugh breathlessly, swatting his arm. "what the hell is that?"
he grins, still catching his breath, leaning in to kiss your forehead. "just marking our spot."
your nails scraped at the sheets, knees slipping, hips jolting with every ruthless thrust—but he just grabbed your waist, dragged you back like you weighed nothing, and slammed in deeper.
“don’t run from me,” ichigo growled, voice gravel and fire against the nape of your neck. “you started this.”
your scream was muffled by the pillow, your body arching as his cock buried itself again, the stretch brutal, perfect. every time you tried to wriggle away, he’d pull you right back down on it—flesh meeting flesh with a loud, wet slap, your pussy drooling down your thighs from how hard he was working you.
“f-fuck, ichigo—s’too much, i c-can’t—”
he snarled and grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the mattress, his chest pressing against your back as he rutted into you, balls heavy and slapping. “yeah? should’ve thought about that before you looked at me with that little brat face,” he hissed in your ear. “before you put on that tight shit and bent over like you wanted to get your guts rearranged.”
your legs trembled. your throat ached from moaning. your pussy was wrecked, every thrust shoving his cock in deeper, your walls clenching and fluttering helplessly around him.
he let go of your wrists just to grab your hair and yank your head back, teeth dragging over your jaw.
“you feel that?” he gritted. “that’s me rearranging everything. so go ahead. fucking try to crawl again.”
you did.
he slammed in so deep your eyes crossed, your scream choked, legs giving out completely.
he laughed—low, cocky, mean. “that’s what i thought.”
you were shaking now, face pressed to the mattress, tongue half out as you drooled into the sheets, hips twitching with every punishing thrust. he’d made you cockdrunk, dumb, soaked, ruined. you weren’t running. you couldn’t even think.
“say it,” he snapped, fingers digging into your hips. “say who you fucking belong to.”
you whimpered, voice shattered. “y-you, ichigo—!”
“damn right.”
and then he came. buried deep, cock twitching, hot ropes of cum flooding your cunt. his grip didn’t loosen until you were shaking, leaking, gasping.
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