a/n: Have some more flash fiction for ya, folks. Please enjoy!

Characters/Pairing: Stark/Ichigo
Prompt: feral
Words: 390
Rating: M
Warning: slash, spoilers, smut

Ichigo reaches up, absently running fingers over the impression of teeth in his shoulder. Stark hadn't managed to draw blood, but that doesn't mean bruises haven't been left behind. A small shiver works its way through Ichigo's body as he recalls the feeling of Stark's teeth against his skin, the warmth of his mouth, the press of Stark's body.

He shudders.

"Thinking about me again, I see." Arms wrap around Ichigo from behind as he's pulled back against a taller shape, lips pressing to the back of his neck.

He doesn't struggle. "That was your intention, I take it?" Ichigo retorts, fingers still tracing the outline, the impression of canines deeper than all the others.

"In part," Stark replies huskily, his lips tugging on Ichigo's ear as one of his arms slide around Ichigo's body, palm flatting against the Vizard's muscled abdomen.

"What?" Ichigo says, his own voice coming out strained as his heart increases in pace, blood stirring in his veins. "Did you think I'd forget you all of the sudden?"

Stark laughs, his lips traveling lower, mouthing at the curve of Ichigo's jaw as his hand slides into the waistband of Ichigo's jeans, teasingly slow. "Or maybe it was something else. A warning perhaps."

"To who?"

"To the dozen or so loyal followers you have," Stark retorts, cupping Ichigo over the fabric of his boxers, drawing the cotton tight over Ichigo's growing arousal.

Ichigo's brow wrinkles. "I don't have any followers."

"Oh, you don't?" Stark sounds amused, his voice growing huskier as he openly gropes Ichigo. "You never notice all the people who lust after you, do you? And that's why I have to mark my territory."

Ichigo rolls his eyes, a gasp falling from his lips as his hips push into Stark's talented fingers. "Idiot."

"Possessive idiot," Stark corrects, and his mouth latches on Ichigo's shoulder, right next to the mark he had left last night. His tongue flicks out first, as though to soothe, before his teeth quickly following.

Ichigo moans, a shock of arousal bolting through him at the pressure and light pain. He'd hate it if he didn't love it so much, he thinks to himself. But this is the risk he assumes when taking a Hollow for a lover.

Characters/Pairing: Yoruichi, Ichigo, Kisuke
Prompt: pancakes
Words: 375
Rating: T
Warning: None

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Ichigo asks, leaning closer to Urahara-san, unable to take his eyes off the dangerous event taking place right before his eyes.

The shopkeeper chuckles nervously. "She hasn't burned down the kitchen yet," he offers, as though it's going to reassure Ichigo in the slightest.

"I heard that!" Yoruichi-san calls out from the kitchen, the sound of rattling pans and the smell of dough filling the air. "Mr. I Make Toxic Tea."

Ichigo's lips twitch. "She has a point," he says.

"Hmph." Urahara-san almost looks like he's pouting. "I'll have you know my tea is delicious," he calls back, despite the incredulous looks Ichigo is giving him. "You just can't appreciate my artistic expression."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Yoruichi-san snorts, ponytail swinging as she darts between the bowl of batter and the skillet.

Ichigo watches her with growing apprehension. Can he be blamed for being concerned? Yoruichi-san can't do her own laundry. Why should she be able to make pancakes, a delicate art in unto itself?

Urahara-san sits back in his chair with an offended sniff. "You're going to burn them," he warns and Ichigo swears that they bicker like an old, married couple or a pair of siblings.

"No, I didn't," Yoruichi says, with an equally offended sniff of her own as she sashays into the dining room with a plate covered in fluffy disks of pancake goodness. "See?"

And Ichigo has to admit, they look and smell delicious. Whether or not they taste that way, however, remains to be seen. He and Urahara-san exchange mutual looks of apprehension, but they nevertheless pile their plates high and bathe the pancakes in butter and maple syrup.

Yoruichi-san watches them, eyes gleaming triumphantly, as both men take their first bite.

The pancakes are delicious. An opinion that Urahara-san seems to echo when he makes an obscene noise to Ichigo's right.

"Told you," Yoruichi says, and flounces – yes, flounces – out of the room to make more.

"From now on," Ichigo says around a mouthful of fluffy, sweet goodness. "Yoruichi-san makes breakfast."

Urahara-san, syrup smearing his lips, nods. "Agreed."

Characters/Pairing: Renji/Ishida
Prompt: unrequited
Words: 379
Rating: M
Warning: spoilers, slash, self-loving, angst

He hasn't seen the Quincy since their disastrous fight against the eighth Espada. Not since they both went their separate ways – Ishida to help Ichigo and Renji to face off against the tenth Espada with Rukia and Chad. And Renji knows that in all likelihood, with the war over, he'll never see Ishida again.

He can't put into words how much that thought depresses him.

Being around Ichigo had forced him into Ishida's presence, had forced Renji to be around the Quincy. At first, Renji remembers hating the arrogant bastard. He always though he was so smart, so much better than the Shinigami he claimed to hate. And while Renji wanted to respect Ishida for his Quincy abilities, it was hard to do so when the prissy bastard insisted on insulting Renji at every opportunity.

He never would have thought they'd end up fighting together against the eighth Espada. And losing together as well, though that's not the point. Renji knows Ishida hates having to get helped by Kurotsuchi-taichou as much as Renji does. They'd worked well together, better than Renji would have expected.

And how he can't get the Quincy out of his mind. Not the teen's pale skin or blue eyes, or the annoying way he's always pushing up his glasses with one finger to make himself look superior or something stupid like that. Renji can't forget the chilly bite of Ishida's reiatsu, the flash of power from Ginrei Kujaku.

Renji thinks to himself that he'll just push Ishida from his mind. If he throws himself into training, into celebrating the end of Aizen's war, into the proceedings for possible promotion into the fifth division captaincy, he can slowly let Ishida fade from his thoughts.

He tries, but saying is a lot different than doing, and Renji still finds himself laying in his futon, eyes closed and imagining, as his hands works over his cock, releasing his frustrations. It's strange and random, this obsession with a Quincy brat, and Renji can't seem to fight it.

Renji's sure, one day, it's going to drive him mad. But until then, he bites his lip on a groan that's dangerously close to the Quincy's name, and spills over his fingers, resolved to having to wash his bedding yet again.

a/n: There are plenty more where these came from. Thanks for reading!