I don't own anything but my ideas.

This story/collection of ideas is just a bank of fanfiction ideas that I've been wanting to write forever, but could never work out a story around them. Mostly around Ichigo and other characters, but sometimes other pairings. Yaoi (boyxboy), yuri (girlxgirl), and normal pairings (maybe M in the future) will occur in this story, so do not continue if it's something that you don't want to see. I don't do threesomes, you're in the wrong place if you're looking for that. I will post the pairing at the top of each chapter, and I'll try to remember to catagorize each story like Fan Fiction does, with the rating, the characters, and the genres. Happy reading~!

Pairing: GrimmIchi

Rating: T

Genres: Romance x Angst

Anger

Blood flew between them faster than their blades. This wasn't a battle anymore; it was a fight, a brawl, a desperate clash of fists—each more desperate than the other to disperse the anger and confusion swirling about in their heads.

Both masks were splattered with the hot, crimson liquid. On Ichigo's mask—which was already decorated with such markings, brought on no doubt by his own hollow's bloodlust—the blood wasn't such an obtrusion, but on Grimmjow's, the blood was embellishment. Just clear proof of the furry sparking between them, grating on the air around them stronger than an electrical storm.

There was no joy in either of their expressions. No happiness or excitement derived from this fight. No relief from the familiar clashing and ringing of steel on steel through the air as they both fought—what they had each thought they loved to do most. Only desperate searching for some sort of release. Even the air around them was thick with the strain, the wind stagnant and heavy, as if fighting too—fighting to breathe as the rage from the two enemies swallowed the atmosphere around them whole, and drowned out everything else.

It was good that they were out far in the countryside, because if they had been in the city, it would have been demolished by now. Even Ichigo had long since lost his control to the acidy, burning storm in his chest, eating him inside and out. His eyes were wild and unrestrained, almost as if it was the Hollow inside of him controlling his body, and not himself.

The ground around them had been shattered by their battle. Boulders lay in sharp fragments, trees splintered down to their roots from the sheer force of their attacks, and giant gouges and scars in the earth split the dark ground for miles, sending up high ridges on either side of each score and disfiguring the land.

Ichigo was throwing out snarls and yells in vain, trying in some way to wear himself out, to wear out what was making him so angry—so angry—inside. He was slashing blindly at the Arrancar, trying to hurt, to draw blood and pain from the advanced Hollow before him.

Grimmjow had all but abandoned his sword at this point. His claws flew like daggers through the air, tearing and slashing through whatever skin on Ichigo's body he could reach. He left deep, angry claw marks through Ichigo's cheek, splattering blood down both of their fronts, but the redhead didn't seem to notice—too intent on connecting his own blade with Grimmjow's body to care how much punishment his own was taking.

Ichigo didn't care. He didn't care if Grimmjow hurt him. He didn't care if he tore off all of his skin. He didn't care if his sword severed one of his limbs from his body. At this point, he didn't care if Grimmjow's claws sliced through the arteries in his fucking throat—he just wanted to make the Espada hurt. He wanted him to hurt for the confusion that wracked his body, day and night, every second of every fucking hour, tearing him up inside until he was so angry that he didn't care if Grimmjow actually killed him, he just had to make the Espada hurt.

Why?

The only coherent thought in his mind. The only thought that wasn't strung through with sadistic thoughts and an insatiable need to see Grimmjow's blood.

Why did the Arrancar affect him so?

Why couldn't he get his feral smile out of his head?

Why did finishing their fight seem more important than even stopping Aizen?

Why did he feel like he was turning his back on his friends?

Why had Orihime grown distant in his mind, even though she should have been the first priority?

Why did this feel so right?

Why did it feel so good?

Why did Grimmjow's claws ripping through his skin make him shiver if it wasn't from the pain?

Why couldn't he stop fighting?

Why did he want to never see Grimmjow's face again the same time he wanted to never leave the Espada's side?

Why the fuck had he dreamt last night that he had joined Aizen to stay by Grimmjow's side?

And why had he felt so happy during that dream, as he stood by Grimmjow's side?

Why did Grimmjow make him so angry, confused and scared that he was overcome with a need to just kill the blue-haired man to end these emotions?

Why couldn't he stop the other man's face from infiltrating his mind? Seeping into his every thought, tainting his dreams, sinking those razors fangs into his every breath and holding tight.

It wasn't right. He was human. He was a Shinigami. This thing's kind was responsible for the death of his mother, and for almost every friend he had lost now. Grimmjow was the reason Ichigo couldn't sleep at night. He was the reason that his Hollow went on a rampage every time he came close to the Espada, just in anticipation for the next fight. Everything about Grimmjow made the deepest fibers of his being scream, 'WRONG' inside of him.

And yet he couldn't stay away. No matter how strong the feeling of danger, no matter how many times he tried to think of his friends and family to get him to turn around and never look back, no matter how many memories of his mother he filled his mind with, he couldn't stop coming back.

Grimmjow's voice, his laugh, his smell of blood and sweat and something powerful that Ichigo couldn't place, aside from raw strength. It all drew him in. His hair, his mask, his body, his muscles, tight and wound in his arms and chest… Grimmjow was like an aphrodisiac. A numbing poison that made Ichigo's taste buds swoon with pleasure.

And then they smashed together, growling and snarling at the other as their Zanpakuto ground, sparks flying as the spirits within the steel shrieked at the pressure and crushing reiatsu between them. Neither Ichigo nor Grimmjow took notice. It was actually more probable that neither could hear, both being smothered in their own uncontrollable fury as they hovered, teeth bared and eyes full of rage, across from each other.

And then something shattered between them, breaking deep inside both of them beyond any point of repair or return. Their Zanpakuto were gone, tumbling through the air to the ground below. Ichigo wasn't sure how it happened. He was too furious to think or do anything else other than act.

His hands yanked at Grimmjow's hair and back, ripping through the white cloth and leaving long, angry scratches on the back of the Arrancar's neck as he furiously pulled him closer than was possible. Grimmjow's hands on his back and arms—trying to pin them to his side—left deep slices through his own skin and kosode. He couldn't help yelping at the pain as Grimmjow's claws dug deep into his back, but the Espada took no notice. If anything, he clawed harder.

This was never how Ichigo had imagined his first kiss. It was angry, and messy, and frantic beyond all reason. Grimmjow's teeth bit down on his tongue the same time the blue-haired man was massaging it with his own, their lips smashed harshly together, teeth cutting through the sensitive skin just inside their lips, and wild breathing left them both dizzy as they ignored the lack of oxygen, each yanking the other closer so as to never let him escape.

Ichigo didn't care enough to concentrate on how Grimmjow tasted, or smelled, or the way his skin felt under his hands. All he cared about was keeping him close. They were close enough at this point to meld into one being, but it wasn't close enough for either of them. They were yanking on skin, clothes, hair, limbs; anything that could be grabbed was just an anchor with which to pull themselves closer together.

And then just as quickly as they had slammed together, their heads flew apart. Ichigo's hands remained on Grimmjow's back and neck, one arm over his shoulder and the other pinned beneath Grimmjow's arm and his ribs, his fingers tight in the cloth; Grimmjow arms tight around his own back as they stared at each other, panting and bleeding, reeking of sweat and anger and something that Ichigo didn't care to breach at this moment.

And then, Ichigo realized with a start that he wasn't angry anymore. All of the frustration pent up inside of him, unable to be satisfied by any fighting, was gone. He felt more at peace than he had in weeks. He was staring straight into those strong, deep blue eyes, calmer than he could remember since he'd first had his ass kicked by the Espada. He was standing in the arms of his fucking sworn enemy, more relaxed than he could remember since before his mom's death.

And Grimmjow just stared back, unmoving, unblinking, his only movement the frenetic panting to keep himself conscious after the exhausting fighting and then the grappled, feverish kissing.

Somewhere in his mind, Ichigo registered that being too close to this psycho could mean certain death, and almost unquestionably did, but he couldn't find any reason to move. The typhoon of emotions inside of him had fizzled to the just faint rumbling of thunder, and he was enjoying being able to finally breathe in a relaxed state.

Slowly, without really even realizing that he was moving, Ichigo leaned forward, his eyes drifting shut, his arms tightening around Grimmjow's shoulderblades until his forehead came to rest against Grimmjow's. And then, the movements almost too slow to register, Grimmjow drew Ichigo in closer to his chest, his arms strengthening their hold around Ichigo's torso.

"Fuck," he heard Grimmjow murmur under his breath, the movement of air tickling his upper lip from how close they were.

"…Yeah, we are," Ichigo agreed after a moment.

"Not exactly what I meant, but that too."

Ichigo swallowed, but was unable to keep his mouth closed because of the way his lungs still screamed for oxygen. He let his lips fall open again, and couldn't help wishing that Grimmjow's own blazing lips were meshed against his own again.

It took a moment for him to realize exactly what he was wishing for, and then he winced inwardly and squeezed his eyes shut, clutching Grimmjow closer still.

…Fuck.

They were so fucked.

Fin…?