Doll Me Up, Dress Me Down
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Bleach
Characters/Pairings: Nel/Rangiku
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just abuse them.
Summary: Fic to accompany a bit of fanart that I am incredibly proud of. Fic is not beta-ed so please excuse...
Title of epic courtesy of the roomie mysocalledhell
And here's the DA for credits
I think I have fallen in love with this pairing.
It was awkward at first. Much of soul society was distrustful of them. But it was Head Captain Yamamoto’s decision. Due to their efforts during the war against Aizen a select few of the Arrancar were allowed to live. Not just live but live in Seireitei.
Grimmjow was loud and brash and immediately inducted into the 11th division where he fit in with ease. There was a question at first where I would go. After speaking to him for a short time Ukitake insisted that I be admitted into 3rd division. A wise choice as it turned out for I quickly became comfortable with those in the division, including its new captain, Izuru.
Therefore it was only a matter of time before I was dragged out of the division one evening, along with the captain, by a rabid band of ‘friends’ insisting that a night of drinking was in order. This rabble was an unusual assortment that made little sense to me, members of so many divisions coming together to laugh and drink. Izuru seemed out of place the entire time, though he said as a quiet aside that he’d gone through academy with many of those present.
It was little surprise that Grimmjow had joined the 3rd & 5th seats of his division and was proceeding to drink them under the table. There was a boisterous strawberry blonde to my left that kept asking questions between drinks, of which there were many. With each question those around us would look at me expectantly. I fought to keep my face impassive as the woman’s questions became increasingly embarrassing.
Izuru saved me before I gave in to the urge to crawl under the table. My face flushed vibrantly from drink as well as the nature of the questions. He stood, declaring that there was much that needed to be done the next morning, much of which would require my help. I nodded and stood as well, surprised and a little uncomfortable with the sounds of disappointment certain members of the table made.
As soon as we had left the establishment, face flushing further, I leaned in to Izuru and admitted that I had not even caught the woman’s name. Izuru chuckled, shaking his head slightly.
“Matsumoto.” He supplied before biding me goodnight and retreating to his own rooms.
“Matsumoto…” I repeated to myself, glancing back towards the bar. Curiosity began gnawing at me that very night. Why did that woman ask so much of me? And then to offer nothing in return, not even a proper introduction. I felt slighted somehow; shouldn’t I have been able to ask some questions in return? I dismissed the thought as a mere consequence of the sake and made my way to my small room in the 3rd division barracks.
I quickly learned to make myself scarce on weekend evenings as one member of their group would inevitably show up to pull Izuru away from his work. If I were anywhere in the vicinity I would be dragged along. On those occasions Matsumoto was always sure to sit beside me and inevitably the interrogation started again. I only allowed this to happen a few more times before I was sure to be holed up in my room well before any of them would arrive for Izuru.
I had never been subjected to such an informal social setting and, if I were honest, it unnerved me somewhat. It was not as if I’d really had friends in Hueco Mundo. I’d had Pesche and Dondochakka but both of my ‘brothers’ had fallen in the final battle, leaving me alone once more.
It had been weeks since the last time I’d gone drinking with the others. Still I found myself reluctantly wondering how they were, or what drama had befallen them. It was also through them that I’d heard my first news of Ichigo, though the young man did not occupy my thoughts as often as I had expected him to. Indeed it seemed a different copper-haired shinigami weaseled her way into my mind with disturbing frequency.
Imagine my surprise when, one Friday evening, I heard a knock on my door. I looked up from the book I’d been reading, standing hesitantly I made my way to the door. There in the doorway was the very same woman that had occupied my curiosity for the last weeks.
Matsumoto grinned and I very much doubted her safety when I noted the mischievous spark in those pale blue eyes. “Most of the guys are out on assignments, and you never come out with us.” The redhead said, by way of explanation as she shouldered her way into the room. She promptly dropped a large bag in the center of the floor. “Besides, you my dear have been sadly… ” She paused here, pale eyes ghosting over my body before retaking my gaze. “… deprived.” The word sounded like she was trying to be nice about it.
I furrowed my brow, slightly offended. She smiled charmingly before I could say anything, excitement sparkling in her eyes. She bounced forward, taking my hand and nearly dragging me forward. She motioned for me to sit beside her in the middle of the floor as she delved into the bag she’d brought. Glittering tubes, sleek black bottles, wide multicolored pallets, and a plethora of other tools spilled out of the pink trimmed bag onto the floor.
“What is that?” I finally asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. Suddenly a froth of fabric, lace, silk, and god knows what else accompanied her on the floor.
“These are tools that every woman should be well acquainted with. Now come here and let me show you the magic a little make-up can do.” Her smile took on a predatory gleam and I swallowed nervously. Unexpectedly a large bottle of sake was withdrawn from the bag as well. She took a swig, straight from the bottle before holding it out to me, sloshing the liquid inside invitingly. I sighed quietly, lowering myself to the floor beside her. Perhaps I could finally learn some things about the inquisitive redhead.
Hours passed in a blur as she began an in depth explanation of every item she’d brought with her. In the privacy of my room I discovered it was quite easy to get her to talk about herself. Perhaps it was that she had no more information she wanted from me. Maybe it was just that here she had no reputation to worry about, no men to keep up with and no appearances to keep up.
Either way, she talked and we drank. She dolled me up half a dozen different ways before deciding simple looked best, releasing my hair from the bounds she’d put it in and shoving a pale blue sleeveless shirt at me. The color matched her eyes and I knew she would look lovely in it but she insisted that I put it on. I complied, smiling at the cool glide of the satiny material against my skin.
She promptly ooh-ed and aah-ed over me like I was some kind of exotic flower that she had revived after the winter frost. I told her as much and she just laughed, calling me a romantic. “Who else comes up with lines like that?” I blushed but agreed. She then decreed that she would have to dress me up more often, ensuring me that I’d have a man in no time. It brought Nnoitora to mind and with it came the bitterness of that betrayal.
“I know that look…” something must’ve showed on my face because her voice was suddenly lower, softer, more cautious than before. I looked up at her and saw in her eyes the same pain that I knew showed in mine. We just looked at one another for a long moment, knowing somehow that we knew exactly what it was that pained the other. She broke the spell with a smile and a laugh that was more forced than usual. “Men,” she scoffed, “who needs ‘em!” She slung her arm around my shoulders, drank deeply of the sake and handed the bottle to me.
Another bottle emerged from her bag and in no time we were both delirious with drink, giggling at nothing and teasing one another mercilessly. In the wee hours of the morning I woke, a mostly empty bottle in my hand and Matsumoto (“No no you must call me Rangiku!” she’d giggled.) asleep on the floor beside me. I raised myself up on one arm, leaning over her.
What was it about this woman that made me wonder about her so? I recalled briefly the pained look I’d seen on her face, maybe it was simply that we’d shared similar experiences. Now in sleep her face was relaxed, peaceful. She really was beautiful and I had to wonder why she bothered with all the make-up, which was now making my eyes itch and my lips felt grainy when I licked them, the strange taste of the gloss clinging to my tongue. My eyes scanned her face, the smooth lines, the faint flush on her cheeks, her lips slightly parted in sleep. Unbidden my hand raised, my arm hovering a hair’s breadth above her chest, my fingers outstretched to touch her. I wondered if her lips would be as soft and supple as they looked or if they would be sticky sweet the way mine felt under all the sludge. I froze as she murmured something in her sleep, awareness crashing down on me.
I withdrew my hand and shook my head. What was I doing? I stood, hands reaching out to a wall to steady myself. I had drunk more on this night than on all the other nights I’d gone out with them combined. I wobbled my way to the bathroom, glancing back at the beautiful woman asleep on my floor. I had a strange feeling I knew what my unusual curiosity with her was but I told myself it was the alcohol. Things would be far too complicated if I allowed myself to do something as foolish as falling in love again. Look what had happened the last time.
I leaned heavily on the sink, staring at the unfamiliar face in the mirror as if it would make sense the longer I stared at it. I shook my head I didn’t want it to make sense. I didn’t want this to be me. I quickly turned on the hot water, splashing it over my face and watching the different colors rub off on my hands. I scrubbed at my lips, ridding them of the clinging substance. When I looked in the mirror again black streaks ran down my face like tears from the heavy make-up around my eyes. Reminiscent of another of the Arrancar.
I flinched, looking away from the mirror and hating myself for it. This was supposed to be a fresh start so why was it I was still haunted by these demons of the past? Wouldn’t I ever be able to get away? Through the door I could see Rangiku, now rolled up on her side clinging to the blanket that had somehow found its way around me earlier. I could blame the alcohol all I liked but sitting there in the harsh lights of the bathroom with make-up streaks on my face and tears making my throat tight I knew it was a lie.
Fandom: Bleach
Characters/Pairings: Nel/Rangiku
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just abuse them.
Summary: Fic to accompany a bit of fanart that I am incredibly proud of. Fic is not beta-ed so please excuse...
Title of epic courtesy of the roomie mysocalledhell
And here's the DA for credits
I think I have fallen in love with this pairing.
It was awkward at first. Much of soul society was distrustful of them. But it was Head Captain Yamamoto’s decision. Due to their efforts during the war against Aizen a select few of the Arrancar were allowed to live. Not just live but live in Seireitei.
Grimmjow was loud and brash and immediately inducted into the 11th division where he fit in with ease. There was a question at first where I would go. After speaking to him for a short time Ukitake insisted that I be admitted into 3rd division. A wise choice as it turned out for I quickly became comfortable with those in the division, including its new captain, Izuru.
Therefore it was only a matter of time before I was dragged out of the division one evening, along with the captain, by a rabid band of ‘friends’ insisting that a night of drinking was in order. This rabble was an unusual assortment that made little sense to me, members of so many divisions coming together to laugh and drink. Izuru seemed out of place the entire time, though he said as a quiet aside that he’d gone through academy with many of those present.
It was little surprise that Grimmjow had joined the 3rd & 5th seats of his division and was proceeding to drink them under the table. There was a boisterous strawberry blonde to my left that kept asking questions between drinks, of which there were many. With each question those around us would look at me expectantly. I fought to keep my face impassive as the woman’s questions became increasingly embarrassing.
Izuru saved me before I gave in to the urge to crawl under the table. My face flushed vibrantly from drink as well as the nature of the questions. He stood, declaring that there was much that needed to be done the next morning, much of which would require my help. I nodded and stood as well, surprised and a little uncomfortable with the sounds of disappointment certain members of the table made.
As soon as we had left the establishment, face flushing further, I leaned in to Izuru and admitted that I had not even caught the woman’s name. Izuru chuckled, shaking his head slightly.
“Matsumoto.” He supplied before biding me goodnight and retreating to his own rooms.
“Matsumoto…” I repeated to myself, glancing back towards the bar. Curiosity began gnawing at me that very night. Why did that woman ask so much of me? And then to offer nothing in return, not even a proper introduction. I felt slighted somehow; shouldn’t I have been able to ask some questions in return? I dismissed the thought as a mere consequence of the sake and made my way to my small room in the 3rd division barracks.
I quickly learned to make myself scarce on weekend evenings as one member of their group would inevitably show up to pull Izuru away from his work. If I were anywhere in the vicinity I would be dragged along. On those occasions Matsumoto was always sure to sit beside me and inevitably the interrogation started again. I only allowed this to happen a few more times before I was sure to be holed up in my room well before any of them would arrive for Izuru.
I had never been subjected to such an informal social setting and, if I were honest, it unnerved me somewhat. It was not as if I’d really had friends in Hueco Mundo. I’d had Pesche and Dondochakka but both of my ‘brothers’ had fallen in the final battle, leaving me alone once more.
It had been weeks since the last time I’d gone drinking with the others. Still I found myself reluctantly wondering how they were, or what drama had befallen them. It was also through them that I’d heard my first news of Ichigo, though the young man did not occupy my thoughts as often as I had expected him to. Indeed it seemed a different copper-haired shinigami weaseled her way into my mind with disturbing frequency.
Imagine my surprise when, one Friday evening, I heard a knock on my door. I looked up from the book I’d been reading, standing hesitantly I made my way to the door. There in the doorway was the very same woman that had occupied my curiosity for the last weeks.
Matsumoto grinned and I very much doubted her safety when I noted the mischievous spark in those pale blue eyes. “Most of the guys are out on assignments, and you never come out with us.” The redhead said, by way of explanation as she shouldered her way into the room. She promptly dropped a large bag in the center of the floor. “Besides, you my dear have been sadly… ” She paused here, pale eyes ghosting over my body before retaking my gaze. “… deprived.” The word sounded like she was trying to be nice about it.
I furrowed my brow, slightly offended. She smiled charmingly before I could say anything, excitement sparkling in her eyes. She bounced forward, taking my hand and nearly dragging me forward. She motioned for me to sit beside her in the middle of the floor as she delved into the bag she’d brought. Glittering tubes, sleek black bottles, wide multicolored pallets, and a plethora of other tools spilled out of the pink trimmed bag onto the floor.
“What is that?” I finally asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. Suddenly a froth of fabric, lace, silk, and god knows what else accompanied her on the floor.
“These are tools that every woman should be well acquainted with. Now come here and let me show you the magic a little make-up can do.” Her smile took on a predatory gleam and I swallowed nervously. Unexpectedly a large bottle of sake was withdrawn from the bag as well. She took a swig, straight from the bottle before holding it out to me, sloshing the liquid inside invitingly. I sighed quietly, lowering myself to the floor beside her. Perhaps I could finally learn some things about the inquisitive redhead.
Hours passed in a blur as she began an in depth explanation of every item she’d brought with her. In the privacy of my room I discovered it was quite easy to get her to talk about herself. Perhaps it was that she had no more information she wanted from me. Maybe it was just that here she had no reputation to worry about, no men to keep up with and no appearances to keep up.
Either way, she talked and we drank. She dolled me up half a dozen different ways before deciding simple looked best, releasing my hair from the bounds she’d put it in and shoving a pale blue sleeveless shirt at me. The color matched her eyes and I knew she would look lovely in it but she insisted that I put it on. I complied, smiling at the cool glide of the satiny material against my skin.
She promptly ooh-ed and aah-ed over me like I was some kind of exotic flower that she had revived after the winter frost. I told her as much and she just laughed, calling me a romantic. “Who else comes up with lines like that?” I blushed but agreed. She then decreed that she would have to dress me up more often, ensuring me that I’d have a man in no time. It brought Nnoitora to mind and with it came the bitterness of that betrayal.
“I know that look…” something must’ve showed on my face because her voice was suddenly lower, softer, more cautious than before. I looked up at her and saw in her eyes the same pain that I knew showed in mine. We just looked at one another for a long moment, knowing somehow that we knew exactly what it was that pained the other. She broke the spell with a smile and a laugh that was more forced than usual. “Men,” she scoffed, “who needs ‘em!” She slung her arm around my shoulders, drank deeply of the sake and handed the bottle to me.
Another bottle emerged from her bag and in no time we were both delirious with drink, giggling at nothing and teasing one another mercilessly. In the wee hours of the morning I woke, a mostly empty bottle in my hand and Matsumoto (“No no you must call me Rangiku!” she’d giggled.) asleep on the floor beside me. I raised myself up on one arm, leaning over her.
What was it about this woman that made me wonder about her so? I recalled briefly the pained look I’d seen on her face, maybe it was simply that we’d shared similar experiences. Now in sleep her face was relaxed, peaceful. She really was beautiful and I had to wonder why she bothered with all the make-up, which was now making my eyes itch and my lips felt grainy when I licked them, the strange taste of the gloss clinging to my tongue. My eyes scanned her face, the smooth lines, the faint flush on her cheeks, her lips slightly parted in sleep. Unbidden my hand raised, my arm hovering a hair’s breadth above her chest, my fingers outstretched to touch her. I wondered if her lips would be as soft and supple as they looked or if they would be sticky sweet the way mine felt under all the sludge. I froze as she murmured something in her sleep, awareness crashing down on me.
I withdrew my hand and shook my head. What was I doing? I stood, hands reaching out to a wall to steady myself. I had drunk more on this night than on all the other nights I’d gone out with them combined. I wobbled my way to the bathroom, glancing back at the beautiful woman asleep on my floor. I had a strange feeling I knew what my unusual curiosity with her was but I told myself it was the alcohol. Things would be far too complicated if I allowed myself to do something as foolish as falling in love again. Look what had happened the last time.
I leaned heavily on the sink, staring at the unfamiliar face in the mirror as if it would make sense the longer I stared at it. I shook my head I didn’t want it to make sense. I didn’t want this to be me. I quickly turned on the hot water, splashing it over my face and watching the different colors rub off on my hands. I scrubbed at my lips, ridding them of the clinging substance. When I looked in the mirror again black streaks ran down my face like tears from the heavy make-up around my eyes. Reminiscent of another of the Arrancar.
I flinched, looking away from the mirror and hating myself for it. This was supposed to be a fresh start so why was it I was still haunted by these demons of the past? Wouldn’t I ever be able to get away? Through the door I could see Rangiku, now rolled up on her side clinging to the blanket that had somehow found its way around me earlier. I could blame the alcohol all I liked but sitting there in the harsh lights of the bathroom with make-up streaks on my face and tears making my throat tight I knew it was a lie.