1. Kojima Mizuiro. Class 3-A, Karakura Highschool. Eighteen-years of age. Known womaniser.
The dawn comes as any other, a dark cyan with streaks of peaches and thin white clouds. Judging by the mostly blue hue, he could say it was near four and five in the morning. Sitting, his muscles ache and he stretches, face pausing when he sees this nights lover. A heart-shaped face bares a light smile and brunette hair surrounds her head in an alluring way.
Smirking, Mizuiro bends down and traces a kiss on her collarbone, Nana-san? Narumi-san? Nakahara-san? He's forgotten her name, but whomever she is, she moans in delights and peers up at him in a drunken manner. Her smile is soft and bitter, if he remembers correctly, she's married, but her husband is always over seas.
"Ohayou, Kojima-san," her moans put softly, appreciation lacing her words.
"Ohayou, Ojou-sama," he whispers huskily into her ear.
She gives out a mirthful giggle and wraps her arms around his neck. Mizuiro's smirk deepens, he runs his slender fingers through her silky brown hair and his hips grinds into her pelvis, the flimsy sheet not doing anything, but proving to hindrance their affair.
Soft, slender fingers entwine in his hair as he rhythmically grinds against her, her moans ringing out in the love-suite.
Moans of pleasure. Their eyes meet and Mizuiro bends down to kiss her, softly tracing every curve and crevice of her mouth. Another groan leaves her mouth and his desire to please her comes springing up in the form on an erection. So, Mizuiro gives into his carnal desire and pleases her leisurely, taking the time to give her the affection she deserves.
Memories of frowning best friends. Of dying friends and blood, Hollows dark and frightening, humanoid figures and lies, so much lies. Scolding parents and shattered friendships, cigarette butts, Katana against Katana, gunpowder and vomit, hidden food, more lies and burnt photographs; they're pushed away, replaced by the elation in the strangers appreciative gaze.
A dopey smirk dances across his face, Mizuiro's body, filled with endorphins and hormones drive his actions.
He doesn't leave the hotel until ten, shirt tucked in yet creased, shoes untied and hair unruly. Hands ran through the usually straight hair mussing it. A hollow, dark gleam shines dimly in his eyes. No one pays the eighteen-year old any attention.
The next hour goes by with him and his cellphone. Walking home, he sifts through all the different folders. He's sent a few, I'd do this to you and other sultry words, but in reality, he's looking at photos. Specifically photo's of his friends. Angry at himself for caring, he snaps the phone shut. They don't care, he thinks vindictively. He nears the train station.
Boarding the train, he sits on an empty far corner, happy lunch-time rush had yet to occur.
His phone vibrates and he sees another text, it's Satsuki-san, a university student. Smirking, he texts her the place of an interesting restaurant, eagerly awaiting the feel of her creamy skin and that look of lust in her crimson eyes. He yearns for the feel of silky pink hair against his shoulder, ticking his neck. Ivory fingers tighten against his cellphone and he looks out the window.
Kurosaki, Orihime, Sado, Ishida, his mother, fuck them. They can die for all he cares. Damn them and their dishonesty, their betrayal, they no longer matter. He's over worrying about people who never cared for him. Same goes for Asano, Arisawa and Honshō, he's done caring for broken friendships and tattered remains.
The train stops at the exit closest to the mall. He stuffs his cell in his school pants, after sending an excuse to school for his absence and viridian eyes gaze at the Sky. In his pocket, his switched off cell receives a text from a worried Keigo. Another three-hours later, Mizuiro is leaving another love Hotel and the message is deleted.
Mizuiro doesn't care about them. He only cares about Satsuki, Junko, Nana and all his other lovers. Only cares about the Women who love him, love the joy he brings them. No one else matters, he thinks briskly walking.
This is kind of like my hypothesis of how all the non-main characters of Bleach react to essentially being abandoned by all their friends and forced to face the reality that Monsters are trying to kill them and they have no defence against said Monsters. This fic-let shall include obviamente Mizuiro, Keigo, Tatsuki, Chizuru, Ryou, Mahana and Michuru, as main characters. Is rated 'M' because of 'Mature' language
Also, how do people write smut seriously? I had trouble willing myself to write pelvis and grind within that context, for the sheer awkwardness of it. Anyway, thank you for reading.