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There’s a sense of tension in the air as you step through the threshold of the room. The smell of arousal and sex hung heavy, a reminder of just who you were going to, who you were going to let drag you down into the depths of depravity.
What did it say about you, though, that you held to the faint spark of hope that you could somehow leave a mark on their soul the same way they’d marked yours through your last encounter?
Perhaps it said you were arrogant — enveloped in your savior complex that somehow thought you could fix him. Except that wasn’t what you wanted — he was not something to fix, like a broken toy or an out-of-date machine.
Maybe it said you were cocky — except, could you truly be cocky when what burned in you wasn’t a surety or a desperate aching want. It was simply a hope — a hope that you can do to him what he has done to you.
You weren’t sure. Maybe you’d never be sure.
All you knew was you craved the firm, sure touches. The intense, smoldering looks of barely disguised heat tinged with emotions you still couldn’t decipher after all this time. Of lust barely constrained, held back only by a self-imposed tether to drag his desire higher into something more dangerous, more feral. You ached for how those hands knew every button to push and how the press of calloused fingers and battle-rough hands sent your head spinning.
All you could think to ask as you stepped further into the room was how badly you needed him. It consumed your thoughts as your eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room and were able to take in the entirety of his body lounged in the chair, the dimness of the room doing little to hide the intensity of strikingly bright azure eyes or the energy of a beast barely contained.
Because that’s what Grimmjow was, at his core. He was a beast only restrained by his own rules, someone who couldn’t be tamed, even by one who sought to tame everyone.
You also knew that this was a man who wouldn’t move first. Not a man so used to the desperate press of the hungry, a man who drew in the eyes and desires of those around him by simply being and exuding the ferocity he held as easily as he breathed.
Slowly, you swallow to try wetting the dryness in your throat, forcing down the nervous energy that was filling you to look him in the eye.
“Can you…” you started, pausing as the dryness of your lips made itself evident as well. Then, your tongue darted out to wet them without thought, making his eyes flicker down before rising back to yours. A simple action, but one that made you ache deep within yourself. “Can you strip me?”
He raises a brow — because of all the things he’d expected, you asking for him to strip you was at the bottom of the list — but doesn’t say no. Instead, bemusement lights his gaze, and he crooks a silent finger at you.
It was a command without the force of a rumbling voice or the tone of authority. Yet, you found yourself unable to resist regardless, your feet clumsy, almost stumbling over themselves in eagerness as you approach the man and step between his legs.
‘What a difference an environment can make,’ you thought almost wistfully. The energy flowing through you now was so different from the spark of heated words and rebellious bite you normally showed him outside this room.
Something he obviously noticed.
“Careful,” Grimmjow drawled, the low rumble sending a jolt of desire through you. “If you keep acting like that, I’ll have to start calling you a trembling deer instead of the spitfire who caught my eye.”
It’s a taunt more than a friendly tease. An insult barely disguised by amusement and dry humor.
But fuck if it’s not just as pleasant to you as the rare pieces of praise he gives.
Slowly, rough fingers trail along your shoulder, pressing firmly as they work their way down your spine and drawing a shudder through your whole body. You’d chosen clothes that are easy to remove, zippers and snap open buttons your greatest ally in preventing the rough tearing of clothes you actually liked.
But now, the choice you’d made was a double-edged sword, the cold of the zipper drawing down your spine until it sat just above your ass, dragging a quiet noise from your lips as you hold yourself still. The pads of his fingers dipped inside the material clinging to you, grazing against your ribs and stomach as he breathed in the scent of arousal you’re sure was coming off you in waves.
The weight of his desire, of the heat in his gaze, was like an endless pit to your frayed nerves. A dark, looming thing, ready to take over and devour you the instant you gave it any leeway.
Something he noticed, his hands stilling just below your chest for several moments before they suddenly split directions.
One reached to circle a sharp nail against the quivering peak of your nipple, dragging a sharp grasp out of you as your body twitched away, the pleasurable pain of a sharp edge against the sensitive nerves sending conflicting signals through your body.
The other grazed lower, dragging those sharp nails over your hip in circles you’d almost call lazy if it weren’t for the way they dug deep enough into your skin to feel the welts rising in their wake.
Your legs clenched without permission, another surge of aching, overwhelming want flooding you and crooning at you to give in, to succumb to the drag of a firm hand.
A deep, husky laugh pulls you out of the rapid descent your mind was taking, the warmth of Grimmjow’s breath caressing your ear and the side of your neck, right before you feel the hand that had been at your chest rise to cup your neck, dragging you down so he could press his nose against your neck, breathing in deeply.
“You know, after your little fucking performance yesterday, I’m surprised you were brave enough to come here,” he rumbled, the words feeling like they almost came from the rumble of his chest against yours instead of the lust-rough voice below your ear. “Tell me why I shouldn’t treat your ass like the rest of those fools who rut against me like an animal in heat, hm?”
His voice drops at the end of his threat, almost a growl to your ears, and you can’t help the way warmth bursts low in your stomach, moisture dripping from your sex as you bite back a whimper of need.
But you couldn’t show how strongly his words affected you. Not yet, not before you made some headway in achieving your hope.
You couldn’t affect him if he played you like an instrument.
So you wet your lips again, dragging up the fire that fueled your sharp tongue outside these walls, the rebellion that kept you just interesting enough for him to continue letting you hold your attitude around others.
“Because, Grimmy …” you breathed, watching the way azure eyes darken into something stormier, something dangerous, as they snapped up to you. “I’ll be the one taking you. Not the other way around.”
You knew you were poking the lion, and between one blink and the next, you were thrown onto the bed further back into the room, your breath leaving in a grunt. Your ankles are practically ripped apart with a harsh yank, Grimmjow’s large frame filling the space created. Next are your wrists, clasped in an iron grip and practically locked together before being yanked over your head.
The sting of pain was brief but mixed with the pressure that choked the air from your lungs, it sent sparks of pleasure down your spine, and you couldn’t stop the gasp that was forced from you as cerulean fire stared down at you and gleaming teeth bared in a snarl that only made you clench with desire.
There’s a line of heat pressing against your leg, its length making your mind go blank before thoughts of feeling that firm, throbbing hardness spreading you open filtered in, making your face warm up almost hotter than your sex.
The fan of Grimmjow’s breath against your skin — just as heated as the rest of his body, just as volatile, as rough — is almost more than you can take, senses heightened as they are, and you try to turn your face away, try to get some kind of break in the stimulation.
But you don’t get far before his free hand snaps up, nails digging into your cheeks and harsh hold making your jaw ache as the large hand practically engulfs your face. His grip was unyielding as he forced your head where he wanted, forced your face to turn until you were made to meet his burning gaze and see the almost excited spark of anger, the touch of possessive desire that colored his gaze darker and darker.
It was a gaze that sought not to break your spirit — but rather to stake its claim in it. To make your spirit yield to his touch, to coax it into embers that are banked by pleasure and ready to be stoked back into a fiery passion and bite.
“You really should know better than to tease me like that, you little shit,” Grimmjow hissed, an almost unhinged light behind dilated pupils making the snarl that splits his lips all the more eerie and threatening. “Unless your goal was to make me angry. In which case, mission fucking accomplished.”
Except he wasn’t mad.
Not really. You could tell that much, even with your head spinning.
Because the light in his eyes, while crazed, while dangerous, didn’t make you alarmed.
You knew the taste of Grimmjow’s anger, knew how acrid it could be, how chilling it felt in the air.
The only thing in the air now was the threat of being taken the way you had threatened to take him not more than a minute earlier.
“Then fucking do something about it, Grimmy,” you breathed, the sparks still there, the flames that bit and burned at him fanned by his response. “Unless you can’t. I get it if you can’t take me if I don’t throw myself at you like the rest of the whores you fuck.”
The snap of his control — of the self-imposed tethers, the restraints he only barely kept up for his satisfaction — was almost audible. Or maybe the sound was the tearing of your clothing, ripped apart viciously enough that the remaining scraps of the outfit you’d chosen so carefully fluttered around you both.
The cold air pressed in immediately, and you couldn’t help the sharp breath as your nipples hardened at the assault, goosebumps rising over exposed skin.
“ Fine. Do you want to play a game, brat? Then we’ll fucking play.”
Grimmjow’s voice is a low, rasping thing, and when his eyes — so much darker than before, practically engulfed by the dark of his pupils, the thinnest ring of cobalt all you could see of his irises — rake over your body, you can barely see beyond the hunger, the desire in them that burned you to your soul.
“I’ll take you. Again and again, until there’s not a fucking inch of you that isn’t claimed as mine.”
It’s the last thing he says before sharp canines are grazed down your neck, lingering near your pulse as his tongue drags and laves at the place your blood thrums so, so fast in your veins.
It’s a pure, raw sensation that floods your body. An overwhelming force sweeps over every cell and nerve, lighting them up and making your back arch and your mouth drop in choked, hitched gasps. Yet, through it all, Grimmjow works his way over your neck without pause, his teeth a constant threat against thin skin as he makes his way down towards your shoulder, your collarbones, every swipe of his tongue, and nip on your skin sending pleasure pulsing through you.
It’s enough to make you dizzy, the sparks of your rebellion, your attitude, fizzling as your thoughts were scattered, and every part of your attention was forcibly dragged to the man whose body was shifting further down.
Dimly, you realized even as he slid down your body, he still held your wrists over your head, and with a choked whimper, you realized just how large that made the man working your body like a toy.
Every touch of fingers and mouth on your skin was made with the intent to mark, bruise, and hurt in the best of ways, stoking the heat in you without letting your embers flicker into flames, instead becoming an inescapable warmth that was torture on your senses. Your sex throbbed between your legs, the wetness of your arousal smeared against your skin as Grimmjow devoured you without care. It’s not until he rests just over your hips, the teasing sensation of his breath washing over your still-covered sex, pulling a strangled moan from your lips that makes him laugh in derision.
“Where the fuck’s your tongue now, huh, spitfire?” he mocks, pulling up and finally releasing your hands in favor of grabbing your face again, pulling you up and making you cry out at the sudden force he handles you with. “Gone, now that you realize what you’ve gone up against? Now that you remember that nothing can compare to me?”
You quiver in his grasp, desire warring with self-preservation, the ache for more pleasure, and the need to fight driving you mad.
The conflict in your eyes must have been clear, must have been exactly what Grimmjow wanted to see, because his expression filled with sadistic glee, and he dragged you further up, stealing your lips in with a barely contained growl as his tongue slid into your mouth.
Your arms finally, finally dropped, looping over his shoulders as you clung to the solid weight of the man on you, reluctantly clinging to him and the grounding he gave even as he drove you mad.
The sensations he brought upon you were like lightning in your veins, just as electrifying and pleasurable as they were painful and overloading. Their effect had you twisting to get closer, pushing to get away, a mix of motivations that twisted your face into agony. Agony that Grimmjow reveled in when he finally pulled away to let you breathe.
Finally allowed to breathe, to try and think, you realized just what was happening — he was toying with you. He was playing with your arousal, dragging you through pleasure and pain and everything in between, knowing every moment let him sink himself into you a little more each time.
That knowledge — that he had enough presence of mind to play you, enough control left that he could fuck around with you like this — sent desperate energy sparking through your limbs, your throat, and you tried to dredge up the flames he was banking, the fire you knew was there.
“Don’t even bother, bitch,” Grimmjow laughed, his free hand grazing over the soaked fabric covering your dripping, aching sex. “Only thing that’ll happen if you open that pretty mouth of yours again is that you’ll draw those who want to join us into the room. And then I’ll invite them to sit and watch as I taste you, as I take everything you give me.”
The blue-haired man’s expression is feral as he snarls out the last phrase, a deep growl rumbling from his chest as he finally tears the flimsy cloth of your underwear off and drags his palm over your sex, the wetness glistening over his skin as he grinds his hand against you.
Unbidden, a moan is torn from your throat. Your head drops back, your tenuous grasp on your rebellion lost so, so quickly to the predatory glint in his eyes and the purposeful movements of Grimmjow’s hand on your sex, gathering the arousal that leaked from you and soaking his fingers before roving lower, gliding them over your quivering entrance.
You can’t help but whine as he slides them over you, once, twice, a teasing, taunting touch that makes you squirm. Then, just as you can’t take it anymore, he finally presses more firmly, slipping into you easily and crooking perfectly to force a wavering gasp from your lips.
Grimmjow makes a noise — of satisfaction or hunger, you couldn’t tell, too lost as your back arched, pressing your chest into him as he fingered you open, spreading you wide on thick, callous-rough fingers.
There’s a shift, a slowing of his actions, and suddenly, you’re grasped in desperation, your arms closing tight around his neck as you clung to him. “Don’t stop! Please, don’t stop now!”
Your entire body was as taut as a wire as your hands curled into the Grimmjow’s hair, clinging with all the force you could muster in your shaky hands to try and ground yourself.
“Ah, ah, hands to yourself, spitfire,” Grimmjow snorted, easily reaching up and prying your fingers away, a smirk playing over his lips as he dragged his fingers from you, making you watch with wide eyes as he dragged his tongue across thick digits. “Wouldn’t want to ruin my fun so quick after all.”
“Grimmjow, please-!”
Your whimpered plea is left ignored, the blue-haired man uncaring of your struggle as he took spit-slick fingers and wrapped them in your hair, pulling you forward harshly as his tongue delved into your mouth again with unforgiving aggression. You could taste your own desire on his tongue, mixed with a taste that was purely him, and the combination made you moan against his lips, hips bucking up in an attempt to get something on you.
Held tightly in his grasp, your hands writhed and twisted uselessly, desperate to cling to something, dig into the man before you to ground yourself somehow.
Grimmjow’s taste, touch, and scent — all of it collected into a pleasure-filled haze that clouded your eyes and mind, left you panting as Grimmjow pulled back, hooded eyes focused on you as he loosened his grip on your hair.
His eyes flickered down, and your gaze followed, watching rapturously as his free hand drifted down, further and further, until he could press against his cock, straining against the fabric of his pants. Then, moments later, he’s dropping his pants, letting you see his thick, curved cock twitching as precum dripped from the tip right before he grasps it firmly and positions it to your entrance.
Distantly, you felt a wash of nervous fear. There was no way this wouldn’t hurt, not with how thick his cock was. Despite that, though, the strength of your need didn’t decrease. If anything, it only got stronger with the realization that while it made you nervous, the sight of his cock also made you ache to have it pressed inside you, Grimmjow’s hands on your body and lips against your neck while he fucked you open.
“Grimmjow…”
It’s a whimper, one filled with the aching want you couldn’t bring yourself to fight against any longer. The effect it has is almost instant.
Grimmjow’s eyes, already dark with desire, seem to grow darker still, thin rings of indigo almost swallowed by the pitch black of his pupils. Then, without further hesitation, he starts to press into you, the head of his cock stretching your entrance wide as a gasp tore from your throat.
Pain lanced over your nerves from the movements, but before you could focus on it too much, rough fingers settled against your sex and began to circle against sensitive nerves. The contrasting sensations set you alight with sensation, and you can’t help but moan deeply as you buck against both his hand and his cock, the thick, throbbing flesh piercing even deeper within you.
“Fuck, you’re so damned tight, you brat. It’s almost like you’re trying to squeeze my dick off instead of letting me fuck you,” Grimmjow growled, the sound reverberating through you in the best of ways and rendering you to incoherent whines instead of words. With one last grunt, you feel Grimmjow press in as deeply as he could, one hand still playing with your sex while the other curled roughly around your waist, almost like a lifeline. “ Shit.”
That last, hissed-out word is the only other warning you get before you lose the hand on your sex. Instead, Grimmjow chooses to grip your hips with unyielding hands, holding you in place as he begins to drag himself out, your whines becoming desperate and pleading right before he slams back into you with a snarl.
The pace is set after that, and it doesn’t take long for your whines to become hitched, breathy gasps that flow into moans. Your hands - finally free - are latched onto Grimmjow’s broad back, your nails digging into his skin as every one of your senses was forced to focus on him.
The scent and feel of his sweat. The slap of his hips against yours. The burning stretch bordered on an almost sharp pain that still felt so good. The feeling of sharp teeth against your neck, your nipples, every inch of exposed skin they could reach.
But it wasn’t enough. You craved more, craved the roughness you knew he was capable of yet wasn’t showing you.
And you knew how to get it.
“I’m not gonna break, Grimmy. So put some effort into it. Or is this all you’ve got?”
It’s a breathless taunt, fueled by the barest flames you could bolster under the onslaught of pleasure. But it’s enough.
The sound Grimmjow makes etches itself into your bones and sends a rush of potent heat down your spine.
Then suddenly, you’re empty as he pulls out of you. But you have no time to mourn the loss. Not when he’s immediately using the vice grip he has on your hips to flip you over and then pull you back, forcing you to your hands and knees on the bed.
Your body is just low enough for your sensitive nipples to graze the sheets below you, your ass hauled up, so your entire lower half was exposed to Grimmjow’s intense, hungry gaze. You got one, two heartbeats to breathe, and then he was slamming into you roughly, forcing a scream from your throat as he began to fuck you into the bed.
His pace was harsh, and you knew he was focused solely on getting off, chasing the pleasure he craved, regardless of your desires. But that callous, almost uncaring treatment only made you burn hotter and ache in the deepest parts of your body that he reached so easily.
“Real big talk for a bitch that bent over so fucking easy for me,” Grimmjow grunted, his voice almost distorted - whether it was from the pleasure assaulting your senses or losing his own self-imposed restraint, you weren't sure. “You might not be like the rest of the pigs who throw themselves at me, but you sure take my cock just as well they do.”
You try to protest - you truly do. But Grimmjow doesn’t care for it because rough fingers are pressed against your lips a moment later, slipping in as you part them easily. The thick fingers force your lips to stretch, and you nearly choke as they slip further back with every harsh slam of his hips against yours.
“Just shut up and take it, spitfire,” he purred, the remaining hand on your hip adjusting before it tightened its grasp. “You’ve spoken your fill tonight. The only other thing your mouth is good for is breathing, and you’ve got other ways to breathe if you need to.”
So you suck in a breath the only way you can, the realization that you were completely at his mercy, filled from both ends as he took what he wanted until he was satisfied, making you melt against him.
It’s not long before you feel yourself getting close. His fingers muffled your moans, your sex twitching and throbbing with every press and jab of his cock against your sensitive nerves. And you knew he was close too. You knew it in the way sharp, sharp nails dug into your hip, how his rhythm was rough, barely stable enough to be considered one, and how his cock swelled and pulsed within you.
Finally, finally, you’re rewarded with an almost guttural roar, Grimmjow’s hips hitting home one last time before his cock twitched, filling you with wet heat. Your orgasm is practically an afterthought in its wake, secondary to the satisfaction that surges through you with every harsh pant Grimmjow makes against your neck.
Lethargy steals over your body - because fuck if this whole experience hadn’t sapped every last bit of energy you had left - and the instant Grimmjow’s hand has last your mouth, his cock slipping out of you, you’re slumping against the bed.
You feel the drip of his cum leaking out of you, making you whimper softly as you clench and try to keep it in.
Only to cry out as a harsh hand slaps across your ass, and you feel it leak more.
“Don’t be so greedy, spitfire. You’ve proven you might be worth another visit. We’ll make sure of it later, so don’t worry about keeping it inside. I’ll fill you back up again later anyway.”
It’s a promise, one laced with leering, hungry mockery, and you can’t help but shudder at the promise in his voice. It’s not until you hear the shuffle of clothing being pulled on and footsteps getting further away from the bed that you finally muster enough energy to call out with a husky, fucked out voice.
“I’ll hold you to that, Grimmy.”
There’s a pause before you’re gifted with a rough, barked laugh.
“I expect nothing less.”
Then he’s gone, and you’re left to pick yourself up and get yourself ready again. After all, if his words were to be believed, you were in for a long night.