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11 July 2012 @ 05:58 am
Scheherazade [Urahara/Ururu]  
Title: Scheherazade
Pairing: Urahara/Ururu
Fandom: Bleach
Genre: Romance, implied underage, pseudo-father-daughter relationship
Rating: R
Word Count: 982

A/N: HEAVILY implied underage sex. Yes, I wrote this fanfic because I'm a bad person. 


Every night, he tells her a story.

A legend, a tragedy, romance, and adventure—she soaked them up. Greedy, she demands for more and more. (He could never deny her.)

She listens with rapt attention, all large, warm-starry eyes and the brightest of blushes prickling her skin. Ururu is young, sweet. And like all little girls (facing their fathers), she looks up at him adoringly.

Urahara smiles and kisses her head. Honeyed, she smells of nectarines freshly plucked. He thinks of snatching a taste, just this time. Ururu snuggles closer (in for the kill) and rests her cheek against his.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

She frowns. "Itchy."

He laughs.

Ururu, he discovers, doesn't like stubble.


He calls her a princess, because that's what she is.

Embarrassed, she pushes him away and swims out of reach. Urahara sighs (laments a familiar loss) and thinks of by-gone, halcyon days.

Behind the register, Tessai shoots him a suspicious glance. And Jinta glowers, equally gruesome (is out-connived).


When customers comment on his lovely daughter—oh, isn't she cute?—Urahara glows with pride (and cheerfully charges them two-fold).

Silent, Ururu lets the ladies coo and squawk over her, pets her hair, pinches her cheeks. Because later (she counts down the seconds) she will get even with him. Because she knew which buttons to poke, to tickle and stroke.

He thinks he is strong, but he always topples in forfeit. Yet—(she thinks hard)

—she can't quite remember who deposed who.

Only that he never fails to appear at their unsaid hour: prepared to read her another story.


One day, it becomes fatal.

Spontaneous, their chance-opportune (undisclosed) rituals slip awry. Soured, spun, evolved into something else. Entirely different, sorta subtle and pity-sure. Between the lines, once upon a time, his hand starts drifting down the nape of her neck, waist, and girlish thighs.


Devious, he plays with her hair, untying ribbons and running free darkish strands. She is stunned. But Ururu is a good girl (his little darling, surrogate daughter) and she responds as he intended. He has taught her well.

"Ah! U-ru-ru-chan, where did we leave off?"

"The princess was just about to be rescued…"

"So she was."

In the span of three page-turns, she's fallen asleep.

Fascinated, Urahara examines her wind-rubbed nose. Small and pert, it peaks from the center of her face like a single rosebud thriving in winter. He closes the book and kisses her goodnight.

Once on each cheek.

"A callous council mischief makes."

He can wait. There's always tomorrow night (and a thousand more).


Ururu grows up slowly. Tiny and exquisite, she easily wields the venomous charm of sincerity. Unlike Jinta, Ururu does not change much in height. From year to year, she remains stagnant, inside and out.



Out of the blue, Ichigo asks him how he came to employ Jinta and Ururu.

Grinning like an overfed housecat, Urahara whips out his fan and deftly smacks Ichigo on the head. For impertinence.

"Why do you want to know, Kurosaki-san?"

Pissed, Ichigo nurses the emerging bruise on his temple. For an old man living a hundred years in exile, that bastard hits hard.

"Nothing. Curiosity, I guess."

"Hmm, well, let's just say I happened to find them by accident. And we'll leave it at that."

Because some histories are best kept secret. More intriguing (delicious) that way.


When he hugs her, it is different than Jinta or Tessai or even Kon.

Urahara hugs with a ferocity that suffocates, draws her in, only to ensnare. But Ururu still lets him do it because she loves him—dear and most. She thinks he is like a father to her. Created her. So, it is only natural that she loves him.

(She doesn't catch the swift glint in his eye when he tucks her in at night.)


As a joke, he modeled them off Rukia and Renji. It had been an impulse of artistic liberation. And really it was meant to be a joke.

Only, no one—certainly not "the originals"—thought it funny. (Rukia nearly killed him when she found out.)


He tells her to be more animate when greeting customers, even tries to show her himself.

But Ururu always keeps her expression impassive, masked, and ready. It's like she's anticipating, on the edge, for some unknown threat. He gestures for her to come. She shies away (hides behind the shelf).

Silly girl.

He can see her clear as day. Determined, he cajoles her out.

"Come, Ururu. No more nonsense."

In the end, she obeys (he fashioned her as such). Gingerly, she climbs onto his lap and straddles him. Dainty, like balancing a snowflake on the edge of twin blades, she weaves her thin arms around his neck, overriding the flimsy fabrics.

"Tell me a story, Kisuke-san," she whispers, yawning.

"Are you tired already?" he teases.

Head drooping, imperceptible, she slumps against him.

Gently, Urahara carries her to the bed. He removes her shoes, tugging off her lace-frilled socks. Kisses her soft and magical, a sprinkle of fairy dust. And waits—dreadful, leaden and long—for her to wake. But she never does (he planned it so).

Safe, sealed away in a castle composed of pink clouds and flying carpets, she drifts off to sleep and dreams of white-haired princes.

In the morning, Ururu feels achy all over. Like something had stung her into a million pieces and then hastily glued the fragments back together. Except, the rearrangement is slightly off, disjointed.

Not quite right and sore.


"Thank you, Kisuke-san." She takes the cup of hot cocoa from him.

"Do you want another story?"

"Yes. A love story—about a princess."

He chuckles. "Of course."

Leaning over, he pulls her in.

Once upon a time…

(Deleted comment)
Y U no auto-translate?lye_tea on July 11th, 2012 10:17 am (UTC)
I really am awful. What's even more awful is that I'm surprised no one has previous wrote this. Heh.
(Deleted comment)
Y U no auto-translate?lye_tea on July 11th, 2012 10:24 am (UTC)

Maybe I'm not looking hard enough, but there is nothing at The Pit. This pairing needs more, dammit.
(Deleted comment)
Y U no auto-translate?lye_tea on July 11th, 2012 10:34 am (UTC)
That thing never has anything good other than yaoi. I swear, if I see another Grimmjow/Ichigo, I am going to stab someone.

Srsly. Bleach can be so prudish; it's ridiculous. You've got a zillion characters, no canon to screw with you, and yet you do nothing. WTF?
(Deleted comment)
Y U no auto-translate?lye_tea on July 11th, 2012 10:51 am (UTC)
Mayuri/Nemu seems like a better bet. It's just cos Ururu is such a minor character. Oh but so young, so much fun! I must say, I am enjoying myself on the kink meme. Shame I never caught onto it before.
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Y U no auto-translate?lye_tea on July 11th, 2012 11:13 pm (UTC)
Pfffttttt. There is nothing "fatherly" about Mayuri. To insist is insulting to his evil. Oh gawd, I want to see Urahara/Ururu juxtaposed with Mayuri/Nemu in the most sordid, fucked up way.

I never really liked crazily kinky fics but with Bleach...Iono. It calls to my sick, sick blood. Lol. Probably cos you can make anyone do anything with anyone else and it still seems legit!

Edited at 2012-07-11 11:48 pm (UTC)
(Deleted comment)
Y U no auto-translate?lye_tea on July 12th, 2012 12:36 am (UTC)
Perhaps the gods of fanfic will be in our favor.

My greatest fucked-up dream is Starrk/Lilynette/Gin in which Gin forces Starrk to watch as he screws her hard. Actually, I might do this one myself because it just has to be done, amirite? (C'mon, those Arrancar holes need to be put to good use.)
(Deleted comment)
Y U no auto-translate?lye_tea on July 12th, 2012 12:57 am (UTC)
Challenge accepted! But just for you you're such an instigator.
The Vixen of Argentumvixenofargentum on July 11th, 2012 11:07 am (UTC)
I love you.

And agree with Tomoe on all points.
Y U no auto-translate?lye_tea on July 11th, 2012 11:14 pm (UTC)
Thanks. :3