LIVING♚JAGUAR.

REIGN / SENTENCE PROMPTS.

    That is probably the softest and most vulnerable comment he has ever heard someone make. His gut reaction is to snarl at his words, nose crinkling and lips tugging into a deep scowl. 

      It’s not that he wants desperately to return there, but he’s more familiar with his own territory. This living world is very different. And this experiment doesn’t make any damn sense to him. Boredom scrabbles at his chest like an agitated beast. There isn’t the same pulse of power sealed away in his zanpakuto, and this discovery has made him more bitterly resentful of the predicament. 

      Something flits outside of his periphery, prowling in the night. Soon, he begins to catch scent of the figure as it flits about in the darkness. Dark by human standards, anyway. Sliding up, the hollow slowly rolls to his feet and curiously turns his head towards the direction of the scent and movement. Whatever it is, he is curious enough to prowl after them. Following via rooftops for now, he keeps a high vantage point for a better view. Then, he gradually hangs back to begin prowling after the unknown creature. Wouldn’t want to give away his position too soon.

      Dead silence fills the chilly winter night as he crouches down and seems to be waiting. Reflective blue eyeshine catches the moonlight for an instant before they are hidden in shadows once again. He watches the figure move through shadows, and as it picks up the pace, he matches their brisk movement.

     “I don’t get it. They’re not gonna see any results, I got no interest in sentimental bullshit.”

     He seems callously apathetic, but his tone holds a hint of bitter vitriol. He doesn’t get why they dragged him, a hollow, into the world of the living for this experiment. He listened long enough to the explanation to know that it would be in his benefit to allow a room mate. It makes sense, he isn’t particularly well-versed in the living world and how the hell to function in human society. Disdainfully curling his lip, he glares off towards the glistening canals. “All I wanna know is if there’s a way out of here if I play along with their shitty experiment.”

She had been watching the snowball fight going on, she wasn’t overly a fan of them and didn’t really see the point in taking part. She didn’t want to seem like a ‘downer’ and ‘unfun’ but it was what it was- her eyes landed on someone that she’d not seen before and they suck out which only made her curious.

   Flayn saw what happened next which made her body cringed- apart of her felt as if the idiot deserved that, the stranger’s actions to the poor soul was admittedly a little funny and very different…maybe he wasn’t used to people. 

Flayn pushed her way closer her eyes finally being able to see this man up close, he was rather handsome- not that it mattered.  Stepping closer Flayn looked up, she was sure she could feel people looking at her like she was mad being this close but she’d dealt with worse in her life.

“ I suppose that is one way to stop them, they tried to get me to join them they called me a ‘downer’ for saying no. ”  Eyes rolled, “ I didn’t think of doing something like that…but I suppose my height doesn’t help so ”

     Flexing his fingers, he threateningly raises his hand, poised like curled claws. Daring more snowball-wielding bastards to act. It seems they understand the message, and no one seems to be asking for a beating. Since no one challenges him, he stuffs his fists into his pockets and begins to turn away from the assailant passed out in the snow.

     Somewhere within the crowd, a young woman with distinctive jade hair approaches. His expression deadpans for a moment as he wonders what she wants. She isn’t interested in defending the guy he just knocked out, but seems casual about it.

       Anyone passing by or perhaps hoping to throw a snowball, may witness the moment he snatches the assailant by the throat, limbs flailing and struggling, and all but slams the man back down into the ground. This sends up a flurry of snow chunks, but also leaves the idiot knocked out cold.

GRIMMJOW JAEGERJAQUEZ – BLEACH.

your local ghost monster. he’s called arrancar because he’s a hollow who had his mask ripped off, for the most part. there’s still a section fused to the right side of his face. looks either really cool or terrifying when he’s laughing.

hollows eat souls to fill the void within themselves. it’s why he has a perfect hole in his abdominal area. you can see straight through him. but don’t think that’s an invitation to touch, he’ll rip that whole arm off. anyway, canon gave him a new outfit and he’s not shirtless anymore (unless i have him wear some nice new civillian clothes). you can’t really see it unless he bothers to unzip his jumpsuit now. yeah, such a shame.

his ultimate form kind of looks like david bowie in labyrinth, with the addition of a tail, sharp teeth, claws, and long ears. his second released state is full furry with two tails and everything is jaguar print. but you won’t get to see him in his david bowie cat form because it was confiscated. for now.

if you have cat jokes, he’s not interested. maybe also has cattitude.

former sexta  espada, the sixth sword, or elite general in aizen’s army. the espada is a big deal because their reiatsu and power go toe to toe with captain-level shinigami. basically, superhuman beings who could be on par with superman.

hates kurosaki ichigo, his sworn enemy. kurosaki doesn’t seem to feel quite the same way, but grimmjow is determined to fight him to the death. also, it’s annoying that luppi is back from the dead after he punched a hole through him and vaporized him with a cero.

much more accustomed to stalking around his territory and watching for opportunities to fight the strong, than functioning in the living world. many human concepts, things that would appear really simple to someone living, hobbies, laws, etc are kinda foreign to him. but he’s an adaptable predator, so he’ll at least learn to tolerate it.

always dtf. down to fight. but may be dtf if they’re 18+.  👀

hollows aren’t supposed to have feelings, but he feels a lot of anger and he is very proud. more often lets his instincts guide his actions.

tends to crave fulfillment through explosive violence, because his aspect of death is destruction.

idk give me all kinds of interactions and relationships, character development is fun.

It’s more fun when there’s some kind of ritual to it, makes this more enticing. Though, he can hardly stand to wait now that there’s already going to be a meeting. Coquettish looks from behind his fellow Espada are impossible to miss. The way she holds his gaze, long eyelashes fluttering, eyes bold and smoldering. She looks impossibly warm, even when they’re both so cold inside. Even when there’s barely anything between her smooth skin and the dead air of the bone white palace, silken clothes hugging the soft curves of her form. Maybe he has something warm to give her, and he can take some warmth from her in return. 

It’s irritating when he catches Yammy’s glowering face like he’s daring Grimmjow to start something. He’s not looking at that lumbering bastard, he’s watching the rabbit behind him. It’s difficult not to let the hungry tension show in the stiffening of his muscles, the way his shameless leer follows her as she leaves the room. She’s not permitted to be in Espada meetings. There is a hunger; a hot, heady feeling dipping low and burning steadily as she sashays away. Her long legs swaying, he always liked that she was gifted with such an attractively shapely and long form. Legs for fucking days. Her pert ass is almost visible if she moves right, and he gives her a reproachful look that says she’s going to pay dearly later on.

Just last week, they fucked right here, on this table. The others could smell it, the way he left his scent and the way he railed her scent into the table, too. Lesser numeros are dispatched to clean the table daily, so it’s hardly noticeable now. Most of them are aware, and he doesn’t give a shit. Aizen sent someone else to warn him about it though. They’re free to do anything on their own time, in their own palace. But if they act like degenerate animals by defiling the meeting table, there will be consequences. Maybe a demotion to a humiliating three-digit number. He gets it. 

Aizen takes notice and catches his attention wavering, but as soon as she’s gone and the doors shut, he finally turns back, expression deadpan. The meeting lasts for about an hour before he finally meanders out of the room, fists stuffed in his pockets. Boots clack and echo off of the high ceilings as all of the Espada go their separate ways to their own grand palaces within the colossal Las Noches. Soon, his feet are the only ones left walking as he reaches out with his mind to pinpoint her reiatsu. When he finds her general vicinity, he picks up the pace.

It’s less a game and more a hunt, but this kind of hunt has about the same amount of thrill. The end result being to satisfy his hunger, but is this a survival mechanism? Having a humanoid form gives him stronger urges than when he was just a beast, but these urges are more exciting. Whatever it is, he doesn’t really care to consider it too much. He likes it, and likes the idea of pinning her down in other ways.

What he finds when reaching her side of the palace, is just her scent and the warmth of the sofa where she had been. Then, he catches a flash of magenta as her hair flutters around a corner down the hallway. Instantaneous, he’s done walking -- the boom of a sonido will echo somewhere behind her. She should know better than to turn her back on a predator. If she wants to play this game of cat and rabbit, he’s more than eager to oblige. He stays just far enough away, but he doesn’t have to. She’s quick when she gets a head start. She didn’t survive this long if she was an easy meal, after all.

Tracking prey by scent has been a lesson he learned quick enough. When the hole was still so raw and so new. The thirst was deep, unquenchable. This is a hunger, a yearning that tugs as she places herself miles away again, using sonido. Excited by the fleeting scent of her as his rabbit lopes away, he follows with another hasty boom of sonido, and lands, sprinting down a corridor after her fluttering hair and skirt. Then she’s out of sight, and he comes to a stop. It would be easy to follow her reiatsu, but for the sake of sport, he doesn’t. 

“The method to catching prey,” he drawls smoothly, “is knowing when they’re ready for it.”

The slow, metallic sing of Pantera slides from its sheath.

“Feeling what the prey is feeling,” he continues seemingly to himself, the flawless metal of the blade brushing along his palm. “Timing is everything. When you make your move, it has to be when the prey is ready. When they know it’s coming.” Nails tapping, and then, a bright, cyan light eats up the darkness. “That beat of anticipation when they know it’s coming.” Nails drag against the glowing blade, and an explosion erupts inside. When the smoke clears, the beast hunkers down on his haunches, tail lashing. “When every nerve ending is crackling, when they’re ready for it. It’s when they’re most alive.”

      Everything about him is overwhelming. Poised over her, his body shadows hers easily, keeping her pinned like a butterfly in a display case. Her natural instinct to run should have kicked in by now, but instead she draws him closer, invites him nearer– practically painting ‘devour me’ along the arch of her neck, the fine jut of her collarbone. That heat he’s enjoying blazes brighter, curls along him with the press of her skin, the skim of soft digits as they settle and hook against his shoulders. Long nails draw along dense hierro but don’t find purchase– but she doesn’t mind.            How can she when there’s the heavy, present weight of him pressing down, a slow, undeniable motion that draws her other thigh up, ankles crossing behind his hips. Her nails dig in again, reiatsu slipped along their edges to reinforce and she hopes this time when she draws them down they at least sting. 

          This time, when she lifts her back from the couch, it’s to aid in the motion of her own hips as they encourage further closeness, serpentine motion enticing, intent. 

     She was reluctant earlier, but sensing the faint uncertainty now isn’t quickly picked up on. She seems somewhat tense. Yet, everything about how she moves, he thinks, is urging him closer and it seems like she wants this. All he knows is taking what he wants, acting out the desires in his heart. To expect a hollow to know anything about subtlety or consideration, is kind of a lost cause. When she pulls him closer, he moves with enough care to not crush her. A current of excitement rolls down his spine, energy hot and eager and snapping like electricity. His reiatsu is so often flaring up with wild power, sharpening around him, and increasing with unbridled aggression and intent to kill. Now, it’s warm and intense, pressure gradually rising and falling again. 

       Her nails, reinforced with reiatsu and tingling, cause a sting that is also like a bite as they dig into his shoulders. The sensation sends a current of tingles rolling across his flesh, and he rumbles pleasantly in response. She’s impossible to deal with, how had he tolerated it this long? Like a spitfire, with her own form of power. Not like most powerless humans. He likes that about her, and likes having her pinned this way. A flash of predacious blue eyes meet her, before his head lowers and his teeth nip at her collarbone.

      It’s all instinct. It arches her neck at the press of his mouth, lashes narrowing the scope of her vision to a thin sliver of blue and white and brushstrokes of obscuring black. Fingers dig into the cushions beneath her, back arching further up, head falling back against the armrest as she feels the sharp sting of his teeth. It’s almost enough to get her to complain, but then comes the hot curl of his tongue and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t immediately imagine the motion elsewhere. Heat rises under her skin what feels like all over, pale skin flushing steadily as his hands begin to wander down her body. Only when his fingers settle against her ass does she stop trying to push herself up closer to him, instead letting herself fall against the slope of her arm. Her eyes slip sideways toward his face, watching him slide further down her neck, and she feels a laugh, smug and self-satisfied well up. 

          “…good,” she hums, hot on the heels of a throaty not-quite giggle, letting the leg he’d been stroking hook around his side. A little push downward with her heel, and she encourages him closer still, hands picking up to curl against his sides, fingernails drawing along his skin lightly.

          His tongue drags to find that subtle flavor and pheromone scent again. The scent of hair and skin is breathed in; she smells so sweet, but it's more of a subtle sweetness coupled with natural scent. He knows it's the good scent in her perspiration, and it radiates the more they tangle together. She may not even realize the way he does; a strangely appealing scent he hasn't had the pleasure of experiencing nearly often enough. Stronger than the scent of fear, and much different. It's intimate, naturally desirable. It makes the hunger burning in his eyes and across his skin. Her dainty fingers find their way along his sides, almost ticklish against his skin. A low, delighted growl rumbles from him.

      Almost instantly he listens, and the tension drains out of her inch by inch, almost in time to the stroke of his fingers down her stomach. Her eyes remain locked on his for a moment longer until she can’t keep it up, lids dropping and eyes roaming to the side. Another faint gasp and a fine shudder thread through her at the soft, lazy caress of claws along her back, but she finds herself surprisingly unconcerned about how dangerous that could be. Instead she finds herself getting flustered over the things he says, fingers squeezing his arms as she heaves a scoff.            “…that’s so corny,” she mumbles, peeking up at him from the corner of her eyes, cheeks still rosy. “But… still, flattering.”            Letting her hands drop, she runs her fingers nervously over the fabric of the couch beneath her before arching closer to him, expression soft, expectant. 

          “…don’t tell me that’s all the touching you were planning to do though.”

          The nervousness doesn't go missed by him, and there's not a moment where it fails to be endearing. Every subtle tremor rolling through her, every faint gasp, he feels it. The redness heating her cheeks, the way her eyes can't seem to hold his gaze for long. She's almost embarrassed, as though she hadn't been expecting to receive this kind of attention. She isn't accustomed to it, and yet, her body is telling him she wants it. She's telling him she wants it, but gently. She's delicate, he reminds himself. Delicate and new to this, and in a way, he hasn't really had much practice in enjoying the ritual to this. It's more fun when there are more touching and tasting involved, naturally, so he doesn't mind. His face dips down once again, wanting to draw more of those pleasant sounds as his mouth presses against her neck.

      Mistakes, Riruka reflects, even as she meets that heated gaze with an expectant, encouraging one of her own, have been made. Grimmjow moves her like she weighs next to nothing, slinking into the space over and around her, dangerous and overwhelming. It’s the kind of sensation that, not that long ago, would have incited fear. Now all it does is make her more aware of where every portion of him is in relation to her.            Buzzing with energy that’s barely-contained, he’s close but not yet close enough, even as he presses his teeth against her neck. The shudder that works through her is equal parts desire and the instinctive knowledge that he’s a dangerous person to leave herself so vulnerable with. Then again, he’s done more to try and keep her safe lately than most anyone’s ever bothered so she shoves that down and instead arches her neck against his mouth. Her reward is the slow, rough-hot drag of his tongue, and her fingers tighten in his hair before deigning to roam, sliding down his neck to his upper arms. Her nails are considering their path over his biceps when his palm cups around her, and she gasps out a sound that’s nearly a mewl.           “H-hey,” she mutters, lowering her chin to try and peek at his face where it’s still buried in her neck. 

          “Easy. I’m…” Delicate? Scared? “…new to this, still.”

          The sound she makes is worth it, and he utters a graveled chuckle in response. Easing up, he recognizes the faint uneasiness in the way she responds. Unexpectedly delighted by it though she seems, she's not completely comfortable with it. She's new to this, and he should have figured as much. A virgin, which makes this even more enticing. Still, he doesn't have any intention of making her feel like she should be afraid. He's never been good at being slow and deliberate, but it doesn't mean he can't enjoy it and make it enjoyable for her. Especially when he thinks she's worth it.

          More than that, she's like a prize he had gazed at for long enough and now he can finally have her. It'll be all for nothing if she decides she's not ready and too uneasy to about this. The arrancar's head comes up to meet her gaze and appreciate the heated blush crawling across her cheeks, fingers drifting away from her chest. Instead, they playfully glide down her stomach, around her hip, where his palm rests against the small of her back. There, his fingers gently curl like claws beneath the thin fabric of her tank top, caressing the warm skin.

      Biting him had never even occurred. So dumbstruck was she by the fact that he’d actually moved to touch her, that retaliation in the negative never really came up as a factor. Not because she thought he’d react badly but, she realizes as she’s very nearly devoured by the kiss, because she simply didn’t want to. She didn’t want to push him away, she didn’t want to pull back, and even as she finds herself beneath the heavy weight of his body, she doesn’t feel the need to move away. Instead she relishes the sensation, his body solid against her own, muscles working subtly beneath the skin she can feel pressed against hers. Faint tremors of restraint run through him, and she realizes belatedly that he must be taking it easy on her. Given that she’s already a bit lightheaded from just the sensation of his lips, from the way his energy surges against her, she’s not sure she can handle it when he stops holding back.            But she’s going to find out.            Tongue running over her lips, she finds herself unable to look anywhere but at him as he pulls away, smug and self-satisfied and for once, Riruka can’t bring herself to complain about it. Instead she lifts her chin, back arching to brush her body slowly, tantalizingly against his, eyes half-lidded and mouth parting in obvious invitation. 

          “Talk less,” she finally murmurs, her own voice lower, more breathless than she’d expected, fingers crawling their way up along his neck to slip into the hair at the back of his head. “And touch me more.”

          That invitation is damn tempting, it's unexpectedly tantalizing like the way her body moves. It's all he needs. One hand clutches firmly on her hip to abruptly jerk her closer as his hot breath spills out against her neck, lips smirking into her skin. There's no escaping, now. In the fraction of a moment it takes to breathe, he is hovering over her and leering with desire darkening his gaze. He's not expecting such titillating words to come from her, all but encouraging him.           And she's a beautiful young woman, her body soft and warm, fitting nicely against him. It is taking more willpower than he would have thought to keep his desire under control. This is beyond his expectations, but he's more than pleased with the way she's responding. Energy surges down through his veins, his bones, and it's like electricity snapping at his fingertips when they touch her. 

      Call her stupid, but Riruka hadn’t expected him to follow through. For as much as he liked to tease her, Grimmjow had always come across as distant more than anything. And sure, it wasn’t like she was blind to someone checking her out, but she didn’t actually believe it meant anything.           Apparently, she should have.

          As the Arrancar shifts to loom over her, she can feel her skin prickle as his touch skims up along her calf, her thigh, ending up on her hip. His mouth reaches hers, and she instinctively gasps against the mouth she can’t quite believe is against her own, fingers coming up to splay against his shoulders.           A shudder runs through her, following the rise and fall of a shaky inhale, and then without letting herself overthink it, she curls her fingers into his shirt and tugs him in closer.  

          He almost expected her to bite him out of spite, to shove him off, to do anything but reciprocate. Not that she isn't capable of it, and not that he wouldn't have enjoyed retaliation a little. But she surprises him by accepting the hunger tumbling through him; the way her delicate fists curl into the fabric and tug him close. The way he gradually shifts to bracket her body in between the couch and his knee. Daring hands slide against her hips, thinking the way the fabric rubs against her skin is almost as exciting as bare flesh. She's warm and soft, and no doubt has plenty of living heat to give someone like him. He hungers to feel her heat blazing against him, and some of it even radiates pleasantly from her mouth.

          The way his breath hitches, delighted by her response, has him just barely holding back from completely climbing over her and pinning her down like a trapped animal. The soft gasp on her lips followed by her gentle breathing is eaten by him, tongue fleetingly brushing against her plush lips to taste. The feeling of seizing this moment, of having what Kurosaki can't have, already makes his blood pump wildly through his veins. His energy is hot and excited, radiating as their mouths move. He doesn't really need to breathe, but he has the same instinctive responses as a human body does. She does, however, and he only relents slightly with strangled huffs of breath heating the air between them. 

      Softly, Riruka mutters: “What the fuck–?” as she feels the heat creep up her neck at the brazen declaration. What’s she gonna do about it? What does he expect? She has a hard enough time with someone who doesn’t seem interested, but with one that does…? “W-well, if you’re going to be so smug, why don’t you do something about it instead!?”

       The heat rising to her face creates undertones of deepening pink, becoming peachy red as realization seems to hit her that someone does notice. It may not be the dumb shinigami, and he couldn't give a fuck. Every time he saw the invigorating flash of bare skin between soft blouses and frayed skirts, the wild part of him felt simultaneously exhilarated and dirty just admiring it. Flesh that looked warm and supple, smooth regardless of where she went. With long, dark eyelashes and deep red hair that feathered against her nicely shaped cheeks. He'd wanted to touch, to taste, and to savor. Now that she seems to understand the way he confidently admits liking the notion and tells him to do something about it, he's all too eager. 

       Invigorated by the invitation, because that's how he takes it, electricity seems to pulse behind his eyes as he shifts. His palm is rough and calloused from battles, but he is gentle when holding one of the calves on his lap. Fingers slide against her skin as he then shifts, and he has to push forward to reach her face. The curve of her lips held his gaze plenty of times, and when he just as brazenly snatches her mouth with his, it's worth it.