I had this mental image of Ichigo looking at his first child, and just had to write this. Also, I really wanted to write an Ichigo/Ukitake story. (Please and Thank You might end up being one, but that's going to be awhile.) I hope all my lovely readers out there enjoy this!
Disclaimer: They are not mine, no matter how much I wish for it.
Warnings: FemUkitake
Summary: "She has my hair." Ichigo/FemUkitake drabble
Treasure
Ichigo couldn't wipe the stupid smirk off his face. He wasn't even trying to.
"She's so tiny," he whispered to himself. He leaned over the crib, placing his daughter's small hand inside his own much larger one. She wriggled slightly in her sleep, flexing her tiny fingers and toes, until she settled down once more. The orange haired man's grin widened. He took one finger, tracing the outline of her soft face.
"Ichigo, really, she's only eight hours old and you're already spoiling her."
Ichigo managed to tear his eyes away from his child to the bed where his wife laid, her white hair spread out across the pillows. "You have no room to talk. You were spoiling her at five minutes."
Ukitake chuckled softly. "Can you blame me?"
Her husband just shook his head, turning back to his daughter. "She has my hair."
"And your forehead, and your nose, and your chin, and your hands," Ukitake sighed softly, smiling gently at the sight of her husband and child together.
"But she has your eyes, and your ears." Ichigo couldn't help but touch the downy bright orange hair covering his daughter's head. It was amazing to him how in an instant this one small being had enchanted him without even trying.
"She's sleeping, Ichigo, let her rest."
With a loud sigh, Ichigo slumped his shoulders as he once again turned away from his daughter. He climbed into bed beside his wife, wrapping his arms around her. "I love you," he whispered, pressing his lips to her own.
Ukitake smiled, tucking her head under his chin. "I love you too."
Ichigo waited until he heard Ukitake's breath slow, gently kissing her forehead before slipping out of bed again. She sighed at the loss of his warmth, shifting slightly so her head rested on his pillow. The orange haired man smiled softly at her before walking over to his daughter's crib, his smile turning into a grin.
"You're perfect, little Takara," he whispered. "Now I understand why my own father acts like such an idiot all the time."
/
Officially my shortest story ever. Oh well, I hope you enjoyed it. Ichigo as a dad makes me smile.
Takara is Japanese for treasure, thus the title.