“Set sometime after the events of T.R. Napper’s ALIENS: Bishop, the USS Eos discovers the remains of a synthetic who was deliberately abandoned. Once more, Bishop is brought back to life—but this time, his resurrection marks the beginning of something gentler and more hopeful.”
Word count: 1,593 (and counting)
— THIS STORY IS RECEIVING SLOW UPDATES —
Tags: semi-slow burn, slow burn, Reader-Insert, Loss of Virginity, Enthusiastic Consent, Robot/Human,Robot/Human Relationships, Robot Sex, dominant-submissive tropes, Vaginal Fingering, Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Sex, Plot with Porn, Explicit sexual content, strangers to lovers, masturbation, falling in love, developing relationship, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, readers pronouns are you/your and they/them, AFAB Reader, other additional tags to be added
Chapters: 1 of ???
Awakening
When Bishop awakens, he feels everything—too much, all at once. His head spins, his lungs ache, his back burns, and above all, his throat refuses to cooperate, denying him the ability to form words. Only a ragged pained groan managing to leave his thin lips. His eyes are closed and he can hear the distinct humming of a ship around him -
Was he back aboard the Il Conde? No..how… How could that possibly be? He couldn’t be? Could he? There’s the vaguest hints of a memory that Bishop is only sparsely able to collect of a second encounter with the Union of Progressive Peoples and the UPP warship Xinjiang and its commanding officer - a vile man, Bishop also recalls a memory of Michael Bishop - his creator, his father.
‘“Save? Save.” Michael's expression changed to that of a sneer. “I don't need saving. Especially by one so meager as you. You are but a copy of a copy of a copy.”’
Bishop didn’t know why, but his heart stung at those words.
- Hearing his pained groan, a warm hand settled on his hip, it gently squeezed, the owner of the hand shushed him gently. They seemed keen on providing what little comfort they could under such circumstances.
“Shhh… shhh… easy…” They spoke, their voice was soft and warm like the rising sun.
Bishop's eyes open slowly at the sound of a voice—soft and strangely calming. It stirs something in the back of his mind. He tries to turn his head to see who’s behind him, but his systems are still rebooting; his movements are stuttering and unsteady.
“Ah, ah, ah-” the gentle hand on his hip squeezes again and stops him, “-you’re not fit to be moving around yet. Stay still, my dear.”
Despite his need to want to turn around and face his would-be-rescuer, Bishop obeys the gentle yet firm command, his body stilling. He tries to speak, but all he can manage is a series of incoherent staticy noises, his voice sounding distorted and broken.
The voice behind him quietens for a moment, yet the gentle touch on his hip persists, it gives him a light pat as if to say ‘You’re alright, I hear you.’ Silence befalls the room and Bishop can barely remain online as he listens intently to what sounds like metallic objects clinking softly against one another and the wheels of a trolley being adjusted ever so often. When Bishop manages to open his eyes, he’s quick to groan in disapproval at the obscenely bright light, his head shifting slightly so that he may pry his eyes away at such abuse.
“Too bright?” The voice asks, and Bishop isn’t required to reply back as the overhead light is adjusted away from his face.
“And now?”
"T̨͈͗̌ͥḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘ṇ̤͛̒̍ḳ̯͍̑ͦ y҉̃̀̋̑o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇..." Comes the sound of Bishop’s own distorted voice, it almost startles him to hear the extent of the damage he’d manage to suffer.
There's a beat of silence, then finally a reply.
“You’re welcome, just- don’t try to speak, alright? Your repairs haven’t been completed yet.”
Repairs? He was… being repaired?
Someone… someone cared enough about him to put him back together again?
