masterlists -> day 1 | day 2 | day 3 | day 4 | day 5 | day 6 | day 7
AO3 collection
associated with @bleach-creator-network // hosted by @devileyeswriting
RULES BELOW THE CUT
Tagging on Tumblr
make sure to use the tag #bleachweek2026. it is also preferred to have #day [number] and #[prompt].
so, for example: #bleachweek2026 #day 4 #gigai #train
if it’s been a few days and you think i missed your post, don’t hesitate to reach out
AO3
Post to the collection #bleachweek2026
Prompts
you can use one, two, or all three prompts on any given day. or, if none of them are quite striking a chord with you, you can just do whatever you want. this is meant to be fun first and foremost, so do what makes you happy!
Other Platforms
Feel free to participate in this event on other platforms — I just won’t be able to see it. If you want your work shared, I would at least make one tumblr post with hyperlinks to your works so I can reblog
Timing
the intended timing of this event is to post once a day starting on July 19th and ending on July 25th. If you discover the event late, or if you are running a little behind, that is OKAY! I plan on keeping this blog active.
Reblogs & Masterlist
I will reblog each post as well as add it to that day’s masterlist
AUs / Crossovers
AUs and Crossovers of any type are welcome, but Bleach must be featured. Afterall, this is a Bleach event! ^.^
still really baffled by how soul society functions and specifically the idea of them having "noble clans" - how do souls have children? surely they don't give birth normally? the logical conclusion is that they don't, and thus it is now my quest to figure out the funniest way souls can have children and a lineage. perhaps this might involve byakuya emerging from an egg.
There's always that one argument that clings to a couple … a burr snagged in soft fur, an off-taste that lingers, a note that sounds unintentional in an otherwise perfect symphony.
Your and Jūshirō's happens to be the topic of children: it always has, and it always will be. Nothing drives you apart quite like the threads of maternal delusion you refuse to relinquish, and while he hates to see you so torn up about it, he did warn you from the very start that he had no intention of building a family.
You and you alone are enough for him … and the sentiment is usually reciprocated. But, on days like today, where the sky is choked with clouds and rain blankets The Soul Society, your mind tends to wander. You stare at mud puddles and picture tiny feet dancing in them. Your fingers brush the warm blanket thrown across your lap, and for a split second it's swaddling cloth. Jūshirō coughs — and you aren't worried … you're frustrated: each rasp a reminder of why your womb remains empty.
"Can you pass me the eggs?"
Jūshirō, unaware that your thoughts have dragged you back to this old point of contention, glances toward your stilled hands. Each hold an egg, warm in your palm, small and delicate. A whip of thunder shakes your quiet home's foundation; the sudden sound makes your fists clench, movement splintering the thin shells that hold everything together.
Jushiro is quick to help you clean the yolk and whites dripping through your fingers. He's attentive and gentle … paternal … and despite being inside, your cheeks fair no better than the rain-battered roof. Tears fall as you stare at that pretty crown of white hair on your husband's head, and they only grow in quantity when Jūshirō takes a break from his tending to wheeze into a handkerchief, staining it with specks of crimson.
When your eyes meet, it is no surprise that his harden. He knows this look on your face … is tired of the conversation it entails.
"I did not ask for this illness," he starts lowly, pocketing the bloodied cloth. "When you look at me like that, it's as if you think otherwise."
You remain mute, turning to the sink to run your hands beneath warm water. The speckles of eggshell that stick to your fingertips swirl down the drain.
"Am I still not enough?" Jūshirō asks, louder this time: hurt … angry. "I told you — and I have never wavered — that I will not have children … not when there's the possibility that I'll pass on this disease … not when my days are numbered — when I will be nothing but an absent father, stuck in his bed —"
"Don't speak of yourself like that," you snap, "you see yourself as some frail man doomed for death, but that is not the case …. and as long as you remain a host to Mimihagi, you won't —"
"Enough." His shoulders slump as he re-focuses on making breakfast. Clearly, he has no intention of entertaining this age-old argument any further.
Later in the day, as the rain subsides and sunshine returns you to your senses, you apologize. Things recede to normal, all sweet kisses and domestic bliss … for a year or two, at least, until the sky is just the right shade of grey, the raindrops strike the pavement at a precarious angle, and your desire rears its ugly head once again.
Those were the words that Urahara said, tranquil but confident and with enough distance to give Zaraki Kenpachi some room to think. The big and burly man was walking slowly and crouched. The war finished, the roar of battle was long gone, there was the deafening silence of the aftermath.
“I think I can do something,” Urahara added.
Kenpachi looked at him and walked towards him, mechanically.
“I take this as a yes. It would not be perfect, but it will be quick, follow me.”
Moments after, both men were crossing a senkaimon that Urahara had built. Kenpachi was like a shadow, solemn and quiet; moving mechanically behind the man. He told him to sit and wait, and so he did for around two hours.
“I think it’s okay. I knew what this prototype lacked, but its faults can be bettered to what you need.” Said tranquil, showing a mannequin that looked like a ball jointed doll.
“Don’t joke with me.How the hell does this bring back Yachiru?!” Kenpachi yelled.
“Easy, I was about to explain it. Did you bring your sword?”
“Yes.”
“Please stab the doll,” Urahara said with conciliatory tone.
And so he did, a fog grew around the doll until it took a familiar shape. It was her, Yachiru. She was looking at her hands with curiosity and then looked at him and smiled.
“Kenny!” she yelled, hugging him.
Kenpachi looked at Urahara surprised and patted Yachiru’s head.
“I had this old prototype for zanpakuto spirits. This one just brings the spirit out, but wasn’t fit for what I wanted to achieve. But it was fit perfectly for what you wanted; I just adjusted it to keep her form comfortably.” He explained shrugging, like whatever those words meant completely were as casual as talking about the weather.
Kenpachi carried Yachiru as he used to, and thanked the man, leaving there in a better mood than he came.
I wish I could have five lives! Then I could have been born in five different towns, and eaten five lifetime's worth of food, and had five different careers, and…fallen in love with the same person, five times.
because the anime is ending, for this event I will dip into some iconic moments from the show or characters that we haven't seen in a while which I miss, so here's the unparalleled beauty Sode no Shirayuki for some Zanpakuto Arc nostalgia
I know people have mixed feelings about the filler arcs, but I think this was the best one of them and it had some great moments
looking forward to the rest of the week, hopefully with some less intricate pieces so I don't finish on christmas lol (what was meant to be a casual participation turned into some real diligence ^^" )
꒰ bleach ꒱ › your body is of great intrigue to ulquiorra.
1.2k words ‧ nsfw
above the artificial sky of las noches, a singular reiatsu surges.
no longer confined by the limitations of his humanoid body, ulquiorra returns to his primitive hollow form. his resurrección’s second release is beyond daunting. his wingspan measures at least twice his height when fully outstretched, and two elongated horns protrude from each side of his head like fractured bones splintering through his skull. his chest is obliterated by his hollow hole: an eerie cavity revealing the glowing crescent moon behind him—a silver scratch clawed into the dark sky.
“you aren’t afraid,” he notes, eyes burning into you with an intense curiosity. the whites of them are now a piercing emerald green, encasing his yellow irises and undilated pupils.
you shake your head. instead of fleeing, you take a step towards him. your heart flutters in your chest, but not from fear. thrill and desire mingle in your veins to create a devastating rush of adrenaline. impulsively, you reach out to touch his marble skin. he flinches at the contact, yet doesn’t flinch away.
“you’re aroused,” he states. the observation isn’t accusatory or mocking. “i can sense it.”
regarding you with mild interest, ulquiorra’s tail lashes from side to side, until it darts out and coils around your waist, pulling you as close as possible to him without your bodies pressing together. the end of the appendage is adorned with a plume of long, delicate feathers, which accidentally brush and tickle the sensitive spot on your neck. you briefly writhe in his clutches before accustoming to the peculiar sensation. subconsciously, your thighs squeeze together at the pressure around your middle.
your arm extends hesitantly so your fingers can caress the leathery skin of his wings. they bristle and flap faintly under your ministrations, and his eyebrows pinch together, as if he’s restraining himself. then, you drag your palms up his lean abdomen. skimming across his wiry frame, your movements eventually halt just shy of his hollow hole. he sucks in a sharp breath as you carefully map out the rim of the gaping circle in place of his heart. something stirs between his legs—a cock which was previously flaccid and hidden beneath the thick, black fur covering his lower body. a small smile curves your lips.
narrowing his eyes, he enquires, “does this amuse you?”
“i wouldn’t say this amuses me,” you counter. “i just think it’s interesting that you’re turned on. this is a feeling you can’t deny.”
refusing to dignify you with a response, ulquiorra decides he can now explore you as you had done to him. his claws make quick work of your white robes, destroying the material into strips that flutter to the ground around your feet. running the tip of his tail across your nipples and seemingly drinking in the shocked whimper that escapes you, his nail tears at your soaked panties, tugging until they no longer cover you and instead dangle from his finger. he brings them to his nose and curiously sniffs the damp patch of your arousal—the gusset entirely see-through.
“why are you so…wet?” he demands to know, discarding the shredded fabric.
one of his long nails traces the stiffened peak of your nipple. “fuck,” you whimper, “because you’re touching me, ulquiorra!”
“i wasn’t touching you earlier, yet—”
you interrupt him, avoiding his unreadable gaze. “well…no, you weren’t,” you say, heat rising to your cheeks, “but i was thinking about it.” the end of your admission is a faint, humiliated whisper, but your close proximity allows him to pick up the mumbled words.
awkwardly shifting in his grasp, you notice his pupils swallow his irises in black as his slim, lengthy cock slots between your thighs. it glides easily between the slippery folds of your pussy and you let out a quiet gasp. with each experimental thrust, he starts to chase that blissful sensation. the head of his cock catches your clit at every pass through your heat, causing you to moan and wriggle against the binds of his tail.
“don’t stop, ulquiorra, please,” you breathe desperately in his ear.
he frowns. “why would i stop?”
his eyes are locked onto the sight between your bodies: he alone bearing witness to your arousal coating his cock in a wet, glossy sheen. he doesn’t register your grip on his arms tightening. however, after you cry his name in a way he finds imperative to hear again, he feels your release gush onto him and drip down your thighs. his tail curls firmer around you for support as the pleasure from your orgasm subsides.
reluctantly, ulquiorra removes himself from the warmth between your legs. his cock slaps against his stomach, abnormally long with a dark flush at the tip. with your gaze entranced on his length, he takes the time to scrutinise you without your knowledge: your lashes damp with unshed tears; your pulse hammering; your lips slightly parted.
why does he want to make you feel that way again?
“ulquiorra?” you question his silence, your stare flickering to his face.
“when i’m inside you,” he pauses, “will you say my name the way you did earlier?”
you nod, and that’s the only confirmation he needs to impale you on his unnatural length.
as he sinks inside, your heat engulfs him. he lifts you higher and you wrap your legs around his hips for stability. he grunts softly and drives himself deeper, drawing a whimper of his name from your lips. slowly, your hands slide up his arms, past his jaw, and seize the twisted horns adorning his head. using them as leverage, you grind onto his cock. the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in his ears as he watches your face twist with the satisfaction of knowing he is the cause for your ruined state.
you press your forehead against his. all he can smell is your sweat, your arousal—the irresistible scent of you. “finish inside me, ulquiorra,” you beg the fourth espada, emphasising his name with an unintentional cry.
something raw and primal assumes control over ulquiorra. he manages to maintain some restraint—he doesn’t want to break such a fascinating specimen—but his pace turns brutal. each movement is erratic and punctuated with a low growl as he focuses on your instructions. signalling your impending orgasm, your walls clamp around him like a vice, trying to wring out his own release. any strength you had previously fades. your grasp loosens from his horns and you slump against his shoulder, only able to communicate in incoherent whines and pleas. you bounce helplessly with every aggressive cant of his hips—the way his tip probes your cervix never failing to make your eyes roll into the back of your head.
he barely recognises who he has become as he loses himself in the sensation: the incoherent whimpers you emit against the shell of his ear completely preventing any other thought. his mind is only able to concentrate on how snugly he fits inside you, and how he needs to finish inside—needs to make you completely and utterly his.
ulquiorra doesn’t understand why he feels so human inside of you, but he wants to learn.
This one came out pretty short but also a little humorous.
⪻────𖤓────⪼
"Ready! Begin!" Soifon leapt up into the air and fell toward Ming with her foot extended, all of her strength pouring into the coming kick.
"Right!" Ming waited until the kick was only half a second away from landing and threw her forearm before her face. She winced at the resulting pushback but held her ground. She noticed her captain rearing up her second foot for a strike, the real test of strength. Quickly, Ming grabbed Soifon's blocked hand and kicked her own foot up to block the strike. Half a second later, Ming spread Soifon's legs with her own, creating the opening she had been seeking.
"Takigoi!" Ming shouted as she attempted to land a punch on Soifon's face. At that moment, however, a single drop of water landed in her eye, forcing her to blink. In that split second, her focus wavered and Soifon was able to move her head to the side so that the punch only grazed her cheek. As gravity reclaimed the women, Soifon shoved Ming away with both hands and backflipped so that she landed on her palms. She flipped back to her feet as Ming hit the ground ass-first and rolled for a few seconds before slamming her back against a rock. "Ow!" She whimpered as she rubbed her back.
"Ming! How many times have I told you that you need to focus on the enemy completely?" Soifon scolded. "Even a second's distraction could cost you your life!"
"I-I'm sorry, Captain!" Ming bowed in apology. "I was focusing, I swear b-but something fell into my eye right when I was going for a punch"
"Fell in your eye? What could have-" Soifon felt a cold drop splatter on her head as well as another on the bare skin of her shoulder. She and Ming looked up as the rain began to fall, the bright sun that had been shining when they first came to the forest to train now concealed entirely by the stone-grey clouds. "Rain? Where the hell did this rain come from?"
"I don't know but it's coming down really hard." Ming commented. "M-Maybe we should call it a day and find somewhere dry."
Soifon turned to Ming with a slight glare. "Ming, may I remind you of what Division of the Gotei 13 you serve."
"T-The 2nd Division, Ma'am!" Ming replied quickly and fretfully with a salute.
"And what is the primary mission of the 2nd Division?"
"Reconnaissance, apprehension and assassination!"
"And under what conditions are we to carry out our orders?"
"Any and all!" Ming replied.
"Then let's go!" Soifon jumped up and attempted to land a kick on Ming.
'How could I be so foolish!?' Ming thought as she blocked her captain's kick. 'Of course, a little rain wouldn't be enough to stop Captain Soifon! She's so much stronger than that.' She blocked the second blow. 'So much tougher!' She caught her captain in midair again and was rearing her fist for a strike. 'So much...'
Ming's thoughts trailed off as she met her captain's face. The way the wind tugged at her soaked hair, the quiet calm of her grey eyes as they trained on Ming, the droplets of rain cascading down her neck and shoulders. Once again, Ming found her focus wavering and her punch was blocked by one of Soifon's open hands. The Second Division captain pulled Ming toward her and knocked her back to the ground with a headbutt before falling back to the earth in a crouching position.
"Damnit Ming! What the hell did I just tell you?" Soifon shouted. "You keep getting so close only to lose your focus right before the final blow! What the hell could have possibly distracted you this time!?"
Ming was rubbing her head as she got up and blushed deeply as Soifon asked her question. She looked up and gulped as she realized how much of her captain's beauty still remained enhanced by the rain even with her usual scowl. "Um...I...Just got another droplet in my eye?"
𓍯𓂃 Ayumi's bankai reveal from My Heart Your Hands (OFC/Shunsui Kyōraku)
*I do not claim to be an artist. this was a fun little project for me to explore ayumi's bankai in a visual manner. I used a tutorial on youtube for the hands and I traced some anime screenshots for shunsui's outline. everything else was me though ^.^
When the sword penetrated his chest, Aizen barely whimpered. He should have been perturbed, perhaps even fearful. Yet the physical pain didn’t concern him much. It was something else that did.
The shock of being run through by Gin’s treacherous blade didn’t come from the impact or from the sudden, though expected, betrayal. It came from the perplexing flood of emotions pouring from Shinsō itself as it cut his flesh. From a disturbing wave of sensations that filled Aizen as though he were an empty cup.
These alien feelings didn’t belong to him.
They belonged to Gin – his betrayer, his killer, his...
All at once, he was suddenly able to perceive Gin’s intentions, and the intensity of this experience took him by surprise. It was much more than Aizen had anticipated, deeper than anything he normally had to process. The profound resentment seeping from the sword was both cold and hot, bitter and sweet, raw and calculated at the same time…
It was a baffling clash between his meticulous mind and the overwhelming force of intrusive emotions. They were too complex for Aizen to neatly name them and categorize, too unstable to put a label on them and move on.
He had believed he understood Gin’s anger, but it must have been just a vague idea. He had known, of course, that the boy despised him dearly. However, knowing something and experiencing it firsthand turned out to be incompatible.
When he thought about it, he had tasted Gin’s hatred before. He had kissed it from those lying lips each time the two of them had mingled in a fit of desire. The ugly way Gin wanted him when they had indulged in bodily pleasures had made Aizen wonder where the contempt ended and the attraction began.
The killing intent had always been there – in Gin’s narrowed eyes, in his cruel touches. But Aizen would have lied if he had claimed he never enjoyed the beautiful brutality of their shameless acts.
So when Shinsō entered his ribcage, it felt almost familiar, as though Gin let something honest slip at the peak of his pleasure. And Aizen was taken aback by this slip simply because it was too open, too uncomfortable.
It violated their unspoken agreement to share their bodies and their paths, but never their truths. Now their long-term game had reached its climax, and Aizen realized how much was left unsaid. Not about the poorly disguised animosity, but about that unsettling thing that lay buried underneath. About the thing that shouldn’t have been there and yet it bled through the sharpness of the blade.
Aizen felt it inside himself. Incomprehensible. Defying all logic.
It was Gin’s childish hope of keeping Aizen to himself despite the burning desire to kill him.
As Gin pulled his sword free and the blood erupted from the wound, Aizen hissed in a jolt of pain. He was still very much alive, which meant Gin had disappointed him. The attempted murder was rushed and amateurish. And so it had failed.
Now it was Aizen’s turn to return the favor by cutting his lover down. But before he could do so, Gin’s deceitful fingers found their place on Aizen’s bleeding chest.
“Ya should be glad,” the silver-haired boy said with a vicious glee. “Ya get to die with a hole in yer heart. Isn’t that what ya always wanted?”
Aizen didn’t reply, sparing them the embarrassment of being sincere. However, they both knew Gin wasn’t talking purely about the Hollowfication. There had been a void all along where Aizen’s heart should have been. Would it change anything if he admitted that he had tried to fill it?
There had been times he nearly believed it had worked; times when Gin had asked exactly the right questions, followed by the quiet comfort of needing no answers. When “perhaps” and “almost” had been hanging between them like raindrops on lashes, trembling with the knowledge of being fated to fall.
But in the end, it was never complete. And maybe… this was for the best. Had he trusted Gin, he would have regretted it now as these smiling lips whispered the word “Bankai.”
There was a gaping hole, nothing more. Not in his heart, only in his chest.
꒰ bleach ꒱ › soft & sleepy dry humping with jūshirō.
0.9k words ‧ nsfw
moonlight spills through the parted shoji doors, bathing the tatami mats in it’s weak silver light. soft moans—more reminiscent of sighs—startle the repose of your shared private quarters: a sensual cry for relief in the dark. naturally attentive to your every need, jūshirō stirs from sleep before you, a swathe of fresh, white sheets wrapped around his form to fend off the night’s chill. he admires your scrunched up face and the uninhibited noises that escape your mouth as your dream overwhelms you.
it’s not long until you slowly rouse. the indicative stickiness of your unconscious thoughts lies between your thighs, but in your groggy state this is disregarded in favour of chasing the pleasure that’s ebbing away. your hips cant into the futon, the motion causing a slight creak beneath the weight of your want. brows knitted, lips parted, a small whine of irritation catches in your throat. this is not enough. you’re not even properly awake and yet your body knows what it wants—what it needs. him.
with a smitten smile on his face, jūshirō watches the scene unfold—responding to your unaware display by palming his cock. you wriggle and call out his name in a voice raspy with sleep and arousal. he strokes your hair, tucking the sweat-plastered strands behind your ear. you breathe out a content gasp, his touch igniting the heat inside you. you grind against the futon with even more intensity.
“are you dreaming of me, sweetheart?”
despite his voice barely rising above a murmur, it interrupts your trance. your eyes open wide to meet his own: both of your pupils’ dilated—a reflection of each other’s desire. embarrassment sinks in and uncomfortably warms your cheeks, so you divert your gaze from his. a pang of guilt twists your insides at the diligence of the man beside you: a sick man who still caters to your every whim, disrupting his own chance at a needed rest just to ensure you’re satiated.
he grips your chin carefully, as if the wrong action might shatter you like glass. he refuses to allow you to entertain that inkling of guilt. “no need to be shy,” he whispers. “it’s just me. just us.”
now all too conscious of the slick seeping from your sex, you nod in response to his earlier query, abashed. his smile broadens at this silent admission and he pulls the sheets away from your body. your sleep yukata is hiked around your hips from all your squirming, exposing the molten mess between your legs. effortlessly, he pulls you onto his lap, your arousal staining the fabric of his own sleepwear. still partially exhausted, he’s only semi-erect—but his bulge hardens as it becomes the new target of your delirious grinding. his arms encircle your waist, drawing you into his chest so you’re flush against each other, hearts racing as one.
hips increasing their pace, you whine into the crook of his neck. “‘hirō—gonna cum already…m’sorry.”
“that’s okay. it feels nice, doesn’t it?” he presses a kiss to your forehead. “you’re doing so well. cum just like this for me.”
jūshirō’s tender praise induces your first orgasm of the night. wetness blooms between the barrier of your clothes, fabric clinging to your crotch like a second skin. as the euphoria subsides, your hips roll mindlessly against him for a while longer, then still. panting slightly, you nuzzle deeper into his neck, inhaling his scent to anchor your thoughts to him.
with your body relaxed against his, he carefully rolls on top of you, securing you into position against the futon. after untying the knot around your waist, he peels the yukata away from your skin, breath shuddering as the material parts to reveal your nude form. he drinks you in with an almost pained, hungry expression—what has he done to deserve this?—but you notice the torment he tries to disguise, and reassure him by capturing his lips in a brief yet loving kiss.
reverently, he pulls away, fingers rubbing your jaw. you blink up at him as he says, “you look so beautiful.”
you giggle appreciatively at his compliment, stare fixated on him as he trails kisses down the valley of your breasts—white hair cascading past his shoulders and tickling your skin as his teeth graze the sensitive buds of your nipples before he travels lower. the light residue of his saliva leaves a path all the way down to your mound, which he gives an affectionate kiss.
the adoration in his green eyes never wavering, jūshirō supports himself on his elbows, his fond smile transforming into one of awe at the view of your soaked pussy. “hm…you’re so worked up,” he says playfully, casting you a mischievous grin. “who made you feel this way?”
to emphasise his words, he runs the pad of his thumb over your clit, making your hips jerk. he presses his palm flat against your abdomen, pinning you in place. the adoration in his enlarged pupils never wavers. your eyes squint shut as he collects your release on his tongue, deftly tracing your puffy folds with maddening precision, then spreading them apart with his fingers to catch a glimpse of your pulsing entrance.
trembling, you muffle your whimper into the pillow beside you. “you, jūshirō,” you keen. “please stop teasing me…”
jūshirō instantly takes pity on you. inserting a finger into your hole, his eyes darken at the way your own roll into the back of your head from the pleasure. “i’m going to take care of you,” he promises. “there’s nothing you need to do. just be a good girl for me and i’ll give your body what it needs.”
Summary: After losing misplacing your Zanpakutō you turn to your fellow seated officers to lend a hand.
A/N: I'll fix the formatting and stuff of this tomorrow...if I didn't post this now it was going to rot in my drafts forever. I really wanted to join in for this event because I always love seeing people giving bleach the love and respect it deserves. This fic had the potential to be a banger but I had a break down and I've been hosting this weekend so I've had no alone time to write so please forgive me.
Prompt / Theme: I went for Zanpakutō but soul society and Sake are included.
giving in and letting go ᨳଓ shunsui kyōraku x f! reader
shunsui open marriage collection | main masterlist | bleach masterlist
nsfw / mdni / wc 2.4k
all love stories start somewhere...
"My zanpakutō is … difficult."
Shunsui raises a brow as he pours more sake into your cup, glancing toward the two kukris that lay on your lap, criss-crossed and gleaming in the dim candlelight.
"You finally learned their names?"
"A few weeks ago," you worry your lip, running a finger along the smooth steel of Izanami. "They're very strong together, but with that comes a price." You take a slow sip from your cup, chest heavy with the burden of the information imparted to you earlier in the day. "I can trust you, right?"
Shunsui blinks fondly, lips curving into a flirtatious smile. The smell of burning incense surrounds you, heady and indulgent; he really pulled out all the stops tonight, these small touches adding to the implication of his intentions. "You've been makin' me jump through an infinite number of hoops and I'm still here, aren't I?"
"If my hoops are such an inconvenience, you could always stop jumping."
"I'm havin' the time of my life … I think I'll stay."
You blush, diverting your gaze at his unabashed admission. It's true, you've been toying with him for some time, now … but Shunsui Kyōraku is a known womanizer, so who can really blame you? You're no saint yourself, but deep down you have a sensitive heart, prone to easy fracture. In these quiet nights you share with the man — not as often as either of you would like, but necessary to protect the foundation of your friendship — you find yourself falling dangerously deeper. After what your zanpakutō told you, this only makes you more nervous.
"If their bond is broken … it could be my end."
The atmosphere shifts, mirth giving way to concern. Shunsui's posture stiffens. "Your … end?"
"…Yes." You focus on Izanagi, now, smiling faintly. "They are … lovers. But their separation will tear me apart. Not physical separation, of course, but rather … spiritual."
"How do you … prevent that separation?"
"I don't know. They're waiting for something … to give me more details, I think. But they won't tell me what I need to do."
The severity of Shunsui's expression does not soften. He takes a long drink from his cup before beckoning for you to come closer, trying to chase his frown away with a forced smile. "Lemme hold ya."
"…on the floor?"
"Y'won't accept my invitation into bed, so yes. The floor."
With as much faux-reluctance as you can muster, you cozy up to him on the hardwood, rosy-cheeked with a pounding heart. He's warm, and you feel like a lovestruck child being noticed by a boy for the first time, his breath tickling your neck as he buries his face into the crook of it, facial hair brushing against the soft skin there.
"I don't like all this talk of 'your end' and whatever," he admits in a rare moment of vulnerability. "I like spendin' time with ya."
You exhale shakily, eyes fluttering shut at the intimacy of the moment. You ache with need … have been for over a year, now, ever since Jūshirō introduced the two of you … skin flushed by nerves and alcohol, blood searing your veins.
The easy solution is to just give in to the temptation of feeling his flesh on your flesh … of finally indulging in that fantasy of pressing your lips onto his — messy and desperate and sweet — and feeling his hands skirt over every curve of your body, rough and calloused from long days of training. How would he feel buried inside of you? What kind of lover would he be? Gentle? Rough? Was he the kind of man to whisper saccharine nothings into your ear as he fucked you, or would he devolve into something more primal …. more unleashed?
Your desire is driving you crazy — but the thought of losing him far outweighs it. And the cryptic warning from Izanami and Izanagi certainly doesn't help the matter.
"Y'got that dangerous look in your eye," Shunsui leans back to inspect your face, pressing a thumb to the small crease between your brows, "the one that means you're thinkin' too hard."
Your gaze is drawn to his, unable to break free from its allure. He brushes your cheek, then jaw, leaving a tiny trail of sparks wherever he touched.
"Do it … you know you want to."
The voice is light and melodic: the one you'd grown to know as Izanami. Her counterpart, in a gruffer tone:
"We cautioned you to be careful, not celibate."
"I wanna kiss ya," Shunsui announces, as if it were some big secret. He's shameless in his admission, but his cheeks are tinged pink, hinting at a sensitive counterpart to his typical bravado. "Not just want … I need to. Will ya let me this time?"
"Do it…"
Izanami's urging is ultimately what gives you the courage to accept the man's affections. You're practically there already — in his arms, bodies flush … certainly not a position two friends would fall into.
Shunsui takes your silence and the timid stroke of your thumb along his forearm as a go-ahead. With much restraint — because if he didn't, he'd be buried to the hilt inside of you within the next thirty seconds — he cups your face with both hands and guides your lips to his.
They're soft, molding against yours firmly: without hesitation, without that usual playfulness he exhibits. It's intense and raw, surrendering into something more desperate as you start to kiss back with an equal hunger. A delicious moan forms in the back of his throat, and you quickly decide that you'll do everything you can to hear that noise forever.
He's the one to break contact first, forehead leaned against yours, noses brushing. "Now can I take ya to bed?" he teases, "unless you wanna do this on the floor."
"Bed," you agree, breathless as he scoops you up into his arms, showing off that strength everyone fawns over in the academy as he pushes off the ground. In his hold you're no more than a weightless bundle of wanting limbs, and as he lowers you onto the soft mattress, his skin affixes permanently onto your own, stuck there for as long as time and responsibilities would allow.
He's on top of you, now, kissing you again — clashing tongues and teeth — fingers inching down to the belt of your hakama, fiddling with the knotted fabric. In turn you slide off his shirt, and before you know it both of your bodies are completely exposed to each other for the first time, clothing discarded in a messy pile to the side of the bed.
The first thing your eyes are drawn to is his cock: a monstrous thing, with a flushed, mushroomed tip, shiny with precum, and a girth that requires two hands to fully grasp. Thick veins bulge down an endless shaft of velvety skin, making your eyes widen in both awe and apprehension.
A thumb presses to the underside of your chin, lifting your gaze back to his; heavy-lidded and adoring. "You're beautiful," he breathes, kissing you once more, free hand brushing up against your collarbone before it dips down to your breasts, kneading them, making you arch into his touch. His mouth follows, capturing a nipple deftly and rolling his tongue across it before switching to the other, giving each one equal attention. His hands continue to explore, running down your sides and to the slick flesh of your inner thighs, fingers tracing the outline of your drooling cunt, thumb dipping into the slit before circling your clit, swirling your syrupy desire over it in dizzying circles. Your lips collide again as he swallows your moan; he probes against your twitchy entrance, scissoring his fingers inside, huffing at the resistance — at how tight you feel, just from this — cock throbbing at the thought of how much you'll have to stretch to accommodate him … at how full you'll be of him … at how he'll make sure you take every last inch, even if it takes all night to get you there.
The man's face soon disappears between your thighs; his fingers — three of them, now — pump into you languidly as his tongue laps at the rest, devouring you, unrelenting as you spasm and whine beneath him. It's only after he he brings you to your first orgasm that he breaks away to breath, mouth slick, the juices smeared onto his chin a testament to his skill. "Shunsui…" you gasp, words faltering as he starts to slide a fourth finger into your heat and ducks down to reattach his mouth to your sex, "I-I'm ready, I want you …"
"You have me," he mumbles around your puffy clit, the vibration of his baritone jolting each nerve ending to life.
"N-no I mean, I want your … mmf — ah — want it all —"
He smirks against your soaked flesh. "Y'think you can take me?"
"Y-yeah…"
"Whaa, my fingers aren't enough?"
"The-yy're good!! Bu—ahhmm—" his fingers increase their pace, twisting and turning and pushing against your tight, slippery walls, feeling each ridge and slope, "—wanna f-feel allll—"
"Can't even form a sentence … I don' think you can handle it," he grunts, "c'mon, convince me. Whaddya want? Use your words."
Little tears form in the corners of your eyes as you try to pull yourself together, mouth watering as his fat, leaky tip nudges against the flesh beneath your knee, leaving a sticky trail of what you so desperately want inside of you. "Please," you whine softly, "please, I wanna fe-eel you inside…"
"Feel what inside?"
"Your … ah — cock —" your lashes flutter shyly at the vulgarity despite being spread open by his fingers. His chest, dusted with dark hair, flushes a pretty pink at your words. "Please…"
"How can I say no when y'r askin' so nice?" he removes his fingers, heavy, swollen balls tightening at the sight of the strings of slick that connect you, only breaking when he pops his fingers into his mouth, savoring the taste.
You start to question your decision when he grips his thick base and taps his cockhead at your entrance, swirling it in your sticky release before sliiiding up, balls snug against your clit as his length lays flat on your stomach, revealing just how large he is compared to you. "Where's it gonna go?" He asks to no one in particular, pinning down his lower lip with a canine as he moves his tip back to your cunt. "Y'ready?"
His pupils have bullied away the pretty grey of his irises, blown and greedy as they absorb the sight of your tight hole sucking him in. The first few inches are delicious, his preparations and your juices lulling you into a false sense of security; but, your confidence shatters when the pleasurable stretch gives way to discomfort … and he's only a third of the way in. Your moans stutter to a halt upon this revelation, neck craned to observe the obscene sight of his cock wedged into you. "Shit, y'gotta relax," he massages his shaft as he continues to notch into you slowly, watching the way your arousal and prior release bubbles around his intruding flesh. "M'not gonna be able t'last with ya squeezin' me like this."
"'It's … it's too big…" your lower lip wobbles at the failure of not being able to take him fully, embarrassed and disappointed.
"Nuh-uh, y'r doin' good. Got plenty'a room left." To make his point, he ruts forward another inch, making you squeal in a combination of pain and pleasure, but mostly the former. "Just gotta — take it. I know y'can … this pretty pussy was made … for me. It's gotta fit."
He speaks with such certainty that you don't dare question him. You try to relax your muscles, breath shallow and thighs trembling as he continues. "Thaaaat's it. Just lemme in…."
Stomach flipping at his praise, your hands claw at the firm flesh of his shifting hips. He nips at your ears and neck and lips, trying to distract you with sweet words and kisses, all the while sinking deeper into your vice-like heat. All air is pushed from your lungs once his hips are pressed flat to yours; your chest rises and falls in an uncertain staccato, wondering what organs have been misplaced to accommodate him … wondering when he'll start to move, because now that he's entered you fully, you're not only overwhelmed physically, but emotionally.
"Squeezin' me so tight," he whispers, "how does it feel?"
"Feels … good …" you're panting like a dog in heat, skin dewy with sweat. "You can … move … ah!"
As soon as the words leave your mouth, he starts to thrust. They're gentle at first, but each moan that passes your lips encourages him to increase his pace. Your cunt forms a vacuum, sucking him back in whenever he strays too far backward, encouraging more forceful movements to try and overcome that magnetic pull.
As he gains speed and ferocity, his carefully-maintained control ebbing with each thrust, he notices the cutest little bulge moving around your lower abdomen: the head of his cock, trying to find the path of least resistance as it stuffs you full again and again. You're growing used to the sensation, now; the noises you make are no longer half-pain, but rather full-pleasure, echoing off the walls, making him dizzy with desire and primal satisfaction.
"I'm not givin' this up," he warns possessively, "now that I know y'take me so well … I'm done chasin' ya."
"'M yours," you promise, nodding along to his claim, "have been — for — a while — mmn —"
His lips curl into a smile, pace increasing, entranced as he watches your pussy drag up and down his length, sticky gloss of your release coating it and smearing into the coarse hairs at his base.
You're a blur of tangled limbs as the night goes on, enjoying each other's bodies until the early morning, dark sky lightening to a hazy pink. Your cunt is a sopping mess when it's over, full of his cum, leaking steadily from your gaping, fluttery hole. Shunsui marvels at the sight, eyes glued to it as he kisses your love-bitten thighs.
"I think I love ya," he mumbles sleepily once you both settle, feathering his lips onto your shoulder. You would call him a pussy-drunk liar if he hadn't proven his dedication to you these past many months; your heart warms with affection, bursting with relief. Something clicks within you; some shift deep in your soul, noticeable enough to steal your breath for a moment … to make your reiatsu surge.
"Heh," Shunsui's voice is thick with exhaustion as he nuzzles into you, "maybe y'should talk to that pesky zanpakutō of yours. Seems like they might be ready t'give ya some answers."
dew yaps: writing this is what inspired me to spin up a shunsui x female original character longfic, of which the first chapter will be posted on day six of bleach week. brainstorming a zanpakutō for 'reader' made me realize ... I love shunsui far too much to just give him a faceless wifey for his entire life. he needs a tangible person to sink his yearning fingers into.
