Twilight~Na

Bumblebee x Reader Last Night

Skyfire x Reader Floating Down The River

Rumble x Reader Alcohol Eyes

Skywarp x Reader Stop Talking

Ratchet x Reader Feel Like Rain

Waspinator x Reader Worker Bee

Ironhide x Reader Hold Me Down

Vortex x Reader I Can't Decide

Grimlock x Reader Shiver

Constructicons x Reader Drive

Insecticons x Reader You (Don't) Know Me

Trailbreaker x Reader Too Tired To Wink

Hound x Reader Heavy Boots

Blaster x Reader Shoot Me In The Smile

Sunstorm x Reader Love Me Dead

Cosmos x Reader In Space

Astrotrain x Reader Sweet Tooth

Tarantulas x Reader Haunt

Flatline x Reader All At Once

Mirage x Reader Scenario-Pampered

Tracks x Reader Scenario-Angles

Shockwave x Reader She Is Afraid

Ark x Reader Lonely

Nemesis x Reader Protector

Protectobots x Reader Scenario-Home

Combaticons x Reader Scenario-Names

Barricade x Reader Calling All Cops

Scorponok x Reader Granite

Ratbat x Reader Visitor

Looking for the Scenarios for the G1/IDW stories besides EiA?

Soft AU Masterlist

Alternate Takes Masterlist

Lost Light Masterlist

TF Prime Masterlist

TF ONE Masterlist

TF Earthspark Masterlist

TF Armada

TFA Animated Masterlist

ROTB/ Bayverse

Rescue Bots Masterlist

• Did this conversation really happen? Trying to touch his brother, Sceptre stays just out of reach without seeming to move at all and desperation twists through him. “I can’t do this alone,” he whispers. “There’s too much.” Had tried. Tried so hard to make things better. To eradicate evil as he found it, but it’s never ending. There’s nothing good to be found, every spark tainted. “Sceptre.” Say something. Anything. Where is he now? Needs him close. What did the Autobots do with him when they took him? “Sceptre? Stay with me.” Where’s his body now? Did they destroy it?

• Something touches his face and he startles online. Feeling wetness on his face. And you’re staring up at him as he lays on his side curled around your body, your soft hand on his cheek. “Who’s Sceptre?” You ask and his optics shutter. Fighting down that lonely ache. Isn’t alone anymore. Servos brushing your body, he vents raggedly. He’ll get loose. Find Sceptre. Everything will be right again. ‘My brother,’ he murmurs. Servos sliding against your body, he almost smiles. ‘You’ll like him, love.’

• “Is he a prisoner, too?” You ask, hand smoothing against his cheek under an optic as it leaks. Is he crying? Do they cry? ‘They took him,’ Sunder growls, voice roughening into that other, vengeful voice that makes you shiver. And his head brushes yours. ‘But we’ll find him and bring him home. One big, happy family,’ he purrs to make you smile as he nudges you gently with his big head. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

• Slowly pushing himself up on an arm, he uses a servo to tip your chin up. His little light in all the darkness. The one good, untainted thing in this filthy, obscene universe. And you’ll help him. To find Sceptre. To find and strip away the wickedness and stop the evil. “You keep me from despair, little love,” he rumbles and you smile, beautifully broken just like he is. But then, he broke you. Made you stronger. Made you his. Something good and bright and perfect in all the awfulness.

• Venting in amusement because he knows you and knows you’re going to binge watch that filth until you fall asleep. Mass shifting and setting the mini datapad aside, he bends and hooks an arm around you as you groan against his neck. Protesting even though he knows you love bath time. Carrying you to the mini wash rack he’d had set up, he eases you onto your feet. “Come on, lazy human,” he coaxes as he turns on the water and adjusts the temperature where you like it. Rumbling when you walk over and your forehead bumps against his back, he shakes his head. “Don’t be that way,” he laughs as you groan again. Louder.

• You’re tired, though. Not that you’ve done a whole lot. Playing bar mascot isn’t exactly taxing. You mostly smile and chat with the regulars and tolerate them poking treats at you ands asking very inappropriate things. Know you’re a novelty and most of them have never seen a human before. Leaning back when he turns and hooks a servo in the collar of your loose garment, you huff but strip for him. Letting him back you into the stall and immediately relaxing in the warm spray. “Thanks,” you mumble, yawning.

• “I have to take care of you, because otherwise, who’s going to take care of me?” He asks, working a scented cleanser into your hair as you make a soft noise of pleasure that twists through him with heat and need, but he can feel your field sinking into him. Can feel that you’re not interested right now, too tired to respond to his touch. ‘You are pretty hopeless,’ you mumble and he clears his vents, amused. And your eyes are half closed, but you always get drowsy and relax when he brushes his servos against your scalp or the back of your neck.

• “If I was?” You ask and he glances at you, studying the way you hold yourself. Like you’re braced for a fight. ‘Then I’d let you go,’ he answers. But you don’t really want to go back to whatever life you had before. Knows how to read people and humans? You’re not so different from Cybertronians he suspects. “Just like that?” You mutter and he chuckles. ‘Is that so hard to believe?’ And you frown, attention shifting to his offerings. As he watches, you walk closer and bend to finger a silk covering.

• It is hard to believe, but you’re still leery of offending him. In your experience, the ones that act the most genteel are unusually the most twisted. The ones that get rough with you, treat you like a thing to use. Like you’re beneath them and don’t matter. Whether he’s like that, you’re not sure. Maybe he really does just want companionship, but a little caution never hurts. Cool silk sliding against your fingers, you shift it aside to sink your fingers into fur. The mech has exotic, fancy tastes. None of this stuff exactly your style or anything you’d ever wear. You’d just told him you needed clothes, though. And he’d opted for romantic, inappropriate things.

• “I don’t blame you for being cautious,” he says, watching you pull a sheer covering from the pile and hold it up to yourself. Wants to see you in that one. In all of them. Wants to dress you up, pamper and adore you. For you to smile at him, ask him about his day. Pretend you care. Rumbling as he tears his optics away, he softly clears his vents. “I really only do want a companion, though.” You hum softly, finding a plush length of fur and draping it around your neck. Before noticing the jewelry he’d purchased.

• Feel like you’re being paid for and that doesn’t sit quite right with you. The alternative, though? Going back to a life you despise where you’re barely making the bills and constantly worried about if the money will last until the next week and knowing you’ll have to skip meals a few days if it doesn’t. And your stare flicks to the pile of boxed and canned food he’d brought you. Would being his pampered house cat really be so bad if it meant not being hungry? Not having to stress your way through life? Slipping gaudy, glittering rings on your fingers, you turn to study him. “Meow,” you mutter under your breath and his head tips quizzically.

• “Am I boring you, darling?” He asks fondly, watching your legs stretch, little toes splaying out. Do you have any idea how adorable you are? How much he wants to lift you to his face and nuzzle against you when you do things like that? And you’re not even really doing anything, just being you. Needs this. Someone who trusts him implicitly, who’s there waiting for him, smiling and glad to see him. A bit of normalcy to make the Ark feel like home when it rarely did before you.

• “No, this is nice,” you reassure him, fidgeting with the plush robe he’d put you in. And you’re happy to let him play dress up with you if it makes him happy, because he makes you happy. “Can I help with whatever you’re doing?” You ask, because you’re definitely getting much more from this relationship than he is. Though you’re pretty sure you can’t help him. Can’t even read his alien gibberish.

• “You are helping,” he rumbles, a servo rubbing against your spine. The feel of your heart, the warmth of you, remind him that he’s not alone. Knows it’s a hazard of his line of work, but it still hurts when other Autobots keep their distance. Act like they’re not sure they can trust him because he came from a different background than they did, because of what he does. Half suspects they see the corruption of the old regime when they look at him. But you don’t. Only see him and you have no idea what having someone there means to him. Someone that’s not questioning his motives, judging him because of where he came from. Doesn’t have anyone else and you keep him sane. Keep the loneliness at bay.

• “You remembered,” you whisper, sitting up and he huffs softly through his vents. Did you think he wouldn’t remember? Shifting off his knees to sit, he opens his arms and rumbles when you come to him and settle in his lap without hesitation. “Are those for me?” You ask and he chuckles indulgently because you both know they are. Reaching, he picks up a thick plush blanket and you immediately reach for it. “It’s soft.” Watching you crush the material in your little hands, he brushes your hair back from your face.

• “I’ve felt softer,” he says, ghosting a servo against your cheek to make you flush as he reaches for another gift. Then another. Clothes, jewelry, body care products, and so many sheer or lacy things because he’s always liked dressing you up. Opening a bottle of body wash to smell the scent, you hear him vent and then sigh. “I tried to find something that would complement your natural scent and not hide it.” Looking up at him, you think of how tactile he can be now that you’ve started giving him permission. Like he can’t help himself from touching you. Didn’t realize he could smell you, though. Or that he liked the way you smell.

• Lowering his head to rest his cheek on top of your head, there’s the ache of wanting more that lifts through him, but he ignores it. Tries to give you some space, freedom. To let you come to him. But so far he feels like he’s trapped in a loop of wanting more and not wanting to ask, afraid that you’ll feel pressured. Smiling faintly listening to you fussing over your gifts, he stills when you twist in his lap and throw your arms around his neck, thanking him. Don’t you understand that he loves pampering you? That it’s his love language?

• Feeling his arms slowly go around you, there’s the off balance feeling that things aren’t as simple as playing a part so he can play your indulgent sugar daddy anymore. Because at some point, you’d started falling for him. His low, cultured voice, his small smiles, and how gentle he is. But you know he’s happy with things the way they are. That he likes having someone to spoil and that to him, you’re probably just his alien poodle. What would he do if you kissed him? That’s a way of saying thank you, but what if it ruins everything? You like it here with him. Like being spoiled and fussed over like you’re the only thing that matters to him.

• “Let me do this, darling,” he soothes, setting your food down on the tray before his servos brush your collarbone under the pretense of adjusting your new silken robe. Feeling the soft, warmth of you, the beat of your heart for too brief a moment before he makes himself pull his hand back. Because you’re both still playing and he’s not sure how you’d react if he told you it’s no longer a game to him. “You know how I love caring for you.” But that’s not exactly right. It’s you. He loves you.

• Amused, you pick at the hot food and you’ve yet to figure out where he gets this stuff from. Know there are other humans here, so maybe he’s paying someone to cook for you? When he reaches for your fork, his hand brushing yours, you glance up and those lonely optics make your chest hurt. You’ve been with him, letting him pamper you and bring you gifts long enough to realize he’s incredibly lonely. That maybe you’re the closest thing to a friend he has.

• Cutting your strange organic food in small pieces, he struggles with your tiny eating utensil, trying to not shake the food off in your lap when he offers you a bite and your mouth opens to accept it. Those eyes meeting his optics far too briefly before dropping as you chew. Can almost hear your embarrassed protest that you can do this yourself. Spark aching at the intimacy of caring for you like he would a bonded partner, he makes himself keep smiling. Wonders what you would do if he kissed you. Would you play along because you think it’s only a new part of the game?

• Spark lighter when you smile, he reaches out a servo and you lay a soft hand on it to let him lead you closer. Sitting on the edge of the berth, he mass shifts and you come to him. Knowing what he needs. Watches you fold your legs under you to sit and he leans to rest his head in your lap as your fingers ghost over his helm. All the hurtful things he can’t actually admit out loud on the tip of his glossa. That the others don’t quite trust him. That someone insinuated again that he’s a Decepticon sympathizer because he wishes the war would end. Because he’s not like them. “Is everything okay?” You ask and you’re so sweet. Wonders if you mean the words or if you’re only acting out a part he pays you to play.

• “Of course,” he murmurs, optics staring up at you and he’s a terrible liar. But then, he probably never needed to learn like you had to. Everything about him genteel and mannered and everything you’re not. But you pretend for him. Wear the outfits he brings you and let him feed you like a pampered pet. Hold him when he’s like this, too. Stilling when he catches your hand and presses his mouth against the inside of your wrist, he vents softly. “I brought you a treat, darling. I saw it and had to have it for you.” Like he thinks you still need to be bribed with pretty things.

• Why are you frowning slightly? Pulling the stuffed animal from subspace, he holds it up and you take it. Staring up at you upside down, dressed in those elegant coverings and clutching that soft toy to yourself, you look innocent. “It’s adorable,” you whisper, fingers toying with the bow around its neck. Would you stay without the gifts and luxury, he wonders. Would you still smile for him if he didn’t lavish you with presents? Hopes you would, but he remembers the deal he’d made you. That this is nothing more than a business transaction and that you’re only in it for the things he can give you, that fact leaving him so hollow inside. “Talk to me,” you add, leaning over him. Do you really care? About him?

• Darting down a side street in a squeal of tires, he can hear your delighted laughter and it leaves him warm and light. Happy that you’re happy, that you love this feeling just as much as he does. Feels free. It’s not his war, he’d just been dragged into it and wants it to be over and done. That fact making him suspicious to the other Autobots, always questioning his loyalty, his motives. Like he might swap sides at any moment and it hurts. Just because he doesn’t agree with the war, doesn’t mean he’d betray them. “Are you getting too cold, darling?”

• Probably, but you don’t want to go back to the Ark, yet. “We’re good,” you say, even though the chilly air is starting to get uncomfortable with the thin robe, you don’t really want to go home. And that thought ripples through you. Realizing that the Ark is gone, that he’s home to you. Not exactly sure when that had happened, but it feels right. Loving having someone care about you, see you, and worry over you. Spoil you.

• Humming softly as he monitors you tucked in his driver’s seat, he turns onto another road and vents tiredly when blue lights flare, a siren wailing. “Hang on tight, sweetspark,” he purrs, really letting loose as his engine roars. And you whoop, laughing as he peels out, the human authority in pursuit. Needs enough of a lead to duck out of sight just long enough to use his abilities to cloak you both. Because just blipping out of existence in front of other humans would send Prime into a tizzy if he ever found out. Though, the car chasing him is no real threat, much too slow to catch him.

• You’re so tiny standing on his berth and looking around. “Anything?” You ask, tone a mix of wary and curious and he smiles. ‘All you need to do is ask,’ he assures you. Wants you to be happy. To watch that weariness fall away and see who you really are. Watches the tip of your tongue dart out to wet your bottom lip before you chew on it. Had been surprised when you’d accepted his offer so quickly, giving up everything to go with him. Making him sure that you didn’t really have anything to give up in the first place.

• “What do you get out of this? Besides someone to talk to?” You ask, hating that now you’re questioning this, because at this point, you’re not sure there is any going back. Most likely, if he doesn’t want to let you go, there’s nothing you can do about it. ‘Why is it so hard to believe that I just desire company?’ He counters, reaching out to nudge one of the trophies with a servo like he thinks they’re not lined up perfectly already. And you’re nervous because it’s all too easy. All of it, a little too good to be true, so you know there’s a catch. Maybe he’s going to harvest your organs in your sleep or he eats people.

• “Give me your list. Let me prove that this can be a mutually beneficial arrangement,” he says and you blow out a little breath. But you start talking. Giving him things to acquire for you and when you finally stop listing your demands, your expression is almost a challenge. Like you expect him to protest and he just smiles. Pulls a soft cleaning cloth from his substance when you shiver and wrap your arms around yourself and carefully drapes it around you as you look up at him with uncertain eyes.

• “Done and done. Wait for me, darling,” he says and that little endearment has you wrinkling your nose. Maybe he’s just an alien sugar daddy looking for someone to pamper? He’s definitely old fashioned and mannered. ‘Sure,’ you manage because what choice do you have? There’s no getting off of his berth without a long fall and possibly breaking something. And he’s striding out to leave you as you clutch the fluffy blanket around yourself and wonder how big a mistake you made by going with him.

Previous

• There you are, just like clockwork making your walk home in the dark alone. Even as ill versed in humanity as he is, he knows this isn’t a good area. The first time he’d spotted you, he’d been parked on the side of the road as you’d passed. You’d stumbled, a warm hand landing on his fender to keep yourself from pitching into the street and he’d felt your defeated field sink into him, your emotions sparking through him. Hadn’t come into contact with anyone’s field in forever and the brush of you had been shocking. Almost scandalous and over so quickly as you’d grimaced and kept walking. And he’d come back the next day. And the next. That faint twinge of defeated loneliness he’d picked up from you amid the weariness had resonated with him. He’d understood it. Hated it.

• How has no one either vandalized or tried to steal this thing? It’s so out of place, it’s ridiculous. One of those funny looking race cars. Something suped up and exotic looking. Definitely shouldn’t be here. Eyeing it as you pass, you wonder what the story is. “Could I bother you for a moment of your time?” The voice from out of nowhere nearly scares you half to death and you spin, almost falling as you stare at the guy in a full racing suit. Apparently this is the weirdo that owns the car. What’s wrong with his face? Staring at him as your skin crawls, you can’t pin down what’s off with him, but something definitely is. Your instincts screaming.

• For a klik, he’s sure you’re about to run. Staring at him and tense. But you’re listening. Smiling slowly, he leans a hip of his avatar against his rear fender. “I’d like to offer you a mutually beneficial proposition,” he says and your eyes narrow. ‘I’m not a hooker,’ you snap and you start walking. Hooker? Striding after you, he falls in beside you, aware that you immediately walk a little faster. “A job. I’m offering you a job, nothing unsavory.” And those eyes glance at him. It’s too dark to tell what color they are, but your wariness comes across loud and clear. Don’t know him and don’t trust him. “I’m looking for a companion. Someone to talk to.”

• What part of you not being a hooker did he not understand? “Sure. Talking,” you mutter as the guy follows you. And he’s taller than you are, probably stronger. Why are there never any cops around when you need one? There’s no one around but you and the possibly, rich weirdo with a stupid car that’s not even street legal. When he catches your wrist, you spin on him, heart racing and he immediately lets go, hands up. ‘I don’t mean anything untoward,’ he says. Who talks like that? ‘In exchange for your companionship, I’d give you anything you want.’ Why you? There’s hookers a few blocks over who’s be happy to ‘just talk.’

• You’re afraid of him, but he can’t blame you. Gesturing back toward his body, you tense when his engine rumbles to life and he rolls closer. ‘Neat trick,’ you whisper, turning toward his avatar as he drops the illusion and transforms. And you suck in a sharp breath as he kneels and offers you his servo. “I would treat you well. Make sure you’re comfortable. I just wish to have someone to talk to, someone waiting for me to return,” he says as you just stare up at him. Not screaming or running at least. Someone to pretend they’re glad to see him and you look so tired. It’d be nice to have someone to spoil and fuss over. To care for. Wants it to be you after that brush with your field, because he thinks you’d understand him. That you need him. “Do we have a deal?”