Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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            “Oho!”  The large, burly man pulled enthusiastically at his bushy beard.  “He’s awake!”

            Awake?  No, not awake.  Alive.  Ichigo gave a violent surge, eyes opening and rolling to the back of his head as he shot up, arms twisted outward, back arched inward, face turned to the ceiling.  He looked to be in agony, though he’d done nothing but rest peacefully this past week.  He might have been dead for how little he breathed, how soft his heart beat.

            Now, conscious and reeling in visions he could not even fathom, his entire existence agonized him.  The cords of his neck sprung out as a growing scream tore from the pit of his throat.

            Osho’s eyebrows lifted; concerned, but only mildly.  He might as well have been watching a pot come to boil sooner than expected.  He continued at his beard, watching the orange-haired youth kick back onto the bed and churn violently, knocking the sheets back, gurgling on his own pain.  “I suppose that’s to be expected.  I hope he doesn’t bite his tongue.  Hm?”  He turned to the rushing patter of heeled footsteps on the stone floors of Reiokyu.  Hardly a surprise; she could barely be removed from his bedside, that human girl.

            “Kurosaki-kun!”  Inoue Orihime’s hands lost hold of the basin of water.  It was a warm day – by her assessment, as the climate of Reiokyu never lost its balmy comfort – and she thought Kurosaki-kun would appreciate some cool water dabbing on his brow.  It was just like any other day since he was comatose!  The once-silent palace was suddenly echoing with screams of pain!  Hurrying past the Monk – He watched her go with interest – Orihime ran to Ichigo’s side, calling out to him over and over, begging him to calm down and let her help.  Anxiously, her hands reached and grabbed at his shoulders.  He bucked, but stalled.

            Brown crept back into the whites of his eyes.  With effort, they turned to her.

            “Eee…!”  He strained, the conflict of will against body evident as half of him tangled and the other half pressed deeper into the bed.  “Ee!  Eeeno…!  Guh!  Eenoay!”

            Orihime’s eyes widened, her heart fluttering with relief.

            Ichigo gave a last, big jolt before exhaling loudly and going limp.  He panted, head dropping towards the girl beside him.  He was exhausted, but it seemed that the tantrum was over.  He panted, half-lidded eyes coursing over Orihime’s face, studying her, unsure if she was really there.

            “Inoue?” he whispered, lucidly this time.

            She looked overjoyed, to the verge of tears as her smile stretched across her face.  “Thank goodness,” she whispered.  She then, unable to help herself, threw herself onto him, arms around his neck, face buried in his nape.  “Thank goodness!”  Now she was sobbing; he felt the hot tears dropping on his chest.  “You were asleep for so long!  No matter what I did, you didn’t move!  I was afraid…!  I was afraid that…!”  She broke down in unintelligible, uncontrollable sobs.

            Ichigo, while glad that she was not upset with worry, hadn’t the foggiest idea what she was talking about.  Really, he couldn’t explain anything about what had happened last.  What had happened last?  Calling out Inoue’s name was a reflex.  In his throes of anguish, he couldn’t say if he knew anything but that he was alive.  He couldn’t recall his name or who he was, and even now, he couldn’t tell you where he was.

            Comfortingly, he picked up an arm and wrapped it around the weeping Orihime, but his eyes were surveying his surroundings.  This was a pretty fancy place, made of stone and marble, unlike most structures of Soul Society; maybe closer to Las Noches, but without the ominous gloom.  Here was bright outside, with endless blue sky; no view whatsoever.

            Ichigo’s throat hurt.  “Where,” he managed to get out before having to clear his throat.

            “You’re in Reiokyu!  The Palace of the Soul King!  And, Kurosaki Ichigo, you are alive!” boomed the husky voice of Hyosube Ichibe, High Priest of Reio, Osho.  Ichigo could barely bear the weight of looking at him, let alone hold himself up underneath Orihime.  “You surprise me again and again, Ichigo!  But I expected you to, and therefore, it’s not surprising at all that you surprise me!  Well done!”

            Too much weight.  Ichigo slumped, groaning in pain so that Orihime jumped up, realizing that she was overstepping the bounds of their relationship by embracing his naked chest, and her attire – having naught else to wear – was over-flattering to her buxom chest, though her requests for extra clothing during this prolonged stay were met with duplicates of Urahara-san’s ‘gift’, but with minor alterations for comfort and insignia.

            But Ichigo didn’t have time to engage her about her dressing.  He was starting to ache again, the throbbing in his very core made it seem like his head would split and his heart would race to pure exhaustion.  He gagged, a torrent in his head that muffled Inoue’s cries in his ears.  “Is there anything I can do?!  Satten Kesshu…!”

            “That won’t work,” Osho immediately stopped her when her hairpins began to activate.  “Your power does indeed step into the realms of Gods, but against the actual power of one…”  He narrowed his eyes on Ichigo, predicting a bad omen.  “This is to be expected,” he said ominously.  “A fusion of the races, but he is a human first of all.  He wouldn’t be able to grasp this power so easy.  It was reckless, wasn’t it, Adnyeus?”  With a great grunt, the giant man pulled his brush from his back.  “Step away, Inoue Orihime!  Where you are is not safe!”

            Orihime could feel it too, and at the same time, against the instinct to flee from imminent danger, she could not abandon Ichigo’s side when he was in obvious pain.  Then the air began to shift.  The frightening creak of stone under pressure, unsettling pockets of dust falling from the ceiling.  And the weight began to bend the gravity.  In its very first stages, Orihime already felt like she was being crushed beneath a house.

            “Inoue…!” Ichigo choked out, his brown eyes turning to her as he fought the internal agony.  If a house was crushing her, then the entirety of Karakura was being held back by his shoulders, and still he would not break.  “G-Go!”

            “Kurosaki-kun!”  That fleeing instinct was overcome; she grabbed his straining hand in both of hers.  She couldn’t do anything for him but be at his side.

            Admirable and very poignant, but also foolishly dangerous.  Osho whipped his tool in front of him, making grunts that sounded like a melody as he swished the ink in the space in front of him.  “Blacken, Ichimonji!”

            The power in the air was disrupted.  Orihime cried out.  The pillar holding back the true mass of unstable reiatsu was crumbling, and Ichigo’s body with it.  He screamed out the last of his willpower to hold it back, to give Orihime that lifesaving second.

            And then he was blasted with black ink.  The spatter was everywhere and it seemed to quench the rumble of insurmountable energy.  Orihime recoiled reflexively, yet despite its mess, the ink landed only on Ichigo.  Only his hand was free from the consuming black.  “K-Kuro…?”  Orihime couldn’t finish.

            “Yes, painting over something to remove what it was,” jeered Osho, standing at the foot of the bed, brandishing the ultimate weapon tauntingly.  “But it’s not going to affect a King for long, will it?  There is only one King, isn’t there?  Your name, cut in half, retains that one power.  Hurmph!”  He swung his brush mightily.  “Now show your true self!  Shirafude Ichimonji!”  His big eyes fell on Orihime as his brush’s bristles glowed white.  “Step away from him, Inoue Orihime!  You can’t do anything for him now!”

            Orihime scrambled with her decision.  The Zero Squad had done everything for him, but waving a weapon at him, throwing ink at him, she didn’t know what to think.  But she made her choice to trust him, though she begged, “Please don’t hurt him!”

            “Ha!” bellowed the Monk, twirling his Shirafude Ichimonji over his head.  “A mere Priest like me cannot hope to hurt a King!  We merely need to channel his powers, don’t we?!  Hmm!  A black ant’s body would be crushed under the responsibility of a King, wouldn’t it?!”  He stopped spinning and held his staff at the ready, the tip pointing at the black-stained teen, still frozen in shock.  “Let’s put your title to work!”

            Kanji was scribbled over Ichigo, using the canvas of black down to his waist.  And the Kanji read ‘Reio’, Soul King.

            Orihime clenched her hands to her bosom, her heart racing underneath.  He wasn’t moving!  Had something gone wrong?  What was the white paint supposed to do?

            Yet Osho seemed satisfied, humming as he poised his staff’s end on the floor.  “How’s that?  It might not be an infinite seal, but it gives you the boost of energy to be what you are and realize your potential.”

            The blot of a boy didn’t respond.

            Osho made a noise of concern, rearing up.  “Huh?  Can’t you hear me, Kurosaki Ichigo?  As Reio, your name is certainly restored.”

            “Kurosaki-kun,” Orihime muttered, touching her lips.  Odd that she’d forgotten how to speak his name for a moment.  Even so, not for a second did her heart waver from him.

            Trepidatiously, she made a step toward him, hand reaching out, hoping to touch and feel life under the ink stain.  “Is-Is he…?”

            “Conscious, it seems.”  Osho’s keen eyes must have seen something she had not, for all signs indicated that Ichigo was beyond a state of comatose.  “It must be an effect of his mind comprehending what is happening to his body.  My Ichimonji cannot be a permanent solution.  It’ll likely no work a second time.  He’s got to figure this out quick.”

            Orihime took two steps to Ichigo; two hasty steps before she brought her heels together.  Like there was a chasm between them, she leaned forward and called to him.  “Kurosaki-kun!  Kurosaki-kun, can you hear me?!”

            No response.  Not for a long time.  The blot of ink and Kanji just sat there, dripping onto himself, eyes wide and white behind the surface.  He looked like an eerie phantom, something come from a dark place of the underworld to haunt the Reiokyu.

            After a while, Osho picked up his hand and rubbed it into his chin.  “Strange.  He’s frozen in place.”  He tilted his head as he leaned forward, humming in observation.

            Curious, hoping to see something he might be looking at, Orihime mimicked him, humming herself as she stared at Ichigo.

            The danger seemed passed, so her eyes took a more superficial account of Kurosaki-kun, and it dawned on her with fierce intensity: I hugged Kurosaki-kun without a shirt!  She suddenly withdrew her study, blushing furiously and hoping to shrink to the size of a mouse and escape notice.

            Osho did not share such a plight and continued to look Ichigo over.  Over and over and over again, and then…  “Ah!  So that’s it!” his voice boomed with realization and amazement.  He came back to full height, folding his arms and laughing boisterously.  “What an impressive boy to realize it!  He might still need to figure it out, but he reacted perfectly to my Ichimonji!  His battle instinct, even the instinct of his own self!”

            Orihime got over her embarrassment to try to figure out what the priest had seen.  “Wha-What do you mean?”  Ichigo was still very motionless, possibly dead but for the light still shimmering within his open eyes.  “Did he do something?”

            “Hm!  Yes!  Merely look at his right hand!”

            And she did.  Aside from it being mostly untouched by black ink except for a spatter clenched in his tightened fist, she couldn’t say there was anything especially different about it.  “Um…”  She did not want to leave the riddle at least untested.  She held up her finger and furrowed her eyebrows in a look of concentration.  “He’s making the symbol of a cheer for scrumptious red bean and carrot cake!”

            “No, no,” answered the Monk with a shake of his head.  He pointed, and the ink stain in Ichigo’s fist seemed of greater importance to him.  “The Right Arm of Reio-sama has returned to its proper place.

            Orihime left a moment of confused silence pass before she feigned an understanding “Oh.”

            “Mimihagi, the Right Arm of the Soul King, the Arm of Stillness.”  Osho’s arms folded again, and he gave an approving nod.  “Kurosaki Ichigo’s power was getting out of his control, so I dampened it with Ichimonji, bringing it to a level his consciousness could comprehend, if only for a moment.  But rather than pass that moment, he clutched the debuff and willed it to stay.  So long as his fist is clutched, he will remain weakened.  But to sustain it surely takes a great deal of concentration, for the powers of Reio-sama surpass mere imagination.”

            “You mean…”  Orihime looked worriedly from Ichigo to Osho.  “Will Kurosaki-kun be stuck like this… forever?”

            “If he cannot figure out how to control his power, perhaps.”  Osho did not sound worried.  “But, if I believed he would be frozen forever after figuring out Mimihagi’s power, I wouldn’t believe he’d last with the powers of Reio-sama at all!”

            It was somewhat heartening to hear that, but Orihime was more thrilled to hear Kurosaki-kun’s voice!

            “P-Powers… of Reio?”  Ichigo’s mouth hung open, letting out air in a rasp.

            Orihime clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes awash with the onset of joyous tears.

            Osho addressed Ichgio.  “That’s right.  It all happened so fast, I doubt you’d remember it upon waking, but…”  He was interrupted.

            “Inoue…”  With little strength or support to his movement, Ichigo’s body shifted to his bedside.  His eyes rolled, heavy and weak, but they gradually rested upon her.  “Inoue,” he said again, “I-I didn’t…  You’re not…?”

            She caught his intentions and immediately pumped her fists, giving a spritely cheer.  “I’m alright, Kurosaki-kun!  There’s nothing wrong with me!  Oh, but they don’t have the brand of peanut butter I normally use for soup, so I had to improvise!  Kirio-san taught me all these lessons about how to cook while I was here!  And Senjumaru-san is teaching me how to sow!”

            Though rambling, it comforted Ichigo.  Even under the black, his smile could be seen.

            “But…”  Orihime ended the list of activities she’d been treated to in Reiokyu.  Her fingers knotted together, her expression teetering between happiness and sorrow and even embarrassment.  “I was… so worried about you.”  Her gray eyes lifted to meet his browns.  “I’m… so happy you’re awake.”

            “Heh.”  Ichigo’s head dipped, though she wasn’t sure if it was because of his own apparent lack of mobility.  “Thanks, Inoue.”

            “Yes, she has barely left your side!” proclaimed Osho as if he was proud of the human girl himself.  “It is the Zero Squad’s duty to watch over Reio-sama, and yet she was here more than any of us!  You could not ask for a more loyal, trustworthy guard.”

            Orihime flushed at the confident and returned to watching the tips of her boots.

            “And that is what you must be concerned with now, Kurosaki Ichigo!”

            “Huh?”  Ichigo looked as a thick finger was shoved at him.

            “As the new Reio, you must select your guardsmen!”  As Ichigo deliberated those words, Osho gave a grunt of a chuckle and folded his arms again.

            “Guardsmen?  Reio?  What’s going on?!  What happen-gk!”  Ichigo hunched suddenly, feeling an abrupt and intense pressure on his insides.

            “Careful now.  It was a clever trick to use Mimihagi, but lose focus now, I doubt you’ll contain it long.”  Osho was being very serious.

            Ichigo’s right fist tightened again, though in his palm, he could feel the ink steadily dissolving.  He really hadn’t a clue what was going on, but instinct had saved him from collapsing under the power apparently procured in this mortal coil.  The moment the last of the ink slipped off of his sweating skin, he’d be overcome.  Observing himself, flecks of ink were already dissipating, pulling off of him like water evaporating to steam.

            How he got into this predicament was irrelevant.  His face and hair were beginning to clear up.  All because of that second of lost focus!  He couldn’t lower a stage that he’d stopped at, just like he couldn’t reverse on a game by pausing.  The bit of energy that had gotten loose was peeling away the affront to its authority, and when it was gone, there was nothing to stop the endless reiatsu from swelling all over again!

            “Is there… any way to control it?!” he asked desperately, not knowing whether to clench his hand tighter on the ink or loosen and not smudge it with more sweat.

            “Aha!  I was waiting for you to ask that!  You took longer than expected, Kurosaki-san!”

            That voice!  That sardonic merriment, and the clatter of wooden sandals, the flap of a billowing robe!  Striped hat, scruffy jaw, and an infuriatingly-jovial smile in the face of such a dangerous plight.

            “Urahara-san!” blurted Ichigo as ink finished climbing off of his head.

            “That’s right!” cheered the shopkeeper, swiping open his fan.  “Good to see you up and about, Kurosaki-san!  We’ve never had a transference before!  But you handled it just as I expected you would!  A good thing, too!  Our other options were rather risky, to tell the truth!  Ah!  Inoue-san, you’re here too!  Let me tell you that those rice buns with seaweed sauce were delicious!”

            “Eh-heh-heh!”  Orihime fussed modestly and thanked him for the compliment.

            Ichigo, on the other hand, raged, “Dammit!  Did you come here with a solution?!”  This lunatic always drove him up a wall with his filibustering.

            “Hm?  Oh!  Yes, of course, Kurosaki-san!  As you know, I didn’t have any data on Mimihagi until Ukitake-san released it from his body!  Since then, in the week you’ve been unconscious, I’ve made great strides on it and have made progress on how to suppress the omnipotent power of a Soul King.  Admittedly, though, it takes a mind beyond even my imagination, so I required help.”  On that note, he stepped aside and allowed his assistant or co-worker… or better file it, snickering malevolently as he waved a fleshy device in front of him; one that had a small, vaguely human head but with a missing jaw so that the tongue flapped blindly in the air, making guttural noises as it sampled the reishi of a room permeated with a Soul King’s reiatsu.

            Kurotsuchi Mayuri leered at Ichigo.  “So the new Reio awakens.  Quite a disturbance, though I shall not begrudge you for giving such a ready sample of raw reiatsu to this stagnant air.  Heh-heh-heh!  There are still traces of the Quincy King’s presence.  Could that be because of how you obtained this power?  I see your left arm is intact as well.  Tell me, does it still bear a name?  Or does a fresh body reset the Reio’s limbs’ memories?!  How about I take a sample!”  Not a request, and he produced fresh clippers from within his sleeve.  “The fingers still grow back, correct?  You needn’t your pinky as you lie on the bed like a lump of empty meat.  I’ll take it back to the lab.  Oh?  If you can’t bear to part with a pinky, then how about the fingernail?  I’ll happily extract it with the most delicate of care, Kurosaki Ichigo.  You are Reio after all, and you’d want your people to thrive with knowledge.”  His throaty chuckle was ominous as he stepped forward, his fingers wriggling excitedly.

            “With such crude instruments, what would you hope to learn of the power of Reio-sama.”

            Mayuri’s smile vanished; a look of confusion briefly passed over his face before he glowered angrily and swept an arm around behind him.  “Intrusive woman!”

            A woman’s chuckle entered the room before she appeared: Shutara Senjumaru, her head tilted with posh glee as she looked down her nose at the quaking scientist.  “It’s a wonder you have accomplished anything in that pitiful lab of yours.  Do not forget that it was by my talents you were able to come up with a solution to Kurosaki Ichigo’s dilemma.”

            “S-Senjumaru-san?”  Ichigo was surprised to see her aside the two developers from two eras of the Research and Development Bureau.  But he had little time to express his shock, for the caged power was stressing his will to its limits now that he held onto a fragment of Osho’s power-dampening ink.

            “You certainly have exceptional minds,” Senjumaru praised the two behind her, drifting forward without so much as turning her head to either of them.  Urahara laughed sheepishly, giving a word of gratitude while Mayuri was affronted by her dismissive tone.  The seamstress’s eyes were solely on Ichigo, though.  “But it takes craftwork beyond your clumsy hands to make something so exceptional for Reio-sama.”  From behind her, in a flash of cloth, was brought Ichigo’s renewed uniform, stitched like brand new, nearly gleaming with its newness.

            Orihime was easily impressed and applauded Senjumaru’s skill.  On the other hand, Ichigo – who looked to be dealing with stomach cramps – grimaced.  “Th-That’s it?  It’s just my normal shihakusho.”

            “Is it?”  Senjumaru did not seem pleased by his assessment.  “I suppose our new Reio hasn’t eyes to see.  This is a uniform befitting a Soul King, crafted in my finest work, woven from the very threads of my veins to keep the structure intact.  Fabric of my very being, where each stitch had taken concentration beyond the training of Bankai.  And you call it a normal shihakusho.”

            “The unenlightened rarely can spot the finesse of my work,” Mayuri butted in like Senjumaru hadn’t said a word.  “Of course I would not give you anything ordinary from my lab.  Would you call the chair that binds Aizen anything but beyond extraordinary?  Perhaps I should bind you to it yourself, and we can suppress your dangerous energies that way.”

            “N-Now, now,” Urahara awkwardly pacified the two craftspeople.  “You can’t blame Kurosaki-san.  He’s hardly woken up.  If you’ll allow me…”

            Mayuri scoffed and rolled his eyes, already bored; Senjumaru’s disembodied hands passed off the uniform to Urahara, who stretched it out by the shoulders and began to point at it.  “Senjumaru-san’s correct, Kurosaki-san!  An amazing amount of detail, artistry, and technology was put into this uniform.  Bands of Fusatsu Kakei were crafted into the underarms, sleeves, waist, knees, to regulate the spirit vents from your wrists to a more manageable flow!  I’ll admit, it took quite a few hours to figure out how to stabilize such a powerful Kido to material, but Senjumaru-san…!”

            “Guh!”

            “Wah!  Urahara-san, Urahara-san!  Kurosaki-kun looks like he’s going to pass out!” wailed Orihime.

            “Sorry, sorry!”  Urahara ran forward, sprawl-legged in his haste and immediately threw the outfit over Ichigo.  Not properly put on, “But it should work for a bit.  It’s still fresh and unused.”

            Ichigo was still straining from the impending outburst of energy, but after a few deep breaths, he exhaled, and unclenched his right fist to let the final vestige of ink float away into nothing.

            And there was no violent shaking, no uncontrollable flex of immeasurable energy, and no head-splitting pain.  Ichigo blinked twice before lifting his head and looking at Urahara.  “It…”  His voice trailed off.

            “Success!” hollered Urahara with both hands making the victory sign.

            “Hmph!  Naturally,” murmured Mayuri, Senjumaru saying, “Was there truly any doubt?”

            Feeling much better, his spirit starting to swell warmly, Ichigo opened the vest and began to put it on.  As expected of Senjumaru-san’s work, it fit perfectly and comfortably.  If there were regulators, he didn’t notice them, though his hands felt pleasantly cool.  “That’s amazing, Urahara-san!  You guys got this figured out in a week?”

            “Of course!  You shouldn’t underestimate Kurotsuchi-san!  He has quite an impressive intellect that he uses to its fullest when pit against a greater mind.”

            “Hm?!”  Mayuri whipped around from his remote’s testing to glare at his predecessor.  “Are you implying that you are my better, Urahara?!”

            “Not at all,” laughed the shopkeeper, hiding his playful smile behind his fan.

            Ichigo didn’t mind their banter.  He was just glad to be feeling normal.  Having just woken up, he was already put under so much stress that he…  “Argh!”  His face turned beet-red when he went to roll down the blankets to put on the hakama.  It nearly blurted from his lips, but with Orihime there, he was a bit too embarrassed to do that.  But… he was naked!  For the first time, he realized it.  Not just boxers or any other sort of smallclothes; he was undressed from top to bottom!

            “H-Hey!”  His hands folded onto his lap like the blanket itself was evaporating, threatening to show off his shame.  He didn’t even regard Orihime as a suspect, but Urahara was certainly known to do unnecessary things simply to provoke reaction.  So his eyes fell directly on the shop owner when he shouted, “Who undressed me?!”

            Urahara held up his fan between them like a barricade.  “My,” he stammered with anxious humor, “that certainly sounded like an accusation at me.”

            “It was me.”  Senjumaru had no qualm drifting forward to take responsibility for his juvenile plight.  She looked down on him, the intensity of her stare enough to balk his outrage.  “We can’t expect Reio to sleep in drab and dirty wears, do you?  Don’t look so embarrassed.”  Her eyes sharpened shrewdly to his flusterment.  “It isn’t like I haven’t taken your measurements before.”

            An experience that haunted Ichigo on the back of his mind, recalling how exposed she had made him, down to his very marrow as she scrutinized his nakedness the first time.

            “K-Kurosaki-kun!” wailed Orihime at his side.  He turned to her and saw her frantically waving her hands out in front of her.  Her complexion had turned scarlet like she’d been baking in the oven with her muffins.  “I-I didn’t…!  I mean, I had no idea…!  When I hugged you, it wasn’t because…!  I didn’t know-know you were na-na…!”  Her lips closed and sputtered as she tried to spit out the word.

            “Inoue, are you alright?” asked Ichigo urgently.

            She stalled for a moment, and in that moment, she felt something running down to her bottom lip.

            Ichigo’s finger raised with a blatant point to her face.  “Your nose is bleeding.”

            “Huh?”  It was true.  A small line of red from her left nostril, occurring as vivid images went to her head that she knew she shouldn’t be thinking but could not help herself.  Not when Kurosaki-kun was na-na…!

            “Wah!”  She spun around, covering her face and dabbing her nosebleed with a tissue.  “Don’t look!  It’s-It’s just the altitude!”

            Ichigo looked on confusedly while Urahara smiled behind his fan.  “Such great reactions.  I’m disappointed I can’t take credit for it.”

            Senjumaru’s head leaned back with a pompous smile, the tresses of her hair flowing like rows of silk from her face.  “You’re merely an amateur, Urahara Kisuke.”

            “Yes,” he admitted, rubbing his neck with a dry laugh, “I suppose to Squad Zero, I still have much to learn.”

            “My, what a rambunctious wakeup call.”  The lazy drawl came from the doorway.  Holding the brim of his straw hat, Captain Commander Kyoraku Shunsui lifted his head and smiled languidly at the gathering.  “Ichigo, welcome back.  It’s good to see you in health.”

            Next to him, Nanao gave a respectful bow, but said nothing.

            “Here now.”  Clap!  Clap!  “We should all convene in the meeting hall.  Give our new Reio a chance to dress.  I’d say he has enough questions for us without wondering where he can get some privacy.”

            “Oho!  An excellent idea!” concurred Osho, thrusting his Ichimonji back to its retainer on his back.  “Ichigo!  Dress in your new royal robes!  We shall await you outside!”

            Off to the side, spying from the outskirt of the room in the freefall of the Reiokyu atmosphere, a mouth split in a checkered grin.  His presence couldn’t be mingled with the crowd leaving, but he’d gotten a good glimpse.  He cut out to rendezvous with the others, dropping to a lower level with his gangly limbs spread wide about him.

            Already, the crowd of Shinigami had begun to filter out, though Mayuri made his usual snideness and said that he would opt out of this meeting and return to Soul Society presently.  He had an urgent project to work on, and he couldn’t be caught dawdling with his eyes shut to it.  There were voices beyond – more people anxious to see Ichigo – but they were hushed and ushered away by Urahara and Kyoraku.  Osho lingered last, or he would be last if Orihime had made any move to go with them.

            “Hm?  Orihime?  You wish to stay?”

            Orihime looked like she’d just been broken out of a daze by his voice.  Then, frantically again, she made some excuses.  “I don’t mind staying to help Kurosaki-kun if he needs it!  N-Not that he would need it when dressing…!”

            “It’s alright, Inoue.”  Ichigo was shoving his arms through his robe’s sleeves; at least he had something on.  He turned to her, his head lilting as he gave her a warm smile that put a blaze in her bosom.  Her lips tightened by his radiance.  “If you don’t mind…”

            “I-I don’t mind!” she answered hurriedly, like it was an offer quick to expire.  Pumping her fists readily at her chest, she told him to instruct her for anything, and she would help as best as she could!  His smile became somewhat apprehensive at her enthusiasm, and he assured her that there wasn’t much she needed to do.  But, while dressing normally was more comfortable in private, he was glad to have her soothing company.

            Orihime turned around hurriedly when he gave her a very timid look – Kurosaki-kun looks cute even when he’s nervous, she gushed! – and held him at his back, her eyes casting to the dull ceiling, trying to seem fancied by considerations of the décor than the sounds of Ichigo rustling into his clothes behind her.  She could hear him grunting in his haste, to be not naked as soon as possible.

            She guessed he was at least clothed at the bottom; he started to speak.  “What happened, Inoue?”

            She almost glanced behind her reflexively.  She reaffirmed her considerate stance.  “Well,” she started with a stammer, trying to focus, “you defeated Yhwach, but… but everything kept rumbling.  It was like trying to stand on jelly or something!  We went whoosh! to one right”—She swung theatrically with her hands, one way and then the other—“and zoom! the left!”  She then blinked, feeling the aura in the air.  Awkwardly turning, she saw Ichigo, mostly clothed by for his open robes, but he didn’t seem modest about his body being shown.

She gulped dryly at the befuddled look he was giving her.  She laughed nervously, touching the back of her head.  “I don’t know if I can explain it right!  Urahara-san and Osho-san said they could explain it to you when you woke up.  Um…”  She twiddled her fingers, trying to keep them engaging.  “They didn’t talk about it much in here, and-and I was mostly in here, so…”  She blushed, thinking of how the majority of her time this past week had been spent regaling past instances to an unconscious body.  It might seem foolish to her, but Osho had told her many times that a friendly and familiar voice could nurture a soul even more than medicine.

            “You were here all this time?” Ichigo asked, eyebrows lifted, hands stopped on his robes.

            Orihime was quick to clarify, throwing her hands out in front of her and proclaiming, “Not all the time, Kurosaki-kun!  I-I told you, I worked with Kiro-san in the kitchen, and Senjumaru-san taught me sowing!”  She brought a finger to her bottom lip, gazing upward like she was revisiting an old, unsolved problem on a math test.  “Nimaiya-kun wanted me to go to his plate to learn dancing…”

            Ichigo flinched.  “Y-You didn’t… right?”

            “Mm-mm.”  She shook her head gaily and shrugged her shoulders.  “Senjumaru-san said it would be a waste of time.”  She tapped her fingertips together then and confessed her worry, “I don’t think she’d think that I’d be a good dancer.”

            That probably wasn’t it.  It most definitely wasn’t it!  Ichigo could breathe soundly now, having seen Oh-Etsu’s taste in pageantry and women.  Orihime, with that revealing outfit, would fit in too nicely in that harem of Zanpakuto.  No doubt the Blade Master shed his tears losing a groupie like Orihime… though Ichigo’s eyes rolled up and off to the side unassumingly as if to deny having an opinion on the matter.

            He finished dressing, made a comment that was neither complaint nor praise about the latches that kept his energies in check – “I never needed something like this before.” – and then shared a smile with Orihime and asked her to lead the way, which she was happy to oblige.  She really did learn her way around this place; the corridors, the doorways, everything that seemed the same to Ichigo, she could describe its path or purpose.

            “Kiro-san and Senjumaru-san taught me everything,” she announced when Ichigo shared his amazement in her knowledge.

            “But how did this place get put back together?  Yhwach destroyed it, didn’t he?  Even before he turned it into that freaky haunted-looking city.”

            To this, Orihime turned at him and gave him a very thoughtful look; he actually stopped in place, leaning back slightly as she peered deeply at him.  He held his lips together, making a sound behind them.  He didn’t want to point out that his vantage and her clothes did not mix well with modesty.

            “You really don’t remember, do you, Kurosaki-kun?”

            “Remember?”  He looked up and tried very hard for his memory before waking up.  He remembered the stroke that cleaved the rampaging Quincy King in two…

            “Fool, Kurosaki Ichigo!” raged Yhwach as his split energies began to pull and dissipate from his material body.  “You are a fool!  The pattern of life and death!  It could have been ended!  No more fear and pain!  An existence of eternity and peace!  And you ended it!  Always a cycle of death and fear!”  His weathered face, perspiring as he clung to the last seconds of his life, twisted in a wicked grin.  “You may see it again…!  Just as when your mother died!”  His energy flared in desperate tendrils.  “I’ll take down the high palace, and kill everyone you care for!”

            “Kurosaki-kun?”

            Ichigo returned from that memory with a blink and found Orihime still in his personal space, peering at him, asking if he was alright.  “Yeah,” he said in a sigh and put on a smile.  “I guess I don’t really don’t remember anything after that.  Maybe I passed out from exhaustion.”  He wasn’t convinced by that, and from the look on Orihime’s face, he was certain that there was much more to it than that.

            Hopefully Urahara-san and Osho could fill in the gaps of his memory…

Chapter Text

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            “Kurosaki!!”

            Ichigo hadn’t expected a welcoming like this when Orihime led him to the meeting room, if it could be called a welcoming at all!  The lightning bolt was thrown at his head with all intent to fry it and his brain to charcoal.  Godlike reflexes saved his life as he bent back, his jaw dropping, his pupils turned to pinpoints as he watched the green lightning demolish the wall behind him.  Orihime was at his aid in an instant, calling out to him, asking if he was alright and uninjured.

            “Who-Who the hell are you?!” shouted Ichigo, coming back up, his arms cocked and angry, stomping a foot forward in challenge.

            The woman confronting him had on the attire of a Stern Ritter, but he couldn’t recall ever meeting one that was covered in brutal stitching.  However… if he looked harder, past the injuries, he could vaguely recognize the lime-blonde hair, the charge of electricity in her hollowed fists, and the insane look in her eyes.  “Don’t give me that shit!  You know very well who I am!”

            Ichigo glowered, murmuring in his throat.  He glowered.  And he glowered silently some more.

            “You bastard!  Did you actually forget what you did to me?!” she roared.

            Ichigo remained silent, and then threw out a hand, groaning as he grabbed his head.  He looked to be agitated, and then said, “Hold on, it’s coming to me…!  Probably!”

            Candice Catnipp, the Thunderbolt, snarled, her beauty cracking with vicious veins.  “YOU BAST-!!!”

            “That’s enough.”  A button was pressed on a cylindrical handheld device, and several in attendance were enveloped in a painful burst of electricity, except Candice, whose inhibitor was structured for flame since she could use electricity to her benefit.  The five all screeched – in various ways, as one swooned and another acted like it was an annoyance than a painful charge – until the blazing display abated.  “Really,” muttered Mayuri, his thumb still on the rubbery trigger.  “I’ll have to craft a zombie obedience school next.”

            “Dammit!”  A wispy black-haired boy that Ichigo truly did not recognize – but had the same stitch patterns on his body – shoved forward.  “Can’t you just calm down?!  That insane freak zaps all of us when you act out!”  The woman next to him – also black-haired and stitched – agreed, yanking on the ends of her whip as if threatening to use it.  The third person – a man Ichigo certainly remembered with no fondness – jumped up with a “Niño!  It’s been a long time!”  Dordoni Alessandro Del Socaccio landed in an outrageous pose, dipping deep with his left leg stretched out far and his hands following with his face turned the other direction.

            Ichigo was unimpressed despite Orihime’s awed gaze.

            “It seems our reunion was fated to be held at the pinnacle of existence, wouldn’t you say, chocolate niñOOH!!”

            Another blast of merciless electricity.

            “Must you all act like it’s a carnival here?” Mayuri complained, holding his thumb longer on the trigger while his Arrancar corpses wailed in hate and the Quincy screeched venom.  Two others; an Arrancar man with a mane of thick hair and a tall woman of pink, the former treating the shocks like a joy and the other clenching against it like catching a harsh glare from the sun.  Noticing this, the scientist said something about needing to recalibrate for muscle density for the pink-haired one.

            Meninas McAllon gave a sigh meant to sound agitated, but it was too airy to really seem like much of anything.  She bounced her locks gently in her palms.  “What an annoying man,” she observed before her eyes switched to Kurosaki Ichigo.  For a protracted time, she stared without speaking, a finger pushing up against her natural-pouty bottom lip.  “So he is awake.”

            “Mayuri-san,” laughed Urahara, placing a friendly hand on the Captain’s shoulder, to which Mayuri glared at with the greatest contempt.  “Will you be joining our little meeting after all?”

            “Hmph!  Hardly!”  Mayuri shoved the hand off of him.  “I merely needed to collect my things before the return journey.”  He smiled a yellow smile, preening at the device that he had held out earlier, now bloated and its tongue hanging tiredly.  “I’ve got so many samples up here that I wish to diagnose!  The stingy Reio”—He cast a resentful glare to Ichigo—“can keep his fingernails and toenails… for now, I suppose.  For the moment”—He snapped his fingers once above his head—“come!  I’ve spent enough time here!”

            Luppi and Cirucci griped but complied, Charlotte Chuhlhourne moaned and ran his hands over his body – A fresh scar was stitched across his chest – Dordoni gave a wheezing protest to how he was not allowed to confront Ichigo.  But the two new zombies…

            “Hm?  How absurd.  Do I need to refine my method of reconstructing Quincy bodies to obey better?”  Mayuri looked at Candice and Meninas, who had not moved from either of their spots.  He held up his trigger, though the Arrancar protested each.  “Don’t they know who is their master now?”  The head compressed under his thumb, but it was not set off as a burly hand covered his, stilling it at once.  Again, the scientist was offended to be touched, and the heavy musk of the monk was offending, to say the least.

            “Now, Kurotsuchi Mayuri,” said Osho in a friendly tone, “I believe we had struck a deal!  The Quincy were not to be treated unkindly and…”

            “Pah!” spat Mayuri, pulling his hand free but refraining from engaging the button.  He instead rubbed the hand as if to polish and cleanse it.  “A man of creation not being able to do as he wishes with his own things; Squad Zero is abundantly absurd!”

            “Creation?  If you call animating these mummies again ‘creation’, the Bureau of Research and Development of Soul Society is certainly lacking,” mused Senjumaru, coming up to Osho’s side to confront the antagonizing Captain.  “We’ve made our bargain already.  Now run along and play with your toys below until we have need of you again, Kurotsuchi Mayuri.”

            “Why you-!”  Mayuri thrust out his hand, shaking with rage as his thumb hovered above the trigger.  Senjumaru lost none of her mirth, her smile daring him to go through with it.  Behind her, Urahara was petitioning for peace.

            It was a tense standoff that only ended when Mayuri snorted and turned away, stuffing his device in his clothes.  “I’ve a schedule that I must keep.  Consider yourselves fortunate that I am a generous soul and will oblige our agreement.”  His glance to his zombies was full of hatred, as was his command “Come!”  He stomped ahead, the Arrancar trailing, Meninas following after them, and Candice taking the longest to obey; not before thrusting a gloved finger in Ichigo’s confused face and snarling, “This isn’t over, Kurosaki!  You’ll pay for what you did!”  And then she was off, storming off with squared shoulders and broad, outward steps.

            “You’ll get more wrinkles with a face like that,” Meninas said.

            “Shaddup!  Like wrinkles are any worse than these damned scars anyway!”

            Ichigo wasn’t sure what to make of that confrontation, so he looked at Orihime and whispered, “What was that about?”

            “Candi-chan said that you put dirt in her hair,” Orihime answered informatively, and then wagged a finger of reproach at him.  “That wasn’t a nice thing to do, Kurosaki-kun.”

            Abashed, Ichigo threw his hands upon his chest and gave her an imploring look.  “I-I didn’t do anything like that!  Maybe if we fought… but that sort of thing is bound to happen…!”

            “Kurosaki-san!  Inoue-san!  So glad you’re here now!  Sorry for the interruption.  Mayuri-san has always liked a theatrical exit, so please excuse him!” exclaimed the cheery Urahara.

            Like he’s one to talk about theatrics.  Ichigo, regardless, heeded him and walked over with Orihime at his side.  Undisturbed, he was now given a chance to really see the assembly gathered for him.  Urahara said that Rukia and Renji would have liked to be in attendance, “But Reiokyu can’t be accessed so easily, even now!”  Orihime was a special case, and Mayuri was an assistant (or better) to aid the Reio in recovery.  So the meeting was composed and Ichigo and Orihime, Urahra, Osho, Senjumaru, Kyoraku Shunsui and Ise Nanao, and…

            “Ichigo-chan!  You look absolutely peaked!” sang the heavyset woman brushing by Urahara with a full dish of steaming pork buns.  Hikifune Kirio smiled, her creased eyes upon him above her full and spiraled cheeks.  “How cruel of Kisuke not to let you eat first!  You’ve been on an empty stomach all week, haven’t you?  So eat and eat, Ichigo-chan, and recover your strength!”

            “Oh, uh, thank you, Kirio-san,” Ichigo said apprehensively.

            Kirio nodded briskly.  “Orihime-chan was with me for quite a while.  Between you and me”—Which it wasn’t, with her lack of volume control—“she’s been busy making a special recipe for you.  Even as Reio, you should feel very honored!”

            “Kiro-san!” exclaimed the bashful girl beside Ichigo, reaching and tugging at her hair, petting it anxiously, hand over fist.

            Ichigo didn’t have time to comment – enough, though, to pass her a grateful smile – when Urahara moved to the front of the room, calling out like a teacher, “If you’ll take your seats, please, we can begin~”

            “Where did these school desks come from?” murmured Ichigo, looking dubiously at the few desks right in front of Urahara, though he also noticed that no one else was sitting in them.  His face twisted.  No…  He can’t mean…!

            “Kurosaki-san~♪”  Urahara rapped on the desk with his cane.  “If you’ll take a seat please, we can begin~”

            “What are you talking about?  I don’t mind standing…!”  Everyone else was standing!  Why did he have to sit?!

            “Unless you sit,” Urahara replied, “the energies within you might erupt and cause a disruption to the three realms of reality.  Why do you think Aizen was confined to a chair for our protection?”

            “Sit down, Reio-sama,” said Senjumaru.  “We don’t want to wait all day.”

            “These desks are much too small!” bellowed Osho with a laugh while Kyoraku said he would swoon over Nanao sitting in a such a chair in a schoolgirl’s uniform; the remark earned him a fist to the jaw.

            “It’s alright, Kurosaki-kun.”

            Ichigo turned to Orihime when he felt her hand lightly brush over his; maybe on accident, he figured.

            “I’ll sit down with you.”

            Somehow, in her outfit, straight posture, shoulders up and back, head up, hands folded politely and both feet flat on the floor, Orihime resumed a real sense of poise and elegance; much like a teacher or teacher’s aide when teaching a student by example.  But if she was the teacher’s aide, did that make Ichigo the student?  He ducked his head a bit, feeling ashamed to have everyone else standing over him.  And he could swear he heard Urahara lose a small chuckle.

            This chair wasn’t necessary at all, was it?!

            “Now, Pero!  If you’ll run the reel!”  Urahara’s cane swung up as a picture or video began to run on the wall behind him, projected from the eyes of a floating round abnormality that must have been one of his own designed creations; fluffy and cute to contrast the creepy and morose of Mayuri’s engineering.

            The video was of a bird’s eye account of the ending of Ichigo’s fight with Yhwach.  The words and threats were thrown by the Quincy King; Ichigo remembered those, and forgot his sitting embarrassment to watch.  Black reishi was ripping through the terrain, Yhwach’s final desperate throes to eliminate all who had thwarted him, stood against him, and even fought for him.  Shinigami, human, Hollow, Quincy!  All would be drawn into oblivion!

            “Because there is no Reio,” said Osho on the video, whom Ichigo could not recount by memory.  “There is nothing to bind reality together anymore.  The power is loose.”

            “Loose threads fall apart, and the fabric is torn asunder,” added Senjumaru by his side.

            Ichigo stood placidly against them as the destruction raged beneath his feet.  Squad Zero were all together, staring at him, Tenjiro with his Kinpika leaning onto his shoulder in casual wait, Oh-Etsu grinning wide and saying that the spotlight shined brightest in the final act, Kirio said nothing but stared happily.  Osho’s eyes sparkled with expectancy, as if he could look into Ichigo’s very soul.

            Slowly, Ichigo turned around, faced them fully.  Even if he could not remember it now – not in detail, at least – it was evident what was taking place in that silence.  Questions and warnings, a begging guard of royalty.  For the good of everyone, friend and family and enemy…

            The hold of Zangetsu tightened for a moment, and then relaxed, and then strengthened again.  He did not buckle and his eyes did not waver.  “Take me there.”

            To Reiokyu, where the Wahrwelt was crumbling, fading back to the palace it once was.  “Ichigo!”  Nel was there, waiting with a wounded Urahara and Grimmjow.  Ichigo could only look at her in passing; he was rushing with all haste with the members of Squad Zero behind him.  Nel did not pursue.

            Outside, watching, Ichigo was relieved to see that Nel was alright.

            The camera creature struggled to keep pace.  Soon, it was evident that the recordings were from numerous devices, spread throughout the realm of the Soul King, or else the images would not ever be able to keep pace.  “What are you doing?” Tenjiro shouted ahead to Ichigo.  “You’re supposed to be following us!”

            Ichigo looked back fixedly.  “I can sense them.”

            “Them?”  Tenjiro’s teeth held his toothpick tight.

            Ichigo faced ahead.  “They’ll die if they’re left there.”

            Never had such speed been recorded.  Osho and the others – including the Speed Demon – fell back when Ichigo burst forward and full power, the total mastery of his Bankai propelling him to records that they just could not fathom.  Urahara’s devices blipped from one area to another, but there was no keeping track.  The bodies on the ground, in pools of blood, simply vanished, taken away and to safety.  But there was one final image, one where he stopped.

            The captured Arrancar Empress.

            The defeated Espada lifted her head, her shackles rattling as the castle around her crumbled.  Even if her chains came loose from these falling walls, she hadn’t the strength or even the will to escape.  Her only hope now stood in front of her.  “You’re…”  Her voice was rasped and weak from disuse.  Still, in her stellar green eyes was a flicker of recognition, like seeing a legend come to life before her.

            Ichigo’s own eyes regarded the chain holding her, and the bare hilt of Zangetsu was grasped tightly.  The browns of his eyes blazed over with gold.  “I’m here to save you,” he said to her, and then ruined all the chains holding her with two broad swipes, cleaving away the wretched powers that sought to hold her captive to the Quincy King’s dying breath.

            Halibel lurched forward, unable to catch herself, but she needn’t when Ichigo was there, smoothly gathering her up in his arms, tender and mindful of her bruised and beaten flesh.

            She was the last to need saving from the wreckage.  With a sharp pivot, his torn clothes billowing majestically, he blasted off the plateau of her imprisonment just as the castle imploded in on itself.  His passenger was already unconscious, her head leaning against his shoulder, the three long tassels of braided hair whipping around them.  He pulled her tight against him, swerving and veering, and then the camera angle went dead – likely destroyed by the crumbling building – and changed to an outside perspective, gazing upward, catching the moment Ichigo erupted from the very marble wall of Yhwach’s palace, not a scratch on him save for his battle scars.

            “Not bad,” Tenjiro had to admit with a wry smirk.

            “Chan-Ichi’s got the stuff, for sho’!” howled Oh-Etsu.

            As the others appraised the oncoming teen, Osho looked down at the ones that had been rescued.  “Arrancar, Shinigami, human, and Quincy,” he murmured in account of those lying about on the ground, to be treated once everything was settled.  “He saved them all.”

            Halibel was set down to join the group, a crude cushion for her head made from Ichigo’s tattered robes.  He looked down at them for only a moment, and then turned to Osho.  “So what has to be done?”

            “Well, reality needs its lynchpin” was the reply.  Osho’s arms unfolded and a thick finger was pointed directly at Ichigo, and Ichigo did not react or seem surprised.  “And you could be that lynchpin, Kurosaki Ichigo!  Of human, Shinigami, Hollow, and Quincy!  Who else could fill the role?!”

            Ichigo seemed undeterred when he asked after a pensive silence, “What will happen to me?”

            “To be honest, we don’t know.  A transference of such magnitude has never been done before.  Were you as before, before coming to terms with your powers…”

            And Oh-Etsu cockily adjusted his shades that that wide-toothed grin.

            “… it would have surely killed you to assume to role!”

            Ichigo glanced at the Reiokyu, in the ruined state it had been before Yhwach’s redesign.  And the out-of-control power would only worsen it.  “And now?”

            “You may survive,” said Senjumaru in place of Osho, who simply returned his hands into his sleeves and awaited Ichigo’s choice.

            There wasn’t much time left for deliberating.  He could feel that hesitation would leave even lasting scars, in this world and the others.  And it was pointless.  To save everyone, even if it meant to die simply as a martyr of a name, he was prepared.  “I’m ready,” he said strongly.  “Do it!”

            Osho gave an approving nod, and there were small commentaries by Oh-Etsu and Kirio praising his choice.  Ichigo was in the center of their circle, Tenjiro was at the east, Kirio at the south, Oh-Etsu west, and Senjumaru was north, while Osho approached from the front.  “This is a mighty sacrifice, Kurosaki Ichigo,” he said gravely, losing the humor he normally bore in casual conversation.  He smacked his palms loudly together.  “We honor you!  And pray you survive the experience!”

            At that, the video blinked out, and Urahara stepped forward once again, cheer on his face despite Ichigo’s intense confusion and disappointment not to see the resolution of his decision.  Though sitting there himself, he at least knew the process hadn’t killed him.

            “As you just saw, Kurosaki-san, you have taken the place of the slain Reio.  It was a shock to us”—It wasn’t—“that you’d take up the mantle, but we are eternally grateful”—The hat came off and Urahara bowed his head—“for this choice you’ve made.”

            Ichigo could do without the gratitude.  Not because he himself was bitter, but because it was unnecessary.  He was glad just to know everyone was safe, whether or not it was because of him.

            He pointed dumbly at the blank wall.  “I-Is that it?  Isn’t there more to the video?”

            “Nothing at all,” Urahara said, hat returned to his head.  “The ritual of Squad Zero took place to contain, weave, and seep the unbound powers of Reio into you.  It’s much to brilliant for common eyes to bear witness to.”

            “Really?” Ichigo said with some real intrigue.  Well, he had survived, and that was something.  But his memory…  He touched his head and remembered his remembering!  “Ah!  Why can’t I remember all that?!  It seemed so important!  I just remember defeating Yhwach, and then…”

            “It’s understandable.”  Osho took point for this question.  “Your human senses are still catching up to your new sense of omnipotence.  There will be no telling how long it will take, but your mind is pulling in knowledge of the entirety of existence!  It is well beyond the scope of what an awake mind can comprehend.”

            “Really,” Ichigo repeated, cupping his chin as he processed the explanation.  Glancing over, he reacted shocked to see Orihime writing down notes like they were actually attending a class!

            “But rest assured, Kurosaki Ichigo!” boomed Osho.  “You needn’t worry!  Perhaps you will feel a heightened sense of things from time to time, but you will live the normal life of Reio!  You will train, you will eat, you will sleep, you will love and you will scorn!  Your duty is to exist now and become the history of Soul Society and the whole of existence itself!”

            Ichigo stared perplexedly at him for a while, matching the enthusiasm with dumbfounded skepticism.  “Is that it?”

            Osho’s head lifted slightly.  “Hm?”

            “If all I need to do is stay alive,” continued Ichigo, sitting up with a stronger acceptance of things, “then there wasn’t really any need for the big spectacle, was there?”  He smirked, holding up a fist.  “All I need to do is control my reiatsu, and I can go back home and…”

            “There is no ‘going home’ for you.”  Senjumaru floated like a wraith.  “Unless ‘home’ is what you call Reiokyu.”

            “It is a bit of a pinch,” observed Osho, eyes upward as he began to pull thoughtfully at his beard now that Ichigo was returned to concern.  “We would not have asked if it could be helped.  We could have used some sort of replacement in the meantime.  Trapping you away from your friends and family, from the life you’ve always known, it was a terrible thing to do.”

            To the side, Kyoraku tipped the brim of his hat, burying his somber face in shadowed shame.  He’d done what he could to alleviate this outcome, but Soul Tickets were a poor recompence.

            “Are you saying I’m stuck here?!” blurted Ichigo, the desk jumbling as he halfway jumped.

            “Osho-san!” exclaimed Orihime, this being the first she’d heard of this confinement.  “That-That’s not true, is it?”

            “Now, I wouldn’t say you’re stuck here,” Osho explained, though his tone did not sound like he had a solution.  “After all, a King is meant to stay in his palace.  In truth, we might have acted hopeful for the sake of Inoue Orihime”—He briefly regarded her, but his serious gaze went back to Ichigo soon enough—“we had little belief that you’d actually wake up after the ceremony.  For eons, Reio-sama has been silent.  Yours are the first words to come from your new station.”

            The cords of Ichigo’s neck flexed, his eyes wide and a sweat breaking out over his brow.  He knew that this knowledge, had it been given before, would not have changed his decision, but to grasp it now…

            “Don’t despair!”  Osho’s hands were thrown out wide.  “There is much to learn and to do in Reiokyu!  And though there have been rules against it, we will make arrangements that you will not bear this rule in solitude!  As you can see, your friends”—He smacked a meaty hand down on Urahara’s shoulder while Urahara gave the peace sign—“are welcome to this platform!  It may take some time to really process this system, but you will not be lonely!”

            It was some good news at least, but Ichigo was still overcome by his fate.

            “The first matter of business is clearly to…!”

            Osho was cut off by Kirio, who ambled in, hands placed upon her wide waist, glowering at all in attendance.  “How awful you’re all being to Ichigo-chan!  It ruins health to fill someone with knowledge while their belly remains empty!”  She stretched a hand out to Ichigo, beckoning him to stand with a smile.  “You’ll feel much better about all of this when you eat.”

            Ichigo doubted that, but he couldn’t – and wouldn’t – refuse her.  Solemnly, as there was little else he wanted to learn at the moment about his predicament, he agreed and got to his feet.

            He didn’t realize how hungry he was until after he took the first bite, nor how good Kirio’s food was when on an empty stomach!  She was right!  He was feeling loads better as he began to stuff his face!  He never thought he’d eat like Goku from those DRAGONBALL manga Tatsuki let him borrow, but here he was, shoveling rice down his gullet like there was a vacuum in his stomach!

            “Yes!  Eat!  Eat!” Kirio encouraged while her helper – Orihime – loaded the table with a bowl of fried shrimp that Ichigo partook in greedily.  “A boy your age is ravenous on his own, but with the appetite of Reio-sama, you can engorge more!”

            “Kirio-san!  It’s amazing!” praised Ichigo, ravenous and almost crazed by his eating frenzy.

            With a haughty laugh and a waving hand, Kirio said, “Now, now!  It’s my pleasure to serve at your behest!  And besides!”  She stooped somewhat and patted Orihime affectionately on the head; Orihime laughed nervously but appreciatively.  “Orihime-chan here has been a big help!  Don’t thank me any more than you do her!”

            Orihime’s heart fluttered and face heated when Ichigo’s eyes fell upon her.  Not at his most flattering with cheeks packed and mouth chewing noisily, she was nevertheless humbled by his notice and hastily declined that her culinary practice was anywhere near Kirio-san’s tier.  And of course, Kirio laughed some more, clapped her fondly on the back, and ushered her back to the blazing stoves in the kitchen.  “Come!  Let’s make a meal to warm the very soul of Reio-sama!”

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            Back in the room where the congregation had begun, Osho, Kyoraku, and Urahara had matters to discuss themselves.

            “I hope it doesn’t seem like I’m intruding or overstaying my welcome,” jeered Urahara.  “But Kurosaki-san deserves all the help we can afford him.  We’ve crafted that limiter in a week, but I wouldn’t say it’s enough for him.  Reio’s power is beyond that and would likely carve it away after prolonged use.  It’s more of a buffer now, finely-layered reishi that his reiatsu peels away to escape.”

            Osho grunted jovially in agreement, but couldn’t give a solution; nothing more than Urahara had already stipulated before.

            “Well,” grunted the Captain Commander, keeping his eyes shielded.  “I suppose these are matters left in the most capable hands of all.  Captain Kurotsuchi will likely be in touch and is, of course, at your full disposal.”

            “Hey now, I’m certain he wouldn’t like to hear you use that language about him,” Urahara jested as if Mayuri were still in earshot – which was a probability.

            Kyoraku flashed him a grin, but slid on the issue.  He’d be much more mindful in the scientist’s presence.  “I’ll head back below now to deliver the news.  There’s one thing the Captain Commander can do in times of peace, and that’s bring people good news.  They’ll want to hear that Ichigo-san is awake.  There are more than a few that have been anxious about his recovery.”

            “That would be good,” said Osho, his head bowing.  Then he brought up a finger.  “And if you would pass along a message, to all the realms, Kyoraku no Jiro Sakuranosuke Shunsui.”

            Kyoraku looked somewhat puzzled, and even Nanao tensed like there was to be an attack when Osho leaned inward.

            “Tell them all,” Osho began, “that Reio-sama seeks recruits for his Squad Zero.”

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            “Kirio-san’s kitchen has all the ingredients I needed!”  Orihime was sitting aside Ichigo now, the portions coming out slower than before as the Soul King’s appetite began to subside.  Now Ichigo was eating merely on habit than out of hunger, trying this and that and able to stop and reflect on the look of some questionable dishes.  Like the plate Orihime was holding up to him now, covered in full pickles dressed up with mustards, bean sauce, some jelly, basically trimmed with everything to make it seem less appealing.  “It’s my specialty,” Orihime happily explained, and then added with some disillusion, “but Tatsuki-chan and the others are always too full to try it.”

            And Ichigo had just proven that his belly had more than enough room to at least take a sample bite.  He dreaded it as it was held up to him, the cute face of macaroni staring at him no match for the hopeful gleam in Orihime’s eyes behind.  He wanted to be honest and say that by eating such a thing, he’d probably empty his stomach afterwards.  But…  Dammit!  Those eyes of hers!  He’d been too busy and distraught and frustrated to really account how hot and cold and refreshed and exhausted they made him all at once.  He…!

            To his astonishment, he plucked up a pickle, and it gave with colorful slop from its condiment bed.  Fried pickle in peanut oil, slathered with creams and sauces that he couldn’t recognize…

            He couldn’t resist her!

            Unable to even smile for her, he brought the smiling face to his grimacing mouth, teeth coming apart like on a rusty, mechanical jaw.  His tongue pulled back, but his stomach gave a lurch.  After the bite, he needed a plan to escape the room with a plausible and discrete excuse, and hurl somewhere out of Orihime’s sight.

            Chomp.

            The pickle was crispy, but the coating was smooth and the pasta pliant.  The sour reacted with the sweetness when it touched its tongue, and yet the flavor was not combative; more complementing, like there was an enraptured dialogue in his mouth, an exchange of ideas.  To his disgust… he loved it!!

            The grimace vanished at once, his eyebrows lifted and his eyes dropped to the morsel still pinched in between his fingers.  He chewed, swallowed, and gushed.  “It’s…!”  He stopped, like he could not think of the words despite his self-proclaimed eloquence.  “It’s amazing!  I didn’t think, because of the way it looked, but…!”  He couldn’t help himself and bit a bigger piece off and chewed it in one cheek.  “It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever tasted!”

            Disregarding his comment on its appearance, Orihime’s face brightened as well with a healthy glow of pink.  “Really?!”

            “Mhm!”  Ichigo swallowed again, leaning toward her with his arm on the table between them.  “Did Kirio-san help make it?  It must be her special cooking, right?!”  After all, Kirio-san’s food had questionable dishes, but there was no denying the abundance of flavor.

            Orihime twiddled her fingers again, unsure how she should take the assumption.  It-It was probably good to be mistaken for the best chef in all Soul Society and possibly the three worlds together.  “Um, no, it-it was made by me.”  It was, but would Kurosaki-kun believe her?

            “No way,” Ichigo said in utter amazement.  His eyes drifted up to the ceiling.  “I always saw you bringing a lot of weird—uh!”  He caught himself and revised the statement with a nervous laugh, “You always bring out so many things in your bento.  I didn’t know you had such good taste.”

            Orihime giggled, fidgeting shyly at the compliment.  “I learned it when Onii-chan would work and I’d be home alone.  We didn’t have a lot to make big, fancy meals, but I wanted to do the best I could for him!”  Pumping her fists at her bosom and giving a joyous smile, she said, “He always told me to do my best no matter what!  If one recipe doesn’t work, then I just try again!  And again!  More and more, until I get it right!  Until I have the courage to give it to someone special and say ‘I made this just for you!’  And so, that’s why I…!”  She came up short, realizing how intently Ichigo was listening and how passionately she was speaking and the intimacy she was showing.  She gave a yelp and turned away, facing her lap as her hands twisted in her dress.  “Oh!  I-I’m sorry, Kurosaki-kun!  I didn’t mean to say too much and interrupt your meal!”

            Ichigo simply watched her, the meal forgotten.  He’d felt the hearts of enemies when he crossed blades with them; the resentment, the dispassion, the despair, the euphoria, the longing, the envy, and the contempt.  It was the first time, so clearly, that he resonated with… a friend.

            “Orihime-chan, I would have thought you to have known better!”

            Kirio was back, and it seemed the cooking was done now that she was trim and – while Ichigo tried not to acknowledge it – buxom and beautiful.  The loose garb at her chest, meant to cover a broader girth, dared with her wobbly breasts as she strode across the room, careless with her ease of shoving a five-layered cake onto the table to end Ichigo’s first meal as Reio.

            “What do you mean?” asked Orihime intently.

            “Only that meals are not simply to end one’s hunger,” answered Kirio, leaning onto the table with a hand, the hills sloping to one side to make Ichigo sputter after taking a bite of the pickle again to distract himself from the lovely Grain King.  “It is a chance to converse and express, to unload a full heart while filling an empty stomach!  You can tell that special person what he or she means to you!  And not just in words.”  She leaned forward, impressing her smile upon her two guests.  “Be honest!  Be hardy!  Eat well!”  She rolled up her sleeve to her shoulder to flex her arm.  “I am here to serve you!”

            Ichigo and Orihime exchanged a look – a very meaningful look, where they did not simply stare into each other’s eyes, but each other’s features, from eyes, nose, hairline, ears, lips – and then both turned to Kirio with an appreciative nod.  Three slices of cake were laid out; Kirio took up a seat to join them, eating and talking merrily about the joy of living in Reiokyu.  She might have been the youngest of the ranks, but these past hundred years had been nothing but resplendent!  So long as Orihime stayed, she was welcome to the kitchen and its stores, to try out every ingredient available and serve whatever dish she’d like without worry.

            “Oh, how careless of me!” Kirio announced, her hand coming up over her mouth, her eyes wide in astonishment and self-admonishment.  “How could I forget the milk to wash it down?  In all the excitement, even the essentials can be forgotten!  Excuse me, Orihime-chan, Reio-sama!”

            Orihime laughed to see the woman move briskly into the back.  Such a kind soul, very motherlike, yet with ‘big sister’ qualities in this particular form.  She was someone Orihime hoped to learn lots from, but…

            “Inoue…”

            His voice was soft and thoughtful at her side.  It sent a shiver through her, though not the kind to make her stomach go cold or her heart ache.  It was the kind that made her fearful to look at him, yet unable to do anything else.  Anxiously, her hands went to her top, suddenly feeling open and exposed there.  O why couldn’t Senjumaru-san have crafted something more conservative than a mimic of Urahara-san’s prank?

            But when she faced him, she saw that he as well could not easily look at her, his eyes bogged down to the table and his half-eaten cake.  He was taking this chance of solitude between them, and it took strength to lift his gaze to hers.  “It’s just,” he began haltingly, “I was wondering…”

            Orihime’s mouth pursed up nervously.

            “I know you’ve been… watching over me this whole time…”

            “N-No!  It’s nothing like that!” she jabbered in hasty defense, waving her hands out in front of her chest.  “I wasn’t watching you all the time!  I mean, they gave me my own room, and I told you I was with Kirio-san and Senjumaru-san a lot!  And…!”

            His gaze halted and eased her.  He’d something to say that he wouldn’t say over her.  Hard as it was, she stopped herself.

            “I was just wondering…”

            “Y-Yes, Kurosaki-kun?”

            He blushed harder.  But hard as it was, he kept his gaze on her to express his sincerity.  “Could you… make some time for me?”

            Orihime’s heart throbbed and stopped for a beat.  “Huh?”

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Chapter Text

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            The gate couldn’t stay open for long; Urahara Kisuke had warned that it would cause a strain and would begin to bend the space around it if it remained open.  So on the bottom side in Seireitei, it was up to Mayuri to close it.  And he did with a pompous “Hmph!  To reduce me to a common doorman is yet another slight, yet an apparent sign of that man’s jealousy of my intellect.”  He clasped the medallion that could reopen the gateway to the Reiokyu and tucked it into his coat.

            “Sorry for the trouble, Captain Kurotsuchi,” said Kyoraku with a light laugh.  “Now that Ichigo-san is awake, there’ll be a lot of back-and-forth trips until everything is finalized.  But I appreciate you not closing it prematurely.”

            “A consequence of my overabundance of charity.  It would pain me that the Captain Commander would be stuck in the Royal Palace, unable to overlook my monumental work and enforce petty things like common decency.  Now if you’ll excuse me”—Mayuri turned sharp and began to saunter to his private lab—“you can see yourself out.  And don’t touch anything!”

            “Much obliged, Captain Kurotsuchi,” chortled the one-eyed Commander.  He moved for the exit with Nanao keeping pace behind him.  He kept to himself, lost in thought, though Akon earned a look and a nod in passing.

            “Sir, at what point do we comply with Hyosube-dono’s wishes?”  Nanao looked back at the door Mayuri had sealed himself behind.  “We’ll need to ask Captain Kurotsuchi to open the Garganta into Hueco Mundo…”

            “I know,” droned Kyoraku as they stepped out into the sunlight.  He sucked his teeth at the brightness, tilting his head slightly into the glare.  “So much work to do,” he groaned, “and I haven’t had even a taste of good sake on such a fine day.”

            “Captain Commander!”

            “Captain Kyoraku!”

            With a puzzled grunt, he turned to the two voices, approaching from outside the perimeter of the Bureau of Research and Development.  Kuchiki-san and Abarai-san, waiting for news from above.  He sighed heavily, and then gave Nanao a sideway smile.  “How about we deliver some good news before getting to work?”

            Nanao gave a curt nod.  “Understood.”

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            No two kids could act as anxious as Ichigo and Orihime after he’d sputtered out his request and she accepted.  Neither could look up from their hands, and Ichigo’s stomach was turned to knots while Orihime’s appetite seemed to flare with stress eating.  Kirio passed out the glasses of warmed milk – “Much better for the nerves.” – but was addled by their changed behavior.  Orihime jabbered onto strange tangents and chugged the milk like it was a draft.  “I-I’d like another!” she practically slurred when hitting the emptied cup down.

            Kirio cocked her head, but then laughed and held up a hand.  “Maybe that would be too much.”

            So after, Kirio said they could be on their way.  Cleanup needed to begin, and Ichigo should explore his palace a bit now that his hunger was abated.  Ichigo and Orihime complied, yet for all their want of solitude, they were loathe to claim it once outside the dining room doors.  Both stared off in different directions, waiting for the other to carry on from where they had left off.

            Could you make some time for me?

            Huh?  Of-Of course, Kurosaki-kun!  As much time as you need!  Orihime regretted her overenthusiasm, but it was so unexpected for him to ask her that!  How else was she supposed to respond?!  Maybe she should apologize for speaking so candidly with him.  He was a King now; the Reio.

            No…  When she turned to him, and he reflexively looked back at her, his eyes bright with curiosity and uncertainty, she realized that was not the case.  He wasn’t some new deity.  He was still Kurosaki-kun.

            My Kurosaki-kun.

            “Inoue?”

            She bit the inside of her bottom lip to restrain herself from speaking her heart at once.  Yet when her mouth opened, she blurted in a volume that echoed in these broad and empty corridors, “Kurosaki-kun!”

            He gave a start at how loudly she began.

            “I just wanted to say…!”

            “These hallowed halls haven’t experienced such impudence before.”

            Both Orihime and Ichigo flinched, feeling like something spidery was crawling up their spines.  The still shadows themselves seemed to shift, the atmosphere growing ominous like a sudden black cloud enveloped them.

            Shutara Senjumaru appeared between them without making a sound.  Orihime shrieked, “Wah!  Senjumaru-san!  Please don’t sneak up on me like that!”

            “And again,” the Great Weaver murmured with a dismal smile turned to the healer, “you rattle the walls with your voice.  Reio-sama’s domicile is normally so peaceful and quiet.”

            Marionette hands slithered across Ichigo’s shoulders to either traverse his chest or fondle the lines of his clenching throat.

            “Is this a sign that your rule shall be chaotic and loud, Reio-sama?”  Her leering gaze passed to him, and he could only utter her name in recognition.  “My advice would be a swift admonishment.  A pat on the behind does not got as far as a full flogging”—She reveled in their shared look of shock and dismay—“but as a warning…”

            “Yah!”  Orihime jumped, her crotch thrusting ahead of her as one of Senjumaru’s hands shoved against her rump.  Ichigo reacted like a weapon was used against her; certainly overreacting as he asked if she was alright.  It was more the following mortification, that Kurosaki-kun had witnessed the impropriety that Orihime faltered and hurriedly rotated as if to hide a backside that was throbbing red.  “No!  I mean, yes, Kurosaki-kun!  I’m alright!”

            Senjumaru tucked her smile loosely behind skeletal fingers, an airy “Heh” escaping her parted lips.  Perhaps they would be amusing after all.

            But she was here more on business than pleasure, and before Ichigo could react, her hands were in his shihakusho and fingering the bands meant to restrain his powers.  He yammered about her intrusiveness, particularly when she checked the straps closer to his groin.  “Do you not remember our last meeting?” she jibed him calmly, sending a shiver through him as her hand brushed the inside of his thigh.  “There is little more you can show me that I have not already seen.”

            “H-Hey!” he jawed back, a deep shade of crimson at the ridicule, particularly in front of Orihime.  “Don’t talk about unnecessary things like that!”

            “I wouldn’t need to”—The hands retracted and returned to their station behind her —“if you would simply comply.  You shouldn’t walk off so hastily.  Urahara puts too much trust in you.  But you’ve only recently gained the stature of Reio.  There’s no telling what effects there might be with this new accessory.”  She hooked a finger underneath the strap at his chest, her hand moving beyond the sight of eyes, and it seemed like she was drawing Ichigo toward her.  He blinked, confused about their intimate proximity.  “Unless you find a solution to your abundant reiatsu, we’ll have to keep making these straps.”  The crooked finger made a fist around the band.  “And I do not make things that do not last, Kurosaki Ichigo.”

            Ichigo felt the weight of her words and nervously said that he understood.  “I’ll figure it out,” he promised weakly.

            “Very good, Reio-sama.”  She released him then and went on her way, not before telling Orihime that she was still welcome in the royal wardrobe.  “So long as you can contain your voice.”

            “Yes~” cheered Orihime before thinking better of it, hiding her smile and amending with a “Sorry” and then a “Thank you.”  Senjumaru-san was kinder than she let on; she just had boundary issues and little patience.

            But that was sidelined for now.  It was the time she promised for Ichigo, and she asked him with anxious excitement, “Do-Do you want to walk around a bit?  I know these places too!”  She pointed to rooms in succession further down the curving hall.  “That door leads to an empty room!  And so does that one!  That one there is a washroom, but it’s pretty empty too.”

            “Inoue,” Ichigo said behind her turned back.  She clammed up, steeled herself, and turned to him with a wary “Yes?”  He smiled, as if affirming something to both of them, and then reached out to tentatively take her by the hand.  The touch blazed for both of them; bolder than he had ever been before, but he seemed certain about it.

            Traversing the palace could wait.  He had time.  He wasn’t certain this feeling could last through another cycle, though, and needed to see it through.

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            “I certainly don’t feel comfortable with it,” said Urahara in front of the monitors set up in the room Squad Zero had permitted to him, “but monitoring Kurosaki-san’s vital signs is essential for the moment.  For the Reio, nothing can be left to chance.  Now that he is awake, his reiatsu will fluctuate in different scenarios.  I have faith in him, but we don’t know how Reio’s power reacts to the human experience, the previous one being crystalized for so long.”

            “Yes, silence and isolation were benefits to the past King.  But history is about piling new experiences upon the old.”  Osho didn’t understand the numbers and beeps and lines, but he smiled at them, as they surely meant no alarm at the moment.  “Watching the new Reio-sama will awaken a new dawn for peace!  Especially with his new Squad Zero!”

            “Hm?”  Urahara turned from his readings to the Monk.  “A new Squad Zero?”

            “That’s right.  Though maybe it isn’t right to say new.  Perhaps improved?  We cannot simply dismiss the current guard, but Kurosaki Ichigo must name those he trusts, those he has faith in to provide protection and service to him.  But unlike before, he will call upon every race, not simply Shinigami.  For we will rescind the names Shinigami, human, Hollow, and Quincy, to return to what we once were, what was the objective from the start: this will be a Squad of Balancers!”

            Urahara looked at him skeptically, and then smirked.  “Ah, so that’s why you gave Captain Commander-san such an arduous task.”  He returned to the monitors, the light flickering in his veiled eyes.  “Kurosaki-san certainly has brought unity.”

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            “Kurosaki-san certainly has brought unity,” Urahara’s voice crackled over the microphone implanted in Mayuri’s long headdress.  All after that was more of a monologue, readings spoken out that Osho certainly couldn’t understand, but Mayuri could ignore it; his device knew to record such basic information, store it without him having to listen.

            “So that’s what they intend, is it?”  He made a fist and hit his desktop.  “Likely to steal my work from me, the valuable females.”  His eyes shifted to the zombies conversing languidly in the corner of the lab; zombies in name and appearance, mostly, but they were still Hollow and Quincy.  Worthless, the lot of them, he thought in anger!

            And yet…

            Mayuri’s eyes then broadened as a thought occurred, and then his face squinted and stretched with a devious smile, his cackling breaking out behind his clenched yellow teeth.  “So the ‘human experience’, eh?  Urahara, it’ll be your undoing, for I always will get what I want.  You two!” he shouted abruptly, addressing the two women lounging furthest from the others; Candice with her hands folded behind her head as she sat against the wall on a table, and Meninas standing nearby with a look of dismal interest in the Arrancar.  “It’s time for a makeover!”

            “A makeover?” Candice murmured, not moving from her spot.

            “That’s right,” spat the good doctor.  “It’s time to get you looking presentable!  I’m disgusted having to look at that shoddy craftsmanship that’s holding your wretched guts inside!”

            “What’s that?!”  Candice sat forward, making a fist.  “It’s you who made us look like this!”

            “Such an annoying man,” concurred Meninas right before the whole lot of zombies suffered for their insubordination.

            Mayuri took solace in the pained screaming behind him, holding the button down for as long as the thought lingered on his lips.  “You have that zombie girl up there already with you, Urahara, but mine will be superior!  Hee-hee-hee!  Let’s see who gets the better of Reio-sama first!”

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            “I don’t want to drag you into anything, Inoue.”

            Ichigo had brought Orihime back to his room.  They hadn’t run into anyone on the way, but it was a slow process; it felt like hours, yet their feet had moved briskly, like they both knew what was waiting for them when they shut the door behind them.  Ichigo fumbled for a bit, searching for the right words.  What was he supposed to say?  What he felt was much too complicated for that.

            He had found his way to the bed, dropping down at the edge, hunching onto his knees, contemplating the floor between his feet rather than his friend pressing herself back against the door.  Orihime chose not to go with him to the bed, instead holding the door’s latch with one hand, pressing her weight against it like she was actively preventing anyone from interrupting… coming in!  Her face turned red from the prior thought.  There was nothing to ‘interrupt’.  It was just a talk; Kurosaki-kun just needed to decompress with a friend.

            That it was her was-was merely coincidence!  She tried to follow Tatsuki-chan’s constant advice and not let her wild fantastic mind contort reality.

            “I guess I’ve dragged you into something else now, haven’t I?”  His head picked up, and he was smiling that soft, genuine smile that made her stomach suddenly feel airborne.  She flinched, trying not to let herself smile rapturously or break down sobbing “Thank goodness!”

            “No!” she refuted when she had control of herself, throwing her hands in front of her.  “I mean, it’s not like I’m troubled here…!  Or…!”  She flexed an arm, holding her bicep in a manner that much reminded him of Ikumi-san.  “It’s great here!  Kirio-san and Nimaiya-kun have been really nice…!”

            The second name gave Ichigo doubts, his eyebrows flattening.

            “And Osho-san is always so helpful explaining everything!  And-And they really…!”  Her hands began to wring across themselves distractingly in front of her, pulling her eyes down to them.  “I… I’m really just so happy that they were able to help you.”

            “Right…”

            They had just eaten, but Ichigo was pining for a bread loaf right about now; personally selected by Inoue with a cheery “Try this one!  I made it myself!”  Discussions between them – even the ones that weren’t so easy – were just so much more pleasant over bread and coffee (or tea).

            “Ahh~”

            He looked up with she made that long, droning but sweet sound of want.  She’d fallen back against the door with the softest thump.

            It wasn’t easy for him to ignore the waggle of her loosely-contained breasts on impact.

            Her eyes were staring upward, seemingly lost in daydreaming.  She looked so childish, yet so much like the buxom woman who had bravely held to his side these long years.

            “I wish we had some of the bakery’s bread~” she whined, inadvertently causing Ichigo to twitch, his posture lifting.  She laughed and rubbed her head, apologizing for her sounding gluttonous or ungrateful.  “It’s not that Kirio-san’s bread isn’t good!  It’s just the bread from home…!”

            How quick Kurosaki-kun had cleared the space between them.  Without Shunpo or any hyper-speed step.  He’d gone at her in brisk and determined strides, on instinct, full aware of his destination.  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her arm aside; tender but forceful.  Her arm would have been between them.  The control he exhibited when he pinned her hand to the door with knocking force, yet he didn’t harm her one bit…

            “K-Kurosaki-kun?” she got out in a gasp.  It almost felt the uncontrollable Hollow within had taken his senses.

            But those eyes on hers were definitely her Kurosaki-kun.

            In that moment, of seeing silver shimmering brilliantly in his deep, milk-chocolate eyes, she relaxed and tensed and held her breath and expected the plunge and follow-through.

            She was flat against the door – She wriggled in sidestep to get around the handle poking her rear. – and made Ichigo stoop from his height to catch her lips with his own.  She made a sound like a whimper when he sealed it, and then she was still.  Outwardly, she was still.  Inwardly, she was a racing heart, a flipflopping stomach, frozen lungs, and a mind of cartwheels and fireworks.

            Kurosaki-kun…

            She seemed to melt, muscles coming undone, Ichigo’s other hand supporting at her waist.  The hand he pressed to the wall had opened and waited; waited until his hand drifted up and melded their fingers together and locked tight, passionate, together.

            He pulled back a little, exhaling a warm breath to her nape as his head hung somewhat.  She, contrarily, lifted, her bosoms rising high with her breath, eyes open and expectant while awaiting the aftermath of her first kiss.  His first kiss (she correctly presumed).  Their first kiss!

            Theirs!

            She was wondering how she had kept herself from cheering and giggling excitedly.

            “Sorry,” he should say.  He had acted brash, hadn’t known how she felt or her feelings for him.  Ichigo should have behaved better.  “Sorry,” he should say, but didn’t.  Even in the rush of things, it felt right; not so different from when he crossed blades with an enemy and could read their heart.  But this feeling transcended it.  He saw her eyes, and knew he was undone.

            Their hands, fingers, joined against the door to her left.

            Her eyes were beautiful as they watched him, waiting.  They expected no apology, no explanation.  Blood rushed and filled the round cheeks, not very different from himself.  Not that he could see himself – except for the reflection in her eyes – but he felt the heat of embarrassment and excitement rushing through him.  Almost felt like he could hurl, his stomach felt so dizzy.

            But watching her steadied him.

            He… gazed down.  Her breasts were up against his sternum; large, flattened mound of ample, warm flesh.  As he had assessed before, it was an entirely revealing outfit.  And he hadn’t been gladder for it than this moment.

            He surged with another kiss before either of them were actually recovered, and this time, Orihime flung her free arm around his neck to hold him.  She kissed back with great enthusiasm, wanting him to experience the same sky-high euphoria her dreams had taken her to.  Normally so reserved, she now thrust her body against him, letting him feel her contours, offering them to him, though he was much too bashful at present to seize them.  It was more than enough that his feet could hardly keep beneath him.

            There was a rumbling in his core, much like a hungry feeling, but his appetite was slaked by Kirio’s buffet.  What he wanted, Inoue was now offering.  Unable to stop himself, he tore his mouth from hers, and before she could catch her breath and utter his name, he tore open her top, and her breasts leapt out in conflicting, jumbling bounds.

            She got his name out then and threw her arm across her pink and hard tips.  But then, seeing how he was looking at her…

            Their joined hands tightened together, and her arm slipped away to grab at his robes.

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            “I have great faith in Captain Kurotsuchi~♪” mused Urahara as he went over the calculations of reiatsu output of a vessel for Reio.  “Competing scientists always pushes discovery to its next plateau!  By reviewing his findings, I’m sure to come up with even better solutions to help serve Kurosaki-san’s time as Reio-sama!”

            “Tch!  Sounds like you’re using your fellow Shinigami like a stepping stone.”

            “Oh, not at all.”  Urahara pulled back from his keyboard, his fingers still running over the keys, inputting data flawlessly.  “We relish our rivalry as the best of friends, I’m sure.”

            “How dumb… Crunch!!”

            “Aw~  Why do we even need to be here~♥”  Giselle laid across the floor, kicking her feet through the air, chin propped in her hands to watch the boring lights and numbers and graphs flicker across the screen.  “I hear Bambi-chan’s at a hot spring of blood.  Oh~♥”  She gushed, fantasizing about such a gruesome thing.  “I wanna see her soaked in blood~”  She drooled while NaNaNa looked incredulously at her, his lips arched in a sneer.

            “She’s right,” he said all the same to Urahara.  “What are we doing here?  The War’s over.  Candi and Meni went below, so why are we staying here?”

            Liltotto spat out the sucker stick, spent of its candy, and went to the next in the basket the hefty member of Squad Zero supplied for her; to keep her docile.  “You’re both just too stupid to have an attention span longer than two seconds,” she grumbled, deepthroating a twizzled lollipop.

            “Yeah right,” laughed Giselle.  “Like you understand any of it, Lil-chan.”

            “More than you.”  Sharp, stone-hard fangs crushed the hard candy, and she moved to the next.

            “Captain Kurotsuchi put a license on Candice Catnipp-san and Meninas McAllon-san,” explained Urahara, returned to his computer screen with intensified vigor.  “He, for lack of a more respectful term, ‘owns’ them for the time being.  I’ve decided simply to request your attendance and ask for cooperation.”

            “Who says we want to cooperate?”  NaNaNa folded his long and lanky arms, maintaining his crooked sneer.  “His Majesty is dead, and the Quincy are down to just the three of us.”  He held up three fingers from his cross-armed stance.  “Without Yhwach’s amplification, we’re even less effective.”

            “But your ability in particular is of great significance!” Urahara consoled and flattered him.  “With just a little observation with your Underbelly technique, I was able to devise the straps that can restrict Kurosaki-san’s output for longer durations.  Imagine how much more you could help restrain him if you watched him even longer!”

            NaNaNa’s sneer ticked to an unpleasant smile.  “Imagine,” he half-chortled, and then strode over to help himself to one of Lilotto’s candies; she was not happy about that.

            A sudden panel flashed on Urahara’s screen, disrupting his patterns with a fluctuating set of graphs.  None of the three Quincy could make heads or tails of what was being displayed, but it seemed that one chart was rising as another descended.

            Urahara made a confused grunt.  “Strange.  Kurosaki-san’s reiatsu is… suddenly evening out on its own, but his adrenalin is spiking.”  He cupped his chin in wonder.  “Just what is he doing?  Hmm.  I suppose I should have put more cameras to monitor him at all times.”

            “Ho-ho!  We can’t allow that, you know,” bellowed Osho, standing solemnly to one side, merely a spectator in this conference.  Of course, outsiders always needed a strong presence to keep watch in a place as sacred at Reiokyu.  “If there was such surveillance all the time, who knows what could happen if it fell into the wrong hands?!”  As Urahara begrudgingly conceded – but with a polite air – Osho combed his beard with thick fingers.  “I’m sure Kurosaki Ichigo will be more than helpful enlightening us to his technique.”

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            Orihime’s back was rushed against the door, thudding with Ichigo’s impatient weight behind it.  They kissed in frenzy, whimpering and grunting and moaning as his hands seized her curves; bottom, hips, bust.  She’d liberated him too, peeling down his robes from his arms, careful not to disjoint the straps that held his new powers together.  Not just because they reined in his Soul King reiatsu, but because Urahara-san would likely be alerted to tampering, and she just could not bear his interruption this time.

            “Inoue,” he whispered desperately when their lips parted for air.  She was disheveled, her auburn hair falling in tresses across her face, sticking to the perspiration running across her brow.  She tried vainly to push them back.

            Suddenly, his mouth was at her neck.  Her hands swung around, latching onto him, fingers digging into his rigid muscle as she squeaked his name.  It tickled!  Her neck tickled where he kissed!  Her giggles were airy and mixed with moans.  She turned her head to try to prevent her vulnerable spots from being targeted, and at the same time, tried to give herself to him unreservedly.

            It thrilled her when she was elevated even higher on the door in an exhibition of his raw might.  Sure, she overestimated her weight, but it was no bother to him; least of all when he was on a path to her breasts.  Him coming eyelevel with them had renewed her insecurities, but before she could clap her hands over her breasts, he was looking straight at them, and with boundless appreciation and hunger.

            He stalled, uncertain of himself for a moment.  At this point, he was supposed to…!  It was shocking of himself to consider it.  He’d repressed his urges for so long – with great or losing effort at times – that it almost felt wrong.  It deserved some chiding; Inoue was waiting with breath reserved in her bosom.

            He gave and went for a peachy nipple.  No leading tonguing or kisses; he surrounded the standing nub with his mouth and suckled fervently at it.  He liked the feel of it – the plush flesh filling his mouth with each draw – but the sounds spilling from Orihime’s gaped mouth enthralled his journey!  He coursed his tongue in circles, trying to implement some technique to this newfound delight, eyes turning up to watch her; her chin was brought in to crane her head and watch back.  There was no remorse or uncertainty there.  Just the facial expression of passion akin to the word Go.

            He switched to the other, containing himself… or maybe the opposite.  He did not immediately suck the top of this breast into his mouth and instead rolled his tongue across her flushed, heated flesh, rounding her contracted areola like a kid carefully coloring within the lines.  Orihime yipped when he teased the center, and only the center.  The thick, pebbled nipple radiated pleasure when the touches became so discrete and methodical.  Finally, he took it in entirely and sucked veraciously on it; tickly, but Orihime was excited by the feeling than when his lips were brushing against her throat.

            Her heat had plummeted in her, swelling and sweltering at one certain spot that she was very anxious for Kurosaki-kun to inspect.  As of now, her legs bowed around him, her apex to his stomach, holding him.  He might feel her gained arousal against his flesh when not so busy bustling her big breasts!

            His hands were underneath, cupping them for his mouth to adore.  Same of each, yet her right breast reacted more to his touch.  Perhaps it was because of his mouth doting on that nipple, but every squeeze made her jolt and grind to him.  Her left breast was torturously fix.  Was he somehow teasing her in his exploration of her body?

            “Kurosaki-kun!” she pleaded.

            That was enough.  Ichigo himself seemed to find it unbearable to wait long.  Before he could ask, he had her on the bed.  The bed he slept on for a solid week, while she watched over him…  Now he mounted her, taking time for quick, reassuring kisses before attending the sash holding his costume together.

            Senjumaru-san’s work was remarkable.  The knot was tight, yet the material came loose with the right tug, and Ichigo was crawling out of robes, hakama, everything except his boxer-briefs – again, Senjumaru-san’s handiwork.

            His full body so far had been a marvel – Orihime fearing the onset of a nosebleed for all the coloring of her face – but soon she laid her eyes bare upon the front of his underwear.

            Kurosaki-kun’s underwear!  She’d almost lost herself in girlish giggles; not because they were embarrassing or cute or anything, but because the mere thought of him stripped down so far was such a fancy to her!  She was not known for the most mature ways of thinking.

            But it was distended, she saw, in front.  She was a woman, and just as Ichigo had indulged in self-discovery pleasures, she had done the same.  For her, there had been plenty of times when wandering, intrusive thoughts had wound up ruining the venture.  When it came to undressing Kurosaki-kun in her vivacious fantasies, they’d go askew to other thoughts and memories; mostly, to when Tatsuki-chan had gotten a hold of a condom and decided to try it out on a cucumber, pickle, or banana.  Kurosaki-kun in her dreams would remove his underwear, and there’d be a cucumber or – for the sake of his colors – a carrot sticking out from his hips.  “Amazing, Kurosaki-kun,” she’d say in those dreams.  “It would go great with honey and red chili.”

            She had not moved, but her eyes were fixed expectantly; that was permission enough for Ichigo to commence.  Albeit, awkwardly…  Undressing had never been an issue for him before – unless there was a watchful audience! – yet the simple mechanics of getting the waistband of his underwear down seemed overly complicated at the moment.

            Until, with an uncomfortable wince…

            Orihime gasped loudly, her body rocking in surprise; breasts wobbling did not go completely unnoticed to his eye.  She herself tried to look up at him, but was transfixed.  This was Kurosaki-kun without his underwear.  There was no sense of giggling now; just stupor and heightened curiosity.  It was definitely big.  Tatsuki-chan, after fitting the banana with the latex, had held it up and smirked slyly.  “You think it’s like this?” she had teased her flustered friend.

            It’s not, she could now reply to her.

            Kurosaki-kun’s was large, blunt and round at the tip with a spotting of moisture procuring from the cutest slit.  The length was lean, with pronounced tubes running beneath it.  Sac was filled with two orbs, bloated and tight.

            And-And they want to release their…!  Their stuff!  Orihime gulped, knowing what that meant, regardless of how vaguely she recounted health class’s lessons.

            Ichigo looked semi-embarrassed from her rapt attention to his matter, but he was hardly dissuaded.  Never mind what happened in those damn porn videos Keigo snuck into his backpack – “Because we’re all guys!” Keigo would defend this lewd prankery. – he needn’t Orihime to behave so debased.

            Not yet, for his own mouth watered as he contemplated what he more he could do to make her feel good.

            “Oh!” chirped Orihime when she felt his hands awkwardly shift the end of her dress.  Laughing sheepishly, momentarily broken from her hypnotism by his thingy, she offered an apology.  “I-I guess it’s fair to-to let you see…!”  She trailed off before she could say too much or say something – to her – inappropriate.

            She could have dealt with the waist and pulled the dress off entirely; get it out of the way.  However, logic did well eluding the aroused mind.  She hurriedly – as she was took panicked to take it slow, afraid she might change her mind if given a moment’s respite – hiked up the dress, revealing her long, smooth legs, up to her generous thighs – which she showed off in those high shorts that she thought might make Kurosaki-kun blush – and let him discover the risqué underwear she wore.  Clearly part of the overly-generous design of Urahara’s preference – He at least had been gentlemanly enough to provide options, but Orihime was surprisingly swooned by how cute yet mature they looked. – Ichigo lost composure to a loud gulp of intimidation.  Her entire outfit was certainly meant to grab attention, and her underwear was no different.  Silk briefs riding high to her groin without clinging, lacy fringes, and high-arched waist to hike up on her hips.  It was something a man could expect from his bride on the wedding night.  It certainly worked on Ichigo’s appetite.

            His pause brought unfounded dread to Orihime, whose already-frantic mind began to race with fantastical circumstances.  She tried to hide away her underwear, knees starting to cross over one another, her hands lifting to cover – what they could – of her breasts, for it was not so simple to just slide them back into their craftily-untrustworthy straps without completely disrobing first.  “I…!  I’m sorry, Kurosaki-kun!  I thought…!  Maybe we shouldn’t have…!”

            Ichigo pushed up her dress before it could steal one more inch of her skin from his sight.  He pinned the hem up under his hands, next to her waist, reveling in the exposure.  The intensity of his unwavering gaze – and he looked so innocent too, like a bewildered and amazed child – weighed on her like an immensely-powerful being had just flexed overwhelming reiatsu.

            She could move… but she couldn’t.

            With a soft, surrendering whimper, she brought her hands from her breasts and held them submissively to her sides.  She hadn’t felt like this before.  Chills similar to when Chizuru-chan would accidentally (…) grope her in inappropriate places were stirring, but led her to feelings of comfort and want, like wanting the last cupcake on display and getting it; the impatient wait as it was carefully packaged for transport.  And then the final sit down at the table…  The unwrapping…

            Kurosaki-kun’s hand went and tugged at her panties.  He could have ripped them from her with that sort of strength, and she would forgive him instantly for it.  She was so warm there, almost as if suffocating; maybe drowning?  She wasn’t sure what to do, as her mind was so filled with thoughts, with Kurosaki-kun! running in frantic repeat.  Luckily, her body responded on its own.  Her buttocks lifted slightly, and Ichigo was allowed to draw them down.

            Another loud swallow behind a long, tight mouth.  Ichigo’s cheeks burned when he finally got to set eyes there.  A woman’s mound, well-kempt of auburn curls, and a flared set of pink glistening lips leading to her depths.  Well, he was not ignorant, and with grades like hers, neither was she.  He’d gotten her panties to her knees when he lost interest in them; Orihime kindly shuffled her feet out of them as discretely as possible, leaving those nice panties in a strewn heap behind them.

            Her legs involuntarily parted, demonstrating the attractive fullness of her thighs as they pulled apart.  Ichigo, Reio shaking with anxiety, had access to her body.  He wasn’t sure he deserved it, yet also wanted to explore intimately.

            The urge of his erection would not allow him countenance to indulgence.  His beating heart was loud, deafening.  He needed relief from this growing pressure.  He needed relief.  And most of all, he needed her.

            “Ah!” Orihime gasped when he crawled over her, positioning himself.  It was so sudden after a moment of exposure that might have seemed to last forever.  “Kurosaki-kun!”

            Is this it?! she wanted to ask aloud, but could not find her voice.  Nor could she transform the noises coming from her lips into anything comprehensible.  Her legs arched at his sides, preparing.  The big thing he sported between his legs was finding its mark with the guide of his hand.  It felt very good, and she cinched up when his oozy tip nuzzled the hidden nub under its hood that she normally coaxed with her own fingers to feel good.  This was better.  And it came with the breathtaking exhilaration of cresting the highest point of a roller coaster when he bumped up against her entrance.  She was so tight – engorged too from her arousal, and he was large.  There was barely yield or any indication that he had found what he wanted.

            “Kurosaki-kun…”

            “Inoue.”

            Eyes locked, and he pushed in.

            It was like her whole body had been a triggered snare trap when all her limbs suddenly closed on him.  It actually pushed the air out of his lungs with an “Omph!” when she pulled him onto her.  She breathed shakily, whimpering, while her body yielded, hips flexing toward his member.  She might have been a virgin, but the slickness of her walls was abundant and even made it possible for him to go in with ease; little to no discomfort for her, after an active life in the dojo with Tatsuki-chan.  Still, his size pressed her open as he slid in deeper and deeper.

            She was much more vocal than him, as if trying to reach musical notes but stopping abruptly.  Despite her earlier reservations about their intimacy – Ichigo’s eyes casting across her body – that didn’t matter as she met his chest upon hers.  He seemed more focused on breathing, inhaling the reishi-rich air of Reiokyu with heavy drafts of the scent of Inoue’s nape.  What little he read of erotica – normal curiosity when bothering to read novels at all – should have given some guidance to this momentous occasion, yet he couldn’t seem to put anything into practice.  He couldn’t whisper sweetly to her, he couldn’t hold her hips – This vantage just did not make it practical; probably for more experienced partners… – he couldn’t even smile reassuringly down at her.  He could just hold her, breathe anxiously, and turn his hips up into Orihime’s niche until he crashed against the back.

            He knew he’d done something wrong by the pitch of her voice when he struck there again.  His head turned, eye peeking.  “Inoue?”

            She immediately shook her head, forcing a smile against the blush and perspiration on her face.  “It’s fine,” she said, breathless.  Half of a truth; it did cause some discomfort, but she was wholly willing to endure it for the delicious payoff.  Him, Kurosaki-kun, his… his thing!  Pickle thing!  Stretching out her shuddering quim, her feeling, experiencing every ridge grinding against her smooth walls!  In the brief hitches of silence, she could hear his flesh sliding through hers, like cream spreading over a baguette.

            Ichigo could at least decipher her small deception.  She liked it – probably as much as he did – but he must be…

            He wavered with a euphoric shudder, realizing then how hard it would be to control himself.

            … but he must be careful about how deep he penetrated.

            He said something small, some awkward and vague caution about his intentions, and then slowly backed out.  It was just as pleasurable as going in!  He slowed with a drawn-out inhale.  She sounded happy – overwhelmed – by it, her nails digging into the skin of his shoulder blades.  Just as quick, she relaxed.

            Don’t hurt him.

            As if the sensation of her fingernails had done anything but spur him.

            He almost dropped his hips forward in response.  He didn’t; it would hurt her.  He went back in slowly until he felt he’d encroached too close to the barricade that made her yip.  He pulled back, went back in, groaning all the while, Orihime struggling to find a pattern of breath.  His hips started to quicken the more he was familiar with this effort.  No different that swinging Zangetsu for the first time.  He let his body go, instinct driving him, mind only holding him back from hurting her.

            “Kurosaki-kun!”  Orihime sounded astounded, overcome by his tempered hips.  Her legs didn’t just squeeze in from the sides now; her feet made it to the small of his back, ankles locking tightly to keep him from backing out.  Perhaps to hide her embarrassment or simply seeking comfortable refuge against another’s body.  They hadn’t even realized how slick they’d become with sweat, despite the refreshing atmosphere of this heaven.  Even with the open balcony to the right of the shimmying bed, the air mogged with the hot scent of their sex.  Pressing down on her caused her wet breasts to squish noisily beneath his chest – She expressed some initial embarrassment to the sound. – but it was little concern as he went at her core harder, the effort to refrain from totally impaling her showing on his red straining face.

            In his mind, he thought of the ways he could make this better for her.  Stroke her clit, grab at her breasts, kiss her; all were viable, but just the thought of doing so was making him tick faster to his inevitable conclusion.  How long had it been since he filled a tissue by himself?  The feeling of impending release was far more intense with someone.  His balls, smacking up against her clenched backside, hadn’t felt so close to bursting before.  His tip was afflicted by such ravenous pleasure that he almost recoiled from sheer intensity.

            His name became her mantra, over and over gasping it, rising in ecstasy and pitch.  And it did well for him when her walls began to firm up, condensing around him.  He didn’t know if that was good, but he couldn’t stop to ask, and by her response – all limbs hugging him – he was assured that he hadn’t done anything wrong up to the point where she burst, a sudden upheaval against him, strength enough to carry – or at least endure – his weight when her back arched off the bed.  Her breasts squeezed and puffed against his sternum, her face pinched up though her mouth stretched wide with a final, long “Kurosaki-ku~n!!”

            Wetness.  All over his lap.  He’d be genuinely concerned and pause, but for the instinct to drive at her harder and harder!  He didn’t bother with long strokes that made her tremble deliciously.  He just kept running his tip against that solid barricade, nuzzling it when he pressed in.  Harder and harder, past the point of his own control.  He captured her hands and yanked them off his body, lacing their fingers as they were pinned to her sides.  “Inoue,” he seethed, his hips making a final, dramatic curl with all his muscle locking up.  “Guah!” he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath.  The barrier dropped and let loose the full flow of his genes.  His balls relieved themselves, jettisoning their payload in heavy, wet spasms through the head coaxing Orihime’s cervix.

            In her repose – though it was a gradual descent – Orihime felt the unexpected volley landing wet against her insides.  It was so very warm!  She took a sharp breath and held it, her breast swelling with the air, her coming to terms with what was happening within her, what Kurosaki-kun’s twitching thing was donating to her.  Her mind immediately reeled with a thought – as his pumping juices continued – of a rampant waterway flooding her to capacity, bloating her like a balloon, bigger and bigger until…

            “Umph…!”  Orihime stopped when all of Kurosaki-kun’s weight fell on her, his face buried in the pillow, limbs sprawling, cock still deep inside of her, surrounded by his own deposit.  His body heaved with deep gasps of air.  Orihime had to breathe quicker to get air in under the compression, but aside from that, she loved the weight of him on top of her!  Like a heavy blanket that breathed and sweated against her and made the apex of her legs feel warm and pleasant!  His fingers had loosened, so she brought her hands around him again while she stared with a gaping smile to the ceiling.  That was so good!  So good, she could devolve into a fit of excited giggles!

            She hugged him like a huge teddy bear.

            Kurosaki-kun♥

            In embrace, they recovered.  Obviously, Ichigo regained himself first, lifting himself off of her, no doubt considering his body pressing down on her to be a discomfort.  I don’t mind, Orihime would say.  She gulped as he gazed down at her.  His eyes were so deep, intense, astray.  Apologetic.

            Her heart began to beat a bit faster as a fear built in her bosom.  This was a sweet, tender experience!  She would hate for it to be ruined by apology or regret.  It might not have been entirely romantic – and she was perfectly fine with that, so long as it was with him – but she treasured this experience!  Kurosaki-kun’s lips, his touches, kisses, admiration, willingness, shyness…!  All of it was the experience of him.  Of them, together!  Romance would have been candlelight, stars, full moon, a beach background, their wedding night…

            She froze up at the thought.

            W-Wedding?

            THEIR?!  Joint, shared, together?!  With Kurosaki-kun!!

            She nearly squealed from her own delusion.  Her hands did make it to her cheeks with a clap.

            “Inoue.”  His voice was low and husky.

            Orihime’s silly smile lessened.  He sounded bothered or… something else.  He-He wasn’t going to say those three romantic words, was he?  She wasn’t entirely sure she was prepared to hear them.  Let her breathe a little!  My heart my explode, she wanted to warn him.  She took in a deep breath in expectation, fearing what might come if he said it…

            Or, maybe it was something more considerate.  Maybe he was hungry!  She was hungry!  This built up an appetite!  She wanted something sweet and creamy!  She’d happily hold his hand if they frolicked from the room back to the kitchen.  “Kirio-san~” sang this fictional caricature of Kurosaki-kun dressed like a prince with Orihime holding him around the waist as they rode in on a white stallion.  “A pickled sausage under flan!”

            “Kurosaki-kun,” laughed Orihime, “you’ve gotten even better at rhyming!”

            “I was…”

            Orihime blinked out of her daydream, returned to underneath Ichigo.  She waited with bated breath.

            His eyes had avoided hers, with obvious insecurity.  She wondered if it’d be alright to pet his hair – It looked so soft. – and tell him it was alright to want a snack…

            “Can we do it again?”

            …

            Orihime stared at him, blindsided by this request.  Yet, she already felt him stiff within her folds.  In fact, she could not recall any sort of diminishing after he sprayed the white stuff in her.

            He looked at her so innocently.  She could see herself reflected in his almond-brown eyes, see the warmth there.  Despite all the responsibility he had, he was still her Kurosaki Ichigo.

            She blushed.  “Um… o-okay.”

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This obviously is my reimagining of ‘The Royal Palace Brides’.  Better title, Japanesey words to make it sound more regal, less filibuster, more focus, broader plot.  Anyway, expect some things to play out more or less the same, but with a better timeframe: Bambietta, for example, will have a similar story to RPB.

Chapter Text

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            Orihime cried out over Ichigo’s shoulder when she was slammed up against the wall, her arms clutching around him, hands clutching wherever there was purchase in the lines of his muscles.  Her legs clamped tightly to his middle to help her perch, but his hands were enough to keep her aloft as he shoved himself into her.

            As with swordplay, he grew adept to this ‘activity’ very quickly, learning the strides and motions to bring about to his crooning lover.  No expert yet, but he was going with such heated fervor that more often than not, Orihime had to break her usual conformity and beg him for some respite.

            “Sorry,” he wheezed, hiding his face in the crook of her neck.  More of her essence was dripping down his cock.  He learned fast that this was a good thing; she always was loudest and most satisfied when her body drizzled and sprayed.  He liked getting her there, but it seemed that she had a limit before starting to feel raw, needing more and more pauses while Ichigo tried to bring himself to orgasm.

            Not like Orihime wasn’t up to the task.  She’d made him cum once again their second time – She had experienced more than two as he pounded her into the pillows, heedless of the noisy headboard. – and was very curious as they broke for a more substantial time before the third.  She was more curious for this round.  Blushing, she had fully surrendered her clothes, stating something that she didn’t want to ruin Senjumaru-san’s hard work; she was too considerate, considering that Ichigo had seen firsthand what the Great Weaver’s cloth could endure.  Ichigo had been perked and ready, but didn’t want to pressure Orihime; he could see as much as sense her fatigue.  Her hair, so normally neat at flowing, had become ruffled and disorganized, her eyes somewhat dizzy even though they were trained to his risen appendage.  He felt he should be as conservative with that piece of him as she was with her own parts; hiding her breasts that he had sucked on and covering her crotch which was packed with his cum.

            They had sat next to each other, like kids at a dance too timid to engage and ask the other onto the floor.  But Orihime’s interest could not be contained for long.  She had fidgeted and tried to distract with idle chatter of how they made so much noise – not dirty talk, but it had made Ichigo’s face turn scarlet – and that she was happy.  But eventually, she could not help it and had to ask: “Can I touch it?”  Ichigo’s cock was still stiff and standing up, proudly streaked with drying juices and glistening with a pearly liquid of precum carrying some leftover sperms.

            “Inoue!” he gasped, sounding shocked, like he hadn’t just ejaculated twice inside of her.  He was definitely willing, but wasn’t sure if they were ready to be handsy.  At the same time, he did nothing to prevent her left hand from drifting down from where she hugged her breasts to latch onto his erection.  Her hand was so soft and careful, making a snug fist around him, tightening to test his resilience.  By the look in her eyes, she was impressed or astounded by how strong in felt.  Muscles swelling against thin skin that pulled with the motions of her fist.

            “Amazing, Kurosaki-kun,” she said in awe as though he’d done some trick other than sit there and let her fondle him.  Her interest only grew, prodding the head, careful of the dewdrop of precum that wobbled dangerously as it swelled, noting that the mushroom tip was more yielding than the rest of the stem.  And of course, she had to show interest in his balls.  Poking there made her muse from the skin’s elasticity while carefully avoiding the balls – which Tatsuki-chan had told her over and over were overly-sensitive and a man’s greatest weakness – with the deep pushes of her fingertip.

            Ichigo breathed heavily at her examination and wondered if it was alright to ask for reciprocation.  He wanted to fondle her breasts as openly as she did his cock, and if gathering the courage, he’d like to come face-to-face with her womanhood and apply the knowledge learned from dirty magazines.

            Instead, he gave entirely.  Orihime yelped when she was swept from her seat, swapping the bed for his lap, his trembling hands guiding her.  Taken by surprise, she instantly tried to help him, shifting and lifting her hips as he directed himself to her core, embarrassed to feel his head brushing between her breasts as they aligned.  He shoved over down, and it was all she could do to hug him to her bosom, howling his name as he plunged in for this third time.

            The position was perhaps a bit too advanced for them.  They were both overzealous, trying to find a rhythm, but her fatigue was showing as was his overenthusiasm.  Best for him to take charge again.  They did some rocking, Orihime trying to ride his cock while he thrust himself up against her in this sitting position, but he grabbed handfuls of her ass – “Kurosaki-kun!” she yipped at the audacious grab. – and hoisted her to his feet.  She gave nonsensical protest that she was much too heavy for this, but quieted – her objections, at least – when she was thrust up against the wall, rutted passionately as she clung to him.

            “Please, Kurosaki-kun,” she sobbed mid-climax, her body undulating of its own accord.  “I-I can’t…!”

            Jarred, he stopped, enjoying the feeling of her flexing around him again but disappointed not to be able to thrust through and push back those deliciously-tightening walls.  “Sorry,” he breathed halfheartedly.  A hand slammed to the wall – She was light enough for him to brace with one. – and tensed as Orihime coiled and swooned and shuddered through her orgasm.  When her hips ticked after a prolonged stillness, he knew she was telling him to continue and use her until his passion was fulfilled.

            He tried and made it to three solid pumps before his conscience overrode his arousal.  She tried to compensate, gyrating her hips – which felt really good – but he showed her his smile and said, “Maybe… we should rest a bit after all.”

            Orihime flushed to his generosity and consideration.  “A-Are you sure?”  She did not want to say it out loud, but she could feel his sturdy stay inside of her.  If he was calling for a break, it was not for his benefit.  He was so nice.  She wanted to say that she could keep going, but with this enthusiasm so sudden, she couldn’t.  The first time alone had overwhelmed her, though her body was willing.  Now she was mentally, physically, and even emotionally spent.  Sleep would be welcome.

            And getting to rest her head upon Kurosaki-kun’s shoulder as he carefully took her back to his bed, it was practically a dream come true.  “Thank you, Kurosaki-kun,” she whispered so faintly.

            I’ll try harder…

            There was certainly a difficulty in extracting his hard erection from Inoue’s tight body.  The wet sound was pretty loud when the room was quiet.  He wasn’t even sure she was awake for the disengagement.  No, definitely asleep.  Orihime fell limply when he tilted her, trying to be as gentle as possible but fumbling.  Not that it disturbed her.  She dropped, even hit her head on the headboard which threw him into a panic, but she just snored soundly, arms splayed lazily at her sides, breasts rising and falling – and he watched them with his annoyingly persistent erection – body wholly still.

            Well, she did brag about having a hard head, and he could attest to that fact.

            He wanted to watch her nakedness with boyhood curiosity, but chose instead to be a gentleman and draw the covers up to her neck.

            “Mm…  Kurosaki-kun…”  She wrapped herself in the comfort, snuggling, smiling in her dreams.

            Ichigo smiled down at her for a moment.  He looked at the door.  No one was coming.  He could sense no one was in the vicinity, and even deeper than that, while he could not read minds, he felt that no one had any inclination to visit Reio’s bedchamber.  Thank goodness.  He felt he could do with some rest too, even after sleeping for a whole week.

            He lay down next to Orihime, feeling it might be a bit intrusive to try cuddling.  Instead, he was on his back, contemplating the ceiling, trying to find some manner of quiet in his head.  But… he couldn’t.  There was much too much to think about.  Let alone his recently-forgone status as a virgin, he had to contemplate being the Soul King, a lynchpin to the very fabric of reality!  Did he have to rule and make decrees?  He was good at language, but not speeches or government.  Perhaps he could ask Osho if he could merely play the part of an interim Reio, find a more suitable host and pass on this legacy.

            Groaning, he rolled over, back-to-back with Inoue, feeling his hard cock swing onto the mattress.

            He needed relief…

ccc

            “You’ll wear yourself out even if you just stare at the computer all night!”

            Urahara’s concentration broke as a mug was thrust in front of him, between face and screen.  Without even realizing it, he’d pressed closer and closer, trying the analyze all of the hypotheticals measured against the stats of Kurosaki-san’s charts.  Urahra was not Mayuri and accepted the offering graciously with a laugh.  “Sorry,” he chuckled sheepishly, swiveling away from the computer.  “It’s that these findings are really interesting.  No one’s really gotten to study a Soul King, so it’s all new.  Captain Kurotsuchi must be overjoyed in his barracks.”

            Kirio rose to full height, chest out, jumping in her robes.  She’d been in the kitchen, baking and cooking and preparing nonstop, which slimmed her down to her alluring, provocative self, making favorite meals for those in Reiokyu – like the Quincy guests.  Osho never pined for much of anything but a high-stacked bowl of rice, some cooked meat, and a jug of warm sake.  He had immeasurable patience, standing behind Urahara until he practically blended into the scenery despite his immense frame.  When Kirio had brought his food, he thanked her graciously and sat, eating on the floor though Kirio briefly chastised him that meals were meant for tables.

            “The ground itself is the greatest table,” he contested jovially, “for we all share that same table!”

            Hardly the first time they had such a discussion; Kirio huffed but let him be.  He enjoyed her food, and while a bit excentric, that was all that matter.

            Urahara turned to the tray that she had brought him.  Rice balls no doubt packed with more nutrients than even Inoue-san’s seaweed sauce specials.  Urahara had had the privilege of knowing Hikifune Kirio briefly before assuming her spot as Twelfth Squad Captain and knew that her scientific pursuits were more about life than knowledge.  Probably why she ascended and the likes of him, Aizen, and Mayuri were doomed to below.

            “I’m worried,” he confessed, holding the mug in his hands between his knees, his finger stroking anxiously against it, “that I won’t be able to help Kurosaki-san in the end.”

            “Nonsense!” sang Kirio, shouldering her massive spoon and sporting a big smile.  “You give yourself too much credit, Kisuke-chan!  We’re grateful for your help, but Squad Zero is the Royal Guard!  We’ve been looking after Reio-sama for a million years!”

            “Well, technically, Kirio-san, you’ve only been a part of Squad Zero for the past one-hundred-twenty years…”

            “Now don’t bother with semantics,” she scolded him with a shaking finger.  He bowed his head, laughing with a silly grin.  “And eat!  Gain your own strength, and let me worry about nurturing our Ichigo-chan.”  She strode so seamlessly, her broad hips swinging with every step.

            “But will it be that easy?”  Urahara’s question made her pause to look back at him.  He continued staring at his tea, as if his reflection would address his concerns.  “I’m not underestimating your abilities, Kirio-san, but the previous Reio was encapsulated.  We don’t know entirely what to expect from a Soul King like Kurosaki-san.”

            “Hmph!”  She wasn’t angry and just heaved her breasts in her posture; they gave a gratuitous jump.  “It’s my job to fulfill Reio-sama’s appetite, Kisuke-san!  Whatever ails him, I will be there to sate him!”

            “That’s right,” agreed Osho, scrubbing his lip with the back of his hairy arm.  “That is why it’s up to Ichigo to bring his own guard into our ranks!  The bonds he has forged will be what he relies on.  Which is why you are here, Urahara Kisuke.”  Grabbing a handful of tender meat, he stuffed his mouth and chewed juicily.  “Surely you will come up with a solution for a King who embodies harmony.”

            Urahara’s finger stilled as a thought occurred.  He gave it a moment, and then his face brightened.  “Ah!  You’re right, Osho-san!  Thank you, Kirio-san, for the snacks!”

            Kirio’s head bowed, her laughing.  “Of course.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I must be prepared for Reio-sama’s morning.”

ccc

            It was no use.  Ichigo couldn’t go to sleep.  The bright blue yonder had mercifully shifted to night, the vast empty expanse out the balcony dark.  Ichigo went to look out, but thought it much too whimsical and a bit cheesy.  Not that he wanted to ponder the emptiness, but at least appreciate the view.

            Maybe if Inoue was awake…

            She liked things like this better, and could say things that made him smile or at least think.  But she was dead to Reiokyu; a peaceful sleep had turned deep and deeper until she was sprawled out.  When he’d left the covers, she had already uncovered one of her breasts.  Clearing his throat, he tried to seem nonchalant – for no one in particular – as he covered her back up.

            It didn’t help.  His erection was stubborn and throbbing anxiously.  He could try to coax Orihime for one more round, but it felt sleazy of him to keep pursuing her.  Let her rest, he decided.  And when she woke up…

            He was smiling to himself as he pulled on his shihakusho.

            … he’d have food ready for her.

            If he could not satiate his lust, he’d distract it with hunger.  There was the option to be independent and take care of it himself, but it felt a little odd to do it with Orihime sleeping nearby.  Not to mention that Inoue was sleeping nearby enticed him to want to go again!  A hand just did not compare to the slick, smooth feeling of her nether parts.

            He wondered if he should leave a note for her.  Maybe not, mostly due to the fact that he couldn’t think of where to get a paper and pen, and he did not want to run into anyone!  Such adrenalin pumping was making him very apprehensive, suddenly aware of Orihime’s comment about their volume.  He had been pretty passionate, the bed hitting into the wall, Inoue losing control of her volume, he himself seething with raw pleasure as he took her with little restraint.

            Should Urahara-san find out…

            He didn’t want to think of the quips the shopkeeper would make to underscore Ichigo and Orihime’s sudden affections.  Knowing him, Urahara would expect some kind of payment, “For it was no doubt the dress of my design that made you lose control, eh, Kurosaki-san?”

            Damn creep!  Ichigo punched the wall without thinking, as if his theory was reality.

            Well, that revealing dress did stir Ichigo’s loins, but he wasn’t so basic that it’d make him lose control.  He wasn’t Kon or Keigo.

            “Aw, what’d that wall ever do to you?”

            Ichigo blinked out of his stupid rage to turn and find he was not alone in this corridor.  It was the Quincy girl, one he had fought after descending from Reiokyu to fight the Vanderreich.  She was the scrawny, unserious one, with dark hair, wide blue eyes, and keen toward the whacky occult.  Hardly a threat even back then; he didn’t even see her as an enemy now.

            But an encounter was what he was hoping to avoid.

            He straightened his posture, put on the face of impassive no-nonsense.  “What are you doing here?”

            “What a rude thing to say,” Gigi chided merrily.  “I was ordered by you Shinigami to stay here for the time being, so I can wander wherever I want, can’t I?”  Playfully, with her hands linked behind her, she strutted across the width of the hallway, keeping her eyes on him during her wide march.  His demeanor didn’t change, but hers did; a look of woe, eyes shimmering with tears, fists clenching beneath her chin.  “You even took my Bambi-chan away, so I’ve got no one to play with.  You Shinigami are so cruel.”

            Ichigo wasn’t falling for this act, and he had no idea who this ‘Bambi-chan’ was.  Still, he could sympathize.  From the vague details, this Quincy – and others – had lent a hand to overthrow Yhwach.  They might not have been entirely instrumental in his defeat, but they did risk their lives and helped Urahara-san get to Wahrwelt.  “It’s for the best,” he told her.  His eyes were hard.  “After what you Quincies did, you should be glad you’re getting away at all.”

            “Ooo, how scary~” Gigi cowered, flinching, not fooling anyone with that smile.  “I hope you don’t hurt me~”  She teetered, and it was obvious that she was brandishing her rear with a playful wiggle.  “I guess I have been pretty bad after all~”

            “Get out of my way,” said Ichigo, pushing her effortlessly aside so that he could pass on his way to the kitchen.

            Her falling against the wall to the ground was simply theatrics on her part – “So cruel♥” – but then there was a flicker of genuine interest.  She pushed out her nose, chasing his course, and sniffed several times.  “Hey, you smell funny,” she called out after him.

            He stopped.

            “Has Reio-sama been up to something naughty~♥”

            Ichigo looked back at her with astonished shame plastered on his face.

            Gigi’s index fingers pointed together as she laughed.  “You did!  Such a pervert King~  King of Perverts~”

            Blushing, Ichigo hoped no one was in earshot to hear her ridicule.  “Sh-Shut up!  You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

            “Is Reio-sama supposed to lie?” Gigi continued to taunt him.  She looked off to the side, like the matter didn’t interest her anymore.  “No need to be ashamed~  Things can get pretty boring if you don’t play often.  Right, Reio-chan?”  She looked back at him with a wry grin.

            Ichigo fussed and then snorted – “Whatever.” – and began to walk away.  Who cared what a weirdo like her thought?  He just hoped that she wouldn’t start spreading some rumors that were true.  Somehow, he didn’t like the idea of her prowling Reiokyu’s corridors unattended.  He’d need to ask Urahara-san if it was really a good idea to leave to themselves.

            Almost nervously, he glanced back, feeling an eerie chill, the kind that wasn’t sensing reiatsu but the feeling of eyes upon him.  Sure enough, the Quincy was watching him with rapt, hungry interest.  She had moved to lay on her stomach, kicking her feet dawdlingly behind her while keeping her chin propped up in her hands.  Wistfully, she had watched him, with a bit more intrigue than a girl should watch him.

            “If you ever need a friend”—She moved a hand out from beneath her chin and flourished a finger to point at herself—“you know where to find me, Reio-chan♪”

            Ichigo felt his stomach turn.  Something internal warned him that taking her up on that offer would lead to a bit too much for him to handle.  He just wanted a snack and something to bring Orihime.  Admittedly, this intermission had distracted him from his persistent problem, and he was glad that the Quincy had missed it entirely in the folds of his hakama.

            He turned sharply from her, his pupils sharp pinpoints, eyes forcefully furrowed and posture awkward and stiff.  “J-Just go to bed already!  It’s late!”

            “Okay,” she drawled behind him, and began to totter off, unlikely to take his advice, but at least leave him alone… for now.  She sauntered off, but before rounding a corner, she called back, “Just remember: I’m staying in a room down this hall.”

            “I don’t need to know that!” he shouted, pivoting at her to show his anger, but she was already gone, out of sight, leaving him alone.  Instinctively, he surveyed the area.

            Yeah, he was alone.

            Good…

            These corridors sure were tricky to traverse, even if he’d walked them a few hours ago.  The romps with Inoue had lasted a while, with the interim of catching their breath taking up a good amount of time.  It wasn’t the time to really reflect on it, but he could hardly help himself!  First kiss!  First time having sex!  He gauged both momentous moments and worried that he might have come on to strong.  Hopefully he hadn’t seemed to pressure Inoue; from his perspective, he might have.  He was Reio.  He didn’t want to use that as an excuse or a reason.

            He stopped, bracing against a wall with his elbow, exhaling heavily with knees buckling.  Not good, he thought.  It wasn’t as intense, but this was not so different than when he had lost control of his reiatsu earlier.  Luckily, it was a momentary spike, and he was back in control.  Beneath his uniform, he felt air, like something was flowing out of his pores.  It might have been a bit above his attention span, but he got the gist of Urahara-san’s explanation, that the latches incorporated into his clothing relieved him of excess reiatsu.

            Though since bedding with Inoue, he felt pretty relaxed; now was the only stirring to occur, and it quickly subsided.  He was able to think of other things, like how easily he had made it to the royal banquet hall.  In truth, it seemed no more than a shutoff dining room; circular with a circular table for a good number of guests.  Without the piles of Kirio’s cooking, it was pretty empty in here.  Ichigo would have thought that the food would have been left out, but then, it had been a while.

            The aroma lingered and triggered Ichigo’s hungry response.  Kirio’s food was on another level of appetizing.  Normally, he couldn’t be coaxed to eat the bizarre foods he had seen at her table, but he could muscle through and eat as much as there was.

            “Mmm!” he heard the appeased hum coming from the kitchen entrance.  The was definitely Kirio, humming back there.  He didn’t want to intrude, but his hunger was spiking.  The closer he got to the doorway, the hotter the air became.  It was like she had a furnace in there instead of ovens!  Even so, he edged up a flap with his arm overhead and peeked inside.

            “Kirio?”

            There she was, at a table of her own, more moderately-sized and traditional in shape.  She sat on a wooden chair, and in front of her were likely the leftovers from earlier.  She was currently dining on a bowl of shrimp ramen when she heard Ichigo calling out to her.

            She turned, dark eyes aglow in the fires of the oven.  Even her skin shimmered, sweaty from the heat, and her robes were intentionally open to deal with it.  Ichigo didn’t want to notice, but he did; at least for a second before he respectfully stared her in the eyes solely.  It was still an experience to see her diminished form, where all her bulk resided in her bust and butt.

            Her cheeks were bloated from the food.  “Mm!”  She slurped – a bit crass for a lady, but he didn’t fault her, knowing the delectableness of the food – swallowed, and cheered out loud, “Ichigo-chan!  What brings you to my kitchen?”

            He hadn’t intruded at all by the way she received him; it was a worry that she might be guarded where she honed her respected craft.  Like Kurotsuchi.

            But she was very much the opposite of the Twelfth Squad Captain, and was entirely about generosity and charity.

            She rose from her seat, and her generosity almost spilled out from her careless robes from the look of it; he could not avoid it when those ample mounds shifted and churned when she welcomed him with wide arms.  “Have you come with an appetite?  Good, good!  How about you take a seat”—She left no room for objection, taking him by the wrist and leading him to her chair—“and I’ll cook you something fresh!”

            She manhandled him quite persistently.  “No, don’t worry—oof!—about it, Kirio!  I-I was just wondering if, maybe…  Something light?  And…”  He spoke with more pauses, trying to confront the warmth in his face that was internal rather than the external heat blazing.  “Something for Inoue.”

            “For Orihime-chan?  Something light?  Ichigo-chan,” she derided in a motherly tone, “don’t be so thoughtless!  Orihime-chan is a robust and growing girl!  She needs food with oomph!  Foods that explode with nutrition and flavor, food that a woman in her springtime desires for fertility and strength!”

            It was one of her quirks; Ichigo hoped to ignore her chosen descriptions.  “No, nothing like that…!”

            “Nonsense!  It is precisely what you need!  You don’t come to the chef of Reiokyu for something unsubstantial!  It’s up to me to replenish yours and your guests’ strength!  Oop!”  A massive breast rolled out from under her shihakusho, pressing the robe back to taunt Ichigo’s instantly-stupefied face.  “Pardon me, Ichigo-chan,” she laughed, stuffing the mound back behind the cloth and fixing her robes with as much care as Kenpachi picking flowers.  Her front remained open, unguarded, her cleavage in a rolling bout to see which side would pop out next.

            “In this heat, a woman’s got to breathe.  I hope you’ll forgive me.”  Hardly any sincerity in her contrition; she was smiling without reservation, and her robes were not reliable when any shift of her person made her jugs sway.

            Ichigo didn’t respond, still in perpetual shock at the sudden but brief emergence.  Not like he hadn’t just admired Inoue’s for the past couple of hours, even if she was much more modest, shielding them when she could in between rounds.  Kirio’s were even larger, weighed down by their own gratuitous size, and Ichigo now knew the color of her nipples; a round disc of pink with the stub at the center, relaxed in this egregious heat, tilted just slightly to angle upward rather than forward; a testament to the gift of size instead of age.  Despite the roaring fires, Ichigo couldn’t attribute the fullness of his sweat to how hot the room was.

            Moving on from the slip of nip, Kirio was rolling up her sleeves and collecting a pan from the cupboards.  “Some natto!  Yes!  To improve rest!  Some tea, of coure!  Miso soup!  Grilled fish!  And of course rice!  Steamed and fried!  We’ll add some tofu!  Chicken!  Protein is necessary!”

            She was going overboard; Ichigo came to this realization in a moment.  “Hey, hey!  Wait a minute!  I said just a snack!”  He hurried over, stopping her from collecting the ingredients.  It was a little awkward to get in such close proximity after his intimate viewing, but he didn’t want her to overtax herself for such a minute situation.

            She turned, looking at him with surprise in her green eyes.  “Ichigo-chan…”

            He quickly became aware of the fact that he was holding her, handling her by the arms; not exactly intimate, but certainly intrusive.  Realizing his audacity, he slid away, clearing his throat and looking off to the side, muttering an apology for his forwardness.

            “Nonsense, nonsense!” jeered Kirio, flapping her hand at him while raising the other to the back of her neck, seeming flattered, likely from his consideration, treating her like a shy schoolgirl rather than a woman centuries older than himself.  “Perhaps I was being a bit overzealous.  But, Ichigo-chan, it’s about your wellbeing.  I’ll happily make Orihime-chan some food, but you must remember”—Her eyes could be cheery one instant and then hard and blazing the next; they turned to the latter—“you are Reio.  It’s your wellbeing that is most important.  For all of us.  You came here for food, and food is what I’ll provide you!”  Her eyes switched back, her arms extending wide.  “Take a seat in this cradle!  I will see to it that you are satisfied!”

            Ichigo tried not to seem awkward, but her flamboyance for food could be as disconcerting as Oh-Etsu’s passion for trendiness.  Even so, she was willing to accommodate him, so he went along with it, albeit with a smile fighting against his discomfort.  “Right,” he muttered with a look of defeat.

ccc

            “Kukuku!  So that’s how it is, eh, Kurosaki?”

            That crazy scientist was holed up in this den of the dead ever since their return from Reiokyu, and his army of deathless warriors had no choice but to attend him.  Not that Charlotte Chuhlhourne gave any mind; he was much to invested in himself to care where they were, so long as he could flex and try out new, dynamic poses for his next exorbitant entrance.  “I didn’t get nearly enough ‘ooh’s and even less ‘ahh’s with my last appearance!  That handsome Kurosaki Ichigo!  I suppose he stole all the spotlight, being King and all!”

            “Could you shut up?” snarled Candice, sitting on an unused panel, her leg drawn up, heel on the edge, hands bracing.  “It’s bad enough that I didn’t get my revenge!”  She held up a hand and tightened it into a fist that crackled with electricity.  “That damned Kurosaki!  He’ll pay dearly!”

            “You couldn’t beat him when he was just a regular Shinigami,” said Meninas in her whimsical tone.  “How do you plan to do anything now that he’s Reio?”

            “You shut up too, Meni!” Candice barked, shifting to her fellow Quincy just as easily as if she was arguing with an Arrancar or Shinigami.  “You couldn’t beat him either!”

            “Yes,” the tall pink-haired woman confessed, “but I haven’t sworn revenge on him.  Hm.”  She touched her plump bottom lip as she gazed at the dark ceiling.  “Gigi and Lil must be having fun.  They’re living in a palace, after all.”

            Candice muttered something about how they were all, in some capacity, prisoners of war for the moment, but there came the attention-grabbing clap of the excentric scientist, ambling over with a smile that likely did not bode well for his unwilling creations.  “Now, what are you all lollygagging for?!  I told you to get ready for your ascension!  Did I leave the piece of your brains to function dead?  I’ve not seen such dimwitted lab assistants before!”

            “When have we ever been assistants?” complained Cirucci, pumping her hips to one side.  “We’ve only ever been lab rats since you brought us here.”

            “Oh?  Is the lab rat complaining about being brought back from the pits of oblivion?  Do you speak with such contempt to the one who could be a god?”  Mayuri snickered to himself, waving off the impending atmosphere.  “You should be overjoyed, lab rats!  I’ll be sending you to live in a palace!  Though what you can achieve there that you couldn’t here is beyond my understanding.  Who would prefer scents of flowers and candlewax to oil and the deep insides of a dissected cadaver?”

            The zombies knew better than to answer that question.

            A long finger lifted and pointed to specific zombies.  “You four!”

            Candice, Meninas, Cirucci and Luppi all perked up; the former withdrew defensively, seething and expecting something painful to happen.

            “You will be my emissaries to Reiokyu.  Gifts for the Reio.”  His sneering smile deepened.  “You will invade like a plague.  No doubt that bumbling fool will come to the same conclusion as myself…”

            Candice jumped up, concerned by this barter, annoyed to be referred to as a rat and spoken of like tradeable property.  Meninas was on board the moment she heard she’d be sent to the royal palace.  “What the hell are you talking about?”  Her foul interruption earned her a jolt of pain from Mayuri’s ever-handy button.

            “Such a sharp tongue with little wit,” griped Mayuri.  “Obviously, Reio needs balance of the soul, and the balance of the soul is linked to the balance of the mind!  Hunger, thirst, companionship, battle, discovery!  All are enhanced when Reio is in such a meager form as Kurosaki Ichigo!  Urahara will come to this conclusion as well, and will see Kurosaki’s selection for his royal guard to sneak in little catalysts.  Like vitamins crushed into a pudding for a stupid, spoiled infant that won’t eat them otherwise!  The obvious nutrition for Kurosaki now”—He pointed at the four selected—“are strong, capable women.”

            At once, Luppi exploded with offense.  “I’m a boy!”

            Mayuri regarded him a moment, paused, and then looked over his shoulder at… nothing.  “Nemu, update this one’s file.”

            …

            “Nemu, you worthless cretin!  I said…!  Oh, that’s right.  Hmph!  Sleeping on the job.  What a hassle.  If she was awake…”  He trailed off, staring at his hands.

            The zombies looked amongst themselves, confused by this odd behavior.  He’d normally only ever showed them one of three expressions: sadistic joy, sarcastic indifference, or pain-inducing rage.  Contemplative seemed so unguarded.

            “Well, if she was awake, this would be much easier.  I’ll deal with what I have.  You three, here!  This medicine is normally to regrow limbs, but with some fine tweaking, it’ll remove those unsightly scars.  We can’t have you seducing Reio in such a pathetic state.”  He held out three small pouches with a needle.

            “So we’re trying to seduce that bastard Kurosaki?” asked Candice for clarification, not turning down a serum to restore her beauty.  “What are we?  Your brothel?”

            “If you were working in my brothel in your state, it’d only be to clean the rooms after the true workers have finished.  A sample collector is what you are.”

            Candice seethed in rage.  “Bastard…!”

            “Hey, what about us?!” Dordoni asked, pointing to himself.  “You had a medicine that could fix us at any time?!”

            “Of course,” said Mayuri flippantly.  “I choose not to.  All those who oppose me must be able to face the ugly fate in store for them.”

            Collectively, the men roared at him: “YOU BASTARD!!”

            And all of them were painfully pacified with the push of a button.

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Ichigo/Orihime is the main pairing, but this is also a harem story.  I'm keeping my fingers cross that I can give each girl an actual storyline.

Chapter Text

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            Ichigo thought he couldn’t eat, but he was wrong.  He indulged Kirio by taking a bite of crisp fried shrimp, and then another.  Before he knew it, he’d eaten the whole plate and had pulled a whole bowl in front of him and devoured without missing a beat.  “So good!” he said in between bites, chewing noisily, stopping only to wash his intake down with some warm tea.

            “A hungry Reio is a healthy Reio!  I’m glad you’re so willing now!”

            He managed to stop – but not immediately, as there were still a few morsels in his bowl – to look at the Grain King.  She was looking happy just watching him, arms folded beneath her breasts which raised them together; a secondary feast for his eyes, whetting his second appetite and reminding him that his erection was yet to be quelled.  He felt somewhat guilty harboring it in the presence of another woman.  Not like he and Inoue had outright declared a firm relationship, but he was of a traditional sense that such intimacy couldn’t simply be dismissed.  She was his first as he was hers.  But the elation of the meal fused with the spectacular view of Squad Zero’s hidden beauty watching over him with matronly affection.

            “You know,” he began, lowering his head and pulling the last dish in front of him, “you don’t have to stay.  If you want to go to bed…”

            “Now, now, Ichigo-chan,” she refuted him with two claps.  “It’s an honor to stand here and make sure the meal is to your liking.  What you’ve sacrificed, I would say no one would have to right to refuse you.”

            “Sacrifice?” he repeated, and then dropped his eyes on his poised chopsticks.  Idly, they opened and closed.  “You could say that… but it’s not like I’m sacrificing much.  I’m still here, I’m still me.  I’m just… living in a palace now, right?”

            Kirio nodded.  “That’s true.  But unlike others, your mere existence isn’t just a right; it’s a responsibility.  You can no longer make decisions without having the weight of innumerable lives on your shoulders!  It might not sound so dramatic to say out loud, but it is a responsibility!  That’s why I will happily attend to all your hungers and aid where I can.”

            She was right; when saying his position out loud, it was hard to really grasp the scope of things.  To a teenager barely getting out of high school, the world to him hardly reached beyond the boundaries of Karakura Town.  It was his family, his friends, even the delinquents who hunted him down, the familiar and even unfamiliar strangers on the street.  Ochi-sensei, Imoyama-san, the effeminate night-shift clerk at the convenience story…  Even Soul Society and Hueco Mundo, with the little relations he’d forged there.  He had to contemplate them all whenever he thought of being reckless.

            Tch.

            He finished this third and final bowl with calming hunger and greater dignity than he’d started with.

            What recklessness could he get into now as Reio?

            “Thanks for the meal,” he said respectfully after setting down his chopsticks.

            In a trice, unexpected to him, his chair was suddenly turned and the space between his knees occupied by Kirio’s curvaceous frame.  On her knees, he could feel the heaviness of her breasts resting upon his legs.  Her hands kept them parted, fortifying her stay though his instinct was to close her off, lest she discover the offending pole holding against his hakama.

            “Kirio!  What are you doing?!”  His voice bled into a shuddering cry, finding this vantage point even more humbling than when her open top faced him directly.  Her boobs glistened with sweat, the fire’s light making her pale skin vibrant and elaborate.  She seemed so poised even against the perspiration, smiling at him.  The more she relaxed, the more her tits settled on him, and he could already see that her robes would not contain them at this rate; he was already aware of the outer rim of her areola peeking past the cloth.  He – if he was the bold, affronting sort – might have suggested she wear a bra from now on, but doubted there was a size big enough to support those soft boulders!

            “I’ve already told you that I’m here to satiate your appetites, Ichigo-chan.”  And without pause for consideration or explanation, she began to untie his sash until his robes opened and revealed the fullness of his sternum.  “That includes the male’s appetite for flesh.”  She smiled welcomingly at him.

            “What are you talking about?” Ichigo panicked, trying to suppress the involuntary and eager responses of his body.  But those responses had a head start, like a tug-of-war that was started before one side had even grabbed the rope.

            And Kirio was so blissfully obliging.  Beautiful.  In this moment, sexy.  She leered at him, heat in her eyes that did not come from the tireless stoves around them.  “No need to by shy, Ichigo-chan.”  Her palms slid up his body, easing his shihakusho away from his torso.  They stopped at his chest, feeling his heartbeat.  It was racing, yet his reiatsu remained even.  Perhaps a little thunder on the far-off horizon, but he could keep it at bay, and she was there to help him.  “It’s entirely natural.  I’m here to tell you…”  She paused, dipping her head down to his chest, kissing at his pectorals.  Ichigo jumped under her soft, silken lips like she had stabbed him with a hot poker; he didn’t yield, though, seething as she kissed the other side after speaking, “… this is perfectly normal…”  She smiled up at him.  “For a healthy King.”

            Ichigo felt sweat accumulating more rapidly.  His sandals slipped against the floor, losing ground as his willing body combated with his anxious mind.  He continued to lose in this strife, though losing was certainly a matter of high moral opinion.  “I-I’m not sure we should,” he confessed breathlessly.  It was like diving into ice water, air stuck in the highest part of the chest, gasping uncontrollably, and at the same time, he was melting.  He felt the troublesome blotches overflowing, staining the inside of his smallclothes, the muscle straining to get out.

            Kirio simply chortled and continued a butterfly’s path against his abdominals, kissing every trained muscle until she reached his pelvis.  Sashes already gone, his waist was in a loose bundle of cloth.  “It’s perfectly fine to stop now,” she told him, fingernails scraping lightly down the trail her lips had blazed.  “But if you’re worried about Orihime-chan…”

            He flushed obviously.  If it was a secret – and he had hoped to keep it – it wasn’t anymore, even if he tried to deny it.

            She tapped lightly to the side of her nose and whispered, “A chef’s senses are keen, and not just by taste.  Now just try, Ichigo-chan”—She began to shuffle down his trousers, him unable to stop her—“and make up your mind afterward.”

            Ichigo wished it was as simple as deciding to taste a new food.  This was a bit more significant.  He grasped onto the edge of his seat, tensing as Kirio went through his layers of clothes and…

            “Oop!”  She uncovered his length perhaps too briskly to have made such a noise, surprised at its swift arrival, but without the open gawking Inoue had given his hardened piece.  Now Kirio had her chance to contemplate it, with more objectivity than Inoue’s biased assessment.  The purple-haired woman looked pleased and predatory, very much like an animal who had stumbled upon a great feasting.

            Ichigo took the wordless compliment with hesitant pride; he shouldn’t feel such elation from a gaze sizing up his shaft, something he was born (or gifted) with.

            “Your body responds remarkably well despite the contrast of your thoughts.”  Her head lowered with deliberate slowness, allowing him time to process the meaning of her dipping mouth.  “You need only relax, Reio-sama, and allow me to serve you.”

            The cock throbbed recklessly when her hands encircled its base, steadying it to point straight up.  The tension there made Ichigo afraid he’d let loose the pent-up arousal.  He shuddered loudly when the warm breath of Kirio caressed his swollen head.  All with more ease than Inoue, tantalizing him in ways so different from her.  But for all his reservations, he could not bring himself to scream “Stop, Kirio!” though he had gotten impressively close to shouting such taboo.

            “Hm!” she hummed spritely when her tongue dabbed across his tip like she was removing a band-aid.  The precum welling up at his slit was gone and traveling down Kirio’s neck when she swallowed.  Whatever his taste – and by scent alone, he had been dissuaded from semen – she was at odds, finding the pre-ejaculate to her liking.  “Sweet!  Savory!  Yes, you are a healthy boy, aren’t you, Ichigo-chan?”

            Ichigo breathed, but was able to do little else.  Not even think.  Watching was his primary instinct as the dark lips descending again, this time with a lingering tongue waggling against his flushed tip, stealing away whatever precum surfaced before pursing her lips and kissing.  Once, then twice.  He moaned.  The kisses were such brief and light stimulations, hardly registering, but watching her handle his cock, hands cradling him as she pecked her way down his underside and got to his sac.

            She mused appreciatively as she smothered her lips into his tight scrotum, drawing back only slightly – less space than she had given his shaft – and nestled the balls in her gentle hand.  She looked up at him, ignoring – rather, never minding – the hefty meat leaning and leaking onto her face, into her hair.  “The seeds of life, Ichigo-chan.  Precious.  Even more so for Reio-sama.”

            Half-understanding, he nodded, eager for her to commence.

            She did.  She licked one of them, swirling her tongue around several times, and taking it gently into her mouth.  The sensitivity and fear natural to that part being vulnerable made Ichigo seize up with a gasp, unable to relax even as she switched to the other, leading with a wad of spit across it before licking and suckling again.  He seethed her name, and she reciprocated by stretching her mouth around both, batting her eyes up at him when she succeeded.  Her cheeks bloated like she was changing into her obese form.  She garbled around them; he wasn’t sure she if she was trying to say something.  Bad manners to speak with her mouth full, but it was more about sensation.  Spittle burst between lips and balls, soaking them entirely before she finally exhaled them into her hand, setting them down carefully – even with the tight scrotum not allowing dangling.

            Gazing at his wheezing form, Kirio smiled; pristine if not for the lewd spatter of spit covering the lower half of her face.  “I’m sure Orihime-chan will learn her own tricks in time,” she said.

            “What’s that mean?” Ichigo breathlessly said.

            Kirio giggled behind a hand as she wiped her mouth, covering her palm with her saliva and contemplating it.  The excess dripped, and she made sure it dripped onto his pole.  “There’s no need to hide it.  Mmm!”  She purred as she pressed her mouth against his length, inhaling and then licking gradually up to his tip.  Precum and spit stringed together.  “I can taste her still on her.”

            Ichigo turned deep red.

            “Nothing to be embarrassed about, Ichigo-chan.  She has a sweet flavor like you.  You’ll work well together.  If you’d like”—She smiled with lusty eyes—“I can instruct you both.”

            She left no time for him to answer; just something for him to contemplate as she took him into her mouth.  She went slow, letting him savor this new experience.  Inoue had handled him by hand, both of them too new to try the more-advanced stuff.  Kirio was a good first, though; knowing just what she was doing, knowing to consider his experience and letting him really feel it.  He felt the slightest graze of her teeth – intentional on her part, allowing him to see the difference from Inoue’s womanhood – and he saw her cheeks hollow when she had taken half of him in.  She sucked him, but not hard; just enough to get him to shudder.  And down she went some more when he seemed calmed.

            Her mouth was so deep…  He slumped in his seat, eyes rolling up as she bobbed methodically on his cock, making wet, squelching noises as her saliva churned around him.  Then she pulled up.  Pulled and pulled, really tugging at his head until he popped free with an arching lance of her spit catching the firelight.  “Yes,” she reflected, touching her tingling lips with her fingertips.  “You and Orihime-chan are very sweet together.”

            Ichigo was having enough breathing without having to respond.  If she left him like this, a cock glimmering with her warm saliva, he wasn’t sure if he’d be upset or glad just to have had a moment in her incredible mouth.

            Lucky for his more honest and selfish side, Kirio had pledged herself to his satisfaction, and it seemed his earlier curiosities would not go unaddressed.  She relaxed on her haunches, gazing leisurely down at her sweating breasts.  And then one was taken out from behind the robe, followed by the other.  Without the support of her hands, they collapsed onto his thighs in a spreading mass of jiggly jugs.  The pink nipples he had glimpsed before were tightened much like Inoue’s had, pulling into oval shapes as the centered nub lifted and pointed like little eraser heads.

            “I suppose they’re not so different than Orihime-chan’s,” she said modestly, hands gliding down the playful slopes, teasing her nipples in passing.  She gleamed at Ichigo’s stayed attention, smirking to herself.  “But you certainly hold an admiration for them, don’t you?”

            “I-I…!”  Ichigo wanted to say something to the contrary; at least something to make him seem less of a pervert, but his fascination was grounded in reality.  They were big!  Huge!  Not to compare but… Rangiku-san’s size, if not possibly larger!  There had been affirmations by Keigo that Rangiku-san in a schoolgirl uniform was the pinnacle of breast achievement.  Ichigo would have to disagree now that Kirio was applying her own pair to his lap, stifling his cock in between the fleshy mounds until he was up against her sternum.  He almost burst there, the head of his dick hardly cresting.  The wetness of her perspiration made this embrace made a similar sensation to when he was buried in between Inoue’s legs!  Kirio’s tits swamped him, becoming tight when her hands ushered the globes inward, plumping them up around him.  The slick of sweat and spit made the most insignificant moves seem extreme and pleasurable.  And then the contribution of the flowing precum… before Kirio craned her tongue in to tease and clean his tip.

            “I’m certain Orihime-chan would be willing for you, Ichigo-chan,” she said excitedly, pushing her breasts up in a firm first stroke across his soaked cock.

            Ichigo seethed and recoiled against the back of his chair, feeling inverted somehow, gravity shifting and the room tilting back.  And then she receded and the seat was secure again.  He breathed deep, her giving him the opportunity while looking pleased with his reaction.  He felt his tongue was a bit lighter in his mouth.  “Inoue’s… resting,” he said with apparent shame.

            “Ah~ you tuckered her out, the poor girl.”  Kirio still rewarded Ichigo’s honesty by lapping at his drooling cockhead again.  “Take it slow with her.  Come to me if you need more for the moment.  I’ll be happy to assist you!”  Her breasts flowed magnificently over his cock, the time for talk ending to the heady gasps from him and the small, restrained grunts from her.  She alternatively used different technique, from the simple up-and-down with the guidance of her hands, to clapping them around him – wet squelches as they collided with him in the middle – and grabbing his knees to surge her entire bust at him.  One particularly lasting stroke carried her face up to him, where she lingered, grinning expectantly in his face.  He got the message or was smart enough to act on impulse.  He kissed her, hard, thrusting his hands into her purple locks, holding her to him, letting her hand sneak between them to caress his cock as her big breasts flattened to his chest.

            Throb-throb!

            “Mmm, one moment, Ichigo-chan,” she cooed after disengaging from his lips.  She sunk back to his erection, breasts passing over it, directing the tip to the caress of her mouth.  It took no more than two sweet suckles for him to swell and burst.  And Kirio approved.  She approved of the warm, acidic fluid gushing into her mouth, though she did not swallow.  She swirled it around with her tongue and, before he had even finished ejaculating, she extracted him.  It would have been a torment if not for the look in her eyes and the tenderness of her hand while she maneuvered him through the semen gushing out of her mouth; frothing and plentiful.  He wasn’t sure if it was just a large load or his orgasm doubled upon itself!  But he spouted more, decorating her cheeks as she veered him across her black and now white-stained lips.  She blew and burbled his cum against his cock’s crown, thick white bubbles sliding down his length until she spotted him with those sloppy, sticky kisses.  It was a manner that Ichigo admittedly wasn’t at all prepared for.

            How could he ever take sweet words from her lips after seeing them smirking and stained so filthily?

            The spasming tube inside him relaxed, all tension ebbing and the jolts of semen slowing to a leak that Kirio nuzzled and kissed and licked.  He knew by watching her that his arousal would not dissipate.

            Kirio took pause of her enjoyment to grin up at him, his semen smeared across her mouth and cheeks, an obscene dollop dripping low from her chin before detaching and spattering her cleavage.

            No, he wasn’t finished, and she wouldn’t let him leave without cleaning the plate.

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            “Is that how it is?  How interesting.”  Osho could certainly sound interested for someone whose wisdom was declared as the greatest in Soul Society history.  He’d finished his food, and sucking his greasy fingers clean, he moved over to Urahara when the scientist rose from his seat with a revelation.

            “It seems so,” Urahara mused, a slight quaver in his happy tone.  “I certainly don’t mean to be too intrusive on Kurosaki-san but…  Well, it’s for his own good that we monitor him thoroughly, especially in these earliest stages.”

            Osho’s big eyes fixed on the screen.  A whole lot of nonsensical symbols…

            “What if we simply encase him within the crystal?” he said dispassionately.  “It has certainly worked before.”

            “No, no,” Urahara quickly refused.  “It’s bad enough to have placed this burden on him in the first place.  Without Kurosaki-san’s efforts and sacrifice, we would have been doomed already.  He deserves whatever freedom he can find.  Although…”  He trailed off to his next though, cupping his scruffy chin.  “I cannot simply bring women to him…”

            “Hm!  With a noble purpose,” began Osho, thinking on a grander scale of things.  Again, Urahara declined.

            “Kurosaki-san is not the type to go along with it if he knew they felt coerced,” Urahara said to put the idea to a close.  “Obviously, Inoue-san is”—He couldn’t help a smirk—“enamored, but a human girl…”

            “Hardly able to keep up with the raw stamina of Reio,” agreed Osho.  He nodded once, his gaze shifting to Urahara.  “So that is your plan.”

            A small grin appeared on Urahara’s face.  “I’m sure Captain Kurotsuchi has thought of it, too.  Kurosaki-san selects his new guard himself…”

            “But he’ll need more options than what he is likely to choose.”  Osho folded him arms, humming deeply in his throat.  “I suppose it is not unusual… for a King to possess many wives.”

            “My,” sighed Urahara, placing a hand atop his hat, tilting it to shield his gaze.  “I wouldn’t have ever thought to be planning this for Kurosaki-san…”

            Osho went on, separated from the emotional turmoil of the other.  “A suitable bride from each race, at least.  At his betrayal, Adnyeus was dismembered to weaken him.  But, maybe it’s possible…”

            “To divide him in other ways,” Urahara finished, his eye gleaming sidelong to the burly Monk.  Osho just grinned in agreement, letting Urahara turn back to the screens.  “It certainly indicates a leveling of his reiatsu in intimacy.  We’ll have to set out a schedule.  And properly recruit…”

            “Leave that to me, Urahara Kisuke.”  The low, chastising voice came up from the side, a silhouette approaching from the dark.  Joints clicking, her feet lingering above the ground.  Shutara Senjumaru smirked slyly, a marionette hand coiling beneath her red lips.  “After all, crafting for Reio is my specialty.”

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Chapter Text

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            “Is that how it is?  How interesting.”  Osho could certainly sound interested for someone whose wisdom was declared as the greatest in Soul Society history.  He’d finished his food, and sucking his greasy fingers clean, he moved over to Urahara when the scientist rose from his seat with a revelation.

            “It seems so,” Urahara mused, a slight quaver in his happy tone.  “I certainly don’t mean to be too intrusive on Kurosaki-san but…  Well, it’s for his own good that we monitor him thoroughly, especially in these earliest stages.”

            Osho’s big eyes fixed on the screen.  A whole lot of nonsensical symbols…

            “What if we simply encase him within the crystal?” he said dispassionately.  “It has certainly worked before.”

            “No, no,” Urahara quickly refused.  “It’s bad enough to have placed this burden on him in the first place.  Without Kurosaki-san’s efforts and sacrifice, we would have been doomed already.  He deserves whatever freedom he can find.  Although…”  He trailed off to his next though, cupping his scruffy chin.  “I cannot simply bring women to him…”

            “Hm!  With a noble purpose,” began Osho, thinking on a grander scale of things.  Again, Urahara declined.

            “Kurosaki-san is not the type to go along with it if he knew they felt coerced,” Urahara said to put the idea to a close.  “Obviously, Inoue-san is”—He couldn’t help a smirk—“enamored, but a human girl…”

            “Hardly able to keep up with the raw stamina of Reio,” agreed Osho.  He nodded once, his gaze shifting to Urahara.  “So that is your plan.”

            A small grin appeared on Urahara’s face.  “I’m sure Captain Kurotsuchi has thought of it, too.  Kurosaki-san selects his new guard himself…”

            “But he’ll need more options than what he is likely to choose.”  Osho folded him arms, humming deeply in his throat.  “I suppose it is not unusual… for a King to possess many wives.”

            “My,” sighed Urahara, placing a hand atop his hat, tilting it to shield his gaze.  “I wouldn’t have ever thought to be planning this for Kurosaki-san…”

            Osho went on, separated from the emotional turmoil of the other.  “A suitable bride from each race, at least.  At his betrayal, Adnyeus was dismembered to weaken him.  But, maybe it’s possible…”

            “To divide him in other ways,” Urahara finished, his eye gleaming sidelong to the burly Monk.  Osho just grinned in agreement, letting Urahara turn back to the screens.  “It certainly indicates a leveling of his reiatsu in intimacy.  We’ll have to set out a schedule.  And properly recruit…”

            “Leave that to me, Urahara Kisuke.”  The low, chastising voice came up from the side, a silhouette approaching from the dark.  Joints clicking, her feet lingering above the ground.  Shutara Senjumaru smirked slyly, a marionette hand coiling beneath her red lips.  “After all, crafting for Reio is my specialty.”

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            Kirio had offered a hand to lead her King through the myriad of his desires, but maybe it was a journey moving too quickly!  He’d just ejaculated over her face, copious enough to spill down to her breasts!  It was a sight to last with him forever, and even if his cock wasn’t satisfied, he was.  She’d done something glorious for him!

            But she was not through just yet, rising tall from the floor and letting her robes slip into the crooks of her arms – for proper removal – and told him that they’d continue.  “On the table.”

            She had said that, but Ichigo was unable to move after standing; not when Kirio was undressing in front of him.  His hakama had already fallen and bunched at the floor around his feet, his shihakusho still hanging loose to his shoulders.  It didn’t seem a problem, though Kirio seemed more transfixed in wiggling her way free of her clothes.  She sighed appreciatively when she stood naked, a welcome freeness against the furnace heat.  From head to toe, she was in a sheen of sweat, flushed and presentable in her nudity.  All smooth and slippery skin, flushed at the top of her breasts and under the cum on her cheeks, her breasts unbound and still crushed together by their own abundance.  He mapped her entirely with his eyes, heading lower now to her stomach that had the faint ridge of attractive definition running a line down the center to her navel.  Hips spanned further than Inoue’s – commendable birthing hips – and a dark shock of grown purple pubic hair.  He could hardly even register the length of her beautiful legs and thick thighs, or appreciate the attraction of a woman naked except for her socks.

            “Now don’t be idle, Ichigo-chan,” she chirped, moving to and clearing the table, hoisting the empty dishes to the sink and throwing her discarded robes over the wood like sheets.  Before Ichigo could clarify, she mounted the table, laid back, and…

            “Continue as you want,” she invited him, hanging her head over the head of the table, the hair not trapped beneath her draping to the floor, her mouth opening wide and inviting, tongue extending.

            The Grain King…

            Ichigo hesitated, his palms overly sweaty.  She was lined up to take him, and it was a straight path down her gullet.  He wasn’t sure.  He wasn’t sure…

            It was almost apologetic the way he pressed his cock in past her gaping lips.  Yet she gave a noise of approval as he ushered himself further.  Her mouth was so deep, and her throat was deeper.  He felt the transference from one to the other, the tightening of her gullet wrapping around him, firmer than what he’d experienced before.  He expected some sort of refusal, that his cock was too large and clogged her windpipe.  He could even see the distention in her neck, bloating to the part where his cock reach.  She coughed around him, an involuntary gag, but then she settled, her hands coming to rest and hold onto his naked thighs.

            It was enough to just stay like that for him, but Kirio’s hands pressed in a subtle motion.  It wasn’t hard to guess what it meant.  He eased out, groaning as he pulled through her throat, and then went back when her hands relaxed.  She guided him to his rhythm.  He could press in deep… very deep!  She would respond without so much as a sputter; just a murmur of happy consent.  Sometimes, she would swallow, which made the walls around him shudder and stroke and compress him.

            He began a tempo when she let him on his own.  Slow, slow, gaining speed.  Faster, becoming harder.  He felt her nose press against his balls when he went deepest.  And she was starting to moan.

            “D-Dammit!”  He lost his composure, falling forward over her, catching the edges of the table at her sides.  He was over her breasts now, rippling faintly whenever his cock lurched down her throat.  It was impossible to resist placing a hand on one, fingers sinking into abundant flesh that swelled between them.  The other hand on the other; finally, with some tolerance of flexibility, he bowed his head and latched onto a nipple.

            “Glk!”  For the first time, Kirio surged, an abrupt sputter of spit around him.  He began to retract worriedly until her hands grabbed behind him, fingernails turning into the taut meat of his ass, pulling him back to nestle down her throat.

            She tolerated a lot.  Ichigo had to give her that much.  Feeling like a savage, he arched his back and began to beat his hips to her face, thinking that he’d feed her his cum soon enough, and then they’d both be satisfied!

            If not for him gleaming her pubic patch.  Thick, curly and colorful hair nested at her mound, her knees raised and thighs parted, lending her apex the grandeur befitting it significance.  Ichigo’s fingers ticked against the softness of her tits.  To touch there…

            Kirio responded immediately, a greater hitch than before when she felt fingers drifting through her fur, exploring the landscape of womanhood.  “Ichigo-chan,” she gasped immediately after garbling out his appendage, his fingertip crooking by pleasant happenstance against her swollen clit.

            At once, he seemed to snap back to himself and retracted his left hand from her crotch.  His cock free of her deep throat, he stumbled and gave her space as she reared up, sitting and clearing her throat politely.  “Sorry!” he hastened out, thinking he must have been too overzealous and overstepped boundaries.  He should have had verbal consent first!  Rather than guess that full access was what she allowed.

            “Not at all,” she said, turning to him with that cheery, motherly smile over her shoulder, her bouncy hair flowing over and down her back.  A finger came up, wiping at the spit and cum on her face, as if applying moisturizer to her skin.  “But I did tell you…”  She reached out and took his left hand; Ichigo tingled as he felt her caress it, lifting it to her face, pressing her lips to his palm with such adoration and reverence.  Her eyes flashed erotically at him.  “You can’t be reckless.”

            The air shifted, holding still for a long moment as they scanned one another’s eyes.  He was breathless in view of her.  Those eyes held such depthless care and… and lust!

            Ichigo didn’t even try to restrain himself.  He was scrambling onto the table in an instant, her willingly lying back and parting her legs for him.  His robes draped over them both like a veil, but the firelight illuminated well enough between them, though they were willing to act by touch alone.  “Let me,” breathed Kirio, taking Ichigo’s cock herself and applying it to her soaking heat.  She lavished him with a few teasing brushes against her soft hair – He hissed, delighted and needy together. – and finally fixed him appropriately to her folds.  He wanted to show her the same kind of care he’d given Orihime when sliding in for the first time, but he could not.  She was an experienced woman, and she’d led him to the peak of arousal.  He went in hard, bottoming out in one good thrust; it helped that she was so wet.

            “Ahn!” she moaned in reply to his shuddering huff.  Her back arched, breasts shifting and sloping, her face drawn in a look of happy ecstasy.

            Ichigo wasn’t sure he’d last long.  He only hoped that he could bring Kirio some satisfaction, as a King and a lover, in his predicted haste.

            Her soft walls made a bid for him to release it all now.  It was okay.  Dump all of his turmoil and frustrations here.  She knew what to do with it all.

            “Ah~  Ichigo-chan♥”  She touched him, hands pulling across his sternum, and her body undulated in time with his thrusts, matching the gyrations of his eager thrusts.  When he looked up from their connecting bodies – The firelight made their definitions dramatic and dance. – he saw her looking straight at him, biting her lip and moaning huskily.  Despite the acrid flavor put upon them, he kissed her deep, dropping his body onto hers.  Soft at the chest, but firm bedding everywhere else, like she was supposed to be lain upon.  Her tongue was slow and coaxing, though his was energetic, darting everywhere he could like he was searching for some spot that could cause her to swoon.  Best was when he relaxed and let their tongues fumble over one another.

            Harder, harder!  Ichigo’s hips beat down hard between her lifted thighs.  He had to recede his lips from hers; he was losing air more than he was taking in.  Kirio rolled her shoulders, head falling to one side, hands filling her hair, showing sensuality and exposure when she raised her arms, expressing all of her smooth body.  But when her hands came down from flaunting, they went to his shoulders.  “Mmm!  Ichigo-chan,” she mewled, eyes opening slightly, teeth hardly able to stop nibbling her lip, “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I hope you’re gentler with Orihime-chan.”  She consoled his abrupt pause and look of apprehension by raising her head and kissing his shoulder, and then along his collarbone.  She hooked onto him with her fingernails, dragging carefully against his fevered flesh to bestow shocked of pleasure to him.  “She is a human girl, after all.”

            “Y-Yeah,” Ichigo said, instinctively knowing to check himself with her.  She wasn’t a… a ‘brawler’ like the others, though Tatsuki had spoken praises of Orihime’s aptitude for martial arts.  “I-I tried… not to…”  Go too deep, but he was embarrassed to say it out loud.

            “That’s good.”

            He felt Kirio’s legs drawing up his sides, hugging him to her.

            “But don’t hold back on my account.”  Heavy eye contact then.

            Give it to me.

            Ichigo simmered, his voice rising to a full yell as he pounded Kirio to the best of his capabilities.  He had no time to revel in it, but he had made her lose herself.  “Oh!  Uhn!  Ichigo-chan♥  Ah!  Ah♥  Deeper!”  Her hands shot from his back to grasp the table like she’d be thrown off unless she held on for dear life.  Panting, she looked down and watched the shadowed cock burrow again and again into her.  “Touch me!”  She squeezed at his left arm.  “Touch me!”  He did.  Not knowing how to, but he did.  He reached and grabbed at her pussy, fingers spreading around his cock, vaguely searching for her clit, but it was unnecessary: Kirio pitched herself back hard – A loud thump! from the table. – and wailed her successful release.  Enough ejaculate to dowse those raging fires around them sprayed out from her, around him, making more of a mess.  Muscles seizing up on him was hardly necessary; seeing her beauty in a shock of euphoria was enough to trigger Ichigo, to blow all the reserves of his balls into her.  With a shake in his voice, he declared his arrival and began filling Kirio’s channel with his lifegiving potency.  It rushed into her, colliding with her cervical wall and sinking in deeper to her nubile body.  He hissed and cursed, curling his body in time with each heavy spurt until he finally collapsed.

            A pair of sweaty bodies stacked together, panting as the stoves burned.  Kirio’s limbs relaxed, legs falling open, head cocked slightly and eyes dreamily rolled upward, a smile of relief still kept on her features while the boy’s face pressed into her bosom, sounding like he was struggling to keep afloat in uncalm seas.  He wasn’t sure how to respond to this.  Inoue, it was easier; they had background and a sort of instinct to one another.  With Kirio, he didn’t want to say something foolish.  Well, maybe blissful silence could last a little longer…

            gurgle…

            His head lifted a little from the sound of her heart racing in her chest.  “Gurgle?”  He looked confused… and suddenly, the bed beneath him began to swell, bigger and bigger to a mattress!  Even the density around his cock – still wedged within Kirio’s pulsating quim as he slowly shrunk – increased, pressing upon him before forcing him out with a spurt of seed chasing.  Baffled, he reared up and looked down.

            “Whoo~” exclaimed the robust Kirio, wiping at her brow with a pudgy hand and smiling joyfully at Ichigo with her beady eyes.  “That was certainly an experience, Ichigo-chan♥”

            Ichigo’s face drew down, and he erupted with a horrified “What the hell?!”

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Chapter Text

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            Rukia and Renji were excited most of all by the news, but many other lieutenants – and various seated officers – were all joined to celebrate the revival of Kurosaki Ichigo.  “Kanpai!” many cheered and they thrust their cups together, laughing as the sake spilt above their heads.

            “Ha!  That Ichigo!  He must be formidable now that he’s finally out of the infirmary!” Ikkaku jeered, Yumichika concurring that Reio must be graceful and poised even when incapacitated.  Kiyone wasn’t in attendance – neither was her sister – but Sentomaru was, roaring over the tears in his eyes that victory would not have been obtainable without Captain Ukitake’s sacrifice.  Omaeda bragged that he himself was quite crucial as well, hyping up his role against BG9 whenever he could.  Momo tried to keep contained, but Renji encouraged her to let loose while Shuhei advised that they shouldn’t get too inebriated; Mashiro objected, slamming her co-lieutenant to the ground under her foot, pursing her lips and whining that she was the super star of the Quincy war.  Nanao fixed her glasses, saying stingily that she could not stay long now that she was assigned to the Captain Commander’s lieutenant.

            “It’s still Captain Kyoraku,” laughed Rangiku, who was a few paces into the night already before even hearing the news about Ichigo.  She laughed so raucously that her chest heaved like they would jump out at any moment.  Nanao rebuked her taunts, saying that her Captain took this new role quite seriously.  “I’m surprised he’s not here with us,” the other woman slurred, holding a hand up over her eyes as she drunkenly scanned the crowds.  “Where is he~?  Kyoraku~taicho~ where are you~♪”

            “You’re indecent!” snapped Nanao, grabbing the edges of the other lieutenant’s robes and pulling them together before there was a momentous fallout.  “Honestly!”

            All the cheers made her feel that she should take part with them, but Rukia was satisfied to watch as a wallflower, laughing at the antics of the men doing stupid stunts, uncaring of how they looked as they tried to handstand the longest or balance chopsticks on their tongues when they could hardly stand straight.  Nii-sama was told of Ichigo’s awakening, but was not the type to celebrate.  “Is that so?” he said coolly, and then walked off to the revered site of his parents’ graves.  “Hopefully he’ll learn to conduct himself properly for once.”  It was the sort of thing he’d say that conveyed relief; Rukia was touched by his stoic concern.

            But she was still contemplating the news that followed.  Captain Kyoraku had said that Ichigo was awake, and that was enough for Renji to hear and take to the pathways to impart the news.  There was more, and though it did not seem fully ominous, it made her think.

            “There’ll be some changes in Squad Zero” was most of what he said, but as an aside, possibly to himself, he muttered, “I wonder who’ll go up.”

            “Oi, Kuchiki♥  Come over here~”

            She looked and saw Rangiku flagging her over with one hand and holding the scruff of Nanao’s shihakusho with the other.  “We gotta toast together!” the drunk lieutenant said, holding up her mug, signaling for Rukia to get one herself.  “As the ladies who support Ichigo, right?!”

            Rukia thought of Ichigo’s face, or rather, his back.  Him ahead of her, blocking flames meant to consume her solely to absolve her sins.  He turned to her and smiled reassuringly over his shoulder.

            “Rukia!” shouted Renji loudly over the noise, and she saw him waving his arms frantically, his face red from alcohol consumption, a long smile on his face as he held out his chopsticks.  “I won~”

            Smiling at him, and then at Rangiku, Rukia acquired a cup for herself, awkwardly raising it to meet Rangiku’s.  “Right!”

            Not all of Seireitei was full of merriment.  Never mind the Squads that were still dealing with tragic loss, Kyoraku sat alone in the scorched remains of the previous Captain Commander’s barracks.  He was at the desk, an untouched jug of fine sake at his side.  He had even already poured himself a saucer to celebrate Ichigo’s health.  Yet, he couldn’t pick it up.  It was perhaps too heavy.

            And coming in from the night, a Hell butterfly, landing on his idle hand and relaying the message from above.

            “My, my,” he sighed as the butterfly left, and dropped his hands, staring at his drink.  “It’ll be busy tomorrow.”  He picked up the drink and tossed the liquid over the balcony.

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            “Sorry, Kirio.  It-It just surprised me.”  He flushed, wishing he could have controlled such an involuntary reaction, but he was in such a vulnerable state of mind at the moment.  Her expanding like this, the perfect frame now inflated like a balloon.

            “Think nothing of it,” she laughed and rolled her hair up in a bun.  “I suppose I do look very different when my hair is down, don’t you think?  There.  That should make it easier for you.”

            Ichigo wasn’t sure if he should say that her hair was the immediate issue when they were both standing across from each other naked; him in his loose cloak and her in only her socks.  She lagged with her modesty as she fixed her hair, her breasts – once high-seated – now dragged over her bloated, hanging stomach.  Her thighs, wider now; probably a lot harder to fit in between them, but Ichigo tried to keep his penis docile now that it had finally given him respite.

            “Oh, lookie here, Ichigo-chan,” she sang, separating her legs, lifting a heavy foot onto the chair and showing a web of his excess semen oozing out of her, matting her pubic hair.  The gash did not gape as Inoue’s had, likely because of the increased density of her body, sealing her exit by her own mass.  Still, he felt a twinge of excitement to see his labors oozing out of her in gooey strands.  “All of that with Orihime-chan, yet you were still pent up!  I must schedule you to my kitchen frequently!”  She lowered her leg and held her hips, arms bowing out across her bulk.  She nodded, murmuring as she did.  “Yes, if you rely solely on Orihime-chan, she’ll be worn out by midday!  So as frequent as you are hungry, come see me before each meal!”

            “Before each…?”  Ichigo yelled, hands coming up as if begging for reason.  “You can’t expect me to show up for… that!  At every meal?”

            “Mhm!  That’s right!  Until we get you better accustomed, of course!  Oh my!”  She touched her cheek, giggling to herself.  “I’ll need to prepare myself to keep pace with Reio!”  She mused on how it felt like she was young again.

            “Hold on a second!  You can’t think that I want that all the time, all day!”

            “It’s about needs, not wants, Ichigo-chan,” she informed with a finger wagging.  “Until you’re in better control and have a suitable guard, you must listen to your body and act on it.”

            Ichigo sighed, agitated, ruffling his hair and saying to himself that this all made him look like some deviant.

            “No one’s accusing you of that,” Kirio consoled him, and she sounded truthful.  “And if it troubles you, know that I greatly enjoyed myself!”  She held a hand under her plump chin, laughing boisterously as Ichigo fumed with embarrassment.

            “Jeez!”  He pulled at his robes, scanning the ground briefly for his bottoms.  Everything got kicked around when they were frenzied at the height of their passion.  “Why does everyone at Reiokyu have to act like a weirdo?  Hm?  Kirio”—He pointed to the table, where her attire still lay—“aren’t you going to dress?”

            Kirio puffed up, her bold curves jostling a little.  “A bath first,” she proclaimed wisely and pointed at him.  “You should make a habit of it, Ichigo-chan.  The ladies appreciate a clean man.”

            Ducking his head a little, his lips slanted.  Of course, he’d thought of it but…  Really, he had just come out for a snack!  He wasn’t expecting any of this!

            “Did you not know?” asked Kirio with genuine surprise, her smile slipping in her astonishment.  “There’s a bathroom within your bedchamber!  Ah, that man,” she sighed, referring to Osho.  “He didn’t tell you.  Hmph!  Tenjiro is always complaining about him using the baths too long.”

            Confused, but Ichigo was glad to know that there were facilities in his room; Inoue would likely be glad too, as she spoke rather freely about her hygienic regiment when in casual conversation.  Nothing detailed, though Ichigo had been known to turn a light shade of pink to the mere reference of her being undressed before.

            “Well, I suppose I could get you a little cleaner now on your way back.”

            Ichigo was pulled from his thoughts when he felt a pudgy hand address his cum-slick cock.  Kirio’s thick fingers closed and gave him a baiting stroke.

            “Just give me a moment,” and she was stooping on her knees, heavy form poised to let him enter her mouth for a good oral scrubbing.

            “Hey, hold on!” stammered Ichigo, thinking it too soon to do something like that, afraid what she might stir in him.  It’d be a miracle to persist after so many orgasms – when maybe two was his humanly limit before becoming Reio – yet he felt the impending twitch.

            “It’s no trouble at all!  And now~♪  Thanks for the meal~”

            “Yo, Kirio!  How ‘bout some manju?!  I’m stuck with that brat!  Each turn in the Blood Pond Hell, she gets explosive!”  The Hot Spring Demon raised the curtain with his arm, ducking his pompadour head through.  “She never settles down, but she’ll be ready by morn…hm?”

            There was a gust of wind that zipped by him, and inside Kirio’s reverent kitchen… was nothing but a roaring stove and ovens.  He looked left and then right, at the clear table.  “Huh?”  He clicked his toothpick and looked behind him for some trace of the Grain King.  “Could’ve sworn she was here…”

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            “Much better!”  Candice normally didn’t smile unless someone was getting hurt, but this was good!  A mirror!  A mirror in front of her again!  She preened, checking her renewed features.  Not a scar or stitch in sight.  Beauty restored!  She couldn’t stand those marred features, still in the lapse of trauma to come up with an efficient way to turn the markings of madness into a fashion statement.  And free of the proximity alerts, she could come and go as she pleased from the dreary Bureau of Research and Development.

            She fixed her breasts, carefully combed her hair, posed for the full-bodied mirror to really appreciate her long, smooth legs and the hint of her ass beneath her short shorts.  She couldn’t take off her gloves because that would ruin the look of her ensemble, but it felt good running her hand up the back of her thighs and checking her cheek.

            “So I’ve just gotta seduce that Kurosaki bastard?!  Pah!  If it gets me free of that doctor…!”

            “What happened to your plans for revenge?” asked Meninas, who did not spend as much time in front of the mirror, always satisfied that her appeal was strong even in spite of ugly scars.  “You’ll sleep with him anyway?”

            Candice turned to her with a sharp grin, licking her lips wickedly.  “Who’s to say I can’t fuck him over in other ways?!  That bastard scientist just wants a sample!”  She swung back to the mirror, fists clenched and raised, zapping with malice.  “I can kill him after he’s done!”

            “You don’t pay attention, do you?”

            The two Quincies turned around to the Arrancar, who had abstained from taking the rejuvenating elixir.  A Hollow wears her scars, she’d said.  She had the restrictions removed so that she could make the ascent to Reiokyu, but had to stay close with these two.

            “You can’t kill Kurosaki Ichigo, now that he’s Reio.  It’ll devolve all Worlds into chaos.”  Cirucci ticked her hips to the right, scoffing as she tilted her head.  “I can’t believe I have to be dragged into this.”

            “So I can’t kill him, huh?  That’s fine!  I’ll just make him wish he was dead!”

            “You’re so loud for someone who lost to him so easily before,” said Meninas in unbiased fashion.  “It makes you look really pathetic.”

            “Be quiet, Meni!  You just want to go to be in a palace!  You don’t even care who you have to fuck!”

            But the taunt didn’t faze the taller woman.  “How dumb” was all she said, looking away from the electric blonde.

            “I have to put up with this until morning?”  Cirucci scoffed again and waited impatiently for dawn.

            The Arrancar was of no consequence.  Candice saw Hollows and Hueco Mundo as an entire waste of time when there was a force like the Sternritter.  There were beds – more like cots – stashed in this room; one of Mayuri’s bothersome excesses that housed pending experiments from time to time.  And on those cots were the effects that Candice had on her at the time of her ‘death’.

            “Did you go through them?” Candice had asked Mayuri, pink up to her ears when she spotted her heart-shaped parcel.

            “Why sully my hands with the things you carry around when I can find the juiciest details by picking through your brains?” was Mayuri’s cryptic response.

            Candice contemplated her parcel for a time, but couldn’t refrain any longer.  Nonchalantly, she strolled over, grabbing and equipping it to her belt.  “Gonna check if everything’s there,” she said to excuse herself.

            “Oh?”  Meninas watched her curiously.  “You’re going to insert your butt plug now?”

            Caught instantly, Candice wheeled on the other Quincy, roaring at her intrusiveness.

            Even if she wasn’t wrong.

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            A safe, secluded distance; Ichigo ended his dignity-saving shunpo, appearing from thin air in an empty offshoot of the main corridor.  So long as Lightning Tenjiro didn’t pursue if he sensed them, they should be safe.  Under his left arm, he carried Kirio – which would have been impressive even with two arms! – and his right held the bunching of their clothes.  There wasn’t any time for sorting.  If Tenjiro hadn’t been looking down upon entering, he might have just caught the flash of Ichigo collecting the evidence in his arm before evaporating.

            “Um, sorry, Kirio,” he said, setting her down carefully on hands and knees; she hadn’t any time to stand up when she had been encroaching on his cock.

            “Not at all,” she said boisterously, laughing as she raised to her full height.  “I must say, your instincts and reactions are certainly on another level!  It might have been difficult to explain what was going on in the kitchen if Tenjiro had seen us!”

            That was putting it mildly, but Ichigo was relieved that it was a dilemma that they didn’t have to worry about just yet.  It might be wise, though, considering how close they’d come, to put on their clothes.

            “Yes, very well,” Kirio consented, if only to make Ichigo more comfortable.  She pulled on her hakama, her robes, slipping her round limbs through sleeves and legs.  She fixed her tits and pulled the shihakusho taut.  She and Ichigo were dressed, and he looked relieved for it.  “It’s good to keep such excitement in your life!  Makes you hungry!”

            “Eh, right,” Ichigo agreed awkwardly, and then eyed the Grain King.  He decided to address her transformation.  “But… how did this happen?”  He tried not to make too crude of a gesture.  “I thought you needed to eat to get to this state.”

            “Well, remember, Ichigo-chan, I am credited to the craft of inserting souls into others, whether as Gikon or by feeding.”  Her finger went to him.  “You are Reio-sama, and that makes your very essence very dense and rich in reishi.  My body just stored it all when you inseminated me!  And as you saw, there was still so much left over!  Like I said: I’ll need to prepare more to satisfy you, Reio-sama!”

            “Will that… happen to Inoue?”

            “No, no!  She won’t get bigger unless you impregnate her!”

            Ichigo clenched his teeth, saying that that wasn’t a funny joke.

            “Orihime-chan, and every other woman doesn’t have a body like mine!  Mine is starved for reishi and reiatsu because I’m always making food from my own body.  You needn’t worry about other girls growing when with you, Ichigo-chan!”  Her heavy hand clapped his back, ushering him to the threshold and into the hallway.  “Now go, Ichigo-chan!  Go to sleep with Orihime-chan!  And I’ll be there to tend you in the morning!  Oh-ho-ho!”  She was sauntering off herself, heading in the opposite direction from him.

            He pursed his lips, thinking of how odd she was at times.  But, heaving a relaxing sigh, he made to head back to the room.  Hopefully Inoue wasn’t missing him, or – much worse – regretting what they had done.

            “Hopefully she’s not hungry, either…”

            He stopped mid-step, realizing he’d forgotten the whole reason he’d gotten out of bed.  Instantly, he pivoted and chased Kirio.  “Kirio!  What about a snack for Inoue?!”

            And it wouldn’t hurt to also ask about the bathroom…

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            “Ahahaha!  Kurosaki-kun, that tickles!”  Orihime lunged up from her dreams, breaking her rest as she hugged herself, enacting the dream where Kurosaki-kun was showing her how ticklish ramen noodles could be.  She laughed a little longer before realizing she was awake… and alone.

            And naked!

            Very naked!

            “Yah!”  Hastily, she grabbed the bedsheets and pulled them to her chest before glancing around the big room.  “Kurosaki-kun?”

            Maybe he was in one of the dark corners of the room.

            She was certain she had felt eyes on her.  Something…

            And it wasn’t Ichigo.  It was a menacing look, scanning her intimately.  She kept the blanket up even though it seemed evident that there was nobody there.  Cautiously, she stayed awake, and after a handful of minutes, she felt that she was alone.  The eyes were definitely gone.  But whose…?

            Well, she wasn’t one to dawdle long on one thought!  “It must’ve just been a dream!” she cheered and left it at that, ignoring or suppressing the instinctive warning in the back of her head.  Forefront was recent events.  They had seemed like a dream, but the feeling of her body and where she was…!

            She blushed and held the blanket up to her nose.  It… smells like him.  She smelled like him too, remembering his body pressing down on her, his breath in her ear, his hands cupping the bouncy parts of her as he… as he…!

            “Ah!”  She gave an abrupt and vicious jolt, her hands dropping the covers to rush to her crotch.  It was a stab of hot pleasure to her core just remembering it.  And she was now very conscious that his essence was drying on the insides of her thighs, while inside her the warmth was still richly pooled in her uterus, safely store and possibly taking to one of her precious eggs.

            A chicken Kurosaki-kun!

            She touched the warm spot, her chest rising with excitement.  Feeling better – “He’s probably getting a snack!” she said cheerily. – she snuggled down under the sheets and decided to spend the time fantasizing about baby Kurosaki-kuns, counting them like counting sheep, naming them all bizarre names instead of numbering them.

            She drifted asleep soon enough.  Her legs rummaged together, slippery with the slow pour of Ichigo’s abundant seed.

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            “Man, I hate being hungry all the time,” Ichigo growled around a loaf of bread.  Kirio was generously quick.  If it was just a late-night snack, he should have just said so, she had advised him, much to his annoyance; he told her that he had said so numerous times before he had given in and ate a three-plate meal.

            “I hope you don’t mind it not being hot from the oven, but they’ll keep fresh for a year even if you leave them out!”  A perk of being the best chef in all Soul Society, Ichigo was sure.  He was grateful to receive them from Kirio’s storeroom – and she still had to tend to Tenjiro’s order when she went back to the kitchen – and said that Orihime liked bread even if it was a day old anyway.

            So he had a platter of the nicest pastries and picked out a Danish for himself.  He would have stayed for a full meal – could have – but he had a sneaky suspicion that it would start a cycle from earlier.  For the moment, he was feeling rested and, thankfully, tired.  Eating was a novelty at the moment, even if his stomach was growling a little.  Probably from the exhaustion of spilling into Kirio…

            “I’ll be there to take care of you in the morning!  So you and Orihime-chan, sleep soundly!”

            He wasn’t sure what that meant, even if he was getting an idea.  But in the morning!  He had a few hours to rest, and maybe he’d feel differently, more in control of his now-overpowering urges.  He chomped, pulled the bread apart with mouth and hand, and then stuffed the rest of it in.  Should have asked for tea to wash it down…

            “Wandering the palace at night.  I’d say it befits a King, but it seems reckless.”

            Ichigo froze, a sense of being surrounded triggering him.  A many-armed apparition was looming behind him, six hands poised to snatch him.  But when he turned, nothing…

            Senjumaru was drifting into the place he had been facing before mistaking her position; he had to turn around again.  “Oh, Senjumaru.  Yeah, I just”—He held up the bread plate—“wanted to bring some…”

            “Reio-sama has attendants for such meager tasks,” she cut him off with cold sarcasm.  “You could have sent the girl instead.”

            So she knew too.  His lips pulled in an awkward line as the tips of his ears reddened.  It seemed news went fast in Squad Zero, or he was just too obvious.

            “Now don’t look at me that way,” she teased, swaying her head to one side, her hair echoing her movement.  “You can put your trust in me, Reio-sama.  I’ll pick out a suitable staff from the selection you’ve made.”

            Ichigo perked up curiously.  “Selection?  What selection?”

            Senjumaru’s answering laugh was soft and discomfiting, as though it was a ridiculous question to need to ask.  “I believe Osho’s already informed you.  Reio-sama needs his new guard with this transference.  Of course”—A hand drifted across her jaw—“we will remain, as the foundation of the Royal Guard.  You can’t just pick tenderfoots to transport up here to run amok.  I’m sure you understand.”

            “Not really,” Ichigo confessed.  All he wanted was to bring some bread to the room.  Was that really such a chore?  Perhaps Senjumaru had a point and he needed someone else to do these mundane things, if he was going to be hooked into conversation at seemingly-every turn.

            Her head tilted back a little with a long, deepthroated hum.  “Perhaps it’s to be expected?  You assumed the role of Reio brashly.”

            Ichigo tightened his jaw, trying to keep himself from looking overly-annoyed.  “It’s not like I could have done anything else.  The world was collapsing.”  He spoke mostly from second-hand memories; what he saw from the video was the only reference he had to the incident, and a trust in himself that he would do whatever necessary to protect everyone.

            “Of course,” cooed the Great Weaver, cocking her head.  “Quite a kingly sentiment.  Perhaps you think too highly of yourself.”

            Ichigo deadpanned, the corner of his inward-slanting eyebrow twitching.  “I don’t.”

            She pressed.  “No matter.  It’ll all work itself to design.”

            There was a sudden, sharp screech, like a cord being yanked taut.  In confusion, Ichigo turned to the sound and found a pair of Senjumaru’s arms at his side, taking the length of his arm with a simple red string.  Flashbacks to being fitted for the kimono to endure seventy-two barriers heading from Reiokyu to a war-torn Soul Society flickered; fresh, traumatizing memories.  Instinctively, he jerked back, careful not to spill bread.

            “Hey, hey!  What do you think you’re doing?”  There wasn’t any anger in his tone; just frantic guardedness.

            “So jumpy,” mused the multi-limbed woman with a soft and mocking grin on her red lips.  “And yet so slow to notice.”  The red string was held up in front of her.  “I had already taken your full measurements three times before you realized it.  You should be a bit more perceptive, even in your palace.”

            “But…!”  He stopped a moment.  The tips of his ears turned red, and a dash of the same color spread over the bridge of his nose.  “I thought I needed to be…”  He decided not to ask, but he remembered how unflinching she had been in her directions when he was standing on that dais in the room of hanging hanks of fabric.

            “Oh?  Are you so concerned about that?”

            She hovered close, closer to him until the bread platter wedged against his stomach.  She paused, and then craned her head forward just slightly; it took grit not to cower, but Ichigo was certainly feeling the urge.  Her presence was very unlike Kirio’s; cold and deep, like he’d plummet if she got too close.  When Kirio could raise spirits, Senjumaru was there to break them.  Could she actually break a Soul King?

            “Merely base measurements, Reio-sama,” she murmured with the inflection of humor at his title.  Hands – that he once again failed to perceive – ghosted down his chest from over his shoulders.  It was such an otherworldly feeling, fingers of ice pulling at his flesh, that he actually lost a roll from his plate.  Senjumaru watched the pastry bounce, tumble, and come to a stop.  “No need to get antsy.  I’ll have you set up soon enough.”  Before her departure, one of her fingers curled up his throat from his collar, dragging with dizzying lightness up to his chin, where she flicked her finger to make his head tic.

            “Reio-sama,” she teased back at him.

            Her leaving didn’t dissipate Ichigo’s tension.  Not until a full minute passed; he exhaled in relief and touched where she had flicked his chin upward.  “She’s a weird one,” though he also had high respect for her and her technique.  When she’d stripped him butt naked his first time here, she at least didn’t lag with his humiliation.  She’d taken account of all of him without scrutiny, and fashioned the durable kimono in no time.  His experience…  It was harder to breathe in there than in the High Preist’s training domain the first time.

            But…

            “Whew…”  He relaxed.  Alone at last, free to go back to bed.  With Inoue.

            Just pick up the dropped roll – He didn’t want to be the type to leave a mess. – and he’d be on his…

            “Aww~ Still wandering around, looking for something to do?”

            He blinked at the two feet stepping in front of him when he stooped to pick up the bread.  His head tilted, finding himself looking up at Giselle Gewelle, who beamed back down at him.  She was at her full height, fist poised lightly on her hips.  Despite the low light, her eyes were twinkling, and Ichigo felt immediately that it wasn’t a good thing for him.

            “This place is a lot more fun at night,” she proclaimed, now looking down either end of the hallway with her hand over her eyes as if to see further.  “It’s so creepy and echo-y, it’s almost like being lost in oblivion!”  And glancing down at him again, she giggled in her throat.  “And you can bump into another lost, miserable soul!”

            Annoyance flickered on Ichigo’s face.  “Misera-?”

            She caught the hand reaching for the bread roll and hoisted him to his feet, pulling insistently for him to follow.  “Come with me, I wanna show you something neat!”

            “Hey, hold on!”  He looked back at the discarded bread and seethed.  He’d get blamed; he knew he would.

ccc

            So that’s how it is…

            The updating Hell butterfly headed off into the night, its mission conveyed, leaving the Fourth Squad barracks.

            Being in the Captain’s quarters wasn’t entirely new for her, but it didn’t feel right not having Captain Unohana there as well.  Even if Kiyone was with her, bustling around to keep busy – her own way of dealing with her own departed and beloved Captain – Isane was still anxious.

            After the delivered message, even Kiyone had to come to a standstill and be with her sister.  There was an elongated silence, and the younger sister knew she had to be the one to break it.  “Are you still going, Nee-san?”

            Isane, facing off the deck into the night sky, turned, smiling.  A beautiful smile, but obvious in its deception.  She was never good at being dishonest with her feelings.  She could be gentle or brave or strong or vulnerable.  She could not feel one way and act another; not convincingly.  It was painful for Kiyone to see.  “It’s the Royal Guard,” Isane said with feigned excitement.  “It’s the same place Captain Unohana went to train.  If-If I’m going to be at her level, I can’t be afraid.”  She turned back to the moon, almost fully waxed.  “Besides, she had faith in Kurosaki-san.  I must do my part in her place.”

            Pursing her lips, Kiyone felt a swell of pride for her sister.  She’d move onward, despite her insecurities.  That was the courage and strength that Kiyone found so admirable; in Nee-san and in Captain Ukitake.

            “Right!” jeered the little blonde, clenching her fists and giving an enthused nod.  “Then we gotta finish packing!  Don’t forget, I’m going with you!  You need support, after all!  Give it your best, Nee-san!”

            Isane was made to genuinely smile.  What a blessing to have a sister like her by her side…

            “Lieutenant Kotetsu!  Are you busy?!”

            Isane blinked, not realizing she’d been so distracted by thoughts that she completely missed the pair walking onto the Fourth Squad’s premises.

            “Huh?  Is that Lieutenant Kuchiki?!”  Kiyone appeared at her sister’s side, recognizing the voice calling out in the night.

            It was Rukia, lumbering into the yard, struggling under the weight of the downed Renji.  Renji, moaning incoherently, was entirely deadweight.

            “What’s wrong with Lieutenant Abarai?”

            Rukia, taking a few steps closer, gave up and lugged the redhead to the ground.  She panted, trying to stand straight though her back was killing her after this long march.  “He drank too much,” she said at first, and then, with a bit of embarrassment to her tone, she added, “and he was playing around and hit his head… pretty hard.”

            Isane and Kiyone could deduce that much from the comically large, round bump throbbing from his skull.  Despite Renji’s affliction, Isane was happy to have a distraction where she could do some good.  “Leave it to us.  Kiyone, help me get him to the infirmary.  We can start you on the basics.”

            “Yes!”  And Kiyone went to work.

ccc

            Ichigo didn’t know what he was doing here, but it seemed of paramount importance to the skinny Quincy that he see where she was staying with the other female Quincy.

            “Just look at these beds,” moped Giselle drearily and plopped down on the empty one.  It hardly shook under her petite weight.  “Aren’t the pitiful?  They’re so wide and lonely”—A normal twin bed, by Ichigo’s estimation, more than big enough for her—“and they wobble so much.  I bet they’d break if two people were on it!”

            Highly doubtful.  “The material they use in Reiokyu is the best in all of Seireitei,” Ichigo answered, cocking his head dubiously.  “It’s not gonna break.  Just try not to jump on it, and it’ll be fine.”

            “Boo~” droned Giselle to his response.  “What a lame response.”

            His patience dipped.  “What’d you expect me to say?”  He fixed the platter of bread between his hands, anxious to be out the door and heading back on track.  “If you’ve got an issue with it, tell Senjumaru or Osho.  They’re the ones in charge of how this place is run.”

            “What?” she responded with half of a laugh.  “I thought you were Reio.  You’re the one in charge, aren’t you?”

            Ichigo gave her a frown that affirmed her question.

            “I was just thinking,” she went on nonchalantly, kicking her feet and looking quite innocently to the ceiling, like a daydreaming kid, “you’d crawl on with me to show how durable the bed is.  Since you’re too dense to take a hint…”

            “Who says I’m too dense?” snapped Ichigo.  “And why would I suggest something like that?!  You can tell just by looking at it that the bed’s fine!”

            Giselle laughed some more, praising him as such a cute but naïve dummy.

            “Uhn~”  The other bed shifted, the body rising up, Liltotto looking unpleasant as always.  Her amber eyes drifted over to the two making such a noise next to her.  Giselle, and then she looked at Ichigo.  Up and down, noting the stupid face he was making.  She heaved a small sigh of resignation.  “So it’s already happening, is it?  I thought you’d at least need a night to settle in before doing it.  Gigi can be such a horny slut when she’s got a crush on someone.”

            “What~?  Don’t say things like that~♪  Ignore her, Ichi-chan.”  Giselle got up and leaned into Ichigo’s chest, much to his discomfort.  “She’s just cranky from waking up~”

            “Wha-What?!”  Panicked, Ichigo staggered away from Giselle, losing a few more pastries in the process.  “What the hell are you two talking about?  What’s going on?”

            “Don’t act so pathetic,” Liltotto droned.  “Obviously, Gigi brought you here to fuck us.  If it lets me stay to keep eating that woman’s cooking, I’m fine with it.”

            “And you call me a slut?” giggled Giselle, and then raised her hand, facing the slack-jawed Ichigo.  “I’ll do it just for fun!  So me first, Ichi-chan!”

            “What the hell?!  You-You both are crazy!” screamed Ichigo, his face burning so red that it seemed steam was evaporating from his ears.  “I didn’t come here for se…”—He caught himself, or just couldn’t find the nerve to say it—“… for that!  She,” he flung a finger at Giselle, who immediately held up her hands like a careless criminal at gunpoint—“pulled me here!  And I’m not going to…!  I just wanted to get something to eat!”

            “Hmph.”  Liltotto was entirely unconvinced and removed herself from under the covers, sitting with her back to the wall, reclining a bit so that her shoulders were against it.  She wore a nighty not very dissimilar to her Quincy uniform, but it rode up easily when she lifted a knee and sported the underside of her clothes.  And to Ichigo’s shock, she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.  Nothing to hide her blasé show of her sex.

            Giselle leaned a little to get a view of the upskirt view Ichigo was getting and mused at how slutty she was.

            “Shut up,” Liltotto dismissed her, and then kept her focus on Ichigo’s locked-in gaze.  As if he couldn’t see clear enough already, she pulled the hem a bit with her finger, clearly showing off her womanhood.  A light patch of blonde hair over the sealed line of her sex, hinting that she wasn’t revving to go.  But the offer was clearly extended, and he could take whatever manner necessary to wedge up in between her thin legs.

            “I-I…!”  He jabbered for a moment, his jaw hanging and heavy before he finally mustered his nerve and tore his gaze off of her snatch.  “I really didn’t come here for that!”

            “If that’s true, then fuck me right now,” she bartered, monotone, dispassionate.

            “Are-Are you stupid?!  How would that prove that I didn’t come here for sex?!”

            “A guy who protests this much against sex is likely a pervert, and since I agreed, it threw you off, didn’t it?  Pervert.”

            Ichigo seethed.  Her rational was entirely stupid, yet Giselle was on her side.  “It makes perfect sense.  You came here with me, didn’t you?”  She plopped down.  “So you can just get it over with, and we won’t think you’re a pervert, Ichi no Hentai~♪”

            Growling, Ichigo considered using his godlike powers to show him of consequences of insulting him like this!  But, of course, that’d be reckless.

            Reckless, too, would be staying here!

            He spun on his heel so fast that his tattered cloak billowed behind him.

            “Hey, where are you going?” Giselle called after him, clearly pining.

            “Back to bed,” he barked, and then shot a glare over his shoulder at them.  “You both, too!”  And as he stormed off, he warned them, “I’ll deal with you later.”

            “Ooo, scary~” tittered Giselle.

            Liltotto just gave a small snort – “Whatever.” – and laid back down.

            Ichigo fumed as he marched briskly, afraid to run into any more distractions.  Just what was everyone trying to do?!  Make him go to bed anxious?!  Being blindsided by two provoking Quincy hadn’t exactly kept his blood in check.  He could feel the hardening in his trousers already, but hoped his anger could assuage him.

            Made it!

            He was at the room and grabbed the doorknob…

            This is usually the part someone stops me at the last second…

            To his surprise, he got through and behind the door – locked it for good measure – without a hitch.  Inoue, right where he’d left her, breathing comfortably in the sheets that had come down partway; not entirely as he left her, now that her breasts were exposed again.  From the doorway, he admired her form.  Wow, she was beautiful when she slept…!

            He knocked back that admiration with an angsty How corny, and walked over, mindful of his footfalls.  Kirio had promised the pastries would last in freshness…

            But looking down, he saw that they couldn’t last a simple travel across Reiokyu.  There was only one piece of bread left.  He didn’t count how many had fallen when he dropped them in the Quincies room.

            “Mm?  Kurosaki-kun?”

            He blinked, surprised that Orihime had woken up when he hadn’t made any noise.  “Inoue?”  She was dragging herself up, rubbing her eye with the back of her wrist, careless in her large breasts being exposed.  “Sorry,” he murmured.  “I didn’t mean to wake…”

            Sniff…

            “Aha!”  She perked up rather quickly for having just woken up, eyes zooming straight to the wide plate holding a single loaf of bread.  “I thought I smelled bread!”

            Ichigo twitched unbelievingly.  She woke up from the smell?  He masked his surprise with a smile.  “Y-Yeah!  I went to Kirio…”

            and had sex…

            “… and she gave me some.  Uh, sorry that the rest fell…”

            “Yay!”  Orihime snatched it up immediately and dug in, her appetite grown after earlier.  She moaned pleasurably as she ate, chomp after chomp, not caring about the crumbles falling on her and the sheets.  “Mmm!  Tasty!  Here, Kurosaki-kun!”  She broke off a piece and held it out for him; not to take, but to feed him.

            Despite their encounter and this new dynamic between them, Ichigo was shy to do it, but nonetheless went down and carefully extracted the bread from between her fingers with his teeth.  They both blushed, but smiled.

            This… might work, he thought as he chewed, watching her happiness increase with every bite.

ccc

I was going to make Giselle and Liltotto’s part longer, but I’m learning not to trust my judgment as I once did.  In any case, I decided, rather than make it its own chapter, just tag it on here so the next chapter can be… whatever the next chapter’s going to be.  For a hint: it could either be morning in Reiokyu, or morning everywhere else.

Chapter Text

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ccc Hueco Mundo ccc

            “It’s sudden, I know.  But surely a ruler of the realm of Hollows can appreciate the severity of the situation.”  Kyoraku no Jiro Sakuranosuke Shunsui, Captain Commander, second son of the Kyoraku family.  He stood at the base of her tall throne, disarming in his manner and unconvincing in his urgency.  His smile was suave.  His smile was irritating.

            “tch!  He’s smiling too much,” Apacci growled while looking down at him.  She poised herself to lunge and kill.  “Who does he think he is, trying to summon Halibel-sama as he pleases?!  The Shinigami have gotten too full of themselves!”

            “Quiet, Apacci,” said Mila Rose out the corner of her mouth.  “This is Halibel-sama’s decision.  When she gives the order…”  Her hand was already atop the pommel of her broadsword.

            “Both of you, be quiet,” Sung-Sun instructed, glancing over at them.  “It’s unworthy even of you to make an unseemly ruckus during these deliberations.”

            “What’s that, Sung-Sun?” Apacci raged much too loudly to be an aside banter.  “How about you stop mumbling behind your hand and say it to my face!”

            Sung-Sun simply turned away, uninterested yet somehow pleased with herself.

            “Stupid!”  Mila Rose yanked at the scruff of Apacci’s top to keep her from assaulting the snake woman.  “Now you’re being totally disruptive!”

            “You’re the one yelling now!  Lemme go, Mila Rose!”

            “Even in the middle of the night,” Sung-Sun mused alone, intentionally, “you both act like wild beasts howling at the moon.”

            “What’d you say?!  You serpent bitch!”

            A hand raised before the threesome could come to actual and inevitable blows.  That single, solemn gesture was enough to quell and pacify them.  Halibel, without removing her fixed gaze on the Captain Commander and his kneeling second, sat peacefully.

            Her ability to rein in her frenzied subordinates…  “I envy you,” Kyoraku half-laughed.  “There are many in Gotei 13 who do not get along, and it’d take more than…”

            “You,” said Halibel, her low tone echoing in the hall.  Kyoraku’s regaling halted, his humor faded.  The silence ensued, waters steadying while something dangerous lurked underneath.  Nanao kept her head bowed, but she was conscious of the placement of her Zanpakuto.  Normally, she relied on Hado spells; now she had to learn to rely on her mother’s cursed sword.  If she could strike down a messenger of heaven, she could protect her captain from the ruler of Hueco Mundo.

            “You are the one who killed Coyote Stark.”

            A slight dip from Kyoraku’s head, acknowledging the accusation.  “I am.”  He did not revel or deny it.  He awaited Halibel’s response, the look in her eyes not reassuring.  If it was blood for blood, he had no choice…

            “Wars cause death,” Halibel said as if laying out a decree.  “But Aizen’s war is long ended, and the Quincy War is done.  I want Hueco Mundo to return to peace.”

            Kyoraku nodded slightly, stoic but his eye reflected relief.  “As would I.”

            “I owe no loyalties to you or to Soul Society,” Halibel went on.  “We’ve maintained a truce since the end of Aizen’s war because I seek peace and order.  When the Quincy forces invaded and demolished our home, you fortified your own and left us to die.”

            “The enemy was fastmoving,” Kyoraku swiftly countered.  “We hardly had time to meet them on even ground.  Surely you understand that there was just no way…”

            The hand came up, and just as her subordinates had, Kyoraku stilled.

            “The one who answered the call for help… was Kurosaki Ichigo.”  Her intense green eyes narrowed.

            The Tres Bestia exchanged minor glances.  Only Apacci’s blush was visible.

            Kyoraku’s expression didn’t change, though.  He granted the Hollow matriarch her time.

            “Without pause, he came to our aid, saving the lives of those who were his enemy, putting himself at fatal risk.  It is a sacrifice that I cannot ignore, nor would I fail to repay.”  She stood up suddenly, her congregation of three rallying at her side.  “For all your flaws, you Shinigami have chosen wisely for Reio.  I will meet with Kurosaki Ichigo at his behest.”

            Kyoraku decompressed with a relieved sigh.  “That’s good to hear,” he said.  “I was worried you wouldn’t be so agreeable.  This is a relief.  You have such a mighty presence, Halibel-san.”

            Halibel, over her fierce Hollow mask, watched him with placid grace.

            “hehe!  Perhaps, if you are so amiable, we could share a drink some time!  Attractive women make the sake taste better.”

            He was one against three raging Arrancar women and a niece who grabbed his ear and twisted harshly.  He gave a sharp howl, but ended with laughter, saying he was only partially serious.

            “As if Halibel-sama would degrade herself, drinking with a scoundrel!” Mila Rose fumed, her fist shaking ahead of her, Apacci next to her vowing to shave his head!  Sung-Sun was very vague on what punishment was in store for a man who trespassed on Halibel-sama.

            But Halibel was unfazed.  The offer was inconsequential and the topic, finished.  She rounded her throne, measured steps echoing loudly, the three yellow tassels of hair swishing softly.  “You may tell Kurosaki Ichigo I will meet with him.  I look forward to expressing my gratitude for all he’s done..”  Mila Rose followed, but not without a curt flourishing of her cape.  Sung-Sun went after, not giving the Shinigami a second glance.

            Apacci stamped at the edge of the platform, glaring down at the pathetic Captain Commander.  “Count yourself lucky, you hairy ape!  If it wasn’t for Halibel-sama, I would’ve cut you in half!”

            Despite the threat, Kyoraku beamed at her.  “Well, if it’s to a pretty girl like you, I can think of worse ways.”

            Apacci staggered at the compliment, lost for words at this unexpected compliment.  Normally, she only got them from herself!

            “Well…”  Kyoraku sucked his teeth, easing his posture, smoothing back his hair.  “The offer is available to any one of you who wants to drink in the Seireitei.  I promise it’ll be the best Soul Society has to offer.”

            “grr!  Like I’d want to with a goat-faced old man!” Apacci snarled, swinging her fists before storming off, bow-legged with rage, griping the whole time about Shinigami audacity.

            Accepting the insult with a bashful “My, my, so fierce, Arrancar women are not to be played with”, he smiled at Nanao; she looked troubled by the confrontation.  “Are you ready to go, Nanao-chan?”

            “hmph.  The sooner, the better.”

            The two of them acknowledged Halibel’s departure with a courteous nod and then made for the exit, where their escort in Las Noches awaited them.

            Perky and preppy.  Enough skin showing that Nanao had to scrutinize the placement of her Captain’s gaze.  He peeped the woman’s naked thighs, and Nanao not-too-subtly elbowed him to correct his decorum.

            Bouncing breasts, always a vision.  Her skull mask over luscious green locks.  Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck clasped her hands in front of her, her smile stretching.  As Urahara had asked her, she played the role of envoy for Hueco Mundo; Halibel accepted it, if it made Nel happy.  The former Tres Espada had more attachments beyond the realm of Hollows.

            “Is it really true?” she asked the Captain Commander, bouncing on her toes.  “I can go to Ichigo now?  He’s awake?  Thank goodness!”

            Kyoraku snickered a little.  “Ichigo-kun has certainly grown a fan club of pretty girls.  He’s not wasting his youth at all, is he?”

            Nel seemed not to hear the comment, giggling to herself.  “Will I be able to go?  I know Reiokyu is off limits, but if Ichigo is awake!  Oh, I want to see him again!  It was so brief last time!  I need to see that he’s alright!”

            “He was just fine when I saw him earlier,” Kyoraku said to ease her anxiety.  He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder; the red shoulder pad.  “I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you as well.  Just be sure you and Halibel-san use this.”  He reached into his floral kimono to produce a curious golden disc the size of a small plate.  On it was grafted a cartoony version of Urahara giving the double peace sign.

            Nel accepted it, turned it over, and looked at Kyoraku for an explanation.

            “Different worlds require certain passes,” said Kyoraku.  “That is a mimicry of the Vanderreich’s Gate of the Sun.  For those carrying that disc, you can transport to the Reiokyu directly, without the issue of needing the Oken.  Urahara-tencho made it for just such an occasion.  I suppose he knew loneliness was the most destructive thing to someone with power.”

            For a moment longer, Nel observed the medallion.  She wasn’t sure how it worked, but was sure she could trust a novelty from the eccentric shopkeeper!  She laughed, holding it to her breast.  “I can’t wait to see Ichigo again!”

ccc

ccc Soul Society ccc

            Rukia waited on the sundeck outside the Fourth Captain’s barracks – now an untenanted room.  Behind her, Kiyone – friend and supportive Third Seat of a Squad also bereft of a Captain – wailed.  “I think I did it wrong, Nee-san!”

            “Th-That’s alright!”  Isane pushed in, skirting Kiyone sidelong to amend the issues of less-practiced healing kido.  Kiyone was more of a combatant.  Maybe it was too soon to let her practice on an actual patient, even if it was treatment for a simple case of excessive drinking.  It was now uncertain whether Renji was simply black-out drunk, or comatose from a variant of Shakkaho.  Kiyone’s practice was more medicinal than channeling her reaitsu to heal another person.  She rambled to her sister – healing Renji’s charred face and blown-out hair – that she thought it was like an injection!  Fire the healing reiatsu all at once.

            “It’s fine, Kiyone!” Isane said, trying to hide her panic.  “Just-Just get some water for him!”

            That much, Kiyone could do, and she jumped up rigidly – “Right!” – and hammered her feet around the corner.  “Excuse me, Lieutenant Kuchiki!  I’ll be right back!”  Her footsteps were loud, but receded.

            In spite of the calamity and torment of Renji inside, Rukia couldn’t help but laugh a little to herself.  It was possible.

            It was possible for things to get a little normal.

            But…

            And that dissolved her smile.

            But what about Ichigo?

            Her eyes turned back up to the near-full moon, heavy in its glow, lighting up the Soul Society.

            Really, for Ichigo, there was no normality to return to.  His choice, but he cast away the life he could have had; should have had.

            But – and she could not help but smile fondly in retrospect – she figured he would not have had it any other way.  The hypocrite.  All the resignation when he had first became a Shinigami, reluctant to save even one soul…  Now he’d give up everything to protect everyone.

            “You fool,” she said quietly.

            “hm?  Did you say something, Lieutenant Kuchiki?”

            Rukia lurched, forgetting that she wasn’t alone.  She spun to Isane, whose green Kido was doing a much better job at mending Renji’s face than Kiyone.  “N-No, nothing!  I was just…!”  She stopped herself before she could, in panic, speak a bit too much of her mind out loud.  She sealed her lips and gave the inquisitive Isane a masking grin.  “I was just thinking that Renji shouldn’t drink so much when there’s now so much more to do, now that Ichigo’s awake.”

            Isane’s eyes softened, drifting down before she gave a nod and returned silently to her work.  The healing light hummed amongst the soft cricket in Unohana’s garden.  The atmosphere had grown heavy so quickly, Rukia awkwardly struggling to think of something to say.  No doubt it was hard for Isane to return to the routine of healer, without the guidance of her Captain to rely on.  A hangover was hardly a call for masterclass healing…

            “Th-There’s to be a meeting in the morning,” Isane declared, hooking onto the topic.

            Rukia looked at her, but Isane remained diligently at work.

            “Reiokyu… needs a new guard.  For Reio-sama.”  Though she tried to stay strong, the tall lieutenant balked.  “I suppose I should do my best, to serve Ichigo-san as Captain Unohana would.”

            Rukia felt for her.  So much responsibility, and so quick.

            “Rukia.”

            The low, commanding voice of her brother in approach.  He’d come out of nowhere, walking in from the garden, elegant and royal with his haori shifting in the nightly breeze.  Lieutenant Kotetsu immediately came to attention, forgoing Renji’s recovery, to show the Sixth Squad Captain the esteem deserved of his station.  “G-Good evening, Captain Kuchiki.”

            Byakuya, however, ignored the formalities, addressing his younger sister instead.

            “Y-Yes, Nii-sama!”  He had such a presence over women, with almost foreboding good looks; not that they were enamored, but his aura was stifling.

            “There’s an obligation for the Kuchiki clan, now that Reio-sama has awakened.”

            No doubt there was some waver in him to refer to Ichigo as Reio-sama, but he would not let it show.  That was her Nii-sama: stoic, collected, regal.  Rukia suppressed her gushing and gave a quick nod.  “Of course.  As head of the Kuchiki clan, you’ll be heading up to Reiokyu…”

            “No,” he cut her off.  “I haven’t the time nor patience to teach an unrefined stripling like Kurosaki Ichigo the decorum of his new station.  I am the Captain of the Sixth Squad, member of the Gotei Thirteen.  My duty is to defend the Soul Society, and by extension, the Reiokyu and whomever may reside up there.”

            Rukia did not mind his maneuvering.

            “So as representative of the Kuchiki clan…”  His finger extended to her.  “You will go in my stead.”

            At once, Rukia jumped from the platform, standing stiffly with her arms straight at her side.  “B-But, Nii-sama…!  I am just…!  I cannot represent…!”

            “You are a Kuchiki,” he once again interjected, stilling her objections.  He watched her face tighten; no comment on the proud flush nor the glossiness of her eyes.  “There is no issue with you going instead.”  And then, with his instructions given, he went in a wide turn; every movement pure pageantry and grace!  The two women were awed at how flawlessly his cloak billowed and his hair fluttered.

            “It seems that he still has a tendency to invade where he does not belong.  Ichibe will have his work cut out disciplining that meddlesome boy.”

            He was gone before Rukia or Isane could breathe again.

            And just in time for this diffusion of tension…

            “Nee-san~  I got the water~”  In one arm, the bucket.  The other hand brandished a bottle, Kiyone smiling toothily with mischief.  “And something leftover from Lieutenant Matsumoto~!  hee-hee!”

            Rukia turned red from the prospect of her Third Seat.  “N-Now, Kiyone-san…!”

            Seeing her unease from Byakuya’s appearance, Isane gave a reminiscent smile.  Though a bit awkward herself, she swept away from Renji – naught left to do but let him sleep off the drink – and joined the women on the deck for a calming moonlit drink.

            “I suppose,” she began, setting a hand on Rukia’s shoulder to calm and persuade her, “it wouldn’t hurt to have a little.”

ccc The Living World ccc

            “ah~♥  Thank you all for coming this late at night!  I know you probably want your rest after so much excitement~  Am I coming through clearly?”

            “Yes, we can see and hear you, Urahara-san.  Is something wrong with Ichigo?”  Chad didn’t dally, wanting an update after being in the dark, stuck in the human realm while Soul Society scrambled to mend whatever fissures Yhwach’s power had caused to reality.

            Urahara, sitting in front of the monitors in Reiokyu, Ichibe at his side, fanned the screen.  “No, no, not at all!  Kurosaki-san is perfectly fine, and more than that, he’s awake.  Oh!  But not awake at the moment, I’m assuming.  Reio-sama does need a schedule.”

            Gathered around Kon – the resenting conduit between World connections – were Keigo, Mizuiro, Karin, Yuzu, Chad, and Tatsuki; Tessai, Jinta, and Ururu were less involved, with Jinta complaining about company slowing cleanup.

            The shop owner then tilted, his friendly guise shifting to confusion as he peered amongst the faces.  “Oh, I was expected Riruka-san and Yukio-kun to be present.”

            “Well,” said Chad haltingly, clearly uncomfortable about it, “they’re not the types to come when called.  Yukio said he’d done enough for Shinigami.  And Riruka…”  There was a significant pause, like he was figuring out how to explain it delicately.  “She’s been… moping.”

            Urahara sucked on his teeth and tsked.  “Yes,” he pondered aloud, rubbing the stubble of his chin.  “She was rather upset when she had to be removed from Reiokyu.  Sado-san!  If you can relay this message to them, I’d very much appreciate it!”

            Chad gave a nod with an “mm.”

            “Excellent!” cheered Urahara in his overenthusiastic way.  “I hope they take the news of Ichigo’s recovery well…!”

            As Urahara rambled, Karin dropped her cheek in her hand.  “He sure likes to drag things out.  Why can’t he just tell us what’s going on with Ichi-nii?”

            “He said Onii-chan’s awake,” Yuzu whispered back to her, acting like they were in school, keeping her voice low and her attention to the front.  “Th-That’s good.”  Not that she sounded very convinced of that.  There were still so many things Yuzu didn’t understand about this whole Shinigami business, and even less of the position of Reio in the grand scheme of things.  All she really wanted was to see and talk to her big brother, let him tell her he was all right.

            “That’s enough talking about the people who aren’t here!” exclaimed Tatsuki to end Urahara’s account of some Yukio kid and Riruka brat.  “Tell us what’s happened to Ichigo!  If he’s awake, then why isn’t he back yet?  You said he’s doing fine, didn’t you?  He saved your world, now let him come back to his!”

            Urahara’s tone shifted, head tilting down until only a sliver of a solemn eye could see beyond the brim of his hat.  “I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Arisawa-san.  Something has happened to Ichigo that… complicates his ever returning to the Realm of the Living.”

            There was a unified reaction of shock and horror amongst those gathered, though Yuzu was the first to tear up, becoming a quivering mess of emotion; Karin braced her twin with one arm, furrowed her brow, and snapped at the screen, “What are you trying to say?  You want to keep Ichi-nii over there for yourselves?!”

            The odd voice of reason, Keigo instantly rushed to the front of the group, between them and Urahara; Urahara tried to look over Keigo’s shoulder, losing his seriousness.  “Now, c’mon, everyone, don’t act like that!” jeered Keigo, making a goofy face and pointing behind him.  “These Shinigami people always try to spook us before telling us that there’s a solution.  Isn’t that right~♥  Hat-n-Clogs-oyaji~”

            Urahara’s face faltered somewhat.  “O-Oyaji?”

            “C’mon, out with it~♪”  Keigo swirled a finger teasingly.  “You got some device or some special ticket we can use to see Ichigo whenever we want~  And even him staying over there permanently is barely in the realm of possibilities~  Just like that other old guy in the kimono told us~  You Shinigami sure like your pranks~”

            Awkwardly adjusting his hat, Urahara stuttered, “Well, this would certainly take the fun out of it if it were true… but… I’m afraid, for the foreseeable future, Kurosaki-san is stuck here.  Or rather, he is stuck in a place where you could not reach him by yourselves, even with the soul tickets Kyoraku-san gave you.”

            Now, while Yuzu gave up a wail that made Jinta fall over face first into the box he was carrying – He did not want to hear her cry. – all the others with the exception of Chad mobilized like they were going to affront the screen.  Kon gave a cry of fear, pulling himself back and screaming, “I’m just the messenger!”

            “So it was the plan all along!  To keep Ichigo over there for your own convenience!”  Keigo seethed, and then looked back at Mizuiro, losing his intensity for a moment to look like a whiny child.  “I told you they were like that, Mizuiro!  I was right!”

            Mizuiro gave him a dubious glance.  “This isn’t the time for that.”

            Tatsuki ignored their prattling, focusing her rage solely on the shop owner.  “You’re saying”—She held up the ticket that she kept in her pocket ever since it was handed to her, on the off chance that she was needed in any way to help Ichigo or Orihime—“that these are useless now?!”

            “Now, now,” Urahara tried to shush them with calming hands and smile, “I didn’t say they’re useless.  Kurosaki-san is in a place that you can’t get to easily.  But that’s why I needed to gather you all as quickly as possible.  The truth is… I may have a plan.”  He fixed his hat, only his grin showing on his face.  “One that will alleviate his responsibilities.  So, if you care to see him again, you’ll use that pass to get to Soul Society tomorrow morning, Arisawa-san.  It’s your chance to help him.”

            Tatsuki looked at the ticket, and then at Mizuiro and Keigo; the three of them were befuddled.

            “But be sure to pack for a long stay~♥”  Urahara snapped open his fan.  “It’s likely to take longer than a few days!  Goodbye♥”  With that, the transmission ended, and Kon’s head closed back up.  He pawed his cranium to make sure, and then gave a huge sigh of relief.

            “tch!  That Ichigo, always causing problems for me,” he griped, glaring and folding his arms.  Since when did the King Of Newyork become some glorified cellphone?!

            There was silence in the shop for a moment.

            “What do you guys think?  Can we trust him?” Keigo asked, uncertain about Urahara’s motives.

            “He’s not the most straightforward person,” Karin mumbled while helping sniffling Yuzu to her feet, “but… Ichi-nii always did say he was someone we could trust when there’s trouble.  And after Ichi-nii lost his powers, he helped keep our home protected.”

            Chad concurred with a stiff nod.  “He’s got a lot on his mind.  He can just tell us how it is at the moment.  But trust him.  He’ll do what’s right by Ichigo.”  Steadily, he moved through the group, Karin asking where he was going.  “To tell the others.”  He took one more step before pausing dramatically.  Something to say…  Something weighing on his mind…

            Slowly, he turned around, one eye peering out from behind his shaggy bangs.  “… Would you like to come with me?”

            The others followed his line of sight to Kon, and Kon recoiled defensively.  Quaking, a nervous plushie sweat covering him, Kon thought, This guy’s a weird one!

            “No way!” he ultimately screamed, jumping up, kicking and swinging his stubby arms.  “I wanna be caressed in the big, bouncy bosoms of a woman!  Not crushed against some sweaty, hairy dude who reeks!  Dammit!  Why can’t a pretty lady ever take me home?!”

            “hm…”  Chad turned from the outraged lion.  “That’s too bad…”

            “Dammit!  All of Ichigo’s friends are such weirdos!  Creeps and weirdo-hey!”

            “Yeah, yeah, and you’re one of them,” drawled Karin, grabbing Kon by the foot to carelessly carry him home.  Yuzu, in the meantime, was still sniffling while Jinta tried to force a lollipop into her hand.

            “Y-You can have this,” he got out with difficulty, “if-if you just stop crying!”

ccc

ccc Hoohden ccc

            Oh-Etsu smiled big, all teeth as he watched his cup fill with more of that fine sake from Tenjiro’s stash.  The best didn’t come from the Gatoden!  Kirio was too much about portions and refreshment!  No, the best sake came from time and patience!  And that was what the Hot Spring Demon was best at!  Curating alcohol, seasoned for centuries, stored, brewed, all to perfection at a Soul King level!

            “Yyyess!  To Reio-sama!  Things are about to kick up here, right, honeys?!”

            “Hai~ Oh-Etsu-sama~♥” answered the bountiful ladies of his posturing palace.  They giggled amongst themselves afterwards.  “Ichigo-san became the Reio!”  “He’s so handsome!”  “Do you think he’ll visit us soon?”

            Oh-Etsu knocked back his drink, and then begged for another.  The serving girl happily obliged, for nothing pleased her more than to serve sake from her unending cup.  The powers of an Asauchi were an unending wonder!  Nothing gave them more satisfaction than to be used and aid their partner!

            At the same time, the male Zanpakuto working in the back may have some grievances about being out of sight all the time.

            “To Reio-sama!  May his reign last forever~!”

            “Hai~♥”

            Across from him, arms folded and entirely unamused, Mera watched in utter contempt as the Blade God behaved just like any other day.  “You’ve toasted to Ichigo twenty-six times already tonight.  I’d say it’s time you knock it off and get serious.”

            Oh-Etsu didn’t waste the toast for an instant, drinking in one grateful gulp and sighing loudly.  He then held out the cup for a refill, leering at Mera behind his glasses.  “chan-Ichi has given up quite a bit, Mera-chan.  I’d say the least I could do is drink to his health as much as I can in one night.  Things are going to get flashy in the morning, wouldn’t you say?”

            Mera wouldn’t say anything, instead answering with a stern stare.

            His cup refilled, he didn’t chug it and instead swirled the liquid gracefully.  “And it’s your choice… Mera-chan?”  The drink came up to his lips, but he didn’t drink.  The manner of the drink mattered and hinged on her response.

            She gave the smallest scoff.  “Of course.  He is Reio, and I would be honored, of course.”

            A sly tug at the corner of Oh-Etsu’s mouth.  “Well, guard him well, Mera-chan.”  The cup was raised high overhead.  “To Mera-chan!  And to her pursuit of happiness!”

            “Hai~♥”

ccc