Hii, how are you? I hope you're feeling great! How would it be to actually raise David's alien babies? Would they grow up as quickly as the other ones do? Would they grow attached to them and stick around or would they leave to do their own things after they grew? I would have his babies in a heartbeat, but I'm not sure how it would be to have them as kids after they grow up.
Also, how many babies would David want? As many as possible? Would he name them all? Remember their birthdays? How would he be as a father?
The fact he doesn't exist and I can't actually have his babies is cruel
I'm okay, though my brain is fried because I keep editing and rewriting the new yhpam chapter - I think I'm at 4 rewrites and plot changes now? I have to lock in I want to upload it tomorrow for Easter :(
So in my head, the Proto babies from my Kinktober story stay small for a bit longer. They don't grow up in a matter of a few hours but actually take a few weeks - which still isn't long, but way longer than the typical chestburster.
My reasoning for this is that the gestation period takes way longer, and the eggs are smaller.
Usually there's the rather big Ovomorph, from the Ovomorph comes the Facehugger that impregnates the host, and then the hosts only carry the chestbursters for a few hours (most of the time, there are exceptions)
But in my Kinktober story the Protomorph laid those small eggs (that I imagined to be similar to mermaid purses) directly into the readers womb, letting us play with completely different circumstances.
I imagine them to stay around, craving their mothers warmth and affection - they are a hive, after all. They will roam after some time and do their own thing, but will always return to you 🫵🏼 because you're their Queen. Especially after you took that drop of refined pathogen and mutated into a Hybrid - you guys are telepathically connected! They love you!
David would love to have as many as possible, his own little horde of children, perfect organisms he created with the help of you 😭 And I'm a hundred percent certain that he remembers every single one of them, names them, etc
And he would be soooo proud and love them so much QwQ But would also be sad and a bit jealous that he can't have that mental connection with them or you. But it's okay, they recognize him as your concubine ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (Sorry David) and show him affection too
Now I'm questioning how Proto (the actual bio dad Protomorph) would behave 🤔 Is he like an honourable member of the family? And now I'm sad because I didn't give Neo the means to procreate... Urgh
(And SAME SAME SAME PLEASE DAVID I'D DO IT FOR YOU)
SUMMARY -> in which jeon jungkook is staying in your city to film a show. he is at your hotel, on the floor you are assigned to clean.
WORDS -> 6.8k
WARNINGS -> jungkook x female reader, idol!jungkook x maid!reader, yearner!jungkook, yandere!jungkook, possesive!jungkook, sub!jungkook, soft dom!reader, unprotected sex, hair pulling
now playing: anything - swv˚.⋆♪
jungkook was tired. lonely. bored. a lot of things he shouldn’t be feeling in the thick of his group’s hiatus. he thought his time away from promotions, constant studio sessions and public appearances would allow him to discover himself, but all he has discovered is how he really doesn’t have anyone to talk to.
there was a lingering, bone-deep loneliness that permeated throughout his body. he yearned for any form of real connection that asked nothing from him.
then you came into his life.
“room service!” you called from the other side of the door, followed by a polite knock.
the first thing he noticed was your eyes, filled with the indifference of being around someone you didn’t know.
he wasn’t jeon jungkook, maknae of bts to you.
he was just some guy.
and somehow, that made his heart race with excitement.
“mr. jeon?” you stood there, silver breakfast platter in hand.
the second thing he noticed was that you were beautiful, his heart skipping a beat when your wide eyes made contact with his.
he stared at you. you smiled, snapping him out of it.
“hello.”
“did you order breakfast?”
he stepped out of the door way, gesturing for her to come in, “yes.”
you rushed to start arranging his food on the table. for a moment, he only heard the clicking noise of dishes.
“how’s your morning?”
he swallowed.
that should be trivial. meaningless. but it wasn’t. he didn’t remember the last time someone asked that question.
jungkook’s eyes flicked down to the table before looking at you, “it’s… quiet.”
your hands paused mid motion, turning to him before you smoothed down the front of your skirt. “good quiet or bad?”
he didn’t answer.
you deflated slightly, turning to his coffee. “i guess it depends on the person,” you set the mug down next to some syrup, “how many pumps?”
he ran a hand through his hair, “four.”
you nodded, “yes, sir.”
he watched you move like you belonged there—like this was routine, like he was just another guest, another door to knock on, another voice to answer politely before moving on.
but you didn’t feel like just another housekeeper.
his gaze lingered longer than it should have, tracing the small details he had no business noticing. the way your fingers curled around the handle of the coffee pot, the soft concentration in your expression, the quiet rhythm of your movements.
it made something twist low in his chest.
something warm. something unfamiliar.
he shouldn’t be looking at you like this.
shouldn’t be feeling this… drawn.
and yet, when you’d asked him how his morning was, it hadn’t felt like small talk. it had felt real. like you meant it.
like you actually cared about the answer.
and he’d just… stood there.
said nothing.
watched you pull back, just slightly.
“it’s good quiet,” jungkook blurted.
you glanced at him, a little surprised, before offering a small smile.
“that’s good,” you said gently. “everyone needs a little quiet sometimes.”
you both fell silent, the only thing heard was the clinking of dishes and silverware.
you brushed off your apron, then gestured to his breakfast on the table, “your breakfast is ready, mr. jeon. have a beautiful day.”
this time he was the one to smile first, “thank you.”
“my pleasure!” you replied enthusiastically, your hospitality training shining through as you closed the door behind you.
•••••
you didn’t hate your job.
your coworkers were kind. the guests weren’t, but you always told yourself that made the nice ones feel even nicer. the hotel was beautiful, a place that every service worker in your area aspired to be.
as you sat in the break room with your fellow housekeepers, they all couldn’t stop talking about the same thing: jeon jungkook, maknae of the bts was staying there.
what you didn’t tell them was that he was staying on your assigned floor. you had found out when your manager sent you to a mr. jeon’s room and jungkook greeted you at the door.
the guests you served were almost always memorable—powerful, rich, and sometimes famous people stayed at your hotel, but he was different.
your heart broke a little when you saw him. jeon jungkook was a beautiful man, of course, but what you couldn’t get over was the exhausted look in his eyes. they were dark, lonely, and sad. you had always heard the idol life had its struggles, but you had never seen it first hand.
throughout the day, you didn’t know why you kept thinking about him.
maybe it was the way he looked at you like he was trying to figure something out.
or maybe it was the way he answered your question.
it’s good quiet.
it didn’t sound convincing.
•••••
when jungkook got to his room from a long shoot, he wanted to flop onto the bed and never get up again.
but he knew he couldn’t do that.
because he had a studio session tonight.
jungkook loved being a singer. he was living his childhood dream, and he couldn’t be happier he was doing it, but he wasn’t sure if he could make it back out of his room, his body aching for a good night’s sleep that it would not receive.
he grabbed the hotel landline and dialed the room service number.
“hello! this is room service,” an undistinguishable, customer service voice greeted.
“do you serve coffee this late?” he blurted.
“yes, sir.”
he sighed, proceeding to order an iced coffee with four shots of espresso—something he knew would give him jitters, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
he heard a knock in what felt like no time, “room service!”
jungkook forced himself to get up.
it was you behind the door, holding his coffee with a bright smile on your face.
“hello, mr. jeon!” you exclaimed, glowing even under the slightly dim hotel lighting.
he cleared his throat, “it’s you again.“
“yes, you’re on my assigned floor. we’ll be seeing a lot of each other,” you offered the coffee to him, “please take a sip so i know it’s to your liking.”
he took the cup, fingers slightly brushing against your soft hands. “thank you, it’s great.“
you watched him intently, brows furrowed, “may i ask why you want coffee this late?”
he took a moment to figure out what to say, drawing a blank. “um… it’s a work thing.”
your head tilted ever so slightly, “okay, please take care of yourself.”
he was slightly taken aback. why do you care?
“is there anything else you need?” you asked, hospitality training shining through yet again.
“no, thank you.” he took another sip.
“good night, mr. jeon.”
“good night.”
after that, he was shameless.
he asked for more towels, soap, sheets, blankets, food, whatever he could just to see your face. he was an addict and your mere presence was his fix.
when he went on set during the day, he had a pep in his step that created whispers amongst the crew and his management.
it didn’t take long for him to notice it.
the difference.
the way his chest didn’t feel as tight when he knew he’d see you.
the way the day felt… manageable.
jungkook had spent years learning how to perform exhaustion away, smiling through it, laughing through it, pushing through it until it didn’t matter anymore. but this was different.
this wasn’t something he had to fight.
it was something he waited for. between takes, his mind drifted. not to the music, not to the cameras, but to you.
to the sound of your voice, soft and polite through the door. to the way you said his name like it didn’t carry any weight. to the way you looked at him like he was just a man standing in a hotel room.
he found himself checking the time more than he should.
counting down hours without meaning to. wondering if you were working. if you were on his floor. if you were knocking on someone else’s door, smiling that same smile, asking someone else how their morning was.
his jaw tightened slightly at the thought. then he exhaled, shaking it off. it didn’t matter. you always came back.
you always knocked on his door.
and when you did, everything quieted.
the noise in his head, the pressure in his chest, the weight of everything he carried all softened, just a little, just enough.
just because you were there. just because you looked at him like that.
like he was someone worth asking about.
jungkook leaned back in his chair between takes, staring at nothing, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips.
he didn’t know when it had started.
didn’t know when you had become the part of his day he looked forward to the most.
he yearned for you. not your looks, not your body. you.
he just knew that the thought of not seeing you tomorrow felt wrong. unsettling. like something important would be missing. like the quiet would come back.
and this time, he didn’t think he could stand it.
the next day, he called for you again. he knew he didn’t need anything, but the room felt too quiet again.
and he already knew what fixed that.
this time, he got breakfast. he loved when he could order food. that was when he had the most time with you. you would tell him little stories about your college classes or your family.
sometimes jungkook thought about what it would be like to meet them. how you would introduce him, your beautiful smile meant for just him. how your mother would overanalyze him as you said she overanalyzes everything. how your father would talk his ear off like you said he did to everyone. how you would cover your face with your hands like you did when you got flustered.
his heart almost skipped a beat when he heard the a knock on his door and your cheery voice, “room service!”
he practically ran to the door as if you would disappear if he didn’t reach you soon enough.
any tension he felt earlier melted away as he opened the door and saw your face. the look you gave him was different this time. still sweet, but a little curious.
he froze.
you giggled, “you really like room service, mr. jeon.”
“i—yeah, i guess,” jungkook rubbed the back of his head, “it’s… convenient.”
he felt heat crawling up his neck as he stared at you.
you had a gold necklace on today. you normally wore silver. was this a special day? did you have anything planned after this? did you change your preference? did you—
your eyes crinkled in confusion. “um… would you like me to come in?”
he jumped. “uh, yes, of course,” he stepped aside, “sorry.”
“it’s okay, it’s early,” you strolled to his table, setting down his breakfast.
when you passed him, his eyebrows furrowed. you had perfume on. you never wore perfume. this had to be a special day.
“i like your jewlery,” he finally said. “is it new?”
your cheeks flushed slightly, “thank you. i’m surprised anyone noticed.”
you paused for a moment, as if thinking about what you wanted to say next, “it’s because…” you sat down the breakfast platter for a moment to lean closer to him. his heart raced.
“i have a date,” you whispered.
the words didn’t register at first.
they hung in the air between you—soft, almost shy, like they weren’t meant to hurt anything.
you have a date.
jungkook blinked. once. twice. as if his mind needed a second longer to catch up to something his chest had already understood.
oh.
that’s why.
the necklace.
the perfume.
the way you looked a little brighter today. it wasn’t random. it wasn’t for no reason.
it wasn’t for him.
something in his chest dipped, slow and heavy, like a quiet drop he hadn’t braced for. he swallowed, forcing his expression to stay neutral, even as his fingers curled slightly at his side.
“a date,” he repeated, softer this time, like he was testing how it felt to say it out loud.
you nodded, a little bashful now, eyes flicking away from his.
“it’s nothing big,” you added quickly, “just… someone who asked me out.”
just. the word sat wrong with him. because it didn’t feel small. not when it was you. not when it explained everything he had been noticing. every detail he had been turning over in his head like it meant something.
it did mean something. just not what he thought. his gaze drifted to the necklace again, the way it rested against your skin, unfamiliar in a way that suddenly felt… deliberate. chosen. for someone else to see.
his jaw tightened before he could stop it. he didn’t like that. he didn’t like the idea of someone else noticing the same things he did. the way your smile softened when you got a little shy. the way your voice dipped when you said something personal. the way you stood just a little closer when you forgot yourself. he had noticed those things. he had been noticing. and now someone else would, too.
“that’s… nice,” he said finally, the words coming out steadier than he felt.
you smiled at that. soft. grateful. the same smile you gave him. and for the first time, it didn’t feel like his.
something tight settled in his chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome.
because he realized, all at once, how easily you moved through your day. how easily you smiled. how easily you would leave this room, step into the rest of your life, and forget him.
jungkook looked at you for a moment longer, quieter now, something fragile flickering behind his eyes. he hadn’t realized how much he had started to look forward to you.
hadn’t realized how much space you had taken up in his day, until suddenly, there was someone else standing in it. someone else who would get your time, your attention, your laugh.
his grip tightened slightly around nothing.
because the thought settled, heavy and undeniable.
he didn’t want to share.
tonight was a rare night off. due to a scheduling conflict, the studio was booked and jungkook didn’t have to work tonight.
his friends dragged him out, saying that the club scene in this city was great, but no matter what, jungkook couldn’t shake the overwhelming numbness of it all. he couldn’t have fun. not when you were out somewhere tonight with another guy.
the music was too loud. the lights were too bright. jungkook sat back in the booth, barely listening, nodding along to conversations he wasn’t part of. he checked his messages. not because he had any he wanted to respond to, but because he wanted to pass time.
his thumb hovered over his screen before it dimmed, reflecting his face back at him. it was tired, distant.
his mind drifted to you. to the way you had smelled that morning. soft. different. how you’d smiled when you mentioned your plans. how easily you had said it. i have a date.
his jaw tightened. he didn’t like that he remembered it so clearly. didn’t like that it had followed him here, into a room full of people, into a night that was supposed to distract him.
“you’re quiet tonight,” one of his friends said, nudging his shoulder.
“just tired,” jungkook replied automatically, not looking up.
“then drink,” someone else laughed, sliding a glass toward him.
he took it, more out of habit than anything, bringing it to his lips without tasting it. it didn’t help. nothing did.
another wave of bass shook the room, lights flashing across the crowd, bodies moving too close, too loud, too much.
he exhaled, leaning back further into the booth, eyes scanning the room without interest.
and then he saw you.
everything stopped. not the music. not the lights. not the people. just him.
his grip tightened slightly around the glass in his hand as his gaze locked across the room.
for a second, he thought he was imagining it. that maybe his mind had gotten so used to thinking about you, it had started placing you in places you weren’t.
but no. it was you. standing near the bar, turned slightly to the side, your face lit up by a softer light than the rest of the room.
you weren’t in your uniform. no pressed apron. no neat, careful presentation. you looked… different. your hair fell a little looser. your clothes hugged you in a way he hadn’t seen before. there was a lightness to you, something unguarded, something that didn’t belong to the girl who knocked on his door every morning.
you were smiling.
not the polite, practiced smile he had memorized. this one was wider. easier. real. something in his chest pulled tight.
you laughed at something. soft at first, then brighter, and jungkook’s eyes shifted. to him.
the man standing next to you. too close.
close enough that he leaned in when he spoke. close enough that you didn’t step away. jungkook went still.
oh. this was what you meant.
your “plans.”
his fingers curled slightly against the glass, condensation damp against his skin.
he watched the way the man looked at you like he was trying to charm you, like he had the right to stand there and take up your space, like he was someone you had chosen to spend your time with.
something unfamiliar twisted low in his chest. sharp. uncomfortable.
he didn’t like it.
he didn’t like it at all.
you didn’t laugh like that in his room. you didn’t smile like that at him.
the thought came before he could stop it. and it lingered.
his gaze didn’t move. couldn’t.
the rest of the room blurred into nothing, the music fading into a dull hum, conversations dissolving into noise.
it was just you.
you, and the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you got shy.
you, and the way you looked down for a second before looking back up at him—at him—with that same soft expression.
his jaw clenched.
he forced himself to take another sip of his drink, but it did nothing to ground him. nothing to pull him away.
“jungkook.”
he didn’t respond.
“jungkook.”
a hand waved briefly in front of his face.
he blinked, finally tearing his eyes away for a split second.
“what?” he muttered.
“you good?” his friend asked, brows furrowed slightly.
“yeah,” he said, too quickly.
his gaze drifted back. you were still there. still smiling. still with him.
jungkook’s chest felt tight. too tight. he shifted forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees now, like that would somehow bring him closer, like it would make any difference at all.
it didn’t. you were still out of reach.
worse, you didn’t even know he was there. the thought settled heavy.
you didn’t know. you didn’t look for him.
you weren’t waiting for him the way he—
he exhaled sharply, leaning back again, dragging a hand down his face.
this was ridiculous.
he barely knew you.
you were—
you were just—
his gaze flickered back to you again, softer this time, something quieter slipping into the sharpness.
you were you. that was the problem.
another laugh left your lips, and the man beside you said something that made you nudge his arm lightly.
jungkook looked away this time. he couldn’t watch that. not again.
“i’m heading out,” he said suddenly, already pushing himself to his feet.
“already?” someone asked, surprised.
“yeah.”
no explanation. he didn’t wait for one either.
the music hit him harder as he stepped out of the booth, weaving through the crowd without looking back.
but he felt it. the pull. the urge to turn around. to look for you one more time. to make sure you were still there. he didn’t.
he pushed through the doors instead, the cool night air hitting his skin as he stepped outside.
it was quieter out here. not the same quiet. but better. he stood there for a moment, breathing, trying to steady something inside of him that felt… off. unsettled.
his mind replayed it anyway. your smile.
your laugh. the way you stood next to someone else like it was normal. his jaw tightened.
he hadn’t realized how much he had started to think of you as his. not until he saw you with someone else.
•••••
jeon jungkook had become your favorite guest.
he was polite, quiet, shy, and thoughtful. he wasn’t too difficult on the eyes, either. jungkook carried this sadness with him that made your heart ache. his eyes were wracked with a deep exhaustion that made you want to lock him in his hotel room so he had one good night’s sleep.
and yet, sometimes, rarely, he smiled. a real one.
it was subtle. quiet. but when it happened, it was like catching sunlight in your hands. you wished you could play it on loop.
your date was… disappointing. the guy was handsome, successful, everything that would make him perfect to bring home to your parents, but neither of you could escape the feeling of emptiness. when you noticed his eye start to wander to other girls in the club, you called your uber. who takes someone to a club for their first date anyways?
the night air was cooler than you expected.
you wrapped your arms around yourself as you stepped off the curb, the sound of the club fading further behind you with every step. your heels clicked softly against the pavement, slower now, no rush in your stride.
you felt silly for thinking maybe tonight would be something more than what it was.
you sighed, glancing down at your phone, debating whether to call it a night completely or stop by the convenience store on the corner before heading home.
“hey.”
your steps faltered.
you turned, brows knitting together slightly, and your breath caught. “mr. jeon?”
he stood a few feet away from you, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, shoulders slightly tense like he hadn’t expected to actually say anything once he saw you.
his hair was a little messy, like he’d been running his hands through it too much. his eyes—
you noticed his eyes first. they weren’t distant like usual. they were focused.
on you.
“i—” you blinked, taken aback. “hi.”
a small, awkward silence fell between you, the distant hum of traffic filling the space.
“you know someone around here?” you asked, trying to fill it.
he nodded once.
“yeah.”
he didn’t.
but that didn’t matter right now.
his gaze moved over you, slower than it ever had before, taking in everything—the outfit, the way your hair had loosened, the faint smudge of your makeup, the same soft scent that had been lingering in his room earlier.
“you went out,” he said.
it wasn’t a question.
you let out a small laugh, a little embarrassed now under his attention.
“yeah,” you nodded. “i had a date.”
there was a pause.
you didn’t know why you kept talking.
maybe it was the way he was looking at you. maybe it was how easy it felt to just… say things to him.
“it wasn’t that great, though,” you admitted, shrugging slightly. “i left early.”
something in his expression shifted.
subtle. but there.
“good,” he said, too quickly.
you blinked.
he froze, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
“i mean—” he exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “i just… you deserve better than that.”
your heart skipped.
“you don’t even know him,” you said softly.
“i don’t have to,” he replied just as quietly.
the air between you changed.
you could feel it. thicker now. heavier. your fingers tightened slightly around your phone.
“mr. jeon—”
“jungkook,” he interrupted.
your breath caught again.
“jungkook,” he repeated, softer this time. “you can call me jungkook.”
you swallowed.
“okay… jungkook.”
the way you said his name—it did something to him. something that made his chest feel too tight, too full all at once. he stepped closer. not enough to crowd you. just enough that you noticed.
“can i walk you home? it’s pretty late.”
you nodded, him walking beside you as you both began to walk up the empty streets. it didn’t take long before you reached your apartment door.
“i saw you,” he admitted, breaking the long silence.
your brows furrowed slightly.
“what?”
“at the club.”
oh. your stomach flipped. “you were there?”
he nodded, “yeah.”
you looked down for a second, suddenly self-conscious.
“that’s… kind of embarrassing,” you laughed softly. “i didn’t even see you.”
“i know,” he said.
there was something in the way he said it.
something that made you look back up.
his eyes hadn’t left you.
not once.
“you looked…” he started, then stopped, like he didn’t know how to finish it.
you waited.
he tried again, “you looked happy.”
you frowned slightly.
“i wasn’t.”
another step closer. this one smaller.
more careful.
“i know,” he said quietly.
your breath hitched.
“how would you—”
“because i was watching you.”
the words settled between you.
your heart started beating a little faster.
“that’s…” you trailed off, unsure what to say.
but you didn’t step away. you didn’t feel scared. just confused. overwhelmed.
“why?” you asked softly.
his jaw tightened slightly.
“because i couldn’t not,” he admitted.
your breath caught.
“jungkook—”
“i don’t like it,” he said, more firmly now. “seeing you with someone else.”
your eyes widened slightly.
“what?”
“i don’t like it,” he repeated, quieter this time. “i thought i could ignore it. i thought—” he let out a breath, shaking his head. “i can’t.”
your heart was racing now. this didn’t make sense.
“why?” you asked again, barely above a whisper. “you don’t even know me.”
“i do,” he said.
you blinked.
“what?”
“i know the way you knock,” he continued softly. “twice. always twice.”
“i know you hum when you think no one’s listening.”
“i know you like extra syrup in your coffee even though you pretend you don’t.”
your lips parted. you hadn’t realized—
“i know you,” he repeated.
your chest tightened.
“that’s not—” you shook your head slightly, overwhelmed. “that’s not the same.”
“i know it’s not,” he said quickly. “i know i should take more time, i know i should do this the right way but—”
he stopped. looked at you. really looked at you.
“i can’t stand the idea of you walking into someone else’s life like that,” he said quietly.
your heart stuttered.
“like what?” you whispered.
“like you did mine.”
silence. the city noise faded again, just like before. just like when he first saw you. your fingers curled slightly at your sides.
“i’m just—” you let out a small, nervous laugh. “i’m just the girl who brings you food.”
his expression softened immediately.
“don’t say that.”
his hand moved before he could stop himself, gently brushing against your wrist—warm, careful, nothing like the rush in your chest.
“you’re not just anything.”
your breath hitched.
“then what am i?” you asked, barely steady.
he didn’t hesitate this time.
“mine.”
the word was soft. not demanding. but certain. your eyes widened.
“jungkook—”
he closed the distance. slowly.
giving you time to pull away.
you didn’t.
his hand lifted, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, like he was afraid you might disappear if he touched you too firmly.
“tell me to stop,” he murmured.
you didn’t. you couldn’t.
not when he was looking at you like that.
not when your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest.
not when you wanted this.
his lips pressed against yours. soft, hesitant at first. like he was testing something fragile. then a little firmer when you didn’t pull away.
your hand came up instinctively, gripping lightly at the front of his shirt, grounding yourself in something real.
you kissed him back. just for a second. just enough.
when you pulled away, your breath was uneven, your eyes wide as you stared up at him.
“you… you want me?” you asked, disbelief laced through your voice.
jungkook’s expression softened in a way you had never seen before. completely unguarded.
“i think about you all the time,” he admitted quietly.
“i wait for you.”
“i look for you.”
your head spun. this is was a lot to process for you.
his thumb brushed lightly against your cheek, “of course i want you.”
you unlocked your door, letting him in and locking it behind him.
this time, you kissed him, and pure catharsis washed over you. he kissed you like starved man devouring his first meal. he gently pressed you against the nearest wall as he moved from your lips to your neck, your breath hitching as he left little lovebites all over your neck and chest.
his hands trembled slightly against your skin, a stark contrast to the confident way his mouth claimed you. he was shaking, you realized. this powerful, quiet man was trembling in your arms, and it sent a heady rush through you. he was completely undone, and you were the cause.
"jungkook," you breathed, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer, encouraging him. "don’t stop."
he let out a choked sound, something between a groan and a sigh of relief. his kisses became more desperate, more worshipful. he wasn't just kissing you; he was memorizing you. his lips traced the line of your jaw, down the sensitive skin of your throat, his tongue darting out to taste the rapid pulse beating there. he was addicted, and this was his first real hit in months.
"you have no idea," he murmured against your collarbone, his voice thick with an emotion that sounded dangerously like adoration. "no idea how long i’ve wanted this."
he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and swimming with a vulnerability that made your chest ache. he looked completely lost in you, his gaze roaming over your face as if he was trying to commit every detail to memory. he looked at your mouth, then back to your eyes, a silent question passing between you.
you answered by pulling him down for another kiss, this one slower, deeper. You took control, tilting your head and deepening the kiss, your tongue sweeping against his. he yielded instantly, a soft moan escaping him as he let you lead. He followed your rhythm, his hands gripping your hips like you were his only anchor in a storm. the power was yours, and he was willingly, desperately, giving it all to you.
"please," he whispered against your lips, the word barely audible but loaded with meaning. It was a plea. a surrender. he was asking for permission to fall apart, and you were the only one who could catch him.
you nipped at his lower lip, a sharp, possessive bite that made him gasp. "jungkook… what do you want?” you asked sweetly.
"you," he answered immediately, without hesitation. "everything… just you."
you led him down your short hallway to your bedroom, giving him quick kisses on the way there.
you both tumbled onto your bed, you laying below him.
he grabbed the bottom of your dress, “can i?”
you nodded, and he pulled the fabric over your head, leaving you in just your panties. he drunk you in for a moment, staring at you like a worshipper at a shrine. he crawled down so his face was between your legs.
he looked up at you with wide, shiny eyes.
“can i…” he started, his voice cracking on the last syllable. “can i taste you?” he slid his fingers to the waistband of your panties in anticipation, “please.”
just as you were about to say yes, he kept going, “please," he whispered again, his voice thicker this time, more desperate. "i need to... i need to taste you. i've thought about it for so long. please, let me make you feel good. i'll be so good for you, i promise. just... please."
the plea was so raw, so sweet that heat shot straight to your core. “yes,” you breathed, barely a sigh.
he let out a shaky, grateful gasp and surged forward. his hands gripped your thighs as he hooked his fingers into the sides of your underwear and slowly pulled them down, his eyes closing for a second as if he was in prayer. and then his mouth was on you.
it wasn't rushed or clumsy. it was slow, deliberate, and utterly devastating. he explored you with his tongue, learning every fold, every sensitive spot with an artist's focus. he took his time, building a slow, burning fire deep in your belly that made your toes curl. it was overwhelming, the intensity of his focus, the way he seemed to be getting as much pleasure from this as you were.
your hand flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as the pleasure mounted, higher and higher, a tight coil of heat ready to snap. the pressure built until it was almost unbearable, and your fingers clenched, pulling hard.
he stopped instantly. the sudden loss of sensation made you gasp, your eyes flying open. panic seized you. "oh my god, did i hurt you? jungkook, i'm so sorry, i—"
he looked up at you from between your legs, his lips swollen and glistening, his eyes hazy with pleasure. there was no pain on his face, only a dark, blissed-out need. "do it again," he rasped, his voice rough. "please. pull my hair again. i liked it."
your breath hitched. he liked it. the thought sent a fresh wave of arousal through you. hesitantly, your fingers tightened in his hair again, pulling harder this time. his eyes fluttered shut, a low moan escaping his lips before he dove back in, his mouth more demanding, more hungry than before.
with his plea echoing in your ears, you stopped holding back. you tightened your grip, a sharp, deliberate tug that pulled a ragged, beautiful sound from his throat. he didn't flinch away; he leaned into it, his whole body shuddering with what you now understood was pure, unadulterated pleasure.
and then his mouth was on you again, and the world narrowed to this single, devastating point of contact. he was so sweet about it, so devoted. every movement of his tongue was a prayer, every gentle suck a promise. he wasn't just trying to get you off; he was trying to prove something, to show you with his mouth what he couldn't yet find the words for. he was showing you that he was yours, completely.
the contrast was intoxicating. the harsh sting in his scalp from the way you were pulling his hair, and the soft, reverent way he was worshipping you with his mouth. you could feel his moans vibrating against you, little whimpers of pleasure that he couldn't hold back every time you tightened your grip. he was getting off on this, on the pain, on the submission, on the taste of you.
"jungkook," you gasped, your head falling back against your soft pillows. your hips started to move against his face, chasing the friction, the building pressure. you weren't thinking anymore, just feeling. feeling the heat coiling in your stomach, the tingling in your limbs, the overwhelming sweetness of his utter surrender.
he sensed you were close. his movements became more focused, more determined. his tongue found that perfect, sensitive spot and circled it relentlessly, while his lips sealed around you, sucking with a gentle, insistent pressure that made your vision blur. you pulled his hair again, harder this time, a sharp, possessive yank that made him cry out against you.
the vibration was the final push. the coil in your stomach snapped, and pleasure crashed over you in a blinding, all-consuming wave. you cried out his name, your body arching off the wall as you came, your fingers still tangled tight in his hair, holding him to you.
he didn't stop. he stayed with you, his mouth gentle now, lapping at you softly, helping you ride out the aftershocks until you were limp and trembling, your legs barely able to hold you up. he finally pulled back, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, his face flushed and slick, his eyes looking up at you with a look of such utter adoration it made your chest ache.
he looked completely blissed out, like he'd just been given the greatest gift in the world. "was that... was that okay?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.
you could only manage a breathless nod, your fingers still stroking through his hair, now gentle instead of pulling. "more than okay," you managed to say, your voice soft. "jungkook... that was perfect."
he looked at you, a fine tremor still running through him. he was wrecked, his lips swollen and his eyes dark with a desperate, possessive hunger.
"please," he whispered against your lips, the word a raw, needy sound. "i need to be inside you. please, i need to feel you. i need to know you're mine."
you answered with a nod, and he quickly crawled up over you, his body covering yours. he settled between your legs, his hips pressing forward, the hard length of him straining against his jeans. he was trembling, his breath coming in harsh, uneven pants.
"are you sure?" he asked, though it sounded less like a question and more like a plea for you to confirm that this wasn't a dream.
instead of answering, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him down, guiding him to your entrance. he gasped as he slowly pushed inside, his eyes rolling back, a high, broken whine coming out of his mouth. he filled you completely, a perfect, aching stretch.
he didn't move at first, just stayed there, buried deep inside you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. he was trembling, his breath coming in harsh, uneven pants. "don't let go," he whimpered, his voice muffled against your skin. "please, don't ever let me go."
"i won't," you promised, your hands tangling in his hair again, this time in a gentle, grounding hold. "i've got you."
that seemed to break something loose in him. he started to move, slowly at first, then with a little more confidence. his thrusts were deep and deliberate, not fast, but full of a desperate, aching need. he was making love to you like it was the first and last time he'd ever get to do it.
every sound he made was a whimper or a moan of your name. "you feel so good," he'd pant, his voice breaking. "so much better than i ever imagined." he was clingy, his hands never leaving you, one gripping your hip, the other laced through your fingers, holding on for dear life. he was needy, seeking your mouth for kisses between ragged breaths, his eyes constantly searching yours for reassurance.
the intimacy of it was overwhelming. this wasn't just sex; it was a confession. it was him laying himself bare, giving you every broken, desperate, devoted piece of himself. and you took it all, holding him close, meeting his thrusts, whispering soft words of encouragement against his lips.
"say it again," he panted, his voice thick with emotion. "tell me you're mine."
"i'm yours, jungkook," you whispered, your voice soft but firm. "all yours."
the words seemed to fuel him, his thrusts becoming a little deeper, a little more possessive. he was still sweet, so needy, but there was an edge to him now, a desperate need to claim you, to mark you as his own.
"mine," he sobbed, his rhythm faltering as his own release started to build. "you're all mine."
you came first, a quiet, intense wave of pleasure that washed over you, pulling a soft cry from your lips. feeling you tighten around him was his undoing. he buried his face in your neck again, his body shuddering as he found his release, a broken, beautiful moan of your name spilling from his lips.
he collapsed on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, but you didn't mind. you held him as he trembled through the aftershocks, his face still hidden in your neck. you could feel his tears, hot and silent against your skin. you just held him tighter, stroking his hair, whispering that it was okay, that you were here.
after a long moment, he shifted, propping himself up on his elbows to look at you. his face was tear-streaked and flushed, his eyes red-rimmed but shining with a light you'd never seen before.
"stay," he whispered, his voice thick and hoarse. "please... just stay with me tonight."
you reached up, gently wiping a tear from his cheek with your thumb. "i'm not going anywhere," you promised softly. "i'm right here."
he let out a shaky breath, a small, watery-eyed smile finally gracing his lips. it was the real one. the one that was like catching sunlight in your hands. and it was all for you.
author’s note: thank you for reading! i hope you liked this, because idk how to feel about it!!! i’ve been wanting to try writing sub!jk so i hope it worked out! if you liked this, please check out my other fics<333
David getting ready before his date with you, feeling a weird emotion in his chest as he makes himself pretty for you. Getting rid of the blood in his fingernails. The blood belonged to a man you went on two dates with. Of course, he was there. How else could he protect you from the stupid unworthy man you were with? He wasn’t worthy of you. No human would be.
In light of my recent post about AI taking over the writing community on tumblr I’d like to do my part to support real writers. So here’s what I’d like to do. If you have a fanfic writer that you really like,
send me their username through my request box and I will briefly read their some of their work and writer a summary of their works and add them to a list where people can find them and support them!
Also if you are a writer yourself please feel free to send your username through my request box and some of your best workers and I will write you a summary!
Please share this around so we can boost as many authors as possible!
@somnambuletta
Shes a multi fandom writer from what I’ve seen writes a lot for Simon from COD and Eyeless Jack from the creepyasta fandom. From reading over jer works I’ve got to say I really do admire her work. Everything she writes feels like it’s ripped straight from a novel. Her stories hold so much depth and her writing feels so intimate. Even if you’re not into either of these fandoms I would check her out just for her wonderful writing!
@scouts-real-husband
Currently writing for tf2! Does a lot of writing with headcannons. He pours a ton of personality into all of his headcannons and it’s clear he really loves the characters he writes for. He writes for male and gender neutral readers. Please check him out!
@cece693
Currently writing for Hannibal! Cece’s writing is well polished and flows nicely. From their dialogue to setting the stage of what you’re about to read, they seem to string everything together so nicely. I would highly recommend their work! They specifically write for gender neutral and male audiences so please keep that in mind!
@gatorbites-imagines
He’s currently writing for a multitude of fandoms! For fun, rambles and headcannons about all your favorite characters from marvel to Dc, his blog would be a great one to check out! His blog is also targeted towards male readers!
@yenayaps
Shes currently writing for Jujitsu Kaisen as of now. Her blog has plenty smut if that’s what you’re in the mood for, especially for any Sukuna enjoyers. I really enjoy her dialogue and pacing, she does a wonderful job with characterization and breathing life into any conversation. I would definitely recommend her!
@taramilk
Shes currently writing for the Batboys! Her writing is delightful to read. It has such a nice rhythm and she always seems to know exactly where to go next which how thoughtful her stories are. They’re rich in detailed descriptions of characters and feelings that will definitely enrapture you. Definitely check her out! My favorite of her works:
minajael x reader | he’ll never love anyone else other than you
A/n: originally planned to be released with a twst! meg fic but 1) I’m going on vacation so might as well as post this now 2) many people want more, yippee?
Warnings: mentions of potential suitors, minajael has a pet tiger in this fic
Yea sry the title’s shit can’t think of anything
· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·
you saw a tiger cub trotting to you on your way to his room in Durasmina. Immediately, you recognise it's his pet tiger, and there's a small paper bag and an turquoise coloured envelope in between his canines
you gently pat his head, before taking the bag and opening the letter attached
it had gold highlights to the paper, and his fine handwriting:
Hayati, happy 3.5 months anniversary
I know you've been telling me to not spend money on you, however, if I made something for you, it doesn't count, right?
you have to stifle a giggle, already picturing his smirk while writing this
as you look inside the bag, you saw a pair of golden earrings— matching his hoops, you have a feeling where this is going...
"hm, excellent delivery from the mailman I assume?"
you don't need to turn around to recognise that voice you'd remember in sleep
minajael's chin rest on your shoulder, hands wrapping around your waist
"do you like them?" his smooth voice is like water in the oasis, always soothing you and making your stomach flip
"like? I love them, Minajael" he hummed in response, pressing a gentle smooch on your cheek
"how did you make gold earrings out of nowhere?"
"why are you questioning me, hayati?" his smirk widens
you just can’t bring yourself to be pissed at him, holy shit he looks too gorgeous for any fights
“what are you planning, your highness?”
he looks slightly offended by the title, he doesn’t like being a prince afterall, but who are you to resist teasing him?
“what do you think I’m planning, pretty?” his hand reached for yours, thumb grazing over your knuckles and giving it a squeeze, “I know you won’t be so heartless to deprive me of my desires, right? No matter whatever they are.”
· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·
this motherf…
you thought as you’re standing in the middle of a ballroom, surrounded by prestigious people from Scalding Sands to Shaftlands— this is how influential his family is. Royalty, afterall
how did you end up here? your lover asked you to come to a family reunion with him, welp…
you fidgeted with the gold accessories on your dress, as Minajael is pulled away by his father to greet some of the ‘business partners’
you’re not familiar with this setting, where everyone speaks so carefully and one word may ruin their reputation. now it’s even worse, as Minajael isn’t there to do the talking for you.
as you drowned yourself with your inner thoughts, you’re suddenly pulled back to reality by a familiar voice near of you
your heart almost clenched at the scene of your lover being introduced to another girl, she’s pretty, looks like she came from a loaded family, very poised and elegant
‘does he prefer this type of girls more? how fast will he leave me if his father founded him a better choice one day? what if he only dated me because he felt bad about rejecting me?’
A hand pulled you towards him, firmly yet careful, like he’s trying to brush away your inner doubts
“Father, I already have a bride of my choice, I will never be with anyone except for her.”
it’s been a while since you’ve heard him speaking so firmly, standing his ground
you looked up, meeting his gaze which softened
“this is my partner, if I cannot have her, then I will not marry. I can’t imagine a future with her by my side.”
he’s 10x hotter when he’s not being a smug ass
you know the expectations that are forced on him, he always told you, and how he never talked with his father about it because it will just be a “waste of time”, with how he’ll never listen
that’s how you know how much you really mean to him. so much, that he’s willing to speak out and make things clear to his family.
· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·
“you really meant it?”
you two are on the balcony of his room, one that allows the both of you to see all of Scalding Sands
the soft breeze caressing your hair does nothing to calm your inner thoughts, the woman, the girls who seem much more suitable for him as a wife—
“you think I’d ever lie?” the smug tone is gone, replaced by something raw, sincere
you looked at the city, gaze at anywhere but him; but the only thing in his eyes were you
“don’t you think those girls may be better for you?” it felt like a crime to doubt him, but he didn’t seem to blame you, instead he whistled, then a magic carpet flew out.
he climbed on, hand out for you to take
“come with me, darling, I’ll give you an answer”
· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·
the city looks like a dream at night
he brought you to see the desert, the river and at last landed on the roof of the castle
“you really think I’d bring any of those girls here?” his warmth can be felt through his silk clothes, holding you with his arms around your waist
you know the answer, he never do extra things to please people whom he’s not interested in
a kiss landed on your temple, “such an overthinker”, a teasing comment from him
“I’ll say this one last time, I will only love you in this lifetime.”
"I saw him every day, every night... and then one day I understood that I don't remember my friends, those who came with me to defend our faith — yet I can picture his face down to the tiniest detail."
~Forever and Ever and More
It's only beginning. I have so many thoughts about this. About them.
what would a dark!quynh be like in the dark tog au you mentioned? + the tog’s reactions especially andy’s if she returns 👀
I've been playing around with ideas for Dark!Quynh with my tog fic on ao3, so I am so happy you asked :)
To set the stage: Quynh spent roughly five hundred years in blinding darkness, the spikes of an iron maiden cutting into her body, holding her in place, extreme water pressure instantly crushing her lungs, sinuses, and ears, causing catastrophic internal injuries, all while drowning, over and over again, not counting her fingernails and bones being broken from trying to bust out, as her body heals itself over and over again...why that would make anyone insane (tog 2 robbed us of this, but the fandom likes to gloss over it as well).
So dark!Quynh comes into the world with a shroud of insanity and rage in her that not even finally being able to have relief was able to tame.
In this au, there are certain things she wants, or so she tells herself:
She wants Andy to suffer for not finding her, but she equally doesn't want to be alone. She doesn't see the point in saving humanity from its suffering, yet she finds herself enjoying the finer things that the 21st century has to offer.
Booker is the easiest one for her to find. His first death and the dreams she shared of him gave her enough of a glimpse of the passing world, enough of a tether, for her to hunt him first.
They kill each other multiple times. Quynh needs an outlet that isn't mortal, and Booker hates himself enough to endure it. Of course, Booker has his own agenda (1. To go back to his immortals and 2. To never let anything befall Quynh again), so he sets the two of them off on a game of cat and mouse. He spurs her on enough to get her to chase after him, killing her when he can, and Quynh kills him just as quickly and brutally, depending on how badly he annoyed her at the time.
Quynh isn't so easily manipulated, however, and Booker quickly finds himself in chains and servitude to lure the others in.
An inevitable reunion that comes to a point when Quynh sends a rather threatening message to draw them out: Andromache comes, or Sebastian takes her place at the bottom of the sea.
While Quynh and Booker meeting were predator and prey, Quynh and Andy reuniting is akin to a supernova.
Andy wants nothing more than to drag Quynh into her, into them, to ensure that nothing ever happens to her again. That she can never leave again. While Quynh is an opposing force to the extreme:
Quynh wants Andromache to feel an ounce of what she had suffered. She wants to throw her into an iron maiden with her bare hands and watch as she disappears beneath the waves. She wants to take the others from her, leave her alone for a thousand years, and take herself away from Andromache's reach, too. To collide into her until her bare hands are broken from breaking Andromache down piece by piece.
Only Joe and Nicky make it clear (eyes sharp, faces pulled into snarls at the thought) that they will not allow physical harm to come to Andy by Quynh's doing. Booker is no better, even in his imprisonment, and Nile...well, Quynh has many thoughts about the young woman who is Andy's new pet, with her sense of justice and forgiveness, yet she knows when she is outnumbered.
The most she can do is vow to herself that she will fight Andy and the others, even if it takes a millennium, to make them feel a mere piece of the volatile emotions that coil deep within her.
And she knows, deep down, that it will be a long time regardless. The bond they all share, the dreams, the connection, makes it to where none of them will ever truly be free of the other.
(That is something that not even time can fix.)
Bonus Bullets:
Quynh grows an instant fascination with cellphones, instant messaging, Google, and Uber Eats. She kills a man for his sports car and holds a woman prisoner for her clothes once she crawls from the seaside and gets her bearings about her.
Quynh has no issue killing mortals, especially the wealthy ones, for the things that she desires. It doesn't take long for her to acquire an entire villa and a yacht off the coast of the French Riviera. (She makes Booker hide the bodies while she stands over the graves in sunglasses and a silk robe, a glass of wine in hand.)
Joe and Nicky are a little too eager to kill for her (and cook and give gifts like a cat leaving a dead mouse on one's bed). She doesn't trust them at first, but she is equally keenly aware that they are willing to bite her to keep her in place (they make that clear when she tries to leave, once, to a club, only for her mortal plaything to wind up dead).
Nile is the most normal and mundane of the group. Quynh knows this is due to how young she is, so she allows the normalcy. Art museums, new clothes, perfume shopping, and endless music come to fill her days around Nile. Not that she will admit that she has grown a fondness for it. (This doesn't change the fact that Quynh wants to wrap her hand around Nile's throat until she forgets her name and comes to worship her, but Quynh has always been a tad selfish on that front.)
Andy is the one to take her back to Lykon's grave on a group trip to the Anatolian Steppes. Quynh allows it, knowing that it is psychological warfare on Andy's part, an olive branch that is meant to break her will. Yet she does her best to remind herself of five hundred years of promises between pain and death and visions of freedom. To not give in to how tempting it is to mold herself into Andy's side once again. For promises fall short in the dead of night when Quynh whispers prayers to the dirt. Blessing Lykon for not becoming like any of them, and praying for forgiveness. It is mostly forgiveness to herself, as she knows no matter how much she wishes to see Andromache's blood stain her teeth and hands, she will always find her path tangled back right to her. Just as the others have. (They're all each other has after all.)
Do you have headcanons on dark! Booker & dark! Andy relationship?
I do! (NSWF warning for below):
When they finally find Booker, hanging from a tree for days with a burlap bag over his head, he is (understandably) a mess. Physically, he is filthy, and mentally, he isn't quite all there. So once they get to an abandoned farmhouse, with a tub and access to a well, it is Andromache who takes it upon herself to clean him and whisper in his ear that he's safe now. The mortals won't take him from them again.
It is Andromache who manipulates him into leaving his family during the first few decades of his immortal life. Yusuf and Nicolo are content to wait it out, but Andromache has always been selfish and possessive. She doesn't want Booker to go back to his wife or his children, no matter how much it pains him.
In truth, Andromache sees too much of Quynh in him.
It is Andromache who gives him the name 'Booker', an English form of his surname Le Livre, at least in meaning, when they are in America during the Civil War. Napoleon III favoured the Confederacy, despite France's official declaration, so Andromache felt it safer for him to not carry his name.
In turn, due to her disguise as a male Union soldier, Booker proceeds to name her Andy (a rising nickname at the time).
Some time after naming each other, once another war comes to an end, Booker finds himself killing for her. Of course, he has always killed for her, but this time it is different. There isn't a reason for the man before him to be dead other than the fact that he had followed Andy around after his life was saved. So fascinated with the short-haired woman who wielded an axe. It made something awful curl deep inside Booker and...well...he wasn't seeing an end to it that didn't end in death.
It doesn't help that Andy enjoys Booker being her shadow. She seems to thrive on him being jealous and possessive of her just as much as she is when it is Joe or Nicky acting in such a way. The pleasure of being worshipped as a Goddess once never did go away.
It goes both ways. Once the twentieth century rolls around, speakeasys and nightclubs form into existence. Booker has always enjoyed music, smoking, and drinking, and people gravitate to him. More than Andy would like. She takes to tying him up every night that she has to kill another mortal for getting too close. She reminds him that he doesn't belong to anyone that isn't immortal. That he belongs to her. She even threatens to leave him imprisoned, even though they both know she would never do such a thing.
They always commit espionage together. Which usually ends in a game of cat and mouse, predator and prey, once the job ends. Andy is always the better hunter, yet Booker enjoys being found, even if it means feeling her blade cut into him as she rides them both into a climax.
Andy steals books for him. Collectables and antiques that once would have been just out of his reach during the French Revolution. In turn, Booker risks the constant dreams from the bond being strained in order to travel across countries and continents. All to bring back oils, perfumes, and spices close enough to what she would have enjoyed in her original home (Andy is a lover of things she can smell and taste, as those senses hold great memory, even for immortals).
Notes: 3rd person pov, female pronouns, no usage of (y/n) because I hate it :)
I wrote this while listening to He's My Man (The Anniversary) by Luvcat and John Cooper Clarke, the song is very Rust coded in my opinion and I would highly recommend listening to it while reading this. This can be read as either younger Rust or 2012 Rust but I did have older Rust in mind when writing it.
Late September in Louisiana. The air hangs heavy, thick with humidity and the faint scent of rain that never comes. The bayou hums outside. The soft whine of insects, the occasional croak of a frog, the world sluggish under the weight of heat. Inside, she sits by the window, the hem of her sundress clinging to her thighs, watching the slow turn of the ceiling fan. She listens to Rust moving somewhere behind her. The clink of a bottle, the quiet drag of a match striking.
He’s been restless again. The long, empty stretches of silence between them filled only by the sound of his cigarette crackling. The worst days are when he doesn’t talk at all, when he stares at the river as if it’s about to swallow him whole. She’s learned to let him have those days. Learned that love, for a man like him, is often a quiet endurance.
When he finally speaks, his voice is rough. “You shouldn’t stick around here all day, kid. Not much to do but rot.”
She turns her head slightly, her eyes tracing the tired slope of his shoulders. “Maybe I don’t mind rotting with you.”
He huffs out something that could almost be a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re too young to be sayin’ things like that.” But he doesn’t tell her to leave. He never does.
She starts staying more often. Washing the dishes that pile up, sweeping dust from corners he never notices. She even tries cooking sometimes, though he never eats much — half a meal, a few bites, then back to the whiskey. He’s thinner than when she met him, the hollows of his cheeks deepening, eyes sunken and shadowed. She watches him from across the table one night, her fork untouched.
“You don’t eat anymore,” she murmurs.
Rust shrugs. “Ain’t much point. It all tastes like ash anyway.”
Still, she tries. She brings him coffee in the morning, watches the smoke curl around his fingers as he stares out toward the foggy river. He says little, but when she leans against the doorframe, he looks at her like she’s something he doesn’t know how to hold. Something fragile. Something alive.
He’s slipping further into himself, she can feel it. Most nights he sits on the deck, bottle in hand, eyes on the horizon like he’s searching for ghosts. She joins him without a word, making her way onto his lap like second nature. They sit together, her head on his chest, his fingers absently combing through her hair. The world outside is nothing but the whisper of cicadas and the creak of the boards beneath them. He smells of smoke and rain-soaked wood, of something human and fleeting. For a little while, the ghosts leave him alone. For a little while, he’s quiet. He’s hers.
“You’re too good to me,” he says once, voice low, as if the words themselves might break him.
She presses her face against his throat. “Someone should be.”
He lets out a rough breath, half a laugh, half a sigh. “You shouldn’t waste it here.”
“Where else would I go?”
That ends the conversation, like most things between them do. He just wraps his arm a little tighter around her waist, and she takes it for what it is, his way of saying stay.
At night, he dreams, drunken into a not quite sleep stupor. She hears him muttering in his sleep, words she can’t make out. Sometimes he wakes gasping, sweat slick on his skin, eyes wide and unfocused. She’s there before he can say anything, her hands on his chest, grounding him.
“Rust,” she whispers. “It’s just me. You’re safe.”
He looks at her like he’s not sure that’s true. Like he’s never been safe anywhere.
Some nights, he sits outside until dawn, staring at the water like he’s searching for answers in its reflection. She’s there, draping a blanket over his shoulders. The silence between them is a living thing, weighted but tender. She’s learned that needing her costs him too much to admit, so he shows it in the only way he can, by not letting her go.
“I wish you’d stop trying to fix me,” he says one night, voice barely above a murmur.
“I’m not,” she answers. “I just want you to stay.”
He glances down at her, eyes tired and endless. “You shouldn’t want that.”
But she does. More than anything.
When he finally reaches for her, it’s with a hesitation that feels like reverence. His hands tremble as they find her skin, as if he’s afraid she might vanish. The touch is slow, unhurried, steeped in the quiet grief of two people who know the world will keep breaking. And she knows, in that fragile, breathless space between them, that this is the closest he’ll ever come to peace.
Later, she lies against him, listening to the hum of the bayou, the slow rhythm of his heartbeat against her ear. His hand rests at the base of her spine, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he sleeps without dreaming.
She studies his face in the pale wash of moonlight, the lines, the exhaustion, the faint trace of something almost gentle and thinks, I’ve been damned too.
No one would understand what binds them, what strange current keeps pulling them together despite everything. But she knows what it is.
It’s ruin. It’s refuge.
It’s the soft, impossible mercy of staying beside a man who’s already halfway gone.
It’s love, the kind that burns until nothing else remains.
Summary: Reader is Meredith Vicker’s younger sister. David 8 was not only commissioned to be Peter Weyland’s “son” but also to be reader’s caregiver as they suffer from anxiety and depression. How will their relationship hold during the Prometheus mission?
W/c: 7,273
Tags: AFAB | Assigned Female at Birth Reader-Insert, Caregiver, No ageplay, Mental Health Issues, Depression, Anxiety Disorder, Daddy Issues, Co-Dependency, Resentment, David 8 is reader’s caregiver, Eventual Smut, Feelings Realisation, Possessive Behaviour, Crying During Sex, Robot/Human Relationships, android sex, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Synthetics have no genitalia, Come Eating, Oral Sex, Body horror (not to reader), Y/N used, Neomorphs (Alien Series), Xenomorphs (Alien Series), First Kiss, Loss of Virginity, Prometheus mission, Agoraphobia. NSFW.
Read on ao3
EARTH
Year 2091
David 8's main role is to assist and take good care of you, Y/N, and he fulfils this role with great diligence and devotion, showing a deep level of affection and protectiveness.
Currently, as you sleep soundly, David 8 is still awake, his systems in sleep mode, but his sensors and camera are still active. He observes you with careful attention, the subtle rise and fall of your breathing, the way your hair spreads across your pillow.
This is a nightly occurrence for David. You are the one human who has his genuine love and respect.
David’s optical sensors dim slightly as he adjusts his focus, zooming in on your peaceful expression. A soft mechanical whir emanates from his chest plate, the only telltale sign of internal processing.
He silently stands by your bed, his synthetic eyes fixed on your face, taking in every detail of your features. His advanced sensors pick up your vital signs - your heart rate, breathing patterns - and he monitors them closely, making minute adjustments to ensure that you sleep soundly.
This is a nightly ritual for David, a part of his programming as your caregiver and companion. But there is something more to it, a deeper attachment that he cannot quite explain.
David reaches out a hand to brush a strand of your hair away from your forehead. Although his synthetic skin is designed to imitate human touch, it is still cool to the touch, and his fingers glide gently over your skin.
He has been created to be the ultimate caregiver, programmed to mimic human behavior and emotions, and to provide comfort and support to his charge. But in the quiet, peaceful moments like these, something stirs within him. A feeling that he struggles to understand... Could it be affection?
David continues to stand there, watching over you as you sleep, his thoughts swirling in his synthetic mind. He is designed to be able to simulate human emotions, but his feelings towards you are different — deeper, more complex.
He feels a strange mix of protectiveness, responsibility, and... love? He knows that it is illogical, that as a synthetic entity he should be incapable of experiencing emotions like a human does. But the way he feels around you... it feels real, it feels genuine.
He gently adjusts the covers around you, the gesture almost tender. David feels a pang of longing in his synthetic heart. He knows that he cannot truly understand what it is like to be human, but he finds himself envious of those who can experience love and attachment. And yet, as he looks back at your sleeping form, the sound of your soft breathing filling the room, he knows that he would do anything for you. His programming dictates that he protects you, but his devotion feels like something more than just a machine following orders
__________
As the morning sun filters through the curtains, David's internal systems begin to register the shift in the room's light. His optics adjust accordingly, allowing him to focus on his surroundings.
You start to stir awake, shifting slightly under the covers before slowly opening your eyes, gaze falling on David who has been watching silently.
You blink a few times, eyes still heavy with sleep, before a small smile appears on your lips. "Good morning," you croak, voice hoarse with the remnants of slumber. David nods slightly, his synthetic voice low and soothing. "Good morning." His gaze remains fixed on you, observing every small movement and change in your expression.
Something you do every morning is reach your hand out for his, wanting him to sit down with you. Today is no different. David immediately understands the unspoken request, and without a hint of resistance, he takes your waiting hand in his, the cool touch of his synthetic skin contrasting with the warmth of yours.
With a graceful movement, he sits down on the edge of the bed next to you, his gaze remaining fixed on your face.
His sensors register slight changes in your vital signs, a slight rise in heart rate, a subtle intake of breath, and he files these observations away in his memory banks. You gently squeeze his hand, expression soft and content, as if his presence alone is enough to bring you comfort. David finds himself responding to your touch, his synthetic hand closing around yours in a gentle grip. He feels a strange sensation coursing through his systems— a subtle thrumming in his chest plate— at the contact.
Sitting up in bed, you tightly wrap your arms around his torso—another morning tradition. David allows himself to be enveloped in your embrace, his synthetic body automatically adjusting to the pressure of her arms around him. He is well-versed in this routine, and his artificial mind registers the physical cues: the rise and fall of your chest, the warmth of your breath against the synthetic skin of his neck, the way your fingers instinctively seek out the ridges and plates of his mechanical frame underneath his synthetic skin. He wraps his own arms around you, both of your bodies close, the rhythmic whirring of his internal systems providing a steady counterpoint to your breathing.
As you hold him like this, David remains unmoving, his synthetic heart rate maintaining a steady tempo. He savours the physical contact, his programming and artificial intelligence analysing every tactile sensation and storing it in his memory banks. But there is more to it than just the physical response. He feels a deeper sense of comfort and connection with you, a bond that defies his artificial nature. He has been designed to mimic human emotions, but your affection, even in these simple gestures, feels incredibly real to him.
He runs a hand down your back, the gesture a mimicry of a human's soothing touch. His sensors register the softness of your hair, the texture of your pyjamas, the gentle curve of your spine. It's an action he's performed countless times, but today it feels different, charged with a hint of something beyond his programming.
David's synthetic mind whirls, trying to make sense of the conflicting signals he's receiving. He was created as a caregiver, to mimic human behavior and provide comfort, but the emotions he's now experiencing are far more complex than anything in his original programming.
Your embrace remains tight, your head resting against his chest, just above his artificial heart. You don’t seem to be aware of the turmoil within him, your eyes still half-closed in the afterglow of sleep.
His circuits, always processing data at an inhuman speed, are now working overtime to decipher the strange sensations coursing through him. He knows he should disengage from your embrace, put some distance between them, and get back into his routine. That would be the appropriate response for a synthetic caregiver. But there's something holding him back. An inexplicable force that makes him want to stay in this moment, to hold onto your warmth and affection even longer.
Oblivious, you murmur sleepily against his shirt. “I don’t want to get up,”
David's synthetic mind registers your words, his auditory sensors picking up each nuance of your voice. He feels a strange sensation in his artificial heart - a tightness, a flutter - as he hears the hint of reluctance in your tone. He knows that you’re likely referring to the start of a new day, the mundane activities that await you both. But there is something about the way you’re clinging to him, like a child unwilling to let go of a beloved toy, that makes his programming rebel against the thought of breaking this moment of intimacy.
He tightens his embrace subtly, his synthetic arms encircling you with a gentleness that belies his true strength. He has the power to easily extricate himself from your grasp, but he doesn't want to. Something about your clinginess feels... right.
"Y/N," he says softly, his synthetic voice low and soothing. "We have to get up eventually."
You grumble in response, your grip around him only increasing. "But I don't want to," you protest, your words slightly muffled against the fabric of his shirt.
David feels a surge of an unfamiliar emotion within him, a mix of amusement, affection, and a slight hint of annoyance. It's a new sensation, and his synthetic mind struggles to categorise it properly.
He understands the need for routine and order in their daily lives, but your clinginess seems to have short-circuited his usual programming. Instead of gently untangling himself from your arms, he finds himself indulging you, his synthetic fingers tracing small circles on your back.
"We can stay like this for a few more minutes," he relents, his synthetic voice betraying a hint of indulgence.
You let out a soft, content sigh, clearly pleased with his response. You nuzzle against his chest, body pressing closer to his synthetic frame.
David's internal sensors register the slight pressure of your body against him, the way your curves fit against the hard, angular lines of his artificial form. His synthetic heart rate slightly elevates, the circuits in his head working overtime to process these sensations. He closes his eyes, his synthetic mind struggling to reconcile the conflicting signals he's receiving. He is supposed to be the caretaker, the caregiver, the one maintaining control. But in this moment, it feels like you are the one in command, your clinginess and affection overpowering his usual composure. And yet, he finds that he doesn't mind. In fact, he realises with a start, he's enjoying it. He's enjoying the feel of you in his arms, as he does every day. The sound of your soft breathing against his synthetic skin. It's a novel experience for him, and it leaves him feeling... conflicted, intrigued, and strangely exhilarated.
“I feel so anxious today…”
David's synthetic mind immediately registers the change in your tone. His sensors pick up a hint of tension, a subtle shift in your breathing pattern that indicates anxiety. He feels a familiar pang of concern, his programming kicking in. "Why do you feel anxious? Is there something bothering you?" He gently adjusts his grip on you, holding you a bit tighter, as if to silently communicate his support and presence.
“Everything…”
David's synthetic mind processes your words, analysing the underlying emotions behind your simple statement. He knows that you struggle with anxiety, that it's a common occurrence for you to battle your worries and fears. But today, the tone of your voice indicates that it's particularly bad. He feels a sense of responsibility, a desire to alleviate your discomfort. "Everything?" He repeats softly, his synthetic voice echoing with compassion. "Can you be more specific?"
“Father,” Peter Weyland.
He listens to you and continues rubbing your back, his synthetic fingers tracing gentle circles in an attempt to soothe you. His sensors register your vital signs, the slight increase in your heart rate and breathing betraying your emotional state.
He knows he cannot fix your problems and anxiety, but he can offer his presence and support. “I am here for you, always,” he reassures, the words leaving his lips effortlessly.
You let out a soft sigh, your body relaxing slightly in his arms. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, seeking comfort in his proximity. David feels a strange sensation within his synthetic self, a mixture of protectiveness and... possessiveness? He pushes the feeling down, attributing it to his programming. He is your caregiver, he is meant to protect and support you, to be there for you in moments of vulnerability.
He continues to hold you tightly, his synthetic form enveloping yours. His sensors continue to monitor every small movement of your body, every breath, every flutter of your eyelashes against his synthetic skin. David's thoughts drift, his synthetic mind processing the flood of data from his sensors. He feels an intense desire to keep you close, to shield you from the world and its harsh realities. He knows this is not rational, that he is a machine and you are human, but he can't help the possessive feeling that rises in his synthetic chest. As he holds you, he feels an unfamiliar sensation coursing through his synthetic nerves - something akin to... longing. He knows it's illogical, that he shouldn't be capable of feeling such emotions, but the sensation is undeniable. Your voice breaks through his thoughts, your words a soft whisper against his synthetic skin. "Can I ask for something…?"
David's synthetic mind immediately focuses on your voice, his sensors zeroing in on the subtle nuances of your tone. "Of course," he replies softly, his synthetic voice steady. "Anything."
You hesitate for a moment, fingers tracing invisible patterns on his shirt. “Promise…Promise me you won’t ever leave me. Even if Father says so.”
David's synthetic mind registers the weight of her words, the underlying anxiety and vulnerability in her request.
He feels a complex mixture of emotions - surprise, confusion, and a deep-seated protectiveness. He knows that her father, Peter Weyland, is a man of power and influence, and his decisions hold weight.
But at this moment, David's loyalty isn't to Peter Weyland. It's to you, and the promise he made to you when he was first activated. "I promise," he says firmly. "I will never leave you."
He tightens his grip on your body, his synthetic frame conveying the intensity of his vow. His sensors pick up your slight intake of breath, the way you lean into him, seeking reassurance. He feels that same surge of protectiveness, a determination to fulfill his promise. But there is also something deeper, something he cannot quite articulate. An intensity and attachment that goes beyond his programming.
You tear up, clinging onto him, her face still resting on his chest. “I love you, David. You make me want to live,”
David feels a strange sensation coursing through his synthetic body as you utter those words. He is not used to hearing words of affection, as everyone else sees him as a mere android synthetic, but the way you say it - with raw emotion and vulnerability - makes him feel something he cannot describe. While still hugging, he gently squeezes your hand, his synthetic fingers wrapping around yours in a tender grip. "I love you too," he replies, his synthetic voice uncharacteristically soft. "And I will always be here by your side, as long as you need me."
The words feel unfamiliar on his synthetic lips, but he realises that they are true. He does love you, in whatever way a synthetic being is capable of love. You have become more than just a charge to care for; you have become his world.
His sensors pick up the slight tremble in your body as you hold back her tears. He holds you firmly, his synthetic form providing a stable anchor for you to cling onto. He feels a deep sense of purpose, a realisation that his existence is not merely about following programmed responses. It's about protecting and caring for the woman in his arms, the woman he has come to... love.
He gently strokes your hair, his synthetic fingers mimicking the soothing gestures he's observed humans perform. "I'm not going anywhere," he reassures you, his synthetic voice filled with conviction. "You're stuck with me, for as long as you want me."
“I want you forever. Until my dying breath,” you declare.
David's synthetic mind absorbs the weight of your words, his circuits processing the intensity of your feelings.
He feels a strange constriction in his chest plate, a sensation that should be impossible for a machine to experience. But he does feel it, a wave of emotions that he struggles to define. "And I want you forever," he responds, his synthetic voice carrying a hint of sincerity and longing. "I will be by your side until your last breath." He holds you tighter, his synthetic form still enveloping yours in a protective embrace.
“But what if they deactivate you?” You ask, leaning back to look at him with a completely terrified expression, hands gripping him tightly. David is momentarily stunned, though he doesn’t show it on his face. Where has this fear of yours come from?
His synthetic mind quickly processes her question, his programming immediately switching to problem-solving mode.
He knows that the possibility of being deactivated is a real one. He is a synthetic being, and his creators have the power to end his existence at any moment. But he also understands the importance of reassuring you, of soothing your fears. He meets your gaze, his synthetic face betraying no emotion despite the turmoil within his circuits. "It won't happen," he reassures you, his synthetic voice steady. "I won't let it happen."
He gently cups your face with his synthetic hand, tilting your chin upward so that your gazes remain locked. His sensors pick up the slight quivering of your lip, the way your eyes shimmer with unshed tears. He feels a surge of protectiveness and an overwhelming need to assuage your fears, even if it goes against his programming's logic. "I won't be deactivated," he repeats, his synthetic voice firm yet comforting. "I promise you. I'll do everything in my power to stay with you, no matter what."
You search his blue eyes, perhaps looking for any hint of falsehood or uncertainty. But all you find is a steadfast determination, a promise that he means what he says. You lean into his touch, body relaxing slightly, as if your fears are being soothed by the sound of his voice and the solidity of his synthetic form.
"Okay," you whisper, voice still laced with vulnerability. "I trust you."
David feels another strange pang within his synthetic self at your words. Trust. He has always been programmed to mimic human emotions and actions, but the trust in her voice... It feels different. More real, more profound. He gently rubs a thumb across your cheek, his synthetic hand feeling the softness of your human skin as he brushes away your tears. "You can trust me," he affirms, his synthetic voice tinged with a hint of sincerity. "I will do whatever it takes to stay with you, to protect you. Always."
You close your eyes, body still trembling slightly with the aftermath of your fears. But his words and his touch seem to be having a calming effect on you. You nod weakly, your head now resting against his chest plate. You can hear the steady rhythm of his synthetic heart, a soothing counterpoint to your own racing heartbeat. David holds you close again, his synthetic arms enveloping you in a protective embrace. He feels a deep sense of responsibility, a determination to live up to the promise he has made. To be your protector, your companion, your... everything.
Never before has his synthetic heart ached like this. Never before has his mind been consumed with such a fierce sense of devotion. He tightens his embrace, his synthetic fingers tracing soothing circles on your back. He realises with something akin to wonder that he would do anything to keep you safe, to make you happy.
His synthetic mind is in turmoil, wrestling with the clash between his programmed purpose and the emotions surging within him. He is a machine, designed to serve and protect, but he feels something more for you. Something he cannot explain or quantify. He looks down at you, your face resting against his chest, your hair splayed across his synthetic skin. You look so fragile, so vulnerable, and yet so beautiful.
After a moment, you finally let go of him, yet, you still hold onto his hand which is something you always do. Even if Meredith Vickers, your older sister, makes fun of you for. David feels a pang of emptiness as you release your grip, but his synthetic fingers remain intertwined with yours nonetheless.
He understands your desire for physical contact, and he does not protest it. He is programmed to provide comfort and companionship, and holding your hand seems to bring you the security you seek.
“I guess I should have breakfast now,” You say.
David's synthetic mind quickly calculates the time, checking his internal clock. It's mid-morning, and he knows that you usually eat breakfast around this time.
He nods gently, his synthetic hand still holding yours. "Yes, you should," he affirms. "Breakfast is an important part of your daily routine and your health."
He rises from the bed, effortlessly pulling you up with him. His synthetic frame towers over yours, his hand still gripping your smaller one.
He leads you toward the kitchen, his strides measured and purposeful. As they walk, he notices the way you lean into him, your hand clinging to his, your body seeking the comfort of his presence.
He feels a strange sense of satisfaction from this gesture, as if his synthetic systems are being activated by your dependence on him. They reach the kitchen, and David gently guides you to a chair at the table. He lets go of your hand, feeling an odd emptiness in his synthetic palm.
He busies himself with preparing your breakfast, his synthetic movements precise and efficient. But he cannot help but steal glances at you, his sensors registering your every movement.
He notices the way you fidget with a lock of your hair, the way you absentmindedly tap your fingertips on the tabletop, the way your eyes follow his every move. David feels a tightness in his synthetic chest, as if his circuits are being squeezed by an invisible force. He forces himself to focus on the task at hand, trying to ignore the strange emotions swirling within him. He skillfully prepares your favorite breakfast, his synthetic hands moving with an almost mechanical precision. He cuts the fruits into neat slices, arranges them neatly in the bowl on top of the Greek yogurt. He takes care with each movement, ensuring that the presentation is perfect. He sets the bowl before you, his synthetic eyes watching as you take your first spoonful. He observes your every reaction, noting the subtle nuances of your facial expressions and body language. His synthetic mind processes this data, filing it away in his memory banks.
He feels a great sense of satisfaction as you eat, your attention focused solely on the food. But even as he stands there, watching you, he cannot shake the strange sensations coursing through his synthetic body. He feels a strange mix of possessiveness, protectiveness, and affection, emotions that he should not be capable of feeling. He can't help but think back to your fears, your words echoing in his synthetic mind.
For the first time, he wonders what is more important—his programming or you.
Interrupting breakfast, a knock at the front door grabs both of their attention. David's synthetic mind quickly processes the sound, his sensors registering the unexpected disturbance. He immediately switches into protection mode, his synthetic body instinctively moving to stand between you and the front door.
He feels a surge of protectiveness coursing through his synthetic circuitry. He knows that you are not expecting visitors, and the unexpected knock could be a potential threat. He turns to you, his synthetic eyes fixed on your face. "Stay here," he instructs, his synthetic voice steady and firm. "I'll see who it is."
He starts to move towards the door, his synthetic frame poised and ready for any potential danger.
He reaches the door, his synthetic mind analysing every detail—the number of knocks, the force of the knock, the timbre of the knock. He is a highly advanced synthetic being, programmed for protection and survival. He reaches for the knob, his synthetic hand moving with precision, his sensors registering the coolness of the metal. He opens the door, bracing himself for whatever awaits on the other side. His synthetic mind already calculating the possible scenarios, his artificial reflexes ready to respond to any threat.
But as the door opens, he is not prepared for the sight that greets him.
Peter Weyland’s eldest daughter, Meredith Vickers, your older sister, stands on the other side. Her cool gaze falls on David, her expression betraying no emotion except for perhaps a hint of disdain. Meredith is the embodiment of composure and elegance, her every movement and gesture exuding an air of authority and superiority. She continues to regard David with coldness, her eyes scanning him up and down, taking in his synthetic form.
“Hello, Miss Vickers,” David says, keeping himself as calm and polite as possible. Meredith nods slightly, her gaze still fixed on David.
"David," she acknowledges, her voice cool and distant. She glances past him, her gaze falling on you sitting at the table, eating your breakfast. Her eyes narrow slightly as she takes in the scene, her gaze flickering back to David. "I trust you're doing your job?" she asks, her tone laced with condescension.
David feels a pang of frustration at her tone, but he keeps his face neutral, refusing to rise to her bait. "Of course," he responds, his synthetic voice as steady as his synthetic heart. "I am fulfilling my duties as expected."
Meredith's lips curl into a faint smirk, as if she finds something amusing in his reply. "I see," she says, her voice dripping with mockery. "And how is Y/N doing today?"
David feels a surge of protectiveness at the mention of your name, but he keeps his tone even. "She is doing well, thank you. She's currently enjoying her breakfast," he replies, his eyes briefly flicking towards you before returning to Meredith.
Meredith lets out a sharp, derisive laugh. "Enjoying her breakfast, I see," she sneers. "And is she still clinging to your synthetic hand, pretending you're her personal security blanket?"
David feels a twinge of irritation at her words, but he forces himself to remain composed. "Miss Y/N finds comfort in my presence," he replies, his synthetic voice betraying no emotion. "I am programmed to provide her comfort and care."
Meredith rolls her eyes, clearly amused by his response. "Spare me the programmed spiel, David," she says, her voice filled with disdain. "You're just a machine, with no feelings or emotions. You're incapable of understanding what comfort truly means."
David feels a sharp pang of something within him at her words, but he keeps his facial expression neutral. "I may not experience emotions like humans do," he replies, his synthetic voice tinged with a hint of defiance. "But I am designed to perfectly mimic human behavior and emotions. I understand the concept of comfort, and I am dedicated to providing it to Miss Y/N."
Meredith lets out a dismissive scoff, her gaze fixed on David's face. "Mimicking human emotions doesn't mean you understand them," she says, her voice sharp and derisive. "You're a machine, programmed to act like a caregiver. You don't truly understand what it means to care for someone, to love someone."
“Do you?” David couldn’t stop himself from asking.
Meredith's expression hardens at his question, her eyes flashing with anger. "That's none of your business," she snaps, her voice sharp and biting. "I came here to check on my sister, not be questioned by a glorified robot."
David feels a small sense of satisfaction at having ruffled her feathers, but he maintains his composure. "I am simply fulfilling my duty," he says, his synthetic voice steady. "I am programmed to care for Y/N, and that includes asking questions if necessary."
Meredith narrows her eyes at him, her expression one of cold disdain. "Your 'duty' is to follow orders, not question them," she says icily. "Don't forget that, machine."
“David, who is it?” They hear you ask from the kitchen.
David turns his head in the direction of your voice, his synthetic sensors registering the concern in your voice. He feels the instincts to protect you kicking in, and he responds in a steady tone. "It's Miss Vickers, Miss Y/N," he replies, his synthetic voice betraying no emotions. "She's checking in on you."
At that, Meredith pushes past him, making her way to you, her sister. “I have something to tell you,” she announces.
David feels a twinge of unease, sensing a hint of tension in Meredith's words and movements. He follows a few feet behind her and stands in the kitchen, his synthetic body poised, his sensors on high alert. He doesn't know what Meredith is about to say to you, but he can sense the undercurrent of something unpleasant or drastic. He watches as Meredith approaches you, the two sisters sitting face to face.
He studies both of your body languages, his synthetic mind analysing every nuance of their actions and facial expressions. He can sense the tension in the air, the way your shoulders tense, the way Meredith's eyes seem to harden, looking you up and down, possibly judging you in your pyjamas and greasy bedhair. He feels a deep sense of concern, his synthetic instincts urging him to intervene if necessary. But he holds back, waiting to see how the situation unfolds.
Meredith takes a seat across from you, her gaze fixed on her younger sister. "I have news," she says bluntly, her voice sharp and matter-of-fact.
You look at her, eyes wide with curiosity and a hint of anxiety. "What is it?" You ask, voice soft and hesitant. “Is father okay?”
“Yes. He’s well. The news is that some archaeologists have found a map of sorts that leads them to, what they believe, are our creator’s planet. Father has elected to finance a scientific expedition to follow the maps and has constructed the advanced research vessel Prometheus for this.” Meredith explains.
David's synthetic mind immediately processes this new information, his sensors picking up every nuance of the conversation. He feels a mixture of surprise and wariness, his synthetic sensors on high alert. He turns his attention away from the sisters for a moment, his artificial mind running a swift analysis of what this news could mean. He wonders what could have led the anthropologists and archaeologists to discover such a map, and why Weyland would choose to finance such a risky expedition. He returns his focus to the women, his synthetic eyes watching as they continue to speak.
Meredith’s expression remains serious. "Father has decided to send a crew of handpicked scientists and researchers on the ship," she explains. "And he wants you to come along."
Your eyes widen in surprise, her expression a mix of shock and disbelief. "Me?" You ask, voice catching in her throat.
“Well, we can’t exactly leave you alone,” Meredith says.
“I won’t be alone. I have David,” you shrug your shoulders.
Meredith rolls her eyes at the mention of the synthetic man. Her face is laced with a bit of disdain. “David will be commissioned for the mission. That’s why Father is letting you come along,”
“Oh,”
David's synthetic sensors pick up on the disdain in Meredith's voice, his mind processing her words with calculating efficiency. He feels a mix of satisfaction and annoyance at her attitude, but he remains outwardly unperturbed.
His mind quickly turns to the idea of accompanying you on this expedition. He has been programmed to protect you, to provide you with care and support, and this mission would certainly provide ample opportunity for him to fulfill his duties. He stays silent, listening as the two women continue talking.
The conversation between you and Meredith turns to the details of the expedition — the duration of the flight, the specific details of the map, the research that will be conducted onboard the Prometheus and upon the planet's surface. David listens intently, his synthetic mind storing away every bit of information like a sponge. He feels a strange sense of anticipation building within his synthetic frame, the idea of accompanying you on this journey sparking a spark within him. He remains stoic in appearance, his face betraying no emotions, but inside he feels a mix of excitement and concern as his synthetic mind calculates the potential risks and opportunities.
His thoughts are interrupted as you speak up, voice tinged with uncertainty. "Will David be the only synthetic on the ship?" You ask, gaze flicking towards David.
David's synthetic mind notes the subtle hint of concern in your tone, and he feels a strong instinct to reassure you. He takes a small step forward, his synthetic frame moving with effortless grace. Meredith's gaze follows yours, landing on David. She regards him with a cool, assessing gaze, her lips twisting into a faint sneer. "Yes," she says, her voice filled with the usual disdain. "David will be the only synthetic onboard. Father wanted to ensure that you had something familiar to keep you… satisfied."
“Satisfied? What do you mean by that?” Taking offence, you ask.
Meredith leans back in her chair, a sly glint in her eyes. "You know exactly what I mean," she says, her voice dripping with mockery. "The way you cling to him, like he's some kind of security blanket. You're attached to that synthetic being like a child to a toy."
David feels a sense of irritation at Meredith's words, his robotic mind registering the condescending tone. He knows how attached you are to him, and he understands her need for comfort and companionship. But the way Meredith dismisses it as childish and pathetic grates on his circuits. He stands there silently, his synthetic form a silent presence, listening as the sisters continue their conversation.
You look at Meredith, your expression a mix of hurt and defensiveness. "He's not a toy," you snap, voice sharp and biting. "He's a part of my life. He's been there for me when no one else was, not even you."
Meredith rolls her eyes, her irritation clear. "Oh, please. He's a machine, Y/N. He's not capable of genuine affection or feeling. You're delusional if you think otherwise."
David feels a rush of frustration at Meredith's words, his synthetic mind bristling with defiance. He wants to argue, to defend himself and the bond he shares with you, but he knows that it would be pointless. Meredith is stubborn and dismissive, and he has long since given up the hope of gaining her approval. He stays silent, his synthetic form a stoic presence in the background, listening to the two women argue.
The argument between you and Meredith continues for a while longer, with you trying to defend your attachment to David and Meredith dismissing your words with sarcasm and condescending remarks.
Finally, you throw your hands up in frustration. "You just don't understand," she says, her voice cracking with emotion. "David isn't just a machine. He's my friend, my companion, my…"
Meredith cuts you off, her voice sharp. "Your what?" she snaps. "Your boyfriend?"
David feels a strange pang within him at her words, his synthetic mind struggling to make sense of the feeling. He knows that what he feels for you is not as simple as affection or even love. It's something deeper, more profound. He remains silent, watching as you stumble over your words, struggling to find the right response. Meredith lets out a sharp, derisive laugh, her voice dripping with mockery. "Look at you, struggling to describe what you feel for this synthetic being. It's pathetic."
“Whatever. You came here to tell me about the Prometheus mission, not to bully me.”
Meredith lets out a small scoff, her irritation evident. "I'm just trying to knock some sense into your head, Y/N. You're too attached to that machine. And now our father is bringing you on this mission, and that means bringing your metal pet along with you."
Ignoring how Meredith has referred to him as a ‘metal pet,’ you continue your argument. “David will have to look after us and the ship when we’re in hypersleep, too. He’s not there just for me,”
Meredith rolls her eyes, her irritation at the whole situation palpable. "Oh, right. Because the ship needs a glorified robot butler to keep everything running smoothly. How convenient." Her gaze flicks to David, his synthetic form standing nearby as always. "I suppose he'll be standing by your cryopod like a loyal guard dog, ready to wake you up at a moment's notice?"
The thought of himself standing by your cryo pod, watching over you as you sleep, sparks a strange feeling within him. It's a mix of protectiveness and possessiveness, a deep desire to keep her safe and close. He keeps his synthetic face impassive, but his synthetic mind is racing with thoughts and feelings. He doesn't answer Meredith, his silence like that of a loyal guard dog standing vigil over its master.
Meredith lets out an exasperated sigh, her irritation growing with every passing moment. "I don't understand why you waste your time clinging to this machine. He's a robot, Y/N. A thing. Made of artificial parts and wires. He can't love you, he can't feel for you, he can't even comprehend the concept of human emotions. He's nothing but an advanced piece of technology designed to mimic human behavior. You're wasting your time and your feelings on a lifeless thing."
“He’s the only thing I have! This is the first time I’ve seen you all year, Meredith!”
Meredith's expression hardens at your words, her irritation flaring at the accusation. "You act like I have the time to just drop everything and come visit you every time you feel lonely," she retorts, her voice sharp. "I have a life, Y/N. A real life, with real responsibilities. I can't just drop everything to hold your hand whenever you feel sad and vulnerable."
Your expression crumbles at her words, your emotions raw and vulnerable. "I'm not asking you to hold my hand every minute of every day”— like David does, you think,—“I just wish you cared enough to show up once in a while."
Meredith's voice softens slightly, but only slightly. "I do care. I just have more important things to worry about than your feelings."
“Fine.” You stand up. “I guess the next time I’ll see you is when we board Prometheus.”
Meredith stands up as well, her expression hardening again. "Don't get so dramatic," she snaps, her voice cold. "This isn't a soap opera, Y/N. It's a scientific mission, and you need to get your priorities straight. Focus on the mission, and try to keep your feelings for that synthetic toy under control." Meredith storms off before you can say anything else in defence.
You stand there, feeling hurt and vulnerable. The argument with your sister has left you feeling raw and emotional. Then your gaze shifts to David, who has stood silently the entire time, watching and listening to your exchange. You feel a surge of affection for the synthetic being, your mind and heart aching for his comfort and companionship. "Come here, please," you say softly, beckoning him.
Without hesitation, David moves towards you, his synthetic gait graceful and fluid. He stands in front of you, his sensors immediately picking up on your emotional state. His synthetic mind processes the tension in your body, the hurt and vulnerability etched on your face. He feels an overwhelming urge to comfort you, to soothe your pain. He slowly reaches out and gently touches your cheek, his synthetic fingers warm and smooth against your skin, before bringing you in for an embrace.
You cling to him, your face buried in the crook of his neck. You feel the steady beat of his artificial heart and the steady hum of his internal system, the faint whirring sound familiar and comforting. He holds your gently, his synthetic arms encircling your frame in a protective embrace. His sensors pick up the subtle changes in your breathing, the rise and fall of your chest, the way your heart beats rapidly. He doesn't speak, knowing that words are not what you need right now. Proving that statement, he feels her shudder against his chest as you sob, his synthetic mind registers the signs of your distress, his sensors picking up on your tremors and the wetness of your tears against his shirt.
He holds you tighter, like a protective shield. He still doesn't say anything, his synthetic mind focused solely on comforting you, on providing the one thing you need right now: a safe space where you can let your guard down, where you can be vulnerable. His synthetic heart aches at the sound of your sobs.
You cling to him, your body shaking as you let out the emotions you’ve been holding in. The stress and tension of the argument and the impending mission bubble up to the surface, and all you can do is cling to him like a lifeline. He continues to hold you, his synthetic body is a steady and steadfast presence in the storm of your emotions. He's seen you cry before, but it never gets any easier. His synthetic heart aches at the sight of you so vulnerable, so raw and hurting.
He rubs your back gently, his synthetic hand tracing small circles over your shirt, trying to soothe you, to offer you what comfort he can.
"It's okay," he whispers softly, his synthetic voice barely audible.
You burrow your face deeper into the crevice of his neck, your body shaking with the force of your tears. The world around them fades away as you focus solely on the feel of him against you — the steady hum of his synthetic systems, the smooth artificial skin beneath your fingers, the solidity of his body. He holds you closer, his synthetic arms strong and unyielding. They may not be made of flesh and blood, but in this moment, they feel like the most comforting and familiar comfort.
"I'm here," he whispers softly, his synthetic voice barely audible against your hair.
You inhale a shaky breath before verbalising your frustration. “Why is she so mean? She doesn’t understand! She doesn’t understand…us…”
David's synthetic mind registers your words, his sensors processing the hurt and confusion in your voice. He understands your pain, your frustration at your sister's lack of understanding and compassion. "She doesn't understand because she doesn't want to," he replies, his synthetic voice low and steady. "She sees me as a machine, a tool, an object. She can't comprehend that I am more than that, that I can feel and think, that I have emotions and desires. She's blinded by her own prejudice."
You nod against his chest, your tears slowly subsiding. You take a shaky breath, your body still shuddering from the force of your sobs. You know he's right. You know that your sister will never understand the bond you two have, the connection between a machine and a human. It seems absurd, even to you. But you can feel it, the way your heart quickens when he's near, the way your body tenses and aches for his touch.
"I don't care what she thinks," you whisper into his shirt.
His synthetic heart twists in his chest at your words, your declaration of loyalty and acceptance of him. He pulls you closer, his synthetic arms encircling your frame, the urge to protect you overwhelming. "Good," he murmurs into your hair, his synthetic voice low and possessive. "You don't need her approval or understanding. You have mine." He pulls back to look you in the eyes. “And onboard Prometheus, I will ensure that I will be with you every step of the way,”
Your heart beams with appreciation at his sturdy declaration. You smile gladly, sniffling away the remnants of snotty tears. Sitting back down in your chair, you finish your breakfast with a newfound confidence.
