Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sun dipped low over Karakura Town, painting the sky in hues of amber and violet, casting long shadows across the quiet streets. Four years had passed since the Thousand-Year Blood War had torn through the worlds of the living and the dead, leaving Soul Society battered but standing. Ichigo Kurosaki, now 21, had grown into his frame—taller, broader, his shoulders carrying the quiet strength of battles won and burdens borne. His orange hair, still an untamed riot atop his head, caught the fading light as he trudged up the concrete stairs to his apartment, Zangetsu slung lazily over his shoulder in its sealed, oversized cleaver form. He smelled faintly of antiseptic from his shift at the clinic, where he’d spent the day stitching up minor cuts and doling out advice to Karakura’s elderly. His white coat was swapped for a faded black hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and jeans that hugged his lean, muscular legs, scuffed at the knees from a recent Hollow skirmish. Life was quieter now—Soul Society had stabilized, and his Substitute Soul Reaper gig was more routine than chaos—but trouble always had a way of finding him.
His boots thudded against the worn steps, the metal railing cool under his calloused palm. Halfway up, his reiatsu prickled—a faint, unfamiliar pulse humming in the air, sharp and strange, like static on a radio tuned between stations. He slowed, brown eyes narrowing as his grip tightened on Zangetsu’s cloth-wrapped hilt. The spiritual pressure wasn’t Hollow, wasn’t Quincy, wasn’t anything he’d clocked before. It lingered near his door, heavy and curious, pulling at his senses like a thread caught on a nail.
“Oi, who’s there?” he called, his voice rough with suspicion, edged with the gravel of a long day. “If you’re a Hollow, I’m not in the mood for games. Show yourself, or I’m coming up swinging.”
A figure stepped from the shadowed corner of the hallway, and Ichigo froze mid-step, breath catching in his throat. She was tall—damn near his height—with an otherworldly presence that slammed into him like a spiritual gut punch. Wanda Maximoff emerged into the dim fluorescence of the corridor, her scarlet-brown hair flowing like molten fire, each strand catching the light and shimmering with an almost liquid sheen. It cascaded past her shoulders, pooling down her back in a waterfall of autumn leaves, smooth and perfect, as if it defied gravity itself. Her jade-green eyes glimmered with an eerie, inner radiance, framed by thick, voluminous lashes that fluttered as she tilted her head, studying him with equal curiosity. Her face was noble, angelic—high cheekbones, a subtle pointedness to her ears that gave her an elf-like grace, and skin so fair and unblemished it looked like silk stretched over porcelain.
Her body, though—holy hell, it was something else. She wore a crimson outfit of supernatural design, intricate mystical symbols shimmering faintly across the fabric. The chestplate hugged her torso, a deep, bold red with a keyhole cutout that framed her enormous, pale breasts—full, firm globes that jutted proudly from her chest, sagging just enough to look natural, defying gravity despite their heavy weight. The narrow span of her waist flared into wide, child-bearing hips, a dramatic silhouette that flowed into an even wider, jaw-dropping set of hips below. Her skirt, ankle-length and luxurious, rustled with every subtle shift, hinting at the colossal, juicy ass beneath—perfectly round, firm yet plush, the kind of curve that begged to be noticed. Her thighs, thick and shapely, peeked from beneath thigh-high boots of supple leather, their subtle muscularity speaking to strength wrapped in softness. A gemstone-encrusted circlet rested atop her hair, and a faint crimson cloak billowed behind her, like a river of fire trailing her steps.
“I’m no Hollow,” she said, her voice smooth and accented, carrying a faint Eastern European lilt that rolled off her tongue like velvet. “I’m… lost, I think. This place—it’s not my world.”
Ichigo blinked, his sword dipping slightly but still poised, his knuckles white against the hilt. “Not your world? What’s that supposed to mean? You some kinda spirit or something? ‘Cause you’re pinging my radar hard.”
Wanda’s lips curved into a small, wry smile, though her eyes held a shadow of something deeper—grief, maybe, or exhaustion. “Something like that. My name’s Wanda. Wanda Maximoff. I… fell here, I suppose. After everything broke apart.”
“Fell here?” Ichigo echoed, scratching the back of his head with his free hand, his orange spikes shifting under his fingers. “Look, lady, I’ve seen a lot of weird crap—ghosts, gods, freaky eyeball monsters—but you’re gonna have to give me more than that. You’re giving off some serious reiatsu—or something like it. You dangerous?”
Her smile faltered, a flicker of pain crossing her ethereal features, softening the sharp edges of her beauty. “I was. Maybe I still am. But I’m not here to fight. I just… I don’t know where I am. Or what I am, anymore. I’ve been walking these streets for hours, trying to make sense of it, and this—” She gestured vaguely at the air, her gloves creaking softly. “This energy led me here. To you.”
Ichigo studied her for a long moment, his brown eyes narrowing as he weighed her words. She didn’t feel like a threat—not yet, anyway. Her spiritual pressure was strong, chaotic, but it didn’t carry the malice of a Hollow or the cold precision of a Quincy. And something about her tone, that quiet edge of exhaustion laced with stubborn resolve, tugged at him—reminded him of himself after too many fights, too many losses. He sighed, a rough exhale that ruffled his bangs, and slung Zangetsu back over his shoulder with a casual flip. “Alright, fine. You look like you could use a break. Come inside. But if you try anything funny, I’m not holding back—I’ve got a sword and a temper, and I’m not afraid to use either.”
Wanda nodded, her hair swaying like a crimson curtain as she stepped closer, her boots clicking faintly against the tiled floor. “Thank you. I promise I’m not here to cause trouble. I just need… answers, maybe. A place to think.”
Ichigo grunted, turning to fumble with his keys in the lock. “Yeah, well, don’t expect a therapy session. I’m not that guy.” He kicked the door open with the toe of his boot, stepping into his modest apartment—a cluttered mess of mismatched furniture that screamed bachelor life. A threadbare couch sat against one wall, its cushions sagging from years of use, flanked by a small TV perched on a rickety stand, its screen smudged with fingerprints. A futon was shoved into a corner, half-unrolled with a tangle of blankets spilling off it, and a low coffee table held a chaos of empty soda cans, manga volumes, and a cracked remote. The kitchenette was tucked to the side, a single counter strewn with instant ramen packets and a lone cutting board. He tossed his keys onto the counter with a clatter, gesturing vaguely with a sweep of his arm. “Sit wherever. You want tea or something? I’m not exactly a five-star host—place is a dump, but it’s mine.”
“Tea would be nice,” Wanda said, her gaze roaming the room as she settled onto the edge of the futon, her posture poised despite the casual setting. Her skirt rustled as she crossed her legs, the fabric whispering against her thick, plush thighs, barely contained by the leather of her boots. Ichigo caught the motion out of the corner of his eye, the way her curves shifted with effortless grace, and shook his head sharply, forcing his focus back to the task at hand. Get it together, idiot.
“So,” he started, rummaging through a cabinet for a kettle, his voice gruff to mask the flicker of distraction, “you said you’re not from here. Where are you from? And what’s with the whole ‘fell here’ thing? You drop out of the sky or what?”
Wanda clasped her hands in her lap, her fingerless gloves creaking faintly as her fingers laced together. “It’s a long story. I come from a place called Earth—well, one version of it. Not this one, clearly. I was… someone important, once. A hero, maybe, though that feels like a lifetime ago. I had powers, a team—people I fought beside. But I lost everything. My family, my home, my reality.” Her voice dipped, soft and raw, as if the words scraped against old wounds. “I was chasing something—my children—across worlds, through places I can’t even describe. Dimensions, realities, all of it unraveling. And then… I ended up here. On this street, in this town. I don’t know how or why. One minute I was falling through chaos, and the next, I was standing in an alley, staring at a vending machine that wouldn’t take my coins.”
Ichigo set the kettle under the tap, the rush of water drowning out the faint hum of the fridge. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, the fabric of his hoodie stretching tight across his shoulders. “Sounds like a hell of a mess. Kids, huh? You don’t look old enough for that—what are you, twenty-five? Twenty-six?”
Her laugh was soft, almost bitter, a sound that carried the weight of too many years in too short a span. “I’m older than I look. Time’s… complicated where I’m from. And they weren’t… real, not in the way you’d think. They were mine, but they were born from my magic, from a dream I tried to hold onto. It’s—” She paused, searching for the word, her green eyes flickering with a distant ache. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated’s my middle name,” Ichigo snorted, a grin tugging at his lips despite the heaviness of her words. “You’re in Karakura Town, by the way. This world’s got Soul Reapers, Hollows, Quincy—all kinds of crap running around. If you’ve got powers, you’ll fit right in. Probably stir up some trouble, too, knowing my luck.”
“Soul Reapers?” Wanda tilted her head, her hair spilling over one shoulder in a cascade of scarlet, brushing the edge of her chestplate. “What are those? You keep mentioning them.”
Ichigo smirked, warming to the topic as he flipped the stove on, the kettle clanking against the burner. “Guys like me. Well, sorta—I’m a Substitute Soul Reaper, not one of the fancy official ones. We keep the balance between the living world and the afterlife. Fight Hollows—evil spirits that eat souls. Escort the dead to where they’re supposed to go. It’s a whole thing. Been doing it since I was fifteen, believe it or not.”
Wanda’s eyes brightened with curiosity, her posture shifting as she leaned forward slightly. “Fifteen? That’s young to carry something like that. And you… you do this alone?”
“Nah, I’ve got friends,” he said, scratching his jaw. “Chad, Orihime, Uryu—they’ve got my back. Used to be a bigger deal a few years back—big war, lots of bloodshed. Thousand-Year Blood War, they called it. Soul Society versus some Quincy assholes who wanted to burn everything down. We won, barely. Took everything I had and then some. Now it’s just cleanup duty—smashing the occasional Hollow, keeping the peace.” He paused, eyeing her with a flicker of interest. “What about you? You said you were a hero. What kinda powers you got? That glowy stuff I’m feeling?”
She hesitated, her gaze dropping to her hands for a moment before she raised one, palm up. A faint red glow pulsed from her fingertips, swirling like mist caught in a breeze, tendrils of energy curling and dancing in the air. “Chaos Magic,” she said, her voice steady but tinged with something unreadable—pride, maybe, or regret. “It’s… unpredictable. I can bend reality, move things, destroy things. Create things, sometimes. It’s weaker here, though—maybe sixty percent of what it was. This world feels… heavier, like it’s resisting me.”
Ichigo whistled low, impressed despite himself. “That’s still badass. You’d give some of the captains a run for their money with that kinda juice.”
“Captains?” she asked, leaning forward again, her chestplate shifting slightly and drawing his eye for a split second before he yanked his gaze back to her face, heat creeping up his neck.
“Uh, yeah—Soul Society bigshots,” he said, clearing his throat. “Guys who run the show over there. Don’t worry about it. Point is, you’re not helpless. That magic’s got some kick.” The kettle whistled, a shrill cry cutting through the air, and he turned to pour the tea, fishing two chipped mugs from the sink and rinsing them under the tap. He dumped a tea bag into each, the water staining dark as he handed her one, steam curling up in faint wisps. “Here. Don’t burn yourself. It’s cheap stuff, but it’s hot.”
She took it with a nod, her gloved fingers brushing his briefly, the contact sending a faint jolt through him that he ignored. “Thank you, Ichigo. You’re kinder than you look.”
He snorted, flopping onto a rickety chair across from her, the wood creaking under his weight. “Don’t get used to it. I’m just not kicking you out yet. You’ve got that kicked-puppy vibe—makes it hard to say no.”
Wanda’s lips twitched, a hint of amusement breaking through her melancholy. “Kicked puppy? That’s a new one. I’ve been called worse.”
“Yeah? Like what?” he asked, leaning back, one arm draped over the chair’s edge.
“Witch. Monster. Destroyer of worlds.” Her voice was light, but her eyes darkened, and she took a sip of tea to cover it. “Take your pick.”
Ichigo grinned, unfazed. “Sounds like a Tuesday around here. Stick around, Scarlet—you’ll see worse than that.”
“Scarlet?” she echoed, arching a brow.
“Fits,” he said with a shrug, his grin widening. “Red hair, red magic, red attitude. Rolls off the tongue.”
She laughed softly, the sound warmer this time, and settled back against the futon. “Alright, Ghost Boy. I’ll take it.”

The next few days melted into a strange, unspoken rhythm, a quiet coexistence that neither Ichigo nor Wanda questioned aloud. She stayed in his cramped apartment, claiming the futon as her territory—its faded green cover now neatly folded each morning, a stark contrast to the tangled heap it’d been before her arrival. Ichigo, meanwhile, dragged a lumpy spare mattress from a dusty storage closet, tossing it onto the floor near the couch with a grunt of effort and a muttered curse about how he wasn’t running a damn hotel. He wasn’t sure why he let her stick around—maybe it was the way she carried herself, that fragile edge teetering between collapse and defiance, her shoulders squared despite the shadows in her eyes. Or maybe it was the flicker of mischief that sparked in her gaze when she peppered him with questions, her curiosity peeling back the layers of his world like she was unwrapping a puzzle. Whatever it was, he didn’t kick her out, and she didn’t leave.
One lazy afternoon, as sunlight streamed through the apartment’s grimy window, casting golden patches across the scuffed wooden floor, Wanda perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, her legs dangling casually. She’d swapped her otherworldly crimson ensemble for something more mundane—his old black T-shirt, emblazoned with a faded band logo, hung loose on her frame, the hem brushing her thighs. It was comically oversized, the collar slipping off one shoulder, but it somehow still clung to her massive bust, the fabric stretching taut across her chest, outlining the full, firm curves that defied the shirt’s baggy intent. A pair of gray sweatpants—another loan from his drawer—hugged her thick thighs and wide hips, the elastic waistband rolled down once to sit low on her waist, accentuating the dramatic flare of her silhouette. Her scarlet-brown hair spilled loose, framing her face in a wild cascade, the ends brushing the countertop as she waved a chopstick like a conductor’s baton, her movements animated and precise.
“Alright, so let me get this straight,” she said, her voice lilting with that faint Eastern European accent, a teasing edge threading through her words. “Hollows are bad spirits—big, ugly things with masks, right? Soul Reapers kill them to keep the world from turning into some kind of ghost buffet. And there’s this… Soul Society place where dead people go? Like a big afterlife train station?”
Ichigo lounged on the floor, his back propped against the couch, one leg stretched out and the other bent at the knee. He cradled a can of soda in his hand, the aluminum cool and slick with condensation, his thumb tapping idly against the tab. His hoodie was unzipped, revealing a plain white tank top underneath, the fabric clinging to his lean, muscular torso, still faintly damp from a quick spar earlier that day. His orange hair stuck out in every direction, a chaotic crown that caught the light as he tilted his head back to look at her. “Pretty much,” he said, his tone casual but tinged with amusement at her summary. “Soul Society’s like an afterlife hub—big sprawling city, old-school vibe. Most souls go there, get sorted out by the Reapers. Hollows are the ones that stick around too long, get all twisted up and nasty. They’re not exactly subtle—screaming, chomping on anything with a pulse. Gets messy fast.”
Wanda twirled the chopstick between her fingers, her jade-green eyes narrowing playfully as she pointed it at him like a mock accusation. “And you,” she said, her voice dipping into a conspiratorial tone, “you’re half-dead or something? Walking around with one foot in the grave?”
He choked on his soda mid-sip, the fizzy liquid catching in his throat as he coughed, spluttering into his fist. “Half-dead? No!” he managed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his glare half-hearted and betrayed by the twitch of a grin. “I’m human—mostly. Got some Soul Reaper powers from my dad—he’s a long story—and some Hollow stuff from… uh, another long story. Point is, I can jump between my body and my soul form whenever I need to. It’s not like I’m shambling around half-zombie or something.”
Wanda’s lips twitched into a grin, her teeth flashing briefly as she propped her elbow on her knee, resting her chin in her hand. “So you’re a ghost boy,” she said, the nickname rolling off her tongue with a deliberate lilt, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Flitting around all shadowy and mysterious. Do you rattle chains and moan in the night, too?”
“Ghost boy?” Ichigo shot her a mock glare, leaning forward slightly, his soda can clanking against the floor as he set it down. “Watch it, Scarlet. I could kick your ass from here to the Soul Society and back, magic or no magic. Don’t test me.”
“Scarlet?” she echoed, arching a brow, her hair shifting as she tilted her head, the strands brushing her cheek. “Is that my nickname now? You’re just handing those out like candy?”
“Fits, doesn’t it?” he said, gesturing vaguely at her with a sweep of his hand, his smirk widening. “With the hair—like some kinda red-hot wildfire—and the glowy magic crap you’ve got going on. Beats calling you ‘Wanda the Weird’ or something lame.”
She laughed—a real, bright sound that bounced off the apartment’s walls, catching him off guard with its warmth. It lit up her face, softening the sharp edges of her ethereal beauty, and for a moment, Ichigo forgot to breathe, his smirk faltering as he watched her. “Fine, Ghost Boy,” she said, her tone teasing as she jabbed the chopstick in his direction again. “I’ll take Scarlet. But you’ve got to teach me more. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve fought? I need details—give me the good stuff.”
Ichigo grinned, warming to the challenge as he cracked his knuckles, leaning back against the couch with a lazy stretch that showed off the corded muscles in his arms. “Oh, man, where do I start? Alright, picture this—there was this guy, Aizen. Total bastard, slick as hell, thought he was some kinda god. Had this sword, Kyoka Suigetsu—messed with your head so bad you’d see whatever he wanted. One second you’re fighting him, the next you’re stabbing your best friend ‘cause you think it’s him. Took half the Soul Society—captains, lieutenants, everybody—to pin him down, and even then, I had to go full crazy to finish it. Then there were these Quincy nutjobs—thousand-year-old grudge, real psycho stuff. One of ‘em, this creepy bastard named Pernida, turned into this giant eyeball freak—hands everywhere, twisting reality like it was paper. Freaky as hell, gave me nightmares for weeks.”
Wanda’s eyes widened, her chopstick pausing mid-air as she stared at him, her mouth parting slightly in a mix of awe and disbelief. “Eyeball freak?” she said, her voice rising with incredulity. “Okay, you win. My worst was a robot with a god complex—Ultron, all metal and smug—and a giant purple alien with a shiny glove. Thanos. He was… something else.”
“Shiny glove?” Ichigo snorted, grabbing his soda again and taking a swig, his grin returning full force. “What, he slap you with it? Sounds like a bad fashion choice.”
“No, he wiped out half the universe with it,” she said dryly, her gaze dropping to the counter for a moment before softening, a faint tremor in her voice. “Snapped his fingers, and poof—gone. Including me, for a while. Five years, technically, though it felt like nothing. Just… blank.”
Ichigo’s grin faded, replaced by a flicker of sympathy as he set the can down again, his brows knitting together. “Damn,” he said quietly, his voice rough but sincere. “That’s rough. Like, next-level rough. I thought losing my mom was bad, but half the universe? That’s some heavy shit.”
“Yeah,” she murmured, staring at the tea she’d set beside her on the counter, the steam long gone, leaving the liquid dark and still. “Rough doesn’t even cover it. I came back, fought him, won—but it didn’t fix anything. Just left more holes.”
He cleared his throat, shifting gears with a deliberate lightness, unwilling to let the mood sink too deep. “Alright, enough depressing crap—we’re not wallowing today. You wanna see something cool? I can show you my Soul Reaper form. Might freak you out, though—I’m not exactly a pretty ghost.”
Her head snapped up, curiosity sparking in her green eyes as she slid off the counter, landing lightly on her bare feet, the sweatpants swishing around her ankles. “Freak me out?” she said, a playful glint returning as she crossed her arms, the T-shirt shifting against her curves. “I’ve seen realities bend, cities float, and my own mind turn against me. Try me, Ghost Boy—I dare you.”
“Challenge accepted,” he shot back, standing with a grin and cracking his neck, the pop of joints echoing in the small space. He focused, his reiatsu flaring sharp and wild, a rush of spiritual pressure that ruffled the papers on the coffee table and sent a soda can rolling. His body slumped to the floor with a soft thud, crumpling like a discarded puppet, and his soul form emerged in a burst of black and orange—shihakusho clinging to his frame, Zangetsu slung across his back, its massive blade glinting faintly. His hair seemed wilder, more untamed, and his presence carried a raw, electric edge. “Ta-da,” he said, spreading his arms with a smirk. “Ghost Boy, reporting in. Whaddya think?”
Wanda circled him slowly, her bare feet silent against the floor, her head tilted as she took him in from every angle. The playful glint in her eye sharpened, her lips curving into a sly smile as her hair brushed his arm, the contact fleeting but electric. “Not bad,” she said, her voice low and teasing. “You look… taller, somehow. Broader, too. The black’s a good touch—makes you seem dangerous.”
“Taller, huh?” He smirked, stepping closer, his boots scuffing the floor as he loomed just a little, testing her space. “What, you into the mysterious soul vibe? Should I start brooding in a corner?”
She tilted her head, her hair grazing his sleeve again as she leaned in, her breath warm against the air between them. “Maybe,” she said, her tone a velvet challenge. “Depends if you can keep up with me, Ghost Boy. I’m not some damsel who faints at a little spirit show.”
“Oh, I can keep up,” he shot back, his voice dropping to a rough growl, his smirk sharpening into something wicked. “Question is, can you handle me? I don’t play soft, Scarlet.”
Her laugh was low, teasing, a sound that curled around him like smoke as she stepped back, her hips swaying faintly in the sweatpants. “We’ll see,” she said, her green eyes flashing with promise. “We’ll see.”

Weeks bled into a month, and the playful back-and-forth that had started as a spark became a steady flame, flickering between them like a heartbeat. Wanda adapted to Ichigo’s world with a speed that surprised even him, her Chaos Magic weaving seamlessly into their routine. They’d taken to sparring in abandoned lots around Karakura Town—crumbling warehouses and overgrown fields became their battlegrounds, the air crackling with her red energy blasts and the sharp whoosh of Zangetsu’s wide, arcing swings. She’d hurl jagged bolts of scarlet power, tendrils of magic twisting through the air like living fire, and he’d counter with Shunpo, a blur of black and orange dodging her attacks with a grin, his blade cleaving through her constructs in explosive bursts. They’d collapse afterward, breathless and laughing, sprawled on patches of cracked concrete or trampled grass. Her curves glistened with sweat, her crimson outfit clinging to her skin, the chestplate heaving with each labored breath, accentuating the swell of her massive breasts. His shirt—usually a tank top or a ripped tee—stuck to his lean, muscular frame, damp fabric outlining the hard lines of his chest and abs, his orange hair plastered to his forehead as he shot her teasing jabs about her aim.
Their dynamic had shifted over those weeks—less guarded, more electric. She’d toss quips about his reckless fighting style, calling him a “bull in a china shop,” while he’d fire back that her magic was “all flash, no bite,” even as he nursed a singed sleeve from one of her stray blasts. They’d linger after, sharing water bottles and stories—hers of a fractured multiverse, his of battles that spanned realms—until the sun dipped low and they’d trudge back to his apartment, shoulders brushing, laughter trailing behind them.
One night, after a particularly brutal Hollow hunt, they stumbled through the door, adrenaline still roaring through their veins like wildfire. The Hollow had been a hulking monstrosity—ten feet tall, its mask a jagged maw of teeth, its claws raking the earth as it charged them in an empty industrial lot. Ichigo had taken the brunt of it, his Bankai form a whirlwind of black reiatsu and steel, while Wanda had flanked it, her Chaos Magic coiling around its limbs, pinning it long enough for him to cleave its head from its shoulders. Now, the fight was over, and the apartment welcomed them with its familiar chaos—dim light spilling from a single lamp, the faint hum of the fridge, the clutter of soda cans and manga strewn across the coffee table.
Ichigo kicked off his boots with a groan, the leather scuffed and dusted with dirt, leaving them in a haphazard pile by the door as his Soul Reaper form faded. His body slumped briefly against the wall before he straightened, back in his human skin—jeans torn at one knee, a black tank top streaked with grime, his orange hair a sweaty mess. He flexed his shoulders, wincing as a bruise bloomed across his arm where the Hollow had grazed him. “That thing was a pain in the ass,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, his voice rough with exertion. “Big bastard didn’t know when to quit. You okay?”
Wanda nodded, brushing clumps of dirt from her skirt as she stepped inside, back in her mystical attire now—its crimson fabric torn slightly at the hem, the chestplate scratched but intact, hugging her torso like a second skin. Her hair flowed wild and unbound, scarlet strands sticking to her sweat-damp neck, and her thigh-high boots clicked faintly against the floor as she moved. “Fine,” she said, her accent thicker with fatigue, her green eyes still sharp despite the fight. “Your world’s monsters are… persistent. Like they’re personally offended by us.”
“Yeah, they don’t quit ‘til you make ‘em,” Ichigo said, a faint grin tugging at his lips as he crossed to the kitchenette. He yanked open the fridge, the door rattling, and grabbed two water bottles, the plastic crinkling in his grip. He tossed one to her underhand, the bottle spinning through the air. “Heads up. You held your own out there, though—that magic’s no joke. Nearly took my head off with that last blast.”
She caught it with a flick of her wrist, her smirk blooming as she twisted the cap off, the faint pop echoing in the quiet. “Told you I could keep up,” she said, taking a sip, her throat bobbing as she swallowed, a droplet of water escaping to trail down her chin and disappear into the keyhole cutout of her chestplate. “You’re the one who almost got flattened—maybe watch where you’re swinging that oversized knife next time.”
“Knife?” He snorted, flopping onto the couch with a thud, the cushions creaking under his weight as he sprawled out, one arm slung over the backrest. “That’s Zangetsu, Scarlet—show some respect. And I had it handled. You’re just mad I got the kill shot.” He patted the spot next to him, his grin teasing but his eyes soft. “C’mere. You earned a break after that mess.”
Wanda hesitated, her fingers tightening around the bottle, her gaze flickering over him—his sprawled posture, the way his tank top rode up slightly to reveal a sliver of toned stomach, the sweat still beading on his collarbone. Then she relented, crossing the room with a slow, deliberate stride, her hips swaying faintly as the skirt rustled around her legs. She sank onto the couch beside him, close enough that her thigh brushed his, the contact sending a jolt through the air—a shift, subtle but undeniable. The space between them felt thicker now, charged with something heavier than their usual banter, the faint scent of her—earthy from the fight, tinged with a hint of ozone from her magic—mixing with his, all sweat and steel.
She glanced at him sidelong, her green eyes catching the lamplight, glinting like polished jade. “You’re staring, Ghost Boy,” she said, her voice low, a playful accusation laced with something softer, something daring.
Ichigo didn’t look away, his brown eyes locking with hers, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. “Hard not to,” he said, his voice dropping to a rough murmur, gravelly with the edge of the fight still lingering in his bones. “You’re kinda… distracting, sitting there all sweaty and badass.”
Her lips parted, a faint flush creeping up her neck, staining her fair skin pink as she set the water bottle on the coffee table with a soft clink. “Distracting how?” she asked, her tone a velvet challenge, her head tilting so her hair spilled over her shoulder, brushing the arm he’d draped behind her.
He leaned in, closing the gap until his breath grazed her cheek, his grin sharpening into something feral, unrestrained. “You really want me to spell it out?” he said, his voice a low growl. “That outfit’s doing things to me—hugging every damn curve, showing off those thighs, that ass. Been driving me crazy all month, and you know it.”
She laughed, a husky sound that vibrated through her chest, and shoved his shoulder with a playful push, her fingers lingering against the damp fabric of his tank top. “You’re terrible,” she said, but her eyes betrayed her—darkening, flickering with heat as she met his gaze.
“Yeah, and you love it,” he shot back, catching her wrist mid-shove, his calloused fingers wrapping around her glove, pulling her closer with a firm tug. “Admit it, Scarlet—you’ve been waiting for me to say it.”
Her breath hitched, her pulse jumping under his grip, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in, her lips hovering inches from his, her voice dropping to a whisper, thick and husky. “Maybe I have,” she said, her free hand sliding up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. “Maybe I’ve been waiting for you to do more than talk.”
The space between them vanished like a snapped thread. His hand slid from her wrist to her waist, fingers digging into the soft, plump skin above her hip, the fabric of her skirt bunching under his grip. Her eyes fluttered shut as their lips crashed together—rough, hungry, a collision of months of tension snapping at once. She tasted like tea and magic, a faint sweetness undercut by the wild edge of her power; he tasted like sweat and steel, raw and unfiltered, his tongue claiming hers with a ferocity that made her moan into his mouth. Her hands fisted in his hair, nails scraping his scalp as she tugged hard, drawing a growl from deep in his throat, the sound rumbling against her lips.
“Damn, Wanda,” he muttered, breaking away just enough to breathe, his forehead pressed to hers, his voice ragged. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me with that mouth.”
“Good,” she whispered, her voice a husky purr, her lips brushing his as she spoke. “I want to. Been wanting to for weeks.”
His grip tightened, one hand sliding down to cup her ass, the massive, juicy curve filling his palm as he hauled her effortlessly onto his lap. She gasped, a sharp, needy sound, her massive breasts pressing against his chest, the chestplate digging into him as her thighs straddled his hips, thick and plush against his jeans. The heat between them was unbearable—her softness, her weight, the way she molded against him driving every ounce of control from his body. He could feel her through the layers, the warmth of her core pressing down, and it snapped something primal in him.

“Fuck it,” he growled, surging to his feet with her still in his arms, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he stood. His hands gripped her ass tighter, fingers sinking into the plush flesh as he carried her toward the door, kicking it shut with a bang and twisting the lock with a flick of his wrist. “Door’s locked. We’re doing this—right here, right now.”

Ichigo stood in the dimly lit apartment, Wanda still in his arms, her legs wrapped tight around his waist, her nails digging into his shoulders through the damp fabric of his tank top. Her breath was hot against his ear, a trembling tease as she nipped at his lobe, her voice a low, husky purr that sent a jolt straight to his groin. “Then do it, Ghost Boy,” she whispered, her lips brushing the shell of his ear, her tongue flicking out to trace the edge. “Show me what you’ve got.”
The words lit a fucking inferno in him, his control shredding like paper in a storm. His hands gripped her colossal, juicy ass tighter, fingers sinking deep into the plush, smooth flesh, kneading it roughly as he pressed her harder against him. Her massive breasts mashed against his chest, the firm, milky globes spilling slightly over the edges of her crimson chestplate, the keyhole cutout framing her cleavage in a way that made his mouth water. “Fuck, Wanda,” he growled, his voice a gravelly snarl, thick with lust. “You keep talking like that, and I’m gonna ruin you—gonna fuck you so hard you’ll feel me for days.”
She laughed—a low, wicked sound that vibrated through her chest, her thighs tightening around his hips, the heat of her core pressing against the growing bulge in his jeans. “Promises, promises,” she taunted, her jade-green eyes glinting with challenge as she tugged his hair harder, yanking his head back to meet her gaze. “I’ve survived gods and monsters, Ichigo—I can handle your big, bad soul reaper ass.”
“Oh, you think so?” he shot back, his grin feral, all teeth and hunger as he shifted his grip, one hand sliding up to cup the underside of her massive tit, squeezing it through the chestplate, feeling the weight of it spill over his palm. “These fucking tits—goddamn ridiculous, Scarlet. Been staring at ‘em for weeks, bouncing around in that tight little outfit, driving me insane. And this ass—” He gave it a sharp smack, the sound cracking through the air, her flesh jiggling under his hand as she gasped, a flush blooming across her cheeks. “—so fucking fat and perfect, I’m gonna lose my mind pounding it.”
Her breath hitched, her body arching Into his touch, but she didn’t back down—her fingers twisted in his orange hair, pulling until it stung, her lips curling into a smirk. “Then stop talking, Ghost Boy,” she purred, her accent thick with desire, “and fuck me already. I want that cock—show me it’s as big as your ego.”
That was it—his restraint snapped like a brittle twig. With a guttural growl, he spun them toward the door he’d just locked, pinning her against it with a thud that rattled the frame. The wood creaked under their combined weight, her back pressed flat, her thighs still locked around him as he ground his hips into her, letting her feel the monstrous erection straining against his jeans—15 inches long, 3 inches wide, a fucking beast that throbbed with need. “You asked for it,” he snarled, his free hand ripping at the zipper of his hoodie, shrugging it off in a frantic yank, the fabric hitting the floor with a soft thump. His tank top followed, peeled off in one fluid motion, revealing his lean, chiseled torso—scarred and sweaty, muscles flexing with every breath, his abs a tight grid under taut skin.
Wanda’s eyes darkened, raking over him like a predator sizing up prey, her hands sliding down to claw at his chest, nails scraping red lines across his pecs. “Not bad,” she murmured, her voice dripping with approval, “but I’m still waiting for the main event.” Her fingers dipped lower, tugging at his belt with impatient jerks, the metal buckle clinking as she fumbled it open.
“Greedy little witch,” he chuckled darkly, shoving her hands aside to undo the belt himself, the leather whipping free with a snap. He popped the button of his jeans, shoving them down along with his boxers in one rough motion, kicking them off to pool at his feet. His cock sprang free—massive, thick, and rock-hard, veins pulsing along its length, the tip already glistening with precum. It jutted out obscenely, 15 inches of raw power, 3 inches wide, a weapon of pure destruction that made Wanda’s eyes widen, her lips parting in a mix of shock and hunger.
“Holy shit,” she breathed, her gaze locked on it, her thighs trembling slightly around his waist. “That’s… fuck, Ichigo, that’s insane.”
“Yeah, and it’s all for you, Scarlet,” he said, his voice a low, dirty rumble as he shifted her higher against the door, his hands gripping her hips, fingers digging into the soft, plump flesh above her skirt. “Gonna stretch that tight little pussy ‘til you’re screaming my name.” He reached for her chestplate, fumbling with the mystical clasps for a split second before growling in frustration and ripping it apart—fabric tearing, symbols flickering out as the crimson leather split, her enormous breasts spilling free. They bounced heavily, pale and perfect, nipples hardening in the cool air, each globe a mouthwatering handful that jiggled with every movement.
She gasped, a sharp, needy sound, her hands flying to his shoulders as the chestplate clattered to the floor. “You asshole,” she panted, but there was no anger—just raw, burning want. “That was my favorite—”
“Buy you a new one,” he cut her off, his mouth crashing into hers again, swallowing her protests in a brutal, sloppy kiss, all teeth and tongue. His hands tore at her skirt next, shredding the luxurious fabric with a savage yank, tossing it aside in tatters, leaving her in nothing but the thigh-high boots and gloves. Her body was a fucking masterpiece—smooth, toned yet soft, her narrow waist flaring into those jaw-dropping hips, her colossal ass pressing against the door, her thick thighs quivering with anticipation. Her pussy glistened, pink and slick, framed by a faint patch of scarlet curls, begging for him.
“No panties, huh?” he growled, his cock twitching as he lined it up, the fat head nudging her entrance, smearing her wetness across his tip. “Fucking slutty little witch—been ready for this, haven’t you?”
“Shut up and fuck me,” she snapped, her voice a desperate whine, her nails raking his back as she bucked her hips, trying to take him in. “I need it—now!”
He didn’t need more invitation. With a primal roar, he grabbed her by the waist, lifting her higher like she weighed nothing—her voluptuous, bottom-heavy frame a perfect fit in his hands—and shoved his cock up into her pussy in one brutal thrust. She cried out, a loud, keening moan that echoed off the walls, her walls clamping tight around him, so wet and hot it nearly made him lose it right there. He didn’t ease in—fuck that—he used her like a fleshlight, pounding up into her with relentless force, her massive tits bouncing wildly, slapping against her chest with every thrust.
“Fuck, Wanda—tight as hell!” he snarled, his hips slamming into her, the wet smack of skin on skin filling the room. “Look at those tits—fucking obscene, bouncing like that. Gonna fuck you ‘til they’re bruised.”
She was initially surprised, her eyes wide, her mouth open in a silent scream as he stretched her beyond anything she’d ever felt—but it took seconds for her to melt into it, her legs locking tighter, her pussy clenching around his monstrous cock like it was made for her. “Yes—oh god, yes!” she moaned, her voice breaking, her head slamming back against the door with a thud. “Harder, Ichigo—fuck me harder, you bastard!”
He obliged, his pace turning feral, his hands gripping her ass so hard his fingers left red marks, lifting and dropping her onto his cock like a ragdoll. Her thighs jiggled, her ass clapped against his hips, and her screams grew louder, rawer, as he fucked her in the standing carry position, the door rattling with every demigodly thrust.

The apartment door groaned under the onslaught, its hinges creaking as Ichigo pounded into Wanda with a ferocity that bordered on inhuman, his 15-inch, 3-inch-wide cock a relentless battering ram inside her dripping, overstretched pussy. Her colossal ass clapped against his hips with every brutal thrust, the sound a wet, rhythmic smack-smack-smack that drowned out her ragged screams, each one tearing from her throat like a wild animal unleashed. His hands gripped her ass cheeks like vices, fingers sinking so deep into the plush, jiggly flesh that they’d leave bruises—big, red handprints to mark her as his. Her thick thighs trembled around his waist, muscles flexing and quivering as she clung to him, her boots digging into his lower back, the leather creaking with every bounce.
“Fuck, Wanda—take it, you greedy little slut!” Ichigo snarled, his voice a guttural roar, his orange hair plastered to his sweat-soaked forehead as he slammed up into her harder, deeper, the fat head of his cock slamming against her cervix with every thrust. “This pussy’s sucking me in—fucking tight and wet, like it’s begging for more. You love this monster cock, don’t you?”
Wanda’s head lolled back against the door, her scarlet-brown hair a tangled mess, strands sticking to her flushed, sweat-slick face as she gasped and moaned, her jade-green eyes rolling back in pure, unfiltered ecstasy. Her massive breasts bounced wildly, unrestrained and obscene, the pale, milky globes slapping against her chest, nipples hard and dark, swaying with every violent jolt. “Yes—fuck, yes!” she screamed, her voice cracking, raw and desperate, her nails clawing bloody trails down his back, shredding his skin as she bucked against him. “Harder, you bastard—wreck me! I love it—love that huge fucking cock splitting me open!”
He grinned, a savage, toothy thing, his brown eyes blazing with lust and dominance as he adjusted his grip, hoisting her higher, her weight nothing to his Soul Reaper strength. Her ass jiggled in his hands, the massive globes bouncing with a hypnotic rhythm as he lifted and slammed her down onto his cock, impaling her over and over, her pussy stretching around his girth like a glove made just for him. Her juices coated his shaft, dripping down his balls, splattering onto the floor in wet, filthy streaks, the air thick with the musky scent of sex and sweat. “Look at you,” he growled, his hips pistoning up with demigodly force, the door rattling so hard it threatened to splinter. “Fucking dripping for me—those fat tits flopping like a goddamn porno, that juicy ass clapping every time I ram you. You’re a fucking mess, Scarlet—my mess.”
She whimpered, her body shuddering as another orgasm ripped through her, her pussy clamping down on him like a vice, pulsing and gushing, soaking his cock and thighs with her release. “Ichigo—oh fuck, I’m cumming again!” she wailed, her voice hoarse, her thighs shaking uncontrollably as she rode the wave, her massive curves trembling with the force of it. “Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop, you hung bastard—fuck me through it!”
“Stop?” he laughed darkly, his pace unrelenting, his balls slapping against her ass with every thrust, heavy and tight with his own building need. “Not a fucking chance—I’m gonna drill this cunt ‘til you can’t walk, ‘til that fat ass is red from bouncing on me.” He leaned in, biting her neck hard enough to leave teeth marks, sucking a dark hickey into her smooth, silky skin as she screamed louder, her hands fisting in his hair, yanking until it hurt.
Her pussy was a furnace—hot, slick, and spasming around his monstrous length, every thrust sending a wet schlick-schlick-schlick echoing through the room, her walls fluttering as she came again, harder this time, her juices squirting out around his cock, drenching his hips and pooling on the floor. “Fuck—fuck—fuck!” she chanted, her voice breaking into sobs of pleasure, her body arching so her tits pressed even harder against his chest, the friction of her nipples against his scarred pecs driving her wild. “You’re so fucking deep—gonna break me, Ichigo—love it, love it so much!”
“Yeah, that’s it—scream for me, you busty little whore,” he growled, his teeth grazing her jaw as he fucked her even harder, his hips a blur, his cock slamming into her with a force that shook her entire frame. “Love watching these huge tits bounce—gonna cum all over ‘em later, paint that pretty face too. And this ass—” He smacked it again, harder, the crack ringing out as her flesh rippled, a red handprint blooming on the pale globe. “—gonna fuck it next, Scarlet, stretch it wide open with this cock.”
She moaned louder, her pussy clenching tighter at his words, her thighs locking around him like she’d never let go, her boots digging into his spine as she ground down, meeting his thrusts with desperate, sloppy rolls of her hips. “Do it—fuck my ass, my tits, my everything!” she begged, her voice a raw, filthy plea, her angelic features twisted into a mask of pure lust. “I’m yours—fucking ruin me, Ghost Boy—I can take it all!”
He roared, his pace turning downright apocalyptic, the door cracking under the pressure as he pounded her against it, her ass slamming into the wood with every thrust, her tits bouncing so hard they nearly hit her chin. His cock throbbed inside her, the veins pulsing against her walls, her slick heat driving him to the edge—but he held back, wanting to drag this out, to fuck her into oblivion in every position he’d promised. “You’re goddamn perfect,” he snarled, his hands gripping her hips now, bruising her soft, plump skin as he lifted and dropped her faster, harder, her screams peaking into a crescendo. “This pussy, these thighs, that fucking ass—built for me to fuck, Wanda. Gonna keep you bouncing on this cock ‘til you’re begging me to stop.”
“Never—never stopping!” she gasped, her voice a broken, euphoric mess as she came again, her pussy gushing around him, her body shaking like a leaf in a storm. “More—give me more, you massive-dicked bastard—I love it too much!”
The room was a haze of heat and noise—her screams, his growls, the wet slap of their bodies colliding, the door splintering under the assault. Ichigo fucked her with everything he had, his strength unyielding, his cock a relentless piston in her soaked, spasming cunt, her curves jiggling and bouncing in a symphony of raw, primal lust.

The apartment was a warzone of lust, the air thick with the stench of sweat, sex, and splintered wood as the door behind Wanda cracked further, a jagged split running up its center from the sheer force of Ichigo’s unrelenting assault. His 15-inch, 3-inch-wide cock plunged into her sopping pussy with a brutality that defied comprehension, each thrust a seismic event that shook her voluptuous frame to its core. Her colossal ass slammed against his hips with a thunderous clap-clap-clap, the sound reverberating like a drumbeat of depravity, her flesh rippling and bouncing so violently it seemed to defy physics. His hands were iron clamps on her ass cheeks, fingers digging into the soft, plush mounds with such force that her pale skin bloomed with deep, angry red marks—handprints that overlapped, branding her as his personal fucktoy. Her thick thighs quaked around his waist, the toned muscles twitching uncontrollably, her thigh-high boots scraping his spine as she locked her legs tighter, heels digging into his lower back like spurs urging a wild stallion.
“Fuck, Wanda—gonna split you in half with this cock!” Ichigo roared, his voice a primal bellow, his orange hair dripping sweat onto his scarred chest as he pounded up into her with a savagery that bordered on madness. His hips were a jackhammer, driving his monstrous shaft so deep her cervix buckled under the onslaught, the fat, precum-slicked head battering her insides with every merciless thrust. “This pussy’s mine—fucking choking me, so goddamn tight and sloppy—gonna flood it ‘til you’re leaking for weeks!”
Wanda’s screams were a symphony of shattered ecstasy, her head thrashing against the fracturing door, her scarlet-brown hair a wild, sweat-soaked tangle that whipped across her face and stuck to her flushed, glistening skin. Her massive breasts flailed like weapons of their own, the pale, milky globes bouncing so hard they slapped her chin, her ribcage, each other—thwap-thwap-thwap—nipples dark and swollen, scraping the air as they swayed with every brutal jolt. “Ichigo—fuck, yes, destroy me!” she shrieked, her voice a raw, guttural howl, her jade-green eyes glazed with feral lust as they rolled back, her lashes fluttering against her high cheekbones. “Harder—fucking harder, you hung beast—pound this cunt ‘til I can’t think straight! I love it—love that massive cock wrecking me!”
He snarled, his grin a wicked slash of teeth as he hoisted her higher, her weight a feather to his Soul Reaper might, her ass jiggling like gelatin in his bruising grip. He lifted and slammed her down onto his cock with a force that made her entire body convulse, her pussy stretching impossibly around his girth, the slick, pink walls spasming as they tried to accommodate his sheer size. Her juices gushed out in torrents, a filthy waterfall that coated his shaft, his heavy balls, his thighs—splashing onto the floor in puddles that reflected the dim lamplight, the wet squelch-squelch-squelch of their fucking a perverse soundtrack to their rutting. “Look at you, Scarlet—fucking soaked, dripping like a goddamn whore!” he growled, his hips pistoning up with a speed and power that blurred the line between man and god. “These tits—fuck, they’re obscene, bouncing like that—gonna bury my face in ‘em after I’ve fucked you raw. And this ass—” He delivered a vicious smack, the crack deafening, her right cheek rippling as a fresh red welt blossomed, her left already glowing from his earlier blows. “—so fat it’s begging to be split open next!”
Her body seized as another orgasm tore through her, her pussy clamping down on him like a steel trap, pulsing and squirting, her screams peaking into a banshee wail that rattled the windows. “Ichigo—cumming—fucking cumming again!” she sobbed, her voice breaking into jagged gasps, her thighs shuddering so hard her boots slipped, scraping down his back as she fought to hold on. “Don’t stop—fuck me through it—rip me apart, you bastard—I need it!” Her cum sprayed out around his cock, a hot, sticky mess that drenched his pelvis, dripping down his legs in rivulets, her walls fluttering wildly as she rode the climax, her ass clenching in his hands.
“Stop? I’m gonna fuck you ‘til this door’s dust!” he roared, his pace escalating to a frenzied, apocalyptic rhythm, his balls slapping her ass with a wet, meaty thwack-thwack-thwack, swollen and aching with unreleased seed. He bit her shoulder, teeth sinking into her silky skin, leaving a crescent of red marks as he sucked hard, growling against her flesh. “Cum all you want, you busty little slut—gonna keep this cock buried in you ‘til you’re a drooling wreck. Love watching that fat ass bounce—those thighs shaking—fuck, you’re built for this!”
She was beyond words now, her moans devolving into guttural, animalistic cries, her pussy gushing again as yet another orgasm crashed over her, her body a trembling, sweat-slick mess in his arms. Her massive tits pressed into his chest, the friction of her nipples against his scars sending sparks through her, her ass jiggling uncontrollably as he slammed her down harder, faster, the door splintering further, wood chips falling to the floor. “More—more—fuck, Ichigo!” she managed, her voice a slurred, euphoric mess, her nails raking his shoulders, drawing blood that trickled down his back in thin, hot lines. “So deep—so fucking huge—gonna die on this cock and love it!”
“Yeah, that’s it—fucking take it, Wanda!” he snarled, his teeth grazing her throat now, nipping and sucking as he fucked her with a strength that cracked the air itself, his cock throbbing inside her, veins pulsing against her spasming walls. “This pussy’s addicted now—gonna fill it, stretch it, ruin it—gonna cum so hard you’ll feel it in your goddamn soul. Those tits—fuck, gonna drown ‘em in it—gonna paint that fat ass too!” He smacked her ass again, a double hit this time, left then right, the cracks overlapping as her flesh wobbled, her screams peaking into a hoarse, broken wail.
Her pussy clenched tighter, impossibly tighter, her juices a constant stream now, soaking them both as she came yet again, her body thrashing in his grip, her thighs locking so hard she nearly crushed his ribs. “Yes—yes—fucking cum in me!” she begged, her voice a raw, filthy prayer, her angelic face contorted with depraved bliss. “Fill me up—fuck my brains out—own me, Ichigo!” Her ass clapped louder, her tits bounced harder, and her screams hit a pitch that could’ve shattered glass as he drove her into the door, the wood giving way with a final, splintering crack, the top half hanging crookedly as he fucked her through it.
Ichigo’s growls turned into a primal roar, his cock a relentless piston in her wrecked, gushing cunt, her curves a jiggling, bouncing testament to his dominance. The room was chaos—sweat, cum, splintered wood, and the deafening sound of their bodies colliding, her screams and his snarls a duet of pure, unhinged lust.

The apartment was a battlefield of shattered wood and primal lust, the door behind Wanda now a mangled wreck—its top half dangling by a single hinge, splinters scattered across the floor like shrapnel from their relentless fucking. Ichigo’s 15-inch, 3-inch-wide cock was a goddamn siege weapon, pistoning into her drenched, spasming pussy with a ferocity that shook the walls, each thrust a cataclysmic collision that sent shockwaves through her voluptuous, bottom-heavy frame. Her colossal ass slammed against his hips with a deafening clap-clap-clap, the massive, juicy globes rippling like waves in a storm, their pale, sweat-slick surface glowing with overlapping handprints—red, purple, bruising testaments to his savage grip. His fingers dug into her flesh like claws, kneading and spreading her cheeks, the soft, plush fat spilling over his palms as he lifted and dropped her onto his cock with a rhythm that defied human limits. Her thick thighs, glistening with sweat and her own cum, quaked around his waist, the toned muscles twitching uncontrollably, her thigh-high boots creaking as the leather stretched against her flexing calves, heels scraping bloody welts into his lower back.
“Fuck, Wanda—gonna break this pussy wide open!” Ichigo roared, his voice a guttural explosion, his orange hair a sweaty, chaotic mess plastered across his forehead, dripping onto his scarred, heaving chest. His hips were a blur of raw power, slamming his monstrous shaft so deep her cervix buckled and bruised, the fat, throbbing head battering her innermost walls with every merciless thrust. His balls—heavy, swollen, and slick with her juices—slapped against her ass with a wet, meaty thwack-thwack-thwack, the sound mingling with the squelch-squelch-squelch of her overstretched cunt swallowing him whole. “You’re fucking drowning me, Scarlet—so tight, so goddamn sloppy—gonna flood this hole ‘til it’s overflowing!”
Wanda was a vision of depraved ecstasy, her head thrashing against the broken door, her scarlet-brown hair a wild, sweat-drenched tangle that whipped across her flushed, glistening face—strands sticking to her high cheekbones, her full lips parted in a scream that could wake the dead. Her massive breasts were a bouncing, flailing spectacle—pale, milky globes slapping her chin, her collarbone, each other—thwap-thwap-thwap—with every violent jolt, her nipples dark and pebble-hard, scraping the air as they swayed, red and raw from friction against his chest. Her jade-green eyes were glassy, rolling back in her skull, fringed by voluminous lashes clumped with sweat, her angelic features twisted into a mask of feral, unhinged bliss. “Ichigo—fuck, yes, ruin me!” she shrieked, her voice a hoarse, shattered wail, her accent thick with desperation as her nails raked his shoulders, shredding skin, blood trickling down his back in hot, sticky rivulets. “Harder—fucking harder—pound this cunt ‘til it’s mush! I love it—love that giant cock tearing me apart!”
He snarled, his grin a savage slash of teeth, his brown eyes blazing with a hunger that bordered on possession as he hoisted her higher still, her voluptuous weight nothing to his demigodly strength. Her ass jiggled like a fucking earthquake in his hands, the massive globes bouncing with a hypnotic, obscene rhythm as he slammed her down onto his cock, impaling her with a force that made her entire body convulse—her pussy stretching impossibly, the slick, pink walls spasming and gushing around his girth. Her cum was a torrent now, a hot, sticky flood that coated his shaft, his balls, his thighs—splashing onto the floor in thick, glistening puddles that pooled around his bare feet, the musky scent of her release thick in the air, mingling with his sweat and the faint metallic tang of blood. “Fucking look at you—cumming like a goddamn fountain!” he growled, his hips pistoning with a speed and power that cracked the plaster behind the door. “These tits—shit, they’re unreal, flopping like that—gonna fuck ‘em raw later. And this ass—” He delivered a vicious, two-handed smack, the cracks overlapping like gunfire, her flesh rippling and reddening as she screamed, her left cheek glowing, her right already bruised purple. “—so fat it’s begging for more!”
Her body seized again, her pussy clamping down on him like a steel trap, pulsing and squirting as another orgasm—her fifth, sixth, who fucking knew—ripped through her with apocalyptic force. “Ichigo—I’m—fuck, cumming again!” she sobbed, her voice a jagged, euphoric mess, her thighs shuddering so violently her boots slipped, scraping down his spine as she clawed at him, desperate to hold on. “Don’t stop—fuck me through it—break me, you bastard—I’m addicted!” Her cum sprayed out around his cock, a gushing, hot mess that soaked his pelvis, dripping down his legs in thick, glistening streams, her walls fluttering wildly as she rode the climax, her ass clenching in his hands, her massive tits bouncing so hard they nearly hit her own face.
“Addicted, huh? Good—‘cause I’m not done!” he roared, his pace escalating to a frenzied, earth-shattering rhythm, his balls slapping her ass with a force that bruised, his cock throbbing so hard it felt like it’d burst. He bit her neck again, harder, teeth sinking into her silky flesh, sucking a dark, possessive hickey as she screamed louder, her hands yanking his hair until it stung, scalp burning. “Gonna fuck you ‘til this whole damn building collapses—gonna cum so deep you’ll taste it, you busty little slut!” His thrusts were apocalyptic now, the door giving way completely—splintering into chunks that clattered to the floor, leaving her back pressed against the bare wall, plaster crumbling around them as he kept her pinned, fucking her through the wreckage.
She was incoherent, her moans a guttural, primal cacophony, her pussy gushing yet again as another orgasm crashed over her, her body a trembling, sweat-slick wreck in his arms. “More—more—fuck, Ichigo!” she slurred, her voice a broken, euphoric plea, her angelic face drenched in sweat, contorted with mindless lust. “So fucking deep—gonna die—love it—fuck!” Her thighs locked tighter, her pussy a furnace of slick heat, her massive curves jiggling uncontrollably as he pounded her, the wall cracking behind her, dust falling in faint clouds.
Ichigo felt his own edge roaring closer, his cock pulsing inside her wrecked, spasming cunt, but he wasn’t ready to end it—not yet. With a feral growl, he shifted his grip, pulling her off the wall mid-thrust, her scream peaking as he spun her around. “Time to change it up, Scarlet,” he snarled, his voice a low, dirty promise as he carried her—still impaled on his cock—across the room in three long strides, her ass bouncing in his hands, her tits swaying wildly. He kicked aside the coffee table with a crash, soda cans and manga scattering, and dropped her onto the futon with a thud that made the frame groan. She landed on her back, legs splayed, pussy dripping and red from his assault, her chest heaving as she gasped for air, her massive breasts spilling to either side of her ribcage.
He didn’t give her a second to recover—grabbing her thick, shapely thighs, he yanked them up and apart, spreading her wide, her boots dangling in the air as he folded her into a mating press. Her knees pressed toward her shoulders, her colossal ass lifting off the futon, exposing her soaked, swollen pussy and the tight pucker of her asshole below. “Gonna fuck you flat now,” he growled, looming over her, his sweat-slick body glistening, his cock—still rock-hard and glistening with her cum—lining up with her entrance. “These thighs—fuck, so thick and juicy—gonna crush me while I rail you.” He slammed into her again, his full length burying itself in one brutal thrust, her pussy swallowing him to the hilt as she screamed, her back arching off the futon, her tits bouncing up toward her chin.
“Fuck—Ichigo!” she wailed, her voice a raw, trembling cry, her hands clawing at the futon, ripping the fabric as he pounded down into her, the mating press driving his cock deeper, harder, the angle merciless. “So—fucking—full—gonna break—love it!” Her pussy clenched around him, her juices squirting out with every thrust, soaking the futon, her ass jiggling beneath her as he slammed her down, the frame creaking and splintering under the force.
“Yeah, take it, you filthy little witch!” he snarled, his hands pinning her thighs back, his hips a relentless machine, his balls slapping her ass with every downward plunge. “This pussy’s mine—gonna fuck it ‘til it’s molded to my cock—gonna drown those fat tits in cum!” The room shook, the futon buckling, and their screams melded into a symphony of raw, unhinged debauchery.

The futon was a battlefield of splintered wood and shredded fabric, its frame groaning and cracking under the apocalyptic force of Ichigo’s relentless pounding. Wanda lay folded beneath him in the mating press, her thick, shapely thighs pinned back toward her shoulders, her knees nearly kissing her ears, her colossal ass lifted off the sagging mattress—two massive, juicy globes that jiggled and bounced with every brutal thrust, their pale, sweat-slick surface glowing with a patchwork of red and purple handprints, welts, and bruises from his earlier smacks. Her pussy—swollen, red, and glistening with a mix of her cum and his precum—gaped around his 15-inch, 3-inch-wide cock, the monstrous shaft slamming into her with a ferocity that shook the entire room, plaster dust raining from the ceiling as the walls trembled. Her thigh-high boots dangled in the air, leather creaking and scuffed, the heels swaying wildly as her legs quaked, muscles twitching and spasming from the strain of being spread so wide, so mercilessly.
Ichigo loomed over her like a goddamn war god, his lean, scarred torso glistening with sweat, beads dripping from his orange hair—now a wild, soaked mess—onto her heaving chest, splashing across her massive, pale breasts. Those milky, mouthwatering globes bounced and flailed with every downward plunge, slapping against her ribcage, her chin, each other—thwap-thwap-thwap—nipples dark and swollen, raw from friction, swaying obscenely as her body rocked under his assault. His hands gripped her thighs with bruising force, fingers sinking into the plush, toned flesh, nails leaving crescent marks as he held her open, her hips tilted up to take every inch of his punishing cock. “Fuck, Wanda—gonna drill this cunt ‘til it’s fucking permanent!” he roared, his voice a guttural snarl, raw and ragged with lust, his brown eyes blazing with feral dominance. “So tight, so goddamn sloppy—gonna carve my shape into you, Scarlet—gonna fuck you ‘til you’re nothing but a hole for this cock!”
Wanda was a screaming, writhing mess beneath him, her scarlet-brown hair a tangled, sweat-drenched halo fanning across the shredded futon, strands sticking to her flushed, glistening face—her high cheekbones, her parted lips, her jaw slack with euphoria. Her jade-green eyes were glassy, rolling back in her skull, fringed by lashes clumped with sweat and tears of pure, unhinged pleasure, her angelic features contorted into a mask of depraved bliss. “Ichigo—yes—fucking yes!” she shrieked, her voice a hoarse, shattered wail, her accent thick with desperation as her nails clawed at the futon, ripping fresh gashes in the fabric, stuffing spilling out around her fingers. “Harder—fucking harder—wreck this pussy ‘til I can’t breathe! I love it—love that giant cock splitting me—fuck me ‘til I’m dead!” Her pussy gushed around him, a hot, sticky flood that squirted out with every thrust, soaking his pelvis, his balls, the futon—puddles forming beneath her ass, dripping off the edge in thick, glistening streams, the air heavy with the musky, primal scent of her release.
He snarled, his grin a wicked, toothy slash as he leaned down, his chest pressing her massive tits flat against her, the soft, plump flesh spilling out to the sides, nipples scraping his scars as he drove into her with a speed and power that cracked the futon’s frame further, wood snapping like brittle bones. His hips were a relentless machine, slamming his cock down into her with earth-shattering force, the fat, throbbing head battering her cervix, pushing past it, stretching her womb with every savage plunge. His balls—heavy, swollen, and slick with her juices—slapped her ass with a wet, meaty thwack-thwack-thwack, bruising the tender flesh where her cheeks met her thighs, the sound mingling with the squelch-squelch-squelch of her overstretched cunt swallowing him whole, her walls spasming and clenching like they were trying to milk him dry. “Fucking take it, you greedy little slut!” he growled, his teeth grazing her ear, biting the lobe hard enough to draw a bead of blood, sucking it clean as she screamed louder. “This pussy’s mine—gonna fuck it ‘til it’s molded to my cock—gonna flood it ‘til you’re leaking for months! Look at these tits—fuck, they’re obscene, mashed up like that—gonna drown ‘em in cum!”
Her body seized as another orgasm—her tenth, twelfth, who could fucking count—tore through her with apocalyptic fury, her pussy clamping down on him like a steel vice, pulsing and squirting so hard it sprayed up his abs, splattering his chest, her juices a hot, sticky mess that drenched them both. “Ichigo—cumming—fucking cumming again!” she sobbed, her voice a jagged, euphoric wail, her thighs shuddering so violently her boots slipped, heels scraping his forearms as she thrashed beneath him. “Don’t stop—fuck me through it—rip me apart, you hung bastard—I’m yours!” Her cum gushed out in torrents, a filthy waterfall that soaked the futon, pooling beneath her ass, dripping onto the floor in thick, glistening streaks, her walls fluttering wildly as she rode the climax, her massive tits bouncing despite being pinned, her ass clenching and jiggling with every thrust.
“Not stopping ‘til this futon’s splinters!” he roared, his pace escalating to a frenzied, world-ending rhythm, his balls slamming her ass with a force that bruised deeper, his cock throbbing so hard it felt like it’d explode. He bit her neck, teeth sinking into her silky flesh, sucking a dark, possessive hickey that overlapped the earlier marks, a constellation of red and purple blooming across her throat as she screamed, her hands yanking his hair until his scalp burned, strands tearing free in her grip. “Cum all you want, you busty little whore—gonna keep this cock buried in you ‘til you’re a drooling, fucked-out wreck! Love these thighs—fuck, so thick and juicy—crushing me while I rail you!” His thrusts were pure annihilation now, the futon collapsing inward, the wooden slats snapping one by one—crack-crack-crack—as he pounded her down into the wreckage, her ass sinking into the stuffing, her pussy taking every inch of his monstrous length with a wet, obscene schlick-schlick-schlick.
She was beyond coherence, her moans a guttural, animalistic cacophony, her pussy gushing yet again as another orgasm crashed over her, her body a trembling, sweat-slick mess beneath him. “More—more—fuck, Ichigo!” she slurred, her voice a broken, euphoric plea, her angelic face drenched in sweat and tears, contorted with mindless lust as her nails raked his forearms, drawing fresh blood that trickled down his wrists. “So fucking deep—gonna die—love it—fuck me harder!” Her pussy clenched tighter, impossibly tighter, her juices a constant stream now, soaking them both as she came yet again, her thighs locking so hard they nearly snapped his ribs, her massive curves jiggling uncontrollably as he pounded her into the ruined futon, the frame giving way completely—collapsing into a heap of wood and fabric beneath them.
“Yeah, that’s it—fucking scream for me, Wanda!” he snarled, his teeth grazing her jaw now, nipping and sucking as he fucked her with a strength that shook the floorboards, his cock a relentless piston in her wrecked, gushing cunt, her curves a bouncing, trembling testament to his dominance. “This pussy’s addicted—gonna fill it, stretch it, ruin it—gonna cum so hard you’ll choke on it! These tits—fuck, gonna bury my face in ‘em—gonna paint that fat ass too!” He smacked her thigh this time, a vicious crack that echoed, her flesh rippling as a red welt bloomed, her screams peaking into a hoarse, broken wail as her pussy squirted again, her body thrashing beneath him, the futon’s remains sinking into the floor.
The room was a haze of heat and chaos—sweat, cum, splintered wood, and the deafening sound of their bodies colliding, her screams and his roars a duet of pure, unhinged debauchery. Ichigo fucked her with everything he had, his strength unyielding, his cock a throbbing, pulsing beast in her spasming, drenched cunt, her massive tits and ass a jiggling, bouncing symphony of raw, primal lust.

The apartment was a crumbling ruin, the futon beneath Wanda reduced to a jagged pile of splintered wood, torn fabric, and scattered stuffing, its collapse leaving them fucking on the bare floorboards, which groaned and cracked under the apocalyptic force of Ichigo’s relentless pounding. Wanda was pinned beneath him in the mating press, her thick, shapely thighs shoved back so far her knees kissed her shoulders, her boots dangling helplessly in the air, leather scratched and scuffed, heels swaying wildly as her legs trembled with violent spasms. Her colossal ass—two massive, juicy globes of plush, sweat-drenched flesh—jutted up off the floor, quaking and bouncing with every brutal thrust, their pale surface a chaotic canvas of overlapping handprints, welts, and bruises, red and purple marks glowing like war wounds from his savage grip. Her pussy—swollen, raw, and glistening with a torrent of her own cum—was stretched obscenely around his 15-inch, 3-inch-wide cock, the monstrous shaft slamming into her with a ferocity that rattled the foundation, her slick, pink walls spasming and gushing as they struggled to take his full, punishing length.
Ichigo towered over her like a goddamn titan, his lean, scarred torso a glistening slab of muscle, sweat pouring from his orange hair—now a wild, dripping mess that clung to his forehead, his neck—splashing onto her heaving chest in hot, salty beads. Her massive breasts were a bouncing, flailing spectacle of depravity, the pale, milky globes mashed against her ribcage by his weight, spilling out to the sides, jiggling and slapping with every downward plunge—thwap-thwap-thwap—nipples dark, swollen, and chafed raw, scraping his scarred pecs as her body rocked beneath him. His hands clamped her thighs with a grip that could shatter stone, fingers sinking deep into the plush, toned flesh, nails carving bloody crescents as he held her spread wide, her hips tilted up at a brutal angle to take every inch of his demigodly cock. “Fuck, Wanda—gonna fuck this cunt into next week!” he roared, his voice a guttural explosion, hoarse and ragged with lust, his brown eyes blazing with a primal, possessive fire. “So tight, so fucking sloppy—gonna carve my goddamn name into you, Scarlet—gonna fuck you ‘til you’re a puddle of cum and screams!”
Wanda was a shrieking, thrashing wreck beneath him, her scarlet-brown hair a sweat-soaked, tangled halo splayed across the floorboards, strands sticking to her flushed, glistening face—her high cheekbones streaked with sweat, her full lips parted in a scream that could pierce the heavens, her jaw trembling with euphoria. Her jade-green eyes were glassy, rolled back so far only the whites showed, fringed by lashes clumped with sweat and tears of pure, unfiltered bliss, her angelic features twisted into a mask of feral, mindless lust. “Ichigo—yes—fucking yes!” she wailed, her voice a hoarse, shattered howl, her accent thick with desperation as her nails clawed at the floor, splintering wood, tearing skin as she gripped for purchase. “Harder—fucking harder—wreck this pussy ‘til it’s useless! I love it—love that giant cock breaking me—fuck me ‘til I’m gone!” Her pussy gushed around him, a hot, sticky flood that squirted out with every thrust, soaking his pelvis, his balls, his thighs—splashing onto the floor in thick, glistening pools that spread beneath her ass, the air choking with the musky, pungent scent of her release, mingling with the salty tang of his sweat and the faint copper of blood.
He snarled, his grin a wicked, toothy slash as he leaned down further, his chest crushing her massive tits flat, the soft, plump flesh spilling out like dough under his weight, nipples scraping his skin raw as he drove into her with a speed and power that cracked the floorboards—crack-crack-crack—dust and splinters flying as the wood buckled beneath them. His hips were a relentless, apocalyptic machine, slamming his cock down into her with a force that shook her entire frame, the fat, throbbing head battering her cervix, smashing past it, stretching her womb with every savage, bone-rattling plunge. His balls—heavy, swollen, and drenched in her juices—slapped her ass with a wet, meaty thwack-thwack-thwack, bruising the tender flesh where her cheeks met her thighs, the sound a perverse harmony with the squelch-squelch-squelch of her overstretched cunt swallowing him whole, her walls convulsing and clenching like they were trying to devour him. “Fucking take it, you filthy little slut!” he growled, his teeth sinking into her shoulder, biting hard enough to break skin, blood beading as he sucked it clean, growling against her flesh as she screamed louder. “This pussy’s mine—gonna fuck it ‘til it’s a gaping wreck—gonna drown it ‘til you’re pissing my cum! Look at these tits—fuck, they’re obscene, smashed like that—gonna choke ‘em with my load!”
Her body seized as another orgasm—her fifteenth, twentieth, lost in the haze—ripped through her with cataclysmic fury, her pussy clamping down on him like a steel trap, pulsing and squirting so hard it sprayed up his chest, splattering his jaw, her juices a hot, sticky mess that drenched them both in a flood of depravity. “Ichigo—cumming—fucking cumming again!” she sobbed, her voice a jagged, euphoric wail, her thighs shuddering so violently her boots slipped, heels scraping his back, leaving bloody trails as she thrashed beneath him. “Don’t stop—fuck me through it—tear me apart, you hung bastard—I’m fucking yours!” Her cum gushed out in torrents, a filthy deluge that soaked the floor, pooling beneath her ass in a slick, shimmering lake, dripping between the cracked boards, her walls fluttering wildly as she rode the climax, her massive tits bouncing despite being pinned, her ass clenching and jiggling with every thrust.
“Not stopping ‘til the floor’s gone!” he roared, his pace escalating to a frenzied, world-ending rhythm, his balls slamming her ass with a force that bruised deeper, purple welts blooming across her cheeks, his cock throbbing so hard it felt like it’d burst through her. He bit her neck again, harder, teeth sinking into her silky flesh, sucking a dark, possessive hickey that bled into the earlier marks, a brutal constellation of red and purple blooming across her throat as she screamed, her hands yanking his hair until clumps tore free, scalp burning as blood trickled down his neck. “Cum all you want, you busty little whore—gonna keep this cock buried in you ‘til you’re a drooling, fucked-out shell! Love these thighs—fuck, so thick and juicy—gonna bruise ‘em black while I rail you!” His thrusts were pure annihilation now, the floorboards splitting beneath them—crack-crack-crack—as he pounded her down into the wreckage, her ass sinking into the splintered wood, her pussy taking every inch of his monstrous length with a wet, obscene schlick-schlick-schlick, juices squirting out in arcs with every plunge.
She was incoherent, her moans a guttural, animalistic cacophony, her pussy gushing yet again as another orgasm crashed over her, her body a trembling, sweat-slick wreck beneath him. “More—more—fuck, Ichigo!” she slurred, her voice a broken, euphoric plea, her angelic face drenched in sweat, tears, and drool, contorted with mindless lust as her nails raked his forearms, drawing fresh blood that dripped onto her thighs, staining her boots. “So fucking deep—gonna die—love it—fuck me harder!” Her pussy clenched tighter, impossibly tighter, her juices a constant stream now, soaking them both as she came yet again, her thighs locking so hard they nearly snapped his wrists, her massive curves jiggling uncontrollably as he pounded her into the ruined floor, the boards giving way completely—collapsing into a jagged crater beneath them.
“Yeah, that’s it—fucking scream for me, Wanda!” he snarled, his teeth grazing her jaw now, nipping and sucking as he fucked her with a strength that shook the walls, his cock a relentless piston in her wrecked, gushing cunt, her curves a bouncing, trembling testament to his dominance. “This pussy’s addicted—gonna fill it, stretch it, ruin It—gonna cum so hard you’ll choke on it! These tits—fuck, gonna bury my face in ‘em—gonna paint that fat ass too!” He smacked her thigh again, a vicious crack that echoed, her flesh rippling as a red welt bloomed, her screams peaking into a hoarse, broken wail as her pussy squirted again, her body thrashing beneath him, the floor’s remains sinking into the subfloor.
The room was a haze of heat and destruction—sweat, cum, splintered wood, and the deafening sound of their bodies colliding, her screams and his roars a duet of pure, unhinged debauchery. Ichigo fucked her with everything he had, his strength unyielding, his cock a throbbing, pulsing beast in her spasming, drenched cunt, her massive tits and ass a jiggling, bouncing symphony of raw, primal lust.

The apartment was a shattered husk, the floor beneath Wanda a jagged crater of splintered wood and cracked subfloor, the remnants of the futon scattered like debris from a bomb blast—torn fabric, broken slats, and clumps of stuffing littering the chaos. Wanda lay pinned beneath Ichigo in the mating press, her thick, shapely thighs shoved back so far her knees grazed her ears, her boots swaying wildly in the air, leather scuffed and streaked with blood and sweat, heels twitching as her legs convulsed with violent, uncontrollable spasms. Her colossal ass—two massive, juicy globes of plush, sweat-drenched flesh—jutted up from the wrecked floor, bouncing and quaking with every earth-shattering thrust, their pale surface a brutal tapestry of overlapping handprints, welts, and bruises, red and purple marks glowing like battle scars, some weeping faint trickles of blood where his nails had gouged too deep. Her pussy—swollen, raw, and pulsating—was a gaping, glistening mess around his 15-inch, 3-inch-wide cock, the monstrous shaft slamming into her with a ferocity that shook the walls, plaster dust raining from the ceiling, cracks spiderwebbing outward as the building groaned under their assault. Her slick, pink walls spasmed and gushed, stretched beyond human limits, a torrent of her cum pooling beneath her, soaking into the splintered wood.
Ichigo loomed over her like a goddamn destroyer, his lean, scarred torso a glistening slab of muscle, sweat pouring from his orange hair—now a wild, dripping tangle that clung to his forehead, his neck, his shoulders—splashing onto her heaving chest in hot, salty rivulets, streaking across her massive, pale breasts. Those milky, mouthwatering globes were mashed against her ribcage by his weight, spilling out to the sides like dough, bouncing and flailing with every downward plunge—thwap-thwap-thwap—nipples dark, swollen, and chafed raw, scraping his scarred pecs, leaving faint red trails as her body rocked beneath him. His hands gripped her thighs with a force that could crush steel, fingers sinking deep into the plush, toned flesh, nails carving bloody crescents that wept crimson, trickling down her skin to mingle with the sweat and cum. “Fuck, Wanda—gonna fuck this cunt ‘til it’s a fucking memory!” he roared, his voice a guttural explosion, hoarse and ragged with lust, his brown eyes blazing with a feral, possessive inferno. “So tight, so goddamn sloppy—gonna carve my cock into your soul, Scarlet—gonna fuck you ‘til you’re nothing but my cum-soaked wreck!”
Wanda was a shrieking, thrashing catastrophe beneath him, her scarlet-brown hair a sweat-soaked, tangled halo fanning across the splintered floor, strands sticking to her flushed, glistening face—her high cheekbones streaked with sweat and tears, her full lips parted in a scream that could shatter glass, her jaw trembling with euphoria, drool pooling at the corners. Her jade-green eyes were glassy, rolled back so far only the whites showed, fringed by lashes clumped with sweat, tears, and faint mascara streaks, her angelic features twisted into a mask of feral, mindless ecstasy. “Ichigo—yes—fucking yes!” she wailed, her voice a hoarse, shattered howl, her accent thick with desperation as her nails clawed at the floor, splintering wood, tearing skin, blood smearing her fingers as she gripped for purchase. “Harder—fucking harder—wreck this pussy ‘til it’s pulp! I love it—love that giant cock breaking me—fuck me ‘til I’m ash!” Her pussy gushed around him, a hot, sticky flood that squirted out with every thrust, soaking his pelvis, his balls, his thighs—splashing onto the floor in thick, glistening pools that spread beneath her ass, the air choking with the musky, pungent scent of her release, the salty tang of his sweat, and the metallic bite of blood.
He snarled, his grin a wicked, too”hy slash as he leaned down further, his chest crushing her massive tits flat, the soft, plump flesh spilling out like liquid under his weight, nipples scraping his skin raw as he drove into her with a speed and power that cracked the subfloor—crack-crack-crack—dust and splinters exploding upward as the wood buckled beneath them. His hips were a relentless, apocalyptic machine, slamming his cock down into her with a force that shook her entire frame, the fat, throbbing head battering her cervix, smashing past it, stretching her womb with every savage, bone-rattling plunge. His balls—heavy, swollen, and drenched in her juices—slapped her ass with a wet, meaty thwack-thwack-thwack, bruising the tender flesh where her cheeks met her thighs, purple welts blooming like dark flowers, the sound a perverse harmony with the squelch-squelch-squelch of her overstretched cunt swallowing him whole, her walls convulsing and clenching like they were trying to devour him. “Fucking take it, you filthy little slut!” he growled, his teeth sinking into her throat, biting hard enough to break skin, blood beading as he sucked it clean, growling against her flesh as she screamed louder, a banshee wail that echoed off the crumbling walls. “This pussy’s mine—gonna fuck it ‘til it’s a gaping ruin—gonna drown it ‘til you’re shitting my cum! These tits—fuck, they’re obscene, smashed like that—gonna choke ‘em with my load!”
Her body seized as another orgasm—her twentieth, thirtieth, lost in the haze—ripped through her with cataclysmic fury, her pussy clamping down on him like a steel trap, pulsing and squirting so hard it sprayed up his chest, splattering his jaw, his face, her juices a hot, sticky mess that drenched them both in a flood of depravity. “Ichigo—cumming—fucking cumming again!” she sobbed, her voice a jagged, euphoric wail, her thighs shuddering so violently her boots slipped, heels scraping his back, leaving bloody trails as she thrashed beneath him, her massive ass quaking, her tits bouncing despite being pinned. “Don’t stop—fuck me through it—tear me apart, you hung bastard—I’m fucking yours!” Her cum gushed out in torrents, a filthy deluge that soaked the floor, pooling beneath her ass in a slick, shimmering lake, dripping between the cracked boards, her walls fluttering wildly as she rode the climax, her screams peaking into a hoarse, broken crescendo.
“Not stopping ‘til the building’s dust!” he roared, his pace escalating to a frenzied, world-ending rhythm, his balls slamming her ass with a force that bruised deeper, purple and black welts spreading across her cheeks, his cock throbbing so hard it felt like it’d burst through her spine. He bit her shoulder again, harder, teeth sinking into her silky flesh, sucking a dark, possessive hickey that bled into the earlier marks, a brutal constellation of red and purple blooming across her skin as she screamed, her hands yanking his hair until clumps tore free, scalp bleeding as blood trickled down his neck, mixing with sweat. “Cum all you want, you busty little whore—gonna keep this cock buried in you ‘til you’re a drooling, fucked-out shell! These thighs—fuck, so thick and juicy—gonna bruise ‘em black while I rail you!” His thrusts were pure annihilation now, the floorboards splitting beneath them—crack-crack-crack—as he pounded her down into the wreckage, her ass sinking Into the splintered wood, her pussy taking every inch of his monstrous length with a wet, obscene schlick-schlick-schlick, juices squirting out in arcs with every plunge, splattering the walls.
She was incoherent, her moans a guttural, animalistic cacophony, her pussy gushing yet again as another orgasm crashed over her, her body a trembling, sweat-slick wreck beneath him. “More—more—fuck, Ichigo!” she slurred, her voice a broken, euphoric plea, her angelic face drenched in sweat, tears, drool, and faint smears of his blood, contorted with mindless lust as her nails raked his forearms, drawing fresh blood that dripped onto her thighs, staining her boots. “So fucking deep—gonna die—love it—fuck me harder!” Her pussy clenched tighter, impossibly tighter, her juices a constant stream now, soaking them both as she came yet again, her thighs locking so hard they nearly snapped his wrists, her massive curves jiggling uncontrollably as he pounded her into the ruined floor, the boards giving way completely—collapsing into a deeper crater beneath them.
Ichigo felt his own edge roaring closer, his cock pulsing inside her wrecked, spasming cunt, but he wasn’t done—not yet. With a feral growl, he shifted his grip mid-thrust, pulling out with a wet, filthy pop, her pussy gaping and dripping, a flood of her cum spilling onto the floor as she whimpered at the sudden emptiness. “Time to flip you, Scarlet,” he snarled, his voice a low, dirty promise as he grabbed her hips, yanking her up and spinning her around with a strength that made her gasp. Her knees hit the splintered floor, hands scrabbling for purchase as he shoved her down into doggy style, her massive ass thrust up high, jiggling and trembling, her thighs spread wide, pussy red and swollen, dripping with need. Her tits hung low, swaying beneath her, nipples brushing the wrecked wood as she arched her back, presenting herself like a bitch in heat.
“Fuck me—now!” she begged, her voice a raw, trembling cry, her head twisting to look back at him, green eyes blazing with lust, hair plastered to her face. “Ram that cock in me—wreck this ass too—I need it!”
He didn’t hesitate, gripping her hips with bruising force, fingers sinking into her plush flesh as he lined up his cock—still rock-hard, glistening with her cum—and slammed into her pussy from behind with a single, brutal thrust. She screamed, her back arching further, her ass clapping against his hips with a thunderous smack, her tits bouncing wildly as he started pounding her doggy style, the floor shaking beneath them. “Fuck, Wanda—this ass is fucking unreal!” he growled, his hands smacking her cheeks—left, right, left—cracks echoing as her flesh rippled, welts blooming. “Gonna fuck you ‘til you’re crawling—gonna fill this cunt ‘til it’s dripping down these thighs!”
The room trembled, the air thick with sweat, cum, and destruction, their screams and the wet slap of their bodies a symphony of raw, primal lust.

The apartment was a wasteland of destruction, the floor beneath them a jagged crater of splintered wood and cracked subfloor, littered with the wreckage of the futon—torn fabric, broken slats, and clumps of stuffing strewn like casualties of their relentless fucking. Wanda was on her hands and knees in the doggy style position, her massive ass thrust up high, two colossal, juicy globes of plush, sweat-drenched flesh quaking and bouncing with every apocalyptic thrust, their pale surface a brutal masterpiece of overlapping handprints, welts, and bruises—red, purple, and black marks glowing like war paint, some streaked with faint smears of blood where his nails had clawed too deep. Her thick, shapely thighs were spread wide, trembling uncontrollably, muscles flexing and twitching under her smooth, toned skin, glistening with sweat and her own cum, the thigh-high boots scuffed and streaked with crimson, leather creaking as her calves tensed, toes curling inside the soles. Her pussy—swollen, raw, and pulsating—was a gaping, dripping mess around Ichigo’s 15-inch, 3-inch-wide cock, the monstrous shaft slamming into her with a ferocity that shook the walls, her slick, pink walls spasming and gushing, stretched beyond comprehension, a torrent of her juices pooling beneath her, soaking into the splintered wood and dripping through the cracks.
Ichigo loomed behind her like a goddamn beast unleashed, his lean, scarred torso a glistening slab of muscle, sweat pouring from his orange hair—now a wild, dripping tangle that clung to his forehead, his neck, his shoulders—splashing onto her massive, jiggling ass in hot, salty rivulets, streaking across the bruised flesh. His hands gripped her hips with a force that could shatter stone, fingers sinking deep into the plush, soft skin above her waist, nails carving bloody crescents that wept crimson, trickling down her thighs to mingle with the sweat and cum. Her massive breasts hung low beneath her, swaying wildly with every thrust, the pale, milky globes slapping against her ribcage, the floor—thwap-thwap-thwap—nipples dark, swollen, and chafed raw, scraping the splintered wood, leaving faint red trails as her body rocked forward. “Fuck, Wanda—gonna fuck this ass ‘til it’s a fucking monument!” he roared, his voice a guttural explosion, hoarse and ragged with lust, his brown eyes blazing with a feral, possessive inferno. “So tight, so goddamn sloppy—gonna carve my cock into your goddamn spine, Scarlet—gonna fuck you ‘til you’re a cum-soaked ruin!”
Wanda was a shrieking, writhing catastrophe in front of him, her scarlet-brown hair a sweat-soaked, tangled mess fanning across her back and the floor, strands sticking to her flushed, glistening face—her high cheekbones streaked with sweat, tears, and faint smears of his blood, her full lips parted in a scream that could pierce the heavens, her jaw trembling with euphoria, drool dripping onto the wood in thick strings. Her jade-green eyes were glassy, rolled back so far only the whites showed, fringed by lashes clumped with sweat, tears, and faint mascara streaks, her angelic features twisted into a mask of feral, mindless ecstasy. “Ichigo—yes—fucking yes!” she wailed, her voice a hoarse, shattered howl, her accent thick with desperation as her nails clawed at the floor, splintering wood, tearing skin, blood smearing her fingers as she gripped for purchase, her arms shaking under the strain. “Harder—fucking harder—wreck this pussy ‘til it’s mush! I love it—love that giant cock breaking me—fuck me ‘til I’m nothing!” Her pussy gushed around him, a hot, sticky flood that squirted out with every thrust, soaking his pelvis, his balls, his thighs—splashing onto the floor in thick, glistening pools that spread beneath her knees, the air choking with the musky, pungent scent of her release, the salty tang of his sweat, and the metallic bite of blood.
He snarled, his grin a wicked, toothy slash as he leaned forward, his chest pressing against her sweat-slick back, crushing her down, her massive tits flattening against the floor, the soft, plump flesh spilling out to the sides, nipples scraping raw as he drove into her with a speed and power that cracked the subfloor further—crack-crack-crack—dust and splinters exploding upward as the wood buckled beneath them. His hips were a relentless, apocalyptic machine, slamming his cock into her from behind with a force that shook her entire frame, the fat, throbbing head battering her cervix, smashing past it, stretching her womb with every savage, bone-rattling plunge. His balls—heavy, swollen, and drenched in her juices—slapped her clit with a wet, meaty thwack-thwack-thwack, bruising the tender nub, sending jolts of pain and pleasure through her as her ass clapped against his hips, the sound a thunderous smack-smack-smack that echoed off the crumbling walls. “Fucking take it, you filthy little slut!” he growled, his teeth sinking into her shoulder, biting hard enough to break skin again, blood beading as he sucked it clean, growling against her flesh as she screamed louder, a banshee wail that rattled the windows. “This pussy’s mine—gonna fuck it ‘til it’s a gaping wreck—gonna drown it ‘til you’re leaking for years! This ass—fuck, it’s unreal, clapping like that—gonna split it open next!”
Her body seized as another orgasm—her thirtieth, fortieth, lost in the haze—ripped through her with cataclysmic fury, her pussy clamping down on him like a steel trap, pulsing and squirting so hard it sprayed up his abs, splattering his chest, her juices a hot, sticky mess that drenched them both in a flood of depravity. “Ichigo—cumming—fucking cumming again!” she sobbed, her voice a jagged, euphoric wail, her thighs shuddering so violently her knees slipped, scraping bloody trails across the splintered wood as she thrashed in front of him, her massive ass quaking, her tits scraping the floor raw. “Don’t stop—fuck me through it—tear me apart, you hung bastard—I’m fucking yours!” Her cum gushed out in torrents, a filthy deluge that soaked the floor, pooling beneath her knees in a slick, shimmering lake, dripping between the cracked boards, her walls fluttering wildly as she rode the climax, her screams peaking into a hoarse, broken crescendo.
“Not stopping ‘til the floor’s gone!” he roared, his pace escalating to a frenzied, world-ending rhythm, his balls slamming her clit with a force that bruised deeper, purple welts blooming across her thighs, his cock throbbing so hard it felt like it’d burst through her spine. He bit her neck again, harder, teeth sinking into her silky flesh, sucking a dark, possessive hickey that bled into the earlier marks, a brutal constellation of red and purple blooming across her skin as she screamed, her hands yanking his hair until clumps tore free, scalp bleeding as blood trickled down his neck, mixing with sweat. “Cum all you want, you busty little whore—gonna keep this cock buried in you ‘til you’re a drooling, fucked-out shell! This ass—fuck, so fat and juicy—gonna bruise it black while I rail you!” His thrusts were pure annihilation now, the floorboards splitting beneath them—crack-crack-crack—as he pounded her forward, her knees sliding through the wreckage, her pussy taking every inch of his monstrous length with a wet, obscene schlick-schlick-schlick, juices squirting out in arcs with every plunge, splattering the walls, the ceiling.
She was incoherent, her moans a guttural, animalistic cacophony, her pussy gushing yet again as another orgasm crashed over her, her body a trembling, sweat-slick wreck in front of him. “More—more—fuck, Ichigo!” she slurred, her voice a broken, euphoric plea, her angelic face drenched in sweat, tears, drool, and faint smears of his blood, contorted with mindless lust as her nails raked the floor, drawing fresh splinters that embedded in her skin, blood dripping onto the wood. “So fucking deep—gonna die—love it—fuck me harder!” Her pussy clenched tighter, impossibly tighter, her juices a constant stream now, soaking them both as she came yet again, her thighs locking so hard they nearly snapped his wrists, her massive curves jiggling uncontrollably as he pounded her into the ruined floor, the boards giving way completely—collapsing into a deeper crater beneath them.
“Yeah, that’s it—fucking scream for me, Wanda!” he snarled, his teeth grazing her ear now, nipping and sucking as he fucked her with a strength that shook the foundation, his cock a relentless piston in her wrecked, gushing cunt, her curves a bouncing, trembling testament to his dominance. “This pussy’s addicted—gonna fill it, stretch it, ruin it—gonna cum so hard you’ll choke on it! These tits—fuck, gonna bury my face in ‘em—gonna paint that fat ass too!” He smacked her ass again, a vicious double crack—left, right—that echoed like gunfire, her flesh rippling as fresh welts bloomed, her screams peaking into a hoarse, broken wail as her pussy squirted again, her body thrashing in front of him, the floor’s remains sinking into the subfloor.
The room was a haze of heat and destruction—sweat, cum, splintered wood, and the deafening sound of their bodies colliding, her screams and his roars a duet of pure, unhinged debauchery. Ichigo fucked her with everything he had, his strength unyielding, his cock a throbbing, pulsing beast in her spasming, drenched cunt, her massive ass and tits a jiggling, bouncing symphony of raw, primal lust.

The apartment was a apocalyptic ruin, the floor beneath them a gaping crater of splintered wood and shattered subfloor, the wreckage of the futon—torn fabric, broken slats, and clumps of stuffing—scattered like the aftermath of a natural disaster, dust and debris swirling in the air from their relentless, earth-shaking fucking. Wanda was on her hands and knees in the doggy style position, her massive ass thrust up high like a goddamn altar of depravity, two colossal, juicy globes of plush, sweat-drenched flesh quaking and bouncing with every cataclysmic thrust, their pale surface a brutal, chaotic masterpiece of overlapping handprints, welts, and bruises—red, purple, and black marks glowing like a war-torn landscape, some crusted with dried blood, others weeping fresh crimson where his nails had gouged jagged trails. Her thick, shapely thighs were splayed wide, trembling uncontrollably, muscles flexing and spasming under her smooth, toned skin, glistening with a sheen of sweat and her own cum, the thigh-high boots scuffed, torn, and streaked with blood and grime, leather creaking and splitting at the seams as her calves tensed, toes curling so hard they threatened to punch through the soles. Her pussy—swollen, raw, and pulsating—was a gaping, dripping abyss around Ichigo’s 15-inch, 3-inch-wide cock, the monstrous shaft slamming into her with a ferocity that cracked the air itself, her slick, pink walls spasming and gushing, stretched beyond any human threshold, a torrent of her juices flooding the crater, soaking into the splintered wood and seeping through the cracks to puddle in the darkness below.
Ichigo loomed behind her like a goddamn warlord of lust, his lean, scarred torso a glistening slab of muscle, sweat pouring from his orange hair—now a wild, dripping tangle that clung to his forehead, his neck, his shoulders, matted with blood and grime—splashing onto her massive, jiggling ass in hot, salty rivulets, streaking across the bruised, welted flesh like war paint. His hands gripped her hips with a force that could pulverize granite, fingers sinking deep into the plush, soft skin above her waist, nails carving bloody trenches that wept crimson, trickling down her thighs in thin, hot streams to mingle with the sweat and cum, staining her boots a deeper red. Her massive breasts hung low beneath her, swaying wildly with every thrust, the pale, milky globes slapping against her ribcage, the floor—thwap-thwap-thwap—nipples dark, swollen, and chafed raw, scraping the splintered wood, leaving bloody streaks as her body lurched forward, her arms trembling, elbows buckling under the strain. “Fuck, Wanda—gonna fuck this ass ‘til it’s a fucking legend!” he roared, his voice a guttural explosion, hoarse and ragged with lust, his brown eyes blazing with a feral, possessive inferno that could burn worlds. “So tight, so goddamn sloppy—gonna carve my cock into your fucking soul, Scarlet—gonna fuck you ‘til you’re a cum-drenched corpse!”
Wanda was a shrieking, writhing apocalypse in front of him, her scarlet-brown hair a sweat-soaked, tangled mess fanning across her back and the floor, strands sticking to her flushed, glistening face—her high cheekbones streaked with sweat, tears, drool, and smears of his blood, her full lips parted in a scream that could rend the heavens, her jaw trembling with euphoria, drool dripping onto the wood in thick, glistening strings that pooled beneath her chin. Her jade-green eyes were glassy, rolled back so far only the whites showed, fringed by lashes clumped with sweat, tears, and faint mascara streaks, her angelic features twisted into a mask of feral, mindless ecstasy, her skin flushed a deep, feverish red. “Ichigo—yes—fucking yes!” she wailed, her voice a hoarse, shattered howl, her accent thick with desperation as her nails clawed at the floor, splintering wood, tearing skin, blood smearing her fingers and pooling beneath her hands as her arms shook, threatening to collapse. “Harder—fucking harder—wreck this pussy ‘til it’s nothing! I love it—love that giant cock breaking me—fuck me ‘til I’m dust!” Her pussy gushed around him, a hot, sticky flood that squirted out with every thrust, soaking his pelvis, his balls, his thighs—splashing onto the floor in thick, glistening pools that spread beneath her knees, the air choking with the musky, pungent scent of her release, the salty tang of his sweat, and the metallic bite of blood, a primal miasma that clung to their skin.
He snarled, his grin a wicked, toothy slash as he leaned forward, his chest pressing against her sweat-slick back, crushing her down harder, her massive tits flattening against the floor, the soft, plump flesh spilling out to the sides like dough, nipples scraping raw, bleeding as he drove into her with a speed and power that cracked the subfloor further—crack-crack-crack—dust and splinters exploding upward, embedding in their skin as the wood buckled beneath them. His hips were a relentless, apocalyptic machine, slamming his cock into her from behind with a force that shook her entire frame, the fat, throbbing head battering her cervix, smashing past it, stretching her womb with every savage, bone-rattling plunge, her insides bruised and reshaped by his monstrous girth. His balls—heavy, swollen, and drenched in her juices—slapped her clit with a wet, meaty thwack-thwack-thwack, bruising the tender nub black, sending jolts of agony and ecstasy through her as her ass clapped against his hips, the sound a thunderous smack-smack-smack that echoed off the crumbling walls, rattling the windows until they cracked, glass tinkling to the floor. “Fucking take it, you filthy little slut!” he growled, his teeth sinking into her neck, biting hard enough to tear flesh, blood welling as he sucked it clean, growling against her skin as she screamed louder, a banshee wail that shook the ceiling, plaster falling in chunks. “This pussy’s mine—gonna fuck it ‘til it’s a gaping ruin—gonna drown it ‘til you’re shitting my cum! This ass—fuck, it’s unreal, clapping like that—gonna split it wide open next!”
Her body seized as another orgasm—her fortieth, fiftieth, lost in the haze—ripped through her with cataclysmic fury, her pussy clamping down on him like a steel trap, pulsing and squirting so hard it sprayed up his chest, splattering his face, her juices a hot, sticky mess that drenched them both in a flood of depravity, dripping from his jaw onto her back. “Ichigo—cumming—fucking cumming again!” she sobbed, her voice a jagged, euphoric wail, her thighs shuddering so violently her knees slipped, scraping bloody trails across the splintered wood as she thrashed in front of him, her massive ass quaking, her tits scraping the floor raw, nipples bleeding as they dragged through the wreckage. “Don’t stop—fuck me through it—tear me apart, you hung bastard—I’m fucking yours!” Her cum gushed out in torrents, a filthy deluge that soaked the floor, pooling beneath her knees in a slick, shimmering lake, dripping between the cracked boards, her walls fluttering wildly as she rode the climax, her screams peaking into a hoarse, broken crescendo that cracked her voice, leaving It a rasping, guttural mess.
“Not stopping ‘til the building’s ash!” he roared, his pace escalating to a frenzied, world-ending rhythm, his balls slamming her clit with a force that bruised deeper, purple and black welts spreading across her thighs, his cock throbbing so hard it felt like it’d burst through her spine, veins pulsing against her spasming walls. He bit her shoulder again, harder, teeth sinking into her silky flesh, sucking a dark, possessive hickey that bled into the earlier marks, a brutal constellation of red and purple blooming across her skin as she screamed, her hands yanking his hair until clumps tore free, scalp bleeding as blood trickled down his neck, splashing onto her ass, mixing with sweat and cum. “Cum all you want, you busty little whore—gonna keep this cock buried in you ‘til you’re a drooling, fucked-out husk! This ass—fuck, so fat and juicy—gonna bruise it black while I rail you!” His thrusts were pure annihilation now, the floorboards splitting beneath them—crack-crack-crack—as he pounded her forward, her knees sliding through the wreckage, her pussy taking every inch of his monstrous length with a wet, obscene schlick-schlick-schlick, juices squirting out in arcs with every plunge, splattering the walls, the ceiling, the broken windows.
She was incoherent, her moans a guttural, animalistic cacophony, her pussy gushing yet again as another orgasm crashed over her, her body a trembling, sweat-slick wreck in front of him. “More—more—fuck, Ichigo!” she slurred, her voice a broken, euphoric plea, her angelic face drenched in sweat, tears, drool, and smears of his blood, contorted with mindless lust as her nails raked the floor, drawing fresh splinters that embedded deep in her skin, blood dripping onto the wood in thick, sticky pools. “So fucking deep—gonna die—love it—fuck me harder!” Her pussy clenched tighter, impossibly tighter, her juices a constant stream now, soaking them both as she came yet again, her thighs locking so hard they nearly snapped his wrists, her massive curves jiggling uncontrollably as he pounded her into the ruined floor, the boards giving way completely—collapsing into an even deeper crater beneath them, dust billowing like smoke.
“Yeah, that’s it—fucking scream for me, Wanda!” he snarled, his teeth grazing her ear now, nipping and sucking as he fucked her with a strength that shook the foundation, his cock a relentless piston in her wrecked, gushing cunt, her curves a bouncing, trembling testament to his dominance. “This pussy’s addicted—gonna fill it, stretch it, ruin it—gonna cum so hard you’ll choke on it! These tits—fuck, gonna bury my face in ‘em—gonna paint that fat ass too!” He smacked her ass again, a vicious triple crack—left, right, left—that echoed like gunfire, her flesh rippling as fresh welts bloomed, her screams peaking into a hoarse, broken wail as her pussy squirted again, her body thrashing in front of him, the floor’s remains sinking into the subfloor, cracks spreading outward like a spider’s web.
The room was a haze of heat and annihilation—sweat, cum, splintered wood, blood, and the deafening sound of their bodies colliding, her screams and his roars a duet of pure, unhinged debauchery. Ichigo fucked her with everything he had, his strength unyielding, his cock a throbbing, pulsing beast in her spasming, drenched cunt, her massive ass and tits a jiggling, bouncing symphony of raw, primal lust.

The apartment was a apocalyptic wasteland, the floor beneath them a cavernous crater of splintered wood and shattered subfloor, the remnants of the futon—torn fabric, broken slats, and clumps of stuffing—scattered like the wreckage of a fallen empire, dust and debris swirling in thick clouds from their relentless, earth-shattering fucking. Wanda was on her hands and knees in the doggy style position, her massive ass thrust up high like a goddamn monument to debauchery, two colossal, juicy globes of plush, sweat-drenched flesh quaking and bouncing with every cataclysmic thrust, their pale surface a brutal, chaotic tapestry of overlapping handprints, welts, and bruises—red, purple, and black marks glowing like a battlefield, some crusted with dried blood, others weeping fresh crimson in rivulets that streaked down her thighs, pooling in the crevices of her boots. Her thick, shapely thighs were splayed wide, trembling uncontrollably, muscles flexing and spasming under her smooth, toned skin, glistening with a thick sheen of sweat, her own cum, and smears of blood, the thigh-high boots torn at the seams, leather scuffed and streaked with crimson and grime, creaking as her calves tensed, toes curling so hard they punched holes through the soles, exposing her sweat-slick feet. Her pussy—swollen, raw, and pulsating—was a gaping, dripping abyss around Ichigo’s 15-inch, 3-inch-wide cock, the monstrous shaft slamming into her with a ferocity that cracked the air like thunder, her slick, pink walls spasming and gushing, stretched beyond any mortal limit, a torrent of her juices flooding the crater, soaking into the splintered wood and seeping through the cracks to drip into the darkness below, forming a slick, shimmering pool that reflected the dim, flickering light.
Ichigo loomed behind her like a goddamn god of destruction, his lean, scarred torso a glistening slab of muscle, sweat pouring from his orange hair—now a wild, dripping tangle matted with blood, grime, and clumps of her hair—splashing onto her massive, jiggling ass in hot, salty rivulets, streaking across the bruised, welted flesh like molten streaks of war paint, some droplets hissing as they hit her overheated skin. His hands gripped her hips with a force that could crush diamonds, fingers sinking deep into the plush, soft skin above her waist, nails carving bloody trenches that wept crimson, trickling down her thighs in thin, hot streams to mingle with the sweat and cum, staining her boots a deeper, mottled red, the leather glistening wetly. Her massive breasts hung low beneath her, swaying wildly with every thrust, the pale, milky globes slapping against her ribcage, the floor—thwap-thwap-thwap—nipples dark, swollen, and chafed raw, scraping the splintered wood, leaving bloody streaks and faint smears of flesh as her body lurched forward, her arms trembling violently, elbows buckling and scraping the wreckage, skin tearing as she fought to hold herself up. “Fuck, Wanda—gonna fuck this ass ‘til it’s a fucking myth!” he roared, his voice a guttural explosion, hoarse and ragged with lust, his brown eyes blazing with a feral, possessive inferno that could incinerate worlds, pupils dilated to black pits of raw hunger. “So tight, so goddamn sloppy—gonna carve my cock into your fucking eternity, Scarlet—gonna fuck you ‘til you’re a cum-drenched ghost!”
Wanda was a shrieking, writhing cataclysm in front of him, her scarlet-brown hair a sweat-soaked, tangled mess fanning across her back and the floor, strands sticking to her flushed, glistening face—her high cheekbones streaked with sweat, tears, drool, and smears of his blood, her full lips parted in a scream that could rend the fabric of reality, her jaw trembling with euphoria, drool dripping onto the wood in thick, glistening strings that pooled beneath her chin, mixing with blood and sweat in a filthy puddle. Her jade-green eyes were glassy, rolled back so far only the whites showed, fringed by lashes clumped with sweat, tears, and faint mascara streaks, her angelic features twisted into a mask of feral, mindless ecstasy, her skin flushed a deep, feverish red, veins pulsing visibly beneath her temples. “Ichigo—yes—fucking yes!” she wailed, her voice a hoarse, shattered howl, her accent thick with desperation as her nails clawed at the floor, splintering wood, tearing skin, blood smearing her fingers and pooling beneath her hands in thick, sticky clots as her arms shook, collapsing halfway, her face slamming into the wreckage, cheek scraping raw as she screamed into the wood. “Harder—fucking harder—wreck this pussy ‘til it’s ash! I love it—love that giant cock breaking me—fuck me ‘til I’m oblivion!” Her pussy gushed around him, a hot, sticky flood that squirted out with every thrust, soaking his pelvis, his balls, his thighs—splashing onto the floor in thick, glistening pools that spread beneath her knees, the air choking with the musky, pungent scent of her release, the salty tang of his sweat, and the metallic bite of blood, a primal miasma that stung their lungs.
He snarled, his grin a wicked, toothy slash as he leaned forward, his chest pressing against her sweat-slick back, crushing her down harder, her massive tits flattening against the floor, the soft, plump flesh spilling out to the sides like liquid, nipples scraping raw, bleeding profusely as he drove into her with a speed and power that cracked the subfloor further—crack-crack-crack—dust and splinters exploding upward, embedding in their skin, drawing fresh blood as the wood buckled beneath them, the crater deepening with every thrust. His hips were a relentless, apocalyptic machine, slamming his cock into her from behind with a force that shook her entire frame, the fat, throbbing head battering her cervix, smashing past it, stretching her womb with every savage, bone-rattling plunge, her insides bruised, torn, and reshaped by his monstrous girth, veins pulsing against her spasming walls like a heartbeat of pure destruction. His balls—heavy, swollen, and drenched in her juices—slapped her clit with a wet, meaty thwack-thwack-thwack, bruising the tender nub black and purple, sending jolts of agony and ecstasy through her as her ass clapped against his hips, the sound a thunderous smack-smack-smack that echoed off the crumbling walls, rattling the cracked windows until they shattered completely, glass raining down in a tinkling storm, shards embedding in the floor around them. “Fucking take it, you filthy little slut!” he growled, his teeth sinking into her neck, biting hard enough to tear flesh, blood welling in a hot flood as he sucked it clean, growling against her skin as she screamed louder, a banshee wail that shook the ceiling, plaster falling in chunks, some crashing onto her back, leaving welts. “This pussy’s mine—gonna fuck it ‘til it’s a gaping void—gonna drown it ‘til you’re shitting my cum for days! This ass—fuck, it’s unreal, clapping like that—gonna split it wide open next!”
Her body seized as another orgasm—her fiftieth, sixtieth, lost in the haze—ripped through her with cataclysmic fury, her pussy clamping down on him like a steel trap, pulsing and squirting so hard it sprayed up his chest, splattering his face, his hair, her juices a hot, sticky mess that drenched them both in a flood of depravity, dripping from his jaw onto her back, mixing with blood and sweat in a filthy cascade. “Ichigo—cumming—fucking cumming again!” she sobbed, her voice a jagged, euphoric wail, her thighs shuddering so violently her knees slipped, scraping bloody trails across the splintered wood as she thrashed in front of him, her massive ass quaking, her tits scraping the floor raw, nipples bleeding as they dragged through the wreckage, leaving smears of crimson and flesh. “Don’t stop—fuck me through it—tear me apart, you hung bastard—I’m fucking yours!” Her cum gushed out in torrents, a filthy deluge that soaked the floor, pooling beneath her knees in a slick, shimmering lake, dripping between the cracked boards, her walls fluttering wildly as she rode the climax, her screams peaking into a hoarse, broken crescendo that cracked her voice entirely, leaving it a rasping, guttural croak.
“Not stopping ‘til the world’s ash!” he roared, his pace escalating to a frenzied, world-ending rhythm, his balls slamming her clit with a force that bruised deeper, purple and black welts spreading across her thighs like inkblots, his cock throbbing so hard it felt like it’d burst through her spine, veins pulsing against her spasming walls with a savage rhythm. He bit her shoulder again, harder, teeth sinking into her silky flesh, sucking a dark, possessive hickey that bled into the earlier marks, a brutal constellation of red and purple blooming across her skin as she screamed, her hands yanking his hair until clumps tore free, scalp bleeding as blood trickled down his neck, splashing onto her ass, mixing with sweat and cum in a sticky, red sheen. “Cum all you want, you busty little whore—gonna keep this cock buried in you ‘til you’re a drooling, fucked-out husk! This ass—fuck, so fat and juicy—gonna bruise it black while I rail you!” His thrusts were pure annihilation now, the floorboards splitting beneath them—crack-crack-crack—as he pounded her forward, her knees sliding through the wreckage, her pussy taking every inch of his monstrous length with a wet, obscene schlick-schlick-schlick, juices squirting out in arcs with every plunge, splattering the walls, the ceiling, the shattered windows, painting the room in her release.
She was incoherent, her moans a guttural, animalistic cacophony, her pussy gushing yet again as another orgasm crashed over her, her body a trembling, sweat-slick wreck in front of him. “More—more—fuck, Ichigo!” she slurred, her voice a broken, euphoric croak, her angelic face drenched in sweat, tears, drool, and smears of his blood, contorted with mindless lust as her nails raked the floor, drawing fresh splinters that embedded deep in her skin, blood dripping onto the wood in thick, sticky pools, her arms giving out completely, collapsing her chest into the wreckage, tits flattening further, nipples grinding into the wood. “So fucking deep—gonna die—love it—fuck me harder!” Her pussy clenched tighter, impossibly tighter, her juices a constant stream now, soaking them both as she came yet again, her thighs locking so hard they nearly snapped his wrists, her massive curves jiggling uncontrollably as he pounded her into the ruined floor, the boards giving way entirely—collapsing into an even deeper crater, dust billowing like a volcanic eruption.
Ichigo felt his own edge roaring closer, his cock pulsing inside her wrecked, spasming cunt, but he wasn’t ready to finish—not like this. With a feral growl, he pulled out mid-thrust, the wet, filthy pop echoing as her pussy gaped and gushed, a flood of her cum spilling onto the floor in a thick, glistening wave, her whimper of loss turning into a scream as he grabbed her hips, flipping her onto her back with a savage yank. “Back to the press, Scarlet,” he snarled, his voice a low, dirty promise as he dragged her through the wreckage, her ass scraping splinters, her boots kicking debris as he positioned her flat on her back in the crater’s center, her legs splayed wide, pussy red and swollen, dripping with need. Her massive tits spilled to either side, nipples bleeding, her sweat-slick body trembling as he loomed over her, grabbing her thick thighs and yanking them up, folding her Into the mating press once more, knees pressed toward her shoulders, ass lifting off the floor.
“Fuck me—fill me!” she begged, her voice a raw, trembling croak, her green eyes blazing with lust, hair plastered to her face as she clawed at his arms, drawing fresh blood. “Ram that cock in me—wreck me again—I need it!”
He didn’t hesitate, gripping her thighs’with bruising force, fingers sinking into the plush flesh as he lined up his cock—still rock-hard, glistening with her cum and blood—and slammed into her pussy with a single, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. She screamed, her back arching off the floor, her tits bouncing wildly toward her chin as he started pounding her in the mating press again, the floor shaking beneath them, cracks spreading outward. “Fuck, Wanda—this pussy’s fucking perfect!” he growled, his hands pinning her thighs back, his hips a relentless machine, his balls slapping her ass with every downward plunge. “Gonna fuck you flat—gonna fill this cunt ‘til it’s dripping down these thighs!”
The room trembled, the air thick with sweat, cum, blood, and destruction, their screams and the wet slap of their bodies a symphony of raw, primal lust.

The apartment was a shattered abyss, the floor beneath them a cavernous crater of splintered wood and cracked subfloor, the remnants of the futon—torn fabric, broken slats, and clumps of stuffing—scattered like the debris of a fallen civilization, dust and plaster swirling in thick, choking clouds from their relentless, earth-shattering fucking. Wanda lay folded beneath Ichigo in the mating press, her thick, shapely thighs shoved back so far her knees pressed against her shoulders, her boots dangling helplessly in the air, leather torn and streaked with blood, sweat, and grime, heels twitching wildly as her legs convulsed with violent, uncontrollable spasms, muscles flexing and spasming beneath her smooth, toned skin, glistening with a thick sheen of sweat, cum, and smears of crimson. Her colossal ass—two massive, juicy globes of plush, sweat-drenched flesh—jutted up from the wrecked floor, quaking and bouncing with every apocalyptic thrust, their pale surface a brutal tapestry of overlapping handprints, welts, and bruises—red, purple, and black marks glowing like a war-torn battlefield, some crusted with dried blood, others weeping fresh crimson in rivulets that streaked down her thighs, pooling in the crevices of her boots and dripping into the crater below. Her pussy—swollen, raw, and pulsating—was a gaping, dripping void around Ichigo’s 15-inch, 3-inch-wide cock, the monstrous shaft slamming into her with a ferocity that cracked the air like a sonic boom, her slick, pink walls spasming and gushing, stretched beyond any mortal limit, a torrent of her juices flooding the crater, soaking into the splintered wood and seeping through the cracks to form a slick, shimmering puddle that reflected the flickering, dying light of the shattered room.
Ichigo towered over her like a goddamn deity of destruction, his lean, scarred torso a glistening slab of muscle, sweat pouring from his orange hair—now a wild, dripping tangle matted with blood, grime, and clumps of her hair—splashing onto her heaving chest in hot, salty rivulets, streaking across her massive, pale breasts like molten trails of war paint, some droplets hissing as they hit her overheated skin, evaporating in faint wisps of steam. His hands gripped her thighs with a force that could shatter mountains, fingers sinking deep into the plush, toned flesh, nails carving bloody crescents that wept crimson, trickling down her skin in thin, hot streams to mingle with the sweat and cum, staining her boots a deeper, mottled red, the leather glistening wetly, creaking as it stretched against her flexing calves. Her massive breasts were mashed against her ribcage by his weight, spilling out to the sides like liquid, bouncing and flailing with every downward plunge—thwap-thwap-thwap—nipples dark, swollen, and chafed raw, bleeding profusely, scraping his scarred pecs, leaving faint red trails as her body rocked beneath him, her back arching off the floor, spine creaking under the strain. “Fuck, Wanda—gonna fuck this cunt ‘til it’s a fucking relic!” he roared, his voice a guttural explosion, hoarse and ragged with lust, his brown eyes blazing with a feral, possessive inferno that could burn through dimensions, pupils dilated to black pits of raw, unhinged hunger. “So tight, so goddamn sloppy—gonna carve my cock into your fucking afterlife, Scarlet—gonna fuck you ‘til you’re a cum-soaked phantom!”
Wanda was a shrieking, writhing cataclysm beneath him, her scarlet-brown hair a sweat-soaked, tangled halo fanning across the splintered floor, strands sticking to her flushed, glistening face—her high cheekbones streaked with sweat, tears, drool, and smears of his blood, her full lips parted in a scream that could shatter the fabric of reality, her jaw trembling with euphoria, drool dripping onto the wood in thick, glistening strings that pooled beneath her chin, mixing with blood and sweat in a filthy, sticky puddle. Her jade-green eyes were glassy, rolled back so far only the whites showed, fringed by lashes clumped with sweat, tears, and faint mascara streaks, her angelic features twisted into a mask of feral, mindless ecstasy, her skin flushed a deep, feverish red, veins pulsing visibly beneath her temples and neck, sweat beading and rolling off her in waves. “Ichigo—yes—fucking yes!” she wailed, her voice a hoarse, shattered howl, her accent thick with desperation as her nails clawed at the floor, splintering wood, tearing skin, blood smearing her fingers and pooling beneath her hands in thick, sticky clots as her arms shook, threatening to collapse entirely. “Harder—fucking harder—wreck this pussy ‘til it’s dust! I love it—love that giant cock breaking me—fuck me ‘til I’m nothing!” Her pussy gushed around him, a hot, sticky flood that squirted out with every thrust, soaking his pelvis, his balls, his thighs—splashing onto the floor in thick, glistening pools that spread beneath her ass, the air choking with the musky, pungent scent of her release, the salty tang of his sweat, and the metallic bite of blood, a primal miasma that stung their lungs and clung to their skin like a second flesh.
He snarled, his grin a wicked, toothy slash as he leaned down further, his chest crushing her massive tits flat, the soft, plump flesh spilling out like dough under his weight, nipples scraping his skin raw, bleeding as he drove into her with a speed and power that cracked the subfloor further—crack-crack-crack—dust and splinters exploding upward, embedding in their skin, drawing fresh blood as the wood buckled beneath them, the crater deepening with every thrust, the edges collapsing inward like a sinkhole. His hips were a relentless, apocalyptic machine, slamming his cock down into her with a force that shook her entire frame, the fat, throbbing head battering her cervix, smashing past it, stretching her womb with every savage, bone-rattling plunge, her insides bruised, torn, and reshaped by his monstrous girth, veins pulsing against her spasming walls like a heartbeat of pure annihilation. His balls—heavy, swollen, and drenched in her juices—slapped her ass with a wet, meaty thwack-thwack-thwack, bruising the tender flesh where her cheeks met her thighs, purple and black welts blooming like dark, twisted flowers, the sound a perverse harmony with the squelch-squelch-squelch of her overstretched cunt swallowing him whole, her walls convulsing and clenching like they were trying to devour him alive. “Fucking take it, you filthy little slut!” he growled, his teeth sinking into her throat, biting hard enough to tear flesh, blood welling in a hot flood as he sucked it clean, growling against her skin as she screamed louder, a banshee wail that shook the ceiling, plaster falling in chunks, some crashing onto her chest, leaving welts and cuts. “This pussy’s mine—gonna fuck it ‘til it’s a gaping abyss—gonna drown it ‘til you’re shitting my cum for weeks! These tits—fuck, they’re obscene, mashed like that—gonna choke ‘em with my load!”
Her body seized as anotherr orgasm—her seventieth, eightieth, lost in the haze—ripped through her with cataclysmic fury, her pussy clamping down on him like a steel trap, pulsing and squirting so hard it sprayed up his chest, splattering his face, his hair, her juices a hot, sticky mess that drenched them both in a flood of depravity, dripping from his jaw onto her tits, mixing with blood and sweat in a filthy, glistening cascade that ran down her sides. “Ichigo—cumming—fucking cumming again!” she sobbed, her voice a jagged, euphoric wail, her thighs shuddering so violently her boots slipped, heels scraping his back, leaving bloody trails as she thrashed beneath him, her massive ass quaking, her tits bouncing despite being pinned, nipples bleeding as they scraped his chest raw, leaving smears of crimson across his scars. “Don’t stop—fuck me through it—breed me, you hung bastard—I’m fucking yours!” Her cum gushed out in torrents, a filthy deluge that soaked the floor, pooling beneath her ass in a slick, shimmering lake, dripping between the cracked boards, her walls fluttering wildly as she rode the climax, her screams peaking into a hoarse, broken crescendo that cracked her voice entirely, leaving it a rasping, guttural croak that echoed off the crumbling walls.

“Gonna fill you now—fucking take it all!” he roared, his pace escalating to a frenzied, world-ending rhythm, his balls tightening, slamming her ass with a force that bruised deeper, purple and black welts spreading across her cheeks like a plague, his cock throbbing so hard it felt like it’d explode, veins pulsing against her spasming walls with a savage, relentless rhythm that drove him to the edge. He bit her shoulder again, harder, teeth sinking into her silky flesh, sucking a dark, possessive hickey that bled into the earlier marks, a brutal constellation of red and purple blooming across her skin as she screamed, her hands yanking his hair until clumps tore free, scalp bleeding as blood trickled down his neck, splashing onto her back, mixing with sweat and cum in a sticky, red sheen. “Cum with me, you busty little whore—gonna breed this pussy—gonna flood it ‘til you’re mine forever!” His thrusts were pure annihilation now, the floorboards splitting beneath them—crack-crack-crack—as he pounded her down into the wreckage, her ass sinking into the splintered wood, her pussy taking every inch of his monstrous length with a wet, obscene schlick-schlick-schlick, juices squirting out in arcs with every plunge, splattering the walls, the ceiling, the shattered windows, painting the room in her release.

She came again, her pussy clenching tighter, impossibly tighter, her juices a constant stream now, soaking them both as she screamed his name, her body a trembling, sweat-slick wreck beneath him. “Ichigo—yes—breed me—fill me!” she slurred, her voice a broken, euphoric croak, her angelic face drenched in sweat, tears, drool, and smears of his blood, contorted with mindless lust as her nails raked his forearms, drawing fresh blood that dripped onto her thighs, staining her boots, her arms clawing at the air as she thrashed. “So fucking deep—gonna die—love it—cum in me!” Her orgasm triggered his, and with a final, earth-shattering thrust, Ichigo roared, his cock pulsing violently as he erupted inside her, a hot, thick flood of cum blasting into her womb, filling her so completely it overflowed, gushing out around his shaft in creamy, white spurts, mixing with her juices, dripping onto the floor in a sticky, glistening mess. “Fuck—Wanda—take it—fucking bred you!” he snarled, his hips bucking as he pumped load after load Into her, her pussy milking him dry, her walls spasming around him as she screamed, her body shaking uncontrollably, her massive curves jiggling with the force of his release.

The room trembled, the air thick with sweat, cum, blood, and destruction, their screams and the wet slap of their bodies fading into a heavy, panting silence as he collapsed onto her, still buried deep, his cock twitching with the last spurts of his seed. The crater beneath them smoked faintly, the floor’s remains sinking into the subfloor, cracks radiating outward like a spider’s web across the ruined apartment. Wanda’s legs fell limp, trembling as they slid from his grasp, her boots thudding against the wood, her chest heaving as she gasped for air, her massive tits rising and falling, blood and sweat streaking her skin. Ichigo rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling, hot and ragged, sweat dripping from his hair onto her face, their bodies pressed together in the wreckage.

“Fuck… Wanda,” he panted, his voice rough but softer now, his brown eyes meeting her glassy jade-green ones, a flicker of something tender breaking through the feral haze. “I… I love you. You’re fuckin’ everything to me.”

She blinked up at him, her lips trembling into a weak, exhausted smile, her hand shaking as she reached up to cup his blood-streaked face, fingers brushing his sweat-soaked hair. “Ichigo… I love you too,” she whispered, her voice a cracked, hoarse murmur, thick with emotion as tears welled in her eyes, mixing with the mess on her face. “You’re my everything… my Ghost Boy.”

They lay there, post-coital in the ruins, bodies entwined, blood and cum pooling around them, the apartment a testament to their brutal passion. The silence was heavy, broken only by their labored breathing, their declarations of love hanging in the air like a fragile, beautiful promise amidst the chaos they’d wrought.

Weeks had passed since that night of raw, apocalyptic passion, and the apartment in Karakura Town had been reborn from its wreckage. The cratered floor was now smooth hardwood, polished to a warm, honeyed sheen that gleamed under the soft glow of a new overhead light fixture, its frosted glass diffusing a gentle ambiance across the room. The splintered walls had been replastered and painted a calming sage green, the cracks sealed as if they’d never existed, adorned with a few framed photos—Ichigo grinning with his friends, Wanda in her crimson attire gazing pensively at the horizon—hanging neatly above a rebuilt couch, its cushions plump and upholstered in a deep charcoal fabric. The shattered windows were replaced with sturdy double-panes, letting in the late afternoon sun that streamed through gauzy white curtains, casting golden streaks across the space. The futon was gone, replaced by a proper bed tucked against the far wall, its frame sturdy oak, the mattress draped in a thick, crimson comforter that echoed Wanda’s mystical aesthetic. The air smelled faintly of cedar and fresh paint, a quiet testament to the repairs that had erased the chaos of their love’s destructive peak.
Ichigo lounged on the couch, his lean frame sprawled casually, one leg slung over the armrest, his orange hair still a wild mess but cleaner now, glinting in the sunlight. He wore a faded black T-shirt and jeans, barefoot, a can of soda dangling from his hand as he flipped through a manga, his brown eyes half-lidded with a rare, relaxed contentment. The weeks since that night had softened him in subtle ways—his shoulders less tense, his smirk less guarded, a quiet peace settling into the lines of his face. Wanda stood by the kitchenette counter, her scarlet-brown hair loose and flowing, cascading down her back like a river of autumn leaves, catching the light in shimmering waves. She wore one of his oversized hoodies—gray and slightly frayed at the cuffs—over a pair of black leggings that hugged her thick thighs and wide hips, her massive bust stretching the fabric in a way that still made Ichigo’s gaze linger when he thought she wasn’t looking. Her boots were off, her small, delicate feet bare against the cool floor, a mug of tea steaming in her hands as she stared out the window, her jade-green eyes distant, thoughtful—a faint glow of Chaos Magic flickering at her fingertips, unbidden, as if her power sensed something she hadn’t yet grasped.
The air between them was easy, comfortable, threaded with the unspoken bond forged in blood, sweat, and love. But there was a shift in Wanda today—something Ichigo had noticed since morning. She’d been quieter, her movements slower, her hand drifting to her stomach absently as she sipped her tea. He set the manga down, his soda clinking against the coffee table—new, unscarred, its wood unmarred by their past chaos—and tilted his head, studying her. “Oi, Scarlet,” he called, his voice rough but warm, a playful edge to it. “You’ve been zoning out all day. What’s up? Hollow messing with your head or something?”
She turned to him, her lips curving into a small, wry smile, the kind that always made his chest tighten a little. “No Hollows,” she said, her accent soft but clear, carrying that faint Eastern European lilt he’d grown to love. “Just… feeling strange. Tired, maybe. More than usual.” She set the mug down, her gloved fingers—now simple cotton, not the mystical leather—brushing her stomach again, a faint frown creasing her brow. “It’s been weeks since… well, you know. And I’ve been sensing something. Not magic, exactly, but… something alive.”
Ichigo’s brow furrowed, his grin fading as he swung his legs off the couch, sitting up straighter. “Alive? What, like reiatsu? You picking up some weird spirit vibe?” He stood, crossing the room in a few long strides, his bare feet silent against the hardwood as he stopped in front of her, his hand hovering near her shoulder, hesitant but protective. “You’re not getting sick or anything, are you?”
She shook her head, her hair swaying, and reached for his hand, guiding it to her stomach, pressing his palm flat against the hoodie. “No, not sick,” she murmured, her voice dropping to a whisper, her green eyes locking with his, wide and searching. “Feel it, Ichigo. Tell me if you sense it too.”
He frowned, his calloused fingers spreading across her abdomen, his reiatsu flaring faintly as he focused, searching for whatever she meant. At first, there was nothing—just the warmth of her skin through the fabric, the steady rhythm of her breathing—but then he felt it: a faint, dual pulse, two tiny flickers of spiritual energy, distinct yet intertwined, pulsing in sync with her own. His eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at her, the realization hitting him like a Hollow’s roar. “Holy shit,” he breathed, his voice rough with awe, his hand trembling slightly against her. “Wanda… you’re—you’re pregnant? And… two? Twins?”
Her smile widened, trembling now, tears welling in her eyes as she nodded, her hand covering his, pressing it harder against her stomach. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, a mix of joy and disbelief. “Twins. I didn’t believe it at first—I thought it was just my magic playing tricks, echoes of what I lost. But I went to that clinic you work at this morning, had them check. It’s real. They’re real.” She laughed softly, a sound that broke into a sob, her free hand brushing a tear from her cheek. “And I can feel them, Ichigo—not just their presence, but… something familiar. Like I’ve known them before.”
Ichigo’s mind raced, his heart pounding as he processed her words, the manga forgotten, the soda sweating on the table, the repaired apartment fading into the background. He sank to his knees in front of her, both hands now on her stomach, his forehead resting against her abdomen as he closed his eyes, focusing on those twin pulses—strong, vibrant, laced with a strange, chaotic energy that felt like hers, yet tinged with his own raw, Soul Reaper power. “Billy… Tommy,” he muttered, the names slipping out unbidden, a quiet echo of the stories she’d told him late at night—her lost sons, conjured from her grief, now reborn in this strange, multiversal twist of fate. “You think… they’re them? Our versions?”
Wanda’s breath hitched, her fingers threading through his orange hair, gripping gently as she nodded, tears spilling freely now, glistening on her lashes. “I don’t know how, but yes,” she said, her voice trembling with wonder. “Their energy—it’s so much like them, but stronger, wilder. Like they’ve taken root here, with us. With you.” She tugged him up, pulling him to his feet, her hands framing his face as she looked into his eyes, her smile radiant despite the tears. “They’re ours, Ichigo. Our boys.”
He stared at her, his own eyes stinging, a grin breaking across his face—wide, goofy, unguarded, the kind he rarely let anyone see. “Twins, huh? Shit, Scarlet, we don’t do anything halfway, do we?” He laughed, a rough, joyful sound, pulling her into his arms, crushing her against his chest, her massive bust pressing into him as he buried his face in her hair, breathing her in—tea, magic, and something new, something alive. “Billy and Tommy… guess we’re gonna be a family, huh? Me, you, and two little hellraisers with your magic and my stubborn ass.”
She laughed against him, her arms wrapping around his waist, her cheek pressed to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart. “Yes,” she murmured, her voice soft but sure, a quiet strength threading through it. “A family. I lost them once, but now… now they’re coming back to me. To us.” She tilted her head up, her jade-green eyes meeting his brown ones, sparkling with love, hope, and a fierce determination. “I love you, Ghost Boy. More than anything.”
He grinned down at her, his hand sliding up to cup her face, thumb brushing away a tear as he leaned in, his lips hovering over hers. “Love you too, Scarlet. Always will.” He kissed her then—slow, deep, tender, a stark contrast to the brutality of weeks past, yet filled with the same fire that had forged them. The apartment stood quiet around them, repaired and whole, a sanctuary for the life they’d created—two tiny pulses, Billy and Tommy, destined to carry their legacy into this strange, beautiful world.
The sun dipped lower outside, casting a warm, golden glow across the room, illuminating the future that awaited them—a family born of chaos, love, and an unbreakable bond.