A/N: Send me requests guysss I am running out of ideas.
• Tamsy Caines.°•
Tamsy comes back way past midnight, jacket half-off and hair a mess, exhaustion written all over face. You’re already awake, pretending to sleep until the exact moment boots come off. The second Tamsy sits on the bed, you pounce—arms around waist, face buried in chest. Tamsy freezes, entire body locking up like a startled cat.
“—What are you doing?”comes out in a whisper, but there’s no attempt to pull away. You drag both of you under the blanket without explanation. Tamsy’s ears burn red, heartbeat loud enough for you to feel. After a minute, one arm hesitantly wraps around you, fingers curling into fabric. There’s a mutter about being tired… but the hold tightens anyway. Tamsy falls asleep first, forehead pressed against yours.
• Enjin.°•
Enjin slips in quietly, trying not to wake anyone, mission fatigue heavy on shoulders. You’re sitting up, eyes wide, waiting. Before Enjin can speak, you tackle straight into arms. Enjin stumbles, laughs softly, then collapses onto the bed with you. The blanket comes up as you snuggle in close like this is routine. Enjin gets flustered fast, one hand hovering, unsure where to rest.
“Couldn’t sleep?” is asked gently. You nuzzle closer instead of answering. Enjin sighs, warmth spreading, arms closing around you with practiced ease. Fingers absentmindedly brush hair while a quiet thanks slips out for waiting. Mission stress melts away almost instantly.
• Follo Tunito.°•
Follo walks in exhausted but alert, senses still sharp. You rush forward without warning, tackling mid-step. Follo almost reacts defensively—almost—then freezes once realizing it’s you. The blanket gets dragged over both of you as you cling like a koala. Follo’s face heats up fast, eyes darting everywhere but at you. As your hands slides in his clothes, flowing over his sensetive skin.
“T-This is!…sudden!,” comes out. Follo doesn’t move away. Not at all. One hand carefully settles on your back, grounding. Breathing slowly syncs up. Sleep comes stiff at first… then everything relaxes completely.
• Gris Rubion.°•
Gris comes back dead tired, shoulders slumped, barely holding together. You wait until Gris sits down—then tackle straight into chest. A surprised sound slips out, followed by weak laughter. The blanket cocoon happens immediately. Gris melts into it like this was needed more than admitted. Arms wrap around you firmly, protective and grounding. Face presses into your hair, inhaling deeply.
“Stay like this,” is murmured quietly. Gris strokes your back slowly until breathing evens out, falling asleep mid-motion with grip never loosening.
• Zanka Nijiku.°•
Zanka bursts in loud even at night, complaining nonstop about the mission. The rant cuts off mid-sentence when you tackle straight onto the bed. “HEY—!” The blanket is pulled over both of you before escape is possible. Zanka panics for exactly three seconds, face turning red, hands flailing while trying to keep composure.
“…You can’t just do that!” comes out sharp, but laughter sneaks in anyway. Eventually Zanka gives up and slings an arm around you, grumbling nonstop while cuddling back harder. Sleep takes over with insults muttered that sound suspiciously fond.
• Jabber Wonger.°•
Jabber comes back late, blood still drying, energy sharp and restless. You’re waiting—and attack without hesitation. Jabber laughs immediately, delighted. “Bold move,” is whispered close to your ear while letting you drag both of you under the blanket with ease. Jabber loves the closeness but pretends not to, teasing nonstop about being clingy while keeping an arm locked tight around you. Fingers trace idle patterns along your side.
Eventually the teasing dies down, breath warm against your neck. Jabber falls asleep with a uncharacteristic fond smile, holding you like something precious.
Hope you liked it.LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!
Don't steal,copy,edit or use my works in any form without my permission.
‿◞ ྀི 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲—You’re a nervous wreck whenever he’s around, that much is obvious.
⟢ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬—fluff, no established relationship, reader has a very obvious crush. not beta'd. female reader, gendered pronouns used.
⟢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭—1.2k
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ ⁺
You have a habit of rambling when he’s around.
Around anyone else, you seem perfectly capable of holding a normal, well-paced conversation; yet the moment he enters the picture, you become unable to hold one single topic of conversation. Suddenly, talking about the latest Trash Beasts appearances has you mentioning one that was made entirely out of electric devices, which has you wondering out loud if there’s any rhyme or reason to the type of shit that becomes a Trash Beast, which in turn has you considering the possibility of one made entirely out of old and torn plushies, which then has you reminiscing about a really cute octopus plushie you owned as a child. And so on, and so on.
It’s like watching a novice juggler attempt to juggle ten balls at the same time.
He makes you so nervous it’s painfully obvious. He’s noticed, Semiu’s noticed—hell, even Rudo’s noticed, and he’s not the most well-versed in social interactions.
Yet again, you’ve launched yourself on an uninterrupted, erratic monologue about the different cars you’ve seen this past week and their colours. Or were you talking about tires made to glide easily through piles of trash? Junk you collect from Polluted Zones? Fuck if he knows. You’ve been talking for so long that he lost track of the conversation like three topics ago.
𝐄𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧
Usually, he would find it annoying, but fuck, you’re so cute when you’re nervous. He doesn’t mind just sitting there as you jump from one topic to another like an acrobat on the jumprope. If he were a better man, he would’ve put you out of your misery the moment he noticed your little crush—kissed you, told you he liked you too, invited you to sleep over in his room…
However, he’s decidedly not a better man. He’s a menace, in fact, and he enjoys watching you squirm far too much. Semiu has scolded him for tormenting you one too many times, but he just can’t help himself. Like, damn, you can’t even be quiet around him for a second, immediately filling the silence with the first thing that comes to mind. How’s he supposed to not exploit that and make you even more nervous by leaning closer and looking at you intently?
“So uhm…then I uhm, I found this really cool figure, you know? And it was only missing an arm, right? So yeah, I mean, I figured I could get Rudo to fix it for me?”
Heh, cute.
The longer he looks at you, the more skittish you grow. Having his undivided attention brings your heartbeat up to a dangerous speed. The way his eyes seem to make their way to your lips ever so often is definitely not helping.
And is it getting hotter? Someone should probably crack a window open before you suffocate and pass out.
“Hey, little mouse?”
Finally, finally, you shut up and look at him properly. There’s not much time for you to take in the warm expression on Enjin’s face. The second you turn to him he’s coming closer. Too close. Impossibly close. Holding your chin so you won’t move away. Pressing his lips gingerly against yours. Deepening the kiss and swallowing the embarrassing sound you let out.
And he has the audacity to chuckle—chuckle—when he pulls away.
Yeah, you’re definitely going into cardiac arrest.
“Why… Why’d you do that?”
He’s still so close you’d only need to tip your head up to kiss him again. Please, let him kiss you again.
“Cause you wouldn’t shut up,” is all he says before he’s seizing your lips once more. Greedier, messier.
This is definitely a better way to fill the silence.
𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐬
Semiu would’ve probably scolded him for letting you make a fool of yourself constantly and relentlessly, were it not for the lovestruck look on his face that mirrored your own. More than once the words formed in her head—you’re better than this, Gris; you shouldn’t toy with her, Gris; not even Enjin would be this asshole-ish.
Seriously, half the time you don’t even make sense! It’s painful to watch. It takes only one look his way to realize he’s just as big a fool as you, though.
No matter how impossible and outlandish your changes in topic are, his attention never falters. Soft “Uh-uh”s and “Really?”s leave his lips so you know he’s listening. Occasionally he’ll comment too, so that you really know he’s paying attention.
Surely you know he cares about what you have to say, right?
He needs you to know—needs you to get over your nerves, so that he can finally tell you how he feels.
Of course, it has the opposite effect.
He seems so concentrated on your aimless talk that you can’t really focus on what you’re saying. What are you even talking about? Why are you telling him about that weird dream of you riding a cow-shaped motorcycle while patrolling the Polluted Zone?
You wish you could just curl up and die already.
Though even if you could, his soft, warm laughter would bring you right back from the dead with embarrassing ease. Shit. His laugh is so pretty. He is so pretty. How could anyone form coherent thoughts when he’s around?
“That’s nothing though! Once I dreamt I was flying around HQ wearing the most ridiculous costume…”
Shut up! Please, for the love of everything good, why are you still talking?
What a train wreck. You can’t even stop yourself, no matter how hard you try. How could you when he’s looking at you so warmly? His eyes are trained on you, unwavering and encouraging. And he’s just so focused on the shit you’re saying.
It’s entirely his fault, really, that you can’t help but make a fool of yourself. If only he stopped looking at you that way.
“Uhm… Gris?”
You hate how shy you sound, but he’s been staring at your lips for far too long and it’s making your skin prickle and burn. Or maybe you finally combusted and you caught fire, it wouldn’t surprise you if you did.
It’s either that, or you ate some edibles without realizing.
Yeah, it’s probably that. You got high without knowing and you’re hallucinating.
That’s the only explanation. Why else would Gris be leaning closer? And closing his eyes? And parting his lips? And…
Oh.
Oh.
Fuck. His lips are so much softer than they look, but he’s just as good a kisser as you’d thought.
You’ve dreamt about this for almost as long as you’ve known him, and now that it’s happening you become putty, pliant under his ministrations. Your lips part easily when his tongue swipes across them. When his hands, big, calloused, tighten around you and pull you closer, you can do nothing but let him. You can’t even be embarrassed at the moan you let out, too engrossed in the feeling of his lips on yours to care.
It takes you an embarrassingly long moment to catch your breath when he finally pulls away. The dark look in his eyes has you trembling.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love hearing you talk, I really do but… can we do this instead when you feel nervous?”
He laughs when you punch his shoulder and hide your face on the crook of your neck.
He laughs even harder when you just nod and whine a cute little “please.”
Gris Rubion doesn’t fall for you because you’re different in a flashy way, but because you’re consistent in your care, the way you show up for people without making it about yourself, the way you help without expecting recognition, and he recognizes that immediately as something genuine, not performative, which makes him trust you long before he realizes he’s growing attached.
He is naturally attentive to people’s emotional states, and with you that attentiveness deepens into something more focused, where he notices when you’re tired even if you’re still smiling, when your tone shifts slightly after something difficult, when you’re pushing yourself past comfort for the sake of others, and instead of calling it out bluntly he adjusts quietly, stepping in to ease your workload or redirect situations so you’re not overwhelmed.
He speaks to you with a kind of calm patience that he doesn’t extend to everyone, letting you explain things fully, asking follow-up questions not to challenge you but to understand you better. There’s a softness in those conversations that isn’t obvious at first but becomes more noticeable the longer it continues, like he’s creating space specifically for you to exist comfortably outside both of yours jobs and duties.
He becomes someone you naturally rely on without realizing it, because he’s always there in a way that feels unforced, offering help before you have to ask, remembering things you mentioned needing days ago, making sure you have what you need to do your work properly, and he never frames it as doing something for you, just as something that makes sense to do.
There are small moments where his composure slips, not dramatically but enough to be noticeable if you’re paying attention, like when you thank him sincerely. He pauses a second longer than expected before responding, or when you’re hurt and he reacts faster than usual, his voice just slightly sharper with concern before he steadies it again.
He is openly kind, but with you that kindness becomes more personal, more deliberate, like he’s thinking about what specifically you need rather than applying general care, and that difference shows in small ways, like adjusting how he explains things to match your perspective, or making sure you’re included in decisions even when you don’t push yourself forward.
He doesn’t get jealous in an obvious way, but he does become more aware of how others interact with you, especially if someone dismisses your efforts or misunderstands your intentions, and he will step in. Not aggressively, but firmly, clarifying your actions and making sure you’re seen accurately, because your sincerity is something he respects deeply.
If someone were to ask him directly about you, he wouldn’t deflect or deny coldly, but he also wouldn’t label it easily, instead giving an answer that reflects his mindset, something along the lines of you being important, someone he trusts, someone who makes things better. He's not avoiding the truth, but to him, those things already are the truth, regardless of what name is attached to them.
And the most telling thing is that his care for you never feels like a shift or a sudden realization, it feels like something that grew naturally out of who he already is, his empathy, his steadiness, his quiet generosity, until one day it’s simply undeniable that you are someone he has chosen to prioritize, because being around you aligns with the kind of person he already strives to be.
~ @ m-joys 2026 ♡
A/n: I apologize if it's a little OOC, Im currently only on episode 9 but Gris already has a strong hold on me, any input is welcome ♡
ೄ in this unforgiving world, you and Gris manage to find solace amidst your slowly budding romance, particularly in mornings before everyone else is awake.
ೄ cw: minors dni, x fem reader, reader is a single mother, brief suggestive smut (barely), reader has a vital instrument, vague allusions to reader having scars, blemishes, and/or moles. self indulgent hell.
ೄ words: 1.8k
ೄa/n: there i was, minding my own business, when this weekend i watched Gachiakuta with some friends and came out of it with a special someone i have fallen very quickly for.💕 still very new to the world of Gachiakuta so go easy on me lolol. Dividers by @/saradika-graphics, sparkles by @/anitalenia
ೄtags: @eveningatthemoviesnetwork
"I'm honestly no good for you, really."
A gentle exhale in response against your neck fans the strands of your hair that splay across the strong arm that he's tucked underneath you.
Your small dwelling is silent save for intentional breaths and tender friction from unclothed skin, unguarded in your shabby bedroom.
The thin walls don't shield against the bittersweet plumes of steeped coffee thanks to the anima that idly overfills your favorite mug, makeshift luxuries are born from once separate, imperfectly crafted rituals that now unapologetically bleed into one gentle routine.
So painfully and beautifully you and him.
The next steps would unfold at an unclear time this morning, so long as your home's youngest occupant remained asleep.
Somewhere in the distance, the fractured light that scarcely reaches The Ground begins to slowly hum the sleeping world to life.
But in this sunless quiet you have fractured from the unforgiving passage of time with Gris, everywhere else may as well have ceased to exist.
He inhales, raising his left hand, palm up, callouses of his fingers bending to allow yours to slip through his perfectly.
He squeezes so gently, as though silently confirming the reception of your words, and the kiss that he leaves on your neck in response conveys that your flimsy defensive intention behind them disguised as a warning will forever be starved of the sacred meaning he assigns to everything he holds dear.
Including you.
"You're warm." He murmurs, and you can't help but laugh at this observation of you that really should be directed towards himself.
That lovely sound, so meekly bright as it leaves your lips, pulls at his heart so much that he almost groans.
He uses his right hand that's currently unoccupied by your hands to slip below your chin, guiding your gaze back towards him.
"Come here."
You'll allow him to take what you already give to him so freely without permission.
But, because it's you, he would always ask.
You turn in the messy tangle of sheets veiling your naked breasts to face him. His bare rigid muscles and scars on his chest twitch momentarily as he brings you closer against their sanctuary.
Your reluctant eyes meet the dusky grey blue of his, soft and beckoning like the cool preamble every dawn when the call of the morning bids farewell to the rapidly fading indigo of the night, his hair golden like sunlight that drums up the warmth remaining from morning to afternoon in the heart of Spring.
The melody of your vitality momentarily quickens when you see him, forever disarmed by those stormy pools, whose intensity you have now willingly, hopelessly acclimated to as comfort.
He's the most gentle sea you have learned to swim and breathe under.
The sea of Gris.
"Gris?"
"Yes?" He answers, as he always does in that frustrating way that revealed no end to his softness, no trace of playfulness either.
No amusement whatsoever whenever it concerns you calling for him. Just him. Here. Fulfilling his purpose in a new way. Deeper, but with no less reverence and devotion that was enshrined in his foundation.
In fact now, perhaps it is so much so that it scares him because nothing ever could before he knew the sound of your name.
Gris cups both of your cheeks, thumbs moving in lazy repetition, his own reassurement without words that his attention remains solidly tethered to this silence and whenever you wish to break it on your own time.
He is a sturdy frame surrounding a canvas on which resides a masterpiece he prays he never finishes, crafting invisible markings to memory with curious eyes of more things to revere about you.
More stops along a map with no destination.
Where you think you end, he begins anew.
Always.
"Gris."
There it is.
His eyes loosen their crinkle from momentary anticipation, melting to softness, that immeasurable peace he didn't realize he could feel from loving someone who whispered his name solely because she liked the sound of it, and he smiles.
He's known for a while, he's just waiting for you to say it.
"You're always good. Especially like this." Gris murmurs, fingertips catching a piece of your hair where the pattern forms with more texture, before he releases it, thin lips parting as he traces its path back into the forest of the sweet being it belongs to.
One that he longs to also call his.
"Useless question for you."
He smiles as his eyes flutter out of their concentration on your hair, meeting your own.
"Go ahead."
"Do you think..." Your voice teeters weakly as he kisses both of your eyelids, hands appreciating the soft skin that gathers at your hips. "...that everywhere you kissed me in another life got marked on me, somehow?"
Maybe he can't wait so long, after all.
Gris's eyes move over you in soft appraisal, his grip tightening on you as they land on every scar, dip, mole he's learned that you possess, heartstrings pulling almost to the point of overwhelm when he notates the sheer number of them.
"I'm sure of it, sweetheart." He whispers resolutely, leaning in to kiss his favorite spot on your chin. "But I also think if that were true, you'd have way more than you already do."
"Mm... that's true", and you feel him smile as his kisses cascade in another descent to where the sound bubbles in your throat.
You hum appreciatively as his lips linger near yours, catching his nose with an affectionate bump, bringing your fingers to the soft pink tissue forming the faded scar over his left eye that tapers near the bottom of his cheek.
Gris's breath hitches as though he's disarmed by the fact that as much as he's been drowning you in worshipful appreciation all morning and night, you can do the same to him.
Mentally cataloging the little creases over the inner corners of his eyes and the fullness of the relaxed brows over them, his sharp, stubble ridden jaw, ridged and masculine that only tightened with sensual purpose ever since the creaky door slammed shut behind you in the passion fueled hours of the previous night.
"You're so beautiful, Gris..."
His thin lips part over his pearly teeth, the planes of his scarred and battle marked chest heaving with a wrecked feeling by a warmth uniquely to you that haunts him long after you leave in the very best way.
He whispers your name and the way it lingers in the moment like a vow, no, a certainty that what has so quickly transpired between you two will lead to something everlasting that he'll solemnly swear to protect above all else.
"What have you done to me, Gris?" You tsk softly, and his nose wrinkles.
Love you, he thinks, but the silence feels more fitting for now.
Naked and peaceful with something truly substantial you're merely appreciating in the present moment. By all accounts, his soul grows more assured by the day that you return his love, his cleaners cap sitting on your mantle, a new home worth keeping.
Instead you go on to admire him while the dreary morning still allows you quiet, measuring his large, calloused palm between your index finger and thumb, his heart nearly climbs out of his chest when you measure it again, just to be sure.
How fitting that something like size is so generously afforded to a wonderful man like Gris. So giant in heart, giant in soul, giant in...
"What's so funny, sweetie?" He smiles, snatching you around your soft waist. "Hmm?"
He exhales into the hollow where your neck meets your shoulder, dizzy in how the brewing scent from the kitchen has become blended into your hair with a lingering note of lily, and how it's essentially rubbed off on him as well.
"Can't smirk your way out of this one." He whispers, trying to tranquilize you with another shower of kisses along your throat, hands wandering lower where the sheets pool around your bare sex, a thin barrier like a cloud between your skin and where his fingers would have no trouble navigating that passionate trail he'd been down many times before.
"Gris. If I tell you, then I definitely can't promise you'll make it to work on time." You sigh right as he kisses you and he pauses, pulling away, recognizing that look, that disarming gleam in the form of pure want that spills over your pupils into your irises and leaves him aching, the kind that must be taken care of immediately, til either you tap out or it's pounded into you at last that he's not going anywhere, that you're free and safe to fall into the wide net of love he's casted so easily when you gave him your name and he told you his story in a part of town he was never supposed to visit that one fateful afternoon.
"I'm fine with that." He murmurs, pressing his lips hungrily to yours and you surrendering to that latent ember that carried on all morning with a shuddering breath.
Gris's mouth on yours, his formidable strength focused and honed in on one thing only, as you feel his weight gently pour on top of you, his large cock dragging and hardening against your inner thighs as he carefully spreads them with his own, pleased at the pooling slick already present with a gentle nudge against your clit that has you softly gasping and he groans as his muscles tense with strength, mindfully lessened just for when it comes to handling his newest greatest treasure in his life with upmost care aside from the sacred talisman he prays to every morning.
A little voice calls from the next room, and you both sigh as the fire is abruptly extinguished.
But that smile between you that follows afterwards is one of shared promises that will always be fulfilled after shared duties at the beginning of another important week of survival in the world you both live in.
And as you watch him drive away, you feel a weight in your pocket long after he's turned the corner as though his presence never left.
To your wonder, amazement, and heart wrenching discovery, it's none other than his beloved talisman and a note:
"I prayed over this already before I left. Now all that's left that I need from you, is to keep it safe.
Hold it and I'll come home to you"
-Gris. "
Each day with Gris Rubion is another day closer to believing in the meaning he's inexplicably engraved into you that you never could have deemed yourself worthy of accepting.
But now, armed with Gris's token of protection, guarded in what you now so clearly recognize to be nothing else but the overwhelming feeling of newly discovered love, you can take on another knowing he will return at your side when another sunless day in The Ground comes to another grueling end, he will be there.
Gris Rubion will always be there. Battle worn with rugged grit, scarred but unbelievably, imperfectly, loyally yours, to fulfill his promise.
And that's something worth protecting more than anything.
The assignment turned out to be trivial. Gris wasn’t even worried, he worked calmly, methodically, keeping an eye on you with one eye. You were nearby, as always composed, serious, with that same businesslike attitude that made something inside him pull pleasantly tight. He loved watching you at work, loved your focus, that mode of “I’m a fighter, not a girl.”. He knew that behind closed doors you were different, warm, soft, sleepy, smelling like soap and ready to melt into his hands. But here, at work, you were a professional, and he respected that, valued it, took pride in it.
So when things didn’t go according to plan, he felt it before he saw it.
You were fending off a small creature, your movement precise and calculated, but something cracked, he heard it even through the noise of the fight. You didn’t even cry out, just froze for a second, clenched your jaw, and kept going.
Gris froze. Inside, everything snapped and dropped somewhere down, but you had already given him a short smile
— “I’m fine, keep working”— and he forced himself to keep breathing. If you say everything is fine, then it is. You never lie to him. Not about this. Or almost never.
By the end of the mission, when the last creature scattered into scrap metal, you took a step, then another, and on the third you simply folded and sank to the ground, your pale fingers gripping your shin.
Gris was beside you before he could even think. Dropped to his knees, forgetting about the dirt, about safety, about everything. His hands were already moving over your leg, trying to find a fracture, a wound, anything at all, while a lump stuck in his throat.
— “What? Where does it hurt? Let me see. Why didn’t you say anything?!”
You resisted, weakly, more for show. Grabbing his wrists, trying to push him away, soothingly stroking his tense forearms.
— “Gris, relax, it’s fine. I just strained it. Didn’t feel it on adrenaline, it’ll pass. Get up, people are watching.”
He didn’t care who was watching. He saw only your pale face, your lips pressed tight from pain, and the way you carefully held your leg up, afraid to move.
— “Don’t get up,” he snapped when you tried.
You flinched again, and he shut it down again.
— “Gris, I can manage, just let me—”
He didn’t let you. In one motion, sharp, practiced from years of handling things much heavier than you, he lifted you under your back and knees. You were in the air before you could even gasp.
— “Gris!” your voice shot up.
— “What are you doing?! Put me down! I can walk!”
He was already heading toward the car, wide, confident strides, not even out of breath. You looked so natural in his arms, as if you’d spent your whole life there, small, warm, blushing desperately.
— “You’re embarrassing me!” you kept going, hitting his chest with your fists. The blows were more symbolic than meant to hurt.
— “Gris! I’m not dying! I can walk! It’s just a sprain!”
The others were already approaching. Follo, Riyo, Rudo, and even Zanka, who usually pretended not to care about your nonsense. They stood with arms crossed, openly enjoying the show.
— “Oh, look,”
Riyo chimed in, her tone dripping with mockery.
— “Our combat unit is being evacuated from the battlefield.”
— “Safest transport method,”
Follo added, hiding a smile in his collar.
Zanka just snorted, and that alone was enough to make you want to disappear into the ground.
— “I’ll remember this, both of you!” you shouted, trying to twist around to glare at their grinning faces.
— “And you, Gris, if you don’t put me down right now—”
— “God, relax,” he said.
His voice was low, even, with that vibration that usually made your knees weak. He smiled, looking down at youyour flushed cheeks, your outrage, all of you, so alive, so dear, so ridiculously beautiful in his arms.
— “I’m ready to carry my woman in my arms. There’s nothing strange about that.”
You opened your mouth, closed it, opened it again.
Not a single thought. Not a single coherent phrase. Just that ridiculous warmth spreading through your chest, and the understanding that he meant it, seriously, sincerely, undeniably.
With your last strength, you thumped his chest and buried your burning face somewhere near his collarbone, muttering into his uniform:
— “I’ll talk to you later.”
He smirked, satisfied, and that smirk traveled through his body straight into yours. You felt it in every cell.
In the car, he set you down beside him but didn’t remove his hand from your shoulder. Just sat there, stroking the bone with his thumb, silent. And you stayed silent too, burning with embarrassment and happiness at the same time.
When you got back to base, you barely opened your mouth to say, “I can go from here,” but he was already out of the car, walking around it, opening your door and, without asking, lifting you again.
You jerked, squeaked, but he didn’t even sway. Walked toward the med bay like a tank, ignoring all your protests.
— “I’m going to kill you!” you hissed into his ear, wriggling like a snake.
— “Everyone’s watching!”
— “As if they didn’t already know,” he laughed.
— “Gris! This isn’t funny!” you kept squirming desperately.
— “Very funny,” he replied calmly and, without slowing down, leaned toward your face.
The kiss was short, but warm and sweet. He just pressed his lips to yours for a second, just enough to make you go quiet and kept walking as if nothing unusual had happened.
You froze, blinking, trying to remember how to breathe like a girl. And he carried you on, that quiet, victorious look in his eyes:
— “Well? Still going to argue?”
— “I…” you finally breathed out.
— “You… that’s not fair!”
— “I know,” he nodded. And leaning closer, added softly, just for you:
— “But you love me. Including this.”
You sighed, wrapped your arms around his neck, and hid your face in the curve of his shoulder. Because you had no argument, he was right. And because even in this ridiculous, embarrassing position, on display for everyone, you were the happiest woman in the world.
The others, of course, didn’t let you live it down for a week. But every evening, when Griss came back from duty, he carefully applied cooling ointment to your leg and kissed it, murmuring:
— “At least you’re alive. At least you’re mine. Everything else doesn’t matter.”
Synopsis: With just a little teasing, Gris decides he can’t hold back anymore
Tags/Warnings: Gris/GN!Reader, fluff, kisses, making out, just two friends who kiss
Word Count: 1,404
For prompt "cozy night in" from my Winter Request Event
A trash storm was never a fun thing to experience. Unless, of course, you were indoors and far away from it and it gave you a day off from work to relax with your friends. Except.. most of your friends were busy. That wouldn’t stop you and Gris however, from making the most of your free time. You’d found him at breakfast and draped yourself over his shoulders, asking if he’d like to spend the day relaxing with you, and truly he’d been powerless to refuse.
You’d both gone back to your rooms to shower and change into fresh pyjamas, then you’d headed through to his room once he’d confirmed with his communication choker that he was ready. You dropped onto his sofa without hesitation, more than familiar with the layout of his space by now, and Gris didn’t bat an eye at the weight beside him, remote for his TV in hand.
“What are you feeling?” He asked, offering the remote to you to find something for the both of you to watch. Gris, generally, didn’t care what was on as long as he was spending time with the people he liked spending time with, and you tended to be more bothered with finding something you were actually interested in so he was happy to just let you choose.
Once something was playing on the screen, the two of you shuffled to get more comfortable. Gris had never been someone that shied away from physical touch, and you were someone who often craved it, so it was an easy matchup. You often were found draped over him or touching him somehow, even if the two of you weren’t talking or doing an activity together. You just liked to keep contact with the people around you, it kept you grounded. So, when Gris grabbed the blanket, you happily stood to let him make room for you. He lifted his legs onto the sofa, and parted them so you could sit between them, your back reclined sightly against his chest. He pulled the blanket up and over the both of you then, letting you fiddle and tuck it in around you both to keep you warm and comfortable.
Despite the fact that you chose what you were watching, you were unashamed to admit that it didn’t hold your attention for long. You were far more interested in the man behind you. You turned around where you sat to instead press your chests together, resting your chin on your hands to look up at him.
“Can I help you, darlin?” He asked, looking down at you with a single raised brow, and you shrugged in response. It took a moment for you to find anything to actually say.
“You ever kissed someone, Gris?” You asked, rather than actually addressing your change in attention, and Gris could only scoff. He was familiar with your fleeting whimsies by now.
“Couple times.” He replied, to which you nodded, going back to just studying him for a moment.
“Were they good?” You then asked, and he rolled his eyes.
“You’ve been spendin’ too much time with Amo askin’ things like that,” he said, voice gruff, but you knew he’d entertain you because he always did, “a mix. Some of them were alright, some of them weren’t worth remembering.”
“What? So you’ve never had a really really good kiss? Like tell everyone about it because it was that good?”
“Have you?” He asked, rather than responding.
“Nah. Not kissed all that many people since becoming a Cleaner, and I was too young before that to be kissing anyone that actually knew what they were doing.”
“Have you kissed any of the Cleaners?” Gris asked, a new curiosity dawning on him, along with something else clouding his eyes that you couldn’t quite identify.
“Ew, no. Other than like.. that one time I kissed Zanka’s cheek and made him short circuit.” You said with a laugh, and Gris’ tension faded away like it’d never been there before, replaced by humour at the memory. You’d once kissed Zanka’s cheek after being dared by Enjin when the kid got back from a mission, and he’d been unable to respond for a full five minutes after. It was sweet, but it certainly didn’t count as a real kiss.
“Y’know maybe we should kiss. Just to test it.” You casually suggested after a few comfortable, quiet moments passed between you. Gris’ eyes snapped back to your face, looking at you intently for a moment as he considered the intentions behind your words.
“To test it?” He questioned, looking generally unimpressed by that sentiment.
“What? Friends kiss each other all the time.” Came your response, sitting up a little and shuffling so you were sat on your own heels.
“That right?” Gris replied, clearly unconvinced.
“Oh c’mon Gris. It’d be fun. Besides, if you don’t like it after the first one then we can just stop, no big deal.” You justified, feeling the beating of your heart increase in pace steadily, until it was racing in your chest, thundering against your ribs relentlessly. Sure, maybe you’d had a thing for Gris for a while and maybe this was playing with fire a little bit but you’d never been known for being sensible.
Gris regarded you for a long moment, searching your face for whatever must’ve started this train of thought, but he was utterly stumped. You’d always been affectionate with him but you hadn’t ever expressed an interest in being more than friends. Right?
“One kiss.” He conceded, mostly to see the way your face split with a grin that made his own heart flutter. There was no better view to him than your face when you were happy. You bounced slightly in place, excitement flooding you quickly, and then leaned in with one hand braced on Gris’ chest and the other over his shoulder to kiss him slowly.
While it was technically one kiss, because your lips never parted, it was far beyond what either of you had been expecting. A small peck was roughly what you’d both been anticipating, but once your lips met it was like neither of you could find the strength to pull away. Your arm draped over his shoulder shifted to wrap around the back of his neck while his arms laying beside him rose to grip your hips and waist gently, keeping you in place as your lips moved together in sync.
When you parted, both of you were panting softly, with a soft blush high on Gris’ cheeks. You laughed softly, unable to hide the pleased grin on your face, while the man in front of you seemed dazed.
“You sure you only want one, big guy?” You couldn’t help teasing, eager to get back in there for another. Gris didn’t say anything for a long moment, eyes closed with his head tilted back as he just breathed. Like he was trying to compose himself.
“You’re playing with fire here, darlin. Keep it up, and I’ll show you just how much I’ve been wanting this.” Were the words that came next. You’d never been more surprised by something Gris had said. His words sent a jolt through you, heart thundering so loudly in your chest that you weren’t sure you’d be able to hear him if he spoke again. His voice came out rough and slightly strained, like the force of holding himself back made everything about him tense. You wanted to help him relax.
“Maybe I wanna see that.”
And that was all it took. Gris was on you in an instant, his tongue parting your lips without mercy. His hands around your waist tightened to keep you close, exploring your mouth without mercy or concern for the need for oxygen. You couldn’t say you were complaining though, certainly not. This was more than you’d ever dared to hope for with your silly questions. You tangled your fingers in Gris’ light hair, lightly tugging on it when he unexpectedly nipped your lip, which made him groan. You parted then, pupils blown wide, and pressed your foreheads together.
“God damn, Gris.” You muttered, making the both of you laugh.
“So, would you call that a really good kiss?” He questioned, a small smug smile tugging at his lips. You liked that look on him, you decided in that moment.
“You’ll have to show me again so I can be sure.”
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If you'd like to tip me you can head over to my Kofi and if you'd like to spread the holiday cheer you can leave a note on my tree
He is a sucker for back scratches. It has come to the point that every time he comes back from a mission, he lets himself fall onto the bed with so much force that it almost throws you off. Almost. The only thing stopping you from touching the floor is him sitting right in front of you, blocking the way to roll over the edge. His broad back faces you, jacket half off to reveal the thin shirt underneath.
He feels the glare as he turns to look at you. immediately your expression softens at his grin, sitting up slowly.
After finding a comfortable position to sit, your hands travel up to his back, nails digging softly into the fabric of the shirt. Your hands slowly move in circles over the muscles, feeling the relaxation washing over his body in your fingertips.
"You always hit the right spots, sweets." A groan leaves his lips, shoulders sinking in. "No one does it better than you."
And for the fraction of a moment, time seems to stop. and peace washes over.
gris rubion and his heart of gold (cw: drabble, fluff, actually maybe moderate angst if you squint, safe for anime only)
truth be told, you really don’t like nice guys.
not in the slightest.
there’s just something about gentle smiles and grandiose gestures that have always made you turn the other cheek. however, it’s not like you aren’t aware of your faulty wiring. in fact, you’re incredibly mindful of the preferences carved into your bones, of what historians will see once your time in this world has long since passed: you just like them mean. after all, it’s quite obvious as to why you have such an inclination towards broken wine glasses and car rides that end with you stranded with the silence of the night.
at least the rough ones are being honest about who they are.
but this is exactly why he manages to catch you so off guard. gris, the physical embodiment of all that is good in this world, a man who could go toe to toe with a seraph and still win by a landslide. his heart always manages to stay on his sleeve, you’re regularly left speechless by his consistency, but maybe that’s why this works… because gris rubion isn’t nice.
he’s kind.
your first argument with him is like winter— even in coldness, there’s still the promise of summer. that’s the thing with a man like him. he knows this isn’t just a spark; it’s genuine warmth, a flame he chooses to feed even as the sun kisses the sky farewell and all hope of a brighter day is temporarily lost. while you pull away, he still tries to get that laugh out of you, to make sure that the weight of the world doesn’t break you in half. you know this because he’s got this softness in his eyes that whispers, “i’ve got you”, and the look is something that can’t be properly translated into words. you don’t even know what to say when you see it. what’s worse is that he’s okay with that.
all of this is new to you.
it isn’t just the way he handles these kinds of impromptu complications, either. it’s also his idle touches, the way his hands find solace in the small of your back. the tenderness should be panic inducing, really. you’re not used to being someone’s first choice, not sure you’ll ever be well adjusted to this role. but, even after all is said and done, his presence still puts any home address you’ve ever known to shame, and that brings you the most painful realisation of all: you don’t even believe in fate. maybe that’s what makes this so horrifying.
because gris rubion also doesn’t believe that a higher power brought you two together. he chose you, which means that this truly wasn’t a chance encounter.
he found you in this life.
all that means is that he’d find you again.
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