He looked up.
You pushed off from the cracked console and drifted toward the emergency hatch. “There’s an outpost twenty klicks east. Abandoned, but the emergency bunkers usually have power cells and air filters. We can make it if we leave now.”
Neither of you had signed up for a hull breach, a crash landing, and a frozen moon with only seventy-two hours of oxygen.
Grunk uncurled himself from the beam. Even in low gravity, he moved with a deliberate, heavy grace. He was nearly seven feet of muscle, claw, and scale, and every time he stood to his full height, you remembered exactly how fragile humans were. grunk x reader
Not with hunger. Not with aggression. Just… watching.
You answered the same questions a dozen different ways. Yes, the Grunk had been calm. Yes, he had assisted with survival protocols. No, he had not shown any aggression. Yes, you were certain.
You were his.
Damn the collar. Damn his hearing. Damn everything.
“I was so cold,” he whispered. “Without you. I was so cold.”
“Copy that. Stay put. We’ll have you out in ten.” He looked up
“Lovely.”
—Grunk”
“Come,” he said simply.
You scrambled off the bunk, heart pounding. Grunk was already on his feet, his body angled between you and the door. Protective. Always protective.
“Status?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.