I do not own Bleach or it's characters. This work is pure fanfiction.
Run!
Run!
Run!
Her heart is beating erratically in her chest as she stumbles blindly through the dark forest, the pounding of her feet on the ground creating a damning rhythm. She knows he can hear her every step. She knows he can hear that fear, just as surely as he can smell it on her.
Run!
She's terrified. She could swear she feels his breath on her neck.
And really, she shouldn't be here. Curiosity will kill her, satisfaction be damned.
You see, it all started with her brother telling her a story as a child. Outside her village lived a terrible creature, he said. It used to be that our village gave him a sacrifice, he said. Her brother said to her, Orihime, my darling sister, this tradition wore out a long time ago, but the beast still exists. He sleeps, Orihime.
She curses herself for not believing him.
Her brother tells her, Orihime, the beast needs to mate. He exists, sister. I hear him sometimes. Once, he even saved me from falling to my death at the cliffs here. He is not always so terrible, her brother whispers. She blamed it on her brother's delusions.
Don't look back, don't look back…
What brought her here, running through the dark forests of her home, was the house her brother left her in his dying will. The house itself was beautiful for what squalor she was accustomed, and she was only too delighted to move in, thanking her brother in her heart for always caring for her, even in death. Only, strange things started to happen.
It started with the growling. It started with odd, burning heat beside her in her bed when there was no one else present. It started with ghosting hands touching her in places she had never been touched before. She told herself she was imagining things, dear reader. She would have to be delusional to think these things where real.
Run!
She panted hard, running towards the village, several miles away from her home. She stumbles, tripping over roots, in hysterics, sobbing dryly, willing herself to remain quiet. Please, please. Her skirts trip her when the roots don't. Her chest heaves with effort underneath her bodice, and she can feel herself choking.
She makes the fatal error of collapsing. Her hands are scraped by rocks and leaves and dirt grinds into her palms. She can smell the crisp scent of the forest all around her and gives one last quiet sob before turning to look at her assailant, walking slowly towards her now, his steps silent, but presence foreboding.
His lips curve in a feral grin.
"Why so scared, my dear?"
Her heart pounds harder still. Run!
She can only hold her breath in response as he stands in front of her, adjusting his coat. She scoots back, wary of this orange haired maniac.
"Had enough running, sweet?" His voice purrs, and she could swear she's never been closer to fainting in her life. He extends his hand out to her, and she takes it with hesitation, he lifts her to her feet, brushing the dirt from her with a tenderness which makes her realize, more acutely, that it's silent, so very silent. No one is around here for some miles, she thinks. She shivers and realizes it's much colder than she'd thought originally.
"Poor thing," he says, wrapping his body around hers, growling possessively as he grips her to him.
"I won't hurt you," he says, "much." He smiles
"You will enjoy this. I've watched you for a long time, my dear. I know every bit of your body." That comment unlocks every memory of spectral hands, caressing lovingly, all over her.
Her backside pressed firmly against him, and she knows he will eat her.
He groans, saying, "Oh Princess, I've wanted you so long, ever since you moved into that little house and long before then, mm," he breathes heavily with a husky tone in his voice, moving against her suggestively.
The bright moon above her is full, and she knows he is at his strongest. She revels in his familiar heat, knowing that she won't freeze, at the very least. His hands curve up her hips.
Before she even can blink, she's back in her house, the fire still roaring, everything left in its place before her panicked flight.
"Shunpo," he explains, as if she'd understand.
He sheds himself of his coat. He grins that feral smile and moves towards her, a worried look on his face. "You look so uncomfortable in that," his eyes dip to her chest, and she wonders if he can still hear her heart pounding. He moves to her, moving his hands to her breasts, tracing a line over them teasingly.
"Why," she breathes out.
His eyes meet hers. And there's something captivating lurking within them.
"Hmm?"
"Why are you doing this..?"
He chuckles softly, moving his lips to her ear, and whispering, "Because I have wanted you, my sweet. You will be my Queen." She shudders as he licks the skin of her neck, slow, nonchalant, torturing, and just like every other damn part of him. It pains her more than she cares to admit- she wants him.
He peels off layer after layer of her clothing, and she, his. His lips at her neck, whispering softly, licking, saying she is his, his mate, only his, forever, how delicious she is, how perfect, how lovely, how soft and warm.
"I will go easy on you," he says, locking eyes with her. There's something hypnotizing about those black eyes…soothing, even…
She didn't know if she was supposed to thank him, but in that moment, he sealed the distance, pressing his lips against hers.
He wrapped her legs around him, one hand pressing against the small of her back, and the other squeezing her thigh. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he carried her to the bedroom, kissing her softly here and there.
He lays her on the bed, her nails raking down his back as he kisses from her lips to her jaw to her neck to her chest, down, down to that place between her legs. He was traversing unconquered territory.
She says something in a husky whisper.
"What?"
"What is your name…?"
"Kurosaki Ichigo," he mutters against her dripping core. "And I know you are my Inoue Orihime. I know all about you, my love."
Recognition rips through her, and Orihime leans up at her elbows to look down at him between her legs.
He licks her, dragging his tongue through her, ending with a flick at her pearl. Her head rolls back and she moans, her fingers clenching the sheets. I remember you, she thinks, I remember you.
His hands squeeze her thighs and she knows he knows.
She remembers her childhood, playing with a young boy, Kurosaki Ichigo, who she loved with a love reserved only for sweet innocence. Why didn't she realize it before?
"Mmm..." Between licks, he says he will explain about his kind some time later, when he is completely sated. She bites her lip, feeling close to something she doesn't know, some anticipation. She doesn't know, but Oh, God does she want more.
He smirks against her, and he says he prefers she call him Ichigo. Up until that moment, she hadn't been cognizant that she had been moaning what she was thinking. Her fingers release their death grip on the crumpled sheets and curl in his hair as her back arched while he sucked on her. Hardly a second later and she's coming, coming, coming. She would swear she could have pierced the heavens with the keening cry that issued forth from her swollen lips. He continued licking her, feeling satisfied with the sounds she made.
It's all terribly embarrassing for her.
He doesn't stop his ministrations even after she's returned back to Earth from her orgasm. He licks and licks and she could swear mountains would erode away before he ever stopped. Centuries could pass, eons, and he'd still be there, between her legs. He stuck his tongue inside her and thrust it in and out and she was coming, again.
Her head was spinning as she moaned, helplessly, not even fully aware when he kissed back up to her chest, his index and ring fingers spreading her lower lips. When he pushed his middle finger inside her, she could feel herself clamp down hard on it. He hissed, knowing that if he didn't get her wetter and more prepared for him, she'd be in quite a bit of pain.
Run!
The action, let alone the thought, was so lost to her now that she didn't care if he completely ravished her to the point where she couldn't walk again, ever. Strangely enough, his tenderness was reminiscent of the Ichigo she knew all those years ago, even if his eyes were strange, and even if he was doing things to her that the old Ichigo would never even think to do.
And even if he was the Beast her brother warned her about. Those vestiges of who he was only served to reassure her.
His ring finger joins his middle finger inside her. "Mine," he growls in her ear, "Only mine." It scares her, just a little, but she's lost, captivated by him.
She's almost there, again, but he stops. She whimpers, and he grins, his dark eyes gleaming in the light.
"I want to hear you beg, Princess," he chuckles as he traces, with feathering touches, the lips of her, down there. Her eyes shut tightly, and she whispers.
"What was that?" He dips his fingers into her, teasing.
She lifts her hips and looks up at him with a pleading look on her face, "Please!"
"Louder," he commands her, brushing his thumb against her abused clit.
She cried out louder, whimpering his name, Ichigo, Ichigo, over and over again. Oh please, please. She is rewarded with his caresses, and she comes again, for what seems like the billionth time. Her body shakes as it washes over her. Her heart pumps fast, beating such a quick staccato that she swears the drum line of her life could be over at any minute.
He doesn't bother licking his fingers clean, grabbing hold of her hip and guiding the tip of his manhood to her entrance, watching her orgasm play out on her face. Ichigo rubs against Orihime, ready to slide home. He watches her face for the second she relaxes. The second he sees she's calmed down, he pushes in, just the head of it. Before she knows it, she's on top of him, with his…thing…pushing up into her. He pulls down on her hips, impaling her fully.
She could swear she saw stars behind her eyes. It hurt. It hurt like hell. It felt like an arrow had pierced her. For what seems like eternity, she feels herself arched in pain, every muscle screaming out in agony. Her eyes are screwed shut as she hisses her anguish. Her muscles tense one last time before relaxing out of exhaustion.
He twines his fingers with hers, pushing up on her palms, he lifts his hips, pushing just a little bit further before pulling almost completely out, going slow, slow, slow. It still hurts, but at least she has a little control over how deep he goes, how hard, how fast. The thought of having even a semblance of control makes the pain feel a little better.
She realizes that she's tired, so tired. Though it's the last thing she wants to do, she leans forward, resting on his chest. Her eyes slide shut, feeling him finish inside her. The one last thing she thinks before she falls into a deep, dreamless sleep is…
Run!
And she's out like a light.
There is no evidence. It was like he was never here, nor did he ever exist, and she wondered, was it all a dream? Or a nightmare?
There was no ash scattered on the floor from her open fireplace, the grating firmly in place. There was no dirt on her hands or dress and nothing was broken and no warmth in her bed but her own. There was no scent on her pillows when she awoke besides her own.
She shook her head. Living here must have made me delusional, she thinks to herself. She started a smaller fire than what she had imagined the night before to warm up her house. She ate some fresh bread and cheese for breakfast.
She spent the morning arranging her medicinal supplies, herbs and remedies. She stepped outside to water her well manicured garden and survey the cold. Soon she would walk through the forest and to the village for supplies and to set up shop herself. She was the town's witch after all.
It was her daily monotony at its best.
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