#bleach headcanons

Slightly delayed post because we didn't initially have any entries for this one but my friend came in clutch.

Prompts: "Do not throw me in the pool. Do NOT—" + Cicadas/Fireflies

Payback's a Beach by @amostimprobabledream (Ikkaku Madarame x Reader)

A very belated Day Three for Steamy Seireitei Summer, for the Matsuri/Festival prompt.

Characters: Ulquiorra Cifer

Ulquiorra Cifer

Night was familiar. Night was cool, velvet black, over endless plains of white. Night was a single, pale eye that saw everything, and gave away nothing.

This was not night.

Round, red paper lanterns hung in parallel lines that curved around the bend and out of sight. Beneath them, humans flowed in their brilliant costumes, washed in ruddy light. Movement everywhere: fluttering sleeves, flapping sandals, human offspring darting to and fro like shoals of fish he had witnessed on that television device. 

A nature programme, it had been called. He found that preferable to shows where humans talked at each other incessantly, or threw beverages over each other. He still did not understand what made those housewives real as opposed to false. It strained the limits of his curiosity to care.

His gaze could not settle, snagging first on the sparkler in a child’s hand, then the trembling strands of silk flowers in a woman’s hair, then the flash of gold thread in the folds of a tied obi. A dull ache pulsed in his temples as his slitted pupils constricted further.

Something warm closed around his wrist, and his head turned instinctively. His eyes found yours, before lowering to the cascade of flowers around your hem, your loose sleeves. He had refused excessive decoration on his own: sober charcoal, patterned with white branches at the hem and shoulder, and that only at your insistence.

“It’s busy,” you said, squeezing his wrist once. “Let’s look at one of the stalls. That one has kokeshi.”

The brief, downward pull of his heavy eyebrows was all the signal you needed.

“Small, painted wooden dolls.” You pointed the stall out. “Come and see them.”

He allowed you to steer him toward the stall, where tidy rows of dolls awaited beneath the lanterns. He took them in one by one, noting the simplistic black hairstyles, the different colours of painted kimono. The faces were minimal, a single line for each eye, a round spot of rose for a blush. 

He reached out, and placed his fingertips atop one. Smooth, polished wood. The doll was comfortable in the hand as he lifted it, pleasing.

“What is the purpose of these?”

The first words he’d spoken since he’d arrived. You took it as an encouraging sign. 

“They were originally children’s toys, but people collect and display them now.”

“Clutter.” Still, he didn’t put the doll down. He tilted it, allowing lantern light to gleam across its varnished surface. 

“I like it,” you said, leaning past his arm. “I think we should get it.”

“Then you are a fool.”

“Uh-huh.” You fished a couple notes from your decorative wrist-purse and handed them over to the seller. “Can you carry it for me?”

“I am not a pack mule.”

He made no effort to pass the doll to you. Hiding a smile, you looped your arm through his, and pointed to the next stall, explaining the ball-throwing game the children were playing. His thumb rubbed absently across the kokeshi doll’s smooth surface. Beyond the sound of your voice, music no longer blended with chatter. 

A lively tune picked its way down the street: drums and a flute. 

Smoke, incense, and a confusing mélange of perfumes filled the air, but underneath it, something sweet, something savoury. 

“I am not interested in ball-throwing,” he intoned. “You have been complaining about being hungry for this celebratory food all week. We will go there.”

“So thoughtful,” you said, eyebrows creeping toward your hairline.

Ulquiorra looked at you. 

You broke the stare first, the corners of your mouth curving in a way that tweaked his inherent suspicion. He chose to ignore that, all dignity, and permitted you to lead him into the clouds of roasting meat and hot sugar. 

Sugar glittered on fresh donuts. Takoyaki nestled in neat rows like jewels in a case. Sticks stood like a rank of spears, piercing pieces of chicken. Humans clustered around the stalls, their voices rising above the steam. 

Ulquiorra tightened his grip on the wooden doll, and deliberately turned his shoulder to the crowd. The stall in front of him had a brief lull in customers. The orderly display of takoyaki soothed the tightness behind his eyes, as did the deep, savoury aroma. 

“Two trays, please,” you said, handing over the coins. 

Ulquiorra didn’t remind you that he hadn’t asked. You didn’t remind him that he didn’t need to.

“What is it?”

“Octopus in dough balls.” You poked a cocktail stick into a takoyaki ball and took a bite. 

He followed suit. Soft batter gave beneath his teeth, hot, savoury, bonito flakes flooded his mouth with umami. Chewy octopus resisted, then yielded to his molars. He swallowed. 

Ulquiorra’s expression didn’t change. His cocktail stick reached for the next. 

“Acceptable?” you asked, a lilt to your voice that made his hand go still.

“Acceptable,” he said stonily, his eyes narrowing a fraction. 

He pointed the cocktail stick at you in a silent warning, before it lanced for another takoyaki ball. 

Through a combination of misdirection, wheedling, and allowing him to order you around, you got him to try a donut, roasted chestnuts, yakitori skewers, and taiyaki. He gave no opinions, other than to declare the donut too sweet, before discreetly licking a trace of sugar from his thumb. 

The music had been subsumed by the general cacophony, but the sudden pounding tempo of the drum lifted it free again. You wrapped your arm through Ulquiorra’s, the trailing silk of your sleeve brushing his hand. His fingers curled into it without comment, and he followed you toward a plaza at the end of the procession of red lanterns. Humans flooded into the plaza in your wake, but you installed him in an alcove. A wall at his back, a clear view of the sky.

“What is it now?”

You patted his arm, idly stroking the charcoal silk, shot through with green. “It’s a surprise.”

Ulquiorra wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of asking what the surprise was. You’d already had your way far too many times this evening. He was growing indulgent. Lax.

He gazed upward, time losing its hold on him as he took in the mortal sky. Faint pinpricks of stars, moon hiding behind a veil of cloud. It was not the same, but the overarching emptiness of it settled something in his chest. The heat and the smells and the noise died away, leaving him tranquil. 

Until the first ribbon of light streaked upward, spiralling like a diving bird, before it burst. He stiffened. Streaks of red shot across his peaceful sky, the bang assaulting his ears, followed by a cascade of crackles. 

Smoke. Sulphur.

“Fireworks,” you said near his ear, one hand stroking his arm. 

He gave no answer. The next firework ignited. The explosion echoed in his chest, almost like a heartbeat. A fiery white flower unfolded on the night, sparks refracting in his deep green eyes. It was not so bad, this second one. Nor the third. Nor the fourth.

“Foolish.”

He found he couldn’t tear his gaze away. 

You propped your chin on his shoulder, looking at him, then up.

“Yeah, maybe.”

The penultimate day of Steamy Seireitei Summer!

Prompts: "Kiss me hard before you go." + Aircon/Fans

Kiss me hard before you go by xreaderdumpster (Byakuya Kuchiki x Reader)

Please, Make Summer Last Forever! by temarcia (Sosuke Aizen/Shinji Hirako)

Welcome to Day Five! Thank you to everyone who has joined! Happy Friday, everyone. 🍦

Prompts: "No, giving mouth-to-mouth does not count as kissing." + Ice Cream

"Treading Water" by @amostimprobabledream (Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Reader)

"The Full Scoop" by @disturbyakuya (Sosuke Aizen x Don Kanonji)

✧ Celebrating grimmjow day in las noches

1: No one really knows when grimmjows birthday is because in reality, no one cares

Aizen: Who organized this?

Everyone slowly turns to look at Ulquiorra

Ulquiorra: It wasn’t me.

Szayel: So why is there a cake on the floor?

Ulquiorra: It just appeared there.

Grimmjow walks in

Everyone: Happy… Birthday… Grimmjow… booooo

Grimmjow: What the hell. It’s not even my birthday… I think?

Nnoitra: Good! More cake for me!

2: Types of birthday gifts each espada gives grimmjow

Ulquiorra: A plain black bag with nothing inside

Szayel: A knife

Nnoitra: An empty box that’s labeled “I was going to get you something”

Harribel: A singular blue eyeliner pencil

Starrk: A sweaty & unwashed jacket (most likely grimmjows)

Yammy: A big pile of sand

Aaroniero: A fish bone

Zommari: Some cat nip from who knows where

Barragan: Gift turned to dust

3: Theres a game called pin the tail on grimmjow

Aizen: And for today’s mandatory birthday activity, we will all be playing pin the tail on grimmjow.

Grimmjow: Oh absolutely not! Fuck no!

Nnoitra: You damn coward.

Szayel: Hahaha awww you’re the donkey! This is gonna be fun!

Aaroniero: I’m not touching his butt.

Grimmjow: I’m gonna pin all of you against the wall instead!

Zommari: …

Nnoitra: …

Harribel: …

Aaroniero: …

Starrk: …

Barragan: …

Ulquiorra: …

Yammy: …

Szayel: …

Aizen: Now that is NOT part of OUR plan. You’re grounded.

4: Yummy cake

Szayel: I think we should bake grimmjows birthday cake because baking IS real chemistry.

Ulquiorra: We don’t bake.

Szayel: More like YOU don’t bake. You don’t even do shit around here.

Everyone spends time baking a cake. Few hours later:

Harribel: Why is the cake glowing?

Nnoitra: Why is the frosting moving?

Aaroniero: Is the cake supposed to have teeth?

Szayel: Yes.

Everyone: NO!

Starrk: It looks ugly, just like grimmjows face.

Grimmjow: Fuck off!

5: Grimmjows birthday wish

Aaroniero: So, what do you even wish for?

Grimmjow: A fight!

Everyone: …

Harribel: Besides that.

Grimmjow: Two fights!

Everyone: …

Ulquiorra: Just blow the damn candle already.

Grimmjow: I want billions of fights!

Everyone: WE KNOW! Omg someone kill him…

Here's my day two entry for the Steamy Seireitei Summer Event - yup, I'm behind in my own event. :D

Characters: Yumichika Ayasegawa

Contents: gn!reader

Yumichika Ayasegawa

Summer in the Eleventh division meant tempers and temperatures running high, which of course, meant more fighting than ever. Sometimes they didn’t even bother with zanpakuto, just rolling around in the packed earth of the training grounds, throwing punches and kicking up dust. 

Kenpachi didn’t put a stop to it. First of all, because he didn’t give a damn, and second of all, because fighting was the same as breathing for that lot. When the men weren’t fighting, they were laying around in the shade, sweating, and sometimes bullying newbies into running off and fetching jugs of chilled sake for them.

Then Ichigo had to go and open his big yap and talk about the summer tradition of watermelon splitting. As soon as that bunch of louts heard ‘game’ and ‘bokken’ and ‘explode’, it was all over. Because no one else could be relied upon to get decent produce, you were packed off to the nearest market with Yumichika, a bag full of kan and vague instructions to get the watermelons that would explode the best. 

“I am not lugging a bunch of overripe melons home,” Yumichika muttered, shading his eyes against the searing sun with the flat of his hand. 

You were surprised he needed to, what with those feathers glued to his eyelashes. Didn’t they act as natural shade? When you didn’t reply, he shot you an unimpressed look.

“Did you hear me? I’m not working up a sweat over some…game.”

“Loud and clear,” you muttered, reaching back to pull the collar of your shihakusho away where it had been clinging damply to your neck. “We’ll get them delivered, since everyone else was too lazy to get off their asses.”

Yumichika gave a thin smile, fanning himself languidly with one hand. “Let’s get them rotten ones.”

A snort escaped you at the sudden image of Ikkaku hitting a watermelon with a wooden training sword, only for warm, goopy, overripe watermelon to explode in his face. The idea was tempting.

“Nah, think of the smell.”

Yumichika’s nose wrinkled. “Oh, fine. I suppose it’s for the best, since bathing seems to be a foreign concept to half of them.”

“Wouldn’t be worth smelling watermelon body funk for months,” you agreed.

Yumichika sighed his way through half the market, criticising people’s outfits. Loudly. Within earshot of them. Only the fact he was clearly a shinigami and from the Eleventh Division kept you from being involved in a scuffle. He complained when you wouldn’t let him stop and examine a stall full of skincare products.

“Tyrant.”

“Mm, sounds good coming from you,” you said reflexively, giving him shit as natural to you as fighting was to the rest of your squad. “Here. Watermelons. Let’s buy some and get the hell out of here. I’m sweating like a pig.”

“Attractive.”

“Aren’t I just?” 

Yumichika made a sound of exasperation, even though you knew he was secretly enjoying himself. He lounged against one of the produce stall’s posts, examining his nails while you pondered over the stacks of striped light and dark green balls. They reminded you vaguely of Urahara’s hat, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. 

“We want the ones that are best for watermelon splitting, but they still need to be good enough to eat,” you explained to the stall-owner, a stocky, weathered guy with a few flecks of grey in his hair. “It’s a game from—”

“The World of the Living,” the stall-owner finished for you. “Fourth one today. That ginger kid’s really telling everyone about it, huh? Can’t complain. It’s good for business.”

Yeah, whatever, as long as he didn’t jack up the prices just to gouge you. You got him to pick out a dozen of the watermelons and throw in delivery for a nominal fee. There was still plenty of kan left in the purse by the time you’d paid, and Kenpachi hadn’t said he wanted the change back. Money was another thing he didn’t give a damn about. 

Yumichika eyed the purse, then lunged for it. 

You danced back, shoving it behind your back, your footwork nimble as you evaded him. 

“Hand it over,” he huffed, swiping for it again. “I’m the one in charge of the squad’s budget—”

“That doesn’t mean you own every coin,” you said, shoving the purse down the front of your shihakusho. 

“I will go down there.”

“Promise?”

Yumichika gave an irritable scoff, shaking out his sleeves with exaggerated dignity. “You wish.”

“I’ll let you buy some crap from that skincare stall, even though most of it looks like vomit.”

“It’s organic,” he hissed, even though you knew he was mollified. Yumichika flicked locks of shiny blue-black hair out of his eyes, and strode past you, chin raised. “Not that you would know the difference between that and smearing mud on your face.”

You rolled your eyes to the heavens, trailing after him. 

Yumichika was visibly perkier by the time you caught up to him, leaning over the organic skincare stall with none of the nonchalance he’d shown earlier. He was picking up product bottles, sniffing the caps, and reading product labels. You weren’t averse to a moisturiser, but whatever that organic banana and avocado mix was? Looked like baby puke.

You made sure to tell him that.

Both Yumichika and the skincare making lady—vomologist?—gave you utterly affronted looks. Yumichika waved dismissively in your direction. 

“Ignore that Philistine,” he said. “Wouldn’t even know a hydrating mask from a clarifying one.”

“I recognise the words coming out of your mouth,” you retorted, “but they’re not actually making any sense.” 

The saleswoman could spot an argument coming from a mile away, and if Yumichika lost his temper, she could lose out on a hefty sale. She lunged for a display of small, decorative tubes at the front of her stall. 

“Here,” she said, popping the cap off one and waving it in front of your face. “Flavoured lip balm.”

Hmm…

Intrigued despite yourself, you took the tube, and gave it a sniff. “What flavour is it?”

She gave you a slightly strained smile. “Watermelon.”

Huh.

Twisting up the tube a little, you slicked the balm across your top lip, then the bottom. It left a soft, mildly soothing layer across your skin. You licked your bottom lip, surprised to find the balm did have the light, fresh sweetness you’d expect of watermelon. Intrigued by the product, you failed to notice a pair of eyes watching you closely, tracking the movement of your tongue. 

“Do you like it?” the saleswoman  asked.

Popping your lips, you went to answer—

Only to find your mouth somewhat otherwise occupied. 

Yumichika’s mouth was surprisingly soft on yours for someone who had such a sharp tongue. The kiss was languid, his lips stroking, coaxing, treating you to just the slightest hint of his tongue, without committing fully. Only when you’d fully melted into it, the scent of Yumichika’s expensive floral soap filling your nose, did he pull away. 

A slow, feline smirk crossed his face as he rubbed his thumb against his lips. 

“Yumichika,” you blurted. “What…”

“My lips were dry,” he said airily, before turning to the shell-shocked saleswoman. “We’ll take that.”

He held up the purse he’d swiped from you while you were…distracted. 

“And one of everything else.”

“Hey, you can’t—”

“Already did,” Yumichika said, smug. 

Bastard.

Pretty bastard.