If you weren’t aware, I’m deeply in love with Grimmjow and I needed something domestic for him :)))))
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Early on in your relationship, Grimmjow never necessarily said no to your touch. But he always acted like he hated it. You’d slide your hand into his when the two of you were walking side-by-side, and he’d glance down at it like it was an anomaly.
“Tch. You’re real handsy today,” he muttered once, after you laced your fingers with his.
You just smiled, “I always am.”
Although he complained, he didn’t let go. Didn’t even try. And that was how it always went.
You’d stroke the hair at the nape of his neck when he was sitting beside you on the couch. He’d grunt like you were bothering him, maybe roll his eyes, but he’d tip his head back into your hand without realizing, half-lidded eyes and relaxed jaw giving him away completely, until he noticed your smile.
“Don’t get cocky,” he’d snap, cheeks pink. “I’m just tired.”
You would just turn yourself back to what you were watching, not wanting to ruin the moment, “Of course.”
He just wasn’t used to affection. You could tell by the way his muscles always tensed under your touch, how he held his breath the first few seconds when you wrapped your arms around his waist. As if waiting for the impact of some unseen blow.
But slowly, in his own weird way, he started showing you affection back. It came out awkward and clumsy, buried under growls and scowls. Sometimes he’d thump his forehead into your shoulder and sit there for a while, quiet and warm like a tired animal claiming his spot, but would grumble if you would make a peep about it. Or when you were lying together, he’d press his face into the back of your neck, no kisses, no words. Just presence. You’d shift a little, adjusting so his chin rested against your shoulder instead. Then, without warning, you turned your head and gave him a small kiss on his temple. He flinched. Froze. Pulled back an inch like you’d slapped him.
“Wh—what the hell was that for?” he barked, voice sharp but a little too high. You smiled to yourself. “Felt like it.”
His jaw ticked. His face was already going red, and he was clearly trying to scowl through the heat crawling up his ears. He huffed like he was mad, “keep your lips off of me…”
Then promptly buried his face deeper into your shoulder. Not just resting this time, nuzzling. The bridge of his nose brushing up along your jaw, cheek pressing against yours like it was the only place he could be comfortable. “…You’re such a pain in the ass,” he mumbled, the words muffled against your skin. His arms settled around your waist, loose at first, then tighter, like he was daring you to say anything about it. You didn’t. And he didn’t move. Little things like this went on for awhile, but eventually, he was beginning to adjust.
He was used to you clinging to him like a baby possum now. Whether you were latched onto his arm, curled against his side, or casually toying with the ends of his hair while talking to someone else, he didn’t swat you away like he used to.
The growling hadn’t stopped, sure. But the twitching, the jerking back, the defensive tailspin? That had all simmered into begrudging tolerance.
One evening, the two of you ended up at Urahara’s shop.
It wasn’t anything formal, just a casual evening with Yoruichi and the “hat man”, drinks passed around, music playing low in the background. You sat curled next to Grimmjow on the floor like always, tucked into his side, while he leaned back against the wall with that usual I hate everyone here scowl.
You reached over to grab the bottle on the low table and poured him another glass, careful not to spill. Grimmjow side-eyed you but didn’t say anything, just picked up the cup and downed it in one go.
“You spoil him,” Yoruichi said, swirling her own drink.
“She’s domesticated him,” Urahara chimed in, grin peeking out from behind his fan. “It’s only fair she tops off his glass like a good housewife.”
Grimmjow immediately stiffened. “I ain’t nobody’s husband,” he snapped.
You just poured yourself a shot while smirking. “Awww!~ you don’t wanna marry me?~” you faked a sob, “I’m hurt!”
“Tch, shut up woman…” he muttered, grabbing your shot from your hand and taking it himself without a second thought, as if that would somehow cancel out your flirting.
Urahara let out a soft chuckle, leaning slightly toward Yoruichi. “It’s textbook exposure therapy, really. Repeated contact until the subject stops growling.”
Grimmjow froze mid-sip. He jerked turned his head to glare at Urahara—murder in his eyes. Urahara just smiled wider, fan hiding half his face. “We’re making real progress.”
Grimmjow smacked his teeth, “Don’t test me, hat man.”
Urahara let out a soft chuckle before turning his attention to you, topping off another drink for you before you could do it yourself. “ Now now, Careful,” he said, watching you with that mischievous twinkle in his eye. “You’re already getting red.”
“I’m fine,” you said, waving him off with your newly refilled glass. “I can keep up.”
“You really can’t,” Yoruichi teased, already leaning on her elbow like she was expecting a show.
Now Grimmjow could hold his liquor, you’ve seen him down a bottle and still be able to take you both home.
By your third glass, you were already giggly. By the fourth, you’d migrated into Grimmjow’s space completely, legs tossed over his lap, head against his chest, fingers lazily drawing circles into the muscle of his forearm like it was your favorite canvas.
He hadn’t told you to stop. If anything, he’d gone suspiciously still. His face was just slightly pink. Just a little warm. Nothing outrageous.
But your eyes were half-lidded now, the alcohol making your body feel slow and warm and bold.
You looked over at Urahara and Yoruichi, who at this point, were arguing about god knows what, obviously not worried about you two. So you looked up at him with a soft, drunk little smile, reached up—
—and gently tugged his face down to yours.
Grimmjow blinked. “What’re you—”
Not a peck. Not one of your usual teasing cheek kisses. A real, lingering kiss. Soft lips pressed to his, one hand sliding down his chest to his waist while the other held onto the back of his neck. He tensed for half a second… then sank into it.
His hand found your waist. His eyes fluttered shut. You could feel it in the way he kissed you back: tentative, searching, just a little desperate. Like he didn’t want to admit how much he needed it.
Yoruichi practically cheered.
Urahara clapped like he was at a wedding.
Grimmjow’s eyes snapped open.
He pushed you back like you’d caught on fire, shoving you off his lap and onto the cushion beside him before jumping to his feet— nearly flipping the table.
Urahara didn’t miss a beat.
“Ahh, I see the exposure therapy is working!” he exclaimed, howling with laughter, practically wheezing behind his fan and slapping his knee.
Grimmjow pointed at him like he was choosing his next victim.
“You wanna go, old man?!” he snapped, teeth bared, whole face burning red. “Say that shit again— I dare you!”
Yoruichi leaned back, holding her stomach with how hard she was laughing. “You liked it! You even closed your eyes for a second— ”
“Keep runnin’ your mouth and see how fast I shut it!!”
Urahara waved his fan in amusement, teasing, “Classic case of overcorrection. First the kiss, then the flight response. He’s panicking.”
Grimmjow actually lunged.
You caught his shirt mid-charge, yanking him back down with surprising strength for a giggling drunk. He hit the cushion beside you with a grunt, jaw tight and eyes still locked on Urahara like he hadn’t fully decided not to commit murder.
“Grimmjowww~,” you whined playfully, climbing right back into his lap like he hadn’t just tried to launch you across the room. “drink your damn sake and stop threatening people.”
He stared at you like you were insane, but you handed him a fresh cup anyway. His eye twitched before begrudgingly taking it, knocking it back in one go.
You leaned into him again, grinning against his neck.
“…I hate you,” he muttered. But his arms went around you anyway.
Not tight. Just enough to keep you from falling out of his lap. He turned slightly, facing away from the others so they couldn’t see the furious blush creeping up his ears, down his neck, across the very tip of his nose.
“Don’t say a word,” he hissed sensing eyes on him, mostly at Urahara.
“I think this counts as another step in his exposure therapy,” Urahara said cheerfully.
Grimmjow let out the loudest, most exasperated sigh in the history of Arrancar-kind, and buried his face in your shoulder.
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