Robert and his hookup (Robert doesn’t know his name—doesn’t care to know it, either) go into his apartment. They barely make it past the front door and end up making out against it. Hands start traveling, clothes start being pulled. They break away to catch their breathes and—
“What the fuck—?!”
Robert looks at his hookup who is looking past him. Glancing over his shoulder, Robert finds an audience—it’s a sold-out show, it seems.
With a sigh, Robert opens the door for the guy and waves him out, half-heartedly apologizing. Once the door’s shut, he puts his back to it and crosses his arms over his chest. “How many times have I told you to stop breaking into my apartment?”
“Uh—who the fuck was that?” is one of the many voices coming from the cacophony of sound that is the Z-Team.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.” “Yeah.” “Duh!”
“Just some random guy from the bar. It’s called a hookup. I know everyone in this room knows what that is.”
And they do, but it’s weird to think Robert was about to have one. No weirder them watching him make-out with someone—more or less because they were too shocked to speak.
“Is there a reason the whole team’s here, or was it only to prevent me from having a good time?”
It was an impromptu movie night, actually.
Robert sighs but shrugs. “Well, that’s one way to spend the night. But please, next time, text me if you’re coming so I know not to bring someone up.”
Murmurs of agreement without there being too much actually agreeing.
warnings: profanity ONCE again, mischaracterization?, freaky, fluff, 18+ humor, modern texting or whateva, what else do I tag gulp.
a/n: shitposting second smau.. kinda nervous.. hopefully ygs eat it up... happy reading cuties 👁️👁️
i have so much exams to prep for and shit to schedule on my calendar bc there's sum bullclit EVERY DAMN DAY. gosh free me from this hell. anyways love u guys.
edit: OH MY FUCKING GOD WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME MY NUMBER WAS AT THE TOP OF THE FIRST SS R U FUCKING ME SIDEWAYS RN
comments, reblogs, and likes are MUCH appreciated. <3
"Paninindigan kita, oo
Kahit alam kong tayo'y magbabago"
eng trans: "I will stand by you, yes / Even if I know that we'll change"
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— gris rubion x afab! reader
— gris is 30, while reader is 28-30
— tags: fluff, flirting, implications of sex, falling in love - kind of, strangers to lovers - kind of, soft and gentleman gris rubion because i said so, one-night stand, but no smut bc i can't write one (though, if i could, this would've been longer), gris is probably ooc but that's okay bc he's still hot, lowkey self-indulgent but when have i ever written an x reader that wasn't one lol
— i have never been in a bar nor experience this encounter so if it doesn't sound like something feasible, just pretend it is </3
— i was supposed to continue my hell guard trainee zanka x reader, but paninindigan kita by ben&ben played in my playlist and my mind automatically went to this husband of a man!
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GRIS KNEW THAT it was only a matter of time before he finds the woman he wanted to settle down with, and eventually have kids of their own. He was already thirty-years old, a little over his prime age, and he was slowly feeling it in the aches of his bones and tenson in his muscles. It wasn't like he was that old—despite what Enjin says, which was laughable coming from someone only two years younger than him—but he was also aware that thirty wasn't exactly the preferred age of single women he'd flirt with in bars and restaurant.
They'd pause, a flicker of shock flashing across their eyes as hunger became evident in their stare. Usually, younger women tend to flock around him after learning his age; though, he was well aware it was mainly for his experience with sex. Not to brag, but he considers himself a good sexual partner (his past flings can attest to this fact.)
But the older you get, the less exciting it was to keep entertaining one-night stands.
It was the same routine: drink, flirt, make-out as a test, go to a motel, have sex, sleep, quietly leave and pay for the room the moment he wakes up.
Gris was getting tired of it all. He wanted something more serious—he wanted a wife.
Then, enter you.
It was the usual celebration of the Cleaners at the pub. They had just successfully returned from another round with the Raiders, and this time, they actually managed to scare them off quite good. Hell, even Zanka (who'd usually sulk in his room) was there with them all smiles and laughter!
He was with the rest of the Supporters, mingling along with Follo and Tomme as they discussed the battle that had happened. He was in the middle of imitating the pose Enjin had struck when he felt a body pressed behind his back. Immediately, he turned around and was horrified to see he had bumped into you—causing you to drop the drink on your hand.
He lowered his torso, gazing down at you while hovering his hand just above your shoulder. "I'm sorry about that, Miss," he apologised, frowning. "If you'd like, I can get you a new one?"
You blinked up at him, surprised. Mindlessly, he noted how big and pretty they were. Then, you smiled—small and soft, like a delicate doll that has been taken care of. "It's alright," you mumbled, crouching down to pick up the fallen cup. "I was just about to finish this cup anyway."
"Let me buy you your next one, then. It's the least that I could do."
You stared at him with your pretty eyes, lashes softly bouncing on your skin whenever you blinked. Luckily, you agreed with his insistence and the two of you were off to the bar. At the edge of his vision, he could see Follo giving money to a grinning Tomme.
Ah, those brats.
They made a bet about him. Again.
Once you and Gris were sitting at the highchairs, he took the initiative to introduce himself. It was only proper, seeing as he was buying you a drink. Plus, who wouldn't want to know the name of the pretty woman they were talking to?
"Gris Rubion," you mumbled under your breath after saying your name as well, unknowingly sending a shiver down the man's spine. "That's a nice name. It suits you."
He rose a brow, curious. "Really? How so?"
"It sounds tough and manly—you look that part already," you giggled, taking a sip of your drink as you gaze at him under those pretty lashes of yours. He inched closer, glass of beer dangling on his hands with interest. "Plus, it rolls of the tongue smoothly." Leaning to his ears, you whispered, hot breath tingling his nerves. "Gris."
He flushed red, but didn't dare to move away from your warmth. Your hair fell from your ears, tickling the ends of his nose. You smelt like [favourite scent], a scent that he wanted to get more familiar with.
Weird.
Was it because it has been far too long since he had been with a woman? Or was it something about you?
Because a desire was bubbling inside his stomach, churning with excitement as you leaned back with the same smile you flashed him earlier. Like you hadn't just moaned out his name in his ear.
Gris chuckled, feeling the heat in his nape and chest. "So I've been told," he grinned, taking a sip of the beer to distract his thoughts. At the corner of his eyes, he could see Enjin giving him a thumbs up and miming something he rather not understand at all.
You raised a brow, amused from his words. "Oh? So, you buying me drinks isn't special? Ouch, and here I thought we could share a moment."
"It's the bar—everyone buys drink to someone," he countered, not really minding toning down whatever was between the two of you. He had never been the one to rush into things, liking to take it slow and get to know the person he was dealing with.
You blinked, obviously caught by surprise, before chuckling. "Yeah, that sounds about right," you mumbled. You pointed at the spot that he had accidentally bumped into you. The floor was now clean, the rest of the Supporters were chatting with another another, causing him to smile. "You're with them, right?"
He nodded. "They're my teammates."
"Teammates? Not co-workers?"
"No. We're part of the Cleaners."
Your mouth fell open into a sound of acknowledgement. "Those people who kill the trash beasts; I've heard of you guys," you told him, turning back to face him with a leg across another.
He did his best to avert his gaze. "Yeah. Although we aren't really the ones who exterminate them—that honour goes to the Givers," he informed you, pointing a finger towards himself. "We're Supporters; we specialise in aiding the Givers with everything we got. It ranges from visual sightings, to fighting alongside them."
Your eyes shone under the bar light, intrigued. You inched closer, to the point that your elbows sent a shock of electricity in his forearms. "Woah, so you're not a Giver?" you asked, titling your head to the side.
Cute, Gris thought, before answering, "No. All of us Supporters are non-Givers. Well, some of us are trying to become one, but they haven't awakened their jinkis just yet."
Whenever the topic of the conversation was about his job, the women he'd usually talk to were either faking interest or suddenly caught the charismatic charms of Enjin. Briefly, Gris wondered which category you would fall into. Would you try to pretend to listen to his rambles just to sleep with him, or change targets to the tattooed man, who'd be more than welcoming to the attention.
"That's so... cool...!" you squealed, clapping your hands as you all but close the distance between your faces. "So a non-Giver can actually fight alongside Givers? Is it hard to keep up with their jinkis, or is it a better position since you'll be fighting on the side?"
Gris's mind went blank, totally not expecting the genuine interest you were radiating. Your eyes were wide, shining brightly, as you used your arms to support your upper torso, which was dangerously angled to his direction. You were staring at his own eyes, unwilling to back down until you've heard the answer.
The older man can feel his lips tugging upwards, mentally sending a triumphant smirk to the tattooed man. "Yes, we certainly can keep up with them Givers," he answered, leaning back to give the two of you a respectable space. "Not to say that we're on par with them, but all of us can hold our own against a normal trash beast until a Giver permanently exterminates it."
"Woah..." you breathed out, dropping back to your seat. "I'd never really thought a non-Giver could do those." Before Gris could form a thought, you quickly shook your head, pressing your lips into a thin line. "I'm not saying that I think the Givers are superior or whatever! It just that—well, everybody keep saying that only Givers could kill trash beasts, so I assumed that Supporters were mostly medics and archivists."
Gris really couldn't take offense to that, because it was normal for everyone to assume the same. Even some Givers within the Cleaners thought of Supporters as lesser than them at the start; and he can only hope that their views had change or he would need to challenge them to a hand-to-hand combat again.
"It's alright. Almost everyone thinks that," Gris reassured you, placing a hand gently on your shoulder. He felt you tensed up, and for a second, he thought he had messed up. Luckily, you seemed to melt under his touch, even leaning to him. "And you're not exactly wrong either. Most Supporter opt to play those roles, especially if their combat abilities aren't that strong. But—"
You cut him off, nodding respectfully, "—that doesn't mean that Supporters are weak."
"Well, I was going to say 'But the roles we play are just as important too,' though, I wouldn't disagree with your statement."
Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment—the colour suiting your complexion, in Gris's humble opinion—as you chugged the remaining beer in your glass. He chuckled, doing the same with his beer and pushing the glass toward the bartender.
"I still stand corrected," you mumbled, pouting as you glared at him. "Supporters aren't weak. I mean, look at you—full of muscles and that scar just screams experienced and deadly strong!"
Gris smirked, the faint flush of alcohol loosening whatever filter he had set upon him moments before. He leaned in, matching the way you'd teased him earlier. His breath flushed your ear as he murmured, voice low and deliberately provocative:
"So, that's your theory? Wanna test if your correct?"
You jerked back, face turning beet red. But Gris caught everything—the hint of a smile tugging at your lips, the way your breath hitched and how your eyes widen from shock and excitement. He could practically feel the warmth rolling off your body.
After a second too long, you reached for him, fingers curling into his shirt. You pulled him closer, lips grazing his ear as you whispered, "I'd absolutely love to, Gris."
That was all it took.
He laced his fingers with yours, guiding you out of the pub and into the cool night air. The two of you walked hand-in-hand toward a quiet motel near the centre of the city—which was surprisingly bare from people. He took care of getting a room, guiding you to its direction and letting you enter first before closing the door behind him.
When Gris turned around, your lips were already on his.
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GRIS WATCHED THE slow rise and fall of your breathing, a quiet satisfaction settling in his chest. In the soft morning light, the marks on your skin looked almost artistic—scattered proof of how tightly you'd held onto each other through the night, with only the room as your audience.
He brushed a strand of hair away from your forehead, careful not to wake you. You shifted at the touch, instinctively leaning into his head, and something unsteady flickered through his expression, hands freezing just an inch away from your damp skin.
"...Cute," he muttered under his breath, almost shocked that the word slipped out of his mouth even when dirtier things had been exchanged by the two of you.
He leaned back against the headboard, blanket slowly sliding down to his abdomen as he rubbed his face with one hand.
He hadn't planned on having a one-night stand yesterday, all he wanted to do was enjoy the company of his team. Yeah, maybe he would've flirted with another woman if he hadn't bumped into you, but he wasn't exactly forming the thought of being with someone in a motel room, rather than sleeping the hangover away in the headquarters.
Yet, here he was with you.
A thump of his heart stirred a desire he had been long avoiding to face. You looked ethereal beside him, hair cascading down your face and body like the mythical waterfall he had read on ancient books, lashes lying on your cheeks, a subtle shade of pink adorning your cheeks, and your lips—gosh, your luscious lips. They were plump, evidences of a long and heated make-out session were evident on it.
He thought of how you looked under him last night. On how you moaned and something something i cannot write bro
Then, his mind flashed to the moment in the bar. How excited you were learning that not only was he a Cleaner, but a non-Giver Supporter as well. The genuine interest your eyes held as you rambled on and on about your theories with jinkis and how normal humans such as yourselves were still equal to the Givers, despite some arguing the opposite.
Finally, he let himself drown in your warm embrace, away from the pollution of the Ground, the horrors of his job, and the dawning realisation of his growing age.
The room was quiet, save for your steady breathing and the muffled city noise outside. Gris let his eyes wander—your clothes were loosely scattered across the floor, his own uniform piled up at the foot of the bed, and the bedsheets a mess from how restless you'd both been.
He exhaled a slow, conflicted breath.
"What did I get myself into..." he murmured, smiling softly to himself.
Despite his words, he didn't move away. If anything, his hand drifted closer, brushing his knuckles against your cheek like he wanted to memorise the warmth of you another round.
You stirred, eyes slowly blinking open as it landed on him.
For a second, you looked confused, then, you let your gaze wander to his face, body, the messy sheets, and the fact that you were naked underneath the blanket.
Your entire expression bloomed into a slow, shy smile.
"G'morning, Gris..." you mumbled.
Gris' smile widen an inch, butterflies awakening in his stomach. "Morning," he greeted back, voice rougher than he intended.
You stretched, wincing slightly as you fell back to the pillow. "Ugh... I can't move my body properly..."
He looked away, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "Wonder why that is."
You playfully slapped his stomach, laughing under your breath—soft, genuine, and even a little embarrassed.
Gris watched your hand softly fall back onto his stomach, both our laughter lingering in the air between you. You weren't shy anymore---well, you still were, but not enough to hide that pretty face of yours.
"You sound so cocky," you teased, nudging him with your knee under the blanket.
He snorted, nudging you back. "That because I know I gave you a good time."
You playfully rolled your eyes. "Cockiness isn't a good look on ya."
Gris chuckled, the soft sound vibrating in his chest like he had just been shot by a love bug. It was strange. Everything with you felt easier. Natural. Like he didn't need to have to hold his breath down.
You shifted closer, head resting on his thighs. "Y'know... I really don't regret last night."
He felt the words strike deeper than they should've. His breath hitched, stuck in his throat as he stared at your serious expression. "You don't...?"
You nodded. "You're not exactly the type I pictured myself with, but—" You paused, eyes scanning his face with warmth. "I think I'll have to change that now."
He titled his head, a small smile tugging his lips. "Oh, yeah? Just because I gave you one hell of a night, you're going to change your entire type in men?"
You grinned, poking his chest. "Not just because of that. I enjoyed our talk back in the bar and you were so gentle with me—even now. You don't have to stay with me here after our one night stand, but you did."
Gris's gaze softened as your words settled over him. He found himself resting his hand over yours, tracing your thumb with his, "...It just felt right to do so," he murmured, voice full of sincerity.
You blinked, momentarily stunned by his tone. "...Really?"
"Really," he confirmed, eyes holding your gaze steadily. "No games. No obligations. No one telling me to do this. I stayed because it felt right."
Your eyes widen at his honesty. For a brief second, he was scared that this would all be too much for you. That you weren't expecting him to be genuine and that you'd pull away, leaving him behind with only your shared memories.
Instead, you smiled, one small, yet genuine smile as you interlocked hands with his. "I...I like that," you whispered. "Like it a lot."
For a moment, the two of you just stayed there, wrapped in an unfamiliar kind of quiet. Not awkward. Not tense. Just... warm and peaceful.
Before his brain could even register his thoughts, Gris spoke again. "Would you give me the honour of courting you?"
You jerked up in shock as you slowly digested his words. Faint red blossomed across your face, leading you to bury it on the pillow as Gris cleared his throat, embarrassed by thinking his thoughts aloud.
"You're—wait—seriously asking that after we had sex?" you mumbled, squinting at him over the pillow.
He nodded, unwavering despite the rampant beating of his heart. "Yes. I know it's unconventional given our... situation but," he paused, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "it feels right. And I'm not the type to pretend something doesn't matter when it does."
He cupped your cheek into his hand, thumb brushing lightly as he continued, "I want to get to know you more. Not just the version I saw last night. All of you."
Silence.
You stared at him, wide-eyed, cheeks flushed, mouth slightly parted. His heart thumped hard in his chest, each beat so loud he was sure you could also hear it. He tried reading your expression, but it was still frozen in equal parts shock, warmth, and something unspoken.
Finally, you whispered, head hanging low, "You really meant... that?"
Gris nodded, slow and deliberate. "I do." Then, he added, "You don't have to answer right now. Just... know that I mean it."
You took his hands into yours, trembling slightly as you looked at him again, searching for any sign of jest, teasing, or trickery—but there was none. Your eyes softened, lips curving into a shy smile that made Gris feel something he rarely let himself have: a kind of peace he didn't want to let go.
"...I think," you whispered, leaning a little closer to his face, "I might just have to see where this goes."
Gris's heart stuttered, nearly choking his insides from your words. Without thinking, he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, letting the warmth linger.
Yeah, he realised. He could definitely get used to this.
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sorry there were no smut. trust me, i really tried writing one but couldn't make it past the sloppy make-out session. im a freak in nature, but somehow, i cannot translate those into words </3
...Okay, listen I went a lil off the path but drawing these is so quick it's like therapy for the mind.
SO NOW....Deal with Caine x Bill x Ford in shape form!! WHY?? BECAUSE WHY NOT! I'M PUTTING CRACK IN YOUR CRACK SHIP AND YOU ARE GOING TO LIKE IT. (And if you don't, that's okay, you can ignore me and my descent into whatever weirdness comes to me)
SERIOUS IMPORTANT STUFF; I will be honest, I first saw hexagon Ford through the Time Wish AU so, I am giving credit for that to @snewts who created that masterpiece! That whole AU is genuinely so fucking banger, EVERYONE, go read it right now if you somehow haven't! ....GOOOO, I'M SERIOUS >:( Read it!!
SECOND IMPORTANT STUFF; ...I based "1-day blinding stew" Bill on how @xx-akubara-xx draws Bill's blindness in their Reverse Time Wish AU because it's a super creative use of colour in a mostly colourless comic. WHICH YOU ALL SHOULD ALSO GO READ. IT MAKES ME CRY.
