#jushiro ukitake

[moonymiw]

[sweetbellerose]

Hair Down! — Bleach Men Headcanons

Request!

Starring: Shunsui Kyōraku, Jūshirō Ukitake, Byakuya Kuchiki, Shinji Hirako, Shūhei Hisagi, Sado Yasutora & Kensei Muguruma

Fluff ᢉ𐭩

Where you usually wear your hair up, never feeling quite safe when letting it down… but this time you finally break the chain and let that beautiful hair fall free. How will they react?

Enjoy! ⊹₊⟡⋆

Shunsui Kyōraku ۶ৎ

The morning was quiet, as it usually was when his body was still fully stretched across the bed, broad, muscular, resting beneath sheets that were warm yet somehow still cool. The hair he always kept tied back fell loosely over his shoulders and down his still-bare, hairy back.

One eye was open, lazily fixed on the bathroom door, waiting for you to come out, though he would normally close them the moment he sensed your punctuality and your usual determination to drag him out of bed on time for his captain duties.

The door opened with a soft creak when you finally stepped out.

But this time, his eye didn’t close to avoid his responsibilities, not as a captain, and not as a husband under the command of a woman clearly far more responsible than him.

In fact, both eyes opened.

You were already in your uniform, impeccable and ready to begin your usual morning lecture.

“Wake up, you lazy man!” you would say, followed by playful kisses along his cheek as you tried to roll him over in bed.

But it never quite happened, because Shunsui noticed something.

Your hair.

The one thing he only occasionally saw loose, shiny and silky, but never really questioned, understanding it was something personal to you, something you would explain when you felt ready.

“Oh—hum—” you murmured, one hand instinctively brushing a long strand that had fallen over your chest. “Why are you still in bed?” you tried to defend yourself.

“Admiring the curves,” he murmured with a crooked smile.

“Shunsui!” Your eyes immediately dropped to your body, assuming he meant those curves, the ones he adored openly. 

A man lost in the curves of only one woman.

“Not those,” he clarified with a grin when your gaze shifted, realizing what he meant.

The soft curves of your wavy hair.

Finally free.

“Beautiful,” he purred softly as he pushed himself up from the bed in a clumsy crawl toward you, the sheets hanging low on his waist. “Does this mean I get to keep your hair ties?” he added with a smile. “Because if not, I might just make them all disappear so I can see you like this more often.”

“Idiot,” you whispered, a helpless smile hanging from your face.

Jūshirō Ukitake ۶ৎ

Since that morning, he couldn’t help but feel slightly curious about how long his wife was taking to get ready, still inside the room you both shared.

It hadn’t reached a point of worry, especially after he had asked if everything was alright, and you, without lying, simply answered, “Fixing my hair.”

Assuming you just wanted a moment to try something new, knowing you always wore your hair up, the cup of tea in front of him had begun to grow cold from the wait. 

He never drank his morning tea without you.

A ritual before beginning his day as a captain, and yours as a lieutenant.

And for both together, as husband and wife.

“Darling?” His soft, warm voice echoed gently through the residence as he called for you.

“I’m coming!” you replied from the end of the hallway, taking one last breath before walking forward, fists lightly clenched at your sides, because for you, this was bold, this was stepping outside your comfort zone “Im— ready” you announced.

You couldn’t look at him. 

You couldn’t find his eyes as you took your seat with all the calm your body could possibly manage in that moment.

Until, knowing you couldn’t hide forever, you finally lifted your gaze.

And your heart paused.

There was no shock. No wide eyes. No overwhelming surprise.

Just the warmest, most tender smile, and the proudest gaze resting over your face. It was adoration when he looked at your hair, at its soft waves, at the shine and gentle movement as it fell over your shoulders, down your back. The way it framed your face in something new, something different, yet no less divine.

That was Jūshirō.

There was no surprise because he always knew the bravery would come. That eventually, you would take the step, but the pride was written all over him, as if someone had drawn it across his forehead in bold ink.

“Jūshirō…” you whispered, looking away, your hands intertwining on the table.

Until one of his long, slender hands gently took yours, guiding them to the center of the table.

“You look…” his mind searched for the right word to frame everything he felt in that moment. “Free.” He nodded softly with a smile. “And freedom looks beautiful on you this warm morning.”

“Jūshirō~” you murmured, your cheeks, partially hidden by loose strands, already flushed in a deep, natural blush.

Because yes… even now, your husband was still your greatest admirer. Every day he discovered you again. And every day, he fell in love with you all over again.

Byakuya Kuchiki ۶ৎ

Quiet days suited him. Almost.

For now, he could enjoy a calm morning in his captain’s office, immersing his mind in various reports, continuing through a day that was, on the surface, entirely ordinary.

Almost.

Because every so often, his thoughts drifted back to a small irritation, the fact that he had not been able to give his wife a proper farewell kiss before leaving the house that morning.

Usually, both of you met at the exact same point of punctuality. Responsibilities were not taken lightly in the Kuchiki household.

And yet, that morning, Byakuya had found himself standing outside the bathroom door of your shared room, wondering why you were taking seven minutes longer than usual to get ready.

“You can go ahead, dear,” you had called from inside. “I’ll have the reports you asked for delivered within the hour, sharp.”

And he had accepted it, though a quiet doubt lingered beneath his composed exterior.

His gaze lifted to the clock mounted above the doorway. 

The hour had not yet passed.

But a soft knock against his office door was enough for him to know it was you.

“Enter,” he ordered.

When you stepped inside, your eyes did not meet his.

But his found you instantly, a flicker of contained surprise passing through an otherwise untouchable expression.

“Good morning, Captain.” Professionalism was always maintained between you by an unspoken rule. “Here are the reports.” You placed them neatly on his desk. “I’m scheduled to train with Captain Soi-Fon, so If you allow me….”

Still, you did not look at him.

But the moment you turned, you barely had time to register the swift, flawless shunpo that placed him directly in front of you before you could even reach the door.

With measured respect, one of his long fingers lifted, slowly, until it allowed itself the privilege of touching your silky hair.

Loose. Free.

Wrapped delicately around his finger in a gesture that was both restrained and reverent.

“It has grown considerably since the last time I saw it like this,” he stated, as though it were merely an observation.

Your hand instinctively moved toward the hair tie resting around your wrist.

“No,” he said softly, cool, direct. “It is delicate. It is elegant. It is captivating,” he continued with quiet precision when your hands stilled. “Like you.” 

He finally sought your eyes, and you lifted them to meet his, surprised at this fracture in protocol, yet unable to stop the warmth rising to your cheeks.

“I wish I had the day to properly appreciate such a view,” he added, his tone lowering ever so slightly. “Have a productive training session.”

A soft kiss claimed your lips, brief, but never lacking in depth. Seconds later, he had already returned to his desk.

Composed. Collected.

And yet, a faint smile remained, one he would hide from everyone.

Everyone except you.

“Thank you, love,” you murmured without turning back.

“Captain Kuchiki,” he corrected evenly.

“Romantic.” you whispered sarcastic with a quiet sigh before exiting. 

And though the door closed behind you, the small smile on his lips lingered, eventually softening into the faintest, most private chuckle. Pride filled him, steady and warm, like sunlight through a quiet morning.

Shinji Hirako ۶ৎ

His grin was practically glued to his face on that cold winter night, though it was about to get much warmer as he waited for his wife to step out of the bathroom.

Soft human-world jazz drifted in the background, a taste you both shared ever since he introduced it to you.

Candles were scattered around the room, Shinji’s slightly too-obvious attempt at setting up a romantic night for two overworked captains.

Him? Overworked? Not really.

He just loved putting you in…situations.

“Sweet cheeks—” he called, though the smile wavered slightly under a hint of impatience.

“I’m coming!” you shouted, not soft, not gentle. It came straight from the depths of your stomach.

And finally, the door opened.

His arms dropped back as he leaned onto his elbows to properly look at you, one eyebrow slowly lifting as his gaze traveled from your feet… up… and then to your face, and to something else that left him completely frozen.

“Finally,” he whispered, eyes widening.

“Shinji!” Your hands flew to your hair, brushing through the soft waves you had already spent several minutes perfecting. Beautiful waves in long, silky hair. “I can’t—” your body turned quickly toward the bathroom door again.

“Hey!” he called, jumping out of bed in one swift motion, his loose pajama clothes hanging lightly from his lean frame. “Wait—” he added, almost like a plea, reaching you at a speed you hadn’t seen him use in a while.

“Shinji~” you pouted, trying to hide as your cheeks flushed a deep red.

“But— what?!” His eyes went wide again. “I’ve waited for this day my whole life,” he said with a sideways grin, his hand lifting gently.

And while he was clearly fascinated by the beauty of your healthy, loose, free hair… his hands moved instead to your cheeks, cupping them in his long, slender fingers.

“Look at you… so damn pretty,” he murmured with a soft laugh before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Stop—Shinji,” you tried to protest, the blush on your face becoming unbearable.

“So, so pretty,” he repeated, cutting off your complaints with a quick, slightly clumsy kiss.

“Shinji!” you protested, attempting to push him away, but your laughter was already filling the room.

“I’ll burn every single hair tie in the Seireitei,” kiss. “My,” kiss. “Beautiful,” kiss. “Wife,” kiss.

“Stop!” you laughed now more than shouted.

“If you ever tie your hair up again,” he added dramatically after a pause, “I’m filing for divorce.”

“You’re an idiot,” you rolled your eyes.

But in the end, both of your laughter filled the room, and yes, you wore your hair down the next day.

And maybe… just maybe, you’d keep wearing it that way for a while.

Shūhei Hisagi ۶ৎ

“Why is she taking so long?” he muttered to himself while standing in the main room of the Ninth Division, where Shūhei had decided to dedicate the day to making a few necessary edits to the Seireitei Bulletin.

A bulletin he actively worked on with you.

His fellow squad member.

And his wife.

Shūhei had left home early that morning intending to finish a few reports for Captain Muguruma before focusing fully on the weekly bulletin, which was mostly complete, it only needed your final approval before publication.

But that morning, he had left you still asleep in bed. With your near-perfect punctuality, you should have already been by his side working on the draft.

Before he could spiral any further, the door opened.

Shūhei’s eyes, unfortunately, failed to hide the shock, wide and round, practically glued to you, the bulletin draft stiff in his hands.

“You’re so predictable,” you whispered with a soft sigh, feeling the exact weight of how difficult this step had been for you.

“S-Sorry!” Shūhei immediately looked away.

As if you weren’t his own wife.

But he turned away because at this point, the deep red climbing up his cheeks was almost embarrassing to admit.

“Does it look that bad?” you murmured, nervously taking a strand of hair over your chest, long and soft beneath your fingers, smoothing the top of your head in quiet panic in case it was messy.

“No,” he said firmly without looking at you, his hands trembling dangerously close to destroying the draft. “It looks—good.” He nodded, though the heat on his face betrayed him.

“Shūhei?” you called, concern creeping into your voice as you stepped closer, one hand lifting to rest gently on his shoulder.

But even a shunpo would have been slower than the speed at which Shūhei had already relocated himself to the far corner of the room, staring directly at the wall.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, worry beginning to rise.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he apologized softly, still not turning around. “It’s just—” he started. “You look so beautiful!” he suddenly blurted, spinning around. 

dropping to his knees in front of you. 

“You’re always beautiful! You’re my wife! I don’t want you to think I’m some idiot but—” his red eyes lifted to yours, “you look so good with your hair down—you’re—radiant.” His head bowed again. “Please don’t ever tie it up again!”

“Shu—Shūhei!” your eyes widened. “Get up already!” you shouted, your cheeks burning just as brightly.

And Shūhei, who would never dare disobey a single order from his beloved wife, stood immediately, as if responding to a captain’s command.

“Thank you,” you whispered with a small smile, still slightly shy despite how long you had been together.

Somehow, through awkward moments, small outbursts, and the most clumsy displays of affection…

It still felt like the beginning.

“You’re—” he started softly, stepping closer with a hesitant smile.

When he was close enough, your hands rose to rest gently against his chest, feeling his own hands take hold of your forearms in a familiar gesture between the two of you.

“Thank you,” you repeated, amused by the stubborn blush still coloring his cheeks.

“It suits—” he began, one hand leaving your arm to carefully stroke your hair.

“Thank you,” you answered again, letting him feel the silky softness as his fingers trailed down its length.

“May I—?” he asked quietly, his hand finally resting against your cheek.

“Hisagi,” you whispered as his lips hovered near yours. “For the chief editor of the bulletin… your words…” you shook your head with a soft laugh. “Thank you again. And yes — you may.”

His lips met yours in the most delicate kiss, the kind he knew how to give best.

Sado 'Chad' Yasutora ۶ৎ

His eyes dropped to the time displayed on his phone, freshly pulled from his pocket, noticing they were getting close to being late for tonight’s plans.

It wasn’t often that you two had outings like this.

A dinner reservation, at that Italian restaurant you had mentioned a couple of times as a “maybe someday” plan. And that someday finally came when he arrived home from training the day before and casually told you he had made a reservation for tonight.

These outings weren’t exactly usual. Chad preferred, and so did you, the quiet comfort of homemade dinners. The warmth of him helping you prepare the ingredients while you combined them into the perfect blend of different dishes.

But sometimes, you allowed yourselves these small escapes. A night to step away from routine. A night to simply enjoy each other somewhere new.

“Love,” he spoke gently, knocking twice on the bathroom door, always composed, always calm. “We’re going to be late. It’s 19:35,” he informed, not rushed, just enough of a reminder for you to be aware.

Chad never had an issue waiting. He was a patient man who almost religiously gave you all the time you needed to get ready peacefully. But he also didn’t let time slip by unnoticed.

Still… something sparked his curiosity.

You could take a little longer getting ready, yes. But this time, it had been more than usual.

“Everything alright?” he asked softly.

And finally, the door opened.

His eyes lowered to your shorter frame, still partially shadowed beneath his brown, slightly wavy hair, observing the change.

You couldn’t quite lift your gaze to meet his, but he heard your small sigh. And he understood where it came from.

“I think—” you murmured, finally looking up at him. “I’m… ready?” you added with a tiny side smile, nerves quietly running through you.

His large hand lifted with care, turning slightly until the back of his fingers brushed against your silky hair, long, wavy, soft.

For the first time.

Free.

You noticed the way his eyes followed its length, giving it the silent attention it deserved.

And then he simply smiled.

His lips curved into something small and warm as his fingers slowly released the strands.

“Beautiful,” he affirmed, steady, certain, warmth filling his voice without the slightest hesitation in admitting what ran through his mind.

“Chad~” you cooed softly, a tiny laugh escaping you.

“It suits you very well,” he admitted with a small nod, his smile never fading. “Don’t hide it.”

“Thank you—” you whispered, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

“Shall we?” he asked, lowering his hand to his side, giving the small movement of his fingers that was always your cue to take his hand.

Well, only one finger. All you could take.

And you, with a bright smile, did, just as you always would.

Before you could take a step, your hand lifted slightly, resting in front of his lips, and the back of it received a warm kiss before he guided you forward.

The topic of your hair didn’t end at that dinner, where he watched you so attentively, pride and admiration glowing quietly in his eyes all evening.

Because now, your long, silky hair became adorned with small decorations, headbands in different colors that he bought for you.

As your biggest fan.

Kensei Muguruma ۶ৎ

The day couldn’t have been more peaceful. In fact, maybe a little too peaceful for his liking. Not because he needed to fight like it was some kind of addiction or because he had too much energy to burn.

No.

Kensei handled paperwork days just fine. But his preference leaned toward movement. Sitting with his ass glued to a chair all day wasn’t exactly his favorite pastime. By lunchtime, he finally stretched his muscles as he stood from his desk and made his way toward your barracks, fully intending to share lunch with you like you always did.

Knock, knock.

The back of his fingers tapped against the door of your captain’s office. He hadn’t seen you all day, not since you’d left earlier than usual that morning, though not without pressing a soft kiss to the cheek of your husband, who had been sleeping like a rock.

“Come in,” you ordered from inside.

“Ready to go ea—” he started as he stepped in without looking up.

But when his eyes landed on you, his lips parted slightly.

You were still focused on the report on your desk, and a loose strand of hair fell across your face, while the rest of your long, silky hair flowed freely down your back.

A first.

“If you keep staring like that, flies are going to get in,” you commented, finally lifting your gaze to him. “Or my entire fist,” you added, trying to defend yourself from the heat climbing up your cheeks.

“No need to get aggressive,” he replied calmly, walking up to your desk and placing both hands firmly on it.

“If you want, go eat without me,” you muttered, lowering your gaze again. “I have too many reports that—”

Your words cut off when his large, rough hand gently took the strand of hair that had fallen over your cheek and tucked it behind your ear.

“Wanna go buy some headbands or hairpins?” he asked, not letting you finish. “So you can wear it down without it getting in your face. I know it annoys you when strands block your vision.”

“I don’t know,” you murmured, looking slightly away. “I’m not sure I want to keep it down for much longer. It’s—”

“Let’s go,” he ordered with a small tilt of his head. “We’ll grab something quick to eat on the way.”

“Does my opinion matter?” you sighed as you stood to follow him.

He paused for a moment.

“Mmm. Yeah,” he considered. “But my desire to see you with your hair down more often is stronger.” He nodded when you reached his side and turned to you. “Gotta secure these views.”

“You’re an idiot,” you muttered without real bite, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s occasional.”

“What?” One brow lifted as he looked at you. “You can’t give me this and then take it away that easily.” His hand slid up your cheek, fingers brushing through your roots before letting the length fall back, revealing more of your face. “It’s cruel to take it from me now,” he added with a sideways smirk.

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes with a soft laugh.

And then you felt his lips, a quick, warm kiss against yours. He didn’t fully pull away, lips brushing yours as he spoke again.

“You look… free,” he said quietly, certain. “And clearly— way too good. Yeah, like this— a serious threat to my concentration.”

“Kensei!” Your eyes widened, but before you could react further, a quick, warm kiss landed on your cheek as his arms wrapped around your smaller frame.

“About time you let yourself breathe a little,” he murmured, nose brushing lightly against your cheek before placing another kiss. “Let’s go.”

He took your hand.

And you followed your husband with a smile on your lips, and a confidence just outside your comfort zone that, this time, you didn’t regret stepping into.

[distinguishedshoeduckdonut]

Prillful teachers' drinking party

[gallusrostromegalus]

Happy Slightly Belated Birthday to Jushiro Ukitake! Not only does he get to survive the Kamikake in AEIWAM, he also gets a very angry sharp wet horse that is VERY invested in his survival! Mazel Tov!

[staying-soft-reactions]

soul society - m!bleach x chubby fem!reader

He leaves marks on your neck that are easy for others to see

featuring. byakuya kuchiki, renji abarai, jushiro ukitake, shunsui kyoraku, kenpachi zaraki, ikkaku madarame, yumichika ayasegawa, mayuri kurotsuchi, shuhei hisagi, izuru kira cw/tags (19+ Only | Minors DNI). wife!reader, hickeys/bruising, implied!intimacy

Byakuya Kuchiki

Byakuya did very few things without intention, but last night you made a sound when his teeth grazed your throat and his composure had simply… lapsed.

This morning he seen it in the light, a deep reddish-purple bloom against your skin. You reached for the high-collared kosode you usually wore as part of your uniform and his hand caught yours.

"Leave it," he said.

You looked at him, fingers still hovering over the fabric. "Byakuya, people are going to see."

He wasn't looking at you. He was looking at the mark. "Wear the one with the lower neckline."

You wore it to the division that morning and watched his reaction from the corner of your eye as you walked beside him through the main hall. Officers glanced at your throat and then immediately away, a few of them going red.

Byakuya's pace never changed, but when you passed Lieutenant Abarai, who noticed and choked on his tea, Byakuya's hand found the small of your back and stayed there.

"You're enjoying this," you murmured, keeping your eyes forward.

"I have no idea what you're referring to..." he said, his thumb tracing one slow proprietary circle against your spine.

At his office door, with three officers still in full view, he paused and adjusted the collar of your kosode, not to cover the mark but to frame it better, his fingertips lingering against the bruise.

"This suits you," he said, quiet enough that only you could hear. "I may need to be less careful in the future."

You exhaled. "Why do I get the feeling you're not joking when you say that?"

His mouth barely shifted, but his eyes said everything. Then he turned and walked into his office like he hadn't just branded you in front of his entire division.

Renji Abarai

You woke with three of them this time, a trail down the side of your neck like Renji had been mapping a path with his mouth, which was essentially what had happened.

You were standing in front of the mirror taking note of the damage when he appeared behind you, chin hooking over your shoulder, and whistled at his own handiwork.

"Damn," he said, sounding deeply impressed with himself. "The bottom one kinda looks like a butterfly."

You jabbed your elbow back into his ribs. "It does not."

He laughed and wrapped both arms around your middle, pulling your back against his chest, swaying you side to side like you were slow-dancing in the bathroom.

You reached for a scarf and his hand intercepted it, tossing it onto the futon behind you. "Nope. Absolutely not." He turned you around by the hips and examined your neck with the critical eye of an artist reviewing a canvas. "You're not covering those up. I worked hard on those."

You crossed your arms. "I have to report to the Eighth Division today, Renji. Captain Kyoraku is going to have a field day."

His grin only got bigger. "Good. Great. Perfect, actually. Tell him I said hello."

He pressed one more deliberate kiss right at the base of your throat, sucking lightly just long enough to deepen what was already there, then pulled back and admired the result.

"There. Now you're ready."

He caught your expression in the mirror which was half mortified, half grinning, and pressed his face into the crook of your neck, laughing against your skin. "You love it. Don't even try to front with me right now. You love it."

You bit your lip to keep from smiling. "You're the worst person I've ever met."

"Well, that hasn't made you get rid of me yet," he said, kissing the butterfly one more time.

Later that afternoon, an officer at the Eighth squinted at your neck and asked if you'd gotten hurt during training. Before you could answer, Renji--who just happened to be dropping off paperwork, called back over his shoulder without breaking stride, "That's my handiwork, actually!"

You were going to kill him.

Jushiro Ukitake

He found the mark before you did. You were lying with your head on his chest, half asleep in the late morning light, when his fingers drifted along your throat and paused.

"Oh," he said, very quietly, and something in his voice made you open your eyes.

He was staring at the curve of your neck, his thumb resting just beside a bruise that was already deepening in color. You reached up to touch it and he caught your hand, bringing it to his lips instead.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I'd been so--"

You cut him off. "Jushiro, don't you dare apologize."

He looked at you, surprised and you held his gaze. "I like it. I like that it's there."

His thumb traced the edge of the mark and his eyes went half-lidded in a way that told you the apology had been more reflex than regret.

Later that day you brought him tea wearing your usual kosode. You hadn't gone out of your way to show the mark off, but you hadn't hidden it either, and the neckline sat just low enough that when you leaned forward, there it was.

Kiyone spotted it first. A sharp inhale, then a hard elbow to Sentaro's ribs, followed by the crash of a dropped report stack.

"Captain Ukitake," Kiyone whispered, although not remotely quietly enough. "He looks like he's feeling better, don't you think?"

Sentaro caught on and broke into a grin. "Much better. His energy must really be coming back."

Kiyone clasped her hands together, eyes shining, and turned to you. "You're so good for him. Truly."

You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing. Ukitake's hand found yours under the tea tray, squeezing once.

"They're going to tell the entire division," he murmured, cheeks faintly pink.

"Probably," you said, making no effort to adjust your collar. "That okay with you?"

He looked at the mark, then at you, and his fingers came up to trace the edge of it.

"More than okay," he said quietly. "I just hope they don't overdo crediting you with my recovery."

You laughed, but from across the room, Kiyone wiped an actual tear. "She's saving our captain one night at a time."

Shunsui Kyoraku

Shunsui never just leave one mark. He left a constellation.

He spent half the night with his mouth on your throat, humming against your pulse, murmuring things that made your toes curl, and by morning you looked like you'd lost a fight with a very affectionate octopus.

You were examining them in the mirror when he appeared in the doorway, still half-dressed, hat absent, hair loose around his shoulders. He leaned against the frame and took a long, appreciative look.

"Now that," he said, "is a beautiful sight."

You turned and raised an eyebrow. "Shunsui, there's like eight of them."

"Eleven," he corrected, crossing the room and tilting your chin to inspect the tinier ones. "You miscounted the little ones."

You wrapped a bandage around your neck before heading to the Eighth Division, layering it carefully enough that it looked like a training injury rather than a night spent underneath your captain. It worked, mostly. A few officers gave you concerned glances while Nanao studied you over her glasses but said nothing.

Then midafternoon, Shunsui appeared beside your desk with a look of theatrical concern. "That dressing looks like it needs changing. Come on, let me take a look."

You stared at him. "It's fine."

"It could get infected," he said, absolutely shameless, already steering you by the elbow toward his office.

The door closed and he unwound the bandage slowly, each layer peeling away while his eyes stayed on your throat. The marks had deepened inro rich vivid blooms of violet and burgundy trailing from below your ear to your collarbone.

"Oh~" he breathed, tilting your head with one finger to trace the darkest one with his thumb. "These got prettier."

You swallowed. "The whole office thinks I'm injured."

He grinned, rewinding the bandage with infuriating tenderness, his knuckles brushing your skin with every pass. "Good, then I'll get to change your dressing again tomorrow."

He tucked the end in and kissed you right above the edge of it. "A thorough recovery takes time, sweetheart. Let's not rush it."

Kenpachi Zaraki

He didn't even realize he did it until you winced when your collar rubbed against your neck the next morning.

Kenpachi wasn't a man who kept track of the finer details of what his mouth did, he just knew that at some point last night he had his teeth on your throat and you grabbed his hair and pulled him closer, so he kept going.

Now you were sitting on the edge of the futon pressing your fingers to the spot gingerly, and he leaned over to look at it with the same casual interest he'd give a new scar after a good fight.

"Huh," he said. "That's a big one."

You shot him a look. "That's all you have to say?"

He shrugged, grinning. "Looks good on you."

You didn't bother covering it. There was no point, really, you'd learned early on that being with Kenpachi meant abandoning any pretense of subtlety about anything.

So you walked through the Eleventh Division with the mark on full display, a dark angry bruise just above your collarbone, and watched the reactions ripple out like a shockwave. Officers stared, then immediately looked away. A few of the younger ones went red. Yumichika raised one perfect eyebrow and said nothing, which meant he was saving his commentary for later.

Then Kenpachi fell into step beside you, and you watched him clock the way every single person in the corridor glanced at your neck and then at him.

His hand landed on the back of your neck, heavy and possessive, his thumb resting directly on the bruise.

You hissed. "Ow--Fuck--That's tender, you know."

"Yeah," he said, not moving his hand. "I know."

He steered you through the barracks like that, his palm covering the mark like he was signing his name over it, and when Ikkaku opened his mouth to comment, Kenpachi stared at him until he closed it.

"You could be a little less obvious," you muttered.

He looked down at you, thumb still pressing into the bruise just enough to make your breath catch. "Why?"

Ikkaku Madarame

The mark wasn't subtle. He left it right on the front of your throat, dead center, like he had been trying to make a point.

You discovered it in the morning when you caught your reflection in the blade of his zanpakutō, which was propped against the wall, and let out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.

"Ikkaku."

He was doing push-ups on the floor behind you, shirtless and completely unbothered. "Yeah?"

You pointed at your throat. He looked up, looked at the mark, and his face split into a grin. "Nice."

"Nice?" You grabbed a scarf from the shelf and wound it around your neck before he could stop you. He watched from the floor, mid push-up, frowning.

"That's rude. You know that, right?"

You ignored him and tucked the ends in neatly, checking your reflection. Gone. Completely hidden. You felt his arms wrap around you from behind, his chin dropping onto your shoulder.

"You're really gonna do me like that?"

"I have dignity, Ikkaku."

"Overrated."

You made it all the way to training with the scarf intact, feeling pretty good about yourself, until Yumichika appeared at your side, looked at your neck, and tilted his head like a bird examining something mildly offensive.

"That scarf doesn't match your uniform," he said bluntly. "Take it off."

Your hand flew to your throat. "I'm cold today."

"It is not cold today. It is the middle of summer. Take it off or I will, because looking at that color combination is causing me physical pain."

You tightened the scarf and Yumichika reached over just as quickly and tugged one end loose with a single elegant pull, and the whole thing unraveled, and there it was. Dark and obvious.

Yumichika stared at it for exactly two seconds. Then he turned toward the training yard where Ikkaku was stretching and called out, "You are an animal and I am embarrassed to know you."

Ikkaku looked up, saw your bare neck, and pumped his fist in the air. "LET'S GO."

You buried your face in your hands. "I hate both of you."

Yumichika patted your shoulder. "The mark is ugly dear. He could have at least placed it somewhere aesthetic... You can cover it back up now."

From across the yard, Ikkaku shouted, "DON'T YOU DARE."

Yumichika Ayasegawa

The mark sat in the curve where your neck met your shoulder, placed exactly where the neckline of your kosode would frame it if you wore the one he liked.

You traced it with your fingers that morning and actually smiled before catching yourself.

Then you put on your high-collared kosode anyway, because walking around the Eleventh Division with a hickey felt like announcing something you weren't ready for. When you stepped out, Yumichika was waiting. His eyes went to your collar immediately and his mouth thinned.

"No," he said. Just that.

"No what?"

"That collar. You're not wearing that." He crossed to you and tugged the fabric down to expose the mark, studying it.

"I put that there on purpose. The angle, the placement, the way it sits against your skin tone. That is my best work and you covered it with the most unflattering neckline you own."

You felt your face heat. "Yumichika, it's a hickey, not a gallery piece."

"Everything I do is beautiful dear." He was already pulling out the kosode with the lower neckline. "Change. Now."

When you emerged wearing it, he cupped your jaw and tilted your head, his thumb grazing the bruise.

"There~ Now you look like someone who belongs to me."

He walked beside you through the division with his hand resting on the exact spot, fingers splayed to frame it. When Ikkaku squinted at your neck and opened his mouth, Yumichika didn't glance at him.

"Say one word and I'll tell everyone about that little kendo tornament in the world of the living."

Ikkaku's mouth snapped shut. You bit back a laugh.

"You're terrifying."

"Thank you," he said, and pressed his lips to your temple.

Mayuri Kurotsuchi

The mark Mayuri had left was not something you wanted to explain to Twelfth Division members who already looked at you with a mixture of confusion and pity for willingly sharing a bed with their captain.

You wrapped a bandage around your throat and practiced your "training accident" excuse in the mirror three times.

You'd nearly made it through the entire morning, before Mayuri summoned you to the lab.

He was bent over a microscope when you entered and didn't look up for thirty seconds. When he did, his golden eyes went straight to the bandage.

"What is that."

You touched your throat. "I hurt myself during--"

"You did not hurt yourself during anything. Remove it."

You unwound the bandage slowly and the mark came into view. It was vivid, almost chemical-looking and high on the side of your throat where his mouth had been last night.

He crossed to you, gripping your chin and turning your head. "Excellent pigmentation. The capillary disruption is more extensive than I estimated."

You stared at him. "You're not serious. This was part of an experiment?!"

"I am always serious. This is a perfect record of applied pressure and vascular response and you attempted to hide it under gauze like a common injury."

He pulled a small jar from his coat and you flinched.

"What is that?"

"A fixative. It will prevent the mark from fading for approximately seventy-two additional hours."

Your mouth fell open. "Mayuri, I am not letting you preserve a hickey like a lab sample."

"You are, because I have already applied it." His thumb had swiped across the bruise while holding your chin, and the skin tingled faintly.

You looked at him in disbelief. He looked back with zero remorse.

"You are mine. The data should reflect that. You may leave the bandage here. You will not be needing it."

Shuhei Hisagi

He was mortified at first. You watched it happen in real time--his eyes landing on the mark, his face cycling through recognition, pride, and immediate guilt in about two seconds.

"I'm sorry," he said, already reaching for your neck like he could rub it away. "I got carried away, I should've been more careful."

You caught his hand and kissed his knuckles. "Shuhei. Breathe. I bruise easy and I didn't stop you, which means I didn't want you to stop."

The guilt faded slowly, replaced by something cautious and searching as he studied the mark, a dark uneven bloom right below your jaw.

Your uniform covered it perfectly. High collar, no problems, and you made it through the entire day without a single incident. You honestly forgotten about it by evening, which was your mistake, because your evenings were spent drinking with Rangiku.

You were three cups in, warm and loose, and you tugged your collar open to cool down without thinking twice and Rangiku's eyes locked onto your neck like a heat-seeking missile.

You didn't even get a full breath in before she grabbed your chin, tilted your head, and announced to the entire table, "Oh my god!!!~ Hisagi marked you up girl!!!"

The bar went quiet. Kira choked on his drink. Ikkaku slammed his cup down and howled. You slapped her hand away, face on fire.

"Rangiku, I swear to--"

"Just look at it! That's not even subtle, someone was making a statement last night!~" She was beaming, absolutely delighted, already turning to find Hisagi in the crowd.

He was three seats down, frozen with his cup halfway to his mouth, the flush spreading so far past the 69 tattoo it looked like his whole face might combust.

"Hisagi!" Rangiku called, raising her cup. "I didn't know you had it in you!"

He set his drink down very carefully, stood up, walked over to you, and put his hand on the back of your neck. His voice was strained but steady.

"We're leaving."

You grabbed your cup and downed the rest. "Yep. Great idea."

Rangiku's laughter followed you both out the door, and halfway down the street you felt his grip loosen and heard him start laughing too, quiet and helpless, his forehead dropping against the top of your head.

"We're never going to hear the end of that."

You laced your fingers through his. "Nope. Never."

Izuru Kira

You woke up to the feeling of something cool and adhesive being pressed gently to your throat. Your eyes opened to find Izuru leaning over you, brow furrowed in concentration, carefully smoothing a bandage over the side of your neck.

There was a bruise underneath, you could feel the tenderness, and from the look on his face Izuru been awake long enough to find it, agonize over it, and devise a solution before you even stirred.

"Izuru," you murmured, voice thick with sleep. "What are you doing?"

He pressed the edge down with his thumb, not meeting your eyes. "It's visible. I don't want people to look at you differently because of something I did."

Your chest ached at his words and you reached up and covered his hand where it rested against the bandage, pressing his palm flat to your throat.

"Thank you," you said, and meant it.

He finally looked at you, surprised, like he'd been bracing for you to be upset with him. "You're not mad?"

"Mad? Izuru, you woke up before me just to make sure nobody would give me a hard time today. That's…" You squeezed his hand. "Was really thoughtful of you."

The tension in his shoulders released all at once and he exhaled. You pulled him down and kissed his cheek, then the corner of his mouth.

"You're a good man, you know that?"

His ears went pink. "I just didn't want anyone to--"

"I know. That's why it means so much."

You touched the edge of the bandage and smiled. "Keep being you, okay? I'll wear your little patch job with pride."

A quiet laugh escaped him and he pressed his lips to your forehead.

"I'll apply the next one better," he said. "That one folded a bit while I was putting it on."

a/n. heheheheh i felt way too devious while writing this because of the few peps I had in mind

[deathberi]

[turnbackthependulum]

Shunuki 🥹😭 || BLEACH: Thousand-Year Blood War — The Calamity

[koii-diary]

There is a stark lack of selfship bleach content so I come to fill the gap with ridiculous sketches

So! This is 100% accurate depictions of some Bleach men in bed with their s/o

Kenpachi Zaraki:

Enjoy waking up with bruises from Yachiru

Shunsui Kyoraku:

I reckon he runs hot, personal heater bf

Byakuya Kuchiki:

Proper gentleman rep, how obscene. Also he totally runs cold

Kisuke Urahara:

Yeah, impossible to get away from, will drool on you

Jushiro Ukitake:

Proper gentleman nr 2. He would hold you closer but he doesn't wanna disturb u with his coughing

Shinji Hirako:

This man moves so much its actually insane. Will wake up the wrong away around or on the floor