multiple fics
Title: Guard the Guards
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 8k
Pairing/Characters: Ichigo/Toshiro, Sosuke Aizen, Gotei 13, Others
Warnings: None
Summary: Seireitei. 600 years post-Winter War. The Gotei Thirteen has changed with the passing of two Captain-Commanders, but some scars still run deep and an impromptu decision opens up a mess of old wounds. The current Captain-Commander, Tōshirō Kurosaki, is made to step up and face his demons, and with society in two halves behind him, he learns just how difficult it is to do what's right.
Notes: See AO3 page due to quantity
Chapter 1 at AO3
Title: Shadows
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ichigo/Toshiro
Warnings: OCD may be distressing for some
Prompt: #005 Envy
Summary: It had spiralled out of control without him noticing.
Ichigo knew that he hadn’t always had OCD, but he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it had become such a demanding part of his life. It had grown gradually, stalking him like a predator in the night, from around about the time his mother had been killed. That day had changed his life in many ways, and he remembered he hadn’t been able to handle it all of the time - he’d been nine, give him some credit. He couldn’t be sure, but he’d say that his OCD had at first been some sort of coping system for the trauma of seeing his mother brutally murdered before his eyes.
If I do this then that won’t happen.
Only, it had spiralled out of control without him noticing.
He didn’t think anybody noticed, really. His father and sisters wallowed in their own despair, and while Ichigo was encouraged to attend therapy classes for his mother’s death, the idea that something as minor and silly as OCD could arise was pushed under the carpet. Except it wasn’t minor, and it wasn’t silly. Irrational, yes (even as a child it hadn’t taken him long to realise that), but people who said it was ‘just OCD’ or sufferers were ‘being stupid’ clearly didn’t know anything about what it felt like to be consumed by the endless abyss of their own mind. They couldn’t comprehend the internal struggle he had every single day not to give in to the soothing voice of his compulsion screaming in his head. They didn’t know what it was like to stand in the bathroom and check, double check, and triple check constantly for a solid fifteen minutes while the tap ran and his hands shone red with an anger so clean that he was sure Yuzu was restocking the soap dispenser every week. They didn’t understand how much Ichigo hated feeling so helpless to his mind. He was a strong person - he’d survived Hollows and Espada and war and death, yet something as tiny as a single thought was capable of bringing him to his knees.
He was good at hiding it. It wasn’t difficult, since living behind a mask was the norm for him anyway, and people always misjudged him. They thought he was young and naïve. Only a few people (Shinji, Kyoraku, Ukitake, Urahara, Tōshirō - those who knew how to look) knew that he was actually clever, that he liked to learn, liked to plan, liked to think. But even they couldn’t see everything, and Ichigo was very good at pretending. If his OCD hit him during training, when he was surrounded by a dozen, two dozen other people, he’d continue smiling and laughing while his brain shrieked at him and his hands itched and his feet twitched with the need to find the nearest bathroom and turn on the tap for God’s sake before he -
There was nothing more important than being clean. Not just in the morning or after a rather vigorous training session, but all of the time. His hands were tainted with his mother’s blood; he could feel it staining his skin, like a mark, a beacon screaming his failure. He had to be clean. And not just for himself, but for others.
I hurt her, I might hurt them too.
Ichigo tried to control it - tried to counteract it. It wasn’t easy, and he didn’t know if he was doing it right (he’d never told anybody, and he’d been too scared to Google it. He didn’t want to be more of a freak than he already was). He’d take a deep breath wherever he was when it struck, and calmly try to reassure himself; tell himself that taking action wasn’t necessary.
I don’t need to be clean because no one is going to get hurt. They’re my friends and they mean everything to me - I’d never hurt them. Don’t go into the bathroom. Go read a book. Cook something. Spar against Renji. Just don’t go into the bathroom.
Ninety-nine per cent of the time this didn’t work. He knew it wouldn’t the moment the compulsion started to creep up his neck and flood his brain, but he tried anyway. He had to because he knew the compulsion was unfounded, that what he was feeling wasn’t right, wasn’t logical. He’d repeat this to himself this even as he rubbed soap into his hands.
Ultimately, that was the worst part. It made him feel like a fool. Sometimes he was sure somebody had noticed his peculiar behaviour - the fact that usually came out of the bathroom red with embarrassment and shuffling his feet along dejectedly was probably the reason for this - but nobody ever made a comment. Shinigami he didn’t know tended to keep clear of him in some wacky, awe-inspired respect, and his friends probably just thought he was weird. Ichigo told himself that he’d rather they not know about it, but sometimes - very occasionally - Renji would do something stupid, or Rukia would get irritated, or Ikkaku would drag him in to spar, and Ichigo would wish more than anything that he could be like them. But that would involve having to sort out his problem, and he didn’t feel confident enough to do that. It wasn’t as simple as just staying away from the bathroom (because he’d love to do that, he really honestly would) since not being able to stay away from the bathroom was the whole point of his OCD in the first place.
Don’t let them see your hands, don’t let them see the blood. They’ll know what you’ve done, they’ll done what you could do to them.
As much as he didn’t want to, he lived with it. Ultimately he resigned himself to the knowledge that there wasn’t a lot else he could do. It wasn’t that bad anyway. He didn’t have a mental break down every day, though a small part of his brain did suggest that that might be because he had so much self-restraint. His OCD was annoying and it got in the way, but it wasn’t killing him. Thus, with his duties to his friends and family in both worlds, Ichigo concluded that there were more important things to worry about, and that bringing up his erratic behaviour just wasn’t worth it.
Tōshirō brought it up eventually, of all people. Realistically this was inevitable, as they’d been dating for the best part of five years at the time. Still, Ichigo was immensely startled when his partner voiced his concern over dinner one night, but efficiently managed to evade any further probing from the ingenious Tenth Division taicho. For the time being, at least. He noticed that Tōshirō started paying a lot more attention, and tried his best to kick his OCD into submission when they were in the same room. Tricky, since they were in an intimate proximity quite a lot of the time (sometimes much more intimate than others), yet somehow Tōshirō waited a solid two months before bringing up the subject again.
“Come to bed,” he called from their room, most likely wrapped up tightly under their thick duvet. Ichigo doubted he’d bothered to put any clothes on after their exploration of each other, and he smiled at the thought. His delight plummeted to the floor, however, at Tōshirō’s next words. “Don’t bring your OCD with you.”
For a second, Ichigo was almost tremendously offended. But he caught himself from where he’d frozen in their en-suite bathroom, and took a deep breath through his nose. He wondered if the sharp noise that echoed in his head could be heard across the room, for Tōshirō responded in kind, calling him softly.
Ichigo realised he wasn’t angry. There had been no doubt in his mind that Tōshirō would work it out eventually - very little got past him - but the stark dismissal had been a surprise. Ichigo had to admit that he’d expected to be lectured, or dragged to the Fourth Division, and he thought a little guiltily that he should have known better. Tōshirō knew him better than anyone, and while his tone showed it was clear that he’d been hesitant at approaching the tentative subject in such a blunt way, he’d been able to gauge the reaction and determined that Ichigo wouldn’t blow up in his face for saying such a thing.
Instead, Ichigo found himself feeling oddly grateful. Tōshirō was trying to assure him that his OCD was irrational. Still, panic set in quickly. The tap continued running, but he carefully dried his hands, walking around the small room a few times like a caged animal. He heard Tōshirō slip on his yukata and exit their bedroom, but even so he couldn’t bring himself to go to bed. He paced the span of the room a couple more times, his nerve exploding with terror, and then the door cracked open and a cup of tea walked in, sweet and steaming.
“I love you,” said Tōshirō, holding a hand out. “Are you done with the towel?”
Ichigo hadn’t even realised he was still holding it. He hesitated, clinging to the fabric reassurance, and glanced over to the sink. Nothing was said for a beat - two beats - then slowly they swapped what they were holding. Tōshirō kissed him on the cheek and turned off the tap. “Drink your tea and come to bed,” he said, eyes bright with encouragement as he wandered back into the other room. He said no more about Ichigo’s behaviour.
Ichigo didn’t either, but he found he didn’t have to. Tōshirō wasn’t after an explanation at that moment, though one would be necessary.
He sipped his tea.
Title: Cogito ergo sum (I think therefore I am)
Fandom: Bleach (His Dark Materials fusion)
Rating: T
Word count: 11,015
Characters: Ichigo, Gotei 13
Warnings: Quite a bit of swearing
Summary: "Oh," said Ichigo, gazing down at his walking, talking flaws lounging around on the floor "And I'm stuck with him?"
Notes: see fic
Cogito ergo sum (I think therefore I am) at AO3
Title: Guard Dog
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: U
Pairing: Ichigo/Toshiro
Warnings: None
Prompt: #017 Sidekick
Summary: "Stay here and look threatening."
Notes: I don't even know what this is. It's not fluff, or angsty, or drama. It just is. human!au. Ichigo and Toshiro are 18-19 ish. I just had to get this out of my head.
“You know, when people say that being best friends is helping each other hide the body, I didn’t think I’d actually have to ever do that with you,” mumbled Tōshirō, lazily gazing down at the probably twenty-something stranger lying sprawled out on the Kurosaki Clinic floor.
The lean, orange haired young man standing beside the body holding a frail plastic chair turned at the voice, his startled expression widening into a dazzled smile. “Tōshirō,” said Ichigo, unusually happy for someone standing in what could well be the beginning of a murder scene. “I forgot you were coming over.” His brown eyes returned to the motionless form on the floor, and then flickered over to the chair in his grasp. Across the room Tōshirō folded his arms over his chest, leaning expectantly against the clinic doorway.
Ichigo put the chair down sheepishly. “Help me get this guy onto one of the beds, would you?”
Tōshirō smacked his lips together, unimpressed with the lack of an answer, but made his way over to help. Ichigo nudged the stranger with his toe. There was no response. “You lack the fine care of a doctor that you father shows,” Tōshirō noted dryly.
“Oi,” complained the other, scowling deeply. The shorter, white haired teenager shrugged in response; a customary motion. “He’ll be fine,” Ichigo added, in reference to the unconscious man. “Grab his feet.”
They lifted him up, both heaving unsteady breaths at the same time. “So he’s not dead?” Tōshirō asked as they waddled sideways across the room. Thankfully the clinic was kept immaculately tidy (unlike the rest of the house), so there was no fear of tripping over anything. “I won’t have to break you out of prison, will I?”
“Oh please,” groaned Ichigo, rolling his eyes. “You’re my boyfriend, not my best friend.”
“It wounds me to take the privilege of being your partner in crime away from Abarai, but can’t I be both?” Tōshirō replied lightly, raising a questioning eyebrow. Ichigo laughed. They settled the man down onto one of the high, pristine white beds, and then simultaneously realised that they’d undoubtedly have to turn him onto his back lest his suffocate into the pillow.
“I hate to break it to you, but I’m not actually planning on getting arrested any time soon,” said Ichigo, as they tried to manhandle the stranger. Their effort appeared to be working well until they misjudged the size of the bed and the body rolled off the side. Tōshirō frowned down at the man at his feet, having jumped out of the way just in time. “Oh leave him there,” sighed Ichigo, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s gonna be out of it for a while anyway - I did hit him pretty hard with the chair.”
Teal eyes snapped upwards at that, and Tōshirō’s permanent frown pressed into a dangerously thin line. “What happened?”
Putting the chair back into its proper place, Ichigo shrugged disinterestedly. “He tried to get into the clinic - like break in, mind you, I’d know if he was a patient - so I grabbed the first thing I could reach. I couldn’t believe it when he didn’t duck, the moron. If someone tried to hit you or me with something, I’d like to think we’d both get out of the way.”
“Not everyone takes karate or kendō lessons,” Tōshirō reminded. “But I like to think that I’ll never reach the point in life where someone tries to knock me out with a chair.”
“Eh, fair enough,” said Ichigo. He stretched his arms above his hand, glancing over at the clock to check the time. “Dad’ll be back soon. You wanna start watching a movie or something?”
“Are we just going to leave him here?” came the question, Tōshirō’s snowy hair tilting towards the man on the ground. “What if he wakes?”
Ichigo seemed to think about that for a moment. It would be incredibly counterproductive if the burglar were to wake while unsupervised for achieve actually what he’d come for. “I’ll go get some masking tape. Stay here and look threatening.”
His boyfriend looked deeply unconvinced with that. Ichigo laughed again and leaned over for a kiss.
“All in a day’s work, yeah?”
Tōshirō swatted him away. “Go and get the stupid tape - I don’t want to have to explain to your father why I’m standing in the clinic with an unconscious man by the bed. It might look like a failed attempt at cheating on you.”
Ichigo’s laughter echoed all the way through the house.
Title: Hazy
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ichigo/Toshiro
Warnings: Swearing
Summary: They're at a party when someone asks: "Are you two dating?"
Notes: Set in the same human!AU as 'Genesis'. It's not required that you read that: here, Ichigo's 19 and Toshiro's 20, and they're both Cambridge University (UK) students.
Two hours, four playlists, and undoubtedly half a dozen-too-many bottles of alcohol into the party, Ichigo had forgotten the identities of most of the people in the room. He could just make out Chad tucked away in the far corner, but the seventeen others lying strewn on the carpet between the bulky Mexican teenager and the sofa where Ichigo was sprawled across were a complete mystery to the ginger medical student. He had a feeling that his dorm mates were down there somewhere, but he was finding it a challenge to comprehend anything past the lip of his current best friend - a bottle of Smirnoff - and the tuffs of white hair tickling his chin. Despite this, or perhaps, because of this, he was pretty certain that it was Tōshirō - something gay karate related surname - lying next to him (practically on top of him), which in any other situation would have amazed Ichigo, except they’d both had too much to drink, and Tōshirō was dreadful at holding his liquor. He wasn’t sure how many Tōshirō had drunk, maybe two, but then since he couldn’t count his own fingers at that given moment in time without giggling, Ichigo’s judgement wasn’t considered extremely reliable.
“Oi Ich! Change the song would ya?” shouted some giant, red-haired guy, and Ichigo rolled backwards and slapped a hand down onto the neon pink iPod beside him, laughing hysterically while he fumbled for the button.
“Stop moving,” grumbled the five-foot cat on his arm, poking him in the side. Yep, it was Tōshirō, and Ichigo patted his head in apology as he shifted back into position. “Piss off.”
“Kitty,” sang Ichigo, taking another swig of his drink. Tōshirō peered up at him with a frown, narrowing his eyes and sniffing like an animal.
“You’re fucking drunk,” he said, his typically smooth and cool speech slurred slightly.
“S’you,” Ichigo replied happily. He tucked his bottle between his legs just in time to catch the dark-haired snorting girl before she fell in his lap, and they both apologised through their bellowing laughter as he pushed her back into the room. She didn’t get very far, landing on her knees on the carpet a foot or two away, and so just flopped onto her back and did a noble impression of a dying fish at his feet.
“Least I don’t bloody sound like it,” continued Tōshirō, apparently ignorant of the exchange.
“Fucking swearing,” Ichigo grated, flicking him on the forehead. Tōshirō growled something and fixed him with a glare, but since Ichigo just beamed back at him, he gave up with looking menacing and let himself curl back up against the leaner body. There was a blanket over Tōshirō’s legs, Ichigo noticed, or maybe a shirt - it wasn’t his shirt thankfully (he had to check) - and Ichigo stuck out his tongue in thought. “Whoo doing here?”
“Hell if I know,” grunted Tōshirō. “Why the hell’d I come?”
“Yay,” laughed Ichigo, dribbling the rest of his Smirnoff down him when he tried to finish it off. “You ditta have to.”
There was a deep sigh from Tōshirō. Across the room somebody screamed and three voices groaned loudly as a glass smashed against something, drunken accusations flying around the buzzed heads of the twenty-odd university students. “You asked,” he said simply.
Ichigo frowned at that. “Whatta you, my girlfriend?” Tōshirō wasn’t one for events or massive meet-ups - Ichigo had learnt this just a few weeks after meeting him - so he’d been more than surprised when the prodigious Math student had agreed to spend at a friend’s party with him. Tōshirō knew less people in the room than Ichigo did, which was probably why they were stuck together like glue and Ichigo hadn’t been snogged by anybody yet. Not that he was suggesting Tōshirō was warding people away - it wasn’t like they were going out or anything, but more that being attached to the hip with someone in a small space limited the happenings that one could get up to.
Somebody took this moment to throw themselves onto the sofa next to these, squealing in such a high-pitched delight that Ichigo had to lean away when she thrust her face towards his. “What?” she cried, eyes blown in wonder. “Are you two dating?”
“No,” they snapped together, Ichigo’s denial border-lining a hysterical cackle. He realised then that something tasted funny on his tongue, and since he was one hundred and ten per cent certain that it wasn’t the alcohol, he turned to Tōshirō and said, “Could be.”
“What?” the other replied, having already forgotten what the conversation was about.
“Da’ing,” said Ichigo innocently. He had to raise his voice as the next song blasted out of the speakers. “If you wanna. Known you for ages.”
Tōshirō was quiet for a moment. He was stared at Ichigo was a weird expression on his rosy face, and it made Ichigo smile. “You want to?”
“Totally yeah.”
There was a beat of some girly mainstream music before the reply. “Sure, why not.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah - cool - yeah.” He turned a grin towards the girl watching them from the other sofa. “We’re dating now.”
“Oh my god,” she said, astonished. Then she got up and hurried away.
Ichigo ignored her. “You want pizza?” he asked Tōshirō, dropping his Smirnoff. He’d had enough to drink.
Tōshirō shrugged, smiling back at him. He pulled the blanket up higher over himself. “Yeah, whatever.”
Title: The Stages of Flying (Parts 2 (and 3) of 4)
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: NC-17 (part 4 only)
Word count: --
Pairing/characters: Ichigo/Toshiro, Rangiku, Yuzu, Karin, Isshin, Others, OCs
Warnings: Swearing, god-awful amounts of fluff, drama, so much pining, sex (part 4 only) - characters will be 18 at this point
Notes: See chapter.
Part II: Fall at AO3
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 8k
Pairing/Characters: Ichigo/Toshiro, Sosuke Aizen, Gotei 13, Others
Warnings: None
Summary: Seireitei. 600 years post-Winter War. The Gotei Thirteen has changed with the passing of two Captain-Commanders, but some scars still run deep and an impromptu decision opens up a mess of old wounds. The current Captain-Commander, Tōshirō Kurosaki, is made to step up and face his demons, and with society in two halves behind him, he learns just how difficult it is to do what's right.
Notes: See AO3 page due to quantity
Chapter 1 at AO3
Title: Shadows
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ichigo/Toshiro
Warnings: OCD may be distressing for some
Prompt: #005 Envy
Summary: It had spiralled out of control without him noticing.
Ichigo knew that he hadn’t always had OCD, but he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it had become such a demanding part of his life. It had grown gradually, stalking him like a predator in the night, from around about the time his mother had been killed. That day had changed his life in many ways, and he remembered he hadn’t been able to handle it all of the time - he’d been nine, give him some credit. He couldn’t be sure, but he’d say that his OCD had at first been some sort of coping system for the trauma of seeing his mother brutally murdered before his eyes.
If I do this then that won’t happen.
Only, it had spiralled out of control without him noticing.
He didn’t think anybody noticed, really. His father and sisters wallowed in their own despair, and while Ichigo was encouraged to attend therapy classes for his mother’s death, the idea that something as minor and silly as OCD could arise was pushed under the carpet. Except it wasn’t minor, and it wasn’t silly. Irrational, yes (even as a child it hadn’t taken him long to realise that), but people who said it was ‘just OCD’ or sufferers were ‘being stupid’ clearly didn’t know anything about what it felt like to be consumed by the endless abyss of their own mind. They couldn’t comprehend the internal struggle he had every single day not to give in to the soothing voice of his compulsion screaming in his head. They didn’t know what it was like to stand in the bathroom and check, double check, and triple check constantly for a solid fifteen minutes while the tap ran and his hands shone red with an anger so clean that he was sure Yuzu was restocking the soap dispenser every week. They didn’t understand how much Ichigo hated feeling so helpless to his mind. He was a strong person - he’d survived Hollows and Espada and war and death, yet something as tiny as a single thought was capable of bringing him to his knees.
He was good at hiding it. It wasn’t difficult, since living behind a mask was the norm for him anyway, and people always misjudged him. They thought he was young and naïve. Only a few people (Shinji, Kyoraku, Ukitake, Urahara, Tōshirō - those who knew how to look) knew that he was actually clever, that he liked to learn, liked to plan, liked to think. But even they couldn’t see everything, and Ichigo was very good at pretending. If his OCD hit him during training, when he was surrounded by a dozen, two dozen other people, he’d continue smiling and laughing while his brain shrieked at him and his hands itched and his feet twitched with the need to find the nearest bathroom and turn on the tap for God’s sake before he -
There was nothing more important than being clean. Not just in the morning or after a rather vigorous training session, but all of the time. His hands were tainted with his mother’s blood; he could feel it staining his skin, like a mark, a beacon screaming his failure. He had to be clean. And not just for himself, but for others.
I hurt her, I might hurt them too.
Ichigo tried to control it - tried to counteract it. It wasn’t easy, and he didn’t know if he was doing it right (he’d never told anybody, and he’d been too scared to Google it. He didn’t want to be more of a freak than he already was). He’d take a deep breath wherever he was when it struck, and calmly try to reassure himself; tell himself that taking action wasn’t necessary.
I don’t need to be clean because no one is going to get hurt. They’re my friends and they mean everything to me - I’d never hurt them. Don’t go into the bathroom. Go read a book. Cook something. Spar against Renji. Just don’t go into the bathroom.
Ninety-nine per cent of the time this didn’t work. He knew it wouldn’t the moment the compulsion started to creep up his neck and flood his brain, but he tried anyway. He had to because he knew the compulsion was unfounded, that what he was feeling wasn’t right, wasn’t logical. He’d repeat this to himself this even as he rubbed soap into his hands.
Ultimately, that was the worst part. It made him feel like a fool. Sometimes he was sure somebody had noticed his peculiar behaviour - the fact that usually came out of the bathroom red with embarrassment and shuffling his feet along dejectedly was probably the reason for this - but nobody ever made a comment. Shinigami he didn’t know tended to keep clear of him in some wacky, awe-inspired respect, and his friends probably just thought he was weird. Ichigo told himself that he’d rather they not know about it, but sometimes - very occasionally - Renji would do something stupid, or Rukia would get irritated, or Ikkaku would drag him in to spar, and Ichigo would wish more than anything that he could be like them. But that would involve having to sort out his problem, and he didn’t feel confident enough to do that. It wasn’t as simple as just staying away from the bathroom (because he’d love to do that, he really honestly would) since not being able to stay away from the bathroom was the whole point of his OCD in the first place.
Don’t let them see your hands, don’t let them see the blood. They’ll know what you’ve done, they’ll done what you could do to them.
As much as he didn’t want to, he lived with it. Ultimately he resigned himself to the knowledge that there wasn’t a lot else he could do. It wasn’t that bad anyway. He didn’t have a mental break down every day, though a small part of his brain did suggest that that might be because he had so much self-restraint. His OCD was annoying and it got in the way, but it wasn’t killing him. Thus, with his duties to his friends and family in both worlds, Ichigo concluded that there were more important things to worry about, and that bringing up his erratic behaviour just wasn’t worth it.
Tōshirō brought it up eventually, of all people. Realistically this was inevitable, as they’d been dating for the best part of five years at the time. Still, Ichigo was immensely startled when his partner voiced his concern over dinner one night, but efficiently managed to evade any further probing from the ingenious Tenth Division taicho. For the time being, at least. He noticed that Tōshirō started paying a lot more attention, and tried his best to kick his OCD into submission when they were in the same room. Tricky, since they were in an intimate proximity quite a lot of the time (sometimes much more intimate than others), yet somehow Tōshirō waited a solid two months before bringing up the subject again.
“Come to bed,” he called from their room, most likely wrapped up tightly under their thick duvet. Ichigo doubted he’d bothered to put any clothes on after their exploration of each other, and he smiled at the thought. His delight plummeted to the floor, however, at Tōshirō’s next words. “Don’t bring your OCD with you.”
For a second, Ichigo was almost tremendously offended. But he caught himself from where he’d frozen in their en-suite bathroom, and took a deep breath through his nose. He wondered if the sharp noise that echoed in his head could be heard across the room, for Tōshirō responded in kind, calling him softly.
Ichigo realised he wasn’t angry. There had been no doubt in his mind that Tōshirō would work it out eventually - very little got past him - but the stark dismissal had been a surprise. Ichigo had to admit that he’d expected to be lectured, or dragged to the Fourth Division, and he thought a little guiltily that he should have known better. Tōshirō knew him better than anyone, and while his tone showed it was clear that he’d been hesitant at approaching the tentative subject in such a blunt way, he’d been able to gauge the reaction and determined that Ichigo wouldn’t blow up in his face for saying such a thing.
Instead, Ichigo found himself feeling oddly grateful. Tōshirō was trying to assure him that his OCD was irrational. Still, panic set in quickly. The tap continued running, but he carefully dried his hands, walking around the small room a few times like a caged animal. He heard Tōshirō slip on his yukata and exit their bedroom, but even so he couldn’t bring himself to go to bed. He paced the span of the room a couple more times, his nerve exploding with terror, and then the door cracked open and a cup of tea walked in, sweet and steaming.
“I love you,” said Tōshirō, holding a hand out. “Are you done with the towel?”
Ichigo hadn’t even realised he was still holding it. He hesitated, clinging to the fabric reassurance, and glanced over to the sink. Nothing was said for a beat - two beats - then slowly they swapped what they were holding. Tōshirō kissed him on the cheek and turned off the tap. “Drink your tea and come to bed,” he said, eyes bright with encouragement as he wandered back into the other room. He said no more about Ichigo’s behaviour.
Ichigo didn’t either, but he found he didn’t have to. Tōshirō wasn’t after an explanation at that moment, though one would be necessary.
He sipped his tea.
Title: Cogito ergo sum (I think therefore I am)
Fandom: Bleach (His Dark Materials fusion)
Rating: T
Word count: 11,015
Characters: Ichigo, Gotei 13
Warnings: Quite a bit of swearing
Summary: "Oh," said Ichigo, gazing down at his walking, talking flaws lounging around on the floor "And I'm stuck with him?"
Notes: see fic
Cogito ergo sum (I think therefore I am) at AO3
Title: Guard Dog
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: U
Pairing: Ichigo/Toshiro
Warnings: None
Prompt: #017 Sidekick
Summary: "Stay here and look threatening."
Notes: I don't even know what this is. It's not fluff, or angsty, or drama. It just is. human!au. Ichigo and Toshiro are 18-19 ish. I just had to get this out of my head.
“You know, when people say that being best friends is helping each other hide the body, I didn’t think I’d actually have to ever do that with you,” mumbled Tōshirō, lazily gazing down at the probably twenty-something stranger lying sprawled out on the Kurosaki Clinic floor.
The lean, orange haired young man standing beside the body holding a frail plastic chair turned at the voice, his startled expression widening into a dazzled smile. “Tōshirō,” said Ichigo, unusually happy for someone standing in what could well be the beginning of a murder scene. “I forgot you were coming over.” His brown eyes returned to the motionless form on the floor, and then flickered over to the chair in his grasp. Across the room Tōshirō folded his arms over his chest, leaning expectantly against the clinic doorway.
Ichigo put the chair down sheepishly. “Help me get this guy onto one of the beds, would you?”
Tōshirō smacked his lips together, unimpressed with the lack of an answer, but made his way over to help. Ichigo nudged the stranger with his toe. There was no response. “You lack the fine care of a doctor that you father shows,” Tōshirō noted dryly.
“Oi,” complained the other, scowling deeply. The shorter, white haired teenager shrugged in response; a customary motion. “He’ll be fine,” Ichigo added, in reference to the unconscious man. “Grab his feet.”
They lifted him up, both heaving unsteady breaths at the same time. “So he’s not dead?” Tōshirō asked as they waddled sideways across the room. Thankfully the clinic was kept immaculately tidy (unlike the rest of the house), so there was no fear of tripping over anything. “I won’t have to break you out of prison, will I?”
“Oh please,” groaned Ichigo, rolling his eyes. “You’re my boyfriend, not my best friend.”
“It wounds me to take the privilege of being your partner in crime away from Abarai, but can’t I be both?” Tōshirō replied lightly, raising a questioning eyebrow. Ichigo laughed. They settled the man down onto one of the high, pristine white beds, and then simultaneously realised that they’d undoubtedly have to turn him onto his back lest his suffocate into the pillow.
“I hate to break it to you, but I’m not actually planning on getting arrested any time soon,” said Ichigo, as they tried to manhandle the stranger. Their effort appeared to be working well until they misjudged the size of the bed and the body rolled off the side. Tōshirō frowned down at the man at his feet, having jumped out of the way just in time. “Oh leave him there,” sighed Ichigo, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s gonna be out of it for a while anyway - I did hit him pretty hard with the chair.”
Teal eyes snapped upwards at that, and Tōshirō’s permanent frown pressed into a dangerously thin line. “What happened?”
Putting the chair back into its proper place, Ichigo shrugged disinterestedly. “He tried to get into the clinic - like break in, mind you, I’d know if he was a patient - so I grabbed the first thing I could reach. I couldn’t believe it when he didn’t duck, the moron. If someone tried to hit you or me with something, I’d like to think we’d both get out of the way.”
“Not everyone takes karate or kendō lessons,” Tōshirō reminded. “But I like to think that I’ll never reach the point in life where someone tries to knock me out with a chair.”
“Eh, fair enough,” said Ichigo. He stretched his arms above his hand, glancing over at the clock to check the time. “Dad’ll be back soon. You wanna start watching a movie or something?”
“Are we just going to leave him here?” came the question, Tōshirō’s snowy hair tilting towards the man on the ground. “What if he wakes?”
Ichigo seemed to think about that for a moment. It would be incredibly counterproductive if the burglar were to wake while unsupervised for achieve actually what he’d come for. “I’ll go get some masking tape. Stay here and look threatening.”
His boyfriend looked deeply unconvinced with that. Ichigo laughed again and leaned over for a kiss.
“All in a day’s work, yeah?”
Tōshirō swatted him away. “Go and get the stupid tape - I don’t want to have to explain to your father why I’m standing in the clinic with an unconscious man by the bed. It might look like a failed attempt at cheating on you.”
Ichigo’s laughter echoed all the way through the house.
Title: Hazy
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ichigo/Toshiro
Warnings: Swearing
Summary: They're at a party when someone asks: "Are you two dating?"
Notes: Set in the same human!AU as 'Genesis'. It's not required that you read that: here, Ichigo's 19 and Toshiro's 20, and they're both Cambridge University (UK) students.
Two hours, four playlists, and undoubtedly half a dozen-too-many bottles of alcohol into the party, Ichigo had forgotten the identities of most of the people in the room. He could just make out Chad tucked away in the far corner, but the seventeen others lying strewn on the carpet between the bulky Mexican teenager and the sofa where Ichigo was sprawled across were a complete mystery to the ginger medical student. He had a feeling that his dorm mates were down there somewhere, but he was finding it a challenge to comprehend anything past the lip of his current best friend - a bottle of Smirnoff - and the tuffs of white hair tickling his chin. Despite this, or perhaps, because of this, he was pretty certain that it was Tōshirō - something gay karate related surname - lying next to him (practically on top of him), which in any other situation would have amazed Ichigo, except they’d both had too much to drink, and Tōshirō was dreadful at holding his liquor. He wasn’t sure how many Tōshirō had drunk, maybe two, but then since he couldn’t count his own fingers at that given moment in time without giggling, Ichigo’s judgement wasn’t considered extremely reliable.
“Oi Ich! Change the song would ya?” shouted some giant, red-haired guy, and Ichigo rolled backwards and slapped a hand down onto the neon pink iPod beside him, laughing hysterically while he fumbled for the button.
“Stop moving,” grumbled the five-foot cat on his arm, poking him in the side. Yep, it was Tōshirō, and Ichigo patted his head in apology as he shifted back into position. “Piss off.”
“Kitty,” sang Ichigo, taking another swig of his drink. Tōshirō peered up at him with a frown, narrowing his eyes and sniffing like an animal.
“You’re fucking drunk,” he said, his typically smooth and cool speech slurred slightly.
“S’you,” Ichigo replied happily. He tucked his bottle between his legs just in time to catch the dark-haired snorting girl before she fell in his lap, and they both apologised through their bellowing laughter as he pushed her back into the room. She didn’t get very far, landing on her knees on the carpet a foot or two away, and so just flopped onto her back and did a noble impression of a dying fish at his feet.
“Least I don’t bloody sound like it,” continued Tōshirō, apparently ignorant of the exchange.
“Fucking swearing,” Ichigo grated, flicking him on the forehead. Tōshirō growled something and fixed him with a glare, but since Ichigo just beamed back at him, he gave up with looking menacing and let himself curl back up against the leaner body. There was a blanket over Tōshirō’s legs, Ichigo noticed, or maybe a shirt - it wasn’t his shirt thankfully (he had to check) - and Ichigo stuck out his tongue in thought. “Whoo doing here?”
“Hell if I know,” grunted Tōshirō. “Why the hell’d I come?”
“Yay,” laughed Ichigo, dribbling the rest of his Smirnoff down him when he tried to finish it off. “You ditta have to.”
There was a deep sigh from Tōshirō. Across the room somebody screamed and three voices groaned loudly as a glass smashed against something, drunken accusations flying around the buzzed heads of the twenty-odd university students. “You asked,” he said simply.
Ichigo frowned at that. “Whatta you, my girlfriend?” Tōshirō wasn’t one for events or massive meet-ups - Ichigo had learnt this just a few weeks after meeting him - so he’d been more than surprised when the prodigious Math student had agreed to spend at a friend’s party with him. Tōshirō knew less people in the room than Ichigo did, which was probably why they were stuck together like glue and Ichigo hadn’t been snogged by anybody yet. Not that he was suggesting Tōshirō was warding people away - it wasn’t like they were going out or anything, but more that being attached to the hip with someone in a small space limited the happenings that one could get up to.
Somebody took this moment to throw themselves onto the sofa next to these, squealing in such a high-pitched delight that Ichigo had to lean away when she thrust her face towards his. “What?” she cried, eyes blown in wonder. “Are you two dating?”
“No,” they snapped together, Ichigo’s denial border-lining a hysterical cackle. He realised then that something tasted funny on his tongue, and since he was one hundred and ten per cent certain that it wasn’t the alcohol, he turned to Tōshirō and said, “Could be.”
“What?” the other replied, having already forgotten what the conversation was about.
“Da’ing,” said Ichigo innocently. He had to raise his voice as the next song blasted out of the speakers. “If you wanna. Known you for ages.”
Tōshirō was quiet for a moment. He was stared at Ichigo was a weird expression on his rosy face, and it made Ichigo smile. “You want to?”
“Totally yeah.”
There was a beat of some girly mainstream music before the reply. “Sure, why not.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah - cool - yeah.” He turned a grin towards the girl watching them from the other sofa. “We’re dating now.”
“Oh my god,” she said, astonished. Then she got up and hurried away.
Ichigo ignored her. “You want pizza?” he asked Tōshirō, dropping his Smirnoff. He’d had enough to drink.
Tōshirō shrugged, smiling back at him. He pulled the blanket up higher over himself. “Yeah, whatever.”
Title: The Stages of Flying (Parts 2 (and 3) of 4)
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: NC-17 (part 4 only)
Word count: --
Pairing/characters: Ichigo/Toshiro, Rangiku, Yuzu, Karin, Isshin, Others, OCs
Warnings: Swearing, god-awful amounts of fluff, drama, so much pining, sex (part 4 only) - characters will be 18 at this point
Notes: See chapter.
Part II: Fall at AO3