@darthwhorecrux Literally Just This Man (Link To Amazing Twitter Artist And All Their Bleach Sketches):

it literally just keeps getting worse :/ i'm so tired

i feel like i haven't had ANY time to indulge in any of my hobbies lately and im STARTING TO GET CRANKY !!! HMPH HMPH

Happy Valentine's Day! Collab with galeontop1 (X)

🍭 Warning: Messy smut of all kind. nsfw.

🍭 Sensually and suggestively sucking on a lollipop during a meeting and making eye contact with him the entire time as you stand at the back of the crowd.

🍭 Victims: Szayelaporro, Grimmjow, Starrk, Askin, Bazz-B, Ryuken

Post-meeting Briefing. Espada and Quincy Edition.

Soul Reaper Captains edition here

Szayelaporro doesn't even wait for the meeting to end. You are standing in the back of the room, something creepy crawls up your leg under your pant legs and injects itself into your wet folds, tearing through the fabric of your panties because damn thing is alive. You drop the lollipop and squeal. The closest to you turn their heads from the sudden disturbance and distraction. You bite your lower lip and silently orgasm, his grin and eyes locked on you the entire time.

Grimmjow impatiently waits for the damn meeting to end, unable to concentrate and focus. You seductively deep-throat the lollipop while standing at the back of the crowd. No one noticed you except for Grimmjow. The man is itching to scratch your insides with his throbbing dick. The lollipop is licked to the last bite, and the meeting finally ends. He eventually does end up chasing you down the hallway like a maniac and pins you down on the floor, hard dick slaps you across the face and he deep throats you until your vision becomes blurry. He foolishly thinks you learned your lesson until you try it again at the next meeting, not with one, but two lollipops. Licking back and forth between the two before taking them both into your mouth, cheeks poking out like a chipmunk, eagerly waiting for your next punishment. Two lollipops? What the hell were you implying now?

Starrk doesn't seem bothered. He passes you a glance and watches you lick the handy treat as if you were licking his dick under the table. You know it is bothering him, but he shows no emotions. He looked tired as the meeting dragged on for an hour. And once the meeting finished, you followed behind him, waiting for his reaction. He gives you a yawn and curls up on his mountain of pillows. You pout and sit beside him, poking his cheeks, demanding attention. Too late. He is already out. So you help yourself. Pulling out his painfully hard cock out of his pants, you shake your head in disbelief as he would choose sleep over a blow job. Why not have both? He doesn't seem to mind.

Askin had to do a double-take when you flashed him a brightly coloured lollipop, red 40, his nemesis. He didn't like artificial dyes because he could taste the chemical aftertaste. He passed you a thumbs down, disapproving of your bad taste, but you continued with your actions regardless. The point was to tease him during the meeting, not to judge your palate. He had to fix your mistake and offer your taste buds something more 'sophisticated'. His dick. And so he had you on your knees, guiding his hard 'coated' cock all the way down your throats because the taste buds do happen to linger far beyond the oral cavity. What do you taste? Pomegranate. A good natural replacement for red 40.

Bazz-B just endures it. He surprisingly, quietly endures it while you tease him with a ‘thick’ long lollipop that is thicker than the girth of his dick. He knows what game you are playing and the silent insults you are throwing at him. So he just patiently endures it until the end of the meeting. The silence worries you. And he doesn't say another word about it until the next day and another meeting. Before the meeting started, he shoved you under the table and unzipped his pants, pulling out his flaccid cock. And you went to work, trying to be discreet and sneaky, legs of other high-ranking Qunicies slowly surround you as they take their seats at the table. You suck and choke, tears down your cheek when he forces himself balls deep down your throat. Now, who was thicker? His balls or the lollipop?

Ryuken was finishing up a staff meeting at his hospital. He didn't expect to see you performing a vulgar tongue dance at the back of the staff room. He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow. A staff member asked if he was alright. “A headache” was his quick reply. He wasn't lying. After the staff meeting, he entered an empty treatment/exam room. You followed without an invitation. The open door was the invitation. He pushed you on top of the exam table and had his way, a quickie before his next patient. The next patient was already waiting in the waiting room. It was fast and quick. Time was ticking, and he was known as a punctual doctor. You pulled up your pants, cum leaking down your legs and before you exit the room, you stick your hand in the jar of lollipops and help yourself, passing him a wink-- 'until next time'.

Please repeat the message...

His song 🎵

"i miss him" says girl about the fictional guy she thinks about every hour of every day

i’m a little late, but

HAPPY BIRTHDAY 🎂

Sweet talk & Switchblades (Delinquent!Grimmjow x Reader)

Also available on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/65163163

The whole thing started with an argument over a bike.

You were running a bit late. That was nothing new. You didn't know how you always managed to be racing the clock when you tried to set several alarms to wake up on time, but perhaps your neighbours and their incessant arguing had well and truly fucked up your Circadian rhythm. You’d tried to ask them nicely to keep it down, but they always apologised and then forgot their promises to lower the volume a couple of weeks later. You'd woken from a fractious sleep like the dead hauled from a grave, only for your body to clumsily lurch into gear when you realised the time.

Either way, you were in no mood for some wannabe delinquent's shit, especially not when they looked like they were barely out of high school.

You were hurrying to get to the station, your bag banging painfully against your hip as you moved, trying not to outright run and get out of breath but moving fast enough to make an actual difference, and your armpits were already starting to dampen from the exertion. You could see the steps leading down to the platform up ahead, like some kind of beacon.

There was a convenience store right beside the station entrance, which normally was a godsend when you forgot to make breakfast and wanting to grab a quick snack to keep you going on the ride to work, or a place you could walk to in the evenings on balmy evenings to pick something up and stretch your legs before winding down for the night. You recognised its glowing sign very well, like a checkpoint that indicated you were nearly home after a long day. Under normal circumstances, its presence was a stable, comforting one. But that was not the case today.

Your path was impeded by a bunch of bikes. Admittedly you didn't know shit about bikes, so you couldn't tell if they were just large scooters or small motorbikes or something inbetween, but either way they were blocking your path to the steps. You nearly tripped over your own toes as you suddenly lurched to a halt to avoid them, given how fast you’d been walking, hissing between your teeth as you knocked lightly into one of the bikes. A group of guys who looked like their ages ranged from late teens to perhaps their thirties, judging by the tall skinny guy, had the nerve to look over at you like you’d disturbed them.

"Oi, watch it, girlie." said a blonde guy who might have been attractive if it wasn't for the sneer on his face, like he was smelling something bad.

You bristled instinctively at his tone. Girlie?

"Excuse me?" you bit out, doing your best to keep your voice, an even volume and not let it go all high and priggish.

"Yeah, watch it!" a shorter guy with a mouth that looked like it's been punched several times chime in, his teeth chipped as he speaks. "You coulda scratched the paint!"

"By lightly bumping it with my bag? Where'd you get it, random parts in a junkyard?" you snark in response, unimpressed by the posturing. Real tough guys these were, five of them all staring down one woman who just wanted to get down the goddamn stairs. Not to mention, what were they doing loitering on some random street? Didn’t they have another gang to go punch or whatever it was they did to amuse themselves?

The boy's face was painted with shock at your retort for a split second and it took him a moment to recover, like he was taking a second to process what you said, like a slow computer buffering.

"You got a mouth on you, huh?" a heavyset guy with a red mohawk commented, more a factual statement than an accusation, but it didn't put you any more at ease. The way they were looking at you wasn't dissimilar to a pack of dogs who have heard an animal moving through the brush and are debating if it’s worth the chase.

They still hadn’t moved and you desperately wanted to check the time on your phone, but you didn’t want to risk taking it out and tempting them to snatch it off you – you wouldn’t have been able to stop all of them if they did, and with their bikes they could easily get away before you had time to react. Instead you drew in some air, trying to keep your cool despite the mounting irritation.

“I just want to get past.” You said, but they just chuckle mockingly at you.

“Yeah, sorry, but we’re waiting. You’re gonna have to take the long way.” Drawled the blonde guy, leaning back against his bike, hair spilling down his back over his jacket.

Your patience (what little you had left of it) was reaching its limit – you shouldn’t have to ask them to move more than once. Or at all.

"Move your goddamn bikes."

All of them suddenly stopped smirking. If this were a movie, it would be the scene where tumbleweed crossed the barren landscape, just before the shootout.

Got to stop watching shows so late at night. You thought to yourself, irrationally.

The shortest guy stepped closer.

"What did you say?" he said, and you're starting to understand why his teeth look like that - you're starting to want to punch him in the mouth as well. What was so difficult for them to understand, exactly? And because you doubt another girl would be as upfront as you, should one happen to be the next poor person who simply needed to get from A to B in a timely manner, you couldn't back down now. You would not.

"You heard." you replied, folding your arms, anger pulsing through you like a second heartbeat.

The stunned looks on their faces would have been pretty amusing if you weren't so keenly aware of the five of them against one of you, the bikes in your way like a shiver of steel sharks, but there was nowhere else for you to get onto the platform, not unless you crossed the street and walked even further and you had a feeling that if you tried that now, they'd chase you. Probably yelling insults and throwing things. Or worse. The best way around this is through.

The runtier guy glanced over his shoulder for a second, like he's asking the others silent permission or something. He's trying to look menacing but the scowl on his face made him look more petulant than anything else.

"You little-"

"What's this?"

A deep voice suddenly cut through the tension, and immediately, it's like they'd all forgotten about you. Every head turned towards the source of the noise and, unwittingly, you raised your eyes.

A tall figure strode towards the commotion, having just emerged from the convenience store. Your eyes were drawn to him inexorably, something about him immediately demanding your attention. He wore jeans and a black leather jacket with silver studs on the shoulders, which caught the light. Electric blue hair was swept back off a handsome, chiselled face, a couple of strands hanging between his eyes. He was smirking and something about the curve of his mouth, the half-lidded slant to his eyes, sent a spark licking down the length of your spine. There's something about the way he moved that told you he knew how to fight, there's a fluid, feral grace to his movements.

"I told you dumbasses to wait out here and you can't even do that right?"

He drew closer to you and you could smell him, a spicy kind of cologne mixed with cigarette smoke and styling wax. He wasted zero time in getting all up into your personal space and your feet gave ground to his approach on reflex. He grinned, looming over you, the collar of his shirt gaping open enough to reveal hard, firm pectoral muscles and a silver dog tag glinting between them. Your legs hit the bushes bordering the path and the leaves tickled your skin.

"I just asked them to move out of the way." you said, proud of yourself for keeping your voice from shaking, even if it sounds breathy to your ears.

"She mouthed off at us, Grimmjow!" piped the runt behind him, like a kid tattling to his older brother.

Grimmjow - what a strange name, yet it suits him somehow, adding an extra flair to his already striking appearance - regarded you with amusement and slight condescension.

"Did she."

He doesn't look angry, there's a glint in his eyes as if he's intrigued, and you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away, his eyes sucking you in and holding you there, rendering your body immobile, refusing to obey your mind's commands. He moved in closer, taking obvious pleasure in crowding you and cutting off any potential escape route.

“You’re lucky I don’t have time for you right now, sweetheart.” He said in a lazy drawl, leaning in and resting a hand on your shoulder, where you noticed that several thick silver rings adorned his fingers. “Got places to be. But before I go, what’s your name?”

Your heart was pounding in your chest – would he seriously let you just walk off after giving his friends attitude? He definitely looked the part of a delinquent, maybe even a gangster, far more than any of his friends did. And he seemed to be the leader and you had no doubt if you were a man the situation wouldn’t be playing out this way, but you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Why do you want to know my name?” you asked, and he gave a soft, dangerous chuckle.

“Playing hard to get, huh?” he asked, quietly enough that only you could hear him. His eyes bored into yours and his hand dipped lower, settling on your waist and squeezing. The strength in his fingers alone drove a gasp from your throat. “Heh. Have it your own way.”

An indignant splutter left your mouth as his hand brushes over the swell of your ass as he straightened up and a blush burned your face – did he just-?! Your mouth fell open to say something, which was probably not wise, but nothing happened, just a faint croaking noise emerging from your throat. It happened so quickly you’re already doubting it it did at all.

“We’re leaving.” Grimmjow commanded the men behind him casually, like he was giving out his drink order. “Move it.”

“But-“ the runt protested.

He glared at the smallest guy, who visibly shrank back, chin dipping to his chest.

“Yeah? Got something to say, D-Roy?”

D-Roy? That had to be a nickname, surely. Unless the idiot just happened to have particularly cruel parents. D-Roy quickly shook his head, shooting a glance at you that was both fearful and resentful, and one by one the gathered group get on their bikes and just like that, your path was cleared. You half expected to hear a videogame jingle to indicate you could proceed.

You were determined not to look back as you practically ran for the stairs, but just as your head was about to disappear down past the brick wall either side of the steps, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking out of the corner of your eye.

Grimmjow was watching you, a smirk on his face that immediately made you uneasy, like he knew something you didn’t and was savouring in your woeful ignorance. With a sharp inhale, you faced forward and hurried down the steps – perhaps if you were lucky, you could still get your train.

Grimmjow strode towards his bike, which had been concealed from your vision by the others. His was larger, sleeker and cooler-looking than those of his gang and he straddled it with the expertise of a cowboy getting atop his horse, revving the engine.

“You’re really going to let her off the hook that easy?” Shawlong queried, in a dry voice, drawing his bike up beside Grimmjow’s, but still staying slightly behind out of silent respect. Grimmjow’s lip quirked, revealing a flash of teeth.

“Who said anything about letting her off the hook?” he responded with a shrug of his wide shoulders. “When I want to find her, I know where to look.”

“How do you know that?” Ilforte asked, sounding surprised. “You’ve met her before?”

“Nah,” Grimmjow answered, procuring something from his sleeve and holding it between two fingers, the grin on his face widening.

Between index and middle finger sat what looked like a building pass, complete with a lanyard strap dangling down, the corporate logo at complete odds when contrasted against the worn leather of his jacket sleeve. You hadn’t even noticed him lift it from your pocket, too busy getting flustered over him touching you. You’d pay for your lack of observational skills later.

“She’ll be wanting this back.” Grimmjow said, a feral spark lighting the blue of his eyes.

Let the hunt begin.

the art's budget is two energy drinks

dollface

What would the bleach men think if you told them you wanted a collar on?

These men would smirk or chuckle, finding your request both entertaining and enticing. They’d probably (definitely) tease you about it, making playful remarks before giving in. Whether they saw it as a mark of ownership, or just something fun, they wouldn’t hesitate to go along with it—likely making a show of fastening it around your neck themselves followed by some remark, “perfect little pet, all dolled up for me. All mine.”

— Shunsui, Gin, Kisuke, Askin, Shinji, Bazz-B, Grimmjow

These men would take the request seriously, seeing it as an act of belonging—whether to them specifically or as a statement of devotion. They would personally acquire a collar designed just for you—their insignia on it—and fit your status in their eyes. They might not outright voice their possessiveness, but the way they handled the situation—adjusting the collar to sit just right, ensuring it suited your appearance—would make their feelings clear. “You were made to wear this. Perfect.”

— Byakuya, Jugram, Aizen, Ulquiorra, Yhwach

They’d be more reserved in their reaction, tilting their head in curiosity before ultimately nodding in approval. Their acceptance wouldn’t be rooted in possessiveness but rather in the idea that if it made you happy, they saw no harm in it. Some might ask for your reasoning out of simple curiosity, while others would quietly admire how it suited you. Starrk, in particular, would appreciate the casualty of the gesture rather than the meaning. “You look lovely, the colour suits you well. I hope you’re comfortable.”

— Jushiro, Kira, Hisagi, Starrk, Uryu, Toshiro (Adult), Ryuken

They wouldn’t put too much thought into the deeper meaning behind it. If you wanted a collar, fine—who were they to argue? Ichigo and Renji might turn a little red if the request implied something intimate, but they’d ultimately agree, especially if they saw how much you wanted it. “Can’t believe you actually want this? Can’t I just get you a necklace or somethin’?” Kenpachi, on the other hand, would grin and make some offhand remark about it looking good on you before moving on with his day.

— Ichigo, Renji, Kenpachi