Disclaimer: This is a Bleach fanfiction. I do not own Bleach nor the characters.
Summary: What will kill us first – DEATH or LOVE? My dangerous profession, or this unexpected liaison? {UlquiHime AU} > [Oneshot]
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Deadliest
I'd known death since I was twelve. I remember squatting by the graves of my family, staring at the myriad of roses prostrated there by my distant relatives. I remember being fascinated by these flowers, which had been to me a perfect embodiment of my life – love and death.
Once they loved each other very much, my parents. Both were alcoholics that turned abusive once I became too difficult to take care of. My brother, dear beloved Sora, took me away once he became of legal age. He loved me with all his heart, but this love, it could force a man to do dangerous things. I never knew where he acquired the money for our daily living. His secrets died with him when a mobster staged his car accident on my twelfth birthday.
'Death does not forget the sinful', my mentor advised the first day we met. This man in a brown knitted suit jacket picked a rose for me from Sora's grave as he said this.
Ever since I was twelve, I've been counting on its petals. Love, death – what will be the one to kill me? It was an unforgettable journey once I accepted the man's offer. I chose a profession you would find unbelievable if I told you.
But why should I when I am, in great suspense, waiting for the last petal to fall?
I. Love
I was lost when I first met him. It was definitely not my first time out on the streets, but I was in a foreign location. He was an average-looking man, albeit the only man I could find on that strange, misty night.
"Orihime," I had introduced, holding a stab wound he'd given to my shoulder seconds ago.
"Murcielago," he returned placidly.
Even with his charming and grievously beautiful face, I never thought otherwise. That day and many days afterwards, I was merely a new object of curiosity to him. Could those eerie, viridian eyes one day be the death of me?
II. Death
"I never knew you work out, Fusumi-chan!"
After that encounter, I was taking tea with Chizuru Honsho at her small apartment. Despite the hour, it was warmly lit inside and felt extremely homey. I had known Miss Honsho for awhile and we often discussed intricacies of still-life paintings over the phone. This was our first face-to-face meeting and although the woman was vibrant, her artworks explicit, I was ready for our meeting to be over with.
From the moment I entered, Miss Honsho took every opportunity to grope and grapple at me. We spoke over tea, but her lips never touched her cup.
I never did either.
She ushered me gently into her bedroom and straddled me to the bed. She licked her lips and I pretended to be drunk foolish. I giggled a little too much during the session. She, however, never had time to realise anything was amiss.
Now, it was not in my nature to kill. I was just trained to do it. Miss Honsho was an absolute disgrace of a woman. Her death came smoothly and sweetly – I intended it so even with her long, vile record.
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Junkyard
Random⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Welcome to Junkyard ･:*.ೃ࿔⋆ Here is where I post a bunch of words per entry to rebuild my writing groove. Contained within are short stories, poems, rants or non-fic articles, of various themes, on various characters and genres. My goal was...
