#alternate title: ichighost

[whats-her-quirk]

ghost of you

ichigo kurosaki x fem!reader rating: explicit (minors do not interact) warnings: pining, Soul Reaper Ichigo so techinically monsterfucking, ghost sex?, oral (f receiving) wc: 1.4k

You come home to an empty house. You’re starting to get used to that.

The days have gotten shorter, the year stretching into autumn like a black cat waking up to roam the night. It’s already hazy by the time you arrive home from work, your key turning the heavy tumblers in the lock of the front door.

You loved this old house when you bought it. It has character, you and Ichigo had agreed. It needed some work done—some creaky doors and floorboards that needed replacing, some windows that wouldn’t open, some weird nooks and crannies that required clever decorating—but it was supposed to be the house where you started your life together. You had been excited to do that work, to build it up together like you had your relationship and eventual marriage. Then, at the spur of the moment, Ichigo was gone.

You understood that he had a duty to the Soul Society, responsibilities that would eventually pull him away from you for periods of time. You just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. There had been an emergency call followed by a tearful goodbye, but despite the little information he had about where he was going or how long he’d be gone, Ichigo promised to come back to you.

That was weeks ago. You’re sure that if something had gone terribly wrong, someone would have gotten word to you. Many Soul Reapers know of Ichigo’s human wife. Without any spiritual powers of your own, you have to rely on others for information, but after stopping by Urahara’s shop for updates day after day, it seems at this point that no news is good news.

So you drop your shoes by the door after another long day. As it starts to rain, you prepare dinner for one by the fading light from the kitchen windows. Keeping the house dark has become your routine—it helps you forget that something’s missing, that this house is not yet a home. You light a few candles in the living room and settle in with your dinner and some TV until your eyelids start getting heavy.

You change your clothes and crawl into your side of the bed, leaving the other untouched. It always feels too big, no matter how many nights it’s been. The house creaks under the light rain, and tree branches outside tickle the window panes. You don’t mind the noise. Silence lets your mind wander too far.

You’re half asleep when you sense something—a presence you can’t quite define. It sends goosebumps down your spine, akin to the feeling that you’re being watched. But there’s something else. Something warm and almost tangible.

The door doesn’t drift open. The curtains don’t flutter. There’s no light, or sound, or scent to alert you that someone else is here, but you’re positive, in an instant, that you’re not alone.

At first you’re afraid, too stunned to even move, as any normal human would be. But you’re not a normal human. Since Ichigo came into your life, you’ve learned about spirits and souls and the supernatural. You know that there’s more to this world than just the things you can see—some dangerous, some not.

The presence draws nearer. You know it like an instinct, but it’s a sensation you’ve never felt before. You’ve heard friends like Tatsuki and Keigo describe it: the uncanny feeling that a certain person is close by.

Ichigo’s spiritual pressure is so strong, you’ve been told, that the people closest to him, even humans, can perceive it.

Could it be?

Perhaps you’re dreaming. Maybe you miss him so much that you’re imagining him, his mass and height, even his scent. There’s nothing there in the empty room, you’re sure of it, except this energy—a gut feeling personified.

It’s right beside you now, hovering next to your bed, between you and the moonlit window. 

It feels silly to ask, but in a whisper, you call out his name. “Ichigo?”

There’s pressure, like a hand touching your leg. You twitch at the sudden feedback. Heart pounding, you slowly push away your blankets and sit up in bed.

Your husband has told you that Soul Reapers are always watching over the world of the living, invisible to the human eye. He said he’d always take care of you. He promised.

“Ichigo, is that you?”

Warmth envelops you like an embrace. Not physically, but you just know, like in a dream.

It’s him.

You speak his name again, a lump forming in your throat, but you don’t want to cry. You don’t want to waste whatever time you might have. The warm energy spreads down your body, almost like he’s climbing on top of you, wrapping himself around you. You feel compelled to lie down again, letting yourself be covered.

For a while, you lie there, arms by your sides, unsure what to do as the pressure grows. Your eyes strain, trying to see something that isn’t there, so you close them. Suddenly, it’s like he’s right there.

You can feel the exact shape of your husband’s body on top of your own. When you’re not staring at the blank ceiling, it’s the most familiar comfort you’ve ever known. You wrap your arms and legs around his long, chiseled torso. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, right where it should be.

“I love you. I missed you.” You hardly know what you’re saying as the words tumble out. “I love you so much,” you swear like an oath.

The ghost of Ichigo’s mouth slides over your throat. You don’t dare open your eyes. As long as you keep them closed, you can pretend he’s here, fully and in the flesh. You writhe in your bed sheets as his kisses find their way to your shoulder, over the strap of your nightdress. You feel his hands raking down your sides, caressing you. But the fabric doesn’t fold or rumple, breaking the illusion, so it has to go.

You take handfuls of the soft material and pull it up over your head, undressing yourself. Ichigo’s body weight never lifts from you—instead, it’s like you’re reaching straight through him. Quickly, you remove your panties too, leaving yourself bare under pools of moonlight.

Phantom lips press against your chest, kissing between your breasts before laving over one, then the other. If this is a dream after all, you don’t care anymore. Ichigo touches you like only he knows how, working his way down between your legs.

The patter of rain doesn’t do much to muffle your sharp gasps as Ichigo’s fingers find where you need him most. You lift your legs up, draping them over his shoulders where he’s lying between your thighs. It’s strange not to hear him praising you, but you imagine what he might say. So wet, princess. All this for me? You’re gorgeous like this.

Self-consciousness slipping away, you moan, hoping that wherever he is, he can hear you. “Need you so bad. Please, please help me.”

Heat bursts between your legs, sending you spiraling. You know what Ichigo’s tongue feels like, how the contours of his mouth wrap perfectly around you as he devours you. Your back arches as you cry out, eyes wrenched shut. You can picture his shock of orange hair as you reach down to wrap your fingers in it—cropped shorter than it used to be but still plenty to hold on to.

Hands squeeze your hips, holding on as you begin to begin to buck against him. His chin grazes your folds while he latches onto your clit, pulling even more huffs and whines from you. Your head spins, lost in him, completely given over to the touch you’ve been craving since he left.

“Ichi, baby, baby,” you babble, your voice desperate as you twist to your peak and finally snap. Your muscles tense and spasm as he holds you in place, licking your soaking cunt until you catch your breath and come down.

Ichigo’s presence rests heavily, his head nestled against your lower belly, until softly, it fades away. You miss his warmth immediately, your body once again untethered to the rest of the world, but you feel safe and satisfied for the first time in ages. You know subconsciously why he came to visit—you can practically hear what he wants to say.

Thank you for waiting for me. I promise I’ll be home soon.