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The old torii gate stood forlorn in the middle of the forest, forgotten and abandoned, no longer even red. The passage of time had caused the paint to flake away, but the small paper talismans with sealing spells remained intact.
The path led uphill. The stony steps were slippery and green, overtaken by moss. It wasnβt an easy climb, but the boy skipped two steps at a time, eager to see what awaited him at the end of the path.
He felt like he shouldnβt be here. The forest itself seemed too dark, too quiet, as though not even the insects and birds dared to stay here. The boyβs heart jumped not with fear but with unruly excitement. The mystery beckoned him, inviting him to explore.
At the end of the path, a clearing in the forest opened before the boyβs curious eyes. The mountainside appeared in all its immovable majesty, sharp stones polished by the endless rain.
As he looked up, the clouds hung low and heavy in the sky above. A storm was coming. How strange. The boy remembered it had been sunny when he had entered the forest. But here, at the foot of the mountain, the weather was different. It felt oddly fitting, as if the lightning simply wanted to strike but could not.
He saw more paper seals wrapped around the wooden pillars of yet another torii. The cave entrance yawned open into the darkness of the depth. And this time, the boy hesitated. He was curious, sure, but his father had told him to be careful around this mysterious place.
Some considered the old shrine to be sacred, others considered it cursed. His father, however, knew the truth about it. It was a prison, not a cave. That was why all the seals were there, meant to keep the spirit trapped inside, never to leave again.
Against his fatherβs will, the boy came here today seeking the help they so desperately needed. Because in his heart, he knew his dad could have been wrong.
Every living being deserved a second chance.
When he passed through the gate, it felt like crossing some invisible barrier. The lingering coolness surrounded him like a ghostly veil. The air inside the cave was humid but charged with electric sparks. It clung to the boyβs skin. The source of such a strong, almost frightening presence had to be the infamous prisoner himself.
The boy descended, trying to keep quiet, but he had the impression his arrival had already been noticed. His steps, though light, echoed in the deafening silence. The darkness itself was watching with invisible eyes.
The red hemp ropes were tied to the stones, hanging from the cave walls and long stalactites. They carried more seals, suppressing the power that lay inside. They all pointed to the center of the cave, where the giant torii marked the final threshold.
It was the point of no return that the boy was not supposed to cross. And yet he did, stepping bravely inside the circle of sealing spells.
Something shifted in the darkness.
The boy held his breath.
A long, serpent-like shape moved toward him, slowly drawing closer. One golden eye opened lazily, shimmering like a cold, distant star. There was a sense of dread in simply being seen by that ancient gaze.
βH-hello there,β the boy managed after gulping down his fear. Somehow he still stood upright despite the overwhelming pressure. Not frozen in place. No. Standing his ground. βIβm Kuβ¦β
βKurosaki,β the voice came from the darkness, from the giant, menacing shape in front of the boy. It rolled through the cave, calm and monotonous. Not overtly frightening. Still, this single word demanded absolute attention.
βI know who you are, boy. I can smell the blood running through your veins. Tell me, did your insufferable father send you here instead of coming himself?β
βNo,β the boy answered respectfully, shaking his head. βIt was my own idea. My name is Kurosaki Kazui. I came to ask you for a favor, Ichimokuren-san.β
Without a single sound and faster than expected, a long, snake-like neck slid across the cave. A huge reptilian head of the imposing black dragon emerged from the shadows. A mouth full of dagger-like fangs halted inches away from the boy.
βA favor?β the monster asked with a hint of mockery.
Kazui could feel its hot breath stirring his orange hair. The head itself was bigger than he was. The black scales glimmered faintly with a purple sheen.
βHow amusing. Humor me with your request, boy, before I crush you as easily as an ant.β
To say Kazui wasnβt scared would be simply untrue. But the fear mixed with something sadder as the boy took a better look at the beast before him. The dragonβs right eye was completely missing, leaving only a dark, gaping hole in its place. So that was why everyone referred to the creature as Ichimokuren, but the One-Eyed Dragon had a real name that Kazui didnβt dare to speak aloud just yet.
The spirit was known for having its domain in the sky, among the storms and lightning. Yet, Ichimokuren hadnβt seen the outside world for the past twenty years. The golden horns on its head, once pristine, were now bound in red ropes and seals. Its claws, sinister and sharp, were in chains.
βI want you to help me save my father.β
The words left Kazuiβs mouth before he could think them through.
A deep, humorless chuckle escaped the dragonβs throat.
βDo you think I have any interest in helping your father? The one who cut me down and sealed me away with the assistance of that wretched priest, Kisuke Urahara?β
βI know you are angryβ¦β
βIβm not angry,β Ichimokuren interrupted, tilting his head and giving Kazui an intimidating glare. βIβm at peace,β he explained in an even tone. βI no longer have to bear being part of this broken world.β
The long neck moved again and the serpent-like body slithered back into the darkness, deeper into the cave.
βWait,β Kazui called after him, reaching out a hand. βDonβt you miss the sky? The daylight? Donβt you want to breathe the fresh air again?β
A note of desperation rang in his voice, and the dragon must have caught it. That was why he ignored this attempt.
The boy stepped forward, his right hand outstretched toward the beast.
βPlease, Ichimokuren-san,β he tried to plead. βI need yourβ¦β
βI refuse.β
The chains suddenly rattled as the dragonβs jaws snapped at the boy, mere inches from ripping off his arm.
The boy didnβt flinch. He didnβt know why. His hand was still extended as though to calm the monster down.
βI refuse to be a tool in someone elseβs war,β Ichimokuren told him with a dangerous, low growl.
Kazui was able to sense it, the despair, the bitterness, the loneliness, and anger radiating from the being who had been humiliated and banished to rot in this silent tomb for the rest of its days.
βThat is not why I came here,β the boy whispered softly. His hand stayed where it was, too close to those deadly fangs and the scaly head. βI donβt intend to use you. I will set you free. And look, I even brought you a giftβ¦β
He paused, searching for the object with one hand.
Then, βHere.β
He bowed low, holding out both hands.
Resting in his left palm was a small, purple jewel. Its edges were polished smooth, shaped like a curved tear with a hole in the middle. A faint violet glow flickered inside the precious stone, making it look rather otherworldly. But it was not the air of luxury itself, it was the gravity that came with this jewel. The artifact vibrated with magic, with power and pressure, as though it wasnβt an object but something alive.
Ichimokuren narrowed his single eye, staring silently at the boyβs offering. βSo you have itβ¦ Yasakani no Magatama, the Jewel of Benevolence,β he named the artifact. There was a sense of wisdom in the way he spoke that name. The silence that fell was filled with unspoken questions.
Kazui presented the jewel to the dragon once more, waiting for Ichimokuren to take it.
βYou think you can buy my service with it?β the monster inquired, apparently not trusting Kazuiβs intentions.
The boy shook his head. βNo,β he replied with a smile. βIβm giving it back. I know they took it from you. But now you can be whole again.β
The dragon paused, visibly reluctant.
βDo you know why they took it?β he questioned, observing the boy with its unblinking eye.
Kazui only shrugged. βBecause they didnβt find your actions benevolent enough?β
The joke landed awkwardly between the two.
βThey meant well,β Kazui added, seeing that his sense of humor wouldnβt take him far. βIβm not saying that it makes them right, but I donβt care about the past. I care about the present.β
Without thinking twice, he extended his right hand.
βLet me set you free.β
He reached toward the dragon. It made Ichimokuren flinch away.
Kazui realized then that the creature didnβt trust the touch.
So he waited, without a word, allowing the gesture to speak for itself. He didnβt command, didnβt demand obedience, he simply offered his kindness and patience.
It took a very long time but the suspicion and tension began to ease.
Only when Kazui lowered his eyes humbly did Ichimokuren finally decide.
Slowly, the scaly head of the giant dragon closed the short distance separating it from Kazuiβs hand. It stopped half an inch from completing the motion, but the intent was there, clear to both of them.
Kazuiβs fingers moved but before they could touchβ¦ A spark.
He pulled his hand back, afraid of pain and electric shock.
But then he mustered the courage again. So what if it would hurt? He was not backing off now.
He closed his eyes and⦠made the first contact.
The charge passed through him, causing his hair to stand up. He nearly withdrew his hand instinctively, but he quickly noticed that the power didnβt harm him. The sensation was weird, but it was safe to touch. The dragon scales felt so unique under his fingertips. They were neither cold nor slick and slimy, nothing like he had imagined. Instead, the skin felt rough and pleasantly warm to the touch, as though the electric current ran beneath its surface.
The boyβs heart skipped with joy. He ran his fingers against the scales, careful not to disturb the dragon. The golden eye watched him very closely. Still, Kazuiβs lips curled into a smile.
For some reason he could already tell that the moment Ichimokuren had accepted the touch, the future had changed for the better.
The jewel in Kazuiβs left hand started to glow. The air around it swirled and thickened with the ancient magic. The boy closed his fingers around the artifact. He let the spell flow through him and into the dragon.
And as the cold blue flames began to consume the seals on the dragonβs horns, Kazui had no doubts anymore. He patted the beastβs head one last time. Giving him freedom was the only right choice.
βWhen Iβm free,β Ichimokuren warned him, βyou will have no power over me.β
The gentle smile remained unchanged on Kazuiβs face.
He had no power, sure. But he had something more valuable.
in which urahara kisuke and sosuke aizen run into an awkward problem after a fun night.
sfw/suggestive β’ 1k words β’ written for bleachweek2026 day 3 β’ 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.Β
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 Ururuβs drawings all over the tables or hung up on the wall, and Jintaβs 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.Β
His train of thought was finally interrupted by some noise, by the smooth baritone of a certain smug brown-haired man.
βWhy are you out of bed so early, shopkeeper? Have I been snoring in my sleep?β
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.Β
βAh, Aizen-san, youβve caught me,β Kisuke lamented playfully, βYou snore like a pig in your sleep.βΒ
Aizenβs 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 βQuiet, you,β as a retort to the pig remark.
A small pause passed as Aizen got himself situated, Kisukeβs arm coming to circle his waist.
βWhat brings you out of bed, your highness?β
βI could ask you the same question. And would you stop that smoking?β Aizenβs nose wrinkled delicately. βI couldn't care less if it kills you, but second-hand smoke is detrimental to my health, you know.β Kisuke grinned and puffed some smoke purposefully towards Aizenβs face, watching him writhe away. βWe all have our vices. Mine just so happens to be smoking rather than betraying Soul Society.β
βHilarious,β Aizen said dryly, fanning away the smoke. βHave you considered a career in comedy after your banishment?β
βNot really. But judging by your reaction, I say Iβd be good at it.βΒ
βYou would be begging for spare change after your shows.β 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 Aizenβs 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.Β
He wouldnβt trust Aizen with his life, and Aizen wouldnβt 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; heβd 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.Β
βAizen-sanβ¦β 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.Β
βWhy wonβt you call me Sosuke?β Aizen frowned slightly. βI call you Kisuke.β
βI never gave you permission to do that.β Kisuke countered, turning his head to stare at the Hueco Mundo moon.Β
Aizenβs 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. βI see,β he replied coolly, βso after all that weβve done, you still think we need permission to use each otherβs first names.β
βWhat have we done? Weβve only had sex, Aizen-san,β Kisuke quietly murmured, taking a puff from his pipe yet again.
βMultiple times! Does that not count for anything? Is having intercourse just casual to you?β
βYes!β
The silence around them was suffocating. Hueco Mundoβs black sky seemed more and more like a black hole now, sucking the passion that was present in Aizenβs bedroom moments ago out of both of them. βSoβ¦β Aizen said levelly, βI presume we determined that intercourse had different meanings when it came to our relationship.β
There is no relationship, Kisuke wanted to scream. You mean nothing to me.Β
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.Β
Instead, Kisuke chose his words carefully.Β
βI would say so.βΒ
Aizen wrapped his yukata around himself more tightly and turnt around. βWell, then. This conversation is over. You can open up the Garganta and leave my palace.β
For a moment, Kisuke debatedΒ whether to follow Aizen and try to explain his point of view, but then his mind supplied, βThatβs what a lover would do.βΒ
And that was the last thing he wanted to be to Sosuke Aizen.
β¦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.Β
His Captainβs hand is where it shouldnβt 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 Aizenβs 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 doesnβt. Because the touch isnβt 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.
βSince when?β Shinji asks without any explanation. He sounds almost casual, perhaps even teasing.
It creates a small ripple in Aizenβs unwavering confidence because he canβt be certain what his dear Captain is implying.
βSince when, what?β He tries to clarify the context, masking his unease at not predicting the answer. βCaptain?β
Hirako looks at him with that patronizing gaze, a glint of amusement dancing alongside fake pity. His palm is gripping Aizenβs buttock, cupping it through the fabric of his uniform.
βSince when did ya start simpinβ for me, Lieutenant?β
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. Thereβs 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 Shinjiβs favorite dish, the room temperature he prefers and the tune he tends to hum? Itβs all useful data stored in Aizenβs brain. He has a perfect recall, thatβs 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 Aizenβs inner walls until it stung. The pain lingered, swelling and hurting for hours. These little events shouldnβt bother him, and yet he dwelt on every single one.
Shinjiβs 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 isnβt 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 Aizenβs whole body.
Telling a lie now will ruin the moment. Telling the truth⦠Well, what is the truth?
He meets Shinjiβs eyes, smiling at him faintly. The answer is already forming on his tongue.
βSince the beginning,β he says, and his voice doesnβt 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 youβre 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 Hirakoβs adventurous hand. The one that is still resting on his buttcheek. Not rough. But deliberate. Like it was meant to stay there.
βSince the beginninβ, heh?β Shinjiβs laid-back tone is now tainted with a hint of understandable suspicion. Aizen catches it, but itβs not like he minds. They donβt require trust to engage in this little game of mutual exposure. βThatβs an awfully long time. Look at ya, ainβt ya the patient one.β
With a fluid motion, his Captain steps closer. And suddenly his shoulder is touching Aizenβs arm. The man leans in, his grinning face level with the side of Aizenβs neck. His hot breath brushes against the skin.
βWhat were you thinkinβ in that head of yours?β
Another one of those provoking questions. Aizen almost shivers; his Captainβs close proximity does strange things to him. It makes him want to act instead of being patient. Itβs dangerous because there will be no turning back.
Hirako must have sensed that temptation, after all, he is an observant man. Thatβs 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.
βCaptain, pleaseβ¦β he utters with feigned modesty. βYour behavior is inappropriate.β
ββCause what ya just confessed was certainly proper?β
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 Aizenβs 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.
βDoes it bother you, Captain?β he asks, lowering his voice to come across as genuinely worried.
βNot really,β Hirako replies smoothly with his usual carelessness. Then he actually chuckles. βIf anythinβ, I find it hilarious. Watchinβ how much it bothers you.β
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.
βShouldnβt it bother me?β he asks and then pauses, trying to fish for some kind of reaction. When he gets none, he simply continues. βMost captains would find my attention... inconvenient. I donβt want this revelation to affect our professional relationship.β
βLiar.β
Aizen falls silent. The blunt delivery reminds him of dissection. It cuts so swiftly through his layers and strikes exactly where his buzzing lives.
βYa want your lilβ confession to affect our dynamic,β Hirako states evenly and thereβs a cold precision to his mocking tone. βYa hope it will change how I see you. But SΕsukeβ¦ even if I felt generous enough to indulge your silly fantasy, it would change absolutely nothing. Dβya know why? Because youβre a liar. Just lyinβ to yourself now, instead of me.β
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. Aizenβs 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, heβs 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 Captainβs 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 doesnβt retreat, doesnβt 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 Shinjiβs golden hair. The subtle scent of camellia oil draws him further in. He canβt 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 Aizenβs hands are quicker. He wraps them around his Captainβs waist, trapping him in place.
βThen indulge me just this once,β he murmurs, his face a breath away from Shinjiβs heated cheek, ββ¦and I will take my time to show you how genuine I can be.β
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.
Shinjiβs 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.
Hirakoβs passivity contrasts with his apparent permission and it confuses Aizen, discouraging him. If avoidance is his Captainβs strategy, too bad, it will not stop Aizen from kissing him again.
He presses his lips against Shinjiβs, more decisive this time. Denying him reaction is a calculated move. Hirako truly is a cruel man. But Aizen isnβt 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 Shinjiβs 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 Aizenβs 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 canβt pretend not to bask in that anger, shimmering so vividly behind his Captainβs eyes.
βAre ya done?β Shinji asks sourly with an undertone of criticism. The animosity and tension tremble between them like a sore muscle after overstretching it.
Aizenβs thumb caresses his cheek in a measured gesture. Not yet, he wants to say with that touch alone.
βDo you hate me, Captain?β
The words slip past his lips, softer and quieter than initially intended. A small, fleeting smile graces Aizenβs face. His eyes are wide open, fiercely fixed on Shinjiβs.
βHate ya? Nah,β Hirako replies, dismissive and unperturbed as ever. βYa flatter yourself, SΕsuke. Ya donβt deserve my hate.β
This stirs an internal turmoil, not a buzzing, not a sting, but an avalanche of violent thoughts and emotions rolling through his mind. He doesnβt let them surface, of course, but his body freezes for a breath too long.
His Captainβs lips curve into a smirk.
βThatβs enough indulgence for one day, Lieutenant. Weβll get back to this some other time.β
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 doesnβt rush, instead he takes the time to analyze the events of this evening. Hirakoβs hand, Hirakoβs words, Hirakoβs 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 heβs been spotted. He leaps down from the roof and joins Aizenβs side.
βWorkinβ late again?β
The question is voiced lightly, as if the little snake believes he can trick Aizen with his false innocence.
βDo you need something, Gin?β
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.
βJust makinβ sure weβre still proceedinβ with theβ¦ plan tomorrow?β
βWhat made you think we should not?β
βYou,β the boy answers flatly with a lazy shrug. βStayinβ late in the office, alone with Captain Hirakoβ¦β
βThat changes absolutely nothing,β Aizen assures him. There is no doubt in him, only that awful buzzing. βDonβt make the wrong assumptions, Gin. I was simply saying my goodbye.β
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When the sword penetrated his chest, Aizen barely whimpered. He should have been perturbed, perhaps even fearful. Yet the physical pain didnβt concern him much. It was something else that did.
The shock of being run through by Ginβs treacherous blade didnβt come from the impact or from the sudden, though expected, betrayal. It came from the perplexing flood of emotions pouring from ShinsΕ itself as it cut his flesh. From a disturbing wave of sensations that filled Aizen as though he were an empty cup.
These alien feelings didnβt belong to him.
They belonged to Gin β his betrayer, his killer, his...
All at once, he was suddenly able to perceive Ginβs intentions, and the intensity of this experience took him by surprise. It was much more than Aizen had anticipated, deeper than anything he normally had to process. The profound resentment seeping from the sword was both cold and hot, bitter and sweet, raw and calculated at the same timeβ¦
It was a baffling clash between his meticulous mind and the overwhelming force of intrusive emotions. They were too complex for Aizen to neatly name them and categorize, too unstable to put a label on them and move on.
He had believed he understood Ginβs anger, but it must have been just a vague idea. He had known, of course, that the boy despised him dearly. However, knowing something and experiencing it firsthand turned out to be incompatible.
When he thought about it, he had tasted Ginβs hatred before. He had kissed it from those lying lips each time the two of them had mingled in a fit of desire. The ugly way Gin wanted him when they had indulged in bodily pleasures had made Aizen wonder where the contempt ended and the attraction began.
The killing intent had always been there β in Ginβs narrowed eyes, in his cruel touches. But Aizen would have lied if he had claimed he never enjoyed the beautiful brutality of their shameless acts.
So when ShinsΕ entered his ribcage, it felt almost familiar, as though Gin let something honest slip at the peak of his pleasure. And Aizen was taken aback by this slip simply because it was too open, too uncomfortable.
It violated their unspoken agreement to share their bodies and their paths, but never their truths. Now their long-term game had reached its climax, and Aizen realized how much was left unsaid. Not about the poorly disguised animosity, but about that unsettling thing that lay buried underneath. About the thing that shouldnβt have been there and yet it bled through the sharpness of the blade.
Aizen felt it inside himself. Incomprehensible. Defying all logic.
It was Ginβs childish hope of keeping Aizen to himself despite the burning desire to kill him.
As Gin pulled his sword free and the blood erupted from the wound, Aizen hissed in a jolt of pain. He was still very much alive, which meant Gin had disappointed him. The attempted murder was rushed and amateurish. And so it had failed.
Now it was Aizenβs turn to return the favor by cutting his lover down. But before he could do so, Ginβs deceitful fingers found their place on Aizenβs bleeding chest.
βYa should be glad,β the silver-haired boy said with a vicious glee. βYa get to die with a hole in yer heart. Isnβt that what ya always wanted?β
Aizen didnβt reply, sparing them the embarrassment of being sincere. However, they both knew Gin wasnβt talking purely about the Hollowfication. There had been a void all along where Aizenβs heart should have been. Would it change anything if he admitted that he had tried to fill it?
There had been times he nearly believed it had worked; times when Gin had asked exactly the right questions, followed by the quiet comfort of needing no answers. When βperhapsβ and βalmostβ had been hanging between them like raindrops on lashes, trembling with the knowledge of being fated to fall.
But in the end, it was never complete. And maybeβ¦ this was for the best. Had he trusted Gin, he would have regretted it now as these smiling lips whispered the word βBankai.β
There was a gaping hole, nothing more. Not in his heart, only in his chest.
By the time the moon had begun its descend the bottle was nearly empty. Two simple ceramic cups sat forgotten on the wooden tray, one of them still half-full, the other one knocked off. The expensive sake had spilled from it across the polished surface.
What a waste of perfectly good alcoholβ¦
Yet, no one seemed to care.
Hirakoβs wide, toothy smile was gone, his lips parted as he let out a quiet hiss. Both his wrists were pinned down to the tatami, firmly held in Captainβs Urahara larger, stronger hands.
Their lips were inches apart, glossy with kisses and sake. Shinjiβs lower lip was red and slightly swollen, Uraharaβs bite had left a little mark there. But even after the bite, Hirako didnβt quite try to push him away or scold him.
Urahara must have taken Shinjiβs submission as a permission to continue, that was why his other hand slipped with such confidence under the manβs black hakama. Hirakoβs legs parted, encouraging the touch. His lips parted even wider, as though he expected yet another kiss. But Urahara didnβt intend to oblige. He lowered his head, focusing on Shinjiβs throat. His teeth found the other manβs Adamβs apple. The bite tore a haunting gasp from Hirakoβs mouth.
The two Captains were getting reckless, and the scene appeared too intimate for the prying eyes.
Yet SΕsuke kept watching, absorbing every detail from the safety of his favorite BakudΕ β KyokkΕ.
It was a good thing he had followed his Captain tonight. Had he not, he would never have witnessed such a revealing display of vulnerability and instinct. The moment Shinji had caught Kisukeβs hand and sipped from his cup, Aizen had actually considered leaving the two to their little game. However, the discomfort of watching such obvious seduction got mixed with something darker that grew inside him, raised and finally resurfaced.
How dare his Captain take the gift from him and come to share it with Kisuke Urahara?
Aizen had selected that bottle of sake with far more precision than the occasion required, and yet his precious Captain hadnβt even considered inviting him to sample it. The sense of injustice, perhaps unreasonable, quietly continued to eat at Aizenβs mind. He stayed and watched the scene unfold. Just as he had predicted, the Captainsβ behavior quickly became deeply improper. It was escalating further with every kiss and bite.
The two hadnβt even moved deeper into the room, staying in front of the open backdoors that led to the inner garden. Hidden under the spell, Aizen stepped closer to the engawa β close enough to hear every whisper and catch every moan.
It annoyed him. The fact that these images and these sounds pricked at something raw and aching inside his own body. He kept watching, of course, he wouldnβt miss such an opportunity to see the two of his important enemies locked together in a fit of primal, animistic heat. However, he soon discovered with a painful certainty that he himself wasnβt fully immune to bodily urges. His fists clenched on their own as he observed his Captainβs lustful body squirming under Uraharaβs touch.
Why did it have to be Urahara? The only man who could possibly match Aizenβs own brilliance?
He blamed it on sake; the carefully chosen gift was supposed to grant him at least one cozy evening with his distrustful Captain. Instead, it was used against him in the most cruel way β introducing his rival into their private game.
A wave of something hot, something that Aizen couldnβt recognize right away, spread beneath his ribs like a sealing KidΕ. It sparked a dangerous thought: what if this was on purpose? What if his Captain had somehow deciphered his interest in Kisuke Uraharaβs research?
Was it even remotely probable that the two men had known he would be watching them tonight? Were they doing those things just to make him feel that way? This made no sense from a logical standpoint, Aizen understood that.
Still, deep down the unsettling sensation didnβt disappear. It thrived, whispering nonsense in the back of his head. He pressed his lips together as he watched Urahara stroking Hirako. His own body responded to that spicy image.
He didnβt know exactly which one of them he would gladly switch places with, if he only could. The urge to touch himself ran through his veins, and he had to suppress it before it took hold.
This devious sake always brought to the surface peopleβs worst impulses.
Aizen avoided drinking. Yet he felt drunk on his own unfulfilled desire.
Shinji hummed low in his throat, enjoying Kisukeβs attention. His head turned to one side, his eyes falling right at the spot where Aizen stood, hidden.
βHow long are ya planninβ to watch?β
It took Aizen a second to process the words, and another to evaluate his situation.
His breath caught in his chest as he stood frozen in place. How long⦠How long had his Captain known he was there?
Urahara paused his caresses as well, now staring at the exact spot right outside the room. It was hard to tell if he was surprised or not because he wore the same sly smile as before.
βWell, this is awkward,β the man said lightly, trying to make himself sound embarrassed, but his body language contradicted his statement. He seemed perfectly confident, and not ashamed in the slightest. βYou can come out now, Lieutenant Aizen,β he added in a lighthearted tone. βWe wonβt be mad.β
So it was a game after all, the one designed to mock him. Aizen was skilled at playing all sorts of mind games β that was the sort of challenge he never backed away from.
He released the spell, making himself be visible. Then he sank into a deep, respectful bow.
βCaptain Hirako, Captain Urahara,β he said quickly, faking nervousness. βPlease accept my sincere apologies for disturbing you. I was justβ¦β
βSave yer lies for someone who falls for them, SΕsuke,β his Captain interrupted. He sounded irritated but not half as dangerous as he usually did. His narrow eyes swept across Aizenβs body, lingering especially on his lower part. βI know exactly what ya were doinβ. If ya like watchinβ so muchβ¦ why donβtcha come closer. Bet Kisuke wouldnβt mind.β
Urahara only smiled at that β a smile that wasnβt innocent at all.
βShould I bring another cup?β
βNo need,β Hirako replied, not even waiting for Aizenβs decision. βMy holier-than-the-Soul-King lieutenant doesnβt drink,β he explained with a barely concealed disdain. βHe only pretends he does when he thinks Iβm watchinβ.β
His Captainβs gaze lingered obnoxiously long on the spot where Aizenβs hakama was pressing too tightly to the bulge underneath. Painfully aware of his arousal, or rather of how visible the evidence was, Aizen clasped his hands in front of himself. A gesture that might pass as modesty. The truth was, he experienced no shame β not in the usual sense. If anything, he felt mild irritation over the loss of control over his own body, and over the perception the others had of him.
He blinked twice, putting on the act of the good-lieutenant and trying his best to sell the innocent look. But inside he was buzzing with pure, undiluted thrill. It was very exciting because their offer was real. And he was going to take them up on it just to test how far this would go.
βCaptain, do you mean it?β he asked meekly, not moving an inch from his spot.
βI told ya to quit playinβ dumb,β Shinji huffed. His cheeks were visibly flushed either from frustration or the alcohol in his veins.
Urahara had released his wrists by now so Hirako lifted himself from the tatami, resting on his elbows. However, his swollen erection still rested in the other Captainβs hand. Aizen pretended not to stare but his Captain beckoned him with a tilt of his head.
βGet in here,β the man ordered. βAnd not another lie. Consider this yer lucky day.β
Without prolonging the hesitant act, Aizen slowly climbed up the engawa and entered the room. He sat down next to Shinjiβs head, on the opposite side of Kisuke Urahara.
Urahara didnβt acknowledge him with so much as a glance, his eyes stayed low β focused entirely on Shinjiβs body. This little detail pricked at Aizenβs pride, not strongly but enough to be registered as internally disrupting.
The Captain of the Twelve resumed his rhythm β a smug smile on his face, and a chilling sense of control in his every stroke. His steady hands made Hirakoβs back arch instantaneously. Aizen observed, absorbing the scene and learning as he watched.
His own fingers twitched involuntarily, driven by the impulse to touch his Captainβs head, his smooth hair, his flushed face. He subdued that instinct. It was too soon to engage β he would rather wait for the right moment, for the perfect opening.
βFeeling a bit adventurous, arenβt we, Hirako-san?β Urahara murmured, enjoying the otherβs responsiveness and frivolity. βSoβ¦ whatβs between the two of you?β he asked lightly, almost as an afterthought.
βNothing,β Aizen told him, perhaps a little too quickly to be considered genuine.
βMind yer own business, Kisuke,β Shinji for once actually agreed with him, his lips twisting in a sour grimace of displeasure.
βCurious way to put it.β Urahara grinned. βConsidering Iβm taking care of your business right now.β
Shinji didnβt smile at that, only clicked his tongue. βTsk. Very funnyβ¦ Now, do me a favor and use that clever mouth of yours for somethinβ other than tellinβ lame jokes.β
Hearing that request spoken so plainly made Aizenβs own erection twitch beneath the fabric. Even more so as Urahara lowered his head and stuck out his tongue for a tentative taste.
His hand twitched again, but he pressed it back down.
Urahara playfully teased his Captain, licking the tip as though he never intended to go any further. It caused Shinjiβs hand to snap down to the sandy-blonde hair in a desperate attempt to force the other to take him deeper.
The Captain of the Twelve didnβt indulge him, instead, he brushed his smiling lips against the reddened tip. It could be read as a gentle kiss. But it was delaying the pleasure, it was a display of who was really controlling the game.
A thought arrived, sudden and visceral, telling Aizen that he should have been in charge. He was surely better at this than Urahara. He could make Shinji moan, begging for more.
This time he let his hand move from his lap. Slowly, it reached toward his Captainβs face. His thumb brushed lightly against Hirakoβs lower lip β a touch as brief as a summer breeze.
Then he pressed harder; his thumb came to rest against the soft pink of Shinjiβs mouth. It forced those narrow lips apart. His Captain grunted, but didnβt stop Aizen, didnβt even flinch under the intrusion.
Aizen savored the sensation under his fingertip, feeling the softness and warmth of the lips that had told him to stay away so many times before. He waited patiently for Uraharaβs next move, and when he made it β finally taking Shinji deeper β only then Aizen pushed his thumb inside, entering the wet warmth of the mouth.
His dear, filthy Captain sucked on his finger greedily and kept letting out the most wanton sounds. After a few moments of repetitive motion, the game began to bore him, so Aizen decided to replace his thumb with his index and middle finger. The angle he used forced Shinjiβs mouth wide open. The drool pooled at the corners of Hirakoβs mouth. The sight of his Captain swallowing his fingers triggered a pleasant tingling between Aizenβs legs.
He pulled out his fingers, testing how sticky they had become; a string of saliva stretched between them like a spiderβs web. His eyes never left Hirakoβs as he brought his hand closer to his own face. Then he licked the saliva off his fingers.
A faint taste of sake spread across his tongue. He closed his eyes, just for a second, imagining it was his Captainβs mouth that he was tasting.
Shinjiβs lustful voice snapped him back to reality.
βHey, SΕsuke.β
The words came out raspy, and this unusual roughness in his Captainβs tone did strange things to Aizenβs self-control.
βYa look like youβre dyinβ to taste me,β the man said mockingly. But everything about this situation meant that it was absolutely no joke.
Sprawled across the tatami, with his long hair spilled around his head like a stain of gold, Shinji seemed vulnerable in the most tempting way.
βCome closer. I might let ya,β he baited.
It was enough for Aizen to dive right into this challenge.
Dipping his head low, he claimed his Captainβs lips. His tongue once again found the taste of sake.
Hirako moaned into their kiss, perhaps caught off guard by his possessive side that Aizen let slip into that action. Seconds had passed, but none of them wanted to break the contact. Neither one pulled away. Their tongues collided in a fierce exchange much like blades in a violent battle.
When they finally broke apart, Shinji looked like a mess, and Aizen felt his own face grow hot in an uncontrolled, ugly manner. He turned his gaze toward Urahara who seemed to take a break from pleasuring Hirako. Their eyes met for the first time tonight and Aizenβs excitement rapidly spiked.
Kisuke Urahara looked at him with his full attention, and the sheer force of this gaze sent chills down Aizenβs spine. Because unlike Hirakoβs, these eyes pinned him down, shimmering both with desire and fascination. They lacked the emotional fire that his dear Captain could provide. Instead, they offered something colder β something that Aizen recognized, as though he was staring at his own reflection.
It was effortless dominance and constant calculation barely concealed behind those gray irises.
βMy turn,β Urahara said slyly, his hand already reaching for the edge of Aizenβs collar.
His rough fingers curled against the soft fabric and pulled him in until their mouths crashed together in a forceful kiss. Uraharaβs tongue forced itself past Aizenβs lips, and SΕsuke was able to taste more than just sake this time. This timeβ¦ it was the flavor of Shinjiβs cock.
Without closing his eyes, he gave in to that kiss, letting Urahara set the pace and the angle. The warm, intoxicating sensation that must have felt like being drunk washed over his body from the inside.
The direction in which the events were heading, made him think that, indeed, it was his lucky day.
The only problem was, SΕsuke Aizen didnβt believe in luck.
So the reason was the sake β and the right man, at the right time, in the right place.
Ahhhh I canβt show the full comm but doesnβt Aizen sama look so delicious ππππ β°(*Β΄οΈΆ`*)β―β‘ art by @/shitake_san_ on twitter πππππ
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Honestly I've been wondering how shinji would react to almost an entire division that would smother and unconditionally, openly show their captain respect and affection?
I feel like it'd mess with him a bit
I think Shinji would immediately get veeery suspicious, he's a low-trust type of guy. And also he isn't openly very affectionate type, or even emotionally open, unless he is performing exaggerated friendliness like he does in Karakura High School.
What I mean is, he would narrow his eyes and think "what the hell they want from me" if all of a sudden the whole division drawn him with kindness. He'd assume this is fake and some sort of mind game. And with all the trauma he's been through, can you even blame him?
He might even get irritated by that, or pretend irritation just to get things to the neutral baseline. He does not trust 'nice' people. He trusts people like Hiyori who kicks you in the face, or bitchslap you with a flip-flop. Because these interactions are genuine. And too much kindness reads like a trap. Also, perhaps there is a subconscious sense of not being trustworthy enough himself to receive too much of warm feelings from the others.
This is just a theory, but given what his Bankai can do, I think there is some trust issue/guilt there under the surface in Shinji.
may as well repost an old favorite since the final cour is coming out now. i had too much fun with this piece to forget about it even 5 years later. bleach 4eva
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Slow strokes followed by soft exhales, all in a perfect rhythm. Each movements, every flick of his wrist is deliberate.
The crimson liquid following the tip of the brush is the only thing his eyes are focused on. This is the most relaxed he has ever been in years since⦠Since this person's arrival in his life, it's like a weight that has been pushed off his shoulders, and the best way to commemorate...
An art of writing, aligning the beauty of these lines and the zen philosophy of it. Concentrating on ones thoughts, on your very conscience, how refined. How beautifully constructed.
But this art is not for everyone, it takes practice, patience, precision and a lot of observation. He has those qualities. And by making great use of them he has took the chance to guide it, teach it to the students at the academy.
ι²εΒ
"The Kanji for evolution." He paused. "Or progress."
The tip of his brush finally left the ground, he lowered his head, his hair following the movement as it obscured his face. His glasses also sat at the very edge of his nose, he dragged the silence.
"Thank you, [NAME]."
After a moment he finally sat back straight, his eyes meeting yours.
"You contributed to this very concept, you have taught me a lesson. And it certainly was to my great benefit."
His breathing was steady and his gaze didn't leave yours, his expression unreadable.
"You were a beautiful distraction,
Sadly I lack interest in corpses."
