#[ verse || 𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖓 𝖆𝖚 ]

[jaegersol]

Starter for || @black--sun @chimaericrealities

Aizen has a secret~ Aizen has a secret~ Aizen has a seeeecret~! And Grimmjow is gonna find out what it is.

And it had better be worth it, cuz Grimmjow isn’t a huge fan of crawling through vent, personally speaking. He’s more of the ‘find a costume and charm his way in’ kind of guy, which is a stunt he absolutely can’t pull in this particular building cuz - if Aizen’s smart, and he is - all of the security guards know not to let a dangerous psychopath like Grimmjow anywhere near Aizen’s private office, no matter what pretty skirt and blonde wig he hides his firearms behind. And his secret.

His information is reliable, he already checked. Gin his favourite handler on a good day told him, himself. Grimmjow obviously hacked the security feeds to confirm. Pity the feeds don’t give him anything more than idle gossip - no way would Aizen allow cameras and mics in his private space. 

He pauses only once on his way to his destination, attention briefly caught by a the sight of a naughty coat-room snog between two security guards on duty as he passes silently overhead. The handsy exchange, however, doesn’t promise the euphoria uncovering whatever is hiding inside Aizen’s private suite and Grimmjow moves on quickly, disabling and avoiding security checkpoints, lasers, and pressure alarms until he’s finally settles past the prying eyes of Aizen’s security forces and can pop the screws out of their place over the grill, carefully fitting his body through the small hole it makes before he can drop comfortably onto the floor and into an apartment he hasn’t yet had the pleasure of seeing.

The space is nice - a large open plan living room and bar, not that Grimmjow suspects he needs it. There’s probably a wine cellar tucked away somewhere. A kitchen around the corner through one of the many many doors he can see. The furniture is pristine. White and pure, with tasteful wooden accents.

The view is stunning. Tokyo laid out in all her glory behind two stories of large arching french doors which open onto a deck that has even Grimmjow’s stomach swooping. It surely can’t be safe to have a balcony this high with nothing more than thin metal to prevent a long drop. He wonders if Aizen’s ever pushed anyone off of it, Grimmjow sort of wants to try. Body bits would splatter paint the pavement, Jackson Pollock style. 

The whole place screams Aizen. 

He slides his backpack off his back as he circulates through the room, fingers trailing over the cashmere blankets thrown over the back of couches, poking the few sculptural nick nacks and finally settles on his back zipper to extract his ‘house warming’ gift.

He leaves the bottle of Bordeaux on the bar, it’s little red ribbon only mildly askew and vanishes from the living room in search of his prize which he finds where he expects it: Aizen’s bedroom, propped on silken porcelain sheets like a precious jewel.

“Well well well.” Grimmjow greets from the doorway, one arm braced on the immaculate white frame, “What do we have here. A wife? Dirty mistress? Puppy?”