#bleach th0ts

[milky-fixx]

payback.

BLEACH | mayuri kurotsuchi x reader

rating: 18+ smut summary: you are mayuri’s newest fourth seat who enjoys testing the limits of his patience. little do you know, you’ve gotten deeper under his skin than you’re aware of. or: in which mayuri, bursting with sexual frustration, fucks himself in front of/with your gigai  tw/cw: 18+ only, afab reader, female pronouns, dubcon leaning towards noncon (highly dubious if gigais can consent), mouthfucking, masturbation, degradation, legit mayuri calls you only awful names lmfao, mayuri likes your mammaries, references to age gap (kind of??? i mean he’s old as shit and you’re younger but def an adult too), power dynamics, control issues, gigai... fucking... only slightly crack word count: 2k

my christmas present last year for @unohanadaydreams! she has given me permission to post here

—--

Mayuri Kurotsuchi prided himself on his ingenuity. He was the pioneer of some of Seireitei’s finest technological staples–the new Soul communicators, gigai that stretched and shaped to one’s reiatsu. Nevermind the fact that he had inherited his lab from a former conniving blonde taicho It was purely his own intellectual proclivities that had propelled Seireitei into the modern world, despite his forebearer’s accomplishments. He had created artificial life, had stretched the very limits of one’s imagination for what could be created.

But there was one thing that he did not create, one invention that served to only infuriate him whenever anyone and everyone around him reminded him of its existence.

“Oh? So you possess some of his junk, too?”

You looked up from the shiny, new–he sniffed distastefully–ineffectual plastic swill in your hands. Cheaply designed. Mass-produced. A knockoff of what true genius is.

The cellphone.

“Taicho! It’s not junk. It’s a modern method of communication. If you bothered to play around with it like one of your other little toys, I’m sure you’d like it–”

“Do not even speak to me about that man’s inferior creations!” Mayuri seethed.

He ground his teeth together, feeling the joints in his earpiece grind. Did he not make it clear his distaste for that man’s designs? Did you not even bother to read the training manual, which explicitly had a section about this kind of thing? How much more did he have to spell it out to his mindless, dim-witted subordinates that they were not to tamper with Urahara’s inventions?!

“Akon, you useless cretin, please inform (Y/N) of our policy about those asinine contraptions–”

Akon looked up from something in his hands. Oh. Oh no. Hellfire. Was that–was that truly—

Mayuri felt his temper rise once again.

“Oh, uh, sorry, taicho. (Y/N) sent me a funny meme and I just—”  Mayuri crossed his arms together, scowling. Akon quickly shoved his phone into the pocket of his hakama. “Of course, taicho. No phones allowed. We all know the policy.”

Mayuri whirled around, smacking the phone away from your hands. It landed on the floor with a sickening crack. You yelped, scrambling for it. A twisted smile curled on his lips. Heh. As he thought, such an inferior creation couldn’t even stand the mere force of physics–

“It’s a good thing Urahara threw in a screen protector for free!” you said gleefully, holding up the cracked phone screen. Mayuri noted with disgust that only the plastic surface broke, the glass screen behind it remarkably intact. He ignored the small kindle of interest in him at its sheer indestructibility.

He sneered. He absolutely hated that man.

–

 Mayuri, to his defense, did not think much of his particular detestation towards your adoration of his former taicho. He was after all, inundated with several comparisons of his accomplishments to Urahara’s. It would make any scientist ticked off.

But what did make him pause is the fact that whenever he thought of Urahara, the sound of your voice would grate his ears.

“Urahara-san is such a genius. Look at his newest invention, Kurotsuchi-taicho!”

“Wow, I wish I’d been around when he was Head of the Shinigami Research Institute.”

Mayuri had several hypotheses over his irrepressible annoyance towards your adoration of his former taicho. Neither of them more plausible than the others.

One, you were a new recruit, his new fourth seat. It could be a generational thing–he wanted to instill upon your idiotic, misguided mind the importance of his research. You had a startling lack of respect towards authority; your response to his threats to chain you to his lab room and pick apart your brain were followed merely by a waggle of your brows, a certain suggestive air.

“Promise that, taicho? I find men who want to pick apart my brain irresistible.”

He howled at you, flung every name in the book, asked what kind of uncultivated manner the Sixth Division had instilled you. No wonder they’d shipped you off to his division--the thought of Byakuya Kuchiki, Mr. Prim and Noble, putting up with your lib? Inconceivable. 

But still–perhaps he could mold you. You, his budding protege. Mayuri never took to the mentor role, despised most other peons, but you–

You.

Many times he had caught his stare lingering on the way your shihakusho stretched across your bosom, the smart glint of your glasses when you’d discovered something, the smooth curve to your palms. At first, he chalked it up to mere curiosity. Your back must’ve hurt with the sizable weight of your chest; glasses were an unfortunate defect; your hands were far too delicate to be those of a dedicated scientist–you must have hardly worked in the labs.

Naturally, he found himself thinking of how he could improve on you. Modifications–surely, you would let him.

But soon he found his thoughts shifted from those of improvement, to that of your body. Your breasts, pliant and soft, brushing past him as you moved to grasp a plasma sample. His usual urge to avoid all physical contact entwined with a strange kind of longing: to tear at your shihakusho to grasp your skin in its entirety.

Night after night he’d spent with himself in hand, stroking incessantly, your marvel over his achievements fresh in mind.

“Taicho, you’re a genius!”

“The way you optimized the reactors was incredible, taicho. Very impressive.”

Yes, you peon. Revel in his intellect, the things he could teach you.

How would you take to his seed, he wondered? Did you, a lowly lab assistant, even deserve his attention?

Much less his carnal desire to shut up your incessant questions with acts so depraved it made him even wonder if they were physically possible?

Urahara wouldn’t know how to handle a protege like you. It was better that you were in Mayuri’s hands, so that he could train you, mold you like clay beneath his palms.

He cums over his fist with a howl, gritting his teeth at the hot lava flowing through his digits. He scowls at the mess it leaves behind, thick remnants of his rapture dripping onto the ground.

Time to make Akon clean it up.

–

Urahara’s gigai. A fine creation. The fact that you left yours lying around uninhabited on a mission in the Human World though? Careless. He thought he’d taught you better.

Mayuri was on his own kind of reconnaissance, of course, collecting samples of reishi when he found it lying inside the bedroom of some human. He scowled, approaching your gigai. He nudged it with a foot before scowling and crouching down. Did it contain your likeness? Exactly so?

It was with scientific curiosity that he began a hands-on examination.

Surely Urahara could do better work, he thought. The gigai’s lips were far too thin, her pallor too sickly. Mayuri, with a specific kind of scientific detachment, groped her breast. Based on his measurements, she was slightly flatter. He scoffed. Mayuri would have made a more accurate replica, he thought, frowning as he continued to squeeze your breast.

He wanted to perform a test. Just how much was this gigai in the likeness of you?

He removed his cock from his trousers, with a dim kind of awareness that he was already half-hard. Hm. Perhaps he was not so unaffected by Kisuke’s creation as he assumed, he thought

A hiss escaped his mouth as he gripped his painted cock, pumping it several times. This was all your fault. If you had just been a docile thing, let him experiment on you like he asked; if you hadn’t been such a spitfire thing, calling into question him being out of date with things, perhaps he wouldn’t need to resort to such demeaning acts like this.

Yes, this was all your fault.

You were the reason his hand was flying over his cock like he was some kind of pubescent oaf, intent on thinking only with his mind and what was the next hole to fill. He hated you, hated the way you made him uncannily aware of the physicality of his own body, of what he could do to you–

He ground his teeth together hard, the joints in his ear popping, as his grip encircled the head of his cock. His pleasure felt near bursting, his other hand clutching the edge of the table.

In lieu of punishing your soul, due to the new “anti-sexual harassment” policies that that damned Shunsui instated, the wicked thought occured to him: he should punish your gigai like this. Yes. It was the perfect kind of revenge.

Mayuri pinched a muscle in the jaw of your gigai that had your jaw staying open. Good. He slowly eased his cock inside, hissing at the gummy feel of your mouth.

Yes, he grunted, as he set up a steady pace, pistoning his hips into your mouth. This suited you. Pliant, obedient, quiet. Letting him tarnish you. He felt his balls clench at the thought of you bowing before him.

“Mayuri-sama,” you would plead, with that same kind of spark in your eye. “Please–experiment with me as you’d like!”

He smacked your chest, reveling in the jiggle. Well. Perhaps Kisuke got one thing right. His hand was like a vice on the softness of your gigai’s tit, squeezing hard enough to certainly leave a mark. Good, he thought. That way some remnant of his carnal moment would be left on you.

You deserved to feel pain to the point of pleasure, just as you had inflicted on him.

He thrust the entirety of his dick into your gigai’s mouth, hissing when the head of his cock nudged the back of your throat.

“You asinine fledgling,” he grunted. “How dare you–captivate me so. I should have your head on a pike outside my division, you harlot.”

He moved his hips back, before thrust hard into the inside of your cheek.

“I abhor you,” Mayuri hissed, his hips bucking into your mouth almost automatically, chasing the tight warmth of your throat. “I d-detest your ilk. I–I should have you t-transferred from my division.”

“You–absolute–swine–agh.”

He came down your throat with a shudder, grimacing as he felt his seed ooze out from your mouth, saw it spill from between your gigai’s lips. He wiped it off with your sleeve, before tucking himself back into his pants.

With a prickling sense of accomplishment, he realized he had left a smidge of purple paint between your lips. Heh.

He took a picture with his own device, a much superior version of Kisuke’s cellphone.

For his reference. In case he decided to further experiment on recreating you.

—

“Well well well, to what do I owe the pleasure, miss?”

You snorted, throwing Urahara a lofty glance.

“You know why I’m here, Kisuke.”

He gripped the rim of his hat, pursing his lips. “Are your attempts to seduce the crazy scientist going well?” 

You grimaced, shaking your head.

“You know how he is... he’d sooner dissect my corpse than take me up on my offer for dinner.” 

“Nah?” Urahara hums thoughtfully. “Well then… why don’t you try this?” he said, tossing you a vial. “Makes even the most rational man lose it.”

–

After your mini-detour, you returned to your gigai, and smacked your lips together immediately once you noticed something was wrong. Just what was this taste in your mouth? Salty and bitter….

Not to mention the paint smeared on your lips. You would have to talk to Kisuke about the kind of shenanigans your gigai got up to….

[bobeni]

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[milky-fixx]

tw/cw: 18+, afab reader, chubby reader, just izuru being a massive fucking simp, body worship, overstimulation, mention of breeding

IZURU KIRA can’t help it. the world is harsh, cruel. he thought he could exist without kindness, without mercy—he’s steeled himself to the thought of it. all the world has done is prove him right, chew him up before spitting him back up, mangled and broken. but you—you’re so soft. so kind. and now that he’s had a taste of you, he can’t imagine going back to how he used to be.

he’s hopelessly, irrevocably infatuated with you.

he dreams of burying himself into you. sinking into the softness of your flesh. it’s not enough to have his thin hips pressed tight against the curve of your ass, to hear your wistful sighs of his name.

no. 

(it is almost enough to have his lips pressed against the very core of you, your thighs cradling his face. his tongue delving into your thick honey, his mouth murmuring hymns against your folds.)

izuru wants to spill himself deep inside of you, to have his seed take root. he wants to feel your walls twitching around his spent length, pulling him in, even as blinding pleasure turns to pain; turns into his balls throbbing, his thighs tensed, his face burrowing into your neck to muffle his groans.

could two bodies in the throes of ecstasy become one? izuru thinks that every time the two of you make love, he gets one step closer to knowing the answer. 

he palms at the curve of your breast, marveling at the softness. he grips the pouch of your stomach as he thrusts forward, anchoring himself. he’s all lean muscle, harsh angles. gauntness. the chunk missing from his chest a stark reminder of the horrors of his past, the gnawing emptiness within him.

but you’re a plush haven, a cloud he can sink into. his body molding against yours the last hope he can cling to in this world, the last good thing in his life.

if he didn’t know better, he’s certain that heaven would be nestled between your thighs, in your embrace.

these are the thoughts that occur to him, of course, as he’s buried in you once again. you call out his name, and izuru’s hips stutter. he trembles as he fills you with liquid heat, his confession comes out as a choked sob.

the utter tranquility that settles in afterwards is a welcome reprieve. he rests his weight on you, his eyes slipping shut. when you begin to fidget, izuru nudges his hips forward. you gasp sharply; still inside you, his cock twitches to life once more.

“stay.”

more a plea than command. the silent please belying his uncertainty at your reaction.

but with his lips ghosting the hollow of your neck, his large hands caressing your sides, how could you even think to refuse.