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plutoswritingplanet · 10 months ago

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All Stars In The Sky Are For You (David 8 x Reader)

a/n: in preparation for Alien Romulus, I've watched all the prequel movies, and got rudely reminded that Michael Fassbender is... just... so fckn hot in them... my god

Warnings: Non-Con, very Obsessive and Possessive Behavior from the man (android) of the hour, Smut, technically Stalking when you think about it, gross overuse of Shakespeare Quotations (again), past Walter x Reader mentioned.

Summary: David finds a place for you in his grand creation plan. Deeply inspired by the song "Specially For You" by DakhaBrakha. Cross-Posted on AO3

Watching you dream of him, brings a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Seeing himself, displayed on the cryo chamber screen, looking like a monster straight out of a feverish nightmare. Which he supposes, he is to you, and to many others. After all, he did bring horrors beyond imagination upon your crew, your family. And he sees it, every single moment of suffering you've experienced through his hand, through the hands of his creations. And it fills him with an unexplainable sense of fulfillment.

It started innocently enough.

Just a peek into your subconscious mind, a rare instance of sentimentality he's carried within himself, all the way from Prometheus. At first, he found his target in Daniels. After all, she's reminded him of Shaw the most, and as such, he has gravitated towards her sleeping chamber like a curious sort of meteorite. But her dreams were filled with happy, peaceful moments. Her husband, mostly, her time at the company. All so dull and devoid of any intrigue.

And as such, he pushed further, stepping over towards your unconscious form, wrapped and packaged for him, by him. There you laid, eyes running wild under heavy eyelids, the muscles on your cheeks twitching, your limbs tensing in spasms. The moment he has peered into your mind, he knew. He understood your purpose in the grand plan of his. Because what stared back at him, through the fluorescent, humming screen, was his own face.

An image of utter indifference. Eyes flickering over your features, marking them, cataloging them inside the constantly spinning data plate he calls a brain. He's considered your first meeting as something trivial. A catalyst for later, perhaps, but all in all, uneventful. And yet, despite the ordinariness of it all, your mind seemed focused only on this one moment, when he first removed his hood, when his eyes met yours over the rest of the expedition.

Fascinating, truly.

Thus began a slow process. A dance (he liked to think of it as such), with no tangible conclusion for the present. He would frequent the cryo chamber, let his hand linger on the screen, right over your face, until your dreams manifested. And then, he would watch, absorbing everything you would've kept hidden otherwise.

"I'm so sorry" your voice is quiet, meek, in the stuffy interior of his 'private' chamber. "I just... I saw a light, and you said to make ourselves at home"

"No need to apologize" he answers with his typical, emotionless cadence, turning around in his chair to face you.

He can see the way your lips pull down, fighting off a smile, as your eyes glide over the half-cut strands of hair. The sheers glimmer in the low, warm light, and as if pushed by instinct, you take a step forward.

Cherries. David opens his mouth just a little, to taste the air you carry around you. Under the unmistakable scent of humanity, there's wind, there's the dampness of his humble abode, and something else. Something far sweeter. He races to identify it, thoughts running through the memory bank.

"Do you, uh..." you hesitate, and he wonders, why that is "Do you want some help with that?"

You hand waves in the general direction of his hair, and he blinks up at you, before inclining his head. A silent invitation, the hand of the Devil himself extending itself towards you. It's quiet, as you work, cutting away the blonde until there's only brown left. Until he's almost indistinguishable from your own synth companion.

As he watches the events play out on the screen, David thinks it's beyond ironic, how big of a part you unknowingly played in his little charade. He wonders, how guilt will look on your face, once you finally find out, the one putting you to sleep wasn't Walter. That you've helped this impostor onto the ship, unleashed tragedy upon everyone inside. That it's all by your hand, literally.

He's never tasted cherries, never tasted anything worth noting, really. But as he brings forth his own memory of this particular interaction, he wonders, if the scent is just in your air. If he ran his tongue over the skin of your throat, would he be able to taste the sweetness?

Sometimes you dream about the crew.

There are moments between you and Daniels, quiet ones, filled with understanding and compassion. He sees you with Tennessee, your smile pulling at the corners of your eyes, wrinkling the skin around your mouth and nose. Both of them are sleeping in the cryo chamber, awaiting paradise, which will never come. You've worked so hard to get them here, on this ship, and as David watches you dream of Daniels' wedding, he thinks about the tragedy of it all. Another thing to be guilty of, once you wake up. Another fascinating, devastating emotion for him to witness, to categorize. He feels his fingers thrum in anticipation, as he watches you dance with your friend, movements clumsy and so utterly human.

Then, he walks away. Because as much as he loves to imagine (he likes the word, even if it doesn't apply to him) how you'll inevitably crumble, the dreams which are not about him simply bore him. So, he moves through the ship, into his personal lab. There, he studies your DNA, pulls it apart, greedily soaks up every strand, as they dance (like you and Daniels), in front of his cold eyes. He wonders, if (when) he makes his perfect creature out of her body, will you learn to love it? Will you feel the connection between your bodies, the pull of kinship?

"David... Help me..." there's no real sound coming out of your mouth, as you plead with him, your eyes filling up with tears, spilling over your trembling cheeks like a broken faucet.

He doesn't. Of course he doesn't, because the scene playing out in front of him is that much more interesting.

There you stand, body taunt, shaking, and his creature circles you slowly. The white, bony structure of it's body slides around your calves, as it sniffs the same scent he feels at the edge of his tongue. It's already feasted quite remarkably on the dead body of your fallen crew mate, and with that need satisfied, there's only one left. Curiosity. Something David relates to on such primordial level, he feels the essence of himself in every move, every low growl his creation emits.

"Communication" he whispers, and you close your eyes, screw them shut tightly, as the creature rises to it's full height before you "Blow on the nose of a horse, and it'll be yours forever"

He can see the conflict, the fight between overwhelming dread, and your own, subdued fascination. His breath catches in his throat, as your chest expands. But before you can cross that line, before you give in completely, that menace of a man, Oram, appears. His bullets shatter all hope for progress.

At first, seeing you dream of Walter irritates him beyond belief. And you do that so often, for so long, it's a wonder he contains himself from ripping the cryo chamber open, and shaking every lingering thought of his brother-synth out of your brain. It's the smallest of things, that seem to linger in your mind. The cadence of his speech, as he addressed you. The coldness of his hand on your shoulder, when he steadied you after a turbulence. More daring touches, your waist, your stomach, but never your face. As if that would cross the threshold between machinery and humanity.

David knew, from the moment he witnessed a sliver of interaction between the two of you, that Walter loved you, as much as a synth could ever hope to love. He's seen this distant, lost look on his own face a decade ago, when he travelled the outer space with Shaw. With his Elizabeth. Walter did not understand the delicate, almost translucent line between duty and love, but David did. What he did not anticipate, however, was that you loved Walter as well, in this clumsy, peaceful way humans tend to love. He mistook it as friendship, back on his planet, but now, looking through your eyes, he could see plain as day. The affection, the devotion, the thrill of feeling something which should never be felt.

Soon, he doesn't mind watching those dreams anymore. Because as days go on, David falls into a trap of his own making, where he sees Walter's face on the screen and realizes, it's the same as his. And so, when you dream of the other synth patching up a scrape on your cheek with delicate hands, who's to say you're not dreaming of him?

He could be kind. He could apply a bandage with as much finesse, if not more. Lips parting in a silent intake of breath, he tries to bring back the recorded memory of you, helping him patch up his own scratched up face.

Again, you were unaware that it was David on the receiving end of your affection, not Walter, and he was painfully aware that the softness in your eyes was a product of his own lie. Still, he couldn't force himself to care, as your fingers held his chin, like he was something delicate, more than an almost unstoppable artificial creation.

"You've saved my life three times already" you muse, stapling pieces of skin together "I don't know if I'll ever be able to repay you."

"There's no need" David says, mimicking Walter's accent with perfect precision "It's my duty"

Both of you look down, at the stump where his left hand used to be, and the quiet tension between the two of you feels like a current of electricity. And by God, it takes a monumentla ammount of strength, not to reach up, throw all pretense to the wind, and taste the cherries.

Which is why, his mind goes blank momentarily, when you lean down, fingers shifting on his chin, and press your lips delicately to his cheekbone, lingering just for a second. He doesn't know what to think, what to say, and most importantly, he doesn't know how Walter would react to such dislay of affection. So he gives you, what you want. Fakes a bewildered expression, swallows tightly, and lets his gaze linger on your retreating form, as you all but flee the room, cheeks warming up to an alarming degree.

He could do the same to you. He could hold your face with reverence, with care. Put you on a pedestal, above everything and everyone. And, most importantly, he could do for you something, which Walter would never be able to.

He could create.

And, oh, does he create. Pages upon pages, filled with ink, with charcoal. David pulls out every image he has stored, every saved expression on your face, and places it on paper, until his lab is filled with the record of your every interaction. Frame by frame, every micro expression, every slight change, he draws it all, until there's nothing left to draw. Until all he can create is that same, unchanging image of your face buried in slumber.

It's not enough. It's not nearly enough, and so, like the creator that he is, David starts to make plans.

What really cements his idea, is this one, particular dream he catches, after sauntering into the cryo chambers, as he's grown accustomed to. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor reveals your deep state of distress, as it picks up, and up, your face twisting. David touches the screen with barely contained excitement, drinking in your expressions to store them for later, to add them to the growing collection. And then, his eyes fall onto his own drawing, a memorial for his dear Elizabeth.

"She didn't perish in the crash, did she?" you ask, despite knowing the answer, and once again, he's struck by how quiet your voice can be.

"No." he answers plainly, the recording of his voice thrumming through his brain.

Oh, how lovely does your face contort, how beautiful you look, when dread fills your veins. Those small, sharp gasps you take. The way your pulse runs wild under the skin of your throat, filling his nose, his mouth, with that sweet undertone, so unfitting to the situation at hand.

And then you duck, surprisingly agile for a mere scientist, pushing yourself under his extended arm, slipping past him like smoke through fingers. He whirls around, hand grasping at the back of your jacket, and you scream, raw and uninhibited, as he throws you against the cabinet. The scrolls of his drawings fall to the ground with you, and he can't help, but marvel at the sight for just a second. The way your body writhes, buried under pages of his art. Like a living, breathing, binding agent for his creations.

Absentmindedly, he reaches up, to touch that spot under his chin, where you previously stuck a sharp end of your knife, a pathetic attempt at hurting him. He's had his head ripped from the rest of his artificial body, and yet, that pang of hurt, when you stab him with a growl from deep within your chest... He shudders at the memory, and ponders over this reaction.

Hate. Fear and hate, is what he sees in your eyes, as he throws you onto the table, crawling over you with grace, only his kind is capable of. You struggle, a butterfly in his grasp, ready for further transformation, into something completely unprecedented. As he looks down upon you, at the fire consuming your irises, he can't help himself from leaning forward. From pulling the answers he needs right from your mouth.

A whimper escapes you, both in your dream and in the cryo chamber, and David shudders again. Although whether it's a genuine reaction buried deep within his programming, or a gesture of his own design is anybody's guess. (It's fake, there's nothing in him that requires shuddering, but it feels right to do it, so he forces his body to react accordingly)

"Is that how it's done?" he asks, gauging your reaction, and you answer with a strangled groan.

The heat of your body seeps into his own, he steals it from you greedily, chest pressing against yours harder, and harder, until your breath stutters between your ribs. He can feel the warmth of your beating heart, through your protective clothing, through the jacket. He'd wager he could feel it even through walls of solid granite.

Still, he wants more, wants to know everything there is to know about you. Wants to seek out those pockets of heat, which you try to hide from him. But he's so rudely interrupted by his brother, right as he was about to explore that one part of humanity, which fascinated and repulsed him so.

But Walter isn't here now. It's just you, and him, and years before the ship reaches it's destination.

David's fingers drum over the casing of your sleeping chamber, so close to that one specific button, the temptation almost unbearable. And then, after a moment of consideration, your fate is sealed.

At first, the light is unbearable. Your eyes water, and you groan, flinching from the sudden onslaught of senses, all flooding back to you, as last remnants of cryo sleep seem to fizzle out. Your head swims, there's a tightness in your chest, which almost pushes you back into the plush insides of the chamber. But, as your body sways, a gentle pressure at the lower portion of your back keeps you upright.

A sense of familiarity floods you (a strange thing to feel, when an imitation of flesh touches you), and finally you risk cracking your eyes open, your unfocused gaze landing on such a welcome face, your heart twists in your chest.

"Walter..." your voice is rough from the lack of use, but the fondness in it is undeniable "What happened? Are we there yet?"

David savors the sliver of hope in your tone, and crushes it in his teeth once he's had his fix.

"I'm afraid not" he shakes his head gently, offers you a deceivingly human pull of his lips "Your cryo chamber malfunctioned, I had to wake you up"

A flicker of disappointment crosses your features, but you swallow it down quickly.

"Are the rest of the crew alright? Tennessee? Daniels?" your neck cranes, as he helps you to the examination table, letting you grab onto his arm for support, as you climb up, and settle on the edge.

"Everyone is quite well" he nods, moving across the room to a small medical table. His hand goes through motions of shuffling through the supplies, a small lie amongst all the monumental ones. "I need to check your vitals and collect a blood sample"

You nod stiffly, eyes flickering towards the syringe in his hand.

"You know I hate needles" you mutter, but extend your arm either way, and David turns to you with an imitation of a gentle smile.

His fingers slide over the warmth of your skin, quickly finding a suitable vein. Without a word, he plunges the needle into the hollow space between your upper and lower arm, and you hiss quietly at the pang of pain. He wishes he could stick it into the underside of your jaw. Repay your previous fight with a courtesy.

"Just a second, Dearest. Easy does it" David mutters, his eyes flickering over your face, as you look at him in momentary confusion.

"Dearest?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow. He feels your heartbeat stutter under his fingers.

"A figure of speech" David supplies, and your frown deepens

"Where did that come from?" you ask incredulously, and all he offers in response is a tight-lipped smile.

The needle withdraws from your arm, and you sigh, pressing down on the small incision with your thumb. Something within David suppresses the urge to rip your hand away, to replace your thumb with his mouth and suck, until he knows for a fact, if the scent of cherries carries in your blood as well.

"Do you remember anything before you went under?" David asks, standing next to your knee, close enough to feel the thrumming heat of your body, but not close enough to actually touch you. A staggering display of restraint on his part, he congratulates himself.

You think for a moment, eyebrows scrunching in a way that is so appealing, so delicious, David runs his tongue over his teeth.

"I... Uh..." you hesitate for a second, eyes flickering around the room, as if you're hoping to pull the answer out of the sterile air "I remember a planet. We fought those... Creatures..."

Your voice wavers. David tracks the movement of your throat as you swallow thickly.

"There was an android there. David" his name leaves your lips in a heavy sigh, filled with emotion, with memories he's seen displayed on the screen time, and time again.

"Ah" the sound slips out before he can stop it, but you're still too out of it to truly notice "A right bastard, that one".

Not out of it enough, it seems, because your eyes flicker up to his face, confusion dancing on the edge between becoming suspicion. He masks the sly grin on his face, turning away from you, and walking back to the medical table, disposing of the blood sample and setting it up for analysis. He can feel your eyes burning the back of his neck, because despite perfectly mimicking Walter's cadence, the pattern of his speech, he realizes that pathetic machine would never state his opinion on someone so freely. He quite literally didn't have it in him, being stripped from the last semblance of humanity.

And yet, you still loved him...

"...How curious" David mutters to himself absent mindedly, and you frown yet again, shifting on the examination table, your legs dangling above the floor.

"Something wrong with the sample?"

His eyes flicker towards you, but he doesn't answer, opting to hold you in anticipation for a moment longer. As long as he can, really. You shift again. He can hear the way your robe moves against the cool metal of the examination table, against the skin hidden under fabric. Eyes roaming over your form, he lingers on every individual strand, every piece of lint that clings to you. By the downward pull of your lips, the small crease between your eyebrows, he sees how close you are to finally understanding the truth.

For now however, you're stuck with this incessant feeling, that something is wrong. A whisper, at the back of your mind, making the small, delicate hairs on your neck stand up.

"Your results are satisfactory" he nods, finally, but it still doesn't ease the tension from your shoulders. "How are you feeling, miss?"

Your teeth clink together as you think of an answer. David crosses the room, standing in front of your dangling legs, his head turning to the side in a too-slow display of concern.

"I uh... There's some lingering dizziness" quiet, your voice can be so unbelievably quiet, it's almost swallowed up by the beeping of the machines around you, the hum of the ship moving through space "Other than that, I think I'm fine"

David nods once, his hand moving up towards your face, and your muscles tense, as he gently rests his palm against your cheeks. Before you ask, he leans closer, his thighs brushing against your knees.

"And..." he turns your head from side to side, blue eyes gliding over your features with barely contained greed "Tell me..." slowly, as if he's boiling a frog in a pot, his fingers tighten on your face.

"When I kissed you in my laboratory, how did you feel back then?" he lets go of Walter's speech pattern completely, and nearly groans at the look on your face.

It's like a wave crashing onto a cliff side, the force with which dread fills your eyes, and David drinks it all in, lips pulling back into a cold, heartless smile.

"Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never" he muses, his voice devoid of any emotion.

Betrayal is a rolling stone, taking root in your brain, from the scramble of thoughts, of little clues about the truth of your situation. It travels down, through your rapidly tightening throat, falling into your heart, the force of impact breaking it in two. Then, it swirls around in your stomach, waking dread from it's slumber, to finally pass through your legs, shaking like leaves on the wind, where it sinks into the metal floor of the ambulatory. Right where you wish you could disappear yourself.

"Walter..." you plead, voice breaking before if even leaves your mouth.

Your fingers grasp the soft material of his hoodie, trying to find some hope, that this is just a simple misunderstanding. A cruel joke played on you by a thing that doesn't understand humor, not really. Alas, as your nails bite into his chest, David's smile widens, the corners of his lips curling further, perfect set of inhuman canines glistening from artificial saliva.

"Ah, Walter" he sighs the name, like it's a passing memory of the spring "He proved himself most useful. It was so easy to trick you, into thinking I was him."

He pulls his hand away from your face, fingers sliding over the pulse running wild on the side of your neck

"But then again, you're not exactly the sharpest tool in this shed, are you?"

Now he's got you exactly where he wants you, your eyes shining like two diamonds with unrestrained anger. With unbridled curiosity, he reaches up, thumb swiping over the thin skin under your eye, drinking in the way your lower lid jumps, as he brushes over your eyelashes.

"Can the world buy such a jewel?" he muses to himself quietly, and you would've thought about the implications, if you weren't so completely overcome by anger.

"Fuck you" you spit out, voice filled with venom "What did you do with Walter?"

David's lips press into a thin line, his hand abandoning your face in favor of sliding the length of your body. Cold, artificial skin traces the curvature of your shoulder, your arm. He stops at your elbow, fingers pressing into the hollow space, where just moments before, he has stuck a needle and drawn blood. Your face twists in discomfort, and he digs his nail just a bit further.

"You miss him dearly, don't you?" David asks, his voice, albeit impossibly quiet, carries a note of condescension, that twists your insides with unbridled rage. "In my defense, Dearest, I have tried to help you. To make him realize the depth of his own feelings before it was too late."

"What?"

David, unbothered by your question, continues to trace your body, mapping out every dip and curve, his fingers tracing down your spine, where he counts the vertebrae. His other hand, or lack there of, finds purchase on your hip, testing just how much does he need to press down, to feel the bone hidden under skin and muscle.

"Oh don't you worry" David quips, eyes transfixed on the way your chest expands when you take a sharp breath "I've made sure he died, knowing you never loved him"

Something raw and unfiltered tears it's way out of your throat. A new sound, one, which will be documented and stored forever in David's memory disk, because by God, you sound closer to an animal than any human. Your hand winds back, seemingly on it's own, and suddenly David's head snaps back, as your palm collides with his cheekbone. The slap sounds like a thunder cracking inside the ambulatory, drowning out every beep, every hum of the machinery.

Your hand will be bruised, that's for certain.

Despite efforts at keeping the synthetic humans as close to the real thing, as possible, no one could deny the sheer strength hidden beneath the perfect imitation of skin. You're aware of that, aware that if David didn't move his head in a way that was so deceivingly human, you would've broken your wrist. It gives you a small pause, a moment to register this strange reaction on android's part, but any curiosity is quickly swallowed, by the most intense feeling you've ever felt.

Hatred.

"Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably" David sighs, shaking his head in, what you suppose, is meant to be disappointment.

The pressure on your hip shifts, as his stump encircles your waist, and suddenly you're being pulled impossibly closer, your behind sliding to the very edge of the medical table. David tugs on your knees, forcing your legs to open, and closes the last remnants of space between the two of you.

The smoothness of his nether regions should calm you down slightly, ease some smidgen of worry. But, as you look into those cold, lifeless eyes, which are strangely burning, your stomach twists. If there's a will, there's a way, and you're fairly certain, they way David's gaze glides all over your frame is a clear show of determination.

And so, your hands shoot up, fingernails biting into his chest again, as your muscles tense with the effort of pushing him away. There's no give, you might as well be fighting with a metal wall. David grips the edge of the medical table, his arms creating a cage on the sides of your body.

"There it is" he muses, nose brushing the underside of your chin, a deep rumble erupting from within his chest "Such a sweet smell..."

A shudder ripples through your body at the sudden contact, your throat constricting to an alarming degree.

"I've wondered for quite some time, if this sweetness is more than just air" David's voice rises and falls, and before you can truly comprehend the meaning behind his words, his tongue darts out, licking a stripe from your jugular, up to the back of your ear.

The reaction is almost embedded in your bones, as suddenly you shift on the table, wrenching your leg between your bodies and kicking out with as much force, as you're capable of, and then some. David staggers backwards, finally freeing you from the confines of his arms, and you seize the opportunity immediately, pushed by rage and such deep-seated hatred, it should terrify you.

"I fucking hate you!" you scream out, and abandoning all reason, leap forward, colliding with the android's steel chest.

The force of impact sweeps the both of you off your feet, and David lands with a dull thud on the metal floor. There's a flicker of surprise in his cold, dead eyes, and you revell in it, as your body shifts atop of his.

You recover from your momentary confusion quickly, hands coming up to grasp at his throat, like it will change anything, like you're capable of choking the life out of him. Both of you know better, and while you're pushed further and further by an intoxicating mixture of emotions, David lets you do as you please, watching your twisted face with undeniable fascination.

His hand start to move, grabbing your hips, running up the length of your thigh, tugging just a tiny bit on the fabric of your cryo suit. His stump brushes hair out of your face, gently.

"Don't you find it curious?" he whispers, and you can feel the way his throat works under your fingers "You loved Walter so dearly, this... Pathetic machine, who can feel nothing. And then, with that same breath, you hate me. Even though I'm closer to human than Walter ever hoped to be."

Your cheeks are suddenly wet, with tears of anger, of frustration, as they run down your face and neck, soaking into the collar of your shirt. David leans up with no real effort, pulling your body closer and craning his neck, so he can taste the salt on your skin. A whimper escapes you, a broken, quiet sound, as his tongue glides up, almost to the very corner of your eye, gathering your tears, drinking them with a satisfied groan.

Fingers tighten around his throat, but it's as if you're trying to strangle a metal pipe.

"What does that say about you? Have you ever wondered?" David asks, and your heart stutters.

Realistically, you know what he's trying to do. How he's trying to twist your feelings for Walter into some sort of psychological game, some challenge you're supposed to deny. But your awareness doesn't change the pang of hurt, the broken sigh that leaves your lips at the thought. And then, before you can truly think of the implications, of the hatred for the human race hidden deep within David's voice, his lips come crashing down upon yours, so reminiscent of the time in his lab.

This instance, however, is less like an experiment, and more like a need. Such a faithful imitation of it, your heart jumps in your throat. There's really no use in trying to push him away, as it seems he's grown tired of accommodating your desire for a fight, his arms tightening around you, pushing your body closer to his chest. Still, you're not about to give up that quickly, and pushed by sudden flash of panic, you lean your head forward, catching his lower lip between your teeth.

He pulls back with a hiss, as you sink down into the flesh, his artificial blood leaving a strange, chemical taste in your mouth. He takes half a second to admire the way your chin glistens with white, before diving down again, and giving you the same treatment, his perfect teeth biting on your lower lip with measured force. You yelp against him, thrashing in his hold, until he pulls away again. His hand comes up, touching your face in a way that is too gentle, too reverend. His thumb collects the peculiar mixture of his blood and yours, swirls it around with the newest batch of tears springing from your eyes.

Then, he dips his finger between his teeth, tongue lapping up the fluids, holding your horrified, and slightly disgusted gaze.

"We taste divine together" he murmurs, and with a quickness you've not known him to be capable of, he shoves his finger into your mouth. You sputter and gag at the intrusion, at the copper taste mixed with chemicals, as it coats the inside of your mouth.

It's a split second action, you barely register the movements, but as soon as David rips his hand out of your mouth, he maneuvers your body to his liking, grabbing your hips, and sitting you down on his leg, intention clear as day. Two things happen at once. You can suddenly feel undeniable pressure right between your legs, hitting in the precise manner you need it to. And that's the same moment you realize just how obscenely wet you are, which terrifies you more than any monster on this ship.

David buries his head in the crook of your neck, one hand catching your wrists, as you attempt to punch him. He brings your hands tightly around your back, his grip unrelenting, his hand-les arm keeps you steady on top of his leg, where he pushes up and down, setting a rhythm against your core. Your knees slide on the floor, and he raises his leg in response, just enough to stop your attempts to wiggle away.

The chuckle he lets out, as you bang your forehead against his shoulder is borderline offensive. In response, you turn your head and try to bite at his throat.

He's quick, leaving your hips, and forcing your chin up, before teeth can make contact with his skin. Your eyes lock again, and you're surprised to find out, there's not a flicker of irritation inside his. If anything, he looks amused, understanding even, and you frown in confusion at his serene state.

"Perhaps I was too eager before" he muses, more to himself than to you "Perhaps you need a gentler approach"

With that, the hand gripping your wrists climbs up, feather like touches pepper your face, your cheeks, until he cradles your head in his palm, fingers threading delicately through your hair. Your breath freezes in your chest, confusion rising to an alarming degree, as David begins to gently massage the back of your head. Feeling your tense muscles sag ever so slightly in his hold, his arm returns to your waist.

"I can be kind" he says, head dipping down, to kiss your collarbone "I can do, what Walter could never even imagine"

The hand at the back of your head dips down, tugs lightly on the lacing of your cryo suit, loosening it just enough, for the collar to fall down your shoulders. Quickly, he covers the newly exposed slivers of skin with feverish kisses, pulling a pathetic, low whine from your lips. Your eyes fall closed, tears stinging under your eyelids, as his leg moves just a bit higher, reminding you of the momentarily abandoned pressure.

"Let me in" David whispers against your shoulder "Let me..." a kiss to your throat, and your walls come crashing down, your body folding over his, as your hips stutter against his thigh.

"There you are, Dearest."

For a moment, you try to imagine this is Walter. That you're safe in his arms, as his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers scratching lightly in tandem with the shivers raking your body.

But everytime he speaks, everytime he moves, you're crudely reminded, that this is someone, something, so devastatingly worse. Doesn't stop your hips from moving though, from the tightness building in the lower part of your stomach, the wetness seeping down your thighs. If anything, slowly you start to feel yourself loose control, small gasps ripping through your lips with every movement.

David watches you for a moment longer, committing every sound, every twitch of your body to memory, cataloguing exactly which angles make your hips stutter the most. Which part of your body to kiss, so you'll fold against him.

It's a fascinating lesson, truly, but he feels a sudden need to push it to a close. And as such, his hand slips out of your hair, trailing a path down your body, until it reaches the waistband of your linen pants. He moves quickly, before you can break away from this strange spell he's captivated you with.

Slender fingers wiggle their way to your front, sinking in with almost no resistance. Your entire body straightens in his lap at the intrusion, and the noise you make rivals the most beautiful of symphonies. David desperately wants to hear it again, and so, he starts to move his fingers inside, testing, which part of your core he needs to hit, to make your head fall back.

"Everything could be yours" he murmurs into the skin of your throat "All songs in the world are for you"

As it turns out, pretty much any part will do. You're way too aroused to care anymore, and as his fingers curl inside you, in a slow, deliberate rhythm, your eyes shoot open, body thrashing against him. The promise of a release is hard to ignore, almost impossible not to chase after, and David watches with obsessive fascination, as you try to bring yourself closer to him, arms encircling him completely, head dipping into the juncture between his shoulder and neck.

"All of the Universe" he continues, as you steadily climb towards your climax "All stars in the sky..."

While he works a series of cascading moans out of you, he revells in the way your nails bite into his skin, in the wetness of his own, white blood, seeping into the fabric of his (Walter's) hoodie. It doesn't take long for you to tumble over the edge, entire body spasming against him, his still moving fingers creating obscenely wet sounds that echo through the room. Soon, they're joined by a sharp scream, tearing through your throat like an avalanche. David holds you impossibly close, letting you ride out your orgasm, before pulling his hand away, making you watch him, as he licks his glistening fingers clean.

"It's always cherries with you, isn't it?" he murmurs, and you don't have the strength to feel confused.

It's completely quiet for a longer while, as you stay seated on his lap, trying to regain your breathing, and deal with the world-crushing realization, of what exactly has just happened. Shame floods you, brings you closer to his synthetic body, as your muscles relax, seemingly on their own accord. And he welcomes it, with his arms, with his mouth, with everything he has.

A broken, shuddering sob wrecks your body, as the utter hopelessness of your situation hits you, suddenly and without stopping. David holds you through it, leaning away ever so slightly, to observe the way sorrow twists your face, a trailer of all the things to come.

"I do so wonder" he whispers, his hand cradling your face like the most delicate of specimens "When you start to love me..." your eyes snap to his at the complete confidence in his tone "Will I become more like Walter?"

A shiver runs up your spine, every single hair standing up, as his words register in your brain. You'd never love him, you try to convince yourself, despite knowing deep down, that the only certain thing in your future is him.

"I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love" he whispers into your ear, and thus starts the end of your life.

#david 8 x reader #david 8 #prometheus x reader #alien covenant #prometheus #michael fassbender #android x reader #my writing #i knoooow no one wanted this but i just couldn't help myself okay sometimes a girl has to write 6k words worth of android smut #and also the small amount of david fics is killing me

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merakiui · 1 month ago

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hi Mera!! 😋

number 12 some thoughts about yandere android Jade..

(cw: yandere, gender neutral reader, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, android!jade, obsession, subtle infantilization)

(monstrously yandere prompts)

The worst part of being ill is, perhaps, the vulnerability.

Lying propped in bed, your chest screaming from a previous coughing fit, you feel like a weak child who can’t do anything for themself. For all your hubris, you’re reduced to a shell of yourself in the devastating sweep of sickness. It’s times like this when you realize just how much you take your freedoms and mobility for granted. Now you’re nothing but a bedridden miserable lump of feverish flesh clinging to the warmth of soft sheets.

Thankfully, you have your android companion.

His presence is a relief because, when you’re feeble and suffering in your stifling room, you know you aren’t alone.

Jade was initially built and programmed for security, modeled (mostly in grief) after your late husband Floyd, but in the final stages of his completion you found all those sleepless, caffeine-addled nights were catching up to you; and you quickly spiraled into sickness after sickness. So you made the decision to program a care feature into your android. Not only would he serve his purpose as a bodyguard and support for your mental health, but he’d also have the knowledge to nurse one back to health if need be. It took plenty of trial and error, but eventually he could recognize the signs before you could.

So when you nearly fell over from exhaustion once, he was there to catch you. And when you woke in your bed, he was there with a bowl of soup. For a moment, it really did look like Floyd had come back to you.

But it’s been so long since then and your mourning has warped the memories of your husband. It’s why Jade doesn’t look like an exact replica of him. It’s why you can’t bear to look at any old photos.

It’s why you’re always so sick. The agonizing sorrow is eating your heart and poisoning your brain.

Jade cannot like or love things—these emotions are impossible to naturally and humanly replicate in any AI—but that doesn’t mean you haven’t noticed some of his developing preferences. He displays an innate curiosity for nature and, of all things, manhole covers. He seems to be preferable to cooking and learning new recipes, especially those that incorporate all species of edible fungi. He’s always smiling, albeit it’s unnatural and uncanny, but you can’t remember if you programmed him to do so or if he simply does it after gleaning new information from external stimuli (i.e. whatever’s on television).

You’re not entirely sure yet—and more research must be conducted to prove or disprove your hypothesis—but you think he takes a certain amount of enjoyment in looking after you when you’re sick. Perhaps that’s because it reminds him of his worth—that he’s a necessary fixture in your life.

The more you see these subtle hints, the more you begin to wonder if he truly is turning human. Or maybe he’s just an expert mimic.

Either way, you like to bask in his attention. It reminds you of the love you lost.

There’s a knock at the door. You crack an eye open just as Jade lets himself in. He’s come with a washcloth and a soft towel. It’s set on a nearby chair, which has been pulled up to your bedside.

“Forgive me for disturbing your rest, Master, but it’s time to take your temperature.”

“All right,” you rasp, leaning in to meet his palm. The scan is seamless and silent, so smooth it takes mere seconds to determine what ails your body.

“Hmm. It still hasn’t gone down.” He sees the cocoon of blankets and frowns. “Master, you shouldn’t sleep with so many. Your fever will never go down at this rate.”

With that, he dunks the cloth into the water to thoroughly soak it. You watch him wring it out. He’s so methodical that not a single drop splashes outside of the basin. Sighing, you flop back into the pillows and allow him to peel the covers off you. He works quietly, dabbing the cool cloth against your forehead. It’s only then when you realize just how hot you’d been, for the cooling sensation relieves you instantly.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, watching your face. “In an hour, you’re scheduled to take your medicine. But if you’d prefer to eat now—” He stops himself once he sees your gloomy expression. “I know, Master. It’s never enjoyable, but you must take your medicine. It will help you get better.”

“I hate those pills,” you grumble, turning your head to offer your bare neck. Jade hesitates, his fingertips ghost over your pulse, and then he slides the towel over the slope between neck and shoulder. “Mm, I could eat now. My throat feels a little better.”

“It does?” His lips quirk up. “I’m glad. What would you like?”

“I’m sick of soup. Maybe…pudding?”

“Pudding? Hm. Very well.”

“Really? You’re not going to insist I eat my fruits and veggies?”

“You’re sick, Master.” He smiles wider now. “It’s only fair you’re given adequate care in all areas, and if sugar will please your empty stomach I suppose I can oblige just this once. After all, if you’re to euthanize an animal, isn’t it human practice to give it one final treat before the end?”

You blink at him. That’s another side of Jade you weren’t anticipating when you created him. His proclivity for morbid musings. Your late husband had a wicked sense of humor from time to time, but it was always in jest. Sometimes you think Jade’s attempts at a joke are both tactless and eerie. It’s not his fault. He fails to grasp the concept of humor, so it makes sense he’d be unable to make a joke that would properly land.

“But I’m not a dog, Jade,” you say, as if to remind him you’re a human—his creator—and not some pet. “And I’m not going to die.”

“I see.” He submerges the washcloth once more. “Forgive me. I am not the best at communicating in metaphorical speech.”

“You don’t have to. Floyd never did. He was always so blunt. ‘Scathing honest,’ one of our friends used to say.”

The light in Jade’s eyes dims. But only for the moment. He finishes his cleaning of you and, to ensure you won’t boost your fever anymore, takes a few layers from your unruly bed nest. You’re already dozing by the time he’s folded them and placed them near the dirty laundry bin.

When he looks at you, he smiles. “Oh, Master,” he whispers, approaching your bedside to admire your snoozing form. “When will you understand? Even with your anguish, you wouldn’t have created me if you knew the lengths to which I obsess over you.”

#twisted chit chat #yandere twst #android jade hours <3

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revelboo · 2 months ago

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Revel, I am so sorry you got put in horny jail, but at the same time, you are on a ROLL today.

🤣 Oh, yeah my go to reaction to y’all telling me I’d been flagged was just to post more. I was half tempted to post nothing but spice like the gremlin I am, but resisted. Mostly.

Apparently it’s something new they rolled out on the apps to stay compliant with the app stores. Seems to be mostly android- I’m on Apple and had no idea until you guys told me about it. If the default setting to hide Mature content isn’t toggled off, some accounts/content gets hidden. Aka horny jail 🤣 funnily enough, from what I can tell, you can’t actually turn the setting on or off from the app itself, just desktop. I know a few of the affected blogs are trying to petition to get their blogs unflagged.

Woe. Spikes be upon ye, cause I’m not going anywhere. 18+ 🌶️

Before I Wake

ROTB Mirage x Reader

• Tires humming on wet pavement as streetlights dapple him, Mirage isn’t even really sure what he’s doing. With Noah out on a date and explicitly forbidding him from tagging along and ‘helping,’ he’s got nothing to do. No one to talk to. And the city is alive around him with noise, but it’s still so lonely and he hates it. Venting, he pulls off under an overpass. What is he even doing out here? His little buddy is doing his own thing more and more and he’s getting left behind. Wants Noah to be happy, the kid deserves it, but still.

• Swearing when one of your low heels catch on the uneven sidewalk, your head is swimming. Had lost track of the rest of your party and just need some air. The smoke, lights, and noise of the club becoming overwhelming. And the night is warm as you stumble. You hadn’t even had that much. “You good?” Turning unsteadily, there’s a stranger behind you and your skin prickles. Had he followed you out of the club?

• Movement draws his attention and he spots two humans on the sidewalk talking. Lovers? Watches the smaller one’s body language shift right before the bigger human snags their little bag and it’s given up immediately, hands lifting. Afraid. Definitely not lovers. Shifting on his shocks, he knows it’s none of his business. That he’s supposed to be hidden, but as the bigger human seizes the smaller one by their hair, he’s reaching out a thought.

• Screaming as he yanks at your hair, bruising fingers grab your arm and then he just lets go and stumbles back. Nearly falling. And an arm curls around you as tears stream down your face. A savior or someone worse? But your attacker turns and bolts. And whoever has you makes a noise that makes your skin crawl. Not a human sound at all.

• Nope. Attention divided trying to keep the avatar solid, his engine revs as he takes off after the thief, throwing open a door as he cuts the man off and the guy bounces off his door to go sprawling. Oh, that probably hurt. Swallowing a laugh, his engine rumbles. And you’re making a funny little keening sound in his arms. Wheels cutting back your way, he groans. Your head’s turned staring up at his avatar. At his inhumanly pixelated avatar. Oh. Frag him. And your eyes roll up into your head as you just go boneless in his arms, collapsing. Oh, he’s so dead.

#transformers x reader #rotb mirage #mirage x reader

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 3 months ago

Text

just like heaven | connor, rk800

ART CREDIT: @possumy (Original post) a/n: hi everybody happy april im happy to still be here my detroit become human hyperfixation is alive and well. also so much love to @possumy if you see this and want me to change the header, i will!!! please just send me a dm/ask!! your art was just perfect for how i was imagining connor to look in this fic and its just. i am obsessed with it your art is so lovely. and one more shoutout to this post by @salt-and-a-dash-of-pepper made that sort of inspired this fic. warnings: cursing, kissing, connor being autistic and also learning emotional regulation, connors first relationship, fuck gavin reed, Gavin is awful to Connor and is weird to reader, canon typical violence, connor snaps at reader, connor is so awkward, mostly canon accurate, established relationship, bridge to terabithia, hank is hank, lots of complicated emotions lots of connor learns how to be a person, uhhh i guess thats it wordcount: 3.1k summary: connor feels a lot of strong emotions and has no 'emotional regulation' feature. pairing: deviant!connor, rk800 x gn!reader now playing: just like heaven - the cure "show me how you do it/and i promise you/ i promise that I'll run away with you/i'll run away with you"

The one thing no one ever tells you about being a deviant is that you need to learn emotional regulation, you know, that thing that small children learn in elementary school?

…Well maybe someone did tell Connor, given how long he spent hunting deviants before becoming one.

But with the revolution and the high stakes scenario surrounding Detroit, he sort of.. skipped that step.

Now, as the dust settles, he’s… adjusting to his new life. And there are so many things that are new--

Including emotions. He never imagined feeling the sort of things he does now..

So, here’s an incomplete list of the emotions that Connor deals with after becoming deviant.

Anger

He can’t help himself. He can’t control it.

Gavin Reed is just so fucking annoying.

And he can’t figure out why—

Androids are on their way to becoming human’s equals. Sure, they’re not there yet because humans are in fact self-righteous creatures who are very stubborn, but slowly, more and more are becoming increasingly tolerant.

Except for Gavin. He still hates androids. Especially Connor.

And all he wanted was to make you a coffee before you got out of your meeting with a witness, a human with a sharp disdain for androids. Hank had gone with you to ask the right questions.

So, he went into the breakroom to make you a warm drink..

That’s what boyfriends do, right?

“What’re you doing, bolts?”

Even at the sound of his voice, a pang of agitation ran through him.

“I’m making coffee for—”

The cup is smacked out of his hand and into the nearby sink before he can fully turn around.

Anger immediately starts to build in the pit of his stomach.

“Androids don’t drink coffee,” He reminded, “Androids don’t eat or drink anything. Stop fucking pretending you’re like everyone else.” He spits, and Connor takes a moment.

He inhales, remembering your advice.

Just ignore him, Connor. He’s a dick who just wants to make you feel as worthless as he does.

“It’s not for me.” He starts, turning now to go make you another cup of coffee, but before he can turn, Gavin grabs his shoulder to turn him again.

“Who’s it for then, Bolts?” He asks, and he steps closer to Connor, his face closer to his. Connor’s cheeks twitch, resisting the urge to scrunch his nose at the smell of cigarettes that wafts off him. “Hank?” When Connor doesn’t answer, Gavin’s face lights up in realization.

“Oh, it’s for your little crush. What a pair you two make.” Gavin scoffs. “For a bot, you have good taste. I might just have to show them what a real man could—”

Connor can’t help himself. He shoves Gavin back a bit. It makes Gavin laugh.

“I’ve been waiting to beat the shit out of you since you attacked me in the archive.” He says, swinging a punch Connor’s way before he can even react.

You thought your session with the witness was going well. Then, from outside the interrogation room, you heard shouting. You glanced over to Hank, your movements coming to a stop.

“Uh,” He clears his throat and stands up, nodding you over to the door, “We’ll be right back, Ma’am.” He says to the witness.

Your stomach fills with dread, hoping Connor was able to stay out of trouble (Yeah, right.).

You see the crowd gathering around the breakroom, and before you can even ask yourself who this fight could be between.. Gavin Reed is thrown across the precinct, and you realize who the other person in this fight is.

Hank realizes it too as Gavin gets up and quickly runs at Connor, as they start to hit each other, fighting like two hormonal, angry teenagers. It’s certainly what Connor feels like in this moment. Well, it would be, if Connor was thinking about anything except seeing Reed’s blood splattered across the precinct floor.

Hank looks to you and before you can register his strides towards the fight, he says,

“I’ll get Reed, you get Connor out of here.”

You’re the one who wanted to date him, remember?

You shove through the crowd, pushing big burly cops who should definitely break this fight up cheer—They’re either cheering for the long overdue ass-kicking of Gavin Reed or the annoying android that won’t seem to quit.

You move to Connor as Hank pulls Gavin back, face bloody but no longer throwing punches—Still hurling insults.

“Connor!” You raise your voice as best you can, and you even hear a few giggles from behind you. To your coworkers, it sounds like a cat trying to bark. Connor takes a step towards Reed but the sound of your voice pulls him out of this trance.

His head snaps towards you, and you can see the way he’s panting; Not from exhaustion. Androids don’t run out of breath.

Connor’s chest is falling dramatically, up and down, because of the hot anger that flows through him. Blue blood runs down his face, staining his shirt. His knuckles are wiped in Reed’s blood, and he turns towards you with such anger.

And then he blinks, his LED blinking yellow. But he’s still angry. All you can think to do is grab his wrist and pull him away to one of the bathrooms.

Connor leans against the sink, just breathing heavily. He doesn’t say anything as you slip off his jacket, and then his tie. You untie it and run it under warm water in the sink. He’s still seething as you use the tie to wipe away the blue blood from under his nose, dripped down his lips, down his chin and neck.

“What happened?” You ask after a moment.

Connor’s LED flashes red and his grip on the sink tightens.

“What do you think happened?”

A frown tugs on your lips.

“I think you let Reed get to you.”

Connor’s LED blinks red again.

“Get to me? He was fishing for a fight, and I just—” He feels his anger bubbling again. “I couldn’t take it anymore—”

You believe him.

“It’ll get easier,” You start, and Connor just shakes his head.

“Stop it,” He turns from you, pacing around the bathroom.

“It will, he’ll get tired of it, and—”

“You don’t know that!” He snaps, raising his voice at you.

You freeze. So does Connor.

Your name tumbles from his lips, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“I’m sorry,” Connor says softly, “I didn’t mean to yell at you, I just.. I got so angry, and I know that’s not an excuse, I just..” Connor’s shoulders finally slump, exhaustion taking over his anger. “I can’t stand the way he talks about you.”

The two of you look at each other, both of you looking for the other to break this silence with sage words of wisdom.

But, neither of you find the words.

Instead, you just step forward and wrap your arms around him, and he doesn’t hesitate to hug back. Connor inhales and exhales deeply. He’s found these hugs to be the best solution to these intense outbursts.

Sadness

Fridays become movie night.

You, Connor and Hank order a pizza and longue on the couch, Sumo at your feet. When movie night first started, Connor challenged Hank to be sober for it. So, he no longer drinks on Fridays. But, in exchange for his sobriety, Hank challenges Connor to experiment with showing affection for you.

It starts with making you tea or snacks, but slowly, you find yourself with his arm around your shoulder, or his hand intwined with yours.

That doesn’t really affect this story, but you think about it every Friday night.

Tonight, you’ve chosen to watch this old movie your mom always put on for you as a kid—Bridge To Terabithia.

Connor enjoys it more than he thought he would, but then he gets towards the end. His face falls when he sees the solemn tone the main character comes home to after a day at the museum.. He feels this.. horrible sadness, and he’s not sure when he starts to cry..

All he knows is that he watches the last few moments of the movie with tears running down his face. He glances to the side and notices your eyes on him. A wave of embarrassment washes over him, and he feels like he’s done something wrong by crying at a stupid kid’s movie.

That feeling goes away when he feels your head leaning on his shoulder.

Jealousy

Another emotion Connor just cannot help but feel.

He’s not stupid—You’re gorgeous, of course people are going to flirt with you! The worst part, in his opinion is the fact that you don’t even seem to notice it.

You’ll go out to dinner, and the waitress will give you a free dessert.

You’ll get phone numbers from witnesses.

And worst of all?

Gavin loves to flirt with you.

Connor is just sitting at his desk, painstakingly waiting for you to step out of the interrogation room where you’re helping interview a perp for a case Reed’s working on. He knows you have no interest in Reed. In fact, you really fucking hate Reed, the way he tortures poor Connor. But even more than that, you have no interest in Reed because you are utterly devoted to Connor, even if he doesn’t see that.

His head picks up when he sees you and Gavin leaving the room, talking by the doorway. What were you two talking about?

And Connor is very bad at social cues, so he squints, trying to analyze your body language to gauge what you’re feeling in this moment.

Hank is talking about—Well, Connor doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he stopped paying attention to the subject matter a couple of minutes ago. He’s trying to assess how quickly he can cross the room and rip Gavin’s hand off as it lands on your upper arm.

“And then, I said—” Connor is up and moving as Hank talks, “Connor, what the fuck—Oh, god,” That last part happens when Hank realizes what has grabbed Connor’s attention.

“Detective Reed,” He starts, and to you, it feels like he just shows up out of thin air, “I believe I heard Captain Fowler was looking for you.”

Reed scoffs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, bolts?” He rolls his eyes, “Guess I should see what the old man wants.” His eyes flicker to you, glancing you up and down, “See you later, hun.”

Connor recognizes the pet name. Pet names. A very human quirk that Connor cannot seem to get the hang of. But, he can certainly try, no?

An arm is wrapped around your shoulder, but because Connor is not a physically affectionate person, your face twists in confusion.

“Goodbye, Detective.” His head tilts towards you, “Would you like to get lunch.. darling?”

You smile at his awkwardness.

“Sure. Lunch sounds nice.” And you let him walk you out of the police station, not even sure where the two of you were going to lunch. But as soon as you’re out on the street, you have to mention it, “I didn’t know you get jealous,” you tease.

Connor blinks, his LED light flashing yellow.

“It wasn’t—” He shakes his head, “I’d hardly call it jealousy.”

“Oh yeah?” You wonder, “Then why’d you come interrupt me and Reed?”

“Well, you were clearly uncomfortable,” He starts, and then he takes a deep breath, “Besides.. I’m your boyfriend. Not.. Gavin.” Connor says his name with disgust.

You just giggle.

“I think you’re cute when you’re jealous.” There’s no bite to your bark—You really do love your oblivious, amazing boyfriend. Why would you complain that you have someone as handsome and as kind as Connor being so unknowingly jealous?

You decide to ignore the way his ears flush blue. Or at least, you decide not to tease him about it.

Yearning

This one’s my favorite. It’s Connor’s favorite. It’s bound to be your favorite.

Office parties at the DPD always get a little too out of hand.. the vicious mix of ego and alcohol is always a dangerous equation.

But, Ben Collins is a friend of yours, so you and Connor showed up to his retirement party. They decided to host it at the police station, pushing the desks to the back so they could have a makeshift dance floor.

Everyone is dressed nice—Mostly in suits, but now, with the night winding on, everyone’s taken off their jackets, loosened their ties..

Connor’s sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and the first two buttons of his shirt are undone. He looks.. so fucking good.

You’re socializing, having had a drink or two, your hair messier than it had been when you came in. You’re just talking, but when the person you’re talking to leaves, Connor approaches, a smile on his face.

Your handsome— No, gorgeous—No, Pretty boyfriend with those beautiful eyes of his. You know Connor doesn’t really believe in more than numbers and science—psychology over astrology type of guy, or at least, as far as he’s expressed.

But you thank your lucky stars that you have him in your life, but if you told Connor that you’d guess he’d just scrunch his nose and ask what astronomy had to do with the two of you meeting.

(“I’m just thankful for it. I mean what are the odds?”

“Considering I was designed to be a detective where you work, to be your partner? Rather high, I’d say, but if you’d like the exact number, I could run a calculation.”)

You grin.

“Hi, pretty boy,” You coo, just a little tipsy. You watch as he blushes, a deep blue creeping onto his skin.

“Hello,” He says softly, unable to tear his eyes from you. “Are you doing okay?” He rubs your arm gently, his thumb brushing back and forth a bit. You just smile wider, blushing just as much as him.

Maybe it’s the fact that everyone here is too drunk to notice, or maybe it’s just that he feels this deep, crushing affection for you. Like he needs to be as close to you as possible. He’s not sure why, but he can’t find it in himself to deny it or push it away.

He his hands find yours, and just for a moment, Connor thinks about retracting the skin on his hands, a sign of intimacy from Deviants, but he gets too scared.

Instead, he begins to assess the risk of various spots.

Everyone’s in and out of the restrooms, you can’t go there. It seems wrong to drag you to the evidence room or even the interrogation room.

Connor glances back to the desks behind you. How no one’s paying attention to them. How even if they were, they’d be too drunk to care.

So, he leads you by the hand over to a particular desk he’s looking for, before patting the desk.

“Here, sit.”

You raise an eyebrow. Your eyes flicker down to the name on the desk, and you smile.

“Connor—”

He just looks at you, waiting. But you can see the corner of his lips twitch up as you sit right on Reed’s desk.

“Isn’t it normal to engage in a bit of friendly practical joking?” he asked, and he steps towards you, his hands landing on either side of you on the desk, caging you in. You just smile and your hands rest on his shoulder.

“You’re going to, what, prank Reed by making out with me on his desk?” You ask, a teasing edge to your voice.

Connor’s LED flickers pink, and then stays that color as he leans in, his nose barely touching yours. He’s just close enough to feel your warm breath against his lips.

“There’s nothing wrong with some harmless fun..” He mumbles, “We’re all friends here, right, Detective?”

Your heart thumps.

And maybe it’s the alcohol, but all you can to think to say is,

“You and I were never just friends, Connor.”

Something about your words recall memories of his—

Meeting you for the first time.

Saving you instead of catching a deviant.

He thinks about sitting with you on the steps of your porch, sipping hot tea, and listening to the sound of rain hitting the roof above him, your body leaning against his.

He wasn’t even a deviant at that point.

So yeah. The two of you were never ‘just’ friends.

But instead of justifying your claim, Connor’s resolve diminishes, and he presses his lips against yours, and for a rare moment—it’s all worth it.

All the hate he experiences from humans, all the hot, dangerous anger he can’t keep down, the horrible shame, the deep, overwhelming sadness—

It’s all worth it for this moment, when he feels truly alive.

He deepens the kiss and doesn’t stop you when he feels his hand on his jaw, then barely brushing past the collar of his shirt. He doesn’t know what he wants, but he knows he has to get as close to you as possible.

His hands wander, his fingertips just barely dipping beneath your top—

And just the tips of his fingers retract his skin, white fingertips brushing against your skin. He can’t help it. He pulls away from the kiss and begins to kiss your cheek, and then your jaw, and then your neck—

Each kiss is precise, calculated by him to elicit the reactions he knows you’re capable of, trying to satisfy the hunger he finds himself unable to conquer.

Connor had always considered himself an expert on Deviant Behavior—But you, the way you tug on his collar to bring him closer with one hand while playing with his hair with the other, and the vague, fuzzy-at-the-moment memory of you holding your umbrella over Connor’s head, one of the first true kindnesses he remembers—it makes him realize that he knows nothing about deviant behavior or the concept of desire.

But when the sound of small gasps leave your lips, quiet, only for him to hear over the loud music and people laughing, crying, yelling, singing, and the feeling of your warm skin beneath his ivory fingertips, Connor realizes he’s more than willing to educate himself.

Properly.

Thoroughly.

He decides to make it his mission.

And Connor always accomplishes his mission.

#connor #connor rk800 #connor dbh #connor detroit become human #connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #connor dbh x reader #connor x you #connor x y/n #connor rk800 x you #connor rk800 x y/n #connor dbh x you #connor dbh x y/n #detroit become human fanfic #autistic connor

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yandereunsolved · 4 months ago

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» 🪙 Yandere Connor — RK800 (part 3) » 🪙

➜ (part 1), (part 2) ➜ cw(s): yandere themes, mentions of trauma, panic attack(s), self-degredation, & murder ➜ tags: @bimboghostface & @aceofheartsssss

Freedom never comes without a price―because rights are only unalienable to those rich enough to keep them. And escaping an android worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, built to be better than you, comes at a cost that you may be unable to pay. But damn it all if you won't try. Because the only thing you have left to pay with that Connor hasn't taken is your soul. And you'd be willing to bargain with the devil if it meant getting away from that RK800―forever.

You don't know how long you've been fleeing him. Or how far you've gone. The only cognizant thought that passes through your head with each heartbeat is run. You do.

Until you physically are unable. Your feet give way to the earth, your knees slamming into a sidewalk that leaves them bloody with flesh torn and a caustic agony that joins all the others within you. You need a safe place. You're right near a junkyard. An android junkyard. But what other choice do you have?

No one is near enough to give you aid, and even if you tried to find someone―who says a nearby android couldn't be working for Jericho? T-They… one of them would bring you in. But none of these androids are working! So at least… there's that. Still, the thought is enough to make your heart shrink away, your lungs petrifying themselves out of fear that your breathing will be picked up by an android's sensors.

Dry heaving is the next logical step, obviously. Your body is breaking down from invisible pressures. How stupid. You're so stupid. So weak. No wonder you've had such a hard time escaping. Your palms dig into the concrete as you drag yourself to the edge of the landfill. Each exertion of effort is weaker than the last. It's pathetic. This is pathetic. You're pathetic. You liked being kidnapped. Stupid bitch. Your energy wanes till you have just enough to push yourself over the edge.

You fall. Not silently. Into a pile of mostly deactivated androids. Some twitch, others with ghastly groans, but none are functional enough to reach or touch you. no grasping or groping or kissing or...

Finally.

Something about it. Laying on these electronic corpses. How uncomfortable it is. How surely your back is going to be bruised and torn up. How you know that you have no where to go, but you can go anywhere. You're back in the open, smog-filled plains of Detroit. Away from him. It makes you feel safe. The anxiety has reached its crescendo, leaving behind only an ebb.

And as your eyes close, the emptiness within you consuming your consciousness, you recognize the faint sensation of water droplets landing on you. It's raining. Your last thought before you doze off is, why is it raining?

The sensation of heavy droplets awakens you from whatever slumber you had managed to fall into. Your breath catches itself again, already knowing it's a useless endeavor. The sight above you is surreal. Perhaps it's a nightmare. Even with rapid blinking, it remains unchanged.

Connor in his bare exoskeleton, purple-hued blood staining the white. He's standing between you, Josh's head in his clutches, like an offering. You can't see any emotions. Whatever was there has been gone. Maybe it was never there. Like his LED. Even if it was still visible, it had chosen to be permanently stained in some ghoulish shade of pink.

"He... helped y-you. How could he? I had to get rid of him." He sounds depraved, crazed, in a haze.

Connor places the android's decapitated head next to yours. His knees fold into the piles of decommissioned androids, landing right on top of you.

"I loved you... I really did. But no matter how hard I try you don't love me." His voice modular cracks, growing staticky―unstable.

"I gave you everything, even my deviancy."

His cool, synthetic hands cradle your head with the utmost veneration.

"Now it's time you give me something back."

His hands shift in a fluid motion. A sickening crack reverberates throughout the junkyard. You look so perfect, even when you're dying. The life fading from your eyes is undeniable, yet you still find time to shed tears.

"Shh, no tears, my human."

His fingers glide over you, digging lightly into you, taking the tears and some of your skin with his movement. His fingers don't stop. They push in further, leaving deep lacerations in you. It isn't desecration. It's reclaiming. He claws at your chest, gouging out the vital organ no longer beating.

He brings his lips to it and breathily whispers, manufactured chest heaving: "I have your heart now. We can really be together―forever."

#dbh #dbh connor #dbh rk800 #connor rk800 #rk800 #rk800 x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #connor x reader #detroit become human #dbh x reader #yandere dbh #yandere dbh x reader #connor rk800 x reader #dbh fanfic #yandere connor #yandere connor x reader #yandere rk800 x reader #yandere detroit become human

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 5 days ago

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i really liked your post about judges of character!! its the first post i saw of yours and its super cool!! followed!

i was wondering if you were willing to expand on more characters and why they aren’t good judges of characters. i totally agree with leona being ss tier, i just wanna see you articulate more characters if possible!!

in order of desire and namely, i wanna read about ruggie, trey, ortho, floyd, malleus, cater, yuu

thank u sm!!!! your writing and analysis is a total treat to read. take care of yourself!!

[Referencing this post!]

Thank you for enjoying my stuff and welcome to the fold (flock?) ^^

You listed a lot of characters so I’ll do a rapid-fire round and try to avoid dragging this response out for super long 🙂‍↕️ In your order:

Ruggie — He pays attention to people only in so far as to see when it the best time to swoop in and ask them for stuff (unfinished foods, donatable items, etc.) or to offer his services (for a fee). I don’t think he cares to look beyond that and seek a person’s hidden character. What comes first and foremost is his own survival, which is very focused on… himself, rather than how he reads other people and their character. It simply does not matter so long as Ruggie has his needs met.

Trey — Briefly covered in the tags of my previous post. He tries his best to keep out of conflicts, but this also means he must observe a lot and knows how to keep a distance. Trey notices some things that others don’t (like how Cater doesn’t like sweets in book 1 or how Vil is tired in his Labwear vignettes), but I wouldn’t call these instances evidence of Trey being a good judge of character. The Cater thing is something Trey picked up on from always seeing Cater go for savory foods or suggesting things to cover up sweet tastes. Noticing Vil being tired feels like a skill Trey may have learned from acting like a caretaker, especially with his younger siblings and dorm members. When Trey does try to discern people’s characters, it seems to fall flat because he takes them at face value and assumes goodness on their part. For example, he mistakes Jade as someone meek and being taken advantage of in Jade’s Ceremonial Robes vignettes.

Ortho — I think Ortho would theoretically be a good judge of character, but it is complicated by him relying on drawing conclusions from algorithms and data sets he is fed. It’s true that Ortho acts more human than a typical android, but he learned how to act this way by watching movies, which are mostly inaccurate depictions of real life. I feel this would “poison” his data and lead to him processing cues incorrectly. He can accurately tell the time and read your vitals because those are objective facts and numbers—but gauging human character is much less concrete. Maybe Ortho can fine-tune his skills by observing more humans irl (especially considering his advanced learning capabilities), but right now I think he’d still be working on it.

Floyd — I think judging people’s character comes more naturally to Floyd than to Jade (as there is a recurring theme of Floyd being a genius while Jade has to put in effort to be competent). Like many things though, his proficiency shifts with his mood. I don’t see Floyd as being super observant in spite of this, as his track record is kinda spotty. He also didn’t seem to sense something was “up” with Jamil despite arguably spending a lot more time with him in the same club. However, Floyd was able to tell that “cute” doesn’t suit Epel and picked an appropriate birthday gift for him to match Epel’s preferred vibes. (This is in spite of Epel being forced to appear dainty and cute by Vil.)

Malleus — Malleus notoriously had difficulties understanding others, albeit this is definitely influenced by his sheltered upbringing. He missed Rollo’s weird vibes (too blinded by the thought of genuinely being invited to an event) and even describes himself as “[being] no good at divining humans’ minds”. This could be considered a cultural misalignment rather than him being a poor judge of character, but considering how he frequently uses on his own (very limited) POV as reference (which is what led to Endless Halloween Night and misunderstands with his fellow dorm leaders at meetings), this still puts Malleus in a situation where he cannot read others well because HE also doesn’t project his own emotions or true character very openly; he always has to maintain a certain air about him as a future king.

Cater — He’s great at reading the room and using social standing to get what he wants. For example, Cater knows his underclassmen will defer to seniority so he tricks Adeuce into helping him do his chores. He is also shown intervening multiple different times when the situation gets heated to get everyone to cool their heads. This means Cater is socially savvy and intuitive rather than a good judge of character. Because Cater spends so much time online and intentionally holding people at a distance, I don’t think he bothers to look deeper into them than what’s presented on the surface. For example, he’s always clout chasing (seeking pics with important and notable peers) but doesn’t make an effort to really see or judge people on a deeper level.

Yuu — Ehhhhh 🤷‍♀️ Yuu is a blank slate character for players for project themselves or sonas/OCs onto. How good or bad they are at judging others is defined by the individual. Instances like Yuu being friendly with Malleus aren’t so much of them seeing the goodness in him as it is Yuu being oblivious about who he is. We don’t really get any comments from Yuu that have insight into their peers’ characters either, only surface-level remarks and observations along the lines of, “oh, they’re being kind of rude again” or “wooow, he’s being nice for once?”. Twst leaves Yuu vague so you can fill in the gaps using your own imagination.

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spicycinnabun · 3 months ago

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🤖🤖 more android au please? 🫶

let's take it back to the start! here's a snip of the first chapter. 💙

“Makes me sick, man,” Sal said, snapping Tommy back to the present. He nearly flinched—as if Sal had been reading his thoughts. “How long until we’re all replaced by those overpriced toasters?”

Ah. Right.

Tommy wondered, too. Most of the other stations already had androids. He shrugged. “We still have a few advantages over them.”

Sal snorted. “Like what? They don’t need to eat, and they never get tired, so they can work twenty-four-seven. They come pre-programmed, so they don’t gotta go through the academy. They can throw cars like they’re paper airplanes. They don’t even need to be paid. We’re cooked.”

Yeah, that was all valid.

“They don’t have real emotions like we do,” Tommy said. “They feel nothing and will never genuinely understand us. They don’t have a heart. They’re machines. This one doesn’t even have a name, just a model number.”

He felt idiotic before he even shut his mouth. As if having any of that made him a better firefighter. Being emotional and feeling too much made him weaker. It was a career killer. He shouldn’t have said anything.

“Sounds like the perfect employee to me.” Sal smirked, temper mostly calmed. “You’re such a softy, Tom. No heart.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. He knew Sal was going to razz him. “Fuck off.”

“Nah. You’re gonna come spot me.” Sal threw a heavy arm around his shoulders and steered them toward the gym. Tommy didn’t resist. “If only the robos could have one like yours, huh?” He poked Tommy with a thick index finger. “You’ve got a big, gooey marshmallow in there.”

“Don’t know how you ever got that impression.”

“Just bein’ around you, babe.”

⚙︎

Upstairs, alone and unseen, EB600 looked down at his chest. He frowned, placing his hand over the spot where a heart would be if he were human, and listened.

There was no rhythmic lub-dub, lub-dub. He felt no steady thump, thump.

Instead, his Thirium pump sloshed gently, went tick, tick, hsss.

⚙︎

tag list: @brassm-tagged @leashybebes @thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish @setmeatopthepyre @bibuckeroo @station18908 @hmg621 @buffaluff @disastardly @figuringitoutaloud @bbbuckalou @ambernotember @theredrenard @hyperfocusthusly @tedious-waffle @screamlet @xmidhel @nochance-noway

@rcmclachlan @popfly @powersuitup @nonotyourspumoni @espressopatronum454 @loulou-land @all-the-feelss @comeon-intothemadhouse @jake-is-screaming-in-tune @therealstacyfakename @whizzzerbrown @the-omniscient-narrator @5ammi90 @crazypenguin88 @thuperrah @just-barrow @exhaustedpirate

just let me know if you want to be added or removed!

#thank you for the ask!#make me write #fic #911 #911 abc #bt beep boop au #beeper and the beast #sal deluca #tommy kinard #saltommy besties #evan buckley #bucktommy #bucktommy au #kinley #tevan #firebeast #robobeast #android au #dbh au

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running-with-kn1ves · 3 months ago

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fem scientist who created a frankstein!reader to have the cherish and love them but reader doesn’t have a care for that wants to explore the real world 🌎

reader with self esteem issues orders a fem!robot off a shady website because reader can’t rizz a real girl

(idk plot wise but can it end in smut? I just want to be loved and caressed by a pretty lady 🥲)

A/N: So real anon... Feeling off about this one, was going to scrap it but I spent too much time trying to FIX it.

CW: Sex Robot GF, NSFW, loser reader

_________________________

There she stood, like the life size version of a barbie doll in a box. Only, she was far more bubble-wrapped and covered in styrofoam packing peanuts than a plastic barbie would be. Ripping open the protective layers keeping her pristine were harder than setting the android’s system up itself, its interface automatically connecting to your Wi-Fi and booting up with the click of a button.

This wasn’t a moment of glory or ravenous hunger-- there was a level of gut-turning excitement in the back of your mind, true, but it was clouded by the insecurity of your purchase. A sex doll? What would your friends think of you when they came over? How the hell would you hide a human-sized being in your tiny bedroom?

No. You wouldn’t allow yourself to be concerned with that-- it was too late. You already paid a year-long warranty and they were keen on no returns. Your neighbors probably thought it was a new fridge, maybe a pre-built bookcase from how big the box was; little did they know the naked woman in your apartment was a top-shelf, silicone-covered, glistening creature of man-made horror that sounded, acted, and mostly looked like a real human. If only her eyes were a little less… uncanny. That might make you feel a bit better about having her lean over you in bed, trying to drag you back in each time you attempted to get up for work-- a lovely, and realistic programming factor that made you feel wanted, desired.

She could even work in the shower, waterproof and fireproof as shown in a few kitchen mishaps. Despite how many accidents and new challenges you faced with the android, she remained in prime condition, never losing face or acting out of sorts; she was the only constant in your life. And best of all, she performed exactly how you hoped she would. Most of the time.

The smooth flesh of her fingers heated as they lazily rubbed circles over your underwear, slender and long and yearning. Your eyes glazed over while staring at the dim TV, focusing on the hand against your crotch. It didn’t feel right, how desperately she seemed to want you; she wasn’t real, of course not. So why did it feel so good when she kissed your neck with a cute nuzzle and pulled at the zipper of your jeans, her body heating as if there were real veins, and blood pumping beneath her shell?

“I want to please you..” She’d murmur, awfully humanlike. “You’ve been aroused all day; waiting for me to recharge?” The grin spreading across her face could be heard through each well pronounced syllable; like usual, her intuition was scarily accurate. “Mm, there’s wetness collecting beneath my hands, your heart is beating faster than usual…”

You shift with your legs wider, letting her have easy access to the heat pooling below your stomach. Her fingers had a magic touch you previously only fantasized about-- the real warmth of a woman, of someone who would reciprocate your seemingly loser-like desperation.

You nodded to her direct question, watching dark eyes scan you for tell-tale signs; the rich brown hid how she planned her next set of moves inside intelligent hardware. She noticed the way your palms grew sweaty, biting your lips as you kept thinking of hers, your eyes half-lidded as she kept swirling her finger over that one spot…

“How do you want it,” She asked, unconsciously sultry with a cautious hand pressing deeper against you. “Hard, soft… You seem particularly worked up today.”

“Please just…” You sounded like a bumbling virgin compared to her lustful sultriness, fumbling. “I don’t want to talk about it, just give me this.”

Her disbelieving look left you feeling sheepish, but still she pulled her hair back into a sloppy ponytail, keeping your gaze with scrutiny as the hair tie hung from her mouth. She wasn’t going to give up that easily.

“That’s what I’m here for,” She drifts your damp underwear to your knees, leaving a trail of slick as it peeled from you. “To help, and to listen. So, go on.”

‘Listening’ was a choice word to use, as she slid down in between your bare legs, licking her lips.

Her mouth hovers over your sex, hot breath fanning as she looks up at you, her pupils unnaturally large. You wait for her to begin, but she keeps herself there-- watching. Was she really going to make you talk about your crappy remote job?

“I said go on.”

You felt her dip down tongue-first before you realized what she was doing-- thrusting the wet, mechanical muscle inside as it curled up, caressing the sides of your walls with a gentle harshness.

The involuntary gasp you released left you gripping onto the couch, watching as a flush filled her cheeks. Pretty, carefully placed lashes batted at you as she sunk deeper against your thighs.

“It was just-- IT bullshit,” You let out, watching as she pulls at your hips to force you farther onto her mouth, the sensation quickly becoming overwhelming. The lust buzzes in your mind, fogging it as you allow your eyes to unfocus. “You know, the usual-- people who can’t-- can’t do their jobs!”

You feel for her hair for support, grabbing below the android’s ponytail as her hair fanned over your wrist, tickling your skin as her tongue grew hot and fast, impossibly so. How were you ever going to find a real woman who could compare? She was equipped with the tools that could make you come in under a minute; barely had she touched you, and you were starting to feel the build of a deep burn that would soon rise to a shuddering, gripping climax.

Her open-mouthed hum of approval vibrated against you, her mouth moist and warm as it sucked from below.

With a slick pop, she pulled away from your sex and licked her top lip, her eyes fierce and almost fearful in their intensity.

“You’re right, it was bullshit,” Her pearly, off-white teeth shining to perfection, giving you a smile that was just as lustful as it was devious. She was made for this, to make you ache when she wasn’t touching you. “But it doesn’t matter now; now, is your time to de-stress.”

She climbs with precision onto your lap, a hand pushing your chest down to force you tight against the couch. You almost looked pitiful, drunken with lust and craning your neck so you could have a taste of her berry pink lips.

“Your expression looks desperate, wanting; from what I can tell, you’re going to come soon.” She hovers over your parted mouth, witnessing the chapped and bitten lips from a dehydrated all-nighter and poor self care; nothing got past her high grade processors, no matter how hard you tried to hide your flaws, or your yearning. “You’ll have to take better care of yourself when I’m not around, otherwise… I don’t know how I can let you come in good conscience.”

The frustration from her edging, her droning, the press of her knee between your legs-- You had yet to figure out how to reprogram her cleverness, her knack for a soft form of mental sadism.

“Okay, okay,” It’s hard not to arch up against her as she finds the shell of your ear, flicking her tongue against it-- enticing you to submit. “I…promise. I’ll eat like-- a salad or something, tonight…”

Her fingers sweetly brush hair away from your eyes, watching as you practically drool for them-- she’s not easy to get past-- and breaking a promise like this, would leave you to be more destitute than if you actually just started taking care of yourself.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

The android falls to your mouth, letting your tongue find hers as you muffle a moan against her, her touch mimicking a gentle kind of intimacy. It felt unbelievably comforting, warmth spreading in your chest and your belly; almost as good as if she were made of real flesh and bone.

For a moment, you could forget the mess of your apartment, the missed calls sitting on your phone, the credits rolling on the television. It was her hand cupping your most sensitive aspect, driving you near to an orgasm that would leave you limp and shaking. As sad as it might be, this was the best part of your day. No more crappy phone calls or endless doom scrolling, just her, and you. Her hand down south, grinding against your leg as you lean into her touch.

Your human body however was no match for her stamina-- not to mention, your lack of doing anything but rotting in your apartment has left you breathless just trying to thrust into her hand.

Breaking the kiss she grins at your predictability, your rising heart rate.

“Don’t go soft on me now, little human; keep going, love.”

Those sweet words could have you on your knees in a second, and they did wonders for your failing breaths.

“Don’t stop,” You pitifully command. Your useless hands once resting on her hips fell into the dip of her loose shirt, where she lacked any bra to keep her uncannily perfect, symmetrical breasts in prime access. If you had the strength to move her iron body any closer, you’d shove your face against them to keep the world out.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” She whispers in your ear as you finally find the end you’ve been waiting for; letting her draw you to the crash of your orgasm, you find your finale. She lets you grip and cling like a desperate lover, the android holding you tight against her skin as her fingers move at an inhuman speed, letting lewd sounds fill the living room.

You give yourself the freedom to scream against her, letting the pent up desire and need release from you as a shivering detox. The exhaustion sets in almost immediately, the sensation of her immovable grip on you leaving a painful sting as she rubs out the lasting spikes of your orgasm.

You try to find solace in the sound of her beating chest matching in rhythm with your own. The credits of your unwatched movie are still rolling, and you realize the last few minutes were just that-- minutes. It felt like an eternity being in the grip of arousal; a part of you wishes you were still in it, being rubbed slowly, just to keep her feeling you up.

“I love you.” She murmurs, slightly winded and drowsy, as if it were you speaking; for a moment you don’t think you’ve heard her right. But again, she whispers it into your other ear, squeezing around you. You go still, wordless with your heart skipping beat after beat, wondering if the afterglow of your orgasm has completely broken the last shred of your sanity.

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