★ pick someone you want to play with and put it in the subject. ★ feel free to request if you don't see 'em on the list. (muse strength may vary) ★ leave a pic/prompt/whatever ★ stuff ★ have fun!
[ it's not the first time she's let herself into his apartment.
she times it so that she gets there when he's at work, right in the middle of his day so the possibility of him doubling back home isn't as high. she remembered when she first started this routine how messy his apartment was (let's not forget that couch) and now, she almost doesn't recognize it. at least she can actually see the original beige color the couch was and everything else was arranged in a more organized manner. things were good, it's not as if he confronted her about it anyway.
but today was a little different. maybe it's the lack of sleep or fatigue, she's not sure; she breaks a plate while doing his dishes. the sound startles her more than anything and as she kneels down to pick up the broken pieces she can't help but feel like the whole thing is just futile. grimmjow doesn't need her help, doesn't need her company. he's survived this long on his own, what right does she have to try and change what works for him?
and maybe it's a sign when she cuts herself while gathering up the pieces, blood staining the blues and oranges of the plate. ]
[ he's not oblivious to the changes taking place in his apartment. nor is he particularly bothered by them. he was, for a time, curious as to who was making them. it wasn't the roommate: grimmjow hadn't seen what's-his-name in ... long enough to consider him abducted or dead. that left the list of possible cleaners at a big fat zero. to another person, that might have been alarming. to grimmjow, it was slightly puzzling, and quickly dismissed. what did he care who was cleaning the place, as long as they didn't fuck with his stuff?
so the mystery went uninvestigated. the place became cleaner and cleaner, and grimmjow didn't object. his couch became softer as years of cracked blood disappeared, and grimmjow slept better for it.
sleep on that mysteriously cleaner couch is exactly what's on his mind, as he tromps up the dim, narrow stairway to his apartment. he's earlier than usual; the guy didn't take as long to break as his buddies had. he catches glimpses of neighbors that he rarely sees, glares at a woman dragging her kid out of his way, steps over a man (corpse?) in his hall, hears glass shatter somewhere nearby, and finally reaches his door.
the key sticks in the lock, and he rattles the handle until it finally twists. he steps inside — blood-splattered as always, though none of it his — and smells ... something.
it says quite a bit, that grimmjow doesn't immediately recognize that smell as cleaning products.
he sniffs the air twice, scowling, and begins scanning the apartment for the source. orange and blue catch his attention first. only then does he notice the small figure beside the broken plates.
at his voice, momo nearly jumps as she turns around, expression two parts surprised and guilty. it's obvious she wasn't expecting him, not like this at least, and she flounders for what to say. his scowl definitely isn't helping at all. ]
Um, [ she starts, fingers from her right hand clutching her left out of nervousness and to stem the bloodflow. ] Doing your dishes?
[ it's a really lame answer and she almost wants to grimace, but she stays rooted to her spot. she's not sure if grimmjow will yell at her or throw her out, despite the part of her that really hopes he won't.
she realizes then that maybe this was all just a selfish act. maybe she just wants company, masked under the guise of her attempt to take care of him. ]
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yELLS (also aus verse bc i couldn't think of anything else)
she times it so that she gets there when he's at work, right in the middle of his day so the possibility of him doubling back home isn't as high. she remembered when she first started this routine how messy his apartment was (let's not forget that couch) and now, she almost doesn't recognize it. at least she can actually see the original beige color the couch was and everything else was arranged in a more organized manner. things were good, it's not as if he confronted her about it anyway.
but today was a little different. maybe it's the lack of sleep or fatigue, she's not sure; she breaks a plate while doing his dishes. the sound startles her more than anything and as she kneels down to pick up the broken pieces she can't help but feel like the whole thing is just futile. grimmjow doesn't need her help, doesn't need her company. he's survived this long on his own, what right does she have to try and change what works for him?
and maybe it's a sign when she cuts herself while gathering up the pieces, blood staining the blues and oranges of the plate. ]
yesssss i love it
so the mystery went uninvestigated. the place became cleaner and cleaner, and grimmjow didn't object. his couch became softer as years of cracked blood disappeared, and grimmjow slept better for it.
sleep on that mysteriously cleaner couch is exactly what's on his mind, as he tromps up the dim, narrow stairway to his apartment. he's earlier than usual; the guy didn't take as long to break as his buddies had. he catches glimpses of neighbors that he rarely sees, glares at a woman dragging her kid out of his way, steps over a man (corpse?) in his hall, hears glass shatter somewhere nearby, and finally reaches his door.
the key sticks in the lock, and he rattles the handle until it finally twists. he steps inside — blood-splattered as always, though none of it his — and smells ... something.
it says quite a bit, that grimmjow doesn't immediately recognize that smell as cleaning products.
he sniffs the air twice, scowling, and begins scanning the apartment for the source. orange and blue catch his attention first. only then does he notice the small figure beside the broken plates.
his scowl deepens. ]
The fuck are you doing here?
no subject
at his voice, momo nearly jumps as she turns around, expression two parts surprised and guilty. it's obvious she wasn't expecting him, not like this at least, and she flounders for what to say. his scowl definitely isn't helping at all. ]
Um, [ she starts, fingers from her right hand clutching her left out of nervousness and to stem the bloodflow. ] Doing your dishes?
[ it's a really lame answer and she almost wants to grimace, but she stays rooted to her spot. she's not sure if grimmjow will yell at her or throw her out, despite the part of her that really hopes he won't.
she realizes then that maybe this was all just a selfish act. maybe she just wants company, masked under the guise of her attempt to take care of him. ]