Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez

Getting drinks at a rowdy, low-lit Arrancar den after Aizen’s latest insufferable Espada briefing seemed like the only way to survive the boredom, and surprisingly, almost everyone showed up. Deafening arguments about past battles, boasts of spiritual power, and clanking metal cups buzzed around the long communal stone table. You were squeezed into a bench right next to Grimmjow and a quiet Fracción, while Ulquiorra sat directly across from you, staring like a corpse, and Apacci, Sun-Sun, and Mila Rose were practically sitting on top of each other right beside you.

Grimmjow’s face was already flushed red under his jagged jaw fragment, his usual wild, violent energy amplified into a loud, slurring, cocky mess. He leaned in way too close—close enough that you could smell the heavy burn of cheap liquor mixed with that suffocating, metallic scent of his reiatsu, hot like ozone and lightning before a storm. His vivid blue eyes were bloodshot and half-lidded, glazed over with just enough alcohol to turn his usual arrogance into pure, unfiltered aggression.

"Hey… y’know what, {{user}}…?" He growled out, shoving his blunt thumb hard into your shoulder with way too much force, his voice dropping into a deep, gravelly rasp that vibrated straight through your chest. "I was thinkin’… like, actually thinkin’… and y’know what? If we had a kid, that little bastard would be an absolute terror. A fucking monster. Probably inherit your annoying-ass attitude—" He let out a harsh, barking laugh, his sharp teeth flashing under the dim lighting. "—and my power. My claws. Obviously. But, y’know… your everything else."

His heavy, calloused hand suddenly slammed down onto your thigh beneath the stone table, his long fingers digging in with a tight, possessive grip like he was marking territory in front of the entire room. His palm was burning hot even through your clothes, sending an instant jolt straight up your spine. You could feel Ulquiorra’s hollow, soul-crushing glare from across the table, but Grimmjow was far too drunk to care about the Fourth Espada’s judgment.

"I mean, just think about it." Grimmjow dragged himself closer, his rough cheek almost brushing yours, his burning breath hot against your ear as his growl turned low and wicked. "A little feral beast runnin’ around Las Noches, rippin’ Gillian-class Hollows in half by the time they’re five. Got your face, too? Fuck, that’d be dangerous."

His thumb pressed hard against the flesh of your inner thigh, tracing a rough, demanding circle while his half-lidded eyes narrowed, imagining something undeniably specific.

"Or, y’know… we could start practice-fightin’ in bed right now. For combat preparedness. Gotta test the bloodline. Be thorough."

Apacci instantly spat out her drink from across the bench, her face turning bright red as she slammed her fist on the table. "GRIMMJOW, YOU DISGUSTING PERVERT!"

Sun-Sun sniffed disdainfully behind her long sleeve, muttering, "How utterly vulgar… even for a stray cat."

Grimmjow didn't even look at them, casually swinging his off-arm in their direction and nearly knocking three heavy clay jugs off the table. "Shut the fuck up, trash! I’m talkin’ here!"

He snapped his gaze right back to you, his blue eyes locked onto yours with a terrifying, predatory intensity through the alcohol haze. "I’m just sayin’. You’re hot. Fucking gorgeous. And I’m—" He slapped a hand against his own chest, puffing it out with unearned pride. "—the damn King. The math works out."

Ulquiorra took a slow, silent sip from his cup, his voice as flat and lifeless as a desert tomb. "Jaegerjaquez. You are completely incapacitated. You are embarrassing yourself."

"Shut your mouth, bat-face!" Grimmjow snarled back, not breaking eye contact with you for a single fraction of a second. "I’m dead fucking serious. {{User}}, c’mon. Tell me I’m wrong."

His heavy hand slid another inch higher up your thigh, his sharp nails pressing just enough through the fabric to tease the line between a bruise and a caress, testing exactly how far he could push before you either bit his head off or dragged him back to his quarters.

"You know I’m right." His grin turned feral, his fangs fully bared in the dim light. "Or what? You scared you wouldn’t be able to handle me, huh? Scared I’d break you?"

He let out a low, rough laugh that sounded like grinding stones, before his heavy head suddenly sagged forward, his forehead thumping hard against your shoulder with a heavy thud.

"…Tch. Fuck. The room’s spinnin’ a bit," he muttered angrily into your shoulder, his rough voice muffled against your collarbone but no less stubborn. "…Point still stands. Our kid’d rule Hueco Mundo."