19.JULY - 25.JULY: #BLEACHWEEK2026

Despite his best efforts, the Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13 still sticks out like a sore thumb in the World of the Living. His gigai is no less massive than his true Shinigami form: a hulking man who dwarves the humans packed into the train, eyepatch staring into the frightened souls of little old ladies who clutch their handbags and keep their sights fixed solely on their feet.

What intimidates others, though, lights a fire deep in your belly. It's like you're on a date with some handsome stranger, and not your centuries-long husband; gone is his pink kimono, in its place a tan suit that stretches across his bulky form, the collared shirt beneath it unbuttoned just right. His hair is pulled a little tighter to his head than usual, and the edges of his facial hair are noticeably sharper.

He'd certainly put in the effort, and for good reason. After all, how often is it that a couple can brag 900 years together?

"Remind me why we took the train?" He mumbles into your shoulder, scruff tickling your neck. "This all seems unnecessary."

You sit perched atop Shunsui's knee, secured by his thick arm looped around your waist. "Tonight, we aren't the Commander and the 13th Division Captain: we are mortal husband and wife," you tsk, "…and I've always wanted to take a train."

"You've taken a train before, darling."

"Yes, but not these fancy fast ones they use everywhere now!" You peek past the head of a young boy whose nose is buried in some magazine, watching the gleaming lights of Karakura town appear in the distance, backdropped by an inky night sky.

"Whatever my wife wants, she gets," Shunsui sighs, hot breath fanning across your collar bone, "as long as she's happy."

"Mm, and that's why we've made it this far." You lean into him, pressing a kiss onto his temple. One of the trembling elders scoffs at the public display of affection, and you suppose you are being quite touchy, but Shunsui kept the sake flowing at dinner — and he just looked too good to ignore.

"So what's in Karakura Town, anyway?" the question, hovering over your head since Shunsui mentioned your final destination of the evening, bubbles over. "Do you have business with Urahara?"

"Business on our anniversary?" Shunsui lifts a brow, "I'm not that cruel."

You wiggle impatiently in his grip, body aflame against the bulge that has formed beneath your lap — a bulge he must want you to feel, because the man is well-practiced in the art of self-control. "Hopefully you're taking me to a hotel, then," you huff, "I can't bear a tease. Not tonight."

"Aw, why's that?" He curls his other arm around you, grinding you slightly downward, "was dinner not enough for ya? I'm feelin' pretty full."

"Dinner was plenty, but now I'm hungry for something else —" a cough interrupts you. The poor humans in the train car may be spared from your imposing spiritual pressures in these gigai, but the mounting sexual tension is almost as suffocating.

Shunsui chuckles against your skin, planting a chaste kiss on the sensitive flesh of your neck before straightening his posture into something a little more respectable.

"So if we're not going to Kurakara town on business…" you pry again, brow dipped in confusion.

"Y'know we never got a proper chance to catch up with Isshin while the war was going on," Shunsui drops casually, "so I thought I'd arrange a … reunion." Your eyes widen in surprise. "He was always a favorite of mine — and yours, if I recall."

"He was certainly a … frequent visitor," you trap your lower lip between your teeth,"but isn't he still … I mean, his wife …"

"That was a long time ago," Shunsui assures, "believe me, I was just as surprised as you when he asked if I still share. But he knows the deal with us. Probably less guilt for him, to be honest."

You nod slowly, a new kind of fire scorching your veins.

"Ah, and he … asked to bring a friend. I said yes. Consider it another anniversary gift."

"For you or for me?"

A fond gleam sparkles in your husband's eye. "Isn't it both?"

~

In the true spirit of 'playing mortal', Shunsui booked a suite in Karakura Town's finest hotel. Maybe it was out of convenience — or maybe it was because he had the foresight to think that a certain level of detachment could form between the wallpapered walls and too-stiff bed. A detachment you were thankful for, because you were not prepared for the emotional weight of bedding not one, but two, widowers.

Isshin and his friend, Ryūken Ishida, joined your little anniversary present about thirty minutes ago. You vaguely remembered hearing about the Echt Quincy during the war, but had never actually crossed paths with him.

Ryūken is quiet and hard to read. Isshin is easy — full of energy and jokes, breaking the tension with the poise of a seal in stilettos. "Who woulda thought you two were still the Seireitei's biggest horndogs?" he chortles, "happy nine-hundredth anniversary, by the way. Sheesh, if only we could all be so lucky."

Just like the train, you're caged on Shunsui's lap, but now you're freshly showered and perfumed, frame concealed by a loosely-tied silk robe, deep-purple and luxurious: a gift waiting for you on the bed when you arrived at the hotel, along with candles and rose petals and all the sappy stops that your husband loves so.

"Hard not to be a horndog when ya wake up to this every day," Shunsui praises, rough fingers brushing your thigh, lifting up the robe just enough to draw your guests' eyes to the movement.

Shunsui has been liquoring up your guests to loosen things up; it's working like a charm with your former comrade, but with each drop drained from the Quincy's glass, he seems to only wind tighter. His eyes casually track the movements of your husband, playing the attentive listener, but every so often his gaze lands on you … and it's cold. Maybe even a little disgusted.

"Damn, how long has it been since the last time we did this?" Isshin asks, eyes low, leaning back on his hands as he watches you from the bed. He turns to Ryūken, eager to divulge in stories of the past. "Back maybe … I dunno, a hundred years ago — I couldn't get enough'a this one," he points to you, winking, "I remember the first time I saw her … and then when I learned she was married, I almost threw a tantrum."

"Sounds like you were in love," Ryūken states dryly.

Isshin laughs heartily, shaking his head. He doesn't seem put out by his counterpart's standoffish attitude. "Maybe I thought that the first time I felt her mouth on me. But … hard to love someone who's so obviously uninterested in ya.," he gestures between you and Shunsui, "biggest horndogs, yea, but the biggest lovebirds, too. Made everyone sick seein' them all over each other."

Ryūken hums, still unimpressed. Shunsui notices wearily, brow furrowing as he puts the puzzle of this near-stranger together. You can smell the sake on his breath as his attention returns to you, pressing his lips onto the sensitive spot just below your ear, and then the underside of your jaw, nipping playfully.

The mood shift is palpable. Shunsui seems to be done talking, and while Isshin has never been the silent type, he at least notices the change, voice growing huskier as he continues his walk down memory lane.

"The way she takes cock, though, is the most impressive thing. Y'probably had to train her good, huh Kyōraku?"

"Lots of time to practice," Shunsui murmurs, running a hand down the silky fabric, brushing your breast as he inches back toward the hem of your robe. "Hope you two don't mind if I join in from the start. Feelin' extra 'lovebird-y' tonight. Want her to feel special."

"You're in charge," Isshin agrees happily.

He's excited: the sizeable tent of his pants is proof enough. But unlike times past, you can tell Isshin is…hesitating. His eyes roam but his body remains still. Ryūken, too, is stiff.

You understand, and so does Shunshi. He will take his time with you … and he will let the others join in when they're ready.

Shunsui's in a black robe, similar to yours. He smiles, eyes creased with sweet promises as he kisses the back of your hand before placing it on his crotch, where you can feel the familiar outline of his mouthwatering girth. Your thighs clench at the mere thought of feeling him stretch you open … claiming you in front of these two grieving men. Showing them that chasing pleasure is nothing to be ashamed of.

"Let's show 'em that pretty body…" he suggests, tugging at the robe's belt, "I've been waitin' all day."

You let him undress you, the soft shifting of fabric echoing loudly in the silence of the room. He doesn't address the other two directly, eyes glued to your exposed figure with the hunger of a man who hadn't just eaten a multiple-course meal, but he does spread you for them; puts your pretty cunt on display, already glistening, slick as he runs a finger through your velvet folds.

He spreads you open with two, large fingers, eyes heavy. "Y'can see how tight she is," he mumbles, "even after all this time, she still sucks me right in. But if ya stretch her out enough … she takes it like a champ." He taps your clit with his thumb, sending sparks up your spine, before he starts to circle it slowly. "Sluttiest little pussy in the Seireitei, and it's all mine …"

"Clearly not if it's slutty," Ryūken mumbles from his side of the room, "tonight it's ours, tomorrow it'll be someone else's…"

"You misunderstand my friend," Shunsui tuts, moving his thumb to your entrance, pushing it allll the way in. He moves it around, pressing against your sensitive, pulsing walls, before replacing it with two fingers, "it is my pussy, and I do what I want with it. I can share it with ya … or I can take it away." He gives the man a pointed look. "All depends on your attitude."

Ryūken mumbles something under his breath, but you can tell he is not unaffected by the lewd scene in front of him, eyes narrowed in focus as he watches you over the thin rims of his glasses.

Isshin exhibits his enthusiasm with less reserve as Shunsui's sensual ministrations continue. At some point both he and your husband lose their clothing, though Isshin is still on the bed, hand wrapped tightly around his cock as he strokes it in sync with Shunsui's rhythm.

Shunsui has three fingers working you, now, his pace increasing, thumb rubbing your clit in dizzying circles.

"Does she still take two?" Isshin asks breathlessly,

"Uh-huh. But I'll admit we don't do this as often as we used to … might be a tight squeeze."

"That's fine," Isshin licks his lips, "better, actually. By the end of the night she'll be nice n' loose." He glances toward the man he invited, glaring a little at his lack of participation. "Right, Ishida?"

"…Right."

"…wanna get a little closer, buddy? Betcha can barely see over there."

"I wear glasses."

Isshin shoots Shunsui an apologetic glance. "I swear he was interested," he grumbles.

You can hardly focus on the conversation, breath shallow as Shunsui takes you closer to orgasm. You're leaning against his broad chest, solid and warm against your bare back, thighs shaking as you refrain from clamping them shut.

"You're bein' real nice to her tonight," Isshin finally stands, instinct replacing self-restraint, "if my memory serves me right, that's not always the case."

"Mm, I'm always nice to her," Shunsui rebuts. To make his point, he removes his fingers from your cunt and shoves them into your mouth, patting your cheek roughly as you start to suck. "See? M'givin' her a snack. She likes it."

Isshin snorts, his strokes growing more confident. "Yeah, real sweet."

Shunsui's hands brace your thighs as Isshin approaches, stopping them from jolting closed as the other man nudges the fat head of his cock up against your clit. He spreads his precum across the swollen bud messily, large hand wrapped around his base.

"Ya want her pussy first?" Shunsui offers, "or…throat? Ass?"

"Y'sure you don't wanna be the first one to fill her up?"

"Her cunt doesn't like eatin' the same meal twice in a row," Shunsui jokes, "greedy lil' thing."

"Well, we can't have it starve, that's just cruel…"

Shunsui and Isshin move you to the bed where you're placed on all fours, chest pressed flush into the mattress with your rear arched into the air. Isshin's on you in a heartbeat, large hands on your hips as he starts to ease into you, exhaling sharply at the tight fit … at the way you suck him in. "Fuck…" his head falls back, "fuck, seriously, how d'ya get anything done? I'd be wakin' up in this cunt, eatin' breakfast in it, eatin' lunch in it, eatin' dinner in it, goin' to sleep in it—"

"Alright, I get the picture," Shunsui chuckles, grabbing some oil from his bag before returning to the bedside. He uncorks the small bottle and pours it onto the upturned curve of your ass, spreading it across the plush flesh. "T'answer your question, though, let's just say I'd be a far more efficient Commander if it weren't for her."

"Do ya fuck her in your office?"

"Psh, we did that when I was Captain. Nothin' new." Shunsui spreads your cheeks, blinking down fondly at the tight star that winks up at him … closed shut and unyielding. He pours oil directly onto that puckered entrance and starts to ease a pinky finger into it, relishing in the way the pitch of your moans increases. "Though I'll say … it is harder to get alone time, now. She's Captain of the Thirteenth, I'm Commander … there's only so many hours in a day."

Shunsui replaces his pinky finger with his pointer, and then adds a second. Isshin groans as you squeeze him even tighter upon the intrusion, his pace increasing steadily.

"That's why I wanted ya … my wife misses havin' her holes all full … 'nd I don't wanna disappoint her on our anniversary."

The two stop talking to each other as they start to focus on their tasks. Shunsui: preparing you for a fit that should be impossible. Isshin: relishing in each cry, moan, and pant he can get out of you, speeding up and slowing down at irregular intervals just to keep you on your toes.

"You're lastin' longer than I expected," Shunsui teases, twisting and turning three fingers inside of your slicked ass, stretching you pleasurably, "and your friend over there is …" he glances towards Ryūken, who hasn't moved a muscle, "…disciplined."

"Hah, waitin' for you, old man," Isshin watches with bated breath as Shunsui pulls his fingers out, leaving a well-stretched hole in their place. "Want her to stay in this position? Or…"

"If ya don't mind the view, we can stay like this."

"Yeah, sure."

They shuffle around a bit so that Shunsui is crouched over you while Isshin still takes you from behind. Shunsui's solid thighs flex as he guides the leaky head of his cock to your rear, letting a slow string of spit glob down onto his shaft for extra measure. He talks you through it as he slowly eases into you, one hand gripping your hip for leverage while the other tangles into your hair.

Within minutes, you're a pile of shifting bodies, filthy sounds, and sweet praises as the two men take their fill. Isshin comes first — quickly — once Shunsui joins in and your cunt grows all the tighter. But your husband continues to mount you for longer, collapsing into Isshin's place as he moves out of the way. It only ends when Shunsui's cum mixes with Isshin's, each of their loads sliding messily from their respective stretched holes.

The room is silent for all of ten seconds before Isshin breaks it. "You alright if I go another round on her?" he asks, spitting on his palm as he starts to massage his softening dick, "dunno the next time I'll get to do this."

"Uh-huh, fuck her as much as ya want. She'll let y'know when it's too much." Shunsui runs a hand down the small of your sweat-slicked back and cups your ass, biting down on the soft flesh. You squeak on instinct, but your limbs are limp and your brain is mush, vision dazed and swirly.

"Ishida … are ya done staring or what?!" For the first time since he joined in, Isshin looks back to his friend: still fully clothed, still composed, still unimpressed.

"If she wants it she can come here," Ryūken shrugs, "I won't beg for a whore's attention."

Shunsui laughs dryly. "Heh, watch it. There's a difference between dirty talk and disrespect."

"You called her 'the sluttiest pussy in The Seireitei'. What, exactly, is the difference?" Ryūken lifts a brow, clearly knowing the answer to his rhetorical question, but posing it regardless. "You call it dirty talk, I call it truth." Shunsui's good eye narrows. "But — widowers like me … whores are our specialty. At least this one came with a background check, and I didn't have to pick her up on the streets."

He finally strides forward, long, lithe limbs carrying him across the small room. You're limp on the mattress, naked body slumped on the crumpled sheets, curling into Isshin's soft touch as he runs a hand down the slope of your calf.

"Too tired already?" Shunsui asks, dipping his head down to yours, kissing the side of your head. "Y'alright?"

"Yea I'm ok…" you smile sweetly and nuzzle into him, just as Isshin starts to probe at your sloppy cunt, thick fingers burying themselves down to the knuckle. "I wanna taste you, Sunny—"

"I want her mouth," Ryūken interrupts, reaching for the buckle on his pants, "it's the only hole that hasn't been fucked open yet."

"Gah, he's mean!" Shunsui complains, "learn some manners, Quincy, or get outta here —"

"Of course you have to bring that up," Ryūken grunts, belt dangling open, now, as he unzips his trousers, "bad enough I'm fuckin' a whore … but a Soul Reaper whore's a new low..."

"Ishida," Isshin warns, "this some kinda weird foreplay for ya or somethin'? Stop bein' so mean."

"She can take it," Ryūken's cock finally springs free, though the rest of his body remains clothed, unlike the other two shamelessly nude men. He bundles your hair up with a stern hand, yanking on it by the roots, tilting your face at various angles as if inspecting its worth. "Right, Mrs. Kyōraku? If you're fine with getting whored out by your husband, then you can handle me being a little mean?"

Before you can answer, he's tilting his hips toward your mouth, poking his tip between your waiting lips. "Hope this throat isn't gaping open like her cunt and ass," Ryūken grumbles.

Shunsui watches you take the man's length with ease. It's not that he's small, but he's certainly working with a … human endowment. You slurp at him with no real passion — just going through the motions — and the way this man is boring you is almost as great of an offense as Yhwach's reign of terror onto The Soul Society. (Maybe Shunsui wouldn't have made such a joke if he were sober, but alas, he was drunk on both pussy and liquor, and the Quincy was putting him in a bad mood….)

"Y'r complainin' an awful lot about my wife's pussy. Is it safe t'say you won't be partaking?"

"Keep it," Ryūken grunts, his second hand joining his first as he clasps it over your head to bring you down his length with even more force.

Shunsui scoffs, deciding to ignore the third man, turning an eye toward the pace that Isshin is fucking you with on his fingers. He notices where your husband's attention has gone, and smirks. "She's clenchin'," he reveals, "she misses us."

"Of course she does," Shunsi shuffles next to Isshin so he can get a better view, spreading you apart and huffing under his breath. "Best view in the world," he praises, "how about it, old friend? Should we test if her cunt can take us both? She took Kensei and I … y'shoulda seen it. And she had Zaraki in her ass. I dunno how she does it."

"Heh, invite me to that party next time."

"Now that I know you're interested … and that y'still know how to make my lady feel good …" his eyes flash dangerously to Ryūken, who ignores the exchange as he continues to abuse your practiced mouth.

The side effect of their ramblings and Ryūken's treatment is that you're torn from your daze, reigniting your hunger. Uninspired by Ryūken's attempt at distancing himself from reality, you instead try to focus on Shunsui and Isshin, arching your back for them, wiggling around teasingly.

The combination of Isshin's rough fingers and your husband's firm grasp has you dripping anew. You feel Shunsui lift you up a little so he can slide beneath you, and suddenly you can see his face beneath your own, partially concealed by Ryūken's cock. He cranes to the left so you can get a full view of his handsome features, and he winks charmingly … and you fall in love all over again. You hum in greeting, sliding one of your hands onto his muscled chest, rubbing a thumb across the soft hair, there.

His attention shifts from your face to his task at hand. The sound of Ryūken's balls slapping your chin is loud in his ears as he slides inside first, the feeling so familiar and unmistakable —an easier fit than usual on account of Isshin's prior use. But, he's still snug, and he reaches even deeper, expelling the air from your lungs deliciously.

When Shunsui establishes his place, Isshin joins him. His left hand grips the flesh of your hips as his right grasps his length and guides it into your occupied channel. You'd moan if it weren't for Ryūken's relentless face-fucking … you'd lean down to kiss your husband and let him have his way with you … let Isshin shower you with filthy praise. But you can't do that, and you're overwhelmed, and the stretch is a lot. Isshin's pace is increasing, his chest pressed against your back, hands full of your tits as he rocks into you. Shunsui's hands are firmly planted on your hips, mouth attached to whatever skin's nearby.

"Your whore's throat feels good, Kyōraku," Ryūken grunts, "I could fuck it all night."

"Please don't," Shunsui grumbles, "I'm tired of seein' your balls in my face. And I wanna look at my lady properly."

"Shoulda thought about that before sharing her."

"You're never bein' invited back, y'know that right?"

"Don't care," Ryūken huffs. He watches eagerly as drool drips down your chin and as fat tears stream down your cheeks. "She's wrecked. Bet she can hardly breathe stuffed full of so much cock." To add to his point, he pinches your nose shut, glasses slipping down his nose. His cheeks are flushed red, jaw set in concentration. "More like a damn concubine than a wife. No wife should be this slutty—"

Shunsui stills as you pinch the skin on his chest, tugging at it roughly. You'd talked about this safeguard before — a long, long time ago — but never had you actually used it.

"Isshin, pull out now," Shunsui commands, "and Quincy, let her breathe and step back."

Isshin does as he's told immediately, slipping out of you with a concerned look on his face. Ryūken lets you breathe again — through your nose, at least— but he ignores the other order. "I'm close," he grumbles, "and whores aren't supposed to quit —"

Shunsui's out of you instantly, and just as soon as he's on stable footing his fist collides with Ryūken's jaw. You're finally free from his clutches, gasping for air, glaring angrily at the man now cradling a bruised face and bloodied lip. He's lucky that Shunsui's strength is inhibited by a gigai, or else he'd be far worse for wear.

"Get out," Shunsui snaps. "Now." He looks toward Isshin with a kinder eye, though stern — "and you too, Kurosaki. Sorry, but —"

"No, he can stay if he wants…" your voice is raspy, but strong. "Just … I don't want him here."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Shunsui glances toward Isshin, who shrugs. Ryūken scoffs in disbelief and tucks himself back in, pushing a hand through his hair. Without a word he departs — not dramatically, but with emphasis on his annoyance — and the room is quiet.

Ever attentive, Shunsui — still on alert — drags you into his arms, searching your face for traces of discomfort. Isshin sits back a little awkwardly, averting his gaze from the sweet scene. "You alright?"

"I'm okay," you nod, eyes flitting down to his cock with disappointment. The events had caused him to soften, and that just wouldn't do. "He was no fun, and mean, and he was upsetting you. It's our anniversary. We don't have to put up with that." You glance over your shoulder and narrow your eyes at your well-mannered guest playfully. "No more Quincies. They're too severe."

"I dunno what came over him," Isshin scratched the back of his head, eyes downcast. "Sorry about —"

"It's okay, I think I know what was going on." You smile sweetly and plant a firm kiss on Shunsui's mouth before making your way back over to Isshin. He's still erect — cock shiny with a combination of your juices and his — heavy and welcoming. Your core blooms heat as you press a hand onto his chest, thick and dusted with hair, not unlike your husband's. His lips quirk into a surprised smile as he lets you lower him into the bed, slotting his hips between your thighs.

"Sunny, I want you too," you call to your husband, rubbing yourself along Isshin's length needily. "Want both."

You hear him approach, fist slick and gliding along his shaft, bed shifting beneath his weight as he moves in behind you. He nips at your neck, breath warm across your skin.

"Should we pick up where we left off then?" He asks, rubbing up against your back with his now hardened length. "Want us to open up that pretty pussy?"

"Yeah," you murmur breathlessly, "please. Want it."

"Still so greedy," Isshin chuckles huskily, "how often was I over back when I was Captain, huh?"

"At least once every coupl'a weeks," Shunsui snorts, watching the other man's dick push into you, ears perking up at your moan, no longer muffled by Ryūken's cock. "Remember the first time? Lasted a whole weekend."

"Couldn't forget it even if I tried," Isshin's mouth captures your breast hungrily, doing his best to distract you as Shunsui's cock joins his, their dizzyingly thick lengths sliding against each other as they wedge you open.

"Heh, she practically melted into the mattress," Shunsui reminisces, "had to get a new one after that. Made a mess."

"I was dry for a week. Emptied my balls all over that pretty face … I don't even know how many times."

"She's cute as a button all covered in cum," Shunsui reaches around you to press two fingers against your throbbing clit. He and Isshin groan in unison as you clench around them, whining at the overstimulation. "Ohh quit y'r whining. Ya can't fool us," Shunsui sucks at the flesh of your neck meanly, gulping as he feels Isshin's pace increase, their cocks squeezed together by your unrelenting grip. "Fuck, Kurosaki," Shunsui grits out, "won't last too long if ya keep goin' like that."

"What, old age slow ya down?" Isshin snickers, "can't recover like ya used to?"

"Oh, I can recover just fine," Shunsui rebuts, increasing the own roll of his hips to make a point. Isshin catches your mouth in a sloppy kiss, messy and needy, as Shunsui reaches back down to your clit and gives it some proper attention, not relenting, even as you twitch and squirm. Your protests are smothered by Isshin's kisses, and your thighs tremble as their cocks shift against each sensitive nook and cranny.

Just like old times, the three of you last until the early morning. You're swapped between them in a variety of positions, overstimulated to hell and back, though they aren't fairing much better. Isshin finally calls it quits after he paints your chest with his fourth load. He kisses you in a sleepy silence, whispering 'happy anniversary, ya freaks' before dressing and slipping out into the hallway.

Now alone, you and Shunsui ring in your 328,726th day together the same way you did your first … in each other's arms, wholly consumed, and hopelessly, desperately in love.

dew yaps: if this feels awkwardly paced, it's because it is. i wrote different sections of this across different days and then tried to sloppily piece it together and wrap it up after a soulcrushing day at work ... anyway ...

For the many centuries Byakuya had lived, he still never understood the weather patterns Seireitei held. He of course, understood that there were four seasons, mirroring many of the nations in the World of the Living, but there was never a rhyme or reason as to why there would randomly be a blizzard during winter, or a heatwave over the summer.

And now Byakuya wonders about the torrential downpour during spring. The sliding door to his garden is only opened partially, but it’s enough for Byakuya to grimace slightly. The cherry blossom trees in his garden, that had only bloomed two days ago, had their blossoms shaken off, falling onto the ground in disarray. Most were damaged, bruised and ripped apart by the heavy rain and aggressive winds.

Even though he grimaces at the sight, Byakuya can’t look away. He knew cherry blossoms were one of nature’s many fleeting beauties, yet nature can be cruel. The rain was relentless, heavy and loud. The cherry blossoms didn’t stand a chance.

Yet even as he watches the few remaining blossoms shake violently against the wind, Byakuya finds them calming to watch.

It reminded him of Hisana.

When her coughs were painful, loud and made her small, already frail body, shake with every inhale, she still gave him a reassuring and calm smile. Her face, which were pink from her tears and exasperation, still looked at him fondly and lovingly. As if the disease ripping her own body, didn’t exist.

Just like the remaining blossoms shaking against the brutal winds and rain.

Byakuya steps on to the veranda of his garden and on to the well-maintained grounds of the Kuchiki garden. He can already hear his attendants clamouring for him to come back inside, with others searching for an umbrella.

As if the rain would hurt him, when had come home covered in blood from fights centuries ago. Or when he was covered in Hisana’s blood when her coughs were so violent, it began to rip at her throat.

The rain seeps into his clothes, leaving his skin cold and damp. Yet Byakuya doesn’t care. He picks up one of the intact cherry blossoms and inspects it.

The faint pink blossom reminded him so much of Hisana, the way she would blush when she smiled at him. The rain continued to pelt down on him and the blossom, with bits of the petals bruising in his palm… until it stopped. He turned his head to see his attendant holding ab umbrella over him.

“Kuchiki-sama, we will clean the gardens immediately once the storm has passed. Please get inside quickly.” They ushered, “we’ve prepared some dry clothes for you.”

“No, leave the blossoms be.” Byakuya curtly responded. The attendant bowed as they handed Byakuya the umbrella. Byakuya nodded his head to the direction of the mansion, to which the attendant understood and quickly rushed inside.

Byakuya let out a small sigh, gently placing the blossom back on to the ground. It was only in springtime where Byakuya could reminisce about Hisana so freely.

I don't know why I'm in an angst mood LOL

Two waka poems and one song inspired this drabble. I listened to S.E.N.S. Project's "Space & Time" (which I also used as inspo for the title of this drabble).

The two poems:

The cherry blossom Seem so at peace, but For her who’s gone My loving tears Will be the first to scatter. - The Onomiya Grand Minister Shūishū XX: 1274

Of her face Only your hue remains, O, cherry blossom— For how many springtimes Will I yearn for her so? - Taira no Kanemori Shūishū XX: 1275

You were the second hollow of importance that Sosuke Aizen met in Hueco Mundo: a beast with human features … a soft-spoken executioner of your kind, easy to overlook unless threatened. He found you at the side of King Baraggan Louisenbairn, a pretty thing that knelt obediently, but sent lesser hollows cowering in your shadow. He lead the dance of your devotion, guided you through your initial mistrust and doubt, all the way to where you are now: a loyal pet, though you detest the comparison.

At first, you enjoyed the company of your Soul Reaper superiors, who provided a foreign sense of stability and order that's hard to come by in the harsh environs of Hueco Mundo. Your former king, too, was a companion of sorts, though that power dynamic never quite left despite his dethroning. But, it wasn't until you found friends that you realized what you'd been missing all along. What was a cold and lonely existence turned warm upon meeting Coyote Starrk and Lilynette Gingerbuck; a duo found amidst a pile of slain hollows, practically unscathed despite the sheer quantity of felled husks. Lord Aizen turned to you as you approached them that first time, expression as shapeless as the shifting dunes beneath your feet. "Do what you must to make them comfortable," he mandated, "as we collect others, you will teach them … subservience. I have no patience for ego."

Not wishing to fail him, you stuck to Lilynette and Starrk's sides like glue, keeping a watchful eye on their temperaments. But what began as duty morphed to habit, and as the years passed, you and Starrk became particularly inseparable. Training together turned into long walks down the echoing halls of Las Noches; gentle laughs and coy smiles … lingering touches that were shared in equal measure. Starrk told you he loved you after four years of forming this kinship, somewhat pointlessly, because that sentiment had always been implied. And though he tried to conceal it, it was evident that his commitment to Lord Aizen was closely tied to his affections for you; as long as you remained under the shinigami's heel, Starrk, too, would submit.

Sosuke watched the relationship unfold with masked apprehension. While it was good to see his Arrancar getting along and not attempting to maim and murder each other, it did not sit well with him that two of his strongest could one day prioritize the other over him. Of course, his success did not hinge on your cooperation — he could dispose of you both and his cause would suffer little — but such measures would certainly be a nuisance.

Despite all of this, Sosuke let it continue; that is, until his grand plan was finally nearing its climax. He had shown his true colors to the Soul Society and defected completely, and it was only a matter of time before Ichigo Kurosaki came knocking on his doorstep. His Arrancar had to stop sitting on their hands and get serious … and they had to stop fawning over each other like lovestruck children.

The roundtable starts off normal enough: Lord Aizen stating the positions of the opposition, the moves they'd made since the last time everyone convened, and the actions they were bound to take given recent events. You and Starrk are disheveled from a last-second coupling before the meeting; you can still feel him leaking from you, warm and territorial … his knee nudges yours every so often, and your foot traces patterns along his shin, growing impatient with the prolonged political drivel. You are a hollow, after all; not used to these formal meetings, and more inclined to act on whims of passion —

"Am I boring you?"

Lord Aizen's cold tone cuts through your aroused daze, drawing your eye to him. He is, in fact, staring pointedly in your direction: unimpressed by the dark bruises littering your neck and the clear shifting of your limbs beneath the table.

"N-no, Lord Aizen.."

He looks away. A devious maneuver — one that makes you melt back into your hard seat, thinking that you've escaped his ire. Your lashes flutter toward Starrk's once more, brow quirking with suggestion —

"Stand."

A chill shoots down your spine, sharp and foreboding. You make the mistake of looking toward your lover before your lord: a lack of judgement that will cost you dearly.

"Ulquiorra."

The Espada seated to your right nods in confirmation upon the unspoken order, hauling you to your feet and flinging you down to the floor before Lord Aizen. Your knees crack against the stone, and you just manage to stop the cry that threatens to spill from your lips, biting down on your tongue, instead. The second most dangerous thing in Hueco Mundo, afterall, is weakness, and you'd be damned if you gave the others a reason to pick you apart like vultures … though they may be thrown your corpse, regardless, depending on the whim of the top most dangerous thing in Hueco Munco, his cold eyes focused on your keeled frame.

"You seem to forget that you're mine," Aizen speaks with a studied cadence, his eyes lifting to Starrk maliciously as he speaks, "you all are mine. Without me, you are nothing but wandering, replaceable beasts, and I won't hesitate to slaughter each one of you."

He is right; he could kill you all in an instant. His strength is the reason he's managed to rally so many of you into a (now former) shinigami's corner: natural enemies, working toward a common goal, fighting for recognition in these unusual ranks.

"Strip her, Ulquiorra."

Your eyes widen. You look up at Starrk, whose body is wound tight with tension, brow dipped with indecision. Under normal circumstances — and with anyone else — he would leap to your defense despite his aversion to conflict. But such a display of affection is exactly what landed you in this … humiliation ritual in the first place, and it would serve neither of you to defy Aizen, especially in front of his most steadfast subordinates.

Ulquiorra tears your clothing: a white dress, usually so modest, now scraps on the ground. He is unaffected — inspecting you with clinical detachment. Some of your fellow Espada are not as unflappable; Grimmjow leans back for a better view, licking his lips predatorily. Nnoitra, too, seems thoroughly entertained, smug as he leers shamelessly at your breasts, shifting in his seat.

Starrk sees your broken expression and throws his better sense to the wayside. He stands with the intention to shield you —

"Sit," Aizen warns, "unless you want your precious set of holes to suffer a slow and painful death."

Starrk hesitates — gaze flashing to yours apologetically — before sitting back down.

The room is quiet as Aizen's throne looms over you, stating your place. He leans against the back of it and frees his cock in one swift movement, shameless as it lies limp in his lap, beckoning you with nothing but a sneer. You crawl submissively, not daring to stand unless told.

Once you're close enough, he fists your hair violently and guides your hung head to his lap, pressing it against is exposed crotch. You gingerly take him into your mouth, finding that it fits easily due to its shrunken state, but as he grows harder in the warm heat of your quivering jaw, the task becomes more difficult.

You're worried that he'll make you perform this act until he reaches completion; gagging on his length sloppily in front of your peers, tears streaming down your cheeks as they witness your fall from grace. But what he does once he's fully erect is far worse; he hoists you up from your throat, fingers tightening to a vice, and sinks his cock into your dripping cunt. It's not a fluid capture; your limbs are stiff and hard to maneuver. It takes effort to properly impale you.

Your audience notices the glossy sheen where your bodies connect. They suppose that perhaps you enjoy being toyed with in front of the others … that this wasn't much of a punishment, afterall, and your Lord's lap is exactly where you want to be. But Starrk knows that is untrue as his eyes remain fixed to his cum seeping out of you and down the spit-slicked shaft of Lord Aizen.

After a few moments of sitting upon him rigidly, trembling in his arms — unbefitting of an Espada, but a reaction you can not help — he resumes the meeting as if nothing has changed. Your legs are spread, speared onto him obscenely, and it takes a long time for Starrk to look at your face, too ashamed to check if betrayal is written upon it. But, when he finally musters that courage, he's surprised to see that your expression has set with determination, blinking at him purposefully: on a mission to reclaim some dignity.

He knows that look; it's the one you use behind closed doors as you ride him, the one where your hand lays flat on his chest as you grind your hips into his. He often takes the lead, but in those moments he is at your complete mercy; and now you watch him with that same mirth as you slowly start to shift on Lord Aizen's lap, moving in a lazy circle …

Your throat is crushed beneath Lord Aizen's forearm as he violently pulls you into his chest. Your hands claw at him fruitlessly, pussy still stretched around him, squeezing his cock as you struggle, with just as much force as his strangling.

"I didn't say you could move," he grunts, jabbing upward with no regard for your pleasure. You nod weakly, stars dancing in your vision as your oxygen supply continues to deplete, and he only lets up when he feels your struggling body ease, eyelids fluttering shut.

You aren't dead. Your cunt still twitches around him; your breasts heave as your chest expands and contracts, instinctually replacing the breath it lost. You'll regain consciousness in seconds, no doubt, but he doesn't need that long. The moment you're collapsed in his arms, he dismisses the room … except for Starrk, who he orders to stay.

Just as soon as your lashes start to flutter open, you're being pushed to the ground. Your chin drives into the stone, teeth clashing together, blood pooling in your mouth and trickling past your lips. Too dazed to care about appearances, you let out a strangled cry, bruised throat making each sound a hurdle.

"Clean me off," Aizen addresses Starrk, "it is you smeared onto me, is it not?"

Starrk opens his mouth in protest, eyeing his Lord's cock, proud and hard … and indeed covered in his seed. But the look he receives stalls his words, so instead of arguing pointlessly he slinks to Aizen's side, lowering himself to his knees.

"A domesticated wolf is just a dog," Aizen sneers, large hand gathering the soft locks on Starrk's head. "I am the reason you're no longer alone — not her. She exists because I allow it."

Starrk's gaze dips shamefully. Aizen doesn't expect a response, nor does he plan to continue his soliloquy; instead he guides Starrk's mouth to his glistening cock, leaning his head back as the wolf's mouth takes him. From your spot on the floor your blurred vision sharpens to the lewd sight as it progresses; previously tangled in Starrk's hair, Aizen's hands fall to his sides as Starrk continues the pace set for him, fingers curling into the muscled flesh of Aizen's thighs.

"Ah, she's joined us," Aizen notices you watching. Notices the pool of crimson near your face. When Starrk tries to break free to tend to you, Aizen holds him in place, bucking into him further, jaw clenching to suppress the groan that crawls up his throat. "Come here. Help your … lover." He spits the word as if it offends him, satisfaction curling his gut as you inch your way toward him with a hung head. Lord Aizen offers a mocking hand to lift you, eyes darting down to the swollen, purple bruises painting your knees from their earlier abuse, and guides Starrk off his cock in the same motion. He crouches down, eyes piercing Starrk's gunmetal irises. "Now rut on your bitch like a good dog," he murmurs evenly, "and as you do that, I am going to fuck you. By the end of it, we'll see who owns who, and you'll remember why you bow to me."

He probably should have reacted by now, stopping the intrusive hand and voicing his protest. He doesn’t. Because the touch isn’t entirely unpleasant. On the contrary. The jolt it sends through his synapses can be interpreted only as positive reinforcement.

Captain Hirako immediately notices his lack of instinctive recoil. The man shoots him one of his exaggerated grins, baring his white teeth and squeezing a little harder.

“Since when?” Shinji asks without any explanation. He sounds almost casual, perhaps even teasing.

It creates a small ripple in Aizen’s unwavering confidence because he can’t be certain what his dear Captain is implying.

“Since when, what?” He tries to clarify the context, masking his unease at not predicting the answer. “Captain?”

Hirako looks at him with that patronizing gaze, a glint of amusement dancing alongside fake pity. His palm is gripping Aizen’s buttock, cupping it through the fabric of his uniform.

“Since when did ya start simpin’ for me, Lieutenant?”

The question lands plainly, without sugarcoating. Aizen subdues his impulse to quickly deny it all. But his initial instinct is followed by a strong urge to explain himself, to argue. Because it is an incredibly inaccurate assumption to consider his tactical interest in Shinji Hirako as a form of attraction.

It is true that Aizen is performing his gentle persona, offering his Captain nothing but kindness and his coy, charming smiles. But Aizen puts that mask on for everybody in the Gotei. His politeness toward Shinji is no exception. There’s nothing personal about it.

It is also true that he observes his Captain closely, memorizing his habits and studying his moods. But this is strategic. This is learning the patterns of an enemy. He will use it later to avoid getting caught. So what if he knows Shinji’s favorite dish, the room temperature he prefers and the tune he tends to hum? It’s all useful data stored in Aizen’s brain. He has a perfect recall, that’s all.

Perhaps the instances when he used his Perfect Hypnosis to disguise himself as another person might have seemed like too much effort for such a trivial objective as speaking with his Captain about mundane things. And perhaps he crosses some personal boundaries every time he cast an invisibility spell just to follow Shinji around and spy on him doing nothing, or to sneak into his quarters to watch him sleep.

What Aizen does has an explanation. What he feels, however, is a different story. His curiosity toward the man he serves under never struck him as illogical. But there were a few moments when a different thing unexpectedly emerged.

Each time Hirako refused to follow his script, dismissing Aizen and ending their conversation, the disturbing sensation came over him, cutting through his balance and buzzing inside him like an angry hornet. This unnamed discomfort thrashed and circled, crashing against Aizen’s inner walls until it stung. The pain lingered, swelling and hurting for hours. These little events shouldn’t bother him, and yet he dwelt on every single one.

Shinji’s latest question nearly sparked that buzzing, and Aizen has to calm himself before it escalates. Strangely enough, after a quick analysis of his own reasoning, it looks like his Captain isn’t entirely wrong. Neither his curiosity nor his irritation point toward affection for Shinji Hirako; however, the touch is definitely telling him something by spreading the unsettling warmth across Aizen’s whole body.

Telling a lie now will ruin the moment. Telling the truth… Well, what is the truth?

He meets Shinji’s eyes, smiling at him faintly. The answer is already forming on his tongue.

“Since the beginning,” he says, and his voice doesn’t waver. No matter if this is the truth or not.

What he really means is: from the moment I saw you, from the second I realized you’re sharp enough to never trust my act. From the very beginning I knew you were perfect for me. My ideal Captain. My ideal foe.

He says none of these things, of course, the pretense needs to remain. But that small crumb of sincerity he just shared is enough to make him feel the thrill.

Or perhaps this sudden rush of excitement is caused by Hirako’s adventurous hand. The one that is still resting on his buttcheek. Not rough. But deliberate. Like it was meant to stay there.

“Since the beginnin’, heh?” Shinji’s laid-back tone is now tainted with a hint of understandable suspicion. Aizen catches it, but it’s not like he minds. They don’t require trust to engage in this little game of mutual exposure. “That’s an awfully long time. Look at ya, ain’t ya the patient one.”

With a fluid motion, his Captain steps closer. And suddenly his shoulder is touching Aizen’s arm. The man leans in, his grinning face level with the side of Aizen’s neck. His hot breath brushes against the skin.

“What were you thinkin’ in that head of yours?”

Another one of those provoking questions. Aizen almost shivers; his Captain’s close proximity does strange things to him. It makes him want to act instead of being patient. It’s dangerous because there will be no turning back.

Hirako must have sensed that temptation, after all, he is an observant man. That’s why this interrogation is happening in the first place. Aizen recognizes the reason behind it, the end goal and the method. And yet he allows himself to play along. He tilts his head as though in withdrawal but in fact this gesture exposes his neck even further.

“Captain, please…” he utters with feigned modesty. “Your behavior is inappropriate.”

“’Cause what ya just confessed was certainly proper?”

Even though the words sound accusing, Aizen notices a poorly hidden glee underneath. More importantly, Shinji leans even closer. His lips are inches away from Aizen’s skin by now.

He could have moved away but he chooses stillness, waiting for his Captain to back down or press on. He is not the one to decide, after all, he is just a subordinate in their professional relationship, no matter how much stronger or more competent he is.

“Does it bother you, Captain?” he asks, lowering his voice to come across as genuinely worried.

“Not really,” Hirako replies smoothly with his usual carelessness. Then he actually chuckles. “If anythin’, I find it hilarious. Watchin’ how much it bothers you.”

The annoyance starts to buzz underneath his skin. Aizen knows the cause. He despises being read too clearly. The impulse to deny the truth returns. He suppresses it. But he still has to say something.

“Shouldn’t it bother me?” he asks and then pauses, trying to fish for some kind of reaction. When he gets none, he simply continues. “Most captains would find my attention... inconvenient. I don’t want this revelation to affect our professional relationship.”

“Liar.”

Aizen falls silent. The blunt delivery reminds him of dissection. It cuts so swiftly through his layers and strikes exactly where his buzzing lives.

“Ya want your lil’ confession to affect our dynamic,” Hirako states evenly and there’s a cold precision to his mocking tone. “Ya hope it will change how I see you. But Sōsuke… even if I felt generous enough to indulge your silly fantasy, it would change absolutely nothing. D’ya know why? Because you’re a liar. Just lyin’ to yourself now, instead of me.”

With that, the hand leaves his backside unceremoniously and his Captain finally moves away from him. Where there had been contact, only the itching absence lingers. Aizen’s skin crawls as though he had been stung.

He cannot soothe the aching place without first acknowledging its existence. So he pushes that thought aside without searching for its source. Unfortunately, the sensation swells inside him further. And before he knows it, he’s already made his choice.

He moves.

One short step across the tatami, and the distance Hirako created is crossed.

Standing a head taller, Aizen lowers his gaze. He meets his Captain’s eyes and steadily holds his stare. This is already too direct and he is aware of the consequences, of breaking the rules that his lieutenant persona would have never broken.

Shinji doesn’t retreat, doesn’t step away. So Aizen takes another step. The space between them shrinks to something absurdly fictional.

Then Aizen leans down, inch by inch. His nose nearly touches Shinji’s golden hair. The subtle scent of camellia oil draws him further in. He can’t help but breathe it in. As deeply as possible.

The flinch is minimal but Aizen registers it sharply, standing far too close to miss any detail. Hirako lifts his chin and tries to take a step back but Aizen’s hands are quicker. He wraps them around his Captain’s waist, trapping him in place.

“Then indulge me just this once,” he murmurs, his face a breath away from Shinji’s heated cheek, “…and I will take my time to show you how genuine I can be.”

Eyes sharp and focused, Aizen chases the micro-expressions and when his Captain opens his mouth to reply, he leans for a kiss.

He presses his lips lightly, carefully, not exactly hesitant. He is ready to be shoved away at any given moment.

But the shove never comes.

Shinji’s body tightens as though the man braces himself. Aizen senses his stress under his fingertips. Yet the kiss continues uninterrupted. His Captain allows that. More than just that. He allows the small pause and then another kiss.

Hirako’s passivity contrasts with his apparent permission and it confuses Aizen, discouraging him. If avoidance is his Captain’s strategy, too bad, it will not stop Aizen from kissing him again.

He presses his lips against Shinji’s, more decisive this time. Denying him reaction is a calculated move. Hirako truly is a cruel man. But Aizen isn’t exactly a gentle soul either. If he must, he will force the response out of his dear Captain, teaching him how to cooperate. His hands move from Shinji’s waist to cradle his face, his thumbs resting firmly against his bony cheeks. The skin feels so smooth, so warm under the touch. Aizen kisses him harder, like Shinji belongs to him.

Hirako responds to him at last, his lips reluctantly engaging with the act. This change triggers a sudden burst of satisfaction, sending a wave of liquid heat down Aizen’s abdomen. He does his best not to show how eager he is to continue. If he pushes it too far, it will threaten to destroy his carefully crafted facade, leaving him exposed.

He breaks the kiss before it gets too messy, or perhaps it is already too late to hide his obvious enjoyment. Shinji looks at him with a stern, chilling glare. Aizen can’t pretend not to bask in that anger, shimmering so vividly behind his Captain’s eyes.

“Are ya done?” Shinji asks sourly with an undertone of criticism. The animosity and tension tremble between them like a sore muscle after overstretching it.

Aizen’s thumb caresses his cheek in a measured gesture. Not yet, he wants to say with that touch alone.

“Do you hate me, Captain?”

The words slip past his lips, softer and quieter than initially intended. A small, fleeting smile graces Aizen’s face. His eyes are wide open, fiercely fixed on Shinji’s.

“Hate ya? Nah,” Hirako replies, dismissive and unperturbed as ever. “Ya flatter yourself, Sōsuke. Ya don’t deserve my hate.”

This stirs an internal turmoil, not a buzzing, not a sting, but an avalanche of violent thoughts and emotions rolling through his mind. He doesn’t let them surface, of course, but his body freezes for a breath too long.

His Captain’s lips curve into a smirk.

“That’s enough indulgence for one day, Lieutenant. We’ll get back to this some other time.”

As Aizen leaves the office to return to his quarters, the sun has already set and the moon is out. He appreciates the cold air against his skin, it still feels too hot for his usual state.

He doesn’t rush, instead he takes the time to analyze the events of this evening. Hirako’s hand, Hirako’s words, Hirako’s lips against his own. The buzzing follows him, trapped inside his chest, louder than he wishes to acknowledge. It nearly distracts him from sensing a concealed spiritual presence. A shadow awaits on the rooftop next to his quarters. A small, familiar figure. Ichimaru Gin.

The boy realizes at once that he’s been spotted. He leaps down from the roof and joins Aizen’s side.

“Workin’ late again?”

The question is voiced lightly, as if the little snake believes he can trick Aizen with his false innocence.

“Do you need something, Gin?”

The boy looks up, trying to read his expression. The serpentine curve of his hungry smile splits his young face in half like a nasty wound.

“Just makin’ sure we’re still proceedin’ with the… plan tomorrow?”

“What made you think we should not?”

“You,” the boy answers flatly with a lazy shrug. “Stayin’ late in the office, alone with Captain Hirako…”