Ugh, completing this chapter turned out to be a near impossible quest. I finished it sometime in May, but the SATA drive on my laptop broke and I figured that I would have it fixed almost immediately... It's still broken, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't write the draft in my notebook, so everything was lost with my laptop. I couldn't quite remember everything that I typed, but I think that it still came out okay.
There are a handful of chapters left, and I'm making it my personal goal to have them finished before the end of summer, so please don't give up on me.^_^
Thank you so much for sticking with me. You guys are phenomenal. xoxo
Ichigo visibly deflated as he watched his livid boyfriend stomp out of the room. He sighed dejectedly and ran a hand through his unruly hair when he continued to hear the angry steps of the Arrancar through the thick wooden doors. The teen tried to straighten his ruffled appearance, and failing to do so, stared longingly after the door, debating whether to blow this whole thing off, find his boyfriend, and hopefully have a heavy cuddling session in between the sheets, filled with kisses and apologies. Pulling his hair in mild frustration, Ichigo spared his host an inquiring glance, then moved past the man towards the dining room, once he had been pointed in the correct direction.
Aizen drew amusement from the awkward scene, biting back a laugh at a situation that most would deem uncomfortable. With his smirk (which Ichigo was coming to realise was permanently etched onto his face) in place, he sauntered in after the teen, fingers unnecessarily brushing Ichigo's shoulder as he passed him and sat directly opposite him. Despite not sitting at the head of the table, Aizen still managed to look as regal and in command as he always did.
Ichigo could feel the man's piercing gaze boring into him, and he stumbled at how the distance between them shrank when his eyes clashed with bottomless brown. Clearing his throat to stave off the unexplainable tension that had suddenly filled the air, he quickly grabbed a pitcher of orange juice and poured himself a generous amount, before chugging it all down.
The older man couldn't contain his amusement any longer, and chuckled at the teen's adorable antics. At the Vizard's inability to hold his gaze, Aizen decided to put him out of his misery.
"How did you sleep, Ichigo?"
The man's rich baritone shocked the carrot-head out of his deliriousness. He swallowed nervously and audibly, and finally met those piercing orbs.
Ichigo was powerless to prevent the flush that spread across his face, burning hot from his neck to the tip of his ears.
"Very well, thank you. I'm just really hungry." Was it just him or was everything feeling a little awkward? He shook his head in complete disbelief at how he was acting and pointed almost impatiently at his grumbling stomach. " So...Breakfast?"
As if on cue, some of Aizen's servants came into the room with silver platters adorning a wide assortment of food. To protect himself from any lingering awkwardness, the teen dug into the meal with gusto. Later, he would wonder if it was really bacon that he was shovelling into his mouth.
"So, how is everything going between yourself and Grimmjow?" Aizen sounded nonchalant, as if he was asking out of mere politeness, but the passion burning behind his sparkling chocolate irises told a different story. The teen put down his utensils and really looked at his host. There was something suspicious about the way Aizen kept smirking at him, but he couldn't quite place his fingers on it.
Chastising himself for being so distrustful, he reasoned that there'd be no harm in answering such a simple question.
"They're going great. He saved me."
"Now now, Ichigo, he wouldn't have even been able to get into Seireitei without my help." Aizen's visage visibly darkened. "You can't just dismiss the efforts of everyone involved."
Ichigo cleared his throat.
"I didn't mean then, but-uh, that's not the point... Thank you for helping me in Seireitei, Aizen."
The sincerity in his voice seemed to at least pacify whatever sinister plots were lurking in the shadows of the older Shinigami's eyes.
"Have you and Grimmjow mated yet?" There went the (probably) bacon. Ichigo coughed and sputtered. He stared with wide eyes at Aizen; unnerve growing at the ease with which the man prodded at his personal life.
"Uh, I don't think that it's any of your business." He was proud of the fact that he managed to keep his voice steady. His heart was beating erratically beneath his ribcage and he forced himself to swallow another mouthful of orange juice.
"So, that's a yes then." His tone was no longer inquiring. It held the certainty of a man who had just confirmed some mystery that he had always been privy to.
Before Ichigo could tell Aizen where he could shove his probing, the man pressed on. "Do you think that he could make you happy? Is he powerful enough to stand by your side, always? Have you ever thought of broadening the scope of your love life by considering different suitors?" His voice was eerily calm while his eyes penetrated Ichigo's soul. This was getting uncomfortable very quickly.
"No. I mean, I don't want anyone else. I-I... Grimmjow, he's the –" Ichigo stumbled over his words, failing to properly articulate the emotions swirling inside of him. He believed that he could love the sexta Espada, more than he would ever love anyone or anything ever again. He just wasn't sure if he was ready to make himself that vulnerable again. The sting of Renji's betrayal still resonated within his heart, and though he'd opened up to Grimmjow, he didn't know if he would be capable of surrendering himself completely to the other. The only thing that he was certain of was that he wasn't ready right now.
As irony would have it, Aizen's words ejected him from the sombre place that his emotions were beginning to take root.
"I apologise for getting ahead of myself. It's clear that you would be lost without him there to guide you out of the darkness of your heart."
Aizen picked his words carefully; he wanted to see Ichigo's reaction to the insinuation of that simple sentence. He knew how prideful the young Vizard was prone to be and he was therefore prepared for an onslaught of denial; however, to his surprise and annoyance, the teen just nodded his head, and went back to eating his bacon - whatever the crispy meat actually was.
Actually, it was probably better if he remained in blissful ignorance.
:: ::
For all of Grimmjow's worrying, the meal was an entirely anticlimactic affair. With exception of Aizen's inappropriate comments about Ichigo's relationship with his sexta Espada, the carrot-head ate his food in relative silence, and pretended not to watch the older Shinigami watching him. With his hunger satisfactorily sated, the teen dropped his utensils with an almost inaudible clang. Sighing loudly from contentment, the young Vizard all but forgot the previous tension that had steadily acclimated in the room, and grinned sheepishly at his host.
"Breakfast was awesome, Aizen-sama. Thank you."
"Aizen-sama?" The other returned with a smirk.
Ichigo blushed scarlet at the uncharacteristic levels of respect that he was showing to this man (whom he hardly knew).
Grumbling in disdain, he muttered a, "Was just trying to be polite," under his breath.
His reply was another knowing smirk from his superior.
As another pregnant pause stretched between the two occupants of the room, Ichigo swallowed audibly, opening his mouth and shutting it as he internally debated which way to approach the conversation that was hovering uneasily over them. He decided to bite the bullet and dive in headfirst. His blunt arrogance had, so far, not steered him wrong.
"Why did you invite me for breakfast, Aizen?"
A look of shock overcame Sosuke's face, as if he hadn't expected the young man to be as daring and bold as he was. Forgetting the fact that it was his reckless bravery – stupidity, really – that drew the teen to him in the first place. The feeling only lasted a second, the smirk stretching back into its proper place.
"I simply enjoy your company, Ichigo. We have yet to have a civil conversation under desirable circumstances, and I thought it wise to approach you now before your time is taken up by outside factors."
Ichigo looked sceptical, but the figured that he had nothing to lose. He'd play along with Aizen's little game until he discovered what the older male wanted from him.
"So, what would you like to discuss?"
"Your interests, Ichigo."
The reply caught the teen off guard and he stared at the man for several heartbeats, waiting for him to elaborate. When he realised that he shouldn't bother holding his breath, he finally stuttered out a curious, "My interests?"
And out went his previously acquired confidence. Thinking about it, he didn't feel nearly as alert as he did an hour ago. His limbs felt sluggish and he slumped a little further in his seat. He probably just needed a catnap; after all, he'd eaten enough to feed a small army.
Looking at the lethargic teen, Aizen's amusement returned full force. He immensely enjoyed the feeling of being in control – enjoyed making others think that he knew things that he had no knowledge off. The mind was an impressionable thing and Aizen had made people believe he had as much power as they believed him to. As a result of experimentations and strategically placed battles, Aizen's reputation had come to surpass the man. No one had come to this conclusion, so he would continue to play the role of the enigmatic and undefeatable leader.
The time would soon come when he would literally become the living legend. Until then, he would bide his time and proceed with his plans.
"Yes, Kurosaki-san," He began as he vacated his seat, circling the table until he came to sit besides the teen. He shifted the chair impossibly closer, so much so, that they were practically sharing the same air. "What is it that you want, Ichigo?"
The hand crawling into his lap did not go unnoticed by the teen. He squeaked, sprung out of his position on the suddenly uncomfortable chair, and grabbed his previously empty glass. He glanced between the pitcher of juice and the mysterious man smirking up at him. He hesitantly reached for the former, pouring himself another glass full, chugging, and trying to speak at the same time.
His plan worked about as well as he thought it would, which was, not at all. He ended up with juice all over his shirt and indiscernible words spewing out of his mouth.
Aizen laughed; the rich timbre of his voice shooting straight to Ichigo's groin. Dread and warmth settled in the pit of his stomach and he looked suspiciously at his drink. He'd been feeling weird since he'd had his first sip, but squashing the paranoia, and going against his better judgement, he sagged back into his chair, noting with faint disdain that Aizen had leaned even closer than he initially was.
"Do I make you nervous, Ichigo, are you uncomfortable?" He breathed into Ichigo's ear, the teeny hairs on the teen's neck standing erect as a flush enveloped his entire body. A cold sweat broke out on his skin, arms burning hot where the older man gripped him.
He sent a subtle glance at the doors, trying to calculate the quickest route out of the room. He missed subtlety by a mile, and Aizen's smirk only widened when he followed the sluggish teen's line of vision.
"You're sweating an awful lot there, Ichi-chan. You look a little feverish, too."
"What did you put in my drink, Aizen?"
The man played innocent.
"There was nothing in your drink, pet, I would never –"
"Bull shit. What the fuck did you put in my drink, Aizen?" His vision was getting fuzzy around the edges, and he was finding it really hard to sit upright, but he would not let this sick bastard get the pleasure of drugging him (for what purpose, Ichigo lacked the brain capacity in his current state to figure it out).
"If you would, please, let me finish." The Shinigami's voice dripped with saccharine sweetness. "I would never corrupt a person's drink. The difference in taste would be too easy to identify; however, your food was not adverse to a few drugs that I've been working on." All semblance of innocence disappeared, and ah, there was the conniving, sinister Aizen that Ichigo had gotten to know and despise.
Despite the revelation, he didn't feel as angry as he wanted to. In fact, minus the mild arousal, he did not feel anything at all. Ichigo sagged back into his seat, allowing his head to fall heavily onto the smooth table. He waved in and out of consciousness, fighting off delirium, but soon realised that he was fighting a losing battle.
As his vision faded to black and he reluctantly accepted oblivion, Ichigo saw Aizen's smirking face peering lecherously down at him. His mouth was moving, but he was unable to make out the words.
His last coherent thought was of Grimmjow, hoping that his protective boyfriend would get paranoid enough to come and check up on him.
When he came to, bright lights assaulting his eyes, Ichigo had no recollection of what had happened. One moment, he was asking his host why he had been invited to breakfast and the next...nothing.
Blinking rapidly to get accustomed to the (on-apparently-normal-setting) lighting, Ichigo realised that he was in Urahara's room, if the striped hat resting idly on the bedside table was any indication to the room's owner.
Sitting up proved to be a disastrously terribly idea and the teen groaned in pain, clenching his eyes shut to prevent his swimming vision from disorienting him further.
What the hell had happened to him? Why was he in Urahara's room? How did he get here?
"Take it easy, Kurosaki-san."
Speaking of the devil (or angel, depending on whose perspective), Kisuke's soothing voice caused the young Vizard to startle and jerk around, getting himself impossibly tangled in the green sheets.
He meant to ask what he was doing in the shopkeeper's room, how he had gotten there, but he ended up having to settle for an unintelligible, "Uhgh-guhr..." and a frustrated sigh. His tongue just felt so impossibly heavy, like it was made of lead and then weighted down with additional slabs of stone.
"Don't try to speak, Kurosaki-san, I'll explain the series of events that lead to this undesirable outcome as best as I can." Urahara's voice was calm and soothing and Ichigo greedily latched onto the comfort that the man's presence provided.
He trusted Urahara with his life; the man had been his mentor, given him advice, protected his friends and family when he couldn't do it himself, saved his life, and all the while expecting nothing in return. He once again thanked the shopkeeper for being the genius that he was and knowing what Ichigo needed without being asked.
"Wait, before we start, could you please call for Grimmjow?" is what he would have liked to say, instead, Kisuke received a garbled, "Gri-im-j-jow..."
And Kisuke, bless his heart, just knew. He always knew.
"Ah, the love of your life?" The shopkeeper smirked – a different upturn of lips than the one usually plastered onto Aizen's face, and Ichigo had to remind himself that he felt safe here – as the teen sputtered and blushed ten different shades of scarlet.
"He didn't leave your side for the first few days. As infuriatingly endearing as his loyalty is, the smell of blood and perspiration is bound to become a biochemical hazard, so I have to periodically force him out of the room to feed and clean himself." Kisuke sighed when the teen grumbled some more unintelligible slurs. "He should be back soon. He was the one to find you in underground chambers. It was a..." Urahara clicked his tongue as he thought of the appropriate words to describe the ordeal that he had walked in on. He settled on, "messy spectacle".
"The bastard had it coming."
At the familiar voice, Ichigo's head whipped around, neck creaking with a sickening pop. The shopkeeper rubbed his neck soothingly, sympathising with the teen's (quite possibly strained) neck.
In three long strides, Grimmjow was at his boyfriend's side, pressing his lips anxiously against his Ichi-berry's. Ichigo kissed back fervently, his body relaxing as he melted into the embrace of the man that he could – now, yes, mentally – acknowledge as the person he loved most.
The Arrancar reluctantly pulled away, grabbed a tall glass of water from the bedside table, and pressed it against Ichigo's lips, watching with satisfaction as the teen drank eagerly from it.
It worked wonders; the water soothed the scratches in his throat, while it also cleared the fog protecting his mind from the reality of the past three weeks.
When he tried to sit up this time, he was pleased to notice that he was successful. And without too many casualties to his body, too; however, the wince that shot up his spine didn't go unnoticed by the room's two other occupants. Grimmjow's entire visage darkened, his teeth baring their unbelievably sharp fangs, and his eyes turned into the most dangerously beautiful shade of sapphire Ichigo had ever seen. Urahara didn't look much better; his grey eyes were suddenly darker than onyx and twice as hard. His hands twitched restlessly around Benihime's hilt.
The mood around the room changed, the temperature dropped significantly as darkness and rage encompassed its inhabitants. Ichigo swallowed once before asking the dreaded questions.
"What happened after breakfast? Why am I here and where exactly is here?" When no answers were forthcoming, he pressed on. "What do you mean the first few days? How long was I out?" His voice still wasn't as strong as he would've liked, but the words weren't slurred and scratchy, so he took it as a win - small victories and what not.
Those were a lot of questions from the bedridden teen and he expected them to be able to answer at least one of them.
The silence that veiled the room was deafening, and each second that his interrogatives went unanswered, Ichigo slipped further into his mind and consequently, into mania. His breathing quickened until he was shaking on the big bed, body wracked with uncontrollable tremors that quaked his entire being and threatened to dislodge his still beating heart to save itself from the pain that was inevitable going to consume it.
Arms were at his sides then, his arms and legs, trying to restrain him from ripping apart his newly wrapped bandages. Bandages... Where the hell had they come from? His entire body was covered in the white fabric.
In that terrifying moment, an onslaught of images assaulted his brain with abandon, and Ichigo screamed. A horse and broken sound tore its way out of his chest, pitiful in its volume and thrice as wretched in its agony.
He screamed and screamed.
It was the sound of a wounded animal that resonated along the walls of Las Noches that ominous night.
He did not want to relive the moments that he was crushed and taken apart piece by little piece.
"Ishida?"
The Quincy turned to face one of the people who had betrayed his best friend. He glanced at the redhead, eyeing him up and down, before dismissing him altogether and continuing his short walk to the training barracks. He had a few choice words for Renji, but he refused to let himself lose sight of his mission by getting distracted by crushing Renji's head underneath his boot.
"Oi, Ishida! Wait up, man, I just want to talk to you." Renji would not be deterred by the murderous intent leaking out of his ex friend. He was determined to find out about Ichigo and Hueco Mundo (especially how to get there without the ability to open a garganta) as he could. Since the Quincy revealed themselves to the pitiful remains of Seireitei, Zambimaru's wielder had been able to smell a rat; a sinister plot that had surrounded them. It was thicker than the stench of death, which after all this time continued to permeate the air.
Distracted by his inner musings, Renji failed to notice the young Quincy prodigy slip away. He huffed angrily and pursued the teen once more.
"Ishida, what the fuck is your problem? I just want to talk! It's about Ichigo and the way-"
The mention of Ichigo's name had the Quincy snapping to attention, and the glare he sent towards his ex friend had the Shinigami stumbling over himself. The barely contained wrath of vengeance invading those icy orbs revealed nothing short of the promise of death.
"What the fuck is my problem, Abarai? You want to talk about my fucking problems when your traitorous actions almost got him killed, you fucking asshole?" At Ishida's outburst, Renji flinched away. He took an additional step backwards, unused to hearing the younger man curse or even display signs of losing his temper.
Before he knew what was happening, Ishida was in his face, fire in eyes and venom on his tongue.
"Don't ever talk to me about Ichigo. Don't mention his name. You don't deserve his forgiveness and you sure as hell don't deserve him. You never did."
His biting words got the hot-headed redhead to react. Anger coiled in his stomach, churning in its intensity until he was gripping Ishida by his neck and pressing him against the closest wall. He embraced the sensation; let it fill up his being because the alternative was unthinkable. Teeth bared and voice dangerously low, he leaned heavily into Ishida and whispered in the most threatening tone of voice that he was able to muster, "Don't fucking tell me who and what I don't deserve. I know that I don't deserve Ichigo, but don't fucking talk to me like you know the inner workings of our relationship. He wasn't entirely innocent either. You can't just hate me because of one mistake." He laughed hollowly then, breath ghosting over the shell of the Quincy's ear as he continued in a void whisper. "Or do you hate me because I ruined every chance you had to fuck him? He would have let you, you know? He was always watching you, seeking your company at Urahara's shop. He rarely had time for me."
Renji smirked in satisfaction as he watched Uryuu's eyes widen in shock; however, the gleeful expression didn't last; promptly erased by pain when Ishida punched him across the face and then confusion when the teen started laughing. It was bright and carefree, and nothing like what a situation like the one he was in warranted.
He was gasping for breath, gulping in lungful after lungful of air when he finally managed to calm himself. He couldn't believe the stupidity of this man, but when he thought objectively about it, Renji's idiocy and desperation was almost sad. His laughter died as abruptly as it started, a look of seriousness overtaking his face once more. Renji would later swear that he saw storm clouds flashing behind the other's steely orbs when he stepped towards him.
"First of all, don't ever touch me with your filthy mutt hands, Abarai." Renji took another step back, and the Quincy matched it with a forwards one.
"You want to talk to me about lack of knowledge about two people's relationship? Who did you think Ichigo came to after every argument and fight between the two of you? After you falsely accused him of sleeping with every guy who so much as smiled him? Do you think me blind, huh, Abarai? Do you think that I didn't notice when the dynamics of your relationship with my best friend shifted when you stopped glancing at him with all the adoration he deserves in favour of eye-fucking that stupid whore, Rukia?" Ishida smirked knowingly at him before adding a rhetorical, "Your relationship didn't play out successfully, did it?"
He took the redhead's silence for what it was - the failure of a doomed relationship and the demise of a promising one. Before the redhead could start justifying his inexcusable actions, Ishida soldiered on, defending his friend's honour to a man that had not earned it.
"If your head wasn't so far up Rukia's ass, you would have noticed the moment Ichigo cut himself from you and her emotionally, physically detached his person from the two people he cared the most about because he just knew that there was something going on behind his back." When Renji tried to speak once more, Ishida silenced him with a sharp jerk of his head. "If you hadn't neglected your duties as a boyfriend, you would know that I love him, not as a lover, but as a brother, and nothing more. You should have trusted him to make the right decision even if I had confused my feelings for him with anything other than what they are – affections for a sibling. He loved you so much, and if you had known that all he wanted was your loyalty, maybe you wouldn't have allowed yourself to be so easily seduced by that mewling quim. You can threaten and accuse me all you like, Abarai, but you know, as well as I do, that you have no one but yourself to blame for losing the best thing in your life. You'll never get him back; I'll personally see to it if I have to. He's happy now, happier than he has been in a long time, and if you ever did love him, like you claim to do, you will let him be."
Ishida levelled his ex friend with a stare. "If by some miracle, he forgives you and accepts your presence back in his life, remember that I'll always be by his side." His voice dropped; tone so even that it could be used as a level. "I won't hesitate to kill you if you ever bring him harm."
The Quincy's speech came to a chilling conclusion as he stepped around the shocked Shinigami. Weary and defeated brown eyes followed the white clad figure as he stalked away.
"Have a nice day, Abarai."
Renji failed to conjure up the energy to respond.
It was a few minutes before he mustered the will to walk away. Sulking all the way to his home, he crawled into bed, fully clothed, and sobbed into his sheets.
Ishida was right when he told him that he did not deserve Ichigo; he never did. In a sick way, maybe that was why he had sabotaged the best relationship that he had ever had because he knew that one day, his precious Ichi would wake up and realise the particular brand of scum that Renji was made of. The kind that lied and deceived both you and himself into thinking that he was a decent individual.
As he felt unconsciousness claim him, he vowed to spend the rest of his life protecting the person that he loved most. Things would never go to what they once were, but he would die before he let anyone else hurt his Ichigo the same way he had.
Grimmjow had better watch out because Renji was going to be the bane of his existence.
First and foremost, he would have to become stronger.
With a newly resolved mind, and an equally burdened heart, he finally let sleep claim him.
To Rukia's dismay, Ishida flourished. In the month that he had trained under the notorious generals of Juhabach's forces, he had come out on top. He even bested the captain in three out of the five battles their leader had orchestrated in order to test Ishida's strength.
She glanced towards Juhabach, frowning at the smile of admiration – directed only at Ishida – that was worn proudly on his face. The Quincy Leader had taken to letting him spar with the Shinigami (whether to test his boundaries, limits, or killing abilities, Rukia wasn't sure) and they were clearly outmatched. Ishida cut them all down without a thought of hesitation. She was beginning to believe that his supposed hatred for Shinigamis wasn't entirely fabricated.
She gripped Juhabach's arm, feeling it tense underneath hers as Ishida sent an innumerable amount of powerful arrows towards the group of unknown Shinigami he had managed to trap within a wall of crackling electrifying reishi, smirking in satisfaction as each pointy arrowhead struck its mark, true.
She turned away when she saw him drive his sword into Soifon's heart, blood splattering onto his face.
"This is getting boring to watch." It really wasn't, but Rukia was sick and tired of being bested by Ichigo and his pitiful friends. Even Renji was picking up the fractions of his broken self and piecing the fragments back together into a semblance of a functioning soul.
Instead of training, she chose to plot and scheme her way to the top, so she seethed as her abilities waned and deteriorated, while everyone else surpassed her with tremendous growth.
Doing the only thing she knew how, she crawled into Juhabach's lap from her perch on the floor. She slithered her hand daringly into his jacket to stroke his sides.
"Why don't we leave here?" Her hand moved down to his hips as she leaned further into his space, voice dropping a few octaves to what she hoped sounded sultry and seductive as she whispered, "There are way more fun things to be doing."
Juhabach's shining silver eyes peered down at her, barely controlled chaos burning beneath their fiery depths as he quirked a brow at her antics.
"Oh, there's more fun to be had than watching Uryuu-kun dismember a division of self-righteous Shinigami?"
She seethed silently, prepared to slide away from him when she was caught off guard by a strong arm encircling her narrow waist, pulling her body flush against the older man's much larger stature.
"Tell me something, Rukia-chan, do your higher-ups even tell you maggots what you are fighting for before they send you off to battle, or do they just prep you for slaughter?" His voice was thick with mockery and poorly concealed disdain, and she felt scorned as she failed to loosen the vice-like grip he had on her.
His hands slid underneath her hakama. Rukia panicked. She did not mind being his bed mate, not anymore. In fact, she had grown to love the immense pain that came with the pleasure of fucking him, but not here. Not out here in the open, where her former friends and comrades could see the monster that she had become.
She saw it in that moment, too. She had become a hideous puppet to be used because her puppeteer did not have the person that he wanted. Juhabach would not give her any of the things he had promised. Thinking about it rationally, he had promised her absolutely nothing. She had allowed herself to be used and she naively assumed that she would be repaid for her efforts.
Dread hit her as her shihakusho was ripped from her body, torn to shreds by invisible hands, leaving her bare and naked as the day she was born – a couple of faded lifetimes away now. Would her younger self be disappointed if she saw the woman that she had become?
Undoubtedly.
Rukia wished that she had the sense of presence to scream and cry with shame as Juhabach thrust into her. She was overcome with pleasure, passionately bouncing up and down on the man's large cock, writhing on his lap as the whole of Seireitei watched her.
She did love him, after all. Nothing had changed except for her end goal. If she killed Ichigo, she would find a way to make Juhabach forgive her and she knew that with time, he would come to love her. Scream her name when he would empty his seed inside her. She would be by his side when he took over the world, stringing his army of puppets along the battle field as his opponents fell lifelessly at his feet. Every King needed a Queen, right, and she would make sure that Juhabach's Queen would be no one but her.
For now, she would be content crying out from pleasure as he fucked her while the entire world watched on.
Please don't hate me for what happened with Ichigo. It was the most difficult section to write, but I promise that all will be revealed next chapter. ^_^
As always, please don't be shy with your comments. I love writing (even if it is just a hobby) and I love to receive criticisms that will help me improve on my writing style. ^_^
Have any of you guessed that English is my second language, yet? I'm Dutch, but I lived in England a few years ago and now I now reside in America, so English is steadily becoming my strongest language, but I'm still a very long way from mastering it. So, your critiques would be very helpful.
Thank you all for reading
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