Izuru Kira is a gentleman part two
Reme Ishida had been distracted the entire week.
It was finals week. The campus was tense, libraries were packed, students were stressed—but she couldn’t focus on a single damn word.
She had reviewed in advance for a whole month and yet the moment she sat down to take her exams, everything disappeared.
All she could think about was the first guy who had ever fucked her so good that her brain decided that constitutional law and criminal procedure were suddenly irrelevant.
Those striking blue eyes—tired, almost lazy-looking, yet sharp enough to burn—still haunted her.
The warmth from his cold hands against her bare skin lingered like a ghost she couldn’t shake off.
Even the way his release had spilled and slowly leaked down her thighs replayed in her mind when she least expected it.
Every single thing they did—she remembered.
Unfortunately, that pretty blonde boy whose name she never even asked? He probably didn’t remember half of it.
She bagged a whole baddie… and then slipped away before she could even secure a second round.
“Girl, what happened to you?” her friend asked, watching her stare blankly at her notes for the tenth time that hour.
“I don’t know,” Reme muttered, snapping her notebook shut. “But I need a drink. Let’s go to Rearview Side.”
Rearview Side—their usual bar. Their territory. The place where Reme and her friends practically lived on weekends.
It was also the same bar where she met that shy, soft-spoken—but surprisingly hard-fucker—pretty boy.
“Boo, you whore,” her friend teased, nudging her shoulder. “You just want a good dick again.”
Reme rolled her eyes and flipped her off.
“Shut up. I’m still a virgin,” she shot back.
“I’m not convinced. Especially the way you were walking the morning after we drank last week? You were limping, babe.”
Her friend pressed on mercilessly.
Reme didn’t respond this time.
“7 p.m. Rearview Side. I need a good drink.”
With that, she stood and left their room.
Her pre-law course had been fucking her over too. Case readings stacked endlessly, professors who loved humiliation disguised as “recitation.” Sometimes she envied her brother, Uryu Ishida. He seemed so sure of himself, so at ease in the field he chose. Focused. Passionate.
Meanwhile, Reme? She didn’t even have a real forte.
She picked law because she thought being a lawyer was cool.
When she arrived at their massive house, she was greeted only by silence and maids moving quietly around polished floors. Her father was practically living at the hospital these days. Uryu was still at school, probably studying like the overachiever he was.
She headed straight to the shower. The hot water cascaded over her skin, washing away the week’s stress.
Afterward, she stood in front of her closet.
She loved dressing in skimpy outfits just as much as she loved drinking and bar-hopping.
It wasn’t about showing off her body.
It was about showing off her confidence. Her beauty. And she was proud of both.
She didn’t dress up for men.
She didn’t dress up for validation.
She dressed up for herself.
It fed her ego. Her pride. Her power.
If people wanted to call her self-centered or a slut, she didn’t care. The only man she’d ever done anything with was that shy hardfucker from the bar—and that was her first time.
She avoided men. And men avoided her.
They couldn’t handle all that.
She scanned herself in the mirror.
Low-rise shorts hugging her hips perfectly.
A cropped short-sleeved shirt, cut just enough to tease.
A black bralette layered underneath—doubling it, because she liked the aesthetic contrast.
Black boots that added inches to her height and amplified her presence.
And then the leather jacket—originally her father’s. He never used it anymore, so she claimed it. It fit her slightly oversized, giving her that effortless, dangerous look.
Her hair was perfectly curled, soft waves framing her face.
Sharp eyes. Glossed lips. Skin glowing under warm lighting.
With a playful pose and a flying kiss to her reflection in the mirror, she grabbed her bag.
But hoping—just maybe—to run into a particular pretty boy.
Blue eyes. Blonde hair. Lean but muscular build. Shy. Quiet. A total cutie pie.
A man whose name she never even bothered to ask.
Her friend had picked her up; she was too exhausted to drive anyway. The moment her heels touched the pavement outside the bar, she moved quickly toward her usual spot. Her friend had also already disappeared—no doubt chasing her own version of fun for the night.
Reme slid onto a bar stool and immediately ordered a light drink. Nothing too strong. Just enough to keep her warm. Just in case he showed up.
If she saw him again—if they ended up fucking again—she refused to be drunk this time. The first night had been a blur of heat and hands and reckless hunger. This time, she wanted to remember every second.
But to her disappointment, he didn’t come.
Minutes passed. Then more. She sighed again and ordered another drink. She was halfway through it when she felt the shift of weight beside her—someone taking the stool next to hers.
Her disappointment deepened.
The man beside her reeked—not just of alcohol, but of something worse. Entitlement. Smugness. The kind of personality that oozed through pores. She didn’t even bother looking at him. She downed the rest of her drink and slid off the stool, ready to leave.
“Whoa, whoa. We haven’t even talked yet. You’re leaving already?” the man asked, grinning like he’d just said something clever.
She hated being touched. Unless it was—
She rolled her eyes. “Let go,” she said flatly.
“What? Didn’t hear you.” His grin widened.
“I said let go,” Reme repeated, voice colder now.
Then she punched him straight in the face.
The crack of knuckles against bone echoed louder than the music.
“Ow! You bitch!” he shouted, clutching his nose. “I was just being friendly! Who do you think you are? Acting like I’d even want you—looking like some cheap slut!”
He kept yelling, spewing more filth, but Reme had already tuned him out. She had no interest in arguing with men whose egos were more fragile than glass.
The man's hand grabbed her shoulder again.
Before she could react, someone stepped between them.
His scent reached her first—clean, subtle, comforting in a way that tightened her chest.
“What are you yapping about?” the man said calmly. “The moment she ignored you, that should’ve been your hint. She told you to let go. You didn’t. Now you got punched and suddenly you’re crying? Ego shattered already?”
His voice was quiet. Controlled. But there was steel in it—cold and masculine and steady.
The same man she had slept with.
The man who had been haunting her thoughts.
The man she wanted to feel inside her again.
The man she had been waiting for.
“Fuck you! Don’t interfere—”
The harassing man didn’t get to finish. Reme punched him again. This time harder.
Without hesitation, she grabbed the familiar man’s hand and pulled him away. She’d already noticed the security guards moving in their direction—people had been staring for a while now.
They slipped out of the bar and into a secluded alley.
The moment they were alone, Reme let go of his hand—only to shove him against the wall and crash her lips onto his.
She kissed him like she’d been starving.
He kissed her back immediately.
Her hands slid over his abdomen, feeling the firm lines beneath his shirt. His hands cupped her cheek, then her neck—gentle.
Reme chuckled between kisses.
She pushed her tongue into his mouth, licking against his, slow and deliberate. The wet sounds filled the alley, echoing between brick walls.
When she finally pulled back, thin strands of saliva still connected their lips before snapping.
Cheeks flushed red. Mouth slightly open. Swallowing once. Twice. Still staring at her like she was something unreal.
Heat pooled low in her stomach.
“Why didn’t you call me?” she asked, her tone soft—but there was a faint pout in it.
“Ah—uhm. You’re gorgeous,” he blurted.
“I know. And?” she replied.
“I thought… you’re beautiful. I think you don't need me. I figured maybe you wouldn’t answer if I called.”
Her lips parted slightly.
“You silly boy,” she murmured. “I was waiting for you to call.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how. I don’t have a personal phone. I’ve been coming here every night hoping I’d see you again. But you weren’t here.”
“You’re ridiculous.” She tilted her head. “What’s your name? I didn’t catch the name of the man who fucked me senseless.”
His hand hesitated near her waist—uncertain. She noticed and grabbed his wrist, placing his hand firmly against her side herself.
“Izuru Kira,” he said quietly.
He felt strange. Weak in the knees. His pulse unsteady. When he’d walked in earlier and seen her arguing, something cold and sharp had pierced his chest. He’d rushed over without thinking.
Even when he arrived, she hadn’t needed saving. She handled it herself—knuckles first.
If she hadn’t dragged him away, he might have punched the man too.
“Sorry again,” Izuru said. “I’ve been working hard (in the Seireitei) to save up for a phone. I was planning to buy one (from Urahara).”
His eyes dimmed slightly with embarrassment, but when he looked at her again, they softened.
A man she wanted to be in her inside again.
Without another word, she grabbed his collar and dragged him toward the nearest hotel.
They were both completely naked.
Reme was straddling him feverishly, moving hard and fast as she rode him on the single-seater sofa. Izuru’s head rested against the backrest, eyes squeezed shut, breath trembling.
“Fuck,” she breathed against his ear. “You’re filling me up so well, Zuru-chan.”
A soft whimper escaped him.
His hands gripped her hips, unsure whether to guide her or simply hold on. His chest rose and fell rapidly, skin flushed, lips parted.
Reme leaned down, biting gently at his neck before licking over the mark she left, her movements relentless—hungry, claiming.
Izuru’s fingers tightened, a broken sound slipping past his lips as he tried to steady himself beneath her, overwhelmed by the way she took control, the way she moved like she owned him, like she had decided he was hers from the start.
His lips hung open, parted wide in helpless surrender to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him. Izuru was buried to the hilt inside Reme—deep, so deep—completely penetrating in her clenching hole.
It was warm. It was molten. It was impossibly soft… and yet at the same time her inner walls gripped him like a velvet fist, squeezing rhythmically, relentlessly, until it felt like his cock was actually melting inside her, fusing with her pulsing heat, every inch dissolving into pure, liquid bliss.
“You look beautiful like that,” Reme purred, voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “So fucking good when you whimper for me, pretty boy.”
Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, nails digging in just enough to sting sweetly, until she finally slid both arms around his neck and cradled the back of his head, pulling him flush against her tits.
Her full breasts hovered right in front of his flushed, dazed face—nipples already stiff and begging.
“Suck,” she commanded softly.
And Izuru obeyed like he was born for it.
He latched onto one peaked nipple like a starving kitten, drawing it deep into the wet heat of his mouth, suckling hard, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing. He nursed greedily until he felt her shiver, until he’d had his fill of that one, then switched to the other without hesitation—licking long, slow stripes over the proud, standing bud before pulling it between his lips again, sucking with needy little noises muffled against her skin.
Reme let out a dark, seductive laugh that vibrated through her chest and straight into his mouth.
Her hips began to roll faster—sharper—riding him with punishing rhythm, slamming down so every thick inch of him kissed her deepest spot over and over.
Izuru’s arms snapped around her waist instinctively, clinging, fingers splaying wide over the small of her back as if she might vanish if he let go.
“I’d gladly ride a cowboy my whole damn life,” Reme gasped between moans, grinding down harder, “just to save a million horses.”
She shoved his face deeper into her cleavage at the same time, smothering him lovingly in soft, warm flesh while she fucked herself on him mercilessly.
She could feel it—him swelling even thicker inside her, his cock throbbing violently, kissing and nudging her cervix with every desperate pulse. He was close. So close.
Without warning, Reme rose up—lifting herself completely off him in one smooth, cruel motion.
Izuru’s groan came out broken, raw, almost wounded. His hips jerked uselessly into empty air.
Reme giggled—low, wicked, delighted.
“You’re so mean,” he whined, sounding exactly like a little boy whose candy had just been snatched away.
“Sorry you’re fucking adorable when you’re about to come,” she shot back, already crawling onto the bed.
She dropped forward onto all fours, back arched beautifully, thighs spread.
“Get up, pretty boy,” she ordered, throwing a sultry look over her shoulder while deliberately shaking her ass at him. “And fuck me like an animal.”
Her ass were already spread wide—glistening, swollen, dripping. A thick, obscene mixture of both their cum leaked slowly from her used cunt, trailing down her inner thighs, shining in the low light. Her pussy gaped slightly, still hungry, still fluttering like it was trying to pull him back in.
The sight melted what little remained of Izuru’s restraint… but the feral urge she’d just awakened roared louder.
He was a gentleman, always.
And whatever Reme demanded—he will gladly gave it.
He rose behind her in one fluid motion and sank back inside her without a second thought—no hesitation, no gentleness this time. Just one long, brutal thrust that buried him balls-deep again.
They both cried out—loud, wrecked, simultaneous.
Reme’s face dropped forward into the sheets with a muffled scream as Izuru immediately set a punishing pace, hips snapping forward so hard the wet slap of skin on skin echoed off every wall.
He grabbed handfuls of her ass and spread her even wider, opening her completely to his gaze while he pounded into her like he was trying to carve himself permanently inside.
Yes—there he was. Her shy, sweet hard-fucker was back. She’d missed this. She’d missed his cock. She’d missed him.
Her cunt gushed harder at the realization, slick running down his cock, coating his balls, dripping onto the sheets.
The room filled with filthy symphony: heavy breathing, broken moans, the lewd smack of their bodies colliding.
“Right there—right there—fuck me there, harder—” Reme panted, voice cracking, pleading.
Her eyes squeezed shut—she was teetering right on the edge—
—and then Izuru pulled out.
She barely had time to whimper in protest before strong hands flipped her onto her back.
The second her spine hit the mattress he was inside her again—deep, forceful, folding her almost in half. Her knees were pushed toward her shoulders, her own bouncing tits trapped between her arms and thighs, jiggling wildly with every lightning-fast thrust.
Sweat gleamed on Izuru’s face. His blond hair clung damply to his forehead, his neck, his flushed cheeks. His eyes—usually so soft—burned with pure hunger as he stared down at her.
“What do you want me to do, Reme?” he rasped, voice shaking, lungs heaving like he’d just sprinted miles. “Tell me.”
She met that gaze, lips curling.
“What do you want to do to me?” she threw back at him—half challenge, half invitation.
Izuru’s rhythm stuttered for half a heartbeat.
“I—I w-want…” His voice cracked, raw with honesty even in the middle of fucking her senseless. “I want to spend more time with you. I want to take care of you. I want—to be with you.”
He never looked away. Not for a second.
The words—simple, earnest, devastating—hit her like a shockwave.
A sudden, sharp squirt pulsed out of her, soaking his cock, his pelvis, the sheets beneath them.
Reme’s hand shot up, fingers curling around the back of his neck, yanking him down until their mouths crashed together in a messy, desperate, all-consuming kiss.
Izuru’s thrusts quickened above her—sharper, deeper, more insistent—as if every snap of his hips was chasing the edge they were both teetering on. Reme cupped his face with trembling hands and kissed him tenderly at first, lips brushing his like a secret promise. Then she moved to his flushed cheeks, pressing soft, lingering pecks there too, before finally resting their foreheads together, breathing the same heated air.
She wrapped her arms tight around his neck the exact moment her orgasm crashed through her.
Her toes curled hard against the air.
Her walls clenched down like a vise around his cock—rhythmic, punishing squeezes that made the wet filthy sounds between them double in volume. It felt like a fountain had burst open inside her; she couldn’t stop coming, wave after blinding wave, because Izuru never slowed, never gave her a second to catch her breath. He was chasing his own release with single-minded desperation, hips stuttering but never stopping.
He buried his face in the curve of her neck and kissed her there—open-mouthed. Then, with a low, broken sound, he pulled out again.
They both moaned at the sudden, aching loss.
Reme’s hole fluttered helplessly, clenching around nothing, thick ribbons of their mixed cum leaking out in slow.
He shifted them both gently but firmly until he was spooning her from behind, chest pressed to her back, one strong arm banded around her waist. Reme didn’t even have the energy left to protest—she was utterly spent, limbs heavy and boneless, yet somehow still aching for more, still greedy for him even as exhaustion pulled at her edges.
When he nudged the leaking head of his cock back against her cunt and slowly pushed inside again, she let out a soft, shattered sigh.
Izuru’s hand immediately began to stroke her stomach in soothing circles—warm palm gliding over sweat-slick skin—while his other hand cupped one of her breasts, thumb lazily brushing the still-sensitive nipple. Their mouths found each other again in a slow, drugging kiss, tongues sliding together in lazy rhythm that matched the gentle rock of his hips.
Reme came again—quiet this time, almost surprised by how easily it rolled through her—her inner walls rippling around him in soft, fluttering pulses. At the same moment, Izuru groaned low against her lips and spilled deep inside her, hot and thick, hips jerking with every pulse until he’d emptied everything he had left.
He didn’t stop moving entirely.
Even as the last of his releases he kept up slow, lazy strokes—barely pulling out, just gliding in and out in gentle, comforting glides while they kissed, savoring the taste and heat of each other’s mouths, the slick slide of skin on skin.
They only broke the kiss when the need for air finally won.
Izuru stayed buried inside her, still half-hard, rocking ever so slightly like he couldn’t bear to leave her completely.
“You’re still half-hard, Zuru-chan,” Reme murmured, voice hoarse and teasing, lips brushing his jaw.
Izuru chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest into her back. He lifted one hand to gently wipe the sweat from her forehead, her cheeks, the damp curve of her neck, using the flat of his palm in slow, caring strokes.
“Do you still want to go for another round?” he asked, voice tender, almost shy now that the frenzy had passed.
Reme let out a tired, playful laugh. “I would love to… but I’m exhausted. I really need to work on my stamina.”
“Then let’s stop,” he said immediately, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “And rest.”
With careful slowness, he began to pull out.
Reme moaned softly at the drag, the sudden emptiness that followed. “I feel so empty… yet so full,” she whispered, feeling the warm gush of their combined release leaking out of her in thick, lazy streams.
“I’m sorry,” Izuru murmured, already reaching for the tissues on the bedside table.
He cleaned her gently—wiping between her thighs, dabbing at the mess on her skin with patient touches. Reme simply lay there and let him take care of her, eyes half-lidded, a small, contented smile playing on her lips.
When he was done, he grabbed another tissue and tenderly wiped the sweat and stray tears from her face.
“Do you want to soak in the tub?” he asked quietly.
Reme shook her head, snuggling deeper into the pillows. “Nope. Tomorrow. Morning sex under the shower. For now… let’s just cuddle.”
She laughed softly, turned in his arms until they were face-to-face, and wrapped herself around him like a koala—arms around his neck, one leg hooked over his hip.
Izuru sighed—a long, happy, bone-deep sound—and pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin, one hand stroking lazy patterns up and down her spine.
A few heartbeats of quiet passed, only their slowing breaths and the faint rustle of sheets.
Then Reme’s voice came again, soft but playful, lips brushing the hollow of his throat.
“You know… what you said earlier? That you want to spend more time with me. That you want to take care of me. To be with me.” She tilted her head back just enough to meet his eyes, mischief sparkling even through the exhaustion. “You can do all of that… if you make yourself my boyfriend.”
She grinned—slow, teasing, utterly devastating.
Izuru froze for half a second. Heat flooded his face—cheeks, ears, even the back of his neck—but beneath the blush was a nervous tremor. He still hadn’t told her. Not really. Not the full truth about Soul Society, about what he was, about the centuries-old war that should have made this impossible.
But god—he was weak for her. Fragile and completely ruined for anyone else but her.
He pressed several slow, lingering kisses to her forehead, breathing her in like she was oxygen.
“I would love to,” he whispered, voice barely audible.
Reme’s arms tightened around him instantly.
Then, almost casually, she dropped the bomb.
“Is it okay… for a Shinigami to date a Quincy?”
Reme felt the sudden tension in his body and pulled back just enough to meet his wide, stunned eyes.
“Of course I knew,” she said gently, almost fondly. “The first time I met you, I already recognized you. You were with my brother—Uryu and some of his friends.”
Izuru blinked, utterly dumbfounded.
“Y-your brother… is Ishida?”
Reme rolled her eyes dramatically, then pushed herself up on one elbow so she could lean down and kiss him properly—slow, deep, claiming.
“Obviously, honey. I’m an Ishida too.”
She pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes sparkling with mischief and warmth.
“And don’t worry. As long as you’re safe in Soul Society, as long as you’re safe as a Shinigami… I won’t be the ‘villain’ to your comrades. I promise.”
Izuru stared at her—really stared—marveling at the woman in his arms who somehow managed to make the impossible feel almost… simple.
Softly, almost shyly: “Can I be your boyfriend?”
Reme’s grin turned wicked.
“My answer is yes.” She leaned in, lips brushing his ear.
Izuru flushed scarlet, burying his face against her shoulder with a muffled groan. Reme laughed—bright and delighted—and hugged him tighter.
“What about your brother?” Izuru asked after a moment, worry creeping back in. “What if he doesn’t accept it? What about your family?”
“Nothing’s going to change. They can’t do anything about it anyway.” She poked his cheek. “Besides—are you planning to date them?”
Izuru huffed a laugh despite himself. “No. Just you.”
“Exactly.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “So stop being such a good, obedient boy. It makes me want to fuck you again… and again… until you pass out.”
“Reme—stop,” he mumbled, mortified, hands flying up to cover his burning face. But even with his palms pressed over his eyes, the flush was unmistakable—his ears were bright red, the tips practically glowing.
She giggled and leaned in to press the lightest, teasing kiss to the shell of one scarlet ear.
“Stop, Reme,” he pleaded weakly. “I thought you still needed to improve your stamina.”
He was trying to be responsible. He really was. But the way she was looking at him—playful, hungry, completely unafraid—made it very hard to remember why they should stop.
“Okay, okay,” she relented, voice softening into something tender. “I’ll stop, my dear Zuru. Let’s just cuddle.”
She settled back down—this time climbing fully on top of him, straddling his hips and laying her cheek against his chest. Izuru’s arms came around her automatically, even as his face stayed embarrassingly red.
They didn’t fall asleep right away.
Reme did most of the talking at first—rambling happily about random things: about her brother Uryu when they were a little, her chaotic high school to college life, her dreams. Izuru mostly listened, fingers idly tracing slow circles on her bare back, humming softly whenever she paused.
Then she started asking questions—about him.
And every time he answered—quietly, carefully. The low timbre of his voice when he spoke about things that mattered to him. The way his gray eyes caught the faint lamplight and glittered. The rare, shy smiles he gave her when she teased him just right.
It made heat coil low in her belly all over again.
And Izuru—poor, weak, helplessly Izuru—felt it too.
Eventually, resistance crumbled.
They moved together again, slower this time, deeper, more desperate in how they clung to each other. Mouths never far apart. Hands never still. Whispered names and broken gasps and the wet, intimate sounds of bodies that already knew exactly how to ruin one another.
Until exhaustion finally won—limbs heavy, hearts pounding, skin slick and fever-hot.
Reme curled against his chest, one leg thrown possessively over his hip.
Izuru pressed a final, sleepy kiss to the crown of her head.
And together, tangled and spent and stupidly happy, they drifted into sleep—two souls who should never have fit, somehow perfectly locked together in the quiet dark.
note: I'd like to write more abt them 🫦🫦
theartofmadeline
germansingergirl
baratheonpilled
titsay
dailybridgerton
vaporwave
blakekathryn
gummygunk
pixelskylines
