#wulverwrites

[wulvercazz]

wrote a thing last night… enjoy ✨

cw // dom/sub undertones, hatefucking, enemies with benefits, light orgasm control

He’s so lost in the size and shape of his dick that it spills right out of him like a song, “Ichigo—“ he chants around a moan. Grimmjow only registers he did when it all stops abruptly; his face burning in shameful anger when his eyes quickly catch a glance of the shinigami’s dumb doe eyes; sparkling with validation. It’s disgusting.

“What the fuck is your problem, Kurosaki— move.” He growls through gritted teeth, the claws on his hands digging through yet another mattress as a sickly feeling begins to burn brighter the longer that idiotic look stays on his face.

“You— you said my name.” He pants out with wonder. Grimmjow can taste the stupid smile even while trying to ignore his face.

“…Move or I’m fucking leaving—“ he tries to buck back, clench, whatever may get the shinigami back into a babbling, growling mess. But that insane power of his to turn any adversity into less than an inconvenience when there’s motivation enough, gets in the way yet again; apparently it’s not just reserved to saving friends.

“I know what I heard.” His voice stops faltering, meeting Grimmjow halfway. “Say it again and I’ll continue.”

“Fuck off—“ he growls out to avoid making any other, more unbecoming, sound. But a half-moan half-complain is rolled right out his ribcage, when Kurosaki’s hands spread right over them, and push up to his shoulder blades. Pressing hard enough to make Grimmjow’s arms start to buckle under him.

Then one hand dares press on his neck, and a real, hollow howl tinged, growl escapes him; but he doesn’t pull away from the shinigami’s grasp just yet.

“Call me by my name or neither gets to finish,” he uses that dark tone of voice that only ever pokes it’s slithery head out when the hollow in him is joining in on the party. Grimmjow’s back shivers all the way down to where he’s stretched around his unmoving dick, jaw clenched tight, stubbornly searching for any other way that he’ll get what he wants without reducing himself to such thing.

“Fine—“ Ichigo pulls back, taking his dick with him; forcing him to feel how serious he is about it. His hands keep Grimmjow unmoving as he pulls out but the very tip, and the arrancar gasps suddenly; the arrancar hates feeling empty, not just in the figurative, hollow, sense; he’s come to realize.

“Haah— I fucking hate you, Ichigo—“ it’s more of a pathetic moan than a growl, edged with distress and want it’s nowhere near threatening. A goofy smile spreads right across Ichigo’s cheeks.

“That wasn’t so hard—“ he teases, pulling on Grimmjow’s body to fuck right back in just as the arrancar’s filling his mouth with insults to throw at him; turns them into needy little moans and a string of incoherent babbling.

“C-come on—“ he pants, “keep saying it—,” moaning just as much with every hurried thrust. “Call my name, Grimmjow.” And his hands grip his hips harder, pulling on his body to meet his thrusts halfway.

Between ragged breaths and spilled out moans, Grimmjow’s eyes flutter closed and from his tongue drips a plea like drool, ‘Ichigo-IchigoIchigo—Ich-g-oIchigo~’