The screen flickered, then resolved into text. Translated from Grunkish script, the words were stark and simple:
“Copy that. Stay put. We’ll have you out in ten.”
“Lovely.”
“And?” His voice was raw, the collar barely translating through what sounded like tears.
Before you could argue, he stepped forward, bent at the waist, and scooped you up like a child retrieving a dropped toy. One arm under your knees, the other across your back. His chest was warm—shockingly warm—and you could feel the low thrum of his second heart beating against your ribs. grunk x reader
You held your breath, counting the seconds until the backup generator kicked in. One. Two. Three. Nothing. The only illumination came from the faint bioluminescent glow of your suit’s cuff display and the soft, amber eyes reflecting from across the room.
“Grunk.”
You were his.