arrancxr

[arrancxr]

About spirit alive, it is mentioned that reader plans on giving out peace offerings, here's what snacks I'd give out to the Espada for Starrk, I'd give one of those big things of the soft kind of chips ahoy so he can share with Lilynette. For Barragan I think he would like some nice dark chocolate. For Halibel I'd give probably gold fish(one of my favorite kinds of snacks). For Ulquiorra I'd give some crackers like the kind your mom gives you when you're sick. For Nnoitra I'd give salt and vinegar chips (they are a real experience I have to say). For Grimmjow I'd give him some beef jerky. For zommari I'd give those half cracker half cheese sauce things. For Szayelaporro I'd give him M&Ms and a warning about eating too much chocolate at once. Lastly for Aaroniero I'd give pocky. I didn't put too much effort into this so you could probably come up with better answers but from what I've seen I don't think these are too bad of options.

Excellent suggestions, thank you!!! OwO These are delightful, and indeed veeeery fitting! They'll likely be used in the fic at some point

#Spirit Alive tag #Ask

[arrancxr]

Wonderweiss anon here and I have zero problem with creepy content lol, I adore it! Fluffy or gut wrenchingly heinous...I love it all ❤️ If you're still willing, would it be too much to ask for prompt 12 (the mommy ver) with the hollow in question? I feel like a sickeningly sweet, nurturing/motherly type with an insidious maternal streak a mile wide would be a very interesting pair with him...

((Here's the first ask that this was in reference to~))

11. “Be a good girl/boy for mommy/daddy.”

Wonderweiss looks at you so sweetly, so trustingly, it’s impossible not to give in to whatever spoiling he wants. When he’s sucking on your fingers like a pet with a favorite comfort toy, those freckled cheeks puffed out just slightly, that vacant, peaceful expression becomes simply irresistible.

“Sweetheart,” you start, tapping lightly on Wonderweiss’s tongue to get his attention, “do you want mommy to touch you now?”

It takes him a moment to process your words (sometimes, you wonder if he really understands them at all), but soon enough, he makes a moaning, eager-sounding little noise, nodding with your fingers still in his mouth.

Sticky trails of saliva cling to your fingertips when you withdraw them. Wonderweiss stares longingly after your hand, lips parted and slack, but is distracted just as quickly when you slide his baggy, elastic-waisted pants down his narrow hips— not all the way off (you know he likes to stay warm, after all), but just enough that you can properly reach between his thighs. 

Wonderweiss’s little dick fits perfectly between your fingers. Just lightly rubbing the velvety-soft skin has him moaning again, higher in pitch, and burying his face against the side of your throat like it’s too much. Comfortingly, you murmur nonsense praises while you stroke him off.

Soon enough, his hips start to squirm, rocking back and forth in a clumsy attempt at finding more friction. Wonderweiss shivers all over, panting unsteady puffs of breath against your neck— you bring your other hand up to stroke his hair, and delight in the whine it earns from him. His clinging hands get tighter as time passes, clutching at your shirt with an uncoordinated grip as his sweet, needy whimpers creep up in volume.

“Be a good boy for mommy, now,” you croon when he moans in protest at your hand leaving his cock. “You know I’ll take care of you.”

Even though he’s chewing at your shirt collar now, too desperate not to reach for what’s right in front of his mouth, Wonderweiss obeys. Back past his dick, he’s wet; slick down to his thighs with evidence of his need. 

“Poor baby must be frustrated, hm? Here, open up...” He’s been patient for long enough, you decide (not that you could ever deny him).

Two fingers slide into him with hardly any resistance. Wonderweiss keens at the stretch— eager, not pained. His insides flutter, his squirming pushes his dick against the heel of your hand, and crooking your fingers to press at just the right angle has his whole body trembling in your lap.

It never takes much stimulation to tip Wonderweiss over the edge, and this time is no different. With no warning beyond a sharp little squeak, he comes hard, clawing weakly at your back with his blunt, trimmed nails.

You hold him there, still stroking his hair, until the aftershocks die down. Slowly, the tension eases out of his shoulders and limbs, and he sags in your lap like a marionette with cut strings. Cuddly as always, though, Wonderweiss is soon nuzzling into your shoulder, and humming contentedly.

It’s a shame, you think, that Hollows so rarely get these things on their own. Wonderweiss deserves better. So much better.

#Bleach #Wonderweiss #Wonderweiss Margela #Arrancar #Reader #Fic #Lemon

[arrancxr]

If you'd seen the way I adoringly coo over videos of ribbon worms spitting up their innards like the world's most skin-crawling fishing net, you'd know the answer to that question already~ XD

My Di Roy theory is that he's neither a hammerhead shark, nor an eel, nor a leech, nor all those takes I've seen floating around. He's a Bipalium, aka hammerhead worm. Poisonous, predatorial, cannibalistic flatworms. They also have a ventral foot just like his second head/mask in his Adjuchas form.

Ooooooh, I like this idea. 👀 I've pondered over Di-Roy's potential species inspiration for a veeeery long while now, and yep, the commonly seen interpretations never felt quite right to me either. Theory accepted!!! Thank you, anon!

#Reblog

[arrancxr]

My Di Roy theory is that he's neither a hammerhead shark, nor an eel, nor a leech, nor all those takes I've seen floating around. He's a Bipalium, aka hammerhead worm. Poisonous, predatorial, cannibalistic flatworms. They also have a ventral foot just like his second head/mask in his Adjuchas form.

Ooooooh, I like this idea. 👀 I've pondered over Di-Roy's potential species inspiration for a veeeery long while now, and yep, the commonly seen interpretations never felt quite right to me either. Theory accepted!!! Thank you, anon!

#Di Roy #Di Roy Rinker #Headcanon #Xenobiology #Save tag

[arrancxr]

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?” Said to the arrancar (multiple if you’d like) of your choice! I’d imagine being naked feels vulnerable enough for them without being looked at

86. “Does it make you nervous when I stare?”

When you look at him like this, Charlotte never quite knows what to do. Bared skin is either weakness or a show of ego, the way he’s used to it, but you turn the vulnerable display into an opportunity to be sweet. Soft. Adoring, so much so that it makes even his praise-hungry self balk away.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?” you ask, more unnervingly perceptive than deliberately mocking. Your palm rests on his abdomen, so warm that Charlotte can almost forget that he’s taking a risk, even now. 

“A bit,” he admits, slightly coy, “but it’s pleasant, to feel so adored. There’s nothing cruel in your gaze, darling. I know you won’t hurt me.”

Your smile softens, some subtle change that has Charlotte’s non-existent heart twisting up like a wrung-out rag. “I’m glad you feel safe with me,” you tell him. And then— “I love you, my princess.”

That, always, brings a fresh flare of heat to his chest; an affectionate sort of warmth that quickly overrides any lingering fear. Humans are so kind. It’s easy for you to say such sweet things, and for no reason other than because you know he likes it. Because you want to. Charlotte melts under the praise (as he always does), and you take the chance to nudge his thighs apart. Pliantly, he allows it. If you intend to keep talking like that...

It feels good to be spoiled, and Charlotte isn’t too proud to admit that. A Hollow’s existence punishes any moment of weakness, but you’ve proven that those instincts are worth casting aside, sometimes— and by now, the sensation of your warm, soft fingers slipping between his legs registers as more of a promise than a threat. He trusts you; that much is obvious.

You stroke carefully through the delicate, petal-like folds that this position exposes. His stomach tenses. His head tips backward. It takes active effort not to let his eyes flutter closed against the sheer sensation of your touch, to go limp as if his body is trying to surrender to the touch.

“You’re already wet. Does this feel good?” you ask. 

Charlotte attempts a response, but no sooner does he open his mouth than your thumb swipes over his clit— and the words melt into a moan.

This time, he loses the fight to keep his eyes open. There’s no staying focused when every little flick of your fingers sends a fresh shock of good up his nerves, drawing out whimpers and cries that would feel pathetic if he wasn’t already too preoccupied to worry about vanity or shame. 

“Gorgeous,” you say, when his thighs drop open farther in invitation of more touch. “You make such a pretty face when I’m spoiling you.” 

Unfair, Charlotte thinks, even though the praise leaves him shivering. You know exactly what those sweet words do to him, and the continued feeling of exposure, of being pinned beneath your gaze isn’t helping at all.

#Bleach #Charlotte #Charlotte Chuhlhourne #Arrancar #Reader #Fic #Lemon

[arrancxr]

I know shinigami bad, and I share the feeling, BUT. What if a *really* messed up one ended up capturing Ulquiorra? Just for the pride of having a powerful arrancar at their disposal, so... 73 with Ulquiorra getting railed with all the intention to break him?

73. “God, you love it like this, don’t you?”

The Arrancar’s body is deathly pale, almost laughably fitting for a creature that’s never known the warmth of sunlight on its skin. It looks far more human than you expected, however— more man than beast. 

He’s small, slender-boned, with enormous, unblinking, emerald-green eyes that bore into you like blades even when your back is turned. The Fourth Espada is surprisingly unprotesting now that he’s thoroughly restrained, you note; he doesn’t bother to struggle against the spiritual pressure-draining cuffs, nor does he spit threats, or demand to be freed.

In fact, the first words he says to you only come when you start to cut away the cloth of his chalk-white uniform— “What are you intending to accomplish?”, is what he asks, voice toneless and utterly dispassionate. 

“Do you know what sex is?” you question in return, as you peel back the layers of white to reveal the matching hue of skin underneath. 

“Reproduction, as done by living beings.” A hint of confusion, this time.

You smirk. “That’s right. But us dead things can do it too— even Hollows, sometimes. The evolved ones have the parts for it, at least.”

By the time the Fourth Espada is bare, you’ve confirmed your guess to be correct; there’s a small-ish, yet normal-looking dick right where it’d be on a person, just as pale as the rest of him, save for the blush-colored tip peeking out from its shield of skin. The Arrancar twitches, flinch-like, when you push his knees up to his chest. He’s cold to the touch under your hands, but the little shiver that runs through him at the contact holds your interest.

“This is pointless,” he hisses as your fingers find his hole. “Hollows aren’t capable of reproduction. You have nothing to gain.”

“There’s more to fucking than just reproduction, baby. You’ll see.”

It’s a slow process, not helped by how tense he is, or the lack of proper lubricant to slick the way. Still, it’s not like you need to worry about hurting this creature, so you pay his initial discomfort little mind. Hollows are used to pain, after all... and what you’re doing will feel good soon enough.

By the time the Arrancar is loose enough to take more than your fingers, his body is starting to respond. His hole clenches when your touch retreats, and you laugh. “See, what did I say? You like it, don’t you?”

The Arrancar doesn’t answer you. There’s a small, almost pout-ish scowl tugging at his lips, but his gaze is far too unfocused for the supposed displeasure to be too convincing. He’s kept quiet so far, no gasps or whines escaping his clenched-shut jaw, but the slow, merciless stretch of penetration is what does him in— he yelps as his body spasms in protest, knees snapping together like that could hold you away. 

Though he’s inhumanly cold inside, and too nervously tight for it to quite be pleasant, the look of stunned, helpless pleasure on the Arrancar’s face is everything you’d hoped, and more. Delightfully entertaining, really.

#Bleach #Ulquiorra #Ulquiorra Cifer #Arrancar #Reader #Fic #Lemon #non con tw///

[arrancxr]

Oh hey that's my Nnoitra vs Grimmjow analysis on page 38 (the screenshots)! Neat! :D

Lengthy Nnoitra Gilga analysis.

I've finally finished my Nnoitra analysis. Please give it a read, as I worked hard on it! I usually post them directly on Tumblr, but this time I wrote it on google docs because it was more comfortable to put pictures and links, so please read it through the link below:

#Reblog #Nnoitra #Nnoitra Gilga

[arrancxr]

43 for Poww? He was so soft even in war. Big baby deserves cuddles and affection for a change. Maybe reader using their hand on his clit and praising him a bit???

43. “Slowly, baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

Your hand comes to rest underneath his mask, cupping one of the rounded, protruding curves. It’s barely any contact at all, but the heat of your skin seems to all but seep down into the smooth, cool bone.

Distracting. That subtle pressure and overwhelming sensation hold Poww’s focus and drown out everything else, but that’s probably for the better. He has to stay still for this— even if you trust him not to use too much force for your fragile body to withstand, the risk still remains.

After a few more moments of bliss under the steady press of your hand, though the peace comes to an end. Your warmth withdraws, and even with his eyes closed, Poww feels you move farther down beside him. “Are you ready for me to touch you?” you ask. It’s somehow far too casual for a situation like this, he thinks, but you likely could never comprehend why.

Poww nods. He’s sprawled out on his back, human skin entirely bare, and you intend to seek out weak points he’s never so much as considered until now. And foolishly, trustingly, he’s agreeing to let that happen.

“I’ll be careful,” you assure him, sounding unbearably fond. 

You are. Your fingertips caress his massive body like it’s something precious and delicate as they wander lower— over his stomach, then lower, slow like you want to memorize the bone structure beneath his skin. 

He fights the urge to flinch away. Discomfort builds, sharp and anxious-feeling, right up until your touch moves between his legs. 

Just the first slow, exploratory brush of contact has Poww’s breath stuttering in his chest. In mere seconds, you’ve settled on a little nub of flesh that he’d paid little mind to in his time with this body so far— wholly insignificant, save for how the slightest touch feels like stroking raw nerves.

Before Poww is fully aware of what he’s doing, he grinds up into your hand, instinctively chasing that bright, brief spark of sensation. Suddenly, he wants; some instinctive need kicking in before he can process the newfound longing, let alone what it means. The surreality of it resembles every other time you’ve demonstrated an unknown pleasure his body is capable of, he thinks, but rationalizing that doesn’t make it any easier to adjust. 

“Easy, baby. I’m not going anywhere,” you say. The comfort is lessened by how your fingers keep moving, however— if anything, your gentle tone only serves to send a fresh shiver rushing over his skin. 

The slow, steady rubbing leaves heat pooling outward, from that sole point of contact and up through his belly like a spreading flood. It’s pleasant, mostly, yet so intense that his muscles reflexively try to twitch away— until you ease back the shielding hood of skin, exposing the nub beneath, and direct contact there tears a whine out of Poww’s throat all on its own. 

It’s infinitely more intense, but somehow, that only makes the insistent sense of want spike into a desperate, mindless need.

#Bleach #Poww #Choe Neng Poww #Arrancar #Reader #Fic #Lemon

[arrancxr]

Would you be willing to do number 54 “Oh, baby, you’re drooling everywhere” with Grimmjow? Preferable because he's over-stimulated?

(I love your writings so much and thank you for sharing your headcanons on intersex hollows! <3)

54. “Oh, baby, you’re drooling everywhere.”

Learning that touch can be good is a strange process every step of the way. Despite the human-looking shape his body has now, Grimmjow still isn’t used to all of that soft shit that your species finds so enjoyable. 

He’s always had a tendency to reach for more than he deserves, though, and intimacy is no different. Now that pleasure is an option, he’s greedy for it— as much as he can get. Pride seems a whole lot less important compared to the sort of safety that would have seemed impossible not too long ago, and it’s a lot easier to accept submission when he’ll be rewarded with as much bliss as his nerves can take, and then some.

After he’s already come twice, every little touch starts to feel like too much. Both orgasms were the sudden, violent kind that had his stomach cramping up with the force of it, left him shuddering all over, tasting blood as his teeth dug into his lips in a vain attempt to contain his yowling moans.

But even after that, you’re not done with him yet.

Twisted awkwardly on his side with his face buried in your pillow, Grimmjow is left bracing himself while you only fuck him harder, now that it nearly hurts. He’s oversensitive and spent, but that doesn’t save him.

You’re rough. Every thrust has his muscles spasming in protest, uselessly trying to twitch away from your cock pounding him open when he’s so sensitive it hurts. He’s not fighting back, though, and you know him well enough to take that as a sign to keep going— if he didn’t want to be pinned down and fucked to incoherency like this, you’d be bleeding, by now. 

Grimmjow has resigned himself to keep his face hidden and his pitiful moaning muffled until you’re done, but you have other ideas— warm fingers slip under his sweat-damp cheek, hook under the edge of his mask (that sensation has him gasping fuck—), and drag his face out of hiding. 

“Oh, baby,” you croon, while he’s still too shocked to snap back at you. “Look at you, you’re drooling everywhere. Poor thing... is it too much?”

“F-Fuck you—!” Grimmjow hisses. “D-Don’t you dare go easy o-on—”

To interrupt his boasting, you roll him over enough to push his hips down into the sheets. The slide is torturous friction on his cock as it skids over the soft cloth, and Grimmjow’s protests trail off into a wounded moan.

“Suit yourself, then,” is your infuriatingly unbothered reply. 

Not that he has the capacity to be pissed about it for long, when you’re slamming into him at an angle that has him seeing sparks. 

The tension builds quickly, after that. Grimmjow’s third orgasm rises in his gut like a threat. He fights it for a while, more out of stubbornness than any rational thought, but it’s a pointless battle, in the end. Still, it’s not like he wants all that badly to win, when the prize for failure feels so good.

#Bleach #Grimmjow #Grimmjow Jeagerjaques #Arrancar #Reader #Fic #Lemon

[arrancxr]

Prompt 94 for Menoly with a very gentle male s/o, maybe?

((I didn't end up specifying a male Reader in this one; they're gender-neutral, so I hope that still works~))

94. “Just relax for me, I’ll make it feel good.”

The plastic toy isn’t as warm as your skin, when it touches her. You chose it yourself, though, and insisted it would feel good, so Menoly shoves her worries down into the back of her mind and tries to ignore them. 

You’re always gentle with her. You wouldn’t hurt her... hopefully. 

Already, you have her stretched open on two of your fingers. This much isn’t painful, but there’s a distinct, tight feeling to it that leaves her struggling not to squirm— like she either needs to get away, or get more. You had her stay sitting up this time, at least, so even with her legs spread and so much bare skin on display, it’s not quite as bad as being on her back.

“I’m going to put it in now, okay?” you ask, but Menoly can hardly pay attention to your words while your fingers rub little circles on her insides. 

“Mm-hmm...” she squeaks, and feels herself clench around you.

“Just relax, sweetheart. I’ll make it feel good.”

That gentle assurance has Menoly shivering, and biting down on her lower lip to hold back an even more pathetic whine. She forces herself to stay still when your fingers withdraw, and after a moment of uncomfortable emptiness, the cool plastic returns, and slowly pushes into her cunt.

Immediately, the stretch is different. Not bad, really, but distinctly more intense than before. She must have gotten used to your fingers.

You work the toy into her little by little. It’s not very big, supposedly, but Menoly’s body is shallow and tight and scared enough that you have to be careful. Still, the stretch quickly starts to feel good— good enough that by the time it’s as deep as it’ll go, her breath is unsteady and her thighs are shaking. It’s not so cold anymore, either. Just solid and wide, and a lot. 

“See? It’s not so scary, is it?” you ask after she’s had a moment to adjust, while the slightest shift of the toy has Menoly going tense all over.

She shakes her head, struggling for an answer. It’s hard to think of words when she’s so full, but you don’t seem to mind. The toy withdraws, then, every bit as slowly as it went in. Sensation lights up her nerves as it drags back out— and the emptiness is twice as unbearable, this time. 

“Good girl. You’re taking it so well,” you tell her. Menoly fights the urge to beg all over again. Her body is heating up, wanting more—

You move the toy in and out at a steady pace, and she finally does start to relax. With the constant shocks of pleasure to focus on, it’s easier not to be afraid; she’s so full that there’s no room left for anything else. Her legs drop open, her jaw goes slack, and the tension finally melts away.

#Bleach #Menoly #Menoly Mallia #Arrancar #Fic #Reader #Lemon

[arrancxr]

May I request #62 "touch yourself"? I absolutely love Aaroniero and how you write him, he deserves more love. Considering that he kinda hates himself, it would be interesting if he'll get off on his own with a little encouragement from his human s/o

62. “Touch yourself.”

“Touch yourself,” you tell him, as if that’s not far worse than just doing it yourself. Aaroniero remains mystified by the fact that you want to handle his disturbing body, in the first place, but what you’re asking now—

Still, the temptation remains. The things you do to him feel good; perhaps he could find even a fraction of that pleasure in his own touch, too.

“...are you going to watch?” he asks, one head daring to voice the insecurity even though admitting to weakness still feels so terribly wrong. Even if you claim not to be sickened by the sight of him, the weight of someone else’s gaze never stops making him feel terribly exposed. 

“I’d like to,” is your easy response. “You’re pretty. I like to see you.”

Those words alone send a shiver rippling down his nerves. Despite all better judgment, the prospect of more praise wins out over his shame. With his body still holding its human shape together well enough (for now), Aaroniero lets a hand wander down to between this body’s thighs. The slit on his pelvis is the most abnormal thing visible yet, and it leaks a thin trail of red-tinted fluid when his tentative touch slightly spreads the outer skin.

It doesn’t feel the same as when you do it. His hands are too cold, too uncertain, and the slow press of two digits invading the tight, slick hole ends up more invasive than anything. Still, the internal nerves there are almost painfully sensitive, and Aaroniero reflexively jerks his hand away.

“You can do it, sweetheart,” you assure him, as one warm palm comes to rest on his waist. Your interested, eager tone is bad enough, but then you’re pressing on his belly, coaxing, and his body responds all on its own. 

His tentacles come rushing out, trained to anticipate stimulation when you’re handling him like this. They squirm and creep upwards to reach for you, but you keep your hand too far away to touch. Arousal leaves him dizzy, and erodes what’s left of his pride— when you don’t do it, Aaroniero gives in to impulse and lets them curl around his own hand, instead. 

His unfamiliar, hesitant touch isn’t the same, but it’s good enough to soothe some of the agitated ache that’s been building. The tentacles coil wetly around his fingers just as they would yours, and cling; anything to wrap around and squeeze feels better than squirming uselessly in open air.

An inhuman whine escapes him. His body twitches, uncomfortably confined by the disguise still in place. It would be easier to let go of the human appearance altogether, to not have to focus on keeping it intact, but—

“Stop staring. Don’t watch this,” Aaroniero tries to demand. Even in the deeper voice, it comes out shamefully pleading. 

“But I want to see. It feels good, doesn’t it?” 

Being pinned under your gaze makes this whole scenario infinitely worse. There’s nothing to distract him from the inconsistent stimulation of his own awkward touch, while you sit there and watch every detail of how his body responds. There’s no way to hide— and yet, he doesn’t stop.

#Bleach #Aaroniero #Aaroniero Arrurerie #Arrancar #Reader #Fic #Lemon

[arrancxr]

Di-roy deserves some breaking :3. What about 39 and a human s/o who's curious about what kind of reactions they'll get out of him by playing with his hollow hole, and whether or not he could come from that alone.

((This... somehow came out as angst, not smut. Oops.))

39. “Enough, please, I can’t take anymore!”

You won’t hurt him. You’ll stop if he needs you to. Di-Roy repeats those facts in his head on loop as you lean in over him— he knows he’s safe, rationally, but he also knows that what you’re about to do will be intense.

It’s fair for him to be scared, he thinks. He’s spent enough time as prey for a little hesitance to be justified, and not pathetic of him at all. 

You start out with a kiss, because that always gets a good reaction out of him. Di-Roy barely registers how embarrassing that fact is before the slow, warm press of your mouth has every thought melting to useless goo. Your body on top of his makes him feel pinned enough to start going limp.

Like that, he almost forgets to be nervous... right up until there’s a hand on his chest, dangerously close to where the normal skin opens up into dark, empty void, and the fear comes rushing back just like that. His body won’t tense up enough to jerk away, though, so all he can do is whine into the kiss and tremble all over as your fingers creep slowly closer. 

The first brush of contact against the inner wall of his Hollow hole is exactly as intense as he’d anticipated. The sensation shocks through him like a warning, urging him to escape before it starts to hurt. It’s not painful, but somehow raw, as if far too vulnerable for someone else’s hands to explore.

“Shhhh, sweetheart,” you murmur, after he flinches hard enough to break the kiss. “It doesn’t hurt, does it? You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Unfortunately, the comforting words are rendered useless by the slow stroke of two fingertips against shadowy not-quite-skin. There aren’t any nerves in a Hollow hole, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling everything. 

It’s been barely more than a few seconds, and Di-Roy feels like he’s about to cry. Pathetic. You’re not even hurting him, and his stupid body is still convinced he’s in danger. He’s shaking worse by now, clenching his jaw in a futile attempt to contain his whimpers, and sharper tremors run through him every time your touch shifts even a little bit deeper into the void. 

He tries to endure it, not wanting to look weak, but—

“St-Stop—! Please, e-enough—, I c-can’t—!” As soon as his throat remembers how to form words, he’s begging. It’s too much. Way too much.

You stop. You’d promised you would, if he asked, but the unexpected reality that you meant it still feels like a blow. Tears spill over almost instantly, at that point; he’s far too overwhelmed to hold back, even though breaking down in front of you only drives the shame in deeper.  

For a second, Di-Roy debates taking it back, and letting you continue. How cowardly can he get, panicking like this over a mere human’s touch?

#Bleach #Di Roy #Di Roy Rinker #Arrancar #Fic #Reader

[arrancxr]

How about 79 for a pleading Yylfordt, if you don’t mind (｡・//ε//・｡)

79. “I can be good, so good! I swear!”

Normally, Yylfordt is a relentless nuisance, finding every way to get under your skin no matter how ill-advised that may be at any given time. He’s argumentative, stubborn, and stupidly overconfident— almost pitifully easy to manipulate, if you use that misplaced confidence against him. 

You’re learning, though, that there are ways to keep that rude mouth of his shut... or get him to be a little more polite to you, at least. 

When he’s been brought to the edge a handful of times, yet denied orgasm at the last possible second, the threat of stopping turns his attitude around for the better. Yylfordt gets pliant when he’s desperate, and so—

“H-Hey! I’m not done yet, d-don’t—!” The panicked, yelping plea is coupled with Yylfordt roughly grabbing your wrist. His face is red, his eyes are unfocused and clouded with lust, and his hips twitch forward in a useless attempt to chase after your touch. Completing the picture of desperation; his painfully hard, leaking dick, flushed nearly purple at the tip from denial. 

“What? You want me to keep going?” you ask, though your attempt at a deadpan tone is spoiled by the beginnings of a (slightly cruel) smirk.

It takes a second for Yylfordt’s sex-dumb brain to catch up with what you said, but recognition dawns soon enough. The strong fingers clutching at your wrist start to tremble; whether with dread or anticipation, you’re not sure. You’ve used this tactic before. He knows what’s expected of him now.

“Please? What do you want me to do? C’mon, please, it hurts,” he whines, neglected cock bobbing around with his restless fidgeting.

“Are you gonna behave? You’ve been a brat lately. I warned you, but you didn’t want to listen.” As you talk, you extract your wrist from his clingy grip. Yylfordt’s gaze follows it like he doesn’t want to let go, but he stays obediently still. His throat shifts around a deep, nervous swallow. 

“I can be good! So good, okay? Whatever you want—”

Yylfordt’s begging breaks off into a moan when your hand returns to his cock. If he had a heartbeat, you’d surely be able to feel it throbbing under the thin, straining skin— he’s so hard it must ache, so close to the edge that his overfull balls are still tucked up and waiting for one more little push. Poor thing. You’d feel sorry for him, if you didn’t know any better. 

“Do you want me to make you come, baby?” you ask, now letting your amusement seep through into your tone. Yylfordt’s cock twitches, hard. 

“Yeah! P-Please, I wanna come—!” 

Along with the obedient pleas, he arches back to show more of his bare, scarred stomach. The meaning of that gesture may not be immediately obvious to humans, but by now, you know that it’s just one more offer of submission— instinctively making himself vulnerable to prove he’ll behave.

“Alright. You can come... but keep this in mind next time you think about being a brat to me.” That’s all the more warning you give; as expected, he comes after mere seconds of quick, squeezing strokes.

#Bleach #Yylfordt #Yylfordt Granz #Arrancar #Fic #Reader #Lemon

[arrancxr]

57 with Szayel: maybe he’s in the middle of an experiment and can’t stop what he’s doing. Meanwhile his s/o is teasing him and fondling him

57. “You seem more sensitive than usual.”

By now, you know that sneaking up on Szayel is next to impossible. Even not counting his ability to sense your presence through spiritual energy alone, he’ll notice you (by footsteps, scent, or whatever else) long before you’d get close enough to startle him. That doesn’t stop you from trying.

Nor does it stop Szayel from flinching, just slightly, when your arms wrap around him from behind. “What are you working on?” you ask innocently, referring to the array of partially filled vials in front of him. 

“Re-confirming some previous data,” Szayel answers, without so much as glancing away from his work, “to ensure my records will be perfect.”

“Looks complicated.” He hasn’t pushed your touch away yet, so...

You let your hands wander the tiniest bit lower. Slow, feather-light circles make his stomach twitch, even through the barrier of his uniform. A shiver runs through him when the touch continues— easily felt, with how you’re pressed up against his back. “Are you trying to tell me you want something?” Szayel asks, sounding halfway between fond and annoyed.

“Nope, just keeping you company while you work.”

It’s true; you don’t need him to do anything but stand there and let you have your fun. Focusing on his experiment might be difficult when you’re intent on teasing him, but a genius like him can surely figure it out.

Your thumb rubs over his hipbone next, and the little jolt that follows has Szayel stifling a gasp— then cursing when the momentary lapse in focus causes some unseen mistake. “Do you have to do this now?” he snaps, now definitely irritated. “I’ll be at a decent stopping point in ten minutes, at most. Can your torment wait until I’m not handling active reagents?”

“Mmm, no. I’m having fun.” You dip your hand a little lower, now dangerously close to his groin. At the same time, you lean in close enough for him to feel your breath against his throat, and in a low, honey-voiced whisper—  “I guess you do seem pretty sensitive today; is it too much?”

This time, Szayel yelps. You hear something clatter against the table after slipping out of his hand, but it takes a second or two of stunned, trembling processing for him to notice, let alone scramble to fix the mistake.

“You’re a sadist and a distraction—” he hisses furiously, though the lack of any attempt to make you stop takes any bite out of the words. 

“Yep, and you love it~” is your taunting response. 

After one more breath against his throat, just to feel the erupting shivers it earns, you finally go for the real target. You can barely feel his clit through the layers of clothing in the way, but rubbing the little bulge still leaves Szayel biting down on a lewd, needy moan. It clearly takes all the self-control he has not to grind into your hand. Poor thing.

#Bleach #Szayel #Szayelaporro Granz #Arrancar #Reader #Fic #Lemon

[arrancxr]

55. With Loly, please?

55. “It’s my thigh or nothing, I’m not helping you get off.”

Straddling your lap, your hands on her waist, Loly feels uncomfortably small. She knows there’s no threat here, rationally, but the confidence in how you approach her, in how willingly you put your hands on her skin (and invite the same in return) sparks an instinctive sort of tension, nonetheless.

But your thigh is pressing insistently up between her own, and the resulting sensation distracts her enough to make the creeping distress tolerable. It’s easier not to think about feeling like prey when you’re staring at her with such open adoration— like she really is sweet enough to belong in your lap, getting spoiled in ways that a Hollow doesn’t deserve at all. 

“You can move, sweetheart,” you say coaxingly, nudging your leg up just slightly. Just enough for Loly to feel it (and stifle a gasp in response). 

“C-Can’t you do something?” she snaps back, already resisting the embarrassing urge to squirm. It’d be easy enough to grind against you like this, but when all you’re going to do is sit there and watch... 

“Nope. It’s my thigh or nothing. I’m not helping, this time.”

Biting back the urge to argue, Loly weighs her options. On one hand, being held on display like this is terribly awkward already, and doing what you say would make that even worse. On the other... she wants to get off, and you seem serious about making her do all the work. Another little nudge from your leg has her jaw clenching. Fuck it, if this is what it takes—

The first slow, tentative grind is exactly as embarrassing as she expected— but the resulting friction is motivation enough to try it again. And to keep going, after that, chasing each sharp little shock of pleasure.

“Good girl,” you praise. “Keep going, you’re doing great.” Loly nearly chokes on a squeak, and her thighs reflexively squeeze together. 

It doesn’t take long, like that. Even with the barrier of fabric between her skin and yours, heat builds quickly. Loly ends up closing her eye and resting her forehead against your shoulder, too embarrassed to look at you once she’s all but whimpering with every new spike of sensation between her legs. Everything feels wet down there, by now, and she’s finally figured out the right movement to get mind-melting friction on her clit with each shift.

Through it all, you rub her back; slow, comforting motions that are somehow nearly too much against her oversensitive nerves. Being petted like this always makes her chest go tight— but rather than the usual desperate, greedy want, there’s now a different kind of desire in its place. 

When high, whimpery moans start to escape her, Loly cringes. She’s getting close, and that means there’s no controlling the needy little sounds. 

Your only response, though, is to call her cute. No mockery, no digging for more weakness while she’s already falling apart. Just the same easy, affectionate praise as always. The achy feeling deepens along with a fresh stab of pleasure in her gut— Loly clings to your shoulders and tries to hide.

#Bleach #Loly #Loly Aivirrne #Arrancar #Reader #Fic #Lemon

[arrancxr]

23 for Starrk, please?

(Also as a side note, I just wanted to say how much I appreciate your xeno headcanons for the Arrancar’s genitals. As a nonbinary trans man, it just makes me happy to see. Thank you!)

((Thank you!! I'm glad you're enjoying them!! I've gotten similar comments a couple of times now, and it's always very jkshg to know people find that kind of joy and validation in my work. >3>))

23. “My baby, you did so well.”

The first touch along the edge of his mask has Starrk’s body snapping to attention— not quite out of fear (a foreign concept, when no one’s jaws would have ever got this close), but a sudden, acute awareness of sensation against a place that could very easily hurt. He trusts you, of course, but Hollow instincts tend to have other ideas about what’s safe to allow.

You’ve handled his mask before, but in the soft, sweet moments of intimacy where he’s already nearly purring with bliss. Not mere seconds after pulling back from a long, messy kiss that left him worked up enough to be all but grinding into your ass, hot all over, and anticipating more. 

“Too much?” you ask. The novelty of your worry never quite wears off; as strong as he is, there’s nothing you could do to cause real damage. 

“It’s fine. Keep going.”

Starrk’s hands go to your waist. His hips roll up in search of friction, and you shift a little in response. There’s something almost funny about tipping his head back to bare his throat, willingly submitting to a human’s touch, but while his mind is fogged with pleasure, Starrk hardly cares.

After a few moments of caressing the jagged teeth at the base of his throat, though, your touch wanders lower. Gentle, still, and moving slow enough to give him warning— not that it makes the touch any less intense.

Even the lightest brush of contact against the edge of his Hollow hole is almost unbearable. The flash of momentary, instinctive panic soon fades, though— overshadowed by pleasure when you grind down into his lap. “Good boy,” you purr, probing a little deeper past the void’s edge. “You’re so good, trusting me like this. I’ll stop as soon as you need me to, okay?”

Starrk’s only reply is a strangled whine. Through whatever screwed-up signals are firing right now, the near-violating touch against the inside of his Hollow hole is feeding into his arousal. His body thinks it’s pinned, helpless, and feeling so acutely vulnerable adds an unfamiliar thrill.

Even if he’s never needed to fear being held at the mercy of something stronger, a Hollow baring its throat and inviting attention to its weak spots is nothing short of suicidally stupid. All he’s doing is opening himself up to get hurt, and yet, the oh-so-careful brush of your fingertips across solidified darkness has him going limp and trusting, arching helplessly into the touch.

Time liquifies for a while, until your fingers finally recede. He’s trembling all over, achingly hard, too oversensitive to tell if he came at some point in that haze of sensation or not. He can hardly think, and yet—

“My baby, you did so well,” you tell him, nails scratching sweetly at the scruff on his chin. More sounds tempting, if it means you’ll keep saying that.

#Bleach #Starrk #Coyote Starrk #Arrancar #Reader #Fic #Lemon

[arrancxr]

I really like how spirt alive is written. I really like how the characters are shown. Also love how gin is causing problems for fun, it's fun. 10/10 would and have read again

Thank you!!!! :D I hope I can update it soon; the chaos is awfully fun to write~ And Gin is indeed a menace.

#Comments