◇TheChoirofAngels◇

☆ bleach • ichigo.

Masterlist.

When Lucifer and you made it official to everyone that you were together, it didn't come as much of a surprise. They saw the signs months ago.

The first one was quite mundane. It was a weekday, and Lucifer was on dinner duty. You had arrived from RAD quite early, and already finished everything in your task list for the day.

So why not lend a hand?

Normally, Lucifer would complain about being the only one bothered enough to make a proper dinner. Beelzebub usually ate all the ingredients before starting. Mammon threw all his ramen into a big pot and called it a day. Leviathan forgot that the oven was still on and burned everything. Asmodeus hated the smell of garlic on his freshly painted nails. Belphegor ordered takeout and pretended it was his cooking to avoid the hassle. Satan did tend to be more competent, until anybody entered the kitchen and he got bothered.

Still when others, such as Simeon, actually offered to help Lucifer, he turned them away. He had his own organization. He may complain but he didn't need help.

Your soft footsteps made his hand still the knife on the cutting board. He had learned the sound you made when walking long ago.

"Do you need any help?" you asked, moving to the sink to wash your hands already.

Silence stretched. For a second, you thought he was angry.

"Sure. You may stir the pot" He said, nodding to the soup on the stove. "Talk to me about your day" he said.

When the brothers, lured in by the delicious scent of a proper meal, made their way to the living room, their augmented hearing made them catch bits of the conversation.

Beelzebub and Asmodeus peeked their head in.

You were speaking, sitting down on the stool, any tasks long forgotten. Lucifer was pulling out the freshly made bread from the oven. He was listening. His face was relaxed. And he was interested in what you were saying.

Asmodeus took a picture.

Another time, up in the human world, the seven brothers were talking about their plans for the day.

Asmodeus would join Mammon at a fashion show where he got a gig, the fifth born being the designer of the outfits. Satan got a ticket to a movie adaptation of his favourite book. Leviathan, Beelzebub and Belphegor were interested in going to a Gastronomic anime fair.

Lucifer, turning away from all of them, had simply announced he'd be going to a factory tour nearby. He had already expected the groans from his brothers, calling him all sorts of names. Of course nobody would come with him.

"Oh! Can I come with you?" You asked suddenly, stepping beside him, your hand already reaching for his arm. "Is it the factory that makes the pens that you like?"

Not only were you willing to go, but you remembered his earlier comment.

All the brothers stopped their groaning to look at the two of you.

"A pen factory." Repeated Satan. They had all made far more interesting plans, hoping to allure you to spend a day with one of them. And you chose the pen factory tour.

"Well, of course!"You said cheerfully. "Lucifer was quite excited about it."

The demon in question straightened his tie, the smirk on his face angering all of them. He had won.

and the most fascinating part? he wasn't even aware of the fact how often he did it. he knew he did say it, but he wasn't aware of the fact how often he did. those two words, simple yet undeniably laced together with love and reverence, often tumbled out of his mouth before his brain could catch up.

"my wife would like these flowers," he had said to the wholesome elderly florist when he was about to buy a bouquet of your favorite flowers before returning home to you, his wallet— which had a small polaroid of you in it, by the way— already in hand.

"my wife did mention this the other day, now that i think about it." he had said to his friend who was rambling about the latest trending internet gossip.

"for my wife. i trust there isn't an issue?" he had simply said to the cashier upon noticing the way they lifted an eyebrow at the grocery basket filled to the brim with your favorite snacks, to which they gave a solemn, approving nod at his answer. good husband.

"my wife went out to run an errand, but she'll be back soon." he had even said to your best friend when they came to visit you, to which they replied with a very teasing smirk; "you could just say her name, y'know."

"my wife shouldn't pay when I'm around," he had said when you were about to pay for something, holding out his card before you could pull out yours.

"a reservation for my wife and i, please."

"sorry, my wife is waiting for me. i must take my leave now."

"yes, that's my wife— i'm quite proud of her."

"I can take it from here, sweetheart. can't have my beautiful wife overworking herself now, can i?"

and the list went on.

and yet, you didn't mind it. not at all— you had no reason to. your heart always did that funny little flip whenever he'd call you his wife the way he did, the corner of your lips never failing to curl into a smile. he would always say it so naturally— so genuinely, like those words were etched onto his soul for your very existence alone. and you certainly didn't miss the way his tone would sound a touch softer everytime he referred to you, like you needed to be spoken of with the utmost care and gentleness.

so, one day, you decided it was about time you struck.

"you call me that a lot."

his hands— which were reaching for the kitchen towel to dry his hands with after washing the dishes, yes, the dishes because chores are shared in this household— paused midway. he turned his head to look at you, where you had been perched on the counter, your legs swaying ever so slightly.

"call you what?" he inquired with a small tilt of his head, reaching for the towel at last and patting his hands dry.

"you know, your wife."

he immediately caught onto the teasing glint in your eyes, yet; it was unmistakably edged with a hint of affection.

for a moment, he just stood there wordlessly, blinking once, then twice, his brain taking its sweet, sweet time to allow your words to sink in. you, on the other hand, were practically straining your eyes to catch on any shifts in his expression or posture.

and then, you caught it; the faint reddening of the tips of his ears. he subtly cleared his throat, and your smile stretched into a grin.

alas, that dazzling curve of your lips disappeared as soon as it appeared when the man suddenly approached you in a swift few strides, standing between your legs and pressing his palms on either side of the counter which you sat on to cage you in.

you blinked.

"i do, yes."

he didn't even try to deny it. well, he didn't have a reason to. you were his wife, after all. where was the lie in that? and of course, he was absolutely proud of it.

then, he leaned in slightly, his tone lowering. "unless you prefer i stop calling you that?"

oh, now he was the one with that mischievous little twinkle in his eyes. inwardly, you faltered at the sudden boldness of his actions, your fingertips twitching against the surface of the counter. but outwardly? two can play the game.

then, with a deceptively sweet smile, you tilted your head, shot your hand forward and yanked on the collar of his shirt with force— his body jerking towards you.

"not at all," you smirked, inching closer. "i can't say i mind when my sweet husband calls me that."

his confidence faltered for a moment. you were about to internally celebrate your small victory until one of his hands slid up from the counter, now resting on your hips, his fingertips lightly pressing into your skin.

"... let's hear that again."

let's just say, ever since that faithful encounter, "my husband" had also started slipping out.

and every time? it got to him. oh, it definitely did.

(not my second fluff also taking place in the kitchen lol. i promise it's gonna be different next time.)

There’s a small soul sitting in your lap, a tiny thing, barely walking and babbling, and you imagine the child was shy of a year old when it died. Soft brown hair on its head and big round dark eyes... when you met it, it was crying, loudly, but you know it wasn’t out of hunger - the dead don’t hunger in the same way humans do, at least not in this realm. It’s quiet now, eyes blinking slowly at you less human than cat really, breathing softly as it decides whether or not to imprint on you as its new caretaker.

The thought makes your stomach turn because you cannot do anything for them. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Ichigo calls out from still afar, as he approaches with the tension of a man who was summoned expressly to defend and protect and prepared to do just that. Before you can turn to look at him, he’s turned to face your front and knelt down to your level. He’s in his shihakusho which makes you feel slightly guilty - you didn’t send him a text because you were in danger, but because you’re not so sure what to do now. 

Ichigo’s gaze, softened once he’s given you a once over and you’ve nodded that you are okay, slides towards the source of your melancholy, the child now practically still in your lap, its eyes almost completely closed now. You know you look crazy, sitting on a street corner in plain clothes, stroking the soft cheek of something no one else but the two of you can see, and then you remember that in Ichigo’s form currently, even he can’t be seen by passersby. And yet, as he sits cross-legged in front of you, just watching as you hum something quietly until the baby sleeps, you don’t feel quite as alone.

Ichigo doesn’t say anything immediately, and you finally look up at him again.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what to do,” you murmur quietly. 

→ with this, i am slowly coming back to tumblr with a fresh start

→ posted this on the evil clock app but that won't get any likes or barely any views and I really enjoyed making this so I want people who like this content to actually see it T-T

→ so please, fellow Grimmjow enthusiasts, enjoy

→ a warning for suggestive content ahead!

d’you guys think grimmjow would get stalker-y if you were human?

he gets a little too curious about where you run off to when you’re not at urahara’s, and then a little too curious about where this job of yours is. maybe plays it off as him watching you go to-and-fro to make sure no one fucks with you—human nor hollow.

he knows how to stay hidden. sometimes you think you feel his reiatsu or catch a glimpse of him, but it’s gone so fast that you can convince yourself that you’re just imagining things.

slipping his way in through one of your windows when you’re gone or in another part of the house just so that he can breathe in big lungfuls of your scent—leave his own scent all over in a way that you won’t notice, but other hollows sure will. he’s branding you as all his the right way (according to him, at least).

and he’s certainly taking random articles of your clothing with him when he leaves. he doesn’t care whether it’s obvious or not. either you’ll notice missing shirts, or you’ll notice that faint eye-shine of his, watching you through your blinds every night.

————————————————————————

Nothing gets passed you, at least not when it relates to the eldest of the brothers. Your eyes watch him as he steps into the living room, having just returned from who knows where doing something surely tedious. His eyebrows are furrowed in the way they always are, but you can feel the weight behind them. His eyes catch yours a moment, deep crimson holding the weight of the world, but he says nothing. His brother’s barley notice him until he's hitting Belphie with a pillow for trying to curl too close to you. Everyone greets him with varying disinterest and when the sloth demons slink away, you pat the now vacant seat to welcome him in.

Except Lucifer doesn't have the time to sit leisurely with everyone, too overwhelmed by the weight of responsibility. As he exits the room, a soft press of his hand to your shoulder is all he can manage in terms of affection before he's off again towards his study. Watching his back answers any question you might have left, the various shapes in his strong shoulders telling stories only you can translate. Even though he'd just gotten home, you know he'll spend the rest of the night in his office if left to it. Not that you'd ever really leave him to it like that.

me as this dumbass breaks my damn swing

You weren’t entirely sure why you had been invited to attend. The meeting was meant for the other lords Diavolo had invited to visit the school, along with Barbatos and, of course, Lucifer. Your gaze drifted from one speaker to another, following the conversation as everyone shared their thoughts.

As time passed, the meeting gradually came to an end. Goodbyes were exchanged around the room, and naturally, you offered yours as well.

When it was finally your turn, your eyes wandered toward Lucifer, who was busy shaking hands with the departing guests.

You couldn’t help but stare.

His crimson eyes, his dark hair… then your gaze dropped to the smile he wore as he bid everyone farewell.

“…!”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly.

At the corners of his mouth, faint indentations appeared.

Dimples.

You had seen him smile countless times before, but somehow, you’d never noticed them.

Once the guests had left and the meeting was officially adjourned, you and Lucifer made your way out of the campus together. It had gotten late, and the walk home was unusually quiet.

You remained silent, still distracted by your recent discovery.

“You’ve been awfully quiet since the meeting,” Lucifer finally said, your arms brushing against each other as the two of you descended the academy’s staircase. “Is something the matter?”

You stopped in your tracks.

Lucifer paused as well, turning to you with a look that was equal parts confusion and concern.

“Dimples.”

“…What?”

“You have dimples.”

Your eyes flickered between his own and the corners of his mouth, as if trying to confirm that you hadn’t imagined them.

Lucifer blinked in surprise before letting out a quiet sigh. He looked back toward the stairs, gently taking your hand in his as the two of you resumed walking.

“I do,” he replied. “And?”

You shook your head, unable to hide your smile.

“I’ve never noticed them until now.” You looked up at him, eyes bright with genuine amazement. “Can you smile again?”

Lucifer merely huffed, the corner of his lips curling upward in that signature smug expression as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Then you’ll have to give me a reason to.”