Ngoc Chau does not own Bleach
Ngoc Chau does not own Lolita
Ngoc Chau does not own The Tale of Genji

Really, this is just a filler. The next part is even better in my opinion. So, this is part 3/5. Next part is called Kiss.

Please read and review!

Prompt: Genji

Unwittingly, he had somehow suggested reading to her.

One afternoon after a splitting headache from remembering a certain experiment gone wrong and ridicule from someone of the 11th division, he had retired to his office, lounging on the couch, an arm draped over his closed eyes. Discreetly, he had uncovered one of his eyes to see what his lieutenant was doing.

She was up and down, at the shelves looking for files and then at the computer inputting data. He was inwardly impressed at himself. He had been told that he had created her and to try and help him speed up with the recovery of his memories, files and documents of his life had been taken out and given to him so that he may relearn everything about himself. One of the files had been her creation, her design, every single note about her in his own writing was jotted down and presented in a folder about a foot thick. There was no denying that his lieutenant was one of Frankenstein like birth, and so his pride was that he could design a whole other person, one that was capable of thinking without always(occasionally though when her task was completed) asking for the next little step.
His eyes would always trace the long braid of her hair, to the sway of her hips, then to the long legs that seemed to stretch until next Tuesday. He wondered what he had been thinking at the moment when he was constructing her body, would he recall that when he was completely healed?

He was tired of the silence, the silence was deafening and he wanted something to distract him from his headache instead of contemplating on it.

"Nemu." he said clear out of the blue.

She stopped her work immediately and went to him, kneeling before him so that her head was not any higher than his. "Yes, Mayuri-sama."

He turned to her, those green eyes of her reflected his bored expression back to him well. "Say something."

"What, in particular, would you like to have me say, Mayuri-sama?" she asked, her eyes looking away from him.

He snarled, it felt like a drill was going through his brow, "Anything! I can't stand this right now! I need to hear something, anything! The quiet isn't doing any good for my head!"

Her brows furrowed and he wondered what she was going to do. Tell him a joke? Ask him about what he can remember so far? Reader, to anyone else looking outside, it would see that Kurotsuchi Mayuri was already better, but there were a few details that he was not yet clear with: such as the Ryoka who had invaded the Seireitei months earlier, the Quincy boy who had almost defeated him, Aizen's betrayal…. Though he could function well, there were some things that was needed to be remembered and until he could remember it clearly, he was still, in Unohana's eyes, impaired and in need of rest and relaxation more than usual.
But, Reader, we shall continue back to the story.

Nemu got out of the room for but a second before she instantly appeared, a small book in her hand. She sat in front of him, her knees placed delicately together like a sign of feminine modesty and then she opened the book.
" "Chapter 1. Lolita." she began, her voice quiet but rising in volume as she read aloud to him, "Light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-Lee-Ta; the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita. Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, a certain initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years as before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns. Chapter 2. I was born in 1910 in Paris….." "

Her voice had no expression, but the tone of it was nice to hear, it lulled him to sleep. That and the storyline was painfully dull for him. He found no interest in listening to some sap complain about his love for a little girl(it was not in his taste to sympathize with such a character who allowed a little girl to wrap him around his finger, no matter how scandalous or licentious the writing was). As she read and he drifted between sleep and consciousness, he wondered where such a book had come from? Had it been his before? Was there some event not yet recalled that had him like the work of a pedophile? Was it hers? If so, where did she get it? Did she like that sort of stuff?

And so, Reader, that was how in the past month as Mayuri gradually regained his memories and dual thoughts, Nemu seldom read to him when his headaches became too strong or when he was simply bored.

Now as he laid back on the couch in his office, his hat resting on his stomach, and Nemu sitting close to him on the floor, she was reading a novel that one of the captains had given to her(without knowing for what reason really, except that it would be read and well appreciated for sure).
The Tale of Genji, a supposedly masterful piece of Japanese fiction about human passions, was one that they had acquired recently and it didn't take Mayuri long to guess just who would have suggested and given such a title to Nemu. As she read, he noticed something in her; there was this light in her eyes that would flicker like the flame of a candlelight, sometimes bright, often wavering.
" "Must you continue to be so reticent and apologetic? I have made my own feelings clear, over and over again. It is precisely the childlike quality that delights me most and makes me think I must have have her for my own. You may think me complacent and self-satisfied for saying so, but I feel sure that we were joined in a former life. Let me speak to her, please.

"Rushes hide the sea grass at Wakanoura.
Must the waves that seek it out turn back to sea?

"That would be too much to ask of them."

"The grass at Wakanoura were rash indeed
To follow waves that go it knows not whither.

"It would be far, far too much to ask" The easy skill with which she turned her poem made it possible for him to forgive its less than encouraging significance.

"After so many years," he whispered, "the gate still holds me back."

The girl lay weeping for her grandmother. Her playmates came to tell her that a gentleman in court dress was with Shonagon. Perhaps it would be her father? She came running in. "Where is the gentleman, Shonagon? Is father here?"

What a sweet voice she had!

"I'm not your father, but I'm someone just as important. Come here." She saw that it was the other gentleman, and child though she was, she flushed at having spoken out of turn. "let's go." She tugged at Shonagon's sleeve. "Let's go. I'm sleepy."

"Do you have to keep hiding yourself from me? Come here. You can sleep on my knee."

"She is really very young, sir." But Shonagon urged the child forward and she knelt obediently just inside the blinds. He ran his hand over a soft, rumpled robe, and, a delight to the touch, hair full and rich to its farthest ends. He took her hand. She pulled away - for he was, after all, a stranger.

"I said I'm sleepy." She went back to Shonagon. He slipped in after her.

"I am the one you must look to now. You must not be shy with me."

"Please, sir. You forget yourself. You forget yourself completely. She is simply not old enough to understand what you have in mind." "it is you who do not understand. I see how young she is, and I have nothing of the sort in mind. I must again ask you to be witness to the depth and purity of my feelings."
It was a stormy night. Sleet was pounding against the roof.
"How can she bear to live in such a lonely place? It must be awful for her." tears came to his eyes. He could not leave her. "I will be your watchman. You need one on a night like this. Come close to me, all of you." Quite as if he belonged there, he slipped into the girl's bedroom. The women were astounded, Shonagon more than the rest. He must be mad! But she was in no position to protest. Genji pulled a singlet over the girl, who was trembling like a leaf. Yes, he had to admit that his behaviour must seem odd; but, trying very hard not to frighten her, he talked of things he thought would interest her.
"You must come to my house. I have all sort of pictures, and there are dolls for you to play with."

She was less frightened than at first, but she still could not sleep. The storm blew all through the night, and Shonagon quite refused to budge from their side. The would surely have perished of fright, whispered the women, if they had not had him with them. What a pity their lady was not a little older…" "

His fingers played with her hair, twisting it around and feeling its silkiness. What a man he was to have made such a woman, he thought as he soon drifted into sleep, halfway bored with the story.

Not very good, but it's adequate enough to be a filler. If you have any other ideas for prompts, please leave it in a review or send it in a PM