After finishing the latest installment of Blue Collar Angel, I feel like I've hit the proverbial wall. Yes, the dreaded writer's block.
To help with that, someone suggested I try the 100 themed drabble challenge thing and I thought it sounded like fun. I really need to get some of these ideas I have swimming around in my mind onto paper. The possibility of me doing all one hundred? Unlikely. But~ here's a few to satiate any appetite y'all may have for little GrimmIchi teasers.
If any of these strike your fancy, you have my full permission to use the idea and/or words. As much as it pains me, I can't afford to keep and nurture them any longer.
Summary: A collection of one hundred themed drabbles. AU GrimmIchi.
Warnings: AU, yaoi, sexual content, polyamory, violence, naughty language, character death, substance abuse, etc., etc.
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.
Odds and Ends
Dark cerulean lashes fluttered, one eyelid slitting open the slightest crack to reveal a portion of one perfectly, unimaginably blue iris of swirling storm rain and ocean waves. A ray of radiant sunlight fell across the man's face, illuminating the glittering sapphire and planes of an attractively angular face, one so sinfully beautiful it had to belong to the Devil himself, or as he was otherwise known: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques.
Full lips curled in an irritated sneer at being woken by the hated heavenly orb of fire and a broad hand gripped the edge of an ebony satin sheet, but when Grimmjow attempted to pull the fabric over his head and black out the sun he found that the sheet caught on something halfway up. Blinking once, his eyes opened fully and swiveled over and down, widening briefly before narrowing into pleased, lascivious slits. A smirk spread over his face, a facade of beautifully wicked intent as flashes of memories of the night before flickered through his mind's eye.
It seemed there was a little patch of sunshine of his own right in his very bed.
Licking his lips with a long tongue, Grimmjow let his eyes roam over the peacefully sleeping figure with a head of tousled, silken locks the color of golden, honey nectarines from the Garden of Eden, the color of forbidden fruit. Thick, dark lashes lay upon tawny, flushed skin, eyes he knew to be like pools of sticky, sweet, hot molasses hidden from view. Pretty pink lips were parted, languid exhalations of breath passing through and the black sheets were pulled up to just above the boy's ribcage as he lay on his side, both hands pillowed under his head like a resting angel.
Grinning evilly, Grimmjow leaned down and blew a soft breath over the other's neck, ruffling those orange hairs and revealing peachy flesh thoroughly sucked and bitten, a collection of reddish purple marks spanning all across. Lithe shoulders shuddered and the boy's lashes beat like butterfly wings, blinking a few times before half-lidded, dazed syrupy brown eyes locked with phosphorescent blue. Grimmjow knew he saw those lovely lips smile for the quickest second before the boy stiffened, eyes widening to saucers and mouth falling open to let out a startled squeak, that tempting body scrambling to get away from him and then crashing onto the floor.
The blue-haired male chuckled deeply, moving to prop himself up on his hands and look over the edge of the bed to where the other was tangled in the satin sheets on the floor, trying to simultaneously cover himself and back as far away as possible.
"W-where am I? And who the hell are you!"
"Ya don' know my name?" Grimmjow teased, earning a fiery scowl in return. "Tha' hurts my feelin's, Ichigo."
"Just answer the question!"
"Mmm, 'm Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, or as ya saw fit to call me las' night: yer daddy."
"I did not!" Ichigo shouted, a mortified blush lighting up his entire body.
"Did-... ugh, whatever."
Ichigo Kurosaki was sitting at his rather cluttered, small desk in the almost as small cubicle that masqueraded as his office. Sticky notes filled the space along with stacks of papers covered in handwritten notes, books of varying sizes were haphazardly piled on all corners. A desktop Mac OS open to a word processing program and a small, framed photo of a man and his wife and their three children were the only things on the desk that weren't made out of some type of paper.
The orange-haired man sitting there stared blankly at the computer screen, cinnamon eyes glazed behind ebony, square framed glasses. He had been trying for nearly an hour now to write the next chapter of his book, having gone into the office early in order to gain some reprieve from the constant yelling of his neighbors to try and write in peace. But as it turned out, he was completely void of inspiration, reducing him to resemble a brain-dead zombie as he barely even blinked.
Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to only live on four hours of sleep a night and roughly twenty six cups of coffee a day.
However, just as he was about to put his fingers to the keyboard in order to start typing away until that writing mood washed over him, a soft knock to his right startled him so much so that he jumped nearly a foot in the air. Whipping his head around to look at the person that had taken him by surprise, his heart nearly stopped when he saw just whom it was.
Sosuke Aizen was the editor-in-chief of Bleach Publishing Inc. and was renowned in the literary world for his keen eye in spotting bestsellers. He was tall, over six feet, and had sepia brown hair that was swept back in such a way that it looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial. He always had this half-smile on his handsome face that made him look warm and arrogant at the same time. And he had completely stolen Ichigo's heart the very first day he had ever seen the man.
"Hello Ichigo," Aizen said smoothly. "You're here early."
"Yeah, I...," Ichigo licked his suddenly very dry lips. "I have a lot of work to do."
"If only all our employees were as dedicated as you," Aizen said, the most minute of smiles quirking his lips and Ichigo felt his heart stutter in its steady beats. "I can expect to see you at the launch party tonight, then?"
"Yes, I'll be there," Ichigo said, nodding emphatically.
"Excellent. I look forward to it," Aizen said before turning on his heel and walking down the hall to his large corner office, leaving the orangette to slump forward in his seat and sigh dejectedly.
"I just don't get what you see in that prick, Ichigo," a throaty, feminine voice said from behind him and he didn't have to turn around to see who it was. The click clack of her red-soled Louboutins on the hardwood floor was enough to decipher her identity as Yoruichi Shihoin, a gorgeous, tough as nails publishing agent that had befriended Ichigo on his very first day here with hair the color of deep aubergine and golden yellow eyes. "I mean you two hooked up once at the holiday party last year, not to mention he's engaged to that mousy little thing whatsherface."
"Momo," Ichigo supplied despondently.
"Right, Momo," Yoruichi said in distaste, leaning over Ichigo's bent back and laying a well-manicured hand on his shoulder. "Don't you think it's time to move on already? He's just stringing you along."
"It's... complicated," Ichigo said, sighing and hoping that the woman would drop the subject already.
"Hmm, you know that launch party tonight?" Yoruichi asked, a cryptic, teasing tone in her words. When Ichigo hummed an affirmative response and the purple-maned agent reached into her Prada tote bag and withdrew a novel-sized volume, its dust jacket a stony gray with courier text in no-nonsense white - the latest addition to Bleach Publishing's best-selling series of practical love advice books written by an anonymous author.
"You have an advance copy?" Ichigo murmured in awe.
"Of course I do and I think you'll get a lot out of this chapter," Yoruichi said, letting the book drop onto his desk, open to page two hundred and ninety seven - the beginning of chapter sixteen, which was entitled...
It's Complicated? It's Bullshit.
A/N: Yes, Grimmjow's the 'anonymous author.' :)
Ichigo looked across the room through a pair of horn-rimmed, oversized glasses, one hand lying limply over his knee and loosely grasping a half-empty can of Pabst Blue Ribbon whilst the other held a single cognac Capone in between two slender fingers. The object of his attention at that moment was nursing a water bottle during breaks in his conversation with two girls with dyed, neon hair.
Pretentious straight-edge motherfucker, Ichigo thought with a sneer, taking another drag off the small cigar in his hand.
Grimmjow Jaegerjaques was so up the punx it was just sad. Seriously, he just reeked of it. Dressed in black tight jeans, spiked leather jacket, under which his ripped, white t-shirt proclaimed 'You Make Me Feel Like Danzig", 4G black gauges and safety pins in his ears, and combat boots that were just utterly trashed with bright blue laces to match his hair he was the epitome of the 'I-don't-give-a-fuck-but-I actually-do' conscientious anarchist with a love/hate relationship for the world and the inability to accept punk was. SO. Dead. Poor soul.
Of course, Ichigo wasn't really prejudiced against anyone, being so accepting and all as was expected of his generation and so if that fine ass punk didn't stop eye-fucking him from across the room, he may just end up doing something about it.
A/N: Ya like? I hope so, considering I'm feeling like such an utter writing failure lately and I have to admit I did rather like picturing a rivalry between a hipster!Ichi and an up-the-punx!Grimm. Adorbs, no? A friend on dA suggested I make it into a oneshot and she'd then provide a visual accompaniment so that may be something to look forward to in the near future. :)
Catch you guys later~