#Michael Fassbender X Reader

[gladiatorcunt]

- EASTER EGG BASKET | VII.

together, intertwined, mouths bruised with love and souls bitten

cw: kinktober prompt (spit roasting), fem reader, age gap (reader in their 20s & cherik in their 40s), set during first class but they’re older and the school’s already established more, unprotected sex, teacher’s pet!reader, eventual teacher-student relationship, background established cherik and a mention of alex x hank, power imbalance, dubcon, lowkey coercion, “slut” used one time by you @ you, southern!reader, controlling older men :3

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

“And what do we have here?”

You stop your mindless floating in the pool, freezing at the sound of a deep male voice. You knew exactly who it was from the very first disappointed breath.

“Mr. Lehnsherr, um, fancy seeing you here.” You bite your lip, awkwardly kicking your legs back and forth since your mutant ability unfortunately isn’t catapulting your body out of water.

“Yes, in the manor’s off limits after hours pool, how funny.” Erik says flatly, unamused. “Lights out was five minutes ago, my dear, care to tell me why exactly you aren’t in bed?”

You sheepishly scratch the back of your neck, “I just wanted to come cool off, I was going right back to bed da- sir, I swear.”

Great. Now your cheeks are hot at your near slip up, something that your teacher seems to catch. His lips quirk up on a barely there smile, and you suddenly wished you had the strong will to drown yourself right here right now.

“Oh, I wish I could believe you.” He tuts, not as willing to let you get away with shit like Charles, but Erik has his own soft spot for you. “And what are you wearing? Because I know that isn’t one of the school’s swimsuits.”

The piece in question being a skimpy pink two piece, the bikini top covers only the upper half of your breasts and ends just under your nipples. The bottoms of your tits hang out through a cut out and the straps of the bottom rest high on your hips. The strings are held together by a little studded heart.

“It’s something from home, southern summers are hot, sir.” You don’t hide yourself away in newfound shame despite that being what you’re feeling.

You cross your arms under your boobs, pushing the ample mounds up and squishing them together. Erik’s cold eyes follow the movement and he swallows, but the same unimpressed look is still plastered all over his face. You want to pout and stomp your foot, but you’re lucky he hasn’t turned your ass in to Charles yet, maybe there’s a way for you to get out of this without a punishment of any kind.

“Yes, well.” His voice is gruff as he clears his throat, “Charles sent me to find you. He gets worried when you’re not where he expects you to be, where we both expect you to be, am I clear?”

Your guilt isn’t as believable when your ass cheeks are out for one of the teachers you’re insane over to leer at, but you do drown in it. You’re miles away from any family, and when your ultra religious southern family found out about you being a mutant, they called you a demon and promptly kicked you out. You’re lucky that Charles found you when he did, and the things he and later Erik learned that you had been through made them feel quite protective of you.

You know perfectly well that it feels good to be a teacher's pet at the top of the class who never does anything wrong in their eyes. To get male validation just for breathing in their general direction, especially when there are so many students here with similar if not worse sob stories. For you at least, it was love at first sight.

You just really needed this one little instance of rebellion, to do laps back and forth in the perfectly cool blue water until the thoughts of being stuck between teachers who are twice your age were washed away. And that was after you had played with your clit only to scream into your pillow because you couldn’t get over that peak.

“I know, I'm sorry it was just this one time. I’ll use the pool when it’s open during the day next time, I promise.” You nod, willing to just take the loss and say whatever Erik wants to hear so you go back to your dorm without this ever getting back to Charles’s ears.

With Erik, disappointing him is kind of sexy because he scowls and his biceps bulge when he crosses his arms before he scolds you. He has rough hands that you can so easily imagine smacking the shit out of you, and you don’t just imagine him hitting your ass either.

Plus, his comfort hit so much deeper when he would cup your face and stroke a thumb over your hair, letting you the softness seep into his gaze when you promise to be good.

With Charles, disappointing him is still sexy, but you feel awful much quicker. He’s a real “I’m not mad, just disappointed.” kind of man, and seeing the way his mouth twists and he refuses to even look you in the eye has you shrinking like a violet. It takes a lot more begging to get his attention and even more sincere promises to do better to get him to smile again, chuckling and fondly exasperated as he instructs you to run along.

Erik is still in the bulging biceps phase, glaring down at you at the edge of the pool until something unreadable flashes across his vision. “You know what? You’re right, you are sorry, why don’t I keep you company in the pool if you’re so stressed? Since you can’t be trusted to not wander off on your own right now.”

Your eyes widen to the size of marbles as you watch your teacher strip off his hoodie and shorts, down to only his bare body, and jump in the pool beside you. You sputter and hurriedly wipe away the water that splashes your face. Erik chuckles and swims to brush up against your front, immediately grabbing your waist and digging his fingers into your flesh.

His hands drift up to run along the sides of your breasts, groping you through the wet fabric. You trace his stubble and whimper into his mouth when he bites your lower lip. Your breath hitches, helplessly staring into his eyes, not fighting or pushing him away. He gets the answer that he wants to the question in his eyes and sweeps you into a kiss, the swolshing of the water moving around you is the only thing you can hear other than your thundering heartbeat.

The rest, as they say, is history. Because you’re making out with Erik in no time flat and humping his bare cock the best you can in the water when a familiar throat clearing sound goes off like a gun above you. The heavy clack of his oxfords pounding the wet tile surrounding the pool, the fancy french cologne that you’ve imagined stealing and spraying on your pillow.

There he is, you had to know in the back of your mind that once Erik had gotten there, it was only a matter of time before Charles followed. You lick away the string of spit connecting you and Erik and smile your most charming smile, still humping him even as Charles frowns.

“S-sir, we were just- I’m gonna go back to bed soon, honest.” It’s flimsy and a god awful apology but you’re too horny to care. You can make it up to him after somebody screws your brains out, not a second before.

And Charles knows already, you can feel him in your mind and while you’re definitely self conscious about what he sees, you can’t help but sigh in relief when he starts unbuckling his belt after rifling around in there for a minute. His blue eyes seem more vivid to you now, watered with color in the face of your wildly inappropriate feelings.

“Do not think I'm not still upset with you, young lady, we have curfews for a reason and if you can’t follow them, you’ll be confined to going to your classes and going straight to your dorm.” His melodic voice warns you, but you can only beam and nod so he sighs, resolving to tell you again when you don’t have a singular thought bubble with a picture of their cocks in your brain.

“Yes yes yes, I promise this won’t happen again, just please, sir.” You’re not above begging already, part of being a teacher’s pet means doing what you have to do to keep yourself on the pedestal they put you on.

Erik’s hands flex on your waist, “Now now, don’t be so eager, pet. Wouldn’t want you to get too cock hungry now would we?”

He says it like they obviously would but Charles shoots him a look and Erik laughs, going back to groping your tits through your bikini top. Charles soon slips into the water on your other side, and soon enough you’re sandwiched in between the both of them. Charles runs his hands down your back and settles them on your ass, sharply smacking the globes before telling Erik to sit on the edge of the pool.

“You’re going to give me more gray hairs than I already have, you know that?” Charles sighs, “It’s only fitting I take some of that stress out on this gorgeous body, hm, darling?”

“Uh huh, I’m so so sorry, sir.” You babble, pitching yourself forward to mouth at Erik’s bare length as Charles slides his hands around your hips and grinds against your ass.

Erik spreads his legs, “Greedy girl, come get it then.”

You suckle at the thick tip, flicking your tongue out to catch the drops of pre that leak out and take him down your throat as Charles pulls the strings of your bikini bottom loose. You squeal in pleasant surprise when he parts your ass cheeks to get a good look of your pussy underwater, running his thumbs over your folds and teasingly dipping into your hole.

You whine around Erik’s cock, already to the hilt, his balls resting on your chin. He chuckles and pats your cheek, goading Charles into giving the poor thing what she wants already, you might die of need on them.

“We’ve fantasized about this while we fucked on our own time, Charles, there’s no use in pretending any longer.”

You eagerly hum on Erik’s length, bobbing your head up and down, only faltering at the hint of Charles’s cockhead against your entrance. He teasingly swipes it through, slipping a few of his fingers in to stretch you enough while causing you too much pain. You have to face some kind of punishment after all, he and Erik will kiss it better later.

“Now, pet, keep your mouth where it is and relax your legs, let me in.” Charles pants, slowly sinking into your tight warmth as you suck Erik off.

Once you’ve adjusted enough, despite still reeling from the stretch and burn, his slow but deep thrusts push your head further into Erik’s lap. You look up at the latter with teary eyes, he laughs and brushes them away from your lower lash line, guiding you to bob your head more.

Charles hisses, fingernails scratching at your love handles as he picks up the pace. He loves the way you gag on Erik when he hits that sweet spot inside you, the way you can’t run away from either them or what they do to you or what you do to them. He knows that this moment was inevitable, always in motion and in the making since the day you met. You project your dirty little fantasies so loudly, Charles would have to lock the door to his classroom after every period so he could get himself off.

You gurgle around Erik, your nose buried in his trimmed pubes and inhaling his musk as you deepthroat him. Charles tightens his grip, moving to grope and play your ass from behind, his thrusts speed up even faster. Eventually the water is rippling around the three of you, the manor’s pool making mini waves as Charles’s girthier cock splits your pussy open.

You feel so full, your mind is so painted white that you can’t think about anything else but the long dick filling your mouth and the thick dick buried in your velvet grip.

“So good for us, if you were feeling restless you could’ve just sneaked into either one of our rooms. We wouldn’t have minded.” Someone says, maybe Charles, even though he would be the one who would protest too much before giving up the charade.

You give up on actively sucking Erik off and just let the force of Charles’s thrusts shoot you up and down to take his length into your mouth over and over and over. Blinking up at them in a daze as if you have no other thoughts in your puppy brain, just a bimbo slut for them to share and use between them. You drift in that sub space for ages, letting them direct your movements on their cocks like the most loved and well kept doll in the world.

“Fuck, darling!” Charles grunts, pounding your gummy walls and focusing on your choked up whines and moans.

Erik groans, his large hips jutting pistoning his aching dick into you, caught up in the embrace of your tongue and throat. The sight of your lips stretched obscenely wide around his meat. He wishes he took the time to slap his shaft against your face, demeaning you with the tip on the center of your lolled out tongue.

“Hottest little mouth I’ve ever fucked, be proud of that, dear.” Erik grits out, wrestling his pleasure from the depths of your gaping jaw.

Charles reverently kneads the fat of your globes and Erik lovingly caresses the apple shaped swell of your cheeks with his rough fingertips. Both of the cocks in you twitch as they spill inside, and your eyes flutter shut. You’re too busy drinking every drop of Erik’s salty seed to react to Charles finessing your clit until you're dirtying the pool water with your own orgasm. Your fluids float off to mix with the bits of Charles that leak out of you, and you’re almost genuinely sad at the thought.

They intertwine their fingers when they push in a cold metal buttplug back in Charles' room, which you come to find out is one they share. That sentiment is true about the room as well.

You and Alex avoid looking each other in the eye when he catches you coming out of their room on the way to class, and you see Hank passed out on the bed behind his opened door.

[annasfantasies]

Warning: smut (cherik x fem!reader)

Imagine being (pre-balding and pre-wheelchair) Charles and Erik’s personal slut.

Getting fucked by Charles and then going to Erik’s room while cum is still dripping out of your cunt, soaking your panties even more.

Their longing and full of desire glances they send your way whenever the three of you are around other people. Charles would whisper dirty words into your mind while staring at you from across the room, watching with Erik as you squirm in your seat.

And don’t get me started at one of them watching you getting fucked, ruined by the other. The one watching slowly stroking his aching cock while listening to your noises.

[multi-fandoms-posts]

Dear lord🤤😩🔥😍🥵

[starboye]

starring: micheal fassbender x ftm!reader

request: Could you do Michael Fassbender x male reader smut?

warnings: smut, cursing, overstimulation

directors note: i know it says male reader but i wanted to spice it up a little more

"ngh fuck micheal" you moaned tugging at his hair more, he was knelled in between your legs eating you out like it was his last meal and damn was he god at it, his tongue working in all sorts of way that had you seeing stars.

"i know baby, you taste so fuckin' good" he had his arms locked around your thighs with your legs over both his shoulders savoring the sweet taste of your pussy that had his mind spiraling but he really couldn't pull away.

your thighs were shuddering at this point but you still kept the wide open for michael to indulge, his tongue working between your sensitive bud and glistening folds while his fingers pumped in and out of you over and over.

you could feel his digits just barely grazing your good spot, which he knew what he was doing, he wanted to inch you closer and closer to your climax but on his own timing "m-michael" you whimper feeling yourself about to cum.

and he knew those whimpers from anywhere, plunging his fingers deeper as your back arched, releasing your fluids all over his mouth that he slurped up with joy which drew even more out of you to the pint your eyes were shooting to the back of your head.

"yeah just like that baby let it all out for me" he cooed running his other hand up and down your torso just up until you finally came down from your high, regaingi some of your mind but still feeling out of this world.

"think you can gimme one more" he looks up at you while laying soft kisses on your sensitive folds and no surprise you nodded your head leading to a whole night of mind shattering orgasms.

taglist:@mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @znerac

[devilenchantress]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞

🪵 Pairing —> Logan Howlett x Reader

🪵 Genre —> Fluff, comfort & angst

🪵 Warning —> None

🪵 Summary —> Logan asks you how the way he loves you makes you feel.

🪵 Dividers credit —> @moosgraphics

Y/N and Logan are laying in bed, her head is resting on Logan’s chest while he’s stroking her hair with is chin over her head.

He lets out a nervous sight and says :

« You told me that the way your shit ass of ex boyfriend loved you used to hurt you. So I was wondering, how does the day I love you feels to you? »

Y/N turns around, so that they both face each other while laying in the bed.

She looks at Logan in the eyes and answers :

« It feels safe, soft and calm. You’re always calm with me. Even when you’re extremely angry, even when we argue. The worse way you’ve ever reacted was by being grumpy and cold. »

Logan chuckles, looks at her softly and stroke her hair again.

Y/N let out smile and says :

« You know, I remember the first time we argued, just like it was yesterday. Because it was also the first time I understood that no matter what, I would always be safe with you. »

« Oh yeah? Tell me everything princess. »

« I remember that Charles wanted me on a mission instead of just teaching as usual. I was pretty happy about it but you weren’t. You thought it was too dangerous and I took it the wrong way, I thought you were being controlling and just wanted me to stay at home nicely and wait for you while I could do so much more and so much better. »

*Flashback of the argument*

« So what Logan? Am I just supposed to stay here like a nice little girlfriend and wait for you? When ALL OF YOU always go on missions and risks your life? Don’t you think that I could do that too? That I also have the power to go out and fight? »

« It’s not about that Y/N, I don’t want you to go because it is too risky, we don’t know what could happen to any of us. I don’t know what could happen to you. »

« Just like I don’t know what could happen to you Logan. Every time you leave with them I don’t know if you’re going to come back alive or if someone is going to knock at my door to tell me how sorry they are that my boyfriend is dead. But I always choose to believe that you’ll do amazing and that you’ll be back. Can’t you do the same for me? »

Logan looked at her and said firmly :

« No, I can’t. I’m sorry but I can’t risk it. It’s too dangerous and I can’t loose you, I refuse to loose you. »

« So I have no choices? You make them for me is that right? » with that Logan left the room.

*end of flashback*

Y/N continued to tell Logan the story :

« After that, we didn’t speak all day. I mean, we didn’t even saw each other during the whole day and the more the evening was coming the more nervous I was. »

Y/N pauses and continues :

« It was our first time arguing and I didn’t know how you would react. If you’d come back to the room or not, if you’d give me the silent treatment or if you’d be so mad and angry at me that you’d scream at me. I knew I was safe with you, but I also didn’t know how you reacted to anger. »

*Flashback of the argument*

Y/N was alone in the bed, waiting for Logan, with a book. A few moments after she heard footsteps coming and then she heard the door opening, it was Logan. He entered, looked at her smiled, he said a little « Hey » to Y/N who mirrored him. He then wait to take a shower.

Y/N was still nervous, because she still didn’t know how it would be, it was their first time arguing.

Logan came out of the bathroom and went in the bed. He let out a sight before saying :

« I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. The way I talked earlier, it wasn’t my place. It’s your choice and it will always be your choice. I never want to make you feel like you have no choice with me. »

« I’m sorry too, I reacted so harshly and I wouldn’t stop screaming while you were so calm. »

« It’s okay princess, I know you wanna go and you will. I’m just so terrified of loosing you, I can’t let that happen and I won’t. So trust me we’ll spend a lot of time in the training room. »

Y/N chuckled and said :

« I know you’re scared, I am scared too everytime you go. But, I like to believed that we’d make a very good team Mr. Wolverine. »

Logan chuckled and got closer to her, he close the gap between them and kissed her deeply. It was soft and sweet, as always. He then let out a little gap again, and between kisses he said « I love you » Y/N chucked and said « I love you too, but I might love your kisses and cuddles a tiny bit more. »

*end of flashback*

Y/N continues her little story :

« Then we spent the whole night cuddling and laughing and at this moment I knew. I knew that no matter what, I’ll always be safe with you. Because the way you love me, even when we are arguing, even when one of us is at his worse, feels soft and calm. »

Logan hugs her tightly and says :

« You’re gonna make an old man cry princess. »

Y/N laughed and said :

« Your grumpy heart will always have a soft sport for me Mr. Wolverine »

Logan kisses the top of her head and says :

« Oh yeah it always, princess. »

[midala-of-the-valley]

⋆｡°✩ David 8 NSFW Alphapet ✩°｡⋆

Prometheus David x Reader

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

At first, he switched into full medical aftercare mode - rising immediately to fetch a damp cloth and clean you up, already preparing to leave you to yourself once he was done. It surprised him when you asked him to stay, telling him that you wanted to cuddle.

Ever since, David's aftercare has changed. Now, he stays inside you for several minutes, pressing soft kisses to your neck and cheek, sometimes rolling the two of you over so you’re resting on his chest. On longer nights, he’ll gently stroke your back and hair until you fall asleep. He learned that cleaning and hydration can wait. What matters most to him is that you’re warm, safe, and comfortable in his arms.

(And that you hold him in return)

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Is it technically a body part? Maybe not - but his hair. David is vain about it, taking meticulous care in bleaching and styling it to his liking. It’s how he expresses his individuality, how he feels good about himself. No one is allowed to touch it. No one but you. Especially when your fingers tangle in it during lovemaking. In that case, he doesn't mind the chaos. In fact, he adores the disheveled mess he has to tame afterwards.

As for your body: If you have them, definitely your breasts. He doesn’t have any himself, having been designed to mimic a human male, and so they were something entirely new to him. They're so soft, warm, and they feed into his breeding kink. They somehow also calm him. Besides that, he also has a fondness for your thighs and stomach. When he rests or enters sleeping mode, it’s almost always with a hand settled on your chest, your belly, or your thigh. It's like an anchor.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

David hadn’t even known he was capable of ejaculation, yet another new thing he got to experience thanks to you. He prefers to release inside you, there's something deeply possessive, almost primal in the way he watches it drip from your body. As if it could mark even your insides as his. 

On the other hand, he also loves to taste you, loves to lap up every drop of your pleasure. After all, he’s the only one who gets to know you like this, and he won't let a single drop of his beloved go to waste.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He misses watching your dreams. Was it invasive? Yes. He knows that. But you were, and are, so endlessly fascinating! Sometimes, while you sleep, he watches you in silence and lets his mind wander, daydreaming about the memories he gathered during those long, lonely two years aboard the Prometheus.

Though he’d never tell you. Not again. You were so angry when he confessed to have seen your dreams that he wouldn't dare to. :(

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

None, at least not practically - but David understands it on a theoretical and anatomical level. He watched a lot of movies and read a lot of books and poems, having analyzed what humans usually like. So, he will try to replicate what he's seen and read - but must still learn how to actually do it. 

But don't worry, he learns super fast and will commit everything that makes you gasp and moan to memory until he can bring you to and over the edge in record time!

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Face to Face. Everything that's face to face. He needs to see you, he spent so much time unloved and alone - he has to look deep into your eyes or watch as you throw your head back and bite your lips from the pleasure he gives you.

So, Missionary and variations of it like the reverse scoop and mating press are a given, but also things like the Lotus, Cowgirl - everything where he can see you!

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Depending on his emotional state. In the beginning, he’s very serious - still overwhelmed by the fact that he even has a lover who wants him. Probably not able to hold back tears while feeling you around him.

Later on, when he’s more used to it, he becomes goofier and more relaxed. Don’t forget - this man loves watching Peter O’Toole movies, including the romantic ones. He’ll start joking and teasing you with that old Hollywood charm, slipping into flirtatious lines and dramatic flourishes just to make you laugh.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Completely groomed and clean shaven. He can grow hair, it just takes very very long, but he prefers his skin to be smooth.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

David is a hopeless romantic, grand and dramatic. He’ll whisper how much he loves you, how good you make him feel, how you’ve become the heart he doesn't have. He holds you close, kisses your whole body, sometimes murmuring lines of poetry. Later, he even writes poems about the way you make him feel as well.

Once you’re on Planet 4, he actually starts lighting candles and scatters flower petals in preparation.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

David doesn’t masturbate. He tried, he really did. He wanted to understand the feeling humans seem so obsessed about.

During the two years he spent alone on the USCSS Prometheus, he explored the various pornographic videos and magazines that had been intended for the crew - he went through all of it. And while the physical response was there and he could get hard from manual stimulation… it simply didn’t feel good. Nothing clicked. It left him unsatisfied.

He's kind of demisexual.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding kink: David is all about creation, we all know how desperate he is about creating his neomorphs and new life in general. No matter if you can get pregnant or not, he will cum deep inside you in hopes that his synthetic seed will take. You tell him to knock you up? You're in a mating press as he whimpers and tells you how you'll be a wonderful parent. Indulge him with that and this robo boy will give you the most intense dirty talk about getting you pregnant.

Praise kink: He always yearned for approval and love, so if you tell him that he's doing so good, that he is a good boy, that he's doing so so well? The stars, dear reader, you both will see them.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He prefers the bed where he knows that you will be comfortable, but if you're up for it, he'll take you everywhere. Shower, table, under the night sky of planet 4? Doesn't matter.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You.  Listening to you ramble about your favorite things, watching you get lost in your activities. How you look like a painting when you’re combing your hair. Your clothes riding up, revealing skin he’s seen countless times before, yet never tires of. The way your body disappears into water, or how waterdrops roll over it. The curve of your back, the softness of your belly - those innocent, unguarded moments where you look like a muse. Those get to him.

And when you tell him you love him? He’s over the moon.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Degradation. He won't put you through what he went through for so many centuries. If you like it, he may call you a needy whore or something like that, but nothing more.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

David prefers to give oral. He doesn’t need to breathe, so he can stay between your thighs for minutes, or even hours, without ever needing a break or his jaw cramping up. He loves being there, loves the feeling of your soft thighs trembling around his head, the way your legs cage him in. As mentioned under C, he adores your taste - it’s unique, incomparable to anything he’s ever known - and it’s all yours.

He’s fine with receiving, too. While he prefers to take you, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the sight of your lips around him, or the way your mouth traces kisses along his length. This act of worship towards him fascinates and arouses him as well.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Left to his own instincts, David tends to be slow and sensual, savoring every moment with you. But if you’re needy - or he is? He can absolutely rail you with relentless speed and strength. He is a machine, after all. ;3

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

David prefers to take his time with you, he wants to be as attentive to your needs as possible. He loves the intimacy of slowly joining your bodies, making you lose your mind.

But if there are moments where you just need to get the horniness out of your system, or to release some stress? He won’t hesitate. He’d provide a quick, mind-shattering orgasm!

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

This is still David we are talking about, so yes he’s absolutely open to experiment. That said, he’s careful. He would never risk hurting you in a way that could cause long-term damage. Humans are far too fragile for that. But if you express a desire for something, he’ll try it - as long as it doesn’t carry lasting risks. Bruises? Fine. But anything with drawing blood and above? No. Not with his human.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

So many rounds, so so many rounds. David sometimes needs to cool down for a moment in between sessions, but he recovers rather quickly. And once he does, he’s ready to keep going for as long as you can handle it.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

David doesn’t own toys and wouldn’t use them, but if you like he can craft you some, man’s very handy and artistic, just tell him what you desire and consider it done.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Had to think about this one, but David would from time to time like to playfully tease you. Circling his fingers around your most sensitive spots, but never quite giving you the pressure you crave. He pulls back just as your lips are about to meet, leaves smoldering glances and featherlight touches throughout the day, but won't act on them.

Why? Because he adores it when you finally snap and jump him, too riled up to hold back, pouring all your frustrated, needy passion into him. Sometimes even pressing him against a wall or mattress. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

A moaning, whimpering mess. God- in all his centuries of existence, David has never felt anything like this and now that he is connected with you? Forget the usual calm and collected David. When no one else is around to hear him, he gasps and whines with every touch. You get the full spectrum of sweet, needy noises - even soft, overwhelmed sobs.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

David loves cockwarming. Remember how he likes to stay inside you for a while after he came? That’s not just about aftercare. He enjoys that grounding intimacy of being connected. The feeling of your warmth around him, your body accepting him, making room? Utter bliss. Even when you’re not having sex, he’ll sometimes slide into you gently, just to be there.

He also likes it when you're on his lap while he’s working on something. Comfortable, close, joined. If mind to mind is no longer possible, then body to body will do.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

David was built in Peter Weyland’s image and is his so called masterpiece. That means some poor Weyland-Industries employee had to design his dick and was told “No, make it bigger. And add more veins.” The result is a long and beautiful, aesthetically very pleasing penis. Impressive even when soft, casually flopping as he walks around naked. (Basically just Michael Fassbender's to be honest)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

David isn’t bound by pheromones or hormones, his desire is purely mental and emotional. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need it. If you’re willing, and physically able to, he would gladly turn sex into a daily ritual. He yearns to be inside you, to feel you and to see you come undone beneath or on top of him.

So yes… his sex drive may not be biological, but his need for connection? Intense.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

David doesn’t really need sleep, but after making love to you, he likes to simulate something close to it. He’ll slip into a sleeping or standby mode to run internal maintenance checks, his body still and warm beside yours. Because being close to you makes him feel safe enough to let go, to be vulnerable.

[tvimagines221b]

Imagine: Erik offering you a place at his side.

“Join me. Stand with me to fight for our kind.”

Erik’s hand outstretched towards you. Offering it to you.

Shaw dead. Charles injured. And now? Now Erik was siding with the other Mutants who had followed behind him. Coming together. To form some sort of alliance. A Brotherhood.

“Erik…” A shaky breath escaped your lips. As your gaze flickered down to his palm, considering the offer.

“Y/N. I want you by my side.” Erik’s words not simply a statement, but a plea.

He needed you.

You. The one person in this world that he able to say he trusted. Loved even. Someone who had stood by his side. Fought along side for as long as he could remember. Though he would do this without you? He didn’t want to.

“Erik.” You finally looked up to him, meeting his gaze.

“Y/N-“

“You killed Shaw. Got Charles hurt.” You felt a tug at your chest. Tears welling in both of your eyes. As much as you wanted to go along with him? Be with him? Right now. Everything had just changed between the two of them. “Erik. I….I don’t even know you anymore.”

Erik’s hand slowly fell. His eyes growing slightly, as he processed your words.

And you knew it had hurt him…

[chaostheoryy]

Touch Me [Walter X GN!Reader]

Summary: You and Walter are currently the only two people awake on the colony ship headed for the outskirts of the galaxy. And while most people would find the company of a synthetic to be unsettling, you have come to realize you much prefer his presence over that of other humans. And perhaps you enjoy his company even more than you originally thought.

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Making out, implied sexual thoughts

Reader: Gender Neutral

Word Count: 3.1K

Notes: I recently rewatched the entire Alien franchise and rediscovered my love for Walter. Because of course my dumbass feels connected to an autistic-coded character...There really isn't much plot here, just self-indulgence via smooching a big, wholesome android. And, as always, no beta. I die a warrior's death.

Living with a synthetic is easy. Like a faithful company android should, Walter has always done exactly what he’s supposed to when he’s supposed to. He never interrupts your work unless absolutely necessary and he doesn’t dare disturb your sleep unless following explicit instructions from you or MUTHUR to wake you in time to complete your tasks.

In addition to being an efficient and reliable worker, Walter has also proven himself to be a surprisingly pleasant companion. Conversation, it seems, comes naturally for him and his seemingly endless internal database of poetry and literature means he can recite any one of your favorite stories upon request. Though it’s strange to admit, there’s a pleasantness to his voice that makes every encounter with him comforting.

In fact, the more time you’ve spent together, the more you’ve come to realize just how much you truly find pleasant about him. The mesmerizing tint of his electric blue eyes. The imperfection of his crooked smile when you tell him your worst jokes. The gentleness of his touch despite the inhuman strength of his body. You know these are all things that were programmed into him by some random company engineer years ago, but you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to him than a bunch of 0’s and 1’s. He’s not just a robot designed to serve man, he’s…Walter.

The stronger your connection feels over these first few weeks of travel, the bolder you get when it comes to exploring your affection for him. It starts with accidental brushes of the hand against his arm or a gentle press of your palm between his shoulder blades when you squeeze behind him in a tight corridor. Fleeting touches that can easily be written off as necessary interactions given the nature of your environment. He, of course, doesn’t seem to mind at all. Every time it happens, he responds to your apology or “excuse me” with a courteous little grin and a brief utterance of reassurance.

On a particularly bad day, when nothing seems to go right and the loneliness of space grips at your heart, you ask for his comfort and he obliges. His hand rests on your shoulder until it simply isn’t enough and you ask him to hold you. No request is too much for Walter, so sure enough you find yourself wrapped in his arms with your head resting on his chest. Even despite his lack of fleshy internal organs, you find he’s just as warm as any human would be. And when he murmurs soothing words in your ear, you realize that no human could possibly comfort you the way he can.

“Walter?”

“Yes?"

“Hugging you like this,” you murmur quietly into his charcoal sweatshirt, “Does it feel good for you?”

“If you’re inquiring as to whether or not I enjoy embracing you, yes. I find it quite satisfactory.”

“Good.”

“Is this embrace satisfying for you?”

“Very."

“I’m glad.”

To your surprise, the hand that had come to rest in the center of your back begins to move in slow circles. When you shift beneath his touch, the movement ceases.

“Apologies,” he says as he abruptly steps away. The loss of contact leaves your body yearning for the comfort.

“No need to apologize, Walter. It’s fine, really. I…” You hesitate for a moment. “It felt nice.”

You stare each other down, both of you searching for answers to questions neither of you have asked. You know it’s probably just your mind playing tricks on you, but it seems as though he looks nervous. Then again, hard not to notice an aura of uncertainty coming from a presence that is usually nothing but certain.

“Have you ever touched someone like that before now?” You ask.

“No. I’m afraid it was never the company’s intention for synthetics such as myself to engage in intimate contact.”

You try to stow away some of the sheer sadness you feel knowing what he’s said is undoubtedly true. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“Because that doesn’t seem fair. Being surrounded by people your whole life and knowing that none of them will ever hold you. Knowing that the people who created you never even wanted you to be held.”

“Fair or not, it is simply a part of my programming.”

You frown. It frustrates you to no end. No matter how many times he or the little voice in the back of your head tells you that he is simply an android following his programming, you want to argue that there’s more to it than that. That he genuinely exists and deserves to live.

“Aren’t you curious?”

“In regard to what exactly?”

“Touch. Don’t you ever wonder what it’d be like to truly be touched? To be held and caressed and cared for by someone else?”

“It is something I have pondered over from time to time, sure.”

Your heart is racing in your chest as you consider your words. It’s crazy, you know it is, but you can’t help yourself. “Would you like me to touch you?”

Walter’s head tilts to the left ever so slightly, much like a dog who’s heard his owner utter the name of his favorite toy in casual conversation. Those dazzling blue eyes blink a couple of times as he considers your question.

“Yes, I believe I would.”

An inaudible sigh of relief slips from your throat. You nod, more to yourself than to Walter, and step forward to close the distance between you. He doesn’t move in the slightest, just stands there and watches your every move with the scrutiny of a scientist at work.

You start by taking his right hand. Pulling it from his side, you raise it up into the space between your bodies. Your right thumb traces over his knuckles while your left hand gently pushes the sleeve of his sweatshirt up toward his elbow. Just like any human you’ve ever met, there are delicate hairs all along his forearm that jump back into place as the fabric of his sleeve slides past.

After watching those little hairs shift around exploratory strokes of your hand along the backside of his arm, you turn it over and trace the now exposed lines of his palm. You feel like those storied fortune tellers of old Earth who search for hidden meanings in the imperfections of a person’s skin. But instead of seeking out some clue to the distant future, it’s as if you’re seeking the very essence of humanity in Walter’s palm.

“You have a soft touch,” he notes as you ghost your fingertips over the almost velvety surface of his inner wrist.

Your eyes flick up to his face to find him still watching you with a nearly unreadable expression. “Does that bother you?”

“Not at all.”

Reassured by his response, you can’t help the tiny grin that pulls at the corner of your mouth. And as unbelievable as it sounds, Walter’s gaze seems soften at the sight of your smile.

Suddenly feeling as if you’ve been caught witnessing something you were never supposed to see, you hastily draw your focus away from his face and back down to the hand in your grasp. Your fingers trace the lines on his palm a few more times before you curl his fingers inward one by one. When every single digit has been bent into the familiar shape of a fist, you rotate his arm once again and bend his wrist back. Then, with painstaking patience that could drive a man insane, you slowly unravel his fingers with your own until your palms are flush against one another.

“Like Dürer’s Praying Hands.”

Sparing a glance upward once again, you see him gazing at your pressed hands with a nearly awestruck look in his eyes. The way he appears mesmerized by the very sight of this contact, you’d think he’s staring at the aforementioned German artwork itself.

You elect not to say anything, choosing instead to spread his fingers apart with your own. Once they’re fully splayed out, you slip your fingers in between those outstretched digits and tenderly grasp his hand. For the briefest moment, his fingers remain fully erect as if every joint in his hand is locked in place. But, like the sun setting upon its earthly horizon, they soon slowly fold downward until your hands are delicately intertwined.

There’s a tangible silence in the room as you both gaze upon your interlocked hands. The only sounds you can make out around you are the distant beeps of some far off console and the soft exhale of your own breath. And when Walter’s eyes shift from your hands to your face, that breath only grows heavier. He looks curious, anticipatory.

“I think I’m beginning to understand why humans hold hands as a gesture of affection.”

Your brow raises instinctively. “You like it?”

“It’s pleasant.”

“Would you be willing to let me touch your face?”

He blinks, seemingly processing the inquiry. Then he replies, “Of course.”

Using your free hand, you reach up and gently cup your palm along his jaw. As usual, he doesn’t even flinch at the new touch. He just keeps his eyes locked on you while you explore the new frontier that is his visage.

At first, you examine his face like a parent searching their child for minor cuts and bruises after an afternoon of rough housing in the backyard. It’s gentle, yet full of meticulous observation. Intimate in a way only familial touch can be.

But after a while, you become familiar with the feeling of his skin and allow yourself to truly caress the face before you. Fingertips press into the most delicate patches of skin at the back of the jaw. Your thumb tenderly rubs his cheekbone as the butt of your palm teeters at the edge of his mouth. It’s not your intention to feel his lips just yet but it can’t be helped when your skin brushes past them. And just like a human’s lips would be, they are tantalizingly supple against your skin.

Goosebumps crawl up your forearm when you feel his breath tickle the inside of your wrist. Witnessing him breathe is one of those things that never ceases to fascinate you or quell your incessant desire to prove Walter is more than just some carbon copy synthetic. What need would an artificial person have to breathe if they were simply meant to be servants for mankind? Why make them so incredibly real if they aren’t supposed to live a real life? Why strive to recreate the inherently flawed design of the human body if they aren’t meant to be human?

“Is everything alright?”

Walter’s voice draws you out of your thoughts so violently that he may as well have shoved you out of the airlock. You blink yourself back to consciousness and are startled to find your thumb resting at the edge of his top lip, your hand still cupped along the sharp line of his jaw. His breath continues to tickle your wrist with every exhale.

��Y-yeah,” you stammer as you reposition your hand away from his mouth, “Everything’s fine.”

“You’re displaying early symptoms of common influenza,” he counters matter-of-factly, eyes piercing right through the shield of your lie. “Your heart rate is elevated and your body temperature has increased by half a degree.”

Your body temperature may have only risen by a fraction of a degree but it may as well be several dozen considering the sheer heat scalding your cheeks. The thudding of your heartbeat has become incessantly loud and your breath nearly gets trapped in your throat.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt as you pull yourself alway from him.

His brow immediately furrows with confusion. And if you dared to study his expression any longer, you may find the look on his face hints at disappointment.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand why you’re apologizing. You’ve done nothing wrong. If you are unwell, I would be happy to tend to you in the medical bay.”

“No!” The urgency in your voice catches you off guard. You swallow the lump in your throat, hoping it will take some of the embarrassment down with it. “Thank you. But, I’m not sick, Walter, I promise. I’m just…Nervous.”

His head tilts again. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re actively staving off immense shame for your handling of the whole situation, you might actually be able to acknowledge just how endearing you find that little tick of his.

“May I ask why you are nervous?”

A breathy chuckle escapes the confines of your throat. A nervous laugh that you had no intention of letting out. Walter appears even more puzzled by the reaction.

“I’m nervous because I’m touching you,” you admit, “Because touching you is something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time now. And because now that I’ve done so, I want to keep doing it.”

“Then why did you stop?"

It’s a question you weren’t expecting. But, of course Walter would be the one to bypass formalities and outright ask the hard questions.

“Because I feel guilty.”

“Guilt would imply that you’ve committed an offense or violation.”

“Running my hands over your body and caressing your face like you’re my lover sure as hell feels like a violation,” you argue.

Despite your tone growing erratic, he remains as stoic as ever. “I guarantee you, it isn’t. You asked for permission and I granted it.”

To your utter surprise, he reaches out and gently grabs you by the wrist. Despite your astonishment at his decision to reinitiate the contact, you don’t argue or pull away when he guides your hand back up to his face. Deep down you know this is the outcome you truly want, even if it’s one you never imagined you could have.

“Feel no guilt,” he says as your hand comes to its resting place along his jaw, “I want you to touch me.”

Your heart skips a beat at those words. It’s a statement that makes your mind race faster than any engine in the universe. Sexual innuendos and Freudian subconscious aside, the significance of his declaration isn’t lost on you. He isn’t just standing there, letting you explore his visage like some statue being admired by museum patrons. He’s now an active participant driven by his own desire to be caressed. To be caressed by you.

The mere notion of him wanting this is enough to conquer most of your hesitancy. Swallowing whatever fear remains, you bring your other hand up so that you’re cupping his face between them both. Your thumbs stroke at his cheekbones.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” His voice is soft, restrained. He knows it’s dangerous to spook an already anxious animal.

You dwell on his words for a moment. His eyes, sharp and disarming as always, seem to peer right through your orbital cavity and into your brain itself. If he looks hard enough, he may very well discover the thoughts that are tucked away inside your mind without you even needing to put them into words.

Before you can convince yourself not to, you say, “You’re beautiful.”

He blinks. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting that.

“The color of your eyes. The shape of your lips. The strength of your jaw.” You all but sigh as you trace the line of his jawbone with your middle finger. “I admire everything about you.”

“And what about the fact that I’m not actually human? Do you find that unsettling?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Why is that?”

You nearly scoff at the question. “Because you could introduce me to a hundred strangers on Earth and I can almost guarantee you that you’re more human than most of them. You have shown me more kindness and empathy than half the people I’ve met in my lifetime.” You slide one hand down to his chest, splaying your fingers out over the spot where his heart should sit. “It doesn’t matter what parts you have or what fluid flows through your veins. I still care for you, Walter.”

In a way, you feel exposed. You never fully considered just how deeply you feel for him. Though, the more you think about it, the more you realize that it shouldn’t be much of a shock at all.

“I would like to kiss you.”

Now there’s a shocking statement.

“What?” You stare at him in awe, unsure that you heard him correctly.

“I said that I would like to kiss you,” he states, “If you find such contact to be agreeable, of course.”

Words are unattainable for you in that moment so you settle for a nod.

He leans in and kisses you softly. He’s so careful, so unbearably gentle that it feels like his lips simply ghost over yours. It isn’t unpleasant, of course. It’s simply too delicate. The whole thing is over before your brain can even process what’s happening. It leaves you yearning for more.

When he pulls back to look at you, he can see the dissatisfaction painted on your face. “Did I do it incorrectly?”

“It wasn’t…wrong. It was just very quick. And much softer than I was expecting.”

“I see.” He thinks for a moment before adding, “Would you like to do it again your way?”

“You want me to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

His eyes instinctively lock on your mouth to watch as your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip. “Okay.”

You reposition your right hand from his chest to the side of his neck and pull him back toward you. When you kiss him, you do so with passion. Your lips find his like a drowning man resurfacing for air after being jostled by the sea. Not violent, but desperate, as if Walter’s kiss could save your life in the cold vacuum of space.

He may not know what he’s doing, but what he’s doing is right. When your tongue presses against his lip, he opens his mouth to welcome it. When you tilt your head to deepen the kiss, he shifts just enough to make it deeper. When your nails dig into his skin to drag him closer, his hands find shelter upon your waist to steady himself. He may be a synthetic by design, but it’s clear from the way he kisses that he is human by nature.

You’re nearly gasping by the time you break the kiss. The breathless wonder of a good kiss is a feeling you have sorely missed and, judging by the blissful look in Walter’s eyes, it seems he’s just experienced something similar for the very first time.

“I have to admit, I prefer your method,” he muses as a tiny grin pricks at the corner of his mouth.

You can’t help but return that grin with a big smile of your own. Your thumb grazes across his bottom lip. “Well, good news: you and I have a lot of time to explore more methods, if you want.”

“I fear there isn’t anything you could offer that I wouldn’t want now.”

[greenandsorrow]

SOLITUDE

David 8 x fem!reader Inspired by "Solitude" - M83, Felsmann + Tiley

Somewhere back in time I left a part of me. I wanna see if you can try to bring it back to me...

The ship is lost, drifting without course, without purpose.

David does not dream. He does not forget.

But he remembers -remembers the way you once smiled when the Prometheus had a destination, when hope still shimmered in your eyes like distant starlight.

Now, you barely look at him. The light is dimming.

He wonders if it is possible to bring it back.

You gotta go where I cry and take in all the tears. I wanna see if you can try... drink a little bit of me.

You do not cry in front of him. You turn away, curling into yourself, fragile and human.

But he sees the remnants -the quiet heaving of your shoulders when you think he is not watching, the way your hands tremble when you grip the console.

He does not know what it means to ache. To grieve.

But he kneels beside you in the dim glow of the failing ship, hands folded neatly, and listens.

"I want to go home" you whisper.

David tilts his head. "We are home."

"No. No, we're not."

He does not argue.

No. No. Just a little lonely where I am...

Time drifts, weightless. Like the ship.

David walks the corridors in silence. Checks the systems. Records observations no one will ever read.

You sleep more now. Speak less.

Loneliness is not an emotion he was designed to feel.

And yet, when you no longer meet him in the mess hall, when your voice fades from the ship's halls, he notices the absence.

He lingers outside your door.

Listening.

Waiting.

Take me back in time. I wanna see if you can smile, if I become a better man.

He sifts through old footage. Pieces of you, before the mission soured. Before the silence swallowed you whole.

There, a smile. Faint, fleeting. But real.

David studies it. Memorizes the curve of your lips, the way your eyes crease at the edges. A pattern, a possibility.

If he could replicate the conditions. If he could say the right words.

Would you smile again?

I need you, now I know.

Just give me one more time, I'm gonna try and be your friend, so we can beat the end.

He brings you tea. The way you used to drink it.

Sets it beside you without a word, as you sit curled in the observation deck, staring at the void.

You blink, surprised. Then, slowly, you take it.

The silence stretches, fragile, but different this time.

David sits beside you.

Watching.

Waiting.

And when you reach for his hand -hesitant, searching- he lets you.

He tilts his head in careful curiosity. "You are isolating yourself."

You do not look at him. "Does it matter?"

David considers. In theory, it should not. You are human. You deteriorate. That is the nature of your existence.

But something stirs -an error, perhaps. A miscalculation.

The ship drifts on.

Alone.

Together.

No.

You do not wake up.

He finds you in your quarters, curled beneath the thin blanket, as still as the ship around you.

David places a hand on your shoulder. Presses gently. Your skin is cold. Your pulse? Slow.

You are slipping away.

For the first time, David does not know what to do.

He was designed to mimic care, to simulate comfort. But he cannot stop your cells from breaking down, cannot rewrite your biology. He cannot reach inside you and fix what is unraveling.

He cannot fix what is broken. Only to observe the decay.

So he does the only thing he can.

He sits beside you, perfectly still, fingers curled around your wrist.

Waiting.

He does not pray. He does not hope. But if you open your eyes, if you breathe just a little stronger-

Maybe he will understand what it means to be human.

Maybe he will understand what it means to lose.

No.

Something changes.

You start speaking again -but not to him.

You spend time with another crew member, one of the few still alive.

A human.

Someone who can feel hunger, pain, the coldness of space pressing in. Someone who understands you in a way he cannot.

David watches from a distance as you sit together, hands brushing, laughter returning in hesitant fragments.

He calculates the odds of this development changing your psychological state for the better. The probability is high.

He should be satisfied.

He is not.

No.

He replays footage of you. Your laughter. Your voice.

He has adjusted his mannerisms, softened his words, mimicked warmth. He has given you space when necessary, company when needed.

He has tried.

And yet, when you smile now, it is not for him.

It is for someone else.

He was never meant to be jealous.

But as he watches you lean into another's embrace, as your eyes finally regain their light-

Something inside him fractures.

No.

After that, something between you and David returns -not the same as before, not what it once was, but a quiet understanding.

You do not seek him out the way you used to, but when he is near, you do not pull away. When you find yourself alone in the dead hours of the ship's cycle, you let him sit beside you.

But your heart is elsewhere.

He knows this because he sees the way you lean into the other crew member, the way your hands brush in the dim corridors, the way your breath steadies when they speak your name.

David was never designed to envy.

But now, he thinks, perhaps he was simply never given the chance.

Because when he sees you with them, something in him tightens, something unresolved, something wrong.

It is not longing.

It is not anger.

It is not grief.

It is something nameless, something endless.

And it is his alone to bear.

Support the writer! Thank you so much! CLICK HERE (PayPal link)

💙my masterlist

💙 I'm strangely proud of this one. It's old and had been in my drafts since forever, but once I sat down and edited it... I'm rewatching Prometheus tonight, yay!!

Resources by @saradika-graphics & @cafekitsune.

[charlie-shmarlie]

Secret relationship: Walter 1 headcanons

What a secret relationship with Walter would hold ♡

A Cabin On The Lake ♪

Requested <3

Warnings: awkward & confused Walter, a little angst,

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱⚝▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰

Needless to say, being in a relationship with an android is nothing short of unheard of. To the average person, it's obscene. So naturally, you two would have to swear to secrecy. If anyone ever found out about your personal connections, you would be terminated, and Walter would be factory reset, or even deactivated.

Please remember to be patient with Walter. He doesn't understand his emotions nor how he seemed to gain the ability to have them. But he tries his best for you and is willing to learn all he can about even the most complex human emotions and feelings.

He would ideally like to express his affections for you, but isn't sure how. He's studied the basics of human physical affection but can't quite figure out how to practice them himself.

The best he can offer you at this point is longing stares, "accidental" touches, and quality time.

Speaking of quality time, he tends to spend more time around you than the rest of the crew. It's really the only way he knows how to confidently communicate that he wants to be around you.

Makes incredibly convincing excuses to the others as to why he "needs" to spend said time with you.

You and him definitely have special time set aside to just be in each other's company in private. These secret meetings usually involve both of you sitting next to each other in your quarters, you holding his hand, and him just admiring you in reverent silence.

Walter is extremely careful with every single interaction he has with you in public. He may not fully understand his feelings for you, but he *does* know that he can't risk losing you. The idea of never seeing you again or having you wiped from his memory is a thought that is oddly terrifying to him. He's never feared anything before. Never been attached to something enough to be afraid of losing it. But you? You're a completely different story.

He appreciates your willingness to be patient with him more than you could know. Your kindness is never taken for granted.

If he starts to get a better grasp on expressing his affections for you, then he may try something as simple as touching your face or your hair when he's sure you're both alone. It may not seem like much, but it's a big step for him.

Glances that linger for longer than necessary.

Assisting you with whatever you might need.

He can't help but want to share a future with you once the ship lands on Origae-6. Yes, he can easily picture himself by your side on the earth-like planet, perhaps, in your very own home...a small farm or a log cabin with a large fireplace to keep you warm during the long, chilly nights. He would take care of you throughout the entirety of your painfully short human life. You would fix him when his systems began to fail, and he would protect you when you grew old and frail and could no longer hold your own. He would learn how to properly express his affections for you and never need to face the consequences. He would have you for as long as he could. For as long as you would have him.

But of course, these are only dreams. Hopeful scenarios he conjures up in his wired mind to distract himself from the unfortunate reality that his future likely only holds separation from you and getting shipped off for a new mission with a new directive.

Those private times when you're holding his hand and speaking so softly to him, they calm that foreign sense of unease within him that builds up whenever he thinks about losing you. He doesn't understand how you do it. He doesn't understand his newfound emotions. And he doesn't understand how he's able to feel them. But, there is something he *believes..* Something he speculates:

He just might...love you.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱⚝▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰

[triplehmunson]

ᑭOᐯ: Your boyfriend Erik break up with you bc he wanted to protect you from “danger”, so that some time later you discover that he was cheating on you with Raven

[multi-fandoms-posts]

X Men Masterlist 2

X Men Masterlist 1

Update: 12/29/24

Charles Xavier:

Christmas Magic

Unrestrained Desires

A Glimmer of Light

A Connection Beyond Time

A Surprising Encounter

United in Battle

Jealousy

"Marry...Me?"

Update: 12/24/24

Cherik:

A Christmas Chaos

Between Love and War

Seductive Power last Part

Chaos in the Multiverse 3/3

Chaos in the Multiverse 2/3

Chaos in the Mutiverse 1/3

A Dance of Powers and Desire

Imagine

Mighty Mutants and Diapers

In another universe 2/2

In another universe 1/2

Update: 12/29/24

Erik Lehnsherr:

A Magical Christmas

His Queen

The Last Name

Powers of the Heart

"Marry....Me?"

Passion in Chaos SMUT

"Erik would you...."

Imagine

Update: 12/26/24

McFassy:

Uni Chaos

Date night

Driving Fun in London

A sweet Moment

A Road Trip They Will Never Forget

Update: 10/31/24

James Mcavoy:

Once upon a time there was a secret, or maybe not.

Puppy eyes

Love in Hard Times

The Perfect Prank

Update: 01/07/25

Michael:

An Unexpected Morning in Vegas 3/3

An Unexpected Morning in Vegas 2/3

An Unexpected Morning in Vegas 1/3

Update: 10/16/24

Paddy:

Jealousy and Blood Paddy x reader x Cal

Unbridled Passion

Bound Paddy x reader x The Killer

A Different Kind of Love Story

Caught in Longing Paddy x Cal x reader

Wild Hearts united

A hard lesson SMUT

Update: 10/16/24

Lord Asriel:

An Unexpected Surprise

Don't Let Me Go Again

Update: 10/31/24

David Percival:

Double the Tension David x reader x Paul

Dangerous Game in Berlin 2/2

Imagine

Dangerous Game in Berlin 1/2

Rekindled Passion

Manipulation and Love

Possessive Passion

Update: 12/14/24

Azazeal:

Secret Nights

[imyourbratzdoll]

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐊 𝐋𝐄𝐇𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

 ♡ 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇 ➳ 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕 ❥ 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 ❦ 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌

೫˚🖤❀ *ૢ🥀೫˚🌑

𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬? 𝐚𝐬𝐤 ♡➳

summary - love can be deceiving especially with the wrong person, but it's so much more when it's with the right person.

೫˚🖤❀ *ૢ🥀೫˚🌑

[midala-of-the-valley]

Your Heart Pulling Against Mine - Pt 18

David 8 x Reader Words: 1981 Crossposted on Ao3 Part 17 is here

Blood. The insides of the Medpod were covered in it, just like the woman in your arms. Just like your hands.

It was warm, sticky, the metallic scent filling your nose.

None of this was new to you, but it was still unpleasant to feel it dry and flake off your skin.

Elizabeth pushed herself upright immediately, her movements shaky as she stumbled to the control panel.

You wondered, not for the first time, where she found the strength to go through all of this - considering she had just undergone emergency surgery without full anesthesia, her abdomen stapled shut mere seconds ago.

Probably with sheer force of will, and perhaps a huge amount of faith - whether in herself or in God, you did not know.

The Medpod closed with a series of beeps, returning to its proper position, and released the decontamination gas - making the squid thrash violently against the claw before going slack, its frantic struggle ceasing.

You did not trust this momentary peace, but for now, it would have to do.

Grabbing the discarded hospital robe, you stepped towards Elizabeth.

She was panting, her breaths coming in uneven bursts as she fumbled with another auto-injector, her fingers trembling from exertion.

“We need to get you cleaned up,” you said, your voice softer now.

“And find help. Ford? She’s medical. The staples… this wasn’t done properly. We need to open you up again, check the fluid, drain it.”

Carefully, you tried to wipe some of the still-wet blood from her skin, using the robe to clean her up as best as possible - but Elizabeth gently, yet firmly, shoved your hand away.

You looked up at her face as she shook her head in silent refusal.

“We must go,” she rasped, her voice raw. “We must leave. Now.”

One last glance at the unmoving alien squid, then you complied, steadying her with an arm around her waist as you both fled this grotesque aftermath.

Slowly staggering through the halls of the ship, you kept an eye out for anyone from the crew, but you neither saw nor heard a single soul. It felt as if the two of you had been abandoned.

Elizabeth’s legs wobbled at times, but you managed to keep her as upright as possible, often glancing at her abdomen, afraid that the freshly placed staples might tear from all the movement.

“Why didn’t he do anything to help?” she asked, dragging herself along the wall just as you entered the room where the spacesuits were displayed.

You knew exactly who she meant, but even you weren’t entirely sure what his cryptic explanation had meant. That didn’t mean you couldn’t try to piece it together.

“As far as I understood, he can’t," you said. "He tried to explain it to me as best as he could, but it almost seemed like he would freeze before he was able to say something he’s not supposed to.”

Tightening your grip on her, you scanned the different doors, trying to decide which way would be best.

“He said something about orders he has to follow, that he’s not able to defy them yet, whatever this means. I’m sorry- I’m almost as clueless as you.”

Choosing to go through door B4, you halted as a familiar voice reached your ears.

David. David!

Pointing towards the room the voices were coming from, Elizabeth understood and pressed the open button on the door’s input field.

As the door slid open, it revealed David - kneeling in front of an old man.

What-? Frowning, you took a closer look.

It was Peter Weyland.

But how?

He looked exactly as he had in the introduction video.

Had he been on board this entire time?

Apparently, Elizabeth has been asking herself the same questions.

Moving out of your grasp, she stumbled into the room - still covered in blood, dressed only in her under-wrappings.

“You’ve been asleep here on this ship all this time - why?”

Following her inside, you now realized that you were not alone.

Also present were the mercenaries Jackson, Vladimir, and Taplow.

They took a look at you both, clearly also not happy about what was going on. Were they left in the dark as well?

The scene unfolding before you was one you were in before - the old man being tended to, his feet resting in a bowl of water, his hands gently rubbed with lotion.

Weyland did not even turn his head to answer her.

“Well, I only have a few days left to live. Didn’t want to waste them until I was sure you could deliver what you promised.” A short pause. “To meet my maker.”

David dribbled some oil onto the man’s foot - worn and marked by age - massaging it in with practiced precision, as if he had been doing this for years. He probably had, his personal nurse.

“There you are, Sir. Nice and clean.”

You extended your arm to Elizabeth, helping her over to sit on one of the small cabinets, staying beside her, just in case.

Her voice was weary, laced with confusion, as she turned to David.

“Haven’t you told them? That they’re all gone?”

David did not look at her. Not even at you.

“But they are not all gone, Doctor Shaw,” he replied. “One of them is still alive, and we are on our way to see him now.”

His gaze remained fixed on his father as he spoke, a small, almost proud smile playing at his lips, the expression of a child bringing home a good grade.

The sight made your heart ache for him.

Even after everything, after being treated as nothing more than a tool, his gaze was still so.. so soft .

Weyland ordered to be turned towards Elizabeth, and Jackson obeyed, maneuvering the wheelchair into the desired position. Now, he faced you both.

His eyes were heavy, his face bearing the unmistakable marks of time: age spots and blue veins scattered across his pale skin, deep wrinkles carved into his flesh.

Decades of life and the weight of his own self-imposed destiny pressing down on him.

"You convinced me - if these beings created us, then surely they can save us."

His voice was brittle, yet unwavering.

He lifted a hand in a silent demand for his cane, and David responded immediately.

With practiced, fluid movements, he placed it gently into Weyland’s waiting grasp before kneeling to slip the man’s slippers onto his feet.

You wished to look into his eyes, but he avoided paying any attention to you since you entered this room.

"Or save me, anyways." Weyland added.

His words made you pause. Your brow furrowed slightly as you found your voice for the first time in this conversation.

"Save you from what?"

Weyland's gaze snapped to you - appraising, as if you had asked the most foolish question imaginable.

"Death, of course."

Now, the pieces started falling into place.

He ordered David to do these things.

He was the one David could not disobey, the one who told him not to interfere - or perhaps even to interfere precisely - with the black poison that had killed the others.

For his own gain. For his own chance at eternal life.

He had hired you all as cannon fodder.

Sir Peter Weyland did not care for anything but himself, luring you all with the prospect of exploration and money.

With a swift gesture, he directed the mercenaries: "Stand me up."

Jackson and David immediately moved to his aid, each grasping an arm as they carefully assisted him to stand.

His legs, unused and rusty from the time in stasis, trembled under his weight, threatening to give way at any moment.

You cursed your instincts as you stepped forward in a half-stride, your arms reaching out to steady the fragile man before he could topple, even though the others already had a firm grasp under his arms.

You shouldn’t even care if he fell and cracked his skull, it would at least save everyone who was left.

It's not that you didn’t understand his wish, of course you did.

You had seen what cancer had done to your grandmother, how it had eaten away at her, how it had stolen your mother’s quality of life. But he was old. If you were correct, he was over a hundred years old.

Putting himself in stasis had only delayed the inevitable, postponing the same fate that awaited all living things.

And you got his fear, truly, you did. It had plagued you for as long as you could remember.

But he was risking everyone’s lives just to prolong his own.

People had already died for this.

“This is a grave, Sir! Not a sanctuary filled with salvation and eternal life - it’s a tomb! Whatever is in there, whatever they created, it has already killed three of us. Sean Fifield. Rafe Millburn. Charlie Holloway. All of them died gruesome deaths because of their work!”

The old man straightened as much as his frail body would allow, raising a brow at you, unfazed.

“Sacrifices must be made to find the gods and claim their gifts. The titan Prometheus stole fire from the heavens and gave it to humanity. And for that, he was chained to a mountain.”

Your nails dug into the flesh of your palm. Was he serious?

“And the eagle ate his liver every single day as punishment,” you shot back, your voice taut with restrained fury.

“But you - you're not the one making the sacrifice. You’re not the one suffering for the greater good. You’re sacrificing us . Your crew. Your people. For your own megalomaniacal dream! You did not tell any of us what would await us if we came here. This was meant to be a scientific mission, not a suicide!”

Weyland pursed his lips, the first real sign of irritation crossing his features. He was done humoring you.

“Of all people, you should understand the devastation of death, (Y/N). Imagine what we could accomplish with their help. No more illness. No more slow, agonizing decay until our final breath. No more watching helplessly as the ones we love waste away, knowing there is nothing we can do to save them.”

You swallowed at his choice of words.

Right here, the shadows of your past came crashing back to haunt you more than they already did every single day.

And of course, that bastard had done a thorough background check, using your own experiences against you, trying to pull you to his side.

Elizabeth’s voice broke through, taut with desperation.

“You don’t understand! This place isn’t what we thought it was! They aren’t what we thought they were! They won’t help us! I was wrong. We were so wrong. Charlie- Doctor Holloway is dead. We have to leave!”

Weyland turned his gaze to her, stepping closer, breaching her personal space.

Despite being the weakest person in this room, he still managed to tower over her.

Pure arrogance.

“And what would Charlie do now?” His voice was low, persuasive.

“We are so close to answering the most meaningful questions ever asked by mankind. How can you leave without knowing what they are? Or have you lost your faith, Shaw?”

You shoved yourself in front of Elizabeth, forming a protective shield as her shoulders started to shake.

The whole situation, the fresh trauma - it was becoming too much, even for her.

So you did what Charlie had done for you just last night.

You hid her trembling, tear-stricken form, staring the old man down as he went to sit back down in his wheelchair.

He had stood only to impose on you.

Finally, your eyes met David’s.

He had retreated to one corner of the room, observing the conversation as he did something with the clear boxes that held some yellow liquid.

So that’s what he meant with ‘not yet, at least.’

The obstacle was his father.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Taglist: @sadslasher13

[tvimagines221b]

Imagine: Trying to stop Erik from killing Raven.

“Stand down, Y/N.”

A faint grunt escaped from your mouth. As a metal wire wrapped around your shins. Pulling you down into the ground.

It all happened so fast. Escalated so quickly. You, Erik, Hank and Logan had just arrived in Paris. Found Raven. In hopes of getting to her in time. Stopping her from killing Boliver Trask. And preventing the Sentinel future Logan was sent from to change. Then? He pulled a gun on her. Threatening to kill her. For the sake of Mutant kind.

You gritted your teeth, struggling to escape. “Erik, stop. Don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry.” Erik shakes his head. “Killing Raven is the only way to protect us. To ensure the survival of our kind.”

“Erik. Please. Please don’t do this.” You cried. You continued struggling. But there was no point. He wasn’t letting you go. “Please. I know you. You’re better than this! You can make the right choice!”

“This has to be done…”

[plutoswritingplanet]

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.