UnderAuthor

But they’re not human and therein lies the problem. So you can use this guide to avoid awkward misunderstandings or as cheat codes to speedrun to the final boss called intimacy if you’re into that. Don’t make that face. It’s worth it.

First off, they’re social like we are. How social really depends on the individual, though. And let’s face it, after being at war for longer than our species has even existed, they can be a bit touch starved. Simple comforts like a touch, sharing a meal, or having someone to talk to mean a lot to them. That’s where things can get complicated, though.

Let’s talk fields . Biofields, EM fields, whatever you want to call them, we both have them. And where they learned to mute or hide what they’re feeling, we can’t. Mostly because we can’t feel them at all. That’s not to say, your skin won’t crawl and your instincts go berserk if you’re touching a very upset Cybertronian whose field is out of control. You will. It’s unpleasant. Don’t run. Seriously.

Those fields are what put us at an instant disadvantage. The fact that we can’t hide anything can make it almost addictive to them to reach for you. To be tactile just for the high of your field sinking into them, nothing hidden. It’s an intimacy usually reserved for conjunxes. A show of trust that you’re not hiding anything.

And that’s another thing. Conjunxes. It can come in two flavors: a ride or die, besties forever type or a bonded, intimate mates variety. Have fun figuring out which category your Cybertronian has mentally stuck you in, because these guys can be infuriatingly non-communicative. Especially about intimacy and vulnerability.

Don’t automatically assume that just because your Cybertronian is overly tactile that they’re after intimacy, either. Think about it like this: we’re small, soft, and warm. In their world, almost everything is hard, cold metal. So they can and do tend to like to carry humans around like glorified purse dogs. Not exactly romantic. But don’t get discouraged if you are after that cookie, because once you understand their behavior, it’s easier to give them a nudge in the right direction and go from talking hamster to romantic partner.

Sharing a meal or drink. That’s normal. Offering to hand feed or bringing treats/energon specifically for only your Cybertronian? That’s courting behavior. Washing or offering to wash them? Also falls in the courting category. They’re things partners do for each other.

Those are the obvious, big ones, not let’s talk about the nuance, because the devil’s in the details. If you and your assigned Cybertronian have an argument or you do something to make them cut off a conversation suddenly and leave the room, that’s an invitation. If you follow them, they’re going to see it as interest and for some of them, arguments are pretty much flirting so that’s an easy mistake to make. Because who walks off in the middle of an argument? They do.

Scent is another big one that we don’t always clue in on. If they’re gifting you “blankets,” most than likely those are used polishing rags. If they still smell like your Cybertronian and not cleanser, that’s an invitation, too. They like their scent on you and it’s the most subtle way of doing it, because they tend to not realize that our senses aren’t on par with theirs. If you accept the blanket, they see it as you accepting them. Congrats, you’re dating an alien.

Then you’ve got the not so subtle or patient ones that will just grab and handle you, rub their jaw or face against you. Carrying a Cybertronian’s scent is a quiet warning to other Cybertronians that you’re taken. And if they gift you anything you can wear that looks suspiciously like it might be made from them? Congrats, you’re now engaged. They use bits of their living plating to fashion conjunx gifts as an obvious warning that a partner is taken. And you can manipulate that behavior by wearing things in their colors or patterned after them, basically declaring you’re theirs.

• “Aw, I thought I’d run wild through the Citadel like a savage and touch everything,” you tease and he leans to gently bump you with his head. Still isn’t sure about this, but he hadn’t been able to deny your request to look around. But there’s so many unknowns, so many nuances of other cultures that you don’t understand and he’s unsure of, too. Cybertronians don’t really interact with organics, but since you, he’s had to. Needed to feed you when you’re so far from home. Venting tiredly as you bite your bottom lip, he tugs you into his frame.

• Leaning into the hug and filling your head with the alien smell of him, you reluctantly pull away. “So?” Usually he makes this trip alone and you’re left in the ship. Bored. Head turning to look up at the massive mech’s real form, you lift your brows expectantly. “I’ll be good.” Just want to see what’s out there. What other species look like besides Cybertronians. And he turns slightly with a tonal grumble to hit the controls for the hatch, opening the ramp as he moves further back into the shadows.

• Grabbing your sleeve with his avatar’s fingers when you try to hurry out of the ship, you look back at him and he wants to say he changed his mind. That this is too risky. Jaw clenching, he lets go and follows you down the ramp into the bustling port. And it’s almost a relief when you hesitate at the press of bodies and move closer to him. Real body closing up the ship again, his avatar rests a hand against your back and nudges you forward.

• Knew there were a lot of different organic races, but that hadn’t really prepared you for the diversity you’re seeing mingling here. Eyes wide, you keep close to Soundwave’s avatar, his red glasses glinting in the light as he heads for a building flickering alien gibberish in bright neon letters. And you’re reaching up to touch the little device hooked around the side of one ear, it’s other half nestled against your throat like a choker. For a moment all you hear is clicks, growls, and trills before the translator sorts itself out and you shiver at the dissonance. Can still hear the alien sounds, but your brain is telling you that it’s your language. That you understand it. Following Soundwave into the building, you realize it’s a bar. Strange music thumps through the air as you blink in the dimmer lights. Letting him guide you to a low stool, you climb up and flash a nervous smile at the humanoid behind the bar. This one at least looks sort of human.

• “Stay,” he murmurs in your ear before reluctantly pulling away. With his Volus contact already so skittish about dealing with scavenged- and very illegal in this sector- Cybertronian tech, showing up unexpectedly with you might scare them off. Moving into a shadowy corner to wait where he can still see you, he swallows a growl when you immediately lean forward and start talking to the Asari behind the bar. But then, he didn’t tell you not to talk to other organics and humans are social. Makes him feel almost guilty watching you. Like he’s been neglecting your needs.

• Skin prickling as you speak and that same dissonance whispers through you, you know the alien behind the bar is hearing their language. Or at least whatever Soundwave set this thing to. And you startle when someone pulls out the stool beside you. Head turning, you stare at the alien leaning his elbows on the bar, head in a three fingered hand. Eyes flicking from the spiky crest on his head to his mandibles, he’s a confusing mix of bug, bird, and lizard as your brain tries to settle on a category for him. Then his eyes lift to meet yours and your breath catches. Looking away immediately as your face flushes.

• Impatiently waiting for the Volus, Soundwave stiffens when he sees the Turian sit beside you. Turning your way and talking to you. And you smile at whatever the alien says, answering as Soundwave shifts on his feet, almost losing the avatar altogether for a klik in his annoyance. Knows it wouldn’t go over very well if he flickers or glitches out of existence. Didn’t tell you not to talk to anyone, he reminds himself. But he can’t help the aggressive irritation twisting through him. Because you’re smiling at someone else, laughing. It doesn’t help that the alien you decided to befriend is with C-Sec, either. Citadel security. A threat.

• It’s a cell without a door. That’s where he’s carried you. Just a hard metal slab set into the wall and storage, calling it spartan would be kind. It’s horrific. And he sets you down on the berth and sits on the edge, growling a low warning when you move closer to the edge. If you jump, you might not break something. If you don’t break anything, you could run. But where to? Your current robotic monster hasn’t hurt you at least. Isn’t even looking at you as he presses his servos against his helm like he has a headache. Do alien robots get headaches?

• The klik he leaves you alone, someone’s likely to kill you out of either boredom or to get revenge on him. Didn’t ask for this, didn’t want you. But seeing how you were treated had chimed through him. Left a bitterness in his spark. Because your life meant nothing and neither does his or any other lower caste bots. No matter what he does, they don’t even see him, he’s so far beneath them. “But they’re going to see me. I’ll make them,” he growls and you look up at him, little face weirdly Cybertronian in shape. “And they’ll tremble,” he swears as you chirp.

• Why is he growling at you? Does he want something? He must want something from you, there’s just no guessing what. He’s too alien. But you’re pretty sure you’d been a prize. Keep playing it over in your mind what had happened and that’s what you’d come up with. He’d fought to win you, so you must have some kind of value. And that brings your mind back to wondering if you’re a snack of some sort. “You don’t want to eat me, I’m not that healthy,” you mutter and his head turns to stare at you. Can he even understand you? Have no idea. “Seriously, it’s appalling the stuff I eat. I lived off instant ramen packets for a year. The ones that are like a quarter and mostly MSG.”

• Lips twitching, he imagines you’re agreeing with him as you stare seriously up at him and chirp. Like you know exactly what he’s saying and you’re rooting him on. You scurry back toward the wall when he shifts to stretch out on his side facing you, skittish of him. And you yelp when he reaches to curl his servos around you, laying you down and draping his hand over you when you try to scoot away. Always recharges lightly now, alert to danger after another gladiator jealous of his rise had tried to murder him in his sleep. If he’s touching you, he’ll know if someone dares try to take you. The forgotten and unseen should look out for each other, even if you are just an organic. You’re his organic.

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