Word count: 550
Summary: Zaraki's not jealous. Kenpachi/first!Yachiru. Pre-series.
A/N: Written for prompt #2: jealousy of 7snogs.
Yachiru stepped into the room, and in an instant that familiar yet very much oppressive spiritual pressure washed over her. Swallowing the lump that had long lodged itself in her throat, she wiped the sweat from her brows and closed the door behind her. It rolled shut with a definite slap, being the old and rickety piece of wood, the sound resembling that of a definite trap caging her within that small hut. Alone with him.
The stale silence was unsettling, only adding to her jittery nerves. After being with the man – the rather dangerous man – Yachiru had grown accustomed to his massive spiritual pressure. It was hard to even come anywhere near him, but eventually he appeared to soften, to allow her into his world from which he blocked others out.
Eye trained on his back, she took a hesitant step towards him, only to be ignored as he rose to his feet and headed to the door. When he walked right past her, his spiritual pressure nearly brought her down to her knees. It was only by sheer force of will that she continued to stand, ordering her trembling legs to fight back, endure.
Quickly, she turned around and grabbed his wrist before he could walk out, but he immediately wrenched himself away as though the physical contact did nothing but scorch him. "How many goddamned times have I told ye not t'talk with that asshole, Yachiru?" he hissed, glaring down at her out of the corner of his eye. "I don't like that bastard, ye should know this by now. Ye've got ears – use them t'listen t'me for once! I ain't gonna be responsible if somethin' bad happens to ye."
Yachiru pursed her lips, averting her gaze, wrapping her arms around his waist when he started for the door once again. He froze in place, muscles tensing up, fists tightening, torn between staying and shoving her away.
"Sorry," she whispered, pressing her lips to the back of his neck, trying her best to withstand the overwhelming energy he emitted. "It was just some small talk."
"Ye talked t'the prick all the same, Yachiru," he growled, eyes looking straight forward. "Ye talk to 'em, an' while ye're talkin' away, he'll grab yer ass and run off an' I'll have t'come lookin' for ye."
Her hands settled on his blood-splattered abdomen, a result of his going off on yet another slaughtering spree, no doubt. She couldn't help but cringe a little, tightening her hold around him. "Still, we just had a talk. Don't get all worked up and jealous just because of that."
"I ain't jealous," he snapped instantaneously, loud enough to make Yachiru jump. "Why should I be jealous? The prick's got the face of a fucked up faggot, that's what. Ye don't see me goin' 'round messin' with people an' tryin'a be like 'em, do ye?"
Yachiru shook her head, mute, blinking her eyes up at him in puzzlement as the silence settled over them once more.
"I ain't jealous, dumbass," he barked after a while, pushing his way out of her arms. "Ye gotta be the most messed up bastard to even think about it." And he slammed the door behind him, leaving Yachiru with a confused yet very much amused smile on her face.