#wreck gar x reader

• “Kitchen’s closed until you shower so I don’t pick up every communicable disease in the known universe from screwing you.” Always so mean to him. Yelling about trash and messes and tetanus shots. ‘Shower with me. Double the fun. Doublemint gum,’ he coaxes as you keep avoiding him. Playing hard to get. ‘I’ll behave. Scout’s honor,’ he adds, smiling as he lies and you snort. Have to realize how this is going to end, though. You always cave. Eventually.

• At this point, there no telling what freaky alien, trash man diseases you’ve picked up from him already, but there need to be ground rules. A line in the sand. “You look like you’ve been rolling in mud.” Please let it be only mud. ‘If the kitchen’s closed, let’s have take out,’ he growls, lunging and you swear when he catches you by the wrist and pulls you to him, swinging you over a shoulder. “I am not take out,” you grumble, but at least he’s headed for the wash rack. ‘Hot and ready in thirty minutes or it’s free.’ Inhaling, you barely resist the urge to elbow him in the head.

• Swinging you down on your little feet, he backs you into the stall, grinning as you huff at him, but you strip. And fumble the water on after tossing your clothes outside the stall. “No! Wash yourself first,” you snap when he reaches for you, your back hitting the wall. Clearing his vents, that’s one habit he’s not been able to break you of. So serious. ‘Worry, worry, worry. Causes wrinkles,’ he mutters, but he obliges you. Scrubbing himself off as you eye him.

Something in his spark began to swell when he saw you. It wasn't in the youneedtogethatcheckedoutbyFirstAid way. He knew. It is like in those human stories when two people look at each other and fall in love. He isn't sure if you felt the same way at first, but he thinks you probably did. You were holding onto him so tight! That could have also been the fear, but you were still holding onto him after you calmed down! That counts for something. It actually counts for everything!

You became his human companion. Which was and still is the bestest thing ever. You just make his engine rev. He can hardly slow himself down enough to be comprehensible when you're in the room. It's like he got injected with some wacky stamina booster!

He could hardly leave you alone. You got used to it after scolding him many times and having a breakdown or two (or three, four, or maybe five). It's a learning process! Maybe he almost killed Wheelie and Daniel after they took up too much of your social battery multiple times, but that's all in the past!

He used to have to be sneaky about following you everywhere. Now that you're used to him, he doesn't have to be away from you ever. In fact, he pretty much refuses to be. Missions just aren't any fun unless you're near. He can't focus. He'll be too preoccupied thinking about you.

That nasty blaster hit to his processor during your initial meeting didn't help with his whole attention problem.

Itisn'tthatbigofadealthough.

Since you are always with him and he's so fast, he takes you to all the places you want to go! You're thinking of a place. Zoom. You're there. He can even show you some of his favorite places in the galaxy! Sure, sometimes he gets a little too excited (orangry) and tramples someone, but that doesn't happen often (enough to be a real problem). It isn't like you can tell anyway. He's always moving too fast. He cleans up fast too when he wants to!

Sigh. You're just the best. He (practically) has heart pupils in his optics.

He just wants to be with you forever and ever and ever. Oh. He forgot. Humans don't live very long. That's—that's okay though! He'll figure something out. You're his sparkmate. Forever means forever, even if he has to do some very not Autobot-like stuff to make that happen.

𝚈𝚊𝚗. 𝙶1 𝙶𝚊𝚕𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚗 (𝚠/ 𝚌𝚢𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐) ( 𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚠 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜, 18+ )

The Autobots. His latest and greatest enemies to date. They made Unicron fall and still hold the Matrix of Leadership in their self-righteous grasp. If he can't have the Matrix, then he'll have you: the stubborn bot who is always so willing to target him on the battlefield.

Who do you think you are challenging the mighty Galvatron? You show up on no high-level reports that have been intercepted by his subordinates. You have no useful connections outside of being an Autobot. You don't look particularly flashy or execute moves on the battlefield in a particularly innovative way. You're average.

Lord Galvatron, conqueror of the universe, should be interested in someone who can match his strength. Still, you vex him so! You always get at least one hit on him before anyone else is able. It feels almost personal, like you're the one seeking him out to do more than just fight.

Considering your abysmal rank, hardly anything to note, you shouldn't be too hard to abduct. You'll finally get the attention you've been seeking from him. He is cautioned to be patient, but when has patience ever aided his cause?

He snatches you up himself, faceplate twisting into that self-satisfied smirk of his at your inability to escape his grasp. Your pathetic comrades come after him, but they hardly make a dent. You're finally his, nothing but his.

He stashes you away in their base on Chaar, so deep within the facility that the entire Autobot army would have to descend upon it just to have a chance at getting you. He might already be on the Autobots' radar again. They are probably staging a rescue mission as you lie in temporary stasis at his pedes.

He sees a beauty in you that is tainted by your blue optics and the garish red emblems on your frame. He has some others get rid of them while you're still out-of-order while he attends to other business. If he keeps the Autobots busy, then you'll have to be low on their priority list. Even—even if one gets in, he'll blast them to bits before they have a chance to land their filthy, self-righteous servos on you!

A new coat of paint never hurt anyone either. He makes sure it's a hideous color. He has to remind you that you are beneath him in every way conceivable. Perhaps, if you grovel enough, he'll have you repainted and polished to something more suited to your frame.

He sits on his throne, spike pressurized as he imagines all the ways he can degrade you into being nothing more than an obedient toy for him to use. That's what you wanted, right? You must've known that's what you signed up for by challenging his authority so boldly, so repeatedly.

You always have energy suppressant chains on, with a heavy collar branded with the shining Decepticon symbol. Your frame is marred with his selfish assaults: new dents and deep denta marks appearing daily. You aren't allowed to interact with the other Decepticons. Even if you wanted to, they are under order to pretend as if you don't exist. Any con that breaks the order is subject to (lethal) termination.

Besides your oh-so-arousing time with Galvatron, being forced to sit at his pedes or be used as his pedstool, you have a few other Decepticons that maintain your captured status when Galvatron is unable. Cyclonus and Scourge are the most notable. They're skittish around you, anxious not to rouse their master's rampant anger, but also eager to please him by guarding you. You may have had a chance in manipulating them if it weren't for the fact that Soundblaster, or one of his deployers, is always near. Anything you say will be reported to Galvatron, most likely to be mocked by him later.

Don't think of disobeying. He always has the most lovely punishments in mind if/when you do. Starvation and further isolation are easy but boring. Beatings are only somewhat effective. He still needs you alive, so he can't go too far. Make a string of outlandish threats, and you won't fear him any longer.

Then it came to him, as if Unicron were still whispering the dirtiest things into his process, guiding him to further debauchery: What is more intimate than interfacing? There is no better way to control you than to control your own desires.

He could make you sit on his lap while you're spikewarming him as he plays with your valve, ignoring your spike, as he orders Decepticons around.

He could make you always keep your panel open and threaten to let other Decepticons use you if they wanted to blow off some steam. (He would never actually let that happen. He's far too possessive.)

He could keep a toy inside you, edging you until you collapse and beg to be forgiven for your misdeeds.

He could keep you tied up in your cell, stuffed with aphrodisiacs so your systems overheat from a lack of release. You would be helpless to do anything but suffer in your need.

He could keep you constantly stuffed with his transfluids, threatening further castigation if you allow too much to spill out. Your spike can be tortured with a spikering simultaneously, lubricant threatening to drip out of it, which he naturally can't allow.

Such tantalizing options. He can't help but make his rules around you stricter, those collar and chains feeling like they'll tear your frame from your inner circuitry. He'll give you an opportunity to escape, which is really a path back to him, so he can reprimand you.

He is further consumed by greed, not satisfied by your frame's submission. He takes the final step in exerting his control over you: spark bonding. You will be tied to him so sacredly until you go offline. You will be stuck with him invading your innermost thoughts and forcing emotions upon you. Maybe then you'll understand his madness.

𝚈𝚊𝚗. 𝙶1 𝙺𝚞𝚙 (𝚠/ 𝚌𝚢𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐)

There was this battle once, and shame on him for not letting sleeping cyberwolves lie, where his entire squad was being ruthlessly slaughtered by Decepticons. They were outnumbered a hundred to one, shots ringing out all around him. He thought his spark was going to pop from the chaos surrounding him.

Then a fresh scout managed to wander their way into the ambush, being so foolishly ordered to search and find him to relay battle information. Your comms hadn't been scrambled since you weren't a part of his squadron, so you called in backup and the day was salvaged, somewhat. Good soldiers were lost that day, a whole void of a lot better than him. Yet, you saved him. You found him, and in a way he found you.

You're older now, much older, but still nowhere near his age. You're experienced and for Primus's sake, that's more attractive than it should be. He's up on the command chain and knows it's breaking several rank codes to be vying after you. Even if he did let himself want you, his interface panel is practically rusted shut from disuse.

You can take care of yourself, but that nagging feeling still scratches more paranoia into his processor. War doesn't discriminate in its victims. You could easily be next. He's always kept an eye on you over the vorns so taking a more intimate approach isn't too harmful, yeah.

You have the respect for a Prime that you should, and considering he works closely with Rodimus, the sunset colored bot that has been a pain in his aft for way too many cycles is now paying his dues. It does set a jolt of bitter jealously through his circuits when he sees how elated you are to finally meet Rodimus. You almost forget the mech that gave you the opportunity. The quick embrace made it all worth it—almost.

Now you work alongside him, occasionally assisting Rodimus and the other higher-ups in missions. (Never missions that are medium or high risk. He ensures that.) He unabashedly stares at you, lovesickness present in his frame, only obvious to those who knew him before he was well-worn by war. He's upset that you hardly remember him. Then again, perhaps that is a small blessing. One of many. It'd be easier for you to decipher his intentions if you were more perceptive.

The Autobots notice the changes in Kup.

He begins speaking to himself more often. He's personally detailing everything he has seen you do today. He's planning your future. He can't help but fantasize. That's what gotten him through all these years. If someone interrupts his ramblings, then his mood turns sour. He won't tell them off, but there will be a scowl on his faceplate and displeasure thick in his field.

He treats you like a conjunx. Whenever you do something there's a slight upturn in his lipplates. He has your schedule and is always reminding you of things, bringing you your energon, and watching you intake it. He sits with you whenever he can—always chatting you up—telling stories the other bots don't think they've ever heard before. He doesn't leave you alone. He gets perturbed whenever someone is interested in you. For Primus's sake, his habsuite is right next to yours! He talks about bonding with you "just so he can guide you through the experience."

He's distracted from his duties and more prone to destructive fits. The thought of them makes most bots shudder.

They grow worried that the old bot's processor is breaking down after millions of years of overexertion.

Their approach is gentle in intervening with his preoccupation of you. Ultra Magnus stages an intervention. Something that would've happened if not for the fact that Cybertron had explosives planted in its core. How the Decepticon Headmasters managed to sneak past all the defenses is a mystery, especially with Kup on duty.

All of his fears were realized in that moment.

You are in danger. Cybertron at stake. You are in peril, so close to offlining on their homeworld. The homeworld he swore to protect until the last pulse of his spark.

Yet, the good guys don't always win. This isn't some organic television show.

Zarak is successful in blowing up Cybertron. Galvatron disappears. Soldiers on both sides are obliterated: erased from existence by a single blast.

Now Rodimus must find a new home for them all. You're coming with them to settle on a new planet. A mission more dangerous than any other he's ever let you on.

These unprecedented times make it crucial that you bond with him, whether you understand that or not.

𝚈𝚊𝚗. 𝙶1 𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜 (𝚠/ 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐)

His greatest pal Raoul brought a good buddy of his along for a joyride last week. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about you since. He knows you haven't been able to stop thinking about him either. Who would be able to get a good look at this fine polish and nice aft and just forget, not be absolutely enamored?

You treated his interior with the delicate hand it deserves, rightfully amazed by his very existence. For a moment he almost felt bitter towards Raoul. He's organic and was able to befriend a beauty such as yourself with relative ease. All the while he must stay in his alt-mode, however impressive, most of the time. He usually wouldn't mind. He'd even be grateful to cruise around, but being forced to play third-wheel? Nah. Tracks don't roll that way. He feels betrayed, but that quickly passes as his processor melts into a tentative bliss remembering your organic frame.

He is reasonable in his inquiries about you, constantly pestering Raoul. When his buddy teases him he denies the premise of him "crushing" on someone. He is to be admired. He does not yearn. Others yearn to be graced by his presence. All Raoul does is roll his eyes and chuckle, entertaining the Chevrolet Corvette Stingray C3's love-struck antics. Raoul is blissfully unaware of how far Track's depravity goes.

The more he sees you, the more he needs you. You need a little shaping. Your personality could be softer, more in awe of him. You could dress more like a living doll than a person. He'd love that. He'll make sure you end up that way one day soon.

He isn't going to abduct you. No, Tracks doesn't make the first move. However, if you were to take a ride with him without Raoul, and he had no other pressing duties to attend to, you may just end up in his lavish habsuite: muffled with a cute little gag and dressed to look your best.

He isn't evil; he's just—unique. It isn't like the other Autobots are saints! They've all thought of keeping organic pets. How come other humans get to hang around, but he has interest in one organic, and suddenly he's the villain? He's treating you well! The best, in fact.

As long as you give him the attention he deserves, you have the perfect life. All the things you'd ever want or need. If you don't. If you dare to deny yourself him, then you need to learn a lesson. A very unfortunate one. Just because he's glamorous doesn't mean he won't get his servos (temporarily) dirty. May Primus, or whatever organic deities your kind has conjured, save you if you manage to damage him, physically or ego-wise, in the slightest.

Your sole focus should be on him when he is around but alas, there are Decepticons to turn to slag. He wouldn't want your dumb human brain to get bored and conjure up any fantastical ideas, like escaping, so he gives you things to keep you occupied. Perhaps he even gets Wheeljack to make him some new toys, after a lot of coaxing and well-crafted lies, for you.

There is also Raoul and his other sparse relationships that he must attend to. They feel even more draining now. Raoul was his first human friend, but now he feels more like an irritant. He's constantly blabbering on about you, urging Tracks to continue looking for you. He thinks the Decepticons did it. Tracks always has to hold back, well everything, he's feeling because it'd give him away. As if the Decepticons could pull off what he has done.

When Raoul goes to the Autobots behind his backstruct, Tracks is furious. His spark feels as if there is a fissure in it. He doesn't know what he's doing. When his processor stabilizes again he realizes there's a stain on his servo. He cleans it off, feeling grim now. At least there's one less problem he has to attend to.

Tracks is more withdrawn around others. They notice. He brushes them off. His self-centered attitude drives them away. He comes to you for solace and is the sweetest when he's feeling insecure. Not insecure. Tracks would never feel insecure. It's just that there's no word in English to describe it! Yeah. Lost in translation from Cybertronian to Human English.

He goes and comes as he pleases, all the while you're ordered to stay the same. As you age or break he becomes infuriated, scrambling to find some fix-all for this. He blames you but always forgives you. It isn't entirely your fault that your body is so limited.

He may go mad keeping you prim and proper.

𝚈𝚊𝚗. 𝙶1 𝚆𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚔-𝙶𝚊𝚛 (𝚠/ 𝚌𝚢𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐)

𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚕! 𝚆𝚎'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜.

𝙷𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚍𝚊𝚢? 𝙷𝚊𝚍 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘? 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎!

𝙱𝚞𝚢, 𝚋𝚞𝚢, 𝚋𝚞𝚢!

𝙶𝚎𝚝 3, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚎'𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚊 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍.

[ 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚢 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎 ]

That was the last program Wreck-Gar watched before he found your out-of-service frame under the newest pile of treasures that ended up on Junk.

" 𝙰𝚑, 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙸 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎. 𝙶𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚎𝚖' 𝚊𝚕𝚕! "

Your frame is still well, despite the damage. Must've been a nasty battle. It'd be a shame to scrap you when you still have so much potential. So the Junkions do what they do second best. They fixed you at Wreck-Gar's command. It's only right. They are still Autobots, despite their odd quirks and ends.

He can't help but be a little selfish and make you look more like a Junkion. It'll help you blend in. He's doing you a favor. Some of the parts that land here are leagues better than the ones you currently have installed. Surely you won't mind an upgrade.

When you boot up again, he swears his spark stalls for a moment. He sees how lifeless everything around him was before he found you. You're just so fascinating and odd too: a ball of mystery that must be unraveled.

Junkions are collectors by nature. Maybe he wants to collect you. He technically already has you in his grasp. You're indebted to him.

" 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚑 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚠! 𝙾𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝, 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚢. "

You accept and are gracious towards your hosts, like the lovely gem you are. You are even curious, which is such a lovely word. Very few look at Junk and give it a second thought. They are even ruder to its residents. This never fails to get on Wreck-Gar's nerves. Wreck-Gar's nerves are always on when around you, but for a different reason, in a different way. wink. wink.

Most beings would keep something as precious as you locked up. While that may be enticing, you are sentient. He can't let you wilt like an organic plant! You go on excursions with him so you can acquaint yourself with your new home. He also just wants to show off how cool this place is. It' be crazy for you to want to go back to your place of origin.

Whenever you mention leaving, he quickly distracts you. If you call him out on it, he's cheeky.

" 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 2, 𝚍-𝚍𝚊𝚛-𝚕𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚐𝚐𝚐𝚐𝚐𝚐𝚐! 𝙸𝚝'𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 "𝙴𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎!" "

Anybody's voice that seeks to lead you astray, strangers' or friends', is swiftly compressed by a kind compactor. A lot of beings underestimate Wreck-Gar so it's never too hard to catch them off guard. The best part is there's no evidence left! There is just more junk that Wreck-Gar, can use for his collection. And even if you did stumble upon him recycling, he could explain! You'd understand. He's sure. You're interlinked with him despite not yet being bonded.

His spark is always racing around you.

His internal temperature exceeds its normal levels.

His wiring threatens to come undone if separated from you for more than exactly 3.14159265358 cycles.

He can't even make a proper junk pile when you're gone!

His frame betrays him so intimately because it knows you were meant to be.

What more confirmation does he need than the fact that you are an Autobot from Earth? The same Earth that all Junkions get their TV from.

You were a signal he intercepted. He isn't changing the channel ever.

" 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚞𝚝. "

• What’s going on? Something has the guards in a stir and you poke your head out of the rec room and stare up at the weirdest looking Cybertronians you’ve seen so far. Does that one have a mustache? Gawking, you startle when a hand touches your back, wheeling and staring up at one of the higher-ups. ‘You’re a caretaker,’ he says and it’s not really a question, but you nod anyway. ‘Are you assigned?’ A sinking feeling slowly pulling you under, you want to retreat back in the rec room and shut the door in his face. “No,” you admit resignedly.

• Venting deeply, the air’s disturbingly fresh here, completely different from his world. Almost uncomfortable. Watching his people looking around, he hears a shriek and someone’s got a hand in the cookie jar. One of his junkions bent over, trying to catch a human as they retreat. “Sir? Hello?” Turning, its apparently buy one, get one free. There’s another little human staring up at him, smile slightly strained. “You’re new arrivals, right? I’d like to show you around. Take care of you?”

• And when he grins, you shiver, skin prickling. “Darling! Come aboard, we're expecting you,” he croons, crouching so quickly you want to just run away. “Love, life's sweetest reward,” he adds, the words taking on a singsong lilt, servos flexing like he wants to pick you up. Why is he singing? Smiling weakly, you turn slightly and try to avoid being picked up by him. Maybe this one’s a bit off? ‘If you just give me a minute I can go grab a cart,’ you say.

• “Would you like some energon? A bath?” You ask and he chuckles, servos closing on you to make you gasp and you’re softer than he’d thought. Already proposing to him, too. Quick turn around times guaranteed. Lifting you up, he grins and you lean back, your own smile slightly strained. “Sir?” So nervous, but then maybe you’re intimidated by his good looks and winning smile? ‘Wow me,’ he says and you push at his servos, looking around as he starts walking.

Next

• Humming the jingle stuck in his head on a loop, he’s aware of you, his prize possession, a one of a kind collector’s item, prying open one of the boxes of organic food he’d found. Stolen. Borrowed without the intent to return from the last world he’d visited. “Was this in the garbage?” You ask, sounding so suspicious it wounds him. Thrills him. Turning, you dig a handful out and sniff it. “This wasn’t in the garbage, right? It’s not going to make me sick?”

• “An apple a day keeps the doctor away,” he laughs and you sigh. You’re not really sure if he actually understands anything you say or if he’s just repeating things he’s heard. Because the big, weird alien robot has access to human television somehow if the stuff he says is any indication. And he’s chronically incapable of being serious as far as you can tell. About to take a bite, you startle when he bends and tucks a very wilted flower behind your ear, his huge servos surprisingly dexterous. “Darling, you look lovely. Turn that frown upside down.”

• “Thanks,” you mutter. Hears you sigh as you eat a bite of the food and your nose wrinkles slightly. Not to your tastes? No artificial dyes or preservatives. Smile faltering when you shudder and eat another bite, looking like you’re choking it down, he paces restlessly. Had been so excited, ecstatic, to find you. One of the soft things from the fascinating, addictive, transmissions they keep receiving. A soft little mate to rule beside him. Til death do you part. Act now, don’t wait. Smiling, he drops to sit beside you and you tense.

• How adorable. You’re shy. After coming onto him first. Offering to take care of him. “Propriety. I salute you,” he rumbles, saluting with the hand holding you as you gasp and squirm. And you really are tiny. Fun sized. Soft, too. ‘Please don’t do that again,’ you groan, face against his servos and he hums softly until your head lifts. ‘Are you humming the Pepto Bismol jingle?’ You groan out the words. Is he? It’s catchy.

• Yep. This one is apparently bonkers. Fantastic. Wiggling, you’re not exactly sure what you’ll do if you do manage to get loose from his grip. Most likely fall and break something. Or several somethings. “The stalls are right over there,” you try, pointing and he’s grinning as he keeps walking past. “Sir? The stalls?” You’re beginning to clue in to why so many of the veteran caretakers seem perpetually exhausted. “You’re dirty and you need a bath,” you add, trying for blunt.

• You don’t know the half of it and he grins crookedly. “Who wants to be squeaky clean when a dirty mind is so much more fun?” He asks and you clutch at his servos when he sweeps his hand in an encompassing gesture. ‘I can smell you.’ Amused, you squeak when he brings you closer to his face and vents deeply against you, a little hand trying to push him away. Can scent you under the cleansers you use, alien and intriguing. Finally gets to see one of the little creatures from his beloved broadcasts.

• He’s sniffing you and you flush, shoving at his massive face as he grins and he’s too much. Too big and too close. “We can play hide the soap later. Who’s in charge of this grand kingdom that bows to the gods of late night television?” What? “We’ve received and learned from your broadcasts. We’re ready for prime time!” Wait. Is this lunatic babbling about TV? They came here because of old TV broadcasts? ‘Do you just want to watch TV?’ You ask weakly and his grin widens. “I want to live it!”