#reverse soft au

• You almost feel bad for him as you watch him trying to rake the pile of sealed condoms back in the box and half end up in the floor. He’s like a puppy, you decide. Kind of cute, too but you’re not about to admit that because then you’d never get rid of him. Though, why he doesn’t just go online and find someone is beyond you. There are more than enough ‘bumper humpers’ as they’re called actively hunting for Cybertronian spouses. “Why don’t you give up?” You ask, making him fumble several condoms into the floor.

• Bending to pick up the tiny, flat things, he clears his vents when his big servos just scoot one across the floor. “It has to be you,” he mutters, embarrassed. You’d probably laugh if he told you that he’d first seen you sitting out back of the store on the step, a book in your hands. The way you’d been smiling to yourself as you’d read had made him want to walk over. To share in whatever secret story you were lost in. Wanted someone to smile at him like that so bad. To be happy to see him. Hears you huff out a breath, but you don’t ask. Probably wanting him to just leave. What would you say if he just said that he wants to be the reason you smile like that? It sounds silly in his head, but it’s the truth. That has to count for something.

• He just looks lost as his head lifts and he smiles, hands full of condoms. It has to be you. Who says something like that? Worse, he looks like he means it and that’s just crazy. Watching him heading for the door, you stare at his back. “Why me?” You ask almost against your will and he flashes you that hopeful grin as he turns that makes you feel far too exposed. Makes you defensive. ‘It was always going to be you,’ he says with a small shrug. ‘Love at first sight is funny that way.’ How can he say things like that? Think he loves you when he doesn’t even know you?

• Smiling even as you shake your head, he tries not to let it bother him. Because this? As painful as it is, it’s almost a real conversation. You’re talking to him. “Go home, Swerve,” you repeat louder and he pushes open the door, throwing away the weird, little spike sleeves. He’s wearing you down. Bit by bit. Can be patient. Coax and flirt until you smile for him. Until you’re happy to see him. Knows you’re worth the wait. Humming to himself, he starts walking.

• Wings angling as he climbs slightly, Jetfire pings his twin. The familiar sensation of his awareness expanding as Jetstorm syncs in spills through him and its so hard to remember that there was a time before when they’d not been so interconnected, now unable to survive without each other. Any time he thinks about before they were combiners, his processor goes sideways and anxiety blindsides him so he tries to not remember. “Need pickup line,” he says across the secure channel. “Very convincing one.”

• Humming to himself as he does a roll that makes a car honk at him and swerve, Jetstorm clears his vents and tries to remember the human videos they’ve been studying. “Could ask to rizz?” He asks and Jetfire wobbles his frame from side to side in the air. ‘So begging?’ Jetfire asks and he almost laughs. “Might say yes.” Feeling Jetfire’s thoughts sinking into him, he knows his twin is going to agree. ‘Might.’

• Startling at the whoop of a siren, you glance at your mirror and shoulders hunch when you spot the cop car. Because you weren’t speeding. Meaning the alien jets right on your bumper are the problem. You can’t get in trouble because of them, right? Especially if you’re not doing anything wrong. Signaling, you pull over and park. And your two hopeful, alien beaus are transforming and landing between your car and the cop. Without mass shifting. So they’re looming.

• Crouching slightly to see, the human in the law enforcement vehicle gapes at them through his windshield and Jetfire waves. And the human is snatching at something, mouth moving as he talks into whatever it is. A radio, maybe? Glancing at Jetstorm as you roll down your window, a passing car honks. Giving up on the human enforcer, he turns and crouches by your car, ignoring humans in the nearest lane honking and swerving to avoid him. But you’ve got your forehead against your steering wheel, your body scooted down in your seat like you’re trying to hide. Looking at his twin, he shrugs. Must be a human thing?

Previous

Got my new swimsuit and I didn’t actually look too closely at the dinos when I ordered it. I just glanced at it and went ‘cute.’

And these guys are cute.

• Turning slowly, he studies the street. Noting the skid marks on the asphalt. Had assumed it was young humans playing. Doing so called donuts in the street. But now he studies the markings. Imagining the vehicle speeding down the street, turning sharply. Slamming into the mech right as he’d been standing in front of the alley. Driving him between the buildings. Meaning there’d be- right. Staring at the lines of broken and gouged brick on either side of the inside of the alley. His shoulder plating had scraped as he’d been driven in. Wedging him where he couldn’t move easily. Rocking back a step as his servos flex, he studies the alley. Where did they go from there? Turning to study the road again, he examines the skid marks. What if there were two vehicles? One to drive the target into an enclosed space and another to load him up when they were done incapacitating him somehow? Catching movement, his head turns. Seeing blinds shift in a window. An apartment.

• Heart racing because there’s one of them outside your building, you see the shadow moving on the other side of the blind and you back away from the glass. Skin prickling when the mech taps on the window, you fumble for your phone. “I just want to ask a question,” he says, low voice shockingly soft as your fingers tighten on your phone. “I’m looking for someone.” The other one. You’d seen him, been accustomed to him. The mech had never bothered to mass shift, so you’d seen his shadow passing almost every day. Is this guy a friend of his? “I’m being nice right now, but I could break the glass if I wanted to. Easily,” he adds.

• Rocking back when the blinds get pulled up and the window shoved open, you stare up at him, expression wary. Not a terrible instinct. Sees your eyes flick past him toward the alley and a grim certainty that you saw something sinks into him. “I don’t want any trouble,” you say and he inclines his head. ‘And I don’t want to cause you any. But a friend of mine is missing. They live near here. Would have walked this way to go home,’ he coaxes and your shoulders hunch. ‘I’m just worried about them. That’s all,’ he says and your eyes flick to his visored optics and away. ‘If you saw anything, it could help me find him.’

• Running a servo around the top of his glass as the little organic he’d been trying to flirt with turns their back toward him, he leans back against the bar hearing his stool creak under his weight as he scans for a new prospect. On TV, humans seem so friendly. The reality isn’t lining up with his expectations so far. And if he wants to stay here, he needs a human. Though, truthfully he’d come to this world because he’d fallen in love with human media. With humans. So why not take one as a conjunx? Except, none of them want him even though he’d studied them. Memorized his favorite pickup lines from movies and shows he’d seen.

• He’s kind of cute, you decide as you dry the glass and drift to the other side of the bar to take an order. Grabbing a chilled glass and a beer, you drop it off and glance back at the alien. And at the very obvious way everyone else is doing their best to ignore him. Because the mistrust of his people is high here, but apparently he didn’t get the memo. The people that show up here wanting to tell you all their problems are the same ones that sneer at your hair color and clothes during the day, because they can’t feel good about themselves unless they can feel superior to someone. Or maybe it’s because they’re scared of all the secrets they let slip to you while drunk. It’s hard to like someone that knows every awful thing about you. Pouring another engex and grabbing a modelo, you slide the luminous, alien stuff toward him and his head lifts as you open the beer. “I didn’t order another,” he says.

• “I know. Cheers,” you say, tipping your human drink up as he clears his vents and sips his own engex. ‘I’m not feeling that cheery,’ he mutters and you smile, a shoulder lifting in a shrug. ‘I think maybe I shouldn’t have come here,’ he adds, servos wrapping around the second glass as the burn of the first one spreads through his lines. “Could be that you’re trying to flirt with the wrong sort,” you reply, your eyes scanning the bar. “Or could be your lines. Why don’t you try me? Let me hear your best pickup line.” Embarrassed, he toys with the glass.

• It’s like Orion doesn’t understand that what they do is vital. That they’re an integral cog in the Cybertronian machine as miners. Exploring exotic, alien worlds? That’s the domain of other bots. Not them. And even worse, Orion wants to find a human conjunx so that they can’t be forced back to Cybertron. Wants to keep playing space explorer. “I mean, that is an option, but you know as well as I do that we’re meant for more,” Orion insists and D rolls his optics, clearing his vents noisily. ‘We’re meant to be miners. You know, to do our job?’ He growls and Orion throws an arm across his shoulders. “There’s one. I’m going over. Try to look less angry. Maybe smile,” Orion says and D grabs for the other mech, but he’s already striding for the organic coming out of the lawn and garden store. ‘Pax,’ he hisses angrily.

• Looking up when you see one of the alien refugees heading your way with a wide smile, your shoulders hunch. Walking a little faster with your cart of plants, you hope you’re wrong. That he’s not about to hassle you as his buddy throws up his hands and turns away. “Hi,” he says moving to intercept you and you’re forced to stop or run into him with your cart. And he’s smiling charmingly as he catches the front of your cart like he knows you’re trying to find a way around him. “Me and my shy friend over there, we’re pretty new here. We were hoping you might be able to show us around?” Glancing at his surly looking buddy when he gestures at him, the other mech awkwardly sort of lifts a hand. But mostly he just looks really uncomfortable and you know the feeling. ‘Sorry, I’m not looking for a husband,’ you mutter. Especially not husbands plural.

• Keeping his smile in place, Orion shrugs. “Who said anything about husbands?” He counters as he puzzles over the word. Is that your people’s term for a conjunx, maybe? “D, I mean he’s too embarrassed to admit it, but he can’t read your human language,” he adds, gesturing at the writing on the front of the nearest building. “Makes it a little hard to figure out what places are Cybertronian friendly. Where to find energon.” And your brow furrows, but you’re not trying to run. Or screaming at him to go away. “We’re just lost. Hungry.” Which isn’t exactly a lie.

• Brightening because you remembered his name, he spreads his hands. “Oh, me? Yeah, I mean it was a day, you know? How about you? Doing good?” He asks, pretending you’d smiled and said hello. Asked him about his day. And your eyes narrow as he gestures at an aisle and pretends to browse for something to buy. The day before he’d grabbed a candy bar and you’d stared him down until he’d gotten so flustered he’d taken a bite, wrapper and all. Had purged for a joor after, that weird, melty stuff clogging his lines and souring his tank. “Right?” He calls out like you’d answered. “We do need to hang out sometime. A date?”

• Struggling to keep your over it poker face in full force, you wait until he looks your way and then you roll your eyes. “Not happening,” you say and he shrugs. ‘Intimidated by my ruggedly handsome features?’ He teases and you have to bite into the inside of your cheek to not laugh. “I’m not helping you stay on earth.” Because as cute as he is, you know that’s his game. He’s looking for a conjunx and a fake marriage isn’t on your to do list. “Find a different sucker,” you say and he presses his hand to his chassis like you’ve mortally wounded him.

• “This right here? This rapport we have going? It’s meant to be,” he says and you snort. Which is almost a laugh. Grinning he watches you shake your head at him. ‘Buy something or get out,’ you repeat and he shrugs, grabbing the nearest item. Been just subspacing whatever he buys so he can linger a little longer. Get a few more kliks worth of time to flirt and win you over. Or just wear you down until you agree out of exhaustion. He’s good with either, because he’s decided on you. “So about that date,” he says, dropping the little box on the counter and leaning into your space with his best smile.

• Eyes flicking from him to the box, you raise your eyebrows and he props his chin on a fist, smiling back. “You have no idea what these are, do you?” You ask sweetly and he looks down. ‘Hey, I happen to love these things. They’re like the best things you humans have invented,’ he blusters, fumbling with the package to open it and pulling out an individually wrapped, rubber puck. ‘These are great,’ he adds, tearing one open and frowning as he stretches it between his servos. And you see the exact second he figures out what he’s playing with. ‘Oh. Wait, why is this a thing?’ He asks and you lose it, shoulders shaking. Not about to explain why rubbers exist to an alien. Because unlike with humans, from what you’d heard, fooling around with one of them is risk free as long as you absolutely avoid touching their spark.

• “Not saying no,” Jetfire teases as you give him a look. But it’s obvious that you’re trying not to smile. That you’re tempted. ‘I also didn’t say yes,’ you counter. “Yet,” Jetfire says and you do smile before looking away to try and hide it. Glancing over at his twin, he grins. ‘You really think I’m taking you both home, don’t you?’ You laugh and he rumbles, catching your shopping cart when you try to walk past him. “You’re wanting us,” he purrs and your brows lift.

• “I really don’t” you say, still smiling. Playing with them. Flirting back while pretending you’re not interested. Leaning toward you, Jetstorm pulls air through his vents slowly and you hesitate. Lips parting, he toys with the sharp point of his denta with the tip of his glossa. ‘Not afraid,’ he says and you roll your eyes, the flash of white around your iris alien and strange to make his plating barely lift. “Of you two? Hardly,” you mutter, trying to tug your cart from his twin as Jetfire chuckles. “If anything you should be afraid of me.”

• Why are you teasing them? Watching them exchange a look before they flash you identical grins, you can admit that they’re cute. Embarrassed at yourself, you yank at the cart and Jetfire finally lets go. Getting some revenge on your awful ex isn’t exactly a good reason to make yourself the target of town gossip and you know it. And people are already staring at the twins crowding you. Probably already whispering. Hate this town sometimes. That you can’t do anything without it getting around. Standing there with a hand on the cart, you’re not sure if it’s rebelliousness or actual interest that makes you blow out your breath. “If you followed me home, I’d probably just ruin you for other Cybertronians,” you bluff, turning and sliding into your car to start it.

• Rumbling as you drive away, he rocks on his peds when Jetstorm shoves him. And he’s transforming at the same time as his twin, your words thrumming through him. Following after your car, he knows that had to be an invitation. “Dibs,” Jetstorm says and he angles toward his brother to make the other mech flip upside down to avoid him. ‘No dibs,’ he growls back, spiraling lazily around his twin. Because if he has his way, they can share. Be friends with so many benefits. Maybe even convince you to be their conjunx.

Previous

• Prowling lazily beside you as he notes the way you steal nervous glances at him, he almost chuckles. You have good instincts at least. Transforming and mass shifting to startle you so badly you nearly fall into an alley, you stare up at him, arm outstretched and whatever you’re holding pointed at him. “Easy now, cher,” he purrs, lifting his hands as you stumble, eyes darting as you look for help. “What’s a soft thing like you doing out here alone?” He asks. “Don’t you know it’s not safe?” You’re not running, but you’re wary of him. Still. You’re listening to him and he studies you. Because there’s one way to get your people off his case so he can move freely.

• Heart racing because it’s one of them. You’ve never actually seen one of them in person before, just on the news. Hadn’t even realized there were any in your town. And you have no idea what to make of that lazy drawl of his or his disarming, crooked smile. “What do you want?” You ask, realizing you’re still pointing the pepper-spray at him even though you seriously doubt the stuff can do anything against a Cybertronian. Except annoy them. ‘What makes you think I want anything more than to see you home safe?’ He asks, his biolights drawing your eyes distractingly. Lowering your arm, you study him. Maybe he’s just a good samaritan, but your money is on him wanting something from you. What exactly, you have no idea.

• Watching you slowly reattach whatever you were aiming at him to your bag, he smiles as you eye him. Apparently not believing him at all. Making him almost grudgingly impressed. “You don’t exactly come across as a boy scout,” you say and he chuckles. “So what’s the hustle? What are you after from me?” You ask as his optics give you a once over. ‘Would you believe me if I said that I was so enamored by you that I lost myself?’ He growls and you snort, trying your hardest to not smile. Still listening to him when you could have tried to discourage him. Like maybe you’re enjoying a little flirting. And he can definitely work with that.