#he is dying to be a fairy and get HIS wings fondled

[unohanadaydreams]

Remember that poll I made? Here is whatever the fuck this is that I wrote in honor of the results.

Features: Reader is a gender neutral fairy and they are not immune to the residents of Urahara Shoten.

Kisuke Urahara x Fairy!Reader

Dense cherry air clung to your clothes, skin, and wings making you feel like a sticky wad of hot glue. You’d given up on movement entirely.

“Poor thing’s all tuckered out,” The blonde mop said, eyes glittering through the bar of shadow his hat sat on.

Two teens jostled until their eyes were horrible distortions above you. Their constant vying for the best view and the muggy artificial air beat against your forehead in a climbing migraine.

“We should dry it off—“ a swirl of flesh and flame red tapped the glass, “Remember the one who said that is me, Jinta, when you get out.”

Big, sad eyes bobbed larger, smaller, larger, smaller next to him, “I feel bad. I don’t think it would actually go for our eyes, Urahara.”

“Of cooourse not,” Urahara sang. “I was just being cautious.”

You absolutely would of. If Ururu, the horrible girl with the water gun and amazing aim ever let her guard down, you would burrow through her cornea using your teeth alone.

“Stop bragging,” Jinta said. “It was a lucky shot.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You’re still being smug.”

“I’m not.”

Actually, they were both losing an eye. The consistent thumping stab was migrating from your forehead to behind your eyelids and still, they continued bickering.

“Enough, you two,” the cat said. It pawed your jar, shifting you toward the edge of the table. After Ururu had shot you down, stinking teeth and a rough tongue had caged you as everyone scrambled for a jar. If you were given the chance to dole punishment, this beast would suffer most.

The cat flicked an ear, inching you closer toward the floor. You did nothing, pasted to perspiring glass, hoping for an impossible reaction of flight out the still open window if the cat did indeed smash your jar against the hardwood.

“Get to the training ground before I change my mind and eat the little monster.”

The cat herded them away but they argued still, growing quiet only once they were farther away. You had always hated cats. They had pawed at you since birth, the insatiable beasts. Adding sentience was a waking nightmare. And what if its thumbs were opposable? Truly wretched possibilities.

“This air is disgusting,” you said in a rasp, almost sad you hadn’t been spilled to the floor.

“Don’t worry,” Urahara said. “Next will come the lychee; much lighter in composition but still yummy. Don’t cute little fairies love sweet smells?”

You lied and said, “Fuck no.” Juicy, ripe fruit was your favorite. But this was being forced down your nostrils so you hated it.

Sweet candy smells landed you in this sweltering prison. The lush cherry air compelled your lungs to inhale fully, body confused and convinced the fruit lay close to your lips. Panting, mouth ajar, spit trailing your chin, you let the wash of verbal nonsense fade along with your consciousness.

@

You moved from a jar, to a proper glass cage, then to an expansive enclosure tailored to your tastes. How they knew your tastes was a questions you didn’t want answered. The Urahara man was as disturbing as he was compelling.  How did he know your tastes.

“Now, now,” he’d said taking you from proper cage to expansive enclosure. “Needless violence will get you grounded.”

The cat was suddenly there. “You’ve never grounded anyone.”

Tessai, the only one who would keep his eyes once you escaped, took you from Urahara gently, coaxing your needle teeth free from Urahara’s intersection of flesh between pointer finger and thumb before lifting you away.

You almost said thank you. He was the only one that minded your wings. Urahara was the worst, always rubbing them with obscene strokes. And the teens did so too, at least innocently.

Actually, you would thank him.

“Than—“ He misted you. Twice. With water. Like a snake.

Your wings were too wet to stay swift. Their dehumanizing version of clipping you like a bird.

Tessai’s fingers were already out of reach, beyond your teeth, smartly transporting you in a jar when you reached for him.

“I hate every one of you.” Your fists knocked against the lid, gums and teeth sliding uselessly against metal.

“Just let me eat them already,” the cat yawned.

Tessai screwed the lid with a firm twist, “Don’t indulge in their tantrum, Yoruichi.”

“Fuck you,” you said, flopping to the bottom.

“Hmm, that does sound interesting to work out the logistics of,” Urahara said. “But we hardly know each other.”

You screamed and thrashed wildly.

“Both of you are children,” Tessai said, shaking your jar lightly, “you too. Stop hurting yourself.”

“Yes, Jinta and Ururu are already so fond of you,” Urahara said.

The hallway they were carrying you through was dimly lit. And longer than you thought possible, when you’d cased the outside of the building before absolutely bungling the theft.

“Who cares?”

“I do!” Urahara tapped the lid, the metal popping in rapid succession, and you clapped your ears, the next words muffled, “So you’ll have to bear it. My original plan was to keep you out here. In a fun little enclosed for the costumers—like a sea monkey!”

Your teeth latched into Urahara’s skin the moment the world stopped moving and he opened the lid. He didn’t flinch.

Instead, he rubbed one of your wings with relish between his finger, until you curled into yourself in shaky defeat.

“But we clearly can’t trust you around our precious customers, can we?”

You bit him again, vibrating with each fondling touch passed over your wings.

“So what,” you said around his flesh. “Gonna kill me?”

“No,” Tessai said at the same time the cat said, “Yes.”

“That would yield valuable data, but Tessai’s right,” Urahara said too close to your face. “I like you better alive.”

His hold was careful but firm as he lowered you into a large terrarium, mimicking a small, rustic fairy town. The wooden buildings squatted on loamy moss. An oval of pond was the focal point, directly in the middle. Everything fanned from it, like fingers from a palm. You used the sweet water to swish away the taste of Urahara’s blood after he pinched your wings enough to work your jaw open in reflex.

A prick of pain between your shoulder blades sprung while you hunched over water and you felt a weight resting under your skin there. You flexed your back uselessly, the implantation snug beneath your skin.

Your wings were too damp to spring up and retaliate fast enough. Instead, you spluttered on the springy moss until you could breathe again.

“I’m going to kill you,” you said.

Urahara tapped the glass. “Many people have tried.”

For once, you believed him.

@

The enclosure was surrounded by a maze of mess that rose and fell in mysterious order. Both Urahara’s room and personal workspace, he navigated the jumble of belongings with ease. He was graceful when he forgot about playing to your audience of one, too absorbed in expansive, flickering screens and piles of manila folders, many stained and some literally moldering.

He spoke at—not with—you often.

When he forgot you, when he existed beyond any reach but the data he toiled hours analyzing, you felt lonely. It was a defeat to admit that. But after months of living an oddly cushy life, surrounded by people who seemed to want you happy, you’d become shamefully complacent.

Biting was a chore. And thoroughly unpleasant since Urahara started flavoring the flesh and blood of his gigai. Your escape attempts had grown pathetic. The last had ended with choosing to flap back to Urahara’s room over battling one moment longer with Yoruichi’s claws and teeth and fucking taunting. She did have opposable thumbs and no matter the pitch of voice or shape of body, she was always smug.

You turned away from the enclosure you’d not been forced in for weeks. The lid was ever open. You were beholden with choice. Doors were left ajar. Windows  were never shut now that Summer called. Tessai had whiddled little cutlery and cups for you. Jinta & Ururu were fiercely vying for your ownership of a shiny, new—human scale—gigai. Urahara was too accommodating when you deigned to sit on his silly hat or his sturdy shoulder. And Yoruichi had mostly laid the game of cat and winged-mouse to rest.

Urahara  swept his hat off to scratch his scalp, not mindful that you sat on top of the striped bucket. You clung to any fabric you could hold after being flung, landing somewhere along his back. Fluttering up  his shoulder, you pinched his neck and settled there instead.

“You did that on purpose.”

His laughter fell to sheepish denial, “Not at all.” Urahara placed you next to his keyboard, lifted his arms high, and almost toppled backwards as the stretch stole his balance on the wheeled chair he loved.

“I still don’t get what all this is for,” you said, swiveling away from the subject before he could suggest you wear a bell again. You stepped over a couple keys on tip-toes, enjoying the ‘click’ sound when they sunk under your weight. “What’s the point?”

“I owe a favor,” Urahara shrugged.

“You actually repay those?” You danced over the keys, grinning when he reached for the backspace symbol.

“Well, this is an exceptional favor,” he said, undoing your gleeful work. “Kurosaki is a good kid.”

You could agree with that, at least. He and a gaggle of his friends would come at times, only a little surprised when they first saw you, like they bumped into fairies all the time.

The only one you couldn’t say was a ‘good kid’ was his girlfriend. She was beautiful and acted perfectly kind.

But when she’d first seen you, she had asked Urahara, “Oh! Is she like mine?”

“Entirely different outside of being just as tiny and cute, Inoue,” he’d said in answer. You’d slapped away his pinching near your cheek.

“There are other fairies around?” You hadn’t seen a single one in years.

Orihime held you carefully and her smile sparkled. “Not anymore. I guess I grew out of them.”

“Where’d they go?”

She gestured to the flowery blue hair clips framing her face.

“Ahaha, well…..no where? They just don’t exist anymore. Unless they work with poke-ball logic! If so, they’re probably very cozy. Unless it was up to me to imagine their home which—oh, I’ll have to do that tonight. I’ll imagine the best house! I hope they haven’t been squished all because of me!”

The girl had followed up by saying ‘Ayame, I choose you!’ and despairing a bit when the phrase did nothing but make the Kurosaki boy snort.

You had grown suspicious when Urahara could not clarify what the fuck that meant or where the fairies had gone. The image of Orihime smiling kindly as she did to you and striking down a handful of fairies stuck firm in your mind. You were wary of her label as ‘a good kid’.  

But Kurosaki could keep his title, because he was obvious in his annoyance toward Urahara and Yoruichi. And anyone who did that was some kind of good.

You dropped from your tip-toes, smashing four keys all at once. “Yeah, but didn’t you say this thing may not exist?”

Urahara lifted you back to his shoulder. And you let him. Your stomach squirmed when you lost your opportunity to put up a fight and instead sat, placid.

“It does exist,” he said. “Just not today. Maybe not for years. College is statistically a stressful time.”

“This makes no sense and Tessai is right. You need an actual hobby.”

Urahara retrieved his fan and a gust almost topped you. “Are you going to teach me to paint?”

“I’d rather die,” you said, twining your fists into his robe. Woe to whoever had taught Urahara anything, ever. “And stop that!”

He tapped your head after folding the fan and said, “I don’t think you mean that anymore.”

“I really, really do,” you said, climbing up his head, back to the hat, twisting your hands and digging your feet into his hair and ear instead of flying. “You make a joke out of everything.”

“If you change your mind, you’ll be the first to see the gigai I’ve been working on.”

He waited until you were settled to place his hat to the level of his eyes, carefully and in consideration of you this time.

“I don’t want a human body,” you said with bite.

Urahara tittered, “Oh my, I wouldn’t dream of it. It’s not for you, anyhow.”

“What does that mean?”

Urahara plopped you back on his head with his hat and went back to typing.

“Teach me to paint and you’ll find out, remember?”

He was baiting you. Plain. But effective. His words were like the smell of sweet candy through an open window and the lure of a comfy life surrounded by strangers who grew to people you knew and cared for and stayed for. Even if they were annoying. And pushy. And still batted you around like fucking yarn.

Even then.

You were going to grab for it eventually.