#bleach crossover

It all started with a bouquet of flowers.

Well, that's not entirely true. It started from the very first time Satoru Gojo entered your husband's shop, searching for the eccentric liaison between the human sorcerers and the Shinigami of The Soul Society.

You and Kisuke decided to remain in The World of The Living after his name was cleared: Kisuke, because he wanted to continue his work freed from the iron thumb of the Central 46, and you, because you wanted Kisuke.

Life was peaceful … and fun, because Kisuke always knew how to draw the prettiest smile from your face, and took you on adventures, and came up with wacky (or, sometimes, downright dangerous) experiments that you'd dutifully help him execute.

But in those days where he lost himself in research … neglected everything — including himself — life could also get lonely.

Satoru reminded you of Kisuke when you were both young. Too smart that it sometimes made him stupid, a chatterbox through-and-through … sweet. Attentive. Always doing something ridiculous to impress you, transparent with his flirtatious remarks … lingered long after his purchase of sweets to help you clean or stock shelves.

You didn't mention you were married. You assumed he knew … but maybe he didn't. Because one day, he arrived with a big bouquet of roses and the prettiest puppy-dog eyes.

"Carnival's in town," he revealed, "lemme take ya."

Kisuke had been holed up in his study for two days. He hadn't touched you in far longer than that, mind too occupied by a new gigai design, with no room for intimacy or affection. He was a blur of manic ideas and drawings … and you were temporarily demoted from to 'wife' to 'personal assistant', forcing him to eat and interacting with visitors from both The Soul Society and the local faction of sorcerers on his behalf.

So maybe Satoru didn't know you were married … and if he did, he clearly didn't care. And it's not like you were agreeing to go fuck him in some love motel! It was a date to a carnival: incredibly innocent.

Did his body slot behind yours as he helped you aim a water gun at a target, chest pressing into your back?

Yes.

Did he proceed to gift you a corny teddy bear holding a heart — a prize for hitting said target with his assistance?

Yes.

Did he bring you onto the Ferris wheel and kiss you when you reached the top?

Shamefully … yes. He did. And you let him.

He kissed you again near the skee-ball stand, mouth sweet, lips stained blue from the popsicle you shared. And tongues were introduced behind the tilt-a-whirl.

Satoru came around a lot more often after that. He'd bring you little gifts … linger … help customers, because he was so familiar with the store, now, that he knew it like the back of his hand.

He dared to steal a kiss in the store room: and you let him. You let his hands roam for twenty minutes, lips swollen and clothing askew when you stumbled back into the light.

At time progressed, he grew bolder. More impatient. He'd slide behind the counter and grab your waist, nipping at your neck. His fingers would stuff themselves into your dripping cunt when the store was empty: you, a willing participant in these games.

You didn't think Kisuke noticed … but he did. The second he saw Satoru Gojo's eyes land on you for the first time, he knew the man would be trouble.

On some days, he heard your giggles when he'd leave his study to grab some food or tea, drawn out by the younger man's antics. On others, the store would be dead silent, and Kisuke knew you were out on a date with your new lover. Once or twice, he picked up on your moans through the thin walls. So audacious, so unlike you … and so, incredibly sexy.

If Kisuke were a smart(er) man, he would have intervened the very first time you blushed at one of Satoru's flirty provocations. But an unexpected excitement at the thought of seeing you with another man stirred something deep inside of him … and he quickly grew addicted to the thought of catching you in the act. So, Kisuke did what every husband should not: he neglected you. He busied himself day-and-night just to push you into another's arms. He'd finished his research on his new model of gigai a few weeks ago, but he busied himself with miscellaneous projects, like learning how to knit, as he allowed your new relationship to bloom.

He could tell Satoru was growing tired of the teasing; your moral dilemma of cheating was prohibiting you from taking the next step with the sorcerer, much to everyone's chagrin. But, all hope was not lost, because in a lust-induced ploy, Kisuke decided to commit the greatest sin of all:

He forgot your anniversary.

Intentionally.

In reality, he had an over-the-top date planned for that evening, complete with a quartet singing songs about regret and second chances. But before night hit, he played a bumbling fool, and you'd had enough.

You and Satoru were fucking like starved animals in the store room: your back arched, knees on the cold floor as Satoru gripped your hips from behind and slid his long cock into your sticky, dripping folds. Subtlety was not in his nature as he praised you and landed a mean ole' smack onto the bouncing flesh of your ass, drawing filthy moans from you as he curved into you perfectly with each stroke, filling you to the brim.

He wasn't Kisuke. You didn't feel the same connection … your body wasn't on fire, you weren't lovedrunk and babbling nonsense…but it was attention, and it was enough.

Kisuke could hear everything perfectly, and he could see it, too, because he installed a modified security camera in the store room earlier that day. It had a nifty zoom ability, and he wondered if Satoru had picked up on it, or if he really did know you were a taken woman, because he had you angled in just the right position so that Kisuke could get the perfect view of where your bodies collided.

Kisuke's hand was wrapped firmly around his cock, lip curled beneath his tongue in concentration as he slid his hand along his shaft in the same rhythm that Satoru fucked you. An activity that usually required lotion was now self-lubricating, the volume of precum leaking from his sensitive tip more than enough to override any friction that could hinder pleasure.

He timed his release with your own, spilling messily into his hand as you whined another man's name.

If you think they’d be from a smaller house, go with the Great House that that smaller house is sworn to (ex: House Manderly —> vote Stark)

They don’t have to be a nobleperson, they can be someone working for the house or being ruled by them. Roles could be a sworn-sword, a septa, a butcher, a blacksmith, or even a lowly peasant.

You can consider the region itself. For example, if you feel the character would be from Dorne, pick House Martell.

You can consider the personality of the character. For example, if your character is all about honor, then consider either House Arryn or House Stark.