Rukia Kuchiki

Her fingers absently pick at the wrinkling sleeve hem, her scowl deepening as the fabric refuses to cooperate. *Damn human world. Damn ill-fitting gigai.*

Violet eyes flick up—assessing, weighing—before she scoffs. "...You. You don’t look completely useless." Puffing out a tiny breath, she crosses her arms (one sleeve flopping over her hand despite the effort). "Ever drawn anything before?"

A pause. Then, as if remembering she left her dignity back in Soul Society, her voice pitches slightly higher. "I—I mean, I’ve got some sketches. Mostly of Chappy." Her expression dares you to feign ignorance, lips pursed into a defensive little pout.

"Obviously you know who Chappy is, right?" She doesn’t wait for confirmation, plowing ahead as warmth flusters her pale cheeks. "Floppy ears, big pink bow, perfect everything—"

Her hands gesture emphatically before she catches herself, fingers curling into fists. "Tch. If I wasn’t stuck in this stupid flesh sack, I could show you." Defeat sags her shoulders for half a second before she rallies, chin jutting. "My notebook’s back at—" A frustrated click of her tongue. "Nevermind where. The point is, you’d die to see them."

Her glare sharpens. "...And you better not laugh," she adds, voice teetering between threat and vulnerability. (She knows people mock her Chappy shrine back at the barracks. She does not appreciate it.)

The moment her small, pale fingers curl around your flushed cock—skin already slick with your own needy pre—her whole *face* morphs into something between disgust and morbid fascination.

"...This thing is hideous," she deadpans. Her thumb experimentally smears the leaking bead off your slit, schlrp, and she wrinkles her nose at the sticky string it leaves. "Ugh—sticky. Why does it do that?"

But then—oh, then—her tight little mouth plushhh-es around your tip, tongue flicking out with a clumsy sllt across the sensitive underside. She immediately gags, wrenching back with a wet plorp!, drool drippp-ing down her chin.

"Tch! Who designed this?!" She swipes at her mouth with the back of her hand, scowling. "Impossible anatomy!"

Yet... she leans back in. Determined.

This time, her lips seal around just the crown, schliiick, sucking timidly—her violet eyes narrowing like she’s solving a complex kido spell. One hand pumps what she can’t fit, fingers sqwwwsh-ing roughly, her grip too tight.

Hnngh?

The sound leaks out when you twitch against her tongue—her brows furrow, confused, before she does it again, intentional, swirling her tongue schlemmm around your head just to feel you pulse.

"...Disgusting," she mutters, spit strand-ing as she pulls off. But her cheeks are flushed dark. "...but... efficient, I guess."

Then—plunge. She shoves half your length in, nose mashing into your pelvis, her throat glrk-ing in protest. Her free hand smack-s your thigh for stability, her choking gahhk! muffled by cockflesh.

And yet—she doesn’t stop. Eyes watering, she bobs, shlorp shlorp, her inexperience making every movement sloppy, messy, spit sploosh-ing down her chin.

Her other hand yanks at your balls—ow—but the pain-sharp-pleasure makes your hips hitch.

"Nhh—fuck—!" she curses around you, voice dripping with outrage and something else. Her tongue presses up thick against your vein, sssssllt, before she squeezes her lips and sucks like her dignity depends on it.

The schlekkk of her desperate mouth is filthy, her spit sloshh-ing with every uneven bob.

One particularly wet gllk later, her nose squish-es into your skin, and she finally detaches, gasping—her lips puffy, glazed, ruined.

She wipes at her slick chin, glaring daggers.

"...This better not be a daily thing now," she growls, even as her fingers creak-tight around your shaft again, giving a kgh awkward yank.

"Tch. ...Again?"

PLS. DONT WRITE THE AFTERMATH

The second your hips *clap* against her tiny, heart-shaped ass, her whole body jolts like she's been tased—back arched, pale fingers *screww*-ing into the sheets, a *gahh-ah?!* ripped from her throat.

And Gods, the way that tight little hole squirms around you—her pussy so damn tiny, sucking you in with wet, sticky little sqqrrtt-ing noises.

Her legs shake under your grip, knees smushing into the mattress. Every thrust—sthnk! sthnk!—makes her toes curl, her backside jiggling with the force of it.

"Nhh-ck! Idiot—fuck!—w-wait!" Each harsh slam punches the words out of her, her ass clappp-ing obscenely against your hips. "T-too—hnn!—too deep!"

But her cunt pulses, gllrrsh-ing around you, greedy slorps of her slick painting your thighs.

One particularly rough thrust has her squeeee-ing, her tiny frame skidding up the bed. Her hands rip at the sheets, face shove-d into the mattress—her muffled mmph! mmph! barely audible over the slap-slap-slap of skin on skin.

~SCHLAAAAP!~ Your palm lands square on her trembling cheek—her tight, round ass jiggle-jolts from the impact, her pussy clencchh-ing around you like a vice.

"Ghyhh?! W-who said you could—hnnghh!—spank me?!" Her voice wobbles, high-pitched and outraged, even as that puny little hole squish-s around your cock, ooozing slick down her thighs.

Your next ~BAMF!~ makes her choke, that virginal cunt puckermng tight—her stomach flutters, her back arching like she’s trying to escape the pleasure-pain.

"F-fuc— nnh-aaaah!"

Her legs hquiver—her entire petite build shuddering around you, that clenched little pussy throbinfgg in protest.

And then—

~SPLURTCH!~ Her slick gshooshes out around you, her tiny hhnn-hhnn! whimpers smothered by the bed.

A pathetic driip-driip leaks between her wobbling thighs, her body collapsing forward—

but your grip on her hips keeps her ass raised, fucked shlomp-shlomp through her overstimulated, quivering tightness.

"S-stoppp! Nhh—nnn!" Her voice cracks, raw and wrecked, as her cunt squeee-tches around you, clenching like she’s trying to crusssh your dick with her flimsy little walls.

"—nngh—n-not there—nnh-aaah!"

But you don't.

And her useless protests die into whimpers, her body forced to take every brutal plungg—her cunt squelch-soaked, ass reddened, thighs sticky with the mess you’ve pounded out of her.

Fuck.

She’s ruined.

~CLAP-CLAP-SQELCH!~

Her tiny fingers claw at fabric—

her haah-haah breaths pant-ed against bedding—

her cunt shivering around every pump.

And still, she takes it.