A Bond is Gradual
Grimmjow has this unimaginable thirst for blood. When it’s mere guard duty, he has to push his fingers into his pockets to stop them from shaking or lashing out at some poor noble. It’s hard enough that he can’t just kill them all, for your sake, and so he waits and bides his time for the moments you cut him loose. The siting of hollows in your domain are now in his and he cuts through them with mere fingernail without bothering to use his zanpakuto. He leaves it at your side, almost smiling, every time a hollow roars and tries to get to you, the one with more reishi. Grimmjow is- he’s- it’s the closest to happiness that he’s ever felt before, here in the seireitei with you as his charge.
“Could you be any more reckless?” You mutter as your blue eyed guard stalked back towards you, that crazed look yet to wash out of his eyes. He always gets that way after a fight, a few scratches littering his arms and ripped into his shihakushō. You’d start making him pay you back if he kept getting it all torn up and bloody. Grimmjow gives a petulant huff and rolls his eyes, frowning as he sits down beside you in one of the untouched patches of grass. The battle field is burned from a little cero and torn up, but at least it’s nowhere near your garden or the main house. Grimmjow sighs and unconsciously leans against your side, his body seeking out the contact before his mind can realize it. You let him close, breathe in the scent of musk and blood, and peer up at the clear sky, “You’re always so messy.” But deep down, you can’t help but to admire his skill, at how easily and readily he cuts the hollows to ribbons for you.
“A fucking ‘thank you’ would be great. I even got these damn clothes dirty again. You keep complaining and I’ll go naked.” He threatened, pressing in closer, and again, you let him. You love the push and feel of his warmth against you. He truly is like a cat, scent marking you against any other beast with a nose as sensitive as if to say ‘take a step closer to my property and I’ll kill you.’ Sighing at his instant explosion, you rest your head against his arm, fighting back a telling smile. You remember in the beginning, when he was a walking disaster that wouldn’t let you get close. It was hard to understand him through the leers and challenges and insults but once you caught onto his personality and how he has a hard time expressing simple emotions that aren’t anger, it became easier to deal with. And now? Look at you, sitting so close that you can’t tell where you begin and he ends, staring out at the empty battlefield in case more hollows decide to appear.
“I’ll trade you in.” You threaten with no heat to the words. You both know you’re lying, and rather badly at that too. Grimmjow snorts, and without having to look at him, you can tell that he’s smirking. Little bastard. With no new hollow sighting, you stand and lightly dust off your kimono, imagining how your servants will throw a fit at the grass and dirt lightly draped on top. Unlike Yoruichi, you are not a captain in the Gotei 13 or in charge of the stealth force. The thing is, you don’t want to be. You’d never been one for shinigami wear, having always grown up wearing kimonos of silk with the finest colors imaginable. You did graduate from the soul reaper academy, but turned down becoming a captain, much to your house’s chagrin. Having to file paperwork and delegate even more than you already are? No thanks. You’d prefer to keep your zanpakuto and your kimonos if you could help it.
“Come. I have a meeting soon,” You speak as you wipe off the rest of the grass from your clothing, your kimono starting at red from your shoulders and steadily shifting to gold as it reached the bottom, a pattern of blossoms scattered across your sleeve with a golden obi tied around your waist. Your zanpakuto fit easily between you and the obi, your sheath the color of blood. Ironic, considering how rare it was that you ever needed your sword. Grimmjow gives a nod of confirmation before standing, reaching up to run a hand through light blue locks. You ignore the punch to your gut.
“How long are you going to take? Those meetings are boring as hell.” It’s true, they honestly are, but it is your duty. Another thing you dislike about them is that it is the only time Grimmjow is not permitted to be by your side. The meeting room is heavily guarded, leaving Grimmjow to go off to his own devices. He usually just sits there for the long passing hours and waits for you, complaining about how much effort it took and ‘I’m hungry. Feed me.’ He’s got such a complex, but it’s endearing, he pretends to be angry to cover up missing you. But this meeting ran even longer than he could’ve guessed. By the time you had finished discussing political matters with your official council, the sun had long since set with darkness quickly descending upon the building, a wisp of light peeking over your main house. Two royal guards push open the doors for you as you exit, face tired, sunken even, as low as the sun. Grimmjow picks up on your mood instantly; being around you had made him better at understanding social cues, but he didn’t know why you were downtrodden, your shoulders hanging low as you stared ahead.
You couldn’t look at him, so many conflicting feelings bubbling up in your eyes to form tears. You’d never cried in front of Grimmjow before because there had never been anything to make you sad enough or angry enough to shed tears. But that meeting had destroyed the little fantasy in your mind, like maybe your blue eyed bodyguard loved you back and you’d be together, even if he were more arracar and you were a royal shinigami. Those were minor details, at least in your eyes. And you had the tattoo- it just- it made sense. And maybe your time in the human world had opened up the idea that soul mates could thrive; you saw so much love and happiness between human soul mates that it only made you ache for the same.
“(y/n)?” Grimmjow asks, voice soft for the first time in- ever. He’s confused and unsure and- worried. He’s so damn worried that he’s sure if he had a heart, it would hurt right now. It would hurt and he’d hate it and hate her for not telling him what was wrong. He’s supposed to be her bodyguard, her protector. It didn’t just mean fighting on her behalf, it meant keeping her safe in every single fucking way possible. Including keeping the sadness from her eyes. He almost never calls her by her name, but right now isn’t the time to feel shy over something so fucking small.
“.…” You remain quiet, steps dragging along the floorboards. You still can’t look at him. You’ll start sobbing if you have to look at him. And the sound of your name leaving his mouth makes your stomach do something funny, like a tight sensation in your tummy that reminds you of hell butterflies. He almost never calls you by name unless he’s being serious. He seemed to surprise you all the time; you didn’t think he’d take this seriously. He probably shouldn’t. It’s not like you’d have the ability to keep him by your side… once you married. Grimmjow stops in his tracks, letting you pass him before you realize he isn’t following. You pause in your steps, peering down.
“What’s with you? Did something happen at the meeting? I can barely stand women already and you’re being extremely fucking annoying. Will you just-” You’d miss the sound of his scoldings and reprimands and his voice and the little tremor when he goes on a tangent. He’s only angry because he cares. You’d miss being able to understand that the most.
“I was asked… to accept a proposal by a high branch family… The council wants me to go through with it.” It would boost the family name even more they said, you aren’t doing enough as a Shihoin, they reprimanded, Yoruichi would have never let us look so lazy. Do more. Be more. They kept bringing up everything that you are not. You are not married, with no budding heir, you are not a captain or in command of a task force of any kind, yet you carry around a zanpakuto like you deserve it. You had graduated early and deserved that, had trained hard to be just as good as Yoruichi, but again, it all fell flat in comparison. And now? Now you really just wanted to be alone before you’d cry all over everything. Grimmjow didn’t need this, to be in charge of a complaining brat who’s about to sob into her sheets.
“What the fuck is that?” He doesn’t know what the word means, that it’s a union that will take her away from him, but he has a bad feeling in the emptiness of his abdomen. She isn’t happy, and it’s sapping the fucking feeling right out of him. It feels irregular and uncomfortable and he’s not used to this. He doesn’t want to be. He stares at her slumped back, suddenly wishing there was something he could do to make her smile again. But his intentions are always acted out the wrong way. He could be happy but yell out the most obscene and disrespectful drivel.
“It means… It means you may not- have to guard me… anymore.” The words are trying to claw their way back down your throat but you force them out and force yourself to come to terms with what may be inevitable. Marrying someone else- being with someone else, even the thought is wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Before Grimmjow has a chance to demand a real explanation with more verbal abuse and shouting so late into the evening, you used your speed and easily vanished before his sight, never slowing until you made it to your room, warded with enough spells to keep anyone at bay.
Shedding off the heaviness of the kimono felt like shedding a second skin, your fingers shaking as you shift through the human sleepwear Rukia snuck back to you from the human world. You settle on a large pastel pink shirt with whiskers and cat ears on the front before crawling into your fancy futon. You curl up tight and hide under the covers, weary eyes closing easily because there is too much happening, too fast. You are barely pushing 600, and in the human world, you barely look past- what was that age again- 22? Going into the meeting, you hadn’t expected to be blind sighted with the proposal, even the topic of marriage or arrangements or belonging to someone else. You are (y/n) Shihōin of the Shihōin clan, the first noble family in the soul society. You didn’t need anyone… and the only person to make your heart full in all the 600 years of your existence is outside of your grasp. Grimmjow is only here because of your swaying influence and nothing else. If they knew how you felt, others may try to challenge him for your affection or get rid of him to leave you vulnerable. And your blue eyed boy isn’t one to take challenges and threats lightly. He’d slaughter them without a second thought, hands bloody and lips curled up into a grin, the hollow mask still intact against half of his face spreading with the motion. It would be easier to release him of his duty… Grimmjow may have been an espada, but he was also a fighter, a hunter. Any squad would be lucky, no, blessed, to have someone like him in their ranks. And you already knew what squad he would fit best with. They’d even contacted you once before about it, asking if he was willing to be recruited. They cared nothing of his past and only of his power.
And you didn’t tell him because you were afraid he might say yes, leaving you behind with an emptiness in your chest. And now? You regret clinging onto him like a child refusing to give up her most prized toy. For all the things Grimmjow is, he doesn’t deserve to be forced to stay by your side just because you want him there. If given the chance, he’d go to the eleventh division under Captain Kenpachi. He’d be more than happy to have the chance to kill hollows as his occupation. The tears come quietly, slowly spilling down your cheeks to soak into the pillow beneath your head. It hurts. Yoruichi had never been given this task. Not even Yūshirō, who would’ve floundered under the sudden choices being given. But neither of them had needed to be married. They led the noble house with pride… You turn to dig your face into your pillows, the flow of tears increasing the more stressed you became just thinking about your shortcomings. You fall asleep that way, sniffling in the quiet of your expansive room and panting softly.
Grimmjow. Your eyes flutter open to the darkness of your covers as his name flits through your mind. You push away the covers sleepily, fingers shaking as you look all over your room. Grimmjow. You want him, to touch him and hold onto him, to feel safe again. You’re terrified and it makes blood pump quickly through your veins, thundering in your ears louder and louder. Grim- Your feet move on their own as your hand grasps at your sheets, not caring about their quality and cost. You stumble your way through the dark, lifting spells from your door to step out into the night. The moon, so full and bright, illuminates everything, and you make out Grimmjow’s turned back to you. The servants had long since washed his other clothes, but he’d been wearing the shinigami uniform more and more often. You don’t know whether he’s awake or asleep, taking steps closer and closer, eyes bleary with unshed tears. His blue locks are so vibrant, glowing in the light of the moon, you want to brush your fingers through it so badly. You know he can hear you, but he does nothing but stare up at the moon as you step closer and closer, the tears growing just as close to spilling over your lids.
There are questions that he won’t ask. He just won’t do it, no matter how much the need for an answer digs into his brains and claws out his senses. You vanished and he had stood there for at least an hour, unsure of what to do with himself. He was pissed at you for being too fucking coward to give him a clear understanding, but he didn’t want to push the issue, not then or now. He waits for you to come to him like coaxing out a tiny animal, holds back the urge to scream at you about not needing him anymore as the soft covers drape around his shoulder and your warmth crowds in against his side. You smell sweet, like honey he’d tasted in the human world, and he sighs as his arm shifts to curl around your waist and bring you closer. You’re crying, again, he can tell by how you’re shaking as you cling onto him and there is nothing he can do but hold you. He’s not good with words, or feelings and emotions, but he can be here with you without being a bitch about it and giving you shit. He could get answers later on when you are feeling more yourself. Until then, he’d hold you just like this, keeping you tucked in safely under blankets too soft to be real.
You close your eyes and breathe in his scent of flowers, always flowers, and fall asleep easily, fingers curled in tightly to the front of his shihakushō. You think you hear ‘troublesome woman’ before sleep takes you, but it could’ve just been your imagination playing tricks on you. You’ve got to stop sleeping on him some time. The sun’s rays bring you back from the realm of sleep and as you awaken, you feel a steady weight on top of you, effectively making it hard to even shift around. You squirm slightly, feeling hot and trapped under the weight and the blanket, eyes squinting to look past the sun and into the sleeping face of your bodyguard. The previous day and night streak through you and your tattoo quivers with all of the attention, the sensation digging down to the tips of your toes. You are curled in tight under him and the soft covers, and you take the opportunity to look at his sleeping face. Relaxed. More open than when he’s scowling and awake. His blue locks are messy and hanging over you, a few strands tickling your nose and making it hard to not sneeze. God, he’s so pretty, his hollow mask extending just under his right eye and expanding to the corner of his mouth. A lot of soul reapers are intimidated by it, but you had grown to be more fascinated by it than anything else. Shaking an arm free from his weight, you bit at your lower lip and reached to gently touch at the bone against his cheek, tracing over the ridges and teeth, setting the feeling to mem-
“I’m not leaving you,” it’s a murmur really, and you leave your hand against his mask, watching the rest of it fall apart to reveal everything underneath. He opens his eyes slowly, the shock of blue always punching away at your gut, and stares down at you with the most somber expression you’ve ever seen on his face, “You can’t just tell me what the fuck to do. Not guard you anymore? Don’t make me laugh. You need all the protection in the fucking world. If being ‘married’ means that I can’t do this anymore, then you’re not getting married.” It’s not a question. You should be mad at his audacity, but you suddenly feel like crying all over again. He doesn’t even know what a marriage is, doesn’t understand it at all, but deep down, he doesn’t want to be separated from you either. You should hit him and be angry at him making decisions for you, but you can’t move, can barely breathe with the way he’s looking at you. It’s the perfect moment to kiss him and you’ll probably never get another chance like this, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Grimmjow isn’t use to human emotions, feeling them, expressing them, it would be too great a risk.
Oh, how wrong you are.
Jesus Christ, he wants to kiss her, press her back into the covers and lavish her with so much attention she’ll be bruised up and aching for him. It’s digging into his carnal senses, his need to imprint on his prey, leave his mark so maybe she’ll understand that he would do anything in the world she asked of him but go. He didn’t want to be anywhere else or fight for anyone else but her. They treat her as if she is still a child, keep up comparisons between her and her older sister and it’s such a twisted warfare. He should really just kill them all. Honestly. It would cut out a lot more work on her part if he did end their measly, decrepit lives. She’s shining brighter than the sun and her hand against his mask is a new sensation that does things to him nothing else ever has. She had touched it easily while he pretended to sleep, and it shocked him that she could be so bold. She’s just so pretty, his pretty little noble brat.
She’s not arguing back; in fact, she couldn’t stop staring at his mouth while he talked, so entranced by him that it was hard to comprehend anything else in her brain. When she starts to move her hand away, he stops her, pressing the ridges of his hollow mask into her palm.
“Don’t.”
“Grim,” You murmur, those feelings and emotions catching up to you and showing on your steadily flushed cheeks, “Someone might come-”
“And?” Ugh. He’s such a shit and he knows that you’ll let him get away with it. Maybe he realized you’d really let him do anything he wanted as long as he was with you.
“You’re so annoying,” You murmur, keeping your palm against his cheek, stroking over the mask gently, causing him to sigh. Anyone coming to find you, like your servants who dress you in the morning, are going to happen upon this sight, a famed noble and her despicable bodyguard, and the fact that they are in love.
You’d worry about the council and marriage later on, because in this moment, you simply want to bask in your own personal sun. Attitude and all.
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