Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He hadn’t planned on taking that route that day. But he was glad he had.

Construction had blocked his usual path, so he’d cut through unfamiliar streets, half-jogging, half-scowling at the detour. He was late. His friends would give him hell for it.

That’s when he heard it—a commotion in the alley.

He didn’t mean to get involved.

Seriously, he didn’t.

It wasn’t like he was some hero, running around saving people. He just happened to be nearby. That’s all. Anyone would’ve done the same.

By the time he reached the scene, fists were already flying. He didn’t remember throwing the first punch. He didn’t know what came over him at that moment. Sure, he’d fought before—defended his sisters from bullies, shoved kids who mouthed off. But never like this. Never with this kind of fury.

But when he saw her.

Brown hair hacked short. Face streaked with tears and dirt. Trembling. Small. Broken-looking.

Something inside him had snapped.

A strange, unnamed violence surged through him. He couldn’t stop it. He didn’t want to.

He had to protect her.

Not because she was weak. Not because she was a girl. But because something about her made him feel like the world had no right to touch her. To hurt her.

He stood over the bloodied boys, fists clenched, chest heaving. Ignoring their groans. Ignoring the shrieks of girls fleeing the scene. Ignoring the chestnut strands scattered on the ground.

He crouched in front of her, voice low, eyes soft.

“Are you okay?” he asked, rougher than intended, scanning her flushed, tear-streaked face.

She blinked up at him, eyes wide and glassy. “I… I think so…”

“You should be more careful,” he muttered, looking away, jaw tight. His hands were still shaking.

Not from anger.

From something else. Something unfamiliar. Something terrifying.

She looked like a mess—big brown eyes red from crying, form trembling like a leaf, hair chopped like someone had tried to erase her softness. But it didn’t work. She was still radiant. Still precious.

“What’s your name?” he asked after a beat, still not meeting her eyes.

“…Orihime Inoue…”

He froze.

Orihime?

Hime?

Princess?

How fitting could a name be for a person?

She looked up at him, breath uneven, eyes curious. And in that moment, something inside Ichigo twisted and tightened.

She wasn’t just a girl to him anymore.

She was now forever his to protect.

His to keep safe.

His to care for.

His to cherish.

Over the years, they became friends. He made sure of that.  

Ichigo often found himself watching her more than he should. He didn’t hover. Not obviously, anyway.  

If Orihime dropped her books, he’d be the one to pick them up—grumbling under his breath, avoiding her eyes. If she looked tired, he’d shove a drink into her hands, muttering something about hydration like it was a lecture, not a gesture. If someone teased her, he’d step in fast. His voice sharp. His glare sharper. He was always there. Listening for her laugh. Noticing when she was quiet.

He hated when she cried.  

He hated when she forced herself to smile.

He hated when she pretended to be okay.

But most of all, he hated when she got hurt—even a scratch. It made his blood boil. Made his fists itch. His voice would drop low. “You need to be more careful,” he’d say, tossing her a bandage.  

She’d smile at him—soft, grateful—and it would wreck him.  

He didn’t know how to handle that smile.  

He didn’t understand it at first. That protective ache. That instinct to destroy anything that made her cry. That need to be near her. To know where she was. To make sure she was safe.  

But he didn’t fight it either.  

Orihime was the kind of person you didn’t just care about. She was the kind you guarded. Because Orihime was kind. Too kind. And her kindness, Ichigo knew, could be dangerous. It made people think they could get close to her.  

Talk to her.  

Touch her.  

Hurt her.  

He wouldn’t let that happen.  

Not on his watch.  

He was going to protect her.  

And if the world didn’t understand that, he’d make it understand.  

With words, if he could.  

With fists, if he had to.

Chapter Text

Ichigo was jealous. He didn’t even try to deny it anymore. It wasn’t the petty kind—the kind that flared up and faded. Not the loud kind. Not the kind that made a scene. No, his jealousy was bone-deep—a constant burn, a constant itch, rooted like ivy winding around his ribs. And it had everything to do with her.

He loved her. Loved her in a way that felt more like worship than affection. It wasn’t something he could hide—not when it came to Orihime. She was sunshine in human form, too bright to be caged. And he knew that. He respected that. Or at least, he told himself he did. But the truth was, letting her be free felt like watching the sun drift further from his reach.

Orihime was the embodiment of light—cheerful, always smiling like the world had never hurt her. She moved through life with childlike innocence, trusting everyone, loving everything. That innocence terrified him. Because it made her vulnerable. Because it made people drawn to her—not just for her heart, but for her body, her beauty. And Ichigo saw it all. Every glance. Every whisper. Every fantasy that clung to her like smoke.

In Karakura, she wasn’t just popular—she was adored. Boys stared at her like she was a fantasy. Even adults looked at her with something that made his fists itch and his vision blur. And she didn’t notice the way eyes clung to her curves or lingered at places they shouldn't. She didn’t see the danger. But Ichigo did. He saw it every damn day.

He and Tatsuki had done what they could—cornered creeps, thrown threats, made it clear that Orihime wasn’t someone they could touch. Tatsuki did it out of loyalty. Ichigo did it because he couldn’t breathe when she was in danger. Because the thought of someone hurting her made something primal wake up inside him. Because she was his. Not in a possessive way—no, deeper than that. She was his in the way the sun belongs to the morning sky. In the way a heart belongs to a body.

And yet, no matter how many threats he threw, no matter how many glares he gave, they still stared. Still whispered. Still fantasized. He wanted to scream. To tear the world apart until there was no one left who could look at her like that. But then she’d smile at him—soft, innocent, like she didn’t know he was drowning in obsession—and he’d forget how to breathe.

She didn’t know how much he watched over her. How many times he walked her home just to make sure no one followed. How many faces he memorized. How many nights he stayed awake wondering if she was safe, if she was happy. All he wanted was for her to keep smiling. To be okay. And if that meant standing between her and the world—so be it. He’d do it. He’d do it forever.

Because she was everything.

And he was hers.

Ichigo wasn’t good with words. Never had been.  

But he noticed things. Especially when it came to Orihime.  

She thought she was subtle. She wasn’t. Not with him.  

Especially not with him.  

Because he watched her too closely. Too often.  

He memorized the way her fingers curled when she was anxious, the way she smiled—gentle, luminous, like she was offering him her heart without saying a word.  

And he made sure it was him.  

Him who made her cheeks bloom with color when he glanced her way.  

Him who made her stumble over words.  

Him who made her dress a little softer, laugh a little sweeter.  

Him who made her gaze linger just a heartbeat longer.  

He’d started to crave it—  

The way she hovered near, fingers twisting the hem of her skirt.  

The way she bit her lip, like she was holding back something delicate and sweet.  

The way her honey-brown eyes shimmered just for him.  

The way her eyes flicked up through thick lashes, hopeful, shy, lips parted like she was on the verge of confession.  

She cared for him.  

She brought him lunch.  

Reminded him to rest.  

Fretted over his bruises and wounds— bandaging them with trembling hands and misty eyes.  

Held his hand. Hugged him.  

Spoiled him with a love so gentle it wrapped around him like a warm blanket he hadn’t asked for but clung to anyway.  

She tried to hide it.  

He let her pretend.  

But he knew.  

And he liked it.  

Liked it too much.

Liked it in a way that made his chest tighten when she wasn’t near.  

Liked it in a way that made him scan every room for her first.  

Liked it in a way that made his jaw clench when someone else made her laugh.  

He wanted to protect her. From everything. From the world. From pain. From anyone who didn’t see her the way he did.  

He wanted to wrap her in his arms and keep her there—safe, untouched, adored.  

He wanted to pull her close, hug her soft frame,press his lips to her tiny nose just to hear her giggle, kiss her soft cheeks,bury his face in the crook of her neck and whisper how much she meant to him even if the words came out wrong.  

He wanted to pour out all the love he’d inside him, burning, yearning for her. Wanted to tell her everything he ever wanted to say— how her care made his heart ache in the best way.  

But he pretended too.  

Pretended her love didn’t unravel him.  

Pretended he wasn’t counting every second she spent near.  

Pretended he wasn’t cataloging every smile, every touch, every glance she gave him.  

Pretended he wasn’t holding his breath in every one of those moments.  

Two could play the game.  

And he was playing to win.  

“Thanks...” he’d say, eyes fixed on the floor.  

Always polite. Always distant.  

Like he didn’t crave her attention.  

Like he didn’t burn for her.  

Like he didn’t replay her words in his head at night.  

Like he didn’t want to pull her into his arms and never let go.  

“...You didn’t have to.”  

But she always did.  

And he always noticed.  

Every. Single. Time.  

Orihime was cruel too.  

Too unaware.  

Too innocent.  

She hugged him like it didn’t make his heart stutter. Smiled at him like it didn’t steal his breath. Held his hand like her touch didn’t send sparks down his spine.  

It broke him.  

Her softness. Her warmth. Her unknowing tenderness.  

He started to need it—  

Those moments when her gaze softened, like he was her safe place. Like he was her whole world.  

Those moments when her voice dipped into something gentle, when her fingers brushed his arm just a second longer than necessary.  

It made something bloom in his chest.  

Something fierce.  

Something madning. 

Something obsessive in its purity.  

Something that made him want to be hers.

To be the one to protect her.  

To be the one she turned to.  

To be the one she needed.  

And when she smiled at him, full of love, full of devotion—  

He felt it.  

That quiet madness.  

That obsessive joy.  

That smug, burning pride.  

Like he’d won something no one else even knew was a prize.  

And he’d guard it with everything he had.

Chapter Text

It was supposed to be just another ordinary day. And at first, it was.

Ichigo had walked Orihime home from school, like he always did. It was his favorite part of the day, moments where her radiant presence made everything feel a little lighter, a little easier to breathe.

The sky had been clear when they left campus, but by the time they reached her street, the rain had turned fierce. Sheets of water poured from the sky, soaking their uniforms and blurring the world around them.

At her doorstep, Orihime paused. Her breath came in uneven bursts from their dash through the storm, fingers fumbling with the keys. She glanced up at him, raindrops clinging to her lashes like tiny crystals.

“Um… you can wait inside… if you want,” she murmured, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice was soft, nearly swallowed by the downpour. She didn’t meet his eyes. Her cheeks were flushed as she turned the key and pushed the door open.

Ichigo didn’t answer right away. He watched her delicate, uncertain movements.

She was too kind. 

Too trusting.

Too vulnerable.

He brushed past her gently, his gaze sweeping the rain-slicked street behind them before the door clicked shut. His jaw was tight.

Of course I would, he thought. You shouldn’t be alone in this weather. You shouldn’t be alone, ever.

He stepped out of his soaked shoes, peeled off his damp uniform jacket. The warmth of her home wrapped around him like a soft embrace. His eyes moved across the room—not with curiosity, but instinct. Every corner, every creak, every shadow. He knew this space like he knew her. Intimately. Obsessively.

Behind him, Orihime turned the lock, sealing them in a bubble of comfort and quiet. This was her space. But it was his, too, in a way. Her world. His sanctuary. Because she was here. And that made it his.

She hummed softly, her voice a nervous melody in the hush. Outside, the rain continued to fall, but it was distant now—just a whisper against the windows. The storm had faded into irrelevance. Nothing mattered beyond this room. Beyond her.

Orihime turned, startled by how close he was.

“Ichigo-kun?” she breathed.

Her voice was soft, hesitant. Like she wasn’t sure if she should interrupt whatever storm was brewing behind his eyes.

He blinked, realizing he’d been staring—watching the way her damp hair clung to her cheeks, the way her lashes trembled with leftover rain, the way her clothes - soaked through - hugged her figure.

She looked concerned, and that alone made his chest tighten.

That look… was too gentle. Too innocent. It twisted something sharp inside him.

He looked away, heat rising to his face. It was getting harder to hide now. Now that he knew she felt the same, even if her love was soft, gentle, innocent. Not like his.

“I’m fine,” he said, voice low, steady. The storm inside him slowly starting to churning more intensely.

She nodded and moved ahead, her wet socks leaving faint prints across the floor. She hummed a children’s show tune under her breath, unaware of how closely he watched her. How his eyes lingered on the curve of her back. How his fingers twitched with the urge to reach out, to pull her close, to keep her there—safe, untouched, his.

He followed her into the living room, silent but alert. His gaze flicked to the windows, the locks, the shadows—searching for anything out of place.

This space was sacred. Because she was here.

He hated the thought of anyone else ever standing where he stood. Of anyone else hearing her voice that soft, that vulnerable.

“We should change,” she said, already turning toward the hallway.

Ichigo’s eyes narrowed slightly. She was right—they were drenched, clothes clinging to skin. But he barely registered the discomfort.

His mind was elsewhere.

Change… yeah, we need to change.

And this moment… this silence… this privacy. With just the two of them, wrapped in the comfort of her home. She was here. She was close. And no one else was.

No interruptions. No distractions. No one to pull her away.

He would be a fool to not use this opportunity.

“We should,” he echoed, his voice low, almost too calm. 

He was tired of playing games. Tired of pretending he didn’t want more. Tired of watching her smile at others, laugh with others, walk home with him like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t burning inside every time she looked away.

He wanted more. And he was done waiting.

He reached for her hand, his fingers curling gently around hers, pulling her with him.

“Eh?” Orihime’s eyes widened, her cheeks bloomed pink as she was dragged by him. But she didn’t pull away.

Her hand stayed in his—warm, soft, trembling just a little.

Ichigo tugged her gently down the corridor. His grip was tight, but careful. Not rough, just intense. Like he needed her close. Like letting go wasn’t an option. Like even a breath of distance was unacceptable.

His thumb brushed her knuckles softly as if to remind her: she was his.

She just didn’t know it yet.

“Ichigo -Kun, where are we—?” Orihime stumbled slightly, trying to match his pace, her fingers grazing the wall for balance. Her heart fluttered as she followed him.

 She didn’t notice the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes flicked across the hallway, scanning for threats that didn’t exist.

But they could.

And if they did, he would be ready.

He wouldn’t let anything near her. Not now. Not ever.

“To change. Like you said,” he replied, but his voice carried something else.

I'm going to take you somewhere I can keep you close. Somewhere no one can interrupt us.

He stopped abruptly at her bedroom door and pushed it open. The room was dim, curtains drawn, the sound of rain tapping against the glass like a lullaby. As they entered, a sweet floral scent of her perfume greeted them. It made his pulse thrum, comforting and soothing the paranoia inside him. They were alone here, together, something inside him burned intensely at the thought.

Then, gently, he turned to her and guided her toward her bed. His hand was firm on her shoulder, never rough.

But there was no mistaking the intent behind it.

“Sit,” he said, voice low.

Orihime blinked, startled by the sudden command, but she didn’t resist. Her cheeks flushed as she lowered herself onto the edge of the mattress, fingers bunching the fabric of her bedsheet, eyes lifting to meet his.

Ichigo closed the door, locking it behind them. Then he reached for a towel, unfolding it slowly. The silence between them stretched—thick and heavy—broken only by the steady rhythm of rain outside. He turned back to her, towel in hand. His gaze dropped to her shoulders, to the way her uniform clung to her skin, translucent in places. His jaw tightened.

Ichigo crouched in front of her, his right-hand dabbed the towel at her damp strands of hair. His gaze was intense, burning with something deeper than concern.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured. “You’ll catch a cold.”

Orihime blinked up at him, confused. Her rain-soaked school uniform clung to her skin, the chill making her shiver, but she didn’t move.

He continued to stare at her, his expression unreadable. His hand continued to dry her damp hair with slow, careful motions. Each movement deliberate. Like she was something precious.

Something sacred.

She stilled under his touch, her breath catching.

Ichigo tossed the towel aside. “You’re always so careless,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. He reached out again, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb brushed her cheekbone—her skin was cold. Colder than he expected. It unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

“You shouldn’t be cold,” he whispered, as if the thought alone was unacceptable.

Orihime’s lips parted, unsure what to say. The way he looked at her made her heart flutter and her stomach twist.

Ichigo’s gaze finally met hers. “I’ll warm you up,” he said softly. “You don’t have to worry about anything.”

Her breath hitched. Fingers tightened around the edge of her bedsheet, knuckles pale. She could feel his warmth, chasing away the chill of her soaked clothes. Her heart pounded, loud in her ears, drowning out the soft pattering of rain on her windows.

“We should change,” he echoed her earlier words.

Her eyes widened. “I didn’t mean—” she began, voice trembling, cheeks turning red.

“You said we should change. You said I should stay. You let me in,” he said, voice low, steady. His fingers traced down her face, slow and careful, like he was memorizing the feel of her tender skin. “You always let me in.” even when you shouldn't....

Her heart pounded against her ribs. Words failed her. Even breathing felt difficult.

“You’ll catch a cold,” he repeated, slower this time, his left hand slipped under her skirt as his other hand cupped her face, “Let me take them off.” they are in the way, they are between us.

Ichigo leaned in, his forehead nearly touching hers, their breaths mingling together. His voice was quiet, but it left no room for argument. He watched her, eyes dark and hooded with lust—not waiting for permission, but for surrender.

Orihime looked away, her breath shallow. The silence between them was thick, pressing in from all sides. Expectant. Heavy.

Ichigo’s left hand moved up her bare thighs, his movements torturously slow as his fingers dangerously neared the waist band of her panties. 

Orihime’s body squirmed at the touch.

His other hand trailed down her neck , a finger hooking on to the first button of her shirt, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to do anything. Just let me take care of you.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he was already moving. His touch was firm, steady as he began unfastening the buttons of her soaked uniform—slow, methodical, careful, sneaking glances at her face. She looked so soft. So innocent. So painfully unaware of the storm she was stirring inside him.

Orihime could feel his fingers brushing her skin as it prickled under his touch—not from cold, but from the intensity of it. From the way he looked at her with some sort of twisted devotion. There was no rush, no hesitance in his movements almost as if he’d imagined this moment a thousand times and was finally living it.

He’s never looked at me like this before.

He’s never touched me like this before.

As he took off the last piece of her clothing, she knew she should pull away, she should say something, she should at least flinch at his touch. This was supposed to be something forbidden, something wrong, if they crossed this line there would be no returning.

And yet… it didn’t feel wrong. It felt inevitable. Like something that had been waiting in the shadows, patient and quiet, until now.

Her heart pounded, cheeks burned, but she didn’t stop him.

She let him strip her.

She let him take care of her. 

She let him leave her vulnerable.

Because with him, she felt safe, protected, cared for.

Because somewhere deep down, she wanted to be his.

Ichigo’s gaze flicked up to her face again, lingering on the soft curve of her plush lips, the flutter of her thick lashes, the way her breath hitched every time his fingers grazed naked skin. Her cheeks were adorably puffed out and flushed, lips caught between her teeth in a nervous chew, her eyes were squeezed shut now, as if she had already accepted her fate. She was trembling, but not from the cold.

He knew that.

He gently pressed her down on her bed, climbing on top of her.

"Look at you,” he muttered, voice low, looking down lovingly at her fragile frame beneath him. 

Her eyes fluttered, feeling his breath tingle against her skin as his face hovered over hers.

“You always let me in…” he whispered again.  

She felt his nose nuzzle the curve of her neck, his lips tracing a slow path upward until they reached her ear.  

“Tell me, Hime,” he murmured.  “Why is it so?”  

He gently bit her earlobe, then let his tongue glide along the side of her face until his lips hovered just inches from hers.  

“Let me answer why”

She drew a sharp breath feeling his lips meet hers. She tried to pull away out of shame, but he was relentless, his tongue reached out to part her lips wider, capturing her mouth in a deep embrace, slowly entering and dancing around in her mouth as if trying to memorize every inch of the unexplored cavern.

Ichigo tasted his girl's lips for the first time, and he was already addicted to it, and when she finally responded, shyly, by licking his tongue, he could feel his head buzzing and getting foggy.

To him loving her felt natural, just like the storm outside, his love was intense, unrelenting and fierce. And it became even more intense when she loved him back.

When he finally pulled away, she was left panting and dazed. He looked at her with fascination and wonder that would be almost innocent if not for his actions. He had never seen this side of her, hair fanned out like a halo as she laid under him, face flushed, eyes watery, naked chest trembling with each breath she took — her rosy, pink nipples hardened with arousal, she looked beautiful in every sense of the word.

Orihime tried to cover herself up, embarrassed at the way he was staring at her, but he stopped her attempts to hide from him by placing her arms away from her body, he didn't want anyone to interrupt this moment, not even her.

Ichigo reached out his hand and caressed the soft supple skin of her breasts lightly; his hand kneaded her mound as his fingers pressed on her nipples - rubbing the sensitive area in circles. “It's because from the moment we met, you’ve been mine,” he said softly. “And I've been yours." His movements were slow and possessive, like he was claiming her inch by inch. His eyes never left hers, dark and unwavering.

The soft moan that left her mouth in response was music to his ears.

He couldn't stop himself anymore, he wanted her, he had wanted her since the day he had laid his eyes on her.

Ichigo lowered his head again, this time attacking her breasts instead of her mouth, feeling the vibrations of her loud moans as his tongue swirled around her sensitive areola, flicking and sucking her stiff nipples, his other hand continued its assault on her other breast, his fingertips pinching and kneading her hardened nipples.

“I see the way people look at you,” he continued, voice low, almost tender. “I see the way they talk to you. Smile at you. Like they have a chance.” He switched over to suck on her other breast, giving it the same treatment, leaving the pale flesh of her boobs with red marks over them.

“But they don’t know you like I do,” he whispered, sitting up, watching her breasts heave  with two swollen nipples decorating their tips. “They don’t know how you blush when you are kissed. They don't know how you moan when you are loved like this.”

He reached down and parted her legs, the action eliciting a whine of protest from her, his girl sounded so needy, so naughtily tortured for him, he had to resist the urge to lean over and kiss her senseless once again.

His hand cupped and petted her private part as if comforting her, his breath was becoming heavier by the second, her lips are so soft... just like every part of her...tender, warm, maddening... sending waves of pleasure inside him at the mere touch of them. His fingers caressed her, gentle but firm. “They don’t.”

She panted as his hands caressed the petal-like lips of her nether region, stroking around in circles, the touch making her arch and tremble as her thighs tried to trap his hands in place.

“But i do”

Orihime’s breath trembled in her chest. She bit her lip, the center of her legs felt tingly, she wanted something, some way to relieve it.

As if reading her mind, his hands parted the puffy seam, revealing the soft moist flesh between them, his fingers rubbed the warm wetness, coating his fingers in her slick.

Her large eyes closed shut, her arms wrapped his neck as if to support herself. "Ichigo- Kun" she whimpered,clenching down, feeling wetness seep out of her. His ministrations sent a sensation so pleasurable it caused her hips to buckle wanting more of him. 

His fingers continued to tease the tender flesh of her clit, once in a while carefully circling her small wet hole as it closed and opened trying to swallow his fingers, " you are so beautiful" Ichigo murmured almost in a daze, “I won’t let them take you from me. I won't let you leave me” his voice dropped to a whisper. His eyes watched her face contort as she covered her mouth to stop herself from moaning any louder, her breasts jiggled as she writhed, wanting to be filled, he felt himself painfully harden at the sight, he wanted to plunge himself in the narrow cavern and enjoy the tight warmth of her as she intimately caressed him.

But he wanted to take it slow, he had waited for years to be here; to be able to openly love her like this and he was going to enjoy every moment of taking her, of claiming her.

He ran his fingers down her clit until he reached the slippery center of her womanhood, letting it engulf his middle finger, leaning forward to kiss her as she tensed at the new sensation. He let her relax before his fingers prodded on, deeper, touching her where even she herself had never touched.

Ichigo let his forehead rest against hers, eyes closed. “I dream about you, every single night.” he whispered. “I think about you when I wake up. When I walk. When I fight. When I breathe.” He began to slowly pump his finger back and forth, circling the insides of her wall. She broke her face away from his, moaning and whimpering in need.

His thumb deliberately circled her hardened clit. She started tensing up against him, absentmindedly rocking her hips into his hand, “I think about you all the time,” he whispered, feeling her body stiffen “I worry about you. More than I should. More than I can stand. ” She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. His finger pumped faster, deeper. "I don’t know how to stop. And I don’t want to stop” His voice trembled, just slightly. His thumb increased its pace on her hardened clit. 

And that undid her.

Ichigo groaned, feeling her body spasm and clamp on his finger as her orgasm hit her. He carefully let out his finger after she relaxed, licking her cum off of it while admiring the way the happy to go lucky girl he had known almost his entire life unraveled beneath him.

But it wasn't enough. He wanted her to feel his love more.

He moved down and spread her legs again, raising them and holding her puffy lips apart as he buried face in her wet core, placing tender kisses on her cunt, letting his tongue glide along her softness and lapping up her juices. He let his tongue slip inside her cunt, feeling her body tremble at the intrusion.

“Ah!” She yelped as she tangled her fingers through his hair, lifting her hips in an attempt to move away or closer she couldn’t understand but she was unable to do either as his hand forced her hip down, shamelessly suckling her womanhood to orgasm.

Ichigo watched her body shudder as another orgasm washed over her, all the while he licked up the fresh cum that flowed from her. 

He smiled—soft, possessive, humming in satisfaction as he licked the last traces of her juices from his lips, “You know how much I suffered?” he whispered. 

“When you’re not around. When you smile at someone else. When you walk home without me.” he continued, standing up and admiring her naked form splayed on the bed.

She followed his movements in orgasm induced daze, her eyes teary, cheeks flushed red and mouth still puffy from his previous assault.

 “It hurts,” he said, slowly undressing himself.

Orihime’s lips parted, but no words came. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling—nervous, flustered, overwhelmed. But not afraid. Never afraid of him.

“It hurts not being near you,” he continued. “It hurts not knowing if you’re okay. If someone’s bothering you. If you’re smiling for someone else.” 

His eyes met hers.

“I wonder if they talk to you. Smile at you. I wonder if you smile back. That thought drives me insane.” he said, voice barely audible, “Every second you’re not with me feels like someone’s stealing you.” He pulled his boxers off, letting his cock spring free.

Orihime’s eyes widened, her breath catching. She hiccupped trying to drag herself away.

“Because I want to be the only one who sees you like this,” She let out a soft squeak as he climbed on top of her, pulling her down and wrapping her thighs around his waist in one swift motion.

“The only one who touches you. The only one who makes you like this.” He settled himself between her, letting his dick rub her wetness, watching as his precum mixed with her wetness. He stroked her hair, holding her close to him, his heart pounding as she hid behind her hands, hiding her blush.

He bit back a smirk.

She was so easy to read. So adorably transparent.

And she was his favorite thing to watch. To adore.

He traced the curve of her neck with the back of his fingers, slow and deliberate. He leaned in, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her skin. 

Orihime whimpered below him, her body twisting, watery eyes pleading him for something even she was unaware of. He shifted and lifting her to line himself up at her entrance. Her breath hitched. She was trying so hard to stay composed. It was adorable. And it made him want to unravel her even more.

She yelped, digging her nails on his shoulders, tears rolling down her eyes as he slid the head of his cock inside.

He groaned, feeling her tight hole slowly accommodate him, he could feel her around him, soft, wet and hot, all for him. She felt so good.

She had no idea how much control she had over him. How every breath she took was something he noticed. How every sound she let out made his heart flutter.

He nuzzled the nape of her neck causing her to moan, the sound was so sweet, so melodious, it was addictive. 

She didn’t know how beautiful she was.

She didn’t know how dangerous that made her.

“It's going to hurt,” he warned, she shuddered, feeling herself stretch open as he pushed into her. Letting out a sharp painful cry as he broke into her hymen. 

Ichigo bent over, letting her bury head in the crook of his neck, he grimaced as he felt her tears roll down his chest,  even though he knew this was going to happen, he still felt guilty – at being the cause of her pain, He held her close, her sobs muffled against his shoulder. Each tremor in her body echoed through him like a silent accusation. He hadn’t meant to hurt her—never her. But intentions didn’t erase pain. His fingers threaded through her hair, slow and soothing, pecking her face with gentle kisses. 

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. She didn’t answer, but the way she clung to him told him everything. He let her rest against him for a while, letting her breathing calm down.

“You ready?”  he asked after a while

She nodded bracing herself.

He let her adjust to his length before grinding into her. 

She gasped, throwing her head back in a mix of pain and pleasure, her pussy pressed against the base of his manhood, her pillowy softness surrounding him as he buried his cock deep inside her.

Ichigo’s heart pounded in his chest, but his face remained calm. Controlled. He had waited so long for this. For her to let him in completely. For her to stop pretending she didn’t see the way he watched her. The way he hovered. The way he burned.

What he had for her wasn’t just affection. It was devotion. Obsession.

“Don't cry,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of you.” He thrust into her. 

Orihime’s heart twisted, her thoughts a blur. She deliriously panted his name again and again, pleading to him. She didn’t know what she needed. But he did.

“I’ll protect you. From everything. From everyone. Even from yourself.” Again, this time harder. She cried out softly, arching her back, as if offering herself to him.

He pressed himself onto her as if trying to become a part of her, his thrusts grew wild and desperate. He groaned watching her tits jiggle and her moans became more and more desperate with each time he hit her sweet spot. 

She practically screamed as she came, her body clenching around him. He fucked her through her orgasm, before letting his dick out spurting his semen over her stomach. 

They laid there for a moment huffing and panting as they came down from their high.

“Ichigo…” she muttered in a daze as she felt him move away from her.

He leaned in, "I’m not going anywhere” he whispered, brushing her hair back, lips ghosting over her temple. She sighed, content. He grabbed the towel he had previously tossed, wiping his essence off of her stomach, collecting it and rubbing it on her cunt with deliberate care “There,” he mumbled. “Better.” 

He threw the towel somewhere besides their discarded clothes and laid down beside her, his breathing as ragged as hers. He reached for the blanket, wrapping it tightly around her frame, cocooning her in warmth—and in him. She nestled into him instantly, her head resting on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re always so warm,” she murmured, voice soft and drowsy. “It makes me feel safe.”

Ichigo’s breath hitched. Safe. She said it so simply. So innocently. Like it was nothing. She had always been like this—never noticing the way he held her a little too long, never catching how his eyes lingered. Even now, she smiled, trusting, naive, wrapped in the warmth of someone who would never let her go.

“Ichigo-kun,” she whispered, barely audible, “can you stay the night?”

He stared at her, eyes unreadable, observing every rise and fall of her chest. Every twitch of her fingers. She looked so small. So vulnerable. And she’d let him in—into her home, into her world—without hesitation. She didn’t want him to leave. She wanted him here. With her. Where he belonged.

“I’ll stay,” he said, voice low.

He pulled her closer until she was pressed tightly against him, arms wrapped around her like a cage made of comfort. Her breath tickled his neck as she hummed softly into his chest, her body relaxed. She didn’t resist. She never did. She just let herself be held—pampered, adored.

She fell asleep quickly. Her heartbeat was slow. Steady. Trusting.

Ichigo didn’t move.

He lay there, eyes open, watching her, memorizing the way her lips parted in sleep, the way she curled into him like she belonged there. Like she’d always belonged there. His arm was wrapped around her waist, possessive and protective, fingers splayed like he was afraid she’d vanish if he let go.

She murmured something in her sleep—soft, unintelligible. He leaned down, lips brushing her forehead.

“You’re mine,” he whispered.

She stirred, a faint smile blooming across her lips, still lost in dreams.

He kissed her again—first on the cheek, then the corner of her mouth. Gentle. Careful. Like he was afraid to wake her but couldn’t resist touching her.

Orihime sighed, her leg sliding over his, curling closer. She was tangled in him now—completely. And she didn’t even realize it. And he was going to make sure she was like this for the rest of their lives, safe, secure, accepting every last inch, every last essence of his love he planned to devotedly pour into her, love he knew he would not be able to express in words. 

The door behind them stayed shut. The rain outside kept falling, soft and steady. And in her tiny bedroom, time felt suspended—held in place by their shared warmth.