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In Hueco Mundo, there was not only duties and battles, but also there was meetings. And for all the heavens and hells, Sousuke Aizen loved those damned meetings. Grimmjow couldn’t care less; he fucking hated how that bastard loved the sound of his own voice.
“Let’s the session begin, my dear Espadas. Let’s have some tea.” Said he while servants put a serving of tea for the people.
Grimmjow looked at the leaf water with disgust, he had enough. He stood up.
“Is there anything wrong, Grimmjow? I haven’t dismissed any of you.” Said Aizen calmly.
Grimmjow sighed, “This could have been a mail.”
Aizen narrowed his eyes. Grimmjow felt all the weight of the world clawing his body. The bastard wasn’t happy.
in which urahara kisuke and sosuke aizen run into an awkward problem after a fun night.
sfw/suggestive • 1k words • written for bleachweek2026 day 3 • ao3 link
Nighttime in Hueco Mundo differed greatly from the Living World. It felt empty, devoid of life, with no bustling skyscrapers or cars honking. That is the supposed charm of Hueco Mundo, Kisuke mused, the pipe hanging loosely from his hand.
He blew out a plume of smoke, watching it disappear into the dark sky. Long, calloused fingertips traced the stony balcony railing. He had to admit that Aizen had outdone himself with the architecture of Las Noches. Every room was bigger than the last, and Kisuke found himself lost at every turn.
It was bigger than his candy shop, for sure, but it also felt destitute. Devoid of any semblance of warmth, the hallways were eerily quiet, the rooms having nothing sentimental or personal inside them. In the Urahara Shoten, he could find Ururu’s drawings all over the tables or hung up on the wall, and Jinta’s toys and marbles on the floor, which would provoke Tessai to yell at the boy to clean up his mess, and Jinta would yell back.
Las Noches was too quiet. Its design could be described as brutalist.
His train of thought was finally interrupted by some noise, by the smooth baritone of a certain smug brown-haired man.
“Why are you out of bed so early, shopkeeper? Have I been snoring in my sleep?”
Kisuke turned around, smiling leisurely at the sight of the well-known traitor, ex-captain, and current ruler of Hueco Mundo, Aizen Sosuke. The same Aizen Sosuke, wearing a loose yukata, hair mussed from sleep and other rigorous activities. But what Kisuke liked the most were the purple marks emphasized all over alabaster skin.
“Ah, Aizen-san, you’ve caught me,” Kisuke lamented playfully, “You snore like a pig in your sleep.”
Aizen’s eyes narrowed like he was about to demand Kisuke use his first name, but thought better of it, instead joining the other in standing by the railing and whispering “Quiet, you,” as a retort to the pig remark.
A small pause passed as Aizen got himself situated, Kisuke’s arm coming to circle his waist.
“What brings you out of bed, your highness?”
“I could ask you the same question. And would you stop that smoking?” Aizen’s nose wrinkled delicately. “I couldn't care less if it kills you, but second-hand smoke is detrimental to my health, you know.” Kisuke grinned and puffed some smoke purposefully towards Aizen’s face, watching him writhe away. “We all have our vices. Mine just so happens to be smoking rather than betraying Soul Society.”
“Hilarious,” Aizen said dryly, fanning away the smoke. “Have you considered a career in comedy after your banishment?”
“Not really. But judging by your reaction, I say I’d be good at it.”
“You would be begging for spare change after your shows.” Aizen retorted.
There it was. The demand that Aizen had brought up time and time again after their hookups that Kisuke loathed and would deflect away with a smile and a well-timed deflection. What was the point in calling him Sosuke? Surely it was another one of Aizen’s mind games, getting Kisuke to soften up to inevitably catch him off guard and sabotage him. He was not the naive captain Aizen outsmarted anymore.
He wouldn’t trust Aizen with his life, and Aizen wouldn’t trust him with his, either. So why would the brown-haired ex-captain insist on being on a first-name basis?
Was the sex that good? Kisuke knew what constituted good sex; he’d had intercourse many different times during this past century in the human world (there were needs and Yoruichi had volunteered to help many times as his friend), and sex with Aizen was amazing, but not enough for him to let down his guard around the man and risk a plan to defeat Aizen a hundred years in the making.
“Aizen-san…” He started cautiously, his hand coming up to fix his hat. Aizen tracked the movement of his hat, knowing the tells of Kisuke putting a distance between them and the lack of proper eye contact was one of them.
His golden eyes narrowed.
“Why won’t you call me Sosuke?” Aizen frowned slightly. “I call you Kisuke.”
“I never gave you permission to do that.” Kisuke countered, turning his head to stare at the Hueco Mundo moon.
Aizen’s narrowed eyes turned to a full-on icy glare directed towards the shopkeeper. It took him but a microsecond to go back to the cool, calculated Lord Aizen. “I see,” he replied coolly, “so after all that we’ve done, you still think we need permission to use each other’s first names.”
“What have we done? We’ve only had sex, Aizen-san,” Kisuke quietly murmured, taking a puff from his pipe yet again.
“Multiple times! Does that not count for anything? Is having intercourse just casual to you?”
“Yes!”
The silence around them was suffocating. Hueco Mundo’s black sky seemed more and more like a black hole now, sucking the passion that was present in Aizen’s bedroom moments ago out of both of them. “So…” Aizen said levelly, “I presume we determined that intercourse had different meanings when it came to our relationship.”
There is no relationship, Kisuke wanted to scream. You mean nothing to me.
However, he knew that by screaming he would prove to Aizen that there was something there, some sort of hatred or passion that could still fuel him, and Aizen would cling to that one semblance of emotion like a moth would to a flame.
Instead, Kisuke chose his words carefully.
“I would say so.”
Aizen wrapped his yukata around himself more tightly and turnt around. “Well, then. This conversation is over. You can open up the Garganta and leave my palace.”
For a moment, Kisuke debated whether to follow Aizen and try to explain his point of view, but then his mind supplied, ‘That’s what a lover would do.’
And that was the last thing he wanted to be to Sosuke Aizen.
…He leaves the tension between them for another time. A time when they would inevitably meet, although it would be on opposing sides of a battlefield.
Bleach week day 3, prompt "Hueco Mundo/Kaidô/Goodbye" ! Still kind of trying to get as much of the prompts as I can, but yeah it's not really Hueco Mundo nor kaidô xD
Not much inspired for tomorrow, I don't even know if I'll have time to draw so maybe I'll skip one day !
I know that technically its not hueco mundo, but Menos Grande is a creature that associated with this place the most!
Also fun fact: reason why i used to like bleach as a child were hollows! I still remember the scene, where Orihime's brother appears from the wall. It was terrifying and cool
compulsion to correct ࣪ ִֶָ☾. sosuke aizen x coyote starrk x f! reader
bleach week masterlist | main masterlist | bleach masterlist
nsfw // minors dni // noncon + mild gore
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."
dew yaps: the first part was inspired by a request for @mx-feratina ( i hope you enjoyed!)... and then i felt the need to turn starrk into a good boy. this was not my best work .... i'm in a panic as I try to finish all of my bleach week WIPs. let's just say I have a long ways to go. I wanted to write this to COMPLETION (heh), but I just don't have the time :L also, thank you @aitheria for the title idea hehe
Hey! What do you know? I actually managed to use all three prompts for this! And I'm gonna be honest, I'm pretty proud of how this story came out to boot.
⪻────𖤓────⪼
"Nigeki Kessatsu!" Soifon shouted as she landed her second strike, burying Suzumebachi's blade into the Arrancar's chest once more. The Arrancar, half of a horse-like skull hanging over his head, fell to his knees and dropped his weapon before vanishing in a flash of a giant Homonka. Now, Soifon was the last one standing, the only being left on the bloody sands of this battlefield. By all rights, she had won and she might have been able to take some pleasure in her victory if most of the blood on the sand wasn't hers.
The second she stopped moving, her plentiful wounds sang in agony, blood bursting forth from her shoulder and right side. She winced as she squeezed her shoulder. She attempted to walk toward the highest hill of sand she could see but wasn't able to take but three steps before her feet quivered and she fell to her side. The sand entered her wounds and she inhaled sharply as she forced herself to her back. Her punishment uniform was little more than a series of loosely connected tatters now and as she stared out at the lonely crescent moon hanging over this desolate dimension, her body was caught in a crossfire between the brisk night air and the warmth of her own blood spreading out from under her.
'This...This is it...isn't it?' She thought. 'With all my men dead and my lieutenants with Queen Harribel, I'm all alone...I'm...I'm going to die right now, aren't I?' She continued to stare at the moon above, bathing in its milky radiant light. To her mild surprise, it brought a strange sense of comfort. 'It's...strange... I've always thought that when the day came that I fell during a mission, it would be without any regrets or attachments. My life has always belonged to the Soul Society from the moment I was born and even as a child, I was raised to throw it away at a moment's notice to protect Lady Yoruichi. When she left, those loyalties shifted to the Soul Society and I always thought that's where they would remain until I drew my last breath. However...'
The image of a certain blue-haired girl popped into Soifon's hazy mind.
'Ming...You're too soft...too merciful...too concerned about your comrades. You're the last person that should have joined my Division and the last person I should have ever made 2nd Lieutenant...and yet...' Soifon smiled without realizing it. 'Somehow, having you in my life has given it more purpose than to merely defend the ways of Soul Society...you've refused to leave my side or turn against me, no matter how harshly I treated you, never complained of any chores I gave you. You give it your all during every training and sparring session we have, no matter how hellish. I've done my best to foster hostility among the Onmitsukido but somehow, you not only kept your heart and kindness through all these years but...you've granted it to me time and time again.'
All sorts of memories flooded her mind now. The black cat plushie Ming made her when her original one had been accidently destroyed by Omaeda. The small but tasty birthday cake left on her desk on a birthday no one seemed to remember, not even herself. The nice seafood restaurant she had suggested during that mission into the outer reaches of the Rukongai. Time and time again, Ming had shown kindness to Soifon that rivaled even that of Lady Yoruichi's and all for little more than casual acknowledgment.
'It's strange...I...I resolved to die without any regrets, without any desire to prolong my life...and yet...as I can feel myself fading away, I'm...I'm troubled...troubled by the thought of never seeing Ming again...but why...why her of all people...?'
Of course, Soifon knew the answer. She had known it for a long while and had fought like hell to keep it buried deep down inside of her. Such softness, such vulnerability, she could never allow herself to feel that way towards anyone. Not after all the hurt it put her through last time.
'I...I resolved not to entertain these feelings ever again...and now they will die with me, forever buried within me...I should be glad...I should die pleased that no one will ever know...so why...why do I feel tears leaking from my eyes?'
The moon seemed to warble through her blurry vision as it grew darker and darker.
'Ming...I'm sorry...I know it'll hurt you to discover I'm gone but you must do as I've done and use that pain as strength to fight off this coup and restore Queen Harribel's throne. I know I can count on you to carry on my will.'
Everything went black.
'Farewell, Ming.'
...
The first time Soifon opened her eyes, she noticed a shape looming over her. The second time, she was able to see spots of color, blue and black. The third time, she became aware of someone speaking, a young woman, and the fourth time, she recognized the voice right as her vision finally cleared completely.
...be alright! Captain! Captain Soifon! Please wake up!"
Soifon blinked a few times, just to make sure what she was seeing was real. Instead of the moon, she was now starting directly into the panicked eyes of her 2nd Lieutenant. "M-Ming?"
"Captain Soifon!" Ming beamed happily. "Oh thank goodness you're awake!" Soifon tried to get up but Ming pushed her down gently. "N-No Captain! You mustn't get up just yet! Your wounds are still real severe! Please stay still!"
"Stay still?" Soifon asked. "For what..." She trailed off as at last, she became aware of the soft green light and the gentle hum coming from her stomach. Ming's fingers were laid over the stab wound she had sustained there, green Kido energy growing out of them like a bioluminescent plant. "Is that...Kaido?"
Looking embarrassed, Ming slightly nodded.
"B-But...how? W-When did you learn to use Kaido?"
Ming averted her gaze. "D-Do you remember when I told you I was doing late-night training sessions in the forest? Well, that was a lie. I was really going to see Captain Kotetsu to learn Kaido."
"Ming!"
"I-I'm sorry, Captain Soifon!" Ming shouted. "I-I know I shouldn't bother with healing techniques when I live to kill but...but there's been so many close calls lately...and...it's not as if I underestimate your skills, Captain! I would never do that! B-But if anything ever happened to you...oh, what I'm I saying, that doesn't make it any better! Not in the Stealth Force!" Ming shook her head.
"Ming."
"Captain, I know you said we shouldn't look out for each other. That if given the chance, I should allow you to die to take out the enemy but...but I just can't fight like that. I...I...Y-You're too important to...the Soul Society to let die and since you won't learn Kaido...I...I thought maybe I should...I should learn it for you...so you could just focus on the enemy and...and..." Ming sniffled.
"Ming."
"I know I disobeyed a direct order from you and I'll take whatever punishment you decide without complaint!" Ming shouted. "But right now...please just let me do this! Because-"
"Ming!"
Ming finally stopped, her tear-filled eyes locked with her captain's. Once she was sure she had her 2nd lieutenant's attention, Soifon smiled. "Thank you."
Ming gasped, utterly dumbstruck by her captain's reaction. After a few seconds, she smiled and nodded. "I'll have you healed up in no time! Just leave everything to me!"
Soifon nodded back and rested her head down. Already, she felt stronger and her pain was far lighter. 'Ming, you idiot. I told you to stay with Queen Harribel and keep her safe, not follow me like a lost puppy. I should be furious with you, make you run 20,000 laps around the Seireitei when we get home...but...I'm glad all the same. I can't believe it but I'm actually glad to have been saved...but...what is it exactly that I'm glad for? Is it because I really wanted to live...or because I have another chance to tell you how I really feel?'
Soifon watched as Ming continued to heal her, her smile growing.
'Regardless of the reason, I'm glad, Ming. Glad that...this won't be good-bye after all.'
His Captain’s hand is where it shouldn’t be, pressed nonchalantly against his lower back. Too low for it to be appropriate. Too bold a move to be ignored or misread as neutral. And then it slowly slips even lower, until it finds its place on Aizen’s butt.
Aizen stiffens, his muscles tightening involuntarily, but his mind commands his body to stay calm.
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…”
“That changes absolutely nothing,” Aizen assures him. There is no doubt in him, only that awful buzzing. “Don’t make the wrong assumptions, Gin. I was simply saying my goodbye.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 2 for day 3 of bleach week! In which Aizen gets stabbed ad infinitum, past!Urahara is useless, future!Urahara might have committed war crimes, and Shinji shaves his head bald in one loop.
still really baffled by how soul society functions and specifically the idea of them having "noble clans" - how do souls have children? surely they don't give birth normally? the logical conclusion is that they don't, and thus it is now my quest to figure out the funniest way souls can have children and a lineage. perhaps this might involve byakuya emerging from an egg.
There's always that one argument that clings to a couple … a burr snagged in soft fur, an off-taste that lingers, a note that sounds unintentional in an otherwise perfect symphony.
Your and Jūshirō's happens to be the topic of children: it always has, and it always will be. Nothing drives you apart quite like the threads of maternal delusion you refuse to relinquish, and while he hates to see you so torn up about it, he did warn you from the very start that he had no intention of building a family.
You and you alone are enough for him … and the sentiment is usually reciprocated. But, on days like today, where the sky is choked with clouds and rain blankets The Soul Society, your mind tends to wander. You stare at mud puddles and picture tiny feet dancing in them. Your fingers brush the warm blanket thrown across your lap, and for a split second it's swaddling cloth. Jūshirō coughs — and you aren't worried … you're frustrated: each rasp a reminder of why your womb remains empty.
"Can you pass me the eggs?"
Jūshirō, unaware that your thoughts have dragged you back to this old point of contention, glances toward your stilled hands. Each hold an egg, warm in your palm, small and delicate. A whip of thunder shakes your quiet home's foundation; the sudden sound makes your fists clench, movement splintering the thin shells that hold everything together.
Jushiro is quick to help you clean the yolk and whites dripping through your fingers. He's attentive and gentle … paternal … and despite being inside, your cheeks fair no better than the rain-battered roof. Tears fall as you stare at that pretty crown of white hair on your husband's head, and they only grow in quantity when Jūshirō takes a break from his tending to wheeze into a handkerchief, staining it with specks of crimson.
When your eyes meet, it is no surprise that his harden. He knows this look on your face … is tired of the conversation it entails.
"I did not ask for this illness," he starts lowly, pocketing the bloodied cloth. "When you look at me like that, it's as if you think otherwise."
You remain mute, turning to the sink to run your hands beneath warm water. The speckles of eggshell that stick to your fingertips swirl down the drain.
"Am I still not enough?" Jūshirō asks, louder this time: hurt … angry. "I told you — and I have never wavered — that I will not have children … not when there's the possibility that I'll pass on this disease … not when my days are numbered — when I will be nothing but an absent father, stuck in his bed —"
"Don't speak of yourself like that," you snap, "you see yourself as some frail man doomed for death, but that is not the case …. and as long as you remain a host to Mimihagi, you won't —"
"Enough." His shoulders slump as he re-focuses on making breakfast. Clearly, he has no intention of entertaining this age-old argument any further.
Later in the day, as the rain subsides and sunshine returns you to your senses, you apologize. Things recede to normal, all sweet kisses and domestic bliss … for a year or two, at least, until the sky is just the right shade of grey, the raindrops strike the pavement at a precarious angle, and your desire rears its ugly head once again.
Those were the words that Urahara said, tranquil but confident and with enough distance to give Zaraki Kenpachi some room to think. The big and burly man was walking slowly and crouched. The war finished, the roar of battle was long gone, there was the deafening silence of the aftermath.
“I think I can do something,” Urahara added.
Kenpachi looked at him and walked towards him, mechanically.
“I take this as a yes. It would not be perfect, but it will be quick, follow me.”
Moments after, both men were crossing a senkaimon that Urahara had built. Kenpachi was like a shadow, solemn and quiet; moving mechanically behind the man. He told him to sit and wait, and so he did for around two hours.
“I think it’s okay. I knew what this prototype lacked, but its faults can be bettered to what you need.” Said tranquil, showing a mannequin that looked like a ball jointed doll.
“Don’t joke with me.How the hell does this bring back Yachiru?!” Kenpachi yelled.
“Easy, I was about to explain it. Did you bring your sword?”
“Yes.”
“Please stab the doll,” Urahara said with conciliatory tone.
And so he did, a fog grew around the doll until it took a familiar shape. It was her, Yachiru. She was looking at her hands with curiosity and then looked at him and smiled.
“Kenny!” she yelled, hugging him.
Kenpachi looked at Urahara surprised and patted Yachiru’s head.
“I had this old prototype for zanpakuto spirits. This one just brings the spirit out, but wasn’t fit for what I wanted to achieve. But it was fit perfectly for what you wanted; I just adjusted it to keep her form comfortably.” He explained shrugging, like whatever those words meant completely were as casual as talking about the weather.
Kenpachi carried Yachiru as he used to, and thanked the man, leaving there in a better mood than he came.
I wish I could have five lives! Then I could have been born in five different towns, and eaten five lifetime's worth of food, and had five different careers, and…fallen in love with the same person, five times.
